#professor!joel

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 Professor 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 Professor 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 Professor 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.

The Wrong Assignment | TWA: Joel's POV | TWA Masterlist

Joel had given in to your demands. After months of trying to fight the draw he felt toward you, you had successfully worn him down. 

Since the incident in his office when he had made you ride a dildo while you blew him, the two of you had been nearly inseparable. Between classes, in the morning, at the end of the day, in his office, in his car, in the janitor’s closet (that one was a close call), you seemed to be having sex constantly. 

Joel even got a prescription for those little blue pills to help him out occasionally, as it seemed you were insatiable at times. He couldn’t deny that he wanted it just as bad as you, even if he didn’t show it. Besides, he knew you liked a challenge now and again. 

So why was it that this evening, while Joel had you bent over his desk, you were being more quiet than usual? 

He slipped his hand between your thighs, rubbing firm circles on your clit, and whispered in your ear, “Give it t’me, sweetheart, let me hear your moans.” The next sound that came out of your mouth was anything but genuine. 

Joel paused his thrusts, frozen behind you. He felt you press against him, attempting to continue the movements. Instead of acquiescing, he pulled all the way out. You looked over your shoulder at him with a confused expression and asked, “what are you doing?” 

His brows were furrowed and he took a step back, “what are you doing?” 

“What do you mean?” The confused look on your face started to irritate him. You should know what you did. 

“You’re fakin’ it, I can tell,” he spoke in an accusatory tone, “and I don’t much care for it.” 

You sighed and looked at the ground. You had turned around and your bare ass was pressed against his desk. You crossed your arms in front of you, concealing your naked breasts, but your glistening pussy was still on full display and Joel had to work to not look down. 

“Tell me what’s going on,” he demanded. 

“Can we just-” you hesitated, biting the inside of your cheek before continuing, “can we just finish and talk after?” 

“Can you actually finish?” Joel chided. 

You nodded and said, “I’ll be more in it this time, promise.” 

Joel had started to lose his erection and was only half hard now. He said, “Okay then,” as he glanced down at his cock, “finish what you started.” 

You smiled and dropped to your knees, immediately placing your hands on his thighs and taking him into your mouth. 

You’d nearly become an expert at blowjobs since his lesson a couple months ago, so Joel knew he couldn’t let you be down there for long or he’d blow his load much sooner than he wanted. 

You wrapped your warm mouth around him and hollowed your cheeks, taking him in as deep as you could. He groaned and leaned his head back then wove his fingers through your hair, pulling it away from your face. 

You tapped your finger on his thigh and he smirked. That was your nonverbal signal that you wanted him to take charge. 

“Want me to fuck that pretty mouth, baby?” You looked up at him with wide, glistening eyes and Joel thought he could just come right then. “Relax your jaw f’me.” 

You did as he said, jaw going slack while Joel pressed his hands against the sides of your head, and he started to move deep into your throat. He moved slowly, allowing you to accommodate him in his full length. 

Taking a deep breath through your nose, you moaned as he started to slowly fuck your throat. Joel smiled and said, “That’s it, sugar, you’re doing so good.” 

You moaned louder and Joel continued, “such a good lil slut f’me, lettin’ me use your holes however I want, huh?” He knew that you got off on degradation and praise, and he had no qualms with using both. 

You reached one of your hands down in between your legs and started quickly rubbing at your clit. Your moans got louder as Joel thrusted inside of your mouth. He was leaking precum down your throat, and could feel the ridges at the top of your mouth. 

He picked up the pace so you were drooling and making squelching sounds. He loved the lewdness and watched as you started to tremble from your orgasm. He pulled his cock out so that he could hear you moan and watch as you furiously rubbed at yourself. 

When your orgasm subsided, Joel helped you to your feet and bent you over the desk again, not hesitating in the slightest as he fully sheathed himself inside your spent pussy. 

He groaned, “Ohhh, fuck, baby, not gonna last long inside your tight cunt.” You moaned at his words and pushed your ass back into him. He gave it a slap and started fucking you. 

He was right. He only lasted a few minutes before erupting inside of you, but you didn’t seem to mind as you whimpered through it, allowing him to paint your walls. 

When he finally pulled out, his nerves showed back up. He tucked himself into his pants and watched as you put your own clothes on. He felt the urge to stroke your cheek, give you a soft kiss, and tuck your hair behind your ear, as he always did. But this felt different. And because of that, his guard was going up. 

So instead, he took a seat at his desk and waited for you. You hopped up on his desk and even though your thighs were together, he could spot the little triangle of your baby blue lace panties underneath your skirt. He moved his eyes up to your face and his stomach dropped a little when he saw your expression. 

You looked anxious and started picking at your cuticles. He didn’t like seeing you this way, but his own anxiety was mounting as well. It wasn’t often that the two of you had serious conversations. Your relationship was mostly sexual in nature, but affection had formed between the two of you and there was the occasional thoughtful gesture. 

“Umm,” you started, but paused again to look at the ground. You chewed on your lip and Joel was trying to give you the space to work through this on your own, despite feeling on edge himself. 

“I don’t think we can do this anymore.” You finally looked up at him and he was able to see the concern etched in your features. He felt bad seeing how nervous you looked. 

“Hey,” he said as he reached out his hand, his heavy palm covering your knee, “it’s okay, we can stop.” 

“I’m sorry,” you spoke softly as the tears started to spill. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” he stood up now and approached you. He wrapped his arms around you and brought you into his chest. He stroked your back, his fingers trailing up and down your spine until you calmed down. 

“Y’don’t gotta apologize, darlin’, y’know we can stop whenever you want.” 

“That’s the thing,” you pulled away from him and he took a step back to look at you, “I don’t want to stop…” 

“What d’ya mean?” He was genuinely puzzled. 

“I-” you sighed, “I’m seeing someone.” 

Joel stared at you, dumbfounded. Though he didn’t know why he was so surprised. You were a college kid with lots of prospects, and he was a professor who could really only offer you one thing. 

“Oh,” he replied. He felt silly for not having more to say. 

“Are you upset?” He couldn’t stand to look at your puppy dog eyes as you spoke. 

He was quick to reassure you, maybe too quick, “No, no. Not at all. I just…you didn’t mention you were dating, that’s all.” 

You took a deep breath and said, “Yeah…it was kind of an accident, really. I met him in one of my study groups and we just…hit it off, I guess.” 

“Which class?” Joel asked. 

“Why?” Your brows knitted together and Joel realized it was sort of an unnecessary question. 

“Just curious,” he replied. 

“My U.S. History class,” you answered. “It’s only been about a week of us actually seeing each other…but I wouldn’t feel right-”

He cut you off, “Of course. Yeah, no…this is the right call.” He nodded and went to his desk beside you, starting to put papers into his briefcase. He wasn’t intentionally trying to shut you out, but it didn’t seem there was much more to say. 

“Alright,” you said in an uncertain tone. You slid off the desk, smoothed down your skirt, and picked up your bag. “I guess I’ll…see you around?” 

Joel nodded and said, “see you in class on Thursday.” 

It was nearing the end of the Spring semester, and there were only three classes left. Joel figured those would be the last three times he’d see you. 

—

Back at his house, Joel kicked off his shoes at the front door, and set his briefcase on the foyer table. His home was quiet aside from the pitter-patter of his German Shepherd, Frankie. 

“Hey, Frankie, good boy,” Joel said as he scratched behind the dog’s ears. The dog happily panted up at him, excited to see him home. 

Joel made his way to the kitchen, pulling down a rocks glass from the cupboard and setting it on the counter. He grabbed a large circle ice cube from his freezer drawer, plopped it into the glass, and then filled the cup with a healthy pour of bourbon. 

He sipped it as he walked into the living room, Frankie at his heels. He sank down onto his leather couch and clicked the television on. His dog jumped up with him, curling cozily at his feet. 

After a few minutes, Joel realized he wasn’t paying any attention to the movie that was on. He was only thinking about you. The image of you on his desk was seared into his brain - wide eyes glimmering with tears that had yet to spill over, a pout on your lips, and those damn lace panties winking at him from underneath the short cloth of your skirt. It would have been erotic if it wasn’t so damn sad. 

He started to wonder what the other man was like. Hell, Joel assumed he was more of a boy than a man, but who was he to judge. You had clearly found someone who made you happy and he wanted no part in halting that. 

He continued on with his evening until he grew tired, both physically and mentally. He went up to his bedroom and carried on with his usual nighttime routine, but images of you continued playing in his head. He could hear you say, “I’m seeing someone.” His chest grew tighter each time. 

Joel knew it was probably time for him to start dating again, but it still didn’t feel right to him. He went to close his bedroom door and looked across the hall at Sarah’s room. The door was cracked and he lingered for a bit. 

Sarah had gone off to study abroad last year. Their relationship had grown tense throughout her teenage years, and he wasn’t surprised when it seemed she wanted to get as far away as possible. They didn’t talk often, mostly because of the time change, but also partially because they didn’t know what to talk about when they did try to talk on the phone. 

Joel closed his door with a sigh and crawled into bed. There was a divot on the right side from him sleeping in the same spot every night. 

He thought of you as he fell asleep. He pictured your face, your body, your sweet voice, and as he drifted off in those final moments, he swore he could feel your lips pressed to his. 

—

“Damn it, Ralphie!” one of the guys in the hallway shouted. Joel was making his way to the classroom and outside of one of the study lounges was a group of college kids making a ruckus.

The kid who had yelled looked like he had some sort of drink spilled down his front. The other guy who Joel assumed to be Ralphie, was chuckling and shrugging his shoulders. He held an energy drink that seemed to be the culprit of the mess. 

Joel continued forward, ready to push past the unruly kids, when he spotted you. You were in one of your typical outfits - a tank top with a button-up cardigan over top, and of course, a skirt. It would have been a usual appearance if it were not for the way you were hanging all over Ralphie. Both your arms were wrapped around his one, your fingers slotted through his as you peered adoringly at him. 

Joel’s jaw tensed, especially as he noted that Ralphie seemed to be paying you no mind. You were the only girl in the group and to Joel, it looked like you were being ignored. 

As he moved through the group, you locked eyes with him. It seemed to startle you enough that Joel saw your grip on Ralphie loosen. 

He continued forward and had to try hard to not look back at you as he entered the classroom. As he approached the podium, he noticed his hands were clenched in fists. He had a death grip on his suitcase and had to practically pry it from his own hand. 

Taking a deep breath, he realized just how tightly wound he was. He kept picturing that sorry excuse of a man and how he seemed to pay no mind to the angel on his arm. It made Joel irrationally angry. 

Sure, he could accept you ending the relationship with him. He could even accept you ending the relationship to pursue another man. Joel wasn’t fooling himself about what the two of you were and weren’t. But what he couldn’t accept was you being with someone who wasn’t worth even an ounce of what you had to offer. 

No, that was unacceptable to Joel. And he planned to make that clear to you. 

The class started and ended unceremoniously. He was able to stay attentive and get through the material, but he breathed a sigh of relief when time was up and he was able to depart back to his office. 

In his office, Joel found himself pacing back and forth. The more he pictured you with that boy, the angrier he got. 

Without much thinking, Joel pulled out his phone and texted you. 

What are you doing right now?

Out with friends…why? Everything ok?

We need to talk

You’re sort of freaking me out, Joel. What’s going on? 

Where are you?

Mister Dips

He knew it was a bad idea. Knew that the best thing was for him to just stay away. You had clearly ended things and unlike you, he wanted to respect your wishes. 

Still, he packed up his things and left. Since it was nearing the end of the semester, the school was emptier with some classes already wrapping up. It wasn’t a surprise that you were able to sneak away for a mid-day ice cream. 

Joel got in his car and drove down the road. Mister Dips was a common hangout for students. Numerous times he’d heard students in his class referencing the nearby ice cream shop. 

As he neared it, he pulled off to the side of the road. He didn’t want to cause a scene by driving into the parking lot and approaching you. He figured it might look strange for a professor to show up there in the middle of the day. 

He figured he would just get eyes on you and figure it out from there. He walked to the building next door and casually leaned against the bricks, turning his head so that he could get a view of the picnic tables outside the ice cream shop. 

You were easy to spot, perched atop one of the tables, Ralphie beside you, licking a damn ice cream cone. It was vanilla, and Joel couldn’t help but to watch your tongue as it stuck out of your mouth and swept up the side of the cone, sugary white cream coating your tongue before you lapped it into your mouth. 

Joel felt himself growing tight against his pants and looked away at the traffic in front of him to help his erection ease. He already felt like a creep watching you from down the road, he didn’t need to add anything else to the creep factor. 

Once it went down, he looked back over in your direction. He saw you laugh at something that one of the other guys said, but when you opened your mouth to speak, Ralphie seemed to interrupt. The spark dimmed in your eyes as you directed your vision down to your ice cream, watching it slowly drip down the side of the cone. You looked back up at Ralphie and smiled, extending your ice cream out to him. He nodded and took it from your hand, eating it haphazardly. 

You licked some of the residue from in between your thumb and forefinger. Joel’s mouth watered as he watched you and he had to swallow and rub his temples to calm himself. 

He continued watching for the next few minutes, until Ralphie had the nerve to hand you his trash when he finished his ice cream. You took it from him entirely too graciously and hopped off the bench and walked toward the trash cans, which happened to be in the direction of Joel. 

Joel watched with bated breath, unsure of what he wanted his next move to be until the last second when he lifted his hand in the air and said, “hey.” 

You jerked your head up, frowning as you processed him just a few yards from you. He was shadowed by a large tree overhead, so that anyone back by the ice cream shop likely couldn’t make out who he was. You, however, were close enough to take in his distinct features and broad frame to know exactly who was beckoning you. 

“Joel?” You said, your tone coated in surprise, but you didn’t sound unhappy. 

“C’mere,” he said. 

You approached and replied, “I know I texted you my location…but I didn’t think you were actually gonna show up. Is everything okay?” 

Joel stared as you approached him, begging his desperate hands to stay at his sides the closer you got. 

“No,” he answered, “things are not okay.” 

You looked concerned now and Joel looked behind him, spotting an alley on the other side of the building. “Follow me,” he commanded. 

When the two of you rounded the building into the alleyway, your tone changed to one of demand. “Joel, this is crazy. Tell me what’s going on. I know you’re stubborn and prideful, but damn. I didn’t think me leaving you was gonna cause you to lose your damn mind.” 

Joel whipped around at your comment, one thumb looped into his belt loop and the other coming up to rub at the scruff on his jaw. “Not losin’ my damn mind…also I’m not prideful.” His eyes were narrowed at you, but they softened the longer he stared at you. 

“Okay, then what?” You had your hand on your hip and Joel couldn’t ignore how cute you looked when you were irritated. 

“He’s not good enough for you,” he stated matter-of-factly. 

You paused for a moment, processing what he meant, and when you realized, you scoffed and said, “Really, Joel? That’s what this is about? You don’t like my boyfriend?” 

“He’s not treatin’ you right,” his tone maintained its certainty. 

You rolled your eyes, “Come on, Joel. You’re just jealous. Don’t like seeing me with a younger man, huh?” 

Joel took a quick step toward you and immediately regretted it when he saw the way you flinched. He would never lay a hand on you (not without you asking, at least). 

He softened his voice and said, “Him bein’ younger ain’t got nothin’ t’do with it. I see the way you look at him, and he pays you no damn notice. The man ain’t got an idea what he has. Takin’ you for granted. Makin’ you throw away his trash.” 

You rolled your eyes again and said, “You’ve only seen us a couple times. You have no idea what it’s like when we’re alone.” 

Joel gave a nod and said, “alright then, what’s it like when you’re alone?” 

You stammered for a moment then replied, “Fine…we talk. We get along. It’s fun.” Your lilted tone indicated that you weren’t just trying to convince Joel. 

“Fine?” was all Joel said. 

You turned to walk away and said, “I’m done with this, Joel.” But before you could exit the alley, his fingers were wrapped around your upper arm and pulling you backwards. 

You turned to face him and opened your mouth to likely give him some sort of sass, but then his lips were on you, crashing into yours. Your bodies stumbled into the brick wall behind you, and Joel’s hand came up behind your head to cushion the impact. 

You didn’t seem to care as you reached in front of you and started undoing his belt. He hadn’t expected you to be so receptive, but he wasn’t going to question it. 

Joel was hard as a rock, and he wondered if this was the hardest he’d been in his whole life. You palmed him through the denim and groaned when you felt the thick bulge. 

Joel’s hand came down between your legs and slipped your panties to the side. He dipped one finger into your core and felt just how wet you were. 

“How long you been feelin’ like this?” he asked. 

You sighed and said, “since you brought me back here.” 

Joel smirked and you responded with an eyeroll. He returned his lips to yours, his tongue running along your lips before you opened them and granted him access. You moaned and licked into each other’s mouths, the tension and arousal creating a dangerous swirl between the two of you. 

“Fuck Joel,” you grinded against his hand as he moved it back between your legs, “I need you.” 

Joel kept his hand there but stilled it, your bodily movements creating the only friction. “Say it again,” he said. 

You huffed and said, “I need you, Joel.” 

And with that, he slowly pushed two fingers inside you, opening your walls up. Once his fingers were in fully, he brought his thumb to your clit and started swiping back and forth. You began to move your hips back and forth and Joel groaned as he said, “Thass it, fuck yourself on my fingers…good girl.” 

Your slick was dripping down his hand and he couldn’t help himself anymore. He dropped to his knees in the dirty alleyway and lifted your skirt up and over his head. His nose pressed against your clit as he licked you. 

The slurping sounds were lascivious, but you and Joel didn’t care. He was pretty sure that even if someone walked down this alley, he wouldn’t be able to pull his mouth away from your weeping pussy. 

His tongue pushed into your wet cunt and he pulled it in and out, fucking you as his nose continued bumping into your clit. Your fingers threaded through his graying locks and you began to grind against his face, earning a positive groan from him. 

Joel continued fucking you with his tongue until you came in his mouth and he slurped up everything he could. Before the aftershocks faded, he was standing back up and unzipping his pants. 

You turned to face the wall, placing your hands in front of you and pushing out your ass, but Joel stopped you and turned you around. “Nuh uh,” he said. His pants and briefs were down around his thighs, and he bent down, looping his arms around the back of your thighs and hoisted you up. 

“Need to see you, baby,” Joel hummed against your ear as he brought your body against his. He used the brick wall for further leverage - he was in his 50s, after all, and his body hadn’t gotten stronger over the years. 

You were pressed between his chest and the brick wall, and his hands gripped your ass hard. He lowered you onto his cock and you gasped at the intrusion. 

“Relax for me, sugar,” Joel kissed your cheek as he paused, allowing you to adjust to his girth. 

You took in a deep breath and said, “keep going, please, Professor.” 

He continued lowering you until he was fully in, “There ya go, baby, so good f’me…always so good f’me.” 

He began to bounce you up and down on his thick cock. You laid your head down on his shoulder and let him use you. You could already feel him throbbing. 

“God damn it,” Joel murmured. He wanted to last longer for you, especially given how brief the last time was, as well. But you felt so good, felt like you were made for him. 

You lifted your head and stroked his cheek. He looked into your eyes and continued bringing you up and down on his cock. “He fuck you like this?” Joel asked. 

You shook your head no. 

“He make you come like I do?” He asked. 

You shook your head no, again. 

Joel leaned in to give you a soft kiss before pulling back and looking at you, “he treat you like I do?” 

Joel’s mind thought back to the thoughtful moments between the two of you - the heart he’d occasionally draw on your assignment before handing it back to you, the coffee you’d leave on his desk between classes, how he noticed that your lunch every afternoon was just a protein bar, so he’d started to bring you packed lunches on days you were in his class. 

You shook your head and said quietly, “no, Joel.” You whimpered as his pace picked up. 

Joel could feel you tensing around him, clenching his cock. You buried your face back in his shoulder but Joel said, “look at me.” 

You complied, looking at him as your orgasm overtook you. Joel gripped you harder as your body started to tremble. He loved watching how you’d bite your lip, eyes practically rolling into the back of your head. He knew you always came harder from his cock rather than his fingers. He could feel it as it bumped into your spongy center inside. 

He came closely after you. His fingers had a bruising hold on your ass as he shot his seed deep inside you. “Ugghhh,” he groaned, “fuck, takin’ it so good, baby.” 

He kissed you again, and you kissed back eagerly. When he pulled back he could feel his nerves starting to grow again as he asked, “y’like him?” 

He was still inside of you, he didn’t want to pull out, didn’t want to lose you again. 

But then you said, “not as much as I like someone else.” And you fucking smiled at him. 

Joel’s heart was racing, both from the physical exertion and the meaning of your words. He continued watching you, not saying anything. 

Your eyes awkwardly moved back and forth before looking back at him and saying, “you should probably put me down, Joel.” 

He gave a chuckle and pulled his cock out. His eyes made sure to catch the image of his cum seeping out of you before he let your skirt fall back down. 

“Dirty old man,” you playfully scolded him. 

Joel just smiled sheepishly as he fixed himself up. He kissed your forehead and tucked your hair behind your ear. 

“So,” he said. He looked down the entrance of the alleyway then back at you. 

“I have to go break-up with someone right now,” you said with a twinkle in your eye. 

Joel nodded and said, “good luck with that.” 

You laughed and started walking away as you said, “see ya later, Professor.” 

Joel couldn’t help but smile as he watched you walk away. And while he wasn’t sure what exactly this meant for the two of you, he damn sure felt better now than he did the day before.

Among the crowd in Professor Miller’s lecture hall, you typically sat in the front.  He hands out papers, hovering by your desk.  Giving you a look of disapproval, he places the grade face down.  You peel the pages in anticipation, a sense of dread falling over you when you scan the big, red mark of failings.  “Shit,” you say to yourself.  That was it.  That was the grade that was the defining factor of whether or not you had to retake this course.  You use the side of your hand to wipe sneaky tears in falling.  You failed.  Doing your best to keep it together, you’re not sure you even heard the rest of the lecture from the possibilities running through your mind.  What were you to do?  How would you recover?

Class was over before you knew it.  The sounds of bags zipping and feet stepping, you stayed seated until you were able to look over to Professor Miller.  Dressed in black slacks, a brown button-up with leather shoes.  His hair was slick, the slightest bit of salt and pepper patched at his sideburns.  He looked like he had it all figured out, and that struck a nerve.  A feeling of jealousy that he knew what he was doing, and you obviously did not.

Professor Miller calls your name when the class is emptied, and you sniffle, standing up to straighten your skirt.  Your manicured nails pick up your essay as you walk over in an attempt to hand it to him.  “I guess you want this back,” you hold your full bottom lip between your teeth.

“Did you read the material?”  Professor Miller inquires, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.  His voice is so dark and honied in comparison to his scowl.  Proving not to judge a book by its cover.  The irony.

“Well, I did, but… I struggle with this stuff.  Predicates and imagery?  I’d rather be learning about biology.  But I need this course, you know.  And I…,” you swallow hard.  God, the last thing you want is to embarrass yourself in front of your teacher.  He doesn’t know you, out of the hundreds of people he teaches – how could he possibly even remember your name?

“Hey,”  Professor Miller takes his glasses off, putting them on the table.  He looks as concerned as you are over it and crosses his arms.  Keeps his distance.  “It happens, you know.  There are things we can do to accommodate.  You’re very bright, I’d hate to see you fail.  You have options.  I can’t let you rewrite the paper, but I could tutor you for your final.  Another option is getting a student tutor, but it’s rare.  You know the workload of this university.  Not a lot of people are willing to sacrifice their precious time.”

“And you are?”  You look up at him with grateful, bright eyes and he loves it.  The praise just from your stare alone is cause for him to clear his throat.

“Listen, for someone like you, I believe it is important to help.  You just need a little more time understanding what you’re doing, is all.  I’m not in my office for the rest of the weekend, though.  You’d have to come by my house…,”  he watches those pretty eyes widen again, and that makes a smirk fall over his greying features, “if that’s okay, of course.  If it’s not, we could work something else out.”

You think about it.  You’ve never had a teacher invite you over, much less someone who looked the way he did.  Though, that was neither here nor there.  His lips formed words you couldn’t even pay attention half the time in hearing.  Maybe that was part of the reason why you were failing in the first place.  But you needed to pass, and if he could help you – and was so kind enough to do it in the first place, you should jump at the first opportunity.

“Okay.  Is there a particular time you’d like me to be there?”

“Are you busy tonight?”

What the fuck. That makes your heart race.  Tonight?  Tonight?!  Ton–

“Tonight… tonight is good.”  How did you even form the words?

“Perfect,” he started, bending down to write his address on a sticky note – his cologne wafts in your direction, and you clamp your legs shut reflexively.  “Here’s my address.  7 o’clock.”

“Seven.  Okay… thank you, Professor Miller.”

“Please, call me Joel.”  His teeth gleamed in a smile, and his personality shined through it.

A personality you didn’t get to see too often from your position behind a desk.

Shit.

---

According to your phone, he didn’t live very far from campus, and you were able to walk to his house without breaking too much of a sweat.  You decided on a black dress, although it was a casual one, that paired nicely with your sneakers.  It had buttons down the front with a relaxed collar.  Your bag slung over your shoulder when you knocked on his door, a nervousness fluttering in your stomach.  It was such a weird thing, meeting your professor in his home.  Much less having him request you call him by his first name.

Your knees all but buckled when you saw him on the other side of the door.

He looks… young in his jeans.  His t-shirt stretched over the broadness of his shoulders, but it’s still loose enough that it doesn’t look ill-fitted.  His stomach, soft at the bottom.  You flash him a smile, but internally you’re reeling over how casual he looks.  You’d never seen him like this, not even during those school meetings that were informal.

“Hey, you,” he’s bright, too.  Charismatic as he invites you into his home.  Takes your bag, lets you take your shoes off until you’re in your socks.  His words hit your stomach, how easy it is for him to talk to you like you’re the brightest sunflower.  What’d you even do to deserve it?

“Hi, Prof– uh, Joel,” you titter, taking in the curated decor of his home.  It was sophisticated, yet a little cheesy at the same time.  His alumni cover his walls and a mix of pictures.  Some with a couple of young girls you assumed were his children.  He has children, you swallow.

“Wasn’t too hard to find this place, right?  When I moved here, I wanted to make sure I wasn’t too far – not much of a mornin’ person,” Joel laughs and you do, too.  Fuck, this feels so easy.  But it’s nothing – it’s nothing.

What you don’t pick up on right away is his open body language.  He places your bag on his couch and you follow him like a puppy – he likes that.  You look so soft under the sienna hue of his lights, your hair falling into place naturally.  Plump and ripe for the taking.  Of course, he meant it when he said he’d tutor you, but the air got thick the moment the door was shut behind the two of you.  What were you doing to him?

Joel’s large frame walks over to his bar cart, turning on his heel to face you, “Interested?”

“Huh?” You blink and he laughs again at your deer caught in the headlights expression.  You’re cute.

“Do you drink?”

“Oh, uh… water would be nice.”

“Water it is,” Joel’s pleasant, gesturing his hand for you to follow him.  And you do – that puppy he was coming to know, right to his kitchen.  You study the marble countertops, the farmhouse style kitchen sink.

“So, tutoring,” he starts, taking a glass from the cupboard, he fills it with filtered water before handing it to you – you thank him with a nod, “I was thinking we could look at your paper, and then go over how to fix things in the future?”  When you take the water from him, your fingers graze.  The first sign of contact, your head continues to nod unthinkingly, but all that scorches your mind is how his skin feels.

“That sounds good,” you overcompensate, shoving the ideas from your mind.  He was your teacher, and it was easy to get back into the mode of why you were here.

Joel’s expression doesn’t change much, still the same grin with hooded eyes and wrinkles at his forehead.  The two lines between his brow.  “Alright, well I have it on the coffee table.  Let’s get settled on the couch, and we’ll get started, okay?”

So you agree.  You take your glass of water and follow him back to the couch where everything was set up – your paper, his laptop.  All of the correction marks in your face as you sit down.  You take another sip of water before placing it down on the coaster.  You dread it, you really do.  Going over your failures?  You scrunch your nose up to yourself, but Joel notices when you’re both settled on the cushions.

“You know, Voltaire said, ‘perfect is the enemy of good’,”  Joel bends his knee on the couch, thigh pressing into the cushion to turn to you and it causes the couch to shift.  The quote makes you giggle a little to yourself, and you shake your head.  “What?” His eyebrow quirks in curiosity.

“Voltaire also popularised the story of Newton’s apple, doesn’t make it true.”

“Huh…,” Joel trailed off, keeping his eye on you – his tongue skating over his bottom lip in thought.  You were so quick all he could really do was laugh, and that made your shoulders relax.  Makes you feel more in control and comfortable to laugh at yourself.  “You got an answer for everything?”

“Not everything.  See this,” you pick up your paper, thumbing over the ink of corrections the man on the couch made and you shrug, “I don’t really understand why this got marked wrong.”  Joel’s gaze flashes over your mouth when your teeth press into the plushness of your bottom lip – he should be given some damn award for having so much self control around you.

“Wrong format.  This citation works for your research papers, right?”  He nods with you before leaning in closer, that damn cologne coming back in full force just like earlier in the day.  You all but freeze when his warm touch graces you again – this time, fingers tracing over where you’re holding the paper.  “Oh,” your voice is soft, a bit of disappointment pangs at your ribs.  You were so busy you didn’t even realise that was the majority of the issues you had.

“So… it’s not really what I wrote, it’s how I wrote it?  You asked if I read the material?”

“Exactly.  If you read the syllabus, you’d see the required format.  Listen, there are some ways for extra credit, I do think this is salvageable.”

You suddenly feel silly.

You did all that work, Professor Miller was kind enough to let you into his home, and it was all for some redundant formatting.  An open palm curls over your chin as you look at the paper in deep contemplation.

“I really fucked up,” you say, hushed in the space.

“You didn’t fuck anything up,” you manage an exhale of amusement at the sound of your teacher curse.  You shift your gaze to look at him.  The curls at the nape of his neck, the way his t-shirt dropped enough so you could see his neck, his chest.  The freckles that splayed over his aged skin.  “You just needed someone to tell you what to do.”

That was the loaded statement.  And a pointed one, it seems.  Someone to tell you what to do.  And Joel wanted to be that person?  Your eyebrows raise for a flash, thumbing over the paper.

“That would be too easy,” you scratch at your neck idly before going for the glass of water, sipping in contemplation. “...I mean, I should’ve known better.”

Joel takes the glass from you, offering himself a sip of your water and it stuns you speechless, doing your best not to convey it.  Maybe he did that just because this was his house.  That must’ve been it.  He was comfortable, but goddamn – the eye contact he gave you when he swallowed the liquid.

It felt intentional.

He watches your features, vague as they were, in what to do next.  He honestly wasn’t so sure what he was doing either.  What?  I know how to give you extra credit, sweetheart.  Too forward, too boastful, too… cheap.  You deserved better than that.  He saw you in class, how hard you were on yourself.  He talked to your other teachers, how well you were doing in your other classes.  He felt for you.  And he was a bit lost in your eyes.  You were all too pretty, too brilliant to be dimmed down to a fuck for extra credit.  Joel could see that.  He wasn’t even sure what he was thinking, you had him distracted.  You threw him off without even trying.  The plight within him grew stronger as he handed back the glass.

“You’re too hard on yourself,” Joel straightens up, his hand cups over your forearm in a way that’s understanding, but also makes goosebumps rise.  You look down to see where you connect and he pulls away slightly.  “Sorry, I–,” “No, it’s okay,” you agree, “It’s okay.  You’re right.”

“It’s just, I see hundreds of bright, beautiful young people every year, but none of them have stood out to me like you.”  He can’t believe the words that are coming out of his mouth.  The candor, the nerve.  A filthy old man, that’s all he was in the eyes of someone as sweet and innocent as you were.  Even if you happened to be experienced – god, what was he thinking?!

Joel clears his throat, shifting a bit in his seat, but he sees the way your lips part, but your eyes don’t show an ounce of shock or distain.  They look soft, and… willing.  You know that is because the pull at your core feels too strong to think of anything else.  You look down at his left hand, making sure you’re not dreaming.  He’s not married?  You’d casually look at his hands from time to time during class and ignored the ache it gave you, but this?  So close?  Backed by the glow of his house?  It was so different from the boys you were used to.  In their dorms or disgusting apartments.  It smelled as nice as it looked.  You realise you’re not speaking, but the way you lean into him says more than you really ever could.

“I don’t know what to say,” shyly, you touch your knuckles to your cheek, “you should teach the guys that go here how to chat with someone.”

It’s a mutter, but not to yourself.  You drink one more mouthful of what you were offered before putting it back on the coaster.  Honestly, any distraction was welcome to defer from the ever-present density in the room.

“Those guys don’t know what they’re talkin’ about anyway.  I know I didn’t at that age.”

There.  The topic right in front of both of your faces.

“How old at you, anyway?”  You inquire, thumb mindlessly circling over your knee.  Joel tracks it, licking over his lips as he answers.  “Forty-six.  You?”

“Twenty-one.”

Fuck.  Fuck fuck fuck.

There’s this standstill, as if you’re both in the air together looking at each other in slow motion.  How will this land?  What are you both even doing here like this?

“I’m sure your boyfriend takes good care of you,” Joel’s eyes, round and bright brown, get lost in yours – the way your breath hitches, the shift of your thighs on his sofa.  He wondered what you tasted like, what sounds you make when these boys who don’t know what they’re doing with their tongue attempt to eat you out.  Do you fake it?  Do you give it to them straight?  Neither of you had a drink from that bar cart in the corner of the room, but somehow you’ve become closer – and more intoxicated.

“Don’t have one,” you respond softly, orbs flickering to the set of plush lips that grow more red the longer you let the tension build, “what about you?  N-no partner?”

Your attempt in confidence wavering the longer he stares at you.  It’s like staring back into the sun and you have your brows knit together until the tug of muscle makes your forehead hurt – smoothing them apart with the twitch of muscle fibers.

“No partner,” Joel’s hand settles on your thigh and you can’t hold it back; you gasp.  But you do something he doesn’t anticipate, or well, you don’t do something: you don’t pull away.

How did you two get to the topic, anyhow?

How did you end up straddling his lap, for that matter?

It’s within six eager seconds that his hand, hot and rough, touches your soft skin, and you – green, you – fervent, throw all inhibitions aside and lunge.  It’s more fluid than you realise, and his hands (both now) grip the backs of your bare thighs and you whimper at the sensation of him squeezing you.  Your wetness against your cotton panties grows from the kneading alone.  No, absolutely not, the boys back in the dorms didn’t know how to do this.

It takes an even shorter time for your mouths to meet.  He’s first to kiss, and he tastes like coffee and his dinner, and the faintness of a cigarette – maybe early in the day?  You couldn’t tell, your head was swimming too deep in now to come back from.

And although his calloused fingers roll patterns into your soft skin, he’s just as willing.  Just as desireful and you can feel it beg to be set free at the seam of his jeans.  His tongue skirts against yours, hips rolling up the second yours tempt to roll down; causing you both to moan in each other’s mouths.

It gets feverish after that.  All teeth, tongue, bite.

You don’t want to stop, you don’t want to take a moment to breathe because fuck, that could stop things.  That could make him realise what is happening.

But that only is another item to your list of naivety.

Because Joel, he’s ready.  His masculine arms wrap around your frame to lift you up just enough so he can get out of his fucking jeans that he now regrets wearing.  Shoulda been wearin’ sweats, but it’s effortless… eventually.  He hurriedly pushes the thick fabric down until they hit at his thighs and you’re pushed down onto his boxers that – holy fucking shit – leave nothing to the imagination.  “Joel, J-,” you pant between kisses, fingernails digging into the base of his neck, he pauses.  Pulls away, gets a good look at your face.

“Y’want this?” And goddamn, you can’t see yourself, but you imagine you look just as fucked out as he does.  On the cusp of every little fantasy he’s had about you from the moment you sat down behind that desk.

“I want this,” you repeat.  You weren’t sure exactly when the nerves subsided, maybe because all of the blood is now rushed at the apex of your thighs, but you mean it.

You want this.  You want Professor Miller.

“You got me,” his breath dances over your lips before guiding you back a bit, “here… I’m going to lie back, I want you to– I’ll show you.”  Your lips quirk up at the fact he’s so flushed he can’t even finish his sentence.

But that soon turns to you flushing when you realise his request.  “I – what?”

“No?”  Joel sits up on his elbows, looking over to you and you’re worried you’ve killed the mood.  It’s just, straddling his face?  Blood rushes to your cheeks.

“I’ve never done that… What if it’s bad?”  His eyes, reassuring, but a deep shade of black now beckons you.

“Darlin’, I think you’ll be a natural.  But I can teach you, if that’s what you want.”

You swallow, straddling his knees somewhere at the bottom of the couch and you think about it.

Joel, on the other hand, was living in a fantasy of teaching you things in and out of school.  Showing you how to make yourself feel good on his mouth – make you forget all about the essay that caused you grief today.  He leans over, pushing it under the couch out of view for good measure.

“Okay,” you agree, though nerves still flood you.  “Okay, you wanna take your panties off?”  You lick your lips at that, biting back another whimper that brought you to this predicament in the first place.  And you did – you wanted nothing more than to slip your underwear off and give into your pleasures.  His voice was deep, graveled with the prospect of him fucking you senseless on his couch and who were you to deny him that?

Who were you to deny yourself that, more importantly.

“Yeah,” doing as you say, you slip off your lace-trimmed undies and abandon them somewhere on your Professor’s floor.  “Fuck,” you mutter.  This was naughty.

“Already so good for me,” you weren’t even sure that Joel’s voice could get deeper, or more inviting, but it does.  You bite your lip and oblige when he pats his chest.  Going over to him, you straddle just above his broad shoulders, and he’s almost out of view with him like this – somehow making it easier to just feel what he could do to you.

Joel on the other hand?  All he can do is see the outline of your glistening core from the shadowed tent you’ve made of your dress and his groans are muffled slightly from the fabric, “Fuckin’ Christ,” he wants to devour you, but he takes his time instead.

Peppers kisses along your thighs that make you claw the armrest, causes you shiver at the contact and you can’t believe this is happening.  “J-Joel,” you hesitate, but his hands are wrapped around your hips now, fingers digging into the breadth of your ass.

“Sit.”  Joel commands.

Oh, fuck.

You’re almost certain you’ll break skin at your lips from biting down so hard, but you do as you’re told.  Anchoring down, it’s subtle at first – the brushing of his facial hair against your folds, his chin prying you apart.  Then, it’s incredibly palpable.  His lips are the first thing you feel as they press and kiss over your middle and as you shudder it only makes your muscles sink deeper on him.  You’re the first to moan, and then Joel, and his mouth is open when he invites you inside it.

“Oh, my god,” thighs shaking, Joel flattens his tongue under the hood of your clit, a body part you were certain hadn’t been touched by anyone else but yourself.  There was no time to compare, the white hot pleasure coursed through your veins and he took his time with it, too.  Made sure he was teasing you, his tongue dipping inside your entrance, as sloppy as it felt.  “Hmmn,” you can’t speak, forearms resting on the armrest now as your head hangs between your shoulders and his fingers make pliable work of your asscheeks.  Pushing you down, using your hips to move back and forth against his mouth – like he’s using you while you use him.

The air is thick under your dress, sticky and humid, as Joel swirls this tip of his devilish tongue in the most astonishing circles you’ve ever experienced, and you know it’s because he has more experience than you do.  Has so much to teach you, if you let him.  Your mouth hangs open as you try to inhale, but it’s just too much.  Especially with the way he thumbs into your stomach, then your pubic bone – lifting it just slightly to expose your clit to him.  An angle, not even you have found yourself.

It almost feels like too much.  It’s intentional, the way his tongue flicks over that bundle of nerves right at the top of your cunt.  Delicious, deliberate.  Two fingers greet your entrance and it startles you, the way he’s rubbing your hole with his two fingers in slow circles before pressing them where you want them most.

“Tell me you want it,” you hear, muffled and fucked, and you shiver at the slightest bit of lack of contact.

“I want it, I want your fingers – please!”

And that seems to send him over the edge of how much he’s willing to hold back because he’s exactly where he was.  Mouth on your clit, but fingers skillfully pressing inside of you and you don’t know how long you’ll last.  Not with the pads of his fingers tapping in the perfect tempo against the ridged spot inside you.

That’s when a weird sensation comes over you.  A pressure, you felt like you had to pee and your insides pulled in more trying to keep it all contained.  “I–,” you start, but it happens so suddenly.  Your orgasm rushes through you, convulsing and almost falling over the edge of the couch, you dig your fingernails into the upholstery.  Your eyes roll back, and fuck, so are your hips.  Unable to stop yourself using Joel’s mouth to keep you exactly right there.  Pleasure pricks your skin, it feels like every cell is ignited – but you jump when you feel a rush of fluid come out of you.  The pressure rebounding out, then rippling pleasure back inside you.  Joel fucks you with his tongue and fingers until he feels you calm down.

“W-what, what… did I do?” You pant, and Joel is groaning, too.  He lifts your hips to get lungfuls of oxygen, so dizzy on you and you notice how soaked his pair of fingers feel on your skin.  Sits you down on his chest and you can see his face finally.  Can see his mouth parting, gasping as his eyes are hooded and so gone.  Curls stick to his forehead, his shirt a dampened colour at the collar.  You blush heavily, embarrassed because you aren’t even sure what that was.  Did he hate that, was that weird?

“C’mere,” he growls with gritted teeth and sits up, the tables turning instantly.  Joel’s stripping his shirt off, kicking every last bit of the bottom half he had on to be abandoned on the floor.  His fingers remove the buttons, but he can’t really get them – those fingers too big for the buttons.  “Here,” you whisper, an intense feeling of lust falling over any self-conscious self talk you had.  You undo the top of your dress one button at a time until your breasts are released from your bra – you moan when he has no problem spilling your tits from the satin, nipples in stiff peaks from your orgasm.  And everything else.

“You know what you did?”  Joel asks, taking both of your nipples between his fingers from each hand.  You moan, lifting your hips and he bites his lip when he sees your cunt front under your dress.  “What was it?”  You ask, curiously.  Innocently.

“You squirted f’me, baby,” he slurs, thumbing over your clit now as he gets a good look at you and he’s drunk on you.  His cock throbbing against your thigh, he taps it against your skin before realising what he needed.

 “Fuck,” Joel mutters and you can tell by the tone it’s not just at your appearance.  “What is it?”  You inquire, eyebrows knit.

“Gotta get a condom,” you hear him mutter, getting onto one foot and you stop him.  “No.  No.  I want to feel you.  It’s okay, I don’t get pregnant–” well that sentence isn’t exactly how you mean for it to come out, but your mind is mush, your body feels boneless underneath him, and he chuckles at that.  At how gone your brain is.  Here he was, thinking he was the only one.  “Okay, okay, darlin’.  I believe ya.”

And really, maybe he should be using more discretion.  But he can’t get the feeling of you out of his head.  You were everywhere.  His mouth, his glistening chest and beard.  He takes you by the hips then, sitting back to flip you on your hands and knees with your help and you moan at the sensation.  Joel looks down at you, groaning of your ass in the air, pushing back for his cock.  “Such a needy little thing, now,”  it’s as if someone else is talking.  This isn’t the Professor Miller you know.  This man has layers and you’re first in line to know exactly what that entails.

Joel takes the base of his cock, bobbing it as it throbs alive in his hand and runs through your slick with the head of it.  “So fucking wet.  Beginning to think you’ve been wanting this for as long as I have.”

You bite a whine and he can see the back of your head nodding as you crane your neck back enough to make eye contact, but his eyes fall down to your ass pressing eagerly on his cock.  Doing your best to press him inside yourself.

“Go ahead,” he slaps his cock on your folds and you mewl at the wet sounds coming from it.  “Take my cock.”

And take, you do.  Joel holds it out for you, keeps it steady and you push back slow on his cock.  Clenching around the head and he growls at that.  “You dirty thing.  This how you fuck all your teachers?”  It burns your skin, pushing your face into your arm and you shake your head.

“Words.” He warns.

“Just you!  Just you, Joel!”

“Just me,” he parrots, hissing when you shift back and you both twitch and groan when you take him to the hilt of you.  It was so thick, stretching you out until you felt split apart from him.  “Just me, show me then.  Show me how you fuck me.”

You bite into your arm then, choking on a sob as you push your ass back over and over.  Your cunt taking him deep like this, it almost feels like too much and not enough at once.  Torturously slow against the spongy spot again

 It felt so amazing taking him yourself, but it was like an itch you couldn’t scratch on your own.  The tapping of his balls against your clit was too far apart in tempo, his cock speared inside you at a pace that didn’t have quite the same leverage as Joel did behind you.

His hands busied themselves on your ass, peeling the muscle apart – pressing his digits to leave bruises and just when you think it’s too much to take, he gives you something else.  His spit falling from his lips right to the velvet of your asshole.  You shudder and flutter around him when it falls to where you’re connected.  Your fingertips grip the other armrest now, cheek resting atop of your hand and you can’t do it yourself anymore.  “Fuck me, Joel!  Professor Miller, please!”

“Shit – you know where to push, don’t you?”  Joel’s wide hands slide up your sides, keeping them locked in place as he pulls your hips to him at first.  Using your whole lower body, your head hands doing your best to keep yourself up but you’re so close when he uses you like this.  When he picks up the pace and you let your head fall on his throw pillow – your screams of desire are targeted into the plush cushion.

Joel is bound up in amazement behind you.  How you feel around him, your gorgeous figure in front of him as he gives you every bit of power he can now.  His hips hammering into you, but with the right amount of speed – not too fast, not too slow.  The sound of his balls slapping against your clit is faster now, and the difference is what you focus on.  The way it sounds.  Joel feels you tighten, pulse around his own pulse and he has to say something to you.  Has to talk you through it, even if he’s not sure you’ll like it.

“So fuckin’ good for me,” he drapes his body over your back, huffing into your ear as the controlled weight of him pushes your ass down just enough to make your thighs shake.  You are soaked, sticky against his abdomen, between your thighs.  Over your own stomach.  You move your face so you can feel his skin closer against your.  His lips staying on your cheekbone, he grunts and nods.

“That’s it, fuckin’ take it.  I know you can take it.  Those shaky fuckin’ thighs better hold on.”

You feel yourself coil and he is quick to sooth over your hips with his palms.

“Relax, baby.  That’s it, that’s good, darlin’.  Shh, easy.  Do you feel that heat?”

You nod hopelessly, the buildup was so strong you couldn’t do anything but curl your fingers into fists and whimper repeatedly.

“Give into that heat.  Come for me, I know you can be so good for me.  Good for – fuck – fuck.  Good for my cock,” Joel groaning in your ear makes you flutter uncontrollably, and he wastes no time in wrapping his arm around your front, rolling quick circles at the split of your cunt, right at your clit.  “Milkin’ my fuckin’ cock like that, don’t stop.  Don’t fuckin’ stop,” he grits, and you’re gasping.

Clawing at the pillow, head craning up and back as you come.  Mouth gaped, Joel takes advantage – pouring his tongue into it, swirling and drinking you while his cock bottoms into you repeatedly until he can’t take it anymore.  You feel too good.  Perfect, even.

“Joel!” Your whine is high, as your wet folds take his merciless shoves.  “You feel so good, youfeelsogood!”  Your lip quivers, jerking in aftershocks that feel a lot like multiple orgasms.  You aren’t even sure how you feel, but he knows he has to pull out.  So he tells you, rough and pained against your ear.  He doesn’t want to any more than you do.  But as soon as he does, that reward feels just as sweet.

He exhales roughly through his nose, a popping sound filling the room when he pulls out.  Not even needing to touch himself to spill himself over the small of your back.

“Fuck,” he’s out of breath, grunting, and doing his best not to collide into you.  You’re still, the nape of your neck dews with sweat and you can feel it stick to your dress instantly.

“Stay there,” Joel pulls away, and you sit up on your elbows now that you’re fully flat and study his frame walk into the kitchen.

The back of him is just as irresistible as the front.

You hum hungrily at the landscape of his back.  But you do as you say, you don’t move a muscle.  When he comes back, you take note of the splotches of his chest, his neck red and sheened with sweat, too.  He’s just as disheveled.  The paper towel he comes back with is rough against your lower back, but tickles more than anything else.

Makes you wriggle and laugh.

“What did I say?”  He threatens, but his voice is much more smoother and tender.  More playful.  More like what you’re used to.

“Tickles!”

“You must endure it if you know what’s good for you.”  he’s finished enough for you to roll over.  You pull your tits back into your bra with another low laugh, but to yourself at how exposed and a mess you’re sure you look on your professor’s couch.

“I think I like that threat.”

“No more,” and that makes your heart drop.  He must be able to see the disappointed look on your face, so he rephrases his sentence in an instant.  “No more tonight.”

“Maybe I should be teaching you the importance of ambiguity.”

“Next lesson.”

Your heart soars just as fast as it dropped.

---

While you slip on your sneakers, you turn your heel to him – bag in tow.  “Listen, I don’t want this to be why I passed.”

“It’s not – it won’t be,”  Joel chews up the space between you – his hand pressing against the doorframe that your delicate hand adorns at the knob, fully dressed himself, now.  “You will pass by your own volition.  I meant it – you are bright.  You won’t let anybody take that from you, will you?” You knew that wasn’t a question as he tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear, but you still swayed your head ‘no’.

“Not even me.”  He whispers, pressing his lips to your forehead before dropping his arm – allowing you to leave.  And that’s exactly what he’ll let you believe.

“Especially not you.”  You smile, leaning up to kiss his lips – your flavour lingers over his facial hair and tongue.  Your panties in his pocket.

“Goodnight, Professor Miller.”

“Goodnight, doll.”

October 12th, 2023

Joel’s alarm blared in the morning, waking you and him up from your peaceful slumber. He reaches over you and snoozes it, yawning deeply as he settles back in against you.

“What time is it?” You mumble.

“6:30.” He hums.

“Ughhhh…” You sigh, eyes still closed.

“You should head back and at least get changed before class.” He reasons.

“Mhm.” You agree, starting to snore again.

His soft laugh wakes you once more. “Babygirl, come on.” He gently shakes your shoulder.

“Alright.” You grumble, yawning loudly as you roll onto your back.

You lay there for a couple seconds before sitting up and rubbing your eyes.

Joel sits up, too. He groans as he stretches his back. You hear a couple pops and then he moans in relaxed pleasure.

You both get up and you get into your clothes from yesterday. Joel starts putting on his professional outfit for the day.

Once you’re dressed, you step into the bathroom behind Joel.

He’s facing the mirror, tying his neck tie. You wrap your arms around his waist from behind, pressing your face into his back.

“I’ve gotta go.” You sigh.

“I’ll see you later, honey.” He turns around in your arms and leans down to kiss you.

“See you later.” You smile against his lips.

After lingering for a minute, you finally pull back and leave the room. You head down the hall into the living room and put on your shoes and grab your purse. You call out a final “bye!” as you let yourself out.

You get in your car and head back to campus, returning to your dorm by 7:30.

You change your clothes and braid your hair, putting on a comfy pair of black joggers and a cropped Pink Floyd t shirt. You then put on a warm, fleece lined jean jacket along with your favorite pair of sneakers.

You grabbed one of your other few scarves, having forgotten your thick one in your passenger seat. It still covers the hickey pretty well.

There’s still a few minutes before you need to head to class, so you sit on your bed and make sure you’ve got everything in your bag.

Shit, Joel still had your notebook. Probably in his bag. You’d have to get it after class, take notes on your laptop today.

***

The walk to class is cool and crisp, the fall air feeling good but not so cold that it bites.

You slipped into the classroom at 8:55, going to sit next to Ellie.

“Hey.” You smile at her.

“Hey. How’s it going?” She asks.

“Really good. Mostly.” You shrug.

“Mostly?” She asks for clarification.

“Well, uh, John asked me to be his girlfriend. Which is great. But um, ran into someone unpleasant last night.” You sigh, remembering the asshole’s face at Joel’s door yesterday.

“Oh shit. Are you okay?” Ellie places a hand on your shoulder.

“I think so. It just… brought back some traumatic memories.” You frown.

“If you ever need to talk, I’m here for you.” Ellie says softly.

You know she’s genuine. “Thank you.” You smile weakly.

She pulls her hand away. “Of course. Anytime.”

You nod and the both of you get out your laptops and assigned reading book.

Joel walks into the classroom at 9 on the dot, greeting the class before closing the room’s doors.

You smile at the sight of him, thinking about the domesticity of yesterday. The way he held you last night. The way he comforted you when-

You sigh quietly, brain starting to go to dark places.

You wondered if that asshole even remembered you. You sure remember him. You couldn’t even manage to let yourself think his name. Though you would never forget it.

Your heart starts beating faster, fight or flight kicking in. All you want to do is run up to Joel and make him embrace you so tight that you forget everything.

Your mind is blank during class. Numb.

You dip out a few minutes early, not wanting to say goodbyes to Ellie or Joel or anyone.

The walk back to your dorm goes faster than usual, the way your rage and fear were fueling you to get there as soon as you could.

The second you step inside and close the door, you collapse.

It’s a blur of crying and screaming into your pillow over the next couple hours.

You think you cried yourself to sleep at one point. But only for a little while.

You come back to full consciousness around noon, looking at your phone without a feeling inside of you.

Joel: Why’d you leave early? - 10:07am

Joel: You okay? - 10:15am

Ellie: Hey, you good? I know you mentioned seeing someone that brought up bad memories - 10:46am

Joel: MISSED CALL - 11:03am

Joel: Baby I’m worried - 11:04am

Joel: I’m coming to your dorm after this class - 11:37am

Joel: I’ll be there in 10 mins - 12:02pm

You look at the time on your phone’s screen.

12:09pm.

He should be here soon.

You sit up and grab a couple tissues, wiping your snotty nose. You rub your hands down your face to get rid of the tear stains.

Silence.

Then a knock on the door.

You force yourself up and walk over to answer the door.

“Hi.” You say weakly, barely meeting Joel’s gaze.

He gently pushes past you into the room and you shut the door slowly.

“Baby, what’s going on?” Joel puts his hands on your shoulders when you turn towards him.

“The um,” you sniff. “The guy from last night.” You frown, immediately starting to cry again.

He pulls you in, giving you a tight hug.

You sob for several minutes while he strokes your hair and listens while you let it all out.

“Fucking piece of fucking shit.” You mutter. “He fucking- it’s not fair!”

Joel keeps holding you.

“I didn’t want it.” You cry. “He wouldn’t stop. I told him to stop touching me and he-“ you cut yourself off with a gasp for air.

Joel shushes you softly. Not because he wanted you to stop talking, but because he wanted you to calm down enough to say whatever you needed to say.

“It’s not fair.” You shake as you exhale.

He lets your breathing even out during the long silence. You don’t say anything else until he pulls back to look at you.

“What?” You sniffle.

“It’s not fair.” He shakes his head. “No one should ever have to go through that.”

You nod in agreement.

He pulls his hands off your shoulders, cupping your face and then swiping his thumbs across your cheeks to rid the tears there.

“I’m-“ you sigh. “I’m sorry, but… I need to be by myself right now.”

Joel nods. “Are you gonna be okay?” He asks, really meaning safe.

You know what he’s asking.

“Yeah. I’ll be okay.” You nod, tears welling up in your eyes again.

He kisses your forehead and then heads for the door.

“Can I text you to check in sometime tomorrow?” He asks.

You nod with a small smile. “I’ll be in class. I think. But, I just need time to myself outside of it.”

“Okay, honey. See you tomorrow.” He gives you a sympathetic look.

“See you tomorrow.” You give a little wave and he leaves, the door shutting gently.

You sit down on your bed, then lay back down. You silently cry yourself to sleep again.

***

You wake up around 3pm, body tired and mind too loud. You couldn’t stop thinking of what happened last year. What that motherfucker did to you.

Part of you wanted to text Joel and say “never mind, come over”. But you knew you needed to spend time processing this by yourself.

You thought you’d processed it further than this. But you’ve only had therapy appointments twice since the whole thing happened.

You spend some time journaling, which makes you angry.

You spend some time pacing your room to try and get some energy out.

You get tired and lay down and cry some more.

You finally drag yourself back out of bed to go to the bathroom. When you get back, you warm up a mini microwave pizza.

The microwave dings and you take the pizza out, staring at it with disinterest. You sigh and let it cool off as you put on some sad indie music.

You manage to eat half the mini pizza before your body decides you don’t want the rest. You throw the plate in your garbage can and grab your shower kit and bathrobe.

You head across the hall to the bathroom and take a long, scalding hot shower. You felt like your skin was going to melt off but it felt refreshing as fuck.

After getting dried off, you got your robe on and headed back to your room. You lay down, hair still wet, and grab your phone.

You scroll social media for awhile, watching random videos and swiping through pictures on Instagram.

You finally text Ellie back.

You: Yeah I’m okay, just sulking

Ellie: Do you need anything?

You: No. But I appreciate it 🖤

Ellie: See you tomorrow?

You: Probably

Ellie: 💕

You put your phone down, plugging it in and setting your alarms before rolling over and falling asleep.

***

October 13th, 2023

Friday was finally here. You were relieved when you realized this upon waking up.

You turn off your alarms and lay there for a few minutes, trying to decide if you were going to go to classes today.

You would at least get dressed and see if you felt better.

So, you did. You got up and got into a comfy outfit, grabbing your bag and looking in the mirror.

Yeah. You could do this.

You leave your room in plenty of time to get a hot chocolate on the way to class.

You sip at it as you walk into the English lit room, seeing Joel was as early as you were.

No one else had shown up yet.

You sit in the second row and Joel greets you.

“Hey.” He smiles softly.

“Hi.” You return the expression before breaking eye contact and getting your things out of your bag.

“Hey, can you give me-“ you’re stopped when a notebook slides onto the table in front of you.

“Here you go.” Joel’s voice is quiet, aching.

“Thank you.” You blush softly, looking up at him through your lashes.

“No problem.” He breathes. He stares at you for a long moment before he nods and walks back to the podium at the front of the room.

You grab your notebook, bringing it closer and opening it. You flip through the pages to find where you left off.

You don’t even notice other people walking in when you spot a note in someone else’s handwriting.

Handwriting you could recognize as Joel’s.

Hey sweetie, I know you’re taking some time for yourself, but I want you to know I’m always here if you need anything. Find your peace, my love -J

Your eyes teared up as you looked up to Joel. He was already staring at you.

You couldn’t help the tears that started to run down your cheeks. You wiped at them right away, trying to hide that you were crying at all.

You take in a quiet, shaky breath as you smile softly at Joel. Only for a moment.

You pull yourself together right on time, Ellie sliding into the spot next to you. You quickly turn your notebook to the next page to hide the note.

“Hey, Y/n.” Ellie smiles at you.

You know your eyes are probably glossy but you smile at her anyways. “Hey.”

She can tell you’re not in the mood to chat, so she just gives you a subtle nod before looking down at her bag to pull her stuff out.

Joel’s note is all you can think about during the whole class. You wanted to kiss him so badly.

Class ends and you grab a snack from the cafeteria before heading to your other two classes of the day.

***

You come back to your dorm around 3pm and take a long nap.

You wake up at about 6pm and fix yourself some frozen microwave pasta. You’re waiting for it to cool off when your phone buzzes on your nightstand.

You walk over and check it, seeing a text from your boyfriend.

Joel: How are you, honey?

You: A little better

Joel: Good. You need anything?

You: No I’m okay, but thanks ❤️

Joel: Of course ❤️

You: And thank you for the sweet note

Joel: Any time baby

You: I’m gonna take the weekend to therapize myself. Can I text you if I need you?

Joel: Absolutely

You: I’ll see you Monday 💕

Joel: See you then sweetie

***

October 14th, 2023

Saturday, you sleep till noon and then work on homework for several hours.

You finally leave your room to go get dinner at the cafeteria. Thankfully they had one of your favorites; burgers and fries.

You ate happily, glad the cafeteria had some weekend hours. But you should go grocery shopping soon.

***

October 15th, 2023

Sunday, you wake up at 10am and take a shower, get dressed in something that feels good, and head out to do grocery shopping.

It’s going fine until you think you see him again and you abandon your cart to run out to your car and have a full blown panic attack.

You’re panting, gasping, crying, body shaking.

You manage to pull your phone out of your purse and call Joel.

“Hello?” He answers.

You’re gasping for air and he immediately becomes worried.

“Woah, hey, what’s going on?” He asks, concern thick in his voice.

“I’m-“ you sob. “I thought I saw-“ you let out another wail. “I can’t even f- fucking grocery shop without-“ you stutter.

“Did you see him again? Where are you?” Joel sounds like he’s getting up and moving around.

“No, but, but-“ your voice breaks. “I’m at Walmart and… someone looked like-“

“Stay right there. I’m coming to you.” You hear keys jingle and a door shut in the background of the call.

“Okay.” You choke out. “Please- please don’t hang up.”

“Never.” He coos. You hear a car door and then an engine starting.

You were thankful you knew you were only 7 or 8 minutes away from his house.

“Tell me about your day yesterday.” Joel’s voice is calm and soothing compared to your racing thoughts.

“I um… I slept- slept in.” You explain between sobs. “And… and I, I,” you start to breathe hard again.

“Honey, you gotta calm down, okay? Take a deep breath for me?” He asks.

You try to take a single, long breath in, but struggle. You manage to take several small gasps, and then let out a broken exhale.

“I can’t!” You cry.

“Yes, you can.” He encourages. “Try again.”

You take in a slightly smoother breath in, and breathe it out in a single, smooth breath.

“There you go.” He praises you. “Keep trying. And keep telling me about yesterday.”

You’re able to slow your breathing a little as you speak. “And um, I- I did a bunch of homework.”

“Good girl.” He hums, and it really calms you. “That’s really good.”

“Yeah… and I had- I had a burger for dinner.” You sigh, adrenaline starting to wear off.

“What was on it?” He asks.

“Cheese… lettuce and onion… um, mayo. Ketchup.” You sniffle.

“Good. That sounds great, honey.” His voice is soft.

“Y- yeah. It was good.” You close your eyes.

“I’m pulling into the parking lot. Where are you?” He asks.

“I’m in my car. Straight out from the grocery entrance.” You manage to speak without stuttering this time.

You see Joel’s car pass behind you and pull into a spot across from you. He gets out of his car quickly and comes to your passenger door.

You unlock it and let him in.

He sits down and closes the door, not missing a beat before he grabs your hand in his larger ones, holding it gently.

“Are you feeling any better?” He asks.

“I am now.” You smile at him softly.

“Good.” He nods, leaning forward to press his forehead against yours.

You take a deep breath, loving the smell of his soap and cologne.

He reaches up and tucks a piece of hair behind your ear.

“Do you want me to go in with you? Did you get your shopping done?” He hums.

“No… I left it all in the middle of the store.” You laugh at yourself.

“That’s okay. Should we get you home?” He breathes.

“I don’t have anything to eat.” You sigh.

“I’ll buy you lunch. And then I’ll get you some groceries.” He offers.

“That’s so sweet, but… I can’t ask you to do that…” you move forward to kiss his lips.

He sighs softly against you.

You start to speak again. “What if I came over to your place?”

“Yes.” He nods. “Yes, please.” He coos.

“I’ll cook for you.” He adds. “And you can’t say no.”

You hear the smile in his voice, making you smile. “I accept.” You laugh a little.

You sigh softly. “I’ll go pack a bag. I’ll be over in an hour.”

“Okay.” He breathes, kissing you one more time. “I’ll see you soon.” He pulls back and opens the door.

“See you, baby.” You smile.

“Bye, sweetie.” He gets out of the car and closes the door.

You watch him walk back to his car in your rear view mirror before you start your car up and head back to your dorm.

You quickly pack a bag and then leave again, heading to Joel’s house.

You knock when you get there and he answers the door with a soft smile. “Hi, honey.”

“Hi, baby.” You smile back, feeling a lot better than earlier.

You slip off your shoes as he closes the door. You quickly embrace him and bury your face in his neck, taking a deep breath.

His scent comforts you like no other smell could. Not lavender. Not warm cinnamon rolls. Not even hot coffee.

He wraps his arms around your waist and holds you close. “How you feeling?” He asks.

“So much better.” You hum against his collarbone.

“Good.” He coos.

He presses his nose to your hair, breathing in your aroma too.

“Smell so good. Always.” He whispers.

“I was just thinking the same about you.” You laugh and pull back to look at him.

He looks at you for a few seconds, eyes roaming your face before he leans in and kisses you.

You sigh softly against him, running your tongue over his bottom lip. He lets it in and swirls it with his, making out with you in earnest.

You both continue grazing your hands over each other’s bodies while kissing, letting it all last a few minutes.

Joel finally pulls back. “Can I make you lunch?”

“Yeah.” You nod.

He grabs your hand and pulls you into the kitchen, pulling out a stool for you to sit on.

You sit and watch as Joel looks in the fridge and tries to decide what he wants to make.

“How does a grilled pb and j sound?” He looks over his shoulder at you.

“Fucking amazing.” You laugh.

“Good.” He nods and pulls jelly from the fridge. He gets peanut butter from the cupboard but then pauses. “Creamy or crunchy?”

“Crunchy, if you have it.” You grin.

“Always.” He nods, glad he’d already grabbed the right jar.

He grabs his bread and pulls out 4 pieces. He lightly butters one side of each piece before getting out a large frying pan and putting it on the stove.

He turns the burner on and lays the four pieces of bread in the pan, butter face down.

You watch his large hands hold a seemingly small butter knife, dipping it into the jelly first.

He spreads jelly on two pieces, crunchy peanut butter on the other two. Then he waits.

He turns to look at you with a big smile on his face. “How were the rest of your classes Friday?”

You shrug. “Alright. Had a lot of homework yesterday, though.”

“Sorry.” He half frowns.

“It’s okay.” You get up and walk to him, putting your hands on his chest and leaning into his body.

“What’re you doin?” He smirks.

“Just wanna touch you.” You hum.

“Yeah?” He teases, cupping your face with both hands.

“Yeah.” You whisper and nod.

He leans down to kiss you, one hand moving down to hold the side of your neck, thumb rubbing against your collarbone.

You whine at the feeling, it reminding you of when he punished you and choked you. It was making you wet so quickly.

You wrap your arms around his waist, hands splayed over his low back as you make out.

He pushes you backward until your butt hits the kitchen island.

“Get up, baby.” He growls, helping you lift yourself onto the counter.

It was at perfect height for Joel to rub his hardness against your center, making you moan.

You were only wearing leggings and a thin pair of panties, the friction feeling amazing.

Joel removed your sweater, cupping your bralette covered breasts as he kissed you hard.

You reach down and undo his belt, unzipping his jeans and reaching in to cup him.

He groans against your lips as you start to rub him through his boxers. “Fuck.” He curses, pulling your bralette up to your armpits, revealing your chest to him.

He pinches your nipples as you keep stroking him, and he finally decided he needed to be inside you.

“Take them off.” He pats your leg, meaning your pants.

You start to scoot yourself out of your leggings and panties while he undoes his pants the rest of the way and pushes them down with his underwear.

You spread your legs and kiss him, holding his hips and bringing them closer. He pushes into you slowly. Raw. Hot. Wet.

“Oh… fuck, yeah!” You gasp, hands moving up to his shoulders to hang on for dear life.

He starts thrusting, slow and even. But it’s only a minute before he speeds up.

He puts his face in your neck and you look over his shoulder at the bread in the pan.

“J- Joel-“ you whine. “The food; it’s burning.”

“Don’t care.” He mumbles against the side of your throat.

This makes you moan, one hand tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. You pull on it and he groans, hips stuttering but then finding their rhythm again.

You wrap your legs around him, encouraging him to get deeper, go harder. “Yesyesyes…” you whisper.

You tug his hair harder and his hips falter once again.

“You like that?” You murmur.

He nods against your upper chest.

You move both hands into the hair behind his ears and pull.

He lets out of pitiful, porn worthy sound as his cock twitches inside of you.

“Baby, I-“ he shakes.

“Come on, baby, cum for me.” You encourage, squeezing around him.

“Inside?” He cautions, still thrusting.

“Please, professor.” You whine.

And then he’s shooting into you, his hands tightening hard on your hips. This spurs you on, feeling yourself orgasm around him as he pounds into you.

You’re both panting when he kisses you, passionate and feral.

The kitchen smells terrible, you both begin to realize as Joel slows down and pulls out of you.

“Ugh.” You plug your nose as Joel pulls his pants up and zips, buttons, and buckles.

“I’m gonna go dump this outside. Let the wildlife eat it.” He laughs, going to his back door and flicking the pan so that the burnt bread goes out into the small backyard.

You chuckle at it all, standing up. “I’ll be right back.”

You awkwardly walk out of the kitchen and to the master bathroom.

“I won’t burn these ones!” He calls after you, making you giggle.

You go pee and clean yourself up, walking back to the kitchen a minute later. You get dressed and he smiles at you while he waits for the new sandwiches cook.

“What?” You look at him as he stares.

“You’re just… everything about you is…” he shakes his head. “I don’t have words.” He shrugs, moving forward and kissing you softly.

You smile into it, pulling back after a moment. “Hopefully in a good way.” You joke.

“Always in a good way.” He nods, turning back to the food and putting the sandwiches together on a large plate.

He cuts them diagonally and puts the plate on the counter in front of you. “Careful, it’s hot.”

Your stomach has butterflies at that, the way he was cautioning you although you’re an adult and realize that the food just came off a hot pan. But it wasn’t in a condescending way, more of a deeply caring way.

You both stand there, staring at the plate for a minute before you both become impatient and reach for pieces at the same time.

You laugh and Joel bumps his half of a sandwich into yours. “Cheers.” He grins.

“Cheers.” You nod.

You simultaneously take bites and moan softly, looking at each other.

“That’s so good.” You hum around the bite of food.

“Thank you.” He winks.

You eat in a comfortable silence, finishing your sandwiches within a couple bites of each other.

You grab yourself a glass and get some water, taking a few long gulps and sighing. You then yawn so big it makes your eyes tear up.

“Holy shit, I’m tired.” You grumble.

“Let’s go nap.” He tilts his head towards the hallway.

“Yes please.” You nod, leading him to the bedroom after he turns off the stovetop.

You both crawl into bed after getting naked, wanting to feel every inch of each other and the warmth you have together.

You settle back against Joel as the little spoon, his arms wrapping around you from behind.

He starts to snore first, but you’re only a couple minutes behind, falling asleep quickly.

***

Joel’s phone started buzzing and it woke him up. He reached over you to grab it, seeing that it was his brother calling.

With him stirring, it slowly woke you up.

“Tommy?” He answers the phone, trying not to sound too sleepy.

“Hey. Comin’ over soon.” You hear the man on the other line say.

“What?” Joel is suddenly very alert.

“Sunday dinner. It’s at your house tonight, yeah?” The other voice asks.

“Shit. Yeah. Um, fuck.” Joel curses.

“What’s wrong?” The man’s voice comes through concerned.

“Well, I-“ Joel starts. “My girlfriend is here.” He looks at you as you turn your head to look at him over your shoulder.

“Girlfriend? Oh-ho-ho, Joel’s got a girlfriend.” The man teases.

“He what?!” You hear a woman say.

“Well, I’m excited to meet her.” You can hear him still taunting. “We’ll be over in 15 minutes.”

“Alright. Uh, see you soon.” Joel gulps and hangs up the phone. He collapses back onto his pillow.

“I fucking forgot about Sunday dinner.” He shakes his head, shaming himself.

“I can go, if-“ you start to say but Joel cuts you off.

“No!” He says, pleading. “No. Baby, I want you to meet the important people in my life. This was just a little sooner than I expected.” He blushes.

“Well lucky for you have clothes besides pajamas with me. Let’s get dressed before they get here… and wipe down the kitchen counters.” You laugh a little.

Joel rolls his eyes and chuckles. “Yeah. Good idea.”

You both get up and quickly get dressed.

Joel put on black jeans and a white Rolling Stones t shirt. You put on blue jeans and a black sweater.

You both looked good.

You went into the living room to arrange the coffee table while Joel wiped down… used surfaces in the kitchen.

He came into the living room and as he was about to speak, the doorbell rang.

You stood there, slightly stunned. You wondered what Joel’s brother and his… wife? girlfriend? would be like.

Joel gives you a calm look as he walks to the door. He answers it and lets the two people in.

The man wasn’t quite as tall as Joel but had similar hair; with less grey. He had a great mustache and a nice smile.

The woman was beautiful, definitely very pregnant, and carrying a large paper bag.

“Hey, Joel.” His brother pats him on the shoulder.

“Tommy, Maria, this is Y/n.” Joel smiles and puts a hand on your lower back.

“Hi.” You smile, reaching a hand out you Tommy first. “Nice you meet you.”

You shook hands with him, then Maria, reaching for the bag she was carrying. “Can I take this to the kitchen for you?” You offer.

“That would be great.” She smiles, handing the bag to you and following you to the kitchen.

You hear Tommy whisper to Joel. “She’s a bit young, isn’t she?”

Your heart sinks a little but you try not to let it get the better of you.

“It looks like you’ve helped Joel keep the house clean.” Maria laughs, sitting on a stool next to the island.

“I’m trying.” You laugh and set the bag on the counter, pulling out various things. French bread, fancy cheeses, grapes, a couple kinds of meat, and two different types of crackers. You knew exactly what to do with everything, except for the bread.

“What did you want to do with this?” You hold it up to ask Maria.

“We’re making spaghetti and garlic bread. Joel said he’d have the rest of the stuff.” She smiles.

Joel and Tommy walk into the kitchen then, having finished their short and private conversation.

“Yeah.” You nod. “Joel?” You turn to him. “Noodles? Sauce?” You’re nervous, knowing he’d forgotten about the dinner completely.

“Yeah. Yes.” He smiles and opens up a couple different cupboards, grabbing sauce and pasta, then reaching into the fridge for ground beef.

You and Maria start to set up the charcuterie board while the men start the meat sauce and noodles.

“So, how long have you two been together?” Maria asks Joel.

“Officially? Less than a week. Unofficially… a few weeks.” He responds.

“How’d you meet?” She looks at you now.

Joel is facing you, Tommy turned towards the stove and Maria facing you, neither of them able to see Joel’s face.

He shakes his head at you, eyes wide, signaling for you to lie.

“Oh, online.” You shrug, playing it cool.

“I didn’t know Joel knew how to work dating apps.” Tommy jokes.

Joel elbows his brother in the side.

Maria barely keeps herself from laughing.

You’re blushing now, knowing you and Joel would have to come up with a whole story if the couple continued to ask questions.

“How’d he win you over?” Maria asks, popping a grape into her mouth.

“I’d say it was when he brought me soup one day when I was really sick.” You smile at Joel, over Maria’s head. “That’s how I knew I wanted to be with him.”

Tommy taps Joel on the shoulder to have him check on the water. It must’ve been boiling because he put the noodles in a moment later.

“And what about you, Joel?” Maria asks.

Joel finishes putting the pasta in the water before turning around, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms. He didn’t have to think very long. “The first time we went to Jo’s for coffee.” He grins at you.

You both knew early on that you wanted each other, and hearing it from him made your heart swell.

“That was a good day.” You smile at him.

“It was.” He walks over and kisses your cheek.

You close your eyes and sigh happily. When Joel pulls away, you open your eyes again.

“You two are pretty cute together, I gotta say.” Tommy adds.

“Thanks.” You and Joel say in unison.

The rest of dinner preparation goes smoothly, no more prying from Maria.

You all move into the dining room to eat, serving up family style with everything out on the table.

You’re all so tempted by the food that the conversation fades away while you all eat.

Once everyone starts to get full, you each sit back.

“How far along are you?” You ask Maria.

“Thirty-six weeks.” She smiles.

“Almost there.” Tommy smiles.

“Joel said he came over to help you build a crib and a changing station or something?” You ask.

“Yep. We only fought three times.” Tommy laughs.

“Well that’s good.” You laugh too.

“Better than most days.” Maria adds with a roll of her eyes.

“Oh, come on, we’re not that bad.” Joel defends.

“Not usually, no.” Maria chuckles.

There was a slightly awkward silence, then. You and Joel both feeling tense. Maria and Tommy could probably tell, which only made you more tense.

“Well,” Tommy starts.

“Yeah.” Joel nods.

“We should go.” Maria looks at Tommy, a secret signal in her eyes.

“We can clean up.” You offer for you and Joel.

“Thank you.” Tommy smiles.

“It was delicious.” Maria adds.

Everyone stands up, Joel hugging Maria first while you shook Tommy’s hand again.

Maria came to hug you next, while the brothers hugged each other briefly.

You say your goodbyes and the couple left.

You and Joel breathe a huge sigh of relief, glad you made it through the surprise dinner.

“That was…” you start.

“I know. I’m sorry, honey. I completely forgot-“ Joel speaks in a panicked voice.

“Fun.” You finish your sentence.

“What?” He raises a brow.

“Yeah. They’re nice.” You smile. “Maria was asking a lot of questions, though.”

He nods and laughs. “She sure was.”

You didn’t have to ask Joel why they couldn’t know how you really met each other. And it didn’t hurt your feelings.

You didn’t need Joel to publicize everything just to prove he had feelings for you. You didn’t need him to put his job on the line to do that either. You fully understood where things were at and why they had to be that way for now.

“Let’s clean up tomorrow. I’m fucking tired.” Joel sighs.

“Me too, honestly.” You laugh.

“Let’s go to bed.” He grins and grabs your hand.

You go to the bedroom and get down to underwear and t shirts, both of you.

You each brush your teeth, use the bathroom, and then crawl into bed together.

You’re facing Joel as he pulls you in by the waist with one arm. “Sweet dreams, babygirl.” He kisses you.

You kiss back, wanting more but not having the energy right now. “Goodnight, hon.”

***

October 16th, 2023

The next morning, Joel’s alarm goes off and he snoozes it.

Then again. Snooze.

Again. Snooze.

By the time you finally get out of bed, it’s 7:30am.

You get in the shower together, quickly cleaning up, as you sadly didn’t have time for extracurricular activities.

Joel finishes getting ready first, you’re only a few minutes behind.

You kiss Joel goodbye and leave the house first, grabbing breakfast at the first drive thru you could find.

You ate on your way back to your dorm, trading your duffel of clothes for your backpack with your laptop and other important things for class.

You walk into the lecture room at 8:55, expecting to see Ellie already seated. Maybe she was late today.

Joel started the class a few minutes later, still no Ellie.

You get out your phone and send her a quick text.

You: You good? Where are you?

She doesn’t answer for a half hour.

Ellie: Tummy hurts :(

You: Totally fair. You need anything?

Ellie: The sweet release of death

You: Lol. Other than that?

Ellie: No I’m okay. Thanks tho

You: No problem, feel better ❤️‍🩹

Ellie: Thanks 🩵

You put your phone away and class soon finishes.

You linger afterward, letting Joel know that you needed to buckle down and read tonight, feeling behind on your bookwork.

He smiles at you. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

You smile back. “See you tomorrow, Joel.”

***

You spend the evening reading, studying, and making flashcards until your eyes were crossed.

You needed to sleep.

***

October 17th, 2023

You’re the first to class today at 8:43, sitting in your favorite spot.

“Hey!” Ellie greets you as she walks into the room.

“Hey, you’re back.” You smile.

“Yeah, just a random stomach ache.” She explains.

“Understandable.” You nod.

You both go into your bags and pull out your stuff.

Class goes smoothly, and Ellie starts talking to you once everyone starts to pack up.

“Can you send me your notes from yesterday?” She asks.

“Yeah.” You nod. “Or, hey, just borrow my notebook. I didn’t take them on my computer.” You slide your notebook over to her.

“Thanks. I’ll bring it back tomorrow.” She smiles.

“Cool.” You nod, the both of you getting up and heading your separate ways.

***

You’re in the middle of showering after classes when you realize something with horror.

Your notebook.

Joel’s note.

****************************************************

Joel Miller tag list: @harriedandharassed @evyiione @chyannealaniz @cesspitoflove @supersingle @jrosie25 @blackfemalenerd @bongsrconfusing @milly-louise @farintonorth @brittmb115 @ashleyfilm @steverogers123 @doblasftcisco @missladym1981 @kungfucapslock @maievdenoir @jackierose902109 @untamedheart81 @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler @leenieweenie12 @hairyballs-101 @leah2901

Dr. Miller’s Foundations of Architecture class was supposed to be a fun elective for you. You could learn a little more about architecture, something that has always been a mild interest for you. You like pretty buildings and you think it’s a cool subject. It’s your last semester of college and you deserve to take something fun to fill in that last elective requirement. 

You certainly were not supposed to fail the fucking class.

“He’s so rude, Cooper,”  you tell your friend. Coop looks up at you over their laptop, red curls springing in every direction and glasses sitting on the tip of their nose. They’re feigning interest while they hammer away at some graphic design assignment.

“One time he made a guy who said he liked 432 Park Ave leave the class. Like just kicked him out for the rest of the day! I mean that building is awful, but still!” Coop heaves a sigh and shuts their laptop. 

“Is this that hot professor you told me about or is it the one who always wears really weird outfits?” 

“No! The weird outfits guy is my Chaucer professor,” you choose to ignore the first half of that question. “I have words for him too, actually. He keeps-”

“Focus! Why are you failing Arc?” 

“His essays are insane! Like, this is not English class, my guy, why are you grading me so hard? I’m literally an English major! You’d think my writing would be more than acceptable for a freshman level class.” 

He had given you a D on your paper about gothic architecture. You’d chosen to write about the Santa Maria del Fiore in Italy and he took off THREE letter grades because they finished the construction in the neo-gothic style… which you had made a whole section of your paper about. It’s perfectly valid. It’s not like he really gave you much to go on. 

“Did you follow the prompt? Sometimes your brain takes you places the question didn’t exactly call for…” they give you a knowing look. 

“This isn’t a fanfic writing challenge, Coop, I can follow a damn prompt. He doesn’t give us anything to go on at all for these essays! Or for anything else, really.” 

He is the least verbose professor you have ever had. It’s honestly kind of refreshing for a man to not love the sound of his own voice, but you’re also paying him to teach you something. 

“The essay prompt was literally ‘Gothic Architecture’ and the guidelines were ‘12 pages, double spaced, due March 19th.’" You drop your voice into its lowest register, mimicking Dr. Miller's deep baritone. "And that’s what I wrote!” Someone shushes you from behind a bookshelf. You’re getting a little over excited, borderline yelling in the library about this infuriating man.

“Have you tried going to his office hours?” God why are they always so reasonable?

“Have you tried going to his office hours… No. I have not. He’s rude, remember?” 

“Just try it! What’s the worst that could happen?” 

“He could drop my paper down to an F.”

“And you could report him for unfair grading practices. Go. Shoo,” Coop starts pushing your books toward your bag. 

“Fiiiiiine,” you relent.

Twenty minutes later you find yourself standing in the doorway of his office. Dr. Miller is sitting behind a large wooden desk. It’s very neat, the only things on it a computer, a picture frame turned away from you, and a stack of books. Dr. Miller has one of the books open and is writing something in a notebook, brow furrowed and tongue poking out between his lips. 

“Dr. Miller?” you ask hesitantly. 

He doesn’t look up from his work, just lifts a hand vaguely in your direction for a second and keeps writing. You roll your eyes and look around the office. There are bookshelves lining the walls with architecture textbooks in neat rows. A few covers of Architectural Digest are framed on the wall. Is he in those?

Your eyes land back on him. He’s wearing a dark grey Fleetwood Mac shirt that looks old as hell. The collar is stretched, revealing a bit of his chest. Your eyes trace a line up the column of this throat… He has a nice neck. 

You had called him your hot professor at the beginning of the semester, regardless of how you felt about him now. There’s just something about that fluffy bed head he always has, like he couldn’t be bothered to run a comb through it. And the scruffy beard laced with grey he doesn’t seem keen on trimming. And the way his mustache frames his pouty lips. And his prominent nose that looks straight out of a painting. And okay that’s enough. 

“Dr. Miller, I need to talk to you.” 

“M’busy,” he mumbles out, still not looking up from the textbook. 

“Okay, well it’s your office hours, so technically you have to talk to me.” 

“Technically, little miss, I don’t have to do anything.”

“Excuse me? Let’s not speak to grown women like they’re children, sir.” Is he fucking for real right now?

He closes his notebook and looks at you for the first time since you walked in. Probably the first time all semester. He kind of pauses when he sees you, hopefully realizing he isn’t talking to a freshman. It wouldn’t make the little nickname okay, but it would make more sense at least. 

He looks you up and down and his jaw ticks, “Sit.” His eyes flick to the chair in front of his desk. You drop your bag on the floor and slide into the seat. “So. What can I help you with?”

You take a deep breath. “You gave me a D on my last paper.” 

He just stares at you. 

“And considering our prompt was all of 8 words, I think- I know I met the requirements and that I did a good job. It was thoroughly researched, structured well, copy and content edited, and turned in 2 days before deadline. I would like an explanation-” 

“Enough,” he cuts you off. “I don’t have to justify my gradin’ decisions to you.” 

You let out a frustrated puff of air. This man drives you insane. “Dr. Miller, I’m a senior. I took this class to fulfill an elective requirement and because I like architecture. I would like to understand what is so egregious about my writing that you would have me fail a class in my last semester of college.” 

He considers you for a moment, meeting your eyes. He lowers his brow, screws up his mouth from side to side, like he’s thinking hard about something. “I’ll reread it.” 

Not I’ll reconsider your grade, but at least it’s something. “Thank you.” You grab your bag, moving to leave, and he stops you. 

“Wait!” You pause, arching an eyebrow. “What was your name again?” He doesn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed. 

“Seriously? I’ve been in your class since January. Figure it out.” 

You storm out, slamming the door behind you.  

A/N: This will be my first series! I'm really excited to try some actual characterization and plot, which I've never really played around with before. Constructive criticism in my DMs is always appreciated <3

The UK rarely got warm days, especially in September, but for some reason the universe decided move in day was going to be a million degrees. You and Kelsey heaved box after box up the stairs of your new apartment complex. Sweaty was an understatement. And of course you were on the third floor with no lift.

“Do you… do you think we’ll ever feel cool again?” Kelsey huffed, wheeling what you hoped was the last suitcase through the door. You wiped your forehead with the back of your hand, wrinkling your nose at the amount of moisture that came off. “Please tell me there’s nothing else?” No sooner had you said those words, the door to the flat next door opened, revealing a tanned, toned looking Ken doll of a man. All muscles, abs and blonde.

Kelsey straightened up, frantically brushing fly-aways down and tugging at her now damp tank top.

The guy leant on the door frame of his flat and flashed you both a Ryan Gosling style grin. “You ladies need a hand?”

You had to restrain yourself from an eye roll. Sure, he was hot, but it was textbook pickup lines. Plus you were way too hot for sex. Kelsey didn’t seem to agree. She put on her best sex eyes, biting her lip.

If you weren’t careful you’d end up unpacking this whole flat yourself.

“I think we’re…”

“I could use some help,” Kelsey interrupted you. She gave you a quick, stern look, before looking back at the guy.

“I got some help in here,” the guy gestured to his apartment, looking Kelsey up and down.

“One sec,” Kelsey held up a finger to him, turning to you, whispering, “I’ll love you forever if you let me go with him. I’ll help unpack later, I promise.”

You shrugged. “Have fun. But if you’re not back in two hours I’m calling the police and assuming you’ve been murdered.”

Kelsey beamed. “Thanks, you’re the best.”

The guy held his hand out, which she took, and they disappeared into his flat.

You looked at all the boxes strewn around the living room. That was a job for tomorrow, when you didn’t feel like you were going to melt. You took your suitcase and dragged it into your bedroom. At least this room could be unpacked.

Just as you unzipped it, you heard the unmistakable moan then thud of what you assumed was Kelsey’s back against the wall. Shower. You would have a cold shower first.

Kelsey returned an hour later, looking suitably satisfied. You’d had a shower, unpacked most of your stuff and were now lying on the sofa with a handheld fan directly on your face. You raised you head as she walked in.

“Any good?”

“Useful,” was all she said, before disappearing into the bathroom.

You took that as she’ll be spending a lot of time next door.

-

The first lecture of a new course always felt like starting school all over again. A bunch of new people in a classroom not really knowing what they’re doing there. Kelsey had decided that lecture number one is always useless and opted instead to stay in bed. You didn’t argue with her. She was the kind of girl who walked to the beat of her own drum. An admirable if slightly irresponsible trait. But who were you to judge?

So you really did feel like the new girl. You sat at a desk relatively close to the back. It was still early so all the good seats hadn’t been taken yet. Just a few keen beans right at the front, then one other guy on your row.

You rummaged in your bag, with that awful feeling that you’d forgotten something. Shit, laptop. And you didn’t have a notebook. Not a good start. You contemplated asking the guy on your row if he had a spare piece of paper, but he looked so blazed that you’re not sure he would even know what class he was in. Instead, you figured it was early enough in the class to rush to the nearest supply cupboard, which you hoped was in plains sight.

You grabbed your bag and rushed to the door, not seeing the figure walking in.

“Fuck!” You collided with his body, the coffee in his hand now all down your dress. You looked up to see who the poor student was whose drink you were now wearing and your heart sank.

This man looked close to 50, but a very good 50. His hair was tousled and he had a strong jawline, accentuated by his rough beard. There were mature students, of course, but the feeling in your stomach told you this wasn’t a student.

The man took a couple steps back, glaring down at you with a dark look in his eyes. “Class hasn’t started yet.” His Southern drawl caught you off guard. American? Your body couldn’t decide if it was anxious, sick or horny – or a combination of the three.

“Oh, shit. I’m so sorry. I was just… I forgot my laptop. I can get you another coffee,” you rambled.

The man pushed past you, setting his bag on the desk. He wasn’t dressed like your previous professors had. He was wearing a dark blue t-shirt, tight around his arms, and jeans. He took a pad out of his bag, ripped out a couple of pages and held them in your direction. You took them, unsure whether you should go back to your seat or go to the bathroom and clean up the mess your dress was now in. He decided for you.

“Sit.”

The embarrassment that now engulfed you was unbearable. You stank of coffee and your dress that was once red was now slightly brown and damp. And he hadn’t even asked if you were alright. Dick, you thought. What a shitty term this is going to be.

Other students were now filing in, so you went back to your original desk, thankful you were in the back. It didn’t stop people from turning to look at you. This was your new reputation. Fuck, why couldn’t Kelsey have been here? You envied her choice to stay in bed and wished you’d done the same.

“Now that most of you are here, I’ll start. I’m Professor Miller. I’m taking your English lit classes this semester. Maybe next ‘f you’re lucky.”

Who did this asshole think he was? Attractive, sure. Asshole, definitely. A rage started to burn in your stomach. You’d apologised to him.

“’f you’ve done the summer reading you’ll know we’re covering The Great Gatsby this term. I dunno what it’s about. Never read it. Your first assignment is to write me an essay explaining the plot.”

He leant forward, hands on his desk. “Any questions?”

You frowned. Maybe another degree was a mistake. This seemed like it was going to be a massive waste of time.

“You,” he gestured in your direction. “’s there a problem?

“No, I…”

“Good. This isn’t a class to sleep through. ‘f you’re not gonna take it seriously, get out.”

He gave you a look. It was a look that said ‘don’t fuck with me’. The rage that had been bubbling inside you was now full on erupting. Did he really think he could humiliate you in front of a new class and not get something in return? Your eyes quickly flickered to his hand. No ring.

You smirked, folding your arms. Heat settled at your core. You thought you saw some of that in his eyes. They were black, rage mixed with something else. You held his stare for a moment longer. He was the first to break.