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Jealous Jinshi letting Maomao know he's jealous in his own Jinshi way

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finished ep 8 of the apothecary diaries

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Jinshi can't sleep (based on that meme LMAO)

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Claimed in Every Way .｡*･ﾟﾟ

Summary: Dating Sirius Black means always being the center of attention—whether you like it or not. With his leather jackets, his lazy smirk, and that protective streak that runs deeper than he lets on, Sirius makes sure everyone knows who you belong to.

WARNINGS: a litle smut/NSFW, possessive Sirius Black

sirius black x f!reader

The moment you stepped out of Charms class, you could feel him watching you.

Sirius Black, leaning against a stone pillar like it owed him money, arms crossed, eyes dark, mouth curled in that half-smirk that promised trouble. His tie was loose, collar open just enough to distract, and his hair—Merlin, that hair—was a chaotic halo around his annoyingly perfect face.

You didn’t even get a chance to say hello before he pushed off the wall and stalked over to you like he had a mission.

"Did any of these assholes mess with you?" he asked, voice low and dangerous.

You raised an eyebrow. "No."

He stared at you, waiting.

You smirked. "You've marked your territory so hard they’re scared to even say hello."

That got a grin out of him.

“Good,” he muttered, before crowding you against the corridor wall, hands braced on either side of your head. “Still doesn’t mean I won’t remind them.”

You blinked. “Remind who?”

He tilted his head. “Anyone who so much as thinks about looking at you like they’ve got a chance.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Sirius.”

“Yes?”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“And you’re mine.”

Your breath hitched. Not because you disagreed—but because of the way he said it. Like it was an undeniable truth. Like it was the only thing that mattered.

His gaze flicked to your mouth, then back up. “Come with me.”

“To the library?”

He grinned, dark and lazy. “Not even close.”

You didn’t remember walking to the Astronomy Tower, not really. Your mind was spinning too fast—buzzing with adrenaline, heat, and the weight of his hand on the small of your back as he guided you upstairs, away from curious eyes.

By the time you reached the door, Sirius had already locked it behind you.

“Take this off,” he murmured, fingers brushing the edge of your robe.

You stepped out of it slowly, tossing it over a nearby bench, then turned to face him. “You know, for someone who says I’m already marked, you seem very determined to leave a few more bruises.”

He stepped into your space. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

You didn’t get a chance to reply.

His mouth was on yours in a heartbeat—hungry, rough, consuming. His hands slid into your hair as your back hit the stone wall, and you gasped when he bit down on your bottom lip, just enough to sting.

“Sirius,” you breathed, tugging at his tie.

He let you loosen it, just long enough for him to slip your shirt from your shoulders. His hands were everywhere—tracing, squeezing, memorizing. He kissed down your throat, pausing at your collarbone. When he sucked a mark into your skin, right where your shirt wouldn’t hide it, you shivered.

“S’that okay?” he asked, voice a gravelly whisper.

You nodded, pulling him back up by the collar. “I want them to see.”

He groaned against your mouth. “You’ll be the death of me.”

“Then die properly,” you teased.

Something in him snapped after that.

He lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to the windowsill bench as if you weighed nothing. His fingers tugged at your waistband, lips never leaving yours. Everything he did was a blur of heat and want—every motion threaded with possessiveness, with love disguised as need.

And when he finally pushed into you—slow, deep, deliberate—he cursed under his breath and dropped his forehead to yours.

“Fuck, you feel like home.”

You could only moan in response, clutching at his shoulders, your nails leaving half-moon dents in his skin.

He moved slowly at first, savoring, drawing out every sound you made. But it didn’t take long before the pace turned urgent—his hips snapping forward, your name a prayer on his lips, your thighs trembling around his waist.

When you came, it was with your head thrown back and Sirius growling your name like it was the only word he knew.

He followed with a broken gasp, arms tightening around you like he could fuse you together.

After, you sat tangled in each other’s arms, skin still warm, clothes half-on, breath slowing.

Sirius pressed a kiss to your temple. “Next time someone looks at you for too long, I might just shag you right there.”

You smirked. “Kinky.”

He pulled back, smug. “Only for you.”

You leaned into him. “You're insane.”

“I’m yours,” he corrected.

And Merlin help anyone who forgot it.

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Can we have like a Lee (TWD) fem Y/n whose been a resident in Jacksons for years, and actually was the one who originally found Ellie first. She took care of the girl as a kid but then they got separated. Would be nice if she managed to get along with Joel until both of them fall for each other. A made family.

Hellooo, i hope you like it ~ ♡

The Ones We Keep .｡*･ﾟﾟ

Summary: Years before Joel Miller ever met Ellie, you found her. Just a scared little girl in a torn world, and you did your best — fed her, protected her, taught her to fight and survive.

joel miller x f!reader

You’d been in Jackson three winters.

By the time Tommy pulled Joel through the front gates, you were already knee-deep in your usual patrols, hauling a busted fence post out near the south edge. Life had become routine — or as routine as it could be when the world had ended.

You didn’t expect anything that day.

Definitely not her.

“Patrol’s back!” someone shouted.

You looked up from the post, sweat on your brow and mud on your boots.

Three riders.

Two men. One kid.

The kid—

Your heart stopped.

“Ellie?”

Her head turned. Scanned the courtyard. She wasn’t looking for anything in particular—

Until her eyes landed on you.

And everything else fell away.

"Y/N?” Her voice cracked.

You didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

She dropped her bag and ran.

Straight into your arms.

And you collapsed into each other, both of you shaking, breathing hard, holding on like you were afraid the other would disappear again.

“I thought you were dead,” she sobbed.

“I thought you were gone.”

“I tried to wait. I swear I did.”

“I should’ve come back.”

Neither of you let go.

Not for a long time.

Joel stood back, arms crossed. Watching.

Your name had come up once before — when Ellie was half-asleep on some motel floor, mumbling about a woman who used to hum lullabies while sharpening knives. Joel had thought it was a dream.

Guess not.

Tommy leaned in. “You know her?”

Joel’s jaw tensed. “Ellie does.”

Tommy smirked. “She’s one of ours. Found her three years ago half-starved and mean as hell.”

Joel didn’t say anything. But he looked again.

You were different from most in Jackson. Carried yourself like someone who’d fought through hell and didn’t apologize for it. He could tell by the way you crouched when Ellie spoke, the way you scanned every inch of her like you were checking for wounds.

That wasn’t just friendship.

That was something older. Deeper.

And Joel, for the first time in a long time, felt… uncertain.

That night, you stayed with Ellie. She wouldn’t let go of your hand, even when Maria offered fresh sheets.

Joel watched you both from the doorway, silent.

“I’ll take care of her tonight,” you said softly.

He didn’t argue.

He didn’t know how.

You and Joel didn’t talk much the first few days.

He was guarded. Distrustful. So were you.

But Ellie was a thread — the one thing you both wrapped your lives around. She pulled you together without even trying.

It started with small things. You walking with them to the stables. Him fixing your busted radio without being asked. You offering your last cigarette when he looked ready to snap.

Trust came slowly.

Then one day, Joel caught you tucking Ellie in on Maria’s porch, your voice low as you told some old story she still remembered from before.

She laughed like she hadn’t in weeks.

Joel stared.

You caught his eye.

“She’s tougher than she looks,” you said.

He nodded. “Got that from you?”

You shrugged. “We’re all built from someone.”

Ellie started calling the three of you a team.

“My weird apocalypse parents,” she joked once, scarf pulled over her nose, snow crunching underfoot. You snorted.

Joel nearly choked on his coffee.

But she wasn’t wrong.

Somehow, you — with your patched-up jacket and aching heart — had managed to crack Joel Miller’s armor. Not with charm. Not with softness. But with a quiet kind of strength that mirrored his own.

And he found himself wanting to be around you.

Not just for Ellie.

But for himself.

You didn’t expect to care about Joel Miller.

At first, he was just Ellie’s… something. Guardian. Luggage handler. Whatever it was that kept them moving toward Jackson.

But it didn’t take long to figure him out.

He watched everything. Said little. Trusted no one.

You recognized the signs — you'd worn them yourself once. That deep-buried ache that only surfaces when you're finally safe enough to feel again.

And Joel Miller? He was starting to feel again.

Especially around you.

It was a patrol that changed things.

You weren’t meant to be paired up — a last-minute reshuffle after one of the newer kids came down with frostbite. Joel didn’t even look at you when you saddled your horse beside his.

“Try not to talk too much,” he muttered.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you shot back.

The cold outpost outside the valley ridge was a solid three-hour ride. Just you, him, and the wind slicing between pine trees.

You rode in silence. Mostly.

Until you hit a downed tree across the path and dismounted to check the ground.

Joel followed, gun out, eyes sharp.

Then he noticed your limp.

“You alright?”

You paused. “Old scar.”

He didn’t press.

You liked that about him.

The cabin was half-frozen. You took first watch while Joel built the fire.

He didn’t complain once, but the way he flexed his shoulder told you he was sore.

“Give it here,” you said, nodding to the wood bundle he’d dropped.

“I’ve got it.”

“Joel.”

He stopped. Handed it over.

You knelt by the fire. Lit it. Watched the flames catch.

When you turned, he was staring.

“Didn’t think you’d still be here,” he said quietly. “After what you lost.”

You didn’t ask how he knew.

Probably Ellie. Or Tommy. Or just the way you carried yourself.

You met his gaze. “Didn’t think you would be either.”

Something passed between you then. Not sympathy. Not pity.

Recognition.

Like two wolves eyeing one another after circling the same wound for years.

Later, you sat by the fire, shoulder to shoulder.

Joel said nothing, just passed you a flask from his jacket.

You took it. Sipped. Passed it back.

"Ellie," he said, almost too quietly. "She talks about you."

You raised an eyebrow. "Good things, I hope."

He smirked. "Says you taught her how to shoot. And how to gut a rabbit."

You smiled faintly. “She used to gag.”

“She still does.”

Silence again. But softer this time.

“I thought she was gone,” you said. “And I hated myself for it. For leaving.”

Joel didn’t flinch. “We all left someone.”

You glanced at him. “Yeah?”

He looked at the fire. “My daughter.”

It was the first time he said it aloud to you.

You didn’t reply, just laid your head on his shoulder, smiling slightly as you felt his warmth.

He didn’t pull away.

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I'm loving your tommy stories so much, I always kind of wanted to see tommy have a found-family trope after sarah like joel did

Awwn, thank you! I know this isn't exactly a request, but I hope you like it anyway ~ ♡

What’s Left Behind .｡*･ﾟﾟ

Summary: After losing his niece, Tommy Miller never imagined he’d want to protect anyone like that again. But then you showed up in Jackson with nothing but a baby in your arms and a tired look in your eyes.

tommy miller x f!reader

-You showed up to Jackson in the middle of a snowstorm.

They almost didn’t open the gates.

You looked like a ghost, swaddled in rags and mud and blood and grief, barely holding a bundled baby to your chest. Three months old, you said. No name offered. Just her age.

You didn’t cry when they asked what happened to the father.

You didn’t answer, either.

Tommy didn’t meet you that first day. But he heard about you. Everyone did. The girl with the baby who wouldn’t stop shaking, even in front of a fire.

You stayed silent for days. Did what you were told. Moved where they pointed. Never asked for more than what was given.

It wasn’t until a week later, in the mess hall, that Tommy saw you again.

You were standing, bouncing the baby slowly, trying to eat one-handed. No one offered to help.

Tommy was halfway through his stew before he realized he’d been staring.

The baby cooed. A small, bright sound in a room full of scraped chairs and slurped spoons.

You smiled at her. The kind of smile people only give someone they’d walk through hell for.

Tommy stood.

He didn’t think much of it — just walked over to your table, and said, “Need a second set of hands?”

You looked at him. Eyes tired, guarded. But your arms were sore. And your stomach was louder than your fear.

You nodded.

He took her gently. She was warm. Heavy in the way healthy babies are. She blinked at him, confused for a second, then grinned.

He smiled back.

Didn’t expect the sudden pressure in his chest. The ache.

He looked at you.

“You got a name for her?”

You hesitated.

Then: “Eden.”

He nodded. “That’s a strong name.”

You said nothing else.

But the next day, when he offered to carry firewood to your cabin, you let him.

It became a habit.

He’d swing by, say it was no trouble, take Eden for a loop around the settlement so you could bathe or eat or just breathe.

And Eden… Eden lit up when she saw him.

By the second week, she was babbling in his arms. Reaching for the buttons on his coat. Clinging to his shirt like it was her favorite thing in the world.

It did something to him. Opened something up.

Tommy hadn’t touched a baby since Sarah.

Hadn’t even thought about it.

But this little girl — this soft, gurgling spark of life — had no idea what the world had taken from him. She only knew that he kept coming back. That he was warm. That he smiled when she did.

And he started thinking about her more than he meant to.

About you, too.

One day, he brought over a hand-carved rattle.

Didn’t say much when he gave it to you. Just shrugged.

“Had some spare wood. Thought she might like it.”

You blinked at the smooth, sanded edges. The tiny engraving of a star near the handle.

You held it like it might break.

Then: “Thank you.”

Tommy smiled.

“She’s lucky to have you,” he said.

You didn’t answer.

Not at first.

Then you whispered, “I’m the lucky one.”

Things changed slowly after that.

You’d let him in more. Let him hold Eden longer. Let him bring food over, or fix a broken board in your porch.

You still didn’t talk about what came before.

But one night, Eden had a fever.

And you panicked.

You ran to Tommy’s cabin barefoot, eyes wild.

“She won’t stop crying,” you choked out. “I don’t know what to do.”

He dressed in seconds. Followed you back. Held her. Checked her forehead. Helped you cool her down. Held your hand while she was being cared for by the community doctor.

“She’s gonna be okay,” he said, over and over. “I promise.”

You cried into his chest until dawn.

He didn’t sleep.

After that, things shifted.

He started calling her kiddo.

You started calling him Tommy instead of sir.

One day you laughed at something he said — really laughed — and his chest ached for the first time in years.

Not because it hurt.

Because it didn’t.

Spring came.

And one afternoon, he was walking Eden around in the field just outside the gates, humming something soft, when you came out of the trees behind him.

He didn’t hear you until you said: “You’re good with her.”

He turned.

You looked nervous. Hands twisted in your coat.

“She likes you more than she likes me sometimes,” you added, voice almost too low to hear.

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “Not possible.”

You shrugged. “She gets quiet with you. Safe.”

He shifted her in his arms.

“She is safe. With both of us.”

You hesitated. “I didn’t think I’d have anyone after her dad.”

Tommy didn’t speak.

You stepped closer. “I didn’t think anyone would want us.”

His throat tightened.

“Would it be alright,” you whispered, “if we stayed?”

His voice cracked. “You already have.”

That night, he sat with you by the fire.

Eden asleep between you both.

You rested your head on his shoulder.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t speak, just kissed your head and smiled.

And with that, he felt the weight of something returning he thought had been buried for years.

Something he hadn’t dared to hope for.

But something just as real.

[httpvomitello]

https://www.tumblr.com/httpvomitello/786378481806229504/can-you-pls-do-an-angst-fic-where-femreader-is?source=share

Ahhh this is great, thank you💙😭

You're welcome! I'm glad you liked it ☺️✨️

[httpvomitello]

Can you pls do an angst fic where fem!reader is sarah's little sister and when she dies joel enters in such a heavy grief he ends up not being a good dad and makes her feel abandoned and forgotten, and tommy is the one who unnoficially takes to himself the role of father figure/protector seeing she needs it?

And one day, after years of reader living with tommy as if she were his little girl, joel (who might be finding himself again, maybe through ellie like canon) decides to have a heated heart to heart (like they had in episode one) accusing tommy of "made my child get distant with me" but tommy starts to giving a sense of reality to joel, saying everything he wants (like how joel made this himself and tommy just did what he had to do?)

Very tommy "might not be the dad, but the dad who stepped up" miller vibes. And a little jealousy now that joel wants the role back, just when Tommy got so used to this role already

Helloo, i hope you like it ~ ♡♡

The One Who Stayed .｡*･ﾟﾟ

Summary: Tommy Miller became your anchor when Joel couldn’t even look at you without breaking. He tucked you in, kept you safe, taught you to survive. Raised you like his own.

tommy miller & niece!reader

joel miller & daughter!reader

You were only six when Sarah died.

Only six when you saw your father fall to his knees in the dirt, cradling her body like the world might come undone if he let go.

And maybe it did.

Because the Joel Miller you remembered disappeared that night.

And in his place was someone hollow.

Someone who stopped speaking. Stopped looking at you. Stopped trying.

You clung to him the first few days. You cried so hard your voice gave out. You curled up on his chest like Sarah used to, hoping it might wake something in him.

But he just laid there. Breathing. Silent.

And when you whispered, “Daddy, I’m still here,” he didn’t answer.

It was Tommy who noticed you slipping through the cracks.

He’d show up to check on Joel and find you crying into your knees.

One night, Joel didn’t even notice when you didn’t come home.

Tommy did.

He found you, cold and alone behind a church wall.

He carried you home.

But not back to Joel’s place.

He took you with him.

It was only meant to be a few days.

But those days turned into weeks. Then months.

And Joel never came to bring you back.

He barely even asked where you were.

Tommy didn’t say much about it. He didn’t have to.

He just wrapped your hand in his, wiped your tears when they came, and started braiding your hair like Sarah used to do for you.

You stopped calling Joel dad.

Not on purpose. Not out of hate.

Just because he stopped being one.

But Tommy never tried to take that title.

He never asked for it.

Still… when you were nine and someone asked, “Is that your dad?” and you nodded without thinking, he didn’t correct you.

He just smiled at you later and said, “Don’t worry, kid. I’ve got you.”

And he always did.

Years passed.

You grew into your own. Smart. Sharp. A little quieter than you used to be. A little more guarded.

But Tommy saw you—all of you.

He taught you how to shoot. How to track deer. How to tell when someone’s lying. He knew the days you needed space and the nights you couldn’t fall asleep unless someone was in the chair by your bed.

And when he tucked you in, you never said it out loud, but you thought it—

This is what a father’s supposed to be.

Then Joel came back.

With a girl.

Ellie.

He was older. Worn. Still hard to read.

But when his eyes found you across the street in Jackson, you saw it.

Recognition.

And regret.

He tried to talk to you. Awkwardly. Like a stranger approaching a wild animal.

You were polite.

But distant.

Because how do you talk to someone who buried your sister and then left you in the wreckage?

How do you talk to someone who stopped being your father the moment your world shattered?

The real fracture came days later.

Tommy came home from the stables quiet, jaw tight. He didn’t even take off his coat.

You knew something was wrong.

“What happened?”

He sighed. “Joel—cornered me today.”

Your stomach twisted.

“What did he say?”

Tommy sat down hard. “Said I took you from him. That I turned you against him.”

You blinked.

Then laughed.

It wasn’t a funny laugh. More like a cracked one.

“He really thinks that?”

Tommy rubbed his hands together, rough palms dragging down his face. “He’s hurtin’. I get it. He’s feelin’ the weight now.”

“Now?” You looked away. “I was six. I waited years. He didn’t even say my name.”

“I know,” Tommy said softly.

“Did you tell him that?”

“I did more than that.”

FLASHBACK – Tommy’s POV

Joel’s voice had cracked with fury. “She’s my daughter, Tommy.”

Tommy had stepped in, face tense. “She was. But when she needed you—you were gone.”

“I lost Sarah.”

Tommy’s voice rose. “So did she. But unlike you, she didn’t get to grieve. She had to survive it. And I was the one who held her through it.”

Joel’s expression had twisted. “You replaced me.”

“No,” Tommy had snapped. “You left a hole. I just refused to let her fall through it.”

Back in the present, your voice came out small.

“He wants to be a dad again.”

Tommy looked at you.

“Do you want him to?”

You didn’t answer.

Because the truth was more complicated than yes or no.

You missed what he used to be.

But that version of Joel died with Sarah.

And the man who was left?

You weren’t sure he had a place in your heart anymore.

Later that night, Joel came to see you.

You didn’t let him inside. You met him on the porch.

He stood there, eyes lined with age and guilt, hands trembling a little.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “For everything.”

You looked at him. Really looked at him.

He looked like a man who’d lost too much.

But so had you.

“I needed you,” you whispered. “And you weren’t there.”

“I know.”

“Uncle Tommy was.”

Joel’s shoulders dropped.

“And he still is.”

You didn’t say “you don’t get to come back and claim me now.”

You didn’t have to.

Your silence said it all.

And yet, you two talked a little.

Later, when you walked back inside, Tommy looked up from the couch.

You crossed the room, curled up next to him like you used to when you were little, and rested your head against his shoulder.

“He said sorry,” you mumbled.

“Yeah?”

You nodded.

“Still my girl?” he asked gently.

You didn’t hesitate.

“Always.”

And Tommy smiled. Proud of his daughter.

You don’t talk to Joel.

Not really.

You nod if he says hi. Keep your voice even when you answer. But you don’t talk.

You’re polite. Distant.

A stranger wearing your last name.

It’s been weeks now.

Tommy doesn’t push. He lets you be. But you know he watches you whenever Joel’s nearby. Like he’s waiting to see if something will change.

It doesn’t.

Not until Ellie shows up at your door one afternoon, kicking the heel of her boot against the porch like she owns it.

She looks awkward.

You’re suspicious already.

“What?”

She squints at you. “Can I come in?”

You cross your arms. “Why?”

She shrugs. “Because I have something important to ask, and it’s cold as hell.”

You roll your eyes and step back.

Ellie marches in like a one-girl army, flops down on your couch, and starts poking through a bowl of stale trail mix on the table.

“Do you even like this stuff?”

“Not really.”

“Figures.”

She pops a peanut in her mouth anyway.

Then: “So. Your dad’s Joel.”

You stiffen.

“My biological dad.”

She hums. “Right. And Tommy’s, your uncle is like… the real one?”

You don’t answer.

She glances up at you. “You don’t have to act like it’s a trick question.”

You look down at your hands. “What do you want, Ellie?”

“I wanna know,” she says, “if you ever missed him.”

You blink.

“Joel?”

“Yeah.”

She says it so plainly, like it’s not a name that opens wounds.

“I was six when he stopped being my dad.”

Ellie watches you. Doesn’t flinch.

“People mess up. Doesn’t mean they stop being your parent.”

You laugh. Dry. “It kind of does.”

Silence.

Then she says, softer, “He talks about you.”

Your heart pulls tight.

“He thinks you hate him.”

You don’t say anything.

“I don’t think you do,” she adds. “I think… you’re still hurt. And he doesn’t know how to come back from that.”

You swallow hard.

“I waited for him, Ellie. I waited for years.”

She nods.

“And uncle Tommy came. Joel didn’t.”

“I know.”

You blink at her. “Do you?”

She nods again. “I do. ‘Cause… I didn’t have anyone, at first. And then Joel showed up and started giving a shit. And it messed me up. Because I didn’t know how to let someone care about me like that.”

You look away.

Ellie leans forward, elbows on her knees.

“He doesn’t know how to fix what he broke with you. But I think he wants to.”

You whisper, “It’s not that simple.”

“No,” she says. “But it’s not impossible either.”

She stands.

“Just thought you should know.”

You sit with that for hours after she leaves.

Just you, and the ghosts.

And the one man still trying to come back from the dead.

The next morning, you go out.

Your feet carry you down streets you’ve walked a hundred times.

You don’t even realize where you’re going until you see the porch.

Joel’s porch.

He’s sitting there with a guitar on his lap.

He looks up as you approach.

Doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

You stand in the snow.

And you don’t know why you say it, or where it comes from, but—

“You used to make pancakes on Sundays.”

Joel’s shoulders tense.

“I’d always want chocolate chips, and Sarah would want bananas.”

His voice comes slow. Careful. “You hated bananas.”

“I still do.”

You look at him.

Really look.

Older. Quieter. Still haunted.

“I used to miss you every day,” you say.

Joel’s voice is low. “I missed you every day too.”

“You didn’t come back.”

“I know.”

Silence.

“I had to let go,” you whisper.

“I don’t blame you.”

You sit on the steps, a safe space between you.

“You’re not my dad anymore,” you say.

He nods. “I know that too.”

“But maybe,” you add, “you can try being… something.”

His voice cracks. “I’d like that.”

You nod once.

No promises.

But something.

You don’t tell Tommy right away.

But he knows.

Later that night, when he sees the way your face softens just a little at the mention of Joel’s name, he gives you a small smile.

Doesn’t say “I’m proud of you.”

Doesn’t need to.

You already know.

Because Tommy’s still your dad.

He’ll always be your dad.

But maybe now, there’s room for the man who lost his way…

…to find a way back in.

[httpvomitello]

hiii i haven’t read anything angst in a while so i was wondering about a fem reader x george weasley were he cheats and basically there’s this big argument. (im also listening to burn from hamilton rn and that’s the vibe im thinking of, but if you want to do smth else just run with it!!)

Hellooo, thanks for the request and i hope you like it ~ ♡

Ashes in Your Wake .｡*･ﾟﾟ

Summary: You loved George Weasley with everything you had—gave him your heart, your loyalty, your laughter, your home. But when the truth comes out—that he kissed someone else—you don't scream, you don't cry. Not right away. You just start packing.

george weasley x f!weasley

WARNINGS: Angst, hurt, betrayal, cheating, break-up

It was stupid, really.

The way you found out.

Not a letter, not a confession. Not even a guilty look. Just... whispers. Whispers in the back corner of the Three Broomsticks from a girl who didn’t know you were sitting two tables away. From a girl who didn’t know you.

“I didn’t mean to—he said they were fighting. That it didn’t mean anything,” she laughed softly, stirring her drink. “But George Weasley kissed me first.”

And just like that, your world tilted.

The walk back to your shared flat was silent. Cold. You didn’t feel the wind. You didn’t feel anything.

Not until you walked through the front door and saw his stupid boots by the fireplace. That was when it hit.

You took off your coat, slowly. Hung it up. To any outsider, you looked calm. Serene, even.

But inside?

A storm was building.

He walked in later, smelling like firewhiskey and warmth and something that used to feel like home.

"Hey, love," he said, smiling. "Was just about to go looking for y—"

"Who is she?" you asked, voice steady.

He blinked. The smile faltered. "What?"

You turned to face him, arms crossed. “Who. Is. She.”

The silence stretched between you like a blade.

“I—” he licked his lips, eyes darting. “It didn’t mean anything.”

You laughed. A single, humorless sound that shattered the quiet. “Oh, that makes it better.”

“Y/N, it was just—one kiss.”

“And that makes it worse, George,” you said, finally raising your voice. “You kissed someone else and didn’t even have the decency to tell me. I had to find out from some girl at the bar who didn’t even know my name.”

He stepped toward you. “I was drunk. We’d had that fight. I thought—”

“You thought what?” You backed away. “That I’d stopped loving you? That kissing someone else would fix whatever was broken between us?”

His voice cracked. “No. I just—I made a mistake.”

You shook your head. “A mistake is forgetting an anniversary. A mistake is breaking a mug. This was a choice.”

Tears burned at your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. You would not cry over him. Not tonight.

"I gave you everything," you whispered. "Every single part of me. I stood by you after the war. After the shop. After Fred—"

He flinched.

"And this is what I get?"

“I never meant to hurt you—”

“But you did,” you cut him off. “And now you have to live with that.”

You turned away, grabbing your suitcase from the closet. His voice broke behind you.

“Y/N, please! Don’t go. Don’t do this.”

You didn’t look back as you started folding clothes. “You burned me, George. And I loved you too much to see the fire creeping in until it was too late.”

He came closer, voice raw. “Tell me what to do. I’ll fix it.”

You turned then, finally meeting his eyes.

“You can’t. You already lit the match.”

You didn’t scream. You didn’t throw things. You didn’t collapse into sobs. You just packed.

That, somehow, hurt him more.

Because he'd expected a fight.

He wanted a fight. Something to cling to. Something to prove you still cared.

But the calm finality in your voice was worse than any curse.

It meant you were done.

Not angry. Not devastated.

Just... finished.

By the time you reached the door, suitcase in hand, he was crying. And you?

You were silent.

But as you stepped outside, you turned just enough to say:

“I hope she was worth it.”

And then you left.

You didn’t burn the letters he wrote. You didn’t shred the photos. You just packed them away in a box, and put them on a shelf you didn’t plan to touch for a long, long time.

Because you refused to burn for someone who thought your heart was disposable.

[httpvomitello]

Hey I’m the same one that ask for this

https://www.tumblr.com/httpvomitello/770246492812410880/i-need-more-rottmnt-x-fem-reader-villains-please

Sorry I didn't know you were not talking rottmnt request sorry about the but now that you are can you please do this request I see you taking a request agen

Heey sweetie, i'm sorry but i'm not writing for TMNT anymore 🥲

[httpvomitello]

i found your account on search by an alicent fic but on your rules page there’s no mention of you writing for hotd/got? do you not write for them?

xx anon

I was writing for hotd/got, but I accidentally deleted what I had in the masterlist. 😭😭

(I'll probably write about hotd/got again, but maybe not anytime soon, because I've been pretty busy with some stuff lately)

[httpvomitello]

Yeah, no thanks

Pov: you're reading fanfiction and suddenly y/n starts to call him daddy

[httpvomitello]

SINNERS 2025 — dir. Ryan Coogler

[httpvomitello]

hey babes

i'm the anon who requested the peter comforting reader after the rude comment and it was perfection, it was so cute <333

thank you so much stunner, have a lovely rest of your week xx

Thank yoou! I hope you have a amazing weeking too, and feel free to request even more! ✨️

[httpvomitello]

SINNERS 2025 — dir. Ryan Coogler

[httpvomitello]

"JUST A WORD" WAS SO CUTE🥺THANK YOU💙💙💙

AWWN, I'M GLAD YOU LIKED IT! ☺️✨️

[httpvomitello]

One thing that hasn’t been talked about much with Sinners is the relationship between Mary and Stack. Throughout the marketing of this film, I was honestly expecting Mary to be some kind of seductress who sexualizes one of the twins and it would be revealed that she’s the vampire that infiltrates the function and turns everyone. I was expecting Mary to be a commentary on the sexualization/fetishization of black men by white women/people. However, that’s not what Coogler did with Hailee Steinfeld’s character. Mary is a bit of a pushy potty mouth but once you learn things about her and her life, the brazenness makes a lot of sense. The twins left her and her mother behind to make a ton of money and didn’t show up to the funeral even though she took care of them. Now, after however many years, Stack and his brother are back in town with booze and money to open a juke joint. Her feelings are quite understandable. What I really like is how there is no fetishizing or crazy shit happening between her and Stack. Truth is, Mary really loved Stack and Stack loved Mary. It’s probably the healthiest depiction of an interracial relationship/affair ever. As a couple, they really do love each other. It’s actually sad to hear Stack break down and explain why he couldn’t be with Mary. That connection and love is apparent and hasn’t left either of them. It obviously leads to a dark fate for them, but even that ending revealed something beautiful. They just wanted to be free to love each other. Stack and Mary weren’t free to love each other cause of skin color, racism and this crazy life he’s living. They both ultimately turn into vampires but at least they’re now free to be with one another. It’s tragic but kinda sweet.