#Decided to make the background more....dynamic(?)

[bitchimasnakeagain-sss]

☆ movie night!

— a bllk fanfic // are you both watching a movie... or are you making one?

synopsis: your pro-player boyfriend and you decide to do a movie night but... god, how much movie is he even gonna let you see? pairing: reader x aged up! characters [rin itoshi, sae itoshi, oliver aiku, michael kaiser, alexis ness, yukimiya kenyu.] cw: nsfw includes cockwarming, roleplay, praise kink, slight sub/dom dynamics, prey/hunter dynamics [oliver's], slight voyeurism, public indecency, oral [both f and m recieving], orgasms, overstimulation, making a tape, slight bimbofication, cocky men. yeah... 'tis a lot. m.list

♡ rin itoshi: he has never been the one to lose.

you had invited your boyfriend over for a movie date. it was supposed to be cute, just the two of you cuddling on your couch and watching some meaningless piece of media play on your television.

but rin itoshi couldn't quite care about any of that, not when your hips were held so snug and deliciously in those little sleep shorts of yours. your tank top hugged your body as if it were second skin, your sleepy eyes barely held themselves open... and all rin could think about was to riiiip that shit off of you.

you were roughly through ten minutes of the movie. your head lay against rin's chest, your breath synced to the slow rise and fall of his. the blanket covered your legs, the fuzzy fabric draped over the two of you comfortably. the actors whirred their lines out in the background and the steady rise and fall of his chest was enough to lull you into a false feeling of safety.

"rin?" your eyes widened, although still glued to the screen, "um, what're you—?

"nothing." the man hummed, rubbing his broad hand up and down your back soothingly under the fabric of your sleep shirt, "just watch."

and despite the goosebumps that painted your skin at his touch, you nodded, "okay."

it was barely two minutes down the line when his finger experimentally hooked itself under the waistband of your shorts.

you noticed, but stayed silent. the man pinched the soft fabric to pull it off your skin, creating enough space for his hand to slip under your shorts and caress your ass.

he didn't say anything and neither did you. his broad palm groped your flesh over the flimsy fabric over your underwear and you heard him sigh contently over you.

turning your face from the movie to him, you hummed, "what're you doing?"

despite his hand still kneading away at the curve of your ass and hips, he hummed back with a slight innocence in his teal eyes, "just watching the movie."

oh, he wanted to play it like this?

you found your lower body shimmying. resting your pelvis over his, you pressed down on his body. each curve of your body pressed up hard against the rough plane of his. his muscles tensed, eyes darting back to the movie screen like this didn't bother him.

your core danced against his and under you, his erection stirred and began to prod against the fabric of your sleep shorts. you stifled a grin, acting like you were interested in the movie when you were far more interested in teasing him.

but rin itoshi wasn't too far behind. using his hardness to his advantage, the man tilted his hips upward till the bulge pressed deliciously against your clothed mound. you bit your lips, refusing to let any sounds slip you by.

you're not sure how long this game was going on for, this game of push and pull where only could be in command at a time. the only evidence of time passing was the fact that the movie went on and on and now was teetering towards the climax when rin itoshi finally lost all resolve.

"enough." he rasped, bringing his intense gaze to your body and eyeing you. you gave him your best doe eyes, purposefully trying to make the man fold under you, "what's wrong, baby?"

"stop that." the man quickly brought himself to a half-sitting position of sorts, bringing you up with him. the blanket fell off of your bodies and he manhandled you till you were perched in his lap all-too-prettily.

your sleep shirt had rode up, the fabric bunching against your chest and allowing for your hardened nipples to show through. your shorts were hiked up all the way to the fat of your ass and as you sat on his lap, you grinded on his throbbing erection mindlessly.

"you think you're such a tease, huh?" the man cockily remarked, pulling you closer till your chest was pressed up against him.

"but i didn't even do anything." you batted those pretty lashes of yours, pouting as if you were oblivious, "i was watching the movie!"

"yeah, the movie." something about rin's gaze made your stomach flip itself inwards. he hummed, "since you care about the movie so much—!"

you squirmed, squirmed and squirmed some more but it didn't matter, rin itoshi was in no mood for mercy.

a skillful finger circled your clit, rubbing the nub in a way that had your sickly sweet pussy pulsate around his length. you threw your head back, "rin, move. please."

"why?" the man asked back monotonously, flexing the arm that was wrapped around your stomach and refused to let you move, "i thought you wanted to watch the movie, so, watch."

it had been like this for so long. the man had wasted no time, inserting his throbbing cock into your velvety hole and filling you up. his fingers teased your clit but he refused to move, refused to snap his hips up and down till you were all but combusting on his achy tip. instead, he chose to torture you. cockwarming you without giving you the slightest bit of movement from his end. even as you tried to move, to squirm, to feel anything other than this nauseating feeling of being so, so full, he wrapped a hard arm around your waist and forced you to sit straight.

"rin." you whined but the man tsked behind you, "tch. focus on the movie since that's all you care about."

you knew the man behind you was struggling much the same. your fluttering pussy clamped around him again and again, milking him with each strenuous thump! his jaw was tightened, teeth almost ground to a fine powder with the effort it was taking him to just not pound into you.

"r-iiin," you whined again, your hips trying to involuntarily swivel upwards to get any friction but the pro-player held you tighter. his breathy voice kissed your ears, "sit still."

and what else could you do, beside take it?

♡ sae itoshi: jealousy's not a pretty color on you.

"she's pretty, huh?" the first time you had uttered those words during movie night, watching far-too starry eyed at the girl on the screen, sae had brushed it off. he had shrugged, "she's nothing special."

"oh? so, have you met other, more attractive women than her?" you scoffed and he had given you a side-eye, absentmindedly uttering, "yeah? you?"

you had swatted at his arm, letting a blush crawl against your cheeks, "quit it."

"i'm not even doing anything?" sae had replied, honest to his core. the man didn't swaddle you with fake words or candied lies, whatever he meant, he said. you knew that, didn't you? then, why were you betting on how long it'll take for him to crack.

you two were barely thirty minutes into the movie and it was already the fourth time that you were saying, "do you think she's prettier than me, sae?"

and sae itoshi was really running out of patience.

at first, he tried to answer normally, "no. she's not. if she were, she would have been my girlfriend." but to that, you retorted, "oh? so, you want her as your girlfriend?"

now, what other choice did a simple man like sae have other than to fuck some sense into you?

he has caged you under in on the couch, with you back pressed against the fabric as he hovered over you. the man hadn't bothered getting rid of his tshirt, or helping with yours, for that matter. he was far too engrosser in teaching you that lesson.

"listen to me." he met your eyes head on, pressing his tip against your entrance dangerously, "she's not prettier than you. got it?"

"you're just saying that—" the pout on your face was wiped off as soon as he shoved his length inside your pussy. "sae!" your lips wobbled, "go slow."

he every one of his planed ridges dug harder in your fluttering cunt, coaxing out pathetic whines that rung near the shell of his ears.

"nah." the man gave you the tiniest of smiles, "i need to fuck you good for it to finally click in your dumb, little brain."

and before you could refute or get offended at his mean, little jab at your brain, he was ramming into his cock into your plush cunt already. his lips ghosted over your skin, placing wet, open-mouthed kisses against each part of you available to him.

"s-sae." your arms wrapped around his neck as he buried his face into the crook of your neck, licking and biting down the pulse-point as his hips kept snapping into yours. you groaned at the stimuli.

"now tell me." he brought a hand up to your face, pressing the fat of your cheeks together to force an adorable pout on your face. "do you think she's prettier than you?"

you wasted no time nodding.

"tch." sae rolled his eyes but rolled his hips quicker, meeting your heat with a harsh plap! of his lower regions. "why'd you always wanna take the harder path? but since you want it so bad..." he grit his jaw, picking up one of your thighs to fix it against his slender waist. this angle had him hitting it way deeper, colouring the entire room in your desolate moans through that peeved expression, "shit, s-sae!?"

one orgasm down the lane, your spine tingled sporadically as sae kept. on. fucking. you.

"c'mon." you heaved, despite knowing it was absolutely no point driving a bargain with the devil. "i-i get it. i'm prettier than her—!"

"nah." a lonesome droplet of sweat cascaded down his face and onto you sticky, soft skin. "you still don't get it. you're just saying it for the sake of it."

"no! i bel-believe it." you huffed, having to subject yourself to the same words you had been tormenting him with.

"really?" and for a moment, sae slowed down the pistoning of hips. you clawed for salvation against his back, tainting the skin with your relief, "y-yeah."

"who's the prettiest girl?" he quipped up, and you chased it with a breathy, "i... i am."

"good girl." sae gave you a leisurely smile, luring you into believing he was benevolent when all he was a cruel man. he grasped your limbs tighter and you felt your eyes widen, "sae—?"

"well, i have to fuck the prettiest girl in the world like i mean it, right?"

♡ oliver aiku: mr. ghostface.

"don't you think this is kinda hot?" you muttered to yourself, training your eyes on the masked figure on he tv, who was currently hunting down a woman.

"huh?" your boyfriend allowed his lips to stretch to a lazy smirk, teasing you, "you're into people hunting you?"

you rolled your eyes, trying not to smack him, "no. it's just the mask— i dunno, it's kinda hot."

he had shrugged, his defined chest rising and falling under you, "i don't know. don't have that kink."

yet, a few hours later... here you were, cowering inside your walk-in closet.

your heart was beating rapidly, your limbs trembling as you tried not to breathe too loud. a hand was plastered to your lips, your eyes keenly trained on the door to the closet, waiting for the moment it swung open to reveal the masked man chasing after you.

you had fell asleep after watching the movie and awoken to a tap. your bleary gaze opened to a masked figure and a simple command, "go on. hide."

now, you heard soft pitter-patters of footsteps softly echo outside your hiding position. the masked man's shadow drew in closer and closer till it stopped right outside your door.

you swallowed, waiting for the moment he'd choose to open the door. your heart thundered in your chest, blood roared in your ears and your mouth felt awfully dry.

"are you here?" the man asked the rhetorical question, turning the knob and pushing the door open only to reveal himself.

"ah—!" you yelled out instinctively although a smile was plastered to your lips. adrenaline rush was blinding you as the man dressed in a simple black shirt and ghost-face mask closed in.

your back hit the wall, your legs tightly binded against your own chest as you looked up at the looming figure. although you couldn't see his expression, you could hear the slight, sadistic smirk in his voice, "scared?"

you opened your mouth but no voice came out. your voicebox was just as useless as the rest of your body right now — doing nothing but freezing over. the man bent down slightly, if only to meet you at your eye-level. his voice was breathy as he brought a careful finger up to your rosy lips, "how 'bout we use this pretty mouth for something actually useful, hm?"

now, you were taking his length into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip and humming around his erection. your doe-eyes looked up at the man and let go off the member with a seductive pop! licking it from the base to the tip, your tongue traced out the veins running over the expanse of his more-than-eager cock.

the man over you hissed, cutting the show short as he grabbed you by the back of your head and pushed your mouth back on his achy cock. his swollen, leaking tip hit the back of your mouth and you gagged.

"augh—!" your eyes fluttered shut, the watery feeling falling down in hot drops of tears down your cheek. but the man above you just groaned at the sight, using on hand to squish your mouth and forcing your bleary eyes open.

drool dripped down the edges of your lips, pooling along his length and dripping down obscenely onto the hardware floor of your shared apartment. your words were a wet gurgle, eyelashes heavy with sticky residual of impending tears. you looked up at him through shaky vision, hollowing your mouth to create enough suction to undo him.

but... it seemed like the masked figure had had enough. he pulled you up, throwing you over his muscled shoulders as if you were a sack of flour.

you squirmed against his grip, trying aimlessly to break free, "w-what d'you want from me?!"

"nothing much, princess." the man laughed, his rough baritone sliding down your body and lodging itself in the pit of your stomach. you gulped as the man announced, "your mouth seems like it's real tired. let's make other parts of you useful now."

♡ michael kaiser: homemade movie.

"i can't believe you'd be gone for a whole month." you made an expression akin to a pout, "who am i supposed to call when i'm horny?"

"huh?" the man sprawled next to you hummed, "so horny you can't even get through a month without me? or so pathetic?"

you huffed, "whatever. no need to get cocky. i'll just ask someone else."

"someone else?" although michael kaiser knew it was a joke, he couldn't help but fist his hand in retort. despite knowing you two were not actually dating, he knew this was the closest he had been to anyone else in a long time. so, how could you even think about discarding him like that? how could you even suggest something so cruel?

"you mean it?" he asked and you gave him a stupid smile, "i mean a month is a long, long time for a lonely girl."

"is it?"

"uh-huh." you went on, seemingly ignoring the anger building up in his tense muscles. "a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do—"

"i see." his jaw ticked at your answer, his eyes glinting with a better idea, "or... how about i give you something to hold onto while i'm gone?"

"something?" you echoed, "like what?"

now, your eyes were glossed over as your bottom lip quivered out a desolate plea, "m-michael... 'senough."

"awh, really?" he mocked you, slowing down the pace of his hips smacking against yours to repeat, "'senough?"

his phone was trained against your face, the shaky video capturing your desperate expression and arching back as he fucked into your pliant cunt. michael cooed from behind the camera, "aww, doll. don't make such a dull expression. cheer up."

his hand reached out to tug at your tear-stained cheek and you gave a half-hearted smile to match his whims and wishes. the man grinned, the madness in his features matching the madness in the rhythm of his strokes.

his achy tip was coaxing out orgasm after orgasm from your fluttering, sensitive cunt. and even after the third orgasm of the night, michael kaiser refused to stop.

the device in his sweaty palms showed the recorded video length to be 27:32 minutes long and despite that, it wasn't enough. he had to ensure you couldn't even think of another man while he was gone.

"say?" he wondered aloud, "think this is gonna be enough for you for a whole month?"

you nodded feverishly, so beyond gone that the only two things you knew were to nod in agreement and meet his lewd thrusts in equally sloppy claps.

"are you sure?" he hummed, "you're not gonna ask some else for help?"

you shook your head again, and kaiser tsked, "words."

"n-no."

"no what? hah—" he hissed as his sensitive, bulbous tip hit your walls, "say it."

"i- i won't call for help."

"good." he grinned, all catlike and delirious, "and why is that?"

"c-cause you fuck— nghh— fuck me the best, michael."

"attagirl." he groaned, feeling his balls tighten with each, strained shove into your velvety cunt. "when we're done with this— shit, this... we're gonna make another one of these videos—"

your jaw sagged open in shock, "a-another?"

"another." he nodded, "after all, i gotta take care of my lonely, little girl, right?"

♡ yukimiya kenyu: under the sheets.

"what a dick! he ruined it!" karasu huffed, slumping back onto the couch. otoya laughed at karasu's childlike expression, "told ya. i called it. he's the killer—!'

as if to stop things from escalating, your boyfriend spoke up between them. "eh, come on, you two. it's just a movie."

"yeah." otoya hummed, "a movie i could totally guess."

karasu rolled his eyes at his best friend, "oh don't flatter yourself cause you guessed one thing right."

"god, these boys." yukimiya's honey-toned syllables fluttered right against the shell of your ear, "I'm sorry about them."

"it's... uh, okay." your words wobbled, lips barely stretching into a sweet smile as your boyfriend rocked his pelvis and sunk his thick girth right into your velvety cunt.

the blanket covered you and yukimiya, with him laying just behind you on the couch. his hand was wrapped around your torso, and what appeared to be a normal cuddling session to the two other boys was secretly something completely different under the soft fabric.

his shorts were tugged down to his knees, yours had been completely rid of. what had started with him sneaking his hand under your shorts and playing with your sopping cunt had quickly turned into hasty, quick thrusts.

you exhaled shakily, turning your face to hide it in his chest. your cheeks were flaming, gasps barely contained within your fidgety body as yukimiya brought a hand to your clit and pinched it.

"something wrong?" karasu asked from his position on the single couch placed perpendicularly to the longer, main couch. staring at the way you were pressing against, he worked an eyebrow, "are you cold?"

yukimiya hummed, "hm? are you cold, babe?"

you quickly shook your head, not trusting yourself with words incase you let out ungodly sounds. otoya shot you and yukimiya a quick look, "i can turn down the temperature if you're cold."

"y'know I heard girls feel more cold, like scientifically—" karasu started and yukimiya interrupted him, trying to coax you to answer, "c'mon, babe. you cold? answer them."

what a prick!

yukimiya pressed his doughy fingertips harder against your clit and you whimpered into his chest, clenching your eyes shut as he cooed on, "they're asking you something."

your voice was feeble, muffled by the fabric of yukimiya's tshirt that you were currently drooling into, "it's... okay. im fine."

"don't be rude." yukimiya kenyu tortured you further, "look at them when you talk to them."

"i—" you looked back, giving the boys a strained smile as yukimiya brought your pelvis harder against himself, sinking into you balls deep. your eyes fluttered as you managed out, "thanks, guys... but um, I'm okay. jus' sleepy."

no sooner were you done speaking that you turned your face back around and hid it against the rigid planes of muscle. yukimiya laughed, "don't mind her. she's just tired."

what an ass!

despite the careful tone of his, yukimiya was struggling much the same. his face was flushed, eyes growing heavy with lust clouding his features. he snuck in a sharp breath, still rocking his hips to and fro in a rhythmic motion. a muscled hand came to raise one of your legs over his hips, allowing him more axis to fuck into your delicious cunt.

"hah—" you panted into his tshirt, marring the fabric with desperate, lecherous spit drops. the two other boys were busy watching the movie, uncaring for the couple behind them and yukimiya seized the opportunity to hum next to your molten hot ear shell, "gonna cum?"

you nodded desperately, fisting his shirt in one hand and clawing the sofa with another. the man cooed again, "tch, right in front of an audience?"

as if this wasn't his idea!

"such a slut." he hissed, taking his time to piston his weeping tip into your clingy walls. "getting off of this."

and as he stroked his length inside you, you felt your walls clamp down on him. fighting an orgasm, you could barely make out otoya's voice from over the rush of blood in your ear, "guys, wanna watch the sequel too?"

yukimiya grinned, "why not?"

oh, great heavens.

♡ alexis ness: a man's gotta eat.

"you know it's a bad habit, ness." you had reprimanded him, giving him a pointed look, "do you really need something playing in the background every time we're eating?"

something akin to a pout overtook his features, the spaghetti halfway between the plate and his mouth, "but you know i can't eat—"

"without it." you rolled your eyes, "yes I know. but I'm just saying it's a bad habit of yours."

you and alexis ness had had this conversation about a million times already. million. if not more. and yet, alexis ness refused to mend his ways.

"i gotta have it playing in the background—" he whined, giving you such desolate doe-eyes, "please?"

"ness." your voice was stern but he pouted, staring up at you from his position between your thighs, "you can keep watching the movie, let me just do what i want."

ness didn't bother waiting for your reply, instead already peaking out his sultry tongue and flicking it against your clothed cunt.

the hot muscle struck against the fabric, dousing it in his hot spit as it permeated the flimsy material and stuck to your hot core.

"fuck, ness." you gasped, slipping in your fingers between his purple locks. his eyes locked in on your face and a moan slipped from between his greedy lips, "f-focus on the movie... and I'll focus on you."

using his teeth, he pushed the fabric to the side. the honeyed slick clung to his lips as he leaned in and placed a sloppy kiss to your throbbing clit. trailing his tongue down, it prodded against your opening in rough jabs.

you bucked your pussy against his face, choking out, "shit, right t-there."

he hummed in delight, pleased to have made you feel good. his lips latched onto your nub, sucking on it as his two fingers came to circle your opening.

your eyes rolled back, the rush of blood from your head to your nether regions intoxicating. you gasped as he finally inserted a finger, followed quickly after another.

the digits pushed and prodded at your walls, kissing the tip of your cervix before he scissored them, hitting the gooey spot within you that made your brain turn to mush. your eyes went criss-cross, vision blurry and unable to comprehend what scene meant what. the actors babbled in the background as your mouth parted open and gasps of his name filled the heated air.

your pelvis bucked against him desperately, your back arching and head tilted backwards at his skillful combination of mouth and fingers. alexis ness continued sucking on your clit, drinking in all of your sweet nectar as his fingers split you apart on the few, mere inches.

"n-ness ngh—" you groaned, "baby, I'm gonna c- 'm hah— cumming."

the man took in your disheveled state — glossy eyes, red cheeks, quivering lips and moaned against your sex. his hot breath hit your body in a falsetto and you shuddered, gasping, "fuck, fuck, fuuuck—"

he pulled backwards, allowing a dopey smile to overtake his features as he looked up at you. lewd strings dripped down his jaw, tainting his pale skin with your sticky residual.

the man didn't wipe it off, instead opting to peak out the tip of his tongue and leisurely pooling the taste of you on his tastebuds. he hummed, "you taste so good."

you let out a laugh, still short on breath, "happy now?"

"nuh-uh." hooking his muscled arms around your thighs, he pulled you closer to his greedy lips again. his eyes locked into yours, a plea on his rosy lips, "you know me, babe. i always go for seconds."

a/n: hm, shall i do a part two with other characters? let me know if you wanna see that. meanwhile, enjoy the filth mwuah mwuah <3 m.list

[starryeyed-apple]

Is this the place to deliver a few lifeguard!Caleb headcanons? Thought you might enjoy 'em! it's been occupying real estate in my brain since the beach muses...

Lifeguard!Caleb who comes in with a huge splash to your sleepy coastal town. He singlehandedly increases tourism to the beach from other local towns who catch wind of a new, really freaking hot lifeguard.

Lifeguard!Caleb who thrives under the sun and endears himself to the residents with his easygoing nature and infectious smile. The lifeguard tower is always surrounded by people on his shifts, young and old, who want to talk with him. And when he's off duty, he's constantly approached - at the grocery store, cafes, gym - and despite the interruptions he never seems to mind having a chat.

Lifeguard!Caleb who spots you for the first time in the minutes before dawn when hardly anybody comes to the beach, fully clothed. You don't notice him there. In fact, you don't seem to be very aware of much around you at all. The waves lap at your feet as you stand facing the horizon, unbroken by the day's first light. Something about the sight is haunting, and gives him pause. Embeds itself into his mind long after you leave.

Could be a really interesting dynamic - Caleb being super effusive and well-loved, and reader's more of a recluse and going through some things... Anyway, just a fun lil brain snack!

OMG YES!??! this is absolutely the place to deliver lifeguard!Caleb headcanons omg I feel so BLESSED!??! I loved your beach episode musings too (I still think of Xavier floating off into the horizon and giggle)

I am genuinely am so obsessed with little coastal towns. small towns in general just have a soft spot in my heart but coastal towns? a sweet, sleepy little coastal town where you smell the salt air everywhere you go, the beach is always a short walk away, everything you may need is on one long street up the hill and you can see the distant shore from the top ahhhh

but back to lifeguard!Caleb, pardon me please I'm about to ramble jakfld

Caleb was born to bask in the sun, he'd be so pretty in that golden light. and the way he'd soak up all that attention too, effortlessly keeping people engaged whenever he's checking in on beachgoers, making sure they're staying hydrated and don't run out of sunscreen. he is so well-loved too, he'd become a fixture in the community in no time, despite being brand new to town.

and god I love Caleb with a reader character who is the opposite of his easygoing, lovable nature. you, always being a bit of an outcast, stuck in the same old town all your life with the same old sights. you, easily sinking into the background while this new guy everybody goes on and on about is so easily center stage at all times.

but something about that haunting sight of you would stick in his mind, the perceived solitude of you resonating deep in his soul, touching a hidden, lonely part of himself he's never let himself linger on.

but the tension if he ever decides to approach you someday, after days or weeks of always waiting for you to show up at dawn's light? you, hooking the attention of the man who's at the center of everybody else's attention. and you wanting nothing to do with him (at first.)

now im gonna listen to gold rush by taylor swift on repeat

[semi-imaginary-place]

beltquid: #I use they/them bc Legion self identifies as 'we'#like this isn't singular they#they are literally a plurality#and then the rannoch arc in ME3 happens and the game is explicit that a gestalt intellect is inferior to Western Atomized Individuality#and Legion is gendered despite that literally never being a concern for the Geth#and I am kicking and biting and spitting#I hate the conclusion to Rannoch so bad man *that* is where ME3 starts tripping on itself#not Kai Leng#it's BioWare taking one of their truly alien aliens#and doing their damndest to make them human but with programming language as a quirk#The Rachni they couldn't turn into atomized individuals so they're just shuffled offscreen as quickly as possible#honestly one way to characterize ME3's flaws in general was that BioWare was like#'I don't wanna write science fiction anymore :c'

The writers getting tired of writing scifi really just explains so much. Not just Legions but the Crucible, Leviathan and the Reapers, female turians, all of Eve's lines...

Shepard (and by proxy the devs) choosing he/him for Legion isn't bad in a definitive concrete way but it does rub me the wrong way as it brings to mind patriarchy mindset of male as default (particularly notable in the 20th century but before as well). Where a lot of otherwise neutral gender design characters were referred to with masculine terms because male was and is seen as the normal default and female had to something extra on top. Which is where you get cartoon fish with boobs and they're pink with bows and giant mascara eyelashes because how else will you know it's a girl.

In mass effect the gender of the voice actor is often used as short hand for what gender the audience should perceive an alien as. This is the only reason players in ME1 can tell most of the salarians, krogan, and turians are male. If you listen in ME1 most npcs have male voice actors the main exceptions are asari and some humans. Now this could have been interesting if they used male voice actors for alien female characters or visa versa or gave the asari male voice actors or have aliens with completely alien sex systems and voices or clarified that the human sounding voices are produced by the translator. But instead what is happening is that Bioware falls into the male as default trap that many media do filling in the background with male voices because women are something extra that has to be pointed out (the Star Wars movies are another good example of this as are most movies actually).

So Legion is given a male voice actor and EDI is given a female voice actor and EDI in particular is immediately shoved into the category woman and into compulsive heterosexuality by the developers. She's also massively sexualized, like sure they got rid of the Miranda's ass shots but here comes a massively oversexualized character design. And let it be very clear, giving EDI this body was a deliberate choice the devs could have given them a different body for a different reason. I liked the Joker and EDI dynamic and they got less interesting in ME3 partly because instead of being a warship, EDI is now mostly a woman with some machine flavor. There's just so much wasted potential like Joker dating a spaceship or EDI wanting to experience humanity and playing around with difference voices and forms. he devs could have even kept the Dr. Core story with EDI deciding later on that they don't identify with the feminine body either for gender reasons or because they decide they don't like being in humanoid bodies. Maybe EDI decides they're a man, unlikely since it would be double the graphics work (designing, modeling, animating) but it'd be more interesting than what we got.

For Legion the gender pigeonhole is less noticeable but still there, and the writers merging everyone to be the same is still there. The Geth being hiveminds was what made them unique and different in Mass Effect and like EDI this is passed over in favor of making them more palatably human. I still liked Rannoch it just has unrealized potential. So he/him is fine I guess but there's more interesting options for Legion. it/its would also be ok if Legion liked it to highlight that they aren't human. They/them is also the one I like best because it's gender neutral and because Legion is a collection of Geth running on the same platform.

because i'm curious about what other people think (i'd love to hear any reasoning y'all have to give in the replies also)

personally i use they/them or it/its because i like that legion is multiple programs but in-game it's pretty wishy-washy all the way through

[aesopsbaby]

EYYYYYYY MORE SILLIESSSS!!! :D

AND THANK YOU SO MUCHHH FOR THE COMPLIMENTS :,]]♡ It means alot to me!

Annnnddd bonus for Cato!

Windy belongs to @mel-loly !

Cato belongs to @googlyeyes-blogs !

Wynne belongs to @hanawrites404 !

I HOPE I DIDN'T MAKE YOU GUYS WAIT TOO LONG SOBSOBSSS

[clumsypuppy]

[kotori-mochi]

Can't afford art school?

After seeing post like this 👇

And this gem 👇

As well as countless of others from the AI generator community. Just talking about how "inaccessible art" is, I decided why not show how wrong these guys are while also helping anyone who actually wants to learn.

Here is the first one ART TEACHERS! There are plenty online and in places like youtube.

📺Here is my list:

Proko (Free, mostly teaches anatomy and how to draw people. But does have art talks and teaches the basics.)

Marc Brunet (Free but he does have other classes for a cheap price. Use to work for Blizzard and teaches you everything)

Aaron Rutten (free, tips about art, talks about art programs and the best products for digital art)

BoroCG (free, teaches a verity of art mediums from 3D modeling to digital painting. As well as some tips that can be used across styles)

Jesse J. Jones (free, talks about animating)

Jesus Conde (free, teaches digital painting and has classes in Spanish)

Mohammed Agbadi (free, he gives some advice in some videos and talks about art)

Ross Draws (free, he does have other classes for a good price. Mostly teaching character designs and simple backgrounds.)

SamDoesArts (free, gives good advice and critiques)

Drawfee Show (free, they do give some good advice and great inspiration)

The Art of Aaron Blaise ( useful tips for digital art and animation. Was an animator for Disney. Mostly nature art)

Bobby Chiu ( useful tips and interviews with artist who are in the industry or making a living as artist)

Sinix Design (has some tips on drawing people)

Winged canvas (art school for free on a verity of mediums)

Bob Ross (just a good time, learn how to paint, as well as how too relax when doing art. "there are no mistakes only happy accidents", this channel also provides tips from another artist)

Scott Christian Sava (Inspiration and provides tips and advice)

Pikat (art advice and critiques)

Drawbox (a suggested cheap online art school, made of a community of artist)

Skillshare (A cheap learning site that has art classes ranging from traditional to digital. As well as Animation and tutorials on art programs. All under one price, in the USA it's around $34 a month)

Human anatomy for artist (not a video or teacher but the site is full of awesome refs to practice and get better at anatomy)

Second part BOOKS, I have collected some books that have helped me and might help others.

📚Here is my list:

The "how to draw manga" series produced by Graphic-sha. These are for manga artist but they give great advice and information.

"Creating characters with personality" by Tom Bancroft. A great book that can help not just people who draw cartoons but also realistic ones. As it helps you with facial ques and how to make a character interesting.

"Albinus on anatomy" by Robert Beverly Hale and Terence Coyle. Great book to help someone learn basic anatomy.

"Artistic Anatomy" by Dr. Paul Richer and Robert Beverly Hale. A good book if you want to go further in-depth with anatomy.

"Directing the story" by Francis Glebas. A good book if you want to Story board or make comics.

"Animal Anatomy for Artists" by Eliot Goldfinger. A good book for if you want to draw animals or creatures.

"Constructive Anatomy: with almost 500 illustrations" by George B. Bridgman. A great book to help you block out shadows in your figures and see them in a more 3 diamantine way.

"Dynamic Anatomy: Revised and expand" by Burne Hogarth. A book that shows how to block out shapes and easily understand what you are looking out. When it comes to human subjects.

"An Atlas of animal anatomy for artist" by W. Ellenberger and H. Dittrich and H. Baum. This is another good one for people who want to draw animals or creatures.

Etherington Brothers, they make books and have a free blog with art tips.

📝As for Supplies, I recommend starting out cheap, buying Pencils and art paper at dollar tree or 5 below. If you want to go fancy Michaels is always a good place for traditional supplies. They also get in some good sales and discounts. For digital art, I recommend not starting with a screen art drawing tablet as they are usually more expensive.

For the Best art Tablet I recommend either Xp-pen, Bamboo or Huion. Some can range from about 40$ to the thousands.

💻As for art programs here is a list of Free to pay.

Clip Studio paint ( you can choose to pay once or sub and get updates. Galaxy, Windows, macOS, iPad, iPhone, Android, or Chromebook device. )

Procreate ( pay once for $9.99 usd, IPAD & IPHONE ONLY)

Blender (for 3D modules/sculpting, animation and more. Free)

PaintTool SAI (pay but has a 31 day free trail)

Krita (Free)

mypaint (free)

FireAlpaca (free)

Aseprite ($19.99 usd but has a free trail, for pixel art Windows & macOS)

Drawpile (free and for if you want to draw with others)

IbisPaint (free, phone app ONLY)

Medibang (free, IPAD, Android and PC)

NOTE: Some of these can work on almost any computer like Clip and Sai but others will require a bit stronger computer like Blender. Please check their sites for if your computer is compatible.

So do with this information as you will but as you can tell there are ways to learn how to become an artist, without breaking the bank. The only thing that might be stopping YOU from using any of these things, is YOU.

I have made time to learn to draw and many artist have too. Either in-between working two jobs or taking care of your family and a job or regular school and chores. YOU just have to take the time or use some time management, it really doesn't take long to practice for like an hour or less. YOU also don't have to do it every day, just once or three times a week is fine.

Hope this was helpful and have a great day.

"also apologies for any spelling or grammar errors, I have Dyslexia and it makes my brain go XP when it comes to speech or writing"

[littlcdarlin]

Event Horizon

summary: When you start university to do your master’s in physics, you are more than surprised to meet your professor: Joel Miller, an old friend of your parents' who moved away years ago. word–count: 15k warnings: professor kink, power imbalance due to Joel being reader's professor, illegal relationship (overage & consenting), dbf!Joel, big fat age gap (unspecified but written with early 20s & mid 50s in mind), unprotected piv, just overall daddy issues (no use of the word daddy)

note: Okay, time to tell you I am a big nerd and studied physics in uni. Truth is, I quit to pursue a career in the arts, so my knowledge of masters level physics is...a little rusty. Please be lenient with me if I messed anything up. Also, I know most people hate physics, but I promise Joel makes it hot. Warning: explanation of the Dirac equation as foreplay. Also, I'm European and have no fucking clue how the American education system works but I don't care enough to do research. Enjoy <3333

event horizon noun ASTRONOMY a notional boundary around a black hole beyond which no light or other radiation can escape. a point of no return.

Uni felt different at eighteen, when everything was about moving out, drinking beer at frat parties, and kissing boys who didn’t grow up in the same town you did. It was an exciting time, the degree itself fading into the background of all sorts of new experiences, but now that you’re doing your masters, you plan on focusing on your your grades more than on partying.

You enrolled in a new university, farther away from home, with a better physics program, and although you’ve grown up considerably, you still feel that tingle of anxiety you did when you first walked to your dorm, fresh out of high school. This time you won’t have to share with another student, spending your saved money on a bit of privacy that is a single dorm room, but still, you wonder if you’ll make friends here, or if you’ll spend your night hauled up alone, watching trash TV and crying because you’re lonely.

The room is small, blank, but functional with a bathroom you share with another student and a small kitchenette, and immediately you dream of all the ways you could decorate it. You didn’t bring much, just a big suitcase and a few boxes your Dad dropped off earlier. You feel slightly guilty for leaving your parents behind, but the relief outweighs the guilt – you won’t have to come home every Sunday for dinner, visits will be scarce. You love you parents, but the distance is much needed.

You get to unpacking your clothes, reveling in the fact that you can listen to music without headphones in your very own space. You could do it in your underwear, or naked, you could sing and dance along, and nobody would be bothered by it. It’s going to be a tough two years, the program you chose more than challenging, but a childish sort of giddiness fills you – no roommate to be considerate of, no parents to visit and take care of every week. This time in your life is about you, and only you – your career, but also your well-being. You promise yourself to do what makes you happy, instead of looking out for everyone else all of the time, and you’ll start by ordering Thai food and watching the trashiest movie with the hottest actors you can find on the little flatscreen you brought with you.

***

Your first lecture is Computational Physics – the one you’re looking forward to the least. The reason you decided to study physics at all was the predictable logic behind each problem, but the more you studied, the more complex the problems got, until they were impossible to solve analytically. Now you get to solve fluid dynamic equations and simulate quantum systems on a Monday morning instead of having a peaceful cup of coffee and taking a walk around campus.

The lecture hall is big, and you pick a seat that is neither too far away to be able to read the professor’s notes, nor close enough to immediately be pinned as an over-eager teacher’s pet. In the end, you plop down next to a girl who’s sitting alone, something about her shaved head and countless earrings making you think she wouldn’t make fun of you even if you didn’t understand a single thing all lecture.

"Okay if I sit here?", you ask somewhat timidly, trying hard not to sound too much like an eleven year old Ron Weasley boarding the train to Hogwarts.

"Please," the girl answers, "I don’t know anybody here."

"Did you move here, too?"

"Yeah, I’m from New York."

"You look it," you say with a smile, eyes drifting over her clothes and jewelry.

"Thanks…I guess?", she answers, her grin revealing a charming gap between her front teeth. "I’m Alva."

You introduce yourself, thankful to have found someone you can stick to already. Throughout the lecture you find out that apart from being much cooler than everyone else in the room, Alva has a biting sense of humor, and a near endless knowledge of computational physics. You make a mental note to ask her to study together, her explanations much easier to understand than the professor’s.

The two of you spend your lunch break together, and you tell her a little bit about yourself, but way too soon it’s time to go already – you have Advanced Quantum Mechanics in a different lecture hall. This you find way more interesting, basic quantum mechanics was one of your favorite lectures during your bachelor’s degree. As Alva and you sit down, you find yourself hoping you’ll be able to help her out this time, or you’d feel like a leech for making her help you with Computational. She doesn’t seem bothered, though, and keeps babbling happily about a band she recently discovered.

"– Britpop, but they only put out two albums. I think they were like a student band or something? They’re wildly underrated, I’ll send you a song, their debut is called The Sun Is Often Out."

Your thoughts start to wander off a little, eyes drifting over the old-fashioned chalkboards, when the door at the front of the lecture hall opens, and a tall man walks in – a man you recognize.

"Holy shit," you whisper, interrupting Alva’s rant about the Longpigs, and she turns her head to look at what you’re staring at.

"Damn," she says with a grin, "if I wasn’t gay, I’d want a piece of that."

"No," you snort, "I know him. He’s my Dad’s friend."

Alva opens her mouth to say something, but at that moment, Joel Miller steps forward, checking to see if the microphone is working, and introduces himself to the hundreds of students in front of him. His voice is deep, and as warm as you remember it, but that’s where the accuracy of your memories ends – your childish brain failed to register the tanned forearms and rolled up sleeves, the carelessly styled curls, the perfect side-profile. He’s got grey streaks in his hair now, which should send you into a crisis about time passing and your own little life being finite, but instead it makes your stomach swirl with something dangerous. Joel Miller, the Joel Miller, who organized backyard barbecues with your father and bought your favorite vegan sausages when your Dad rolled his eyes at you, who made strawberry lemonade instead of lemon, because he knew you preferred it, who helped you with your physics homework when you were graduating high school and didn’t rat you out when he caught you smoking at seventeen – he’s handsome.

There’s still a familiarity about him, the way he moves and talks, although it’s unsettling to see him in such a different environment. You’re used to band-tee-Joel, beer bottle and tongs in his hands, a breezy smile on his face. He looks different here, in a white button-down, with a stern expression on his face, as he’s reading the names on his list to check attendance. When he calls Alva’s name and she raises her hand, his eyes flicker upwards, but he doesn’t look at you. Still, your stomach lurches. If you listen carefully, you can detect that southern twang in his voice you’re sure most people would miss, and it fills you with satisfaction to know you’re the one who knows him best in this room – you’re sure half the lecture hall must see how attractive he is.

When he reads out your name, there’s a surprised lilt to his tone, and your heart threatens to skip a beat.

"Here."

Your eyes meet, and although his expression doesn’t change, he holds your eyecontact for a second too long. Alva nudges your side and grins.

Your plans about outshining Alva and returning the favor of helping with a lecture are quickly buried by Joel Miller’s beautiful hands – thick fingers holding a piece of chalk almost tenderly, twirling it around when he isn’t writing on the chalkboard. You vaguely register him introducing the Dirac equation, but as interesting as you would normally find it, your thoughts are stuck between memories of barbecues and the realization that you will have to call the man who taught you to drive Professor Miller.

If Alva notices your wandering mind, she doesn’t comment on it, which you’re thankful for. You do notice her throwing you a couple of knowing glances, as you copy down what Joel is writing down, mixing up gamma, delta, and the Dirac spinor.

"Alright, so you all know how Schrödinger’s equation works great for quantum mechanics, but it doesn’t play nicely with Einstein’s relativity, right? That’s a problem because electrons move fast, sometimes close to the speed of light, so we need an equation that respects both quantum mechanics and special relativity. That’s where Dirac steps in."

He’s still got that warm way of explaining things your Dad never managed when you needed help in high school, like he enjoys clearing things up for people. He’s a born teacher, patient when you panicked in the car because you confused the clutch and the break, persistent when you wanted to throw your physics book against a wall. Look, kid, think of it this way: Push harder, it moves faster. Make it heavier, it’s harder to move. If you apply a force F to an object with mass m, it will accelerate a. That’s why your Dad’s car takes longer to stop than your bike. Even now, he manages to make a far more complex equation than Newton’s second law tangible.

"Dirac's equation is like the grown-up version of Schrödinger’s equation. It explains how particles with spin-half, like electrons, behave when they move at relativistic speeds. The gamma mu matrices make sure the equation works in four-dimensional spacetime, meaning three space dimensions plus time. The psi is a spinor, which is just a fancy way of saying that an electron isn’t just a simple wave function, it actually has spin built into its nature. Now, can anyone think of a situation where we would need to use this equation instead of the regular Schrödinger equation?"

Nobody raises their hand, most people still busy with writing down Joel’s complicated notes, and as if on cue, his eyes are on yours when you look up from your notebook. He raises an eyebrow, and you see the corner of his mouth twitch almost imperceptibly. Then, he calls your last name, a formal Miss dripping off his tongue as if he hasn’t called you kiddo for most of your life. It’s almost like he’s making a joke only the two of you are able to understand, and the thought thrills you to your bone. Two can play this game – you smile back.

"Sure, Professor Miller. You’d use it for studying high-energy particles, like electrons in particle accelerators, because it accounts for relativistic speeds. It’s also needed for situations where particles are created or destroyed, which Schrödinger’s equation doesn’t cover."

Again, his eyes linger on yours, and his slightly amused smile turns into a more genuine one at your answer. You let out a relieved sigh.

"Exactly," Joel answers, his attention on the rest of the class again, "Someone payed attention during Basic Quantum Mechanics. Now, here’s where it gets wild. When Dirac wrote this down, he realized it naturally predicts antiparticles, meaning for every electron, there should be a mirror-image particle with opposite charge, which we now call the positron. That was a huge deal because it wasn’t something people were expecting, it just fell out of the math."

For the rest of the class, Joel doesn’t continue that little game between the two of you, but whenever he asks a question, his gaze flickers over you, and your stomach gives an embarrassing little jump. Alva grins whenever this happens, but for most of the class she’s busy following Joel’s explanations.

"I want you to read up on today’s lecture," Joel says at the end of the lecture, and writes down a few page numbers on the chalkboard, "and solve the problems I mentioned earlier. Attendance isn’t mandatory, we’re all adults here, but I urge you to come if you’re interested in graduating in the next three years. Trust me, it’s easier to just do the work here than in your dorms. Now, enjoy the weather, see you Monday."

You and Alva pack up your things, and before she can ask you which class you have next, you pick up your backpack.

"I’m gonna say hi to him," you tell her, nodding in Joel’s direction, "my Dad and him go way back."

"Sure," Alva says, a cheeky smile on her face, "it’d be rude not to."

"Meet you outside?"

"I’ll be at the vending machine. Go get him," she jokes, and you snort.

Joel is packing up his course materials when you make your way down the steps and to his desk, but he looks up when he hears you coming towards him, and immediately his face splits into a smile. If you were anywhere else and ten years younger, he’d probably ruffle your hair.

"Good lecture," you say, "Dad didn’t tell me you’re teaching again."

Joel puts his piece of chalk into a tin box and nods.

"I don’t think he knows. You know how it is, we never get around to callin’ and I haven’t been home in a while."

So this is a new development, perhaps even Joel’s first semester back at university, too.

"What about the contracting? Don’t you miss the…pipes?"

He chuckles at your lack in basic contracting knowledge, his eyes not moving from yours.

"Ah, that was always Tommy, he just needed a little help. Company’s doin’ well now, though, so he’ll manage without me."

You think you remember Tommy – a man good-naturedly chasing you and the rest of the giggling neighborhood kids with a harden hose – but the memory is too vague to be sure it’s really him.

"You’ve grown up," Joel says, almost accusingly, and you shrug and smile. "Doin’ your master’s already. How come you’re familiar with Dirac?"

His accent is much thicker now that it’s only the two of you, and you notice a hint of pride when he asks about your correct answer to his question during the lecture. The satisfied feeling it gives you is still the same as when he high-fived you after your drivers test, or when he patted your back after you solved a problem for school without his help.

"Summer reading," you admit, trying hard not to sound like a nerd, "Basic Quantum Mechanics was my favorite lecture as an undergrad."

Joel smiles at you, and puts his notes into his leather bag. He slings it across his shoulder, and nods towards the door.

"How would you like to grab a coffee and tell me all about what’s been goin’ on with you and your old man?"

Your eyes flicker briefly over his hand, gripping the strap of his bag, and you raise an eyebrow.

"What’s the policy for staff having coffee with their students, Professor?"

Joel holds your gaze, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"I’m actually not sure, Miss, I’ve never had to check before."

He’s playing along, and it feels dangerously blurry – yes, he’s your Dad’s old friend, your childhood neighbor, but it feels like more than just joking around.

"Does that mean I’m your first, then?", you ask, voice sweet and close to flirting now. The smile freezes on Joel’s face, and his gaze becomes almost calculating.

"Am I yours?" he asks you softly, and the double-meaning behind his question isn’t lost on you. You feel a thrilling pang in your stomach – Joel Miller is flirting with you.

***

You do end up getting coffee after you tell Alva you’ll meet her later, Joel reassuring you it won’t get him into trouble, and you’re fascinated to see he still drinks it black. What fascinates you even more is that you remember how he takes his coffee, and you wonder why your brain filed this fact away as important, not to be forgotten.

"So, when did you graduate? Sorry I missed it."

There’s honest regret in his voice, which surprises you. Joel was always a warm person, but you figured he cared for you as much as he would have for any kid living across the street.

"Last June," you tell him, dropping a sugar cube into your cappuccino. "I spent the summer working, and now I’m here."

"How d’you like it so far?"

You give a nervous chuckle, torn between the honest truth and pleasant small talk. You opt for the former – this is Joel, after all, not some stranger.

"To be honest with you, I oscillate between enjoying my freedom away from Mom and Dad, and being scared shitless by starting over somewhere new," you admit, looking at your coffee. You haven’t told people about your fear, and it feels good to finally admit it – the grip your parents have had on you makes your newfound freedom almost uncomfortable.

"What d’you mean, startin’ over?", Joel asks, his voice strikingly gentle. You sigh, and shrug.

"I know the distance is good for me, but it was comfortable, just doing what my parents expected of me. I had good grades, nice friends, and just the right amount of drunken nights for them not to worry about my social life too much," you explain, "and now it’s like…there’s so much room to be someone else, cause they won’t see it anyway."

You look up, embarrassed to have spilt your guts like this, but Joel looks thoughtful, his thumb moving along the handle of his coffee cup.

"Sorry," you mutter, "I know they’re your friends, but they can be…"

"Overbearing?"

You smile at him gratefully and he smiles back.

"Look, I know your parents pretty well. They love you to bits, but as an adult I imagine it must be stiflin’.“

"Yeah," you sigh, grateful for his understanding, "I feel like I don’t know who I am when I’m not…their kid."

Joel nods, and sips his coffee, apparently pondering what you said.

"I promised myself I would only do what makes me happy while I’m here," you tell him sheepishly, as if it’s a secret, and Joel laughs.

"Well, I’m not expectin’ you to hand in any homework, then."

You grin, too, and shake your head. It’s surreal, Joel being your professor, and you wearing your heart on your sleeve for him.

"Don’t worry, Professor Miller, I’m not dropping your class."

"You’d better not, it’d really hurt my feelings," Joel says, eyes trained on yours. Again, that blurriness set in motion by the change of his role in your life: neighbor to professor to – what?

"What about you, though? This your first semester here?"

"Second," he tells you, "but I still don’t feel at home. Once a Texan, always a Texan, I guess."

You cock your head and watch him drain the last of his coffee, the cup tiny in his hands.

"What?" he asks you, curiosity evident in his voice.

"You look so different," you say, and Joel scoffs.

"Well, that’s real nice. Know I’m not thirty anymore, but geez–"

"No," you say with a grin, "it’s not that. I don’t know, I’ve just never seen you teach before. Or dressed this nice – I remember you mowing the lawn in a Fleetwood Mac shirt, not checking attendance in a button down."

Joel’s cheeks go slightly pink, and he scoffs again.

"Well, I can’t show up here in a band tee, can I? Gotta dress the part," he mutters.

"I get it. You suit it," you tell him, if only to see that blush appear on his face again. He looks up at you, holding your gaze for a couple of seconds, then he shakes his head.

"What were the odds of us meetin’ like this, huh? I gotta call your father and tell him."

Something about that bothers you, you’d prefer for your parents not to know. You like sitting here with Joel, reminiscing the old times, without anybody getting a peek in.

"Or not," he says gently, seeing the expression on your face.

"Sorry," you say, "course you can tell him."

"You apologize a lot," he tells you, and you fight the urge to say sorry once again. "It’s okay, I’m not tellin’ anyone, kid. ’S just you n me."

That pang in your stomach again, and you nod.

"Alright," you answer, "just us."

You get a refill for the two of you, and a blueberry muffin to split, which feels strangely intimate, but Joel pats his stomach and jokes about keeping an eye on his figure, so you grin, and ask the barista to cut it in half. Joel asks you about your friends, and you tell him about Alva.

"Oh yes," he says and swallows a bite of the muffin, "that punky lookin’ kid who sits next to you?"

"Yeah, she’s nice. Haven’t really met anyone else."

"Geez, I’m not keepin’ you from findin’ frat boys to hook up with, am I?"

You laugh, the idea of sitting here with a twenty-something year old kid named Cole or Josh instead of him so absurd, you can’t help it.

"No," you tell him, "I’m honestly enjoying the fact that I don’t have to have someone else in my dorm anymore."

"Well, that’s a relief to hear," Joel says, "they’re all dipshits."

You remember him telling you something similar about the boys in high school, and it makes you smile. He’s still got that protective streak, then.

"To tell you the truth, I’m glad you’re here," you say quietly, "if I’m not making any friends, I can come crying to you."

Joel watches you for a couple of seconds, not laughing as you intended, but taking your words seriously.

"Course you’ll make friends. Give it a couple of weeks, and you’ll have forgotten all about physics cause you’ll be skippin’ classes left and right to hang out with people."

You don’t tell him, but you think it’s very unlikely you’ll skip any of his classes. Still, you appreciate his words and how confident he seems to be in your ability to open up to people.

"Well, will you give me the answers to your exams if I skip your class?"

"No way," he says with a cheeky smile, the crinkles around his eyes prominent. "I don’t do preferential treatment. You wanna split another blueberry muffin?"

You grin.

"Thought you were watching your waistline."

"I am, that’s why I’m only eating halves."

***

Your afternoon with Joel leaves you on a high for the rest of the day, feeling much less lonely now that you’ve had a conversation beyond the usual so how many siblings do you have? and where did you do your undergrad?

You start spending your lunch breaks with Alva and some friends she made in another lecture, all of whom are very nice. In the evenings you all go to see a movie or have dinner together in any of your dorm rooms, and although you walk around campus holding out one eye for Joel, you don’t see him for the rest of the week. There is always a nudge of disappointment in your stomach, when you glance in the direction of his office, and the door is closed, but you’re so busy, you don’t dwell on it too much. The days pass in a blur of new lectures, swapping music with Alva, and evenings spent as a group of six, and suddenly it’s Sunday again. You aren’t too sad the weekend is already over, and you know exactly why you’re looking forward to Monday, but you don’t allow yourself to think about Joel any more than you can help.

In the afternoon, while you’re doing Joel’s assignment for the next class, your mother calls, and you answer the phone with a mixture of feelings.

Hi, my darling, how are you doing?

"Hi, Mom. I’m good, just doing my work for tomorrow. How are you?"

Good, good. How was your first week? Did you meet anyone nice?

Hah, if she only knew. It feels deceptive, not telling her about Joel, but you like that for now, he’s just yours.

"Yes, this girl called Alva. We and some guys hang out a lot, there’s a cinema near by, but the lectures are pretty hard, so we only have the evenings off."

Well, I’m glad you found some nice people! Dad says hi, he’s making dinner. Anyway, baby, we miss you terribly. Do you know when you’ll be coming home?

"I just got here, Mom."

You sigh so quietly your mother can’t hear it, guilt already nagging at your heart. Sunday is the day you would usually be coming home for dinner, and you know it’s no coincidence your parents called you now.

Of course, you’re right. It’s just not easy for your Dad and me, you know? You’ve never been this far from home, and you’re our baby.

Yeah, you think, your adult baby. You sigh again.

"I don’t know if I’ll come this month, I’m still sort of settling in. But I’ll let you know if there’s a free weekend next month, alright?"

Sure, that sounds great. Will you send us some pictures of your friends, and your room?

"Sure," you say, but it bugs you that you’re giving in. Already, you’re breaking the promise you made yourself, and letting your parents further into your life here than you’re comfortable with.

"Mom, I gotta go, I’ve still got some problems to solve and I’m meeting Alva for dinner soon."

Okay, darling, enjoy your night! And make yourself heard. I love you!

"Love you, too! Talk soon."

Your kind, clingy mother, whose greatest pain is not knowing if you’re safe. In a way you miss her, and you feel guilty for being annoyed. Still, you know you have to gently nudge her away from you, or she’ll suffocate you one day. It makes you angry with yourself, because you know your Mom would have liked nothing more than to hear all about your week, but as soon as she asked you a question, you felt like your seventeen year old self again, getting yelled at because you stayed up past your curfew, and your parents didn’t know where you were.

Tears of frustration spring to your eyes – the mix of feelings too much for you to handle. You wipe them away with the back of your hand, breathe in shakily, and try to focus on your assignment again, but now you’re riled up, and the tears won’t stop.

It’s hard for you to deal with disappointing your parents, forcing them away when they would like nothing more than to know everything that’s going on in your life. So, instead of preparing for Joel’s lecture, you cry on your bed, feeling lonely and angry with yourself for hurting them. You know your reaction is disproportionate, but everything you kept buried while you lived close to your parents comes bubbling out of you.

You call Alva, tell her you have cramps because of your period and just want to stay in bed. She’s understanding, asks you if there’s anything she can do, even offers to bring you takeout or a hot water bottle, which makes you feel all the worse for lying to her. You decline her offer, tell her you’ll meet her Monday morning. In the evening, you regret not letting her bring over a real meal, eating cold pasta in your underwear, tears still running down your face and making your head pound.

***

On Monday, you feel slightly better, your headache is gone and your face isn’t as puffy as you expected it to be. Still, you’re in a solitary mood, and are glad to find Alva is able to keep up an entire conversation virtually by herself – you just grunt from time to time, or give noncommittal movements of your head in vague agreement. You hope if she notices your bad mood, she just thinks it has to do with your period.

Computational Physics is hell – you dislike it on the best of days, but guilt ridden and tired, you’re barely able to pay attention at all, and the professor’s handwriting is so bad, you end up copying down Alva’s notes instead. She’s kind about it, slides over her notebook at an angle that makes it easy to read, and you make a mental note to thank her for being so kind to you while you’re offering nothing but a scowling expression all day. Maybe you’ll cook for her, or make a mixtape of your favorite songs, just to show her you’re interested in being actual good friends.

Lunch passes easily, as always you sit with Alva and the guys, and there’s enough people for you to stare at your mashed potatoes and repeatedly stab them with your fork instead of eating them. They taste like flour mixed up with water, and you dream up your father’s Sunday dinner instead, but it does little to help with the taste.

"So, you lookin’ forward to flirting with Miller in front of the whole lecture hall again?" Alva asks you, as you’re making your way to said room. You glare at her, but can’t help the corners of your mouth twitching.

"Wasn’t flirting with him," you answer, kicking a pebble, "I grew up across the street from him, I’ve known him practically my whole life."

"Whatever you say, grumpy," Alva teases, nudging your shoulder with hers. You’re overcome with a rush of gratitude for the way she treats you, persistently kind and humorous. You chuckle, your mood lifting slightly.

"He’s probably been waiting for you to turn legal," she continues, and you groan.

"Gross, Alva, he’s not a creep."

"I’m just saying, if your little connection gets you the answers to his tests, you could sell them and become rich."

"I already asked him, he said no," you say darkly, thinking of the nights you’ll have to spend studying to pass his exam. This makes Alva laugh her brilliant laugh, and you can’t help but smile, too.

"Damn," she grins, "I’d try if he wasn’t a guy."

You snort.

"You try with Professor Carter, I need the answers to Computational," you suggest, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively.

"You’re joking, but I bet once you get her out of her frumpy cardigans, she’s a real–"

"Okay, stop," you grown, the image of Professor Carter taking off her cardigans worse than her keeping them on – if possible. Alva giggles.

"I’ll help you with Computational," she says, "if you help me with Quantum Mechanics."

"You’re good at both," you argue, and Alva shrugs.

"Not like you, though. I spent like four hours doing Miller’s assignment last night."

You want to tell her you didn’t do it at all, but before you can open your mouth, she spots a friend in the crowd, grabs your arm and drags you over to him.

The three of you sit down together, closer to the front than the week before, which gives you a direct line of sight to Joel’s desk. When he walks in, your stomach jumps – he’s wearing a tie today, a dark burgundy or blue, you aren’t sure from this distance, flecked with specks of white. Again, his hair is styled in that carelessly disheveled look you like so much, and the image of him putting gel in it makes you smile. He gets out his materials for the lecture, and looks up, his eyes finding yours – you smile and he gives a small nod. Again you’re struck by how different he acts in front of the class, how serious he seems. You think of his laid back manner when you had coffee, and struggle to make the images align. Joel clears his throat, and the chatter around you stops.

"Quiet, please, everyone. Thank you. So, last week, we found out that Dirac’s equation predicts the existence of antiparticles. But instead of just accepting that, let’s think deeper—mathematically, what feature of the equation forces this conclusion?"

Joel jumps right into the lecture, and just like last week, nobody raises their hands – you curse the people around you for their lethargy, because sure enough, Joel’s eyes land on you. Before you can shake your head to signal to him not to ask you, he calls your name.

"If I remember correctly, you were already familiar with Dirac’s equation last week. What would you say, what does the existence of negative-energy solutions tell us, and why couldn’t we just ignore them?"

You wish you could answer him, know he asked you because he was sure you’d know the answer, perhaps hoped your enthusiasm for the subject would get the rest of the students to participate more, but you didn’t do the assignment, and you’ve already half forgotten his question. You swallow.

"Um…I…I’m not sure, Sir," you say, watching the way his brows furrow, and looking down at your notes. Alva shoots you a curious look, and when she sees your expression, she raises her hand. You’re thankful to have Joel’s attention diverted, feeling like a fool in front of hundreds of students you’re trying to make friends with.

"Dirac’s equation gives positive and negative energy solutions, and at first, the negative ones didn’t make sense. Dirac suggested they represent antiparticles, like the positron, which he predicted. The idea was that electrons could, like, jump into these negative-energy states, creating a hole that looks like a positron, which was later confirmed experimentally," Alva explains instead of you.

"You're close, but electrons don’t actually 'jump into' negative-energy states. Instead, Dirac proposed that these states are already filled, forming what he called the Dirac Sea. A positron isn’t an electron jumping down, it’s actually a 'hole' left when a negative-energy electron gets excited to a positive-energy state. That distinction is important because it explains why positrons have the opposite charge. Good answer, though, thank you Ms. Bennet."

Joel’s eyes flicker over to you again, but you show no reaction, and he continues with his lecture without asking you another question. Alva glances at you inquiringly, and you sigh.

"I wanted to do the assignment yesterday, but my cramps were really bad," you explain quietly, and she nods sympathetically.

"Call me next time, I’ll send you my answers," she whispers, and you smile gratefully. It seems you really hit the jackpot in friendship when you sat down next to Alva.

***

After Joel’s lecture, you and Alva make your way over to the vending machine, because it has the sour patches she likes, and in her own words she’ll combust if she doesn’t eat some right fucking now.

"Shit," she curses, "they’re stuck."

"Let me," a voice comes from a behind you, and when you turn around, Joel is smiling at the two of you. "Took me a while to figure this thing out, too."

Alva steps aside, and Joel bangs his palm against the side of machine. You jump, but the sour patches make their tumbling way down to the dispenser.

"Great! Thanks, Professor Miller," Alva says, ripping the bag open and offering it to the two of you. To your surprise, Joel takes her up on it, and Alva grins at you.

"You were quiet during today’s lecture," Joel says tentatively, when he’s swallowed his sour patch "everything alright?"

You glance at your shoes.

"Um, yeah. I wasn’t feeling well yesterday, and I left your assignment for last, so…I didn’t do it."

Joel’s expression grows worried, and Alva glances between the two of you.

"Hey, I’m meeting Max for coffee," she tells you, "see you later?"

"Yeah," you answer, grateful she’s granting you this time alone with Joel, "see you, Alva."

When she’s gone, Joel is still looking at you with that worried look on his face, and you sigh.

"Sorry about the assignment," you say, "won’t happen again."

"I’m not worried about the assignment," Joel says earnestly, but then he turns his head, and you know he doesn’t want someone listening in. Sure, you can be seen chatting in the university cafe, but this conversation is rapidly blurring the lines between scholarly and – something else.

"I…have some materials in my office that might make it easier for you to catch up with the lectures again," Joel tells you, and you understand the underlying meaning. Let’s talk in my office.

"Thank you," you say, relieved, and Joel nods, eyes still glued to yours, brows still furrowed. You walk to his office making smalltalk about the lecture, which to anyone listening in would seem like a normal conversation between a professor and an interested student.

Joel opens the door to his office for you, and lets you step in first. It’s small, cramped bookshelves on the walls and a sturdy desk in the middle that is littered with notes, pencils, books, and a couple of old coffee mugs. You notice he put part of his books sideways onto the shelves, which you find weirdly endearing. This is the Joel you know – clutter and warmth.

He closes the door behind you, and you turn around to watch him drop his bag and walk over to the kettle in the corner of the room.

"Coffee?"

"Please," you sigh, "if you don’t have anything stronger."

He raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t answer, just turns on the already filled kettle, and gets two clean cups for the two of you.

"I only have drip coffee," he tells you, "I don’t drink that crap the machines brew up."

"That’s fine, I enjoy the medieval feel of it."

"Watch it," he answers, a smile tugging on his lips, "don’t insult my coffee filter in front of me."

You grin, and walk over to his bookshelf to have a look.

"So, what’s going on?" he asks you while pouring the boiling hot water over the coffee grounds. Again, the Joel you remember – empathetic, but unusually direct. You sigh, turn around and shrug.

"Mom and Dad called yesterday, and I could tell they missed me, but I just…I cut them off after two minutes."

Joel places the cups on his desk, and leans against it. His sleeves are rolled up again, and when he crosses his arms, you feel that familiar pang in your stomach.

"And now I…I don’t know, I feel so guilty, Joel. They’re not even being dicks about it, but I just know they’d prefer for me to check in with them more…and the worst thing is, I know it’s not a big deal. They’ll get over it, they’ve got a good life without me constantly in it, so I don’t know why my stupid brain can’t just let this go, you know? One I miss you, darling, and I’m reduced to this pathetic mess, instead of just, I don’t know, getting my shit together."

You shake your head and clench your teeth, once again embarrassed to come crying to Joel about your parental issues, but he’s the only one you can tell. Sure, Alva would probably listen, but you don’t feel like explaining your family to a near stranger. Joel just gets it. Joel knows you.

He’s looking at you, arms still crossed, and for a second you worry he might not want to hear about your little breakdown, but then he sighs.

"You have your shit together all of the fuckin’ time, kid, I think that might be the problem," he tells you quietly. "You’ve always been so hard on yourself."

He’s right, once again he sees what you struggle to show the world, and his words make tears spring to your eyes. You will your eyeballs to suck them back in, but of course, Joel sees.

"Hey now," he says, taking a tentative step towards you. One tear drops from the end of your lashes and down your cheek, and the dam is broken again – they come spilling in floods. Joel crosses the room in a second, and there is a slight moment of hesitation between the two of you, before you bury your face in his chest, and let your restraint fall. You cry quietly, feel him wrap his arms around you, as he rocks you back and forth.

"You’re alright," he tells you, "Shhh, it’s okay, you’re alright."

"S-s-sorry about the assignment," you manage, and Joel’s hand starts stroking your back.

"Jesus, kid, stop worryin’ about the fucking assignment," he tells you, voice low and worried. "You don’t gotta be so strict with yourself. You’re doin’ just fine."

He smells so much like home, you think you might never stop crying.

"I don’t know what’s wrong with me," you hiccup, "One week here and I’m a mess already."

You feel Joel rest his chin on your head, and his arms tighten around you.

"There’s nothin’ wrong with you, you hear me? You hold yourself to high standards. Creates pressure, kid."

As always, he’s right of course – you want to excel academically, you don’t want to hurt your parents, you want to stay true to yourself and do what makes you happy, you want to make friends without compromising your grades. It’s impossible.

You breathe in shakily, your eyes closed, face buried in Joel’s chest, and for a second he is all that exists – just Joel, all around you, pulling you to the earth. Slowly, your breathing calms, Joel still rocking you soothingly, holding you close.

"There we go," he mutters, when your chest stops shaking, "that’s good."

When you pull away from him, he puts his hands on your shoulders to really look at you, and although you’re embarrassed by your outburst, you’re glad he doesn’t shy away from you.

"I want you to start being a little more lenient with yourself, alright? You don’t need to worry about an assignment on top of everything."

His hands are rubbing your shoulders, his eyes are kind and warm.

"Maybe not about yours, but I have like five other lectures –"

"Okay, so try to stop worrying about my assignments, just mine. Won’t bite your head off if you don’t do them, and I’ll only ask you questions when you raise your hand, alright? In fact, for the rest of the term, I want you to hand them in late."

Despite yourself, your lips pull up in a small smile.

"That’s silly, Joel," you say softly, but he shakes his head.

"It’s not silly, it’s practice to get you out of your comfort zone."

You consider his words for a moment. You do keep a pretty tight reign on yourself, and just the thought of doing every assignment late makes your skin crawl with anxiety. But when will you get another chance to step out of your comfort zone as safely as now, with Joel? He’s offering you a way to try it without actually risking your grades. And who knows, perhaps it actually will take a little bit of pressure off of you.

"Okay," you answer, staring up at Joel with puffy cheeks and teary eyes. "Alright."

He smiles at you, but he still looks worried and you wish he’d pull you close to him again. It’s such a relief to have this sort of human contact with someone who really knows you.

"Feel better?"

You sigh, and nod.

"It’s just a lot, you know, uni and my parents, and every social interaction feels like such a chore, cause I don’t know people yet. I feel like I’m not even relaxed when I’m asleep."

Joel hesitates for a moment, before he speaks, but when he does, he sounds determined.

"Come over tonight, I’ll make us somethin’ to eat, and you don’t have to worry about talkin’ to anyone. We’ll watch whatever you’d like. You still enjoy those crappy horror movies?"

You smile at the shared memory – Joel letting you use his living room to watch slashers your parents didn’t want you to see. One summer, when the heat was so stifling you barely went outside, you practically lived at his place, and when you’d seen all the DVDs he owned, he got you more from the video store.

"I do," you say quietly, the fact that Joel remembers more important to you than his proposal to spend the evening together. You feel significantly less alone, all of a sudden.

"Alright, then. Be over at seven,“ Joel tells you, and you nod, wiping your wet face with the back of your hand.

"Thank you, Joel," you say, and hug him again, because you don’t know how to tell him in words what you’re feeling, and his big, warm body against yours feels more than soothing.

"Course, kid. Just don’t tell Alva, or they’ll fire me."

You smile, your arms still wrapped around his neck, as he holds you.

"But I don’t wanna get you in trouble, what if–"

"No," Joel interrupts you, "no what ifs. No worryin’. I forbid it."

And you accept it, leave it to Joel, because he tells you to – because you don’t have any room in your head for more worries, and because you trust Joel not to do anything reckless. You trust him, period.

***

You text Alva you’re having dinner alone, that your cramps are still acting up, and you do feel slightly bad for lying, but you would never risk Joel’s job. The idea of having dinner with him at his place should make you nervous after your change in feelings about him, but you’re just looking forward to having a meal with someone who knows you, and lets you be yourself.

Joel asked you to be there at seven, so you spend the rest of the afternoon in your dorm room, wondering if you should change your outfit or if it would seem desperate – in the end, you keep the jeans but change into a blouse instead of a sweater. The part of you that stares at Joel’s forearms during class now wants to look pretty for him, so that he’ll ask you over again. You know you’re being ridiculous, but it doesn’t stop you from putting on your nicest perfume.

You’re ten minutes early, so you sit in your little second hand car and try not to panic. You know Joel is merely trying to be a good…friend? Ex-neighbor, Dad’s best friend turned professor? There’s no real etiquette to cling to in this situation, for either of you, and although you’re positive Joel doesn’t have any ulterior motives with you despite his flirting, you know he could lose his job if someone finds out you went to his house. Even if you just watch slashers together the way you did ten years ago. It makes you anxious to know he’d risk something clearly important to him for just that – he moved to a different state, quit his old job, started over completely, and is now willing to endanger that new life just because you’re stressed. At the same time it seems ridiculous anyone could forbid the two of you to spend time together after having known each other your entire life. The thought is absurd, and still, you need to be careful.

You get out of the car before you start to hyperventilate, and ring Joel’s doorbell – it feels strange for him to live in a new house. He opens the door with a smile, and absurd relief floods your veins when you realize he’s wearing an old Led Zeppelin shirt and a pair of worn jeans. This is your Joel.

"I come bearing gifts," you announce, stepping into the house.

“Christ, where did you get this?”, Joel asks, taking the six pack of beer from you, so you can take off your jacket. “I didn’t know they sold Shiner Bock outside of Texas, I’ve been survivin’ on Bud”.

“Brought it with me,” you explain, “figured it’d help if I got homesick, you know, in multiple ways.”

You grin, and Joel shakes his head good-naturedly.

“Old enough to drink, well I’ll be damned. I remember when you begged your Dad to let you have a coke and he asked me if I thought the caffeine would stunt your growth.”

“Did it?”

“It might’ve,” Joel says with a chuckle, “but he didn’t let you have it.”

“Well, he isn’t here now, so let’s put those in the fridge.”

“No," Joel mutters, “no, he ain’t.”

While Joel puts the beer away, you take a look around his living room – despite your reservations about the new house, it reminds you of his old place. It’s got the same masculine and warm feel to it, dark wood, books all over the place, no bells and whistles. Joel is a practical man, and it’s charmingly etched into every part of his life – except for his new work-look. The room isn’t as cluttered as you remember Joel’s old house back in Texas, but you assume he hasn’t had time to accumulate clutter yet. No old newspapers are lying around, no birthday cards stacking up. You wonder if he’s lonely here, teaching all by himself, hundreds of miles away from the place he last grew roots in.

“Do you miss home?” you ask him, when he comes back from the kitchen with two bottles of beer in his hands. He looks at ease, much more himself than back at university. His jeans are faded, his shirt a little too big on his already broad frame, and his hair is clean and curly the way you like it – no gel twisting it into all sorts of un-Joel-like styles. Warmth floods your chest at the sight of him taking a swig of his beer. His crowfeet are a little more pronounced, and his hair has more grey strands than it did back home, but he’s still got that distinctly warm, no-nonsense feel to him.

“Sometimes,” he answers, offering you the second bottle. Your hand brushes his when you take it from him. “But I’m pretty busy here, you know, got a whole lotta lectures to plan, papers to grade and that sort of stuff.”

You nod, and sip at your beer.

“Have you…you know, met people? Made friends here?”

Joel plops down on the couch, and smiles up at you.

“You worried about my social life?”

You shrug, and smile almost timidly.

“You know me, kid, I like bein’ by myself.”

That’s true, for as long as you’ve known Joel, he’s been alone. You know he has nieces and nephews who adore him, and your Dad mentioned a woman once, but it must have been at least twenty years since they were together. You wonder why Joel doesn’t seem to want that sort of a domestic life, surely many women would be happy to let him put a ring on them.

You walk over to the window, and watch a blackbird tug at a writhing worm.

“Have you met someone at uni you wanna be by yourself with?” you ask with a small grin, turning back to find Joel already watching you. “I heard Professor Carter’s still single.”

“She’s very intelligent,” Joel says earnestly. You give him credit for not laughing about his colleague, and suddenly you feel bad for calling her frumpy with Alva. “But I think I’ll leave her to her simulations. Why am I bein’ interrogated?”

“Sorry,” you mumble, and glance out of the window again, “just making conversation.”

“Your turn, then,” Joel answers, and takes another swig of beer. “Any frat boys catch your eye? Or frat girls?”

You glance at him, a smile on your lips, and raise your eyebrows.

“Hey, I don’t discriminate. I thought, maybe Alva…”

“No,” you answer, feeling fond of him for considering the possibility. “Alva’s a friend. The guys are…well, they’re frat boys.”

 Your voice carries enough disgust for Joel to laugh.

“Right,” he says, and his eyes are warm when they meet yours again. “Just us two loners, then."

“Cheers,” you say with a smile.

“Cheers.”

***

Joel’s cooking is a mystery to you – he loves to eat, and when he does cook, it’s always delicious, but he only ever makes one of five dishes. Again, that practicality shining through. Why try something new if you’ve perfected your routine? He made pasta for you, wasn’t sure if you’re still vegetarian and makin’ your Dad’s hair fall out, and you smile into the neck of your beer bottle, when you watch him drizzle dressing onto a carefully arranged side-salad. Throughout dinner, you tell him how much you love it at least five times, because you can tell he put effort into the meal. You know it’s not technically a date, but having a dinner he made just for you, in his home – it feels like one.

You steer the conversation away from heavy topics like your parents. Although Joel offered you this evening to make you feel better, you want to spend it with him rather than in your head, so you ask him about books and music, about his lectures, about Tommy and the kids. You like watching how his face lights up whenever he talks about something he particularly loves. Joel is a quiet man, but you found out years ago it isn’t shyness, but a disinterest in most mundane topics – he doesn’t like gossip or superficial small talk. When he tells you Tommy made him godfather of all of his children, the pride is evident in his voice, and you don’t have to fake your enthusiasm, although it amuses you, too – Tommy loving his big brother enough not to consider anyone else.

"She calls me uncle Joe," he tells you with a chuckle, "Can’t pronounce her Ls yet, but I’ve considered legally changing my name."

When you’re done eating, you help him clear the table, but when you reach for the sponge to do the dishes, Joel shakes his head.

"Let me do that later, kid. You wanna watch a movie?"

So the two of you plop down on the couch with a bag of M&Ms and another round of beer, and Joel hands you the remote.

"Go wild," he says, chuckling when you excitedly turn on he TV to open Netflix.

"Wow, a streaming service? I thought you’d just hoard DVDs for the rest of your life."

Joel huffs, and instead of answering, he leans forward, and reaches for something under his couch table. When he turns his head, he’s got glasses on his face, thick-rimmed and black, and so startlingly sexy, you almost drop the remote.

"You…you’ve got glasses?"

"Yeah," he answers, his eyes meeting yours, and you swallow. "When your eyesight deteriorates, that’s when you know you’re gettin’ old."

You hum but don’t answer, just hold his gaze for a second and look back to the screen. You try to ignore the familiar pang in your stomach at the sight of Joel in his new glasses, and skip through movie after movie, mumbling seen it, seen it, that one sucks, seen it, until Joel reaches over and snatches the remote from you.

"Hey–"

"I can’t read anything if you skip through them that quickly."

"You’re not supposed to read, you’re supposed to go with the vibe of the cover."

He glances at you with furrowed brows.

"Okay, sorry, didn’t know you’re a filmbro," you grumble, but it’s almost entirely fake – you couldn’t be annoyed with him, not when he pushes his glasses up his nose, and carefully considers which button to press on the remote.

"I don’t know what that means," he answers, and starts reading the description of a romantic comedy about Christmas.

"I’m not watching that."

"You don’t even know what it’s about."

"It’s September, Joel."

He huffs again, but finally reaches the horror movies. Surprisingly, it doesn’t take the two of you long to pick one, and the thought of two hours of brainless, scary entertainment on a couch with Joel makes you practically melt into his couch.

You can feel Joel’s eyes on you during the opening credits, so you glance over and he smiles.

"Comfy?" he asks, his voice hoarse from relaxation.

"Yeah," you answer, and smile when hands you a blanket. He’s not exactly close to you, but it still feels a little intimate when you spread the blanket out and offer him the other end. He moves over a little, so that the blanket covers his legs, and when you concentrate you can feel his body heat next to you, so you try hard not to – and instead get lost in the movie.

It’s not particularly good, but the story does get under your skin a little, and when there’s an unexpected shriek, you violently jump and instinctively move closer to Joel. He chuckles, but doesn’t give any reaction to your arm suddenly pressing against his. He doesn’t move away, either, so you don’t, fear suddenly not being the only thing bubbling up in your stomach.

"Jesus," you mumble, the creeping music making you anticipate another jumpscare. You’re right, it does come, but prepared though you are, you still wince, and turn away from the screen slightly. Out of sight, out of mind. Joel turns around, too, and when he sees your widened eyes, he grins.

"How’s that Christmas movie lookin’ now?"

"I’m not scared," you say, and there is some truth to it, "I’m just not good with jumpscares."

When the next one comes, you can’t help it, you clutch his arm next to you, your nails digging into his firm muscle, and Joel glances at you again.

"Sorry," you say quickly, letting go of his forearm now marked with five tiny crescent shapes. "Jesus, Joel, sorry."

"It’s fine," he says, and the amusement is evident in his voice, "you sure you’re into this? There might be some cartoons–"

He stops talking when you glare at him, but his mouth is twitching under his beard. You’re determined to watch the entire movie, and you try not to let any reaction show, wanting to prove Joel wrong.

There is one particularly scary scene – it’s not necessarily violent, but the music and shaky camera movements make your pulse race, and you turn your head slightly, so as to look at something else. Joel glances at you again, but he doesn’t laugh this time, just puts a heavy hand on your shoulder. It’s grounding, the warmth of it, how his thumb digs into your muscle and his fingers spread out over your back and neck.

"You don’t gotta force yourself to watch this, kid," Joel says gently, all teasing humor gone.

"No," you say stubbornly, but move even closer to him. His touch is a welcome distraction from the movie, and although you know it’s stupid and reckless, you lean into him, and Joel puts his arm around you. It’s closer than you’ve been to him except for hugging, and your heartbeat starts to quicken for all the wrong, non-horror reasons. When you flinch, Joel tugs you against his side, and it feels natural to hide your face in his shoulder.

He was never touchy with you, or anyone for that matter, so something must have changed. You wonder if he’s trying to comfort you, or if you might not be the only one who can feel that strange pull between the two of you.

When the movie ends, Joel regrettably removes his arm from around your shoulders to switch off the TV, and although you’re slightly disappointed, you scold yourself for expecting something else.

"Not bad," Joel says with a small smile, and pushes his glasses up his nose. "Very brave."

You scoff, but feel the corners of your mouth twitching, too.

"I used to be less of a wimp, but I guess you soften with age."

"You’re twenty-three," Joel argues, "that’s young."

Yeah, too young. Too young to lean over and kiss him, or climb into his lap, or expect anything other than paternal care when he’s got his arm around you. You look at your lap, all of a sudden feeling stupid and silly for having dreamed up an absurd fantasy about the man in front of you.

"Hey," Joel says gently, "what’s wrong?"

"Nothing," you say quickly, "nothing, I had a really great evening. Thanks, Joel."

You can tell you’ve confused him, but he nods, doesn’t question your sudden change of mood, and stands when you get up from the couch.

"Anytime, kid. You call me if you’re havin’ a bad time, alright? My door’s always open."

He’s so kind, so recklessly, stupidly, lovingly kind, and all of it is directed at you. You curse yourself for it, but again you feel that familiar burn in your eyes. Joel reaches out and easily pulls you towards his big body, hugging you the way he did in his office just this afternoon. He doesn’t ask you what brought on your tears, just lets you cry into his Led Zeppelin shirt that smells so much like home, like a childhood you won’t get back to. You remember whiffs of that smell when you were watching movies on his couch while he was at work, too pissed off at your parents to spend the summer at home. This scent was there when you attended a neighborhood barbecue after fighting with your father and Joel grilled some vegan sausages for you without comment or question. He’s always looked out for you like this, quietly, without demanding an explanation, just a solid, comforting presence in your life.

Your tears stop after a couple of minutes, and you take a step away from Joel, wiping your face. He looks so worried again, brows all furrowed and arms hanging limply at his side. Didn’t he flirt with you, though? Didn’t he prepare dinner for you the way a date would, ask you about your dating life, ask you to coffee? You don’t think you would be able to handle another evening like this one not knowing what Joel really thinks, so in a moment of hazy recklessness, you lean up.

His eyes meet yours, all warm and strangely unguarded, but before your lips brush his, a hand on your shoulder stops you. Without saying something, you move away from him, and nod to yourself, his reaction all the information you needed.

"Sorry," you say very quietly, not managing much else now that you’ve humiliated yourself in front of the only person you really know in a six hundred mile radius. Joel runs a hand through his soft hair, and inhales deeply.

"No," he says, his voice a little strained, "no, don’t be. I just…Jesus, kid."

He rubs his palm over his beard in such a familiar way, your chest aches a little. It’s ridiculous how much you want to touch his face, to feel him again, skin on skin. So you don’t turn and run the way your embarrassed heart is telling you to, just watch him collect his thoughts, standing in front of him like a wet and beaten dog.

"Look," he begins, "I won’t say I’m not flattered, but that’s…it’s a bad fuckin’ idea. It’s…it’s chaos, and on top of that most people would argue it’s wrong."

You swallow. You know all of this, have turned it over in your head ever since you stared at Joel’s rolled up sleeves for two hours on that first Monday, but hearing him say it makes your stomach churn.

"Yeah," you mutter, and trace Joel’s shadow with the very tip of your foot, "yeah, of course. Sorry I put you in that position, wasn’t right."

Your face still feels puffy, and you know you’re probably all red and pathetic looking, begging Joel for scraps of his attention, but all of a sudden, he lifts his hand up to your face, and cups it in his broad palm. His thumb strokes your cheek, and when you meet his eye, the expression on his face is tender.

"It’s alright," he tells you softly, "I can see you worryin’ at the speed of light in that pretty head of yours."

Something in your chest flutters at his words, at the rough and warm cadence of his voice. He reads you so easily, one turn of your head and he knows you’re lost to your thoughts.

"I shouldn’t have let myself toy with this idea," he continues, and your stomach flips. "I should’ve realized you’d pick up on it. It’s on me, alright? It’s on me not to start anythin’."

You can hear the implication – I’m the adult here. It’s not what you want to hear, but just the mention of Joel toying with this idea, as he put it, is enough to lift your spirits. So you weren’t crazy.

"I’m an adult," you say weakly, never having felt more like a child. Joel nods.

"You are, but I’m still in a position of power here. Be wrong, to abuse that."

His thumb is still moving over your cheek slowly, making it hard to think straight.

"So dinner and a movie doesn’t abuse it?"

You don’t want to argue, you don’t know why you keep disagreeing with him, and the way his face falls, you wish you hadn’t said it.

"No, it…it does, you’re right. Jesus, of course it does. I don’t blame ya for bein’ ang-"

"I’m not angry," you say softly, and tentatively turn your head in Joel’s hand. You press a kiss to his palm, his warm skin pressed right against your mouth. "I’m not your student, Joel. I mean, of course I am, but I know you. It’s different."

Joel’s eyes are glued to your face, and he looks so conflicted you wish he’d just throw you out of his house, if only to solve his dilemma.

"It’s still wrong," Joel mutters, his eyes glued to your lips since they brushed his skin "even if you take away the fact that I’m your fuckin’ professor. Your Dad…"

"My Dad is half a continent away and finds a way to be unhappy with whatever choices I make, so I might as well make the ones I want to."

The very first day, before you even met Joel, you decided to do what makes you happy while in university, and although this certainly wasn’t what you had in mind, you know it’s what you want. The only thing you want, in fact.

Joel sighs, and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Joel, I’m not trying to…look, if I’m wrong about this, just tell me, but I feel…I just wanna be close to you all of the fucking time," you say quietly, "and it’s okay if you don’t, really. I just…I want you to know it’s not nothing to me."

Saying I don’t just want to hook up with you would feel too straight forward or crass, but you think Joel gets the gist of what you’re trying to say, and he closes his eyes briefly. You study his face behind his glasses, the wrinkles and freckles from years in the sun. You do feel anxious about his answer, but whatever it is, you’re glad you told him. It’s out in the world now, the way you feel when he holds you, and he can do with it what he pleases – you’ve handed him the reigns.

"I…I know what you mean. Me too," he says very quietly after a beat, his eyes open and looking directly into yours again.

A triumphant pang of affection pulses through you, and you put your hand over Joel’s, which is still resting on your cheek. He looks conflicted, but his other hand holds your waist now, and tugs your smaller body closer to his again. He’s solid as a brick wall in front of you, and you figure you’re allowed to touch, so you rest your hand on his shoulder.

"What am I gonna do with you?" Joel mutters, and strokes your lower lip with his thumb. If you had more guts, you’d let it slip into your mouth, but you’re still afraid he’ll pull back if you make a wrong move, so you just let him caress your mouth tenderly.

"Whatever you’d like," you answer just as quietly, and you know it sounds sexual, but you mean it in every way – if Joel wants to be nothing but your professor, you’d take it, and if he wants to keep you here in his house indefinitely, you’d let him. Joel keeps looking at you, taking you in as if he’s considering whether the risks outweigh whatever magnetic or gravitational pull the two of you have between you.

"Stay," he say after a while, and although his face looks slightly regretful, his voice is determined, "just…sleep here tonight. I like havin’ you here."

You want him to kiss you, to pull you onto his lap on the couch, to take you upstairs right now, but Joel seems to be restraining himself, so you just nod.

"Me too," you whisper, echoing his words back to him, and for just a second, his thumb digs into your lip a little harder, but then he pulls away.

"Testin’ my goddamn restraint," he mutters, and takes a step away from you. "I’ll get you something to sleep in."

***

Joel gets you one of his band tees you love so dearly, and just the idea of being enveloped by something that smells like him all night makes it a little easier when Joel tells you he’ll take the couch instead of inviting you to sleep with him in his bed.

"No," you say softly, "it’s fine, you just sleep in your bed, Joel. I’ll take the couch."

He looks critical, so you offer him a soft smile.

"I don’t know if your back could take it," you tease, and he seems torn up between laughing and frowning. In the end, he just shakes his head, mutters something that sounds a lot like bad fuckin’ idea, and gets you a blanket and pillow.

He brings you a clean toothbrush and towel, let’s you use his bathroom (you look at the shower the entire time you’re brushing your teeth, trying hard not to think about what Joel looks like using it in the mornings), and when you’re done changing, you unlock the door again.

He’s there, sitting on the edge of his bed, his eyes trailing over your form in his much too big shirt. It’s long as a dress on you, coming down to your naked thighs. Joel visibly swallows and gets up from the bed.

"You got everythin’ you need?"

"Yes. Thank you, Joel."

There’s a beat of silence and you almost think Joel’s about to cross the room, but he just runs his palm over his beard the way he always does, and nods.

"Alright. Just shout if there’s…well, you know. I’ll be here."

"I will."

"Alright. Okay…goodnight, kid."

"Night," you almost whisper, voice soft, and right before you reach the door, Joel clears his throat.

"I…you were right about dinner and the movie. I wasn’t just tryin’ to be friendly," he says quietly, and your stomach swirls. Before you can walk over to Joel and do something about it, he sighs.

"Sleep tight, sweetheart."

Sweetheart.

***

You wake to the sound of something dripping, and when your eyes flutter open, you can see Joel’s back from the kitchen. He’s wearing his work outfit again, a white button down and dark pants, sleeves rolled up. It smells like coffee, and with a smile you realize he must be brewing his beloved coffee – no machine, just a filter. He looks broad, even from your spot on the couch, and you enjoy peeking in on him. You study his movements, the way he reaches for a cup, how his fingers absentmindedly drum on the kitchen counter while he waits.

When he turns around, his eyes find yours, and he smiles.

"Mornin’. Did I wake ya?"

"’S fine," you yawn, pulling the blanket up to your chin, not yet ready to get up. "I have classes at ten anyway."

"’S eight," Joel tells you, "Coffee?"

"Yes please," you answer, and stretch your limbs under the blanket.

Joel brings you a cup, complete with a little bit of milk and sugar, and you move your feet so he can sit down on the couch.

"Sleep well?"

You sip your coffee, let it burn your tongue and close your eyes at the taste. When you open them, Joel’s gaze lingers on your face.

"Yeah," you answer, "thank you for…you know."

He nods, takes a sip of his coffee, and looks at his lap. He looks like he wants to say something, but he’s very quiet, and you feel anxiety bubbling up in your stomach.

"Joel, do you want me to leave? It’s fine if you do," you ask him softly, not wanting to make things awkward for him. It would be rational of him to ask you to leave, the smart and ethical thing to do.

"No," he answers quietly, still not looking at you, "I want you to stay."

Stay? On a Tuesday morning, after you almost kissed him and he told you he couldn’t do that, after you spent the night on his couch? When you have classes in two hours, haven’t showered yet, are half naked and wearing his clothes, on his couch under his blanket? When you’ve got friends wondering where you are and probably ten unanswered messages from Alva?

"Alright," you say, agreeing as easy as breathing.

Finally, he looks up, and his expression is so conflicted you reach out for him. Your hand finds his and you squeeze it. He keeps looking at you, his hand limp in your grasp, as if any movement of his muscles would incriminate him.

"You shouldn’t," he tells you earnestly. "Stay, I mean. You shouldn’t stay."

"I know."

You don’t let go of his hand. He doesn’t move his away.

"It’s a really, really bad idea," he adds, and you’re not sure who he is trying to talk out of whatever this is. "It’s risky. Could blow up both our lives."

"Yeah," you say, and watch him sip his coffee, "okay."

Then, a tentative flex of his fingers against yours, and finally, he’s squeezing your hand just as tightly, and before you can process what that means, Joel is leaning over you, dangerously close. Your breathing quickens, you register how soft his hair looks, how strong his hand is. He leans in further and you sit up a little, still cocooned in his blanket. His face is close to yours, his eyes fiery with something you can’t pinpoint, and you sigh, when he closes the gap between you.

He tastes of coffee and toothpaste, and you wish you’d gotten the chance to shower, but the thought disappears almost immediately when you hear Joel groan. His kisses you languidly, deeply, and your fingers come up to his beautiful arm, barely wrapping around half of his biceps. He cradles the side of your face, pulls you closer, makes your stomach clench with need. It feels inevitable, the way he touches you, like you only exist in a physical form to be touched by him.

His free hand peels the blanket off your body, lets it slide to the floor without ever stopping his the kiss, and you moan softly, when his hand touches your waist. The sound makes him break away, stare down at you, pupils blown wide.

"Fuck, you look good in my clothes," he mutters, nudging your jaw with his nose, and pressing a kiss there. "You should really, really go home."

Your head falls back slightly to give him better access to your neck, and he brushes his lips over your pulse point. Your heart skips a beat.

"I – I know," you breathe, fingers digging into his arm. His beard scratches your skin deliciously, and it takes everything in you not to whimper or beg. Joel’s hand slips under your shirt – his shirt – and instead of finding your waist again, he digs his thumb into your hip, stroking the fabric of your cotton panties. The fire in your stomach burns brighter, and you almost buck up into him. Joel Miller, the Joel Miller who until recently had a key to your childhood home, who lent it to you whenever you forgot yours inside – he’s sucking bruises into your skin, and toying with your panties. It’s dizzying, his familiar voice when he hums in satisfaction, even rougher than usually.

His fingers trace the waistband of your panties towards the front, until they find a small, silky bow, and Joel groans. He doesn’t take your underwear off, doesn’t even touch you where you need him the most, just keeps playing with the little bow, until your hips twitch without your permission. A little lower, and he would be able to feel how wet you are, how wet you have been all night. You didn’t do anything about it, not while you were a guest in his house. It would have felt wrong. You can’t imagine anything feeling more right than Joel’s mouth and hands on you, though.

"Jesus," Joel curses, "I should stop bef–"

"No," you whine, all dignity turned to hot air by Joel’s fingers, "please, Joel, please don’t stop."

He curses again, and moves his big body so that he’s not just hovering above you, but actually on top of you, your thighs falling open for him easily. At the movement, his shirt hikes up your thighs, and you know you’re basically on display for him, your soaked underwear leaving little to the imagination. He’s still fully clothed, his perfect button down all wrinkled now.

"Look at you," Joel breathes, lightheaded with desire, "this all for me?"

So he saw, when you moved to accommodate his broad form, saw how soaked you are, knows you ruined your panties just because he kissed you.

"Yes," you breathe, "yes, please–"

Before you can beg further, his finger presses down on your clit, and he watches your face contort in pleasure, as it shoots up your spine. You whimper, staring into his eyes, and he stares right back, as you start to grind your hips against his palm.

Your head feels blissfully empty, all worries about this relationship, uni, your parents, gone from you with a simple, practiced movement of his hand. The whimpers keep falling from your lips, and Joel curses.

"So beautiful," he mutters, "tell me what you need, angel."

It’s not a question, it’s an order.

"I – fuck, I need you i–inside," you groan, and Joel’s lips find yours again.

"Yeah? Need me to fuck you good, even though they’ll throw us both out?"

It shouldn’t turn you on. You’re jeopardizing both your own and Joel’s career, and he’s turning it into dirty talk. Still, your pussy doesn’t lie, and the way it throbs for him, aching to get him inside, makes all doubts disappear from your mind.

"Yes," you answer, unable to say much more as Joel keeps drawing tight circles into your clit.

Your hands drift from his arms towards his front, and Joel curses, when you paw at his belt buckle. It takes you a second, but then it’s open, the sound of the metal exciting you – it sounds like a promise.

Joel finally tugs your panties down, and for a second you’re self–conscious about not being clean shaven, but the second he sees you bare and glistening for him, his fingers dip into your folds, gathering your wetness with no hesitation.

"Fuck me," he groans, bringing his hand up to his face and tasting you, holding eye–contact the entire time, "prettiest pussy I’ve seen in my life."

You twitch under him, dragging your gaze away from his eyes and to his fingers. A moan escapes you, your hands have gone slack on his waistband, and Joel smiles down at you. Then, he does the same motion again, drags the tips of his thick fingers through your sticky arousal, but instead of sucking them clean himself, he holds them up to your mouth. His eyes burn, when you wrap your lips around them without a moments hesitation, and he feeds you your own slick.

"Taste so sweet, huh?"

You don’t answer, just swirl your tongue around his fingers, and suck on them. Joel watches your mouth intently, lets you take your time.

"Good girl," he praises you, and you clench around nothing, "so fuckin’ needy for me."

He drags his fingers from your mouth, and finally pushes into you, the stretch much tighter than with two of your own. Your head falls backwards, and Joel curls his fingers.

"No, baby, look down here," he orders, and immediately you lift your head again, and watch him pump two thick digits in and out of you. It’s dizzying to think it’s the same hand that waved to you from over his fence for years and years. You feel a coil building in your stomach, and you moan.

"Fuck, Joel," you moan, his name leaving a delicious aftertaste in your mouth. His beautiful forearm flexes with every movement, your slick is dripping down his fingers, and those damn sleeves are still perfectly rolled up.

With a few more curls of his fingers, you gush around him, barely having time to warn him, and he praises you, calls you his good girl, drags his fingers against that spongey spot inside of you until you see stars.

When he slips his fingers out of you and holds them up to your face again, you clean them up with your mouth as Joel watches with bright eyes. To think that he’s the same man who taught you Dirac not twenty-four hours ago – already, you want him inside again. When you’re done, he fumbles with his own clothes, and you watch him this time instead of helping.

"You look so good like this," you mumble, eyes raking over his broad form, "Professor."

His eyes snap up to yours, and you grin.

"Fuckin’ Christ, kid," he mutters, popping open the buttons on his shirt, "you can’t say shit like that."

"You don’t like it? You know, I watched you during your lectures and dreamed about…well, about this."

His expression is unreadable, but if you’re not mistaken, his hands move even faster now, and then he shrugs out of his shirt. You almost moan at the sight of his naked torso, so broad and solid.

"You need to pay attention in class," Joel answers, as he opens his pants. Your breathing grows a little shallow when he reveals his boxers underneath, his bulge huge.

"Can’t," you mumble, "not with you looking like this."

He chuckles at that, at the honesty and need in your answer.

"Don’t worry," he says softly, "I’ll fuck it outta you. Won’t be needing’ me in class, not if I’m still leakin’ out of you."

Your lips part, your pussy clenches – a smile tugs on the corners of Joel’s mouth at your reaction. He drags down his boxer shorts, and your eyes snap towards his cock, so thick and dripping in precum. You whimper, you can’t help it, and Joel’s smile widens.

"We’ll make it fit, baby," he says, reading your mind, and then bends down and kisses you again. You try to tug your shirt upwards, but Joel’s hands find your wrists and he holds them tight.

"No, want to fuck you in it," he breathes against your lips, and you press your hips upwards until he groans. He pumps his fist over his cock a couple of times, and aligns it with your entrance.

"Deep breath, baby," he mutters, and you obey, staring up at him as he starts pressing into you. It’s tight, much tighter than his two fingers, and your eyes glass over with pain, but Joel goes slow. His hand strokes your tummy, helps you relax, while he pushes on consistently. You feel like he’s punching the air from your lungs, eyes wide with the stretch of him, as he nips at your jaw and neck to distract you.

"Know it’s a lot, but you can take it, angel."

"Y-yes," you moan, and screw your eyes shut, "please don’t stop, Joel."

 Joel’s breathing is ragged with restraint, and suddenly his hips snap forwards – and he’s fully buried inside of your tight body, nestled right against your cervix.

"Back to Joel, are we?" he teases, and gives you a couple of seconds to get used to him. You whimper and claw at his arm.

"I – ah – I’ll call you Professor Miller ’f you want," you slur, as he starts dragging his cock out of you again. You tremble under him, the feeling almost more intense than when he pushed inside of you.

"Yeah? That get you off? Or – fuck–  is it the fact that I’m friends with your parents?"

It really, really should be a turn off, to be talking about your parents right now, but the way Joel says it, the way he points out just how debauched it is what you’re doing – you can’t help but moan. You blush, too, can feel the heat in your face, but you’re tired of being ashamed of wanting him the way you do.

"Both," you answer, and this time Joel groans, his hips snapping into you at a rougher pace. The head of his cock hits your spot every time, and you let out little sounds of pleasure with every drag of his cock, unable to form a coherent sentence. Joel’s hand finds your clit again, rubbing circles as his other one pressing down on your stomach.

"Feel that?" he asks you, and you do, you feel him all up in your guts, "you take it so well baby, take all ’f me."

"Yes," you answer, eyes glassy with pleasure, "want all of you, Joel."

He bites your shoulder, keeps rutting into you, and soon you feel another orgasm building.

"Close – ah – so close," you whimper, and Joel speeds up his thrusts just slightly. You clench around him, right on the edge.

"Come for me, angel, give it to me."

You do, your hips bucking, back arching.

"Ah – fuck, Joel, Prof–"

"Say it," Joel orders, fucking you through the waves of pleasure.

"Professor."

He comes, too, twitching deep inside of you and spilling rope after rope of come. It feels right, like you’re his. His groan is rough, his thrusts sloppy, and you feel your pussy spasm around him in a third, weaker orgasm, or maybe it’s just aftershocks from your second. You’re limp underneath him, letting him use your body how he needs to.

"Fuck," he curses, "did so good for me."

He slips out of you, and you can feel his spend drip out of you. You’re weak, soft like jelly, sweaty and entirely satisfied.

"Jesus," you breathe, when he falls down next to you, his couch mercifully being big enough.

"Yeah," he answers, "Jesus."

***

Turns out, Joel Miller is a dirty talking bastard during sex, and a big softie afterwards. He makes you tea, strokes your hair while you sip it, then carries you up to his shower and gently washes your body his his sponge. Throughout, he’s quiet, and you wonder if it was too much, the mention of him being your professor, of your parents, but you’re too afraid to ask. He brushes your forehead with his lips when he dries you off, and pulls another of his shirts over you head. Your panties are entirely ruined, it’s all you’re wearing.

When you’re clean again, and relaxed, Joel pulls you onto his bed, wrapping you up in his arms.

"Did you…was that too much?" he asks you softly fingertips tracing over your thigh lazily.

"It was just right," you answer quietly, and he hums.

"You didn’t feel like you…I mean when you called me Professor, you wanted to do that, right?"

You look up at him, and press a soft kiss against his jaw.

"Of course, Joel. Wanted everything we did, I promise."

He nods, but you can tell there’s still something bothering him.

"You know that’s not what you are to me, though, right?" Your voice is soft. "You’re just Joel."

He brushes the top of your head with his lips.

"I mean it," you press on when he doesn’t answer, "it’s like a costume, Joel. I know it’s your job, but it’s…I don’t think of you as like, an authority figure or something. I just thought you looked hot in that slutty shirt."

"Slutty–?" he sputters and you laugh.

"Sure, you know, with your sleeves rolled up, and that first button popped open."

"’S not slutty."

"You showed your forearms. Half the lecture hall felt like a victorian man seeing ankles for the first time."

Joel makes an exasperated sound, half amused and half offended.

"I mean it," you say again after beat, humor gone from your tone, "and it’s not just sex to me. You know that."

"Yeah," Joel answers slowly. "’S more to me, too."

It’s a hell of an admission.

"What are we gonna do?", you ask quietly, and Joel sighs.

"You’re gonna go to class," he says, voice dark, "and I’ll try very, very hard not to call your father and tell him I’m fallin’ for his daughter."

You bury your face in his chest. With anyone else, it would be too much, too fast, too intense. But this is Joel. It’s not fast if you’ve known him your whole life, is it? You kiss his chest, and he seems to understand.

"We’ll figure it out," Joel says quietly, pressing a kiss to your hair.

For a second you do want your parents to know, want them to see that someone does treat you like an adult, want to look them in the eye and say I’m with Joel now and there’s nothing you can do about it. I have my own life now and it includes this kind man. It’s childish, you know it is. You lean up, catch Joel’s mouth in a kiss.

"Yeah," you answer, “We’ll figure it out, Professor.”

[theaawalker]

Steps to Write a Genuine Platonic Relationship

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1. Establish the Foundation

Define Their Connection: Decide what brings these characters together—shared history, common interests, or a deep emotional understanding.

Set Boundaries: Clarify from the start that their relationship is non-romantic, avoiding any lingering tension that could be misread as attraction.

Give Them Complementary Strengths: Show how they support and challenge each other without romantic implications, emphasizing mutual respect.

2. Shape Their Role in the Story

Decide Their Impact: Determine how their bond influences the plot—do they solve problems together, serve as each other’s moral compass, or push each other toward growth?

Avoid Romantic Clichés: Refrain from using traditional romantic tropes like longing glances, accidental physical tension, or excessive jealousy.

Show Their Value Beyond Love: Let their relationship be crucial to the story in a way that isn’t reliant on romance or tension.

3. Build Their Dynamic

Use Natural Banter: Let them have inside jokes, tease each other, or share moments of camaraderie without any romantic undertones.

Create Moments of Deep Understanding: Show how they confide in one another in ways they wouldn’t with others, reinforcing their trust and emotional closeness.

Let Them Have Other Romantic Interests: This solidifies that their bond isn’t about unspoken attraction, making it clear that romance isn’t lurking in the background.

4. Define Their Chemistry

Make Their Interactions Unique: Ensure they have a specific energy that distinguishes their bond from romantic connections in the story.

Emphasize Loyalty Over Possessiveness: They can care deeply about each other without feelings of possessiveness or unresolved tension.

Show Physical Comfort Without Romance: Casual, platonic touch like a ruffling of hair, a side hug, or a reassuring pat on the back can reinforce their connection without romantic connotations.

5. Demonstrate Their Impact on Each Other

Let Them Grow Together: Show how they influence each other’s decisions, ambitions, or emotional development without needing romance as a motivator.

Create High-Stakes Moments: Put them in situations where they rely on each other, proving their bond is just as deep as any romantic relationship.

Allow Conflicts Without Romantic Resolution: If they fight, let their reconciliation stem from their friendship and values rather than an underlying romantic interest.

6. Develop a Satisfying Arc

Decide Their Long-Term Dynamic: Whether they remain lifelong friends, drift apart naturally, or take different paths, ensure their bond leaves a lasting impact.

Showcase Their Relationship’s Meaning: Highlight how their connection was vital to their growth, reinforcing the importance of strong, platonic love.

Avoid Unnecessary Romantic Subtext: Let them stand as proof that deep, meaningful relationships don’t need romance to be powerful.

Examples of Strong Platonic Relationships

1. Film/TV Examples

Frodo & Sam (The Lord of the Rings): A loyal, emotional bond built on trust and shared hardship.

Robin & Steve (Stranger Things): A brother-sister-like friendship that develops beyond a possible hetero-romance.

Steve Rogers & Bucky Barnes (Captain America): Sibling-like love based on support, teasing, and mutual admiration.

2. Literature Examples

Duke the Guarder & Dawn Demiss (The Guardians of Camoria series): A deep friendship based on emotional intellect, trust, and shared insecurities.

Jo March & Laurie (Little Women, after rejection): A lifelong friendship that remains strong despite romantic expectations.

Harry Potter & Hermione Granger (Harry Potter series): A close friendship built on trust, emotional support, and respect without romantic tension.

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thank you, i am farkle :)

thank you @celestialgarden23 for the request :)

[fxrheisenn]

Andrus Laansalu talked about making Disco Elysium at EKA (Estonian Academy of Arts)

"Initially, the church wasn't a focal point. There were certain characters that needed to visit this location, and I asked, "Seriously, what do we have in our church?" The others replied, "Nothing at all. Our church is completely bare—just a wheel, really. It's quite basic."

That's when I decided to unleash my creativity in the design. For example, they chose to install a glass structure at the top of the church to create a reflective surface. It was like placing an optical clock up there. Therefore, one of the most crucial aspects of designing the church was ensuring the lighting was just right to create the desired atmosphere."

"Let me show you an example of Baroque architecture, which is rich in detail. We're also designing the interior of the church based on large cathedrals. However, the foundation you use might not yield the expected results, because the church itself doesn't require such intricate details. Sometimes, it's about simplifying the design."

"I used Articy for the initial scriptwriting of Disco Elysium. The image only represents a tiny fraction of the text and choice variables involved. This system was also the reason I eventually abandoned the project after a year of outlining the script and shifted my focus to becoming a sound designer. My mind struggled to keep up with the dynamic graphic rules, but fortunately, a more talented writer took over afterward."

"In terms of sound design, it's essential to develop different layers to bring out the charm of the church as a cohesive space. Although this represents only a small portion of the overall design, each layer actually requires a significant amount of time to compose the whole....... Whenever there's a shift or a change due to the dialogue itself, you need to adjust the background sounds. Each time you modify the details in the dialogue, I have to refine the background audio, ensuring that these elements build upon each other like an intricate layer of work."

"It's funny how many scenes involve characters getting smacked in the face. My job was to recreate those, so I locked myself in the bathroom with a recorder and hit my forehead until it turned red.

As a sound designer, I really dig those unsettling, drill-like sounds. So, I mixed in creepy lectures, metal scraping, moans, and cries of pain—because I just love that stuff! (laughs)

Players will be moving through all kinds of areas, so it's super important to make the sound transitions feel natural, trying to create a more immersive vibe in certain spaces.

With all the scenes featuring big cranes, you can hear them from far away, and I wanted to capture that eerie ringing in your ears. That's going to be a thing throughout most of the game. I've found ways to really mess with players while they're playing!"

"I've come across a lot of old objects (like phones and radios) that I needed to perfectly replicate the sounds. I started to become a bit of a hoarder, buying up different models of old phones whenever I found one to add to my collection. The sound effects I can simulate from them are really impressive."

"Some of the devices don't actually exist in real life—just a mix of architecture and tech. When I need to create sound effects, I first look for something similar that exists in our world, then I try to simulate what the sound and appearance of that thing might have been like a century ago.

Towards the end of the game, there's a character carrying a fuel canister. We needed the sound of the canister, so we dug one up from our garage—it had been sitting there since it was five! I realized this would make the sound perfect. So, it had been there for 50 years, and after 40 years, it finally found its purpose.

In some places, I needed unique sound waves, and recreating them was a real headache until one day I happened to walk by a swimming pool and stumbled upon an old wartime torpedo. You can rotate the torpedo's probe, and it slowly rises up, like a proud zombie head. The sounds it made were exactly what I needed!"

🙋How did you manage to get funding?

"Well, since we're in Estonia, you just need to know a wealthy person. You don't need five people—just two who can network, hang out together, and convince them to keep investing! (laughs) Back then, we constantly ran out of money and would tell them, 'Oops, looks like we spent it all! Can you invest a bit more?' That's how we made it through!"

🙋How did you all come together to make the game?

"Luck. It usually doesn't happen this way, and that's the key difference. It has to be. If not, you couldn't create a game of this scale - well, I mean in terms of budget. But creatively, Estonia definitely has writers and artists who can pull it off. With such a small population, there are a lot of quirky folks who are good friends. We were really lucky, though - lots of fortunate circumstances came together. It brought the right people together, allowing those talented fools to collaborate with us. They had experience but hadn't tackled projects of this magnitude before. So yeah, luck is pretty important!"

Lecture experience shared by 白兔YIYANG SUN on 小红书, reposted & translated by me with her permission.

[zoe-oneesama]

Since you drew pig!Sublime, i wanna know what you think about the character (even though she only appeared once)

Season 6 gives me Season 1 vibes but with baggage, so I fully expect Sublime to be, like, the Aurore of S6 - high impact in Her Episode only to be relegated to background fodder. Honestly we probably won't get much more out of her despite the Smirk of Dubious Intentions we got when Tomoe Tsurugi agreed to sponsor her. Oh nooo, giving money to allow a disabled girl to participate in her chosen sport, what evil must lurk behind her choice here, ahhhh, I'm so scared.

Sorry got off topic

Uh, Sublime seems fine? I mean it's hard to get enthusiastic about yet another Comically Flawless Character for Marinette to compare herself to for no reason. I guess it's that to me Sublime herself isn't interesting, she's just kind of a prop for other characters to reflect off of. That's kind of the downside to being so Comically Perfect, most of her personality just doesn't read as real or relatable. I mean, she wasn't even the akuma, her mother was. And her mother and father's dynamic around both each other and Sublime's career are much more complex and I have way more to talk about the two of them than Sublime herself.

The only place of any interest is her unique way of dealing with her anxiety - making it separate from herself and talking shit to it. Of course, this was just a contrived way for Marinette to mistakenly believe Sublime was talking shit to her, so even that's not without it's annoyances, but it's definitely A Strategy to dealing with your Inner Saboteur. Reminds of the post/tweet about turning your Intrusive Thoughts into a drunk backseat passenger so it's easier to write off as nonsense.

Sublime's design is okay, I like having a character actually lean into some less saturated colors for once. I just wish she had more contrast because it's a lot of similar blue on blue on blue, especially where her dress hem meets her "legs". And it's crazy that her default hair has FIVE BRAIDS, at LEAST. Where does all that hair go when she puts it in a ponytail though?

The name is cringe, but we all knew that. It's like the episode title "Sublimation" was decided on first and they worked backwards from there. I don't know if Sublime is a common name in Belgium (doubtful), but in English it's just weird because that's Not a Name. It's not even a common adjective that people use. In English, a more appropriate name would be "Grace" or "Harmony" or "Bliss" - they are names but they're also pretty literal. But then they couldn't have the "gotcha!" moment from naming the episode "Sublimation". Does it sound weird to French viewers the way it does in English???

I'm glad she's so forgiving but also has a healthy amount of Oh This Girl is Craaaazy in the way she interacts with Marinette. Willing to meet her half way but isn't like "oh that's cute how she's a total freaking weirdo!" She sees Marinette for exactly who she is. And I'm glad she's Adrien's friend, he needs his own damn friends.

Anyway, hopefully we see a little bit more of her but I'm not really holding my breath. As is, she's nothing that really makes me excited. At least I get to practice drawing prosthetics now?

[rosierin]

blondes aren't your type, huh? | atsumu miya

a/n; college au where you're besties with the miyas & suna

this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series! for more, click here :)

The living room was a mess of half-eaten snacks, empty bottles of water, and textbooks no one had touched in hours. (Y/n) sat cross-legged on the rug, sandwiched between throw pillows and the coffee table, nursing a lukewarm drink while the TV droned on in the background. The movie had lost their attention ages ago—if it had ever had it to begin with.

The boys were scattered around the space like a bunch of lazy housecats: Atsumu sprawled out across the couch like a spoiled prince, Osamu slouching beside him with a bowl of crisps in his lap, and Suna draped over the armrest he had long proclaimed as his own.

It was (y/n)’s favourite kind of afternoon—the kind with no plans, no expectations. Just good food (courtesy of Osamu) and even better company. And how lucky she considered herself—to spend most of her weekends like this, surrounded by her three best friends, who, for the past year, had also been her roommates.

The thought floated in the back of her mind, making her smile. And for once, the world felt utterly at peace.

That is... until Suna decided it shouldn't be.

“Hey, (y/n),” he called, not even glancing her way. His voice was nonchalant, completely at odds with the question he was about to ask. “You ever think about dating an athlete?”

(Y/n) turned her head, suspicious. He didn't elaborate just yet, probably giving just enough time for the question to truly sink in. There were two athletes currently sat in this very room, but only when (y/n) shot him a look that said go on, did he continue:

“Like… a setter? Like… Atsumu, specifically?”

The man in question choked on a piece of popcorn.

Osamu went stiff for half a second before his shoulders started shaking with poorly contained laughter, only to keel over fully as a single kernel came flying out of Atsumu's coughing mouth.

(Y/n) spluttered a laugh despite herself, slapping a hand over her mouth in a poor attempt to contain it. Then, remembering Suna's question, she forced herself to settle, smoothing the grin from her face as she shook her head. Not in response, but in disbelief. And maybe a bit of quiet reprimand.

You're evil, she wanted to tell him. Instead, she played the oblivious card—one she knew nor Suna, nor Osamu would buy, but would do enough to protect Atsumu's ego.

“What—where did that come from?” she asked with a purposely tilt of her head.

Atsumu made a strangled noise—either offended or confused, his face a bright scarlet. Whether from the fact he almost succumbed to a piece of popcorn, or because his friends of his friends tormenting him, (y/n) wasn't sure. “What is wrong with you?!” he barked, chucking a pillow across the room. “Why would ya ask that?!”

Suna dodged the attack, so lazy in a way that was bound to rile Atsumu up further. “Why not?" He shrugged. "Just curious.”

"Ya were not 'just curious', you ass—!”

(Y/n) giggled, unable to help it. The sheer chaos that followed Suna’s provocations never got old, especially when Atsumu was the target. She glanced over at him, taking in his flushed cheeks and furrowed brows, the way he was both flustered and avoiding her gaze at all costs.

“No need to freak out so much, Tsumu,” she said lightly.

That made him tense. She watched his posture lock up like a pulled muscle.

Osamu recovered enough to grin wide. “Yeah, ‘Tsumu, why ya freakin’ out, huh?”

Suna, coyly playing along, chimed in: “Something to confess?”

Atsumu’s hands twitched with the urge to wrap around both their necks. His face was alight, from embarrassment or rage was hard to tell. Still, he managed to flash his friends the best glare he could muster.

“Will you guys quit bein' weird?"

(Y/n) smiled to herself, wrapping her arms around her knees.

She was used to this dynamic by now—the silly squabbles, the teasing, the banter, the way the boys always poked fun at one another until someone snapped. But with Atsumu, it was always a little different. Always a little... extra. Because beneath the joking and the back-and-forth, she knew. She’d known for a while now.

Atsumu fancied her.

It wasn’t something he said outright—God forbid—but it showed. In the way his teasing turned soft when it came to her. In how he always waited to walk her home from campus, or how his ears would flush when she complimented him, even offhand. It wasn’t serious, she didn’t think. More like… a crush he hadn’t fully admitted to, even to himself.

It flattered her, to say the least. And maybe she liked it. Maybe she fancied him too.

But she also knew Atsumu. Knew how flighty he could be, how quick he was to flirt and flinch from anything a bit too real. And so they stayed where they were—teetering on the edge of friendship and something else. Undefined but content, for now.

Which, of course, made them the perfect target for Suna and Osamu’s amusement.

(Y/n) didn't miss the scheming look they exchanged as the silence stretched on—the pull of their identical grins.

Apparently, they were far from done.

"So would you?" probed Suna.

(Y/n) hummed thoughtfully and sat up straighter, pretending not to the threat Atsumu had mouthed to his so-called friends. "I'm not sure," she mused, pursing her lips. “I think I'd happily date an athlete for the…” She rubbed her thumb and index finger together in the universal 'money sign.'

Osamu and Suna both nodded along approvingly.

Atsumu rolled his eyes.

"At least she's honest," Osamu offered.

(Y/n) tilted her head, considering the idea. She knew nobody expected a genuine response, but she mulled it over anyway, just for the sake of it. “But I dunno about Atsumu, specifically…” she murmured, mostly to herself.

Somehow, she felt a spike of tension. Even Suna and Osamu visibly flinched. She caught the flicker of guilt pass between them. A silent uh-oh. Maybe that jab had gone a little too far.

Osamu tried to patch it with a weak smile. “Ya know… he’s not that much of an asshole.”

"Liar," Suna coughed.

Atsumu scowled. One more word out of him and he looked just about ready to lunge.

Osamu cut in before he could do so. "No, no. S'true— s'more of an image thing, ya know?"

Atsumu opened his mouth, but (y/n)'s laugh seemed to distract him from whatever he was about to say. She waved a hand, understanding Osamu's good intentions. “No, no, it’s not that. It’s just… well, I guess I'm just not that into blondes.”

Atsumu made a face so dramatic she had to bite her lip to keep from grinning. “That’s yer reasonin’?!”

Suna smirked. “What about Osamu, then?”

Another hum. (Y/n) glanced at Osamu and gave him a once-over—chestnut hair, boyish features, charming grin.

Yep. Definitely handsome.

She gave a firm nod, flashing two thumbs up.

Atsumu looked like he'd gone through all five stages of grief.

Suna didn't bother to contain his laughter.

Osamu, meanwhile, smirked and straightened his shoulders. “It ain't easy bein’ the better-lookin’ twin,” he sighed dramatically, puffing out his chest.

Atsumu groaned, rolling his eyes so hard he nearly saw the back of his skull. He'd visibly given up on arguing and flopped back against the couch, turning his focus to the TV, ignoring any of them existed.

Osamu chuckled and prodded his brother’s shoulder. “Aw, come on, don’t sulk.”

Suna joined in. “Yeah, ‘Tsumu, you still got your great personality." His voice sounded strained.

Despite the smile on her face, (y/n) felt a twinge of sympathy. They always ganged up on Atsumu. He was all bark and bluster, but when the teasing went too far, it showed. Usually ending like this—with him falling quiet, arms crossed, eyebrows marred, the tips of his ears adorably pink.

She nudged his arm with her elbow. “Hey. Don’t worry, ‘Tsum. You may not have the hair, but you’ve still got your handsome face.”

Then, before he could react, she leaned over and planted a deliberately sloppy kiss on his cheek.

The act wasn’t even remotely romantic—more like a mum kissing her kid before school—but the effect was immediate. His entire face lit up—redder than any of his high school jerseys—and he immediately looked away, mumbling something incoherent as he sank lower into the cushions.

Satisfied, (y/n) stood up and stretched. With Atsumu no longer moping, she could focus her priorities elsewhere.

“I’m getting more snacks.”

As soon as she disappeared into the kitchen, Osamu and Suna turned to Atsumu, no longer having to water-down their behaviour.

They puckered their lips, making exaggerated kissy noises.

Atsumu shot them a withering glare, no longer having the energy for either of them. “You guys fuckin’ suck.”

Suna snickered. “Aw, our little ‘Tsumu is in looove.”

Osamu wiped a fake tear. “They grow up so fast.”

Atsumu dragged a hand down his face and sank into the couch.

Perhaps he shouldn't have moved in with them after all.

[cimmanonrowl]

Focus

It’s hard to please Daddy when it’s finals season and everything feels overwhelming. There were stack of books everywhere, unwashed mugs of coffee piling on your study table, and there seemed to be not enough time to revise for every course. And when Aaron finally had enough of your attitude, he decided to take the matter into his own hands.

Pairing: aaron hotchner x student!reader

Theme: smut heaven

Content: mention of starvation & hair pulling, academic pressure, huge age gap, consenting adults, edging, cockwarming, unprotected sex, daddy kink, ddlg dynamic, soft daddy dom!aaron, bratty!reader, powerplay: older man x younger woman relationship.

Note: Read the content warnings and proceed with your own discretion. If it's not your cup of tea, scroll up and have a good day.

The door clicked softly as Aaron stepped into your shared apartment.

The weight of his busy day still clung heavily to his shoulders. It had been one of those days in the office—long hours of reviewing reports, draining meetings with the board; the kind that gnawed at your patience until you only had so little left to give. Some days, he’d prefer to be out on the field so he can freely stretch and move his body. Most days, he doesn’t— simply because he doesn’t want to be away from you.

He kicked off his shoes, heaving a deep sigh of exhaustion as he did so. The usual sense of relief for being home hadn’t yet settled in as he glanced around the dimly lit space, his thick eyebrows pinched together in a confused frown.

It was quiet. 

Too quiet.

“Honey? I’m home,” he called out, his voice bouncing off the walls of the small apartment. 

Worry trickled down his spine with the unusual sight. He had hoped to come home to something different— a warm meal, maybe, with the sound of your favourite songs blasting in the background. Or better yet, you wrapped in his favourite lingerie; the one that barely covers your pussy and clings to your body in a godly sight, kneeling on the living room floor with a sweet smile, ready to take his cock deep down your throat until he was shaking and begging to finally take your tight cunt.

Just anything– anything to signal that you had taken a break, that you weren’t still buried under the mountain of stress he’d seen building in your eyes over the past few days.

But the apartment was as silent as it had been when he left that morning. 

Aaron’s brow furrowed as he made his way down the hallway, the muted light from your own study spilling out into the corridor. He had an idea, a feeling more like, as to what might greet him as soon as he sees you.

Goddamn, this girl.

The door creaked quietly as he pushed it open. And he felt his heart sink as he found you exactly where he had left you that morning— hunched over your desk, the same thick textbook open in front of you, surrounded by the same clutter of mess. The only difference was the growing pile of empty coffee cups at your side.

Had you even moved all day?

“Honey…” he tried again, softer this time, as he leaned against the door frame. 

You didn’t respond. Your eyes were locked on the page in front of you, and he could see from the tension in your shoulders that you were anything but focused.

Aaron’s gaze traveled over your form, noticing the same clothes you’d worn earlier, and the half-eaten sandwich he had left on the corner of your desk that morning. His chest tightened, concern quickly overshadowing the fatigue he had brought home with him. He could make out the tension looming over your crouched figure.

“Honey…” his voice came out a whisper, curiously watching you as you murmured the words you were reading in your textbook, memorizing every word earnestly.

Aaron stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he noticed the way your hand was gripping your hair, pulling the strands tangled tightly around your fingers. You didn’t even seem to realize you were doing it— too caught up in your own world to understand what you were doing.

“Hey!” 

You jumped, your hand releasing your hair so suddenly that you winced as a few strands were pulled free.

“Aaron! Y-you scared me!” your eyes finally lifted to meet his, wide and startled, as if you were seeing him for the first time that day.

He crossed the room in quick strides, worry etched into his features as he reached out to pull your hand gently away from your head. His thumb brushed over the raw area where your hair had been yanked, and he felt a pang of guilt for not noticing sooner. 

“Darling, you’re doing it again,” he said quietly, his voice tight with concern. “I thought we talked about this.”

You blinked slowly. “I—I’m sorry. Yeah. I didn’t notice. I didn’t mean to.”

“You’ve been here all day, haven’t you?” he scanned his eyes over the desk for any sign that you had taken a break, had eaten something, anything. The half-eaten sandwich was evidence enough that you hadn’t.

“I was just trying to finish this stupid chapter,” you mumbled, your voice small, almost ashamed. “I didn’t realize how much time had passed. I’ll eat after, I promise.”

Aaron sighed heavily. “You didn’t eat. You didn’t move. You’ve been sitting here, pulling your hair out over these stupid finals all day, and you didn’t even notice?”

Blood rushed through your warm cheeks. And you felt the sudden urge to yell at his face. 

Stupid finals? 

Stupid? 

You looked down at your hands, irritation slowly flooding in as his words sank in. He wasn’t wrong— you’d been so consumed by the pressure to finish everything as quickly and efficiently as you could, to get everything right, that you had lost track of everything else. But stupid… really? What you were doing was far from that word. How insensitive could he be?

You bit your lower lip, trying to control your rising temper.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered with a heavy heart, feeling the weight of his words like a stone in your chest. “I just wanted to do well. I didn’t mean to…”

Aaron’s expression softened at your words. He’s as frustrated as you were yet he’s concerned more than anything else. He crouched beside you before reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, sighing softly as his warm gaze lingered over your face.

You look tired, he noticed.

“Baby…” his voice was soft it almost made you tear up. “I know you’re stressed, but this isn’t healthy. You know that, right? You can’t keep doing this to yourself. You’re going to make yourself sick.”

You nodded slowly. “I know. I just… I don’t want to mess up. I want to make you proud, Daddy...”

“Oh, sweet girl. You already do,” he took your hand in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “But you’re more important than your grades. Daddy needs you to take care of yourself, sweetheart,” he added, gently rubbing the spot where your hair had been pulled. 

“But… I don’t want to slack off...”

Your pout deepened as Aaron frowned down at you.

“You’re the most hard working girl I know in this world, baby,” he said seriously. “What I need you to do is promise me that you’ll take breaks, eat on time, and stop… this…” 

Whatever this is, you knew what he wanted to say.

“But—”

“Are you talking back to me?”

Hesitation clung to you with the sudden drop of his voice. The promise felt heavy on your tongue. There’s still a lot to do, deadlines to beat, too much reading to finish, papers to write and revise. You know with the current state of events, you can’t carelessly promise anything to him, but the way Aaron’s eyes squinted at your defiance was enough to make you nod quickly.

“S-sorry, Daddy. I promise.”

Aaron searched your face for a moment longer, then finally relaxed, though the worry didn’t entirely leave his eyes. 

“Good. Because if I come home tomorrow and find you in the same spot, I’ll drag you out of here myself and punish you, baby. And no more coffee after 5 p.m.,” he added, eyeing the empty cups with disdain and disapproval.

You managed a small smile, the first genuine lightness you’d felt all day, and nodded again. “Yes, Daddy. No more coffee.”

“There’s my good girl.” Heat dusted over your cheeks as you giggled at his praise, and this time there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He stood up, pulling you to your feet with him. “Now, enough of that, come on. We’re ordering takeout, and you’re taking a break. No arguments.”

Panic settled on your heavy bones.

“Huh- what–” you stammered, peering over your books and the half-finished paper on your laptop. “Daddy, I nee– just one more chapter, please. I need– just another paragpra–”

The stern look he gave you made you stop. He didn’t have to say anything. Just seeing the scowl on his face; his thick eyebrows tugged together, his eyes narrowing in silent warning, was enough to put you back in place.

You pursed your lips immediately, and finally let him lead you out of the study, the tension in your shoulders beginning to ease just a little.

That night, Aaron let you use his cock for relief. He’s always been true to his words. He ordered a take out from your favourite Chinese restaurant down the block, ran a bubble bath and joined you shortly to wash your body, massaged your scalp and shoulder, showered you with praises for being his good girl, for being hardworking and smart, and for being the prettiest girl in the world. Then you let Daddy fuck your wet, needy cunt with his thick fingers until you came and writhed against his soft touches.

It was almost midnight when you heard your neighbor pound angrily on the thin wall separating your apartments, screaming in frustration to tone down your fucking. Which you only giggled. Daddy gave you permission to ride his big, fat cock the way you like it. And you did. But it was only after he lapped and ate your pussy like a starved man that he made you cum twice on his tongue, until your legs were spasming uncontrollably from the blinding pleasure.

The next few days were just as rough.

It was an underestimation on some angle, but nothing but the truth as a whole. You and Aaron were arguing nonstop. He was scolding you too much. You cry nearly every night. But he never stopped breathing down your neck: reminding you to take a break, eat the food he ordered for you from his office, drink your vitamins, don’t drink any more coffee, eat the fruits he bought instead of potato chips, rest your eyes, take a bath, take a walk, threatening to punish you if you don’t.

“Are you seriously fucking kidding me?” His voice was flat, his weariness laced with something sharper, though you couldn’t tell if it was frustration or concern. Maybe both. Or maybe he’s seriously just pissed off.

Slowly, with brows pulled in a tight frown, you glanced over your shoulder.

You didn’t hear Aaron walk down the hall, didn’t hear the way his pace slowed just outside the door, or how he lingered there for a moment, leaning against the frame to watch you in annoyance. His frustrated sigh filled the room, deep and full of exhaustion, but that you heard. 

Your hand went limp, your fingers still tangled in your hair as you stared back innocently at him.

Aaron stood there, quietly observing you from your seat, still in his work clothes— his tie loosened, shirt untucked from where he’d probably tugged at it during his long day. His expression, however, was fully focused on you, and the hint of gentle smile he usually carried whenever he comes home to you was absent, replaced by a frown etched deep in his rugged features.

“What, Daddy?” you asked in a small voice, as though you hadn’t been doing anything wrong.

You felt the pull of your own hand still gripping your hair. Slowly, you released it, lowering your hand to your lap.

Aaron let out a sigh, running a hand through his own tousled hair before crossing the room to you. “It’s almost eleven,” he said, his voice quieter now but no less firm. 

“Have you been sitting here all day?”

What?

You blinked, looking around for a clock to confirm what he was saying. You barely remember anything that happened. All you can recall was being kissed on your forehead before he head out to work, reminding you to eat the breakfast he prepared for you, and to keep your promise. But now the light outside had faded into complete darkness, the street lights illuminating the crossroads outside, streaks of moonlight painting the night sky. 

Almost like an afterthought, your stomach growled faintly. You suddenly realized you hadn’t eaten since… that morning… 

Maybe.

“I… I guess so,” you murmured, as if admitting it out loud will make everything worse. 

He crossed his arms, thick muscles bulging against the tight fabric of his dress shirt.

“You guess so? Try again, little girl.”

“I—” You wandered your eyes over the pile of untouched notes, the cold cup of coffee still sitting on your desk, and the empty plate from a hastily eaten sandwich. “I… I didn’t, sorry. I didn’t notice the time.”

Your mind was wrapped too tightly around the fact that you still have one more essay to finish before the due date. It was a frustrating day. You caught yourself a lot of times staring mindlessly at the words printed on your book, though they blurred and danced right before your eyes. You stared at the same paragraph for… how long each? Minutes? Hours? You weren’t even sure anymore.

Aaron’s eyes narrowed as he crouched down next to your chair, his gaze level with yours now. 

“I told you to eat proper meals, didn’t I?” He pointed out, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. His thumb brushed under your eye, and you realized how dry and tired your skin felt. “And you still haven’t eaten, have you?”

You bit your lip and shook your head slightly. “I wasn’t hungry, Daddy. I just wanted to get through this part—”

“No,” Aaron cut you off, shaking his head as he firmly gripped your shoulders, turning your chair so you faced him fully. “No. Enough of this now, little girl. You’ve been doing this to yourself all week. Staying up too late and skipping meals. This is not good for you.”

Your eyes started to burn—not from exhaustion this time, but from something heavier, something you’d been holding in for days now. 

“You don’t understand, Daddy. This is important to me!”

The stress, the pressure, the sense of being completely overwhelmed. You felt like you were sinking, and somehow, it all spilled over the moment Aaron looked at you with those tired, worried eyes.

“I just…” Your voice broke, and you looked away, blinking rapidly. “I have to do well, Daddy. I can’t mess this up. I have one semester left until graduation. I can’t– I have to do well.”

Aaron’s expression softened as he listened, and his hands moved to cradle your face, gently turning you back to meet his gaze. “Baby, Daddy knows how important this is to you,” his voice was calm and steady. “But you can’t do well if you’re running yourself into the ground. You’re hurting yourself, and you don’t even realize it. I’m not doing this to sabotage you, honey.”

His thumb brushed over the spot on your scalp where your hair was still tender from your unconscious pulling, and you winced slightly. 

“Sorry—” you apologized quickly. “I don’t realize I’m doing it, daddy. I’m sorry.”

His brow furrowed at that, and he lowered his hands, his worry etched into every line of his face. “Just promise me you’ll stop,” he whispered, as if the words themselves could break you. “Or else I’m putting mittens on these little hands of yours.”

You nodded quickly, stifling a giggle. “I promise, daddy. I didn’t even realize I was doing it—”

“I know,” Aaron cut you off gently before you could finish. He stood up then, his hand dropping to yours, tugging you softly up to your feet. “C’mon. You’re done for the night.”

“But—” You glanced back at your desk, at the still-open textbooks, the unread chapters waiting for you. “I’m not done. I have so much left—”

“What do you still need to do?” He asked, following your gaze on your table.

“I’m halfway through this paper and I still have to revise them. Then…” your lower lip prodded a little as you stared up at him. “I need to review for my deptals. I just finished making flashcards on my iPad, Daddy, but I haven’t checked them yet…”

“Then we’ll do that tonight,” he said as he steered you out of the room and down the hall toward the kitchen. “First, you need to eat. And then, we’re going to bed.”

“Daddy, I just said I need to revie—”

“Yes, yes, you will, honey.” He squeezed your hand gently as he led you to the kitchen table. “You’re not doing this alone, okay? You’ve got Daddy. I’ll help you tonight. So be a good girl for me and eat first.”

You sat down heavily in the chair as Aaron started pulling out some leftovers from the fridge, reheating them with quick, efficient movements. He didn’t ask you to explain yourself or demand an apology. He just moved around the kitchen with an ease that came from his conscious effort to know you— knowing when to push, and when to just be there quietly.

When he placed the food in front of you, you hesitated for a moment before picking up the fork.

“Daddy…”

He hummed. “Yes, my love?”

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled between bites. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

Aaron pulled up a chair beside you, leaning forward on his elbows as he watched you eat; a small, tired smile playing on his lips. “I know you didn’t, little one. But you did. And I’d rather see you take care of yourself than get another A.”

“You’re just saying that, Daddy. You said I’ll always get a reward if I do well in school. You were bribing me.”

“Maybe…” he grinned, the tiredness in his eyes easing a bit. “But I still mean it.”

As you continued eating, Aaron reached across the table, brushing his fingers against your hand again. “Remember your promise?”

“Yes, Daddy. I’ll try harder not to do it anymore.”

“Good girl,” he leaned back on his chair with a relieved sigh. “Now, finish your meal. What would you say if Daddy help you study?”

You smiled wider at that, nodding your head quickly. “I’d like that, Daddy.”

“What if you sit on Daddy’s big cock while I ask you your reviewer questions? Would my little girl like that?”

Heat pooled in between your legs as you listened to the vulgarity of his words. He gave you a small smile, reaching his hand to your face before gently tucking the stray hair behind your ear.

“S-sounds good, Daddy,” you said weakly, blushing as you crossed your legs under the table. “D-do I get to come?”

“If you answer the questions correctly, yes you will,” he said lowly, lightly caressing your exposed neck with his thumb.

A low whimper rumbled on your throat.

“But wha– what if I don’t, daddy?”

“Then we’ll just have to see, don’t we, little girl?”

Aaron laid on his back, looking so comfortable and snug as ever, with the soft glow of your iPad casting a faint light in the dimly lit bedroom. The night shirt he previously worn was already discarded on the floor, completely unforgotten. His brows were furrowed in concentration as he scrolled through the flashcards you’d painstakingly made for your departamental exams, his fingers gently swiping the screen.

“Alright, honey,” Aaron said, his voice low and focused. “Define ‘morphological productivity’ for me.”

You stared up at the ceiling, trying to pull the answer from the jumble of concepts crammed into your brain. A low whine escaped your lips under the intensity of his gaze; exactly just as you felt his thick cock twitch against your walls.

“Daddy… f-feels so good…” you shook your head weakly as the pad of Aaron’s calloused palm traveled your bare thighs.

“I know, honey. But I need you to be a good girl and focus right now.”

Your heart raced, though it wasn’t just from the pressure of not knowing the answer to his question. His presence—so close, so steady—and the familiar heady smell of his bodywash was making it harder to focus. The warmth of his body underneath you, his big cock inside your wet cunt, the way his voice dropped whenever he asked a question, all of it felt heavier, more instense than usual.

“Morphological productivity…” Your mind raced to remember the specifics. “It’s when the… morphology is productive—oh fuck!”

Aaron barked a hearty laughter, sending shivers down your spine with every twitch of his cock inside your hole.

“Just joking, Daddy…” You pouted adorably, slowly grinding your hips to feel more of his girth. “It’s… it’s… t-the guide that control how words are formed and structured in a l-language, r-right?”

“Hmm. I don’t know, baby. Can you give me an example?” 

“One e-example is affix… affixation…” You moaned softly, stopping your hips from grinding back and forth as Aaron gripped your thigh in a silent warning. “Sorry, Daddy. F-for instance, you can add ‘-ness’ to the root word ‘happy’ to make ‘happiness’ and it still makes sense.”

Aaron gave a small nod, his lips curving slightly in approval, his eyes crinkling in amusement. “Close enough,” he said, his voice steady. 

His eyes flicked toward your bare chest before returning to the iPad, and you felt wetness pooling in between your legs intensify.

“Next, baby,” he said, swiping to the next card. “What’s the difference between a free morpheme and a bound morpheme?”

You shifted slightly, pressing both your palm on his stomach, trying to stifle a moan.

“A free morpheme can stand alone as a word,” your voice came out a little softer, distracted by the way his fingers moved so casually across your thighs. “Like ‘book’ or ‘run.’ A bound morpheme can’t… it… it h-has to be attached to something else, like pre… oh, Daddy… pre…fixes or s-suffixes. Like ‘-s’ or ‘-ing.’”

Aaron’s eyes lingered on yours, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. His gaze was heavy, like he was weighing more than just your answer, and the quiet that followed hung between you, thick. You could feel the heat of his body underneath you, and his pulsating cock inside.

“C-correct,” he murmured, but his voice had dipped lower. 

His fingers lingered over the screen, not moving to the next flashcard right away. The air between you seemed to hum, each small movement or breath amplified in the quiet room.

You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening. The weight of his gaze was now making it difficult to focus on anything but the heat of your skin together. Studying had always been stressful, but this… this was different. His serious, deliberate tone, the way he was so focused, so intent on helping you, made it all the more difficult to not cave in to your crushing desire.

“Now, this one should be easy. What is a washback?” he asked, his voice still low, though his eyes hadn’t left yours.

You hesitated, distracted by the way his lips formed each word. “It’s also… uh I think it’s also called the washback effect. It is the influence of an assessment on teaching and learning. It can be both beneficial or harmful, and is a common phenomenon in institutional learning.”

“Mm-hm,” Aaron hummed in approval, his eyes darkening slightly as he nodded. “Good girl.”

He didn’t move to the next flashcard right away. Instead, his hand shifted slightly inches slightly to your hips, his thumb rubbing soft circles. It was such a subtle motion, but it sent a shiver down your spine. 

“Daddy… please…” You bit your lip, trying to refocus. “Are you… Are you going to ask me the next one?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, betraying your growing distraction.

Aaron’s gaze flicked to your lips for the briefest second before he looked back at the iPad, though the movement wasn’t lost on you. He cleared his throat, as if remembering the task at hand, and swiped to the next card, though his thumb lingered on the screen a little longer than necessary.

“Define… vowel harmony,” he said, his voice slower this time, before gently bucking his hip like his simply adjusting his position.

You whined loudly, the tip of his cock hitting the special spot inside, your mind scrambling to pull the answer from the depths of your memory.

“It’s… uh… Daddy… stop m-moving…” You swallowed, your voice catching in your throat. “It’s when… when… vowels within a word need to m-match in some way. Just… just l-like in certain languages, all the vowels in a word have to be either front or back vowels.”

Aaron nodded, his lips curving just slightly in a faint, knowing smile. “Very good.”

His hand shifted again, this time closer, brushing down your inner thigh, right where your bodies meet. The heat from his touch seeped through every fiber of your being, flooding your senses with heat and desire. And lust. Overflowing heat and lust.

Your breathing quickened, your mind no longer on linguistic theories or exam questions.

“Do you want to keep going?” Aaron asked, though his voice had lost the strict, studious edge it had earlier. His hand still rested on your inner thigh, his fingers ghosting against your throbbing clit, as if waiting for your answer to decide where they might go next.

“D-daddy…” you said in a whisper, slowly grinding your hips again. “N-need you… plea…please… daddy…”

Aaron didn’t move for a moment. He kept watching your desperate movements with that same heavy gaze, his fingers slowly teasing their way to your needy cunt, sending another shiver through your body. 

Then, slowly, deliberately, he set the iPad aside, his hand resting fully on your hip now.

“My little girl’s been studying hard…” his voice was low and rough, the pad of his big, calloused hands against your skin. “And you’ve got all these answers down.”

You let out a shaky breath, your body instinctively leaning into his touch. The anticipation was almost suffocating in the best way, choking you. He started to rock his hip slowly, the trail of hair from his cock grinding against your clit in a heady way. 

“F-fuck…” your voice trembled as you impatiently increased your pace. “Y-yes, D-daddy… please...”

He sat up to lean towards you, his lips just a breath away from your ear. “Baby, you’ve earned a break,” the words filled with a promise that made your pulse quicken. “I’ll fuck you nice and good, hmm?”

As Aaron’s lips brushed ever so lightly against the sensitive skin of your neck, your world crumbled and you couldn’t focus on anything else.

His lips trailed down your exposed neck, his nose pressed against your skin, taking in your scent as he left a soft trail of light kisses. A heavy sigh escaped your lips when you felt his hands tighten around your waist, guiding you in back-and-forth motion. The way his big and girthy cock was stretching your leaking cunt was intoxicating. You whimpered in embarrassment, hiding your flushed cheeks at the crook of his neck as you felt the tip of his cock deep into your belly.

“D-daddy… can you move, please?” you whispered in a weak voice.

“You want Daddy’s cum inside you, sweet girl?”

You nodded, feeling Aaron move gently to fix his position. “I d-do, Daddy… s-so much… please...”

“Then you’ll get it, princess.”

With a yelp, Aaron’s girthy cock rammed in and out of your waiting cunt. The shrill sound that escaped your lips made Aaron smirk in satisfaction. This is where you belong; in his arms, perched on his lap with your warm, velvety walls wrapped tightly on his cock, his name leaving your lips like a desperate prayer.

Deep grunts and small whimpers tangled in the air like harmony. Your voice was raw, and your throat dries as he assaulted your greedy, little cunt with deep thrusts. His breathing was ragged and heavy.

“Da…Daddy…” Your fingers tightened on his hair, pulling a little with every plop of your sweaty skin. “C-close, ‘m close… Daddy…”

Aaron let out an amused laugh. “No, not yet. Wait a l-little more, you can do that f-for Daddy, princess?”

You whined.

“N-no… I-I want… Daddy… come, p-please… Want to c-come…”

A sharp slap on the side of your thigh stilled you.

“Who fucking own you, little girl?”

“Y-you... Daddy…”

“And who fucking own this greedy cunt, huh? Who get to say when you’re allowed to fucking come?”

A particular thrust set your nerves on fire. “Y-you, Daddy! Only y-you… fuck… that feels g-good! There- t-there! R-right there! H-harder, Daddy! Fuck– f-fuck me!”

“There’s my good girl.”

You felt the familiar coil twisting in your belly. The squelching sound of your wet hole being pounded hard and fast was dirty and somehow humiliating. He kept hammering his hips into you, the tip of his throbbing cock nudging the most sensitive spots deep inside your body. Parts you never knew existed until you met Aaron. He has always loved you hard and always fucked you even harder. Like you’re nothing but a fleshlight. A toy. A fuckdoll he could use just the way he wants it.

“Y-yes! Yes! D-daddy! Right-r-right there! F-fuck!” Your release inched closer, roused by his pained grunts and heavy breathing. “Please! P-please! Please, Daddy! Come in-inside me! Breed m-me… please! I’m a g-good girl, r-right? Fuck m-me full of c-cum, please! W-want it s-so bad— want y-you so bad!”

“Come, princess. Go on. Let go.”

Your orgasm ripped through you like an avalanche. Your eyes rolled at the back of your head. Aaron’s loud grunt and your whiny moan pierced the silence of the night, his fat cock spurting ropes and ropes of warm cum into your waiting womb. Shivers ran down your spine, your bones weak, legs trembling.

“That’s it... good girl... my sweet girl...” Aaron murmured against your ear, his breath hot and heavy. “Just take it, princess. Daddy loves you.”

A loud pounding on the wall startled your calming heart. It even made Aaron jump a little. Seconds ticked in and the familiar voice of your angry neighbor echoed inside your sweaty, sex-filled room.

“Stop fucking in the middle of the night, for fuck’s sake! Some people have fucking exams tomorrow unlike you fucking horny crackheads! Fuck!”

You could only giggle in exhaustion.

Guess who’s back, bitches! (affectionately) Please give me some love and appreciation in the form of your thoughts or reactions. Also, don’t forget to drink your water and keep slaying, babes!

Tag list: @downbad4reid ,@roseydoesypoesy, @pastelpinkflowerlife, @justyourusualash, @hotchsmutrecs, @msfreedom, @birdysaturne, @gghostwriter, @mrs-ssa-hotch, @fore45fore, @actualdeemon, @diksy1112, @jethro-mcgee-tony, @hotchnerbau, @iniyalovesall, @222hwilsss, @balariie, @oliviabbb, @ncis0mrs0gibbs, @jasonswhitetuftofhair, @m4pl, @zaddyhotch, @fandom-garbage, @obsessed-oops, @ujws5, @babybluelrh98, @anime-lover-forever-1127, @hazel-babbit, @3amcloudss, @seraphinlover

[rizzanon]

Background Info 2 (Tim, Cassandra, Stephanie, Damian, Duke Centered)

I think your relationship with Tim is more complicated than you wanted it to be. When he first came about to the family, he was the reason you found out about your family’s secrets. The ones that they’ve been hiding from you from the start. And for some reason, as a kid, you didn’t know whether you should be thankful, or hate him for that.

Why? Because the truth was a double-edged sword. On one hand, you had always felt like something was off about your family—the late nights, the unexplained bruises and injuries, the way they avoided topics like they were landmines. Tim revealing the truth was like solving a puzzle you didn’t know you were piecing together. But on the other hand, the truth came with a weight you hadn’t been prepared for before.

A part of you wanted to be grateful—Tim had given you the truth when no one else had. But another part of you couldn’t help but resent him. It was as if he had stolen the illusion of normalcy you clung to, replacing it with danger, secrets, and an overwhelming realization how much more you actually needed to do to get the approval of your family.

For the first few months of Tim being Robin, you didn’t see him as anything other than Jason’s replacement.

Jason had been your brother in every sense of the word. A little rough around the edges, sure, but he had a way of making you feel seen, even when the rest of the family was too caught up in their own world to notice you. So when he died, it left a gaping hole—not just in the family but in you. When Tim came along and slid into Jason’s place like it was as simple as filling a role, it was hard not to hate him for it.

You avoided him at first, ignored all of his attempts to be friendly or cordial. You refused to acknowledge him as anything other than “the new Robin.” You knew it was childish, but you were only 12 then. It wasn’t fair, you knew that, but grief doesn’t lend itself to rationality. Eventually, though, you started to let go of that resentment. He wasn’t Jason, but he wasn’t trying to be him either. He was just Tim.

So, you decided to try. He was close to your age, after all, and you figured, at the very least, you could be friends. But Tim didn’t seem to feel the same way. To him, you were Batman’s daughter, that was it. He kept things polite and distant, never letting you close enough to feel like anything more than an acquaintance.

That dynamic didn’t really shift until the death of his father. When Jack Drake was killed by Captain Boomerang, and Bruce formally adopted Tim, you felt for him in a way you hadn’t before. Losing a parent was a kind of pain you couldn’t imagine, and for the first time, you saw him as more than just “the new Robin”. You pitied him.

You tried to comfort him, offering him a shoulder to lean on and small acts of kindness. But Tim didn’t want your pity. If anything, it seemed to make him pull away even further. He started treating you less like family, and more like a roommate—someone he tolerated living with but didn’t go out of his way to connect with.

You didn’t push him. If that’s what he needed, fine. But you still wanted to be close to him, so you found other ways to try. You’d ask him for help with missions and cases, knowing how smart and capable he was, hoping it might bridge the gap between you. For a while, it worked—or at least, it felt like it did. But over time, Tim’s frustration began to show. He never said it outright, but his body language spoke volumes: the tight set of his jaw, the way he’d sigh when you approached, the way his answers grew shorter and more clipped.

Eventually, you stopped asking.

And that’s how it’s been ever since. The two of you drifted into a rhythm, more like estranged colleagues or roommates than siblings, or in the very least, friends. You didn’t mind—at least, that’s what you told yourself. But deep down, you couldn’t help but wonder if things could’ve been different, if you had acted differently from the very start.

When Cassandra first joined the family, you were slightly excited because, for the first time, you had a sister. An older one, in fact. It felt like a chance to have someone who might understand you in a way the others didn’t.

But then you found out that she didn’t speak. She couldn’t speak, write, or even read. The excitement you felt faltered, replaced by confusion and uncertainty. How were you supposed to bond with someone when you couldn’t even talk to them? At the time, you didn’t fully understand the extent of her struggles or the horrors she had endured. All you saw was the surface—a girl who communicated through body language and a few cryptic gestures.

At first, you weren’t sure how to approach her. Conversations were one-sided, and you found yourself rambling awkwardly, trying to fill the silence. She would watch you intently, her dark eyes seeming to take in every word, every movement, but she never responded. It made you feel exposed, like she could see through every layer you tried to hide behind.

Still, you tried. You offered to help her learn, even though you weren’t exactly the best teacher. You’d leave sticky notes with simple words written on them, hoping she’d start to recognize them. Sometimes she’d glance at them, but other times, she’d brush past them as if they weren’t there.

It was disheartening at first, but then there were moments that gave you hope. A small smile when you handed her something. A nod of acknowledgment when you rambled about your day. Slowly, you began to realize that Cassandra spoke volumes without ever saying a word.

But even as you grew to understand her, there was a part of you that wondered if she ever really saw you the same way. She bonded so quickly with Bruce, with Barbara, even with Tim. They seemed to understand her in ways you couldn’t, and it made you feel like an outsider all over again.

You wanted to be close to her, to have the sisterly relationship you’d always imagined, but it felt like you were chasing something that was always just out of reach. Cassandra was kind, patient even, but there was always a distance—an invisible wall that kept you from getting too close. You weren’t sure if it was something she put up or something you did.

But when she was getting mire familiar with speaking and reading, you noticed that she started to avoid you. Subtly. Cassandra didn’t see you as someone to guide or protect. In her eyes, you were fragile, someone who didn’t belong in the same world of violence and shadows that had shaped her. She didn’t want you to go down this path, in a way, she wanted you to live your life away from this.

But that’s not what you wanted. When you tried to train with her, hoping to gain her approval, she’d effortlessly disarm you, her movements almost lazy. “Not ready,” she’d say bluntly, walking away without further explanation. You were left feeling small, unworthy. And in a way, that sparked the initial tension between you and her.

As the years went by though, you hated that you were feeling jealous over the fact that your father seemed to see Cassandra as more of a daughter than with you. You’ve seen the way they bonded, seen the way Bruce’s usually stoic demeanor softened ever so slightly when Cassandra was around. It wasn’t like he ignored you, but it was different. With Cassandra, there was a shared understanding, an unspoken connection forged in the language of the battlefield—a language you never quite mastered.

You tried to convince yourself it didn’t bother you. After all, Bruce was distant with everyone, wasn’t he? But the more you watched him mentor her, the more you saw the effort he put into helping her grow—not just as a fighter, but as a person—the harder it became to push those feelings of inadequacy aside.

Cassandra, for her part, didn’t seem to notice how much it hurt. Or if she did, she didn’t say anything. She was focused, always pushing herself to be better, stronger, faster. And you… you felt like you were standing still, trying to catch up but never quite reaching her.

The jealousy festered quietly. You hated feeling that way toward her, especially when she hadn’t done anything wrong. She deserved Bruce’s attention. She deserved to be seen. But so did you. And no matter how hard you tried, it felt like you were always coming up short in his eyes.

Over time, you started pulling back. You stopped asking her to train with you. Stopped leaving notes or trying to initiate conversations. Instead, you kept to yourself, throwing yourself into missions and tasks that didn’t involve her or Bruce. Maybe if you worked hard enough, fought hard enough, they’d finally see you as an equal.

But the distance didn’t fix anything. It only made the loneliness worse. You missed the small moments with Cassandra, the fleeting smiles and quiet nods. And even though you’d never admit it out loud, you missed the rare moments of connection with Bruce too.

The truth was, you didn’t know how to bridge the gap between you and Cassandra—or anyone in the family, for that matter. You were stuck in a cycle of trying too hard and pulling away, and no matter what you did, it never felt like enough.

And as for Stephanie, you two have never actually been close. At first, you just saw her as Tim’s girlfriend, and that was it. You didn’t pay her much attention beyond that. But things shifted dramatically when Barbara and Dick allowed her to take up the Batgirl mantle while your father was “dead.”

The first time you saw her in her version of the Batgirl costume, it felt like the world stopped. That symbol, that legacy—it was supposed to mean something, and seeing her wear it felt like a betrayal. Dick brought her along as Batgirl during his time as Batman, with Damian as his Robin, and the sight of them together cut deeper than you wanted to admit.

You felt replaced. Tossed aside. Forgotten. And that feeling lit a fire in you—a desperate, burning need to prove that you deserved to be Batgirl more than Stephanie ever did. This wasn’t just about the costume or the name; it was about everything it represented. Respect. Recognition. Family.

So, yes, it became a one-sided rivalry, fueled by jealousy and betrayal. You trained harder, worked yourself to the brink, but no matter how much you pushed, it never felt like enough. Stephanie had been doing this longer than you had, and her experience showed. But that didn’t make it sting any less when you watched her work alongside Dick and Damian with an ease you couldn’t seem to replicate.

When your father returned, you thought things would change—that maybe this would be your chance to finally step into the role you’d been striving for. But even then, Stephanie remained Batgirl, and Bruce seemed to call on her more often than he did you. For recon missions, patrols, you name it—she was his go-to. It hurt, deeply.

And when Stephanie eventually stepped down from being Batgirl to return to her original mantle as Spoiler, it didn’t bring you the satisfaction you thought it would. You didn’t “win.” There was no triumph, no validation that you were the better Batgirl. Stephanie left on her own terms, and that only made it worse.

You felt like you’d lost. Lost the unspoken competition you’d waged in your own head, lost your chance to prove your worth. And that sense of failure—it ate away at you, leaving behind a bitterness you couldn’t shake. Instead of quelling your insecurities, it only made them worse, fueling a toxic cycle of self-doubt and a relentless need to prove yourself.

Maybe in another life, things would’ve been different. Maybe you and Stephanie could’ve been friends, allies even. But the weight of your own jealousy and toxic mentality made that impossible. You wanted to reach out, to connect, but every time you tried, that voice in your head reminded you of all the ways you’d fallen short. And so, the distance between you and Stephanie only grew, just like it had with everyone else.

As for Damian, your relationship with him has always been a mixed bag. When he first showed up at the manor, you didn’t know what to make of him. He was brash, arrogant, and entirely too confident for someone so young. At first, you thought he was just some spoiled brat with a superiority complex. And honestly? You weren’t far off.

He didn’t waste any time asserting himself, loudly proclaiming that he was the true heir to Batman’s legacy and making it clear he saw you as competition. Not a sibling, not even an ally—just someone to outmatch. He called you soft, mocked your fighting skills, and dismissed your efforts to keep the peace as weakness. It was exhausting, to say the least.

At the same time, though, you couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for him. He’d been thrust into a completely unfamiliar world, taken from the League of Assassins and dropped into the Wayne family chaos. It was clear he didn’t know how to connect with anyone, and for all his bravado, there was something lonely about him.

You tried to bridge the gap at first, hoping to at least build a sense of camaraderie. But Damian made it difficult. He was quick to push you away, and any attempt to be friendly was met with biting remarks or scornful looks. Over time, you learned to keep your distance, picking your battles carefully.

What made it worse was how Bruce and Dick always seemed to take his side. When he antagonized you or picked fights, their solution was always the same:

“Be patient with him,” or, “He’s still adjusting. Give him time.”

But how could you? He was the one who started the fights, who insulted you at every opportunity. No one seemed to care about that part.

Still, as much as Damian constantly undermined you, there were moments—fleeting and rare—when you noticed something different. He wasn’t as dismissive as he pretended to be. There were times when you’d find your weapons repaired after training or your notes on a case mysteriously corrected. He never said anything about it, and you never brought it up, but you knew it was him.

Even his insults, as cruel as they were, sometimes felt… purposeful. Like he was testing you, pushing you to be better. At first, you thought it was just an excuse you made up to deal with his attitude, but over time, it became clear that his criticism wasn’t entirely baseless. Damian had a way of pointing out your flaws in a way no one else did—harshly, yes, but sometimes accurately.

As the years went on, your dynamic shifted. The outright animosity faded, though it never disappeared entirely. There were still arguments, snide remarks, and moments where you swore he was intentionally trying to get under your skin. But there was also a strange, unspoken understanding.

You’d never call yourselves close. You’d never confide in each other or share heartfelt moments. But there was a bond, however tenuous, forged by shared experiences and blood. There was a mutual, begrudging respect that neither of you would admit out loud.

At the end of the day, Damian was still Damian. He still had his sharp tongue and holier-than-thou attitude, and you still had your resentment. But underneath it all, there was a flicker of something—rivalry mixed with loyalty, disdain mixed with a reluctant sense of family. It wasn’t perfect, and it probably never would be. But it was enough.

For Duke, it’s a bit different. He joined the family relatively later than the others, and Bruce didn’t officially adopt him into the family—he only fostered him. That distinction didn’t seem to matter to anyone else, though. From the moment Duke stepped into the manor, he fit right in.

Whenever you and Duke crossed paths, he was always nice. Friendly, even. But just like with the others, there was this invisible wall between you and him. Why? You weren’t entirely sure. Maybe it was because you noticed how easily he got along with the rest of your siblings, how seamlessly they accepted him. They included him in more things, leaned on him more during missions, and spent more time with him than they did with you.

It wasn’t like you hated him for that. No, never. Duke wasn’t the problem—it was the growing realization that once again, you were on the outside looking in. You couldn’t help but feel like you were being edged out of your own family. And that hurt, both your pride and your heart.

There were moments when you tried to connect with him, telling him about a lead you’d found or an idea you had for a case. Duke always listened, but his responses left a sting. Comments like, “Are you sure you can handle this stuff by yourself?” or, “You don’t want any help?” or even, “Maybe you should get Dick or Cass to help you out with this.”

You knew he probably meant well, but those words dug deep. It felt like he didn’t think you were capable, that he saw you as someone who couldn’t hold their own. You never said anything about it, of course, but it only strengthened your resolve to prove yourself.

And maybe that was the problem. The more you tried to show him—and everyone else—that you were competent, the more strained things became. It wasn’t outright hostility, not by any means, but there was a tension that lingered between you. A mutual awkwardness neither of you ever addressed.

At the end of the day, though, Duke was Duke. You weren’t enemies, and you didn’t resent him. You were friends, at the very least. But there was always that wall, a quiet reminder that, even in your own family, you were never quite enough.

I hope this was able to effectively portrag the fact that the reader is far from a perfect person, because I don’t think I was able to show that in the first background info. I feel that growing up in such an emotionally stunted family would inevitably shape her into someone complex and flawed. She wouldn’t be endlessly hopeful or optimistic. How could she be? She’s not just some perpetually kind, selfless girl with no negative emotions. Instead, her experiences have made her someone who struggles with jealousy, insecurity, and a need to prove herself, even if it leads to toxic behavior… but i hope y’all enjoyed this part!! lmk what you think <3

Part 1 (Alfred, Bruce, Dick, Barbara, Jason Centered)

m.list

taglist (open): @tricksters-maze @dusk-muse @quethekillerqueen @silverklaus @isupportorbitalbombardment @nxdxsworld @vanessa-boo @coffeeaddictxd @moonsbluekingdom @yuya-bubbly @percythebitchwitch @anonymousdisco @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @redsakura101 @what-0-life @idkwhattoputhete @secretyouthcomputer @witch-waycult @allycat4458 @dazed-lavender @eclecticfurylady @wizzerreblogs @marsmabe @daddysfangirls-dc @hoeinthehouse @beeweensblog @ilxandra @agent-nobody-knows | ask to be added <3

(idk why i can’t tag some of y’all, must be your settings i think 😓)

[flamingwell]

Making Your Podfic (especially with Music and/or Sound Effects) More Accessible and Listener Friendly

So you're planning to make a podfic with music and/or sound effects, and you want to think about ways to make it more accessible? Awesome!! This will guide you through some steps you can take to make your podfic more accessible, some of which will also make for a more pleasant listening experience for listeners without accessibility needs, but the focus will primarily be on accessibility. Some of this will also be applicable to podfics with multiple recording sessions without music or sound effects, but again, that's not the focus.

What's the number one thing you can do to make your podfic with music and/or sound effects more accessible to those with noise sensitivity, auditory processing conditions, who are somewhat hard of hearing, or other auditory accessibility needs?

MAKE A CLEAN VERSION, with NO music or sound effects! This can be a very easy change to your process for most people! After editing out mistakes and doing your audio clean up but before you add music or sound effects, simply export your audio. Upload it wherever you upload your final version, drop in a second link to the no music/sound effects version, and that's it! Of course, this may not be trivial for some people, depending on your individual process or other factors. I hope you will decide that it's worth doing anyway. As someone with audio accessibility needs myself, I can tell you it makes a HUGE difference. There are podficcers I love who I can't listen to some of what they've recorded because there's no version without music/sound effects, or sometimes I can only listen on a good day. There are fics I love where there's a podfic version, but I will never be able to listen to it because there's more music/sounds effects than I can handle. This one change will make people like me VERY happy and will expand your audience!

Secondly, especially if you've got a lot of audio dynamics (really quiet whispery bits and also really loud shouty bits), be sure to use the Compressor tool. Long story short, the compressor makes the actual noise level of the quiet bits louder and the loud bits quieter, while still leaving the impression of whispering or shouting. In other words, keep the emotion, but don't force your listeners to keep changing the volume on their headphones/speakers/hearing aid to be able to hear what you're saying or avoid getting their ears blown out (very useful for other listeners too, especially people listening on headphones or in the car). A quick overview of how to use the Compressor settings (this is for Audacity, which is what I'm most familiar with, but most audio editing tools will have something similar):

Threshold: how loud do you want to go before starting to make things quieter?

Make-up gain: after compressing the loud bits down, how much do you want to make everything louder to make up for it?

Knee width: how quickly and starkly do you want the compression to apply? At 0db, this will be a very sharp change. Lower levels will lead to less sharp changes

Ratio: for the loud bits that are getting compressed, how much compression should be applied? The higher the Ratio the more the loud parts of the audio will be compressed.

Okay, but maybe you want to ALSO make the version with music and/or sound effects more accessible, since that's your vision for the podfic and you want as many people as possible to be able to experience it? Great! PLEASE still make a version without music/sound effects as noted above, because even doing everything you can won't be enough for everyone. But it's also great to do what you can to make your music/sound effects version accessible for those that are able to enjoy it with some changes. So….what are some things you can do?

As much as possible, avoid putting music or Foley over your words. For people with audio processing issues especially, it can be very difficult to parse words when there's background music (and especially background music that itself has words).

If you're going to have music or Foley over words, make sure the words are significantly louder than the music. You can use the Analyze Contrast tool (in the Analyze menu in Audacity) to compare the relative loudness of two selections.

For music or Foley between words (like in a section break), make sure it's not too much louder or softer than the sections that come before and after. Again, use that Analyze Contrast tool to compare selections.

You can also use Analyze Contrast to even out the sound between recording sessions!

For sound effects that modify your voice, go only to the point where your voice still sounds very intelligible to you. Someone with auditory accessibility needs will likely struggle with intelligibility well before someone without those needs.

Hope this was helpful!

(This is written from my perspective as someone who has audio accessibility needs, as well as being a podficcer myself. Beta help and additional thoughts from @writerproblem193 @keriarentikai @xiaokuer-schmetterling and others not on Tumblr. But this is not The Definitive Guide To Accessibility or anything, so please add your perspective!)

[trashytracktales]

I absolutely love your writing!!!!!! I have a bit of a longer request, you don’t have to write it if you don’t want to.

Lando and y/n meet through a mutual friend, and they both feel an immediate attraction. A few months later, they’re on a group trip—maybe at a beach villa or a mountain house for skiing. One day during the trip, they both decide to stay in, each thinking they’re alone.

Lando, believing he has the place to himself, starts masturbating on the sofa in the living room. Around the same time, y/n comes into the living room, planning to watch TV. She spots Lando on the sofa but doesn’t immediately realize what he’s doing as she was behind the sofa and a few steps away —until he moans her name. She kind of hides herself and spies on him until she gets enough courage and goes to him and asks him if she can help him and basically she goes on her knees right in front of him and starts sucking him off and he’s so surprised and turned on that he doesn’t know what to say or do other than moan her name and praise her

Deep in the Alps | LN⁴

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── Sorry for keeping you waiting, I had a few works in progress + another request that came in before this one. Enjoy 🤍🎀

❄ summary ──── What begins as a private moment turns into something unexpected and, with a few days of vacation left, Lando is determined to make every moment count, setting the stage for an unforgettable getaway that blurs the lines between friendship and something far more... exciting.

❄ pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader

❄ rating ──── explicit

❄ category ──── F/M

❄ warnings ──── +18, mature/sexual content, slight fluff & smut, teasing, explicit language, horny thoughts, masturbation, oral sex ─ (m)receiving, low-key whiney Lando.

❄ word count ──── 4.1k

❄ date ──── Dec. 2, 2024

OF ALL THE people in his friend group, Lando looked forward to winter break the most. He loves summer, but nothing compares to a holiday deep in the Alps, away from cameras and prying eyes.

Their cabin is covered in a generous layer of snow that glimmers like a sea of diamonds under the pale winter sun. The air is crisp and cold, and everyone is excited for today, considering how much it snowed last night.

The group dynamic is diverse, having friendships that have been inseparable for years, while others are still navigating the early stages of familiarity.

She met them through Pietra a few months ago, but this is the first time she joined the entire group for a holiday. As expected, Lando is the central piece who draws attention through his bad jokes and easygoing charm, being a constant source of amusement for everybody. She, on the other hand, is content to sit back and observe, though she’s found herself smiling at his antics more often than she’d care to admit.

Their days so far have been a blur of early mornings spent carving down snowy trails, afternoons in crowded lodges sipping hot chocolate or mulled wine, and evenings around the fireplace, sharing stories and making more plans to hangout in the future. It was easy for her to fit in because everyone seemed — at least at first — to go out of their way to make her feel welcome and included.

Today, however, a dull headache throbs at her temples, forcing her to opt out of skiing, retreating to her room for a nap and leaving them to bundle up and head out to the slopes.

Lando also stays behind, claiming he’s exhausted from the previous night’s gaming sessions with Max and Morgan. But in reality, he’s just craving a moment of quiet, which is a rarity for him.

Outside, the snow glistens with an almost blinding brightness, reflecting the sunlight in too sharply. Lando had made a point to pull the curtains earlier, and now, the dimly lit living room is perfect for lounging on the couch with a blanket draped over his lap. The movie playing on the TV is a vague blur of sound and color in the background, abandoned halfway through in favor of his phone, which is much more interesting at the moment.

He scrolls through his Instagram feed, pausing on a group photo they took when they first arrived at the location. The image lingers on the screen, and his focus sharpens, studying everybody's face until he gets to her. She’s in the center, barely noticeable because of how small she looks like next to the others, bundled up in her pink jacket, her knit beanie perched perfectly atop her head, with loose strands of hair curling around her face. Her cheeks are rosy from the cold, and her smile is soft but radiant.

Lando exhales sharply, the pressure building low in his stomach catching him off guard. He tries to shake it off, tries to remind himself that she’s just a girl that hangs out with them from time to time.

Just a girl. That's all.

However, he can't explain how she managed to get under his skin so quickly. They are polar opposites of each other, and Lando noticed that. She's so quiet and reserved, yet somehow captivating in a way he can’t quite understand — it’s frustrating, really. Maybe that's exactly what gets him, making him wonder what it would take to make her lose that composure.

No. He can't go there.

Although…

He lets his thumb brush against the screen, zooming in on her face. A low groan escapes his throat as he recalls the way she looked last night, perched on the arm of a chair while everyone chatted around her, her lips quirking up at his dumb joke; she was the only one that understood it, and he caught that. Such a stupid joke, it wasn't even funny. But she laughed.

Why does she have to laugh at his jokes? More importantly, why does he want to make jokes all the time, just so he can hear her laugh?

“Get a grip, mate,” he whispers to himself under his breath, his free hand shifting lower, sliding under the waistband of his sweats. It’s instinctive, his body reacting to thoughts he’s been suppressing for a while now. “Not that kind of grip, fuck’s sake.”

He can't stop but think of how she would've laughed at that, too.

Lando closes his eyes, his strokes slow at first as he lets the thoughts flood in — it’s a good thing no one can read his mind at the moment. He thinks of her lips and how they part slightly when she’s surprised, and the way her teeth graze her bottom lip when she’s lost in thought. He can't help but imagine those lips closing around his cock, and what her voice would sound like if he fucked her pretty mouth.

“Come on,” he gasps, frustration tugging at the edge of his patience.

His pace quickens as his mind wanders further, seeing her with his mind's eye lying delicately beneath him, small and innocent, breathing in short spasms, and asking him for more. Her softness and the way she carries herself makes him want to see her like that — in a different light, flushed and undone. The image of her laughing at one of his ridiculous attempts to impress her spurs him on, and his hand tightens, his strokes becoming rougher as his breathing grows heavier.

That's when she realizes what she's walked in on.

All this time, she thought she was all alone and, judging by the scene in front of her, he thinks that, too. Her heart thuds wildly as she tries to process it, too stunned to move another muscle. His breaths are ragged, and she feels the tension radiating off him even from where she stands, frozen in place — at the base of the stairs, behind the couch. She knows she should leave and spare them both from an embarrassing encounter, but something keeps her there.

Closing her eyes, she squeezes the railing nervously. She barely got rid of her headache, but now her head's all dizzy from Lando's rough grunts that are echoing throughout the room.

He sounds as if he ran a marathon, barefoot, in the rain.

He sounds tired, but he's aggressive, like it's making him mad — the rhythmic slap of his fist against skin making her mouth water and stomach tighten.

He sounds... delicious.

And then, her eyes snap open.

She blinks rapidly as if that will help her hear better. His voice, low and needy, whispers her name like a prayer, again and again, a desperate sound that escapes his mouth deliberately. It echoes in the room and within the walls of her skull, pulling Lando deeper into the fantasy that he’s helpless to resist — and her, towards him.

Heat floods her cheeks, a mix of surprise, shock, and something deeper spreading through her as she tries to control her breathing.

How can she simply leave, when her name hangs on the corner of his mouth, so drenched in want? It's too late now. She doesn’t think anymore, doesn’t stop to analyze what she’s about to do; she simply trusts her instincts, as she always did.

Lando doesn’t hear her approach, lost in the haze of his own thoughts, his hand moving rhythmically under the blanket. His moans get increasingly louder, so obscene in her ears. It's like they call for her, alluring and profound, and she can’t say no.

Quietly stepping closer, she leans over the back of the couch, her hand reaching out as if it has a mind of its own. When her fingers slide over his, Lando's body stiffens, his breath catching in his throat.

“Relax,” she whispers, her voice soft and filled with anticipation, causing him to drop the phone somewhere on the couch.

He tilts his head back, wide eyes meeting hers, his face flushed and disbelieving. Her sweet perfume takes over his senses, getting him high on it.

He's surely dreaming, because there is no way in hell that she is real.

“What—”

“It's okay,” she assures him, her hand gently guiding his to resume its movement. “Let me help.”

Lando yelps, his head dropping back against the couch, their faces so close to each other as her grip steadies him, matching the pace he had before. The light weight of her hand over his sends a jolt through his body, his brain so close to shutting down for good, while his chest is rising and falling rapidly as she coaxes him closer to the edge.

What in the fuck is happening?

“Does that feel good, pretty boy?” she asks, her lips dangerously close to his.

Lando nods as his hips jerk involuntarily. He refuses to believe it's because of the pet name she just gave him; he is way too strong to fall for that.

Still, he closes his eyes again, biting at his lower lip to stop his whimpers from cascading out of his mouth. There is a small trace of cold sweat pooling on his forehead as her hand moves with his until his entire body tenses, and he finally lets out a deep, guttural moan, her name falling from his lips again, more like a warning this time. He knows he's close, so he tries to push her hand away to avoid the mess that he's about to make. But she stays ferm, using her free palm to push his head in the crook of her neck and caress his cheek softly. His breath falls hot on her skin, and when she starts encouraging him, it's enough for Lando to let go, thick splashes covering his lower abdomen before he can even think. The rest spills over their their joined hands, managing to get another grunt of pleasure out of him.

“There you go,” she says, tracing her thumb over his cum-soaked head, feeling him throbbing beneath her touch. “Such a hot view.”

For a litte while, the room falls silent except for Lando's labored breathing. She moves to sit beside him on the couch, giving him a moment to recover; his eyes are still closed, because how the fuck is he supposed to look at her now?

After that, she throws the tissue box at him, letting out a soft chuckle at his pathetic attempt to catch it.

Exhaling sharply, Lando drags his hands down his face, still avoiding the eye contact. “Well, that was embarrassing.”

She chuckles again, studying him closely, while he squeezes his eyes shut as if he can erase the last few minutes from existence. Except he doesn't really want to.

They sit in silence for another moment before she shifts, crossing her legs and facing him fully. “Did it happen before?” she asks curiously.

His eyes widen slightly, finally looking at her, “What? Of course not.”

Her brow lifts, amused. “Liar.”

“I’m not lying,” he insists, his voice pitching higher.

Her lips curl into a knowing smile. “You always glance around when you’re lying, like you’re checking to see if anyone buys it. You just did it,” she points out.

Lando sighs, dragging a hand through his curls. “Right. That obvious?”

She leans in, nodding, all the amusement gone. “When?”

He hesitates, clearly debating how much to say, but her expectant gaze leaves him no choice. “It started after the Singapore weekend,” he admits, his voice low.

Her mouth goes dry. That was the weekend Pietra first introduced them. Lando had won that Sunday, and the after party was the craziest she'd been to yet.

“You wore that top, and—”

She frowns. “That top?”

“You know the one,” he says, gesturing vaguely at his chest. “It was black, low-cut, and — look, you just looked really good, okay? I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

“My top?” she grins, leaning her elbow on the back of the couch as she watches him squirm.

Your tits, he wants to say, but stops before he embarrasses himself even more.

“You've never said anything,” the girl continues, “Why?”

Lando breaths in slowly, running a hand through his tousled curls again, the tips of his ears burning. “Because of P,” he admits. “She told me how much she liked having you around, and I didn’t want to mess that up. She’d kill me if she thought I scared you off or made things weird.”

Her brow lifts, amusement flickering in her expression once again. “You’re scared of Pietra?”

“A little,” he jokes, though his crooked smile falters under her probing stare. “But mostly, I didn’t want to ruin anything for you. I figured it was better to keep my mouth shut. You seem to enjoy your time with us, and I want you around, too.”

She tilts her head, studying his face in the dim light. His piercing eyes are framed by soft, dark brows, and she can’t help but imagine tracing her fingers through his soft curls. The faint facial hair adds a maturity to his otherwise boyish features, making her swallowing hard.

Bottom line, she is attracted to him, even more so now that she knows the feeling is mutual.

“Well, that’s… considerate,” she replies, her lips curving slightly.

Lando chuckles nervously, though the sound dies quickly when her hand moves, her fingertips brushing over his bicep. The contact is featherlight, but it sets his skin ablaze, his breath hitching as she lets her hand glide down his arm, tracing the curve of his muscle with an idle curiosity that feels anything but innocent.

“And now?” she comes back to her initial curiosity, her voice dipping, almost teasing. “What’s stopping you now?”

His throat tightens, words tangling in his mind as she looks at him, her eyes glittering with something that makes his cock throb against his thigh. Lando was sure that he had her figured out. But now, as she leans closer, her lips parting slightly as if to taste the tension hanging between them, he realizes how wrong he was.

“It’s always the quiet ones,” states Lando, ignoring her question, “The ones who seem all shy and innocent, hm?”

“I am shy and innocent,” she agrees with a nod, which makes him scoff. “Alright, maybe not that shy. Or innocent.”

Recognizing that doesn't make Lando's job any easier. Quite the opposite. He's more intrigued as to what secrets she may be hiding beneath her deceptive surface.

“So… since we agreed on that. Is there something else I can help you with?” she murmurs, her tongue darting out to wet her lips as she gazes at him expectantly.

Lando brings his hand to rest on hers, his restraint hanging by a thread. “You don’t—have to.”

“But I want to,” she rushes to say, her tone decisive.

With that, she shifts slowly, lowering herself to her knees in front of him with an ease that makes his chest burn. Her hands rest lightly on his thighs, her gaze lifting to meet his, and in her eyes, he finds no hesitation, no doubt. Only intent, want, and excitement.

Stil, he needs to ask, “Are you sure?” he breathes, his voice barely audible.

Instead of answering using her words, her fingers grasp the edge of the blanket, freeing him from under it. She has to muffle a groan of surprise when she sees all of him in its entirety, still half-hard, resting heavily on his thigh.

“See, I knew you had a pretty cock,” she says matter-of-factly, mostly to herself. “I mean, it makes sense. So is your face.”

Lando’s hands flex at his sides, “You’re gonna ruin me,” he mutters, voice hoarse, but he doesn’t stop her as her fingers curl around his length, her movements deliberate and sure.

“Oh no,” she teases sarcastically, her grin widening as she leans forward, her touch igniting a fire that spreads through him like wildfire. “I kind of hoped it would be the other way around.”

“That can be arranged,” he assures her, hissing at her movements.

She needs both of her hands to take him properly: one wrapped around the base to hold him steady, while the other pumps him a few times to get him hard, before dragging her mouth down the sides. And, because she's the literal devil, she makes sure she holds his gaze while she takes the head in her mouth — warm, inviting, and so wet.

“Fuck,” he rasps, his hand fisting the blanket at his side.

She starts slowly, testing her movements first. It's a good thing she's already imagined this before, and now her mouth water on its own when she takes him in, inch by inch. Until she gets to her hand that stokes his base lightly. It makes her feel so full, which is ridiculous considering that he's about to fuck her mouth, and not her pussy. Still, her walls clench hard on nothing as she pulls him all the way out.

“Fuck,” he repeats, “Your mouth is so—fucking hell. You feel so good.”

The cold air after she pulls him out is enveloping his needy cock from every direction, forcing a string of whimpers out of Lando’s throat. It only make her smile as she keeps his eye on him, turning back to licking from the base all the way to his tip, where he started leaking in the meantime, as if she didn't help him jerk off only a few minutes ago.

It's hard to stay focused on her when her tongue seems like it wants to send him into a coma, but it's even harder to take his eyes off her. She looks so good on her knees that his hand almost searches the couch looking for his phone to snap a quick picture. Instead, he is content to imprint her on his memory, confident that he won't forget what she looks like, with her lips around his cock, sucking the life out of him as if hers depends on it.

Even so, Lando needs superhuman powers not to grab the back of her head to guide his cock deeper. He can't do that, though. She did offer to suck him off, but Lando doesn't know her limits yet, and he doesn't want to cross them without knowing. Alternatively, his fists squeeze tighter, sliding his body down on the couch to be closer to her.

Luckily, she gets the memo, taking him deeper into her mouth, bobbing her head a few times before she drags her tongue against the underside of his cock. The feeling makes every cell in his body burn, one at a time. He's had people going down on him before, but no one managed to get all of him in one go, and certainly not the way she does — opening up so wide for him until the tip of her nose taps gently on his base, making her drool messily all over him.

It’s almost too much, and so overwhelming that he forgets how to breathe for a few seconds, the tension in his lower abdomen building at an alarming pace.

“Shit, Lando,” the girl sobs, her eyes teary, “You're big,” she adds, her voice raw as she continues working her hand up and down his length, while catching her breath.

He doesn't need an ego boost, but he's happy to take it as long as it comes from her.

Lando's head falls back against the couch in surrender, just as she squeezes at his thigh with her free hand, only to bring him back to her. But the slick, pornographic sound her hand makes as she rubs him sends Lando straight to his own personal heaven, where his senses are activated exponentially. He's far too lost in the way she makes him feel, that only her mouth sucking hungrily on his tip can bring him back. Her tongue starts circling around it, and Lando’s eyes snap open while he rolls his hips back into her mouth.

She moans in protest, pulling him out again, “Eager boy,” she whispers out of breath. “Are you close?”

“Mhm” whines Lando, finally rising his head to look at her.

And what a rookie mistake that was.

Somehow, she managed to keep that innocence he saw in her ever since they met for the first time. Her big, deer eyes looking back at him while her cheeks are flushed pink, her lips swollen and her chin drenched would usually be his undoing. But she’s still mouthing around his cock, holding him in her delicate hand, so oblivious to the fact that Lando will see exactly that image whenever he closes his eyes, for a long time to come.

Starting now.

She chuckles at his choked hum and the way he seems like he can’t keep his eyes open anymore, “Where do you want it?”

Inside your mouth.

All over your tits.

On your face.

Her colorful giggle brings him back once again, realizing much too late that he said it all out loud.

“You look so hot when you're desperate,” she says, her lips shiny with spit and pre-cum, squeezing him slightly as she traces her thumb over his leaking head.

Normally, he’d have words to counter that, but all he needs right now is to cum, cum, cum. Except she unexpectedly frees him from her grip, forcing Lando to snap at the loss of contact, her lips leaving him cold, wet, hard, sensitive, and so fucking close to the edge.

His legs tense, and a low, guttural groan escapes him without permission. “Why did you—” he begins, his voice breaking. His head snaps forward, another whimper slipping from him as he watches her, wide-eyed and wrecked, struggling to catch his breath. “Fucking hell, what are you doing?”

She silences him by peeling her pajama top off in one smooth move, tossing it aside without hesitation. The gesture is rapid and deliberate, and Lando’s jaw slackens as he takes in the sight of her bare skin, the curve of her chest illuminated by the faint light that’s coming from the TV. His hands twitch on the couch as if he doesn’t know whether to reach for her or keep himself anchored to the seat.

Without a word, she leans forward, her eyes locking with his as she takes him back into her mouth. Her gaze never wavers, and Lando feels like he might combust on the spot.

So beautiful.

She smiles, intertwining her fingers with his, while her other hand wraps around his length, stroking him in rhythm with her mouth. The intimacy of it all, the eye contact, and the sheer devotion in her movements make his mind travel far away.

His muscles tighten, his free hand gripping the back of the couch for support as he feels himself throbbing against her tongue. He can barely form a coherent thought, his body shaking with the effort to hold on just a little longer, even though he knows it's a losing battle.

“Oh, shit,” he murmurs, his voice raw and heavy with need. “Such a perfect mouth, I’m—”

That’s when she pulls back again, and he curses loudly at the loss of her warmth. But before he can beg her to come back, she leans over slightly, guiding his cock as his release spills over her bare chest, the warmth of it contrasting with the cool air.

“Fuck, baby, fuck,” Lando cries out, his body shaking with the force of his orgasm. “That's so hot.”

She lets out a soft sigh, her lips curving into a satisfied smile as she tilts her head, still maintaining that piercing eye contact.

Lando can’t breathe. He doesn’t know whether to apologize for the mess or worship her for the sight in front of him. Either way, he doesn't even have time to decide. The next second, her mouth falls open, sticking her tongue out to rub his sensitive tip against it, cum and spit dripping down all over her chin.

“Holy shit,” he finally continues, his voice shaky as his eyes are raking over her with a mix of awe and disbelief.

His fingers, still intertwined with hers, tighten their grip, and before she can move away, he uses the leverage to pull her on top of him. She gasps softly at the sudden movement, bracing herself on his shoulders, her flushed face just inches from his.

“Oh, hi,” she says, the sudden closeness catching her off guard.

“Hi,” replies Lando with a little smile in the corner of his mouth, “Swollen lips suit you,” he teases, his voice thick with lingering desire and a touch of his usual smugness. His eyes gleam with a mischievous light as he brushes his thumb over her lower lip, smirking when she playfully hits his chest in response. “Although I’d say you’re missing something.”

“You don’t say?” she asks, arching an eyebrow. “And what’s tha—?”

Lando doesn't let her finish before closing the space between them, capturing her lips with his. The kiss is messy, unrestrained, potentially gross, but he doesn’t care about the lingering remnants of spit and his cum still on her. If anything, it seems to spur him on, his tongue exploring hers with a slow intensity that makes her feel like she’s the only person in the world that has ever caught his attention.

When Lando pulls back, his lips glistening just like hers, he chuckles, wiping his jaw with the back of his hand and giving her an exaggerated grin. “My turn?”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

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© trashy track tales, 2024

[ddarker-dreams]

lock's otome game recs

i received some asks indicating an interest in a compilation of my favorite otome games, so i decided to go for it!! i've played about fourteen otome games, but of those fourteen, only these six left a lasting impression on me. there are still some that i intend to check out, so the rankings may update in the future. i'll give a very general overview of each game and how i'd score the categories that i find the most important in an otome game — the heroine, story, art, enjoyability, along with the characters i liked the most.

number 6 - piofiore fated memories.

heroine: 6/10 story: 6.5/10 characters: 7/10 art: 10/10 enjoyability: 8/10 favorite characters: dante (ishikawa kaito), nicola (kimura ryouhei) and yang (okamoto nobuhiko)

this game centers around the heroine, with the default name liliana adornato, who finds herself entangled in the politics of the region's three most prominent crime organizations. the game has an italian backdrop and iirc, takes place in the 1930s.

the overarching narrative, while it has its fair share of intrigue, isn't the game's strongest point. it's the interactions with the characters themselves that made the game feel worthwhile. each love interest has more to them than what meets the eye, so it's satisfying to watch the relationship between them and the heroine develop.

the heroine takes a passive role throughout much of the game, events sorta just happen to her. still, she has a kind disposition that makes her likable and doesn't make stupid decisions that has you wanting to fling your console across the room. her characterization changes slightly depending on the route. for instance, without getting into spoilers, she's more assertive throughout yang's route. the resulting dynamic made yang's route the most memorable, even if he's my third favorite character from the bunch.

what feels unique to this game is the effort put into the bad endings. in most visual novels, bad endings can feel like gimmicks. you make one or two wrong decisions and you're rewarded with a few paragraphs. the downward spiral of the characters in the bad endings are decently fleshed out and you can see how they arrived at this 'worst' version of themselves. they're suitably dark and it shouldn't come as a surprise that i enjoyed them because of that 😭

then there's the art. it's stunning, the details in each CG are mindboggling. the heroine gets to wear a variety of pretty outfits which is something i like to see. even in the story's weaker moments, a stunning CG would pop up that had me forgiving everything. i still glance through the gallery to this day.

number five - cupid parasite.

heroine: 9.5/10 story: 7/10 characters: 7/10 art: 9/10 enjoyability: 9/10 favorite characters: ryuki keisaiin (junya enoki) & gill lovecraft (kimura ryouhei)

iconic. showstopping. a little bit camp.

cupid parasite stars one of my favorite heroines, lynette. she works as a bridal advisor whose ambition is to ensure everyone finds their soulmate. in actuality, she's the goddess cupid, who left her post in celestia to better understand humanity and create lasting pairs. she's a delight to play as.

this game's presentation and overall aesthetic is the most distinct from any otome game i've played. aside from the presentation, the story itself is unlike any of the others on this list. when it comes to romance, i typically prefer them to be dark and mature. this game opts for a more lighthearted approach. it vacillates between being a romcom and dipping into the absurdist genre. there were times i was literally left speechless (glances at gill's route)... but it makes for an entertaining experience. the game's plenty funny as well.

personally, i enjoyed the more grounded moments when the mythological elements remained in the background. because of this, the true ending doesn't do it for me as much as they do in other games. as with anything, this is a personal preference though. i liked all of the routes and found the game handles the development of each love interest well. we're introduced to these men at their most pathetic and get to help them become a little more well-adjusted. lowering the cringe meter, if you will. it makes their growth all the most satisfying as the narrative progresses.

number four - even if tempest.

heroine: 9/10 story: 8.5/10 characters: 8/10 art: 6/10 enjoyability: 9/10 favorite characters: the heroine herself, tyril i lister (noriaki sugiyama), crius castlerock (makoto furukawa) and lucien neuschburn (kaito ishikawa)

right from the get-go, this game's premise had me hooked. it features the heroine, anastasia (<3!), who leads an incredibly tragic life. she's bestowed the ability to reverse time following each of her deaths and uses this to unravel a mess of mysteries the world's setting is tangled in.

this game is absolutely anastasia's story. without spoiling anything, i loved the approach they took with the time rewinding ability. how it's incorporated is unique to an otome game, which they take full advantage of to amplify the tragic romances. on that note, the romance itself occasionally takes a backseat to the narrative as a whole. personally, i didn't mind this in the moment, since i found the story so interesting. in retrospect, i do wish that we got more moments between the heroine and each love interest, especially in the true ending.

there are more gameplay elements here as well. you have to conduct investigations, gather evidence, and apply what you've learned during these trial segments. when i first read about this, i thought it'd be a gimmick, but i liked playing through them. it incentivizes you to pay extra close attention to the world.

while i liked the narrative as a whole, i do wish we got more worldbuilding. there are hints of political subterfuge and religious oligarchy that, while touched upon, could've been leaned into more to give the setting a distinct feeling.

number three - olympia soiree

heroine: 8/10 story: 8/10 characters: 8/10 art: 10/10 enjoyability: 10/10 favorite characters: akaza (yoshitsugu matsuoka), himuka (shun horie), and yosuga (yuma uchida)

in olympia soirée, the eponymous heroine, olympia, lives in a society divided into castes based on colors. she is the last surviving member of a clan that can perform rituals to keep the sun aglow. this game is a lengthier title, i believe i clocked in around 25 ish hours (i don't use auto-play so that sheds some time). the story benefits from this, as olympia has rich worldbuilding and lore that's revealed throughout the route's progression.

we get to see the consequences of this caste system and olympia's growth as she becomes determined to realize a better future for the islands. this makes the heroine someone that you want to root for. personally, i'm a sucker for stories that center around a sheltered individual being forced to face the harsh realities of the world and maturing in their own way. this, paired with the struggles specific to this setting, make for a gripping backdrop for the character's routes. all the love interests have problems of their own that they need to address.

this is certainly a mature title, there's plenty of steamy scenes featuring gorgeous artwork. seriously... all the pretty CGs are absolute eye candy. i enjoyed the balance between the main narrative and the development of the romantic relationships, i don't remember ever feeling bored.

ironically enough, i think this is the darkest game from the bunch listed here, surpassing the game with actual horror elements. there's a whole litany of trigger warnings to be mindful of when going through the game's bad ends. they are, as the term suggests, Bad. not light or humorous in the slightest. the poor heroine goes through it. please be mindful of these more touchy subjects.

number two - 9 r.i.p

heroine: 8/10 story: 8/10 characters: 9/10 art: 10/10 enjoyability: 10/10 favorite characters: minami (nobuhiko okamoto), hibiki (shunichi toki), kureha (toshiki masuda), and koyo (ryota suzuki)

i was looking forward to the english localization of this game before it was even announced ... i'd been wanting an otome game with this vibe for ages. and it didn't disappoint! there are four different overarching story sections, with two characters each having their routes fall under them. this makes it difficult to give a summary since each route has a vastly different feel. some routes lean heavy into supernatural horror (such as hibiki and kureha), whereas others are just... supernatural (like with yukimaro and koharu).

the basic premise is that the main character, misa, is a high school girl burdened with her career survey. she's uncertain what she wants for the future and is being pressured by his mother to pursue a career in medicine. in one way or another, depending on the story section, she comes into contact with the afterlife and those who inhabit it.

i loved this game, i couldn't put it down. the routes that leaned heavy into horror were my favorites, which shouldn't be a surprise lol. i do feel some love interests were given preferential treatment of others, i wanted more from sena's storyline in particular, since he's voiced by one of my favorite VAs (tetsuya kakihara, the voice of scaramouche) 😭... apparently this game is receiving a fandisc, so hopefully they'll remedy that in the future.

minami stole the show for me. from what i've gauged online, he's a divisive character, you either find him grating or love him (like i do). i'm biased but i do think he has the most interesting and well-written story out of the love interests, i've played through it three times already. i just adored the dynamic between him and the heroine. he's petulant, selfish, and a bit immature, yet he goes to extremes for her as he realizes his unhinged feelings.

hibiki is a close second. the most yandere-coded of the bunch, he's soft-spoken and polite, but that exterior hides a creepy personality. like all of the characters in this game, there's a tragic element to him. i was worried about the role the heroine would play in helping him 'overcome' this, but i think they handled it well. it doesn't feel like the heroine's fixing him so much as she's helping him have a different perspective on certain events.

yeah i'm not normal about this game, i cannot recommend it enough. it would've taken the top slot if some of the routes were a bit more polished. i didn't care for yukimaro's at all, for example. routes like minami's, hibiki's, and koyo's more than make up for it though.

number one - collar x malice

heroine: 10/10 story: 10/10 characters: 10/10 art: 10/10 enjoyability: 10/10 favorite characters: takeru sasazuka (daisuke namikawa), kei okazaki (yuki kaji), and aiji yanagi (masakazu morita)

the holy grail. the otome games that died for our sins. this isn't just a good otome game, it's an excellent story, with a very human cast, commentary on issues like the nature of crime, and you're left wanting to solve the various mysterious as much as the heroine does. speaking of the heroine, miss hoshino ichika is my all-time favorite heroine. she's clever, resolute, compassionate, and you can't help but fall in love with her a little yourself 😭😭

i'm not sure if this makes sense, but the world feels very... full? you get this sense that ichika exists outside just interacting with the love interests. she has her career, friends, and her younger brother that act as more than passing NPCs. the writers ensured all the characters with portraits are given some level of depth. i left caring about more characters than the heroine and love interests.

each route is dedicated to working through a certain case, which keeps the story intriguing as you progress. finally, all of the little hints that have been littered throughout coalesce into the 'true' route, where questions you've had since the first chapter are given satisfactory conclusions. at the same time, you're left wondering about a few things, such as the complete philosophy of the main antagonist.

ichika's relationship with each of the love interests develops alongside the case they're investigating, which almost always have connections or parallels to the LI's past. this helped ground them in reality and flesh them out into dynamic characters. you come to care deeply about them alongside ichika. the romance feels earned and doesn't come on too fast, which some otome games suffer from.

if you like otome games and haven't played collar x malice yet, i fully recommend it!!!!!!!! it's the strongest title from what i've played so far.