#accounting dissertation help

[thomas0001]

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[writesmarter]

207 Best Accounting Dissertation Topics & Ideas

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[getassignment]

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[searchingforserendipity25]

it's a good thing conclave didn't waste any time on making the stories about catholic orders and their in-fighting. and probably i shouldn't either because i am not informed enough about it to go on at length. pls take all of this w a grain of salt.

but i know in my heart of hearts that aldo bellini is a progressive liberal jesuit, the holy father's specialest most progressive liberal italian-american jesuit.

look at him. look at his glasses. those are the glasses of a man who did his dissertation on reinterpreting loyola through a contemporary reformist lens. academic wunderkid. has sooo much beef w the editors of american jesuit weekly. possibly the events of conclave are occurring in a better more beautiful world where aldo bellini is the editor of american jesuit weekly.

the late holy father for sure was a progressive jesuit also. vr pope francis coded. and low-key set him up as a successor. for a while, that seemed nearly a sure thing in some circles.

but there is the fact. well. the fact that everyone is tired, done and tired of jesuits, progressive or otherwise.

this among other factors meant he couldn't consider him the best option, besides whatever character judgement and uncanny machievallien prediction he came up with.

adeyemi has that benedictine swag which makes his potential election particularly seem like a breath of fresh air + reliable + lots of influence. tremblay is giving dominican drip and dominican corruption. and dominican flop. his nespresso machine? it's giving dominican also.

tedesco has to be an italian-founded order member. most hypocrital salesian of all times maybe?? this is unrelated to the fact that i was nearly enrolled in a salesian primary school and the weirdly panopticon-ish playground didn't pass the vibe check. and also because: consider tedesco rising in the ranks of an order created to help migrant workers...someone kick him in the head for me pls.

who even knows about benítez. i want to say franciscan but that might be just too on the nose. cistercian?? honestly it would work well if he is also without affiliation.

this lens does make lawrence's homily being interpreted as a campaign speech more understandable (and particularly funny).

because, as far as anyone can tell, he's fully running as an independent candidate. zero platform besides - if i fuck up i'll apologize and do better and be held accountable, which is more than any of you probably would.

and because he stands alone, he can be held accountable. he can belong to all, and not one faction only. as far as anyone can tell, he's burning bridges with bellini and rocking the status quo.

he is speaking to/from a place of frustration with institutional inertia and factionalism, he is using his position as dean to bravely promote a platform for internal change in the curia, he is offering doubt as an alternative to certainty, he is pulling an absolute wildcard move.

pity he didn't mean it.

pity the the only order lawrence is interested in joining is the most hardcore discalced carmelite experience possible.

you know how some people look into luxurious real estate listings like it's porn? that's lawrence w tiny monasteries. the sort of minuscule organization with not enough people for management to be necessary. too small for politics. as close to erasure as you can get in this world: no need to be useful.

serving god by existing only to meditate on him. a narrow slant of a life, at that. barely taking up space, barely casting a shadow.

his favorite is a decrepit wreck of a place in the middle of southern spain, nowhere. no wifi no speaking aloud no possessions. no shoes no food. no nothing, only prayer. and a big big sky overhead.

maybe that will fix his issues with reaching god. if that doesn't work he'll probably just wander into the tabernas desert and become an hermit. works for some people, supposedly; plenty of order founders seem to believe so, anyway.

[singletutor]

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[a-shade-of-blue]

Bracelets for Hazem’s Family!

I am organizing this handmade bracelet raffle in order to raise funds for Hazem's family. Due to my geographical restrictions, I can only mail the bracelets to addresses in the UK. Donate a minimum of €5 to enter the raffle! I will count each €5 as an entry, so if you donate €10, you will be entered twice. The deadline for entering this raffle is 25 September, 2024. I have made 4 bracelets, so there will be 4 winners. The bracelets are all handmade by me, and bracelets A, B and C have real freshwater pearls in them!!

Please fill in this Google form in order to enter the raffle: https://forms.gle/uCGnBB99QNSXChDC7

Hazem's Tumblr Account: @hazempalestine

Hazem's campaign has been vetted by el-shab-hussein. This campaign is listed as #281 on the verified fundraiser list by el-shab-hussein and nabulsi. He is also a friend of Bilal-Salah0.

Hazem is a dentistry student who moved to Belgium in 2018 for his studies. Since then, he has not been able to see his family in Northern Gaza. His parents, his four brothers and one sister are in the Jabalia refugee camp. Their home has been bombed and destroyed.

The area his family is staying at was recently bombed and he had lost contact with them when it was happening. He was really really worried, but thankfully they survived and he managed to contact them the next day. Imagine knowing the place your loved one is staying is being bombed, and not being able to reach them! Imagine being so far away, watching all the horrors happening on the news, and not knowing if your loved ones are ok!

We have been chatting a lot lately and he is a really lovely person. He even offered to help me with my dissertation, and that was like just after he managed to contact his family after the bombing. He is trying to raise funds to evacuate his 7 family members (his parents, four brothers, and his sister), so he has to raise a total of €50,000. He aims to reach his next goal of €10,000 by Sunday in order to evacuate his sister.

Currently €7,842 raised of €50,000 target!

Please share/reblog and donate if you are able to! I thank you in advance for supporting!

(p.s. Please direct message me if you have any problems filling in the Google Form)

[gongyoorit]

Romance: Untold Pt. 1 TRAILER

Pairing: coworker!Gong Yoo x afab!reader

Summary: You never meant to fall for your insufferable, older coworker—but after you're forced to share an office with Gong Yoo, what starts as petty rivalry and pent-up tension turns into a no-strings-attached arrangement neither of you can control. He shouldn't want you so bad, and you shouldn't allow yourself to get distracted.

Warnings: smut, explicit sexual content, mDNI, minors do not interact, age gap (late 30s Gong Yoo x early 20s reader), a lot of heterosexual corporate bullshit, male masturbation, penetrative sex, warnings to be added

Release Date: June 15th, 2025

It was never supposed to be anything serious. Never. Never ever.

You didn’t have time for a relationship – you, a graduate student with a full-time job? Between classes, your master’s dissertation, and your job at one of the biggest accounting firms in the city … where exactly did you have room in your schedule for a man?

At least, that’s what you thought before you met him.

Gong Yoo. He was a bit older than you, with a little more experience in the firm. You’d heard of him in passing: the accountant that worked internationally with Korean clients. Because of his travel-focused area of expertise, and your local line of work, you very rarely crossed paths. And when you did, your interactions consisted of little more than a hurried handshake and a small bow before you were both rushing back to your respective directions.

The few times you saw him you could tell he was handsome. Annoyingly so, in the same way that most attractive men were. His suits looked expensive and were always clean pressed. His dark hair was always perfect, parting over his strong brows and exposing the clear sheen of his annoyingly clear skin. But most annoying of all was his confident, easy-going smile paired with the amusement in his dark eyes. He looked so relaxed, so charming and put together making more money than you ever will, all while you were struggling to balance your grades and your job.

Really, he probably wasn’t a bad guy - you didn’t know him well enough at the time to judge that. He was just the perfect parallel to remind you of all the ways in which you were barely keeping your shit together. But luckily you didn’t have to see him very often.

That is, until he transferred into your department.

You remember the day all too well.

It was supposed to be your day. For months you had been working at the firm, working as an office grunt while you learned the ropes. When you had first accepted the fellowship at the company, you had done so with the agreement that after a few months of learning, you would be promoted to an official accounting consultant. Senior Park was retiring – you would get his fancy office, with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline. You would take over caring for his clients, after months of studying their account statements and habits. You would get the raise and you would finally be in a position to move out of your shared apartment with your three roommates.

For weeks you had watched as Senior Park slowly emptied his belongings from that office.

So, imagine your surprise, when you walked in on the day you were supposed to meet with your supervisor about getting a promotion, and you saw him sitting behind your future desk. Blazer thrown on the back of his chair. The cardboard boxes neatly stacked by the window. Tie undone and sleeves pushed up his elbows, looking as though he’d been living in that office for months…

Your pulse jumped, from fear or anger, you weren’t sure, but soon you were storming through the office, making a beeline for the door to the private office.

“What the hell?” are the words that left your lips as soon as the door closes behind you.

Gong Yoo looked up from the file he was reviewing, his brows furrowed in confusion. “May I help you, Miss L/N?”

“Yeah, you can tell me what the hell you’re doing in my office," you said, trying so hard to keep your tone from crossing the line into unprofessional territory.

“Your office?” He asked, amused.

“Yes, my office!” You dug through your purse, pulling out a manilla folder. You pull out your fellowship contract – the one specifically stating you would be covering Senior Park’s clients once he retired. The one you signed when you moved to the city and accepted this job. You wave it in Gong Yoo’s face. “Section 5 sub-section c:  upon the retirement of Senior Park, the employee affirms that he or she will cover his clientele to the best of his or her abilities until a) the fellowship concludes –“

“-or b) a more suitable senior accountant is found to fill the roll,” he cuts in, raising a brow at you. “My apologies for not recognizing you sooner. I see now that you must be the substitute.”

You nearly dropped the paper, mouth agape. “What did you just call me? The substitute?!?!”

The man sighed, rolling his eyes as he sat back in his chair. “Look, I understand your frustration, but honestly, I hardly see how this is my problem. I was offered a position, I accepted it. Sue me. I’m sorry if HR or the director found you unfit for this task; I don’t particularly care to know the circumstances.”

Your lips gaped like a fish as you fought for words that wouldn’t get you fired. The audacity of this man to just… just… walk in here and speak to you like that! After all your hard work, all the blood, sweat, and tears you put into this company??

You took a deep breath, dragging a hand through your hair in frustration. Finally, you turned on your heels. “This isn’t over. Don’t get too comfortable in my office.”

“Not your office, Miss L/N.”

...full movie loading.......... Authors Note: Welcome to my first official post under this account! I was finally freed from the shackles of uni, and I hope to be pretty active on this account over the next few months of summer. For those wondering why I need another two weeks to upload this fic: part one is all but done, and I want to have most of part two done before I upload the first part! That being, I might do a tag list for both releases if anyone is interested. Thanks for reading, and as you guys hopefully stick with me through this blog, you'll leave comments for me <3 I love hearing thoughts and feedback on my work, even if it's a bit negative. Growth will always be a good thing! See you guys on June 15th

[crsssie]

and on and on, yeah we got the time

Word count: 1.2k || pt2 of on and on, || art creds: 30backyard (lofter)

summary: dorming is hell, so your boyfriend fixes that obv

"You know, Jay." You raise a brow as he does all of the heavy lifting, sliding your mattress on the ground into your shared bedroom in the new apartment. 

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Oh, god. Did you learn that while reading on ao3 again? Jesus." You grumble. "What I was going to say, though, was that you really... you probably could have called a moving company."

"Listen, lovely." He points. "You have me."

"Yeah, yeah." You sigh. "I love you too, Jay."

"Good, cuz I've seen how many weird fratboys make eyes at you on the daily, and I honestly think some of them need to get beat."

"Not like you couldn't beat them." You pat his shoulder. "Is that it?"

"Should be." He hums. "How do you like our place?"

"Can't wait to have all of my annoying ass textbooks slotted in the bookshelves that you decided were necessary while telling Bruce to remodel."

"Can't wait to have your dissertation plastered on the walls."

"Oh..." You mumble. "Our degrees... You plan on living here forever?"

"Just a little, maybe."

"Could we just throw the mattress off the balcony next time?"

"I mean, I'm not saying no..."

You find that Jason's still the biggest book nerd in college. His 4.0 is daunting compared to yours despite being in the same school as you, and it's just a little... terrifying. At the very least, all of his professors adore him. You find that it's at the very least — helpful. It's great that Jason's adored by your shared professors because when Jason accidentally lets slip that you're his girlfriend, it gives you a boost. You don't know how, but you end up relaying messages to Jason through your professors occasionally. You wonder just what kind of tactics Jason's employing to get on their good side an ungodly amount, but it's not your problem. Jason has the face card and the personality for it.

At the very least, when it comes to you, he does.

"Prof wants to see you at office hours." He hums. "English 102."

"Jesus, what did I do now?" You grimace.

"Probably that shitty essay you bullshitted."

"God." You mumble. "I truly need to get on your level."

"Thank you, sweetheart." He hums. "The art of knowing does not come easy."

"Yeah, yeah." You grumble. "We should get back to a book a week. Sorry, I mean I should get back to a book a week."

"You can start by catching up with me."

"M..." You pause. "How about... no."

"Well, your choice." Jason hums. "We're mid semester—"

"WHICH IS ANOTHER THING. WHY DID WE MOVE MID-SEMESTER??" You snap your head to look at him, annoyed. "Jay, baby."

"I know." He pouts. "But you hated that dorm too."

"Yeah, but now I have to change all of my mailing addresses. Again." You mumble. "I hate doing that. I don't know how many accounts I even have."

"At least you got all of your packages."

"I guess..." You sigh. "Well, at the very least... we own this place."

"We own the building."

"WHAT." 

"Correction. B bought the building and transferred ownership to me. I own the building."

"Oh my god." You mumble. "You truly are learning from the worst..."

"Worst being you?"

"Yes. Duh. How many times have I called B for a hundred dollars because I couldn't afford matcha?"

Jason holds back a laugh, closing his eyes as his brows furrow. "Matcha does not—"

"No, but B can spare it." You hum. "Don't worry. I pay him back with the abundance of gifts I bring with each travel."

"Which is on B's account." Jason pauses. "You know what? Yeah. Whatever. Eat the rich. I didn't steal his tires and strike gold for me to be telling you to go easy on his bank account."

You give him a thumbs up. "Well, I make my own as well. It's nice to not need to worry about tuition... but it's also a pain in the ass to not be able to make money here."

"At least you have a legal ssn and everything."

"Not."

"Not ssn. Sorry." He snorts. "Well, better than the goons in Gotham, I'm sure."

"Definitely." You hum.

Jason tunes out your rambling as he glances around the room. The couch would arrive soon, and the rest of the furniture (including the 4K HD TV that you deemed necessary in order to, and he quotes, "see men in 4k" on) would arrive soon. He wonders just what he would be doing had he not met you. 

Would his life have ended when he nearly lost his life? Would he have gone to find his mother had you not clung onto him and threatened suicide? Even then, you were insane. He glances back at you as you tilt your head at him, expecting an answer.

"Sorry, babe. Spaced out."

"I was asking if you wanted takeout for dinner."

"Maybe?" Jason pauses. "Sure. You wanna order?"

"There's a place downstairs that I wanted to go to." You hum. "Right out there."

"Hope that pizza is just as good as the one that Dick won't shut up about." Jason mumbles.

"You recon I could ask them if they take school dining dollars?"

"They don't."

"Wouldn't hurt to ask." You grin. 

"I'm not asking for you." He deadpans. "I'll search it on reddit for you, though."

"Mm... that works." You hum. "So... wanna tell me what was on that exam you took?"

"No."

"No?? Not even a clue??" You gasp, pretending to be hurt.

"You'll be fine."

"That 88 I got on my first exam begs to differ."

"You're my smart girl." He hums.

You grimace at him.

"Alright, alright. But you're paying for dinner."

"Bruce is, but yeah." You click on your phone, handing him the menu as you get cozy on the couch. 

Jason settles into a day to day with you, fingers interlaced with yours, placing grapes in your mouth as you rest, sigh breaking through your chest as you rest the book over your eyes.

"Tired?"

"Very." You hum. "How was your final?"

"I finished." He pulls another grape, pressing it to your lips as you part them to eat. "You're getting real lazy, sweetheart, you know that?"

"Yeah." You hum. "But you love me."

Jason pretends to think about it, tapping his chin as he puts the bowl down. "I don't know..."

"You're hand feeding me grapes and you're telling me you don't know if you love me?" You move the book from your eyes, raising a brow at him as you shuffle and lean on your elbows.. "Jason, beloved. If you tell me you don't know one more time I'm sending you straight to hell."

"By killing me?"

"Jay, baby?"

"Yes?"

"No." 

He reaches for the bowl again, breaking another grape off to give you.

"But you love me."

"Yeah, yeah." You sigh, taking the grape as Jason presses his lips to yours, giving you a quick kiss. You make a noise in protest.

"I love you more than words could express, sweetheart." He takes the last grape, slipping it past his own lips as you throw your head into the arm of the couch and groan.

"You cheeseball."

"Says the one who asked me out."

"I didn't even ask you out all that cheesily." 

"Yeah, but you asked me out."

"And you accepted it." You point. "Loser."

"Yeah, your loser."

"My loser." You sigh. 

[paintedpigeon1]

Are you an adult with ADHD and/or autism?

I’m currently doing a Master's dissertation about how to improve access to public library services for adults with ADHD and/or autism, and I need your input!

If you are over 18, have ADHD and/or autism (edit for clarity: no matter where you live), and would like to help with this, please fill in the survey below by midnight on 8 August 2024.

For more information please contact me on ruth.collard-stayte@city.ac.uk

Even if you're not eligible, please share this post so I can receive as many responses as possible!

(Also you don't want to disappoint the cute brain on the flyer do you?)

[evidence-based-activism]

are there any studies on why women stay with abusive partners or what's the best way to help them?

I know the common reasons of financial dependence, fear of social backlash or lack of support system, etc. but I was looking for something more comprehensive. I know someone irl who doesn't face this common barriers but is still not leaving or accepting help to leave.

Hello! Given the topic, I'm moving this ask to the top of my queue. Anon, I hope this helps you! I may be reviewing some information you already know, but I think it's important for others who may not be aware.

Women stay in abusive relationships for a myriad of interconnected factors. I'll start with some research reviews on this topic:

This 2023 review of 10 qualitative studies [1] found the most commonly cited reasons women gave for remaining in a violent relationship were: feeling pessimistic about new relationships, feeling the relationships still provided for their need for affection, having positive experiences in the relationship, being dependent (i.e., materially or emotionally) on the partner, still having a positive view of their partner, feeling trapped, feeling social pressure to remain in the relationship, believing the conflict is normal, and feeling dating violence is taboo among some other factors. Together this suggests women remain in these relationships either because they justify or minimize the abuse (positive experiences, fulfill affection needs, normal conflict, etc.) or because they feel unable to leave or find a better alternative (social pressure, dependence, pessimism about other relationships, etc.).

This 2021 review of 14 studies [2] found "investment in the relationship, commitment, and the existence of structural barriers (e.g., with no own income) were negatively correlated with the breakup." This suggests that, beyond material needs, the sunk cost fallacy [3] is playing a role. Essentially, the sunk cost fallacy is a common cognitive bias that makes us feel as though we must continue investing resources in something (like a relationship) because we already devoted so many resources to it. Women in a committed abusive relationship may find it difficult to leave simply because they have already invested so much time and effort into the relationship.

This 2013 review [4] supports this idea, arguing that "while personal and contextual reasons for remaining in a relationship are important, we argue that factors such as the commitment process may be the most difficult to overcome." This is essentially the same argument as above, but discusses other potential mechanisms behind this, like the "Foot-in-the-Door effect and cognitive dissonance."

This 2005 dissertation [5] includes a section on the reasons women gave for staying in the relationship, including material deficiencies (e.g., no personal income, no safe place to retreat to, etc.), cognitive distortions about themselves (e.g., feelings of guilt or shame, feeling they deserved the abuse, etc.), cognitive distortions about the violence (e.g., believing it was normal conflict, minimizing the impact of the abuse, etc.), and beliefs about other people (e.g., believing the abuser would eventually change, fearing their family's reactions, believing no one else would make them happy, etc.). They also note that themes in women's choice to leave included: the impact of the abuse on their children, a shift in their sense of self-efficacy, an escalation in violence, and their partner's infidelity.

This 2003 review [6] also indicates that both structural (i.e., material) factors and psychological factors (like the ones discussed above) play a role in women's decisions to stay. External resources appear to be particularly important (i.e., leaving is unlikely if she has no external resources even if she wants to leave), but after those are taken into account, psychological factors play a large role in their decisions to stay.

This 1998 review [7] describes the same types of factors. They also note that "many women have two conflicting emotions; they are tired of being afraid and wish to leave the relationship, but they also fear for their physical safety and that of their children if they try to leave their abusive partner." Unfortunately, this assessment is often accurate; continual harassment (sometimes through the legal system or their children) is common for women who have escaped an abusive relationship.

Some additional studies:

This 2015 study [8] analyzing social media posts found women's reasons for staying included themes of: distortions surrounding the violence (e.g., minimizing or rationalizing the abuse), low self-worth, fear of the abuser, a desire to save or help their partner, the presence of children, their family's expectations, and financial issues. In contrast, reasons for leaving included themes of: changed views on themselves or their relationships (e.g., realizing they deserved better or their partner would never change), receiving external support, feeling the need to protect their children, and fearing the escalation of violence.

This 2010 study [9] discusses types of beliefs about their relationships that are associated with leaving or staying. For example, they found conceptualizing the abuser with a "dual identity" (i.e., a good man who sometimes "turns into" a bad guy) was associated with staying, whereas believing being alone rather than in a bad relationship was associated with leaving. They have many other examples, but the essential point is that women are influenced not just by their circumstances but their beliefs surrounding those circumstances.

This 2006 longitudinal study [10] found seeking and not receiving outside help was associated with remaining in an abusive relationship.

This 2017 thesis [11] describes a "model ... for why women leave abusive relationships." The model steps “include gaining education to acknowledge red flags, awareness of the quality of alternatives, and realizing individual unhappiness.”

In other words, both material contextual factors like economic support and internal psychological factors help explain women's decisions to leave or stay with an abusive partner. Many of these psychological factors are based on common cognitive distortions. In other words, these factors are not unique to women in abusive relationships; instead, they are common among the general population. They should not be considered an explanation for why a woman is in an abusive relationship, but a partial explanation for why a woman may stay in an abusive relationship.

---

Now, what can someone do to help a woman in an abusive relationship? It's an unfortunate truth that you often have to wait for the woman to be ready to leave herself. In particular, if the reason she is staying is one or more of the psychological factors discussed above, you cannot change the way she thinks about her situation.

Anon, I know you mentioned this isn't relevant to you, but for others: on the other hand, if the woman is ready to leave but restricted by material factors, then you can help immensely by providing material assistance.

Making a clear and unqualified offer of material assistance, should she ever need it in the future, will also likely be invaluable for a woman who is not yet ready to leave. Her material resources will likely decrease the longer she is in the relationship. As such, this offer may become helpful to her in the future. It’s important that this offer is not conditional (i.e., does not require her to act in a specific way or timeframe).

So, what can you do for someone who isn't ready to leave? These suggestions are based on statements from various domestic violence organizations, which all have slightly different worldviews. For examples, see [12-14], but you can likely find similar resources from an organization with your preferred worldview. (Or the worldview of the woman in the relationship.) I am also drawing from the book "Why Does He Do That?" by Lundy Bancroft [15]. (Also, Anon, I am using the general "you" here.)

You cannot force someone to leave, nor should you try. One of the central components to an abusive relationship is the control the abuser exerts over their victim. The victim is left feeling helpless, like she has no control over her life or her choices. Helping her regain a feeling of control over her life is a vital component for helping her eventually escape the relationship. This cannot be achieved by forcing her to leave, persistently arguing, or confronting her abuser, as all of these deprive her of further control.

Offer and provide emotional support (e.g., listening to her feelings, commiserating with her complaints, and taking her side in arguments).

Use supportive language. Don't say anything that could convey blame or disbelief (e.g., "What did you do to provoke him?", "That doesn't sound like him?", etc.) or judgment about her choices (e.g., "I always told you I hated him.", "I told you so.", etc.)

Maintaining contact with the victim. Abusers try to isolate their victims, so maintaining steady contact even if she seems to "drift away" will help prevent him from managing to fully isolate her. This is also another reason to try and avoid direct conflict or arguments with either her or her abuser. Abusers are skilled at manipulating people's interpretations of events; a well-meaning argument from you about how she "has to leave or he'll hurt her" will turn into "she's trying to drive us apart because she hates that you're happy" (or some other twisted interpretation) which he’ll use to isolate her from you.

In a similar vein, abusers do not just manipulate their victims; they manipulate the people around them as well. Women often recount being characterized as dramatic, crazy, or even abusive by their abusers, and the people around them often believe the abuser because he acts "rational" (around them) while she seems to break down or blow up over "little things" (in response to a sequence of unobserved abuse). All of this is to say, never assume the abuser's rendition of events is accurate, even if you don’t understand her behavior. Further, make sure she knows you'll help her even if she does do something wrong. (An abuser can often convince his victim that she has done something wrong. Whether this is true or not is irrelevant at that point; what is important is ensuring she knows you will help her regardless.)

If she is amenable, help her create a safety or escape plan. If she is not, do your best to prepare some things for her. For example, making a "go bag" with clothes, toiletries, cash, and supplies for her children or pets if relevant; gathering information on the process for obtaining a legal help or non-profit resources in your area; having records of some helpful resources phone numbers and a prepaid phone; etc.

Don't confront her abuser. This will put both you and her into danger.

If you have reason to believe she is in imminent danger (i.e., at risk of death or serious injury at that specific moment) then you should call the police. Calling the police outside of such situations will not help. They are unlikely to help her improve the situation when there is not clear and immediate evidence of abuse that would lead to his incarceration (i.e., the imminent danger mentioned) and it can both anger the abuser (putting her in further danger) and threaten your continued relationship with her.

In summary, maintain a relationship with the victim, support the victim emotionally and – if possible – materially, and do not exacerbate the situation by provoking the abuser. Most importantly, while it is understandable for you to be desperate to help her, you must not try to control her decisions. You cannot make her leave; she must choose to do so herself. You can only support her in the meantime.

I hope this helps you, Anon! I hope the person you know is able to leave soon.

References under the cut:

Swasti, N. K. C., Swandi, N. L. I. D., & Wulanyani, N. M. S. (2023). Reasons for Women to Stay in Violent Dating Relationships: Literature Review. Sinergi International Journal of Psychology, 1(1), 46-56.

Murta, S. G., & Parada, P. D. O. (2021). Leaving violent intimate relationships: a literature review. Psicologia USP, 32, e200046.

Gould, Wendy Rose. “The Sunk Cost Fallacy: How It Affects Your Decisions.” Verywell Mind, 7 Feb. 2023, https://www.verywellmind.com/what-is-sunk-cost-fallacy-7106851.

Dare, B., Guadagno, R., & Nicole Muscanell, M. A. (2013). Commitment: The key to women staying in abusive relationships. Journal of interpersonal relations, intergroup relations and identity, 6, 58-64.

Brandt, J. E. (2005). Why she left: The psychological, relational, and contextual variables that contribute to a woman's decision to leave an abusive relationship. City University of New York.

Anderson, D. K., & Saunders, D. G. (2003). Leaving an abusive partner: An empirical review of predictors, the process of leaving, and psychological well-being. Trauma, violence, & abuse, 4(2), 163-191.

Landenburger, K. M. (1998). The Dynamics of Leaving and Recovering from an Abusive Relationship. Journal of Obstetric, Gynecologic & Neonatal Nursing, 27(6), 700–706. doi:10.1111/j.1552-6909.1998.tb02641.x 

Cravens, J. D., Whiting, J. B., & Aamar, R. O. (2015). Why I stayed/left: An analysis of voices of intimate partner violence on social media. Contemporary Family Therapy, 37, 372-385.

Baly, A. R. (2010). Leaving abusive relationships: Constructions of self and situation by abused women. Journal of Interpersonal Violence, 25(12), 2297-2315.

Koepsell, J. K., Kernic, M. A., & Holt, V. L. (2006). Factors that influence battered women to leave their abusive relationships. Violence and victims, 21(2), 131-147.

Hamilton, A. (2017). Understanding the experiences of women who stay in abusive relationships.

I’m worried about someone else. (2025). Women’s Aid. https://www.womensaid.org.uk/information-support/the-survivors-handbook/im-worried-about-someone-else/

How you can help victims of domestic violence. (2025). Women’s Advocates. https://www.wadvocates.org/find-help/about-domestic-violence/how-you-can-help-victims-of-domestic-violence/

Drabinsky, H. (2020, July 28). How to help someone in an abusive relationship. Focus on the Family. https://www.focusonthefamily.com/marriage/marriage-problems/how-to-help-someone-in-an-abusive-relationship/

Bancroft, L. (2003). Why does he do that?: Inside the minds of angry and controlling men. Penguin.

[somedaylazysomeday]

Noisy - Part Four

Despite your agreements, Viktor is being very loud... Again. You go to confront him about it.

Viktor x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 5,500

Warnings: Frustration, concern, hints of growing intimacy, unprotected sex, creampie, feelings

Previous | Masterlist

---

You couldn’t sleep.

You turned to your side, away from the window. Maybe the faint glow from behind the curtains was what had kept you awake. Or maybe all the thoughts crowding your mind were on that side of the pillow, sneaking in through your ear until they could snarl and snap inside of your brain.

Another sleepless night was not what you needed. 

A moment later, you amended the thought. If there was going to be one night you couldn’t really rest, this wasn’t the worst night for it to happen. You didn’t have anywhere to be the next day and no real plans. You could sleep as late as you needed to recover what you were losing to your racing thoughts. 

With that realization, you gave in and let your mind whir rapidly as it performed a variety of calculations it apparently thought were necessary. 

The first - and accordingly most concerning - thought was about your impending departure from the Piltover Academy of Science, Technology, and Innovation. 

You had been a student at the Academy for almost a decade. Your undergraduate work had been completed on time. Graduate work had slowed you down slightly as you started taking more advanced courses that required more field work. And your doctoral program seemed to have stretched on for an eternity. That was mostly because the Academy’s work-study program had left you attending courses only half of your time. 

Even then, your main focus for the last semester had been on writing your dissertation. 

From everything you had learned about other schools, Piltover’s Academy was unique in the way dissertations were presented, especially in practical fields. Instead of a simple essay, Academy dissertations were written as a proposal. You were to identify a problem, hypothesize about causes and solutions, and create a plan to help alleviate the problem or treat those suffering from it.

When you were finished with your dissertation, you would submit it to your mentor, Professor Ukkud. Once she went through it with you and you completed any final changes, she would present it to the Council of Piltover. They would read it, discuss your proposed solutions, then give you a chance to answer their questions and defend your intended methodology. 

If you successfully defended your dissertation, you would gain a doctorate. You would also be approved a specified amount of Piltover’s money to put your proposal into action, backed by the Council. Doctors whose experiments and solutions helped people were often offered jobs in the government itself, working to improve the lives of Piltover citizens. 

Your identified problem - the pollution in the Undercity, particularly the fumes found in the Sump sector - was easily proven. The causes were of concern to Piltover. The solutions were simple and relatively cheap. It was, by all accounts, tailor-made for a successful dissertation defense.

Except that you had been advised to start over. 

Your meeting with Professor Ukkud that afternoon had been profoundly disappointing. It had been your first meeting with her since you had discussed concepts. The professor had left the Academy for several months as she delivered a beautiful boy. She and her wife had spent much of the following time bonding with their newborn son and, by the time she returned, your dissertation was almost complete. 

Which was why it was particularly heartbreaking that you had presented your lovingly-crafted work to Professor Ukkud only for her to sit in uncomfortable silence. She listened to your explanation, but pushed the dissertation back to you unread. When she finally spoke, it was with an expression of sympathy and a delicate sort of tone. 

“I understand your passion for this project and I think it would have a positive impact on the Undercity. However, I feel that there is a strong chance the Council will deny you the funds you’ve requested.” 

You had been aghast. The Council rarely refused funds, and when they did, it was often because the attached proposal had been subpar. In a few cases, they had denied funds and awarded the defender their degree anyway, but it had happened only twice that you could remember. 

It was considered slightly shameful to receive your degree with no accompanying funds. It was a sign that the Council thought there was no situation in which your special knowledge could play an role in improving Piltover.

“But… But this is important research…” you had protested, knowing it wouldn’t matter. “My solution is simple and cost-effective, and no one can argue the impact it would have on the lives of those living in the Undercity. Especially the ones who live in the Sump sector, but it could make a difference for people who live much further away.”

Professor Ukkud shook her head sadly. “I agree, and I believe there is a strong possibility that your proposal would improve lives across the Undercity and even along the border of Upper Piltover where the river is narrow.”

“Then I don’t understand the problem,” you’d said, openly frustrated. 

“Simply put: the Council will not divert funds toward a project that will mostly impact the Undercity.”

You had suspected as much as soon as Professor Ukkud suggested you change the topic of your dissertation, but it was startling to hear her say it so directly. Worse, you knew she was right. 

You wanted to rail against the unfairness of it all, but the prejudices of Upper Piltover ran deep. There was no other explanation for the poor conditions half the city lived in - and perhaps more, since censuses tended not to go well in the Undercity. 

And, even worse, you partially understood. The Undercity rebelled against Upper Piltover on a regular basis, and most of those rebellions were violent. Yes, they were rebelling against a lack of representation and the fact that the Council didn’t put any effort toward improving the Undercity, but you could imagine that the proud Piltover people would see helping them as rewarding the very violence they were hoping to stop. 

None of those thoughts had left you. Instead, you slumped and stared down at the stack of pages resting on the table. They represented literal months of your life. When you weren’t helping Ukkud in her classroom, you were researching or writing or editing or experimenting, all in the process of crafting the perfect dissertation. 

“What am I supposed to do, then?” The question had sounded more defeated than challenging. “I can’t rewrite it. The semester is ending soon.”

“I think your best option is to stay an extra semester,” Professor Ukkud opinioned, looking visibly relieved that you weren’t planning to argue with her about it. “You could try to create a different dissertation, but in the limited time… You would either end up with an inferior proposal or be too exhausted to defend it.”

You hadn’t had anything else to say, by then. What was the point? Instead, you thanked the professor for her guidance and left the classroom. You’d spent the rest of the afternoon sulking and mulling over your options. 

The way you saw it, you had two: spend an extra semester at the Academy to create another dissertation and proposal about an issue you weren’t as passionate about, or… 

Or present the dissertation you had already prepared. 

Professor Ukkud was right, you probably wouldn’t be funded. But you could leave here and go somewhere where you could make a difference. You had taken several grant-writing courses during your time at the Academy. It would be far more difficult to do things on your own. But wouldn’t it be worth it? 

You turned onto your back once more, eyeing the ceiling with disgust. Now that you had rehashed everything about the disappointing meeting and rethought about the difficult choice that faced you, you had hoped sleep would come. But you were just as awake as you had been before and you clearly weren’t going to make any important decisions that night. 

Sliiiiiide. Scrape. Scrape! BOOM.

Your initial jolt turned into you sitting bolt upright in bed as a tremendous noise came from the apartment above yours. You looked up at the ceiling, like you could see through it if you stared hard enough. 

When that didn't work, you started to lay back down, but paused. Viktor knew you didn't need to be awake early the next day and had no specific reason to stay quiet, but this was excessive even for him. 

Immediately, your mind started jumping to negative conclusions. What if Viktor had tripped? What if his cane had caught on something, leaving him tumbling to the floor? If had fallen badly enough to hurt himself, how would he call for help? Would anyone notice until the weekend ended? 

The last thing you wanted was to imply that he couldn't take care of himself, but it would be good to check on Viktor, right? He couldn't be offended if you were making sure he wasn't hurt. And if he was, you could always pretend you were upset with him for making so much noise. He didn't know you had already been awake…

You pulled on a sweatshirt over your pajamas and started the trek upstairs. You had been casually sleeping with Viktor for months by that point, but you didn't go up to his apartment as often as you had expected. 

And who could blame you? Not only did Viktor prefer to keep people away from the experiments that filled his apartment, but he also didn't have a bed. You liked to think you were fairly low-maintenance, but you did prefer not to have sex on the floor. Unless it you were in a particular mood. Or a hurry. Or- 

You pulled your thoughts back to your current mission. Viktor could be hurt, and you needed to make sure he wasn’t in pain and waiting to be found. 

The first obstacle was that you didn’t have a key to his apartment. It had never been necessary before and you were struck by the strangeness of that for the first time. Your relationship was strictly casual, but it would have made sense for you proximity to lead to more opportunities for hooking up. Including swapping apartment keys. 

And so you knocked, your taps on his door were firm with an edge of urgency. Even as you waited for a response, you planned: if you knocked again and there was no answer, you would break down the door. How you would accomplish that, you weren’t really sure. As you eyed the solid wood of the door, you wondered if you might be overestimating your own abilities. 

Fortunately, you and your poor shoulder were spared from seeing how you fared against the door when it opened and Viktor’s brown eyes peered out. “Yes?” 

“Are you okay?” you asked, a little nonplussed. 

“Of course,” he told you.

“What are you doing up here?” 

Viktor looked overly innocent, which was a good as a red flag in the current situation. “Nothing in particular. Why?” 

You squinted at him. “Well, I heard a really loud noise a few minutes ago. I thought you might have fallen and knocked yourself out.”

“Do you really think so little of my balance?” 

The dry question was met with a hard stare of your own. You had seen him trip over nothing, and if something impacted how his cane landed, he was virtually guaranteed to end up on the ground. 

Graciously, you decided not to bring up any of that. Instead, you said, “You’re out of breath. A little odd for someone claiming not to be doing anything in particular. And it’s really dark in there…” 

You tried to see around him and into the apartment, but Viktor leaned into your line of sight. “Seriously, did you knock over a lamp or something? It totally dark in there. Wait, not totally… Are those candles? I don’t think you’re allowed to have candles in the dorms.” 

Viktor sighed heavily, letting the door swing out from his grip. You took a moment to process his bare feet and rumpled hair before accepting his silent invitation and stepping past him into the apartment. As always, you almost struggled to believe that his apartment shared a layout with yours, since his was decorated so dramatically differently. 

His furniture was almost entirely missing, with the exception of a very old and well-worn recliner that he slept in. The rest of the space was taken up with various experiments. They had changed since the last time you had been there, but precise layouts of chemical, biological, and mysterious experiments still spread across every available surface. Each one was accompanied by a notebook containing neatly written notes. 

It took a moment for you to check, but you couldn’t see anything around the room that would have caused the amount of noise that had brought you upstairs in the first place. That was good, since it meant that Viktor probably wasn’t hurt and trying to hide it from you.

There was a bare circle on one of Viktor’s countertops, all the experiments carefully swept clear. In the middle of the circle was a cluster of candles, throwing warm light dancing around the room. 

“Well, at least you made sure nothing would catch on fire from your illegal candles,” you conceded.

Viktor came to stand beside you. “Well, nothing that I don’t want to be caught.” 

Your eyebrows raised without your permission as you gave him a sidelong look. “Are you lighting things on fire in your apartment? Need I remind you that I live downstairs and that the building is ancient? And flammable?”

“Besides,” he continued, ignoring you. “I think they set a mood quite nicely. Don’t you agree?” 

“What mood are you trying to set? Angsty serial killer, or are you going for-”

Viktor leaned close, the motion so sudden that you pulled backward. You would have thought it was just a rushed attempt at a kiss, but the way he was looking at you was anything but romantic. His amber eyes were studying your face like you were one of his experiments. You didn’t care for the feeling.

“Is something wrong?” he asked abruptly. 

The bluntness of the question threw you off, made you less able to create a believable story. “Not- Not really? Bad day. Then my upstairs neighbor keeps being noisy.” 

“Today was your meeting with Professor Ukkud, was it not?” he asked. It was a rhetorical question; Viktor had proven to have a near-eidetic memory when it came to the things you told him. “Did she have many critiques for your dissertation?” 

“Something like that,” you admitted. 

“Strange,” Viktor mused. “I thought it was rather brilliant.” 

Your eyes snapped to his. Viktor was smiling slightly, but he seemed sincere. He had read your dissertation. 

When you had asked him to the first time - claiming that you needed another set of eyes on it - he had refused. His explanation was that his ties to the Undercity were too strong, that he wouldn’t be able to look at your proposal with any objectivity. That had seemed like a lie to you, but you hadn’t pushed. A boundary was a boundary, even if he wasn’t giving you the real reason behind it. 

“You… you read my dissertation?” you stammered. 

“Of course,” he told you. “It’s you. How could I no-? Unh!”

You felt a little guilty about the way that his throat had collided with the top of your shoulder as you pulled him into a hug, but you couldn’t stop yourself from gripping him with your full strength. 

It was only when he stroked a hand down your back, hushing you gently, that you realized you were crying. The entire story spilled from you then. Every detail about Professor Ukkud’s recommendation for rewriting, your crushing disappointment, and the nagging fear that she was right and that to present before the Council would be to set yourself up for failure.

Viktor held you close, making appropriate noises as the stream of words pouring from you finally slowed, then stopped. “Do you want to talk it over? Consider your options?” 

“No,” you refused, smiling tearfully at him. “I feel better just telling you about it. But I could really use a distraction. That is, if you don’t mind? I know I’m all gross…”

Viktor’s soft lips halted your apologies and explanations. You still felt as gross as you had claimed to be, but you sank eagerly into the kiss. It wasn’t often that you let Viktor lead - normally, you were too excited for that - but you gladly followed the soothing motions of his mouth against yours.

“We do not have to-” he started when you pulled back to breathe. 

“No, but I really, really want to,” you admitted openly. 

“In that case…” Viktor stepped away. You immediately felt the loss of his warm body against his, but he was holding a hand out to you. When you took it, he started leading the way to his bedroom. 

It took until you were at the doorway to remember why this was a bad idea. You tugged slightly against his grip. “I know I said I want a distraction, but I’d rather not get eaten by one of your plants, Viktor. That’s not exactly what I’m looking for right now.” 

“Do not worry,” he assured you, pushing the door open. “I removed them last week.”

“...Why?” 

He laughed openly at you. “You’re too young to be so skeptical.” 

And then he stepped through the door, pulling you in behind him before you could continue protesting. 

To your surprise, Viktor had been telling the truth. The plants that had dominated most of the bedroom the last time you’d been inside were gone, as were the colorful lights that had illuminated them. He had even removed the protective tape from the light switch. 

Even without turning on the notoriously harsh overhead lights, you could see Viktor’s bedroom clearly enough for your mouth to fall open. “Is that..?”

“Yes, it is,” Viktor confirmed, smiling more broadly than you had ever seen. 

You started forward, but paused. “I’m almost afraid to touch it. Is this a trick? A mirage? An optical illusion?” 

Viktor only chuckled at you, gently shaking his head. You moved closer despite yourself, extending a hand until your fingers rested against the soft, sheet-covered surface of a real, tangible bed.

“It’s real,” you reported, awe heavy in your tone. 

Viktor rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling. “I know, I moved it in here today.” 

You rounded on him. “Is that what was making all of the noise? You shouldn’t have put it together yourself, Viktor. I would have been happy to help you.” 

“I didn’t build the frame myself,” he said dryly. “I know my limits. I had some members of the housing administration bring the pieces and assemble everything for me this afternoon.” 

“Then what were you doing that made so much noise?” you asked. “And how did the housing administration not freak out when they saw your collection of experiments? You have to be doing irreparable damage to the interior of this place.”

Viktor looked offended. “I know how to perform an experiment with minimal risk to the environment, myself, and others. And did it not occur to you that I could be trying to surprise you?” 

“Honestly, the idea of you moving the plants was surprising enough,” you admitted. “But where are they? Are they okay?” 

“They are fine.” You relaxed at the answer. Viktor’s plants may have tried to eat you, but that didn’t mean you wanted to think about them rotting somewhere. “The experiments were a success, so I had the plants moved into the lab for further testing and eventual propagation.” 

You nodded, impressed despite yourself. Viktor’s efforts to grow plants using various colors of light had seemed ridiculous and frivolous when you’d first learned about them, but he had eventually told you that there were implications for growing them in the Undercity. 

“Now,” Viktor said lowly, taking a step closer to you, “Are discussions about my botanical experiments distraction enough for you?” 

You thought about it for a moment, but decided that, no, it wasn’t. “I think I need a distraction that’s a little more… hands-on.”

As you said the last, you grabbed Viktor’s spare hand, placing it on the curve of your hip. The warm weight of it made you tense with anticipation even as Viktor rolled his eyes. “You are impossible.” 

“Flatterer,” you accused, leaning in for another kiss. Viktor dropped his feigned grumpiness immediately to seize the offer of your lips. Eagerly, you lost yourself in his embrace.

By the time you remembered that you were a physical being in a physical environment, you had changed positions entirely. You were sitting now, making good use of Viktor’s new bed. He was in front of you, cupping your cheek with a careful reverence that made you feel distinctly melty. 

His graceful fingers traced up and down the stretched-out collar of your sweatshirt. “Tell me you are not wearing anything complicated under this.” 

You shook your head, grinning. “No, you’re still the king of complicated clothing.” 

Viktor gave you surprisingly wicked smile. “I planned ahead.” 

And then you watched, fascinated, as he unbuttoned the few buttons on his vest. With it gone, you found that his shirt was held together only by the buttons that would show above and below the vest itself. With three more buttons undone, Viktor was bare from the waist up, and looking very proud of himself for it. 

The laugh that burst from you was loud and joyful. That moment of silliness from Viktor had done more to lift your mood than hours of ruminating had. “You’re ridiculous.” 

“Flatterer,” he returned. “You are also falling behind in this particular race.”

Your eyebrows shot upward. That was a challenge you had no intention of letting stand. You stripped off your sweatshirt in a single motion and - luckily enough - static friction pulled your sleep shirt off at the same time.

You gave Viktor a triumphant look, then both of you were fumbling to remove your own pants. Viktor had buttons to deal with while you did not, but you were stymied by the shoes you had put on to climb the stairs. He beat you, but only by a margin of seconds. You cut off any intended boasting with a deep kiss. And since you were already there, you straddled his thighs at the same time. 

Viktor’s hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you back slightly. “No, I’m going to be on top this time.” 

For the first time in a while, you felt a little uncertain. “Is that a good idea? Your leg-”

“-Will be fine,” he told you firmly. “It has improved with all the exercise it has gotten lately. Nothing long-term, but I can do this. Let me do this?”

The soft entreaty, more than anything else he could have said, convinced you. You gave a shallow nod and Viktor set to work. He guided you down to the mattress - and you were privately disappointed that the sheets didn’t have time to smell like him yet - and settled on top of you. 

The weight of him was solid between your thighs, even with him bracing a hand against the bed’s surface. You were always mildly surprised at Viktor’s size - his height and narrow build often made him appear far more slender than he truly was. 

You did have admit that you liked the position for how close everything was. When you were on top, you often felt further away from him than you wanted to be. But with Viktor taking the lead, his free hand roamed your body as both of your hands did the same to him. He alternated between kissing you and nosing along your skin while you did your best to suck tiny bruises into every stretch of his neck and jaw that you could reach. 

After a span that seemed both endless and impossibly short, Viktor pulled away with a groan. “I am uncertain how much longer I can wait to be inside of you.” 

Everything between your legs gave an eager pulse, your muscles helpfully lifting the cradle of your hips to press yourself more firmly against him. The length of him slipped easily between your folds, pressing against you. 

You gave a stuttered breath at the contact - he wasn’t entering you, but the angle of him left his head brushing firmly against your clit and the sensations were dazzling. Viktor must have been in a similar frame of mind, because he gave another groan. This one was hoarse, verging on desperate, and you throbbed. 

“Please,” you asked, lifting your hips once more. 

It took a fumbling moment for Viktor to reposition the head of himself against your entrance, but he made up for lost time by sliding home the instant he was in place.

The noise you made was inarticulate and loud, and you were grateful that the only apartment connected to Viktor’s was your own empty one. Viktor was silent, but when you remembered to open your eyes, you found that his had fluttered shut. There was a wrinkle of concentration between his dark brows, but something about their upward tilt gave him a hint of beatific supplication. He looked like he was praying. 

He drew in a breath - a long, shaking inhale - and opened those gorgeous eyes. 

“You are never anything less than incredible.” His fervent, matter-of-fact delivery was sincere enough that you believed him. It wasn’t enough to remove the soreness of the day from your heart, but it certainly didn’t hurt. 

But you were neighbors with benefits, not a couple. This level of emotion seemed taboo, somehow forbidden for two people in a casual relationship. You pushed your response aside, teasing, “Are you talking about me or my pussy?”

“You.”

The only way to hide your response to the affirmation would be to close your eyes, and that was a sacrifice you weren’t willing to make. So instead, you leaned up to give him a kiss, hoping to convey some sense of what he meant to you. You couldn’t be sure what came through, but at least he began moving inside of you. 

Viktor felt exquisite inside of you and it was hard to concentration on anything other than the pressure he put on your g-spot every time he moved into or out of you. But in the quiet spaces in his rhythm, you gathered yourself enough to watch him. Not only was watching Viktor one of your great joys in life, you were also searching for any signs that this position was hurting or straining him.

True to his claims, it didn’t seem to be. Viktor’s pace was eager, nothing but intense focus on his face. The noises he made didn’t sound pained, either, and you let yourself relax into enjoying the entire experience. 

Your finger traced along the lean muscle of Viktor’s chest, danced across his ticklish ribs, and met briefly behind his back. The feeling of his muscles tightening and releasing as he drove into you and pulled back out was intoxicating. It also made you aware of the way your hips were surging up to meet his thrusts, turning every stroke into a earth-shattering collision. 

When your timing matched up with Viktor’s, it felt like he was pushing his way up into your stomach. The depth of it was a little strange, but it didn’t hurt. Far from it, actually. You jerked so hard that Viktor paused. 

“Am I hurting you?” 

“No,” you told him, adding, “If you stop, I’m going to hurt you.”

He laughed, and the desperate need pulled away long enough for you to see the humor in it. “It feels wonderful, Viktor. Please keep going.” 

Viktor took you at your word and started thrusting into you even harder than before, but much faster. The pleasure came roaring back with a vengeance. 

In moments, you were clutching at Viktor’s shoulders both to keep yourself from being pushed up the bed and in an effort to keep yourself grounded. This was overwhelming, but in a way that left you ready for more even while you were still experiencing it. This was something addictive, you realized, but you couldn’t even begin to worry about that. 

Especially when your body started to tighten around Viktor’s.

“Close.” 

Your panted warning made Viktor nod. He dropped his pelvis a fraction of an inch, making his occasional brushes against your clit far more often and intense. Seemingly instantly, that contact pushed you unceremoniously over the edge. 

Viktor managed to keep his pace even with your body locking down around him. You shook and panted and gasped - and made some sounds that were far more dramatic - as he worked his way closer to his own orgasm. 

When you drifted back down to earth, you were content to watch Viktor work above you. He was close, you could see it in the way his arms trembled, the drop of sweat from his temple tracing down over jutting cheekbones.

“Close,” he hissed, pushing into you so hard that it sent a shockwave through your body. 

You smiled at that. You had asked him once why he warned you when you had already come. He had simply shrugged and told you, “It seems the polite thing to do.” It was so perfectly Viktor that you had laughed then. It still made you smile. 

Viktor plunged deep inside of you, giving a low and hastily-stifled groan as he came. He was particularly beautiful in the throes of pleasure, you noted. His pale skin was slightly flushed with exertion, lips swollen and red from kissing you. When his head tipped back, you could admire the marks you had scattered across his neck. His eyes were closed, but you could picture the stunning shade of amber they would be when they glowed with pleasure.

When he was finished, Viktor’s arms were shaking badly enough that you were worried, but he managed to lower himself beside you rather than collapsing. You wouldn’t have minded that so much, but Viktor’s limbs were so long and angular that collisions tended to leave you with large, unfun bruises the next day. 

“Are you okay?” Viktor asked. 

You pulled your attention back to the moment. “Yes, of course. Why?” 

“You are usually talking by now,” he told you. His eyes were still closed, but a tiny smile played around the fullness of his lips. 

With a hum, you said, “Good point. Maybe we should talk about all of this.”

Viktor’s eyes opened at that. He looked wary. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean…” You sat up slightly, wincing at the way his cum started trickling out of you. But you pressed your legs together, ignoring the sensation in favor of counting on your fingers. “The candles, the bed, the mysterious noise with no apparent cause…”

“That is what would make a noise mysterious,” Viktor agreed, an edge of sarcasm in his accented voice. 

“Shush. Anyway, I’m working on a theory…” You paused to recheck your work, but arrived at exactly the same conclusion you had come to the first time. “Were you trying to lure me up here for some reason?” 

“‘Lure’ is an ugly word.” 

“That’s not a real answer,” you informed him. “Were you planning something? Something I derailed by bursting into tears before you could get to it?” 

“It wasn’t important,” he told you. “Not by comparison.” 

His closer hand was resting against the mattress, between his face and yours. You laced your fingers with his, and he returned your smile. How could you be sad when there was magic like this in the world?

“Will you tell me what it was?” you requested softly. “Please?”

Viktor’s smile turned a little sickly and he swallowed, but nodded. “I wanted to- Well, I still want to… Ask- If you might want something more serious.”

“With you?” you checked. 

Now looking distinctly queasy, Viktor nodded again. “With me.” 

You beamed, feeling inexplicably close to tears once more. “I would like that a lot, Viktor.”

“You-?” Viktor’s eyes were wide, even as he feigned a casual attitude. “You would. Very well. Then I believe we should enter into a romantic relationship together.” 

“I believe the same,” you said, giving him your best grave expression. It wasn’t particularly solemn, not with the way you had been grinning a moment before, but it was enough to make Viktor roll his eyes as he tried not to smile. “When should we begin?”

“In my opinion,” Viktor said carefully, “we already have.” 

“Fair point,” you conceded, squeezing his hand as you leaned in for another kiss.

---

Author's Note - As I've said on a few different fics I've posted this year, this is my last Fanfic February! The tolls of writing over 100,000 words to post all in one month is pretty high, especially when I have so many other ongoing projects.

I have some additional ideas for this story and I might continue it when I've caught up on the other works I've been ignoring. For now, I think this is a good pause point.

Thank you for reading!

[lillaydee]

One More Try Part 2

Landlord Joel Miller / Reader

They say a woman is tested when her man has nothing. But a man is tested when he has everything. What happens if you both passed the test, but your partners did not?

WARNINGS:

Unplanned Pregnancy, Soft Joel (The Last of Us), SO MUCH FLUFF, Joel Needs a Hug (The Last of Us), Alternate Universe - No Cordyceps Outbreak (The Last of Us), Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Joel is Bad at Feelings (The Last of Us), Hurt Joel (The Last of Us), Reader was pregnant before meeting Joel, Slow Burn, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Mentions of Miscarriage (Not OC), Landlord Joel, No Outbreak AU

SERIES MASTERLIST

Part 1

---

Joel knocked on your door one Friday night about two weeks after you first moved in, quite aggressively, too, you thought. You opened the door, still in the clothes you were wearing to campus, a box of Chinese in your hand. He held up a cheque that you had slipped under his door on your way up. You had finally gotten your bank account sorted and got your first weekly pay as Frank’s RA, so you wrote a cheque as first payment for the medical bill he paid for you. You had budgeted it properly. If you clocked in eight hours a day for work and paid him half your weekly pay every Friday, you would finish paying him in four months. You could still do your dissertation work after that and on the weekends.

Damn he looked good. He was all dressed up. His usual t shirt swapped with a flannel, his usual light jeans swapped for a darker pair that looked newer, his hair styled a bit and combed neatly, and was he wearing cologne? You couldn’t help the smile that came to your face. You leaned against the door and joked,

“Wow Miller, you look good. Hot date?”

He flushed, slightly, but ignored your question. “What the hell is this?” he asked instead, waving the cheque in your face.

“It’s a cheque,” you answered, “You cash it at the bank for money.”

“I’m aware miss Smarty Pants, but what is it for?”

“Well… I have to start paying you back. For the hospital bill.”

“Did I ask you to pay me back?”

“No… but I got my first pay today, so I’m paying you back.”

He took a deep, controlled breath and tore the cheque before depositing it in the trash can beside your door, telling you to keep your money.

“Hey! What was that for?” you asked, a little bit annoyed.

“Keep it. For the baby. Don’t even think of paying me back.”

“Joel… I can’t…” but he held his hand up.

“Not taking no for an answer. I said keep it,” and walked away.

You went to the window in the corridor, watching him get in his truck and drive away. You didn’t know why, but you felt a bit deflated. Was it because he refused to accept your money? Or because you didn’t see him as often as you thought you would? After he went with the group to talk to Max, he came to your place once to fix your window, but Maria was there so you two didn’t talk much. You didn’t see him around much after that, you only got home after it’s dark, and left early in the mornings. You needed to, to fit in the eight working hours and still get a few hours of work done on your doctorate. He lived right below you, and yet you never saw him. And now, the first time you saw him in ten-ish days, he was dressed up, smelling so good and looking so delicious you could eat him alive. You heaved a sigh you didn’t know you needed to release. It had to have been a date, right? Men looking like Joel Miller do not sit around at home on Friday nights. They go out for single, non-pregnant ladies to flock around and swoon over.

You went back inside when his truck drove out of sight. He won’t take your cheque. Fine, you’ll just write him another one. You finished eating and got your laptop out. Time to do some work.

You woke up just after dawn broke that Saturday, your neck stiff from doing your work hunched over the coffee table. You needed to buy a proper desk if you were going to do your work at home, but that’s a bit beyond your budget right now. So, you quickly showered and left for the campus, your laptop bag on your shoulders, your trusted sling bag crossed over your body, a piece of plain toast in your hand for your breakfast. Joel’s truck wasn’t where it usually was. Of course he didn’t come home. Men looking like Joel Miller do not come straight home after a date, what stupid self-controlled women would let men looking like Joel Miller go home after a date? Your feet suddenly felt a bit heavy, trudging along to begin your few miles hike to campus. Your apartment was just outside the compound, but the campus was huge. You stayed in your study room all day, eating ramen and an apple for lunch. When you got home after sundown, his truck was still not there.

For the first time in years, you had no one to wait for. No one to call and check if they’re okay, or if they’re coming home for dinner. No one to wake up to when they come home late. It’s just you now. It’s only been two weeks, you thought. This was normal. You needed time to adjust to being alone again. You had ramen again that night, knowing that you probably needed to eat healthier stuff, but you didn’t have the energy to cook, not that you had anything to cook in your small kitchen. You had been surviving on cafeteria food and takeout, and whatever bits of groceries you could buy from the small store on campus. You thought about going to the farmer’s market the next day, but the thought just made you tired. You were simply not ready.

You decided to go to campus again that Sunday. If you were going to graduate on time, you needed to get your act together. You didn’t have time to mourn your relationship with a man who left you as if you hadn’t been supporting his hopes and dreams for the past ten years, you had your own future to think about. One where you would be a single mother, so you needed to complete this dissertation as fast as you could, while working as much as you could, so that you can make enough money to prepare for the baby’s arrival, and get a reliable, full-time job to support them and give them anything they needed growing up.

When you left for campus that Sunday morning, Joel was still not home, not that you were checking, or knocking on his door while you were slipping a newly written cheque under his door. But his truck was not out front, not that you were looking for it. You spent the entirety of your walk to campus wondering why you cared. Was it because he looked out for you even before he knew you? It had to be, no way you felt a certain way about him, right? If you did, and that was a big IF, it must be because you were feeling vulnerable. You couldn’t really be catching feelings for some man you just met two days after you got dumped, right? Plus, even IF you were indeed feeling that way, the man couldn’t possibly be available. He was out the whole weekend – he must have a girlfriend or something. One that he spends his weekends with. Yeah. That’s it. That’s where he was. So, get him out of your head, you pathetic, dumped, single pregnant lady. No need to imprint on the first man who was nice to you.

When you left for work on Monday, his truck was finally back. He must’ve come back late Sunday night; it wasn’t there when you arrived after spending more than 12 hours on campus. You felt great that day. No nausea at all, for some reason. Maria stayed with you after work for dinner, but you declined her offer to drive you home, thinking that you should get some more work done while you were feeling great. You promised her you would get an Uber to go home. But of course, you didn’t. You could walk the distance. You need exercise anyway. When you got home, Joel was standing outside the apartment building, his arms crossed across his chest.

“Did you just get back?” he asked. His eyes scanned the road. “Did you walk?”

“Erm… no… I went out for groceries. I took an Uber.”

“You don’t have any groceries with you, and I literally just saw you walk down the street.”

“What were you doing out here at this time?”

“I was taking the trash out, throwing some cheque someone kept writing for me when I specifically told her not to. Also, I am perfectly safe within the vicinity of my apartment, and not walking alone and pregnant in the dark,” he said.

“Joel, you have to take the money okay. Please cash my cheque. I can’t be relying on you like this,” you pleaded, ignoring his other statement.

“Have you been walking home alone at night all this while?” and… he ignored you right back.

“No.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, opening the door for you to get in. He walked you up and shut the door behind you when you walked into the safety of your apartment without saying another word.

The next day, after work, you were planning to go up to the study, when a wave of nausea hit you out of nowhere. Maria, concerned, offered to drive you home. But you told her that you couldn’t – the nausea will go away, you hadn’t been hit with it full on yet, so far. You had to use the study, you said. The coffee table was too low, and the kitchen counter was too high and too narrow for you to do your work comfortably. Okay, she said, let’s go to Ikea then, get you a proper study table. You kept quiet and shook your head, no. You paid for the study room; you are going to use it. You didn’t need to worry your best friend with your financial woes. Sure, the small settlement Max gave you had helped ease the burden off a few things, but you didn’t see why you needed to spend money you could save for the baby on a desk you didn’t really need, when you had the option of using the one at the room you paid for. So, you went upstairs, had a little nap in your chair, and did your work for a few hours, Maria having left only after you promised her you would Uber home if you felt too ill.

When you got to the apartment compound, your ridiculously good-looking landlord was right where he was the night before.

“Taking the trash out again Miller?” you asked playfully.

“You definitely walked,” he said. “It’s fucking far. It’s not safe,” he said.

You just rolled your eyes at him. “I’m a big girl Miller. Gonna be a mom soon, I can take care of myself.”

He rolled his eyes right back at you, silently opening the door, again, walking you up before shutting it closed behind you.

You were not at all okay on Wednesday, Frank telling Maria to drive you straight home after work, despite your many protests. She ordered food for the both of you, and you fell asleep before she even left. You had to take Thursday off, nausea hitting you full blast it woke you up. You spent the day in bed, falling in and out of sleep, running back and forth to the bathroom to empty your empty stomach further. Around lunchtime, a knock sounded at your door. You were too out of it to even get up to open it, and decided to ignore whoever it may be.

“I have a key, you know. So, you either open up, or I will open it myself,” your landlord’s voice came through.

Shit. You look around your small apartment, the full trash cans, the clothes from last night all over the place, your bags, your laptop, your plates… Shit.

“I can hear you moving around. You have one minute to open the door, or I’m coming in,” he warned.

Shit. You took the three steps from your bed to the door and opened it a smidge.

“Hi Joel.”

There he was, you handsome landlord, arms full of takeout bags and groceries.

“What’s all this?”

“A little bird told me you were too sick to work today, and that your place is woefully devoid of food. So, here I am.”

You were going to kill Maria. Tattle tale.

“You’re going to let me in?” he asked. “I promise I’m not a creep. Just trying to put my brother’s girl at ease. She’s going to kill me if I don’t help you out. So will my Mama.”

You took a deep breath and opened the door wider for him, cringing on the inside at how messy your place was. But he just shut the door with his elbow, made his way to the small kitchen before plating up some food for you, placed it in front of you at the coffee table, and told you firmly to eat. As you did, he moved about the small unit, picking this and that up, washing the dishes in the kitchen that was so small it made him look gigantic, and stored all the groceries he brought away. You didn’t even have the energy to protest, having used up all your energy to throw up all morning. You finished your food, placed the plate on the coffee table, pulled your feet up onto the loveseat and fell asleep, already feeling better than you did when he walked in.

You woke up about a few hours later in bed. How the hell did you get here? You could’ve sworn you fell asleep on the loveseat. You sat up and was immediately struck by the wonderful smell of something simmering gently on the stove, and, oh my God your apartment was spotless. All the mess you were worried about when Joel knocked were gone.

Shit. Joel. Did Joel clean up while you were sleeping? Your dirty laundry was gone... did he pick up your dirty underwear too? Oh… the horror.

The door unlocked, and Maria and Frank walked in. Both smiling at you, asking you how you were feeling.

“How did you get in? Where did you get my key?”

“Ran into your very good-looking landlord downstairs. He gave me a copy,” Frank said, his eyes naughty. “Maria called him before we left. Didn’t want to wake you if you were sleeping.”

Maria placed the key and her purse on your coffee table, looking around the place, her eyes lingering on the pot on the stove. “Well, I was going to cook you something, but I see Joel took care of that.”

Frank got a spoon and sampled a bit of whatever it was on the stove. “Damn, that man can cook! He’s a good one darling. You should keep him,” he said, winking at you.

Maria snorted, while you just threw yourself face first onto the bed again. “How are you feeling babe?” she asked, stroking your hair softly, your mumbled ‘better’ into the mattress making her smile.

Frank sat on the loveseat and told you to take the rest of the week off. No use coming to work when you can barely stand, he said. Work can wait. You kept quiet, deciding to not share your worries with him, or anyone, for that matter. He stayed for a few more minutes before leaving you and Maria alone, saying he will only see you on Monday, and only IF you were feeling better, his finger pointing at you as a warning that he was serious. There was no use protesting anyway, you could hardly get off the bed.

Maria laid in bed with you, you two watching some show on Netflix on her tablet as she waited for Tommy to pick her up. Her car was at the shop today, and she insisted on staying with you until Tommy came with dinner, wanting to make sure you eat well, at the very least. She had known you since you both started your PhD journey, and she knew how neglectful you can be about food when it came to yourself, often opting to eat whatever you could get your hands on rather than putting much effort, especially when you were feeling sick. She turned the stove off, taking the pot off the burner. She took out some disposable containers from the cabinet, and ladled the contents into them, before leaving them on the counter to cool. You just watched, feeling thankful that you would at least have something to reheat and eat the next few days, unsure if you had the energy to do anything much.

When Tommy arrived, Joel came in with him, a basket of cleaned and folded laundry in his hands, placing it on the floor next to the closet after softly nudging the door shut. The four of you ate dinner amidst mild chit chats and laughter, Joel sitting cross legged on the floor with Tommy, you and Maria on the love seat. Somehow, you felt extremely comfortable, despite not spending much time with Tommy before your breakup, and only knowing Joel for a couple of weeks. Conversation flowed smoothly, and when dinner was done, they helped you clean up, before leaving you for the night.

You hugged Tommy and Maria goodbye, and turned to Joel, who was the last to leave the unit.

“Thank you, Joel. I don’t think I can thank you enough. I am mortified you cleaned up if I’m honest. I’m not usually this messy. And you did my laundry too!! Oh God… I’ve just been… anyway, I’m so sorry to be so much trouble. Thank you again Joel.”

“It’s no trouble. We all need some help from time to time. Like I said, I’m just downstairs. If you need anything, I’m right here. Okay?” he said, taking your hand in his for a bit, gently squeezing it, before quickly letting go.

You slept hard that night, your hand still feeling the ghost of his small touch earlier. So hard, you didn’t wake up until noon on Friday. You spent the day doing some work, hoping to make some progress even if a little, despite not feeling so good. The nausea had lessened for now, thank God. But the lethargy lingered. Too tired to do anything. God, you were not even three months in yet.

You had some of the soup Joel had made for you for lunch, man oh man the man could cook. You were contemplating heating up another serving for dinner when he knocked on the door, with a bag of takeout in his hands, all dressed up, just as he was last Friday. He told you he would be out for the weekend, but he won’t be far away, so if you needed anything, just give him a call, and he will be right over, okay? He handed you the bag, the smell of Thai food invading your senses. You told him he didn’t have to do this, you could order your own food, you feel better now, but he waved you away, and shut the door behind him, but not before reminding you to call him if you needed him.

You put the bag on the counter, and suddenly just felt… tired. You picked at the food he left you, feeling a different sort of nausea than you felt the days before.

You spent the entirety of the weekend at the study, putting in as much work as you can, so that you don’t think about your landlord spending the weekend at his girlfriend’s, instead of with you.

Shit. Pregnancy had made you delusional, hadn’t it?

---

WARNING - SOME MENTIONS OF BLOOD

You spent the next week avoiding Joel, spending more time at the study after work, walking home extremely late at night. It’s not right, you thought. He had someone; you were sure of it. Why else would he spend weekends away? And here you are, a hormonal, recently dumped mess of a woman, looking at some lucky lady’s boyfriend with heart eyes, all because he was a decent enough man to help you out every now and again. It’s not right. Max left you for someone else, you were going to make sure you didn’t contribute to another woman’s heart being broken if it was the last thing you did.

You found out from Maria that he and Tommy used to run a small but successful construction business, which went belly up when a developer for a big project that hired them ran off without paying them. Luckily, Joel had purchased the apartment complex with ten units to rent out before that happened, so they had a fallback income to rely on. Tommy helped out, managing the property, fixing this and that when needed, and eventually the two opened a small workshop, taking custom furniture orders. It started doing really well too, however, they had to cut back, a lot. They were no longer making the kind of money they were making when they had the construction business. Tommy was already living with Maria, but Joel had to sell his house and move into the complex, and that’s when his…

At this, Maria shook her head and stopped talking. You were sure there was more to the story but decided that with your newfound determination to avoid the man, it was none of your business.

Not that the plan worked, he was always at the entrance every time you got home. When you got home later and later, he took a chair out, and whittled at some wood under the light of the doorway while waiting for you. You limited your interactions to small smiles and a hello, but he didn’t falter. He would still walk you up, and closed the door behind you once you were in.

You went about your life for the next month or so, going to your appointment with Tess, working, fending off morning sickness, writing your dissertation, going home. And with the exception of his weekends away, Joel would be there waiting for you to get home safe. You wrote him a cheque for your medical bill every Friday, and every time, he would return them to you, or tear them up. Either way, no money was ever deducted from your account for that. It’s exasperating. It was as if he was determined to make your life hell, if hell consisted of thirsting over your ridiculously good-looking and gentlemanly landlord who wouldn’t take the money you owed him.

By the time your pregnancy hit four months, you were becoming more and more lethargic, falling asleep if you so much as sat still for a while. You were awoken one Thursday night at your study, a very worried looking Maria and Joel looking at you as if you’d died. He had gotten worried that you hadn’t come home, called you numerous times, but your phone was on silent. So, he called Maria, who flew out of her apartment to check up on you. He drove you home that night, not saying anything, but walked you up as usual, closing the door behind you.

The next morning, he was waiting for you at his truck when you left for work. He opened the passenger door for you, silently asking you to get in. You hesitated, but he pointedly told you he would drive alongside you the whole way over if he needed to, so you got in. He buckled you up, and drove you over, not saying anything as usual. When you left the faculty building late that night, his truck was right there, him whittling away on a piece of wood at the entrance, sitting on a folded chair he had brought along with him, all dressed up as he normally would be on Friday nights.

To say you were stunned was an understatement. It was almost ten at night, what was he doing there? Had to make sure you made it home safe, he said. Can’t have you falling asleep alone in that study again now, can we? You felt horrible. He was still obviously going to his girlfriend’s place, but he was delaying it to make sure you got home safe. You kept quiet during the short drive but stopped him before he got out of the truck to walk you up.

“Joel, you don’t have to do this. I can take care of myself. I refuse to be in the way of your life. Someone’s obviously waiting for you, Joel. How would they feel knowing you were late because you were picking up your pregnant tenant?”

He looked stunned for a little bit, but then smiled and said “well, I know for a fact that she’s proud of me.”

Huh???

“Where do you think I’ve been every weekend?”

“Er… I don’t know. Your girlfriend’s place?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend.”

Oh. Fuck, why are you blushing? You can’t see blushes in the dark, right?

“So where do you go every weekend?”

“These past few weekends? I take my mom out to dinner, and then spend the weekend with her. She lives alone, about 10 minutes from here. I usually only do that once a month, but she broke her foot a few weeks ago, so I went every weekend. Tommy joins too sometimes.”

Aww… shit. Good-looking, gentlemanly and kind to his mother. What the fuck were you going to do now?

---

That Sunday you decided to skip any form of work at all. You cleaned, ordered some groceries online and went downstairs to do your laundry. Your neighbours mostly consisted of single university students, usually much younger than you, with the exception of Mrs Adler, an older lady staying there while her house was being fixed due to fire damage. She was chatting you up while you were folding, when two younger tenants came in, girls in their early twenties, wearing next to nothing, showing off their perfect bodies. They were both expressing their disappointments that a certain older man was not around that day.

“Awww… looks like I’m gonna need to break my shower on purpose…” girl one said.

“Not if mine breaks first!!” girl two interrupted, before they both erupted in good natured laughter.

You couldn’t blame them. He was a good-looking man. And if being in his mid-30s made him older then you were old too. Except, when a woman is in her mid-30s, she’s old. When a man is in his mid-30s, he’s mature, at least according to the early twenties like these two. You couldn’t help but stare at their exposed body parts, the young, cellulite free body parts with supple skin that you used to have over 10 years ago. Nowadays, whatever crash diets that worked like a charm in your early twenties no longer worked, and you being pregnant was not helping. Those bodies of theirs were but a dream of what you used to have and can never ever have again.

No wonder Max left you for a younger model. And what would Joel want with you if he had these two stalking his whereabouts wearing next to nothing?

“You know dear, Joel is a very mature man. He won’t fall for those girls, no matter how hard they try. Joel is… sensible.”

You stared at Mrs Adler. Huh? Did you think out loud or something?

“I’ve known that boy since he was two. His mama is a good friend of mine. He’s a good man. He was raised right. And I know that he has been paying attention to you my dear,” she said with a twinkle in her eyes.

“Oh, come on Mrs Adler, why would he want someone like me,” you pointed at your small baby bump, “instead of those hot student bodies? He’s just a man you know.”

“Darling, the way those girls talk about him, if he wanted them, he could’ve had them. All he had to do was ask. He doesn’t. I think you should give him a chance.”

“He has never asked me out or flirted with me, Mrs Adler. I think you’ve been thinking too much,” you joked, laughing to hide your blushes.

“Oh… I don’t know… his mama told me he hasn’t shut up about a certain tenant of his…” she said, winking at you. “Oh honey, I’m just messing with you,” she coaxed, seeing you blush. “But that boy is shy dear, he is not one to flirt with you outright, if he does ask, give him a chance. God knows that boy deserves a good woman… after what he’d been through…” she shook her head sadly, before going to get her stuff from the dryer.

Okay, you need to know what it was that he’d been through now. Maybe you’ll ask Maria.

---

That week, he dropped you off on campus every morning, and picked you up every night, Monday and Friday being the only exception. After the calamity that was the previous Friday night you made a point to leave by eight that Monday, worried that he might wait for you like he did then. But he wasn’t there. Although relieved, there was a small part of you that felt a bit disappointed, but you brushed it off. After Max, you couldn’t afford to fall for someone so quickly. Once bitten, twice shy. He was just your landlord, he was nice. He helped you out the way any decent man would. That’s all.

When you arrived at the apartment an hour later, he was just about to leave to get you. He looked a little disappointed that you were already there, but walked you up anyway, again, silently closing the door behind you. The next day, he made sure to ask you what time you plan on going back, and when you tried to protest he raised his eyebrows at you. So, you told him 9pm. You saw his truck in the parking lot by 830.

On Friday, Maria stayed back with you, both of you deciding to go to the library after work. You texted Joel telling him your plan, so that he could go to his mother’s without having to wait for you. To your shock, his truck was still there when Maria dropped you off. He was sitting at his usual spot in his t shirt and shorts, waiting for you. He stood up when you got there. Maria saw and hid a smile from you, but recovered by asking you if you’d like to go to the farmers market with her and Tommy the next day? They’ll pick you up at eight.

Joel walked you up as usual. You asked him why he’s not at his mom’s, and he just shrugged and said her foot was better, thank you for asking. He’ll see her over the weekend.

The next day, Joel was waiting for you in his truck, and not Maria. You two will meet them there, he said. The drive to the farmer’s market was quiet, but you had never felt awkward when in silence with Joel. He was that comforting to be around. When you got to the market, you were met by both Tommy and Maria, both grinning at the sight of the two of you together, Joel helping you out of the truck as usual. He took the tote you had brought and refused to give it back to you.

As the four of you went around the market, Joel walked silently beside you, his presence bringing you warmth. Anytime you purchased something, he would take the items off your hands and placed them in the bag, but not before trying to fight you off paying the vendor. Over the next hour, this became a joke for the both of you, each competing to pay for something you wanted to buy before the winner eventually pumped a victorious fist and the two of you laughing as if you had known each other forever. Without realising it, you two were standing closer and closer together, and he began placing his hand on the small of your back to lead you away from vendors once you were done shopping. Tommy and Maria walked hand in hand behind you, both exchanging meaningful looks and satisfied smiles with each other.

You stopped for brunch at the café near the market before going home. You and Joel had gotten comfortable enough to share a menu and lean into each other as you perused it, wondering what you wanted to eat. When the food arrived, the four of you ate and chatted. You were feeling so comfortable for the first time since you had moved in, and unthinkingly, you took a piece of fruit from Joel’s plate. Once the fruit had entered your mouth, you paused, horrified at what you just did, and turned to look at him, an apology on your lips. You looked across the table, and Maria was just beaming at you, Tommy smiling so brightly at Joel you thought his face was going to crack. When you turned to look at Joel again, he just had the biggest smile on his face, and he pushed the plate nearer to you, before spearing a piece of omelette from your plate onto his fork and ate it. All the while, he was looking at you with a smile, daring you to chastise him.

Of course you didn’t.

After the meal, the four of you walked back to the car, still chatting and laughing as if you had known each other forever. When you got to his truck, he opened the door for you, making sure you were sat and buckled, before moving to put the tote you had brought in the back seat.

“Joel”, a voice called out.

Joel turned and went stock still. A lady with blonde hair was standing a few feet away, a man holding the hand of a little girl behind her. The little girl looked to be about five years old, her eyes and hair a carbon copy of her father’s, clearly distracted by a toy she was holding in her other hand.

Joel didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He just stared. His eyes on the little girl and the man holding her hand, the man who was averting his eyes, looking annoyedly anywhere else but at Joel.

“How have you been?” the lady asked, her face nervous and unsure, her eyes flickering towards you.

Tommy and Maria reappeared, Maria going to the lady, and had a quiet but obviously heated discussion with her. Tommy took Joel by the shoulder and encouraged him to get back in the car. After some wild hand gestures from both ladies, Maria walked back to Joel’s truck, and the lady walked away, looking defeated. The man with her quickly handed the little girl to her, and turned away, his face unreadable.

After some quiet talks from Tommy, Joel started the engine and drove away.

It was as if someone had pushed the reset button on Joel. He shut down, hands gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles, his face tight, jaws clenched. You didn’t dare ask him anything, so you kept quiet. He didn’t speak at all, even as he pulled the door shut behind him after walking you up, placing the tote in your hands.

You spent Sunday morning cooking a big batch of your favourite meal. The small room had begun to feel like home to you, and cooking in the tiny kitchen made it even more so. You made enough for you to freeze and reheat over the week and decided to put several servings in a container to give to Joel. He did cook for you when you were sick, maybe it’s time you did something nice for him. He didn’t answer his door, so you placed the container on the doormat, hoping he would take it when he was available. Just as you turned around to leave, the door opened, so you quickly picked up the container to hand to him, but it wasn’t him at the door.

A kind-looking, older lady was there instead, and you just paused. She took one look at you, smiled, held her hand out to you and said,

“You must be Julia from 1A. Hi. Anita Miller. Come in! I’ve been dying to meet you.” She opened the door wider, and waited for you to come in.

“Sorry I was late answering the door,” she said, hobbling alongside you once you were inside. “My foot is still not 100%. Joel is at one of the apartments fixing something or other. Come sit, we can get to know each other,” she said, sitting down, patting the seat next to her.

You sat down and took in the apartment. You had never been to his apartment before. You realised quickly that it was nothing like yours, obviously renovated to create a bigger space for him. There seemed to be more than one bedroom, the place exceedingly clean for a bachelor pad. You understood now why Joel was so comfortable picking up after you that one time you were sick.

You and Anita chatted, getting to know one another. Her husband died about fifteen years prior, passing his construction business to Joel and Tommy to handle. They were young and made some mistakes trusting the wrong people. But they got back up, doing what they really wanted to do, using what skills they had learnt to supplement their incomes. She had a very proud mama look on her face when talking about the two. She had come to visit Joel after she had heard about the encounter at the farmer’s market. She planned on staying a few days, just to make sure Joel was fine.

You so wanted to ask her what that was about but didn’t want to seem nosy. She asked you about your pregnancy, reminiscing on when she was pregnant with her two boys while doing so. You liked her. She was very easy to talk to, but you couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that she was measuring you one way or another, and you couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or bad. Still, you found yourself telling her everything. It was the first time you did so. When it first happened, you told Maria and Frank the gist of it, and hadn’t had the energy to tell her anything more. Anita listened, and at the end, pulled you close to her, enveloping you in a hug.

The door opened, and you pulled yourself away from Anita’s hug. Joel walked in, a toolbox in his hand, his shirt and hair soaking wet. You guessed one of the young ladies showerheads had broken after all. He took a look at you and his mother on the couch, and turned slightly red. He muttered a quick hello before going into his bedroom, shutting the door gently behind him. You began to make excuses to leave, but Anita held your hand – don’t you dare, her eyes and raised eyebrows said, eerily like Joel’s. You took the container you had brought and suggested that you serve them lunch. Joel must be hungry.

Joel came out freshly showered and changed to his dining table set with lunch. He took a look at how you and his mama were talking easily to each other, his heart feeling fuller than it had been in years. He sat down, and the three of you ate, Anita complementing you on your cooking, Joel helping himself to a second serving, you and Anita talking about the little things going on in your lives.

Anita couldn’t help but look at her oldest boy, reading his minute body languages that she had known so well ever since he was in her belly. He was calm, relaxed. He didn’t say anything, but the silent looks he gave you told her everything. And this Julia from 1A, you seemed guarded, but somehow at the same time at ease with Joel. She liked you. You and Joel were quietly chancing looks at each other, something neither of you realised you were doing. But Anita saw. And she was happy about it. Tommy and Maria were not wrong, it seemed.

Mrs Adler came by after lunch, and the two older ladies went into the spare bedroom to catch up on their gossip. You helped Joel clean up, something that felt backwards to you. Max had never helped out in the kitchen. And you felt like you just saw a glimpse of the past that you hadn’t seen before. You thought back to the time Joel spent with you at the hospital, and remembered why you didn’t think of Max when the ultrasound session was going on. When your appendix burst a few years ago, Max only visited you for a few minutes every day, always having somewhere to be, important, money-making places. But you were the supporting girlfriend, so you didn’t mind.

Your thoughts were interrupted by Joel, asking you if you would join him for a walk. He had eaten a bit too much and needed one to avoid sleeping the evening away. Someone’s cooking was too good, he said, giving you a small wink. The two of you spent the next forty minutes or so walking around the area, you told him about your work and research, and in turn, he told you about the apartment building and his workshop. The Joel you saw back at the farmer’s market was back, it seemed. The two of you bantering and exchanging stories with each other, comfortably walking, shoulders brushing every now and again.

When you got back to the apartment, Mrs Adler was just leaving. You hugged Anita goodbye, feeling as if you had known her forever. She gave you a long and tight hug, telling you not to be a stranger. Joel walked you up as usual, but instead of silently shutting the door behind you, he took you by the wrist, and leaned in for a quick kiss on your cheek, thanking you for lunch. You kissed him back, also on the cheek, and asked him if he will drive you to work the next morning. His shyly nodded, his face blushing slightly, before turning around to leave.

You caught yourself smiling a lot for the rest of that day, even as you were mopping the floors, cleaning the bathroom, wiping the kitchen down. You felt silly, but you liked what you were feeling, just like a little girl with a crush. You went to bed smiling that night. You were still smiling when you got ready for work the next morning.

That was until, you looked at your feet in the shower and found the water red with blood from between your legs.

PART 3

[thequeefdealer]

[SURVEY ENDED]Hi, anybody with any neurodiversity! I really need some help with something!

Can you answer this questionnaire on having ADHD, autism, or any other type to neurodivergence and is impact on your creative endeavours or career? Doesn't matter what gender you are or if you're professionally or self diagnosed, or if your creativity isn't a job and just a hobby! All opinions are valid and useful!!

This is for my final project in uni so it'll help me get a banging grade of I have a good sample size! Thank you so so much if you do this. I'm so grateful!

If you can't take the quiz please reblog it so it finds someone who can! Thank you so much!!!

(BTW it's completely anonymous, no signing in, no exact ages (as long as you're over 18), no names, no genders, and the only ppl seeing the stats from the quiz are my tutors marking this and myself, so go ham!)

Here's the link!!!

Thank you so much. You're amazing!!!!

(Edit: I got asked about the security of Google docs and them seeing your answers and your data. I am really sorry about that, and I understand the fear. You honestly don't have to answer if you feel uncomfortable about google having that data. If you still want to do it, maybe opening it on an incognito window will help it not link back to your Google account. Either way, it's entirely your choice to answer these or not! Thank you)

Thursday 20th June Update:

This survey is now closed with an absolutely amazing pool of data and more support than I could have ever expected! Thank you so much, everyone, for your support! You've helped me to no end! Once the Paper is done the Data will be destroyed (no skin off my nose, if my uni ever wants me to publish this dissertation or I ever want to use it in future I'll just redo the survey and probably better than before!) Anyway, thanks again for all your trust, insight, and answers. They're invaluable!