#dip isn't even for your nails like people say it is

[capslocked]

KINKVEMBER DAY: 9

[prompt: problematic relationships]

male reader x nana

10k words

"Do you have any idea how long I've thought about it?" Nana slips a finger between the buttons of your shirt. "You, me - us?"

And here, you actually, truthfully do not want to know.

So, go ahead, cue up the sound of a mental rolodex spinning out while you start to list the very real, very valid, very adult reasons you should never, ever put your hands on her. (1) She's too young for you, (2) you're kind of a community figure, or at least someone who has to appear to be one, and more pertinently (3) she was your student not long enough ago - in your ethics class, the irony of which is not lost on you - and that makes it the kind of dirty, low thing you'd feel guilty for even masturbating to. Let alone actually attempt to live through, no matter how insistent some parts of you might be to the contrary, a point emphasized by the pressure of her finger against the dip just below your sternum.

"These... oh, how should I call them." Nana hums softly just before easing a bit of distance between the two of you, head tilting like she's in a trailer for this summer's romcom, and not, you know, trying to drag you into hell. "Filthy little fantasies?"

-

You're a high school teacher, interdisciplinary. Sometimes history, other times philosophy, you've also taught math - and once, egregiously, home economics when the faculty member whose usual duties consisted of teaching the class was out on a very sudden and scandalous maternity leave. But it's your love of literature that finds you in a bookstore near enough to the high school to sell more used copies of intro textbooks than actual novels.

You're paging through a book you'd say you're considering buying - if any of the store staff were to push the question onto you - when she appears at the other end of the fiction aisle.

You catch the look first of her dyed hair, this perfect shade of chocolate, to the edges, the fade-to-brown, cascading over where a more formal shirt would ostensibly have shoulders.

She smiles; it's pretty.

Then, you make the mistake of glancing down and seeing the modest rise of her chest beneath a crisp-collared sleeveless top; all your typical college-age tells but for the red flannel, rolled back down around her waist. Her fingers, long and thin, dangle from where a uniform button-down would taper off around her wrist, thumb rubbing lazily at her forearm. The briefest glimpse of her nails, all done up in acrylic - perhaps the most potent way to show contempt for an old dress-code.

You have, admittedly, also noticed the length (appropriately, the lack thereof) of her pleated skirt and those frilly stockings that ride so far up the creamy curves of her thighs that it has your stomach rolling and tightening when she shuts closed the book in her hands and says -

"Isn't it weird how most of the novels in the romance section are written by women?”

- she speaks with a slow deliberateness, like she'd only ever hoped to find one of her old teachers alone and slightly vulnerable in a used bookstore -

“Like, how do you think a man would even go about writing those kinds of stories?" She grins, because maybe this isn't really a question at all - not one meant for you, certainly. And for one wild moment, the rush of relief (she's not actually talking to you), then panic (she's actually talking to you.) surges through you.

But then the girl pushes another couple books along the shelf and continues.

"Because I'll tell you what, Professor - all this stuff," a flip-flip-flip of her fingertips against a leathery dustjacket, "about just feeling it, not being able to control it. It's all women, always women." Another wave of her hand to set another row of spines a-shuddering. "Do you ever think maybe people will get tired of listening to girls talking about feelings when what they really need to see is what guys would do?"

There are so many reasons you should turn and run. 

So many little flags, flickering wildly in your mind. This is one of your students. Was it this fall? Maybe the last; she had sat front-center. Never slept in, was one of your best by several measures - not simply in regards to the simple repetition of classroom work, but by her insistence on getting in the kind of heated discussion where one might dig their fingers through the innards of your lectures. Not just good - fantastic.

"Nayeon," you end up saying, flat as your suddenly paper-dry mouth can make it - with just the tiniest hint of unease. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

And almost as if she knows that you're trying not to let your eyes dip any lower than the collar of her shirt, her shoulders do that lilting little move (hiking up and away just so), the one that your girls tend to learn a long, long time before your boys ever manage to figure out. She laughs out this pleasant sound, adds: "not that long, sir."

"Well," you're clearing your throat, looking around the bookstore like it might contain a way out, and eventually landing somewhere on her skirt, "you know how fast it all goes."

"Nana, by the way."

“I’m sorry?”

“Nana,” She gently corrects you again with this mischievous slant to her smile, and you start remembering: all the gossip and rumors, how she was being courted by these talent-scouts and labels. A prodigy, or as close to it as anyone from this town could ever get.

Your eyes are starting to sting again when she, this perfect-fit model of your worst impulses, runs her hand through her hair, tugging at the roots a little bit, a silver wristwatch falling slightly down the perfect length of her forearm. It almost hurts not to reach out and steady her. And it definitely shouldn't, but it has you breathing a bit faster. The rationalization: you are a man, and there is a perfectly ordinary part of you that might be aroused by any amount of smooth, inviting skin. That's fine. You're fine.

"Just for the record," Nana starts, still looking like she wants to put a hand forward and hook one long fingernail into the buttons of your shirt. "You were, like, absolutely one of my favorite teachers."

"I guess it's nice to hear I'm not a complete lost cause," you say.

She snorts. "Oh, definitely not." And maybe because, after all of the years you have been teaching these soon-to-be lawyers, politicians, and doctors, you've come to not look down on them for saying the wrong things so much. Though you do envy their absolute ability to say the wrongest of things - just so - just on purpose.

"Are you," you nod at the thick stack of paperback novels that she is still holding, and with which, suddenly, she's bashful and flustered - this perfect shade of pink blossoming through her cheeks. "Actually here to buy those?"

The response: a demure little shrug. A drawl. "We all have our vices, professor."

"I'm not your teacher anymore," and remembering at the last moment, "Nana, you can drop the honorifics, please."

She holds a book out, cover turned toward you, and your mind stalls - even your fingers slip a little where they are resting on the spine of your own paperback purchase. The title is an affront to literacy, and the art on the cover seems to have been produced only with stock photos, gaudy.

"Have you heard of it?"

"Can't say that I have."

"Well," she laughs and has the courtesy not to lay it at your expense, "it is so good." Then, without missing a beat, she twists her lips together, and finds the book flush against your chest. "I'm sure it beats reading textbooks and essays about the merits of Locke and Hobbes' life-after-death stuff all day, anyway. An hour if you can spare the time? I'd love to hear your thoughts on it"

And - ah, there it is. The push.

-

There is a zero percent chance that, after any of this, things will end neatly for either of you. 

You still wonder, slightly, how long Nana will keep up the charade before breaking character - because there's no way in hell she doesn't see what she's doing: wrapping you around her pretty fingers, her shiny, manicured nails, twisting every chance you get to reject her into an excuse to linger that little bit longer.

But it's well over an hour spent at the cafe-end of the bookstore, where she orders an iced-coffee and fills you in on the details you don't really need to hear, what she's been up to these last couple semesters - playing twenty questions; questions about other faculty members, the school, if the school newspaper is still anything like it used to be (for the record: no), then coming back to if you've been seeing anyone lately. That last one slips in so naturally you can't stop yourself from taking a slow drag off of the straw in your drink and answering: "not recently."

Because no honest deed goes unpunished, or however the saying goes.

"Hey," her hands splay out over the tabletop, pushing the cold, condensing water of her glass, smudging where a finger drags a line through the pool.

Maybe she knows. How you're already caught, and there's no going back, which is to say you're perfectly free to watch, hungrily, where her throat moves, and then where her lips part.

"I’ve got the perfect thing for that," and for one unhinged, hysterical moment you picture it, Nana: lying back against a counter or maybe in the cushions of a sofa, panties thrown carelessly over her shoulder; heaving out this soft, heady gasp. You: pushing inside of her for the very first time, both of your legs bracing, the heel of her foot pressed into the small of your back - but before you can convince yourself that she can't be talking about that, and just barely before the air gets stuck in the back of your throat and you realize that you might be so thoroughly, tragically fucked -

"Read this." A snap back into the here and now. She is looking at you very pointedly, not naked - but beautiful and perfect as she leans a bit into the table and crosses those lovely, lovely legs of hers, and tilts the copy of that awful, awful filth at you.

"Nana, respectfully, this is drivel," you say, immediately and plainly, listening to Nana laugh out loud as you glean more than you need to know from the info on the inside cover. "They've crossed like five major genre boundaries for a hook-up. Why should anyone bother?"

"Come on." She waves it off with a careless gesture of her hands. "There's plenty of things to like. Maybe you should give it a chance - broaden your horizons, teach. Besides - the sex scenes?" She rolls her shoulders with the same shrug you remember watching so carefully all those times she made her way, out of the hallways and back into that front-and-center-seat she was always occupying whenever the bell rang. "So filthy. I can show you one of my favorites."

"Doesn't really seem like appropriate reading material for -"

"You said it yourself," her voice has a bright, saccharine tone, just on the right side of strained. And between sips of that straw stuck in the purse of her pert, little mouth, she draws that next sentence - the ice cracking, thinning under your feet -

"Not my teacher anymore."

Nana smiles; this brash, cock-sure thing that reminds you, as you try to clear your throat of the nerves making a bed there: you are actually so, so fucking gone on her. So far gone it hurts, when, with a flourish and a bounce and a complete, reckless lack of discretion, she starts paging through the first chapters.

"Who says you can't study these kinds of stories on an academic level? Think about it: sex sells. Whoever ends up writing, it's a whole lot easier and a hell of a lot cheaper than trying to do it all yourself." She looks up, this mischievous twinkle in her eyes, as she angles her fingertips down on the book and opens it - page after page of very obviously poorly-written sex. You look, not even consciously.

But of course, her fingertips drift lower and lower along the pages until it's evident: she doesn't have an exact page in mind, but only a particular passage -

"Here. Let me show you, just one."

"Alright, fine," you start - trying for an effect of exasperation, something to mitigate this god awful throbbing, "whatever - you get one, one sample paragraph and I'll, you know, whatever."

"Yeah, you'll definitely see. Just trust me. Just the one."

She drums her long, gorgeous nails against the table, then eases back with a finger highlighting the text.

You're screening and scanning the words as she tells you about the heroine in the story: a pretty girl who comes down with a bad case of infatuation for her teacher - unrequited, of course. And then, into a passionate affair, of course; all the most raucous, explicit details laid out over the table for everyone else to hear. She says it is about as nonchalantly as though she had been reading you the daily weather forecast and not an elaborate metaphor for - and here, you stop her.

"He cums on her desk?"

"Fucking hot, right?" She nearly snorts and gestures you onward, her eyebrows jumping - go on, go on.

So, you skim along: a heavy rush of nausea (alongside another) pulsing down around your gut at the thought of actually doing such a thing, your ears going hot and your legs crossing on instinct. There's not so much a breath of hesitation as Nana, cool, unfazed, and utterly unaware of the uncomfortable churning of your stomach and the simultaneous thrumming in your cock, takes another deep swig of coffee.

She hums, thoughtful. "Honestly? Kinda wished it happened to me like that. You were a good, good teacher, professor. I wouldn't have minded your hands all over me." You hear her laugh, and the entire universe collapses like the end-days. You are struck down with feverish conviction: this girl is the worst. 

"Anytime you wanted," she adds, so carelessly.

There's a clunking sound, of glass on wood; a half a second where you almost lose control over yourself.

“Nayeon,” you let slip, the old name - a mistake of an invitation she grasps like a weapon. All coming to a glint in her eye that says she knows how you see it, how you can still picture her sitting with her hands folded over the skirt of her uniform, chest rising and falling beneath her cotton shirt. Studious, taking notes, acting every bit the naive sweetheart everyone believed her to be.

You shudder out some pretense of composure and settle back a few inches as she continues to coax a reaction out of you, prodding: "how many girls did you make confess back then, hm? Did it ever do them any good?"

"Dial it back, Nana."

Her expression is all feigned, gentle surprise. "But sir," she looks at you so innocently, "you said I should drop the honorific."

You want to argue that, you also want to tell her off for being such a brat - to demand that, instead, she cut the shit, sit back, and remember who you both are, but when, with a wink and a smirk, she's getting up out of her seat, Nana sets a gentle, reassuring hand on your shoulder as she pushes her chair back beneath the table. You get onto your feet, and when the two of you are stood close together like this - she's really and truly that much smaller than you remember. Waist so tiny you think you could almost, almost wrap two hands all the way around her; skirt rising all too easily when she tosses her weight between her heels.

"I hope you know what you’re doing," you tell her, sternly - the voice of a teacher whose patience is running thin.

But no matter where you look, the consequences are dire and immediate: an abject fascination, a kind of debilitating greed; the absolute fucking loss of ability to look her directly in her eyes. Not like Nana isn't staring right through you. There's no doubt some part of her relishes the feeling.

"Hey, what do I know?" This sweet, demure-like chuckle follows. "It's just porn, right?”

-

Eventually, Nana says to call it a night because the sun's long set into the horizon and the chill starts getting at the both of you.

She tells you while you're packing up your belongings to come by again sometime, her voice teasing as she explains that you should pick out a new novel to read for your benefit.

Which is possibly the ideal outcome, all things considered, if it wasn't for the way she found herself in your hands just a few paces into the parking lot - no one around to catch you, where you're gripping fast onto her wrist and pressing the lines of her body into door of your car, looming and ready to give a piece of your mind.

You know what you ought to say - things like don't bother, you've enjoyed her company, she's fun and sweet, and in a dozen different ways: be a good girl, and go home. You had your fun, didn't you? But she's practically begging, those huge, wide doe eyes that stare straight up into your soul.

"C'mon,” her voice lilts into a deeper, more purposeful register, “you wouldn't turn down a student on her way home, would you?

(This fucking girl.)

She speaks of propriety, like you aren't a man of your own principles - like you aren't reaching down to press a kiss to the swell of her lips like she undoubtedly deserves. To lick into her mouth and pull and kiss and bite until she's trembling, teeth caught in a delicate whimper. Or, that you aren't running your hands down her sides to find the backs of her knees and draw them upward, hooking your hips flush against hers.

She's all too breathless, watching you draw off her lips, fingers fast in your shirt, your hair - holding you close.

Then finally, a true, honest reflection of your heart. Nothing less than sheer and utter capitulation: "let me take you home."

Nana just nods before wrapping her arms around your neck and kissing you again.

-

It's definitely on you for expecting anything different, but Nana fucks like she talks.

Conceited. Brash. A little selfish.

The girl's sitting there on her kitchen counter with one leg hooked over your shoulder. She's stripped herself down to near nothing save for those fuck-off ridiculous panties: slick, shiny with a thick strip of satin between her lips, complete with white lace frills and all; the same ridiculous pattern as the thigh-high stockings clinging tight around the soft-gentle fat of her legs and the lace top of her garter. Her pussy - all tight and pink and soaked - has left this shimmering, shiny mess that's trailing down the insides of her thighs.

Your fingers are in the elastic of her panties, near bruising the curve in her waist where she's rocking, flushed and keening against your grip.

You tell her, "take these off."

"Off?" She repeats it back to you with the same little grin: playing dumb, the smart, charming ass she's been all night.

"I'd tell you what I really want to do to you," you start, pushing your fingers in a little harder, eliciting another pretty moan. "But I'm really, really sure you can fill in the blanks yourself.

"I hope you're not planning on being rough with me," she teases, running her hands all through your hair as she pulls herself against you - and of course, it's her audacity to insist, "no marks." She drops a chaste little kiss along the underside of your jaw. "At least, nothing that might show up on a camera."

Someone with a little less baggage might have done just that. Might have jerked her panties down a couple inches further - ripped the cloth, exposed her even more. You might have followed the waistline further along the perfect round of her ass, found those dips and dimples that, maybe, no one else has ever gotten to explore. You may have grasped at the ends of her hair and gotten your fingers in her pussy without ceremony - driven Nana to the very brink of her climax just before palming two greedy handfuls of that ass - shoving yourself right there between her lips and, lost to shame, put a fucking kid in her.

All the things she must be dying for you to do.

"Something the matter?" She pushes her mouth into yours for a kiss that has all the urgency of a lazy Sunday morning. Your tongue against hers, languid and gentle at first; wet-sloppy, kissing and sucking on her bottom lip. You can feel her smirking when she says, "don't tell me you've forgotten how."

It's a lot, the effort you're putting in not to crumble - to crack at her taunts, snap your restraint, the temptation. You just wanna grab her pretty tits in both hands, shake her, and say: "shut the fuck up." But no - even in your wildest fantasy, you want to hear her first - beg you to make a wreck of her. So you force the words between your lips, dry and cracking:

"Not a fucking chance."

A laugh. "Guess I'm in good hands, then. Have to admit," Nana slides her hands down to hook under your own, bringing them lower. She grinds your fingers in slow circles over that one, aching, perfect little bud - a shock that has her curling tight inward until she's whining, clutching at her waist. "Not the - not the situation I had in mind."

Nana shifts her weight a bit more on one hip, guiding you through rubbing along the entrance to her slit - sloppy with precum, silky and aching - and when you place just the lightest pressure over all that hot skin, she opens her mouth: 

"Ah."

Her eyes, her hair, her fucking mouth - you can’t look away - she’s so gorgeous it hurts.

Even the way she pants; the perfect furrow between her brows. And then, you dip a finger inside her, just to the first knuckle. It’s enough to make her whine, all shaky and high.

"Go on then, with how you’d pictured it," you press, already easing your digit in and out; slow, slick pumps that she is growing hotter, needier around. "I'm sure you've touched yourself to it more than a few times. The details and - stuff - must have been vivid."

"You haven't the slightest clue."

A brief kiss. You coax another shy sound from her, drawing a long sigh against her mouth -

"Try me, Nayeon."

"This is a lot closer to the truth than you’d think, professor." This time, no correction, she just smiles wide and tosses her head back, asking, sweetly, as if to absolve you of the responsibility. "Do you have any idea how long I've thought about it? You, me - us?" 

Nana slips a finger between the buttons of your shirt and starts to pull.

On that detail, you actually, truthfully do not want to know.

"These... oh, how should I even call them." She hums softly just before easing a bit of distance between the two of you, head tilting like she's in a trailer for this summer's romcom, and not, you know, trying to drag you into hell. "Filthy little fantasies?"

"You know," you start. And by this point, her cunt's that much tighter. You've managed two fingers now, but no further, and she's making these desperate, punched-out gasps. Her clit's a swollen pink nub, jutting out from its soft hood. "I really had you pegged all wrong."

"Not - not at all. You can fuck me just fine, trust me - ah. Please, you can fuck me anyway you want."

And here, you grab a little higher on her hips, pinching her on the outside of a thigh, and begin working your fingers fast. You've never cared much for teasing, not really, but something about the way she squirms in your grip, tries to lean up and grasp onto your shoulders with shaking hands, it gets you smiling. It gets you grinning, even, especially the way she makes these pretty noises: a long, desperate little, "ah," at each press and thrust, her breath going high and uneven. 

"Listen, Nana -" She squeals out loud when you push your fingers just a little deeper, a little bit harder. "I'm not going to talk about what a slut you've been today or how badly I want to spread you wide open," you can already tell it's affecting her: the sudden change, the subtle hitch in her breathing, the tremor where her thighs press together. "Tell me about you, about your little ideas. Let me help."

"Wouldn't be fair." Her pussy's getting tighter, urgent with want. And still:

"C'mon now. Humor me a little. There was probably-" you say, sliding down that ridiculous pair of underwear along her ass, tugging them over the curves of her legs - so slow and easy, all while you're not bothering with easing off. Nana moans again; voice pitched. "Lots. Lots and lots of dirty things - and, I'm willing to bet my career that they made you a hot, mess - an awful, soaking fucking wreck. Who could've guessed? You, of all people, with just the right kind of teacher's-pet-appeal, hm?"

And you meant it to be a joke, just some ribbing. But the question has her immediately tensing, looking at you very intently, no trace of shame as she snaps back -

"Your mouth." She rocks forward. "Your fucking mouth."

You shouldn't keep touching her, you shouldn't keep staring, you shouldn't push her flat on her back and shove your face right into her cunt, you should pull away before this goes too far - it shouldn't be your fingers drawing out sopping-wet gasps out of her pussy, nor should you press your tongue to her cunt, your mouth to all that delicate flesh and, at your first taste, shiver.

Nana laughs: shaky, nervous. Then, your fingers sink back into her pussy alongside your tongue, your lips, the way even your hot breath against her aching pussy has her all stunned, breathless - and -

"Please."

- right before she breaks off into a beautiful sound that catches her hard in the chest.

(A sound like you’re all she could ever want in this life, maybe the next; it’s this wordless plea.)

"Hah, I had - ah, had so much - hah - dirt on you, used to masturbate thinking - ah," and there, she arches her spine, forcing a sigh out, "thinking about how you might punish me." She laughs - nearly choking. "How you might break down all your veneer of being a good, moral man and fuck me raw and rough and - ah - fuck. Oh god, fuck."

You twist your fingertips up just so, right against this perfect spot in her, and all the sudden the entire line of her body seizes - stiffens up, the muscles in her thighs twitch as you both moan through the moment, the spasms reverberating in your own ears, loud and unashamed, right against her wet, wet clit. Your fingers are fucking and fucking and fucking away in her cunt, harder and faster and sloppier, every word, every groan, every gasped breath only making it easier to forget. To give in. And with every heavy slap and squelch of your fingertips digging in as deep as her body allows - you're sending her that much closer.

You pull back long enough to bite out: "cum whenever you want, Nana.”

She can’t, she can’t, she can’t, is what she’s trying to say, bracing against how your tongue moves around her clit, and she knows, there’s no use fighting it.

A kiss against her swollen mound and she writhes. “There you go sweetheart, cum for me.”

Nana comes undone. Gradually at first, then vaulting over that edge all at once. She lifts and lowers her hips - pushing your fingers into the smooth, velvety muscles of her cunt; rocking up and up again. It's a torturously slow kind of grinding, and her feet find purchase on either side of you as her toes curl, one heel digging into your shoulder. An assurance; a promise; a lifeline; that she might tremble and shake through it, moaning.

“Fuck,” and, “god,” and, “you’re gonna make me-” slip past her lips alongside all the assured gasped-out cries for relief - the orgasm sweeping through her, tearing her apart.

Back pitching, shoulders narrowing, face twisting, cinching tighter and tighter -

Until she collapses.

Until it’s over.

As she lays there, chest heaving, arm draped carelessly across her forehead and half over a kitchen cutting board - her thighs splayed open, fucked and spent - she's so, so beautiful.

And it’s in that sort of fucked-up-noodly-state where she just slides right into your arms - those long, slender legs wrapping tight around your middle. "Here's the deal," you say, grabbing hold of her hips and steadying her, as best as either of you can.

"Hm." This lazy, sated look, the way her tongue's dragged out - slow and slick - across the top of her teeth and bottom of her lips. "Go ahead, sir. I'm listening."

The lip service - that coy little appeal to authority that maybe you’re actually plenty fond of - it makes you stop for the barest of moments. This girl, she's unreal. How hard could you ever be asked to resist her?

She lifts a brow. "Professor."

So you continue:

"I'm going to get out of these clothes, and we are going to see what happens after that - if you have a preference for the bed or the sofa, now's your chance to pipe up. Or else -"

"Or else-" She repeats, shifting her weight around again. You can feel how she adjusts her heels to hang higher up your ribs, rocking her weight against your abdomen, against your cock - and the instinctual twitch that runs through your spine is turgid and rough. Like a shot. If it had a smell, it'd probably remind you of gasoline.

And then, maybe just to rile you up even more: "the dining room table makes a good impression of a teacher's desk, no?"

You slide your hand along the backs of her thighs until you have a good, tight, high hold on them and pick her up, leaving the panties, the stockings, all of it down where they can gather dust or whatever - she giggles, and tightens her hold around you like she doesn't need to worry about falling.

"I'd rather fuck you into a mattress to be perfectly candid."

Nana throws back her head and laughs - this real, honest-to-goodness peal of laughter, a hint of playfulness where there was usually just a practiced ease. "Oh. So forward."

(In all likelihood, you're both going to hell, and on the off chance you meet down there, you figure you'll fuck her then, too.

You've read the myths, the Greek tragedies, the ones that have these gods descending from the heavens on human women, for pleasure and nothing but, you've read those stories and plenty more - the details don't matter: it's always a bad, bad end for everybody involved.)

She takes you upstairs. And the two of you fall through the doorway to her bedroom, stumbling all the way.

Her apartment is simple and clean in the way all young adults try to emulate, all white countertops, but with pictures hanging in little, neat rows on the walls and the space void of anything with some sort of character or history.

You know because you're fumbling toward a dresser or desk or bookshelf in an attempt to orient yourselves, bumping and tussling, half-blind, on your path forward and all of a sudden there's a goddamn framed photo in your hand - not of her family, thank god. Though just about every other person in the picture is familiar to you, you remember every single one - but all you're capable of focusing on is Nana, Nayeon: not quite the same. The same glint in her eyes, the way her smile has a timeless kind of quality, the faint dimples in her cheeks. 

And some wicked part of you is all too willing to ignore the whole timeline of events that has led up to you, Nana, like this: you want to pull her hair. You want to shove her around like she doesn't matter - is in any way disposable or replaceable; the most selfish parts of you wishing you could keep her pinned down by her slender neck; pressing a palm, bruising, into her collarbone as you start to work at your belt buckle and slacks with your other hand.

It's hard, getting a grip on yourself as Nana, sliding onto her bed and rolling across the sheets, pulls her stockings down the length of her legs - only stopping herself long enough to meet your eyes. Her throat bobbing.

“Of course,” she says, because your cock is hanging out by that point, straining and a little pent-up. "I fucking knew you would have a perfect cock."

"Flattery or sincerity?"

"Um, let's say both." She shifts around the pillow - that sweet little pout on her lips. Her gaze dropping from your mouth and running all along the length of your torso, lower and lower. Like her hands. And when her eyes flick up to meet yours, just when you're stroking at your cock, base and shaft, teasing yourself, well past the point of pretense, a devious smile spreads wide across her pretty, beautiful face. The implication: you aren't leaving here until you're cumming inside her.

And with a glimmer in her eyes, the sheer audacity, her fingertips ghost the underside of your cock as she draws up toward the head, "you're going to ruin me with this thing. You know that right?"

"A bit dramatic."

Nana moves to rest with the tops of her knees at the edge, her chin resting against the insides of her wrists, elbows propped up - poised, playful, everything she should be as the both of you regard each other a moment longer. "Can you blame me? It's not just that it's huge, I mean - I've barely even gotten a hold of it, and yet... god," she snorts. Her eyelids are heavy, mouth curved, almost a snarl as she drags her bottom lip through the grip of her teeth and sinks down onto the mattress.

"Say something filthy again," and this is a test, this is Nana testing you to see what exactly you'll get away with.

(Hint: it's a whole lot.)

She sighs. The image of indigence, innocence, everything pure and good you couldn't hope for. "Should I suck it or not? Or maybe, I don't know. Would you prefer me to beg for it first, ask if you'll put it in? Like, I think if you ordered me to put it in my mouth, right now, I wouldn't be able to say no."

"Really," the most sarcastic answer.

"Really," she continues. "For instance. If you came over here right now and guided me up and onto your dick and told me, specifically, that you were going to face-fuck me? I couldn't say no. No sir."

You could have her any damn way. You could have her, and you both know it.

"So tempting," you tease, mostly in earnest, "maybe another time, when my self-control isn't quite so lacking."

Nana hums a low, flippant sort of noise - like: whenever you're ready - and just how much trouble it gets you in, the mere suggestion, is what she is banking on.

"Hey," is her invitation, "I won't beg yet. You still want me to put my mouth all over it," and to emphasize, she slips her fingers between the plump pillows of her lips, smiling at how that makes you reach over the nightstand, accidentally pulling open a drawer, possibly reaching for the first aid kit, "or would you rather watch me stuff all these fingers in my wet, little hole."

A sharp inhale: it really would be fun, probably, but you can't take it.

"Nana," this voice, gravelly-ragged and harsh, "if you're planning to make me snap, you are, without question, on the right track."

"Then before that happens," she says, pulling you down into the bedsheets beside her. Your body flush against hers, the beat of her heart loud against your own; this gorgeous, pristine girl, so nakedly giving - this is an honor and a curse all rolled up together, no doubt.

And after a hot, wet kiss: "fuck me like I always thought you would."

(She was made to be like this; it's the only explanation.

Made for wanting. Made for fucking. Made to be loved and made to have her cunt fucked full - ruined by your fingers, your tongue, your cock. This absolutely perfect body, and all the delicious parts of her; this thing of desire, bashful and coy and that deserves all the world and, having none of the grace or courtesy to actually beg, orders, like she always knew she could:

"Like, right fucking now."

Or else.)

Then you're there - her hot mouth, her cunt, your fingers digging in bruising-tight all along the curve of her thighs where they meet her ass, hips, thighs, waist. She's pumping her soft palm and delicate fingers, slick with her spit and yours around the length of you and this isn't going to last long; not that there's any doubt you're going to leave her sore. But still, you drag the head of your cock across the swollen lips of her pussy, down through the plump swell of her clit until it rests where the ridge just begins and every slide, every pressure along every inch of your cock, the thought of being enveloped entirely in all that silky warmth is nearly the end of you.

A whimper, "professor."

You wrap your hands tighter around the smooth, firm muscles in her thighs; dragging your fingers back and forth across the supple skin there - just firm enough to elicit a reaction from the tension in her legs, until you have her flipped over on her stomach. Because if you're going to fuck her properly, it's going to be with her face buried deep into a pillowcase and you perched above her, holding her down against the sheets.

You watch her get her elbows underneath her, laying almost flat. Watch her trace the shape of her own jaw, her nose, her neck - the smooth expanse of her chest - as you straddle her thighs. With her ass pointed right up at you and the heel of her ankle gently grinding into the underside of your leg, you groan, placing both hands just above her ass. And once you're gripping the whole shape of her, you push your cock into her, just an inch, listening to the shift in her breathing.

She shudders, "don't tease - oh, please, sir-"

"Is this what you expected, Nana?" You grab onto her hair. Then again, when she tries to get her hands on herself. Her shoulders are high, tight. You just don't give her a chance; pushing yourself another inch, a couple. The pace, so gradual she starts making these soft, little breathless sounds as you stretch her tight pussy open. A few moments when she stops trying to bury her noises, her gasps - stops trying to angle her hips or squeeze or resist the thick shape of your cock where it is so, so hot and full inside of her - and there you stop. "What is it you had in mind, hm?"

"Ngh - oh."

Her cunt's clamping tight around just the first few inches of you. The tightness, the wet heat is staggering; how it pulls and begs with the words she seems reluctant to spill out.

So - you lift a hand, bringing it back down again onto the pale, rounded flesh of her ass with a smack, a gasp, and this wet sound from the sopping heat of her pussy, all aching and sobbing, "don't, fuck, stick it - fuck, put it - just. Just fucking get on top of me and pin me down - make it hard for me to breathe - do it, just. Like I, fuck, like I always wanted, sir, please-"

And you sink all the way in.

"Fuck." She bites into those consonants, a whole-body motion that pulls at the tension in her spine, the muscles in her legs. But her hips angle right up, and she presses her ass into the hollow of your abdomen and says, "thank you. Thank you. God."

"Don't get lazy on me," you say, grinding the tip of your cock in little circles; pulling it out and angling it down until it's prodding at all the right places to make her arch and shiver.

"Please," she says again, louder this time, almost a moan. "That. Fuck. Yes. It's."

"Yes, yes, I know. Nana, you-"

"Just use me. Whatever you like," she pants; then, once you've pulled yourself out to the tip, slowly filling her again, "use me like a fucktoy, alright. Because - fuck," Nana shivers, pushing her hips into yours. Her shoulders lower, as if by degrees, "please. Use me. Make it rough. Please, professor - use me however you want, I don't care - anything's fine with me - use me, as long and as much as you need, I. Please."

The real difference here, beyond anything else, is that this is no longer the game it was; the very instant she was sprawled across the mattress with a line of drool dripping into the sheets, all her bright, polished glory has vanished, leaving this bare edge of her exposed - the girl who lives solely to be fucked and used by your cock, her cunt leaking, begging for more. Reduced to the basics and nothing else.

"Your fucking cunt, Nana, the goddamn clench - you feel - it's-" (So fucking good, is what you can’t quite say, because she’s tight and wet and her tiny pussy is quivering like mad every time you bathe your cock in its scorching heat. Over and over.) It’s hard to think; you’re truly - truly - fucking her, but you can’t ignore the tautness in her spine either, bent below you. There are probably tears beading down her cheeks, but there's no helping the raw instinct screaming through the core of her being, pleading with you to pull yourself free, before sinking hilt-deep into her again, again, again - to a chorus of sloppy, loud, nasty, fucking whimpers and moans.

Like music. 

It's easy after all, how her pussy gives way to you. How she molds around you - sleeves onto you like a glove - like there was only one cunt in the world you should ever be fucking up and fucking apart. 

"It's incredible. Fuck. Just that perfect."

Nana, as best as she can, trying to stay steady, braced against her hands and knees, is raising her hips.

But it's clear with the way she's slipping all over, slicking the sweat off her palms and rocking her ass back into your thrusts, a cry falling out of her, unbidden, when she speaks and not.

"Please," she pants, through tears probably, this breathy-shivering. A renewed enthusiasm for your grip on her - where, in another place, you'd worry about leaving marks behind - for the feeling of your weight slamming down into her, driving the air from her lungs.

The sheets are a crumpled mess, pillows knocked from the mattress, where the two of you are shaking it apart.

You're pulling her apart, slowly, thrust by thrust into her sopping cunt, and in a promise of how you'll put her back together, you get your mouth on her shoulders, her neck, kisses in her hair, behind her ear - Nana just whimpers, curling her toes and ankles along the backs of your knees, her face against the pillow and gasping, "thank you - thank - thank-"

And when your palm smacks against the generous swell of her ass, again, she keens so perfectly for you.

It's a breathtaking sight, so good, so perfect: her flawless ass pitched high, round and flushed pink. The flutter of her eyelashes and the tears and drool. The outlines of her pale white cheeks sent into ripple after ripple, and then the way you can slide one hand forward between her shoulder blades and slip it into her hair, nails raking her scalp, grabbing a handful of hair in your fist and tilting her face - to the side, enough for her cheek against the pillow and the way her hips try to press against yours; try to chase the pleasure; this brash, gorgeous, slim-waisted, well-curved, exquisite young woman - like everything.

"Please," is all she says as you fit your chest up tight to her back and mouth at her neck - lick all along the sweat. "Please."

You can't take it anymore, can't keep watching this masterpiece, can't stand the molten heat wrapped around your cock every time the drag in and out of her pussy pulls sets every nerve on fire. Right in her ear: "I'm cumming, Nana, I'm cumming inside this tight, little pussy."

A short gasp, "yeah."

"Yeah. Inside, Nana. Cum inside, you -" You twist your fingers against her scalp and find purchase, an excuse - a means to yank her head around and lean into her, teeth against skin, that familiar coiling in your gut and the burning sensation that flows right alongside every slap and smack of her hips on your skin.

"Fuck me." You watch her bite down, swallow a sound, try to say: "fuck your load so deep inside me it’ll be all I think about for weeks, let me feel it, all that hot, all that sticky, fucking cum"

And you drag your hips, these final, punishing drags through her drenched cunt. Her fingers are white knuckled and fisting the sheets, until the very second you've pressed every ounce of your own body's worth into her own, when you're collapsing her spine and pushing her face into the bedspread, this wave rushes through your ears like the buzz and hum of insects and waves and things out of sync - the high, the peak -

And then:

Sobering, subjugating silence.

In fact, you're shuddering; You're cumming, spilling pools of thick cum deep inside of her. It's all in that warm, filthy sensation, a heady, hazy, desperate thrill when her own cunt seizes in its climax around you, trembling, throbbing, quivering, clenching; drawing everything out and taking your cock deeper - even while the whole of her is thrashing and bucking, all of this messy with her pleasure and her voice caught up, writhing and breathless.

"God-" is the last thing out of her mouth before you can kiss it quiet, tug on her lower lip and open her up like a present - messy and breathy, crying out, you're making this mess inside, this beautiful fucking mess - as the whisper you feel against your lips:

"Inside me, like that."

As you groan, deep and hot, "filthy fucking cumslut-"

Right on the verge, riding out every twitch of your cock and each flex of your hands at the skin around her ass, her waist, back and shoulder blades; even after you've caught your breath, you keep pumping more and more inside of her, you don't stop, won't, and even when you manage it, pulling out the head of your cock - you can feel every slick detail - just the slit and rim, resting the throbbing head of your cock at her swollen little mound, feeling the length of her fucked-out pussy spasm at the emptiness and trying to grasp around nothing - empty, tight and aching, sopping.

There's her hips, just this, right there; the line, the silhouette. Her thin waist and the curvy swell of her ass, jutting out straight - the cream-colored flesh dusted pink. The lithe, soft line of her stomach and the insides of her thighs a little farther along, sweaty and inviting.

She's so pliant in your grip, even though she's trying her best to curl herself backward - to angle your spent cock back into the ready, welcoming warmth of her slick, wet pussy - and once the afterglow has begun to wear away, that same greed and yearning takes its rightful place. A glimmer in her eyes. The unmistakable need and drive.

"One more," she says, wiggling her hips back into your stomach. "For me."

(The truth: you can't refuse her, not as she bites her lip and twists, all that soft hair splayed across her face, stuck to her tear-damp skin.

One more, because you both still want it. One more, because in the dim glow and evening air of her bedroom, everything that happens now matters just as much as anything that happened before.

One more, because you need her again.)

-

When she wakes in the dark, you figure her bed will be empty.

Nana will realize that you're gone. Of course you’ll be - it was never going to go differently; the sex had to end at some point. After all, if you stayed, eventually she'd start saying something you'd find a fault in or your skin would be so sensitive she couldn't stand not running a finger up your spine and maybe kissing your hip.

The reasons to go always outnumbered the reasons to stay.

The world would catch up and someone would find out and that's the sort of gossip that might leave both of your careers in shambles. Or else, you'd do something you couldn't come back from, the moment the heat of the sex left your body and her cunt, god, her perfect little cunt was spent - slackening - and the moments-after-haze, her legs locked up and her arms a bit sore, would clear up. Then you'd look at her, or else the shame would win out - the guilt and you'd call it quits. She won’t blame you. She can't.

-

But then again,

Her heart won't fall completely to pieces, because:

You've stayed. And it isn't an easy position, even if she is easy.

Here she is, though: sleeping on her side with her wrists crossed in front of her face - peaceful and quiet, probably tired enough to sleep without dreams. The dark has long since settled across her bedroom, save the pinpricks of stars in the sky out her window and a sliver of moonlight. You can see her, or you could reach out and run your hands all along her calves and thighs, but you don't.

Nana's shoulders slump forward in the faintest of sighs, and there it is - the slow, gentle swell and fall of her chest.

-

Here's how you got here:

In this scandal-in-waiting of a relationship. Here's the stupidest possible path, where a bright-eyed student with a crush fucks her older professor just once, and somehow you both find yourselves coming back for more, like maybe your very, very bodies belong together - a maddening compulsion.

Even once you've managed to work through the idea of your cum all inside of her, a seedy, twisted corner of your mind murmurs how it makes the most sense. To stick your cock inside of her again.

Where she can show you the way it can look; the mess and the texture of the slick, white spill - dribbling out of her pussy in the afterglow, onto her palm, and down the crevice in her ass and lower.

It's the phone calls probably - and not just the phone sex - late-night talking, conversation and every once in awhile, the kind of hot, hard fucking that gets you in trouble, but also a reason to be with each other again. Not just the quick fucks but the nice ones - the days, the late nights and mornings and what have you: all the casual intimacy of it. All the sweet nothings exchanged.

The after-sex cuddling, with her straddling your lap;

The sensation of her thighs sliding into place around the tops of your legs, her arms tucked around your neck;

The kisses you don't take and kisses you'd be okay with, all the promises made to love you as many times as necessary, however necessary, wherever.

That's all here too.

Again:

She is young. But, who the fuck are you to say? Who the hell can tell you she doesn't deserve the least rotten, least painful, most promising love she can find in this particularly fucked-up world?

Who else is going to keep the both of you safe and hidden?

And who else, despite everything, seems to like having a secret that they're sure only you know; every glance or accidental touch with her eyes brimming, alive, and the whole of her bent like a bow-string - all held back and wound-up tight.

To the point her spine will shiver and shake; you know how it can be.

-

"Are you actually going to buy those?" Nana asks one day, dangling on her toes, chin rested comfortably in the sweep of your shoulder.

When she crowds the swell of her hip and her breasts and her entire body into your back and snakes her arms around your shoulders, you think there's nothing else in the world you need.

"You called them drivel," she adds, almost pouting - which is a look you're slowly trying to inoculate yourself against because the moment it comes up, you have a knee-jerk reaction to drop anything and everything and carry her off someplace else. To have a place where she could, could, could -

"Hah," you roll your eyes, not taking the bait. There's a shelf-full of campy, smutty romance novels in the dollar bin. "It is. The story was less than complicated, but I couldn't figure out what the hell two or three characters' plotlines had to do with one another, and sometimes you just want a little guilty pleasure, you know?"

"Ooh. So," Nana smiles, the devious sort. "I guess there is some honesty in you after all."

"Come on, this one at least has an original story," and it is a shameless attempt, "plus-"

"I know, I know. Fine. And if it is so terribly bad, well, I suppose I can use your chest as a pillow to take a nap," she says, before throwing this particular glance over her shoulder.

The cashier doesn't need to ask if the two of you want your copies of 'Wild West of the Heart' or whatever-the-fuck this one is titled, scanned separately.

All of that, those paperback-cover love stories and TV drama plots, these are the sorts of things you do just for Nana; as the two of you wait in long lines, get carried along, get bumped and pushed, like every other ordinary-person thing you've done for her ever since.

("Honestly, this isn't my kind of thing either," you tell her in the aisle of a grocery store once. The fluorescent lighting only accentuates the blush high on her cheeks. "don't make me fuss over something like this."

"Have a little sympathy," she insists, nudging the handle of the shopping cart against the inside of your shins. "A girl like me isn't good for much else.")

It's not romance, really, that's such a fucked up way to go about describing any of it, but then there's Nana, bouncing on her heels and prattling on, this girl in the spring of her life who is full to the brim and bursting with the most chaotic and eclectic sorts of thoughts and passions -

So, what.

"Really," she adds - another side, another angle on an issue the two of you had an hour ago while cooking breakfast. "Just, think about it. Would you honestly put all this effort into somebody who doesn't make you laugh at least as much as they irritate you? Because like, you would never tolerate some self-obsessed jerk long enough to eat their burnt, terrible pancakes every day of the week."

"Fine. Maybe." You sit across the table. "You're right."

Nana blinks and this look of wonder crosses her face as she grins. A moment of triumph for her and that was more than the honest truth. It's still strange, admitting defeat in any argument here or there, or that the two of you make an actual decent couple - together. The kinds of things that come naturally to other people.

"Any more caveats to all of this, professor?"

"You’re gonna end up bent over that counter again if you keep pushing it, kid."

The both of you break out laughing and then you finish your coffee, or she stabs the last few pieces of cantaloupe on her plate, or you kiss her neck, and just -

Everything.

[bitchimasnake-sss]

unwinding after a long day ft. luffy!

in which, after a long day, he comes right back to you <3

ft. luffy x fem!reader

set-up: its been a tiring day for him, good thing you're right here to offer your services (wink wink)

warnings: both sfw/nsfw headcanons for this dumbass; nsfw stuff includes penetration, cockwarming, raw!fucking (kids use protection pls 👍)

luffy:

sfw!!

- after a long, long day of eating, running around the deck with ussop, defeating like five sea kings, enduring 53628 kicks and punches from the crew (how is this man a captain is beyond me sometimes), luffy is bound to be tired - you're laying on your bed post-dinner, absent-mindedly chipping away the nail polish - you feel the mattress next to you dip lowly as he jumps next to you, face-first - "ynn-" he's whining, wrapping his hands around you and intertwining his legs between yours, "ynnnnnn" "hmm?" you hum, still busy picking apart the colour on your nails "i'm so, so soooo tired" a laugh escapes you, "really? is it due to all the running?" and now he's pouting, "are you saying it's my own fault?" - you peck his cheek, then flash him a grin, "how can i ever say that?" - most of the nights, you silence him by giving him a massage - you don't even think you're good at it but holy shit this boy is obsessed with getting a quick massage from you. - and this has led to quite the number of misunderstandings. "yn," he had asked you when the crew were eating dinner together, "can we do that thing at night? i really need it." "WHAT THE FUCK-" nami is punching luffy in his guts, his food is being thrown out of his mouth and onto zoro, "WE ARE EATING." - he meant massage. - you knew it, he knew it. the rest of the crew? they assumed you were fucking (they aren't wrong, per se. they just didn't want to believe that all the sounds of bed creaking wasn't from you both jumping around, rip them) - yeah ussop threw up and sanji fell to his knees and cried for like 57 mins because how did luffy manage to bag you??? - zoro hasn't spoken in two days from the shock of it (and the traumatic experience of having food spit on him) and nami has retired to her room for a whole business week, she is now only conversing by using chopper as her message carrier - chopper is confused (poor bby 😭😭, he assumed it was massage or something and he is the only one who's correct) - anyways, other than getting massages, sometimes he starts rambling on about something or the other till he falls asleep mid-conversation - rest assured because he will continue whenever he wakes up "where was i?" he's shaking you awake "luffy" you groan, "it's like two am, go to sleep" "oh right, so ussop told chopper than reindeers are called reigndeers because they used to be actual kings back in the ancient times and so rein means reign and not rain like most people as-" he falls asleep again mid conversation - tf are you supposed to do with this man?? - peak, sheer dumbassery even when he's tired

nsfw!!

- this man refuses to entertain one-sided favours - your soft hands were kneading away the tension on his biceps a few minutes ago, so obviously he should return the favour back by massaging your back - you refuse many times because as much as you love luffy, this man does not understand his own strength - so you have a very valid fear that he would break your spine as he gives you a massage - "this isn't fair, let me do it too ughh" "how about no" "okay then let me fuck you, you'd like that right?" - didn't even blink twice plz 😭😭 - this dude is dead serious. - he gotta make up to you for being such a sweetheart to him one way or the other - that explains how he was pulling your top off, sucking sweetly on your tits, fingers gently rubbing over your clothed pussy - that also explained how he pulled you onto his lap, slipping in his dick inside you, stretching you out with a loud moan "you always take it so well, don'tcha?" he grins at you, tipping your head upwards and kissing you - refuses to move tho. - basically baited you into cockwarming him - what a royal asshole. - "what is it?" he coos when he feels your walls clamp down on him, your fingers desperately toying with your clit to get some sort of relief "pl- pleasefuckme-" there's tears clinging onto your lashline, your lips are red from how long you've been biting and chewing on them "hm?" he grins at your state, "what was that you said?" "please-" your breath hitches as he thrusts into you suddenly "fuck you?" "go- god. fuck, yes" his thrusts are merciless, pounding into you at a speed that has your overstimulated cunt spasming in seconds - doesn't let you go till he feels like he's paid you back enough "that was fun" he nuzzles into your neck, breathing slowly "mhm" you feel yourself dozing off he lays you down before snuggling into you and falling asleep - will end up giving you a massage in the morning anyways - although he can be just a little bit of a dick sometimes, there's no one you would rather unwind with

bonus!!

- ussop (while crying) had to relocate from his cabin to sanji's because the walls are really not that thick and he was next door - "i can hear them-" ussop sniffled, standing at sanji's doorstep, "omg i can hear luffy-" "ussop, you have to learn to face the horrors of the world." sanji spoke firmly, although his expression betrayed the confidence in his voice - actually they both just cried and ate the secret stash of ice-cream sanji had saved up - you and luffy need to pay for their therapy now im afraid 😃

zoro's part <3 sanji's part <3

[itadores]

anything for you.

note: my beautiful princess tsubaki <3 had this idea on my mind for a bit, so i hope you enjoy!

pairing: tsubakino tasuku x gender neutral reader

word count: 1.8k

tags: gender neutral reader, he/him pronouns used for tsubaki, vague descriptions of violence, established relationship, fluff, pet names, reader is an acts of service kind of person

it’s in the heat of a fight when it happens.

tsubakino and the jikoku unit are on patrol when one of the townspeople informs them that some punks are causing trouble on the outskirts of makochi. they are quick to intervene, and the fight they find themselves involved in isn’t difficult by any means, each member of the jikoku unit able to take on their opponent with ease.

the guy that tsubakino’s facing is rather unimpressive, but he’s able to get a lucky hit on tsubakino. the punch doesn’t hurt in the slightest, but tsubakino notices something right after he gets hit.

the shift in tsubakino’s energy is nearly palpable, causing some people involved in the brawl to freeze. the twins pause from fighting for a moment, meeting each other’s gaze and sharing a look before turning towards tsubakino. there’s only one thing that would set their captain off like that.

tsubakino has chipped a nail.

tsubakino’s opponent appears to notice him inspecting his nails and scoffs. “aw, is the princess upset because she ruined a nail?” he taunts. a foolish move considering it only serves to anger tsubakino more.

“my partner just did my nails,” tsubakino smooths his skirt out before turning his attention to the punk responsible. “and you just had to go and mess it up.”

the man must have come to his senses because his hands shake as he holds them out in front of him in fists. he tries to step back, to put some distance between himself and tsubakino, but it’s futile. in one smooth kick, tsubakino knocks him out.

tsubakino turns towards the rest of the jikoku unit with a tight smile on his face. “let’s make this quick boys!”

members of the jikoku unit follow the command from their captain, no longer taking the time to leisurely play around with their opponents. they knock out the men with ease, pushing them out of town with their tails tucked between their legs.

“great work guys!” tsubakino’s smile is no longer as tight as before as he praises his unit for a job well done. “that’s the end of our patrol, so you guys are free for the rest of today!” he says, clapping his hands together.

with tsubakino's dismissal, most of the jikoku unit disperses, saying their goodbyes as they pass by their captain. the only people who stick around are his vice-captains: the sakaki twins.

"that includes you two," tsubakino says, wagging a finger at his second-in-commands, "you're free to go."

"we'll see you tomorrow," uryu says, dipping his head slightly. uryu and seiryu begin to walk off, but seiryu makes sure to sneak in a cheeky comment before they can get too far.

"enjoy your time with your partner, tsubaki!" there's a knowing look on seiryu's face as he waves goodbye over his shoulder.

"i will," tsubakino replies, smiling.

once his team is out of view, tsubakino takes his phone out and pulls up your contact. clicking the call button, tsubakino raises the mobile device to his ear. it only rings once before you answer.

"hello beautiful," you say in a sing-songy way, making tsubakino's smile widen.

"hi baby," tsubakino coos. he draws the phone closer to his ear as if it will bring you even nearer to him. "what are you doing?"

"nothing much," you sigh, "just getting some work done at home. what about you? you should be done with patrol by now, right?"

"yeah, i just finished! had to sort some guys out who were causing trouble on the edge of town, and one of them messed up my nails," tsubakino pouts as he inspects his nails again. the damage isn't devastating, but his one chipped nail already bothers him.

"are you alright? no injuries?" you ask, concern seeping into your voice.

"no injuries," tsubakino promises, sweet and reassuring. although tsubakino can take care of himself, which you're more than well aware of, he knows that you can't help but worry about him.

"good. good," you say, sounding relieved. "if you're free right now, do you want to come over to mine? i can fix your nail since i know it's going to bother you if it doesn't get fixed soon," you lightly tease.

"that sounds great,” tsubakino beams. “i'll pick up some snacks and drinks for us on my way over, so i'll be at yours in half an hour or so?"

“sounds perfect, my love. i’ll see you soon.”

tsubakino and you exchange goodbyes and i love yous before ending the call. he then begins walking back towards the center of town, thinking of what he wants to pick up for you two to share.

although the decision is really made for tsubakino since many of the townspeople offer him food and drinks as he passes by their establishments. he tries to turn some of them down, but they insist, placing to-go bags directly into tsubakino's hands for him to take. once tsubakino's hands are completely full, he opts to take side streets to your place instead of the main road. it's thankfully quieter on this route, and no good-natured shop keepers offer tsubakino any of their goods.

tsubakino arrives at your front door, a little less than half an hour after the call ended with you. he lightly knocks on your door, unable to do much more with his hands full. he can hear the pitter patter of footsteps before the door swings open, revealing your beautiful face.

"hello gorgeous," you greet before quickly ushering tsubakino inside. "let me take these from you. thank you so much for grabbing something on your way, you didn't have to."

"thank you honey." tsubakino gives you a kiss on the cheek, leaving behind a light imprint of his lipstick. "and i was planning on buying us some snacks and drinks, but the townspeople essentially shoved these into my arms as i was passing through the center."

"ah, as they usually do?"

tsubakino hums in response, wrapping himself around you as you unload the food and drinks tsubakino was provided with onto your kitchen table. you lean back into tsubakino's hold, pressing a kiss into the column of his neck.

"do you want to eat right now or do you want me to fix your nail first?"

"are you hungry?" tsubakino asks in return. "or thirsty?"

you make a contemplative sound. "not really. i can fix your nail first and then we can eat afterwards?" you suggest.

tsubakino drops his chin onto your shoulder, squeezing you a little tighter. "sounds good, baby."

"how about you go take a seat at my work station, and i'll join you after i quickly clean up here?"

tsubakino releases his hold on you and follows your suggestion. he makes his way through your apartment, pushing the door to venture into your bedroom. your work station is in the far corner of your room, and tsubakino takes a seat in the chair that's unofficially designated as his.

you’re not far behind him, entering your room only a few minutes after tsubakino takes a seat. you take the seat opposite of him, flipping on your desk lamp and making yourself comfortable.

“okay, let me see the damage.”

tsubakino places his left hand in your open palm, allowing you to inspect his nails and see how your work has held up from his fight.

"at least it's only one," you murmur, rubbing the pad of your thumb over the nail of his index finger. the red polish that you previously used to paint tsubakino's nails has chipped off in some places, exposing his nail bed.

you let go of tsubakino's hand, so you can pull open your desk drawers. "you can play some music in the background if you want, love," you say as you dig through your drawers to locate the supplies necessary to repair the chipped polish.

tsubakino pulls outs his phone from his pocket, opening up the music player app and putting the playlist you made together on shuffle. music suddenly fills the room, playing at a low volume from his speaker. the corner of your lips quirk up into a smile as you continue placing everything you need onto your desk.

you gently take tsubakino’s hand, beginning the process of carefully taking off the polish on his left index finger. tsubakino props his elbow onto your desk, resting his chin into his open palm, content to watch as you work away.

you're mostly relaxed, singing along quietly to the song playing in the background but from time to time, your face will scrunch up slightly in concentration, careful to not mess up tsubakino's other nails or smear any of the ruby red polish onto his cuticles. you’re too cute. tsubakino's so lucky to have a partner like you.

you're so supportive of him and his interests. you've always been like that. you often send him links to fashion articles or posts you think he would be interested in and enjoy surprising him from time to time with new hair, skincare, or makeup products you think he would like trying out. he appreciates how you've also tried to familiarize yourself with his interests, whether its through your own research or by asking tsubakino questions when he's talking about the latest fashion trends.

however, tsubakino was most touched when you offered to do his nails for the first time, shyly informing him that you've been trying to teach yourself how to do nails, so he wouldn't have to pay and go to a salon to get it done. you profusely apologized when they turned out a little wonky the first time you did them for him, but that's still tsubakino's favorite set he's ever gotten done because you did them for him.

you've definitely improved over time and grown far more confident in your skills. tsubakino thinks you could make some real money doing people's nails, but you brush him off whenever he brings it up, saying that you're content with having one client.

it doesn't take you long to finish fixing up tsubakino's nail. you carefully look it over for any imperfections, turning tsubakino's hand slightly from side to side before you appear to be satisfied.

"all done!"

"amazing work as always!" tsubakino praises, holding his hand up to admire the job you've done. you really are so talented.

"you flatter me, love," you say, laughing lightly as you put your equipment away in your desk drawers. once everything is in its place, you dust your hands off and offer a hand to tsubakino. he places his hand in yours, smiling when you kiss the back of it.

"shall we go eat now that's taken care of?"

"we shall."

tsubakino allows you to lead him out of your bedroom and into your kitchen, smiling the whole way through. he really is so lucky to experience a love like yours.

[heartfullofleeches]

Ok, but can we talk about Erin with a darling who's just sweet as pie to him? Just, every threat or insult is met with kind words and love and our boi is conflicted. On one hand, he knows they love him, on the other, please just fucking step on him he's this close to begging for it

Imagine him opening up to them and off-handedly making a self-deprecating joke when he hears a snap. The pencil in his darling's hand is crushed and the hand that once held it is now wrapped around his throat "If I hear any more of that talk about my wonderful boyfriend I might just have to beat some sense into you"

is this anything? Fuck if I know, but it was in my head and now it's in yours!

[Male Yan Bully + G.N Reader] (warnings: choking, masochism)

Erin knew he wasn't the greatest guy around.

Petty theft, belittling and fighting with his peers, and his tendency to fly off the handle for the smallest issue already gave him a poor rep with locals. Things only got worse when you came into the picture. Everything about you was the polar opposite to himself. When he insulted you upon first meeting you asked if he was feeling well. When he finally came to accept his feelings and told you the two of you were dating without any previous attempts to win you over, you just smiled and asked him where to meet him for lunch.

Threats towards yourself and others where brushed off with a laugh. They toned down once you began dating, but Erin couldn't help but press you at times out of sheer confusion that you actually seemed to be enjoying time spent with him. It's not let you had many others with him harassing anyone who gets too close, but you never complained- even liking the silence. You patched him up after every scuffle and didn't ask how the began or ended. He doesn't understand you at all, but finds it hard to function without you. He can't wrap his head around it.

"Why do you like me?"

Heart printed bandage in hand, your passive expression scrunches with worry over your boyfriend's words. You place it over his blistered knuckles. "What are you going about now, Rin? I don't just like you and you know that."

Erin chews his lips, shying away from your concerned scare. "Yea, I know, but it just makes even less since if you ask me. It's pretty common knowledge that I'm not exactly a model citizen. For Christ's sake I've been hard on you before and still am. I can't control these things about me and when I see you around other people I just.... You're probably better off with someone else.

"Soooo.. what I'm hearing is you're saying I'm not good at choosing partners?"

"Ugh- this isn't about you, Y/n. I'm trying to be serious for once. Hrk!- "

Spit and a choked string of obscenities fall from Erin's lips as a hand clasps firm around his throat. Your nails stab his beating flesh as his pulse increases. He struggles for a word, but is unable to form his lips to speak as he gasps

"Oh yes it is. If my boyfriend is doubting his position I'm obviously not doing something right. I thought loved me too Rin."

His eyes shoot to the protruding veins of your wrist as your fingers lock in place, pressing down on his trachea. He blinks away tears - broken by you even thinking you're part of the problem. You snap your fingers to regain his fleeting attention.

"Hey!- Eyes up here. It's true you could use some temper adjustments, and you think with your fist but you have a good head on your shoulders and such a big heart. I've seen it when you knocked on every door in my neighborhood because I was out sick and you forgot my address. I've felt it everytime you've kissed and held me. You're my boyfriend, Rinny. Don't make me knock some sense into you - got it?"

Erin dips his head to signal a nod. He longs to take your words to heart, but it's easier said than done with you fulfilling a fantasy he wouldn't confess to even on his death bed. He dreamt about what it would be like to have such caring hands be the cause of his destruction. He couldn't pry himself out of your grip even if he wanted to. It was better than anything this fucked mind could make up.

"Rinny~ I need words. You're gonna make me cry if you keep bullying me like this."

His heart jumps at the playful nickname. " 'm yours....promise... all yours."

Your smile returns - pressed to his cheek as you kiss his skin. "Good. Now that that's over, want some help with that?"

Erin holds his knees together, pulling his jacket over his crotch. "Shut it."

[cherriteaa]

MITSUYA X HIS RUNWAY QUEEN

Mitsuya x Black fem reader

A/n: This was requested!! It was part of a 2 person request so I'll reply to the actual request when I do Smiley's

SPOILED. YOU WILL BE TOTALLY SPOILEDDD BY HIM GOOD GOD.

I'm talking handwritten love notes, handmade plushies and outfits, jewelry, making sure at LEAST ur nails are always done, flowers, everythinggg.

He seems to me definitely the gift giver romantic kind of guy. Esp if you're just as stylish as him. Even when yall are younger, and he hasn't gotten his big designer paycheck yet, he's still finding ways to spoil you. Including learning how to do nails. And he can do ANYTHINGGG you want. French tips, painted designs, charms, different shapes, dip, acrylic, rhinestones, ANYTHING. That man is a master at nail art. And he's starting to get really good with doing your hair. He makes a big thing of it, going to the store the day prior to hair day to get the cut fruit for you and everything. He's SO cute. He's already getting used to doing Mana and Luna's hair, so he's got the patience for it.

Always sends goodmorning/goodnight/checkin texts. He's the easiest communicator ever. I feel like if you guys ever do have arguments, they're shortlived. He's great at getting to the heart of the issue calmly and without using damaging/hurtful words.

He's another cuddly guy. Loves inviting you over afterschool to cuddle and just spend quiet time with eachother before he has to get up again to make sure his sisters are taken care of ect. If you stay over, he's more than grateful if you help him out. Be it with dinner, or with the girls. It takes a huge load off his shoulders. During these times, he likes to come up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist, resting his cheek against you. Something about you just helping out with / being around his family brings a domestic feel that he adores

He love love LOVES to have you wear his stuff. His clothes, things he's designed, his jewelry, anything. He thinks you look sooo cute

Romantic dates as much as he can manage. He's one of those 'if he wanted to, he would' guys. Not every romantic date has to be expensive. He finds all kinds of new and cute ideas for dates. He likes to keep the relationship interesting, and more importantly, keep you feeling like his princess.

He's never afraid to let people know you're dating. He'll invite you to toman meetings, and he isn't afraid to hold your hand or kiss in public. As far as it isnt anything too steamy, he's totally fine with it

HE'S A COOOOK. That man can definitely cook, and he has a bunch of recipes in his arsenal to keep Mana and Luna from getting bored of foods. He likes to show off and pretend to be some celebrity chef in the kitchen after inviting you over for a meal or something.

He likes to tease a little. All in good nature. He isnt the type of guy to poke at insecurities though. More like screenshotting typos you made, and making fun of long gone slightly embarrassing events like you tripping or something. He never means to make you feel bad, just to get a giggle or two. He's the type of boyfriend who will need his girlfriend to keep him in check sometimes. Not that he's out there starting random arguments, but in the sense that he'll start to overwork himself, and he'll get burnt out if you don't say something. And he'll be really grateful if you do.

Mitsuya is the type of guy to do promise rings, and then melt down the material your ring was made out of to infuse into your wedding band. He'll talk about you with his last name, and he's very open to talking about the future with you. He's one of the best types of guys to have around. He'll never leave you behind, and he'll gently push you just enough when you start slacking on your goals. Not only that, but he's the kind of guy who'll notice you're overworking you're stressed before you notice yourself. He's 10000% husband material, and the best thing about being in a relationship with him is that you both encourage eachother to grow and better yourselves together.

A/n: Requested Mitsuya Hc's! I hope they're to your liking <33

Reblogs, Requests and Comments are appreciated!!

My requests are : Open!

[terry-perry]

Are requests for the Alastor x carmine!reader still open because I thought of something about the early stages of their dating?

What if even though they're trying to keep it a secret and not tell a lot of people, but they can't resist being in such good moods because they're clearly in love with each other?

"I can't tell you their name but let me tell me how amazing this person is SWOON!!"

Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce y'all to Lillian!

"Y/N! So good to see you baby! I feel it's been ages!"

Y/N walked into the salon and greeted her nail tech with a couple air kisses and a big hug. "Hi, Lillian -I know! I'm most definitely due for some new acrylics. Also, is Shannon in? I wanted to get my hair done too. Give it some shine, add some curls."

"She's got a few appointments, but for you? She'll make time!"

Lillian gleefully took her favorite client by the hand and led her toward her workstation. "So, nails and hair, huh? What's the occasion? Are you guys working on an important deal?"

"Nothing like that," Y/N said as she dipped her nails in the bowl of acetone placed in front of her, unable to keep her giddiness inside since she was still having trouble trying not to think about him anymore than she could help. "I have a date tonight!"

"Oh, is that so?" Lillian pondered, wide-eyed as she observed the big smile on Y/N's face.

"Yeah, it's with this guy I've been seeing for about a couple weeks. We've been going out for coffee and taking walks after work, but tonight is our first real date!"

"And where's the lucky guy taking you?" Lillian asked sweetly, focusing on buffing out the last bits of Y/N's acrylics but still investing in their conversation.

"We're going to this jazz club downtown that he likes for drinks and maybe dancing. Then he's planning on taking me to...The Severed Head."

Lillian stopped herself from making her buffer sponge slip out of her hands from surprise at hearing this. She lifted her head to show her disbelief to a practically beaming Y/N. "The Severed Head?! The fancy place people can't even afford to eat bread from?"

"The very same!" Y/N said with a giggle.

"I heard it can take up to months to get a reservation there. How'd you guys swing that?"

"He's got connections. He made a deal with the owner a while back, so you can say he's a big part of why the place has good business."

Lillian continued to look positively agog at this piece of gossip. "So he's an Overlord then. Impressive!"

Y/N hummed, looking very pensive suddenly. "He's incredible, a little rough around the edges, but he's quite the gentleman who treats me well. He's also pretty funny and charming. I feel like I can really be myself around him."

Lillian softly looked at the clearly lovestruck girl in front of her. Something rare to see in Hell was something so pure, but there it was. She was happy to witness such a sight until Y/N got serious about what she said next.

"The thing is we're not out in the open just yet. You know my mother; very few things meet her approval. I don't know if me going out with another Overlord would make that list. So we're doing our best to keep a low profile for now. We have a chance to go out tonight, but only because he had to pull some strings to ensure we'd be alone. So do you think you can keep this to yourself?"

"Oh, of course, my love! You know you can trust me. I'll take this to my grave!" When Y/N gave her a strange look, she added, "You know what I mean."

They shared a small laugh before Lillian continued her work.

Lillian heard the bell above the salon's door chime, indicating someone entered. She paused her clearing up her table to see who it was and gave them a big smile.

"Oh, if it isn't the lady killer himself!" She chirped while walking over to the front to greet them.

"Now my dear, we've been over this," Alastor replied with his trademark smile. "Those particular cases went cold. It was never proven that I was involved."

She laughed at his remark. "How can I help you today handsome? Your usual sharpening?"

"Yes, and if you don't mind, perhaps a clear coat polish. I want them to look extra sharp for tonight!"

"I can take you in a second! I just gotta finish clearing up my station." She gestured for him to follow her there while they continued their conversation. "So, what's going on tonight? Meeting the next star of your radio show? I've been kinda missing it since you've been gone."

"As much as I'd love to feature guests on my show again, I'm going to have to put a pin on that for now due to my current obligations with the princess," he sat down when she offered him a seat and when he sighed dreamily she had to do a small double take as though making sure this was still Alastor she was talking to. "No, I have plans to meet with a special lady this evening."

Lillian paused setting up her tools for Alastor's claws. Did she hear that correctly?

"Am I hearing this right?" She voiced her wonder. "Is the Radio Demon seeing someone that isn't a potential deal or guest on his show?"

"I suppose..." Alastor replied coyly, mindlessly twirling his microphone that suddenly began to play romantic jazz while he displayed a gentle smile. Seeing him like that was almost endearing, if a bit strange. "She's lovely - a dove among all the crows you find here in Hell. Our budding romance could blossom beautifully if I play my cards right! It's why I must look my best and give her a night she won't soon forget!"

Her suspicions were rising, but she needed more to absolutely know. "So what do we have planned for tonight?"

"Oh, I have quite the enchanted evening planned. We'll let some beautiful music play while we share drinks. We'll enjoy dinner and dancing, and if we have time left, I have a surprise for her I know she'll love."

"Ooh, spill!" She had to know what he had up his sleeve.

"This stays between us, right?" He asked with small notes of malicious intent as he narrowed his eyes at her.

"Of course, dear," she said, not seeming to be affected by his subtle threat. "I wouldn't dare to dream of breaking nail tech-client confidentiality. I just love romance!"

He took another second to stare at her but went back to discussing his plans excitedly. "Well, she happens to love old movies. As you know, I'm not a fan of visual mediums, but she's worth it."

Lillian almost squealed right then and there. He must really think highly of this girl if he's willing to go through watching a movie with her. "Oh, so you'll finish the night with a movie?"

"A private screening of an old thriller from my time, yes," he answered. "It's about a hypnotist who brainwashes someone to commit multiple murders. I know she'll love it!"

Oh, Lillian knew this had to be Y/N he was talking about! His plans perfectly aligned with hers, and he's right about the movie. As sweet as Y/N can be, she also had a small edge which included having bizarre taste in films, books, and apparently men. She was astounded to learn about their relationship, but the more Lillian thought about it, the more they made sense. The daughter of the best arms dealer in Hell and the mischievous radio host with a soft side very few knew about. It was an unexpected pairing but also a pleasant one.

She couldn't believe she had front-row seats to what could be the start of Hell's cutest couple!

[sp1rit-realm]

༻¨*:· 𝐏𝐎𝐎𝐋 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 ·:*¨༺

༻¨*:· summary ·:*¨༺ remus changes his mind while you wait outside.

༻¨*:· notes ·:*¨༺ 𖦹 inspired by 'Pool House' by The Backseat Lovers 𖦹 guys idk if this fic makes sense 𖦹 fwb 𖦹 angst 𖦹 hurt / no comfort

༻¨*:· word count ·:*¨༺ 𖦹 550

Parties. They're weird, you think. People are usually sweaty, and the music is too loud. Still, you find yourself at James's house—he's blasting American Boy. It's a nice day out, and the Potter's have a lovely pool and a pleasant view of the countryside. 

You don't feel the need to get into the pool—you'll dip your toes in, but that's about it. You don't even feel the need to undress into your bathing suit because there are girls here who could be models, and you are not one of them. 

Remus insists on staying out of the pool as well. He doesn't like his scars very much, and getting in the pool would require revealing them. Still, he pushes you in. You scream and ungracefully fall into the cold water. When you emerge, he's laughing—bent over, clutching his stomach. There's no way this is as funny as he's making it seem. 

"Remus," You whine. He's wiping away tears.

You're lying in the sun now, drying off, relishing in the sun's warmth. It was Remus that bothered you again—standing in the way of the golden rays. "What do you want, Lupin?"

"Someone's moody," He quips, sitting next to you, "I brought you a red solo cup with a drink inside of it."

You sit up, nauseatingly aware of your stomach rolls, and take the cup. 

You and Remus had an odd relationship—friends... with benefits. And, of course, you caught feelings. You suspect you had them long before, but this arrangement was the nail in the coffin. 

"Did you want to hang out after this?" You whisper to him, knowing he would want anyone to hear you. 

To your disappointment, he shakes his head, "Don't feel like doing anything tonight. Too tired. Sorry."

You nod, "No, I get it. It's okay."

He offers a sad smile, which you gladly take. You'd take anything from him at this point. 

Remus finally got in the pool after seeing one of those pretty girls get in. It fucking hurt, and whatever was in this stupid cup isn't making you feel better. He looks like he's going to be sick, yet he's still in the pool, smooth-talking the girl. 

Eventually, he gets out of the pool. His stomach still hurts, and you take him inside, grabbing him water. "Thank you," He murmurs.

The music is too loud, "I'm going to take a breather," You answer.

"Okay," He's staring at that pretty girl.

"I'm going to call a car to pick us up. Wait inside, and I'll let you know when it's here."

"Okay," He says again; you sigh.

The car arrives, and you go inside to tell him. 

"Do you know where Remus is?" You ask Sirius, who points upstairs, "Making out with that pretty black-haired girl."

You swallow your heart and set off to tell the car to leave. You're going to be here for a while.

You sit on the porch—it's cold outside now. Somehow, it feels nice—numbing. It's been an hour. You're not sure why you're still waiting for Remus, but you are. Maybe you're holding onto the sliver of hope you have left. Maybe you'll still get to drive home with him. Maybe he'll invite you to stay over. 

You fall asleep on the bench, still waiting for Remus. He never comes.

mutuals <3:

@queerpumpkinnn @woahlifehitsyahuh @evergreenlover @ell0ra-br3kk3r @starsval @saturnband @shefollowedthestars @doyouknowwhoyouare13 @dancinglikeaballerina @goodoldfashionedluvergirl @onmyknees4lily @puppy-coded @lovers-tunnel @likefolksong @zvdvdlvr @crushofdoves @vampieteeth @bellathethirstybitch @basicallyjustmuggleremuslupin @cosmal @bruisedboys

[ronancebyler]

Platonic Jonbin headcanons?

oh my god being asked to talk about platonic jonbin??? them and platonic edancy are my favorite underrated platonic dynamics so I will use any opportunity to not shut up about them.

heads up! there will be possible rojancy (without romantic jonbin obviously) and possible stonathan and also possible platonic soulmatism stobin because those are things I cannot get out of my skin.

also! these are all in random order and don't have to exist in the same universe as each other or canon. really this is mostly just me cherry picking what parts of canon I like then saying fuck it and going by vibes!

jonathan and robin are both nonbinary but robin is a she/he sort of nonbinary and jonathan is a they/them sort of nonbinary (this will be the pronouns I'll be using throughout this) (if you see me use different pronoun hcs in different posts shut your mouth)

they have matching music tastes. no, not the same music taste, MATCHING music tastes. like it feels like the songs would get along or would be in playlists of two best friend characters. they're also both incredibly passionate about music so they love saying that each other are the "only music tastes I respect even though I don't listen to all of them" like they're such snobs together (robin is joking, jonathan is not)

they do dress like they came from the same cartoon. it's less that they look similar and more like they have a general vibe to them that when put together feels eerily like the same artist drew them

jonathan finds eddie hot and robin is so personally offended by that because eddie is the person he loves making fun of because it's her personal bully victim (affectionate)

"FIRST STEVIE AND NOW EDDIE????" "I'M SORRY I DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED"

robin and jonathan have opposite tastes in crushes. the singular place it aligns is with nancy wheeler

robin has a thing for people who kind of intimidate her and are incredibly driven/passionate people with a soft side

jonathan has a thing for soft people who love animals and are really kind but with a scary side

"how is she literally perfect????" "i don't even know"

there is something so funny to me about jonathan having a heavy preference for men in their sexuality

"that guy is hot" "he literally looks like he's been dipped in a dumpster what the fuck is wrong with you"

the pattern you're seeing in these headcanons is that they're not similar as much as they are complimentary

robin does jonathans hair. they didn't ask for it, he just showed up to their house with hair products and went "sit down. no you don't have a choice."

this isn't necessarily because she's good at doing hair and more because jonathan's hair texture is just so nice but eventually he gets really good at it

steals each other clothes but will not use it in the same way. jonathan's overwear???? no, that's robin's lasso. robin's shirt???? no, that's jonathan's journal decoration

stonathan with platonic jonbin is so fucking funny and i don't know why more people don't consider this

"MY BEST FRIEND IS FUCKING MY PLATONIC SOULMATE????? oh my god i let them meet is this nepotism" "robin what the fuck" "nonono let her speak"

also platonic soulmates stobin being so welcoming of jonathan my beloved <33

"you stole my best friend and my ex???" "are you actually mad" "no that's funny as fuck you should come for girls nights"

which while we're on that tangent yes jonathan is invited for girls nights yes they are the most girl there no they are not a girl you just don't understand their gender is a candy wrapper at the bottom of a garbage can okay

"I'm infiltrating the secret meetings of all genders." "yes, jonathan, sit down, let me do your nails while robin talks about girls"

jonathan is literally the best person to come to for any crush because while steve will get excited with robin and support his delulu urges jonathan will be dead serious when they say "no she likes you back you dumbass"

when they get flustered from nancy flirting with them they react the exact same, which is they freeze and slowly turn redder

the difference is jonathan goes silent while robin starts talking more to attempt to distract nancy (it doesn't work)

when they panic at the same time their brains temporarily connect so they can yell "oh god fuck oh my god what do we say fuck she's so pretty I'm too gay for this" in each others brains

robin loves her label as being a lesbian very much and he's very connected to it while jonathan could not care less to label their sexuality

"mmm I'm such a lesbian womennnnnn" "have fun with that but also fold your fucking clothes"

they both get each other out of awkward social situations when their token 'knows how to talk to people' buddy isn't there

they also tend to stick to each other when steve is out being sociable in public spaces

as much as i love the idea of steve being robin's beard, i like jonathan as his beard more

people are more intimidated by jonathan for whatever reason so they're less likely to bug them about their relationship

if you're going down the rojancy route, they're dating the same girl so they hang out a lot together anyways so it's a good cover

and if you're going down the stonathan route steve is literally always with robin they can find time to sneak in kisses

"arent you jealous your gf is always with that Harrington kid??" "I'm not even slightly worried i trust her"

robin gets really attached to will and basically becomes will's third sibling

she's also really attached to el so she's ready to bat for the byers family any day of the week

jonathan is the older sister, robin is the older brother, i dont make the rules

(i mean i literally do in this scenario but like the worms in my brain insist)

robin jumps on top of jonathan instead of "hugging"

"hugging is weak we will be commencing a five-step attack plan" "robin."

i now realize how long ive been talking I'll stfu

[denaliwrites]

I Got This Feeling On A Summer Day

Cale Erendreich x Fem!Reader

Summary: (18+) The sight of you in a sundress drives Cale wild.

Soundtrack: Summer Days by Fall Out Boy

Requests: Open!

Warnings: It's Cale Erendreich and it's smut.

"It's so. Fucking. HOT!" you shout into your boyfriend's wide open house, poorly cooling your face with a cheap electric handheld fan like it'll do anything to help. Hell, you're sure even an expensive one wouldn't be able to break this unbearable heat.

"You sure are!" comes your boyfriend's returning shout from the kitchen. You're too hot to laugh, or even be mildly amused, really. But it's nice, you suppose, to know he thinks you're attractive even now, covered in sweat and dying of heat stroke.

"When are the repair people coming?" you despair.

"Tomorrow at noon."

That is not soon enough.

You're on the verge of disrobing yourself it's so hot, and you're not wearing much to begin with. Just a simple sundress -- and nothing underneath. Not even to be sexy, but because you're not sure you can handle the layers right now. Especially a bra. Seriously, fuck that.

Cale returns from the kitchen holding two glasses of lemonade, and as he approaches you sit up and throw your legs over the edge of the seat. "Thank you," you gasp dramatically, taking it and struggling not to chug it all down at once. "Oh, God, that's so cold. Thank you."

You notice he hasn't moved, and your eyes drift up to him. He's staring down at you, eyes zeroed in on your breasts. You realize that he must have a perfect view of them from his angle.

"Cale?" you prompt, trying to break him free from the spell your apparently incredible tits have on him. It doesn't work. "Cale!" you repeat, firmer.

"Yeah," he finally says, belatedly, startling as he looks at you. "Sorry, I... was imagining what I'm going to do to you in..." He pauses, setting his drink down and checking his watch for effect. "Roughly one minute and forty-two seconds."

You're stunned by his precision, and even more stunned when he takes your glass from your hand and sets it down next to his own. "On your knees," he commands. "On the sofa."

You obey immediately, if a little awkwardly, shifting so that you're sitting on your haunches on the couch.

"Wrong," he tells you, not unkindly. "Turn around. Hands on the back."

Oh, no. You feel a rush of pleasure course through your cunt as you realize his plans. Eagerly, you move into position, nails biting into the fabric of the sofa in anticipation. His hands run up your thighs, fingertips feather light against your skin. Those fingers brush the skirt of your dress up, up, up over your ass, until it's pooled into the small of your back.

"Look at that," he murmurs pleasantly, "you're already wet for me."

Indeed, your folds are slicked with arousal. Your fingers twitch against the sofa, only to still in a tight grip as you feel his press at your entrance.

He chuckles breathily at the delicious little sound that passes through your lips. "Good girl," he tells you, his fingers dipping in to slowly, teasingly rub at your nub. You find it hard to focus with his hand playing your clit like a master pianist, but you swear that you hear him undo his belt at some point between moans. And -- you're pretty sure that's the sound of his zipper -- and --

"Oh!" you cry out in glee as his cock buries itself inside your cunt and you're rocked forward. He hisses as you tighten around him, his hands curling in your sundress as he adjusts to your heat.

Maybe having sex right now isn't the smartest idea, you almost think, before his hips connect with your ass again and you lurch forward. There's a wall behind the sofa, and you have to shoot a hand out against it to keep yourself stable against his cock's onslaught.

"F-fuck, Cale--" you keen, walls clenching him desperately. "Can I..." you pant, feeling heat building between your thighs. "Can I touch myself?"

His chuckle behind you is breathless. "You are being such a good cocksleeve for me, aren't you? Go ahead."

You moan with relief, one hand staying firmly planted on the wall while the other breaches your folds, fingers dancing around your clit furiously, desperately.

It isn't long before you're reaching your peak, screaming out your orgasm while Cale keeps fucking you.

You're surprised -- and turned on -- when Cale's hand wraps around your throat and pulls you up so that your back is flush against his chest. "Now that you've had your fun," he growls into your ear, "I'm gonna have mine." He pulls out, leaving you cold and hollow without him.

His hold on your throat disappears, but is soon replaced by his hand winding tightly in your hair. You squeal as he yanks you up and throws you roughly into the wall. You barely manage to keep yourself from slamming into it, and then he's on you, his hands pinning your wrists above your head as his cock slides inside your aching tunnel.

"That's a good girl," he praises you, licking the back of your neck and leaving a stripe of saliva from the base of your skull to the shell of your ear. You moan, pussy squeezing desperately. "Such a good girl for me, aren't you? You're being so good, I may even let you cum again."

His words send a thrill down your spine, and you whimper needily as you look back at him. "Cale," you try, but he shushes you gently.

And then he batters into your cunt mercilessly, relishing in the sounds you make with each ruthless stroke of his cock. "Fuck," he groans, and you feel him twitching inside you as he nears his orgasm, "you're so fucking tight."

It only takes a few more thrusts for you both to fall over the edge. His comes first, and feeling his warmth spread inside you pushes you over again. As he comes down, his hands release you, and as you do the same you fall back into his chest with amorous murmurs of his name.

He catches your lips in a kiss that's impassioned and doubles as an effective way to (mostly) silence you, though you can't help the moan that spills forth from your lips into his.

"I love you," you gasp as he pulls away.

"I know.”

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

Makeover

@cullen-blue23

🧟💄💅🏻Prompt from the one I missed last time; Wen Ning using make up to make himself lol more alive

Part of the Wen Ning fucks agenda because I have found my calling as a Wen Ning simp.

Enjoy!

Wen Ning stares through the windows of the little makeup shop, at the many bottles, vials and colorful boxes on the shelves lining up the cream-colored walls - and the way the shopkeeper applies the finishing touches of makeup to her client. The young woman looks... regal, almost, the colors around her eyes and the shine on her lips enhancing her already delicate features. She looks... beautiful. Alive.

Wen Ning remembers how he tried to paint his nails one day, a light, fleshy pink. It never lasted, but it made him feel...good. Human.

Oh, how he wishes he also was...

It feels ungrateful to think this way - he isn't... fully alive, but he's not dead either, and that's more than he could have ever dreamed of the moment he succumbed to exhaustion and died all those years ago.

He has a home now, and a family, and he's trying to make a name for himself other than the Ghost General. He can go wherever he wants, do whatever he wants, he even has money now! He can travel the world and meet all sorts of people, learn all sorts of things...

Still, there is so much he cannot do anymore. Precise movements are difficult, and sometimes he feels stuck in his body, every sensation muted.

He doesn't feel a lot of the things people do. Most sensations he gets to feel have to be very intense for him to get anything out of it. And it's... weird. That's the word Wen Ning has decided to settle on, even if that's not quite right.

(What a shame, that he doesn't get to feel with his body, but his soul is still so painfully human.)

Anyway, he does wish he was more... alive. Or at least look it. He isn't sure he still remembers what he used to look like...

"You can just come into the shop, you know?" the shopkeeper smiles at him from behind her counter. "I promise I don't bite! ...well, not without prior consent at least!"

If Wen Ning could, he'd be blushing. A bit ironic, considering the things he's been getting up to lately...

Still, he decides he might as well - he's been staring like a creep for too long not to purchase anything, and perhaps he can find something here that's going to make him feel less... different.

"So, what can I help you with today?"

"I'm looking for... makeup."

The lady laughs, and Wen Ning feels like blushing again.

"Well, you've sure found it! But what exactly are you hoping to achieve? What kind of look would you like?"

Wen Ning feels suddenly very self conscious, out of place in the shop, in the world.

"I want... to look more... alive."

The lady laughs, again. "You know, that's a very common request. And anyway, I see people that look dead-er than you on the daily! Go sit by the window and I'll try to work my magic!"

He does as instructed and struggles a little bit not to feel silly about it. What is he even doing here? The fearsome Ghost General is getting his makeup done.

The lady return from the back of the store carrying a few items. "I brought some foundation and some blush, I tried to go for the lighter colors because you don't seem like you had a dark skin tone."

"Oh, no, I used to burn very easily in the sun too..."

"This is the powder for your face, it's a bit thicker so you're going to need a special brush to apply it." The lady explains as she opens the cap to a round box and dips a thick brush into it. "The good thing about your skin is that it's even-toned, so the color should apply seamlessly, with a great finish."

She moves the brush expertly over Wen Ning's skin, focused. "You have very beautiful features, Wen-gongzi."

"Um, thank you..."

She moves the brush down his neck, applying the product in quick, precise strokes, as far as his robes show skin. "I'm not just saying that, my livelihood is beauty, I deal with it all the time, and so when I tell you that you're beautiful, I mean it."

Wen Ning doesn't know if the lady should be so close to him, but she seems not to notice the sudden few inches less of distance between them as she evens out the powder around his nose and cheeks. This feels... weirdly intimate.

"Say, can I do something for your eyes too?" she asks as she finally finishes livening up Wen Ning's complexion, adding blush powder onto his cheek bones.

"Something like what?"

"Eyeliner, maybe? I think it would make your eyes pop, give you that seductive gaze, know what I mean?"

He looks away, sheepish. "Not-not really..."

The makeup artist laughs, picking a small container off a nearby shelf. "I promise I won't overdo it, and if you don't like it, I'll wipe it off, okay?"

Wen Ning nods and closes his eyes, only to feel a tender swipe over each of his eyelids in turn. His makeup artist works very quickly. But so very closely to him.

"You can open your eyes now, I have a mirror you can look in."

And so, Wen Ning does. The reflection in the mirror is him - it is, but not really. His skin is glowing, his eyes appear painted on, lively, no longer faded, and just a bit less lifeless.

It's him if he was alive, if nothing went wrong, if-

"Everything okay?"

He blinks his thoughts and his phantom tears away. "Yeah, yeah, everything is... okay."

The makeup artist scrutinizes his features, curious. "Can I try some eyeshadow on you as well?"

"I guess...?"

The makeup artist already sweeps her eyes around her collection of displayed powders. "Are there any colors you don't like?"

"No red, please. Anything else is fine..."

She nods, and reaches for three little boxes. "I'm thinking some warm browns would compliment your look well, and I also just got this glittery powder that catches really prettily in the light, I think it will look amazing on you!"

Wen Ning flutters his eyelids closed. He's excited, almost - having seen how well the makeup artist has revived his complexion, he can only wonder what other things she'll surprise him with.

He feels the tender touches of brushes, the closeness with the other person - and he knows he's going to become a regular customer. He enjoys this, the feeling of being pampered, of being made beautiful.

"Not to toot my own horn," she says, a few minutes later, "...but I think I turned you into a bit of a god."

"Can I see?"

"Not yet, keep your eyes closed, I want to do something with your hair too."

"I-I really don't think I can afford-"

"No worries about that! Money isn't an issue." He feels her fingers comb through his hair carefully. "And anyway, money isn't the only way you can pay for something."

"I could help around... carry boxes or..."

"Wen-gongzi. That's not what I meant."

"Oh. Oh... But the makeup..."

She hands him the mirror as he opens his eyes, admiring the shine around his eyes, and the beautiful hairpiece atop his head.

"I use very high quality products, Wen-gongzi." the makeup artist smiles. "Nothing will run, no matter how strenuous the activity."

"Mm... Let's test it out?"

"Let me close up shop."

[geneeste]

20 questions for fic writers

Tagged by @mrv3000 like, last year, but we'll just pretend that isn't true!

1. how many works do you have on Ao3? 53

2. what’s your total Ao3 word count?

It's about to be higher, but currently 236,415 (89k of that is co-written with @machawicket, though, so I can't claim it all!)

3. what fandoms do you write for?

Arrow, Stargate SG-1, Bones, Timeless, Pitch, and a few others that are sort of incidental to the main ones.

4. what are your top five fics by kudos?

I'm pretty sure all of these are going to end up being Arrow fics (Genie's note: ha! I was right!):

Our Version of Events falling in reverse Chips and Dip (With a Side of Sparkle) Cabin in the Woods The Male Prostitute in the Club With His (Word Redacted Due to Content)

5. do you respond to comments?

I try really hard to!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I was going to say Forfeit (SG-1), but honestly I think it's a toss up between that and time's right but the clock's wrong (Arrow).

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

This one's tough, because my angst to happy ratio can be pretty hight in my fics, but in terms of, like, purest fluff, probably How the Day Sounds (Arrow).

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I have, especially in the Arrow fandom because it's probably the biggest (and therefor has the most potential for toxicity), but it disappears fast.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

LOL yep! I do write explicit smut, but even that is pretty vanilla (which is not to say that's bad, and maybe one day I'll write kink, but I haven't yet).

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I imagine a lot of crossovers, but I rarely write them. The only one I've done (to my recollection) that didn't involve characters from different shows but still in roughly the same universe was The Male Prostitute in the Club With His (Word Redacted Due to Content) (Arrow), in which Oliver Queen met his doppelganger, Jason from Hung. It was ridiculous, and fittingly, my first fic in that fandom.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of. Honestly, for the most part my fic is too short for most people to bother with, I think.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? 

I wish!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Absolutely! There's obviously Our Version of Events with @machawicket, and I wrote a few SG-1 fic with @danveresque back in the day. I really enjoy co-writing, although I'm almost always the one slowing us down.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Sam/Jack from Stargate SG-1. It was my first love and the only one I come back to over and over.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I am reserving my 5th amendment right not to incriminate myself.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I like to think I'm pretty good at characterization and nailing a character's voice. I also enjoy writing dialogue, although I don't know that that makes me good at it. I'm also pretty good at hitting the emotions I want to hit in a scene and also writing emotional complexity.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Writing consistently and to completion is a big weakness -- a result of poor executive function skills and high perfectionism, ha. I'm also great at coming up with big sweeping plots and terrible at executing the details of them. And, until recently, I clung a little too much to thinking fic needs to be realistic and grounded -- now I understand that fic can be as ridiculous as I want, because what matters is how much fun I have writing it and whether it gives me the serotonin I'm seeking (as @mrv3000 put it).

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I'm incredibly impressed by folks who might be polyglots who can do this. I, sadly, cannot.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

I honestly don't remember! I have a notoriously bad memory of my childhood and I got into fandom very early. But the first fandom I published a fic in was Stargate SG-1.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

This is like asking who my favorite child is. I don't think I can answer with just one! Favorite funny fic is probably Cabin in the Woods (Arrow). Favorite fic where I just slid easily into the character's voices? Probably the devil's right there in the details (Timeless). Favorite (and only) remix? reclaim (the destiny rules remix) (Stargate SG-1). Favorite angsty fic (of which there are maaaany), probably god himself would call it justice (Arrow).

I'm trying to remember who recently I know has been writing -- I'm going to zero-pressure tag these just a few people, but if you're writing, consider yourself tagged! @annerbhp @mylittleredgirl @sharim28 @joracwyn @starrybouquet @anretc @tielan

[pasta-in-the-pudding]

Hello! Can we get some general headcanons on Jane x fem!reader?? 👉👈

Thank you for requesting!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jane x fem!reader

Jane is the silent yet lovable type

She isn't the clingiest, but she has her moments

She typically likes to grab onto your hand and hold you close, letting anyone with a brain know that you're hers

She loves it when you play with her hair

Especially since she's so insecure about her looks

You playing with her hair and telling her how beautiful it is really makes her feel good

Another thing she loves that you do is when you steal her things

She calls you "crow" mostly because of your mannerisms, and also because she thinks it's cute

"Crow, dear have you seen my hiking boots?"

She likes to take showers with you and wash your hair

She thinks your hair is so pretty

Sometimes she'll just randomly turn on some music, and pull you into a dance

She loves to twirl you and dip you, kissing your chin as you giggle

You're one of the only people she's allowed to see her face

But even then, you've only seen her when you're either taking showers or when she's sleeping

And sometimes she doesn't even take it off when she sleeps

You have "girlie days" where you just do traditional "girl" things like nails and makeup

It's nice to just have days to each other like that

She smells like expensive perfume and pine trees

Her skin is rough, but you love her like that

You love to just caress her cheeks and kiss her all over

It's hard for her sometimes, sending her into a flurry of rage at you

You make her happy though, and she's not too big and bad to apologize every time

She loves to share food and drinks with you

Speaking of which, she cannot cook to save her life

So if you are good at cooking, she will always be filling you up with requests

She's not upfront about it though

She'll climb in bed with you, cuddling up to your side sweetly, kissing up your arm and onto your lips

"Did you know that I love you?" She'll ask

"Yes" you say with a smile

"And you love me, right?"

"Of course!"

"So that means you'll make me nachos, right?"

Yeah, she's not a very upfront person

She's absolutely a crazy hillbilly, you can't change my mind

Her favorite thing to do with you is go out and sit on park benches, laying your head on her shoulder and hers on your head

She would do anything for you, all you need to do is ask <3

[msviolacea]

Random Baldur's Gate 3 Tips

I've been watching/revisiting a bunch of YouTube videos about BG3 this week, as I'm neck-deep in my second full playthrough, and decided to compile some of my favorite random tips I've gleaned from them.

Don't sleep on hirelings. When you get to the point where you can spare the money to hire and possibly respec them, you can hire one at the start of your day to cast all the random buffs you want to have on your party, including things like Heroes Feast at higher levels. That way you don't have to waste any of your actual party's spell slots.

Related - Longstrider, Speak With Animals, and Speak With Dead can all be cast as rituals out of combat, so you won't lose spell slots casting them.

Also, always use Speak With Animals and Speak With Dead whenever possible, especially if you're a nerd who likes story and lore context. Or you just like to pet cats.

Traders restock their restockable items (potions, alchemy ingredients, etc) after you level up a character, so if you buy someone out and want to restock immediately, go back to camp and grab a companion you haven't leveled, or hire a hireling and level them. If you have someone who needs multiple levels, you can go buy the trader out in between each level!

Minor Illusion is a higher tier spell than you think, because you can cast it and it will draw the attention of all the people in the area, so you can either a) attack a bunch of enemies with an AOE at once or b) steal everything that isn't nailed down while they're distracted.

For those in the first act: don't start murdering at the Goblin Camp until you've either talked to or pickpocketed from both of the available traders! There's one in the courtyard by Volo, and a halfling Zhentarim trader up by the priestess's room. They both have some really good unique equipment you won't be able to get if you kill them. Same goes for Moonrise Towers in Act 2, though I was dumb enough to miss all of those in the last playthrough, so I don't have the neat list of everyone.

You do NOT have to keep your camp supply food in your bag! Send it all back to camp, and ignore the warning you get when you go for a long rest that says you don't have enough. When you actually go to do the long rest, it will show you everything in your camp chest to choose from.

You get more out of poison and other weapon coatings if you throw them on the ground than if you just coat them on your weapon directly. On the ground, your whole party can dip, and it will persist so you can re-dip if necessary. I saw a tip that said you can even throw one at camp and it will last overnight, but I don't know how long the puddle will last overall, or if it depends based on where your camp is.

If you use a ranged weapon, switch your weapon set so your character is holding their melee weapon before you end your turn. That's the only way they'll get an opportunity attack if an enemy passes by!

Mage Hand counts as an ally for abilities like Sneak Attack!

If you have a cleric high enough level to get divine intervention, it might be worth using the version that gives you a weapon, that one will heal everyone in your party for 1-4 hit points every turn.

Even if you decide to tell the racist lady in the mountain pass to fuck off - or give her an owlbear egg instead - definitely grab the Githyanki egg in the monastery and keep it until the end of the game. It'll result in a very nice addition to the epilogues.

If you have any more, feel free to reblog and add your own!

[deamare]

♡ ˚· @virtuoustyrfing asked:

"you're—" there's an awkward pause. disbelief and uncertainty alike dance in blue eyes while their owner desperately searches for something, anything, to say. but that's the problem, isn't it? what can seliph say in a situation like this one? it's not because what he believed he knew about ishtar of friege's fate is proven false. the long-departed appearing at the monastery isn't anything new. but the past, the circumstances, settle in seliph's body like tension. while he can't say he personally holds much, if any, ill will towards her, she may feel differently. regardless, seliph tries. "princess ishtar?" he hears the music stop, only for it begin anew in the background.

She does not recognize him -- they have never stood even remotely as close as they do now -- and yet she would know him anywhere by description alone.

She wonders if she should run, if justice has come to claim her finally in the form of the man that stands before her, but she does not move. If that is how it is to be, then she will accept it.

"Lord Seliph," Ishtar responds in turn, swallowing around the ash that has risen to coat her throat. "Yes, that is correct."

Part of her expects the same hostility of his cousin, recalls nails digging into the skin of her wrists and waits for it to come again. The rest of her, that which had always known that the fabled Scion of Light was kinder than the portrait painted by the hatred of her own blood, knows it is not coming.

He had taken from her not only a kingdom-- a future-- but a lover, a family. In their absence, where they would demand her anger, Ishtar cannot bring herself to feel any.

Of all that could be said to him, in grief or guilt, she finds that nothing feels right. Her head dips in a solemn nod.

"If you would have me pay for my crimes against your kingdom," her voice has quieted, too grim for the warmth that swells around them, "I will not fight it. But I..."

She had no right to plead for the right to this second chance at life, and distantly she wonders when it was that she had stopped pitying herself enough to be so willing to throw it away.

"I do not mean any harm to your or your people."

[frostyreturns]

Frosty Ruins Leverage S5 E2 "The Blue Line Job"

Shows like this have a habit of dipping their toes into worlds they don't understand and come across as ignorant to people who are a part of it. Within the first minute I can already tell this hockey themed episode was written by someone who doesn't watch hockey. Think the gamergate episode of law and order svu if you want to get an idea how out of touch it is. There's also some very subtle propaganda to their description of the scenario the episode covers. To begin the episode they talk about a hockey player having concussion issues and in just a few sentences nail a few bullshit talking points that the media and the anti-violence in hockey crowd like to spread.

The first is that fighting is a major cause of concussions, it just isn't, while concussions are a serious risk in hockey…(and part of the reason players are paid millions of dollars to play the game professionally) they are almost never because of a fight, the amount of hockey players concussed in a fight is statistically zero. Concussions typically do not result from blunt impact and hockey fights tend to only last a few dozen seconds at most, and they are normally wearing a helmet, though they sometimes take them off because there is a greater risk of injuring your hand in a fight than your head. The risk of concussion in a hockey fight is significantly lower than in say boxing or UFC where they hit each other in the head repeatedly over a longer period of time and each combatant trains exclusively for fighting... and yet even they can have long careers of being pummeled before any serious concussion issues arise and sometimes they don't at all. In hockey you are far more likely to be concussed by being body checked or simply falling or crashing into the boards. This is because concussions are more likely when the brain is being shaken by a sudden and rapid change in momentum, which happens when you are travelling at high speed on skates and come to an abrupt halt. It's why helmets don't really help all that much when it comes to concussions and why with zero fighting at all it's a big concern in football.

The other lie is that players are forced to fight when they could otherwise be good talented hockey players. They say this with a line about how fast the player was and how he was good until they saw how good his punching was. If you know who typically filled the role of fighter/enforcer you would know these were very large men who typically were too large to be very quick, with some exceptions of course. And if an enforcer was really good at hockey it was utilized and celebrated because the best kind of hockey player was someone who was skilled and tough, the problem is those guys were rare and are virtually extinct now. This idea that skilled players are wasting their potential by being tough guys is a fantasy of the violence averse. The reality was that most of the guys whose job it was to fight and protect their teammates…they would not be playing hockey at all if not for fighting. Fighting was a way to make millions playing a game they love, it had risks and downsides of course but most all of them say they loved it and would do it all over again if they could, while there are complainers who are mostly looking for a payday now that their careers are over, the biggest advocates of fighting in hockey are the guys who do it and the guys who did it their whole career. The line at the end says it all and speaks to an issue larger than sports or tv. "I need you to save my dad from himself" The idea that people can't make informed decisions on their own behalf is repugnant to me. Here's a quote from current NHL tough guy Ryan Reaves which I think more accurately sums up the opinion of the people most effected "Make hockey violent again."

The other thing they get wrong is really serious concussion issues don't crop up until much later, you don't get punched and start forgetting that people died. The other problem I have is they key on this notion of a hockey where its mostly fighting with hockey in between, based on a joke "I went to a fight and a hockey game broke out." Which is just that..a joke… an exaggeration. Most games even at the peak of fighting in hockey typically have one or two fights or sometimes none at all…as I mentioned before these took up 2 minutes of time maximum…the hockey game takes 60 minutes. Yet they present this joke as a reality.

I will give them credit though they did accurately depict both sides of the debate for the most part, the problem is one side of the debate is largely fostered by retards who know nothing about hockey…mostly the media. The issue is hockey is not as popular as other league sports, so most journalists who cover it are people who would much rather be covering some other less violent sport but took whatever job they could get…and tend to have nothing else to say about hockey..and concussions and violence is a good click baity way for these know nothing sports newspigs to have something to say. It's why despite other sports being 100% fighting you don't hear as much controversy about them. There is zero hockey in boxing and yet fighting in boxing is okay, there is zero hockey in UFC and yet UFC is okay…so why is some fighting in hockey a big fucking deal? The players like it, the fans like it and the teams making money like it. Oh but sorry there's somebody we forgot to consult to see if it was ok…journalists and soccer fans.

My other issue is they are simply blanket believing this lie that the league is hiding medical information. The fact is up until fairly recently the medical information was that concussions were not as serious. The issue wasn't that it was hidden it's that the research wasn't there yet and we didn't know what we do now. They act like a simple MRI shows what they are looking for but even in the most severe cases of CTE you need to do an autopsy to be able to determine what they claim can be shown by an MRI.

And even that being said, now that we know that concussions are more serious…there are still hundreds and hundreds of elite players willing to take those risks, and tens of thousands maybe millions more who wish they were good enough to be able to take the risks and play professional hockey. These are people, they have agency they can make their own choices and they are compensated handsomly. It's nobodies business to step in and remove their ability to make those decisions.

The acting is also terrible across the board, the comically strawmanned owner who claims the fans don't come to see hockey but blood on the ice just hammers home the point that no hockey fans were involved in the making of this episode.

They also show at one point that the enforcer in question has some kind of secret contract where he doesn't make money unless he fights in every game…totally illegal totally unenforcable, no league major or minor would have a contract stipulation anything like that at all. That on its own is so ridiculous it's laughable…but they take it a step further and have the owner pay other teams players a bounty on his own player so he doesn't have to pay contract bonuses.

Things then get retarded when one of the main characters in an attempt to protect the aforementioned tough guy convinces the owner to sign a friend of his and play him in a game…absurd and impossible, there are rules about when players can be added to a roster it is illegal to add a player game 6 of the playoffs and that's assuming I buy the owner being convinced to play some random guy he's never met because a guy trespassing in his building challenged him to a bet a day ago. Deadline for adding players was months before the playoffs even start.

Then in the game the guys friend and last minute addition in an attempt to prevent a fight does something way more dangerous and way more likely to cause injury…he either slewfoots/knees a guy at full speed who doesn't see him coming. In hockey that is considered a very dirty play and is one of the reasons enforcers exist in the first place… to beat the shit out of guys who do stuff like that. Then the play just continues. In reality there would have been an immediate major penalty maybe even an ejection from the game and likely a series of fights as every guy on the ice would be after him. But because this is retarded fake hockey he just goes oops skates away and play continues…and the audience is supposed to see him as a hero. Then yet again this moron in his quest to put a stop to fighting executes yet another highly illegal dirty play, by charging/boarding a player on the other team who does not have the puck, this play is literally 3 penalties in one and again would likely warrant a five minute major or a double minor and would put his team shorthanded for 4-5 minutes…these two plays alone would get him benched by his coach for the rest of the game...assuming he wasn't given a game misconduct and ejected... because he's undisciplined and is costing his team penalties.

The rest of the episode that isn't hockey related is just generic cheesy heist cliches. Chick swipes id badges as she walks by, girl pulls bobby pin out of her hair to pick a lock, if you've seen a heist movie imagine that but worse. Cheesy ending…terrible episode of a show that is not for me.

[mermaidsirennikita]

Just to share my own personally experience...

I read the entire bridgerton series and for me personally I only liked the 2nd series. After watching the show, I don't feel what I usually feel when I read HR novels. So imagine my surprise when I went to the bookstore to buy one of Lisa Kelypas books and in the same section comes this lady who has a basket full of Bridgerton books and ask me to recommend a similar book to which I did...unfortunately I was labeled by her as someone with poor taste as I recommend Lisa Kelypas books.

I still chuckled to this day on how she missed out on a good book...

My purpose of telling this is not to discredit Julia Quinn or Bridgerton but rather to share my own experience 😅

Lol dude.... I'm sorry, Kleypas isn't gonna be for everyone. Of course not. And Julia Quinn is obviously very significant and influential. But to me, shunning Lisa Kleypas as an author loved by those with poor taste as a historical romance reader is like saying, "You know lasagna? Fucking terrible, everyone hates it". Lisa is not for EVERYONE, but even if she's not for you she's a cornerstone of historical romance. That's just a fact.

Personally, and this is gonna sound condescending and I don't want it to come off that way because Julia is again, very significant--I do think her books are more entry level? To me? I would recommend two Bridgerton books as "dip your toes into HR" type novels because they nail the tropes they're after, they are emotional without being overwhelming, and the historical detail isn't too heavy. I'm not a huge fan of the rest of the series, and I dislike a couple of the books in it, but those two (The Viscount Who Loved Me and When He Was Wicked) I think are good entry points. But I think I'd still recommend The Wallflowers before that, lmao. And that's a taste thing, right? I wouldn't say that someone who prefers JQ has bad taste, because she's obviously left a mark and is super popular... But she's not to my taste, and I do see Lisa as a bit more... quintessentially historical romance, and a bit more significantly impactful to the subgenre (the popularization of the self made hero, for example--and I'd say that she has had books that have made a bigger impact individually, like Dreaming of You, Devil in Winter, and more recently Marrying Winterborne).

Idk, it is funny to me to see people going "You don't like Julia Quinn? You MUST not TRULY be into historical romance, when JQ is arguably the most accessible mainstream HR author at the moment because of the Netflix show. Like, you're not exactly diggin' deep to find her lmao.