#when you write as a job you'll have a couple of months to produce a proposal and samples that will sell

[oidheadh-con-culainn]

sometimes people online are like "wow can you believe that people who write professionally and rely on selling books to pay rent will think about the marketability of a book before they dedicate several months to writing it, to make sure it's a worthwhile investment of time and a good step for their career at this particular moment"

and it's like yeah hate to break it to you but it's almost like writing for a job is slightly different to writing as a hobby and sometimes you DO have to weigh up whether it's likely to help you pay the bills before you commit to a project

[malecftw]

Dirt - Tom Blyth

A/N: Duuuuuuuude, I feel like I'm in an alternate universe. Never would I have thought I'd ever be writing again, years later! Please please please let me know what you guys think since this is my first story back. It'll probably play a part in wether or not I'll write more since I obvs love writing, but a writer isn't a writer without readers.

Enjoy xx

Warnings: fluff.

(Not my gif obvs)

The cool breeze of the opening car door makes you smile. The vehicle moves slightly as someone sits in the driver's seat. After some rustling you hear: "Open up." You do as you're told and open your lips slightly, only to feel the cool metal of a reusable straw. A groan escapes your lips as you taste your favorite cooled beverage. By now, he knew all your favorites by heart, just like he knew your dislike for the standard paper straws they've started using everywhere. You're all for saving the planet, but paper should never be sucked on. You lean your head against the headrest as you turn your head towards the driver's seat, even though your eyes could only see black.

"Does this mean you're gonna be my servant all day?" You hear a chuckle. "Don't get used to it hot stuff. You're only blindfolded until we get there." You puckered your lips, "and where is there exactly?" you try again. For months, he's been keeping you in the dark about what he had planned for your birthday. He hyped it up quite a bit so your curiosity only grew as it led you to this moment, literally in the dark about the whole thing. He just kissed your lips and you knew that was the only answer you were gonna get.

The drive was filled with your favorite music, the occasional chatter and regular hand kisses as he held yours in your lap. Although you couldn't see anything, you weren't bored. It was rare that you got to spend much time together, so even this was a treat. You still found it crazy how he had been able to persuade the producers and director to film around your birthday. Well, persuading isn't exactly the right word. He had a few different gigs lined up, so he could basically tell them: "Give me these days off, or I'm going for the other job."

He was always the assertive one in the relationship. Especially when it came to you. Any free moment he could get, he would make sure to capitalize on it just so he could spend it with you. Ever since you guys met at Julliard, you'd been absolutely smitten with eachother.

Your thoughts were interrupted as the car came to a halt. "Slow down tiger." He said, quickly grabbing your hand moving towards the blindfold. "Tooooooom, please..." you whined, squeezing his hand. "You'll find out soon enough, trust me. Now I'm going to come over to your side to help you get out okay. No peeking."

The dramatic sigh that left your lips made him laugh, loving the advantage he had over you. As you play with a loose thread on your jean overall he opens the door. Grabbing your waist, he lifts you out of the Jeep, squeezing your sides in the process.

"Okay, take off your blindfold on my mark." He exclaims, followed by alot of shuffling, making you aware of multiple people present. "Go for it babe." He says loudly, and you do as he says.

The sight infront of you startles you, not at all what you expected. It feels like you're in some kind of national park. Only stones, sand and dirt in sight. If you exclude the group of people infront of you that is.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" Everyone shouts at the same time and you jump back a little in surprise. In front of you are you closest friends, as well as some of Tom's coworkers you'd been lucky enough to get close to. A few Billy The Kid costars were also there, you assumed the others had to keep filming while he had a couple days off.

As you take in the sight, hand over your mouth, still in shock, you notice everyone has a bucket hanging from their wrist. "What the fuck!?!" you shout, happy but confused. Tom walks up to you, takes your hand and walks you closer to the group. He hands you a similar looking bucket, a chisel and a hammer.

"We're going crystal digging." Tom smiles, stretching out his arms proudly as he looks at the scenery. Your heart nearly bursts at the seams as you throw your new equipment to the ground and jump in his arms, clinging onto him like a Koala.

"Tom Blyth, you are the most unrealistically perfect boyfriend ever and I do wonder how I ended up with you." You whisper, looking into his eyes, trying to make him realise how much this means to you.

It's not like you were crystal-obsessed. It's just something you'd been drawn to your entire life. A little quirk one might say. It was a subtle part of your life. One that you had often gotten judged for by previous boyfriends. Tom never spoke negatively about it, it was just a part of who you are and if it made you happy, why would he try to manipulate it out of you like the ones before him. It's not because he himself wasn't that interested in it, that you weren't allowed to be.

"Babe, all I do is listen. It's not rocket science." He smiles as he gives you a little Eskimo kiss. "So humble," you mock swoon as het puts you down. "Oi, don't be jealous if I find the biggest rock okay." He grins while nudging your side. "Not gonna happen. I'm a crystal magnet." You say cockily as you join the group.

After a couple hours, everyone was covered in dust and dirt. Happily you look at your bucket, having found a couple huge, beautiful crystals and a lot of smaller ones. Next to you Tom was also holding his bucket closer to his face to inspect what he found. Your shoulder touches his elbow as you say: "You know what, I might have a couple of them made into some lovely jewelry pieces."

Tom looks at you bewildered. "Like what?" You don't think much of it as you answer. "I don't know. There's some beautiful stones in here for some earrings, necklaces, bracelets... Or maybe I can make some stuff myself you know. Get my creative juices flowing." He sighs softly at your answer. "I love you." At that you raise your eyebrow. Neither you or Tom were shy of expressing your love for eachother, but this was a bit random. "I love you too. I honestly don't think you realise how much this means to me. I never would have guessed this to be the surprise. It's so thoughtful. It truly shows how much you know me through and through." "I'm glad you like it. You're always down to try anything, even if you're not sure about it in the beginning. That's why I feel comfortable trying something new. I'm aware it hasn't been easy now that work's been steady and I've been away from home a lot. And you have no idea how much I appreciate you giving me the freedom to follow my dreams."

He leans down and kisses you passionately. Melting into his touch you stand there for a while looking at the scenery, taking everything in.

*That evening*

"You clean up nicely mr. Blyth." You comment on his attire. He does a little twirl, smirking as he checks you out. "You're not so bad for a little scavenger." You poke his side and sit down in one of the chairs. After you'd said your goodbyes to the rest of the group, Tom had driven you about an hour away from the crystal mine. You knew that wasn't the end of your birthday surprise since he'd told you to also pack some nice evening attire.

Tom had booked an amazing restaurant. The owners went above and beyone to blow your mind, preparing an outdoor table with the best view. After dessert, you both were enjoying some lovely wine and eachother. Catching up after not having seen eachother for a while since you'd only flow in yesterday so you could spend your birthday together.

He absentmindedly played with your fingers as a comfortable silence settled between you two. You felt him rubbing your ring finger and noticed him looking at it. "Looks quite empty doesn't it." He says quite casually. You roll your eyes and jokingly hit his chest. "Don't play that game." You say, smiling widely. You'd talked about marriage before, you both knew you wanted it at some point in your life. Sure some people say it's just a piece of paper, and you couldn't fully disagree, but it also had a deeper meaning to the both of you. The promise of choosing eachother, every day, forever.

He looked into your eyes and shook his head.

"I'm not playing games anymore love."

The way he said it made you shiver. He'd made that joke before, but never with an answer so serious. He leaned back in his chair. "Do you remember, early on in our relationship, that time I forgot my tie for one of the first plays I did at Julliard?" You smile as you think back to that memory. "How could I forget. You were basically a living zombie for 3 weeks leading up to that play."

Tom nodded, back to playing with your fingers.

"I remember I had been so stressed. The character I played was so dull. I struggled so much finding ways to make him more interesting to the audience. And that damn tie. It was so important to me. Silly how something so small could mean so much at the time." "So much that you forgot it at home 3 hours before the play." You humored.

Looking enamoured, he continued.

"And I remember you. You with your make up half done, running towards me in a fucking thunderstorm. And when we met in the middle, you just casually opened your vest, handing over that damn tie."

Laughter exploded from your chest. You were in the middle of getting ready to attend the play when you got the frantic call from Tom. You didn't think twice and started running towards the school, and didn't even realise it was raining until you were running through the streets of New York City, by then it was too late to turn back to dress appropriately for the weather.

The man infront of you smiling, as he relived the same memory.

"That's when I knew."

A questioning look painted your face.

"I knew. Right then and there, that I'd always look for you in the crowd."

Speechless, you squeezed his hand.

He sat up straight in his chair. Taking both of your hands in his.

"I love you. I love the way you still can't use our airfryer, 2 years after we got it. I love your random obsession with knitting and making me wear your handmade sweaters to work. I love home, but only when you're there. I love that you let me be who I truly am and I love that you are fearlessly yourself."

He stood up and kneeled down infront of you, taking out a red, velvet box.

"Please allow me, to fulfill one more dream of mine."

As he opens the box he speaks with shaking voice and tears in his eyes.

"Will you marry me?"

[jermer10]

(I'm new here so if you have done this already, MB) could you write heavy x reader when reader finds heavys clothes and wears them and heavy catches them?? I would like reader to be gender neutral or female and it can lead to NSFW if you want it too 🥴 thank you (ignore if needed) 💛💛💛

TF2 sweater weather | heavy x reader

18+ only, afab reader | i fucking LOVE heavy

drabbles under the cut :P

Every merc had a designated job in order to keep the barracks clean, and yours happened to be the bathrooms. You absolutely hated this job. Ten mercs living under one roof where 90% of you were men? Yeah, those bathrooms were feral, and after having to scrub them clean 2 times a week for months, you were beginning to grow exhausted. So when Medic offered to swap the laundry job with you for a week, you took full advantage of his generosity. You had no idea how much laundry 10 mercs produced in the span of a week. The first night is when you saw Misha's sweater in the dryer. It was massive, the biggest piece of clothing you had ever seen, red and adorned with black stripes and diamonds across the chest. It smelt of washing detergent, the musk of old clothing, and a hint of the lemongrass cologne he had been wearing that hadn't been washed out in the machine.

This wasn't the first time you had seen the sweater, in fact he wore it often during the colder months, but it was the first time you had it in your hands, the first time you were able to smell it up close, the first time you were able to feel the plush fabric scrunched up in your fists. You felt dizzy, face flushing in both embarrassment and lust. Your crush on the older man had not gone unnoticed by him, and his small advances had done nothing to aid the sticky wetness which gathered in your underwear whenever he had gotten too close. You closed your eyes, breathing in the scent of him, hands inching to the waistband of your shorts.

"YO! MEDIC! I NEED SOME UNDERWEAR!" A voice boomed from the entrance to the laundry. You snapped out of your trance, and threw the sweater back into the laundry basket. Scout came swiftly around the corner, towel wrapped around his lanky hips. "Oh! Uhh, hey y/n." He grinned, blush dusting his cheeks. "Hey man, underwear is in the basket. I'm not finished sorting through them yet so you'll have to search for 'em." He nodded, scavenging through the clothes. 'I need to get my shit together, that was so gross..' you thought, the blood rushing to your face once more as you began to toss the dirty clothes into the washing machine.

Night three you had seen the sweater again, and this time it was in the dirty basket. You couldn't help the perverse thoughts, gingerly picking the piece of clothing and setting it aside. You figured you could get a couple of loads on before washing it with the last of the clothing, then you would have adequate time to...do what you needed. It was dirty, the way you continued to glance over at it even after you had resigned yourself to doing your job. You needed to smell it, the blood entrenched in the fibers of the fabric, the lemongrass stench that you could pick up from across the spacious room, the smell of Heavy, his natural odor alone set you off.

"Fuck," You breathed out, feeing your fingers slide into your pants as you held the sweater to your face. You could cum there and then, imagining him as the person touching you. It wasn't enough, you needed to wear the sweater. You needed to feel him wrapped around you. It slid over your head with ease, the sleeves far too large, the bottom hem of the sweater reaching well below your knees. You came hard, muffled noises of moans as you shoved your face into the bunched up fabric. "What the fuck is wrong with me?" You clasped your face in your hands.

It was Sunday, the final day of washing clothes before you would have to go back to the bathrooms. The week had been slow, and you were certain Misha had picked up the change in your behavior. You were skittish, face red whenever you saw him, and whenever you saw him swearing that god forsaken sweater you couldn't even bare to stay in the same room as him for longer than a minute. That fucking sweater. Sitting clean, in the dryer, waiting, no, begging, for you to put it on. You obliged, slipping into the cloth eagerly. You stood there for a moment, smelling the fabric, taking it in. This was the last time you would get to do this. The last- "What are you doing?" You heard the thick Russian accent of the man behind you before you even heard what he had said.

You couldn't even look at him. You didn't have to, you could hear his menacing footsteps walk up to you, and then you felt his large hands grasp your hips. You couldn't help but gasp at the sensation. "Heavy has been waiting for opportunity like this. This is why you have been so scared of Heavy hmm?" His tone was hot, heavy, and laced with false concern. "Uhh, yeah I guess." You mumbled awkwardly. He laughed, a deep, hearty laugh that made your knees weak and your eyes squeeze close. "Come, little голубь." You felt yourself being lifted into the air and placed on the folding bench in front of the machines.

Heavy stripped your shorts from you, leaving no time for you to process his actions before your bottom half was completely naked. "Heavy came here to talk, but fucking you will get point across much quicker." He grinned, a lovestruck, sadistic grin. If you had been wet before, you were soaked now. He knelt down face lined up with your sobbing pussy, his tongue prodding at your entrance before his mouth absorbed your sex. "Ohhhhh fuuuuuuckkkkk" The moan drawls from your throat, its raw and guttural. Your body writhes and shakes under his gentle touch.

His tongue snakes it's way onto your clit, gently sucking and prodding at it with his lips. You're getting close, your fingers gripped onto his face, pulling him in closer, begging for release. He pulls away, and before you can produce a whine of protest, he pushes his index finger into you. It's enough to stretch you, to fill you up completely. He thrusts his finger in twice, placing his mouth back onto your pussy, and you cum hard. He pulls away licking his fingers clean, you're a heaving whining mess. "Wear Heavy's clothes more often." He states simply, standing up and smacking your ass before kissing you passionately and walking out. You should swap jobs with Medic more often.

[from-the-clouds]

bad liars (savior complex ii) - joel miller x f!reader

part one | masterlist | song inspo |

Baby, you're a vampire You want blood and I promised...

summary: It's been a month since Joel has last seen you, fully healed since your last interaction. But you haven't spoken...at all. Your radio silence becomes cause for concern when he hears about an outbreak of Infected at the hospital where you work. There's enough explanation in this part that you could read it on it's own, probably, but I'd highly recommend reading part one first to get the full experience. pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 7.9k warnings: SMUT - 18+ ONLY, minors DNI. (porn w/ plot, unprotected sex, oral, rough sex, dirty talk, praise kink, age gap. dom/sub dynamics.) Heavy angst, multiple POVs, implied drug abuse, alcohol use, canon-typical suffering! Blood mention. Both reader/Joel are insanely emotionally unavailable, and love to lie to themselves and each other! (please dm for specifics if you have any questions). a/n: Ya'll loved savior complex and I'm so happy! Literally don't think I've had a fic get that many notes before, i had so many requests for a part two and because it felt like i left things open-ended enough, this came to me pretty easily! It might be the horniest thing I've ever written and also very angsty (what's new?)....but I think you'll like the ending <3 Special to @ay0nha for letting me yell at you about my writing and to @zbeez-outlet for the wonderful idea.

Joel exhales and runs his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair – the tips of which were frozen together from standing outside for so long. It had gotten cold out. Very cold. Boston always did this time of year, and because of it, people stayed in, and crime in the QZ dropped, making it a safer place - though that wasn’t saying much. 

Of course, the cold didn’t stop him from dealing. It did make his job a hell of a lot more difficult, since FEDRA was bored, out looking for trouble, and didn’t have more pressing matters to attend to. Although today, he must’ve been in luck, because the only sign of FEDRA had been helicopters and tanks that were clearly on a mission, driving to the opposite side of the QZ. Good, he had thought. A distraction. 

Joel leans back against the brick wall of the alleyway, pulling the hood of his jacket up over his ears, stares at the ice in the cracks of the pavement. When he hears the crunch of gravel underfoot, he straightens.

The man approaching looks nervously over his shoulder, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his flimsy sweatshirt. Dave, a customer of his for some time. 

“You’re late,” Joel doesn’t bother with a proper greeting.

“I know, I know, I got held up on my way here,” Dave answers, immediately beginning his excuse. “They cleared out the hospital because of an outbreak, that whole area was locked down so I had to take the long way.”

“Outbreak?” Joel tilts his head.

“Infected. I guess a bunch of hospital staff got bit. FEDRA had to go in and put them all down.” 

Joel feels a distant pang of concern somewhere in the back of his head. “How many?”

Dave shrugs, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t know, man, that’s all I know. It’s not like they’ll ever tell anyone what actually happened.”

Joel can’t help but think of you. He knows a couple people who work at the hospital, most of them through smuggling, but you’re the only one who he’s really able to bring to mind at the moment.

“So, can we, uh…”

Joel pulls the plastic baggie out from his pockets, fishing out the pills. On his end, Dave produces a wad of credits, his shoulders sagging in relief once they’ve made the trade and the drugs are in his hand. He takes one immediately, shoves the rest in his pocket. “Thanks man, I’ll see you next week?”

Leaning back against the wall, he nods, and watches his customer disappear down the alleyway. 

The second Dave is out of sight, Joel’s chest tightens, and he takes a deep breath. There’s no reason why news of Infected at the hospital should concern him. If FEDRA had been called in – they would’ve gunned down anything that moved until it was under control. He knew, better than anyone, that they would do unspeakable things in the name of keeping order. Innocent people probably died, but the dead can’t get infected.

It had been about a month since Joel had last seen you, after he’d gotten beaten within an inch of his life and ended up on your doorstep, and you were the only person that could help. It hadn’t gone at all how he expected it would – at the end of the day, he had been surprised by your tenderness. 

Still, despite that you’d let him take you on the edge of your bed, legs wrapped around him, bouncing on his cock, he wouldn’t really say that it changed anything about your relationship. He had actually been kind of afraid that it would, that your attitude towards him would shift to something more amicable.

But you hadn’t spoken to him in a month. Joel had told you he owed you one after you stitched him up, and had anticipated that you’d take him up on his offer pretty quickly. There were so many things he could do for you to make your situation better. Maybe you’d need credits…. Medicine…. Food…. Booze… Pills, something, but you haven’t reached out. You could just be biding your time until you really need the favor.

Still, the radio silence takes him aback. He should be relieved that you aren’t talking to him. But nothing? Even if it’s not about a favor…he wants some kind of confirmation that you’d both made a mistake. After all that, did you really expect nothing from him?

It dawns on him there’s now a chance you’ll never speak to him again, because you’re one of the ones that FEDRA killed. Or worse….you had gotten bit. 

Joel passes by the hospital, taking the long way home. Everything is locked down, taped off. There’s a crowd around the place – family members, he assumes, pleading with FEDRA agents for information and getting nothing in return.

“Go home. I’m sure they’ll turn up,” he hears one of them say to a weeping woman. It’s useless to ask for an honest answer, for one of them to actually care. 

Joel could go home. He could crush a couple pills, snort them, and quell the burn with a couple drinks. He could fall into restless sleep and wake up the next day as he always did, go about his business as usual. Survive. One day at a time. 

Would he ever get confirmation that you’re alive? Because at this rate, he’s not sure he’ll ever know either way. 

The feeling is going to linger. He hates it. Were you gone? If you are, he can handle knowing. Its somehow worse not to. 

He tries to justify it to himself. You’re one of his solid connections to the hospital, you’d traded with him for medical supplies before. This is business, really, if he thinks about it that way. If you’re dead, he and Tess need to find someone else to work with. 

Joel decides to take a detour on the way back to his place.

It’s past curfew when he arrives at your apartment, the sun has long since dipped below the horizon and with that comes an even harsher cold. Boston winters, he thinks to himself. If he is capable of missing anything, he’d say he missed Texas. Before all this, the last place he’d be caught dead was on the East Coast. 

Joel raps on your front door. He forgets how shitty your building is, that you sleep here alone every night, listening to your neighbors arguing through the thin walls, shady characters slinking out of shadows in the dimly-lit hallway,

A few seconds pass. When he hears nothing behind your door, he knocks again, a little louder. 

More time passes. He knocks again, louder. Maybe you didn’t hear him. 

Nothing. He does it again. Could you be asleep? His jaw clenches.

Still nothing, and Joel knocks even louder. Maybe you’re not even here, and you work nights, and he’s just missed you as you head out for another shift. But he knows that’s unlikely. Since he’s known you, you’ve never worked nights. So where the fuck were you?

Joel’s pounds on your door, yells your name into its chipping paint. He listens for something, anything, on the other side, and there’s nothing, absolutely nothing, but he keeps going The side of his fist starts to hurt, but he can’t stop himself. He doesn’t even realize what he’s doing until he hears one of your neighbors yelling from the end of the hallway. 

‘Shut the fuck up!’

Joel doesn’t hear exactly where the voice comes from, but it’s enough to snap him out of it. He halts his movements, his forehead falling against hollow wood, and in the silence, hears his heart pounding in his ears. 

“Fuck!” he kicks the wall just outside the frame of your door so hard the drywall gives, leaving a hole behind. “Fuck.”

He stares at the result of his outburst for an undetermined amount of time. You were all alone. To his knowledge, you had no immediate family to inform. Who would be around to remember you? He’d never really know for sure what had happened. 

“Joel?”

He looks up, his hands still clenched tightly into fists. When he sees that it’s you, standing at the end of the hallway, they loosen. 

You look horrible - haggard, tired, your hair tangled and matted. As you move closer to him, he doesn’t miss the way your shoulders are hunched underneath the weight of your backpack. But once you’re standing in front of him, you straighten, lift your chin. 

“What is this?” you ask. “What are you doing here?”

There’s no animosity in your tone, he thinks. You might be trying to put some in there, but you don’t have the energy to do so, so it just comes out sounding very flat.

Joel realizes, suddenly, that he doesn’t have a reason. A real reason that wouldn’t….give him away. He puts his hands on his hips, thinks desperately. You do nothing to help.

When he settles in silence, offers you nothing, you just sigh and shake your head. Your teeth are chattering, lips cracked from the cold, and you seem desperate to get into shelter, twisting your key into your lock and opening the front door. Once you step inside, you flick on the lights. He follows you, closes the door behind you both, and locks it.

“Oh, yeah, come on in, I guess,” you say over your shoulder. 

Joel crosses his arms, standing in your kitchen. 

“What, am I in trouble or something?” you ask. “Because if I am, you’re gonna have to wait until I’ve showered.”

“It can wait,” Joel says, and sits at one of your kitchen chairs. 

You shrug off of your backpack and leave it on a chair, then unbutton your coat, tossing it on top. Joel swallows hard when he sees the damage it’s been hiding. Your scrubs are dirty, tattered in some places, one of the sleeves hanging, partially ripped off. And they’re covered in dried blood. It’s smeared on your arms, on the back of your neck. Not yours, he hopes. 

What the fuck happened to you? You don’t turn to see his reaction, don’t look over your shoulder to see if he’s going to ask about it. It’s almost like he’s not even there, and you clearly wish he isn’t. 

He realizes then, that he has the confirmation he’s looking for. You made it out alive. He doesn’t actually need anything else from you. And you’ve given him a perfect out. He can leave while you’re in the shower. 

But he doesn’t. Not when he hears the shower start, or the screech of the curtain across the metal rod, the sound of water hitting the basin. He stays there, motionless, until you duck out of the bathroom with your arms wrapped around yourself, wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants, hair damp and teeth chattering. 

You pad with bare feet onto the tiled area of the kitchen, brushing past him. 

“What the fuck happened to you?” he asks. 

You finally look at him, like you’re surprised he spoke up, or even asked the question. A choked, bitter laugh leaves you, and you shift your attention away from him, reaching into your cabinet for a bottle of bourbon. “Pass.”

You pour yourself a whiskey, and Joel watches you throw it back in one go, your nose scrunching up, your hand clasping into a fist as you take the shot. The taste doesn’t stop you from pouring another drink and gulping that one down, too, without as much of a reaction as the first. It’s only when you start pouring the third that he intervenes, standing and crossing the room to cover the glass with his hand before you can grab it. 

“Slow down,” he says.

“I know you’re not telling me what to do in my own home.” Your mouth opens as you look up at him, incredulous. 

Joel looks past you, shakes his head. He supposes your right, but it doesn’t make it any easier to watch the self-destructive behavior, which is funny considering how often he engages in it himself. He gives in, removes his hand from your glass. “At least…pour me one. You shouldn’t drink alone.”

Your expression softens slightly, and he’s able to see all the pain you’re hiding, just for a flash, before you turn to retrieve a second glass from your cabinet. 

Once you hand him the whiskey, he sits in the middle of the tiny loveseat you’ve got in your front room, expecting you to sit in the armchair across from it. Instead, you approach with your own drink, nudge his knee with your own, and Joel slides over to make room so you can fall onto the couch beside him. Much closer than he’d expected. 

It’s surprisingly good bourbon, and he wonders how many times you’d wasted it by downing it like you just had, instead of taking your time, savoring. He waits for you to get settled before he speaks again.

“What happened to you?” he tries once more, a little softer this time. 

There’s some contemplation on your end, you look at him for a moment, then at your glass, then back up at him again. He can almost see you trying to figure out how much you’re going to share, but he wants to know everything.

“There was an accident at the hospital,” you answer, finally. 

Joel slings his arm over the back of the couch, angles his body towards where you’re curled up, legs tucked underneath you. I’m listening.

Your voice stays even, blase. “A guard at the border broke protocol…and someone who was infected was brought in. By the time we realized, it was too late….”

“Were you hurt?” 

“Almost.” you say. “I mean, yes, actually, I’m a little scratched up, but…it’s not as bad as it could’ve been.”

Your teeth start chattering again. Joel wonders if it’s because of the cold, or your nerves. Figures it’s probably both.

“My coworker turned and I uhm….I had to…” you say into your glass, your free hand flexing like it’s trying to shake off some unpleasant muscle memory. “I had no choice.”

“I understand,” For whatever reason, he spares you from telling the story. To him, taking down Infected was nothing. But to you…“What else?” he presses.

You shrug, avoiding his eyes, one of your arms coming to grip at your opposite shoulder. “I can’t really remember. A bunch of people died. FEDRA came in and just started gunning everything down….” you shook your head, and straightened up.

“I heard about that,” Joel offers.

“Wait…you knew about this?”

“Yeah.”

“So then why are you here, asking m-” the rest of your sentence drops off, your lips parted slightly. The look on your face shifts, slowly. Your eyes narrow. Remorse turns into something more neutral, then into curiosity. “Oh my god….you were worried about me.”

“No.”

“Yes, you fucking were,” your lips curl slightly, it’s not quite a smile, but it’s something close to amusement. 

“No,” Joel defends himself. “I wanted to hear what happened from someone–”

“No you didn’t,” you interject, but he raises his voice to finish his thought.

“–who actually works there, not FEDRA’s propaganda.”

“No you did not. You’re checking up on me. You came over here after curfew to see if I was–”

“Enough,” Joel growls with enough conviction that it shuts you up, and he’s grateful, but its not enough to wipe the self-satisfied look on your face, because it doesn’t.

“What are we, like, friends now?”

He doesn’t answer, and slugs back the rest of his whiskey.

“Or would that be too much for you?” You don’t wait long for him to give you an answer, probably because you know he won’t respond. “I mean, if we’re both being honest–” He definitely wasn’t being honest. “–Today was really fucked up.”

You’re leaning forward now, some of the space between you is gone. And though you’re trying to give the impression that you’re unphased by everything, your hand is clenched tightly around your glass, and you avoid his eyes. It’s painful to watch you resist the urge to trust him. Not that he’s ever given you a good enough reason to – he knows he doesn’t deserve it, but he wants it anyways.

“It’s funny…” you say after a while. “I remember thinking that I didn’t want to die. At least… not like that. I’ve never felt that before…That’s something, isn’t it?” you ask him. 

Joel looks at you, and is surprised at the vulnerability in your expression, sees you looking for some kind of validation from him. “....It is.” 

You finish off your drink, and put the empty glass on the coffee table, shift closer to him.

“It looks like you healed up okay,” you say, after a spell. “How’s your shoulder?”

“A little sore, nothing I can’t handle.”

“Did you take those antibiotics?”

“Yes.”

“Good. And I can’t even tell you had a black eye.”

“I’m fine,” Joel asserts. 

Another shiver wracks your body, and he can tell this one is actually from the chill – your apartment is cold as fuck, it even is starting to bother him. 

“Don’t you have a heater?”

“Kinda,” you glance over at the radiator in the corner. “Sometimes it works.”

“What do you do when it’s colder than this?” It was only November, things would only get worse. 

You shrug. “I don’t know….just be colder, I guess.”

Joel imagines you curled up in your bed alone, wrapped in a thin comforter, shaking in front of him like you are now. He winces. 

“How long are you going to stay?” you ask, changing the subject.

“I should probably go now.”

You nod, scoot closer. “But maybe…” you trail off, contemplating. 

Joel sits up straighter, prompting you when you don’t speak again. “Maybe what?”

“Maybe you could stick around for a little while longer.” There’s a warm hand, yours, that lands on his thigh, and he recoils like you’ve touched him with a fire iron. He rises to his feet. 

“Hey,” you stand along with him, step in front of him to block the pathway to the door. He could easily get past you, obviously, but it’s not as simple as that. 

Of course he’s fucking thought about what happened the last time he was here – his arms around your waist, his mouth on your neck, your chest, your hands on his shoulders, whining his name. A freak accident, a glitch in the matrix, a statistically improbable thing. 

“What?” he asks as you step forward, the fingers on your free hand sliding into the belt loops of his pants. He feels blood rush to his cheeks, to other places. And you’re still fucking shivering. You look so fucking miserable, he wants to yell at you to put on a coat, to wrap yourself in a blanket, in his arms. 

“Joel,” you say his name softly, tilting your head up, leaning close. And then your hand is on the side of his face, and he realizes you’re fucking pleading with him. He knows what you want, but he has a feeling this isn’t just about sex. You’re looking for comfort, as if he’s capable of giving it. 

“We made a mistake…once,” he tells you. “We’re not going to make it again.”

He says it to hurt you, but it doesn’t work. It’s like you knew it was coming all along. “I knew what I was doing,” you answer, earnest. “Didn’t you?”

Yes. You glance down at his hands, which are squeezed into fists so tightly, his knuckles are white. If he’s not rigid, he’s not sure how he’ll be able to resist. He wants you. God, he wants you. He never thought he’d be able to have you again. 

“I could help you loosen up.”

Joel’s walking on the edge of a one-thousand foot cliff and hoping his foot slips. He wants to surrender. The only thing he thinks might save him is to say the meanest thing he can. Maybe you’d get turned off.

“Listen to yourself,” he says, finding the strength to meet your eyes. “You want me so bad, you sound pathetic.”

“Asshole,” you step closer, your mouth twitches, your lips are inches apart. “Do you think I care what you think about me?”

Joel realizes his plan has backfired. But he really only has himself to blame, he should’ve known better. With you, he’s never in as much control as he wants to be, and deep down, he likes it. 

“Go lie down on the bed.”

It’s the only thing that seems to shock you. “What?” 

“I won’t ask you again,” Joel steps backwards, crosses his arms. “Go lie down.” 

──────

If you told yourself a couple months ago that one day you’d find yourself pinned down by Joel Miller, you’d think it’d be because he was about to kill you. Maybe because you cheated him out of something, maybe because you did something else to piss him off – it didn’t really matter. Regardless of how fucked up it was, that idea would seem more dignified than what was happening now. 

Your back is being pressed deeper into the lumpy old mattress, and he’s on you. His mouth is warm, hot, wet, and dragging down your neck, nipping, sucking, licking. Your hands are itching to reach out, to skate down his torso, trace along his jawline, tug at his hair, but you can’t because he’s got them pinned above you with only one of his own. Anytime you try to fight him, his grip only grows stronger. 

It was shameful, really, but you had asked for this – begged for it, basically. There were a number of reasons why – one of which was to blow off some steam after a near death experience, the other because you’d fucked him before and it had been good, much to your dismay. There was also a third reason that you weren’t interested in acknowledging now. 

After the night Joel had gotten jumped, and you’d taken care of him, everything has changed. It’s a cliche, but true. You’d known what you were doing when it happened, and had no regrets. But it was probably not supposed to happen again, and you tried to keep it that way, more for his sake than anyone else’s. But….he was the one who showed up tonight after he’d heard what had happened. It wasn’t nothing.

Joel pulls away from you so abruptly that you gasp, shivering in the wake of his impossible warmth. 

“Sit up,” he instructs, and you turn to find him at the end of the bed, arms crossed. 

You obey, mostly just for the view. You hope to admire him, fresh from kissing you – flush skin, wet lips, tousled hair. Only he’s frustratingly stoic, unsullied – like he hadn’t been touching you at all. 

“Look at me,” he says, and you do. 

“This doesn’t mean anything.”

“It’s nothing,” you agree. 

“I won’t be gentle.”

“I don’t want you to be gentle.”

“Good,” you watch his shoulders loosen, just a little, and he takes one step backwards, his eyes tracing down your body and then back up. “Strip for me….” 

You aren’t dressed sexy at all, you remember, a sweatshirt and sweatpants. If you had thought this through a little more, you might’ve tried to make it nicer for him. “....Okay.”

“Start with your shirt,” he says, and you grab at the hem, but he snaps at you. “Ah-ah….slower.”

You swallow, nod, and carefully lift the fabric, dragging it up over your stomach, over the swell of your breasts, revealing your tight, thin white tank top. 

“That’s it, nice and slow.” 

Joel’s voice is soft but stern, a low rasp that makes your cunt clench around nothing, and he’s not even touching you. The sweatshirt is pulled over your head, falling somewhere on the crumpled bedspread. 

Languidly, you lean back, shifting your weight to get off the mattress, and Joel palms himself through his jeans. You can see where he’s straining against the denim, and you find it hard to tear your gaze away as you go to pull off your sweatpants. Joel stops you again. 

“Turn around.”

You do, and you’re sure he has a nice view of your ass as you slide them over your hips, bending over to let the fleece pool around your ankles. Slowly, you rise back up, looking at him over your shoulder for approval. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs. Your stomach flips. A month ago, you would’ve done anything to get him to stay away from you, and now, you’re terrified to disappoint him. 

That’s the problem. You’d spent most of the day fighting for your life — literally. But even after standing behind a barricade of heavily-armed FEDRA soldiers outside the hospital, you didn’t feel as safe as you did when you saw Joel at your door. You need him. For now, at least.

“Now the shirt,” he tilts his head towards the mattress, nodding encouragingly.

You get back on the bed, sitting back on your heels, and begin to pull the tank top up. It’s your last layer up top, you’re not wearing a bra, and you’re feeling a little vulnerable with him just watching you, fully clothed and composed, your gaze falling down to look at the threadbare linens. 

“Eyes up,” he instructs. “Look at me.”

Taking in a shaky inhale, you do. It’s not easy. Everything about him looks dark, animalistic. A coiled ball of energy, waiting to pounce.

But, even when you’re bare before him, he doesn’t. 

“Lie back, close your eyes.”

Of course, you don’t refuse, settling your head against the pillows. 

There’s a sound of a belt – his belt, unbuckling, the snap of a button, the dip of the bed where he kneels when he comes to hover over you. Two hands land on top of your thighs, pressing the backs against his denim-clad knees, thumbs pushing your legs further apart. 

And then…nothing. He’s still. He’s still for so long, that you actually think that something’s wrong. When you open your eyes, you’re met with a view of the underside of his jaw. You can just make out the pinched expression he’s wearing as he looks down upon you. Disdain, maybe…but it’s not meant for you, it’s for someone else….him.

“Joel,” you murmur. Instinctually, you reach for his hand.

The second it makes contact, he smacks your hand away so hard your whole body jolts. “I told you to close your eyes.”

“Sorry,” you mumble quickly, closing them again. 

You are well aware that he’s actively working through shit, probably doing some kind of mental gymnastics to rationalize why it’s okay to fuck you again, which, when you really think about it is kind of….pathetic. It’s the only thing that makes you feel any sort of power in a situation where you’ll surrender everything else. It’s a fair exchange. 

Maybe, on a different day, you would want it softer. You’d like to think he’s capable of that, even though he seems determined he isn’t. Luckily, you don’t want it softer. After today, you want to be so far gone you can’t think. 

Joel answers by leaning down and catching you in a bruising kiss. Finally. You press yourself against him cause you’re freezing and he’s so warm, and you frantically begin to unbutton the flannel he’s wearing, making it about halfway down before he pins your hands above you again.

“Slow down.”

You whine, a little frustrated because all you want to do is touch him. The fingers on his free hand hook around the elastic of your underwear, and he starts to drag them over the curve of your ass. 

He’s got to be joking with how deliberately he’s moving, anticipation only building underneath his featherlight touches.

When he’s got your panties around your ankles, you slide your legs together so he can pull them off entirely, keeping them closed as his weight shifts, and your thighs are pulled back apart.

“You’re already so wet for me,” he doesn’t need to feel you to see it clear as day, with you spread open in front of him. “So fucking desperate.”

He’s all-but glaring at you, like you’ve done something wrong, and for a minute, your eyes flick away, just for a second of relief from the tension.

“What, are you embarrassed?” he asks. 

“N-no,” you stammer, though it was supposed to sound confident. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t press you, his head dipping down to press his lips to your knee, then an inch higher, then an inch higher, then higher – keeping his eyes locked on yours the whole time, an arm winding around your thigh.

“I wanted to do this last time.” A confession. 

“Yeah?” you sigh, trembling. It’s maybe the nicest thing he’s said to you, but you can’t even acknowledge it, because you’re buzzing.

He turns his face, his beard scraping along sensitive skin. “Mhm,” his deep rasp vibrates directly to your cunt, and when his head dips down, you close your eyes – it might just be better to focus on only one sensation at a time, you’re not sure you can handle seeing what he’s about to do.

Joel’s mouth is on you the second you do, and you gasp. He licks up the seam of your lips, mouth latching around your clit, swirling with his tongue, and back down – firm, determined, practiced. You try to buck up, but he has an arm locked around your hips. 

He removes himself from you just enough to utter two words. “Stay still.”

You want to protest, but you realize that he’s let go of your hands, and it gives you the opportunity to thread your fingers into his hair, while you dig your heels into the broad expanse of his back, and he groans, tongue curling into you. 

“I’ve thought about this,” you gasp, answering his earlier admission.

“When?”

“At night. More than once.”

“Fuck,” Joel growls, and you wheeze when he works one finger into you, forcing you to take it along with his next words. “You know how fuckin’ bad that is? Dreamin’ about a man nearly twice your age?”

“I d-don’t care, I want you anyway. Y-you can do whatever you want to me,” It’s too early to be past the point of speaking coherently, it really is, but you’re already there. 

“F-fuck,” Joel repeats himself, and pushes another finger inside you next to the first, the stretch almost uncomfortable, but quickly fading to pleasure. “I’m going to.”

You’re not the going to tell him, though, that he’s the first man whose ever gone down on you, because you’re a little fucking scared for some reason. It’s intimate, very intimate, more than you expected. 

The truth is, you weren’t actually very experienced at all. You could count on one hand the number of partners you’d had, and still not use all of your fingers. While some of them were good enough, they all paled in comparison to Joel. There had never been anyone like Joel. 

His fingers curl as his tongue swirls around your clit and you cry out, inhale sharply. Minute by minute, you’re getting wetter and wetter – can hear yourself with each twist of his fingers inside you, bearing down on him. 

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he grunts, and your eyes flutter open just for a second, just to see his forehead, dark eyes staring back at you, and his hips dipping, rutting against the mattress. God he’s getting himself off to this. As hot as it is, the thought of not getting to feel him inside you causes a rush of anger. 

“F-feels so good,” you’re right there, already, and it’s pitiful.

“I know, baby, I know,” he says. “You’re already so close, aren’t you?”

Instead of answering, you just nod, gasping. Joel works you right up to the precipice, hands tightening in his hair, hips lifting off the bed – and then he slows a little –  just enough – to pull you back off the edge, and you let out a humiliating sob.

“Shhh!” he hisses with his mouth still on you, resuming the steady pace he had going. A little sigh of relief when you feel your release approaching again. He just lost his rhythm for a moment, it was nothing.

Again, he’s got you right there, you’re so close, hips jerking, breathing in short, sharp pants, something molten working its way up your spine. “Joel, that’s it, please I-”

He falters again – just enough. And it’s gone again.

You realize, with dismay, that he knows exactly what he’s doing. He hadn’t lost his rhythm. He’s doing this on purpose. 

If someone asked – not that anyone would – you wouldn’t be able to recall how long he keeps you in that state, being dragged and dangled, but denied the privilege of falling. It’s torture. 

And at first, you try to be patient. You figure he’ll grow tired, desperate, and eventually want to move on. But apparently, he doesn’t want to move on. He’s content to keep you this way for as long as he sees fit, and you can’t handle it any longer. It’s starting to hurt.

“Please, Joel, let me-” you gasp.

“Let you what?” he pulls back from you, frustratingly too soon, once again.

“Let me come, please, I’ll do anything, I’ll be good, please, please-”

“Just a little longer,” he dismisses you.

All you can do is pant and writhe, completely at his mercy. He keeps going like that, and you’ve stopped trying to filter yourself, the sounds he makes as he laves at you are obscene, you can see yourself glistening on his chin, and can feel the sheets damp beneath you. At this point, he’s enjoying this more than you are.

“Joel,” you plead with him again. “It’s too much, I c-can’t. Just, please I really need-”

“You wanna come for me, baby?” he asks. You nod ferociously. 

“Yes, please, please,” 

“You’re so fucking sweet when you beg, you know that? ” he murmurs. “Wish you were like this all the time.”

“Fuck off,” you manage, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. You should do this to me more often. 

Joel chuckles, and it vibrates just right, his fingers curling again and you moan, hands tightening in his hair. He’s focused now, you can tell because the constant stream of filth he’s been whispering has finally stopped. He’s persistent.

You’re unable to stay quiet, continuing to whimper just like that and please don’t stop over and over. And then all at once, every muscle in your body grows tense and you cry out, cunt pulsing around him so tightly that his fingers slow. “There you go, pretty girl, that’s it.” 

You whisper his name as he continues to fuck his fingers into you, riding you through your orgasm and licking up the mess you’ve made. 

At some point in the aftermath, Joel withdraws from you, and you hear the sting of his zipper. It takes a moment, but you’re able to see him through heavily lidded eyes, kneeling in front of you with his shirt unbuttoned all the way, pants around his ankles, jerking himself slowly in his hand. God he’s fucking huge, how had you forgotten about that? He’s a vision, beard still wet with you, looking down, watching your chest rise and fall. In that moment you realize two things. One, even though you’ve already come, you somehow want him even more than you had before, and two, you’ve never wanted to suck a dick so bad in your life. 

So you sit up, crawl towards him, and reach out with one hand to take him in your palm. He lets you, sighing, closing down his eyes. First, you have to kiss him, so you rise to your knees, and he pulls you into his arms, one of them winding around your waist, the other coming to rest at the small of your back. “You take such good care of me,” you whisper. 

He grimaces at the words like they’re an insult. You expect him to retaliate, to tell you that you shouldn’t say that sort of thing, but he never does. So you kiss him, gently, bringing your free hand to the side of his face. Once again, he lets you, and you taste yourself when his tongue presses into you mouth. You run your thumb over the head of his cock, and he hums against your touch, almost contentedly.

You’re doing whatever you want to him, and you’re shocked he hasn’t put a stop to it. It could be satisfying enough, you think, just to keep kissing him like this. Still, you sink back towards the bed to test things further. You’re about to wrap your mouth around him, but he pulls you off by your hair, so quickly, so hard that you yelp.

“No.” he says firmly. “Lie back.”

“But I just wanted to-”  

“No.” 

You consider trying to reason with him, but decide it won’t be worth whatever he’d do if you continue to argue.

Joel braces himself with one hand above your shoulder, the other wrapped around his cock, slowly teasing you by rubbing himself up and down a few times, before he gives in, finally pushing into you.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp at the stretch, reaching out grasp at his bicep, arching your back. He’d prepped you, and it was still too much. 

“You can take it,” he says, pressing deeper into you. His hips are all the way flush with yours, he’s to the hilt, and he still snaps them even further, once, holding you there, so deep, you feel like you’re choking on him. “See? There you go.”

It seems like you can’t quite catch your breath, and you squirm underneath him for some kind of friction, some kind of relief from how intense it all is. You can feel him throbbing inside you, feel how badly his own body is begging him to move, but he doesn’t. 

“Joel,” you cradle the back of his head, look him in the eyes. “Move, please.”

He doesn’t answer, he just brings his hand to grip your jaw, his thumb and forefinger pressing into the soft flesh of your cheeks. 

“Please?” you murmur again, and his thumb slips into your mouth, silencing you. You suck on it obediently, and after you do, he finally gives you what you want.

──────

Joel told you he wouldn’t be gentle, and he isn’t. 

He hadn’t been able to do this last time. Taste you, spread you open, fuck you properly. His hips snap against yours – ferociously, unrelenting, over and over. You’ve been going at it for awhile now, and he actually wants you to break. He wants you to tell him to slow down, to be a little more tender, not press into you so deep, so hard, so that if he listens, it wouldn’t mean he’s breaking his own promise. He’s got to be rough with you, because he’s afraid of what could happen if he’s not.

But you don’t break. You fucking take it, take him, each time, again and again, your nails digging into arms, your legs locked around his hips. Each time he delves into you, you’re getting wetter and wetter, and yet, you’re still so fucking tight. He doesn’t understand it. It’s been a long fucking time since he’s been with a woman like you – and you might be the best he’s ever had. 

You’re not even making any noise – you’re just panting, gasping in Joel’s ear as you cling to him, and that’s all. He can’t even look you in the eyes. If he does, he knows you’ll see everything that’s wrong with him, and still beg for him to give you more. 

Two hands land on either side of his face, turning his head so you can kiss him. Despite how he’s treating you, you keep trying to connect, to ground yourself. For as much as he wants to refuse, it feels too cruel to deny you. He lets you lock your lips with his own, feels your cunt clutch him even tighter. It’s impossible for you to kiss for more than a few seconds at a time without it getting broken up by a whimper here and there. You’re getting close again, he’s started to get better at recognizing it.

“You’re fucking so perfect on me, baby, you feel that?” he asks, and you nod, breathless. “Taking me so well, such a good fucking girl-”

A gasp from you cuts him off, your eyes squeezing shut as you are taken over by your climax. Joel groans and does everything he can not to come when you start pulsing around him, holding him closer, since there’s nothing else to do. It’s way too intimate…because it’s missionary, and he should’ve known better than to start off like this. 

Pulling out of you is the hardest thing he’s had to do in a while, and he ignores your noises of protest now that he’s left you empty. Then, he flips you onto your stomach. He takes a moment to admire the curve of your ass, how it dips into your waist….to him, your body is perfect, and you’re young, your skin still supple and smooth. There are still places he hasn’t gotten his mouth on, and it’s a shame, he thinks, but tonight his patience is wearing thin. Joel pulls you back until you’re on your knees, and slides back inside. There’s a little resistance, you whimper, but it’s easier than the first time. He wraps an arm around your waist, the other across your chest, and starts to jerk his hips upwards, into you. 

“Oh fuck, Joel,” you sigh in relief.

“I know, I know.”

You drop your head back until it falls against his shoulder, winding your arm back so you can pull at his hair, which kind of fucking hurts, but he likes it. 

Ultimately, you’re pretty easy to please, and it’s not long before he feels the telltale flutter of your walls as you drip down over him, soaking his lap. 

“You’re making a fucking mess, baby. You gonna come for me again?”

All you can do is plead with him. “I can’t, Joel. I can’t do it again, please just-”

“Yes, you can,” he interjects. “I know you can, baby, don’t worry…I’ll help you.”

“O-okay.’ 

He slows the roll of his hips just a little, focuses on deeper, longer strokes, and lets the hand that’s currently squeezing one of your tits fall to where your bodies are joined, finding your clit immediately.

You whine, arching back against him, the swell of your ass packed against his lower stomach. He sees a single tear leaking from the corner of your eye and feels a little guilty for what he’s doing to you. Only a little, though. 

Without any warning, for the third time, you’re coming around him – easier than the last time, like always – and he uses the feeling of you throbbing around him to chase his own release, his hand clapping over your mouth to muffle your moans as he becomes increasingly frantic. 

He turns his head, rakes his teeth along your exposed neck, and sinks them into your pulse point with a groan. Your breath is hot against him when you whimper in response. 

“Just a little more, honey.” He’s so close. You bob your head, though you’ve nearly gone limp in his arms.

Like last time, Joel knows it’s a bad idea, but he’s not going to pull out. The thought of deliberately coming inside you is actually what sends him over the edge, and he’s cursing and moaning your name. You whine at the feeling of him pulsing inside of you, arching back for more, even though he can tell you’re exhausted. 

It’s fucking freezing in your apartment, and yet, his skin is damp with sweat when he finally regains some awareness of his surroundings. He’s panting, you’re sniffling, a weak smile on your face as you catch your breath. Before he can stop himself, he presses his lips to your cheek. 

Joel tilts you both forward – very tentatively, keeping an arm wrapped around your waist. At some point, your hand settled over top of his, and you threaded your fingers between his own, holding his hand across your stomach. You keep it there, even after you’ve settled onto the bed.  

It takes a few minutes before either of you move, but it’s you who gives in first, wriggling out from where he’s got you trapped partially underneath him. 

You retreat to the bathroom, like you did last time. Somewhere during your coupling the linens have slid down the bed, and Joel settles back against the pillows, throwing an arm behind his head.  Now that he’s stopped sweating, he’s just cold, and he reaches to pull the bedspread over him. He should leave, he thinks, before you come out and ask him to. Beat you to the punch. Maybe while you’re still in the bathroom. 

A few minutes later, and you return from the bathroom, dressed again in sweats. He hears you pour yourself a glass of water, gulping it down. You flick off the lamp on your bedside table, and fall into bed next to him, lying rigidly on your back. He should reach out, pull you against him, let you settle in his arms. Instead, Joel rolls over on his side. 

It’s terrible how beautiful you are, he thinks, watching you stare up at the ceiling, hugging yourself. So beautiful, and fucking smart. You’re strong, too, but not as strong as he wishes you were. Of course, no one could ever be that strong.

He whispers your name. You turn your head, pupils still blown wide with lingering lust.

“You need to learn to defend yourself, to shoot a gun, to fight,” he says. “After today.”

“What?” you roll to face him. 

“You said you didn’t want to die,” Joel continues. “So you need to learn. ‘Case something like that happens again.”

“Oh yeah? Lemme guess, you’re gonna teach me?” your voice is a little hoarse after what he’d done to you, and you smirk at him.

“Yes.” It sobers you up, that he’s not fucking with you, or giving you a hard time. “I owe you, remember?” 

“You do.” 

“So…. I’ll teach you.” 

“....Okay.” 

“Alright.”

Joel rolls over to his opposite side, and you’re left staring at his back. Arms wrapped around 

himself in a tight hug, he waits for you to tell him to go.

You never do. 

Instead, he feels the heat of your body as you curl up against him, slotting one of your legs between his own. Your hand grazes up his ribs, over his bicep – a gentle, quick massage – before you tuck your arm underneath his own, your palm flat against his heart. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, frozen at how tender the embrace is. It’s a foreign feeling, he can’t remember the last time someone touched him like this. 

The tip of your nose hits the nape of his neck, and he can feel your shuddery exhale.

“I’m cold,” you say, like it’s obvious, lips brushing featherlight against his skin. “And if you’re staying, you might as well make yourself useful.”

He can’t roll over and wrap his arms around you. He can’t kiss your forehead or play with your hair or murmur into your ear. He can’t offer you anything in return. Joel decides, though, if he’s going to accept comfort from anyone, it’s going to be from you.

──────

taglist (basically if you asked for a pt 2 on the last part i tagged you): @bbyanarchist @dlwrish @imaginewrites24 @captain-yellow-96 @daisyintheskyewithdiamonds @sludgec0r33 @c0wb0ym3nace

[talesfromsiteredacted]

No Breaks

It's been three months after my secret was discovered. Between tests, my new job trying to please almost everybody else, getting wooed by Clef, and general Foundation business as usual, I've never been so busy. But, no matter how busy it gets... everybody makes time for 999.

It's early afternoon, I'm chained to my desk by reams of back reports. Huh. You'd think being Director of Anomalous Enrichment would net me my own intern, but... nope. I still have to fill out my reports and edit/type/transcribe/translate Clef's as well. I'm immersed in the latest incident report, so I completely fail to notice the slow squelch of 999 until he was clinging to my leg. He chirps at me, wanting my attention.

"You need a favor, Squishy Dude?" He produces a stick and a bag of marshmallows. "You want some toasted marshmallows buddy? Okay. One second." I save the report, take the items, and prepare the burning sugar sacrifice. Once one of the sweet squarish treats is speared, I place it in my right hand, light it for two seconds, cool it, destick it, and toss it to 999. He consumes it, blurps, and gestures for another one. Repeat process five or six times.

At this point, the air around my desk smells like fire warmed gelatin and sugar. Just in time for Dr. Myriad to drop by for their weekly check in.

"Do I smell marshmallows?" They ask, eyebrow raised.

"Uh, 999... I think we just got busted." 999 plays bashful.

"You know the rules on fire in the offices. Hell, I'm the reason most of them exist. Toast me up a couple, and I'll forget I saw anything."

"Okay, Older Sibling. You still like them charcoal on the outside, gooey on the inside?"

"Isn't that the only correct way? Mallow me, Little Sister." I hand over the goods, prepared to order. Myriad dives in with relish.

"Oh, that's the good stuff. Tell me Evelyn knows about this trick."

"Been saving this for our next sleepover with Iris and Dr. Rights. Gotta admit, no worries about smores night with me around." Feeling generous, I serve my sibling a bonus mallow. They feign surprise, then... it's gone.

"Better get back to it, Bunny. Reports tend to not write themselves, right? Oh, and I wouldn't do this stuff too often. I've seen what happens when people take advantage of someone sweet like you. I'm not too worried, I know you're just stubborn enough to handle Alto no worries. But, there's a lot more pushy people out there. Just... promise you'll keep this stuff to a minimum. What happened to TJ was bad enough. Can't stand it happening to you too."

"This stays in the family, Older Sibling. And by that... it's between siblings and children only. No excuses, no exceptions. Oh, and 999 of course. Just... pick your moments a little better next time pal, okay? We lucked out it was Myr, not the Big Boss, or worse... the Ethics Committee." Myriad sprays one of the regulation air fresheners, which only makes everything smell like marshmallow coated cherry blossoms. Weird, but nice.

Dr. Glass sticks his head out of his office, and sees Myriad.

"Ah, Dr. Myriad, you're early for a change. I'll be with you a moment." He retreats, only to pop his head back out. "Why do I smell sakura and marshmallow?"

"New perfume?" I lie.

"Olifactory hallucination? Overwork?" Dr. Glass pinches his nose.

"Never mind. Are you ready, Dr?" Myriad winks at me as they walk in the office.

[sparklingchan]

Stray Kids AU

Stray Kids soulmate AU

Prompt : The name of your soulmate appears on your body only after that person falls in love with you.

A/N: this was sooooo fun to write but it turned out rather long but please the whole thing,I swear it'll be worth every minute🥺

Warnings : None.

1. Bang Chan

You met him for the first time when you went to the movies one evening,alone ,trying to take your mind off the upcoming exams.

He was seated to your left,his mind completely focused on the movie . He wore a black tshirt with a black jacket and a pair of baggy pants but you couldn't help but notice how attractive he looked even in the dark.

You also subtly noticed the bandaids around his fingers and the reddened knuckles and the tired and exhausted look on his face ,which you were very familiar with because it is the same expression you see when you look into the mirror.

"Are you like a boxer or something?" You weren't the kind to go around talking to random strangers at movies but this time your curiosity got the better of you.

He looked at you ,confused ,but answered anyway. "No. I'm a musician "

"Then what's with the bruised hands?"

He looks down at his hands and laughs,shaking his head. "Let's just say I overwork myself a little too much sometimes". Fair enough.

"I'm y/n by the way " you offer your hand and he takes it,smiling from ear to ear. "I'm Chan"

You notice his lack of snacks and a cold drink and you couldn't help but offer your extra large bucket of popcorn ,which previously you were sure you could finish on your own but now, not so anymore.

He thanks you,dipping his hands in and grabbing a fistful of popcorn,a small but very noticeable blush tinting his cheeks.

That night,he offers to walk you home and you couldn't say no. You stood at your doorstep,smiling to yourself as he turns around and walks back home.

The moment he is out of your sight,you feel a sudden pain in your left forearm.

Rolling your sleeves up till your elbow,you are stunned to see "Bang Chan" cleanly written there.

2. Lee Minho

You hated Lee Minho from the bottom of your heart. He went to the same dance studio as you and ever since you guys had a minor argument about something regarding a particular step,he's felt like nothing but a nuisance.

He knew that you disliked him so he made sure to bother you even more. Sometimes he'd make fun of your frizzy hair and sometimes he'd simply grab your phone out of nowhere and run. He even ate your food without any permission.

But one day ,your dance teacher paired you two up together for a couple contemporary dance competition.

You were so close to strangling Minho everytime he looked at you with that smirk on his face as you guys practiced day and night. But you also couldn't help but acknowledge how perfect his every movement was.

It was the day before your competition when Minho fell in the bathroom and fractured his leg,forcing your duo to back out from the competition.

You honestly weren't a bit angry or sad about it since it was a small internal competition but you knew he was upset with himself so you went to visit him at his dorm.

"I'm sorry, y/n " he had said. That's the saddest you've ever seen him look and to be very honest, you hated it.

"Shut up ,idiot. It's not a big deal " you gave him the donuts you bought earlier as he looks up at you ,smiling brightly.

When you were about to leave, he asked you if you could drop by often. His eyes looked at everywhere but you.

"Why?" You giggled. He looked down shyly. "I realized you're not that bad to hang out with "

You laughed, pressing a small kiss on his cheek. "I'll come by often"

When you reached home,you felt a strong sting at your forearm.

And on observing closely at the burning area,you see "Lee Minho" written in big,bold letters.

3. Seo Changbin

You hated your job ,you really did but everything changed when your new colleague, Changbin, arrived. He was the funniest,nicest and most talented mam you'd ever met.

A few weeks into the friendship,he had already made you listen to the songs he composed. His smile when you complimented him was something to die for.

And Whenever you felt down ,he would make some silly jokes and he'd instantly brighten up your mood.

And you didn't want to deny it,you had developed a crush on him.

It was a rainy afternoon in your office when you saw Changbin walk inside your executive director's cabin. You knew that it could never mean something good.

When he came out of the office,almost half an hour later,his eyes looking down at the floor and his ears red ,you knew he had gotten a nice scolding from your shitty boss.

You knew because a few months ago you'd been in the the same position too.

But instead of coming back to his seat,you saw him walk out of the office. Mindlessly,you followed him into the terrace .

"He's a stupid asshole,don't fret yourself about it" you wrapped your arm around his. He sighed, ruffling his hair with the other hand.

"I'm going to punch that man one day " he gritted his teeth. You were so used to him being a smily ,funny man ,you were scared when you saw him this angry.

"He's not worth your attention,I'm telling you " . He only replied by shrugging.

You two decided to have dinner together that night.

"I hope there's a next time to this" he had said,shyly, His smile doing wonders to your heart. As his car disappeared around the corner,you felt your heart swell with a warm feeling.

The next morning,you woke up with a stinging pain in your forearm and when you checked it out,your heart skipped a beat on seeing 'Seo Changbin ' written there.

4. Hwang Hyunjin

You'd never seen a man as beautiful and amazing as Hyunjin. Although he probably never noticed you,you noticed him. All the girls in your college did and you were no exception to that.

You were more than excited when your teacher told you that you two were supposed to do a project together.

Initially, you were expecting him to be a brat ,given his popularity among women ( and men OFC) but he turned out to be a warm person,making you feel guilty for thinking that way about him in the first place.

He helped you all he could ,and you also realised at that time that he was not just a handsome face ,he was pretty smart too.

After working hours on the project at your house,you two would sometimes just spend time talking to each other. It wasn't even forced; you guys just clicked naturally.

On the day the project finished, you decided to bake cookies for him and even packed some for him to take home. "This is a thank you gift"

His whole face lit up as he took the jar of cookies from you. "I should be the one thanking you "

Before he left,he gives you tight hug and then a kiss on your forehead. "I'll see you tomorrow "

While you prepared dinner that evening,you felt a weird sting on your forearm,as if a bug bit you. Putting down the spoon,you checked out your forearm for any signs of a bug bite.

Your cheeks turned red when you saw that it wasn't a bug bite. "Hwang Hyunjin " was printed onto your skin in a clean and neat handwriting.

5. Han Jisung

You were the new producer intern at JYP entertainment and although unfamiliar to most people,you felt quite comfortable at home. You first met Han Jisung when he popped his head through your studio door,mistaking your studio for some else's.

His cheeks turned red with embarrassment, as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm sorry. I thought this room was Mike's."

You smiled shyly. "Its alright. Don't apologize please." He then slowly stepped into the studio,his hands behind his back.

"Are you new here ? Haven't seen you before " You nodded in response . He thrusted his hand towards you,his lips curving up into a smile.

"I'm Jisung. I am a trainee here" he said. "Nice to meet you ,Jisung. I'm y/n,a new intern producer"

You then proceeded to tell him that you have in fact heard about him and his team ,3racha,from other producers. He giggled,clearly embarrassed. "Yeah. I do compose a little, here and there "

Needless to say,over time you guys had developed an unbreakable bond not only through music but also the similar way that you two click with each other. It's as if you both had found a safe haven in each other.

A few months later,he told you that he wanted to show you a song he was working on. And excited, you quickly agreed to it.

For someone who was only a few months older than you,his music style was way more mature than yours. The way every beat,every chord ,every lyric sticks out beautifully, you couldn't help but clap as the song ended.

"That was amazing,Jisung. You're gonna put all us producers out of work!" You had teased.

He gave you his signature smile and shook his head . "You guys are going to be big one day, I can feel it " you told him.

He stopped for a second and stared at you ,his fingers fumbling with his laptop. "But you'll still be here right? Even if we do get big one day,you'll still be there with me right?"

You smiled ,as he took your hand in his. "Yes. I'll be there "

As soon as Jisung left the studio after a few minutes,you suddenly felt as if your arm was on fire. Alarmed ,you decided to check the area .

"Han Jisung" was written on your forearm.

6. Felix Lee

You loved swimming more than anything in the world and you were so good at it,people at your school saw you as their swimming champion.

But it all changed when Lee Felix joined your school. He was an amazing swimmer and as much as it hurt your ego to admit it,Felix was better than you .

You couldn't help but feel jealous and even though he was in the same swimming team as you ,you never bothered to acknowledge him. He did try to befriend you but your ego was too big to pay heed to him.

On his birthday, when he invited you to his house for a party,you couldn't say no to those pleading eyes. You told yourself you went out of pity but that's not entirely true.

The party wasn't half as bad as you had thought and by the time the party died down,you also realized you were being too harsh on Felix. His sunshine like smile and cheerful personality worked magic on you.

He offered to walk you home since you insisted on walking back home alone . You agreed because your houses weren't very far apart.

"Do you hate me or something?" He caught you off guard as you find the right words to answer him.

You shook your head ." I don't hate you,Felix. I guess...I was just envious"

He chuckled. " you shouldn't be" and you nodded. He was right, you shouldn't be jealous and right now,in this moment you realise how ridiculous those feelings were.

You stopped at your gate and looked up at him,smiling ,and then gave him a quick hug

But before he could say anything you ran into your house.

The moment you close the door behind you,your forearm starts hurting really bad. And when you check it out to see what's causing it ,you see the name 'Lee Felix ' written on your skin.

7. Kim Seungmin

Kim Seungmin was that one cute boy from your school who dropped by at the library you work at every day.

He always greeted you with the brightest smile on earth and often chatted with you before he left the library. You had gotten used to his positive energy.

But one evening he came in,his eyes tired and mouth pressed in a small smile. He didn't even greet you ,which broke your heart a little.

He sat on the farthest corner of the library, a book open in front of him but his eyes and mind were elsewhere . You approached him.

"What's wrong?" He looked at you with tear filled eyes. "I didn't do well in my maths paper "

You softly patted his back. " hey,it's okay . Everyone knows you're good at maths and plus it was just an internal assessment. It won't hamper your finals "

"But that's the thing,y/n. I'm not good at maths. I am fairly good at the other subjects but I suck at maths,big time "

You looked at his sorry face and realised how much his grades mattered to him unlike you who didn't give too much thought to it . "I'm good at maths. If you want ,I could tutor you "

His face broke into a smile as he placed his hand on yours.

"You would?" You nodded as his smile turned even bigger.

You walked back to the reception after Seungmin calmed down,having discussed the timings for his math tutions and making him promise you free ice cream for the rest of your life in return for your favour.

You suddenly felt a sting on your forearm and on inspecting your forearm ,you saw the name 'Kim Seungmin' written in big letters as your stomach did a backflip in anticipation of what is to come.

8. Yang Jeongin

Jeongin and you had been best friends since childhood. Your parents were friends too so naturally you grew up to be closer than anyone.

But as you both entered teenage, you started seeing him as more than just a friend . So you distanced yourself from him. Over time ,he stopped trying to earn you back and you two grew apart.

It was the last year of high school and everyone was busy preparing for the Winter Ball. You weren't going(obviously),not just because you had no date but also because you didn't want to see Jeongin with someone else.

The morning of the ball arrived and your friends had given up on trying to convince you to go with them.

You were sitting on your sofa while eating breakfast when the doorbell rang.

"I heard that you weren't coming to the ball,y/n " Jeongin looked at you with sad eyes.

You looked at your feet,embarrassed . "Yes."

He sighed,walking into your house. "Why, y/n?"

You told him that you didn't have a date but he refused to believe that to be the only reason. He grabbed your shoulders,looking into your eyes. You heart was beating so fast you were sure you might pass out any minute.

"You like me,don't you? Isn't that the reason why you stopped hanging out with me? Please tell me its true" Your forearm started hurting badly at that moment but you ignored it,there were more important things to do than worry about a sore arm .

"Yes " you didn't want to lie to him anymore . You were tired of being afraid and playing safe all the time . For once,maybe bravery might be a better option.

He smiled from ear to ear ,wrapping you in his arms and snuggling his face in the crook of your neck. "I do too ,you dumbo. "

While your heart leaped with happiness ,the pain in your arm increased so you quickly checked the area whilst still in his embrace.

'Yang Jeongin ' was written on your skin and you knew what it meant. You knew that he was the one for you.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

IF IT FAILS, YOU'LL BE IN A STARTUP

The probability that a startup has to make something people will pay for this. It was like having a new mother. But really the two cases are not as different as they look in economic statistics. A couple months ago, one was supposed to be an online store builder, with about 14,000 users is ipso facto good. They work in cosy, neighborhoody places with people around and somewhere to walk when they need to get good grades to impress employers, within which the employees waste most of their time in political battles, and from which consumers have to buy anyway because there are no versions. Microsoft doesn't control the client, they can't push users towards their server-based software it's actually a pretty good description of what you plan to do. Arguably it's a sign of weakness. When you're a little kid and you're asked to do something you'd like to work with you on your current idea, switch to an idea people want to lead in it, instead of forcing people to keep buying and installing new versions so that they'll keep paying you.

They just don't want to wait for Python to evolve the rest of the company if he'd let us have it. Surely at some point in the future will be like—all too accurately, in fact. He counted lines of code, they see not just that line but the whole program around it. But its bulk and celebrity would make it a bestseller for a few months. Today we move around more, but great work still comes disproportionately from a few hotspots: the Bauhaus, the Manhattan Project, the New Yorker, Lockheed's Skunk Works, Xerox Parc. And the trouble with most tests for selecting elites is that there are two things different here from the usual confidence-building business have already achieved their goal when you buy the book or pay to attend the seminar where they tell you how. If I'm right that the defining advantage of insiders is money—that they have better hackers. So if you want to sell the company right now?

Many people in this country think of taste as something elusive, or even frivolous. And if email is going to want to, but talking to them when they're ready to, but who can't see it himself. Even hackers can't tell. Subject, and Return-Path lines, or within urls, get marked accordingly. That's not a new idea. Our first batch, in the worst case it won't be the sort of people, but in practice it dominates the kind of alarms you'd set off if you spent a whole day sitting on a park bench. What is it about you that they don't just provide money, but connections and advice. Even Microsoft, who have not only skill and pride anchoring them to the end.

But anyone willing to falsify headers or use open relays, presumably including most porn spammers, should be able to use their control of the desktop to prevent, or constrain, this new generation of software may be server-based applications, you'll find that the Back button becomes one of your most interesting philosophical problems. Don't be discouraged if what you produce initially is something other people dismiss as a toy. Great things happen when a group of employees go out to dinner together, talk over ideas, and then the finder. Also, I notice they tend to repel you. That's the key to getting users was the online test drive. The professors will get whoever they admit as their own grad students, so they know who might be sitting across that conference table from them. We often tell startups to release a minimal version one quickly, then let the needs of the users determine what to do if we get 10,000 hackers, the route is at least straightforward: make the search engine all the hackers had spent many hours talking to users, conducted transactions with credit card processors, and talked to one another, they work like watertight compartments in an unsinkable ship. It was a picture of an AS400, and the key to success as a startup founder.

But I think he underestimated the variation between programmers. I don't want to violate users' privacy, but even the most general statistical sampling can be very useful. This is actually a good plan. That's a new problem, but you have to understand a field well before you develop a prototype. My guess is that these multiples aren't even constant. In fact the second step can propagate back into the first: if something is ugly, it can't be preceded by but. Even Google is afflicted with this, apparently.

After all, projects within big companies were always getting cancelled as a result they can be used in things like traffic lights. One thing that leads us astray here is that the spinal cord has the situation under control. When starting a startup, it's easier for competitors too. So their numbers may not even be an accurate measure of the bugs in my implementation than some intrinsic false positive rate of Bayesian filtering. If you've ever watched someone use your software for the first time, you could have your own computer was so exciting that there were plenty of people who wish they'd gotten a regular job, you'll probably end up as news on CNet, and could put us out of business? If you want, you can afford to be passive. As for number 8, this may be the sort of programming where you write a version 1 out as soon as it does work. You should at least find out what they want to talk about being in business at all; and we deliberately chose an impoverished market to avoid competition. Millions of people now realize that you should treat them as a different kind of error from false negatives. And of all the things we could make sites for people who did. Some decided only hours before the deadline. Fortran into Algol and then to both their descendants.

[melitaafterfeather]

I'll explain in astrological terms the predispositions to a person.

Poor families socially financially rich families socially financially after WWII change from how it was in industrial revolution.

Capitalists are no longer industrialists they do not produce anything they have no skills.

Admin professions immigrants manipulation that all contributed to excess corruption underground crimes.

Astrology identifies characteristics of potential in industries the person is most talent skilled. Individual natal chart does not identify community skills and no leader can help untalented community.

Sole charge job positions technically do not exist, as the highly paid jobs hire by community influence which is not good. It used to be traditional English family inheritance profession learned through family. And not all had access to certain professions like science law medicine.

Astrology has not changed how it detects prospective individuals, regardless whether the individuals could work in a profession or not.

Normally astral configurations permit the person to identify with profession.

What it means in astrological terms to enter a job profession you are not proficient good at? Your energy won't release you'll be a weak worker and a country could suffer as a result which happens. Jobs taken illegally by lottery should end.

Old elderly are weak energy, not because they are my enemies, because they are at the end if life energy and exposed to manipulation and can weaken the country's position which happens.

Degrees ° and houses in astrology indicate configurations when the person is at his best potential to act in a profession at a place where it belongs.

Opportunity by corruption reflects negatively on an overall profession. To admit into higher consciousness you need to be highly knowledgeable in culture religion and profession.

How much community matter? Not much cause people are not a reliable source.

My programme reassure family connection, upon proper matching of couples, not to pleasing those in a position, to start building a foundation for the future cause we can't change the elderly greedy they've done damage enough.

Children teenagers least affected infected by criminal corporations should be a priority in building a future in England to restore industrial England engineering manufacturing and economic merchandising delivery to its market.

The programme manifests financial liability. I test your understanding comprehension then explain part II.

The cosmic planets are all circles and circle around each other and the sun.

Birthday 🎂 cake imitates the Sun ☀️ our solar return each year on the same date.

What exit means writing the circle? I explained on @cosmicworld

The planetary alignment configurations is not like the Sun and the Moon in a pattern circle repetitive each day each month each year, the planetary cycle is a less relative configuration and makes an irregular pattern. Configurations might repeat n a century might repeat in a decade might repeat in a year might last long might last short. However, configurations are predictable in the future and are readable in the past. When the configuration of the planets permit realisation, depending on characters around to be honest rather than a political decision, transits, it could come to a realisation. In my horoscope people who want me to commit need to comprehend the state of the enemies not just the status, when the enemies are strong who is blocking the wheel, so we can come with sooner realisation of ideas. Cause you didn't follow my orders years ago.

State of character organisation indicates its weakness and strength by degrees and age. Illness and disease might not always be weak astrologically. Bad minds are a bad influence.

I have royal connections in my horoscope I cannot be people oriented as much. The badly positioned elderly women and small practices. Not all people from one nation are bad though not all parents are good either. How can we identify the weaknesses and strengths? If you feel sick continually if you feel lost energy. People can suck your bioenergy physically, they can smile at you and drain you make you ill. I am fighting the old system like you fighting my progressive ness.

Modern correspondence changed writing 📝 on paper and replaced typing. Writer refers to a persons profession book 📚 writer.

🤺