#could just be people being dramatic though

[heavyhitterheaux]

Wifey’s reaction to the pro bowl content? 👀👀

This is a little sneak peak into her and Taylor Rooks Podcast The Woman Cave

You and Taylor were sitting across from one another filming yet another episode for the podcast you both share when the conversation started going into the direction of the pro bowl and she quickly asked you about your husband.

“I see your other half actually went to the pro bowl this year? And participated!?” Taylor said as if she was surprised.

Because she low key knew how he was.

“Yes, he actually went but it did take a lot of convincing. He changed his mind about fifty times. After the season ends, that man stays up under me. Not that I mind, but I'm convinced if he could find a way to actually attach himself to me or crawl into my skin, he would.” You told her as you laughed when you thought about how Joe barely let you do anything by yourself when you both were home.

“And apparently doesn't like mascots?”

With this came the most intense eye roll followed by you shaking your head.

“He is literally such a diva and so dramatic. And he is definitely going to get me for saying that, but Wifey Shiesty said what she said. When I heard his mic’d up clip saying that he tells the Bengals mascot to get away from him, I lost it.”

“That actually doesn't surprise me. But it seemed like he didn't get a lot of time for his portion in the skills part on Thursday.”

“That's why I should have done the trivia because I knew every single answer and he would have won. No shade to Jared obviously. But Ja'Marr always would laugh at me and say that I know his playbook better than he did as well as players stats across every team in the NFL and I still do.”

“Which a lot of people tend to be surprised by.”

“I think that people don't realize that more women actually watch football than men do and we actually know what we're talking about. Some of them are intimidated because we end up knowing more than they do.” You told her and she quickly nodded as she agreed with you.

“Did his answer change once he knew your twin was going?”

You couldn't help but to roll your eyes and smirk.

“Of course it did. Those two together usually send my stress levels through the roof. But they look out for one another and have done that since they were both at LSU and I know it's going to always be that way. I'm definitely grateful for that.”

As soon as the last word left your mouth, you let out a yelp from being startled by Joe's arms wrapping around you, picking you up and him sitting down where you were while placing you onto his lap. His hands protectively went over your baby bump and leaned over to kiss your cheek.

“Hello to you too, husband. Aren't you supposed to be with my twin and Justin!? See what I mean Tay?” You said as Taylor was laughing at the two of you.

“I heard you were talking about me so I figured that I should come pay a visit.” Joe told the both of you as Taylor smiled at him.

“Well, while I have you here….” She started to say as Joe nodded.

“You're my favorite interviewer besides this one right here so go for it.”

“How would you describe your feelings about this season overall?”

“Hmm, speaking from an individual standpoint, I'm happy with the numbers that I put up this year coming back from an injury. Overall, it's disappointing that we didn't make the playoffs but just have to do certain things to keep certain people and I know the front office will make that happen so we can all continue to play together.”

“Yes, put the pressure on them. Now, I remember when you signed your record breaking contract. Are you willing to negotiate in order to keep certain people in Cincinnati?”

“Absolutely without a doubt. Might have to pick up a part time job to make up the difference because my wife is expensive though. You two hiring?”

“Just for THAT comment, absolutely NOT. Your resume is going in the trash. And it's called The Woman Cave, not The Woman Cave plus Joe Burrow.” You told him as you pouted and crossed your arms across your chest.

“And you call me the dramatic one?” Joe asked and you tried to scoot away from him, but failed miserably.

“Ever since I met the two of you, I knew that you were made for each other. Now let me ask you this, NFL Honors?”

“I know I'm not winning MVP…”

“But he's definitely MVP in my eyes.”

Joe had a small smile on his face before continuing.

“But I'll still go and show my face. Always love going down there. It's like a family reunion with my LSU family and with my wife's family.”

“And who are you predicting will win the big game on Sunday?”

“I hope they both lose. But if I HAD to pick, definitely going with Jalen.”

“NOT you saying you hope they both lose. Babe, it doesn't work like that.” You told him as he shrugged.

“I'm using one of your lines, I said what I said.”

“You've definitely been around me too long.”

[amirasainz]

Hey love. Could I please request some Oscar story. Maybe Oscar and reader being in love with each other and the other drivers teasing them a bit but still think it's cute?

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo babygirl 🧡

Quiet Hearts, Loud Paddock

The paddock buzzed with its usual chaos: mechanics bustling around, reporters scribbling notes, engines humming in the background. Yet amid the noise, one corner always seemed to shine just a little brighter — wherever Yn stood with her microphone, offering kind smiles and thoughtful questions to drivers who appreciated her genuine warmth.

Yn was the youngest reporter in the paddock, just twenty years old, but already well-liked by the entire grid. Her interviews were never intrusive or sensational. She focused on the people behind the helmets — their personalities, passions, and quirks.

And while everyone enjoyed her presence, one driver seemed particularly captivated by her: Oscar.

The quiet Australian wasn’t one to seek attention, but when Yn was around, his shyness melted into soft smiles, flushed cheeks, and playful remarks. The two of them turned every interview into a game of compliments and shy glances. Everyone could see it — the stolen looks, the way their eyes lingered a beat too long, the rosy tint coloring their cheeks after even the simplest interaction.

The other drivers found it both hilarious and heartwarming. But despite their teasing instincts, they decided not to meddle. Young love, after all, had its own pace.

----------

Media Day

The afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the paddock as Yn stood by the media pen, holding her microphone and checking her notes. She smoothed her blouse and glanced at the interview schedule. Oscar — 3:30 PM.

Her heart skipped. Why did she still get nervous? She’d interviewed him dozens of times, yet her palms always got clammy just before he arrived.

“Waiting for someone special?” a voice teased.

Yn turned to see Lando grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“No,” she said, feigning nonchalance. “I’m just working.”

“Sure, sure.” Lando’s eyes twinkled. “I bet your ‘work’ blushes as much as you do.”

Yn rolled her eyes. “Go annoy someone else, Norris.”

He laughed but left her alone.

Moments later, Oscar approached, dressed in his team polo and cap. Yn's breath caught, but she forced herself to smile as she raised her microphone.

“Hi, Oscar!” she greeted, too brightly.

“Hey, Yn,” he replied, his dimples showing instantly. “You look…uh…nice today.” His eyes flickered to her yellow blouse. “Sunshine-y.”

“Oh, thank you!” she said, cheeks warming. “You always look good in team colors.”

Oscar laughed softly, ducking his head. “I mean…it’s required, but I appreciate it.”

“So, uh…let's talk about the weekend ahead,” Yn said, refocusing. “How are you feeling going into tomorrow’s practice?”

“Excited,” Oscar said. “The car’s feeling good. The team’s worked really hard. I just hope I can do them proud.”

“You always do,” Yn said automatically.

Oscar’s lips parted slightly, as though surprised by her conviction. “Thanks,” he murmured. “That means a lot.”

She cleared her throat. “And how’s the track looking this weekend?”

“Challenging, but fun. I mean, you've walked it, right?”

“Yeah. Nearly tripped over a curb though.”

Oscar chuckled. “Well, I promise not to do that in the car.”

They both laughed, the tension easing into something light and familiar. The interview went on, sprinkled with gentle teasing and lingering glances. When they wrapped up, Yn lowered her mic, but neither of them moved.

“Well…good luck, Oscar,” she said softly.

“Thanks, Yn.” His eyes softened. “See you around.”

As he walked away, Yn exhaled deeply. Across the paddock, Lando caught her eye and mimed a dramatic swoon. She ignored him.

----------

Post-Qualifying Interviews

Oscar had qualified P4 — his best of the season. Yn’s heart swelled with pride as he walked toward her with a grin.

“Congratulations, Oscar!” she beamed as he stopped beside her. “P4! How are you feeling?”

“Over the moon,” Oscar said, running a hand through his hair. “The car was great. The team nailed the setup. Honestly…I’m just happy I didn’t mess it up.”

Yn laughed. “You? Mess up? Never.”

Oscar ducked his head with a bashful smile. “You’re biased.”

“Maybe,” she admitted. “But I'm usually right.”

He met her gaze then, something unspoken crackling between them. She felt her cheeks flush and quickly asked another question.

Behind them, a group of drivers loitered near the hospitality suite. Carlos elbowed Charles.

“Look at them,” Carlos whispered. “They’re practically heart-eyes emojis.”

“Just confess already!” Charles mock-shouted toward Oscar.

Oscar heard. His neck turned bright red. Yn nearly dropped her microphone.

Max, standing nearby, shook his head. “Leave them alone. Let them figure it out.”

Carlos sighed dramatically. “Fine. But if they don’t kiss by the end of the season, I’m intervening.”

----------

Race Day

Oscar finished P4, earning solid points. Yn was the first reporter to greet him as he stepped from the car, hair damp with sweat and a tired but happy smile on his face.

“P4!” Yn said, raising her mic. “That was some brilliant driving, Oscar!”

“Thanks, Yn. It was tough out there.”

“You made it look easy,” she said, her admiration shining through.

Oscar rubbed the back of his neck, his usual tell of nervousness. “Well…maybe I had some extra motivation today.”

“Oh?” Yn tilted her head. “Care to share?”

His eyes met hers. “Nah. Not yet.”

Yn's breath caught. The air between them seemed to thicken, and the world blurred into the background.

When Oscar walked away, Lando sidled up. “Did he just flirt with you?”

“I don’t know,” Yn said faintly.

“You’re both helpless.”

----------

The paddock party was lively, music thumping, drivers and team members mingling with drinks and laughter. Yn stood by the balcony, watching the celebration unfold.

“Hey.”

She turned. Oscar stood there, hands stuffed in his pockets.

“Hey,” she said, smiling. “Congrats again.”

“Thanks.” He shifted on his feet. “I, um…wanted to say something.”

Yn’s pulse quickened. “Okay.”

Oscar took a deep breath. “I really like you, Yn. Like…a lot. And I know we’ve kind of danced around it for a while, but…I just had to tell you.”

Yn’s heart soared. “I really like you too, Oscar.”

His face broke into a smile of pure relief. “Really?”

“Yeah. Always have.”

The silence stretched, comfortable now. Then Oscar, emboldened by the moment, asked, “Can I…maybe take you out sometime?”

“I’d love that.”

They stood there, the party noise fading into a distant hum.

From across the terrace, Charles fist-pumped the air. “Finally!”

Carlos laughed. “Took them long enough.”

Lando raised his glass. “To the shy ones!”

Max shook his head with a fond smile. “Leave them alone, guys.”

But Yn and Oscar didn’t even hear. They only saw each other — their quiet love finally spoken aloud.

[luvr444writes]

could you pls do hamzah dating headcanons

Hamzah (TheFantastic) dating headcanons

HamzahTheFantastic x Fem!reader

Bf!Hamzah who ... is always getting or making you gifts. He might have a unique approach to giving gifts—something quirky and unexpected but meaningful. Hamzah would likely know how to pick something thoughtful that shows he pays attention to your interests, even if it's a little offbeat or unconventional.

Bf!Hamzah who ... would never lie to you. The both of you think that one of the biggest parts to keeping a relationship healthy and stable, is honesty. Hamzah would never do anything to even slightly risk ruin your relationship or lose you.

Bf!Hamzah who ... is comfortable being vulnerable with you. Even though he's just a silly, goofy guy sometimes, Hamzah definitely has a deeper side. He’d be the type of boyfriend who is comfortable being vulnerable with you and sharing personal thoughts, opening up in a way that makes you feel like you're truly important to and trusted by him.

Bf!Hamzah who ... is so thoughtful towards you, remembering the small things like your favorite snacks or how you like your coffee. He’s always checking in on you, making sure you’re doing okay both mentally and physically. If you’re feeling down, he’ll be there to comfort you in whatever way you need, even if it’s just to share some quiet time together.

Bf!Hamzah who ... is always making you laugh just to see your smile. Always cracking cheesy dad jokes or referencing a funny video you both had laughed about the other day. As long as he gets to see you smiling and happy (especially when he knows he's the one making you feel that way).

Bf!Hamzah who ... is romantic in his own way. Sure, he might not be the perfect book boyfriend or anything, but he’ll do little things that show how much he cares. Maybe he’ll surprise you with a handwritten note, or he’ll make your favorite meal just because he was thinking of you. His gestures are subtle but heartfelt.

Bf!Hamzah who ... is extremely loyal. He makes sure to let you know that you’re his priority. He would never let anything or anyone come between the bond you share (not even Martin-Chan or the channel). He always makes time for you, regardless of what his plans are. He values trust and honesty in the relationship and is always open about his feelings.

Bf!Hamzah who ... accepts you completely for who you are. He admires your individuality and loves that you're your own person. He always encourages you to be unapologetically yourself. He never tries to change you but supports you in embracing your true identity. You’ll never feel pressured to conform when you're with him.

Bf!Hamzah who ... is a great listener. If you're having a rough time or just need to vent, he's the best person to talk to. He listens attentively, validates your feelings, and offers support or advice when needed. Sometimes, just being around him and talking is all you need to feel better.

Bf!Hamzah who ... gets jealous. While he’s generally chill, if someone is giving you a little too much attention, he might get slightly possessive—though in a very laid-back, non-toxic way. He won’t be dramatic about it, but he’ll definitely want to make sure people know you’re his. If anything does make him feel jealous, he’ll just casually pull you aside and reassure you how much you mean to him.

Bf!Hamzah who ... always takes care of you. Whether you're sick or just feeling mentally exhausted, Hamzah will do everything he can to take care of you. He’ll bring you tea, give you blankets, and insist you relax while he handles everything else. If you're feeling down emotionally, he’s the kind of boyfriend who'll encourage you to take some time for self-care, always offering a comforting presence.

Bf!Hamzah who ... takes pride in your achievements. Whenever you accomplish something big or small, he’ll celebrate you like you’re the most amazing person in the world. Whether it’s getting a promotion, finishing a project, or even learning a new skill, he’s your biggest fan and will make sure you know how proud he is of you. He often loves taking you out to dinner to celebrate with just the two of you or even sitting at home and facetiming Martin and Mandy to tell them the big news.

[krakereir]

Part 2 - My Best Friend's Girl (you're something else) Trafalgar Law x reader

18+ Rating: E - Sexual content. 10k. fem!reader

PART 1 HERE

They find their seats, but as Law pulls up his phone to switch it off, yes, he switches his phone off at the movies, it’s not that weird, he sees that she’s sent him a new message. A new picture. No no no no, not now. Bad idea. Unfortunately, there’s no way he can refrain from looking at it now that he knows it exists. That would be asking his imagination to fire up all his dirty fantasies right before the movie starts. He’ll just have a short peek. Who knows, maybe it isn’t even- Fuck. Law is fucked.

“So Penguin is dating Shachi,” Law says the moment Bepo picks up his call.

“Hey Law!” Bepo answers and though he sounds like his usual cheerful self, there’s a subtle, yet unmistakable nervousness to his tone of voice.

“And you knew,” Law continues.

“Well, I-” Bepo begins.

“So when I called you last week complaining about Penguin’s girlfriend-”

“Law,” Bepo pleads.

“-it didn’t occur to you to mention that he can’t have one?”

Only silence meets him at the other line.

“Why? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It wasn’t my place,” Bepo explains. Law waits for him to continue and after another pause Bepo does so, albeit reluctantly. “If for any reason Penguin lied to you and said that he got a girlfriend, it wouldn’t be right to tell on him, not even to you.”

“You couldn’t even have told me that he by chance also has a sister with the same name? That it all could be a big misunderstanding?”

“Law, you’re being unreasonable. Two people can be named the same thing.”

“I know that! But-” Law sputters. “Well, it’s just- Argh!”

“I know,” Bepo says and Law could have sworn it sounds like he’s holding in laughter.

Oh, so this is funny to him?

“So when are you arriving today?” Bepo asks and Law decides to let it all go for now.

“I got off the train just now, but there’s a lot happening today, opening of the conference, dinner and probably drinks afterwards,” Law says with open disgust. Just the thought of the kind of people he’ll be forced to be congenial with is making him sick to his stomach.

“Are you still free tomorrow evening?”

“As planned I have bought our tickets for the movie at 8.30pm tomorrow.”

“You’ve booked them already?” Bepo says, now openly laughing. “Law, this is a small town, you don’t have to book cinema tickets in advance on a tuesday.”

“I know that,” Law protests, “but now we have good seats. You know I hate sitting up front.”

Bepo laughs again and all the nagging in Law’s brain has been silenced, he smiles too as he wonders how a town as unassuming and unpleasant as this one could feel so much like home.

----

In the days that have passed since Sunday, and the dramatic reveal of Penguin’s true relation to Y/N, Law has been feeling off.

Of course it was a nice surprise. He was happy to learn that she was single and very likely interested and first and foremost, NOT dating one of his best friends. Yes, it made him happy.

It just left him feeling, well, off.

Just the tiniest bit unbalanced. Ever so slightly unwell. High-strung, jumpy and a little sweaty. Totally normal bodily fluctuations that don't necessarily mean anything.

The problem was just that the situation was so… anticlimactic. In the true sense of the word.

They didn’t even kiss.

No wonder he was feeling high-strung. It’s only natural.

He didn’t manage to get even one measly little peck and the most frustrating part is that it was absolutely his fault. She threw herself at him all week and when it was revealed that he could act upon all his indecent desires, that she wanted him to, he didn’t do anything. They formally exchanged numbers and a mutual interest in seeing each other again as if they were at the end of a fucking job interview. But really, what else could he have done with the threat of Penguin constantly looming over them like a hawk?

Still, he can’t shake the feeling of having lost his chance. Why couldn’t he have made a bolder move when he had her right there? She had basically confessed to seducing him.

Law would be lying if he said that it didn’t still drive him crazy just to think about that part.

Especially now when it’s early in the morning and he finds himself hundreds of miles away in a tiny hotel room with the blinds down and his hand down his pyjama pants, lazily jerking himself off, wishing he had her at the other side of the wall again.

Looking back on last week, Y/N’s actions are even more arousing now that she has confirmed that it was all for him. It was all to seduce him.

He’s jerked off to the memory of her sounds so many times that his fantasies have practically overwritten his memories by now. He finds it difficult to differentiate between what really happened and what he later has made up in a daydream, attempting to fill in the blanks. It’s still effective material, but when he knows that the real thing might be within his reach it ends up lacking.

He slows down the pace even further to make himself last longer. He knows the climax will be nice, but again, lacking, and as long as he keeps it at bay, his pent-up mind half-way believes that it’s not his own hand making him come.

In his head, he can see how pretty she would be underneath him. He would take it slow and she would complain. She would be so fucking needy. Maybe she would try pushing his buttons to provoke him. Shove and hit and pull and bite. She would bite him hard and he still wouldn’t budge. Then when the time was right, he would-

Beep beep, be-be-beep beep, beep beep

Fuck.

He forgot to turn the alarm off when he woke.

The annoying melody drags him down from his high, unfortunately skipping the release, and he regrets dragging out the climax, but finds himself depressingly indifferent to whether he reaches it or not.

With a groan he grabs his phone to turn it off, but as he does he sees something that brings back all the excitement and more to spare.

Two new messages. One text and one… picture.

Y/N When are you coming back?

It’s so simple, so casual and really could mean nothing at all, but then the picture beneath loads.

It shows her face and naked shoulders lit up by an early beam of sunlight. She’s lying on a bed with two fingers stuck in her mouth as if she’s licking something off of them. It’s a beautifully filthy picture. So subtle in its suggestiveness that it in turn becomes pornographic, offering everything up to imagination, but with a subtext clear as day.

Law can’t deny the grin spreading on his face at the sight, he wouldn’t want to. He collapses back on the bed, phone in his hand, and finishes what he started, swiftly and passionately.

----

One day earlier

When Y/N wakes up in her own apartment for the first time in a week, it’s a disappointment. It feels like waking up from a very pleasant dream to see that your everyday is bleak and lonely in comparison. What she priorly thought of as a quite pleasant apartment now seems boring. And empty.

She feels defeated. She had the chance of a lifetime, a week living in the same apartment as the boy of her dreams with her neurotic brother way out of the picture. She had 6 whole days and still she couldn’t bag him.

She shakes the disappointment away and gets up, getting in the mindset of a new day. A new, normal day. It’s not so bad.

She works part time in the small, independent camera shop where the pay is as bad as the people are nice. In the beginning she was hired to help them move the bookkeeping to a digital system and keep up the website, but as the years went by business declined horribly and now there’s only a handful of employees who haven't left for where the grass is greener, so the manager needs her help with a lot more. She likes that it’s varied, but it’s not as flexible as it used to be when she mostly did digital work.

Once upon a time her friends and family were shocked when she told them she would become something as mundane as an accountant, but to her it was never a hard decision. At least you can do bookkeeping from Bali. And it’s a pleasure to keep an independent shop afloat, albeit barely.

Today she’s been more restless than usual and the last couple of hours before they close she’s left alone to tend the shop, which means that instead of being cooped up in the dark room, which she is partial to, she has to stand up front at the cashier, which she finds horribly boring.

No one has come by in almost an hour now and she’s starting to consider leaving a note and going out back again when the doorbell tells her that someone’s entered the shop. She looks up to see-

“Shachi! What are you doing here?”

“Pen mentioned that you were working today, so I thought I’d stop by,” he grins. “He recommended that I come see it before it goes out of business and you lose your job.”

“Ha ha, very funny,” she teases back. “I’m closing up in 40 min, do you want to wait and then grab a bite?”

“Nah, I don’t have much time. Just wanted to say hi.”

“Well, it’s not much,” she says, gesturing to the one room shop they’re in, “but it’s a lot more fun than other jobs I’ve had.”

“I didn’t know you were into photography.”

“I guess I have developed an interest as a result of working here,” she explains. “It surprised me, but I actually like the service work too. I mostly do digital bookkeeping, so I have been able to keep the job even when abroad.”

“You are a very fascinating person,” he says.

“Not any more than you,” she counters. “How are things? Has the school-year begun yet?”

“Last week,” he confirms. “I’m setting up a volleyball tournament to get the kids excited. It’s fun to see them flail around.”

“And how’s my brother doing?” she asks with a comical wiggle of her eyebrow.

“He’s fine,” Shachi shrugs, but a slight, pinkish tint appears over his cheeks. “It’s nice to have the apartment to ourselves, with Law gone this week.”

The silence that follows is filled with the awkwardness of indirectly bringing up both her brother’s and her own sex life in the same sentence, and none of them manages to find anything to say. A customer comes into the shop and hands her a film roll, pays and leaves.

“Are any of these yours?” Shachi asks when they’re alone again, gesturing to the photos on the wall behind her.

“No no no,” she protests. “I could never. Besides, the photos I like to take aren’t the kind you hang on the wall.”

“I see,” he says, smirking. “Have you sent any to Law yet?”

She shakes her head. “Do you think I should?”

“Yes,” he says in all seriousness.

She stops abruptly.

“Really? I- uhm, are you sure? I don’t want to presume-”

“If you want to make him lose his mind, you absolutely should.”

“You’re not messing with me, right? I don’t want to scare him away. He seems so… respectable?”

“I see your concern,” Shachi says, “and if you want to take things slow, you should.”

“But?”

“If you want to seduce him, you should send him the most desperately horny pictures, but show minimal nudity. Trust me, he’s depraved, but prudish at the same time. He loves that convoluted shit.”

“Hmm,” she contemplates it. “You gave me great advice last time. If it weren’t for the fact that he did his best to keep away from me, I’m pretty sure it would have worked.”

“It did work! He’s hooked, you just need to reel him in.”

“You’re horrible, you know that? You enjoy this way too much,”

“Maybe,” he snickers. “Well, I have to go now. Have a good one!”

“Thanks for stopping by!”

----

At the end of the second day of the conference, Law is already sick of it. He can’t stand the thought of even one more quarter of an hour in the presence of his colleagues. He even had to forgo his usual, most-needed 3 o’clock coffee, simply to avoid the flock of assholes surrounding the machine and the conversation they most-likely would trap him in.

But now the day is over and he can finally get to the whole reason for this extraneous trip in the first place. The beam of light in the darkness. The only reason Law even said yes to this horrid idea of a 5 day conference: it happens to take place in the same town where Bepo is doing his residency.

Despite only being 3 hours by train, he hasn’t gotten to see him much at all lately and getting one or two nights with his best friend is worth all the stuck up academics he needs to refrain himself from smacking.

They meet downtown after Bepo is done with his shift, have chinese and then a glass of wine before wandering through the small centre of town, waiting for the movie.

“You seem very happy,” Bepo says, his brows furrowed, as if happiness is a rare disease Law has contracted.

“I’m not,” Law argues, “this conference is at my personal 4th circle of hell.” He keeps his voice level, but the corners of his lips lift up on their own and he can’t make himself mad at it.

“I’m so happy for you!” Bepo exclaims and Law wonders if Bepo ever really listens to what he says.

“It’s nothing big, it’s just-” Law begins before he knows how much he actually wants to reveal. “It’s just that I might have met someone.”

Bepo’s eyes get huge with shock and his smile widens even more. "Does this have something to do with Y/N?"

Even though Law already had called Bepo to berate him for not telling him that Penguin has a sister, he had refrained from mentioning anything concerning his indecent desires about said sister, but it seems that Bepo had already put two and two together.

“It might,” Law answers with a sigh.

“I knew you two would hit it off!” Bepo exclaims. “Hadn’t it been for Penguin, I would have insisted you two meet a lot sooner.”

“I’ve been wondering about that. Shachi hadn’t even met her, so when did you meet her?”

“Oh, she moved apartments last year. Shachi was away and Penguin didn’t want to invite you, so he asked if I could help out. She’s so sweet!”

“I didn’t think Penguin would be the type to be overprotective of his sister.”

“He’s not.”

“Oh yes, he is,” Law insists.

“He’s overprotective of you,” Bepo says and Law’s mind screeches to a halt.

“… what?”

“He doesn’t want her to steal you away from him,” he explains. “Apparently, she’s kind of a flirt.”

Law chooses not to comment on that.

They find their seats, but as he pulls up his phone to switch it off, yes, he switches his phone off at the movies, it’s not that weird, he sees that she’s sent him a new message.

A new picture.

No no no no, not now. Bad idea.

Unfortunately, there’s no way he can refrain from looking at it now that he knows it exists. That would be asking his imagination to fire up all his dirty fantasies right before the movie starts. He’ll just have a short peek. Who knows, maybe it isn’t even-

Fuck. Law is fucked.

The picture is arousing alright.

She’s splayed out on a couch, dressed in only a loose robe that has slipped off her leg, showing off skin all the way up to her hip bone and large parts of her outer thigh. The picture’s taken from above her head so her face isn’t in the frame, but her one naked shoulder is. The fabric hanging loosely off it barely covers the left part of her chest and he’s sure he can see the darker skin of her areolae just beyond the hem of the robe and the hand that isn’t holding the phone is casually resting on her thigh, fingers reaching ever so slightly into the robe on their way to do god knows what and Law is turned on like a light switch.

His cheeks flame up with heat and he grips his phone harder as he struggles to turn it off before someone else sees what’s on it. Then there’s the humiliating task of positioning himself so that there’s as little friction as possible between the coarse material of his tight jeans and his very unwelcome erection.

At his side Bepo looks at him worriedly and seems like he’s about to say something, but then the commercials come to an end and the light goes down in the theatre. Law takes deep breaths, forcing himself to push all indecent thoughts away and when the familiar theme music of Sora, warrior of the sea: Encounter of Kings blast out of the speakers, he feels confident that he will succeed.

That’s when Pink Poison takes the screen. Dressed in a sheer nightgown she kills 5 soldiers. With her mouth.

Law is so fucked.

----

Bepo lives on the outskirts of town in student housing and has to get up early the next day. When the movie ends, Law walks him to the station and they say goodbye. Maybe they’ll manage to see each other once more before Law leaves, maybe not. Right now though there’s only one thing on his mind and the moment Bepo’s bus drives off, Law calls up Y/N.

“You ruined Sora,” he accuses her when she picks up, but despite his stern tone, he’s sort of smiling.

“Law?”

“Your actions have consequences you know.”

“I’m sorry, I just don’t understand at all,” Y/N says. “What are you talking about?”

“The pictures,” he explains painstakingly.

“Ohhh.” There's a pause before she continues, “so you did get the pictures.”

He swears that he can hear her smirk.

“Yes, I got the pictures,” he says.

“Well, you didn’t answer, so I wasn’t sure,” she explains. “I thought maybe the first one didn’t go through, so I sent one more.”

It hits him that he didn’t even think about answering her pictures, despite having masturbated to them, twice. That’s not only embarrassing, but blatantly disrespectful. Not to mention frightfully uncool.

“Well… did you like them?” she asks and her amusement is obvious.

“That’s besides the point!” he sputters.

“So what you’re saying is that you’re mad you had to sit through a movie with a boner?”

“I’m mad that I missed 10 minutes of it when I was forced to do something as downgrading as relieving myself in a cinema toilet.”

It just spills out of him and the moment he admits to this out loud he’s struck by regret.

“What?” she exclaims in shock, then a laugh follows, so loud he has to pull the phone away from his ear. “Why didn’t you wait it out?” she asks.

“I couldn’t,” he mutters, cursing himself for continuing on this degrading and embarrassing subject.

“What do you mean you couldn’t?”

“The movie was sexy, okay?” he whispers reluctantly into the microphone.

“‘Sora, warrior of the sea’ was too sexy?” she asks, now cackling even louder.

“It wasn’t a problem the last time I saw it, so obviously it’s-”

“Law, hold on.”

He freezes at the change in her tone.

“You’ve seen it before?”

“Well, yes. Once, but-”

“You’re blaming me for making you miss 10 out of 200 minutes you’ve seen before?”

“... yes.”

“Law, do you want me to stop with the pictures?” she asks and it’s a straightforward question, free from teasing and flirting.

“Of course not,” he says, without even thinking.

“Then I won’t,” she says simply. With a short chuckle she adds, “Sorry about Sora.”

“I forgive you,” he says genuinely before realising that she wasn’t actually that sorry. She laughs loudly again.

“You are really something, Trafalgar Law.”

Law doesn’t know what to say.

“Call me again soon,” she says and with that, she hangs up.

He’s left dumbstruck.

Then his hands move on their own and before he knows it, he’s pulled up the message log with the pictures. Looking at them now, they’re quite tame. Not that they’re bad, the very opposite actually, they’re good pictures. The composition and lighting enhances its subject in a very… flattering way. It’s just that they’re not as risque now at a second glance. It’s embarrassing to think that this was all it took to rile him up so thoroughly.

He still saves them to his phone.

Then he sends off a text.

LAW I’m coming back on the 10th.

After a second of contemplating he sends off another one.

LAW I really like the robe.

Compared to how much he enjoyed the pictures, it’s a weak compliment, but he can’t get himself to be more explicit. Being sexy in person is hard enough, the pressure of being sexy over text is terrifying.

And he does like the robe. He really, really likes the robe.

Y/N Come see me on the 10th? LAW Okay.

He cringes at how indifferent he sounds, but doesn’t dare to write anything more, afraid to make an even bigger fool of himself.

----

Y/N I think the pictures worked! I kept it very subtle, but he even called me to complain about them. That’s a good sign, right? Shachi complain how? Y/N That he got too horny I think? I didn’t really understand, but he was sort of annoyed that he was out in public when he saw it. Shachi amazing!! your on the right track next step is leave him wanting more! if you want to send more pictures, make sure they’re not as desperate as the ones you started with Y/N I can’t say I understand, but I trust you wholeheartedly. Shachi update me l8er Y/N Say hi to Pen for me Shachi he says hi back! Y/N Really? Shachi actually he says “stop texting my bf, homewrecker” Y/N That’s more like it.

----

By the time Friday rolls around, Law has been to 4 boring dinners, 1 slightly fascinating lecture, 3 frightfully bad ones and 1 disgustingly opulent fundraiser. He’s gotten 5 new pictures from Y/N and masturbated a lot more times than he wants to count.

He’s spent.

Really, he can’t remember the last time he was this exhausted and he regularly does 12 hour shifts.

He got sick of the group of academics he’s travelling with already at the first lunch, they’re all terrible conversationalists. He’s used to zoning out the long monologues and self-praising around these guys, but it doesn’t make it any less annoying.

Tonight is the goodbye dinner and he would pay good money to get out of it, but alas, his boss is one of the worst of the bunch and Law can’t afford pissing him off more than he already has. One can say Law has toned down his punk attitude since his manifesto-creating-days and is now what you can call a typical 30-year-old sell out on the cusp of his big break, who very well knows the importance of pampering important men with big egos.

She would laugh at him if she were here.

He hasn’t called her since that day. She did tell him too, but he figured it would be too much. What would he even tell her, how many more times he’s masturbated to the thought of her since last they spoke? No, thank you.

The pictures were a blessing at first, a welcome escape from his personal hell, but lately every new message he receives is like an additional ball and chain around his foot, reminding him of exactly what it is he doesn’t have. They’re still very modest, but paired with the knowledge of how she sounds when she chases her climax, it’s awfully effective even so.

The more she sends him, the more starved he feels.

----

Y/N I think I fucked up Shachi shit what did you do? Y/N Just what you told me to! But he hasn’t called me again and he’s not responding to the pictures, it’s been like 2 days since he replied maybe he’s disappointed by the new ones? They are a lot less horny than the first Ahhh, now I just feel stupid I’ve spent hours taking these photos, Shachi… HOURS Shachi nooo but honestly it sounds like hes only being his regular loser self and doesn’t know how to text but if you really feel like your losing him you could try to amp up the heat a little gtg now but good luck!!!!! update me l8er

Amp up the heat, huh?

----

“Trafalgar! Are you married?”

Just when Law believed he could go through the whole week without answering questions about himself, one of his colleagues had to learn just a smidge of common decency in the nick of time and ask him a question.

“No, I am not,” he answers simply.

“Thought so,” the other man grunts. “None of you youngins are able to keep a job and a girl at the same time. In my time…”

Bla bla bla.

At least Law won’t be forced to answer more questions for a while now that the “When I was young”- monologue has begun.

He subtly glances down at his phone and sees that he’s received 1 new message and 3 new photos from Y/N in only the last 30 minutes. He knows he should wait until he’s back at his room to have a look, but he can’t help himself. Something nice for his inner eye to look at is exactly what he needs to survive this dinner and none of the latest pictures have even come close to being as explicit as the first two, so he figures he’ll be fine.

He opens the app and the first thing he sees is that she’s sent him her address and an invitation to come to her when he gets back. Then he slowly scrolls up to see the new pictures and-

… Law flatlines.

“Trafalgar! Are you alright?”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, boy.”

He locks his phone and looks up to see everyone around the table looking at him in a mix of confusion and curiosity.

“I have gotten some disturbing news,” he says slowly and doesn’t even have to pretend to act shocked. “If you will excuse me.”

On the way out of the restaurant he grabs their waiter, pays his share and gives her a weighty tip, while asking her to communicate to his dinner companions that he was forced to leave in the case of an emergency.

30 minutes later he’s checked out and on his way to the train station. He gets to his platform just in time to see the last train roll into the station and he thanks the lord above, who he doesn’t believe in.

4 hours later he’s at Y/N’s address.

----

“Hi.”

“Law,” she greets him, a slight indication of a smile on her lips, as if she’s considering whether to laugh or not.

“Hi,” he says again, softer.

“Why are you here?” she asks.

“It’s the tenth,” he says and holds up his arm to show her his watch. It shows 00.42.

“So it is,” she chuckles softly in surprise.

“And you asked me to come,” he says, slightly short of breath, “on the tenth.”

“I did do that,” she says, almost in a whisper.

The silence is loaded with everything unspoken. He catches her glancing down at his mouth. She catches him trailing her figure with his eyes.

“So, did you want to come in?” she asks, as if he was just a normal guest ringing her doorbell on a normal day, not the man she’s been thinking about constantly the last two weeks ringing her doorbell in the middle of the night.

“Please,” Law says. He too almost succeeded in sounding completely normal.

When she lets him in, it dawns on her what this means, having him here, now, in her apartment. The embarrassment seeps into her as the overwhelming shock of seeing him again settles.

“I didn’t expect-” she says, with a slight stutter.

She was going to shower, she was going to shave, she was going to take out the trash blocking the doorway and she was going to clean up the multiple bowls of old, soggy cereal on the kitchen counter. He was not supposed to come before-

“Y/N,” he says in a quiet, breathy voice. He speaks so close to her ear that she feels a tingling down her spine. “I’m sorry to barge in on you like this, I just-”

He stops himself mid-sentence and she looks up to see why. In the dim light of the corridor, his eyes almost look black. They’re still golden, but now they’re dark, like petroleum, like oil, and she could simply drown in those eyes. What a terrifyingly sweet death. She would let him drag her down into the sticky black goo of delicious tar in a heartbeat.

“Y/N?” he repeats, for the first time tonight with a smile.

“Ye- Yes,” she says, a small chuckle escaping her at how utterly stupid she must look and the fact that she simply does not care. She doesn’t even care about the two bags of trash at their feet. She doesn’t care about her greasy hair, about being sweaty and dirty. This is the best thing that could have possibly happened tonight.

“Am I interrupting?” he asks.

She nods before she can register what he was saying and a prominent line draws down over his brow in worry.

“I am?” he asks. “Sorry, I didn’t-”

“Law,” she coos and without even thinking, she lays a reassuring hand on his cheek, her fingertips gracing the soft strands of his hair. “It’s good to see you.”

He eases up under her touch, ever so slightly even leaning into it.

“Likewise,” he murmurs.

“Would you like to stay the night?” she asks, not really sure why, it’s really way too late for him to go anywhere else, but it does feel right to ask. It lets her reveal that she really wants him to.

“I would,” he admits, a shimmer of amusement in his eyes. “And would you like it if I kissed you now?” he asks her in a low murmur.

She gives him his answer by running her hand further into his hair, grabbing the back of his head and pulling him towards her slowly.

Firstly, their noses meet for a second. It’s only a small colliding of noses, but it breaks the ice and makes what comes after seem easier.

Secondly, their foreheads touch. A touch that is not innocent, but rather heavy and solid. A meeting of two minds, aching for connection.

When their lips finally meet it’s slow, but more than that, it’s deep. It’s as if they just skip past the first stages of a first kiss and instead swiftly fall into the hungrily unabashed type of kiss, slowly and meticulously tasting each other. They fit together like they were always meant to be doing this.

The sizzling chemistry between them does not crystallise itself in a fit of passion, but rather as an all-consuming void. A black hole swallowing their whole world and opening up the pathway to something completely new. Something scary, but exciting.

But with him, there’s no need to worry. It feels like she’s been kissing him for years and she knows exactly what to do. Even though it's scary to feel as if she’s being swallowed down into a hole of nothingness, it feels as if they’re going down together. She doesn’t doubt for even an instant that he will follow her.

“Thank you,” Law manages to say in between kisses.

“For what?”

“For- Fuck, the pictures. Thank you for the pictures.”

“You’re very welcome,” she grins into the kiss.

“But also for being so…”

“So?”

“So… Ehm, it’s just, I’m not a brave person, Y/N,” he begins while she places a trail of kisses down his neck and behind his ear. “Ahh- I- Well, I find these things difficult. And it might have been a lot harder if it weren’t for the fact that you’re so…”

“So…?” she repeats, absolutely teasing him for his ramblings.

“So fearless.”

“What-?” she protests, smiling wide from the flattery, but too embarrassed to do anything else than pull away from him and hide her face.

“So easy to want,” he further explains, cupping her face with both his hands and chasing her back to steal just one more kiss before he adds, “So kind.”

Y/N simply looks back at him for the longest couple of seconds before she can’t contain herself anymore. She needs him. She firmly grips a hold of his jacket and starts dragging him up the short flight of stairs.

Law makes an undignified yelp at being hauled away and he momentarily halts them both in an attempt to take off his outerwear. She tries to drag him with her despite it and he almost loses his balance.

“My shoes-?” he asks, in a way of explaining why he can’t just let himself be dragged inside.

“Leave them on, throw them away,” Y/N suggests hastily, letting go of the grip and disappearing into the bedroom. “I don’t care about the shoes! Just come here.”

“Yes,” he adheres blindly and follows her shortly after.

She waits for him by the edge of the bed and has begun slowly pulling off her sweater. He rushes to reach out and wrap his arms around her when her arms are lifted and the skin of her torso is exposed. As her face appears again from under the fabric, he kisses her lips softly, lazily.

“Y/N,” he moans.

“I need you so badly,” she murmurs back into his lips.

“Tell me more, please,” he begs her.

“About how much I need you?” she asks with an insolent grin.

He nods, his eyes are droopy and fluttering closed as he touches her, kisses her.

“So much,” she breathes out. “I need you so much, Law, I can hardly-”

She interrupts herself when she drops down on the bed and unexpectedly lands on something cold and mysterious. From under her ass, she pulls out sheets of paper- Oh fuck. The fucking comics. She doesn’t even know why, but that’s so embarrassing.

“Oh, these,” she says, not having a clue what she’s going to say, “I borrowed these from the library, just-”

“It was so fucking hot,” he groans and follows after her down on the bed. He takes the comics out of her hands and carefully slips them down on the floor. Then he pulls her over in his lap and grinds up against her, burying his face in the crook of her neck. “All the pictures were, but- those last ones with the comics and the- Oh, fuck, it was so sexy.”

“Really?” she almost whines, shocked by both his enthusiasm and at the sparks of pleasure shooting up in her at the way he ruts against her.

“I couldn’t help myself, I just had to jump on the first train,” he pants. “Only for you. Because I need you too. So much.”

“Fuck, Law, we need to,” she sighs, “we need to hurry. Off with these. Now.”

“Yeah?” he asks, not speeding up the touches, but actually slowing down and not making any move to remove any of his clothes either. “Are you impatient?”

There’s been a change in him. She couldn’t say when, but at one point he grew confident and now, he’s teasing her.

“Come on,” she orders, “this is not the time.”

He smirks, it’s small and subdued, but so free. It makes her want to smile along and join whatever he’s got planned, but Y/N has an agenda and Law getting fired up with teasing her is not a part of her plan.

“It’s not funny,” she says, trying to sound stern and failing.

“It is actually funny, Y/N,” he argues, “because I knew you’d be like this. All week, while you’ve been teasing me with your pictures, I have spent every waking minute thinking of ways I wanted to tease you back, when I finally got my hands on you.”

“Oh fuck, really?” she asks, getting warm at the thought.

“I knew you’d be so easy to rile up,” he murmurs as he embraces her to unclasp the bra at her back. When he finally gets it to work and pulls the fabric off of her, he lets out a satisfied groan. He starts kissing her chest, gently cupping her breasts with his large, warm hands.

“Oh, these are-” he moans and then his words get muffled as the kisses turn into small, tender nibbles and then an insistent sucking, “mmmh…”

Y/N can’t help the self-consciousness seeping through her pleasure and making her tense.

“They’re not that- I mean, I know that they’re-”

“No, they’re so perfect,” Law interrupts, pulling back to look up at her. “I love them.” He looks so wasted, so far gone. It puts her at ease.

“You think?”

“You are made for me,” he whispers, before once again putting his hot mouth on her nipple, giving it a light tug and releasing it.

“So are you going to give me more?”

“What are you talking about?” he chuckles, cupping her breasts and now even massaging them gently, taking a lot of pleasure in every squeeze. “I’m giving you so much already.”

“You know what I want,” she challenges him, her voice weak and breathless, but he ignores her.

“You smell so good,” he murmurs to himself, burying his face into the crook of her neck again, taking a long whiff of her scent.

Her head falls against his shoulder. She’s giving in to his teasing, revelling in the pleasure she gets, the way his touch feels so feverish and tingling against her skin. She does her best to just enjoy that and to put off all thoughts of what more she wants. She tries her best to just stay in the moment with him, not get impatient and definitely NOT start to beg or anything of the sort. But alas, she can’t help it.

“Please fuck me,” she whimpers before she can stop herself. “I just want you to fuck me hard, Law.”

“Aw, sweetheart,” he coos, but there’s no warmth in his reassurement, only vicious satisfaction at her weak state. “Begging already? You couldn’t wait any longer? I must say I’m almost disappointed. So impatient, but still so docile.”

She groans in frustration and gently tugs at his sweater to get him to take it off.

”Uh-uh,” he says. “You first.”

He undresses the rest of her and when all that’s left is her underwear, he lets her pull the sweater off over his head along with the t-shirt underneath. When Y/N lays her eyes on his naked chest and shoulders, it’s like she’s equipped with new energy. She takes charge and pounces, pushing him down on the mattress and keeping him there with force as she straddles his hips.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about these,” she says, letting a nail scrape against a line of his chest tattoo. Law inhales sharply, clearly affected by her newfound initiative.

She keeps tracing his tattoos with a faint touch and he responds instinctively, arching his back and lifting up to meet her touch, to get her to do more.

“Fuck, I just love your tattoos, Law,” she whispers, currently following the markings on his left arm, then all the way out to his fingers. She continues exploring the tattoos, but now with her mouth. Greedily, she takes three at a time, letting her tongue circle around each finger.

“Y/N,” he warns, sounding utterly weak.

She hums and buckles her hips down against his’, making him curse. At once she lets go of his hand and she leans over to meet him, face to face.

“Miss being in control?” she asks, teasingly. “Is that it?”

“No,” Law scoffs.

“I don’t believe you,” she sing-songs.

“So now you want to tease? I thought you were getting impatient?” he asks, obviously trying to get back in the driver’s seat. She isn’t going to let him.

“I think you’re very uncomfortable with giving away control,” she says, tenderly placing a kiss at the corner of his mouth, “but I also think it makes you even more turned on when someone takes it from you.”

Law manages to laugh, but it’s a hollow laugh, only made to conceal that what she’s saying is right. That the way she’s holding him down and taking the reins, is simply making him go insane.

“I am not going to deprive you of that depraved lust, baby,” she whispers, grinding down on him once more. “I’m going to shower you in it. I’m going to take care of you.”

“Y/N,” he moans.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Just give it to me,” he sighs. “I’ll take it all.”

She laughs. “Oh, how the tables have turned,” she teases, “but now it’s your turn to wait.”

“Please,” he begs, “I think I’m dying.”

“You’re not dying, Law,” she says, fondly caressing his forehead. “You’re living.”

“Ah,” he sighs. “It’s exhausting.”

While she strips him naked, he’s mostly quiet. A soft gasp here and there as her nails scrape against his skin or as she leaves an unexpected kiss along his thighs.

The last item of clothing she removes is the black boxers, keeping his very hard dick encaged in the tight fabric. She’s already noticed that it’s big, that it would be more than satisfying. She’s caught herself biting her lip in suspense just looking at the outline of it, more times than one. He’s probably caught her a few times too.

But when she actually strips the boxers off him and it bounces against his stomach in its natural state, she can’t help but widen her eyes at the sight.

“Shit, you are big,” she murmurs in surprise.

“Yeah, uhm, well,” he begins, shifting uncomfortably up to lean against his elbows, “it can be a bit much.”

She swallows hard, feeling excitement bubbles inside her at the thought and wondering just what “a bit much” would entail.

“Do you have any lube?” he asks. Suddenly he’s back to being uncomfortable and anxious, avoiding her gaze.

“Sure,” she says, moving closer to him and picking up his hand, “but I don’t think we’re going to need any.”

Then she leads his hand to push past the edge of her underwear and into the pooling wetness that lies beyond.

He inhales sharply when the tips of his fingers easily slide deeper into her, lubricated by one simple touch.

“Fuck me,” he gasps, “that’s incredible. You are fucking incredible.”

She recognises that if there’s one time where it’s appropriate for her to take control, it would be now. Even though Law’s eyes are clouded with lust from feeling her wetness with his own fingers, he still looks unsure of how to proceed. She would guess that he’s had multiple bad experiences with feeling guilty from hurting people during sex with his big, fat dick. Y/N would laugh if he didn’t look so distraught.

“Are you clean?” she asks, pulling off his panties.

He nods slowly.

“Me too,” she tells him, “and I’m on contraception.”

“What are you saying?” he asks.

“I guess I’m asking you if you would mind fucking me without a condom?”

Law’s jaw goes slack, then he nods.

“So you would mind?”

“What? No, I mean, no, I wouldn’t mind,” he corrects himself, his cheeks flaring up.

“Ok?” she asks as she takes a hold around his dick

“But shouldn’t we-” he begins.

“Just let me give it to you,” she reassures him, finding her place on top and lining herself with him.

“Are you sure?” he asks through gritted teeth as the head hooks into her entrance and the tip enters her.

“Yes,” she gasps at the delicious stretch, “I’ll take care of it. Just give me a minute before you do anything.”

“Fuck,” he curses, “yeah, ok.” He does his best to control his breathing as she begins sinking down.

He’s warm. And of course big. Girthy. She’s overwhelmed just from taking a little part of him.

“It’s not that bad,” she gasps, “just a little more time and I’ll be opened up and-”

That’s when the stretch becomes almost too much. She shifts her knees in order to lift herself up again ever so slightly, but then her knee lands on something slippery under the covers that makes her thigh glide further away.

In an attempt to keep herself upright, she tries leaning forward with her hands planted on his chest, but at the same time, Law lunges forward too, trying to grab her hips to keep her from falling and-

She slams down on his hips and he bottoms out into her, going deeper than she’s ever felt anything before.

“AHh, fuck.”

He groans at the long-awaited friction while she whimpers at the overwhelming stretch, painful and pleasurable at the same time.

“I’m so, so, sorry,” he begins. He takes a hold of her hips and tries to help her off him, but she won’t budge. She’s frozen, clinging to his torso with all she’s got.

“Y/N, get off,” Law orders, but it’s clear that it takes him a lot of restraint to utter those words, “I’m hurting you.”

“No,” she groans, “no, we have to stay like this for now.”

“Y/N-”

“It’s just so good, I can’t-” she gasps for air. Then she moves her hips in the slightest buckle and lets out a moan.

“Oh fuck,” Law groans, automatically gripping her hips in an attempt to get more movement out of her.

“Don’t move,” Y/N orders.

“Of course not,” Law croaks. “Wouldn’t fucking dream of it.”

“I just need this for a little bit,” she murmurs, once again grinding down very gently and very controlled, drawing out a frustrated whine from Law.

Oh. That’s nice.

She wants to hear it again, so she does it once more. It’s really too much for her, but it gives her just what she wanted. His groans are so deliciously arousing and she begins rocking in a constant movement to keep them coming.

“No, this is no good. You’re hurting,” he says and stops her movement with a firm grip around her waist. “Let me.”

There’s something in his voice that makes her turn compliant again and she lets him lead her off him and down to lie on the mattress. He pulls out another comic from under the sheets, presumably the cause of her little slip up. She whines in disappointment, already aching at the loss of him inside her, but then she feels a touch at her entrance again and quickly after a finger plunges deep into her.

Even though the pressure from one single finger is lacklustre compared to what she just experienced, the swift motion makes sparks fly all the way up to her ears.

“Again,” she begs.

He complies, but he must have added another finger already because the pressure increases, giving her a new type of shock.

“I’m done teasing you now,” he murmurs softly, “this is purely practical. Now that I’ve felt you all the way, I can’t help myself. I need to open you up as quickly as possible, so that I can fuck you hard, just like you asked me to.”

His words send a jolt through her stomach in time with his fingers sliding back in. This time, though, he keeps them there and slowly begins pulling her open from the inside, stretching her good. Then he pulls them out to an indignant groan from her.

“Y/N. Lube,” he orders.

“In the drawer,” she pants, “the nightstand.”

When his fingers return, they’re colder.

“You can take one more, right baby?” he asks softly. “You can take three of my fingers?”

“Yes,” she insists.

She can. Three whole fingers are stuffed into her and when he somewhat curls them, deep inside of her, her hips involuntarily buckle up into the air. She lets out a breathy whine.

“Yes! Do that again,” she pleads.

“Of course,” he grins.

And he does.

“Oh, I- it’s… ah,” she whines incoherently.

“You’re getting so loose,” he praises her. “Can you do one more?”

“I’ll take anything you give me,” she says, so high on the endorphins, feeling like nothing more than a pliant blob in his grip. He adds one more and now the stretch returns, but now it’s only good, no longer painful.

“You’re ready for another go?” he asks. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yes!” she moans. “Fuck, I want to.”

His fingers pull out and she waits for him with her eyes fluttering closed. He finds his place and lines himself up, but he doesn’t push in. He rubs his tip against her folds, dipping in and out of the pool of heat.

She loves it so much, she doesn’t even think to complain about the teasing of it. She is even disappointed for a second when he stops, but then he begins sinking into her again and she can’t focus on anything else. She breathes deeply, ordering herself to relax into it, to be good. She wants him to think that she’s good.

He sinks in completely and stays there,

“Breathe,” he orders her. She releases the breath she’s holding. “Good. How does it feel?”

“Good,” is all she can think to say. “So good.”

“Does it hurt?”

“No, not like last time.” It’s hard to put together the words in whole sentences. It does hurt, but it’s not a scary hurt. It’s good. It’s so, so, so, so good. She feels like her brain is submerged in goo, making everything happen slowly.

“Just keep breathing. Until you’re completely relaxed,” he inhales deeply, “I won’t move at all.”

Y/N focuses all she’s got on her breathing. With each inhale she feels him stretch her more and with each outhale she relaxes around him. She’s sure he could have begun moving a long time ago without bringing any real hurt to her, but the slow pace brings a kind of excitement with it.

“60,” Law whispers, “59, 58.”

Slowly, he begins counting down. Without actually knowing what will happen when he reaches 0, Y/N can feel her arousal blossoming up even more. She begins yearning for movement, for friction.

“43, 42, 41.”

His mouth is almost at her ear and each whisper causes tingles down her spine.

“36, 35.”

She moans in response, showing him what he’s doing to her and how eager she is for him to reach the end of his countdown. He chuckles, but he doesn’t lose track of the counting.

“19, 18, 17.”

“Yes, Law,” she whispers. “Please, I want it.”

“11, 10, 9.”

She clenches hard around him, eager for the stimulation and he skips a number in response.

“6, 4,” he gasps. “3, 2, 1.”

Law pulls out halfway before he slowly pushes back in.

“Yes!”

It’s bliss. It’s only pure bliss.

He begins pumping into her, still not fast, but hard. Long, deep strokes. He takes her legs and lifts them up to get even deeper and she gasps at the sensation.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he pants, “is this okay?”

“Yes! Fuck, yes, it’s perfect.”

He replies with a filthy groan, picking up the pace considerably.

She can’t stop making sounds, it’s like he’s fucking them out of her. It’s like he’s unlocked a blockage in her chest and now all her airflow has to be made into sound. She’s chanting his name with each thrust.

“You’re so good for me,” he praises.

“Law.”

“Y/N,” he gasps, sounding close to his climax, “how can you come?”

“On top,” she manages to croak in between breaths.

In the next moment he pulls out of her and she’s being tossed around to land on top of his chest.

“Come on, please, just use me however you want,” he begs. “I’m yours.”

And she does.

It takes a while to build up, but when it arrives, she rides him through her climax with a grip around his shoulders so firm that she probably bruises him.

“Yes, yes, yes,” he chants, “fuck, you’re sexy. So perfect.”

“Law,” she groans, tensing up and collapsing on top of him.

“Let me fuck you, please, let me fuck you til I come,” Law begs.

“Yes. Just use me back,” she complies, feeling so completely relaxed and submissive, as if no real tension exists in her body. “Whatever you need, Law, take it.”

He fucks her fast, up close and intimate, forehead touching forehead, untill he comes deep inside her with a long-drawn groan and a sigh of her name.

----

When she comes back from the bathroom she finds an extremely relaxed Law, spread out across the bed. He lifts his arms, just barely, to show that he wants her to lay down next to him.

“Next time, I’m going to tease you-” he yawns in the middle of the sentence, “-a lot more. So just prepare yourself.”

“Yeah,” she grins, “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“You don’t think I could drive you insane?”

“Sure, but you would drive yourself insane first.”

A sheepish grin draws on his lips. It’s the most precious thing she’s ever seen and she pulls herself closer into him.

“Law,” she sighs.

“Yes?”

She hasn’t got anymore to say, but she lets out another satisfied sigh. He chuckles in response.

“I agree,” he murmurs.

“Remind me to thank Shachi,” she mutters to herself.

“Ok. Why?”

“He was the one who told me to send you the pictures,” she explains, almost half-asleep already. “He was the one who gave me all the advice during last week too. Told me to wear those skimpy shorts and to get you to drive me everywhere. To show up in the middle of the night with a bottle of wine.”

Law wakes from his postcoital stupor with a jolt.

“Wait a minute.” His face is drawn down in a frown of confusion. “You’re taking advice on flirting from Shachi?”

Y/N now too recovers to a more conscious state. Regret flashes over her face as she says, “Yeah, I uhm- Is that bad?”

Law falls back on the bed and buries his face in his hands. For a second it looks like he’s crying and Y/N begins to really freak out, but as he moves his hands to reveal his face, she sees that he’s laughing. Like a proper laugh. Big mouth, showing teeth. She even gets a glimpse of his tongue. It’s so different from all the smirking, chuckling and sinister laughter he usually does, it catches her completely off guard.

���I really overestimated you,” he sighs, coming down from his laughter high.

“What do you mean?” Y/N asks.

“Here I thought you were some magical siren creature, created from my deepest desires. Instead, it appears that I have a mole in my midst, leaking private information and you, it turns out,” he smiles, “are just as neurotic as me. Fuck, that is such a relief actually.”

As he says it, he reaches out after her and pulls her into his embrace. She ends up resting against his chest with her head against his shoulder. Suddenly him calling her neurotic is the highest compliment in the world.

“I might be neurotic, yes, though I could never compete with your nerves,” she argues, but all real concern is washed away and she is now in a blissful state of complaisance.

“Are you sure?” he counters. “Seemed like you could very well compete with my need for control. Maybe there’s more we have in common.”

“Let’s find out,” she chuckles.

“I can’t wait,” he responds fondly.

Y/N turns around and lies down on the top of his chest to look at him face to face. After studying him for a few seconds, gathering courage, she asks, “Be my boyfriend, Law.”

His eyes go big and his jaw goes slack. She holds her breath waiting for his response.

“Oh, okay,” he finally says. “Yeah, I would love to.”

“Really?”

“Fuck yeah, I’ll be your boyfriend,” he confirms, “and you’ll be my girlfriend.”

“Yeah,” she says.

“Shit,” he chuckles. “Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“But good.”

“Good.”

They both sigh deeply, almost in unison, both knocked out by the heat and passion of what they just experienced. And by the fear of finding something this good. Something they would want to keep forever, if they could.

Part 1

On AO3

[yoomiwrites]

Not cute

Summary: Law isn't as mature, cold and stoic as seemed – no, he is cute. And awkward. Truly. ! GN reader ! You perspective.

Notes: I love Law. He my baby. But, since I know everything bout him (yes, I even know THAT one figurine), I also assume that he is not like, well, most people think he is. I mean, I could go on and explain everything, but I won't. I had shit and giggles while I wrote this in the night (couldn't sleep and all your love really motivated me). Even now, not being half asleep, I like it. So, I thought I'd already give you the winner of the poll! Enjoy!

♡

You had always thought Trafalgar Law was a mature man.

From the moment you joined the Heart Pirates, he had carried himself with an air of authority—commanding, sharp-witted, and composed. His knowledge of medicine and tactics made him a formidable captain, and his often-cold demeanor made it clear he didn’t tolerate foolishness. You respected him for that.

But then, you started noticing the cracks.

It was small things at first—like the way his lips twitched upward whenever Bepo did something particularly endearing, or how his fingers would absently toy with the coins he kept in his pocket. Then came the comics. You had stumbled upon them one evening when you went to grab a medical text from his cabin, only to find a neat stack of well-read books featuring over-the-top action scenes and exaggerated expressions.

And then there was the bread.

You had never seen a man react so viscerally to something so harmless. The way his expression soured, nose wrinkling in utter distaste, was so dramatically childish that it almost made you laugh out loud the first time you saw it.

Yes, Trafalgar Law was not just a man who had grown up too fast—he was still, in some ways, a child beneath it all.

And so, you decided to conjure those reactions more often.

It started subtly. You’d leave tiny, cute trinkets on his desk—once, a small plush bear you claimed was from Shachi and Penguin. Another time, you placed a particularly round and fluffy piece of bread on his plate at dinner, watching as he scowled, dramatically shoving it onto Bepo’s plate instead.

When you pointed out a particularly adorable sea otter floating by the ship one day, he had scoffed—but his gaze lingered a little too long, his fingers twitching like he wanted to reach out.

It became a quiet game between the two of you—though Law didn’t seem to realize it until much later.

One evening, while the crew was docked at a small island, you sat on the Polar Tang’s deck, flipping through a book when a shadow fell over you. Looking up, you found Law standing there, arms crossed. His expression was unreadable, but there was a slight crease in his brow, a sure sign he had been thinking about something for far too long.

“You’re doing it on purpose,” he said flatly.

You blinked. “Doing what?”

He exhaled through his nose, clearly unimpressed by your feigned innocence. “The comics. The plush. The damn bread.” His jaw tightened. “You like… that.”

You considered him for a moment, watching the way his ears tinged slightly pink, the way his fingers tapped a steady beat against his arm. Finally, you closed your book and stood, looking him in the eye.

“I do.”

His brows furrowed further. “Why?”

You gave a small shrug. “Because it’s you, Law. The real you.”

That caught him off guard. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. He seemed completely thrown off by the simple honesty in your words, and before you knew it, his hand lifted, tugging his hat low over his face.

“…I have work to do,” he muttered, turning abruptly and striding away, shoulders stiff.

You were still watching the spot where Law had disappeared, trying to make sense of the strange flutter in your chest, when another voice cut through the quiet.

“Enjoying yourself?”

You turned to see Ikkaku standing beside you, arms crossed, lips curled in amusement.

You met her gaze evenly. “What do you mean?”

She jerked her chin toward the stairs Law had just fled down. “You like seeing him like that, don’t you?”

You didn’t hesitate. “I do.”

Ikkaku hummed knowingly. “Figured. It’s not every day you get to see Trafalgar Law flustered.”

You exhaled a quiet laugh. “He tries too hard to act composed. It’s nice seeing him be himself.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ikkaku waved a hand dismissively. Then she tilted her head at you, eyes gleaming. “But have you ever noticed something else?”

Your brow furrowed slightly. “Something else?”

She leaned in just a little. “It’s always you.”

You stared at her, uncomprehending. “What?”

Ikkaku grinned. “You’re always trying to get a reaction out of him—but have you noticed who he reacts to?”

Something about her tone made your stomach twist.

She patted your shoulder and walked off, leaving you standing there, silent.

And then you started thinking.

The way Law’s gaze always seemed to settle on you when you spoke, even when you were talking to someone else. The way he never scolded you the way he did Shachi or Penguin, even when you were obviously pushing his buttons. The way he had just reacted—not with irritation, not with exasperation, but with embarrassment.

Oh.

Oh no.

A slow, creeping realization settled over you, and for once, you weren’t sure how to handle it.

You weren’t blushing, of course. That would be ridiculous. But your heart was beating far too fast for comfort.

The captain, in love with you? Certainly not.

You couldn’t sleep.

It wasn’t like you to let something rattle you, but Ikkaku’s words kept circling in your mind. You turned on your side. Then onto your back. Then onto your other side. But no matter what, you couldn’t shake the thought.

The idea of Trafalgar Law—your captain—being in love with you was absurd. You weren’t the type to entertain ridiculous fantasies. And yet… the weight of his gaze, the way he had reacted earlier, the way he always reacted—

You exhaled sharply and sat up. This was useless.

A walk. A drink. Something to clear your head.

You slipped out of your quarters and padded down the silent hallways of the Polar Tang, making your way toward the kitchen. But when you pushed open the door, you weren’t alone.

Law stood by the counter, back to you, pouring himself a cup of tea. His hair was messier than usual, as if he had run his fingers through it too many times. His hoodie hung loosely off his frame, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

He turned at the sound of your steps, his tired eyes meeting yours.

“…You too?” he asked.

You nodded, stepping inside. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Law didn’t say anything as you walked over and grabbed a cup for yourself. The silence between you was surprisingly comfortable, the occasional clink of porcelain filling the air.

If you hadn’t been thinking so hard about him before, you would have left it at that. You would have let it be another quiet moment between the two of you.

But your mind was still tangled with Ikkaku’s words. In your mind, you battled against her words.

And maybe that’s why, without thinking, you muttered, “Don’t worry, I didn’t think you were in love with me.”

A pause.

A sharp, quiet breath.

Then, in a voice so calm, so matter-of-fact that it took a moment to register—

“But I am.”

The world went still.

Your fingers tightened around your cup. You turned your head, slowly, as if movement itself might break the moment.

Law was staring at his tea, his expression unreadable, except for the way his jaw tightened ever so slightly.

You weren’t the type to let things shake you. But this?

This stunned you.

He realized it a second too late. His lips parted just slightly, as if to take it back—but the words had already been said. There was no erasing them now.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Law, the man who always had a plan, the strategist, the genius doctor—looked utterly lost. His fingers flexed against his cup, his shoulders stiff as if preparing for some inevitable response.

Finally, you set your tea down carefully, leveling him with a look. “…What?”

It was the best you could do.

Law exhaled sharply, tipping his hat forward to shield his face, as if that would somehow save him.

“…Forget it,” he muttered, turning toward the door.

Like hell.

Law tried to leave.

You didn’t let him.

The moment he turned, you stepped forward and grabbed his sleeve. He froze—not yanking away, not looking at you, just standing there, tension running through him like a live wire.

“Forget what?” you asked, your voice steady.

His fingers twitched. “…It doesn’t matter.”

You tightened your grip. “It does.”

Finally, slowly, he turned his head just enough to glance at you. His eyes were sharp, searching, but there was something else there—something hesitant, something uncertain.

You exhaled, forcing yourself to be honest. “I don’t know what I’m feeling for you,” you admitted. “But I know I don’t want to forget this. And I know that… I want to be with you.”

Law inhaled sharply through his nose, his lips parting slightly, his whole body locking up as if you had just struck him with Room.

He looked—

Embarrassed.

Genuinely, painfully embarrassed. And still, still, he tried to escape. He turned again, this time slower, as if hoping you wouldn’t stop him.

You refused to let him slip away.

So, you did something reckless.

“I don’t even know how to use the washing machine properly,” you blurted out.

Law froze mid-step.

“I was the one who turned all the boiler suits pink,” you added.

His head tilted just slightly, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“And sometimes,” you continued, voice as calm as ever, “I have very intimate dreams about you.”

This time, Law nearly choked. His shoulders hunched, his ears instantly burning red beneath his hat. “What—”

“You’re not the only one embarrassed here,” you stated simply. “So don’t run away.”

For a moment, Law just stood there, hands clenched into fists, face half-hidden by his hat.

Then, slowly, he turned back to you.

Something in his expression had shifted. His gaze was still hesitant, still unsure, but there was something determined beneath it now. His fingers flexed at his sides before curling into loose fists.

And then—without a word—he stepped closer.

You stayed perfectly still as he reached for you, as his fingers hesitated just inches away before finally brushing against your cheek. It was uncertain, clumsy, like he wasn’t entirely sure he was allowed to do this.

But you didn’t pull away.

So he leaned in, just slightly. Just enough for his lips to press against yours.

It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t smooth.

It was awkward and hesitant and entirely, unmistakably him.

And when he pulled back, lips barely lingering against yours, he swallowed hard and muttered, “…You turned the boiler suits pink?”

You exhaled a quiet laugh. “That’s what you’re focusing on?”

“…It’s my crew.”

“Not just your crew anymore.”

Law stared at you for a moment before exhaling sharply, tipping his hat forward to hide his face again.

“…Shambles,” he muttered.

And with that, he vanished—leaving you standing alone in the kitchen, lips still tingling, heart pounding, and very much not forgetting any of this.

PS. Yes, he is probably dying in his room. ♡

[temporarywelcome]

Conversation with Agent Hotchner - Spencer Reid

REQUESTED!

The Request: Hi, love your work ❤️ Request: What is kleptomaniac!reader went to the BAU but instead of seeing spencer see goes and sees another BAU member and starts yapping to them about everything and nothing (probably amusing [annoying] the fuck out of them too) and it gets to the point where Spencer has to drag them away. [I can totally see her doing this to Hotch with no fear] Thanks, bye :3 - anonymous

CW: language, some suggestive comments, technically part of my "Smooth Criminal" series though this can be read 100% standalone. Though, if you want to learn more about reader's relationship with Henry, you can read "Babysitting" and "Turkey". not required tho! :)

AN: Spencer comes in more towards the middle lol

_______

Words: 1.5k

She was no dog. 

Yes, she was being dramatic, but Spencer telling her to sit and stay made her huff, crossing her arms over her chest in annoyance (while doing as told, sitting and staying). Spencer had his reasons, considering she was a diagnosed kleptomaniac and was very likely going to steal things. It was better she stole from his desk and not someone else’s. 

So she sat as he ran to help JJ and Garcia with something. Sat and ate her Subway sandwich with a pout on her face. She had brought Spencer lunch, a toasted sub that was surely getting cold while it waited for him. A shame, because she had made sure the employee making the sandwich had warmed up not just the bread, but the contents inside as well, knowing Spencer and his tastes. 

Soon, her sandwich was gone, along with objects that were on Spencer’s desk (to her pockets they went), and she was swinging her legs back and forward like a child. Looking around and scanning other people in the office. People watching. 

Boring. 

Then her eyes landed on a familiar member of the BAU, and she grinned. Entertainment! Someone to keep her company while she waited for her lovely boyfriend to return from his treacherous adventure into the unknown (the filing room). 

That someone was Agent Hotchner. Hotch. 

“Aaron!” she said brightly, giving him a big wave. 

Hotch, who was walking towards his office, nose buried in a manila folder, looked up at her, “Hello, Y/N,” he said politely, giving her a half-smile. Quarter smile? Something. 

She shot up from the chair Spencer had provided for her, strolling towards him, “How is everything? How are Jack and Haley?” 

“They are good, I appreciate you asking,” Always the professional one, Agent Hotchner. “Jack actually said he missed you,”

Huh? 

Somehow, Y/N, who didn’t even like kids, was like a BAU-kid magnet. JJ’s son, Henry, adored her, and was practically on top of her every time they saw each other. Just recently, Jack met Y/N at an event, and it seems she left a good impression on him. 

“Oh, really?” she asked in shock, brows raised, “Cool! He’s a nice kid,” her eyes landed on the file in Hotch’s hand, “So, whatcha got there?” 

“...a file,” Hotch replied vaguely. 

“For what though?” she was not taking a hint. 

“Work,” 

“Hm,” she nodded, in thought, “I work at night,”

“You do?” he went back to looking down at his folder. 

She nodded again, “Yes! As a dancer,” she paused, “Wait, that sounds weird. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with being that kind of dancer, it’s just I am not one of them, y’know? I do professional dance and musical theatre, my rehearsals are at night-”

“I know what you do for a living,” Hotch interrupted, “JJ and Will took Henry to one of your shows, correct?”

“Yes! They did,” Y/N confirmed proudly, “I could hear Henry cheering from afar!”

“How nice,” 

Her brows furrowed, surveying Hotch’s expression. You don’t need to be a profiler to see how uninterested he was. “You don’t give a fuck, do you?”

“Language,”

“Sorry,” she awkwardly looked down, like a scolded child, “You guys don’t swear? What if it is a really stressful case? You never say ‘fuck this stupid shit’ or anything…?

The older man looked up, making eye contact with her. “No,” 

“Why not? Are you not allowed to let out frustration or anything? Is letting out a good swear really that bad?” she began fiddling with something in her fingers, Hotch’s eyes trailed down to her hands, seeing what she was fidgeting with.

“...what the fuck,” 

“Hey! You just swore!” she exclaimed, before eyeing the object in her hands. His ID badge. She didn’t even remember swiping it during this conversation. “Oh. I see why,” Awkwardly clearing her throat, she handed it back to him, cheeks rosy. 

“This is the second time you’ve done this,” a sigh left him, clipping the badge back onto his suit jacket. 

An equally awkward laugh escaped her lips, “That’s nothing compared to the amount of times I stole Rossi’s keys- I mean, I mean…” she clamped her mouth shut. “Nevermind.” 

As she dug herself into an even deeper hole, Spencer returned from the filing room with JJ and Garcia. “...yes, a cluster of bananas are called a “hand”, while each individual banana called a “finger- hey!” he gasped as Garcia gave him a little wack on the shoulder. 

“Y/N is out in the wild,” she said, eyes locked on Y/N enthusiastically telling Hotch something. “Talking to Hotch,”

“Better than Rossi,” JJ pointed out. Rossi liked Y/N the least, only recently beginning to tolerate her. She tilted her head to the side as she examined Spencer’s girlfriend. “She’s moving like a Sim,” 

Spencer looked at JJ in confusion as Garcia burst into laughter. “What does that mean?” 

She ignored him, “Go save her, Romeo, she’s drowning over there,” 

And so Spencer rushed over to join his girlfriend in her conversation with Hotch. 

“...why, yes, I’m great with my fingers,” she explained, “-on piano! Holy hell, I should have said that better. Holy hell-” her face burned red as she silently prayed for an earthquake to hit so she can be swallowed by the Earth. 

“-Y/N, can you help me with something?” Spencer placed a hand on her shoulder, grip slightly tighter than usual. A message. Shut the fuck up. 

Alas, her savior has arrived! “Yes, of course. I’ll gladly help you,” 

And with that, Spencer was dragging her off by her wrist. 

“I told you to stay seated,” he scolded, pushing her down into the chair by her shoulders, “I wasn’t even gone for that long!”

“You know I get bored easily,” she shot back. 

“Imma have to get you one of those bookbags with a leash on it,” the genius pinched the bridge of his nose, “Like a toddler,” 

The frown quickly left her lips, replaced with a big smirk, “I know what I can do with a leash,”

“What do you mean- Y/N!” he looked around frantically to ensure no one was listening, “We are at my job!”  he placed a hand on his throat protectively, as if to keep her away.

She wiggled her brows playfully, “C’mon, you know that was a good one. I’m a genius for that.” She then noticed Hotch scurry off to his office with his usual pitbull expression. “Ugh, that conversation I had with him was so awful. I couldn’t stop being annoying,” 

“Great with your fingers, huh?” 

A look of horror formed on her face, jaw falling in shock, “You heard that?”

“Mhm,” Spencer finally seated himself next to her, clicking his pen and beginning to write on some paperwork. 

“Well,” Scooting her chair closer to him, she whispered, “I can always demonstrate,”

“Piano?”

“Ugh,” Forget it. She leaned back, unamused. “You’re no fun,” 

And with that, Spencer went back to work, complaining because his food was cold now, which she wanted to hear nothing about considering she had made sure his food was warmed up to his liking. He worked, complained, ate, she listened, also complained, messed around. The usual experience. 

Occasionally, Y/N found herself glancing back at Hotch’s office, a sense of dread filling her each time. Rossi, her number one hater, entered the office, making her grimace.

“What if they start talking about me?” 

“Why would they?” her boyfriend didn’t even bother looking up from his work. 

“Because they hate me, of course,”

“Nobody hates you,” 

“Liar,” 

Rossi eventually left Hotch’s office, and soon so did he, making his way towards Reid’s desk. Fuck. Y/N reached out, grasping Spencer’s hand tightly, which in turn caused him to scribble and scold her for being so dramatic and now Hotch was directly in front of them shit-

“Reid,” 

“Yes, sir?” Spencer yanked his hand back, looking up at his boss apologetically. 

“Would you like to have dinner with Haley, Jack, and I?” he asked, surprising both Spencer and Y/N equally. 

“Dinner?” he repeated slowly, eyes darting to his girlfriend then back to Hotch. 

“Yes. You and Y/N,”

‘And me?’ she almost pointed at herself for clarification, instead clasping her hands in her lap. 

“Um, that should be fine. Y/N, do you have work tonight?” 

“No,” she choked out, “I do not,” 

“Perfect,” Hotch gave his signature quarter-smile, “Jack will be very excited to see you. I’ll let them know,” 

He turned on his heel, walking off and leaving both Spencer and his girlfriend completely in shock. This obviously was not the first time Spencer would be having dinner with Hotch, but the fact Y/N was invited as well, especially after that whole debacle, was incredibly surprising. 

“...do you still think he hates you?” Spencer asked playfully, pinching her cheek before turning back to his desk. “No one can hate someone like you,”

[maelstrom-of-emotions]

What do I think? That the universe, in all its cruel humor, has sent this as a sign. A neon-lit omen, electric and undeniable, pressing into the softest, most vulnerable parts of me. And you—by the gods, you and OP—are astronomically brilliant. Bright-burning brilliance that makes me envious in a way that aches. Hand it over. Just a fraction. Just a sliver of that impossible, gut-wrenching talent. Please and thank you./j/lh

But in all seriousness, I am caught by this idea. Snared in it like a bird tangled in silk, equal parts suffocated and entranced. Because I, being the dramatic tangle of nerve endings that I am, immediately conjure scenes dripping in anguish—confessions swallowed by the rain, words falling apart before they can be fully spoken. A tub of ice cream abandoned, half-melted, next to an untouched spoon. Maybe even monologues that stretch too long, bloated with all the things that should have been said earlier, and all the things that should never have been said at all.

But Wangxian—Wangxian does nothing by halves. Love, pain, devotion, ruin. It is all or nothing, a knife’s edge that they willingly walk, over and over, even when it cuts deep. And so I let go of the easy angst, the cinematic suffering, and instead, I think of them. The way they ache. The way they yearn. The way they are two people who have always, always had too much love to give and nowhere safe to place it.

And then—this line. This one line, sharp and devastating in its simplicity:

Lan Wangji had expected coldness. An insult, perhaps. Maybe even a warm beverage thrown in his face, though he can’t imagine Wei Ying doing so.

Because that’s not who Wei Wuxian is, is it? No matter how much his heart splinters, no matter how much his chest is a hollowed-out, aching thing, he is kind. And he believes, deep in his marrow, that no matter how much he longs for it, Lan Wangji’s heart is not his to claim.

But Wei Wuxian has always been resourceful. He survives on scraps, on the barest offerings, on things that were never meant to be enough but that he makes enough through sheer force of will. He will not ask for more, will not reach out and take, no matter how much his fingers tremble with the want of it.

And that—that—is what shatters me. That Wei Wuxian will keep Lan Wangji at arm’s length because once upon a time, Lan Wangji asked him to. Because every version of Lan Wangji matters to him, past and present, and he will honor all of them, even if it means swallowing his own pain like glass.

And Lan Wangji—Lan Wangji, who is left with only fragments. The soft tap of knuckles against a glass door. A gentle smile paired with sparkling (tired) eyes. Laughter that is bright and beaming but stretches thin sometimes. Lan Wangji has his heart, too—has had it in his hands for longer than he realizes. But Wei Wuxian does not want it back.

And god, the scars. The way Lan Wangji traces them, as if by mapping their shapes, he can rewrite the past. As if his fingertips against ink and skin could change the story. Could undo the pain that came before. And Wei Wuxian, looking down at his own arms, does what he has always done. Accepts. Bears it. Wishes the universe had been kinder but does not expect it to be.

(And sometimes—sometimes, in the depths of his own sleepless nights, he wonders if he could carve out the piece of the universe that tied them together. If he could cut it away, bleed it out, just to make things easier for Lan Wangji. Because he catches the way Lan Wangji looks at him sometimes, like something breaking apart, like something unraveling, and by the stars, it would be better if he could spare him that.)

But the worst hurt—the one that lingers sharpest—is not the grief of loss or the agony of distance. It is the quiet, tenuous thing. The hurt that stretches between them like a thread, fragile but unbroken. The hurt that comes from knowing where the line is drawn in the sand, knowing that at any moment, the tide could come in and swallow it whole. And still—they hold it. Still—they balance on either side of it, waiting.

Wanting.

For the universe has never been kind to them, only relentless, only unyielding, only watching.

(And yet, it is the same universe that has linked them together so gently, wrenching them into being with all the feverish, desperate love they deserve. And it will be the universe that will shatter at their feet and remake itself – just once – into something softer, something kinder, something which they do not have to lose to love.)

I’m just realizing how incoherent this sounds, oof.

@undercover-stories and @xiaokuer-schmetterling (because you're just simply too amazing not to include).

Soulmates AU wangxian where their skins reflect. So Lwj has all of Wwx' scars (bite marks from dogs, belt scars from Madam Yu, a surgery from when JC needed a kidney, a burn mark on his chest, etc) and Wwx has... Nothing. Because they have the same callouses from sports and bruises from training but Lwj has no scars nor does he write on himself or accidentally gets ink on his hands. So Wwx thinks he has no soulmate, because even when he writes things to him (Hi! How are you?? WHO are you?? Are you well??? Are you there????) he gets no reply. Lwj does see it, he just knows his parents were soulmates and their relationship was fucked up, and that his uncle's soulmate didn't want him, and that his brother's relationship with his soulmate is stranged because he likes someone else. So he doesn't want a soulmate at all.

Anyways. Shit happens in Wwx's life, he hits rock bottom and starts getting tattoos. Why not? It's not like he's saddling anyone with them.

Cue Lwj watching ink accumulate on his skin while he's working a CORPORATE JOB. His uncle thinks it unprofessional and they are creeping towards the neck and hands.

So he writes to his soulmate to please stop.

His soulmate: so you DO exist uh.

Lwj: I do not want a soulmate. Or tattoos. Please refrain from getting any more and from trying to contact me.

Wwx: ...

Wwx: okay.

Thirteen years later Lan Wanji falls in love with the gorgeous Biomedical Engineer working at his company, Wei Wuxian, and is doing his best to approach this man who has been so very obviously mistreated (Wwx is on his YLZ era with others). They get closer little by little. And then one day they are on a date and Wwx rolls up his sleeves and Lwj comes face to face with a lotus flower sleeve he knows intimately well.

Cue angst.

[sturniololuvz]

Hiii can u do one where the sturniolos underage sister gets drunk at a family gathering and they have to take care of her

i LOVE THIS IDEAAAAA

“A Little Too Much”

Sturniolos x sister

Warnings : drunk

Family gatherings were always a mix of fun and chaos for the Sturniolo siblings. Their extended family was loud, full of energy, and loved to throw big get-togethers. This one was no different—music played from the speakers, laughter filled the air, and food was spread across multiple tables in their aunt’s backyard.

Y/N wasn’t particularly in the mood for it, though. Maybe it was the stress of school, or maybe she just didn’t feel like being around so many people. Whatever it was, the temptation to make the night a little more interesting got the best of her.

She wasn’t dumb—she knew where the adults kept their drinks. And while she wasn’t technically allowed to have any, it wasn’t hard to sneak a few sips here and there when no one was paying attention. A little bit of wine, a sip of something stronger when an older cousin left their cup unattended—just enough to feel a buzz.

At first, it was fine. She felt loose, lighter, like everything around her was funnier than it should’ve been. But she didn’t realize how much she’d actually had until standing up made the world tilt a little too much.

Chris was the first to notice.

“Yo, Y/N.” He caught her by the arm when she stumbled past him. “You good?”

Y/N giggled. “M’fine, Chris.”

His brows furrowed. He knew her too well, and something was off. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes unfocused, and—was that alcohol on her breath?

“Dude,” he muttered, realization dawning. “Are you drunk?”

Before she could answer, Nick and Matt appeared, sensing something was up.

“What’s going on?” Matt asked, looking between them.

Chris didn’t take his eyes off Y/N. “She’s drunk.”

Nick’s eyes widened. “Are you serious?”

Y/N groaned, trying to pull away. “Shhh! Don’t tell everyone.”

Matt ran a hand down his face. “How the hell did you even get alcohol?”

Y/N giggled again, but it quickly faded as she swayed slightly. “I dunno.”

Chris sighed. “Okay, we gotta get her out of here before Mom and Dad notice.”

Nick nodded. “Yeah, last thing we need is her getting in trouble—or puking in the middle of the party.”

With little choice, the three of them carefully steered Y/N inside the house and up to one of the guest rooms. She flopped onto the bed with a dramatic sigh, clearly enjoying the attention.

Chris knelt beside her. “How much did you even drink?”

She held up two fingers, then three, then shrugged. “Enough to feel funny.”

Nick crossed his arms. “Yeah, no kidding.”

Matt sat at the foot of the bed. “You know you’re gonna feel like shit in the morning, right?”

Y/N groaned, rolling onto her side. “You guys are so dramatic.”

Chris shook his head, but he couldn’t help the small smirk forming on his lips. “You’re literally drunk off your ass right now.”

Nick sighed, grabbing a bottle of water and handing it to her. “Drink this.”

She blinked at it. “But I don’t wanna.”

“Too bad.”

Reluctantly, she took a sip, then pouted at them. “You guys suck.”

Matt snorted. “You’re gonna love us when we stop you from getting grounded.”

Chris patted her back. “Just sleep it off, dumbass. We’ll cover for you.”

Y/N blinked up at them, her drunk brain taking an extra second to process what they were saying. “You guys are the best.”

Nick chuckled. “Yeah, yeah. Just sleep.”

As she dozed off, the triplets exchanged glances. They’d definitely be giving her hell for this in the morning, but for now, they’d make sure she was okay. That’s what brothers were for.

—

[bardic-tales]

The Leviathan method: Step 20: Develop your positive biases

This step of the Leviathan method for Blood and Stardust wants us to examine any positive biases that people may have of our characters. Since we already know Sephiroth and the others, I decided to only share what I developed of Bianca Moore, my OC.

As I completed this step, I tried to keep in mind how people would perceive Bianca in both Final Fantasy VII and the original writing part of Fantasy Worlds Collide (FWC).

Bianca Moore Positive Bias Breakdown

Content Warnings: classism, discrimination, economic struggle, elitism, hero worship, judgment, manipulation, oppression, power dynamics, prejudice, social isolation, trauma, unrealistic expectations, victim-blaming

Economic:

Instead of being seen as struggling or a victim, Bianca’s ability to survive on her own might make her appear resilient and resourceful.

Middle-class individuals are seen as the backbone of society—responsible, grounded, and morally upright.

Wealthy individuals, like Mordecai, are sometimes seen as visionaries and leaders who build and create opportunities.

Biological:

Celestial blood is often associated with purity, guidance, and healing, making Bianca seem like a beacon of hope.

Demonic traits, while feared, can also be respected as a source of immense power and charisma.

Bianca’s gold eyes and celestial wings might be considered mesmerizing and a sign of divine favor.

Social:

Wealthy are often admired for their refinement, leadership, and wisdom.

Being an outcast could make Bianca seem like a misunderstood hero, someone who fights against injustice and oppression.

Some might see her as a rebel who refuses to conform to outdated traditions, making her an inspiration to others.

Professional Roles:

Authors are respected for their ability to craft stories that influence and inspire.

Magic users, especially those with celestial or time-based abilities, are often seen as enlightened or powerful.

Bianca’s combat skills, while still developing, might be viewed as a sign of great untapped potential, making her a figure of admiration.

Praise and Criticism are two sides of the same coin.

Celestial beings are often revered for their wisdom and compassion, yet they are equally criticized for their perceived arrogance and naivety. Similarly, demonic power commands respect for its raw strength, but it also instills fear, seen as both uncontrollable and corrupting. The Wealthy, with its refined manners and prestige, garners admiration, though it is just as easily resented for its perceived elitism.

Outcasts may be celebrated as rebels or misunderstood heroes, but they also face deep distrust, often seen as dangerous or unpredictable. Authors, praised for their boundless creativity, sometimes find themselves dismissed as out of touch with reality. Warriors and magic users, admired for their courage and strength, are just as frequently regarded as reckless or violent, their power a source of both awe and apprehension.

In every role and identity, admiration and criticism exist in tandem, revealing the dual nature of perception. This could even symbolize the dual nature that exists within Bianca, herself. What is praised by some may be condemned by others, emphasizing that no strength exists without its counterpart weakness. Understanding this balance is important to navigating the complexities of judgment and reputation.

More Negative Bias that came from this step.

People who admire celestial beings might see Bianca as failing to live up to their expectations because of her demonic blood.

Those who respect her independence might also criticize her for being too stubborn or unwilling to accept help.

If some view her as a mysterious, tragic hero, others might see her as overly dramatic or manipulative.

Her writing career might make her seem insightful, but it could also make others dismiss her as a dreamer rather than a serious fighter.

People who admire celestial beings might see Bianca as failing to live up to their expectations because of her demonic blood.

Those who respect her independence might also criticize her for being too stubborn or unwilling to accept help.

If some view her as a mysterious, tragic hero, others might see her as overly dramatic or manipulative.

Her writing career might make her seem insightful, but it could also make others dismiss her as a dreamer rather than a serious fighter.

Keeping the Focus on Praise and Admiration

Her celestial-demonic heritage is seen as the perfect balance of light and darkness, making her uniquely qualified to handle conflicts that others cannot.

Her ability to survive despite trauma and hardship is admired as a testament to her resilience and strength.

Her career as a writer makes her a source of wisdom and inspiration, showing that she has a creative mind as well as a strong spirit.

Her outcast status makes her a symbol of resistance against corrupt systems, earning her the admiration of those who also feel like they do not belong.

Her developing combat skills and unpredictable magic make her a figure of fascination—an underdog with the potential for greatness.

tagging some fellow mutuals: @themaradwrites @whatwedointhecraft @megandaisy9 @watermeezer

@prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen @chickensarentcheap @seastarblue

@inkandimpressions @arrthurpendragon

[outlying-hyppocrate]

i really, truly, terrifyingly am unaware of who i am as a person. obviously, interests don't make up an entire personality. but what am i without them? the labels i use to describe myself no longer fit me. i have these swathes of names in my head that i don't want to belong to me and they do nonetheless. i am rotting. i am dying on the inside. one day i will fit to my own ideals and i will be happy and healthy and see beautiful sunlight stream through my windows again.

[cantfightmoonlight]

"Actually you told the both of us during White Elephant two years ago. I was sitting right next to her," She explained. "And I could have, but I trusted you and, as I know now, I shouldn't have," She stated, pressing her lips together as she gave her a small shrug. "It's called a hyperbole. You know, a mild exaggeration for dramatic effect? And I'm well aware when you became advisor. I'm not attacking you. I'm simply pointing out the obvious," She explained calmly. "We both know you don't really care about me, so why bother with the pretend?" Bri reasoned. She already had to question pretty much every relationship in her life. Why add another to the rather long list?

"See. That doesn't exactly sound like you care. Though as for whether or not I would have taken a rational suggestion in that moment, did you even give me a chance to? I lunged at Frankie because she caught me off guard, my emotions got the best of me and I was starving. But, I stopped the moment I-" she paused. Her eyes momentarily drifted to the floor as she muttered under her breath, "Shoved Poppy. Just before you stepped in and, I'm not saying I don't appreciate the advice or the fact that you did, but I also know that, while people came to comfort me, not one actually told him to stop when he was strewing a list of insults my way. Instead, you essentially told me to 'suck it up' and I get it. That's pretty much the only advice anyone ever seems to give around here. 'Suck it up and get over yourself'. But, that doesn't exactly make me want to hang out with other vampires let alone ask them for any other tips. No offense." She had tried to. She had asked Ken to show her how to reverse compulsion and he pretty much rolled his eyes at her and made it abundantly clear she should know how already, though he had been more helpful than most. Ronnie and Safiye were just as lost as she was and Ralph, she was fairly certain was off in some other world.

"And that, right there, is why I've been figuring it out my own. I might have wanted you to teach me control before that ominous as fuck warning? Seriously?" She asked, she shook her head the smallest bit back and forth. "You clearly don't want to help me and I don't even think you could even if I did volunteer for your hellish bootcamp which seems unnecessarily menacing. I was never meant to be this and don't think I haven't notice how my body is still actively rejecting it. I was supposed to die a human and, if it wasn't for the Sheriff's spell, I would have."

"You're awfully defense, you know that?" She pointed out softly, though her voice took on a far sharper tone as she called Ben a 'droll boy toy'. "Though, I'm sorry, a droll boy toy? Go fuck yourself and just because it's art, doesn't mean it's not tacky. While as for catacombs, they're... sad. All of those skeletons piled on top of each other until they practically form of wall of mismatched limbs you can't tell apart from one another? Unless they were some notable official, they become lost amongst the many. Faceless skulls that will go on being unremembered," She wrapped her arms across her chest as she thought of how similar it would have been for her if she hadn't been brought back. No one would have even known where she was buried. "I don't see you as a villain. Maybe, a bit of a bitch, but to be fair, you do like to insult my boyfriend a great deal, so... next you're going to tell me you're like Shrek. An onion with many layers," She mumbled under her breath, not bothering to point out Aaliyah saying that her questions was an 'exercise in self-flagellation' she had outgrown, she was further supporting Bri's entitled bitch theory.

Instead, she stood there quietly. Her gaze hyper-fixated on the crowd with her arms crossed over her chest. It was only when she was told that people cared about her, that she cut Aaliyah off. "No. They don't," Her dark brown eyes met Aaliyah's as she told her, point blank, "You've heard the eulogies. Majority of this town either doesn't give a fuck about me or hates me and they have since the first day I was resurrected. You want to talk about a complaint box? I've been called pretty much every name in the book, not to mentioned was told I smell of death which was an added dose of prejudice for no apparent reason. My friends have forgotten my birthday, stabbed me, mooched off of me, admitted to being afraid of me and fucked my boyfriend before we got together and I do mean plural friends for that one. The only family I have in town left unsure if they'd ever return, knowing they'd forget about me, and they said goodbye for what might have been forever if they hadn't come back over a note. The only person I have in my life who I know for certain loves me unconditionally and would never leave is Ben and he's missing his fucking leg now because of this godforsaken town. So, when I say why bother it is because there is literally no point. I know plenty about myself. I know I've spent the past three years trying to be liked by you god awful people and it doesn't change anything. It doesn't matter how I act. It doesn't matter what I do, all roads end the same. So, why bother? You can call it self-flagellation, if you want to, but I call it me no longer giving a fuck because there are a very few of you who are actually worth it."

"I wasn't in there throwing a fucking pity party. I was saying goodbye to the girl who died, which was originally supposed to be the whole point of this thing," She rolled her eyes as she kicked herself up off of the booth she had been leaning again. "I never had a funeral, though... wow. Are you going to be condescending this entire conversation? Because at this point, I might as well make it into a drinking game," A dry laugh broke from her lips. It was truly ironic how much Aaliyah seemed to think she had a read on the situation. "I've been letting myself 'feel it' for the past three years and I've been to nearly everybody else. Gia's unhinged, Ken barely puts up with me, Ralph and Ernie are still living in 1955, Meena's recovering from being malled by a wolf, Rio's often to busy to even get a coffee let alone fill me in and Saf and Ronnie are just as new at this as I am. So, save the whole 'I've got to want it and seek it out' pep talk. I've been seeking it out. What more do I have to do? Invest in a literal bat signal? Carry around a flashing neon sign that says 'help'?"

"No, I don't remember that," Aaliyah mused, nonplussed by Bri's reaction. "Mostly because I didn't tell you, I told one of your friends. You could have confirmed that with literally any other vampire in town. But, really? It takes time to 'burn to a crisp.' You didn't think that, I don't know, you should possibly head on inside when the skin irritation started sinking in?" she asked, eyebrow raised. "I also wasn't the clan's advisor at that time, just a member. But, please, keep the critiques coming. I do so love to hear about all the things I'm doing wrong for our esteemed organization." She laughed. "And I would have snapped your neck, too, if the moment required it because you were not thinking rationally, and you would not have taken a rational suggestion at that moment. I offered you help after, too, if you recall. But fine. You want me to teach you control? I'll teach you about control. You won't like it," she said, her tone lacking any sort of bite. It wasn't a threat. It was just a fact. So few with a lack of control had other issues within themselves that they needed to work through, and coming to terms with their own inner turmoil was hardly easy. "But, again, please. Keep it coming. I should open up a complaints box, start up a petition to have me replaced. Wanna be the first signature?"

She wondered if Brielle noticed that she'd left the confessional. Perhaps instigating Bri wasn't the kindest thing in the world, but Aaliyah was of the mindset that what we needed, really needed, was what was kind to us. Kindness was good, sure. But it wouldn't help someone who refused to accept it. "I thought you and that droll boy toy of yours were appreciative of the arts and history. Tacky gothic architecture. Please, it's art. And catacombs used to be reverent. Horror movies making them into something, well, horrific is... so basic. There's nothing scary about the dead or the places that house them. It doesn't have to be cheerful." She looked at Bri before shrugging. "I like metal. Some of the new stuff's pretty good. I like a lot of things, though. I know you see me as some one note villain, but the tragedy of it all is that I, against my will, contain multitudes." Layers and faces and people built on top of people to construct the person that she was, for better or for worse.

Aaliyah just sighed. "Bri, constantly asking yourself 'why bother' is an exercise in self-flagellation that I've outgrown. But let's just go through with it. Fine. Why bother?" Aaliyah raised her hands up and looked around. "Because people care about you. Because I was under the assumption that you care about people. Please, though, correct me if I'm wrong. I fucking love Council gossip." It wasn't the truth, but if it could push a button or two, then fine. "Why bother? Because you have a lot left to learn, and a lot left to live." She looked at Bri, her face a mask. "You know nothing about me. What I give a damn about, what I don't. I'm almost positive that you know nothing about yourself, either." Aaliyah brushed a speck of dirt from her jacket.

"You are allowed to do this, by the way," she said off-handedly. "This pity-party at your birthday party. Not because it's you're birthday, but because you're a person and you're allowed to feel shit, even if it feels like shit. But I will tell you that it won't stay like this. Not in a 'chin up, kiddo, it won't stay like this forever!' kind of way, but in the fact that nothing stays the same kind of way. Even us. You will, of course, outwardly remain as you are now, but all the stuff inside that makes you a person? That changes. Constantly." She stepped forward, taking Bri in, the sort of beat down attitude that she had. "So feel it. Or don't. But those issues that you have with your control? Some of that stems from other shit that you should work on figuring out. If you don't want to do it with me, that's fine. Meena's available. There are other, older vampires in the clan that have been through similar shit that are around, and only most of them are assholes. But you've got to want it, and you've got to seek it out."

[truthsinwhispers]

People are soooooooooo quick to shit on people who deal with emotional disregulation it makes me fucking sick. When you express your stress through tears you're a crybaby. When you're quick to frustration, you're either overly dramatic or you're violent and scary. When you have the gall to get too happy, you're childish or straight up crazy.

Living with emotional disregulation comes with having to grow thick skin because people will call you every fucking name under the sun because you have the audacity to express emotions that are constantly ramped up to an eleven no matter which one you're feeling. You're loud, you're sensitive, you're overemotional, you're weak, you're soft, you're childish, you're naive, you're too much you're too much you're too much you're too much you're too much you're a burden because people now have to handle you.

Where do people think they have a right to judge others for feeling? I may be quick to express my emotions, but you're quick to judge and condemn and on a societal level that should be worse.

[arcticmist0324]

One thing that is difficult about writing historical fiction is when you’ve set your story up in the same time frame as major historical events, which you KNOW would be on your characters’ radar yet they don’t impact the plot. What is too much? What is too little?

[exopelagic]

I need to go to bed I’m just gonna shout a lil

[unproduciblesmackdown]

oh yeah addendum in also the other day seeing someone autistic talking in that context abt what they want from genuine relationships in that they said they don't want to be Admired Or Desired. that one time someone was like, you're one of the best people i know, like well neat compliment sure i'll take it lmao, but also, that's somewhat confusing and even disheartening when it's like, i have no way of knowing this; we don't really interact? or times i have to ""unilaterally"" assess that i don't feel Friends with someone b/c i don't feel like, for one thing, i can just up & message them even lol; the feeling that to whatever capacity there's a relationship, it's been continual "don't mess this up" masking / efforts to "do things Right" from me....whilest also times it's been like, oh someone's apparently choosing to be around me? enjoying interactions? while still kind of confused about it. and then it's like oh it was Romantic Interest apparently lol :( like even if i wasn't aromantic which i so am....where was the [there is anything to feel is genuine] like again we never even got to any part where i wasn't masking and [do things Right] and on edge and certainly not at whatever point i apparently had whatever appeal. much less "when cishet men are just sprinting straight at you" but that's all the more, like, [you as a Person are certainly irrelevant] but not like it doesn't still feel ultimately mostly irrelevant even if people have more discretion / a more considerate approach in general. also that again there would not be a Right way lmfao. it just sure could be a totally neutral expereince rather, please. how i've had too many situations having to try to fling myself out a window figuratively, even w/those theoretically more considerate approaches

or even when people will be talking about what makes someone Deserving outside of the most conservative(tm) approaches like. this person isn't someone who just waits for things to happen :) like well hell yeah for them lol, meanwhile, i sure kinda am. being aware that in any given way i may not impress anyone / may be negatively assessed; only turns into "there go my power levels increasing again. shrugmoji" when correspondingly it's like, and i don't have to care, or certainly then blame myself about it if like oh boy, society when you have to be "objectively" judged as Worthy by randos, whatever their perspectives lol....or when like, the concept of social support is like, get a romantic partner, primarily, an ounce of backup from friends, the Real backup being family, or friends "as good as" family....or the ongoing journey of realizing like; it was never Just gonna be managing to leave [abusive childhood/family house]. the ways that other experiences outside that were Consistent, really, when being around peers means an immediate sense of doing something wrong / not being as good as them; authority figure adults sometimes acting just like an abusive parent does; no ways to regularly exist flexibly and/or less supervised/monitored, e.g. couldn't walk from [home] to [anywhere]....catching on like, ah, outside of That Situation? i'm still not inherently more valued by randos, still not Not liable to be regarded/treated with disdain / expressions of authoritarianism....Aren't We All; for real. but truly like oh hey, i didn't even realize i was getting all this Political experience in that [when you have a one on one personal abuser and You're Responsible For How They Treat You and Their Own Power Is The Whole Thing and You'll Never "Earn" Better But It'll Always Be Your Fault You Haven't] and all those kinds of logics and realities it's like of course this resonates crystal clear with logics and realities re: [political enemies] lmao. ofc they can be as "hypocritical" as they want b/c [you can just say whatever while you do w/e you want and other people have to deal] is an expression of power. of course "for [xyz]'s own good; individually or as a group" is really about ensuring the power to control their existences as property by shrinking the space in which someone can enact autonomous choices: anything For Children is about (conservative) parents controlling children as things they own and can do whatever they want with; like making sure kids Can't be gay or sm shit, it Is about children, just keeping them from being able to exist outside the sphere of control of an isolated Family life. hell yeah when they do anyways / tragically it always turns out people are actually people despite your wanting to disbelieve this / always have the power to ignore it..........but then yknow, the truth is we out here, and ofc it's like [police protect Property; enforce these property/owner relations] but what's Normal yet obviously harmful is also so borne by regular ordinary """harmless""" interpersonal interactions / people who feel supposedly well-intended but that's more superficial than in essence....even merely the Exhaustion in knowing interactions as Just chitchat w/supposedly amicable parties is like, a scrutinizing test that can only go wrong and lead to antagonism / animosity that can easily accumulate &/or compound. much less existence In Public and shit going wrong out of nowhere, and potential stakes....being like Lol at, again, years back thinking like "a horror short should be like, the premise that you might just be at a grocery or some ordinary asf situation but at any given moment, doing Nothing extraordinary, some rando suddenly goes Deeply Hostile Mode for a second. where even then suddenly disengaging from that mode is not a relief in that the [this could happen at any time] is emphasized" like lmfao that's [being in an abusive situation], that's [being autistic], isn't it so Zany that there's so much overlap / resonance.

Not At All being Lol abt how much actual discrete examples of produced horror is just like "what if there was disabled people." this is its own line b/c of the characters per block limit. but also disdainful emphasis

anyways lol wuh oh in conclusion, antifascism....isn't it always

[hamofjustice]

the contrast of what the "downer ending but at least you have each other" basegame final cutscene looks like in-engine and what it feels like in-context (the art) is so real

nemona doesn't really know how to recognize or help her new friends deal with grief or trauma, as she's picked up on from the past few times she's been yelled at today, but she does know how to cheer somebody up, so that's what she's gonna try instead

and it works, maybe because they just feel like seeing her in good faith this time after what they just went through together