#pure rosemary oil | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fanaticsnail · 4 months ago

Note

Hey! Hope you’re doing well this fine day~ I had a cute idea if u just wanna hear me rant about it.

So imagine teaching Killer a new pasta recipe whether that is a new sauce or new way to cook it and making it for him and watching him literally LIGHT UP with pure glee over how good it is. I say this as I’ve made my grandma’s spaghetti sauce which is STRAIGHT UP ADDICTING every time I make it and gobble it all up. Like the reader can be like a straw hat or kid pirate who is like hey I have this really yummy pasta recipe if you wanna try and afterwards she keeps on exchanging recipes with Killer and lowkey he in love with her mwahahaha (cause as they say in Princess and the Frog “the quickest way to a man’s heart, is through his stomach”). And she cooks it for him since he is always cooking 🥹🥹🥹

Also! I do have to add how much IM OBSESSED with the recent Hey Doc Drabble. Idk if you saw my tags but man I was GOING THROUGH IT. All the sweet nicknames and just the pure desperation for doc to be okay like 😭😭😭 and POOR HEAT AND BUBBLEGUM LIKE AWWWW I need a part 2 to that or SOMETHING just to see an aftermath if you will. Wire calling them “honey” had me WEAK.

Alright imma head out now, have a marvelous day/night 🏃🏽‍♀️🏃🏽‍♀️🏃🏽‍♀️

How did I miss this 😭. Thank you for your beautiful compliments on the 'Hey Doc' series. It's been an absolute joy to write. Reading through tags and reblogs are my favourite: especially when it's as enthusiastic as yours has been. You're so much fun, and I very much appreciate the time you take to read and go through my silly things. I can't write a full fic, but I hope this little drabble satiates the need of cooking with Killer 🖤.

Pasta

Masterlist Here

Word Count: mini-fic, just a little one.

Themes: Killer x reader, fluff, cooking, food, Killer is in awe, you are cooking, and I am hungry.

The one thing he hasn't managed to perfect is a pure, unadulterated Marinara. Anything to do with crushed tomato he finds too acidic, and over compensates with far too much salt to cut the tannins. He's tried everything: more onion, less herbs, malted brown sugar, refining his own salt by storing sea water on the oven, everything. He just can't seem to get it right.

Killer and pasta: his one weakness.

He would never admit it, but he has been attempting to perfect each recipe he comes upon. Pesto is all made from scratch: crushed fresh basil, the purest of virgin olive oils, a parmesan wheel with crispy salt crystals, oven toasted pine nuts, cloves of bulbed garlic, everything perfected by his skill in his kitchen. His pesto pasta is better than Sanji's, and the curly-browed chef is both impressed and intimidated by it.

Watching from a safe distance as you bounce gleefully within the dominion of the kitchen, he hunches his back and places his whiskered chin over his laced fingertips. He was unsure as to why you offered to cook for the crew, but your enthusiasm had him step aside to watch you work. It was the initial confession of homesickness that did it for him. Knowing food can aid in emotional regulation and comfort, he was more than happy to watch from his position sitting at the kitchen island.

And then the smell hit him.

The sweetness of roasting tomatoes, onion, garlic, and the herbal aromatics of thyme, rosemary and sage. The soft waft had his heart swell and beat in his chest and eyes twinkle in curiousity. Stirring the rotund vegetables in the pot and expertly crushing them with the blunt tip of the wooden spoon had him sit up attentively in his seat, watching you as you attend to the sauce from muscle memory alone.

He was in awe, perplexed, and intrigued.

Each time you would move on to another element of the dish, Killer would move a little closer. Each time your back was turned, he would perch himself just a little more towards the simmering pot. When you moved to the pantry to decide which shape of pasta to begin to boil, you could barely make out the shape of Killer's mask being partially elevated over his lips and nose by one large hand. Using a fresh spoon, he dips it into the sauce and puckers his purple-tinted lips and extends a breath of cool air to stifle the heat.

As soon as the first drops meet his tongue, he can't help the soft moan that escapes him at the flavor. Upon your return with a bag of penne in hand, you are immediately hoisted into the air with Killer's hands beneath your arms. Gently spinning you before placing you on the ground, he claps his arms over your shoulders and leans down closer. The purple hue of his lips is stretched up in a smile, his joy at your sauce immediately having him taken aback and fullfilled in the knowledge that he now has the answer he desperately seeks.

"Teach me. Please."

And who were you to deny him? It was a family recipe, and this crew aboard the Victoria Punk was your new family. Gently raising one of your hands to cup over his on your shoulder, you crinkle your nose at him and nod with a smile to match his own.

"Yes, chef."

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @sordidmusings @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady

#one piece #x reader #ask snail #snail answers #massacre soldier killer #killer x reader #op killer #kid pirates #one piece mini fic #gn!reader #one piece fluff #one piece x reader #massacre soldier killer x reader

223 notes · View notes

3cremepie3 · 4 months ago

Text

Airhead pt. 1

Synopsis - Riddle Rosehearts x fem reader. Y/n is an idiot and needs help with studying from Riddle! She wants to pay back his kindness in the only way she know how.

Warnings - innocent riddle, lose of innocence, graphic mentions of head lol, premarital sex, cursing, spit, roughness, slutty y/n, bimbo y/n

A/n - I was supposed to start this series so long ago but I got caught up in request. I found this so fun to write and I will be continuing it!

“Hey riddle,” you exclaimed. You pulled him in for a big hug he deserved it for being so generous. He was helping you study for free! “There’s no need for that.” His words were harsh but his smile said otherwise. Whatever you let him go and plopped down on his bed.

“Wow, it’s so soft I can lay here forever.” You will not now up at once,” he demanded. “In order to get optimal study results students sit at desks. I have a perfectly organized one here.” You sighed getting up to sit at his desk. The chair was cool against your ass cheeks that hung out your dress.

It was uncomfortable and for some reason forced you to sit up. “Now let us begin I have tea time to attend to and I’ll leave you for independent study time then.” Okay,” you accepted. The session didn’t even start yet and you were bored. "Yawning already? Did you not get a good night's rest?"

"No, I stayed up all night waiting on a flash sale." Well, that was idiotic,' He claimed. "When your dorm has no AC you make do with what you can get, look isn't it cute."

"My god," Riddle gasped. "Isn't that lingerie women wear that for their husbands and as far as I know you aren't married." You erupted into a fit of giggles. God, he was over dramatic! “Riddle you're too innocent for your own good," you laughed. "I'm just wearing it to bed what's the harm in that?"

"You're right." He cleared his throat and stepped away to grab a hefty text book. "Hand me your phone there must be no distractions." You were hesitant but handed it over. Riddle grabbed a chair and scooted over towards you. Your body moved closer to his wanting to marinate in his scent. "Wow, you smell so nice Riddle like roses."

"Well thank you I make sure to use rosemary oil and- what are you doing get back to reading at once!" He pointed to the paragraph your eyes finished scanning. "I already finished," you pouted. "Fine then let's get started on this written response."

"The teacher wants you to write this in a formal format so no personal perspective." He continued to yap on and on about something that you couldn't bother to hear as you were distracted by the flamingos running across the yard. "Get him." You cheered leaning out the window to watch the mayhem between students and flamingos concur.

In an instant, you flashed him the short dress that you wore hiked up your back. “You mustn’t lean over like everything is showing,” Riddle yelled. He covered his eyes wanting to keep your privacy. “Ace he went that way,” you pointed. You felt the air on your ass and quickly realized what Riddle had been yelling about.

“Oops my ass was out,” you giggled. “It’s not funny Y/n!” Come on Riddle you act like you’ve never seen anyone’s panties before.” He stared at you blankly. “Wait you genuinely haven’t?” His face became rosy red at your question. “Well, not in real life of course.”

“Christ how is anyone this pure,” you wondered. “My mother kept me very sheltered from a lot of things.” So you’ve never watched porn?” He held his head low not meeting your bright eyes. “ How is that your first thought no I have not.” We’ll have you ever had a girlfriend or a side hoe or a hookup?”

“No I don’t have time for any of that,” he admitted. “I guess remaining top student comes with its downfalls.” You frowned for Riddle. You couldn’t imagine not getting laid. Just then you thought of something. “Well, Riddle since you gave me your time helping me study I’ll give you mine in bed?” You watched him awaiting his answer. “But mother says only married couples do that.”

You slapped your forehead out of frustration. “Mother means married couples stick it in. No one said we have to do all of that.” I suppose there’s no harm since it’ll be a fair exchange and as long as it’s done before tea time.”

“Yup just the perfect pace,” you gleamed. Now why don’t we get on the bed,” you suggested. “Alright.” Oh wow Riddle I’m surprised you’re agreeing to this.” Well, you only live once they say.” He propped himself up on his elbows wanting to face you.

“This process is for relaxation you can lay fully down.” He laid back sinking into his many pillows. “Good boy now take off your clothes.” You heard his breath hitch at the thought but his hands were eager to make them come undone. He stopped at his underwear, however. “Need help or something.” Your hand graced over his bulge and then to the band of his boxers.

“I think that would be best,” he admitted. You couldn’t help but notice his hands shaking. “Aww Riddle don’t be nervous. You sat up to give him some kisses on his burning torso. “It’s just a little dick-sucking,” you reminded. “I know but I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Well, then I’ll take things slower if you need it.” You began to kiss him softly he was a beginner after all. The first few were awkward teeth colliding but cute as you shared drool. The next ones were better since you took control catching his tongue in yours. You broke apart letting him catch his breath.

His hands tangled themselves in your hair pulling you back in. You balanced yourself on the bed before pulling your hips over his. Now you straddled his lap and could feel his heat against you. Riddle pulled up your dress which caused a gasp to come from your lips.

“Are you eager now?” Yes.” You looked up to see a riddles face flushed in a shade of scarlet. “Fine then I’m gonna go back down here. You crawled back to his legs making sure to land in an arch. Riddle thought he would lose his mind seeing the peak of your ass on full display. You pulled down his boxers to clearly see his mental state.

“Aww look at you dripping,” you coddled. "You can touch it i see you staring." Oh okay," he hesitated. You felt a hand collide with your ass cheek. He rubbed the flesh gently afterwards although it was an apology. You were gonna let out a protest but his focused face was too cute to pass up. You let a glob of spit coat his tip. You scanned his reaction as it slid down to his base.

His breath hitched at the warmness. Soon your mouth would follow the direction of the spit swallowing him down until you gagged. You exited with a pop making his toes curl. "So how's your first time getting head feel?" Good now continue," he demanded. His hand pushed you down onto his waiting dick.

You felt it twitch in your mouth as your tongue followed every curve every vein its entire being. "Oh my god," Riddle huffed. "Your cocks so cute look at it shake for me." You let it rest and spasm on your cheek. Your face had become wet with spit and his pre but you didn't mind. "Taste so good baby," you mumbled. Riddle could only bite his thumb down in response to holding his moans.

Your hand left his thigh to assist you in pumping him. Your grip was strong bringing his balls to tingle. Your lips noticed as you licked against the masses. And it intensified as you juggled them both in your mouth. He looked down on you astonished at your sinful actions.

Your dress was soaked but you were only just getting started. "Change of plans I want you to throat fuck me." Riddle looked at you like a lost puppy. "What does that mean." After quickly giving him a rundown he got into position. "So like this." He asked while pushing himself into your pulsing throat. Your hand linked themselves on his hips bringing him to push himself even deeper.

Riddle let out a grunt at the sensation of you squeezing around him. "Fuck it's like you're sucking me in." You chuckled you'd never think you'd get to hear Riddle RoseHearts curse. His hips buckled back and forth drilling themselves into you. But you still felt as though he was going to be soft on you.

"Riddle here's your chance to ruin me, to take all anger and stress out on me, to manhandle me. You're a man right then prove it to me." You spoke while scattering cock kisses. Riddle scoffed he was tired of everyone second-guessing him because he was small. "While since you give me permission I shall do my best job at it."

His smile twisted into a cruel smirk. You could tell in his head he had felt as though he was back in charge of the monarchy. While really you were still the dominant you just loved getting throat fucked. His hands raced to grab your neck forcing you to collide with the end of his shaft. You felt his hair tickle your nose while you gagged heavenly.

Riddle couldn't get enough of the vibrations against his core and forced you to stay until he watched your eyes roll back. You coughed greatly after being freed but stars were in your excited eyes as the same fate occurred. You watched Riddle lose himself in the contractions of your throat.

He moaned loudly as he pumped you like a fleshlight. They became whimper and he let out mewls that sounded as though he was crying. It was music to your ears especially when his voice that was sure to go raw yelled "Y/n" a dozen times. If he kept this up your throat would organize his shape forever.

And you wouldn't mind as long as you heard his whimper audio. "So good I think I'm gonna." He tried to give you a warning but it was too late. His cum poured down your throat leaving you to swallow the best you could in the short amount of time you had. The excess liquid spilled down your face and his now empty balls. He finally let go of his grip which allowed you to move away from the monster that was his cock.

You had 100% slayed that beast as he softened in front of your eyes. You pulled the bottom of your dress down ignoring the wet patch your essence had left on his bed. "Now we both held our fair end of the exchange." You spoke your voice raspy while removing your dress and stealing one of Riddle's shirts.

"Yes if you ever need help again be sure to let me know," he exclaimed. "Mhmm I'd love to push things even further. What your mother knows doesn't hurt her Riddle. It's not sin if its secret!”

328 notes · View notes

starryriize · 9 months ago

Text

— ✧ • ˳೫˚ part of my valentine event!

೫ pairing: bf!wonbin and gf!reader

೫ summary: you and wonbin spend the entire night making pizzas

೫ genre/word count: really fluffy and cute! 761 words!

೫ author’s notes: stop i love this sm 😭 this is peak love to me fr :(( making food esp pizza >>>> (why do i feel like i could’ve made this so much better fr)

The smell of rosemary and thyme mixed with the aroma of fresh dough filled the entire kitchen, reminding you of your childhood in your grandma’s home. The idea of making pizza was your boyfriend’s, so he called your dad to ask for his iconic family recipe. He’d given Wonbin the list of ingredients, emphasizing over the phone that he could not forget the most important ingredient: love. “I once made pizza without love and it tasted terrible! So, don’t forget it!” Your dad’s enthusiastic voice echoed in Wonbin’s mind. Perfect for Valentine’s Day, he thought to himself.

“Y/n! Could you get the flour too, please?” You poke your head out from the pantry, hands filled with various herbs, spices, and of course, tomato sauce. You laugh, putting the ingredients on the countertop. "Sure, love." Flashing a smile at you, he thanks you, carefully adding the flour in. He gestures for you to come next to him, holding his dough-covered hand out for you to grab. You giggle, taking his hand, eyes flicking upward at his face. Removing his hand from yours, he wraps both his arms around your waist, lightly lifting you to sit atop the counter. After placing you down, he goes back to the dough, kneading it lightly.

Turning to look at the dough, you notice the marinara sauce jar is open. So, impulsively, you reach down, dipping your finger in the sauce and wiping it on your lips. "Look honey, do you like my new lipstick?" You wiggle your eyebrows at him, excitedly pointing at your lips. Wonbin lets go of the dough ball, turning to look at you. Throwing his head back in laughter, he leans over, staring at you intently. His eyes flick from your eyes to your marinara sauce-covered lips, resisting the urge to kiss the sauce off of you.

"Yes. It's a pretty red on you." Wonbin softly whispers, leaning in and giving in to his urge to kiss you. It was a soft kiss, like something out of a movie scene. It was in this moment, as he pulled away, that he knew. You were his future. Smiling, he says, “I need to finish the pizza, love. The dough has to prove for an hour or so.” You feel the heat on your cheeks rising as a small smile grows on your face.

Atop the countertop, you had the opportunity to admire your boyfriend as he focused on slicing mozzarella cheese. Taking a small piece, you bring it up to his mouth. Knowing what you wanted, he opened his mouth, letting you feed him tiny pieces of the cheese on the cutting board. “Mmphm-,” he paused, chewing before continuing, “you do realize that I have to use these for the pizza, right love?” You giggle mischievously, flashing a threatening smirk at him. You knew you didn’t look threatening, not with the flour all over you and the residue of dough on your face and shirt.

“You’re not scary, y/n.” He rolls his eyes, pressing a soft kiss on the crown of your head before turning to the dough, carefully removing it from the proving bowl. It smelled amazing, just like how your dad told him. He must’ve made it with love, you think quietly to yourself.

Grabbing two rolling pins, he divides the dough into equal portions, handing you a portion to make into your own heart pizza. “Could you pass me some oil, please?” He nods, momentarily pausing, rolling out his pizza to pass you the oil. He watches in admiration and pure love as you spread oil on the pan itself as well as the bottom of the pizza dough. Taking your hands, you carefully shape the edges and creases, forming it into a medium sized heart.

“I love you.” He whispers out, surprised by how soft his voice sounded even though it was just the two of you in your shared apartment. You giggle, sighing softly, replying, “I love you more.” He smiles, continuing to make his dough look more heart shaped, quietly spreading the sauce and adding some shredded cheese. You put the mozzarella that you’d previously been feeding to your boyfriend, onto your own pizza.

Handing the pizza to your boyfriend, you can watch eagerly as he puts them both in the oven, asking for a 45 minute timer from Siri. The two of you shared more kisses and soft laughter that night as you enjoyed the pizzas you’d both made with love. Your dad was right. Pizza does taste better when it’s made with love.

#laur’s thoughts 🧚🏼‍♀️#laur’s valentine 💌#riize imagines #riize fluff #riize x reader #riize scenarios #riize wonbin #riize wonbin x reader

205 notes · View notes

smallraindrops-blog · 1 month ago

Text

Sacred Ingredients

Zagreus/Male!reader

Fandom: Hades (2019 game)

Word count: 3.3k

Summary: There was a new cook in the house

warnings: Implied reader death, no beta.

Notes:

The fic that is the reason yall have been seeing so many food posts lately.

This is the first response for the wholesome Zagreus x male reader request. I took my time with this since I wasn’t sure if I was following the prompt.

To the anon, thanks for the wait. If this isn’t what you wanted, please lmk and I will be happy to redo it. I do hope you enjoy this one.

Important: often people would use other names for the gods to avoid bringing unnecessary attention to themselves. Our reader is one of those people.

Enjoy!

One of your first memories was of your Mom holding a small bit of cake between her fingers.

It was made of thin layers of dough, heavy with sheep cheese, crushed nuts and honey, so heavy with it that the dipping honey caught the sunlight just before you bit in.

Sweet. Creamy. Nutty. All combining together in your mouth as you chew.

You groaned in pure delight as she laughed, getting you a plate with a much bigger piece. See? I told you that you would like it. Mama is never wrong. Not with food.

Just like that, food had became your life. To you, there was no better way to say ‘I love you’ than by cooking someone a good meal.

You learned how to perfectly roast fishes, how to stuffed chicken, the right moment to add herbs or how to use olive oils or butter to add rich flavors to the dish. You learned how to knead the bread, how to time the rise just right and the best spots in the stone ovens to place the loaf.

Food was everything. It was the bittersweet memory of your mama’s hand on your cheek after a sickness took her far too soon, it was a way to feed your family while working hard as a fisherman, it was a way to earn your place among warriors and kings.

You loved all of it, even as the other men had scoffed at you for enjoying women’ work. However they never turned away a meal you cooked, at home or in the war tents.

The very last thing you cooked, a recipe your mama taught you, was a simple bread, meant for dipping in wine.

Barley flour. Dry yeast from the grapes. Then you added the simple spice mix you came up with and always added in. The one that had people waiting outside for your bakery before the markets opened.

Parsley. Rosemary. Oregano. Garlic cloves smashed up and added into the bread, and just a little dash of salt.

You had set one aside for yourself for later.

You never got to eat it.

When the news came that the terrifying god of the underworld was looking for a new cook, you didn’t hesitate.

To get a spot in the house of the gods was prime time. It meant respect, a place to live and most importantly it meant regular income. That was money you can send to your mama and sisters so they can get into a better area of Asphodel.

You had spent hours over the cake.

You made sure that each layer of the dough was perfect, thin and flakey with a satisfying bite, that the cheese was the perfect amount of tangy creaminess, that nuts were crushed to the right size, that the honey was placed in the perfect spot to complement the cheese and nuts.

This had to work because your family worked hard to get the coin to order such things from the expensive shop of the boatman.

Even the neighbors had pitched in, with the promise that you will pay them back.

You took a nervous breath as you shifted on your feet, winced as the terrifying King of Below tossed aside the meal someone brought him, promptly dismissing them.

“And another one bites the dust.” The sleep god muttered as he crossed something off a list.

He looked up, blinking heavy downturned eyes at them. You and the other commoners were careful to keep their gazes low, not willing to show any disrespect to any of the gods.

The gentle one huffed and gestured for the one before you to go ahead. You were up after this, assuming that the person before you didn’t have something amazing.

The underworld King made a loud gagging sound and wordlessly dismissed the shade. Gentle one only clicked his tongue as he crossed out another line and shook his head, white curls flopping around.

“Good luck, buddy.” He told you with a cheerful grin, using his quill to point to the desk.

Did the gods normally call people buddy?

With a deep breath, you went to the looming desk, feeling like you were meeting the fates themselves.

“And what is this?” The King of those below growled, his haunting eyes locked onto you like a predatory bird. His hellhound shifted next to him, their three noses twitching at the food.

“This is a plakous, my lord.” You said, proud that your voice was stronger than you expected. “Made with wheat dough, rich honey-“

The King held up a large hand and you stopped speaking, fearing you had already lost your chance. A shade took the plate from you and brought it to their master.

You held your breath as he took the first bite, your heart no longer beat but you swore you felt it in that moment, slamming against your chest. He chewed slowly and his bloody red eyes slowly went wide.

A hush fell over the grand hall.

Then the King did something he didn’t do with any other meal, he went back for a second bite.

After that bite, he peered down at you for a long, long time.

“Is this all you can cook?” His voice broke over you like thunder. You shook your head, your hands curled up nervously

“No, my lord. I have created meals for kings and I can cook many things. Meat of all kinds. And bread, vegetables and so on.” You wished you were a more eloquent man, but that had never been needed before.

Not to mention such an education was beyond your reach.

And your food alway did the talking for you.

The king took a third bite then tossed the rest to the hellhound, the animal eating in a single swipe of its tongue. The tail wagged once, thumping on the floor.

The Wealthy One nodded slowly. “You may start today.”

The kitchen size alone would have made your mama weep with joy. The amount of fresh produce, herbs and clean grains along with plenty of meat made your jaw drop.

You clapped your hand together in thought then…You hit the ground running.

There was an endless list of tasks to be done before the kitchen would be ready to open and you went through all the tasks with horse blinders on, determination fueling you.

The first meal you officially served Master was a few of salted and peppered trout with a garlic lemon sauce with butter and herbs along with a hearty lentils soup, warm sourdough bread for the soup and sauce.

You added a fresh cucumber salad along with a large plate filled with cheeses and fruits that would compliment the fish.

When the plates came back, clean of even a drop of sauce, you felt something loosen in your chest.

Eventually you began to learn the house's routine and the many shades. You learned to always have some type of bread readied with olive oil.

You learned what went fast and what you had to jazz up to get rid of.

The most important lesson you had learned in life and one that remained unchanged even now was that most souls just wanted something that tasted like home.

It was toward the end of the kitchen hours when you heard someone take a seat.

Even at this late hour and working alone, you weren’t one to turn away a hungry soul so after wiping your hands on your apron, you turned with a smile.

“Welcome! What can I…” your words trailed off, your eyes going wide as you realized who was sitting in one of the barstools.

The Prince of the underworld gave you an exhausted, crooked grin. There was a curious gleam in those mismatched eyes, the strong lines of his cheeks softened by the dim lights of the lounge.

He was inhumanly beautiful in the ways all divine beings were.

But there was something different to his handsomeness.

Unlike the soft loveliness of Sleep, the sleek grace of the Fury or the dark shocking beauty of Night herself, this god before looked almost moral like. It was his eyes that revealed his godhood. It was the power in his broad shoulders.

You were surprised by how much you liked it.

“So you are the new cook everyone is raving about.” The Prince said, leaning on his forearms to peer at you. You saw the strength in his arms, his quick grace as he moved. Strong and muscular with thick tendons upward from the knuckles.

It was clear this god was a warrior of a sort.

Your eyes flickered down in embarrassment when you realized you were being disrespectful in your staring.

“I believe so, your highness.” You said, bowing your head in a show of respect for his position. “How may I serve you?”

“Honestly?” The Prince leaned, scanning the area behind you. “Whatever you have will work. The last cook we had working here would just give us sliced onions if we came in this late. Once he gave Hypnos a single apple peel for daring to ask for something else.”

He sounded amused, chuckling to himself at the memory. It was a nice laugh, deep and rich.

You couldn’t imagine being so rude to the gods. Your mom was a pious woman and even a quiet sigh during prayers would get you a disapproving look.

With a nod, you went to get the Prince his meal and drink.

Thankfully you had a leftover trout and tossed one onto the grill to cook as you prepared a bowl of cabbage for him, added in spices along with honey vinegar and silphium.

You had some bread and garlic cheese so you plated those as well with olives and grapes.

You decided to give him a rich red that most enjoyed, filling it up to the brim.

“Oh wow.” The prince muttered as you set everything in front of him and with a bow, you rushed back to the fish, flipping it over. Once it was ready with some garlic butter sauce, you brought it to him.

“Please let me know if you would like for me to serve you more or cook something else for you.” You told him and the prince blinked at you, his mouth filled with bread and cheese.

The prince waved a hand before you left him for his meal. He drank the wine deeply before placing it back down. You immediately refilled it. “This is plenty, my good shade. Thank you.”

With a respectful nod, you resumed cleaning up the kitchen. Counters got wiped down, supplies restocked but it wasn’t the usual relaxing routine it normally was.

You felt the weight of those divine eyes on you. The Prince was quiet as he ate but you caught quick glimpses of his curious gaze on the shine of the plates, or reflection in your knives.

It was only when the Prince left that you let yourself breathe.

Master liked large meals but only if they could be eaten quickly. The only thing you had been warned never to add was pomegranates. No one would tell you why.

The Gorgon, the creature was surprisingly sweet for all the horrible tales you heard of her kind, ate in a rush as well.

If you were smarter, maybe you could have made a clever joke about how the lowest server and the King of the Underworld ate the same way.

But one look into her smiling face held your tongue. She was always kind so you would be so in return.

The Fury was a regular companion of hers, requesting simple meals of fish and some types of roasted vegetables. Mostly she would drink deeply, often you would have a pitcher of wine put aside for her.

Sometimes Dreaded Death would join her, unwelcoming to all and cool. He rarely ordered any food, his fingers drumming on the table sounded like funeral marches to your ears.

His twin was the complete opposite, Gentle Sleep had a sweet tooth unlike anything else you have seen. Often he would ignore the dinner option altogether and eat slices of cake, candied figs or honeycombs.

If you weren’t careful around the god, plates of cookies that were meant for the whole house would go missing around him.

You still haven’t found the last two plates he stole from you.

And...

There was The Prince himself.

He was a regular now, always sitting close to wherever your work station was that day. He also was the only one who ate anything you put on a plate for him, and would shove the meal into his mouth like a starving creature. You always made sure to give him larger servings.

“Tell me your name.” He ordered you one day. His tone was deep, firm. Making it clear he wouldn’t take no for an answer. “You keep feeding me delicious food, no matter the hour. And I don't know what to call you.”

Then he added with raised eyebrows, sounding more like a playful suitor than a Chthonic god. “Please?”

You considered it, your hands still on the bowl of the hardy stew just placed before the god. You stared at the stew for a moment, then at him.

Or just past him, not willing to meet the god’s eyes, life and death danced in those unusual eyes of his.

You were a moral, a simple one at that.

You never picked up a sword, never learned all the fancy learnings that a prince might, never learned much beyond what you needed to but you knew names had powers, could decide whole destinies before a babe even wailed out their first cry.

Names could summon the gods themselves.

Quietly, you told him.

The prince grinned at you, his smile fierce and beautiful like a victorious lion. Your breath hitched, forgetting that one was to never look the gods in the eye.

Then the next words he spoke early jumped started your heart into beating once more.

“It suits you, my good cook. Call me Zagreus.”

Later, alone in the kitchen, recipes laid in front of you, you tried to will yourself to focus.

Schooling was too costly for your family especially after your Mother’s death. Your reading went far as basic words and numbers, just enough to get by in the markets.

You never needed much.

Right now, however, the recipes might as well be another language.

You were too lost in thought, several times you had already caught yourself even daring to think The Prince’s name in your mind.

What would happen if you dare to…

Zagreus.

A soft noise came behind you and You whirled around, glancing everywhere as if expecting him to appear right behind you.

He didn’t.

You realized you heard the sounds of the Wretched Broker restocking his shelves. Thankfully, he was too busy to realize that the House’s cook had gone mad simply by learning a God’s name.

Maybe you should start wearing a pot on your head.

“Zagreus.” You whispered, fingernails digging your palm nervously. “Zagreus.”

When the god didn’t appear, you didn’t know if you were disappointed or relieved.

Slowly, you learned more.

There were the loud fights between Father and Son that would cause the house to rattle. Many shades would escape into the lounge, hands over their ears.

”Tell me, do you get along with your father?” Zagreus grumbled, his plate cleared of any crumbs. His legs were bouncing, filled with an endless energy you knew you would never be able to match.

“No.” You said, not wanting to think of that man. You knew he was somewhere in the underworld but the less you knew, the better. “I suspect few do.”

Once, over a glass of white wine and a simple meal of sourdough bread and warm vegetable soup, He told you was looking for his mother.

“You will find her. I know you will.” You told him quietly, holding his stare. “Have faith, Zagreus.”

Another time, over a cake from a new recipe you came up with, Zagreus asked about you. Maybe it was the exhaustion after a successful dinner rush but you told him everything.

His smile was warm, his eyes watchful of your every move as you told him of your family and their new place you brought for them.

Your cheeks flushed when you realized he was staring at you.

“I will have to stop by then.” He teased, his hand almost brushing against yours.

“Yes.” You agreed in a whisper, your mouth suddenly dry.

“Cook me your favorite meal.” Zagreus ordered one day, not even bothering to sit down. You lifted a cool eyebrow, well used to his impulsiveness by now.

“Hello, Zagreus.” You greeted dryly, wiping your hands on your apron, not actually that upset.

Not too long ago, you would have wilted from the thought of being so playful with a divine creature but things changed.

Zagreus brought it out of you somehow simply by being himself.

“I am doing well, thank you.” You continued to teased despite his oddly serious expression.

Zagreus blinked, then chuckled with a bright grin. “I am a horrible influence on you, I fear.”

You laughed, cheeks flushing at his smile. “I am afraid so, your Highness. Now what is this about a favorite meal?”

“Yours. I want to know what your favorite food is.”

“Oh.” You grabbed an apple, rolling it in your hands for something to do. Butterflies dancing in your stomach as Zagreus leaned in, his hands on the counter. This close, you caught the scent of copper.

unwillingly, your gaze tangled with his, caught like a fly in a complex web. A stray thought reached you, could a mere fly understand the geometric structure, beauty of such things?

You swallowed nervously. “It’s nothing special, Zagreus. Just something my mom cooked up for me.”

Zagreus narrowed his eyes, his jaw firm in his resolve. “Excellent, then. I trust you have all the ingredients you need?”

You nodded but opened your mouth to dissuade the prince from his idea, however he was already walking away, “I expect a meal to be waiting for me when I get back!”

One day, staring at a wooden spoon in your hand, cake batter dipping from the tip, you realized that Zagreus had became someone very, very dear to you.

Morals and gods didn't mix together well. At least, not for the morals. Cracked eggs and spilled milk and all left would be a big mess with no one to clean it.

What did it mean when a shade, a mere ghost of who you were, was in love with a god that shone like the sun, whose very presence made you felt like you were alive once more?

When Zagreus returned, his hair was still damp from the Styx river and you had to look away from his beauty.

Quietly, you put the final touches on your favorite meal. You swallowed nervously as you picked up the plate and went over to him.

Thin layers of dough. Creamy cheese. Crushed nuts. Honey.

A long ago memory of your mom's smiling face as she watched you take a bite. Sunlight made her golden and immortal in that singular moment in your very heart.

You offered it up like the cake was a sacrifice, like you were offering yourself up to the god to make the final decision of the worth of your mortal soul.

“This is the first thing I can remember my mom making for me.” You whispered, your work rough fingers curled nervously against the counter. “This meal is what got me a job here. I got to know you because of this cake.”

Zagreus took a small bite, then closed his eyes in bliss. He said your name with a weight that you never heard before.

When he looked at you, his expression gentle and hopelessly fond, there was no need for more words.

When he kissed you for the first time, he tasted like home.

#x male reader #x male y/n #hades zagreus

47 notes · View notes

kheoni2024 · 5 months ago

Text

The Important of Sustainability in the Wellness Industry – KHEONI

The wellness industry has seen a significant growth in recent years, but with this growth comes a responsibility to consider the impact on the environment and the communities we serve. In this blog post, we will discuss the importance of sustainability in the wellness industry and how we can make conscious choices.

0 notes

lassnatural · 11 months ago

Text

#rosemary essential oil #rosemary essential oil price #pure rosemary oil #ayurvedic conditioner #hair fall control conditioner #hair growth conditioner #ayurvedic hair conditioner #ayurvedic shampoo and conditioner #best ayurvedic shampoo for hair fall #ayurvedic hair shampoo #ayurvedic shampoo for hair fall #ayurvedic shampoo #ayurvedic shampoo for dandruff

0 notes

blacksapphrodite · 1 year ago

Text

🍅 Tomato Magic for Love and Prosperity ❤️

Like most everything I cook, this sauce gets the magic treatment. It makes adding magic to other meals I cook during the week a breeze! I always make this in the slow cooker on a weekend when I can babysit it. Sauces like this should be cooked low and slow, and it’s less likely to burn in a crock-pot. It can, of course, be cooked on the stove as well, but it requires a lot more monitoring. Whatever you use, treat this sauce like it’s your baby, and it’ll come out amazing.

With the main ingredient in this sauce being, well, tomatoes, it lends itself very well to love and prosperity magic. Tomatoes are considered an aphrodisiac and are tied to Lady Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty.🩷 They’re also known to dispel negativity and bring wealth to the home. So this would be a good recipe to help inspire a happy marital home, or to serve on a date night, or bring about love or wealth in general! I like to think of it as a spell for a loving and prosperous home.💕 I use cans of crushed tomatoes, but you can use fresh as well if you have some nice ripes ones. My last attempt at fresh didn’t end well, but I’ll try it again soon and let you all know how it goes! Now let’s get to the actual recipe.

Ingredients

2 large cans of crushed Tomatoes (prosperity, passion, love)

Garlic, minced and/or roasted* (love, purity, banishing negativity)

Water or Broth (about a can’s worth)

1 small can of tomato paste (guard against negativity)

1 medium Onion, minced (endurance, stability, banishing negativity)

A couple glugs of olive oil

A glug of red wine

Half of a roasted, skinned and pureed red bell pepper (optional, but so good!)*

Bay leaf (love, passion, harmony)

Basil (wealth,love, faithfulness)

Oregano (ward against negative energy, happiness, peaceful energy)

Thyme (positivity, prosperity)

Parsley (happiness, passion, protection)

Sage (prosperity, mental clarity)

Rosemary (beauty, love, general magical boost)

Marjoram (happiness, love, money)

Sea Salt (purity, protection)

Pepper (passion)

Crushed red pepper (passion, a spell booster)

You can go about making this sauce two different ways. In one version, you just toss everything into the pot, give it a good couple of clockwise stirs, turn the heat to low and let it cook all day long. This, of course, still tastes amazing and it’s incredibly easy. You can draw some sigils on the pot or crock-pot in dry erase marker for an extra boost to your spell, too!

The second method is also easy, but takes a bit more time and mess. In this version, you’ll want to saute your onions and garlic in some of the olive oil. Then, add the tomato paste with some water and cook that down. Add your wine and cook it down some more. If you’re using the roasted bell pepper, add that to this mixture too. Dump this amazing smelling concoction into your crock pot with the tomatoes and other ingredients and then let it cook all day. You’ll have an extra pan to wash, but even more depth of flavor!

Say your intent and affirmations every time you check on the sauce to stir. If you have a red and/or gold or green pillar candles or tea lights, light those as well and place them in the kitchen. As you add and adjust your herbs and spices, continue to charge with your intent. At the end of the day, serve over some steaming pasta with parmesan cheese (or a good vegan substitute!), and enjoy!

I always make extra to save and use throughout the week in other dishes that could use a love or money boost. Plus it tastes amazing. So make a night of it, and enjoy!

*I use. A lot of garlic. You could use as much as a whole head, but I usually use about half of one. If you have the patience to roast it, do so. It’s sooooo good. To roast, peel off some of the outer skin of the head, cut off the top, coat it in olive oil and roast it at around 350 degrees for an hour. You can just squeeze out that garlicky goodness.

*To roast a red bell pepper, coat it in oil, broil it until the skin blackens. Place it in a paper or plastic bag and close it so the steam continues to cook it and loosen the skin. Once it’s cool, peel the skin off! You can then chop or puree it for your sauce.

Keep in mind that you can alter the purpose of this spell with your intent, using different herbs, etc. This is a base recipe and you can tailor it to your needs. :)

(I'm cleaning up my blog and reposting some of my spells/etc that were once hosted on my website.💕)

#witchcraft #witchblr #kitchen witchcraft #kitchen magic #kitchen witch #spells #love spell #money magic #kitchen spell #magick #grimoire

232 notes · View notes

merakiessentials · 5 months ago

Text

Rosemary Essential Oil

Enhance your wellbeing with Rosemary Essential Oil. Harness its natural properties to nourish your scalp, revitalize hair growth, and soothe sore muscles. Experience mental clarity and focus as its invigorating aroma sharpens your mind. Boost your immune system and create a thriving environment with the purifying benefits of Rosemary Oil.

#Rosemary Essential Oil #Natural oil for hair #Hair oil #pure essential oils #Online best hair oil #pain relif oil #aromaticoils #rose oil #benefits of rosemary oil

0 notes

aesethewitch · 4 days ago

Text

Pumpkin & Squash Autumn Soup

‘Tis the season for autumnal dishes and treats! A few weeks ago, I had a delicious autumn harvest soup at a little mom and pop restaurant, and I just had to create one of my own. This recipe is the result! (You might've seen me #soup posting about it recently!)

This recipe makes a lot of soup! It can feed a crowd all at once, provide lunches all week long, or even be frozen for long-term soup enjoyment. Just be careful reheating!

Enjoy!

Ingredients:

1 Butternut Squash

1 Small Pumpkin

2 T Oil

1 T Honey

1 T Salt

1/2 Small Onion, diced

2 Cloves Garlic, diced

Chicken or Vegetable Stock

1 1/2 c Apple Cider or Apple Juice

1/2 c Brown Sugar

2 T Cinnamon

2 t Allspice

1 t Salt

1/2 t Pepper

Apple Cider for pureeing (optional)

3/4 c Heavy Cream

Instructions:

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.

Peel and halve the squash. Halve the pumpkin. Scoop the innards out of both gourds. Drizzle the cuts sides with oil and honey, then sprinkle with salt.

Lay the pumpkin cut side down and the squash cut side up on a lined baking sheet.

Roast for 45 to 50 minutes or until easily pierced with a fork.

Allow to cool slightly to avoid burning yourself. Peel the skin from the pumpkin, then cut both gourds into large cubes.

In a large soup pot, saute the onions and garlic until soft and translucent.

Add the pumpkin, squash, stock, cider, brown sugar, cinnamon, allspice, salt, and pepper. Mix thoroughly.

Simmer gently for 15 to 20 minutes.

Allow the mixture to cool some, then puree in batches. If needed for a smoother puree, add 1 tablespoon of cider per batch.

Transfer the pureed soup to a clean pot. Stir in the heavy cream gradually.

Heat the soup gently over low heat. Do not allow it to boil.

Serve with a sprinkle of cinnamon and brown sugar and a drizzle of heavy cream.

Recipe Notes:

If your stock is particularly oniony or garlicky, omit the onions and/or garlic. The soup will end up tasting of onions otherwise, and that’s not the flavor profile we’re looking for! If the stock isn’t strongly flavored, you can use as much as 1 cup of stock; if you do, decrease the amount of cider or juice accordingly. The liquid should add up to about 2 cups.

If you’d rather use milk than heavy cream, I would use no more than a cup. It should make the soup creamy but not watery or too loose — this soup is meant to be quite thick! If you substitute with a non-dairy milk, I would suggest unflavored soy milk. Something with added flavors will change the soup’s overall taste, possibly even overpowering the other ingredients.

It’s really important to let the pureed mixture cool before adding the heavy cream, and to bring the soup back up to serving temperature gently, without boiling! If you add it while the mixture is hot, it has a chance to curdle and break, ruining the soup’s texture. Similarly, boiling the mixture with the cream in it can cause scorching. Be gentle in your reheating. If it becomes too thick due to evaporation, add a couple tablespoons of water or cider to loosen it.

On that note, this recipe makes quite a bit of soup. When reheating leftovers, I recommend not using a microwave. Instead, I would reheat it on the stovetop. You can use a microwave, of course, but I would heat it in short increments, stirring in between to keep it from boiling in the microwave.

This soup is on the sweeter side. It would make a solid companion to a salty sandwich or spicy salad. It would also go well with a savory biscuit like my rosemary biscuit recipe! If you’d prefer to have it be a little less sweet, you can reduce or completely omit the brown sugar.

When you scoop the innards out of the pumpkin and squash, don’t throw everything away! Separate out the seeds and give them a rinse and let them dry. Then, toss them in a light coating of oil and sprinkle some salt on them before roasting in an oven at 325 degrees F for about 15 minutes (stirring halfway through). Pumpkin and squash seeds make a tasty, crunchy snack! Or, you can use them to garnish your soup!

Other spices you could add that would fit well include clove, nutmeg, and ginger. These flavors are ones you might recognize as being part of a pumpkin spice blend! If you would prefer, you could absolutely substitute a pre-mixed pumpkin spice blend for the cinnamon and allspice in this recipe.

Magic Notes:

Pumpkin and squash are both emblematic of the autumn season where I’m from. They’re classic harvest foods. I most often use them for abundance, gratitude, and reaping what I’ve sown. I’ll also use them (particularly the seeds) to “replant” luck magic that lasts all year long. It lies gently dormant over the winter so that in the spring, it’ll sprout and grow throughout the following year.

Apples are another symbol of the autumn harvest where I live. I grew up harvesting them with my family, communing with the same orchard of trees since I could walk on my won. Each variety has its own particular energy. The cider I chose has a blend of apples, but it’s primarily made with bright, sour-sweet, early-season apples. In general, I use apples for love of all types, joy, and health. Cider also often has spices in it, but this orchard makes their cider without. I prefer it that way so that I can control the flavor and magic impact more closely.

Speaking of spices, we’re adding cinnamon and allspice to this recipe. Both are warm, fiery spices. I tend to use cinnamon as a sort of “battery” to give spells a bit of get-up-and-go. Allspice is a spice I frequently use for general good luck purposes and the sort of warmth you’d find near a hearth fire. It’s a comforting, soothing sort of luck.

Brown sugar is brown because of the molasses in it. Molasses is sweet, but it’s sticky and slow. I tend to use brown sugar for a gentler, slow-burn sort of affection. I find that it lasts longer than white sugar’s effects, but it does also tend to be on the subtler side.

The primary magic in this recipe is in the sharing. If you’re using whole gourds, you’re going to end up with a lot of soup. I would strongly suggest directly serving this to others, speaking or thinking a short incantation, blessing, or prayer over each individual bowl to bring that person prosperity and comfort for the upcoming cold season. Serve yourself last, wishing yourself the same.

As with many of my other recipes, a cup of this soup makes a wonderful autumnal offering for a spirit altar. Pair it with a cup of warmed cider, salty biscuit, and chocolate dessert, and you’ve got a really solid dumb supper.

This recipe can have any number of magical effects, depending on what you choose to focus on. My top suggestions are: gratitude, love (familial and platonic, in particular), joy, and luck.

I hope you enjoy this delicious soup recipe!

If you enjoy this recipe or like my other content, consider throwing a couple dollars in my tip jar, commissioning me (for a unique recipe of your own or for divination services!), or buying a recipe card from my shop! Supporters of all types saw this recipe a full week early, and they get full access to all locked posts — even ones from last year! Monthly members get even more perks like discounts and exclusive monthly tarot readings.

You can also view this recipe over on Ko-Fi here.

Happy soup season!

#aese speaks #recipes #spells #my spells #my recipes #witchblr #soup posting #witchcraft #food magic #kitchen witch #witch community #kitchen witchcraft #soup #soup season

33 notes · View notes

frenchmina · 8 months ago

Text

Tea and Time

A/N : This is my second ever fic, another one shot I wanted to write in opposition to the very angsty first one. I was talking with my best friend about what we considered being moments of true happiness, and this little fic is what was born from the conversation. I hope you enjoy, don't hesitate to tell me how you felt about it since I'm just starting out in fic writing ! Also, english is not my first langage so there might be some mistakes, sorry about those.

Pairing : Joel Miller x reader / no physical description of reader. No use of Y/N.

WC : 3.1k

Warnings : None really, it's just pure fluff and tenderness. There's just mention of the reader's fear of abandon.

Summary : A lazy sunday with Joel allows you to reflect on what love truly means to you.

You would hear the ticking of the clock if you had one. One of those ancient machines made of wood and glass which made their grand musical entrance during complete silences — tic… tic… tic…

Your grand mother had one in her living room, you remember it ticking away since you were old enough to understand the concept of time. You would look at it intensely and try to will the needles to slow down, because, let’s face it, there was no way in hell you weren’t a witch.

That certainty had, since those days at your grandma’s, seen some bumps in the road. First of all, you had not received your letter to Hogwarts, which had been a bummer. If you were being honest, you still blamed the postal system and its incompatibility with owls. But as time passed, you had made peace with the fact that you would not be a wand-wielding sorcerer and had tried your hand at potions. Dirt mixed with worms, grass and gravel made a poor soup, but if you added the picture of a loved one and some of your family cat’s hair found on your clothes, then you were supposed to be able to ask anything out of your mother and she would comply… As time had passed, grass and dirt had turned into mint and rosemary, essentials oils and lemon, turmeric for the immune system and ginger to fight off a creeping cold.

Some people would say you made tea. You knew better than to mistake your magic for tea making, and so did Joel.

You two had just come back from a long walk in the woods near your house, walking the same path you would always walk on Sundays, the one where your hands knew exactly when to be joined and when not to be. It was almost like a danse, interlocking your fingers with his on the wider parts of the path, unlocking at the fallen oak to make your way behind him towards the pond, and locking again at the makeshift bridge he had built after you’d almost fallen in the little stream twice. It was the middle of February and as usual you had been arrogant enough not to take your winter coat with you.

“You gon’ be cold baby” he had drawled, knowing you well enough to tell you were about to argue that —

“I’m not a child, Joel” with that look on your face that betrayed how childish you were being.

“Ain’t saying you are, love.” He had tried and failed to hide the playful smile tugging at his lips, which made any hesitation you might have had about bringing the coat vanish. Your dignity sometimes laid in weird places; he loved that about you.

Of course you had been cold. Of course he had had to hold you tight in his arms while you had stopped to listen to the myriad of little sounds the birds and squirrels and insects and wind in the trees made in the deepest part of the woods. Some part of you might even have made the conscious choice not to put on that damn coat so he would embrace you in his warmth. He had done so with no more playfulness, just plain tenderness and love, his fingers drawing lazy circles where they laid on your sides, sending little jolts of electricity throughout your spine — alongside with the shivers of cold.

You chugged off your boots in the entryway, not giving a crap about where they landed, and made your way to the kitchen.

“Gonna make me some tea, do you want some ?“ You had a habit of always asking him that, although you knew he was a coffee man and didn’t drink any o’ that leaf soup, as he called it.

You heard him sigh behind you.

“Hell, why not.“

You stopped dead in your tracks and slowly turned to face him. You didn’t have to say anything, the shock on your face was enough to prompt him to explain.

“You’re always goin’ on about how good it is for ya…“

“Yeah… Yes, I am…“

“Come on dun make a big deal outta this…“

“I’m not !“ You cut him, the shock on your face slowly turning into a proud smile. “I’m not I swear, I’m just glad you’re finally acknowledging my talents as a potion maker…“

“I ain’t saying that yet“ he laughed, “lemme try and then I’ll be able to acknowledge whatever ya want.“

As you were carefully choosing what to pair with fresh mint leaves and valerian, you heard Joel moving to the living room and, with a content sigh, drop heavily on the couch. You smiled, conjuring the mental image of him spread out on the sofa, head resting on the back of it, hand coming to rest lazily on his thigh. You could just close your eyes and see him, the exact spot he was siting in, how his left arm rested on the green cushion.

The water was slowly starting to boil and the kettle made more and more noise, drawing you away from your little daydream. It amazed you how after multiple years together you still found your thoughts drifting towards him at every chance. Even that domestic image of him sitting on your couch made your heart flutter and a well-known warmth radiate from your chest.

Orange blossoms. It’s exactly what you needed to ensure relaxation, and that Joel would actually like it.

The water was boiled and as the kettle’s rumbling died down, you started to hear faint sounds coming from the next room. A melody, drawn from an aging guitar by expert fingers. Joel did not play often, he was unbelievably shy about it which kept him from working on it as often as he’d have liked to. Your fingers came to a halt, a bunch of herbs slipping from them as you listened closer; it was a new song, one you had never heard him play, but you recognized it instantly : Helplessly hoping, one of your all times favorite. It drew immediate tears from your eyes, your heart swelling and swelling so much you thought it was about to burst out of your chest and yell out its love for him.

But then, without you realizing, it morphed into something else. The feeling of a weighted rock on your stomach, blood running colder in your veins, the tears threatening to be ones of fear.

You breathed. One. Two. Three. You were okay.

You were not about to lose this. He was not going away, not leaving you here alone, not running away. And if he wasn’t running towards the exit, you were damn well obligated to return the favor. It crept up on you like that sometimes. The fear that what you had was way too good to be true. It felt like a Damocles sword hanging above your head, always here to remind you that at the slightest mistake, at the second you were not exactly perfect, you would loose everything. Although everybody had told you that it didn’t happen that way, your experience proved them wrong. From your best friend of 8 years never returning your calls all of a sudden and moving across the country without telling you, to the boyfriend who had told you one day he had actually stopped loving you months ago, to all those tiny abandonments we all go through in life, you had learned not to expect anyone or anything to stick with you. And maybe, at one point, you had started to believe you weren’t worth the trouble of saying goodbye.

Joel had not actually said anything to ease the fear that he would be leaving, he had just not left. Never. And while the fear creeps up on you, whispering in your ear to just get the hell out before he inevitably abandons you, it’s the only thing keeping you together : he hasn’t left, has not promised anything more than what he’s capable of giving you, but most of all he’s proven time and time again that he would always be honest, that he would never hide his fears and doubts from you. He’ll never leave you alone with the eternal nagging question about why you were not good enough.

You slowly calm your breathing. You can’t control him, can’t make him stay if he doesn’t want you, he’s utterly free — and you are too. You are free enough to choose to be here, to choose to listen to him playing your favorite song on his worn out guitar while making him tea and actually enjoy it. You’re free to let go, he made sure of that. So you do.

You listen. You take it in. This gorgeous man who’s had the time to define what he wants out of life, and who, with that knowledge, has decided to put his energy into learning a song he knows fills your heart with joy just to be able to see you smile.

He’s been working on it for a while now, the chords actually gave him a hard time. It’s gonna need a bit of work still, he thinks to himself while trying to pay attention to the noises coming from the kitchen. Did you hear him yet ? He wanted to be able to play it in front of you, to say “Here it is my love, I learned it so you could sing along to your favorite song.“ But he is such a coward… He would not take it well if he saw the slightest hint of disappointment in your eyes, but he also knows you would never be disappointed in him. Throughout your years together, he’s learned you would never expect anything of him but the best he could be or do, even if it was messing up one chord out of three in your favorite song.

You were so understanding, so sweet with his mistakes — and he had made a bunch. You would always take him by the hand and squeeze it just tight enough to tell him I’m here, I believe in you. It wasn’t like anything he’d ever felt; he doesn’t actually know how he could live without your love, now that he has had a taste of it. Everything in his life was made better by your presence. He had learned that he was okay, that he was worth someone’s trust. He wouldn’t be able to un-learn it.

He also knew perfectly well that learning to play a song you liked or giving you his coat without a second thought when you were cold was just what you needed to trust him. He did not need to prove anything to you, to tell you over and over how stunning and loved you were — although to be fair he did tell you more than enough — he just needed to be there. And he was. Oh how he was. The depths of his commitment to you, to your life together, were lost on you he was sure. Your own insecurities prevented you from seeing how desperately in love he was with you, which made him realize that, as alike as you both were, you might love him with ten times the strength he thought you did.

He was content to love you mostly in secret : in the little noise you made as you were falling asleep, in the way you brow furrowed and you clicked your tongue slightly when you were unhappy about something, in the way your eyes switched colors in the sun, or how you’d always bit your lower lip while reading a book. He loved you like he breathed, each exhale a song he would learn for you.

You appear out of the corner of his eye, and he immediately catches the tiniest sign that you might have cried.

“You good sweetheart ?“

You respond with a sort of sad smile he has come to recognize as the one you give him when you’re battling your inner demons. He won’t push, he knows you’ll speak if and when you want to, and you know he’ll never turn you down when you need him.

“Common then, let’s see if y’are a good witch or an evil one. Will this…“ he smells the fuming tea out of his favorite mug “mixture a’ yours turn me into a frog or a prince ?“

You scoff, he’s offering you playfulness to get out of your meltdown and you take it gladly. “You’ll just have to drink it and see, a witch never tells“ you lean towards him to teasingly rub the tip of your nose along his, and hear his breath briefly catch in his throat before you let yourself plop down on the couch next to him.

Joel carefully puts down the guitar in its case, brings the tea to his lips, stops for an instant and studies your face, as if looking for a proof this actually is about to transform him into a frog. You don’t say anything, relishing in the feeling of his attentive gaze on you.

“Nah… you ain’t about to turn me into nothin’, I’d be useless to you as a frog.“ Before you even have the time to think about a snarky response, he’s gulping down a huge sip of tea. Your eyes widen.

“Shit ! Fuckin’— god dammit — fuck it’s hot !“

“Why would you…“

“Turning me into a damn volcano that’ what you’re tryin’na do ?“

“Not my fault you’re chugging the damn thing like it’s a beer ! “ You say while trying to hide your laughter and getting up to get him a glass of water, but his hand lands on your arm and he pulls you back towards him.

“Where d’you think you’re goin’, witch ?“ You laugh wholeheartedly now, which elicits a smile on his lips. He’s enclosing you in his embrace now, his strong arms wrapping around your frame and pressing you to him. The mug has found its place on the coffee table again, the two of you tangled in each-other, time starting to pass at a whole new pace. You don’t really know if it’s going faster or slower, it just isn’t on the same rhythm as the rest of the world anymore. The seconds might be hours, the hours weeks, or the other way around. In movies, the ticking of the clock would slow, completely disappear even, to let the spectator know reality was slipping.

Time doesn’t feel like time anymore when you’re this close to him. He is like your own human sized black hole.

Joel hums and you feel the vibration throughout your entire body. It’s like you’re both tuned to one another, the waves of him resonating with yours; and in that instant, in that shared understanding of how much you both belong here in this moment, you start to believe you might actually be a witch. Because how else would you have been able to reach this type of calmness with someone ? Your eyes closed, your ears drowned in the sound of him, you picture your love as an oak, unmoved by time. Its seed grown from the adoration and trust you have for each other, made to withstand cataclysms, storms and droughts all the same, grown by the light of his loyalty and the rain of your empathy. A tree connected to the rest of the world by roots that sink deeper in you and him by the day, allowing the two of you to communicate without words. Those days, you realize, those uneventful and boring days when you just allow yourself to exist in his presence, are what nourishes that type of love.

“C’mon, put your feet on the couch and lay your head on my shoulder.“ He whispers, barely audible.

You manage to do just that without ever completely detangling from each-other’s embrace; and end up laid down on the couch, your head resting on his chest and his arm around you. To your surprise, he reaches for the mug with his other hand and takes another, more careful sip.

“So… you actually like it ?“

There’s a long silence before he answers.

“Don’t hate it.“ He admits.

The sun pierces through the clouds and warms up your face. A gentle sleepiness starts to overcome you when Joel’s fingers expertly land on your head and play with your hair. It’s safe, sweet, and loving. Like your whole being is bathed in his warmth.

His hand in your hair tells you the story words never could : he’ll never leave you stranded, never vanish without an explanation. You’re his best friend, his light, and whatever happens between the two of you, whatever life throws at you, you’ll always have a place by his side.

This is what love means, you think. No promises to be broken, no emphatic speeches about what you mean to one another, no grand gestures or empty pledges about what you’ll always or never do. Just this common understanding that your lives are intertwined wether you’re next to each other or not, just those tiny gestures and caring acts that tell how kind you’re willing yourselves to be for the other. The space to make mistakes and to let the other one make some to, the space to grow. Watering the oak tree.

It’s a fucking marvel, he is a fucking marvel. You listen to his heartbeat finding a common rhythm with yours, and you can feel his eyes closing as your own do, while his fingers still play with strands of your hair like they played the guitar, drawing a melody of happiness out of you just as well as they drew the notes from the instrument.

“I love you.“ You say, voice clear despite you slowly drifting to sleep. There’s a stillness in the silence that follows, you know he’s just taking it in, letting the emotion run through him before responding.

“I love you too.“

Another silence.

“Promise it’s not the potion talking?“ You tease and he chuckles. You relish the sound.

“If it was, it’d be a hell of a potion to make me feel that way… Goes to show how powerful of a witch you are though.“ He could say so much more, but you don’t need him to. You understand him just fine in the way he caresses your shoulder softly before returning his hand to your hair.

You would hear the ticking of the clock if you had one. Since you don’t, you’ll make do with your very own metronome : your heart and his, setting the rhythm of whatever comes next.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thank you so much for reading, looking forward to what you thought of it ! Requests are open if you feel like giving me some inspo !

#He is my end goal #pedro pascal #tlou #walk in the woods #the last of us hbo #the last of us #joel the last of us #tenderness #fluff #witches #tea #joel miller fic #what it means to be happy

42 notes · View notes