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eupheme · 28 days

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[part ii of come on and show me | masterlist]

logan howlett x f!reader x wade wilson

rated e - 4k

tags: MMF threesome, jealous!reader, reader is wade's girl, mutual pining/crushes all around, dirty talk, open relationship, eiffel tower, oral sex, piv, shared blow job, one affectionate use of the word slutty, reader has her hair tugged, light wade degradation, come sharing/swapping, praise kink

It’s stupid how much a crush can affect you after everything, but Logan has a way of turning both of you into schoolgirls.

You’ve each had the flickers of feelings before, but it’s never been like the express train that is one Logan Howlett, unexpectedly crashing into your station. Neither one of you had stood a chance.

(or - you’re both eager to spend time with Logan again)

The party is in full-swing. Plastic cups full of NOS and liquor - a crumpled up, passed around piece of paper, filled with scribbled-down drinking games.

It’s week two of Wade’s ‘Friday Night Yikes: an Analysis of Films Unfairly Nominated for the Razzies’ - or, movie night, to keep it simple.

A buzz of conversation during the intermission between the third and the fourth Fast & Furious movies, as you worked your way to Fast X.

It’s your first time being back at the apartment since your shared morning together. A busy past couple days - work schedules always just out of sync.

Wade coming to you one of those nights after you got off late - quiet, midnight murmurings filled with interest and hope, a conclusion that both of you on the same page.

Leaving you to wonder if he would be, as well.

You’ve felt the weight of Logan’s gaze throughout the night. Dropping when you glance his way, busying himself with his drink, passing around the bowl of chips or popcorn.

Trapped between Colossus and Peter - the seating in the small apartment is already limited. You've been perched on Wade's lap for the last hour, legs kicked over the side of an armchair as your head rests against his shoulder. A smile, with the rumble of laughter under your ear. The fingers that curl around your waist, fingers brushing.

But you know his gaze drifts across the room as well.

Catching the tail end of a conversation, Logan's beer tipped back as Piotr swipes through a phone that looks toy-sized in his hand.

"-be lonely in an apartment like this. I could help you find a nice girl."

It's not the first time this conversation has risen, but it's the first time it's made you go tense in Wade's arms.

"You don't want this hunk of metal helping you," Wade jumps in, "I got just the guy. Hope you like scars, because good news-"

Even as your elbow digs into his ribs, he doesn't budge.

“Right.” Logan scoffs, interrupting, “As if I was into loud-ass, scar-covered, bald assholes. You wish, Wilson.”

It doesn’t hold the same animosity it would’ve a week ago. There’s a muffled “fuck” breathed in your ear, the tilt of hips that lift beneath you.

“Nothing wrong with a bald asshole. Preferable, sometimes.” Wade smirks with a wink, “Come on Logi Bear, we can’t let a handsome young man like you become a spinster. What’s your type?”

Only now do Logan's eyes meet yours, holding your gaze as he answers.

"Don't have one."

It makes you inhale a breath, a little jolt in your belly.

'You have already got a girl, Wade. That is my point," Piotr frowns. A hum of interest as he shows Logan his phone, "What about Domino? You remember her, right?"

Peter leans from the other side, "Wade, you were supposed to give her my number."

"She has it." Piotr brushes him off, as Peter looks crushed. There’s a ping from Logan’s pocket - the information sent over.

Always getting lucky. You like Domino, quite a bit actually, but the thought sends a fresh wave of oozing green jealousy washing over you.

Logan huffs, a shift as his legs stretch out - the hint of a smirk, as he deflects, “How do you know me and Althea haven't been getting cozy?”

There’s a derisive snort from the armchair to your right.

“You wish you could handle me, motherfucker.”

There a chorus of laughter, Wade’s voice ringing out.

“Was that a joke?” It pitches up, as if he can’t believe it, “You're getting soft, maybe you are getting laid.”

As is he hadn’t been gargling Logan’s balls just a few days before. Coming so hard with his roommate’s fist around his cock, that he saw stars.

The look Logan shoots his way is unreadable. A lazy roll of his eyes, before his head tips towards the television.

“Just start the goddamn movie, dumbass.”

You slip from Wade’s lap when Logan peels from the couch to grab another beer. The chip bowl scooped up off the table - can’t be running out, not when there’s another hour still left to go.

A moment as you linger, watching as the fridge light illuminates his face. The silhouette of his features, the sharp cut of his facial hair flecked with grey - before he’s catching you, an eyebrow cocked.

You make a show of rounding the fridge, stepping into the narrow pantry. Hoping that he follows.

He doesn’t let you down.

“You’re not gonna call her, are you?”

It’s not what you mean to ask him, even if it’s certainly what you’ve been thinking about - the conversation a lead weight in your belly.

There’s a beat, as his eyebrow lifts. The peek of the tip of his tongue, running across a canine.

“I might,” He drawls, an arm bracing on the shelves, filling the doorway, “Gonna try to convince me not to, sweetheart?”

That jolt inside you plummets, until you see the curl of his lips. How there’s a dark heat that simmers in his eyes, as they drop to your mouth.

Teasing. Logan is teasing you.

You step into him. A hand curling around the back of his neck, his sharp intake of breath just audible before your mouth tips up to his.

It only lasts as long as a heartbeat, but you can still feel the hunger.

How his hands curve around your waist, dipping to cup against your ass. Tugging you flush as he licks into your mouth, leaving you panting when you pull away.

You can’t get too caught up. Not with your friends just across the room, this tenuous connection still taking shape between you.

“Come stay with us tonight.” It’s quiet, as his lips brush yours again, “We’ll take care of you.”

Logan’s eyes open, his voice a low rasp.

“Thought it was a one-time thing.”

You can’t bite back your smile, “Mm, think it was at least a three-time thing, if I’m remembering right.”

And there’s still his words, echoing in your mind, when it wanders. “Our girl.” If it had been possible to come from that alone, you just might have.

He huffs, and your voice softens.

“But no. Not if you don’t want it to be.”

The look he gives you is searching.

“Wade put you up to this?”

You lean against the shelves, arms crossing, “Wade has been half-hard all night, thanks to you. He feels the same, hasn’t been able to stop looking at you.”

His tongue pokes against his cheek.

“I’ve noticed. You two are not subtle.”

Heat licks at your cheeks, as your eyes drop. It’s stupid how much a crush can affect you after everything, but Logan has a way of turning both of you into schoolgirls.

You’ve each had the flickers of feelings before, but it’s never been like the express train that is one Logan Howlett, unexpectedly crashing into your station.

Neither one of you had stood a chance.

“I’m sorry.”

You try to move away from him, but there’s no where to go. His hand reaches out, even as his eyes shift away - settling somewhere next to your ear as his own pinken.

“Don’t be. It’s… uh,” There’s a lift of his shoulder, as he searches for a word, “Nice. Been a long time.”

“I find that hard to believe.” You smile, head tilting, “So… maybe just think about it?”

There’s the sound of a cinematic explosion behind you - layered laughter pulling you out of the moment.

Logan leans close. A held breath, before he grabs the bag of chips off the shelf - dropping them into your bowl as he takes a step back.

Just as aware as you are of the time that has passed.

“Yeah, sweetheart.” He purrs, “I’ll think about it.”

There’s a low murmur in your ear, when you slip onto Wade’s lap a few minutes later. Stalling as you refilled, waiting for Logan to settle in before you went back.

You can feel him now, the considerably-more-pronounced ridge that presses into the curve of your ass. The hand that settles almost possessively just beneath your breasts, splaying wide.

“You’re so hot when you’re jealous.” Wade rasps in your ear, a press of his lips against your neck.

This time when your elbow digs into his side, he laughs.

“Hello gorgeous,” Wade coos, “I’ve missed you.”

Logan shifts, scowling, “I live with you.”

There’s a sigh from behind you, as you settle between Logan’s thighs. It’s late now - the movie eventually winding to an end.

Tension stringing tight in your belly, that warm weight as everyone bid goodbyes. Al conked out on her recliner after ten minutes into the second movie, something that Wade may or may not have planned.

Making for Wade’s room - starting where you left off in the kitchen. Clothed peeled off with the wandering of mouth and hands, bared by the time the door kicks shut behind you.

Your palm pressing against his chest as he settles back against the headboard - you and Wade fitting yourselves onto the bed alongside him.

Even though you’ve seen him before, he’s still a sight to behold - all thick muscles and hair-dusted skin - something you’re still taking in.

“Not you,” Wade clarifies - a hand smoothing down your back.

Your thighs press together, squirming already, as his hips settle just shy of the soft curve of your ass. A shift, as he gets comfortable - the weight of his stiff cock dipping against your skin.

“I’m talking to king dong right here.”

There’s a rough scoff, “Don’t talk to my dick, Wilson.”

“Well someone has to. He told me he’s lonely, poor thing. Always what you doing, not how you doing. Isn’t that right, big guy?”

“Alright,” Logan scowls, a hand bracing on the headboard as he lifts up, “I’m out of-”

He chokes on the sound, as your tongue peeks out to lap at his shaft.

It’s pretty - flushed at the tip, as it rests against his thigh. A thickening twitch as you kiss along his hard length, down to the dark, wiry hair - a hushed groan as he sags back into place.

“Didn’t get to taste you last time.” You murmur, fingers wrapping around the base, “Been thinking about this.”

Stroking against skin, as you take him into your mouth. A soft moan in your throat, as he fills you - the tip skating across your tongue.

“‘s right,” Wade comments, with another roll of his hips. Thumb pressing against the tip, angling him down to tease as your entrance, “Gotta level the playing field, gorgeous.”

A glance up at Logan, eyes narrowing as he smirks.

“We’re totally pussy pals now, bee tee dubs. Both opened the gates of Mordor. Took ole one-eye to the same optometrist.”

The annoyed groan you make turns soft, as he starts a lazy rhythm with his hips. Knowing how to wind you up - skating his length against your slit, as try to take another inch down your throat. Cheeks hollowing as you suck, tongue tracing the underside of his tip.

“Counting down the days until we’re cock comrades,” He adds, with a friendly pat against your ass - before he sends Logan a wink, “But I’m willing to wait for marriage. Know you’re old-school, peanut.”

There’s a pull of Logan’s brow. A scowl, as he shifts - the movement nudging him deeper into your mouth. Distracting him from the sharp retort as you moan, the sound buzzing against his cock.

He meets your eyes, half-lidded. A hand coming to cup your jaw, urge you to take just a little more.

“Cold day in hell before that happens.”

It’s gritted out, half-hearted as your head bobs. A slow stroke of your fist across spit-slick skin - his hips lifting, chasing you.

“I dunno,” Wade coos. Eyes dropping down to the leaking tip of his cock. His thumb pressing against the curve of your ass - tugging you open so he can watch how he sinks into you.

“I have a way of making people beg.”

You whimper, as he inches into you. Mouth full, spit pooling on your tongue. It almost overwhelming, to be between them like this.

The pleasurable warmth that loops through you, your eyes sliding shut. Leading into Logan’s touch as Wade splits you open, leaving you squirming.

There’s a shift, as his hands slip to flatten against the mattress. A smooth drag as he surges forward - hilting himself with a final roll of his hips.

It makes you gasp, even with how slick you are. Clenching down around the cock that fills you - eagerness flickering in your belly, as you life your hips to take him deeper.

“Fuck, baby. So fucking tight.” Wade moans appreciatively. Slipping half-way out, only to watch how your ass sways when he fills you again, “Gonna turn my dick into a goddamn diamond. Emma Frost this shit.”

Another thrust sending you forward. A rhythm starting - sinking back onto Wade’s cock when to rock back, your throat relaxing when you take Logan further.

Your jaw has to open wide take him. There’s a throb against your tongue as he nudges at your throat. A rattling gasp when you’re shifting back again.

“Feels good, sweetheart,” Logan coos - his hands curving around your throat, fingertips at the base of your neck, “Think you can take more?”

The praise stokes the fire in your belly. Eyes wide as you nod - Wade slowing as you angle your head.

“Oh yeah, she can.” Wade purrs.

Watching as you try to take more, until your nose is brushing the coarse hairs at his base. The air burning in your lungs as you hold your breath.

A gasp, when you pull off him. Leaving you to kiss and suck at his tip, lips slick with spit.

You ache for them - your other hand wedging between your hips and the mattress. A whine when your fingers circle, slipping against slick skin.

It sends your nerves alight, with the way Wade grinds himself into you. His cock dragging against your walls, nudging against a sensitive spot inside you - you can feel your thoughts starting to go hazy.

“You think she gets wet from kissing? Fuck, you should feel her now.” There’s a rough thrust, the slap of skin against skin.

There’s a pressure against your back, as Wade dips down. His chest pressing against your shoulders - caging you in as his cheek nudges against yours.

A kiss dropped against your shoulder.

“You get a little slutty with a dick in your mouth, baby?” His voice goes soft and low - teasing.

“That’s okay, I do too.”

His words make you moan. He’s deeper like this, filling you with shallow thrusts. A hand tucking beneath you, cupping a breast.

A rough groan in your ear, “Makes me wonder… why am I letting you have all the fun?”

Logan’s hips lift on their own accord. A bitten-back sound, trapped in throat as you register what he means.

Your head angling to make room for your boyfriend, lips trailing down to press against his base. A tilt of your fist, holding Logan’s cock for him steady as you smile.

“Room for two, honey.”

There’s the twitch of Logan’s hands against your skin, his grip tightening in your hair. His eyes dark when you glance up at him. A heave to his chest, lips parted as the tip of his cock slips past Wade’s lips.

“Fuck.” It’s gritted out.

His hand leaves your neck to hook against Wade’s shoulder, fingers pinching into skin. A muffled sound caught in his throat, as Wade pulls off him and grins.

Twin kisses pressed against his shaft. You travel up this time, tongue tracing over the thick vein. Logan’s jaw clenching, teeth grinding together.

“Don’t hold back on us, daddy long leg.” Wade hums, smirking, “As if you didn’t cream your panties the last time I did this.”

A drag of his tongue against Logan’s sack, and the moan loosens. Words coming with it, the next time you trade - kisses pressed against the seam, as Wade takes the shaft into his throat.

“Oh shit,” It’s panted out, “That’s it, put that fucking mouth to good use.”

There’s a groan, with the bob of his head. Your own lifts as you watch, a soft hum as you kiss his throat. Watching the way his eyes flutter shut, brow pinching as he tries to take him further.

“You’re not used to something this big, are you baby?” You coo, “Gonna need some help?”

“Fuck.” Wade laughs, as he pulls off him - the sound strangled, as the rock of his hips goes sloppy, “Teaming up me. Don’t bully me, I’ll-”

He moans, when Logan’s hand presses on the back of his head, urging him back down. Your teeth sinking into your lip as you grin - a kiss pressed against Wade’s cheek, then chin.

A shift, until the tip slips from his mouth, and then you’re sharing it - messy, spit-slick lips against skin. Open-mouthed, tasting him, tasting Logan, as you rock back to meet his thrusts.

“Fuck, I dreamed about this.” It slips from Logan. Hushed, you almost miss it in the hazy swirls of your mind.

It shoots through you, straight to your clit. Your efforts doubled - you like how messy it is, the brush of his tongue against yours. The hand between your thighs bracing on the mattress instead so you can twist further, the other pulling his mouth to fully meet yours.

There’s a ragged moan, as Wade’s body goes taut. His face burying in your shoulder as he ruts into you - two more shallow thrusts before he’s spilling with a rough moan inside.

Grinding against you, pumping himself into your tight warmth until the throbbing pulse of his cock ebbs. Until you’ve milked him empty, his come painting your walls.

“It’s too much,” Wade gasps, lips curling up at the edges. Teeth nipping at your skin, “You two are gonna kill me-”

Logan huffs - eyes dark, “If fucking you to death was an option, our fight would’ve gone a lot differently.”

“Look at you,” It’s wheezed against your skin, an eye cracking open, “Another joke.”

Logan hums, more amusement than annoyance. A hand slipping from Wade’s shoulder, wrapping around his base. A slow squeeze in front of you, as your eyes widen.

“Supposed to be taking care of you.” Your smile is sheepish, “Sorry, Logan.”

Too caught up in sharing him - the weight against your tongue, how the tip slipped between pressed-together lips - to concentrate on your goal.

“You are.” It comes out rough - another squeeze. Angling it down, tapping the tip against your tongue when your mouth opens.

“Know you want a taste baby, but I’m not coming ‘til you do.”

You groan, as you suck him. As he feeds his cock to you, still stroking at the base. Feeling empty when Wade eases from you, hands at your hips - coaxing you to your knees for him.

“Human centipede, got it.” Wade grins - kissing down your back. Teeth sinking into the curve of your ass, as you hiss, “Better save some for me, gorgeous. Sharing is caring.”

You jolt, when his mouth presses against you.

Practiced swirls of his tongue, fingers that replace his cock. The needy rut of him inside you has been edging you since he started - and as you watch the way Logan watches both of you, it’s not long before you feel that tell-tale twist inside you, that pressure that winds tight.

Logan growls - all rasping voice and pinched brow. His lips parted, thighs inching wider as you let you hands wander across the thick muscles of his thighs.

Tracing over his fingers and lower, cupping him. A sharp hiss - his fist squeezing at his base, holding himself back.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let me give you what you want.”

It’s as close as you’ve heard to begging. A moan as the fingers curl and sink inside you. Teasing swipe of a tongue, dipping down to press against your hole. Panting breaths turning into whimpers, as Logan’s cock brushes over your lips.

“Please,” You whine, rocking back, “I want it, Logan. Wanna come-”

Wade’s lips close around your clit, and with the pound of his fingers, that string inside you snaps. Pleasure arcs through you, crackling up your spine.

Eyes half-lidded as you moan, the plunge of his fingers drawing out your orgasm. Muscles tensing as he teases at the sensitive bud - sharp, pointed licks that leave your toes curling.

Logan’s fist moves faster, as he watches you come undone in front of him. A hand curving around your chin to keep it in place - a thumb hooking around your teeth to keep your lips parted.

“Good fuckin’ girl, that’s it.” Logan growls, “Open your mouth for me, there you go.”

You open wider, just in time to catch the ropes of come that spill across your tongue. Taking him into your mouth, tongue lapping at the sensitive head as Logan moans. His fist working himself empty into your mouth, pulsing against your tongue.

“Can’t believe I’m saying this,” Wade’s hands press against your hips as he shifts beside you, “But don’t you fucking swallow.”

His hands joining Logan’s, tilting your head to mouth to the side - thumbing at your lip.

“Open.” Wade grits out - a sharp hiss when he sees how you hold it on your tongue, just before his mouth presses to yours.

Something thrumming in your belly, as he licks into your mouth. You’ve never shared anything quite like this before - the heady mix against your tongue. The moan that slides from you, echoing with the buzz in Wade’s throat.

The look of hunger in Logan’s eyes, when the kiss breaks. Lips glossy with your messy kiss, as his hands close around your biceps. It’s easy, with his strength, to tug you up until you’re straddling him.

His half-hard cock trapped against his slick core as he pulls you close. You laugh as your knees press into the mattress, a hand braced on his chest.

“Okay,” You hum, eyes dragging down, “This time, you lay back. Let me take care of everything.”

The murmured “fuck” against your lips, before his mouth presses to yours. Hips canting upward, seeking your heat.

And if you were a betting girl…

You’d bet this wasn’t a two-time thing, either.

Wade stretches out, cat-like. A matching lazy grin, as he peers out of one eye up at Logan, using a thigh like a pillow.

“Never thought I’d visit Paris,” He sighs, “Much less twice in one night. Good thing I’d been saving those frequent flyer miles.”

A yawn, muffled with the back of his hand, “Though I guess it’s not your first time though. Eh, Valjean?”

Logan grunts, the sound buzzing beneath your ear, where you head cradles against his chest. Muscles still burning from riding him, until his hands had hooked under your thighs to help.

Your leg stretches out now as you doze - boneless - hooking around his other thigh, as his fingers trace patterns on your skin.

“And don’t you think I didn’t hear that you dreamed about this,” Wade props himself up on an elbow - never one to let a comfortable silence linger.

A finger reaching out to poke his roommate in the ribs, “You catching feelings, peanut?”

Logan’s eyes roll, as he bats the hand away - nudging you to the side so he can ease carefully out from under you.

“Don’t ruin it.”

Swinging his legs around until he can push himself up - his ear to the door for a heartbeat until it’s swinging open.

“You’re coming back, right?” You ask, groggy - the words murmured out into the dim room.

His head turns, glancing back as he turns. You can catch the way his eyes soften, a thumb hitched over a shoulder toward the bathroom.

“Yeah, sweetheart.” He rasps, “Just grabbing somethin’ to clean you up.”

“I’ll be right back.”

thanks for reading! 💖 I have three more nights I’ve been wanting to explore with them (next one being the old dp with dp+w), so hopefully will have that up soon!

#gif credit to the talented ayo-edebiri #wolverine x reader x deadpool #wolverine x reader #deadpool x reader #logan howlett x reader #wade wilson x reader #xmen x reader #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett x f!reader #logan howlett x reader x wade wilson

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blackreaderfics · 2 months

Text

Princess Treatment | Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

↳ Pairing : TitansDC!Jason Todd x shy!Reader

↳ Rating : E

↳ Summary : After losing a bet, Jason is at your beck and call for the rest of the year. Pt. 2 of Wildcard

↳ W.C : ~5k

↳ Tags + Warnings: references to the previous fic, banter, oral (female receiving), face-sitting, grinding, shyish!reader x tsundereish!jason, reader wears glasses, jason is still a kind of dickhead but less of the dick and more of the giving head, once again side characters are there (rachel, rose, gar, conner, and dickkory)

“Y’know if you wanted DoorDash, there’s a little something called ‘the App Store’. Just thought you might like to know.”

You glanced up from the book you were reading on your bed and, sure enough, there was a certain messy-haired boy glowering back at you, hand stuffed in one pocket with the other cradling a plastic bag full of your Bat Burger order.

He unceremoniously plopped the bag on the desk by your bed.

“And why would I do that, when I have you?” You said simply trying to emulate Rose’s confident way of speech.

You sat up, closing your book to examine the plastic bag. It had been a week since you, Rachel, and Rose had all agreed on the terms of your agreement. The boys—Jason, Conner, and Gar had all lost a bet over Game Night, and as one does, had to bear the consequences of being the girls’ gophers, or as Rose liked to call it “errand bitches”, for the rest of the year.

Thanks to Game Night, Jason was your gopher. That night had been the first night you’d spoken at length to Jason other than greetings or pleasantries. While Rachel and Rose had readily accepted their new positions of power, it was almost daunting for you to tell the King of Back-Sass himself what to do.

You started small at first, asking him for simple things like opening jars or reaching high places. It wasn’t until Conner and Gar had seen how sparingly you were ordering him around that they started to complain.

“If they see Jason barely doing anything, then they’re not gonna listen to us Y/N. And then the whole integrity of the bet gets thrown off. What’s gonna be the point of making bets in the first place if we don’t follow through?” Rachel hissed at you between sparring trainings.

It was agreed that any time you were near Dick (or any other older Titan for that matter) that the agreement was off. If Dick had caught any whiff of the bet, he’d probably ban Game Night—or worse, lecture them on how divisions on the basis of gender would erode teamwork on the field and blah blah blah.

From then on, you agreed to give Jason more orders. Or at least, the illusion of keeping him busy so Rachel and Rose would get off your back. Making Jason your personal UberEats seemed to do the trick. And it actually worked for a few days until… it didn’t.

You opened the bag and wrinkled your nose at the half-eaten Bat Burger and a handful of fries. You didn’t get mad, you rarely ever did, but this was certainly annoying.

“Jason,” You said giving him a withering look.

“What? You should be glad I saved you some. Besides, princess,” He said sarcastically, "You can’t just be eating anything. I’m testing for poison.” He reached into the bag and snatched a single fry. He took a bite and chewed for a moment thoughtfully. “Yep, all clear. Anything else you need?”

Jason was clearly testing your patience, pushing your buttons and the limits of your authority. At this rate, the few days he actually listened to you seemed too good to be true.

“No, just—I don’t need anything.” You cursed yourself for stammering and felt yourself fluster seeing his smug face. “Can you please just leave?” You got up from the bed to shoo him away.

“You’re not really good at this are you?” He snorted, dodging your lunge at him to leave the room.

“That’s not how this works.” You took a breath to compose yourself and adjusted your glasses from falling off your nose. “We have an agreement that you follow my orders. And I just ordered you to do something, so you can go now.”

“Yea, I understand that perfectly fine.” He crossed his arms and tilted his head as if in pity. “It’s just… you’re not good at it.” He laughed again.

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t need to be good at it if that’s what was agreed.” He was implying you were meek, and maybe that was true, but that wasn’t even the whole point of the agreement. Leave it to Jason to be difficult about something as simple as this.

“I get that but, at least make it believable. You know, ‘cuz then maybe I’d actually be inclined to play along.”

You shot him a weirded out look under his scrutiny. “You’re unbelievable. I’ll leave.” You made a move for the door but Jason quickly stepped in the way. Annoying.

“I’m serious, I swear. Why do you think we all listen to Dick?”

“We listen to Dick. You’re the one that doesn’t.”

He grinned. “Ok, fair enough. But, why do you all listen to Dick?”

“I don’t know, maybe because he’s a good leader?” You threw up your hands in exasperation. “What’s your point, Jason? You’re starting to sound like him.”

“Ok first, I’m disgusted you’d even say that. And second, my point is Dick doesn’t say ‘can you please leave?’ He doesn’t ask. He either tells you or makes you.”

You stared blankly at him, but he seemed eager to make a point. “You want me to act like Dick? That way you’ll listen to me?”

“Well, no ‘cuz that wouldn’t really work, remember?” The corner of his mouth quirked up. He was all too happy to get on your nerves now. “What I’m saying is you need to Make. Me. Listen.” He leaned in a little bit, letting his voice lower as he emphasized the words.

How're you a virgin when you're takin' my cock this good, hm?

“Ugh.” You shuddered, his voice by your ear involuntarily taking you back to that night you both seemed to pretend never happened. You pushed him away, having grown tired of his smug face. When you stepped towards the door again, he rushed over and closed it shut. “Oh for God’s sake.”

You tried to step around him to no avail.

“Move.” You glowered.

Jason's eyebrows raised slightly, almost impressed. “Acceptable.” He stepped aside to let you pass.

As you walked through the hallway, you could hear Jason’s soft footsteps behind you.

You whipped around. “Stop following me.”

“I’m not ‘following you’, there’s only one hallway. If anything you’re in my way.” He shrugged. The look on his face bore no emotion but you swore you could see amusement twinkle in his eye.

Just ahead, Dick was walking in your direction sipping on a steaming mug of coffee.

“Y/N, Jason! Glad to see you two getting along.”

Your frustration dissipated at the sight of the chipper man. On the field, he was as serious as can be, but off the field, he was as intimidating as a substitute teacher.

You and Dick’s eyes both followed after Jason, who hadn’t bothered to stop and say hello. The elder brother only shook his head with a good-natured sigh and returned his attention back to you.

“I’ve noticed you warming up to everyone lately. With the other girls, I mean. You, Rose, and Rachel really seem to be a good team, especially during our practices. Even Jason is playing nice with the others. He can be a bit abrasive sometimes but these days, I can see he’s making progress with teamwork too.”

“Thanks uh- I guess it’s all thanks to you. Game Nights really helped us to get closer.”

“Glad to hear it.” He patted you on the shoulder and turned the corner to the computer room.

When you walked into the living room, you heard everyone exhale in relief.

“What?” You looked around quizzically. Game Night Crew had gathered again on the couches, this time—thankfully—fully clothed.

“We thought you were Grayson,” Rose called from the couch. “He almost caught us the first time.”

Caught? Doing what?

You weren’t entirely prepared for what you saw but Rose and Rachel were concentrating hard on painting Conner and Gar’s nails.

“Are you completely sure this is vegan?”

“Yes, now hold still.” Rose admonished Gar, applying another coat with professional precision.

Rachel looked up from her handiwork with Conner’s hand. She wordlessly tossed a look from you to Jason who was currently looking more interested in whatever was in the fridge than at the group in the living room. Her face clearly read, make him do something now. You sent her back a look that read, fine.

You cleared your throat. “Jason.” You tried to muster up as much authority as you could. Knowing what you knew now, you knew he wouldn’t budge at the slightest tremor of your voice.

“Hn.” Was his only response, but at least you knew you caught his attention. When he turned, you locked eyes on his. “Come here, ple—I mean. Come here.”

You watched him crack a smile. He closed the refrigerator door and ambled over. So far so good.

He didn’t seem to register anyone else in the room. He only tilted his head, waiting for the next direction.

“Sit down.”

He paused as if contemplating whether or not to answer to an instruction one gave a dog thinly veiled as an order. Even so, he sat. Well, that was easy enough, you thought to yourself. It was almost comical to see him be so obedient.

“Give me your hand.” You primed.

You could see his hesitation as you reached for the nearest nail polish bottle, but it was erased as soon as you met his gaze again.

“That’s… not my color.”

“Of course.” You picked up a burgundy red. “How could I forget?”

He sneered at your teasing but still allowed your light hold under the palm of his hand.

“Why does he get a choice and we don’t?” Gar pouted, looking longingly at a green bottle of nail polish

“I kinda like the black.” Conner shrugged and gave his other unpolished hand to Rachel.

“You can never go wrong with black.” Rachel agreed.

Jason grimaced as he watched the polish coat his nail. It was wholly apparent that under any other circumstance, he would’ve never allowed you to do this, but you were thankful that he liked to keep whatever honor he had to words. Under the agreement and as long as you spoke to him with confidence, he would listen.

౨ৎ

The next week Dick had decided that based on the success of Game Night with team morale, an outing would be another great chance for the younger members of the team to get closer. That’s why you were now sitting at the beach and squinting the sun out of your eyes.

You had volunteered to watch everyone’s stuff while they explored the bordering pier. Jason had practically disappeared the moment his flip-flops hit the sand.

It was nice to be out just to be out, not in the field on a mission. Titan’s tower felt like one giant bubble and it was easy to forget that there was life outside being a hero.

You settled into people-watching as you waited for the rest of the group to return. There was a group of teens playing volleyball by the net, a family of three showing their toddler how to make a sandcastle, and couples—lots of couples.

“You not gonna go to the pier?”

You were in the middle of gazing wistfully at a couple that was sharing their ice cream when you felt a shadow over you.

“I’m watching everyone’s stuff until they get back.” You squinted up at him. Even with your hat on, it was an incredibly bright summer day.

Jason plopped down on the beach towel next to you. He was wearing swim trunks and an unbuttoned linen shirt which didn’t do much to hide the lean cuts of muscle on his abdomen. Judging by his damp curls, he had just returned from a swim in the ocean.

“I can watch,” He jutted his chin in the direction of the pier. “You should go.”

“Maybe in a little bit.” You dug your feet into the sand, feeling the warmth tingle your toes. You didn’t feel like leaving your spot just yet.

He reached behind you for his towel and bent a bit over to muss his hair dry. You were close enough to feel the tiny droplets of water tickle your skin.

“Do you have to do that right next to me?” You said, not incredibly annoyed though—the water felt cool. It was enough to make you want to go for a swim to cool down too.

“Sorry,” he said a bit sheepishly, peeking up at you from beneath the towel. His hair, now much drier and fluffed, made him look somewhat like a puppy. Cute.

You gave him a small smile before returning your attention to the ebbing and receding of the ocean tide.

“Got a lot on your mind?”

You quickly broke your stare from the water to see that Jason was still looking at up you, eyebrow cocked in curiosity. It was the look he gave you that always made you think he didn’t quite get you. A fascinated look that made you feel like you were another species under his gaze.

“I was just thinking it’s nice to take a break and be normal for a change.”

“Normal?”

“Like,” you gestured vaguely around the beach. “Everyone here. No missions, no bad guys. Normal.”

“Yea, hanging out?” he snorted, “We do that all the time.”

Jason had been a cape since before you’d even met Dick and the rest of the group. You were still getting used to your new way of life. He was either being willfully obtuse or he really just didn’t understand you at all. You and Jason were opposites after all. Your quiet and shy often clashed with his bold and boisterous.

“I don’t mean just hanging out, I mean other stuff too.”

The couple you had seen earlier caught your eye again. They were now sitting on a beach towel further ahead of where you were. They looked like they were in their own world, nudging each other playfully in laughter. If you hadn’t joined the Titans what would you be doing now?

He followed your line of sight, gazing silently at the couple for a moment before flickering his eyes away to the water.

“We could do other stuff.”

You expected him to be smirking at you like he usually did when he teased or made a joke, but he wasn’t looking at you anymore. When you glanced at him you could see a faint flush on his cheeks. Probably from the heat.

You shook your head, realizing what you implied and trying now to take it back. “I didn’t mean with you, I mean with regular people.”

“What? Like it makes a difference?”

“Well, yea fundamentally. Gar can turn into animals, Rachel has a demon trapped inside her, Rose can’t die, Conner is Superboy. You’re...”

He frowned at your pause. “Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence.”

You let out a laugh, happy that you’d annoyed him for a change.

“Well, by your logic,” he began, pointedly ignoring your laughter, “then we’re the most normal Titans here.”

He had a point. You didn’t have any special powers either but Dick had taken you in just the same.

“If you want to be a regular person for a day, I guess, now’s as good a time as any.” He shrugged noncommittally as he rose from his spot on the sand. Jason took your wrist and gently pulled you on your feet. “C’mon, before they get here.”

You furrowed your brow, worried about your unguarded post but you were relieved that Game Night crew were already on their way back.

You heard them before you could fully spot them. Conner and Gar had been happily chatting away at the head of the group. Rachel and Rose were holding prizes from the boardwalk games. Dick and Kory, being the ones that drove you here, rounded out the back of the small crowd. Kory seemed to have found delight in the terrestrial delicacy, cotton candy.

After having guided you through the throngs of pedestrians to the main attractions, he released his hold on your wrist and gestured around theatrically as he spoke, "Now we’re just two regular people at the boardwalk. There’s the very normal Ferris Wheel, normal Whack-a-Mole, normal churros gotta love those—”

“I get it,” you laughed cutting him off before he could rattle on everything within visible range around you.

"Nah, I don't think you do, but you're lucky you have me to show you. Watch this."

You shot him a skeptical look and followed after to a target shot game booth. Arrays of red targets were displayed in rows while giant stuffed animals hung along the back wall.

"Which one you want?" He pulled out a few bills to hand the attendant and passed you a few of the colorful balls for you to play a round too.

You pointed at a giant brown teddy bear hanging by its ears.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

One by one the targets fell in succession. He held the last ball in his hand and after a moment of thought, lobbed it lightly askew and letting it fall short of any target.

He gave you a smug smile and collected the teddy bear before handing it off to you.

"You call that normal?" You said incredulously, but still accepting the bear in your arms.

"What? I missed that last one."

"Sure." Jason was nothing if not terrifyingly accurate.

You played a few more games, amassing a trove of arcade treasures for each other, both of you trying your best not to be too good at the games. As you ventured down the boardwalk, you couldn't help but find your eyes linger on the young couples that surrounded you.

"When you said 'other stuff' earlier, you meant like dating stuff, right?" He said innocently between bites of funnel cake. You had decided to rest and were currently sitting down in a shaded food court, stuffed animals in tow.

You contemplated denying it but saw no reason to keep it from him. This revelation being objectively less embarrassing than the time you revealed you were still a virgin during a round of “Never Have I Ever.”

Taking your silence as an answer, he continued. "Well, since we're still doing normal shit we could try that."

You tried not to gape at him. “T-then we’d just be faking it. It wouldn’t be real...”

“So? How would you know real from fake if you've never dated anyone before?"

“Where did you get that from? I never said I didn’t date anyone before.”

“W-well I just assumed since—"

“I’ve been on dates, Jason. I’ve just never had sex.” You retorted.

“Well, Technically. We kinda, y’know..."

You don't know how fucking pretty you look with my cock in your mouth, Y/N

You pursed your lips, mind flashing to his moans, him begging you to put your mouth on him, the sloppy makeout session with him after he'd punished his cock down your throat. That’s the whole reason you guys were even talking this much now. The bet.

This is the first time you addressed that sexcapade since it happened and it's just been this weird tension ever since. It was the elephant-sized weirdness in the room, whenever you guys were around each other. You wondered faintly if Rachel and Rose were having the same issues after that night too.

"But if you don’t want to…"

"Fine."

"I-Oh,” He stammered as if he hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Ok...um what do you want me to do?" He rubbed the back of his neck, this time the tips of his ears tinged a faint pink.

“I don’t know." You felt yourself blush, "Act like you like me.”

He blinked back his surprise, bemused. “And what would that entail exactly?”

“You know what it entails.” You scoffed, exasperated.

“Not really no. I wouldn’t know something like that.” He recovered the annoying twinkle he usually carried in his eyes.

“I’d rather not do this if you’re going to make fun of me.”

“I’m joking. You mean act like your boyfriend and whatnot. I got it.”

In one swift motion, he leaned in closer and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. The powdered sugar was still sweet on his tongue but as quickly as it started, you could already feel him pulling away.

"W-why did you do that? At least warn me first.”

"'Cuz that’s not what boyfriends do.

“Are you the boyfriend expert now?”

“I happen to be,” He smirked. "You got a little something." He swiped his thumb at what was most likely some leftover sugar at the corner of your mouth and brought it to his lips to taste.

౨ৎ

The ride back home was not totally uncomfortable, but it was still awkward. Jason appeared to be unfazed, joking and laughing with the boys like nothing happened. You tried your best to match his nonchalance, but given the curious looks Rachel kept throwing the both of you, you'd failed.

Jason confused you. One moment it seemed like he liked you, and the next he would act like he barely knew you. You hated it. And to avoid the sting of another unrequited crush, you didn't ask anything of him for a few days, Game Night Bet be damned.

You had been reading a book on one of those rare free-schedule days when a light knock came at your door. When you opened it, Jason was on the other side holding a brown paper bag. You eyed the Bat Burger bag first, and then the boy holding it warily.

“I didn't order anything."

With all the missions and trouble in the city, everyone gradually stopped doing the bet thing anyway.

He shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck. “I owe you. For last time."

“Oh. um. Ok, I guess.” You took the bag from him and set it down at your desk. You figured that would be the end of the conversation but he remained at your doorway appearing to look like he wanted to say something else. You paused, waiting for him to speak and when he didn't, you moved to close the door again.

“W-wait! I… I’m giving you a warning this time.”

Warning?

Then it finally clicked.

“Is… that ok?”

There was a slight worry in his gaze as if he was unsure you'd say yes. You felt something in your stomach flip, words got caught in your throat and you could only give him a small nod.

Upon your approval he stepped in closer, eyes dropping languidly from yours down to your lips. He carefully slid your glasses off his face, folding them neatly on the desk. You felt his hands pull you in by the hip to press your body against him. This time when he kissed you, it wasn't the same as when you were at the beach. It was slower, deliberate. Like he had been building up to this very moment.

You closed the door behind you as the kisses became more wanton and his hands began to roam grasping at your waist and hips, kneading handfuls of your ass beneath your skirt. You loved how he felt pressed against you, sturdy and strong. It wasn't long before you stumbled backward onto the bed and found yourself under him.

"What? Am I too loud?" His brow furrowed in worry when he felt your kisses subside. "I’ll be quieter."

"No, it's not that," you laughed a bit. He did have a habit of making tiny moans through kisses. But you gave him an extra peck on the lips for reassurance. "It’s just...You’re doing this because you want to right?"

“Not even gonna lie, I wanted to do this since the day you showed up.” His smile was bashful, like he just admitted a secret.

The guy you've liked since you joined the Titans had been thinking about you the same way? You thought back to the times you interacted. Jason's attention to you always came in the form of teasing but the weirdness after Game Night and the beach only served to confuse you more.

“Well, you did a shit job of showing it.” You pouted, adjusting your position beneath him to slide your shirt off.

“That’s only ‘cuz I thought you hated me." He sat up a bit to take his own shirt off before returning to plant kisses across your body.

“Ok, hate is a strong word.”

“You’re not denying it.” You could feel him smiling against your skin.

“More like minor dislike. But that’s only because I thought you didn’t like me.”

“I’m sorry." He murmured kissing your jaw, then down your neck. "I think pretty girls make my brain stop working. But I can make it up to you." He slid a hand underneath your unclasped bra and thumbed over the nipple. You let out a small gasp of air. “D'you want me to?”

You nodded, meeting his eyes.

“Use your words.”

“I want you to-oh fuck." Before you could even finish your sentence, his mouth had replaced his hand on your breast. He made sure to keep his eyes on you as he sucked and made warm licks at one breast, making sure to keep the other occupied with his hand.

In any other circumstance, he would never have missed the chance to tease you about your new choice of vocabulary, but he had a different kind of teasing in mind. He had removed his mouth from your breast and was now kissing up your inner thigh, rubbing his thumb in gentle circles over your panties.

“You’re so fucking wet."

He pulled down your panties and worked one finger and then two until his fingers were squelching in and out of your pussy. You'd masturbated before—maybe even masturbated to the fantasy of him fingering you too—but it was nothing like this. His hands were much bigger and roughened by years of combat on and off the field. It was better than you could’ve imagined yourself

“Can I taste it?” He asked, voice hoarse with need. Like if you’d denied him, you might as well have denied a desperately thirsty man water.

Before you could even reply, he replaced his fingers with his mouth. He laved at your entrance, relishing in your whimpering his name and your tangling your fingers through his hair. Jason might've loved a good blowjob, but he practically worshiped pussy. Every suck and kiss of your folds was accompanied by his pretty moans.

It was at this point where you felt yourself hurtling towards climax, but before you could get your much-needed release, you felt the warmth from his mouth leave you.

“Please...your mouth,” was all you could say upon regaining lucidity.

“What'd I say about saying please?” He rubbed a knuckle against your mound; You tried desperately to grind on it.

"J-jason," You whined, squirming under him in impatience. He seemed to enjoy watching you writhe to the same degree he loved to annoy you.

Make. Me. Listen.

Technically the bet was still in effect. As long as you spoke to him with confidence, he would listen, right? You sat up, pushing him onto his back to straddle him. His eyes widened, flashing equal parts in anticipation and welcomed confusion as he ran his hands along your thighs and you could feel his length underneath you. You would take care of that later, but for now, you had your own needs to fulfill.

Jason attempted to meet your lips again, but you only pushed him back to the bed again.

"I… want to cum," You declared simply, trying your best to be confident.

"Yea?" He grinned. "I can help you with that. You gonna sit on my face or do you need to ask for permission?"

"No, just—it’s embarrassing," You said almost breaking character. Almost.

He rolled his eyes. "If y'wanna cum, you're gonna need to come closer."

You crawled over him, tentatively hovering above his face scared to accidentally crush him. Once you got into position, he pressed you down resuming his kisses and licks, moaning as he lapped from underneath you.

"Oh fu—I'm gonna cum," you whimpered unconsciously fisting his hair as you ground against him, using his face shamelessly to ride out your orgasm.

When you sat back on his lap, you felt something under some wetness under you. Had he cum just from eating you out?

"Be honest.” Jason was now catching breath, face glistening with your juices, with a dumb smile playing on his pink and swollen lips.

The pure sight of him—messy and pussy drunk—was enough to make you want to sit on his face again.

“You really did wanna fuck me so bad at Game Night.”

"You’re so full of it." You shook your head, humored. Leave it to Jason to crack a joke post-coital. Not that he wasn't incorrect.

“I'm so flattered you hump your pillow at night and think of me. Since you were riding me like one."

"Are you forgetting that you’re the one that lost the bet? I still have a good two months on you."

"Is that supposed to scare me?" He whispered absently rubbing circles into your hip with his thumb.

"Yes, it should. I can make your life hell."

"Oh really?" His eyes flickered from your lips and back up to your face. That seemed like a risk he was willing to take. From your seat on his lap, you could feel him growing hard again beneath you.

"Yes, really. I was going easy on you."

"You do realize you can’t make me do anything I wouldn’t want to do myself.”

"What about the DoorDash?"

"Well, I ate some of it."

"And the nail polish?"

"I happen to like that color."

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes, it seemed he had an answer for everything and his smile was growing wider to match every smartass retort.

"Just get over here." You missed the feel of his lips on yours already.

Finding no answer for that, he could only let out a laugh, "Yes, ma’am."

©️ blackreaderfics // dividers by cafekitsune & poison-aesthetics

#brfwrites #the power of titans Jason to make me post fic again lmao #i can still pretend its kinktober bc it summerween hehe #the alternate title for this was Queen Card lol #titans dc #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd smut #x reader #cross posted on ao3 #Jason Todd

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stonewall-if · 1 year

Text

Stonewall Military Academy: the most brutal, merciless, and unforgiving boarding school in the country. Most recruits either desert or die by the end of their first year. It is where the fiercest and deadliest killers are trained and molded to be the military's steel fist. And it is not for the faint of heart.

Your late mother was once the most respected Commander in the military...until she turned against her country and was killed. Her betrayal killed important figures, left thousands dead, and almost made your people lose a war against a monstrous opposition that threatens the livelihood of your people every day.

Your family has gone into hiding since then, exiled and branded as traitors. But when you're forced to defend your sibling, you're given two options: death or become Stonewall's newest recruit, which is a death sentence in and of itself.

You choose Stonewall.

Your mother's betrayal has tainted your family, has made anyone with your last name hated and has exiled them in circles your family once commanded. You will be bullied, ostracized, even almost killed by your fellow recruits who believe you lower than dirt.

But that won't stop you. You won't be part of the 99% of recruits who die or desert. You will get out of here. You will learn about your mother. And you will live to see graduation.

Will you?

Stonewall is an 18+ dark interactive fiction with minimal fantasy elements that follows MC to a ruthless military academy. Things such as explicit violence, death, bullying, and dark themes are prevalent.

Choose your gender identity and shape your recruit's personality.

Were you a bloodthirsty fighter--everything your parents wanted you be--or what people can consider a 'weakling'?

Fight violence with violence or confront your fellow student's violence with your words, or do nothing at all.

Rebel or become a loyal soldier. Fight for the High Commander's respect or be a thorn at their side.

Romance, befriend or become an enemy to a cast of characters.

Try to survive in the deadliest school in the country.

The High Commander: the leader of Stonewall. She is ruthless, bloodthirsty, and the source of nightmares for many. She doesn't expect you to make it here. Best to prove her wrong.

Your sibling: who is the closest person to you. Your actions saved them from a life of misery and you will continue to do everything in your power to protect them.

Roman [m] or Raven [f][RO]: your new mentor and trainer. R has long graduated as a student and is a full-fledged warrior working at Stonewall. They are cold, brutally honest, detached and unforgiving. They will push you to your limits, and they don't care how you feel about it. Really, they expected you to desert the moment you stepped foot into this place.

At least they're not unnecessarily cruel...which is the most you can hope for here.

Ivan [m] or Iris [f] [RO]: coming from the most powerful military family, I's bloodline has made them the most sought-after student in the school. Your mother also killed their father, so it is no surprise they hate your guts. They are at the top of the rankings, which means they are a bully, but a dangerous one. And they will not make your time here easy.

Marshall [m] or Maureen [f] [RO]: the bumbling, happy-go-lucky recruit that came in the same day as you. No one knows how the shy and easily scared M got into Stonewall...must be because they're from a line of powerful commanders. Still, they are nothing like their family, and you feel bad knowing the students are going to eat them alive. Stonewall will likely kill them before this year ends. Not your problem, right?

Enzo [m] or Eris [f][RO]: the child of the High Commander. No one wants to cross them, so no one talks to them. They are isolated like you but in a different way: they are fawned over while simultaneously being avoided. It seems like you may just be E's only ally in here (or not).

+more!

#interactive fiction #interactive novel #interactive game #choice script #cog game #cog #choice of games #dashing don #interact-if #if game #if wip #cog wip #if intro #intro post

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writers-potion · 5 months

Note

I'm writing a sci-fi story about a space freight hauler with a heavy focus on the economy. Any tips for writing a complex fictional economy and all of it's intricacies and inner-workings?

Constructing a Fictional Economy

The economy is all about: How is the limited financial/natural/human resources distributed between various parties?

So, the most important question you should be able to answer are:

Who are the "have"s and "have-not"s?

What's "expensive" and what's "commonplace"?

What are the rules(laws, taxes, trade) of this game?

Building Blocks of the Economic System

Type of economic system. Even if your fictional economy is made up, it will need to be based on the existing systems: capitalism, socialism, mixed economies, feudalism, barter, etc.

Currency and monetary systems: the currency can be in various forms like gols, silver, digital, fiat, other commodity, etc. Estalish a central bank (or equivalent) responsible for monetary policy

Exchange rates

Inflation

Domestic and International trade: Trade policies and treaties. Transportation, communication infrastructure

Labour and employment: labor force trends, employment opportunities, workers rights. Consider the role of education, training and skill development in the labour market

The government's role: Fiscal policy(tax rate?), market regulation, social welfare, pension plans, etc.

Impact of Technology: Examine the role of tech in productivity, automation and job displacement. How does the digital economy and e-commerce shape the world?

Economic history: what are some historical events (like The Great Depresion and the 2008 Housing Crisis) that left lasting impacts on the psychologial workings of your economy?

For a comprehensive economic system, you'll need to consider ideally all of the above. However, depending on the characteristics of your country, you will need to concentrate on some more than others. i.e. a country heavily dependent on exports will care a lot more about the exchange rate and how to keep it stable.

For Fantasy Economies:

Social status: The haves and have-nots in fantasy world will be much more clear-cut, often with little room for movement up and down the socioeconoic ladder.

Scaricity. What is a resource that is hard to come by?

Geographical Characteristics: The setting will play a huge role in deciding what your country has and doesn't. Mountains and seas will determine time and cost of trade. Climatic conditions will determine shelf life of food items.

Impact of Magic: Magic can determine the cost of obtaining certain commodities. How does teleportation magic impact trade?

For Sci-Fi Economies Related to Space Exploration

Thankfully, space exploitation is slowly becoming a reality, we can now identify the factors we'll need to consider:

Economics of space waste: How large is the space waste problem? Is it recycled or resold? Any regulations about disposing of space wste?

New Energy: Is there any new clean energy? Is energy scarce?

Investors: Who/which country are the giants of space travel?

Ownership: Who "owns" space? How do you draw the borders between territories in space?

New class of workers: How are people working in space treated? Skilled or unskilled?

Relationship between space and Earth: Are resources mined in space and brought back to Earth, or is there a plan to live in space permanently?

What are some new professional niches?

What's the military implication of space exploitation? What new weapons, networks and spying techniques?

Also, consider:

Impact of space travel on food security, gender equality, racial equality

Impact of space travel on education.

Impact of space travel on the entertainment industry. Perhaps shooting monters in space isn't just a virtual thing anymore?

What are some indsutries that decline due to space travel?

I suggest reading up the Economic Impact Report from NASA, and futuristic reports from business consultants like McKinsey.

If space exploitation is a relatiely new technology that not everyone has access to, the workings of the economy will be skewed to benefit large investors and tech giants. As more regulations appear and prices go down, it will be further be integrated into the various industries, eventually becoming a new style of living.

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bro-atz · 3 months

Text

choi san masterlist:

note: this should be a given, but with any of my smuts, minors dni

safe for work:

♤ chest = pillow — fluff; headcanon ♤ dahlia — suggestive, angst (flower garden series) san is your perfect man, but he's also the perfect man for others. ♤ "hi, cutie" — suggestive; drabble ♤ "you'll never be alone" — angst you live in fear of dying alone, especially now that you're in the hospital with barely any time left.

not safe for work:

♤tattoo!san: ♤ all tatted up — smut (pt. 1) you meet san at a bar, and he's way different from what you were expecting. ♤ all tatted up— back tattoo — smut (pt. 2) there's a really good reason why san never called you after you hooked up. ♤ all tatted up— new tattoos — smut (pt. 3) you decide to surprise san and get your own tattoo.

♤ roomates!yunsangi: ♤ that's what roommates are for — smut (ft. yunho, mingi; pt. 1) you're extremely frustrated, and your roommates can't help but overhear. ♤ the time of my life — smut (ft. yunho, mingi; pt. 2) your roommates just want to cheer you up after you get stood up on your date.

♤ absence makes the heart break — angst, smut san broke your heart when he suddenly left you, and just when you've finally moved on, he reappears in your life in a way you couldn't even fathom in your wildest dreams. ♤ do you remember? — smut you are completely and utterly drunk and san just happens to be there to rescue you. ♤ défilé de lingerie — smut (ft. mingi) you're modeling the latest lingerie designs for your two bosses, and let's just say their designs are very effective. ♤ fifteen inch club — smut (ft. yeosang, san) you're doing such an amazing job as maid of honor that you definitely need to be rewarded... ♤ first thing in the goddamn morning — smut (ft. seonghwa) somehow, you, seonghwa, and san all woke up in the same bed (not that you're complaining). ♤ forbidden love — angst, smut (trope series) you have no business falling in love with your father's best friend. ♤ good knight — smut (500 event) you don't like the prince— you love the knight. ♤ head to head — smut san's lap isn't just for napping... ♤ hoodie season — smut san is playing video games and is getting a little cold, so he asks you for his hoodie— the hoodie that you just so happen to be wearing. ♤ jealousy isn't such a horrible sin — smut (ft. seonghwa) you're tired of san not being a good boyfriend, so seonghwa decides to help you two work through your problems in an unconventional way. ♤ knots — smut your coworker recommends that you see a massage therapist for your many, many muscle aches, and you do just that with massage therapist choi san. ♤ let's get physical, physical — smut (alt. yunho) all you wanted to do was focus on strength training, but two of the gym regulars decided to add some cardio into your life. ♤ prelude in e minor — smut (prof. series) your brain tells you to focus on your education, but your heart tells you to focus on professor choi. ♤ ripple effect — smut (summer boys series) you and san silently try to get the other to break first. ♤ rollin' — smut you go to punish san for wearing a revealing outfit, only for him to turn the tables on you. ♤ shit, this is red too — smut idol san goes to your home after months to see you, only to realize that you're not home; so, he needs to find a way to pass the time. ♤ superstar — smut (ssatz series) you punish idol san in real life because out of everyone in the limited theme cards you missed, it was only him. ♤ the better man — smut (ft. seventeen mingyu) your roommate and your college friend both have feelings for you. ♤ the three black tank tops of the apocalypse — smut (ft. seonghwa, mingi) these three wear black tank tops and you just bend over for them because... yeah... ♤ what we do to boys who don't listen — smut (brat series) san's jealousy lands him in hot water with you. ♤ work trips don't have to be boring — smut you are on a business trip and get to know san really well. ♤ you've got me speechless — smut (alt. seonghwa) the way they fuck you has got you speechless.

#broatz masterlist

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francis-writes · 6 months

Note

SFW alphabet anon here ngl im one of the feyd rautha lovers so if you could do him first thatd be lovelyy <3 thanks

A/N: Sorry for being chaotic, i wrote it partially at 3 am when i woke up, partially on uni and partially half asleep. Also, sorry for personal stories, it will happen again. My bf knows that i start going on with stories about my friends and cousin of my grandma's nephew in the least proper times.

Warnings: Some mentions of toxic relationships, but nothing that can't be worked on

FEYD-RAUTHA SFW ALPHABET

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

It varies, depending on the stage of your relationship and whether you're alone or in public. Publicly, he's more reluctant to show feelings, but he likes physical affection, like keeping his arm around your waist or putting a hand on your thigh. He also compliments you in conversations with other people, after all, you are his partner, and he's proud to praise you. In privacy, he's more open to affection, but you need to get him used to it. Of course, as I mentioned, he shows you affections himself, but at first, it's all planned, he keeps his composure. Praises and sweet talking are true but spoken more jokingly, teasingly. You get the point, he tries to show his appreciation without seeming soft or weak. It's better if at first you are more openly affectionate. Feyd really appreciates when you hold his hand, or kiss his cheek or give him a small thing that reminds you about him or when you make him a playlist. And after some time, he may feel confident enough to return the affection.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

It's a bit harder to start a friendship when you belong to a great House, especially House Harkonnen. But I guess Feyd has a few friends - and since his childhood, they are mostly his training partners. He had a lot of time to get to know them while fighting together, and they could gain his sympathy as a skilled warriors.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Surprisingly, he likes to cuddle, especially when you relax in bed. Sometimes he rests his head on your chest or on your lap and lets you hug him or stroke his head. Sometimes he's a big spoon and you fall asleep with him clinging to you like koala to a tree.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

I mean, you rather quickly move into his residency, but it's kinda different. Because his family, court and servants live there as well so your shared house has a population of small city. And yeah, servants clean and cook for him, so there's no reason for him to learn these skills.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

It depends. If you weren't long together and/or it was kinda your "fault" (you cheated or wanted to leave him, because for example, you didn't support his actions), it's possible that he would kill you out of anger. Or maybe because if he can't have you, nobody will.

If you already got closer to each other, then he lets you go away. He makes it quick and emotionless but he may make sure that you have somewhere to go and some money for a living.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

It's kinda complicated question. Feyd himself would like to marry you quickly - not because he believes that much in formalities, but it's a way to solidify your bond and show that you're his. On the other hand, he still has some limitations as an heir. Even if you have a higher social standing or belong to one of the Major Houses, it doesn't mean that Baron Harkonnen will find you fitting his ambition or offering the best alliance. He may threaten Feyd that if he wants to inherit the title and everything, he has to get married according to Baron's decision. When Feyd notices that Baron doesn't have other heirs, unless he wants to leave everything to Rabban, Vladimir suggest that Feyd may have you as a concubine, or he may have you dead. So well, most probably you won't get the official title but you would still be his dearest concubine (and his wife would be like Irulan to Paul). He may even make a small private ceremony to celebrate your bond. Or maybe Baron dies before any wedding (with or without Feyd's help) and there's nothing stopping him from marrying you.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Well, considering that you're together and he cares about you, he can be really gentle. Sometimes he likes to tease you or his jokes and comments may go to far but when you confront him about it, he may tone down his malicious games.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

It's similar to the general affection headcanon. He enjoys hugging you (he grips you tight then, as if he wasn't going to ever let you go. If he can, he nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck) as well as when you hug him but he's still getting used to openly showing non-sexual affection.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

He says it first, but at the beginning it's still with a tone of amusent, he's manipulating you a bit. He mixes it with other sweet words to get you wrapped around your finger but he doesn't really notice when his words become more and more honest and heartfelt. If you know baldur's gate 3, it kinda reminds romance with astarion. At first, even if he likes you, Feyd plays you like a game and his words are part of the strategy; that's just how he treats everything and everybody. But as time passes, it becomes less of a strategy and more a true confession.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

I made a whole post about this but in summary: Feyd isn't very jealous, he's too confident to be afraid that you would leave him. But he's very possesive and doesn't like other people trying to take away his possesions (yes, in this case you). He doesn't get suspicious for no reason, but when there's actual threat to his position - like, someone flirts with you, or gets too touchy, or maybe you enjoy someone's company too much - he takes quick action. He joins you, wraps his hand around your waist and joins the conversation. He's not threatening his rival openly but he emphasizes in the conversation that you're together, you're very happy and devoted to each other and you will stay together until death. If somebody gets really too close to you, Feyd may fuck you in semi-public place, so his rival hears who is your actual lover and who can make you feel good. Well, that's if his rival is of higher standing. If they are a servant, Feyd will willingly kill them. Maybe behind your back. So you don't protest.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Passionate, hungry, possesive. Wherever he kisses you, he likes to bite, but his favourite place is your neck.

When it comes to you kissing him, it’s has a different vibe. Feyd enjoy all your kisses, but if he had to pick his one favourite kind, it would be kisses on the forehead. He isn't eager to admit that, but he loves the affection you put in these kisses and how they make him feel cared for. Maybe he isn't as touch-starved as Rabban, maybe he hides it better but still both brothers subconsciously yearn for a gentle touch and kind words.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Again, complicated topic. Feyd probably wants children but not for the... proper reasons. He needs an heir to preserve his blood and his lineage. Also passing his genes is important for his ego. If you're able to give birth to his child, he may also see getting you pregnant as matter of dominance and control. But does he really like children? Maybe. He can take care of them for some time and be that cool dad who treats you as a fellow adult. But he wouldn’t like the everyday responsibilities and the less entertaining aspects of raising a child and would probably leave it to grow up with a nanny and teachers.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

He usually has to get up early for his duties (there's either some council or a training), but if there's more time, he likes to just lay in bed and cuddle with you.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Putting aside the NSFW aspect, well, I think that Feyd goes to sleep really late, so he either continues his duties or goes to relax with you. And there are many possibilities, you can just sit there and talk in peace or maybe go on a walk. Are there any places on Giedi Prime or Arrakis where you can go out for entertainment? That's a topic for maybe different post, but if the answer is yes, Feyd would eagerly enjoy the night life with you. Sometimes he just go to train a bit more, you can either just watch him or join the training (it makes sense, i often work out or go on a long aimless walk through the city when I can't sleep; it helps to get tired and to get rid of stress and emotions).

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Slowly, definitely slowly. No matter, how much he cares about you, on Giedi Prime being vulnerable and talking about feelings is seen as weakness. And as it looks with everybody, it's hard for him to change the views they raised him in. So he either hides any more hurtful or other emotional memories, or mentions them without bigger, or treats as a joke. You need to get really close together, and he must really trust you to honestly speak with you about them.

When it comes to more neutral or positive things, he may not be too quick to tell too much about himself (growing up on Harkonnen's court made him careful about sharing important informations that can be potentially used against him), but he doesn't hide them too much as well - after all, he enjoys talking about himself and he wants to impress you, so as you get closer to him, you learn more and more "safer" facts about him. Also if you're vulnerable with him first, it helps him be more open and trust you.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

I know I keep repeating it but it's hard to say. Even when he gets annoyed, Feyd is very good at keeping his composure and controling his emotions. Also when he gets angry, it's not loud, screaming rage, like with Rabban. He gets more cold and reserved, showing his anger by pushing you off or treating you with superiority. He may humiliate you or show his anger in a different way. But I would say, that it's not so easy to push him to that point. If you know what he hates (for example lying to him, trying to control him, insulting him etc), you can avoid this easily.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He has extremely good memory and remembers most details you mention. On the court he got used to catching and remembering every information that may be important, and that political skill is very useful in relationship as well (also, he cares about what you tell him, so don't think that he treats these informations just as a tool to control you)

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Okay, it may sound like an easy answer but I don't think he would choose just one? Every day is his favourite, as every brings something new to your relationship. It was great when he met you for the first time. Great, if not greater, when he started getting to know you closer. Or when you started dating. Or when you celebrated your bond. Or....

Every day develops your relationship and brings you new opportunities, so he can't simply choose.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

He isn't too worried about you, but not because he doesn't care. Just as a partner of heir to House Harkonnen, you are well protected - even if you aren't a formal couple due to political reasons. There are always guards and soldiers around, in case Feyd isn't there to help you. And in any case, he trained you and made sure that you're able to defend yourself.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Feyd himself isn't exactly the most romantic person so it depends on what you like. He's still very devoted to you, if i can call it that. Anyway, he would do anything (that doesn't go against his plans and desires, for example he wouldn't stop killing) to make you happy or to impress you so if you're into dates, anniversaries and other celebrations, he does it and he doesn't use half measures. As I mentioned in Q, he rembembers what you tell him, what you like and what you dream about so he makes sure that his gifts and dates fit your tastes. And he doesn't refuse to do something because it's too sweet or silly. If you like things he finds cheesy, he may just find it cute and an interesting break from his serious life and duties. The line is at keeping things that can hurt his reputation as a strong leader and warrior private.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Well, he's not an angel but some of his bad habits made you fell in love in him. And I will mention the one of the others, that may be a problem in relationship and life in general: recklessness. Yeah, it's cool when he's bold and like to take a risk, but he could care about his life more. He's a masochist, he's honourable and he likes to fight but it goes too far. Like when he fought Paul and after being stabbed he said only "you fought well, Atreides". Dude, I know you're horny for your cousin but maybe there are other ways to show it than dying with a smile. Every time I think about this scene, I understad how my bf feels when I do some careless impulsive shit.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

It's not the most important thing for him but he likes to look good. After premiere of 2023 movie I googled why does he have black teeth (other Harkonnens doesn’t so it's not genetic). Some people noticed that his "pets" have black teeth as well, and blood on Giedi Prime is black so it may be effect of cannibalism. It makes sense but personally I prefer theory that it's more a fashion thing. Actually in some cultures dyeing your teeth black is a sign of status. So I keep thinking that for youth on Giedi Prime dyeing teeth is like getting a tattoo or a piercing and Feyd may be an heir to powerful House and ruler of Arrakis, but he also wants to look cool while being one.

(Also it makes sense that neither his uncle nor older brother have black teeth. I imagine them being like my family every time I get another body mod. Or like my friend's older sister when they got a tattoo. "You think it looks cool Feyd? It's disgusting. And controversial. You will get bored soon. If you wanted to look good, you could just buy a new coat. No one will trust a baron with black teeth, you have to look normal in work")

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Well, it's a tough question but I suppose yes. I know that he seems cold and uncaring, people call him sociopath. And well, I have ASPD (which is a professional term for so called sociopathy), which results in low empathy (or lack of it). I also have suspected NPD, commonly known as narcissism. Sorry for that long personal rant but I have a good information for people who simp over characters like this. And I also like to fight the stigma and prejudices about personality disorders. Anyway, I can't speak for everyone, but despite myths of narcissists and sociopaths loving only themselves, I still can form close bonds with people. I don't feel what they feel, so I am not too worried when they are sad but in general I want them to be happy. And I lose someone (either because we broke up, they are away or they died), I may seem less moved but I still miss them and our time together. Anyway, I would consider Feyd to be similar. Without you, he will still go on. Find someone else, focus on his goals. World doesn't end on you. But he will miss you and he will try to keep you with him as much as he can. (I don't know if i sound clear or complicate things too much). Anyway, he's his own person and he can deal well on his own but you make his life much more pleasant.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Being underappreciated or feeling controlled. You may have an equal relationship with him, even though he may try to gain domination, it's possible to work on that power dynamic and get him to accept being equals. He even enjoys that challenge and somebody standing up to him. But Feyd wouldn’t stand being the one controlled and powerless. He would also hate if you saw him as weak and incapable leader or underappreciated his skills. You don't have to gush about everything he does, but you can praise him once now and then. Or just in any way, make him feel supported.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

I might be wrong but Feyd makes impression of those people who needs only a few hours of sleep and they are full of energy. Like my friend who in high school one day said "you know what? I discovered today that sleeping more than three hours is an amazing experience" and I was like. How. How are you alive.

#feyd rautha #dune part two #feyd x reader #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha headcannons #feyd rautha imagine #dune imagine

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astrojulia · 1 year

Text

Tarot Cards as Professions

Navigation: Masterlist✦Ask Rules✦Feedback Tips

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Major Arcanas:

The Fool: Work with abroad, connections with imports, language teacher, multinationals, entrepreneur, intern, college student, art major.

The Magician: Entrepreneur, job that needs skill with the hands (acupuncture, hairdresser, artisan), actor, salesperson, influencer.

The High Priestess: Education, especially children, nutrition, psychology, cook, housewife, food engineering, toy factory, fortuneteller, spiritual advisor, librarian.

The Empress: Management, business administration, foreign trade, secretariat, translation, decoration, stay-at-home mom, model, cook, farmer.

The Emperor: Business administration, work related to areas of technological innovation, the military or sportsmen, CEO, tycoon.

The Hierophant: Philanthropic areas, ONGs, religious work, social work, diplomacy, and a degree, journalism, writer, editor, priest, spiritual guru, politician.

The Lovers: Sales area in any sector, tourism, theater, advertising, the arts in general, porn star, stripper, masseuse.

The Chariot: Activities related to transport, cars, the latest technology, chauffeur, mechanic, athlete.

Strength: Aesthetics, physical education and various body therapies, medicine, zoologist.

The Hermit: Teacher, writer, doctor, antique dealer, restorer, librarian, gardener.

Wheel of Fortune: Financial market, exchange offices, casinos, lottery houses, stock exchanges, and areas related to public relations, hospitality, game show host.

Justice: Public jobs, won through competitions, politics, police, with government positions, in the diplomatic area, law, insurance company worker.

The Hanged Man: Nurse, auditor, inspector, porter, secretariat, general assistants, yoga instructor, prison guard, philanthropist.

Death: Doctor, farmer, geologist, business administrator, gardener, accountant, assassin, death row executioner, surgeon.

Temperance: Working with liquids in general or with what is transported in liquid form such as alcoholic beverages, medicines, juices. chemist, chef, food critic, regional or even international traffic.

The Devil: Does not limit the individual to a professional wing, so he can also go to extremes for the desire he has, such as landlord, drug lord, sex trafficker.

The Tower: Social assistance, humanitarian aid, medicine, firefighter, police officer, construction worker.

The Star: Music, painting, sculpture, poetry, cinema, makeup artist, dressmaker, beautician, agent, promoter, sound artist, astronomer, harpist, dealer, meteorologist.

The Moon: Oceanographers, sailors, fishermen, owners of bars and restaurants or nightclubs, artists in general, medium, hypnotist, psychiatrist.

The Sun: Motivational speaker, entertainer, comedian, social relationships, work with the public, artist in general, member of society.

Judgment: Work done at home, connection with the law, lawyer, judge, work with disabled or people excluded from society, social assistance, board member, executive producer, director.

The World: Pharmacist, massage therapist, scientist, teacher, community leader, religious leader or priest, fashion designer, makeup artist, interior decorator.

Wands:

Creative industries such as advertising, marketing, and graphic design.

Entrepreneurship and starting your own business.

Athletics, sports coaching, or physical training.

Outdoor jobs like park ranger or tour guide.

Event planning or organizing.

Firefighters or rescue workers.

Ace of Wands: Entrepreneur, startup founder, motivational speaker, fitness coach, personal trainer.

Two of Wands: Business strategist, project manager, travel agent, international consultant, import/export specialist.

Three of Wands: Sales representative, marketing manager, e-commerce entrepreneur, market researcher, international trade coordinator.

Four of Wands: Event planner, wedding coordinator, party organizer, festival manager, hospitality industry professional.

Five of Wands: Conflict resolution specialist, mediator, lawyer, debate coach, competitive sports coach.

Six of Wands: Public relations manager, spokesperson, social media influencer, motivational speaker, winning athlete.

Seven of Wands: Defense attorney, human rights activist, political campaigner, advocate, civil liberties lawyer.

Eight of Wands: Courier, delivery driver, airline pilot, travel blogger, expedition guide.

Nine of Wands: Security guard, bodyguard, soldier, endurance athlete, self-defense instructor.

Ten of Wands: Overworked entrepreneur, project manager, event organizer, professional organizer, heavy equipment operator.

Page of Wands: Assistant in a creative field, aspiring artist, intern in a startup, social media coordinator, apprentice.

Knight of Wands: Travel journalist, adventure tour guide, professional athlete, race car driver, stunt performer.

Queen of Wands: CEO, business owner, charismatic leader, life coach, influential speaker.

King of Wands: Executive manager, entrepreneur, leadership coach, consultant, director of a creative agency.

Cups:

Counseling, therapy, or social work.

Hospitality industry, including restaurant management and bartending.

Wedding planner or event coordinator.

Artistic fields like poetry, writing, or acting.

Healing professions such as nursing or holistic therapy.

Psychologist or counselor specializing in emotions and relationships.

Ace of Cups: Therapist, counselor, social worker, holistic healer, emotional support specialist.

Two of Cups: Marriage counselor, matchmaker, relationship coach, wedding planner, love psychic.

Three of Cups: Event organizer, party planner, celebratory event coordinator, community organizer.

Four of Cups: Meditation teacher, mindfulness coach, spiritual counselor, psychologist, therapist.

Five of Cups: Grief counselor, trauma therapist, hospice worker, emotional healing practitioner, bereavement support.

Six of Cups: Child psychologist, teacher, daycare worker, children's book author, pediatric nurse.

Seven of Cups: Creative writer, fantasy novelist, imaginative artist, dream analyst, visionary.

Eight of Cups: Travel blogger, adventure seeker, spiritual pilgrim, explorer, wanderlust photographer.

Nine of Cups: Life coach, happiness consultant, gratitude coach, self-help author, wellness retreat organizer.

Ten of Cups: Family therapist, marriage and family counselor, foster care advocate, wedding planner, family mediator.

Page of Cups: Creative writer, artist in training, intuitive healer, aspiring therapist, dream interpreter.

Knight of Cups: Actor, romantic poet, musician, art therapist, love and relationship coach.

Queen of Cups: Psychic reader, intuitive healer, counselor, compassionate caregiver, therapist.

King of Cups: Therapist, counselor, intuitive mentor, emotional intelligence trainer, psychologist.

Swords:

Legal professions like lawyers, judges, or law enforcement officers.

Journalists, reporters, or investigators.

IT specialists, computer programmers, or hackers.

Teachers or professors specializing in critical thinking or philosophy.

Military or defense-related careers.

Strategic planners or analysts.

Ace of Swords: Lawyer, judge, legal consultant, investigative journalist, strategic planner.

Two of Swords: Mediator, conflict resolution specialist, negotiator, diplomat, relationship counselor.

Three of Swords: Divorce lawyer, grief counselor, trauma therapist, emotional healer, heart surgeon.

Four of Swords: Rest and relaxation specialist, meditation teacher, spiritual retreat organizer, yoga instructor.

Five of Swords: Military strategist, competitive sports coach, lawyer specializing in litigation, debate coach.

Six of Swords: Travel agent, relocation consultant, therapist specializing in transitions, boat captain.

Seven of Swords: Private investigator, spy, intelligence analyst, cybersecurity expert, undercover agent.

Eight of Swords: Social justice lawyer, human rights advocate, disability rights activist, therapist specializing in limiting beliefs.

Nine of Swords: Insomnia specialist, anxiety therapist, nightmare counselor, sleep coach, mental health counselor.

Ten of Swords: Surgeon, coroner, forensic scientist, mortician, grief counselor.

Page of Swords: Researcher, journalist, fact-checker, apprentice in a legal field, investigative reporter.

Knight of Swords: Military officer, police officer, attorney, competitive fencer, conflict resolution specialist.

Queen of Swords: Judge, lawyer, critic, journalist, literary agent.

King of Swords: Judge, attorney, CEO, strategist, military general.

Pentacles:

Financial advisors or investment bankers.

Real estate agents or property developers.

Agriculture, farming, or gardening.

Architects, builders, or construction workers.

Conservationists or environmentalists.

Accountants or bookkeepers.

Ace of Pentacles: Financial advisor, investment banker, wealth manager, entrepreneur, luxury goods retailer.

Two of Pentacles: Financial analyst, accountant, bookkeeper, event planner, stock trader.

Three of Pentacles: Architect, contractor, project manager, teamwork facilitator, craftsman.

Four of Pentacles: Wealth manager, investor, financial planner, asset protection specialist, treasurer.

Five of Pentacles: Social worker, philanthropist, charity organizer, financial counselor, volunteer.

Six of Pentacles: Philanthropist, humanitarian worker, non-profit manager, social worker, charitable fundraiser.

Seven of Pentacles: Gardener, farmer, agricultural consultant, sustainability expert, botanist.

Eight of Pentacles: Craftsperson, artisan, apprentice, skilled tradesperson, technical trainer.

Nine of Pentacles: Luxury brand manager, independent business owner, successful entrepreneur, vineyard owner, art collector.

Ten of Pentacles: Real estate developer, property investor, family business owner, generational wealth manager, financial advisor.

Page of Pentacles: Intern, student, apprentice in a practical field, aspiring entrepreneur, entry-level employee.

Knight of Pentacles: Accountant, financial planner, farmer, skilled tradesperson, meticulous worker.

Queen of Pentacles: CEO, business owner, property developer, hospitality industry entrepreneur, financial advisor.

King of Pentacles: CEO, business mogul, successful investor, high-level executive, financial consultant.

(CC) AstroJulia Some Rights Reserved

#tarot #tarot tips #tarot meanings #divination #cards #witch #witchcraft #witchblr #astroblr #career #astrojulia #all about tarot #tarot witch #major arcana #minor arcana #tarot and career

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 1 year

Note

Hi!! Quick question, out of pure curiosity... Are there literally only three teachers in NRC???

I certainly hope not 😭

NRC has a student population of ~800, and judging by the homeroom class sizes (20-30ish?) and numbers (A through E), there has to be more than just Crewel for sciences, Trein for humanities, and Vargas for physical education. If it’s just those 3, that means they each take on 266 or 267 students at one time, and while that may work for very general introductory classes for freshmen, it’s not as feasible for highly specialized upperclassmen courses. Those 3 may just be the “leaders” of their respective departments, sort of like department chairs at colleges.

There’s so many elective classes and homerooms with instructors that are unaccounted for… (Like, Crewel teaches Advanced Poison Making, but who here is teaching Music, Lucius?!) It’s just not logistically possible; there have to be supervising homeroom teachers for the different grade levels and classes because Crewel can’t be ALL of the homeroom teachers in multiple rooms at once.

We do know that a team of ghost chefs teach the Master Chef course, so maybe it’s possible that ghosts help fill in for other teaching positions?? Ghosts also help out with other jobs around campus, such as being delivery people and handing out Vargas Badges during the boys’ training camp. Alternatively, it’s probably just a game limitation. It would be too taxing for the devs to make and implement a number of staff characters that is proportional to how many students NRC actually has so they have to default to reusing the ones that look unique.

I find it odd that we don’t have generic mob teachers or ever hear dialogue from someone labeled a “NRC teacher” though 💦 so maybe it really is ghosts doing everything else… It keeps Crowley’s costs low since ghosts don’t need things like food 😭

#twst #twisted wonderland #Dire Crowley #NRC Staff #Divus Crewel #disney twisted wonderland #Mozus Trein #Lucius #Ashton Vargas #notes from the writing raven #question #twst theory #twst theories #twisted wonderland theories #twisted wonderland theory

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nasa · 2 years

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50 Years Ago: Apollo 17

Not long after midnight on Dec. 7, 1972, the last crewed mission to the Moon, Apollo 17, lifted off with three astronauts: Eugene Cernan, Harrison Schmitt, and Ronald Evans.

Experience the Apollo 17 launch and follow the mission in real time.

Meet the Crew

Let’s meet the astronauts who made the final Apollo trip to the Moon, including the first scientist-astronaut.

Gene Cernan: In 1972, Apollo 17 Mission Commander Eugene A. Cernan had two space flights under his belt, Gemini 9 in June 1966, and Apollo 10 in May 1969. He was a naval aviator, electrical and aeronautical engineer and fighter pilot.

Ron Evans: Apollo 17 Command Module Pilot Ronald E. Evans was selected as a member of the 4th group of NASA astronauts in 1966. Like Cernan, he was an electrical and aeronautical engineer, and naval aviator before his assignment to the Apollo 17 crew.

Harrison (Jack) Schmitt: Lunar Module Pilot Dr. Harrison (Jack) Schmitt joined NASA as a member of the first group of scientist-astronauts in 1965. Before working for NASA, Schmitt was a geologist at the USGS Astrogeology Center. He was on the backup crew for Apollo 15 before being selected for the prime crew of Apollo 17. He became the first of the scientist-astronauts to go to space and the 12th human to walk on the Moon.

The Blue Marble

“The Blue Marble,” one of the most reproduced images in history, was taken 50 years ago on Dec. 7, 1972 by the Apollo 17 crew as they made their way to the Moon.

Bag of Soup, Anyone?

NASA astronauts have an array of menu items to stay well fed and hydrated on missions. For Apollo 17, the menus allocated around 2,500 calories per day for each astronaut. They included:

Bacon Squares

Peanut Butter Sandwiches

Frankfurters

Lobster Bisque

Like anything going to space, weight and containment matter. That's why the Apollo 17 menu included plenty of soups and puddings.

Synchronicity

On Dec. 11, 2022, the Artemis I mission will be splashing down on Earth after its 25.5-day mission. At 2:55 p.m. 50 years prior, the Apollo 17 lunar module (LM) landed on the Moon, with Commander Gene Cernan and LM Pilot Harrison Schmitt on board. Ron Evans remained in the Command and Service Module (CSM) orbiting the Moon.

Experience the landing.

Planting the Flag

One of the first tasks the Apollo 17 crew did on their first moonwalk was to plant the American flag. There’s no wind on the Moon, but that doesn’t mean the flag has to droop. Did you know that a horizontal rod with a latch makes the flag appear to be flying in the wind? Gene Cernan carefully composed this photo to get Schmitt, the flag, and the Earth in a single shot.

So, is the flag still there? Images of the Apollo 17 landing site from the Lunar Reconnaissance Orbiter Camera show that in 2011 the flag was still standing and casting a shadow!

Moon Buggy

During Apollo 17, the Lunar Rover Vehicle (LRV), nicknamed the Moon buggy, logged the farthest distance from the Lunar Module of any Apollo mission, about 4.7 miles (7.5 km).

As a precaution, the LRV had a walk-back limit in the event of an issue; astronauts had to have enough resources to walk back to the lunar module if need be.

Grab the Duct Tape!

The right rear fender extension of the LRV (Moon buggy) was torn off, kicking up dust as the crew drove, reducing visibility. The crew made a resourceful repair using duct tape and maps.

For LRV fans, visiting an LRV driven on the Moon is a bit difficult since all three LRVs used on the Apollo 15, 16, and 17 missions were left on the Moon. But you can find an LRV used for training at the National Air and Space Museum in Washington. Read more about the LRV.

The Perils of Lunar Dust

After the first lunar EVA, Apollo 17 astronaut Harrison Schmitt reported that he suffered from “lunar hay fever” in reaction to the lunar dust. Unlike Earth’s dust particles which are rounded, Moon dust particles are sharp and abrasive, irritating astronaut eyes, nasal passages, and lungs.

Curious about how Moon dust feels and smells? Find out!

So What’s it Like?

After his return to Earth, Apollo 17 astronaut Harrison Schmitt (on the right) described his time on the Moon:

“Working on the Moon is a lot of fun. It’s like walking around on a giant trampoline all the time and you’re just as strong as you were here on Earth, but you don’t weigh as much.”

Splashdown!

After 12 days and 14 hours in space, the Apollo 17 astronauts splashed down in the Pacific Ocean at 2:25 p.m. EST on Dec. 19, 1972. It was the longest of all the Apollo missions, with the most photos taken. A recovery team was waiting on the USS Ticonderoga just 4 miles (6.4 km) away to pick up the astronauts, the lunar samples, and the Crew Module.

When Are We Going Back?

NASA’s Artemis Program has taken its first steps to sending humans back to the Moon with Artemis I, currently on its way back to Earth. The program plans to land humans, including the first women and person of color, on the Moon’s south polar region with its Artemis III mission, currently slated to launch in 2025.

Is aerospace history your cup of tea? Be sure to check out more from NASA’s past missions at www.nasa.gov/history.

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

#nasa #space #history #photography #moon #science #artemis #spaceblr #1970s #tech #technology #astronauts

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a-yellow-van · 4 months

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Wish You Were Here | Part 3

You and Joel get stuck in a blizzard during patrol. It leads to something unexpected.

Series masterlist

Pairing : Joel Miller x f!reader

Fanfic tags : canon compliant, slow burn, romance, some smut, angst, hurt/comfort, joel and the reader are terrible at feelings, female reader, no use of y/n, reader is in early 30s, past relationships, trauma/PTSD, grief, loss, post-apocalypse, jackson joel, joel is a good parent to ellie, protective joel, major character death, original characters, queer characters, bisexual main character, age difference, canon-typical violence

WC : 8.9 k

Warnings for part 3 : Minors DNI! swearing, drinking, mentions of trauma and PTSD, mild violence, explicit sexual content (masturbation, unprotected sex, p in v sex, rough-ish sex, praise kink, pet names, limited aftercare), more hurt than comfort I'm sorry

Writing this one hurt a lil. But I'm happy with it. So please enjoy.

It’s been half an hour. Thirty minutes of riding side by side in complete silence, interrupted only by the sounds of Old Beardy and Willow’s hooves rhythmically crunching in the snow. It seems like an eternity. The tension is so intense it’s almost palpable. Your presence, a blur in Joel’s peripheral vision, is putting him on such an edge that, at any given moment now, he could turn around and gallop back to Jackson, or start saying things he’d better keep to himself, or get you off your horse and take you by the waist and…

No. Nope. Stop it.

His grip on the reins tightens and he bites his inner cheek until the stab of pain rips his mind off that absurd train of thought. He stares straight ahead at the deserted highway, the stretch of the 191 carved in a broad valley. The landscape is lost in a sea of white, the concrete below invisible, crashed cars resembling large animals sleeping in a snowy den. Joel’s face is numb from the cold, rugged skin humid, a few wild strands of hair on his forehead pearling with ice. The brim of his insulated cap isn’t enough to shield his eyes from the stinging wind, but still, he stares, almost unblinking. His neck itches with the urge to turn and glance at you; he has been actively fighting it ever since leaving. He has to remain collected, he has to concentrate on the job. That sentence is playing on loop in his head like a mantra, so much so that the words are getting jumbled, barely making sense anymore.

He doesn’t understand why it’s been so difficult to just move on from what happened. Not one day during those two weeks has passed without his thoughts drifting back to that brief intimacy he shared with you, without wondering what you’re doing, how you’re doing. And he loathes it. Hates being confused, hates not having control, hates that you’re having such an effect on him. So, before he drives himself crazy, he decides to start counting the cars until the both of you reach the first checkpoint on the Hoback route. Joel has calculated about five miles since Jackson, only around three to go until the job gets more active. There are two cars on the right, their shapes stuck together in a permanent collision, and one on the left. Joel can make it.

Small, repetitive rituals like this always helped him focus; back when he was working construction, a lifetime ago, he’d recite stupid ad jingles to himself, trying to remember as many as he could and associate them with the correct brand. There was a famous one that Sarah used to sing just to annoy him, delighted when it worked without fail every time. He’d be reading the newspaper in the morning, or watching a game, or driving her to school, and she’d pipe up out of nowhere. And then it’d be stuck in Joel’s head for days. Some annoying rap about credit reports. How did it go again? F-R-E-E, that spells free…something something dot com, baby. Sarah’s mischievous giggles, after he begged her to stop, echo around his mind. Less than a year back, it would have sent him down to a dark, sunken place with slippery walls nearly impossible to climb out of. Not anymore, after Ellie. The memory’s still stained with grief, but it doesn’t feel so crushing to carry. He’s accepted it as part of him. Joel tries to recall the rest of the lyrics to that damned song; he thinks Ellie might get a kick out of it. She’s always so eager to learn about even the most meaningless things that existed before the outbreak.

It does the trick to distract him from you. It works so well, in fact, that he nearly misses the turn to the checkpoint. He pulls on Old Beardy’s reins suddenly, steering him in the right direction. The horse neighs in protest.

So much for concentrating.

You’ve certainly noticed the mishap, but you don’t comment on it, much to his relief.

Get a fucking grip.

Joel begins down the side path to an abandoned gas station, the tension rising. Maybe, if one of you were to point out the obvious, it would make this whole situation a bit less miserable. But Joel isn’t going to be the one to do it. It would come out all wrong, anyway.

The place is small, a few pumps decaying under a canopy that’s barely holding on to four crumbling steel rods. The convenience store isn’t in better shape, its windows shattered, the signboard crashed by the entry. You take initiative and move towards the back of the building; Joel takes it as a cue for him to check out the front. The advantage of being an experienced patroller is that you can do your job without much communication; at least there’s that. He jumps off Old Beardy and walks up to the building, unworried but readying his weapon nonetheless. If there were infected around, he’d have spotted them already. Just as he thought, the interior is empty, what’s left of it is covered in a thin film of dirty snow. Just for good measure, he checks the storage and the restrooms in the back. Still nothing. He jogs back to his horse just as you turn a corner, you and Willow coming back into view, calm, unperturbed.

You don’t wait for him to leave. He scrambles to mount Old Beardy, and you’re already back on the highway. It sustains Joel’s growing irritation; he almost yells out for you to slow down. Sure, ignoring each other is one thing, but being unsafe and disrespecting patrol rules is another. So, as a punishment, Joel spurs Old Beardy into a run and catches up before overtaking you, almost knocking you off Willow. He hears you gasp out in surprise. You try to swerve to the right, but he blocks the move. He wants to make you crack. Because he can’t be the one to do so first. You try the same move, to the left this time, and again, Joel is faster. He takes things a step further and lets out a dry, arrogant scoff.

That’s it. You’re about to rip into him. But only the whistling of the wind responds; you keep stubbornly quiet. You don’t even give the man a glance when he finally lets you pass and get back on his side, your expression set in stone.

Damn it. You’re good.

Joel doesn’t attempt anything else, deciding it’s wasted energy. You both continue on the road, status quo, for another hour. You stop at a few other checkpoints around the highway : an old RV park, a fire station…Warm, sheltered places that would draw in people, or things, at this time of year. But there’s no sign of life anywhere. By this point, Joel would usually have had to take out at least a stray runner. It’s almost unsettling. Like the calm before a storm. That little seed of concern plants itself inside his mind, heightening his senses. You must feel it too, because you guide your horse closer to his, and he notices your right hand leaving the reins to rest on the rifle hanging from your shoulder.

Sombre clouds are accumulating in the sky, hanging low, menacing. The wind increases as you both reach the highway exit to the small village of Hoback, carrying sharp snowflakes that cut Joel’s exposed cheeks. The path is narrow, flanked by tall conifers that grow denser, their branches drooping down from the weight of the snow. You’re forced to get behind the man, your gaze on his back piercing, nervous, uncomfortable. The both of you still don’t talk, but the atmosphere has shifted, the unspoken conflict momentarily forgotten.

Joel moves forward cautiously on trot, alert, scanning his surroundings. The first cluster of residences comes into view, simple log cabins settled at the foot of a hill a couple yards away. From the distance, nothing looks out of place. He signals for you to follow him, and you patrol up and down the short street, hastily inspecting the houses on both sides. They’re frozen in a dead silence, immobile, ravaged by years of negligence and harsh elements. Instead of being reassuring, the absence of movement only causes Joel’s foreboding feeling to develop. Something is very off here. The both of you repeat the process through the village, falling into calculated, practised gestures. And, while patrollers have the habit of checking some key places for supplies to bring back to Jackson, this time, your pair instinctively works as fast as possible, not entering a single house. There’s an unwritten agreement to get the hell out of here as soon as you can.

You’ve cleared out most of the village and, at last, you reach Snake River, the sounds of its turbulent waters mixed with the wind is tumultuous. There’s a bridge ahead, just large enough for a car. Its wooden structure is unstable, some slats have fallen, the rest are icy and split in places. This next part has to be done on foot; the horses would collapse through the bridge and drown if they even took one step on it. Once you cross the river, you’ll need to walk a couple miles to the outskirts of the village, finishing off the route at an old golf course. The clubhouse is a great lookout to the area; it holds the patrol logbook. Joel halts Old Beardy before the river, and you stop next to him. The animal shakes his head, freeing his mane from the layer of snow. Joel hesitates, not quite ready to leave the protection and speed horseback offers. He’s debating if an acute gut feeling is reason enough to turn back and leave patrol unfinished.

That short moment of doubt is precious. Because a second later, nature seems to fall completely silent around you. As though a predator is roaming nearby. Sudden, horrible snarls erupt from the woods stretching to your right. The ground trembles beneath fast, uneven footsteps. A lot of them. Too many. Time stops as Joel looks in your eyes for the first time in hours. They’re full of fear.

And then a runner stumbles onto the trail about three hundred feet behind, twitching, its mangled head snapping in your direction. Followed by another. And another. It jolts the man right into action.

“COME ON!” He urges you, spurring Old Beardy to a gallop.

There’s no way to go, but forward. Joel barrels around the bridge and down the slope, reaching the riverbank. You don’t leave his side, thighs clenched around Willow’s flanks, arms straining with the reins. And as your horses hooves hit the ice, the horde has crossed the distance, pouring down the embankment. There’s at least twenty. Some of them fall into the water, the current seizing them immediately. But it’s not enough to stop them. Joel’s heart is hammering out of his chest, his body rocking with the movement as Old Beardy pushes on, fueled by the danger. Joel lets go of the reins, expert fingers grasping his rifle. He swiftly points it at the first runner that lunges at his left, and lodges a bullet in its brain. The next one steps on the corpse, ready to attack. It meets the same fate. The gunshots coming from your side clearly indicate that you’re handling yourself. Before long, Joel has emptied the chamber, not one bullet wasted.

“RELOADING!” He shouts.

You cover him, taking out an infected, mere inches before his claws dig into Joel’s ankle. He doesn’t have time to thank you, however, pulling the trigger the second he readies the rifle again. You both maintain the rhythm up for what seems to be hours, the horses snorting through the effort, runners dropping like flies. Joel has lost all sensation; he doesn’t feel his lungs burning or his muscles pulling; the adrenaline has completely taken over. He keeps riding. Shooting. Reloading. And…Yes, there.

Only two of the fuckers left.

One on your side, one on his. He fires. Perfect shot. He thinks the two of you might make it out unscathed.

But then, something happens. Your weapon is pointed at your own runner, about to shoot. But you hesitate. Joel watches as the creature strikes. Willow panics. She rears up. And you are thrown to the ground.

——————————

That runner.

It looks so much like her.

Your body hits the riverbank, head bouncing on a rock, wind knocked out of you. A sharp pain erupts in your skull, high-pitched ringing explodes in your ears, stars appear in your vision. In a fraction of a second, the creature is straddling you. You weakly push an elbow against its chest, keeping its jaws from locking around your neck. It twitches, screams, clacks its teeth.

And you just…accept it. Twenty-one years of surviving, and this is how it ends.

You close your eyes.

And you’re back in the forest. That day. You’re running, faster than you’ve ever done in your life, branches grabbing at you, slicing your skin, like they want to prevent your escape. You glance over your shoulder. She’s gaining on you. Her eyes have turned a milky white, her clothes are ripped, her skin bloodied. But she still looks so much like herself. She still sounds like herself. Your baby sister. Her discorded weeps fill you with a gutting terror. You can almost make out the repeated word. Your name. Tears fall down wildly as you dart between trees, your breathing erratic, throat on fire.

“PLEASE! ANI! STOP!” you howl. But she’s gone. She can’t understand. So she chases, and you run.

Until your foot catches on a large root, sending you tumbling through the underbrush. Your gun clatters away from you. You lay there, stunned, dirt in your eyes, your nose, your mouth, ankle bent at the wrong angle.

She pins you to the ground, broken nails digging in the skin of your arms. You flail around, kick at her, trying to free yourself from her impossibly strong grip.

“STOP IT! ANI! STOP!” you cry out again, voice raspy, hollow, desperate.

Your right hand pats around blindly for the weapon, your left is pushed against her forehead, forcing her mouth away from your exposed shoulder. Your heart is beating so fast it seems like it’s stopped. Maybe it has. Maybe you’ve died, and this is just a flash of your last moments as you drift into peaceful, eternal rest. Or maybe it’s a horrible nightmare, and you’re about to wake up, a hand laced in your sister’s soft hair, light snores escaping her lips. She always looks so innocent when she sleeps, like all worries have washed off her, like she’s been sent back to a happy childhood in her dreams.

Your fingers brush against cold metal. You close them around the handle.

Bang.

The shot echoes, in the past and in the present.

You’re still alive.

The runner’s corpse slumps down against you, coating you with gore, a foul smell making you gag. You’re paralyzed, trembling, chest rising and falling erratically, gasping for air. You look up at the angry grey skies, the snow plummeting down, catching in your eyelashes. Everything stands still for an instant.

It all comes rushing back as the dead infected is ripped off your chest, discarded to the side like a rag doll. You sense a presence crouching down next to you, and Joel obscures your view.

He calls out your last name, loud, snapping you back to reality. You focus on his face; it’s flushed, expression tight with stress, eyes darting, searching for yours.

“Hey! Are you okay?” he yells.

Joel takes you by the shoulders and pulls you into a sitting position, the sudden movement making you dizzy. You stare back at him, eyes wide, blinking rapidly, unable to answer. Stunned.

“HEY! Did it bite you?” he continues, shaking you.

You move your head side to side in response, causing it to throb in pain. You wince, raising a hand to your occiput. Your glove comes back crimson. Joel’s eyes fall to the blood, and he mutters a curse. He reaches into his coat pocket to take out a rag, balling it up and pressing it to the back of your skull.

“Keep that there for me. Can you do that?” He speaks in a low, steady tone, but there’s an edge to it you pick up on. You nod and execute yourself. Willow comes over and nudges you with her nose; her way of apologising. You pat her with your free hand, reassuring. It was your fault.

Joel runs back to Old Beardy, the poor beast trembling from the fright. He takes something out of his pack’s front pocket and brings it back : a small bottle of rubbing alcohol. He twists the cap off with his teeth and kneels behind you, taking the rag and pouring some of the liquid on it. He rubs it on your wound, eliciting a shriek.

Holy shit that hurts.

Joel inspects the injury, parting your hair to expose it, the rough fabric of his gloves like sandpaper on your scalp.

“Cut isn’t deep. But you’re gonna get a mean bump.” Joel explains, applying more pressure. He stops the bleeding, aided by the cold, and wraps the rag around your head, securing it with a tight knot. “We gotta keep moving. Can you stand up?”

This version of Joel, assertive, protective even, catches you off guard. It’s such a stark contrast from his attitude earlier in the day. It nearly makes you forget how close to death you just came.

“Uh, I-I think so-” you reply, regaining your voice, before attempting to push yourself off the ground and falling back down. Your head spins.

Joel offers you his hand, which you take to pull yourself up slowly, your whole body protesting. Bile rises up to your oesophagus. You lean over, breathing through your mouth.

“Shit. I think you have a concussion,” you hear Joel say, from far away.

And, then, as if things couldn’t get any worse, the storm picks up. The snow gets so dense you can barely see five feet in front of you. The man takes the lead, urgently guiding you towards Old Beardy. He helps you mount, taking you by the waist, and you don’t even think to resist. There’s no way you can ride by yourself in this condition. Joel gets on and takes the reins while you hold on to him, chest pressed against his back. He whistles for Willow over the wind. She follows right behind.

Joel leads his horse out of the riverbank and into the surrounding woods, visibility getting even poorer. You’re blinded by snow, breathing it in, wheezing. You put all trust in Joel’s sense of orientation, praying that somehow, he gets you back onto the road. He presses forward, a hand raised in front of his face to protect it.

What a stupid fucking way to go out. Lost in a blizzard. With Joel Miller. At least the town would have something to talk about.

But then, miraculously, the trees begin to thin out; ahead, you can make out the faint outline of a trail.

He did it.

You squeeze Joel’s torso tighter, as if to thank him. Old Beardy perseveres, pushing one leg in front of the other. Your head is getting heavier, the concussion pulling you towards a dreamless sleep.

“Hold on. We’re almost there.” Joel affirms. You’re not sure who it’s destined for : himself, you, or the horses. Maybe all four. But it’s all you need to let go, and you pass out, head slumping on Joel’s shoulder.

——————————

You wake up to the sound of snow pelting against glass. Your skull feels like it’s being drilled into with a jackhammer. You pry your eyelids open and try to get your bearings, vision foggy, as though you opened your eyes in a chlorine pool. You find that you’ve been laid out on a frayed, deformed couch, springs digging into your back, a quilt smelling of mothballs thrown over you. Your winter attire has been taken off. You push yourself up on your elbows and look around the room. It seems to be the small living area of a cabin; there’s a rustic coffee table where both packs lay next to the bloody rag that acted as your bandage. To your left is a large, frosted-over bay window; the outside is an infinite, oppressing white. Two sets of jackets and ski pants hang from antler-shaped hooks next to the front door, a puddle forming underneath. A stone hearth takes up the wall in front of you, fire crackling inside. And, to your right, a plaid armchair. Joel is sitting in it, leaning forward, forearms resting on his thighs, watching you intently with knitted brows. His expression is hard, severe, unfriendly; he’s back to his normal self. You hold his gaze, your sight slowly getting clearer.

“Uh. Hey,” you speak hoarsely, throat dry. It makes you cough, which prompts Joel to get up and rummage through your pack to retrieve your canteen. He tosses it to you carelessly, and you fail to catch it. It lands on your lap with a thump. Joel plops back into the armchair, huffing. He is very transparently upset with you.

Great.

You take a long gulp of water and wipe your mouth with the back of your sleeve, the day replaying in your mind like on a movie theatre screen, pausing on your near-death experience. And you’re baffled, ashamed of your own actions. You can’t believe Joel had to step in and save your sorry ass, like you’re some kind of damsel in distress.

Fucking rookie mistake. And now you have a goddamn concussion.

You massage your temples and suppress a groan. “How long was I out?” you ask instead.

“About an hour.” Joel answers, tone glacial, deprived of any sympathy.

“Did you try calling Jackson?” You nod over at the small radio sitting on the ground by the window.

“Couldn’t get a signal,” Joel answers, gruff, as if it’s an obvious fact.

You roll your eyes. You know he’s right, but still, you stand up despite sore muscles, and go over to the device, cranking it a few times before trying the channel knob. You’re met with static. Joel mumbles something under his breath; it doesn’t sound pleasant, or polite. You put the radio back down and return to the couch, avoiding eye contact with the older man.

You glance at your watch. It’s right after 3PM, and the blizzard hasn’t let up. You’re going to be stuck here a while. You rest your head on the arm of the sofa, staring at the beamed ceiling, lost in reflexion. About how genuinely worried Joel seemed when you got hurt, how he jumped right in to take care of you. It makes you seethe. He tucked you in so you’d stay warm. He even changed your socks; the wet pair is drying by the fireplace. How dare he? You shift on the cushions, stiff, ill at ease. And Joel chooses that moment to break the silence.

“What the hell was that back there?” He questions, his tone accusatory.

You tense up. The blame you’re putting on yourself is more than enough. He doesn’t need to twist the knife. You ignore him, your jaw clenching.

“Hey. I’m talkin’ to ya,” he nags.

It makes your blood boil, and you sit up to glare at him. “Won’t happen again,” you grumble.

“Yeah? You sure about that?” He continues, harsh.

You take a deep breath. “Look, I-”

He interrupts you. “You don’t freeze up like that. Ever. You understand me?”

“Oh, wow. I had no idea!” You strike back, not missing a beat. “I don’t need a lecture from you, Miller,” You spit out.

Joel lets out a chilling chuckle. “Oh, you’re welcome, by the way!” He barks, “You know. For keepin’ you alive an’ all.”

You spring to your feet, heat shooting to your head, exacerbating the migraine. “I didn’t ask for your fucking help,” you utter.

Joel gets up too, towering over you, hands balled up into fists. “Right. Next time I'll just let you get infected. That what you want?”

“I told you. There won’t be a next time!” You shout, holding yourself back from punching him in the gut, or kneeing him where it would hurt most, or pulling him down to the couch and pushing your lips to his neck and letting him-

No. Nope. Not again, not here, not now.

You desperately need some air. You move towards the front door, but Joel strides up to you and blocks the way, arms crossed.

“You ain’t going anywhere,” he warns.

“Let. Me. Out.” You command. Your head is so painful you think it might explode.

Joel chuckles again. “You got a death wish or somethin’? Settle down, girl.” He talks down to you as if you were a child, smug, condescending; but that word makes your heart skip a beat.

You try to make a pass for the handle, but he grabs your wrist and shoves it backwards effortlessly. You’re seeing red. So you opt for the next best thing; you spin around abruptly and storm off to the other side of the cabin, into the bathroom, slamming the door behind you.

“Oh yeah. You do that. Real mature.” Joel yells out.

You hear the creak of the floor under his steps and the rustling of fabric as he sits back down. You take your frustrations out on the shower curtain, displacing thousands of dust particles, before biting down on your hand to muffle a scream. When you’re done, you climb into the bathtub and curl up against the lime-scaled cold porcelain, forehead on your knees. The space is dark, stuffy, suffocating. You wonder how you’ll be able to make it through the storm without ripping Joel’s head off. Or doing something exactly opposed to it. How easily that man is able to just get to you is incomprehensible. Enraging. And, worst of all, despite how reluctant you are to admit it…

Arousing.

It must be the concussion dysregulating you completely. But the feeling grows, and you extend both legs to squeeze your thighs together, trying to release the pressure building between them. It’s no use. There’s only one thing that would satisfy it, and he’s right outside the door. Without your control, your right hand moves to the waistband of your jeans, undoes the button and goes down, past the elastic of your underwear…Fingers reach down to your entrance, already slick, and glide back up to the hardened nub, the touch sending a rush of pleasure through your body. You rub clumsy circles around, slow at first, mind filling with Joel, his calloused hand there instead of yours, stretching you out, whispering filthy things in your ear. You increase the speed, biting your lip to keep yourself from moaning, cheeks flushed, the pressure becoming almost unbearable. You push two fingers inside, curling them to stimulate that sensitive spot, bucking into your own palm to deepen the sensation. In a matter of seconds, you’re unravelling, free hand gripping the side of the tub, your walls clamping down on the other, come seeping in the fabric below. Your lips part and you can’t help a low squeal from escaping them. You immediately clap your left hand over your mouth, heart racing.

Fuck.

Did he hear?

You take a few deep breaths, trying to calm yourself. The reality of what you just did comes crashing down. It only worked to heighten your desire. And your anger. You button your pants back up and step out of the bathtub, wiping your hand on a scratchy towel you find in the linen closet along with a colony of spiders.

You’ve been in here for too long. You have to go back out. It would raise suspicion if you didn’t.

——————————

Joel is oblivious, too busy sulking over the events of the day as he tends to the fire, flames illuminating his face in a flickering glow.

That was too fucking close.

The image of you, frozen up under the runner, keeps snaking its way into his thoughts. It infuriates him. How you just gave up, like your life was worthless, like you deserved what came to you. And yet, the sentiment is so familiar it makes his chest ache in a burst of empathy. He can sense the burden in you, the intense trauma you endured. Most people have, in this unforgiving world, but you…There’s something more. It was the look in your eyes when you saw that infected, as if it reminded you of something so vivid it stole you away for an instant. He knows because it’s happened to him. It still does, sometimes, although less frequently. They’re these moments of sheer panic, where he’s choking, the world blurring around him. He has to count things he can see, or touch, or hear…He feels so miserably weak after it’s passed, as if he’s just a small, scared old man. Maybe it reveals his true nature.

And he’s so angry at you for making him care. Because for some reason, he does. Ever since that night at the tavern. Maybe even before. How scared he got when he thought you might be done for is direct proof of it.

He can’t afford to have another person to protect.

A quiet cough brings him back to the present. He peers over his shoulder. You’re standing behind him, seemingly troubled by something; you fiddle with the hem of your sweater, gaze glued to the ground.

He turns back to the hearth, sighing, and forces out an irritated “You good?” The thing is, he actually is concerned with the answer.

“Fine.” You reply, your tone not an ounce more affable than his.

That is as far as the conversation goes. Joel eventually gets tired of rotating the same log with the fire poker, pretending the action is crucial to keep the flames alive. He goes back to the armchair, glancing at you. You’ve reclined on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table, mindlessly chewing on a piece of dried meat. He decides to imitate you, because he needs something to do with his hands. So he digs in his bag for the sandwich he’d packed; it’s mushed, tasteless. You both eat in thick, loaded silence.

The sunlight is starting to decline, and the storm rages on, casting the room in an eerie shadow, the cold seeping in through every tiny crack in the cabin’s foundation. Joel shivers despite himself, shoving both hands under his armpits in an attempt to preserve his body heat.

A second later, you’re out of your seat. Joel watches as you climb up the spiral staircase that leads to the loft bedroom. You shuffle around the space, partially concealed by the railing, and come stomping back down, carrying a crumpled blanket. You hold it out to him at arm’s length. Joel cocks a brow; the sudden kind gesture leaves him completely confused. You jiggle the blanket under his nose, impatient. He decides to take it, and drapes it around his shoulders, the relief immediate.

“Uh. Thanks,” he mumbles.

You give a shrug in response, dismissive, wrapping yourself in the quilt and retreating to the sofa.

What the hell?

An hour ago, you were fiercely arguing with him. Now this. The flip-flopping is giving him whiplash.

Time passes, excruciatingly slow, nor Joel or you daring to say another word. The sun fully sets; the darkness outside is opaque, as if the little cabin is drowning alone in an abyss. There’s no way around it, you’ll both have to spend the night here. Around half past 5PM, Joel can’t stew in the tension anymore, so he goes to check on Old Beardy and Willow, confined to the veranda at the back of the house. They’re cramped, but otherwise fine. Joel risks a short trip to the yard to fill an old, warped bucket with snow for the horses to drink. As he shines the beam of his flashlight around, he notes that the blizzard has weakened slightly. This mess might be over in the morning. Just a few hours. He can last until then. It’s not like he has any other choice.

He feeds the animals with a pile of straw forgotten in a corner of the veranda, behind some gardening tools. At the start of the outbreak, he couldn’t help but imagine who inhabited the places he used as shelters, what their daily lives looked like, if they were still alive. Sometimes, he’d come across evidence of the contrary. It used to disturb him, he’d feel like an intruder, but he’d quickly grown desensitised. Cordyceps didn’t spare anyone. It made suffering the new normal. It’s useless to dwell on what was or wonder what could have been. So, he doesn’t pay more attention to the objects scattered around the space as Willow eats from his hand.

Once he comes back inside the cabin, he finds you exploring the kitchenette that’s crammed underneath the loft. You’ve opened the cupboards, revealing stacks of chipped, dusty dishes. You’re going through a drawer, a few utensils clinking inside. You haven’t noticed Joel, too focused on your search for something of value. He observes quietly as you move on to the second drawer, when he decides to make his presence known. He clears his throat before speaking.

“Don’t bother, I already checked while you were sleepin’.”

His words only make you search harder, meticulously inspecting the contents of the drawer, bent over, your back turned to him.

Goddamn it. You’re exasperating.

And yet, his eyes are drawn to a specific part of your anatomy, the curves made obvious by your position, your jeans hugging them so well he could just-

“Or do whatever the fuck you want,” he mutters, the hostility compensating for the sudden surge of lust.

He plants himself in the armchair, once again, the noises of your continued investigation grating, setting his nerves on fire. After a few minutes, they stop. And you come walking back to the living area with a subtle, conceited smirk on your lips, and a bottle of very nice, before-the-apocalypse whisky clutched in your right hand.

“Didn’t check well enough, Miller,” you say, failing to hide your satisfaction.

“Where was it?” He asks, upset at himself for missing the item.

“Back of the sink cabinet,” you answer smugly. “Quality stuff,” you add, reading the label. You’re absolutely right, but Joel isn’t going to recognise it.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get cocky,” he grumbles. You don’t waste time and unseal the bottle before raising it to your mouth.

“Don’t think that’s smart,” Joel cautions, making you pause mid-air. “Y’know. Concussion,” he continues, his tone more unpleasant than he anticipated.

You don’t listen to his advice, staring at him tauntingly as you sip. He’s quickly learning that you thrive in defiance. And this audacity you possess, it’s…Attractive. Joel inexplicably likes that you’re provoking him. Your expression remains neutral as you swallow, even when Joel knows for a fact it must sting like hell. You offer the bottle to him.

It’s been a long time since he’s had liquor that didn’t have an aftertaste of battery acid, and the sight makes him crave a good drink. It’d certainly make the night pass by faster. He knows it’s a terrible idea, considering where getting drunk with you led him last time, but it’s so damn tempting…

He takes the whisky from you.

——————————

You’ve made a considerable dent in the liquor. It’s dulling the pain in your head, reducing it to a distant ache. You’re sitting cross-legged in front of the hearth, and Joel has joined you on the ground, close enough to pass the bottle back and forth without having to stand up. His back is resting on the bottom panel of the couch, legs spread out casually. The fire, as well as the whisky, is enveloping you in a calming warmth, eating away at your inhibitions; you’ve taken your sweater off as a result, stripped down to a tight thermal shirt. There’s silence again between you and Joel, but this time, it doesn’t make you want to claw out of your own skin. It’s strikingly comfortable. And you find yourself wanting the man to come closer, longing for contact, connection. You haven’t forgotten your little adventure in the bathroom; in fact, the liquor is feeding those feelings, and they’ve risen to a nearly overwhelming level.

You take another sip, and, during the exchange, Joel’s fingers graze yours, sending your heart in a frenzy and a burst of flustered heat to your face. You jerk your hand away.

Idiot.

You play it off by brushing it through your hair. Joel’s mouth twitches upwards before he drinks.

“What?” You ask, defensive.

“Nothin’.” Joel passes the bottle back to you with a faint air of amusement. You decide it’s a good time to stop, and you set it down on the floor.

“Done already? I was expecting more from ya,” he teases.

You hate how well it’s efficient in riling you up. “Like you said. Concussion,” you retort, pointing at the site of injury.

“Hm. So now it's a good enough excuse,” he presses on, narrowing his eyes at you.

“Yup,” you answer simply.

“Really? That’s all you got?” His smirk is more assured now.

You give a drawn-out sigh in response, studying the fire like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

“Damn. I was startin’ to like the snark,” he says. It seems like the liquor has taken a toll on the man’s reservations, too.

“Don’t wanna waste my breath on you,” you reply, unable to resist the banter.

Joel chuckles. “Ah. There she is.”

You had forgotten how lovely Joel’s laugh is. How natural it feels to talk to him like this. Funny how booze seems to have that impact on the both of you. And, after a tortuous day of being at each other’s throats, you welcome the change of mood. “Did I just hear you say you like me?” You turn to gaze at him, an eyebrow raised.

“Nah. Must be your concussion.” He answers, deadpan, unfazed.

You can’t hold back a smile as you reply. “Hm. Sure, Miller.”

He pauses and appears to consider something, chewing on his bottom lip. “Uh. Joel,” he finally lets out, voice deeper, more serious. “Just- call me Joel.”

You’re taken aback by that sudden request.

His first name. It feels informal, intimate even, as though you’ve moved past the status of coworkers, into murky, foreign territory. You know you should refuse. You’ve dropped too many of your principles with this man already.

“Alright. Joel.” You gulp. “Uh, same goes for you.”

He gives a short nod, and mirrors your sentence, only with your name instead.

It’s significant. This moment. It feels like the two of you have reached a point of no return. Like from here on out, things can’t just go back to the way they were.

“Man, this isn’t how I was planning to spend the night,” you revert to humour to diffuse the returning tension.

“Yeah?” Joel follows your lead. “Got somethin’ you’d rather be doin’?”

“Pretty much anything else,” you quip. “I was gonna work on this painting I’m late on.” You’re not sure why you’re opening up about that aspect of your life, but it’s the direction the whisky has picked. It’s futile enough. Still safe.

“Oh. Right. Painting,” he says. “I knew you did that.”

He does?

“Didn’t you do one of Tommy and Maria?” He continues. “For their wedding?”

The man truly is full of surprises. And to think you were convinced he was completely indifferent to you, at least before today.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, that was me,” you reply after a few seconds.

“It’s good work. You managed to make Tommy look half-decent. That’s talent right there,” he jokes.

“Yeah. Thanks. I tried.” You chuckle, and your stomach flutters at the compliment. You’d shoot those butterflies one by one with a tiny gun if you could. “What about you? What’d you have on the schedule?”

“Hm,” he answers, “not much either. Was gonna ask Ellie to join me for dinner. And get rejected again.”

“I don’t blame her,” you comment, a teasing grin forming. “What teenager wants to hang out with a grumpy old guy?”

“Hey. Rude.” Joel feigns offence. “I can be fun,” he adds.

“Won’t believe it until I see it,” you push further.

“Okay then. Just you wait.” He glances around the room for inspiration, until he is hit by a stroke of genius.

“Truth or dare?”

You snort. “Are you twelve?”

“Truth or dare?” Joel repeats, voice raising in pitch.

You shake your head in disbelief.

Joel fucking Miller.

“Fine. Truth,” you capitulate.

Joel smirks. “Okay. Uh,” he concentrates, “What’s your favourite colour?”

You take a second to process the words that just came out of his mouth. And then burst out laughing.

“Come on,” Joel protests, a grin brightening his eyes, deepening the wrinkles around them. “What’s wrong with that question?”

It makes you double down in laughter. You wheeze, trying to catch your breath, and Joel joins in with a few low chuckles. The stoic mask has vanished. Why does he look so sweet?

“That-that- was the best you could come up with?” you get out between deep inhales.

Joel doesn’t back down. “You gonna answer it or what?”

“Okay, okay. Uh-”

You realise you haven’t thought about that tiny aspect of yourself in about two decades. Cordyceps has had that strange effect of destroying souls, personalities, the little things that used to make one human. By infecting some, and coercing others into survival. You’re not sure which fate is worse.

“It’s yellow,” you finally reply. Yellow like the sunshine. That was your sister’s nickname. And you were Moonbeam. Opposites who completed each other. And now there’s only one left, lonely, broken.

Joel nods. “Fitting.”

“Hm?”

“Your tattoo.” He gestures at your exposed collarbone, where a sun made up of a multitude of ink dots is etched into your skin. Joel is scarily on point; that was for her, too.

“Yeah.” You don’t linger on the topic. “Your turn. Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Joel replies instantly.

You’re not prepared. “Uh- I dare you to-” Your mind is sluggish, moving in slow-motion as you try to come up with something. “I dare you to sit next to me.” It comes out without your control.

Shit.

“Easy,” Joel brags. He pushes himself off the ground with a grunt and takes five steps before settling back down so close that your legs are touching. He doesn’t acknowledge it, eyes on the fire ahead, and neither do you. But it sends a chill up your spine and your thoughts to a dangerous place. You determine you’ve taken a long enough break from the whisky and take a swig of the liquid courage. Joel does too.

“Your turn,” he reminds you.

“Truth.” You still have enough wits left to be worried of what he’d make you do as a dare.

“Takin’ the coward’s way out?” He teases.

You drink again, ignoring the remark.

“Alright. Uh, tell me about- your first time,” he says, glancing over at you with a sly smile.

That’s a huge jump from the innocence of his first question. You shoot him an unimpressed look. “You’re gonna have to be more precise.”

“You know exactly what I mean. Now start talkin’,” he playfully orders.

You sigh. “I was seventeen. With a friend I had in the QZ. Nothing special to it.” Your teenage years aren’t a period you like to reminisce about; you had to grow up much too fast.

Joel stays quiet for a moment, and bumps your knee with his, in a movement that could be passed as accidental, or as an attempt at comfort. You’re not certain which is the truth. “D’you love him?” He asks, his tone genuine, devoid of mockery.

“Her,” you correct. “And…I don’t know. It was years ago. Doesn’t matter.” It’s a lie. You remember it like it was yesterday. And you did.

Joel’s expression is one of surprise, and embarrassment. He turns a shade of red deeper than he was the second before, the temperature having nothing to do with it. “Oh. Uh. I- Sorry, uh, didn’t mean to assume- That’s- Good for you- I-”

You’re very entertained by his reaction. People usually fall into one of two categories when you tell them; awkward ally or plain bigot. You’re glad it’s the first one. You cut him off before he digs the hole deeper. “It’s fine. Don’t beat yourself up. Your turn.”

He seems rather grateful for the change of subject. “Uh. Right. Truth,” he replies, regaining his composure.

You give him a taste of his own medicine. “Same question.”

Joel is unbothered, and tells the story nonchalantly. “Okay. It was my date at senior prom. Back of my car in the school parking lot.”

It makes you laugh. “Wow. How very original. I gotta know what kinda car it was.”

“My dad’s busted old Wrangler. I put that car through a lot of shit.” he replies, chuckling.

“I could have guessed that.”

For a second, you and Joel look at each other, smiling. He almost appears timid. And for a second, the horrors of the world retreat into the shadows that birthed them. For a second, everything is alright. You could stay here forever.

——————————

Joel could, too. He wishes time could stop here. Because he’s confident that the night will inevitably end in something he’ll regret. No way around it. It’s taking an enormous effort already to keep himself from reaching over and closing the distance between your lips and his. The booze isn’t helping. You’re not either, with that radiant smile that’s melting his hard shell little by little, and your eyes that keep wandering around his face, his chest, and lower too, though you try to be discreet. He’s doing the same, and he’s certain you’re aware of it. Now, it’s a matter of who will succumb to the temptation first.

You speak up again. “One last thing, Joel. Did you get the girl?” The question is lighthearted, but the memories it brings back certainly aren’t.

He sighs. “Yeah. I did.” Sarah’s mother. They’d been high school sweethearts. Young. Dumb. A tale as old as time. “Got married. Had a kid. The whole nine yards. Then she wasn’t ready to be a parent. And, well-” He trails off, the words slipping out, motivated by the liquor. He’d never have confessed such a thing in a different context. Especially not to you. And just like that, he’s ruined the mood.

Your eyebrows shoot up in shock, before your expression softens, as you realise what must have happened to said child. Pity? Compassion? Joel can’t be sure. “Oh. Uhm. I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know-”

“‘S’okay. It’s, uh, it’s been a while. And I got Ellie now,” he reassures, slurring the words slightly.

“What-what was their name?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

“Sarah,” he answers after a pause. He’s only recently started being able to talk about her out loud without breaking down. He doesn’t know if that still applies when he’s inebriated. And he’s not willing to test it out. He drowns the sentiment in more whisky, before giving you the bottle.

“Uhm. That’s pretty.” You take a swig and hesitate. “I, uh, I- know what it’s like. To- to lose someone like that,” you say, softly. The pain the words cause you as they escape is evident. Joel believes you.

And then something happens. Your right hand leaves your lap, moves to the side and comes to rest on his.

His gaze travels from your hand, up to your face. It’s full of doubt, eyes wide, as though you’ve just made a horrible mistake.

It’s all it takes for the floodgates to open.

——————————

Joel grabs your forearm and pulls you into his lap. His mouth collapses on yours. You don’t protest, accepting the kiss immediately, gripping his shoulders to steady yourself, knees on both sides of his thighs.

A rugged hand goes to the small of your back, pressing your chest to his, while the other slides up to the back of your head, carefully tilting it to deepen the kiss. Tongues collide, hungry, eager. He sucks on yours, stifling a moan.

You’ve been pent up so long you’re soaking already. He breaks away from the kiss to trail his lips across your jaw, before going down your neck, biting and swirling his tongue on your pulse point, not mindful of the mark he’s undoubtedly going to leave. He earns a gasp, your fingers interlocking with his hair, holding him in place. You grind against his growing bulge to try and alleviate the fervent pressure rising at your core. He thrusts his hips up to meet yours, the friction sending sparks of electricity to your hazy mind. A hand wanders to your breast, fingers groping the soft flesh, flicking the nipple raised through your shirt. But you need more. Need him inside of you. Now.

And you tell him so, voice quivering with desire. “Please,” you add in a whimper.

It isn’t long before your clothes are ripped off, his lips refusing to break apart from yours for more than a few seconds. He lays you down right there on the floor, bare, trembling, aching for his touch. He sits back on his heels and admires you for a moment, eyes darkened, intense, reflecting the flames as if they are blazing behind his pupils. You watch, mesmerised, as he undresses in the dim, dancing light of the fire, casting him in an aura that’s almost ominous. He stands up to take off his underwear, cock springing free and hitting his lower stomach.

The sight makes your mouth water. God, he’s big.

He climbs on top of you, your legs encircling his torso, granting him access to your entrance. And he pushes into you. Hard. You’re so wet his cock slides in without resistance, filling you completely, nearly hitting your cervix, the jab of pain delicious. The act isn’t kind, or tender; and it’s exactly what you want. For him to use you, to ruin you. And he does. He fucks you senseless, each stroke bringing you closer to oblivion, to forgetting who you are. The sounds he’s letting out are outright sinful, grunts laced with dirty sentences that could make you finish on the spot. But you’re holding on. Until he lifts you up by the waist, angling himself to hit that bundle of nerves over and over again, making you cry out in ecstasy, clawing at his back. You’re almost there, your walls pulsate around him, driving him deeper inside.

“Think you should come for me, darlin’,” he hums into your ear, nibbling on the lobe.

You obey.

The orgasm ripples with such force it blinds you. You can’t even scream. You’re gone. Not a person anymore, but a being of pure pleasure. Joel coaxes you through it with a few more thrusts, erratic, uneven, as he reaches his own release. He pulls out of you at the last second, painting your belly with spurts of the thick, warm substance. Your entire body spasms before going limp.

All the fight has been drained out of you. You’re reduced to a panting, throbbing mess on the floor, arousal pooling out of you, coating your inner thighs.

“Did so good for me,” Joel praises, hands cupping your face, left thumb rubbing circles on your cheek. “So fuckin’ good,” he repeats.

You stay still, eyes closed, brain shutting down your functions one by one. As you’re about to drift off, you feel strong arms carrying you to the loft, carefully placing you on the bed, cleaning you off with a soft cloth. He climbs in and embraces you, limbs tangled with yours, and you nuzzle your head in the crook of his neck. His fingers gently brush the hair from your face to plant a kiss on your forehead.

“Sleep tight, darlin’,” he whispers.

It’s so vulnerable it makes your heart ache.

Because you know this’ll all be gone tomorrow, along with the alcohol evaporating from your system.

——————————

You’re right.

The sky is clear by the next morning, harsh sunlight brutally waking you. You’re alone in the bed, shivering, sore, his scent all over your skin. You get dressed, head pounding, filled with excruciating remorse.

Joel is waiting for you by the front door. Glacial. Austere. Haunting. The person that you went to bed with a few hours ago has been torn to shreds. As though he never even existed. Maybe he was a product of your imagination.

And, once you’re outside, standing side by side on the horses, ready for the return trip, Joel utters a sentence that reverberates in your head all the way to Jackson, its echo deafening as you ride in silence.

“What we did. It meant nothing. Understand?”

You keep the tears in until you’re back home.

To read on AO3

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel tlou #the last of us #tlou fanfiction #fanfic #pedro pascal #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #tlou part 2 #send help #fic: wish you were here

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