#ginger ginger you’re a witch! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

frannyzooey · 1 year

Text

Short Days, Long Nights: 14

Joel Miller x f!reader

Series Masterlist

Rating: M (childbirth, PTSD, mentions of grief)

A/N: I tried to make this as non graphic as possible, focusing instead on the emotions of the characters. The entire reason I wrote this fic in the first place, I couldn't have made it through this chapter without the incredible suggestions, support and beta reading of @the-scandalorian and @the-ginger-hedge-witch. I truly hope you enjoy ❤❤

In the blue wash of time between the middle of the night and the dawn, he’s asleep next to you when the first pains start.

Deep at the root of your spine, a low throb blooms. Fading in and out, you try to ignore the manageable ache and when you can’t, your first instinct is to curl in on yourself. So you do just that: rub the heel of your hand against your tailbone, letting your feet slide together in the same rhythmic figure eight you soothe yourself with when you’re really sick.

That motion alone should have been a giveaway, but it doesn’t strike you until the sun is rising that this is something different.

Still, you let him sleep.

On an instinct to be alone, you slip from the bed to go sit out on the porch. Another swell of pain ripples across your back, the sensation still light enough to soothe with a steady rub, and a taut contraction stretches across your hips for a fleeting moment, then disappears.

The sun peeking just above the horizon, you breath low and slow, watching as it makes a steady ascent. The peaceful setting seeps in, blanketing you in reassurance and comfort, and you’re remarkably calm when he comes out of the bedroom in search of you.

Sleep mussed curls and a frown on his face, his arms are crossed tight over his chest as he wards off the morning chill.

“What’s wrong?” His voice is husky and low, thick with sleep.

“I think it’s gonna be today.”

—

He dresses immediately, setting his mind to tasks you’ve discussed for months beforehand in an attempt to calm his nerves. Still, his hands tremble when he walks down to the bank to fill pails with water. He balls them into fists and shakes them in frustration, willing them to stop.

Hours, days: there is no way of knowing how long this is going to take. He hates the uncertainty of it, the edge of danger that you have to teeter upon while he is helpless to stop it. Anything, at any moment, could go wrong and he would have no way of knowing what or how to help you.

He’d be fucking useless, just like he was before.

The guilt he’s always felt creeps through his chest like the fungus that’s infected everything else, settling deep between his ribs. It branches up through his mind, invading his thoughts and the heavy weight of it pulls at him; his shoulders rounding in a slump. His eyes close tight, his fingers digging deep into the damp sand as he braces himself on the ground.

The thick, suffocating terror he felt on Outbreak Day comes back to him easily, a different version of the same brand of helplessness he felt on the day Sarah was born. The same as what he feels now, he feels his chest tighten and constrict, his breathing getting shallower and shallower.

No.

Fighting against it, he shakes himself from the reverie of images: blood, pain, anguish, sobbing. An intensely feral need rises like bile; an urge to burn the world to the ground while screaming just to make sure nothing touches what is his.

Useful to no one if he lets it take over, he pushes it all away. Practiced in remaining calm under pressure, he takes a deep breath, focusing on the water.

In and out, in and out, timing each breath with the gentle lap of waves along the shore.

He speaks silent affirmations to himself - prayers, if he was still a praying man.

He can do this. He won’t fail. He can’t.

Gathering himself, he stands.

“You doin’ okay?” he asks, stepping back into the cabin. Shutting the door tight to keep out the spring chill, he sets the pails of water next to the wood stove and comes to sit next to you on the couch.

“Yea, I’m good.” A grimace of pain flits across your face for a split second, and he shifts to make room for you as you recline on the couch. Grabbing the blanket from across the back, he settles it over you.

“I think I should try to get some rest, but I’m not sure if I’ll be able to sleep.” Even as you say the words, a yawn breaks through.

“You’ll probably need it. Might not be a bad idea, ‘specially if you can sleep through some of the pain.” He rifles through the mix of bottles in front of you on the coffee table, placed there earlier by himself. “I don’t have anything stronger than ibuprofen,” he says apologetically. “But you can have some if you want?”

You wave it away, sliding down on the couch to try and get comfortable. “No, it’s okay. I can do without it for now. It’s not so bad.”

He moves to give you room, and your hand reaches for his, holding it tight.

“Stay with me? I don’t want to be alone when I wake up.”

The open vulnerability on your face pulls him in, the small way in which you ask breaking open his chest, and he immediately sits back, tugging your feet onto his lap.

“Of course, honey. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

He smoothes over the arches of your small socked feet, letting go when you curl them together, clearly a means to comfort yourself. He instead rests his hand on your shin in a reassuring hold, and watching your eyes flutter shut as your breathing deepens and slows, his veil of control stays in place while his mind begins to free fall.

Panic, guilt, nervous anticipation, panic.

Again he resists, using the warmth of your shin as an anchor.

He’s quiet: sitting with you for a bit, reading a little before giving up, double checking the supplies on the table. Making sure the bed in your old room is covered with a tarp from the shed, some old quilts piled on top of it.

Pacing until he wills himself to stop.

His eyes flick over to you every time he sees you shift in your sleep: your hand coming to rest on your belly, rubbing the underside with a fleeting wince of pain. He watches, and wishes he could take this all from you: every twinge of pain, everything that’s about to come.

The guilt he feels at being responsible for putting you in this position is something he thought he made peace with a while ago, but it flares bright with every small frown between your brows and when you wake with a soft whine of discomfort, he strides to your side immediately, helping you sit up.

Your pained sound grows louder, both of your hands splaying over the source as you clench your jaw, and feeling helpless, he does what he can, rubbing broad circles over your back.

“I’m right here, honey. I’m right here.”

You seem to give into his touch, leaning against it for strength and your fingers dig into the meat of his thigh as you ride it out.

He keeps rubbing, and the next few hours pass much the same: waiting and pain.

–

“Can you hand me that rag?”

The bed dips with his weight as he sits next to you, and wringing out the damp scrap of fabric in his hands, he runs it along your hairline.

“I can do it,” you protest, no real fight in the words as your eyes slip shut.

“I got it.”

You feel as wrung out as that rag, exhausted yet unable to rest. Keyed up with adrenaline, you’re trying to let your body take over and not fight every single contraction, but it’s hard - so hard. Each one wracks your body with a tight, seemingly endless crest of pain that steals the air from your lungs and makes it hard to breathe, forcing you to struggle on instinct alone.

He swipes the fabric along the bridge of your nose, gently guiding your face to the side so he can collect the sweat dusted across your cheeks. You focus on the delicate drag of the cloth, letting your body relax.

“Thank you.”

Not for the first time, he looks at his watch as if it still worked and then immediately away, directing his gaze out the window.

“Seems like they’re getting closer,” he remarks, his hand coming to rest on the hard swell of your stomach. “Does it feel like it?”

“I honestly…I don’t know. It’s hard to keep track.”

He nods and then leaves the room, coming back with a pencil and paper.

“It’s late. ‘Round four, I think, so you’ve been at it about twelve hours. Let me know when the next one starts, and I’ll count it out. I’ll keep track on here.”

He sets the paper down on the bedside table, his hand poised to begin making a chart and you rest your hold on top of his.

“I think…” you lick your dry lips, swallowing. “I think we just go with it. I feel like I’ll know when it’s time?”

If you don’t officially keep track of the time between them, you won’t officially know when it’s time to push but…something about it seems right to you, given the way you’ve learned to live without structured time.

That, and without an official “start time”, you can force your nerves to the bottom of your mind, delaying inevitable pain. Even if only for a little longer.

The stern look he gives you in response tells you how he feels about that answer, and he shakes his head.

“It’s not just about knowin’ when it’s time. It’s about knowin’ when it’s been too long.”

His logic wins over your fear, and a weighted silence lingers between the two of you. Not wanting to acknowledge what that would mean, you let his hand go and curl onto your side. Facing him, you let him know when the next contraction starts, and while he sets his pencil down to hold your hand, you watch his lips move with silent counts.

–

You just… let your body take over.

Existing in a plane of never ending cresting waves of crippling pain that come closer and closer together, you squeeze his hand just as tight as you squeeze your eyes shut with every single one. The fight inside of you fades, instinct ruling instead and needing to have faith in your body to do the right thing without any knowledge to guide you, you just…give in.

You should be terrified at the prospect of it, but you can’t seem to find the strength to care. Your body was built for this, designed for this, has done this very thing billions of times over throughout human existence and giving yourself over to that idea, you find yourself comforted, in a way.

You do what it tells you to do: take deep breaths when you can, curl onto your side into a tight ball when you need to, let tears fall freely from your eyes without embarrassment. You writhe and shift on the bed into whatever position feels comfortable, giving into the instinctual need to seek comfort at whatever cost.

Daylight shifts into twilight shifts into nightfall, and he’s with you throughout the whole thing, as steadfast as he’s always been.

At your side, like he’s always been.

There, like he’s always been.

With his reassuring presence beside you, you descend into a base version of yourself with his hand an anchor.

–

A quiet, formidable strength greater than the brute type he’s capable of emerges, and Joel watches as you close your eyes and draw on resources he didn’t know your body still had.

Underrated and overlooked in terms of survival, you may not have the physical skills he has but your internal strength and will to survive through hope and optimism are more valuable than his skills right now. Awestruck by the shift that happens before him, he wonders if that’s what's always subconsciously drawn him to you: this innate sense that you’ll fill in his blanks, bringing him a sense of peace when his life has known anything but.

You take his weaknesses and mold them into something good instead of a liability, meeting them with strengths of your own. He is responsible for so many things when it comes to you: your life, your well being, your survival. Seeing you now, taking charge of every one of those things with a fierce strength that outmatches anything he can provide in this situation, he not only understands that you have his back just as much, but also that you’ve always had it.

Two halves of a whole, your faith and his competence.

An equal partner, whose qualities shine bright in their quiet, unassuming way.

Your fingers twisted in the sheets, you prop yourself up against the headboard of the bed with a low groan and tell him when you’re ready.

“I think it’s time.”

You barely get the words out before you’re bearing down in taut silence, your jaw clenched and he shifts on the bed, his hands molding over your knees to gently pull them apart.

“Come on, honey. I’ve got you.”

–

His voice calls to you from the depths of your pain, the sound of it muffled behind the blood rushing in your ears and you use it like a beacon, something to focus on. The contractions one on top of another, it’s well past dark outside the cabin when everything seems to happen all at once:

A dark, wet patch of hair emerging; Joel’s eyes widening as his fingers tentatively reach out to touch it.

A sob catching in your throat; fluid soaking the blanket underneath you.

Pain so fierce and overwhelming it makes you lightheaded; a pressure so blindingly sharp and heavy and full that you scream before it abruptly stops, everything sliding out in a slick rush.

“You did it, honey,” he praises you, his head down as he cradles the baby in his hands. “You did it. She’s out.”

She. The sobs you let out are involuntary, a mixture of immense relief and joy paired with the crash of adrenaline and your limbs shake with exhaustion, your head falling back into the pillow he’s propped beneath your head.

It’s only then that the silence in the room comes to your attention.

“Joel?” You wearily push yourself up, trying to see her.

He’s looking down at the mattress with a deep frown of focus, his skin ashen and gray and your stomach bottoms out, panic flooding your chest. Limited as your knowledge is about babies, you know you should be hearing her make a sound right now. Any sound.

“Why isn’t she crying?” you ask, a slight tremble catching the end of the sentence.

He doesn’t answer you, instead staying focused on her, his hands smeared and glistening with blood as one splays over her impossibly tiny chest, his fingers rubbing along the dip of her sternum.

“Come on. Come on.”

His words have a frantic edge to them, one you can hear even with how he’s murmuring the near silent chant to himself and you mirror it, doing the same.

“Come on, baby. Come on.”

A thin whimper breaks the tense silence, her limbs suddenly flaring out in a silent fight against the world, and her timid cry blooms into a bright wail that pierces the air.

Relief floods out of you in sob, his own breaking free in the rush of a heavy exhale, and when he scoops her up, unshed tears glisten in his eyes. Handing her wet body to you, she’s matted and smeared with blood and slick, and she squirms on your bare chest for a moment, your arms automatically cradling her close.

Impossible tiny, just like he said.

“A she.” Your voice thick with tears, you look up at him and he grins down at you, his smile shining bright with pride.

“A she.”

Your cheek comes to rest on the crown of her head when he bends to press a kiss to your forehead and his murmurs against the sweat damp skin there make you cry even more.

“You did it, my girl. You did it.”

–

A slight tremble to his hands as he finishes tying off the umbilical cord, he gently hands her back to you and reaches for the bucket near the side of the bed.

“I’m gonna go empty this, but I’ll be right back.”

You acknowledge him, your arms tightening in their hold on her as you scoot back in your bed. Tucked safely against your chest, she’s already sliding into sleep and you join her, closing your eyes. Fixing the blanket around you, he picks up the bucket and leaves the room.

Night darkens the path as he makes his way down to the water, the setting around him awash in muted colors. Animals moving in their quest to hunt for the night, the fresh spring breeze rustles the new growth on the trees that surround him, but he sees and hears none of it, his vision beginning to tunnel.

Black gathers around the edges of the world, the basin in his hands falling onto the grass. His boots sinking into the sand, he barely makes it to the bank before he’s buckling, knees hitting the soft ground.

The image of the two of you sleeping flashes through his mind, and the pressure in his chest swells and overcomes him, emotion choking his airway. The intensity of the last twenty four hours seeps out of him, the image of her still body as he rubbed life into her fixed behind his clenched shut eyes and finally - finally - he lets it go with big, wracking sobs that pour out, a sound he tries to muffle with his hands.

Relief, relief.

–

June Miller.

A basin of warm water between the two of you on the bed, you watch as he cradles her endlessly moving body in his large hands and bathes her. Her limbs stretch and flex slowly, testing their newfound boundaries and not being able to decide on which face you want to look at more, you shift your gaze back and forth between her scrunched one and his more focused, intent one. He’s careful yet steady with his movements, the gentle splash of water the backdrop to the tiny squawks of protest she lets out.

The lantern illuminates them, a circle of light surrounding their figures in an intensely intimate way and you watch glistening drops of water slide down over his thick wrist as he cups some, pouring it over her hair.

“I know you don’t like it. I know.”

It’s innate, his soothing.

Second nature from the first time he held her and spoke to her, you could tell he’d done this before. His body curled protectively around her as he held her to his broad chest, his movements practiced and confident and you watched as it happened without him even realizing, like he didn’t have to think about caring for someone else - just doing it, as if he couldn’t help it.

Finishing bathing her with the fresh basin of water he brought back from the river, she keeps her eyes closed against the light of the world as he sets her in her cradle, turning to help you from the bed. You brace your hand on his solid shoulder as he kneels, exhaustion thickly blanketing your body as you feel soothing, firm wipes of wet warmth on your skin. He’s just as careful and detailed with it as he was with her, and after he dries and settles you in the bedroom you share with him, he crawls in after you, closing his eyes.

Dawn is breaking when you wake to the sound of a restless, small cry and you leave him sleeping when you go to grab her, bringing her back to bed. Brushing aside the soft blanket that covers her cheek, you look down and see two dark eyes blinking back up at you. Shaped just like his, they stay open.

You want to wake him because it feels…significant, this moment. She’s tiny — dark eyes, a button nose, a dot of a mouth and full little cheeks. Her eyes are open and so are yours and the two of you sit there and just — look. Basking in the strange sensation of silently learning each other, yet knowing each other so well already.

You remember what Joel said, about you and them and the peaceful stillness of sitting in the quiet and your vision waters, a tear slipping from the corner of your eye. More joy than you’ve felt in your whole life, the emotion is overwhelming - as if a beacon of pure, unfiltered light has flooded your entire body, lighting you from the inside out.

She keeps looking, her tiny brow scrunching and you smile down at her, another tear sliding free.

“Joel,” you whisper, and he’s up in an instant.

“Yea?”

It takes you a minute to speak, and his face shifts into alarm.

“What’s the matter? She okay?”

He sits up quickly, scooting closer to see her more clearly.

“Yea,” you reply, sniffing. “Look at her.”

She looks like you, like him, like her own self and you can’t stop looking at her, trying to find fleeting traces of every version.

Mesmerized, he strokes the soft back of her tiny hand over and over with his thumb, and his voice is a low gravel, full of soothing adoration.

“Hey, baby girl.”

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller/you #joel miller/reader #tlou fanfiction

1K notes · View notes

smallgodseries · 30 days

Text

She didn’t always look like this. Blame the British for occupying Malaysia in the late 18th century, when they encountered the ginger flower for the first time and came home calling all their redheads gingers. As if the redheads of the British Empire didn’t have enough to worry about, what with the witch hunts and assorted forms of libel. But then, the people of Malaysia also had better things to worry about at the time, what with being occupied by the British, who they hadn’t exactly invited to the neighborhood, and maybe we need to move on from the origins of terms, because this is a conversation that could go on all day…

Her image was beginning to shift again when the 20th century rolled around and a television show mirroring the seven deadly sins stranded on a desert island with the Devil Himself began to air, presenting a new redheaded girl to the world. Her name, of course, was Ginger, and Ginger found herself locked into another century of looking like a pasty white girl, sparking discussions of cultural appropriation whenever she comes to one of the culinary god potlucks and recipe exchanges. But she doesn’t complain.

She’s here to add a little zing to your life, a little flavor to your savor, and a little joy to your tastebuds. She only wants you to enjoy what you’re eating. And if that’s not enough, she has medicinal benefits, too; she’ll help your cold, ease your congestion, and hasten your recovery. And she’ll do it all with a smile on her face and a red flower in her hair, glorious to the last, forever happy to be here.

The great small god Ginger. Long may she blossom and grow.

#small gods #smallgodseries #icons and stories #seanan mcguire #lee moyer

226 notes · View notes

theblackdahliaemporium · 1 year

Text

Plant Correspondences:

This is going to be a long post! This is in no way, a complete list. This is Simply some Popular ones! If you have any other plants, herbs, or flowers you’re curious about, List them in the comments below!

Edit to add: Huckleberry! HUCKLEBERRY (Leaves): Good Fortune, Luck, Dream Work

TREES: • ACACIA ~ Clairvoyance, Divination, Visions, Wealth, Protection, Blessings • ALDER ~ Banishing, Transformation, Truth, Power of Water, Intuition • APPLE ~ Dream Work, Enchantment, Fertility, Love, Luck, Harmony • BIRCH ~ Reduces anxiety, Defensive Magick, Increases concentration, Creativity • CEDAR ~ Afterlife, Clairvoyance, Breaks Hexes, Psychic Ability • CYPRESS ~ Binding, Defensive Magick, Comfort, Mental Power, Wisdom • ELDER~ Grounding, Healing, Love, Magickal Power, Success • ELM ~ Intuition, Love, Pregnancy/Childbirth, Stability • JUNIPER ~ Fertility, Happiness, Protection, Optimism, Spirits, Strength • OAK ~ Confidence, Justice, Luck, Money, Success, Independence, Wealth • PINE ~ Beginnings, Blessings, Hope, Prosperity, Self-Work, Releasing • ROWAN ~ Astral Realm, Devotion, Guidance, Psychic Ability, Visions, Spirits • WILLOW ~ Moon Magick, Moon Power, Protection, Knowledge, Fertility • WITCH HAZEL ~ Healing, Inspiration, Willpower, Fidelity, Wisdom

HERBS & FLOWERS: • AGRIMONY ~ Harmony, Healing, Breaking Hexes, Dream Work, Protection • ALLSPICE~ Business, Luck, Success, Kindness, Money • ANGELICA ~ Repels Negativity, Divination, Purification, Success, • ANISE ~ Balance, Energy, Harmony, Purification, Well-Being • BASIL ~ Psychic Ability, Love (Reconciliation), Money, Messages/Omens • BELLADONNA ~ Imagination, Night Magick, Visions, Astral Realm • BETONY ~ Solving Problems, Security, Decreases Anxiety, Protection • BORAGE ~ Beginnings, Business success, Skills, Courage, Awareness • BLUEBELL ~ Kindness, Luck, Love, Manifestation, Overcoming Obstacles • CARNATION ~ Deep Love, Beauty, Communication, Fertility, Harmony, Emotions • CATNIP ~ Love, Luck, Psychic Ability, Spirits, Prevents Nightmares • CHAMOMILE ~ Blessings, Calming, Reduces Anger & Anxiety, Money, Luck • CINNAMON ~ Wealth, Money, Security, Luck, Desire, Attraction, Peace • CLOVE ~ Divination, Prosperity, Psychic Ability, Success, Truth, Visions • CLOVER ~ Grounding, Luck, Marriage, Prosperity, Success, Spiritual Balance • CUMIN ~ Fidelity, Harmony, The Home, Longevity, Love, Repels Negativity • DAFFODIL ~ Afterlife, Fairies, Love (Unrequited), Security, Spirits, Calming • DANDELION ~ Clairvoyance, Clarity, Divination, Communication, Spirits • DILL ~ Defensive Magick, Breaking Hexes, Love, Lust, Sex Magick, Money • FENNEL ~ Blessings, Repels Evil & Negative Energy (from entering the home) • FEVERFEW ~ Healing, Heartbreak, Love, Protection, Strength, Purification • GARLIC ~Banishing, Justice, Protection, Breaking Hexes, Release, Security • GINGER ~ Money, Pregnancy/Childbirth, Moon Magick, Unity, Success • HENBANE (highly poisonous) ~ Astral Realm, Divination, Love (Attract) • HONEYSUCKLE ~ Affection, Destiny, Happiness, Love, Peace, Well-Being • IVY ~ Attraction, Marriage, Love, Stability, Transformation, Fidelity, Omens • LAVENDER ~ Reduces Anger and Anxiety, Love, Manifestation, Luck, Rebirth • LEMON BALM ~ Business Success, Calming, Clarity, Fertility, Relationships • MANDRAKE (Poisonous) ~ Desire, Courage, spirits, Wealth, Omens, Bind • MISTLETOE (Poisonous) ~ Beginnings, Blessings, Business, Luck • MOONWORT ~ Clairvoyance, Divination, Love, Moon Magick, Money • MUGWORT ~ Spirits, Psychic Ability, Astral Realm, Awareness, Psychic Energy • NETTLE ~ Healing, Justice, Luck, Protection, Courage, Confidence • NUTMEG ~ Life, Luck, Love, Money, Power, Attract, Psychic Ability, Divination • ORRIS ROOT~ Astral, Protection, Relationships, Love, Sexual Attraction • PATCHOULI ~ Manifestation, Peace, Luck, Love (Attract), Money, Business • PEPPER ~ Motivation, Lust, Justice, Bind, Security, Strength • PEPPERMINT ~ Dream Work, Divination, Luck, Money, Visions, Healing • ROSE ~ Fertility, Family, Blessings, Love, Luck, Happiness, Beginnings • ROSEMARY ~ Psychic Ability, Psychic Protection, Inner Power, Luck, Afterlife • SAGE ~ Clairvoyance, Cleansing, Visions, Clears Negativity, Business • SANDALWOOD ~ Focus, Concentration, Success, Luck, Moon Magick, Blessings • ST. JOHN'S WORT ~ Strength, Power, Money, Consecrate/Bless, Prosperity • SNAPDRAGON ~ Clairaudience, Emotions, Money, Protection, Assertiveness • STAR ANISE ~ Divination, Psychic Ability, Purification, Consecrate/ Bless • STRAWBERRY ~ Beauty, Desire, Luck, Love, Relationships, Divination • SUNFLOWER ~ Clarity, Dream Work, Solar Energy, Light, Peace, Money, Luck • THYME ~ Healing, Happiness, Increasing, Rebirth, Protection, Calming • WORMWOOD ~ Clairvoyance, Dream Work, Guidance, Psychic Ability, Spirits • YARROW ~ Defense, Banishing, Heartbreak, Marriage, Healing, Release, Strength

2K notes · View notes

thestuffedalligator · 2 months

Text

The rain was coming down like a giant was pissing on the city.

It was times like this that I wished I was human. Detectives love rain. They want the stuff to wash them away with the scum of the street.

I can’t stand water. Never touched the stuff.

My name is Ginger. Once upon a time I used to be the Gingerbread Man. Now I’m a private dick and I drink enough to be a rum cake.

It’s a hard job if you aren’t a tough cookie. I have all the requirements. I’m sugar and spice and a whole heaping of trouble.

I also got an umbrella I borrowed from the Wicked Witch of the West after a case last month. It helps on days like this.

The city was still sleeping like Snow White when I made my way to the crime scene. I turned into an alley and stepped into the remains of a pillow fight from hell. White feathers were scattered across the alley like a soggy snowfall. Blood mixed with rain and trickled down the cobblestones.

Gretel gave me a nod when I walked up. Gretel’s good people. She’s the only person I know who won’t try to eat me. “Thought you might want to see this, Ginger.”

“You’ve been stuffing pillows tonight, Gretel? It looks like Christmas in here.”

Gretel made a face and pointed a thumb to a lump under a tarp. “Then you just missed the Christmas dinner,” she said.

I took a look. There wasn’t much to see besides a greasy little pile of what you’d get if you ate a whole rotisserie chicken down to the bones.

The vic was Chicken Little. I knew the name. Little was a local nut who started a doomsday cult in the neighbourhood. I thought she’d be the kind of dame who’d get into trouble someday.

This wasn’t what I had in mind. Who’d want to whack a pamphlet thumper who thought the world was going to end anyways?

I picked up a rib. There were tiny scrapes scored across it in a line, like she’d been using it to count the days to oblivion.

I stared. “These are teeth marks, Gretel.”

I looked up. Gretel looked sick. That’s when I knew for sure.

“These are fox teeth, Gretel,” I said. “There’s a fox in the city.”

“Ginger, I think you should leave town.”

I flicked the rib back down into the pile of bones and pulled a stub of a candy cane cigar out of my trench coat pocket. “My brother has a house out in the country,” Gretel was saying. “He hates eating gingerbread as much as me. You’d be safe out there for a few days until we can track this fox down.”

I patted down my pockets for a light. Gretel took pity on me and knelt into the shade of the umbrella to light a match.

I puffed a few clouds of peppermint smoke. For a second it really was like Christmas in that alleyway.

I don’t care much for Christmas. Typically people look at me and think of dessert.

“Gretel, you’re good people,” I said. I didn’t realize that I hadn’t said it before. It felt like it had to be said. “Thanks for letting me know.”

“Jesus Christ, Ginger, you know how your story ends.”

“Yeah, well. We're all trying to run, run, run as fast as we can from who you are.” I took one last drag and turned out of the alley towards the soggy city. For once, I wished the rain could wash me away. “But eventually it catches up to us.”

#fairy tales #the gingerbread man #hansel and gretel #chicken little #narrativia #short story #drabble #ficlet #noir

194 notes · View notes

daiziesssart · 5 months

Text

a humiliatingly long character analysis of lily evans

Someone sent me an ask that briefly mentioned how misunderstood Lily is, and before I knew it I was typing out this monster. I am. sorry. This is literally just me rambling about her, what I find compelling about her character, and why her character is so often misunderstood.

This is long as hell so I'm putting it under a read more lolol

Part of the reason I like Lily so much (other than my being ginger and projecting onto any redheaded female character I see) is that even though she isn’t explored as much as her other Marauders Era counterparts, we know enough about her to start building the framework for her character. And what I see is a girl who was incredibly interesting, kind, and flawed.

One thing I always think about in regards to Lily is that she was dealt with a pretty unfair hand. As soon as she receives her letter, she’s basically torn between two worlds, both of which have been less than welcome to her. On one hand, we have the muggle world that she’s known all her life, but once she starts integrating into the wizarding world, she likely feels a bit of a disconnect with that world. To twist the knife further, her sister- whom she loved dearly and grew up so close with- starts outwardly resenting her with such unbridled hostility that they likely couldn’t even be in a room alone together without major conflict.

On the other hand, we have the wizarding world– a world she’s not as familiar with and one she soon learns holds a demographic of people who hate everything she is and would rather see her excommunicated or even dead. And even though finding out you’re a witch/wizard is probably such an exciting and life-changing moment, I can’t help but also take note of the difficulties, especially if you’re the only one in your family with magic. You’re essentially uprooted from the only way of life you’ve known at an already complicated age, and now you have to quickly become acclimated to this new world that you only just found out existed. Not only that, but now you’re suddenly attending a school with classes that are primarily focused on this world of magic (which is still brand new to you), and you have to work extra hard to play catch up in order to do well. Like, that all seems like… a lot for a kid to handle.

And then I remember how young she was when she was thrown into that mess. She was only 11, and kids that age desperately crave any sense of belonging. I mean, that’s something that still holds true for adults, but it’s especially critical for a developing child. So imagine Lily, ages 11-15, struggling to stay afloat in this weird purgatory between these two parts of herself, both of which have been the cause for major and traumatic experiences relating to rejection in her life.

(I say it was the “cause” even though it’s obvious that those things were never her fault at all, but when you’re a young kid navigating the world, the only thing you’re able to process is that the common denominator is you, therefore you’re the one who must shoulder the blame.)

So now we have this tween-teenaged girl who has a dysfunctional relationship with two major parts of identity and probably feels absolutely lost.

This is why her hesitancy to end her friendship with Snape makes sense to me. Even though by fifth year he’s already well past toeing the line with the dark arts, Lily was willing to overlook some pretty egregious and troubling things in order to maintain the relationship. I kind of interpret that as her way of desperately clinging on to any sense of belonging she has left; her relationship with Petunia has already been poisoned, and now there are people who resent her existence as a witch; if she loses Severus too, what and who else does she have? And what tone does that set for her, if everyone and everything she’s come to hold close to her ends up turning her away?

It’s also important to note that not only is Severus one of her few remaining connections to the muggle world, but he’s also a wizard who grew up in the muggle world; he understands her, and I don’t doubt that he gave her some stability at times when she needed it (her finding out about her being a witch, her having trouble acclimating to the wizarding world, etc).

I see this as being one of her flaws and I can actually appreciate how relatable and realistic it feels. Lily is not a bad person; on the contrary, you’d be hard pressed to find anyone to describe her as such. Not to get all clinical and boring, but the interesting thing about (unhealthy) coping mechanisms is that it can actually be really hard to identify them in your own behavior. Unless you’re in therapy and/or are actively psychoanalyzing yourself, you likely don’t even realize how many of your common behaviors are born from self defense mechanisms put in place by your brain after past events.

To me, it makes sense why she avoided actually confronting the idea that Snape was too far gone. We know that she was aware of the path Severus was taking, but it almost seems like she was still convinced that she could save him, and could possibly steer him back in the right direction. It’s only when she becomes the target of his bigotry that she realizes that the Snape who called her a ‘mudblood’ was not the same Severus who was the one who held her hand and introduced her to this new, exciting world.

In a general sense, yes, it is selfish, to only take a stand when something starts affecting you personally. But I also think it’s important to note that it’s unlikely that this was a conscious decision on Lily’s part. In my eyes, it was easier to delude herself into thinking she still had a chance to save him before it was too late when she was able to separate him from his actions (considering, a lot of the time, she was only hearing about them after the fact, rather than seeing them firsthand). But the elusion is shattered once she sees that the Snape she grew up with– her friend, Severus– is, in fact, the same person who’s out there calling other students slurs, dismissing the malicious use of Dark Magic on others as just “a laugh”. There we see a Lily who is actually revealed to have been somewhat aware of Snape’s involvement with the darker side of magic, and genuinely feels pretty ashamed about her inaction.

Also, this is in no way me being a Snape-anti, and I actually could do an entire separate analysis on his character alone and why I find him so interesting.

Anyways, that moment in SWM is probably somewhat of an epiphany to her. It’s like a dam that’s been broken, and now she’s overwhelmed with the realization of exactly how much she overlooked in order to keep their friendship afloat. And for someone like Lily Evans, someone whom we know is opinionated and unafraid to call others out on their bullshit, that can be hard to swallow and feel pretty mortifying and shameful. And I think this was a huge turning point for her- at that point, she doesn’t have the luxury of avoiding uncomfortable truths anymore and now that she’s getting closer to graduating and being thrown out into the world on the brink of war, this was probably a really sobering discovery.

This is where we don’t have as much info to go off of, and a lot of it is up to interpretation. But we actually have little crumbs to go off of following her graduation and leading up to her death.

One of my favorite little tidbits isn’t in the books, and @seriousbrat's post reminded me about it. Here's the actual entry on Pottermore for anyone who's interested, but I'll summarize: after James and Lily began dating, Lily brings James to meet newly engaged Petunia and Vernon. Everything goes downhill, because Vernon is a smarmy asshole, and James is still pretty immature and can’t help but mess with him (which… fair, I guess). Petunia and Vernon storm out after Petunia letting Lily know that she had no intentions of having her as a bridesmaid, which causes Lily to break down into tears. I mention this because I also think it’s a pretty important aspect of her character; like we’ve seen in her past friendship with Snape, Lily seems more than willing to forgive others most of the time. Petunia is a bit of a complicated character herself, but she was objectively very cruel and unfair to Lily once it became obvious that she was a witch and Petunia was not.

Something that always stands out to me is just how desperate Lily is to earn Petunia’s trust and approval again. Even up until her death, she was more than willing to mend the relationship, were Petunia ever to consider.

This is a detail about Lily that I feel is misunderstood quite a bit. I’ve seen a lot of instances of her character being reduced to a one-dimensional archetype with little to no complexity. And often, that archetype is “know-it-all, prudish, self righteous bookworm who is also a goody two-shoes with a stick up her ass”. What annoys me is that the reason for this is most definitely the scene in which she blows up at James in SWM for bullying Snape, and hurls quite a few insults at him directly after an extremely devastating and overwhelming situation for her. This frustrates me because we know for a fact that she’s the polar opposite of this archetype I’ve seen her reduced to.

In actuality, she’s referred to as popular, charming, witty, bright and kind. From flashbacks we also are shown that she’s opinionated, bold, and not afraid to challenge others. With other context, like her interpersonal relationships, we can also see that she’s pretty emotionally driven and wears her heart on her sleeve.

(I know Remus didn’t mention Lily much in the books, but I really love how he described her in the movies. He tells Harry that the first thing he noticed about him was not his striking resemblance to his father, but his eyes, the same eyes Lily had. He also calls her a “singularly gifted witch” and an “uncommonly kind woman”.

“She had a way of seeing the beauty in others, even and perhaps most especially, when that person could not see it in themselves.”

I know there are mixed feelings on whether or not the films count as canon source material, so take it with a grain of salt, but I personally cannot see a world in which Lily and Remus didn’t become close friends.)

Here we have a direct description of what she was like and who she was, corroborated by recounting of memories of her, and yet for some reason, this feels like the thing that is most commonly lost in translation.

I don’t think I can say why I think that is without mentioning the dreaded M word (misogyny- it’s misogyny), but I also don’t want to get too off topic so I’ll be brief: female characters are typically not given the same grace as male characters. When we have an undeveloped male character, he’s awarded the assumption that despite his lack of depth, there still exists a complex and multifaceted character– it’s merely just potential that hasn’t been tapped into. Whereas when we have underdeveloped female characters, they are taken at face value, meaning that not much exists beyond the little information we have of them. They are not presumed to have a life or a story that exists beyond the surface of what we know like male characters are. That’s why I think characters like Regulus, Evan, or Barty (just to name a few) are more popular than Lily, despite being less developed than she is.

(Before anyone gets defensive, no, I don’t think it’s an individual problem that you alone need to be shamed for. I think it’s the result of a deeper issue regarding misogyny in media as a concept; these are things that we’ve all unknowingly internalized and while it’s not our fault, we still have to do the work to deconstruct those learned prejudices.)

What I find really cool about her character is that despite how much she’s been hurt, she’s also still known as one of the most loving, kind, and considerate characters. There were so many times in her life where the love she received was conditional and ripped away from her– and I think that’s what makes her sacrifice even more poignant. She was able to protect her infant son from an extremely powerful dark wizard, wand-less, knowing that her husband was just murdered in cold blood, just from how much love she felt for Harry. Her love was a force of nature on its own, and I just think that’s such an amazing thing about her.

I know I’m biased, given that she’s one of my favorite characters, but even upon delving into this, I still just find it so incredibly hard to understand how anyone can actively hate her (not indifference, but actual dislike). In my opinion (again, no one is unbiased, and she is a favorite character of mine, but trust me when I say that I’m trying to be objective as possible when I say this), she’s probably one of the most likable characters of the Marauders Era. I think perhaps a lot of people haven’t given her a chance or really taken the time to learn about her character, but it could be a myriad of other reasons that I’ll never understand.

There's so much more I could say but this is long enough and I will stop myself

Lily Evans, u will always be famous to me

#lily evans #character analysis #harry potter #i am a little embarrassed that i got so invested in this. i hope at least one person enjoys this insane essay that no one asked for

256 notes · View notes

naurimastaur · 1 year

Text

Gingerism

Summary: In which George and Fred devise a plan to trick y/n into admitting their feelings for George

Pairing: George weasley x nonbinary!reader

Tw: my attempt at writing xx

Please don’t take this seriously this one is just for fun!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Georgie?” Fred called out smacking the back of George’s head in the process. “Are you going to sit there like a stupid git for the rest of your life staring at them, or are you actually going to do something about it?” George sort of fancied his best friend y/n. They were awkward. He was awkward. It was a mess.

“I dunno, I just, what If I ruin everything?” He replied defeated, an almost foreign response coming from the twins, who in their approach to everything, were annoyingly cocky.

“I don’t doubt that,” Fred replied unhelpful. It was in his nature to be a dickhead at all times.“But this is y/n we’re talking about! We’ll just ban them from the burrow or something if they say no.” There was a reason no one went to the twins for advice.

George looked to his brother, deadpan. Fred looked back, grinning.

“ Or,” he suddenly lit up, an idea brewing in his head. “what if we get our hands on some of that amortentia thing? Say we need their help and before you know it theyre all blah blah blah dreamy George smell and we’ll know!!!!” It was almost certainly a failing plan, but it was better than anything George had in mind and sadly he shared his brother’s brain cells. Or lack thereof.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“ OI y/n!” Fred called out. “ George and I are testing out a new product and we would be honoured if you and your royal nose gave it a try. It’s a real business investment!” His accent mocking that of a commercial salesman from the muggle tvs.

“Fred Weasley if you think I’d willingly stick my face anywhere near something you have made, you are a bigger idiot than you make yourself out to be,” they responded. Having been best friends with the twins for five years, they had long learnt their lesson on trust and why exactly not to place it in gingers. They gave one last unimpressed look and walked away.

Fred and George shared a look. Perhaps if they actually thought plans through they wouldn’t be in this position right now.

“ Well hey!” Fred said “ At least they spoke to you! That’s a step!”

“No you git, they spoke to you.”

“ Yes but you look like me so it’s all the same,” Fred replied, once again trying to lighten the mood. “ What if we get Hermione to try it? They won’t suspect anything if it comes from her.” Thus another plan equally as devastating was formed.

It only took a couple of hours of threats and promises no one intended to keep to get Hermione on board. She agreed based on the terms that the twins would leave her alone to revise after. Short time pain for long term gain some would say.

“Hey y,n!” Hermione smiled ever as friendly, walking over to where y/n was in the great hall. “Im sorry to bother you but we’ve been assigned this potion and I can’t seem to figure out the ingredients. I was thinking since you’re a fifth year you might know them?” Hermione was as good at lying as the twins were at making plans.

“ The twins didn’t set you up for this did they?” Y/n replied unconvinced.

“ No! Merlin no! I’m really stressed over this y/n and I really thought you could help me but if you can’t take me seriously I’ll ask elsewhere.” Maybe Hermione wasnt that bad after all.

“Oh no I’m sorry! Of course I’ll help. Alright I smell rain and-,” they paused after seeing a tuft of ginger hair appearing from under one of the tables from the corner of their eye, a pair of brown eyes following, most certainly that of Fred weasley. Hermione, the brightest witch of her age, seemed to have fallen victim to a Weasley scheme. Depressing. Y/n decided they weren’t going to let themself miss out on the fun.

“And?” Hermione near shouted, clearly trying to direct the attention back to herself but forgetting human social skills in the process.

“And-Oh! This last smell is kind of like husky?” They said uncertain. “I totally get why you couldn’t figure it out. I’m so sure I’ve smelt it before though.” Hermione quickly responded with a ‘mhm’, unsure where this was going and uninterested all the same.

“Oh I know! This smells like Snape’s hair! I can almost taste the grease,” they replied with the most genuine smile they could manage. They had nothing against Hermione, but this awkward, subtle form of revenge was far more entertaining than they had anticipated.

Hermione paused, clearly filled with regret and remorse for what she had inserted herself into. “You-.” She exhaled before starting again. ”You know what professor Snape’s hair smells like?” She replied cringing but slightly curious. Maybe she could buy the professor shampoo or something to get on his good side, after all Gryffindor needs all the house points they can get.

“Oh yeah I’ve taken a couple of sniffs before when he wasn’t looking,” y/n grinned. ”Do you think he noticed?” Now Hermione was just disturbed. She stared blankly at y/n before taking the potion from their grasp and walking away. This is what she gets for choosing to socialise instead of revising.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Waiting in the common room was George, an accomplished grin set on his face when Hermione walked in, which slowly faded when he saw her face. Not that that wasn’t his usual reaction when he saw the know-it-all.

“So?” He questioned fishing for a response. “How’d it go?”

Hermione stared blankly back at him.

“Unless you’re professor snape it seems they dont have any interest.”

George was really beginning to regret his existence.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/n: this was way longer than I had anticipated and was also marinating in the drafts much like the nits in Snape’s hair <3

While you’re here check out a prank to die for

@thescrunkler

688 notes · View notes

bullet-prooflove · 2 months

Text

Home: Angel Reyes x Reader (feat: Felipe Reyes)

Tagging: @witches-unruly-heart @keyweegirlie @trhett21 @annetje @infinity-mars @danzer8705 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @thatonesexycancerian @weiwei0210 @anime-weeb-4-life @harperdoodle @cheyrenee @fanfic-n-tabulous @deliriousfangirl61 @daydreaming-belle @est1887 @thanossexual @creativitybeware @librarian1002 @mortal--soul @buddinglinguist @wnbweasley @spookyboogyuniverse @skyesthebomb @spaghettificationandpretzels @joyfulfxckery @nu1freakshow @thebaileybugle @legally-a-bastard @bonsaijoons @justreblogginfics

Companion piece to:

Secret - You keep a secret from Angel.

Traditions - You and Angel make your own traditions this Christmas

Felipe knows you’re pregnant.

You’ve tried to hide it over the past few weeks, the morning sickness, the exhaustion but Felipe sees it. He remembers Marisol being the same way when she was carrying both Angel and EZ. Reyes babies are not easy on their mothers.

It’s the shift in Angel’s behaviour that tipped him off. His oldest son had always been attentive towards you but it’s different this time. His palm comes to rest on your belly more often than not, when he looks at you with moon eyes, like you’re giving him the entire world.

Felipe understands why you haven’t told him, you’re still trying to come to terms with it yourself. Your life has changed since the shooting. Before, you were fiercely independent, juggling everything on your own to the point of it being detrimental. During your recovery you’d been forced to make changes, to rely on the people around you. You’d learned that there was no shame in asking for help, and you’d leaned into it because the truth was, you needed it.

You’d been hoping to get back on your feet, immerse yourself back in the business however now you were pregnant and that meant bigger concessions because you couldn’t be around the buds you farmed. That’s the other thing that tipped him off, you suddenly stopped going to the farm. Instead, you spent your days cleaning up his backyard, developing it into a place where Valeria would be able to play when she finally got her legs under her.

He tries to do little things to help with your morning sickness, he stocks the cupboards with ginger tea and crackers, he takes Valeria off your hands in the morning, allowing you to rest a little longer.

“You’re going to have a brother or sister soon.” You overhear him telling the baby as he feeds her in the kitchen. “Mama just needs to get through her first trimester and then she’ll be as right as rain.”

“It’s a boy.” You tell him as you step into the room. You root around in your handbag for a second before withdrawing the sonogram to show him. “We got the ultrasound yesterday.”

Felipe takes it from your hand, studying it intently. His thumb chases over the shape of the tiny jellybean, the edges of his mouth tipping up into a smile.

“It’s going to be a busy house.” He remarks as your hand smooths over Valeria’s dark hair before you place a kiss on her forehead.

“Are you still ok with that?” You ask him, your palm coming to rest upon your abdomen. “We can look for another place if its too much, the sale on Angel’s house is going through this week.”

“You’re about to have two kids under three, you’re gonna need all the help that you can get.” Felipe tells you in that low, grumble of his as he places the sonogram on the fridge, pinning it in place with a magnetic. “Besides, this is my grandkids home, your home and it always will be.”

Love Angel? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#angel reyes #felipe reyes #angel reyes x reader #angel reyes x you

115 notes · View notes

thetarotwitch111 · 15 days

Text

What do I do now?

Pick an orange (pick a card)

✨help me keep doing the free pacs: tip jar🍊

✨ personal readings - [requests open]

🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊

1. cute orange

You’re about to step into a major moment of abundance. everything you’ve been working on is finally coming together. But don’t rush! Yes, the good stuff is coming, but before you dive headfirst into all this success, it’s time for a little reflection. You’ve been planting seeds for a while now, and the growth is real, but you need to make sure you’re aligned with what’s next. Take a breather, get clear on your goals, and really think about what you want to manifest from here on out. This is a moment to pause and appreciate where you’ve been, so you can step forward with clarity and purpose.

Witch's advice: To help you balance both the excitement of your harvest and the need for reflection, brew a calming, yet energizing tea blend: chamomile, lavender, and lemon balm. Chamomile will help you relax and ground yourself, lavender brings mental clarity, and lemon balm adds that touch of positivity and focus you need for contemplating the next steps. Sip this while sitting in your favorite quiet spot, maybe with a journal or just in meditation. Let your thoughts settle, and the path forward will reveal itself naturally.

2. fancy orange

Fot you is all about owning your differences. You’re not here to blend in or play it safe. It’s time to fully embrace what makes you unique and celebrate it. Think of all the quirks, traits, and talents that set you apart from others cause those are your strengths. Lean into them and don’t hold back. But you’ve also got a decision to make, and it’s likely one you’ve been avoiding. You’re probably weighing options or maybe waiting for a sign, but now is the time to act. Trust that whatever path you choose is the right one because it’s aligned with your authentic self and stop second guessing cause universe has your back.

Witch's advice: You need a tea blend that boosts your creativity, intuition, and courage to make that decision. Try jasmine, ginger, and hibiscus. Jasmine helps you connect with your inner magic and spiritual side, ginger adds that fiery, confident energy to push through hesitation, and hibiscus is perfect for self-love and celebrating your unique qualities. Drink this when you’re feeling stuck or before you make your decision—it’ll help clear the mental fog and give you that extra push to move forward with confidence.

3. orange juice

it’s time for a deep cleanse (emotionally and energetically). You’re in a phase of expansion, but in order to grow, you need to make room for the new by letting go of what no longer serves you. Whether it’s old habits, negative energy, or even certain people, this is the moment to clear out the clutter. You might have been holding onto certain things out of fear, but trust that releasing them will open up new paths for growth. It’s time to look at what’s blocking your progress and gently let it go. Once you do, you’ll feel lighter, more focused, and ready to step into the new opportunities waiting for you.

Witch's advice: For this deep cleanse and expansion, you’ll need a tea blend that purifies your energy and sharpens your intuition: peppermint, rosemary, and sage. Peppermint brings clarity and refreshes your mind, rosemary enhances your intuition and mental focus, and sage clears out any stagnant or negative energy. Brew this tea as part of a ritual—light a candle, maybe even burn some sage or incense, and as you sip, visualize yourself letting go of anything that’s holding you back. Focus on clearing out the old to welcome in new growth.

135 notes · View notes

hsunrry · 2 days

Text

witch // one shot harry styles

harry styles x fem!reader

summary: based on this request.

words: ~1k

warnings: smut18+, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“i’ll check the barn, you go.” you could hear a voice outside the barn and in this moment you knew you were screwed. ginger hair, old enough to be married, but still without a ring on your finger and without baby bump. if he finds you, you’re dead. you’re going to burn at the stake. you were hiding between two hay bales with hand on your mouth to prevent any sound. when you heard that he started walking around your whole body tensed. he was closer and closer, finally standing right in front of you. “there you are…” he smirked. he was a knight, that’s for sure. for some reason he wasn’t dressed in typical armor, but in something more… loose.

“no, please. i’m not a witch.” you managed to stutter. he only scoffed at your words. he was staring down at you, getting closer.

“ah, yeah? you’re a ginger woman hiding in barn, forgive me for finding it suspicious.” he grabbed your arm, making you stand up.

“you have to believe me!” you whined. he grabbed your both wrists, holding them behind your back with one hand. there’s no way to escape. he was stronger, taller and so much bigger than you in general, it was almost funny from third perspective.

“how old are you?” he asked, still firmly holding you.

“21.” you whispered.

“21 and no ring on your finger. how come?” he tilted his head to the side slightly. you swallowed.

“because i run away from my mother.” you confessed and he narrowed his brows.

“and you want me to believe you, that you’re not a witch?” he asked amused.

“just let me go, please.” you looked up at him, pleadingly.

“i can’t let you go. i can’t just let a possible witch go free, can i? it’s my job to hand you over to the townspeople.” his grip on your wrists tightening.

“i’m not a witch, please.” he looked into your eyes and he could feel his knees melting. he shook his head.

“i’ll let you go under one condition.” you nodded quietly. “if you’ll… satisfy me.” your heart started beating quicker at his words. you licked your lips slightly and after few seconds you nodded. he smiled, letting go of your wrists. he sat down on one of the hay bales, pulling you after him so you could straddle his lap. he gripped your waist, going up and down. “what’s your name, sweetheart?”

“y/n.” you answered, feeling his hands going under the hem of your dress. he started pushing it up your legs.

“y/n.” he smiled. “i’m Harry.” he continued taking it off you, leaving you only in underwear. he grinned. “you’re so beautiful. tell me, are you a virgin, little one?” you bite inside of your cheek, shaking your head at ‘no’. he nodded. “that’s what i thought, that’s good.” he kissed the place between your breasts. after that he took off everything from his upper body, exposing his chest. he started kissing your neck and you tilted your head to the side to give him better access. “you’re so pretty.” he gasped against your skin. “are you sure you’re not a witch? you have me under your spell already.”

“i’m not.” you chuckled, moaning quietly right after, when he sucked on your neck. you gasped when his hand brushed over your covered nipple. he pulled out from your neck, looking at your face.

“you’re so sensitive, i love that.” he reached behind to undid your bra, tossing it in the same place where he tossed your dress earlier. his lips immediately started to suck on your nipple, causing your body to tremble slightly. your quiet moans and gasps were driving him crazy. eventually, he picked you up and placed you on your back on the bale. he undressed himself completely, freeing his huge, erected cock from his pants. before he hovered over you, he got rid of your panties, leaving you all naked. he looked into your eyes, smiling. “ready for a little fun?”

“yes.” you felt his hand going down between your legs, pushing two fingers inside you. you moaned and your back arched slightly towards him. his lips met yours in needy kiss, while his fingers were pumping in and out. he eventually pulled them out, breaking the kiss and looking down at you. he positioned himself between your legs, brushing his tip against you. he started moving forward, slowly pushing inside. you could feel how he was stretching you and your hands immediately went to his back. he groaned when he went fully. he waited few seconds and after that he stared moving slowly in and out, causing your moans.

“you feel so good.” he gasped, gripping your hips. his head went into the crook of your neck, kissing it slowly. he started to move faster.

“you too.” you panted, feeling his arms wrapping around your body, instead of holding your hips. you tilted your head back from pleasure. he kissed your lips hungrily, moaning into the kiss when he felt your hand in his hair.

“does that feel good, honey?” he gasped against your lips and you only nodded breathlessly. “wrap your legs around my hips.” he commanded. when you did that, you could felt him going even deeper and you almost cried out of pleasure at the feeling. “yes, that’s good.” he groaned. his movements went faster. you were panting mess at this point and you both were so close.

“oh my god, yes!” you moaned, clenching your inner walls on his dick when you finished. this triggered his own release and you could feel his hot seeds shooting deep inside you. he groaned loudly, slowing down his movements. he collapsed on top of you, breathing heavy. his lips planting kisses on your neck.

“jesus, you’re incredible.” he smiled against your skin.

“you know what the best part is?” you asked, massaging his scalp.

“what?” he chuckled quietly.

“you just fucked a witch.” you grinned.

99 notes · View notes

exhuastedpigeon · 7 months

Text

Buddie Hiatus Fic Rec Oct 16 - Nov 15

yet another list full of some of the most amazing fics I've read. It's wild how talented the writers in this fandom are.

0-5k

take control (mind, body, and soul) by honestlydarkprincess / @honestlydarkprincess Explicit | 2k the one where human Buck wants his vampire boyfriend to compel him during sex. They get nasty with it.

think about all the places we could go by hammersmiths / @henswilsons Teen | 2.4k Athena just looks grieved. “Why, then,” she says, “did you get military-grade handcuffs? Were the pink fuzzy ones not macho enough for you?”

blackout by rainbow_nerds / @rainbow-nerdss Explicit | 3.4k Buck wakes up hungover on Eddie's couch, with no memory of the night before. Eddie's at just as much of a loss as he is, but their friends seem to know something they don't.

The One with the Admissions by BekkaChaos / @bekkachaos Mature | 4.4k After an accidental slip up from Eddie, he's forced to admit that he's dating someone, but he and Buck are still determined to keep their relationship between the two of them. Things do not go smoothly, hidden thoughts and feelings are revealed, and Buck and Eddie have a short lived argument about their relationship.

5k-10k

you saw me (i got nowhere to hide) by buckleyseddie / @buckleyseddieTeen | 5.6k while Buck’s in a coma, Maddie finds herself at the loft one afternoon. There, she finds a heartbroken Eddie and they have a moment.

Out Of Order, Still In Line by callmenewbie / @puppyboybuckley Explicit | 6.2k When Buck finally gets to the Clinic, the long awaited release doesn’t seem to come; cue Eddie to the rescue.

if you go down in the woods today by oklahoma / @sunshinediaz Teen | 6.3k bad things happen bingo—tranquilizer dart (this fic lives rent free in my head. Amanda you’re a genius)

i have dreams where i kiss you and it’s pink by fleetinghearts / @shitouttabuckTeen | 6.3k jee-yun buckley-han's third birthday party is in dire need of some fairy tale magic and buck's attempt to save the day might just be the thing that finally kills eddie

swinging for the fences by inbetweenthestacks / @organizedstardust Teen | 6.4k Buck takes Eddie to a baseball game. (this fic has a line “Is baseball just…math?” that make me laugh so hard)

You, all the way down by justhockey Not rated | 8.3k Suddenly, between one moment and the next, there are hands on him. Hands that Buck would know anywhere; hands that Buck knows maybe even better than he knows his own. The touch is exquisitely gentle - tender to the point of devastation, even though the calloused palms scratch against the soft skin of his cheeks.

It’s Eddie, because of course it is. Because who else would it be.

i'd swim to your call on my phone by heartbeatdiaz / @loserdiaz Teen | 8.5k Buck's daughter keeps calling 9-1-1 for help with her homework, Eddie is smitten and apparently 9-1-1 works better than Tinder.

10k-20k

Got Weird by Daisies_and_Briars / @cal-daisies-and-briars Explicit | 10.5k Shortly after Buck and Natalia break up, Eddie gets tipsy and makes a rather forward move. Then immediately panics (not that Eddie panics, of course) and backpedals. Eddie spirals, Buck is confused. Lots of spontaneous kissing ensues.

aching for anything by addandsubtract / @postoperation Explicit | 11.3k “Here,” Hen says, holding out a covered paper cup, steam gently wafting from the mouth opening. “It’s lemon ginger tea. I know you said you’re not getting sick, but you don’t sound great.”

Buck takes the cup and holds it up to his nose, saying, “I’m really fine.”

Hen’s pointedly raised eyebrows are all skepticism.

past the curses and cries (there's me and you) by MonsterRae1 / @monsterrae1 Mature | 11.3k Buck's a witch, Eddie's cursed, can I make it any more obvious?

30k +

remember to remember me by Daffi_990_ao3 / @daffi-990 Explicit | 31.4k

Buck and Eddie finally get together only for lightning to strike a few days later, leaving Buck with no memories of them ever becoming a couple.

Don't They Know It's the End of the World? by Daisies_and_Briars / @cal-daisies-and-briars Mature | 32.4k After being put in a cryogenic sleep for over a hundred years to wait out an apocalyptic event, Eddie Diaz wakes up, too early, to find his son has been stolen from his cryo-chamber. Scared and alone in a frightening world he doesn't recognize, Eddie is willing to do anything to get his kid back.

blue eyes and bare walls by Underhung_Aura / @eddiebabygirldiaz Explicit | 45.8k Buck and Eddie are newlyweds and looking to paint their new bedroom. What ensues is the butting of heads, some arguing of both the fun and not fun variety, and desperate paint-filled sex on the floor.

Feels Like Magic by 42hrb Teen | 47.8k An urban fantasy AU where most things are the same, except there's magic

the blue house by ProsperDemeter / @prosperdemeter2 Mature | 65k Eddie Diaz wants nothing to do with the paranormal. He would be perfectly happy if the spirits of the world stopped showing themselves altogether, actually. But when Adriana and Sophia come to town to film on location for their popular YouTube ghost hunting channel and the ghosts in Eddie's life start becoming much more loud and frequent, he gets roped into figuring out just why things in the Los Angeles spiritual world are changing, and not for the better. The children are crying, and Eddie might be the only one who can hear them.

Your Love is an Oil Slick (It Glows like Rainbows, It Stains My Soul) by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels / @letmetellyouaboutmyfeelsExplicit | 67.1k When Eddie's son claims he has an imaginary friend, Eddie doesn't think much of it. Christopher is seven, it's what kids do. But then weird things start happening around the house, and Eddie starts dreaming about a handsome blue-eyed man. Turns out, Christopher's friend isn't so imaginary. Their house is haunted.

Month 1 (May 15 - June 15) Month 2 (June 16 - July 15) Month 3 (July 16 - August 15) Month 4 (August 16 - September 15) Month 5 (September 16 - October 15)

#buddie #buddie rec list #buddie hiatus rec list #911 #rec list

156 notes · View notes

frannyzooey · 1 year

Text

Short Days, Long Nights: 13

Joel Miller x f!reader

Series Masterlist

Rating: E (pregnancy sex, lactation, grief)

A/N: Thank you endlessly for being so patient with me while I've been on hiatus ❤ I'm gonna stay off for another couple weeks, but I didn't want to leave you hanging for too long. I appreciate every single person that has stuck with me on this! Thank you to @the-ginger-hedge-witch and @the-scandalorian for helping me with this one - you both are the biggest brains and the most wonderful writers and I am insanely lucky to have you on my team. Enjoy! ❤

Jackson.

The image of the map is burned into Joel’s mind, always present.

More concerned with your safety than anything, he knows you should leave, but as the weeks slip by, what picks at him more is that he didn’t have an answer to your question that day.

“Where are we gonna go?”

He should be one step ahead. He should be on top of the potential outcomes. He should have a plan, since that’s always been his role. Stepped up with one when he had Sarah, took care of Tommy before the Outbreak, and after, led their way in the QZ. After Tommy left, he still did it, even if he was going through the motions more than anything. Doing it has always been second nature, a means to survive.

You’d let his lack of answer drop because he knew you didn’t want to leave, and of course, he knew you shouldn’t. Not right now. But still - still - he should have had a plan for something he knew was bound to happen sometime. Blinded by the light of your fierce optimism and wanting so badly to believe in it, he simply…didn’t think about it. The first time that’s happened in decades.

You’re depending on him, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t have an answer ready.

“Where are we gonna go?”

He doesn’t fucking know.

Wood dust floats to settle on the floorboards around his boots, and he runs a piece of sandpaper over the beam of rough lumber that rests across his lap. The rhythmic sweeps soothe his nerves, and he tries to focus on how good it feels to do something useful with wood again. Something familiar, the dry grain sliding against his palms. A task done because he wants to, instead of as a means to get by like so much else in his life.

This…this was for him, and for you.

The late afternoon sun streams through the window in the shed, not quite enough to dissipate the chill. Crisp air breezes in through the open door, the sweet smell of damp leaves blending with the wood and the tips of his fingers are cold enough to stop, but he doesn’t. He has to make the most of your nap times if he wants to get this done before next week.

Before Christmas - or the closest approximation to the date anyway, using your rudimentary calendar. Celebrating the holiday had been your idea, and like every other time when it came to something you asked for, he couldn’t say no. He said yes when you asked him to cut you a tree, nodded when you pointed to the one you wanted after a trek through the woods, helped you rip strips of red, moth bitten flannel that was worthless for clothing just to watch you tie bows to the end of the branches, as a means to decorate it.

He was impressed by your constant resourcefulness and ingenuity when it came to the things you’d been given, and at night, when the lantern shone on it and bathed the living room in a cozy glow, it almost did feel like Christmas time. The closest thing to it that he’s felt in years, anyway.

Placing the sandpaper on the floor and picking up a knife, his mind follows the trail marked on the map. Winding through woods and across open swathes of land, it passes right through your area and he knows it’s only a matter of time before someone else follows the first. He knows that man can’t have been the only one with a map.

He frowns, gouging the wood a little more forcibly as he works through a knot, and he pictures the curve of your cheek, the delicate line of your neck, the bright happiness in your eyes here. That Christmas tree, in the front room. Torn between the idea of the unknown being just as unsafe as being a sitting duck at the cabin, he is restless with the need to move. The urge to keep you tucked away and protected from the world spreads beneath his skin and grows stronger every day, along with your stomach.

It’s large enough that it strains against the shirts you’ve borrowed from him, and though you’ve started choosing large sweatshirts instead, it’s begun to push against those too. You’ve begun to sway when you stand in place, an unconscious rock as a means to relieve pressure on your lower back, and he pictures you doing the same with a baby in your arms as you stand next to the cradle that he’s been building.

When he thinks about leaving it behind only to gather dust as he drags you somewhere else, the image eats at him, reminding him too much of another room, left behind to rot.

Another life, upended by abrupt violence.

Guilt has always gnawed at him for so many things, and following the mental image of you holding a baby, he adds to the growing list: the idea of another child replacing the one he had.

He fixates on all the things he couldn’t do for her on that last day but also the things time has robbed from him: the image of her face, the sound of her laugh. The books she liked, the order in which she lost her teeth, the weight of her infant body in his arms. How much of that time he spent without her while trying to provide for her, and how here, he’s got all the time in the world for this new child. His new child.

More feelings; the knife gouging deeper. Looking forward to a holiday that can’t include her, nervously anticipating holding a baby that belongs to him, looking at you and what you’ve built together and being so fucking happy he missed his mark on that bleak day ten years ago.

Is it betrayal to feel joy?

He’s not replacing her. He knows that. He knows, and yet the guilt never stops and so neither do his hands nor his mind, both working on fixing other problems that can be fixed.

Jackson.

A bed for the baby.

–

“I know it would be cold, but I think I’d rather have snow.”

You look out at the sodden garden, the neat, large borders that surround it blending in with the damp landscape. The fence that Joel built the only visual marker of where it’s at, it’s prepped for winter, buried in a dense layer of leaves and compost. You absentmindedly finger the leaf of a plant you brought inside with you, sheets of rain sliding down the window.

“Not me,” he says. “Might look pretty, but it would be a whole lot more dangerous.”

The blurred, muted mash of colors outside all blend together, the world a canvas of dingy brown and bleak gray. Everything soggy and limp, everything saturated with wetness: at this very moment, you’d take danger over another day of this.

Turning away from the depressing sight, you watch him sort through a pile of loose screws and nails on the coffee table. His head bent in his task, his shirt pulls tight across his shoulders as he hunches over and nudges each piece of metal with the tip of his finger, sorting them. Listening to the pleasant clink of them being dropped into glass jars, you go back to watering the plants.

After a process that had you pouring over the gardening book for days, you left what you could in the garden in order to have a good base for the spring, but took the rest inside, to see if you could keep growing anything through the winter.

Mismatched buckets and pots, an amalgamation of anything that would hold enough soil to plant a seed in, it was an experiment for sure. Enough was stored in the pantry to get you through the winter if you stayed lean enough about rations, and Joel had been pushing his portions upon you like there was no tomorrow, constantly assuring you that he had plenty.

“What is this?”

Stopping to stretch his back with a groan, he’s picked up a loose, shapeless scrap of fabric off the couch.

“Wait –” you protest, setting the watering can down.

He frowns at it, turning it in his hands, and when you make a hasty grab for it, he keeps it out of your reach with a chuckle.

“This my present, honey?” His facial expression still puzzled, he tries to work out what it is.

“It’s for the baby,” you explain. Coming to stand next to him, you turn it upright. “See? This is the neckhole, and the arms go here.”

“.......And the legs?”

“I’m not that good at sewing, okay?” you defend yourself with a laugh. “I thought maybe their legs could just hang out in this little…sack area.”

You make a self deprecating face, looking to him for a reaction, and he fingers the bottom of it.

“That ain’t bad. You should see if you can tie up the bottom, you know, for a draft or somethin’.”

“I used all the spare laces on the pants. I tried to make some, but of course I don’t have elastic and I don’t know how big to make them around the waist for a button, so I thought I could just cut two holes and make like, a little belt so that it would grow with the baby and...”

Your words taper off when you realize he’s staring up at you with an amused expression and you let your shoulders drop in defeat. “This kid is gonna look like they’re from the eighteen hundreds, aren’t they.”

“I guess you would know, with the books you’re always readin’,” he says with a grin, and the stack of historical fiction next to your side of the bed comes to mind.

“Oh God,” you moan quietly to yourself.

Standing with a soft grunt, he bends to press a kiss to the crown of your hair.

“Don’t worry about it, honey,” he murmurs. “You about ready for bed? I’m gonna go do a final lap.”

Checking the perimeter of the cabin while you bank the wood stove for the night, he eventually joins you in the bedroom, bringing in the smell of cool night air with him. Already in bed, you’re propped against the headboard with your book in hand, and you admire him as he gets ready for bed himself: the edges of his curling locks catching the light in a glowing chestnut, the warmth held in his tanned skin as he peels off his shirt, the soft give of his still trim stomach as he pads over to bed. He climbs in, adjusting the covers around the two of you.

“What about Mae?” you ask absentmindedly, skimming the book in front of you.

He shrugs. “Not bad.”

You make a face at the reception. “What about….Lauren?”

Stretching out on his side to face you, he rests his hand on your bump, smoothing the fabric of your sleep shirt down. A small movement nudges underneath his palm, and the corner of his mouth lifts. An intimate, quiet moment, you keep reading while he chases the constant movements with his touch, his fingers splayed wide, searching.

“Always so squirrely at night,” he says, the words rounded with softness.

“Tell me about it,” you sigh.

You set your book to the side and slide down next to him as he reaches to turn off the lantern, and the two of you lay facing each other, your belly between the length of your bodies. His hand finds your stomach again, and you let yours rest over it, guiding his touch lower. Lower, until the tips of his fingers brush against the band of your underwear and also right where a set of feet (or hands) slide underneath your skin. The taut skin shifts with rapid movement, a sensation that never fails to mesmerize you, but it’s something else when he’s the one who gets to see it. Watching him experiencing it is your favorite.

“What about Margaret? I’ve always liked that name.”

He makes a face, telling you all you need to know. “What makes you so sure it’s gonna be a girl?”

You shrug, lifting the hem of your shirt so you can feel his skin on yours, and his hand slides right back into place.

“Have you thought of any names?” you ask quietly.

“I, uh…I was sorta thinkin’ about June.” His dark eyes flit up to yours. “After June Carter Cash. Or Pearl, after –”

“You wanna name my baby after Pearl Jam?” your eyebrows raise. You’ve heard him humming “Future Days” while working outside, you know the band is a favorite of his.

He grins at your reaction. “That a no?”

“I should have guessed it would be music related,” you tease with a smile, scooting closer. “I like June. It’s pretty.”

The gentle exploration of his touch soothes you, and you close your eyes to savor it.

“What about boy names?” you ask. “I can’t really think of any. It’s actually what makes me think it’s a girl, like she’s trying to tell me something.”

“I haven’t thought of too many either. Thomas, for my brother, maybe?”

“That’s a good one.” You yawn, and sleep softly rounds the edges of your words. “Are you ready for next week?”

The preparation of his gift has your hands aching and grasping one with the other, you rub the tender knuckles, working some of the soreness out. Wordlessly, he reaches for your hand and takes it into his own, kneading the joints.

“I think so. S’kinda nice, havin’ a Christmas.” His touch lingers on the tips of your fingers, warming them. “Too cold in here? I can put another log on if you want.”

“No, it’s just…they ache. They're so swollen they get stiff sometimes. I don’t think the damp is helping.”

You hear it now, peppering the window in the dark. The steady drum of rain on the window, the sound makes the room all the more inviting: warm and safe, his body heat radiating underneath the quilt. He keeps rubbing your fingers, his own larger hands cradling your smaller one, and akin to someone rubbing your back to sleep, the touch lulls you, your eyes fluttering shut.

“This good?” His mouth brushes lightly against your knuckles, his lips pressing against your fingers before he breathes warm air on them.

“Mmmm, yea.” Silent for a moment, you speak. “Joel?”

He hums in acknowledgement of his name, and you voice the nightly request you started asking him weeks ago.

“Tell me what you know.”

A prompt he’s seemingly ready for, he shifts to get comfortable, letting out a sigh. The motion similar to someone getting ready to tell a bedtime story, your reaction to curl tight next to him is the same.

The first time you asked him this, he barely remembered anything. Other memories taking their place, the finer details of pregnancy and birth were buried deep, most of them forgotten. He remembered the doctor's visits but not the frequency. The general concept of birth but not the stages. The pain, but as someone who didn’t go through it, he couldn’t tell you what labor actually felt like.

All guesses and long ago recollections, you took them because they were better than nothing. Tonight, he tells you about the night feedings.

“Babies, they uh…” he begins in his gravely, lowered voice, trying to speak softly in the darkness. “You know they eat every couple of hours or so for a while after they’re born. Weeks of it.”

You nod against his shoulder, listening to his deep drawl.

“I don’t remember much because when you don’t get a lot of sleep it all tends to blur together, y’know? But I do remember some of them. Peaceful, sometimes. Everything is so quiet and still, and there ain’t nothin’ but you and them, sittin’ together.”

He stops, and you reach up to brush your fingers along the edge of his jaw, just enough to let him know you’re listening. He sighs, a heavy, contemplative thing.

“They are so small in your hands. So small it’s scary. I remember bein’ so careful, always feelin’ like I was gonna accidentally hurt her, or –” his breath hitches, and he swallows hard. He’s silent for a moment, and your breath slows and evens out. “Anyway, they don’t let you get any sleep, not for a few months, but sometimes….sometimes, you don’t mind.”

Your body loose and relaxed next to his, you’re on the edge of sleep when the words tumble softly out of your mouth.

“Joel?”

“Yea?”

“I’m scared.” The confession is whispered into his bare skin, and you breathe in his comforting, familiar smell, the steady drum of his heart beating underneath your cheek. His hand is a weighty drag down the line of your spine, the feeling of it steadying you.

The wind blows outside, rain pelting the glass.

“I know, honey,” he answers. “Me too.”

–

Long after you’ve fallen asleep, he stays awake, his mind lost in a memory.

Her tiny body rigid with deceiving strength, he struggles to force her arm into a small sleeve. His hand is huge compared to her fragile arm, her skin downy soft under his palm, and moonlight shines through the window in her bedroom just enough to light the features of her scrunched, upset face. A small wail pierces the darkness, and succeeding in dressing her, he lifts her up.

One hand cupping her entire bottom with the other covering her back, he makes low shushing sounds with his mouth to soothe her, inhaling the milky sweet smell that clings to her skin.

“Hey baby girl, shhh. I got you. I got you.”

Her tiny face burrows into his chest, her body squirming until she gets comfortable, and he keeps soothing with low hums, his hand rubbing a slow circle over her purple pajamas as she settles.

Moving slowly so as not to disturb her, he sits down in the rocking chair and continues to hold her; the carpet plush under his bare foot that gently pushes off the floor. His sleep blurred eyes focus on the small turn of a glass butterfly that hangs from her window, the rounded curves catching the moonlight as she sleeps on his chest.

He lets the unearthed, vivid memory wash over him as his chest constricts, the pain suffocating. Finding himself in this position more and more since you started asking him about what he remembers, he closes his eyes and succumbs to the pain: worth it, to see her face again. To remember things he’d thought he’d forgotten.

The edges of the memory blur and crumble, his mind losing its focus on that purple room and on the cusp of sleep, he tries to grasp and hold on tight to the details until they fade away.

–

“Keep your eyes closed, okay? Wasn’t much to wrap with.”

Anticipation thrums through you, your features lax with fondness as you wait patiently on the living room floor with your eyes closed. A fire crackles in the wood stove next to you, shadows pooled in the corners of the living room where the light doesn’t reach, and you scoot a little closer to absorb more heat.

Never one to linger in bed, he’s been up since dawn, and when you awoke alone, there was a weighted, peaceful stillness in the air—a significance to the day that was at best, a guess. Still, you felt it all the same: through drinking tea with him on the back porch this morning, through reading on the couch this afternoon, through helping him prep the small feast you allowed yourselves for dinner.

You hear and feel a shift in the air when he comes to sit in front of you, setting your present at your feet.

“Okay, you can open ‘em.”

Laughter bubbles bright and loud when you see what it is.

“Joel Miller, you shouldn’t have.” Picking up the bottle of vinegar, you tilt it in the light to see how much is left: about half, which is a find indeed. “How long have you been hiding this?”

He shrugs, looking pleased with your reaction. “Not too long. I found it when I went to check out that last cabin. I know it’s not a lot, but I thought it would be useful.”

Vinegar means pickling, means cleaning, means acid for the soil of your plants that you moved inside for the winter, and even though the label is half peeled off and the contents might not be as potent as they once were, you have never been so happy to see a bottle of the stuff in your life.

“Thank you,” you say softly, leaning forward as much as you can, presenting your lips for a kiss. He gives you one, and you pull back, your mouth twisted in an apologetic pout. “This is a way better gift than what I got you.”

“That’s not true,” he argues. “You fixed my favorite jacket. Feels brand new.”

After snagging it on a tree branch while hunting, he had been so disappointed when he inspected the size of the rip when he came home. Handing it to you, he had declared it no good anymore and told you to use it for something else, but knowing it was his favorite, you’d been mending it in secret while he went out for the day. Textiles being a scarcity aside, that jacket was also your favorite: it’s the one he’s been wearing since you first started out; the sight of it comforting to you.

“I actually got you somethin’ else, but you’ll have to close your eyes again.”

You automatically squeeze your eyes shut, your hands playfully grabbing the air as you squirm on the floor, and the sound of his low chuckle makes you smile wider. Hearing the front door open and then close, you frown when the object he places at your feet sounds heavy.

“Okay, open em’ up.”

It’s immediate, the way your expression drops from delight into something more reverential. Your breath frozen in your lungs, you reach out and touch the smooth edges of the cradle. Tracing the perfectly fit together corners, you take in how small it is – so small - but perfect.

Your eyes lift to meet his, tears blurring your vision. “Did you make this?”

“Yea,” he replies softly. “I kept in the shed, workin’ on it when you were napping. I knew we needed somewhere to put her, so I thought –”

“Her?” Your fingers brushing along the neat edges, you look up at him with a small, watery smile, and he matches it with a soft one of his own.

“Sure, why not. You’ve convinced me.” Affection is open and obvious on his face, the lines that normally crease his forehead softened as he watches you look it over.

“This is…so much, Joel. It’s beautiful. I don’t even know how…I was thinking we’d have to put her in a dresser drawer or something, and I –” Overwhelmed with his thoughtfulness, you’re at a loss for words. “Thank you,” you eventually settle on, hoping the sincereness in your words expresses everything you feel.

“You look so surprised,” he says, teasing laced in his tone. “Did you really think I would get you just a half bottle of vinegar for Christmas?”

“I don’t know!” you laugh, a hitch in your breathing as you settle your emotions. “We can’t exactly go Christmas shopping, so I figured you did the best you could.”

He reaches to swipe a tear from the round of your cheek, and you chase the heat of his palm, leaning into it. “It’s been so long since I gave anyone a Christmas present. Glad I’m not totally out of practice.”

Gently sliding the cradle out of the way, you rise to your knees to give him a kiss.

“I love it.”

You kiss him again, his lips tinted red from the wine at dinner, and the bitterness sweeps through your mouth when he gifts you a slow slide of his tongue. The tentative heat held in his response passes to you, and swallowing his hunger, it spreads through your limbs to pool between your legs. Pressing forward, your hand reaches out for his shirt, and you deepen the kiss.

You hope it conveys everything you want to put into words but can’t: appreciation, love, gratitude. Keeping your mouth on his, you slip your hand around the back of his neck and threading your fingers up through his locks, you hold him in place, his hand grasping your elbow to steady you as a soft sound rumbles from his throat.

“I guess you really liked it.”

You just nod, pulling him in for another kiss, his familiar taste and scent filling your senses as he presses himself closer, and when you let out the catch of a moan in your throat, he pulls back just far enough for you to see hooded want in his eyes.

“We done with the gift exchange?” He presses a kiss to your your throat, his lips warm and delicate over the skin he finds and you nod, letting him taste.

“Here,” he asks, his mouth moving just below your ear, “or in the bedroom?”

“Here,” you breathe, cupping his whiskered cheeks to pull his mouth back to yours. Your hand slips between his thighs, finding him half hard under his jeans, and groaning into your mouth, he shifts on the floor to kneel in front of you. Your fingers work the buttons of his flannel open, pushing it from his shoulders at the same time he grabs the hem of your shirt to work it over your head and off. Undoing your bra, you fling it onto the floor as his hand reaches back to tug his t-shirt off in a smooth, overhand motion, and your hands drop to his belt buckle, tugging it open.

The back of your knuckles swipe through the line of coarse hair that leads under the waistband of his jeans, a slight shakiness to your movements betraying the need you feel, and it’s something he sees and rewards with another consuming kiss.

The rest of your clothes tugged off in a rush, he rests his back against the couch and guides you onto his lap, the soft inside of your thighs straddling the outside of his firmer ones. One of the only comfortable positions you’ve got left, it’s been your favorite because it gives him unfettered access to your breasts and when he palms them in appreciation, anticipation sends a warm thrill up your spine.

Using both his hands, he cups the sides of your jaw to draw you in, holding you in place while he opens your mouth with his, his tongue sliding smoothly against yours. His fingertips dig into the nape of your neck, one hand dropping to palm the plush weight of your breast, and you kiss him back even harder while he delicately teases your nipple with his thumb.

The calloused pad skims over the top of it, the contrast between the tender touch and the fierceness of his kisses making your head swim with arousal, and pulling back, he takes in your kiss-swollen mouth only for a moment before bending his attention to your breast.

Using the cradle of his hold, he pushes it up to draw the peak of it into his mouth, and your head tips back, a broken cry coming from your throat.

“Please. Please.”

He would give you anything – anything – you ask for, and this is no different. He laves his tongue over the peaked bud, dragging firm pressure over it as he draws it into his mouth, and when you dig your fingers into his hair and pull with a moan of pleasure, his hand cups the underside of your breast to push more in. Frenzied, rough, desperate for more, a deep groan slides out of his throat at the same moment you feel a strange, tingling sensation on your nipple.

Surprise shows in his brown eyes when they flick up to yours, and pulling back, you both stop.

“Was that –” you ask, and he looks down at your breast, his thumb dragging delicately along the peak.

“Yea, I think it was,” he answers, slightly mesmerized.

A drop of milky liquid hangs from the tip of your breast, and he wipes it away, smearing it on your soft skin. Another one takes its place, and his eyes flicker with interest.

“Holy shit.”

The words slip out faster than you can stop them, and the corresponding lift of his eyebrows makes you laugh, his own deeper chuckle joining your lighter one. He pulls you in for a kiss right as you’re leaning down for one, and you find there was no hunger lost while the moment was broken; instead it comes back even stronger as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and he holds onto your back with a splayed grip so fierce it makes you squirm.

Unsure of when you started grinding your hips against his, you work them slightly faster. Spread and wet on his lap, you’re so achingly empty right over where you can feel the heft of him pressing between your bodies, and fire lights under your skin with how much you want him to just take.

He’s been so careful with you, so considerate in his handling of your body these last few weeks. Always taking care of every need that you have, he’s done so with no less attentiveness, but you can tell that he’s been holding back—a telling rigidness to his muscles when he moves above you, a tightness to his strokes every time he fucks you as if he’s keeping his body in check to make sure he doesn’t lose himself. Missing the sharp edges to his love, you kiss him harder, and he groans as if in pain, his tongue sliding deep into your mouth. His beard rubs your chin raw, the pressure of his response forcing your body to tip back slightly in his hold.

“Fuck me,” you whine, the words breathless against his lips, and he groans again, breaking your kiss.

“Christ, honey, turn around.”

Desperate to follow anything he tells you to do, you grip his shoulder to steady yourself as you turn yourself around, your back to his front. His mouth is an immediate brush against the nape of your neck, a heady sensation that has you melting back into him, and his hands travel up your sides to cup your breasts, pulling at the peaks.

Your ass grinds in his lap, the thick, stiff line of his cock trapped between your bodies, and when you arch your back and lean forward in a silent invitation, he reaches down to line himself up. Easing yourself back down, the stretch is delicious but so tight it’s almost unbearable.

“Goddamn,” he groans over your breathless whine.

Wrapping your smaller hands around his thick wrists for purchase, you pull at your bottom lip with your teeth as you sink all the way down to the base, and when he’s fully seated inside you, he bands his arms just under your breasts in a tight hold, keeping you in place. You can feel how hard he’s breathing between your shoulder blades, his beard rubbing against your skin, and squirming in his lap with a soft sound, you start to roll your hips.

He’s so deep this way, so much deeper than he’s been in weeks, and taking a moment to get used to it with a couple of slick strokes down, you chase the thick, filling stretch of his cock. Leaning forward, you brace your hands on his knees, and the deep groan you hear from behind you makes you wetter; your body physically reacting to his wordless praise.

“You feel so fucking good, honey. So good.”

His hands traverse your back—one splayed wide to drag heavily down your spine, the other curled around your hip to guide your movements–and when you bend forward as much as your stomach allows, his hand drops to your ass, spreading you from behind.

“I wish you could see how wet my cock is. I want you to see how you’re soakin’ it.”

“I can feel it,” you moan, your hips working faster.

You can: every down stroke is smooth and audible, the tight walls of your cunt stretching around him to take him perfect and fluid every single time, and when you start to pull him deeper, he sits forward with a cinch, pulling you back towards his body. The solid, warm wall of his chest cages you in, his arm looping around your hip so his hand can reach your clit, and when he finds it, everything spreads warm and thick from your center outwards, your head tipping back to rest against his shoulder.

“There’s my girl,” he smiles when your body drapes pliant and loose against his, your hips chasing the pressure of his fingers. Forward into his touch and backwards onto his cock, you can hear him breathing heavy and low into your ear and your hands find his forearms to hold on tight, your nails digging into the thick muscles as you work yourself faster.

He rubs your clit in quicker, more precise circles, just right with the firm slip of two calloused fingers, and your thighs tighten in their tremble, your release a bright, shining edge that beckons.

When it happens, it breaks you – clamping tight around him as you’re suspended in a state of strained rapture, his hand comes up to cradle the base of your throat in a possessive hold while his other hand keeps working, and a second wave takes you by surprise, washing over your skin as you cry out. You can feel the wetness that soaks his fingers when he reaches down to feel where you’re stretched around him, letting out a groan against your skin.

His hand smears damply across your hip as he lifts you from his lap, slipping out as he guides you on to your hands and knees, and loose and pliant, you let him position you anyway he wants.

“Just a little more, honey. Just a little longer,” he coaxes.

Resting your cheek on the floor, you arch your back to put yourself on display for him as you catch your breath, but it’s stolen just as quickly when he gives you a rough, open mouthed kiss to your cunt. He eats you like a man starved, the wet muscle of his tongue flattening against you as he keeps you open with his hands splayed on your ass, and a deep rumbled groan is felt against the inside of your thighs when you reach back to tug on his hair.

His tongue dips deep inside you for a taste, and just when he pulls back, he goes in for more, like he’s changed his mind because he can’t get enough. Harder this time, more forceful, the action pushing your hips forward, and when you cry out, he’s dragging himself back, pulling away to position himself.

The heat of his body radiates along the back of your thighs, the thick tip of his cock notched against the slick dip of your entrance only for the barest of moments before he pushes himself in with a stroke of his hips, and you hear a hiss behind you, one you almost don’t catch over the low moan that spills out of your mouth.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he groans, his hips fitting neatly along your ass. He slides out and then back in, giving you time to adjust to his size. “I want – Christ – I want…can you take it harder for me?”

“Yes. God yes. Please.”

He answers with a rougher slide in, an audible muted pound of his hips against your skin. “You tell me if it’s too much, honey, okay?”

After turning your head and nodding so he can see you, he gives you another rough, smooth stroke in and then another one, each one filling you until the air feels like it’s being pushed from your lungs, and then he picks up his pace, letting out a low, heavy breath for every thrust. It sounds obscene: his rumbled, low groans and grunts, but you can barely focus on it for how sensitive you are to his thickness. Everything tighter, the fit is a snug, slick slide in every time, and you squeeze around him, earning you another hiss of appreciation.

“This pussy is gonna kill me,” he groans and then holds nothing back: his hips snapping against you with his hand resting flat on your tailbone, every jolt rocking your body forward.

Exactly what you asked for and what you’ve been missing, you let him know.

“It feels…it feels so good. God I’ve missed this.”

“Yea?” The word is a breathless growl, and you clench down on him again. “What about this? Did you miss this too?”

His hands wrapping around the inside of your elbows, he tugs you back and up until your back is arched with your ass in his lap and then he’s pounding into you.

“Joel!”

Faster and harder, his hips work ceaselessly behind you for a dozen strokes and when he comes, his fingers dig tight into your skin, your arms aching as he holds you in place to take every last drop. Panting behind you, his strokes slow into a rhythmic grind and sliding out, he eases you gently down onto the floor where you slump, your cheek resting on the fold of your arms.

Dazed and loose, with a content smile on your lips, you lay down on your side and he joins you, dropping to the floor. His arm slung over his eyes, you watch his pulse pound in his neck as he tries to catch his breath.

“So…was that also a Christmas present, or….?” you tease, the question coming out slow and saturated with contentment, and he laughs, a breathless thing that’s carefree and deep.

“Sure,” he answers, rolling onto his side. “Merry Christmas.”

The light of the flames dancing across your bare body, shadows slide over his tanned skin and the bluntness of his reply makes you laugh.

The two of you look at each other for a moment, his hand coming up to brush away an errant lock of hair from your temple. His hand glides down the length of your torso, coming to rest on the swell of your stomach and leaning in, his mouth meets yours.

Still smiling, you cup his cheek and with a slick slide leaking between your thighs, pull him closer to deepen the kiss.

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller/you #joel miller/reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction

881 notes · View notes

psychedelic-ink · 2 years

Text

𝑰'𝑴 𝒀𝑶𝑼𝑹𝑺 𝑻𝑶 𝑻𝑨𝑴𝑬

**gif by the amazing @pedrorascal

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

genre: smut, hurt/comfort (but mostly filth let's be honest)

word count: 2.1k

summary: Not being able to sleep, you sneak in next to Joel on the bed. You're stirred awake with a still-sleeping Joel grinding his hips into you.

warnings: brief nightmare mention, accidental somnophilia, dry humping, very messy blowjob, mouth-fucking, gray sweatpants

After reading this post and the endless horny thots of @the-ginger-hedge-witch & @write-and-buried and screaming about pillows and gray sweatpants to @inklore I felt like I had little choice left and wrote this. I'm so weak for this man and I'm not even sorry

You stir awake with your top sticking to your skin and heart fluttering wildly in your chest.

At first, you think you’re dying; your breathing uneven, and chest throbbing painfully. Your eyes struggle to adjust to the darkness, and when they finally do, you let out a sigh of relief at the familiar sight of the ceiling, bruised with humidity. Your back aches in protest as you twist and turn on the couch. Every night the same nightmares, every night you survive and every morning you’re trying to breathe through the pain.

Your fingers twitch with the need to touch something, or someone. Your sleeping schedule has been absolute garbage the past week and it started to show during the day, Joel’s comments about how distracted you were never-ending. One time he asked if it was because of the couch, and if that was the case you should take the bed instead but you know it isn’t an issue of comfort.

Well, it is but not the type of comfort Joel was referring to.

You find yourself slowly sitting upright, the heels of your palms pressed painfully into your eyes as your back slides down the backrest and your head is tilted up. You don’t know what to do. The silence is deafening, you can feel the chaos even in the late hours of pure darkness.

Joel’s snores reach your ears. They sound soft, oddly at peace, and with a brief moment of weakness you think of waking him, talking to him but you end up shaking your head. He’s in pain too. He’s tired too. If he has a chance of being blissfully at peace—even if it’s only for a night— you owe that to him.

And you agree with that notion completely as you get up and head towards his room. You lean against the doorframe, arms crossed.

You watch him, his form looking surprisingly child-like, a pillow under his head and the other end of it caught under his arms and between his legs. He’s laying stomach first, blanker kicked away, and a pair of gray sweatpants hugging him tight. His face is smushed against the pillow, lips parted and a small dark patch growing over the fabric.

You never see him like this—never.

Which might be the reason why you’re moving inside. You stand firm at the edge of the bed, watching the way his back raises and falls with every breath.

Before everything went to shit you always found yourself drawn to the sky; to the shapes of clouds and the light of the moon—the way your heart aches right now makes you reminiscent of that specific feeling.

You just can’t help but gawk at him, at his tortured beauty, at his briefly subsided pain.

Suddenly, your eyelids feel heavy, sleep curling around your body and pulling you down to the empty space next to him. You lay on your back, staring blankly ahead. Anxiety churns heavily in your stomach. You’re not a fan of the thought of accidentally pissing off Joel with this. However, there’s still empty space between you, and for the first time in days, you actually feel that sleep comes naturally.

Heaving out an extended sigh, you turn, curling into a small ball. Moments pass, your body relaxes and drifts above the wave of a somewhat peaceful slumber. Your mind is silent for the first time in months, ears focused on Joel’s breathing.

You don’t know how much time passes after that. It could’ve been minutes. It could’ve been hours. But when you wake again, it’s because of two strong arms pulling you in, the raw earthy musk of Joel overwhelming your nostrils. His muscles tighten around you, his chest flush against your back as his warm breath fans your skin.

“Joel?” you whisper— no answer, only the sound of breathing.

You try not to focus on the fact that this is exactly what you wanted since the first time you laid eyes on him. His arms curled around you, a small shield of light battling the shadows that lurk about. You’re still as a rock, your breathing done in small, sharp inhales. The pillow he was hugging before is tangled between your feet, his pelvis nestled against your ass.

You don’t dare to close your eyes now. You feel too warm, too awake.

You hear him whimper.

It’s the smallest of noises. A sharp muffled sound done into your skin. You hold your breath, and the sound repeats itself. Only louder this time. You note the small grind of his hips, the pulse of his length heavy under his loose sweatpants.

You should wake him up. You really should, but you don’t. A pleasurable tingle buzzes throughout your body, heat building under your cheeks as your own breathing grows heavy. Joel presses closer, seeking you out like a dream. His mustache tickles your skin, lips touching your neck. He doesn’t know you’re there. He doesn’t know it’s not a dream but you he’s kissing in the dark.

His fingers twitch right above your stomach, cock hard as he thrusts himself into your clothed flesh. Your hand claps over your mouth, nostrils flaring, you try to keep yourself silent. You’ll leave as soon as his grip around you loosens—even if it seems like it won’t be happening for a while.

Joel moans into your neck, fingers spreading over your ribs. You slick pools between your legs with every brush of his hips, the seam of your underwear sticking to your mound. Heat stings the small of your back. It’s been too long since you last touched yourself, exhaustion and hunger not being the best lubricant for pleasuring yourself.

The sounds he makes drop, his groans deeper, needier. He’s suddenly racking his hips in stinging strikes against your ass, giving you a very vivid idea of how he might fuck you in real life. Cock trapped underneath the loose binds of his sweatpants, your own imagination runs wild with the rough way he sways you back and forth.

His breathing hitches and you think he’s about to come. Your eyes squeeze tight, your body electrified with the way he engulfs you. Your brain tricks you with images of Joel folding you into two and taking you from behind, his fingers wrapped around your throat and cock stretching you out.

The rest happens in a blink of an eye; your hand falls to clutch the pillow under your head, you push yourself back to meet the rocking of his hips—the moan that follows is loud and unfiltered.

“Fuck,” you breathe out shakily when Joel’s movements slow down to a halt. His hands move but hesitantly, trying to figure out what—who—you are. He stills, much to your surprise he doesn’t move away.

“What’s happenin’” he slurs, lips moving along your nape. “Why are you here? Why am I—”

He swallows. Every muscle on his bone goes tense, his hands now only hovering a lick away from your skin. He doesn’t need to look down to know that he’s hard as a rock, the inside of his sweatpants smeared with precome. He tries to move away and a hiss echoes in the silence, the tip of his cock catching against the soft fabric, a wave of arousal washes over him.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, you wrap your fingers around his wrist and pull his hand back to your body, screaming for the comfort of his touch. “I couldn’t sleep,”

His touch soothes you like a scared animal, warmth blossoming where his fingertips touch. His hand stays but his hips remain apart.

“I’m pretty sure I should be the one apologizin’” he sighs. His hand sneaks under your shirt, skirting up your torso, your breast fits perfectly in his palm—you shudder. “You should’ve woken me up if you were having nightmares. Tell me what you need,”

“I didn’t want to bother you. You looked…peaceful.”

“I’m never at peace.”

You stay silent, his breath damp across your neck. He palms your breast and pinches the tender flesh that makes you jump.

“Tell me…” he presses his nose into the curve of your neck, little hairs scraping your skin, and inhales you deeply. “Tell me what you want.”

“Tell me what you want,” you challenge him.

Your fingers trace the slopes of his knuckles, feeling every cut that’s been long since healed over with stretched skin. Joel denies himself of everything, as long as he’s able to, that is. He doesn’t enjoy living, doesn’t hold onto it tight as most people do. He just survives—and that’s it.

“Please,” you beg, covering his hand with your own. “Tell me.”

Despite not touching, you feel the twitch of his cock. You’re hoping that he hears the need you have to please him in your voice. You want to chase his heat with your body— live inside of it, and drown in it. His hand rolls down your body and squeezes your hip.

“Want your mouth,” he groans out, voice still thick with sleep. “Wanna feel your lips tight around me,”

You’re moving before he finishes his sentence. You throw the pillow tangled between your legs to the floor and crawl between his legs as he spreads them further. The back of his head is snug against the bedding. You trace the outline of his shaft with your fingers, your thumb brushing over the patch of wetness that had seeped into the fabric. His palm skims over the roundness of your shoulders and to the back of your neck, pushing you down.

Slowly, you pull the restricting fabric down and smile when you notice he’s not wearing anything else. “You go commando every time you wear these?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” his chest heaves but you don’t miss the small tug of the corner of his mouth.

You close your mouth around the fat head, swirling your tongue, you taste him eagerly. He’s pulled taut, every fiber of his being coming alive at the swipe of your tongue. You swallow him halfway and breathe heavily, your own slick coats the inside of your thighs. Your chin is strained as you wrap your fingers around the base, pumping him into your mouth. His hips stutter forward, plunging his shaft further down your throat.

You swallow again and again, moving up and down and flattening your tongue underneath. It’s easy to fall into rhythm, as if the heat of your mouth was made for him to fill. Blunt nails bite into your skin and you allow him to push you further down, the entirety of his cock being squeezed by your throat. Soft hairs tickle your nose, your hands move up and down the thickness of his thighs.

Joel holds you there, your mouth waters, spit trickling down the corners of your mouth.

A loud moan falls from his already parted lips, thrusting shallowly into your throat. You choke around him, and he moves faster.

When he releases you, you pull back and press your cheek against his thigh, your hand stroking his spit-slick shaft. Joel pulses heavily with the glide of your palm, the tip of his cock a dark shade of red.

“Don’t stop,” he growls, hand moving falling, and cradling your neck. “You can take it, can’t you? This is what you asked for,”

You trace the wet length of him with open-mouthed kisses, he cants his hips into your hand, skimming over your lips. A moan trembles in his chest.

“It is.”

The heat of your mouth is everything Joel could as for. It’s comforting, dangerously so. You suck on the tip, swirl your tongue, his stomach clenches as sweat beads over his skin. He tenderly grabs the back of your head, thumbs moving over your cheeks as he fucks himself into your mouth. He can’t hold back, the need to spill into something real— into someone he cares for, proving to be too much.

You can barely think with the way he fills you, you hallow your cheeks, swallow around him. Joel, is visibly shaking, his eyes closed and mouth agape as he loses himself in you. Your own hand moves between your legs, cupping your sex and slipping two fingers between your slick folds. You groan at your own touch, the reverberations of your throat making him jolt.

His thighs tense and quake, you’re so wet, the sweet symphony of noises that falls from his mouth in parts makes you clench. Joel licks his lips, thrusting into your mouth once—twice, his balls tighten, and sweat pools at the tailbone. He comes heavily down your throat, spilling into and forcing you to swallow every drop. He holds you in place, whispering sweet nothings into the dark. You swallow eagerly, the taste of him bitter but not unpleasant.

When he finally releases you, a string of saliva follows as you part with him with a pop. You sit on your heels, fingers now drawing slow, teasing circles around your clit. Joel chokes out a gasp and lifts himself with his elbows.

“Need help with that?” he rasps, you trace the veins meandering down his neck with heavy-lidded eyes and smile.

“I would very much like so, yes.”

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller #tlou fanfiction #tlou fanfic #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal character fic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal characters

1K notes · View notes

msmk11 · 1 month

Text

I Love You First

Ron Weasley x gn!reader

WC: 538

CW: hurt/comfort

Summary: Ron is used to feeling second.

Day 17 of mk’s mad dash

Ron has yet to say anything, but you can tell that something is wrong. You knew the instant he walked into your room, his usual casual demeanor tinged with an air of sadness and insecurity. And while your boyfriend is always cuddly, when he instantly finds a home face down, buried in your stomach, your fears are confirmed. You’ve opted to not say anything, and instead are going to let Ron share his feelings with you when he’s ready. In the meantime, you provide little reassurances- pressing a soft kiss to his neck here or there, running your fingers through his knotted, ginger hair, and talking quietly about your day.

It’s only when you start to feel your shirt dampen that you decide to speak up, “baby? What’s wrong?”

A little sniffle escapes from your boyfriend, “nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”

“Ron, you’re crying, sweetheart. What happened?”

Ron ignores you and squeezes your thighs tightly.

“Baby,” you bring your hand to his chin, forcing him to look up at you.

You instantly coo at the sight in front of you. His eyes are red-rimmed, and his cheeks stained with tear tracks, “talk to me, please.”

Ron refuses to look at you, “nothing’s happened. Not really. It’s just… I’m just…. I’m feeling insecure today, okay?”

You tut softly at him, pulling him up to sit in between your legs. You swipe your thumb across his freckled cheeks, “insecure about what, baby? Anything I can help with?”

The redhead mumbles something, and you have to ask him to repeat it.

“I said that I’m just tired of feeling like second best.”

Your boyfriend looks so sad and vulnerable as he confesses to you, and your heart breaks.

Feeling second is something Ron has always struggled with. With having so many siblings, being best friends with the chosen one, and also being best friends with ‘the brightest witch of your age’, he often feels less than. Less loved. Less important.

“Oh my love, I’m sorry,” you sigh softly. You reach out and kiss your boyfriend’s cheek. He instinctively leans into your touch.

“I know I can’t automatically change how you view yourself, but you must know that all your friends and family love you so very much. And me, well, I love you very very much. I love you the most, actually.”

Despite the sadness in his heart, a small grin forms on Ron’s face, “you love me the most? More than even your own family.”

“Mhmm. You’ve stolen my heart, Ronnie.”

The nickname and your confession makes him blush all prettily, and you peck his lips happily.

“I guess I just…. want to feel like I’m important to the people I care about. That I’m first in their hearts sometimes, you know? That I’m not just an afterthought, or the side character. I want to mean something to people.”

“You do, babe. I promise you that. But I get it. I know it feels easy to get lost in the commotion of your family and friends. But I always see you, yeah?”

“I love you, baby. Really, thank you,” he replies, nodding. Every word drips with adoration and your heart swells.

“I love you, Ron. And I’ll always, always, love you first.”

#mk's mad dash #ron weasley x reader #ron weasley #ron weasley x you #ron weasley x y/n #ron weasley imagine #ron weasley fic #ron weasley blurb #ron weasley fluff #ron weasley hurt/comfort #ron weasley angst #harry potter fandom #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter series #hp fanfic #hp #hp fandom #hp ron weasley #harry potter ron weasley

70 notes · View notes

littlemisspascal · 2 months

Text

New Writers added to The Pedro Library 🐼

@almostfoxglove @syd-djarin

New Works Added ✨

Many fics aren’t appearing in the tags when searching. If I miss yours, please let me know 💗 Or add me to your taglist cuz I love being tagged 😊

As always, if you would like me to remove your work from the rec list, please let know and I’ll remove them asap 😊

@pedrito-friskito Din Track 9 - The Prophecy

@secretelephanttattoo Din Hatch

@undercoverpena Joel It’s Different in the Sun, In the Day / Frankie Take You to the Hilltop, and Tell You You’re Pretty

@sweetpascal Joel Just Like That

@alltheirdamn Joel Rotten

@spacecowboyhotch Joel Mellow Embers

@burntheedges Joel What It Is to Grow

@mermaidgirl30 Joel Teach Me a Lesson, Mr. Miller

@stylesispunk Joel ‘The other side of the door’

@littlepadika Joel Outbreak Day Eve

@backtothefanfiction Joel Insecure

@wildemaven Joel + Dave Life and Loss

@criticallyacclaimedstranger Joel Excitement

@the-ginger-hedge-witch Joel Fixed Up

@djarinmuse Joel Is Joel Okay?

@novemberrain-writes Whiskey Panic Attack / Marcus P Vomiting

@crowandmousewritingco Dieter Facing the Monsters Head On / Ezra Strange Creature

@schnarfer Dieter Dieter’s Doggy Style

@wheresarizona Marcus A Columba

@absurdthirst Frankie The Weekend Getaway

@janaispunk Oberyn Dancing Phantoms on the Terrace

#my library #joel miller #marcus acacius #dieter bravo #agent whiskey #marcus pike #frankie morales #oberyn martell #din djarin #dave york #ezra prospect

60 notes · View notes

cuffmeinblack · 2 years

Note

If you’re taking requests - could you do a jealous Ominis x f!Slytherin reader 🥹🤲🏻

I’m imagining one of our ginger Gryffindors Leander or Garreth attempting to get a bit more than friendly with mc and he’s not a fan

The boggart in the tower

Ominis Gaunt x f!reader

Tags: fluff | pranks

1.1k words

A/n: OK I'm so sorry this went SO off-piste I have no idea what happened but I'm going to post it anyway. It basically just ended up as an Ominis and Sebastian being stupid boys fic.

It had escaped absolutely nobody's notice that the new fifth year was the subject of interest of two of her Gryffindor classmates. Leander and Garreth, normally very friendly with each other, had become contenders in the battle for her affections and resorted to snide remarks and outright sabotage in an effort to dash the other's chances to impress her. Ominis would find this amusing if it weren't so frustrating.

One such occurrence of this rivalry came in an otherwise tedious potions lesson. Not one of Ominis' favourite subjects, he found it harder than most to accurately measure ingredients and could only tell if his potion was successful by means other than sight—smell, texture, or Sebastian's remarks.

"Looks like snot," he said next to him.

"That wasn't quite what I was going for."

"Too much bubotuber pus, I think."

Ominis sighed and vanished the contents of his cauldron, groping around for the ingredients to begin again. Professor Sharp was busy muttering to Amit across the room, perhaps he'd be able to catch up if he hurried. As Ominis cleaned off his silver knife, he overheard another conversation, much louder and much more embarrassing.

"You know I'm working on my own potion, maybe you'd like to join me one day? We can work on it together. You're a very gifted witch."

"Erm, thank you, Garreth. I'm afraid I'm far too busy…"

"She doesn't want to spend her time mixing potions with you, Garreth. How about a spin around Hogsmeade instead? I've heard Honeydukes have a new flavour of fudge…"

"Again, I'm afraid I'm too busy. Thank you for the invitation, Leander, truly."

Sebastian snorted next to him as Ominis shook his head, trying to tune out the exchange. He flinched when a cold hand touched his cheek.

"Your cheeks are burning, Ominis," Sebastian laughed.

Ominis swatted the hand away and returned to his potion, grimacing at the smell from the bubotuber on his chopping board.

"Sebastian?"

"Mmm?"

"How would you feel about creating a little inter-house sabotage?" Ominis whispered.

"You've got my attention, proceed," Sebastian muttered in reply.

"I think Prewett and Weasley need to be taken down a peg or two."

"Hah. It does bother you."

"What bothers me?" Ominis asked, feigning ignorance.

"Come on, Ominis. I'm your oldest friend, don't think I can't tell that you're head over heels for our new fifth year."

"Will you help me or not?" Ominis asked testily.

"Of course. What's the plan?"

"What if…what if we send them both a letter from her."

"I like it. Let's make them climb all the way up the bell tower," Sebastian sniggered quietly.

"And all they find is each other. Fools."

"And a boggart," Sebastian added.

"A boggart?"

"Think they might need a little scare as well. There's one in a cupboard in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, I'm sure I can manage to relocate it… temporarily."

Ominis smirked as he idly stirred the contents of his cauldron, wondering how best to entice the two Gryffindor boys in the letters.

"Your potion appears to be burnt, Gaunt. Pay more attention next time, please," Professor Sharp barked from behind him.

Ominis and Sebastian spent the afternoon writing the two letters for Garreth and Leander in a quiet corner of the Slytherin common room. Both asked them to come to the bell tower that evening after dinner, feigning interest in their respective hobbies. Sebastian had convinced Ominis to wait for them, hiding out of sight under the stairs of the tower as to not miss the chaos that was sure to ensue. They delivered the letters to the perplexed owls being asked to deliver letters to the great hall at dinnertime and slipped away from the meal early.

Sebastian nudged Ominis and whispered, "They've just got their letters. They both look so proud."

They reached the tower, casting disillusionment charms and crouching uncomfortably beneath the wooden staircase that led to the top of the tower, below the bells. Ominis leaned against an old crate, waiting impatiently.

Garreth came first, humming to himself as he climbed the stairs. The second set of footsteps came a minute afterwards as Ominis and Sebastian waited and listened intently.

"Weasley, what are you doing here?"

"Prewett?"

Sebastian had his hand over his mouth to muffle the sound of his laughing. It wouldn't be long until they noticed the third note stuck to the trunk and Ominis' heart pounded in anticipation. A faint muttering came from above them as the two boys conversed, probably baffled by the turn of events, then a loud creak and two echoing screams rang through the tower.

"It's a bloody werewolf!" Garreth Weasley was shouting hysterically as the sets of footsteps clattered down the stairs.

"Out of the way, Weasley!"

"Oof!"

Sebastian was clutching Ominis' arm as the two descended into hysterics, the Gryffindors shoving each other and running absolutely terrified from the room.

The plan only had one downside—the idiot Gryffindors thought that she had been the one to lure them to the tower and humiliate them. Ominis heard the ugly encounter outside of charms the next morning.

"What did you think you were doing, setting a boggart on us?" Leander hissed.

The students in the queue for the classroom ceased their conversations to listen in on the exchange, creating an uneasy silence in the corridor.

"What are you talking about?"

"We both got your letters, it wasn't funny," Garreth said in a slightly hurt tone.

Ominis begged to differ. It was funny, though this part was much more uncomfortable to witness. Though he didn’t much fancy owning up to the prank, he had little choice—he wouldn’t let her take the blame on his behalf.

“It wasn’t her,” Ominis said into the silence.

“You?” Garreth asked.

Ominis nodded, adjusting his stance and keeping a hand hovering over his wand in his robe pocket.

“Just a little lesson in courtesy. She’d made it clear she wasn’t interested,” Ominis replied.

The exchange was thankfully interrupted by the arrival of Professor Ronen who ushered the students into his classroom.

“This isn’t the end of this,” Leander whispered into Ominis’ ear.

Ominis turned from the fuming Gryffindors, seating himself as far away from their muttering as he could. The seat next to him was filled, but the sound and scent wasn’t Sebastian—it was her. Ominis felt his chest tighten as he prepared for the ambush, but it never came.

“Did you really set a boggart on them?” she whispered.

“They just happened to find it,” he said evasively, fondly remembering the screams echoing in the tower.

She tittered quietly next to him and Ominis relaxed, a smile creeping onto his face.

“Thanks, Ominis,” she said, laying a warm hand on his arm.

#ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt drabble #ominis gaunt fanfiction #ominis gaunt imagine #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian sallow imagine #sebastian sallow drabble #anon ask

779 notes · View notes