#i don’t care about the origins of a word

[secretress]

❝𝐏𝐀𝐂: 𝐈 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬, 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞.❞

Where is your future lover from? (Detailed)

Masterlist.

Authors note,

I finally fixed my links (starting here and with my masterlist), now you can press on them instead of clicking on my profile.

Moodboard. Divider.

Pile I.

Trigger warning: faintest mention of self-harm.

France, Indonesia, Canada, China, Afghanistan, San Marino, Norway, Some of you have someone who is on a cruise/overseas (may be a fisherman, work with the ocean, ocean is key), Sudan, and French Guiana.

You already know where and who your future person is. I, originally, was going to use tarot to figure it out, until I saw 4:44 on the clock, and it hit me, as it will do the same with you. Since you already know where they are, your mind has been running with ideas on what to do about it. Some of you like to travel a lot and want to find them since you are intuitive as it is. And the rest of you want them to come to you like a knight saving their princess. One word of advice for everyone here: allow your heart and intuition to decide for you. I know that listening to your logical mind is better and it can protect you, and sometimes where they are from and finding them can be exciting, but at the same time, with your current energy, it will not help nor happen for you. Right now, your main focus should be working on yourself, healing, and connecting with your flaws. I know that you have healed a lot, and I am so proud of you for that, but you need to connect with your flaws. Not everyone is perfect, not everyone will have the best or good qualities, and that is okay. Not everyone will always be perfect and only have a few of their qualities; sometimes they will have their flaws, and that is how they will act for that day. And that is okay. Everyone has flaws, and everyone has good qualities to them, and that is what makes them human.

A lot of you have been focusing on what is good and what is bad; try to focus on what you want your morals to be instead. A lot of you don’t believe in what society says about morality and how they pressure the world to focus on their ideology, but because of this, you started to feel guilty for it. Don’t. You are allowed to have your own morals and your own ideas on what is right and what is wrong, or in this case, what works best for you. That is the beauty of having your own mindset and not following the crowd, and that is another thing that makes you beautiful. Because I find you and your energy beautiful, and you need to start to believe that. You need to start to fall in love with yourself and learn to appreciate all parts of you. Some of you feel nervous about the flaws you have, and that is okay. But, at the same time, if you don't show appreciation to them, then you will start to feel scared around who you are. You cannot allow your future person to fill the void you feel. You have to do that for yourself first. Because if you don't, you will lose yourself throughout the relationship and become a people pleaser like you did in your younger days.

A lot of you desire for me to speak more about your future person, but there is nothing that I can channel, nor would tarot give me anything. The problem is your current energy. You need to stop chasing ways to find them and start to chase yourself back and accept all of you. I keep thinking of a mile run; some students will work hard to become the best, and some will cheer the slower ones so they can make it at the end. You are in between these two types of people. I know that you have healed, and again, very proud of you, but you honestly need to get a grip and start to cheer for yourself and your flaws. Fall in love with yourself again, you are deserving of that. I do not care what you have done in the past, everyone has forgiven you, so why can’t you? What makes it so worthy to sabotage your happiness for your past mistakes? What is done is done, and you know that, so why indulge further? Make yourself happy so you can be that princess and allow your knight to come your way. Because your future lover is supposed to come to you, not the other way around. Stop taking care of others, respect your younger self for healing your people pleasing ways, and get a grip back into the path you desire. It is your time for your happiness because you deserve that.

I know that sometimes you seek others’ validations or need for comfort, so take it from me. I read people’s energy, and your energy is fine. You’re okay, you deserve happiness, and I am telling you to go seek it. It is time for you to appreciate yourself instead of allowing yourself to be a widower to your past. Stop letting others hurt you and make you believe your flaws are disgusting when they are not. Who are they to say something about who you are when they do not know anything about you? Sure, you can say I don’t know anything about you, and that is true, but yet again, I am reading your energy, so I have the gist here. Do not allow your insecure thoughts to eat you alive again. Our insecurities can always shift into something positive, and you deserve that happiness, and when you do meet your future person, they will show you the same. But please, do not wait for them to arrive to feel their touch, do it for yourself. Take care of yourself, pamper yourself, appreciate yourself, put yourself on a pedestal, and no, that is not wrong. It is not selfish. Those who say it is selfish are the people who do not know how to respect themselves, they do not. They may have grown up in an environment where it was frowned upon, but yet again, it is a lack of respect. So, do not do that to yourself, understood? Some of you think you have selfish tendencies, and yes, you do, however, it is something that can be switched to gratitude. You need to show more gratitude for those who can be a little more selfish; those who aren’t and others say that you are, stop allowing them to make you feel that way and start to become more selfish. Being selfish is not a bad thing, excessive amounts are the problem. So balance it out with gratitude and self-love for yourself. Please show yourself compassion when things become harder and stress arises. Stop nitpicking everything you do, stop going back into picking your skin, chewing something that damages your teeth, and/or picking your nose with sharp nails (it can cause scabs in your nose damaging your inner lining meaning bacteria has a better chance of entering and thus bacterial infections). Stop the self-harm too, you do not deserve that. Okay? You deserve happiness.

Masterlist.

Pile II.

Greenland and Mauritius (drawn to it two times), Ireland, Some of your future person lives on a boat so their locations differentiates, Russia.

Your future spouse’s energy is so beautiful. I instantly kept saying, “wow, wow, okay, wow, wow.” Your future spouse's energy keeps shifting, meaning they like to travel a lot, but at the same time, people are drawn to them like a magnet. Their energy is very strong. It reminds me of taking shots and getting dizzy after one. So strong, wow.

A lot of you are trying to figure out if someone in your friends’ circle is your future spouse. From the readings you have read, the signs you have seen or wanted, the way the people speak to you, and the way you feel about them have made it harder for you to pinpoint or locate who they are. It is no one in your circle, but someone in your circle knows your future spouse online. And they will introduce you to them in the near future. My intuition says, “you are not ready to meet them. You need to let go of being the investigator and stop reading pacs. Give up on them and take a break for the sake of your mind and peace. It’s time for you to let go and have fun before you are introduced to them and fall for them on the sight of their words addressed to you.” They are such a romantic with you, with others, they are like, ‘’meh, whatever. Okay, and?” But with you, it is like let me just find the most perfect, stunning, angelic … (more lovely words) rings for the most perfect person in the world; you are my world, my life, my presence .. and so forth. Very lovey dovey with you, you make them so soft. At first it was gross and weird to have this switch of who they were, but then you started to make them realize how nice it was to feel something more. You are their safe haven, and the same can be said about them for you.

I see a pretty garden, filled with nice roses and pink roses, some dandelions, and dragonflies surrounding the both of you. You have an outfit similar to Alice in Alice in Wonderland, and they have an outfit similar to the White Queen. It’s such a warm and bright atmosphere that you can get lost in it and fall into a rabbit hole. The same can be said about who you both are and how your energy will melt perfectly with one another. So drawn to one another that no one can separate you both away from one another. Your adventurous and childlike wonder personality is what grabs your future lover’s attention and spins their world into the story itself. In short, your relationship will be magical but overwhelming with their parents and yours. There is going to be clashing. A lot of communication will mend it but not heal the relationship. Do not pour yourself into fixing it, focus on you and them.

Masterlist.

Pile III.

Trigger warning: faintest mention of rape.

Mongolia, Panama, Burundi, Northern Mariana Islands, China, Canada, Russia, and Kazakhstan.

Your future spouse grew up and is still living in a close bonded village or community. Their mindset is closed, very closed, hence why the energies you have read differ from one another.

II of Swords and X of Swords.

I need you to listen to me very carefully. Although this is a future lover or spouse reading, your lover is not someone you are supposed to be with. Their energy is so.. so very overwhelming, complex, and so damn off putting. I can’t even read it.. it is that bad. I have no idea if you are speaking with them on a dating app, met them and had a “lovely” date with them, if they are your ex, or even dating you, but leave or do not engage with them. I will describe them. I wish I could give you a cute reading about who they are, but their energy is so blank—so empty, shadow like, and so very much draining you.

This person blends into the crowds and projects themselves as a kind and lovely person who went through so much trauma. This person has told you, or will tell you (future energies appeared), that these people were awful, and these people made them feel small, but they were able to heal, or at least tried to feel better about themselves. (Red flags are waving in my mind), they like to talk about France or are associated with France (born there, love the food, know the culture, etc.). They will subtly mention how perfect you are but secretly hide their disgust for you. You may have noticed it and brushed it aside from how exhausted you have been lately. I would not say you have been gaslighting yourself; you could be, but something along the lines of ignoring it or acting ‘oblivious’ because you want something good to finally happen to you. They like to bounce around each topic, never fully explaining what they are saying but ‘appearing’ intelligent because they bullshit their words. Some of you have noticed it and have called them out on it, but they either love bomb you and you let it go, or they manipulate you and you believe their lies or will (future energies only). They believe you are easy to trick, and they are right. You are easily swayed to someone’s side because of how open-minded you are; you need to start to limit that and focus on your ideals.

They love, and I mean love, being perverse around you. They always act as if they are modest and clean, that they have innocent and pure thoughts, but they do not. Very disgusting mindset, it reminds me of those who think it is okay to rape others. Yuck.

With the X of Swords (ten of swords), they.. (sigh, I am so sorry for you, truly. I hope one day you can finally heal and find the right person for you). They prefer to put you down and make themselves feel better about themselves. Usually, people who are insecure do that, yet they are not. They see themselves as this perfect being who deserves the best, and everyone deserves filth for being around their existence. Very high unhealthy self-esteem and very close tendencies to being a sociopath. I am not sure if they are diagnosed or not, but they do or would have pride for that, for being a psychopath or a sociopath.

You got two sword cards, and when it comes to the more depressive or weaker genre, this symbolizes abuse, lack of empathy or care, and being harsh. This may explain this person’s inner thoughts and how they interact with others, yet on a surface level they act like the better parts of what the swords symbolize: being creative, being brave and taking charge, learning to communicate or perfecting it, and being overall intelligent with a touch of care. I believe now you know who this person is, and the fear that surrounds your heart is making you overwhelmed because you put so much into this relationship only to find out that it was a lie.  I believe it is time for you to let them go and let go of everything about who they are and what they did for you. In reality, it was for them so they could have you wrapped around their finger, and unfortunately, you gave them easy access. Block them, cut contact with them, simply get rid of them, and bring back your peace.

Intuition told me that you need two oracle cards, and I will explain it for you. The first one you got was ‘’dna.’’ It states, ‘’you are predisposed to follow the karmic dictates of your ancestral patterning to some extent, yet as you evolve in your consciousness and expand the light of awareness, you can make choices that shift and modify this ancestral design.’’ Meaning, you have to follow along what your beliefs were all along, stop allowing others to sway you and follow their beliefs, their morals, and their tradition. Though it is good to have an open mind, an open mind with a huge heart, and being naive is what makes you fall down; it is your downfall, and it will be hard to build back the same place you fell from. You can ever truly go back to that, but you can always rebuild it and make a place that is better for you, but at the same time, a safer and calmer place for you to rest when things become tough. The next and last card channeled is ‘’iceberg.’’ It states, ‘’whatever you suppress or deny and attempt to keep out of conscious awareness will show up somewhere and somehow.  These are your shadow aspects.  Now is the time to allow these elements to surface and embrace them.’’ It means exactly what I have been saying to you. Learn to appreciate your open mindset, but learn to push away being so naive that you fall into that spiral I previously spoke of. Learn to appreciate that you care, that you want good things coming your way, and that you know and understand that you deserve good things, but push away those who do not mean well to you. They will sink you like how the Titanic sank with the iceberg. And that is something you simply do not deserve.

Masterlist.

[froggiewrites]

Fanboy

Pairing: Law x Reader

NSFW

Summary: You get a little more than you bargained for when you decide to clean your Captain's office for him and stumble upon his smutty fanfiction. Warnings: Very Mild Angst, Smut, Fem!Reader, Roleplay, Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Edging, Minor Dacryphilia, Petnames (use of sweetheart and good girl) Word Count: 7.6k Notes: This was originally supposed to be a sub 2000 word silly one shot about Law writing Sora smut. As you can see, it very quickly got out of hand. I hope you all enjoy it!

You have come to terms with the fact your Captain does not and will never want you how you want him.

It was hard, at first, to hear his silky voice and see his strong hands and not imagine him saying what you want to hear as he holds you against the wall, fingers slipping slowly up your thighs to where you need him most. It got even harder a few years in, after he started wearing perpetually open shirts and coats, showing off the tattoos you so desperately want to trace your tongue across. But you’re finally starting to accept that he simply doesn’t feel the same. His eyes don’t linger on you when you’re around. He doesn’t show you any leniency (not that you would expect any, of course, but it’s hard not to notice his favoritism for Bepo when he forgives him in an instant for a transgression he had you swab the deck for). He doesn’t accept your help when you offer it, no matter how badly he needs it.

He just doesn’t really want anything to do with you, or at least no more to do with you than anyone else on the ship. Penguin and Shachi, who unfortunately clocked your affection for your Captain years ago, have come up with a long list of excuses as to why he hasn’t shown any signs of affection.

“He’s shy.”

“He gets embarrassed easily.”

“He’s worried about the power gap.”

“He only looks at you when you aren’t looking.”

“Yelling is how he shows his affection.”

And of course, your personal favorite.

“He’s just a nerd. He doesn’t know how to act around women.”

Shachi has repeated this one a lot, and as always you immediately dispute it. “That cannot possibly be true, Shachi.”

“Why not?”

“Look at him!”

“I know what he looks like. Doesn’t change the fact he gets nervous.”

“Captain has never, for even a single moment, shown any sort of hesitation or shyness in front of me. And he’s a grown man, a handsome one, not to mention a wanted pirate. You honestly expect me to believe he’s some shy little nerd who can’t bring himself to talk to me? He just doesn’t like me, Shachi. And that’s fine. I’m a big girl, I can handle it.”

“Handle what?” Penguin’s voice echoes in the small room he and Shachi share, which you’ve decided to invade for the day. 

“Her pining for Captain.”

“Ah.”

You huff. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like it’s like…a fact of life. Something so easy to brush past.”

Shachi narrows his eyes in confusion. “I thought you said that’s what you wanted to do. Be casual about it, and all.”

“Yeah, I want to. It feels different when you do it.” You’re pouting. You hate that you’re pouting.

Penguin gives you a pitying smile, dripping with good natured sympathy that makes you clench your jaw. “It’s tough, isn’t it?” He sits on the edge of his bed, careful not to shift you too much. He pats your shoulder, tutting quietly. “It’s hard to get over somebody you don’t really want to get over.”

“Yeah,” you mutter. You finally lift your head, and once you make eye contact, his smile turns a little more teasing.

“I know a great guy you could use as a rebound.”

You sigh. “Is it you?”

He laughs. “Who’s to say? You don’t need him yet.” His smile softens again, something more genuine. “But know that if you really do give up, there will be other guys. Other chances. Give this one a good shot, a real one, and if it doesn’t work out? Come talk to us, and it’ll all be alright.”

Shachi pipes up as well. “It will work out, really. But if it doesn’t…” he wiggles his eyebrows, and you can’t help but finally give them the laugh they were clearly aiming for. Which becomes a full on giggle fit once they light up and give each other a massive high five at their victory. The room is warm, and you finally forget your worries for a moment.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” Law’s voice cuts through you like ice, and your laughter stops in an instant. Shachi and Penguin are unphased, of course, still smiling freely.

“I just got off of my shift, Captain. I was going to take a nap, but…” Penguin pokes your side, and you let out a soft squeak as you curl in on yourself. You don’t miss the way Law’s eyes narrow slightly at the contact, the way he seems to focus in on the noise. He must be annoyed with you, with how you’re taking up space somewhere you don’t belong.

“I’m also off shift.” Your voice is small, embarrassingly so. 

“I wasn’t talking to you two.” Law’s voice is just as flat and authoritative as always. He’s nothing if not born to command. You’d love to hear what commands he might give you, if–

No. Bad. Evil. Your mind betrays you, as it always does. You sit up so you can hide yourself behind Penguin, make yourself small and inconspicuous and hope that Law will stop looking at you with those beautiful piercing eyes. You don’t know how long you can be normal under such an intense gaze. 

“I’m on break,” Shachi defends, causing Law’s eyes to shift over to him. You can’t help but let out a sigh of relief as you feel the pressure of his gaze leave you, and you wrap your arms lightly around Penguin, allowing your forehead to fall forward and press into his back. You can feel the rumble of a laugh working its way through his chest, though you can’t figure out why.

Law’s voice is significantly harsher than before. “Well, end it.” You flinch, unused to him snapping quite so cruelly. Law may have a shorter temper than he would admit, but he never sounds quite so furious, especially not with Shachi and Penguin. He seems to realize this as well, because the next time he speaks is much gentler. “I–Just get back to work. I need everyone at their best right now.”

“Aye aye, Captain!” There’s a hint of chuckle in Shachi’s voice, for some reason. He stands, bed creaking as he does. “You can use my bed if you want to nap in here. Let Peng have his.”

You let out a soft whine, but peel yourself off of Penguin anyway. “No, it’s fine, I should get back to my room anyway. I need a nap before I do anything else.” You think you see Law nodding in approval out of the corner of your eye, but when you turn to look at him, his eyes are firmly on Shachi, glaring at his back as he leaves. Just wishful thinking on your part, as always. 

Penguin softly pats your back as you walk past. “Chin up. It’ll all work out.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“What’ll work out?” Law is staring at Penguin’s hand on your back.

“Nothing!” You try not to sound panicked. You fail, of course.

His eyes narrow.

“Sorry, Captain. This is a secret just for us lowly crew members. No captains allowed!” Penguin’s smile is relaxed and easy, and it almost manages to calm you down. You would love to play along, make a little joke out of it, but the idea of him finding out petrifies you. What if he’s disgusted by the idea? Horrified enough to kick you out of the crew, your home, your family? He wouldn’t, you know that, but the image in your head is so clear. Your chest feels tight, your head fuzzy, and you think at some point you started holding your breath.

Law makes a noncommittal grunt, scowl still clear on his face, but he leaves. A small mercy.

“Hey, take a breath, please. You look like you’re gonna pass out.”

“I feel like I’m gonna pass out.”

“Are you gonna be alright to get back to your room? Do you need me to walk you?” Penguin’s hand rests gently on your elbow, and he looks ready to jump to your aid at any moment.

You give him a shaky smile. “I’ll be alright. Anxiety’s never killed anyone. Probably.” You take care to walk as steadily as you can out of the room, avoiding eye contact with your Captain, who’s waiting directly outside.

“You okay?” His voice stops you in your tracks.

“Yeah, I’m–” You see the disbelief on his face. “I’ve been better. But it’s okay. I’ll get there.”

“Are Penguin and Shachi giving you trouble? They mean well, but sometimes their jokes can go a little far. I–” He clears his throat, eyes glancing away for a moment. “I could talk to them. If you need me to.”

You chuckle. This means he really has no idea he’s the source of your anguish. Good. “Oh, no, it’s nothing like that. They’re actually helping me through something.”

He purses his lips. You imagine how soft they’d feel on yours. “Helping you through something?”

“Yeah. I’ve been struggling with it lately, and talking to them has really helped.” You stare intensely at the wall behind him, worrying that you’ll come undone and say something you can’t take back if you stare into his eyes for too long. Something about him just makes you want to melt under his gaze, and you can’t afford to give in to the impulse.

He hums, eyes briefly fluttering closed. “I see. Well, I’m glad you have their support.” Is it just you, or is his voice a bit colder than it was before? “I’ll leave you be. Have a nice nap.”

“Thanks, Captain.” You try not to run back to your room until you’re sure he can’t hear your footsteps anymore. You change out of your boiler suit, desperate to be in something more comfortable than this, and throw yourself into your bed face first. You press your face into your pillow, trying to ground yourself. You aren’t allowed to imagine what it would feel like to lay on Law’s chest instead, his hands on your back, tracing meaningless patterns into your skin. You aren’t allowed to imagine the warmth of the blankets as his, or the comfort of your weighted blanket as his arm around your back. You certainly aren’t allowed to cry about the fact that it isn’t him, and that it never will be. Because that would mean you weren’t getting over him, instead getting lost in a fantasy of what can never and will never be. And you have no time for fantasy, despite what your heart keeps trying to tell you. 

You dream of him, as you always seem to.

You could cope with it, if it were simply sex. If it were about nothing more than his cock and his hands and the way his voice penetrates deep into your bones whenever you hear it, turning you pliable and needy. But today’s dream is one you’ve had before, and one you always dread.

I love you. His hands are gentle as they wrap around your waist, pulling you close. I can’t imagine my life without you in it. His nose nuzzles against your neck, tickling you and making you giggle.

I love you too, Law. I think I always have. Your hands rest on his chest, and you can feel his heart beating below your fingers, quick and thundering. You smile. Nervous?

Of course I am. Look at you. His eyes bore into yours, and you can see the affection flooding them. His nose brushes against yours, his lips growing closer, and his eyes flutter shut.

Yours shoot open.

No matter how many dreams you have about Law, you can never kiss him. How sad, that your brain can imagine a hundred ways he can fuck you and not one in which gives you the one thing you’ve been craving most.

You throw off your covers and throw on a bra, not bothering to get fully dressed. You need some air, which is unfortunate, considering the Tang won’t surface for at least another day or two. You can at least go downstairs and find a window, press yourself against the glass and pretend you’re out in the cold of the ocean, at peace with the world around you. You can avoid passing Law’s office, and hopefully that means you’ll avoid the man himself. You don’t want to burst into tears the moment you see him, and you feel too soft and fragile right now, like your edges are crumbling. Half of you is still in the dream, melting into fantasy, and being snapped into reality with a single look might shatter you.

You pad quietly out into the hallway, unsure of what time it is, not wanting to wake anyone. It’s impossible to tell what time of day it is on the Tang when you’re underwater, lit only by harsh fluorescents that constantly buzz. It’s peaceful, feeling the cold metal of the floors seep through your socks and hearing the quiet thunk of your footsteps muffled by the fabric. 

“Are you heading downstairs?”

You turn to see Bepo, shifting uncomfortably on his feet, papers in hand. “Yeah, I am. Why? Do you need something?”

“Can you run these to Captain for me? I would, but–” 

You see him wince as he speaks, and you immediately know what the problem is. Before you can even think about it, you’re swiping the papers from his hands easily. “Yeah, of course, big guy. I’ll take care of it.”

“Thank you so much!” He’s off in an instant.

You stare at the papers, willing yourself into reality. You’re going to bring something to your captain. The man you have no other relationship with. Just doing your job. And afterwards you can go back to your room and cry all you want, if you really feel like you need to.

Law should be in his office right now, buried up to his neck in paperwork. It doesn’t feel great to add to that pile, or to let him see you so underdressed, but Bepo needed help. You can’t let him suffer just to avoid some embarrassment. You make your way down, knocking lightly against his office door.

No voice calls you inside.

Strange. He should be here. Maybe he fell asleep at his desk again. You’ve heard the others scold him for that dozens of times, and you’ve caught him yourself once or twice. He’s going to ruin his back if he keeps doing that. You crack open the door, ready to shift him into a more comfortable position, but you find your Captain isn’t actually there at all. His desk is a mess, papers everywhere, a sharp contrast from the neatly organized shelves and minimalist look of the rest of the room.

“Maybe I should tidy up for him,” you mutter to yourself. Law hates asking for help with things he believes he should be able to handle on his own, but clearly this is getting away from him. And even if he wasn’t grateful for the intrusion, at least it might lighten his load a little. You’d do nearly anything to ease your Captain’s burdens, if he’d just let you.

Before you realize it, your hands are on the papers, your former fragility forgotten as you get lost in the calm that such a mundane task brings you. You start by simply organizing the papers into stacks based on their titles and a quick skim of their opening paragraphs. You don’t read any further, not wanting to read anything not meant for your eyes, and you quickly find you’re able to organize everything into three neat stacks: medical papers, ship logs, and a third stack of anything that doesn’t fit into the previous two. You’re nearly finished when you find a title that makes you pause.

You can’t figure out what What You Can’t Have could mean, or what this bundle of papers is doing in Law’s office. Skimming the first few paragraphs doesn’t give you any explanation, until you start reading more closely and see a name: Sora.

Everyone in the North Blue knows about Sora, Warrior of the Sea, and everyone on this ship knows it more intimately than most. Your Captain’s fondness for the series and your fondness for him means you know it very well, well enough to know this is not one of the noncanonical (but still official) spinoff novels, or a novel adaptation of one of the comics. There’s a character you’ve never heard of before in this, one that, if you were a more paranoid person, you would suspect is based on you. She can’t be, of course. That would be ridiculous. But as you read her introductory paragraph, you can’t help but notice she bears a striking physical resemblance to you. Same hair and eye color, same height, same build. But she can’t be you. She’s described as seductive, enchanting, and many other things you know nobody would ever say about you.

You should put this down. But the writing style is so familiar, and so are the handwritten edits in the margins. Your captain wrote this. You had no idea this was what he did in what little spare time he has. You keep telling yourself to stop reading, to tuck it away and pretend you didn’t see it, because really, you know he wouldn’t want you to have seen it, easily embarrassed as he is. But there’s so much passion in the words, so much care, and frankly? It’s good. Really good. You think he has some real talent, in something you would have never expected him to even try. His care for the series oozes from every word, and he’s really good at building tension, and–

Oh.

Your captain hasn’t just been writing fanfiction about his favorite hero.

He’s been writing smut.

Really good smut, honestly.

You lean against the desk, completely enraptured by his work. The tension between Sora and this unnamed woman is astonishing, every single word winding you up tighter as you wait for the dam to break. Before you know it, you’re fully bent over the desk, clutching the page in your hands, trying not to rub your thighs together at the very graphic descriptions of what Sora is doing with his hands. You imagine Law’s hands, lithe and long, sliding under your shirt like Sora’s do under this mystery woman’s. You imagine his breath puffing against your ear as he instructs, be good for me, now, and maybe you can finally get what you want, just like Sora does. You imagine him moving impossibly closer, feeling his hardness press into your thigh as– 

“What are you doing in here?”

You freeze. Your captain is standing in the door, papers in hand and scowl severe. If you didn’t know better, you would think for a moment his eyes lingered on the cleavage you’re showing by leaning over this far. But you do know better, so you tell yourself he’s simply observing the papers in your hands, even if his gaze seems aimed too high for that. You shoot up, papers still in hand, shirt riding up in the process, and god does it look like his eyes dip down to your exposed midriff in the process. But they don’t. You have more pressing matters than your delusions, anyway.

“Hi Captain!”

“...Hi.”

“I–Um. I was organizing your desk for you.”

His eyes linger on the three stacks of papers, humming quietly. “I see that. …Why?”

“Bepo had me run papers down to you, but you weren’t here, and–and your desk was so messy, so much messier than usual, and I was worried maybe you were overwhelmed and I thought it might help.” You’re speaking a mile a minute, clutching the papers close to your chest in some desperate attempt to ground yourself, but the sound of the papers wrinkling causes him to glance down and now you’re sure that just for a moment he was looking at your boobs and you’re far more flustered than you were when you began.

And even worse, he smiles. It’s a soft, gentle thing, which sneaks so slowly onto his face you don’t even know if he realizes it’s there. But it is. And it’s beautiful. “Thank you, then. I appreciate the thought.”

Your grip eases on the papers for a second, and the crinkling brings his attention back to them. You don’t know what gives it away, but with the way his eyes widen slightly, the way his lips part, you know that he knows what you have in your hands. The way he whispers your name, the fear in it, makes your heart clench.

“Captain–”

“Did you–I–” He takes a breath, gathers himself. “Did you read anything you weren’t supposed to?”

God, you did. You’re halfway through a sex scene, flushed and flustered and thinking about your captain in ways that are wholly and completely inappropriate. You’re panicking. You can’t let Law see how flustered you are, can’t let him realize that you were fantasizing about him, lusting after him in his office while he’s out like some kind of pervert. So, trying to turn this around on him, throw him off his rhythm, you decide to make a deeply out of character choice.

You open your mouth, taking a dramatic breath as though you're going to start reading aloud, and you can see the panic in Law's eyes. Before you can decide between reading and handing it over to spare him the embarrassment, you hear “Shambles!” as the papers in your hand are swapped with the ones he walked in with. You're momentarily disappointed, before you look down and are struck with intense and all consuming delight.

In trying to get the fanfiction out of your hands, Law has, in fact, given you more of his fanfiction to read.

You gasp quietly, cheshire cat grin widening. Law looks at you with confusion, clearly still so thrown he hasn't realized what's just transpired. In your current state, you can only think of one way to inform him.

"Her hands were soft and gentle, so small compared to his-"

"STOP." He lunges forward around the desk, powers forgotten as he decides to bullrush you to get the papers out of your hands. His hands wrap around your wrists, and before you know it you’re pinned against the desk, chests pressed together, his leg pressed between your thighs. You flush, overwhelmed by the sensation of his hard body against yours, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “Do you think this is funny?”

You open your mouth to respond, but his lips are so close, and you feel something else pressing into your midriff. You make a small choked noise, and his glare doesn’t dampen.

“Are you trying to embarrass your captain?”

“I–uh–Captain–” You can barely squeak out anything, and he presses closer.

“Answer me.”

“You’re so close.”

He pauses.

He blinks.

And suddenly your captain is across the room, face bright red, holding his papers in front of his chest like a shield. “I–um.” He stares at you a moment, his eyes moving from your face to your chest to your hips and back up, and suddenly the papers shifts down in front of his crotch.

He couldn’t…

Could he?

Before you can process this, he’s speaking again, his tone far less authoritative than it was before. “How far did you read?”

“Uh–pretty far.”

You could swear his voice cracks a little as he whispers, “Oh god. This is–you were never supposed to see that.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep reading, it was just–it was really good.”

He stares at you a moment, mouth agape. “What?”

“It was–I liked it a lot. I didn’t even mean to start it, I just couldn’t figure out what pile to put it in, and then I got really invested, and–I’m really, really sorry, Captain.”

“You liked it?” His eyes are narrowed, looking at you like something dangerous, like if he shows a moment of weakness you’ll pounce. He approaches you slowly, inching closer and closer.

“...Yeah. I did. I was really impressed, actually. I didn’t know you were a writer.”

He scoffs. “I wouldn’t call myself that.”

“Why?”

“I just…don’t know if I’m good at it.” He sounds small in a way you’ve never heard him. You’ve never seen Law less than confident before. He absolutely radiates it, a constant smug grin and twinkle in his eyes. It suits him far better than slumped shoulders and wringing hands.

“Are you kidding? It was amazing. What I was able to read, anyway. I couldn’t bear to put it down.” You reach for him for just a moment, your hand ready to touch his shoulder, but something in you pulls it back. You can’t bring yourself to touch him, not as you are. 

He won’t look at you. You can feel his regret in sharing, in allowing his mask to crack slightly. There’s a bitterness to his tone as he snaps at you like a wounded animal. “You expect me to believe that? That you didn’t just read it to laugh at me?”

You can’t keep the pity off of your face. His first instinct is always to believe he’ll be hurt, that an open hand is a sign of a slap, and not a kind touch. “Why on earth would I do that, Captain?”

His shoulders unknot a bit as he thinks it over. You have never done anything to hurt him, and to tease in such a cruel way is not in your nature. He’s not relaxed, not quite, but he isn’t ready to run anymore. He leans against a nearby table, parking himself at a distance but assuring you he won’t go further. “I suppose you wouldn’t. …So you really liked it?”

The way he’s looking at you is so fragile, so soft. You feel your heart clench at the sight of such a guarded man looking so adorable, though you know he would hate to be called such a thing. You can’t help the affection that leaks into your gentle smile as you look at him. “I really did.”

He huffs, trying to bring back up his walls, but he can’t hide his relief, and his continued interest. “What did you like about it?”

“I thought the descriptions were very vivid. It was…” It feels like crossing a line you can’t uncross to call it hot, but he’s looking at you so expectantly. “Very stimulating.”

Something akin to a smirk grows on his face, offset by the dust of a blush on his cheeks. His voice is an octave deeper when he speaks. “Simulating?”

You shiver. “I–uh–yes. The leads had really good chemistry. I never imagined Sora would be so…charming. And I liked the woman too, though I have to admit I didn’t recognize her name.”

He nods. “You wouldn’t. She’s an original character.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, I wanted to try my hand at something new, and I didn’t like pairing him with any of the canon characters so I just…made one up.”

You shift nervously on your feet, thinking about how remarkably familiar her description was. “So you made her just for this? Didn’t even give her a name?”

“I haven’t decided her name yet, but I’m working on it. And yeah, she’s just for this. Why?”

You want to be subtle, ease your way in, but your mind is running a mile a minute and frankly subtlety has never been your strong suit anyway. “So…is she supposed to be me?”

He shoots up so quickly he nearly falls over. “What? No! No, why would you think that?” He looks absolutely mortified, like he’s praying the floor swallows him whole. He looks about two seconds away from shambling himself out of the sub and letting the ocean take him away.

“Well in her intro, when you describe her…she looks a lot like me.”

“...She does?” He seems genuinely surprised, and you can’t help but laugh.

“Why are you asking? You’re the writer! You didn’t realize?”

“No, I…” He’s blushing to the tips of his ears. “She was just supposed to be a beautiful woman. I didn’t think that hard about what she looked like beyond that.”

“She has the same hair color and eye color as me, you describe her as around my height, and the dress she’s wearing in her intro is my favorite color.”

His shoulders are so tense they’re practically up over his ears. If his voice cracks when he yells, you’re kind enough not to acknowledge it. “I didn’t think that much about it! I just thought of a beautiful woman and I described her.”

“So when you think of a beautiful woman in your head, you see me?”

He doesn’t answer.

You try to hide your giddy smile. “That’s sweet, Captain.”

He avoids eye contact so aggressively you swear it must be hurting him at this point. “It wasn’t–I–I didn’t notice. You don’t think it’s…creepy?”

“That you think I’m beautiful?”

“That I wrote porn about a woman who looks exactly like you.”

“Oh. When you put it like that I guess it doesn’t sound great.” He tenses again, so you rush to reassure him. “But no, I don’t think it’s creepy. It’s not like you meant to, or anything. Or that you wrote about me and like, another member of the crew or something. Why would I be mad that I just happen to be exactly your type?” Your heart is beating out of your chest as you try to portray a confidence you certainly don’t feel. 

“Right. Yeah. I–There’s nothing wrong with that.”

He didn’t deny it.

“And it’s…great porn, honestly.”

Your delivery is so awkward the tension finally breaks as he laughs at you. “I appreciate that. I worked hard on it. But I’m not sure on some of the descriptions.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure it reads as true to life.”

“Does it need to?”

“No, not really, fantasies don’t have to be realistic. But…I can’t help but think about it anyway. What if part of it is so unrealistic it takes you out of it entirely, and I just didn’t notice? Or didn’t know because I’ve never tried that specific thing? Do you know what I mean?”

You do. You know insecurity in your work, the way it whispers in your ear. You know that words are not enough reassurance to silence those whispers. You want to help him, even if you don’t know how you could.

“What if we…tested it? To see if it’s realistic?” You can’t believe the words that just left your mouth. From the look on his face, Law can’t either.

“What?” A beautiful crimson streaks across his face and up to his ears, heat radiating off of him.

“Oh my god. Forget I said that, that was so inappropriate, I’ll just go–”

“No!” He’s so loud you both flinch, and he seems surprised by his own objection. His long fingers are wrapped around your wrist, and you can feel his calluses brush against your skin. God, what you wouldn’t give for those fingers to be somewhere else. “No, don’t–don’t leave. I think–I would–um. I’d like that.”

You blink. “You would?”

“Just to…test it. To make sure my writing is accurate. I’m a perfectionist.”

“Right.”

“Yeah.” His eyes flicker down to where he’s holding you, and to your surprise, he doesn’t release his grip. He tugs you closer, pressing your chests together, and you can feel his warm breath in his ear. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Law.”

“What?”

The deep rumble of his voice is commanding in a way that has you rubbing your thighs together. “I want to hear you say my name. Call me Law.”

“Yes, Law.”

You can feel his smirk as he whispers the next words in your ear. “Good girl.”

Heat rushes to your face, and you bite your lip to keep from making any deeply embarrassing noises. He chuckles as he pulls away, and you see no trace of his earlier apprehension or nerves. You suppose Law has always been a good liar, always putting up the front of the proud, confident, and unshakable Surgeon of Death. What is this but another part for him to play?

“How did it start again?” He places his hands on your hips, leading you away from the desk and toward the wall. “She and Sora meet up in the club, strike up a conversation–”

“Can we skip to the good part?” You hate how needy and breathless you sound. You’re already worked up from reading, from hearing him speak, from being so close, that you think if you spend another minute without some kind of release you might explode.

He chuckles. “I guess we can skip forward a bit.” He presses you against the wall, hand sliding to your thigh. You shiver, but he stops right before his fingers slide under your shorts. “But have you been good enough to earn it?”

You whine, a pathetic, wounded sound that comes from deep within you. For a moment, you see his facade slip as he swallows, trying not to give away how much the sound turned him on. But after a moment his mask settles back firmly in place, and you’re both ready to continue the game. “Please, Law. I’ve been good. I’ll be good.”

His smile is all teeth as his fingers find their place inside of you. First one, pumping slowly and deliberately, curling to hit your sweet spot just right. He moans quietly in your ear at the feeling of it. You know his line before he says it. “Do you feel that? The way you’re pulling me in? You need me bad, sweetheart, don’t you?”

He inserts a second finger right as you open your mouth to answer. “Ahh–Yes! I need you!”

He pumps harder, faster, and his other hand starts to wander towards your chest. His lips find your neck, nipping at the point where it meets your jaw, making you gasp again. His hand gently squeezes your breast through your shirt, and he can feel your hardened nipples through the fabric. He chuckles. “Yes, you do. Nobody else can make you feel as good as I can. You know it. That’s why you’re here, that’s why you’re so drawn to me. On some level you know: it’s just you and me. We’re all there is, all that matters. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, Law! Yes!”

His free hand effortlessly removes your shirt, and you gasp as you’re exposed to the air, your back pressing into the cold wall. He removes your bra next, letting out a soft hiss of appreciation when he finally sees them fully exposed. “As beautiful as I imagined,” he whispers, seemingly to himself. You don’t remember that line.

His mouth finds your nipple easily, sucking and nipping as you threaten to come undone under his attention. His fingers are still moving, his thumb on your clit, building the tension in your body until you feel like you’re going to explode. You’re so very close to the edge, close enough that in your pleasure you forget the next part of the story for a moment.

Until his fingers leave you.

“No!” Your head slams back into the wall as you wail, tears welling up in your eyes. Law seems unaffected, pulling back from you as he slowly inserts his fingers into his mouth, savoring your taste. The only sign that you’ve shaken him is the clear strain of his cock under his jeans, desperate to be free.

His fingers leave his mouth with a pop, and he smiles at you, eyes half-lidded. “Did you think it was going to be that easy? That you would just get what you want, no questions asked?”

You whine, the sound filled with genuine despair. The room is silent for a moment as he stares at you, waiting for your next line, and you try to remember the part you’re supposed to play here. You just barely manage to grasp it, breathlessly saying, “I thought you were a better man than to leave a lady wanting.”

He slides off his tank top, revealing his beautiful tattoos to you. “Oh, honey, this isn’t about what you want. It’s about what you need. And how wonderful it’ll be, once you’re so on edge you can barely stand it, and I finally give in to you. Can you imagine it?” He pops the button of his pants next, sensually sliding them and his boxers down to expose his bare hips. “What it’ll feel like, when I’m finally inside of you?”

His cock is finally free, bobbing in the air as it leaks with precum. He looks painfully hard, and you swallow as you briefly imagine it in your mouth. You’d give almost anything to taste him right now, but that isn’t a part of the scene.

“You’ll feel so full, honey. Imagine how good it’ll feel to cum on my cock. Isn’t that worth the wait?”

“God, yes.”

“Good girl. So agreeable.” One hand finds your hips as he uses the other to line himself up. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, god, please.”

He slowly slides in, feeling the drag of every inch of his dick against your walls. He makes a strangled noise at the feeling, burying his face into your neck as he desperately tries to catch his breath. He stops once he’s fully sheathed in you, giving you both a moment to adjust.

And then another.

And another.

“Law?”

You can hear him chuckle against you. “What, darling?”

“Please, Law.”

He pretends to ponder whether or not to give in for a moment, keeping you in suspense, before he relents. He pulls away from your neck, revealing his extremely red face. His voice may be calm, but the rest of him cannot hide the effects you’re having. “What do you want, sweetheart? Use your words.”

You know the line you’re supposed to say next. She tells Sora she wants relief, wants him to move, wants anything that she can have. But you’re soft, and weak, filled with want. You cannot help but think of your dream this morning, what you were denied and what you’ve always wanted. So you speak the honest truth. “I want you to kiss me.”

He stares at you for a moment, eyes searching yours. You see your own want reflected in him, an affection that makes your chest ache. Then a smile blooms across his face, one gentler than you deserve. The line he says next is Sora’s, but what comes after is all Law. “Whatever the lady wants,” he murmurs, before his lips meet yours.

The kiss isn’t fireworks, or an all consuming flame, or any other way you’d ever heard such a thing described. It was tender, it was kind, and most importantly, it was Law. You’d never wanted anything else. It finally confirms to you that this isn’t a dream, that he’s really here, pressing you against this wall, a desire burning in him that only you can satiate. The lust is still here, the heat of your bodies intertwined, but there’s something tender and real beneath it. 

Once you both pull back, panting, you look into his eyes and know the scene is well and truly over. Now it’s just you and Law, breaths mingling and hearts pounding. He smiles at you, a nervous, delicate thing, his confidence left behind with the script. He’s breathless as he whispers, “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do that?”

You let out a soft, unsure laugh. “Is that Law talking, or Sora?”

He brushes his nose against yours. “It’s all me. It always has been.”

You can’t help your lovesick smile, dripping with a saccharine fondness you couldn’t hide if you tried. You meet his lips again, a kiss with a little more fire, a little more desperation. You try to convey everything you can’t say aloud: the years of yearning, the pain of thinking this moment would never come, the euphoria of learning you were wrong. Your hands press against his chest, his pulse fluttering under your fingers in unison with your own. You wrap your legs around his waist, desperate to pull him ever closer. He lets out a soft sound, almost a whimper, at the feeling of your lips against his as you clench around him. His tongue slips into your mouth, and once again the air around you grows ever hotter.

“Can I move?” There’s a whine to his voice. “Please.”

“Please do,” you moan, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your chests together. 

He needs no further instruction, thrusting harshly, hips rutting against yours. You can feel him struggle to hold himself back from pounding into you at a bruising pace. His hands grip your hips, his nails digging in as he clenches his teeth.

“You don’t have to hold back, Law. I’ll take anything you want to give me.”

He struggles to speak through his self control. “I want to enjoy this. I want to take my time.” Another deliberate thrust has you dragging your nails down his back, making him moan in your ear. “I want this to be as good as it can be for you.”

“This is–ahh!–already better than I’d ever dreamed, Law.”

One of his hands moves to your clit, his fingers starting a steady motion. “Not good enough,” he mutters. His lips find your neck, placing open mouthed kisses along its length, his teeth grazing your skin. You feel yourself coming close to cumming again, your voice growing louder, echoing through the room as you babble. You don’t even know what you’re begging for, the words please and more and Law are all you can say, all you can think. There is nothing in the world beyond the feeling of him against you, inside of you, his soft lips and callused hands. 

You expect him to rip away your pleasure again, but when he briefly stills, your babbles turn to sobs anyway. He pulls back to look you in the eye, take in the sight of the tears running down your face, and you can see him soften once again. His hands and hips start moving again immediately as he presses soft kisses against your cheeks, clearing away your tears.

“Sorry, sorry, it’s alright. You’re doing great. I won’t take it from you again, I promise.” His voice is filled with pity. “You’ve been so good, you can take what you want now.” He builds you back up quickly, his hips pressing into yours even faster than before. You can feel yourself about to burst, and you slam your lips into his, moaning into his mouth. The dam finally bursts, and the pleasure nearly blinds you as you clench around him, his hips struggling to keep moving with how tightly your legs are wrapped around his waist. Your orgasm is what finally makes him break, filling you to the brim as his movements stutter.

You bask in the feeling for a moment, both panting and dripping with sweat, his cock rapidly softening inside of you. Your head lolls forward, pressing into his shoulder, and you press a kiss against his sticky skin.

“Was it worth the wait?” He tries to ask the question in a teasing tone, but you can hear the insecurity underneath it.

“It was worth everything and more.” You shift to wrap your arms tighter around him and nuzzle your face into his neck. 

You can feel the rumble of his chest as he chuckles, gathering you up as he slips out of you. “Agreed.” He kisses the side of your head, an action so filled with care it nearly makes you burst into tears again. He tries to lower you onto something, making you pull him closer and whine. “I just need to set you down for a second, sweetheart. I’ll be right back.”

“No.” You sound like a pouting child, making you cringe, but he laughs fondly anyway.

“Alright. A few more minutes. But I have to clean you up eventually, and then we need to find a place a bit more private to settle in, don’t you think? Or at least somewhere more comfortable.”

You hum quietly, pressing your nose further into him. You can worry about logistics in a few minutes. Right now you just want to bask in his warmth, in this dream turned reality, in the absolute joy of your feelings being reciprocated. “I really didn’t think you liked me,” you mutter sleepily. “I’m glad I was wrong.”

“I could say the same,” he murmurs into your hair.

You laugh. “Shachi and Peng are going to be so smug about this.”

“They are?”

“They’ve been trying to tell me for years, and they don’t get to tell me I told you so very often.”

“They were telling you too?” He laughs. “We could have done this months ago if we’d just believed them.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, your eyes starting to slip shut. “You’re worth the wait, though.”

You can hear the smile in his voice as his hand rubs soothing circles on your lower back, luring you further into sleep. “Yeah. So are you.”

Tag List:  @pandora-writes-one-piece @shy-writer-999 @saturogojosgirl @dreamcastgirl99 @tochillwithamockingjay 

[mingkismain]

Detective Kim - hongjoong x reader

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an; finally got inspo to write again!

hongjoong x fem!reader

genre; smut, pwp

word count; 4,091

warnings/tags; pwp, piv, unprotected sex (as i always say don't do that), sort of meandom!hongjoong (SORT OF), non-idol!au, little bit of choking, quite literally one (1) ass slap, lil bit of degradation, pet names (babe, baby), creampie, overstimulation, if i missed anything lmk <3

MDNI - smut under cut

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it wasn’t unusual for you to have to bring in a body during night shift, but a double homicide was definitely a little weird.

You’d been working for the county coroner for about three years now, and in that time you had only had one other double homicide, and that one was on your very first night shift.

You could’ve sworn this one only came in because your coworker made the mistake of wishing you a slow shift, ultimately cursing you to a nightmarish shift. While it wasn’t as bad as you thought, the scene where the bodies were found was about 30 minutes from your office, which meant this trip would take at least an hour, which meant you lost at least an hour of possible sleep.

Great.

“I’ll make sure to wish him a slow shift next time he’s on nights,” you grumbled to yourself as you loaded up the coroner van. As soon as you were done checking the stretchers and making sure you had enough gloves and body bags (plus your camera), you pulled out of the garage and made your way to the scene.

When you arrived, local and state police were already there waiting for you, Detective Kim walking up to your van to greet you.

“Ah, so good to see you!, sorry it’s under these circumstances, but always a pleasure to see you,” Detective Kim stuck his hand out for you to shake.

You smiled, “hi Hongjoong, yes sorry I have to see you here too, we always seem to meet at the worst times!” You tried to keep the mood as light as you could, as the unknown of the scene inside was starting to make you nervous. “What do we have here?” You hopped out of the van, grabbing your camera and some gloves, walking with Hongjoong to the front door of the scene. It appeared to have happened inside a townhouse.

He kept up with you, pausing so you could capture your photos as you two walked, “so apparently there was a 911 call made by a neighbor, they had heard a lot of banging coming from this unit and it was originally a noise complaint. While the person was on the phone with dispatch, they said they heard gunshots. We’re still figuring out the details, but we needed you to come in and do your work before we started ours.” Once you two had made your way to the first line of crime scene tape, you were met with a policeman holding a sheet of paper.

“Before you two go in, sign this please.” He held the clipboard out in front of you, it had the scene log on it. “Make sure we know who is coming in and out of here. We don’t know what happened yet, but better safe than sorry.” You and Hongjoong nodded and each signed your names and what departments you two worked for. You then snapped a shot of the scene log for your own evidence folder.

You continued to talk to Hongjoong as you made your way through the front door, snapping more photos as you moved inside, “so they heard gunshots, anything else? And where are the bodies?” You moved to the living room, finding bloody footprints, snapping a photo with your scale and being careful to not step on them.

“The local police are still gathering their witness statements, so I really don’t know what else they heard. But I think it was a couple, a male and a female. I think the man was dealing with some shady people, then his girl got caught up in it. Oh, and the bodies are upstairs. Whenever you’re done down here we can go up to the bedroom.” He trailed behind you, watching as you photographed from the living room to the kitchen, eventually going to the stairs.

Once you made your way to the stairs, you started to notice bullet holes and marks in the walls leading up to the hallway. You grabbed some photos of those as you continued up the stairs, “Joong, which bedroom are they in?”

His ears perked up at the little nickname, people rarely used it on him but whenever you said it, he would feel his face flush. He cleared his throat, “go up the hallway, second door on your left. I’ll be right behind you.” You nodded and continued up as you photographed the hallway upstairs, finding even more bullet holes and a couple of shell casings. As you entered the bedroom, you saw the two bodies, the woman was in bed, the man was face down on the floor.

Hongjoong stood behind you, “Jesus.”

You turned around, brows furrowed, “have you not been up here yet??”

“No, I seriously was waiting for you! I didn’t want you yelling at me if I touched anything! I remember how you were on that suicide scene not too long ago!”

You huffed, “well thank you for not touching anything, but are the weapons secured? Do we even know if this guy had a gun? Has anyone done ANYTHING prior to my arrival???”

He stifled a laugh, “yes, the cops secured the scene for you, they have the gun in an evidence bag downstairs, but we can give you a description and everything when we’re heading down again. And don’t worry, we took our own photos before we moved the gun.”

“Thank you, remind me when we go down please.” You began to move into the room, being mindful of where your feet were placed.

The room wasn’t a bloodbath, but it certainly wasn’t spotless. You started with the man, as he was closer to the door. He was lying face down, feet closer to the door. It looked as if he had been running. You took photos of him as is before getting up close. Once you finished with overall shots, you put your gloves on and began to move the body, turning him over so you could get a clear shot of his face. It looked as if he had been shot in the back of the head, with the exit wound dead center of his forehead. You opened his eyes to check for other injuries, and to document in your photos. As you moved him so he was now on his back, you found more wounds scattered throughout his torso.

“Oh my god, Doc is gonna have a field day with this guy,” you snapped photos of every single bullet wound. Some had exit wounds, but a few did not, which meant your coroner was going to have to search for the bullets during the autopsy.

Once you were done with the man, you moved to the woman in the bed. She seemed to have a less painful demise, as she only had two bullet wounds. One straight to the heart, and one slightly to the left of the kill shot.

As you continued to move the body so you could clearly assess her, Hongjoong stood by the door, “what’s it looking like?”

You stood at the foot of the bed, taking more pictures of the woman, “looks like he was the one in the altercation. I think she may have woken up, but whoever was chasing this guy must’ve gotten her pretty quickly. She only has two wounds, and I think he’s got at least a dozen holes in him.” You turned around to face him, “can you come back downstairs with me? I need to get my body bags and stretcher out of the van.” He nodded and followed you down. You handed him the two bags you brought and went around the back to grab your stretcher. Since there was only one and both the decedents were relatively small in weight, you could fit both of them on the one stretcher and call it a day.

Before you went back inside, you found some of the local cops. “Listen, I need some big strong men to help me with these people in this house. How many of you want to have the honor of helping lil’ ol’ me?” You batted your lashes at the cops.

Don’t ask what sexism can’t do for you, but what it CAN help you with. You damn well were not about to haul two bodies down some stairs on your own.

Hearing that you needed strong men made them start puffing their chests, one out of the group piped up, “sure doll, me and Chris here can give you a hand. Do you have extra gloves?” He grabbed his buddy by the vest, volunteering him to help with the dead.

You put on a big fake smile, “of course I do! Here, take these and let’s go!”

They followed you into the house, Hongjoong behind them with the body bags still. He had watched you with the cops and may have started ruminating on it. He was a strong guy, right? He alone could’ve helped you with the bodies? What the fuck?

Pushing those thoughts to the side, he stood in the doorway again, watching you and the cops handle the bodies into their bags. Once everyone was zipped in, you and one cop handled a body down the stairs, while Hongjoong and the other cop carried the other bag behind you two. Once they were loaded onto the stretcher, you got them into the van, closing the door behind you. Before you got on your way, you gave the cops your work email so they could send you photos of the gun from earlier.

You thanked the cops and sent them on their way, Hongjoong hung out by your van for a second, “I’ll meet you back at your office.”

“What? Why?”

He huffed, “because you aren’t going to be able to move two bodies on your own that’s why!”

“They’re both pretty light Joong, it's fine, really. You probably have other cases sitting on your desk—”

He sighed your name out, “seriously, quit it, I’m not changing my mind. Plus, I really don’t wanna go back to the office yet. I’ll meet you at YOUR office in a bit. Drive safe.”

“You too.” You spoke as he walked off, you hopped back into your van, plugging your directions in.

While on your drive you contemplated why Hongjoong’s mood had shifted towards the end of the scene. Sure you had only known him for two years, but that felt like enough time together to know that tonight was a little strange.

“Maybe he’s dealing with shit outside of work,” You thought out loud. Maybe the bodies in the back would perk up with some advice.

Unfortunately, neither the dead nor the living had anything insightful to say as you pulled back into your office garage, Hongjoong already in a parking spot out front. Once he saw you parking, he made his way to the garage door. He barely said a word as you got the stretcher out of the back.

“Where do you want it?”

Your eyebrows raised, “huh?? Oh, the bodies. Um, put them over there for now, I have to get their weights, but I need to put them on separate tables for that.” You shook your head. The fuck? He knew what he was doing phrasing it like that.

He literally does NOT, you just haven’t been laid in ages. Wake up.

While you busied yourself with the toe tags, Hongjoong made his way over to you, leaning in to see what you were writing down. He was so close you could smell the cologne on him, it’s amazing that after a scene as gross as that one and now being in the morgue with more dead bodies mere feet away, he still smelled so delicious. It took a lot of willpower for your hand to steady as you finished with the last tag, turning around and nearly bumping into him with how in your space he had gotten.

“Sorry hon, was just curious. I don’t get to see this side of the investigation too much,” he moved out of your way so you could go place the toe tags with their respective bodies.

Was it a full moon tonight? Why am I sweating when this morgue is literally 50ºF. I hate it here.

As you finished with the toe tags, you moved to grab the storage trays out of the freezer for the bodies. You figured you could weigh one of them on the stretcher and the other on the tray, then move them both to trays for storage until autopsy. You motioned for Hongjoong, “Joong, come give me a hand please?”

This time there was no hiding the flush to his face as he walked towards you; though he could blame it on how cold this damn place was. Regardless, he made his way over, helping you weigh the bodies. Once all that was done, you rolled them into storage, shutting the door and double checking that it was locked. You sighed as you headed back to the van to collect your camera so you could upload your photos and hopefully sleep the rest of your shift.

Unfortunately (or maybe not?) Hongjoong followed you to your desk inside.

“I thought you were just going to help with the bodies?” You unloaded your camera bag as he rolled up an office chair next to yours.

He took off his coat, putting it on the back of his chair, “yeah, but now I want to see your pictures. Crime scene rarely shares with the detectives. I don’t know why, but they’re so weird. It’s like a little cult over there, they never wanna give us anything even though it’s usually OUR cases they’re helping with.”

You let out a small sigh, “alright, fine. You can look at mine, but I’m kicking you out after that. You’re cutting into my sleeping time.”

He laughed, “listen, I’m cutting into my OWN sleep time, but I get lonely at the office, it’s different from here.”

You focused on your screen, beginning to label all your photos in numerical order. “What do you mean?”

He leaned in, looking as you labeled, “oh wow you’re great at this. It’s just different. Here you’re on your own sort of, it’s only you on night shift, not a lot of overhead really, it’s comfier. At my office it has the same vibes as a fraternity house sometimes. There’s more than one person each shift, and everyone is fighting for the same promotion most times, so you really don’t know who you can trust. It sucks most days, but I love the actual work I do.”

You blushed at his quick compliment about your photos, the day you can take a compliment normally is the day your praise kink dies. Regardless, you continue to listen to him vent about his office as you catalog your work. By the time he was done ranting, you had finished with your photos, Hongjoong leaning over your shoulder the entire time you were working, eventually moving so close to your screen that your heads were lined up next to each other. But you blamed the closeness on him manually zooming in instead of waiting for you to do it on the computer. Now that you were done with labeling, you could spend more time looking at the pictures with him. He never moved his head, if anything he got even closer to you, putting the hand that was originally resting on the back of your chair, now resting on your shoulders. He stood out of his chair in favor of practically leaning over you.

You tried to crack a joke, “Joong, I think you need glasses, you’re so close you’re going to fall into my screen,” you let out a nervous laugh as you both turned your heads to each other. The eye contact you were now holding made your body temperature skyrocket.

He continued to hold eye contact, breaking for a second to look at your lips, “Sorry doll, I didn’t want to bother you too much and ask you to zoom in on every single picture.”

You thought about how he said doll, then it hit you, “is that what this attitude change was caused by?? Because I asked some stupid local cops to help me move BODIES? You cannot be serious right now Hongjoong.” You were still technically under him in your desk chair, yelling up into his face. He gave it right back to you, one hand moving to your upper thigh, giving it a squeeze, “yeah that’s what this was about! Why were you flirting with the cops? You didn’t need to do that and you know I would’ve been able to help you with the bodies myself!”

The hand on your thigh did little to distract you, “oh my god you and your fragile ego! We would’ve dropped the fucking bodies had it just been us two! Don’t read into it too much! The flirting meant jack shit!”

He sighed heavily, the hand on the back of your chair moving to your chin, pulling you in for a rough kiss. Pulling away, he said, “it didn’t feel like jack shit to me, do you do that on all your scenes?” He lifted you out of your chair, dropping you onto your desk, going back in for a heavier kiss. “Whore yourself around so the men can do the heavy lifting? I wonder what else you offer so they can do your dirty work,” He pulled you into him by your waist, a hand snaking up to the back of your head, pulling your hair so you would look at him. You bit back a moan, not wanting him to have the satisfaction of knowing how hot you were getting.

He gave your hair another tug, “answer me pretty girl. Do you act like that at all your scenes or just when you know I’ll be around?”

You tried to even out your heavy breathing, looking into his eyes, “I do it on most scenes, regardless of if you’re there or not. It’s not my fault you can’t handle it.” His grip in your hair loosened, you thought this would be the end of it.

Clearly you were wrong.

He tilted his head and smirked at you, pulling you off of the desk in favor of bending you over it.

Thank god this office didn’t have any fucking cameras.

You braced yourself with your arms but not for long, you heard movement behind your back before your arms were taken out from under you. Hongjoong had taken his belt and secured your arms behind you with it. He then moved to unfasten your pants, dropping them along with his. He bent over you so he could whisper in your ear as his hand snaked down to play with your already throbbing clit over your panties.

“We’ll see who can handle what. I don’t think those other cops ever get to see you like this.” You turned your head away from him, trying to hide the fact that he was making you feel fucking amazing, but he was having none of that. Instead of going for your hair again, he brought the hand that wasn’t on your clit to your neck, grabbing you tightly, making you arch off the desk. As he brought you up to him, a moan escaped you and it immediately drove Hongjoong up a fucking wall.

“Aw see baby, you can’t hide from me, I know what you like. It’s too easy,” he emphasized ‘easy’ with a stronger hold on your neck, making your vision fuzzy for only a moment before fully dropping his hand in favor of going to rip your underwear off. He brought you back down to the desk with a huff, getting rid of his underwear in the process.

He took his cock out and began to line himself up with your entrance, you only wish you could’ve seen his face when he finally slid into you, but you were too busy squeezing your eyes shut. You could hear him let out a shaky moan, “jesus fuck you feel so good, it’s a wonder we didn’t do this sooner,” you gasped as he bottomed out inside of you, even though you didn’t get a chance to see his cock, he felt heavy inside of you, thick and long, practically touching your cervix.

Once Hongjoong felt you were adjusted to him he began to pound into you, moving you up and down the desk. He held onto your still secured arms for leverage, grunting into your ear as he did so.

Leaning down to bite your ear, he growled at you, “say it.”

In your nearly fucked out state, you had no idea what he was talking about. “What?” You managed to get out through several moans.

He repeated himself, bringing a hand to slap your ass as he did, “say it. Tell me you’re a whore. My whore.”

At the mention of him calling you his whore you swore you could’ve flooded the office, you felt yourself tighten around him as he said it. Earning another, rather loud, moan out of him.

Through broken whimpers and moans, you managed to say it, “yes, fuck yes! I’m yours Hongjoong,” you let out another particularly loud moan, practically drooling onto your desk, “your dumb whore.” You were pretty sure you came as you said that, body feeling a little more weak and a lot more sensitive, but he continued to fuck you through it, bringing you to that sweet spot of overstimulation.

Hongjoong must’ve felt it too, he leaned down to leave a kiss on your shoulder, “aw what’s the matter baby? Haven’t been touched in so long it only takes a couple hits to get you there? Don’t worry, I’m close too.”

He in fact was not close.

He continued to pound into you, switching up from fast and hard to slowly dragging his cock in and out of you, it was torturous at this point. He was driving you crazy, you felt like you were close again, he made it even worse by bringing his hand back down to your clit to rub it again, harder and faster than before, making your legs shake so badly. You were beginning to get so overwhelmed by all the pleasure, you could feel tears running down your face, landing on your desk. You were sure you were going to pass out if he didn’t cum soon, the pleasure beginning to make you feel lightheaded.

You could hear Hongjoong’s groans and moans getting louder behind you. He reached down to undo the belt from your hands, freeing you to brace yourself on your desk again. You pushed yourself up, arching your back and making him fuck you from a slightly new angle, sending you both right to the edge.

He bit your shoulder and moaned loudly, “baby, babe I’m close, so close, where do you want it?”

You shivered at his words, reaching back to grab his hair, “inside—haah—fuck inside please!”

He moaned and cursed your name, “fuck, fuck! coming, oh my god i’m gonna—” he groaned as he released inside you, triggering you to come again, legs practically giving out underneath you. Hongjoong felt you slipping and held your hips up while you both rode your highs out. Once your both caught your breath, he pulled out of you, making you both shudder as he did so.

As you turned around to redress yourself, he was doing the same, he reached down to you and gave you a deep kiss, but this one was softer than the earlier ones. Once you both were redressed, your work phone rang.

You groaned, answering the phone, “coroner’s office. Huh? Uh huh.” Hongjoong stood close by, trying to listen in, “alright, where are you? Do you have a name? No? Alright, do you at least have race and sex? Weight? Rough estimate is fine. Alright. I’ll be out in under an hour. And what was your name? Got it. See ya.” You hung up the phone, scribbling the last bit of info down.

Hongjoong spoke up, “what was that about?”

You reached for your jacket that read ‘coroner’ on the back, “another death, apparently this one was a suicide. I think it’s in your jurisdiction if you wanna come out with me.”

He followed your lead, reaching for his jacket, “I guess aftercare will have to wait till later huh.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

this was also crossposted to my ao3 :3

please do not repost or translate my work

[halfwayhearted]

Maps — Jobe Bellingham.

Pairing: Jobe Bellingham x Fem!Reader

Summary: Noticing the not-so-subtle stares of the man you wanted but couldn’t have was something you despised.

Word Count: 775+

Disclaimer/s — Slight angst-ish… argument, that’s it.

A/N: The idea I originally had for this like, left my mind in the middle of writing so the ending is so ohr… rushed… hey. Hey!

Why couldn’t he make up his mind? Did he want you? Did he not? It was like holding a flower and delicately picking off the petals, playing the game of ‘he loves me,’ ‘he loves me not.’ It was tiring.

You didn’t know, nor could you tell. It was enough to make you lose it. Spending seconds, minutes, and hours on the situation only to push it aside. Telling yourself not to keep this going. But how could you do that when he always made you feel like you could actually mean something to him?

It pissed you off more than you cared to admit.

What pissed you off even more was the fact that Jobe was staring at you from across the room, his fingers running over his bottom lip and his eyes narrowed while the guy you were speaking to let out a laugh at something you had said. Seriously?

You told yourself that you were fine, you could do this. Don’t let him get to you. He wasn’t worth it.

Maybe you would have listened to your own advice if the man in front of you hadn’t stiffened and asked, “You know who that is over there?”

Already knowing who he was referring to, you refrain from sighing and instead excuse yourself. Wasting no time, you stride toward the man who slowly smirks up at you. Oh, you hated him.

“What the hell are you trying to accomplish?” You snap, your gaze never leaving his even when he stands up and shoves his hands into his pockets.

“I’m not trying to ‘accomplish’ anything.” Oh boy, he was insufferable! You couldn’t stand him at all.

Yet you still couldn’t find it in yourself to pull away when he gently grasps your forearms and guides you to a secluded area outside, thinking it was because your voice was raising and he didn’t want anyone to focus their attention on the both of you.

The second you’re aware that it’s just the two of you, you inhale sharply. “If you think you can just ghost me for days on end and then stare at anybody who’s even an inch in my vicinity the way you’re staring, then you’re wrong,” you snap, hands clenching. “Is it really that hard to make up your mind? I don’t—I don’t get you at all, Jobe!”

When he opens his mouth to speak, you quickly continue, “I will not wait for someone who doesn’t know what or who they want. I just won’t.”

After a few seconds pass, Jobe just simply stares at you, his jaw clenched and eyes narrowed, as if he’s contemplating how to handle the situation.

“Of course,” you scoff. “Whatever—I’m done.” Turning around, you’re about to walk away when he lets out a sigh and tugs you back toward him, making you roll your eyes and take a step back.

The man wets his lips, “I do know what I want.”

“Do you? Then tell me, what is it that you want?”

“You,” he responds almost instantly, making you suck in a breath. But you won’t give in that easily.

“Your way of showing it could use a little work.”

Taking a step toward you, he speaks once again, “Listen—I was… stupid before. I’m sure now.”

“You say you can’t be with me. Then you say that you won’t be able to be with me. Now I’m who you want? I don’t need you playing in my face.”

How did he go about this? You wouldn’t believe him. Rightfully so. Now that he was finally here and able to admit how he felt, he couldn’t help but feel that he was too late. Was he too late?

“What can I do?” He questions, his tone of voice quiet and soft. “Tell me what I can do; I’ll do it.”

Your eyes narrow. He was telling the truth, indeed he was. It didn’t even matter to you. Not anymore.

That’s what you kept telling yourself, but his next words changed your mind in an instant: “Will you have dinner with me? Let me just prove it to you.”

Let me prove it to you. All the resolve you had mustered up disintegrated into thin air and you found yourself letting out a sigh, “One dinner.”

“One dinner?” He echoes. “That’s—okay. Deal.”

Right, deal. You give Jobe one last look before walking past him. Once he’s alone, he starts coming up with different plans for your dinner. This is his one chance to prove to you that he’s, well, sorry and that you’re the one he wants.

And the man will make sure to prove both to you.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated ^_^.

DT(s) — @planetpedri + @spidybaby + @iovepoem + @sakashq + @joaoflms ! ౨ৎ

[wanderlust-in-my-soul]

15 Days BL Challenge (Part 1)

You can find the original post here.

Day 8: The Trope you hate except when it’s “this series”

The miscommunication trope.

I hate when people don’t talk to each other or come to conclusions without hearing the other's side and don’t give them the chance to justify their actions or words. Except when it comes to Love Mechanics.

I guess this series has a couple of tropes people hate to the max (cheating for example), but the miscommunication/misunderstanding stood out the most for me. It had been cleared if Mark just let Vee explain this whole situation or if Ploy just came clear sooner. I hated them breaking up... they has like five minutes of happiness. And yet, here I am not caring about this shit, because it gave us jealousy and poor Mark crying his eyes out. And War is just so pretty when crying.

The miscommunication after this incident fit them both so well and it played into the last part of their story. Mark is too proud and too hurt to make a step forward to Vee and Vee is just overwhelmed with everything and just doesn't know how to communicate without hurting Mark.

So, yeah, I don’t mind this trope here and I am getting a bit protective over it in this story, but I hate it in other stories. Perhaps Wedding Plan is another exception, but their whole communication is a little bit more complex.

[bananitryithegoatman]

[viatrix-glow]

new di x warrior cats

name explanations and more info below :3

basic stuff

-each agency is a clan, not each unit. 14-15 clans would be silly and then we would have some clans with 5 cats and some with 2.

-starpro -> lightclan. i couldn’t call them “starclan” for obvious reasons. light is somewhat synonymous with star, so i’m going with that.

-cospro -> nightclan. i don’t think the cats in warriors know the word “cosmic”, but cosmic implies cosmos implies night sky, so we’re going with night

-rhyth lin -> rippleclan. ripple is sort of a synonym to rhythm….? this one was hard

-new di -> fortuneclan. this one is a stretch but neither “new” or “dimension” have synonyms that really fit a clan name. fortune is something that relates to multiple characters in new di though

-starclan still sort of exists, but the cats do not believe in them the way they do in warriors. they are more of a nursery tale than anything, and select cats (ex: tatsumi) believe in them, but it is not written into their code. medicine cats can still interpret signs, but they do not necessarily think of them as coming from starclan.

-medicine cat forbidden romance is not a thing here

-intermingling of clans is ok and common

-there’s like. other cats in their clans besides just the enstars cast i assume

cat names/why i chose them

fortuneclan:

knights

-tsukasa -> scarletstar (scarletblossom) . he is the leader of fortuneclan because he is one of the new di reps for the summits. both scarlet and blossom were chosen bc of his last name (scarlet is a red color… kinda similar to cherry…. and blossom for the cherry blossom).

-leo -> lionheart. ok this one is kind of cheating because lionheart is already an existing warrior, but…come on….

-izumi -> silverspring. sora describes his color as silver, and spring is in his first name

-ritsu -> frostmoon. his first name means cold moon according to the wiki so i just rehashed it

-naru -> goldenroar. since she doesn’t like her first name i didn’t want to use “storm”, and her last name can be read as “thunder” but that’s a little too close to storm? so golden for her hair and roar for her last name

switch

-natsume -> sageeye. a sage is similar to a wizard, and eye is in his first name . also the “dovesong” mentioned is wataru :)

-tsumugi -> bluewing. he is a bluebird. warrior cats probably wouldn’t straight up call a cat “bluebird” so i put wing there instead. deputy cause he’s the vp

-sora -> skyspring . sora means sky. spring is in his last name. i could have used “stream” instead to differentiate him from sena but i think spring is cuter

mam/df

-madara -> tawnystripe . tawny bc it’s like kind of close to calico if you squint. stripe(s) is in his last name

[bookmark-extraordinaire]

Something I had to get off my chest. I know the people supposed to read this will never do since I’ve already blocked them all but you know.

I get not liking AUs and being upset that the majority of fandoms have turned into shipping and AUs so divorced from the source material it makes you wonder if they even like the source material to begin with but MAN for every AU out there there’s like ten more people liking the thing in the “right” way. Go follow them.

If in the year of our Lord 2024 if you still don’t know how to avoid shit you don’t like on the internet then it’s a skill issue my guy. Fuck you.

[zoueriemandzijnopmars]

How can I have started a book, read the blurb on the back, the title and 30 pages, but only when I’m tracking my progress on the StoryGraph and only finding an English version of the book when searching by isbn I realise that the book is in fact in English and not in Dutch as I’d been convinced?!?!

[grey29]

I wish we saw the Bible the way we see other ancient parables and philosophy. Because the Bible is genuinely fascinating and interesting and I think would give so much more value to human society if it was just looked at as something that you could cherry pick from and read interesting subtext into (like the queer themes of David and Johnathan) and not as a book to be taken as entirely literally if you’re Christian. Even I feel like the way a lot of atheists generally think about the Bible is more,understandably, fueled by the anger it’s made them feel from how a lot of Christians have used it against them than like a look at it as an ancient text can be used as a resource to understand humanity, good and bad. I just think it would be neat and also change the way it’s treated as superior to other ancient texts, often with racist implications about other ancient cultures.

[irate-iguana]

Just spent the last 9 hours writing an essay that should NOT have taken 9 hours to write. Still not happy with it but at least it’s in.

[problemeule]

once again academically challenged by my academically challenging degree

[greenvillainredemption]

I’m kinda hopefully optimistic about the little mermaid live action? I hate how the blue dress in the trailer looks, but I saw a couple of other costume leaks that I really like. And the dolls I’ve seen look amazing (by current mattel standards at least). I really like the character designs of the sisters, and since they’re so distinct I’m hoping theyll be more like actual characters than they were in the original. Hopefully we’ll get some some dolls of them too. And ik we don’t see much of Ursula in the trailer, but from what I did see I know I really like her voice. And yeah the animals look boring but at least it’s not like the lion king where they’re the main characters and it’s all we’re forced to look at. I think the crab actually looks kinda silly and stupid, and that’s better than boring.

I also didn’t watch the original growing up, so I might just be less critical because of that. But yeah I’m excited.

[omotelie]

WHERE’S MY FUKING CAPO

[creatingblackcharacters]

No, That’s Not ‘How Color Works’. - Whitewashing

Whitewashing, as defined by Merriam-Webster:

"to alter (something) in a way that favors, features, or caters to white people: such as a) to portray (the past) in a way that increases the prominence, relevance, or impact of white people and minimizes or misrepresents that of nonwhite people and B) to alter (an original story) by casting a white performer in a role based on a nonwhite person or fictional character"

In fandom context, we know it to include:

Making someone’s skin lighter

Making someone’s hair a thinner texture

Changing someone’s nose to be thinner

Shrinking their lips

Changing the character in their entirety to be someone else

The Normalization of Whitewashing

Remember how I mentioned last lesson that despite the nature of poorly drawn Black characters, most audiences are not turned off enough to discourage the action in professional works? Similar idea with whitewashing. Not the same- unlike the Ambiguously Brown Character, which claims to have plausible deniability, overt whitewashing is usually enough to make fans speak up! But that’s the key word here- overt! It has to be “bad enough” to make enough people speak up, but as we’ve seen many a time, “bad enough” seems to have a much higher threshold for nonblack viewership (sometimes the limit doesn’t exist!)

Some visual examples

This is a link to my personal thread on a Netflix show I was watching- Worst Ex Ever. Now, while the show itself was quite enlightening, there was something I could not get over. I thought I was going crazy. And that was that no matter how dark the person of color would be in real life, the animated portions would draw this light pinkish-brown. Every. Single. Time. It's like they couldn't fathom scrolling down the color wheel. And this is a Netflix original! Netflix has plenty of money for someone to have caught this in creation. But... it was produced. And put out. And they're making more of it.

I asked all of the Dragon Age fans about the series, and uh… I didn’t know things were this bad, guys! Apparently this is a man of color, but it doesn't seem like the creators want you to know that 🤣. Jokes aside, as I’ve discussed before, the noticeable whitewashing- and that was one of many racist things I was told- was not enough to prevent sales... so why would they stop? I can only hope this new game, with all the updates, is enough to turn the tide. But the series has gone on for a while now, that if they’d chosen to do ye same olde… there clearly would not be a lack of financial support to prevent it.

Colorism as a Tool

Even when actors of color are cast, colorism often plays a role in normalizing whitewashing to audiences, even to Black audiences! People think “oh well at least they’re Black!” as if that is the only important part. It is not.

While Aaron Pierre, the actor cast for John Stewart of Green Lantern fame, is a GORGEOUS, STUNNING man, he is not the dark-skinned man that John Stewart is supposed to be and should not have been cast! To me, this is overt colorism, but clearly for many people this is not “enough” to warrant concern or even prevent the casting itself- including the studio behind the movie! Black fans have plead for years for the character of Storm to be played by a dark-skinned, preferably African, woman, and it has never happened.

It naturally happens in fan spaces as well, which is another indicator that colorism as a tool for whitewashing is quite effective for audiences. If I see one more Zendaya fan cast for Kida from Atlantis, I will scream. It’s been happening for years, and I don’t think any of the people who just want to see her and Tom on screen either understand or care that Kida is a dark-skinned character. Zendaya doesn’t look anything like Kida- it doesn’t matter if she’s Black too! Just because someone is Black does not mean they can play every single Black character! I’ve even seen people fancast Emilia Clarke of Game of Thrones fame, to which… I don’t have the words. I can’t fathom what would cause these decisions other than racism.

The Common Excuses

I must be honest. I don’t really feel like re-iterating how certain things are not okay and how to fix them, because I’ve already discussed these things in massive detail. So I’m just going to direct the excuses I regularly hear to my lessons, where you can read up on them.

“Their hair/eyes are like that because they’re biracial so-”

Relevant Lessons: 2.1, 2.2, 2.3, 8, 9, 10

There is nothing wrong with having biracial characters with a range of features. I am not saying that! Because yeah, genetics do happen!

But I mentioned this in my last lesson, and I will re-emphasize here, that using biracial identity as a way to whitewash is a sinister form of racism. The intention here- the real intention- is the issue here! The idea that somehow this character can only look the way you want them to look by "diluting" their Blackness… I don’t know how you can explain yourselves out of that one.

You don’t get to use us as an excuse for diversity while still trying to maintain your preference for Eurocentric beauty standards. Black biracial people don’t always look light skinned, thin-haired and ambiguous, and even the ones that do don’t deserve to be treated as your fetish for pretend antiracism. If you just want to draw a white person with a tan, do that. But don’t change a character’s entire look just so you can work in some whiteness. If you want to claim that canon Black character’s mother was white, then I guess they inherited some of her personality because their features should not change.

���It’s my style/It’s the color-”

Relevant Lessons: 3, 4, 10

I hate all excuses for whitewashing, but I’ve grown to despise, hate, abhor and loathe this one the most as I’ve become an artist. I wish there were stronger words to describe just how much I hate the “style” and “color” excuse.

Are style and use of color oft intertwined? Absolutely. I’m not saying they aren’t. But out of everything, there are two things I want artists to understand:

1. Style does not cancel out racism! No style forces you to choose ashy greys and to change peoples’ features. That’s you! If you look at something, and it looks offensive, you change the style. You grow as an artist!

2. “Everyone who is brown will look ashy so I just-” if you recognize that your Black characters look strange in comparison to your nonblack characters, then it’s time to try something else! I don’t understand this sudden need for “realism” when it comes to color and lighting, but not when it comes to hair, for example. No one cares about realism when giving every and all Black characters wavy tresses they probably wouldn’t have, but suddenly milquetoast watercolor attempts at brown and off-putting lighting is “how it works”. That’s not fair.

The color picker is an available tool! I use it often!

Dead giveaway of purposeful whitewashing: if someone gets the outfit color palette right via color picking, but the skin color is multiple shades lighter. That means they were looking at that character and chose not to proceed.

Dead giveaway of purposeful whitewashing: if the white characters in the show are completely correct in their palettes. Again, that means they cared enough to look at everyone else… and not the Black characters.

If you use the color picker and the color picked is… disrespectful, you do not have to use that! You can simply choose a better color that is still similar to the brown that ought to be depicted!

“It’s the lighting-”

Relevant Lessons: 4, 5

If your white characters do not shine like snow in the sunlight because of your lighting, then your lighting does not make your Black characters suddenly light tan.

If your Black characters look bad in your lighting of choice- for example, putting a very dark-skinned character in electric white lighting can be ghastly- try changing the intensity or the color of the lighting. DON’T change your character’s skin color!

I'm going to show you some pictures of South Sudanese model Nyakim Gatwech. Pay attention to the choices of light, color, and makeup.

Look how BEAUTIFUL she is! Look at the choices of intensity and color of light, and how they make her look different in each image.

Now look at this image in comparison:

In this image, whoever did her makeup and took this picture did not take into consideration her skin tone. She's also under this really intense lighting. This is an example of "increasing the lighting does NOT make an image "better"". She didn't need to have lighter skin or "more lighting" to look good. She needed BETTER lighting, lighting that worked with HER.

To see this as an example in drawn art, @dsm7 makes an excellent argument for proper lighting and color, why it is an issue to use it as an excuse, and how to solve that problem.

‼️DISCLAIMER FOR NEXT EXAMPLE‼️

Okay. I am about to show y’all a fan-created example from my personal experience. It is a TEACHING EXPERIENCE ONLY. I am not including the artist’s name in this image. It happened a couple years ago, and it’s over- they’ve chosen to be who they are despite me kindly confronting them about it. The only reason I’m including it at all is because I feel like it would be remiss to have such a clear-cut, multi-level example, and not teach with it. That said, no, I am not telling anyone to act out towards them. Again, that is not what I’m telling you to do. The last thing I need is a literal lynch mob of angry nonblack viewership for trying to teach you all, and y’all sitting there watching it happen to me. Every example of whitewashing is not going to be so obvious, but I hope you learn how to spot the examples in the art you see and share.

I'm obviously a Hades fan, particularly of Patroclus- despite my disdain for the lack of effort in his canon character design. So I've seen a lot of things. That said:

“Well it’s just MY design of them-”

Relevant Lessons: ALL

The sepia coloring did not do this. The lighting did not do this. The design is the exact same as the Hades version, even down to the shape of the hair curling in the back. The only thing that is different… is the man himself.

Y'all. Y'all! You CANNOT take a pre-existing Black character and say “oh well this is my design of them” …and the design is of a whole white person. Because if the rest of the fit is the same, and the only thing that changed is the Blackness… Racism. If you’re going to “make up your own design”, then do that!

“Blackwashing”

Speaking of: I’m sure someone edgy out there thinks they’re so smart as they retort to the screen: “but if that’s not okay, then why is Blackwashing okay?” To which I say- shut up. 😐

The “definition” by fandom: making a nonblack character Black, usually an anime character, but characters in general.

Funny enough, the actual definition in the dictionary (or closest to) is “to defame”, in contrast with whitewash (as in whitewashing history). Maybe racist fans ARE using it correctly when they say you’re blackwashing their characters, when they mean you’re making them “less likable because they’re Black now”. 🤔

Anyway: Blackwashing is not real for the same reason reverse racism is not real.

Me painting these characters brown is not going to take away from the fact that there are far more of you in media than there is of me. Me saying that I ‘headcanon a character as Black with 4C hair’ is not going to make the studio go “oh! Well they must be Black with 4C hair now!” Me saying “oh I think I’d like this character better if they were Black” as a beta tester (less overtly, obviously, because I’m not racist!) will never make a studio change that character. Black viewers have minimal value in comparison to the power of the white viewer’s dollar. I could draw white characters Black every single day of every single game media… and they would still produce majority white characters. There has not been centuries- if not millennia, when we consider Jesus Christ himself, even- of purposeful “Blackwashing” with the intent of removing the original ethnicity- and thus importance- of white people. No one has ever been allowed to forget when someone is white. No one has ever been allowed to forget or not acknowledge white people.

How it could be "solved"

Personally, I love Black edits and I welcome them here. I find them creative and fun. But if you really, REALLY didn’t want us to make those edits, then naturally, we need more Black characters in all of our media!

I wouldn’t have to make edits if I saw more of me to begin with in the things I like to watch- but when we have those characters, racists act an ass about them. We’re not allowed to even be present! I’ve seen too many gamer bros mocking the existence of Yasuke in Assassin’s Creed, and he was a real ass man. But if we made a game about African peoples in African societies, how many of the gamer bros would actually play those games? Do you think there’d be as much support, when we hear so much about Black characters that are treated so abhorrently? How many games do we have where people would love their faves just as much if they were Black? I even learned that Solas was apparently supposed to be a man of color. IMAGINE how many people would not have liked that man, with the same exact plot and characterization.

Something I’ve noticed recently: apparently "Blackwashing" is not a thing when White fans “allow” it. Take this recent trend with Miku. International Miku was beloved! But if you draw any other character as Black on any other day, there will be people that are horrid about it. Ask any artist, Black artists and Black cosplayers especially, who’s ever done it what their comments are like. I’ve read entire missives akin to white supremacist drivel on how it’s somehow morally wrong to make characters Black. Meanwhile no amount of “hey maybe you shouldn’t do this” prevented the movie Gods of Egypt from being created, with a cast full of British White people.

Solutions to Avoiding Whitewashing!

1) Using References!!

Do I think you should know what Black people look like? Yes. We’re humans. It’s 2024. Everyone knows what we look like when it’s time to hate and discriminate against us, so you know what we look like when it’s time to love and depict us. If you’re on Tumblr, you have access to the Internet. ESPECIALLY if you’re in the U.S., as Black people are the source of damn near every piece of online pop culture. If you can find my dialect to make my jokes, you can find pictures of me.

Would I rather you use a reference every single time so that you can only strengthen your depiction of my people? ABSOLUTELY.

Anyone on the Internet telling you not to use a reference or that you shouldn’t need a reference? Unfollow them. You don’t need that negativity in your life. Why would you deprive yourself of a tool to create? The greatest portrait painters in history had to look at their subjects! You are not getting paid nearly as much to do this as Hans Holbein, and he had to stare at Henry VIII correct else lose his head- you can pull up multiple references. I’d far rather be judged for using hella references than be judged for being a racist!

Part of the issue is people draw what they’re used to, what they’re comfortable with (thus last lesson). But if what you’re used to is not what someone will look like… That’s not okay. Their features are not the issue, your skills are the issue. Learn! Practice! There is no rush. No one is rushing you to be perfect at drawing Black characters, and no one is rushing you to post them. You can just practice! If you’re not a professional, you can take as long as you need to draw! If you need to draw that piece of hair over and over until you feel like you have down the shape, you do that! If you need to use a tool that would draw the hair for you, you get that tool!

If you want to post, you can say you are practicing! If you make clear you are practicing, then be willing to accept that people may have feedback. I’d far rather deal with someone saying they’re unconfident and practicing, than someone posting a whitewashed caricature and closing their ears because “well at least I’m trying!”

2) Empathize! Care about actual Black people when you create a Black character!

Imagine, if you will, in the Twilight Zone: you went to an artist, and you asked for a white character (I typed in “regular looking white dude” on google). There’s hardly ever any white characters, you’re so super excited about this one! You paid good money, because you’ve seen just how amazing this artist creates! They’re so good at drawing characters of color! But no matter how many times you ask, they send you back an image of… Assad Zaman.

That man might be fine as hell! Gorgeous! Beautifully done! Chef’s kiss. Stunning! But… He’s not white. That’s not what you asked or paid for. You can’t even fathom how they mixed this up, they don’t even look alike! And when you confront them, they gaslight you, they call YOU the issue for not understanding how you can’t tell that this is a white man! They would never get this wrong! They have white friends, you’re the racist! But you’re not stupid, and you have functioning eyes- you can SEE what this drawing looks like! And… It’s not you.

It’s dehumanizing. It’s being told that there’s a “better way” to look like you, and that’s by… Not looking like you. You, as you exist, are what’s incorrect. Your identity is incorrect, not their drawing. It’s better to have thinner hair instead of an afro or locs, it’s better to have lighter skin, it’s better to have a straighter, thinner nose over a round one, and smaller lips.

And what makes it worse is knowing that people who don’t look like you? Probably won’t care. They won’t be willing to see- not unable, but unwilling- that playing with this caricature is harmful, that they’re propagating harm by not acknowledging it. They’re letting you know that your humanity means less to them than the clout received with a whitewashed or half-assed Black character, and that people will applaud them for that ‘attempt at inclusion’. And people will applaud! They will be entertained by the mere performance! And that hurts.

I’m going to say this, and it’s awkward and I try not to say it directly on here, but… Having Black friends and/or being around actual, real life Black people would help. I can tell from some of the questions I receive that Black characters and their traits- especially things like our hair and our cultures- are being treated as… alien concepts. But even if, for whatever reason, you legitimately don’t know any Black people, you do not need to know us individually to care about our humanity as a whole! Even if you do not know we’re there, we are, and we could possibly see your work!

By acknowledging Blackness and making room to understand what it means- and that includes how we can look- you are doing the bare minimum of acknowledging our personhood. If you cannot do even that, you don’t need to be drawing us.

Conclusion

Here’s the thing: if you want to draw a white man with tanned skin, do that. Just do it! You do NOT have to erase me to have more of you! There is not a single fandom where the majority of the white fans ever said “gee, not another white guy!” It simply doesn’t happen. God knows we wish it did sometimes. You will always have an audience for white characters. There’s no danger to any of you of “being erased”.

(Without putting on my political hat, I will say that a lot of white people who consider themselves to be far from white supremacist will express beliefs in line with great replacement theory if you push them hard enough. It is unfortunately not as uncommon an idea as you might think. I would do some self-evaluation.)

People are going to notice that you only ever draw white people, but… To be frank, that has never stopped anybody from being successful. Again, Jen Zee, at Supergiant with the terrible dark-skinned characters… Still has a job. at Supergiant. A professional studio. Dragon Age. Multiple games of consistent whitewashing and racist writing. Still going. If racism prevented creation and popularity, I wouldn’t have to have this blog. Alas, that is the society we currently live in.

But if you ACTUALLY want to depict Black characters, if you ACTUALLY want to do right and be respectful- not because you want the clout, but because it’s the right damn thing to do- then you need to commit! This means drawing them as they are meant to be! Accept that you’ll likely lose some fan base, who was there (whether they were aware of it or not) for the white and lighter skinned characters. Accept that this means that trying to appeal to those people by whitewashing characters is 1) wrong, 2) racist, which is 3) something you chose to do when you could simply have just… Drawn more white people.

I’ll say it again: antiracism is hard. It’s hard doing the right thing in a society that rewards racism so easily. It’s really hard knowing that people will stop supporting you or caring as much about your work when you start including Black characters as actively as you do white ones, especially if you start talking about the importance of it. But in my honest opinion, I’d far rather be someone that cared about others, with genuine fans, than someone that was racist for the fleeting internet clout of strangers. And that may be less ‘hopeful’ than I normally am in these lessons, but… People make choices. And people who have been informed- as you are now- are aware of the choices they are making. It’s the thought that counts, but the action that delivers- let’s choose better actions.

[sceletaflores]

I COULD PLAY THE DOCTOR (I CAN CURE YOUR DISEASE)

pair: logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 4.1k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, established relationship, logan's pov, written with origins!logan in mind, nat veering dangerously closer to a/b/o territory with every passing day, rut cycles, oral sex (fem!receiving), fingering (fem!receiving), multiple orgasms, gratuitous amounts of dirty talk, p in v, rough sex, biting, hair pulling, size kink, belly bulging, pussy pronouns, one (1) single use of the word daddy, scent kink, pain kink, breeding kink ofc, knotting (don’t look at me…), squirting, porn w/ plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: don’t look at me…i don’t know how many times i swore up and down i’d never write something like this but i’m a confirmed liar apparently so…here. i mean i just figured i'm in a rut artistically so therefore the only answer is writing logan in a rut physically...i can do what i want and i don't need to explain myself or my horny thoughts. also, i debated posting this in the wake of everything that's gone down over the past two days that is still escalating and will continue to escalate in the coming weeks, but i think everyone could use a little escape from how scary things may seem right now. take a break from all the terrifying news sites and read about logan wanting to breed you :) kisses!

divider by angel @saradika-graphics!

it's been another six months, and logan needs your help...

The burn starts on the walk home from work, a pulse of heat deep in Logan's gut that grows with every step.

It spreads slowly, sinking into his muscles and seeping up his spine as he rounds the last corner, your place less than a block away now.

It caught him off guard this time, an itch burying itself under his skin earlier in the day only to get worse and worse as he worked.

He usually knew the signs well enough to feel them start creeping in, and he was dead sure it wasn't for another few weeks.

Apparently, he was wrong.

Logan’s jaw clenches as he picks up his pace, every nerve ending in his body straining to break into a full blown sprint at the thought of you, all alone and waiting for him.

His fingers curl into tight fists, nails pressing into his palms to ground himself, though it’s hardly enough. The faint scent of you drifts up from his shirt, not even a long day at the lumberyard enough to drown it out.

By the time he reaches your door, his heartbeat is a heavy thud in his ears, syncing with the building ache of desire wracking through his body like the earth rattling boom of a raging thunder storm.

He fumbles through getting his key into the lock, hands unsteady as he tugs the door open with a little more force than necessary and finally steps inside.

The second he closes the door behind him, the heat surges, thrumming through his veins and flooding his chest. Your scent fills the air completely, stronger now, wrapping around him so thick and sweet.

"Darlin'?" His voice comes out rougher than he intends, but he's beyond caring.

Your voice floats from the other room, casual, warm enough to send a jolt through him. Logan drops his axe from his shoulder, leaning it against the door as he starts down the familiar path to your bedroom.

You're spread out on his side of the bed—oblivious, curled up with a book, wrapped in one of the flannels he must have left the last time he stayed over.

Just the sight of you does something to him, like a match dragged against a strike pad, damned on setting everything ablaze.

You glance up, and the soft smile on your lips falters as you catch sight of him.

Logan knows what he must look like, his eyes all dark and predatory, chest heaving as he rakes his hungry gaze over you like a wolf watches a lamb grazing too close to its den.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just stalks toward you with a purpose that’s as undeniable as the heat pouring off him in waves.

The book slips from your fingers, forgotten, as you lean back, the small sound of your breath hitching under the weight of his gaze is music to his ears.

Logan pauses at the edge of the bed, towering over you, letting himself drink in the way you look. So soft and serene, like some kind of invitation that begs him closer. His flannel draped loosely over your shoulders–shrouding you in his scent. 

The urge to pounce on you fights against his normal instinct to savor every second, to draw it out until the heat pooling in his gut becomes downright unbearable.

“Been thinkin’ about you all damn day,” he mutters, voice thick and dark as molasses, rough from restraint he’s quickly losing. His knuckles brush against your thigh, then tighten, holding you in place as he leans down, his breath hot against your neck. “Thinkin’ about what I was gonna when I finally got my hands on you.”

Your skin blooms with warmth beneath his touch, and he grins against your neck, the edge of his teeth grazing you just enough to make you squirm. He growls low in his throat, that itch he’s been fighting nearly all day clawing its way up to the surface with a vengeance.

The primal urge inside of him screaming to claim claim claim take take take mate mate mate breed breed breed.

You tilt your head to the side with a soft sigh, freeing up more space for him to nose along your skin. “Is it time?”

Logan's breath catches as your question hangs in the air, thick with anticipation. The soft simplicity of it ignites the wildfire burning in his gut, every ounce of restraint slipping away like sand through his fingers.

“Yeah, baby,” he growls, slipping his fingers under the worn cotton of your shorts, feeling the bare skin beneath. “It’s time.”

You shift, hands going to the buttons of his flannel like you’re going to take it off. Logan stops you, taking your wrists in his free hand.

“Don’t,” he breathes, shaking his head hard enough that his hair flows with it. “Leave it on.”

The thought of you covered in his scent, of his scent mixing with yours to claim you on a level only he can discern sends his mind buzzing.

You look up at him with those wide, trusting eyes, and something in him cracks wide open. The tenderness of your gaze pulls at him, like a tether pulling him back from the edge, but that heat still smolders in his blood, fierce and unyielding.

Logan runs his thumb along the racing pulse of your wrist before he drops them. His hands venture lower, fingers pressing against the inside of your thigh, tracing a deliberate path that makes your body tremble under his touch.

You let out a shuddering breath, the scent of your arousal swirling through the air is enough to make him crave more.

In one rough tug, Logan yanks you towards the edge of the bed as he falls to his knees. Your hips held tight in his hands as he lurches forward, burying his nose in the soft junction where your leg and inner thigh meet.

He inhales deep, greedy lungfuls of your scent. A guttural growl rumbles through his chest, his eyes screwing shut at the sheer amount of too much that courses through him. He feels dizzy with it, high on the pheromones pumping from you in waves.

You’re soaked already, the wet fabric of your shorts melded to the shape of your cunt. He can’t help but run his nose along the slick seam of you, reveling in the way your legs twitch on either side of his head, in the short gasp you let out.

“Logan.” Your voice is nothing but a mewl, pleading and desperate.

“Missed you,” he rasps, his voice rough, almost unrecognizable. The edge of need in him makes his hands shake, sliding up your thighs, urging them even further apart as he settles between them.

Logan’s fingers dig into your skin, he lets his thumbs brush up, hooking them into the waistband of your shorts to tug them down your legs in one sharp yank. He groans at the sight of you completely bare, no underwear.

“Fuck, look at you,” he grates, his thumb coming down to slip through your dripping cunt. Your hole flutters desperately around him, needy little clenches like it’s trying to suck him in. “She’s all ready for me, huh? Been waiting for me to come home and give her some attention?”

“Please,” you whimper, your voice thick with longing, the sound going straight to his head, clouding his thoughts. 

Logan’s pulse races as he watches your body arch instinctively toward his touch, the desperate need in your eyes igniting the raw urges coursing through him.

He can’t deny you; he never could. You’re a feast laid out before him, and he’s starving.

Logan leans closer, letting his tongue flick out to taste you like he’s wanted to since he left for work this morning. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, closing his eyes and losing himself in the moment. He licks a broad stripe from your entrance to your clit, savoring the way your body responds, the way your legs tremble and your hips twitch against his mouth, seeking more. “Tastes like fuckin’ heaven, sweetheart.”

The taste of you is intoxicating—sweet and tangy, flooding his senses with every drag and swirl of his tongue.

Logan can’t help but moan against you, the sound vibrating through your body as he dives deeper, his nose nudging against your slick entrance as he shakes his head back and forth like an animal—rubbing the plush skin of your inner thighs red and raw with each rough drag of his coarse beard.

Every flick of his tongue sends a shockwave through you, and he revels in the sounds you make—each whimper, each moan, a siren’s call urging him deeper. He laves his tongue around your clit, sucking it gently, pulling at it with his lips as you writhe beneath him, begging for more. 

He keeps your thighs spread wide, two strong hands pinning them to the mattress so he can devour you just the way you deserve, the sharp dig of your heels into his shoulders only spurs him on.

Your hands bury themselves in his hair, tugging him closer, and he groans into you, letting his tongue delve deeper, seeking out every bit of sweetness he can coax from you. 

It’s pure sin, each sound you make, each shiver that runs through you as he takes his time, drinking you down like a man starved. 

The ache in him intensifies, his own need growing, pulsing. He’s hard, has been hard since he walked through the front door.

His cock strains against the zipper of his jeans, need pulsing in time with each pump of his blood through his shaft, circling around the base, threatening to expand even without the tight grip of your pussy surrounding him. His hips jerk up on their own volition, desperate for any friction.

“Just like that, Logan,” you gasp, voice breathy and trembling with pleasure. 

The way you say his name—raw, desperate—makes his blood run hotter. He grips your thighs tighter, anchoring you to the bed as he drinks you in, wanting to lose himself in you completely.

Logan pulls away just long enough to catch his breath, looking up at you with lust-drunk eyes, drinking in the sight of your sweaty cheeks, your heavy-lidded gaze, the way your chest rises and falls with each shuddering breath.

The pulse of his cock intensifies, urging him to speed things along. The base desire of his own instincts is getting harder and harder to ignore under your adoring stare.

He feeds his fingers into your clenching hole with no warning, a satisfied smirk tugging his lips up at your sharp gasp. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, the entire lower half of his face still shining with your essence.

Your cunt swallows him, two thick fingers sinking into the velvety heat like it’s nothing.

Logan groans as he feels you clench around him, your walls fluttering and drawing him in deeper. “That’s it, baby,” he mutters, his voice hoarse with need. “So fuckin’ ready for me, so ready for daddy’s fingers in your pussy.”

Your mouth drops open in another devastatingly desperate noise, your hands twist his hair roughly, soft breasts rising and falling each time you gasp for air. The dim light of the sunset filters in through the blinds, highlighting the curves of your body, slick and shining with a thin sheen of sweat.

Every clench of your walls around his fingers shoots a thrill straight to his cock, making him ache with the urge to bury himself inside you. The overwhelming need to take you completely, to mark you and fill you, pulses through his veins until he feels like he might explode.

But he’s not done tasting you yet. Not until you’re practically dripping onto the sheets.

He lowers his mouth back to your core, sucking your clit into his mouth as his fingers pump faster. The sudden intensity makes your thighs shake around his head, and he grins against you. He wants to see you fall apart—wants to feel it.

“Logan—please, I…” You can barely get the words out, voice breaking as your whole body strains against him, desperate and needy.

The wet slap of his palm against your spit soaked cunt is loud in the quiet of your bedroom, blending with the loud keens that fall from your parted lips. He crooks his fingers, rubbing at that soft, spongy spot inside of you.

“Come on,” he mutters, slick lips brushing against your clit as he speaks. “Give it to me, baby. Show me you're ready for my cock."

He drags the sharp edge of his canine against your pulsing clit with barely any pressure, and you're coming.

Your whole body tenses, back bowing off the mattress as you let out a broken cry of his name. The bite of your nails digging into his scalp feels harsh enough to draw blood, a feeble attempt at grounding yourself against the onslaught of pleasure. 

Your trembling thighs tighten around his shoulders, gripping him like a vice as your shaking cunt gushes around his fingers. Logan groans at the feeling, eyes slipping shut as you drench his wrist and chin in your juices.

Even then, he doesn’t let up, fingers pumping relentlessly as he draws out every pulse, every aftershock of your climax, every tiny spray of your release splashing against his wrist. 

He’s lost in the feel of you—slick and trembling under his hands, the scent of your release filling his lungs, thick and intoxicating.

You slump back against the bed, body limp and spent. His own need is a driving, aching force now, clawing at his insides, demanding more.

He slips his fingers free from your dripping heat, dragging them through the wetness coating his chin as he licks them clean with a growl, savoring every taste.

“Good girl,” he purrs, voice thick with pride and satisfaction as he pulls back, leaving your thighs twitching in the wake of his touch. But he still isn’t finished. Not even close.

You barely have time to catch your breath before Logan crawls up the bed, his eyes locked on you, pupils blown with need. He looms over you, hands planting on either side of your head. His cock grinds against you through the rough denim, and you can feel just how thick and hard he is, throbbing through the fabric, demanding to be freed.

With a low groan, he shifts his hips, dragging his bulge along your soaked cunt, sending another jolt of pleasure racing through you. His hands are all over you, gripping your waist, hot and possessive.

“Feel that?” he asks, pressing his lips the wild flutter of your pulse, the need to sink his teeth in the soft skin of your neck raises the hair on the back of his neck. “That’s what you do to me baby. Got me hard as a fuckin’ rock, just aching to be inside you.”

Your arms circle his shoulders, clawing at the fabric off his shirt. “Need you inside me, Logan. Please, want it so bad.”

The pure need lacing your words, your scent calling out to him, the way he can feel the front of his jeans getting soaked through with the slick pouring from your cunt all pull him deeper into the recesses of his hind-brain. 

The mounting desperation to stuff you full of his cock finally reaches a fever pitch.

With a deep growl, Logan rears back as far as he can bear, just enough to tear his shirt over his head before he fumbles with the heavy buckle of his belt to free his aching cock.

He shoves his jeans down, boxers quickly following until there’s nothing separating him from the cool air of your bedroom. His cock springs free, hot and flushed an angry red color, drooling from the tip enough that it drips down to stain the pretty floral sheets of your bed.

Your eyes zero in on him, mouth dropping open at the sight. His cock so heavy it doesn’t curve upward to slap against his stomach, instead it hangs down to sway between his thighs as he moves closer. 

Your legs spread as he nears, slick covered thighs parting to make room for him to slot between them. So obedient, so good, so well trained.

Logan takes himself in his hand, nearly wincing at the blazing temperature of his skin. He secures his hand around the base, squeezing where his knot threatens to pop before he’s even got in you.

He slips the angry head through the folds of your cunt, slapping it against your clit with a wet ‘thwack’ sound. He can feel the way it twitches and shakes, just as desperate as him.

“Look at that,” he mutters darkly, eyes glued to where he’s laid his cock flat against your stomach, leaking pre-come all over your soft skin. “How’s it gonna fit, baby?” He shifts his hips, sawing his length back and forth to see just how deep in you he’ll be.

Your glassy eyes drop, a broken moan passing through your slack lips when you take in the sight. Your hips rise off the bed, grinding your cunt along the seam of his heavy balls, along the prominent vein trailing up the underside.

“Don’t worry, baby,” Logan grits out, eyes hooded and dark as he watches you grind against him. “You’re gonna take it all. Gonna make you feel every last fuckin’ bit of me.”

He groans, gritting his teeth as he presses in further, each inch a battle against the tight, molten heat that grips him like a vice. Your body shudders as he fills you, your slick warmth pulling him deeper and deeper, and he sinks down until he’s fully seated, his hips flush with yours. 

The pressure is mind-numbing, your walls clenching around him in rhythmic pulses that make his vision blur. He stills for just a second, savoring the way your body stretches around him, hugging him in a way that feels like it was made for him alone.

Logan watches your face as you adjust to the stretch, your brows pinched together, each breath coming fast and shallow, your eyes glazed with pleasure.

Then, your hands come to his shoulders, nails digging little crescent moons into his skin as you nod your head, ready.

It’s all the confirmation he needs. His hips pull back before he slams in again, the force of it jolting your whole body. He presses his forehead to your shoulder, teeth bared as he muffles a snarl against your skin.

Logan thrusts again, and again, and again, hips setting a merciless pace as he watches the way your breasts bounce with each thrust, each little shudder.

His mouth waters with the need to taste, to sink his teeth into your supple skin hard enough to pierce clean through, hard enough to scar.

Sweat drips down the length of his spine, across his brow. It mats down the hair scattered over his chest, his dog tags slick with it when they bounce off his skin with each thrust. The grip of his hands tightens on your hips, it’s taking everything in him to hold back and yet he knows you’ll still bruise tomorrow. 

Pretty hues of dark purples and yellows in the shape of his fingers, ones he’ll catch you admiring in the bathroom mirror, pressing your own fingertips into them to feel the dull ache—to remember this moment.

“Made for this, aren’t you?” he rasps, his voice dark and possessive. “Made to take me, to be mine.”

The words barely leave his mouth before he’s bending down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your cries as he drives into you, pushing you both closer to that sweet edge.

“Fuck, Logan,” you gasp, breaking the kiss as your body trembles under him. “Can–ah!–can feel you in my stomach…”

Your hand drops from his shoulder, slipping between your bodies to rest over the sweaty expanse of your belly. Logan’s eyes follow your path, a feral growl bursting from his chest before he can stop it.

He’s transfixed by it, sure that if he pressed his hand to the soft skin of your lower stomach right over your own, that he’d feel it. Feel the way his cock punches up against your insides, so deep it's like he’s rearranging your guts to make room.

“Fuck.” His voice is nothing but a gravelly rumble, hoarse and dark as midnight. His hips speed up impossibly faster, chasing the feeling of your clenching walls choking the length of his cock so tight he thinks it might snap off at the base.

The flimsy headboard of your bed slams against the wall, creaky mattress springs screaming under his ministrations.

You feel like salvation, like the first rays of light after too many years spent in the dark.

He feels it with each kiss of his cock against your cervix, in the way your lips fit in the junction of his neck, in the red welts your nails leave on the skin of his back. He feels alive, truly alive, for the first time in decades.

“Say my name,” he grates, his hand cupping the back of your neck, coaxing you to look up at him, lips close enough to taste the heat radiating from his skin. “Tell me who you belong to.”

"Logan," you gasp, your voice breathy, edged with desperation as he pushes you closer to the brink. "Yours. Only yours."

A broken, shaky noise falls from his lips as he buries his face in your neck. He mouths at your skin desperately, presses his nose to where your scent is the strongest. 

Flashes of his release spraying your insides play behind his closed eyes, thoughts of drenching you so thoroughly that it has to take only forcing his hips to slam against the rippling muscle of your ass like you have your own magnetic pull. He feels it building, the slow swell of his knot presses against your folds, ready to burst.

“Come on, honey,” he begs, thumb coming down to rub slow circles over your slick clit. “Come with me, soak my cock. Show me how much you love it, how much you love me.”

Pathetic little uh uh uh’s fall from you with every thrust, broken up only by the breathy whines of his name as he pounds into you hard enough to push your body higher up the mattress. Finally, with a loud roar, he stuffs his growing knot inside of your cunt. 

Logan’s teeth sink into your neck before he can even think twice about it, the thick spray of his come filling you as his hands pull your hips down even further over his cock. He needs to be as deep in you as possible, to press forward until he can’t anymore, until his aching balls are flush with your gushing cunt.

He watches with rapt attention as you come with a loud wail, just from the feeling of his knot slotting into place. The clamp of your thighs over his hips is nearly as tight as the way your cunt seizes around him like it’s scared he’ll leave.

He groans at the over stimulation of your cunt milking his cock. Your slick leaks around the base of him, your shaking hole plugged so full it can only slip along the creamy ring to splash weakly against his thighs and hips.

Logan licks along the spot where his teeth pierced your skin, planting one last kiss before he’s taking you in his arms and rolling onto his back atop the mattress. The plush comforter sticks to his skin, your own sweaty body slipping against his as he tries his best to not jostle you too much while keeping you stuffed full of his cock.

He holds you to his chest until your breathing evens out, until your body stops trembling on top of his, until you’re nosing along the column of his neck.

“Logan?” Your voice is tiny, hoarse and scratchy. He feels your hand drawing absent minded shapes along the skin of his stomach. A circle, a star, a figure eight, a heart.

“Yeah baby?” he says, pressing his lips to the crown of your head, eyes slipping shut at the content feeling that spreads through him.

“Love you,” you murmur, voice soft but sure, the words slipping out without hesitation.

It’s the first time you’ve said it today, and hearing those three words from you sends warmth flooding through him.

Logan shifts slightly, pulling you even closer, his hand moving to the back of your head, cradling you with a kind of tenderness he used to think he’d never be capable of. “I love you too, darlin’. More than you know.”

Your body relaxes against him, the lingering effects of your shared intimacy still buzzing through your limbs, but now there’s a sense of peace, of safety, and a deeper connection.

He can feel the way your fingers curl lightly against his skin, the quiet smile that must be tugging at your lips as you press a kiss to the side of his neck.

And in that moment, with everything settled around him, Logan knows that this, right here, is everything.

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