#Snowfall Series Finale

[hollywoodalreadydidit]

Snowfall Series Finale Season 6 Episode 10 "The Struggle" Recap and Review Franklin Saint goes through all the struggle of an addict, as #Snofall comes to an emotional and satisfying conclusion. Leave a comment, like, share and subscribe to our channel here: http://tinyurl.com/y5ccpkfo

[sad-trash-hobo]

At least they made it 💕

[punkshort]

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.

Please follow @punkshort-notifs and turn on notifications for fic updates ❤️

[tartagilicious]

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.

[pampushky]

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!!

previous part | next part | masterlist | series masterlist

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

[resident-wof-expert]

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.

[whorekneecentral]

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 &lt;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. 

[badboydevotee]

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.

[ridox]

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.

‿❀°

[elaratyrell]

Misery {Annie Wilkes! Aemond Targaryen x Author! Reader}

*All images found on Pinterest*

Warnings: Dark! Aemond, stalking, language, mentions of murder Smut- oral (fem receiving), fingering (fem receiving), female orgasm

*Divider from Firefly Graphics*

Synopsis: You find yourself near death after being the victim of a car accident in a snow storm while working on the latest instalment in your bestselling Misery series. The man who found you, your self declared number one fan, seems innocent enough, but his dark past, and even darker intentions, soon become clear

With a sigh of slight relief, you placed the final page on top of the pile beside you, tying a rubber band around it and placing it in a blue leather case.

Another book finished to hopefully join the others on the bestsellers list.

You had written twelve other books, to be exact, and had now finished your first completed draft for the thirteenth.

The cursed number.

The unlucky number.

The number of misfortune.

But for you it was a blessing.

For years you had dedicated your life to the running series of books centred around a character called Misery. You'd published your first book at eighteen, becoming the new face of the romance genre. And as you had grown up, your books had matured as well, becoming darker, bordering on the thriller genre as well as still centering on the romantic aspect. It was a bold move, but seemed to pay off, as it had made you even more popular than before.

Yet, after dedicating your life to one character for an entire decade now, you knew you had to move on, take another path in a new series you were going to write. You knew some of your fans would be disappointed that this would be the last entry in the Misery series, but it had to be done.

It felt like a relief to you, that you could finally move on with your life. And you felt as though it were almost a weight being lifted off your shoulders as finished your usual celebration of a single cigarette and champagne. You rose to your feet to take the manuscript to your car with the rest of your belongings, departing from a small log cabin called Winterfell Lodge you always rented out when working on your latest novel. It was always calming to get some time away from the chaos of the city.

You pulled your coat around you tighter, the snow flurry thickening around you as you loaded your bags into the trunk of your car. Usually, you wouldn't drive in weather like this, especially as it seemed as though a snow storm was fast approaching, but you needed to get back to the city as fast as possible.

Quickly shooting your agent a message to let you know you had finished the initial draft and were on your way to get back to the city, you started the car and drove away from Winterfell Lodge.

You squinted slightly as the snowfall grew thicker still, trying to see the curve in the road as the wipers speed couldn't keep up with the snow that was now covering the road. You slowed your speed, maintaining control of your car, humming along to the song playing on the radio.

Maybe you should have waited for tomorrow.

It was already late in the afternoon, and the clouds darkened the sky.

You turned on your car's headlights, a small sign reading 'Curved road, next thirteen miles'.

You hit the curve no problem, turning the wheel with perfect control, keeping a steady speed as you continued turning the wheel, but suddenly one of the wheels skidded, followed by another as the car span erratically out of control.

And all you remembered was the car spinning of the road, followed by it slamming into a tree, doing a one hundred and eighty degree flip, landing on it's hood.

And then as you fell into the darkness, you heard the harsh sound of the radio static and the howling winds, and felt the blood trickling down the side of your face.

Followed by nothing. Only darkness.

When you awoke, you felt numb.

You skin was paler, and clammy with a feverish sweat that sent a slight tremble through you. You couldn't lift any of your limbs. They felt weighted down. You didn't even want to try and lift your head.

"You're awake."

The voice was male. It sounded calm, well spoken. Soothing, almost.

Approaching footsteps to your bedside soon brought the owner of the voice into your vision.

He looked around your age, maybe two or three years younger, around twenty five or six, perhaps. He had long silver hair tied half up, a strong jaw and a tall, well defined figure. One of his eyes was a vivid blue, like a sapphire, the other a cloudy white, a long scar running from his brow down to his cheek. Resting on the bridge of his nose was a pair of black rimmed glasses. He was dressed in a dark blue sweater, the white collar of his shirt peaking up above its neckline, and a pair of black trousers.

Your saviour was very handsome, indeed.

"W-where... where a-am-"

"Shush," He interrupted you, placing the back of his cool hand against your forehead, frowning slightly at the heat radiating on your skin from the fever. "We're just between Storm's End and Winterfell. You've been here two days. I was concerned that you were not going to pull through. I'm thankful to say that I think you will recover. You'll be okay. Thank the gods you'll be okay." He shot you a slightly relieved smile. "Oh, how foolish of me. My name is Aemond Targaryen, and I'm your-"

"Number one fan?" You murmured, your eyes fluttering closed from a split second before opening again to see him shooting you a rather bashful smile, his cheeks dusted with pink.

"That- that's right," He murmured. "I-I am also a doctor, fortunately enough." He added, gesturing to where you were connected to a drip before outstretching his hand and opening his palm to reveal two pills. "You need to take these for the pain," He said softly, lifting your head slightly to bring the pills to your lips and swallow them, his fingertips lingering slightly against your lips.

Aemond propped up the pillows slightly, resting your head back down. Giving you a better view of your room, you noted you appeared to be in a rather old cottage or farmhouse. Your room was rather charming; wood panelled walls, a large fireplace opposite the bed. From the window, you saw a view of the mountains.

"Shouldn't I be in hospital?" You mumbled.

"The blizzard was too strong. I didn't want to risk trying to get you there. I couldn't even call, the phone lines are down and I don't own a mobile, I'm afraid. I doubt you could even get signal out here with the weather like this."

"Thank you for saving me," You murmured, you eyes aching with fatigue.

"You are more than welcome. Now, you should get some rest. You nearly lost your life." He replied, stepping back. "I'll be back to check on your when your meds run out," Was the last thing he said before leaving the room, shutting the door behind him.

Your fever past after a few days in Aemond's care, but you were still incredibly weak. But Aemond promised you that things would get better.

"It's not going to hurt forever, I promise you."

"Will I be able to walk?" You asked.

"Of course. And your arm will be fine, too. Your shoulder was rather badly dislocated, but I managed to pop it back in there. But I must say, I am rather proud of what I managed to do with your legs, especially considering what I had around the house. In fact I don't think there's a doctor in the whole of Westeros that could do a better job."

And with a flourish of blankets, he made your legs visible to you for the first time.

From the knees down, you believed you resembled a mummy. Steel rods that seemed to be remains of aluminium crutches were used as splints with taping circled around them. From the knees up, your thighs were swollen and horribly bruised.

Upon seeing your slightly horrified expression, Aemond hastily added. "It is not nearly as bad as it looks considering the severity of your injuries. You have a compound fracture of the tibia in both legs, and the fibula in the left leg is fractured too. I could hear the bones moving, so it's best for your legs to remain immobile. And as soon as the roads open, I'll take you to a hospital. In the meantime, you've got a lot of recovering to do, and I consider it an honour that you'll do it in my home." He gave you a kind smile, once again leaving you to get some more rest until he had to administer your next round of painkillers.

And soon enough Aemond's visits to your room became more frequent and for longer periods of time. He didn't just stay to gave you your meds, but also to reassure you that the sweeling to your cheek would go down, and how you were still beautiful, and how much he adored your books.

"It was quite a miracle that you found me," You said one evening after Aemond had fed you your dinner. He let out a small, slightly nervous chuckle in response, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"Actually, it wasn't a miracle at all. I... as I... in a way... I was following you."

"Fo-following me?" You stammered out.

"Well it isn't exactly a secret that you were staying at Winterfell Lodge, you know, considering that I am your number one fan, but some nights I found myself driving there, sitting outside and just looking at the light in your cabin, knowing you were most likely creating another Misery masterpiece. I'd try to imagine what the world's greatest writer was creating." He replied, his voice light and airy, as though it was the most simple explanation.

"Can you say that last part again? I didn't quite hear..." You murmured, trying to brush off the fact he practically stalked you. Aemond just shot you a small smile in response.

"The world's greatest writer." He repeated before continuing. "Anyway, the other afternoon, when I was on my way home, there you were leaving the lodge. I must say I was curious as to why an intelligent woman such as yourself would go for a drive with a storm such as that approaching."

"I... didn't know there was going to be a storm like that..."

"Well, luckily I did," He replied. "And, it was lucky for me too. Because you're alive, and now you can write more incredible books. I've read absolutely everything you've written. I enjoyed your three standalone novels at the start of your career immensely, but the Misery series... I must say that they are my absolute favourite. I-I know them all by heart, all twelve of them. I love them, they helped me through my darkest times... through any obstacle I've faced in my life, I've managed to find solace with Misery.

You couldn't helped but feel touched by the way he spoke so fondly of your work, how he constantly sang your praises whenever he got the chance. The man was socially awkward it seemed, and perhaps rather shy at times, but he was still surprisingly charming.

"You're too kind..."

"And you're too brilliant," He replied. "You must be to create such a wonderful character like Misery." As he spoke, he traced a finger down your cheek. The swelling was gone, and the bruise was fading. He cleared his throat, hastily pulling his hand away and rising to your feet. "I'll um... just wash these dishes up." He said, seeming rather embarrassed all of a sudden. "I'm sure the road will be open soon, which means the phone lines will be back up in no time. But until they are, I'll kept trying so you can phone your agent."

He stopped when he reached the doorway, turning away from you, his hand hovering over the door knob.

"Is there something wrong?"

"Oh goodness no. I-I was just wondering if I could ask you a favour."

"I'm sure it's the least I could do after you've shown me such kindness." You replied, mustering a small smile that made his expression brighten.

"It's just that I noticed in your case there was a new manuscript..." He trailed off, hesitating slightly.

"You want to read it?"

"If it's not too much trouble. I do not mean to intrude."

"I usually only let three people read my new work this early," You replied, making his smile drop slightly. "And that's my editor, my agent... and the person who was kind enough to save me from dying in a car wreck."

"I... thank you," Aemond smiled. "You have no clue as to the gift you've given me and the gratitude I feel to you."

You shot him a smile, but that soon changed into a grimace as you winced from the pain.

Aemond glanced at his watch, hastily placing your empty plate on the bedside table before reaching into his pocket for the painkillers.

"It's like clockwork, the way your pain returns," He murmured, pressing a glass of water to your lips to help you swallow the pills. "The pain will subside soon. It will be okay," He sighed, placing his hand over yours as your expression twisted in discomfort.

"What's the title of your newly finished book?" He asked, trying to take your mind away from the pain.

"I'm not sure yet," You murmured. "I usually come up with the title after the final draft is finished. Perhaps after you read it, you'll have an idea or two."

Aemond's expression brightened again. "I will do my best not to let you down."

Days past, and soon enough Aemond could move you from the bed to a wheelchair. Your arm was healing nicely, as were your legs, despite there still being some time until the latter were properly healed. Aemond never failed to update your over his progress of the manuscript.

"I read chapter one, it was one of your best introductions to a Misery novel I have ever read..."

"Page twenty, I've reached. It's incredible how you can engage with the reader so quickly in the novel..."

"Page thirty, I had to force myself to put it down..."

It wasn't until one day when he came in with your lunch that something seemed a little... off, about Aemond.

"I know I'm only forty pages into the book..." He began in his usual tone. "But... oh I cannot criticise someone like you-"

"It's fine," You replied. "I can take it. Believe me, if I can deal with the critics, I'm sure I can handle whatever my number one fan has to say."

Aemond softly exhaled, keeping his gaze fixed on where he was cutting up your lunch. "It's just..."

"Just what?"

"It is brilliantly written," Aemond admitted. "Although everything you write is brilliant. But... the swearing..."

You raised an eyebrow.

"The... swearing...?"

"Yes, the swearing. There, I said it!"

"It bothers you?"

"It is inappropriate. It has no nobility," He protested, sawing through the food on your plate.

"It is appropriate for the setting and background of the character speaking-"

Aemond stilled, his hands stopping from cutting your food for you. His head lifted to meet your gaze, his expression uncharacteristically cold.

"No. It isn't," He replied firmly, resuming to cutting your food, his gaze still focused on you. "What do you think people say when they go into the grocery shop in town. Give me a carton of those effing eggs and five slices of that bitchly roast chicken?"

You couldn't help but smile at his refrain from using the profanities, but it faltered as the cutting becoming more and more erratic.

"...And in the bank, do I tell Mr Lannister, here's one big bastard of a cheque, give me some of your darn money?"

You let out a nervous chuckle at his rants, but soon enough your ears were greeted by the grating sound of metal against china. He looked down, slamming the plate down on bedside table.

"There! See? Now see what you have made me do! These were my mother's plates! What she left me when she passed! And now, it's all scratched!"

His chest heaved as he closed his eyes, trying to calm himself down. When they reopened, his good eye was full of shame and embarrassment.

"Oh... I'm so sorry... sometimes I can get so worked up I... oh, can you ever forgive me? Here..." He pressed your pills to your lips before picking up the plate, shooting you a rather overly sweet smile.

"I hope you can forgive me. Oh, Y/N... how I adore you. I mean... your mind. Your creativity... that is all I meant."

Several days passed, and Aemond's previous disposition had returned. He didn't lecture you over the choice of language used in the book, but still seemed disapproving nonetheless. He still cooked and fed you your meals, brushed your teeth, gave you your pills, praised you every waking moment he was with you. The phones were still apparently out, but he had assured you it was only a matter of time before they were up and running again. He had even managed to convince you to autograph his limited edition copy of your first Misery novel, promising to cherish it for the rest of his days.

He still gave you regular updates on reading your manuscript. At page 185, he expressed his sadness at being over halfway through. At page 300, he branded it better than perfect, that it was divine. He said it was more beautiful than any tapestry adorning the Red Keep. He had then introduced you to his pet snake, Vhagar, and his cat called... Misery.

And you had found out more about him.

How he had graduated top of his class from medical school, and how his peers and his family were constantly consumed with jealousy from his success. How they would attempt to belittle and mock him for his eye, and how in his lowest moment, his fiancée, Alys, had left him, but you had saved him with releasing your newest Misery novel some weeks later.

He had told you about the neglect from his father, his older brother's alcoholism and his mother's untimely death. He stiffened when he mentioned his eye, but you quickly changed the conversation and didn't bring it up again, not wanting to upset him by bringing up possible past trauma. And you had listened to him, consoled him over the misfortunes of his past, and he had expressed his gratitude in return.

And then he had left you to rest while he returned to finish the manuscript, which he had entitled Misery's Child.

The slam of your bedroom door awoke you from your doze, your eyes fluttering open to reveal Aemond staring down at you, his face ashen and jaw clenched.

He must have finished the book, it seemed.

"You... she cannot be dead," He murmured. "Misery cannot be dead!" He then exclaimed, voice rising. "How... how could you do this to me?"

"Women in that age... it was tragically common for them to die in childbirth, Aemond. I'm sure you know that. But you know, she will still be alive in... in spirit..."

"I do not want her spirit! I WANT HER! AND YOU MURDERED HER!" He yelled.

"I... I didn't kill her..."

"THEN WHO DID?"

"Nobody she... she passed away and..."

"She passed awa- she passed away?! No, Y/N, you did it. You killed her. You murdered my Misery."

He picked up the chair by your beside where he usually sat with you with ease despite it's weight, rising it in the air as if to strike it down on you before turning and throwing it against the wall. It shattered immediately upon impact, breaking into pieces on the floor.

"I... I thought you were good," He murmured, tone suddenly soft. "But you're not good. You're just a dirty, untrustworthy woman. I don't... I don't think I should be near you for a while..."

He walked to the door, and stopped to turn back to you.

"And don't even think about anybody coming for you. Not the doctors, your agent, your editor... I won't call them. I haven't called them and I never will. Nobody knows you're even here. And you better hope nothing ever happens to me... because if it does... you'll die."

After the click in the lock of your door, followed by the slamming of the front door and the revving of Aemond's car as it pulls away from the house, you let out the breath you didn't know you had been holding.

You were slightly shaken from Aemond's outburst, but tried to focus on what needed to be done, shifting to the other side of your bed and reaching out with your arm. It had come out of it's sling several days ago, and was now bandaged in a cast. You managed to grasp ahold of the armrest and pull it towards the best, shifting your body closer to the edge of the bed. Your legs screamed in agony as you manoeuvred yourself onto the wheelchair, but you persisted nonetheless, managing to sit down in the chair and wheel yourself towards the door. Reaching into your hair, you pulled out a hairpin Aemond had leant you, pushing it into the keyhole and soon enough hearing a click. Turning the knob, you pulled open the door and wheeled yourself out of the room, looking down the flight of stairs that blocked your way.

Letting out a deep sigh, you gripped the banister with one hand as you slowly steered yourself to the edge of the staircase.

"What have I got to lose?" You murmured, before wheeling the chair down the stairs.

The chair turned on its side as it crashed down the last step, but you managed to hoist yourself up again. You immediately tried grabbing a phone, but it turned out to be fake. You then discovered the windows bolted shut and both of the front and back doors having a second lock at the top, which you couldn't reach due to not being strong enough to stand just yet.

You wheeled yourself back into the living room, looking at the photographs placed on the drawers against the wall. There was Aemond as a young boy standing with his siblings and mother, his eye unharmed. Another showed him graduating medical school, a proud smile on his face. The third was him with his mother. And the fourth... was you.

He truly wasn't lying when he said he was your biggest fan.

Between the two photographs was a crystal dragon ornament, and beneath that was an emerald scrap book. You lifted the ornament carefully and grabbed the book, opened it.

The beginning seemed fairly normal. More photographs of his childhood and teen years. The was a photograph of him at what seemed to be a formal event with a women you only assumed was Alys. She was dressed in dark green, matching Aemond's tie, and you were sure she was very pretty, but you couldn't see her face due to the black ink scribbled over it, almost cutting through the photo. The next page was work related. More photographs and newspaper clippings of his medical success.

But turning the page was a different story entirely.

The first page contained a page of the newspaper, what seemed to be it's headline emblazoned in large capital letters.

'Doctor Aemond Targaryen arrested for the murder of nephew Lucerys Velaryon'

'Doctor Aemond Targaryen was arrested this morning, accused of the murder of his nephew, Lucerys Velaryon. Targaryen, 20, pleaded not guilty to the death of Velaryon, 16, under the accusation he had simply acted in self defence after his nephew attacked him with a knife and caused the disfigurement of his left eye'

And it only got worse as you read the following pages.

'Targaryen trial postponed until December 10.'

Accompanying the headlines were photographs of him standing in front of the courthouse with his lawyer, Larys Strong, a stony expression on his face.

'Targaryen declared innocent by jury, claims he was a victim of a malicious attack.'

'Shamed doctor Aemond Targaryen resigns from King's Landing hospice.'

You slammed the book shut, a sick feeling brewing in your stomach as you hastily placed the book in it's position with the ornament on top.

Wheeling yourself to the stairs, you gripped the banister and you pulled yourself up the stairs. Your arms ached, the muscle burning and sweat beading on your forehead as you persisted, refusing to let go and crash back down to the bottom again.

In time, you reached the top of the stairs, moving the wheelchair as quickly as you could, taking the pin out and moving towards the bed, when a slam of a car door stopped you in your tracks.

Aemond was back.

You knew he would enquire about the now unlocked door, but you could just pass it off by saying you urgently needed to use the bathroom. You also knew that you didn't have enough time to haul yourself back into bed, and so you did what you could, and threw yourself out of the chair and onto the floor, pushing the wheelchair away from you slightly as the front door opened, the rustling of paper bags being put on the table before the creaking of the stairs. There was a slight falter before he twisted the knob and pushed the door open.

He knew it was unlocked.

"What happened?" He asked, voice laced with concern as he hurried over to you, lifting you into his arms and shushing your cry of pain as he placed you down in bed atop the covers. His glasses had been taken off, the brilliant blue of his good eye burning into you.

"I needed the bathroom, but I couldn't get back into bed I... I lost my balance and fell on the floor..." You lied, hoping that you managed to convince him that your story was true.

"You needed to use the bathroom?" He asked, receiving a nod from you in response.

"And you managed to get yourself on and off the toilet alright?"

Another nod.

He slowly nodded in response, and you let out a small sigh of relief, visibly relaxing at him seemingly believing your story.

"And... you managed to get down the stairs and into the living room without hurting yourself after picking your bedroom door lock?" He added, his tone still soft.

A little too soft.

"Aemond... I never..."

"And you managed to somehow drag yourself back upstairs into your room?"

"I... I don't..."

"The dragon ornament on top of my photograph album," He replied. "It was pointing the wrong way."

You opened your mouth to speak, but found yourself at a loss for words, you mouth dry and your blood running cold.

"It's okay," He murmured, running his thumb over your lower lip. "I shouldn't have scared you. I know I did. I frightened you, hm? Well for that I apologise. I will refrain from repeating that behaviour in the future." He added, leaning forward slightly. "You are so incredibly important to me, Y/N. I'm sure you know that. You saw the photograph downstairs..."

You tried to speak again but he quickly shushed you, the finger resting on your lip tracing down your jaw, your neck, across your collarbone. His pupil had dilated, his breath quickening slightly as his hand moved down to your chest, covered by one of his shirts he had given you, framing your body in a pale blue.

"You do not need to speak Y/N," He whispered, leaning closer still, one hand placed the other side of you, caging you against him. "You will only waste your energy..."

As he pressed his lips to yours, you knew you couldn't fight back. You were weaker with him even without your injuries, and with his erratic behaviour, and what you had discovered downstairs...

And so you let him deepen the kiss. You let him part your lips with his tongue. You let his hand wander down from fondling your breast to your waist, pulling the shorts you had on down to your knees.

You let him ever so gently part your legs, pressing a line of kisses along your upper thigh, and then pay the same attention to the other, his lips tracing your flesh that had been swollen with bruises the week before.

Did you even know how long you had been here?

Staring up at the same ceiling, being enclosed in those same four walls day after day had merged the days together.

And if you asked Aemond, would he tell you the truth?

You couldn't trust him, but you needed to stay alive. And if you had any hope of getting out of here alive, you needed to stay on his good side.

And so there you were, legs spread as Aemond lowered himself between them, his moans vibrating against you at your taste, his tongue circling your clit and sending a jolt of pleasure through you that was both pain and pleasure as your legs twitched slightly, a hand tangling in his silver locks.

You resented the way your legs squeezed around his head as he thrust two fingers into you, murmuring against you about how wet with want you were for him. Your body was betraying you, but you couldn't stop the way he was making you feel such pleasure. The mere curling of his fingers against your sweet spot, or the flick of his tongue against your swollen clit caused a string of breathy moans to leave you, and soon you found yourself coming undone. He drew his fingers out of you, replacing them with his tongue as he eagerly lapped at your release.

He sat back, lips glinting with your release. He reached forward, fingers parting your lips so you could taste yourself on him. He let out a satisfactory groan as you sucked on his fingers, allowing them to linger on your lips as he pulled away.

Pressing his lips to yours, he pulled your underwear and shorts back up to rest on your hips.

"I would love to go further with you, but I'll have to wait until you're back to your full strength. It may take some time... but I think I can manage with having your addictive taste on my tongue until I can truly claim you as mine. You'd like that, hm?"

"I..." You let out a deep breath. This man was unhinged. He'd break your ankles with a sledgehammer before letting you leave. You knew that your best chance to survive this, was to play along. Allow Aemond to believe that you were beginning to reciprocate his affections for long enough so he could let down his walls and nurse you back to health so you could escape.

"I would like that..." You murmured, looking away to feign embarrassment.

"It is nothing to be ashamed of, my darling Y/N." Aemond replied, looking at you with such fondness, you wouldn't have believed he was a murderer. He paused for a moment. "This may not be the best time, but I have a surprise for you. In the other guest room."

"Oh... okay..."

"If you want to wait another day, as disappointing as that would be-"

"No, I can see it now," You hastily replied as to not flair that nasty temper up again. He smiled warmly in response, stepping towards you as you reached for the wheelchair, but he instead lifted you into your arms bridal style, walking you away from the chair and towards the bedroom door. Instinctively, you wrapped an arm around the back of his neck, your head resting against his shoulder.

He pushed open the door with his foot, giving you another overly sweet smile as he proudly declared "It's your new studio. I set it up last night. I just needed to get the typewriter and paper, which are downstairs."

"But... w-why..."

"You need a place to work, after all," He interrupted you, placing you down on the desk chair. "All writers need a place to work."

"B-but... what would I write?" You asked.

Aemond smirked at you, walking over to where a trashcan sat in the far corner of the room. The clang as it landed on the floor echoed around the room as he dropped it at your feet, your manuscript discarded in it.

"You want me... to burn my book?" You looked up at him in disbelief.

"I know this may be difficult to you," Aemond nodded, reaching into his back pocket and bringing out a box of matches.

"I... I can't..."

"Yes. You can," Aemond's voice was firm. "You can do this. Do it. Now."

Your hands began to tremble as he pressed the matchbox into them, pouring lighter fluid into the trashcan.

"I know this is the only copy," He continued. "You always only write one copy at first. When you were eighteen, you wrote your first book and you didn't make a single copy. Because you didn't think anybody would take it seriously. But they did. And you kept that tradition because it's a superstition to you, and you don't want to make a copy in fear of it being rejected. I'm trying to help you can't you see that?" His voice was steadily rising as his agitation grew, making the tremble in your hands worsen.

"I just want to help you. Why won't you let me help-"

As he spoke, you hastily lit one of the matches and threw it in the trashcan, the manuscript exploding into flame.

And as Aemond lovingly kissed your forehead, murmuring how proud he was of you for being so strong, all you could do was stare at the flames consuming your work, your own masterpiece.

"Now you can go back to doing what you're great at," Aemond murmured, a hand resting on your shoulder. "You can write a new novel, your greatest achievement ever... Misery's return."

He knelt down by you, a finger hooking beneath your chin, turning your head to meet his gaze. "I know you didn't mean it when you killed her. And now you can make it right. You can even write it in my honour, as a thanks for saving your life and nursing you back to health." He leaned forward so his breath was tickling your ear, his hand now resting on your thigh. "Although there are also other ways you can repay that debt to me."

"And you... you expect me to write something up just like that?" You asked.

"I expect nothing less than a masterpiece from you," He replied reassuringly, pressing another kiss to you, this time on the cheek. "I have the upmost faith in you my darling... I know you won't let me down... and if you do... we'll just have to start again. And again. And again... you won't try to escape, will you?"

"O-of course not. I... wouldn't dream of it."

Aemond hummed in approval. "I know you won't," He whispered, kissing you on the lips before standing up. "No one will come for you. If they do... I won't let them take you. If they try to take you from you, or if you do try to leave..." He said, opening a storage closet and reached inside, brandishing a sledgehammer. "There are other ways of keeping you here... with me... forever..."

Masterlist

[multiwreckedmess]

February Filth Fest Day 28

Prompt: Mommy Pairing: Neighbor!Wooyoung x older!reader WC: 4k Summary: To Wooyoung, you were everything. You didn’t even know he existed. Older and audacity turned to maximum, he’s determined to make you never forget.

This is a work of fiction, it does not represent Wooyoung or any Ateez member. On top of this it is an 18+ work. For my comfort and boundaries please if you are under age do not interact with this. By clicking the “Read More” you agree that you are of age to interact with my works.

TW//CW: TBH THIS IS MOSTLY PROLOGUE. Reader called ‘mommy’ and doesn’t like it at first, wooyoung is desperate, age gap undefined (it’s not suggested that it’s HUGE but it’s there). oral (fem receiving). CLIFFHANGER END

 “You remember Wooyoung right? Youngie?” Your mom tugs you over to a young man, black hair half back in a ponytail, orange shirt just slightly too unbuttoned, kicking back a beer.  “Aw mom! I can see in her eyes she doesn’t!” Wooyoung’s eyes crinkle as he extends his hand to you.  Your eyebrows raise. Mom? Grabbing his hand you shake it tentatively. Strong muscular fingers grip back, fitting your hand fully in his warm palm.  Your mother doesn’t let the silence linger long, mercifully. “Our Wooyoungie has been taking such good care of us while you’ve been off making your own little homestead on the coast!”  “Now you’re speaking far too highly of me. You feed me just as good as well. It’s an exchange of labor for services.” He gloats, swatting lightly at the air in front of himself as if the words praising him still hung there.  “You eat so well it's always a joy to share, besides, it helps me get through the leftovers.” She lightly ribs you, trying to get you to join into the conversation.

 To be honest, you felt guilty. The only child setting out into the world by moving as far away as you could while staying within the continental United States. You’d intended to see your parents more but the realities of limited vacation time and cost of travel hit quickly. The pandemic years certainly hadn’t helped. If anything they prevented you from establishing a normal visiting schedule and left you floundering to fit them in between projects and personal days. You’d finally been able to decide on the yearly block party, held every summer, to make your grand return. Calling up old friends and arranging it this way ensured you’d see most if not all the folks on your obligations list.  However, seeing your mom smiling so fondly at this kid, almost more proud of him than she seemed of you, made your stomach turn. The beast of jealousy churning a pot inside of you. You barely track the rest of their pleasantries, simply watching their borderline flirtatious body language as you nurse your beer.

 “I’ll leave you two to catch up! I swear Wooyoungie has told me so many cute stories of you, I can’t believe you don’t remember him.” Elbowing your arm gently your mom hisses, “play nice, he’s a gem!” Wooyoung tilts his chin up and out, craning to receive a kiss on the cheek from her as you stare.  “So, you and my parents are close,” your lips curl, tiptoeing slowly into the shallow end of the conversation.  “Oh yeah! Well, I started shoveling their walk in the winters and salting the sidewalk which they seemed to really appreciate. So, Mom invited me to dinner after one particularly bad snowfall and I’ve been keeping them company when I can ever since.”  “Mhm,” you hum shortly, suspicious of him. “Well you haven’t murdered them yet.”  Wooyoung cackles, “do I really look like a killer?”  “Isn’t that what all the witnesses in crime series say? That the murderer didn’t seem like the kind of person to do it.”  His eyes flit down from your head to your toes. Wooyoung had always been a cute kid. Charming, sweet, a little spicy, but his good nature charmed the neighborhood. Or at least the adults of the neighborhood. He always got along better with adults. The kids of the neighborhood were less enchanted. They called him a suck up, kiss ass, brat, annoying, and worse all in the name of envy. Envy for how the adults loved him and took care of him. So many neighborhood nights out ended in tears for him, maybe it was good you didn’t recall those days. He shook his head with a smile. “Still I’m a little upset you don’t remember me.”

***********

 “Hey, some of the ‘big kids’ are heading up to the local bar!” A girl named Gina tugs at your sleeve. The street lights flickering on and only the young and unaccompanied left at the party it was a natural progression of the night. A quick four block walk from your home you shrugged, it wasn’t like you held any particular affection for anyone in particular but it also wasn’t an arduous trek. Besides, this is what you came home for, right? Socialize with the ones who knew you before you knew yourself.

 That's how you ended up drinking a gin and tonic at the back of the bar, letting the wash of noise and alcohol blur your nerves. You’d selected gin and tonic out of habit more than anything, the tap list overwhelming and no cocktail menu to be found. A safe bet, difficult to fuck up too badly.  Laughing congenially along to the stories retold by friends, you feel lost in the crowd. Stories that went like “oh remember when Ricky did this” or “Cassy has a funny story about when Hunter lost his tooth” which you didn't remember, why would you? Not to say you shared no memories, just that most of them were the aftermath rather than the incident. Always too buried in your books to notice the hijinx happening. Now burying your nose in your glass you nod along to save face. Yes, you were there but somehow also not.

 “So you remember all of this but not me?” Wooyoung slides along your side. Some form of brownish liquor in his hand.  “No, it’s called being politely interested.”  “Ahhh,” he grins and sips his drink. “I’ll note that, the politely bit. I’m already interested so I think I’m good there...”  You roll your eyes, “interested in my mom.”  “Your mother is a beautiful lady. And smart. And kind. Why shouldn’t I be interested?” He knows he’s being cheeky but part of it is payback for your memory lapse.  “Don’t you love your mommy?”  The word mommy hits you like a truck. Rolling up your spine and crashing through your skull with the force of a brick to the back of the head. “Wooyoung? Oh my god. Wooyoung.” You mutter, shocked, dismayed. It’s him. It’s definitely him alright. Wooyoung grins like a jackal in front of you, gnawing on the small plastic swizzler straw in his drink. “I know you.”  “Do you?”

 Thirteen. That’s how old you were when you went to your last neighborhood block party. It was the last summer you spent preoccupied with fictional boys instead of real ones. There was already a change in the air, all the neighborhood kids seemed just so much younger than despite the difference being only a couple of years. Watching them rough house and play from afar you’d been set out with ‘eldest’ duties so that the parents could absolve themselves of direct supervisory responsibilities. Which was fine to you, you’d be tipped generously at the end of the night by the parents without needing to do too much.  Suddenly two small arms encircled your legs, an equally small face buried in your pant leg, absolutely wailing for mommy. Tapping on the black mop of hair, red eyes and a runny nose looked back up at you and upon seeing your face cried harder. Prying your legs from his arms you lean down to meet his eye level, “can we go find her? Your mom?”  He sniffs and nods, lower lip quivering. “Jung Wooyoung,” his small voice tremors.  Taking his small fist in your hand, you lead him farther into the party. It doesn’t take long to find her, gathered in a small circle of moms, laughing jovially. Her smile fades as she sees you toting her son, face red and puffy.  “Should he be in trouble or someone else be in trouble?” She’s very brief in her assessment, half exasperated half sympathetic.  “I’m sorry I’m not sure Mrs. Jung. He just ran up to me like this asking for you.”  Squatting next to her son you notice, she has the exact same wash of jeans as you. “Jung Wooyoung, can you tell me what happened?”  The boy glances up at you, eyes wide, sitting on the pavement with a hard plop.  “Jung. Woo. Young. Your mom is asking a question.”  He notices you notice him staring and he hides his eyes.  “I’m so sorry miss, I can take care of him from here. He really likes pretty girls but gets so shy around them. You can go!” Mrs. Jung looks apologetically at you, scooping Wooyoung up onto her hip.  Smiling you look him in the eye and wave, watching as he smiles back shyly and buries his face.

 “You were such a cute kid!” You coo.  “Is that really all you remember about me? Cute little kid? Damn.” This was not exactly the reaction he was looking for. Wooyoung wanted the gasp and the dramatic reveal, of course, but being called cute was not the highest adjective on his list. And only one fleeting memory of his mother calling you a pretty girl.  His mother was incorrect though, you weren’t just a pretty girl to him, you were an angel. He was immediately obsessed, watching you silently with flutters in his stomach listening as the adults talked about your achievements. Not only kind and beautiful but smart and self sufficient and bold and fierce. He remembered one of your summers back from college, reading on the front lawn in a bikini, waiting for the sun to slowly turn you a pleasant golden shade. Only briefly passing by on his bike the image seared itself into his mind, fueling his late nights as he flipped through your instagram.  “I really thought the world of you,” he muses.  “And what about now?” You ask with a laugh and a grimace. Wooyoung looks you up and down. “I could ask the same to you, you said I was a cute kid. What about now?”  “Oh come on, you have to know this is a touchy subject for me…you can’t just say that you thought the world of a person in the past tense like that. What, I must be some washed up hag, desperate in her neighborhood bar.”  Wooyoung hums, smirking, “well now i don’t agree with the hag part but I like the desperate, desperate i can work with.” He gently takes your drink and swills the dregs. “Another of the same?”  “I want whatever you got. Order me that.”  His eyebrows shoot up, “oh come on. You’re the older one, you should treat me.” He smiles sweetly and bats his lashes. “I’ll come with you so you know what to order next time.”  You roll your eyes. He’s really too cute for his own good. Your heart sinks a little. He’s really too cute to be hanging around you like he is. But you take his glass with yours and slide them across the wood top bar.  “Two whiskeys, on the rocks!” Wooyoung flashes his winning smile, “on her tab please.” He finishes with a head tilt in your direction and a wink. “You’re such a baby.”  “Only for you mommy.” He bunts the top of his head into your arm as you blanch at the sudden endearment.

 You hate it on instinct. You’re not his mommy, yes you’re older but you're not his mommy. You’re not anyone’s mommy. You don’t want to mother anyone for any reason. You wanted that care and attention. Still, you don’t correct him and let him continue to press his side to yours. The pressure of contact from another person is nice, even momentarily.

 “So,” Wooyoung sips gingerly at his drink, “tell me what you think of me now. I can’t settle for being a formerly cute baby. I won’t.” He pouts, lilting his head.  With a heavy sigh you look him up and down, simple fitted black t-shirt, tight black pants, and moto-boots. “If I were closer to your age-”  “EH!” He shushes you abruptly, finger to your lips. “It’s not about you. Tell me about me.”  “Fine. You want to hear you’re attractive? You’re attractive,” you give him an exasperated glance. The heat of the alcohol warms the sides of your face, making you feel giggly. The whiskey goes down shockingly easily, loosening your inhibitions. “What about me? I’m the one in distress.”  Wooyoung steadies you, bringing awareness to your swaying, letting you lean back against the wall slowly with the support of his hand. “I think you’re the first woman I ever worshipped and now I want to make good on that.”  “Wooyoung, are you coming onto me?” You as incredulously, eyebrows almost launching themselves from your face with the speed they raise at.  “I’d very much like to if you’d let me.”  “You’d like to what exactly?”  “Cum on you. Or in you. Whichever you’ll let me.”  His forwardness leaves you gagging on unspoken words. You think for a second you ought to slap him as you see red around his smug smile. “Wooyoung do you hear yourself?”  Wooyoung slides his hand up, leaning into you on his elbow. He smells like earth and spice and alcohol. “I think you’d like it too. Not to brag but, I think I’m better than spending the rest of the night in your old twin bed with your decade old back massager.”  Stunned by his too all too accurate prediction of your plans your brain barely processes the way you lean into his light kiss on the cheek. Your face feels warm, he is warm. And soft, so soft. His brashness has you melting a little bit, there is no halfway here. No room for interpretation. He wants you, and it makes your stomach flutter and legs turn to jelly.  “So, wanna get out of here?” Wooyoung says with a small smirk, eyes downcast sheepishly. “If we get to my place and you wanna back out I’ll happily sleep on the couch with the cat. I just don’t want either of us to be alone tonight.”  Tender heartstrings plucked expertly by a master songsmith, you sigh. Foolish. Stupid. Irresponsible. What would your parents think when you didn’t come home? Your head shakes as you type out a short text to your mother, a sentence excuse about staying the night with Gina. Or was it Gia? The keyboard swims under your thumb. The rest of you melts and lets the younger man wrap his arm around your waist to guide you safely to a cab. Again you marvel at how warm he is, how his fingers splay casually in the divot of your waist. Cheeks burning you duck your head out of the bar, as though it would be shameful to be seen with him.

 Wooyoung kisses with the desperation of a starved man, drinking in as much of you as he possibly can before coming up for air. The electric lock on the door has barely even finished latching when his arms snake around your waist, lips attaching to the nape of your neck.  “You smell so good,” his face is smashed into your shoulder, the both of you stumble and struggle to remove shoes as he further tangles himself in you. The second you're free of them he’s turning you, pressing your back into the wall as his leg slots easily between your thighs. Winding your hips together you teeter on your tip toe as he kisses you, teeth tugging at your bottom lip lightly.  “Ooh mommy, I’m going to make you remember me-” he moans into your open mouth.  A burst of air comes through your nose as you suppress part of an awkward laugh, “Mommy?”  “Yeah, your baby’s gonna take good care of you.” His mouth stretches into a grin against your cheek, nose bumping against you until your head falls to the side, granting access to your throat. “Right mommy? I’m taking good care of you right?”  Teeth nibbling a searing trail to your shoulder, you can’t help but moan. You don’t hate it. Your mind hates it but your body loves it. His insistent desperation for approval from you is almost as intoxicating as the drinks you’d shared. “This mommy shit is weird Wooyoungie.”  Wooyoung sucks a bruising spot into your collarbone, skin immediately flushing, meant to leave a mark. Shivering you moan again, letting your head fall to your opposite shoulder, grinding your hips against him. “That’s not a nice thing to say mommy,” his grip on your ass tightens. His hands pull you down to him, pressure in your gut building.  “Fuck! Oh baby-” the phrase slides from your lips before you can pause and overthink what this might say about you.  “Yeah, is your baby making you feel good?” He tenderly kisses over the growing bruise. “Wanna be mommy now?”  “Fuck-Wooyoungie-you’re fucking incorrigible,” you groan. Between the alcohol and the pounding in your gut, you really don’t mind it. Silencing the small critic and setting that voice in time out, you slide to his bedroom, stripping bear besides your undergarments.

 “Damn mommy, you’re a walking wet dream,” Wooyoung looks at you from under his bangs, making a home for himself at your feet, waiting for the word to dive in. Eyes traveling up your legs to the crevice between them, he can barely wait longer. He’s been waiting since puberty. The hunger to prove himself to make you his, growing all the more as your life proceeded without him.  His gaze heats you from your core, anticipatory buzz gripping your gut. “Yeah baby?” You practically whisper, throat taut.  Slowly but surely his hands travel the tops of your legs, large and warm on your skin. Everything is burning and tingling and on a knife's edge as they stop at your hips, resting his full weight on you. His face comes barely a foot from yours. “Can you tell me how much you want this?” He smiles, Cheshire-like.  “I’m fucking aching baby,” you plead maybe just a bit too desperately. “Can you help mommy out?”  You can barely finish the sentence before his plush lips are on yours with a bruising amount of force. Eagerly his hands slide between your thighs, tracing the edges of your panties. “Mommy,” he gasps into your open mouth, “are you already this wet?” He teases a thumb over the growing damp spot.  Nodding, your legs slide easily for him. “Yeah baby, all for you.”  Pressing against your clit more earnestly he rubs in small circles. Your head goes back into the pillows immediately, pressure deliciously building in your core. The skin of his shoulders is cool as he nudges your thighs even wider, his lips replacing his hands. A shock of electricity runs up your spine as you realize he’s pulling your hips down against his face, bridge of his nose nudging you through your panties.  “You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this,” Wooyoung mutters barely loud enough for you to make out. Fingers slipping between your panties and your skin he can barely breathe as he tugs the fabric over your hips. Caught between a fixated stare and a shyly glancing away he pulls down even more, practically cumming in his own underwear as your cunt is finally revealed. “Fuck you’re beautiful.”  “That’s not even the pretty part of me,” you feel the heat of embarrassment creep up the side of your neck.  Wooyoung looks up at you from between your knees, frowning incredulously. “Every part of my mommy is pretty, especially her cute little cunt.” He says before unceremoniously burying his face in your folds. Licking and slurping like a starved man, you don’t even register the auditory assault, squealing so loudly yourself your head rushes.  “Wooyoung! Oh shit! Oh FUCK!” You scream and fist the sheets, fighting your urge to snap your legs around his head. The pleasure twists in your gut as his tongue flicks against your swollen clit, a finger teasing your hole.  “Grab my hair-” Wooyoung gasps, “pull my hair. I’m not fragile.”  It doesn’t take any more convincing as you tug at his black locks. His lips buzz with moans of approval as you ride his face. His finger crooks inside of you, just enough to press against the top of your walls, right into the squishy spot that blurs your vision and has you seeing stars.  “I’m gonna cum, oh fuck baby, I’m gonna-”  His face presses more insistently against you, practically drowning himself in your sex. If he was going to die young he’d want to die like this, nestled in your heat. “Do it.”  Coating his chin in release your eyes flutter closed. Clamping down around the slight resistance his finger gives. He’s right. Much better than your vibrator. You release him from your grasp as he comes up for air, both of your eyes are hazy with lust as you look at each other.

 “Can I suck your tits?”  Wooyoung’s blunt tone does nothing to disturb your post orgasmic cloud.  “C’mere baby boy,” you say as you slide your bra straps off your shoulders, unclasping the band without a second thought.  Wooyoungs eyes bulge as you so easily and carelessly reveal your breasts, half reclined back in his bed, like he’d imagined all those years ago. It’s nothing to you but everything to him. You see them every day and he’d only seen them in his fantasies. He swipes lazily at the arousal still clinging to his lips and chin, transfixed by your tits. Almost reverently he reaches for them both, fingers fanning out over the pair and squishing into them. “Oh mommy,” he says, leaning down to kiss the top of one, “they’re perfect.”  “Wooyoungie-” you’re nearly dying of embarrassment, heat flashing through your body as he interrupts you.  “They’re just like I imagined.”  “Shut up and suck before I regret this,” you laugh, masking your tension beneath brusque humor. Wooyoung doesn’t seem to mind. In fact his eyes practically sparkle as you demand he follow through on his request. Lips encircling your nipple he kisses tenderly at first, hand resting on the opposite breast to make sure it was also attended to.  Soft skin in his palm and on his lips, Wooyoung hips move autonomously, rutting against whatever warmth his cock can find. His tongue flicks over your hardened nipple, fingers pinching the other lightly and listening for your moans of approval. Again, he flicks harder, pinches harder, and feels you respond louder and harder as he’d hoped. He keeps escalating until it feels like his heart is going to burst from excitement, leaning into you as he nips at your flesh.  Yelping you swat at him playfully, “don’t be a brat!”  “Sorry mommy, i just love you so much,” he smiles and nips again.  Truthfully the pain feels good, stinging only for a moment before the buzz of endorphins rushes through your spine. “S’okay baby,” you purr and coax him between your thighs, tugging at his underwear. “You’ve made a real mess of these.”  “All for you,” he’s breathless as he tosses the ruined pair casually across the room. Leaning close to you again, he kisses you as he rummages under the pillows. You can feel him smile against your mouth as he finds his prize.  Pulling away he brandishes a gold foil packet proudly. “A boyscout is always prepared.”  “Goddamn, is this just a normal thing for you?” Your heart drops just a little bit disappointed that you might not be special to him. He’s just so smooth, every action carefully planned.  “No,” he tears the foil packet with his teeth before leaning in to kiss your cheek. “I heard you were going to be in town and I wasn’t going to lose you again.”  “You sound obsessed,” you giggle, hands tracing the veins of his lower abdomen as you watch him roll the latex over his length.  “Yeah and I’m going to make you just as obsessed about me.”

Sorry, i just don’t know that i wanted to write more of this. I just do NAWT know how to write a mommy kink, it’s not something i’m particularly into which usually doesn’t really stop me when writing but IDK. I liked the beginning but then the mommy stuff felt shoehorned in.

[sad-trash-hobo]

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 🥲🥲🥲

[talesofesther]

sweet calamity | ch 9

Wednesday Addams x Reader

Series Summary: It was something people described as the sweetest pain, the feeling of when the soul that’s destined to find yours is closer to you. Wednesday saw it as a curse, promised herself she would hate whoever was chosen for her; but it’s easier said than done.

A/N: Softest Wednesday ever and I hope she's not too out of character lol (but cut her some slack, girl's in love c'mon). Was listening to this while writing. <3

Masterlist | Read ch 8 here

"So here's something interesting that happened last night," Enid started, teasing hinting at her tone.

You gripped a little tighter onto the straps of your backpack.

"I get back from my date with Ajax, and Wednesday greets me with a goodnight, even asking if my date was enjoyable."

You hummed at her words, kicking a pebble from the stone path you were walking on. Last night's snowfall left its mark on the gardens, white snowflakes were still clinging to some of the trees around you; there was frost on the grass; mist in the air. The scenery was worthy of a painting.

"Why is that interesting?" You eventually asked.

"She never asks me about my dates," Enid exclaimed, "like ever." Taking hold of both your arms, the werewolf stopped you in your tracks and came to stand before you, forcing you to look up at her.

"She looked happy. Unusually happy," Enid narrowed her eyes at you, wolfish grin on her lips, "did something happen while I was out?"

Sometimes, Enid was too smart for her own good. You wanted to share her enthusiasm, tell her all about last night — how hearing Wednesday play gave you goosebumps, how her lips left you breathless — yet you found yourself hesitating. Everything felt too fragile.

You chuckled humourlessly, squirming under her hold. You could feel your face heating up, "nothing happened, we just hung out for a while."

Enid audibly groaned as she rolled her eyes, "come on, I saw you two dancing at the Rave'n, didn't you finally admit your obvious love for each other?"

You frowned, lips hovering open as you connected the dots, feeling your stomach lurch with apprehension. You answered her question with another, that you felt you already knew the answer to; "was that your doing by any chance?"

"Of course," Enid told you animatedly, "Wednesday was giving me her usual 'I don't do feelings' speech and hurting both you and herself in the process, I had to talk some sense into her," she scrunched her brows, taking on a serious tone, "don't tell her I said that though."

"Oh," you breathed. You're not sure why it bothers you. To think Wednesday would do something against her will was foolish, at best; but the last thing you wanted was for her to feel like she has to be with you.

"So," Enid dragged the word, pink cheeks molded by her pinkier snood, "no special moments last night?"

"W-well, we-" you stumbled, "I mean, she-"

"Enid!"

You closed your eyes and breathed out a sigh of relief upon hearing Wednesday's voice. She walked up to you and Enid with haste, backpack held by one shoulder, scarf snug around her neck, and her black beanie pushing down her bangs. She looked worthy of a painting too.

"Wednesday," Enid turned to her best friend, bouncing on her heels with glee, "we were just talking about you."

"Thrilling," the Addams girl deadpanned, glancing between you and Enid before settling on the latter, "I'll need my partner back now."

To say Enid lit up like a damn Christmas tree would be an understatement. Your heartbeat skyrocketed at the words too, before you remembered what exactly she was talking about.

Enid emitted some kind of excited noise — undoubtedly already planning your wedding; "your partn-"

"We're partners in fencing," you cut her off before she could create a scene you probably wouldn't be able to escape too soon. After your little incident with Bianca, Wednesday made sure no one but she was partnered up with you in fencing. How she accomplished that, you preferred not to know. And if anyone as much as whispered about her going easy on you when sparring, they'd receive the complete opposite treatment.

"Yes, and class started two minutes ago," Wednesday said, pointedly raising an eyebrow at you and your lack of time management.

You mouthed a sorry to her, offering a soft smile.

"You guys are no fun," Enid mumbled to herself, hugging her sweater closer to her body.

Cold air bit at your fingertips and you stuffed your hands in your pockets. Part of you could sympathize with Enid's frustration, you and Wednesday have been dancing around each other for a while, and then she finally kisses you and… and now you find yourself holding back, afraid to let your guard down.

You're still not sure what to call what she is to you. It's not like you and Wednesday are the epitome of healthy communication.

It's almost like she feels your discomfort, "let's go, I don't like waiting," Wednesday grumbled, half extending her hand out for you, giving you the chance to choose whether to take it or not.

The way you were so quick to reach for her was second nature, softly taking her hand in yours. "See you later, Enid."

"Bye lovebirds," the werewolf sweetly said, starting to walk in the opposite direction, "don't forget what we talked about yesterday, Wednesday."

"How could I? You've hammered the idea into my brain," Wednesday huffed, but Enid was already out of earshot, which left only you to grin at her words.

It was new and fragile, but maybe also just the way it was supposed to be. Maybe it was simpler than your overthinking self made it out to be — you were focused on your feet, trusting Wednesday to lead your way with her hand securely around yours.

The comfortable silence stretched for a few moments, until you reached the end of the gardens and walked inside Nevermore's walls. It felt nice to feel normal for a change; two normal girls too shy and too in love to meet each other's eyes.

"Your hands are frigid," Wednesday broke the silence, absentmindedly brushing her thumb along your skin.

You chuckled under your breath, feeling the familiar swelling of your heart, "I keep forgetting my gloves."

You refrained from groaning when the doors to the fencing arena came into sight. Before you could push them open, Wednesday pulled you to a stop. You glanced up at her curiously; only to see her cheeks an unusual shade of pink, her jaw set tightly in place, eyes strangely a tad too wide. It's rare the times that you can visibly tell what she's feeling.

You curse the way your heart automatically expects the worst, and hold your breath.

"I was-" Wednesday tried, before averting her gaze from yours and inhaling deeply, "I was wondering if you'd like to go out with me this evening."

She spoke so quickly you almost didn't catch the words fully, but you did; and it sure felt that simple. "I'd love to."

Wednesday nodded stiffly at your answer and all but burst through the doors.

———

It takes some getting used to. Sometimes the turmoil of emotions that you make Wednesday feel gets her nauseous; she thinks she resembles a babbling idiot whenever she tries to mimic what she sees the other couples do — to say she's inexperienced in the area is a huge understatement; she's trying though, in her own way, but she is.

After a day of classes that kept her mostly away from you, Wednesday was making her way to the greenhouse, the place where she knows she'll find you. And she could feel that sensation — pumping through her body with each frantic beat of her heart the closer she gets to you — the tightness on her chest, the turning of her stomach. It's nearly painful. Dangerously addicting.

The evening sun had made its appearance, soft rays seeping through the glass walls as Wednesday pushed open the door. It was quiet, eerily so. No students were around, thankfully. She realized you liked your own dose of solitude too, it's not the first time she's found you hidden away all by yourself in the greenhouse.

Wednesday was quiet as she made her way inside, preserving your space.

You were standing in front of one of the tables when she found you, eyes focused solemnly on the flower pot in front of you as you hummed a song unknown to Wednesday. Blissfully unaware of her watchful gaze on you.

Your hands were delicate with their movements, making life bloom from your fingertips; there was a ray of sun casting over your cheek and lips — Wednesday envied the pesky thing.

You pushed back a strand of loose hair, smiling faintly when you got on your tip toes to put the flower back up on the shelf, a sea of green and gold around you.

Wednesday suddenly felt the back of her eyes burning faintly; because she refused to blink or something else, she was not sure.

But she's looking at you as if she just realized what love is.

And she could love you if she wanted to. If you allowed her to.

She thinks she already does anyway.

It's unlike anything she ever expected or wanted to feel — it's pain and bliss altogether — because she had the sudden need to be closer, to hold you, touch you; otherwise she'd spiral into madness.

And so she did.

You jumped when you felt two hands grasping at your waist, sharply turning around to see whoever thought had the right to touch you like that; yet any unkind words that were ready to leave your tongue disappeared when you were met with a pair of twin black braids you were all too familiar with.

Your skin is instantly littered with goosebumps. Wednesday's hands were firm on your waist, her thumbs barely sneaking under your shirt and grazing the skin there.

Before you could even try to speak, she was shutting you up with a searing kiss. It was different from last night; she pushed herself to you, desperate in the way her lips moved with yours — as if you hadn't seen each other in six years instead of six hours.

You took only a moment to recover, grasping at her blazer with your hands and embracing anything she'd be willing to give you.

Her lips were still as plush and warm as you remembered them, as you knew you'd never be able to forget.

Wednesday pulled back when air became an annoying necessity, all soft eyes and swollen lips. Her hands still gripping your waist, gaze darting to the mouth she'd just kissed only to see you gulp and look at your feet; away from her.

"Is this acceptable?" Wednesday found herself asking, voice raspier than usual, puffs of air coming out shallow and ragged as she regarded you with worry.

"Yeah," you were quick to breathe out, bringing one hand up and hesitating only a second before gingerly touching Wednesday's cheek, your thumb tracing the lines of her bottom lip. "More than acceptable."

"But?" The raven-haired girl raised a brow.

"I just-" you could feel your heartbeat, and wondered if she could feel it too, "I don't want to force you into anything, Wednesday." You gave her a melancholic smile, "I want to make sure you don't feel like you have to be doing this," you motioned with your hand between you and her, and she was so close you could barely breathe at all.

Wednesday's eyes shuttered with a sudden blankness and nothing could prepare you for the utterly adorable look of confusion on her face that followed; eyebrows pinching together and lips turned down at the corners as she pulled back only to look at you better.

"Never in my life would I do something I do not want to do," she said matter of factly.

You bit into your lip, one hand taking hold of Wednesday's braid so you had something to fidget with.

Straightening her posture, Wednesday gulped back her pride; "I'm not… good at this," she shook her head softly, her sudden fragility surprising you, "any of it."

And you finally see it; you see it in the way her eyes lose their sharp edges, how impossibly darker they are, shining under the fading sun; you see it in the way she insisted on holding your hand even when curious glances were thrown at you; you see it in the way she doesn't let anyone else spar with you in fencing or the way she always has an extra set of notes whenever you miss a class; you see it in the way she came after you and didn't give up even after you pushed her away. You see the way she's been loving you from day one, even if both of you didn't admit it.

"And I hate the fact that you make me want to try it anyway," Wednesday whispered, bringing you back to reality.

You huffed a chuckle, sliding your hands behind her neck to pull her closer, "you hate it?"

She rolled her eyes endearingly, "take the win," she said, before stealing another kiss from your lips.

Wednesday lingered close to you, her nose bumping yours. She didn't dare open her eyes when she asked the one thing she needed to hear you say; "so can I call you mine?" She choked out, upper lip grazing yours as she spoke.

There was a beat of silence and the Addams girl was almost already considering her early grave when you didn't answer right away.

Until you did, and she could feel your cheeky smile, "only if I can call you mine too."

Wednesday's lips twitched with the treat of a smile. It was an easy bargain.

With her hand in yours, Wednesday walked out of the greenhouse; her destination being the Weathervane, where she'd buy you a hot chocolate, and a coffee for herself and do whatever couples do together.

You wanted to stop by the quad first though.

The weight of Wednesday's hand was pleasant in yours. You took her to the middle of the quad, to where stood your finished project, at last; the big maple tree was the star in the center, surrounded by countless flowers with colors that complemented each other beautifully. Two stood out amongst them, a couple of black dahlias just by the foot of the tree, their dark color unmistakable.

"You remember I was renovating this flowerbed, right?" You asked softly, stealing a glance at your girl.

Wednesday hummed, "yes, I recall."

"I think it's finally done, what do you think?"

You watched as Wednesday's dark eyes skimmed over your work, they lingered a little longer on the black-colored flowers and your lips twitched with a smirk.

"It's nice, I'm sure Enid loved the multitude of colors," Wednesday commented, "the dahlias are a nice touch," she timidly admitted eventually.

"I thought you'd like them," your cheeks warmed up you raised both your joined hands to your lips, planting a kiss on the back of her hand before pulling her along to the main gates.

Before, you didn't understand why soulmates bring each other pain whenever they're near. But now, you can see there's something magical to it — it's the fact that, even with the pain, you won't abandon the one you love, and it's a kind of love that comes without warning, burns itself into your soul and marks your heart in the best possible way.

You admire the boldness of the universe; to create something so potentially tragic yet so delightful, so blissful.

Wednesday's shoulder bumped yours as you two walked, personal space forgotten. You could feel your heartbeats mingling.

Her hand warmed up yours.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Read ch 10 here

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keep me motivated to continue posting here, so I'd appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3

Wednesday’s taglist: @milkiane @bookfrog242 @heelaechan @imagine-reblog @simp4wanda26 @sakurarukas @bluetreecloud20 @the-night-owl-blr @imlike-so-gaydude @user284747 @dreifhraniquo29 @emeraldevan @simp4nat @boobabietch @impossibleliv1031 @deadpool-in-a-snood @rainbow-love4ever @maria-403 @pompompuri @halleest @wandaromanova @marveloussimp @rainbow-hedgehog @left-and-right-up-and-down @get-the-fuck-outta-here @awolfcsworld @elduster @alexkolax @georgi-salva @imdumbhi @youralphawolf72 @reginassweetheart @justyourwritter69 @yangsroboarmm @8e-h-e8 @irish-piece-of-trash @femalehomosexual666 @wol-fica @wednesdays-woes

[lamarkeu]

Episode Summary: We are introduced to Joshua and his family during Sunday Dinner where everyone is helping in and around the kitchen.

Genre: Fluff

Masterlist for SVTTROS Series

a/n this one is really self indulgent (almost boarding delusion). I’ve always pictured Josh with a filo!s/o ever since I found out that some of his friends back in LA are filo. If you don’t relate to this one I understand, feel free to read some more general MCs in the other members episodes.

Italics: Narrators Boo Seungkwan (BS) and Lee Minhyuk (LM)

Bold: Staff

Regular: What family member says / what camera films during the show *____*: English

Listen To: Habang Buhay by Zack Tabudlo

LM: The Return of Superman Idol Edition

BS: Episode 3 “I Think I Love You ” Part 1. The window to window wall frames the first signs of snowfall in Seoul. Today we’re invited into a cute modern style apartment with an open kitchen concept and beautiful gray accented glass cabinets.

LM: There is a lot of music related decor in and around the house, from the signed guitars hung in a protective case on either side of the kitchen while the record player in the living room plays some acoustic music. Could today's superdad be a musician?

BS: They could also be a producer, there’s a bunch of microphones lying around the house.

LM: Two stools are leaned up against the kitchen island with little legs on the highest step. A pair of sturdy legs are standing between the two in what appears to be baggy jeans.

*“Bunso what is this?”* Min-ah asks. (Authors Note: Bunso means youngest in Tagalog).

“It’s pancake batter.” Si-ah, his youngest daughter leans closer over the deep bowl ensuring all the flour has been incorporated into the batter before gesturing to her father to pass the chocolate chips. Joshua carefully puts distance between his son, who is strapped in a frontward facing carrier against his chest, and the small bag of sweets.

*“Are we allowed to do this?”*

“Yeah, it’s a surprise for mommy.” Joshua reassured his middle child by patting her on the top of her head. For a second he notices some of the hairs in her ponytail loosen and quickly tries to flatten it out with his palm before looking back at his youngest. He kicked his legs in excitement at seeing the commotion going on between his older sisters.

“Are you sure?”

His youngest is quick to react, saying *“Unnie, do you always have this many questions?”*

The blunt answer forces a chuckle out of Joshua’s lips as the camera finally pans above to capture his head fully.

BS: I would recognize that laugh anywhere. Today's Superman is none other than a past guest of return of Superman and seventeen’s self proclaimed gentleman, Joshua Hong.

LM: Wow, fatherhood really suits him.

The sound of the front door opening captures everyone’s attention, the three state as Y/N arrives dressed in a simple suit with a briefcase in tow. For a moment the cameras fall onto the massive wedding photo above the couch of Joshua wearing a traditional Filipino suit called a Barong and Y/N wearing a traditional hanbok. The white background of the photo makes the duo appear more vividly in contrast with the gray crowning in the living room.

BS: This supermom looks as if she appeared at a meeting, it’s no surprise given that she is none other than the Co-CEO of Honey-Jade Hong Y/N.

*“Wow girls, everything looks so good.”* She compliments while wafting the air with her free hand. *“You can’t go wrong with breakfast for dinner.”* She makes her way towards the kitchen counter placing her bags against the space next to the fridge.

LM: Breakfast for dinner? That’s new

BS: it’s very common in some places in America to eat like this.

*“Did you guys have fun today?”* Kissing the top of their heads before gesturing towards her husband with her eyes.

Joshua is quick to reassure her with a quick “Yeah” before he is immediately cut off.

*“We were until you came home really early mom, we didn’t get to surprise you.”* A small pout forms on Min-ah’s face upset at the sudden change of plans.

*“That’s okay sweetheart, that just means I can spend time helping us prepare for dinner.”* Her mother stated in an attempt to redirect her emotions.

*“Yeah Unnie it’s okay, we get to cook together and spend more time as a family”*

Si-ah points to a gift bag on the counter. *“Mommy what’s this?”*

LM: I’ve been wanting to know that since she walked in.

BS: It’s quite small to be clothes

*“It’s a gift for the party tomorrow.”*

*“Is it for baby Jeong-woo?”*

*“That’s right. We're going to attend his 100 day celebration with Uncle Wonwoo and the rest of your Sebong uncles”*

BS: Ah that’s right. I wonder if we’ll see more of your uncles on todays episode Siah.

“Hi.”

I think you’re covering your mic Y/N. Can you bring it closer to your mouth.

“Oh my gosh.” She realizes her hair covered most of the black block and adjusting higher up on her shirt collar.

“It’s okay you got this” Joshua whispers in her ear putting his fists in the air in a cheer. The girls turn around in their chair and follow suit, cheering on their mother.

“Hello, I am Y/N. I’m Min-ah, Si-ah and In-soo’s mother. I’m sorry if you can’t understand my Korean, I’m trying really hard to become fluent.” She says while In-so sits in her lap playing with her hands.

Her oldest quietly speaks up to the camera “Hello I’m Min-ah, my English name is Mina.”

“And I’m Si-ah and my English name is Sandara. This is my younger brother In-soo, and his English name is Isaiah.” The second gets up from her seat to get at eye level with her brother. Her enthusiastic coos while holding the cheeks of her younger brother with her hands. The entire family begins to join the youngest as he giggles out.

How many languages does your family know?

“Our girls are fluent in English and Korean. They speak to us in both languages Joshua responds back in Korean and I respond back in English and more recently Tagalog.”

“Our son In-soo picks up English a little better than Korean just because I’ve been able to practice with him because of touring. I’m hoping through this show I’ll be able to accomplish that.”

“We’re not pushing them too much when it comes to picking up the languages I know, we’re learning it slowly throughout our daily lives.”

What was in the suitcase?

“It has pictures of my designs and models. My business partner and I have an upcoming spring fashion launch. I was just looking over the order to on paper to see if I need to make any changes.”

“After having met her through Jeonghan, the two of them immediately found a shared sense of interest in fashion, my wife focused more on the design aspects while Jeonghan’s wife focused on the modelling. Before we knew it they became best friends.”

Why do you call Si-ah the youngest when she’s the middle child?

“Because she’s the youngest girl. I can call Isaiah that too but it gets confusing. So because he is the youngest boy, I call him Balong.”

Is there anything you want to tell the return of the Superman audience?

“I’m so happy to return to this show no longer as a guest but as part of the core members in this coming year. I hope through our different trials and tribulations you continue to cheer us on and perhaps that Korea will learn to be more kind to people like my children and wife.”

[moonlight-prose]

EVERGREEN WASN'T SUCH A BAD DREAM

➝ A HURT DRABBLE

a/n: this first started out as a small idea jotted down in my notebook way back in august. i was trying to write hurt and it was being put on hold cause honestly i was scared to continue it. i didn't think i'd ever write it and honestly it didn't make much sense to me given the way the fic played out. but i couldn't get over the idea that these two got a little bit of joy in their lives. it's pre-chapter six so i hope y'all enjoy! divider by the incredibly talented @saradika.

summary: in the middle of destruction nature continues to follow the same path as before. starting with the first snowfall of the season. you just happen to be there to witness it with him.

word count: 1.5k+

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

warnings: not explicit, soft joel, cold weather antics, fluff, a tad bit of romance, angst, grief, talk of the future in a hopeless world.

SERIES MASTERLIST

A blanket of white covered the world, turning everything brighter. The sun reflected off the snow, practically sparkling. You heard the crunch beneath your boots—the sound familiar and inviting. It called to the small fractured piece of joy that still remained in your body; begged you to finally let go and have some fun. Even as the world went to shit, the first snowfall never failed to make you smile.

Your breath collected in the air in front of you. Showing you just how cold it really was. Which only made you smile more—your nose practically numb with the frigid air.

“Fuck,” he muttered, slipping on the heavy gloves that he found in an old shop a few towns back. “It’s too cold.”

You shrugged, taking in a deep breath that burned on its way in. ‘Yeah but…it snowed.”

His eyes narrowed at your overjoyous smile. “It’s a pain in the ass to travel through snow.”

That was true.

Yet you couldn’t find it in yourself to be upset about such a beautiful thing. Snow has always been attuned to joy in your life. The start of fun spent outdoors with your brother. Hot drinks with friends as your university began to set up for the worst. And sure there were the annoyances and hardships that came with this weather. But you had always found that the positives far outweighed the negatives in this case.

Joel couldn’t necessarily say the same. A bitter feeling of grief began to build in his chest—Sarah’s face entering his mind. They spent holidays in the snow. Holed up in the house as they watched a movie—usually a Christmas movie with a predictable script—often inviting Tommy for the night. It was a time he’d give anything to return to.

The weight in his chest pressed down painfully—attempting to drag him down. Back into the darkness he was so used to residing in.

Except something bright broke through its walls. As if sunlight was once again shedding its light over him. Warmth consumed him; offering him hope with a soft press to the agony that splintered him half. Only when he tore himself out his mind did he realize what it was.

The sound of your laughter.

Small flakes began to fall from the sky, catching on his hair and jacket. They stung his face slightly. He couldn’t focus on that though. Not when you were smiling, your bare hands trying to catch each snowflake—your tongue sticking out. For the first time he saw a childlike wonder in your eyes. The cloud of grief he’d grown so accustomed to—now dissipated as you played in the snow.

“Havin’ fun?” he asked as his lips pulled up at one side.

You laughed again and Joel felt a bolt of lightning go through his heart. Even though it was freezing outside, that warmth spilled into his chest, spreading out to the tips of his fingers. He understood what love felt like. How it affected a person, but this…this was more. This was the missing emotion he thought he’d never see again in this lifetime.

“As a matter of fact—I am having fun.”

You stepped closer to him, letting your freezing nose press against the hollow of his throat. He jolted, eliciting another small giggle from your lips. But he refused to move. Simply shifting slightly to open his jacket in order to pull you closer until his body heat seeped into yours. He wrapped his arms around you, tugging you until your feet were pressed between his.

“Gonna get sick,” he muttered under his breath.

A puff of cold breath left you, caressing against his skin and sending a shiver down his spine. “C’mon Joel, it’s fun.”

“Boston—”

“Don’t you remember fun?”

He stiffened, hands frozen on your back. Only this time you didn’t immediately apologize for possibly saying the wrong thing. You remained silent. Gave him a chance to process the pain that was no doubt overtaking his body, a grief you would never be able to understand. Each of you carried your own demons—dragged down by the weight of them daily, and only for a brief moment did you see him allow them to lift.

“I do,” he replied, his voice thick with torment.

You shut your eyes, ran your hands up his back and let out a breath. “Tell me about it.”

Tell me about your past. Tell me about her.

Joel rarely mentioned anything when it came to his past. That continued to be a locked door you held no key to and you accepted that. You took what you could with him. But standing there in the middle of a snowy serene winter, you finally wanted to see each broken part he hid from you. You wanted to watch the sunlight glint off them like glass and catch their beauty in the palm of your hands.

You wanted to know him.

“We’d celebrate Christmas,” he said softly, lips pressed to your hair. “Nothin’ fancy. Nothin’ big. But we’d get a tree.”

He never told you who Sarah was to him, never revealed what happened to her. You were just happy to finally hear about something joyous in his life. That once upon a time…he might have smiled. Hell he might have even laughed often. You could tell by the lines around his eyes, proof that this man had experienced more than just this.

“In Texas?” you pressed, face peeking up to see his gaze already on you.

He nodded. “My brother usually joined us.”

Surprise lingered in your body, but you pushed past it. “You never told me you had a brother.”

And there it was, that small hint of a smile showing through the heartbreak on his face. “Yeah…Tommy.”

You tried to conjure up a picture of the other Miller. Did he have brown eyes like Joel? Was he older or younger? Was he still alive? Something told you with the way Joel reacted simply by saying the man’s name, that he remained okay. That somewhere on this Earth he was alive. You wanted to ask more, see if he’d let you in on a life you were never meant to be a part of. But pressing Joel to do anything—especially talking about his past—was not something that would go over easily.

“Did you play in the snow?” you asked, a smirk pulled at your lips.

He sighed, glancing up at the sky, a soft red stain flushing across his face. “We did.”

“I knew it.”

“Shut up,” he mumbled, fingers pinching at your hip. Only to feel his heart flutter at the echo of your laugh being pressed to his chest.

He swore his heart responded to the sound, twisting in a way that he didn’t know was possible. It wasn’t wracked with pain, it wasn't threatening to drown him beneath his grief. It simply just existed.

Perhaps that’s what he could do for this one moment.

Stand in the snow as a man, holding a woman he loved, and exist.

“Hey Texas.”

He ran a soothing hand up your back, fingers lightly tracing the hem of your jacket. “Hm?”

“Will you play in the snow with me?”

Something lit up his eyes, the brown suddenly a lighter gold that struck a chord in your heart. He played you like a fucking guitar and with that one look, you’d let him. Joel took a breath, mouth parting, and did the one thing you longed to see. He smiled. Nothing small or minor, but a full blown smile that made your heartbeat cease to exist. For the first time…he looked happy. As if the man from before had shoved his way forward to finally give you a proper look at who he once was.

At the man he longed to be again.

“Yeah Boston,” he said, leaning forward to brush his lips against yours. “I will.”

A laugh escaped your mouth when he shoved you back lightly, hands reaching for the freshly fallen snow on the ground. You did the same. Digging your fingers into the freezing icy ground, pulling up a small amount to make a ball. Only for Joel to throw one at you, hitting you square in the shoulder.

“I wasn’t ready!”

He chuckled, heading for you. “Move faster.”

“Ironic you’re telling me that.” He stuttered, eyes flashing dark at the memory of having you the day before, but that faded with another grin. One that taunted you with something more.

A promise of a life that could be.

His arm wrapped around your waist, the snow falling from your hands as he hauled you backwards. A yelp escaped your mouth when he fell, your body landing on top of his—snow sticking to his hair and yours. The sun still burned bright in the sky, flakes continued to rain down around you, but for this one single moment…you existed in a space that felt good.

That felt normal.

“We’ll have a tree,” you said softly, rolling over to lay beside him.

He turned to look at you, eyes tender. “A tree huh?”

You nodded. “One day.”

“Okay,” he murmured, hand cupping your cheek. “We’ll have a tree.”

[whorekneecentral]

Snowflakes On The Glass

Ben Chilwell x Fem!Reader

Warnings: morning cuddles, ben acts like a child, reader works her magic, teasing, it's giving sub!ben for like 0.2 seconds, penetrative sex (p in v), breeding kink, one like sorta misogynistic comment if you squint, creampie.

Word Count: 1,532

Author's Note: this was a last minute change, decided to the anon who asked about benji :)) this ones for you babes

merry smutmas series

--

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. 

The cold air hits your bare skin when Ben gets out of bed, tossing the duvet off of him. You grumble something, tucking it in under your back so you could warm up again. There's a silence in the room, seeing that it was barely 7am when Ben got up from bed.

You knew for a fact that he didn't have training this morning, he had always just been an early riser - something you definitely weren't.

It was barely a few moments after he got up that he jumped back onto the bed, shifting the duvet once again and waking you from your sleep, or rather, your attempt to fall back asleep.

"Babe," he nudged your side. "Babeeeee, babyyyy, my loveeee." He sung off key into your ear.

You groan, rolling over to pull Ben into you. Your arms wrapped around the man, his face buried in your chest to shut him up. That usually worked but this particular morning, he managed to escape your grasp.

"Darling, get up!" He says excitedly; annoying you already considering how early on a Saturday morning it was.

You yawned, finally sitting up. "What is it? What's going on?"

"LOOK!" He says, pointing to the frosted over window. "It snowed."

"You woke me up to see snow?" You huffed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. "I've seen snow before, Benjamin."

"No," he rolled his eyes, "come on baby, let's go make me a snowman."

You're half asleep, you're not sure if you're still sleeping or dreaming. "Babe, you're not serious," you scoot on the bed, laying back down.

Ben huffs, a pout on his lips. "C'mon!" He pulls on your arm and you roll your eyes, shrugging him off.

"Pleaseeeee," he leans down, whining like a child when he puts his chin on your shoulder. You sigh, "give me 10 more minutes and then we can go down, okay?"

He was tempted to say no, he would drag you out of bed if he needed to but you looked so cute curled up under the blanket, cuddled into him. Plus the fact that you were now kissing all over his face, attempting to sweeten the deal was the cherry on top.

"Fine, but only 10 minutes."

"10 minutes of silence," you tell him, and he nods. Ben holds you close, his arms wrapping around you and you cuddle into your boyfriend, your head tucked away under his chin.

Ben's warm, you fit against him like you two were made for each other. It was one of your favourite parts of your relationship; Ben holding you. You loved him, sure, but his hugs were the best thing in the world; you forgot about everything else when you were in his arms.

Well, except for one thing.

You two had just woken up and now that Ben's back in bed, pressed up against you, you can feel a certain.. something.

Ben shifts a bit when you wiggle your arm free from underneath you. He doesn't think anything of it, his arms still wrapped around you. The next thing he feels is your hand pressed to his bulge, your fingers rubbing along him.

"Babe-" he groans, reaching down to hold your wrist. You bite back a smile, "hm? What's wrong?"

"Stop that." He whispers through gritted teeth.

Your brows furrow, "stop what?"

"Y/n," he breathes, exhaling as his own hand wraps around yours.

"What? Does that feel good?" You whispered, leaning up to kiss his jaw. Ben nods, knowing if he speaks he'll only dig himself into a deeper hole. "Words, Benjamin." You glance up at him and he clears his throat, his eyes fixed on you when he speaks.

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes," he swallows, "it feels good."

"Then let me make you feel good," you whisper to him, reaching up to kiss him.

Ben pulls you flush against him, his lips on yours; there's a hunger, something you can't figure out. You aren't sure what's come over him but you liked it, so fucking much.

He watches as you pull away from him, groaning and grumbling under his breath about how you never give him enough time to kiss you and you laugh. You ignore his grumbling, making your way down to his chest, your hand following the trail down to his stomach.

You had barely begun undoing the knot on his joggers when he stopped you, his hand on yours. "What?" You glanced up at him through your lashes.

God, you hoped he wouldn't bring up this stupid snowman right now.

"C'mere," he pulls you back up towards him, kissing you again.

A hand pressed to Ben's cheek, you mumbled between the kisses. "I'll let you kiss me later, lemme just-" your hand slipped between the two of you, rubbing along the obvious bulge in his joggers.

The man groaned, "as much as I want that, I wanna feel you."

You let out a shriek, the sudden smack to your ass making you laugh. "Benjamin!" You smacked his arm, the man smiles and kisses you once more.

"Turn around, love." He whispers, nudging you to flip around, facing the window now.

Ben's shuffling about behind you, he moves the blanket leaving you cold. His hands replace the blanket as a source of heat, pulling your leg back and hooking it over his. You feel his hand between your legs, pushing your panties to the side before his cock brushes along your slit. 

His name tumbles from your lips as he pushes into you, his hand resting firmly on your hip, holding you in place as he settles behind you.

It takes you a minute to adjust, Ben's hand caressing over your bare leg in the meantime, whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

He pulls your leg back into his a bit more, moving closer to you but in doing so, he pushes into you a little more. You whimper and the man apologizes. “Sorry love,” he squeezes your hip when he hears the whimper leaving your lips. 

“Do that again,” you tell him, leaning back into him. 

Ben smiles, pushing his hips towards you again, the tip of his cock hitting exactly where you wanted it. 

“More,” you mumble and Ben could never say no to you.

He rolls you two over, pulling you up by your middle onto your hands and knees, your back arched and your face buried in the pillows. 

It was needy and messy; feeling you around him drove him mad, hearing you ask him for more was the cherry on top. Ben's hand slid down the curve of your spine, resting between your shoulder blades. 

“You’re so fucking perfect, baby.” Ben says, his words sweet like honey but his actions aren’t. 

He pulls you up by your hair, your back arched and his hand now on your chin.

“C’mon pretty girl, let me hear all those sounds you make.” He says, the angle you were at puts him deeper than before.

The slightest movements and you can feel it in your stomach. It’s like he can hear your thoughts because his hand moves from your chin to your stomach. An arm wrapped around your torso, his big hand spread over your stomach.

"That's what you want, isn't it?" He taunts, leaning over you so his lips were by your ear.

You can feel him everywhere; every part of you belonged to Ben and he knew as much.

Ben lets you fall back onto the bed, both of his hands on your hips. Your moans are muffled by the fact that your face was buried in the sheets. Ben's thrusts are rough, his hips digging into your ass with each one.

“Maybe I should fuck a baby into you, hm?” He asked no one in particular, he wasn't expecting an answer. "Let you stay home and be my pretty little housewife, you'd like that wouldn't you?"

You mumble something, neither of you catches it. Your thoughts are all fuzzy, the thoughts blurring together into one and you feel yourself slipping over the edge.

You were close enough that you could taste it, a few more thrusts and you’re over the edge, his name falling from your lips. The way you were clenching around him causes him to follow behind you, the man falling onto your back.

The two of you are laying there, Ben on top of you still and you let out a laugh.

“What?” He asks, confused.

“Nothing,” you hum. “I love you,” you tell him.

You lay there for a bit, Ben untangling himself from you to get comfortable. The man looks over at you when you push the blanket off of you.

"Where are you going?"

"Didn't you want to go outside?" You asked, brows furrowed. Ben rolls his eyes and leans over, dragging your arm to pull you back into bed.

You tucked into his side, the two of you cuddled into each other. "The snow will be there later, won't it?" He asks.

You shift a bit, looking up at him. "And if it all melts? And you don't get to make your snowman?"

"It'll be worth it." He smiles, leaning down to kiss you.

--

taglist: @nosugarallspice  @evieepepi08 @mimithepooh @koufaxx @dannyramirezwife-simpaccount @topguncultleader @molliemoo3 @aisharmi @mamako23 @ac3may @lewislcver @miahgonzalez16  @books-and-netflix-pls  @wibi96 @bwddermilch @pedrisgatorade  @clarasenchant @sainzluvrr // @trentsfav @trentsmyfave @noturbabe22