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forever-rogue · 8 months

Note

“just a few more stitches and you’ll be as good as new.” And “you look like you’ve got something to say” with Joel miller🤭 I just know you’ll do this one justice babes

AN | Thank you so much, my love 🥰I hope you enjoy!

Pairing | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Language, Description of leg injury

Word Count | 2.6k

Masterlist | Joel, Main

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You’d given people stitches countless times by now. The circumstances surrounding life as it was currently known had you learning how to do stitches from a young age, and by adulthood you were pretty much an expert. But - but - you’d never had any yourself. Surprising, right? Maybe you just weren’t as clumsy as everyone else…or you were just lucky. Either way, there had been no complaints on your part.

Until now. Suddenly you weren’t feeling so brave as you sat there on edge of Joel Miller’s bathtub as he cleaned the wound on your thigh. Yeah…it had been an interesting series of events that had led to this moment, but here you were. And the cherry on top of it all was that you hadn’t even been doing anything dangerous or scary. All you had done was go on patrol with Joel and gotten snagged on a particularly sharp and jagged rogue tree branch.

And from there your thigh had been slashed, through your jeans and all. And it hadn’t even hurt - the surprise and shock of the moment had gotten the better of you and the adrenaline kicked in. It was Joel’s reaction that caused you to realize that something had really happened. When you looked down you found a large gash in your jeans and blood flowing down your leg.

A soft oh was all that escaped your lips before you felt the tears well up and start to run down your cheeks. The pain set in almost immediately and all you wanted to do was curl up and cry and make it go away. Luckily, Joel managed to make it over to you before it all became too much. He always managed to make you feel better and this was no exception. He was at your side and taking your face in his hands to look you over and reassure you that everything would be alright.

And that brought you to your current situation. Needless to say it wasn’t one that you had ever imagined yourself in.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“It’s going to sting a little bit, okay?” he asked softly as he grabbed a clean washcloth and the bottle of rubbing alcohol. You sighed but offered him a small nod as you braced yourself for the pain that you knew was coming. You heard his soft chuckle before he brushed a few rogue locks of hair out of your face, “let me know if it hurts too much.”

“I’ll be fine,” you wished your voice didn’t sound so small and scared but of course, you had to make a continual fool out of yourself in front of Joel. It was like the universe just wanted to push you into confessing your crush on him. But…yeah, that was not going to happen.

"Alright," he popped open the bottle and poured it onto the cloth and you watched intently as he cleaned the area around the wound before moving onto the gash itself. Joel watched your face as he tried to gauge your pain level. It was a biting sting, no doubt due to how deep the cut was, but you tried to hide it as best as you could. You bit the inside of your cheek so hard you were surprised you didn't experience the coppery taste of blood in your mouth, "its alright, baby. I'm almost done."

You closed your eyes and nodded, but Joel was one step ahead of you, his hand already on your cheek in order to comfort you. He gently shushed you, and as if he possessed some kind of magic power, the pain seemed to dissipate slightly.

"Is it over?" Your question came out more like a whimper than anything else. You peeked an eye open at him, and found him watching you with a gentle expression.

"Mhmm," he removed the rag and tossed it into the sink. You could feel him scrutinizing your leg; he'd had enough of his own injuries to know more or less what was going on, "can you do me a favor, sweetheart?"

"Of course."

"Take off your pants please," his eyes pinked as he could barely meet your face. You felt like you were burning up immediately and found it impossible to say anything, "I just…you need some stitches. This cut is pretty deep."

"Stitches?" You squeaked out as he grimaced with nodded in the affirmative. After exhaling deeply, you nodded, "yes, o-of course."

Joel took a step back and gave you some space, turning around in order to keep from losing his mind. If he was an honest man, and he was for the most part, he would admit that he'd thought of this moment so many times. Not the whole 'taking care of your injury' thing but the whole 'getting to see you undress' thing. In his mind it was usually a more romantic thing. But this…well. His main concern was getting you taken care of.

"Okay," your voice sounded so small as he turned around to find you sitting there in just your oversized t-shirt and pale pink lace underwear. At least you'd worn some cute panties, "w-will it be okay?"

"Yes," he promised as he tried to focus on the injury rather than the soft skin of your legs. The edges were red and angry, but he knew once everything stitched up and kept clean it would be alright, "you trust me enough to do this?"

"I think you're the only one I'd trust to do this," you confessed gently, causing Joel to hesitate for a moment. You could see the corners of his mouth quirk up, "will it hurt?"

"Yes," you could tell that he hated admitting that it would cause you any sort of pain, "it'll hurt a little bit. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," you watched as he grabbed the clean needle and thread. Funny how a home patch job these days had become so normal. When he was ready his fingers danced around your soft skin, "go ahead. The sooner you do it, the sooner it's done."

"If it hurts too much let me know," you nodded and turned your head away. You hoped that by looking to the side you could convince your mind that nothing bad was happening. But as soon as you felt the prick and slide of the needle entered your skin, your body tensed up and a hiss escaped your lips. Joel made a small sound of reassurance, "I know, baby, I know."

You were holding the edge of the tub so tightly that your knuckles were turning white. Joel tried to make it as painless as possible but you were so on edge that you were sure you could feel every little movement, "does it always feel like that? Or am I just a huge baby?"

You hoped that humor would help and tried to focus on the fact that Joel - Joel! - was touching you. You heard him inhale and exhale sharply, a stunted laughter of sorts before he adopted a softer tone, "just a few more stitches and you'll be good as new. You're doing so well."

"I'm acting like a little bitch," you blinked back your tears, laughing ever so slightly, "you don't have to lie."

"I'm not lying," he promised as made a few more movements before stopping, "and now you're all done."

"All done?"

"Yup," He cut the thread and covered up the wound before you could take too close of a look and worry again, "and you took it like a champ."

"Thank you," the pout on your lips was so pathetic and cute at the same time that he was sorely tempted to kiss it away, "it'll be okay?"

"It'll be okay," he taped up the edges of the gauze before moving to stand back up, "I'll check on it again tomorrow."

"You don't have to-"

"It's not up for debate, sweetheart," he was busy washing his hands so he didn't see the ways your eyes widened in response. Your whole body felt like it was on fire.

He looked up in the mirror and caught your eye, offering you a half smile. You returned it the best you could before slowly trying to stand up to put your pants back on. Joel beat you to it, reaching for your hands and gingerly hoisting you to your feet.

He handed you your pants holding out his arm to you in order to keep you balanced all while pointedly keeling his gaze shifted away.

"Thank you," you pulled the zipper up and buttoned the jeans, trying to ignore the big hole where the bandage was now peaking out from. You were going to throw then away as soon as you got home, hoping the memory of the injury as well, "for everything."

"Nothing to thank me for," he insisted, "are you going to be okay going home?"

"Considering I live a few houses down I think I'll manage," you managed to tease him in response and that brought a grin to his face, "I'll see you tomorrow then?"

"Tomorrow," he promised, "and if you need anything before then-"

"I won't hesitate to ask."

"Good girl."

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

By the next afternoon you hadn't heard from Joel. You were ready to write it off as him being busy, but a small part of you was disappointed as well. Admittedly you did want to see him, even if it wasn't under the best of circumstances.

Just when you'd given up on him, you heard a knocking at your door before it slowly opened, "hello?"

"Joel?" You nearly tripped over your own feet as you almost ran down the stairs.

"Yeah," he made his way over to the bottom of the stairs, smiling lightly as you came down, "easy there, don't want to go and hurt yourself more."

"Sorry," you hopped off the bottom step and looked up at him, trying to keep your composure, "just, I- um. Hi."

"Hi," he took a step back and motioned for you to follow him to the kitchen. He'd been over to your house so many times by now and knew his way around but at the same there was something undeniably sexy about the way he took charge, "c'mon, let me take a look at you."

"Its fine," you promised softly, "really."

"Again, it wasn't a question," he pulled out the chair and you sat down without further hesitation or comment, "how are you feeling?"

"Fine," you promised, glad you wore shorts today and didn't have to pull down your pants in front of him again. He washed his hands before crouching down at your side and slowly removing the bandaging he had so gently applied. You must have made a small sound at the pressure because he stopped immediately and looked up at you with worry, "sorry, it's okay. Preemptively preparing for pain."

He chuckled in response as he finished removing the bandage and appraising his handiwork. You tried to watch his face for any sign that it wasn't okay but quickly got lost as you studied his features instead, "its looking good. It'll be sore for a few days but it'll be just fine."

“Promise?” the question slipped out before you could even really process it. It was more of an internal ponderance but when he gave your hand a squeeze, you relaxed. He looked at you, warm brown eyes staring into your eyes as thought he could see deep inside your soul. The look was so intense that you wanted you to look away,but couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

“I swear it,” his voice was a raspy whisper that sent shivers running up and down your spine. You wondered if he could hear how fast your heart was beating or feel the way gooseflesh erupted all over your skin. Almost as if he could sense your thoughts, he reached up and touched your face, brushing his thumb over your cheek, “you look like you’ve got something to say.”

“I-I…” you paused for a moment, opening and closing your mouth a few times, in search of the right words, “umm, I don’t know if you want me to hear it.”

“I’d love to hear anything you ever have to say,” and you knew that he meant it. Joel Miller would never lie to you. Your eyes darted to his lips and you couldn’t help the way your mouth ran dry. You’d always been attracted to him - it wasn’t just the fact that he was incredibly handsome, it was also that he was so kind and caring (even if he never admitted it), and smart, and giving. He had a lot of admirable qualities even if he didn’t believe that or acknowledge it. You’d gladly remind him of that every day if you had, “I was just…I was thinking about how handsome you are. And that I’d really like to kiss you.”

“You sure about that?” his cheeks flushed slightly as you nodded gently, “that’s funny because I was just thinking the same thing.”

“You were thinking about how handsome you are?” you joked causing him to snort as he sighed at you with nothing short of affection.

“Very funny,” in a gentle movement, he took your face gently in his hands and made sure you were looking at him. Your own gaze in response was wide-eyed and innocent at the sudden gesture, “let me ask you again, are you sure about that?”

“Uh huh,” you choke dout but you knew he wasn’t going to take that as an actual answer, “y-yes, I’m sure.”

“May I?” you nodded, instantly knowing where his mind was going. He leaned in and pressed his lips to yours, something so soft and gentle that it was almost nothing more than a ghost of a kiss. And yet - it felt so utterly perfect.

When he pulled back, looking at you curiously to make sure he hadn’t accidentally crossed any boundaries. When he realized you were beaming at him, he relaxed and leaned in to kiss you again, this time with more urgency and fervor.

The two of you only broke apart when you needed a breath of air and Joel pressed gentle kisses to your forehead and cheeks before stopping at your lips.

“Are you still sure?” if you didn’t know any better you would almost think that he sounded nervous.

“Positive,” your reassurance allowed him to relax, “in fact, I’m so sure that you could do that anytime you want.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhmm,” you put your hand on his shoulder and gave him a gentle squeeze, “but seriously, thank you Joel. For taking care of me.”

“You know I’d do anything for you,” and yeah. You knew that was true, and you loved that, among so many other things about him.

“I’d do anything for you too, Joel,” he smiled bashfully in response and you might have fallen a little more for him.

“I know,” this time it was your turn to kiss him.

And kiss you did, until it was the only thing that either of you thought about.

Maybe the leg injury wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #pedro pascal #tlou

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haosweater · 3 months

Text

perhaps i loved you.

content: idol! jeonghan x gn! reader, angst, fluff, past life au, coffee shop au, royalty au (just read, you’ll get it), unrequited love.

summary: a unique cafe down fifth avenue opens a whole new door of surprises for jeonghan.

word count: 1.4k

note: based this off the short exert i wrote at the end lol. totally not inspired by real life events haha… also i’m writing this at almost two in the morning please forgive any grammar or spelling mistakes.

it was cloudy. the sun peeked through the smallest crevices it could find as the wind gently brushed against jeonghan’s skin.

he shivered, pulling his green cardigan on tighter. he reached up, grabbing his white bucket hat to make sure it didn’t fly away. god knew the wind was ruthless these past few days. jeonghan felt like the world seemed to be against him.

he hummed along to his music, walking down the street in solace. the cherry blossoms bloomed magnificently, its pink petals falling to spread its beauty. he looked up, admiring the trees with a gentle smile.

there weren’t a lot of people out this time of the day and jeonghan liked that. he liked the comfort of not being recognised, being able to go about his day peacefully. the solitude was exactly what he needed.

inhaling a deep breath, he turned and continued down the street. the shops down this road were vintage. unique little thrift stores, record stores, quaint coffee shops that sold overpriced coffee— wait.

jeonghan paused, staring into the shop. olive green bookshelves lined the beige walls of the shop. behind, there was a counter with coffee machines and cake displays. at the very front of the store, there was a table. it had two chairs with a typewriter sitting on it.

a cafe? no, bookstore? or was it a vintage thrift store? confused, jeonghan looked up at the sign.

‘caffeinated literature’.

‘how peculiar,‘ jeonghan thought. glancing around, he peeked into the cafe again, noticing no one was inside. he wondered if it was closed, a slight pang of disappointment filling his chest.

however, the ‘open’ sign on the door proved him wrong. his eyes moved down, and noticed the poster on the door, prompting him to move closer and read it.

enjoy a cup of coffee,

and let me write you poetry.

welcome to caffeinated literature.

it didn’t take jeonghan another second to push the glass door open, the soft chime of the bell ringing in the air. “hello?” he called out softly.

there was a muffled crash followed by a yelp, shocking him. “hello! just give me a moment! please, take a seat!”

jeonghan sat down apprehensively, fluffing the cushion beside him. the interior was cozy, minimalistic and welcoming. swinging his feet, he continued to observe his surroundings, not realising you had emerged from behind the counter.

“hello, so sorry about that! what can i get for you today?” you panted, handing him the menu.

jeonghan looked at you in awe. your voice sounded like sweet, smooth honey that dripped slowly into a cup of warm tea. there was a sense of familiarity to you, but he couldn’t figure out what it was.

“uh, sorry,” he mumbles, snapping out of his thoughts. “i’ll just get an iced cappuccino and a poem, please.”

you grin. “great choice. i’ll be right back with your coffee, so just take a seat in tbe front,” you gesture to the table with the typewriter. he nods, getting up as you disappear behind the counter.

jeonghan feels light-headed from staring at you. something about you was so enchanting, so magical and so familiar. he sighed, annoyed that he was unable to figure out what it was.

the aroma of his coffee drifted in the air as you brought it over. he thanked you as you sat across him, smiling as he sipped on it slowly.

“oh, wow, this is really good,” he remarked, licking his lips. “thank you.”

“it’s no problem,” you say, smiling. “now, for the poem,” you gently slot the paper into the typewriter. turning around, you turn the speaker on, calm jazz music filling the cafe.

“i know this sounds rather far-fetched, but i usually hold people’s hands to get a better feel of their aura before i write their poem. do you mind if i do that with you?”

jeonghan shakes his head almost instantly. “no, not at all,” he says, extending his hands.

you smile, nodding in acknowledgement as you take his hands into yours, slowly shutting your eyes.

jeonghan shivered, and suddenly, he wasn’t in the cafe anymore.

he was now clad in formal wear, standing at the entrance to a balcony. you stood at the edge, back facing him. the moon was bright and the stars shone in the sky.

“i didn’t expect you to come,” your voice wavered. jeonghan couldn’t speak– he could not control what he did.

“i’m here now, aren’t i?” he chuckles, swirling the glass of wine in his hand. “what bothers you, my dear, on the night we are to celebrate?”

when you turn around, tears rolling down your cheeks, he freezes. you stare at him, sniffing softly. even when you’re crying, you look breath-taking to him.

averting your gaze, you sigh. “i can’t lie to you anymore, han,” you whisper. “tonight i watched you get married to the love of your life, confessing your love to each other in front of the whole kingdom,” you look up at him again.

“and now, i will confess my love to you, in front of the moon and stars.”

jeonghan is in shock. he doesn’t know how to comprehend this situation. it is all too fast, too quick– was this his past life?

“i have loved you ever since we were kids, han. my heart has held onto you tightly, refusing to let go. i’ve seen the best and the worst of you. i’ve seen all your flaws and imperfections and yet still i love you. i have been your friend, but never once did i love you like one. i loved you more than that. i would sacrifice the moon and the stars just to gaze at your beauty. i would burn the kingdom down if you wanted me to. my heart aches and yearns for your touch, your love, your heart and i know i will never get it, but i had to tell you.”

by the time you’re done, you’re panting, out of breath. jeonghan wants to rush forward and hold you, but his body stops him. there is no control.

“b-but y/n, i’m a prince and you’re a—”

“knight, i know,” you sob. “i prayed to the gods every day that my heart would let go of you because i knew i could never be yours, nor you, mine.”

jeonghan simply stood there, heart aching at the sight of you. “i am sorry, y/n. i am sorry i cannot love you the way you want me to,” he whispers, taking a step forward.

“it’s okay, han,” you say softly, tears staining your once rosy cheeks. wiping them away, you look at him with a sad smile. “it was never meant to be anyways.”

with a loud gasp, jeonghan finds himself back in cafe. he’s panting, eyes darting around vigorously before landing on you.

you were crying.

and so was he.

“sorry,” you let out an awkward laugh, wiping your tears away. “i don’t know why i’m crying,” you whisper, trying to stop yourself from crying, but the tears keep coming.

“it’s okay,” jeonghan stutters, quickly wiping his own tears. he wants to comfort you more, but he couldn’t find the words to. he felt like he didn’t deserve to.

sniffing, your fingers suddenly start to gly across the typewriter, the clicks ringing in the air. jeonghan observes you intensely, watching you throw draft after draft away. you were clearly frustrated.

finally, after his ice had melted, his coffee finished, you were done.

“sorry,” you say, removing the paper. “i had a hard time finding the right words,” you confessed as he smiled.

he looked down, reading the poem as you fidgeted with your fingers. his eyes drift across each word, heart clenching as he reached the last line.

“this is beautiful,” he says breathlessly. “thank you. i love it.”

you return the smile. “thank you for coming. i hope to see you again.”

jeonghan’s heart flutters at your words momentarily. “thank you for the coffee and poem. and who knows? perhaps i will see you again,” he chuckles before waving goodbye, pushing the glass door open as the bell chimed.

the breeze was stronger now, and jeonghan had to grab onto his hat again. with a loud sigh, he began to walk down the street, thoughts flooding his mind. it was racing, restless and utterly confused.

as he reached the end, he stopped at a traffic light, waiting for it to turn green. pulling out the piece of paper, he reread what you had written, tears forming in the corner of his eyes once again.

‘who are you,

stranger?

you look rather familiar.

perhaps i have loved you.

in another life.’

#seventeen 🫧#seventeen x reader #seventeen angst #seventeen fluff #seventeen fics #seventeen fanfic #seventeen jeonghan #jeonghan #yoon jeonghan #jeonghan x reader #seventeen #seventeen imagines

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george-weasleys-girl · 2 months

Text

Begin Again - Pt.1

Season of Love Event

Friends to Lovers to Friends to Lovers Again

*I didn't intend on this turning out as long as it did, but here we are. I'm not certain when the next part will be out. I'd like to say it'll be before the end of the week, but it'll more likely be a couple of weeks. Or possibly in March.

George Weasley x fem!reader

Summary: Six years after the war, a familiar face shows up on Diagon Alley

Warnings: mention of underage sex

~•~

Y/N sank back into the oversized, velvety chair. It'd been a long time since she had traversed the cobblestones of Diagon Alley. Not since before the second Wizarding War.

So much had changed. The little coffee shop she sat in used to be... what was it? A shoe shop? She couldn't quite remember. Well, whatever it had been, it certainly wasn't this cozy little place. She sighed and glanced out the window, her eyes drifting back over to the now world-famous joke shop, debating for the umpteenth time since she set foot back in London two days ago, whether or not to pay a visit.

"Here you go, ma'am," the server's voice broke through her ruminations.

Y/N turned and smiled, happy to see that her order of a double shot of espresso and a giant cinnamon roll had arrived. It wasn't the healthiest of breakfasts, she had to admit, but she needed something to jolt her awake.

"Anything else I can get you?" The server asked, eyeballing the stack of muggle tabloids with a mixture of curiosity and disdain.

"Nothing at the moment, thank you," Y/N smiled, ignoring the way he looked down his nose at her. Let him think whatever he wants. She was long past the point of caring what other people thought of her. She had far more important things to occupy her mind.

Like this absolutely divine cup of espresso sitting before her.

She enhaled the heavenly aroma before taking a sip. "Mmm, caffeine, my friend," she mumbled, smirking at her own silliness.

The coffee hit her veins almost immediately. Y/N pulled the Weekly World News from the top of her pile and dug into her morning routine. She scanned the pages, snorting at a couple of the more ridiculous stories. She knew, just as much as any rational person (magical or not), that only the very gullible believed this nonsense.

Except... as she'd come to learn long ago, it wasn't all nonsense. In amongst all the batboys and alien love slaves there was hidden a sliver of truth. And if you knew what you were looking for, you'd find it.

~•~

George shuffled into the coffee shop. He hadn't had a decent night's rest in weeks. April 1 had only just passed, and May was barreling toward him like a rogue bludger. As it did every year since the war.

"Morning, Mr. Weasley."

The redhead pasted on a smile. "How are ya, Albert?" He greeted the barista.

"Oh, fine, fine," Albert grinned. "What'll you have?"

"The usual," George leaned over to look at the pastries. "And a cherry danish."

The barista nodded. "Comin' right up."

"Thanks," the redhead sighed. He didn't particularly like cherry danishes, but Fred loved them. Every year he was gone, his lost twin seemed to drift further and further away from him. George hoped the pastry, as small a thing as it was, would bring a little of Fred back to him.

He turned around to take in the busy cafe, debating whether to eat here or take his meager breakfast back to the shop when he spotted a familiar face. George's heart skipped a beat. Could it be? After all this time? It was a face that once lit up his life, that he once loved to kiss, that he once sought out in every crowd.

And, admittedly, still did.

Y/N Y/L/N. Beautiful, funny, intelligent, and, once upon a time, his.

She was his first everything.

First best friend outside of Fred.

First crush.

First girlfriend.

First kiss.

And after the Yule Ball, his first lover.

He'd intended to propose to her once they'd graduated, but something happened in their seventh year. Maybe it was because of all the stress from everything that was happening then, or maybe they were just too immature, but they started drifting apart. Arguing more. Lots more. They soon realized that they were fighting more than not and decided to take a break and try going back to being friends.

And they did try. But everyone knows how those things go. By the time he and Fred made their dramatic exit from Hogwarts, they were barely speaking.

Not because they were angry. They just didn't know what to say to each other anymore. Everything had become weird.

After that, she visited the shop a few times. The last he saw her, she'd stopped by the store to say goodbye. She'd taken a new job and was moving to Italy.

He'd wished her well, kissed her cheek, and then she was gone.

"Here ya go, Mr. Weasley," Albert's cheerful voice shook George from his reverie. "That'll be three galleons even."

George paid and then made his way to her table. "Y/N?"

Y/N looked up, and the smile that spread across her face lit up the whole room. She saw the boy she once loved in the man standing before her. A boy she once thought she might've eventually married.

Her pulse quickened in spite of herself. "George!"

The years suddenly fell away, and without thinking, she stood to embrace him. He met her halfway, his long arms wrapping around her, pulling her in close.

~•~

"Believe it or not, I use them for work." She admitted when George asked about the stack of tabloids. "And, they're good for a few laughs."

George eyed the stack. "Looks like you need a lot of laughs."

Y/N shrugged. "Life hasn't always been kind."

"I know what you mean," George looked down. "My brother, my twin, Fred, you remember him? He, um, he ...

Six years on, and he still couldn't say the words.

She reached out and touched his hand. "I know. I-I heard. I'm so sorry, George." Y/N said. "I wanted to write, but I... " Words failed her.

"It's alright," he gave her a sad smile. "It's not like I was in any shape to read letters. Truthfully, I wasn't in shape to do much of anything for a while."

Y/N squeezed his hand. She didn't have any siblings, much less a twin. So, she could only imagine the pain he must've endured. "All the same, I should've..."

"No, love, please," he interrupted, taking her hand in both of his. "Don't torture yourself with 'should'ves.' Godric knows I've done enough of that these past few years. And it won't change the past. It only makes things... hurt more." George looked away for a few moments. When he turned back, his smile had returned. "So tell me about this job that requires you to read this crazy stuff." George nodded toward the tabloids.

~•~

"So, your telling me there are other worlds?" George looked incredulous. "And things sometimes travel here through holes in the... membrane between the worlds?"

Y/N nodded.

"And these tabloids occasionally report it."

"Surprisingly often, actually," Y/N grinned.

George opened his mouth, then closed it again. "What's your job in all this?" He said after a few moments. "Do you hunt down whatever comes through?"

"Oh, no," Y/N took a nibble from her cinnamon roll. "I'm a seamstress."

"A seamstress?" George was about to take a sip of coffee but froze at her words.

"I mend the holes," she clarified. "Sew them back together. With magic, of course."

George stared at her for several seconds before speaking again.

"So... um..." he began, still trying to wrap his brain around the whole concept. "Do these holes just appear randomly or what?"

Y/N took a deep breath. "Ok, so... there are three types of openings between the worlds. Holes, gateways, and rips. Holes are where reality got too thin, and things wander through, usually unintentionally. The second are gateways. A hole formed, and instead of repairing it, structures were built to allow easier passage and communication. These are heavily guarded and highly regulated." She paused to take a sip of her espresso. "And then there are rips," she continued. "This is when something decides it wants to get through right now. Damn the rules."

"Wow..." George leaned back in his chair. "What happens when something rips through?"

"There are people whose job is to, well, put things back where they belong."

George nodded, thoughtful. Then something occurred to him. "Why haven't I heard about this before?"

"Used to be top-secret," she shrugged. "Only the highest echelons of the government knew. But then a rip opened in the US president's oval office. No one was there at the time, thank Godric. But, long story short, word of our organization leaked, and then, after a fair bit of chaos, a bunch of stuff got declassified. Now here I am telling you about it."

"Oh, that's good then, you know, that things worked out, and you're, you know, here," George stammered. "I'm glad you're here."

"Me too," Y/N smiled, reaching for his hand again.

"So, um, how long are you back for?" George asked.

"Permanently."

George's face lit up. "Really?"

"Yep," Y/N smiled wide, matching his enthusiasm. "They're expanding the London headquarters. I'll be retiring from the field next month to head the new training program."

"That's fantastic!" George was practically bouncing in his seat. "I guess we'll be seeing more of each other then?"

"I certainly hope so."

~•~

That night, George poured himself a shot of whiskey as he always did after work. But rather than settling down for the night, he paced the apartment, trying to rid himself of his restless energy.

He'd been bouncing around the store all day like a giddy schoolgirl. It was a far cry from his usual fake smiles and general mopiness this time of year, and, of course, Ron noticed.

He finally cornered his older brother during the afternoon lull. "Mate, are you alright? You've been acting... odd." Ron looked genuinely worried.

George bristled at the question at first, but then he remembered the date.

Oh.

The reminder deflated him a little. "Yeah. Surprisingly, I am okay. I-I ran into Y/N at breakfast."

Ron blinked. Of all the things his brother might've said, that was the last thing he expected. "Y/N? Y/N Y/L/N?"

"The one and only."

"Ok, wow," Ron mused. "Haven't seen her in forever. How long's it been?"

"Too long," George said, walking back to the sales floor.

Ron eyed him warily. He'd lost count as to how many ill-fated whirlwind romances his brother had had since Fred's passing. He hoped this wouldn't lead to another one. "So, um, how is she?"

"She's great," George said. "Moving back to London, actually."

"Oh, yeah? So, I take it you guys are meeting up again?" Ron probed.

"Of course. We're meeting up in a couple of days to go apartment hunting."

Ron screeched to a halt. "You're WHAT?!"

George stopped, eyebrows scrunched together. "Apartment hunting... she's just moved back and needs a place to live. I know the area better than her and thought I'd help her out. W-was that wrong?" He finished, suddenly uncertain of himself.

His younger brother's shoulders relaxed. "No, no. Not at all. I just thought for a second you two were... you know... moving in together."

"What? No, it's nothing like that. Yet," George said, keeping the last bit silent.

"Well, that's good," Ron replied, relief evident in his voice. "Just... take it slow, ok? Get to know each other again before you jump into anything."

George only nodded.

~•~

A disgruntled rumble from his stomach alerted George that he hadn't eaten since lunch. He glanced out the window to the warm glow emanating from The Leaky Cauldron. Dinner out, he decided and grabbed his coat. Maybe a walk would do him good. And he could chat with the bartender while he ate.

George had never gotten used to being alone. Not for very long anyway. It was why he jumped from one woman to the next. Anything to keep his loneliness at bay.

Most of them were friends with benefits, though there was the occasional girlfriend here and there. But in the end, he ended up feeling lonelier with them than without. And so he'd move on to the next one, endlessly searching for that deep, soulful connection.

Like he'd had with Fred.

Like he'd had with Y/N.

George froze mid-step, a thought suddenly occurring to him. Maybe the reason he'd never had a successful relationship was because somewhere in the dark crevices of his heart, he was still holding out for the one he'd never stopped loving.

He was holding out for Y/N.

~•~

@milivanili99 @fancy-pantaloons @turvi @zvummyummy @xmjthewitchx @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @georgie-weasley @samberriejams @nighttimemoonlover @jsjcue @wzrd-wheezes @mrsgweasley @hufflepuffie @morally-grey-obsessed @fredweasleyyyyy @anvaaryn @samshifts @asuperconfusedgirl @hmisa11 @superduckmilkshake @mysticsheepsoul @gemofthenight @1Lellykins @junerprsh @wolfkill16 @kaysau2510 @qmylovexoxo @planetkt @costheticbabe

@smallsweetvanillabean @hanne-montana @greenapplegrass @el-de-phi @lizzytrees @spididerman @yoursarahg @marvelgirlstories @theimpossible-girl-whowaited @ceehance @Havenater1920 @jelloangela @charmedfandomgal @loca4moony @whotfskai @netflix-addict

@moonatician @lunacurlclaw @sierraluvzz @min-aaa @now-that-we-dontalk @lillisummers @lovesanimals0000

#george weasley #season of love event #george weasley x fem!reader #george weasley x reader #george weasley x y/n #george weasley x you

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 1 month

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WIBTA for asking my SO to do something that they have trauma around?

I don't know when this will be posted but as of writing we are about 2 weeks post valentines day. Ages and genders irrelevant, we're in our 20s and queer.

So I have not been with Jordan long, but we knew each out for a few months as friends before we got together, and have been close pretty much all of the time we've known each other. This is to say, I know them pretty well despite us not actually having been dating that long.

Because we were already friends I knew going into the relationship, without Jordan specifically saying anything, that they had plans on Valentines day. They got tickets to a concert I wasn't interested in a decent amount of time before we got together.

Obviously, not an issue in the slightest, and neither of us brought up anything regarding Valentines day. It was a week day, so I was working all day, and then the time of the concert meant there was no possibility of meeting up after, just not meant to be this year. I thought we were in the same boat just silently agreeing that the timing wasn't right but that it wasn't a big enough deal to even be worth bringing up, especially in such a new relationship.

Some backstory on me: I'm a hopeless romantic and have a kind of cute aesthetic? I like dressing in bright colours, and some of my favourite outfits have prints of hearts, flowers, and cherries. Needless to say I really enjoy the aesthetic of Valentines day, and I've always kind of fantasised about being able to spend it with someone I have romantic feelings for. I've only had two romantic relationships before this and the first one only lasted 6 months and didn't make it to Valentines day, and in the second we both contracted the same bug and were horribly sick throughout February.

Obviously I don't think you should only do things for your SO on Valentines day, but I think it would be fun to have the chance to really get into it! In the past I've organised Valentines day events with my other single friends where we dress in pink and have heart shaped foods etc and those have been great, but haven't quite satisfied my desire to have a Romantic Valentines.

So, despite the fact that my SO was busy, I wanted to do a little something. I do digital art, so when I got home from work I drew a pun Valentines card featuring Jordan's favourite character. It took a few hours and I was pretty proud of how it came out. I knew they were at the concert still, but I texted it to them, so they could see it after.

They responded that night and their first message was just "oh." I've known Jordan long enough that i read the tone to be "oh, now I to have a conversation I didn't want to have." They went on to explain that they associate Valentines day with some past trauma. I won't give any details here, but the tone of the conversation was that they don't celebrate Valentines day because of their trauma, and this seemed like a very final stance.

Now. I don't think I'm TA for drawing the art and sending it, this had never been brought up before, so I didn't know I was crossing a boundary.

I do think Jordan is slightly TA for not saying anything about my art that I worked hard on, but only slightly bc I assume the trauma response just kind of took over.

But my question is, WIBTA if I asked my SO to celebrate Valentines day with me in future even though it's something they have trauma around?

I'm not planning to force them or anything and it doesn't even have to be in the next few years, but thinking long term it feels really gloomy to me to have to miss out on Valentines forever when my SO could be making new memories with me so that mentions of the holiday are less painful.

I don't expect them to just "get over" it magically or anything but I want to ask if it's something they'd possibly want to work up to? I swear I'm not trying to be dismissive their response is fully valid and I don't want to imply my silly fantasies are more important than their traumatic reality I just want to know if this would be an asshole move or not.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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greenwitchcrafts · 6 months

Text

November 2023 witch guide

Full moon: November 27th

New moon: November 13th

Sabbats: None

November Beaver Moon

Known as: Digging(or scratching) moon, Deer rutting moon, Frost moon, Whitefish moon, Mourning Moon, Dark moon, Blotmonath, Fog moon, Mad moon, Moon of storms, Herbistmanoth & Freezing moon

Element: Water

Zodiac: Scorpio & Sagittarius

Nature spirits: Subterranean faeries

Deities: Astarte, Bast, Black Isis, Hecate, Kali, Lakshmi, Mawu, Nicnevin, Osiris & Saraswati

Animals: Crocodile, jackal, scorpion & unicorn

Birds: Goose, owl & sparrow

Trees: Alder, cypress & hazel

Herbs: Betony, blessed thistle, borage, cinquefoil, fennel, grains of paradise & verbena

Flowers: Blooming cacti & chrysanthemum

Scents: Cedar, cherry blossom, hyacinth, lemon, narcissus & peppermint

Stones: Beryl, cat's eye, citrine, yellow sapphire, topaz & turquoise

Colors: Blues, grey, sea green & silver

Energy: Deity communication, cooperation, death, divination, focus, passion, healing, preparation, secrets, sex matters, taking root & transformations.

The Beaver Moon gets its name because it is the time of year when beavers begin to take shelter in their lodges, having laid up sufficient food stores for the long winter ahead. During the fur trade in North America, it was also the season to trap beavers for their thick, winter-ready pelts.

Other celebrations:

• Lunantishees

November 11th

Also known as: The day of the Sidhe

This day celebrates the Lunantishee Faeries & honors the sacred blackthorn tree that they protect. It is said these faeries dance around their host blackthorn tree or bush by the light of the full moon in which they worship. The Lunantishee are closely associated with moonstone as their name of Moon-Sidhe or moon faeries suggest. These faeries are intensely protective guardians who highlight to us the need to protect our homes & our personal energies/ourselves.

In some traditions people would leave offerings like cakes, milk, honey or ale to avert any mischievous behavior from the faeries & if you had a blackthorn tree leave blackthorn blessings upon you.

During this time it is advised to not pick, cut or prune these plants under any circumstances or else misfortune would be placed upon them.

•Night of Hecate

November 16th

Though many choose to honor the Goddess Hecate during this day, there doesn't seem to be any historical evidence suggesting this particular day has any traditional associations or events & likely was mistaken from Hekate's Deipnon which takes place during the dark phase of the moon. However modern practitioners use this day to honor Hekate despite this.

Some celebrate by having a feast filled with wine, mushrooms, bread & more while also leaving some at the threshold of their front door to symbolize the crossroads between indoors and outdoors.

Sources:

Farmersalmanac.com

Llewellyn's Complete Book of Correspondences by Sandra Kines

A Witch's Book of Correspondences by Viktorija Briggs

Llewellyn's 2023 magical almanac: practical magic for everyday living

Wikipedia

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tickfleato · 1 year

Photo

GRYPHONS!! gryphons in serpentverse are a distant relative to dragons, but are not magical creatures - the event that originally caused them to be weird bird-mammal hexapods was magical in nature, but modern gryphons are largely mundane. they fill a large range of niches and some are even domesticated! a little more description of the varieties pictured here under the cut:

River Fishergriffs are flightless gryphons which are very similar to river otters in size, shape, and niche. They’re generally good-natured, playful creatures, but can be vicious in defense of their young. They are elegant swimmers but a bit clumsy on land. They live in small family groups usually consisting of the parents and a few children - older children tend to stay with the nest and help raise the younger, with some staying with their family their entire lives and not reproducing.

Gryphlets (Cherry Gryphlet and Common Gryphlet depicted) are small, intelligent gryphons that are something like an unholy combination of a squirrel, a monkey, and a parrot. Like parrots, they are excellent at vocal mimicry, and also like parrots they make awful pets (but that doesn’t stop anyone). They are usually omnivores, but diet varies with species (the gryphlet clade is extremely diverse). Most gryphlets are social to some degree, with the biggest flocks numbering in the hundreds.

Snow-Gryphons are medium-sized, cold-adapted hunters, primarily inhabiting the south-pole continent, Ussa. They are elusive, shy animals that are a rare but lucky sight - though it’s best not to get too close. They’re about the size of a bobcat and have very sharp claws, and have been known to go after prey as big as elves! They are solitary and only meet with others of their kind to mate.

Essvai Dragons are, of course, not dragons at all but a breed of domesticated gryphon bred to resemble them. While they look imposing, they are usually docile in temperament, and like nothing more than napping by a warm fireplace or in a patch of sunlight. They were originally status symbols but over time have become somewhat more common pets, though purebred ones are still very expensive (and those from shadier breeders tend to have a myriad of health issues...)

Monkeyhawks are predatory gryphons that usually inhabit forested environments. They’re agile fliers in a pinch but are adept climbers as well, preferring only short flights to catch prey or escape danger. They are usually either solitary or a mated pair, though they don’t necessarily mate for life and don’t suffer particularly from “divorce” or death of a mate. They have a reputation for carrying off elven children, but this happens very rarely in reality - they tend to steer well clear of elven settlements.

#serpentverse #gryphons #gryphon #creature design #monsters #original shit #my art #worldbuilding

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oogaboogasphincter · 4 months

Text

a bowlful of joel-y

summary: he was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot / and his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot; / a bundle of toys he had flung on his back, / and he looked like a peddler just opening his pack / his eyes — how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry! / his cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry! / he had a broad face and a little round belly / that shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly || you never would have guessed who you find stumbling around jackson dressed up as santa claus on christmas eve night, leaving presents for all the kids in town. you take on the role of santa's elf and help him deliver his toys - and land yourself on his nice list just in time for christmas morning.

word count/warnings: 4.8k+ words EXPLICIT (18+ ONLY) MDNI! // reader has insomnia, a pinch of grumpy joel but he’s mostly jolly (at least by his standards), one mention of alcohol/drunkenness, christmas/holiday fluff, a conversation about loss and grief around the holidays (joel talks about sarah), description of panic attacks + healing❤️‍🩹, food and eating (milk+cookies ofc), unprotected piv sex (do as i say not as i write), jackson era!joel, friends to lovers teehee

a/n: merry christmas @lisadean! i'm so so sorry this is three days late, i got a head cold just as i was putting my finishing touches on this and i didn't want to post it without a final read-through :( i hope you enjoy your secret santa gift as much as i did writing it! 🤭🎁 i want to thank all my besties at @pedrostories for organizing this event, it's what introduced me to the blog and i'm so excited and honored to be participating in it both as a writer and moderator this year 💗 i wish all my readers a very happy holidays!! (pls let me know who made the beautiful gif above, i found it on pinterest w no credit ☹️)

It’s Christmas Eve and you can’t sleep.

No matter how hard you try, your shuttered eyes can’t keep.

You toss and turn with increasing agitation,

Thoughts of going downstairs gnawing with temptation.

It’d just be a little peek, you reason,

Of the freshly fallen snow of the season.

With a huff of exertion and a swaddle of flannel,

You get up and trot down the stairs, passing the candles burning on the mantle.

The decorated tree twinkles with light to emit holiday cheer all through the night.

You push aside the heavy drapes of your window and you see red;

Specifically, a fur-trimmed three piece set.

Astonished by what to your wandering eyes did appear, you lean in and begin to peer.

You must be being deceived by your eyes, you think to yourself. The apocalypse has brought to life many horrific figments that you wished were bound by imagination, but the magic of Christmas is something that seems too good to be true after such atrocity has ravaged the Earth. Maybe your vision is bleary from your biting insomnia caused by the latter, or you’ve endured enough that your mind is gifting you a glimpse back into some innocent happiness that you feared you lost long ago. To your surprise, the broad man outside doesn’t vanish with the blink of your eye; instead he trudges along in the snow with a harsh sense of reality, his back bent at a painful angle and his feet falling heavily with every step, bearing the brunt of his costumed weight plus the filled sack that is slung over his shoulder.

Whoever this is - whether it’s a do-gooder or some bloke that had a few too many spiked eggnogs at the Tipsy Bison - it looks like they would appreciate some help. You slip your boots on and head out, wrapping your arms around yourself to cinch your flannel pajamas closer to your frame to shield yourself from the icy midnight flurries. Santa’s back is to you and he doesn’t seem to acknowledge your approaching footsteps. His grunts of exertion are carried on the wind that swirls around you in ribbons: his pack looks even heavier up close than it did from your living room window. You make an effort to announce yourself by grinding your heels into the snow, making each step crunchier than the last.

For a fleeting moment, you relish the childlike wonder that overtakes you, that this could be the real Santa. His heart must be pounding in his ears because when you tap his velveteen shoulder softly, he jumps in shock. It’s immediately apparent that the erratic movement hurt his back further, as a large hand comes to support the small of his spine and he groans when he straightens his neck. The sack drops from his grasp into the snow below. You’re already apologizing as he turns haggardly on his heel, towards you, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Do you-”

Santa finally rounds on you and your breath catches in your throat. Framed by a faux white beard and the furry trim of his hat are big, gorgeous brown eyes that throw icicles at you with an annoyed stare. His thorough costume fails to work on you - you could recognize those beautiful, baby cow-esque eyes in an instant. A joyous cloud of condensation wafts into Santa’s face as you burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter, doubling over with tears in your eyes.

He steps forward and covers your mouth with a black leather gloved hand, “Don’t you know anythin’ about stealth?”

The saturation of Joel’s Texan accent increases whenever he’s irritated, tired or relaxed, you’ve noticed, or whenever his controlling grip on stoicism slips just slightly and he’s allowed to return to a more organic version of himself. To his grumbling annoyance, you’ve told him how cute you find it - especially when it’s followed by a blush of tamped-down flattery that crumbles his carefully constructed grimace.

He lets go of you when you’re able to stifle your giggles to a soft chuckling. You eye his outfit up and down, raising your eyebrow in approval. He tries his best not to mirror your bemused smirk. “ What are you doing, Joel Miller?” you ask incredulously.

“What’s it look like I’m doin’?” he grouches rhetorically. You patiently await his answer anyway with a grin that spreads to your eyes with every second that ticks by. He eventually secedes with a sigh, his broad shoulders deflating with exhaustion from more than just your affectionate pestering, “‘M… deliverin’ toys to the kids. Getting a present from Santa is a formative experience. No kid should have their magic robbed of ‘em.”

“Isn’t Santa just one big lie though?” you ask, genuinely. You remember the truth that your friends tried to peddle you while you were still a believer, asking you all kinds of questions as a test to your logic. How is he able to get all across the world in one night? If he’s so big, how is he able to fit down the chimney? Does Santa have to take bathroom breaks, and where?! Most of all, you remember the horror that washed over you when you confronted your parents with your newly-acquired facts, and to your fear, they confirmed the lie. It took you a while to have faith in anything they said after, to the point of absurdity - it took months for you to believe that taking medicine will actually make you feel better when you’re sick.

Joel stiffens. Some inexplicable reason makes you think that it’s not just because of his aching back and tired knees. His voice is tight, uncomfortable, “Yeah, I guess…”

He gradually warms back up, his words spliced with tired breaths, by explaining to you that, “Tommy told me that in years past, the adults would leave presents on Christmas morning, under that big tree they decorate in the town square,” he points behind him to the afar twinkling lights with his thumb, “just before the kids woke up. But since we found that fir tree lot about twenty miles out, everybody was able to get their own tree this year. I asked around if they think it’d be a good idea for someone… f’ me… to be Santa. So that all the kids could have the experience we had. Y’know… leave cookies out an’ all that.” He waves his hand noncommittally and looks off to the side like he thinks the whole idea is ludicrous, as if he doesn’t care. As if he isn’t the sweet, kindhearted man who introduced the very idea.

You fight hard to disguise the enamor that strikes your heart and threatens to leak into your gaze. So you turn to a reliable defense mechanism: teasing. “So… the costume is purely for your own enjoyment then?”

That pulls a breathy chuckle out of Joel’s chest. “I can’t have the kiddos wake up and see some old man in their house. You gotta keep up the illusion, girl.” He nudges you on the shoulder with his knuckles. When he leans in you can smell his breath, warm and sweet with faint notes of spice and cinnamon. His unprecedented playfulness always throws you for a loop and makes you squirm on your feet, a flustered smile warbling on your lips.

It strikes you in inappropriate moments like these that you have the privilege of being chummy with one of the most sought after men in Jackson. A man whose charms you’re not immune to, but you guess you’re better at hiding their effect than others are, as Joel tended to avoid those who openly expressed intimate interest. A man who you so desperately desire, but force yourself to hide your attraction for.

Joel sighs, bending to pick the sack handle up from the ground, “I’m bound to wake them up if I keep fuckin’ lumberin’ around like I am.” You can see how the heavy bag of toys weighs on his back and worsens his heavy-footedness. You can practically hear the alerting scuff of his boots against creaky floorboards, rousing sleeping kids and luring them to spoil their own surprise. “I damn near woke the first one up, ‘cause this fuckin’ sack got stuck between me and the door, an’-”

He cuts himself off, gaping with offended bewilderment watching you try to smother your laughter. The image of him wrestling with the bag, let alone in a full Santa costume, is simply hilarious. A deviousness glints the smile that tugs on half of his face, “Oh, so you think my struggling is funny?”

“No, it’s just…” you search for a more suitable word but guilt shines through your twisted smile and speaks for itself. He lets the silence fill the space between you two for an uncomfortable stretch, running out your fuse until you can’t hold back your giggling.

He puts his hand on his hip, fixing his gaze on you with lighthearted scorn, “You gon’ stand there and laugh at Santa ,” he jeers, scolding you for making fun of an innocent, jolly old man, “or are you gonna make yourself useful?”

For a moment you completely forget why you had come out here in the first place. Joel was legitimately having a difficult time and you had wanted to aid him in any way you could. However, his badgering demeanor has put an equally brattish spin on your helping hand from its chivalrous beginning. You defiantly square your shoulders.

“Actually, I will. I can be like an elf to your Santa. The elves do all of the hard work, anyways. Making the toys, wrapping them, packing the sleigh and caring for the reindeer. And Santa… eats cookies?”

Joel scoffs, pretending to not like the idea of some help, “Oh, yeah? You and what costume?” He jerks his chin at you, looks you up and down for your lack of costume. It’s hard not to pay any attention to the heat that rushes your cheeks thinking about him looking at you like that under different circumstances. He’s right though: you’ll need a costume to maintain the magical facade.

A Christmas miracle bestows itself to you in the front yard you’re standing next to: a snowman outfitted as an elf.

You go over and delicately pluck the pointed hat off of the top snowball so as not to disturb the icy artistry. You pull it down on your head, wiggle, and the movement gives the bell at the end of the point a jingle. “Ready when you are, Mr. Claus.”

Like on patrols and other tasks you’ve been paired with him on before, you and Joel make a fantastic team delivering holiday cheer in the night.

You’ll come to a house, quietly padding up the snowy front steps; Joel will sift through his bag for the correct present for the specific child; and hand it off to you to put under the tree inside. The parents in on the trick have left their doors unlocked and their kids have assembled platters of cookies, varying flavors from house to house, with a note of gratitude for their beloved Santa tucked underneath. You can only hope that the kids’ excited jitters for the following morning have worn their energy levels down enough that they’re soundly slumbering so you can pass through undetected. The bell on your hat is a hazardous giveaway to your presence, so you opt to leave it outside with Joel to ensure your drop-off is silent. There’s no chance any wandering eyes will catch you out of disguise, though, because, as quiet and quick as a mouse, you’re in with a gift and out with empty hands in a flash, ready for the next one.

A couple hours in and you’ve deposited gifts to three quarters of the kids in town. You’ll definitely finish before the Christmas morning sun even thinks about peering over the horizon. Despite the share of labor you’ve accounted for, Joel continues to have a difficult time trudging through the snow, so you both slow down to a pleasant, unhurried stroll to fulfill the remainder of your recipients.

“You okay?” you ask tenderly, smiling softly at him when he cranes his neck to meet your eyes. He nods, his voice tired and breathy, “Yeah, just… old .” He spits that last word out, with bitterness coating his tongue. The imperceptible shake of his head is impatient, agitated, that his body isn’t up to par with what it used to be capable of.

Jackson has softened him, there’s no denying that, but you don’t think it’s such a bad thing. You only arrived at the settlement a year ago, a year into Joel’s stay. He had immediately shown you friendliness, a desire to help you settle in, to care for you. It struck you as odd when you heard the stories from other townspeople of what he was like when he was first welcomed in; that he was the cold, standoffish brother of their warm leader, Tommy, that his permanent scowl radiated a sourness, bordering on ungrateful. The par-baked sociability that you were introduced to was apparently underdone; his face flickered with uncomfortability when any affection was pushed on him, whether it was a simple compliment or a brotherly nudge to his shoulder. Joel couldn’t hide himself from you, though. His desire to surrender was so strong, so yearnful, but he constantly restrained himself from the comfort, the love, with an understandable fear that it could all be taken away.

Accidentally, you forced him to face his fears. He enjoyed your company and soon sought out more and more opportunities to spend time with you until you were inseparable. You began to frighten him when he realized what you were to him, a friend , but it was too late; he couldn’t stay away from you, no matter how loud the loathsome voice in his head screamed for the safety that isolation guaranteed. His biggest source of anxiety now isn’t something reasonable, like clickers: it’s how far into the future he wants to go with you.

Back in the present moment, you shrug, “Well, I think you’re doing a good thing, Joel. Old or not.” The tip of his nose and cheeks are beet red from the frosty air and itchy costume, but his blush deepens to a magenta upon hearing your words. He diverts his eyes. It’s sweet, in a way, how he has trouble accepting praise even from one of his best friends. You dump more validation onto him, because he deserves it, “The community will really love you for this, you know. I know how much you like your solitude, but it’s nice to see you involved. It suits you.”

“I guess literally,” he gestures to his suit of red and white and you laugh together. Despite the tarnishes of age and stains of neglectful wear, the costume does fit him nicely. Just like the infamous poem, it complements his eyes that twinkle under the starlight and his merry dimple that deepens when he laughs. He even has the little round belly to complete the look, though you’re sure he has as much disdain for his softened shape as you have love for it.

The night hours wane in proportion with the fun you’re having. Joel’s silent for a while, and though quietness is never awkward between you two, you can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking about.

You only have a few presents left to deliver when Joel says, “Sarah loved Christmas.”

You slow down next to him to direct your undivided attention on him in this tender moment, but he waves his hand at you to keep moving along. Always some degree of averse to comfort, you work with him however he’ll let you. He faces ahead into the snow coming down, but that’s not what he’s looking at; his gaze is slightly unfocused, like he goes into a dimension that only he can see. You’ve seen that expression on him before and know that snapshots of memories are drifting by in his mind.

His voice is happy to match his smile, only wavering with emotion slightly as he shares with you, “She’d always be eager to start putting the decorations up right after Thanksgiving, always so giddy to go to school and do all the festive little projects they had ‘em doin’. She’d get so into it, she’d come home with glitter all in her hair,” he laughs softly and so do you. “The fridge would be completely covered with her paintings and crafts by the time Christmas came around…”

He stops in his tracks to take a sharp breath in, looking up to the stars with damp eyes. A touch to the permanent fixture on his wrist - his watch - grounds him and restores his smile, despite the painful tinge it now has. You simply observe him for a moment, give him the patience he needs. Then he continues a bit somberly, “I always got a real tree, I didn’t like none of that fake stuff. I would’ve gone and cut one down myself if they grew better than they did in Texas.”

A detachedness casts over his eyes. He breathes hauntedly, “Maybe a lot of things would be different if I hadn’t lived there.”

He sniffles and shakes his head to try and dispel his thoughts, getting irritated that they infiltrated him in the first place. You take a gingerly step forward and lay your fingers over his with impossible tenderness, stroking his quivering knuckles.

“Sounds like she would’ve loved being your little helper tonight.” A stroke of happiness glimmers across his face, colors him back from his ghostly hue.

“Yep, she would’ve been all over that.”

With all of the delicacy you can muster to cushion your shameless, vital honesty, “I bet she would be proud of what you’re doing… of you .”

You reach into his bag and take out the last remaining present, placing it into his hands so he can be the one to close out the magical evening and deliver the final gift. Joel nods with residual tears in his eyes, “I can only hope.”

“I know,” you reassure him.

The corners of his mouth, downturned in shame and grief, begin to perk up ever so slightly. It sends you over the moon. A staggering leap of growth for Joel are imperceptible steps to others, but you’re always by his side to assure him that there’s nothing wrong with his pace.

You’re the one to wait outside this time while he sneaks in. While he’s disappeared for a few moments, you think about how he used to react when Sarah was brought up - or more likely, when his thoughts brought her to him unprovoked. He’d have brutal panic attacks, where his heart would pound violently in between seizures of oxygen, courtesy of his crippling lungs. He’d be rendered debilitated for days afterward, trying to collect his shattered remains and haphazardly piece himself back together.

But now, as he slowly closes the door behind him and turns to join you, his commendable progress frays your heartstrings. Though his eyes are still hurt and his heart still gives him problems, he’s able to talk about his daughter with unbridled joy . Her memory is no longer an abyss of torturous guilt; it has blossomed to remind him of all the happy days she did have, of what a beautiful soul she was and can continue to be in his heart. He’s realizing that instead of solely mourning her wrongful death, he can carry on her life by spreading the joy she instilled in him all those years ago. You view it as one of the highest honors to hear about her and to be friends with the wonderful man who raised her to be the kind girl she was. Seeing Joel’s misery lessened by any number makes you so happy you could cry.

Joel comes up to you and concern crosses his face, “What’s wrong?”, upon seeing the gleam to your eyes, putting a heavy hand on your shoulder.

“Nothin’,” you say with a shrug and a proud smile, subconsciously parroting his accent.

“Congratulations on another successful year, Santa,” you hold up your hand for a silly high five. Joel obliges with a resounding chuckle. He intertwines his fingers with yours, holding your hand long after the celebration. “Couldn’t have done it without your help,” he mumbles sheepishly, “Thank you.”

Since you were the one picking up Santa’s slack for the most part tonight, you were also the one to take bites of cookies and sips of milk to leave as evidence of your visit. It only dawns on you now that Joel hasn’t had any treats the whole night. What a holiday abomination!

“I think Santa is entitled to his fair share of payment,” you playfully nudge at Joel’s belly and he swats your hand away with a grunt. “I made some cookies of my own, and I have some milk to pair if I’m remembering your tastes correctly.” He shakes his head, rolls his eyes. “Wanna come back to mine for some?”

Joel squeezes your hand in his, “Sure.”

The morning sun still has a few hours left to sleep by the time you and Joel cross your threshold. The house you were gifted in the center of town is small, but it’s a haven nonetheless. When you first moved in, Joel was assigned to check all the inner workings and help furnish, but most importantly he helped you return to yourself: what colors you liked and didn’t like, which way you preferred your living room to be arranged, where you wanted your mugs stored. It was incidental, trivial things, but their impact was seriously underestimated. He helped make the little blank-slate house yours.

He enjoys being in it as much as you do because he’s constantly surrounded by you and the evidence of your habits and patterns. The rings of coffee staining your side table, next to the bookmarked novel on the arm of your couch. The shoes dropped unceremoniously by your front door. The dish towel powdered with the flour of cookies you made earlier, their mouthwatering scent lingering in the air with the dry, residual warmth from your oven. He doesn’t know if he wants to consume you or be consumed by you, but either way he knows one thing: he’s bewitched.

In the kitchen, he leans against the counter as you pour him a glass of milk and plate some cookies. The long night’s energy expenditure has worked up quite an appetite in him, so he doesn’t waste any more time and takes a bite.

“You have to dip it in the milk and let it get soft! They’re best that way,” you offer, but he just waves you off with affectionate annoyance.

From his sloppy eating, a piece of chocolate has smeared itself on his upper lip and into the hairs of his mustache. It makes you smile. Without thinking, you lick the pad of your thumb and bring it to his face to clean it off.

Joel’s lips part, as if with practiced ease, so you can really get in there. It’s so natural , so domestic between the two of you; it’s startling. His eyes are on you and you can feel them, watching you with brazen intensity as you prod the plushness of his lip, but you keep your own gaze focused on your work.

You flicker a fatal glance into his. Joel wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you in for a kiss that’s a strange mix of gentle and intoxicating. Just as it registers in your brain what is happening, he’s breaking away and it makes you want to cry.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve asked first, goddamn fool …” he grumbles to himself. He goes to remove himself from you further, but you pull him right back by the chest of his t-shirt that’s damp with sweat.

“You should’ve.” You press your lips to his with ravenous fervor.

You pull him to the living room, to the chair that he picked out for the space when you first moved in. The soft suede reminded him of you, he had said, and you didn’t realize what his true meaning was until now. His fingertips skim over your exposed skin, addicted, yet tentative in their touch of such preciousness.

You swiftly rid him of the rest of his costume down to his underclothes and he soon follows to undress you until you’re left in your base layers. You’re practically shaking with need, wishing you could take your time with him but you’ve been pining after him all night (really, ever since the moment you laid eyes on him over a year ago.) That goofy costume couldn’t hide his delicious figure and he makes you delirious now that he’s exposed; his broad, inviting chest; his sexy, burly arms; his cute little ass.

He shares your desire’s impatience. He falls onto the chair, pressing against the back. You climb into his lap, straddling his thighs, and wrap your arms around his neck to pull him into you for another desperate kiss.

One of his hands balances you on your hip and the other fumbles with his belt buckle frustratingly. He groans impatiently into your mouth, but your aid is being dispersed elsewhere; your fingers are tethered to his hair, brushing it and grabbing it and pulling it.

Finally he solves the metallic riddle and you both sigh in relief when his stiff length is released, slapping against your thigh. You reach down and stroke him from base to tip a couple times, making his eyebrows scrunch in pleasure. This is going to be quick, you both know it, but that doesn’t mean it won’t be enjoyable.

You’re just as near to bursting as Joel when you sink down onto him, inch by glorious inch. He digs his heels into the floor in preparation to fuck up into you, but you beat him to it and begin to ride. He groans loudly, his arms constricting around your waist and burying his face into your neck. He’s holding you so tight that you can barely move; it makes your thighs burn deliciously with the amount of effort you have to put in to keep up your pace. You work up a sweat to rival his as a fresh sheen breaks out on his brow.

Combined with the heated passion, there’s an enamored twinkle in his eyes, an adoration. One that screams that four-letter L word, the one that his brain wants to profess to you from rooftops but that his heart can’t work up the strength to say it and make it real.

The holidays are run on magic, anyways - you’re content to give him all the time he needs.

“Please, Joel,” you whisper breathlessly into his ear, wanting his body if you can’t have his heart just yet. That does him in; his hips stutter beneath you and his warmth fills you up, radiating up from your core until it tickles the underside of your pounding heart. Your own release is brought on by his sly fingers against your clit and it seizes your movements, rippling in tantalizing waves from head to toe, until you’re reduced to a puddle in his arms and slump against his chest.

Hazy with exhaustion and a potent shot of dopamine, you barely register him tucking a blanket around you before you succumb to some much-needed sleep.

The Christmas morning sun breaks over the horizon a few hours later. Amidst your throes of passion in the darkness of night, you hadn’t realized your front window’s curtains were strewn wide open. You and Joel both startle awake when a particularly harsh sunbeam glints off of a frosty white snow bank, shooting directly into your unprepared pupils.

You bury your face into his chest, groaning with embarrassment, “I really hope nobody starts singing that they saw an elf kissing Santa Claus.”

Your newly minted lover chuckles, wrapping his arms around you and holding you ever closer, “Eh, all the kids were asleep. And if any adults saw…,” he shrugs, “Fuck ‘em.”

Now, your blanketed bodies remain safely hidden from the happy kids running about and cheering in the streets with their new toys. Joel watches on with you, smiling despite the sleep deprivation that prohibits you from even thinking about moving an inch. And with Joel beneath you, surrounding you, why would you?

“You know, I’ve been thinking for a while now…” he continues, running a finger delicately down your cheek, “I’ve been wanting to promote my head elf, but she’s already at the top of my list.”

You poke him in the chest playfully, “Hey, I’m a seasonal worker. Last night was a one-time deal. Well, what happened before we got home was a one-time deal,” you specify.

Your clarification brightens his smile. “How d’ya think… Mrs. Claus sounds?”

Your heart leaps. “Sounds like just what I’ve been wishing for.”

You settle in to watch the rest of the morning unfold, with the joyous kids playing, their contented parents observing, and the snow swirling in the air in dreamy trails.

“Merry Christmas, Joel.”

He presses a tender kiss to your forehead. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

summary excerpt from “‘a visit from st. nicholas” by clement clarke moore

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