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darkbluekies · 3 days ago

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Til death do us part

Yandere!mafia oc x reader

Summary: A summer romance turns dark as Silas can't accept that you've married someone else

Warnings: kidnapping, murder, blackmail, threats, Silas belittling darling, violence, isolation, jealousy, possessiveness

Word count: 5k

He’s everything you could have ever wanted. He’s sweet, caring and works at a bank. He can provide for you. He’s from a good family. Everything about him is perfect, everything you could ever have dreamt of. You could never have imagined that you would find a man like him after what happened last summer.

You had met a man on the way home from dinner with a friend, someone that had helped you after the grocery bag you had bought food in on the way home. He had introduced himself as ‘Silas’ and had walked you home, carrying the groceries for you. You had thanked him. Silas had asked if you wanted to meet for coffee sometime, and you had agreed, innocently thinking nothing of it. You had gone out with him multiple times. Never actually becoming a couple, but acting like it. It was harmless, you thought. You kissed, went on dates and you knew that if things continued like this, you’d fall for him.

But you noticed that something was weird about him, and it made you feel cautious in his presence. He never told you anything about his life and when you asked, you noticed that something shifted in his dark eyes. As if he tried to come up with a lie. It creeped you out somehow, because why couldn’t he tell you? Maybe you shouldn’t have trusted a man who tried to cover up his tattoos.

You finally got to know the truth at the end of the summer. A friend who had seen the two of you together had recognised him from a newspaper. He was a criminal, a leader of a mob, who was more dangerous than you could have anticipated. You had cut contact with him and moved away so that he wouldn’t be able to find you again.

But he did. Somehow, he did.

Letters have been piling up in your mailbox during these last few weeks, addressed to you and written in red ink. Your heart had stopped when you read the first one.

“Y/N, I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so terribly much. My heart bleeds and aches for you. You left me because you were scared. I get that. I get that very well, this is a world you should be afraid of, but I will protect you. I will take care of you better than that man ever could. Yeah, I know that you’ve found someone new. I know that you’re planning to get married. Quite quick, don’t you think? You haven’t known him that long, and now you’re getting married? Silly Y/N, you’re so cute. Do you really think you love him? Are you trying to reassure yourself that I’m a part of your past that will never return? Or are you trying to make everyone around you believe that you’ve gotten over me and moved on? I know you still think of me. I know you want me. And I want you too. I have never wanted someone other than you. You and me are meant for each other. Don’t marry him. Come back to me. It’s you and me til the end.”

You hadn’t shown your fiance, but he had noticed that something had been wrong with you. You had become silent and distant. Letter after letter came to your mailbox and he realized that something serious had happened. You had no choice but to tell him about Silas and your past with him, the present he doesn’t want to let go of, and the future he demands. Your fiance had promised that he wouldn’t get to you, and that he was only trying to scare you.

You had been expecting to see Silas at your wedding, but he wasn’t there—or at least you didn’t catch a glimpse of him. Maybe your husband was right? Maybe he was just trying to scare you?

The start of the honeymoon is set to be on the SS Anastasia, a proud liner with three yellow funnels, a solid superstructure and a great reputation. It is set to take the two of you to Spain, where you have decided to have the rest of your honeymoon, away from all eyes and to be with no one but each other.

A steward welcomes you on board. You thank him and give him a smile. He lets you know that your luggage, which you left down at the terminal, will be delivered straight to your cabin, a suite in first class. Only the best for the newlywed couple.

“I’m so excited to see the room”, you admit as the two of you navigate the ship to find the mani staircase.

“The agent said that it would be nice”, your husband replies and chuckles. “Now, if we only could find it …”

You laugh. It takes you nearly ten minutes to find the right door among mazes of identical white doors. The suite is divided into three rooms: a bedroom, a sitting room and a bathroom, all decorated with expensive materials and fashionable colors. Polished dark wood and electric lights.

“This is so nice”, your husband smiles, letting his eyes wander around. “I think we’ll have a good time here.”

You hug him and he chuckles, hugging you back.

“I can’t believe I married you”, he says.

Me neither, you think.

Your mind drifts back to Silas and you feel your heart sink down to your stomach. You won’t be able to relax until you know that the ship has left harbour. There’s a constant, heavy feeling in your chest that you can’t explain. But you tell yourself that it’s just that; a feeling. Nothing more than old worries that haven’t been able to come up to the surface before now. You squeeze the man tighter, sighing out. You’re going to be okay. You’re going to be safe.

You have been promised a fantastic dinner, and the food delivers to your expectations. Everything is tasting like gold, served on a silverplatter. Sitting in the first class dining hall has given you an excuse to dress up. Everyone around is wearing their best clothes, and it is a silent competition in who looks the best. You look around, discreetly admiring everyone else’s attention to detail. You wonder how many of them have spent the entire day in their cabin, doing everything to look their absolutely best. The first night is usually relaxed, but a first time impression will always be remembered.

“What would you like to do after?” your husband asks and sips on his wine.

“I think I need to take a walk”, you joke.

“Oh, yes, the night sky must be so beautiful out on deck. I reckon that you’ll be able to see the stars much easier out here. No city pollution.”

You walk hand in hand down the promenade, looking up at the starry night sky, pointing at familiar shapes.

The next morning, after breakfast, the two of you walk to the lounge, deciding to take a calm day. Well deserved after planning a wedding and executing it. The lounge is cozy, reminding you of a simple living room rather than a first class room on an oceanliner. Maybe to make the passengers feel more at home.

Your husband takes the opportunity to indulge in a newspaper, finally having the time to sit down and actually read it.

You let your eyes wander around the large lounge, enjoying to admire the small details that give the room it’s cozy feel. But the feeling is quickly switched once your eyes land on someone. A man sitting in an armchair on the other side of the lounge, dark eyes feasted onto you, a small smirk playing at his lips when he notices you noticing him. You can feel your body go numb, feel yourself sink through your armchair, through the floor and through the ship’s metal. Feel yourself sink down to the bottom of the pitch black ocean. You forget how to breathe, head going blank.

He found you.

You glance towards your husband who’s still invested in today’s news. Silas raises his eyebrows testingly as you look back at him, as if to say “yes, I’ve noticed him, you think he compares to me?”.

Suddenly the air in the lounge seem to lose all oxygen. You need air, or else you will faint.

“I-I have to get some fresh air”, you hear yourself mumble.

“Are you okay?” your husband asks and looks up from his newspaper, eyes full of worry.

“Yes—”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“N-No, I’ll be fine, I’ll be back soon.”

You need to get away.

You hurry out of the lounge and out onto the enclosed promenade. The fresh air hits your face harshly. You grab onto the wall to support yourself while trying to find a way to breathe that doesn’t feel like needles poking through your throat.

“You thought I wouldn’t find you?”

You feel your heart stop. Quickly, you spin around, seeing his face way too close to yours. He tilts it, almost mockingly. You back away, stumbling over your feet and hitting your shoulder against the wall. Silas corners you, stopping you from escaping.

“What do you want?” you breathe out shakingly.

“Didn’t you get my letters?” he asks. “Or did you simply not read them?”

“Leave me alone. I-I’m married now.”

He smirks, tilting his head back and putting his hands into the back pockets of his suit pants.

“Indeed, you are”, he says and sighs out. “But do you really think that’s real?”

“What do you mean?” you almost stutter.

Silas meets your eyes. He’s smiling.

“Don’t you think I could have taken you whenever I wanted?” he asks. “The only reason you were able to marry that boring son of a bitch is because I let you. But, in the end, you belong to me. Isn’t that right?”

You don’t answer. You turn your head away, look out over the endless sea, and feel your eyes fill with tears. He wipes your tears with his thumb and you push his hand away.

“I don’t”, you say, wondering where you have gotten the sudden bravery from. “I don’t belong to you. I belong to him.”

You show him the ring on your finger. Silas clenches his jaw and grabs a hold of that hand, forcing it closer. He pulls of the golden ring, scoffs at it and throws it overboard. You gasp and try to run forward, hoping to catch it before it falls too far, but he pushes you back against the wall.

“Don’t ever say that again”, he warns you. “You don’t belong to him, how could you? I met you first. I claimed you first. He will have my seconds. Everything you do to him, you’ve done to me first. And he will never do anything as good as I did.”

“I left you because of this!” you hiss, reminding him.

“No, you left me because you were scared. You don’t understand that you are in more danger if you aren’t with me. I’m the only one that can protect you. I didn’t want you to know about it because I know you’d be scared, but—”, he cups your cheeks, forcing you to look at him, “—but I won’t hurt you. You’re so special to me. I love you so much. You did read my letters, I can see it in your eyes. You know how much I love you.”

“Let me go”, you plead.

“No. It’s you and I til the end, don’t you remember? I’m not letting you go again. I’ve been letting you have your fun for too long now. It’s about time I take you back. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Don’t hurt him either.”

You can see his eyes darken, his jaw clench. “You decide if it’s going to be violent or not.”

You freeze in his hold.

“You can choose to come back to me, quietly and easy”, Silas starts and caresses your cheek. “We will be happy and your boy will be left alone.” He traces your jaw with his finger. “Or … you reject me and I take out my competition and take you with me once we reach Spain. No one will see you again.”

He seems to tell that you’ve stopped breathing, because he sits you down on one of the sun chairs and massage your throat. Your eyes are stuck onto nothing, empty.

“I will give you until nine”, he whispers in your ear. “If you’re not outside my cabin at nine, A-30, knocking on my door, I will kill him.”

“You’re a liar”, you breathe out, voice barely audible. “You’ll kill him either way …”

Silas shrugs simply. “Maybe, but don’t you want to take your chances? You might save him.”

Silas stands up. You sit frozen.

“Oh, and Y/N?” he says as if remembering something and looks down at you. “If I were you I wouldn’t tell anyone. You know, for obvious reasons.”

He gives you a small, teasing smile before walking back inside. You sit still, not daring to move. Worried that if you move you’ll break down and realise what’s going on. You can feel your heart pound in your ears. No. No, this can’t be happening.

“What are you doing out here?” you hear a familiar voice ask. “You’re going to get sick!”

You feel your husband hang his blazer over your shoulders. The warmth, the familiar scent from him makes your heart hang heavy in your chest. You can’t help but feel like you’ve betrayed him, as if you’ve cheated your relationship, thanks to Silas’s threat. But if you cheat on it, you might save the love of your life. Can you cancel out a bad thing with a bad thing? Is it really a bad thing then? Can you be excused?

You can’t tell him about it, but if you did, would he understand you?

“You don’t look well, actually”, he says and helps you stand. “You’ve probably already gotten sick. You should go lay down and rest.”

He helps you, slow and steady, to your suite. You lay down in bed and he tucks you in.

“Should we ring for a steward?” he asks worriedly. “Ask for some tea and some medicine?”

“No, I’m fine”, you reassure him dimly. “I just need to be alone.”

“I’m worried about you. Something happened to you. I can help you.”

No, you can’t.

“Do you want to be left alone?” he asks.

What if he gets killed?

“No, stay in here”, you wish.

He nods. You hold his hand as you lay with your eyes closed, trying to think of what to do. He was clear; whatever you do, you’ll end up with Silas. The only thing you can choose—maybe—is to save the man holding your hand and whispering reassurance to you. The nicest you can do, in this situation, is to give in and beg Silas to leave him alone. You can’t be prideful and let him kill him.

You find yourself outside cabin A-30 with your head spinning. You don’t want to do this, but what choice do you have? Your first is heavy when you lift it to knock, the sound of your knuckles hitting the polished wood seeming to echo throughout the entire ship. You can hear his footsteps on the other side and see him tower over you when he opens the door. His smirk sends a wave of nausea over you.

“So, you came in the end”, he says cockily. “Good girl/boy.”

You lower your eyes to the floor. Silas steps aside and gestures for you to walk in. You do, on heavy, unresponsive legs. He closes the door behind you, locking it. You gulp. He lingers around you like a snake and you wait for him to put his fangs into your neck and shoot his venom into you.

“You should rest”, Silas says softly and wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Let’s go to sleep.”

He leads you to the bed and lays you down, lying down behind you. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything that could scare you. You try to keep it in, but your body fails you. Sobs, quiet at first, leave your body. Tears run down your face. You hold your hand over your mouth, but Silas is close enough to hear you. He hugs you carefully and you can feel him rest his face into your shoulder.

“There’s no need to worry”, he whispers. “You're back where you belong.”

It only makes you worry more.

“Your crying makes me so sad”, Silas whispers. “Everything will be okay, little thing. You're back now.”

You don't fall asleep that night, and you're sure Silas doesn't either. His grip on you remains tight and controlling, showing no sign of drowsiness.

The sun rises outside the porthole, and you're as wide awake as ever. Silas gets out of bed and starts to dress for the day. You remain in bed, feeling too empty to move. Your eyes fall onto the tattoos on his back and arms, wondering where he got them and what they represented. But something in you tells you that you don’t want to know.

“My darling”, Silas sighs and crouches down in front of the bed, caressing your face. “You don’t need to look so sad. You and me will have fun. We can do more than you ever could with that boy of yours could. My credit card never declines.”

“What are you talking about?” you ask, frowning.

“Oh? You didn't know?” His cocky face is getting on your nerves. “My men did some digging into him, and it seems like he spent a fortune on this honeymoon of yours. Barely anything left in his bank account. Poor thing was really trying to impress you, but the illusion would be all gone once you came back home. I, on the other hand, have all the money in the world.”

“Your money’s dirty.”

“Money’s money. I could launder it, and it’d be clean, but you wouldn’t accept it anyway. Which is why you’ll never get money from me. You’ll get jewelry, food, clothes—anything you want—and all you need to do in return is submit yourself to me.”

You sigh and look away.

“We don’t have to talk about this now”, Silas says and stands up. “But you will submit to me, I know you will. Get dressed now, my love, we’re going to eat breakfast.”

Food is the last thing you want right now.

“I’m not hungry”, you say.

“Do you want to stay in?” he asks. “I can go get you breakfast that you can eat later.”

You nod, whatever will make him leave you alone for a while. Silas gives you a comforting smile and pets your head before leaving the cabin. You take the time to cry, when you know that he can’t see you, planning to stop before he returns, but failing.

“Crying when you think I won’t notice?” he asks and scoffs, just a little bit amused. “Do you think I wouldn’t notice?”

He sets down a tray on the table in the room and walks over to the bed, crouching down and wiping your tears.

“You’re mine”, he says. “Crying about that boy won’t change that fact.”

You don’t answer.

“Will I have to stay in here the entire time?” you ask coldly.

“No”, he says. “Not all the time, but if you want to leave the cabin, you will be by my side. If I were you, I wouldn't try to run away from me or try to tell anyone, because the ship is filled with my men. You don’t know who they are, and they won’t bother you if you behave, but the second I tell them to keep an eye out for you, they will.”

You glare at him.

“But you wouldn’t do that, would you?” Silas asks.

“And then what?” you counter. “When we're in Spain?”

“Oh, we're not staying there. I'm not allowed there. My second in command is waiting for us there and will take us back to America as soon as we arrive.”

Oh …

“I don’t want to go back. Not with you.”

“Well, life's not fair, little thing. You should eat now. I got you all the things you told me that you liked.”

He takes you to the table in the cabin and starts to feed you the bread, the coffee and fruit. You eat, just you comply, too tired to fight with him. Fighting with a wall would be easier. A wall wouldn't talk back. A wall wouldn't threaten you.

“See how much easier it is when you obey?” Silas says.

You give him a quick gaze. He traces your cheek with his fingers.

“I look so much forward to having you all to myself”, he mumbled.

His words send icy shivers down your back.

You stay in the cabin the coming day. You wonder what your real husband is thinking of your disappearance. Sure that Silas has already done something to make him stay away … or worse.

“You're so down, baby”, Silas says. “How about we do something, hm? We have a whole ship to our amusement. There is a game room, a pool, a library, and a squash court. How about that? Why don't we play some squash?”

You nod, just to get out of the cabin. Maybe you can figure something out. Maybe you can hide.

“That's my boy/girl”, Silas says and takes your hand. “Let's go.”

Walking out with him, hand in hand, made you feel horrible. He looked so proud, so cocky.

He took you down to the squash court. He picked up a racquet and bounced a few balls.

“I hope you know the rules”, Silas said with a chuckle. “Or else I will win.”

A man came into the squash court. Silas gave the man a quick, stern look before glancing towards you, and then back at him. This is one of his men, you figure.

“Give me a second, darling”, he says and takes the man aside.

They turn their backs to you, whispering. You glance towards the door. As they mumble about something incoherent, you sneak towards the door, opening it silently and sneaking out. You run, but only get a few meters before a hand rips you back.

“Where do you think you're going?” Silas hisses in your ear.

He slams a hand over your mouth to prevent you from making any sounds and almost you back to the squash court.

“I apologize”, he mutters to his man. “Seems like my baby here can't behave.”

He holds your back firmly against his chest, hand resting securely over your mouth. “They'll learn soon enough, once they learn the consequences.”

You fight against him, but he doesn't budge.

“Stop fighting”, Silas hisses and turns to his man. “I'm sure it won't happen again, ill make sure it won't, but can you tell the others to keep an eye out for this disobedient little shit? If you ever see them wander around alone, you get me immediately. Leave us now, I need to lecture them.”

The man nods, bows slightly and leaves the squash court. Silas lets you go and you back away from him, but he's quick to corner you.

“You don't get it, do you?” he asks, and sounds a tad bit amused. “You can't escape me. And, come on, trying to do that on a ship? I really thought you were smarter than that. Where would you go? The only place you could flee would be to jump overboard. But you're stupid, not suicidal. And now, all my men keep an eye out. Just accept that your place is here, with me.”

“I want my fucking husband!” you scream. “You aren't my husband, you're a low life criminal!”

Silas’s eyes darken.

“Okay then”, he says, slowly. “If you want him so badly, go look for him. Go find him. If you do, I'll let you go with him. If not, you're mine.”

“Your men will take me back to you.”

“I'll tell them to leave you as long as you don't talk to anyone. Search everywhere. Go to the lower classes, for all I care.”

“What have you done to him?”

He smiles slightly, but it's not one out of genuine happiness, but of mockery. “Do you really want to know?”

You turn around and leave. He follows you. You barely have time to walk down the corridor before a man takes a hold of your arm. A different man from before.

“You're not supposed to walk around”, he says.

“It's okay”, Silas says a few steps behind you.

He wears his chin high, a smirk on his face and his hands in his front pockets. You rip your arm from the strange man's hold.

“My baby is using their brain”, Silas says and reaches the two of you. “We'll see where that gets them. Keep an eye so that they don't talk to anyone. We don't want to encourage talking to strangers, now do we, little thing?”

You glare at him.

“Go, then”, Silas says. “What are you waiting for?”

You don't like how he's changed. Just five minutes earlier he was set on making sure you wouldn't wander … and now he encourages it. Something has happened to your husband and you want to find him as quickly as possible.

You walk away, leaving Silas and his man in the corridor outside the squash court. You're not sure where to start. As soon as you get out of their sight, you stop and sink down alongside the wall. Needing to just catch your breath.

But you don't linger too long. Before you change your mind, you stand up and start to walk. You end up walking back and forth for hours, sure that every eye that lands on you is a member of Silas’s organization, someone being paid to make sure you obey.

You search every little corner on the ship, but your husband is nowhere to be seen. Your suite is empty, but there are signs of struggle. A glass lying on the floor, more than one person's shoe marks on the carpet. You walk over to his suitcase and take out one of his shirts. Crying as you hold it.

“Any luck?” you suddenly hear him say.

Your blurry eyes dart to the open door, seeing him lean against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest. He looks so nonchalant, so careless. How can he?

“There are words for people like you”, you sniffle with a voice draped in hate. “Did you know that?”

“What word?”

“Inhuman.”

Silas scoffs out a small smile. “If only you were as smart with thinking as you were with words, you’d have figured it out by now.”

“What?”

“You haven’t found him anywhere on the ship, and you’ve been looking for hours.”

He doesn’t have to remind you. Your aching feet is enough to make you feel your loss.

“What did you do to him?” you ask weakly.

“I have already told you, if you listened to me, you’d figured it out earlier. I said that there is only one way to escape me.”

Your eyes widen as you dart your eyes to the round porthole.

“Atta girl/boy”, Silas says, voice smooth as honey as he walks over to you.

“Y-You … y-you …”

“Don’t look at me. I didn’t do it.”

“You ordered it.”

“Are we back to the ‘dirty money’ thing again? Does it matter if I gave the instructions or not? It happened, and even if I said I gave the instructions, you wouldn’t take it.”

You hang your head heavy in your hands, crying. Silas hugs you and you try to fight back, but he doesn’t let you go. He holds you tightly, his rough hands keeping you against his body.

“Now that he’s gone, you have no other choice than to accept me whole heartedly”, he whispers in your ear. “You have no one else. Only me. Until the end of time, til death do us part.”

You sob in his hold, wanting nothing more than to escape. You manage to glance towards the porthole.

Silas holds your hand in a tight, painful grip as you walk off the ship, surrounded by a few of his men. People on the dock cheer and welcome their loved ones, but you’re pulled right through the crowd. You can’t hear any of them, your own sorrow drowning out all sounds of happiness. Silas takes you over to a car. A black haired man leans against it, but stands straight when he sees Silas. His second in command.

“Boss, there you are”, he says with a small smile. “Did you have a good voyage?”

Silas lifts your tightly intertwined hands with a smirk on his face. “What do you think?”

The second in command looks at you up and down and smirks. “Congratulations.”

“I wish we could stay here but if the cops get me I’ll be in trouble”, Silas says and pulls you close. “Let’s go to the yacht before we’re noticed.”

He helps you into the automobile and you’re off, on the way to the ship that will take you back to America. Tears run down your face silently. You shut them, trying to imagine yourself in another place, somewhere far away from Silas and his evil entourage. Somewhere where you had never crossed paths with him. Somewhere where things had turned out different. A bump in the road forces your eyes open again and you’re pulled back into the car that will take you straight to your own personalized hell, with a man who is ready to kill for you. You wish you had never allowed him to carry your groceries.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oc x you #yandere mafia #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc

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bytemee · 2 days ago

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SO ANXIOUS, CAN’T TAKE IT — YU JIMIN.

“how do i keep these on? how do i let you know? girl, you deserve a show.

synopsis. karina learns that good things come to those that wait. or she learns that she should make sure your friend mason never speaks to you again.

pairing. mean!sorority!karina x loser!gp!reader

warning(s). 18+ smut, g!p reader, p in v (unprotected), one lil slap, pet names (puppy ofc), semi public sex (in a car in a secluded parking lot...whatttttt???), karina is really down bad for reader, they say i luv u so much *throws up*, yeah the smut at the end is so ugh! i cant even omg

words. 4.5k

authors note. i didnt wanna name this naked (bc the lyrics are from naked by doja cat)...prob the last of the series that'll be over 2k words and the last thing i have in the vault. everything else will be requests from u guys

this is the part where i actually make a masterlist!!! & start updating where do you sleep.. iguess

part one. part two. part three. part four. part five. headcannons. navigation. main masterlist.

the library was unusually quiet for a weekday evening, except for the steady murmur of conversation from a nearby study group and the occasional clatter of dice on a game board. karina sat next to you, one leg crossed over the other, staring down at a confusing mess of cards, pieces, and rules she didn’t understand.

it was one of your nerd friends who made the game—mason was his name. you explained how he’d spent months perfecting it and would proudly be the narrator for your group's first playthrough. karina didn’t care about the game. she barely knew what was going on. but you were there, and that made it okay.

she wasn’t even sure how to play or what she was supposed to do. you had tried your best to explain, but mason had been explaining the rules to the other players the entire time, and karina could barely focus. your friends were mostly the same as always. all a bunch of nerds that you were close to during high school and stayed in touch with through college.

and then you introduced her to your friends; they were a bit shocked when the president of the biggest sorority on campus said she wanted to hang out. but mason quickly welcomed her with open arms.

karina looked down at the game board, trying to understand the confusing mass of colors and shapes. a large blue square seemed to represent a lake, a path snaked through a forest of green, and there were lots of small tokens and miniatures scattered across the map. the rules were long and complicated. she hadn't understood a single one.

you took a deep breath and set down a card in front of karina.

"the evil king has captured the prince's lover!" mason announced. "it is now up to you, the player, to save her. but you have been locked in the king's dungeon. what do you do?"

"i…" karina hesitated, trying to remember the few things you had told her about the game. she could either go to the prince or to his lover. but she didn't know which one to pick. her eyes met yours.

"go to the prince," you said quietly.

"no, go to the lover," mason replied. "the prince is a jerk anyway."

karina sighed, feeling completely lost. she didn’t understand the dynamics of the game—why the prince was a jerk, why the lover needed rescuing, or what the king even wanted. she was just following your advice, since you were the one who had actually learned the rules.

“the prince,” karina decided reluctantly, even though mason rolled his eyes dramatically. she picked up a miniature knight figure and moved it in the general direction of the game board’s castle.

“bad move,” mason said with a grin. “you fell into a trap. you’re dead.”

karina glared at him so sharply he actually flinched. “seriously?”

“you suck at this game,” mason teased, but then quickly backed off when he caught her stare again.

the conversation around the table resumed, with mason narrating another turn, but karina had already tuned it out. she reached over and gently brushed her fingers along the nape of your neck. it was a small touch, but one that grounded her.

for the past three weeks, this had become her life. waiting outside your lectures just to see you. tagging along to the conventions she didn’t understand or care about. sitting through endless, painfully boring games and conversations, all just to be near you. she had hoped that by doing all this, things would go back to how they were before—when the two of you couldn’t keep your hands off each other, and all you wanted to do was stay in bed together.

but it hadn’t happened. you seemed content with how things were—maybe too content. you hadn’t even kissed her since your talk in her dorm three weeks ago. instead, it was karina who couldn’t stop herself from reaching for you. every time she did, she hoped you’d do the same. but you never did.

she was losing her mind.

“hey,” she leaned down to whisper in your ear, lips brushing the shell of it. “wanna leave? go do something else—just us?”

you didn’t pull away, but you didn’t look up either. “in a bit,” you murmured, eyes glued to the game. “i’m almost at the next level.”

karina clenched her jaw. mason smirked. she shot him another glare.

later that night, karina took you out—just the two of you. dinner at a small ramen place you both used to frequent, followed by a long walk along the river. it had been…nice. easy, even. but karina had hoped for more. every time your shoulder bumped hers, her heart jumped. every time your hand swung a little too close to hers, she wanted to reach out. but you didn’t.

when the night ended, she brought you back to her dorm. it was late, and when you set your bag down by her bed, her stomach fluttered. overnight bag, she thought. you’re staying the night.

her anticipation skyrocketed as you unzipped the bag—until you pulled out an old, beat-up console and started untangling the cords. karina blinked. you knelt by the tv, plugging the console in like it was the most normal thing in the world. then you paused, your expression nervous.

“am i allowed to do this?” you asked, hesitant.

karina quickly nodded, but she wanted to scream. allowed? was this a sleepover or something?

you started setting up the game, and karina flopped down on the bed, burying her face in the pillows. she didn't know how long you were going to keep this up. three weeks had felt like a lifetime. and she had thought…no, she was sure—she had made up for her mistakes. she was doing everything right now, and yet it still wasn't enough.

the game loaded, the familiar old-school theme music playing softly through the speakers. you adjusted the controller in your hands, fully immersed. karina slowly pulled herself up from the pillows, moving to the edge of the bed where you sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the tv.

what was she supposed to do? she had done it all—played the role of prince—princess— charming, and still you were slipping through her fingers like a story without a happy ending.

karina leaned forward, her fingers brushing against your hair before gently weaving through it. her touch was slow and careful, as if trying not to break whatever fragile peace had settled between you. she played with the strands absently, twirling them between her fingers, her mind half on you and half lost in thought.

your hair was soft. it smelled good. but you didn’t respond.

then, she tugged lightly, her fingertips massaging your scalp. this was a thing she did. something you loved.

but you didn’t lean back into her touch like usual. your shoulders were stiff. you didn't look at her. you didn't even seem to notice.

you kept playing.

karina felt a surge of frustration. she tugged harder, her movements no longer gentle. you grunted, your hands faltering on the controller.

"ouch, karina. what was that for?"

karina’s jaw clenched, her fingers freezing in your hair. “what was that for?” she repeated, her tone sharper than she intended. “i don’t know, maybe because i’ve been following you around like a lost puppy for weeks and you barely even notice me.”

you paused the game, setting the controller down on the floor. “i notice you,” you said quietly, not meeting her eyes.

karina moved to sit on the edge of the bed, her legs brushing against your back. “no, you don’t. not really. i show up to your lectures. i sit through hours of your nerd conventions. i come to these stupid board game nights and watch you get all excited. and yet…” she trailed off, pressing her hands to her thighs, digging her nails into the fabric. "nothing."

you sighed, running a hand through your hair where she had tugged too hard. “i'm just listening to what mason has been telling me. i don't want to overwhelm you."

her brows knitted together. mason…who was—oh. that fucking mason. karina blinked down at you, processing what you’d just said. “wait—what? what has mason been telling you?"

you sighed and shifted on the floor, still not looking at her. “mason’s been playing therapist through all of this. he told me that if we’re not a couple, we shouldn’t be doing… couple things.”

karina’s brow furrowed. “couple things?”

“yeah,” you said with a shrug. “like kissing…and you know…he says that we shouldn’t move too fast if we're not girlfriends."

"excuse me?"

mason had no business getting in the middle of her and you. and besides, what did he know about what she could handle?

her brain seemed to short-circuit. “but… you are my girlfriend.”

you finally looked at her, one brow raised. “you never asked me that.”

karina froze. her mouth opened, then shut, and for the first time all night, she was at a loss for words.

the silence stretched until karina blurted out, “do you want to be my girlfriend?”

you blinked at her. “no.”

“what?” karina’s voice pitched slightly higher. “what do you mean, no?”

“that’s not how you ask someone,” you said, shaking your head. “that sounded like you were asking me if i wanted to go run errands.”

karina stared at you, stunned. was that a joke? you had to be joking. but there was no hint of amusement in your expression.

"you want me to ask you out? okay." karina cleared her throat. she was not used to being put on the spot like this. especially not with you. this was usually the other way around.

"y/n," karina started again, her nerves bubbling under her usual confidence. "i’m serious about you. i want to be more than this… whatever this is. i want us to be together—officially. so, will you be my girlfriend?"

you leaned back slightly, arms crossed. “karina, you’re asking me in your room. that’s not how you ask someone.”

karina blinked, thrown. “what do you mean?”

“it has to be… something grand. special. not just sitting on the edge of a bed with a game paused in the background. otherwise, it won’t feel like it means much.”

karina’s shoulders slumped for a second before she straightened, her hands curling into fists. there was no way in hell she was going to let herself fail at this. if that's what you wanted, then fine. karina would make this the most special, romantic thing ever. “fine. you want grand? i’ll give you grand.”

the next weekend, karina didn’t just take you somewhere—she took you everywhere.

she planned an entire day out: a visit to a scenic lookout, a boat ride across the river, a stop at your favorite dessert café, and finally, she led you to a secluded spot on a hill overlooking the city. you walked beside her, hand in hand, admiring the view. the sun had started to set, casting the sky in shades of red and orange. it was beautiful. the kind of view you could only see if you were high above the city. you leaned against the railing, watching the sun dip lower behind the buildings below.

karina stood beside you, her gaze lingering on the side of your face. you didn’t notice. or, if you did, you didn't comment. she reached for your hand again, lacing her fingers with yours. when you didn’t react, her chest tightened. she had a plan. a script. everything she was going to say, and yet now, standing beside you, looking at the sunset, her tongue was tied.

"this is beautiful," you said, your eyes sparkling as the last rays of the sun lit up the horizon.

"it is," karina murmured. she could have said a lot of things. that's why i brought you here. this is what we could have. but she didn't. her heart was in her throat, her palms sweating.

karina turned toward you, the words on the tip of her tongue. "y/n…"

"yeah?"

"i…i need to tell you something."

you met her gaze, tilting your head. your expression softened. "what is it?"

"i want this to be perfect. i want you to remember this moment because i’m serious about us.”

you opened your mouth to respond, but she pressed on.

“i’m not just following you around because i have nothing better to do. i’m here because i care about you. and i want to be your girlfriend. officially. so… will you be mine?”

a smile spread across your lips, and her heart stopped. you nodded slowly, reaching up to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. "of course i'll be yours, karina."

the words had barely left your mouth before karina practically pounced on you, pulling you into a kiss. her hands were in your hair again, her lips pressing against yours with an urgency that left you breathless. when she pulled away, her eyes were shining.

when she pulled back, her eyes sparkled. “so… you want to stay the night?”

you couldn’t help but laugh. “karina, it’s our first date as a couple.”

“okay? what does that have to do with anything?”

you gave her a teasing smile, leaning back slightly as you clarified, “it’s the first date as a couple, karina. you know the rules. third base only happens on the third date.”

karina blinked at you, her mouth slightly open as if to argue, but no words came out. instead, she let out a dramatic groan and fell back onto the grass, throwing her arm over her face. “seriously, y/n? third base rule? who even made that up?”

you smirked, stepping back to avoid her exaggerated flailing. “i don’t make the rules; i just follow them.”

she groaned again. "you're so annoying."

"says the girl who just asked me out with a video game paused in the background."

her groan turned into a whine.

by the time the third date rolled around, karina was determined to speed-run the process. she planned another full day of activities—brunch, a visit to an art exhibit, and a movie. afterward, she walked you back to your dorm. you felt lighter than you had in weeks, finally enjoying the ease of being with her.

as you both stood outside your dorm, karina hesitated, shifting on her feet. “so…” she started, hands fidgeting. “since this is technically the third date, maybe you could—”

you raised a brow, waiting.

“—you know, come back to my place?” she finished, giving you a hopeful smile.

you thought for a moment, lips pressed together. “mmm… i think i’m just going to sleep here tonight. my roommate’s gone for the first time in forever, and i kind of want to enjoy having the place to myself.”

karina groaned softly. “y/n… please? it feels like it's been forever since we've done anything together."

your cheeks flushed. "karina, i—"

"we don't have to do anything," she said quickly, cutting you off. "we can just watch a movie and cuddle. i won't even try to seduce you."

"karina," you warned.

"okay, okay. maybe a little. but only if you want me to!"

you laughed, shaking your head at her antics. “you’re impossible, you know that?”

karina gave you a playful pout, stepping closer. “come on, please? just a little more time together. i miss you.”

you sighed. how could you resist when she was being so sweet?

"alright, alright," you relented, giving her a smile. "i guess we could spend a little more time together."

karina let out a soft squeal, throwing her arms around you. "you're the best!"

that night, the two of you stayed up watching a movie, curled up on your small twin bed. karina's head rested on your chest, her hand stroking the skin just below the hem of your shirt. you were barely paying attention to the screen.

after a few minutes, karina lifted her head to look at you. "are you enjoying the movie?"

"not really," you admitted.

she shifted, propping herself up on her elbow. "do you want to do something else?"

you hummed, eyes meeting hers. "like what?"

karina's gaze dropped to your lips. "we could make out a little."

you rolled your eyes, smiling. "how subtle."

"is that a yes?"

"maybe," you replied, unable to keep the laughter out of your voice. "if you play your cards right."

"you're killing me here, puppy."

you shook your head. "come here."

she leaned forward, pressing her lips to yours. her kiss was gentle and warm, and her tongue flicked out to swipe against your bottom lip. you sighed, deepening the kiss. she tasted sweet, and the familiar scent of her perfume filled your senses. the rest of the movie was long forgotten as karina kissed you hungrily. her hands wandered under your shirt, tracing patterns on your skin. you pulled her closer, tangling your fingers in her hair.

when you finally broke apart, karina was flushed and breathing heavily.

"that was…"

"nice," she finished, her lips curving into a satisfied smile.

"yeah." you smiled back, resting your forehead against hers. "nice."

the next week, karina found herself in a similar position—only this time, the two of you were in your car, parked in a dark, quiet parking lot. the day had been perfect: a long walk through the park, endless conversation, and laughter that made your stomach hurt.

now, her lips were locked with yours as she leaned over the middle console, one hand cupping your face while the other gripped the back of your neck. your hands found her waist, pulling her in as much as the cramped space would allow. karina’s fingers skimmed along your jaw, her lips trailing down to your neck.

"y/n," she moaned, her lips trailing along your jaw.

"mmm," you hummed, arching into her touch.

"i love you," she murmured, her hands slipping under your shirt.

you froze. "w-what?"

"i love you."

you pulled back slightly, eyes wide as you processed her words. your heart thudded against your chest. “w-what?” you repeated, not quite sure if you’d heard her right. she leaned in closer, "i love you, y/n. i’ve loved you for a while now. i couldn’t keep it in anymore.”

she paused, studying your expression. "is that bad?"

you quickly shook your head, but the shock hadn't fully faded from your face. "no, it's just…i love you too, karina—"

"then it's settled," she interrupted, leaning forward to kiss you again. her touches were firm and confident, and you could feel yourself getting swept away by the intensity of her feelings. karina had always been one to go after what she wanted, and it seemed like now was no different. she wanted you, and she was determined to show you exactly how much.

karina let out a soft gasp as you pulled her into your lap, her thighs straddling your hips. she settled easily against you, the fabric of her shirt slipping up and baring a sliver of her hip. you traced your fingertips along the exposed skin, goosebumps erupting in their wake.

"y/n," karina breathed, her hands cupping your face as she leaned down to capture your lips once more. you sighed into the kiss, your hands gripping her hips as you pulled her closer. karina's body felt hot against yours, and the air in the car seemed to grow thicker as the moments passed.

your hands slipped under her shirt, and the bare skin of her back felt smooth beneath your touch. karina shuddered at the contact, her fingers tangling in your hair as she pressed closer.

"i want you," she whispered, her lips ghosting along the shell of your ear.

"karina," you murmured, your hands trailing along her back.

"i've missed you," she continued, her lips skimming along your neck. "i've missed this. i've missed us."

your hands tightened on her hips, pulling her flush against you. "me too," you murmured, nipping at her jaw.

she pulled back slightly, her gaze locking with yours. her eyes were dark, and her lips were swollen from your kisses. she looked breathtaking.

your hands slipped back under her shirt, your hands grazing every inch of her back, her sides, and her stomach. she shivered, her eyes closing. you couldn't help but smile. she was so responsive to your touch, and it made your heart swell with pride.

a part of you remembered you were in the middle of a parking lot where anyone could see you, but another part of you didn’t care. not when karina was looking at you like that. the car windows were tinted, and it was late enough that there were few people around anyway. and besides, you were beyond the point of rationality.

denying yourself of karina for the past three weeks had been torture. you had missed her more than you realized. and now, being with her again—feeling her warmth, her touch, her kisses—was overwhelming. you wanted more. she couldn't seem to get enough of you as well, her hands skimming across your skin, as if to commit the feel of it to memory. your bodies seemed to fit together perfectly, your curves molding to hers as she pressed closer.

karina's lips found your neck, nipping and sucking at the tender skin there. her teeth grazed your pulse point, and you swore you could feel your heartbeat everywhere, like it was thrumming through your entire body. she was driving you wild, and you could feel your control slowly slipping away.

you leaned in and captured her lips once more, kissing her with all the passion and desire that had been building up inside you over the past few weeks. karina moaned against your lips, her fingers tangling in your hair as she pulled you closer. she tasted like the cherry lip balm she always used, and you couldn't get enough of it.

your hands slid up her back, pushing her shirt up until it bunched around her shoulders. you pulled away just long enough to tug it over her head, tossing it into the back seat. then, you were on her again, your lips finding hers in a heated kiss.

karina's skin felt hot against yours as your hands roamed her body, exploring every curve and dip. you trailed kisses along her collarbone, down her chest, and across her stomach. she arched into your touch, her head falling back as she let out a low groan. your hands skimmed along her thighs, the fabric of her pants suddenly feeling much too restrictive.

you tugged at the waistband, looking up at her for permission. karina's eyes met yours, pupils blown wide with desire. she nodded, her hands tangling in your hair. “just hurry up and take them off,” she groaned.

you slowly pulled her pants down, your fingers skimming along her skin as you went. she shivered under your touch, her eyes fluttering shut. you discarded her pants and took a moment to admire the view. she looked stunning, her chest heaving, her cheeks flushed, her hair mussed.

you could barely believe she was yours.

her hands fiddled with the string on your sweatpants before she finally slipped them off your hips. the feeling of her bare skin against yours made you both gasp. it felt like electricity was running through your veins, and every nerve ending seemed to be on fire. karina's fingers tugged at the waistband of your boxers, and you lifted your hips, allowing her to remove them.

karina couldn't even begin to explain how badly she needed you. every fiber of her being seemed to hum with desire, her body aching for your touch. she had been so patient, waiting for you to give her some kind of sign that you wanted this as badly as she did. but now, with your hands gripping her hips as if you were afraid she might disappear, she knew she didn't need to wait anymore.

then, slowly, gently, she lowered herself onto you. the two of you gasped in unison, the sensation sending sparks shooting through your bodies.

"fuck," she breathed, her voice shaky. "that's— fuck, you're— oh, my god."

you clutched at each other as if you were trying to meld into one being, your lips finding hers in a searing kiss. karina began to move against you, slowly at first, then picking up the pace.

karina's rhythm was tortuously slow, like she was trying to make this moment last as long as possible. but you were past the point of patience, and you found yourself bucking up against her, desperate for more friction.

"please," you whined, and she obliged, increasing the tempo.

karina let out a low moan, her hands gripping your shoulders tightly. "i love you," you whispered, throwing your head to the side, biting your lip to keep from screaming out as your pleasure intensified.

"y/n," karina breathed, her hand wrapping around your neck as she pressed messy kisses to your face. "i love you too."

a slap echoed through the car, followed by a small giggle that shortly turned into a moan. karina bit her lip, stifling another laugh as your head snapped over to her.

"did you just slap me?"

karina nodded, still smiling. "i want you to look at me, puppy. i've missed those pretty eyes."

you tried to say something, but the words were lodged in your throat; all you could manage was a strangled moan.

you tried to say something, but the words were lodged in your throat; all you could manage was a strangled moan. karina's fingers trailed along your neck, tracing the line of your collarbone.

"c’mon…look at me, puppy."

your eyes met hers. they were dark and hooded, the pupils dilated with desire. you couldn't look away, not even if you wanted to.

your name fell from her lips in a desperate plea, and you couldn't help but smile. you knew you wouldn't last long—not with the way karina was moving against you, her hips grinding down, her hands gripping the back of your neck. the sound of her voice, the sight of her body, and the feel of her skin against yours—it was all too much.

karina's movements became more erratic, her breaths coming in short gasps. she buried her face in your neck as she reached her peak, her whole body trembling with the force of her orgasm. "y/n," she cried out, her voice muffled by the crook of your neck.

your own climax followed soon after, the two of you clinging to each other as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. you held each other tightly, neither wanting to let go, the air in the car thick with the smell of sex. you didn't know how long the two of you sat there, basking in the afterglow, but eventually, karina's voice broke the silence.

"i love you," she murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

you smiled, the words falling easily from your lips. "i love you too, karina."

taglist - @brocoliisscared @spidrgamer @kimminjiissosjdirbidnsjje @kyakpack @snsgf @sscieloz @fruityg0rl

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backtothefanfiction · 2 days ago

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First Impressions | Joaquin Torres

Summary: the first time Sam introduces you to Joaquin

Warnings: flirting, fluff, playful banter

A/N: I fell in love with this man during Falcon and the Winter Soldier. Completely forgot about him until I watched the new Cap the other night. So here’s this little before going to sleep drabble. As you will quickly be able to tell I love the idea of a Carol Danvers niece reader given the whole air force thing. Hope people enjoy. May write some more in the future.

Joaquin was smitten the second you walked into his house. When Sam said he was headed over with “some new recruit” he hadn’t expected you. A roughed up baseball cap on top of your head, faded baseball jersey, baggy oversized jeans and sneakers, dripping from head to toe and almost shivering.

“What happened?” Joaquin asked Sam as you tentatively stepped through the sliding door, not wanting to drip too much on this strangers carpet.

“He dropped me in the lake.” Your voice blurted out, completely unamused, shooting daggers at the still newly appointed Captain America.

“Yeah, well, still better that than a 40ft drop onto hard ground.” Sam retorted.

“Or you could have just not dropped me at all?!” You stressed, hands raised in the air, still in complete disbelief over this turn of events. “That’s the last time I’m ever flying with you.” You muttered and you saw Joaquin let out a little chuckle over the situation.

That’s when you really took him in. The guy who Sam sung the praises of. His supposedly best recruit, not that he would actually tell him that.

“Come on, I’ll get you a towel.” Joaquin said, leading you upstairs and to the bathroom.

“You wouldn’t happen to have anything I could change into, do you?” You asked him, as he handed you a couple towels.

“Umm, yeah, of course, I’ll just go find you something.”

You didn’t wait for him to return before you whipped off your clothes and immediately jumped in the shower to wash the murky lake water off of you. You were grateful that it was an old tub and shower curtain situation and not one of those see through glass cabinet shower situations, not that it didn’t stop Joaquin from blushing when he came back into the bathroom a few minutes later with some clothes in hand.

“Oh, sorry- I didn’t realise you were- I’ll just leave these- uh- yeah.” He rushed out before quickly shutting the door again.

He hesitated a moment as he stood with his back to the door, his brain fixated on the small glimpse he got of your naked back from behind the shower curtain. He could feel the flush in his cheeks. The smile that threatened his lips. He fought to hide it as he went back down to Sam in the kitchen.

“So who is she?” Joaquin asked as he grabbed a fresh cup of coffee and passed it to Sam before picking up his own previously discarded mug to finish.

“She’s a Danvers.” Sam said, as if the surname alone held a lot of weight, but Joaquin still didn’t bite. “As in Carol Danvers… Captain Marvel.” Sam said, walking him through it slowly until Joaquin’s face began to flicker with recognition. “Carol’s her aunt. Before she became Captain Marvel she was one heck of an Air Force Pilot. Kid saw what her aunt did and decided to pick up the mantle.”

“And she’s good?” Joaquin fished, a flame for the woman upstairs really taking hold as Sam kept adding more fuel to the fire.

“Yeah, she’s fucking great. Best female pilot I’ve ever seen.”

“So you looking to set her up with a pair of wings?” Joaquin asked, even though he had a hint of jealousy to his tone. He enjoyed being the only person other than Sam who had access to the now not so secret military wings, but he also couldn’t deny the new found need to go flying with you on a sunny afternoon and treat you to a picnic on the top of a mountain or something.

“We’ll see.” Sam said sceptically, but Joaquin knew from the way Sam had even brought you to meet him he thought you had what it takes.

“What are you two girls talking about?” You asked as you came striding back into the kitchen in a pair of Joaquin’s joggers and his old air force T-shirt. You were using a towel to squeeze out your hair and Joaquin couldn’t deny you looked right at home in his house, wearing his clothes.

“Lover boy here was grilling me about you.” Sam joked, taking in the way Joaquin looked at you.

“Was he now?” You asked feigning interest and playing up to the little bit in order to embarrass him, but as you sat across from him at the table and really took him in for the first time, you couldn’t deny he was handsome- and if the T-shirt he gave you had anything to say, you definitely had a lot in common to bond over.

“Uh- um- no- I-“ Joaquin began to stutter bashfully.

“It’s all cool dude,” you reassured. “I know he’s just messing. You really shouldn’t let him rile you up like that.”

Joaquin sighed before he leaned in closer to you, “How do you stay so calm around him?” He asked as if Sam wasn’t there and you had all the secrets.

“Eh, when you grew up being told about your badass aunt with actual super powers, some guy in a read white and blue bird costume is nothing.” You joked.

“Hey!” Sam pointed at you, “don’t you dare turn him against me or I’ll drop your ass in the lake again.”

“So you admit it! You did it on purpose.” You said, slamming your hand on the table animatedly.

“Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t. What are you gonna do about it?” He asked back, but you didn’t say anything more. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

You rolled your eyes at him before fixing them on Joaquin instead as Sam’s phone began to ring. You both turned your eyes on him as he checked the caller ID. “I need to take this.” He said, before getting up and dismissing himself, stepping out the back door to take the call outside.

“Would you like coffee?” Joaquin asked to break up the silence the two of you were left in.

“Umm, yes, that would be great.” You said with a smile and he got up to pour you a cup full from the pot.

“It looks good on you.” He said as he came back over a moment later and handed you the mug.

“What, now?” You said confused.

“Uh, my shirt,” he said with a shrug, as he committed to the statement. “It looks good on you.”

You couldn’t help but blush slightly under his gaze. He was cute and confident and oddly endearing. “Thanks.” You smiled, as he sat himself back down. “I guess I’ll keep it then.” You joked.

“The only way you’re keeping that thing is if you were my girlfriend.” He replied, half as a joke, half as a way of informing you just how much that shirt meant to him.

“Well I guess you better ask me on a date then.” You smirked playfully as he took a sip of his coffee and he almost choked as he spat it back into his cup. But before he could say anymore, Sam came back through the sliding door.

“Alright lovebirds, you can stop having your meet cute moment now, we gotta go,” he said to Joaquin.

“And what about me?” You said indignantly, feeling a little put out.

“He’ll be back in time to take you out on a proper date later.” Sam retorted, marching back through the house to get his shit from where he’d left it by the front door.

“And what am I supposed to do in the meantime?” You asked, completely brushing over the rest of what he’d said. “I don’t even live anywhere near here!” You stressed. “You just brought me here and now you’re gonna up and leave me here!” You said indignantly.

Joaquin froze in the middle of the hallway next to you, looking from his mentor and back to you as he tried to keep up with what’s going on. He felt conflicted. “I mean, can’t she just come with us.” He offered. “I mean, you brought her out here because you wanted to see what she could do. So I say let her.”

Sam looked between the two of you slowly, before he conceded. “Uh, fine. But if anything happens with her it’s on your head.” He warned but you were both smiling.

“So, is this technically our first date?” You ribbed him as he began to usher you out the door so he could lock up.

“We’ll see. Depends if you like it or not.” He mused and you had to admit, his cheeky smile did make you swoon.

“And if I don’t?” You asked with a playful twinkle in your eye.

“Don’t worry,” he reassured you with just as equal playfulness and innuendo, “you will.”

#joaquin torres #Joaquin Torres x reader #joaquin torres imagine #short #fluffy #mcu #falcon #captain america brave new world #captain America #Sam Wilson

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kleptokure · 2 days ago

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Eyes On The Prize *ੈ✩‧₊˚

Shadow Milk Cookie x GN!Reader

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

Traveling came natural to you, as staying in one place for an extended amount of time led you to get fidgety. You cannot be chained to one mere kingdom, and you believe must explore all of Earthbread!

As of right now, you are on your umpteenth trip. An adventure to a place most cookies advised you to avoid, which is none other than Beast-Yeast.

But who are they to tell you where to and not to go? Spirit is hard to break, and you made sure to show them that. You trusted you would do a quick exploration of the geography, then check it off your bucket list.

Now, you fall flat in knowing why you were adamant this was a good idea. Exploring was easier said than done. The map of the mysterious land is not even complete! You set yourself up for failure, and you wish to travel back to regions more cheerful.

Alas, that option is unavailable. You find yourself disoriented, now walking along a trail while also uncertain of its destination.

Up ahead of the pathway, you spot a Barrel Inn! Quickening your pace to make your way towards the safe space, you feel the slightest sense of being watched all of a sudden.

Turning around to look through the eerie branches stemming from the trees, you find no one to suspect. Fatigue must've taken its course on your dough, so you dismiss the idea. The thought of a jug filled with cream root beer occupies more space in your mind.

Opening the door to the Inn, you see quite a few of patrons. It comes as surprising, since the lone cookie you've come across is some lazy caramel cookie who has the ability to change between cookie to chameleon.

You opted to sit in the furthest corner, as you would rather avoid conversation with anyone here. You are unsure about whom you can trust in a place like this.

Despite that, once you take the first sip of your given carbonated drink, a cookie takes their seat next to you.

"Hey, you!" They immediately spoke, a boisterous tone taking place in their words. It was clear they were inebriated from the audible hiccups that followed.

"Did you know that... there are beasts here?" That serves as typical drunken talk, causing you to avoid giving responses

"It... It's true! The beasts are real, and you might find one in these parts..." The drunk cookie expressed as if they knew you regarded their speech as imaginary.

"If you feel like yur being watched, then you're already their next victim!" That statement is what causes you to feel anxious.

Before you could ask any questions, the cookie left within the moment you turned to them. You were curious, as you still recall the moment before you stepped inside the tavern.

Then you sense a tap on your shoulder, causing you to startle. Diverting your gaze, you turn to see a cookie with milky light blue hair flowing down to her dress. Not to mention her mismatched colored eyes, which were a pair to gape at.

"I'm sorry to be a bother, but could you be a dear and help me?" Her velvet voice questioned, stating her rationale for the sudden intrusion.

"What is it?" There is not much left to do on your schedule, besides getting back home, which looks to be unattainable. It wouldn't hurt to assist her.

Although, you do remember the intoxicated cookie's words. But could the dainty lady standing near have much of a possibility to be a beast?

No, that sounds like utter nonsense. Your exhaustion must be causing you to find truth in that strange cookie's words.

"I fear I've dropped my basket along the way, and a few cake hounds decided to reclaim my carrier as their own," she said with a defeated tone.

"Surely a strong cookie like you would be able to assist me?" Her voice took on an unexpected high pitch that one would consider abnormal. Would it be a risk to assume she's flirting with you right now? Beast-Yeast never fails to live up to its unusual traits..

"Um... Sure. Lead the way," you accepted, much to her favor. There were little opportunities to finish your beer, but oh well.

Wandering across the familiar pathway, you decide to start up some small talk with the cookie.

"So, what's your name?" You asked, walking beside the cookie.

"It's... Blueberry Milk Cookie!" She sounded eager to make the announcement.

"Nice to meet you, Blueberry Milk Cookie. I’m [Name] Cookie," you stated.

"Even your name is quite grand..." she mutters to herself.

"What was that?"

"Huh? Oh, there's my basket!" Averting your attention, Blueberry Milk Cookie points ahead.

Preparing to fight, you stare towards a clear area, just to the right of the path you both walk.

But there lacks the cake hounds you expected to see, leaving you with confusion.

"Oh, looks like they left. Isn't that nice?" Blueberry Milk Cookie advances over to her basket with a casual step. Her demeanor so easygoing makes you find it hard to believe there were any hostile creatures here in the first place.

"Blueberry Milk Cookie... Were there any cake hounds here to begin with?" She can hear the doubt in your tone, making her hold back laughter.

Basket in hand, the lax cookie walks far closer than she should, pushing your subconscious to make you take a few steps back.

"Of course there was. What, do you think I'm a liar...?" Feigning her offense, Blueberry Milk Cookie allows a pout to take place on her face.

Her eyes, which you once found beautiful, now seem unsettling with the way they peer at you. A part of you does not want to upset the young lady, just to avoid any further conflict.

"No, I believe you," you reassure. A pleased smile graces her face, and her expression returns to normal, as if her prior abnormality was never here nor there.

"Good. Well, I'll be going now. Thank you for your assistance, dearie. Ta-ta!" Blueberry Milk Cookie plants a kiss on your cheek, sending a sweet smile your way after. Her way of a thank you, your guess. Now there sneaks a tinge of guilt for finding her strange.

You would let your suspicions go, but the way the cookie progresses into the trees like it was rountine causes to increase your distrust. There is no way any shelter took place in the direction she went.

It matters not, since you doubt you'll find any additional encounters with her.

Time to continue with your journey of finding your way home. Hopefully all of the activities from today are shut out from your mind by then.

Shadow Milk Cookie cannot help but giggle, the rush of another successful trick flowing through his dough. You are just the cutest thing!

Really, you did most of the work for him. All he needed to do was take on another form, one of a elegant cookie anyone would be eager to please, and you followed him like a sheep to a shepard. Though his more average traits did slip out nearing the end, you slumped in pointing it out. Maybe you kinda dig it!

He happened to stumble upon your presence. It was an accident, truly. Shadow Milk Cookie has far more significant matters to tend to, yet would it be so bad to put you somewhere on his agenda? Your appearance is quite to his liking. He cannot just leave you be on your merry way.

You would slot in perfectly like a piece in his puzzle of a Spire! Not alongside his other assistants, though. Perhaps something more, a relationship that he doesn't take part in often.

That could only be if you behave to his standards. Yet Shadow Milk desires to label you an exception just from the lone interaction you both share. Such a charmer you are, huh?

At the moment, only one of his morphs have been revealed to you. Said form leans on the tamer side, yet that will diminish over time. Shadow Milk Cookie wants to see just how far he can push you! How joyous a new toy can be.

Stalking you from the shadows, he can catch the look of lostness in your eyes. Another humble traveler adrift in the twists and turns of Beast-Yeast. What a pity.

But fear not, as Shadow Milk Cookie will be your guide back home. Remember to express your gratitude!

Though it is not your idea of home, but his, which is none other than his lively Spire of Deceit. No need to worry, growing accustomed to the tower comes within a matter of time.

For the time being, Shadow Milk Cookie will be peeping from between the trees, awaiting the ideal moment to stage his next trick. The jester wishes for you not to spot out the anomalies, otherwise his entire act will be spoiled! A few cards of tomfoolery in his deck haven't been played yet. Play along, why don’t you?

Your back is pressed up against a tree, your legs laying flat on the grass beneath you. Walking any longer sounds like a nightmare, due to the fact that your legs grow sore from the little progress you've completed.

With the thoughts of dread being cut short, you feel an abrupt poke to your left. The unanticipated touch jolts you back to life, causing your eyes to dash up.

The being that poked you was not a cookie, but a... cream sheep? At least that goes as your guess. The names of creatures in Beast-Yeast might contrast to those in Crispia, but it is still a fluffy sheep at the end of the day.

Inspecting the surroundings, you find there to be no companions with the lone sheep. Perhaps a stray from its family, just as lost as you are.

With more proper posture, you raise your hand to pat the wooly animal. The sheep releases sounds of comfort, pressing its head further into your hand. The fleece is the closest material you've had to a pillow, which brings you more ease.

The curious creature licks your cheek, a sign of appreciation from your affection. This claims the spot of the most enjoyment you've received in Beast-Yeast. Though that gets interrupted when you notice a certain feature.

This sheep... They have quite the pair of eyes once you pay attention to them. You fail to gawk this time around, as you believe you've seen more than enough of the contrasting colors in their icing.

The chances of heterochromia in a cookie is rare enough, but in a sheep of all beings? This is no coincidence. Either it be cookies with clashing eye colors are quite common here and you are just uneducated, or you have the right to be apprehensive because there is in fact something, or someone after you.

You find yourself having little interest in being here any longer, having gained a new sense of hope to escape this maze of a place.

The cream sheep is confused when the soothing touch of your hand disappears. Looking up at you, the sheep is only met with your figure sprinting away. How rude, you forgot to say goodbye!

Shadow Milk Cookie is left behind, an appalled expression plastered onto his mammal face. He cannot believe his stunt failed to work! He is quite literally, ehem, DECEIT! How can one not be filled with flattery to be given a chance to fall for his tricks? Such individuality you have... Or it just be his eyes, which are stubborn to change with the rest of his appearance.

A rule breaker here and there always entices him. You best be able to live up to your rebel characteristics. Shadow Milk would be disappointed to see you flop like the rest. The entertainer needs to be entertained every once in a while.

With a whirl, Shadow Milk Cookie reverts into his infamous appearance, one he's more acquainted with. Devoting himself into a being as small as a cream sheep disgusts him. Although there was one thing he favored about the animal.

It's common for cookies to give a pat or more to an animal they come across, yet it still surprised him when you kept the same for him.

Touching the cotton on his false form so softly makes him feel things; things he has gone without for extended amounts of time. Since, y'know, being locked up in that tree, all alone, with no other cookie to satisfy the buried need of another's touch.

Perhaps informing you of his pity story will bring you to tears, making you coddle him within the second fake tears prickle the corner of his eyes.

Such an imagination he has. For now, he corrects. If you shared such tenderness towards a strange sheep who popped out of the shady vegetation, then you should show no hesitation in sparing some attention for him, too.

Nevertheless, the animal act has grown rather boring. As much as Shadow Milk Cookie would love to receive more of your soft petting, the show must go into its climax!

You will witness the form from times ago, the one which represented his very deceit. Lucky little cookie you are, aren'tcha? Shadow Milk Cookie has grown adjusted to the dough, so he decided it would be best for you to fall in love with his face as well.

With your current state, hungry and tired, you have little hope in outrunning your stalker. The very least you can do is make this all easier for him by jumping into his open arms.

No matter, as Shadow Milk Cookie is already on his way. Hope you're ready!

There does not appear to be much reason in running. If a beast has dedicated their time to hunt you down, then what might the point be in trying to escape? You have no powers deemed extraordinary, so the battle conclusion can be guessed without a second thought.

As if on queue, a booming sound of laughter is heard from behind you. The noise sends chills down your spine, yet you are brave enough to peek around. However, the miscreant is not seen from your eye.

"Other way, doughbrain!" Now beckoning from a new direction, the beast seems to be playing tricks with you. Just great.

You rotate to face the other way. Even so, you do not manage to see any cookie.

"I’m over here!" With a heavy breath, you spin around to survey the area. And again, nothing is seen. You give up in finding the trickster. Staring forward, the very eyes you attempt to run from stare back.

"BOO!" Shadow Milk Cookie said, adding on a scare for extra affect.

Watching you fall on your bottom, the jester laughs, a noise that becomes more haunting for you each second.

"I’m sorry, I'm sooooorry! You just make this all too easy," he admits with his head tilted, making sure to lean in to see your expression, fiiled with fright.

"Wow, now that's a face! You really are adorable." With honesty, that did not sound as teasing as the rest of his words did.

Now remembering it, the apparently kind lady from earlier appeared to be flirtatious for a second. With newly gained knowledge, that cookie is also the one trailing after you. If you are correct once more, and a beast has a tiny crush on you... You pray you awaken soon.

With how panicked your mind is, you're surprised you managed to glue some sort of pieces together. Now you can only have faith that your assumption is the truth.

If so, then perhaps you can use that to your advantage? With pride, you would hold romantic affection for a beast, as long as you would not crumble.

"I... I look adorable? Well then, um, you look absolutely stunning," you stuttered out, trying your best to come across as charming. You trust you led your prior frown into a smile, albeit a bit shaky.

Oh? Due to your words, Shadow Milk Cookie is actually taken aback, thinned lips replacing his grin. A cookie complimenting their very predator? He must have heard you wrong.

"Huh? Whawasthat?" Witches. Was your pick-up line that bad? Oh, may you be granted a peaceful crumbling.

Regardless, you refuse to back out of this, even though continuing with your coquettish behavior sounds like a death wish.

"You have... the loveliest eyes I have ever had the fortune of staring upon," you idolize. That has to sound convincing enough, right?

"Hmmmmm," Shadow Milk Cookie hums, debating why a warmth flushes his cheeks from your unexpected admiration. Along with that, he floats himself much closer, which causes you slight discomfort.

Maybe a bit more than slight, as you raise your hand and slapped him, a gasp slipping from your mouth due to your own actions. Instinctive reaction does not discern when and when not to react.

This is it. This is the end. You will fall because of an accident from your subconscious. Or not?

Shadow Milk Cookie bursts out with laughter, his palm touching the mark you placed on his face. He's incredulous that a cookie was brave enough to lay a hand on him! His guard must be far too low with you, though he might just lower it. Your attack wasn't all that bad.

"Hit me again, I like it!" This cookie, "Blueberry Milk Cookie," is messed up in the head. Who in their right mind would ever admit that? But you fail to speak out your judgement. It's far better not to.

"I think that one mark adorns your dough just nicely," you attempted to persuade. While you decline his request, you keep up with flirtations. Things may spiral out of control if you give in to every ask of his.

"Ohoho, how interrresting!" Rolling his r, Shadow Milk Cookie gives you a good look over. It is as if you grow more and more appealing each time he gazes at you.

"Even I didn't expect such a twist in plot... You WILL be my next rising star!" Wait, is he serious? Did you actually manage to seduce a beast? He may not be sane, that much is well known, but are you?

"I'd be delighted to act in your performances," you replied, keeping your voice steady to avert suspicion. Your words act as the sole thread to your survival, and you can tell they all come to please him.

The several eyes in his bizarre hair roll back, another sign if you couldn't tell he was elated by the wide grin covering a large portion of his face.

Shadow Milk Cookie hovers over, and this time, you do not hit him, allowing his hands to cup the sides of your face.

"I, Shadow Milk Cookie, hereby declare you, [Name] Cookie, as mine!" That sentence zones you into reality, making you realize how intense the situation you've somehow managed to tumble yourself into is. Any way out as an option is long gone. Too bad.

In your peripheral vision, a portal appears out of thin air. That must act as your way of transportation. You hope sickness is not complimentary, but that gets cut short when you're lifted up inside of the whirls of black and blue.

You hear the smallest chuckle before you depart. Might it be a good omen, or bad?

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

A/N: not too sure if im in love with this one (－－〆)

#crk x reader #shadow milk crk #crk #cr kingdom #shadow milk cookie x reader #x reader #shadow milk cookie #gn reader #crk x you

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fancy-rock-dove · 1 day ago

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The key to deciding what egg substitute you could use is knowing a little bit about what the egg is doing in your recipe.

Quick breads (chemically-leavened [i.e. with an acid-base reaction like baking soda or baking powder] doughs/batters, usually a bit thinner consistency)? They’re getting moisture and binding from the eggs. The moisture in apple or banana, along with the pectin (natural fruit starch that causes thickening in jams/applesauces) does that nicely, and the flavor goes well. There’s a fair amount of flour in those recipes doing the heavy lifting as far as structure goes, for things like trapping the air bubbles during baking, but also you want enough leavening to MAKE those bubbles, as OP says.

Lower-flour recipes like cocoa brownies are probably getting more structure from the eggs, depending on how cakey vs fudgey you like them. You can add some extra leavening for that, or use substitutes that trap more bubbles, like flax or the flour mixture. Or, as OP said, they, like cookies, can also just be good a bit denser.

Higher egg contents than that, you probably also need to start considering things like the fat content in the egg yolks, and replacing it some other way (like vegetable oils) because it’ll affect the finished richness and texture of your product.

Something like a meringue from an egg white, you’re gonna want something with the proteins to set up the network (tiny molecular mesh) that traps the air in that foam, which is why people use aquafaba and/or flax for that.

For substitutions of a lot of eggs, it can actually be helpful to mix a few different options to cover your bases, as far as function/flavor goes.

A lot of people have written a lot more about this than I will here, but it really is cool, worth looking into, and pretty fun, if you’re at all interested in experimenting with your recipes a bit. If one of these doesn’t work with your favorite recipe, there are plenty of others that may very well serve you better.

Also, I’ve found it very freeing to recognize when the main purpose of eggs in a dish is “to be the texture I expect from eggs”. A lot of people have seen that comment about the banana substitution in the egg custard tart not working. But let me tell you, silken tofu? Fantastic substitute for the texture you’re probably actually going for. TONS of recipes online for silken tofu quiches, custard tarts, etc. Add some coconut cream and gelatin/agar thickener to that baby and you have a VERY respectable dessert with no eggs at all. Put in some nutritional yeast and it is an excellent umami medium for your quiche fillings.

Eggs are an amazing food, because they do all of the above plus more, but there’s also definitely other stuff that does each of these things, too, if you’re looking for ways to use fewer of them right now.

My fellow American hobby bakers, demoralized by egg prices and scarcity and how you will make the American apple pie or the chocolate chip cookie, fear not. I have spent many years turning regular baking recipes vegan for my corrupt and traitorous sister who last week ate a salmon cream cheesed roll. There are many, many substitutes for eggs including but not limited to:

Mashed banana: best added to compliment flavors of whatever it is you're baking (peanut butter, chocolate) make sure it's MUSHY and ripe

Apple sauce: again, best with complimentary flavors (cinnamon, brown sugar) use unsweetened and have the rest as a snack

The big boy champ, ground flaxseed: flavorless, though it does darken your batter/ dough a bit. Bags found next to cornstarch and almond meal, etc. Instructions on how to use right on the bag! Make sure to let the flaxseed water combo sit in a separate bowl until it has the consistency of mucus 👍

Now with all of these you MUST add a bit more leavener, they don't have the lil bit of lift eggs give, so make sure you add a touch more baking powder. Sort of ok for brownies and cookies if you want them a bit more dense but KEY for cakes, quick breads, muffins and other things like that or she is gonna be SQUIDGY ��

#food #cooking #baking #eggs #I am not vegan but have cooked many times for people who are. And there really are vegan solutions to almost everything #It’s truly impressive

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svt-luna · 14 hours ago

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𝜗℘ LET THE WORLD BURN

❛ 𝘪’𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯, 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘯𝘥, 𝘪𝘧 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯. 𝘪'𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯— 𝘪'𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯, 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦, 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘨𝘰 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴. ❜

timeline: 2022

synopsis: After Luna gets injured during Be The Sun tour rehearsal in Bangkok, her members— willing to do anything and everything for her— refuse to let her face it alone.

warnings: angst, cursing, crying, injuries, mentions of blood, stitches, graphic description of injury, graphic description of stitches, medical jargons, protective!svt, worried!svt, injured!Luna, angry!Cheol, anxiety, mentions of panic attack, fluff by the end, couple goals, team goals (i lOvE mY tEaM, i LoVE mY cReW!)

angst might be my favorite genre to write… what does that say about me? 😝 anyway, hope you lovlies enjoy this one! happy reading❤️‍🔥

╰ ౨ৎ LUNA-VERSE MASTERLIST ╰ ౨ৎ writings masterlist

There were good days, and then there were perfect days.

This was the latter.

Luna had woken up that morning with the kind of well-rested feeling that came once in a blue moon. The kind where her body felt weightless, her limbs loose and relaxed, as if sleep had actually done its job for once instead of teasing her with a few hours of restless tossing and turning. The kind where her eyes opened naturally, with no groggy blinking or sluggish protests against reality, just a deep inhale followed by a satisfied sigh.

No alarms blaring, no manager knocking, no overwhelming exhaustion from back-to-back schedules— it was almost unsettling how good she felt.

Almost.

She rolled over, half-expecting Jeonghan to still be fast asleep beside her, but to her surprise, he was already awake. Awake and staring at her with a soft, sleepy-eyed smile that made her heart flip just a little.

“Good morning,” he murmured, voice still husky from sleep.

Luna blinked at him, half convinced she was still dreaming. “You’re awake before me?”

He smirked. “Miracles do happen.”

That alone was enough to tell her that today was going to be a good day. Because if there was one thing Jeonghan wasn’t, it was a morning person.

They both weren’t, really.

They usually spent their mornings in a sluggish haze, shuffling around each other in slow motion as they tried to find the will to start the day.

But today? Today, they were both awake, well-rested, and— dare she say it— energized.

Which was shocking cause it usually takes the both of them a couple hours to actually wake up— sometimes they don’t even talk, a mutual understanding enveloping them that it could take a few minutes.

And if that wasn’t enough, breakfast had only solidified the perfection of the morning.

They had eaten together, just the two of them, something that didn’t happen as often as they would have liked with their schedules. The meal had been simple but satisfying— nothing extravagant, just warm food and quiet company. And Jeonghan, despite being notoriously grumpy before noon, had been in a good mood. He had nudged her knee under the table, stolen a bite from her plate with a mischievous grin, and even made her laugh before she had finished her coffee.

Perfect.

The weather, too, had decided to play along.

It was the kind of day that made traveling easy— clear skies, a gentle breeze, the kind of temperature that was neither too hot nor too cold. The airport had been bustling as always, but their departure had been smooth, their flight to Bangkok a breeze.

No delays, no turbulence, no last-minute chaos that usually came with their schedules.

And, to top it all off, Luna looked good.

She wasn’t even going to be humble about it. Her airport outfit was one of her favorites— effortless yet chic, the kind that made her feel both comfortable and confident.

She knew she looked amazing because Jeonghan had given her that once-over when she walked out of their room, the kind of look that lingered for just a second too longer than normal before he hummed and said, “You’re going to make the fans go insane with that outfit, Nana-ya.”

And he wasn’t wrong.

Everything was going right.

They were in Bangkok for the Be The Sun tour , a city filled with fans who always made them feel like royalty, and as soon as they landed, the energy was contagious. Excitement buzzed in the air as they made their way to the venue. The anticipation for tomorrow’s concert was already thick, and the entire team was riding on that high.

By the time they arrived at the arena, spirits were high. The members were in a great mood, their team was in a great mood, and— perhaps most importantly— everyone was in excellent condition. No colds, no injuries, no exhaustion lingering in their bones from the previous leg of the tour.

It was rare for things to align so perfectly, but somehow, today, everything just was.

As always, the day before a concert was dedicated to rehearsing— going through the flow of the show, refining their markings, making sure every little detail was in place. Unlike the soundchecks on concert days, which were open to VIP ticket holders, today’s rehearsals were private. Just them and their team, no audience, no distractions.

It was a familiar routine.

They ran through their setlist, making sure their formations were clean and tight. They tested their microphones, adjusted their in-ear monitors— everyone had their own preferences for how they wanted to hear themselves, whether they needed more bass, more vocals, or a balance of both. The tech team ran through lighting cues, pyrotechnic timings, and camera placements.

Everything had to be perfect, every detail accounted for.

But despite the professionalism, there was still that undercurrent of chaos that only they could bring.

Dokyeom kept acting he was playing random guitar riffs in between songs. Hoshi and Seungkwan kept breaking into impromptu dances that had nothing to do with their actual choreography. Mingyu was either mimicking everyone’s vocal runs or dramatically collapsing onto the floor every time they finished a song. Even Woozi, their usually focused producer, had cracked a few jokes, making everyone laugh as they rehearsed.

And Jeonghan— of course, Jeonghan— had been nothing short of a menace.

At one point, he had somehow gotten his hands on a stage prop and used it to poke at the other members mid-rehearsal. Then, when he got bored of that, he started throwing Luna mischievous glances, making faces at her from across the stage until she nearly choked on the water she was drinking.

But through all the chaos, the rehearsal itself was smooth. Everyone knew their marks, their moves, their cues.

It was all going so well.

Too well.

Luna should have known.

Should have known that the moment she started labeling the day as perfect, she had already jinxed herself.

Should have known that there was no such thing as perfect.

Because perfection was a fragile, fleeting thing. A delicate illusion that could shatter in an instant.

And in just a few moments, it would be.

The stadium was quiet, save for the gentle strumming of the backing instrumentals playing through their in-ear monitors. The air inside the vast arena was still, almost heavy with the kind of warmth that came with rehearsing for hours under stage lights.

They were nearly done for the day— so close to wrapping up their final run-throughs before they could head back to the hotel and rest.

Seated in rows along the metal bleachers set up on the main stage, the members swayed lightly to the melody of ‘Our Dawn is Hotter than Day’. The song was always a moment of solace in their setlist— warm, nostalgic, fun, filled with a quiet kind of comfort. It wasn’t a song they just performed; it was a song they felt.

Luna sat beside Jeonghan, their shoulders barely touching as they sang, their voices blending effortlessly with the rest of the group. Their microphones were held up to their mouths as they always did, their bodies slightly leaned forward as they focused on their harmonies. She could feel the energy between them, that unspoken connection of knowing exactly when to breathe, when to soften, when to let the music take over.

The moment was peaceful.

Almost lulling. Almost perfect.

And then it wasn’t.

It happened so fast that for a second, Luna didn’t even register it as pain— just a sudden, sharp pop in her right ear, so loud and jarring that it rattled her skull. A strange sensation, foreign and terrifying, like something had snapped inside her head.

And then— Agony.

A white-hot, slicing pain shot through her right ear, so sharp, so immediate, that it was as if she had been electrocuted. The pain was cutting, searing, burning— an unbearable sting that radiated from deep inside her ear canal and spread like wildfire through the side of her face, down her neck, into her jaw.

Her body reacted before her mind could catch up.

A startled, high-pitched squeal of pain tore from her throat as she jolted up from her seat, her left hand instinctively dropping the microphone she had been holding. The mic hit the stage with a loud, echoing clunk, the sound of it reverberating through the empty stadium and blasting into the members’ in-ear monitors with a harsh, grating screech.

At the same time, her right hand shot up, yanking both of her in-ear monitors out of her ears in one swift, panicked motion. The small earpieces tumbled from her fingers, falling somewhere on the stage, forgotten. Her heart was slamming against her ribs, her entire body seized with alarm.

She barely registered the members’ voices, their sudden shouts of confusion and concern as she stumbled away from the metal bleachers, her legs moving on autopilot.

She needed space.

She needed to breathe.

She can’t breathe.

She’s in pain.

Her hands flew up to her ears, pressing against them as she crouched down on the stage, trying to steady herself. But nothing was steady. The pain was relentless, roaring in her right ear like an explosion that refused to fade.

And the worst part—

The worst part was that she could feel it.

The warm, sticky sensation trailing down her neck. The unmistakable wetness pooling beneath her fingers.

Blood.

It was pumping, both inside and out— throbbing in her head like a relentless pulse, trickling down the curve of her jaw, soaking into the collar of her shirt. Her ears were ringing, a high-pitched whine that drowned out everything else, leaving the world muffled and distant.

She wasn’t even sure if she was crying or if it was just the blood she felt dripping down her skin.

Maybe it was both.

Somewhere in the haze of pain, she vaguely registered movement around her— shadows shifting, voices yelling, hands reaching.

“Jiyeon-ah!”

“Hey, hey— what happened?!”

“Someone get the medic, now!”

But the words were warped, lost in the deafening ringing in her ears. She squeezed her eyes shut, her chest rising and falling in rapid, uneven breaths.

The perfect day was over.

And all she could do was hold her head in her hands as the world blurred around her.

The metallic scent of blood was thick in the air, sharp and unmistakable. It clung to her skin and her clothes— overwhelming her senses as she pressed her right hand tightly against her ear. The sticky warmth seeped between her fingers, and even without looking, she knew the extent of it. The iron-tinged, coppery smell made her stomach churn.

Hands were on her— gentle but firm, rubbing slow circles on her back, trying to ground her. Voices overlapped in frantic concern, some closer, some further away. Through the relentless ringing in her ears, she could just barely make out the distinct sound of Seungcheol’s voice cutting through the chaos.

“Where the hell are they?!” he barked, the weight of his authority sharp and urgent. “I said hurry up!”

Luna barely processed his words. She kept her head bowed, eyes shut tight, too afraid to look at the damage. She wasn’t good with blood— never had been. It made her queasy, made her feel lightheaded. If she removed her hand, if she actually saw how much she was bleeding, she knew she’d be teetering on the edge of passing out. Her body already felt weak, her breathing uneven.

But then, through the mess of panic, there was Jeonghan.

He was crouched in front of her, his presence steady, unwavering. He had been one of the first to reach her the moment she screamed, and now, as she blinked against the blur of pain and tears, she found his eyes— calm, focused, searching hers.

For a second, everything else faded. The noise, the chaos, the overwhelming nausea. It was just Jeonghan, his gaze locked onto her like he could somehow anchor her back to reality.

Then he moved, reaching out with a touch so careful, so deliberate, as he cupped the back of her neck. His palm was warm against her clammy skin, his thumb ghosting over the curve of her jaw in the softest reassurance.

“You’re okay,” he murmured, his voice impossibly gentle. “You’re alright, Nana-ya.” His eyes never wavered, steady as the way he spoke. “I know it hurts, but you’re gonna be fine. I promise.”

Luna swallowed hard, her breath shuddering as another sharp pulse of pain throbbed through her ear. She winced, squeezing her eyes shut, fighting against the dizziness creeping in.

Then suddenly, there was another shift beside her— stronger, more urgent.

Before she could react, she felt herself being lifted, scooped up effortlessly from the ground. A pair of arms secured her in a bridal carry, firm but careful, moving with quick purpose.

Seungcheol.

His jaw was tight, the muscle in it flexing as he carried her with ease. His usual composure was cracked, frustration seeping through in the way his grip tightened just slightly, in the way he muttered under his breath, words laced with quiet, restrained anger.

“They need to be way faster in situations like this,” he muttered darkly, his voice low but sharp.

But when he looked down at her, the frustration melted into something softer. His brows furrowed in concern, his lips pressing together for a second before he exhaled through his nose. And then, despite everything, he offered her a reassuring smile.

“You’re gonna be okay, Jiyeonie,” he said, this time gentle, meant just for her. “We’re getting you help. Just a little longer, alright?”

Luna didn’t say anything— she couldn’t. She only nodded faintly, her body instinctively leaning into him, her forehead resting lightly against his chest. Even with her hands still pressed against her ears, she could hear the murmurs of the other members trailing closely behind as Seungcheol carried her off the stage.

The moment they entered the backstage area, the chaos only intensified.

Backstage was always busy, always filled with movement and overlapping voices, but this was different. The usual calm, controlled energy had been shattered. Managers and staff were darting around, some grabbing medical supplies, others speaking hurriedly into their earpieces.

Everyone’s eyes were on Luna.

And not in the way she liked.

There was no hiding it— she was visibly shaking, the top of her shirt stained, her hands still shielding her ears like she could somehow block out the pulsing pain.

The rest of the members hovered, not a single one of them sitting despite the waiting room’s couches lining the space. They couldn’t. Their worry was palpable, radiating off of them in waves as they stayed close, watching as Seungcheol carried her straight to one of the sofas.

Only when he gently lowered her down did they finally exhale, but the tension in the room remained thick, suffocating.

And as Luna sat there, dizzy, aching, and clutching onto the last bit of strength she had left, she knew one thing for certain.

She jinxed herself.

The second Luna was sat down on the sofa, Jeonghan was right beside her. He moved without hesitation, pressing himself close as if to shield her from everything else in the room. His hand found her thigh, palm warm as he caressed it in slow, soothing strokes. The touch was grounding, firm but gentle, a silent reassurance that he was there. That she wasn’t alone.

Her breathing was uneven, her hands still clamped over both of her ears, though it was the right one that throbbed relentlessly. Her fingers were sticky with blood, and the coppery scent was still thick in her nose, making her stomach churn. She kept her eyes down, trying to focus on anything other than the pain, other than the fact that her head was spinning.

Then a voice cut through the tense silence of the room.

One of their tech team members, a man with glasses and a staff badge hanging around his neck, stepped forward hesitantly. His expression was tight, nervous, like he knew that whatever he was about to say wouldn’t be well received.

“We checked the equipment,” he started, his tone careful, measured. “Jiyeon’s in-ear monitor… it malfunctioned. It, um… exploded.” He swallowed, shifting slightly under the weight of so many stares. “From what we can tell, it was a wiring issue. A buildup of pressure. It caused the internal components to—” He exhaled sharply. “Basically, it blew apart from the inside. Thankfully, it only affected the right ear and not both.”

A beat of silence.

Then—

“Thankfully?”

Seungcheol scoffed, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. His jaw was clenched so tightly it looked like it might crack, his eyes dark with barely restrained frustration. He turned his full attention to the staff member, incredulous.

“Seungcheol-ah,” Jeonghan said with a warning tone, his eyes not leaving Luna.

“We should be thankful?” Seungcheol’s voice rose slightly, though not from hysteria— no, it was something sharper. Something dangerously close to fury. “This shouldn’t have happened in the first place.”

The air in the room shifted, tense and heavy.

Joshua was the first to move. He stepped toward Seungcheol, placing himself between him and the tech staff, his presence as calm and collected as ever.

“That’s not what he meant,” Joshua said, his voice steady, level. He turned slightly toward Seungcheol, making sure his words were heard clearly. “It could’ve been worse.”

Seungcheol’s jaw tightened. He let out a sharp exhale through his nose, shaking his head. His hands curled into fists at his sides before each raked a hand through his hair.

“This isn’t worse?” His voice was low, but the anger behind it was clear. He gestured toward Luna without looking, his eyes still locked onto Joshua. “She’s bleeding.”

Joshua didn’t waver. “It could’ve been worse,” he repeated. His tone didn’t change, still as levelheaded as before. “She could be bleeding out in both ears. Don’t be mean.”

The weight of the words settled over the room.

But the thing was— no one thought Seungcheol was being mean.

Not really.

Everyone knew why he was reacting the way he was. He wasn’t just the leader of SEVENTEEN. He was their oldest, the one who carried the weight of their well-being on his shoulders. His job, his responsibility, was to make sure his team— his family— was safe. And out of all the things he hated, out of everything he could tolerate, the one thing that gutted him was seeing his members hurt.

And right now?

Seeing Luna sitting there, blood trailing down her fingers, eyes glassy with unshed tears, visibly shaken— this was the worst it had ever been.

So of course Choi Seungcheol was pissed.

If he was a cartoon character he would have steam coming out of his ears right this second.

Jeonghan was angry too, sure. Not angry at anybody— he knew none of this was intentional. But he was angry at the circumstances, the cards that Luna was dealt with today.

Before anyone could say anything else, the medics finally arrived.

The moment they stepped into the room, they swarmed to Luna, their movements efficient and practiced. They wasted no time— one of them crouched in front of her while another stood to the side, pulling on a pair of latex gloves. A third unpacked medical supplies from a case, working swiftly.

Luna barely reacted. She just let them do whatever they needed to do, too drained to resist. Her mind was foggy, her body heavy. She could still feel Jeonghan beside her, his fingers running through her hair, soft and rhythmic. The gesture kept her grounded, kept her from slipping too far into the haze of pain and exhaustion.

“Alright, sweetheart,” one of the medics murmured gently. “We need to take a look.”

She felt gloved fingers against hers, prying her hands away from her ears. The second her palm lifted from her right side, she winced. The fresh sting of air against the open wound made her suck in a sharp breath, and Jeonghan’s hand immediately slid to her back, rubbing slow, soothing circles.

There was a pause. Then a murmur. The medic studying her injury leaned in closer, brow furrowed as they examined the damage.

There was a long, deep cut on the top of Luna’s right earlobe. It was bleeding heavily, the skin torn in a way that suggested something sharp had sliced through it.

One of the medics exhaled through their nose. “Looks like she was cut by something sharp.” They turned slightly, addressing the others in the room. “Most likely from the shards of her in-ear monitor when it blew apart.”

Another medic nodded. “It’s a bit deep. She is gonna need stitches.”

The second Luna heard the word stitches, her entire body went rigid. A sharp inhale hitched in her throat before she instinctively recoiled, twisting in Jeonghan’s arms as a whine escaped her lips.

“No, no, no—” she mumbled, attempting to squirm away.

But Jeonghan was faster.

The moment she moved, he moved too— his grip firm yet gentle as his arms tightened around her, stopping her from slipping away. His fingers curled securely around her forearm, his other hand pressing lightly against her back to keep her steady. He wasn’t restraining her, not really— just holding her in place, keeping her from running when they both knew she needed to stay.

“I’m fine,” Luna whined, her voice breaking, the threat of tears bubbling up again.

“You’re not.”

A chorus.

The room spoke in unison, voices overlapping— some firm, some soft, but all unwavering.

Luna’s chest heaved. She could feel all their eyes on her— the members watching from the couches, quiet and tense, their expressions drawn with sympathy.

“I don’t wanna—” Luna’s voice came out so small, barely above a whisper, and that made it worse somehow.

The members exchanged glances, their faces softening at the way her shoulders curled inward, the way she was shrinking into Jeonghan like a child avoiding a doctor’s visit.

“It won’t hurt—” one of the medics attempted to reassure her.

But Luna shook her head vehemently, cutting them off before they could finish.

“It’s not the pain.”

Jeonghan’s voice came at the same time as hers, his understanding immediate.

“It’s not the pain,” he repeated softly.

He knew.

They all did.

Luna was terrified of getting stitches.

She had only gotten them twice in her life, and this was about to be the third.

The first time was when she was ten. She had broken her collarbone after falling during a ballet recital. But that time, she had been asleep during surgery, and when she woke up, the stitches were already there— just small, neat little lines held together with dissolvable thread.

That experience wasn’t traumatic.

But the second time?

The second time was different.

She had been twelve when it happened. She had cut herself with a pair of scissors, a deep gash along the side of her palm that wouldn’t stop bleeding.

And this time, she had been very much awake when they stitched her up.

That was the moment she realized she hated getting stitches.

It wasn’t about the pain— Luna had a high pain tolerance. She could handle pain. She had powered through sprains, bruises, even broken bones before.

No, it was the feeling that made her stomach churn. The sensation of a needle threading through her skin, the constant tugging and pulling as they sewed her back together— it made her head spin, made her skin crawl.

Some people didn’t understand why.

Luna had tattoos, after all.

But tattoos were different— very different.

A tattoo needle moved fast, penetrating the skin in rapid bursts, barely giving her time to register the sensation before the next movement came.

And getting her blood drawn? Shots? Cake. The needle went in, then out. Quick. Simple. Done.

But stitches?

Stitches made her feel like Frankenstein’s monster. Like she was being stitched together, piece by piece, with nothing to do but feel it all.

A deep, anxious breath shuddered through her as she turned toward Jeonghan, still encased in his arms. She tipped her head back against his shoulder, looking up at him with wide, pleading eyes.

“Han,” she whispered. “I don’t want…”

Jeonghan’s gaze softened instantly. His fingers moved to stroke her arm, his touch featherlight.

“I know you don’t want stitches, my moon,” he murmured, his voice low, soothing, like a lullaby. He nodded slowly, his thumb tracing small circles against her skin. “But you need them.”

Luna opened her mouth to argue, but Jeonghan was already speaking again, his tone calm, steady— gentle, but leaving no room for negotiation.

“We know you— you’re going to want to perform tomorrow,” he said knowingly, brushing his fingers along her cheek to tuck away the strands of hair stuck to her damp skin. “Despite all of this.”

Luna blinked at him.

“And we won’t let you if you have an open wound.” His tone was patient but firm. “You know that.”

Her lips parted, ready to protest— but the words never came.

Instead, Jeonghan used the sleeve of his hoodie to wipe away the dried tear stains from her cheeks, his touch careful and unhurried, like he was tending to something delicate. “It’s going to be okay,” he continued softly. “It’ll be over fast. I promise.”

Luna stared up at him, her breathing still uneven, her lips pressed into a hesitant line.

Jeonghan held her gaze, nodding ever so slightly. Then, after a beat—

“Do you want to lay on my lap?” he asked gently.

Luna hesitated, her mind warring with itself.

For a few long seconds, she just sat there, the weight of his words settling over her. Then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, she gave a small nod.

Jeonghan’s lips quirked in understanding. He shifted slightly, adjusting his position, his hands warm and steady as he helped her maneuver onto his lap. It was a careful process— his fingers bracing her waist as she turned, his touch never rough, never rushed.

Eventually, Luna settled, laying sideways across the couch, her head resting on Jeonghan’s lap. Her injured ear was facing up, perfectly positioned for the medics to work.

Jeonghan’s hand found her hair again, fingers gliding through the strands in soft, rhythmic motions. A silent reassurance.

She swallowed thickly, squeezing her eyes shut.

This was the best she could do.

God— she’s gonna throw up.

The room buzzed with quiet shuffles as the medics began preparing their tools, the soft clinking of metal against metal mingling with the occasional rustle of gauze and sterile packaging being torn open. The scent of antiseptic grew stronger, sharp and clinical, contrasting the warmth of Jeonghan’s touch as he continued to run his fingers through Luna’s hair.

Though her eyes remained closed, she could hear everything— the sound of gloves being snapped onto hands, the shuffle of boots against the floor, and the faint murmur of instructions exchanged between the medical staff.

One of the medics, their voice calm yet firm, broke through the quiet preparation. “Before we begin, we’re going to need to give you a tetanus shot,” they informed her. “Since you were, in fact, cut by… unknown materials, it’s just a precaution.”

Luna exhaled through her nose. She knew it was coming, but it barely fazed her. The next thing she felt was a light squeeze on her shoulder— a silent reassurance— before a brief, sharp pinch as the needle entered her skin.

It was over in seconds, and Luna didn’t even flinch. Again, cake.

What she focused on instead was Jeonghan’s fingers still carding gently through her hair, his other hand tracing slow, absentminded circles on her waist, grounding her. It was comforting, something familiar amidst the severityof the situation. The medics continued working, methodically cleaning the dried blood from her ear and neck, the damp sensation of antiseptic wipes ghosting over her skin. The sting was mild compared to the deep, dull throbbing of her wound.

“We’re checking for any remaining shards now,” one of them said, the faint clatter of tweezers against a metal tray following soon after.

A few moments passed before another medic confirmed, “Looks like you’re clear. No remaining fragments.”

Luna let out a slow breath. Good. That was good.

And now… the hard part.

She kept her eyes closed, allowing herself to just exist in Jeonghan’s hold, listening to the soft rustling of the medics moving around her. But as the distinct sound of tools shifting on the tray reached her ears, her stomach twisted. Her heart pounded louder, beating erratically against her ribs.

She knew exactly what was coming next.

The stitching.

She didn’t need to see it to know, the second Jeonghan linked his fingers with hers it was almost a signal. It was the same hand that had been smeared with blood earlier but she hadn’t even noticed it had been cleaned. She was too out of it to care at the time.

Now, though, the warmth of Jeonghan’s grip around her own was all she could focus on.

And if that wasn’t enough of a sign, the quiet shuffling of the members confirmed it. They knew she was tense. They could see it, hear it in the sharp breath she inhaled.

Then, suddenly, she felt her legs— previously sprawled across the couch— being carefully lifted. Someone settled into the empty space before gently resting her legs on their lap, large hands smoothing over the fabric of her sweats before rubbing soft, reassuring circles over her shin.

Mingyu.

She knew it was him without even opening her eyes. Don’t ask her how, she just did— when it comes to the members, she always knows.

Dokyeom moved next, circling the couch to stand behind it, peering down at her with unspoken concern. She could feel the weight of his stare, watching her closely, making sure she was okay. Making sure she was distracted.

Luna exhaled shakily before blinking her eyes open, her blurry gaze immediately landing on Dokyeom’s face. His usual bright expression had been replaced with something softer, something worried. But the second he saw her looking at him, his lips stretched into a bright, dimpled smile, as if trying to will the tension away.

Without thinking, Luna lifted her free hand and did grabby hands in his direction.

Dokyeom let out a soft chuckle before instantly intertwining his fingers with hers, squeezing gently. But then, as if facing a grave dilemma, he whined dramatically, his brows furrowing. “Aigo… Jiyeonie, don’t look at me like that because I might actually tackle them away from you and drag them out.”

The joke was lighthearted, effortless, exactly the kind of thing he always said to make her laugh. And it worked. The medic team chuckled, the members around them letting out amused huffs. Even Luna, despite the looming dread sitting heavy in her chest, felt the corners of her lips twitch into a small, appreciative smile.

Dokyeom sighed, his grip on her hand tightening slightly as he looked down at her. His voice was softer this time, tinged with genuine sympathy as he gently whined, “I’m so sorry.”

And he meant it. Not just for the stitches, not just for the situation, but for the helplessness he felt in not being able to take her place.

Luna squeezed his hand in return.

Luna barely had time to brace herself before she felt the faintest brush of fingers against her injured ear.

Even though she knew it was coming, even though she knew they were being careful, the sudden touch still sent a sharp prickle of awareness up her spine. Instinctively, she clenched her jaw and squeezed both Jeonghan’s and Dokyeom’s hands tighter, her grip turning rigid with the kind of tension that refused to leave her body.

She screwed her eyes shut again. She didn’t want to see, didn’t want to think about what was happening, only about getting through it. But the second the cool antiseptic swiped over her skin, a sharp, burning sensation igniting in its wake, she felt faint.

It was just a disinfectant, just numbing cream settling over her torn skin, yet her body reacted as if she were already in the thick of the stitching process. Her stomach churned. She swallowed hard, her breathing slowing, controlled, forcing herself not to focus on it, forcing herself to focus on the familiar warmth around her instead.

Jeonghan’s thumb ran over the back of her hand in soothing, lazy circles, his grip steadfast and unwavering. Dokyeom’s palm, slightly clammy with nervousness, squeezed hers gently, a silent reassurance that he was right there. And Mingyu, who had barely spoken since taking his place beside her, continued to rub slow, comforting patterns over her leg, his fingers pressing in just enough to ground her.

Then— she felt it.

The first prick of the needle.

It was supposed to be numb. And it was. Mostly. But there was still an occasional sting, a sharp reminder that her skin was being punctured, thread being pulled through, looped, secured.

The sensation was horrible. It wasn’t necessarily pain— it was something worse. The second she felt the thread glide through her skin, tight and unnatural, she wanted to claw at her own flesh, rip it away just to stop the feeling.

God, she hated this. She hated this so much. It made her feel like… like a piece of fabric, being sewn back together as if she weren’t human at all.

A flinch.

Luna barely noticed it at first, but her body reacted before she could stop it, her fingers twitching in Jeonghan and Dokyeom’s hands, her leg tensing in Mingyu’s lap.

Instantly, Mingyu’s hand slid from her shin to her knee, rubbing gentle, mindless strokes over it, his warmth seeping through the thin fabric of her pants. Dokyeom, who had been doing his absolute best to avoid looking at the process, tightened his grip on her hand, his thumb stroking over her knuckles as if to say, I know, I know, I hate this too.

Dokyeom’s face, when Luna dared to open her eyes for even a second, was slightly pale, a hint of queasiness lingering in his expression as he purposefully kept his gaze fixed on her and only her.

And then there was Jeonghan.

A soft, delicate “shh” left his lips, barely above a whisper, as he shifted closer. His free hand, the one that had been holding her waist, lifted to brush a stray strand of hair from her face, his touch featherlight.

“You’re doing so well, angel,” he murmured, voice laced with warmth and something so heartbreakingly gentle it almost made her cry. He tilted his head, pressing a lingering kiss to the back of her hand, his lips warm against her skin. “Just a little more, yeah? You’re okay. Almost over.”

His voice was a lifeline.

A thread tying her to reality, steady and unshakable, unlike the one currently being woven through her skin.

She exhaled through her nose, trying to focus on his words rather than the loopty-loop sensation of the thread moving through her ear.

Another sharp sting, another flinch, another press of Jeonghan’s lips against her hand.

“You’re okay, Nana-ya. You’re so strong,” he whispered, his thumb brushing over her wrist. “I’m so proud of you.”

Luna barely had the energy to react, but deep down, his words settled over her like a warm blanket, softening the jagged edges of her discomfort.

Around them, the other members sat silently on the sofas, watching her carefully.

They didn’t speak, didn’t disrupt the moment, but their presence alone was enough. They were her silent support system, steady and constant.

Luna didn’t need them to say anything— just knowing they were there was enough.

And then there was Seungcheol.

He hadn’t moved.

Not once.

Still standing exactly where he had been earlier, arms crossed so tightly over his chest it looked like he might snap in half. His sharp, scrutinizing gaze remained locked on the medics, watching their every move like a hawk.

Every time the needle so much as twitched, every time Luna so much as winced, his jaw clenched tighter, his eyes darkening as if he were committing every detail to memory.

As if the second something went wrong, he would bolt out that room and sue for malpractice and personally ensure someone lost their medical license that night.

God, Luna loved them.

Soon, it was finally over.

Luna didn’t know how long she had been lying there with her eyes closed, but she was grateful it was finally over.

The moment she felt the soft press of gauze being placed over her upper ear, a deep breath slipped past her lips, her body finally— finally— releasing the tension it had been holding onto so fiercely. Every muscle that had been locked in stiffness slowly uncoiled, her shoulders slumping as the reality of it being done settled into her bones.

Now came the aftermath.

The adrenaline was already starting to drain from her system, leaving behind an exhaustion so deep it nearly swallowed her whole. It was creeping up on her faster than she expected, the sharp clarity she had maintained throughout the process now slipping away like sand through her fingers.

Luna could hear her doctor speaking, the sound of her voice reaching her ears, but the words themselves barely registered.

Something about changing the bandage.

Something about taking the painkillers she was going to be given.

Something about not getting the area wet.

Something about how Luna was cleared to perform tomorrow.

She barely caught any of it.

Thankfully, the rest of the members were listening for her, nodding along with rapt attention, their expressions set in the same serious concentration they wore during meetings, as if they were students listening to a lecture.

They would remember. They always remembered.

They had her covered.

She just wanted to go back to the hotel, crawl into bed, and watch something mindless until she inevitably passed out.

Once all instructions were settled and the medics packed up to leave, Luna finally made the effort to move. Slowly, carefully, she pushed herself up, her body feeling heavier than it should, her hair slipping forward to frame her face in soft waves.

The reaction was immediate.

“Slowly, noona—”

“Does it hurt? Are you dizzy?”

“Wait, don’t move too fast—”

“Careful with your ear, please—”

Questions and reminders came at her from every direction, overlapping and blurring together as the members crowded around, fussing over her like an entire flock of worried mother hens.

A soft smile tugged at Luna’s lips as she listened to them, their concern seeping into every syllable they spoke. Before she could say anything, she felt arms carefully wrap around her, a gentle but firm presence pressing into her side.

“Noona…”

Seungkwan’s voice was quiet, filled with something tender and unspoken as he held her close, mindful of her injury.

Luna melted into his embrace, her hand coming up to squeeze his arm reassuringly. “I’m okay, Boo.”

That didn’t seem to convince him, but he didn’t say anything else. He just held her for a few more seconds before finally letting go, though his hand lingered on her arm as if making sure she was really there.

As the others continued fussing, Jeonghan moved behind her. Without a word, she felt his fingers gently gathering her hair, brushing it away from her face with careful precision. His movements were slow, patient, almost habitual, as he reached for the hair tie he always kept around his wrist. Within seconds, he secured her hair into a loose ponytail, mindful not to tug too much, ensuring nothing disturbed her bandage.

She didn’t even need to ask— he just knew.

Then, for the first time since the stitches started, Seungcheol finally moved.

Luna barely had time to react before she was being pulled into another hug, this one a bit firmer, warmer, grounding her completely. His arms wrapped securely around her, his chin resting lightly atop her head.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, his voice low and weighed down with guilt.

Luna turned her head slightly, pressing her cheek against his chest. “Not your fault, Cheollie,” she mumbled, her voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt.

“I—”

“Don’t argue with me, please,” she cut him off before he could even try.

And he didn’t.

He only sighed, nodded once, and squeezed her a little tighter before finally pulling away. His gaze flickered downward, and the next second, he was pointing at her collar.

“You need to change,” he said, nodding toward the small bloodstain marring the fabric. “Then we can go to the hotel and rest. We are done for the day.”

Luna glanced down at her shirt, barely registering the stain before she felt Jeonghan’s hand gently rubbing soothing circles over her back, his touch steady and comforting.

“You want my help?” Her boyfriend asked, already knowing the answer.

Luna turned to face him, exhaustion evident in her features as she nodded.

“Please, Han.”

He hummed in acknowledgment, his eyes softening as he reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear— the uninjured one. “Alright.”

Then, without hesitation, he leaned in and pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, warm and reassuring, before gently guiding her toward the bathroom so she could change.

Once everything was done— clothes changed, things packed, and the last of the lingering worries soothed— the members finally made their way out of the venue, exhaustion weighing heavily on their shoulders.

The adrenaline from earlier had long since faded, leaving behind only the telltale signs of weariness in their steps and the occasional heavy sighs that filled the quiet of their car ride back to the hotel.

They needed this rest.

Luna most specially.

After everything that had happened, after the stress, the panic, and the sheer emotional rollercoaster they had just endured, they needed this moment of peace before tomorrow’s show.

Luna barely remembered walking into the hotel, barely registered the soft murmurs of goodnights exchanged between the members as they each retired to their respective rooms.

By the time she finally found herself where she wanted to be— curled up in bed, dressed in her softest pajamas, and tucked safely against Jeonghan—her body felt like it had melted into the sheets.

This was exactly what she had been craving.

Jeonghan, after finally finishing his endless fussing over her, had settled down beside her, his arm wrapped securely around her shoulders as he idly scrolled through Netflix on the TV. His fingers absentmindedly traced slow, lazy patterns against her arm, his touch featherlight and soothing, as if he wasn’t even aware he was doing it.

Then, as he continued scrolling, his voice broke the comfortable silence.

“They have Harry Potter.”

Luna tilted her head slightly to look up at him, immediately perking up at the mention of one of her all-time favorite movies.

“You always know how to make me happy,” she said playfully, the corners of her lips twitching upward as she nudged him lightly.

Jeonghan smirked, his thumb still moving lazily over the remote as he glanced down at her. “I am your happiness, aren’t I?” he teased, his voice smooth, effortless, dripping with that familiar charm he wielded so easily.

Luna rolled her eyes, fighting back a smile. “Wow. You really think highly of yourself, huh?”

Jeonghan hummed, shifting slightly so that his face was closer to hers, his gaze dark and teasing. “Isn’t that one of the things you love about me, Nana-ya?”

Luna scoffed, but she couldn’t deny the warmth creeping up her neck at the way he was looking at her.

Smug.

Charming.

Absolutely full of himself.

But God, did it work on her every single time.

“I tolerate it,” she replied coolly, lifting her chin in mock indifference.

Jeonghan chuckled, clearly entertained. “Right. Tolerate.”

He let the word roll off his tongue like he didn’t quite believe her, like he was daring her to take it back. But instead of pressing further, he simply returned his attention to the TV, resuming his scroll through the Harry Potter movies.

Luna watched him for a moment before furrowing her brows.

“There are only eight movies… What are you looking for? The first one is right there.”

Jeonghan didn’t respond right away. Instead, he clicked on Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 1.

Luna’s confusion deepened.

“This isn’t Star Wars… why are we starting there?”

Jeonghan, completely unbothered, simply leaned back against the pillows, his smirk widening. “It has that scene.”

Luna narrowed her eyes at him. “What scene?”

His smirk remained, unwavering, filled with that all-too-familiar mischief she had seen countless times before.

“You know that scene.”

Luna scoffed, shaking her head. “No, I don’t know.” She let out a chuckle, amused by whatever nonsense he was trying to pull now.

Jeonghan’s eyes gleamed. “You know… This is the movie where one of the twins loses an ear.”

Silence.

For a brief second, Luna just stared at him, her brain processing the words he had just so casually thrown at her.

Then—

Without hesitation, she reached for the nearest pillow and whacked him square in the face.

Jeonghan burst into laughter, his body shaking against hers as he clutched his stomach, absolutely delighted with himself. His laughter was loud, unapologetic, completely unrestrained, and despite herself, Luna felt the corners of her lips twitching upward.

“Yoon Jeonghan!” she yelled, hitting him once more for good measure.

He was crying from laughing at this point, barely able to contain himself as he dodged her next attempt. “What? Too soon?” he managed between fits of laughter.

Luna huffed, but the amusement in her eyes betrayed her. “You’re terrible.”

Jeonghan wiped at his eyes, still grinning. “Aren’t the twins your favorite characters?” He tilted his head, feigning innocence. “Now you can twin with one of them.”

Luna could only laugh, shaking her head in disbelief.

“I still have an ear!” she shot back.

Jeonghan shrugged, leaning in close once more, his smirk never fading. “Technicality.”

Luna rolled her eyes, but as she looked at him— really looked at him— she felt something warm settle in her chest.

This.

This was one of the main things she loved about him.

She knew how much the others cared. She knew their concern was genuine, and she was grateful for it. But sometimes, the weight of their worry, the endless “Are you okay?” the pity in their eyes— it could be exhausting.

Luna appreciated the concern and being taken care of by the members but— she hated being fussed over for too long. She didn’t want to dwell on what happened, didn’t want to let it dampen the mood for everyone.

And Jeonghan knew that.

He always did.

So instead of treating her like she was fragile, instead of letting things become too tense or too serious, he made sure to give her exactly what she needed.

And right now, what she needed was to laugh.

He was doing a damn good job.

Luna playfully pouted at Jeonghan, her lips pushed forward in exaggerated offense as she stared at him with wide, betrayed eyes.

“You’re so mean,” she mumbled, huffing for added effect.

Jeonghan, in return, gasped dramatically before cooing at her like she was the cutest thing he had ever seen in his life. “Aww, is my baby upset?” he crooned, shifting closer and cupping her cheeks in his warm hands. His thumbs stroked against her skin, his voice dripping with faux sympathy as he pouted right back at her. “I love you, my pretty baby. Even if you don’t have an ear— even if you didn’t have two ears, I’d still love you.”

Luna narrowed her eyes at him, the corners of her lips twitching. “Oh, how kind of you.”

Jeonghan chuckled before continuing, his tone light but his grin mischievous. “Actually, I’d still love you even if you had Dumbo-sized ears. Imagine that.” He made a wide motion with his hands next to his head as if demonstrating. “You’d be so cute flapping them around.”

Luna gasped, swatting at his chest. “Yoon Jeonghan!”

Jeonghan only laughed, dodging her weak attempt at retaliation before capturing her hands in his. “I’m serious! I’d still love you. Would you still love me if I had Dumbo ears?”

Luna scoffed. “No.”

His mouth dropped open in exaggerated shock. “Wow.”

“I’m kidding,” she giggled, then dramatically sighed. “I would still love you. Even if you looked like an elf or something.”

“Oh, that’s generous of you,” he teased, his hands still holding hers.

Luna hummed in thought before her eyes twinkled with a new idea. “Would you still love me if I had no eyebrows?”

Jeonghan burst into laughter. “What happened to your eyebrows?”

“I don’t know, maybe they got burned off in by accident.”

His laughter didn’t falter. “Then of course, pretty girl, I would still love you.”

Luna wasn’t done. “Would you still love me if I had scales instead of skin?”

Jeonghan squinted at her before nodding solemnly. “I mean… it depends. Are you a mermaid or a lizard?”

Luna snorted. “Why does that matter?”

“Well, one is mystical and the other is just… concerning,” he grinned.

She rolled her eyes but was unable to hide her smile. “Okay, okay. What if I turned into a fish?”

Jeonghan pretended to think for a moment before responding, “I’d get you a really nice tank.”

Luna gasped, smacking his arm. “Jeonghan!”

“What?! You’d be a fish! What am I supposed to do, take you on a date to a restaurant?”

“I’m leaving you.”

“No, you’re not,” he said easily, and before she could argue, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss against her lips. When he pulled back, he had that smug, knowing smile that she hated to admit was justified. “See?”

Luna sighed dramatically, shaking her head as if put upon. “Fine. But last one— would you still love me if you woke up one day and turned to see that I was a horse?”

Jeonghan’s grin faltered as he blinked at her, as if genuinely processing the absurdity of the question. Then, he leaned back against the pillows, crossing his arms. “You know what? If I woke up one day and turned to see a horse, the first question in my head is not if I would love you. It’s ‘how did you turn into a horse?’”

Luna let out a laugh, but he wasn’t finished.

“Or worse,” he added, pointing at her. “I’d probably just turn to the horse and go, ‘Did you eat my girlfriend?’”

That was it.

Luna burst out laughing, her whole body shaking as she collapsed against his chest. Jeonghan joined her, his laughter intertwining with hers as he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer.

“You’re an idiot,” she managed between giggles.

“But I’m your idiot,” he said smoothly, grinning as he placed another kiss to her forehead.

Still chuckling, Luna shook her head. “Let’s just watch the movie.”

Jeonghan hummed in agreement and reached for the remote, but just as he was about to press play, Luna swiftly took it from his hands and exited the movie he had chosen.

Jeonghan blinked in confusion as he watched her navigate back to the first Harry Potter movie instead. “Nana-ya, what are you doing?”

She glanced at him with innocent eyes. “Starting from the beginning.”

Jeonghan squinted. “We were literally about to watch the seventh one.”

“And?”

“And we can’t watch all the movies tonight.” His voice was serious now, as if he was explaining something incredibly obvious.

“But why not?” Luna pouted, knowing damn well why not.

Jeonghan gave her an incredulous look. “Because you need sleep, I need sleep, and we have a show tomorrow.”

Luna sighed, flopping back onto the bed. “But it wouldn’t make sense to just watch one.”

Jeonghan exhaled through his nose, amused but firm. “How about we just sleep?”

She frowned but couldn’t deny that exhaustion was settling into her bones. Begrudgingly, she nodded. “Fine.”

Jeonghan smiled in victory before turning off the TV, then reaching over to switch off the bedside lamp. The room was cast into darkness, the only light coming from the faint city glow outside.

Settling back into his arms, Luna let out a content sigh as Jeonghan pulled her closer, his warmth surrounding her.

A few moments passed in comfortable silence before Jeonghan murmured, “Don’t turn into a horse.”

Luna giggled. “I can’t promise you that… but I thought you’d still love me no matter what?”

Jeonghan smirked. “Fine. As long as I turn into a horse as well.”

Luna chuckled softly. “Why?”

“So that we can live our horsey lives together,” he said, completely serious.

She giggled again. “Okay.”

Jeonghan pressed one last kiss to her forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Hannie.”

There was no such thing as a perfect day.

Luna realized that.

Because it wasn’t the fact that she woke up energized that made today perfect. What made it perfect was waking up next to Jeonghan, who was just as energized, his sleepy voice teasing her the moment her eyes fluttered open.

It wasn’t the food they ate this morning that made it perfect. What made it perfect was eating with Jeonghan, their conversations stretching endlessly about everything and nothing at the same time.

It wasn’t the flight itself to Bangkok that made it perfect. What made it perfect was the members who she was with, filling the space with laughter and lighthearted chaos.

Just like how the rehearsal earlier wasn’t perfect because of itself. What made it perfect was the shared excitement, the inside jokes, the way they hyped each other up and eased the nerves that threatened to creep in.

There was no such thing as a perfect day.

Just people who made it perfect.

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lalunanymph · 23 hours ago

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💭 thinking about . . . . going furniture shopping with caleb

tw. caleb x fem!reader, suggestive content, domestic caleb, crack-ish, inspired by that one tiktok of a couple playfully testing out furniture ergonomics in the ikea showrooms, 760 words

Maybe a trip to Ikea with your boyfriend slash ex-older brother figure wasn’t such a good idea when you take into consideration how pent-up you are from the mere sight of furniture.

While that might sound strange, it’s nothing compared to the thoughts that arise when your gaze lingers on a few sturdy couches, your mind wandering to what it would be like if Caleb had you bent over the arms, the hot press of his body moving against yours desperately, his mouth on your neck, fingers tangled in your hair, trying to get you to that feverish peak—

“... and we could have the lamp near the desk—Pipsqueak?”

His voice breaks you free from the reverie, and you startle slightly, turning your wide eyes to him.

“Hmm? What was that?”

Caleb is looking at you with a shadow of concern in his eyes, his brows pinched in thought. “Are you okay? You zoned out and I coulda sworn you were about to break the stratosphere.” He takes your hand in what is supposed to be a comforting gesture. But, all you can think about is how those warm palms were just pressed to your hips last night, pinning you down as he got his fill of you.

The deepening warmth in your cheeks can’t be hidden. Caleb notices it instantly, years of intimately knowing your reactions and now, as your boyfriend, your little cues which point to one thing lingering in your mind.

He grins. “Oh?” Despite being in a public setting, he corners against a fake console table, a smirk on his handsome, devilish expression. “Is my princess feeling a little bit… frisky?”

Caleb guffaws when you pout and push him away, the heated points of your cheeks undeniable. “Caleb, you big dummy—”

“Come on, princess. I was just messin’ around with you.”

Slinging an arm around your waist, he drags you closer to his broad chest, the ends of his bangs tickling you when he leans in to smooch your cheek in the middle of the fake Ikea living room. Another couple walks past, their curious gazes darting to the two of you, and you feel the weight of judgement—the understanding of why your boyfriend is being so touchy-feely with you right now.

Caleb decides to humor you, wanting to make you feel comfortable by interjecting lame jokes whenever the two of you drift to a new Ikea showcase. He pretends to measure the height of the kitchen counter in comparison with you, a half-serious thoughtful look on his face as he cups his hands by his side and bends slightly, trying to picture how you would look like sprawled out over the slick tiles and gasping while he—

Oh.

He can definitely see what you’re on about now.

Shopping for furniture suddenly stopped feeling like a chore, especially when you can amuse each other by speculating on just how sturdy the fixings would be for future, intimate encounters.

You would test a table’s resilience by sitting on it, and Caleb would give you a knowing look and a smirk. In the bathroom aisles, he slips inside a makeshift shower, pretending to measure the dimensions of how your body would fit pressed against the glass.

Things get a little too real in the bedroom section. Caleb chuckles as you discreetly kneel by the edge of the bed, turning back to look at him with a heated tint in your cheeks.

“Peak comfort, Colonel?” You tease him and he pretends to mull it over.

“Sturdy as can be, soldier… though the Malm does look more cosy…”

Caleb pinches your arm in warning when you slump over the sofa bed and spread your legs, trying to picture how ergonomic it would be when he has you folded like a lawn chair and is rocking your world apart. “Princess, behave—” he hisses, shielding you from an elderly couple who strolls by, oblivious to your mischief.

Hand in hand, Caleb and you make a mental note of each piece of furniture that passed the degeneracy test when you finally load up the trolley.

He glances at you as you’re deep in thought over some light fixtures, and wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to kiss the top of your head.

When he first bought his house in Skyhaven, he gave it little thought—letting moving boxes pile up, and leaving it sterile and empty. Then, you came into the picture and what was once four blank walls became his favorite thing in the world: a home—a real home—with you.

♡ feedback and reblogs are appreciated

#🦢 writes #caleb drabble #caleb x reader #caleb x mc #caleb fluff #lads fluff #lnds fluff #caleb lnds #caleb love and deepspace #caleb lads

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captainmalewriter · 2 days ago

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Crown Legend

Alex Gonzalez lived by one motto in life: work hard, play hard. Those four short words were all the young Latino needed to motivate himself every morning before work. Working in construction was no walk in the park, but it paid good money, and money was Alex’s second favorite thing in life (the first being women, of course).

The clock struck 6PM that Friday evening. As always, Alex was the first one to clock out and leave.

There was going to be a huge party at La Rana Mojada tonight. Alex knew he just needed to be there. He drove back to his apartment in record time and ran inside with great excitement, only to go into a coughing fit due to a strong smell assaulting his nose as soon as he walked in. The cause of the smell stood a few feet away from him in the form of his roommate Rico, who was already dressed to the 9s and ready to head out.

“Aye pa, what the fuck is that smell?” Alex said. Rico grinned before responding.

“It’s this new cologne that just hit the markets. Crown Legend. Shit’s expensive as fuck but I was able to snatch one up before they sold out again. Smells good, huh,”

“Yeah it smells alright but fuck man it’s too strong!!”

“You think so? I haven’t noticed, but hey, the bitches go crazy for Crown Legend! Check it, these two blonde chicks were all over me after they caught a whiff of me!”

Rico whipped his phone out and showed Alex photographic proof. The women surrounding Rico in the photos were gorgeous, with their glossy lips and massive racks. Alex couldn’t lie; he was impressed by his roommate’s game, maybe even a little bit envious too.

“So wassup, you’re coming to La Rana tonight right?” Rico asked.

“Yeah man. I just gotta get ready first. I’ll catch you down there, save me a shot alright.”

The two men dapped each other up and went their separate ways. Alex showered and then went to his room to get dressed for the night.

Alex couldn’t stop thinking about Crown Legend as he got ready. The cologne’s overwhelming scent made him dislike it. But despite its strength, it did smell pretty damn good. Plus, Alex couldn’t deny the success it brought with the ladies. The cologne already helped his roommate pull a couple of bad bitches. If it helped Rico, surely it would help him too.

As that last thought crossed his mind, Alex found himself unconsciously walking over to Rico’s room. He grabbed the blue bottle from the top of his dresser. Even from just the feel of the sleek bottle in his hand, Alex could tell it was very high-quality cologne. No doubt Rico spent a lot of money just to buy it…

Alex decided to give himself a quick spritz on his wrists. He went in for a quick sniff, only to go back for a deeper sniff once the scent filled his nose. The cologne had a luxurious scent that smelled of aged oud coupled with amber resin and a touch of citrus. All he needed was to get over the initial shock of how strong it was to realize how great it smelled. Alex wasn’t sure what got into him; he just couldn’t get enough of it!

Then, against his better judgment, he showered himself in Crown Legend. He sprayed it all over his neck, chest, and arms, only stopping once he was fully doused in the expensive cologne. Once he was satisfied, Alex put back the cologne bottle and returned to his room like nothing happened. He finished getting ready and then left for La Rana.

The party was already in full swing by the time Alex had arrived. Heads were turning the moment he walked in, though that was mostly because of the obscene amount of cologne he was wearing. Alex loved all the attention regardless. He walked over to the bar with a haughty strut, downed two shots of tequila like it was water, and proceeded to flirt with any woman who caught his eye. By the end of the hour, he was out on the dance floor with a beautiful, busty brunette as his dancing partner. Alex almost couldn’t believe how quickly he scored that night. His success cleared the last bit of doubt in his mind. Crown Legend was a game-changer!

As Alex danced and drank the night away, he began to notice something strange happening to him. Even though he was surrounded by some of the hottest women he had ever seen, he found himself eyeing some of the men in the club. He quickly corrected his line of sight back to a woman every time he caught himself checking out some dude. Yet despite his efforts, Alex just couldn’t resist the male eye candy all around him. Alex licked his lips as he watched with hungry eyes various men swaying their hips to the rhythm of the music, their skin glistening with sweat underneath the strobing club lights. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to get close to one of those men and—

“What the fuck’s going on with me…” Alex held a hand to his temples. The music was way too loud all of a sudden. The lights too bright. Desperate to escape the over-stimulating environment, he rushed to the bathroom and ran inside an empty stall. As he tried catching his breath, Alex noticed how hot he was. His clothes were clinging to his body with how sweaty he was. He decided to strip down to just his underwear to cool down, hoping it would help whatever was going on inside his mind and body.

Alex sighed. As he leaned against the bathroom wall, a certain moist sound coming from the neighboring stall perked up his ears. Like most men, Alex almost immediately recognized the fapping sound. He turned and saw some guy’s pants hanging around his hairy ankles. There was also a sizable hole covered up with toilet paper in the divider separating the two stalls. He must’ve missed these details due to how fast he ran in. Coupled with the stifled groan the guy just let out, it became all too clear what was going on.

Normally, Alex would’ve been disgusted by what he was witnessing, but that wasn’t the case this time. Instead, he listened to the sensual sounds of some guy stroking his cock like it was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. There was something exciting about meeting another man in a public bathroom. Alex could feel how fast his heart beat as he massaged his nipple, letting out a small grunt with every pinch he gave himself. The man groaned a little bit louder in response, encouraging Alex to join in on the fun. And so he did.

He took a step forward. His socks were now visible to whoever was in the other stall. A moment passed without either of them saying or doing anything else. Then, the man took the rolled-up paper out of the hole and leaned in, giving Alex a clear sight of both his lips and the bushy facial hair he had. The sight of another man’s mouth, ready and eager to please, pushed Alex over the edge. Before he knew it, a massive tent had already formed in his underwear. No longer able to hold back, Alex took off the last piece of clothes he had on and slipped his hard member into the hole. The man took him inside his mouth and began sucking away on his sensitive tip.

“Ugh? Oooohhhh…”

Alex threw his arms behind his head as the pleasure from the man working his way down his meat overtook him. He titled his head into his hairy armpit and sniffed it. The mix of his own body musk combined with Crown Legend was delightfully intoxicating, causing him to let out an obscene moan with every whiff.

The man had a warm, wet mouth and he knew how to keep a firm grip with his lips. The man took his time too, making sure to give every inch of Alex’s dick some attention before eventually taking Alex’s entire length down his throat. It drove Alex crazy every time the man’s thick mustache brushed against his own bush. He was moaning like a madman, pressing his hips against the stall divider, desperate to get his cock even deeper into the man’s throat.

“Arggg… Fuckkkk…”

It surprised Alex how much he enjoyed getting serviced by another guy. He was no stranger to getting head. He had received more blowjobs than he could even count! Yet this random, unnamed stranger was quickly on his way to taking the number one spot!

His.

“No… NO! STOP IT!”

Alex jumped away from the glory hole and rushed to get his clothes back on. The man yelped with surprise at how abruptly Alex had ended it.

“What happened?” he asked. “Are you okay?”

“NO! I ain’t gay!!”

“Are you sure? It seemed like you were really enjoying it—”

“Man, FUCK you!”

Alex threw his shirt on, then bolted out of there. He forced his way through the crowd of drunk people, only stopping when he finally got back to his car. He got in, drove as fast as he could back to his apartment, and hopped in the shower to wash everything off. Alex stood in the spray of warm water completely dumbfounded. He had been attracted to women and only women his entire life! The way he acted was just so… out of character for him. No matter how much he thought about it, he just couldn’t figure out why he was suddenly so attracted to men.

“Whatever. I’m never doing that gay shit again…” Alex swore to himself as he dried off with a towel. With only his underwear on, Alex stepped out of the bathroom into the hallway— where his roommate Rico was standing shirtless and still semi-drunk.

“Heyyy there… SEXY motherfuckaa…” Rico slurred his words as he spoke. Alex felt his nose twitch. There was a smell lingering in the air. Alex closed his eyes and focused on his sense of smell as he inhaled deeply. He could vividly smell the alcohol on Rico’s breath along with his sweaty body odor after a night of dancing, but there was another scent too. It was one Alex had become all too familiar with.

Crown Legend.

Alex took another deep sniff of the air, letting the cologne reignite his homoerotic desires, then let out a satisfied sigh. Rico smelled good, and Alex needed to get closer to him.

Alex closed the distance between Rico and himself and planted a firm kiss on his roommate’s lips. Rico kissed him right back. Their boorish grunts and deep groans filled the tiny apartment hallway as they made out like they were angry at each other. Alex pulled away to start licking and kissing his way down Rico’s body, beginning with the crane of his neck and only stopping once he was on his knees with Rico’s big, brown cock in his face.

“Nuuughhhh fuck yeah…” they groaned in unison.

Alex was experiencing sensory ecstasy. The sensual sounds of pleasuring another man with his mouth. The strong smell of Rico’s musk combined with the strong cologne. The feeling of another man’s cock filling up his mouth with every thrust. And finally, the salty, warm taste of swallowing his first-ever load as he drained Rico’s balls with his throat. Alex was red in the face and drenched with sweat by the time they finished. Hooking up with another dude was a pleasure unlike any other Alex had experienced, and it left him hungry for more.

“Hey, it’s only midnight,” Rico started. “We can still head out and fuck around some more. You down?”

“Fuck yeah I am, lemme go get dressed and let’s go!!” Alex replied. As he got up, Rico grabbed the bottle of Crown Legend from his room and looked at Alex with a devilish grin.

“Want another hit before we head out?” Rico swirled the bottle, causing the liquid fragrance inside to slosh around. Alex hesitated at first but quickly agreed when he remembered just how good Crown Legend smelled. The cologne had completely reworked his cognition from how much he had been exposed to it.

“Yeah, sure, just another little spritz or two wouldn’t hurt…”

#male transformation #male mental change #male tf #musk tf #permanent change #straight to gay #unintended consequences tf

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cyberphuck · 2 days ago

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We didn't have "zero tolerance" policies when I was growing up; my mom taught me that you weren't allowed to hit someone unless they hit you first-- then you could beat the shit out of them without consequence. In my mind, this also applied to authority figures that annoyed me. I wasn't "acting out," this was a calculating and elegant riposte.

By middle school I was just. Done. With teachers telling me what to do. By then I had realized that although most teachers knew what they were talking about, some really didn't have a clue, and that there were more than a few who were more interested in being obeyed than being helpful. So you'd get Small Jaydee deciding that this substitute teacher was Deserving of Punishment and doing things like asking to get up to sharpen my pencil, doing the world's slowest hula dance across the entire classroom (to get to the "good" sharpener), grinding that #2 to needle-sharpness and then javelining into the drop ceiling tiles when his back was turned. I got five up there before one of them fell, bouncing eraser-first off the tile and then clattering to a stop under a desk. I didn't throw the scissors! Somebody else threw the scissors-- I wasn't the only one who hated this sub-- and though they thunked pleasingly into the ceiling, they caused a brief shower of Ticonderogas that made the teacher's face turn purple with rage. Are you going to send me to detention? For what? You didn't see me throw those pencils and I know you're not going to be able to get "did something weird at the sharpener" to stick if I take it to the vice principal-- or my parents. My stepdad was an attorney and my mom was a mythic bitch, is one annoying autistic child really worth your job? The hardass PE teacher was not a sub. He'd been at the school for a while and wasn't new to kid wrangling, but he was still relatively young, maybe in his 30s. Like most PE teachers he thought the best way to motivate an unathletic student refusing to run a mile any faster than 35 minutes was to shout at them. I spent a lot of time walking. Jenna and I talked about what the "evil" version of It's A Small World would be like. Stephanie explained the entire plot of Sailor Moon to me. My excuses for not wearing the PE uniform (dog ate it, brother ate it, your mom ate it) and not wanting to run (can't run it's genetic no one in my family runs it's against my religion) were not impressing Mr. Santero. I could tell he was tired of my bullshit and didn't care. I wanted to hear more about Sailor Moon. But one day, I gave into his shouting and broke into a halfhearted jog. And promptly turned my ankle on a tree root. I limped back to Santero and told him I'd hurt my ankle. He didn't believe me. Nope, not gonna pull that one on ol' Santero, he wasn't born yesterday. He shouted me back to the field and told me I couldn't come back until I'd finished the mile. So I did. By next period my ankle was hot and throbbing. Mom had to come pick me up and take me to the ER. Not broken, but badly sprained, enough that I needed a splint that was delightfully bulky and serious-looking. But mom, tonight is Open House, we HAVE to go, you HAVE to meet all my teachers, what will we do?? What we did was go to Open House. I was too exhausted to use my crutches, so we had a wheelchair. My parents hadn't changed out of their suits. We wheeled out onto the basketball courts where Santero was chatting with other parents. I think about his frozen expression-- the color draining from his face-- whenever I need a pick-me-up. His eyes went from the splint, to my parents in expensive suits, to me, sitting in a wheelchair like a supervillain on a throne made of skulls. Yes, Mr. Santero, that's right. I have won. I have the power now, and when the time comes to either flunk me at the end of the semester, or move numbers around to give me a D and never see me again, we know what you'll do, won't we? I hadn't even started high school yet. But I'd had a taste of the decadent chocolate mousse of Ruining Someone's Day, and would forever be greedy for it. Oh, I didn't turn in the homework on time? I wasn't paying enough attention? You're writing me up for detention? Go ahead. Fire the first shot. You think you're an old hand at this, but you've never met someone as petty and obnoxious as me and you'll wish you never had.

when i was a kid i got a 90% on my kindergarten "what are your favorite things?" test because for the question "what is your favorite animal?" i wrote down "puma" and it got marked wrong because my teacher said a puma isnt even an animal its a kind of shoe

#I have adhd and autism and my special interest is Chaos #weird note: both Jenna and Stephanie died young #probably not my fault

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ccsainzleclerc5516 · 9 hours ago

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Norris Girls

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Warnings: none

If Lando were to ask, in his perfect world, his girls wouldn't go to kindergarten, and they'd be homeschooled later on. If he were to ask, you wouldn't be working either. Your main and only job would be to pack up the girls and follow him around the world so he could have you around non-stop. But unfortunately for Lando, that's not the case.

After you had Izzy, you couldn't wait to get back to work and get away from home. You loved being a mom to your girls, but considering that you were mostly alone with the two of them, it eventually became too much.

Besides, you wanted to give them as normal a childhood as possible. Although there was no need for the two of them to go to any kind of kindergarten, you decided that you wanted them both to go so that they could socialize and adjust to school more easily later.

Adjusting to kindergarten was quite easy for Isla and didn't take long, considering that Isla is four years old and very outgoing and sociable, while Izzy, who is only two years old and is the complete opposite of Isla, had a bit more difficulty adjusting.

One of the problems was that they were not in the same kindergarten group, given that they were of different ages. While Isla enjoyed spending time with her peers, Izzy would cry every day when she arrived at the daycare, and when you would come to pick her up, her eyes would sparkle with happiness.

Pre-season preparations were already in full swing and Lando already had his hands full. For him, vacation was long over and every day he was more and more prevented from spending as much time as he wanted with you at home.

Today, Lando was returning from a business trip and went straight to the daycare to pick up Izzy and then Isla. He was in a hurry to get there on time, but due to the traffic jam he was a little late, so every kid left earlier than Izzy.

When Lando entered the room, Izzy didn't immediately notice him because her back was turned to him. His heart broke when he saw her sitting on a small chair at a small table playing with some blocks, patiently waiting for someone to come pick her up and go home. He stopped for a moment and silently observed her.

"Izzy? Look who is here." The young teacher said making Izzy quickly turn to look behind her.

The moment her eyes met Lando's, Izzy burst into tears.

"Daddy.." Overwhelmed with emotion, she rushed from her chair toward him. At the same time, she was crying because she hadn't seen him in a few days and because, of course, she wanted to go home as soon as possible.

"Hey, baby" He knelt as she ran into his arms.

"Daddy" She kept saying crying into his neck.

"Is my little girl ready to go home?" He asked rubbing her back and kissing the side of her head.

"Yeah" She sobbed.

"It's okay, it's okay" He comforted her. "Why are you crying?" He asked putting her cheeks between his hands.

"I-I missed you, da-daddy" She said looking up at him with her big teary eyes.

"I missed you too, munchkin" He said picking her up in his arms.

"Daddy's girl, isn't she?" The teacher commented.

"All mine" He smiled proudly kissing her cheek before saying goodbye to the teacher and heading toward the car.

"Did you play with other kids today, baby?" He asked while putting her in the car seat.

"A yitto"

"A little?" Lando chuckled. "Did you have fun?"

"No"

"Why not?" He asked as he buckled her seat.

""I yike bein' wif you mowe."

Lando's eyes almost filled with tears at Izzy's words. He bent his head toward her and showered her face with soft kisses. "I like being with you too, baby. We have a whole week together in front of us, I promise"

"Otay"

When Lando and Izzy came to Isla's kindergarten to pick her up, Lando almost fainted when he heard that she wasn't there, knowing she should be.

"What do you mean she left?" Lando scoffed. "Did my wife pick her up?"

"No, it wasn't mrs Norris, it was a man that was already-"

"A what?!" Lando's eyes widened in disbelief. He didn't even let the woman finish her sentence, and the worst-case scenarios were already running through his head.

"Oh, no, no-" The poor woman was so confused when she realized what it sounded like.

"Who came to pick up my daughter?! How could you possibly let anyone but me or my wife come to pick up our daughter?!" Lando wouldn't let her get the word out.

"Mr. Norris, please calm down." The woman said a bit frightened. "Last week Mrs. Norris came with a man named Max to pick up your daughter and the gentleman left his personal information. Your wife said that in case she or you were ever unable to come, Mr. Max would come. I forgot his last name, but he showed me his ID and I remembered his face. I swear I would never put any child in danger and give it to a stranger, including your daughter."

As soon as Lando heard the name Max, a stone fell from his heart, but at the same time he turned red with shame and he immediately started apologizing to the poor woman.

"I am.." Lando sighed running his hands through his hair. "I'm so sorry. My wife didn't inform me about it and I reacted in the moment.."

As he drove, Lando couldn't stop thinking about how he had snapped at that woman. His thoughts also wandered to dark places like what if some stranger had really come for your daughter and taken her to who knows where. It was one of Lando's biggest fears that he couldn't shake from his mind all the way home.

"Daddy!!" Isla squealed with delight when Izzy and Lando entered the house.

He put Izzy down and grabbed Isla lifting her up as she ran into his arms. "Hey, pumpkin" He hugged her tighter to calm his thoughts from earlier. "I missed you" He said nuzzling his nose against her cheek.

"Look what I got" She said, showing him a new toy he hadn't seen before.

"Wow, who got you that?"

"Mom bought it for me"

"It's awesome, baby. Where is mom anyway?"

"Mom's here" You said as you appeared in the hallway. "She is waiting for her husband, whom she loves so much that she even made him his favorite lunch, which is already waiting for him on the table."

"Oh, yeah? If she loved her husband as much as she says she would have informed me that Max had permission to pick up our daughter from daycare." Lando smirked as he pulled you towards him into a hug and pressed his lips against yours.

"I didn't tell you that?"

"No, you didn't tell me that, so I attacked the teacher in the most wonderful way there is."

"Lan..you didn't.."

"Yup, I did. I insulted her before I even let her finish her sentence.." Lando said embarrassed, hiding his head in your neck. "You know that's your fault, right?"

"I know and I can't wait to face miss Jones on Monday" You said rolling your eyes and wrapping your arms around his neck. "I'll put her apology gift on your card just so you know."

"Make it generous, I'll survive"

When you were all ready to sit down at the table to have lunch, Lando wanted to check with his older daughter her knowledge about stranger danger so he decided to ask her some questions.

"If a stranger says, hey little girl you wanna come see the puppies in my car?, what do you say?" Lando asked Isla who was sitting across from him and peacfully enjoying her spaghetti.

"Um, yeah" She nonchalantly replied to which Lando lost his appetite.

"No.."

"Or yes..?" She asked raising her eyebrow.

"No, baby, no!" Lando started sweating. You watched them from the side trying not to laugh even though it really wasn't funny, but Isla's confusion was kind of funny.

"..si?" Isla tried in spanish and that's when you lost it.

"No, we don't switch the languages!" Lando said before turning to you to scold you for laughing. "Y/n, that's not funny?"

"I'm sorry, I know it's not. It's just that I think our daughter is a smart little girl and I trust her. She just got confused a little"

"Well, that's what I thought too, until now at least." Lando quickly switched to full protective parental mode. "Isla, baby, we never, ever, ever talk to strangers and we don't follow anyone we don't know, okay? That is not safe!"

"But what about the puppies? I love puppies, daddy" She said innocently, slurping a piece of spaghetti into her mouth.

"Oh this is going to be such a long day.." Lando sighed wiping away the beads of sweat that had already formed on his forehead.

"Lan, it's alright, calm down. We'll deal with it."

"What if my boyfriend is asking that? Can I go with him?" Isla asked sending Lando into an additional unexpected shock.

"Oh my God.." He whimpered looking at you.

"Yuck!" Suddenly Izzy spoke up after hearing the word boyfriend. Lando worked hard to teach both Izzy and Isla that boyfriend means yuck, but it seems that only one of his daughters remembered it.

"See? Someone is actually listening to me. That's how we do it! Good job, baby" Lando said giving Izzy a kiss on the cheek. "And you missy, you better eat that spaghetti quickly because you're about to have a whole lecture about people we don't know. Don't even get me started about boyfriends!"

And you knew it would be just like Lando said, one very very long day ahead of you.

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16wolke11 · 3 days ago

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Clumsy - Oscar Piastri

A/N My first one-shot here! Still figuring out the tagging and stuff, but I hope you like it.

Summary: Oscar's girlfriend is extremely clumsy, always managing to get a new bruise or a new cut just a few days apart. One day she falls down the stairs and needs surgery, Oscar drops everything to be with her.

Words: 2139

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Being a teacher at an elementary school was always my dream job, and after finishing my master's degree, I am finally able to do what I love; teaching the young ones and laying the first stones on their path to knowledge. Even though it is difficult at times, to manage the fidgeting children who tend to get distracted easily, it's still what I love. Seeing success when another one manages to read a full sentence, solve a math problem, or write a rather difficult word with the correct spelling is priceless.

But being a teacher also means I'm not able to accompany Oscar that often. It's just not ideal to travel over the weekend; landing late on Fridays and having to leave exactly after the race, while also trying to prepare the classes for the upcoming week and maybe even needing to correct work from the previous one. I love summer break because it means I can be with Oscar more often, but in the meantime, we make the best out of the situation. We FaceTime frequently, chat while the other is occupied, and just savour the time we can spend together.

This week is another one when Oscar left for a race, and I have to stay behind. Luckily, I have a short day at school today, allowing me to go before lunch and finish some things. Well, if it weren't for my clumsy self. Oscar always jokes that I get at least five new bruises while he's away, and he's probably right, but I can't do anything about the stumbling, the brushing against door frames, or knocking my little toe into anything. But today, my bad luck took it one step too far, and I slipped on the stairs at school, hitting my elbow on them and feeling a sharp pain shoot down my arm.

I've fallen down these stairs before, but I've never been in so much pain. One of my coworkers found me, and after a quick look at my already bruising elbow, we decided to call an ambulance. Now, hours later, I have a diagnosis and finally some time to tell Oscar what happened. I already have a few texts from him, nothing too worried, just some updates about his day and a question about how mine is going. With a sigh, I call his number, bracing myself to tell him everything while not even being able to fidget with my fingers for distraction.

It doesn't take long before Oscar picks up like he's been waiting in front of his phone just anticipating my call or text. "Hey, Oscar," I greet him and hear some shuffling in the background before a door closes and Oscar speaks up.

"Love, everything okay? Shouldn't you be at work?" he asks, his voice already laced with worry. I close my eyes for a moment. Oscar didn't even know I was supposed to be out of work early today and just assumes I should still be at school teaching or supervising the little gremlins.

"Please don't freak out," I start, and I hear a nervous chuckle in response.

"This is not a great starting point for that request, but I'll try."

He's right, but I don't even know how to phrase what happened easily, so I just start with the simplest explanation I can think of. "Well, I kind of fell down the stairs after finishing my last class."

"Again?" Oscar laughs, and I can't help but smile a little too, though I roll my eyes at the same time, even though Oscar can't see me.

"Hey, I can't do anything about being clumsy," I protest, but I only get another laugh in return. Usually, I would laugh with him, but the light throbbing in my elbow, down to my fingers, stops the light mood I'm in.

"Sorry, but I reckon you don't just call to tell me that," Oscar apologizes softly, and then he gets back to the reason for my call. I take a deep breath, preparing myself for all the questions he's going to have.

"No, I might've smashed my elbow pretty badly, and they brought me to the hospital." I tell him the first facts, and immediately the laughing Oscar is replaced with a worried one.

"That bad?" he asks, and I can almost hear the pain in his voice. As much as he likes to joke about my clumsiness, he also hates it when I get injured, even if it's just a little bruise or a cut.

"Unfortunately, I managed to break it and need surgery to fix the broken pieces back into place. It'll be a long recovery because I was pretty successful in splintering the bone into pieces," I tell him what the doctors explained, just in the simpler version. They explained a lot about how they need to make sure there are no little bone fragments left in the joint and the recovery process I'll have to go through.

"Fuck!" Oscar curses, and I can hear him pacing, probably in his driver's room. I can only imagine the distressed look on his face and how he's probably ruffling his hair while a thousand thoughts swirling through his head. Well, at least he's giving me an insight into what's going on in his mind, because he starts rambling.

"How are you feeling? Are you okay? Do you need anything? I could send Margaret over or someone else if you need anyone by your side right now. Did they say anything about the recovery? Will your arm be able to move normally or will there be any lasting damage?"

"Oscar, stop." I manage to speak up when he takes a deep breath. It's sweet how he's trying to help me from afar, even thinking about sending our elderly neighbour to me, but I need him to calm down.

"Sorry, kind of freaking out right now," he mutters, and I smile just a little bit.

"I could tell." I still remember the first time Oscar rambled that much and how surprised I was by the speed and number of words coming out of his mouth. Usually, he's calm, collected, and limits his words to the necessary ones, but when he's really worried, everything just comes out.

"Don't worry, I don't need anything right now. Just hearing your voice makes everything feel better," I tell him, which is the truth. There's nothing I need right now, except for him, and he just helps me by being here on the phone, even though it's not the same as having him in person.

"That's good," Oscar says, and I can hear that he's stopped pacing, probably calming down a little.

"Is there anything you know about the surgery?" he asks after a short break, now sounding like his calm self again.

"We're currently waiting for a free spot in the OR. It's not urgent, but they'd like to operate before the swelling gets too bad, and luckily, I haven't had lunch yet," I explain what the doctors told me. This isn't an emergency, but waiting too long isn't ideal either, so they're going to squeeze me in as soon as one of the ORs is available.

"I bet you're hungry," Oscar grins, and I can hear it in his voice. I've learned to recognize that tone through the phone—the soft change when his lips are curled upwards.

"Starving," I confirm with a soft laugh. My stomach is already growling, but there's no way to get food until after the surgery. I can wait if it means my elbow will be fixed.

"I promise you your favourite food as soon as I'm with you," Oscar says, and I know he's not lying. He would probably even order food into the hospital for me if that were possible, but they wouldn't bring it to me, so I'll have to wait.

"Looking forward to it. Hopefully, I'll be home by then," I mumble, knowing it will take some days until Oscar will be back home, and who knows, maybe they'll send me home just a few days after the surgery.

"We'll see," are Oscar's last words about my injury before we start talking a bit about his day. I get the feeling he's trying to distract me, and it's working perfectly. At one point, Oscar needs to leave for some duties, and luckily for me, a nice nurse comes in just a few minutes later to inform me that my surgery is starting soon.

The way to the OR and the prepping feels like a blur, and quicker than I thought, I'm with an anaesthesiologist. Drifting into sleep feels like a relief because I know my arm will be fixed. Of course, recovery will take its time, but I'm sure I'll manage it just fine.

Waking up after the surgery almost knocks the air out of my lungs because it feels like my arm is falling off. The nurse helps me take a few sips of water, gives me some painkillers, and then I drift back into sleep, even though I just woke up from a deep slumber.

The night is blurry, waking up from time to time—sometimes from the pain in general, sometimes from the nurses, and sometimes from the pain of a sudden movement. But somehow, I make it through the night and feel slightly better in the morning. Blinking, I try to figure out what time it might be when I spot a familiar figure sitting beside my bed, watching me closely.

"Os?" I ask groggily, not sure if he's really sitting there or if the pain meds are playing tricks on my mind. But just seeing the soft smile on his lips makes me hope that he's really there and not just in my imagination.

"Hi, love," he whispers, fingers reaching for my uninjured hand, softly holding onto it, letting me feel the warmth of his touch.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, slowly realizing that he's indeed here and not with his team for the race weekend.

"Being here for you," he simply states, like it's obvious that it wouldn't even be a question for him if he had to choose where to be right now.

"Your race..." I whisper, knowing how important it is, not only to him but to the fans, the championship, the team, and everyone else involved. I would like to ask him if he's insane, if they made it hard for him to leave, but no words leave my lips.

"You are more important," Oscar states, and my eyes well up. How can he be so perfect?

"Thank you," I try to squeeze his hand a bit, but my grip is pretty weak. Oscar starts letting his thumb brush over the back of my hand, and I relax under his touch. His eyes wander over me before he asks a question.

"How are you feeling? Is the pain manageable?"

My eyes linger on my heavily padded elbow for a moment. Right now, I don't feel anything but a dull pain. But it seems like Oscar's touch makes it disappear with every soft stroke of his finger on my skin.

"You make everything seem better just by being here," I state, my voice laced with tiredness, and Oscar smiles softly.

"So, I guess they gave you some nice painkillers," he grins. I can hear it in his voice, and I can feel my lips pulling into a crooked smile.

"Yes."

We look at each other for a moment, but my eyes are getting heavier and heavier, and I have to fight to keep them open for a few more minutes.

"Can you come in?" I ask Oscar, who looks conflicted at my question.

"I don't know," he says, gesturing to my body, indicating he's scared of hurting me in any way, but I just need him close now for recovery.

"Please."

Oscar sighs softly before standing up. "Okay, anything to make you feel better," he says, gets rid of his shoes, and carefully shuffles into the bed beside me. I need to stay on my back because of my elbow being propped up in some bedding, and he lays on his side beside my good arm, resting his arm over my belly and searching for the contact I need. I rest my head against his chest before a thought comes into my head.

"Did you bring the food?" I ask, remembering what he promised, and even though my mind is hazy, I realize he probably already knew he was coming home early when he promised me the food.

"Yes," Oscar confirms, and I can only hum the following words, close to falling asleep.

"Love you."

"Love you too, my little crash pilot," Oscar whispers, holding me in his arms while I slip into the sleep of recovery.

#oscar piastri fic #op81 x reader #op81 imagine #oscar piastri x reader #one-shot #f1 x reader #f1 fluff #oscar piastri fluff #op81 fluff #f1 imagine

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assexpansion · 3 days ago

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As you followed your girlfriend into the brightly lit, yet surprisingly cozy lounge, the scent of sweet tapioca mingled with vanilla. You paused as she went along to speak with a voluptuous employee behind the counter. Oddly enough, the walls were adorned with colorful signage depicting busty cartoon bears holding bubble tea drinks. A low murmur of conversation was punctuated by the occasional sharp slurp from a thick straw. The clientele were calmly indulging in their frothy drinks. Like the worker, their curvaceous bodies practically ballooned onto their small café tables or out from the sides of their seats.

"I told you this place was worth the road trip! Check... me... out."

You turned around to be struck dumb by the sight of your girlfriend squeezing her clearly enlarged tits around the drink she had bought.

"This place is a little known secret, but I'm sure it's not a total... mmm.... mystery why I look like this from just a few sips."

Her growing tits were visibly rising up from the cut-out of her sweater as she sucked in more Boba. They plumped further in plentiful jolts, jiggling as she swallowed down more of the magical bubble tea. Her eyes sparkled with mischief and she grinned while tugging at the hem of her tightening top.

"It goes away eventually but it lasts for a few... mmm... minutes. That's not the best part, though." She spoke quickly, enthusiastically. "It's the... mmm... moment before that's so... delicious. It can happen so fast, but if you slowed it down, oh..." A sharp slurp sent the rest of the dark bubbles at the bottom of her drink shooting into her mouth. Her eyes met yours in surprise and amazement as her breasts overtook her holey sweater. Your girlfriend closed her eyes, savoring the experience.

"It comes with a tickling feeling in your head, and in your chest, your body... mmm.... must know that something is happening." She continued excitedly, smiling, eyes still shut as you ogled her . "There's a pushing feeling that's kind of scary, like your heart is going to pop out! You feel your clothes getting tighter tighter and you want to scream. But then, all at once, there's this split second of sereneness before your body goes... POP!"

And just like that the weight of her enlarged tits overtook the thin straps of her sweater and they were exposed, pale and heaving, dotted with thick, puffy nipples. Her grin remained and she caught your eyes. Your face burned bright but as the low chatter of the other curvy clients continued, you realized you were the only one embarrassed about it.

"So, worth the trip?" She asked.

You promptly ordered four more and booked a hotel room, deciding to stay the night in the city as a sort of mini-vacation and promising her to pick up more to freeze before you two left for home. Best road trip ever.

XユーザーのSAMartさん: 「🤲 #ブルアカ #ブルーアーカイブ」 / X ※Illustration shared with permission from the artist. If you like this artwork please support the artist by visiting the source.

#expansion #breastexpansion #expansion caption #breast expansion #giant breasts

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littlcdarlin · 11 hours ago

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Event Horizon

summary: When you start university to do your master’s in physics, you are more than surprised to meet your professor: Joel Miller, an old friend of your parents' who moved away years ago. word–count: 15k warnings: professor kink, power imbalance due to Joel being reader's professor, illegal relationship (overage & consenting), dbf!Joel, big fat age gap (unspecified but written with early 20s & mid 50s in mind), unprotected piv, just overall daddy issues (no use of the word daddy)

note: Okay, time to tell you I am a big nerd and studied physics in uni. Truth is, I quit to pursue a career in the arts, so my knowledge of masters level physics is...a little rusty. Please be lenient with me if I messed anything up. Also, I know most people hate physics, but I promise Joel makes it hot. Warning: explanation of the Dirac equation as foreplay. Also, I'm European and have no fucking clue how the American education system works but I don't care enough to do research. Enjoy <3333

event horizon noun ASTRONOMY a notional boundary around a black hole beyond which no light or other radiation can escape. a point of no return.

Uni felt different at eighteen, when everything was about moving out, drinking beer at frat parties, and kissing boys who didn’t grow up in the same town you did. It was an exciting time, the degree itself fading into the background of all sorts of new experiences, but now that you’re doing your masters, you plan on focusing on your your grades more than on partying.

You enrolled in a new university, farther away from home, with a better physics program, and although you’ve grown up considerably, you still feel that tingle of anxiety you did when you first walked to your dorm, fresh out of high school. This time you won’t have to share with another student, spending your saved money on a bit of privacy that is a single dorm room, but still, you wonder if you’ll make friends here, or if you’ll spend your night hauled up alone, watching trash TV and crying because you’re lonely.

The room is small, blank, but functional with a bathroom you share with another student and a small kitchenette, and immediately you dream of all the ways you could decorate it. You didn’t bring much, just a big suitcase and a few boxes your Dad dropped off earlier. You feel slightly guilty for leaving your parents behind, but the relief outweighs the guilt – you won’t have to come home every Sunday for dinner, visits will be scarce. You love you parents, but the distance is much needed.

You get to unpacking your clothes, reveling in the fact that you can listen to music without headphones in your very own space. You could do it in your underwear, or naked, you could sing and dance along, and nobody would be bothered by it. It’s going to be a tough two years, the program you chose more than challenging, but a childish sort of giddiness fills you – no roommate to be considerate of, no parents to visit and take care of every week. This time in your life is about you, and only you – your career, but also your well-being. You promise yourself to do what makes you happy, instead of looking out for everyone else all of the time, and you’ll start by ordering Thai food and watching the trashiest movie with the hottest actors you can find on the little flatscreen you brought with you.

***

Your first lecture is Computational Physics – the one you’re looking forward to the least. The reason you decided to study physics at all was the predictable logic behind each problem, but the more you studied, the more complex the problems got, until they were impossible to solve analytically. Now you get to solve fluid dynamic equations and simulate quantum systems on a Monday morning instead of having a peaceful cup of coffee and taking a walk around campus.

The lecture hall is big, and you pick a seat that is neither too far away to be able to read the professor’s notes, nor close enough to immediately be pinned as an over-eager teacher’s pet. In the end, you plop down next to a girl who’s sitting alone, something about her shaved head and countless earrings making you think she wouldn’t make fun of you even if you didn’t understand a single thing all lecture.

"Okay if I sit here?", you ask somewhat timidly, trying hard not to sound too much like an eleven year old Ron Weasley boarding the train to Hogwarts.

"Please," the girl answers, "I don’t know anybody here."

"Did you move here, too?"

"Yeah, I’m from New York."

"You look it," you say with a smile, eyes drifting over her clothes and jewelry.

"Thanks…I guess?", she answers, her grin revealing a charming gap between her front teeth. "I’m Alva."

You introduce yourself, thankful to have found someone you can stick to already. Throughout the lecture you find out that apart from being much cooler than everyone else in the room, Alva has a biting sense of humor, and a near endless knowledge of computational physics. You make a mental note to ask her to study together, her explanations much easier to understand than the professor’s.

The two of you spend your lunch break together, and you tell her a little bit about yourself, but way too soon it’s time to go already – you have Advanced Quantum Mechanics in a different lecture hall. This you find way more interesting, basic quantum mechanics was one of your favorite lectures during your bachelor’s degree. As Alva and you sit down, you find yourself hoping you’ll be able to help her out this time, or you’d feel like a leech for making her help you with Computational. She doesn’t seem bothered, though, and keeps babbling happily about a band she recently discovered.

"– Britpop, but they only put out two albums. I think they were like a student band or something? They’re wildly underrated, I’ll send you a song, their debut is called The Sun Is Often Out."

Your thoughts start to wander off a little, eyes drifting over the old-fashioned chalkboards, when the door at the front of the lecture hall opens, and a tall man walks in – a man you recognize.

"Holy shit," you whisper, interrupting Alva’s rant about the Longpigs, and she turns her head to look at what you’re staring at.

"Damn," she says with a grin, "if I wasn’t gay, I’d want a piece of that."

"No," you snort, "I know him. He’s my Dad’s friend."

Alva opens her mouth to say something, but at that moment, Joel Miller steps forward, checking to see if the microphone is working, and introduces himself to the hundreds of students in front of him. His voice is deep, and as warm as you remember it, but that’s where the accuracy of your memories ends – your childish brain failed to register the tanned forearms and rolled up sleeves, the carelessly styled curls, the perfect side-profile. He’s got grey streaks in his hair now, which should send you into a crisis about time passing and your own little life being finite, but instead it makes your stomach swirl with something dangerous. Joel Miller, the Joel Miller, who organized backyard barbecues with your father and bought your favorite vegan sausages when your Dad rolled his eyes at you, who made strawberry lemonade instead of lemon, because he knew you preferred it, who helped you with your physics homework when you were graduating high school and didn’t rat you out when he caught you smoking at seventeen – he’s handsome.

There’s still a familiarity about him, the way he moves and talks, although it’s unsettling to see him in such a different environment. You’re used to band-tee-Joel, beer bottle and tongs in his hands, a breezy smile on his face. He looks different here, in a white button-down, with a stern expression on his face, as he’s reading the names on his list to check attendance. When he calls Alva’s name and she raises her hand, his eyes flicker upwards, but he doesn’t look at you. Still, your stomach lurches. If you listen carefully, you can detect that southern twang in his voice you’re sure most people would miss, and it fills you with satisfaction to know you’re the one who knows him best in this room – you’re sure half the lecture hall must see how attractive he is.

When he reads out your name, there’s a surprised lilt to his tone, and your heart threatens to skip a beat.

"Here."

Your eyes meet, and although his expression doesn’t change, he holds your eyecontact for a second too long. Alva nudges your side and grins.

Your plans about outshining Alva and returning the favor of helping with a lecture are quickly buried by Joel Miller’s beautiful hands – thick fingers holding a piece of chalk almost tenderly, twirling it around when he isn’t writing on the chalkboard. You vaguely register him introducing the Dirac equation, but as interesting as you would normally find it, your thoughts are stuck between memories of barbecues and the realization that you will have to call the man who taught you to drive Professor Miller.

If Alva notices your wandering mind, she doesn’t comment on it, which you’re thankful for. You do notice her throwing you a couple of knowing glances, as you copy down what Joel is writing down, mixing up gamma, delta, and the Dirac spinor.

"Alright, so you all know how Schrödinger’s equation works great for quantum mechanics, but it doesn’t play nicely with Einstein’s relativity, right? That’s a problem because electrons move fast, sometimes close to the speed of light, so we need an equation that respects both quantum mechanics and special relativity. That’s where Dirac steps in."

He’s still got that warm way of explaining things your Dad never managed when you needed help in high school, like he enjoys clearing things up for people. He’s a born teacher, patient when you panicked in the car because you confused the clutch and the break, persistent when you wanted to throw your physics book against a wall. Look, kid, think of it this way: Push harder, it moves faster. Make it heavier, it’s harder to move. If you apply a force F to an object with mass m, it will accelerate a. That’s why your Dad’s car takes longer to stop than your bike. Even now, he manages to make a far more complex equation than Newton’s second law tangible.

"Dirac's equation is like the grown-up version of Schrödinger’s equation. It explains how particles with spin-half, like electrons, behave when they move at relativistic speeds. The gamma mu matrices make sure the equation works in four-dimensional spacetime, meaning three space dimensions plus time. The psi is a spinor, which is just a fancy way of saying that an electron isn’t just a simple wave function, it actually has spin built into its nature. Now, can anyone think of a situation where we would need to use this equation instead of the regular Schrödinger equation?"

Nobody raises their hand, most people still busy with writing down Joel’s complicated notes, and as if on cue, his eyes are on yours when you look up from your notebook. He raises an eyebrow, and you see the corner of his mouth twitch almost imperceptibly. Then, he calls your last name, a formal Miss dripping off his tongue as if he hasn’t called you kiddo for most of your life. It’s almost like he’s making a joke only the two of you are able to understand, and the thought thrills you to your bone. Two can play this game – you smile back.

"Sure, Professor Miller. You’d use it for studying high-energy particles, like electrons in particle accelerators, because it accounts for relativistic speeds. It’s also needed for situations where particles are created or destroyed, which Schrödinger’s equation doesn’t cover."

Again, his eyes linger on yours, and his slightly amused smile turns into a more genuine one at your answer. You let out a relieved sigh.

"Exactly," Joel answers, his attention on the rest of the class again, "Someone payed attention during Basic Quantum Mechanics. Now, here’s where it gets wild. When Dirac wrote this down, he realized it naturally predicts antiparticles, meaning for every electron, there should be a mirror-image particle with opposite charge, which we now call the positron. That was a huge deal because it wasn’t something people were expecting, it just fell out of the math."

For the rest of the class, Joel doesn’t continue that little game between the two of you, but whenever he asks a question, his gaze flickers over you, and your stomach gives an embarrassing little jump. Alva grins whenever this happens, but for most of the class she’s busy following Joel’s explanations.

"I want you to read up on today’s lecture," Joel says at the end of the lecture, and writes down a few page numbers on the chalkboard, "and solve the problems I mentioned earlier. Attendance isn’t mandatory, we’re all adults here, but I urge you to come if you’re interested in graduating in the next three years. Trust me, it’s easier to just do the work here than in your dorms. Now, enjoy the weather, see you Monday."

You and Alva pack up your things, and before she can ask you which class you have next, you pick up your backpack.

"I’m gonna say hi to him," you tell her, nodding in Joel’s direction, "my Dad and him go way back."

"Sure," Alva says, a cheeky smile on her face, "it’d be rude not to."

"Meet you outside?"

"I’ll be at the vending machine. Go get him," she jokes, and you snort.

Joel is packing up his course materials when you make your way down the steps and to his desk, but he looks up when he hears you coming towards him, and immediately his face splits into a smile. If you were anywhere else and ten years younger, he’d probably ruffle your hair.

"Good lecture," you say, "Dad didn’t tell me you’re teaching again."

Joel puts his piece of chalk into a tin box and nods.

"I don’t think he knows. You know how it is, we never get around to callin’ and I haven’t been home in a while."

So this is a new development, perhaps even Joel’s first semester back at university, too.

"What about the contracting? Don’t you miss the…pipes?"

He chuckles at your lack in basic contracting knowledge, his eyes not moving from yours.

"Ah, that was always Tommy, he just needed a little help. Company’s doin’ well now, though, so he’ll manage without me."

You think you remember Tommy – a man good-naturedly chasing you and the rest of the giggling neighborhood kids with a harden hose – but the memory is too vague to be sure it’s really him.

"You’ve grown up," Joel says, almost accusingly, and you shrug and smile. "Doin’ your master’s already. How come you’re familiar with Dirac?"

His accent is much thicker now that it’s only the two of you, and you notice a hint of pride when he asks about your correct answer to his question during the lecture. The satisfied feeling it gives you is still the same as when he high-fived you after your drivers test, or when he patted your back after you solved a problem for school without his help.

"Summer reading," you admit, trying hard not to sound like a nerd, "Basic Quantum Mechanics was my favorite lecture as an undergrad."

Joel smiles at you, and puts his notes into his leather bag. He slings it across his shoulder, and nods towards the door.

"How would you like to grab a coffee and tell me all about what’s been goin’ on with you and your old man?"

Your eyes flicker briefly over his hand, gripping the strap of his bag, and you raise an eyebrow.

"What’s the policy for staff having coffee with their students, Professor?"

Joel holds your gaze, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"I’m actually not sure, Miss, I’ve never had to check before."

He’s playing along, and it feels dangerously blurry – yes, he’s your Dad’s old friend, your childhood neighbor, but it feels like more than just joking around.

"Does that mean I’m your first, then?", you ask, voice sweet and close to flirting now. The smile freezes on Joel’s face, and his gaze becomes almost calculating.

"Am I yours?" he asks you softly, and the double-meaning behind his question isn’t lost on you. You feel a thrilling pang in your stomach – Joel Miller is flirting with you.

***

You do end up getting coffee after you tell Alva you’ll meet her later, Joel reassuring you it won’t get him into trouble, and you’re fascinated to see he still drinks it black. What fascinates you even more is that you remember how he takes his coffee, and you wonder why your brain filed this fact away as important, not to be forgotten.

"So, when did you graduate? Sorry I missed it."

There’s honest regret in his voice, which surprises you. Joel was always a warm person, but you figured he cared for you as much as he would have for any kid living across the street.

"Last June," you tell him, dropping a sugar cube into your cappuccino. "I spent the summer working, and now I’m here."

"How d’you like it so far?"

You give a nervous chuckle, torn between the honest truth and pleasant small talk. You opt for the former – this is Joel, after all, not some stranger.

"To be honest with you, I oscillate between enjoying my freedom away from Mom and Dad, and being scared shitless by starting over somewhere new," you admit, looking at your coffee. You haven’t told people about your fear, and it feels good to finally admit it – the grip your parents have had on you makes your newfound freedom almost uncomfortable.

"What d’you mean, startin’ over?", Joel asks, his voice strikingly gentle. You sigh, and shrug.

"I know the distance is good for me, but it was comfortable, just doing what my parents expected of me. I had good grades, nice friends, and just the right amount of drunken nights for them not to worry about my social life too much," you explain, "and now it’s like…there’s so much room to be someone else, cause they won’t see it anyway."

You look up, embarrassed to have spilt your guts like this, but Joel looks thoughtful, his thumb moving along the handle of his coffee cup.

"Sorry," you mutter, "I know they’re your friends, but they can be…"

"Overbearing?"

You smile at him gratefully and he smiles back.

"Look, I know your parents pretty well. They love you to bits, but as an adult I imagine it must be stiflin’.“

"Yeah," you sigh, grateful for his understanding, "I feel like I don’t know who I am when I’m not…their kid."

Joel nods, and sips his coffee, apparently pondering what you said.

"I promised myself I would only do what makes me happy while I’m here," you tell him sheepishly, as if it’s a secret, and Joel laughs.

"Well, I’m not expectin’ you to hand in any homework, then."

You grin, too, and shake your head. It’s surreal, Joel being your professor, and you wearing your heart on your sleeve for him.

"Don’t worry, Professor Miller, I’m not dropping your class."

"You’d better not, it’d really hurt my feelings," Joel says, eyes trained on yours. Again, that blurriness set in motion by the change of his role in your life: neighbor to professor to – what?

"What about you, though? This your first semester here?"

"Second," he tells you, "but I still don’t feel at home. Once a Texan, always a Texan, I guess."

You cock your head and watch him drain the last of his coffee, the cup tiny in his hands.

"What?" he asks you, curiosity evident in his voice.

"You look so different," you say, and Joel scoffs.

"Well, that’s real nice. Know I’m not thirty anymore, but geez–"

"No," you say with a grin, "it’s not that. I don’t know, I’ve just never seen you teach before. Or dressed this nice – I remember you mowing the lawn in a Fleetwood Mac shirt, not checking attendance in a button down."

Joel’s cheeks go slightly pink, and he scoffs again.

"Well, I can’t show up here in a band tee, can I? Gotta dress the part," he mutters.

"I get it. You suit it," you tell him, if only to see that blush appear on his face again. He looks up at you, holding your gaze for a couple of seconds, then he shakes his head.

"What were the odds of us meetin’ like this, huh? I gotta call your father and tell him."

Something about that bothers you, you’d prefer for your parents not to know. You like sitting here with Joel, reminiscing the old times, without anybody getting a peek in.

"Or not," he says gently, seeing the expression on your face.

"Sorry," you say, "course you can tell him."

"You apologize a lot," he tells you, and you fight the urge to say sorry once again. "It’s okay, I’m not tellin’ anyone, kid. ’S just you n me."

That pang in your stomach again, and you nod.

"Alright," you answer, "just us."

You get a refill for the two of you, and a blueberry muffin to split, which feels strangely intimate, but Joel pats his stomach and jokes about keeping an eye on his figure, so you grin, and ask the barista to cut it in half. Joel asks you about your friends, and you tell him about Alva.

"Oh yes," he says and swallows a bite of the muffin, "that punky lookin’ kid who sits next to you?"

"Yeah, she’s nice. Haven’t really met anyone else."

"Geez, I’m not keepin’ you from findin’ frat boys to hook up with, am I?"

You laugh, the idea of sitting here with a twenty-something year old kid named Cole or Josh instead of him so absurd, you can’t help it.

"No," you tell him, "I’m honestly enjoying the fact that I don’t have to have someone else in my dorm anymore."

"Well, that’s a relief to hear," Joel says, "they’re all dipshits."

You remember him telling you something similar about the boys in high school, and it makes you smile. He’s still got that protective streak, then.

"To tell you the truth, I’m glad you’re here," you say quietly, "if I’m not making any friends, I can come crying to you."

Joel watches you for a couple of seconds, not laughing as you intended, but taking your words seriously.

"Course you’ll make friends. Give it a couple of weeks, and you’ll have forgotten all about physics cause you’ll be skippin’ classes left and right to hang out with people."

You don’t tell him, but you think it’s very unlikely you’ll skip any of his classes. Still, you appreciate his words and how confident he seems to be in your ability to open up to people.

"Well, will you give me the answers to your exams if I skip your class?"

"No way," he says with a cheeky smile, the crinkles around his eyes prominent. "I don’t do preferential treatment. You wanna split another blueberry muffin?"

You grin.

"Thought you were watching your waistline."

"I am, that’s why I’m only eating halves."

***

Your afternoon with Joel leaves you on a high for the rest of the day, feeling much less lonely now that you’ve had a conversation beyond the usual so how many siblings do you have? and where did you do your undergrad?

You start spending your lunch breaks with Alva and some friends she made in another lecture, all of whom are very nice. In the evenings you all go to see a movie or have dinner together in any of your dorm rooms, and although you walk around campus holding out one eye for Joel, you don’t see him for the rest of the week. There is always a nudge of disappointment in your stomach, when you glance in the direction of his office, and the door is closed, but you’re so busy, you don’t dwell on it too much. The days pass in a blur of new lectures, swapping music with Alva, and evenings spent as a group of six, and suddenly it’s Sunday again. You aren’t too sad the weekend is already over, and you know exactly why you’re looking forward to Monday, but you don’t allow yourself to think about Joel any more than you can help.

In the afternoon, while you’re doing Joel’s assignment for the next class, your mother calls, and you answer the phone with a mixture of feelings.

Hi, my darling, how are you doing?

"Hi, Mom. I’m good, just doing my work for tomorrow. How are you?"

Good, good. How was your first week? Did you meet anyone nice?

Hah, if she only knew. It feels deceptive, not telling her about Joel, but you like that for now, he’s just yours.

"Yes, this girl called Alva. We and some guys hang out a lot, there’s a cinema near by, but the lectures are pretty hard, so we only have the evenings off."

Well, I’m glad you found some nice people! Dad says hi, he’s making dinner. Anyway, baby, we miss you terribly. Do you know when you’ll be coming home?

"I just got here, Mom."

You sigh so quietly your mother can’t hear it, guilt already nagging at your heart. Sunday is the day you would usually be coming home for dinner, and you know it’s no coincidence your parents called you now.

Of course, you’re right. It’s just not easy for your Dad and me, you know? You’ve never been this far from home, and you’re our baby.

Yeah, you think, your adult baby. You sigh again.

"I don’t know if I’ll come this month, I’m still sort of settling in. But I’ll let you know if there’s a free weekend next month, alright?"

Sure, that sounds great. Will you send us some pictures of your friends, and your room?

"Sure," you say, but it bugs you that you’re giving in. Already, you’re breaking the promise you made yourself, and letting your parents further into your life here than you’re comfortable with.

"Mom, I gotta go, I’ve still got some problems to solve and I’m meeting Alva for dinner soon."

Okay, darling, enjoy your night! And make yourself heard. I love you!

"Love you, too! Talk soon."

Your kind, clingy mother, whose greatest pain is not knowing if you’re safe. In a way you miss her, and you feel guilty for being annoyed. Still, you know you have to gently nudge her away from you, or she’ll suffocate you one day. It makes you angry with yourself, because you know your Mom would have liked nothing more than to hear all about your week, but as soon as she asked you a question, you felt like your seventeen year old self again, getting yelled at because you stayed up past your curfew, and your parents didn’t know where you were.

Tears of frustration spring to your eyes – the mix of feelings too much for you to handle. You wipe them away with the back of your hand, breathe in shakily, and try to focus on your assignment again, but now you’re riled up, and the tears won’t stop.

It’s hard for you to deal with disappointing your parents, forcing them away when they would like nothing more than to know everything that’s going on in your life. So, instead of preparing for Joel’s lecture, you cry on your bed, feeling lonely and angry with yourself for hurting them. You know your reaction is disproportionate, but everything you kept buried while you lived close to your parents comes bubbling out of you.

You call Alva, tell her you have cramps because of your period and just want to stay in bed. She’s understanding, asks you if there’s anything she can do, even offers to bring you takeout or a hot water bottle, which makes you feel all the worse for lying to her. You decline her offer, tell her you’ll meet her Monday morning. In the evening, you regret not letting her bring over a real meal, eating cold pasta in your underwear, tears still running down your face and making your head pound.

***

On Monday, you feel slightly better, your headache is gone and your face isn’t as puffy as you expected it to be. Still, you’re in a solitary mood, and are glad to find Alva is able to keep up an entire conversation virtually by herself – you just grunt from time to time, or give noncommittal movements of your head in vague agreement. You hope if she notices your bad mood, she just thinks it has to do with your period.

Computational Physics is hell – you dislike it on the best of days, but guilt ridden and tired, you’re barely able to pay attention at all, and the professor’s handwriting is so bad, you end up copying down Alva’s notes instead. She’s kind about it, slides over her notebook at an angle that makes it easy to read, and you make a mental note to thank her for being so kind to you while you’re offering nothing but a scowling expression all day. Maybe you’ll cook for her, or make a mixtape of your favorite songs, just to show her you’re interested in being actual good friends.

Lunch passes easily, as always you sit with Alva and the guys, and there’s enough people for you to stare at your mashed potatoes and repeatedly stab them with your fork instead of eating them. They taste like flour mixed up with water, and you dream up your father’s Sunday dinner instead, but it does little to help with the taste.

"So, you lookin’ forward to flirting with Miller in front of the whole lecture hall again?" Alva asks you, as you’re making your way to said room. You glare at her, but can’t help the corners of your mouth twitching.

"Wasn’t flirting with him," you answer, kicking a pebble, "I grew up across the street from him, I’ve known him practically my whole life."

"Whatever you say, grumpy," Alva teases, nudging your shoulder with hers. You’re overcome with a rush of gratitude for the way she treats you, persistently kind and humorous. You chuckle, your mood lifting slightly.

"He’s probably been waiting for you to turn legal," she continues, and you groan.

"Gross, Alva, he’s not a creep."

"I’m just saying, if your little connection gets you the answers to his tests, you could sell them and become rich."

"I already asked him, he said no," you say darkly, thinking of the nights you’ll have to spend studying to pass his exam. This makes Alva laugh her brilliant laugh, and you can’t help but smile, too.

"Damn," she grins, "I’d try if he wasn’t a guy."

You snort.

"You try with Mrs. Carter, I need the answers to Computational," you suggest, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively.

"You’re joking, but I bet once you get her out of her frumpy cardigans, she’s a real–"

"Okay, stop," you grown, the image of Mrs Carter taking off her cardigans worse than her keeping them on – if possible. Alva giggles.

"I’ll help you with Computational," she says, "if you help me with Quantum Mechanics."

"You’re good at both," you argue, and Alva shrugs.

"Not like you, though. I spent like four hours doing Miller’s assignment last night."

You want to tell her you didn’t do it at all, but before you can open your mouth, she spots a friend in the crowd, grabs your arm and drags you over to him.

The three of you sit down together, closer to the front than the week before, which gives you a direct line of sight to Joel’s desk. When he walks in, your stomach jumps – he’s wearing a tie today, a dark burgundy or blue, you aren’t sure from this distance, flecked with specks of white. Again, his hair is styled in that carelessly disheveled look you like so much, and the image of him putting gel in it makes you smile. He gets out his materials for the lecture, and looks up, his eyes finding yours – you smile and he gives a small nod. Again you’re struck by how different he acts in front of the class, how serious he seems. You think of his laid back manner when you had coffee, and struggle to make the images align. Joel clears his throat, and the chatter around you stops.

"Quiet, please, everyone. Thank you. So, last week, we found out that Dirac’s equation predicts the existence of antiparticles. But instead of just accepting that, let’s think deeper—mathematically, what feature of the equation forces this conclusion?"

Joel jumps right into the lecture, and just like last week, nobody raises their hands – you curse the people around you for their lethargy, because sure enough, Joel’s eyes land on you. Before you can shake your head to signal to him not to ask you, he calls your name.

"If I remember correctly, you were already familiar with Dirac’s equation last week. What would you say, what does the existence of negative-energy solutions tell us, and why couldn’t we just ignore them?"

You wish you could answer him, know he asked you because he was sure you’d know the answer, perhaps hoped your enthusiasm for the subject would get the rest of the students to participate more, but you didn’t do the assignment, and you’ve already half forgotten his question. You swallow.

"Um…I…I’m not sure, Sir," you say, watching the way his brows furrow, and looking down at your notes. Alva shoots you a curious look, and when she sees your expression, she raises her hand. You’re thankful to have Joel’s attention diverted, feeling like a fool in front of hundreds of students you’re trying to make friends with.

"Dirac’s equation gives positive and negative energy solutions, and at first, the negative ones didn’t make sense. Dirac suggested they represent antiparticles, like the positron, which he predicted. The idea was that electrons could, like, jump into these negative-energy states, creating a hole that looks like a positron, which was later confirmed experimentally," Alva explains instead of you.

"You're close, but electrons don’t actually 'jump into' negative-energy states. Instead, Dirac proposed that these states are already filled, forming what he called the Dirac Sea. A positron isn’t an electron jumping down, it’s actually a 'hole' left when a negative-energy electron gets excited to a positive-energy state. That distinction is important because it explains why positrons have the opposite charge. Good answer, though, thank you Ms. Bennet."

Joel’s eyes flicker over to you again, but you show no reaction, and he continues with his lecture without asking you another question. Alva glances at you inquiringly, and you sigh.

"I wanted to do the assignment yesterday, but my cramps were really bad," you explain quietly, and she nods sympathetically.

"Call me next time, I’ll send you my answers," she whispers, and you smile gratefully. It seems you really hit the jackpot in friendship when you sat down next to Alva.

***

After Joel’s lecture, you and Alva make your way over to the vending machine, because it has the sour patches she likes, and in her own words she’ll combust if she doesn’t eat some right fucking now.

"Shit," she curses, "they’re stuck."

"Let me," a voice comes from a behind you, and when you turn around, Joel is smiling at the two of you. "Took me a while to figure this thing out, too."

Alva steps aside, and Joel bangs his palm against the side of machine. You jump, but the sour patches make their tumbling way down to the dispenser.

"Great! Thanks, Professor Miller," Alva says, ripping the bag open and offering it to the two of you. To your surprise, Joel takes her up on it, and Alva grins at you.

"You were quiet during today’s lecture," Joel says tentatively, when he’s swallowed his sour patch "everything alright?"

You glance at your shoes.

"Um, yeah. I wasn’t feeling well yesterday, and I left your assignment for last, so…I didn’t do it."

Joel’s expression grows worried, and Alva glances between the two of you.

"Hey, I’m meeting Max for coffee," she tells you, "see you later?"

"Yeah," you answer, grateful she’s granting you this time alone with Joel, "see you, Alva."

When she’s gone, Joel is still looking at you with that worried look on his face, and you sigh.

"Sorry about the assignment," you say, "won’t happen again."

"I’m not worried about the assignment," Joel says earnestly, but then he turns his head, and you know he doesn’t want someone listening in. Sure, you can be seen chatting in the university cafe, but this conversation is rapidly blurring the lines between scholarly and – something else.

"I…have some materials in my office that might make it easier for you to catch up with the lectures again," Joel tells you, and you understand the underlying meaning. Let’s talk in my office.

"Thank you," you say, relieved, and Joel nods, eyes still glued to yours, brows still furrowed. You walk to his office making smalltalk about the lecture, which to anyone listening in would seem like a normal conversation between a professor and an interested student.

Joel opens the door to his office for you, and lets you step in first. It’s small, cramped bookshelves on the walls and a sturdy desk in the middle that is littered with notes, pencils, books, and a couple of old coffee mugs. You notice he put part of his books sideways onto the shelves, which you find weirdly endearing. This is the Joel you know – clutter and warmth.

He closes the door behind you, and you turn around to watch him drop his bag and walk over to the kettle in the corner of the room.

"Coffee?"

"Please," you sigh, "if you don’t have anything stronger."

He raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t answer, just turns on the already filled kettle, and gets two clean cups for the two of you.

"I only have drip coffee," he tells you, "I don’t drink that crap the machines brew up."

"That’s fine, I enjoy the medieval feel of it."

"Watch it," he answers, a smile tugging on his lips, "don’t insult my coffee filter in front of me."

You grin, and walk over to his bookshelf to have a look.

"So, what’s going on?" he asks you while pouring the boiling hot water over the coffee grounds. Again, the Joel you remember – empathetic, but unusually direct. You sigh, turn around and shrug.

"Mom and Dad called yesterday, and I could tell they missed me, but I just…I cut them off after two minutes."

Joel places the cups on his desk, and leans against it. His sleeves are rolled up again, and when he crosses his arms, you feel that familiar pang in your stomach.

"And now I…I don’t know, I feel so guilty, Joel. They’re not even being dicks about it, but I just know they’d prefer for me to check in with them more…and the worst thing is, I know it’s not a big deal. They’ll get over it, they’ve got a good life without me constantly in it, so I don’t know why my stupid brain can’t just let this go, you know? One I miss you, darling, and I’m reduced to this pathetic mess, instead of just, I don’t know, getting my shit together."

You shake your head and clench your teeth, once again embarrassed to come crying to Joel about your parental issues, but he’s the only one you can tell. Sure, Alva would probably listen, but you don’t feel like explaining your family to a near stranger. Joel just gets it. Joel knows you.

He’s looking at you, arms still crossed, and for a second you worry he might not want to hear about your little breakdown, but then he sighs.

"You have your shit together all of the fuckin’ time, kid, I think that might be the problem," he tells you quietly. "You’ve always been so hard on yourself."

He’s right, once again he sees what you struggle to show the world, and his words make tears spring to your eyes. You will your eyeballs to suck them back in, but of course, Joel sees.

"Hey now," he says, taking a tentative step towards you. One tear drops from the end of your lashes and down your cheek, and the dam is broken again – they come spilling in floods. Joel crosses the room in a second, and there is a slight moment of hesitation between the two of you, before you bury your face in his chest, and let your restraint fall. You cry quietly, feel him wrap his arms around you, as he rocks you back and forth.

"You’re alright," he tells you, "Shhh, it’s okay, you’re alright."

"S-s-sorry about the assignment," you manage, and Joel’s hand starts stroking your back.

"Jesus, kid, stop worryin’ about the fucking assignment," he tells you, voice low and worried. "You don’t gotta be so strict with yourself. You’re doin’ just fine."

He smells so much like home, you think you might never stop crying.

"I don’t know what’s wrong with me," you hiccup, "One week here and I’m a mess already."

You feel Joel rest his chin on your head, and his arms tighten around you.

"There’s nothin’ wrong with you, you hear me? You hold yourself to high standards. Creates pressure, kid."

As always, he’s right of course – you want to excel academically, you don’t want to hurt your parents, you want to stay true to yourself and do what makes you happy, you want to make friends without compromising your grades. It’s impossible.

You breathe in shakily, your eyes closed, face buried in Joel’s chest, and for a second he is all that exists – just Joel, all around you, pulling you to the earth. Slowly, your breathing calms, Joel still rocking you soothingly, holding you close.

"There we go," he mutters, when your chest stops shaking, "that’s good."

When you pull away from him, he puts his hands on your shoulders to really look at you, and although you’re embarrassed by your outburst, you’re glad he doesn’t shy away from you.

"I want you to start being a little more lenient with yourself, alright? You don’t need to worry about an assignment on top of everything."

His hands are rubbing your shoulders, his eyes are kind and warm.

"Maybe not about yours, but I have like five other lectures –"

"Okay, so try to stop worrying about my assignments, just mine. Won’t bite your head off if you don’t do them, and I’ll only ask you questions when you raise your hand, alright? In fact, for the rest of the term, I want you to hand them in late."

Despite yourself, your lips pull up in a small smile.

"That’s silly, Joel," you say softly, but he shakes his head.

"It’s not silly, it’s practice to get you out of your comfort zone."

You consider his words for a moment. You do keep a pretty tight reign on yourself, and just the thought of doing every assignment late makes your skin crawl with anxiety. But when will you get another chance to step out of your comfort zone as safely as now, with Joel? He’s offering you a way to try it without actually risking your grades. And who knows, perhaps it actually will take a little bit of pressure off of you.

"Okay," you answer, staring up at Joel with puffy cheeks and teary eyes. "Alright."

He smiles at you, but he still looks worried and you wish he’d pull you close to him again. It’s such a relief to have this sort of human contact with someone who really knows you.

"Feel better?"

You sigh, and nod.

"It’s just a lot, you know, uni and my parents, and every social interaction feels like such a chore, cause I don’t know people yet. I feel like I’m not even relaxed when I’m asleep."

Joel hesitates for a moment, before he speaks, but when he does, he sounds determined.

"Come over tonight, I’ll make us somethin’ to eat, and you don’t have to worry about talkin’ to anyone. We’ll watch whatever you’d like. You still enjoy those crappy horror movies?"

You smile at the shared memory – Joel letting you use his living room to watch slashers your parents didn’t want you to see. One summer, when the heat was so stifling you barely went outside, you practically lived at his place, and when you’d seen all the DVDs he owned, he got you more from the video store.

"I do," you say quietly, the fact that Joel remembers more important to you than his proposal to spend the evening together. You feel significantly less alone, all of a sudden.

"Alright, then. Be over at seven,“ Joel tells you, and you nod, wiping your wet face with the back of your hand.

"Thank you, Joel," you say, and hug him again, because you don’t know how to tell him in words what you’re feeling, and his big, warm body against yours feels more than soothing.

"Course, kid. Just don’t tell Alva, or they’ll fire me."

You smile, your arms still wrapped around his neck, as he holds you.

"But I don’t wanna get you in trouble, what if–"

"No," Joel interrupts you, "no what ifs. No worryin’. I forbid it."

And you accept it, leave it to Joel, because he tells you to – because you don’t have any room in your head for more worries, and because you trust Joel not to do anything reckless. You trust him, period.

***

You text Alva you’re having dinner alone, that your cramps are still acting up, and you do feel slightly bad for lying, but you would never risk Joel’s job. The idea of having dinner with him at his place should make you nervous after your change in feelings about him, but you’re just looking forward to having a meal with someone who knows you, and lets you be yourself.

Joel asked you to be there at seven, so you spend the rest of the afternoon in your dorm room, wondering if you should change your outfit or if it would seem desperate – in the end, you keep the jeans but change into a blouse instead of a sweater. The part of you that stares at Joel’s forearms during class now wants to look pretty for him, so that he’ll ask you over again. You know you’re being ridiculous, but it doesn’t stop you from putting on your nicest perfume.

You’re ten minutes early, so you sit in your little second hand car and try not to panic. You know Joel is merely trying to be a good…friend? Ex-neighbor, Dad’s best friend turned professor? There’s no real etiquette to cling to in this situation, for either of you, and although you’re positive Joel doesn’t have any ulterior motives with you despite his flirting, you know he could lose his job if someone finds out you went to his house. Even if you just watch slashers together the way you did ten years ago. It makes you anxious to know he’d risk something clearly important to him for just that – he moved to a different state, quit his old job, started over completely, and is now willing to endanger that new life just because you’re stressed. At the same time it seems ridiculous anyone could forbid the two of you to spend time together after having known each other your entire life. The thought is absurd, and still, you need to be careful.

You get out of the car before you start to hyperventilate, and ring Joel’s doorbell – it feels strange for him to live in a new house. He opens the door with a smile, and absurd relief floods your veins when you realize he’s wearing an old Led Zeppelin shirt and a pair of worn jeans. This is your Joel.

"I come bearing gifts," you announce, stepping into the house.

“Christ, where did you get this?”, Joel asks, taking the six pack of beer from you, so you can take off your jacket. “I didn’t know they sold Shiner Bock outside of Texas, I’ve been survivin’ on Bud”.

“Brought it with me,” you explain, “figured it’d help if I got homesick, you know, in multiple ways.”

You grin, and Joel shakes his head good-naturedly.

“Old enough to drink, well I’ll be damned. I remember when you begged your Dad to let you have a coke and he asked me if I thought the caffeine would stunt your growth.”

“Did it?”

“It might’ve,” Joel says with a chuckle, “but he didn’t let you have it.”

“Well, he isn’t here now, so let’s put those in the fridge.”

“No," Joel mutters, “no, he ain’t.”

While Joel puts the beer away, you take a look around his living room – despite your reservations about the new house, it reminds you of his old place. It’s got the same masculine and warm feel to it, dark wood, books all over the place, no bells and whistles. Joel is a practical man, and it’s charmingly etched into every part of his life – except for his new work-look. The room isn’t as cluttered as you remember Joel’s old house back in Texas, but you assume he hasn’t had time to accumulate clutter yet. No old newspapers are lying around, no birthday cards stacking up. You wonder if he’s lonely here, teaching all by himself, hundreds of miles away from the place he last grew roots in.

“Do you miss home?” you ask him, when he comes back from the kitchen with two bottles of beer in his hands. He looks at ease, much more himself than back at university. His jeans are faded, his shirt a little too big on his already broad frame, and his hair is clean and curly the way you like it – no gel twisting it into all sorts of un-Joel-like styles. Warmth floods your chest at the sight of him taking a swig of his beer. His crowfeet are a little more pronounced, and his hair has more grey strands than it did back home, but he’s still got that distinctly warm, no-nonsense feel to him.

“Sometimes,” he answers, offering you the second bottle. Your hand brushes his when you take it from him. “But I’m pretty busy here, you know, got a whole lotta lectures to plan, papers to grade and that sort of stuff.”

You nod, and sip at your beer.

“Have you…you know, met people? Made friends here?”

Joel plops down on the couch, and smiles up at you.

“You worried about my social life?”

You shrug, and smile almost timidly.

“You know me, kid, I like bein’ by myself.”

That’s true, for as long as you’ve known Joel, he’s been alone. You know he has nieces and nephews who adore him, and your Dad mentioned a woman once, but it must have been at least twenty years since they were together. You wonder why Joel doesn’t seem to want that sort of a domestic life, surely many women would be happy to let him put a ring on them.

You walk over to the window, and watch a blackbird tug at a writhing worm.

“Have you met someone at uni you wanna be by yourself with?” you ask with a small grin, turning back to find Joel already watching you. “I heard Mrs. Carter’s still single.”

“She’s very intelligent,” Joel says earnestly. You give him credit for not laughing about his colleague, and suddenly you feel bad for calling her frumpy with Alva. “But I think I’ll leave her to her simulations. Why am I bein’ interrogated?”

“Sorry,” you mumble, and glance out of the window again, “just making conversation.”

“Your turn, then,” Joel answers, and takes another swig of beer. “Any frat boys catch your eye? Or frat girls?”

You glance at him, a smile on your lips, and raise your eyebrows.

“Hey, I don’t discriminate. I thought, maybe Alva…”

“No,” you answer, feeling fond of him for considering the possibility. “Alva’s a friend. The guys are…well, they’re frat boys.”

Your voice carries enough disgust for Joel to laugh.

“Right,” he says, and his eyes are warm when they meet yours again. “Just us two loners, then."

“Cheers,” you say with a smile.

“Cheers.”

***

Joel’s cooking is a mystery to you – he loves to eat, and when he does cook, it’s always delicious, but he only ever makes one of five dishes. Again, that practicality shining through. Why try something new if you’ve perfected your routine? He made pasta for you, wasn’t sure if you’re still vegetarian and makin’ your Dad’s hair fall out, and you smile into the neck of your beer bottle, when you watch him drizzle dressing onto a carefully arranged side-salad. Throughout dinner, you tell him how much you love it at least five times, because you can tell he put effort into the meal. You know it’s not technically a date, but having a dinner he made just for you, in his home – it feels like one.

You steer the conversation away from heavy topics like your parents. Although Joel offered you this evening to make you feel better, you want to spend it with him rather than in your head, so you ask him about books and music, about his lectures, about Tommy and the kids. You like watching how his face lights up whenever he talks about something he particularly loves. Joel is a quiet man, but you found out years ago it isn’t shyness, but a disinterest in most mundane topics – he doesn’t like gossip or superficial small talk. When he tells you Tommy made him godfather of all of his children, the pride is evident in his voice, and you don’t have to fake your enthusiasm, although it amuses you, too – Tommy loving his big brother enough not to consider anyone else.

"She calls me uncle Joe," he tells you with a chuckle, "Can’t pronounce her Ls yet, but I’ve considered legally changing my name."

When you’re done eating, you help him clear the table, but when you reach for the sponge to do the dishes, Joel shakes his head.

"Let me do that later, kid. You wanna watch a movie?"

So the two of you plop down on the couch with a bag of M&Ms and another round of beer, and Joel hands you the remote.

"Go wild," he says, chuckling when you excitedly turn on he TV to open Netflix.

"Wow, a streaming service? I thought you’d just hoard DVDs for the rest of your life."

Joel huffs, and instead of answering, he leans forward, and reaches for something under his couch table. When he turns his head, he’s got glasses on his face, thick-rimmed and black, and so startlingly sexy, you almost drop the remote.

"You…you’ve got glasses?"

"Yeah," he answers, his eyes meeting yours, and you swallow. "When your eyesight deteriorates, that’s when you know you’re gettin’ old."

You hum but don’t answer, just hold his gaze for a second and look back to the screen. You try to ignore the familiar pang in your stomach at the sight of Joel in his new glasses, and skip through movie after movie, mumbling seen it, seen it, that one sucks, seen it, until Joel reaches over and snatches the remote from you.

"Hey–"

"I can’t read anything if you skip through them that quickly."

"You’re not supposed to read, you’re supposed to go with the vibe of the cover."

He glances at you with furrowed brows.

"Okay, sorry, didn’t know you’re a filmbro," you grumble, but it’s almost entirely fake – you couldn’t be annoyed with him, not when he pushes his glasses up his nose, and carefully considers which button to press on the remote.

"I don’t know what that means," he answers, and starts reading the description of a romantic comedy about Christmas.

"I’m not watching that."

"You don’t even know what it’s about."

"It’s September, Joel."

He huffs again, but finally reaches the horror movies. Surprisingly, it doesn’t take the two of you long to pick one, and the thought of two hours of brainless, scary entertainment on a couch with Joel makes you practically melt into his couch.

You can feel Joel’s eyes on you during the opening credits, so you glance over and he smiles.

"Comfy?" he asks, his voice hoarse from relaxation.

"Yeah," you answer, and smile when hands you a blanket. He’s not exactly close to you, but it still feels a little intimate when you spread the blanket out and offer him the other end. He moves over a little, so that the blanket covers his legs, and when you concentrate you can feel his body heat next to you, so you try hard not to – and instead get lost in the movie.

It’s not particularly good, but the story does get under your skin a little, and when there’s an unexpected shriek, you violently jump and instinctively move closer to Joel. He chuckles, but doesn’t give any reaction to your arm suddenly pressing against his. He doesn’t move away, either, so you don’t, fear suddenly not being the only thing bubbling up in your stomach.

"Jesus," you mumble, the creeping music making you anticipate another jumpscare. You’re right, it does come, but prepared though you are, you still wince, and turn away from the screen slightly. Out of sight, out of mind. Joel turns around, too, and when he sees your widened eyes, he grins.

"How’s that Christmas movie lookin’ now?"

"I’m not scared," you say, and there is some truth to it, "I’m just not good with jumpscares."

When the next one comes, you can’t help it, you clutch his arm next to you, your nails digging into his firm muscle, and Joel glances at you again.

"Sorry," you say quickly, letting go of his forearm now marked with five tiny crescent shapes. "Jesus, Joel, sorry."

"It’s fine," he says, and the amusement is evident in his voice, "you sure you’re into this? There might be some cartoons–"

He stops talking when you glare at him, but his mouth is twitching under his beard. You’re determined to watch the entire movie, and you try not to let any reaction show, wanting to prove Joel wrong.

There is one particularly scary scene – it’s not necessarily violent, but the music and shaky camera movements make your pulse race, and you turn your head slightly, so as to look at something else. Joel glances at you again, but he doesn’t laugh this time, just puts a heavy hand on your shoulder. It’s grounding, the warmth of it, how his thumb digs into your muscle and his fingers spread out over your back and neck.

"You don’t gotta force yourself to watch this, kid," Joel says gently, all teasing humor gone.

"No," you say stubbornly, but move even closer to him. His touch is a welcome distraction from the movie, and although you know it’s stupid and reckless, you lean into him, and Joel puts his arm around you. It’s closer than you’ve been to him except for hugging, and your heartbeat starts to quicken for all the wrong, non-horror reasons. When you flinch, Joel tugs you against his side, and it feels natural to hide your face in his shoulder.

He was never touchy with you, or anyone for that matter, so something must have changed. You wonder if he’s trying to comfort you, or if you might not be the only one who can feel that strange pull between the two of you.

When the movie ends, Joel regrettably removes his arm from around your shoulders to switch off the TV, and although you’re slightly disappointed, you scold yourself for expecting something else.

"Not bad," Joel says with a small smile, and pushes his glasses up his nose. "Very brave."

You scoff, but feel the corners of your mouth twitching, too.

"I used to be less of a wimp, but I guess you soften with age."

"You’re twenty-three," Joel argues, "that’s young."

Yeah, too young. Too young to lean over and kiss him, or climb into his lap, or expect anything other than paternal care when he’s got his arm around you. You look at your lap, all of a sudden feeling stupid and silly for having dreamed up an absurd fantasy about the man in front of you.

"Hey," Joel says gently, "what’s wrong?"

"Nothing," you say quickly, "nothing, I had a really great evening. Thanks, Joel."

You can tell you’ve confused him, but he nods, doesn’t question your sudden change of mood, and stands when you get up from the couch.

"Anytime, kid. You call me if you’re havin’ a bad time, alright? My door’s always open."

He’s so kind, so recklessly, stupidly, lovingly kind, and all of it is directed at you. You curse yourself for it, but again you feel that familiar burn in your eyes. Joel reaches out and easily pulls you towards his big body, hugging you the way he did in his office just this afternoon. He doesn’t ask you what brought on your tears, just lets you cry into his Led Zeppelin shirt that smells so much like home, like a childhood you won’t get back to. You remember whiffs of that smell when you were watching movies on his couch while he was at work, too pissed off at your parents to spend the summer at home. This scent was there when you attended a neighborhood barbecue after fighting with your father and Joel grilled some vegan sausages for you without comment or question. He’s always looked out for you like this, quietly, without demanding an explanation, just a solid, comforting presence in your life.

Your tears stop after a couple of minutes, and you take a step away from Joel, wiping your face. He looks so worried again, brows all furrowed and arms hanging limply at his side. Didn’t he flirt with you, though? Didn’t he prepare dinner for you the way a date would, ask you about your dating life, ask you to coffee? You don’t think you would be able to handle another evening like this one not knowing what Joel really thinks, so in a moment of hazy recklessness, you lean up.

His eyes meet yours, all warm and strangely unguarded, but before your lips brush his, a hand on your shoulder stops you. Without saying something, you move away from him, and nod to yourself, his reaction all the information you needed.

"Sorry," you say very quietly, not managing much else now that you’ve humiliated yourself in front of the only person you really know in a six hundred mile radius. Joel runs a hand through his soft hair, and inhales deeply.

"No," he says, his voice a little strained, "no, don’t be. I just…Jesus, kid."

He rubs his palm over his beard in such a familiar way, your chest aches a little. It’s ridiculous how much you want to touch his face, to feel him again, skin on skin. So you don’t turn and run the way your embarrassed heart is telling you to, just watch him collect his thoughts, standing in front of him like a wet and beaten dog.

"Look," he begins, "I won’t say I’m not flattered, but that’s…it’s a bad fuckin’ idea. It’s…it’s chaos, and on top of that most people would argue it’s wrong."

You swallow. You know all of this, have turned it over in your head ever since you stared at Joel’s rolled up sleeves for two hours on that first Monday, but hearing him say it makes your stomach churn.

"Yeah," you mutter, and trace Joel’s shadow with the very tip of your foot, "yeah, of course. Sorry I put you in that position, wasn’t right."

Your face still feels puffy, and you know you’re probably all red and pathetic looking, begging Joel for scraps of his attention, but all of a sudden, he lifts his hand up to your face, and cups it in his broad palm. His thumb strokes your cheek, and when you meet his eye, the expression on his face is tender.

"It’s alright," he tells you softly, "I can see you worryin’ at the speed of light in that pretty head of yours."

Something in your chest flutters at his words, at the rough and warm cadence of his voice. He reads you so easily, one turn of your head and he knows you’re lost to your thoughts.

"I shouldn’t have let myself toy with this idea," he continues, and your stomach flips. "I should’ve realized you’d pick up on it. It’s on me, alright? It’s on me not to start anythin’."

You can hear the implication – I’m the adult here. It’s not what you want to hear, but just the mention of Joel toying with this idea, as he put it, is enough to lift your spirits. So you weren’t crazy.

"I’m an adult," you say weakly, never having felt more like a child. Joel nods.

"You are, but I’m still in a position of power here. Be wrong, to abuse that."

His thumb is still moving over your cheek slowly, making it hard to think straight.

"So dinner and a movie doesn’t abuse it?"

You don’t want to argue, you don’t know why you keep disagreeing with him, and the way his face falls, you wish you hadn’t said it.

"No, it…it does, you’re right. Jesus, of course it does. I don’t blame ya for bein’ ang-"

"I’m not angry," you say softly, and tentatively turn your head in Joel’s hand. You press a kiss to his palm, his warm skin pressed right against your mouth. "I’m not your student, Joel. I mean, of course I am, but I know you. It’s different."

Joel’s eyes are glued to your face, and he looks so conflicted you wish he’d just throw you out of his house, if only to solve his dilemma.

"It’s still wrong," Joel mutters, his eyes glued to your lips since they brushed his skin "even if you take away the fact that I’m your fuckin’ professor. Your Dad…"

"My Dad is half a continent away and finds a way to be unhappy with whatever choices I make, so I might as well make the ones I want to."

The very first day, before you even met Joel, you decided to do what makes you happy while in university, and although this certainly wasn’t what you had in mind, you know it’s what you want. The only thing you want, in fact.

Joel sighs, and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Joel, I’m not trying to…look, if I’m wrong about this, just tell me, but I feel…I just wanna be close to you all of the fucking time," you say quietly, "and it’s okay if you don’t, really. I just…I want you to know it’s not nothing to me."

Saying I don’t just want to hook up with you would feel too straight forward or crass, but you think Joel gets the gist of what you’re trying to say, and he closes his eyes briefly. You study his face behind his glasses, the wrinkles and freckles from years in the sun. You do feel anxious about his answer, but whatever it is, you’re glad you told him. It’s out in the world now, the way you feel when he holds you, and he can do with it what he pleases – you’ve handed him the reigns.

"I…I know what you mean. Me too," he says very quietly after a beat, his eyes open and looking directly into yours again.

A triumphant pang of affection pulses through you, and you put your hand over Joel’s, which is still resting on your cheek. He looks conflicted, but his other hand holds your waist now, and tugs your smaller body closer to his again. He’s solid as a brick wall in front of you, and you figure you’re allowed to touch, so you rest your hand on his shoulder.

"What am I gonna do with you?" Joel mutters, and strokes your lower lip with his thumb. If you had more guts, you’d let it slip into your mouth, but you’re still afraid he’ll pull back if you make a wrong move, so you just let him caress your mouth tenderly.

"Whatever you’d like," you answer just as quietly, and you know it sounds sexual, but you mean it in every way – if Joel wants to be nothing but your professor, you’d take it, and if he wants to keep you here in his house indefinitely, you’d let him. Joel keeps looking at you, taking you in as if he’s considering whether the risks outweigh whatever magnetic or gravitational pull the two of you have between you.

"Stay," he say after a while, and although his face looks slightly regretful, his voice is determined, "just…sleep here tonight. I like havin’ you here."

You want him to kiss you, to pull you onto his lap on the couch, to take you upstairs right now, but Joel seems to be restraining himself, so you just nod.

"Me too," you whisper, echoing his words back to him, and for just a second, his thumb digs into your lip a little harder, but then he pulls away.

"Testin’ my goddamn restraint," he mutters, and takes a step away from you. "I’ll get you something to sleep in."

***

Joel gets you one of his band tees you love so dearly, and just the idea of being enveloped by something that smells like him all night makes it a little easier when Joel tells you he’ll take the couch instead of inviting you to sleep with him in his bed.

"No," you say softly, "it’s fine, you just sleep in your bed, Joel. I’ll take the couch."

He looks critical, so you offer him a soft smile.

"I don’t know if your back could take it," you tease, and he seems torn up between laughing and frowning. In the end, he just shakes his head, mutters something that sounds a lot like bad fuckin’ idea, and gets you a blanket and pillow.

He brings you a clean toothbrush and towel, let’s you use his bathroom (you look at the shower the entire time you’re brushing your teeth, trying hard not to think about what Joel looks like using it in the mornings), and when you’re done changing, you unlock the door again.

He’s there, sitting on the edge of his bed, his eyes trailing over your form in his much too big shirt. It’s long as a dress on you, coming down to your naked thighs. Joel visibly swallows and gets up from the bed.

"You got everythin’ you need?"

"Yes. Thank you, Joel."

There’s a beat of silence and you almost think Joel’s about to cross the room, but he just runs his palm over his beard the way he always does, and nods.

"Alright. Just shout if there’s…well, you know. I’ll be here."

"I will."

"Alright. Okay…goodnight, kid."

"Night," you almost whisper, voice soft, and right before you reach the door, Joel clears his throat.

"I…you were right about dinner and the movie. I wasn’t just tryin’ to be friendly," he says quietly, and your stomach swirls. Before you can walk over to Joel and do something about it, he sighs.

"Sleep tight, sweetheart."

Sweetheart.

***

You wake to the sound of something dripping, and when your eyes flutter open, you can see Joel’s back from the kitchen. He’s wearing his work outfit again, a white button down and dark pants, sleeves rolled up. It smells like coffee, and with a smile you realize he must be brewing his beloved coffee – no machine, just a filter. He looks broad, even from your spot on the couch, and you enjoy peeking in on him. You study his movements, the way he reaches for a cup, how his fingers absentmindedly drum on the kitchen counter while he waits.

When he turns around, his eyes find yours, and he smiles.

"Mornin’. Did I wake ya?"

"’S fine," you yawn, pulling the blanket up to your chin, not yet ready to get up. "I have classes at ten anyway."

"’S eight," Joel tells you, "Coffee?"

"Yes please," you answer, and stretch your limbs under the blanket.

Joel brings you a cup, complete with a little bit of milk and sugar, and you move your feet so he can sit down on the couch.

"Sleep well?"

You sip your coffee, let it burn your tongue and close your eyes at the taste. When you open them, Joel’s gaze lingers on your face.

"Yeah," you answer, "thank you for…you know."

He nods, takes a sip of his coffee, and looks at his lap. He looks like he wants to say something, but he’s very quiet, and you feel anxiety bubbling up in your stomach.

"Joel, do you want me to leave? It’s fine if you do," you ask him softly, not wanting to make things awkward for him. It would be rational of him to ask you to leave, the smart and ethical thing to do.

"No," he answers quietly, still not looking at you, "I want you to stay."

Stay? On a Tuesday morning, after you almost kissed him and he told you he couldn’t do that, after you spent the night on his couch? When you have classes in two hours, haven’t showered yet, are half naked and wearing his clothes, on his couch under his blanket? When you’ve got friends wondering where you are and probably ten unanswered messages from Alva?

"Alright," you say, agreeing as easy as breathing.

Finally, he looks up, and his expression is so conflicted you reach out for him. Your hand finds his and you squeeze it. He keeps looking at you, his hand limp in your grasp, as if any movement of his muscles would incriminate him.

"You shouldn’t," he tells you earnestly. "Stay, I mean. You shouldn’t stay."

"I know."

You don’t let go of his hand. He doesn’t move his away.

"It’s a really, really bad idea," he adds, and you’re not sure who he is trying to talk out of whatever this is. "It’s risky. Could blow up both our lives."

"Yeah," you say, and watch him sip his coffee, "okay."

Then, a tentative flex of his fingers against yours, and finally, he’s squeezing your hand just as tightly, and before you can process what that means, Joel is leaning over you, dangerously close. Your breathing quickens, you register how soft his hair looks, how strong his hand is. He leans in further and you sit up a little, still cocooned in his blanket. His face is close to yours, his eyes fiery with something you can’t pinpoint, and you sigh, when he closes the gap between you.

He tastes of coffee and toothpaste, and you wish you’d gotten the chance to shower, but the thought disappears almost immediately when you hear Joel groan. His kisses you languidly, deeply, and your fingers come up to his beautiful arm, barely wrapping around half of his biceps. He cradles the side of your face, pulls you closer, makes your stomach clench with need. It feels inevitable, the way he touches you, like you only exist in a physical form to be touched by him.

His free hand peels the blanket off your body, lets it slide to the floor without ever stopping his the kiss, and you moan softly, when his hand touches your waist. The sound makes him break away, stare down at you, pupils blown wide.

"Fuck, you look good in my clothes," he mutters, nudging your jaw with his nose, and pressing a kiss there. "You should really, really go home."

Your head falls back slightly to give him better access to your neck, and he brushes his lips over your pulse point. Your heart skips a beat.

"I – I know," you breathe, fingers digging into his arm. His beard scratches your skin deliciously, and it takes everything in you not to whimper or beg. Joel’s hand slips under your shirt – his shirt – and instead of finding your waist again, he digs his thumb into your hip, stroking the fabric of your cotton panties. The fire in your stomach burns brighter, and you almost buck up into him. Joel Miller, the Joel Miller who until recently had a key to your childhood home, who lent it to you whenever you forgot yours inside – he’s sucking bruises into your skin, and toying with your panties. It’s dizzying, his familiar voice when he hums in satisfaction, even rougher than usually.

His fingers trace the waistband of your panties towards the front, until they find a small, silky bow, and Joel groans. He doesn’t take your underwear off, doesn’t even touch you where you need him the most, just keeps playing with the little bow, until your hips twitch without your permission. A little lower, and he would be able to feel how wet you are, how wet you have been all night. You didn’t do anything about it, not while you were a guest in his house. It would have felt wrong. You can’t imagine anything feeling more right than Joel’s mouth and hands on you, though.

"Jesus," Joel curses, "I should stop bef–"

"No," you whine, all dignity turned to hot air by Joel’s fingers, "please, Joel, please don’t stop."

He curses again, and moves his big body so that he’s not just hovering above you, but actually on top of you, your thighs falling open for him easily. At the movement, his shirt hikes up your thighs, and you know you’re basically on display for him, your soaked underwear leaving little to the imagination. He’s still fully clothed, his perfect button down all wrinkled now.

"Look at you," Joel breathes, lightheaded with desire, "this all for me?"

So he saw, when you moved to accommodate his broad form, saw how soaked you are, knows you ruined your panties just because he kissed you.

"Yes," you breathe, "yes, please–"

Before you can beg further, his finger presses down on your clit, and he watches your face contort in pleasure, as it shoots up your spine. You whimper, staring into his eyes, and he stares right back, as you start to grind your hips against his palm.

Your head feels blissfully empty, all worries about this relationship, uni, your parents, gone from you with a simple, practiced movement of his hand. The whimpers keep falling from your lips, and Joel curses.

"So beautiful," he mutters, "tell me what you need, angel."

It’s not a question, it’s an order.

"I – fuck, I need you i–inside," you groan, and Joel’s lips find yours again.

"Yeah? Need me to fuck you good, even though they’ll throw us both out?"

It shouldn’t turn you on. You’re jeopardizing both your own and Joel’s career, and he’s turning it into dirty talk. Still, your pussy doesn’t lie, and the way it throbs for him, aching to get him inside, makes all doubts disappear from your mind.

"Yes," you answer, unable to say much more as Joel keeps drawing tight circles into your clit.

Your hands drift from his arms towards his front, and Joel curses, when you paw at his belt buckle. It takes you a second, but then it’s open, the sound of the metal exciting you – it sounds like a promise.

Joel finally tugs your panties down, and for a second you’re self–conscious about not being clean shaven, but the second he sees you bare and glistening for him, his fingers dip into your folds, gathering your wetness with no hesitation.

"Fuck me," he groans, bringing his hand up to his face and tasting you, holding eye–contact the entire time, "prettiest pussy I’ve seen in my life."

You twitch under him, dragging your gaze away from his eyes and to his fingers. A moan escapes you, your hands have gone slack on his waistband, and Joel smiles down at you. Then, he does the same motion again, drags the tips of his thick fingers through your sticky arousal, but instead of sucking them clean himself, he holds them up to your mouth. His eyes burn, when you wrap your lips around them without a moments hesitation, and he feeds you your own slick.

"Taste so sweet, huh?"

You don’t answer, just swirl your tongue around his fingers, and suck on them. Joel watches your mouth intently, lets you take your time.

"Good girl," he praises you, and you clench around nothing, "so fuckin’ needy for me."

He drags his fingers from your mouth, and finally pushes into you, the stretch much tighter than with two of your own. Your head falls backwards, and Joel curls his fingers.

"No, baby, look down here," he orders, and immediately you lift your head again, and watch him pump two thick digits in and out of you. It’s dizzying to think it’s the same hand that waved to you from over his fence for years and years. You feel a coil building in your stomach, and you moan.

"Fuck, Joel," you moan, his name leaving a delicious aftertaste in your mouth. His beautiful forearm flexes with every movement, your slick is dripping down his fingers, and those damn sleeves are still perfectly rolled up.

With a few more curls of his fingers, you gush around him, barely having time to warn him, and he praises you, calls you his good girl, drags his fingers against that spongey spot inside of you until you see stars.

When he slips his fingers out of you and holds them up to your face again, you clean them up with your mouth as Joel watches with bright eyes. To think that he’s the same man who taught you Dirac not twenty-four hours ago – already, you want him inside again. When you’re done, he fumbles with his own clothes, and you watch him this time instead of helping.

"You look so good like this," you mumble, eyes raking over his broad form, "Professor."

His eyes snap up to yours, and you grin.

"Fuckin’ Christ, kid," he mutters, popping open the buttons on his shirt, "you can’t say shit like that."

"You don’t like it? You know, I watched you during your lectures and dreamed about…well, about this."

His expression is unreadable, but if you’re not mistaken, his hands move even faster now, and then he shrugs out of his shirt. You almost moan at the sight of his naked torso, so broad and solid.

"You need to pay attention in class," Joel answers, as he opens his pants. Your breathing grows a little shallow when he reveals his boxers underneath, his bulge huge.

"Can’t," you mumble, "not with you looking like this."

He chuckles at that, at the honesty and need in your answer.

"Don’t worry," he says softly, "I’ll fuck it outta you. Won’t be needing’ me in class, not if I’m still leakin’ out of you."

Your lips part, your pussy clenches – a smile tugs on the corners of Joel’s mouth at your reaction. He drags down his boxer shorts, and your eyes snap towards his cock, so thick and dripping in precum. You whimper, you can’t help it, and Joel’s smile widens.

"We’ll make it fit, baby," he says, reading your mind, and then bends down and kisses you again. You try to tug your shirt upwards, but Joel’s hands find your wrists and he holds them tight.

"No, want to fuck you in it," he breathes against your lips, and you press your hips upwards until he groans. He pumps his fist over his cock a couple of times, and aligns it with your entrance.

"Deep breath, baby," he mutters, and you obey, staring up at him as he starts pressing into you. It’s tight, much tighter than his two fingers, and your eyes glass over with pain, but Joel goes slow. His hand strokes your tummy, helps you relax, while he pushes on consistently. You feel like he’s punching the air from your lungs, eyes wide with the stretch of him, as he nips at your jaw and neck to distract you.

"Know it’s a lot, but you can take it, angel."

"Y-yes," you moan, and screw your eyes shut, "please don’t stop, Joel."

Joel’s breathing is ragged with restraint, and suddenly his hips snap forwards – and he’s fully buried inside of your tight body, nestled right against your cervix.

"Back to Joel, are we?" he teases, and gives you a couple of seconds to get used to him. You whimper and claw at his arm.

"I – ah – I’ll call you Professor Miller ’f you want," you slur, as he starts dragging his cock out of you again. You tremble under him, the feeling almost more intense than when he pushed inside of you.

"Yeah? That get you off? Or – fuck– is it the fact that I’m friends with your parents?"

It really, really should be a turn off, to be talking about your parents right now, but the way Joel says it, the way he points out just how debauched it is what you’re doing – you can’t help but moan. You blush, too, can feel the heat in your face, but you’re tired of being ashamed of wanting him the way you do.

"Both," you answer, and this time Joel groans, his hips snapping into you at a rougher pace. The head of his cock hits your spot every time, and you let out little sounds of pleasure with every drag of his cock, unable to form a coherent sentence. Joel’s hand finds your clit again, rubbing circles as his other one pressing down on your stomach.

"Feel that?" he asks you, and you do, you feel him all up in your guts, "you take it so well baby, take all ’f me."

"Yes," you answer, eyes glassy with pleasure, "want all of you, Joel."

He bites your shoulder, keeps rutting into you, and soon you feel another orgasm building.

"Close – ah – so close," you whimper, and Joel speeds up his thrusts just slightly. You clench around him, right on the edge.

"Come for me, angel, give it to me."

You do, your hips bucking, back arching.

"Ah – fuck, Joel, Prof–"

"Say it," Joel orders, fucking you through the waves of pleasure.

"Professor."

He comes, too, twitching deep inside of you and spilling rope after rope of come. It feels right, like you’re his. His groan is rough, his thrusts sloppy, and you feel your pussy spasm around him in a third, weaker orgasm, or maybe it’s just aftershocks from your second. You’re limp underneath him, letting him use your body how he needs to.

"Fuck," he curses, "did so good for me."

He slips out of you, and you can feel his spend drip out of you. You’re weak, soft like jelly, sweaty and entirely satisfied.

"Jesus," you breathe, when he falls down next to you, his couch mercifully being big enough.

"Yeah," he answers, "Jesus."

***

Turns out, Joel Miller is a dirty talking bastard during sex, and a big softie afterwards. He makes you tea, strokes your hair while you sip it, then carries you up to his shower and gently washes your body his his sponge. Throughout, he’s quiet, and you wonder if it was too much, the mention of him being your professor, of your parents, but you’re too afraid to ask. He brushes your forehead with his lips when he dries you off, and pulls another of his shirts over you head. Your panties are entirely ruined, it’s all you’re wearing.

When you’re clean again, and relaxed, Joel pulls you onto his bed, wrapping you up in his arms.

"Did you…was that too much?" he asks you softly fingertips tracing over your thigh lazily.

"It was just right," you answer quietly, and he hums.

"You didn’t feel like you…I mean when you called me Professor, you wanted to do that, right?"

You look up at him, and press a soft kiss against his jaw.

"Of course, Joel. Wanted everything we did, I promise."

He nods, but you can tell there’s still something bothering him.

"You know that’s not what you are to me, though, right?" Your voice is soft. "You’re just Joel."

He brushes the top of your head with his lips.

"I mean it," you press on when he doesn’t answer, "it’s like a costume, Joel. I know it’s your job, but it’s…I don’t think of you as like, an authority figure or something. I just thought you looked hot in that slutty shirt."

"Slutty–?" he sputters and you laugh.

"Sure, you know, with your sleeves rolled up, and that first button popped open."

"’S not slutty."

"You showed your forearms. Half the lecture hall felt like a victorian man seeing ankles for the first time."

Joel makes an exasperated sound, half amused and half offended.

"I mean it," you say again after beat, humor gone from your tone, "and it’s not just sex to me. You know that."

"Yeah," Joel answers slowly. "’S more to me, too."

It’s a hell of an admission.

"What are we gonna do?", you ask quietly, and Joel sighs.

"You’re gonna go to class," he says, voice dark, "and I’ll try very, very hard not to call your father and tell him I’m fallin’ for his daughter."

You bury your face in his chest. With anyone else, it would be too much, too fast, too intense. But this is Joel. It’s not fast if you’ve known him your whole life, is it? You kiss his chest, and he seems to understand.

"We’ll figure it out," Joel says quietly, pressing a kiss to your hair.

For a second you do want your parents to know, want them to see that someone does treat you like an adult, want to look them in the eye and say I’m with Joel now and there’s nothing you can do about it. I have my own life now and it includes this kind man. It’s childish, you know it is. You lean up, catch Joel’s mouth in a kiss.

"Yeah," you answer, “We’ll figure it out, Professor.”

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