#Reader Based Fic

[myckicade]

Title: Barter

Series: The Last of Us

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: It's been a number of years since you first made your home in Jackson. Your house is a cozy little two-story, with beautiful flowers, an herb garden, and a small flock of ducks roaming the yard. The old barn-turned-garage beside the house serves as your veterinary clinic. You do your part around the settlement, helping, providing, and carving out a little bit of peace in a world determined to provide none.

When Ellie stops by your place, visibly distressed that her horse has gone off her food, you don't hesitate to get out to the stables. There, you encounter Joel, who offers to help with maintenance to your clinic, in exchange for your help with his daughter's horse. You aren't terribly concerned with the repayment, not when there is an ailing creature to tend to, but you strike the deal to ease Joel's mind.

As a woman who has been repaid in a variety of forms - vegetables, eggs, clothing - a trade of services really isn't all that bad. Joel is a nice enough guy, helpful and respectful, and he does good work. Over time, one trade leads to another, and another, leaving you in each other's company more often than you'd originally bargained for. There's nothing between you, beyond a growing friendship. He's a handsome man, and a fine catch, but more hasn't really crossed your mind. But small towns talk, even the good ones, and talk could easily change everything.

A/N: The amount of research I did on this, just to make it half-believable, is truly startling. Heh. I promise, no one will be growing mango fruit in the middle of a Wyoming winter. Some details will be from personal experience.

Also, please note that this will be far more plot-heavy than smut-filled. I wrote romance novels for years, and… I need plot. Heh.

Finally, please remember that this is the only chapter that will appear in the main series tag. Please follow #TloUBarterFic or #TLoU Barter Fic for future chapters.

Tag List: @stevetonycupcakes

Chapter One: Bramble of Ida

March 24th, 2024

A bitter morning wind whips down the street as you all but stagger back toward your house. There is very little noise happening around you, other than the creaking of tree branches, and the soft crunches of snow beneath your boots. The rest of the town is still asleep, save for those on patrol, and the group on rotation to feed and tend the livestock. How you envy anyone still with head pressed to pillow.

Grief, what a night. Tugging off one glove, you rub at the back of your aching neck with your bare fingers. It does little to relieve tension, but you lie to yourself, all the same. For a moment. All too soon, the frigid air invades up the sleeve of your jacket, sinking into your newly-exposed skin until you are left shivering. With a quiet curse, you put your hand back in your glove, and continue toward home. Fucking winter. It’s a beautiful season to watch, but a real bitch to have to contend with, in person. At the very least, it’s almost over. A few more weeks, and signs of spring will begin to turn up.

Just… a few more weeks.

The sun is just beginning to peek through the trees as you pass the Monroe house. It’s a lovely little place, two-story, painted a soft blue. There’s a basketball hoop mounted above the garage door, patio furniture under a tarp on the front lawn, and… You pause, and chuckle. The chickens from the Patterson place, next door, have once again invaded Wendy Monroe’s snow-covered garden space. The gate has swung open, the latch likely giving out with the cold, and the chickens look to be enjoying a few minutes of pre-discovery peace in pecking through the snow at whatever remains of last year’s plants. Wendy’s a good sport, and doesn’t usually mind the squawk-happy little visitors, but it’s far too cold for them to be out of their coop, unsupervised.

With a heavy sigh, you consider that thought a second time, and a third. The temperatures have dipped over the last few hours. Judging from the thermometer you’d seen in the hog pen, there had been a loss of nearly eighteen degrees during your six-hour visit. It certainly doesn’t feel any warmer now, and in another hour those birds will be in serious trouble. With that in mind, you make a sharp pivot to the right, and trespass onto the Monroe property.

“All right, ladies,” you call, as quietly as will get their attention. No reason to risk waking the occupants of either household. If someone of your profession can’t handle something this simple, they ought to run you out of town. “Time to get your fluffy little butts back home!” The chickens pay you little to no mind at all, until you approach the open garden gate. Five sets of startled eyes are suddenly staring you down, leaving you in a smirk. Adorable creatures, chickens. Sassy, snippy, and full of surprises. You really should raise some of your own.

Scratch that, so to speak. You hardly need to invite the chance of being outsmarted by a flock of birds. What was that thought, again, about being run out of town?

You fight back a chuckle, and change tactics. “Come on,” you urge, waving your hands in the air, just enough to get the chickens moving. Sure enough, the Queen Bee of the flock lets out an irritated sound and flutters her way back out of the gate. It takes a moment before the rest of the girls follow behind her. Not one of them is pointing in the direction of home, but they’ve left you with enough room to lock the gate.

Well, scratch that. You manage to get it closed, but that lock is definitely frozen.

The Patterson’s coop, an old garden shed that has long since been converted and insulated, is only a few yards away. Getting them there, though, will be a task of near-Herculean proportions… For one who doesn’t know where the Pattersons keep the chicken feed. Lucky for you, you’ve been in to check on the ladies more than once, and have firsthand knowledge of their setup. Blessedly, the snow isn’t terribly deep, and you make it over to the coop and back within seconds. Holding up your hands, you shake the cupful of feed you snagged. Once again, five sets of very interested eyes are turned toward you.

“That’s more like it,” you murmur, grinning. “Now, come on.” You take a couple of slow steps backward and shake the cup again. It takes only a few seconds for the chickens to come rushing toward you. You pick up your pace, shaking the food every few steps, so as not to lose their attention. As you move closer, a chorus of clucks rises from inside the coop. Apparently, you’ve caused quite a stir. The clucks come closer, louder and louder, and you glance over your shoulder to see that the remaining three chickens in the flock have wandered out to meet you.

Evidently, the garden lock isn’t the only fastening on the fritz.

Rounding to the front of the coop, careful not to step on any of the new partygoers, your assumption is proven correct. The swing door to the coop is wide open, the straw inside blown all about, some spilling out on the ramp. The wind may have rattled the door open, loose as the lock looks from where you stand. You make a mental note to stop by and see Alan, this afternoon, to advise him to put something a little stronger on there.

For now, you lure the chickens back into the coop, spreading a little bit of feed across the inside edges of the enclosure. No use in throwing it in, just to make a mess for the Pattersons to have to worry about. The girls skitter their way inside, and, as soon as the last feathered behind is out of the way, you swing the door closed, removing your gloves to properly fasten the latch. Reaching into your pocket, you retrieve a leftover bit of jute twine, which you slip into the latch hole, loop around the lock fastening, and tie off into a sturdy, but easily removed knot. Once you are satisfied that the knot is in place, you give the door handle a little tug. There. That isn’t going anywhere.

“Night, girls,” you call, softly, as you replace the food cup into the appropriate bin. Pulling your gloves back on, you start back for the road, and back toward home. Once you’ve had some sleep, you’ll make sure to venture back out, and stop in to let both homeowners know it was you that came onto their respective properties. If you had any paper with you, you’d leave notes to explain, but calling back in a few hours will have to do.

Your house was already in your view before you noticed the chickens, just half a dozen places down the road. You’ve been looking forward to your bed since you last left it, the morning before. You need a shower first, and something to eat, both of which run you the risk of just falling asleep, standing up. Oh, well. A simple enough cost, exhaustion, for so rich a reward as you’d seen delivered, overnight. Miracles, even in this world, still manage to exist, every here and there.

Unfortunately, so do curses, another of which you swallow back as you spot someone standing on your front porch. Blowing out a puff of air, you make your way up the driveway, mentally preparing yourself for what you are about to hear. Anyone calling at such an ungodly hour as this surely has an emergency that needs seeing to. Funny, that’s the same thing you told yourself just ahead of midnight, the night before, as you’d flicked on one light after another, on your way to open the front door.

Yeah. So much for sleep.

The individual at your door – a man, from the looks of things – has his back to you as he raises his fist to knock. He’s certainly a solid looking gentleman, in jeans, a work jacket, and what looks to be a black hat. Quite frankly, it could be anybody, but most folks in town would be beating down your door and calling out your name to get your attention. You’re not used to this calm, polite knocking. Well, not before sunrise.

“Hey, there,” you call, as you approach the three steps at the side of your porch. Your visitor doesn’t turn around, instead knocking a second time. Odd. Shaking it off, you try again, a little bit louder. “Can I help you?” The man finally turns your way, clearly a bit off guard. It makes you feel bad to have startled him, enough that you find enough energy to put on a welcoming smile. “Sorry. I’m sure you weren’t expecting to be snuck up on.”

“Are you (y/n)?” he asks, with absolutely no preamble. You raise an eyebrow in response, smile failing you, considerably. The man’s features are a bit difficult to make out in the shadows, leaving you no clues as to the nature of his visit. Leave it to you to forget to turn on the porch light when you’d left the house.

“I am,” you reply, taking each step up at a slow, measured pace. He steps to the side to face you, now bringing his face into the light. Pleasant surprise, it’s a handsome one. A little rough, a little grey, but handsome, and distantly – suspiciously – familiar. Still, there’s no need to assume, right? “How can I help you, Mister…?”

The man makes a peculiar face, then rolls his eyes. “Sh-I’m sorry. My name is Joel.” He offers you a gloved hand. “Joel Miller.”

Ah. So, your second assumption of the morning has been proven correct. Your smile recovers, a bit, as you come close enough to return the handshake. Solid grip on him, you note, even if short-lived. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Miller.” He nods once, politely, but doesn’t say anything in response. “What can I do for you?”

He wrings his hands together for a second, and glances to the side. “Ah, listen, I’m sorry to be stopping in so early,” he begins, voice as low and hushed as you figure he can make it. With a rich tone like that, it’s almost amusing. “Maria said you might be able to help me out. I was gonna’ wait ‘til later, but…” He trails off, somewhere between guilty and uncomfortable.

Meanwhile, your default setting of concerned is deepening. “One of your horses sick?” you ask, excusing yourself as you step around your visitor to open the front door. The sooner you can get to your stores, the sooner another living being might find some relief. Two, if you count the trouble Mr. Miller seems to be feeling.

“No,” he shoots back, almost instantly. You glance over your shoulder in surprise, to find Mr. Miller rubbing his neck in a self-conscious manner. It’s the perfect fit for the flustered look on his face. “No, uh… Sorry. No, it ain’t the horses. It’s, uh… My…” He sighs in frustration. “It’s Ellie. Have you met her?”

“Haven’t had the pleasure, yet.” The name certainly registers though, thanks to Tommy chatting away about his brother and niece, whenever the two of you cross paths. The man is terribly sweet and sentimental when the mood strikes. “What can I do for Ellie, then?” It might be the rising light playing tricks, but you could almost swear the man before you now is going a bit pink. Which, with men, can only mean one thing. Amused as you suddenly are, you keep a straight face. “Mr. Miller?”

“She…” He pauses, scratching a gloved index finger along his cheek. “You see, it’s her, uh… I mean, she’s got her… Erm…”

That tears it. You have to turn back toward the door, hiding both a grin and a silent cackle in your scarf. It’s so pitifully adorable, you almost don’t make it. “Follow me,” you instruct, trying like all hell to keep your voice good and steady as you open the front door and click on a light. You gesture for Mr. Miller to step inside your kitchen, which he does, removing his hat and closing the door behind himself. You peel off your gloves, then your jacket and hat, depositing all four items onto your countertop. “How much pain is she in?” you ask, opening the last cupboard before the window. From the corner of your eye, you see Mr. Miller fidgeting with his hat.

“Heat didn’t help, this time,” he explains, worry creeping into every syllable. Poor bastard. Not easy being the single father of a teenage girl. Mr. Miller is hardly the first dad to see you for this reason, and he likely will not be the last. “She’s a tough girl. Usually powers right through, but this time…” He fiddles with his hat again, and you look back to the cabinet, grabbing the first item you need as he continues to talk. “She’s in a bad way.”

You nod along as you get out everything you need. Once you have an assortment of tins in front of you, you begin taking pieces from the half-filled tins and mixing them into an empty one. Poor kid. Being a woman yourself, you get it. Especially now, when Advil and Tylenol are worth their weight in platinum. Which, to be fair, is completely useless nowadays, but that’s really beside the point.

A few moments pass in silence, save for the quiet clatter of your ingredients. “I’d say I was sorry to have woken you,” Mr. Miller says, eyes wandering over your kitchen, surely just for something to do. If you were any less focused on your task, you might feel a bit embarrassed at the cluttered state of your countertops. “But all the same, even though you were already up.”

Oh. You can’t help but let out a pitiful little laugh at that. “Truth be told, I haven’t been to bed, yet.”

“You haven’t?” he asks, teetering on startled. “You know what time it is, right?” There’s a bit of a smile playing on the man’s face, and you have to admit, he’s wearing it well.

“I’m aware,” you admit, placing the lid on the three-quarters full tin and giving it a gentle shake. You do your best not to tune in on the sound your actions are producing. The light tapping and swirling could easily lull you to sleep. “Had to help deliver some piglets.”

That perks Mr. Miller’s attention. “Sally or Marla?” he asks.

You give a little scoff. “Both, if you can believe it.” You move around the curve of the counter, still shaking away at the tin. “Marla went first. While I was helping her, Sally decided to catch the spirit, and had hers, too.”

That seems to amuse him for a second, before gravity settles in. “Everybody good?”

“Mostly.” You sigh. “Marla dropped one, then she dropped. The second one wouldn’t come out. But the first one was a distance away from her. Don’t know how long the baby was alone in the cold, but Amy Sid took the little guy in for the night. He’ll be fine,” you’re quick to reassure, at the distressed look on Mr. Miller’s face. It’s a feeling you understand, all too well. “I just want him somewhere warm, where he can be fed and watched. Sally’s babies are fine. She didn’t have as many, but she breezed right through it.”

Shit. You realize, all at once, that you’ve been rambling at a complete stranger like he’s your best buddy. Granted, he likely knows all the same things you do in this settlement, especially where the animals are concerned, but still. Fighting the embarrassed flush that you just know is coming, you stop shaking the tin in your hand and hold it out toward your guest.

“Good to hear,” Mr. Miller replies, accepting the tin and giving it a suspicious look. “Dare I ask?”

“Oh!” you breathe, dialing back in. “Right. So, brew Ellie a cup of tea every few hours, so long as the cramps keep coming back. Just a small scoop of the stuff.” In your embarrassment, you’re speaking a mile a minute. Perhaps you ought to write it all down for him, just in case? “Depending upon the severity of her cramps, it might not take them away entirely, but it should ease them.” He carefully removes the lid and looks inside, apparently surprised at what he sees. “That should last her a while. But if it doesn’t help, come back and see me. It would be easier if she was here, right now, to get specifics, but…” You rock your head from side to side. “I understand.”

Mr. Miller leans in and gives the contents a sniff, recoiling, a bit, at the scent. “The hell is it?”

“Raspberry leaf, mostly,” you explain, again trying not to let your amusement show. “Chamomile, a bit of cinnamon. A couple of other things.” He glances up at you, blinking. “It won’t hurt her. I promise.”

Mr. Miller nods, after what you can only imagine is a moment of indecision. Trust her, don’t trust her? He closes the container, tucking it away in his pocket. “What do I owe you?” he asks, shifting on his feet. It’s a fine question, and one that you are more than used to hearing, but you shake your head, all the same. He frowns. “I’m serious.”

“I’m sure you are,” you reply. And, you really are. But… “But I’m too tired to come up with anything, and you’ve got a little girl that needs that stuff, as soon as you can get it to her.” You smile. “Worry about it another time.”

Mr. Miller looks ready to argue for half a second. “Okay,” he murmurs instead, replacing his hat atop his head. “Thank you for your help, (y/n).” He turns and opens the door.

You follow him over, one hand resting on the door as you see him out. “You’re welcome, Mr. Miller.”

He pauses and glances back with a faint smile. “Joel.”

“You’re welcome, Joel,” you correct, as he steps off the porch. “I hope Ellie feels better, soon.” He nods and continues on his way at a steady pace. Once the man is down the driveway and onto the street, you close the door. A quiet man, Joel Miller. Polite. Easy on the eyes. Probably be even easier, if you’d been able to keep them open while he was here. Ah, well. You can worry about that more in the morning.

Okay. At this rate, the afternoon.

Placing the covers back on the tins on your countertop, you stuff them back into the cupboard, and close the door. Forget food. Forget a shower. Hell, you don’t even have the energy to stop for a bathroom break. It will keep until… Until it can’t. With that thought in mind, you turn out the lights and drop onto the couch. Fuck it. You have to be up in a few hours, anyhow.

[zephyrchama]

MC gifting the Obey Me! cast the same button-up shirts and asking them to wear it when they go out to dinner.

Mammon is the first to show up. He doesn't like to be away from you for extended periods of time keep you waiting, and he wants to get some use out of that fancy new shirt you gave him.

Leviathan is the next to arrive, wanting to cement himself in a seat before more people show up. He doesn't notice at first, but Mammon certainly does. Mammon is not very happy.

The two start bickering over free breadsticks as the twins walk in. Beelzebub is too distracted by the scent of appetizers to really care, but the situation gets a chuckle out of Belphegor. "You both look stupid," he tells Mammon and Leviathan.

They quip back, "Like you're one to talk!" and "You're wearin' the same thing, moron!"

"Shh, shh. It's funny. Be quiet, I think someone else is coming." At your behest, the table settles down.

Solomon's usual smug self is knocked down a peg when he sees everybody in the same attire. "I don't think this is mere coincidence," he surmises while taking a seat. "Did you give these to everyone?"

You nod, and finally Solomon smiles. "This will be good."

Within seconds of arrival, Satan is able to quickly connect the dots. He's not happy to be matching with Lucifer, but knows the look on the eldest's face will be worth it when he walks in and falls for the prank. Satan readies his phone camera to capture the occasion.

Simeon gets a good laugh when he shows up. Him and Luke are used to matching from time to time, but dressing up like the brothers reminds him of their days in the Celestial Realm. "I like your shirts," he jokes to an audience of eye rolls.

Luke presents you with a thank-you gift, a shirt he specially picked out for you. He understands though that everyone needs to match for this dinner, and eagerly awaits everyone else's reactions. Being included on these kinds of pranks is so much fun.

Asmodeus is temporarily stunned that you've managed to get everyone in matching outfits. They only humor him with such a treat once every handful of centuries. This is genius. After putting his things down he immediately gets to work adjusting buttons, smoothing collars, and demanding selfies. In the scramble to get the first of many group photos, Satan's phone is knocked out of his hand just as Lucifer walks in.

He's not alone though. The surprise was already foiled when Diavolo, Barbatos, and Lucifer decided to come together. "I knew you were up to something," he sighs. Yet, he wore the shirt anyway. The three look like they've walked out of a commercial.

"What a wonderful surprise! This makes my new shirt even more special." Diavolo is clearly thrilled and more than happy to take selfies with Asmodeus while Barbatos asks the waiter for a round of drinks.

"That's cheating," Leviathan says. "You guys figured it out ahead of time."

"Unfair," Belphegor agreed. Satan just seethed quietly while waiting for his entree. He really thought Lucifer would be caught off guard this time.

"Good to know I pull it off best though." Mammon was confident in his looks and winked at his reflection in a spoon. Asmodeus scoffed, adding "in your dreams, maybe."

[lnfours]

everything | l.n

summary: he’s your best friend and you’re in love with him, but he’s not in love with you. or so you think, anyway.

warnings: fluff, a hint of angst, reader not knowing how love feels, kinda a situationship scenario but idk, also kind of hot trash?? - inspired by ceilings by lizzy mcalpine

masterlist | inbox | listen

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

he was finally home. after months of busy schedules and being away from home, he was back. and the first thing he did? he texted you. he texted you and asked if you were busy, like he always did every time he was back in london.

you had told him no, your plans had fallen through last minute and to be honest, you missed him. you missed his laugh, the way he hugged you, the jokes the two of you shared. he was your person and you were his, it was as simple as that.

and sure, maybe he was your person for another, completely different reason. but at the end of the day, to you, he was just lando. he wasn’t ‘lando norris, formula one driver for mclaren’. he was the boy you had known since you were a teenager, the boy you cheered for on the sidelines ever since he decided he wanted to work towards his dreams.

so the two of you had made plans to go out for a drive and catch up, the tradition you held every time he came back. you’d drive around, get some take out, and head back to your apartment for a few episodes of your favorite shows or a movie he’d seen and thought you would like. he had picked you up, the mclaren running on the side of the street as you climbed in, closing the door behind you.

you smiled, leaning into his touch when he leaned over and wrapped you into a side hug from the drivers side, “hey! missed you,”

you smiled back at the brunette, his green eyes meeting yours, “missed you, too, lan.”

his eyes scanned yours before he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss on your lips. a new tradition you two had picked up ever since that drunken night in singapore. you had went to the grand prix with max, showing support for your best friend, just like you always did. somehow, someway, the two of you had found yourselves stripping each other’s clothes off in his hotel room. nothing but the sounds of your quiet moans and his mumbled curses filling the room as you learned each other’s bodies.

and it had become a thing, every time he’d come home you’d both find yourselves in the same predicament: tangled in the sheets within the hour.

the whole ordeal was like a dream come true in the beginning, something you had been wishing for since the moment you realized that maybe you loved him more than in a platonical way. now, as you sat in the passenger seat of his car, legs tucked underneath you as the rain pattered against the roof, your food in your lap as you stared out to the city lights below you, you weren’t sure it was a good idea. you had seen the girls that practically throw himself at you, why would he choose you over them?

he noticed your silence, tilting his head towards you and placing a hand on your thigh, “you okay?”

you swallowed thickly, “mhm,”

he knew you better than that, though, “no you’re not.”

you sighed, how do you tell someone who’s not in love with you that you want something more, “‘m fine, really.”

you picked at your nails, ignoring the way your phone was buzzing against your leg. you had assumed it was your friend texting you, begging for updates between you and the boy you were sitting next to.

“you know you can tell me anything, right?”

not this. not now.

you nodded, “i know.”

he nodded back at you, “okay,”

you looked back out to the window next to you, watching the rain drip down the glass. you swallowed the lump in your throat, biting down on your lip as you felt the tears prick your eyes. you felt stupid, stupid to feel like there was ever a real chance. a real chance that he could ever love you the way you loved him.

you felt his eyes on you again, “y/n?”

you hummed, turning back to face him, which was a mistake. you felt like your heart was being ripped out of your chest.

“what’s wrong? seriously, i don’t know if i can handle the silence for much longer.”

you chuckled softly, shaking your head, “it’s nothing, really. promise,”

“stop lying to me,” he sighed, “c’mon, i’m your best friend. you can tell me anything.”

best friend.

you sniffled softly, which made his attention shift from your eyes to the small tear falling down your cheek in the dim lighting of the street light, “i just feel so… dumb.”

he raised an eyebrow, “why do you feel, dumb?”

he absentmindedly reached out and wiped the tear away with the pad of his thumb. you let out a shaky breath, shaking your head and backing away from his touch.

he looked at you confused, a hint of hurt in his eyes as he watched you cry in front of him. he was wracking his brain, trying to figure out where he went wrong. trying to understand what you meant with your words, all while trying not to make himself feel like he was the reason for your tears.

you opened the car door, the rain smacking the pavement as you stepped out, “i can’t,”

he watched as you closed the car door, stepping out into the night sky and cold rain. he sat there for a second, his brain unable to catch up to what had just happened. his brain caught up, opening his own door as he chased after you into the freezing cold rain.

“y/n!”

you didn’t want to turn around, your tears mixing with the rain on your face. he was faster than you, though, grabbing your hand and holding you back from walking away from him. he spun you back to face him, your face glowing under the street light as he noticed how broken you look.

“what’s wrong!” he yelled over the pouring rain, “please, don’t shut me out!”

you let out a quiet sob, “i can’t do this right now, lando!”

he stood in front of you, frozen, as you repeated yourself, softer now, “i can’t keep doing this to myself.”

he shook his head, “what’re you talking about?!”

“just say it!” you shouted back, “just say you don’t really want me so i can move on and forget about it and we can go back like nothing ever happened!”

“what makes you think i want that?” he asked, “y/n, why do you think i come back to london instead of monaco whenever i have a break? because i want to see you!”

“not for the same reason i want to see you!”

“you don’t know that!”

you cried softly, turning away from him as he approached you again, taking your face into his hands. your eyes met yours as he spoke again, “y/n, i come back home to you because you’re all i think about when im not with you. every little thing i do, i think about you.”

you watched as his eyes scanned yours, begging for you to speak. he spoke first, though, “you’re all i think about, every night, every day. i should’ve told you how i felt sooner instead of dragging you on, but i’m falling in love with you.”

you shook your head, backing away from his touch again, “don’t,”

“don’t what?” he asked, “tell you i’m in love with you?”

“don’t say it if you don’t mean it. please, don’t say it just to make me feel better.”

“for one second can you just stand here and actually listen to me?” he sighed, “can you let yourself understand that there’s someone who actually loves you, standing right in front of you telling you. someone who’s ready to drop everything and show you.”

he reached for your hand and pulled you closer to him again, but this time you didn’t back away. he was so close to knocking down the final wall you had put up, so close to knocking down the walls you had put up as a sense of security. to keep yourself guarded, too scared to wear your heart on your sleeve once again.

but here he was, your best friend of all people, standing here in the pouring rain and giving you the fairytale moment you had always hoped for. the boy with curly brown hair and gorgeous green eyes was everything you could’ve ever wanted. everything you dreamed about, every future map you’d come up with in your journal, it always had him in it. one way or another, the two of you were meant to be.

two souls intertwined. that was you and him.

“lando-“

“i fucking love you,” he said, “so much that it physically hurts. like my chest gets all tight, and it feels like i can’t breathe-“

“lan-“

“and that night in singapore was when i realized you were the person i wanted to be with. not the models or the girls who throw themselves at me, i want to be with you. the one who knows my favorite flavor of ice cream, the one who knows all my greatest fears and all my secrets. the one who doesn’t judge me and i can talk to about anything. it’s you. it always has been, i’ve just been to blind to see it.”

the final wall came crashing down as you said his name, “lando,”

he hummed, his heart damn near flying out of his chest as you wrapped your arms around his neck, your face so close to his as you mumbled a soft, “kiss me.”

he didn’t give it a second thought, immediately pressing his lips to yours. you kissed him back, the rain long forgotten about as the water from his hair dripped onto your forehead. he put every ounce of longing, passion and love into the kiss, a kiss nothing like the ones you had both shared before.

he pulled away, his forehead against yours, “you don’t have to say it back, but now you know that i love you.”

you pulled him back to you by his jacket, “i love you.”

he smiled before his lips were pressed back against yours. and you stood there, kissing in the rain, and everything felt like a scene straight out of a movie. the feeling something new to you no longer felt scary, or intimidating. it felt safe and warm.

and it was all because of him.

[lilisettean]

Phantom Touch | Headcanons

About: It was one thing to video call him, it was another, however, to call/answer while you were barely clothed.

Pairings: Xavier/Reader, Zayne/Reader, Rafayel/Reader

Notes: This idea came to me when Rafayel video called MC in the middle of the night (Lv 20 Random Painting). Also should I do Caleb's as well?

Warnings: 18+ only please! Enjoy :)

Xavier

It was by accident when it happened. You were trying to find your favorite hairpin after your shower but it was nowhere to be found.

You searched high and low, flipped cushions and threw your blankets onto the floor. Nothing. Goddamnit you can't afford to lose that hairpin- it was one of the gifts Grandma gave you, you just simply can't lose it.

In an act of desperation, you called Xavier on your phone, not caring whether you pressed on normal call or video call. You just needed him on because you might've left it in his place.

To say Xavier was surprised the moment you came on screen would be an understatement. He almost dropped his phone (it did slip from his hands but he was quick enough to hold onto it), and not a word you said has registered in his brain.

His eyes were fixated upon the water droplets that clung to you skin, following the trail a drop of water left behind as it slid down from your neck, to your decollete, and between your cleavage. His mind was busy tearing that insolent piece of cotton fabric into shred for daring to shield you from his gaze.

It was only when you shuffled forward and waved a hand in front of the camera did he snap out of his less than innocent daydream.

"Xaiver? What are you staring at?" "Are you aware of what you are wearing?" "...Shit-"

"No, don't." He said the moment you tried to cut the call, and instead, with much strength he could muster not to ogle at your form again, he diverted your attention.

He found your hairpin lying on his bedside table and when you were about to thank him, a mischievous smile crept up his face, and you just knew what he was about to ask.

"Can I have a reward for finding it so quickly?" Xavier asked, his gaze predatory as he flicked his eyes down to stare at the towel that was clinging onto you for dear life. With slight trepidation, you settled down on the sofa, and slowly peeled off the towel that you knew he wanted off. Now.

You squeezed your thighs together and bit your lower lip when you heard the soft Mmh over the phone. He greedily drank in the sight of you, your bare, still unmarred skin glistening under the soft lights.

A daring thought suddenly struck you. Smiling at him, you brought your hands up to your breasts, propping them up and giving them a good squeeze (which he quietly groaned your name in response), before flicking your nipples.

You knew he was hard, with how he slumped against his sofa, one of his hands nowhere to be seen. The stuttered breath he let out made you wonder whether he was palming over his hard on as you gave him this little show.

He was. He was pressing his cock against his palm, rutting against it as you played with your pert nipples. He was imagining grinding his cock against you, fucking your slick folds as he buried his face between your breasts.

In a daring move, you tilted your phone downwards and lifted your legs, showing him the effect he had on you. But before you could spread yourself further to give him a better look, he suddenly stood up, giving you an eyeful of his clothed cock that was straining against the front of his pants.

Before he abruptly cut the call, he eyes drooped to a seductive narrow, and pinned you in place as he spoke.

"Don't move. I'll be there within the minute."

Zayne

Zayne, despite his icy demeanor, was a softie and a worrywart when it comes to you. He would always tell you to call him once you were home just so he knows you made it back safely.

So when he received a text asking if he was free and alone instead of a call, his curiosity was piqued.

As soon as he said that yes, he was alone and about to be off work, he received another text. A text that he did not expect you to send.

It was a picture of you on his bed, wearing nothing but one of his white button up shirts, if he can even call it that. You didn't button it all the way, leaving your collarbone and cleavage bare for him to see.

He immediately video called you, and as expected, instead of commenting on your attire, the first thing he asked was-

"Why are you in my bed?" "I knew you'd ask that first. Really?"

You explained with a huff that you wanted to surprise him a little. It has been a while since you two have seen each other for more than 5 minutes, with you two being busy with work and all. And with his day off being tomorrow, you jumped on the chance to be with him.

After a beat of silence and you fiddling with the hem of his shirt, he sighed, his features softened at your nervous fidgeting.

"Well, go on then. What do you have to show me?" "Show you- Aren't you still at the hospital?" "It's a peaceful day and I'm alone in my office. Would you give me a preview at what's in store for me at home?"

He stared on intently as you teased your nipples, brushing over them while they were still covered. Your pert nipples poked through his shirt, the outline of them fueling his imagination.

If you were on his lap right now, he would've done that for you whilst sucking on one of your nipples through the shirt you were wearing.

You were about to unbutton the shirt but his voice stopped you. "No, don't. Leave it on... Good."

He made no move to touch himself, as anyone could walk in at any moment, but by God did he want to. His eyes flicked between your flushed face and your body, already imagining the places he would leave his mark on.

He already knew what he would do to you once he got home. He would set you down on his lap, forcing you to feel how hard you made him with your little show, and leave open mouthed kisses on your neck while slipping his hands under his?- no, yours now, with how well you wear it, shirt.

But deep down he knew that once he got home, he would have no patience for that. He would most likely push you down to the bed and use one hand to grope your breast, while the other fixed your hip in place, allowing no escape as he rutted his stiff cock against you. He doesn't care if his pants get ruined, he just wants you-

"Zayne?" Your voice brought him back from his thoughts. And with much reluctance, he motioned for you to stop. "That's enough for now sweetheart. I still have to get home first." "Should I send you more pictures while you're on your way?" "No need. Just be a good girl and wait for me."

Rafayel

Being a painter, Rafayel would sometimes work late into the night, busy with his newest piece. And while he enjoyed the peace and quiet nightfall brings, at times he would find the studio too quiet, too suffocating, especially without you around. Thus, he would call you and ask you to keep him company as he painted.

And on this night, it was no different. Save for the brush strokes against the canvas, the room was too quiet for his liking. He had expected you to pick up within a few rings and show up disheveled on call, but as soon as you answered the call, the thought of teasing you like usual quickly dissipated.

"What- What are you wearing?" He diverted his gaze elsewhere, occasionally sneaking peeks at his phone screen while you blinked the sleep away from your eyes. Instead of your usual pyjamas, you were wearing a lingerie set he had not seen before.

He had half a mind to tell you to pull up the strap that had fell off your shoulder mid sleep, but the words died in his throat the moment you shifted and the strap slipped further down, revealing more of your decollete to him.

The blush that was already on his face intensified when he noticed the hickies on your skin, the evidence of him ravaging you highlighted by the moonlight shining through the window.

"Rafayel? What is it?" You asked, still half asleep. You wondered why he was quiet until you found him staring intently at your chest and- Oh. Of course.

You had bought it because you wanted to surprise him by taking pictures of it. But it seemed that you were too tired and fell asleep in the process. "...Surprise? I wanted to show you earlier but-" "Wait. Hold that position."

You did as you were told and froze. He was studying you again, perhaps for future reference. As much as you liked being his model, you pouted at his antics. Not even a single reaction? Sighing, you broke the silence between you two.

"I could come over and wear this for you, if you want." "You would do that for me?" "Of course." "Then come." "What?" "You said you would come over, no? Then come now. But before that..."

"Would you mind showing me more before I tear it off?" And how could you say no to a request like that?

Settling your phone down, you bent forward to show him your cleavage before standing to show off the lingerie you were wearing.

"Turn. Now hold it." You fidgeted as you faced away from the camera, wondering what he was doing as he marveled your form. The faint sound of rustling clothes and a belt unbuckling floated from the speaker, and you instantly knew what he was up to.

"Do you enjoy it that much?" "And what about it? Turn again."

As expected, he was sitting on an armchair, slowly stroking the base of his cock as he watched the thin fabric flutter around you. Heat pooled within you when caught his eyes roaming all over you, his face flushed and lips parted as he touched himself.

He groaned when you parted your legs to show him more of you, his cock throbbing at the sight of your slicked folds. Precome beaded at the tip as he stroked more, with some of it sliding down his tip and to the underside of his cock.

Something within snapped the moment you dipped your fingers into your wet entrance. And with one smooth motion, he stood up, unintentionally (or perhaps intentionally) giving you an eyeful of his stiff cock, and picked up his phone.

"Enough. Come to me now." "Just don't tear it when I'm there." "No promises." "Rafayel-" "Hurry now, before I come find you instead."

[happy74827]

Forced to Listen

[Dean Winchester x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Dean hated it when you hunted him down for advice, and he also hated that you knew exactly how to bait him into listening.

WC: 1082

Category: Fluff, Ranter!Reader, Mentions of Cheating, Sam being absolutely useless (iconic).

Can you believe that it’s been TWO WHOLE YEARS since I last wrote of him?? I’m so angry at myself 😭😭

『••✎••』

Dean could sense what was coming when he watched you stomp towards him with nothing but a small bottle of beer. The look on your face was one he had come to recognize over the years.

It was the one that said that you were about to coerce him into listening to your woes, and he had no other choice but to do it. The heat outside was unbearable, the kind that made Dean strip off his flannel and ditch the leather jacket, leaving him in his sweat-covered shirt.

But as he stood under the hood of the Impala, trying to get her to start, that bottle of beer was calling his name. The promise of the cool, carbonated drink sliding down his throat, relieving him from the dryness that had settled in his mouth, was something he desperately craved. And you knew that. That's why you were headed straight for him.

"Hey, Dean," you said innocently, the small bottle of beer dangling from your hand.

Dean sighed, his gloved hands pausing as he glanced up at you. He really wasn’t in the mood to listen to you whine about what was going on in your life, but that bottle of beer was too tempting to pass up. It was his favorite brand, too.

Goddamn it, you really were a temptress.

"Two minutes,” he grunted out, holding his hand out for the beer. "I'll give you two minutes."

You grinned, placing the bottle of beer in his open hand. In a matter of seconds, half the liquid was gone, and you were waiting impatiently for him to give you the sign to begin.

After another second, a sigh of content slipped from his mouth, and he nodded, signaling you to start.

You didn’t waste any time. "Do you think I'm a bitch?"

"I think you're a pain in my ass," Dean retorted, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. It didn’t make much difference since his hand was already covered in dirt and grease, but it made him feel a little better. "Don’t tell me you came over here just to ask me that?"

"No, I'm serious, Dean," you insisted. "Do you actually think I'm a bitch?"

You were staring up at him now, the look on your face completely unreadable. You were waiting for an answer, but he had a feeling that no matter what answer he gave, it wouldn't make a difference.

So, he just raised his eyebrows, silently telling you to go on while he took another sip of his beer.

"Dating's hard, Dean," you started, and he already felt a groan coming on. He did not want to have this conversation. "I just don't get it. Why am I not good enough for them? Why do I keep getting cheated on?"

You were pacing around the car as you spoke, and Dean kept his eyes on the beer. As you went on about everything that was bothering you, the more he regretted his decision to drink that damn thing.

"Am I not attractive? Am I not smart enough? What is it, Dean?" You looked at him, hoping for an answer. But when you realized he wasn't paying that much attention to what you were saying, you let out a scoff. "Great, so I'm not even good enough for you to listen to me? God, Dean, you are such a douche."

Dean rolled his eyes and finally looked up at you, the annoyance clearly visible. "Can I get back to fixing up my baby, now?"

"Would you date me?" You asked, suddenly, a hint of desperation in your voice. "Am I worth dating?"

God, you were killing him. He’d rather get heatstroke than continue this conversation, and he was sure Sammy would agree on his behalf.

He could actually see his baby brother from where he stood. He was a few yards away, sitting in the shade. A book in his hand, but his eyes were on the two of you.

Was he��? Oh hell no.

He was laughing.

Sammy was having a good time watching him squirm under your gaze, doing absolutely nothing despite avoiding the work Bobby needed help with.

Oh, was Dean pissed off. He’d get his payback soon, hopefully. It would be whenever he actually gets away from you and fixes up his car. Baby always comes first.

"I mean, c'mon, Dean," you pressed on. "Just give me some advice. You were with so many women, and they were all beautiful and perfect, so what's wrong with me?"

You were pouting, and Dean felt like throwing his beer bottle on the ground and stomping on it. This was the worst two minutes of his life.

"There’s nothing wrong with you,” he finally said, looking you in the eye. "You could be a pain in the ass, but unfortunately, I’m apparently the only one who has to deal with it, so... yeah. You're fine."

"Fine? I'm fine?"

"Yup," Dean replied. He turned back to the Impala, taking the last swig of his beer and tossing the empty bottle into your hands. "Thanks for the beer. Is that all?”

"I just feel… I don't know. I feel like I'm not good enough, ya know?" You said a sad look on your face. "Like there's something wrong with me. Something that's making everyone leave me."

"Listen," Dean started. He looked at you again, but all of his annoyance was gone. The two minutes were definitely up; he could quite literally kick you out of sight, but with the look you had on your face, he just couldn’t do it.

So, despite Sam’s utter lack of help, he was going to do his best to try to make you feel better.

"It's not you, alright?" He assured. "There's nothing wrong with you. If a guy can't see that, then he doesn't deserve you, okay? Trust me, you will have no problem finding someone else."

The corners of your lips twitched, turning into a small smile. "Yeah?"

Dean nodded, giving you a smirk. "If you want, I could always give out the ole hunter's special with your past one. Bobby could use a new rug for his living room."

A loud snort slipped past your mouth, and Dean was satisfied.

"Okay, Winchester," you said. "This is my sign to get the hell out of here."

And so you did, but before you could get even slightly close to the house, he called out to you.

"Oh, and by the way," he said, a small smile forming on his face. If you thought it was going to be wholesome, then you were sorely mistaken.

"Next time you come to me to talk about your feelings, at least have a damn pie."

[morphodae]

Thinking about Jiaoqiu, the healer, the renowned genius retainer of General Feixiao of the Xianzhou Yaoqing, seeing someone he’s grown to love in a state not dissimilar to his own.

2.5 Trailblazer quest spoilers, injured Reader, heavy angst, Reader (you) is loosely based on my Feixiao’s sister fic

You, someone he holds dear to him, have done nothing but take care of him since his sight was lost, has become a beacon of hope and light to his dark world. He’s felt useless, helpless… and has tried desperately to find purpose again despite losing one of his senses.

He’d always been a healer. Looking out for others. Watching them teeter between life and death and having to find cures.

But then…

You, become gravely injured.

It’s Moze who finds you. Again— just like how he found Jiaoqiu slumped, alone, practically shaking hands with Death itself. Moze has also grown fond of you and so, the sight and smell of your blood, of your detestable injuries… it hurts him too.

When you are brought to the healers, the staff dread informing Jiaoqiu of your state. He’s still doing his duties, still helping Feixiao, but they know how devastated he’d be learning of your state. How they don’t know if you’ll make it through the night or not.

Aeons forbid Feixiao’s wrath when she learns of who or what did this to you.

But Jiaoqiu has already gone through centuries of trauma, and the most recent spat with Hoolay has left him severely scarred. The healers aren’t sure he’d continue having the will to live when he becomes aware of your condition.

And when he does —

Jiaoqiu smells it first, the scent of blood and death on you. Then, he senses it; your life force threatening to leave the confines of your body. The pained cries and groans as the healers do their best to stabilize your injuries and administer medicine. The pink Foxian is clenching his fists, gritting his teeth and before he knows it, he’s barking out orders to the healers on what to properly do, what to properly treat you with. To be gentle, to keep working, keep you alive… alive.

Jiaoqiu’s sense of time is lost to him, muddied and blurred. Feixiao has enormous strength that dozens of staff have to hold back so she doesn’t break the doors to your room. Moze is silent, as always, a frown etched on his face and a solemn air around him. Guilt.

Guilt… Jiaoqiu is familiar with it all too well.

The Foxian is good at blaming himself and holding himself to low self-esteem. But knowing how seriously your health is at the moment, how dire the circumstances are surrounding your life or your death, it’s the first time that Jiaoqiu has found himself grateful that he can no longer see.

He doesn’t know what he’d do if he had to see you in the state that you were in.

So, as he’s posed the question before: how can a healer heal himself?

Perhaps the answer is that — he cannot.

Not when the very cure who stumbled into his life is lying motionless, pale, and bloodied on a cold and unforgiving hospital bed.

[ghostfacd]

fratboy!luke who..

- looks like he doesn’t wanna be at any of the functions but he still def parties his ass off

- definitely did those pledgetok tiktoks

- sighs whenever his frat bro does something dumb like a very loud face palm

- when he fucks up he texts u “i sincerely apologize to my beautiful sexy girlfriend, pls forgive me”

- when you don’t pull up to any of his frat’s events he’s asking the president if he really has to go

- “do i really tho josh? it’s just one event. my girlfriend wont even be there!”

- shrugs off any sorority girl who tries to flirt with him

- “uh i have a girlfriend.”

- when he’s drunk, he’s probably showing the girls who are trying to get w him pictures from his photo album labeled “my pretty gf” and that backs them right off

- everytime he’s hungover, he goes to the McDonald’s near his uni and eat 10 hash browns and 1 McMuffin 😭

- how did he meet you… funny story actually 😓

- luke did those tiktoks where they’d knock on random people’s dorm doors and throw a football and catch it and be like “u ladies alright?”

- well funny story actually: luke’s friend, luca, actually threw the football at luke’s stomach when you opened your door and he tumbled back and fell onto you

- so i guess you can say he fell for you? HHAHA get it… okay.

- luca never lets luke live that down because he’s like “nah uh you cant be mad at me cause im the one who helped you get a girlfriend in the first place.”

[usedtobecooler]

"daddy, sit still, you gonna ruin it!" the frustrated little huffs from your three year old echo down the hall as you step foot into the apartment, toeing off your shoes next to the door after a long day.

"i'm trying, baby girl, it's tickly," eddie's soft dad voice makes your heart melt, the tender way he coos to her like she hung the moon and the stars.

you walk in through the door to see one of your old eyeshadow pallets balanced haphazardly on the edge of the sofa, your baby girl in her fuzzy pyjamas sat atop eddie's stomach as she runs an old fluffy brush over his eyelids.

"baby love, what're you doing to daddy?" you laugh, sneaking up behind her to check out her handywork. when she notices your presence the widest smile appears, little dimples poking in as her face scrunches up.

"pupple!" she grins, little curly pigtails swaying as she turns around to look at you with her big brown eyes, full of mischief and pride as she shows off the masterpiece.

eddie looks like he's been punched six ways from sunday, dark mauve and vibrant lilacs dusted along his eyelids, right up to his eyebrows. fanning out over his temples, down his lower lash line and onto his cheeks.

"sure is purple, baby," you smile back, sticking two thumbs up in her direction, which she copies with enthusiasm, "you look so pretty, daddy!"

eddie peels one eye open, wild curls fanned out over the sofa pillow from where he's slumped, hands on your daughters back to keep her upright, "pretty enough to take on a date?"

"absolutely," you beam, leaning over to give him a small kiss, grinning against his lips, "maybe to the movie theatre... or on a late night stroll... or anywhere dark."

"ha ha," eddie responds dryly, rolls his eyes, before putting his attention back on your little one, "and what do you think, princess? where should we go to show off your gorgeous artwork?"

her little chubby finger points towards the door, "park!" she giggles, high pitched and screechy, as she clambers off of eddie with great enthusiasm.

you end up in the park, in broad daylight, amongst giggling mothers and other small children who look mixtures of mortified and awe struck.

[attapullman]

"What's this?" Arms already laden with wine glasses, you grab a stray recipe card off the counter. The cardstock edges still crisp despite a sauce stain in the corner; a dish saved for only the most special of occasions. Your husband sleepily grins at you, frames slipping down his nose. "That's the pasta recipe I used last night. It was really good, babe, might add it into the weekly rotation." A smile of agreement dies on your lips as you read the recipe name. Fuck, no wonder the sex was so good last night. 🍝

COMING SOON

[beforeimdeceased]

my friend who i flirt/fight with said she wanted me to do some fanfic based us and she’s so academic rival!abby coded so enjoy some texts courtesy of my frenemy with benefits

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

Sun doesn’t rlly understand cats but by god do this man love him a little meowmeow

(He gets bonus points for earning the love of a cat with the personality of an angry hacksaw )

[myckicade]

Thank you thank you! I don't have anything specific just something in Jackson? Female reader and a slow burn if you can!

Good morning!

I mulled this over for a good deal of the night. Then, I set to writing. It will be a day or so before I can post the first installment (Tumblr only), but it's... Well. It's already a pretty healthy 4,500+ words. I would like to thank you, in a very sincere fashion, for sparking inspiration that saw me through a night of insomnia.

That said, if anyone would like to be added to the taglist, please comment here. I will be happy to add you when it is posted.

----------

Title: Barter

Summary: It's been a number of years since you first made your home in Jackson. Your house is a cozy little two-story, with beautiful flowers, an herb garden, and a small flock of ducks roaming the yard. The old barn-turned-garage beside the house serves as your veterinary clinic. You do your part around the settlement, helping, providing, and carving out a little bit of peace in a world determined to provide none.

When Ellie stops by your place, visibly distressed that her horse has gone off her food, you don't hesitate to get out to the stables. There, you encounter Joel, who offers to help with maintenance to your clinic, in exchange for your help with his daughter's horse. You aren't terribly concerned with the repayment, not when there is an ailing creature to tend to, but you strike the deal to ease Joel's mind.

As a woman who has been repaid in a variety of forms - vegetables, eggs, clothing - a trade of services really isn't all that bad. Joel is a nice enough guy, helpful and respectful, and he does good work. Over time, one trade leads to another, and another, leaving you in each other's company more often than you'd originally bargained for. There's nothing between you, beyond a growing friendship. He's a handsome man, and a fine catch, but more hasn't really crossed your mind. But small towns talk, even the good ones, and talk could easily change everything.

Coming Soon.

[zephyrchama]

"You're always coming to wake me up, so tomorrow I'll wake you up. How's that?"

Such was the oath that Belphegor made yesterday evening. He had clung to your arm, pleading at you with expectant purple eyes that were constantly in your peripheral vision until you accepted. He was rarely this sincere. The youngest brother wanted you to rely on him the same way you rely on his older siblings.

That is why Belphegor managed to crawl out of bed on his own in the morning and stumble down the hallway to your room. He walked into a few stray tables and knocked over a decorative vase but managed to arrive relatively unscathed. He leaned against your door while turning the handle, allowing his weight to push it open. The sight of you fast asleep in the dimly lit bedroom made his heart flutter.

Step one was to turn on the lights. Belphegor slapped at the wall at random in the general vicinity of the light switch until he got lucky.

Step two was to gently rouse you. He hovered over the bed, noting you could use more pillows. Still, it looked so comfortable.

"Hey, good morning. It's time to get up." Belphegor yawned halfway through his sentence so it came out garbled, lifting a hand to his face to muffle the yawn out of habit, but you didn't react anyway. In a gentle voice, he called your name. Then said it again. Then once more, with a bit more force and a hint of annoyance. You didn't stir.

Were you messing with him? He dropped down to check, settling next to the bed with his arms and chin over the plush comforter. His head lay at eye level, though your eyes were closed. Your torso rose and fell in time with deep, slow breaths. It was hypnotic for the Avatar of Sloth.

"Hey, come on." This was so unfair. Belphegor clenched a fistful of your blankets and tugged them towards himself. They were warm with your body heat. He nestled his face into them.

"Wake up..."

You woke up, albeit three hours later. Somehow you weren't surprised. Belphegor was half on the floor and half in the bed, with a lazy arm draped around you. He was mumbling about needing to wake up while he snoozed.

[astralnymphh]

i think it's a gospel fact that ellie has sensitive hips. she fucking seethes when you thumb her hipbones— pressing ripples in her boyshorts, a press so fierce the waistband begins to tug down. it's inescapable at this point; always waking up in nothing but those damn briefs, enticing your sunrise eyes amped for a bite, and a grip. "shh— fuck," a serpentine hiss connects the pits of her teeth at the pushy huddle you take at her backside, tamping the fore of her hip–nubs into the bathroom counter, the harsh cold of marble kissing through thin cotton, "g'mornin' babe, what's up?" sounding falsely equanimous in the betrayal of her tight fists, tucking on the counter edge, and her light wince, threading her throat when your digits curled into the natural dip her hipbones provided. fuck— ellie can't multiply the sensations enough to fill her groggy skullspace with it, neither can she humiliate her lips for a second hand, or a lustier press— but she can certain as heaven tense herself under your present grip, and squirm about it like a bitch. "the movie theaters, baby. we gotta get ready n' go, can't play the waiting game now." you remind, remind, remind. "seats won't warm themselves." soft haste remind, and she nods in comprehension with the wick of her toothbrush returning to her lips, then— that second grasp, adorned by a groan you gave her by biting her angled shoulder. and she's gasping, flooding her lungs, and tugging her intent brows inwards, royally expecting you to eat her out— right here, right now. "sorry— just felt like doing that. you have really gnaw–able shoulders. loosen up, els."

MASTERLIST . DAILY CLICK . READ THIS . PALESTINE MA . IMAGE CRED

[muffinlance]

Wait, what’s going on with Embers???? That fic has been on my read later list since 2021, what’s happened with it???

Brief overview, then I'm likely never touching this topic again, because this is not a Drama Blog:

Context: Embers is a super old AtLA fic that was written during the early fandom days, read widely at the time, and was the origin of the widely-used fanon name of "Wani" for Zuko's ship (kind of by default that it was one of the first popular fics to give his ship a name, I think?), even though most fic writers don't seem to realize it's from there anymore.

"What's Going On": I used to include a link in all my stories to it, because I believe in crediting other writers for borrowed elements, and I was using "Wani" in all my fics. But BOY did I not want to be sending readers that way anymore, so I've adopted a new name for Zuko's ship, and removed all Embers links.

None of the criticisms about Embers itself are new; I'm assuming they date back to when the fic was being written, because this isn't an "it aged badly" thing, this is an "actually yeah this gets worse the longer you think about it and I shouldn't have ignored my bad feelings just because some of the worldbuilding was interesting" thing.

An Incomplete List of Why I Made the Change:

I don't actually like the story that much anymore, and don't want to rec it

I tried to re-read it recently to see if some things were as bad as I remembered and it turns out they were So Much Worse Oh Yikes. More specifically, the treatment of Katara and Aang and their respective cultures has... rather a lot going on. One example: The Fire Nation and Air Nomads are both given multiple backstory elements in an attempt to make the average Fire Nation soldier's participation in the genocide/war in large part the fault of the Avatar and the Air Nomads themselves, and also fully justified from the Fire Nation perspective. And I do mean fully. One of its core tenants is "People from the Fire Nation (and only people from the Fire Nation) who don't follow orders Literally Die, therefore murdering pacifists and babies and continuing the war (and their regularly scheduled war crimes) is the only thing it is physically possible for them to do". I cannot emphasize enough how literal that is.

Also the name "Wani" means "Alligator" and is... objectively a pretty lame name for Zuko's ship? Where's the personality, where's the deeper meaning, where's the resonance with Zuko's themes? @tuktukpodfics initially thought I was calling the ship "Wanyi", and that's what I've switched to, because it is Objectively So Much Better. In their words: “Wànyī (萬一): Literally ‘one in ten thousand,’ ‘perchance.’ Used grammatically in Chinese to mean ‘what if’ or ‘just in case.’ I think a ship called ‘The Perchance’ is perfect for a boy clinging to false hope.”

TL:DR; I don't rec Embers anymore, because I don't actually like the story anymore, and there are things about it that get worse the more I think on them. I've removed links to it and renamed Zuko's ship to "Wanyi" ("The Perchance") because our boy deserves a ship name that reflects his character arc.

[manheimsmuse]

rafe cameron and his kook!girlfriend that absolutely walks him like a dog. the rest of the island assumes she’s just another dim witted girl that’s gotten herself involved with the wrong person and will learn the hard way. admittedly rafe thought it too at first, until he realised she was as vicious as he was, if not worse, only did a better job of hiding it.

she would smile sweetly as she picked someone apart, in a way that most people wouldn’t even notice at first. she had a way of getting what she wanted, when she wanted it. she even had the infamous rafe cameron bending over backwards for her while making him think everything he did was his idea.

she was manipulative and calculated, dressed in pretty dresses with bows in her hair to hide how callous she could really be.