#Snowfall Series Finale | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

alygator77 · 20 days ago

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.˚✶˚. motherhood and matrimony ・❥・ wrapped in love .˚✶˚.

ꨄ︎ pairing. au ceo! satoru gojo x single mom secretary fem! reader

ꨄ series summary. satoru gojo, the arrogant and irresistible heir to a billion-dollar corporation and the son of your boss, the ceo... but when satoru’s father dies unexpectedly, his inheritance hinges on a stipulation: he must marry and have a child, but the child doesn't necessarily have to be his, right? together, you strike a deal: a fake marriage that promises financial stability for you and corporate control for him. as the lines between business and emotion blur, you must decide if your partnership is purely contractual or if it could evolve into something real.

ꨄ chapter summary. christmas morning at the gojo estate has always been a display of elegant grandeur—but this year, the true magic is found in the quiet, heartfelt moments shared with you. for satoru, it’s a holiday that finally feels like home.

ꨄ︎ warnings/tags. pure tooth rotting fluff. satoru being the best step dad. lots of domesticity. it does get a bit suggestive at times.

ꨄ words: 12.6k

ꨄ a/n. this is a part of my series motherhood and matrimony, however it can also be read as a fluffy holiday oneshot (you'll probably appreciate some of the references more if you've read the series though!) this entire ch is written from satoru's perspective! also, for those that have read the series, i would definitely read this after ch 7 ♡

ꨄ taglist: closed (ao3)

♬ playlist ꨄ series masterlist ꨄ

side ch // wrapped in love

Christmas had always been a spectacle at the Gojo estate. Extravagant decorations that seemed to glisten with the weight of their price tags, a towering tree so grand it nearly grazed the vaulted ceilings, and a meticulously curated guest list for the Gojo’s annual holiday gala.

Business, wrapped in tinsel—topped with a bow.

Yes, for Satoru Gojo, Christmas always felt cold. Not the kind of cold that nipped at your nose or made you long for a crackling fireplace—it was the emptiness of grandeur.

Growing up in the Gojo estate, Christmas wasn’t a celebration; it was a stage. Takemi Gojo orchestrated the performance with precision, weaving an illusion of family warmth while the frigid reality of their relationship sat heavy within the corners of the mansion.

Twinkling lights adorned every surface, crystal ornaments shimmered under the tree’s glow, and tables overflowed with feasts meant to impress, not to savor.

His father had called it tradition. Satoru had called it lonely.

And from a young age, Satoru had learned that gifts were currency, not sentiment—the meaning of the season buried beneath layers of duty and pretense.

But this year… something was different.

Satoru lounges on the couch, long legs sprawled out as he watches you and Haru at the tree. You crouch low, holding an ornament in your hand, gently guiding Haru as she reaches up to find the perfect spot.

Her giggles fill the room like the sound of bells, bright and contagious, and she claps her tiny hands when the ornament finally stays.

Turning to her, your smile and the warmth in your expression is enough to melt something in Satoru’s chest.

It’s a feeling he can’t quite name—foreign, yet achingly familiar. Like standing outside during the first snowfall—the cold biting at your cheeks, but the beauty of it stealing your breath.

For the first time, Christmas doesn’t feel like an obligation. It feels like… home.

But it isn’t the decorations, nor the estate’s grandeur—it’s you. It’s Haru. It’s the way you’ve taken this cold, hollow place and filled it with laughter, warmth, and life. It’s the way you’ve turned this house into a home—a home he doesn’t want to leave.

“What do you think, Satoru?”

He blinks, glancing up at you—your voice pulling him out of his reverie. You were holding up two ornaments, one red and one blue, with a quirked brow and a soft smile.

Haru, meanwhile, was standing on her tippy toes, trying to reach the highest branch she could manage.

“Oh, uh… hmm?”

You roll your eyes with mock exasperation, shaking the ornaments for emphasis.

“Red or blue? We can’t have both; it’ll clash. Focus, Gojo.”

His lips twitch into a lazy grin as he leans back, folding his arms behind his head.

“Oh, definitely blue,” he says with a teasing lilt. “It matches my vibe better. Don’tcha think?”

You snort, rolling your eyes with a grin—muttering something about his ego—and as you turn back to Haru, Satoru takes the opportunity to watch you again.

The sight of you—your hair falling loose over your shoulders, the way your smile makes even your oversized sweater seem elegant—It isn’t just the room you light up. It’s him.

‘Gifts are just another transaction, Satoru. A display of wealth and power.’

His father’s voice lingers in his mind, sharp and cold as ever. But you—you’ve shown him a different kind of wealth. One that can’t be bought, or wrapped in shiny paper.

And for the first time, he feels it. Not the chill of the season, but… the warmth of belonging.

But with that warmth comes something else—something he’s not used to.

Panic.

Christmas is just days away, and for the life of him, he has no idea what to give you.

He’s Satoru Gojo. He could buy you anything. Diamonds. Designer clothes. Hell, an entire island, if he felt like it. Money has never been an obstacle—it’s always been a solution.

But when it comes to you, every option feels… wrong.

You—who sighs in exasperation at the estate’s staff, grumbling about how you’re perfectly capable of pouring your own glass of water, thank you very much.

You—who pokes at the extravagant feasts from world-class chefs, saying they could feed an entire village, yet they still couldn’t make your favorite comfort food the way you liked it.

You—who wrinkles your nose at his pretentious lifestyle, rolling your eyes every time he casually mentions the price of something without even realizing.

A necklace dripping in diamonds? You’d probably say it was heavy to wear. A vacation to a private island? You’d tell him you’d rather spend the time with Haru in the backyard, making snow angels.

A car? A house? Exquisite art? Fuck, a horse?

None of it feels enough.

He groans quietly, running a hand through his hair, cursing himself under his breath.

When did this happen? When did he get so comfortable letting his guard down around you, so at ease that now, sitting in his own home, he feels utterly vulnerable? Utterly lost?

And worse, he knows you can probably sense it.

“Satoru.”

Your voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts, drawing his attention back to you.

Standing a few feet away, the soft glow from the Christmas tree casts a gentle light on your features—a slight furrow to your brow as you tilt your head, holding a new ornament in your hand.

“Are… you okay? You look like you’re plotting something.”

He straightens instantly, schooling his features into an easy grin, but it’s a little too late for that—you’re watching him too closely, as if trying to unravel the puzzle in his head.

“Me? Plotting? Never.” He leans back, resting an arm across the top of the couch. “Just wondering if we need a bigger tree. This one’s lookin’ a little small.”

Your eyes narrow suspiciously, and for a moment, he wonders if you can see straight through him.

You always do.

“Satoru,” you deadpan, and fuck—he knows he’s lost. “This tree is ten feet tall.”

He shrugs, as though you’ve just proven his point.

“Yeah… but like… wouldn’t fifteen feet look better? That’d be a real statement.”

Your groan comes with a roll of your eyes, but it’s paired with the grin he was hoping for.

“Sure, let’s just knock down the ceiling while we’re at it. Maybe put the Empire State Building in here for good measure.”

He chuckles, relieved by your sarcasm, and for a moment, his deflection works—you turn away, back to the tree. He watches you carefully loop another ornament onto a branch while Haru tugs at your sweater, babbling about a penguin ornament.

But as soon as your attention has shifted, it’s back—that gnawing uncertainty, that quiet panic clawing at the edges of his mind.

Good lord, when did this get so hard?

He’s Satoru Gojo. He can charm his way through anything, pull the strings of the world’s most powerful people, and yet he’s paralyzed by the thought of picking out a gift for you.

The longer he thinks about it, the worse it gets. You deserve something perfect—something thoughtful. But what does perfect even look like?

What do you give someone who doesn’t want anything money can buy? How does he give you a gift that carries the weight of what you’ve given him?

“Santa’s gonna like our tree, right, Mama?”

Haru’s voice rings up like a bright chime, tugging him back to the room—to reality.

He watches as you glance down, and a soft smile blooms across your lips as you tuck a loose strand of hair behind Haru’s ear. That look—the one you reserve for her, the kind that could thaw glaciers—hits him squarely in the chest.

“He’ll love it, sweetheart.”

Your voice is as light and sure as the snow falling gently outside the frosted windows, and Haru grins, pivoting to Satoru now.

“’toru!” her face lights up like the tree behind her, “Santa’s coming! He’s gonna bring presents, and cookies, and he loves hot cocoa!”

Raising a brow, Satoru slouches further back into the couch with that practiced ease—masking the chaos still whirling behind his nonchalant façade.

“Hot cocoa, huh? With marshmallows?”

Haru nods so hard, her little curls bounce and her entire being vibrates with conviction.

“He loves marshmallows! And cookies. And maybe waffles too.”

Satoru huffs out a soft laugh, his smile easing.

“That’s a pretty sweet deal for Santa,” he murmurs.

With all the grace of a puppy on ice, Haru scrambles up onto the couch cushion beside him, wiggling her way into place. Her voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, though it’s far from quiet.

“Mama makes the best hot cocoa. We should have some.”

The confidence in her tone makes him snort quietly, and he raises a brow—playing along.

“The best, huh? Mmm.. I dunno. That’s a pretty big claim, kid.”

“It’s true!” she insists.

And then there’s your laughter—soft, light, and entirely unguarded as it floats from behind him. It’s a sound he’s learned to treasure, one he’d bottle up if he could, a warmth that sinks beneath his skin and quiets everything else.

He swears it’s one of his favorite sounds.

“You know what? That’s a good idea,” you say, ruffling Haru’s hair as you step behind the couch.

But then, you pause beside him, leaning down to press the faintest kiss to his temple—a feather-light touch, and it strikes him like a match catching fire, warmth unfurling from that single point of contact.

Oh, how he loves the touch of your lips.

“I’m gonna grab some hot chocolate—with marshmallows, of course,” your hand brushes briefly through his hair before pulling away. “Watch Haru real quick, yeah?”

Tilting his head back to look at you, he swallows down the tightness in his chest, masking it all with another lazy smirk��because he doesn’t know how to show you just how much that tenderness means to him. How much he loves when you touch him like that, so unthinking, like it’s natural.

And for Satoru, masking it is second nature—it always has been.

“Yeah, yeah… I’ve got it covered,” he waves you off with a dramatic flick of his hand.

You roll your eyes with an affectionate huff, and he lets himself watch you for a moment longer as you disappear into the kitchen, your humming trailing softly behind you like a ribbon that tethers him to you.

And then, silence.

The moment the door swings shut, he lets out a slow, quiet exhale, the tension uncoiling from his shoulders as if he’s been holding himself together for too long.

He slumps back against the couch, his head tipping against the cushion, feeling the ghost of your touch where your fingers had been in his hair. With a sigh, he runs a hand through the same spot, smoothing the strands down absently as if he can capture what’s already gone.

It’s ridiculous how much you’ve undone him. How a single kiss, a fleeting touch, can dismantle the person he’s spent so long pretending to be.

Because in those fleeting moments, when it’s just him and the lingering warmth of you, Satoru Gojo—the man who never lets his mask slip—realizes just how tightly wound he’s become. Just how much of himself he’s spent trying to hold it all together when, in moments like that, you make it so damn easy for him to fall apart.

He closes his eyes for just a breath, letting himself feel it—the calm, the weight of it all, the way his heart stirs.

But then—

A sudden rustling sound shatters the quiet, pulling him sharply from his thoughts. One eye cracks open, blinking lazily as he scans the room.

His gaze lands on Haru, and the breath leaves his chest in a sigh that’s somewhere between disbelief and resignation.

There she is—somehow, in the span of seconds—teetering precariously on the armrest of the couch, her tiny arms outstretched like she’s on a tightrope, her face scrunched in determination.

Satoru stares at her for a beat, utterly disheveled and utterly defeated. His head tilts lazily to the side as he watches her.

“Oi,” he drawls, dragging a hand down his face with a groan that’s more exasperation than anything. “Munchkin. What do you think you’re doing?”

Haru doesn’t even flinch. She grins, wide and triumphant, wobbling dangerously like a baby deer.

“I’m tall, ‘toru!”

He blinks at her, deadpan, before letting his hand fall limply to his lap.

“Yeah? Well, you’re also gonna fall on your face.”

“Nu-uh!” she insists, wiggling her feet against the cushion for emphasis.

“Kid…” He straightens with a reluctant sigh, reaching out with one hand, just in case she topples over. “You’re gonna get me in trouble. You do realize your mom’ll murder me if she catches you pulling stunts like this, right?”

Haru giggles—loud, unbothered, entirely unfazed.

“It’s okay. I’m good!” she declares proudly, as if she’s just conquered Mount Everest.

“You sure about that?” Satoru raises a brow, though the smirk tugging at his lips betrays him. “Because… you’re about two seconds away from face-planting into the tree. And I’ll tell ya right now—Santa’s not gonna bring you anything if you wreck his setup.”

Haru freezes, her expression suddenly serious.

“He won’t?”

Satoru shrugs, as casual as ever, though there’s a sly gleam in his eye.

“Nope. Santa’s big on the whole naughty or nice thing, you know? Pretty sure ‘tree-destroyer’ lands you on the naughty list.”

Haru’s jaw drops like he’s just shattered her entire world.

“But I’m nice!”

“Yeah, well…” he sighs dramatically, “You’re not exactly convincing me right now, short stack.”

She gasps—a flurry of tiny limbs as she clambers down from the armrest in a dramatic tumble onto the cushions.

“I’m nice!” she insists again, louder this time, as if sheer volume might make it more convincing.

Satoru huffs out a laugh, ruffling her hair in an act of surrender.

“Yeah, yeah… crisis averted, princess. You’re nice. I’ll put in a good word for you with the big guy. Just… no more stunts, kay? Santa’s watching.”

She squints at him suspiciously, like she’s testing the limits of his authority over Santa Claus, before finally settling back with a small huff.

But then, Haru shifts entirely to look at him—her brows pinching together, her tiny face suddenly serious.

The shift catches him off guard—how a two-year-old can go from giggling chaos to this kind of weighty focus will always baffle him.

“‘toru.”

He quirks a brow, leaning an elbow against the back of the couch.

“…yeah?”

“You hafta tell Santa to get Mama something.”

The words catch him off guard. His grin falters just a fraction as he blinks, straightening a little to study her tiny, earnest face.

How the hell does this kid always seem to know exactly what’s on his mind?

“Oh yeah? Something for your mom, huh?”

Haru nods solemnly, as if she’s just handed him the most important mission of his life.

“Mhmm. Santa forgot last year.”

At that, his heart stumbles, the smile fading from his face.

“W-What? He… forgot?”

“Uh-huh.” Haru props herself on her elbows, swinging her feet idly against the couch. “Mama didn’t get a present.”

The simplicity of her words hits him like a punch to the gut. Innocent and unassuming, but full of a truth she doesn’t fully understand.

Satoru doesn’t respond right away, his mind suddenly swirling.

That unsettles him. The fact that no one thought to bring you anything at all?

You—who pours so much of yourself into others, who has brought a warmth into his life he didn’t think he deserved—spent last Christmas with nothing?

No gifts. No family. No one?

He hates the thought. He knows it shouldn’t surprise him though... you’ve never asked for anything, and it’s not hard to fill in the blanks.

You don’t talk much about your family—he knows there’s distance there, silence where there should be connection—and Naoya, well… he was never part of the picture. But still, the realization knocks something loose in Satoru, a quiet ache settling into the spaces he didn’t know could hurt.

“It’s no fair, ‘toru. Mama’s nice too!”

Satoru swallows hard, dragging a hand through his hair as he forces a smile back onto his face.

“Yeah… you’re right, kid…” he murmurs quietly. “Your mom’s on the very top of the nice list.”

Haru beams, her hands clasping together like she’s already imagining the magic of Christmas morning.

“Tell Santa, ’kay? Mama needs something really nice.”

The simplicity of her words hits him like a sledgehammer.

Something really nice.

As if it’s that easy, as if fixing the pieces of your world can be done with one perfect gift. But to Haru, it is that easy. Because to her, Santa fixes things.

And for the first time in his life, Satoru Gojo feels the weight of expectation—not from a boardroom, or a title, or the world that demands he be untouchable—but from a tiny girl who trusts him implicitly to fix the one thing he’s been so afraid to get right.

Fucking hell. Now he’s back to square one. What the hell is he going to get you?

He leans back into the couch, one arm draped lazily along the back, but his mind is already turning—the gears clicking into place.

“Something… nice, huh?” he says softly, more to himself than to her.

Haru beams, her little legs kicking against the cushion again as she settles back, satisfied that her request has been heard.

“Yup!”

Satoru tilts his head toward her, studying her with a thoughtful squint. Kids always seem to know the answers to things grown-ups can’t figure out. She’s managed to pry into his thoughts with frightening accuracy already, so maybe—just maybe—she’s his best shot at figuring this out.

After all, who knows you better than Haru?

“Well…” he says after a beat, angling a glance toward her, “what do you think Santa should bring your mom then?”

Haru gasps—like this is the most important question she’s ever been asked—and sits up straight, her little face lighting up.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you.” He flicks her nose lightly, earning a squeak and a giggle. “You know your mom better than anyone, right? So… what do you think she wants for Christmas?”

Haru’s brows furrow as she thinks very hard, her tiny hands tapping against her chin for emphasis. Satoru watches her expectantly, the smallest spark of hope flickering to life in his chest.

“Well…” she starts slowly, drawing the word out as though she’s stalling for time. “Mama likes cookies.”

Satoru blinks. “Uh… cookies?”

“Uh-huh.” She nods solemnly, as if this is the most serious answer in the world. “Chocolate cookies. With milk. I like them too.”

Ah… right. To Haru, the solution is simple—because to a two-year-old, happiness is simple. And for a moment, Satoru envies her for it.

Satoru exhales sharply through his nose, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he humors her.

“Of course you do, princess. Alright. Noted. So Santa’s supposed to bring your mom cookies. What else?”

Haru’s face lights up as another thought strikes her, and she bounces slightly in place.

“Oh! A teddy bear!”

“A teddy bear?” Satoru quirks a brow, half-amused, half-resigned.

“Yeah!” Haru stretches her arms out as wide as they’ll go, as if trying to contain the sheer size of her vision. “A big one. Pink! Really fluffy. Mama can hug it.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. So much for getting a serious answer out of her.

“Okay... so cookies and a big pink bear… anything else?”

Haru pauses again, tapping her chin with her finger like she’s pondering the great mysteries of the cosmos. Then—her eyes go wide, and she gasps, louder this time.

“A pony!”

Satoru stares at her, deadpan. “Really? A pony.”

“Uh-huh!” Haru nods emphatically, little curls bouncing with enthusiasm. “Pink! With sparkles.”

“A… sparkly pink pony?”

“Yes!” She beams, practically vibrating with excitement. “Mama can ride it. I can ride it too. And—and we can give it cookies!”

That does it.

A sharp bark of laughter escapes him before he can stop it, his shoulders shaking as he slumps back against the couch.

With a deep groan, he drags a hand down his face like she’s aged him ten years in two minutes.

He’s getting nowhere.

“Kid… you’re killing me here. Cookies, a teddy bear, and a pony? You’re just listing stuff you want.”

Haru puffs out her cheeks, crossing her arms in protest.

“Nuh-uh! Mama likes ponies. And cookies. And bears.”

Satoru sighs again, tilting his head back against the couch with an exaggerated groan.

This kid.

Her world is so simple—so bright and innocent. Cookies, teddy bears, and ponies.

Haru doesn’t overthink it. She doesn’t make it complicated. To her, happiness is just that—simple.

And maybe… that’s what he needs to remember.

They’re terrible suggestions, but she’s right about one thing: you deserve something really nice. Something that makes you smile—something that feels as bright and simple and warm as Haru’s world.

And if Santa won’t fix it, then damnit, he will.

“Everything okay in here?”

Your voice calls out lightly, followed by the soft clink of mugs. The moment Satoru hears you; he straightens a little, his casual mask snapping back into place.

Stepping in, a tray balances carefully in your hands, three steaming mugs of hot chocolate wobbling precariously as you nudge the door shut with your hip.

The smell hits the room before you do—sweet, rich cocoa laced with the sugary promise of marshmallows—and Satoru thinks that it might as well be magic, with how Haru perks up.

“Mama!” she bounces on her knees so enthusiastically; Satoru thinks it’s a miracle the couch doesn’t catapult her into orbit. “Yay!! Hot cocoa!”

“Mhmm. Hot chocolate delivery!” you announce proudly, lowering the tray onto the coffee table with a dramatic flourish and a smile of pure satisfaction. “Marshmallows included, as requested.”

The soft glow of the Christmas tree dances in your eyes as you kneel in front of Haru, carefully handing her a small mug.

“Two hands, Haru. It’s hot, okay?”

Haru nods solemnly, as if you’ve just bestowed upon her the Holy Grail itself. Her little fingers curl reverently around the mug, and she murmurs softly, “’kay.”

Rising, you hand Satoru his mug next, and he clears his throat—mumbling a quiet “thanks.” When you settle on the couch beside him, he doesn’t miss the way your shoulder brushes against his—your own mug cradled in your hands.

For a moment, it’s calm. The Christmas lights flicker across the room like soft, lazy stars, the cocoa steaming faintly in the air, and Satoru almost lets himself believe this is pure perfection.

But then you ask it.

“And what were you two talking about?” you peer between the two of them with a teasing smile. “I heard lots of giggling.”

Satoru freezes, his mug halfway to his mouth. He’s ready to spin some ridiculous excuse—he’s a master at bullshit, after all—but before he can get the words out, Haru beats him to it.

“We were talking about presents!” Haru announces proudly.

Fuck. That tiny traitor.

Satoru schools his expression, plastering on his best lazy grin as if Haru hasn’t just sold him out for free. He doesn’t need you catching on to the fact that he’s been silently losing his mind trying to figure out what to get you for Christmas.

You arch a brow, amused as you blow lightly on your cocoa.

“Presents, huh? What about presents?”

Haru doesn’t even hesitate. She launches into her list like a kid on a mission.

“Mama, ‘toru is gonna tell Santa we need cookies. And a big pink bear. And a pony!”

Satoru lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, relaxing fractionally against the cushions. Of course. The kid’s list is nonsense—pure, two-year-old chaos—and she’s so earnest about it that you’ll never suspect Satoru was fishing for information.

He’s safe.

“Uh-huh,” you hum, nodding indulgently as you sip your drink. “Sounds like quite the Christmas list, sweetheart. Anything else?”

Satoru almost smiles into his mug. It’s ridiculous how close he was to panicking—there’s no need.

But as Haru stops, her face scrunches in concentration before it lights up again. She looks straight at you, eyes wide and earnest, as she adds brightly:

“And I want a little brother!”

Oh, shit.

Satoru chokes—actually chokes—mid-sip, sputtering and coughing like he’s forgotten how to drink liquid. You don’t fare much better, nearly inhaling your cocoa as your head jerks up, eyes wide as saucers.

“A—what?” you croak.

Satoru’s shoulders shake, one arm flung over his face as he tries to muffle his laughter. It’s no use—his wheezing breaths betray him, and he can’t help but grin through his coughs.

“Haru, kid—”

“A little brother!” Haru repeats, utterly unfazed by the chaos she’s unleashed. Her tiny hands still cradle her mug, looking up at you with innocent conviction. “Santa can bring one. Like how he brings the toys.”

Satoru peeks out from behind his hand, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as his laughter tumbles out in unfiltered bursts.

Oh, this is gold. Pure gold.

You whip your head toward him so fast he thinks you might pull something. Your cheeks are flushed—whether from the cocoa or mortification, he’s not sure—and your glare could cut steel. It would have him worried for his life if it weren’t so damn funny.

“Satoru Gojo, what did you say to her?”

“Me?!” he splutters, desperately trying to get his composure back. He throws his hands up in mock innocence, laughter shaking in his shoulders. “Hey, don’t look at me! That’s all her!”

Haru blinks at the two of you, her expression perfectly innocent.

“Santa brings presents, right? So he can bring a brother. A nice one. And he’ll ride the pony with me.”

Your hand flies to your face, pinching the bridge of your nose as you shake your head, biting back the laughter threatening to spill out.

“Haru… sweetheart, that’s… not how it works.”

“Why not?” she asks, and it’s like she genuinely can’t fathom why Santa wouldn’t pull through on such a reasonable request.

Satoru, finally breathing normally again, leans forward with his elbows on his knees—the smirk on his face nothing short of diabolical.

“Yeah, Mama,” he drawls, dripping with mischief. “Why not?”

Your glare sharpens as you turn toward him. “Do not encourage her.”

“Hey,” he’s utterly unrepentant as he leans back lazily, one arm draped over the back of the couch. “I’m just saying—if Santa’s listening, we wouldn’t want Haru to be disappointed, right?” Tilting his head, he smirks at you. “Looks like Santa’s got his work cut out for him this year.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands as Satoru lets his laughter spill out again, unbothered and thoroughly entertained.

Meanwhile, Haru hums to herself, swinging her legs and sipping her hot chocolate contentedly.

“It’s okay, Mama,” she assures you with a confident nod. “Santa’s magic. He can do it.”

ꨄ

The past few days had been a blur of snow, laughter, and tiny hands tugging Satoru in every direction.

If someone had told Satoru Gojo that he’d spend his holiday season wrangling a two-year-old in the snow and actually enjoying himself, he would’ve laughed them out of the room. But here he was, standing knee-deep in the white fluff while Haru shrieked with glee, launching another snowball his way.

“Take this, ‘Toru!” she cried.

The kid’s aim was absolute trash, her snowballs missing him by a mile, but the way she shrieked with delight when Satoru “pretended” to get hit—well, it made it impossible for him not to play along.

“Kid, you’re ruthless,” he’d groaned dramatically after she tackled him into the snow for the third time.

And then there was you. You—standing off to the side like some winter painting coming to life—warm coffee in hand, wearing that smug smile he couldn’t decide if he wanted to kiss or wipe clean with a snowball.

He swore you’d been the one to tip Haru off about aiming for his knees. Traitor.

The snow had been Haru’s personal playground—and, by extension, his. For days now, his life had been an endless stream of winter chaos: sledding trips that left his muscles aching (Haru’s favorite phrase seemed to be “One more time!”).

Oh, and inside the Gojo estate? More chaos, pure and simple.

Haru’s Christmas cookie baking turned into an all-out war zone—flour dusting the countertops, chocolate chips mysteriously vanishing before they made it into the dough (a crime Satoru was not-so-secretly guilty of), and Haru wearing more icing than she’d used.

Still, the chaos didn’t bother him. He was struck, again and again, by the realization that this—this messy, chaotic, perfect life—was because of you.

And the high-end galas you’d been forced to attend as the faces of the Gojo Corporation—the press, the flashing lights, the constant conversations—all of it felt easier with you beside him.

And you? Well… you carried yourself with a poise that Satoru was genuinely impressed with. But beneath that, he could tell that these past few weeks had taken a toll on you.

You were exhausted.

The late nights catching up on work, the charity events, the endless holiday prep—you hid it well, but Satoru noticed the way your shoulders slumped when you thought no one was looking. The way you sighed as you kicked off your heels by the door.

And it bothered him more than he cared to admit.

It wasn’t just the exhaustion, though. It was this look in your eyes—something wistful, like you were watching all the joy and chaos around you, but holding yourself at a distance.

Satoru didn’t like that. Not one bit.

And still, despite everything, he hadn’t figured out what the hell to get you for Christmas.

The frustration simmered under his skin, gnawing at him whenever he thought about it. You deserved something perfect—something that would remind you how much you were loved. But every time he thought he had it, every idea felt wrong.

Too extravagant, too impersonal, too damn meaningless.

And now, tonight, as he sits at the kitchen table pretending to sip his hot chocolate (while sneaking glances at you sorting through Christmas cards), the idea struck him like a light bulb flickering on.

If he couldn’t figure out the gift just yet, there was one thing he could do.

He could give you a moment. Just one night to breathe—to feel cared for.

Leaning back in his chair, his legs stretch out underneath the table as he watches you—that little furrow of concentration in your brow. You aren’t even faintly aware of how tired you look, or notice when his voice breaks the quiet silence.

“Hey.”

You hum absently, still focused.

“Tomorrow night, don’t make any plans.”

Your gaze lifts, brows raising slightly as suspicion flickers across your face.

“Okay… why?”

“Mmm… ‘cause I’m kidnapping you,” he teases, folding his arms behind his head. “Just dress warm. It’s a surprise.”

That earns him a proper look—you eyeing him skeptically, your lips twitching like you were already fighting back a smile.

Bingo. That’s the look he lives for.

ꨄ

The night air is crisp, biting at his cheeks in a way that’s sharp but oddly pleasant, like winter itself is showing off. Snowflakes drift lazily from the dark sky, glowing gold as they pass through the light of the estate’s lanterns, and the world is blanketed in that perfect kind of quiet—soft, still, almost fragile. A nice kind of quiet.

It’d be perfect, really, if not for the sound of your increasingly dramatic sighs cutting through it.

Satoru tugs his scarf higher around his neck, not because he’s cold—he never seems to feel the cold—but because he’s trying to hide the grin pulling at his lips. He glances over his shoulder to find you trudging through the snow like a grumpy little marshmallow, bundled so thoroughly in your coat and scarf that you look like you’re about to tip over.

“You’re gonna freeze to death if you keep trudging like that,” he calls easily over the snow, making no effort to hide the amusement in his tone.

“I wouldn’t have to trudge if you’d slow down, Gojo,” you snap back, and your exasperation is muffled slightly by the scarf wrapped around your face. “Not everyone has legs like a damn giraffe.”

The laugh he lets out is rich and unbothered, a puff of white against the dark sky. Deliberately, he slows his steps to a near-comical saunter, his boots sinking into the snow with every exaggerated step.

“Better, princess?”

“Barely…” You catch up, though you don’t look particularly grateful about it. “I swear, if you keep dragging me through the Arctic tundra—”

“Oh, come on,” he interrupts, stopping in his tracks. His grin is pure mischief, bright even in the dark. “Where’s your holiday spirit?”

“It died about twenty feet ago,” you mutter, shoulders hunching as you try to burrow deeper into your coat.

He holds out his hand to you with a dramatic flourish, fingers wiggling like he’s offering you salvation itself.

“Here,” his sighs affectionately. “Before you collapse and I have to carry you.”

You stare at his hand for a long moment, clearly torn between taking it and smacking it away. The tension only makes his grin widen.

“C’mon now… you’ll bruise my ego if you say no.”

With a sigh that sounds like a thousand reluctant decisions being made at once, you slip your gloved hand into his. It’s small and warm, even through the layers, and Satoru’s grin falters for just a second when he feels your fingers curl around his.

Did he just get butterflies? That’s dangerous. He’s gotta keep it together.

“Atta girl…” he says softly, a bit too softly for his own comfort. But he covers it up with a gentle tug, pulling you closer as the two of you trudge forward.

The path winds through the trees, the branches drooping under layers of snow. Some of them stretch over the walkway, woven with twinkling lights, so it feels like you’re walking through some kind of enchanted tunnel.

It’s the kind of thing that could make anyone believe in magic, and Satoru would probably be soaking it all in… if he wasn’t so preoccupied with watching you out of the corner of his eye.

Your nose is pink, your cheeks dusted with color from the cold, and there’s a light in your eyes that makes something stir in his chest. He tugs his scarf a little higher, like that’ll help somehow.

Then, just ahead, golden light spills onto the snow. A sleigh comes into view, and Satoru slows his steps as you round the corner and see it.

It’s impressive, even he has to admit. The carriage looks straight out of some over-the-top fairytale, polished black and draped with garlands of evergreen—dusted in fresh snow. Strings of soft golden lights wind along the edges, glowing warmly in the dark.

The horses, two massive creatures with sleek dark coats, stand tall and still, their breath misting in the air. Tiny bells dangle from their bridles, giving a soft jingle every time they shift.

It’s almost too picturesque, like something out of one of those cheesy Christmas movies Satoru always pretends to hate.

He doesn’t look at the sleigh, though. He looks at you.

Your eyes go wide, your mouth parting slightly in surprise, and for a moment, you’re so still he wonders if the cold finally got to you. The snowflakes catch in your hair, the glow of the lights reflecting in your wide-eyed expression, and there it is again—that quiet spark that makes his chest tighten.

“Well?” he breaks the silence with a quiet murmur. “Was it… worth the trek through the Arctic tundra?”

You blink, dragging your gaze away from the sleigh to look at him. There’s something different in your expression now—softer, quieter.

“You did all this?”

He shrugs, slipping his free hand into his coat pocket and forcing a grin onto his face.

“What can I say? I’m a man of many talents.”

“Ridiculous…” you murmur, shaking your head with a faint smile, but there’s no edge to your words. Just that quiet disbelief, like you’re still trying to figure him out.

He gestures to the sleigh with an exaggerated sweep of his hand.

“Well? You gonna stand there and let the snow bury you, or are you getting in?”

The driver steps aside with a polite nod, and Satoru’s already moving to help you—steadying you as you step up into the sleigh, his hand lingering at your waist.

When you settle into the plush seat with a quiet exhale, Satoru’s brain takes a quick pause to tell himself that he’s absolutely screwed.

Because if Satoru thought walking through the snow with your hand in his was dangerous, this is a death blow.

But he still climbs in beside you, moments later—tugging the blanket over your laps as the sleigh jolts softly forward.

The bells chime faintly as the horses’ hooves crunch against the snow. They carry you both down the path, allowing the forest to melt away completely as the sleigh crests a small hill, and suddenly, the town comes into view—a world awash in color and magic.

Lights shimmer from every surface—woven through trees, strung like ribbons between lamp posts, wrapped snug around shopfronts as though the entire place has been dipped in starlight.

Shop windows gleam with warmth, framed by wreaths and garlands dusted with frost, while displays of tiny trains, glowing reindeer, and spinning nutcrackers turn slowly behind the glass.

As the sleigh turns fully onto the main street, Satoru glances at you, and predictably, you’re completely mesmerized.

He knows, because you’ve gone completely still beside him—your breath visible in the cold as you take it all in—and he doesn’t even bother to look at the lights anymore, not when you’re staring at them like you’ve stumbled into a dream.

That glow in your expression—soft and open—that’s what mesmerizes him. And the reflection of the lights in your wide eyes gives him the urge to bottle this moment—keep it tucked in his coat pocket forever, so he can pull it out and look at it whenever the world gets too loud.

The bells from the horses chime softly, blending seamlessly with the hum of life ahead—children laughing, carols echoing, the soft crunch of fresh snow.

But Satoru can’t focus on any of that.

Snowflakes have caught in your hair, little flecks of white like frost spun from the lights above. Your lips, soft and faintly parted, are far too close to his line of sight, and his gaze catches there for longer than it should.

Satoru’s brain is short-circuiting.

He’s never been good at this. Restraint. Holding back. Not when it comes to things he wants, things he craves—and God, does he crave your lips so badly.

You shift slightly, burrowing deeper into his side with a soft hum of contentment that nearly knocks the wind out of him.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” you murmur suddenly, as soft as the snow.

He clears his throat lightly, tipping his head back in a lazy attempt at distraction—trying to focus on literally anything else.

“Yeah… not bad,” his voice carries the faintest edge of smugness. “Bet you’re glad I dragged you out here now.”

You hum softly, a little laugh under your breath.

“Yeah… guess I’ll give you this one.”

But as you shift slightly again, your head tilts, and your gaze lingers on something ahead.

In the square below, a father spins his daughter in his arms as she shrieks with laughter—bright red mittens flailing in the air. The mother stands beside then with a warm soft smile, brushing the snowflakes gently out of the little girl’s hair as she settles still.

It’s simple—a fleeting moment of joy—but Satoru notices the way your expression changes. The glow in your eyes dim, just slightly, fading into something distant, something far away.

He doesn’t like it.

It’s not the first time he’s seen that look either. It’s lingered in your eyes at odd moments during the month when you think he isn’t watching.

“Hey… you okay?”

The question snaps you from whatever memory you’ve fallen into. You blink quickly, turning to him with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“What? Oh… yeah. I’m fine.”

It’s a lie. A bad one.

Satoru knows it instantly because your voice wavers, just slightly, and your hands fidget under the blanket like they’re looking for something to hold onto.

He doesn’t push right away. Satoru isn’t great at handling fragile things—he’s all big, teasing words and careless confidence—but seeing this?

You—retreating into yourself, suddenly quiet? Yeah… it never really sits right with him.

“You know…” he starts carefully, voice softening as he watches you, “you’ve already heard all about my old man. But you… you don’t really talk about your family much. What was Christmas like for you growing up?”

The words settle like snow between you—soft, quiet, but heavy. You stiffen slightly.

Fuck. Maybe he’s said too much. Regret flickers in the back of his mind. He’s half-expecting you to deflect.

You hesitate, staring at the lights again as though they’ll save you from answering, and for the first time, Satoru curses those damn Christmas lights. They feel like they’re pulling you away from him.

But then you sigh, and the sound makes something twist low in his chest. It’s too careful. Too practiced.

“Mmm… there’s not much to talk about,” you admit quietly. “My parents weren’t exactly… involved, so Christmas wasn’t really a thing for us.”

Satoru doesn’t say anything right away. He just watches you carefully, like he’s waiting. He knows there’s more, and he’s careful not to push, not yet.

“I used to watch all the Christmas movies, though,” a faint wistful smile tugs at your lips. “The ones where families sat by the fire… wrapping gifts and baking cookies, singing carols together. It felt… magical. Safe. Like they belonged there.”

The smile slips slightly, and Satoru sees the moment the words shift—when they stop being a memory and start being something else entirely.

“But…” your voice dips to a whisper, “Honestly it was like watching through a window. I felt like a spectator. Always outside looking in.”

There it is.

The words hit him square in the chest, sharp and unrelenting, and Satoru hates it. Hates how small you sound when you say it, like you don’t realize how wrong it is for someone like you—you—to feel that way. It makes his jaw tighten, his fingers twitching faintly under the blanket.

“That’s not fair,” he blurts out, faster than he means to. The sharp edge in his voice surprises even him, but he doesn’t care. “I hate it. It’s not right. You shouldn’t have had to feel like that.”

Your head turns slightly, your eyes flicking back to him, startled.

“Satoru—”

“It’s not fair,” he repeats, reining it in slightly this time. He shakes his head, turning to look at you fully now. “And you know what? It’s not like that now. You’ve done the exact opposite.”

You blink again, your brows furrowing faintly.

“What do you mean?”

The surprise on your face makes him huff a quiet laugh. He can’t believe you don’t see it.

“C’mon now sweetheart… I mean, look at Haru.”

Your expression softens at the mention of her, and Satoru feels that familiar twist in his chest—this inexplicable warmth that’s only grown stronger since you and Haru came crashing into his life.

“She’s a happy kid,” he says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’ve made her a happy kid. Kind of a little terror sometimes—definitely gets that from you—but happy nonetheless.”

You roll your eyes faintly, but there’s a tug at the corner of your mouth that you can’t quite hide.

“Seriously,” he continues, a smirk teasing at his lips now. “That kid lights up at the dumbest stuff—like that ornament she found with the penguin in a Santa hat. You’d think she struck gold. She made me stare at that thing for ten minutes straight.”

You groan, pressing a gloved hand to your face, but there’s a small laugh behind it now.

“She did the same to me.”

Satoru chuckles, low and easy, though his expression softens as he looks at you.

“Because to her, it is magic. You made that happen. You gave her something real, something she’ll hold onto forever. The kind of magic you didn’t have.”

You open your mouth like you want to say something but can’t quite get there yet, and he leans in closer.

“And it’s not just her…” he murmurs hesitantly. “You’ve done that for me too.”

His blue eyes fix on yours with a quiet vulnerability, and your brows furrow faintly as you stare at him.

“What? Really?”

For a moment, Satoru freezes.

Vulnerability isn’t something he’s good at—it doesn’t come naturally to him; he’s always kept people at arm’s length. But somehow, around you, it slips out easier than he expects. Like you’ve managed to dismantle his walls one smile, one moment at a time.

Around you, he doesn’t have to try so hard. And it’s fucking terrifying.

His throat tightens, but he shrugs, playing it off like it’s nothing—even though he knows it’s everything.

“Look… I used to sit in these massive rooms my dad filled with people. All the decorations, all the noise—he made sure it looked perfect. Trees the size of small buildings, tables stacked with enough food to feed an army.”

Satoru pauses, his blue gaze flickering to the snow-dusted path ahead before settling back on you.

“But… none of it mattered. I’d sit there, surrounded by hundreds of people, and still felt so damn alone. Like I wasn’t really there, y’know?”

Your face softens, and he feels it again—that warmth that only seems to exist when you’re looking at him like this, like you can see straight through him. You always do.

“But now?” he exhales, breath curling into the cold air like smoke—his eyes meeting yours fully. “Christmas feels… different. Doesn’t feel so empty anymore.”

“…yeah?”

“Yup…” he shakes off the tension with a sigh, and smugly adds, “You’ve officially ruined Christmas for me, sweetheart. Thanks a lot. Can’t have it any other way now.”

Your laughter comes quietly, and God, there’s that sound that he loves again. Your gloved hand finds his underneath the blanket.

“Well…” your fingers curl around his. “Thanks to you, I finally don’t feel like a spectator anymore… ‘cause you’re in my life.”

Shit.

Satoru swears his heart trips over itself. For a guy who never feels the cold, he’s never felt this warm.

The sleigh jolts suddenly, rolling over a bump in the snow, and the movement sends you swaying against him with a soft gasp.

You’re so close—close enough that he can see the faint blush on your cheeks, the soft part of your lips as you glance up at him.

Your gaze flickers—just once—down to his mouth.

That’s it.

He leans in, his hand slipping out from under the blanket to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing softly along your skin as he kisses you.

The first press of his lips against yours is careful, tentative, but then you sigh softly, tilting your head slightly, and Satoru’s restraint snaps like a wire pulled too tight.

The kiss deepens, slow but deliberate, as Satoru tilts your face up to meet him properly. His other hand finds your waist, the curve of it fitting perfectly under his palm as he pulls you closer—closer, because he needs you like he needs to breathe.

He swears he’s losing his mind.

You respond just as eagerly, your fingers curling into the front of his coat, and Satoru groans softly against your mouth—equal parts relief and desperation.

He’s screwed. Utterly, completely screwed.

Because now that he’s kissed you, he doesn’t know how the hell he’s supposed to stop. All he can think about—all he wants—is to pull you into his lap right here on this stupid sleigh and kiss you until the world stops spinning.

His mind betrays him, flooding with images he has no business thinking about right now. Your legs straddling his hips, your coat slipping off one shoulder, coaxing sounds from you that he’s dying to hear—fuck he’s losing himself completely.

He wants to take you—away from the prying world, away from everyone—somewhere that’s just the two of you—home.

When he finally pulls back, it’s only because even Satoru Gojo can’t survive without air forever. But he doesn’t go far. His forehead rests gently against yours and his thumb brushes softly along your jaw.

The corner of your mouth curves faintly and your eyes linger on him—just enough to make his heart skip like it’s forgotten how to work.

It’s torture. Absolute, pure, devastating torture.

His thumb drifts lower along your jaw, reverently tracing the soft line of it. He could stay here forever, just like this—your breath mixing with his in the cold air, your lips pink and kiss-bruised from him.

God, you’ve never looked more beautiful. He wants more.

Shifting slightly, his breath fans across your lips as he murmurs, “You’re so perfect… you’re making this really hard for me, y’know that?”

Blinking up at him, your lips tug into a soft, teasing smile. “Oh?” you murmur, breathlessly. “And what exactly am I making hard, Satoru?”

His breath hitches. Shit. You’re going to be the death of him. He chuckles softly—strained and fraying like his self-control.

“Careful, sweetheart. Keep asking questions like that, and I might just take you home right now.”

Tilting your head, your voice lowers—a quiet challenge.

“…why don’t you, then?”

God, what the fuck are you doing to him?

For a moment, he wants to say screw it. Forget the stupid sleigh, the town, his plans. Forget the world and take you straight to bed where he doesn’t have to hold back anymore.

Take her. Have her all to yourself.

But then your wide, daring eyes lock onto his, and it hits him—you’re playing him—you’re winning. And Satoru Gojo does not lose.

With a slow, shaky breath, he pulls back just slightly. The smirk curling at his lips is lazy, practiced—masking the fact that he’s literally about five seconds from falling apart.

“Mmm… tempting,” he drawls, brushing the pad of his gloved thumb against your bottom lip. “But I’m not that easy to break, sweetheart. Besides, we’ve got more to explore.”

Your eyes narrow faintly, suspicion flickering beneath the teasing curve of your lips.

“You’re unbelievable…”

“Mm, you say that now,” he sighs, “But you’ll thank me later.”

You scoff quietly, rolling your eyes as you lean back just an inch.

“More to explore, huh?”

“Yeah.” His grin widens, lazy and lopsided. “And if you’re good, I might even let you hold my hand the whole time.”

ꨄ

“You’re going to rot your teeth, you know,” you say, watching as Satoru unwraps yet another snickerdoodle cookie—his fifth, by your count.

“Excuse you.” He pauses dramatically, holding the cookie up like it’s a priceless artifact. “I’m single-handedly funding this poor vendor’s retirement. Call me generous.”

You snort into your hot chocolate.

“More like you’re single-handedly making sure they run out of stock before dinner.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He takes a slow, deliberate, obnoxiously loud bite, eyes locked on you the whole time. “I’m boosting the economy, sweetheart.”

“You’re boosting your dentist’s next paycheck, honey.”

Satoru groans, tossing his head back like you’ve just deeply insulted his honor.

“You wouldn’t understand. You don’t appreciate the artistry of sweets like I do.”

“Oh, I appreciate them,” you retort smugly, tugging him away by his coat sleeve before he can eye the next vendor’s table. “I just don’t inhale sugar like I’m storing it for winter.”

“Amateur,” Satoru quips, biting into the cookie with dramatic flair. “You’ll learn.”

“Yeah yeah… I’m cutting you off before you go into a sugar coma.”

“Cutting me off?” He presses a hand to his chest like you’ve insulted his entire existence. “Sweetheart, you wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, I would,” You grin victoriously, striding ahead of him through the snow-dappled streets.

“Cold. Heartless. A tyrant, really.” Satoru’s voice follows dramatically as he trudges after you, shoving the final bite into his mouth with zero shame. “This is abuse, I tell you.”

“You’ll live.”

“Barely.”

The two of you wander together through the town, your shoulders brushing every so often as you pass small stalls and shops.

The shop windows glow faintly, wreaths and garlands framing every corner, and the air smells of roasted chestnuts and warm cinnamon.

You stop suddenly ahead of him, your steps faltering as your gaze locks onto the massive Christmas tree at the center of the square.

Satoru follows your gaze, and the thing is ridiculous—exactly the kind of over-the-top nonsense Satoru’s father would brag about back in the day. Towering, glittering, competing with the stars like it thinks it has a chance.

But for once, Satoru doesn’t care about the ridiculousness. He only cares about you.

You stand perfectly still, staring up at the tree with something quiet and awed in your expression, like you’ve forgotten the rest of the world exists.

The golden lights catch in your eyes, snowflakes drifting lazily into your hair, and the faintest pink lingers across your cheeks from the cold. You’re glowing—and maybe it’s the lights, or maybe it’s just you.

You look perfect. You look his.

There’s that urge again—capturing this moment, bottling in up, keeping it for himself.

The feeling is so sudden, and before he can second-guess it, his hand slips into his coat pocket, pulling out his phone.

The shutter clicks.

Your head whips around instantly, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“Did you just take a picture of me?”

Satoru freezes, phone still half-raised, trying to look as nonchalant as a man caught red-handed can. “Nope.”

Your eyes narrow further, shifting on your feet. “Satoru.”

“I was… texting someone,” he says weakly, his grin betraying him.

“Texting who?” you press, eyebrow arching.

“Santa,” he deadpans. “Telling him you’re being mean to me. Again.”

The flat look you give him is priceless. “Good lord. You’re impossible.”

Satoru grins triumphantly, twirling the phone between his fingers like a magician showing off a trick. “Fine, fine. You caught me. I couldn’t help it. You looked cute.”

The faint flush of your cheeks deepens slightly—probably the cold, he tells himself, but he’ll take it anyway.

“Let me see it.”

“Not a chance.”

Your glare sharpens, and Satoru swears you’re plotting his demise. “Satoru. Hand it over.”

He snorts, immediately shoving the phone into his coat pocket. “You’re cute when you’re bossy, you know that?”

You step closer, determination lighting your expression. “I will fight you.”

“You wanna wrestle me in the middle of town?” Satoru raises a smug brow, delighting in the way you’re glaring up at him. “With kids around? Heartless, sweetheart. Absolutely heartless.”

Before you try to snatch his phone from his coat pocket, he moves faster—his arm looping lazily around your waist, tugging you into his side with practiced ease.

The suddenness knocks you off balance for a moment, and you let out a soft, startled laugh. Satoru can’t help but grin, using the moment to pull you even closer.

“Alright, alright…” he murmurs, pulling out his phone. “Here. Let’s take one together. Our first real photo together—no work, no press. Just you and me.”

You blink, your eyes flickering up to meet his, the faintest surprise crossing your face. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs like it’s nothing, though the warmth in his voice gives him away. “Gotta document the occasion. Might be the only proof I have that you tolerate me. C’mon, lean in.”

You roll your eyes, though there’s no hiding your smile as you let him pull you closer. He adjusts the camera, keeping his arm secure around you.

“Alright,” he says, angling the phone just right. “Say ‘Gojo Satoru’s the love of my life.’”

You snort, laughing as you nudge him. “I’m not saying that.”

“Mmm… I’ll wait.”

Your laughter bursts through the square, bright and unrestrained, just as the shutter clicks. Before you can recover, Satoru leans in, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek as he steals another shot—your laughter caught mid-breath.

“Hey!” you yelp, pulling back to glare at him, but you’re still smiling.

Satoru grins down at the photo as he flips the screen to show you. “Look at that. Photographic evidence that you adore me.”

You gape at him, incredulous. “Adore you?”

“Yep.” He winks, tucking his phone back into his pocket before you can swipe it, catching your hand instead. “Captured for infinity. You’re welcome.”

Your grip tightens on instinct, and you open your mouth to argue, but Satoru beats you to it.

“C’mon,” he swings your hand lightly as he starts pulling you forward again. “The candy stall up ahead has fudge.”

ꨄ

The two of you wander back through the streets, hand in hand as the shops blur by in warm, golden streaks of light.

Satoru doesn’t mind wandering—especially when it means you tugging him along by the hand, pausing every so often to peer into window displays. It’s cute, he thinks, the way you light up at the smallest things.

But then you stop abruptly in front of one shop in particular.

It’s so sudden that Satoru nearly keeps walking, your hand tugging him gently to a halt. When he glances over, he follows your gaze straight to the window of an antique shop tucked snug between two cafes.

And there it is. The locket.

It rests beneath a glass dome, perched on velvet as though it’s worth more than the shop itself. The silver surface gleams faintly under the soft, golden light, delicate and timeless, and engraved across the front is an infinity symbol—curved and flowing endlessly into itself.

Satoru tilts his head slightly, his brows lifting in quiet curiosity as he watches you stare at it—as if that locket holds the entire universe within it.

“See something you like?” he murmurs, looping his arms around your waist and pulling you gently into his chest.

He feels the way you relax into him almost immediately, your hands curling lightly around his forearms.

“Infinity…” you whisper.

He hums, burying his face into the curve of your neck, nuzzling there like he’s trying to steal the warmth of you.

“Hmm?”

You don’t answer right away, your gaze still locked on the locket. Satoru takes the opportunity to press a lazy kiss against the soft skin of your neck, his lips curving into a grin when he feels you shiver slightly beneath him.

“What’s got you so lost in there, huh?” he teases.

“Hmm? Oh…” You blink, your cheeks tinged faintly pink as you glance back at him. “I was just thinking about what you said. About infinity.”

He raises a brow now, a slow grin spreading across his face as he straightens just enough to nudge his chin toward the locket.

“Yeah? You been pondering the mysteries of the universe without me?”

You turn slightly in his arms, your gaze lifting to meet his, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you.

“Well,” you begin, smiling faintly, “I’ve been thinking… you’re… well, you’re kind of like infinity, aren’t you?”

Satoru blinks, his grin faltering for a split second.

“Me?”

“Yeah… you’re always moving, always bigger than life, like there’s no end to who you are. You don’t stop—don’t ever really slow down. You’re... limitless.”

For once, Satoru’s brain stalls. Completely. He’s torn between a smug She thinks about me like that? and the sudden ache in his chest that he doesn’t know what to do with.

He sees the way you’re looking at him—soft, honest, like you’re laying something fragile and important at his feet—and it hits him harder than anything he’s prepared for.

Satoru tightens his hold on you, pulling you closer as though that’ll somehow ground him.

“You really think that?” A softness creeps into his voice. “That I remind you of infinity?”

You nod slowly, your fingers curling into the fabric of his coat. Your gaze drops for a moment before lifting again, steady this time.

“Yeah… because no matter what... you’ll always protect me. You’ll always be here, won’t you? Like infinity. Always.”

Satoru’s breath catches. For once, he doesn’t have a clever comeback. He doesn’t have anything except this overwhelming, all-consuming feeling swelling in his chest.

He dips his head, brushing his lips softly against your forehead. It’s the only answer he has.

“Mhmm,” he murmurs quietly. “Always.”

For a moment, he lingers there, his forehead pressed to yours, your breath mingling in the cold. Then, with a small grin tugging at his lips, he pulls back slightly, arms still secure around you.

“C’mon,” he sighs affectionately. “There’s still fudge with my name on it.”

You let out a soft laugh, your hand slipping back into his as he tugs you gently forward. But as you fall into step beside him, Satoru’s gaze drifts back to the shop window, to the locket resting beneath the glass.

Infinity, huh?

The faintest smile plays on his lips as he squeezes your hand lightly. He finally knows what he’s getting you for Christmas.

ꨄ

For Satoru, Christmas morning felt… surreal.

The Gojo estate, usually silent and polished like a showroom, had transformed into something far more, filled with a warmth—Haru’s delighted squeals echoing down the halls, filling the empty spaces with pure, unfiltered joy.

“Mama! ‘Toru! Wake up! Hurry, hurry!”

Her voice carries like a one-person parade, punctuated by the rapid thump of her tiny feet sprinting towards the tree, and Satoru groans into his pillow—dragging a hand over his face as if that would erase the early hour.

The sun wasn’t even properly up yet, and here he was, reluctantly dragged from the cocoon of his bed by the infectious energy of a two-year-old.

He shuffled down the hall in his pajama pants and hoodie, stifling a yawn as he dragged a hand through his sleep-mussed hair.

Rounding the corner, he caught sight of Haru—a blur of bedhead and reindeer pajamas, arms flailing as she skidded to a halt in front of the Christmas tree. Her tiny hands clapped together as her wide eyes took in the mountain of carefully wrapped presents beneath it, glittering under the soft glow of twinkling lights.

“Mama! ‘Toru! Look! Presents!!” she squeals, bouncing on her toes, so full of excitement that Satoru half-expects her to rocket straight into the air.

He leans lazily against the doorframe, watching her with an amused grin. This kid… she was like a wound-up toy, running purely on joy and Christmas spirit. It tugged at something in him—a place he didn’t even realize had been empty until now.

“How does she have this much energy so early in the morning?” he mutters, glancing over his shoulder just as you appeared behind him.

You looked impossibly cozy—wrapped in your pajamas, your hair tousled from sleep. In your hands were two steaming mugs of coffee, one of which you handed to him without a word.

“She’s almost three,” you say simply, a knowing smile tugging at your lips. “And it’s Christmas. Welcome to parenthood. This is her prime time.”

“Prime time for chaos,” he quips, taking a careful sip of his coffee.

He shoots Haru a mock-suspicious glance as she darts around the tree—tiny hands hovering over the presents like she’s trying to decide where to start.

“You sure Santa didn’t slip her a double espresso in her stocking?”

Your laugh is quiet and warm, the kind that made the corners of his mouth tug upward instinctively, and he couldn’t help but think how ridiculously domestic this all felt—Haru bouncing by the tree, you standing beside him with that soft, sleepy glow.

It was almost unsettling how much he liked it… how much he cherished it.

His gaze shifts back to Haru, who was now crouched in front of the tree, examining the tags on the presents like a tiny detective—a kind of joy so radiant it made something tighten in Satoru’s chest.

It hit him then—here he was, watching Haru’s eyes light up with the same wonder he never got to feel growing up. His Christmases had always been all flash and no magic. Gilded parties, perfectly wrapped gifts that lacked thought, and a cold sort of extravagance that filled rooms but never hearts.

But this?

This was different. Seeing Haru’s excitement now felt like reclaiming something he didn’t even know he’d lost.

“Mama! ‘Toru!” Haru’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts as she holds up a box triumphantly. “Look! Look! For me!”

“Man, Santa really outdid himself this year,” Satoru drawls, stretching an arms over his head as he plops onto the couch beside you.

He made a show of sipping his coffee like he hadn’t been the one painstakingly arranging the presents under the tree just hours earlier.

You’d handed him ribbons to tie, smirking as he fumbled with the tape, and rolled your eyes as he huffed about how ‘unnecessarily complicated’ wrapping paper was.

And then there’d been the cookies and hot chocolate Haru had left out for Santa, which he devoured with exaggerated flair. You’d caught him red-handed, crumbs still on his face, and he grinned sheepishly, muttering something about how Santa worked hard and deserved a snack.

It had been... nice. Warm. Like stepping into a life he always thought was meant for other people, not him.

But Haru?

She didn’t care about Satoru’s epiphanies. She was too busy shredding wrapping paper like her life depended on it.

The morning quickly descended into a delightful chaos—a whirlwind of torn ribbons, squeals of delight, and an ever-growing pile of toys. Haru didn’t just open her gifts; she paraded each one around the room like a prized trophy.

A dollhouse, a pink fluffy stuffed bear (that was for you, right?), and a set of art supplies. Every present came with an enthusiastic ‘Mama, look!’, making you laugh while Satoru grinned like an idiot.

And his attention… well, it kept drifting back to you.

The way you tucked your legs beneath yourself on the couch, leaning slightly into his shoulder as you sipped your coffee. The way your eyes softened whenever Haru ran to you, clutching another gift—her excitement bubbling over.

The way the light from the tree caught in your hair, making you look like you belonged in this moment… more than anything else ever had.

“Mama, look!” Haru gasps yet again, holding up a small box wrapped in gold paper. “Santa didn’t forget you!”

You blink, momentarily startled, as she thrusts the box into your hands before darting back to the tree—already rummaging for her next gift with boundless energy. Your gaze, however, shifts toward Satoru, narrowing with playful suspicion.

“Oh really?” you arch an eyebrow, grinning.

Satoru scratches the back of his head, feigning nonchalance even as a smug grin begins to tug at the corners of his mouth.

“Don’t look at me,” he shrugs. “That’s between you and Santa. Guy’s always been a softie for you.”

Rolling your eyes, you turn your attention to the package, peeling back the carefully wrapped paper to reveal a small rosewood box.

The craftsmanship immediately catches your eye—with rich, dark wood, smooth to the touch. Two turtle doves are etched with breathtaking detail across the lid—wings entwined in a delicate dance of devotion. As you trace the design with your fingertips, the doves seem to almost flutter underneath—a stunning work of art.

And as you lift the lid, your breath hitches.

Nestled inside is the platinum heart-shaped locket, glinting under the soft glow of the Christmas tree. Encircling the heart is a delicate band of diamonds, each stone catching light like tiny frozen stars. And there, at the center of the locket’s face, is that infinity emblem you know so well—etched with graceful precision.

Your breath catches—your chest tightening as you carefully lift the locket from its velvet cradle. The weight of it is delicate yet grounding in your palm.

“Satoru…” you murmur in awe.

Beside you, he nudges your shoulder gently—his grin softening into something quieter, something more vulnerable.

“Open it.”

With careful fingers, you undo the clasp, and the locket falls open, revealing the secret it holds.

On one side was the photo he’d snapped of the two of you in the town square—you laughing, your cheeks pink from the cold, while he pressed a kiss to your cheek with that obnoxiously smug grin.

On the other side was another photo—one you hadn’t even known he’d taken—a candid shot of you and Haru in the kitchen, flour dusting your nose as you helped her decorate cookies.

Your smiles were radiant, unguarded, and completely at ease.

For a moment, you just stare, your lips parting slightly as you tried to form words. Satoru leans closer, his hand brushing lightly over your shoulder.

“You said… infinity reminded you of me,” he says quietly. “So… I thought maybe this could remind you of us.”

Your eyes lift to meet his, shimmering with an emotion so raw and overwhelming it makes him hold his breath. Then, without a word, you reach up, cup his face with both hands, and kiss him.

It’s soft, deliberate, and unhurried—the kind of kiss that makes him feel like maybe the universe doesn’t have to be so vast and infinite. Not when it can be filled with moments like this.

Before he can fully bask in the moment, Haru’s delighted squeal cuts through the air like a firework.

“Mama! Look! A big one!”

Satoru turns to see her tiny hands tugging at a large, carefully wrapped box partially hidden behind the tree. She tries to drag it forward, but honestly the box is way bigger than her.

You laugh softly, already stepping up from your seat to guide her hands away.

“Oh… that one’s not for you, sweetheart. It’s for Satoru.”

Satoru blinks, caught off guard. For him?

He doesn’t even have time to process it before Haru’s face twists into the most dramatic pout he’s ever seen—complete with trembling lips and misty eyes. She crosses her arms like she’s about to stage a sit-in protest right then and there.

“What? No fair!”

Satoru chuckles, setting his coffee mug aside as he pushes himself up from the couch with an exaggerated groan.

“Alright, alright,” he ruffles Haru’s hair as he crouches beside her. “How about this? You help me open it, and I’ll share whatever’s inside. Deal?”

Haru’s pout vanishes like snow in the sun, replaced by a radiant grin as she nods enthusiastically.

“Okay!”

With Haru leading the charge, they attack the wrapping paper like a two-person wrecking crew. Satoru makes a big show of struggling with the ribbon, grunting and pretending to pull with all his strength. Haru giggles at his theatrics, and finally, the last shred of paper falls away.

As the box opens, Satoru stills.

Inside is a telescope—sleek and polished to perfection. His hand trails over the smooth surface, and suddenly he was eight years old again, lying on his back in the garden with a telescope propped on the grass, mapping constellations under a vast, endless sky.

But then, his eyes widen as his fingers brush across something etched on its side. Engraved with precision, is the constellation Lyra—the harp.

Satoru knows enough about stars to understand its meaning. Lyra represents love, devotion, and music. It’s the constellation of Orpheus and Eurydice—a love story as infinite as the stars themselves.

For a long moment, all he can do is stare, his thumb brushing lightly over the engraving as if to ground himself. He doesn’t even realize he’s holding his breath until your voice pulls him back.

“You recognize it?” you ask softly.

He glances up at you, the grin on his face softening into something quieter, something real.

“Mhmm... It’s Lyra.”

You step closer, the faintest hint of nerves in the way you tug at the hem of your pajama sleeve.

“I thought… I thought you’d like an upgrade…” you say shyly, “You love the stars, and I thought you deserved something that made you feel… closer to them.”

Satoru’s throat tightens, and he can’t speak right away, but before he even has the chance to, Haru tugs at his sleeve impatiently, breaking the moment.

“What is it? What is it?” she demands, eyes wide with curiosity.

Satoru lets out a breathless laugh, pulling her onto his lap as he turns the telescope slightly so she can see.

“This, my little star, is how we can see the sky up close. The stars, the moon, even planets if we’re lucky.”

Her eyes widen. “The stars? I wanna see the stars ‘toru!”

“Okay, princess. Tonight, I’ll show you the whole sky.”

“Yay!!” Haru gleams, bouncing on his lap.

Satoru chuckles, steadying her with one arm, but as Haru chatters away, his gaze drifts back to you.

You’re standing quietly a few steps away, watching the scene unfold with that soft, knowing smile that always makes his heart trip over itself. The glow of the Christmas tree casts a faint halo around you, and for a moment, Satoru wonders how he ever existed without this—without you.

Wordlessly, he tilts his head, beckoning you closer. When you step forward, his free arm slips around your waist, pulling you gently down to sit next to him.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Instead, he leans in, pressing a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then finally your lips—slow, unhurried, and laced with everything he can’t quite put into words.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests lightly against yours.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

It’s not just for the telescope. It’s for this moment, for this morning, for you. Your fingers trail softly over his cheek, and he swears you’re glowing.

“Merry Christmas, Satoru…” you murmur quietly.

“Merry Christmas… sweetheart.”

There’s a warmth in your eyes that feels like home, and for the first time in his life, he understands what it means to be content.

This—this moment, this family, this love—it’s everything. It’s infinite.

And as the three of you sit there, bathed in the glow of the Christmas tree, Satoru realizes something he’s never dared to believe.

He finally belongs.

a/n. i got in my feels writing this. as someone who struggles around the holidays, this was real cathartic to write. hope you guys have an incredible holiday season with the ones you love—thanks for reading, sending hugs! ♡

taglist:

@geniejunn @fortunatelyfurrygiver @acowboykisser @mikyapixie @rosso-seta

@shokosbunny @fire-child-kira @aluvrina @laviefantasie @kurookinnie

@poopypipi @painted-hills @stillserene @mira-lol @k-kkiana

@sebastianlover @blueberrysungie @kalulakunundrum @doireallyhavetonamthis @lingophilospher

@ichikanu @artist1936 @christiancj27 @watermelon-online @jkbangtan7

@angelina7890 @aruraa @han11dh @jonesmelodys @k1ttybean

@a-trashbag @jotarohat @khaleesihavilliard @tsukistopglazer @elliesndg

@maskedpacific @that-redheadd @lovelyartemisa @eolivy

@valleydoli @voids-universe @sukunadckrider @aishies-stuff

@saccharine-nectarine @illianasa @pinksaiyans @gojoslefttoenail

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punkshort · 10 months ago

Text

i know who you are | 4. the others

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: Winter begins to wrap its arms around Jackson, filling the town with snow and a nasty flu. Joel takes you to meet Ben and Lisa, and you finally discover more about your past.

Chapter Warnings: language, angst, amnesia, sad!joel, pining, sexual tension, slow burn, jealousy

WC: 9K

Series Masterlist

You looked happy.

Ever since you began working at the infirmary, you seemed happier. Like you were grateful to have a purpose. A way to contribute. To give back to the community that supported you.

You smiled more and you didn't shy away from him as much as you used to and it gave Joel hope. Every time you saw him and greeted him with a smile or said goodbye with a squeeze of his shoulder, it made his heart flutter. It's been weeks. Months, technically. But he was making some progress.

It was the first snowfall of the season and it put you in an even better mood than usual. Your face was pressed up against the window as he tended to the fire behind you, and you watched as the big, fluffy flakes of snow fell from the sky, coating Jackson in a perfect blanket of pure white.

"I didn't get much snow where I'm from," you told him over your shoulder. He knew that already, but he humored you.

"That so?"

"Mhmm. When I was a kid, though, we got hit with this freak storm. No one knew what to do. No one owned shovels or snow blowers or any of that, so we were all stuck inside our houses until the storm ended and everything melted," you said, turning away from the window so you could curl up on the couch, then pausing for a moment before tilting your head to the side. "Did I tell you this already?"

Yes, he thought, but he shook his head, eager for you to continue. He just loved hearing you talk, no matter what you said. Besides, if you were expected to rebuild your relationship, sharing your past would naturally be part of that, so he encouraged you to tell stories, even if he's heard them before.

"So, what happened?" he asked, putting the poker back in the stand and getting up with a groan, his knees cracking a bit before he settled in on the other end of the couch.

"Well, the power went out," you said, and he could hear the excitement in your voice, delighted to be telling him something you thought he didn't already know, and it made his heart swell. "So we didn't have any heat or any way to cook our food. We set up camping tents in the middle of our living room and slept in there with, like, five blankets each. And we lived off pop-tarts and granola bars and peanut butter sandwiches for two days til the power came back on."

"Two days?" Joel repeated, and you nodded.

"Yeah, but it was fun. As a kid, you know? I'm sure my parents were freaking out but me and Matty were excited. We played board games and ate by candlelight and told ghost stories," you said wistfully, your eyes looking miles away. "We talked about that for years," you finished softly, and Joel smiled.

"I didn't get much snow where I'm from, either," he told you, and your eyes met his again.

"Texas, right?" and he nodded. "Did you live there your whole life?"

Something deep inside him sparked with a mix of nerves and excitement. It felt like you were meeting all over again, and while it was under less than ideal circumstances, he couldn't help but feel those butterflies you feel when you first meet someone new.

"Yep, my whole life. Tommy, too, except for when he was in the army."

"Were you in the army?" you asked, but he quickly shook his head.

"Nah. Wasn't my scene. Besides, I had Sarah."

"Oh, right," you said, feeling stupid for asking. You dropped your attention to your hands, which were twisted in your lap, as you thought about your next question.

"How old was she?" you asked quietly, still looking down and avoiding his gaze, but you heard him take a deep breath.

"She was twelve when she died," he told you, his words hanging heavy in the air and he could see the conflict in your face as you tried to figure out a way to learn more about him without reopening old wounds. "It's okay, I don't mind talkin' 'bout her."

"Did we used to talk about her?" you asked him curiously, finally looking up to meet his gaze.

He shrugged. "Sometimes. But not at first. Still hurt too much back then, y'know?"

"Yeah," you breathed, your mind now drifting to thoughts of your own family. Were you together when they died? Did you see it? If so, was it some sort of sick twist of luck that you now couldn't remember?

"What was your favorite thing to do together?" you asked, watching as his eyes found a fixed point on the wall while he considered your question.

"My favorite thing was hiking. Hers was goin' to the movies or the mall, most likely," he said with a soft chuckle. "I didn't mind, though. I was just happy she still wanted to be seen with her old man at that age. Makes me wonder if she felt bad for me or somethin'."

You furrowed your brow, confused. "Why would she feel bad for you?"

He sighed and scratched the back of his neck. "I didn't date much. Had a few poker buddies but I mostly spent my time with Tommy. Just worked so hard back then that I was too tired to do much else."

"And you were a contractor?" you asked, trying to remember the small pieces of information you picked up over the last two months. He nodded.

"Yeah, me and Tommy had our own business. That was a lifetime ago. Can't imagine doin' that kind of work now, not with my back," he said with a smile.

Joel's eyes flicked to the window over your shoulder, watching as the snow continued to come down, the window panes growing foggy in the corners. "Looks like we ain't goin' anywhere for a while," he said, changing the subject. You followed his gaze and nodded.

"What about Ellie? Is she okay back there?"

"Yeah, she'll be alright. She could make it up to the house if she got too cold," he assured you.

So, you were essentially snowed in. All alone.

You could feel his eyes on you as you watched the fire and you wondered if he was thinking about an alternate reality. One where you didn't have an accident. Where you remembered everything. One where you loved him the way he so obviously loved you, and what you might be doing differently in that very moment. You had a feeling your hunch was correct because he stretched his arm across the back of the couch and subtly inched a little closer towards you, the worn cushions dipping from his weight and causing your leg to bob.

Your body stiffened and your heart suddenly felt like it was being crushed in your throat. He was so patient, you had to give him credit. It couldn't be easy for him, and although you could finally admit to yourself that you found him attractive, you still didn't think you trusted him enough to take things any further. Not yet. Not when you still had so many questions. Your eyes drifted up to meet his and as you expected, he was watching you closely. Carefully. Trying to read you the same way you were trying to read him. The problem was, every time he looked at you that way, with his eyes all soft and filled with adoration, you could only think about what he was hiding. What did he lie about? And why was he so hesitant for you to meet Ben and Lisa?

Joel leaned in a fraction and his fingers tightened their hold on the back of the couch. He wanted to kiss you. He's wanted to kiss you ever since that day in the field right before that clicker ruined the moment. And with the soft glow from the fire and the snow falling silently outside, it felt like the perfect moment. He was terrified of making things worse after he finally felt like he made some progress, but it was killing him. He missed having you so fucking much, sometimes it felt like it actually caused him physical pain. Like his chest would explode one day.

He swallowed nervously and inched a little closer and you panicked. Just as he was about to say something, you cut him off.

"Do you wanna play a board game?"

He raised his eyebrows in surprise and you gave him a nervous smile.

"Sure," he replied, watching as you jumped off the couch to look through the games stacked on the bookcase. He groaned inwardly and rubbed his chin when you bent over and he had to force himself to look away before his body reacted, praying you didn't pick Twister.

It took two days but the snow finally stopped. Ellie did eventually make her way to the house by the second day, simply because she was bored, so you helped Joel make a vegetable soup while Ellie set up the Monopoly board in the living room. You didn't have all the pieces, but you had enough, and what you didn't have you supplemented with buttons.

You didn't realize it; too caught up in cooking and the joy it used to bring you, but you and Joel worked together seamlessly in the kitchen. He chopped up zucchini while you diced onion and watched the pot on the stove that was cooking up noodles, slipping past each other to get to the sink and the cupboards and it all just felt so fucking normal that it made his chest ache. He wanted to draw your attention to it. He wanted to take you by the shoulders and say See? See how good we are together? But he didn't. He bit his tongue and bided his time until you came to that conclusion on your own, just like the first time.

But the first time was different. At least back then, you showed him affection. You kissed him and held him and shared your body with him and although you didn't want much more, not at first, eventually you did. And those moments in his bed were enough to hold him over until you opened your eyes and saw what was right in front of you.

He was selfish. He knew it was wrong to want you like that right now, but he wanted all of you, not just physically. He yearned to know what was going on behind your eyes, what you were thinking and feeling. What you thought of him. But if you would maybe just let yourself fall asleep in his arms on the couch while you read in front of the fire, or let him kiss you, just once, then maybe you would see it again. Feel it again.

"What the hell does a purple button mean?" you asked with a giggle, holding up the smooth, round plastic between your fingers.

"It's a hotel, duh!" Ellie said, grinning and rolling her eyes.

"Wait, why am I goin' to jail?"

"You rolled doubles three times in a row!" you told him, and you and Ellie bent over laughing at the confused expression on his face.

He made a disgruntled noise and moved his token to the corner of the board as he watched you and Ellie giggling and wiping tears from your eyes and fuck, it was nice. In another world, he would have made some joke about you being the one in handcuffs and maybe later he would have followed through with it and tied your wrists to the headboard, burying his face between your thighs until you couldn't take it anymore.

But instead, he just watched two of the people he loved most in the world have fun, the orange glow from the fire flickering over your smiling faces while the snow finally came to a stop outside.

Ellie had trekked back to the garage once the game was over. It was late, you looked tired, but he still suggested putting a movie on. He wasn't ready to let you go. He hated going to bed all alone. You seemed to consider his offer for a moment before you shook your head and yawned, and although he knew that would likely be your answer, he still felt his heart sink.

He walked you to your bedroom and as he was about to say goodnight, hoping to minimize the hurt by making it quick, you did something that surprised him. You pulled him into a hug, standing on your tiptoes, your chin resting on his shoulder with your arms wrapped around his neck, body pressed firmly against his and just as quickly as it happened, you pulled away. Joel was so stunned he wasn't sure he hugged you back, even though he stood cemented to the floor well after you went to bed, replaying the hug over and over, all he could remember was how he felt. And he went to bed that night with renewed hope blooming in his chest. Maybe you were finally coming around.

So the next morning when you asked him out of the blue if you could visit Ben and Lisa once the streets cleared of snow, he had a hard time finding a reason to say no. He should have known you wouldn't let it go, but he did hold out hope that maybe you moved on from the idea since it had been a few weeks when you last mentioned them.

He agreed, of course, not wanting to ruin the delicate foundation of your relationship. Besides, he already decided he would go with you and make sure they didn't tell you anything you weren't ready to hear.

The snow had melted enough where the road was visible again, but the snowbanks still piled high around the buildings and houses and you felt strangely nervous as you followed Joel down the street. He had finally agreed to take you to meet Ben and Lisa, and while you were grateful he didn't have the reaction he had the first time you mentioned them, you still wondered what caused that outburst.

You tried to convince yourself that maybe he was just tired and cranky that day, having just gotten back from patrol for the fourth day in a row. But something still felt... off.

"Wow, when Ellie said they lived on the outskirts, she wasn't kidding," you said, realizing you were reaching an edge of Jackson you had yet to explore.

"Yeah, they tend to keep to themselves," he replied without further explanation. He didn't seem agitated, but he definitely wasn't happy about going to see them. He seemed more quiet and subdued than usual.

Finally, you arrived at a quaint looking cottage tucked back from the road a ways. Like Ellie had said, it was small, but it looked cozy. You could see the smoke pluming from the chimney and you couldn't wait to warm up again.

There was no porch. Just a small roof over the front door and a folding chair that looked like it had seen better days. He knocked firmly on the door and after a moment, you heard light shuffling on the other side.

The door cracked open and you were greeted by a short woman around your age with dull, brown hair and bright green eyes. She saw Joel first and, like most people in town, she hesitated. But then she noticed you next to him and her expression changed. A wide smile stretched across her face and she said your name softly, then held her arms out for a hug.

"It's so good to see you," she said in your ear, giving you a tight squeeze before turning around and ushering you both inside. "Come in, come in, it's freezing out there. Ben! You'll never guess who's here!"

You both stepped inside and as you were slipping off your outerwear, you glanced around the small space. It was tight, but it was filled with warmth. The living room had two small, mismatched loveseats on either side of the stone fireplace. Two large bookshelves that were filled with so many books that the shelves were sagging stood on either side of the fire, and curiously you didn't notice a television anywhere in the room.

You heard a man's deep voice behind you say your name and you jumped in surprise. Turning around, you were pulled into another hug by who you could only assume was Ben. He was tall - taller than Joel - and you wondered how on earth such a small house could fit such a large man. He stepped away, his dark eyes glittering with his hands still on your shoulders, taking in your appearance as if you haven't seen them in years.

Maybe you haven't.

You were so focused on absorbing every little detail about the house and its residents that you didn't notice Joel's body stiffen next to you, his eyes glued to Ben's hands. And while Lisa seemed to have the same reaction to Joel that everyone else in town did, Ben, on the other hand, did not seem phased by his presence. In fact, he appeared pleased to see him. Once he dropped his hands from your shoulders, he stretched out a lanky arm and shook Joel's hand, giving him a kind smile which Joel had a hard time returning.

"What a wonderful surprise. Come, let's sit. Do you want coffee or tea?" Ben asked, his eyes drifting between you and Joel. You both shook your heads and Ben smiled warmly at you once again. Even though the living room was just a few feet away from the front door, Ben still rested his hand on your shoulder and guided you to one of the loveseats as if you might lose your way, only dropping his hold on you when he sat down across from you on the other one.

Joel eased himself down on the couch beside you, the space so small that he had no choice but to rest his leg against yours, and Lisa went to join Ben, the crackling fire between both loveseats warming you up right away.

"We heard you had an accident. How are you feeling?" Lisa asked, her voice so small and gentle compared to Ben's booming baritone.

"Better, thanks. But it's kind of why I'm here," you said, glancing over at Joel nervously, but he was staring silently at Ben, who still seemed unaffected.

Lisa tilted her head to the side and wrapped a hand around Ben's forearm, leaning into him a bit as she got more comfortable on the couch. You noticed for the first time a basket on the floor next to her feet filled with different colored yarn and half knitted projects tucked inside. "Oh?" she asked, then it seemed to dawn on her. "Oh! Is it... is it true? Do you really have memory loss?"

When you nodded, you noticed the flicker of pity across both their faces as they exchanged a somber look.

"I can only remember my life before the outbreak. My mom, dad and brother. I don't even remember what happened or how they died or how I managed to survive," you began, feeling yourself growing a little emotional. Joel must have sensed it in your tone because he squeezed your knee reassuringly, and when you glanced over at him, he had finally torn his eyes away from Ben to look at you with concern.

"It's been hard," Joel said, finally speaking up, addressing Ben and Lisa. "Lots of confusion, lots of missin' pieces. But she kept a journal. Turns out, she wrote 'bout you two, so that's why we're here," he finished, narrowing his eyes a bit at them.

"You wrote about us? How sweet," Ben said cheerily, running a hand through his dark blonde curls.

"Yes, but-"

"It wasn't anythin' that detailed," Joel said quickly, and you frowned at him. He sat back into the sofa and glanced over at you. "Right?"

"Yeah," you said slowly, dragging your eyes away from Joel and back to your hosts. "Just that we went fishing and it felt like old times," you continued, and they both smiled at the memory. The only sound in the room was the fire next to you, the wood popping loudly under the flames as you weighed your next question. "So I was hoping you might help tell me about myself before we arrived in Jackson. Is that... okay?"

Lisa shifted in her seat, a small smile still twitching at her lips as she gazed up at Ben, waiting for him to reply. He hesitated a moment and you thought you saw his eyes flicker to Joel before responding.

"Of course," Ben said, slapping the tops of his thighs, jostling loose Lisa's grip on his arm. He quickly picked her hand back up and brought her knuckles to his lips for a quick kiss, but your eyes were drawn to the unfamiliar symbol tattooed on the inside of her wrist, only made visible when Ben picked up her arm and her sleeve hung down.

"Can you tell me about when we first met?" you asked, figuring you should start at the beginning.

"Oh, what was it? Six or eight months after the outbreak, yeah?" Ben wondered aloud, looking to Lisa to confirm. She nodded and scratched her neck.

"Sounds about right."

You allowed yourself to feel a glimmer of excitement. There were two people right in front of you that could help fill in the blanks for the first five years after the outbreak, and you couldn't wait to hear more.

"We met in the Atlanta QZ," he began, but you quickly stopped him.

"QZ?"

"Quarantine Zone. All the major cities had 'em. Was meant to keep people safe from infected but the military ran most of 'em into the ground," Joel explained. "Treated people like cattle. Strict curfews. Barely enough rations to survive."

"It was awful," Lisa added solemnly.

"Was I alone?" you asked them, and Ben nodded. "Did I tell you anything about my family? How they died?"

Their eyes shifted to Joel for a moment before looking at one another.

"I thought you had said the infected got your mom on the first day. But your dad and brother..." Ben trailed off, looking down at his hands sadly. "They got caught out after curfew. It happened before we got there. They... were punished."

You frowned a little, looking to Joel to help shed some light on what Ben meant, but he was staring down at his feet.

"Punished?" you squeaked as your heart began to pound faster in your chest.

"Punishment for bein' out after curfew was death," Joel spoke up softly next to you.

You looked at all three of them, your eyes wide in disbelief. "Death? The military were killing people?"

"It was horrible. It's why we escaped," Lisa replied with tears in her eyes.

"Okay, then what?" you pressed, trying not to dwell too long on the thought of your father and brother being murdered by the very people who were supposed to protect them.

"After we escaped?" Ben clarified, and you nodded. He cleared his throat and averted his gaze. "We survived. Did what we had to do."

There it was again. Did what we had to do. The same thing Joel said when you brought up Lisa and Ben the first time.

You waited for him to elaborate but when it became apparent Ben had finished talking, you pushed him further. "Like what? What does that mean?"

"We laid low. Found some secluded spots in the wilderness and stuck it out for as long as we could," Lisa said, her eyes casually drifting between the two men. You looked at Joel, who was holding a steady glare at Ben and Lisa, but otherwise he was perfectly silent.

"For five years we just laid low? In the woods? The three of us?" you asked, and they could tell you knew they weren't telling you the whole truth. "What aren't you telling me? Did we do something bad? Did something happen?"

Joel shifted in his seat next to you but you kept your eyes pinned on Lisa and Ben, trying to read the expressions on their faces.

Ben was the first to fold. He dragged his eyes up to meet yours and gave you a half smile and shrug. "Yeah. I mean, everyone did bad things one time or another. It's impossible not to-"

"Like what?" you demanded. You could feel your anger building up now. "I'm not a child. Just tell me."

Ben sighed and looked at Joel once again, and this time you had enough.

"Why do you keep looking at him?"

Ben's eyes snapped back to you and he forced out a small chuckle, trying in vain to diffuse the tension in the room.

"You're our guests, so I'm looking at you both."

You weren't going to argue with him when it was clear he was looking at Joel for direction on what to say. It all made sense now. No wonder Joel didn't fight you on coming to visit them. He had planned all along to control the conversation and keep you in the dark and something inside you snapped.

Standing up from the couch suddenly, you looked down at Ben and Lisa, anger brimming in your eyes.

"Thanks," you spat, heading towards the front door. "Sorry to bother you both."

"It's no bother," Lisa said, her voice wavering as she followed you to the door. "Really. Stop by any time, it was nice to see you."

You scoffed and resisted the urge to roll your eyes as you shoved your boots and coat back on, doing your best to finish before Joel so you could get a head start back home.

Flinging open the door without another word, you took a deep breath and stormed down the street, the chilly winter air filling your lungs, trying to cool your anger from the inside out. But then you heard Joel's heavy footsteps crunching in the snow, hurrying to catch up to you, and your rage peaked again.

"You alright?" he asked when he found his place back by your side.

"No, I'm not alright," you seethed, staring straight ahead with your arms wrapped around your middle. "What was that back there?"

"What'dya mean?"

You skidded to a stop and glared at him, his cheeks pink from the cold and his chest rising and falling a little quicker than usual.

"You know what I mean. I'm not stupid, Joel. What don't you want me to know?"

He stared at you, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to figure out how to respond.

"I'm not-"

"Don't bullshit me!" you yelled, and when you remembered you were in the middle of the street, you lowered your voice. "They were clearly scared of you. You didn't want them to tell me something. It was so obvious, Joel! I hit my head but I'm not fucking blind."

"I didn't ask them to say or not say anythin'," he said truthfully.

You stared at one another, both watching as your exhale mixed together, little clouds swirling in between you before rising above your heads and disappearing, each waiting for the other to break first.

"Maybe I should move out," you finally said, voice filled with sadness. His face fell instantly.

"Why?"

"You know why. I don't think I can trust you. How can I, when I can't even get a simple answer out of you?" What did he lie about?

If you had stabbed him in the chest, it would have hurt less. His gaze fell to the ground and he felt his throat begin to constrict. He had to do something. He couldn't lose you. So he told you a half truth.

"You and Ben used to be a thing," he said, and your jaw dropped in surprise.

"What?"

He clenched his jaw and rolled his eyes. "Before you came to Jackson. You and him were a couple."

You looked away from him, taking a minute to wrap your mind around what he just told you. You supposed it would make sense. It would explain why Joel was so weird about bringing you to see them. Maybe you misread the tension in the room. Maybe the tension was about something else entirely.

"That's why you were acting so strange? That's why you were staring him down?" you asked. His answer was still difficult to believe. It explained Joel's behavior, but it didn't explain what bad things you had done and why nobody seemed willing to tell you what they were.

He shrugged and rubbed his hands together. "Can we talk about this at home? I'm freezin'," he said.

The walk afforded you more time to think now that you had this new piece of the puzzle. Ben did seem like your type: he was handsome and kind, but if you and Ben were together in the past, where did that leave Lisa? They were clearly an item now. Wouldn't that have made for a strange relationship between the three of you? Perhaps that's why you didn't see them often.

Joel let you stew in silence for the walk home, fucking praying what he told you would be enough to keep you from following through with your threat. Why did it feel like every time he made some progress with you, something happened that fucked everything up?

Maybe he should have just let them tell you the whole truth.

No, that would have been bad. You didn't trust him enough yet. You said it yourself. And if you were willing to move out over something like this, you certainly would never speak to him again if you knew the whole story.

He needed to earn your trust first but it was so fucking hard when you wouldn't let him in. When you found out the truth the first time, you were already months into a relationship with him. You were already sleeping together, and while it didn't evolve into anything more until later, it still helped build your trust in him when he finally told you the truth.

He didn't have that with you now, and for the first time he began to doubt his ability to make you fall in love with him again.

You huddled in front of the fire after the long walk home, the two of you remaining silent the entire way. Joel was in the kitchen, most likely avoiding you and your questions while you warmed up. You weren't even going to bother bringing up the topic again, but Joel surprised you by doing it himself.

"I'm sorry. 'Bout earlier," he said from the entryway. You turned from the fire to look at him. He looked worried. His eyes were wide and his brow was knit while his hands fidgeted at his sides.

"Why didn't you just tell me?" you asked, and he sighed.

"Dunno. Guess I was hopin' you'd let it go or change your mind," he said, ticking his jaw to the side.

"What would it have even mattered? I don't remember him, I don't remember what we had together. I certainly don't have feelings for him," you told him, sitting down on the couch and tucking your legs underneath you.

He looked around the room nervously as you waited for an answer that wasn't coming.

You sighed and rubbed your eyes. "If this is going to work, you need to be honest with me-"

"I was scared, alright?" he said abruptly. You watched him hang his head between his shoulders and take a deep breath before collapsing into the arm chair next to the couch. "I was scared you'd maybe remember him or..." he trailed off, finding it difficult to put into words what he was thinking. And although it wasn't the whole truth, it still was the truth. He was afraid this version of you would want someone like Ben and not like him.

He was afraid of losing you.

You seemed to understand because you didn't ask him to finish his thought. Instead, since he was opening up, you asked him something else that was bothering you.

"What did I do?"

He looked at you curiously, not following at first until you continued.

"Ben said I did bad things. We all did bad things to survive. What did he mean?"

Joel swallowed and thought about his answer for a moment. You sighed, growing impatient.

"You can't keep the truth from me forever. I'll find out one day, just tell -"

"You killed people," he told you, and you completely lost your train of thought. You searched his face as all of the air rushed out of your lungs, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air.

"I killed people?" you repeated, your voice barely a whisper, and he nodded slowly. You felt the tears begin to well up in your eyes but you blinked them away. What kind of monster did you become?

"Innocent people?"

"Depends on who you ask," he said right away, almost as if he expected that question.

"What does that mean?"

He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully as he stared into the fire. "I told you. Everyone did what they had to do in order to survive. I know it's hard for you to understand what it was like, but there were a lot of bad people out there. A lot of bad fuckin' people. The military was outta control. There were revolutions and raiders and slavers." He paused and sniffed a bit, continuing to stare into the flames while you hung on his every word. "When I say you killed people... it ain't black and white. I killed people, too. Alotta people. When the whole goddamn world ends and all you got left is one or two people you care 'bout, you'll do whatever you gotta do to protect 'em. D'you understand?" he asked, finally dragging his eyes up to look at you.

You blinked, thinking about what he said, his words rolling around your head like pinballs.

"I think so," you said quietly.

He nodded, still pinning you with his stare. "We all made decisions. We made choices based on what we knew at the time and we did our best."

You nodded, your voice wavering a bit when you asked "Am I a bad person, Joel?"

His eyebrows pinched together and he leaned forward in his chair, wanting to reach out to you, comfort you and pull you into his arms, but he refrained. "No, baby. You ain't a bad person," he told you softly.

And you weren't sure why, but you believed him.

The streets were quiet as you slowly made your way to the infirmary. You didn't start your shift until late in the morning and you didn't feel like joining Ellie at the dining hall for breakfast, so you stayed home, only getting out of bed when you heard Joel leave for patrol. He had already warned you the night before that he would be back later than usual due to the storm. Trails would likely be difficult to pass and nobody could predict if there would be damage at any of the outposts, but it was highly likely.

You didn't move out like you had threatened to. You didn't even know what you were thinking when you said that. Where would you have gone? The garage with Ellie? You didn't know anybody else. Not really. But even if you had, you saw the look in Joel's face when you said those words and even though you were so fucking angry with him, you still felt terrible for causing him pain.

On one hand, it seemed like he was just looking out for you, but on the other, his actions often came off as selfish. You had every right to know your past and what you did, and you were growing sick of Joel treating you like a child. Like you were too fragile to understand.

But at least you got it out of him. Even though you had to take extreme measures, you finally got him to tell you something truthful, and that was a positive step forward.

Lost in your thoughts, you weren't even paying attention when a man's voice called your name from across the street. You looked up after the third try and were surprised to find Ben waving to you from the tailor. You raised your hand in greeting and made your way over to the building.

"Hey," you said a little sheepishly, "about the other day, I'm sorry for how I acted-"

He shook his head and gave you a reassuring smile. "No need to apologize. All of this has to be so confusing for you. We understand."

You dropped your gaze to the frozen ground and dug your boot into the snow. "Thank you, I appreciate that. It's very frustrating, actually. I'm just trying to learn about myself and what's happened in the past ten years and I guess I took out my anger on you guys."

He waved you off and leaned against the doorframe of the tailor. "Don't worry about it. We were just happy to see you again."

And even though Ben was absolving you of your guilt, you somehow felt even worse. He was being so nice and you hardly felt like you deserved it. "Joel explained it to me, by the way. After we left your house he told me about us," you said, waving your finger back and forth between you.

"Ah," Ben said with a knowing smile as he crossed his arms over his chest. "I wondered as much. It was a very long time ago but Joel can be..." Ben trailed off and scratched his chin, "he can be a little protective, I suppose. He never really understood the nature our relationship."

You tilted your head to the side. "What do you mean?"

"It was just casual. He always thought there was something more," Ben said, meeting your eye. "But I promise you, there wasn't. At the time, we were just lonely and scared and looking for comfort. Neither of us was looking for anything more than that."

You nodded thoughtfully. "He did say we were a couple," you said, and Ben chuckled softly.

"I wouldn't even call it that. Truly. There were no hurt feelings. We just never had a connection past... y'know," he said with a shrug. You felt yourself flush a bit at the words he left unspoken and looked away. "But I'm glad he told you."

"Yeah, me too. I know his heart is in the right place, I just wish he would have told me about us and all the shit we did before I came to see you. Probably would have made the visit a little more pleasant," you said with a laugh, but Ben's face fell.

"He told you about what we did?" he asked, his tone suddenly serious. You sighed and nodded.

"Yeah, he told me I've killed people. It's been really hard to wrap my head around, but I'm trying to come to terms with it. He explained the world we live in now is not like the one I remember."

Ben raised his eyebrows in surprise and unfolded his arms. "Wow. I'm kind of shocked he told you about us and the Fireflies. That must have been really hard for you both."

You frowned and searched his face. "Fireflies?"

His body stiffened and his face paled when he realized his mistake. "Yeah. He told you about the Fireflies, right?"

You shook your head. "What are the Fireflies?"

"Shit," he muttered, pushing himself off the wall abruptly and clearing his throat. "I should get back to work. Just please forget I said anything, okay?"

"Ben, wait," you tried, but he disappeared back inside the tailor, leaving you standing in front of the door while more questions piled up.

There seemed to be a bad flu being spread around town because the infirmary was busier than usual. You were grateful for the distraction, especially after your conversation with Ben. You had spent the better part of the afternoon rushing from exam room to exam room, cleaning up after each patient as quickly as you could so Nick could continue treating the revolving door of people coughing and sneezing in the waiting room. Nick had recommended you wear a bandana around your mouth and nose to hopefully keep you healthy, but you had a feeling it would just be a matter of time before you caught the same bug as everyone else. Still, you kept the bandana tied around your neck as you worked diligently. What you didn't expect, however, was the bit of anonymity the mask afforded you.

You were cleaning up exam room six when you heard a woman's familiar voice in the room across the hall. Nick had left the door cracked open after he ushered her inside, and she apparently had another woman in there waiting with her as you started to pick up on hushed pieces of their conversation.

You didn't intend to eavesdrop, but curiosity got the best of you when you tried to place her voice, and when you realized it was Angie, your hands froze and your body stilled, doing your best to not make any noise so you could listen.

"... going down there almost every night... matter of time... him."

"But what about... freak out."

You frowned, inching closer to the door as you tried to fill in the gaps in their conversation.

Then you heard Angie say your name clear as day and your eyebrows shot up. You pressed your back against the wall and held your breath.

"She doesn't even like him. That relationship is a ticking time bomb."

You silently gasped when you realized they were most certainly talking about you and Joel.

It wasn't even true. You liked Joel. You were attracted to Joel. You were even starting to trust Joel a little more, although you definitely had plans to ask him about the Fireflies. But you were still getting to know him and it was taking time. Was this girl talking about trying to steal Joel away from you? The idea made your stomach turn and anger flare deep in your chest.

You shocked yourself with your reaction. Steal Joel away? Since when did you begin to feel some sense of ownership over him? Were you jealous?

You heard Nick's voice leaving an exam room a few doors down and you quickly made yourself look busy. He sighed tiredly in the hallway as he flipped through some papers before pushing open the door to Angie's room. You were changing the bedding on the mattress when you heard Nick call your name and you quickly dropped the sheets to cross the hall.

When your eyes locked with Angie's, giving her a hardened stare, you swore you saw a flicker of fear before she forced a fake smile and coughed into her fist while her friend, one you recognized from the bathroom at the Tipsy Bison, nervously shifted her weight and looked away. You felt a sick sense of satisfaction when it became clear to the two girls that you had heard everything they said, and you were grateful you had your mask on so they couldn't see the corners of your mouth twitch.

"Would you mind grabbing a bag of cough drops and a jar of menthol from the supply cabinet?" Nick asked, completely oblivious to the shift in the air.

"Sure thing," you told him, turning on your heel to leave and allowing yourself to finally smile.

Joel might scare the rest of the town, but you sure as hell scared the shit out of Angie.

Your shift at the infirmary went longer than expected. By the time you arrived home, you were exhausted and the sun was almost setting. So far you weren't feeling sick, but from what you had overheard all day, the symptoms came on quick, so you had already decided to call it an early night and get some rest. When you swung open the front door and found Joel hunched over the kitchen table, your plans went flying out the window.

He looked like he was on death's door. You had never seen him look so run down and pale. He didn't even open his eyes to look at you, he just kept them shut while he rubbed his temples and tried to stifle a cough, his backpack abandoned at his feet.

"Joel?" you called, toeing off your boots and hurrying over to him. You crouched down on the floor and pressed the back of your hand against his forehead. "You're burning up."

He groaned and cracked open one eye. "Feel like shit. Dunno what happened."

"There's a bad virus spreading around, the infirmary was slammed today," you said, pushing yourself up onto your aching feet to get him a glass of water. "Drink this and I'll heat you up some soup," you told him before heading towards the stove.

"You don't gotta-"

"Drink," you said firmly, cutting him off. He winced before picking up the glass and forcing down the cool liquid. Once you got the gas going on the stove, you grabbed an empty bowl and shoved your boots back on. "I'll be right back," you told him. He sat up a little straighter in his chair, about to ask where you were going but you already disappeared through the front door, returning seconds later with the bowl filled with snow.

"Lean back," you instructed, placing the bowl on the table. He did as he was told and closed his eyes, the lights from the kitchen ceiling making his head ache but when you pressed a handful of packed snow against his forehead, he groaned with relief.

"Oh shit, that feels good," he whispered as you tried to ignore the twinge between your legs at his low tone. He released a shaky breath and you watched as the snow began to melt, little trails of water dripping from his hair and down his scruffy cheeks. When it was nearly melted, you took your hand away and dumped the remnants in the sink, grabbing a towel and drying your hands on the way back. You pinched his stubbly chin delicately in your fingers and tipped his head towards you while slowly and gently wiping away the water from his face. When you finished, your eyes found his already boring into you and you felt a tingle shoot down your spine.

"Better?"

His gaze softened as he continued to stare up at you, searching your face quietly, making your heart begin to beat faster in your chest. You swallowed nervously and forced yourself to look away, and it was then he finally realized you had asked him a question.

"Yes," he murmured, "thank you."

You dragged your eyes back to his and gave him a small smile. "More?"

He didn't trust himself to speak. He just slowly nodded and watched with heavy lidded eyes as you scooped up another handful of snow. With your free hand, you slid your fingers behind his neck and through his hair, cupping the back of his head in your small hand before pressing the snow gently against his forehead once again. And even though he wanted to keep looking at you, he couldn't stop his eyes from fluttering shut at the cooling sensation, earning you another deep groan from his throat and causing your breath to stutter.

He heard it and opened his eyes.

You stared at each other, lips parted as the air began to thicken with tension. His eyes flickered over your face, noticing the way your pupils appeared bigger as you gazed down at him. He took a risk and slowly brought his hand up to rest on your side, watching you carefully for any sign that he should stop. He pressed his fingertips lightly into your hip, the fabric of your shirt bunching up slightly from the pressure.

You dropped your eyes to his hand and blinked rapidly, then opened your mouth to speak when you heard sizzling at the stove. You whipped your head around just as his soup began to boil over the pot.

"Shit!" you yelped, dropping the half melted snow onto the towel and racing over to the range. You twisted the knob off and put the pot on one of the unused burners and the liquid immediately simmered back down. "Sorry," you said, refusing to look at him as you started to gather a bowl and spoon, embarrassment burning your cheeks.

"Don't be," he replied, still leaning back in his chair in the same position you left him. He watched you fumble nervously in the kitchen and he had to suppress a smile.

Maybe he still had a chance, after all.

Joel's temperature was a little high but nothing too concerning, so you pushed the fluids and he ate all of his soup and it helped put your mind at ease. You really didn't want to have to ask for ibuprofen unless it was absolutely necessary, especially considering how the same virus was hitting almost every house at the same time. You made sure to check on Ellie from her doorway, not wanting to risk her catching anything since she appeared to be fine, before helping Joel up to bed.

Once you followed him into the room and he turned on the light next to his bed, you realized you hadn't actually ever entered his bedroom before. Sure, you've walked past it when the door was open and glanced inside, but you never really looked. As he gathered some fresh pajamas and began to unbutton his flannel, you turned your back to him to give him some privacy and examined his bookshelf. Your eyes drifted over the titles on the spines of a handful of books, most of which you hadn't heard of before noticing a framed photograph sharing a shelf with his books. It was faded and a little torn, but you could still make out their faces. It was Joel - a far younger version of Joel - with his arm around a beautiful little girl with dark hair and eyes and a stunning smile. You felt your throat tighten when you realized who it was, and if you had any doubt, Joel's voice piped up behind you.

"That's Sarah."

You heard him shuffling his bedding around so you figured he was dressed.

"She's beautiful, Joel," you said, walking over to his side of the bed and popping the thermometer under his tongue one more time. "It's wonderful that you were able to find a picture of her. I wish I had some pictures of my family," you said sadly, watching the hands of the clock on top of his bookshelf tick, counting down the seconds until you could check the thermometer. "I would have loved for you to at least see them. I think you would have gotten along with my brother really well. Maybe too well," you added with a soft laugh, not realizing he was silently hanging on your every word as you continued to stare at the clock. "He was always looking out for me. Always protecting me, trying to shield me and it drove me nuts when I was younger, but as time went on, I understood it a bit more."

You pulled the thermometer out and checked the number. "Still the same," you told him, resting it on his nightstand.

"How much time?" he asked, and you gave him a confused look. "How much time did it take 'til you started to understand?" he clarified, and you realized what he was really asking.

"I don't know," you replied honestly, sitting on the edge of his bed with a sigh. "But I'm starting to... understand," you said, giving him a sideways glance. You really wanted to ask him about the Fireflies but seeing how sick he was, you decided to bring it up another time. His hand slipped out from underneath the covers and gently squeezed your knee.

"That's good," he said softly before furrowing his brow and turning his head to cough loudly into his pillow. You winced at how bad it sounded and rubbed his upper back. When the coughing fit passed, you handed him his water and he took a grateful sip.

"Do you need anything else before I go to bed?"

"Could you stay here?" he found himself asking before he could even think. Your eyebrows shot up in surprise as you struggled to answer. "Just 'til I fall asleep?"

"Oh," you replied, looking awkwardly around his rather sparse room. "Sure, let me just go wash up," you said, standing up from his bed. You were dead on your feet from your shift at work and you knew the next day wouldn't be any better, but you felt bad saying no, so you changed your clothes and grabbed one of the books Joel had found for you before dragging the chair from the corner of his room to the side of his bed.

"You can stretch out over there," he told you, pointing weakly to the other side of the bed before coughing into his closed fist. "I won't bite."

You smiled as you settled into the chair. "I'm alright, thanks," you said, opening your book and leaning back, trying to get comfortable. After a few minutes of reading, you looked up just to find him still watching you. You laughed and said "you need to get some rest if you want to kick this thing," then he grinned and finally closed his eyes.

You may not have been in bed with him, but you were close enough to help him relax and for the first time in months, he fell fast asleep within minutes.

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coquettepascal · 16 days ago

Text

cranberry christmas

part iii of my series "texas sweet!" texas sweet masterlist and my masterlist

summary: it's your first christmas with the miller family, which brings all sorts of new feelings out of you and joel. he relieves your anxiety in a few giving ways (tis the season!)

tags: 18+, smut, anxious!reader, dilf!joel, joel is kind of a flop (but in a cute way), gentle!joel, found family (a little), the miller family being cute, reader has an anxiety attack, mentions of troubled family life, dorky christmas cheesiness, reader celebrates christmas, heavy on the f!reader for this one, reader has boobs, reader has hair, reader wears lingerie, dryhumping, almost powerbottom!joel (?), begging, nippleplay, hickeys, coming untouched, praise kink a little, realistic people in unrealistic situations, establishing of relationship

part i -> part ii -> part iii

a/n: this honestly got way out of hand, but i LOVE IT!! i hope you all have a lovely holiday season <3

(5.1k, not beta read)

“How long have you been a dad again?”

You’re staring at the pile of gifts that Joel has “wrapped” so far. The striped paper is wrinkled on a few of them like he balled up the paper before wrapping the gift, other ones have glaring bald spots that reveal what they are without having to unwrap them.

Joel huffs, grumbling to himself as he’s hunched on the floor, cutting out another square of paper to wrap a book.

“Long enough to know that if I stay down here too long my back’ll hurt tomorrow,” he responds.

The Christmas tree in his living room has been thoroughly decorated, leaving the lights to reflect from glass ornaments onto his face. Joel looks stressed tonight, but he’s just been stressed all the time lately. The colder months have brought shittier weather, which has him worried about snowfall on sites that couldn’t take it at the moment. Anytime you’ve seen him recently, his skin has still been cold from the outside, his nose slightly red.

He looks at your pile of gifts, which have been neatly wrapped and finished with stick-on bows, and then scrunches his face, quietly mocking your words. You laugh, feigning offense as you tilt your head.

“Oh I’m sorry, I just assumed you would have been better with your hands, Joel,” you retort in return. Instantly his head is back up so he can look at you, a shocked expression on his face.

“You sayin’ I’m no good with my hands?” He asks, a bit incredulous.

Your eyes are rolling before you can help it, smiling as you shake your head.

“No–” you start.

“I can prove that I got perfectly fine hands. Fingers too for that matter,” he dares.

Joel shoves the wrapping paper out of his way as he scoots his way over to you, his knees scrubbing the hardwood floor. He’s smiling stupidly, clearly excited to get out of wrapping gifts.

“Joel!!” You huff, trying to squirm away from him as he gets closer to you. You’ve learned he has a serious personal space problem.

“What, angel? S’not like anybody else is home,” he grins, nosing at your cheek.

And God. Yeah, finally, nobody is fucking home.

You and Joel have been something for the past however many months. Time has flown quickly, with life and love brushing past your skin in a wind of smiles. Work takes over Joel’s life before he realizes it, and it happens a lot. Maybe that would be a problem for most people, but you live right next door. It’s not like there’s space between you, especially since you can knock on his door whenever you want to.

But you’re both adults, and spontaneity requires energy that you both lack.

The current schedule you’ve fallen into is seeing him on Friday evenings, whenever he gets home from work, a small date on Saturday if you have the energy, and family dinner on Sunday. Yes, you’ve now worked up the courage to look his daughters and brother in the eye. After you started showing up more often they began to bond with you more, especially his girls. Ellie and Sarah are both young, both smart, and as different as they are, it just makes for a firecracker-y relationship that’s hard not to interact with.

You’ve fallen into place as Joel’s something, as someone to his family.

The only problem you and Joel have is actually getting alone time. Since you both work so much, and he’s so family oriented, it’s been hell actually trying to get alone time with him. Not even just time to… do stuff. Just having a private moment is tough. Someone is always in his house, and as much as you have your own house, his feels more like home.

You didn’t even set up your tree this year. The living room is bare of holiday cheer, save for the growing pile of presents that you’ve built in the corner near the couch. Finding home in Joel has not helped you find your place in Austin still, the lack of familial familiarity has sucked the love from your walls. The whole house just feels like dead skin that’s ready to flake away anytime you’re there. You want to brush it from its plot of land and go back to the place next door, where warm light and voices hold the roof down and raise it all the same.

So yeah, your house isn’t really where you want to be, ever. Sacrificing sex with Joel isn’t the best, but you want to be around him more than anything. As long as he’s there, you don’t care so much if he’s getting you there. At least not usually.

“Yeah, no one’s home,” you repeat back to him.

The incandescent bulbs that are strung onto the tree are casting light through his hair. Tiny flecks of grey are all you can get a view of right now as he pushes his nose beneath your jaw, pressing kisses to the tender skin that tingles under his lips.

“Mhm,” he grunts, biting at your skin then kissing over it when you wince slightly. “N’they won’t be home for at least an hour.” His hands are skimming over the waistband of your pajama pants, warm fingers dipping to touch the band of your undies.

“Yeah,” you say again. You’re losing words. It always feels like you lose your words, breath, and brain around him, but maybe it’s because you don’t need it. Joel keeps kissing at your neck as he reaches around, tapping your bum so you lift up for him.

The lights in the room flash into pink as your eyes slide shut and your pants are tugged down more. It’s been too long, you need this, he needs this.

Joel doesn’t hesitate. As soon as your pants are down enough, his hand is in your undies, skimming the hair there and then pressing against you. A surprised huff puffs into your neck as he feels how wet you’ve gotten, how quick.

And then keys. And then the front door is swinging open. And then your pants are shoved up and everyone’s home and you aren’t in your mind, but it’s fine. It’s fine.

You’ll find time before Christmas.

—

Today is Shitmas.

“Shitmas. Y’know, like the day in Christmas week where you do a bunch of Christmas-y shit,” Tommy had informed you about a week ago, after you had slowly turned to look at him in the living room.

The Miller family does Shitmas on the 23rd of December, and supposedly it includes, but is not limited to, family pictures in the living room, cookie baking and decorating (lead by Sarah), and sock snowman making.

They do this every year, and you can tell because as soon as you show up on Shitmas, you’re greeted by little sock snowmen. They line the stairs, each one with a year labelled on the belly. The first few are singular snowmen, but somewhere along the way it turns into two, marking when Ellie joined their family. Over the years they’ve obviously improved, but there’s something special about the first few on the stairs. Mismatched eyes, splattered glitter glue, and Joel’s printing on their bellies, instead of Sarah’s, all grace the earliest dated snowmen.

Ellie was the one to let you into the house today, since apparently Joel is helping Sarah bake and his hands are “nasty,” in Ellie’s words.

“Kinda ugly, huh?” Ellie teases as you crouch to look at them on the stairs. Sarah calls out somewhere in the house, over the noise of the electric mixer, and it makes you huff a laugh.

“I think they’re endearing. It’s nice that Joel keeps these,” you reply. She somewhat agrees, an “I guess,” begrudgingly leaving her lips before Joel finally walks up and she skips off back to the kitchen.

Joel’s drying his hands with a dishtowel still as he embraces you, sighing deeply.

“Hey angel, sorry. Fuckin… Raw egg all over my hands,” he mutters as he squeezes you tight. The two of you pull apart for a moment, but not before Joel’s going back in and pressing a kiss to your forehead. As your palms settle against his chest, you can’t help but notice how warm he is, the skin beneath his shirt, hot and giving plushly under your fingers.

“I like the girls’ snowmen,” you tell him fondly, peeking over your shoulder at them. When you look back at him, he’s looking at them, a softness in his eyes.

“Ellie hates doing those, she only does it because Sarah likes to.”

—

Shitmas has been stupidly fun so far. Watching Tommy and Joel try their best to decorate cookies while Sarah makes Great British Bake Off worthy ones, all while Ellie smears smiley faces onto each one in an effort to make her sister proud has raised your spirits infinitely. You decorated a few cookies, but mostly watched in awe as Sarah expertly pressed sprinkles into each of the cookies and piped patterns onto them. It kind of felt like wasting cookies to not let her decorate them, even though she bakes them each year so everyone can participate.

Now, you’re sitting on the couch. The cookies are all sitting on the kitchen counter, abandoned as each family member bustles around the house getting ready for the picture they’ll take in front of the tree.

Surprisingly, Tommy is done getting ready first. Honestly you figured it would have been Joel, but maybe he’s putting some extra effort in today, rather than just running a comb through his hair. Tommy’s appearance at first is only surprising because of how meticulous he can be with his hair. Joel has told you about the times they’ve been late because his hair was “fighting” him some mornings.

“Hair cooperated with me,” he says as he takes a seat next to you on the couch. Sometimes it feels like Tommy can either read your mind, or just says shit to take up space. You respond with a nod and a mild expression of acknowledgement, a little off in your own world.

“You forget your flannel or somethin?” Tommy asks next. You almost nod again, on auto-pilot, but then stop.

“What?” You ask, head turning in his direction. He laughs in disbelief, and for a moment you feel embarrassment start burning at the base of your neck in fear he’s laughing at you. Were you told to bring something and didn’t?

“Hold on,” Tommy says, grunting as he curls up and off the couch a second later.

He leaves you alone in the living room, left to listen to the crackling fireplace channel on TV and the sound of Ellie protesting over Sarah wanting to put hairspray on her.

Tommy’s heavy footsteps clomp around upstairs, leading into Joel’s bedroom. Not dissimilar to the girls downstairs, the rumble of Joel’s voice hits the floor and you roll your eyes, holding a laugh. There aren’t words you can make out, but you’re sure that Joel is mightily unhappy at the random intrusion of his brother.

The more you learn about this family, the more you feel like you’re falling into place, and the more you experience being in it, the farther away your own family feels.

You sit on the couch, still as can be, as you listen to the sound of Tommy rummaging around his older brother’s room, the sound of the hairspray being spritzed while Ellie groans. The sounds are feeling increasingly farther away, even though the girls are downstairs and the boys are only upstairs. Your eyes move to the cookies sitting on the counter, the messy dishes in the sink, and suddenly the stickiness from the icing beneath your nails is too much.

What are you doing here? What is this Hallmark movie family you’ve found yourself in?

The thump of your heart ramps up, pumping blood to your ears and making it rssshhhh in the back of your mind just as you begin to chase your breath. It’s all too nice, and maybe you aren’t entirely undeserving, but this is all so unfamiliar. Your own family isn’t terrible, but in comparison to this, it feels so dull. Christmas was just lights and presents before, not tradition and excitement the way that fucking Shitmas has been so far. You’re one activity into the day and it’s already so much better than what you can remember from back home.

Maybe this is what influenced your decision to stay in Texas for the holidays. Maybe somewhere in you, you knew that this would be better. You’re sitting here, in another family’s home, taking your own family for granted, and for what? Some cookies and some pictures? For the sake of a relationship that isn’t even labelled yet? You deserve this, you deserve to chase your breath and wipe your tears. Selfish girl, if you didn’t feel right in your own family, what right do you have to find a place in theirs?

Nobody in this house asked you to be here but Joel, and really, you just showed up on his doorstep.

Your eyes are shut as you catch your breath, squinched together so tightly that you see sparks of colour behind your eyelids. Tears keep slipping out and you wipe under your eyes politely, trying not to choke on any noises. The bathrooms are occupied, don’t make a fool of yourself in the living room.

Tommy and Joel’s voices increase in volume until they’re in front of you, and you open your eyes to see the pair staring at you. Tommy avoids your eyes as soon as you’re looking back at him, while Joel just seems a little shocked.

“Hey,” Joel says, a festive red flannel in his grip. “Why don’t we head upstairs for a second?”

—

You cry for a long while before you actually manage to tell Joel what’s upset you.

Sat on the edge of his bed, you cry into your palms until your cheeks are red and blotchy, and snot covers the inside of your palms and the bridge of your nose. It’s ugly, nasty, and not what you want to be doing at all. Your family is fine, just boring and emotionally detached, and you’re crying about it to the hardest working single father you know, who has essentially built his life on his own with the help of his brother.

“I just feel so stupid and– and totally out of place. What have I done to earn my place here?” You ask him, eyes puffy and sad as you stare up at him.

Joel looks hurt. He has looked hurt for a long while, but you couldn’t see it when you were buried in your palms. His brows are pinched, his eyes wrinkled at the outer corners as he looks at you, almost seeming to pity you. For a moment his eyes flash away, not to anything in particular, but just to gather himself.

“Earn your place? Baby, what?” He questions. You stay quiet, feeling just as confused as he sounds.

His hands clench where they rest on his thighs, then relax as he sighs, head tilting to the side so he can look at you again.

“You don’t… earn your place in our family, darlin, you’re invited.”

How could you be so fucking dense?

Anyone that’s in Joel’s life, apart from Sarah, is somebody he actively invited in. His allowance of Tommy to be a near second father figure to Sarah and Ellie, his adoption of Ellie on its own, the majority of his family has been let in. It could have been just him and Sarah, but he wanted more so he allowed more, and he allows more because he loves what the more in his life is.

Joel takes a deep breath, again, and seems to steel his nerves.

“You are so much more than invited into our family, angel, you’re welcomed wholly. But, if that’s too much right now and it’s bringing you worry, it’s fine for you to just be my girlfriend.”

Girlfriend.

That is not the topic right now, that is so not the topic right now, but he said the word.

Joel loves the more in his life, and now he’s added you to that “more” officially. A label, a name, a little add-on to your identity. You’re putting “Joel’s Girlfriend” on your imaginary nametag in a million different fonts in your head before you realize he’s still talking.

“You fit right in with us, baby. The girls love you, Tommy loves you, I love you, but you know that one,” he laughs. “It’s up to you if you wanna think of yourself as a part of our family, but know that we already do.”

A smarter response should come out of your mouth here. Joel has just said a lot of touching things that have sunk into the meat of your body, warming you, but a smart response isn’t something you can manage.

“I’m your girlfriend?” You ask.

Joel’s brows furrow. “Yeah?”

He says it the way an eighth grader would say “Duh.”

Your look of “When did this happen?” meets Joel’s look of “Where have you been?” at the same time, and only then does he realize.

—

His apology for completely forgetting to ask you to be his official girlfriend for the last however many months is by cleaning you up really nicely for the photo.

Joel starts by fixing your hair, letting you sit between his knees as he gently pulls it away from your face. His hands run through it so carefully, a tenderness that only an experienced girl-dad like him could provide. When he’s finished, he leans down and presses a kiss to the top of your head, adding a mumbled “sorry” in, just to really save his ass.

With anyone else you’d be upset at them for forgetting something so pivotal in a relationship, but with Joel you lend as much patience as he gives you. He’s busy, stupidly so, and with how close and intense the two of you are with one another, it’s not absurd for it to have slipped his mind. In some ways it’s flattering, and you’d like to ask how long he’s been thinking of you as his girlfriend.

You’re just about to when he holds up the flannel in front of you, the one that he and the rest of his family are apparently wearing for the photo.

“You don’t have to. Seriously. We just talked about family and stuff and if you aren’t ready for that, then that’s–” He’s talking fast, but not as fast as you move to grab the flannel from him.

“I’m your girlfriend, of course I have to be in the picture.”

—

The rest of Shitmas was less, well, shit.

Ellie and Sarah did their yearly sock snowmen after the photo was taken and they turned out lovely, or at least Sarah’s did. Ellie purposefully overstuffed hers with rice just to see how big she could make the snowman before he exploded, which resulted in him exploding later that evening when his rotund body toppled down the stairs.

Now it’s Christmas Eve, and you’re prepping for tomorrow morning. Your house still isn’t decorated in the slightest, the only festive thing about it being a laundry basket full of gifts that you’ll tote over to Joel’s tomorrow morning.

Your lower back is absolutely killing you from wrapping the last of Joel’s gifts, something he had warned you of, but you had foolishly ignored. You figured it was an old man thing, not a consequence of too many presents. It feels like heaven when your back finally rests against the couch, your head leaning back as you sigh.

Since talking with Joel yesterday about the family stress and what the two of you are, you feel a hell of a lot better. Your lungs almost feel like they’re more open than before.

Just as you’re relaxing, eyes sliding shut in stressless bliss, someones at the door.

You grunt as you peel yourself off the couch, trudging to the door and opening it. It’s strange that anyone is at your door, especially since Joel is out with Tommy and the girls going Christmas light spotting.

Or at least he’s supposed to be.

Joel stands at your door in a loose shirt and grey sweatpants, looking sheepish.

“Do you want to come over for a bit?”

—

Alone. Finally, alone.

You’re sat halfway on Joel’s lap, sucking a mark into his neck as he leans back, cursing softly.

“Fuuuckin’ god, you know I missed you,” he groans. You nod into his skin, teething at the skin softly before pulling back to lick at the reddened spot.

Your hands grip up his sides, feeling the solid width of his body, the plushness of his tummy when your hands sink into the right spot, and you want to whimper. He’s so stupidly big, and you’re so grateful he took his shirt off almost as soon as you both started making out.

Under the lights of the tree, he already looks fucked out. Joel is almost completely limp against the back of the couch, head leaned back to expose his thick throat, bitten down and bruised with marks he might regret in a few hours. His eyes are halfway shut, but dark as ever even in the warm glow of the room which also illuminates the contours that form along his tanned skin.

He feels your eyes on him, his own opening in an attempt to meet yours, but it only brings attention to his face. Pink lips sit pretty on his face, slightly parted and puffy from kissing you dizzy earlier. Again, his eyes squeeze shut as you drag your nails up across his chest, only to fly open.

“Wait– Wait I have something,” Joel sputters. He slides you off his lap, scrambling to the Christmas tree with boyish urgency.

Joel returns with a red present, one that he actually wrapped fairly neatly.

It’d be sweet if you weren’t literally two seconds from tearing his grey sweats off his body and riding him into next year before he had shoved you off.

“It’s not Christmas,” you point out, but he shakes his head and shoves the gift into your hands.

Begrudgingly, you unwrap the gift and lift the lid off the box beneath the paper. Laying flat in the bottom of the thin box, cushioned by white tissue paper, is a red, babydoll, nightie. A blush lashes across your cheeks as you lift it out of the box, discovering that the top of it has no bra cups, or really anything to support your tits at all. Red ribbon frames the bust of the nightie limply in a triangular shape, a fluttery mesh making up for the remainder of the piece. It looks and feels expensive, and on top of that it’s totally sexy, even more so since Joel is the one that bought it for you.

Joel had gone out and picked this just for you, he had probably thought about you wearing this every night for the past week. The idea of it is making you increasingly more aroused, your eyes flicking to his, then down to the bulge in his pants.

“If it’s too much then I’ll return it but,” Joel’s chest is heaving with excitement, biting his lip as he looks at the nightie, “but I kind of want to fuck my beautiful girlfriend before Christmas.”

The two of you are upstairs quickly, with Joel settling in bed and you changing in the bathroom.

You look at yourself in the reflection of the mirror once you’ve put the ensemble on, if you can call it that. The underwear that came with the nightie are barely a scrap of fabric. Normally you’d feel really uncomfortable in something like this, hyperfocusing on small things, like how the pouch of your belly looks, or how your tits don’t look nearly as full as you want them to, but not right now.

Joel Miller just gave you, his official girlfriend, lingerie for Christmas. Because he wants to fuck you in it.

Shamelessly, you open the door into Joel’s bedroom, basically bouncing onto the bed.

“It’s so nice,” you tell him right away, wanting to show your gratitude. He’s down to his boxers as he lays beside you, eyes scanning up and down your body as you sit in his bed, almost as sexy as you are naked.

Joel is still like that for almost a minute, making your brain run haywire. Tonight, he’s left the bedside light on. It’s probably so he can see you, but it’s always special when he lets you see him while you both get intimate. He doesn’t touch you at all, just scoots up the bed so he’s sitting upright and unblinking, until finally:

“I want you to use me,” Joel blurts out.

It’s more surprising than the gift. Your voice is a tiny whine in the back of your throat, your mouth forming the word “what,” but before you can finish, his hands are on your hips, lifting you onto his thigh.

“There, I want you to use me there,” he near-demands.

You’re speechless. Joel is vocal in bed for sure, always talking a lot and never really quiet, but he hasn’t been so… commanding before. He’ll ask for things occasionally, a certain position or act, but not like this. Your hips are still as he pushes you down onto his thigh, the hair on it smushing into the softness of your skin.

“C’mon, angel, I can feel you. Fuck my thigh, use me, I want it.” He encourages.

Joel’s hands grab onto you tighter now, starting to make you move your hips until you do it on your own. It feels like you’re making a dumb face, eyes wide and brows pinched together, but you can’t help but feel surprised.

This is Joel, your Joel, who was hesitant to have sex with the lights on, or even let you look at his dick in general, and now he’s making you hump his thigh? It’s completely new to you, but you aren’t mad.

Once you’ve picked up your own pace, and stabilized yourself with your hands on his shoulders, he reaches up. Joel keeps his eyes trained on your face as he takes advantage of how your tits are on full display in the nightie, plucking and rolling your nipples in his fingers all while talking you through what’s going on.

“I know, I know you needed this,” he nods at you, “I needed it too, baby. Missed you like this.”

It feels awfully good grinding against his thigh, and something about this newfound side of Joel with the added fact that you guys haven’t had a moment alone in probably a month, is making this so much more explosive. You roll your hips just right and gasp as one side of the undies slips into the slit of your cunt, the less soft edge of the elastic brushing your clit. A pathetic noise is ripped from you as your hips stutter, body shocked from the sudden direct stimulation.

“No,” Joel says right away. His hand reaches around and cups the bottom of your ass, letting his fingers sink into the crease between your butt and thigh as he drags you forward again.

“Want your messy pussy all over me, please angel I need it so bad,” he says, guiding your movements as you start to go limp, head falling back. You barely register the feeling of his hand on your waist, trying to balance you as he fucks your wet cunt onto his leg.

You let out a tiny noise as the elastic of the undies bites into your clit again and for whatever reason it makes Joel groan too.

“S’exactly what I wanted, angel. Wanted my pretty girlfriend to come all over me an’ have her tits in my face.”

Whatever the hell has gotten into him you hope it gets into him again. He keeps rubbing you into his leg until you’re begging for more stimulation, your limp arms reaching to grab at his hand and push it up to your breasts again.

“M-my nipples,” you beg softly, tears pricking at your eyes from the overstimulation on your clit. He doesn’t hesitate, half smiling as he starts playing with your nipples again.

“Like this? Is this gonna make my pretty baby come?” He teases as he rolls your nipples repeatedly between his fingers.

All of it is too much, but it’s exactly what you wanted at the same time. Your orgasm completely fucks you out as you keep your eyes on his, mouth hanging open dumbly as he keeps one hand playing with your nipple and the other reaching down to cup your ass and grind your cunt harder on his thigh.

“Good girl, fuckin’ God,” Joel says, staring down as your ruined undies mash into his skin. You can’t tell if you’re coming down or if this orgasm is just super long for no reason, but if it was ending, it’s extended the moment Joel’s thigh clenches up.

You look down as you whimper, wondering why he’s chosen midway through your orgasm to fuck you up again, but then realize that he didn’t choose.

A fat, pearly, translucent bead, sprouts from where the head of his cock lays beneath his black briefs. You can see it grow bigger in the light, listening as Joel groans and curses, his lower half thrashing beneath you. His chest is heaving and the hand on your ass is digging deep.

“Jesus– God, baby, what you do to me,” he grits through his teeth as his back finally hits the headboard again.

Frankly, you’re speechless. You didn’t realize that would happen, or really that it could happen. You weren’t even touching him and he came, he was only watching you. It isn’t like he shot a huge load of come, but still, something came out.

Joel seems to be coming to the same conclusion as he breathily laughs, looking down at the mess before tugging you down onto him anyway, burying his nose in your hair.

“Good gift,” he mumbles, maybe to you, maybe to himself. “Definitely buyin’ you another one next year.” [ <3 ]

----

please leave comments, rbs/tags, or drop into my askbox ! i love to chat and listen <3 tags (people who i think will like this?? maybe??) @bambisweethearts , @pascalssbabyy , @ajps-posts , @starcaviar , @hisvision , @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal , @joeloverture , @mochamadeleines , @taeslarityy , @theweedisasterxoxo , @pawnshopb1ues , @hellishjoel , @slutty-express , @kyloispunk , @rainbowcosmicchaos , @stefanibear003 , @pedrostories [i plan on making an updates blog or something soon, apologies!]

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader smut #ellie fic rec box #tlou #joel miller: texas sweet #texas sweet #pedrostories

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not-neverland06 · 11 days ago

Text

𝙵𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙱𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚢

Pairing ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

Next Part - Hell Hath No Fury Series

A/N: I've been working on this for a few weeks, debating if I should post it or not. I've been getting an influx of attention on my other Arthur work so I figure now's the best time to try my hand at another series. (Following the timeline of the game but is rarely canon-compliant with how certain events take place.)

Summary: Cold, alone, and abandoned by your poor excuse of a husband. You see lights coming down the path and know you can't stay in your desolate estate any longer. It doesn't matter how far you go, though, the O'Driscolls will always find you.

Fighting for your life after they're through with you, it's another outlaw that decides whether you see tomorrow morning or not.

You hunker further into your blankets and huddle as close as you can get to the fire. Your husband had said he would be back soon with more food and firewood, but that had been three days ago. The wolves had either gotten him or he’d finally decided to try his luck on his own. Neither end would surprise you, but you’d just wished he’d chosen to abandon you in spring instead.

The wind howls as it rages against the walls of your homestead. It hasn't always been such a bad life up here. This was once a beautiful, sprawling estate. Horses, cattle, and fauna roamed the grounds and your husband had an army of employees dedicated to his family home. Then, he started laying heavy into the liquor and all of a sudden your gorgeous home had wood rot slowly seeping into the skin of your marriage and poisoning you both.

Honestly, if the sorry bastard got his throat ripped out by a wolf, you’d call it divine justice- payback for all the scars you carry from him.

You hiss as the tips of your fingers tingle painfully. Any closer to the hearth and you’ll set yourself on fire. Still, you push your luck, as you always do. Your stomach is burning from the pangs of hunger, but you’ll take whatever warmth you can get at this point.

You haven’t seen a blizzard this bad in the years since you moved up to these cursed mountains. If this is truly the one that’s going to finally take you out, it better have gotten the man who dragged you here, as well.

You struggle to think of ways to fill your belly, to prolong your life for just a few more days. There’s no point in hunting. Any tracks you find will be buried by soft, white snow in seconds. And only a few employees remain on the grounds, Sadie and her husband. But they’ve got their own store of food. As hungry as you are, you won’t steal from them.

“-You see this?”

Your brows furrow in confusion as noises manage to seep through the thick walls of your home. It sounds like voices, men’s voices. There’s a gnawing feeling in your gut, beyond the familiarity of hunger. This is something else.

Forcing your aching bones up, you duck down and rush towards the window. Five men, all on horseback and each of them armed, ride up the grounds of your home. Their silhouettes are illuminated against the snowfall by the lanterns they hold.

They could very well be innocent travelers simply looking for an escape from the storm. But you know better than that. You didn’t make it this far in your life by naively trusting every man you meet. You’ve only made that mistake once, now he’s buried in the snow and you’re about to be killed by raiders.

You don’t see much of a way out of this. You’ve never been a good shot, certainly not good enough to take on five men on your own. For a moment you think of just making a run for it. Or even shooting yourself before they can get to you. Doing that would probably save you a lot of unnecessary pain. You doubt they’ve got much respect for the women they encounter.

Then, you remember the family sleeping peacefully on your property. Sadie and Jake deserve fair warning, you can’t just abandon them to the mercies of whoever these men might be. You push away from the window and grab your rifle from above the fireplace.

Your home isn’t as big as some of those fancier estates you’ve seen visiting the city. But it’s large enough for you to have a back way to crawl out of. You slip through the door quietly, immediately being shoved back into the wood from the force of the snow. You tug your shawl around your face, ignoring the bite of ice crystals nipping at your cheeks.

The snow is up to your knees as you trudge through it. You can see, on the other side of the house, the glow of lamplight steadily growing closer. As much as you try to rush, you can barely lift your feet. Your heart beats against your chest with panic as you squint across the way at Sadie’s home.

You see light coming from their windows and you know it’s only making the place a bigger target. Your toes are already going numb as sleet leaks into the tops. You tumble forward slightly, hands sinking past two feet of snow to a frozen ground beneath. “God dammit,” you mutter, tugging yourself up and practically throwing yourself forward.

This feels like you’re fighting a losing battle. Mother Nature herself seems to be telling you to just give up and turn your ass right back around. But you refuse, you’ve always been stubborn. You’re not abandoning people who entrusted themselves to you and your husband. If warning them is the last thing you do, then so be it.

After a few minutes and hearing your home get ransacked behind you, you finally manage to stumble onto their front stoop. Your teeth are rattling together so hard you can’t even hear yourself knock. You certainly don’t feel it, half your arm having lost feeling after your stumble in the snow.

Jake opens the door, hair mussed and face pinched like he’d just been dragged out of a deep sleep. Sadie ambles up behind him, tugging a scarf around her shoulders. Jake gasps out your name, tugging you inside quickly. “What are you doing running around out there? Mr. Rowe will kill me if I let his wife freeze on my watch.”

Sadie glares at him and directs you in front of the fire. “Ignore him,” she hisses. “But, what were you doing?” She sounds more suspicious than concerned. You rub your hands together, letting out heavy puffs of air as you try to get your jaw to unlock.

“M-men,” the word is a hassle to get out and you can tell from the look on their face they don’t have half a clue what you said. You curse under your breath and pinch at the fat of your cheeks, trying to bring some feeling back to them. “Raiders,” you finally manage to get out.

Jake’s teasing nature immediately drops. He takes the rifle off your shoulder and Sadie gives him an astonished look. “What the hell do you think you’re gonna do with that?”

“Get in the cellar,” he commands and you don’t think you’ve ever heard him tell her what to do. Not once since they’d joined your staff. Sadie opens her mouth to argue, scoffing at him. “Get in the goddamn cellar, Sadie, and don’t come out!” He shouts at her, running to the window and cussing when he sees whatever’s waiting outside.

You stand from the chair, taking Sadie’s hand in your shaking ones and leading her to the cellar. She fights you on it, digging her heels in and pleading with Jake. “Just hide out with us, you ain’t know how to use that damn rifle, Jake.”

He turns away from the window with a resigned smile. “Would you, for once in your damn life, just listen to me?” You release her, just long enough for him to embrace her in what you know will be their last touch. You don’t interrupt, just struggle with the latch on their cellar. Sadie comes up behind you, hands covering your own and helping you with it. She urges you inside first and you drop onto the damp ground, her following quickly after.

Jake stares down at you both, the light of the fire making him look bigger than life as he gives you a reassuring smile. “Won’t be long,” he promises. He leans down, closing the cellar door and plunging you both in such intense darkness you can no longer tell if your eyes are open or closed.

It’s cold under the house, the harsh weather seeping in through the ground. Sadie crawls away from you as you hear Jake push the rug over the cellar door, hiding you both away. There’s a slight click, like the sound of a match against a boot, and light blooms before you. Sadie holds an oil lamp, crawling back towards you and placing it between the both of you. You open your shawl silently and you both huddle under it, trying to keep each other warm.

It’s not long before you hear voices join Jake’s. The door slams open, boots rattle the floor above you and dust rains down on you both. You keep your face tucked to your chest, but Sadie’s eyes are glued to one spot. The same spot that you know, instinctually, is where Jake stands.

It isn’t long before the guns go off. Too many rounds for just one man. You hear the laughter and feel as Sadie sucks in a breath so deep you’re surprised her chest doesn’t cave. You tighten your arm around her and ignore the warmth that seeps through the cracks of the wood. Something red drips against your arm and you just drag Sadie closer.

You’re in there for most of the night, legs going numb as you and Sadie remain glued to each other. You probably could have survived the men were it not for them finding the whiskey. It only takes one drunken stumble and the rug is lifted off the cellar door. It takes one bullet to break the lock and suddenly the door’s being thrown up. Light burns at your eyes as a man leers down at you. “Well, ain’t this a nice surprise?”

“Even robbing a train doesn’t seem like a good reason for being out here. Not for O’Driscolls,” Dutch stares down at his boots, that look on his face that always spells trouble. Arthur glances back at the barn where the dead O’Driscoll boy lay.

Of course, up here in the middle of a blizzard surrounded by nothing but snow, they manage to stumble upon an O'Driscoll camp. “We should bring the women up here, it might be a good place for ‘em.” Arthur loads up what little supplies he managed to find on the horses and glances up towards the big house at the top of the hill.

No fires or noises come from it. He can’t imagine why the O’Driscolls would choose a run-down house to camp out in rather than that fancy estate.

Dutch shakes his head, “I’m not comfortable separating everyone.” Arthur opens his mouth to argue when a shrill scream rips through the quiet of the night.

“You stay away from us!” It’s a woman, screaming bloody murder as Micah cackles.

Dutch lets out a rough sigh, glaring up at the door and rushing towards it. “Micah!” He shouts his name, barreling through the door, “What have you done now?”

Arthur follows after him, nearly getting his face bashed in by a flying kitchen chair. He ducks out of the way as a blond woman circles the table, trying to keep away from Micah. “Look what I found in the cellar,” he taunts, lunging at her. She jumps back, kitchen knife pointed out as she hovers near a cellar door.

“Leave ‘er alone!” Arthur barks, peering around her legs and trying to get a look in the cellar. She notices him and jumps in front of it, glaring at him. She’d yelled ‘us,’ he wonders if she’s got a kid in there.

As always, Micah doesn’t listen. He lunges at her again and flips the table over, sending an oil lamp flying onto the rug. The glass shatters, fire spreading quickly over the old wood. Arthur curses, shoving at Micah’s shoulder and forcing him away from the terrified woman. Micah’s still laughing at the look on her face, even as Arthur forces him out of the house.

“It’s alright, Ma’am. I promise we’re not going to hurt you,” Dutch approaches her slowly, gently pushing the knife away and leading her towards the door. His eyes dart towards the quickly spreading fire, trying to get her out before the house comes down on them all.

“No, I can’t leave her,” she looks back at the cellar but Dutch keeps pushing forward. She’s growing smaller by the second, muttering to herself and struggling along weakly.

“Arthur,” Dutch snaps quickly, barely glancing over his shoulder at the cellar. He finally manages to push her out the door and Arthur moves quickly. He follows Dutch’s unspoken order, rushing over to the cellar and peering down. A woman lay curled up inside, a sickly sheen over her damp skin. The tips of her fingers are odd colors, from death or cold, he can’t tell. He drops down, dragging her closer and trying to listen for a breath.

With the wood creaking dangerously above him, he can’t waste time on her. He throws her over his shoulder with a grunt, crawling back out of the cellar and hoping there’s some life in her yet. “They came three days ago.” The woman tells them as Arthur walks out of the house. Her face slacks with relief when she sees her friend over Arthur’s shoulder. “They killed my husband.”

“It’s alright now, ma’am,” Dutch tells her. And Arthur doubts she believes a second of it. After her encounter with the O’Driscolls and then Micah, he doubts she thinks anyone will ever be safe again. Not as she watches her home burn down. Still, she doesn’t have much choice as Dutch helps her onto his horse.

“We’re bad men,” Arthur tells her bluntly, “but we ain’t them,” he mutters glaring at the O’Driscoll corpses littering the ground. The blood has already been covered by snow, bodies frosting over to become feasts for whatever starving predator lurks by the trees.

She watches as he loads her friend’s body on the back of his horse and shakes her head, “Don’t have much of a choice do I?”

Dutch shares a look with Arthur, diverting her attention from everything that’s happened. “What’s your name ma’am?”

“Adler, Mrs. Sadie Adler.” She glances at the other woman and whispers her name with a pained look. Arthur keeps one hand on the chilled body, trying to make sure they don’t lose it in the snow. He’s sure she’s just going to be another corpse to bury.

Every morning, Sadie sneaks into his room. She somehow manages to do it without him waking up, which is worrying enough. And every morning, he sees her standing over the woman lying by his fire.

To almost everyone’s surprise, you didn’t die when he brought you back to the camp. You were barely holding onto life, nearly in worse shape than Davey had been in. But still, you kept on breathing. Even if every inhale sounded like the rattle of death, you didn’t let go.

Sadie refuses to leave your side. Spending most of the day tending to you. It drives Miss Grimshaw insane because Arthur won’t let her bother Sadie into helping out around camp. Arthur’s a fool, but he’s not blind. He knows how uncomfortable all the men make Sadie. She was alone with her husband and you up in these mountains. Suddenly being surrounded by a camp full of the same type of men who killed her husband probably isn’t doing her any good.

Still, maybe he should try and force her around Abigail and Jack. She can’t keep hiding out in his room. Dutch doesn’t like carrying around dead weight. She’s going to need to start contributing around here, eventually.

He sits up in bed, running a hand over his ragged face and overgrown beard. Sadie’s already kneeling by the fire, taking a shawl from around her shoulders and putting it over you. You suck in another struggling breath and Arthur frowns.

“How’d she get like this?” Her shoulders tense at the sound of his voice. He’s been curious about it for a little while. It didn’t make sense how she could be in perfect health and you were barely holding onto life.

Sadie’s quiet for a moment, staring down at you before looking into the fire. “I mouthed off to one of them bastards. I don’t know what they were gonna do to me, shoot me or somethin’ worse, but she stopped ‘em.” Sadie chuckles slightly, getting to her feet and grabbing another shawl for herself.

“She grabbed a knife and nearly took one of their eyes out.” The proud look on her face drops as she stares down at her feet. There’s something like shame in her voice, “They took her outside and tossed me back in the cellar. I don’t know what happened but when they finally brought her back in she was barely breathing.”

“You know,” Arthur starts, unsure of where he's going with this as he rubs the back of his neck. “It’s not your-”

Sadie’s head snaps up and she glares at him, “It’s my fault. I don’t need you lyin’ to me to make me feel better. It’s not gonna do anyone any good.”

Arthur lets out a low breath and shakes his head. “Didn’t mean any harm. But you can’t blame yourself for stuff like that. She wanted to help ya, there’s nothing else to it.”

Sadie shoots him a glare but she doesn’t argue further with him. He knows she wants to, but he can also see the exhaustion weighing heavily upon her shoulder. The guilt’s eating away at her. Maybe letting her stay cooped up in this small room with you all day had been a mistake.

“Alright,” he gets to his feet, grabbing his hat from the table by the door and nodding her forward. “I need you out of here today,” she opens her mouth to protest but he holds up a hand and stops her. “Got business to discuss with Dutch, you can’t be here.”

He opens the door and waves her forward, “Come on, out with ya.” She huffs, loudly stomping past him and muttering something wicked under her breath. Arthur follows slowly behind her, chuckling slightly to himself. He throws you one last look before letting the door close.

The world is slow to shift into place as your limbs slowly tingle back to life. Your eyes are crusted with a week’s worth of sleep as you try and pry them open. A low whine of pain brews in your throat, but your tongue is heavy with weakness.

You remember nothing past those men opening the cellar door and you’re sure you’re better for it. Bit by bit, you test which parts of yourself are still alive. You flex your stiff fingers and toes, roll your ankles, and let your neck flop around.

You seem to have all your faculties in order, but the second you try and sit up, sharp pains shoot through your spine and legs. It's as though someone is dragging razor blades through every layer of skin and muscle.

An animalistic sound of pain rips out of your chest as you flip back down onto the hard ground. Whatever waning energy you’d tried to conjure has been beaten out of you.

There’s a creak of old wood behind you and the familiar sound of men’s boots. Your slow stutter of a heartbeat kicks into the pattering melody of hummingbird wings. Your blood rushes painfully through your skin as you pathetically crane your neck.

Try as you might, you can’t get a glimpse behind you. You’re so close to a fireplace that the cinders and heat burn out your eyes.

In the amount of time you’ve spent trying to collect yourself, you haven’t even considered that those men could still be around. It doesn’t make sense, though, this place doesn’t look like Sadie’s home. You suppose that they could have moved you both, but you don’t understand why they would want you so badly.

While you theorize, the man has only gotten closer. You can make out his pants from the corner of your eye as he rounds the corner. Every part of you wants to jump up and run. But even breathing is an aching chore. What chance do you have fighting a man twice your size off?

“Damn, you’re awake.” The man sounds awed. He doesn’t carry the cadence of someone who's only been waiting to hurt you. He kneels beside you and tries, as much as he can, to gently help you up.

Your teeth grit together and the thought of danger is long gone from your mind as screaming pain shoots through you. Everywhere he touches is like fire licking at your skin. There’s a worrying coldness buried deep in your veins waking up at the pain.

You can’t help the pathetic noises that slip from your mouth as he eases you up. “Alright, come on, you’re okay now. ‘M not gonna hurt you.” It’s easy enough to believe him when you’re completely at his mercy. It’s not like you have any other choice but to trust him and hope for the best.

Through watering eyes, you’ve got a good look at him now. He’s got sweet blue eyes with little bits of emerald swimming through them. The rest of him is scraggly. His beard is unkept, his face is dirtied, and his clothes smell too heavily of gunpowder. But if you just keep looking at those pretty eyes of his, you have no trouble believing him.

You nod your head as much as you can and open your mouth to ask him something. What- you can’t remember. Your tongue is so parched and throat so cracked that nothing more than a wheeze comes out.

“Hold on,” he mutters under his breath and leans over to the right a little. He takes you with him, contorting your body painfully as he grabs a small cup of water off an overturned bucket. There’s also a rag beside it and a few other things that look like they were used to care for you.

He straightens you again and nudges your head back with the tip of his finger. You don’t have much warning before he places the cup to your lips and simply pours. It rushes down your throat in an overwhelming wave of half relief and half fear of drowning in this man’s lap. You swallow it down as quickly as you can, the aches and pains slowly ebbing away. Your tongue just about twitches back to life as he removes the cup and you flex your jaw.

“You nearly killed me,” you accuse, voice still weak and cracking.

He gives you a disbelieving look before laughing, jostling you slightly with the movements. “Really? That’s the first thing you say when you wake up. You’ve been in a coma on my floor for a week, and all the times I wondered what you would sound like when you woke up, I’ve been expecting ‘thank you.’”

You have just enough energy to narrow your eyes at him, throat still recovering from the onslaught of water. “Thank you,” you say slowly, still working out the kinks in your voice, “for nearly drowning me.” The slightly smug look drops for one of bewildered amusement. You’ve barely been awake for ten minutes and you’re already pushing your luck with someone who looks like a feral mountain man.

“Oh, you’re just full of surprises, ain’t ya?” You can’t do much more than nod, already feeling the pull of sleep calling you back. He shakes you gently, hand slipping down your back slightly. It’s enough to make you jolt forward, skin stinging like he’s just whipped you. “What was that?” He demands, voice rough with something akin to worry.

You can’t imagine why this stranger would be concerned for you. Why does he even care enough about you to help keep you alive?

“Back,” you croak out, shivers racking through from the pain.

He skates his fingers over the thin cloth of your night shift, careful not to put too much pressure on your skin. There’s the quiet click of a blade unsheathing that has you tensing up before cool metal is placed against the back of your neck.

“Hold still for a minute,” he warns and you can’t tell if you hear a threat lying in wait. Like butter, your tattered shift parts readily around his blade. The cold brisk air from outside combined with the warmth of the fire makes the skin of your back pinch painfully. You bite your tongue, suppressing a wince and trying not to whine.

His silence speaks louder than his gruff words. Whatever he sees must be disturbing. He runs a finger over your shoulder blade and whistles lowly. “I see why we couldn’t get you better now.” His tone is clipped, disgust laying thickly on the edge of his words.

“What is it?” You try and feel worried for yourself but it’s taking all of your efforts just to stay awake. Your words slur together slightly as your tongue laves lazily over your teeth. Your head teeters forward slightly and he just barely manages to catch you before you tip over.

“Just hold on here for a minute, alright?” He crouches before you, tipping your head up and waiting for confirmation before he leaves. Your eyes remain closed while you nod your head. He hesitates for a moment before standing and walking towards the door. “Don’t,” he snaps, “fall asleep again.”

You don’t have enough energy for a response as he slips back out the door. The second he’s gone you let yourself crumple to the floor. Huddled under the blankets and stuck next to a small fire, you can almost lie and say the dusty hardwood is comfortable. Your eyes remain shut, but try as you might, you can’t fall asleep. Every time you think you might be lulled a little closer to the abyss, a sharp jolt of pain forces you back awake.

You’re nearly convulsing by the time he comes back. The door blows open, and the wind gusts through, carrying with it snow and the smell of camp food. You hear the noises of people outside and wonder just where you’ve found yourself.

“Oh, Mrs. Rowe!” Sadie’s voice nearly cripples you with relief. You feel warmth build in your throat, something burns at the back of your eyes as she rushes towards you. You don’t remember how you got here. You certainly didn’t remember whether or not Sadie even made it out with you. Seeing her kneeling before you is beyond comforting.

Not only is she alive and safe, she’s obviously been fed well. Her cheeks have the rosy glow of staying next to a fire for too long, and the clothes she’s wearing are clearly donated but well taken care of. If nothing else, at least you might have managed to prolong her survival a little longer. You’re not sure you can say the same for yourself.

Still, despite all the pain and the grief and fear you’ve both gone through, you correct her on your name. You chide her playfully, telling her to call you by your first name. “I’m not Mrs. Rowe any longer,” you laugh bitterly, wincing when it pulls the skin of your back taut. She clicks her tongue at you, taking both of your hands in hers and pulling you up straight.

You can feel the man hovering awkwardly behind you both, not quite sure how to help, or if he should. “Bastard went and left us all,” you gripe. You keep talking, cursing out your hopefully dead husband. You blabber to try and distract you from the way you can feel something festering under your skin.

Venomous pain crawls through your veins and rips at your strength. You lean heavily on Sadie to keep yourself upright. The cut-open back of your night shift slips open and Sadie catches your sleeve before it can fall. Her head shoots up, a hateful glare shooting straight toward the man.

He throws his hands up, “Now, Mrs. Adler-”

“You thought you could just have some fun with her, huh? Oh, you son of a bitch!” You can feel how desperately she wants to leap up and have a go at him. She’s practically trembling with anger. You squeeze her hands with as much strength as you can muster, trying to keep her grounded with you.

He scrambles to explain, taking a step towards you both and immediately retreating when Sadie curses at him again. “Now, that ain’t what happened-”

She cuts him off again and he huffs with exasperation. “You think I’ll believe anything you outlaws say? I should have known you were no better than the bastards that stole my husband from me.”

“Sadie,” you croak, “let the man speak, dammit.” She shoots you an affronted look, like she might try and yell at you next. The sickly sheen over your skin and your overall pathetic countenance are the only things that stop her.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he mutters, walking over to you both slowly. He approaches Sadie like one would a wild cat, trying to keep her temper from flaring up again. The only reason she and her husband ever managed to stay so long in your employ was because you always vouched for her. One day soon, though, that temper is going to get her into some serious trouble.

“I think they did something to ‘er.” He starts speaking in hushed whispers, talking about you as if Sadie isn’t holding you between them. Your eyes start to flutter as you listen to their quiet conversation, words fading in and out as you grapple with keeping a hold of your consciousness.

“Jesus Christ,” Sadie hisses, peering over your shoulder at something you’re probably going to be grateful not to see. “They whip her?”

“I think so. And it don’t look right, all green around the edges.” He pokes a rough finger against the center of your back and you cry out, jerking away from the touch. Sadie swats sharply at his hand and he glares at her.

“Don’t touch it you fool! We need medicine for her. It’s infected.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed Mrs. Adler but we’re currently stuck in the middle of a blizzard,” he deadpans. He motions towards the window of the small shack and the wind that whistles loudly behind it. The snow does its best to try and seep in. It pools in one corner of the room, melting into the floorboards below. You can’t feel the chill of it being so close to the fire, though. Or perhaps that’s a fever keeping you warm. You can’t feel much of anything, actually.

Sadie eases you off of her and he helps lay you on your side. They get to their feet, sneaking away from you as if you didn’t just hear them talking about you like you’re lying on death’s door. “We need something,” Sadie hisses, but you can barely hear it above the rushing in your ears.

Arthur mutters something back to her but you’re already falling back into the peaceful embrace of sleep. Body going limp as you try and escape the pain.

“Goddammit!”

“Quit whining, I’m almost done.” Charles has a gentle enough hand as he puts a salve over your back, but it still hurts worse than a lick of fire. It’s been a few days since you woke up in Arthur’s room. You were more cognisant the next day, more aware of the fact that if you went another moment without treating the wounds on your back, you’d most likely die.

You’re lucky you’ve made it this long without anything. You suppose you’re just stubborn enough to not let those bastards kill you from an infection. God, that would be an embarrassing way to go. It’s how your husband’s father died and clearly, that had been the worst thing to happen to the family in generations. It left your husband in charge to destroy their reputation and their livelihood.

You grit your teeth together as Charles’ calloused hand roves over the open wounds. They’re starting to feel a little better. They burn less now, more just ache when you extend your arms too far or cough too hard. You figure Charles has probably saved your life with this herbal concoction of his. Him and Hosea. It had been Hosea’s suggestion of using herbs for treatment that prompted Charles to go hunting for them.

You never imagined owing your life to a bunch of outlaws but you suppose that no one knows what direction fate is planning on taking them. “You’re not a real sweet nurse, you know that?” You grouse, talking to distract yourself from the discomfort.

Charles sighs behind you but you swear that it’s almost a laugh. “You complain a lot for someone who owes me their life.” You know he’s only teasing you. As shocking as that is. You didn’t think the man had a funny bone in his body when you first met him. Lo and behold he’s got just as much bite as you do. Still, you do feel a little guilty for giving him so much grief.

He starts wrapping the bandages around your chest. You help him around the front, being mindful of the still-present burn on his hand. “Thank you,” you whisper as he ties it off. You can’t bring yourself to say it much louder, still not used to being in someone’s debt like this.

Hell, you’re getting used to a whole lot of new things. You’d never dressed a deer before either but you didn’t have much choice but pull your weight here. You’re pretty sure Mrs. Grimshaw would skin you if you just lazed about like a prissy lady.

Charles pauses, he’s quiet for a moment before backing off and turning around so you can put your shirt back on. You expect him not to respond, to just slip out quietly. He doesn’t seem the type to indulge too much in a woman’s emotions. “I’m glad you’re better,” he tells you. You don’t get a chance to respond before the door closes again.

Sighing, you grab your jacket from the bed and tug it on. Your movements are still stilted, your body still stiff from spending so long in the cold. You now struggle to get your fingers to curl the right way. But you’re alive, and that’s got to count for something.

You slip outside, prepared for the biting cold, and still surprised as your boots sink into the muddy snow. You owe the women for collecting some clothes for you, even altering them so they might fit better. They don’t have the time as they tend to the camp, but they still help. For a group full of murderers and gunslingers, they’re possibly some of the nicest people you’ve ever met.

“Howdy, Mrs. Rowe, lookin’ might fine this morning.”

Besides, of course, Micah. He leers at you, licking his maw and tugging at his belt. You roll your eyes, ignoring him and trudging past. You hear him laugh behind you and wish you could kick his teeth in. Always gotta be one bad apple, doesn’t there?

Arthur isn’t too far ahead of you, loading something up on his horse. You speed up a little, hoping to catch him before he leaves. “Arthur!” You call out, his head shoots towards you and you wave a little. He gives you a small smile, leaning against the hitching post as you approach.

He tips his hat towards you, “How are you this morning, Mrs. Rowe?”

You let out an annoyed huff but there’s a slight smile playing on your lips. “How many times do I need to tell you to stop calling me that?”

He chuckles, turning back towards his horse and adjusting the saddle. “Apologies,” he acquiesces, but the tone of his voice tells you he knows exactly how much it irritates you. His gaze drifts to someone behind you and the amusement dips from his tone. “Charles help you out this mornin'?’”

He always approaches the subject with more grace than you would have thought him capable of. He must know how odd it is for you to have a man see you nearly half-naked every morning. You were raised as a proper lady, groomed to be a perfect, virtuous wife. It’s a shock to see how brazen some of the women here are. Not necessarily a bad thing, you can appreciate the freedom it provides.

You no longer feel the suffocating need to think over every word that leaves your lips. You’re not constantly walking around eggshells and fighting to be heard. But being bare before someone other than your husband has been difficult to stomach, even if it is Charles. Arthur seems to realize how hard it must be for you. Which is odd, you didn’t think someone like him would know much about proper women. You wonder if he’s ever had a woman of his own.

“Yes, he says it’s looking better. I shouldn’t be at risk of dropping dead now, at least,” you laugh, but there was true fear you might not wake up. You know some of the members in camp argued to just toss you to the cold, let the wolves feed on you. They didn’t think you were worth sparing the supplies for.

“That’s good ain’t it?”

“I suppose so. But, well,” you wonder if you should even be having this conversation. Maybe bringing up this worry will just put an idea in his head he hadn’t had before.

“Well,” he prompts, not impatiently.

“What am I supposed to do?” You ask, hands dropping to your sides with a heavy sigh.

“Whaddya mean?” His brows furrow in confusion and you curse yourself mentally. You’ve probably just royally screwed yourself.

“Well, when I’m healed. When I’m not relying on you or Charles everyday. Where am I meant to go? My husband's dead and my house has been ransacked completely. I’ve got nothing to my name.” Voicing aloud the fears you’ve been carrying for the past few days is like a weight off your shoulders. You’ve been fretting about this forever, losing sleep over it. As much as you fear his answer, at least you finally said it.

Arthur’s lips quirk up and you huff. There is nothing funny about what you just said. In fact, it’s incredibly worrying. Still, that doesn’t stop him from cracking up, laughing at your expense like you’re some foolish girl. “Arthur Morgan,” you chide, swatting weakly at his arm, “I’m being serious.”

“I know,” he sighs with a smile and you can’t help but return it. “We ain’t gonna throw you to the curb, Mrs-” he cuts himself off when you glare at him. Instead, he says your name with a comforting tone and reaches out, placing a heavy hand on your shoulder. “If you’re okay with it, you can travel with us or we can drop you off in whatever town we stay at.”

Your heart skips a few beats, hope filling your stomach with warmth. “Really?”

“‘Course, what'd ya think we were just gonna leave you up here in the snow?”

“Well, I know Micah wanted to,” his face falls at the mention of the man.

His brows furrow and his jaw sets with something akin to anger. He does that every time you mention the man. He just seems to put Arthur in a foul mood. “I ain’t Micah and I ain’t in the business of just abandoning pretty ladies up in the mountains.”

Perhaps you’re a fool, but about the only thing you caught from that was him calling you a pretty lady. Before you can continue your conversation, someone rides up behind you both. “Mrs. Rowe, Mr. Morgan,” Dutch greets you with a gravelly call of your name and a suave smile. You roll your eyes at the mention of your husband's name but bow your head in greeting nonetheless. “Excuse me ma’am, but I need Arthur this morning.”

“Oh,” you flush, not realizing just how much of his time you’ve stolen with your silly worries. “Of course, sorry.” You give Arthur one last smile, watching as he mounts his horse and backing up so his leg doesn’t swing out at you. “Where are you going, anyway?” You ask, peering behind them both to see other men in camp riding up behind them.

“Why,” Dutch grins, “we’re off to rob a train.” He kicks off and you’re left standing in the snow with a gaping jaw. Arthur gives you one last look before he rides behind him, the others quickly following.

So, this is the life of an outlaw.

Next Part

#Arthur Morgan x reader #Arthur morgan x you #Arthur Morgan #Arthur Morgan imagine #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 x you #rdr2 #red dead redemption two #red dead redemption fanfiction #red dead redemption 2 x reader #Hell Hath No Fury

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acciofictionalmen · 1 month ago

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fallout in the snowfall ❆ part 2

james potter x female!reader

summary: when james kisses you on an adrenaline high, your friendship is in shambles as the true meaning of "just friends" becomes irreparably warped. you both desperately try to restore the platonic bond that you once shared, but at what cost...

warnings: strong language, sexual references

word count: 3.6k

series masterlist

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

That night you found yourself stood outside James’ dormitory.

With a sharp knock on the door, you waited for someone to respond. It was beyond curfew, the common room silent as you shuffled uncomfortably in the darkness. Eventually you heard movement on the other side of the door and it cracked open.

“Pete?” You exclaimed in surprise; he was usually asleep by now.

“Oh, hi (Y/n).” He twittered, turning to look behind him. You heard the chatter in the room pause at the mention of your name.

“I’ve got James’ charms essay here.” You said softly, conscious of waking the other dormitories up.

“One sec.” Pete turned to shut the door, and his mouse-brown hair bobbed out of sight. The door re-opened to jet black hair.

James quietly shut the door behind him, leaving you both alone in the corridor. You swallowed nervously, he looked good; wearing only a pair of crimson, low-hanging, plaid pyjama bottoms. He noticed your eyes on his bare chest, and smirked.

Rolling your eyes, you handed him his essay, “Here.”

James took the paper as you calmly continued, “Your main points are good, but you don’t spend enough time articulating them, y’know? Like in your first paragraph you state the importance of the Fidelius Charm but then don’t elaborate. And if you want to get full marks you need to-”

“(Y/n).”

You paused at the firmness of his voice.

“What?” You crossed your arms as your confidence began to ebb away the closer he got.

“I could care less about Charms.”

He caressed the side of your face with his thumb as you froze, your breath hitching as he looked down at you. Tall shadows stretched across his face, slithers of moonlight the only thing defining his features, “I wanted to see you.” He breathed, his lips lowering to your neck, “Can’t I see my best girl?”

Your eyes fluttered shut as you sunk into his embrace, his hands tightening around your waist to keep you steady.

James’ essay drifted to the floor, forgotten.

His lips travelled up your chin, nearing the corners of your lips when you stopped him, channelling your resolve.

“Not like this.”

James instantly stopped and pulled away, his hands still loosely on your waist, “What?” He murmured, still entranced by you.

You pointedly removed his hands from your waist, and stooped to pick up his essay.

“I came because I thought you wanted to improve your Charms grade, because I’m a good friend,” you pushed the paper into his chest, finality in your voice, “I’m going to bed.”

James’ brows lowered in confusion as he stepped away, “Have I-” he stopped himself, “Right. Goodnight then.”

──── ୨୧ ────

Since that encounter by his dorm, you kept your distance. Had skilfully evaded moments alone with James like the slyness of a golden snitch eluding its seeker. Partially to make a point, but also because you didn’t trust your self-control anymore.

The initial few days of your withdrawal had been spent waiting. Waiting for any effort, for him to try or even just ask why you’d suddenly pulled away. Or for him to find you and express some sort of dissatisfaction with the way your ‘friendship’ had been left, that dissatisfaction you felt, and tell you he wanted more.

When it became clear that wouldn’t happen, you continued to joke with each other in the group. However, the underlying tension was so prominent that your conversations began to lessen- your mind constantly elsewhere and his, a mess.

It didn’t take you long to realise the growing feelings you had weren’t reciprocated, and to shove them deep, deep down.

You wondered whether you’d made the right decision- you’d stopped kissing James with the hope that he’d realise he wanted you as more than just a friend. At the least, that your friendship would return to the way it had been. You hadn’t expected- hadn’t even considered that it may be irreparable: that that friendship was long gone.

Embarrassment frequently bullied your thoughts as you wondered whether your friendship had any worth to James when he wasn’t tasting you.

The others had noticed the change too, but no one dared comment yet.

To your dismay, the rest of the year had also noticed. People would look at you uncertainly whenever they mentioned James in front of you, as though you’d broken up. As the days trickled past and your conversations dwindled, it began to feel that way.

One of the first people to observe this had been Gideon Prewett. He approached you one afternoon as you trailed out of DADA, his easy pace matching your own.

You felt his eyes on you before he spoke, a teasing lilt to his voice, “Rough breakup?”

You weren’t amused, blinking as you registered him properly. He was bluntly attractive- high cheekbones dotted with freckles and full, pink lips. You could count on one hand the number of times you and Gideon Prewett had interacted since the start of Hogwarts- despite being in the same house. This only increased your irritation.

Your response was bland, “We weren’t dating.”

His voice was deep as he chuckled, “I gave Potter too much credit, then. I thought he was good at knowing when something precious was in front him.”

You caught the clear Quidditch reference, and the even more obvious flattery. You definitely didn’t mind it.

“Careful,” your lips quirked to the side in amusement, “or I’ll tell your Captain you’re slagging him off.”

He smirked. “(Y/n), right? I’m Gideon.”

You laughed softly. “I know who you are, Prewett.”

He grinned, responding with equal wit, and you allowed yourself to settle into the fun exchange. He walked you to your next lesson, despite his being on the opposite end of the castle.

James had been leaving Potions when he spied you with Gideon. His satchel slung across his shoulder, hand failing to smooth his unkempt hair. Your laughter had reached him before you had. He almost smiled at the warm sound and the fond memories that accompanied it.

Until his eyes caught up.

His gaze collided with yours, the impact rendering him speechless. The world seemed to slow as you crossed paths, his eyes catching on your face and relaxed mannerisms, snagging on the laughter still etched into your expression. He noticed the faint blush that kissed your cheeks, the brightness of your eyes. It can’t have been longer than a second, but it was enough time for James’ gaze to flicker between you and Gideon. Enough time to recall a time when it had been him effortlessly bantering with you, making you laugh at his well-timed jokes.

You realised it at the same time, but too late, your back already to him as the space between you grew.

You turned back to Gideon, your mind in disarray. Seeing James walk past had forced the realisation that it wasn’t him beside you, making you laugh until tears danced in your eyes.

Suddenly feeling light-headed, you tugged at the red and gold scarf wound tightly around your neck. It loosened, but you still struggled to breathe.

──── ୨୧ ────

Honey-soaked waffles were stacked on your plate, glistening with sugar as you dug in eagerly and took occasional sips of coffee to counter the sweetness. The hall was filled with lively chatter as people anticipated the nearing holiday- whether it would snow, if Peeves was particularly active and planning gift-exchanges between friend groups for those leaving over Christmas break.

You sat with your usual group as James harassed Lily for the answers to the Charms homework- a common exchange. Flitwick was expecting it that evening despite James protesting that he had Quidditch practice in the afternoon; he had already been granted two extended deadlines. You wondered if James had even done any more work on his essay since you’d returned it to him that one night.

Remus paused, his eyes meeting yours with a familiar look, the same one he had when he was about to answer a question correctly in class, “James, why don’t you do the homework with (Y/n) in the library today? She’s really good at Charms.”

James’ eyes flickered to yours as he hesitated. You knew what he was thinking, because you were thinking it too- the two of you hadn’t been alone together for almost a week. There had always been someone present to change the conversation if things became strained, to act as a buffer to the overwhelming tension.

His hesitation stabbed you in the gut, but then he abruptly looked up, confidence restored in his eyes, “After lunch?” He suggested.

A faint smile settled on your lips, but before you had the chance to respond, a warm hand rested on your shoulder. You looked up, offering Gideon a smile as he nodded to the rest of your friend group.

“Hey.” He grinned as he removed his hand from your shoulder to push back his red hair.

“Hi.”

The whole of your group had stopped talking to observe the interaction, and there was an awkward pause. Mary quickly resumed talking and you made sure to remember to thank her later.

“I was wondering if you wanted to stop by and watch my Quidditch practice later?” He gestured towards the tall windows, “Weather looks promising.”

You paused, hyper aware that James was listening intently, but also that you needed to respond, “Sure. As long as it’s not an excuse to show off.” You gave him a look of feigned suspicion.

Gideon raised his hands in mock defence, “You’ve caught me.”

James’ eyes narrowed as he registered the easiness of the exchange.

“I’ll be there.”

And you had meant it. Gideon was funny, kind… undeniably good-looking. You’d been talking for a few days now and you enjoyed his company- he was easy-going and straightforward. A welcome contrast to your recent friendship dynamics.

He nodded, satisfied, eyes skimming over James before he turned away and joined his brother further down the table.

You turned back to your friends, feeling uneasy that they’d overheard everything. One person specifically.

James’ face was imperceptible as he turned to Sirius, punching his friend on the shoulder when he said something stupid. James’ face had always been easy to read- his passion making it hard for him to conceal his feelings.

You had always loved that about him- the genuineness of his emotions that you could almost always tell what he was feeling in the moment by looking at him. The look he was giving you. Of exasperation, of longing, of want… James grunted with the force of his lips colliding with yours. His hands flew to your waist as you met in a flurry of passion and l-st and want as one of his hands snaked up your side and- you blinked hard, shoving away the memory that burned before your eyes.

This was unfamiliar ground, and you didn’t like it. You noted his reaction, turning instead to your girls who were eager to know since when you and Gideon Prewett were friends.

James’ odd behaviour still hadn’t changed as you both sat down hours later on plush armchairs in the library. Multiple scrolls were piled on the rickety table before you.

The armchairs were placed opposite each other, a healthy distance between them, yet you still felt stifled by the proximity. Mostly by the emotions that accompanied it.

Setting your bag down on the table, you pulled out your work, James mirroring your actions.

Once you’d both settled, you reached over to read his essay, which you were pretty sure was unchanged since you’d seen it last.

Your fingers brushed his own as he released the parchment. A few weeks ago, his hand would’ve lingered on yours, his thumb tracing circles into your palm. This time you retracted your hand quickly, as though his touch was searing.

If James noticed this, he didn’t react, opting instead to lean back casually as you read over his homework.

To your surprise, James’ essay had changed. He’d implemented all of the improvements you’d suggested last time, and you read through the work quickly, conscious of his unwavering stare.

“This is really good.” You murmured, unable to conceal the surprise in your voice.

James looked as though he was going to say something, probably why you sounded so surprised and that of course it was good, but just said, “Yeah, thanks.”

But then his eyes met yours, studying you carefully as he leant back in his armchair, the picture of nonchalance. He ran a hand through his hair.

“So you’re going to the Quidditch match then?”

Your cheeks warmed as you slowly sat up, “Yes.”

James looked at you, warily, as he spoke, “Practices have been boring lately, probably isn’t worth coming.”

“I want to.”

A muscle feathered in his jaw, your answer not the one he’d wanted. Thankfully, he didn’t pursue it further. He nodded, the movement stiff, as he pulled out some overdue homework to complete.

Realising the brief conversation was over, you pulled a book from your bag and tucked your feet under your thighs, reading intently. A few times the sound of James’ quill scratching on parchment would stop and he’d look over to you, as though he wanted to speak. He didn’t.

A little while later James packed up his work and explained that he needed to get ready for practice.

You couldn’t quell your disappointment. Was this going to be the next few weeks? Strained meet-ups as you chased the memory of a friendship that had once thrived so beautifully on its own? It already felt pointless.

You nodded in understanding. Just as he turned to leave, you added, “No broken bones.”

He turned to face you, the ghost of a smirk gracing his lips as he echoed, “No broken bones.”

He left you perched on the chair, unable to turn the next page of your book as you bunched your hair in your right hand in exasperation. You slowly packed away too, realising you should dress warmly for the match.

Gideon had been right, the weather was beautiful- rays of sunlight illuminated the library as you prepared to leave, beams of light dancing across your face and momentarily blinding you. But the unmistakeable chill that always accompanied the winter months was ever-present, and your hour-long study session with James had left you cold enough.

──── ୨୧ ────

Chatting loudly, you, Mary and Lily left the castle bundled in colourful scarfs, woolly hats tugged over your ears and plush coats. All three of you set off for the Quidditch pitch, laughing as the wind whipped your hair and the frost crunched beneath your shoes. By the time you’d reached your seats at the top of the stadium, your teeth chattered so violently that your friends began to look worried.

“Here, (Y/n).” Lily leant over Mary and tapped her wand against your gloved hands, a blast of warmth surging out and enveloping them. You smiled gratefully and turned to face the pitch.

Small figures in red and gold stood far below. You were able to distinguish James, the team’s captain, stood further away from the others as he split them into two groups. A little to his right: Sirius and Marlene. You leant a little further forward, spying Gideon stood with the rest as he slipped a helmet on and mounted his broom.

Before you could point Marlene out to your friends and wave, the players abruptly entered the skies, the Quaffle, two Bludgers, and finally the Snitch released by James shortly afterwards, who then shot up to join the rest.

Ever since you were little, you’d been a massive Quidditch fan- had spent hours reading about the sport and attending live matches. You had a professional’s knowledge, just not their skill. You recalled the last time you’d played Quidditch in James’ massive garden and had flown into a tree, knocking him off his broom when he’d tried to retrieve you.

You huddled with the girls as you whooped and cheered for your friends, the practice a flash of scored goals and quick dives, near-misses and relentless Bludgers.

You caught Gideon’s eyes a few times during the match, and each time he’d flash you a lazy smile before James would snap at him to focus.

Soon there were only ten minutes left, and the match reached a new level of intensity as the Gryffindors used their final spurt of energy to score a few more goals. Suddenly, Mary nudged you in the shoulder as you noticed one of the players zooming towards you. More specifically, Gideon. He landed smoothly, his skill evident by the way he dismounted his broom. You stood up, unsure what was going on as you neared him, wanting to ask why he’d stopped and if he was okay.

Gideon’s chest heaved from the physical exertion as he slowly took off his helmet, streaks of red flopping over his eyes.

“Are you alright?” You asked, concern lacing your voice as you wondered whether he’d pulled a muscle.

“Fine.” Gideon smiled down at you.

You returned the smile. “You sure? Just fine?” You asked, unable to help the blush that formed on your cheeks.

He didn’t immediately respond, lifting your chin with his left hand before pressing a firm kiss to your cheek. Taken by surprise you simply stood there; eyes wide as he pulled away.

“Just fine.’ He murmured, his hot breath fanning over your face.

“I-“ you began, unsure what to say.

“Practice is basically over. I’ll walk you back to the castle.” He grinned, offering you his arm.

You nodded, though it wasn’t quite a question, and slowly took his arm. You threw a look over your shoulder, your friends looking as surprised as you felt. You turned back to Gideon and headed down the stands as he explained the basics of the match to you.

You hadn’t noticed James’ scrutiny of your interaction, his hard stare; nor the way he’d been so distracted that he’d flown right into a Bludger and fallen to the ground. The fall hadn’t been lethal- only a few metres or so. But as James sat there, his friends rushing to make sure he was okay, he ignored the searing pain in his arm and the way his muscles felt as though they were on fire. The flames were concentrated in his eyes instead.

By the time he was back in his dorm, his anger had dulled. James sat on his bed, deep in thought as his friends bustled around him, all except Peter awake.

“Oi Remus,” Sirius poked his head out of the connecting bathroom, “Chuck the hairbrush over, will you?”

Remus, who had been sat cross-legged on his bed immersed in a book, groaned, reaching for Sirius’ bedside table. He attempted to throw it to Sirius who had his hands open and ready, but the hairbrush fell short, landing instead at the foot of James’ bed.

They turned to look at him expectantly. James quickly snapped out of his thoughts and threw the brush to Sirius, who caught it smoothly. But Sirius didn’t vanish back into the bathroom, lingering by the doorway as he exchanged a brief look with Remus.

“What was that today? With (Y/n) and Prewett?” Sirius asked, casually tossing the brush up and down in his hand.

James traced the movement with his eyes, his jaw tensing, “He’s arrogant. Lacked focus on the match. I can’t have him like that during games.”

“What are you going to do? Ban (Y/n) from coming to matches? Gideon wasn’t the only one distracted by her.” Sirius remarked slyly, ignoring the glare James gave him.

Remus sighed, shutting his book once he realised he wasn’t going to finish it, “Why don’t you just talk to her?”

James leant against his headboard, massaging his temples, “I tried, mate. At the library. Things aren’t the same anymore.” He rubbed his face in frustration.

Remus sighed, “Do you want things to be how they were before? With her?”

“Before what?”

“Before you started snogging.” Sirius interjected, unhelpfully.

James cringed, “Shut up.”

Sirius snorted, “We all had to witness it, mate. Don’t know how you messed that one up.”

Remus shot Sirius a silencing look, before facing James once more, “What I’m asking is, do you miss your old friendship dynamic? Back when you two were inseparable?”

“I miss being with her.”

“Then talk to her. Properly.”

“Yeah.” James slid from his bed, signalling the conversation was over, and sat by the adjacent window.

He took off his glasses, folded them up and chucked them onto the bed. The cold of the windowsill seeped into his skin, but he didn’t care, continuing to stare at the green and grey blurs beyond. He wondered what was going on between you and his teammate, the fresh memory of Gideon kissing your cheek still haunting his mind. He pressed his forehead against the freezing glass, hoping the cold would douse the fire that lapped at his thoughts.

He thought deeply about your friendship. What it had entailed. The way the two of you had been inseparable for so many years, constantly joking and laughing together. The party had changed that, but he wondered whether things had started to change before. Not solely your friendship, but how he saw you.

James cursed himself for that kiss- when he had been drunk on success and behaving impulsively. Yet at the same time, he couldn’t condemn the action itself. Nor the weeks that had followed. Kissing you felt…

James narrowed his eyes in concentration, backing away from the window as white blobs settled on the thick glass. He held his breath as dozens more appeared, quickly snatching his glasses of the bed and shoving them back on.

Snow.

A/N

thank you for reading lovelies! as always, i love reading your thoughts/reactions/emotions, so feel free to comment :)) also, thank you so so much for the love on the first part, i appreciate you all

if you'd like to be added to the taglist, lmk ♡

series masterlist here ❆

taglist ♡♡♡

@pandoraswan @featherlightfairysworld @mus-tbe-a-weasley @hisparentsgallerryy @stanzie @wolfstar-jpg @fangirl-swagg @moonlightremblack @simp4myself @niniantics

#james potter #james potter x reader #harry potter #hogwarts #sirius black #harry potter x reader #the marauders era #remus lupin #peter pettigrew #james potter x female!reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #mary macdonald #lily evans #marlene mckinnon #gideon prewett #marauders era #the marauders #hp marauders

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whorekneecentral · 1 year ago

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merry smutmas series

hi besties!! since I'm skipping out on kinktober this year, I figured I wouldn’t be fair for me to leave you guys without some sort of holiday treat so here we go again.

I won’t be able to fit everyone into this series cause with would have taken me forever so between classes and other fics, I’ve been working on this since august lmao. I hope y’all enjoy these as much as I enjoyed writing it <33 // massive thank you to @oconso for the banners and to @themandaloriansdiaries for all the help plotting and for listening to my complaining <3

running from: November 1st to December 31st - every Tuesday, Thursday and on the weekends

tagged under: merry smutmas xoxo

November 1st: Sebastian Vettel - Sticky Fingers

Your husband spends his first Christmas at home since his retirement and he went a little.. a lot over board.

November 4th: Trent Alexander Arnold - As Red As My Stockings

Trent’s crush on the pretty physio is well known amongst the players. They make sure to help him fulfil one last Christmas wish before you all head home for the holidays.

November 5th: Pato O’Ward - Snow Storms

Your boyfriend insists the roads are fine to drive despite the massive incoming snow storm; as someone who grew up in cold weather, you knew better. yet, there you were stuck on the side of the road with him in the snow.

November 7th: Ruben Dias - Miss Me, Miss Me

Your brother holds his annual Christmas party and you’re forced to spend the afternoon with the one person you had been avoiding all season but tis’ the season you guess. (stones!reader)

November 9th: Pierre Gasly - Cocoa

You have your boyfriend drive all around the city until you find the one thing you were looking for. When you finally find it, you decide you want something else.

November 11th: Ben Chilwell - Snowflakes On The Glass

Ben insists on having a snowball fight when he wakes up to the massive snowfall but you want nothing more than to stay in bed.

November 12th: Kimi Raikkonen - Only The Best For You

Kimi spends the holidays with his old friends. He doesn’t forget you; bringing you exactly what you had been wishing for and you make sure to thank him.. properly. (dad’s best friend!kimi)

November 14th: Lucas Paquetá - Spin Me Around

Lucas busts out the champagne and the streamers to celebrate the new years in your new place.

November 16th: Yuki Tsunoda - Sous Chef

Yuki finds himself more fascinated by the woman cooking than the food on his plate for once. (chef!reader)

November 18th: Erling Haaland - Christmas On The Farm

Erling takes you home to spend the holidays at the Haaland Family Farm and you two end up being the only ones there.

November 19th: Lance Stroll - Old Friends

Lance gets an invitation to an old teammate’s place to ring in the new year but he finds himself too distracted by someone in particular to care about the ball dropping (vettel!reader)

November 21st: Jude Bellingham - Ugliest Sweater Wins

Jude is invited to Luka’s Christmas party, an ugly Christmas sweater party to be exact. It took a bit of convincing but you got him to go.

November 23rd: Daniel Ricciardo - The Flash Of The Camera

You enlist Daniel to help you with your Christmas gift for him.

November 25th: John Stones - Black Out

Your boyfriend blows a fuse with the Christmas lights and you’re stuck in the dark, but you find a way to make the best of it.

November 26th: Fernando Alonso - Your Pick

Fernando enlists the help of a certain someone to get his Christmas shopping done but the list is oddly familiar (pr officer!reader)

November 28th: Kostas Tsimikas - The Smell Of The Holidays

You over baked for your niece’s holiday bake sale so you do the neighbourly thing and share with your neighbour, Kostas and his two puppies.

November 30th: Toto Wolff - Winter Wonderland

Your husband skips out on Christmas every year due to work but this year, he ends up in London. You make it your mission to introduce him to some holiday fun.

December 2nd: Christian Pulisic - Ho Ho Hoe

You find a pair of Christmas boxers in Christian’s drawers and decide to tease him about it.

December 3rd: Mick Schumacher - Merry Ruff-mas

Angie goes missing the day before Christmas and Mick finds her at the neighbouring ranch, wrapped up with ribbon and bows.

December 5th: Jordan Henderson - Shivers

Jordan comes in after shovelling the driveway and keeps trying to love on you. You tell him that you can feel how cold he is but he makes sure to show you what cold really feels like.

December 7th: Lewis Hamilton - Tis’ The Season

An old friend finds his way to you front door and no matter how much you try to get rid of him, you can’t.

December 9th: Dominik Szoboszlai - Come Home

The two of you are separated over the holidays and you’re missing each other a little too much to keep this going.

December 10th: Charles Leclerc - The Night Before Christmas

A massive snow storm delays Charles’ flight home for the holidays and you both begin to give up hope but a Christmas miracle occurs.

December 12th: Virgil Van Dijk - Holiday Greetings

You send your old friend a Christmas card every year and when he sees that a certain someone was no longer in the picture, he pays you a long overdue visit.

December 14th: Mark Webber - A New Term

You send your professor an email over the winter break and the man wonders why you’re still working, urging you to come out and relax like everyone else. (Professor!Webber)

December 16th: Thiago Alcantara - Bubbles

You find yourself aching from all the holiday prep and your husband being the good man that he was, makes sure you’re feeling okay after a long day.

December 17th: Jenson Button - A Sandy Christmas

Jenson takes you on a dream vacation over the holidays but still makes sure you’ve got a gift to open come Christmas morning. (Sugar Daddy!Jenson)

December 19th: Kylian Mbappe - Family’s Growing

Kylian finds himself swooning over how good you are with his niece and nephew, the thought of having a family with you spins around his head.

December 21st: Carlos Sainz Jr - Traditions

Coming back from Christmas with your family, the two of you return to Spain to celebrate new years with his family and all their traditions.

December 23rd: Andy Robertson - Mistletoe Means Kisses

The overpowering smell of mistletoe hits you when you walk into he house, your husband came up with his own plan while you were out.

December 24th: George Russell - A New Tradition

You and George spend your first Christmas together and you mash together the traditions from both of your families.

December 26th: Jack Grealish - Always Around

A wild new years night out leaves you bumping the same person over and over again.

December 28th: Esteban Ocon - The Gift Of Giving

Esteban takes a liking to the barista that works at the cafe near his place. He finally works up the courage to ask her out in time for the holidays.

December 30th: Sergio Ramos - Secret Santa

The players and the staff play secret Santa every year; they write a letter, toss in a box and everyone picks. Sergio some how lands on the person he’s always had a soft spot for.

December 31st: Max Verstappen - Time Is Running Out

Max wasn’t one for resolutions but as the clock counts down the hours to new years, he finds himself running to resolve the biggest resolution on his list; you.

#merry smutmas xoxo #football smut #f1 smut

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tartagilicious · 2 months ago

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8:17pm / kiss me until my lips fall off, kiss me until i start to rot

heyyyyy guys :hehe: thank GOD i still have access to this blog because i've been back in my genshin player days for the past month or so, and i FINALLY WANNA WRITE FOR IT AGAIN IM CRYIUNG!!!!!!!!!! missed all of u sm, hopefully this will be more of a regular occurance now :') going back to my beloved seasons series, also with the last installment, capitano + winter !!

the strongest has never been an easy title to shoulder, both in times of need or peace, sanctifying a never ending cycle of authority that he had been entertaining for centuries. the captain. a newer adornment to his identity, but a significant one nonetheless. once an icon to a legion of soldiers, his place with the archon of ice beckoned a need to keep himself trained, as frigid as the nation he had learned to call home.

and truly, it was with a sword gripped in his gloved hands that he felt most at home -- strong despite the rot that had woven its way into his skin like a disease, whole despite all that he has lost in his centuries of life.

however, it was in your presence alone that he felt most meek.

everything about you seemed to strike him, digging into the innermost dips of flesh in the cavern he called his chest, searching for a heart that had long been subdued. you weren't gentle in your search, oh no -- you never were.

capitano bled for you. although, for once, it was not in a warrior's sense. your smaller hands never struck him, your words never aimed for his weakest points. never once did you aim to worsen the wound you were so often responsible for tearing open. how could you, when you were unaware of its existence?

he bled for you in grumbled words of affection. during those quiet nights it was too cold for you to stand it, when it was simply out of the question to be anywhere but within his broad embrace. he bled for you when you yearned for your homeland, in a way that he had never ceased to mirror, even in his wearier states.

and perhaps most of all, he bled for you when his helmet was discarded.

having grown used to the piece of metal that aided him in shielding the abyssal rot of his features, he was entirely unprepared for the magnitude of emotion that overran him when it came time to expose himself to you for the first time.

but you had never been one to shy away from life's rougher aspects.

your breath escapes your mouth in small white clouds, puffs of air to display your exertion as you walk along the edge of the zapolyarny palace's frosted edges. the grand building melts into the landscape of ice and snow much like its hotter counterpart, the pale mosiac of bricks embodying the chill of its inhabitants.

at the very least, there is one within its depths that you can count on to return the warmth to your worn body. the cloak your lover had gifted you long ago shields you from the rougher elements of snezhnaya's winter at face value. but it's the excitement festering in your chest that keeps you warm enough to find your way through the snowy night. it's the adoration in your heart that lights up the space around you as you step into the harbinger's abode, leading you home.

yet, it's his arm that slings around your waist when you step quietly into the house, the other half of your warm embrace, simply manifesting in a larger form. an appreciative smile is beckoned to your lips as you stretch within the confines of his large arm, your own cloak dropping to the floor as he wills it.

"...you are late." are the words that finally escape from him in a mumbled fashion, voice smothered by the heated skin of your neck. capitano leans over you like a creature out of myth, taking the opportune moment of your hand resting on his back to bury his nose in your hair.

no helmet.

a pleased sound is drawn from the back of your throat as you lean into him, head tilting to follow the path of his lips before you're returning, "...the snowfall is heavy this time of year."

a large hand trails down to your frostbitten own, the action of his fingers intertwining with yours mimicking a blanket of warmth. despite his state of otherworldly decay, you've found that your lover can run quite warm.

spurred on by his own heart, you're sure.

he speaks softly into your hair, tugging you until you're against his chest, no longer your own half -- but now part of a whole. "...you must dress accordingly. your fingers are freezing."

"they will warm up quickly." you promise under your breath, head tilting up to take in his face. no longer is there a quiet sting between you, like the contact of your gaze pains him. all that has been left behind is a dull, and ever-present warmth. "you will warm them up quickly." you add almost cheekily, seemingly proud of your own response.

a rough hum of acceptance replaces a verbal response as he simply pulls you closer, his arms falling to your torso. a once strained action has long become comfortable, and you relish in the familiarity of it as you sink into the harbinger's embrace.

despite his strength, capitano has found that being weak is not terribly bad, either.

#genshin impact #saw this man and actually fell to my knees #capitano #capitano x reader #il capitano #genshin x reader #genshin fluff #genshin impact x reader

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pampushky · 3 months ago

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i hate the air he breathes his foolish decrees

Alpha! Lando Norris/Omega! Lauda! Reader - chapter 2 - 5k

woooo welcome to part 2 my loves! sorry for the slight wait. I've been doing hot bitch shit (my actual job). but now we're back. enjoy the fuck out of it. TW: no mention of abuser other than as him. mentions of abandonment and severe physical trauma in the form of a house fire. lore drop on the main character too!!

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Mid-March 2005. Los Angeles.

Niki gets a call from an unknown number that wakes him up from a deep slumber, and he hardly has any time to think as he’s pulling a sweater over his head and forgoing a hat entirely. It’s his third day in as your legal guardian, and you’re already transferred to a state-of-the-art hospital in Los Angeles, across the country from where you’d lived previously. A newer set of mountains. A city to the hamlet you’d once known, hidden away in the foggy mountains of North Carolina.

As he blearily walks into the hospital lobby, there’s already a small team of doctors waiting for him, explaining rapidly what's happening to you as they walk him up to your room in the burn ward. You’re in the best hospital for burns on the continent— Niki had made sure of it. Had paid for the flight over here two days ago, with a medical staff on board to keep you stable during the five-hour flight.

The doctors swarming around your unconscious form resemble vultures. The burn center director explains everything to him when they finally get to your room. The rapid medical treatment nearly made you present early. Freakishly early, by all standards. It’s understood to have been a panic response by your body— because you're on the brink of death in the burn ward, your hormones so out of whack that for whatever reason, your brain had gone, ‘Oh, yes, it’s time to do that now.’

Studies had shown that those in areas where the risk of death was high often presented much earlier, with other cases that also supported something known as “panic presentation”. You’re an extreme example of the latter. But it had never been seen to this degree. You need to be knocked out for several days, going comatose while a team of doctors works around the clock to save your life while it seems likely you will melt away like the first snowfall on a sun-warmed road as it seems new complications get piled onto your case file every day. The way the doctor talks about you makes Niki feel like you’re more of a specimen meant for study, and not a pup who’d just lost her Dam.

Marlene has already decorated the sterile room to reflect more on a child’s room. And wherever there’s an empty space on a table, she’s placed down vases full of fresh flowers. Flowering dogwood. That’s what the state flower was of North Carolina, and however early in the season for blooming it was, she managed to find fresh ones every day. Now, Marlene was back at the hotel, settling a new wave of interest about your identity while Niki tried to figure out what he was going to do with you when he's lead into the room.

You’re already on several new medications to prevent you from presenting early, having them inserted in through an IV and eventually, to be taken as a pill when you could swallow. You'll be on these same medications until you’re seven or eight, when they can start to consider weaning you off of them to let you present then because it’ll be safer. Niki hates the idea of you presenting even then. You should be almost fully grown when you present. Not— not still a pup. With baby teeth still in your mouth. You should be wrestling. Learning to access your canine form, and causing mayhem like his sons had.

So he does what he’s been doing for the past five days. Niki sits quietly by your side in your private room. Holding your tiny hand while a machine breathes for you, not even five years old, and fighting for your life. Completely unaware of the complications your existence has thrown straight into Niki’s lap, dredging up old, old wounds that his sons have yet to recover from.

Because the great complication is that you’re his biological grandchild.

Through a son, a beta, that neither Lukas nor Mathias had gotten to know. Or Niki, for that matter. But here you are. The only link to that son. To the ultimate undoing of his marriage and mating, his infidelity thrown back in his face in the form of a sedated, traumatized pup that can’t understand him through his accent.

Left without a dam, your mother. Lost to the roaring flames of a housefire that you’d somehow survived. Part of Niki wants to know how his son had ended up in the area, and if there are any other new descendants he should know about. So he petitions the court to gain access to your files before he legally adopts you, and he stares down at them before finally lifting the cover of the manila folder and starts to read.

All the files seem to stare right on back at Niki as he continues to pour through them, officially five minutes and nine seconds into being your legal guardian. They’re meticulous, just as expected— it had become standard for anyone who’d had so much as a visit to a hospital to create a DNA profile, especially after they presented. His affair child’s profile stares back at him, with what he can only assume is an up-to-date photo. Male. Beta. Signed away parental rights before birth. Austrian nationality. That’s all you have to go on for your biological father’s identity.

That’s all that linked Niki to you, and how the social worker had managed to contact him. All other positive matches from your father’s side are his former mistress as your biological grandmother and his two sons with Marlene as your uncles. There are no other pups listed for his affair child. No other grandchildren that he has to worry about. Your dam’s profile is more complete. A smiling picture of her holding you as an infant, left by her family.

Female. Omega. Deceased. American nationality, born in Banner Elk, North Carolina.

And under that:

Dam’s pack signed away pack and next of kin rights to the pup. Relevant health history is accessible through the International UN DNA database. Pack requested no contact order until the pup has reached legal age, or unless the pup does not survive her time in hospital, so they may bury her in the family plot with her Dam.

This makes a chill run down Niki’s spine. Your pack had… signed you away? The only people who had been familiar to you— and they had signed away their rights as though you were more of a burden than anything, only asking for you back if you were dead. It makes him shudder, as he looks down at your tiny body again, for what must have been the thousandth time since he’s been introduced to you. Since he’d so quickly agreed to become your legal guardian, your legal sire. Covered in bandages and hooked up to dozens of wires.

The social worker explained that signing you away was them not wanting to pay for the massive medical bill, along with the scandal your birth had caused in the small community. Your Dam was unmated, and even worse, unmarried, raising you on her own in a less-than-up-to-code cabin her late father had left her, further out in the mountains, a thirty-minute drive into town.

The matriarch of her pack had been well-regarded in the area— it was an open secret that she was looking for any excuse to remove you from the picture. This just happened to be the perfect excuse. How was she going to be able to pay for your medical costs on her own when it was just her? All the advanced treatments you’d need— it would be too much in her old age.

When told about the Children’s Health Insurance Programs that could easily provide care for you, your grand-dam had just made a sour face and told the Social Worker she was still signing away her rights. Her surviving children were quick to follow her lead.

What a backward system. Niki had growled to himself, pacing in the room. Reading the reports from the insurance company he’d managed to legally bully his way into receiving from your biological family.

The cabin had burnt down in nearly an hour. You’d been trapped under a metal bed frame when the roof collapsed in on itself. When they’d found you, it had been a recovery effort for bodies. And despite it all, you’d survived, your whimpering and crying alerting the firefighters that you were alive. Severely burnt, with the old mattress and polyester blankets having melted and dripped across your little body as the embers settled. Half of your body severely burnt from where the flames could still reach you. Crying out for your Dam even as you were airlifted to the nearest hospital with a functioning burn ward.

Going over your files has become a habit for first past three days. Ever since Marlene had gone silent when Niki told her that he was going to adopt you, before brusquely starting to order furniture and calling countless contractors that a new pup-friendly room be added to his house in Hof. He’s lucky to at least be considered a friend of his former mate, otherwise, he would be stumbling through his second round of parenting. He looks down at the newest addition to his pack. You. Four and a half. With burns covering an incredible amount of your body. Nearly 45% percent of your torso, completely mangling one of your legs, crawling up your neck and dancing across your jaw. Now lying in a medically-induced coma to conserve your energy.

You wake up nearly two days later. Five days into Niki’s tenure as your legal sire. Unable to scream. Eyes fixed on Niki as your little chest heaves with the effort it takes to breathe. You pull at your IV and try to snap at a nurse who tries to stop you. But your eyes are still fixed on Niki, likely horrified by his burns. You were glancing at your own bandaged arms and body as if to gauge how you would one day look.

There is a wild look in your eyes as you look at him. The way you tremble as the doctors try to explain everything. It hurts Niki’s heart, especially with the gasping noise you let out before they sedate you again when you’re still not responding well to anything. Niki wants to wrap you up in his arms and never let you go. You mumble something out as you drift away again, tears in the corners of your eyes. Foggy eyes on the extravagant bouquets of flowers on the tables beside your bed and across the room.

Where is my Dam?

Early February 2024. Woking.

Your left leg was acting up again. It always did when you were stressed. The fire had mangled it— and that was putting it lightly. Not bad enough to amputate, because that would be too easy, and they didn’t want to send your body into even more shock. So you had your crispy, chicken-fried, useless leg. You could put some weight on it now, after nearly twenty years of intense therapy and correcting surgeries. But it was still incredibly weak. All twisted, mottled skin and a full knee replacement.

That’s what had made it so easy for him. That’s what had made it easy for him to chase you down as you tried to leave every situation that saw him near you. Easily able to keep pace with your shambling, stress-induced walk as you choked on his scent.

Your upper thigh twinges. The needle pierces your skin all over again. That was the only reason you’d been able to walk away without experiencing a true heat from whatever drug he’d hit you with. The bad, mangled leg of yours. Your downfall and savior.

The halls are winding, but you can vaguely follow the way to your office from previous talks. You call Lewis the moment you get to the room. There’s already a brand-new mini fridge sitting on your desk, likely from the accommodations you’d listed in the countless documents you’d had to sign when you got hired.

There’s a few people unboxing your items and they look a bit shocked to see you back from what was supposed to be a much longer meeting.

“Ms Lauda—”

“Leave, please,” you whisper while pacing across the room, trying to calm yourself down. You can feel your scent-blocking, adhesive strips tingling. Your scent glands, especially the damaged ones, threatening to blister from the stress of what just happened. You were going to be sacked for certain. Not only had you yelled at the driver you were meant to work with, you’d also thrown an empty can at him. “I’d like some space.”

The workers, your new assistants, you realize, hurry out, not even catching your mumbled thanks as you tuck yourself into a corner where you can’t be seen from the door. So much different than Williams. So much more support. Lewis doesn’t pick up immediately, but just as you’re about to call again, his contact photo appears on your screen.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay—” Is the first thing you hear, like the protective older brother he’s always situated himself as in your life. “What room are you in? I still haves ways to get into the classified parts of the MTC—”

“I’m going to fucking kill Lando Norris,” You growl into the phone, and Lewis lets out a relieved noise, before breaking off into a fit of laughter, his voice more distant as if he’s trying to muffle himself. “Don’t laugh! That fucking brat, I should box his goddamn ears, showing up nearly an hour late to what was supposed to be our initial meeting—”

“Ah, yeah, sounds like Lando!”

“Fuck off, Lewis,” You whine, and he has the audacity to laugh even harder, because your accent slips, as it always seems to do when you’re with your immediate pack. You can hear him shuffle a bit. “I’m gonna kill him.”

“No, you won’t.”

“No, I won’t,” You concede to him with a soft sigh. You hear the chortling barks of Roscoe in the background of Lewis’s call. “I’m gonna do my job. But I’m gonna hate it. Unless I get switched to Oscar.”

“Don’t sound too hopeful.” Lewis chides on the other side of the phone, and you hear the doorknob jiggle, followed by a soft knock. “Sounds like you have some work to do.”

He hangs up before you can say something in response to him, leaving the gentle knocking on the door to slowly drive you insane. Likely Andrea or Zak, telling you that you were going to be let go for committing a minor assault against their star driver.

And you're right, it is Zak. But he looks more concerned than angry with you, immediately putting his hands up in a placating manner when you open the door as if you’re the one with all the power and he’s not the CEO of McLaren Racing, your ultimate boss. Your boss’s boss. The one who bulldozed his way into getting you on the team because he’d seen your work to get at least a modicum of respect back to Williams, and, in his own words, got a good vibe from you.

(And maybe Niki had been in his ear a little bit about it, but when Niki Lauda spoke, people had a habit of listening rather closely to whatever he said.)

“Mr. Brown,” You start formally, leaning down in a way that is traditionally seen as submitting and a very, very formal way to apologize before he starts to squawk in surprise at it all.

“Don’t– What are you submitting for— are you alright?!”

The last thing you expect is Zak fretting over you like you’re a pup. He’s gently squishing your cheeks with his hands, checking you over, and you can see his nose twitching, as if he’s checking your scent for any signs of distress. Only to look confused by how… clean, you smell.

“Are you— are you still hurt from everything?”

“No, I just,” You take a step backward, and hold up your hands just like he had just been doing for you a few seconds ago. “It’s easier to hide my designation when I smell like this.”

He just looks confused at your explanation but doesn’t seem to question it.

“And you… want to continue hiding it?”

“Preferably.”

Even as you say it, you can see a bit of pity in his eyes. You know his mate is an omega. He has a pup who’s an omega. Both of which he supports wholeheartedly. You’d seen all the articles. Part of you is jealous. Another part just wants everyone to stop caring about what your designation may be. Why should anyone care what you are?

You’re proud of yourself, regardless of your designation. You’re not some prize to be won! You can stand on your own two feet, you can take care of yourself. You had more than shown that—

Zak is hugging you. Rumbling softly like any parent would do for a distressed pup.

“You don’t have to justify it. I just need to know so I can make sure that no one else is told, aside from our medical people.” He whispers, and you sag against him. Relief fills your mind. “What— what do people think you’ve presented as?”

“Alpha. Like Vati. They think I’m an Alpha.”

“We can work with that,” Zak pulls away, looking at you. There’s only worry in his eyes. “Can I ask one more thing?”

“Yeah,” You sniffle, not realizing you’d starting to tear up as you look at him. “What is it?”

“Why…. did you throw an empty can of Red Bull at Lando? You’re not in trouble, I just want to know why.”

You flush, and Zak just starts to laugh.

McLaren is much, much different than Williams.

Lando has been sitting in a chair while Oscar screams at him. Andrea has disappeared. It’s been ten minutes and all he wants to do is curl up and die and apologize for commenting on your voice and being late and not charging his phone and really, every other thing that he’d done wrong, ever.

Yes. He is technically the older one. No, he shouldn’t be acting like such a pup over this.

Yes. He should know better than to comment on things that people can’t change or help about themselves.

Yes, Oscar, Lando was aware that you had survived a very traumatic house fire that nearly killed you. No, it’s not okay that he called you a robotic bitch. No, he didn’t read the email about the apparent triggers that you had from this event. Frankly, he wasn’t even aware that they had emailed those to him. That seemed like a bit much.

“I mean seriously, Lando! This is ridiculous! Fucking calling her that!”

It feels like he’s being lectured by his Dam again, her words blending English into Flemish until he can’t tell what she’s saying, just that she’s pissed at him. Instead, it’s just Oscar’s accent getting thicker and thicker until Lando’s certain he’s never heard anyone sound so furious with him, and that’s really saying something.

“I get it,” Lando whines, letting his head slip so that he can press his forehead against the table. And he does feel bad! Really! “I didn’t know she’d respond like that!”

“Wonderful excuse to be a fuckhead, champ,” Oscar drawls, eyes narrowed. His arms are folded. He looks unimpressed. He smells more, now than ever, of rotting oranges. Lando can imagine the maggots. “I’m shocked you didn’t comment on her designation as well.”

“She’s an alpha! And she smells so medicine-y,” Lando wrinkles his nose, lifting up his head enough to glare at the omega in front of him. Oscar’s face is a blank mask of annoyance, with a flicker of some other mystery emotion. But he can at least tell what he’s thinking because he can smell his displeasure from across the room. It’s all rotten oranges, burning rubber, and singed hair. “C’mon! I didn’t know it’d set her off that much, man!”

“Commenting on traumatic events tends to do that to people.”

“How was I supposed to know it was traumatic?!”

“Wow, you really didn’t read any of the emails,” Oscar lets out a low huff, sitting across from Lando in one of the plush office chairs. “We’ve been in talks with her for weeks!”

“You were in talks with her, maybe,” Lando says snidely, narrowing his gaze at the omega across from him, “I didn’t think I needed a new race engineer, yet here we are. But you seemed awfully interested when you heard she was looking for a new team.”

Oscar scoffs. His cheeks turn slightly pink. “No, I wasn’t. She’s a good friend. I thought she’d be a good fit for the team.”

“Oh, so this has nothing to do with the fact that you have such an obvious crush on her? I bet Logan even helped set you up,” Lando knows he’s been a dick again. But he’s frustrated. He’ll get lectured by his therapist for this later, and he’s okay with that. He just needs to make Oscar squirm a little for his high-and-mighty attitude. “You want her pups, I bet. Already have the first three named.”

“Fuck off,” Oscar snarls, and Lando decides to keep digging a bit more. “It’s not like that! Besides— I’m courting someone!”

An awkward silence settles between the two. Oscar’s flushed pink. And Lando starts to grin. All evil like, in Oscar’s opinion. Gleefully, in his own.

"Oh, but it is!” Lando chimes, his voice all sing-songy. He’s in full older brother mode. He knows exactly what to do to push Oscar’s buttons now that his teammate has shown his weakness. He’s done this with his sisters. And Oscar’s probably used to being the one doing the tormenting, as his family’s oldest pup. “You like her!” And then, with a very dramatic gasp, “Oh, you’re probably courting her! No wonder you wanted her here!”

Without so much as a warning, the Australian driver leaps at him with a snarl the moment the words are out of his mouth. They’re both tussling on the ground, before it turns into the two of them in their canine forms, snapping and snarling at each other. This is when Andrea decides to make a reappearance, looking a bit startled to see a mousy-brown wolf and a dark-brown wolf rolling around on the floor of the conference room. Oscar is large for an omega in his canine form, but still smaller than Lando. Lando is wirey, not as bulky as many would expect an Alpha to be. It’s rather evenly matched, considering how often the two of them are training.

One moment, Lando has Oscar pinned. Another, Oscar has him pinned. Snarling and biting and kicking until the door opens again, and now it’s Andrea, Zak, and yourself watching the two of them wrestle until you fearlessly walk into the fray and grab Oscar by one of his hind legs.

Oscar turns human again immediately, hitting the ground with a loud ‘oof’ while Lando scurries away, watching as you start to lecture the other driver as he stands up. Your tone is hushed, but it’s clear that this seems to be a common occurrence between the two of you. You’re leaning over him, and the rumblings of annoyance and displeasure are clear as day.

Lando can’t help but smirk as the other man makes fleeting eye contact with him as you sit on his side of the table, taking your place as his engineer, despite your obvious contempt for him.

“Now, let's get to business…” Andrea sighs. You keep your eyes ahead. Hands folded neatly in front of you. Letting his words blur until you feel Oscar gently tugging on your arm. He looks concerned, and you smile tiredly at him. Only just remembering the promise of cuddling in his nest with him when this was all done.

You don’t even care if you look or act nothing like the Alpha that Lando thinks you are. You just slump against Oscar with a grumpy half-whine as he hoists you over his shoulder. The other driver lets out a loud snort at that, and your friend only glares at him, about to say something else before you bring one of your hands to tap his cheek lightly.

“Just get to th’nest,” You mumble, leaning against him. Your leg aches. You don’t want to walk. “Wanna get th’blockers off.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Oscar sighs, glaring at Lando over his shoulder before walking past with you in his arms. You don’t care about how it looks. You’ll deal with it later. And before you know it, you’re curled in the world’s comfiest nest, all in shades of orange and black. With the comforting scent of sweet tangerines and charcoal. Oscar hands you a nice little bottle of micellar water to help get the sticky adhesive of the blockers off, much more gentle with your skin than you ever are with yourself. He’s even soaked cotton rounds to make it a bit easier to apply, gently rubbing them across your scarred glands to clear any remnants of the adhesive off of your skin.

The smells of mountain rain and fresh baked peach cobbler mix with Oscar’s scent as you stretch, rubbing your cheeks tiredly.

You let yourself relax then. Sinking deep into the soft pillows as Oscar comes to spoon you from behind. A commonplace action, and had been since he started to get more and more bold with you in his attempts to court you.

You can hear Oscar start to Facetime someone, probably Logan. But you honestly don’t care all that much— he’s there, and you’ll give your friend a full debrief, of course, after you’ve fully rested.

“Your leg acting up?”

Oscar nudges you, and you grumble, trying to press your face further into the plushness of the nest, voice muffled by pillows. “Who cares if it is?”

“I do.”

“So do I!” Logan chimes in from the phone, and you roll over enough to glare at him. “Did you take all your meds, mouse?”

“Unfortunately, yes. So I’m afraid you’ll just have to put me down at this point—”

You don’t even have time to respond as Oscar cuffs your ear. You let out a dramatic whine, actually letting yourself act on your instinctual noises. Nothing hurts, of course. Oscar’s always been gentle, making sure nothing actually hurts when he wrestles with you or cuffs your ears.

“Did you have to get my bad ear?” You whine, looking accusingly at the Aussie who just grins down at you, cuffing the same ear once again. “I’m gonna tell Lewis.”

“He doesn’t scare me, and besides, he’d probably agree with me! All, ‘C’mon, Mousey, that’s not how your therapist said to cope with your trauma—”

“That’s a bit scary, how accurate that was,” You prop yourself up to glare at your dear friend, only to smile broadly at him. You can’t help it, really. He manages to make you smile, even when you feel like shit. And even when he cuffs your bad ear by mistake, after swearing he won’t do it again.

In truth, the ear looks almost melted. It’s usually carefully hidden by your personal stylist, with hair masterfully combed over it. The skin around it— luckily missing your scalp— was mottled and pink. What was left of your ear was little more than a small ridge of skin and cartilage at this point, and was much the same in your canine appearance, just more dramatic without all the fur. The upper half of your ear was utterly gone, along with most of the lobe. It was the ear you were deaf in.

“Can it even hurt if you’re deaf?”

“Yeah! Doesn’t mean it’s gone numb to the feeling,” you pout, looking at him as he sets his chin on your shoulder. Logan giggles from FaceTime. He’s set up somewhere, Williams blue all around him that makes you avert your gaze but continue talking to him nonetheless. “Ugh. Logan, I almost killed Lando.”

“She threw a can of Red Bull at him,” Oscar clarifies, to his rather shocked-looking boyfriend and courting partner. To his credit, it takes a few seconds before Logan starts to cackle.

“It was empty!” You protest back, but there’s a wide smile on your face as you hazard a glance at your former partner. “He was being a little bitch!”

“Should I be offended I didn’t get the same treatment my first day?” Logan’s voice crackles and his face is frozen on the screen with a mix of a confused look and smirk, before serenading both of you with a jumbled, robotic mess before the call abruptly ends.

“Stupid wifi,” Oscar mumbles, pulling the phone away to text his boyfriend to see what happened. You just settle back into your side of the nest, closing your eyes and letting yourself drift off while Oscar’s comforting scent wafts over in you waves. You could just about fall asleep when there’s a gentle knock at the door, followed by Andrea poking his head in.

He blinks at the two of you. You blink back at him, already knowing you won't be able to take a much-needed like you had originally planned.

“Ah! Ms Lauda— can I speak with you for a second?”

“Can I do it from here?” you try to press yourself deeper into Oscar’s nest. You’d need to find a place to make one here— a nice, private room. Somewhere you can easily reapply your scent blockers and can fully surrender to your instincts until you were comfortable with more people knowing about your designation. “Took off my blockers.”

“Of course. I just wanted to check in, make sure everything was alright after… how the meeting went.”

There’s a hearty pause. As if he can tell you’re thinking over your words carefully.

“It certainly… went.”

“Ah. And… no other comments?”

“I meant what I said. You baby Lando.” You shift slightly. Tiredly. Giving the team principal the trademark Lauda stare from where you’re comfortably curled into the nest. So soft, yet so harsh at the same time.

“Then it’s a good thing you’re here to fix that,” Andrea smiles politely at you, and ducks out of the room without another word. You just settle deeper into Oscar’s nest, wondering what in the hell you’d gotten yourself into. The only thing on your mind when you finally manage to fall asleep is how much you miss your mother's fresh peach cobbler.

tags: @the-holy-trinity-l @laura-naruto-fan1998 @amalialeclerc @st0rmzi3 @poppyflower-22 @hiireadstuff @seonghwaexile @mrsmelinda

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x you #ln4 x reader #ln4 imagine #formula 1 fanfic #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #formula 1 x y/n #formula 1 x reader

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resident-wof-expert · 3 months ago

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Unsorted WOF thoughts part 160:

A list of reasons why The Dangerous Gift is probably my favorite book in the mainline series and definitely my favorite book in arc 3:

We finally get to check up on Pyrrhia and see the aftermath of arc 2.

The reveal that Tundra was really just a repressed weirdo, even by IceWing standards.

Glacier's death wasn't meaningless or for shock value.

Snowfall's PTSD isn't ignored.

Snowfall gets to be dramatic as hell in ways that are as hilarious as they are sad.

Snowfall and Lynx spend literally like 80% of the book by each others' sides.

The reveal that Winter wasn't actually banished by Snowfall, and Snowfall subsequently calling him a drama queen (she's one to talk.).

The reveal that Crystal wasn't plotting anything, and was literally just hanging out in Sanctuary. (IceWing royalty just LOVES to assume the worst in their family.)

More Qinter.

It introduces Wren.

Snowfall becomes the most informed character in the series, making her pov worth reading through.

We finally get an explanation and justification for the disappearance of animus magic in a way that makes sense.

Mink.

"It was inside you all along." Played completely straight finally. I'm tired of novels that hate tropes.

The book ends with Snowfall literally smashing racism and classism to pieces with her fists.

#wof #wings of fire #wof snowfall #wof glacier #wof tundra #wof lynx #wof winter #wof crystal #wof qibli #wof wren #wof jerboa #wof mink #wof opal #qinter #wof thoughts

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sad-trash-hobo · 2 years ago

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Quick someone make a gifset of the similarities between Jax Teller and Franklin Saint and how their main goal in life was to never be their dads, and then for them to both end up just like them 🥲🥲🥲

#jax's dad driving into a semi because he was so guilty and done with his life #jax driving into a semi on the same bike as his dad. for the same reasons #franklins dad losing his purpose after a good life and being a homeless drunk #franklin losing his purpose and goals and becoming a homeless drunk #im in so much pain #fx snowfall #snowfall #fx snowfall spoilers #fx snowfall series finale #franklin saint #jax teller #sons of anarchy #fx sons of anarchy #damson idris #charlie hunnam

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castdust · 16 days ago

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snowman.

✩ pairing : megan skiendiel x reader

✩ about : megan and y/n builds a snowman together every first snow week.

✩ genre : fluff

✩ warning : none

✩ a/n : tis all for a christmas series :) | 895 words

♫ playing - snowman by sia

The first snow of the season always carried magic, or so Megan believed. The world transformed overnight into a blank canvas, white and endless, begging to be played upon. Every first snowfall since they were eight years old, she and Y/N had upheld the same tradition: building a snowman in the front yard of Megan’s childhood home. A simple act, yet one charged with memories, laughter, and unspoken feelings.

This year was no different—or at least, that’s what Megan told herself. But as she crouched down in the fresh snow, her gloved hands scooping and packing snow for the base of their snowman, she couldn’t stop glancing at Y/N out of the corner of her eye.

“Don’t tell me you’re slacking already,” Y/N teased, her grin as lopsided and charming as always. She was shaping the middle section of the snowman—or pretending to, anyway.

“Slacking? You’re the one just rolling that thing around aimlessly,” Megan shot back, but there was no heat in her words.

Y/N gave an exaggerated gasp, clutching her chest. “Aimlessly? I’ll have you know I’m an artist. This snowman is my masterpiece.”

Megan rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “If it’s a masterpiece, why does it look like it’s falling apart?”

True to her words, the snowball in Y/N’s hands crumbled slightly, uneven edges threatening to collapse. “It’s abstract,” she declared with a wink.

It was moments like this that made it so hard for Megan to keep her feelings buried. She’d fallen for her years ago, long before high school, long before her boyish grin turned into the heart-stopping one it was now. She wasn’t sure when exactly it had happened—somewhere between late-night movie marathons and summer bike rides through town. And now? Well, now it felt impossible to tell her without ruining what they already had.

As Megan turned back to smoothing the base of the snowman, she didn’t notice Y/N sneaking closer. When she finally looked up, she was grinning mischievously.

“What—”

Before she could finish, she smashed her snowball onto the head of her carefully crafted base, sending clumps flying everywhere.

“Y/N!” she shrieked, standing up abruptly. “What was that for?”

She laughed, backing away with her hands raised. “It was an accident. I swear.”

“Oh, you’re so dead.” Megan grabbed a handful of snow and packed it quickly, aiming and throwing with a precision that surprised even her. The snowball hit her squarely in the chest.

“Hey!” Y/N exclaimed, brushing off the snow. “This means war!”

And just like that, the front yard became a battlefield. Snowballs flew back and forth, some missing wildly, others landing perfectly. Laughter echoed into the crisp winter air as they darted behind trees and dove into snow banks for cover. Megan’s cheeks ached from smiling, her breath coming in quick bursts, but she couldn’t stop. This was them—messy, chaotic, perfect.

Eventually, they both collapsed into the snow, exhausted and breathless. Megan lay on her back, staring up at the pale gray sky, her body warm despite the chill. Y/N flopped down beside her, her arm brushing hers.

“Truce?” she asked, turning her head to look at her.

“Truce,” she agreed, though her heart was still racing—not from the snowball fight, but from how close she was. Her dark eyes held a softness she wasn’t used to, and it made her stomach flip.

They lay in silence for a moment before Y/N sat up suddenly. Without warning, she turned and tackled her gently, pinning her down in the snow. Megan squealed, her hands instinctively coming up to push her away, but she grabbed them, holding them down lightly.

“Y/N! What are you doing?” she asked, laughing, though her heart pounded like a drum.

“Megs,” she said softly, her voice suddenly serious. Her weight shifted slightly, and the teasing glint in her eyes was gone, replaced by something deeper. “Can I tell you something?”

She blinked up at her, her breath catching. “Yeah?”

“I just…” She hesitated, her cheeks flushed—not from the cold, but from something else. “I just wanted to say thank you. For… for being you. For putting up with me all these years and for being the best person I know. I like you, Megan. A lot. And I’ve been wanting to tell you that for a while now.”

The world seemed to stop. The snow, the cold, the distant sound of carolers—all of it faded into the background. Megan stared at her, her mouth slightly open, her mind struggling to process her words.

“You like me?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

She nodded, her expression earnest. “Yeah. More than like, actually. And… Merry Christmas.”

Megan felt a warmth spread through her chest, melting every ounce of doubt she’d ever had. She let out a shaky laugh. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Hey!” Y/N protested, but he was smiling now, relief flooding her features.

She leaned up, surprising both of them, and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I like you too. A lot.”

Her grin widened, and she collapsed beside her in the snow again, pulling her close. “Well, this snowman tradition just got a lot more interesting,” she murmured.

Megan laughed, resting her head against her shoulder. And for the first time in years, she felt like everything had fallen perfectly into place.

#megan skiendiel #megan skiendiel x reader #katseye #katseye x reader #lara raj #manon bannerman #sophia laforteza #daniela avanzini #x reader #yoonchae #katseye megan #katseye scenarios #katseye imagines

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badboydevotee · 4 months ago

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Dancing Through the Frost: Jin’s Special Day

Today, however, was a rare anomaly—a day that deviated from his meticulously controlled routines. It was his birthday.

As he stood in his room, surveying out the window, the subtle chill in the air was less about the temperature and more about the solitude he embraced. Frostheim’s corridors and halls, usually brimming with the hustle of its students, were eerily quiet. Today was different, though. Whispers floated through the icy halls like snowflakes in a storm—today was Jin Kamurai’s birthday.

You, on the other hand, were busy in the shadows of the school, preparing for what was perhaps the most challenging task of your time at Frostheim: orchestrating a birthday party for Jin. It wasn’t that you weren’t up to the task; in fact, you had always admired his aloof demeanor and the enigmatic charm that came with it. But Jin was a force of nature, one whose icy exterior made even the thought of approaching him daunting.

“Jin, I need to talk to you,” you called out as you entered his room, holding a list of meticulously planned details for the evening. His gaze, as sharp as ever, met yours with that signature icy coldness that seemed to be his natural state.

“A birthday party?” Jin’s voice was laced with a trace of incredulity as he glanced over his shoulder. “This has Tohma written all over it. That asshole’s always using me to—”

“It’s not Tohma,” you interjected, your voice steady despite the chill that seemed to permeate the room. “I’m planning it.”

Jin’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly, a flicker of something different—curiosity, perhaps?—flashed in his eyes. The aloofness that usually defined him seemed to waver for a moment. He turned fully towards you, his posture no longer the embodiment of distant royalty but something more attentive.

“You?” he repeated, his voice softer than usual. There was an odd quality to it, almost like he was trying to wrap his head around this new piece of information.

“Yes,” you said, holding your ground. “I thought it would be nice to do something special for you. If you don’t want to—”

“No,” he cut you off abruptly, though his tone was not harsh. “It’s just... unexpected.”

The evening arrived with the subtle grace of a snowfall, each flake adding to the tapestry of the party you had so carefully prepared. The grand hall of Frostheim, usually a cold expanse of unadorned ice, had been transformed into a warm, inviting space. Twinkling fairy lights, delicate snowflake decorations, and a table laden with every conceivable delight now filled the room. The guests, carefully selected from among the students who were willing to brave Jin’s typical coldness, began to arrive, their chatter a warm contrast to the usual silence of Frostheim.

Jin entered the room, his expression a mask of controlled surprise. His icy blue eyes roamed the space, taking in the scene you had crafted. It was the first time anyone had seen him like this—at a loss for words, his usually unshakeable demeanor softened by the unexpected warmth of the celebration.

“You did all this?” Jin asked, his voice tinged with a mix of awe and something more vulnerable that he rarely showed.

“Yes,” you said, stepping closer to him. “I wanted to make it special for you.”

Jin’s gaze met yours, and for the first time, the ice around his heart seemed to thaw. “I don’t know what to say,” he admitted, his voice almost a whisper.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you replied with a gentle smile. “Just enjoy it.”

The party unfolded with a series of surprising moments for Jin. The usual aloofness that characterized him gave way to a genuine smile, a rare and beautiful sight. As the evening progressed, he found himself enveloped not just by the warmth of the celebration but by the warmth of your presence. Your unwavering support, your kindness, and the effort you had poured into making this night special had broken through the barriers he had so carefully constructed.

When the time came for the final dance—a tradition that Jin had previously only participated in as a formality—he extended his hand towards you. “Would you care to dance?” he asked, his voice carrying a hint of something softer than the usual command.

You took his hand, feeling the coolness of his touch contrast sharply with the warmth of the room. As you danced together, the world seemed to shrink to just the two of you. The ice that had once seemed so impenetrable around Jin was now melting away, revealing a side of him that was tender and genuine.

“You know,” Jin said softly as you danced, his breath warm against your ear, “this is the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

You looked up at him, seeing the true Jin Kamurai—vulnerable, appreciative, and undeniably more human than the Ice King everyone else saw. “I’m glad,” you replied, resting your head against his shoulder.

In that moment, under the soft glow of the fairy lights and amidst the warmth of the celebration, you both understood something profound. The ice that had once defined Jin Kamurai was melting, not just because of the warmth of the party, but because of the warmth you had brought into his life. He was no longer just a figure of authority and aloofness. He was simply Jin, a man who, despite his cold exterior, had a heart that could be touched by genuine affection.

Jin held you close, his touch both firm and gentle, as if he was trying to express everything he couldn’t say in words. And as the evening wore on, with laughter and music filling the air, you knew that this was the beginning of something beautiful—something that went beyond the ice and into the heart.

" A birthday party? This has Tohma written all over it, that asshole's always using me to─ You're planning it? I'll think… about it." ─Jin's birthday voiceline - A03 vers.

#yumejoshi #yume #tokyo debunker x reader #tokyo debunkers #fluff #romance #romantic fluff #drabble #birthday fluff #jin kamurai #tohma ishibashi #jin kamurai x reader

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ridox · 11 months ago

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Seasons

Summary: Welcome to Love & Deepspace Cafe! Today's menu is our favorite specialty drinks throughout the seasons—this is a one time limited offer, get them while they last! Pairing: None, just headcanons for all the L&DS boys! (Yes, including Caleb) Author's Note: Decided to make Love & Deepspace Cafe a little series on my random headcanons/blurbs for the boys! Also there's a Rafayel smut brewing in my drafts but that's a thing for another day ‿❀°

Xavier is Autumn, he’s warm clothes and cozy drinks. He’s the comfort film you put on whilst lounging all day in nothing but matching pajama sets, all tightly tucked under thick fleece blankets. Xavier is the shift of seasons from Summer to Winter, not quite hot but also not quite cold yet. He’s the hot tea you drink when you start to feel the chill in your bones, he’s the book you snuggle in during a slow Autumn afternoon. Xavier is Autumn because he reminds you of home.

Zayne is Winter, cool as ice and buried in a flurry of snow. He’s the first snowfall of the year, taking you by hand as you laugh in childish wonder. He's running outside to play in makeshift sleds, he's making silly little snow sculptures that you know will be gone by the end of the day. Zayne is a cup of hot cocoa that embraces you with warmth, he’s the thick cotton gloves that envelopes your hand as you rub them against one another, creating friction to fight off the cold Winter air. Zayne is Winter because he reminds you of innocence and childhood.

Rafayel is Summer, he’s the oddly comforting scent of coconuts and sunscreens. He’s the road trips you go on with friends, your hands dancing outside your car's window, screaming lyrics of some old song that came on the radio. Rafayel is the popsicle you buy in a hot summer’s day, hurriedly eating it before it melts, but laughing nonetheless when you’re left in a sticky mess. Rafayel is the sound of crashing waves and the view of a setting sun. Rafayel is Summer because he’s nostalgia personified, something that never fails to remind you that growing up isn't as bad as they made it out to be.

Bonus!

Caleb is Spring, he’s the weekend after school break, spent on late night phone calls with your friends, planning for the next time you can hang out. He’s mall dates with your best friends, he’s park walks with your pet, he’s sleeping in all day and going out till night just because you finally can. Caleb is the smell of freshly cut grass and morning dews. He’s the dandelions you make wishes on and the garden weeds you play with. Caleb is Spring because he reminds you of freedom.

‿❀°

#love and deepspace #l&ds #lads #love and deepspace xavier #love and deepspace zayne #love and deepspace rafayel #love and deepspace caleb #xavier #xavier x reader #zayne #zayne x reader #rafayel #rafayel x reader #caleb #caleb x reader #ridox notes

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lillaydee · 25 days ago

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In Time Part 7

Rancher Joel Miller / Reader

You lost your dear Uncle. Your TV Star boyfriend dumped you. You needed a job. You got one at a ranch in Wyoming. Where you met Joel. A very grumpy man. Grumpy man has issues.

WARNINGS:

Grumpy Joel, Hurt Joel, Grieving Joel, Joel is Bad at Feelings (The Last of Us), Joel Needs a Hug (The Last of Us), Joel Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (The Last of Us), Mentions of Hostage Situation and Shooting, Alternate Universe - No Cordyceps Outbreak (The Last of Us), Mutual Pining, Fluff and Angst

SERIES MASTER LIST

Part 6

---

You made your rounds at the stables and cowshed, making sure no one needed medical attention, your tea in hand. The horses were happy to see you. The cows too, even if they only came to you when you brought them food. The chickens were… non-committal. There were maybe four people working today, all tipped their hats at you and went back to work. You were giving the barn cat some much needed affection when Joel came in, coffee mug in hand, an easy smile greeting you.

What a difference two days made.

He told you there’s a blizzard warning out for that evening, and he wanted to make sure you have everything you need should you need to hunker down for a day or two. The pantry in the kitchen was pretty well-stocked, if you wanted to raid it. You willingly took the offer, going with him to get some canned goods, pasta, milk and eggs, just in case. Two of the men went around the stables and the sheds, making sure the animals had everything they needed while you helped Joel clip thick, heavy ropes on the pegs from one building to another, beginning at your cabin, in case you needed to get around. The other two checked all the spotlights, making sure they all work. Joel made sure the generators for the stable and sheds were hooked up and ready to go, in case of a power cut, the water tanks filled and wrapped up.

After a quick lunch, where you made the five thankful, tired men some sandwiches, Joel went into the woodshed and chopped off some more wood, bringing as much of it to your cabin, and stacked more outside just in case.

If you’re being honest with yourself, they way the men were getting ready for this blizzard scared the living shit out of you. Would you survive this? The worst bout you ever had with natural disasters were the light earthquakes LA sometimes get, and those four days of heavy rain you had to suffer through in Bali, where you and Benny spent four days ordering room service, getting full body massages and sleeping in at your 5-star resort. Did those even count as natural disasters?

At about three in the evening, snow had started to fall. Heavily. The men left after going around one more time, double checking everything on their list, and shut the doors to the stables and sheds. Joel walked you home. As he was about to leave, he clocked the worried look on your face.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’ll be alright. Don’t worry. You’ll be fine.”

You nodded apprehensively, trying hard to look like you were okay, when in fact, you were definitely not.

“Do you want me to stay? I can stay,” he offered.

You were torn, you didn’t want to trouble him, but you were really scared.

“I’ll stay,” he said with finality in his voice. “Just let me go grab some stuff, okay?”

You nodded, still petrified, now at the thought of him driving off down the road in a pre-blizzardy snowfall.

“Shut the door. I’ll be right back.”

You watched him leave, your heart beating uncomfortably fast.

Forty minutes went by, he hadn’t returned. It shouldn’t take this long to drive to the main house, grab some stuff and come back.

You wanted to call him but didn’t want to interrupt what he was doing.

You were starting to panic.

Out of desperation for something to do, you put the kettle on, and made him some coffee. Just as you were putting the lid on his cup, a quick knock sounded. You rushed to the door, a snow-covered Joel stood there, bag in hand.

You stepped aside, and he rushed in, stomping his boots outside the door, and brushing snow off his raincoat, his face red from exposure.

“What happened? Why didn’t you drive?”

“Truck died on me. Had to walk,” he said, shivering slightly as he took his jacket off.

You felt horrible.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. I’m used to this, remember? I’m dry, see?”

He had taken the plasticky trousers he was wearing, as well as his thick, heavy boots off, the clothes underneath looking dry, every part of him looked dry, save for his face, a bit of his hair and very thick neck.

You nodded and gave him his coffee. He quickly took a sip.

“Hey, this is good coffee! Just how I like it!” he told you, smiling, clearly trying to make you feel better.

You managed to smile. You took his bag and placed it in your bedroom. He sat in front of the stove for a bit, warming his hands and socked feet.

He told you about the worst blizzard they had – Sarah was only five. No one got out for days. Thank God they were well prepared, and even then, they actually lost some cows. Time flew by when you talked to him, you found. Conversations were easy. Silences comfortable. He helped you around the kitchen while you made dinner, and dinner was filled with easy banter and laughter, so much so, you forgot that up until three days ago, you never actually had a full conversation with this man.

Come bedtime, he started taking sheets from your linen closet to set the couch up. You did some mental calculation and realized he wouldn’t be very comfortable on it. His feet would be sticking out at the end unless he slept with his back on the armrest.

“Erm, I don’t think you fit on that couch. Take the bed. I’ll sleep out here.”

“What? No! I’m not making a lady sleep on the couch. I’ll be alright.”

“Come on, I made you stay, I can’t let you sleep on the couch,” you pleaded, feeling so guilty you wanted to cry.

“It’s okay. It’s your first blizzard. I understand, please don’t worry about me.”

You contemplated the situation for a bit.

“Look, the bed is huge. Why don’t we both take the bed?”

He looked a bit shocked and flustered by your suggestion. You quickly put your hand up.

“No, really, think about it. We have enough pillows. We’ll put a pillow wall between us. You stay on your side; I’ll stay on mine. We can use two blankets. How’s that?”

He thought about it, too long for your liking.

“I promise I will punch you in the face if you got handsy.”

He looked scandalized by the suggestion.

“Hey! What if you got handsy?”

“Then you have my permission to punch me.”

He laughed. Deal.

The pillow wall was quickly made, and you both got in, both dressed rather warmly considering the blizzard that was covering everything outside. The view out your windows was basically TV static, black and white spots that wouldn’t let you see past your nose. You felt comforted that he was here. There was no way you could sleep in this condition. You kept imagining the windows breaking and the roof coming off and you were found frozen in your bed days later, your eyes wide open, a horrific expression on your face…

God, you shouldn’t have watched too many movies.

“Night Amelia.”

“Night Joel.”

---

Joel first conscious thought that morning was that he was uncomfortably hard. He had a very nice dream. One that involved you. The wind was still howling in the darkness outside. He could hear it. He opened his eyes and was met by your sleeping face. Somehow, during the night, both of you had ended up hugging the pillow wall and were now facing each other. Your face was squished on the pillow wall, your hand over it, resting dangerously close to his tented crotch, your leg between his.

Shit.

This was definitely not helping with the situation he had going between his legs. For the first time in his life, he cursed the fact that men get hard-ons. Women didn’t have to worry about their sexual needs being obvious for the world to see. What the fuck was he going to say to you if you noticed? Sorry I have a raging hard on because I had a wet dream about you? I couldn’t help myself because I hadn’t had sex in ten? Eleven? TWELVE years? Fucking hell Joel. How was he still functioning?

He couldn’t move. You shifted slightly, your lips opening and closing, settling with them slightly opened. And moist. He kept watching you. Even puffy from sleep, with crusts in your eyes, you looked gorgeous. He longed to touch you, touch your lips – just to see how soft they were. They certainly felt soft in his extremely realistic dream where you were down on your knees looking up, your mouth full of him. He wanted to kiss you so badly. But he couldn’t. He mustn’t. You met a month ago. And he had only heard you call him Joel once. Last night. As he was falling asleep. He liked the way you said his name. He wondered how you would say it if he…

“Hmm…” you moaned, your eyes closed, your lips pouting further, and damn it, you licked your lips. “Hmm… Joel…”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

This was torture. He eased his leg off yours, and very carefully got out of bed. He went to the living room, and palmed his crotch, pressing hard, trying to persuade it to calm down. He could not, must not give in to his desire to just rub one out, you were right next door for fuck’s sake. He tried walking it off, didn’t work. He thought of his grandma, but only your pouty face, moaning his name came up. Fuck. What was he going to do? He couldn’t take a cold shower; your bathroom was right there next to your bed. What would he say if you woke up? I like taking showers at 5 am during a blizzard? He couldn’t jump up and down without alerting you, thanks to the wooden flooring. He’s equally desperate to get off and get rid of his erection without getting off at the same time.

He had to do it. He had no choice. He made sure the bedroom door was closed. He took several deep breaths, opened the front door and stepped outside.

The wind and snow pelted him like big blobs of water balloons. Ice-cold water balloons. He counted to five, and stepped back inside, shivering so much his teeth chattered. But the problem was taken care of. His dick shrunk back so quickly he would be surprised if they could ever rise to the occasion again. He sat in front of the stove, stoking the fire, adding more wood, and prayed to God he wouldn’t catch a cold. Although, that seemed like a much better option than having you catch him with a hard on after sleeping next to you. He’s supposed to be your friend. That’s all. He shouldn’t kid himself thinking you would ever fall for an asshole like him, especially not after the way he treated you when you arrived.

“Joel?”

His head snapped towards the bedroom door, you were standing there looking fucking angelic in your sweatpants and hoodie, hair all messed up and face puffy from sleep. He wondered if you would look like that after he…

Nope. No… no, no, no, no, no. Don’t. Do not go there Joel Miller. All that effort of almost getting blown off in a blizzard and risking frostbite would go to waste if he did.

“Why are you all wet? Fuck! Are you okay?”

You ran back inside and got him a blanket and a towel. He mumbled something about checking the firewood. You sat next to him, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders, and toweled his hair off for him. He let you, hands holding the blanket around his body, eyes closed, savoring this very private moment with you. You quickly dried him off and went into the kitchen to put the kettle on. You went back to him, and wrapped your body around him from the back, rubbing his arms and chest to warm him up.

Joel wasn’t actually that cold anymore. The stove was roaring with fire. But who was he to resist? He couldn’t help but close his eyes to the sensation. So, this was what heaven felt like.

---

You kept rubbing him, trying hard to warm him up. Was he cold, though? His body felt warm to your touch. So warm. You could feel his bulging biceps as you rubbed them, and his chest, oh… the definition of solid. You pressed right up to him, your hands spread open from the broadness of his back and shoulders, your own unsupported chest rubbing up on this brick wall that was his back. You felt warm. So warm.

Wait, were you warming him up, or was he warming you up?

Were you cold? Or was he cold?

Were your eyes closed? Why were your eyes closed?

Why were your rubbing motions slowing? At what point does rubbing turn into caressing?

Why was your nose pressed up to the back of his neck? Fuck, why did he smell so good?

The click of the boiling kettle broke you out of your Joel-filled stupor. You asked him if he was feeling better, and he breathed a soft yes. His eyes were closed, his hands holding on to the blanket covering his body tightly, knuckles white. Oh, he must be very, very cold.

You got up and made him his cup of coffee, and yourself, your cup of tea. Your face feeling hot – which had to be the effect of standing too close to the steaming kettle. Why else would your face be hot? Right?

You took your time making the drinks, and Joel took his time sitting in front of the stove, taking a lot of deep breaths before standing up and joining you in the kitchen, making sure that the blanket was still covering his torso, glad to discover that his ability to stand to attention wasn’t affected by his rendezvous into the blizzard earlier after all.

---

The blizzard passed that second night. You were awoken by the sounds of the snowplow and found Joel sleeping way at the other end of the bed, his broad back straining the shirt he was wearing. You had to actively get out of bed and go to the bathroom to stop yourself from scooting over and spooning him.

You hadn’t left the house in 36 hours. Time to see the damage. You put your jacket on and opened the front door. The whiteness you saw on Christmas day was nothing compared to this. Heck, even the poles on the deck were white. There was snow up to your waist at your front door. How the fuck were you supposed to get out?

The plow came closer, and you waved at Ed, one of the more senior guys at the ranch. He waved back and proceeded to carefully maneuver the machinery around your front yard, getting as much snow as he could out of the way, before jumping off with a shovel, and began clearing a path to your deck, and began shoveling there too.

A hand landed on your shoulder, and Joel, his hair mussed from sleep, his jacket and plasticky pants on, asked Ed for the shovel, telling him he got it from here. You went in and made him his coffee, and by the time you came out, he had cleared the deck, and was making a path down to your office.

Damn, you missed the show.

He came back in, very quickly had some toast, and told you he needed to get going. Lots to do after a blizzard. The family will begin arriving today, he should check everything was alright for them. He’ll make sure a path was cleared for you in case you were needed at the stables or cowsheds, although things seemed fine when he checked the CCTV footage, and none of the ranch hands had called him this morning. He quickly packed his belongings, and you handed him his thermos, filled with more hot coffee, and thanked him for keeping you company.

Before he left, you took his hand, pushed yourself to your tippy toes, and gave him a peck on the cheek.

“Thank you, Joel.”

He smiled at you, hesitated a bit, but finally just nodded and walked out.

Joel’s cheek burnt red hot throughout the twenty minutes’ walk to his house, keeping him warm all the way.

He was never washing that cheek again. Not until he could guarantee another dosage was coming.

---

You were at your office, checking that all was well with the place, sweeping snow on the outside after it had been shoveled. Your phone pinged. Many times. You opened the text app and saw that you had been added to a chat group called “Da Milla Famiglia”.

*Tess added you.

*Tess removed Joel

Tess: Video attachment

It was a wobbly video of Tess, Penny and Ellie driving up the road leading to the main house. Joel was clearly in frame, his coffee in one hand, the other on his hip, a wide smile on his face, waiting for them. The voices of the three could clearly be heard.

Tess: Are you recording?

Ellie: Yes, yes, it’s recording.

Penny: Good. We need proof.

Ellie: What is going on with his face?

Tess: Is he… smiling?

Penny: Noo… that can’t be.

Tess: Penn, he’s right there. He’s fucking smiling.

Ellie: Should we call 911? Did he have a stroke? Oh my God, he had a stroke. We should call 911. Fuck, I’m recording. Penny, call 911.

Penny/Tess: Language!

Ellie: Fuck that, JOEL is smiling! What is wrong with him?

Penny: Oh. My. God. Is that a thermos in his hand?

Tess: Noo… that’s impossible…

The car stopped. Joel was clearly smiling. He opened the door for Penny.

Joel: Hey, welcome back! (hugs Penny, and kisses her on the cheek)

Joel looked into the car, smile still wide.

Joel: How was your drive?

Tess: It was okay, bit icy… (mumbles as she gets out of the car).

Joel hugged Tess, who tensed like she was expecting him to punch her. Kissed her on the cheek too. She and Penny kept staring at him, looking for signs of trouble.

Ellie: Oh my God. Seriously. What the fuck is going on? Shit! He’s coming.

The camera was lowered. The door opened.

Joel: Hey kid, had a great Christmas?

Video ended.

Okay… Joel Miller was smiling. A lot. Wow. You were about to put your phone away when it pinged away again.

Frank: What. The actual. Fuck.

Maria: You sure that’s Joel?

Frank: Audio note

Frank: Tess, turn around and look at him from between your legs. See if his legs touch the ground.

Bill: What the fuck are you talking about?

Frank: I saw a horror movie once. If his legs don’t touch the ground, he’s not Joel. He’s a ghost.

Bill: Frank, stop recording!

You just laughed and went back to work, going on your rounds to make sure the animals were alright. When you finally left the cowsheds, a very excited Ellie jumped you, wrapping herself around your middle, a box in her hands.

“Hello, excited girl.”

“Hi Doc. Missed you.”

“Missed you more.”

“I got you something. I helped Penny’s mom bake them.”

She produced the box, filled with blue macarons.

“You baked these?”

“Uhuh.”

You popped one in your mouth. The crunchy, gooey, nutty flavour burst in your mouth; the salted caramel filling almost made you swoon.

“Oh, my God! Ellie! These are amazing!”

“What’s amazing?” Joel appeared from behind the cowshed, peering over your shoulder, looking inside the box.

“Ellie baked these. They’re amazing! Try one!”

He took one and took a bite. His face contemplative for a second as he chewed, before popping the rest into his mouth, reached into the box and grabbed a few more. He ruffled Ellie’s hair, mumbled ‘good job, kid’, mouth full of macarons, and walked towards a large snowcat parked next to the field, popping another into his mouth before climbing in and closing the door.

Okay. First a snowplow and now a snowcat? Was he trying to kill you? You watched helplessly as he took off his jacket, started the engine and began maneuvering the large equipment towards the fields, your minds going so many places, far beyond what the eyes could see. You wonder what else he could drive…

“Er, earth to Doc?”

Hmm?

Ellie was staring at you, her eyes darting between you and the snowcat. Her eyes went back to you, and then lingered on the thermal mug in your hand.

A flash of recognition.

“Okay, what the fuck happened while we were gone?”

---

On New Year’s Eve, the family packed several picnic baskets and piled into several cars before heading to the retirement village where Joel and Tommy’s parents live. Apparently, you could see some spectacular fireworks from several villages and towns from there. Tess had asked if you wanted to go with them, but Joel opened his passenger door and gestured for you to get in. He very quickly got in himself and drove off before anyone else could decide if they wanted to go with you. You saw the family quickly gather around each other as Joel drove off.

You and Joel hadn’t spent as much time together as you did, just a few hellos while working and having lunch together when you happened to be in the hall at the same time, which, incidentally, was every day since Mrs Adler came back from her sister’s, not that you planned it or anything. So, it was nice to have some alone time with him again. Ellie kept hounding you about what happened over the break, and you had managed to avoid answering her thus far. She straight out threatened to haunt your dreams until you do. I’ll be your little mind gremlin, sneaking into your brain at night to find out what really happened, she said.

Joel had a new bounce in his steps. He told you he talked to Sarah, and you were right, he said, it helped. Thank you. There’s a lot he had to do to really move on, but small steps, right? You smiled at him, happy to see him this way.

When you arrived, you were met by an older couple. They greeted Joel with a hug and a kiss, Joel an exact copy of the older man. They turned their attention to you, Joel introducing you as the new vet. The lady practically ran to your side of the truck and gave you a friendly hug. Anita Miller, she said. And my husband, Jake. The older man gave you a small peck on the cheek, saying it was nice to meet you.

Joel and his dad got the stuff you brought out of the car, Anita wrapped her arm around yours and led you to the clearing where the picnic was taking place. You heaved a sigh of relief at the many, many temporary fireplaces set up along the area, having worried all day how the heck you were going to survive midnight outdoors again. You had only survived Christmas eve thanks to the hot water bottle and Joel the human incinerator sitting next to you. But this was a much more open space, and surely, Joel would want to spend his time with his family.

Joel helped you set up the tables and chairs. Just as you were done, the rest of the family arrived, and you went along setting the food and drinks, the ladies too, along with some of the residents, while the men set up the barbeque. The next thing you knew, you were being surrounded by Maria, Tess, Penny and Anita, a serious look on their faces. You gave them a questioning look, and they all just began speaking over each other.

“You need to tell us what happened during the break.”

“Yeah, we came back, and Joel was a different person.”

“He smiled – a lot. And you two are suddenly buddy-buddy? And he’s friendly to Ellie! What the fuck happened?”

“Did you say something to him? Did you put something in his food?”

“Did you kill him and replace him with someone else?”

“Did you guys fuck?”

“Tess!” you exclaimed, hand on your chest, your face horrified at the idea.

“What?”

You were looking around, looking for help, and saw that he was being cornered by Tommy, Frank, Bill and Jake. He looked at you, eyes pleading for help. You shrugged and gestured at the ladies. He just smiled and shook his head, before making himself busy with the food, ignoring everyone. So, you decided to do the same.

“Great, they beam thoughts at each other now,” Maria muttered.

“I’m not done with you. I’m getting answers one way or another,” Tess said to you. “And just so you know, you owe me one of those magic toasts Ellie couldn’t stop talking about, for the tampons,” she teased.

The picnic was really nice. His parents were very friendly, they made you feel very at home. Everyone did, actually. Joel really did look like a different person. You sort of understood the whole curiosity behind this, but you wouldn’t have questioned a positive change. What did it matter why he changed? He changed. For the better. Take it, run with it.

You helped clean up after everyone had finished eating. Tommy followed you around with a large bag, while you deposited everything in it.

“I won’t ask you what happened, even though I am really curious. But, these few days, it was like my brother was back. I’m going off a hunch, here, but I think I have you to thank for it. So, thanks Doc.”

“What are we talking about, here?” Joel came to join the two of you, helping you clear the table you were at. Tommy quickly shoved the bag at him and left, winking at you. “What was that about?” he asked you. You shrugged.

He wanted to know what you were thinking, if you would be offended at the thought that spending those few days with you alone practically made him a different man. But he couldn’t tell you how he felt, what if you retreated from him? He needed your energy now. He couldn’t imagine not spending time with you. He felt like himself again, and it was because of you. What if you didn’t feel the same way? What if he was only feeling this way due to his guilt? What if it was just his horny, pent-up energy talking? He couldn’t risk telling you unless he was sure. You didn’t know anyone else here, just them. What if you were just being friendly? You seemed the type. From what he had observed, it seemed more likely that you thought of him as a new friend that you could rely on.

So, he’ll stay quiet.

You wanted to know what he was thinking, if you played a role in him being a different man, as self-serving as that may have sounded. But you couldn’t tell him how you felt, what if he retreated from you? You needed his friendship now. You couldn’t imagine not spending time with him. You were beginning to feel a lot more at home here, and it was because of him. What if he didn’t feel the same way? What if you were only feeling this way because you were lonely? What if it was just your horny, pent-up energy talking? You couldn’t risk telling him unless you were sure. You didn’t know anyone else here, just them. What if he was just being friendly? He didn’t seem to have too many friends, and had rejected women again and again, not wanting to commit to anyone. It seemed more likely that he thought of you as a new friend that he could rely on.

So, you’ll keep quiet.

When the time came to ring round the new year, you went along with the countdown, everyone pairing up for the occasion. You looked for Ellie, not wanting her to be alone, but she had partnered with Mrs Adler, the two of them gleefully doing the countdown. You and Joel were the only ones without a partner. He came to where you were standing, his low, low voice reciting the numbers along. You felt a shiver run down your spine. It must be the cold. You wrapped your hands around your body, realizing for the first time how slow countdowns are. It took forever to reach 1.

Your eyes met his at 3, his gaze piercing into your soul. You found yourself unable to keep your gaze on him, what if he could read your mind? But at the same time, you couldn’t look away. You longed to drown in those eyes. Your heart was beating so fast you were sure your ears were pulsing.

When people yelled happy new year, he leaned in, his hands on yours, and brushed his lips against yours. You were stunned. You were electrified. You couldn’t move. You could feel all the nerves in your body fire. Goosebumps everywhere. Your body felt warm.

He pulled back before the fireworks even started.

“Happy New Year, Amelia.”

“Happy New Year, Joel.”

And he let go of your hands and turned to marvel at the fireworks.

You were suddenly cold again.

---

Part 8

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