#who will do anything to make people happy

[littlcdarlin]

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.”

[amirasainz]

Girl I just read the dad Lewis one with baby Hamilton and I got an idea. What if baby Hamilton likes carlos like having a silly crush on him and she doesn't understand why he's not wearing red anymore then finds out why and first she's upset with Lewis then she's sad for carlos thinking he's sad. so Lewis arranges a meeting for them to show that carlos isn't actually sad.

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo babygirl ❤️

Sweet Confusion

Yn Hamilton had always loved the paddock. At just three years old, it was a magical place filled with roaring engines, gleaming cars, and the friendly faces of drivers who felt like family. But more than anything, it was where her daddy was. Her daddy was her hero, and the paddock was their shared world. She adored the fast cars and the tire changes, but what made it truly special were the people—especially the drivers.

Her favorites were her daddy, George, Charles, and Carlos. Charles always waved at her when she ran around with her dolls, and Carlos would often crouch down to give her a high-five or a playful grin. Their kindness made her feel like the paddock was her second home. But this year, something felt different.

As she walked into the paddock, holding her daddy’s hand, Yn noticed they weren’t heading toward the usual garage. Instead, they were walking toward the Ferrari area. Her little steps quickened to keep up, but she didn’t ask questions—not yet. When they entered Ferrari’s garage, her eyes lit up at the sight of Charles standing nearby, his familiar smile warming her heart.

"Hi, Charlie!" Yn called out, waving both hands excitedly.

"Salut, ma petite!" Charles replied, kneeling to give her a hug. "How’s my favourite fan today?"

"Good!" Yn beamed. "I’m with Daddy!"

Charles chuckled and ruffled her hair, but Yn’s smile faltered as she glanced around. Something felt off. "Charlie… where’s Carlos?" she asked, her tiny voice tinged with concern. "Carlos isn’t in the red garage anymore."

Charles hesitated, his smile fading for a moment. He wasn’t sure how to explain it to her. "Hey, Yn," he said gently, "why don’t you sit here with your dolls for a bit? I’ll be right back."

Yn nodded, sitting down with her toys, but her eyes kept darting around the garage. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something important had changed. A few minutes later, her daddy appeared beside her.

"Hey, my girl," Lewis said softly, crouching to her level. "What’s with the serious face?"

"Daddy," Yn began, her voice small and uncertain, "where’s Carlos? Why isn’t he in the red garage anymore? Did he go away?"

Lewis sighed, realizing she’d noticed the change. "Carlos isn’t at Ferrari anymore, sweetheart," he explained gently. "He’s racing for Williams now. It’s a new team, but he’s still the same Carlos."

Yn’s face scrunched up in confusion. "But… why? I like him in red. Did you take his red away, Daddy?"

Lewis’s heart ached at her innocence. "No, darling," he said, brushing a hand over her hair. "Carlos made a choice to race for Williams. It’s something he wanted to do. He’s still your friend, and you’ll still see him. He’s just wearing a different color now."

Yn looked down at her dolls, her little hands gripping them tightly. "But I like red," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I like Carlos in red."

Lewis pulled her into a gentle hug. "I know, sweetheart. But Carlos is happy, and that’s what matters. You’ll still get to see him and give him hugs, just like before."

Yn nodded slowly, though her face still showed a hint of sadness. "Can we go see him now? I want to make sure he’s okay."

"Of course we can," Lewis said, smiling reassuringly. "Let’s go visit him."

They made their way to the Williams garage, and as soon as Yn spotted Carlos, her face lit up. He was chatting with his crew but immediately turned when he saw her.

"Chica!" Carlos called out, kneeling with open arms. "I’m so happy to see you!"

Yn rushed into his embrace, wrapping her tiny arms around his neck. "Carlos! I was worried about you. You’re not wearing red anymore. Daddy says you’re happy, but… I miss your red suit."

Carlos chuckled softly, his heart melting at her innocence. "I’m still the same Carlos, Yn. The color of my suit doesn’t change that. I’ll always be your friend, no matter what I’m wearing."

Yn looked up at him with wide, trusting eyes. "Promise?"

"I promise," Carlos said, smiling warmly. "And you know what? I’ll still give you high-fives and hugs, just like before."

Yn giggled, her worries fading as she touched his blue suit. "Okay, Carlos. I like your blue suit too."

Lewis watched from a distance, relieved to see Yn’s smile return. "Thanks, Carlos," he said, walking over. "You’ve always been great with her."

"Always will be," Carlos replied, giving Yn one last hug before standing up. "She’s a special kid."

Yn clutched her dolls, her heart full again. "Daddy, can we go find George now? I want to show him my new doll!"

Lewis laughed, ruffling her hair. "Of course, sweetheart. Let’s go."

As they walked away, Yn glanced back at Carlos and waved. He waved back, his smile as warm as ever. Even though things had changed, the paddock still felt like home. Carlos was still Carlos, and that was all that mattered.

[femkethefaineant]

The new experimental allegedly miraculous 'cure' that 'destroys appetite' is just a depressant. You know how antidepressants make you like things? Ozempic does the opposite. For everything. The mental health problems are not a side effect, it's the main purpose. You no longer like food (if you even ever did) because you're depressed. And you apparently have to take it for the rest of your life, but also there's no real research on long-term consequences yet, so we can't know if it's healthy.

Stomach reductions are even worse. It makes you literally unable to eat anything. It makes you constantly think about food because you're full in a few bites, but somehow still hungry. It makes you unable to eat a full meal, especially in light foods like vegetables. It's permanent starvation.

Which just emphasises the ignored autonomy of fat people. If losing weight won't make you happy or healthy, who are you doing it for and why should you?

diet culture people make me feel like i’m going crazy. you want me to take an experimental pill that destroys my appetite?? you want me to remove part of my stomach??? you want me to stop eating bread and rice, two of the staple foods most inherent to humanity????? why exactly? because my stomach is big? because you don’t like the way i look, and you think it’s reasonable to tell me to carve pieces off of myself and try random drugs and ruin my own life so i can look more visually pleasing to you? and you somehow don’t see how absurdly cruel and selfish that is to ask of somebody???? while pretending you care about their HEALTH????????????????? FUCK YOU!!!!

[machetelettuce]

Solitary Obsessions of Revenge. Thoughts / Psychology below

One thing observed in people (particularly prisoners) who are forced into Solitary Confinement is that they sometimes develop horrible, all-consuming obsessions with one specific feeling or thing. I learned this from my therapist, who explained that this can be... literally anything. From obsessing over the feeling of your bladder being empty to hyper focusing on the feeling of pain. These obsessions occur due to the brain attempting to create stimuli in any way it can. When you are deprived of anything 'new' your brain has to Make 'new' things for it to experience. All of this is to say I think the idea of Narinder having this same desperate focus on his anger and need for revenge would make sense.

Especially because being in solitary confinement essentially rots away at the parts of your brain that store memories. I'm not an expert, don't quote me, but I believe the reason is because those pathways just aren't being recalled. So they degrade over time, and you lose access to that skill. Recalling past events becomes really difficult, and-- imagining this with Narinder-- this could be a reason he sees his siblings in SUCH a negative light. Even sparing their betrayal, he may not remember many happy times with them at all. Only the painful parts. (Which is a neat and horrible parallel to Shamura. Ouch.)

On that note, I've heard people describe Narinder as 'cold and calculating' but I think this isn't true, personally. He's always read to me as a more 'do then think' kind of person-- Specifically in the situation he's in. Which makes sense, following my narrative. He's been trapped for hundreds of years to the point where all he cares about is the ending of his siblings lives. It's not cold revenge, it's desperate, clawing, NEED to see them gone. A mind fueled by a thousand years of solitary torture isn't a reasonable one. I think theres a lot of pain and hurt that needs to be reconciled within himself until he can feel like a person who doesn't desire revenge and bloodshed to keep going.

[alumi-san]

Ekko is definitely Silco's favorite in-law

[neeeooon]

Hi, can you do like blue lock jealous headcanons? with karasu, ness and whoever else u want idm!

Thank youu💗💗💗

i tend to mix and confuse “jealousy” and “possessive/protectiveness” so i’m sorry if this is repetitive with my stalker hc, but thank you for the request and i hope you enjoy! 💗

when they’re jealous ;

jealous bf bllk x gn!reader

karasu tabito

-> of all the players on team blue lock, karasu knew he shouldn’t waste his time feeling jealous of otoya. and yet watching the boy flirt shamelessly with you made his blood boil

-> you seemed pretty guarded as he smirked at you, keeping your arms tight to your chest

-> karasu was going to let it go, knowing you could take care of yourself if you felt uncomfortable, but then otoya decided to show you one of his ninja moves. specifically, the one where he presses a hand against the wall beside your head, and karasu is on his feet

-> you shove otoya’s hand away before he can caress your cheek right as karasu presses a hand against his chest, pushing him off of you. when otoya catches the murderous look in his teammate’s eye, he scrambles off

-> “why did you wait to push him off?” karasu doesn’t know why he’s asking. he knows you and otoya are friends, but his stomach twists with jealousy

-> you can’t smile as you gingerly take your boyfriend’s hand in yours. “he was only messing around, and when he got too close, i made sure he knew it. you don’t have to doubt me, honey.”

-> “it’s not you i don’t trust. it’s him.” but now he’s sulking as he glares at otoya, and you’re able to giggle a bit. “you’re so cute when you’re jealous~”

alexis ness

-> ness wishes his mind didn’t assault him as he watched you interact with other people. other guys. who were taller and stronger and more confident than him. you didn’t agree with any of that, but ness’s mind didn’t know that

-> to make matters worse: you’re a sweetheart. it’s one of the things ness loves most about you, but he sees how your innocent kindness can look to others sometimes, and the way it makes them look at you

-> “oh, wow! i love your shirt! it’s a great color on you,” you complimented the cashier as you and ness check out. the cashier, obviously seeing that you’re together, simply smiled and thanked you back

-> but the damage is done. ness is second guessing his outfit. his colors. his entire wardrobe. why didn’t you love his shirt? was it not a good color? did you think—

-> “ness?” your soft voice broke him from his destructive thoughts, and ness feels sick with envy. he hates jet, but he knows he can’t keep it from you. “i-is there something wrong with my shirt..?”

-> and you melt. “aw, baby! are you jealous? don’t worry, i love you and your shirt more than anyone i compliment. i promise!” and ness smiles, because he believes you 100%

itoshi rin

-> rin hates that he’s jealous of his teammates. he hates feeling lower than them, but more than anything, he hates the way they make your face light up with laughter

-> he watches as your eyes crinkle at something bachira said, how you playfully shove isagi when he says something next

-> rin doesn’t know what he’s doing until he’s stalking over to you, his hand wrapping tight around your wrist, and pulling you away from the boys. “rin, wh—“ but his grip tightens and your words faulter

-> he pulls you into an empty locker room before releasing you, and you throw your arms over your chest. “what the hell? we were just talking—“ “you were laughing.”

-> you blink. “so? am i not allowed to laugh?” “not at something they say,” rin mumbles out, leaning heavily against the door and dropping his head so that his bangs shield his eyes.

-> but you get it now. “you’re jealous,” you say, and it’s not a question. rin doesn’t defend himself, which only confirms your suspicion. so, you step forward and take his face between your hands

-> “it’s okay to be jealous, love, but don’t let it trick you into thinking i’m not happy or don’t love you. got it?” “i’m sorry.” “don’t be sorry! come on, join and laugh with us.” “… fine.”

michael kaiser

-> envy is a sin, and kaiser is feeling pretty sinful as he watches you interact with your male friend while waiting to pick you up

-> he lets you talk and laugh for a good ten seconds before blaring on the horn, causing you and your friend to jump in surprise. you smile when you see kaiser’s car, but he doesn’t return the look through his windshield

-> “are you okay?” you ask as you climb into the car, immediately sensing his tension. kaiser gives a curt nod. “mhm.” “you don’t seem okay..?” “i’m fine, y/n.”

-> you don’t push and let him have his moment until he pulls in front of your house. sighing, you sink into the passenger seat cushions. “i’m not leaving until you tell me what’s bothering you. you know i hate when you go quiet on me…”

-> he does. tightening his grip around the steering wheel, kaiser finally looks at you. “who was that guy you were laughing with? must be some comedian, the way you were gasping for air.”

-> “you mean shidou? my friend? cause that’s all he is: a friend.” you put heavy emphasis into the word friend when you realize kaiser is jealous. he has no reason to be, but you can’t say that since he can’t relate when he doesn’t have many friends

-> “yeah. that guy.” “baby, come on, don’t be like that… he was telling me a funny story about his boyfriend.” kaiser blinks. “boyfriend?” “yes.” “he’s gay?” “yes.” “so… he isn’t interested in you? romantically?“ you try so hard not to laugh and your jealous boyfriend. “no. he isn’t interested into me romantically.” “oh, thank god.”

[ultramaga]

Russia has not run out of troops or allies - the North Korean army has barely even done anything, and China could easily crush the Ukraine if they feel motivated.

Both Russian and Ukrainian forces are weakened but Russia has really barely touched on what it could do, I think because the morale is poor.

Should Ukraine cede territory? I would say yes IFF they also get into NATO at the same time.

But the support from the West propped them up and it wasn't infinite. Without it they die, and with it things have slowly edged to a global conflict.

Rebuilding the Ukraine will be difficult even if the war stops tomorrow. They might be in a superior position if they pull Ukrainian people back rather than allow them to be lost in a bloody war of attrition - but only if they can shelter under the NATO umbrella.

America has lost the appetite for this conflict. I think time to look at ways to end it without assuring another war in a few years as Russia grabs even more territory.

As for donations, pfft. Civilians couldn't donate enough to make any difference, and advertising on Tumblr seems especially futile. It's full of broke ass bitches.

On the other hand, donations that lead to scams run by Myanmar gangs running slave camps would make them happy, I suppose. I have to wonder how many of the Gazan appeals are coming from them.

I saw interviews with professional soldiers who thought their elite skills would make a difference in the Ukraine.

They were shocked that all they were used for was cannon fodder.

The nearest parallel would be WW1. A systematic slaughter for everyone involved, nothing honourable or strategic about it.

So will Trump make things better or worse? I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall with the chat to Putin.

I would say Putin wants something he can claim as victory even if he knows it is a stalemate. He exists only so long as the people around him see him as the strong man.

Every dictator knows that if he looks weak, those he trusts will arrange an accident. So sad.

So can he be appeased yet weakened at the same time?

If hearing Trump say that Ukraine started the war with Russia infuriates you – donate to help Ukraine persevere. If you're a USA citizen and you're upset and ashamed of your current government – take part in protests, educate those around you when you can, and donate to help Ukraine persevere. If you know at least a little about history, and you see that the current processes in the world lead to WW3 – donate to help Ukraine persevere, save democracy, and show dictators around the world that they can't take everything they want by power.

Write to your representatives, engage in protests, share whatever you can, or encourage others to do so. This war is so much more than you can imagine. It's the start of something that has the potential to affect everyone, no matter where you are or what you believe in. The world is a dangerous place, and it needs every one of us to do what we can to make it safer. Don't just think good - do good, in whichever small way you can.

[superbat-lmao]

A mage who doesn’t like child soldiers targets Batman in Gotham. They know that several vigilantes connected to him are children or were children when they started.

Their vendetta against him basically boils down to, “What the hell were you thinking?” and they cast a spell against him accordingly.

Every day, a new family member will be able to read Bruce’s mind for 24 hours. It’s entirely random and the definition of “family member” is incredibly loose, but everyone knows the Robins are his children because of how berserk he went when Robin II died.

On the one hand, it’s a horrific violation of everyone’s privacy.

On the other, Bruce finally figures out what his kids think of him and don’t say. And his kids are finally able to realize that yes, he cares about them exactly as much as they want him to. He’s literally the absolute worst at showing it or communicating that, but he cares.

Dick gets confirmation that Bruce knows how good he is, how capable he is to lead a team. That Bruce doesn’t secretly think that when he screws up it’s because he isn’t cut out to be a vigilante. When he screws up, Bruce gets scared and lashes out in the only way an emotionally repressed father can, by making it worse. That Bruce doesn’t think Dick is incapable of looking after himself or making the right call. All of Bruce’s attempts to control Dick or his life were because he was scared. Because he wanted Dick to be better than him, and he is, just not in the ways Bruce was first able to see. Having more friends and being connected to people is infinitely more important than college, though it took time for Bruce to see that. Dick is Bruce’s first son and he couldn’t be more proud.

Jason realizes that Bruce loves him. That he tears himself apart over their relationship. That he feels there’s a clear line between Bruce’s opinion of Jason and of Jason’s actions. Because murder is wrong and Bruce’s philosophy is grounded in second chances. Because he just wants Jason to come home and his son’s actions scare him because he’s more isolated from backup than his brothers. Jason can literally feel how Bruce thinks, how he sees murder and how he thinks about himself. Bruce doesn’t think it’s a line he would be able to walk away from, and Jason feels more precarious seeing the world as his father thinks about it than in his own head. There is far less judgement in Bruce’s thoughts. Just pure concern. And self doubt over what to say. Bruce never sought to replace him, would have joined him, and has missed him. Those were always Jason’s major concerns.

Tim sees that Bruce views him as his son. That he wasn’t a substitute for Jason and he doesn’t secretly think Tim shouldn’t have been Robin. Bruce thinks that Tim reminds him a lot of himself and based on all the things people say about him, that makes Bruce nervous. Because he wants Tim to have fun and be a kid, not feel chained to work the way Bruce is. He knows they both have workaholic tendencies and wants better for Tim, wants him to have friends and a life outside of work. But Tim also knew Bruce at his lowest and so he will always feel guilty that it was Tim who pulled him out of his grief spiral, because Bruce wasn’t strong enough to do it himself.

Damian learns that Bruce was so excited for him to be born and devastated when he thought Talia had lost the pregnancy. That he was furious his son had been hidden from him. That he loves Damian and loved Talia and wasn’t sure how to separate out those feelings. That he would have wanted Damian no matter his level of training, if he gave up this lifestyle or anything. That there is nothing Damian, or any of his family could do to make Bruce stop loving them. Damian is wanted. He can also see that Bruce struggles with knowing how to handle him being a kid that acts like an adult. How he knows how capable Damian is, but that no children should go through that. Bruce didn’t have that sort of childhood. And while his own wasn’t exactly happy, he still got to be a kid. And innocence and youth aren’t things to be looked down on, just experienced. And Bruce doesn’t want Damian to not have those experiences, even if he doesn’t value them as others do. He learns that Bruce trusts him and that his father feels emotions acutely and strongly, such that he becomes reactive in a way that feels accusatory or disappointed but is just afraid.

They all realize that Bruce needs them and hates himself for needing them. That they are his children and he loves them and wants them safe. But that those feelings constantly war with how capable they are, how good his children are at what they do. How much they care about the helping and protecting others. That every time he says something they beat themselves up over, it’s because he’s scared they’ll get hurt or make a mistake that they can’t undo and will have to live with. He never wanted them to join him and it’s not because he thought they couldn’t do it, but precisely because he knows they can. And that sometimes, that isn’t enough. Even metas can get hurt and even Superman could die. By comparison his children are so vulnerable and there’s only so much he can do to keep them safe.

Does he verbalize this?

Bruce thinks so.

But all his kids hear is:

You were too reckless.

You disobeyed orders.

You’re off patrol.

And oddly? This solves like half of the current problems his kids have with him. Because they never really believed him before and always felt the conversations were one-sided.

It does create several new problems thought because Bruce just had like a significant invasion of privacy as the most paranoid person on the planet, so it takes a while for him to calm down and actually work things out with his kids in a way that lasts and isn’t just a bandaid over a bullet hole.

[nakylvr]

Hey, can I request for Daniela Avanzini where Y/n is also a member of katseye and she’s dating dani (at this point they’re very popular) but Dani gets jealous because Y/n and Megan have been getting shipped a lot on tiktok and people make edits of them. Y/n gets a little annoyed bc she keeps telling Dani that obviously nothing is going on between her and Megan so she has nothing to worry about but Dani doesn’t wanna let it go.

I know it’s a lot lol but I love that you’re literally the only person writing katseye and I love your writing style. Thank you!

thank you so much for requesting this it was so fun! 🫶 im sorry it took a while 😓 and it lowkey went off the rails from the req im sorry

— ENVIOUS

daniela avanzini x fem!reader

warnings/tags: angst/happy ending, jealous!daniela, language, 7th member!reader, established relationship, mini argument, not proofread

main masterlist | katseye masterlist

it wasn't hard for daniela to get jealous. she could get jealous at someone merely looking at you for a second too long. but those were with people she didn't know. you figured she wouldn't get jealous over something silly like fans shipping you with megan and edits being made of you two.

you were unfortunately wrong.

it's what causes the first real argument in your relationship. you and daniela started dating right after the end of dream academy and the lineup was announced, having feelings for each other during the whole survival show and actually officially dating once it was all over. and it was great. you debuted, you went to kcon, you went on a mini asia tour, and everything was great.

you obviously knew it was easy to get daniela jealous. after debuting and getting popular there would be some celebrities that would try to talk to you or hit on you and she would suddenly appear beside you to drag you off somewhere. but you didn't think she would get jealous because of one of the members who was most definitely not into you.

the fans had grown to like you and megan as a duo, a ship even with some of the edits you've seen on tiktok. to the point where you two were one of the more popular ships in the fandom. you thought it was silly, and you would occasionally giggle at the edits because you didn't take it seriously and you thought it wasn't serious enough to worry about. until daniela saw.

she knows she shouldn't get jealous over it to the point she's essentially ignoring you. but that's just how she is. she knows she can't officially say anything cause management would go ballistic and they'd probably go on hiatus. she knows megan doesn't see you that way. but that's just how she is.

you knew something was wrong when daniela started ignoring you. and that was hard for her, you both knew that. she couldn't stand being away from you, let alone ignore you for days on end leaving you wondering what you did to cause this. so you knew something was seriously wrong then.

the girls noticed it too. the tension that had suddenly grown was odd for them all watching dani ignore you while you would stare with sad eyes trying to figure out what happened. but they couldn't do anything. daniela wouldn't budge on telling anyone anything. so everyone was left in the dark while you had to deal with how to address it.

it was late at night when all the girls were asleep that you decided to confront her on it. she was in the living room reading one of her books when you left your shared room with sophia and yoonchae, which you weren't surprised about. her eyes flickered up from the book only to look back down a second later once seeing it was you.

you slowly approach the couch before sitting down at the edge of it, keeping a distance between you two which the blonde notices. you glance over at her, letting out a sigh before speaking. "can we talk?"

"about what?" daniela responds, her eyes focused on the book but not reading anymore.

"gee i don't know, let's start at you ignoring me," you say, shaking your head and scoffing quietly.

"i'm not ignoring you." daniela's eyes stay fixated on the book, her hands gripping it more tightly in her hands.

"really? that's what you're going to say?" you look at her with furrowed eyebrows. "obviously you're ignoring me, and i don't know why. so please talk to me."

"there's nothing to talk about," daniela mutters.

your lips pursed in a thin line, your irritation starting to become greater at every word she says. without a second thought, you yank the book out of her hands and put it on the table in front of you, seeing her eyes widen as she finally looks at you.

"what the fuck, yn?"

"what the fuck?" you repeat. "what the fuck, daniela? that's what you have to say?"

when daniela's eyes meet yours for the first time in weeks, she can see the mixed emotions in them. you're angry, upset, confused. all because of her. she feels a twang of guilt rush through her at the sight.

"after ignoring me for weeks you're surprised i'm fed up with it?" you shake your head. "look, i don't know what i did, but i can't fix it unless you tell me. why have you been ignoring me?" you ask the question again.

"i'm not ignoring you."

you take a deep breath after her words, your anger starting to bubble up before you speak. "fine," you say, standing up. "if you won't tell me what's going on, then i think we should end this."

"what?" daniela's eyes go wide and her head jerks up to you when you stand, the expression on her face finally changing into something you hadn't seen, panic evident in her eyes. "you're not serious."

you just stare down at her, your arms crossed over your chest. "i am. we can't fix things if you won't say what the problem is. that's for everything. i don't even know what i did, daniela, because you won't tell me. how do i know if it's something serious or something petty like you being jealous? i don't. so yeah, i'm fucking serious," you tell her, your voice and look on your face being enough to tell her you are serious. "if you don't tell me in the next ten seconds then i can assure you this is over."

daniela feels her mouth go dry at your words. you're serious. you're serious about leaving her. she knows you're right. she knows she has to just suck it up and say it. just say it and she won't lose you. just fucking say it.

"i don't like how close you're getting with megan," she blurts out.

the words take a moment to process in your brain, and before you can even think of a response, she's continuing.

"i know she doesn't see you that way and you don't see her that way but i don't like it," she says. "i've seen all the edits, i've seen all the tweets, i mean fuck it's like how much more obvious can i be before people realize that you're with me? i know we can't officially say anything but i can't stand it. i trust you and the girls, of course i do, but what if a pr stunt happens? what if the company says you're dating some random celebrity and i-i'm left behind and you realize you don't really love me and–"

"dani, calm down." you sit down again, closer to her and cupping her face in your hands, cutting her off of her rambling. "are you really jealous over megan of all people? the clingiest girl ever? dani, there's nothing to worry about," you tell her. "it's nothing serious, you should know that. i love you, daniela. okay? even if for some random reason the company does a pr relationship i promise nothing will change between us. so please, stop worrying."

daniela slowly nods along to what you say, her eyes flickering across your face. "i'm sorry for ignoring you," she says in a quiet voice.

"it's alright," you reply, your thumb drawing circles on her cheeks. "i love you," you whisper.

"i love you too," she whispers back.

[aphroditeinthesea]

Hii, could you please do Percy Jackson x daughter of Hades dating hcs?

percy jackson x hades!reader

⚠️ swearing and suggestive

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

nico was not happy about the whole ordeal

of course, after bianca died and nico was a mess, percy tried to back off

but he saw you

he saw how you cared for your little brother, contrasting how dark and powerful you could be

and he couldn’t help how he felt for you

it just happened

so one day when you were participating in a little capture the flag

you found yourself alone with percy

and one accidental touch of hands led to someone pinned to a tree with lips clashing

spoiler: percy was pinned to the tree because spoiler! you felt the exact same way!

but for the sake of your brother, it was all kept under wraps

he just so happened to want to hangout at your cabin more and you just so happened to invite him to your table because he would sit all alone and you just so happened to sneak into your cabin at 4 AM with messy hair because you, well, i don’t know actually

at some point thigh, you bite the bullet, telling your little brother

and he’s just like “i know”

and you’re like “what?!” 

and he’s like “i tried to come in here the other day and you two were making out!”

you guys are chill after that though

also poseidon kid x hades kid makes the most powerful couple ever

like if one of you ever got attacked, it’s like that akhlys scene times a thousand

only you would not stop him

sorry im like a slut for evil percy

but as someone who naturally has been outcasted at camp because of your father

percy is like an angel, finally getting more people to realize your actually like chill and nice

you two do have a lot of sleepovers though

you both get a fair amount of nightmares so it’s nice to wake up and already have someone holding you

plus you are never not wearing one of his hoodies

he might as well have been robbed

you’re always freezing so if he ever says anything you’re just like

“so you hate me, so you don’t care about me and want me to freeze?”

and he’s just like

“keep the hoodie”

but on the topic of you always being cold

you will purposely put your hands under his shirt, just to scare him

like cuddling all sweet and cozy and suddenly you just slip your hands under his shirt and he jumps in the air

that’s all

smooches

[winwintea]

HOLY FUCK.

i don’t even know where to begin. 1,000 notes. 1,000 notes???? i’m sitting here staring at that number on my laptop, jaw wide open, and it still doesn’t feel real. but it’s real. you all did this for me. and i am so, so overwhelmed with gratitude. it may not be a huge number for some, but for me this is such a big deal.

when i first started writing this fanfic, it was just a little idea that popped into my head. i had rewatched past lives, and my brain was practically begging me to write something. i never, ever imagined it would resonate with so many people. to be honest, i never thought i’d even reach 500 notes, let alone 1,000. this is beyond anything i could have ever dreamed of.

my most popular fic prior to inyun was secure that card. i still look all those notes and smile. although i had to give her up, i was also just happy so many people were interested in reading stc. so here's a special thanks to those who stayed post-stc takedown. i owe all of you so much for helping me stay motivated to write and produce more stories.

i’ve always been a reader first. i’ve spent countless hours immersed in other people’s stories, marveling at their creativity, their ability to make me feel so deeply through their words. honestly i don't even care right now i'm just going to mention them straight out. @lqfiles @hazyhae and @polarisjisung, thank you so so so much for being the inspiration for me in starting this blog. your works touched the hearts of many, including my own.

i never thought i could be someone who could do that for others. writing was always this distant, intimidating thing that “real writers” did. but one day, on a whim, thanks to the encouragement of @aquaphoenixz and @lyvhie, i decided to try. i thought, why not? and now, here we are. it’s surreal.

the fact that so many people have taken the time to read, like, reblog, and comment on my work… it’s humbling. it’s incredible. every notification, every kind word, every little interaction (i do in fact stalk my followers from time to time <33 love u all) it means the world to me. to know that something i created in my spare time, just for the joy of it, has brought even a fraction of happiness or excitement to someone else… that’s the most amazing feeling in the world. writing can be such a solitary thing, but seeing your responses makes me feel like i'm part of a community, like i’m sharing something special with all of you. <33

i want to thank each and every one of you who took the time to engage with my story. whether you left a comment, reblogged with tags that made me laugh, or just silently hit the like button? thank you. thank you for giving my little fic a chance. thank you for making me feel like my words matter. thank you for reminding me why i fell in love with storytelling in the first place.

this milestone isn’t just about the numbers. it’s about the connections (i've met so many wonderful people), the shared love for kpop, and the joy of creating something people enjoy. i’m so grateful to be a part of this fandom, to have found such a supportive and enthusiastic audience. you’ve all made me feel so seen and appreciated, and i can’t thank you enough for that.

i don’t know what the future holds for my writing, but i do know this:

i’ll keep writing because i love it, and because of all of you. thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for making this such an unforgettable experience. here’s to 1,000 notes, and to all the stories yet to come. 💕💕

inyun

PAIRING ↬ next door neighbor!mark lee x fem!reader

TAGS ↬ fluff, romance, slight angst, potential soulmates, past lives au, friends to (?), shared dreams, the idea of inyun/inyeon or “fate”

SUMMARY ↬ when you move into a small apartment complex in seoul, your next-door neighbor, mark lee, seems like nothing more than an ordinary guy. but as the two of you get to know each other more, it suddenly feels like you’ve known him forever. then mark mentions his grandmother's belief in 인연. the idea that every encounter is woven by threads of fate. are these coincidences between you and mark really accidental or is there something deeper going on?

WORD COUNT ↬ 3.7k+

AUTHOR’S NOTE ↬ somebody (me) decided to rewatch past lives 🙈 this was supposed to be fluff and a gift for @https-lvesick but finals week started sinking in… thank you to my saviors @viasdreams and @polarisjisung for beta reading, love y'all <33

PLAYLIST ↬ jazz bar - dreamcatcher; mago - gfriend; you - nct dream; dejavu - nu’est w; wham bam shang-a-lang - silver

THERE IS A WORD IN KOREAN:

"인연"

it means providence or fate. 

but it's specifically about the relationships between people. 

it's an "인연" if two strangers even walk by each other in the street and their clothes accidentally brush. because it means there must have been something between them in their past lives.

Your apartment door was wide open, boxes half-unpacked and filling the hallway. You’d tried to keep things organized, but between the moving of your furniture and the delivery guy calling for directions, you slowly lost your organization.

You were crouched on the floor, handling a box of kitchenware, when you heard a muffled voice behind you.

“Uh, hi? Excuse me?”

Startled, you turned to see a guy standing at the end of the hallway, a paper bag balanced in one hand and a set of keys dangling from the other. He was dressed in a simple hoodie and sweatpants, glasses fixed upon his face, and his hair slightly tousled like he’d just rolled out of bed.

“Are… are you my new neighbor?” he asked in Korean, motioning toward the boxes that completely blocked his door.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” your voice squeaked as you responded in some broken korean, not mentally prepared to face a neighbor on the first day of moving him. You scrambled to move a tower of books out of his way. “I didn’t realize—let me just—”

“It’s fine, really,” he interrupted in English this time with a small laugh. “I’m Mark, by the way. Do you speak English?”

“Oh!” You paused mid-shove, shocked at his perfect accent. “Yes. Yes I do.” You were suddenly aware of how disheveled you looked. “Y/N,” you replied, brushing stray hair from your face. “Nice to meet you, and again, sorry for the mess. Your English is really good.”

“No worries. Happens to the best of us,” Mark said, crouching to help move the heavier boxes. “I’m from Canada, so English is kind of my thing.”

“Aah. I see.” You nodded, still mortified.

“This is your first day here?”

“Yeah. My friends were supposed to help, but they bailed at the last minute. So here I am, single-handedly creating a big explosive mess.”

Mark chuckled, lifting a box with ease. “I’d say you’re doing a pretty solid job for one person. Though... maybe try not to block your neighbors' doors next time.”

“Noted,” you said with an embarrassed laugh, standing to hold the door open as he slid the box inside.

When the hallway was clear, you expected him to leave, but he stayed, looking at the stacks of boxes still waiting to be unpacked. “Need an extra pair of hands?”

“Oh, no, you don’t have to—”

“I insist,” Mark said with a grin. “I’m a pro at this. Moved like five times in the last three years.”

Before you could protest further, Mark rolled up his sleeves and got to work. He moved like he really had done this a hundred times, lifting heavy items with ease and made the process less awkward with his small jokes.

“This box says ‘Bathroom,’ but it’s definitely full of shoes,” he teased, pulling out a pair of sneakers.

“Okay, maybe I got a little lazy with the labels,” you admitted.

“Lazy? Nah, this is strategic. Keeps life exciting,” he quipped, tossing the sneakers back in.

You laughed, the tension from earlier fading away. Somehow, he’d turned what felt like a stressful task into something almost fun.

Once the last box was inside, Mark clapped his hands together. “Mission accomplished. And since I’m basically your hero now, I think I’ve earned a reward. Got any snacks?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, I have… instant ramen?”

Mark grinned. “Perfect. My favorite.”

After settling in for a few days, you don’t encounter Mark again. That is, until a series of random moments start pulling you back into his orbit.  

On one of those nights, just past 9 p.m., the apartment complex suddenly plunges into darkness. The familiar buzz of your refrigerator stops, and the streetlights outside shut off, leaving your apartment only dimly lit from the moon. 

Groaning, you fumble around for your phone, only to realize the battery is at 4%. Great. You grab a flashlight, slowly open your door, and step out into the hallway, hoping to find someone who knows what is going on. 

That’s when you spot him.

Mark is sitting on the floor just outside his door, a small stack of candles beside him.

“Hey,” he greets, a faint smile on his face as he waves a lighter. “Power’s out in the whole block, apparently. Wanna borrow a candle?”

You take in his setup and smirk. He’s surrounded by neatly arranged tea lights and thick pillar candles.“Uh, are you in a cult or something?”

“Eh, my grandma’s kinda superstitious. Always told me to keep candles around the house just in case,” he says, shrugging. “I thought she was overreacting, but turns out she’s kind of a genius.”

You sit down a few feet away, gratefully accepting a candle he lights for you. The flame brightens up the dark hallway, leaving warm shadows on Mark’s face.

“So,” you start, leaning against the wall, “What do you normally do during blackouts? Just... sit around and wait?”

“Basically. Or… get this,” he says, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “People actually talk to each other. Crazy, right? You could, I don’t know, tell me something about yourself. Like… how many candles do you keep at home?”

“None,” you admit holding up your flashlight. “This is all I’ve got. I guess I’m doomed in a blackout. Your grandma would be so disappointed in me.”

“She would,” he agrees with a laugh. “But I’ll let it slide. Only because you’re new here.”

The conversation flows easily after that. You both begin trading random facts: Your favorite childhood snacks, his love for playing guitar, the time you accidentally dyed your hair orange trying to bleach it yourself. He counters with a tale of a botched bleach job that left him looking like a walking science experiment for months. 

Minutes turn into an hour, the candles continuing to burn as the two of you share quiet laughter and stories. And for the first time that night, the darkness doesn’t feel so bad.

—

A few days later, you’re hauling overstuffed grocery bags up the stairs when Mark pokes his head out of his apartment. His hair is tousled, and he’s wearing an oversized hoodie that practically swallows him whole.

“Oh, hey!” he calls, his face lighting up when he spots you. “Need help?”

“I got it, thanks!” you manage to say, despite your arms straining and the bag handles digging into your fingers.  

Before you can argue, Mark is already down the hall, grabbing it from you, and effortlessly carrying it to your door. “Looks like this thing was holding on for dear life,” he teases, hoisting it easily as he follows you to your door.

“You didn’t have to—”

“I was gonna knock on your door anyway,” he interrupts with a grin. “I baked something earlier and thought you might want to try it.”

That makes you pause mid-door unlock. “You bake?”

“Why does everyone react like that?” he says with mock offense. “Yes, I bake. Don’t look so shocked.”

“You don’t look like the baking type. Or cooking.”

“Oh, I can’t cook.” He scowls as if thinking about a bad memory, “But baking is pretty easy. It’s just throwing everything into one bowl, mixing it up, and waiting. Piece of cake. Or, in this case, cookies.”

A few minutes later, you’re both sitting on your tiny kitchen floor, a plate of freshly baked cookies between you. The smell of warm chocolate and butter fills the air.

“These are amazing,” you say after taking a bite, your voice muffled by the cookie in your mouth.

Mark beams, leaning back against the counter. “Not bad, right? I got the recipe off some YouTube channel. Figured I’d test it out before offering it to my friends.”

You squint your eyes, pretending to look offended. “Wait, so I’m just the guinea pig?”

He admits, laughing. “Pretty much. But hey, honest opinion: too sweet? Not sweet enough?”

“Perfect,” you reply, reaching out for another. “But you should’ve added nuts. Makes it more sophisticated. Just make sure you aren’t allergic.”

He gasps, clutching his chest. “Sophisticated? Wow. Didn’t know I was baking for royalty.”

You chuckle, playfully tossing a crumpled napkin at him, and the conversation once again flows effortlessly from there. You laugh over Mark’s failed attempts at “fancy” macarons, and somehow turn into stories about childhood food disasters.

By the time the plate is empty and an hour has vanished. With Mark, even the simplest moments feel like they belong in a movie.

—

Then it’s yet another lazy Sunday when the doorbell rings. You open the door to find Mark holding a massive box labeled 50-pack instant ramen.

“I think this is yours,” he says, biting back a laugh.

You glance at the label and groan. “Oh my God. I ordered five. Five!”

“Well, congrats,” he says, handing you the box. “Looks like you’re set for the next year.”

You sigh, dragging the box inside. A few minutes later, there’s another knock. Mark’s returned to your door, grinning this time.

“You know,” he starts, leaning against the doorframe, “if you need help finishing all that ramen, I’m just next door. We could, like, host a ‘ramen buffet.’ Charge admission or something.”

You snort. “Sure. I’ll make you the first VIP guest. Free ramen for life.”

“That’s the best offer I’ve ever gotten,” he says, eyes sparkling. “But seriously, I’ll take a few packs off your hands if it’s too much. My midnight snack stash could use a refill.”

Later, you text him a picture of your pantry. 

YOU: Your VIP pass is ready 

MARK: I’ll bring the chopsticks! 😂

The first time the dream comes, it’s vivid enough to remember even after you wake up. In the dream you’re walking through a bustling marketplace, the air thick with the scents and noise of those around you. People push past you, but you don’t feel overwhelmed by them. Instead, there’s a strange pull, like a thread tugging at your body. You turn your head and catch a glimpse of someone—a young man with a warm smile, eyes glinting in the sunlight, and a soft laugh that echoes through the din. 

You can’t see his face clearly, but his hand brushes yours as he passes. And in that moment, it leaves a spark. A warmth that feels almost familiar.

When you wake up, the details are already fading, but the feeling of that touch, that spark, seems to linger, and you can’t seem to get it out of your head.

A few days later, you're sitting with Mark in the hallway outside your apartments, the floor scattered with takeout boxes and empty soda cans. The two of you have somehow fallen into the habit of these late-night talks, sharing parts of your day and random thoughts that cross your mind in the moment.

“Have you ever had weird dreams?” you ask, swirling the straw in your drink.

Mark leans back against the wall, his hair slightly messy from running his hand through it too many times. “Weird how?”

“Like…” You pause, trying to find the right words. “Like they’re not just dreams. More like memories. But not yours.”

Mark raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “Okay, now you’ve got me curious. Spill.”

You chuckle, feeling a little silly but continuing anyway. “I’ve been dreaming about this place—a market or something. It’s super crowded, and I’m just walking around. But then…” Your voice trails off as the memory becomes clearer in your mind. “There’s this guy. I don’t know him, but when I see him, it’s like I do. And when our hands brush…”

Mark’s expression shifts, his playful smile fading into something more serious. He sits up straighter. “Wait. You said a market?”

“Yeah.”

“And… hands brushing?” he asks, his voice quieter now.

Your stomach flips. “Yeah. Why?”

He hesitates, running a hand through his hair again. “Okay, this is going to sound crazy, but… I’ve had the exact same dream.”

For a moment, the world feels like it’s spinning. You blink at him, looking for any hint that he’s maybe joking, but his face is earnest, his brows furrowed like he’s trying to solve a mystery.

“No way,” you say, laughing nervously. “You’re messing with me.”

“I’m not!” Mark protests, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I swear. There’s a market, right? And I’m just walking, but then I see someone—you, I guess? And when our hands touch, it’s like—”

“—like a spark,” you finish for him, your voice barely above a whisper.

Mark stares at you, his eyes wide. “Exactly.”

The air between you grows silent, the laughter and casual banter from earlier replaced by something more ominous.

“Do you think it means something?” you ask after a long pause, your voice trying to stabilize itself.

Mark lets out a deep breath, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. “My grandma used to say that some people are connected through 인연—fate, you know? Like… maybe we knew each other before. In another life.”

You study his face, the soft curve of his jaw and the way his lips press together like he’s holding back more than he’s saying out loud. “Do you believe that?”

He turns to look at you, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t know. But if it’s true…” He pauses, his gaze dropping to his hands, which rest in his lap. “Maybe it’s why I feel like I’ve known you forever, even though we just met.”

Your breath catches, his words affecting something deep inside you. The dreams, the strange familiarity, the unexplainable pull towards him, the way you could spend hours with each other, you’ve felt since the day you moved in. It’s all beginning to make a strange kind of sense. 

You don’t say anything, but your hand brushes his as you reach for your drink, and in that moment, the spark from your dream seems to jolt back to life.

Mark glances down, his fingers twitching as if he’s tempted to close the gap. Instead, he looks at you.“Maybe we’re just imagining things,” he says softly, but the hope in his voice betrays his words.

“Maybe,” you reply, though you’re not sure you believe it either.

For the rest of the night, neither of you mention the dreams again. But when you go to bed, the image of two hands brushing in a crowded marketplace still lingers in your mind, clearer than ever.

It’s a Friday evening, and you’re sitting on Mark’s couch, a blanket thrown over both of your laps. The faint smell of popcorn fills the air as a half-watched movie plays on the screen. Mark’s head is tilted back, his eyes weary from the long day, his fingers idly drumming to a beat on the couch cushion between you.

You glance at him, noting how cozy it seems here. It’s moments like these that feel strange… and effortless. Like you’ve done this a thousand times before.

“Hey,” you say, nudging his arm lightly. “You’re zoning out. The movie isn't that bad.”

Mark snorts, turning his head toward you. “Oh, yeah? Name one character besides the main guy.”

“Uh... The dog?”

“Exactly.” He laughs, his eyes crinkling in that way that makes your stomach flip.

But before you can laugh along, his phone buzzes on the coffee table, breaking the moment. Mark’s smile fades as he leans forward to grab it. You watch his face shift—something serious.

“Who is it?” you ask, your voice careful.

“It’s... uh, an email. From SM,” he says, mentioning the entertainment company where he’s been interning. He hesitates, scrolling through the message. “They want me to come in for a meeting. Apparently, there’s a potential opening on one of their teams in Vancouver.”

You sit up straighter. “Vancouver? Like... Canada?”

He nods, his thumb still hovering over his phone screen. “Yeah. They’ve got this big international project coming up, and I guess they think I’d be a good fit.”

You’re silent for a moment, the weight of his words setting in. “That’s... amazing, Mark. Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” His tone is quiet, almost hesitant, and it doesn’t match the words. He sets his phone back down and leans back again, trying to avoid your gaze.

“So,” you say, trying to sound nonchalant even as your chest tightens, “you’re thinking of going?”

Mark runs a hand through his hair, a nervous habit you’ve noticed over the months. “I don’t know yet. It’s a huge opportunity, but... I’d have to leave. Like, soon.”

“Right,” you say, your voice a little too steady. “It makes sense. You’ve been working toward something like this for a long time.”

He finally looks at you, his dark eyes searching. “Yeah, but... leaving means leaving everything. Everyone.”

You know what he’s implying, but neither of you says it out loud.

—

It’s the day of Mark’s big decision. Whether to take the overseas job offer or stay in Seoul. You’ve been avoiding the topic, scared of what it might mean for you. But tonight, the two of you find yourselves on the rooftop of your apartment building. The breeze carries the faint scent of flowers that Mark planted the other day in the community garden.

You sit side by side on the edge, legs dangling over the low wall. Although dangerous, Mark always promised that he’d catch you if you fell. He also wrapped a blanket around your shoulders. He’s always thoughtful like that.

For a while, neither of you says anything, just watching the sun slowly start to descend down the bustling city. 

Finally, Mark breaks the silence. “You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about 인연.”

You turn to look at him. His face is painted in soft, golden light. “Yeah? What about it?”

He chuckles softly, almost nervously, running a hand through his hair. “At first, I thought it was just a cool idea. Like, ‘Oh, that’s neat. Fate and past lives and stuff.’ But… I don’t know. Every time I’m with you, it feels like there’s something bigger happening. Like I’ve known you forever, and I don’t even know why.”

Your breath catches. Hearing him say it out loud makes it feel so much more real than you imagined in your head. “I feel it too. Like… we’ve been here before. Not just on this rooftop, but in some other life, in some other time.”

Mark finally turns to you, his eyes searching yours. “But what if we’re just making this up? What if we’re using fate as an excuse to… I don’t know, hold onto something that isn’t real?”

The vulnerability in his voice shakes you. He’s scared, just like you are. Scared of the intensity of it all, scared of what it means to let go. Or to keep holding on.

You take a deep breath, trying to find the right words.

“I don’t know if this is fate, Mark. I don’t know if some invisible thread tied us together, or if we’re just two people who got lucky enough to meet. But maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe it’s not about why we found each other, but what we do with it now.”

Mark looks at you, his lips parting as if to speak, but he hesitates. You can tell he’s turning your words over in his mind, weighing them. “So… what do we do with it? What if I take the job? What if I leave? Does that mean we weren’t meant to be?”

“It doesn’t have to mean anything.” You reach for his hand, your fingers brushing before he laces them with yours. “You taking the job or staying doesn’t erase what we’ve shared. If this is fate, Mark, it’ll find a way to bring us back together. And if it’s not… then I’ll still be grateful for every moment we’ve had.”

“You make it sound so easy. Like letting go wouldn’t completely wreck me.” His grip tightens, and you see his throat bob as he swallows hard. 

You smile, but there’s a little sadness to your voice. “Who says letting go has to mean goodbye? Maybe it just means letting the story unfold the way it’s meant to.”

The silence that follows feels heavy but not uncomfortable. You can see the wheels turning in Mark’s mind. He’s thinking, unsure of what to say. 

Finally, he exhales a long, shaky breath. “I don’t know if I believe in fate, either. But I believe in you. And I believe in us.”

Your heart skips a beat, but he’s not done yet.

“So… if I stay, it won’t be because I’m afraid of losing whatever this is. It’ll be because I want to keep building it with you. And if I go… it’ll be because I know we’re strong enough to handle the distance.”

Tears prick at your eyes, and you laugh softly, shaking your head. “You always know exactly what to say, don’t you?”

He grins, that familiar smile that’s become so dear to you.

“Not really. I’m just winging it.”

You both laugh, the warmth from your voices cutting through the bittersweetness of the moment. The future feels uncertain, but for the first time, that uncertainty doesn’t feel so scary.

As the last rays of sunlight fade, you rest your head on his shoulder, feeling the steady beat of his heart. Whether it’s fate, luck, or sheer coincidence, you’re here now. And for now, that’s enough.

TAGLIST ↬ @lyvhie @aquaphoenixz @galacticnct @yizhrt @polarisjisung @multifandomania

[twistedpink]

Mayhaps I sneak in a husband!Lilia into your Lilia collection? 👀

You were so right for this!!

Husband!Lilia settling down with you in retirement <33 He’s just so tired- Of the work, the people, doesn’t he deserve a pretty spouse to share his time? And wouldn’t you like to live in semi-luxury, accompanying him on party crashings and midnight games of boggle? Of course you do!!

Husband!Lilia hates nothing more than your discomfort, and he’s got the perfect remedies for anything that may afflict you! He tries his very best making you soup, (Silver’s on the phone for supervision) and nearly freezes you with all the ice packs he digs up- This is love! Putting forth effort! He only wants for you to be happy and healthy again, won’t you help him out?

Husband!Lilia that clings, as if he’s afraid you’ll run off. He’s more than happy to follow you anywhere you’re willing to take him. In his magicless state it’s much safer to travel in groups with all the wildlife in your area- And he’s sure you don’t mind the company tooo much. If you really need time alone, your bedroom has a perfectly fine lock! He’ll respect your peace by shutting up, but when you leave the sanctity of the bedroom you’ll find him curled up on the floor, waiting. Nothing is worth doing unless he can do it with you <3

Husband!Lilia does anything you ask- Only after a little giggling and jabbing, of course, it’s still him after all. He even pushes you to do stuff! Please take a couple classes or pick up hunting, it’s good for the soul! He just can’t travel anymore- But he insists that if it’s one of your goals, then you should just leave him behind. He won’t make you stay, but that needy, selfish part of him appreciates your attachment. It’s so,, Human of you.

Husband!Lilia yearns for your attention- He hardly goes to town anymore, so it’s you or the squirrels! He does pick up gardening for when you’re gone, if only to keep his hands busy. Normally, he wouldn’t be able to keep up a routine like this, but his partner just so happens to be an excellent alarm. Good job, hun! You’re the one who puts his plants on life support when his memory lapses, and it’s all worth it to see his smile during the harvest :)

Husband!Lilia may not be as strong or fast as he was during his prime, but he’s much preferring the golden years if he gets to spend them with you! The kids visit during holidays and runaways, but the rest of your time is spent alone. Together. With all the socializing you miss, he knows exactly how to get busy after a spot of crochet <3

@bju3c0re

[gay-dorito-dust]

Many knew you for the fact that you didn’t smile, weren’t exactly a warm personality and often preferred to be alone, but the moment Joaquin entered your life, you found yourself being drawn to his warmth and his ability to have the edges of your mouth twitch upwards.

Many didn’t think you would like Joaquin since you were both vastly different in a plethora of ways, that you wouldn’t meet eye to eye on certain things that would leads to you two inevitably clashing, but you would be found in the doorways as you watched Joaquin as he smiled and laughed with the rest of the team with a flickers of a smile upon your lips and warmth within your eyes.

Many couldn’t help but see the way you and Joaquin interact as interesting. He would always see that you were in the far comer by yourself and come over to join you, making sure that you weren’t missing out on what everyone else had found gossip worthy, watching your every expression as he talked about anything and everything with some hand gestures thrown in here and there. Whereas you would listen to him wholeheartedly, never once interrupting him as you took in anything he gave you with the attentive look you gave him, making him know that he has your undivided attention.

Joaquin would talk and you would listen and remember every last bit right down to the last detail, for everything he said was important to you and you didn’t want him to think anything else, and this was the same with Joaquin towards you as wanted to get to know the you beneath the grump that many people framed you as.

Many didn’t think you and Joaquin would work all that well for he was outgoing and had a way of drawing people in, whereas you had a way of drawing people away with the resting bitch face that you were born with. However you and Joaquin worked in such tandem it was hard to not see you part from one another given how seamless you worked together. Your personalities may differ but they balances the other out somehow, complete each other even.

Many didn’t think Joaquin could crack through your walls, but yet many would soon came to see how easy it was for Joaquin to make you smile, to make you laugh at his jokes and his stories that he had on his fellow teammates that he was dying to tell you about; he made you feel safe in resting your head against his shoulder as he filled you with warmth and a change of perspective on life. And he would do this all the while he kept you close to his side as his eyes twinkled in happiness and fondness that he did what many thought was impossible.

You could fall asleep within his presence and Joaquin would act as though he has just won at life, all the while trying not to move in hopes of not disturbing your sleep, but if someone were to make a comment on it you were wide open and with a sharp remark upon your tongue as your old them to mind their business. Joaquin would naturally take your side, rubbing your side as he ushered you into going back to sleep on his shoulder, pressing a kiss to your forehead while doing so.

You were once cold but now you were as warm as the man you were cuddled up with, happy to have found someone who has the patience of a saint to crack through your hard exterior, cradling the person behind it close to his heart and love them no matter what like you loved and cared for him in return.

You were once cold but with him, with Joaquin, you were warm and happy as could be and you had him to thank for the rest of your life.

[goquokka00]

SKZ vs Shark Week (Jisung ver.)

How would each member of Stray Kids handle you while you're on your period?

BANGCHAN | MINHO | CHANGBIN | HYUNJIN JISUNG | FELIX | SEUNGMIN | JEONGIN

WARNING: This is a female reader going through their period. If the topic of a period/anything that has to do with a period makes you uncomfortable, then don't read it. Just remember that there's nothing wrong with a woman's period. It's a perfectly healthy body function :)

THE MOODS To put it simply, you had anxiety. A lot of it. So much of it, it was pretty common for you to actually get panic attacks before your period. The second you got too stressed out, or too overwhelmed, or there was too many people around you, boom. You'd be too much in your own head, and panic attacks would occur.

Thankfully, Jisung related a lot. And because you always helped him when he had panic attacks, he wasn't scared to help you out, either. He'd take you somewhere secluded and cuddle with you, holding you close and not letting you go. A lot of times, he'd put on a Disney movie or Howl's Moving Castle, and gently sing along with the songs or hum to the music to give you something else to focus on.

His biggest focus was making sure you knew that you were safe, and that it was okay to feel the way you were feeling. He never pressures you into talking about what has you so anxious, always letting you speak on your terms. Though, a lot of times, you'd ask him to keep singing or speaking. And he'd always be happy to do so.

THE BLOOD Your flow was...well, it wasn't heavy. But it definitely wasn't light. It was in the middle, leaning towards heavy. And so a lot of times, you'd just feel uncomfortable. Who wouldn't? You were sitting in your own pile of blood a lot of the day, not even Jisung disagreed. And while there wasn't much he could do, he'd make sure that you were at least somewhat comfortable.

He'd wrap you up in blankets, give you PLENTY of kisses, get Minho to cook whatever it was you were hungry for (because we all know Jisung can't cook well), and while he knew you wouldn't want to cuddle, he would still keep an arm around your shoulder and have you tucked into his side.

THE PAIN While your pain wasn't as bad as Changbin's girl, you still got crazy cramps, pelvic pain, and lower back pain. Walking hurt, sitting hurt...there were times you'd just have to squat and deal with the feeling of being punched in the gut. It sucked. But you also had a Jisung.

When you were feeling like this, he'd always do a few things to make sure you were relaxed and weren't in pain. Firstly, he'd make you take pain killers. Then, he'd lay you down on top of him so your stomachs were both touching before covering you with a heated blanket. Why? Because Jisung was a human radiator. He was a warm, warm human. And so, his body would act like a heat pad for your cramps while your lower back got heat from the blanket.

All the while, he'd carefully massage the pain from your back and hips away. Half the time, you'd end up falling asleep while he did this because it was so relaxing. And Jisung would be beaming. And again, he'd give you plenty of kisses to ease you even further. Anything for his baby.

THE PRODUCT Jisung refused to go to the store for you. Even if you begged on your hands and knees, promising to spoil him for the rest of eternity, it would be a no. Too much anxiety came with that, were you kidding? What if he got the wrong size? What if he got the wrong product? What if he couldn't remember and had to talk to an employee? What if fans spotted him? What if he got made fun of, or laughed at, or made a fool of himself?

Even with your reassurances, he just couldn't do it. But he would order them for you through a delivery service. Sure, why not? He's not going into the public; nobody would know it was him! That was an easy task.

Now when it came to used products, Jisung didn't mind. He'd actually count the bloody tampons and pads (not by touching them, just by what he could see) to make sure you were changing them regularly. And if you weren't, well...he'd come and harass you about it. Duh. If you weren't taking care of yourself, then he'd take care of you himself for you. And if that meant harassing you about changing your pad or tampon or cup, then so be it.

Hey! Firstly, thank you so much for reading this post, and I really hope you enjoyed! If you did, please like, reblog, or comment so I can see how I'm doing with writing and getting feedback! I hope you have a lovely day! Sleep well, stay in good health, and eat something if you haven't! ❤️❤️❤️

Taglist: @miss-daisy04 @kayleefriedchicken @wolfs-archive @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @wolfs-howling @rose-w-00-d

[transmaverique]

[img id

pictures of several pages from the sinister wisdom issue credited, reading as follows:

June 12 2016

A friend sent me word that the Klan had littered a house in Birmingham with flyers that said "trans abomination", that said "go pee behind a tree". And when I looked, yes, there was the familiar graphic, the hooded man pointing a finger, saying "The Klan wants you" -- to leave town, to die. Said they'd punish mixing Black with white, they'd punish mixing F with M, and any bi-going-in-between. No mixing, no mixing it up.

The power to put a symbol on anything, on a water fountain and say "white water" and "black water". Turn the four-pronged steel handle so the water spurts down like blood from a severed artery, spurts up in a sullied arc.

The national committee of one of the two ruling political parties in the U.S. is passing laws to make it illegal to walk through a toilet door if you don't match it's little stick figure. Otherwise, they say, go outside into the woods, you belong outside "civilization", and pee behind a tree.

Or the police will come and drag you out before the world with your pants down and your cunt hanging out of your jeans or your balls hanging out of your dress.

The power to put a symbol on two doors, and say sheep that way, goats this way. One path to heaven, one path to hell. "Men" that way, "women" this way.

The power to use those words and deny there is any doubt, any doubt at all, about what those words mean.

The power to use those words to cut up your body, your dear, dear body. The power to press those words down over our lives, cutting a bleeding circle out of who we are. The punishment when you are someone who can go through either door.

The power to look at those two doors and refuse to go through either. The power and the pride when you are someone who can go through either door, and do.

Now the anniversary of Stonewall, and the Tuscaloosa newspaper headline reads "PRIDE". People are marching in New York City, San Francisco, Sao Paulo, Sydney -- all around the world.

It's been two weeks, exactly, since the massacre at the Pulse gay dance club in Orlando, Florida. There 49 people -- lovers, friends, mothers, children, many Latinx -- lay dead and more gravely wounded.

So I saw the headline and foolishly thought, "Here's a bit of comfort, a word of courage." But no.

It was a brag about the Alabama football team, chosen by the editors for no particular reason this day except to scrape our raw wounds with the message that their PRIDE was not our queer PRIDE.

The first Pride event I went to wasn't in June. A man had been beaten to death on the Eno River, at a little swimming hole in North Carolina where gay men sometimes cruised. He was married, with two children, and then he was dead at the hands of those who hated queerness.

On April 17, 1981, over a hundred of us rallied in front of the Durham County Courthouse. Mab Segrest read a statement she'd written that began "We don't want to die."

That's pretty much the gist of why I ever march in Pride. That we still die dancing in a gay bar in Orlando because we are lesbian or gay or bisexual or trans, a relative or even a friend of queerness, proves the need to keep saying what should be obvious: "We want to live." To insist that we have the right to live, dancing in the street.

Leslie and I marched once in Winston-Salem in the middle of lightning and thunder for North Carolina Pride. We held hands in the pouring rain, up to our thighs in the flood that swept past us in the streets. I was so happy. There was a time I had thought I might kill myself there, after I lost custody of the boys for my "crime against nature".

When she and I were marching, it was the mid-90s, Senator Jesse Helms was still doing his best to make our lives miserable, African-American churches were burning all across the South, and the Klan was having one of its revivals.

Leslie spoke of revolutionary communism and the crowd cheered. Hundreds of us chanted and sang and danced through the rain, shouting defiance.

At some point she let go of my hand and rushed away, to return with a present -- a tiny plush trans-species bear sporting a pair of tie-on bunny ears.

My funny bunny, my Leslie, who knew so well how to live, who knew how to fight for our lives with every weapon she had, including laughter. Her smile, the dimple in her cheek when she smiled. Revolutionary optimism.

/ end id]

minnie bruce pratt, from sinister wisdom issue 122: How Can A Woman Who Is With A Trans Man Call Herself A Lesbian? spring 2024

[writinginatree]

Jealous Little Puppy

Relationship(s): Xaden Riorson & sibling!reader, Bodhi Durran & Riorson!reader, background Xaden Riorson/Violet Sorrengail

Summary: You feel neglected because your brother spends every free minute with Violet and has no time left for you.

Warnings: Jealousy, low self-worth, abandonment issues, implied depression. Set in Aretia during Iron Flame.

Anonymous requested: I want to ask something for Xaden where the reader is jealous and feels like she's in second place to Violet? Maybe because Violet and Xaden's dragons are mate, and they spend a lot of time together, the reader is jealous, but she gets all grumpy, glaring at Xaden, refusing his touch... but deep down she's a little lost puppy who just wants to be loved and protected🥹🤍

You sit on the bottom stair in the foyer of Riorson House, watching your brother across the room. The physical distance is nothing compared to how far away he's felt emotionally ever since you saw him again after entering the Riders Quadrant a few months ago. You were hoping he would have a few minutes to come to the gym and help you with a move you have trouble mastering, but, as usual, he's otherwise occupied.

He and Violet are locked in one of their silent conversations. You don't understand how, but you've been watching them enough to be sure they have some strange way of communicating without anyone else being any the wiser. It has to be part of the whole mated dragons thing somehow, you suppose. Maybe because of it, they can talk the same way riders and dragons talk. However it works, you hate when they do that. It always makes you paranoid, wondering if you did something wrong, if they're talking about you. Of course they aren't; you're not so self-important to truly believe they are. Nonetheless, that prickle of anxiety never fades. Maybe you did do something wrong and that's why Xaden's been so closed off from you?

He never has time for you these days. You'd thought maybe that would change now that you're back home in Aretia, but honestly, you should have known better. Every free second he has is dedicated to Violet, regardless of where you are and how often he's there.

Starting the quadrant, you'd been thrilled to learn that Xaden would be returning to Basgiath every two weeks due to his dragon being mated to that of a second-year, thinking you would get to see him on those occasions. And yes, the first time he'd visited, he had used the chance to check on you. Briefly. After that, nothing. You didn't get to talk to him again until after he showed up to save Violet and you all defected. According to Bodhi, it had been because you were safer that way. As if people weren't perfectly aware of who you are regardless of whether or not your brother payed any attention to you.

And while you do get to see a little more of him now, he never actually spends time with you. It hurts more than you care to admit. After lonely years stuck in a foster home, counting the days until you'd get to see your family again, it now feels a lot like your family doesn't want you anymore. You've been spending time with Bodhi whenever possible, but he doesn't have much time for you either, and, as much as you love your cousin, he simply can't make up for your brother's unavailability.

What little free time Xaden has, he spends with Violet. It's been going on like this for months. You try not to be jealous of all the attention Xaden gives her, but it's hard. They're so close, blind to anything except each other.

At first, it was nice to see them so obviously in love. Gods know Xaden deserves to finally have some happiness in his life. Things have been rough for all of you since the apostasy, but for him especially. And you're glad he has Violet to take care of him now, you really are.

It's just that most of these days, it feels as though you've turned invisible.

You know you're being unreasonable. You're an adult and should be fine on your own. But after having your mother abandon you, and your father die for a failed rebellion and leaving you behind, being constantly ignored by your brother in favor of his girlfriend is simply too much. It's like there's no space left for you in Xaden's life now that he has her.

The worst part is that you actually like Violet. It would be easier if you could hate her for stealing your brother from you, but you admire her. You're even friends — or as close to being friends as a measly first-year like you can get with a powerful second-year like her.

She never has time for you, either. You can't blame her. She's busy — as is Xaden, you know that. But that's different. Violet has no obligation to waste her time on you, but Xaden is your damned brother. He could at least say hi when he's home, ask how you're doing once in a while.

Instead, he only pays attention to you when you're in trouble, like is the case a few days later.

It wasn't even your fault this time. Your squadmate had gotten into a fight with one of the fliers; all you had done was try to make peace between them. Things escalated into a fist fight despite your efforts, and when the professors broke it up, no one asked who'd started it or gave you a chance to explain. After a whole fifteen minutes of Ulices yelling at the lot of you, you were sentenced to breakfast duty along with those who'd actually been involved in the fight.

And of course some asshole immediately informed Xaden about it when he returned from a long patrol later that afternoon, so now you're stuck getting another lecture, this time from your brother dearest.

"I hear you got into a fight with the fliers," he starts, glaring at you like you're the biggest disappointment he's ever seen.

All hopes that he might listen to your side of the incident evaporate, but you try anyway. "I—"

"I didn't think I had to tell you this," he goes on, "but you're supposed to be a good example for the others. We cannot have fliers and riders turn on each other, or everything will fall apart."

"It wasn't—"

"I expect you to be on your best behavior from now on. If I hear about any more incidents like this, the punishment your professors come up with will be the least of your worries. Is that clear?"

It's an effort to swallow your anger and the bitter feeling of betrayal. You've never felt so unwelcome in your own home. Somehow, you manage to keep your voice steady and void of emotion when you answer. "Yes, sir."

Bodhi finds you crying in your room that night.

"Hey, what's wrong? If it's because of that fight you got into—"

You can't take it anymore. "I didn't!" you shout, shooting to your feet. "I was just in the middle of it because I tried to make them stop, but no one ever fucking listens to anything I say!"

Bodhi raises his hands in a placating gesture. "Okay, okay. Sorry. I can take it up with leadership for you. I'm sure they'll exclude you from the punishment if I explain that you—"

"Nevermind. I don't care about breakfast duty."

"But?"

You sit back down on the edge of your bed, wipe the tears from your face and shake your head. You don't look at him. "Nothing. It's nothing."

He wouldn't understand. He's never been needy for attention like you, is happy to do his duty without expecting thanks or acknowledgement. Oh, he would be sympathetic if you told him. Would let you pour your heart out about how unimportant you feel, how lonely you are because Violet is Xaden's number one priority and no one has time for you. Would hold you and stroke your hair, give you all the attention you so desperately crave. He'd sit with you and dry your tears until you fell peacefully asleep instead of crying yourself to sleep like you'd done so often lately.

But he would not understand. And once you were soundly asleep, he would tell Xaden.

And while Bodhi would certainly be doing so for your own good, you would rather let your dragon bite your arm off than talk to your brother about this. At best, Xaden would think you're being annoying, clingy, and childish. At worst... well, you're not sure. It doesn't matter. Talking about it would not improve the situation, that much you're sure of.

Therefore, you keep your mouth shut and your eyes glued to the floor until Bodhi finally decides to leave you be. He has homework and section leader stuff to do, after all. As soon as you're certain he's gone, you let the calm facade crack again and flop down on the bed, sobbing into your pillow.

Almost two weeks pass before Xaden deigns to talk to you again. You see him in the hall a few times, but he doesn't pay you any mind. Maybe he just doesn't notice you, or maybe he's doing it on purpose to punish you for your perceived misbehaviour. You don't know and it doesn't matter. Of course you could always greet him first, but you're tired of begging for his attention, so you convince yourself you don't want or need it anymore.

You're sitting at lunch when Xaden walks past behind you, reaching out to muss up your hair in passing as he's done thousands of times before, though not in a while. For the first time in your life, you swat his hand away.

He freezes, and you can practically feel his bewildered gaze boring into the back of your head. You continue eating like he isn't there.

For a moment he just stands there, trying to figure you out. When he speaks, his voice has an annoyed edge to it, but beneath that, there's a hint of what almost sounds like worry. "You're not still mad because I believed that you were involved in that brawl with the fliers, are you? Bodhi told me it wasn't your fault you got dragged into—"

"No," you cut him off, sparing him a glance over your shoulder after all. "No, everything is fine."

"Right..."

Though he clearly doesn't believe you, he leaves it be, walking off to find his own lunch. You knew he would. You don't matter enough for him to make a scene in front of your squad.

To your surprise, Xaden intercepts you outside your room that evening. Maybe Violet is still busy in the library; he sure as hell wouldn't be bothering with you if she had time for him.

"Okay, what's wrong?" he demands without preamble. "And don't you dare say it's nothing. You're skulking around like an abandoned puppy."

You bite your tongue to keep from retorting that that's exactly how you feel. Like he put you in a crate and left you in some dark alley because you're not worth taking care of anymore, and so far, no passerbys have bothered to stop and take you in. Unloved and unwanted, just like you felt when your mother left all those years ago. Maybe that's how it's supposed to feel, growing up. You've always been a little behind, so you wouldn't know.

Xaden nudges you, a reminder that he's still waiting for an answer.

You decide to give him a half-truth. "It just feels weird to be home after so long. Wherever I look there's something bringing back old memories." You let your eyes flick to his for a second. "I miss Dad."

"Me too," he quietly admits, which is the closest thing to vulnerability he's allowed himself in your presence since the execution. "But that's not all, is it?"

You shrug, opening your door in hopes he'll drop the matter, but he follows into your room. Fine. If you really can't avoid talking about it, you'd rather do it here than in the hall where gods know who might listen in.

Standing at the window, you look out over Aretia, all too aware of Xaden's presence at your back.

"Come on, kid. Talk to me."

You scoff. You can't help it. For months you've wanted to talk to him, to spend just a little bit of time with him, but he couldn't be bothered. And now that you've all but given it up he comes and demands you pay attention to him. Gods beware you have the audacity to turn things around and ignore him for a few minutes. Maybe you should have slammed the door in his face and refused the conversation altogether, given him a taste of his own medicine.

You don't have the energy to fight with him, though, so you do the next best thing and feign ignorance. "Talk about what?"

"About whatever is bothering you."

"Nothing is bothering me," you claim. "Like I said, it's just strange to be back—"

"Bullshit. You really think I can't tell you're mad at me? Because I absolutely can. I just can't figure out why."

"That's not— I'm not mad at you!"

It's the truth. You're jealous, lonely, feeling neglected, maybe even a little disappointed in him, but not mad. There's no point; being angry with him wouldn't change a thing. It's true you've been acting moody lately, pulling away from everyone and Xaden especially, deciding that if you are that unimportant to him, you won't bother him anymore. It was an act of acceptance, rather than anger. You didn't think he would notice.

"What is it, then?"

"I'm just..." You shake your head. "I don't know. It doesn't matter."

"Yes it does."

You sigh. Why does he care all of the sudden? Part of you wishes he'd just leave you alone, even as the rest of you longs for the comfort his company used to bring. You're so fucking tired of this.

"You're away all the time. And when you are here you never have time for me." You didn't mean for it to come out like an accusation, but it does. And since there's no taking it back now you add, "It's like I don't even matter anymore. If I disappeared, you probably wouldn't even notice."

When he doesn't answer, you chance a look at your brother's face. He looks stricken, shock mixing with the guilt of the realization of how distant he's been.

"I didn't realize," he says finally, startling you with the uncharacteristically soft tone he uses. "I know I haven't really had time for you, but I didn't realize it made you feel so..."

"Neglected?"

"Yeah."

You shrug. "It's fine. I'm not a little kid you need to dote on anymore. You've got other priorities. I get it."

Xaden shakes his head. "That's not the point. I don't ever want you to doubt how important you are to me. All I did, the deal to let us into the quadrant, continuing what Dad started, it was all for you. All I wanted was to keep you safe, for you to have a better life. And just because Violet is my biggest priority now doesn't mean you're not important too. You and Bodhi are the only family I have. You'll always matter, you hear me? You matter so fucking much."

He takes you by the shoulders like he wants to shake you to make sure the words sink in, but refrains from actually doing it.

"I'm sorry," he adds, which feels even more surreal than everything else he's said so far. "I promised Dad I'd take good care of you, but I guess I fucked it up. I was so focused on just keeping us alive that I forgot about actually being there for you. And I know I've been... cold, but that has nothing to do with you. I just... kind of forgot how to do feelings, I guess. Not that I was ever much good at that stuff. But I still care. I promise I do, and I'm so fucking sorry for making you feel like I don't."

"It's okay," you say, and this time, you really mean it. He hasn't forgotten about you. He's trying. You're not abandoned after all, merely temporarily left behind. "You've done so much for all of us. It's not your fault I'm so sensitive."

"No, but I know damn well how easily you let things like this get to you. I should have noticed sooner. Next time you convince yourself you don't matter just do us both a favor and say something, okay?"

"Okay. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Now, are we okay again?"

"Yeah."

"Good. And I'll try to have more time for you," Xaden promises, ruffling your hair. This time, you let him. "I can't help how busy I am, but I'll try to include you more when I'm here. I'll see if I have a moment to join you in the gym tomorrow, how does that sound?"

"Perfect."