#this just makes no sense to me why is the law like this

[iampikachuhearmeroar]

i think it's also a problem in university arts departments too, in a way. for example, while i was in undergrad, my home uni's philosophy department refused to ever assign presentations (as well as group work) as an adequate form of assessment. this however, imo, gave plenty of students, including myself, excuses to just straight up refuse to do their readings bc "it's only marked as part of my 5% or 10% participation grade.... so what's even the point of reading sindquist, anderson and zazo "the examination of the twin earth problem from the systems analysis standpoint" (not a real paper) or whatever the fuck in the philosophy of mind, for example. "i can just pretend i've done the reading and scab answers off everyone else in the tute, if we have minor unmarked group work".

this bred a student base of mostly uninterested, disengaged, confused students (and some bitter legal and journalism etc/media & comms students who found philosophy to be "a waste of time" bc "i can already argue!!!! bc im going to be a lawyer and/or journalist!" and "i was also in debate/parliamentary/school newsletter team at school!!!!" and also..... HOW and WHY are you doing journalism etc/media and comms or law if you don't ACTUALLY CARE about the fundamentals of argumentation, rhetoric/discourse (which you'll be creating with your so-called "think pieces" in journalism and media!!!), logic and language??? are you fucking stupid??? [tbf they were teenagers. of course they were going to say dumb shit]). i was one of the above philosophy students, obvs. because how the fuck are you meant to communicate these ideas to people when you're NOT doing the readings??

when you're not FORCED to do the readings, for a presentation or, y'know just the essays, you just make excuses not to do them. tbf. like yes, i could do the 2,500 word essays and 500 word essay plans just fine. but when it came to engaging with the readings, i couldn't get past more than the second page of every 50 page reading. but if i was given a presentation to do??? bruh, i probably would have forced myself to do at least 10 to 20 pages of all of the readings??? i DON'T want to look like a fuckwit in front of the 25 to 30 people in my tute time class. but just giving me essay upon essay upon essay??? and the occasional open book exam/take home exam? you're giving me an excuse to just coast by on the bare minimum and then force out an essay 8 hours before it's due, in the hope i'll get at least a credit/65% to 70%, minimum grade.

you're giving everyone the horribly stereotypical impression that the philosophy students are just locking themselves in their bedrooms (their classic ivory towers) to do their essays and nothing else. that they don't know how to communicate complicated, esoteric ideas to the layman through a presentation..... and then, very suddenly, and ironically, you expect grad students to be happy to present to a crowd their dissertation??? or just to their thesis/dissertation advisor every week??? what the fuck??? HOW does that make ANY sense??? how does that give anyone in this study stream CONFIDENCE to present???? the confidence to have the literacy to present their cogent arguments, when in undergrad they weren't deliberately given presentations in this field to practice these skills??? "oh but they'll have them in english. or sociology. or cultural studies.... so why do we need them at all?" to be fair, for me, i had to address this after an anxiety attack before a presentation in ancient history. i went to toastmasters. and lo and behold, i did meet the occasional philosophy postgrad person there. because they were far too nervous to present each week to their thesis advisor. after 3 years of NO presentations in their philosophy undergrad (and possibly their WHOLE degree). we also got plenty of engineering honours people too, right before their thesis presentations. because a similar thing happened in their field, apparently.

okay yes, i had good literacy skills in general in school and in uni, in my actual major, english. i learnt the hard way with exams and inclass tests to DO the readings, or at least do a really good study jamming session at least 2 days before sitting modernists and having to write an essay for james joyce's portrayal of himself in "a portrait of an artist as a young man" (i FUCKING HATE this book. fuck james joyce all the way to hell) , a book i couldn't read past page 10. but my god. the literacy skills in philosophy classes were ABYSMAL. mostly because everyone refused to do their readings and refused to even grasp the topics we were doing. and tbf, probably on this post, my comprehension is in hell. because due to the devaluation of arts in society, i don't engage in textual analysis or read as much dickens or bronte or dickinson, etc, as i should these days. which is what i think is wrong with engineering or science majors (and other high earning degrees) having low literacy skills.... and moreover, the overall bs discourse on YT of "ONLY do degrees that GENERATE MONEY! don't you DARE go into the arts when you KNOW you will NEVER pay it back! who needs reading comprehension and literacy, when they don't PAY THE BILLS AND STUDENT LOANS BAYBAY!?"

all in all, yes. in the end the philosophy dept did introduce marked presentations AND group work (yes philosophy did NO group work the whole time i was in uni), right as i was graduating in 2018. because. of course they did. and yes, a lot of is down to the a student's drive and interests in the subjects they choose. and how they interact with their readings and classmates. but also, i think it can rest on department teaching and assessment tactics as well. certain departments NEED to have presentations in their curricula because HOW FUCKING ELSE are students going to develop the necessary communication and comprehension skills to present or just normally talk to people about their course content??? if the whole general vibe from the student base is "oh we NEVER do the readings!"

i also feel this is an issue with the media and comms dept at my home uni, deliberately cutting off their old cross department majors/minors within the arts department option that was there when i began in that degree. so now if you want to do an english major with your media and comms degree, you're actually now FORCED to do a double degree.... and most esp if you're in the marketing comms and advertising major that i originally chose, you HAVE to do a major or minor within the degree stream ONLY. like i get on some level that it's to do with cross media skills and employability skills. and that in the last 10 years (wow what the FUCK) since i started uni, digital media skills and study IS its own field. but also. but also, what about the broader social context brought from a history major or sociology major or an english double major??? WHY does it HAVE to be a double degree???

ANYWAY. that's my rant. and probably, my reading literacy and comprehension on this post was poor. so piss on me (or don't)- is that what fall out boy said all those years ago???

I cannot stress the importance of paying attention in language classes in high school. Maybe the reason why your English teacher taught you about unreliable narrators is because a lot of the media around you is written by unreliable narrators posing as reliable. Maybe they gave you assignments on interpreting texts so you could draw your own conclusions about news articles. Some of you clearly thought English classes were useless in high school and now are unable to engage critically with media.

[krakereir]

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

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

PART 1 HERE

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

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

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

“And you knew,” Law continues.

“Well, I-” Bepo begins.

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

“Law,” Bepo pleads.

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

Only silence meets him at the other line.

“Why? Why didn’t you say anything?”

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, so this is funny to him?

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

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

“Are you still free tomorrow evening?”

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

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

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

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

----

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

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

It just left him feeling, well, off.

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

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

They didn’t even kiss.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

He forgot to turn the alarm off when he woke.

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

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

Two new messages. One text and one… picture.

Y/N When are you coming back?

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

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

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

----

One day earlier

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shachi! What are you doing here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” he says in all seriousness.

She stops abruptly.

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

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

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

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

“But?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks for stopping by!”

----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It might,” Law answers with a sigh.

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

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

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

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

“He’s not.”

“Oh yes, he is,” Law insists.

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

“… what?”

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

Law chooses not to comment on that.

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

A new picture.

No no no no, not now. Bad idea.

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

Fuck. Law is fucked.

The picture is arousing alright.

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

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

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

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

Law is so fucked.

----

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

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

“Law?”

“Your actions have consequences you know.”

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

“The pictures,” he explains painstakingly.

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

He swears that he can hear her smirk.

“Yes, I got the pictures,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean you couldn’t?”

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

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

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

“Law, hold on.”

He freezes at the change in her tone.

“You’ve seen it before?”

“Well, yes. Once, but-”

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

“... yes.”

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

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

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

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

“You are really something, Trafalgar Law.”

Law doesn’t know what to say.

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

He’s left dumbstruck.

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

He still saves them to his phone.

Then he sends off a text.

LAW I’m coming back on the 10th.

After a second of contemplating he sends off another one.

LAW I really like the robe.

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

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

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

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

----

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

----

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

He’s spent.

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

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

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

She would laugh at him if she were here.

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

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

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

----

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

Amp up the heat, huh?

----

“Trafalgar! Are you married?”

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

“No, I am not,” he answers simply.

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

Bla bla bla.

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

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

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

… Law flatlines.

“Trafalgar! Are you alright?”

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

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

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

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

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

4 hours later he’s at Y/N’s address.

----

“Hi.”

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

“Hi,” he says again, softer.

“Why are you here?” she asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Am I interrupting?” he asks.

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

“I am?” he asks. “Sorry, I didn’t-”

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

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

“Likewise,” he murmurs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For what?”

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

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

“But also for being so…”

“So?”

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

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

“So fearless.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N,” he moans.

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

“Tell me more, please,” he begs her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You think?”

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

“So are you going to give me more?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”Uh-uh,” he says. “You first.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” Law scoffs.

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N,” he moans.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

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

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

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

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

“Ah,” he sighs. “It’s exhausting.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods slowly.

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

“What are you saying?” he asks.

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

Law’s jaw goes slack, then he nods.

“So you would mind?”

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

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

“But shouldn’t we-” he begins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“AHh, fuck.”

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

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

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

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

“Y/N-”

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

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

“Don’t move,” Y/N orders.

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

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

Oh. That’s nice.

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

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

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

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

“Again,” she begs.

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

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

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

“Y/N. Lube,” he orders.

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

When his fingers return, they’re colder.

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

“Yes,” she insists.

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

“Yes! Do that again,” she pleads.

“Of course,” he grins.

And he does.

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

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

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

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

“Yes!” she moans. “Fuck, I want to.”

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

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

He sinks in completely and stays there,

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

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

“Does it hurt?”

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

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

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

“60,” Law whispers, “59, 58.”

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

“43, 42, 41.”

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

“36, 35.”

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

“19, 18, 17.”

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

“11, 10, 9.”

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

“6, 4,” he gasps. “3, 2, 1.”

Law pulls out halfway before he slowly pushes back in.

“Yes!”

It’s bliss. It’s only pure bliss.

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

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

“Yes! Fuck, yes, it’s perfect.”

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

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

“You’re so good for me,” he praises.

“Law.”

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

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

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

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

And she does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

----

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Law,” she sighs.

“Yes?”

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

“I agree,” he murmurs.

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

“Ok. Why?”

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

Law wakes from his postcoital stupor with a jolt.

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?” Y/N asks.

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

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

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

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

“Let’s find out,” she chuckles.

“I can’t wait,” he responds fondly.

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

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

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

“Really?”

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

“Yeah,” she says.

“Shit,” he chuckles. “Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“But good.”

“Good.”

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

Part 1

On AO3

[drdemonprince]

Hi Devon, I keep finding out that more of my trans friends are actively in the middle of leaving the U.S., and my partner keeps saying things like 'well we need to make plans in case we need to get you out of here.' Is it weird that my first instinct is to push back on this? I don't really want to leave, and I am clear-eyed enough about how being an immigrant works and how little connections we have, plus the global rise of fascism, that I just don't really understand how this could be, for us, the best option.

For reference, I am white and genderqueer, and though I have been on T for a while and had top surgery I still get mostly gendered as a woman (I think this has to do with my being fat and not making much effort to pass or deepen my voice). But we live in a blue state with lots of good laws supporting trans people, and I work in a supporting workplace. So I am in a pretty safe spot, all things considered.

Yeah honestly, I think a lot of white Americans who are considering leaving the country are a little bit deluded by white supremacy and eurocentrism into thinking that there is a better place they can flee to, with decent trans healthcare, where they will somehow be welcomed, and able to find jobs easily, rather than face anti-immigrant sentiment.

Of course, it is true that white American immigrants are valued more compared to other immigrants, but the degree of certainty with which a lot of white Americans are behaving as if leaving the country is an easy solution is pretty divorced from reality I think. Especially when you take into account what accessing hormone replacement therapy looks like in a majority of other countries. It's worse! In every country in Europe other than Spain, they don't have informed consent, and they have extremely long wait lists to get care if at all. It's often much harder to change one's documents or name, depending on the country.

I speak to a lot of European trans people and I know that in a majority of those countries, trans acceptance is a lot farther back than what you can find in most American cities. This country is obviously fucked in a great many ways, but if you really have an understanding on a systemic and historical level as to why that is, I don't think you'd be looking at Europe as an answer or a refuge. they are where we inherited all of those problems from! our country is fucked up and evil because it's filled with a bunch of white settlers!

I suppose Canada and Mexico are a little bit more promising in certain ways, if I was going to flee somewhere those would be the places I was considering, but it would still be pretty supremely fucked up for me to do so and leave behind so many of the trans people who don't have the luxury of doing so. It just isn't a solution. It's kind of a white liberal fantasy that has been popular ever since Bush came into office in the early 2000s.

I think it makes a lot more sense for a trans person in a red state to flee to a blue state and then to contemplate a cross-country move when a majority of these countries that they're considering are extremely hostile to immigrants, particularly ones with disabilities, reduced employment prospects, or any other vulnerabilities, which trans people typically have. American people tend to believe that our lives are so important that any place would take us, which is kinda disgusting in its own right, but it doesn't really work out well to hurl oneself into non-citizenship even when you have those massive advantages if you can't promise those countries the 'benefits' of american economic and cultural supremacy. which most of us can't.

[yoomiwrites]

Not cute

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

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

♡

You had always thought Trafalgar Law was a mature man.

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

But then, you started noticing the cracks.

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

And then there was the bread.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked. “Doing what?”

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

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

“I do.”

His brows furrowed further. “Why?”

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

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

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

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

“Enjoying yourself?”

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

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

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

You didn’t hesitate. “I do.”

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

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

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

Your brow furrowed slightly. “Something else?”

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

You stared at her, uncomprehending. “What?”

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

Something about her tone made your stomach twist.

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

And then you started thinking.

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

Oh.

Oh no.

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

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

The captain, in love with you? Certainly not.

You couldn’t sleep.

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

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

You exhaled sharply and sat up. This was useless.

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

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

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

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

“…You too?” he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

A pause.

A sharp, quiet breath.

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

“But I am.”

The world went still.

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

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

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

This stunned you.

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

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

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

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

It was the best you could do.

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

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

Like hell.

Law tried to leave.

You didn’t let him.

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

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

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

You tightened your grip. “It does.”

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

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

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

He looked—

Embarrassed.

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

You refused to let him slip away.

So, you did something reckless.

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

Law froze mid-step.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, slowly, he turned back to you.

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

And then—without a word—he stepped closer.

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

But you didn’t pull away.

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

It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t smooth.

It was awkward and hesitant and entirely, unmistakably him.

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

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

“…It’s my crew.”

“Not just your crew anymore.”

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

“…Shambles,” he muttered.

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

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

[rainparadefromhell]

just got the notice that i have to give all of my last year's scolarship back bc i switched "majors" or one of the main subjects i was studying. i hate this country & everyone involved.

[jq37]

I've been thinking about Descendants 4 again today and, having had more time to think about it, it's even more disappointing than I initially felt it was. Because it actually has all the ingredients to be my favorite of the four.

-Brandy coming back as Cinderella (along with her prince) is an inspired move (as a Black girl and theater kid in spirit, I obviously loved her as a kid). -I also love a Cinderella focus in general because she's one of my favorite princesses--in Disney and in general. My MFA thesis project is literally a Cinderella retelling. -I love a focus on platonic relationships and an interesting mother-daughter dynamic is one of my faves. -Likewise, as cliche is it is, I love two characters with almost violently opposite vibes being forced to work together and getting close along the way.

This movie has all these things that I love which makes it extra disappointing that the movie seems uninterested in basic tenets of storytelling.

The two main relationship rifts in this movie are between Cinderella and the Queen and Red and her Queen and neither of those relationships grow or develop in a way we can get invested in. They're just fixed by stealing a book. The Red Queen doesn't learn to be a better person. They just erase one bad thing that happened to her and it's all fine now I guess? Ella doesn't reconcile with her friend. Whatever caused their rift (which we never see or even are told about in any detail) is just poofed from the timeline. There's no emotional climax. There's no real action climax. Every time it seemed like something interesting was going to happen or be revealed, they hard pivoted to something else. The connective tissue in the movie is super weak and the foreshadowing leads to very little if anything.

I've really never seen a movie so bizarrely unfocused and disjointed. It has real first draft vibes.

[koheletgirl]

ok so i don't personally believe in the 2 states solution (for a myriad of reasons i won't get into now), but why does it seem like everyone who supports it these days is labeled as a zionist? i know why i might think that, but i doubt it's for the same reasons so i'm genuinely asking here

[skinreflectsthesun]

Being a mom just means when my kid is sick he wakes up like 4 times in one night and I get shit sleep, and then as soon as he’s feeling better I get sick with what he had because I was getting shit sleep and barely taking care of myself

[sluttish-armchair]

Ok but thinking back to how I was in elementary and middle school: I had such disdain for other kids who broke the rules, that I irrationally hated a whole bunch of kids — kids I would have made good friends with — all because I couldn’t stand the fact that they engaged in conflicts with, and affronts to authority figures or standards.

It even went as far as internally mocking a kid my age — calling him “Mama’s Boy” in my head — over the fact that his mother whispered comments into his ear, which he mumbled unintelligibly into the mic, and then would fall asleep as if dead on her arm. I perceived his inability to give comments on his own, and his sleeping, as moral failings of both mother and child; because I wasn’t raised like that. And maybe, those feelings also came from jealousy. I was expected to fight off sleep all the time because I could read at a college level in third grade, and could theoretically understand the material presented at the meetings despite it still being inappropriate for my age group.

I was so far deep into the “bad associations spoil useful habits” mindset that it made me hate my fellow neurodivergents — kids I would have been friends with — who maybe couldn’t hide it as well as I could. That is beyond fucked up. Now, I work with those very kids I disliked so much as a child, and guess what? They are my absolute favorite people to be around; and many of them remind me of myself.

[bellarkeandclintashaandsuch]

If Laws of Attraction doesn't want me to sympathize with Tanthai, they should stop making him say things that make me think he's suicidal. And stop having his bodyguard look at him Like That.

The sad way he looked up at Methee when he came in to tend Tanthai's cut lip was a choice.

The way he called himself the worst and talked about feeling nothing at killing a child shows just how messed up he is. He just felt empty? A child is dead, and he doesn't feel anything?! And all Methee could do was warn him that yelling will only draw his father's wrath again. Even in his own room Tanthai has to control himself to avoid his father's anger.

And then he says maybe he should die. After all, he should never have been born, right? And how sad Methee looks to hear that. But not surprised. Because even if he hasn't said it before, I'm sure Methee has witnessed all of his self-destructive behavior.

Methee came into the room telling Tanthai to apply the ointment, not to let him apply the ointment for Tanthai. But to make him stop saying such terrible things, he can only grab Tanthai's face and start tending the wound. I don't even know what the look on Tanthai's face says, but it says a lot.

Then he gets drunk and starts talking about dying again.

Only for Methee to pop up at that particular moment to bring him home.

And he just carts him away when he refuses! He just picked Tanthai up and hauled him away. Tanthai had a whole beverage in his hand that probably poured over Methee, but Methee didn't care.

And they expect me to be normal about this? I'm over here making up scenarios about how Tanthai can be innocent, so he and Methee can get married and run away together. Ah, maybe dad was driving, and made Tanthai come take his place. How could they have managed that without anyone noticing? Heck if I know. But where was Methee? Why wouldn't he be with Tanthai to keep him from driving drunk? Why didn't the senator let Charn talk to Tanthai? Why did Tanthai say there was more to this than Charn knew? Seems dumb if the things he didn't know only make things worse for him. Where's Jinta or the Mystery Globe Fixer to give Tanthai a chance to make things right?

[metaphorical-goblin]

I think The Library/Scam Likely are just the epitome of Chaotic Lawful

Oh, yeah. They sure have a moral code, alright. And it’s definitely… a code. That they follow.

[redstrewn]

Part of me is team "leander is like that to everyone" bc he also plans to recruit MC into his Bloodhounds in the future ("not yet"). Despite knowing the Bloodhounds for years he isn't close to them. Makes me think he ups the charm and seduction to anyone who may be of use to him to get them to pledge their allegiance.

[terrorbirb]

Not to uhm start fights at work, but is it just me or is the pareto principle bullshit?

[tahdashi]

i hate how much my whole family cares ab elite schools n labels

[valkyrien]

... if you think Google has not already scraped Drive for numerous reasons relating to data theft, including AI, to various degrees, just because 'oh dear no, they wouldn't do that because there might be proprietary information and that might end in lawsuits' and 'not to worry, the original post on the matter was debunked and retracted' then... honestly, why would you think that?

Do you think that just because no insider source has verified such a thing, it hasn't happened? Do you think that just because Google isn't openly admitting to it, they haven't done it, not even a little bit? Do you think that the threat of lawsuits for stealing personal and proprietary information is some kind of bulletproof safeguard against such a thing?

This Google Drive AI scraping bullshit actually makes me want to cry. My entire life is packed into Google Drive. All of my writing over the years, all of my academic documents, everything.

I’m just so overwhelmed with all the shit I’m going to have to move. I’m lucky to have Scrivener, but online data storage has been super important as I’ve had so many shitty computers, and the only reason I haven’t lost work is because Google Drive has been my backup storage unit.

My partner has recommended gitlab to move my files to - it seems useful, and I can try and explain more about what it is and how it works when I get more familiar with it. I’m unsure if it’s a text editor, or can work that way. He was explaining something about the version history that I don’t quite understand right now but might later. I’m just super overwhelmed and frustrated that this is the dystopia we live in right now.

[jooniez]

*