#hot water pipes frozen

[lvis44]

Cabin Fever - Pt. 2 // LH44

Lewis Hamilton x Y/N

Warnings: Swearing, Alcohol Consumption, Angst, Lewis being an ass, allusions to mental health struggles, 18+ MINORS DNI, not edited

Word Count: 5.3k+

Summary: He's your Sister in Laws best friend, you shouldn't even have to deal with him. Always seeming like a cocky arrogant prick, and now here he is crashing your family Christmas. Can you handle a full week of Lewis Hamilton? Or might he not actually be as bad as he seems?

Notes: Part two for you lovelies! I don't have much to say other than I am already working on part 3 and writing lewis as a bit of an ass is quite fun! As always ignore the fact that I cannot keep a tense for the life of me, Im grateful you guys seem to love me anyways lmao.

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

Your room is freezing when you wake in the morning, the room eerily silent. You groan, rolling over to grab your phone while trying to keep as much of the comforter over you as possible.

“Fuck.” You mumble to yourself when you see that your phone hasn’t been charging all night, despite being plugged in.

You sit up, looking around the room, reaching over to flick on the lamp beside your bed, nothing. You evidently lost power overnight. You're surprised that in a house this lush there isn’t already a generator going but you suppose someone needs to start it, or it only powers certain things. One thing you know for certain is your room is freezing. You make your way out of bed and over to the fireplace in your room, hoping there is wood nearby to warm you up. You can’t help but let out another groan when you see the electric starter on the gas fireplace, no use if the power is out. You decide to go see if the rest of the house is a little warmer, or if you can at least be miserable with someone else. You rummage through your suitcase to find a warmer set of pajamas, settling on a thick pair of flannels that have kept you warm for nearly a decade. Once you've changed you grab the throw blanket off the back of the nearby chair, wrapping it around you like a cape and decide to make your way down into the house.

The house is completely silent as you wander down the stairs, evident that everyone else is still asleep. It doesn’t surprise you, you haven’t been good at sleeping recently, always waking up much earlier than you would like to. You imagine everyone else stayed up for a while after you disappeared to your room the night before, possibly all nursing a slight hangover this morning with the amount they could drink from your experience. You quietly make your way to the one room you had become familiar with the night before, the den. You stop in your tracks the moment you enter the room, surprised to find Lewis on the couch. He’s got a blanket draped across his legs and a large fire going in the fireplace in front of him. You stand frozen in the doorway for a moment, not sure if you should join him or run back to your room to avoid interaction. You finally decide it's far too cold to let his arrogant attitude keep you from getting a little bit warmer. Before you risk settling into the den alongside him you decide to go in search of a way to possibly make a warm beverage. As you make your way past him and towards the kitchen you mutter out your most polite “good morning” to which you only receive a subtle hum, almost as if he didn’t even know the sound had left his body. You roll your eyes, a constant with him around, finally making your way into the kitchen to rummage. Nothing in the kitchen works and even the hot water heater seems to be electric, the water coming from the pipes being ice cold.

“There’s a kettle on the fire, tea bags and mugs are next to the coffee maker.” Lewis’ voice calls out through the quiet house. You can’t help but wonder for a moment if someone else has woken up and he is directing them instead but as you stand there you hear nothing else. You quickly grab a tea bag and a mug, making your way back to the den and the warmth of the fire as rapidly as possible.

“Thanks.” You say quietly, offering him a small smile.

“Yeah,” He says, his gaze never leaving the fire in front of him, “should be ready in a second.”

“Okay.” You nod, settling on the floor in front of the fire despite the many cush couches and seats available.

The two of you sit in silence much to your pleasure, perfectly content to listen to the crackle of the fire instead of jabs and insults from the man behind you. The sound of him getting up from his seat draws you out of the trance that the soothing fire had put you in. It takes you a moment to realize that he is grabbing the kettle, the sound of water bubbling now coming over the sound of the crackling wood. He wordlessly fills his mug, setting the kettle and pot holder down on the hearth in front of you before moving back to his seat on the couch. You lean forward to grab the kettle, your blanket falling from your shoulders as you do so, exposing you to the still rather chilly air. You can feel his eyes on you as you pour your water and you can’t help but assume he has taken note of your worn out flannel pajamas, having noticed that he was dressed in what appeared to be a brand new Dior sweatsuit. Once you return the kettle to the hearth and adjust your blanket you turn to look at him over your shoulder, a deep smirk evident on his features.

“What?” You ask, your tone already argumentative.

“The second your blanket fell you started grumbling about winter and being cold. Not a fan I take it?” He chuckles.

You hadn’t even realized you were complaining as you made your tea, your cheeks flushing slightly at the realization.

“Moved away from it for a reason.” You mumble, returning your attention to the fire in front of you.

He doesn’t respond, allowing you to both sit in silence and enjoy the warmth and peaceful air before your family swarms the house. Just as you finish your tea you hear him start to move behind you, catching your attention. You glance back to him, seeing him folding up the blanket he had been using. 

He notices your attention, turning toward you after he throws the blanket over the couch, “Snow looks like it’s finally stopped, gonna go out and shovel so I can finally get out of your hair.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes at his comment, choosing to move past it, “Dylan has a plow, he’ll be up soon.”

“It’s blocked in the garage, gotta at least shovel our cars out before we can get it out.” He tells you, grabbing his phone from the table and walking away towards his room just off the den.

His habit of leaving the room without a final thought or exit bugs you more than it should, just another thing that makes him seem arrogant and aloof. You decide to just settle in again in front of the fire, more than happy to allow him to dig the plow out of the garage, you figure he’ll appreciate the workout anyway. It doesn’t take long until you hear him reammerge from his room, the sound of snow pants swishing behind you. You focus on the sounds of him putting on his boots in the foyer mixed with the subtle murmurs of people waking up throughout the house, disappointed that your silence has come to an end. Not long after you hear Lewis shut the front door, your dad is appearing in the den, a thick robe over his pajamas.

“Hey Kiddo, how long have you been up?” He asks, his voice pleasantly quiet.

“Maybe an hour or so, honestly not sure.” You say, leaning slightly towards him as he bends down to squeeze your shoulder.

“Power has been out since you got up?” His voice stays soft as he sits down in a chair near you.

You hum, nodding before gesturing to the kettle still sitting in front of the fire, “There might still be some warm water in there if you want to make some tea or something.”

“It’s a nice fire you’ve got going here.” He tells you as he gets up to check the kettle.

“Lewis had it going when I got up.” You admit, unsure why you bothered, probably so it didn’t come up later.

“Where is he?” Your dad asks, wandering into the kitchen to find a mug.

“He just went out to shovel, I guess the plow is blocked in the garage, we’ve gotta move cars or something before we can get it out.” You tell him as he emerges with only a tea bag, stealing your empty cup from the table beside you making you laugh, “Yes, I’m done, thank you for asking.”

Your dad just chuckles, pouring himself a cup of tea, leaving your used bag in the cup, “Well after I get some caffeine in me I’ll head out to help him, there’s a ton of snow out there and it sounded like it was going to be really wet.”

“Dad, no, I’ll go change and we can force Dylan to help when he gets up.” You immediately argue, not wanting to go shovel with Lewis in the slightest but far too aware of your fathers back problems to allow him to shovel after a storm like this.

“I’m not a cripple, Y/N, I take care of our house back home during the winter, I’m perfectly capable of helping out here.” Your fathers voice is stern, his choice of words causing you to cringe.

“I know, I just, I worry about you, I don’t want you to be in pain for the holidays. Lewis is an athlete and Dylan and I are still young enough that we can bounce back. Just stay inside and help keep Tom sane while Beatrice and Vanessa freak out.” You try to reason with him, your voice quieting towards the end of your argument, unaware of who may be awake at this point.

“Fine, but if you guys need any help you let me know. Maybe I can get your brother's generator running, I would be shocked if he didn’t have one with all this.” He concedes, gesturing around to the lavish yet dark house surrounding you.

“Yeah, I was surprised there wasn’t something for the heat at least, seems very unlike Dylan.” You say, still confused by the complete lack of backup power.

Before your father can even respond you hear Vanessa's voice coming down the stairs, shrill and unforgiving for the hour of the morning.

“It’s all out Dylan, the tree in the foyer isn’t even on!” Vanessa's voice is grating, causing you and your father to exchange a look.

“Babe, it’s okay, I’m sure it will be back on soon.” Dylan's voice follows behind her. You can tell he’s only just woken up, not ready for this much drama.

“You put on the kettle for Dylan, I’m gonna go shovel.” You tell your dad with a pat on the shoulder, a teasing yet knowing smirk on your face.

“Sounds more like a whiskey kind of morning for him.” Your dad murmurs, making you laugh as you leave the room.

You can hear Vanessa freaking out in the kitchen, you manage to narrowly escape any interaction and make your way to your room to bundle up to head out to shovel.

Once you step outside you can feel just how much the temperature has dropped from the night before, your nostrils immediately stinging. You burrow your face further into your jacket, grabbing one of the shovels off of the porch and making your way down to the driveway. You notice that Lewis has made good headway so far, the porch and path fully cleared off as well as his car. Much to your surprise when you step around his tall Mercedes, you’re met with him cleaning off your small rental. 

“Is somebody dying inside?” Lewis asks when he notices your presence.

“What?” You ask, caught off guard.

“I know you’re not out here for my company Y/N, what's up?” He pries, not looking at you as he finishes removing the snow from your car before throwing the scraper in the back of his car again.

“Uh, I just came out to help.” You tell him, awkwardly holding up your shovel in his direction.

He looks in your direction, his eyebrows slightly raised in a surprised and disbelieving expression, “Okay then.”

He doesn’t say anything else, picking up his shovel from where he’d rested it in the snow bank and continuing to dig out your car. You follow his lead, beginning to chip away at the pile in front of the garage. You feel like you’re barely doing anything as you watch his large shovel fulls fly into the yard, making the snow you’re moving look like a joke.

“Thanks for cleaning off my car.” You say, trying your best to be polite.

He just shrugs, a grunt leaving his chest as he throws a particularly heavy load of snow, “Need to move it anyway.”

You just nod, continuing to shovel in silence. He has your car completely freed from the snow and is onto shoveling out a parking space off to the side by the time that you finish the small patch in front of the garage, you feel like your help is barely needed but you figure it’s better than nothing. Much to your surprise Lewis is the one to break the silence next.

“Is V inside freaking out?” He asks, leaning against his shovel to catch his breath for a moment.

You laugh quietly, nodding, not wanting to say anything that may make him defensive over his friend.

“Yeah, I kinda figured,” He says, returning to moving snow, “she can be like that when things aren’t perfect.”

You just nod, very aware of exactly what he is talking about. Only a few moments pass before you hear his voice again.

“Grab our keys from inside? Mine are in the bowl by the front door.” His question is barely a question, more of a demand but you just nod, figuring he’s doing all of the heavy lifting anyway.

When you step in the front door, Dylan is quick to rush into the entryway, “Hey, I’ll get the plow out, you guys really don’t need to keep shoveling.” His face is apologetic but you can tell he’s stressed.

“It’s alright, we’re just gonna move our cars so you can get the plow out.” You tell him, grabbing the keys from the table.

“Okay, thank you, tell Lewis thank you too. I’ll be out to plow once everything calms down a little bit in here.” He says, pulling you into a hug.

“Take your time, I think we’ll be in soon.” You say as you pull away, squeezing his arm with a sympathetic smile.

Back outside Lewis has successfully cleared out enough space for both of your cars to move to and get the plow out of the garage.

“Which one do you want me to move to?” You ask him, approaching him with his keys out for him.

“I’ve got it, you can go inside.” He says, pushing off from where he had been leaning against his car, taking his keys and waiting for yours.

“It’s fine, I can move a car, Lewis.” You say with a bit of a huff.

“I know Y/N, but I’ve got it.” He says back, annoyance creeping into his voice rapidly.

“Okay, fine, thanks I guess.” You snap, handing him your keys and turning around to head back inside. You hear him let out a small scoff as you walk away.

By the time you make it into the kitchen, a full meltdown is occurring. Vanessa and Beatrice are freaking out to your mother about not being able to make a proper family breakfast and Tom is berating your brother for not having fixed the generator before everyone arrived. Your parents are doing their best to get everyone to calm down, your mom trying to figure out something to make for breakfast while your father attempts to defend Dylan. You stand in the doorway for a moment, taking it all in, very ready to turn and run from it all.

“Holy shit.” His voice is close behind you, so close you can feel the warmth of his body as he approaches the same scene you’re now witnessing. You turn to look at Lewis, momentarily sharing a rare knowing glance.

“Happy fucking holidays.” You say sarcastically, raising your eyebrows before stepping into the kitchen, leaving him to take his own moment before joining the insanity as well.

“Hey Dylan,” You call out loudly, trying to cut through the shrill arguments occurring, “do you think you guys have any cast iron pans around here?”

“Uh, yeah, we do, why?” He stutters briefly, thrown off by the interruption from the argument he’s been having with his father in law.

“Cool, can you grab them for me?” You say calmly, not explaining before turning toward Vanessa, “Think you have eggs and bacon in the fridge?”

“Yeah I did but I’m sure it’s all gone bad now and we can’t exactly cook it.” Her response comes out whiny and you have to take a deep breath.

“The fridge is a big cooler, it’s plenty cold in here and in there, it’s fine.” You try to explain to her, moving to the fridge to grab some ingredients quickly without letting the cold air out.

You spot the eggs and bacon, also grabbing the first bits of fruit that you see, piling everything up on the counter behind you and sending your brother a look.

“Lewis,” You call to him, catching him off guard, not expecting you to speak to him, “can you go make sure the fire is going good? I need it really hot with a good amount of coals.”

He just gives you a look like you have multiple heads before slowly nodding and making his way toward the den. Vanessa still seems to be on the verge of tears as she sits at the kitchen island, evidently having decided that the whole trip is a wash because of this little hiccup. Your brother and father quickly catch on to what is going on in your mind, your dad grabbing a loaf of bread and stacking slices of it in tin foil as your brother begins laying bacon in one of the cast iron pans you made him grab. Once his bacon is all laid out you grab the pan from him and make your way to the den, passing Lewis on the way who once again looks at you like you’re insane. You’re pleasantly surprised by the fire he’s produced when you squat down in front of it, the pan of bacon in one hand as you grab the fire poker with the other. You begin to move the logs around, trying to make a nice bed of coals for your pan before you hear his voice arguing from behind you.

“Hey, you just asked me to make a nice fire and now you’re destroying it, what the hell is this?” He sounds childish, like he’s genuinely frustrated that you’re ruining the admittedly beautiful fire he made.

You shake your head, finally placing the pan of bacon down on the hot coals before standing to face him, “We’re gonna cook like we’re camping so your best friend doesn’t lose her absolute mind. Can you handle that?” Your voice is low, a bite to it caused by him not being able to go with the flow for a moment.

“Jesus, okay captain.” He shoots back sarcastically as you walk back toward the kitchen.

“Okay V, bacon is on the fire, it’s gonna take a minute longer than usual but once that’s going I’ll get some eggs on as well and I think my dad already has the toast ready to go in.” You say, keeping your voice calm as you wrap an arm around your sister in law, “How about we get some fruit cut up to tie us over?”

The hug she wraps you in makes your heart clench, as annoying as her behaviour about the situation is you can feel in her hug that it was genuinely taking a toll on her.

“Thank you, oh my god I love you so much, best bonus sister in the world.” She says, squeezing you tight.

“Thank my dad and Dylan, they’re the ones that made me go camping so much as a kid.” You giggle, squeezing her back while sending both the men a slightly unimpressed look before cracking a smirk. They both knew you were joking, some of your fondest memories were from those camping trips.

“Oh, wait, Dyl, isn’t there a case of Champagne in the basement? We could do Mimosas!” Vanessa suddenly perks up, her mood shifting quickly.

“Yeah babe, there is, I'll go grab it, be just a second.” Dylan says eagerly, evidently pleased to see his wife excited about something for the first time all morning. 

“Glad to see one of your kids has got some problem solving skills, not the one I would have expected though.” Tom grumbles from the corner of the kitchen as Dylan disappears into the basement, your stomach clenching at the obvious distaste for the both of you in his voice, “I have been telling him to get the generator looked at for months, yet here we are. Hell, I could fix the thing if the damn kid had any tools.”

“Dylans got tools,” Lewis pipes up, having just walked back into the room, not even waiting for the evident rebuttal your father was about to lay out, “he’s got a whole workshop in the back shed. Breakfast is gonna be a while, maybe you and I can get it running.”

“Finally, some initiative, you’re a good man Lewis.” Tom says, already pushing off the counter and heading to suit up for generator repair.

“Dad.” Vanessa groans, pressing her forehead into her hands.

You can see every word your father would like to say bubbling at the surface, only keeping them inside for the sake of civility for the holiday, your mother quietly stewing from where she stands cutting up fruit. As Tom makes his way out of the room, Lewis moves over to where you and Vanessa are standing.

“Fair warning V, I don’t know the first thing about generators so I claim no responsibility for anything that happens, but he needs to get out of this damn room before it gets worse.” He tells her softly, squeezing her shoulder.

“Thank you.” She whispers softly, grabbing his hand to squeeze it back.

“By the way,” His voice is slightly louder now, his attention directed at you “I threw a few more logs on the fire to keep it hot, your bacon might need to get flipped soon, it was starting to get pretty violent.”

“Oh, yeah, thanks.” You say, surprised he even let you know, you would have sooner imagined he would let you burn it just to see you be yet another disgrace of the day, simply for his amusement. 

When Dylan returns from the dark basement you are whisking eggs alone in the kitchen, his arms are full of Champagne bottles as he looks around at the empty room, evidently confused.

“Sorry that took so long, hard to navigate in the dark, where-” He begins.

“Mom, Dad, Beatrice, and V are all in the den watching the bacon cook.” You laugh, catching on to his question.

“Tom and Lewis?” He asks, immediately suspect.

“They're outside trying to fix the generator.” You say sheepishly, knowing he would hate it but not wanting to lie to him.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He says under his breath, turning away from you for a moment.

“I know, I know, but Tom was going to go absolutely insane in here and as much as I dislike him I kinda think Lewis was trying to save your marriage.” You say quickly, trying to calm him down.

Dylan lets out a sigh, setting the heavy bottles down on the counter, “They better not hurt themselves fucking around with it. Besides they literally can’t fix it, it’s missing a part from the manufacturer, which I told Tom, but no, he has to go-” He begins to rant.

“Hey, Lewis at least kinda knows engines and if they can’t fix it, at least it keeps them busy for a while. Also just keep in mind that Dad would be just as overprotective of me as Tom is with V.” You try to diffuse the situation.

“Never thought I would hear you defend Lewis.” Dylan grumbles, ignoring everything else you had to say.

“I’m not,” You quickly defend yourself, “I’m just trying to give you the whole picture.”

“I’m glad you’re here, this family drives me insane sometimes. Nice to have someone normal.” Dylan admits to you quietly, not even looking up at you as the words leave his mouth.

“You may want to recalibrate on what you consider normal,” You start with a laugh, moving around the island to wrap him in a hug, “but I’m happy to be your partner in crime. Now, I’m gonna go cook some eggs and throw this bread on the fire. You pop some champagne and grab the oj and the fruit off the back deck.”

“Why is all of it on the back deck?” Dylan asks, doing his best to ignore the sappy sibling moment.

“It’s like a walk in refrigerator, even houses this nice only get those during the winter months.” You say teasingly as you walk away with your pan and bowl of eggs.

By the time breakfast is ready, Lewis and Tom have made their way back into the house, Tom finally conceding that he can’t fix the generator without extra parts. You are proud of Dylan as you see him bite his tongue, evidently having things to say but instead just thanking his father in law for trying. Vanessa is overjoyed with breakfast, thanking you profusely and taking a billion pictures because ‘it's just so rustic’, making you laugh every time she excitedly mentions it. Once again you feel yourself wanting to say something when you notice Lewis not touching anything that was made, sitting at the table with just a bowl of fruit and a mimosa, but you decide against it, deciding to just let breakfast progress peacefully. You do still find yourself hoping that he will leave the second after your brother finally gets outside to plow. 

Once everyone is done eating you find yourself offering to help Beatrice clean up at the same moment as Lewis, she of course takes both of your offers happily, both of you sharing a less than pleased glance. As you begin to pile dishes into the sink, only able to rinse them with cold tap water, you hear a humm. 

Your brothers voice cuts your thoughts off, talking to Lewis, “Hey man, I was gonna head out to plow, and I know you already shoveled and thank you so much, but I was wondering if I could convince you to hop on the skidoo while I’m on the hill, Vanessa freaks out when I plow the hill alone and I don’t think we need anymore drama this morning.”

“Yeah, no problem mate, just give me a minute.” Lewis says calmly.

“Guys, shhh.” You hiss from your spot at the sink.

“Well no shit.” Lewis mutters from behind you, where he stands wrapping up the bowl of fruit salad.

“Is that the heat?” You ask excitedly, whipping around to face them.

“Sounds like it.” Lewis chuckles, not looking at you, instead turning to open the fridge to put the salad away, a smile crossing both of your faces when you see the light illuminate the interior.

“Powers back on!” You hear your fathers voice call from the other room.

You decide to leave the dishes for another moment, heading into the den where everyone else has settled for the time being. When you enter you hear the TV click on, your father immediately finding the local news.

“The snowfall is the worst we have seen in almost a decade, nearing four feet in under twenty four hours. The winds were devastating, taking out power to most of the surrounding rural neighborhoods. Emergency crews are on the ground to aid in snow removal and extraction for those trapped indoors. If you are in a safe and warm location we urge you to stay inside, do not attempt travel, and wait for further updates.” The weather reporter's voice carries through the den, the TV cutting to scenes of parts of town that you had driven through absolutely ransacked with snow and downed trees.

“Lewis, darling, I know the snow has stopped but you have to stay, I would be worrying about you the whole time you were out there.” Beatrice says, her voice sounding overly desperate like calling someone home from war.

“It’s just a drive, Bea, I’d be totally fine once I made it to my house.” He argued patiently, his voice behind you.

“But the drive, you never know what will happen, and what if you get to your house and something happened there, then you have to drive all the way back here. I would be worried sick.” Beatrice continues to argue as if its her house, you know Vanessa would never turn Lewis down but the audacity of her mother doesn't cease to amaze you.

“Y/N and I got my car out of the snow this morning, if we can get the driveway plowed I’m good to go. Between my driving skills and the four wheel drive I’m sure I will be more than fine, I might have to sit through some delays but that will be it.” He continues to attempt to reason with the distraught woman.

“Lewis, she’s right, they’re telling people to stay put. It’s not worth the risk.” Vanessa pipes up, siding with her mom.

You can hear him let out a heavy sigh and you know he’s getting ready to concede, you don’t think you’ve ever actually seen him disagree with Vanessa or tell her no to anything she wants.

“I don’t want to intrude, I know you weren’t planning on having me here. You guys should really have your family holiday the way you planned it.” He argues one last time, the weakest argument yet.

“Nonsense, you are family. I’m always happy to have the son I never got around.” Tom says eagerly. You cringe internally at his words, for both Dylan and Vanessa, you can even see distaste on Lewis’ face when you steal a glance at him.

“I do genuinely need to get to my house at some point, but I’ll stick around a little longer if it would make you feel better.” Lewis finally concedes, looking less enthusiastic than you had anticipated.

You quietly announce that you are going to go finish the dishes, wanting to get away from everyone for a moment. You’re only allowed to be alone for a moment before Lewis is joining you in the kitchen, much to your dismay.

“You’ll survive.” You hear him grumble as he begins cleaning up the kitchen behind you.

“I didn’t say anything.” You snap at him, unhappy with being attacked unprovoked.

“Didn’t have to, I know you don’t want me here.” He says firmly.

“It’s not my house, Vanessa can invite whomever she pleases.” You say, continuing with the dishes.

“Yeah, she can, doesn’t mean you’re happy about it.” He argues.

“Because you’re just buzzing to spend more time with me?” You question him harshly, finally turning to face him as you dry your hands.

“Oh fucking dying.” He says sarcastically, an over dramatic pained look on his face.

He doesn’t give you time to respond before once again he is leaving the room without a word.

“It’s only a week Y/N.” You mutter to yourself, taking a deep breath before busying yourself with cleaning. Maybe you can keep yourself so busy you won’t have to interact with him at all.

[earthlyangelbby]

Thank God for shitty landlords and old heaters.

Sfw!

Fluff so much fluff

2k words sorry I just wanna kiss him!!!

Mechanic Eddie x Server Y/N

Pls be kind I don't write often!! Also sorry for any mistakes I'm dyslexic anyways enjoy!

Part 2 Dungeon Master journal Confessional

The wind howled outside, a relentless fury that whipped snow across the trailer park. You tugged your scarf tighter around your neck, feeling the chill seep into your bones. Your heater gave out hours ago, and now your pipes were frozen solid. No amount of blankets, space heaters, or hot water bottles could fix it. The cold felt like it had taken over your whole trailer.

You hadn’t seen much of Eddie lately. Life had gotten in the way. He was busy shadowing an older mechanic at the garage, learning the ropes, and you were stuck serving coffee and burgers at the diner. Both of you were still young in your early twenties, but adult life had a way of pulling you in different directions.

But it was cold, and you needed a warm place. And there was one person you knew who might not mind taking you in.

You grabbed your jacket, pulled on your boots, and made your way to the other end of the lot where Eddie’s trailer sat, a little out of place among the others. When you knocked, you weren’t sure what you expected, but the door opened almost immediately. There he was, looking exactly the same as he did the last time you saw him same wild hair, same Metallica shirt, same flannel.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite server!” Eddie greeted with that signature grin of his, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Y/N What’s got you out here in this storm? You look like you’ve been standing out there for hours.”

You shrugged, trying to act casual, even though the cold had your teeth chattering. “My heater’s out, pipes are frozen. I was hoping I could crash here for a while, if that’s okay Eds?”

Eddie didn’t hesitate. “Of course. Come on in  before you freeze your little self to death.”

You stepped inside, and the warmth immediately hit you like a wave. Eddie closed the door behind you, locking it. You could already feel your body starting to thaw as he tossed your coat onto the back of a chair.

“You want something to drink? Hot chocolate, coffee, whiskey...?” He raised an eyebrow playfully, but you could see the genuine concern in his eyes as he looked you over. “You look like you’ve had a rough time of it.”

You rubbed your arms, trying to warm up faster. “Hot chocolate sounds good. I think I’ve had enough coffee for today.”

Eddie grinned and headed toward the small kitchen area. “Coming right up. You’re lucky you showed up. I was just about to settle in for some much needed peace and quiet.”

You sank onto the couch, letting out a deep sigh of relief as the warmth from the trailer began to seep into your bones. Eddie had always had a way of making everything feel like it was going to be okay, even when things were chaotic.

You glanced around at the familiar clutter in his trailer band posters on the walls, tools strewn across the table, a guitar leaning against the couch. It was Eddie’s world, still the same as it had been when you were kids.

Eddie returned with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate, handing you one before sitting down beside you. The tension in the room wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was noticeable. You hadn’t seen much of Eddie since high school, and the distance between you two had grown in those years. Back then, after that ridiculous “seven minutes in heaven” dare, you’d stayed friends. But adulthood had a way of pulling people apart, and somewhere along the way, you’d both gotten busy with life responsibilities, jobs, the everyday grind.

Still, every now and then, Eddie would swing by the diner where you worked. He’d always come in for coffee, sit at the counter, and shoot the breeze with you. Sometimes, it felt like nothing had changed, and other times, it was like there was a lifetime between the two of you.

“So, how’s the diner these days?” Eddie asked, settling back into the couch with his own mug. “Still slinging coffee and making tips off the morning rush?”

You laughed, though it wasn’t a happy sound. “Yeah, pretty much. Same old grind. It’s not glamorous, but it pays the bills. At least I don’t have to wear a uniform or anything. I just throw on my apron and pretend like I have my life together.”

Eddie chuckled, shaking his head. “Sounds like a *dream* job.” His eyes sparkled with that mischievous glint you remembered. “What about you? Still fixing up that bike of yours? I thought for sure you’d be a full-time mechanic by now, with all that grease under your nails.”

You could tell he was teasing, but there was a quiet pride in his voice too. Eddie had always been someone who preferred hands-on work—wrenching on cars, fixing up old engines, that kind of thing. These days, though, he wasn’t quite the mechanic he’d hoped to be. He was still shadowing an older guy at the shop, learning the ropes.

“Nah, not yet. I’m still learning the ropes,” Eddie said, running a hand through his unruly hair. “I’m just the guy who gets handed all the crap work right now—changing oil, fixing brakes, things like that. But I like it. I can actually see progress when I finish a job. It’s better than just standing around, y’know?”

You smiled, appreciating the way Eddie spoke about his work. There was a certain quiet satisfaction there, a grounded sense of purpose that hadn’t been there when he was younger, just throwing himself into whatever came next. “You’ll get there. Just takes time.”

Eddie’s gaze softened a little as he looked at you. “Yeah, maybe. Anyway, what about you? You still trying to figure out your next move?”

You sighed, pulling your legs up underneath you on the couch. “I don’t know. Some days, it feels like I’m stuck. Like... I’m just going through the motions. Not sure if I want to be stuck serving coffee and pancakes for the next twenty years.”

Eddie leaned forward, his eyes locking with yours. “I get it. Life’s been... a little overwhelming, huh?” He reached out and tapped the edge of your mug, making it clink gently against the table. “But you’re still here, sweetheart. You’re making it work.”

You chuckled softly at the nickname, something so familiar about it despite the years that had passed since you last heard it. “Yeah, I guess I am. Just wish I knew what comes next.”

Eddie’s expression softened, and for a moment, you could see the old Eddie, the one who used to make everything feel a little less complicated. “You’ll figure it out. And, hey, you’re always welcome here if you need to get away for a bit.”

You smiled, feeling a warm glow spread through you that had nothing to do with the heat from the chocolate. “Thanks, Eddie. I needed this.”

He shrugged, grinning. “Anytime, sweetheart. You know that.”

For a moment, the conversation faded into the background as you both sat there, comfortable in the silence. But then, without warning, a thought crossed your mind. A memory. A teasing remark you’d made earlier, years ago, about that ridiculous dare in ninth grade.

You turned to Eddie with a sly smile. “Hey, do you remember that stupid ‘seven minutes in heaven’ dare we did at the sleepover?”

Eddie smirked, eyes twinkling with mischief. “I remember. You and me, stuck in a closet together while everyone else was out there doing... whatever they were doing.” He leaned back on the couch, eyes narrowing with playful intent. “You know, I think I was the one who got *stuck* with the lousy kisser.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Oh, no. That was *definitely* you. I was trying to keep it together, but you... You practically headbutted me.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “I’ll have you know, I was just... *testing* the waters. You, sweetheart, were just too nervous to make it anything more than awkward.”

You leaned in a little closer, giving him a teasing look. “I don’t know. Maybe you just weren’t that good. We were young, but maybe... maybe you still *haven’t* figured it out.”

Eddie chuckled, the sound rich and warm. “Is that a challenge?”

Without answering, you set your mug down on the coffee table, your gaze lingering on his lips. The space between you suddenly felt charged with something old, something that had always been there, buried beneath years of silence. Eddie didn’t move at first, but when he did, it was slow, his hand gently cupping the side of your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

And then, finally, his lips were on yours.

The kiss was nothing like the awkward, clumsy thing it had been all those years ago. This time, it was soft, sure, and full of a warmth that had nothing to do with the heat in the room. Eddie kissed you slowly, as if testing the waters, his lips lingering against yours until you kissed him back with the same intensity.

When you pulled back, breathless, there was a moment of silence. Eddie’s gaze held yours, his hand still lingering gently at your cheek, thumb grazing your skin like he was afraid if he moved, the moment would disappear. He opened his mouth as if to say something but hesitated. You could see the emotions shifting in his eyes—the hesitance, the vulnerability, and something else, a softness that felt too delicate to name.

You were the first to break the silence, your voice barely more than a whisper. “That....wasn’t terrible.”

A flicker of his old grin returned, though this time it seemed tempered by something more real. “Glad I passed,” he murmured, voice low, his hand finally slipping down from your cheek to hold yours instead, his fingers lacing with yours as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

He squeezed your hand, and you couldn’t help but feel the warmth radiate through you, driving away the last traces of the cold that had followed you inside. In his presence, with his fingers intertwined with yours, the trailer felt like the safest place you’d been in a long time.

“I’ve missed this,” you said softly, surprising yourself with the confession. The years you’d spent drifting in and out of each other’s lives had left a hollow spot you’d learned to ignore. But being here now, with him, made you realize how much you’d missed him.

Eddie’s expression softened, and he nodded, as if he’d been feeling the same thing. “I know,” he replied, a trace of sadness in his voice. “Sometimes, I’d sit at that counter at the diner, watching you work, wondering why the hell we let ourselves drift apart.” His eyes searched yours, open and earnest. “But... maybe it’s not too late, sweetheart.”

You felt a warmth bloom in your chest at his words, both soothing and startling in their honesty. Your heart raced as you realized he’d been thinking about this as much as you had—about those years, those lost moments, the quiet longing that you’d buried somewhere deep. But now, that longing felt closer, tangible.

“What are you saying, Eddie?” you asked, barely able to get the words out, afraid of breaking the fragile hope between you.

He took a breath, the smile slipping as he looked at you with a seriousness you’d rarely seen from him. “I guess I’m saying... I don’t want to be just the guy who stops by the diner once in a while. Not anymore.” He paused, his hand tightening around yours. “I want to be... there for you. Not just tonight, but when you’re tired from work, when the heater’s out, when... you’re trying to figure out what comes next.”

You swallowed, his words filling the spaces you hadn’t realized were so empty. No one had ever offered you that before this quiet, steady presence, a promise that didn’t need to be flashy or grand but was everything you needed.

“So” you said, voice wavering a bit, “you’re saying you want to be my heating repairman and my taste-tester for bad coffee?”

Eddie chuckled, the sound rumbling through the cozy silence between you. “Yeah, Y/N that’s exactly what I’m saying,” he replied, his tone playful but his eyes intent. “And maybe... maybe we can figure out the rest together. If that’s something you’d want.”

You nodded, a smile spreading across your face that you couldn’t contain. “I think I’d like that,” you whispered, leaning closer again, letting your forehead rest against his. “I’d really like that, Eddie.”

For a moment, you stayed like that, your breaths mingling in the quiet, the world outside forgotten as the warmth between you grew. Finally, you lifted your head, meeting his gaze with a glint of mischief.

“And for the record,” you said, grinning, “I take back what I said about your kissing skills. They’ve... definitely improved.”

Eddie laughed, pulling you close, his arms wrapping around you in an embrace that felt like home. “You haven’t seen anything yet,” he whispered, and his lips found yours once more, filling the cold night with a warmth that stayed long after the snow stopped falling.

Let me know what you think!!! Thanks for reading this far omg ❤️

[hillbillyoracle]

Preparing for a Winter Storm

I thought I'd share what I'm doing to prepare for the winter storm that's supposed to blow through on Sunday evening into Monday morning in case it's helpful to anyone. I know a few people got a lot out of my post on tornados and the first winter storm I went through on my own really rattled me so I hope it helps someone.

This wound up being longer than I thought it would be so TL;DR is stay warm, stock up on foods that don't require cooking, know when and how to bail.

The Challenges

Snow and ice cause different but related problems. The ice totals are what look more nasty for my particular area so that's what I'll be focusing on.

With ice there's some key issues I've experienced in the past:

Power Outages - this impacts all aspects of the home, lighting, cooking, hot air, hot water, communication, etc.

Cell Phone Outages - this can make getting help in an emergency very difficult, can make it difficult to search for information you need as well

Pipes Freeze and Burst - pretty self explanatory and also hell

Damage to Cars - tree limbs falling on it, ice can build up and cause issues if there are gaps that allow it to get into internal components, can cause damage to gas lines, driving in hazardous conditions can lead to a wreck, etc.

Trees Falling - Can fall on house, power lines, car, people, etc.

Power Outage Prep

Food

Stock up on foods that don't require any cooking at all. Try to get 3 days worth. I'm getting things like crackers, chips, Bobo's PB&Js, dried fruit, fruit pouches, and peanut butter. You might consider trail mix, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, clementines, etc.

Get paper plates and plastic utensils if you'll be using a back up cooking method. Cleaning becomes infinitely more onerous in a winter storm so it's best to limit it. I'll be using my rice cooker plugged into my Jackery as a backup cooking method. Back up to the backup is an alcohol stove - which you might be able to find for pretty cheap at a camping store. Propane camp stoves are another good option you can find in most Walmarts.

Have a plan for your fridge and freezer. People not infrequently wind up with food poisoning after a power outage because they try to eat food in their fridges and freezers that they shouldn't. USDA recommends you discard all food in the fridge if the power is off for more then 4 hours - this is with not opening the door. For you freezer, the recommendation is 48 hours (for a full freezer). If the temperatures allow for it, you can place your frozen goods outside.

Heat

Layer, layer, layer. Find all the warm clothes in your wardrobe and be prepared to layer up. Socks and hats are particularly important. You do not want to sweat though! If you start sweating take something off.

Blankets galore. Make sure you've got plenty of blankets. If you've got a decent sleeping bag, even better. You can use sheets to help trap a little more air around you like a tent.

Know the signs of cold exposure and know when to call for help. Cold exposure involves more than I can get into here but it's one of those things that can kill very quickly and in a way where people are often too far gone before they notice. Basically if you are cold and having trouble staying awake - call for help.

Know where your local shelters will be. Emergency departments often put this information out on Facebook and Twitter. You can also call the non-emergency line and ask in most places. Keep in mind many won't accept pets.

Grab a spare heater if you can and know how to use it safely. I live in an area where woodstoves are common but my place doesn't have one (yet) so I have a propane heater (you can grab small ones for apartments even). If you have a spare heater, be sure to grab fuel if you're able (tends to go fast). I also have an air quality detector which is extremely important. A lot of ice storm deaths are from people dying of monoxide (and similar) poisoning.

Hot water bottles are a godsend. If you live in an area with propane for hot water, then you'll likely still have it if the power goes out. When I was younger we got through 8 days of no power in the middle of winter in part because of hot water bottles specifically. They're so handy.

Keep a fire extinguisher handy. Even if you're not using a heater honestly.

Power

Charge batteries and battery banks. Pretty self explanatory. If you're able to grab even a cheap back up battery, I would. So many people in past ice storms sat on their phones, drained it of battery, then didn't have it to call for help when they needed it. Even a small boost could be good in an emergency.

Know where your electrical box is. Sometimes power outages can cause issues with breakers. Know where it is in case you need to turn things off or back on.

Have a radio. I mention this all the time. With no power your radio is your lifeline to public emergency broadcasts, weather forecasts, and locating resources. Get a radio. A cheap one is better than nothing.

Lighting

Charge flashlights. One thing a lot of people don't realize about power outages in winter is just how much we've come to rely on artificial light. Have backups to your back ups if possible. They're a safety tool.

Consider a solar light. My solar lantern has saved my ass so many times not it's not even funny. They tend to be very energy efficient - so easy to recharge off of a battery bank - but the you have the option of charging them slowly in the sun you get during the day.

Turn a small light into a lantern. I've used this trick so many times I almost forgot to include this. If you need to take a small light and make it more of an area light, fill a bottle (ideally plastic and 1L+) with water and place the light right on the bottle. This works great for headlamps especially. It'll cast the light like a lamp instead of focusing it on one area, making it easier to do chores and play games in the dark.

Chores to do before the storm:

Laundry

Shower

Dishes

Take out trash

Cell Phone/Internet Outage Prep

Write down important numbers somewhere that isn't your phone or laptop. If you run out of power on either, you still might be able to borrow someone else's phone and call.

If you're unfamiliar with your area, print or buy a map. In the event you need to leave, you need to know your way around enough to get where you're going.

If you have a ham radio license and gear, make sure it's charged and has local repeaters programmed in. Check to see if any will be running any weather nets you can monitor. If you don't have a license, you are technically allowed to transmit if you're experiencing a true emergency so if you have access to that gear also make sure it's charged and you have an idea of how you'd do that.

When the power goes out, use the phone as a phone only. Something I see every ice storm ever since smart phones took over, is people having nothing to do so they sit on their phones and drain it of battery. Or everyone overloads the cell towers and they go down. I am begging you, please, if the power goes out, do not use your phone for anything other than calling for help or checking in with neighbors and loved ones (once or twice a day).

Create an entertainment box. Grab an box. Put in things you can do with absolutely zero power. I recommend playing cards, puzzles, board games, books you might want to read, art supplies, TTRPG (there are solo ones). This way when you start to get the itch to check your phone, you know where to look instead. I know it seems simple but having it prepped ahead of time saves you a lot of brainpower (believe me).

Water + Pipes Freezing Prep

Leave facets dripping and cabinet doors open. Vital you do both. They help prevent your pipes from freezing and bursting.

Find out where your water shut off is. I just found out mine is underneath my house in the crawl space - hurrah for me. Most apartments have much more easily accessible shut offs. Even if you're not certain you can shut it off yourself, know where it is so you can save time and direct someone who can. In the event a pipe bursts, shut the water off immediately and do not turn on water in the house until a professional can service it.

Find a number of a well reviewed plumber (or two) ahead of time. Sometimes cell service and internet goes out. Consider having these written down somewhere other than your phone or computer ahead of time.

Find out how you can flush your toilet with no power. Most people can add water to the back of the tank and still flush. So if you still have water you're good. Some places require a pump that runs on electricity. So find out beforehand. During power outages my family adopts the "if it's yellow, let it mellow, if it's brown, send it down" toilet rule to conserve water.

Consider grabbing a backup toilet option. I keep a five gallon bucket and extra trash bags for just such an occasion (and some cedar chips to help with smell but it's not strictly speaking necessary). Separating liquids from solids also helps with smell. I do this because if a pipe bursts, there's a good shot you won't be able to use your toilet any more. This is also important if your toilet runs on an electric pump and the power goes out.

Damage to Cars

Keep your car filled up to at least a half a tank. This protects the fuel lines and gives you enough gas to get out if you need to.

If you'll be traveling during the storm, make sure you have a winter car kit in the vehicle and know how to flag for help if you get stranded. It's beyond what I can cover here but there are a ton of great articles out there.

Check your levels and make sure nothing is running too low.

Have the number of your mechanic written down somewhere that's not your phone or laptop. Pretty self explanatory.

Trees Falling

I'm gonna be honest, I don't have a lot for this one given my disabilities. I have a plan with my neighbors who are in a better position to use it. You could consider grabbing some extra tarps in the event that you need to cover a window that gets damaged or similar. Basically, just have an idea of where your most vulnerable trees are and keep an ear out for them as the storm progresses.

Hope these spark some ideas for how to prep and stay safe out there!

[word-wytch]

Don't Stand So Close To Me — Chapter 16

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

Chapter 16/? 9k. Series Masterlist

✏︎ Frustrated by inconclusive endings, Eddie takes a seat behind the wheel. 

✏︎ Series Summary: Forced to move back home to Hawkins after your fiancé cheats on you, you begin to fall in love again with an audacious 20 year old metalhead, only there’s one problem — he’s still in high school and you’re his English teacher.

While you struggle starting over in a place you never thought you would return, Eddie struggles feeling stuck in a place he can’t manage to leave — until you offer to help him. Of all the lessons learned, the most important are the ones you teach each other.

✏︎ Series CW: forbidden romance, slow burn, true love, smut (18+ mdni), internal conflict, student-teacher relationship, 10 year age gap, mutual pining, sexual tension, emotions, drama, angst, character development, happy ending :)

✏︎ Chapter CW: general angst, paternal angst, drug mention

Thursday, December 12th 1985

Before the first morning bell, Eddie gave Judy at reception his best impression of Wayne over the phone. He wasn’t totally lying, he was in fact, quite sick. Sick of all the taunting looks from meathead jocks. Sick of the way Ms. O’Donnell cleared her throat every five minutes. Sick of waking up so goddamn early. Sick of wasting his time. So after hanging up the phone, he stuffed a few essentials in his backpack and made for the door. 

Like clockwork, Wayne always came home at around 8:10 AM, and though it would be far from the first time he’d skipped school, Eddie would rather not have to explain himself. Besides, he could use a change of scenery. There was no denying winter anymore, the ice he scraped off his windshield made sure to remind him. On a typical hooky day he would drive down to Lover’s Lake and toss open the rear doors, catch a breeze, light a joint, sit back and take in the ripples on the water and the rustling leaves. But that had all frozen over, so unless he intended to burn through his whole tank of gas, he would need to get creative. 

That was how he found himself at Benny’s at 7:58 on a Thursday morning, setting up camp in a booth at the back of the restaurant. He ordered his usual — bacon, scrambled eggs, and a stack of pancakes in addition to white toast. Tossing his fourth emptied sugar packet beside the leaning tower of creamers, he sat back in the sticky, padded seat and took his first deep breath all morning. 

The diner was bustling lowly, a handful of regulars perched on silver, spinning stools at the bar. From the frosted window leeching cool air beside him, he watched the funeral procession of headlights down Washington under a mournful sky. Just another day for the upright citizens of Hawkins, Indiana. From his cozy booth, Eddie sipped the top off his very full mug and smiled to himself. 

Sprawling his belongings around the piping hot plates, he popped on his headphones, cracked open his monster manual, and got to work. The first hour flew by like his pencil across the graph paper. Between the bacon bits that had leapt from hand to page, a formidable lineup of foes was taking shape. Bottom line; the boys were in for a world of hurt tomorrow. He did his best to resign the grease to the flimsy napkins, but by the time he was finished, syrup tacked the gargoyle and gorgon pages together. 

“Anything else I can grab for ya besides the check?” Sheri—according to her name tag—asked with a tired lean as she reached to clear his plates. 

Eddie glanced down sheepishly at his freshly topped off mug. “I uh, think I might be staying for lunch.”

Sheri forced a hot pink smile, catching the fork with her decorated finger when it threatened to slide off the plate. “Y’ want me to get a room set up for you too?” she joked with a wink of her spidery lashes. “Just teasin’ sweetie. You just flag me down when you’re ready.”

Switching out his tapes, Eddie shut the cassette player and stared out the window as the men at the bar tossed their napkins and fished out their wallets. Snow was falling in lazy clumps, clinging to his windshield. Somewhere behind the overcast clouds, the sun was rising steadily. It was dismal, a fitting backdrop for the opening track of Black Sabbath’s Heaven and Hell. Of all the seasons, winter belonged to metal. Like it was made for cruising down a quiet, snow-covered street in the middle of nowhere. Made for drowning out Bing Crosby crooning from the speaker in the corner above him. Tinsel glittered on the small tree perched on a cloud of fake snow beside the cash register. Ornaments on swags swayed to the thump of footsteps passing. Eddie sighed and stared into the changing street lights.

Glancing at his watch he figured you were probably wrapping up the film with second period, knitting your brow and drawing your pen across the papers you were grading. He wondered what you’d think when the bell rang for fourth and you found his seat empty. Would you think he was upset with you? There was a small part of him that hoped so, and another part that hoped you would understand. After all, he was giving you the space you asked for, was he not?

Like a siren, your story—tucked between his notebook and the magazines he’d exhausted twice cover to cover—called to him. Cracking open the plastic spine, he dove headfirst into the typewritten pages.

For the whole narrow path into Rower’s End, Cybelle had sat in the front of the caravan, breathing the briny air unhindered by a barrier. Lazarus admired the brilliant fullness of her smile as she watched the seagulls soar overhead, under the clouds she had only ever seen from above. The sunlight had graced them then, beaming down in golden rays, glinting on the distant waves as they approached the sleepy seaside town. 

Eddie could feel the corners of his mouth tug as Lazarus regaled Cybelle with a story of a time when he’d accidentally taken a crab home with him after spending a day at the beach, followed by an explanation of what a crab was. Cybelle seemed delighted with the prospect of seeing one, even more-so when he told her how he’d discovered the little hitchhiker when it pinched his rear in bed that night. Eddie noticed the way Cybelle leaned closer whenever Lazarus told stories, the way her hand came to shield her bare face with a giggle when he mentioned his rear. The way her delicate, copper fingers lingered over the soft skin of his forearm when she checked beneath his bandage. The wound was healing nicely — no sign of infection and not a thorn in sight. She warned that it might scar, but Lazarus did not appear concerned—rather the opposite actually—as if a strange part of him was pleased with the idea of having something to remember her by. 

As they dipped over the final hill toward Rower’s End, Lazarus told her another story. A dream, rather, of a little cottage in Shantiglade with a full sized bed, and a garden, and a goose egg omelette big enough for two. A dream that would likely never come to pass. Cybelle seemed equally enchanted by it. Sitting back against the boxy, wooden seat of the caravan, she breathed in the salty air and imagined how good it would feel to do so every day. To experience the feeling of sand between her toes, of the ocean at her ankles, of propping her elbow against their shared kitchen table and gracing Lazarus with a naked smile before trying whatever an omelette was. It was good like this too — bumping along under a clear blue sky as Turnip plodded down the scarcely trodded path, watching the wind caress the wild grass and Lazarus’ even wilder curls, hearing his tales and his laughter.

Around the time he would be slumping into his desk in the back of your classroom, the bell dinged over the door of the restaurant. Eddie cranked the volume on his headset to drown out the chatter of a family of four clambering into the booth in front of him. The little boy had brought a pair of plastic drumsticks with him, beating a rhythm on the steel-rimmed table much to the annoyance of his little sister, who was clutching her book the way Eddie was yours. Dipping his few remaining fries into the smear of ketchup, he wondered why they weren’t in school on a Thursday afternoon. As he focused back on the type-written letters, he figured he should be the last to judge. 

Eddie felt for Lazarus, he really did. The way he looked at Cybelle as she emerged from the cave, cradling the ghostfern like a pale, translucent child. The scene was as beautiful as it was somber — waves lapping at the rocky shoreline as the setting sun cast its deep orange hues on both of them. The rocks—slick with algae—had Cybelle stumbling, but Lazarus was quick to offer his arm. She accepted without hesitance, clutching the plant like a bouquet as her deep earthen fingers braced the pale angles of his. He lead her down the cascading stone as if it were a chapel aisle, slow and steady until they reached the flat edge of the water. There—in the golden remains of the day—seagulls dipped and soared over the glittering ocean, clasped hands swayed in the lapping wind, and for a moment, they had everything they came for.  

After what seemed like both a small eternity and an aching second, it was Cybelle who broke away, tracing the ridges of his fingers as hers fell, stating out loud what both of them knew — that night was coming soon. 

The journey back to Torgaard proved easier than the journey out, at least in terms of natural foes. No fenfinks or villainous vines, but the sky seemed to hang much lower. Dark, stormy clouds loomed overhead, casting its pale grey light over the moss curtains outside of Fenwood, over the verdant  forests that shuddered in the gusting wind. There was a tension, a dread looming on the horizon that grew with each passing day. Even Eddie could sense it — the way Cybelle stared out into the swath of shifting green like she was attempting to soak up enough for the rest of her life. The way that Lazarus’ jokes were swallowed the creaking of the caravan. How nights that were once spent laughing over a roaring fire were now spent silently watching its crackling embers.

One day—just a few outside of Torgaard—the sky came crashing down. It sobbed in sheets, heavy enough to soak through Cybelle’s coat, to find the tear in her tent and make a lake of it. Lazarus ushered her inside the wagon, offered her a shirt that fit like a dress, offered to sleep on the floor. Assessing the size of the bed, and then the hard, narrow walking path, it was Cybelle who insisted they share it. She was small enough, or at least that was what she rationalized out loud. Lazarus did not argue. Her logic—unlike her tent—was water-tight. And so she climbed in between the soft linen sheets, tucked herself under the weight of the down blanket, and rested her damp, weary head on a pillow that smelled just like him.

Eddie glanced sheepishly around the restaurant, shielding the binder with his arm as Lazarus climbed in beside her. He hinged on each type-written word, lingering over the ones that stirred a fuzzy feeling. Written with careful attention to the way Lazarus’ chest rose and fell, how stiff their bodies were in hyper-awareness of the nearness to each other. How solid his shoulder felt under Cybelle’s cheek when the corner of pillow no longer sufficed. Slowly, they relaxed into the feeling. Not enough to sleep, but enough for Lazarus to free the arm that she was crushing. Enough to wrap it around her shoulder, to relish in the feeling of her cold nose in the warm crook of his neck.

It was good like this. Better when her fingers draped across the landscape of his pecks, felt his chest rise and fall like waves. Best when they awoke in the morning to the sun steaming in through the small, stained glass window above them. When their giggles shook the wagon. When their eyes met, closer than they’d ever been before. There, in the dim cocoon far outside the turning world, the smile that she had hidden for so long finally grew brave enough to capture his. And by the time they reached the towering stone walls of Torgaard, there was nothing more to hide from one another. 

Eddie flipped the page to find only a black, plastic pocket. He rubbed it with his fingers to make sure it wasn’t sticking to another. When it failed to separate, he sat back and fumed. That was it. There was no more. No ending, no closure.

Sheri leaned against the top of the booth seat opposite him, hand on her hip, shifting between her dirty white sneakers with a tired sigh. “Listen sweetie, I’ve got ten minutes left of my shift. You’re welcome to stay as long as you want, but I’ve gotta cash you out before I leave.”

Eddie glanced at his watch, almost 2:00. “Yeah—yeah, no problem. Sorry for the trouble.”

“’S no trouble, just the way it goes around here. Hope you enjoyed your stay,” she said with a wink as she dropped the check. 

After six hours and two meals, Eddie had gotten his fill of watching the world turn through an old, frosted window. His head was spinning enough on its own. With a frustrated huff he peeled his graph paper and manual away from the sticky table before shoving them into his backpack. Slugging it over his shoulder, he grabbed the grease-stained check and made his way to the register. That was when he noticed it — the lonely, half-eaten omelette on the bar.

“Alright that’ll be ten seventy-five,” chimed Sheri. 

Tinsel glittered on the tree. Red, metallic bulbs swayed in the echo of his footsteps. Judy Garland caroled on about a merry little Christmas and he wondered if your characters would ever enjoy anything over their shared kitchen table or if that dream would be abandoned for their duties as well.

“Sir?”

Snapping out of his trance, he fished for his wallet and palmed her a twenty. “Keep the change,” he muttered before turning toward the door with a hoist of his backpack.

Her jaw hung open. “Oh my word, are you serious?” she called to his back, but the bell above the door was the only answer she received.

______

Main Street Vinyls was a ghost town on a Thursday afternoon, and Eddie preferred it that way. Aside from Jerry at the counter, it was just him and his noisy thoughts, accompanied by the slow plod of his own heavy boots as they weeped against the carpet. At least in this store he could escape the onslaught of Christmas tunes. Jerry—old hippie that he was—at least had some sense. Sometimes even sense enough to play some halfway decent rock music, but today Eddie would settle for Neil Young over the jingle bell garbage blasting through every speaker in Hawkins.

Glancing down the rows of plastic cassette spines, Eddie perused the M section as he kicked himself for giving away almost ten dollars. There was an album by a new band he’d only read about in magazines called Megadeth. Turning the tape over in his hands, he examined the cover. Everything about it spoke to him — the skull with its mouth chained shut surrounded by knives and candles, the title — Killing Is My Business. Flipping it over to the back, the phrase continued in haunted red letters …and Business Is Good! 

The change he gave away in a fit of blind stupidity would have easily afforded it and left him with some to spare. With a bitter sigh, he shoved the tape back in its slot, knowing for a fact that the cash register at Benny’s had eaten the last bill he had in his wallet. Padding slowly down the aisle, he began his calculations. 

He had a few regular deals lined up this weekend but would need to dig into his “savings” in the bottom of an old tobacco tin and pay Rick a visit before any of that happened. He might make eighty bucks if he was lucky. Maybe eighty more over the course of the week between the deals at school. Nobody wanted to spend too much time outside this time of year, so the park bench location was always iffy depending on how bad it was. He would resort to other classic meetup spots, like under the bleachers or the back of his van. 

If he networked enough he might have some left over after helping Wayne with the bills. Scanning past the Tina Turner and T-Rex tapes, he wondered how much Wayne suspected about his little business. Surely he had to have some suspicion. Gig money, odd jobs, and oil changes for neighbors couldn’t possibly afford the kind of gear he had, or the ink in his skin, or the cash he contributed monthly. Wayne was sharp, and though he was no saint himself, he shuddered to think what he would say if he discovered his nephew was straying down the same path his brother took.

Peering back over his shoulder, he eyed the Megadeth tapes again—only three in stock—lined up like gifts wrapped in cellophane. They were such tiny things. Small enough to hide beneath his palm, to slide into the pocket of his coat with room to spare. Glancing up at the angled surveillance mirror in the corner of the store, he saw Jerry at the counter, humming obliviously as he stuck price tags on a fresh shipment of tapes. Over the tall shelf that separated them, he expected to meet his own eyes, but instead saw another man. A man he hadn’t seen in quite a while.

Eddie remembered finding a G chord for the first time; how big the fretboard felt in his small hand, how awkwardly his fingers had to stretch, how a larger set of hands had helped him find it. He earned a broad smile when the chord rang out, one he would search for again and again with every strum. 

Sometimes in the late evenings as he crept past Wayne with a lunchbox full of drugs while he was watching reruns of Bonanza on the couch, Eddie would tell himself that at least he wasn’t stealing cars, or drinking himself half to death, or rotting behind county bars. At least he was still in school, something Warren Munson couldn’t say even at sixteen. At least Eddie could say he was trying.

With a bitter shake of his head, he continued down the aisle, leaving the tapes behind for the record bins that lined the walls. Mindlessly he walked his fingers over the cardboard spines, glazing past titles he’d seen a dozen times. Nothing new. Nothing different. Few things ever were in Hawkins. Every day he’d wake up and slog himself to a different type of prison, sit in a classroom for eight hours and actively feel his brain rotting. He would crumple up his failed tests and shove them in his backpack, endure the stares from kids whose parents cared enough to give them a ride to school, day after day. And every day he would come home and see the twinge of pride on Wayne’s face for the fact that he’d gone at all.  

There were a few perks to sticking around, like running his club, and saving lost sheep, and seeing his friends everyday. Like having a swath of potential customers all in one place. It was safe and familiar, like a cage. His little business might be dangerous and criminal but at least it could afford him one thing he valued even more than ink or gear — freedom. Time, for another thing. Flexibility. It sure as hell beat making three dollars an hour flipping burgers or having to answer to some corporate boot-licker telling him what to do. Eddie huffed sharply, wondering what you would think if you knew. You, with your tightly buttoned blouses and endless patience. You, the very last person he wanted to disappoint. 

The last look he’d seen on you destroyed him when he thought about it; the pain in your eyes and bitter line your pretty lips became. You were just about the only reason he had left to show up to class anymore, and now that was getting in the way of the one thing that actually had potential in his eyes. Way more potential than a stupid piece of paper that says, congratulations, you’re a real member of society and not a complete disappointment. 

You had asked him a question back when you’d first made the arrangement to help him, one that rattled around in his brain ever since. Why did he want to graduate? If his memory served him, he’d given a relatively bullshit answer: to prove all the assholes in this god-forsaken purgatory wrong. It still held a fair amount of truth, but when he glanced up at the surveillance mirror again and saw himself this time, the real answer was abundantly clear. But was proving a point worth the risk of losing you?  

The smell of cardboard and cellophane kissed his face as air puffed between each record falling forward. Each a different picture, some repeats of the same. Rock gods wielding wicked weapons, bathed in holy stage lights somewhere in New York or Los Angeles probably. Somewhere important. Sometimes at the Hideout he would close his eyes and imagine he was on one of those stages, but when he would open them as the last note rung out, it was always the same — just Bill and Drunk Sam, maybe a couple of bikers perched at the bar with their backs to him. Empty stools and sticky tables. A weak applause.

Eddie stepped back from the record bin with a heavy sigh and glanced at his watch. He’d killed about thirty minutes in this store, which meant he had at least twenty more before he could return home without triggering Wayne’s suspicious questions. The walls were starting to close in around him — posters like windows into a world far out of reach. Every million dollar strum reverberating through the speakers like a mocking reminder. With a half-hearted wave to Jerry stocking shelves, he left the store. Empty handed. 

The drive down Randolph was always dismal, especially in the bleak winter light. Storefronts with yellowing signs that hadn’t changed in twenty years selling mattresses and televisions. A gas station with a rusted awning, dusted with snow. Architecturally speaking, the church was about the most interesting building, but only because it was brick and made up of more than just four flimsy walls. Even that was being generous though. The most exciting thing to happen to Hawkins since the housing development over by Factory Lane thirty years ago was the shopping mall that opened this past summer. Thrilling. 

No matter where he drove within a fifty mile radius, it was all the same — a tomb where dreams went to die. 

Gripping the steering wheel, he watched the car in front of him make grooves in the dirty slush, hypnotized by the spray off the sides of the tires. It wasn’t until he saw the high school approaching in his peripherals that he even looked up. It always felt good to be on the other side, especially when he wasn’t supposed to be. He could almost see you in there; brushing the chalk off your hands, shifting between your tired feet as you glanced at the clock, gazing out the window with a longing he’d seen in his own reflection — caught sometimes at night in his drivers seat window as he cruised the highway, dreaming of where it could take him. 

As the squat fortress faded in his rearview mirror, he pictured you five years from now. Ten. Twenty. Wasting away in front of that chalkboard. Rattling on about stories written by dead people while your own collected dust inside a closet. While your talent withered like the dead, crumpled leaves under the snow; buried and forgotten. 

With a hard right onto Prospect, he set out on the final stretch towards home. Sometimes he liked to imagine what might happen if he just kept going, just drove into the sunset and only stopped for gas. He had a vague idea from the movies and the maps that swayed in the wake of Ms. O’Donnell’s lumbering footsteps. Sometimes in the height of his boredom he would lose himself in them, imagine he was at a diner in the desert on his way to a gig with an actual sound system. Because somewhere out there—beyond the flat horizon—there were mountains, and canyons, and cities where names couldn’t follow. 

______

“How does it end?” Eddie asked you on Friday between the fourth and fifth period bells. You glanced up from the stack of papers on your desk, cocking your head with narrowing eyes. “Your story,” he clarified.

“Oh.” Blinking, you sat back to ponder. “You know, I don’t think I ever fully decided. Cybelle is in a difficult position. The whole reason she set out on this adventure was to save her brother. I imagine she would want to fulfill her quest, but if she returned to Myrne, it may be difficult to leave again. Plus, she may receive some sort of punishment for leaving in the first place. I had written the laws to be quite strict, if I recall. And then if she chose not to return, her mother would lose two children. No matter what, she loses.” 

Eddie furrowed his brow, shifting between his boots with a pained sigh. “I would hardly call a life with Lazarus losing. She seems happy with him.”

“Right, well, of course that would be ideal, but…” you tsked, “it’s complicated, and honestly that’s partially why I abandoned it. I really wrote myself into a corner. Well, that and student teaching started to eat up my time. Then it was finals, and moving, and then after that I met…” you trailed off with a bitter shake of your head. “Anyway, I guess life got in the way. It has a way of doing that, I’ve noticed.” 

Eddie looked at you, really looked. You, in your cable knit sweater with pen on your hand and sandbags under your eyes, casting them down over your work with the same amount of hope he’d seen from players rolling threes with even fewer hit points to spare. He racked his brain for something he could offer—a dramatic death speech or a new character sheet—but you weren’t playing and he wasn’t prepared. Any words of comfort forming on the tip of his tongue were swallowed by the ringing bell, and he exited your classroom feeling the same as when he entered; unsatisfied. 

______

It was starting to close in around you — the colored lights and ornaments, the mall Santas and fake green swags draping from shop windows. It was the first Christmas you’d truly spent in Hawkins since you graduated college, outside of day trips for visits. Surprisingly little had changed, the main thing being the fact that there even was a mall for Santa to post up in. Duplication must have been one of his many powers because he was still at Sears too, at least he was on Saturday when you dragged yourself out of the oppressive quiet of your apartment and into the bustling chaos. 

You had no idea what to get your relatives for Christmas. You never really did, but this year it seemed insurmountable. This year you had no one to bounce ideas off of, and the constant mental chatter left little to no room for inspiration. As you scanned the shelves of cookware and appliquéd dish towels with snow men and reindeers, nothing really seemed to jump out at you.

What did jump out at you—or rather, jumped out at his sister—was a little boy across the aisle hiding in a circular rack of women’s bath robes. Pressing apart the terrycloth like curtains, he would retreat into his makeshift cave to the complete oblivion of his mother, who seemed more preoccupied with the price tags on a set of lingerie than with the whereabouts of her children.

A fantasy tugged at the corners of your mind, more sinfully indulgent than the one you had in class last week involving your desk and Eddie’s tongue. This time the set was the same as the scene before you, only the little boy had a mess of dark curls and Eddie was diving in after him. Not to scold him, but to play. You could almost see those fraying knee holes widening from contact with the carpet. Almost hear the giggles and the shushes and the click of his rings against the metal pole in the center of the rack for balance. You could almost turn around and see them popping out at you, feel the laughter ripple up through your very full belly and into the corners of your eyes as you feigned surprise to both of their delight. You could almost feel the glares from the other shoppers, the regular people eager to get on with their Saturday in peace, same as any other. It wouldn’t matter though, not in your little world.

The real mother in the real world did eventually turn around, grabbing the boy by the wrist and demanding he stay by the cart. Turning a dish towel over in your palms, you lowered your eyes to the machine-embroidered stitching of a corn cob pipe and a button nose as the fantasy disintegrated. You left the store shortly after, your cart just as empty as when you’d arrived. 

On Monday it was hard to look him in the eyes. It was easier to meet Diane’s. At least this week you could hold a conversation without crumbling like Ms. Click’s half-eaten fruitcake up for grabs in the teachers lounge. But the coffee was bitter on your tongue, like a lie you were telling yourself. 

In accordance with your wishes, there had been no rap of knuckles on your door frame after school, no screeching of chair legs dragged across the tile, only the dull thud of folders sliding into your bag, the surprising click of a magnet under the flap. 

On Wednesday you left behind footprints in the parking lot before it had even half cleared, only to be swallowed by the emptiness of your apartment. You filled the space with what you could manage — an early dinner, and an early bedtime. Sleep seemed to be the only thing that quelled the battering ram thoughts, the scales tipping back and forth so much it made you queasy. You would lie there and dream of swirling smoke and plush lips, of arthritic fingers punching numbers on an office phone as you sat and accepted your fate. You would toss and turn, back and forth until your sheets became a tangle, and when you faced the mirror Thursday morning you barely recognized the person staring back. 

When the final bell rang on Friday, the hallways cleared out like someone had yelled fire. A mass exodus of students and staff, flowing into the parking lot like a tidal wave outside your classroom window. You watched them as snow fell in clumps, as bright colored backpacks disappeared into the back of sedans, as cars peeled out like a parade into the street. 

Assessing the paper mountain range framing your desk, you made an educated guess at how you would be spending your two week break. In hindsight, it might have helped to make the due date for the senior creative writing project last Friday instead, but deep down you knew you would have hardly made a dent by now. 

When Ms. Click popped her head in to wish you a merry Christmas on her way down the hall, she seemed surprised to find your hand still moving across paper, not swaddled in mittens like hers. You brushed it off with something casual, the type of thing any regular person would say before the holidays. That it was too much to take home. That getting work finished now would leave more time with your family. You omitted the more personal details like how empty your apartment felt and the small, naked tree your mother brought over last weekend. This seemed to placate her, and with a cheery wave she left you in the silence of your classroom with only the ruffling of paper for company.

It was eery how quiet it was, but it afforded you a small hill of graded papers in the last hour, double what you would typically accomplish in front of the television. Thumbing through what remained of that stack, you counted each staple. Five, six, seven… you stopped when a certain name jumped out in MLA format. 

Eddie Munson American Literature — 4th Period 20 December 1985

No title. 

Papers fluttered to the desk as they fell from your hands, leaving only his. You held it gingerly between your fingers, as if it was alive. As if it could feel you, or rather, you could feel him through every type-written letter, through the thumb-sized grease stain in the top righthand corner. You could almost hear him too, shifting into a deep, dramatic narration.

Mount Myrne loomed on the horizon like a dark omen. Towering over the bustling docks of Torgaard, it disappeared beneath the ominous clouds with a formidable presence. Merchants scattered about, hauling their wares in heavy crates and barrels onto the many zeppelins. 

This was where Lazarus first met Cybelle. In his mind’s eye he could almost see her stumbling about in her clean silk boots and glimmering gold coat. But her appearance today told a different tale. Her boots were caked with mud, her coat was splattered with muck and tattered by claws, her mask hung crooked on her face. Those large eyes that once glimmered with hope and wonder now stared off into the distance with oppressive sadness at the looming mountain. 

This was where he was supposed to leave her. This was what they had agreed upon many moons ago. Cybelle just stood there, shifting back and forth between her tired feet as she dug her thumbs under the straps of her heavy knapsack that now held the rare and precious ghostfern. She finally had what she came for. Any moment now she would be moving those muddy boots toward the docks and use what little coin she had to barter a one-way trip back home.

That was the plan anyway..

Cybelle was frozen though. Fearfully, woefully, bitterly, she gazed upon her gold gleaming home in the sky with a sadness that was only dwarfed by Lazarus looking down at her. He looked at her beautiful face like it was the last time he was ever going to get the chance to. He memorized it in his mind as he shuffled his own dirty boots against the cobblestone. He didn’t have eyes for anything else. Not the zeppelins, nor the merchants, nor the mountain. Only her. After a moment that felt like an eon, Cybelle took a step forward.

“Wait.” said Lazarus. Cybelle turned around with surprise but also a hint of relief. “You don’t have to do this.”

Cybelle looked up at him with a mournful frown. “Of course I do, my brother will die if I stay here.”

Lazarus shook his head bitterly. “No, he will die if the ghostfern stays here.” he said.

Cybelle sighed as she looked out across the docks, “But how is it going to get there if I do not deliver it? No one is allowed within the city walls if they are not from Myrne.”

Lazarus furrowed his brow as he watched the merchants at work, hauling their wares aboard the large, formidable aircrafts. Suddenly he had an idea. “There are docks in Myrne, correct? And Myrnish merchants who take goods into the city?”

The gears were starting to turn in Cybelle’s head. “Yes, there are.”

“Well then, can we send the plant with like, a note or something? Some instructions and directions for the merchant to take where it needs to go?”

Cybelle thought for a moment. “I do know a few of the merchants by name. Arturo and I grew up together. He was my neighbor for a long time. He would know where it needs to go, and my mother would know what to do with it.” The brightness in Cybelle’s eyes dimmed suddenly as she had another thought. “But… I would never seen them again. My family.”

“Never say never, Cybelle.” Lazarus said. “Do you know that for a fact?”

Cybelle frowned heavily, “The laws in Myrne are very strict.”

“What if in the letter you told your family to meet you on the docks some other time? Perhaps in another moon or two once your brother has recovered?” Lazarus offered.

Cybelle sighed bitterly, “Only merchants are allowed on the docks. It is strictly prohibited. I was only able to come here because I snuck inside a crate. It was a miracle that they didn’t notice me.”

Lazarus kicked a stray pebble and huffed. There was a long pause before he spoke again. “I cannot tell you what to do, Cybelle. Only you can make that choice. But what I can do, really the only thing I can do, is tell you how I feel.” 

All of a sudden there was a knot in his stomach. Because if he was going to say anything he knew that this would be his last chance.. 

“All my life I’ve dreamed about that cottage by the sea with the garden, and the bed, and the omlet. When I saw that pendant you were wearing I knew that it would be my only shot at ever getting what I wanted. Magic tricks are….. not exactly lucrative. And actually, if I’m going to be totally honest here, I figure you should know the truth about me. The whole truth.” Lazarus sighed, swallowing the bile creeping up his throat at the mention of the truth. He was going to be honest though. Maybe for once in his whole life. “This is difficult for me to say, but I owe it to you if nothing else. I’m a thief, Cybelle.” 

Lazarus winced at his own words and Cybelle’s fallen expression, but he bravely continued..

“I confess that for a moment when I first saw you I thought about stealing that pendant, but once I heard your story and saw so much of my own I simply couldn’t. There is a goodness in you that I admire, how selfless and pure your cause is. Over the course of the last few moons I have had the privilege of spending with you, I have come to discover how beautiful the woman beneath the mask truly is. How kind, and curious, and patient you are. I have been all over this land. Traveled far and wide, through forests and over mountains. I have swam in lakes and oceans and gazed out over countless valleys. But never has the world looked quite so hopeful than when I saw it through your eyes. It made me believe that if you could see the beauty there, if you could see the goodness in me, then perhaps I can as well.”

It was startling — the tear that leapt over your lash line. Violently enough to hit the page, to blur the Os in goodness. 

“If you choose to stay I promise you that I will never steal another coin or pocket watch. It may leave me poor for the rest of my days but if they’re spent with you, then I would be the richest man of all. It is all that I can offer you. My honesty, and a promise that I will show you more beaches, more mountains, more of the world than you could ever imagine. And since I intend to keep my promise, here is my honesty: I love you. Regardless of what you decide.” 

With a trembling hand, you turned the page only to discover there was nothing on the back. Sitting back in your seat with a ragged sigh, you stared out into your empty classroom. Your nose stung, fluorescents flaring in your tear-blurred vision. Separating the pages with your thumb, you flipped back and read it again. The last paragraph. The last two sentences. Those three type-written words. Over and over, wedging in the cracks of your armor as your sniffles echoed off the tile. 

The sun was dipping below the treeline, flooding the near-empty parking lot with a wash of somber pink. The snowfall had ceased, settled into the footprints and tire tracks. Glancing up at the clock and back down at the papers, you tried to imagine lifting another, scanning over sentences and writing in the margins like you hadn’t been completely upended by the one that trembled in your grasp. You couldn’t. 

Tears dripped down your cheeks as you donned your coat, as you shuffled overstuffed folders into your satchel and slung its weight over your shoulder. You swiped at them with your scratchy wool sleeve, flicking off the lights and shutting the door.

The soft pink had cooled to twilight blue when your boots met the blanket of snow, leaving tracks in the clean, fresh powder. Your breath trailed behind you in heavy clouds. It was quiet here too, barely a scattering of cars in the parking lot. Not even the wind disturbed the limbs of the orderly saplings between the curb and sidewalk, dusted with a glittering powder. 

Your hands found your keys, and the key found the hole, and soon you were sliding into your frigid leather seat, tossing the weight of your satchel on the passenger’s side with a dejected thump. You sat there a moment with only your breath for company before flicking your wrist at the ignition. 

Nothing.

Stomping on the break, you lurched forward with conviction this time, as if you could convince it you were serious. All it awarded you was a weak, persistent click. It’s fine, you told yourself through gritted teeth as you lunged again, snapping your wrist with a startling anger, like the seal had been cracked on a two liter pop bottle that had rolled around in the trunk for a week and a half. Still, nothing but a pathetic click. A split second thought crossed your mind—that the ferocity of your stomp might actually damage the car—but the logic was quickly snuffed out by your rage. The hard plastic key bit into your numb fingers. Over and over — stomping, twisting, cursing. Cursing yourself most of all for being stupid enough to let this continue for months. You were paying for it now. 

The tears were already waiting, primed behind your eyeballs, hardly dried on your cheeks when you left out the back door. They spilled over again, cooling as they dripped past your lashes, down the slope of your nose. One more time, you begged. Just one more time and I’ll be good, I swear. But the white Chevy Nova sat unmoved, offering only a vacant whine where there should have been a roar. You tossed back in your seat and huffed, chest heaving, filling the cramped space with the furious steam of your breath. 

Snowflakes glittered in the floodlights, shining like flares through the blur of your tears. It might have been beautiful on any other evening — one where the engine was warm, and your mind was clear, and your heart didn’t sink like a pit in your chest. It was hard to notice anything outside your bitter sobs, most especially the shadow that appeared in the window beside you. The rap of rings on the glass had you jumping, whipping your head to face the set of eyes you’d been avoiding most of all. 

“Need some help?” Eddie offered, bracing his knees in a crouch, eyes brimming with concern. 

Your stomach twisted with relief, then embarrassment, then a million other things rolled into one, sick knot. Wiping the evidence from your cheeks with a futile swipe of your sleeve, you cranked down the window with your left hand. You must have looked like an absolute basket case, jerking your arm in tight circles as the barrier lowered with the urgency of a tortoise. When where was enough space for him, Eddie braced against the top of your door and ducked his head inside. 

“Hey.” The warm sigh of his greeting kissed your cheek, thawing the sting of the cold. 

“Hey,” you mimicked, sounding just about as stable as you felt when it came out. “W-what are you doing here so late?” 

“Hellfire,” he stated simply. “You know, I could ask you the same question.”

Despite how true it was, it still felt pathetic when the answer left your lips. “Just… trying not to take so much work home with me.” You said it as casually as you could muster, but your voice betrayed you. Your cheeks were still cooling from the remnants of your tears, framing the heat from your dripping nose. 

Eddie suddenly looked very serious, splintering your armor with his softness. “You ok?” 

You gestured dejectedly at nothing, offering a hollow laugh. “No.”

Eddie filled the cabin with his sigh, eyes narrowing like he wanted to lunge through the window. Instead he just thumbed at the rubber and tipped his head closer, creaking your chest plate with the weight of his gaze. “You know, I could hear you clear across the parking lot,” he joked softly. “The car—I mean. Mostly. You leave your lights on or something?”

You shook your head. “It’s been doing this for months, ever since it started getting cold. I should have taken it to get checked out, but it usually starts after a couple tries.” 

“Sounds like it might be the battery, or maybe the starter. I won’t know unless I try and jump it. I’ll swing around—if—if that’s ok.” 

The wind ushered a curl toward his lips, and you clenched your hand to subdue it. “Yeah, it’s ok,” you sighed. “Thank you.”

With a nod, Eddie ducked out of the window and pivoted swiftly on his heels. From your side view mirror, you watched him make tracks in the blue snow with his heavy boots, hands shoved in his pockets as he glanced left and right, the ghost of his breath trailing closely behind. The seat creaked as you sat back and blinked like the cursor on a computer monitor; processing. One glance in your rearview mirror told you how disheveled you looked. Even in the twilight there was no masking the puffiness around your eyes, the mascara bleeding toward your cheeks. You swiped at them again, this time with a napkin from your glove box.

With a yank of the frigid handle, Eddie slid across the plaid and pleather padding into the drivers seat of his van. He froze for a second, glancing in his rearview mirror toward your small white sedan. Butterflies tore through his stomach, churning like a tornado as he flicked the ignition. Out of all his ridiculous fantasies, he hadn’t entertained this one. Not exactly anyway. One where you were the damsel in distress. One where he got to be the hero. 

The parking lot was vacant enough to drive across the lines. Ploughing through the naked patches where cars had spent the afternoon, he rumbled up beside you. Your stomach did a summersault when he stepped out, plodding around to the front of your car with jumper cables slung under his arm. 

“Can you pop the hood for me?” he asked.

The summersault rippled south through your abdomen. Reaching down under the console, your fingers found the leaver and obeyed. You felt kind of useless, just sitting there while he propped the hood onto the stand, shielding him from vision. Before you could form another thought, your hand was moving on its own, finding the plastic leaver of your door and opening it to the cold evening air. 

Eddie gave a shy look from behind his curtain of curls before stepping back with a nod. “Well, good news, there’s no monsters,” he joked. 

A smile cracked across your face, so genuine it almost felt foreign. You tucked your hands into your pockets, stepping closer to assess the engine like you knew what you were looking at. Your aura prickled with proximity, like his heat could thaw you even from where you stood. Eddie’s glance was soft and quick before procuring a small flashlight from his inner coat pocket. He held it in his teeth, flipping up the red and black plastic covers on the battery terminals. 

“I have hands too, you know,” you said with a smirk.

With a playful side-eye, he clamped the appropriate cables onto the terminals. Removing the silver torch from his mouth, he made room for his retort. “Mmhm, best keep ‘em warm. It’s uh, kinda chilly out.”

You shook your head as a laugh escaped your nostrils in a plume. Sauntering over to his van like a dark knight, Eddie leaned in the door to pop his own hood. Your boots made tentative tracks in the snow, drawn like a magnet as he hoisted the metal. From the light pinched in his teeth you could see the expanse of the massive engine, the shadow of his furrowed brow as he unscrewed plastic knobs. What you saw more than anything though—like a filter laid over the scene—were three type-written letters. The hands that typed them fumbled with the cables, squeezed around the thick, jaw-like clamps. When they bit right where he wanted, they released; tendons flexing, knuckles pinking from the freezing air. Reflexively, he wiped them on the chest of his black hoodie peeking out from his open coat. 

It might have just been the cold, but even in the twilight—in the absence of the flashlight he was tucking into his pocket—you could have sworn his cheeks flushed when he caught you staring. “Alright, um, go ahead and start your car. I’ll do the same.”

Following the tether that joined the two vehicles, you did as he told you. Nothing came of it though, just more incessant clicking. Exasperated, you tossed back in your seat before slumping out of the car once more. 

“Shit, it must be the starter. Probably cracked, that’s my guess anyway by the sound of it,” Eddie explained as he stepped around to face your engine again. Clicking his flashlight, he peered into the compartment. “See, if you follow the positive terminal line all the way down, that’s where the starter will be. Only problem is it’s tricky to get to without a lift.” 

You followed his grease-stained finger down the dirt-dusted tangle of tubes, drawing nearer under the subtle guise of interest in your engine. You stopped just inches from his solid leather frame, close enough to brush him with your elbow. “You seem to know your way around a car.”

He huffed, shaking his head as he muttered. “Wish I didn’t.” But before you could comment, he was shutting the hood. “I’m sorry, but I think we’re gonna have to call a tow truck.” 

Your defeated sigh rose toward the clouds as you glanced at the squat school building. The lights were off. Judy’s car was absent from the lot, as were all but a handful, including the two of yours. Glancing at your watch under the floodlights, the big hand tipped past the golden dot where a five should be.

Eddie stepped closer, filling the gap with a heavy exhale before meeting your eyes. “You know I could, um—” he scratched the back of his neck, words evaporating quicker than his breath. What could he do? What could he really do about any of this? For most of his life he’d been a leaf on the wind, scuttling across the pavement toward the gutter, struggling to steer himself away. But you were stranded, and if there was anything he was good for, it was a ride. “I could—I could take you back to your place. If you’re ok with that, I mean. We could—fuck—I mean you could call from there a-and I could—”

There were chinks in your armor, cracking with each bumbling word. You looked at him, really looked. Eddie Munson, with grease-stained hands and eyes that pierced like arrows in their pleading. Straight through to the softest part of you, the place between your ribs that cries I want. And oh, how desperately you wanted. Wanted to soothe his worried lips in yours again, to feel his pounding chest again, to be thawed by his heat again. But you just stood there, frozen.

Shoving his hands into the pockets of his open coat, he shifted on the balls of his feet as he searched for more words in the snow. “Look, I know you said you wanted space, a-and it probably seems like—shit.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, releasing with a sharp sigh. “I just want to help you. Will you just let me help you? Please?”

Your chest plate clattered to the concrete, gauntlets falling in a heap beside your greaves. There was no white flag to wave. No sword to relinquish, or shield to discard. Your surrender was nothing but a soft “okay,” barely heard above the howling wind. 

______

A/N: After over a year and 100k words, the smut chapter is finally upon us! Thank you for coming with me on this very long journey and sticking it out. I have no idea how long this next one is going to take me to write, but I can promise you that when it’s finished you will experience every moment in exquisite, delicious, poetic detail. 

You might have noticed that I’ve pulled a few small details like character names and places from Flight of Icarus, but I will not be retconning any of Eddie’s backstory. 

Also random, tumblr decided to make that one paragraph bold once I changed it to chat font with no ability to unbold it, but that wasn't intended. It kind of worked though so I'm not mad.

Taglist: @mermaidsandcats29 @toxicjayhoo @ooo-protean-ooo @jadequeen88 @wroteclassicaly @kissmyacdc @raccoonboywrites @storiesbyrhi @trashmouth-richie @keeponquinning @munson-blurbs @blueywrites @alottanothing @bebe07011 @idkidknemore @alizztor @godcreatoreli @ethereal27cereal @munsonsgirl71 @mrsjellymunson @emxxblog @siriusmuggle @sidthedollface2 @dollalicia @lma1986 @catherinnn @eddiemunson4life420 @readsalot73 @big-ope-vibes @barbiedragon @ladylilylost @3rriberri @princess-eddie @nightless @eddieswifu @thew0rldsastage @chaoticgood-munson @hanahkatexo @eddiemunsonsbedroom @beep-beep-sherlock @averagemisfit03 @vintagehellfire @haylaansmi @sllooney @lunaladybug734 @callingmrsbarnes @ajkamins

[whathorselegs]

Headcanon that sometimes Kunikida forgets to wait for his food to cool down because he's too busy focusing on Being On Time!

He gets his food and the first bite is so, so, so hot, steaming- piping hot even, and just bites straight into it. Only then does Kunikida register that it's hot and he just freezes.

His mouth is burning, but his brain's too busy panicking to decide what to do. He could spit it out, but that's a gross thing to do whilst others are eating. He could try to open his mouth and blow air on it to cool it down, but eating with his mouth open is rude! If he swallows it, it's only going to burn his throat as well!

So Kunikida's sat there, with hot food burning his mouth, face frozen in blind panic, tears welling at the eyes, looking like a kid who just ate a really sour candy and he can't do anything about it.

Second headcanon, he does it that often Dazai can tell when he's done it. In fact, Dazai can usually tell when he's about to do it and doesn't warn him because his expression's too funny when it happens.

He does, however always hand Kunikida a glass of water to cool his mouth down and break him out of his trance.

[yourstrulybluelover]

Day Dreams

Title: Day Dreams

Pairings: Neyteam (25) x Human Reader (25)

Warnings: MDNI

Contains:  dom Neteyam, sub reader, fingering, p in v , SMUT

Word Count: 1605

“Thanks for the samples Nete.” You smiled at the him as he towers you. His veiny arms stretching over to hand you your amber jars of water and soil.

It's been weeks now you’ve been preparing for your analysis. You were instructed to take samples of the water and soil of the nearby however your human physique could not manage to tread the terrain. Since the Sully’s have been frequent visitors of the lab since your arrival on Pandora, you decided to make a request; to which Norm and the team approved in your favour.

“Where else do you need samples yawne?”

Just these 2 more coordinates you signaled to him to note them down. As he took the coordinates using the GPS you admired the way he clenched his jaw when trying to focus. You never thought you’d be anywhere near attracted to a blue alien. You never thought you’d be stealing secret glances admiring his lean back and ripped abdominals.

Alright y/n I’ll be back with your samples a little after eclipse.

And I’ll be here Nete, the entire night.”

“You sure you’re okay here all alone, where’s everyone by the way?”

“They’re out camping on the eastern side of the forrest, they need to spend some days.”

“Im off y/n.”

You lean back into your chair, unbuttoning your lab coat feeling uncomfortable, you open the first 3 buttons of your blouse. You press your thumbs to your temples/Exhausted due to the days work. “I just need a 5 minutes break you tell yourself before slouching down into the chair. You throw your head back as you slip into a doze. Your mind drifting off.

-.-

You snap open your eyes instantly, as you felt someone’s breath against you. You looked down to see Nteteyam kneeling, your tummy slightly exposed your breasts barel y being contained by the the remaining two buttons on your blouse, your hair wet clinging to your face. You were a hot sweaty mess. You sit up abruptly, pulling over your lab coat to cover yourself.

“You were talking in your sleep y/n”

“I was?” You asked a bit embrassed at the state Neteyam saw you in. You got up to walk over to the nearby sink. Your back now towards him, as you turn on the pipe to wash your face. “What did I say?”

“You were making sounds, I thought you were in pain.”

“Sorry, I fell asleep.” You whispered.

“What were you dreaming about?” He askes curiously, a sound of mischief in his voice.

You stood still. Embarrassed, a flush of pink crept up on your face as you feel the heat consume you. “Nothing Nete, I don’t even remember.”

“Well that’s funny, cause I heard you moaning when I came in, then, I heard my name.” His voice hushed, as you feel him creep behind you.

You turn around to find him inches away from you. He leans down to examine your face, you try to  back away but your back hits the counter.

“Y/n were you having a wet dream about me?” A smug grin flashes across his face.

You gasp, too flabbergasted to say anything, your face only growing redder. He reads you like an open book. His rand reaches to grab your crotch, pulling you forward into him.

“Are you wet for me, y/n?” He whispers into your ear, moving his fangs from your ear to your neck. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you eyeing me.” His hands now roaming your body as you are still frozen in shock. He quickly rids you of your lab coat, now reaching to unbuckle your belt. You don’t stop him. You admit you’ve been starved of any sexual contact since your arrival to Pandora, which would have more than likely contributed to you daydreaming of Neteyam fucking you senseless.

There you stood, your shirt pulled up, your pant zipper opened and sprawled. He takes a step back to examine you. Your face flushed and eyes lustful, you instinctively grab his arm to pull him back into you. He smirks seductively. “I knew it.”

Your lips come crashing into each other. Your moans grow louder as you feel him undress you. Your hands fumble to untie his loincloth, as it drops to the ground he picks you up effortlessly. Your naked bodies pressed against each other. He walks you over to your lab counter, holding you in one hand and the other hand clearing the surface of any obstruction. He delicately rests you onto the counter as he forces your legs apart. You reach up for a kiss, but he stops you. He steps back admiring your flushed face , he pushes his two fingers into your mouth. You instantly swirl your tongue around his digits coating it with enough saliva. He inserts the two digits, maintaining contact, he begins to thrust his fingers into you/ His movement causes your perky breasts to bounce, your knees still bent and apart, you brace yourself with your arms behind you planted onto the counter, looking down to see him stretching out your cunt.

“Think you can take this cock?” He inserts another digit. You throw your head back as he pumps his fingers into you as sinful moans escape your parted lips.

“I wanttt yoouu Neetee.” You hum as he increases the pace, his fingers expertly hitting in an upward motion. Your brows furrow his unoccupied hand reaching to palm his throbbing member.

“Cum for me first pretty girl.” He removes his hand from his deck to now press on your lower abdomen while he expertly fingers you. He lowers his mouth to your breast, his tongue swirling around your nipple. You feel a knot in your stomach building. You gasp he sucks on your supple breast. Your moans grow louder; you feel yourself begin to convulse under him as your juices dose the counter before you.

Consumed by bliss your body is limp as your head collapses to the back of the counter you’re unaware of Neteyam’s sinister grin. He reaches to lightly tap you on your cheek. Catching your attention you look up to see him now palming his rock-hard cock. He grabs your knees forcing them apart to reveal your glistening cunt. He positions himself at your entrance. The counter was lower than his hips causing him to bend to meet you.

“Relax for me y/n”

You look away as he forces his way in. You squeeze your eyes shut as you succumb to the pain. Your pussy stretches itself over his large alien cock. He grabs your face.

“Look at me when I fuck you.”

You redden from the embarrassment but willingly obliged. Your screams are loud as he slowly moves into you. He stops for a bit allowing you to readjust. You’re panting, looking down seeing the bulge already in your lower stomach. Without any warning Neteyeam pulls himself ojut onl y to ram himself back in mercilessly. You buckle in both pleasure and pain as he repeats his cruel thrusts. Your eyes role back into your eyes, almost certain you caught a glimpse of our brain. He picks up the pace, one hand holding your thigh the other furiously rubbing your clit. You tense up once again, this time your walls clamping down onto his cock as you approach another high, he pulls out in time, your stream heavier than the last.

You collapse once more onto the lab counter, weary, your eyes droop.

“We’re not done y/n.” He reaches over to scoop you up by the waist. Your arms flaing over his back, your hips wrapping around his waist.

“Nete, I can’t .”

“Sssshh y/n don’t punk out on me now.”

You lazily laugh as you reached to capture his lips. Your tongue moving against his lips, begging for entrance. He grips you by the wasit rbacing your back onto cold tiled wall. You shudder at the sudden cold. He lifts you by your hips your legs now hanging between hiselbows. You smiled into the kiss as you brace yourself for another hammering. You watch as he lowered you not his cock like a toy.

“Ngh, Neteee, this hurrttts.”

“Only for a bit y/n, soon you’ll be soaking me once more.”

You nod in pleasure as you feel him fill you up as he ruts into you. You feel your body bounce onto his cock as you grab your breasts, playing with your nipples. The sight makes him groan, picking up the pace. “Neettee fuuckk meee!”

His hands move from your waist to your ass, spreading your cheeks apart. You feel like youre about to split in half but all you can think of is how amazing this feels. Your walls begin to fulter once more. You grab onto his shoulders, nails digging into his back.  Your mouth is wide open as you moan his name. He reaches down to assault your mouth with his tongue. Your tongues meet each other, tangled in a battle to dominate. His pace is fastened, he grunts into the kiss. You pull away as you feel it coming, your screams are high-pitched as you explode once more onto his stomach. “Fuuucck y/n you’re gonna make mee cummm.” He pulls out, pushing you to the floor. His hand pumping his cock while the other is behind your head. You kneel and instinctively open your mouth to capture his seed onto your tongue. He slaps his cock head on your tongue.

“You took me so well y/n. Was this better than your dream?”

“So much better.” You purred.  

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Don't cry. || Nikto

[MASTERLIST]

Rating: E Words: 3K~ (this one got away from me) Pairing: rogue asset!Nikto x civilian!Reader cw: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT., bad/incorrect medical care, injuries (described), being held at gunpoint, verbal and physical threats, blood and gore. other tags: you/your pronouns. fat/chubby!reader, no russian. Summary: A stranger takes you hostage in your own home and demands medical care... But you might have gotten more than you can chew. a/n: YES, Nikto’s voice actor is only 5ft10 but he’s 6ft5 in my mind, and I’m in charge sooo.

It's cold as all fucking hell in your small town. No. Not as all hell. Because you're pretty sure hell is supposed to be boiling hot.

Why did your family have to come from this small town in bum-fuck-nowhere Russia? And more importantly why did you decide to move back here after college?

Oh, yeah. The house. The little home that your grandma lived in since she was a child, that was fully paid and required no rent, and had very low property taxes due to it being ancient… And was left to you in her will. 

Well, in days like these, you can't help but despise the stupid fucking house. 

The pipes are frozen, which means you've resorted to getting water from the local firehouse every morning, as do the rest of your neighbors. Plus, it's freezing even with multiple layers of clothes and socks and scarves on. You sleep in front of the fireplace all winter and still fear you'll be dead in the morning.

Every year it's the damn same.

Maybe going to study in Moscow and then doing your master's and doctorate abroad softened you up. But you didn't remember it being so fucking cold.

Having as much meat on your bones as you do, it really shouldn't be as difficult as it is to withstand the cold. Sometimes you wonder if all those damn studies about how fat helps preserve body heat didn't apply only when people had heat to preserve.

Those are the thoughts in your head as you throw your last log in the fireplace and realize you need to get more from the woodpile outside. "Mother fucker goddamn piece of shit..." You complained.

Throwing on a winter coat over your robe, you stuff your double-socked feet into your winter boots, cover your head with a beanie and wrap yourself in a scarf.

Then you venture outside with the flashlight from your junk drawer, to illuminate the way. The wind outside is biting and the snow is tall, causing you to almost trip over your own feet.

"Fuck... fuck... fuck... cold." You grumble under your breath.

Sticking the flashlight between your teeth, you grab a few logs of firewood and slip them vertically into a black milk crate at your feet, trying to hurry so you can go back inside.

As soon as the box is stacked as full as you can carry, you bend at the knees and hurl it up by the handles, gritting your teeth against the flashlight between your teeth.

That's when you feel something hard press against the back of your head... and you hear a muffled voice. "Don't scream. Don't look back. Just move." The command chills your spine more than the -17ºC weather outside.

Your eyes shoot wide open in a panic and you have to force yourself to resist trying to look back. Instead, you nod and wobble your way along to the backdoor while carrying the heavy crate of firewood.

Once you slip inside, you set the crate down in the kitchen floor and take the opportunity to look out of the corner of your eye at the the stranger that held you hostage. 

He slams the door shut behind you and deadbolts it shut, then he rushes to the window, ripping the curtains shut.

He's wearing a flight suit and military gear but it's all in a navy color that you don't recognize… Maybe the Navy? But what would a Navy soldier being doing here alone, in the middle of the woods in your land locked town? Plus, he's clearly armed, carrying a pistol in one hand. The other wraps around his midsection and he's leaving a trail of small blood droplets on your floor.

His face is covered by a mask that looks more like a bunch of denim patched together than anything, leaving only his eyes showing. It’s even bolted to itself to not be easily removable.

“Where?” He asks you, eyes and gun trained on you as you straighten up and show your hands in innocence.

“Where… Where what?” You ask in confusion. Your body trembles all over and you’re pretty sure that you’re going to piss your pants if he keeps staring at you like that and barking vague orders at you.

“WHERE?!” He insists, raising his voice in a growl that sounds more animal than human. “WHERE. ARE. WE?” He adds, his voice boiling with anger and condescension.

“P-Provrsk!” You shout the name of your town as you flinch away from his own raised voice. Your gaze is locked onto him, taking in his mask and the blue eyes that stare at you from behind them.

You’ve never had to worry about a masked intruder in your home, ever. This is a small town, this sort of thing doesn’t happen here. Especially not one that looks like he’s deserted from the FSB.

“DATE?” He shouts at you again, making you flinch once more as your whole body tenses and curls into itself in fear. 

“8th of February… Thursday.” You reply, your eyes beginning to well up in tears. “Please… don’t hurt me…”

You’ve never been the crybaby type, in fact, you’d say you’re pretty good at staying contained in your day-to-day life, even when life is beating you down… But something about a 2 meter tall man in your kitchen shouting at you while waving a pistol around terrifies you to your very core…

With a deep breath, he leans himself back against the kitchen counter and another animalistic growling escapes him as his left leg straightens and twitches under him, his knee likely weakened. He’s still clutching his side with his hand and more blood puddles at his feet, dripping between gloved fingers.

He looks like he’s immeasurable amounts of pain and considering he seems to have walked here with an injury that’s still bleeding, you can’t help but wonder if the adrenaline isn’t starting to wear off.

The sight of him is pitiful… And for a moment he’s not some terrifyingly “You need… a doctor?” You ask him, more in a tone of affirmation than of question. He needs a doctor and you know it.

“No doctor.” He replies sharply, showing he still has all his mental faculties in place… Somewhat.

“You’re hurt.” You remark softly. “Bleeding all over my floor.” You add. You’re trying your best not to shake and cry and you’re not quite sure you’re succeeding.

“No doctor.” He insists as he shifts his weight around on his legs and hisses. "Needle, thread and alcohol." He demands of you and you’re not stupid enough to disagree with the armed man.

“In the upper cabinet behind you… The metal tin.” You instruct while barely pointing your finger at the cabinet door on his left side for fear that any more sudden movements will cause him to take you as a threat.

He sets the gun very carefully on the edge of the counter so that his free hand can reach up and over, patting at the cabinet, throwing the door open and feeling around inside for the aforementioned metal tin.

He’s been smart enough to put your small kitchen table between you either way, preventing any sudden lunging activity from you.

He never once turns his back on you, not even his face. His eyes are still locked on you, sending shivers down your body, making sure you don’t try anything… Not that you’d be stupid enough to dare.

He finally grabs the repurposed butter cookie tin and sets it next to him on the counter before grabbing the pistol once more and aiming it at you. “Metal spoon.” He demands.

“Over there… second drawer from the left…” You point discreetly at the drawer by the stove. 

“Get one.” He demands again and so you do, hands raised, taking very tentative steps across the kitchen, your heavy snow boots thudding against the floor.

Carefully, you lower your hand and pull open the drawer. Before you can even try to grab a spoon, you hear him bark at you again. “Only a spoon. Don’t try to grab a knife.” He warns you. 

Nodding very slowly, you reach inside the drawer and retrieve a metal table spoon and show it to him. “Stove.” He orders you again.

“Heat it up?” You ask softly and he grunts in what you assume is confirmation as he nods curtly at you. “I need matches.” You point at the drawer again and very slowly fetch the box of matches before closing the drawer.

Turning very carefully toward the old stove, you turn one of the knobs and strike a match, lighting the burner before extinguishing the match. “Heat the handle.” He demands and you nod in understanding as you peek at him sheepishly.

Slowly, you grip the spoon by the bowl and hold the metal handle over the flame, moving it ever so slightly to ensure an even heating up of the tip, your eyes locked on the flame and the slowly reddening type of the metal spoon.

While your back is turned, you can hear some rustling and a heavy thud on the floor. You assume he’s getting rid of his heavy gear in order to patch himself up… “Hurry up.” He barks.

“I can’t speed up the fire.” You reply softly, too afraid to speak too loud. 

“Watch your tongue, or else I’ll cut it off.” He adds, his voice grunted through as you hear some more rustling. His threat was enough to send chills down your spine and sent you back into muteness. 

Another minute or so later, you can feel the heat spreading across the whole spoon and even the bowl is too hot to hold. “It’s ready.”

“Move, quick.” He demands and you turn to face him, finding him still in the same spot, across the kitchen, leaning against the wall. He’s shed his plate vest, and undone the zipper of his flight suit, removing the sleeves and leaving it to hang around his hip. That exposes his torso completely, per lack of any undershirts or other layers. You wonder how he hasn’t frozen out there in just a flight suit…

The sight of him is so shocking and… disgusting. You feel your stomach turning, the warm meal you had an hour ago threatening to come out the way it came. He’s covered in scars, his chest speckled in patches of red skin or pale, melaninless skin, something you can only assume are burn scars.

The right half of his torso is covered in dried blood, sporting a hapharzard, thick suture that you can only assume he did a few days ago considering how swollen and red the skin around it is… Infected.

And, of course, the pouring, wet, red blood that escapes from his left side… It looks like he took a gash on it… maybe a gunshot, maybe an explosion, who’s to say… But he’s definitely got a hole and he’s leaking like a faucet.

“MOVE!” He barks at you, causing you to jump, startled out of from your shock-induced trance and you quickly rush over. He grabs the spoon from you with more aggression than you expected and shoves you away with a swift elbow to your side, to force you away from him. You fall on your ass, grunting softly upon landing. 

When you were younger, kids used to joke that all your fat would serve as an airbag in the case of a car crash, but the truth is, as you landed on the floor, you ass and legs hurt… As did you side from the elbow you took to it.

Your eyes well up in tears at the soreness on your body, as well as the sound that escapes him and reverberates through your kitchen as he sticks the red-hot spoon handle onto his open wound, gritting his teeth behind his mask as he cauterizes the wound shut. The sound is terrifying, like a gurgle mixed with a shout and an animalistic growl. (find the scream inspo here) 

You don’t want to look. But he’s doing this inches away from your face. You can’t help but watch in horror.

HIs legs shake underneath him and he struggles to keep himself upright but succeeds by landing his elbow and forearm on the edge of the counter. The hand that’s holding the pistol, the left one, flexes around the handle, fingers trembling with the pain. He struggles to stay on his feet as his right hand keeps softly twisting the spoon handle in his wound before pulling it out.

He grunts as he lets the bloody spoon fall on the floor at his feet and his head falls back with a couple more grunts and huffs, resting on the upper cabinets, his right hand clutching the wound again for a moment. You’re sobbing on the floor. Something about the sight you just got broke your resolve for a moment. You’re afraid… Very much so.

Just as you’re trying to calm yourself down, crawling backward over to the table to use a table as support to stand up from the floor, the sewing supplies tin crashes onto the floor at your feet with a ruckus so loud you can’t help but squeal.

Looking up at him, you notice him glaring at you. “Suture.” He demands angrily.

“I-” You attempt to speak but you can’t. Too afraid and too choked up to succeed in more than a light stammer.

“SUTURE!” He repeats his demand, his voice loud and sending chills to the innermost part of you as he leans forward a bit to look at you.

“STOP YELLING AT ME!” You shout in return through whimpers and whines.

“Stop crying. You have no reason to cry yet.” He warns you, his voice bitter and mean.

Your whole body quakes as you sob and scramble up on all fours, to grab the tin of sewing supplies from the floor.  You pop it open with shaky hands and rummage inside, searching for your pink pin cushion and, upon finding it, you plucked out a needle.

“You’re scaring me…” You were able to get out through trembling lips as you grab a spool of black thread.

“We will do much worse than scare you if you don’t start moving faster.” He tells you. “Do not test my capacity for violence.” He adds. “Now move.”

Slowly, you crawl over to him and kneel between his parted legs. You’re so close, you can smell him… And he smells gross… He reeks of sweat and piss, which mixes with the metallic scent of his blood, and gunpowder that lingers on his flightsuit which he now wears as pants only.

Your trembling form makes you struggle to thread the needle but after a few attempts, you succeed and unfurl much more thread than you’d realistically need. While you do so, his pistol changes grips and his right hand holds it aimed right at your head.

Slowly, you push the needle through his skin, grimacing at the wet noise it makes as you drag it through and you hold back a gag and a sob as you try your best to suture him shut. 

You don’t know much about medicine… But you’re pretty sure you’re supposed to do a ladder stitch so you can pull the thread taut at the end and ensure the injury closes… So that’s what you start doing, trying your best to not tremble all the way through it.

He’s holding himself surprisingly calmly through it as you stab his skin/wound multiple times… You risk looking up at him, your eyes still teary, your lips trembling, your face red from holding back tears and a gag. 

All you find is a pair of soulless blue eyes staring down at you through the two holes of that mask. They seem as cold and unforgiving as the snow outside… They’re bloodshot and the pupils are dilated. And he seems to be looking at you with a predatory gaze that makes you feel small and insignificant.

"Who are you...?" You ask tentatively, surprising yourself at how small your voice sounded, how meek.

"Nobody." He reply  as he leaned the pistol against your temple. “Finish.” He demands. 

Gulping and nodding, you finish the stitching and pull it taut, which earns you a hiss from him. You tie off the thread and snip it off with a pair of little scissors from the sewing supply box.

Just as you’re about to pull away from him, the needle between your pointer and middle fingers and your hands raised in an act of peace, he pistol whips you across the temple.

You squeal in pain, and throw your hands on the floor to support yourself from fully falling on your side, losing the needle somewhere in the tile floor of the kitchen. Your eyes are cloudy with tears again as you whimper in pain, unaware of what caused that violence. 

Is he going to kill you? Steal from you? Make you prisoner in your own home?

“Don’t move.” He demands. “It’s not finished.” He warns you as you struggle to get back on your sore knees.

You watch in horror as he shifts position, to no longer be kneeling on his elbow on the counter, and instead straightens up. His right hand continues pointing the gun at you and, very slowly, the left inches his flight suit down some more.

Slowly, you’re exposed to the sight a large gash across his left thigh, that draws down diagonally to his left knee which is swollen red and bruised…

As well as an obvious lack of underwear and a semi-hardened cock laying against his right thigh, the hilt surrounded by bushy blonde pubes. Your eyes double in size and you have to once again contain yourself from gagging and crying in disgust.

“Get back to work.” He demands as he points at the wounds on his leg. “And don't you dare cry." He adds. "Or else I'll give you other reasons to cry about.” He warns as his hand glides over his cock.

This is fully inspired by the beautiful work written by @391780, gotta love all the nikto ficlets and all the fat!reader stuff! Also wrote this a bit as a request by @ms-rayray who asked me for fat!reader stuff, and also a shoutout to @xxshadowbabexx and her eternal love for nikto.

[reiderwriter]

Could you write a spencer CNC smut fic? I personally like the type of fics where spencer would be more of a soft dom and kinda talk you through it and say stuff like he couldnt help himself while the y/n begs it to stop. And maybe some after care and stuff. Anyways if youre not comfortable with that i ofc understand!! 💜

A/N: Okay, I sort of got carried away, but I hope you still like it! I took the "he couldn't help himself" thing to heart but Y/N turned into a bit of a brat half way through OOPS.

Summary: Spencer walks in on you showering and decides he has to have you.

Warnings: CNC, soft!Dom! Spencer, bratty reader, shower sex, creampie, PinV sex, a little bit of mirror sex, degradation, name-calling (pervert, bitch once but he's mostly pretty soft). 18+ MINORS DNI

WC: 1.3k

The pipes creaked a little as you turned on the shitty motel shower, sighing as you felt the water hit your skin. You were five days into a case somewhere in the rural midwest, and after a particularly embarrassing fall in the mud, you’d been sent back to your room in the middle of the day to clean yourself off. You’d stomped back to the motel, absolutely frustrated with the way the case was going, desperately craving the hour of peace you’d been granted. 

When you entered the shower cubicle, you were thankfully greeted by hot, almost scalding water. The steam rose and quickly fogged up all the mirrors in the bathroom as you started scrubbing down every inch of your skin, making sure to wash away not just the mud but the fatigue of the case, too. You were so self-involved that you didn’t hear your room door open, or the voice call out your name. 

“Y/N?” Spencer called to you, but you didn’t respond, not hearing him. Turning towards the sound of the shower, the man couldn’t help himself but gravitate towards you. Turning the handle to the bathroom door, he opened it and stared straight at you for a minute before you noticed his presence. 

“Shit, Spencer, you fucking perv, what are you doing?” you shrieked as you finally met his eyes, arms coming down to cover your private areas. 

“I-I’m sorry, Hotch sent me here because you forgot…” his eyes trailed up and down your body now, taking in every inch of you as you shrank under his stare, pushing further back into the wall of the shower stall in the hopes that he wouldn’t see as much. 

“Y/N, why are you covering yourself?” he asked, suddenly snapping his eyes up to yours. 

“Because I’m fucking naked Spencer, and you’re just standing there staring at me.” You hoped that he would get the idea after that, realising that he’d overstepped a boundary.  He didn’t, instead moving further into the small bathroom and closing the door behind him, locking it from the inside the way you should have earlier. 

“What are you doing?” you asked as he opened the shower stall and pushed himself into it, removing his shoes on the way, but not bothering to rid himself of his clothes. You had your answer soon enough as he grabbed the sides of your face and forced a kiss on your lips. 

You groaned into the kiss and attempted to push him off, but he’d worked one hand down to yours and pinned you back against the wall, his leg between the two of yours. The kiss had shocked you, and your brain was left in catch up mode when he trailed his other hand down to your breasts and started paying them some attention. 

“You were so pretty, Y/N, I couldn’t help it,” he kissed his way down your neck and you were frozen, unable to react. 

“Let me help you out baby, you’ve been looking so tense lately, you need this,” he whispered in your ear, and your eyes unconsciously twitched closed as he pinched your nipple between his finger and thumb. Your chest thrust into his hand and you could feel him smile into your neck as he kissed his way down to his hands, the water still pouring over both of you. 

“F-fucking pervert,” you said half-heartedly as he bought his lips finally to your nipples and began licking and sucking at them like a man starved. 

“That’s right, baby, I’m a pervert, and so are you.” His hand found your cunt then, and he roughly pushed two fingers into you before you could gasp out again, thrusting quickly and as deep as he could into you. You let out a long drawn out moan, the pain mixing with the pleasure to make you delirious. 

“What was that baby? You look so pretty when you’re all dumb like this.” 

“Fuck you,” you spat back at him, and he just smirked again in reply, his damp curls falling in his face so you could only just see his lips. 

“Do you feel better now, Y/N? Now that you’ve worked out some of that frustration? Or do you need more?” your eyes snapped open at the suggestion, but just as you opened your mouth to protest, he shoved the fingers from your pussy into your mouth, forcing you to taste yourself on him. You moaned slowly, unable to stop yourself from enjoying the moment. 

“You’re so pretty like this for me, sucking on my fingers like a horny bitch.” He released his hold on your arms, and you almost slumped to the shower floor, but he caught you in his large hands and pulled you up. He turned you around, roughly pushing your chest up against the wall of the stall, letting you face the bathroom mirror. As steamed up as it was, you could still just make out your naked form in it, his clothed self holding you in place behind it. 

“Thank you, Y/N, let’s act nice now while I make you feel better,” he kissed your hair gently, holding both of your arms folded behind your back now. You heard him unzip his pants and your protests died on your tongue as he pushed into you in the next second, sheathing himself inside you without any warning. 

His grip on your arms tightened as he began setting a ruthless pace, your chest pressed uncomfortably into the wall the entire time as you were forced to watch him use you in the distorted mirror. 

“Spencer- Spencer, no, fuck,” you moaned with each thrust, your nipples painfully hard against the cool glass. 

“You just looked so pretty, I couldn’t stop myself,” he moaned out behind you, the only other sound in the room that of the running water and the sounds of your arousal coating him with each messy thrust. You couldn’t even be sure anymore if the wetness running down your legs was coming from you or the shower. 

“You- Ahhh… You fucking pervert…” you mumbled out, your eyes rolling back in your head as you reached your climax with him buried deep inside you. He moaned sinfully as you tightened up around him, but kept pounding out against you. 

“Not a pervert…” he gasped out, refuting your insults. “Just trying to help you,” he moaned out, trying to convince himself that he was helping you. He got louder in his moans after that, not holding back from letting you hear his pleasure, until finally it was too much for him and he pushed his entire body weight on yours and came directly inside of you, filling you up with his cum. 

After a few minutes of him catching his breath, he removed himself from you and cleaned you up with a nearby wash cloth, turning the shower off and pulling you back into a more comfortable position. When you were finally facing him again, you planted a quick kiss to his lips, which he returned with vigour. 

“You know, when I said you should make up an excuse to join me, I wasn’t expecting you so soon.” 

“And I wasn’t expecting my own girlfriend to call me a pervert, but I guess this works for both of us, right?” he wrapped a towel around you and unlocked the door, guiding you back to the motel room you had been sharing for the last few days. 

“You’re lucky we’re roommates this time, I don’t think I could explain this if I met Hotch or Morgan out in the hall on the way back to my room to change clothes.” 

“I don’t see how your impatience is my problem, Doctor Reid.” You smirked up at him as he began unbuttoning his wet clothing. 

“Well, you see, Y/N, you just looked so pretty…” 

[valeriianz]

Here’s another half-formed dreamling fic with them stuck in a snow storm while flurries currently whistle past my windows (and cover my screens in white).

Dream, sitting on the floor of his kitchen, surrounded by candles because the power is out, and sipping a glass of red wine. He’s bundled in a blanket and desperately failing to conserve battery on his phone, by texting Hob, who’s also lost power.

Dream slouches back against his oven, of which the burners are on to give off some blessed heat (thank God his oven is gas), while he reads the latest message from Hob, lamenting how bleeding cold it is in his own apartment, a newly renovated chrome building on the edge of the city, where everything, including the heat, was electric.

Dream mourns for him, even though Hob makes light of the situation with his witty texts and flirtatious hints of how Dream could warm him up.

They’d only been on a handful of dates, not yet fallen into bed together… Dream awkwardly explaining to Hob that it took a while, if at all, for sexual attraction to form within a new relationship. Hob had, surprisingly, taken it in stride. Becoming patient and thoughtful, always communicating, and never pushing Dream’s limits. 

It was refreshing, and– to Dream’s complete surprise– he’d found himself falling hard for the other man. Who knew a simple acknowledgment to boundaries would get him so wound up? His pulse quickened with every smile Hob gave him, his stomach tying itself in knots whenever Hob would take his hand, and his brain completely shutting off when Hob would kiss him. Chaste things that had progressively turned more and more heated with every encounter. Promising something more and more each time they met.

Currently, the sounds of his windows rattling from the flurries outside fill his dark apartment, along with the flutter of the open flames on his stove, and the quiet drip, drip, drip of the kitchen tap (to prevent frozen pipes, Dream had learned that lesson the hard way last winter).

After about an hour of texting Hob, Dream nearly halfway done with the bottle of wine, he receives a text that makes his heart jump.

So, what if i told you im actually outside your building?

Dream stood up so suddenly the candles around him nearly snuffed themselves out.

He yanked on his boots and pulled on his oversized winter coat, stumbling to his front door and marching down the stairs of the apartment complex he resided in, the age of which you could smell in its walls, see in the cracks and warps in the wooden floors. He made it down to the entrance and pulled open the door, the ice cold wind smacking Dream in the face immediately.

But then he saw a smudge of brown in the whiteness approaching. Dream kicked down the snow that had piled up at the door and waded forward in knee deep snow to meet Hob halfway and help him past the threshold.

Once the door slammed shut behind them, Dream took a proper look at Hob.

“You look like the abominable snowman.”

Hob laughed. He was absolutely covered in snow, piled high on his shoulders, his boots, even on his eyelashes.

“I feel like one.” Hob said, his voice cracked and breathless.

Once they’re back inside Dream’s apartment, and Hob’s outer layers have been stripped off and hung in the shower to drip dry, Dream sets off to boil water on the stove top for tea.

They sit on Dream’s couch, sharing a blanket and sipping tea while Dream admonishes Hob for coming out in the middle of a storm. What was he thinking?? To which Hob just shrugs and curls his nearly numb fingers around the hot mug, snuggling even further into Dream’s side and sighing.

“Worth it, to see you.”

“You’re insane,” Dream says, but smiles through it. 

Hob’s skin glows with the orange and yellow flickering of the candles, his features softening and barely noticeable in the limited light. But Dream knows them by now. Knows the curve of Hob’s thick, dark eyebrows, down to the scruff of his jaw, and back up to the prominent shape of his nose. He’s always handsome, but right now, shadowed in soft light and his cheeks still pink from the cold, he’s lovely. And Dream can’t help but set his mug down, taking Hob’s as well, and kissing him.

His lips arm warm from the tea, and he tastes of lavender and honey, and it makes Dream want. Want to climb onto Hob’s lap and crawl inside him. Make a nest for himself– warm and safe and cared for under Hob’s breast bone. There he could listen to the rhythmic beat of his heart, how it thunders now, under Dream’s hand as he caresses down Hob’s sweater and gets teasing fingers under the hem, touching the soft flesh of his hips and stomach.

Hob moans into his mouth, making Dream’s skull vibrate and he nearly gives in, something dark and unknown swirling in his lower belly that drives his fingers to press harder, feel the texture of Hob’s skin, the smattering of hairs at his stomach, but he forces himself to slow down, to take it easy, to enjoy and luxuriate in what they have now. 

Hob, miraculously, follows along. His own hands cupping each side of Dream’s head and only getting his fingers in his hair, matching Dream’s pace, kissing back with no intention of more unless Dream initiated. Moving his mouth at Dream’s pace, breaking apart and nudging his nose and lips under his jaw and nuzzling behind Dream’s ear and making him shudder pleasantly.

“Dream, Dream…” Hob mumbles, seemingly content in just kissing, just holding one another. “I could do this for hours.”

Dream grips the hem of Hob’s sweater, holding tightly as to prevent himself from ripping it off Hob. Another time, very soon, he knows. Dream has every intention to give into the temptation that is Hob Gadling, but the waiting is so much more fun. The anticipation, the slow understanding of his own feelings brimming up to the surface, will be that much more satisfying when he’s certain Hob will reciprocate them.

Hob just might love him back, right now. But Dream waits. Though, he does allow himself a confession:

“I could do this forever.”

[sugar-plum-writer]

The Serene Peony Of Winter

Paring: Sukuna!King of Curses x Fem!Geisha Reader

Tags: Slight! mention of violence; Fem!reader; Sukuna!imagines; will be 18+ as more chapters come; slow!burn, [I want to have a good build up!], an ancient Japan romance through time with darling reader~

[If you all like it, please heart and reblog the post! to know you want to read more~ and follow for chapter updates! or leave a comment to tag you when I put out new chapters~ I will do my best to roll out UPDATES ASAP!]

New Chapter update!

@naoyagasm @janeaugustine

@teonawrites @periwinkless-universe

CHAPTER- 3

1000 days, 1000 nights- but only 3 days of peace on a chilling winter night. Frozen houses, and frozen trees all soaked up the chilling breath of winter, letting it drown them in a sheet of white― pure and pristine, so pure and pristine that even the dead get company.

You had been able to bathe with hot water continually for 3 days, which is quite a luxury in the freezing winter. Rather than eating once in 3 days, you were able to eat every 2 days― gazing at the hot meal on your table as steam rose from a gift of satisfaction, into the surroundings.

"Ahahah! Y/n! You crazy girl!", Oka-San's laughter resounded in your room, as she sat wearing her new kimono, puffing her pipe

"To think you got him interested, did not die, is a miracle~ how many women can boast about it!", fanning her ōgi in front of her, sipping tea

"Do you know how much he gave?", A cheeky grin played in the reflection of her eyes― leaning in and took out a fat couple stack of Mon in front of you, "More is there but I have hidden it~ the sound of money is music to my ears!", she laughed tossing the coins in the air

"Muah! You are such a darling~"

"This meal, the hot water, this is the power of money Y/n this winter- won't be so cold", she hummed putting the stack of Mon back into her sleeves

"If we have leftover money, I will commission a new Hikizuri for you to wear this summer", finishing what she had to say she walked out after being called by one of the Maiko, silence filled the room

"But why?", gazing at your hands― and gently touching the small mark on your cheek which somehow was gone

"It's too noisy", picking up your chopsticks, and clasping your hands you prayed― grateful for the food and the hot bath due to your new patron, The King Of Curses, your new Danna. Sure a Geisha could have only one Danna at a time, but rules never applied to him anyways.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Holding your Wagasa to shield you from the cold, you walk with one of your patrons a sorcerer, wearing a light blue Hikizuri, and light-colored flower headpieces adorn your hair. With a light laugh, you walked down the courtyard.

"Oh my! it sounds delightful", batting your eyes as you smiled, "It is, if possible I would like- you to accompany me to my estate tonight", he gazed at your face

"I have people coming from the east prefecture, your dances are top-notch"

Politely without any reaction, "I must refuse, Danna-sama, forgive me― for my body is weak hence I need rest", bowed your head slightly and looked at him

"I see, maybe some other day then", he nodded, "But― be careful, word has been around", leaning in he whispered, "A strong curse has been around this area― some suspect him, to be the King of Curses", in a serious tone― eyebrows frowned

"If you get any information, regarding this, do tell me", he took out a pouch of Mon from his sleeve, which he kept in your hand

"Farewell, then Y/n, I will bring you your favorite Monaka, I know you have a sweet tooth. For now, I hope you like this gift", handing you a bira-bira featuring bells, long chains of additional silk flowers known as shidare, and a crest of the sorcerer stamped on the flattened end.

You smiled, "Then I will await your return Danna-sama, just like the cherry blossoms, waiting for spring"

"Can you wear it for me? After all I don't know if I will be dead or alive", he laughed

You looked at him, elegantly removing some hair accessories, pinning the bira-bira in your hair, and smiled. His breath hitched, and his body froze

"Beautiful, how can you be so beautiful... thank you Y/n", he smiled and bowed his head as he walked away waving

"I hope to see you alive…", you whispered, only the wind hearing your words, as it blew past

"He will die"

You froze, feeling a chilling presence behind you, you hesitantly turned around, feeling your throat dry up, and raised your head

"Quite a Lovey-dovey moment you had, how boring- don't think about him after all-", He laughed

"Sorcerers die, left and right, for a weakling like him to even reach so far- heh", the red eyes contrast with the white snow, that smirk plastered on his face, you knew it far too well

"Sukuna-sama", you bowed your head, and before you knew it, the bira-bira was removed from your hair, between his fingers- he gazed at it

"Do not wear it, especially, in front of me, toss it away, gold looks better on you anyways, accompany me Y/n", tossing the bira-bira back to you, he leaned in

"Your Oka-San sure is quite a woman, quite a gamble she has made", he chuckled, "Isn't she far too greedy?"

"She is, I won't lie, but this greediness has brought her so far", you gave a light chuckle as you looked at him

"Then if I am greedy for you- Will I be able to go as far as I want Y/n?"

Footnote: Check out masterlist for all chapters!

[zerooclockbaddie]

Friendly Match: Part 1 of 2

Summary: You and JK have been friends for a few months. You first ran into each other at your boxing gym and had become fast friends. At least you are trying to keep those boundaries, as you’ve dubbed Jungkook as off limits because of his idol status. But does Jungkook know he’s off limits?

Idol! Jungkook X BlackfemReader(Plus sized reader)

Warnings: Smut(filthy). Mutual Pinning. Reader is oblivious of JK’s feelings at first. JK is obsessed with Reader including her body. JK is a munch(cunnalingus). Sparring.(Manhandling, wrestling, Judo). Dryhumpping. Choking(HAHAHAH). Rough Sex. Dirty Talk. Reader has a potty mouth, but so does JK. JK is a little shit as is reader. Gym Sex. Semi-Public Sex. Dom JK. Sub reader (Likes to put up a fight though). Bratty Reader. Reader gives off independent black woman vibes. Reader gets frustrated and overwhelmed does cry a bit. Slight Noona Kink(if you squint). Slight Angst. Language barrier is there but vibes. (Will add as the story progresses.)

*Glossary for Korean can be found at end of chapter.*

With a sigh you wrapped your coat tighter around yourself and continued your trek home.

Today hadn’t gone that great for you and every single thing that could have gone wrong, did. It first started off with you waking up to your charger no longer working so your phone only had half of its charge. Now this wouldn’t have been a big deal normally, but today was one of your long days so your phone was a necessity.

Secondly you had to take a cold shower, as the boiler in your apartment unit decided to go out. With the weather getting colder you started turning off your heating system a bit more to save on the utilities bill. Turns out doing that in the dead of winter in Seoul wasn’t the best idea, as the damn things pipes had frozen.

Thirdly while at work the town hall meeting quickly turned into a crisis meeting when the CFO reported that the social media team posted about a future project that was still in its last stages of contract review with a partnered client.

Absolutely nobody was supposed to know about it yet, let alone the public. The post had immediately been moved to deleted on the company website, but by that time the damage was already done. And even though the mistake hadn’t been done by your team, everyone felt the consequences of that fuck up. As all management was now required to sign off on every little thing that needed to be submitted.

With everyone in crisis mode the only break for the day had been a working lunch and you only had time to stuff your face with what you could get from the cafeteria. You couldn’t even run to the store to grab yourself another charger like you had originally planned that morning. You of course had tried borrowing a charger from your coworker but you were that lone iPhone user in a sea of Samsungs.

During your sorry excuse of a lunch you had received an email from your landlord stating that your boiler needed to be replaced, but it wouldn’t happen until Tuesday. Today was Friday, meaning you would be without hot water for 4 days.

However the final tally that had officially turned this day from a little bad to ALL bad was finding out you would have to stay later at work than you originally planned. You were going to work overtime today so you had already come to terms with that. But with the newest demands of the management team you had to stay back and wait to approve every project and procedures for submission before Monday. You couldn’t even take work home as with the recent leak all remote activity was temporarily suspended.

By the time you left the office you were only able to catch one of the two buses you needed to take home. Korea’s public transport stopped running at 1am. Sure you could have called a cab home, however with your phone being dead you had to walk the last 3km home.

But not before stopping at the convenience store to grab another charger. Or two. You will not be caught slipping again.

Now with everything that happened today this walk home should have helped to clear your mind. And normally it would have. But it only made you realize that you wouldn’t be able to relax in a hot shower when you got home. In fact you probably should figure out where you would be staying instead because there was absolutely no way you were going to survive the weekend and then some with no running hot water.

When you finally entered your apartment you were shocked to find that it was ice cold. “What the hell?”

Slipping off your shoes, you step a few feet into your entryway. Frowning you slowly began to realize that your floor heating system wasn’t on. Grabbing your slippers from the shoe rack you dropped them to the floor and quickly shuffled them on.

Making your way to the bedroom you dropped your things onto and over the back of the couch. Hitting the light switch you peered at your thermostat in confusion. Clicking on one of the up arrows you watched as the thing just continues to flash numbers at you. Something that happened this morning when you realized your hot water wasn’t working.

And with that it was as if a light bulb went off in your head and you couldn’t help but throw your head back in defeat. The boiler controlled all of the hot water, meaning the heating system for your floors. Your apartment not only didn’t have running hot water but also no heat. No heat in the middle of freaking winter.

You lean against your wall and groan, “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

Your vision began to blur as frustrated tears prick at the corner of your eyes. Closing them you inhaled deeply refusing to allow them to fall. Everything was just a lot right now, but you weren’t going to let this break you. “It’s fine…it’s fine.”

You hold your breath for a few seconds before slowly exhaling. You repeat this step a few times until you can feel your heart rate slow and the overwhelming feeling dissipates. Sniffling you pushed yourself away from the wall and wiped your eyes dry.

“Seriously fuck today.” You chuckle mirthlessly as you shrug off your jacket, dragging your feet to your closet you proceed to come up with a game plan. As you got changed into your lounge wear you tried to ignore the fact you hadn’ showered yet, but you refused to lazy around in your work clothes. You could mentally hear your mother fussing about how outside clothes don’t go on the bed.

While changing you made a mental checklist of things you needed to do. ‘First charge your phone, then figure out a place to stay for the next few days.���

Your stomach gave a violent rumble as you walked back into your living room. “Okay phone, food THEN figure out the living situation.”

——

About twenty minutes later you find yourself wrapped in your coziest throw blanket finishing off a cup of ramyeon while your phone charges on the arm of the couch. The spice of the noodles hits your tongue and you couldn’t help but groan in happiness.

Since moving to Korea you have begun to understand the sudden appeal of instant ramyeon. Yes you had the instant cup noodles back in the states, but nothing really could beat the taste of Korean cup noodles for some reason.

Staring down into the red liquid you narrow your eyes in suspension. “Why are you so addicting…” Though your newfound suspension didn’t stop you from taking another bite.

Your phone buzzed to alert you of a text message, and you glanced at the screen while in mid-slurp. A familiar bunny emoji greeted your eyes and you couldn’t help but smile around the noodles.

“체육관?”

Finishing your bite of noodles you put down the cup on your coffee table and reach for your phone to type back a quick reply.

“What no hi first?”

You watched the ellipsis appear then disappear before a message popped up on your screen.

“안녕. 체육관?”

You rolled your eyes, but stared at the message for a bit. Even though it was late, going to the gym wasn’t a bad idea. You could shower, plus let some of this pent up energy out against a bag.

Typing out a quick reply you run to your bedroom to get yourself together.

“콜 I can be there in 30”

On any normal trip to the gym you’d take the time to choose your fit. But right now your focus is on durability and comfort. A pair of black leggings and compression sports bra. After adjusting the straps you reach for a baggy sweater and throw it on over your head, the ends of the sweater resting at the top of your thighs.

Stepping into your en suite bathroom, you grab a few hair ties and began the routine of securing your coily hair up in a relaxed updo; a hairstyle your older sister liked to call ‘the pineapple’ and you put another hair tie on your wrist. With hair as thick as yours it was always a good idea to carry a spare.

Exiting your bathroom you stop by your closet to collect your pre packed gym tote. Grabbing your gym shoes you stuff them haphazardly into the tote and head to your nightstand to do the same thing with your water bottle.

You can hear your phone going off from its place on your couch. The familiar text tone alerting you of a new message.

Bag secured over your shoulder you grab your phone and charger, making sure to dump the cord into your bag, doing the same thing with your wallet. With your hands semi free you unlock your phone to view your recent message.

“I can pick you up.”

You declined the offer but that instantly had your phone ringing in your hands. Hitting the green circle you also put the device on speaker.

“You live on the opposite side of the gym. It doesn't make sense for you to come get me.”

“But it’s late and the buses aren’t running.” You hear his gruff voice sound over the speakers of your phone and you had to ignore the way your body immediately warmed. This man was off limits and had been the moment he walked into your boxing gym.

———Flashback———

Your lesson was finishing up with your coach and you were working on the bag and was only focused on finishing out the last few reps.

“당신은 일찍 왔습니다, 정국아.”

You heard your coach call out to the person who you assumed just walked into the private gym but you paid them no mind. Instead the moment your last punch landed on the bag you collapsed to the floor mats dramatically in an exhausted heap.

“제가 해냈어요!”

Your coach and the newcomer both chuckled at your display which had you grinning from your place on the floor. You could hear your coach talking more but you didn’t quite understand their conversation. Your Korean was extremely basic, including your grammar. Besides you didn’t really try as it wasn’t right to eavesdrop on others conversation.

Sitting up you crawl your way awkwardly to your gym bag against the wall. Your boxing gloves and arms make the short trip difficult. But you were stubborn as you desperately needed a drink of water. Reaching your hydro flask you popped it open with your teeth and took the most generous pulls from your straw. Groaning when the cool water hits your throat. Room temp water is better after a workout as your body can absorb it easier, but ice cold water turly hits differently .

Putting the bottle down you start working on taking off your gloves. You hear footsteps approaching and you thought it was your coach so you turn to him, but for one it wasn’t your coach. Instead it was someone else entirely. THE Jeon Jungkook of BTS.

“안녕하세요.” You watched as the man shyly bows to you and you quickly scrambled to stand to return his greeting.

“아..안녕하세요.” You awkwardly stuttered back. He proceeded to fire off fluent Korean to you and you were unfortunately only able to catch a few words. You were better than this. Truly you were, but your brain could barely function because of present company. “Umm…I. 저는 한국어를 잘 못해요…죄송합니다.”

The man laughed softly and switched over to English, or at least what English he could speak. However, through the small interaction you were able to find out that Jungkook also took lessons at your gym. He was a bit more advanced than you as he has more training years under his belt. But he still praised you on your form.

———Present———

That meeting had happened well over 8 months ago, your Korean though at the time being basic and his English also the same, you two had become fast friends. Mostly you two hung out at the gym together or you had invited him over for a small LAN party to play Overwatch with some of your friends back home. Of course you never told them exactly who they were playing with. Your friends weren’t that big into Korean music so it was easy for Jungkook to get away with it. But with his demanding schedule it was hard to find time to hang out. Though that didn’t mean you two didn’t talk.

Your text message chain was covered in meme’s and funny TikTok videos you both had sent back to each other over the months. And you two would FaceTime as often as you could. It was an easy friendship. One you had to constantly remind yourself to not take it any further. No matter how attractive, sweet, funny, and annoyingly cute Jungkook was. His status made him off limits. Besides you figured with his job as an idol, he had to constantly deal with people throwing themselves at him. You didn’t want to do that to him, so you made it your mission to never cross that line.

“I’m a big girl Kook, I can take a cab.” You speak into your phone, as you enter the gym’s address into the Kakao taxi app.

“But surge hours.” You heard him whine through the phone. Without even having to see his face you could see the pout and frown combo your friend was no doubt sporting right now. “It is, but it’s already ordered and I’m not wasting money canceling.”

“…완고한.” You didn’t exactly know what he said, even with your Korean having improved but there were still words you didn’t know. But what you did know is that you should take offense to it.

So you did the only thing you could think of. You hung up on him and dropped your device into your bag, and while you were at it you reached for the gym shoes and quickly put them on. Followed by your coat.

Your phone was buzzing violently in your bag to alert you of a phone call, but you ignored it. If he wanted to insult you then he could deal with being ignored for a few moments. You had to head down anyway, your taxi was almost here.

—-

Your coach was actually in the process of leaving for the evening when you arrived. Because the gym was private, sometimes the man allowed some of his VIP clients to use the facilities after hours. By VIP clients what that really stood for was Jungkook. Coach had given him access a while back due to his schedule. And because of your recent friendship with Jungkook, that had meant that by proxy you had access.

“ Y/N아(야) 혼자 운동하기?”

You dropped your gym bag by the wall as you bowed in a greeting to your coach.

“아니요, 정국이 여기 오는 중입니다.”

The older man hummed in acknowledgement at you and advised you to clean up after yourselves when you both were done. You watched the older man wave goodbye to you and you bowed to him wishing him a goodnight.

Now alone you made your way to the sound system and plugged your phone in. You didn’t often get the option to get control of the aux. It was always a first come first serve type of situation. Opening Spotify you hit your workout playlist and the familiar beat of your favorite song comes blasting through the speakers.

With your music now playing you walked over to the side of the gym that had a few yoga mats available for use. Grabbing the thickest one you unroll it and begin a series of warm up stretches. You’re laying down onto your knee for the pigeon pose when Jungkook comes storming in.

“야! 누나!”

You lifted your head and turned it towards the huffing man and stuck your tongue out at him. During your cab ride over you kept ignoring JK’s calls and at first you were just doing it until you got settled into the cab. But the man had started to blow up your phone so you continue to ignore his calls now for the hell of it. All though you were kind enough to text him you were at the gym.

“미안해요.” Though you said it politely, your tone was giving the exact opposite. You watched him roll his eyes and turn around to drop his bag and water bottle next to your things even going as far as discarding his shoes. With his back turned, you allowed yourself a little time to glance over his appearance. He was wearing his typical oversized shirt and sweatpants in his trademark colors. Black. The outfit was simple, but the black seemed to make his tattoo sleeve pop even more.

And his hair, god he started growing out his hair not too long after you two met and it was just so perfect. You wanted to run you fingers through it, hell even braid it and you didn’t even know how to do that. Shaking your head you stare ahead and focus on your warm up. You switch over to the other leg, your back facing him.

With your attention now off of him, you failed to notice the once over he gave your figure. Nor did you see the way his gaze lingered a little longer on your ass.

Jungkook’s fingers flexed a bit as his thoughts began to get away from him. For months he has been dreaming about your ass, your thighs, your chest and don’t even get him started on your belly. He knew you were self conscious about your weight and you had talked with him about it multiple times. And multiple times he had told you there was absolutely nothing wrong, but he did offer to be your gym buddy, help you on your days when you didn’t have the best mindset. And because of this your friendship had grown to what it was today. But Jungkook desperately wanted more and he has every since he first met you.

Your ass had him hypnosis as he witnessed you crawling across the gym floor. With absolutely no ounce of shame Jungkook had asked his coach about you immediately. The older man might have judged him but Jungkook gave no fucks, especially after he heard the moan you let out when drinking your water. Fuck at that moment he understood why Army always cheered when he would take a water break during concerts. Your plump lips wrapped around the straw made his cock twitch to life in his sweatpants. Jungkook was already so down bad that the possible language barrier between the two of you didn’t even occur to him until after you both started talking.

“So how was your day?” Your voice calling out to him sounded slightly strained as you switched into deep lunges. He was lucky the music was loud because the noise that fell from his lips sounded feral. That pose made your ass look straight up appetizing. Clearing his throat Jungkook turned his back to you when he noticed you started looking over and occupied himself with his hand wraps.

“Busy, had a few schedules, but I have the next couple of days off. How was yours?”

He heard your huff of frustration and he glanced over his shoulder. You looked peeved. Actually now that he was looking at you, he could see how tense you truly were.

You moved into a butterfly pose and started bouncing your knees against the mat. “It fucking sucked. I had to get a new charger because my old one quit working in the middle of the night. Plus my boiler broke, also work was overwhelmingly stupid. I had to stay late and unfortunately I missed my last bus home. I had to walk the last couple of kilometers.” In the middle of your rant you had abandoned the stretch and had begun listing off your grievances by counting on your stiletto manicured fingers.

Jungkook’s brow furrowed more and more as you ranted off to him about your day. You were speaking extremely fast so he was hyperfocusing on the way your glossed lips moved making sure he was picking up every word. Since meeting you his English has improved rapidly. So much so that even Namjoon noticed. But his brain still needed to work overtime to translate your words, so his hands stilled, pausing in his hand wrapping, the purple wraps hanging awkwardly between his fingers.

“집에 걸어갔어요? 온돌이 고장났습니다? Wait….You can’t stay at home with your heat not working 누나.”

You nod your head in agreement with him.”I know, I’m going to look at a hotel to stay in tomorrow. It’ll be fixed on Tuesday.”

”Stay with me.” He was not going to let you go back home to a cold apartment. It was starting to snow when he had pulled up to the building earlier. He watched as you blinked owlishly at him for his statement, your head tilting in confusion in a way he found extremely cute. But he needed you to understand that he was serious.

“I’m serious. Stay with me until your 온돌 is fixed.”

You waved your hands back and forth in front of you and shook your head. “That's sweet of you, but no, it's okay I can stay at a hotel.”

Jungkook shook the purple wraps off his hand and let the fabric fall to the floor by his bag before making his way over to your form. “If you insist on staying in a hotel, fine. But at least come back to mine for the night.”

Your brows shot up in surprise at his sudden approach. You really did find it sweet that he was offering his own home for your benefit. But staying the night with Jungkook even if it was for platonic reasons felt like it was crossing a line. You smiled gently at the man as you declined once again.

“Y/N, just for tonight. It was snowing when I got here and you live on the 5 floor. There is no way you would be comfortable at home tonight.” As if to prove he was serious Jungkook had kneeled down to your level, his wide brown eyes staring deeply into yours.

Your vision jumped back and forth between his eyes before looking away to think. Okay so he had a point. Your plan had been to stay home for tonight and find a hotel to check into the following morning. When you left your apartment the thermostat had shown 12 degrees Celsius. Now with it snowing you could only imagine what the temperature would read.

You cross your arms over your chest and begin to nibble your bottom lip as you got lost in thought. Would it really be okay for you to accept his offer? You’ve never been to his house before, sure he’s been to yours plenty of times, but it was easier to sneak him into your apartment. Jungkook had literal people stalked outside his home 24/7 always hoping to catch a look of the idol. “I..don’t kn-“

”I won’t accept no for an answer Y/N” Jungkook steels his gaze when your eyes shift back to him at his declarations. It didn’t make sense for you to go back home. He had two guest rooms available. He would truthfully prefer you sleeping in his own bed, snuggled up close, but that could come later. He watched as one of your eyebrows ticked upward and an expression he dubbed stubborn defiants took over.

Dropping down fully to the floor Jungkook crossed his legs and settled in for the long haul. Once you had that look on your face it was always hard for him to change your mind. Sometimes he would just give up and let you have your way, but he refused to do that this time. It’s for your own good and his peace of mind.

“I’ll be fine Jungkook, it's for one night. Hell it's like literally just a few hours at this point. I won’t freeze to death.” Though you said this, a miniscule part of your brain did wonder if it was actually possible.

“Aren’t you anemic? You’ve been complaining about how cold you’ve been feeling lately.”

Your eyes shifted to the floor with his statement. So yes you did get cold super easily. You had never been the type of person to sleep with socks on, but more nights you found yourself doing exactly that. In fact your fuzzy sock collection had grown quite quickly over the last couple of months, but you felt that was largely due to the man right in front of you.

“I can’t ask you to d-“

”You aren’t asking, I’m offering.” Jungkook watched as you bite your lower lip and your brows scrunch closer together. He could see your mind physically searching for a way to decline his offer. You might have hung up the phone when he had called you stubborn earlier, but you really were. He admired how fiercely independent you were, but he wanted you to also understand you don’t have to be with him around.

“Y/N, I have a spare bedroom you can stay in for the night. You can sleep in a warm bed and I’ll even make breakfast. I make an amazing egg sandwich.”

You rolled your eyes at him, but the corner of your lips did tug upward into a small smile. You were tempted to say yes, but you still were worried. “ You won’t get into trouble for me spending the night?”

You watched as Jungkook’s eyes dip down your frame and back up to your eyes. And your body warms uncontrollably at the gesture. “누나 I’ve had people crash at mine before.”

You sigh a bit in frustration because that’s not exactly what you meant. Yes you are sure he has had people over, but what about women? You didn’t want him to get into trouble with his company over this. A photo leaking of a woman sneaking into his home in the middle of the night would be a horrible scandal. No matter how innocent it is. “Okay but have you ever had a woman do it? I don’t want this to get you into ‘any’ kind of trouble.”

It was Jungkook’s turn to arch his eyebrow, he watched as you stared at him in genuine concern. He could tell now that what you were really worried about was the possible scandal this could bring, and yes there was a chance you could be caught coming home with him. But he didn’t care about all of that. He was a grown man and he wasn’t going to stop or be afraid to live his own life because of that.

Staring at you for a little longer something else started to occur to him, how innocent did you think he was to not having had a woman stay at his place before. Grinning, he placed his hands behind him and leaned back onto his palms, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You wouldn’t be the first woman to spend the night with me Y/N.” He said as he cocks his head to the side chuckling softly.

You scoff and look away as the warm feeling from before moved to two places. Your face then down to your lower belly. You know he didn’t mean it the way he said it, but you couldn’t help the way your mind wondered. The fantasies you’ve buried deep into the back of your head started coming to the surface.

You feel a nudge against your knee and look down to watch Jungkook’s foot return to the floor. Without hesitation you reach forward and push the man back by his shoulders. “Eww don’t touch me with your feet!”

Jungkook bursts into a giggling mess as he falls back to the floor in a heap. You aggressively started rubbing the back of your hand over where his toe sock covered foot touched. ”I’m definitely going home after that stunt.”

You started to stand but jungkook was faster. Your wrist was within his hand in seconds and he gently pulled you back down to your seated position. At least that had been the plan until gravity set it. Your had corrected your balance trying not to fall into Jungkook, but the man didn’t want you falling to the floor.

You landed awkwardly across his lap. His thighs digging slightly into your stomach. You feel one of his hands on your shoulder and the other on your waist stabilizing you. “I’m sorry 누나.”

Jungkook was in absolute heaven. You were laid across his lap in such a way that your ass was almost directly in his face. He had caught you in a way that he could feel exactly how soft and warm your body was against his own and loved it. But he could only hold you against him for so long.

As you began to sit up you felt Jungkook’s hand move from your waist to the other side of your hip in assistance. His hold firm and strong, your heart couldn’t help but flutter. You plop down next to him and you watch as he looks you over clearly checking for injuries. “I’m fine Kook, I practically crushed you. I should be the one saying sorry. Are you okay?”

Jungkook reached over and flicked your forehead. “You could never 누나.”

You hiss in pain and lean away from him rubbing your forehead. Glaring at him past you hands. “Ow, what as that for?”

Jungkook just gives you a look. One that you clearly understand. No negative remarks towards yourself were allowed. Something you both had talked about multiple times.

You watch as Jungkook stands up and stretch his hands high above his head. It took all of your willpower not to drop your eyes to his crotch. “You’ve been practicing Judo with 선생님?”

You continue to pout as your rub your forehead still a little miffed and mumbled a soft yes.

“Then let's spar in the ring. You win, I’ll drive you back home. I win, you stay with me tonight. “ What he didn’t tell you was that if your place did turn out to be too cold he was going to drag you over to his anyway.

You slowly come to your feet next to him, frowning at him deeply. “How is that fair? You are literally a black belt.”

Jungkook smiled cheekily at your comment. And leaned a little into your space. “Scared?”

You rolled your eyes and placed your hand on his cheek pushing his head away from you, “No, I’m being realistic.”

With the momentum of your push he dramatically falls into the direction of the elevated ring tucked into the corner of the gym.

You watch from your place next to your yoga mat as Jungkook slides into the ring and stands up only to lean down on to the black boxing ring ropes, his full weight bouncing lazily on them. “If you can pin me once, you win. But if I can pin you 7 times. I win?”

You walk towards him and place your hands on your hips, your neck tilted back as you look up to him. “I only have to pin you once?”

Jungkook bobs his head up and down in confirmation. You had only been practicing Judo for the last month or so. But your coach had said you did show great promise for it. Which didn’t surprise you in the least. What he didn’t know is that you and your siblings pretended that your living room was a wrestlemania arena when you were growing up. Stone Cold Steve Austin was your literal childhood hero.

“Fine.” You agreed to his terms and started toeing off your shoes. Then your socks as an afterthought. Honestly the deal was a good one. You didn’t really have faith in abilities but 1 out of 7 were good odds.

To be continued…

Glossary:

체육관: Gym—안녕. 체육관: Hello(informal). Gym—콜: Deal(ex:You have a deal.)—당신은 일찍 왔습니다, 정국아: You came early, Jungkook—제가 해냈어요: I did it—안녕하세요: Hello(Formal)—저는 한국어를 잘 못해요…죄송합니다:I am not good at Korean, I’m sorry—…완고한: Stubborn—Y/N아(야) 혼자 운동하기: Y/N (ending depends if your names ends in vowel or a constant), working out alone—아니요, 정국이 여기 오는 중입니다: No, Jungkook is on his way here—야! 누나: Hey(informal) Older sister(for male)—미안해요: Sorry(formal)—집에 걸어갔어요? 온돌이 고장났습니다?: Did you walk home? Is the ondol(Korean thermostat) broken—선생님: Teacher.

Please let me know if this format is clear enough to understand.

[ro-writesstuff]

april showers - ross macdonald

a/n: happy april everybody! 🌷💐

summary: ross decides to suprise you by coming home early.

content warning: shower smut, cursing, not proofread

minors do not interact, all fics are 18+

birds chirp outside as you finish up work after three hours of staring at your screen. you sat yourself down and actually did the damn thing after complaining to your boyfriend via text about it for the past three days.

you stretch, glancing at an old picture of you and ross sitting on your desk, him kissing your cheek as you lovingly try to push him away. giving the photograph a passing smile, you close your computer and make your way to the upstairs bathroom.

thoughts linger to how much you miss ross as you turn on the water, and how you're going to get through the next few weeks.

you slide open your phone and hit ‘play’ to one of your boyfriend's song. the first few notes of the song are sung, and you join in, dipping your head underneath the water.

you learn a couple things when you get to my age, friends don’t lie and it all tastes the same in the dark,

as you scrub your hair, humming, you hear a comforting voice coming from the other side of the glass.

“reckon you should replace Matty.” he leans his weight against the door frame. “way better singer than he is.”

you laugh. “thanks, but I don’t think-”

wait a second.

frozen, you stood underneath the warm water as ross slides the door open. a chuckle, a real-life one escapes his lips, as he takes you in.

a contented sigh. “hi, love.”

"wh-what are you doing here?"

he shrugged. “i live here.”

as soon as ross knew he was in the clear, he booked the flight. the flight that had been sitting in his cart for ages, teasing and taunting him day after day, just waiting to be bought. after rehearsals about a day ago, the band was informed that the next few shows were postponed due to weather concerns.

elated, ross tapped the ‘pay now’ button and was on his way back to your shared apartment. tired and somewhat jet-lagged, he turned his key in the door, dropping everything in the process and searched for you. voice, exasperated mannerisms, breathing, anything.

the familiar pattern of the squeaking pipes in the wall made the house creak, hinting at the hot as hell shower you were about to take. he patted up the stairs, adrenaline pumping through his body, the feeling making him excited but anxious.

so there your boyfriend stood, unbuttoning his shirt, his muscles and tanned skin exposed as he shedded his clothes behind the fogged glass of the shower. your heartbeat quickens as you become sure it’s him, but the idea of him being home was foreign since he was supposed to be on tour for the next month.

before you could fully understand what’s happening, he steps in, lips pressing against yours, full of need and love. you push back, the reality of the situation making you happy, feeling his hands land comfortably on yours hips as you slide your arms around his neck. his tongue dancing with yours as he pulls away breathless.

“i thought you had more shows,” you speak, the thought lingering in the air with the steam, then dissipates as you moan at your boyfriend’s actions. you feel his lips attach to your neck, dragging lower and lower until they land on your breast.

ross smiles to himself, and groans as he presses his half hard dick into you, “i’ve missed you.”

“i’ve missed you more.”

“hmm,” he thinks for a moment, drops of water falling down his neck. a devilish smile spreads across his face, “wanna bet, love?”

"ross," you squirm under his gaze, heat rising in your cheeks as his lips meet the shell of your ear.

“what,” he challenges, “afraid you’ll lose?” his tone is sultry, and has you wetter by the second. a shiver shoots up your spine.

his fingers slide up your folds, and your body shudders at the contact. “no, just know I’m right.” you slick his hair back as he kneels beneath you as he places your leg over his shoulder.

he mumbles, “missed your pussy s’much, bloody hell,” spreading your folds with his fingers. you tug at his now wet hair, grinding your pussy against his face.

he looks up at you, eyes dilated and focused as he continues his actions. the sight is too much, and you shut your eyes.

"look at me, y/n," his voice gruff and dominating. the bliss and pleasure runs through you as he continues. "want you to watch."

your legs start to shake as his movements continue. you open your eyes seeing his fingers fuck you, and his mouth attaching to your clit, sucking and lapping at your core.

"ross," you moan, eyes rolling back, the coil in your stomach starting to unwind. he notices your grip on his hair getting tighter, signaling you're close.

“that’s it, princess. come undone for me,” he plants soft kisses against your thighs.

his words tip you over the edge, vision going white as your legs buckle under you, ross catching you. the coil snaps as your juices cover his face, his tongue still pleasure rippling through your entire body.

he gives you a moment to catch your breath, a giant smile on your face as he gently places your leg back to the floor. water still running, he presses his hard dick against you, pinning both your hands above your head.

“told you I missed you.”

[hannahssimblr]

Morning, as snow drifts pile upon the sills, I wander towards the fridge and rummage through for something to eat. I haven’t been to the supermarket in a while, on account of eating out far more than I should, but it isn’t my fault. It’s Astrid who likes to go out for dinner, and who am I to deny her the opportunity to try a new cuisine, five, six nights a week? There’s a bag of frozen pretzels in the freezer. As soon as I jiggle the bag free of the over-iced drawer, Jonas pipes up from the living room. 

“Don’t eat my pretzels, please.”

“I’m not.”

“I know the sound the pretzel bag makes.”

“It’s… I’m hungry, okay?”

“Then you should have gone to Lidl.”

I pad across the hallway and into the living room where he sits, as always, on the left side of the couch, coffee mug on a coaster, and the newspaper in hand. 

“Really? I can’t have one?”

“No.”

“If I have to queue for the bakery now, I’ll be late for college.”

“You should plan things more. Maybe if you had thought about this, you would have bought your own bag of frozen pretzels.” He takes a long, satisfied sip. “Anyway, you shouldn’t be so worried about your breakfast, when there are these ongoing, violent demonstrations in Tunisia and such. Worse things are happening in the world than your lack of pretzels.”

“Jonas, please.” I groan. He loves regaling me with tales of war, death and destruction in the morning, as if I can do anything to fix it. I know that being a human rights student fills you with this kind of permanent dread, cursed forever with knowledge of the happenings of the world, but I paint pictures at college. Sometimes I make things out of clay which explode in the kiln. That’s about as bad as it gets, and I’d prefer to keep it that way. I don’t want to hear about violence and unrest before breakfast on a Monday morning. 

“You are late for college already,” he adds casually. “It’s already 8:30, and it takes thirty-seven minutes to get there.”

“It’s fine. I was going to get a taxi, anyway.”

“A taxi?”

“Yeah. I’m not walking in the snow.”

“You could have shared one with Astrid this morning.”

“Oh, you saw her.”

“Yes. In a very terrible kind of outfit of track pants and a sweatshirt far too big. She usually doesn’t look quite so dishevelled like this.”

My ears get hot. “Yes, Jonas, obviously those were my clothes.”

He pauses thoughtfully. “Well, I cannot imagine the terrible things you must have done to her clothes. I’m sure you were tearing buttons off and such ridiculous things.”

“Okay, I’m going now.”

He calls to me as I yank on my shoes by the door. “You have not yet sent the water bill money to me.”

“Oh, yes,” I reply distractedly. “I will. I’ve just forgotten the pin number for my account.”

“Again?”

“Yes, again. I’ll find it later.”

“I think if I forgot something so many times, I would write it down.”

“I’m sure you would. See you later!”

“Are you home before dinner?”

“No, I’ll meet you at the restaurant.”

“Okay! Tschuss!”

“Tschuss.”

Beginning // Prev // Next

[marinersapartmentc0mplex]

Never Let Me Go

Chapter One: New Americana

Ao3 link (you can read the next seven chapters on ao3)

The morning erupted like a poorly orchestrated symphony, a cacophony of shouts, stomping feet, and the occasional thud of something – or someone – hitting the floor. 

“Elena! Where’s my other shoe?!” Leo’s voice cracked, high-pitched with panic, as he shuffled through a pile of mismatched sneakers by the door.

Elena groaned, crouching low to scan under the couch in the living room, hair half-brushed, and an expression teetering on the edge of patience. Her fingers brushed something rubbery and damp. “Found it!” she announced, holding up the grimy sneaker like a trophy. “Now put it on, and don’t forget to brush your teeth, or else Laura will have your head.”

Leo grabbed the shoe and bolted for the bathroom, where someone was already pounding on the door. “Hurry up in there!”

Elena sighed, rising to her feet and glancing around the messy living room. She had only tidied it last night and now it looked like a hurricane had passed through it. Grabbing the wooden comb she had been using to brush her hair out before she was interrupted, she ran it through her brown locks a few times before stuffing it into her backpack.

“Hey, who used up all the hot water?!” Gavin, the oldest in the house, emerged from the hallway with damp hair and a scowl. He towered over the others, radiating the grumpiness of a teenager forced to coexist with young children and toddlers.

“Not me!” a voice piped up from the kitchen, followed by a loud crash.

“Toby! What did you do now?” Elena yells out exasperatedly, hurrying towards the kitchen to investigate.

Toby, a wiry eleven-year-old with the energy of a coked-up squirrel, stood frozen in front of an overturned chair and an entire box of spilled cereal. He glanced at Elena with wide, guilty eyes.

“I- I didn’t mean to! The chair moved on its own!”

“The chair moved ? Really?” Elena shot back, stepping over the mess to grab a broom from the corner and pressing it to Toby’s chest with a glare. “Clean this up before Laura sees, or we’ll all be spending the rest of the year shovelling oatmeal down our throats instead of lucky charms.”

The twins, Libby and Harley, were arguing over the last pack of strawberry Pop-Tarts, their voices overlapping in a high-pitched symphony of complaints.

“I had it first!”

“No, you didn’t! You always get the strawberry Pop-Tarts!”

Elena wedged herself between the siblings, plucking the foil package from their clutches. “Guys, it’s just a Pop-Tart. Break it in half and call it a day.” She ripped the pastry in two and handed each child a piece. “See? Problem solved.”

Gavin stomped past her, still grumbling about the hot water as he made a beeline for the stove. The smell of freshly cooked eggs lingered in the air as Mr. Jansen, their care worker, flipped the last omelet onto a plate. Gavin snagged it before anyone else could blink.

“Hey!” Elena protested, glaring at him.

“What?” Gavin shrugged, already shoving a forkful of eggs into his mouth. “I’ve got a big soccer game today. Gotta fuel up.”

“That was supposed to be for everyone,” Elena snapped, pointing at the now-empty skillet.

“Survival of the fittest,” Gavin said with a smirk, scraping up the last bite.

“More like survival of the fastest,” she muttered, yanking open a cabinet to grab the backup instant oatmeal Laura keeps for herself. She tore a packet open and dumped it into a bowl, shooting a glare at Gavin as he swaggered out of the room, his plate practically licked clean.

By the time the clock hit seven thirty, it was a miracle that everyone was out of the house in one piece. Elena waved goodbye to them, walking to Gotham Academy while they caught the bus to Gotham Heights.

Her boots hit the pavement with a steady rhythm, matching the beat of the song playing in her ears. “New Slang” by The Shins - a perfect fit for the cool morning. The soft strumming of guitars and the laid-back vocals wrapped around her like a familiar blanket, something that calmed the nervous edge she carried with her every day. The melody, light and a little melancholic, felt like the city itself - alive, but with a strange sense of detachment.

She passed a corner café where the rich scent of freshly brewed coffee swirled in the air, mixing with the pungent tang of street vendors hawking roasted chestnuts and hot dogs. A pair of police officers stood on the corner, chatting in hushed tones, their uniforms stark against the dull gray of the morning. Their conversation was lost to her as the song picked up, the chorus swelling in her ears, pushing her forward. She walked past them without a second glance, part of the city’s daily rhythm - unnoticed, and anonymous, moving with purpose.

Gotham’s streets were always in motion, people hurrying to work, cars honking, the distant wail of a siren cutting through the murmur of morning chatter. Elena had long since stopped flinching at the noise. It was like the hum of a worn-out machine, an engine that had been running for so long it didn’t know how to stop. There was something oddly comforting in it. It felt like home –  the chaos and the stillness all tangled together in a way only Gotham could pull off.

She rounded the corner, heading toward Robinson Park, her footsteps crunching through the frost-covered grass. The park was empty this early, the trees bare and stark against the lightening sky. A few stray pigeons pecked at the ground, their wings flapping lazily as they took flight. The air tasted of metal and rain, the kind of morning that made you feel both invigorated and resigned.

The city's character shifted beneath Elena’s feet, as she walked. Cracked sidewalks littered with cigarette butts and empty cans slowly gave way to cleaner streets, the grime of the lower city retreating as she neared the Upper East Side. The air seemed fresher here, a little lighter, though still tinged with the ever-present hum of Gotham. The tall buildings around her grew more polished, their surfaces gleaming faintly in the morning light, and the streets seemed to widen, offering a little more space between the sidewalk and the looming facades of high-end shops and townhouses.

Ahead, Gotham Academy rose from the polished landscape like a quiet, imposing giant. Its stone walls, dark and weathered, stood in stark contrast to the surrounding sleek glass and steel. Ivy clung to the building, curling up like veins of green against the grey bricks, while narrow windows peeked out from beneath gothic arches. 

Elena’s footsteps slowed as she approached the gates of the academy, fishing in her bag for her ID card. She flashes it against the reader, waiting for the familiar beep letting her know the gate is unlocked and pushing the gate open when it does.

The keys to the school’s newspaper room jingled in her fingers as she unlocked the door. The small, cluttered room was where all the magic of the Gotham Academy Gazette happened - the brainstorming, the writing, the late-night edits, and the last-minute panic before the print deadlines. It was the heartbeat of the school’s journalistic voice, and, as editor-in-chief, Elena was at the center of it all.

She walked into the school’s newspaper room, the familiar scent of ink and paper filling her senses, grounding her in this small sanctuary she had claimed as her own. The hum of quiet conversations, the faint tapping of keyboards, and the rustling of papers made the room feel alive - much more so than the silence of the hallways or the rigid structure of the classrooms. Here, students could express themselves, even if only in words.

The small room was cluttered, but it was still her comfortable sanctuary. Desks scattered at odd angles, stacks of half-finished articles and newspapers piled haphazardly on counters and chairs. Posters from old school events covered the walls, a strange blend of memories from previous years. In the corner, an old coffee machine whistled softly as it brewed another pot. Elena made her way to the back, where a small desk by the window had become her station, thankful that no one else is in here yet so she can sit down and focus with zero distractions.

She set her backpack down, slinging her black coat over the spinney chair, exhaling softly as she fires up the sleek grey laptop in front of her, courtesy of her scholarship fund. Scanning her planner, she sees that she still has two articles left to review for this week's paper - one covering the student council elections, and the other a witty opinion piece on the school’s lunch.

As Elena began scanning the first article - “Gotham Academy’s Cafeteria: A Crime Against Taste?” - the shrill ringing of the school bell sounded, signifying the start of first period. Outside, she could hear the hustle and bustle of students walking to their lessons, hastily taking their books out of their lockers, but she remained focused on the article in front of her. Having a free period first thing on a Monday morning was both a blessing and a curse - while it meant that she could check things off her to-do list as soon as possible, it also meant she had lessons later in the afternoon whilst other students got to go home a little earlier. 

Elena had just started marking up the lunch article with red slashes and circles when a sharp, insistent knock rattled the glass-paneled door to the newsroom. She jumped slightly, startled, her pen skidding across the page and leaving an unfortunate red streak over the word “inedible.”

Elena barely had time to process the sound of knuckles against glass before Damian Wayne’s voice, low and commanding, cut through the newsroom's quiet. “Gold, I need a moment.”

The door wasn’t even fully open before Damian stepped inside, his movements deliberate, every inch of him as composed as ever. The crisp lines of his black blazer highlighted his athletic build, the tailored fabric sculpting to his shoulders and tapering down to a narrow waist. The tie at his neck was knotted precisely, a sharp contrast to the faintly rebellious way a single strand of his jet-black hair fell loose over his forehead, betraying the natural curl pattern of his hair. The rest was slicked back meticulously, a glossy darkness that caught the light and framed his angular, olive toned face.

“Good morning to you too,” she said, brushing off her initial surprise as she closed the door behind him. She crossed her arms, leaning against the desk. “What’s the urgency?”

“You’re the chief editor of the Gazette,” Damian began, his tone calm but unyielding, as if stating an undeniable fact. He set his leather bag on the nearest desk and began to pull out a sleek black folder. “That means you write about things that matter. Issues that deserve attention. I have one for you.”

Elena arched a brow, watching as he placed the folder on the desk and slid it toward her. The way he moved was careful, deliberate, almost like he was handling evidence in a case.

“Okay,” she said cautiously, flipping the folder open. Her eyes widened at the first photograph—a small coop with broken wire hanging loose, a faint smudge of feathers on the ground. She flipped to another, showing a muddy patch with what looked like the faint outline of hoofprints, the ground trampled and wet. Page after page revealed meticulous observations, and hand-written notes in Damian’s sharp, almost surgical penmanship.

“It’s the mini-farm,” Damian explained what Elena had already deduced, his voice steady but imbued with an edge of restrained passion. “The one set up for the elementary and middle school. The conditions are unacceptable. The animals are suffering due to neglect and incompetence.”

Elena’s brown eyes looked up at him, surprised by the conviction in his voice. “Go on.”

“The enclosures are substandard,” Damian continued, his expression unchanging but his words precise, cutting like glass. “The chicken coop is barely secured—any predator could get in. The rabbits are housed in wire cages that don’t protect them from wind or cold. The ducks’ pond is stagnant, riddled with algae. And the ponies...” He paused for a moment, not out of hesitation, but to let the weight of his words settle. “They’re underweight. Standing in mud, with no dry ground and inadequate shelter.”

His tone never wavered, but it carried a quiet intensity that made Elena sit up straighter. “How long has it been like this?”

“Since the beginning,” Damian replied. “I’ve been watching since they broke ground. At first, I thought they might address the issues as they went. But they haven’t. If anything, it’s getting worse.”

Elena closed the folder, her mind buzzing as she processed what he was saying. “Have you tried raising the issue with anyone? The headmaster?”

Damian’s jaw tightened at her question, the faintest tick of annoyance betraying his otherwise stoic demeanour. His hands, resting loosely at his sides, curled slightly into fists against his black slacks before relaxing again, the only outward sign of irritation.

“I’ve spoken to the headmaster,” he replied evenly, his tone clipped. “Twice. Each time, I was assured the matter would be addressed. Yet, here we are.”

Elena raised an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair. “So, nothing’s been done? Seems strange, considering who you are. You’d think they’d jump to fix things if Damian Wayne showed up in their office.”

Damian’s expression darkened, his green eyes narrowing. “Apparently, my name carries less weight when it comes to what they consider a ‘minor matter.’” The way he said the words - mocking and cold - made it clear how much he despised the dismissal.

“Well,” Elena said, crossing her arms, “if money’s the issue, that’s one thing you’re not short on, right? Why not just write a check and solve the problem?”

The air in the room seemed to shift. Damian’s gaze sharpened, his posture straightening as if her words had struck a nerve. “Is that what you think?” he asked, his voice low and cutting.

Elena hesitated, taken aback by the intensity in his tone. “I mean, it wouldn’t hurt, would it? A new coop, better fencing, proper shelter - you could cover all of that without breaking a sweat.”

Damian stepped closer, his movements measured and deliberate, like a predator closing in. He rested his hands on the edge of her desk, leaning just enough to bring their eyes level. The faint scent of woody oud clung to him, invading the air around them.

“Elena,” he began, his voice quiet but with an edge that sliced through the air, “if I throw money at this problem, it gets fixed for a week. Maybe two. Then what? The same people who neglected it in the first place let it fall apart again. Because they don’t care. Because no one is holding them accountable.”

She held his gaze, her breath caught somewhere between defiance and understanding. “So, what? You want me to shame them into doing their jobs?”

“If that’s what it takes, yes,” Damian answered without hesitation. “But this isn’t just about shaming them. It’s about making people realise that the treatment of these animals is barbaric. They read your articles, and they care about what you have to say - remember that article you wrote about Gotham Academy’s lack of charity events? It gained so much traction that the PTA have started to organise fundraising events.”

She studied him for a moment, weighing the gravity of what he was asking. Damian wasn’t someone who spoke lightly about anything, let alone something like this.

“Are you really going to stand for animal cruelty?”

“Alright,” she said finally, nodding. “I’ll do it. But I’ll need more than what’s in this folder. Interviews, first hand observations—something to back it all up, and I want better pictures.”

“Then we investigate,” Damian said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “After school. I’ll take you to the mini-farm. You’ll see for yourself.”

His calm confidence left no room for argument, and Elena found herself nodding again before she even realized it. “Fine. After school.”

“Good.” Damian straightened, the flicker of intensity in his eyes softening just enough to reveal a hint of satisfaction. “I’ll meet you by the east gate at four.”

[genericpuff]

oh goodie, there was an overnight cold snap (-30 C) that happened so harshly and quickly we woke up to find our pipes frozen :)))) (and just so you know how quickly this would have happened - we were able to use our hot water last night to do dishes just fine, and my roommate has been staying up late to play video games and she clearly didn't have any issues if she needed to use the water at any point)

so i found this out literally as soon as i woke up and saw the basement door open, our landlord had already been trying to get in contact with us but with all of us still being asleep, he made the executive decision to just let himself in and check it out (good on him honestly)

buuut then while waiting around for his buddy (our upstairs neighbor who also sort of owns this place) to show up to supervise the heat gun while he went out to home hardware to pick up some new pipe fittings, we heard a loud crash / pop sound from the bathroom and sure enough, the pipe burst 😭 thankfully it was just water and he was able to shut it off fast enough, but uhh yeah now our bathroom is

it's actually kinda wild it happened when it did because it was the pipe next to the toilet (usually only transports cold water by default) and the bathroom is one of the most well-heated rooms in the house (nothing worse than trying to shower or take a shit in the cold LMAO)

but on the bright side, if i hadn't asked the landlord to stick around for his buddy to supervise the heat gun (he was originally just gonna leave it running while he ran to home hardware) then he wouldn't have been around when the pipe burst so. that's a blessing in disguise ig haha.

he also already accidentally blasted the heat gun too close to the spray foam insulation down there so... now the house is a lil' on the smokey side, in addition to the steam that's building up within and alongside the pipes due to the heating/defrosting process, there was deadass steam billowing out of the sink cupboard a lil' bit there LMAO nothing's on fire tho as far as we can tell, thank god, but it was def a little sketchy to see the smoke just kind of appearing along the floor and collecting in lower parts of the house 👀

uh, yeah, i guess this is act three of our recent cavalcade of IRL mishaps. considering these things usually come in three's, i'm hoping this is the last one for a while /knock on wood

oh canada, how i loathe thee ヽ(´ー` )┌

EDIT: The pipes have been fixed!

[zylian]

modern au where after TA has a messy friend group break up they, a year later, have a surprise reunion which is really just an unexpected sleepover cause the whole cities power goes out and the only person who has a generator is zam (long writing)

surprisingly ro shows up first, very dramatically apologizing for showing up with a pillow in hand and every nerve in zam is screaming for him to turn him away but ro starts begging him with his hands together pleading as he can’t sleep without an ac on and he can already feel the cool air in zams house so he can’t possibly just leave

he starts crying when going down the steps to zams house after zams 5th refusal and zam gets this very bad feeling about what could happen if anyone see's or hears ro crying anywhere near him

so in a panic he lets ro crash for the night where ro immediately runs upstairs and takes zams king sized bed while yelling "goodnight!" as he slams the door shut leaving zam with silence

knowing this was a bad idea to let ro in with how mapic always happens to show up if ro's around, zam calls terrain to calm himself and to ask what he should do

terry is baffled, not helpful in the slightest and from his reaction he makes it sound like zam killed someone which doesn't help zam feel any better but says he’ll bring popcorn and set up a movie so zam wouldn’t be alone if things got too bad

zam immediately questions what terrain meant by "too bad" which is not helping his nerves but terrain cuts the call and leaves zam to ponder in the middle of his living room on how worse things could possibly get

zam than hears a knock on the door just as he was lost in thought and since knowing how terrain would not give him the courtesy of running over to his place, he braces himself and opens the door to someone unexpected

the second person to show up was none other than spoke, when zam opened the door spoke’s eyes were watering while he was holding a box of frozen hot pockets and without a word from any of them, spokes stomach growled

zam sighed, holding his head in one hand as the other opens the door wider to let spoke in, he runs towards zams microwave and zam has to run after him to warn him that ro was sleeping upstairs so he can’t make too much noise

spoke almost trips hearing that, quickly shoving a hot pocket in the microwave and looking at zam with the widest questioning eyes while stepping towards zam and asking why in the world the number one person who hates him is in his house

to zam it’s not bad if spoke visits since he technically wasn’t there when the group broke up and floats about but ro? in his house? after the argument that led to him breaking his arm and ro breaking his leg? yeah spoke had a point to question what the hell ro was doing in zams house

spoke did not like ro when he heard what happened as he was the one to help zam recover while ro pranced around sobbing about his casted arm, zam's happy spoke cares but he can't be having spoke fighting ro at all

zam immediately start telling him they both know how bad ro’s sleep issues are but spoke wasn’t buying it, telling zam he needs to kick ro out as this will not end well in any scenario ever

zam hates it but spokes right, in the morning it would be 10x worse, terrain was also coming over and the looming threat of mapic showing up was making him dizzy

they argue over who’s gonna wake ro up and kick him out whisper yelling until they hear the door unlock, the front door that zam just locked, that no one should have the key to, has unlocked and the door knob was turning

zam shushed spoke and they horrifyingly watched the door slowly open and the next person to arrive was the one and only mapic, his eyes scanned the room the second he slipped inside until landing onto spoke and than zam where zam immediately slides behind spoke after making eye contact

mapic opens his mouth first, with nothing giving away his feelings or thoughts he questions why ro’s location was saying he was here

spoke pipes up first knowing damn well if zam speaks a word mapics mood will sour so he explains that ro crashed here for zams ac since the cities powers out

mapic lets out an irritated sigh and zam was going to add that he didn’t do anything but spoke was squeezing his wrist so hard that zam knew he needed to keep his mouth shut and not move

mapic walks through zams house, looking down at his phone to find ro, zam feels sick watching mapic move as if he still remembers the layout of his place while spoke takes his hot pocket out of the microwave and leads them both to sit on the couch

zam follows with no resistance, eyes still watching as mapic goes upstairs and vanishing out of sight, he doesn’t really know what to do, maybe mapics gonna grab ro and drag him out? it’s wishful thinking to assume both mapic and ro are gonna leave quietly so he sinks into the couch while spoke happily eats his food

the house is really quiet when the door opens again, this time it’s the expected guest terrain and zam starts to think it might’ve been a bad idea to call terry as the entire TA group is back under his roof while they are all on not talking terms

terrain immediately throws the popcorn at zam, greeted spoke and than put on a movie, it should have been fine, really the house isn't burning down and terrain picked- didn't pick a romcom for once

terrain sits beside zam and zam finally stops thinking until terry asks why zams door wasn’t locked

zams breath starts to pick up, yeah the door he clearly locked when spoke showed up had unlocked itself, terrain doesn't know mapic showed up, mapic has a key to his house, the house he specifically changed all the locks to after the TA breakup

the implications of how bad things kept getting and they all haven't even seen each other were sending him off the edge, spoke had to start calling zams name to get him to focus

in the midst of stopping an oncoming panic attack, terrain obliviously goes to find blankets wanting to be cozy on the couch and goes to zams room where all the blankets, where he vaguely remembers, are stored at which just so happens to be where mapic and ro were talking

after spoke and zam finish the popcorn more than halfway through the movie, spoke turns the movie off very abruptly, zam who's very lost asks why and spoke simply points upstairs and zam realizes terrain never actually came back downstairs from wherever he wondered off to

silence fills the house once again, spoke goes upstairs with zam looking for terrain, zam starts to question if he was too zoned into the movie to notice if he left, did mapic leave? was mapic still in his house? zam was not liking his mind right now but it didn't matter as spoke opened the door to his bedroom

laying on zams bed was ro, mapic and terrain all fast asleep in a mountain of blankets

zam was in shock looking at how unorganized yet comfortable they were as spoke started to push them around so he could crawl in too, lost in what he was seeing, zam barely reacted when spoke just yanked him in the bed as well

wanting to avoid the awkwardness when the morning comes was voided as the coziness of the super soft blankets immediately brought him under

when the morning came it wasn't too bad, no one really moved even after all of them woke up, first to speak was mapic, apologizing for making a key to zams house the day after zam changed the locks, zam was baffled next day???, than next was spoke apologizing to zam for stealing his keys so mapic could make a copy of it and zam proceeded to kick spoke under the blankets to which everyone chuckled at

when the laughter stopped terrain started apologizing seriously for running away and avoiding all of them when they really needed him which was very unexpected, they all started to say it was okay as his life got busy but than he got a kick from mapic under the blanket and they all couldn't help but laugh at terry's reaction

than next at the same time zam and ro apologized for breaking the others arm/leg and got super emotional about the other actually forgiving them, though mapic pipes up about not forgiving zam for hurting ro

he ruined the vibe terrain says, but spoke chimes in saying he doesn't forgive ro for hurting zam leading to spoke and mapic squabbling about who was in the wrong more, getting no where as they start insulting each other completely off topic

zam tries to get up to leave but ro pulls him down, stating that they all can't leave until they talk this out, talk out the infinite problems from last year while kicking each other until its solved

they all rolled their eyes giving in and tucking themselves closer into the blankets as ro starts retelling where the problems began as everyone chimes in to correct him throughout

at least it wasn't as bad as zam thought it was gonna get but he never expected for his year long avoidance of anything about TA to lead to them actually talking it out, he just hopes he has enough food in the fridge to feed all of them after this