#it’s better to write a character the way i wrote him than let it continue to be real yknow?

[saviorpilled]

i need to know why the fucking. d blue running away thing is getting me so bad

i wrote this shit why am i so sad??????

[ironunderstands]

2.1 was so good holy shit (spoilers, obviously)

GOD THEY ATE AND IM SPECIFICALLY GONNA TALK ABOUT HOW WELL THEY WROTE RATIO IN THIS BECAUSE IM FOAMING AT THE GODDAMN MOUTH IT CHANGES HOW YOU VIEW EVERYTHING BUT IN A GOOD WAY.

so, let’s start from the beginning in 2.0 I want to walk you through my experience of it

ratio mean to aventurine, everyone gets mad. I feel weird about it, pre-2.1 I come to the conclusion that he got used as a plot device in that scene, since being racist contradicts his core motivations and the dialogue is awkward and has no real reason behind it, I chalk it up to bad writing but ultimately forgive it because 2.1 seems centered around Aventurine so they need setup for that

2.1 drops, my bsf plays the update throughout the night and we are losing our shit. He gets to the part where Ratio “betrays” Aventurine. I fucking lose it, I try to reconcile this with my preconceived notions of ratio, they don’t match up at all, his behavior that whole time doesn’t in the slightest. I am confused, I wonder if I have been wrong about him this whole time, if his whole speech on the Space Station and his character quests were some kind of fluke. I mean it could be in character? Knowledge of how a stellaron works could save millions if not billions of lives, invaluable information which Ratio would have trouble turning down because of its value. It still feels deeply wrong, Ratio isnt a backstabber, and he wouldn’t so easily bargain with Sunday over information he has no confirmation of (and could likely obtain in some other way).

The story continues, me and Haseeb (aforementioned best friend) are still pissed, I’m losing it because my favorite character just did something so unforgivable and out of character and I feel like a complete and utter idiot for interpreting a character to be a good person when they so clearly weren’t. Well, I (luckily) was so so so so so so so wrong about that, as it was all a setup, a plan devised by Aventurine to distract Sunday and forward their goals. I’ve never been happier, and suddenly every weird behavior, every “this doesn’t make sense” goes from “bad writing” to perhaps one of my favorite retroactive twists in fiction.

Ratio belittling Aventurine for his background doesn’t make any sense, I mean we literally saw the guy give a whole ass speech about how he believes all people deserve access to knowledge and that everyone is capable of being creative and having intellect, but that they just have to try for it, and if they are incapable of it, he DOCTOR Ratio is there to lend a helping hand. To cure the galaxy of stupidity, something which he views as not the lack of knowledge but rather the misuse and misinterpretation of it, how he depises the Genius Society because they mostly do not try and use their intellect from the betterment of other, and actively guide/encourage other scientists (and in Hertas case the researchers at the space station) to view knowledge as some sort of prize or commodity rather than tool. This notion is what causes Screwellum to acknowledge that Ratio is more like a medical doctor than a scholar. And this notion is something Sunday Isn’t Aware Of.

Sunday doesn’t know who Ratio really is, he may have heard of his various exploits, but Ratio has a reputation for arrogance, bluntness and insensitivity, something which Ratio plays up to the nines. The 2.0 scene with Aventurine goes from seemingly massively OOC for Ratio to him actively playing up his negative reputation to play into Sundays perceptions of the pair for their plan. Ratio->

a) makes it seem like Aventurine fucked up and he’s mad at him for losing the cornerstones, something which Sunday would see and go “hmm they don’t like each other

b) this “oh I can drive a wedge between them” notion gets worse (although in their case better) when Ratio brings up Aventurine’s (not entirely accurate) background. Sunday now thinks he has leverage over Aventurine and even more of a chance of getting Ratio to betray him. Ratio also makes it seem like he just learned this information by stating he “did his homework” and this supposed unfamiliarity with one another would give Sunday more confidence to try and drive a wedge between them

c) this makes it seem like the IPC are unaware of the Families constant surveillance, as it looks like they are having an important conversation in a private room, which would make Sunday think they are unaware of his eyes and ears everywhere

Now let me qualify this notion with more evidence because you could still try and argue that the deal Ratio and Aventurine struck was post 2.0 argument

Topaz (my glorious Queen). At the end of the 1.4 (or was it 1.5?) Belabog quest she has a conversation with Aventurine in which he requests for her help in Penacony, and we do not get a confirmation on if she said yes or not. Until 2.1, in which the the Topaz (and Jade) stone in in Aventurines possession, meaning she took him up on that offer prior to 2.0 because how else would he bring multiple cornerstones there, which we know there are many because Ratio says he lost the cornerstones, not just his own. Topaz would not give this item up easily or on a whim in between 2.0 and 2.1, meaning she would have to be let in on his plan prior, meaning the plan was formed prior. Since Ratio was also assigned to this mission keeping him in the dark would make negative sense and actively undermine their collaboration, something which he brings up in their fake argument

2. The Final Victory Lightcone. I originally thought this scene to be after their argument for complicated reasons, the most important of which being the minor snippet of conversation we see between Ratio and Aventurine during the first time we meet Acheron. Aventurine mentions 3 chips, Ratio doubts him, and the lightcone description starts with Aventurine questioning his doubt and firing three shots, a perfect correlation that made me place the order of events in that way. However, we get to see the snippet of conversation between Aventurine and Ratio in game, right before they meet Sunday, not prior to the lightcone events. However, they are still clearly connected for aforementioned reasons, just in a different manner, let me explain. Now we know the three chips reference not bullets but the three cornerstones, and Ratio openly expresses his doubt because the family is always watching (something which I will get into) and because a part of him does doubt this plan will go well. However, Aventurine prior reminds him of the events of the lightcone with the three chips. My interpretation is that Aventurine took that gamble in the lightcone to convince Ratio to go along with his crazy plan since if he can win a game of Russian Roulette with an unwavering smile on his face he an insane gamble means nothing to him (ratio doesn’t buy it because it’s ratio but the sheer audacity or you could say the “charming audacity” makes him go along with it). In my opinion this scene only makes sense pre-penacony, due to the timeline of events, which is why I believe it the reason for the events in it has to be Aventurine trying to convince Ratio to join in.

3) The family is always watching. During the 2.1 story quest it gets brought up several times in many different ways that it seems like the family has eyes on everything and everyone. Sunday’s fuckass bird is everywhere, and the man himself (minus being a goddamn biblically accurate angel) is covered in eye shaped shit and possesses close ties with the Harmony, which lends itself well to a character that knows things considering the Aeon itself is a conglomeration of many different perspectives. He fucking perception checks Aventurine, when the crew goes to look for info on firefly they learn the dream pools monitor people’s vitals and everything, even producing a dialogue option where the trailblazer states they feel like their every move is being watched. Topaz gets stalked by bloodhound members upon arrival, I could go on. TLDR Sunday knows almost everything that’s going on in Penacony, this is what leads him to believe the traitor is within the family, and his access to knowledge is something the IPC 100% knows about. I mean they have been presumably attempting to try and get it back for a while, and they would reasonably extensively try and learn everything about it. The Family notoriously hates negotiating with them so the IPC either learning and/or coming to the conclusion that the Family is watching their every move isn’t a ridiculous notion. If this conversation was genuine, if Ratio truly wanted to discuss this matter with Aventurine, why would he do it in a likely wiretapped, not very soundproof room where any passerby could hear Ratio loudly exclaim that Aventurine lost the very important cornerstones and that he is also one of the most despised groups in the galaxy because that would really do numbers for both their reputations. If you think about it, this not being staged is an incredibly stupid blunder on Ratio’s end (minus the deliberate OOCness) because of all the places Ratio could set up a very important meeting he does it in one of the worst places ever.

4) The dialogue in the scene. It’s awkward, it’s so awkward and the whole “also my family died I didn’t get an education” seemed so tacked on the first time I watched it. Knowing now, it seemed so tacked on because it was, Aventurine had to shove the info in there somewhere and their incredible conversational skills decided that was the best part in there. Ratio fucking leaving before Aventurine is even done talking goes from a “huh weird” to a “wow he is really playing up this arrogant scholar role”. And if Ratio is playing the arrogant scholar, Aventurine is playing the dumb, helpless, blonde to a T. Losing the cornerstones and acting nonchalant about it, letting Ratio insult him so callously and letting the insults slide, talking absolute nonsense at the end about random things that don’t matter, sadly lamenting into the distance that he’s alone again. Bro is playing it up and I live for it. They also and play up these personas in their little adventure prior to meeting Sunday, Aventurine asks stupid questions like wondering about the species of the bird that make up the statues and talking about how he wants to play in the sandpit and even insulting Sunday a bit, behavior that would make Sunday think him unprepared and unserious rather than cold and calculating. If Aventurine does that well, Ratio plays up his arrogant, uncaring scholar persona to the nines. He insults any and every decision or thing Aventurine does, loudly sighing of how happy he is to finally have some peace and quiet when Aventurine leaves his sight for 0.00008 milleseconds, pointing out his sarcasm, beefing with a random Pepeshi bodyguard no reason, pointing out his sarcasm, just the exaggerated way he talks in general, and suggesting he admit Aventurine into the Genius Society (even Ratio wouldn’t stoop so low as to suggest Aventurine was worthy of that).

Moreover, this is really, really tragic because I do think there are several moments of genuine banter and fun the two share “Ratio, you’re huge!” was not added to the script to enhance the plot guys. And obviously Aventurine knows most of Ratios behavior is acting, however he has such severe trust issues, and Ratio is so damn straightforward and blunt that he worries the man was serious about some of it which just breaks my heart. Soft Ratio please add it give me one conversation, the note at the end of 2.1 doesn’t count it’s too short.

Ultimately, knowing what I know now I can’t help but view the 2.0 conversation with Aventurine as being anything but staged, it simply makes no sense otherwise, and it happily obsolescent Ratio of his sins. This was a bit incoherent I honestly just wanted to rant (if you couldn’t tell haha) but I hope you enjoyed it regardless. I need sincere Ratio more then I need oxygen and I’m not afraid to say it.

[sing-you-fools]

being a Discworld fan honestly should be, like, the #1 book recommending a person sort of things, and i hate that it's not because so many of his fans get it so wrong. like. i try not to get incensed about people being wrong on the internet, but how anyone reads these books and thinks this man was a bigot, thinks the representation he put in Discworld was at the expense of those represented, like. like. i'm furious about it. every time. especially as he continued to learn and grow both as a writer and as a person. even stuff that was originally meant to be a little silly, like a female dwarf, he found meant a lot to people, and he learned how to better include that story!

(spoilers ahead for Shepherd's Crown)

he leaned into it in the most loving and respectful way. fucking READ The Shepherd's Crown!!!!! the man found out trans women identified with his character so he learned how to represent them! and then, he wrote Jackrum! AND THEN HE WROTE GEOFFREY!!!!! with his last fucking book he gave us a character who says he doesn't really feel like a man or a woman, just himself, fucking ages before anyone else was writing nonbinary characters! AND HE PUT HIM IN GRANNY WEATHERWAX'S FUCKING COTTAGE Y'ALL! LIKE HAVE YOU THOUGHT ABOUT WHAT THAT MEANS BECAUSE I HAVE SOBBED SO FUCKING MUCH ABOUT IT! (Note that obviously Geoffrey doesn't have/use different language for himself, but that's how he feels and pronouns are not gender.)

thanks to how he handled Cheery and how he went from there, Pratchett included trans representation for ALL of us SO SO SO SO SO LONG before we were on anyone else's radar, and it's honestly so much more respectful than some of the stuff i've seen out there more recently!!!!!

he wasn't perfect, and a lot of social standards have evolved since the earlier Discworld books especially, but he always kept an open mind and listened and tried and grew. and there are people out there insisting he would be this hateful bigot!!!!! i hate them!!!!! let me hire the fucking assassin's guild!!!!!

[wielderofmysteries]

Self-Made Man: Jace Beleren and Representation for Transgender Men in MTG

INTRO:

A few days before I started writing this, I received a message on Tumblr asking me to talk about my personal interpretation of Jace Beleren as a trans man. Not an unusual request, since Jace Beleren is my favorite character and I mention that I think he's trans all the time. I thought my response would be easy to write, but I started typing and couldn't stop. I realized I couldn't keep it short and simple. My thoughts grew into something much bigger, and much more meaningful to me. (Word count: ~9260)

In this post, I'll explore my analysis of Jace Beleren as a transgender man, why I think it enriches Jace as a character, and how it relates to the topic of transgender representation in Magic.

Disclaimer 1: As far as I know, WOTC and the authors who wrote Jace's lore did not originally set out with the intention of portraying a transgender character in Jace. Everything I'm presenting as evidence that Jace is trans is just part of my analysis. The purpose of this post is not to prove that Jace was always intended to be trans, but to show how my personal interpretation of Jace as a trans man is inspired by and supported by the text.

Disclaimer 2: All transgender people are different and have unique lives and feelings and experiences, so the things I say in this post won't apply to every single trans person. The examples I give here are mainly based on my own experience, as well as those of other trans men I know personally.

(General content warning for discussions of bullying and transphobia.)

PART 1: ORIGINS

There's an inherent transness about Jace Beleren.

Insecurity is one of Jace's most visible and defining traits. From Origins to Ixalan, his long-term character arc is all about his struggle to let go of his insecurities in order to become a better version of himself. There are parallels to the experiences of transgender men in the way those insecurities came about, how he expresses them, and how he eventually overcomes them.

It's easy to see why Jace would be insecure. As a telepath, he can hear all the negative thoughts other people have about him.

=========

Sure enough, there was his father, sitting at the kitchen table, frowning. Gav Beleren, grubby and balding, regarded Jace with little more than weariness.

I wish he was normal.

His father’s thoughts traced a familiar path.

[Jace's Origin: Absent Minds - Kelly Digges]

=========

Lack-witted idiot.

A big lug shoved past him from behind.

Jace couldn’t help but agree with the sentiment.

I swear, that Beleren kid…

[Jace's Origin: Absent Minds - Kelly Digges]

=========

There’s the freak.

The biting thought was the only warning Jace got.

He scrambled to his feet and spun, but he was too late. Three of his schoolmates stood between him and the access hatch.

[Jace's Origin: Absent Minds - Kelly Digges]

=========

Jace's own father, despite caring for his son and wanting a better life for him, felt little warmth for him. He wished Jace were "normal" and often became frustrated with him. Jace was a victim of brutal bullying that started in early childhood and continued all through his school years. Even complete strangers disliked Jace, and they made it known.

It was difficult for Jace to tell which thoughts were or weren't his own. Jace's constant awareness of others disliking him caused him to internalize that negativity, and as a result, he developed a sense of insecurity at an early age.

Jace's insecurity manifests as self-hatred, feelings of inadequacy, and discomfort in his body and physical appearance. I think his insecurities manifested in these specific ways because one of his most significant personal struggles was gender dysphoria. In an R&D video about Jace's story in Origins, Kelly Digges spoke about Jace's insecurity, and unintentionally gave the most transgender-sounding response possible.

=========

"Not everybody likes Jace. They see the arrogant self-assured kid wearing the hoodie, and something about that doesn't sit well with them. But I think you've got to have sympathy for the guy. I mean, imagine being a teenager with all the awkwardness that comes with that, and actually knowing that the person behind you thinks your hair looks stupid! You'd put on a hood too!"

[Kelly Digges - Magic: The Gathering - Inside R&D Magic Origins: Jace]

=========

The thing is, I don't have to imagine that situation. That was literally my lived experience as a trans teenager.

I had known I was trans since I was very little, but I didn't decide to start living life as an openly transgender boy until I was 13 years old– right before I started high school. The day before my freshman orientation, my mom took me to a hair salon and I asked the stylist to give me a typical boy's haircut. My hair was waist-length, and the stylist was shocked that a 'girl' could ask her to cut off that much hair. She was scared to ruin my appearance by making me "look like a boy" (even though that's exactly what I wanted.)

My freshman photo was the ugliest school picture I've ever taken. My friends jokingly called me 'Gohan' (from Dragon Ball Z). I started wearing jackets with my hood up, even though I never liked to before, and I wore hats despite it being against the school dress code. I knew other people thought my hair looked stupid, and I knew this without having telepathic abilities like Jace.

But my troubles didn't start with that haircut. Long before I started openly living as a boy, I was told I was a 'tomboy' and that I didn't act like other little girls did. Even in early childhood, I was very aware of the fact that some people hated me for who I was and how I expressed myself. I was just like Jace in that way– knowing who was judging me; knowing they didn't respect me; and knowing that in their eyes I was ugly, a weirdo, or worse.

I had always known I was different, and Jace had always known he was different, too. But it's not for the reason you would think. People mistreated Jace long before anyone knew or even began to suspect his true nature as a telepath. Nobody knew Jace was a mage, but everyone knew something was weird about him. There was something outwardly unusual about Jace that people noticed and thought was strange and undesirable.

Something interesting I noticed while re-reading Jace's origin story is that he appears to be wearing girls' clothing in the art. He and the girl, Jill, are both wearing the same long tunic / dress and shawl; while the two other boys are wearing vests and tucked-in shirts.

I know that wasn't necessarily the intention with this art, but it got me thinking about other aspects of Jace's origin story that just felt trans to me.

Interestingly, nobody in Jace's origin story actually calls him "Jace" except for his mother, the only person who truly loved and accepted him for who he was; and Alhammarret, another telepath and therefore the only person who could see Jace the way Jace saw himself. Everyone else refers to him as "Beleren" or "that Beleren kid" or "freak". His own dad doesn't call him anything at all.

It reminded me of the way my family never got into the habit of calling me my chosen name, even after I came out. They would call me my childhood nickname, "BooBoo", to avoid saying my chosen name or my birth name. To them, I was boyish enough it was weird to call me a girl's name, but not loved or respected enough to be called what I wanted.

Being a trans teenager is hard. It's hard to control your style when you're dependent on your parents to buy clothing. It's hard to control your identity when other people constantly call you the wrong name. And it's pretty much impossible to control your body.

Puberty is a source of insecurity for all teenagers, but it's the ultimate hell for trans teenagers. When the effects of hormones become visible and you see how your body has changed compared to your peers, the difference can be emotionally devastating.

While puberty made me wider and heavier; my male friends, who were going through the other puberty, got taller and more muscular. They got bigger and stronger every year while I was doomed to stay 5'0 (152cm) forever. It felt like I could never catch up– they looked the way I wanted to without even trying. Sure, I could pass for a boy, but they were going to grow up to be men. It infuriated me.

Similarly, Jace's lack of stereotypically masculine physical characteristics was a major source of self-hatred.

=========

“Hey, Beleren,” said the largest of the three, his booming voice overpowering the wind. His name was Tuck. At fourteen, he was a year older than Jace, a head taller, and built like a loading dock.

[Jace's Origin: Absent Minds - Kelly Digges]

=========

How small he looked, hanging desperately above the crackling stream of mana. How vulnerable he looked. He hated it.

[Jace's Origin: Absent Minds - Kelly Digges]

=========

Jace's male peers are described as being significantly taller and more muscular than him. This difference in size and strength made it easy for other boys to bully and physically abuse Jace, which caused him to associate their masculinity with the power they held over him. In Jace's mind, being a victim meant he was weak, and being weak meant he was less of a man. Hating yourself for things you can't control is extraordinarily painful.

When Jace discovered his true nature as a telepath, he realized it was the one way he held power over others. He tried to feel tougher and more masculine by emulating the way his bullies demonstrated their power over him– through intimidation, cruelty, and threats of violence.

=========

He looked Tuck in the eyes. “And if you harm my family, I’ll take your mind apart, one squalid little memory at a time.”

Tuck flinched.

[Jace's Origin: Absent Minds - Kelly Digges]

=========

Having grown up without any positive male role models in his life, Jace's idea of masculinity was primarily influenced by the mistreatment he endured. He simply imitated what he saw and he didn't have the emotional support or life experience needed to grow out of that mindset.

As a young trans man reading Jace's origin story, I found the way he resented his bullies and retaliated against them to be very relatable. It's scary how easily gender dysphoria can turn into toxic masculinity. When you need to try a million times harder than your cisgender peers to be acknowledged as a man, taking masculinity to a harmful extreme can seem like the logical thing to do, especially if you're a younger trans man.

Despite expressing myself exactly the same as any other little boy would (wearing the same clothes, liking the same cartoons, playing the same sports), I was bullied by both kids and adults for daring to think I could be a boy. Once, when I was 8 years old, I stepped up to bat for my Little League baseball team. When the announcer said my feminine name and everyone noticed the long hair sticking out from underneath my helmet, the opposing team's volunteer coaches (the fathers of kids my age!) shouted from their dugout: "There's no way they'll win! They have a girl on their team!" Their players laughed and cheered in response.

That absolutely broke me. Their words taught me that being myself wasn't enough. And if being the same as other boys wasn't enough, then I needed to be more than them. I intentionally became a bully. Picking every fight I could was my way of proving I was more masculine than people thought.

Intentional toxic masculinity in pursuit of gender-affirmation is a very common experience for young trans men. Jace and my younger self acted the way we did because we were trying to mask our insecurity. We wanted to kill the weakness we saw in ourselves, so we lashed out in an attempt to feel stronger than the people who hurt us.

Starting middle school let me get away from most of the people who bullied me. It was the fresh start I needed to stop being such a terror. But a clean slate wouldn't prove to be so helpful for young Jace.

PART 2: PLANESWALKER

At age 15, Jace's Planeswalker spark ignited. He arrived on Ravnica with no memories of his life on Vryn. 

In theory, Jace's amnesia would have allowed him to start becoming the person he wanted to be, but he couldn't begin to heal because the scars on his subconscious mind were immediately opened. Being lost and alone made Jace feel vulnerable– the feeling he hated most.

=========

Came out of nowhere. Some poor Izzet experimental subject, probably.

He scrambled to his feet. People were staring at him. He looked as bad as he felt, sweaty and pale and filthy. He pulled his scarf up around his face and dashed to the side of the road.

I’m not an experimental subject. I’m…I’m…

I’m in trouble.

Fine. Table that.

He walked as fast as he could without seeming to hurry. He reached out, carefully, into the minds around him. It was a cacophony, a mad tangle of voices, and half of them weren’t even human.

Vagrant. Thief. Poor kid. Wretch.

His headache was getting worse.

[Jace's Origin: Absent Minds - Kelly Digges]

=========

On Ravnica, Jace had no idea where he was or who he was, and he was suddenly surrounded by more people than he'd ever been near before. After losing the ability to control his telepathy, he was overwhelmed with their thoughts. He didn't know any of the people around him, but he knew they thought he was strange and pitiful.

When Jace noticed people staring at him, he hid his face with his scarf and ran away from them. Jace's first instinctual concern was not that he was possibly in danger, but that people were perceiving him in a way that made him feel embarrassed about himself. Even without memories of being bullied, a part of Jace's mind was still constantly worried about his appearance.

Jace's anxiety in public reminded me of the extreme paranoia I suffered from as a trans teenager. Being seen and perceived was so unbearable to me that I went to extremes to avoid people. I'd stay home or hide whenever possible, and sometimes I became so anxious I would literally run away if I noticed someone looking at me. I've gotten a lot better in the past few years, but I still worry when I'm out in public. I often notice strangers staring at me, and I hate knowing when people are questioning my gender. In certain situations, I'm even worried that someone might hurt me if they notice I'm trans. When you're trans and you've been bullied, just being perceived is dangerous.

That initial experience on Ravnica did instant damage to his self esteem. Jace's discomfort in his body and physical appearance was such a pressing issue that he immediately sought gender-affirming body modifications.

=========

The Jace in front of her was pathetically young.

[...]

The teenage Jace seated in the chair had the look about him of someone who wanted to disappear and wish someone more imposing into his place. His outfit was disheveled, the cut of it unfamiliar. Vraska sensed in the fabric of the memory that this version of Jace had arrived in Ravnica for the first time only days before.

The Gruul shaman's hand was glowing brilliant white. "This your first?" he grunted.

It took Jace a moment too long to answer. "Yes," he said timidly.

Vraska couldn't help but smile at this memory. He was the wimpiest teenager she had ever seen—no wonder he wanted a cool tattoo.

[...]

The shaman leaned over the teenager and drew a line with his finger down Jace's cheek, leaving a brilliant white tattoo in its place. He continued on his chin and arm, and Vraska watched as the shaman diligently painted a braver face on the nervous teenager's own.

[The Flood - Alison Luhrs]

=========

Tattoos probably aren't the first thing that comes to mind when you think of gender-affirming body modifications, but that was the purpose they served for Jace. Getting tattoos made him feel braver and more grown up, and they made him look cooler and more intimidating to others. All of these were stereotypically masculine traits he desired in the way he presented himself.

In addition to the way they changed him outwardly, Jace's tattoos were a personal declaration of his identity. His tattoos were drawn from one of the few things he could remember after arriving on Ravnica: a set of mysterious shapes and symbols. He didn't know what meaning they held, if any at all, but he decided that they were important to him because they were his.The decision to have them permanently inked on his skin gave him a sense of control and ownership over his body and appearance, which is one of the most important aspects of forming an identity as a trans person.

In his young adult years on Ravnica, Jace made a living as a criminal extorting the rich and famous. For the first time in his life, he could afford to choose his own wardrobe instead of depending on a guardian to provide clothes for him. Jace used this opportunity to exercise more control over his appearance, having clothing designed and tailored specifically to his desires.

The patterns Jace had tattooed on his body would be incorporated into his signature blue cloak. Jace's cloak is the most iconic element of his visual design, and it's important to this interpretation of his character because it's his dysphoria hoodie.

A dysphoria hoodie is a hooded clothing item intended to relieve gender dysphoria by obscuring the shape of a person's body. They're oversized, loose, and usually black or another dark color. Wearing a dysphoria hoodie hides a person's body from others' judging eyes, and allows them to forget about the parts of their body that they don't like.

It's undeniable that Jace's cloak fits this description perfectly.

Jace was extremely attached to his blue cloak. It didn't matter how hot the weather was, or how dirty or damaged his cloak had gotten– he always wore it anyway. And judging by the fact that he canonically had numerous duplicates made, he didn't want to ever stop wearing it. The ability to look and feel mysterious was very comforting to him.

Jace tried to hide his insecurities for as long as he could, but as he grew into adulthood, his problems would grow and change with him.

The novel Agents of Artifice follows Jace's life on Ravnica from ages 19 to 22. Growing up meant the gender role Jace desired to fill evolved from 'boy' to 'man', but Jace had no positive male role models or examples in this formative time.

As Jace's employer and teacher, Tezzeret forced him to use his powers for violence by psychologically abusing him. Tezzeret had an explosive temper and brutally tortured Jace when he failed assignments or hesitated to comply.

Jace's best friend / partner, Kallist Rhoka, showed a sense of entitlement after the two met Liliana Vess. Kallist felt like Liliana owed him attention and sex, despite the fact that she wasn't interested in him because she was already dating Jace.

=========

“You’re a hypocrite, Jace. It’s fine. My own fault, really. I should’ve known better than to take you at your word, when it came to getting something you wanted—the one thing I might’ve found to make this damned place a little better!”

“She was never yours!” Jace shot to his feet, fists clenched. “Never!”

“Because you wouldn’t give us the chance!” Kallist shot back. “It’s not enough that you took away everything I had?”

“Took away … Damn it, Kallist, I saved your life!”

[Agents of Artifice - Ari Marmell]

=========

Kallist wasn't the only man who felt this way. Throughout the book, several complete strangers made it clear that they thought Jace was inferior and undeserving of Liliana's affection, and that Liliana should be with them instead. Other men openly insulted Jace because they didn't see him as a "real man".

=========

“I couldn’t help but notice,” he slurred in a voice heavy with beer, “that you finally sent your scrawny friend packing. That mean you interested in spending some time with a real man?”

[Agents of Artifice - Ari Marmell]

=========

At that point in his life, Jace was still surrounded by men who had very toxic expressions of masculinity, but unlike his teenage self, he had no desire to imitate them. Jace feared and resisted Tezzeret's violent teachings, he disapproved of Kallist's misogyny towards Liliana, and he avoided confrontation with the random strangers who threatened him.

I think Jace's distaste for their attitudes and behaviors shows that his insecurity is truly gender dysphoria and not just toxic masculinity. If Jace disapproved of their toxic masculinity and didn't want to express himself that way, why would he care if he wasn't a "real man" to them? Why did he still feel incomplete as a man? What does being a man mean to Jace Beleren?

Jace wanted to do all the things typically expected of adult men. He wanted to be self-reliant, to be a protector and leader to others. He made himself a protector and financial provider to his romantic partners. He wanted to protect Ravnica and accepted his duty as the Living Guildpact when the role was magically forced upon him. He worked with the Gatewatch to defend other planes and invited them to live in his home. Despite all his efforts, nobody seemed to see that Jace was trying his best.

One of the most common difficulties trans men experience is being infantilized because they're perceived as younger. Trans men often look younger than their cisgender male peers of the same age due to the difference in hormones. Less testosterone means trans men tend to be shorter, less muscular, and have less body hair (not accounting for individual genetic factors).

When trans men lack stereotypically masculine physical characteristics, especially those associated with age and maturity, such as facial hair, they don't get treated with the same respect as other men. (For example, adult trans men are often referred to as 'boys' no matter how old they actually are.)

When Jace's appearance is described in stories, his lack of stereotypically masculine physical characteristics is always noted. He's always described as being smaller and less muscular than other men, and it's repeatedly remarked upon that he's unable to grow a beard.

=========

Rulan was clad much like Jace himself, though he preferred deep reds and purples to Jace’s unrelenting blue and black. And unlike Jace, Rulan boasted a full, tidily trimmed beard.

[Agents of Artifice - Ari Marmell]

=========

She cast a critical eye up and down his form. Firm, fit, alert, hair combed. She mentally called bull on it. "You can drop the glamour, dear. No one cares."

He sighed, and shimmered as his illusion dropped. There was the real Jace; paler, hair rumpled, eyes sunken from late nights, and his chin tinted by the adorable peach fuzz that almost counted as a someday-maybe beard.

[Homesick - Chris L'Etoile]

=========

The text shows that Jace experienced infantilization as a trans man. His sparse facial hair is enough to visibly darken his face, but it's referred to as "adorable peach fuzz" rather than a more mature-sounding alternative. In the story Catching Up, Liliana tells Jace that him looking older is "an unambiguous compliment."

=========

"You look older," she said.

"I'm not sure how to take that."

"At your age, dear, it's an unambiguous compliment." She cocked her head. "Have you started combing your hair?"

He smoothed his hair self-consciously, just for a moment, then withdrew his hand. He had, in fact, started combing it. Not that his hair was any of her business. He scowled.

[Catching Up - Kelly Digges]

=========

This aspect of Jace's trans experience caused him to be disrespected in several areas of his adult life. As an adult navigating dating and relationships, people saw him as unattractive and less desirable. As the Living Guildpact, people saw him as unqualified and irresponsible. As a member of the Gatewatch, people saw him as weak and incapable of leadership. Because he was infantilized as a trans man, he was perceived as inherently less masculine, less competent, and less mature. This negative perception reinforced his feelings of inadequacy.

For this reason, Jace was more self-conscious about his appearance as an adult than he'd ever been as a youth. In order for people to treat him with more respect, Jace found it necessary to hide his body with his cloak and to change his appearance with illusions. Jace felt the need to 'pass', and thought being himself was unsatisfactory, especially after he met Gideon.

Meeting Gideon was a major turning point in Jace's emotional development as a trans man.

Gideon was a great example of stereotypical but positive masculinity. He was self-reliant but not afraid to ask for help. He was a leader but tried to uplift others. He fought as a defender, not an aggressor.

Jace saw Gideon as an upstanding person and a good friend. For the first time in his life, Jace had a positive male role model to look up to. It made him furious.

=========

"I'd rather stand," said Gideon.

Jace stood up. It was an error. He still had to crane his neck to look Gideon in the eye, and now the size difference between them was glaringly obvious. He hated feeling small. Hated it.

[Catching Up - Kelly Digges]

=========

Gideon made Jace feel hopelessly insecure about himself.

He was everything Jace wanted to be, and seemed to be perfect in all the ways Jace wasn't. Gideon was super tall while Jace was average height. Gideon was athletic and muscular while Jace was thin and out-of-shape. Gideon was charismatic and a natural leader while people tended to automatically distrust Jace.

Jace both admired and envied Gideon. He tried his best to emulate Gideon's positive qualities, but found it difficult because it was clear to himself and others that it didn't come naturally to him. Jace's presence just didn't inspire others or make them feel safe like Gideon's presence did.

=========

What would Gideon say?

Jace smiled. Of course.

"For Zendikar," he said, raising one fist in the air. It felt thin to him, lacking Gideon's armored fist, his baritone war cry, his iron conviction.

[Brink of Extinction - Kelly Digges]

=========

"Vanity?" she said. "That's not like you."

He raked a hand back through his hair, which did nothing to calm its random angles. "I should be at my best for team meetings. Project leadership. Confidence. The idea that I know what the hell I'm doing. And why am I telling you this?" He looked annoyed at himself.

She raised one ivory shoulder in a careless shrug. "Who else knows you well enough to understand?"

[Homesick - Chris L'Etoile]

=========

Seeing the differences between himself and Gideon aggravated his gender dysphoria and reinforced all the manifestations of his insecurity– self-hatred, feelings of inadequacy, and discomfort in his body and physical appearance.

In his time with the Gatewatch, Jace's vision of masculinity had changed to be much more positive, but he was still miserable because he kept measuring his self-worth against an ideal he couldn't seem to reach.

This stage in socially transitioning is emotionally difficult for trans people. It takes time and effort to overcome.

PART 3: CASTAWAY

At age 26, after the Gatewatch's defeat on Amonkhet, Jace involuntarily planeswalked to Ixalan. He awoke on a tropical island with no recollection of who he was or where he came from.

For the second time in his life, Jace had complete amnesia. Just like when he sparked at age 15, his insecurities lingered despite being unable to remember what caused them. He hallucinated illusions of people from his past life, and his subconscious mind projected his insecurities through them.

=========

"You've really done it this time, haven't you?"

This vision appeared whenever the man was struggling at a task.

His shoulders were broad, and his olive skin had a sheen of sweat underneath the shine of his armor. The hallucination was looking over the man's shoulder as he tried to carve a fishing hook.

"Listen, you aren't really suited to this task. Let me handle it." The vision's voice was gruff but friendly.

It came off as condescending.

The man was annoyed.

"I can do it myself."

The hallucination sighed. "You and I both know you're not suited to this. Let me handle it, you go philosophize on the other end of the beach."

"I said I can do it myself." The man let his irritation reach his voice.

"No, you can't. I call the shots and execute, you stand to the side. That's how this works."

The man responded by throwing his hook at the hallucination. It went straight through the figure's eye and landed behind him on the sand.

[Jace, Alone - Alison Luhrs]

=========

An illusion of Gideon represented Jace's frustration due to low confidence in his skills and abilities. No one ever seemed to think Jace was good enough. His intellect, social skills, and physical dexterity were all constantly questioned throughout his entire life. As a result, Jace never got the chance to prove to the people around him what he was truly capable of.

On Useless Island, Jace was utterly alone and could rely only on himself. Jace succeeded in teaching himself to hunt, fish, and build in order to survive. He was not inept at stereotypically masculine tasks, as people had believed him to be. Over time, he grew a thick beard and gained a significant amount of muscle mass.

=========

"You look terrible," purred a voice from above.

The man moved his hands. An illusion of a woman stood above him. She had raven hair, tired eyes, and a disdainful expression. Her arms were gloved in violet satin and crossed in front of her.

"The muscles are a nice change, but you look awful with facial hair." Her lips curled in a disdainful sneer.

The man shook his head, tears building in the corner of his eyes.

"I don't know who you are."

"Of course you don't, boy."

She looked him over. "You didn't know who I was then, and you don't now. Hard to build trust when neither of us trusts each other."

The man decided to stop caring that this illusion wasn't real. He desperately needed someone to talk to.

"Who was I, before here?"

"You weren't who you thought you were, that's for sure. No one else saw through you, but I did. You were never a leader or a detective or a scholar; you were a frightened child playing pretend."

The man swallowed a lump in his throat.

"You can fool the rest of the world with your magic and illusions, but you could never fool me."

The man wanted to sob. Wanted to go back and sleep. Wanted to starve until all of this went away.

[Jace, Alone - Alison Luhrs]

=========

An illusion of Liliana represented Jace's gender dysphoria and impostor syndrome.

Despite everything he had achieved so far on Useless Island, his subconscious mind still held feelings of self-doubt. Part of Jace's mind wondered whether or not he was ever truly suited to being a man, telling himself he "looks terrible" and "awful with facial hair". Again, Jace's maturity and experience are denied when the illusion infantilizes him by calling him a "boy" and "a frightened child playing pretend". This vision was an expression of Jace's fear that he was inherently unfit for masculinity and the roles he wanted to fill as a man.

Unlike the first time Jace had amnesia, though, there were no real people around to reinforce his insecurities. Being alone meant Jace had no one to compare himself to. This gave him the opportunity to truly have faith in himself. Rather than trying to copy someone else's example of masculinity, he was creating his own.

=========

The man opened his eyes, and saw a vision of himself standing on top of the water in front of him.

The image had a blank expression on its face, but was otherwise identical to the man himself, standing calmly—impossibly—on the surface of the water.

The man's jaw fell open in shock.

The illusion appeared solid as flesh, and its detail was astonishingly accurate. The man was amused he did not remember his name but remembered the exact details of his own body: muscles toned, stubble on its face, blistered sunburn on its bare shoulders. He even saw its scars—his scars—the little bookmarks of a life well-lived.

[Jace, Alone - Alison Luhrs]

=========

All the effort he had taken to change himself showed outwardly on his body, and it was very gender-affirming. He was happy to see his muscles and facial hair and sunburn. I don't know how else to say this, but Jace being proud of "his scars" just has super transgender connotations. When Jace saw his scars, he appreciated them as proof of his ability to change and adapt– proof of his survival.

One of the most meaningful and symbolic moments in Jace's story is his decision to leave Useless Island. He built a raft and sailed away, uncertain of his future but determined and unafraid. Among the items he packed for his journey was his old blue cloak, unaware of the meaning it previously held for him. Jace encountered a storm soon after leaving, and all the items he brought with him were lost or destroyed, including his cloak. But he wasn't upset. He didn't miss it. To the Jace of Useless Island, it was nothing more than a piece of fabric. The Jace of Useless Island was comfortable in his body, and had no need for a dysphoria hoodie to hide from himself or anyone else. By letting his cloak be destroyed, Jace let go of his insecurities.

Vraska found Jace washed up on a rocky island and accepted him into her pirate crew. Jace was eager to help, using his tinkering ability to fix telescopes and compasses. He also used his illusion magic to make The Belligerent invisible during a raid, and even fought vampires with the crew.

People need to have loved ones in their lives who make them feel accepted and respected. It's absolutely critical for a person's emotional health, and especially for trans people, whose close support networks are often insufficiently small or entirely absent. When you feel ashamed of yourself because you're constantly being criticized, when you live in fear of the world around you because you're hated, it's difficult even to simply exist. Having just one person who truly makes you feel safe makes a world of difference.

This is why it was so important that Vraska, the only person on Ixalan who knew Jace before his amnesia, didn't judge him based on his past. She didn't try to tell Jace who he used to be or who he should be. The crew of The Belligerent allowed Jace to be himself, and they cared about the qualities he had, not the ones he lacked. This key difference in how people treated Jace on Ixalan is what allowed him to thrive.

In The Flood, Jace fell down a waterfall and hit his head on a rock. The injury triggered a reversal of his amnesia. After Jace got his memories back, he reflected on the difference between his past and present selves.

=========

"I wouldn't have had the strength to climb this a year ago," Jace said with a little bit of pride. "Or if I did, I probably would have passed out halfway up."

"You weren't that out of shape when I last saw you," Vraska teased.

"You're ignoring how often I used to use illusions to make myself look like I was in shape."

Her brows shot up. "Seriously?"

"Oh yeah," Jace acknowledged. His expression was unguarded, eyes still red from emotion, a lighthearted tilt to his lips. Unapologetically human. He grinned. "I used to be a coward."

He let Not anymore hang unspoken in the air between them, and Vraska caught his smile as he turned to ascend the golden staircase toward Orazca, one strong step after another.

[The Flood - Alison Luhrs]

=========

The old Jace was always being compared to others. That Jace hated himself because he could only see himself as an inferior version of other men. He wanted to hide because he felt like he would never be enough. He wanted to be anyone but Jace.

The new Jace unlearned that mindset. He realized the only 'right' way to be a man was to try to be the best Jace he could be. Having room to improve meant he had the opportunity to find joy in growing and changing. He was proud of himself for taking control of his identity and putting in all the effort necessary to transition. On Ixalan, Jace cultivated the strongest body he ever had. That new body made him braver and more confident than ever before. And that new confidence made him happier than he'd ever felt in his entire life.

The resolution of Jace's arc came from his transition. All his life, Jace had wanted people to understand and accept his true self. For people to see his true self, he needed to be able to show them. Jace was able to start healing from his trauma on Ixalan because for the first time in his life, he felt like it was safe and good to be himself, so he lost his fear of judgment and embarrassment. Through that acceptance, he learned to be himself, and to love himself, and to love his transness. On Ixalan, Jace finally became the man he wanted to be.

=========

Jace looked down at himself.

The tan was real. The scrapes, the newly callused hands, the muscles (the muscles!) were all his. Jace felt proud of his body for the first time in his life. He must not lose track of it now.

[Wool Over the Eyes - Alison Luhrs]

=========

PART 4: DEEP BLUE

Jace being a transgender man is not just a headcanon to me. It's a textual interpretation that I believe adds meaning to the story and enriches Jace as a character.

My interpretation of Jace as a trans man is rooted in the way his personal philosophy guides him as a Blue character.

Blue's central theme is "Perfection through knowledge." Blue sees the world and everything in it as a blank slate waiting to be transformed. With the right knowledge, all possibilities can become reality. Jace's expression of "Perfection through knowledge" is his journey to become a better person by understanding himself.

=========

Jace chose his words carefully.

"Existence is adaptation to changing circumstances. The self is an accumulation of what one has learned from those changing circumstances . . . Our agency gives us the means to alter our own path. You are who you decide to be. And who you will become depends only on how you choose to adapt."

[Something Else Entirely - Alison Luhrs]

=========

Jace's personal philosophy as a Blue character is "You are who you choose to be''. He believes that people are defined by the choices they make with their free will, and rejects the idea that the self has immutable qualities. To Jace, there is no pre-determined path or destiny for him to follow. Rather, he continually seeks to cultivate his own identity through change. 

In my interpretation of Jace as a trans man, Jace holds these beliefs because they're lessons he's had to learn in order to overcome his struggles and accept himself.

As a Blue character, Jace's core struggle is his desire to understand himself. Jace's life has been a constant quest to figure out who he is. Above all, Jace's thirst for knowledge is a need to understand his potential and his place in the Multiverse.

=========

Jace.

My name is Jace Beleren.

So there was something in there, waiting for him to dig it out.

And who is Jace Beleren? Is he a good man? Is he kind?

He willed away the shape and sat, alone, farther from home than he’d even known was possible.

He’d have to wait and see.

[Jace's Origin: Absent Minds - Kelly Digges]

=========

Having lost so much of his life to amnesia, Jace has often been unsure of who he is or who he should be.

I've always seen the divide in Jace's life caused by his amnesia as a parallel to the 'before' and 'after' periods in my life as a trans person.

When I decided to start openly living as a trans boy in high school, it was like I was being haunted by my own ghost. I didn't know who I was or how to act anymore because everyone around me seemed to see and speak to a version of myself that no longer existed. But I hadn't died, I was just different. I wanted people to see that I was alive and well. I wanted to make myself feel real again.

Like Jace, I was a teenage boy with no past. I needed to rebuild myself, and I had to start from scratch. I wasn't sure what to do with myself, but the one thing I was sure of was that I couldn't look back. I didn't want to. And neither did Jace.

Jace is known for his love of investigation, puzzles, and research, but his past seems to be the one thing he's not curious about. While he does occasionally wonder what his life used to be like, he's never shown a desire to return to that past. He's never put any time or energy into re-discovering old memories or trying to restore some previous state.

When Jace asks himself, "Who am I?", he's not asking who he was before. He's asking who he can be. What matters to Jace is not who you were, but who you can become.

The past is unimportant to Jace, and this belief gives him strength. He expressed this on Ixalan when he vowed the illusions of his past would no longer bother him.

=========

"No more involuntary illusions!" he said, and something in the back of his mind rung with magical affirmation. It would not happen again.

He had control over his mind. He was the wielder of his talents.

[...]

Then a thought occurred to the man.

"Who I was doesn't matter . . . because I get to learn who I am now."

Saying it out loud made it feel real.

"Whoever I was is irrelevant, for I will become whoever I want to become."

He believed that with all his heart.

The man realized what he must do.

He was going to prove to himself that he deserved to live.

The man got to work.

[Jace, Alone - Alison Luhrs]

=========

Jace understood that in order to progress, he had to keep moving forward. Letting go of the past is what allowed Jace to live in the present and to have hope for his future.

This aspect of Jace's philosophy is also an important aspect of trans acceptance. Many trans people struggle with making the decision to transition because they fear it's too late. They may feel that way because of their age, because of their circumstances in life, or because other people will remember them differently. But Jace believes that the person you were yesterday doesn't have to be the person you are today, or will be tomorrow. When you understand this, you understand that it is never too late for anyone to change.

It's in our nature as thinking, feeling beings to want to explore and discover new things about ourselves, but transphobes want us to repress our curiosity. My whole life, I've had to fight back against people who disrespect my identity and want me to submit to their idea of who I should be. Jace shares this experience.

=========

Baan regarded him coolly. "You were bullied as a child."

Jace coughed on his first mouthful of food and struggled to swallow. "I, uh, don't remember my childhood." A dozen unvoiced thoughts flickered behind his eyes.

The Kaladeshi raised his brows. "One need not consciously recollect an event to fall into habitual behaviors determined by the experience. It is not inconceivable that one could forget their entire life. I would safely wager that were that the case, the subject would still tend to make similar lapses of judgement, and would be drawn to associate with the same sorts of people." He waved a hand, the swish of an ox's tail dismissing flies. "The nature of mortals is not so malleable as some would naively suppose. A person of religious inclination will always find something greater than themselves to place their faith in. A criminal will forever remain a criminal."

Jace put his fork down. "That's a very...deterministic point of view, Minister."

[Homesick - Chris L'Etoile]

=========

Dovin Baan expressed beliefs about identity and human nature similar to those of the transphobes I've dealt with. People like them think, "You were born a certain way and you will always be that way. You will never be anything else. No matter what you do, you can never truly change."

But Jace lives in defiance of that idea. Jace knows he's capable of change because he actively chose to become someone new. What he once was, he no longer is. Jace's disagreement with Dovin Baan isn't just a difference in opinion; it's a defense of his existence. When transphobes deny our identities, they deny our reality.

If Dovin believes our identities are set in stone, Jace believes we each hold a sculptor's tools. Whether or not you will change is your choice. But you alone have the power to make that choice, and no one can take that away from you.

=========

She sighed. "I don't know how the Golgari will see me when I return."

Jace shrugged. "You get to decide how they see you."

She looked at him with uncertainty. Jace continued. "How we engage with the world is dependent on how we present ourselves to it. We are continuously adjusting to change because if we fail to change, we fail to survive. By nature of you surviving the hell you did, you have changed into someone wiser than before. By nature of you commanding this ship, you've transformed yourself into the leader you always knew you could be.

"What makes you you isn't your circumstance or your past, but the choices you make in the future. Your ability to learn and adapt is what makes you who you are today, and that is what dictates who you will continue to become."

[Something Else Entirely - Alison Luhrs]

=========

Jace's focus on adaptation and self-improvement reminds me of the theory of gender euphoria; the idea that gender identity is defined by positive feelings and what feels right to a person, not negative feelings and what feels wrong (gender dysphoria). You can't be happy if you only focus on things that cause you discomfort and pain. You need to find things that give you comfort and bring joy to your life.

As a teenager, Jace hated himself for his weakness. He felt like being tough would make him more masculine. But when he grew up and gained more life experience and new role models, he realized that was no longer what he wanted. It may take some time to figure out what you want, and you may even find that what you want will change, but the end goal will always be to become the best version of you.

This process of trial-and-error is integral to Jace's philosophy.

We ourselves must constantly change in order to survive in an ever-changing world. Jace believes we are defined by the lessons we choose to absorb from these experiences. Every time you change, you have the opportunity to learn something new about yourself. You have the opportunity to see how you've become stronger and see what inspires you to live. That is adaptation. That is growth.

Even if you feel like you're not where you want to be yet, in Jace's eyes, you have already proven your identity just by choosing to walk that path. You can't just wish to love yourself. You have to choose to see yourself as someone worthy of love.

Jace wants us to see and appreciate ourselves for who we are and who we want to be, not what we aren't. You're a glass half full, not a glass half empty. Your potential is infinite, not wasted. If you learn to see yourself this way, it's easier to be a happier, more authentic self.

Jace's philosophy is what makes his character development a beautifully resonant trans story worthy of being true trans representation in my eyes.

=========

In that moment, Jace noticed a change within himself. The Jace of Zendikar and Innistrad and Ravnica had a nervous energy about him, persistently bored and disastrously introspective, constantly aware of the chasm of absent memory that was always on his mind's horizon. The Jace without a past was present, alert, comfortable no matter the circumstance and ready to face whatever might come his way. He remembered what it was like to be both, but recognized how much more natural it was to be the latter. In the span of a moment, Jace was surprised at himself, and then realized his earnestness of late, of Ixalan, was not manufactured, nor was his mindfulness something he could only access in a state of amnesia. That was who he had always been. He had just forgotten.

[Glimpse the Far Side of the Sun - Alison Luhrs]

=========

PART 5: REPRESENTATION FOR TRANS MEN IN MAGIC

If that all seems like an excessive amount of explaining for why I believe Jace is trans, that's because it is.

My interpretation of Jace as a trans man means so much to me because there is no actual representation for trans men in Magic. Which is, frankly, really wack.

In 2015, Magic's first ever transgender character, a trans woman named Alesha, was introduced in the beloved Khans of Tarkir story, "The Truth of Names."

In 2018, a nonbinary elf Legend named Hallar was printed in Dominaria.

In 2020, a nonbinary human Legend named Alharu was printed in Commander Legends.

The introduction of trans characters in Magic really ramped up in 2021. Kaldheim introduced an angel who uses Xe/Xer pronouns in the story Know Which Way the Wind Blows; as well as Niko Aris, Magic's first nonbinary Planeswalker. Strixhaven introduced Dean Nassari of Prismari College, a nonbinary efreet Legend. And Strixhaven: A Curriculum of Chaos, the set's accompanying Dungeons & Dragons book, introduced a nonbinary loxodon NPC named Bhedum 'Rampart' Soovij, and a human NPC named Nora Ann Wu, a transgender girl who counsels other transgender students at Strixhaven. The Innistrad: Midnight Hunt story His Eyes, All of Them featured an elderly transgender woman named Malynn.

Early 2022 saw the printing of another nonbinary character, an elf chef named Rocco, in Streets of New Capenna. And a nonbinary soldier named Myrel was printed in The Brothers' War.

Seven years after the introduction of Alesha, Magic acknowledged that trans men exist for the first time ever in May 2022, when the 'Pride Across the Multiverse' Secret Lair Drop was announced, just a few days after I began writing this article. 

This Secret Lair Drop had eight cards featuring art, all by LGBTQ+ artists, that showcase the strength of the LGBTQ+ community in the Magic Multiverse. This celebration of diversity was beautiful, heartwarming, and inspiring in its entirety. Notably, it also featured two trans men in its art. In the new art for "Bearscape'', one of the men is depicted with scars from top surgery (gender-affirming surgery to flatten his chest). And in the new art for "Alesha, Who Smiles at Death", Alesha reaches out to support a young transgender man wearing a chest binder.

As a transgender man myself, I'd been waiting forever to see representation for trans men in Magic. I was happy… and then I wasn't. Two nameless transgender men with no lore appearing in the art for a Secret Lair Drop is just not meaningful representation.

The first named trans man to ever appear on a Magic card was Klement, a tiefling introduced in the summer 2022 set, Alchemy Horizons: Baldur's Gate. Don't get me wrong, I like Klement a lot– he's a very cute character and I'm glad he exists. But it's frustrating that he doesn't even exist in the Magic Multiverse because he's a Baldur's Gate character, and you can't actually own a real Klement card because he's a digital Alchemy card exclusive to Magic Arena.

Now that we're in early 2023, Magic is set to have been around for 30 years without ever featuring a named trans man character on a printed card or in a story.

Trans men have remained painfully invisible in popular media, even as the mainstream has gotten a lot better about representing a wide variety of people in the past few years. Magic in particular has done a very good job of increasing representation for marginalized groups. Magic clearly isn't afraid of including trans characters, which is why the lack of representation for trans men is so disappointing and so baffling to me.

Not having any representation for trans men in Magic hurts because meaningful representation for marginalized groups helps tremendously to promote inclusion in the community. Magic has a wonderful community and I feel like its members genuinely try to welcome all kinds of people, but others can't learn to become more accepting of you if they don't even know you exist.

When people talk about making the community welcoming for people of marginalized genders, trans men are often forgotten and left out of the conversation. When I see people discussing matters of marginalized genders in the community, they don't acknowledge that trans men are just as affected by gender discrimination as other marginalized genders. And I often see people (even other trans people) use the phrase "women and nonbinary" when talking about creating safe community spaces, seemingly not realizing that phrase categorically excludes trans men.

If the intention is to be inclusive, I don't know why we'd be excluded. It hurts to think that people say these things because they either don't know we exist or actually don't want to be friends with us.

I'm genuinely glad I've seen so many other trans people and allies connect with each other through the Magic fandom. But it's sad to not feel that same sense of solidarity and friendship. When I talk with other trans men in the Magic fandom, we're often lamenting the fact that there are no canon characters or prominent Magic creators / community members who are trans men. We have nothing to celebrate.

I think Magic's story and characters should reflect its diverse fanbase. The trans men in the Magic community deserve to have our stories told. Not only so others will understand our struggles, but so they can learn to share our joy. I want to show others who I am, and that I'm happy to be me.

Jace's character shows that people are receptive to these stories, and that in some cases, we have secretly been there all along. I'm just hoping for the day we can step proudly into the spotlight.

[daechwitatamic]

Vice;Grip || chapter 2 || chs

(banner by @itaeewon)

Vice;Grip (masterpost) NSFW - minors DNI Genre: angst smut fluff, fuckbuddies!au Summary: Make it not hurt, you could have asked him. Or, at least, make it hurt in a way I choose.  A/N: infinite thank you's to @sailoryooons and @eoieopda for beta-ing!! //

Warnings: Frequent depictions of depression, depressive episodes, panic attacks, and substance abuse (alcohol, weed, and pills referenced). PLEASE know that these characters’ relationships with drugs and alcohol are not healthy and should not be emulated. If these topics are triggering to you, please consider sitting this one out.

Section Specific Warnings: depiction of a depressive episode, recreational drinking and bar scenes, allusion to oral (f. receiving), kissing, rough sex/man-handling, explicit penetrative sex, dirty talk, aftercare, didn't venture fully into writing dom!vernon but i have been informed i wrote something that might be in the realm of a dom drop, language obviously, reader is called a gendered slur by a stranger, law-breaking :), actual fluff for a second, allusions to drug use, car sex

wc: 6900

Playlist: you can call me in the middle of the night / you can leave before i wake up in the morning / and it could feel so wrong / but i'll still hold on

1 yr, 5 months ago

The onset of spring brought a lack of color. Grey clouds hung full and heavy, low over the city skyline. Grey crept into the corners of your apartment, darkening rooms during daytime so that you needed to keep lamps on even in midafternoon. Grey crept over your body, into your limbs. Days stretched and nights inched; you only got out of bed because you had to feed the damn cat.

That's part of why you'd gotten the cat in the first place, after a particularly long episode a few years ago, when Chan had presented you with a list of things he thought you should do to combat the blues, as he'd put it.

He meant well. But he always came at your depression like a problem solver, like just doing the right things could make it go away.

And sure, his suggestions were things that would help - get outside, call someone, don't isolate, shower even if you aren't leaving the house, drink some damn water - they weren't a cure. They were better reminders for when you were okay - good at keeping you okay for longer stretches. But when it was already too late, when the grey came, they all sounded fucking pointless. 

Anyway. The cat had been a good idea. 

is it bad?? 

Chan did his best. He was a good best friend. He just didn't understand it.

The answer to his question, you thought, as you flipped your phone over so you wouldn't see the notification if he followed up, was yes. Yes, this time was particularly bad. But you didn't have the energy to type those three words. 

Terrible friend, your brain accused, and it was right. 

You managed to drag yourself to work, to at least show up so you could continue to pay for your apartment and your damn cat, but not much else. You existed on cans of diet coke and microwave meals. You doom-scrolled until sunrise, then slept an hour or two at most before getting dressed for work. You left texts unanswered, the mail piled up. So did the dishes. 

Chan came by, once, did your dishes for you. It made you feel worse - useless and pitiable. You'd rather he just go away, but you held it in; you knew that would only hurt his feelings.

You learned from your mistakes, one thing that could be said in your favor. 

“Have you called your doctor?” he wanted to know.

What was the point? There wasn't a stop hating your life pill. 

“What if you tried painting?” he asked.

“What if you just let me be?” you countered, finally tripping over the line from embarrassed apathy to defensiveness. 

That pout again. “It might help,” he said. “Don't most famous artists do their best shit when they're down?”

“Get out,” you deadpanned. He dropped it, knowing this was a bigger issue, a bigger argument, than this current episode, a complex situation that went beyond the boundaries of your brain chemistry.

He put the last of your now-clean plates away. “Let's go somewhere,” he suggested.

“Chan,” you groaned. “I’m tired. I can't go gallivanting -”

“You're not tired, you're depressed,” he argued. “And going outside will help you.”

“I might have to kill you,” you said seriously, and he rolled his eyes. 

In the end, he let you win. He'd been around long enough to know that eventually you'd venture outside again, hit the bars with him again, text first again, laugh at his stupid memes again. It was just a waiting game. 

Still, when he left, you sat on the edge of your couch with your chin in your hands. On the living room rug, the cat rolled and showed you its belly. 

“Not you, too,” you groused. 

The cat did a few alligator rolls and then scampered into your bedroom and under the bed, as if chased. 

You sighed. You made your way to the spare room, which had been shut - to keep the cat out. To keep your ghosts in. 

Your easel was still set up in the corner. You were kind of surprised it wasn't covered in cobwebs. You'd been sketching just on paper last time you'd worked, trying to make decisions that way so you wouldn't waste a canvas, and it still sat there. 

You inched closer, ran your hands over your brushes. Took a step back, eyed the paper and your sketches. 

It was bad. Thank god you hadn't put it to canvas. 

You pulled the paper down, crumpled it in your hands. You chased the cat out with a gentle nudge of your foot, and closed the door again, keeping both cats and ghosts on their respective sides of the door.

There was no rhyme or reason to your brain, no map or calendar to follow for the starts or stops. But eventually, the clouds broke. The grey gave way to baby buds of green, yellows pushed through soil, determined to meet the sun.

You texted Chan - drinks??

He responded - about time!!!

You texted Vernon - hello, its me

When he didn't answer, you tried again - sorry for the radio silence. 

Still nothing. 

You checked his socials, saw that he'd been doing his thing - a smattering of selfies, some group shots with the guys he played music with sometimes, a few nature shots: the moon, once, and what looked like the river at night. 

The silence stretched. You gave up, considered it over. Grieved a little, because it had been good. 

You went out on a night that teased summer even though it was months away, sank into the familiar blur of too many shots - not enough to be a problem, but maybe enough to make problems. 

Under the club's ever-moving lights, you took a selfie, your drink and cleavage both showcased in the shot. 

Send it to Vernon, the urge to make trouble suggested, and you listened without hesitation.

And - finally - an answer.

come here after?? 

You smiled a tiny, victorious smile and knocked back the rest of your drink. 

omw.

Later, he gave you a rare and devastating pout as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smoothed fingers down the still-shaking inside of your thigh.

“What'd you make me wait so long for?” he complained, those sharp eyes sparkling with mirth. When you shrugged, still a little mindless from your high, he gave the same spot on your thigh a playful slap. “Don't do it again.”

1 yr, 4 months ago

busy tonight?

not busy but.

???

not in the best mood.

bet i could fix that.

yeah. idk.

why don't you let me try? 

“What's wrong?” you cooed, teasing, when Vernon let you into the apartment. 

He didn't smile, didn't play along, and it sobered you quickly. 

“Don't want to talk about it,” he muttered, crowding into your space. “Wasn't that big of a deal anyway.”

Just want the fix you promised, he thought. 

You moaned like liquid gold when his first kiss was a bite. Encouraged, Vernon gripped you by the shoulders, pushing you back against the wall hard enough that he heard your breath escape in a single huff. He hesitated, eyes searching your face; a question.

You lifted your chin, eyes shining with something hard. When he kissed you again, you threaded your fingers through his hair and pulled, hard enough to make him hiss; an answer.

His pace was frenzied from the start, your legs around his waist and the wall holding you up. His hand curled around your throat, not squeezing, but sliding up to grip at your jaw instead, keeping you from tilting your head back, closing your eyes, losing yourself in how he felt slamming his hips flush against yours with dizzying smacks.

When you whined that you were close, he pulled you away from the wall and lowered you both to the ground, the wooden floor of his entryway cold and hard beneath your spine. It didn’t matter, didn’t do anything to stop the vortex tightening below your stomach. You slapped a hand over your face as it distorted in pleasure, Vernon kneeling between the legs you still had gripping his waist, one of his hands braced on the floor next to your head, holding his body over you.

“That’s right,” he breathed, gritted teeth flashing over you, forehead wrinkling as his own release closed in on the chase. “Just fucking take it when I fuck you into the floor.”

Then he was pulling out, breaths hissing through his teeth as he straightened up, one hand pumping himself furiously until strings of white decorated your stomach, cooling immediately in the apartment’s chilly air.

His breathing was ragged as he sagged back onto his heels, and you pushed yourself up onto your elbows, watching him warily.

Then he stood and slipped into the hallway bathroom, the light clicking on and illuminating the unlit entryway where you’d just fucked. You heard the sink run, then shut back off, and Vernon returned. He knelt gingerly - you could see his knees were red from kneeling on the wooden floor - and cleaned your stomach first, then gently between your legs.

You sat the rest of the way up then, watching him carefully as he sat back on his heels again, avoiding your gaze. Something about the moment felt like a thing alive, unfurling between you like a casablanca lily under the refracted light of the moon.

You spoke at the same time.

“Vernon?”

“You okay?”

You swallowed, rubbed absently at your elbow where you’d smacked it on the floor during the position change.

“I’m fine,” you said tentatively. “Are you?”

He sighed, rubbing his hands over his face, and then peering through his fingers at you for a second before dropping them again. “Thought I hurt you.”

You shook your head. “I’m okay. I would have said something.”

He nodded, relief starting to bring feeling back to his hands again. He stood and reached a hand down for you. When you took it, he closed his fingers around yours and pulled you to your feet.

“I know we don’t usually do this,” you said, rubbing at the parts of you that had been on the floor - the backs of your legs, your ass, “but could I take a super fast shower before I go?”

“Yeah,” he said, so quickly that the word almost trips on itself. “Of course.”

He led you into the bathroom, rummaged in the disorganized linen closet for a clean towel, pressed it into your hands.

“If you need one, too,” you said easily, as he reached around you to turn the water on so it could heat up, “I don’t mind if you join me.”

He paused. “You sure?”

You shrugged, then leaned over to put your hand under the spray, testing to see if it was still cold. “It’s your shower.”

Under the stream of warm water, you turned to face him, front to front, looking up at him with clear eyes. Something in your expression was so open, Vernon couldn’t help but feel both the desire to step into the space you seemed to be offering him as well as the desire to get far, far away from it.

He’d been so angry before you’d texted, furious enough that he’d bruised his knuckles punching the doorframe; now, as the chemicals in his body settled down, he felt those knuckles throbbing. He was disgusted that he’d lost his temper, guilty that he’d taken any of that anger out on you, who had nothing to do with it.

He was scared of the desire he felt to be closer to you, just for tonight. Scared that fucking you hadn’t been enough to soothe whatever it was that roiled inside him, like it usually was. Scared that he felt like he needed more than sex to heal this particular burn.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and part of him thought he was apologizing in advance, like he knew already he’d run scared at some point. “For being so...”

He didn’t know what word fit best. 

“I told you,” you said, pressing a little closer, “I would have said if I had a problem.”

“Okay,” he said, frowning a little. “If you’re sure.”

Then he reached over and brushed a thumb along your cheekbone, chasing away a rivulet of shower-water. You closed your eyes for a second, and he swore he could feel you lean into the touch, just slightly.

He didn’t know how to explain how he felt. Kind of like he’d done a hot-coal-walk; the exhaustion that came with an adrenaline crash, the vulnerability that came after facing down something big, that need - the burn inside him needing cool water before it could quiet down.

With the shower off, the silence in the bathroom was loud.

“Do you…” Vernon started, then stopped. His heart hammered, the adrenaline returning. He covered the moment by toweling his hair roughly and pulling his hands through the strands so they’d lay right. “Do you want to stay for a little bit? I was gonna order delivery, maybe watch something before I finish my assignment.”

He’d expected you to think about it, to turn it over in your mind the way you turn his things over in your careful hands, the way you turn him ass over head with just a smirk. Instead, you nodded right away.

“Yeah,” you said, like it was no big deal. Like you did this all the time. Maybe you did, just not with him. “I was starving, actually. I could stay for an hour or two.”

On his couch, the leftovers of the food scattered on his coffee table, you reached for his hand, ran a thumb imperceptibly along his purpled knuckles. You didn’t ask what happened, just brought them to your lips and pressed the lightest kiss before putting them down again and reaching for your noodles, as if it hadn’t happened at all.

That was when Vernon saw the potential of it, an entire picture, framed and labeled: you could hurt him so badly if he let you, if he let it get that far. For whatever it was that burned inside him, you were the cool water… but you could absolutely be gasoline, instead.

1 yr, 3 months ago

If you closed your eyes, you could pretend the light that passed over your closed lids in a repetitive pattern was the sweep of a lighthouse beam. You could pretend that the rumbling bass of the music was the roar of the ocean. You could pretend that you weren’t here, in a shitty bar, but at the seaside. You could pretend that you weren’t alone. You could pretend that you weren’t you.

You drained your drink and caught the bartender’s eye, gesturing for another, sliding the sweating glass away from you once you knew a new one was coming.

“What are you drinking?”

The voice came from your right, and you lifted tired, disinterested eyes to find the source of it.

“G and T,” you answered, because it was one fewer syllable than saying gin and tonic and maybe that one syllable would do the dirty work for you and tell this guy that you didn’t want to talk to him.

“Nice,” he said, like you’d said something interesting, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes. You didn’t return the question, just slid your phone screen on and opened your messages.

wyd

drinks at my hyungs place. wbu

damn. guess i have to settle for one of these very mid prospects at the willow

damn thats a sad story. if only you had a better option

if only my better option werent busy at his hyung’s

no one said i had to stay here. ur at the willow?

yep

The guy to your right tried again. “The DJ tonight kind of sucks, huh?”

You looked back at your phone.

don’t leave

You smiled into your drink, a thrill dancing through your bloodstream. The lights and music didn’t seem as garish as they had ten minutes ago.

“My boyfriend’s on his way to pick me up,” you said flatly to the guy who kept trying to talk to you, “so you might want to find someone else to complain about the DJ to.”

The word tasted like lemonade on your tongue - acidic and sour, sweet and refreshing, taste buds blooming and shriveling in tandem. Even the knowledge that it was a flat-out lie didn’t stop your heart from beating faster.

You expected the guy to get up and leave, maybe throw you a dirty look on his way. Instead, he seemed to call your bluff, narrowing his eyes like he was trying to read you.

“I don’t think I’d let my girlfriend go out alone looking like this,” he said evenly, and you let out a derisive laugh.

“The fact that you just said the words let my girlfriend probably has a lot to do with why you’re here alone,” you countered, a flash of victory slicing up your spine when you saw his face flush.

Before he could retort, you hopped down from your barstool, pushing your way into the crowded dance floor. You didn’t even want to dance, you just wanted to get away. If Vernon wanted to find you, he could come find you. He’d told you not to leave, he hadn’t said make it easy for me.

He found you anyway; he made it look easy. He stepped around a group of guys talking in a circle and into your space, like he was following a path, like he knew there’d be room for him.

You were happy to see him. You were happy he came. You were happy to breathe him in, to feel the warmth of his body and smell his cologne and hear your name tumble from his mouth like a statement. You were too drunk to tuck these truths away into pockets and folds where they would be harder to find.

You stepped to him and wrapped your arms around his neck. If he was surprised, his body hid it well. His hands came to rest on your lower back, pressing you closer to him as you leaned up to find his mouth.

You kissed him slowly, at odds with the frantic bassline vibrating under your feet. You let him tip your head back, changing the angle, sweeping your mouth with his tongue until you both tasted lemonade.

“Happy to see me?” he asked, a hint of a smirk on his face, one eyebrow arched in question and one half of his mouth twitching into a smile.

You didn’t have it in you to lie, so instead you said, “Your place?”

He led you outside.

As luck would have it, the idiot from the bar stood beside the front door, a cigarette between two fingers. His expression darkened when he recognized you, then further when he saw your fingers linked with Vernon’s as you stepped into the quiet night.

“Your girlfriend’s a fucking bitch,” the guy bit out, dropping the cigarette butt and stepping on it.

Vernon’s eyebrows shot up.

Evenly, he said, “She’s not -”

She’s not my girlfriend. You felt your stomach swoop, and you felt yourself flinch.

“- a bitch. She’s just smarter than you.”

Vernon tugged on your hand, leading you across the street to his parked, waiting car.

You tried to bite back a smile, and he looked sideways at you, his own lips twitching.

“What?” he demanded.

“What?” you parroted.

He scowled at you, but his lips were just smiling. “What?” he asked again.

You laughed. “Let’s go,” you said. “The bitch wants to kiss you more.”

You expected his smile to sharpen. Instead, something in it seems to soften, changing from teasing to actual affection.

“Alright,” he said, turning to start the engine. “Can’t really say no to that, can I?”

“You could,” you mused, as he pulled away from the curb and the bar slid into nothingness behind you, “but I just don’t think you should.”

1 yr, 2 months ago

wyd

melting

srsly

no, seriously. i am laying on my living room floor like a starfish trying not to turn into liquid

come to hyungs

its too hot to move

i have an idea, come meet me at hyungs

You frowned at your phone. Of course your aircon died during the only heatwave you could remember in your entire adult life. Your whole body felt sticky; you were pretty sure you were stuck to your floor.

It was too hot to move.

what’s the idea??

you’ll see. i’ll order u a car. can you bring a couple towels?

“Vernon, no,” you laughed, your voice echoing.

He shushed you through laughter, both of you leaning on each other as you stood at the edge of the yard, the grass tickling the bottoms of your bare feet. Upstairs, at his friend’s place, you’d thrown back a few shots for courage before following Vernon out here, and you were feeling them, your head swimming like your body might soon be.

“It’s a circuit, see?” he tried to explain, pointing through the night, as if you could see through all the fences and over all the hedges. “Five yards, five pools, and then we end up right back here and we get in the car and go. Just follow me, don’t stop for anything.”

“Someone’s gonna call the cops,” you complained. “And these neighborhoods all have cameras.”

“That’s why we keep moving,” he said, his grin so excited and so un-Vernon that you almost couldn’t bear to say no to him. “No one’s gonna call the cops if we’re already gone - it’s not worth it. You ready?”

You hesitated. “You’re good to drive us out of here?” you checked.

He held up his hands as if to show innocence. “Only had a beer,” he promised. “But I’ve got something fun in the car for after, if you want.”

You felt your grin turn wolfish. “Okay. I’m right behind you.”

“Try and be quiet,” he warned, then took off running across the yard, cannonballing into the pool with a splash.

You tore off after him, leaping into the water and suppressing a shriek when the cold water hit you. You felt instantly sober, jittery with adrenaline, alive with laughter. You spluttered your way to the surface and pushed water away from your eyes, trying to find him through the shadows.

He was already climbing out the other side, water running down his back, the muscle shifting in the half-light as he hoisted himself back onto the pool’s deck. You hurried across the pool, climbing up beside him, giggling wildly.

“Shhh,” he warned, but he was giggling too as he led you carefully over the fence to the next yard.

As soon as you crept close enough to the pool to jump, a motion-activated light came on, flooding the yard white and causing you to cover your eyes.

“Quick!” Vernon told you, grabbing your arm and pulling you in with him as he jumped.

You let out a stream of bubbles and water rushed into your mouth. You felt your feet hit the bottom and you pushed off hard, surfacing quickly.

Again, you followed him across the pool, both of you laughing and whispering, “Hurry! Quick!” as you climbed out and headed around the house to the front yard.

“Okay, this is the hard part,” he told you, both of you shivering as the night air caught up to you. “We have to cross the street, hop the fence, and then the pool is around back.”

“I’m ready,” you promised, with a particularly hard shiver.

You sprinted across the street, both leaving wet footprints on the pavement. His hand felt warm in yours when he helped you over the fence, warm on your body when he held your waist as you climbed down.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” you muttered, but giggles still spilled out of you.

“More fun than melting, right?” he asked, and you thought that you’d seen him smile more tonight than in whole months of coming together at night.

You thought you might move mountains to see him smile like this again, gums showing, open and honest, happy.

Then you were underwater again, swimming hard to keep up, following Vernon through the night as he pushed his way through some hedges and held them apart for you.

You made it to the last house before someone caught you, slamming the back door open and shouting, “Hey!”

“Go, go, go!” Vernon cried, laughing with such abandon that it sounded like goose honks, pulling on your hand as you both stumbled, dripping, towards the car.

You’d set towels on the seats before starting, so you tumbled into the car and he peeled away, both of you laughing wildly as you left the neighborhood behind.

It was miles before you calmed down, gasping in breaths and trying to hold them before exploding into laughter again.

“I’d better not end up on the news,” you scolded. “I’m in my underwear.

He gave you a searing sideways look. “I noticed.”

You felt yourself warm again, despite being in soaking wet clothes.

“Where next?” you asked. “Home?”

He let out a breath that was almost a sigh. “I don’t really want to go home,” he admitted. Then, “I was having fun with you.”

You considered this. “Not to be a cliche, but… I know a place.”

The quarry was quiet, surrounded by only trees; without posted lights, everything seemed to be just varying shades of black - the black of the water just darker than the black of the stone ledges just darker than the walls of trees just darker than the sky sprinkled with stars above you.

“We have to be careful,” you warned him seriously. “If you slip and get hurt, it could be bad.”

He turned the flashlight on his phone on and set it next to the metal rungs that jutted out of the stone, a makeshift ladder for the swimmers who came here during the day, when swimming was allowed.

“It’s going to be way colder than the pools,” you added.

“You’re not selling this very well,” he pointed out.

“Don’t be a chicken,” you teased.

He eyed the water. “I’m having second thoughts.”

You nudged him in the ribs, which caused him to squirm away, hands batting at yours, a noise emitting from him that made you laugh out loud.

“Are you ticklish?” you demanded. “How did I not know?”

“Come on, are we jumping or what?” he asked, laughing, still trying to keep your sneaky hands away from his ribs.

“Yeah, that’s probably the only way to actually get in,” you admitted, still laughing a little. Your abs felt a little sore from how much you’d laughed tonight.

You stood on the edge of the stone, toes curling over the ledge, Vernon’s hand tight in yours. You stood on the edge, the ink-like water beneath you rippling slightly, marring the reflection of the constellations high above you. You stood on the edge of something, knowing full well you were afraid to swim.

He counted you down, and together, you jumped.

The water was freezing - it hurt, it stung, and you shrieked and laughed as you surfaced. A foot from you, Vernon was shouting.

“The towels!” you told him, already swimming towards the little dot of light that marked the ladder.

Shaking and shivering, you reached your towel, wrapping it around yourself. Behind you, Vernon jogged up, making noises like a disgruntled horse as he found his own towel.

“Oh my god,” he groused, grabbing for you. “I’m freezing, come here.”

He opened his arms, the towel behind him like a wingspan, and you stepped into the space, letting him wrap his arms and his towel around you. You stood shivering together, trying to let your body heat chase the cold away.

You wrapped your own arms around his middle, pressing yourself closer as your legs shook, shivers rolling up your spine in waves as your body fought the chill. 

“C’mere,” he murmured above you, holding you a little more tightly, his own teeth chattering. 

It was the first time, you realized as you turned your head to rest your cheek on his chest, that you’d held each other. It was the first time you’d been between his arms when you weren’t fucking, the first time he’d tightened his grip around you for a reason other than gratification. 

You didn’t want it - didn’t want to know that it felt nice in his embrace, didn’t want to know that it fit right and felt safe. You didn’t want to know that you liked it, didn’t want to have to fight against the humiliation of wanting more.

As soon as the full-body tremors died away in the warm, sticky night, you stepped away, eager to put distance between you again. 

Later, he looked over at you from the driver’s seat of the car, red-eyed, his smile stretching slow and thick like putty. When you straddled his lap, his hands searching out the bare skin of your back, you rocked against him and pressed open-mouthed kisses to the column of his pretty throat until you were pulling groans from him with each pass of your hips. 

Forget, you thought, as you pulled your underwear to the side for him. Forget every single thing but this.

When you slipped an arm behind his neck and pressed your foreheads together as you lifted and dropped, you weren’t sure whose memory you were hoping to erase with this most recent pleasure-chase: yours, or his.

1 yr, 1 month ago

There was no map or calendar to this thing your brain did. It was summer, the sun shone, and yet the days bled together again, sunsets swirling down the shower drain.

The last time you’d gone radio silent, the last time your world had gone grey without warning, Vernon had answered in kind. His own silence had shouted for him until you’d tempted him back.

This time, he didn’t resort to silence in retaliation to yours. Instead, he kept trying, relentless. If you’d had more presence of mind, you might have wondered why.

wyd

[ ]

yo. whats the deal

[ ]

i will have you know that this is very insulting

[ ]

don’t get mad but im coming over

“What the fuck, Vernon.”

“I said don’t get mad.”

“It doesn’t work like that. What are you doing here?”

He leveled you with a look. “You gonna let me in?”

“Literally, no.”

You hadn’t showered in days; your apartment was probably grosser than you were. The cat milled around your ankles, trying to weasel its way outside, and you hopped from foot to foot trying to nudge it back inside.

“Why not?” he asked.

You huffed, annoyed. But the annoyance was the first thing you’d felt all day, and something inside you clung to it, desperate for more of anything but the crawling nothing that’s kept you company for days.

“Because,” you grumbled. Because there’s nothing for you here. Because I have nothing I can give you. “I’m… just not in the mood.”

He stepped back from the door so you could see more of him. “I’m not asking you to be.”

“Then why are you here?” The words fell between you, heavy. If you hadn’t been so low, if you hadn’t gone all day without eating, if you hadn’t been on your thirtieth hour without sleeping, you would have known better. You would have realized that you were asking, if you aren’t here for sex, then what are you here for? 

You wouldn’t have asked a question that you didn’t want the answer to.

He met your eyes. He seemed to teeter on the edge of telling you the truth, giving you the real answer. Then, he muttered, “Got bored.”

You knew it wasn’t the whole truth, and he knew you knew it, and yet neither of you were willing to look at it directly.

“I fail to see how that’s my problem,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

He watched you for what felt like a long time, face serious, eyes glittering and attentive. Then, instead of answering, he repeated, “Are you gonna let me in?”

You frowned at him, but there was a little more pout to it than anger. “I’m all gross,” you said, instead of answering.

Something in him softened - it was visible on his face, in his shoulders, like he knew this was your way of saying yes. “So let’s shower,” he suggested quietly.

You felt trepidation, like part of you expected him to stay soft, to try to take care of you. To your relief, Vernon acted like everything was normal, scrunching his face at you when the water was too cold as he stepped in, washing his own body in silence and letting you do your thing.

He didn’t try to hold you, didn’t ask you when you’d eaten last, didn’t try to talk about it - didn’t try to fix it. He was just… there, and this - along with your first shower in days - was somehow revitalizing in itself.

You pulled on clean sweats, which was better than the day-four sweats he’d found you in. “The apartment’s kind of… sorry,” you mumbled, looking around the living room, feeling a bit of that familiar shame crawl up your neck as you noticed the evidence that you hadn’t been picking up, or running a vacuum.

Vernon flopped backwards on your sofa, unphased, one arm bent behind his head. “We’ve been doing this for almost a year,” he pointed out. “I know how it usually is.”

It isn’t usually like this. And neither are you.

You wondered when it happened - your ability to finish his half-thoughts, your ability to know what he meant when he only said a fraction of it.

You stood awkwardly beside the couch where he was lounging, and he looked up at you with a tiny, amused smile.

“What do you wanna do?”

What you really wanted to do was cocoon yourself in blankets again and put on repeats of a show you’d already seen. But now you had to look functional. You might be mad at him for showing up like this, now that you thought about it.

“I dunno,” you said, which was close to the truth.

“You wanna eat?”

“Honestly?” you asked, pursing your lips a little. “No.”

“Okay,” he said easily, and it struck you again how different this was than how Chan treated you when you were low. Chan would have already had the food delivered, and would be chasing you around the table with loaded chopsticks, demanding you take a bite.

“Can we just… watch something?” you asked, unsure.

Vernon wordlessly reached for your remote and held it up to you, nonplussed.

You wondered if it was an act, how easy this was, how unbothered he was, how he seemed to just understand what wouldn’t help.

You knew it wasn’t; you’d been around long enough to know that Vernon’s demons weren’t all that different from yours.

You settled somewhere between his body and the back of the couch, one leg bent over his legs, one of your arms over his stomach and his arm curled around your shoulders.

“This is weird,” you muttered into his chest, and his laugh rumbled under you.

“Why?” he asked, his smile big, like he thought you were particularly funny. “Not used to being big spoon?”

Not used to cuddling - with you.

“Yeah,” you said, because that was easier.

On your TV, a show ran through several episodes, the changing scenes splashing you and Vernon with changing colors, casting his face blue and then white and then black and then red and then blue again. Sometimes he’d watch, sometimes he’d scroll on his phone. You mostly felt his heart beating under your hand and let your mind whir.

At some point he started mindlessly (or not mindlessly, who could know) stroking your back, gentle touches brushing up and down, slow, slow, the way he always was. At some point you shivered, goosebumps rising along your arms, and snuggled closer to him. At some point he shifted you from slightly beside him to on top of him, a second hand slipping under your loose tshirt and joining the first in tracing stripes up and down your upper back.

You shifted against him, something coming to life with a shudder like the furnace in your parent’s basement on cold autumn nights. Heat worked its way slowly from your core to your stomach, down your legs.

He kept his eyes on the tv, innocent, but you could hear his heartbeat. It couldn’t lie and pretend.

You shifted again, squirming until you’d worked his t-shirt up just enough that you could touch skin, too. You trailed your own fingers over the inch of exposed stomach you’d found, and delighted in the way you could feel him start to harden beneath you.

Then, you delighted in your delight. It was the first good thing you’d been able to feel in almost a week.

You said his name, and he finally looked down at you, eyes nearly black in the unlit room.

“What is it?” he asked, and his voice was suddenly so low it sent shivers tumbling down each vertebrae and tripping over to your limbs. “Want me to make you feel good?”

No, you wanted to say as you answered his question by pulling the hem of his t-shirt higher, encouraging him to lift up so you could pull it off. No, just want you to make me feel.

1 year ago

Everywhere Vernon looked, all he saw was circles. Circle of red in his bowl when he inhaled. Circle of condensation on the table when he lifted his beer. Circle of light reflecting from his phone case, laying in the setting sunlight, to the ceiling. Above him, the ceiling fan circled lazily, nowhere to be.

And you - you and him. That was a circle, too. A cycle, at least, which was close enough in his opinion. Text, hook up, skitter back to your respective places, wait out the next weekend. It was as rhythmic and routine as waves breaking and then getting pulled back out only to come shatter on sand again. It was out of his control, up to forces far greater than he was.

Vernon’s friends had texted to hang out and he’d declined. He told them he was seeing his parents, but really, he just wanted to be alone. He wanted to watch the ceiling fan circle, he wanted to let his brain go staticky quiet, he wanted to burrow deep into things that made him feel less.

But he still, somehow, wanted to see you. He wanted to be alone, and being with you didn’t feel like not getting that.

It was a little scary, he thought, that you were the exception. That he could be with you without feeling the uncomfortable pressure of being with others, of having to be on, of having to fake cheerfulness and keep up with chatter that only exhausted him.

Vernon wasn’t a kid. He knew what it meant.

whats up

honestly not a lot. want me to come over?

Yeah, he did. He did, even if you weren’t going to hook up. He did, even if you were just going to lay on opposite sides of the couch and scroll on your phones. He did, and he hoped he’d end up with his arms around you, and he hoped he’d make you laugh at least once, and he hoped you’d stay and just be there with him after.

When you came over, he asked you how you felt about it - about him, about you and him. He asked by laying you on your back in his bed, by brushing fingertips along your face. He asked you by sliding your leggings away gently, pressing his mouth to each inch of your inseam as it became exposed to his dimly lit room. He asked you by kissing you through the lace you wore for him, then kissing the same spot once that lace was on his floor.

He asked you when he crawled up your body until his tip teased at your entrance and you whined, shifting to try to take him. And - when he took it slow this time, teeth scraping at your neck and then tongue hurrying to soothe the sting, his arms bracketing your body like he was sheltering you from an incoming storm.

(Maybe, he considered, he was.)

(Maybe, he considered, he was worthless in the face of this storm’s wrath.)

(Maybe, he considered, he was the fucking storm in the first place.)

And you heard his question loud and clear. You pulled on your leggings as soon as you were cleaned up, popping your hood up over your head as you searched for your phone. You kept your eyes on your screen as you waited for a car to come, murmured, “Later,” on your way out the door.

Vernon’s apartment rang with quiet. He was alone, he’d gotten what he’d wanted.

He’d also, it seemed, gotten his answer.

<- Prev | Next ->

thank you so much for reading!!! i'm always happy to hear what you think!

[caramelarchive]

Can I request maybe how the death note trio react to reader being too shy to hold their hand? Like Reader obviously wants to hold their hands but doesn’t know if it is ok (you don’t have to write for the trio you can pick a single character to write for)

oh. my. gaaaahkjsbdjjshjdhd yes. thank you anon for asking this!!! I wrote it more story-ish than bullet point headcanons so I hope it's okay :)

I also included how I think they would actually hold your hands... I realised when writing this I had headcanons for that??

I have moved to my main @lawlietscaramels please follow there for new content!

can you tell L's hands are my favourite thing. like, ever.

╾ To Hold Your Hand

　★━━─・‥…━━━☆

L 🍰

L had oddly feminine hands. They were much larger than most women's, sure, but so slender and delicate. His fingers were pale. Well, L never went outside, so that was to be expected. But still. You couldn't help but wonder, as you looked at him absentmindedly running those wonderful fingers through his hair or a bowl of sweets, how they would look with the nails painted black.

Or, even better, how they would look intertwining with your own fingers.

L, being L, noticed your gaze rather quickly. He looked at you, looked at you looking at him, and the edges of his lips slowly curved into what might just be called a smile. He tilted his head in a nod of acknowledgement and went back to work. The detective's fingers ran over the keyboard, applying calculated pressure as he pressed down each key with a soft chuk.

You wanted to hold his hands.

So, so very badly.

And yet L was so, so very likely to decline the offer. He didn't like showing affection in "such manners." And he needed both his hands, too, for working.

But they looked so warm and soft.

"L?"

"Yes?" as he typed away.

"...Never mind."

Silence for a moment. He picked up a cupcake with two fingers and pressed it into the palm you were resting on the table.

"This is what you wanted?"

You smiled as his fingers rested against your skin. They were shockingly cold and somewhat sticky, but so soft. "Yes."

L nodded in satisfaction at this and went back to work. You ate your mini cupcake with one hand, leaving the other one palm up on the desk in the hope that L's spectacularly analytical mind would apply its skills to you for once.

You looked at his hands longingly in the silence. Would it be okay if you reached over and touched it? You didn't know.

Well, you had to find out sometime, right?

Your hand inched across to L's, and you rested your pinky against his, curling your finger around L's after a moment. He looked down in surprise at the feeling, staring for a minute, then gently picked up your hand and placed it back on the desk. Away from the keyboard.

...Oh.

He glanced back at you after a minute, his eyes wide and his lips straight. It was, as ever, impossible to determine his thoughts. So you just waited as he stared at you, an internal monologue likely going through his mind.

L reached over and turned your hand around, flattening your palm into the table.

And he hesitated.

And then he placed a large, cold, soft, perfect hand on top of yours.

Light 🖋️

"Light," you groaned, falling back a little to rest against a tree.

"Hold on, sorry," he says, placing a hand to the speaker of his phone. "What is it?"

You gave him a glare. "We're on a date. Stop calling Misa and just walk with me. Come on, it's such a nice day!"

"I know, Y/N. It's imperative I maintain a positive relationship with Misa for work. Just give me a minute." He continued his conversation with the girl and you let out a quiet sigh, grumbling to yourself as you kicked little rocks across the floor.

This was the third date you'd been on recently where Light had been distracted the entire way through. Last time he even started writing what appeared to be notes on the Kira case beneath the table, his eyes on you but his attention elsewhere. As always.

Your gaze drifted across the pavement, stopping at Light's feet for a moment before trailing up his body. You halted again at the sight of his hand on the phone.

His somewhat loose grip tightened suddenly, along with his expression. That caught your attention for two reasons.

One, he seemed cross with Misa.

And two, you were suddenly enamoured with his hands. They looked strong.

You took three quick steps across from Light, yanked his phone from his hand, and pressed "end call." Light looked at you in shock and you simply slipped his phone into his pocket.

"Come on, you can tell Misa the connection dropped out. Just come walk with me."

Light sighs, before a smile starts pulling at his lips. "Alright. I suppose you're right. It is a rather nice day." He starts striding along, eyes half closed and head tilted back. He puts one hand, the one further away from you, in his pocket. Green-tinted shadows fall over his face as you walk between trees.

You keep glancing at his other hand. The hand that had just previously displayed an oddly surprising firmness. It hung loosely at his side now, knuckles prominent as he swung it in time with his stride.

It was a very nice hand. Oh, you started imagining just looking at his callused fingers, at the just-visible veins running from wrist to fingers.

If only he'd hold your hand the same way he was holding that phone. His grip soft, loose, then tightening suddenly when you... when what? Maybe his hand would grip yours tightly if you kissed him. Maybe if he saw another guy looking at you. Maybe, just maybe, if you simply asked him to.

You could feel your cheeks filling with colour as you stared.

You wanted to ask Light if you could hold his hand. You wanted to have the courage to just reach over without even asking.

But he hadn't said a word for a while now. Perhaps he was a little cross with you. Perhaps he was thinking about Kira. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. Any of the many options had you feeling horribly shy and awkward to just hold Light's hand. Your boyfriend's hand. So you just stared and imagined as the blood rushed to your head.

And then Light noticed.

He smiled. Probably the sweetest smile you'd ever seen from him. His eyes opened all the way, then narrowed to slits. He looked for a moment like he was going to tease you as he stopped walking, bending his head so his nose brushed yours.

But he didn't say a mocking word. He didn't say anything at all. He knew it would ruin the moment.

Light took your hand, his clasping yours at a perfect diagonal. It was warm, a little rough, and the best thing that had ever happened to you.

He ran his thumb over the back of your hand, chuckled at how you bit your lips, and gave your hand that affirming, possessive, strong squeeze you'd been hoping for.

A smile played over your face at that squeeze. It was the perfect hand-hold in every way.

It felt like...

Like he was holding your heart in his hands.

Bonus: How Misa Holds Hands 💝

She'd start off with her hands in the same position as Light does above, but much softer and more delicate. Misa would nuzzle into your side, then her fingers would intertwine with each of yours, her neatly painted fingernails tapping against your skin.

　★━━─・‥…━━━☆

𝖎𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊𝖉 𝖎𝖙 ˏˋ⋆˖⁺˖⁀➷ 𝖕𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖊 𝖗𝖊𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖌 + 𝖋𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖔𝖜

[skele-bunny]

hello !! i tried to send a request on my fic blog but it wouldn’t let me LOL

ANYWAYS, i read ur Phantom angst w his past and starting from square 1 again and it was so heart breaking, as someone who’s had setbacks like that - i just love how you wrote everyone in that fic so much

i was wondering, and you can totally ignore this if it’s stupid, if you could write about Phantom finally coming out of that and getting better ? i’m a sucker for hurt comfort and wanna see Phantom happy and comfortable with his pack again :)

have a wonderful day/night !! 🦇

Fore sure!

You Came Back To Us. (CW) Phantom/Everyone

CW - Implications of past abuse, sa (but this is a fluff fic!)

Characters: Aether, Dewdrop, Phantom

Divider by @ wrathofrats

The quiet sound of talking bustled in the kitchen and dining room, the pack in their daily routine of getting things started. Mountain stayed at the helm directing Rain and Cirrus for what he needed to cook, Swiss helping to plate each item that was finished, Aether double checking each eating restriction and preference was correct, Dew starting the fixing of the table while just as equally quiet making sure the others made their beds and got the common room cleaned.

It was important to them that they kept their routine, not only setting the pace for that day but feeding ten ghouls was insanity and could quickly become exhausting if not separated equally. Usually, there'd be music playing and humming—but not as of recent. Their little bat who they purposely excluded from working in the mornings to sleep in was still too startled at loud noises.

It had been exactly two months since the 'reign of terror' Aurora called it, Phantom coming face-to-face with his tormentor for the last time. While it had a happy ending, the epilogue didn't. Countless nightmares, regression back to an old headspace, and just an empty look that showed of not only suffering but exhaustion. Phantom had given up completely, relying on his pack to take care of them since they no longer had the desire for anything—even living.

Of course they'd take care of him, they were their mate, their little bug they adored more than anything in this world. When Phantom first became Topside, it was always rocky for a good while, unsure how to approach this scared ghoul that cried and backed away if you dared to get near. Dew knew he didn't make it any better, but they had moved past that. It took so long for their bat to come around, showing their smile and personality, even making friendships with eventual relationships. The pack had worked so hard to influence it, once again with taking care of him.

Just because Phantom lost his progress, didn't mean they'd stop trying again. It was just a set back that with time and patience would be alright again. They'd all been there in some form of way with their own issues and addictions. So, it was important to continue on, show Phantom some normality of routine like before the reign; so that's what they did.

Sunshine had finished first, helping Aether grab each plate and set them down at respective seats. Her smile was contagious, joking under whispers which always got Aether to grab his chest as he laughed, fangs curling past his lips with joy. Aether grabbed a plate that held the design of 'Scream' and a small tumbler with 'Dracula', rolling his eyes at another terrible joke Sunshine made before he walked to a specific door. He used his foot to knock before adjusting the items and letting himself in.

Curled in the corner of his bed, Phantom stayed under the covers but his eyes open to follow Aether's movements. "Good morning cutie!" He had whispered to his successor.

Phantom stayed silent, chewing on his finger but eyes never once leaving Aether as he sat down the items and picked up the barely touched remains of dinner from last night and placed them in a container to the side.

"For your wonderfulness, you have a chicken biscuit with a jelly doughnut. Honestly, bug, I'm jealous of what you got!" Aether teased, sending a wink to the smaller quintessence. "Gonna have to tell our tree out there to make me one too."

The elder showed his palms before getting closer to Phantom, lightly running his magick through his frame, closing his eyes as he searched and felt around. "Your fever dropped, that's good... You hurting anywhere?"

He could feel Phantom rustle, shaking his head no in response. "Good, good."

As he went to move away, Phantom's hand quickly darted out to grab Aether's wrist, the two holding eye contact. "Yes, bug? What's the matter?"

It was silence, Phantom slowly closing his eyes again but his grip on Aether never faltered which made the older quint move to his knees on the floor, letting Phantom do whatever he needed to. He sent a smell of comforting pheromones and his purrs began, equally making Phantom purr in response. It was another minute before Aether felt his ear twitch, their mental link slowly connecting.

"I want a bath..."

"Okay, we can do a bath. Do you want me to get Swiss or Rory?" Aether simply hummed, not denying the smile that came over his face.

Phantom shook again subconsciously. "No, you."

So, with gentle hands, Aether peeled back the multitude of blankets that swallowed Phantom whole and gently went under his knees and back to lift them. Their head butted against his chest, claws slowly kneading on his shirt. They moved to the bathroom where he was carefully stripped, watching the tub get filled with bubbles. Their baby bat held deeper eye bags and his frame much smaller than they'd like, but he was alive. He leaned forwards against Aether who at first took his affection as a response to trauma, trying to move but that idea was replaced as Phantom kept purring and his hands went back to kneading.

Aether was positive Phantom fell asleep in the tub at least twice, once when his nails carefully raked through the different colored strands on Phantom's head, a second once his wash rag started moving in gentle circles. Aether kept whispering where he was moving even if Phantom was lost in their slumber to even hear it, the retired ghoul adjusting to get his lower half and underside so Phantom didn't have to move. He felt terrible waking the poor thing up to get dried off and in a new pair of clothes, heading back to his bed.

"There we go! One clean bat with yummy food waiting for his tummy, how about that!" Aether cooed, carefully laying him back down. A kiss was placed to Phantom's forehead, his purrs never stopping. "Do what you can today, alright? I may have also sneaked you chocolate milk instead of water this morning."

"Thank you."

Body language couldn't lie as the moment Phantom spoke, Aether's tail wagged like no other. He simply smiled with one more kiss before heading out, inhaling sharply and rubbing his misty eyes. The others were waiting patiently for Aether, looking at him with heightened curiosity.

"Sorry, tommy wanted a bath and... He spoke to me." Aether smiled wide again, watching his packs faces light up in return.

The sound of purrs and little chirps began to fill the room, Aether catching the sight of a few of their tails wagging just as much as his. He sat down next to Dewdrop, with once last glance towards the door, before bowing his head as it was Swiss' turn to lead them in prayer. With the pack joining together for a 'nema', only a single fork was picked up before the sound of a door opened.

Heads instantly turned with bodies, smiles returning as Phantom stood in his doorway with his plate and tumbler in hold. He eyed Aether who got the hint and walked over, crouching down to the bat's height and listening to their link. There was a moment of silence before Aether nodded and lifted Phantom with a carefulness as he held his items tightly. The pack assumed them to be returning back to the room, Phantom getting too overwhelmed—but to their surprise, Aether walked towards them. There was a quick rearrangement of Phantom's chair going between his and the pack leader's, Dew taking his items and welcoming him down.

"Hi there, itty bitty." Dew teased, offering his hand which Phantom took. "I'm happy to see your face."

Phantom's ear twitched before his own tiny smile joined, laying his head on Dew's chest. Dew opted out of breakfast to continue being a pillow for his mate, their tails interlinked but slowly helping Phantom sip his drink and even nibble the top part of his biscuit.

Dewdrop cocked his head as he noticed the straw being darker than normal. "Is this water?"

He eyed Aether who simply looked away. "Oh you're terrible!" He teased.

A giggle.

A giggle sounded and Dew looked down at Phantom, his cheeks a light purple and eyes scrunched as he smiled.

"Is that funny to you?" Dew questioned light-heartedly, scoffing as Phantom nodded with another laugh. "Oh you naughty bat, I can't believe you and Aether would conspire against me."

Swiss perked up, pointing his bacon at Dew while covering his mouth as he talked with food in. "Ohh, let the kid be! If I had to drink bathwater every day, I'd go crazy too!"

"Swiss, I'm positive if one of us offered our bathwater we just bathed in for you, you'd drink it like a dying man." Mountain snapped back, causing eruptions of laughter at the table, even Dew couldn't help himself.

"You guys are terrible to me!"

The fire ghoul warmed himself just a bit as he felt Phantom adjust closer, completely laying his body weight against Dew—closing his eyes and starting to knead once more. After the fact, they knew they'd retire Phantom back to his bed from using the bare energy they had, but for now, they enjoyed their tired company as Dew gently rubbed his back.

There was an unspoken agreement to continue talking at a lower tone, letting Phantom peacefully sleep for once but trying to continue their routine. Their bug twitched some before sighing in his sleep, hands gripping Dew's shirt so tightly while they let out a small trill. Dew moved his hand from Phantom's back to the dip behind his ear, slowly rubbing and watching as Phantom's shoulders released again and his purrs kicked up again.

It had been so long since the table was full and the last time anyone heard his mewl-purrs. Oh, how they all missed it so much. Dewdrop couldn't help himself as he gave Phantom's body a light squeeze, his own eyes becoming misty as he held his bat in his arms again like he had prayed and craved for.

Their collective wish had been granted.

[i-love-ptv]

“Lana, How I Hate Those Guys” ୨୧

Pairing: Sarah Cameron x Fem!Reader

Fluff, Sarah being the bestest friend ever, slight JJ and Kie slander (srry i love them tho), slight twist at the end ;)

Wc: 1,181 (ish)

An: Woah chat, character unlocked 😈 Why does literally nobody write anything for her?? Platonic or not 😰

Randomly wrote this?? Also way longer than I’d thought it’d be?? Hope you enjoy tho!

Feedback always appreciated bbs! <33

“Oh my god Sarah, like what the fuck does he mean that we were just ‘friends with benefits?’ It sure didn’t feel like it when he’d be practically wrapped around my body during every bonfire.” You exclaim with a huff.

You knew it wouldn’t be just smooth sailing when you met JJ.

You had heard of his reputation of course. A new girl wrapped around his arm every week, touron or not.

But for some reason, you had hoped that you two could somehow be something more. You’d be lying if you said that you hadn’t fallen for the blonde rather quickly. Obviously, every other girl in Kildare couldn’t refrain from falling for JJ’s charm and sweet tone.

You unfortunately, suffered like the rest, that were just tossed aside when he got bored. When you met JJ at the boneyard of the cut, he had called your whole “arrangement” or what not, off.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, did you know that his name isn’t even JJ? it’s short for fucking John Jay.” Sarah says with a snicker.

“No fucking way, are you serious?”

“Dead.”

She continues, “Like oh my god, John has to be the most generic name ever, plus it radiates dickhead energy.”

“…Your boyfriend also has the name John..?”

“Okay yeah, but we’re talking about JJ right now. Anyways, don’t let it get to your head babe, he’s just a stupid douchebag asshole- sorry can you relax your hand f’me?” Sarah says while she paints your nails.

It’s moments like these where you’re grateful for a bestfriend like her, despite all of the running around she’s doing with the pouges to get the gold, you both know that she’d drop everything in a heartbeat for you.

The two of you have been friends since childhood, originally meeting in the 2nd grade.

You both easily bonded due to coming from similar backgrounds; you were a kook as well.

You look up at her eyes and softly gasp, “Oh shit! Sorry. Anyways, I bet he’s got another girl in his bed right now. Y’know what? He’s probably busy trying to get into Kiara’s pants.”

“No pogue on pogue macking,” you scoff in a mocking tone.

“It’s actually such bullshit, I see the way that he looks at her, and of course I see how her eyes somehow always drift to him. I don’t know if she thinks I’m fucking stupid or if she’s dumb herself, but I figured that it’d pass. After all, didn’t she kiss Pope and John B?”

“Mhm, I think she just strives for attention, y’know? She’s always getting all pissy when I come around, maybe it’s ’cause I’m dating Bee and she’s not.” Sarah murmurs.

“You’re all done, by the way.”

You fall back onto the pillows on her bed.

“Boys are just so dumb Sar.” You groan.

“Definitely. Also watch your nails, hon.”

Sarah also lays back onto her pillows, leaning on one arm.

There’s a few beats of silence between you two, just relishing in the moment while SZA’s ‘The Weekend’ plays softly through Sarah’s speaker.

“That’s it. No more moping and being gloomy. It’s a nice night out! We should do something!” Sarah exclaims.

You look at her with a quirked brow, “First of all, I don’t mope, second, what could we possibly do at this hour?”

“That’s the thing! We can just plan it along the way! That makes thing 10 times more fun.” The blonde says with a grin.

You think for a few seconds, and come to your conclusion, “Actually, yeah! That sounds good. Let’s go.”

Sarah squeals and jumps up from the bed, pulling you with her.

You and Sarah quickly pull on your hoodies, since that night chill will surely get to you both, and the two of you slide your flip flops onto your freshly painted toes.

Sarah grabs her speaker and keys, and put them into her tote bag, the one she had painted the day you two had made your ‘bikini crates’.

The two of you giggle while somewhat rushing down the stairs, without a care in the world.

“Sarah? Where are you two going?” You hear Rose call out.

Sarah looks at you with a glint of mischief in her eyes. She grabs your hand and with that, you both left.

You and Sarah had been running around outside for around an hour, your flip flops slapping against the pavement as you skipped around yelling the lyrics to ‘Melt’ by Kehlani.

You two had somehow managed to make it to figure 8 beach. There was something about it that always lured you and Sarah to it.

Sarah doesn’t hesitate to kick off her flip flops and set down her tote bag.

“C’mon babe! Get in with me!” Sarah shouts as she giggles and makes grabby-hands out towards you.

“But we don’t have any bathing suits!” You shout back, equally as loud.

“Who cares?! It’s just us!”

Sarah strips down and then looks at you expectantly.

You sigh, and begin to pull your hoodie over your head.

“Hell yeah sexy! Free those tittiesssss!” She drags out.

She grabs your hand after you finish, and starts running towards the water.

“Christ Sarah! Slow the hell down!” You shout while trailing behind her.

As you start to feel the water work its way up to the middle of your calves. Sarah looks back at you and yells, “Jump!”

You both dive make a splash, you find one another whilst you're underwater.

You come up with her, with your hands around her neck.

You brush her wet hair out of her face and look deeply into her eyes.

Her eyes remind you of the tree bark that you used to hug and climb when you both were younger, well, the bark that you would climb.

Sarah was never able to do these kind of activities, for her parents were stricter than yours. But this wouldn’t stop her from watching, and cheering you on.

That’s one of the things you loved about Sarah.

How despite your interests somewhat clashing, she still remained by your side.

You grew fond of how she opened herself up to the world and allowed herself to do more, very quickly.

You were never upset when she started hanging out with the pogues, in fact, you encouraged it. You wanted her to be happy, and you hoped that she’d allow you to stick around to see it, thankfully, she did.

Sarah’s whisper breaks you out of your thoughts, “Boys totally suck right? They’d never have this much fun with us.”

“Right.” You say, just as soft.

You continue to stare at her.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

“Shut up, loser.” You say with a slight grin, nothing but affection coming from your semi-chapped lips.

You’re glad that she drops everything for you in a heartbeat.

But you also wish that maybe, just maybe, she’d look at you differently..The way that you look at her.

But until then, you’ll still remain grateful for a bestfriend like her.

Fuck JJ. God, John B’s one lucky bastard.

This is what makes us girls.

[klausysworld]

Hey 👋 I've been watching videos of Joseph during the Liverpool convention (hope you had a good time by the way) and got the idea of a Joseph x Reader story where they meet during a meet and greet perhaps during signing?

(Started writing this and it’s kinda giving yandere!reader vibes but she just a crazy obsessed fan like the rest of us🤷‍♀️)

Also in this he is not married! And this is gonna be set in America maybe a few years earlier?

Favourite Fan

Y/n had watched the vampire diaries and the originals religiously. They were played continuously and she could speak each episode word for word. Her favourite character was Klaus by far, she loved Joseph Morgan’s acting and who he was truly.

So she saved up, a lot, and decided she would see how many conversations she could see him at.

She knew he was doing conventions in a couple states that year so decided to go and meet him.

The first time it was to have a picture of him signed as well as a photo.

When she got their, she was practically bouncing. She waited in line and finally got to meet him.

———————————————————————

Joseph had been switching between photos and autographs all day. It was the afternoon and he was growing tired. Time between each person was getting shorter and shorter but he didn’t want to disappoint any fans so he tried his best.

But when he glances up at Y/n, for some reason he decided he would talk to her for a little longer. His eyes were locked on hers, her bright smile seemed to warm him as he wrote her a personalised message on the item she wanted signed. She then shyly asked if he was allowed to hug her to which he let out a soft laugh and nodded.

He pushed his cheque back and stood up, moving around his table and welcoming her into his arms. He smiled at the way she clung to him, it wasn’t uncommon among fans. He gently rubbed the top of her back before she pulled away and thanked him. His eyes followed her as she walked away and he continued with the autographs for a while.

By his last set of photos with fans, he was exhausted and hungry. Some of the other stars were taking a break while others were flooded with people.

He sighed softly to himself, his face hurt from all the smiling but he was used it. He could feel the heat getting to him as he stood in far too many layers but nevertheless he wrapped his arm around the next person and gave an award winning grin for the camera.

He glanced to the next person and saw a familiar face, the same girl from earlier. His smile was smaller but it was real. So was hers as she quickly approached him and immediately wrapped her arms around him. He chuckled and hugged her bag, accidentally smelling her hair as he felt her face against his shoulder.

“You ready sweetheart?” He murmured softly to her and she nodded, her cheeks pink as a blush spread through her. She pulled away and turned to the camera, his arm stayed around her waist and they both smiled. He waved as she left and turned to his next person with a better attitude.

———————————————————————

He saw her multiple times in that year alone, in a few different states across different days.

He began to look for her in the line or when he was walking from photos to the autograph tables. Occasionally he would spot her, she was always already looking at him which made his face warm as a soft blush rose to the surface. Joseph would always wave at her as he went by.

By the time he got round to seeing her, he was always tired. She seemed to uplift him throughout the day.

So when he got to her again, for maybe the 7th time meeting her, he was relieved to have her in his arms again. He could hear and sense his co-stars giggling and staring as the hug lingered for longer than it should have.

“I made you something” she whispered to him as they parted and he smiled

“You did?” He asked and she nodded, holding out a few pieces of paper. One of which was a hand written letter and two were portraits of him in a remarkable amount of detail. His smile broadened and his face went pink again “you made those yourself?” He questioned and she nodded nervously.

“You don’t have to-“

“No no, I want them” he took them from her hands and she smiled back at him. “They’re wonderful, love” he told her and she looked down “thank you” he whispered “will I be seeing you again later?” He asked eagerly.

“No…not this time” she sighed softly “I booked late, couldn’t get anything else. Next time?”

“Definitely” he smiled, subconsciously raising his hand to brush her hair away from her face, ignoring the ‘ooos’ from his co-stars.

They smiled at each other and said their goodbyes before she left and he turned back to his next eagerly awaiting fan.

———————————————————————

Joseph’s friends teased him, Daniel, Phoebe, Claire, Charles. The lot of them knew, as soon as they saw Y/n coming, Jospeh would be a blushing mess.

One of those days, when Y/n was lining up for Joseph again, Daniel came up behind her. He effectively scared her and made her laugh, he whispered to her secretively and had her dial her number into Joseph’s phone.

Joseph and Daniel had been given private rooms to do their photos and signings and Y/n was the last in line for Joseph so Daniel saw it as perfectly set up. He gave her a hug and winked at Jospeh who looked a mix of embarrassed and horrified.

Once she got to him, they were both red in the face and their hearts were beating fast.

“I’m sorry” he whispered “he’s rude and-“

“It’s okay” she smiled “I know it’s just a joke, you can delete the number” she told him but he shook his head

“N-no no I’ll keep it” he whispered, his eyes trailing her body without his permission. She could feel his eyes on her and she could feel herself getting hotter

“Can I have my hug?” She asked quietly and he cleared his throat with a nod

“Yeah- yes” he mumbled, pulling her close and holding her against him. His nose buried in her hair and the soft skin of her face pressed to his neck. His eyes fluttered shut and he held her their for a short well, his hands gently caressing her hips and waist.

He knew it would be inappropriate to touch her, to think of her in any indecent way but part of him just couldn’t help himself. He was attracted to her in every way, she was so kind and thoughtful. He wondered how happy she was on the day to day. He wondered how many people got to see her big smile and get given personal gifts from her.

Sometimes he worried that it would be bad to date a fan, would he be taking advantage of her love for him? And then the worry would settle, does she like him or his characters?

It clouded his mind and he felt her pull back, looking up at his face. “You okay?” She whispered, seeing his eyes zoned out. He seemed to snap back when her hand touched his face and she quickly retracted it “I’m sorry”

“No, it’s alright” he smiled, squeezing her hand gently before stepping back. “You were here for the autograph again?” He asked, and she shook her head

“Photo” she corrected and his face went red, glancing to the camera man who was looking thoroughly amused

“Right” he whispered “a photo” he repeated and she laughed softly

He pulled her close and smiled for the camera. She was the last one so he walked her back to the door, his hand automatically on her waist as though it belonged there.

———————————————————————

After that, Joseph had very nervously sent a message to Y/n. She had assumed it was on of her friends messing with her and told him to go away. He proceeded to ring her and prove her wrong making her apologise profusely and promise she didn’t know it was him. She could hear Daniel Gillies laughing in the back ground and Jospeh telling him to shut up but letting her know it was okay.

They messaged more and more frequently, video calling sometimes in the evening.

The two would talk about the next conventions and when they could see each other again, Joseph felt bad that Y/n had to pay so much to see him for a few minutes and offered to pay for her but she always refused. Until one day, a few months later when she couldn’t afford to go and he practically begged her to send her bank details so he could transfer her.

When she came and saw him, she hugged him so tight and kissed him on the cheek. He felt like he was floating, he went to his her on the cheek back but caught her lips. He could hear people around gasping but he couldn’t care in that moment. All he could think about was her lips on him, his finger weaved into her hair and he kissed her with as much passion as he could show without putting his tongue in her mouth.

He didn’t want people getting to many pictures so he turned her around, away from everyone so they could just see his back as he kissed her gently. His hand cupped her cheek once he reluctantly pulled away, his eyes on her swollen lips before their lifted to her eyes. She was breathing fast but Joseph knew he was too.

“I hope the next fan doesn’t get that too” she whispered and he laughed

“They won’t, I promise” he murmured, kissing her once more and grabbing his pen without turning around. He scribbled his signature onto her shirt, right on her breast making her grin. “I’ll call you later” he muttered, pecking her cheek

And with that she walked away, other fans squealing and looking at her as she floated through the crowds.

[supernaturalscribe67]

Breathe

Words: 5,466

POV: 3rd Person

Pairing: Team Free Will x Male!Reader [Platonic]

Warning(s): Language, Character Death, Extreme Gore, Description of Death, Angst with absolutely no comfort, Description of a corpse

Summary: A hunt gone wrong leaves the reader in a situation that often plagued hunters' nightmares. In his final moments, his mind goes to the people in his life he cared about the most, and he realized that he had one final call to make...

Request:

Hello! I hope you're having a good day :)

I was wondering if you could do TFW where Reader(gn, fem, masc, you choose) is on a hunt alone. (Idk what supernatural creature you can choose) Reader is caught off guard because there were more monsters than expected ana got hurt really bad. They manage to get away, but their wound is too severe to get to their car.

Luckily, they have their phone, and they call Dean's phone and say their goodbyes to them and stuff (yknow, Dean puts it on speaker so Sam and Castiel can hear and speak) I can imagine TFW tracks their phone and finds them, but it's too late.

Sorry if this is a bit specific! l'm just a sucker for angst, and love your writing. ♡♡

@abducted-cowz

A/N: Happy Sunday! I wrote this (with love) to make you guys suffer. I hope the level of angst is to your liking <3 - As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! Let me know what you guys think!

~Much Love!

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

It was supposed to be a simple hunt. A get-in get-out kind of scenario, something (Y/N) had been through more times than he could count. The vampires had set up shop at the edge of a small Kansas town, about twenty miles from Witchita, in a farmhouse that had depleted with age. After his initial scope of the location, he had determined there were close to five vampires on the premises. He had enough confidence to know he could take them on easily. So, when night fell on the next night, he parked his truck a quarter mile up the dirt road and used the natural foliage to make his way to the farmhouse undetected. The situation was perfect, every hunter’s dream of an easily obtainable celebration at the nearby bar, almost as if it was too good to be true.

He needed to learn to trust his gut more often.

Double the number of vampires were present, well over what was initially inspected. (Y/N) didn’t take into account the presence of a cellar. He should have known better. The house was most likely built in the sixties or seventies when it was more than common to include a shelter to fend off natural disasters. Why it never crossed his mind that a house in the middle of a large, abandoned farmland would have that sort of accommodation, he wasn’t too sure. It had been a lapse of judgment. Perhaps he was too overzealous. Zeal had claimed the lives of young hunters more than any monster.

The fight was long and agonizing - as tedious would be too lighthearted of a word to describe it. Some were skilled, others were followers. It was easy to take out some, but a good amount knew how to fight, which made it even more challenging than it had already become. A part of him wanted to retreat and return to his motel room to call for backup, but the continuous wave of enemies made it nearly impossible. He didn’t have a moment to catch his breath, let alone leave safely. He had to fight on. It was the only way.

In the end, the corpses of the vampires lay scattered around the wooden and stone flooring in the house and cellar. Heads were strewn about, blood splattered on the once-magnificent wallpaper. (Y/N) stood at the top of the stairs that led to the cellar, his lips slightly parted as pants fell past them. His chest heaved, sweat trickling down his forehead and neck, coating the collar of his t-shirt. The way his heart hammered in his chest, he swore it would break out past his rips. His arms and legs felt like jelly.

The adrenaline rush that once plagued his mind began to falter, and the aches and pains surfaced. A groan rumbled in his chest as he took a moment to look down at himself. Much like the walls and floors, he was covered in vampire blood. If he had any injuries, it was hard to tell which blood spots were his. He looked back at the carnage at the bottom of the steps. The bodies needed to be disposed of, but (Y/N) could feel the strength drain from his body. He would not be able to carry a dozen bodies to the middle of the field. Not that night. He made a mental note to come back the next day.

After some time had passed, he was able to catch his breath enough to turn and make his way out of the house, careful as he stepped over his fallen enemies. The front screen door was slightly ajar from when he came in. The closer and the hinges were rusted, so it was no surprise that they couldn’t work with the force of his previous entry. He was surprised it hadn’t broken off at that point. They didn’t make things like they used to.

The summer air was crisp and warm, with high humidity that made (Y/N) feel disgusting. Despite that, it was the best air he could ask for. His nose was cleansed from the stench of death, and, for that, he was grateful. Any smell was better than the smell of death.

(Y/N) began the quarter-mile trek back to his truck. His lips were parted, his breathing slightly labored with each step he took. It felt as if his chest rattled like a pair of dice were being tossed around inside. Something was wrong, he knew that much, but he couldn’t assess himself until he had his medical supplies on his person. The risk of infection was high when out in the open like that, especially with the ticks that were undoubtedly lying somewhere in the grass that brushed against his ass, and the last thing he wanted was the contract Lyme disease.

Every ten paces or so, (Y/N) had to stop to catch his breath. It got increasingly difficult to dull the ache as if smoke harassed the soft, pink tissue. He knew he had to continue. Had to get to his car. Had to leave.

In the distance, the roof of his ‘91 Dodge Truck glimmered in the pale moonlight. A sense of relief washed over him, and his steps quickened. The weak smile he had was prominent on his lips, despite the pain that resonated through the muscles in his legs. A way out. His escape. A light at the end of the deep, dark tunnel.

The cold metal of the door handle caused a shiver to run down his spine. As he tried to open the door, the handle caught. Locked. A curse fell from his lips as he reached into his blood-soaked pant pocket and pulled out his car key. He fumbled with them, his grip weak and fingers shaky. Just as he was about to place the key into the door, they slipped out of his grip, hit the dirt ground, and settled under the truck, barely out of sight. He closed his eyes tightly and leaned his forehead against the glass of his window. More obscenities.

He had to be strategic. Every part of his body hurt. Which was the best way to get on the ground that would result in the least amount of pain? He was sure there was a way, but his brain wasn’t working as it should. Any critical thinking had gone out the window. The only option, at the moment, was the simplest.

Using whatever strength he had left, he held onto the door handle for support and lowered his right knee to the ground. His movements were slow like his entire body was covered in molasses. For a moment, all that appeared were slight aches in his thighs, and he had high hopes that he would be able to make it. However, as he reached the halfway point, a sharp, needle-like pain washed over his stomach, striking his entire nervous system.

(Y/N) let out a cry of pain as his body collapsed onto the ground, which sent even more agony through his limbs. He turned and landed on his ass, his back pressed against the truck’s chipped frame. In an instant, he could feel any energy he had vanish, immediately replaced by exhaustion. His eyelids were heavy, and the urge to sleep overpowered any other desire. He knew he couldn’t, though. The possibility of him having a concussion from the hunt was great, and he wouldn’t risk the damage it would do to him if he did slumber. 

Then again, the injury he was sure to have under the blood-stained clothes was even more of a risk.

With great struggle, (Y/N) removed his flannel. As he moved, he took note that the pain came from his right side. He grunted as he lifted the side of his shirt, the blood acting as a glue to hold it in place against his chest as his hands came to rest at his side. That was when he saw it.

An eight-inch gash was present, starting from his side and ending right above his naval. It wasn’t a simple surface scratch, either. Layers of muscle and skin tissue were visible. If it had gone any deeper, (Y/N) was certain his organs would lay in his lap. Blood spilled like a waterfall out of the wound, slowly, but aggressively. Most of the blood he had lost was no doubt already soaked into his shirt. It was the biggest injury that he had gotten in his whole hunting career. It was one that he knew he couldn’t fix with the simple sewing kit in his first-aid bag, but one that needed to be medically attended. He didn’t have the willpower to stand up and drive himself, though, let alone get the keys that rested under the car, merely a foot from his hand. Regardless, the nearest hospital was over forty minutes away. An ambulance, even when a hospital was around the corner, could take over an hour to get to the location of an accident. He couldn’t imagine how long it would take to get to him, let alone the legal trouble he would be in when law enforcement discovered the house. 

It was then that the realization struck him;

He was going to die.

He tried to convince himself that he was fine. That he could get up. He was just in a negative mindset. He would be fine.

In reality, any movement he tried to make only made his muscles tense and seize. He had to face the truth. He was going to die. But, damn, if he didn’t go down fighting.

It wasn’t obvious to him how long he had left, but he knew, just the same as anyone else, that he had to make his final moments last. So, with his last bit of might, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. The screen was stained red but, thankfully, the device was intact. He opened it, went to his contacts, and clicked on the one at the very top.

Dean Winchester

He had met the Winchesters over ten years ago through Bobby Singer. Fate had decided that they would all meet at the Singer residence after their respective hunts. They were introduced, and it was as if they clicked instantly. He got along well with both brothers and connected with many of their friends throughout the years. He considered them family. Sam and Dean offered him a bed in the Men of Letters bunker, which he had turned down, as he had become too accustomed to motel hopping to accept.

God, he wished he would have.

At first, he opted to place the phone next to his ear, but a couple of seconds in that position proved too long as his side cried out. Instead, he placed the call on speaker and sat it in his lap. The ring was dull and echoed slightly through the trees. A part of him was nervous that no one would pick up, that it was too early. He was conflicted, though. Did he even want them to answer? If he knew anything about the Winchesters, they were naturals at taking the blame for any deaths around them, even if they did nothing to warrant fault. He didn’t want to add to that burden.

“Hey, (Y/N)!” Dean’s voice greeted him.

(Y/N)’s lips curled upward into a weak smile as he let out a rattled sigh.

“Hey, Dean,” he replied. It was the first time in a couple of hours that he truly heard his voice. He sounded faint, hoarse, weak. He wondered if he looked nearly half as bad as he sounded. 

“Man, I haven’t heard from you in a couple of weeks. What’s been going on?”

“Oh, you know,” he trailed and leaned his head back against the truck. “Same old, same old. What about you guys?”

“Well, we just got back from - hold on, Sam wants me to put the phone on speaker.”

Pause.

“Hey, (Y/N)!” Sam’s voice came through the speaker.

“Hey, Sammy,” (Y/N) felt his smile become weaker.

“So, anyway, as I was saying,” Dean continued. “We just got back from a week-long hunt in Baltimore. Nasty ghost business. The news articles about this guy seemed like it came right out of Law and Order. I was so happy to pump some rock salt into that son of a bitch.”

“Since when do you watch Law and Order?” He asked.

“Law and Order: SVU to be exact,” Sam said.

“All I’m going to say is Detective Olivia Benson can arrest me any day.” There was an obvious smirk on Dean’s face.

(Y/N) let out a chuckle, which instantly progressed into a coughing fit. His fist was balled up in front of his lips as he tried to will his lungs to have mercy in his final moments. What seemed like an eternity later, his lungs listened, and he pulled his hand back. His thumb, index finger, and part of his palm were covered in blood. He brought his hand back up to his face and wiped his lips. More blood.

“Shit,” (Y/N) mumbled.

“You okay?” Dean asked.

“Yeah,”

“You feeling sick?” Sam added.

(Y/N) hesitated. “Sort of.”

“That sucks, man. Have you gone on that vampire hunt yet?”

“Wait, what vampire hunt?” Dean inquired.

“The one near Wichita? I told you about it a couple of days ago.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did! You were watching The A-Team.”

“Oh yeah…I remember that. Hey, why do you get told about his hunts but not me?”

“Because, unlike you, I actually talk to him on an almost daily basis.”

Tears appeared in the corners of (Y/N)’s eyes, but he had little stamina to cry. He was going to miss this, the bickering. The brotherly back and forth between Sam and Dean. The late-night talks they would have over the phone. The week-long trips he would take to the bunker after recovering from a hunt. The prank wars. The diners. The bars. The terrible karaoke. The movie nights. The long hugs as they bid farewell. Oh, how he wished he could hug them one last time.

“(Y/N)?” Sam’s voice sounded more distant than before.

“Uh, yeah, sorry, I’m here.” He weakly cleared his throat and brought the phone closer to his ear, ignoring the throbbing in his stomach.

“Everything go okay with the hunt?”

“Well…going into it, I figured it would be about half a dozen vamps or so? Not much activity when I scouted. Turns out, there’s about a dozen or more.” He explained.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean mumbled.

“Do you want us to come down and help you? It won’t take us that long to get there. Maybe two hours or so.” Sam added.

(Y/N) shook his head. “No, no. I took care of them…but it seems like they took care of me, too.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asked, his voice low and on edge.

A lump appeared in his throat and threatened to cut off the next couple of words. He tried to push through it as he spoke.

“I’m not gonna make it.”

As soon as the words fell from his lips, shuffling could be heard on the other end of the line. No one said anything for a couple of seconds. The next person to speak was Dean.

“Listen, (Y/N), tell us where you are.” Dean’s voice was louder and more frantic, indicating that he had been taken off speaker. “We can come get you, patch you up, and you’ll be good as new, alright?”

“No, no, Dean-”

“Sam! Where are my keys!?”

“Dean-”

“You’re going to make it, okay, (Y/N)? Then, we can come back to the bunker and watch that stupid horror movie you’ve been begging us to watch.”

“Dean, I-”

That time, (Y/N) was interrupted by another coughing fit. Blood and spittle dribbled down his lips and chin. He could feel just how weak his lungs were, so it took some time for him to recover. Once the coughs died down, he was able to hear the familiar rumble of the Impala’s engine over the phone. What a beautiful sound. He was going to miss it.

“Did you get ahold of Cas?” Dean mumbled.

“I’m here, Dean,” Castiel’s voice came through.

“Great! (Y/N), tell us where you are, come on, buddy.”

“Cas,” (Y/N) croaked. “It’s so good to hear your voice. How are you?” His words were slow.

“(Y/N) you need to tell me where you are. I can come heal you.” Castiel’s voice was laced with seriousness and worry.

“No,” he said simply. “It’s too late.”

“It’s not too late!” Dean shouted.

“It is,”

“No, it’s not! You’re still talking to us, you’re still awake. Cas can come over and heal you.”

“Got it!” Sam exclaimed. “Make a left.”

“Guys, it feels like half of my blood is outside of my body. If I move, I think my stomach will fall out. I don’t want you to see me like this. You don’t deserve that.”

“(Y/N), please,” Castiel said. “I can help.”

(Y/N) huffed and would have smirked if he could. “You Winchesters with your stubborn attitude…” he took a few shaky breaths. “No matter what I say, you just never listen.”

“We never listen!?” Dean yelled.

“Dean-” Castiel began.

“No, Cas, this is bullshit. (Y/N), we are family, and family is supposed to be there for each other. They’re supposed to help each other when things get back. Why the Hell won’t you let us help you?”

“Because I’m already dead, Dean. I put this on myself. I-” he stopped to catch his breath. “I blindly went into the house without backup. This is on me. I’m meant to have-” breathe. “-a hunter’s death. To die fighting, and I can proudly say that I killed every last one of those slimy bastards.”

“(Y/N)-”

“Dean, let me finish. Please. I don’t want our last call to be remembered like this.”

Dean stayed silent. (Y/N) waited a moment. The corners of his vision had gone blurry, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep his eyes open. He didn’t have much time left.

“I love you guys, all of you. My life wouldn’t have been nearly as exciting as it was without you. Sam, I’m going to miss our little nerd talks. Miss seeing Dean’s face when we talk about Lord of the Rings. Dean-” his voice trailed as he felt his head lull to the side.

“(Y/N)! Hey, (Y/N), stay with us,” Sam said.

(Y/N) lifted his head. “Dean, I’m going to miss trying to out-drink you at the bar.”

Dean gave a sad, dry chuckle. “You never even got close.”

“And, Cas, God, I’m going to miss our late-night talks. I can’t even count on one hand the amount of times our calls lasted longer than four hours.”

“I do enjoy talking with you,” Castiel confirmed. 

“(Y/N), please,” Sam begged.

“I love you all. I love you, Dean. I love you, Sam. I love you, Castiel.” (Y/N)’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“I love you, (Y/N),” Dean answered. 

“Love you, (Y/N),” Sam followed.

“I love you, too, (Y/N).” Castiel finished.

Their voices were quiet, filled with sadness and defeat. He hated that that was the last he would hear from them.

“Goodbye,” he breathed.

“No, (Y/N), please,” Sam tried to plead.

The call ended.

(Y/N) took one last look at the phone before he gave into gravity and let his arm drop to his side. 

By then, his breathing had slowed substantially. His chest barely rose and fell with the efforts his lungs put in. And that rattle, the death rattle. He knew it all too well. Years of witnessing death firsthand made a man knowledgeable on the topic.

On the horizon, past the field and toward the distant treeline, the sun began to rise. Speckled layers of early morning sunlight coated his skin, but he felt no warmth. On the contrary, he felt cold. Slow. He didn’t know that a human’s body could get so cold. With it, though, there was numbness. No more pain, no more aches. Just peace.

He never knew what it would be like to die - it didn’t occur to him to ask Sam and Dean about their countless encounters with death - but if he knew it would be so calm and, dare he say, tranquil, he might not have spent so long fighting for his life as he had in the past. It was an experience unlike any other. Perhaps that wasn’t his true feelings on the subject. Perhaps it was because he knew that was his fate, that he had no chance. Acceptance. He was ready.

The last thing he saw before his vision faded to black was the sun, uncovered by the foliage, in its bright glory. It felt like an old friend who wanted to greet him one last time, and he appreciated the sentiment. The welcoming of a new dawn was short-lived. Once his vision faded, his eyelids closed, his muscles relaxed, his head lulled to the side;

And he died.

*~*

Dean didn’t drive nearly as fast as he had wanted to. The foolish part of him still had hope. Hope that they would find their friend unconscious, but alive. That (Y/N) had been exaggerating his wound. That he would be fine. 

He has to be fine.

But the logical side of him, his brother, told him that he knew better. He had seen more than his fair share of friends die in his life, and it seemed to develop into a pattern. He met someone, promised himself he wouldn’t get close, got close, and then they died. An endless cycle. Wash, rinse, repeat.

And now, he was back on repeat.

It was nine in the morning by the time they spotted (Y/N)’s truck. Dean had to turn the car around, as they had passed it before. The treeline that sat on the edge of the road was thick, leaving visibility to be quite reduced. When they pulled onto the dirt path, they stopped a good twenty feet from the white pickup and sat there. None of them spoke. Instead, they sat in a heavy, dead, grief-filled silence, as if a fog had descended upon them. Time moved leisurely, at least from their perspective. In all actuality, it passed by them at the speed of light. By the time any of them moved into their seats, it was closer to ten.

They got out of the car and slowly made their way over to the truck. They walked steadily, as if on autopilot like their limbs were being held back by chains. They had to continue, for (Y/N)’s sake.

When they turned the corner of the front of the truck, they saw him. (Y/N)’s lifeless body lay against the side of the car, shoulders drooped, and mouth hung open. The gravel surrounding him was caked in uneven layers of dried blood, along with his shirt and jeans. Any color had drained from his skin. Bugs buzzed around the open gash still visible on his stomach, which had stopped bleeding at some point.

Sam choked back on a sob that tried to escape his throat, but he would not allow it. He covered his mouth with his hand and turned his back. He could feel the cry of pain threaten to claw its way out, threaten to break him down. He had to stay strong, though. He couldn’t possibly let Dean and Castiel deal with it all. (Y/N) was his friend, his brother, and he had to take responsibility for his body, as well. He couldn’t just let his brother and best friend handle it. That wouldn’t be fair to them. Wouldn’t be fair to (Y/N).

Dean stopped as soon as he saw his body. The visual of it made realization hit him like a truck. (Y/N) was dead. He was gone. All those times together watching movies, drinking at bars, or bickering with each other were a thing of the past, never to be repeated. The moments they shared would never get spread through a jovial reunion after retirement, nor would they get to grow old together. They would never get the opportunity to call each other ‘old bastard’ before they sat in their lawn chairs and talked for hours. Dean never even got the chance to teach him how to fish. The potential ‘what ifs’ turned into ‘what could have beens’, and the fact that he tricked himself into thinking it was possible made him feel like an idiot.

Castiel lagged when it came to turning the corner, for he knew what awaited on the other side. He had seen his fair share of death in regards to people he cared about, but he and (Y/N) had gotten rather close in the years they had known one another. He was the one who introduced Castiel to a larger variety of music, television shows, and films that Dean would have otherwise not done. He had opened his eyes to a world far beyond anything he could ever imagine. For that, Castiel would be forever grateful. When he saw (Y/N)’s body, he felt his chest ache. It wasn’t heartbreak, as Castiel knew he was unable to feel such emotion. Rather, he felt empty, as if a part of him had been ripped away and burned. One of his dearest friends had been taken. His family had been taken. True, he would get a chance to visit (Y/N) in Heaven, but it was not the same. 

Castiel was the first one to move over to his body. The cut on his stomach made him realize that, perhaps, (Y/N) wasn’t lying. It was deep, ghastly. Most likely, the time between the call ending and his time of death was minimal. Minutes if not seconds. There was truly nothing Castiel could have done. Even if he had the grace of an archangel, there was not enough power to heal him. His body was too far gone. 

With one look over at Sam and Dean, Castiel could see that any strength had vanished from their bodies. Their shoulders were slumped, and any light had left their eyes. He knew they would not be able to carry him, not while he was like that. He took the initiative and wrapped an arm around (Y/N)’s back and legs. It took little effort to lift him, despite the dead weight. Castiel was cautious when moving his body, knowing that the wound was still fresh. (Y/N)’s head shifted to the side, cheek pressed against his chest. Castiel walked over to Sam and Dean. Their eyes never left his body.

“I believe someone should take his car,” Castiel’s voice broke the silence that had hovered over them for hours. His voice was uncharacteristically soft and quiet. “I saw the keys under the driver’s side.”

Tears were flowing freely down Sam’s cheeks, his eyes red and burning. “I’ll-” he cleared his throat to steady his voice. “I’ll drive it.”

“No,” Dean’s broken speech interrupted. “Um…I’ll take him. Do you mind driving the truck, Cas?”

“I do not mind.” Castiel shook his head.

Dean nodded. Wordlessly, he dug into his pocket and pulled out the keys to the Impala. He held them out to Sam, who looked at his brother to silently confirm his actions. When nothing was said, Sam took the keys. Dean dropped his hand to his side as if the keys had been the only thing capable of keeping them up before he turned back to Castiel, arms held out.

Castiel began to carefully transfer (Y/N)’s body from his arms to Dean’s. It was almost ceremonial, and when Dean felt the heavy weight of the body in his arms, he held him close, as if he were made of glass, that he would shatter into a million pieces if Dean moved the wrong way.

But he was already broken.

They spoke nothing more before they dispersed. Castiel turned back to the truck to fetch the keys, Dean made his way to the Impala, and Sam followed. Sam opened the back passenger door and took a step back. Dean got in, his movements deliberate and guarded, the lifeless body still held tight to his chest. It took a moment for him to finally get settled in the backseat. Once he was, Sam shut the door and made his way over to the driver’s side.

Dean’s eyes never left (Y/N)’s face, determined to take in every last detail. He looked so peaceful, as if only in a deep sleep. There had been a handful of times Dean had carried (Y/N) to one of the many spare bedrooms after he fell asleep watching a movie, but he had never felt so heavy. Maybe it wasn’t him, but, rather, the weight Dean could feel on his heart. Dean held countless regrets. He wished he would have talked to him more. Wished he would have remembered being told about the hunt. He would have suggested that they stop to help on the way back from their previous hunt. If only he had listened better, maybe (Y/N) would still be alive. 

If only…

Dean didn’t even notice when Sam started the car, backed out onto the dirt road, and began to make the silent journey back to the bunker. As Sam drove, he would periodically sneak a peak in the rearview mirror at his brother and best friend. Each time, he had to swallow the lump that had threatened to make an appearance, but he let the tears flow. When he wasn’t looking at them, his mind wandered to the day ahead. The preparation for a hunter’s funeral didn’t take that long, as they were used to the process by then, but it didn’t make it any less painful. Everything had to be perfect. It was what (Y/N) deserved, and they would make sure to give him the best send-off they could. 

*~*

They gave themselves time to grieve - a day and some odd hours - while they collected the necessary materials for the funeral. While (Y/N)’s body lay in the spare bedroom he always claimed as his, they took turns alone with him. They shared memories, regrets, jokes, and emotions that would have otherwise been kept under lock and key. Then, when the pyre, just northwest of the bunker, was ready, they had Sam carry him out to his final resting place, giving them each an opportunity to hold him one last time.

With his body wrapped up tightly, he was placed on top of the pile of wood underneath the stars. Dean, Sam, and Castiel stood back and silently stared for a couple of minutes. As the late-night song of crickets came, Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out three lighters. He handed Castiel and Sam each one before he returned to the spot next to his brother. In unison, they clicked their lighters to life and tossed them to the pyre, one after another.

It took a moment for the wood to catch, but, in an instant, the faint crackling from the burning wood roared to life, engulfing (Y/N)’s body in its warmth. It was poetic, to die a hunter. To die protecting others, even when they didn’t know. They would never get their names in history books or their own documentary. No recognition is to be found. Only stories spread through fellow hunters and close friends kept their memory alive. They were true heroes of their time. Martyrs for a cause unknown.

That night, Sam, Dean, and Castiel vowed to never let his story die. In every way they could, they would spread (Y/N)’s story to everyone who would listen. They would light fires with their words and watch the world burn if it meant everyone knew of the person he was. For as long as they lived, (Y/N) would never truly die.

“Please, don’t worry so much, because in the end none of us have very long on this Earth - life is fleeting. And if you’re ever distressed, cast your eyes to the summer sky when the stars are strung across the velvety night, and when a shooting star streaks through the blackness turning night into day, make a wish and think of me. Make your life spectacular. I know I did.”

~ Robin Williams

[carniferous]

okay hello i’ve come to offer a vague concept ❤️🤲 the first thing that came into my mind is like being in a car. and something being wrong w the car. which sounds so stupid but is hopefully vague enough?? also idk if i’m meant to specify a ship but (and you probs already know what i’m gonna say) ur bartylus genuinely changed my life and it’s always on my mind and im obsessed w it forever and ever and would die if you ever wrote them again (but also like. no pressure. i don’t wanna try and tie you down to one specific pathway) ANYWAY i hope this is vague enough but also not too vague that you’re just staring at me blankly rn… icl babe u really didn’t set any parameters so i’m kinda trying to spear fish in the dark here but im gonna stop talking now…. eagerly (but patiently!!) awaiting ur response <33

LMAO NOOO thank you so much this is exactly the level of vagueness i wanted!!! i simply need to let things cook in my beautiful mind palace before i can write + vague concepts work best for that

anyway i tried to do it justice for u. it's more barty character study than bartylus sorry but. also it's compeltely unedited!! do with that what you will xoxo

“I knew it,” Regulus murmured, a hand coming up to cover his eyes. He was slumped down in his seat, the lines of his face stark in the pale moonlight. The motorway stretched out empty and endless before them. 

Barty clenched his jaw and turned the key in the ignition once more. The engine sputtered loudly, just enough to give him some small shred of hope, before it promptly died for the fifth time. 

“Dammit,” he hissed, thumping his hand against the steering wheel. He turned to Regulus, “What?”

Regulus lowered his hand and glared fiercely. “I knew I was going to die in this metal box the moment you persuaded me to get in.”

“And yet, you still let me persuade you.”

“Barty.”

“What?” Barty grinned. “You’re not going to die, Regulus. Cars are only dangerous when they’re moving.”

Regulus scoffed. He looked about five minutes away from having a conniption—which meant that Barty had about three minutes of continuing to fuck with him before he got properly angry. His hands were clenched in the fabric of his trousers, and when he turned his face towards the window, Barty could glimpse the deep shadows under his eyes as they appeared under the light. 

He felt his heart soften, just a tad. 

“I have a plan,” Barty said.

Regulus rolled his eyes so far back that they disappeared into his skull: “Oh, joy. Another plan.”

“They’ve gotten us this far, haven’t they?” 

“Yes, stranded on the side of the road with you,” muttered Regulus. “Exactly where I want all my plans to lead me.”

At that, Barty felt a strange, wild sort of affection swell up within him. He wanted to lean over and bite the nape of Regulus’s neck hard enough to draw blood, wanted to crowd him against the door until all that bluster and exasperation fell away. But there would be time for that.

“Don’t you want to hear my plan?”

“No,” Regulus said sullenly. “I want—”

He stopped. Barty’s grin abruptly fell away. He reached over and cradled the back of Regulus’s head, firmly enough that he had no choice but to face him. Regulus kept his eyes downcast, an unhappy twist to his mouth, a sickly tinge to his face that the low light couldn’t hide. 

“Hey,” Barty said, and he curled his hand into a fist in Regulus’s hair. “Look at me.”

Regulus’s gaze flickered up.

He was a living bruise, a walking heartache. Two weeks ago, Barty had looked at him as they packed their things for the end of term, and he’d known that Regulus wouldn’t survive another summer in that house—not as himself, anyway. He knew it the way Sirius must have, before he left, and he understood. Better than he’d like to admit. Sometimes it was easier to pack your bags than to watch someone like Regulus tread water and insist that they weren’t moments away from sinking. 

In that respect, though, Barty was different. He didn’t care what Regulus wanted. He wasn’t going to leave him to drown. 

Besides. Barty was fed up, himself.

When he spoke, his voice was low and steady, and Regulus listened with wide, unblinking eyes: “We’re not going home. Do you understand? There’s nothing back there. Nothing. Forget it, Regulus.”

A beat of silence. Barty’s grip loosened, he made to pull back, and then—

“What about your mother?” Regulus asked with a horrible little glint in his gaze. 

“What about her?” Barty replied without missing a beat.

Regulus blinked. Barty almost laughed at him. Could have, at the idea that Regulus thought he’d trapped him with that. His mother, who’d wanted Berty out of that house perhaps even more than he himself did. Regulus could never understand that.

What he could understand, though, was the terrifying, exhilarating sensation of freedom. Of the surprising vastness of your own mind when it was vacant of everyone but yourself. Of sitting in a car stranded on the side of the road and becoming aware of your own mortality. Death was suddenly an end to something real and full of potential. 

After what felt like an eternity, Regulus asked, “What’s your plan?”

“I turn seventeen in five hours,” Barty said. “Once midnight hits, the Trace will disappear. I’ll fix the car then.”

“You don’t know how to fix it.”

“At least I know it’s called a car and not a ‘metal box.’”

“You want us to spend five hours in this thing?” Regulus said, as though catching up with his own disbelief.

“Technically, seven hours,” said Barty. “We still have to make it to Bath. And then, once we pick up the twins…”

“What?”

“I don’t know,” Barty shrugged—a loose, slouching thing. He noticed Regulus’s eyes track the motion with nothing short of predatory glee. “Orgy in the metal box?”

“I hate you.”

“You love me,” Barry cajoled, grinning from ear to ear. “Why else would you run away with me?”

There was a long moment of silence, in which Regulus gazed, baleful and petulant, out at the road in front of them and Barty gazed at him. Already, he was more animated, more tetchy, more acerbic than he’d been just days ago. The cobwebs slowly clearing from his eyes.

Sometimes, Barty recognized Regulus like the slant of himself in a shard of glass. But other times, Regulus was just very beautiful. Barty wondered if there an element of vanity in wanting him, to the prideful joy he got out of fucking him out of his own head. The idea that he could press Regulus down hard enough to mold him back into himself. 

On very rare occasions, he wondered if he was like his father. If the only love he knew was what he learned from the voice in his head as it puppeted his limbs about. If that presence was more himself than he was. A normal person would look at it with revulsion, would see complete and total control as a firsthand abomination.

But it was because Barty knew the abomination firsthand that he knew also the complete, total, clean satisfaction of such control.

“You were hardly the first to ask,” Regulus said mildly.

Even in the darkness, Barty could see the flush travel down his neck. He grinned and, without another word, reached over and unhooked Regulus’s seatbelt.

“I didn’t ask,” he replied, just as mild.

[dokries]

goldleaf

pairing: hong jisoo (joshua) x gender neutral reader

genre: angst, hanahaki au

word count: 1.1k

warnings: no happy ending, mentions of death + implied main character death…eventually, One mention of swearing, unrequited love, the normal hanahaki au things (blood, throwing up, etc.)

author note: um so guess who found out she can actually write angst! it’s written in joshua’s pov the entire time and reader is just kinda in the background (they’re still important though!) also, if you want a lil more info about how i wrote this, check out my reblog! lots of love ♡

masterlist

when joshua sees you with them, he can’t deny that he feels…more than he wishes he did.

he’s sick and tired of the hollowness in his chest but it’s fine. it’ll all be fine once he sees you happy, right? that's what he says to convince himself before looking up at the sky and seeing you in the shape of the clouds and the way the sun hits them and himself.

fuck, he’s in too deep to continue to believe the sorry excuse he’s made up for himself to feel a little better. it never helps anyway, so why keep using it? he lets it go, imagining it fluttering away on a breeze that reminds him way too much of the person always on his mind.

so when the tingling in his throat comes out as petals the same golden like the colour he imagines your soul to be, he isn’t surprised. as he exits the bathroom, he avoids jeonghan’s gaze, promises that he’ll be fine; after all, it’s just a cold—whatever it takes to keep his best friend from worrying. at least he knows his promises won’t be worth much anyway.

he sees you often, your smile as cheery as the flowers haunting him in his dreams and the ones sticking to his lungs, trapped in his chest. he’s alright, he tells himself. he’ll be fine.

he doesn’t go to the doctor. he’s read and seen enough of what’s happening to him, and he knows the choice he’ll have to make if he goes. he knows that the only solution is to forget, but he would never do that. he can’t let go of wandering around in the wheat fields that one summer you two were in the countryside, or the time you laughed and laughed at a joke that wasn’t funny, or when he lost all hope and you were there, making sure he could get back up again and live. if the price of keeping the memories he holds close is death, he’s okay with it.

joshua doesn’t tell his roommates. he knows that jeonghan and seungcheol would drag him to the emergency room against his will, and force him to take the option he’s already decided against. he wouldn’t let them sway him anyway, but it’s easier if they don’t know. however, time seems to choose to leave the bathroom—even when it seems to be going too fast for joshua’s liking these days—when jeonghan finds him hovering over the sink, bloody tissues in his hand and washed petals placed carefully on the side.

the two of them say nothing.

jeonghan leaves, and joshua turns to the mirror above the sink, taking a good look at himself. he wipes off the dried blood on his top lip, noticing nothing else wrong. he doesn’t realize that after he leaves, jeonghan is horrified by the lack of light in his friend’s eyes, the spark he thought would never go out.

jeonghan hasn’t said anything since, lost in his thoughts every time he’s home. seungcheol is freaked out, not understanding the dead silence in the house. he doesn’t know that he’ll have to pay more for rent in…well, however long it takes for joshua’s lungs to finally fill up with your flowers. joshua knows he’s being cruel, but can’t he be allowed to be selfish in his last moments? is that too much to ask for after everything?

he doesn’t approach jeonghan, and instead writes. he writes journal entries in that notebook you got him a few years back, but he never used it because he was too scared to mess up in something you gave him; letters to those he’ll miss. he revises the one for his mother over and over again, crumpling paper like his lungs.

joshua doesn’t try to hide anything from seungcheol. he knows that his housemate’s blank expression means more than what he says. in fact, there is nothing said; their house is a place to rest and eat and nothing else. it’s as if there’s three ghosts, not just a single potential one. joshua sighs, wheezing out more petals. he grabs them hastily, making sure they don’t fall to the ground or worse, onto your letter. he carries them gently in his bloodied hands to the bathroom sink once again, the only companion he seems to have in the past few weeks.

joshua rinses each souvenir of his love one by one, clearing the dark red off before drying them and taking them back to the pile he’s made ever since this started. at first, they were hidden away in a small box on the corner of his desk, so no one would wander in and see them. now, he puts them on his nightstand haphazardly, the dark wood no longer visible under the various shades of yellow and red.

joshua picks up his pen—the expensive one his mom gifted him when he moved away so long ago; he never used it until now. the ink glides smoothly over the clean paper he had taken out earlier. he writes once again.

the only thing he knows how to say now is sorry. he writes it over and over again, signing each letter with the sounds he can barely make in real life, his voice hoarse from the damage done on his throat, and the lack of use.

maybe it’s time for something different? after all, this is for you, and he wants the news to be broken softly. he racks his head for something, anything that he finds good enough to become something real. he drinks the day-old water from the plastic bottle beside him, the familiar taste of blood accompanying it.

he glances at the clock he’s kept beside him since the start, and counts down two seconds; he has no time to waste.

he puts down the words he’s said so often to you that they’ve become a habit but seem to have changed ever since he started throwing up marigolds—a literal reminder of his unrequited love.

it’ll be a bit hard to be there for you when he’s dead, won’t it? joshua doesn’t mind. he never will.

he chuckles dryly, a whole flower falling out. he gets up and repeats his process for the petals before sitting back down.

joshua looks at his handiwork, pausing and adding a few more words before moving his paper to the side, and starting on another letter for his mother.

he stares blearily at the clock again, the red blinking numbers the only comfort he allows himself. it’s a new day.

joshua hopes it’ll finally be his last.

[fxtalitygod]

「 𝙱𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝙲𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚎 」

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader (or Afab!Reader)

Synopsis: You preferred your coffee to be black, at least you used to– Gojo Satoru changed that.

Genre: Fluff to Angst

Warnings: Fluff to Angst (Heavy angst), language, Light JJK chapter 236 SPOILERS, character death, vague imagery of mutilation (nothing overly descriptive), reader has a nightmare, depictions of a dead body/corpse, mentions of pregnancy, themes of grief, (only at the end)

Word Count: 3.9k

A/n: I wrote this mainly as a fem reader, but it can also be read as afab since the reader's pronouns are never specified.

P.S. I know it looks like someone needs to stop me from thinking of ways to write angst for Gojo after reading chapter 236...but that's only because someone needs to stop me from thinking of ways to write angst for Gojo after reading chapter 236!

JJK Mlist•Taglist Rules•

"How do you like your coffee?"

"Black."

"Black?!"

"Yes, what is that unusual?"

"No, it's just...how can you drink that?"

"I put it to my lips, and I ju-"

"I understand how the function of drinking works. I mean, how can you drink something so...bitter."

Satoru's question was more of a statement than a question, as he cringed at the thought of consuming such a bitter beverage. You and Gojo had been dating for a few months and were still getting to know each other, exploring your interests, preferences, likes and dislikes...tastes in coffee.

"Alright, how should I be drinking it?" you questioned, smiling as you watched him think before perking up as if a lightbulb had gone off in his head.

"You wanna go on a coffee date?" Gojo asked, smirking as he did so.

"Don't you think that's a little cliché?" you responded, quirking a brow at him.

"Nothing can be cliché if it's with you, my dear."

You could only laugh at his witty comment, glancing over to see him wiggling his brows as he awaited your answer.

"Alright, fine! But for future reference, try to come up with better pick-up lines than that, or I can't see this relationship lasting long." You joked as you stood from the bleachers you had been seated on.

You watched as your boyfriend clutched his chest in faux hurt, letting a theatrical gasp as he gave you a pained look. You could only laugh at his dramatic behavior, shaking your head as you stepped towards him, bending down to kiss him on the cheek. Gojo sat there accepting your offer of affection but wasn't entirely satisfied. Before you could walk away, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you down to give him a proper kiss before pulling away slightly.

"I'll meet up with you after class?" the second-year mumbled on your lips.

"If you even survive because I'm pretty sure you're late, and Yaga isn't going to be too keen on the explanation that your tardiness was due to you swapping spit with your girlfriend." you teased.

"We didn't even make out though."

"Try explaining that to Yaga," you knowingly stated.

Gojo knew you were right, sighing and cursing under his breath before standing, giving one last peck to your lips before running off, mumbling to himself as he tried to think of a reasonable excuse for his late arrival, something that would be somewhat justifiable to his instructor. You felt a warmth rise in your chest as you watched him make one last turn towards you, waving as he continued to make his way to his classroom. How did you manage to pull a guy like him? That question would forever remain a secret, but you wouldn't dwell on it– you would focus on whatever remaining time you had left with him.

"My head still hurts," Gojo murmured as he rubbed the tender spot on his scalp from where Yaga had bonked him.

"I told you," you teased in a sing-song tone, leaning towards him with a smug smile plastered on your face.

Your partner only shoved you away lightly as he tried to control the amused smile that began to grace his features before pausing. You hadn't noticed that Satoru had stopped until you turned to see he wasn't by your side anymore. You looked behind you to notice that he was staring at a display window. You couldn't see what was inside due to your current distance, but you could tell your boyfriend was definitely drawn to it.

"Is everything alright over there?" you called, tilting your head in curiosity as you stood in your current spot.

"How do you feel about going on that coffee date?" Satoru called back, looking over at you.

"Now?"

"Right now."

You hesitated for a moment, not feeling entirely comfortable going on a date in your uniform, but reasoned that it would be ridiculous to postpone a simple date based on your apparel– Satoru was still in his uniform, so why did it matter? With that internal debate out of mind, you walked toward your partner, taking his outstretched hand and walking into the coffee shop.

"You sit over there."

"Huh?" you were confused by your boyfriend's instruction, giving him a puzzled look.

"I'll go order the coffee and a few treats, don't worry, go sit over there and relax," Gojo explained, an overly enthusiastic smile plastered on his face for a guy who was going to simply put in an order for 'coffee and a few treats.'

You gave the fellow shaman a look of suspicion before walking over to a clean table, taking a seat, and watching the tall individual walk toward the counter. You couldn't hear what he had ordered due to his almost hushed tone as he spoke to the barista behind the counter. You waited a short while before being presented with your companion and all the items he had purchased.

Before you could say anything, Gojo slid one of the cups toward you, presenting it as your coffee before pulling back and staring at you. Your eyes flitted from the cup back to him a few times, feeling apprehensive as he persisted in staring at you. His awaiting gaze was a little unsettling at this point.

"What did you do to it?" you asked, pushing the beverage away.

"Nothing, just take a sip," the eager-looking individual insisted as he slid the cup back to you.

"You didn't do anything weird to this, did you? Didn't poison it or anything? I don't want to be the victim of a crime of passion case."

"No, I didn't do anything weird to it. Also, if I were to kill you, I wouldn't poison you– that would be boring," Your boyfriend answered.

"How reassuring," you stated, taking a deep breath before looking at the cup sitting idly, "Here goes nothing."

After collecting all your courage, you lifted the cup so that the rim rested on your lips, taking one last look at Satoru before taking a sip. The sweetness and thickness of the drink hit you unexpectedly, causing you to choke suddenly. You pulled the cup away from your mouth, grabbing a napkin to cough into as you registered what had happened.

"Are you okay?" Satoru spoke, trying to hide his laughter– he was failing miserably at that.

"Yeah," you sputtered, "What the hell did you put in that coffee?"

"Technically, I didn't put anything in that coffee; the barista did," your companion corrected.

"Alright, smart aleck, what did you tell the barista to put in that?" you responded, grabbing another napkin to wipe at your mouth, slowly catching your breath from the initial shock.

"Relax, I just asked her to add creamer and a few packs of sugar."

"How much do you consider is a few?"

"Uhhhh... so how was it?" Gojo redirected, deciding not to answer that question.

"It was definitely a shock," you sarcastically answered as you glared at your boyfriend.

"It couldn't have been that bad. Come on, just give it one more try, pretty please," Satoru pleaded, looking at you through his snowy eyelashes, batting them innocently.

You sighed, giving in to him begrudgingly as you brought the beverage back to your lips, pushing your hesitance to the side as you took a sip. You let the flavors rest on your tongue, tasting the sweetness of the sugar and brew combined with the thickness of the creamer that also enhanced the sweetness. The drink wasn't your preference, but you couldn't admit it was entirely dissatisfactory. If you had been the one who controlled how much sugar and creamer was added, it may have been more to your liking.

"Soooo?" your partner drew, waiting for an answer he would be satisfied with.

"It's alright, a little sweet for my liking, but it isn't god awful," you admitted, "next time, I would balance out the sugar and creamer ratio."

"So you're saying there is a next time?" Satoru teased, raising a smug brow.

You had the urge to punch the cockiness off of that ever-so-handsome face of his but decided against it as you leaned over the table and pecked his lips, catching him by surprise.

"Yeah, there is a next time."

"I'm so sorry for your loss, Y/n."

You hung up the phone, setting the device down on the nearby table as you stood in place, looking out the window, repeating the apologetic statement in your mind. What was the point of apologizing for such a loss– it won't bring anyone back; it won't mend your broken heart; it won't resolve the fact that you're standing here rubbing at your stomach, knowing that you were about to conceive a child without a father figure present, which you only figured both out recently.

You fiddled with the silver band around your ring finger before slowly sliding it off and placing it on the table next to your discarded phone. Your legs felt weak as you only stood there, staring at the window, not even looking at the lovely scenery beyond the pane– you only stared at the glass barrier that separated you from the outside world. There was a slight quiver in your breath as the events of your life played in your head. All the firsts you had with the man, all the important events you shared with him, all the tender moments. From the day you met to the day you eloped with him.

This was another day to add to your memory.

The day you created a life and the day you lost a life.

You stood there unmoving and noiseless until someone came and escorted you to your room, saying you should rest. Laying in your bed felt like torture that night, and every night after that– it was a constant reminder that you were now a widow, that you had lost your lover. When you would dream, you would dream of him, but those dreams quickly turned into nightmares. The images were vivid, as you imagined your lover's mangled body, surrounded by his own blood that had turned cold with time. Your heart would hammer against your ribs, and your breathing would grow heavy as if someone was sitting on your chest. A ringing sound could be heard the longer you looked at his corpse, crescendoing as your gaze took in every detail of the horrific sight before you.

And then you'd wake up to the sound of your own alarm.

You gasped as you sat up, waking up in a cold sweat, goosebumps littering your skin. You looked at your phone, seeing it was past the original time set, meaning you had slept through the initial alarm. Taking a moment to collect yourself, you sat there, looking at the empty side of your bed blankly; however, before you could dwell on the situation, your phone went off. You quickly reached over and looked at the caller ID, seeing Shoko's name illuminating on the screen.

"Hello," you groggily asked, not having the energy for your usual friendly greeting.

"Hey, are you sure you want to do this?"

You were puzzled by her question, but when you pulled your phone away in confusion, you noticed the date and what that meant.

"Yeah," you answered, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Alright, see you soon then..." a pause as you were about to hang up, your finger hovering over the red button, "Hey, Y/n, if I had the power to bring him back, I would...even if he was an idiot. I just wish I had that kind of power."

"Hey Shoko, it's alright. I need to get ready, but I'll see you soon," you reassured her, knowing that your husband's death was just as painful for her as it was for you.

"Right, see you soon."

With that, you used what little energy you had to press the red button and stand, heading to your bathroom to freshen up. Walking up to the mirror, you could see how disheveled you were– it was frankly ridiculous– seeing your messy hair and your sloppy choice of clothing. You scoffed as you looked at yourself, disappointed in how you let yourself go because you knew Satoru wouldn't have wanted this for you, especially in your circumstances.

You took a deep breath before exhaling, trying to push your emotions aside so you would be able to accomplish the basic necessity of taking care of yourself. This was the daily morning routine currently, waking up a sweaty mess from your night terrors before cleaning yourself to look as tidy as possible. If somebody were to ask someone close to you how you were doing, they would say you were handling it well, complimenting you on how strong you were being. Although, those people only saw you in broad daylight. When you were left in the solitude of your bedroom, you would let go of the strong composure, permitting yourself to slouch and remove the concealer from your undereye to reveal your eye bags, allowing yourself to remove the neutral expression from your face to reveal the cold, stoic one beneath it, which wasn't very flattering.

After a few hours, you stood on the border of Tokyo's Jujutsu High. It took every part of you to step past the barrier, but you managed to do it after shutting down every impulse to turn around and break for it. You walked the grounds, feeling unfamiliar with the surroundings, although you had walked through these halls more times than you could count. The atmosphere just wasn't the same.

"Over here," you heard a voice exclaim, turning to see it was Shoko, "I thought it would be best to meet up out here first."

You only nodded as you stood in front of her. The air was thick with tension as you both stood in silence. You distracted yourself by messing with the chain around your neck.

"You could always back out if you want to..." Shoko broke the silence, although in a hushed tone as if she were trying to preserve the stillness.

"I need to do this, Shoko."

The brunette looked at you hesitantly before nodding, gesturing for you to follow her. You walked through the cold hallway for about a minute before stopping in front of a door. A shaky breath escaped your lips as you stared down the hunk of metal, not knowing what to expect.

"He's already in there," Shoko spoke once more, placing a hand on your shoulder, "Look, you can leave whenever you are ready; you don't have to stay in there, and if you need me there at any point, do not hesitate to ask."

You only gave your friend a curt nod before walking through the door, letting the heavy metal shut behind you as you scanned the features of the lifeless room. It was nothing special, but if you happened to get locked in this room, you would probably go insane. Before you could distract yourself with ridiculous scenarios, you were struck with the reality of the situation as your eyes landed on the oddly shaped white cloth draped over the examination table.

Without even thinking, you approached the table, pausing just short of it as you examined the shape of the cloth. You sucked in a breath, holding it as you grabbed the corner of the fabric. There was a moment of hesitance as you gripped the material before pulling it back to reveal the lifeless face of Gojo Satoru, your beloved husband.

You didn't know what to do or say at the moment– I mean, what could you do or say when being met with your lover's cold body? However, you did have to breathe. You hadn't noticed, but when you began to feel the tightening in your chest, you remembered to allow breath into your lungs. Your dreams were nowhere accurate to the state of his current corpse, and you didn't know if you should have been disturbed or grateful for that. He wasn't horrifically mangled, but his lower half was no longer attached to his upper torso.

You looked into his cold, lifeless, blue eyes, the same eyes that used to gleam with mischief and pride. If your heart wasn't broken before, it was positively demolished at this stage. You brought your hand to hover just above his eyes before letting them touch his skin, moving them to force his eyes closed. Your hand rested there for a moment before moving to swipe away at the stray hairs that sat on his forehead.

Standing there, unmoving, you took a moment to look at your significant other, seeing his peaceful-looking expression, one you recognized from the mornings when he had successfully gotten a satisfying night of rest– now he's resting eternally; hopefully a peaceful one as your lover had always struggled with sleep. God, you wished he was just sleeping, that he would wake up and tell you it was all a sick joke, but you knew better– Satoru would never let you suffer like that. As you were about to back away and leave the room, starting to move your hands from the table, you felt something brush over your knuckles, causing you to lightly gasp.

You moved your gaze to look at what you unintentionally touched, revealing something that managed to cause your shattered heart to drop.

The sight of the ring on your lover's hand, the cold metal idly sitting on his unmoving finger.

You choked back a sob, a suppressed sound emitting from your throat as you took Satoru's limp hand, gripping it tight as your other hand found its way to his forehead, pushing back more strands of hair. You suppressed your cries as you bent down, closing your eyes, not having the heart to look at him like this anymore, as your quivering lips kissed his forehead. Your body silently shook as you continued to contain your sobs, tears escaping your eyes as you slipped the ring off his finger, placing it in your pocket.

You were in that position for some time before finally pulling away and walking out of the room before you could look at his dull state and linger any longer. Upon stepping out of the room, you were greeted by Shoko's gaze of pity– it sickened you. The last thing you wanted was to be pitied, but in predicaments such as these, you had no choice but to be pitied. So, if you were to be pitied anyway, what was the point of hiding the underlying issue?

"I'm pregnant," you blurted, watching Shoko's face drop.

"Y/n, I didn't even know, I would have never-"

You cut off Shoko as she attempted an apology for something out of her control, "How could you have known? I for sure as hell didn't until a few minutes before I got the call that my husband was dead," you weakly smiled, "At least I'll always have a part of him with me, right?" your voice shook as you sarcastically asked that question, allowing more tears to spill.

"Y/n, I-"

"Please don't apologize, Shoko. It isn't your fault that things ended up so shitty," you reassured her, placing a hand on her shoulder, "Look, I'm getting too tired considering that it's still early in the day, so I'm gonna grab a coffee, you could join me if you'd like," you offered, shrugging your shoulders as you wiped at your tears.

"Y/n, I wish I could, but I have to..." Shoko trailed as she chose her words carefully, "I need to work with him."

You gave the doctor an understanding nod, waving goodbye as you made your leave from the school. Leaving the isolated school to the city was almost refreshing as there were plenty of things to distract you from the reality of your predicament. To some, the walk may have been boisterous and annoying, but for you, it was calming and relaxing to be fixated on mundane things that didn't affect you.

That didn't last long.

Your feet stopped moving due to muscle memory of your route to your current location. You looked up to see the usual coffee joint you visited– the same one where Satoru had taken you for your first coffee date. You smiled for a moment due to the nostalgia; however, it faded quickly, remembering you weren't visiting with your usual partner. Despite the upsetting realization, you managed to hold your composure, fiddling with the chain around your neck before pulling it out from beneath your shirt, watching your wedding ring dangle from the delicate item. You took in a shuddering breath as you pulled your spouse's ring from your pocket, taking your time in slipping the metal band onto the chain to dangle next to yours before placing the necklace back around your neck, tucking it underneath your shirt once more.

"Y/n, is that you? It's been quite a bit. For a moment, I thought you found a new spot to lounge at," one of the familiar baristas chuckled before halting her laughter to look at the area around you, "Satoru isn't with you today?"

You sucked in a breath before plastering a smile onto your face and replying simply, "No."

"I see. I'll get you your usual then?" the barista asked, ready to turn away and prepare your drink before you stopped her.

"No, today I'd like it black, a plain dark roast," you replied.

A bitter drink for a bitter situation.

"Oh, alright then."

You could hear the hesitance linger in the barista's voice as she walked to the machine. It only took a couple minutes for the girl to prepare your simple order before handing it to you. Thanking the young woman, you bent down to pull some cash from your purse, coming up to see a stunned expression as she looked at your chest. Without thinking, you quickly looked down to be met with the sight of your necklace and the two rings dangling from it. Before the worker could speak, you placed the money on the counter and walked over to an isolated table– conveniently enough, it was the same table you and your husband would sit at, the one you always sat at since your first visit to this cafe.

"Yuck, how do you drink this Mommy?"

"Well, it's simple dear, you just bring the cups to your lips and-"

"I know how to drink, Mommy, but how can you drink something so icky?"

The mother lightly chuckled.

"Well, how would you have made it?"

"Hmmm...Here! Try my hot cocoa, Mommy! It is much better than that yucky drink."

"Oh, I bet it is, Sweetie."

You could hear them smiling as the mother-daughter pair giggled, enjoying their shared time, reminding you of a similar moment you shared with your lover– you were happy for them, nevertheless. Bringing the cup to your lips, you took a whiff of the dark brew, letting the scent linger for a while before taking a sip. The rich taste was almost foreign but satisfying nonetheless, at least that is what you told yourself as you slumped in your chair.

The room went eerily quiet as eyes were drawn to your form, watching as you cried into your beverage. Your shoulders shook as you sobbed breathily, putting the cup onto the table to cover your mouth to muffle your soft cries, your other hand placed gently on your stomach. You knew that they were looking at you, that you were causing a scene– it was embarrassing, but you didn't care. You had the right to grieve because god...

That coffee was so fucking bitter.

[hotchnerobsessed]

For Your Eyes Only

Fem!Reader x Hotch | You surprise Aaron with boudoir photos and a new lingerie set for Valentine’s Day.

Warnings: 🤭+🥵 Tons of fluff (because Vday with Aaron would be nothing short of the cutest thing ever!!) Smut [soft smut, thigh riding, fem!receiving oral, hand job, fingering, unprotected sex (please be safe everyone!!) and lots of fluffy aftercare 🥺]

Word Count: 10,012

PREVIOUS

Series Masterlist / Main Masterlist

Although this started as a stand-alone story, as I was writing it I couldn’t help but envision the same characters and scenarios that I previously wrote about in His Favourite Pair (PT1) / (PT2). [ie. the blush pink lingerie set, the fact that ‘tulip’ was their safe word, her calling him ‘my love’, and him being a big reason for her boost in confidence]. If you so choose to believe that this is a continuation of those stories, I would not be opposed to that 😉

**********

Late in the afternoon on a Saturday, you and Aaron were walking hand in hand across the tile floor of the mall. With Jack at his Aunt’s for the weekend, you two had decided you wanted to get out of the house for a bit. You hadn’t come here with anything specific in mind, you were okay simply spending time wandering around, just being together.

As countless storefronts passed by, few caught your attention. It wasn’t until the sign for your favourite lingerie shop was in sight that you felt the excitement to browse the racks. With a slight tug on his arm, you spoke through an excited smile, “Ooo, I want to look around in here!”

Looking down at you, he couldn’t help the smile that creased the corners of his eyes; the joy on your face made his heart melt. “Okay,” he nodded, “I’ll wait for you.”

With an exaggerated pout making it’s home on your face, you asked playfully, “you’re not going to come in with me? I just need a new bra.” You laughed softly, “you saw the one I was wearing last week, it’s seen better days.”

As his eyes scanned the storefront, row after row of lacy material clear as day, he finally looked back at you. You’d been together for a little over 2 years now, and he’d seen you in your underwear before. Hell, he’d seen you in much less than that. He’d only hesitated because he didn’t want to intrude on your personal time, if you wanted to do this yourself. But he couldn’t deny how good it felt knowing you were comfortable having him accompany you while you picked something out.

“You’ve got a point there,” he laughed, knowing it was definitely on its last legs, “I can come in if you’d like me to.”

Without a word, the excited giggle that escaped your lips made it clear you were happy with his answer. With your hand still gripping his, you pulled him towards the store, and only let go of his hand once you began flipping through the racks.

Even though you weren’t there for anything special, you couldn’t help but have a look through everything any time you were there. As your fingers trailed along the different fabrics, everything from the flowery lace to the irresistibly smooth silk, you couldn’t help but look up at Aaron every so often. Although he was doing his best to hide it, he looked like a kid in a candy store.

You took note of the way he lingered in front of one item in particular. As your eyes lifted from the rack you were looking through, you saw him hesitate, feet planted firmly in place as he slowly reached out to feel the material. A gorgeous royal blue set, elegant in how minimal the pattern was, hung on the rack beautifully. The thin lace trim along the edges was accentuated by a simple bow between the cups.

He wondered what the bold colour might look like on you. He laughed internally as he thought to himself, “she would look stunning in anything.” As his thumb ran across the soft material, he couldn’t help but imagine it sliding smoothly beneath his palms while you were wearing it. For a split second, his mind slipped even farther into the fantasy, daydreaming about pulling you into his lap, lingerie still in tact, your bodies impossibly close.

He cleared his throat, a sad attempt at ignoring the thoughts that now consumed his mind. Blinking a few times, trying to refocus on reality, he pulled his eyes away from the material. In no time, he was glancing over at you, and he was immediately aware that he’d been caught. The cheeky smile that was plastered across your face made heat rush to his cheeks, before you gleefully looked away.

Unwilling to be apart from you any longer, he made his way through the aisles until he was standing right next to you, his hand slipping effortlessly around your waist. With a slight squeeze of your hip, he asked, “any luck finding something?”

Holding your hand up, you showed him the two you’d found. The same style you always went for, one a simple black, and the other a gorgeous light purple.

“Yep! I think I’m good to go now..” you paused, looking up at him before hinting at the set he’d had his sights on, “unless there’s something you’d like me to add?”

His pupils dilated, he couldn’t deny the urge he felt to say yes. But he knew you didn’t need it. You already had a variety of different styles and colours, which you’d proudly worn for him in the past, every single one of which he loved. Besides, it was you he was attracted to, not some flimsy fabric. Laughing lightly, he shook his head, “no, it’s okay. You get what you need.”

Raising your eyebrows at him, you gave him a second to change his mind, but he didn’t budge. “Okay..”

As you made your way to the register, Aaron was glued to your side, hand still resting on your hip, and you could feel the tension beginning to build. Though you weren’t going home with a new outfit to show off, you were still going home with him, his mind now full of all kinds of wonderful ideas, and you were prepared for whatever was to come.

The second your card was back in your purse, and the cashier was sliding your bag across the counter, he was reaching for your hand. He swiftly made his way out of the store, pulling you along behind him. You couldn’t help but laugh at how urgent his movements were, “Aaron,” you laughed, “slow down, I have short legs remember?”

He was quick to reduce his strides, “sorry, sorry..” he apologized, “I just..” he cleared his throat, “I can’t wait to get you home.” He said those last words as he looked down at you, red hot desire burning in his eyes. Your lips parted as you breathed out heavy, and he couldn’t help but smile at the affect his words had on you.

As you reached the vehicle, you were both quick to climb into your seats, and before you knew it he was whipping out of the parking lot and racing home. The entire drive, he had his arm stretched out, his hand grasping the inside of your thigh, only inches away from where your body was now aching.

If simply seeing that set hanging on the rack had him this wound up, you knew you had to have it.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

After the passion of that night, you’d found it difficult to push the memory of him running his thumb along the material out of your mind. As that tiny moment played over and over, you tried harder each time to ignore the urge you felt to rush back to the store and buy it.

Until an idea finally hit you; you were going to get boudoir photos taken in that set, just for him.

You’d always envied girls who were confident enough to take boudoir photos. The intimacy of sharing your body with someone else had always been something you struggled with, even if it was only to be photographed. But now, knowing Aaron, your sweet, loving, gentle Aaron, was going to be on the receiving end of them, made a thrill run down your spine.

You made a point of stopping at the mall on your way home from work the next day. Walking into the store, you made a bee-line straight for the spot you’d seen it hanging a few days earlier and flipped through until you found your size. Making a quick trip to the change rooms just to be sure, you couldn’t help the excitement that consumed you over how well it fit; it was almost like Aaron had just known it would be perfect for you.

In no time at all, you were back in your vehicle and checking your emails. You’d spent the entire evening before searching for the photographer who’s style you liked best. After settling on one you felt drawn towards, you’d emailed her and was now anxiously awaiting a response. As you refreshed your emails, you were sad to see your inbox free of any new messages, but you knew you needed to be patient. After all, it hadn’t even been 24 hours.

Luckily, it wasn’t long before you heard back from the photographer, and you felt nothing but pure joy as you read through the email. As you took in all the information about what would be included in the session, as well as pricing and final product options, made it all feel so real. In a matter of days, you had a date set, and now all you could do was wait.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

The few weeks between picking a date, and the day finally arriving, were excruciating; you could hardly contain your excitement. And although it was a surprise you knew he was going to love, you hated that you felt like you were keeping something from Aaron. But the day was finally here, and the butterflies in your stomach were alive and well, in the best way possible.

You’d been informed that there was a limit of 5 outfit changes per session. Not one to miss out on the opportunity for variety in your outfits, you packed your bag for the day with 4 sets you already owned that you knew Aaron loved, along with the stunning new one.

As you arrived at the studio, you were in complete awe of just how gorgeous her set up was. The large space was home to three tall windows letting in a breathtaking amount of natural light. A sheer tapestry hung on the main wall, adding a colourful pattern as the backdrop for the set.

The bed was centered on the wall, but angled slightly to add some dimension, with space between the bed frame and the wall so the photographer could capture every angle. Along the back wall was a classy velvet couch, paired with a full length mirror. And to top it all off, there was a gorgeous patterned rug in the middle of the room that you would find out was perfect for showing off that arch in your back flawlessly.

You got along with your photographer immediately, having built a bit of rapport throughout your emails, the two of you really clicked in person. She’d asked ahead of time if there were certain poses you were for or against, as well as certain parts of your body you might want to accentuate or shy away from.

You were honest, making it known that as much as you were more than excited for the confidence boost this was going to bring you, you were doing this for him. It had been a long road to loving the body you were in, and you knew a lot of the progress you’d made was because of Aaron and his constant affirmations and encouragement, and you wanted to focus on that.

You knew how much he loved your hips, his hands seeming to find their way there in almost any circumstance, whether innocent or not. You knew your breasts needed to be a main focus, with the amount of love and care he constantly showered them with. And lastly, he was always drawn to your thighs, with either a gentle hand on your leg, or how frequently he commented on how right it felt when he was buried between them.

The shoot went incredibly well; you felt sexy, and confident, and you quite honestly didn’t want it to end. With every preview you saw of the photos in between poses, you couldn’t contain the joy you felt. If you could go back in time and tell your younger self that you’d be here right now, you would have laughed. Instead, here you were, thrilled that you were giving yourself the chance to express yourself in such an intimate and empowering way.

When the session was over, you sat down with her as the photos all popped up one by one on her computer, and you began the selection process. With so many to choose from, you had to narrow it down to a total of 31 photos (typically to allow for 6 of each outfit, and 1 on the intro page), all of which would be printed in a photo album, one with a sleek black cover where you would have the phrase “for your eyes only” embossed in the center.

The last thing you did before finishing the selection of photos to be included was making one specific request; when the photo album was being designed and printed, you wanted the photos in that new royal blue set to be on the final pages. You wanted those photos to be the very last ones he saw.

As time passed, you found yourself more and more impatient as you waited for your photo album to be complete. It was the end of January when you’d received an email update from your photographer letting you know that it was ready. Picking it up from the studio, you two looked through it just to make sure it was what you wanted, and you couldn’t ignore the excitement that welled in your chest. It was perfect, and you could only imagine how Aaron would react once he had it within his grasp. You thanked her profusely for everything, and left feeling lighter than air.

On the drive home, you tried to come up with a plan for how you were going to give it to him, and that’s when you realized you were only a little over two weeks way from Valentine’s Day. Though it hadn’t been your original intention, and waiting the extra 17 days might just prove to be more difficult than you’d imagined, you decided you were going to wait.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

When February 14th finally rolled around, those same butterflies you’d felt on the day of the photoshoot were back. You two had decided on a romantic walk through the Moongate Garden, and a nice dinner out, before returning home to spend the rest of the evening in. You couldn’t wait to give Aaron his gift, and you eagerly anticipated what was surely to follow.

You’d picked this specific dress for a reason; it was an almost identical match to the colour of the new lingerie set you were wearing underneath. The way the dress hugged your curves in all the right places made your confidence grow, with the v-neck accentuating your breasts flawlessly, and the long sleeves giving it a light and airy feel. Turning around and looking over your shoulder in the mirror, you couldn’t help but smile at how well it followed the curve of your hips; Aaron was going to have a field day.

You slipped into your heels before exiting the bedroom to find him sitting on the edge of the couch, patiently waiting for you to finish getting resdy. As his eyes lifted and connected with yours, his jaw visibly dropped, as he blinked a couple times. Taking in the sight of you in front of him, he stood and immediately made his way towards you, “you’re absolutely stunning, sweetheart.”

You felt heat rise in your cheeks as you reached your hands out to him, “thank you, Aaron. You don’t look too shabby yourself,” you admitted, gently grabbing hold of his tie.

He smiled down at you, before you tugged lightly on his tie, pulling his lips to yours and kissing him tenderly. His hands finding their way to your hips like they always did, he pulled you closer to him, and sighed contentedly against your lips. He broke away from the kiss so he could lean forward and whisper in your ear, “let’s get going, before I change my mind and decide to keep you home all night..”

An excited chill ran through your body and straight to your core, as you tried your best to play it off like you weren’t affected by his words, “always such a tease..” You spoke as your placed a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth, before letting go of his tie and making your way towards the door.

He eagerly followed, and before you knew it you were walking hand in hand through the stunning garden, just as the sun was setting. The warm orange glow from the sky made everything breathtaking; if you’d asked him, he would have said that included you.

A couple hours later, you were making your way back to your vehicle after enjoying a fantastic dinner at one of your favourite spots. Once you were both settled in your seats, you thanked him for the wonderful evening.

“I should be thanking you,” his voice was soft as he spoke, “you’ve been putting up with me for nearly three years now,” he teased, “I can promise you, I’m the lucky one.”

Although you knew he was teasing in that moment, you also knew there was always that hint of feeling unworthy of love that lingered in the back of his mind. Like at any moment the other shoe would drop and you would leave him, too. But you were quick to put his mind at ease, “Hey.. We’re in this together, remember?” He nodded gently. “I love you, Aaron.”

After that exchange, you knew you couldn’t have picked a more perfect night to give him his gift. You wanted him to know how much you cared for him, how much you trusted him, and how much you desired him. Surely giving him a photo album full of intimate photos, just for him, would do the trick.

He leaned over the centre console of the vehicle and kissed your lips tenderly. “Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart.”

Your eyes smiled back at him, “Happy Valentine’s Day, my love.”

Before pulling out of the parking lot, he was reaching into his jacket pocket in search of something. As his hand came into view, you saw him grasping a tiny silver box with a simple red ribbon holding it shut. He was silent as he handed it to you, and you reached out to pick it up gently. You looked up at him and he smiled softly in return, “open it.”

Sliding the ribbon off the side, you pulled back the top of the box and a smile graced your lips as you took in the sight of the gorgeous necklace in your hand. He knew you so damn well. Gold jewelry, minimalistic in style, with the dainty outline of a tulip, your favourite flower, pressed into the metal.

You looked up at him, the love you had for him clear as day in your eyes, “Aaron.. it’s perfect.”

A bashful smile lit up his face, “yeah? You like it?”

Nodding your head, you leaned forward and kissed him gently, “I love it.” You smiled at each other as you placed one last peck against his lips, “thank you.”

There was no hiding the smile on his face, “you’re welcome. I love you, Y/N.”

Your heart fluttered, “I love you, too.” Excitement settled deep in your chest as you spoke once more, “and I have something for you, but it’s at home.” Nodding in response, he put the vehicle in reverse and was soon pulling out of the parking lot.

On the drive home, you’d pulled the necklace out of the box and fastened it in place. Pulling down the visor in front of you, you looked in the mirror and admired how perfect it looked hanging around your neck. With a quick glance to the side, he smiled, clearly agreeing.

Once home, he held your hand as he lead you up the front walkway and through the door. Flipping the lock, he turned to face you and you wordlessly stepped together, connecting your lips immediately. It wasn’t long before he was leading you towards the couch, not wanting to be without you on top of him any longer.

As he turned his back to the couch, getting ready to fall back and pull you into his lap, you paused. Pulling your lips away from his, you looked him in the eyes as you rested your palms against his chest and playfully pushed him backwards. Once his back was flush against the couch, and you were standing in front of him, you slowly leaned forward and whispered in his ear, “wait here.”

He exhaled hard as he watched you walk away. You glanced over your shoulder, teasingly making sure he was still sitting there, and he had to pull his eyes away from the way your hips swayed effortlessly in that dress to meet your line of sight. A cheeky smile spread like wildfire across his face when he realized he’d been caught.

Digging to the back of the closet where you’d hidden the photo album, you grabbed hold of it and swiftly made your way back out to the living room. He could tell you were holding something behind your back, and he raised an eyebrow at you in question.

Sitting on the couch next to him, the album still hidden, you did your best to explain what your intentions were, and how much it meant to you, before simply handing it over. “So.. this is something I’ve always wanted to do..” you trailed off, and he listened intently, an encouraging smile on his face, “but it took a long time for me to get to the point where I was comfortable and confident enough to do it.”

Although he wasn’t sure exactly what you were talking about just yet, he continued to listen, reaching out and placing an encouraging hand on your knee. “So, as much as this is a gift for you, it’s also a thank you. For helping me grow into my skin, and for loving me the way you do. You say you’re the lucky one, but it’s not lost on me how thankful I am to have you either.” The way his face lit up at your words made your heart swell.

Bringing his hand up to the side of your face, he leaned close and kissed your forehead gently, “I love you so much, my sweet girl.”

The soft smile on your face soon transformed into a giddy one, and the butterflies in your stomach made themselves known once again. “Okay..” you breathed out, “this is for you..”

Your whole body shook excitedly as you brought it out from behind your back, his eyes following your hands intently as you placed it in his lap. As he read the four words written on the front in gold script, “for your eyes only”, he ran his fingers across the letters as he slowly looked up at you.

Repeating his sentiment from earlier, you simply said, “open it,” as a soft smile pulled at the corner of your lips.

Glancing back down at the album in his hands, he pulled open the cover and was greeted with a stunning close up of you from the shoulders up, but it was still clear what you were wearing. Your eyes were closed and your head was tilted to the side slightly, with one hand grasping one of the straps and pulling it off your shoulder. A simple handwritten note underneath read:

“For Aaron: my joy, my heart, my world.”

Blinking a few times, he looked back up at you and you could see the realization on his face. The love he had for you was radiating from the smile that crinkled his eyes, before he pulled his gaze away from you, focusing back on the pages in front of him. The nerves that had settled deep in the pit of your stomach slowly dissipated once he flipped the page and let out an airy breath.

The spread on the first two pages was a collage of which outfits were to come, all close up shots of the details of each set; all of them except the royal blue one that is. As his eyes trailed across the page, if it wasn’t already clear they were photos of you, there was no denying it now, as he immediately recognized the different pieces you’d worn for him in the past. Reaching his hand out, he gently trailed his fingertips along the page, taking in each photo, one after the other.

The first photo was of a flawless white set, floral lace covering the surface and adding small pops of colour throughout. It was the first set you’d ever worn for him, on your first anniversary.

The second photo was of a sexy red set, tiny hearts scattered across it, the sheer material making your nipples visible. You’d worn it for Valentine’s Day the year before.

The third photo was of a gorgeous blush pink set, and one of his favourites, the lace making you look absolutely divine. This set was always a go-to for both of you, especially after a certain instance when you’d snuck the panties into his suitcase.

The fourth and final photo was of a stunning burgundy set, one that had added straps across the top of both of your breasts, accentuation their curves. He’d bought this one for you as a Christmas gift your second year together.

You watched his face intently as he took it all in; the way his lips parted slightly, and his eyes lingered on each photo, made pride well in your chest. He finally looked back up at you, and you could see the desire beginning to burn behind the love and care in his eyes. Leaning towards you, he reached his hand up to capture the back of your neck, before pulling your lips to his passionately.

Almost unable to contain yourself, you leaned into it and cupped his face with both of your hands, as your tongues danced with each other momentarily. You finally pulled back, both of you near breathless, and you rested your forehead against his.

“Fuck, I love you..” he whispered.

You let out an airy laugh, “I love you, too..” You kissed his lips once more before stating, “keep looking..”

There was no hiding the eagerness in his eyes now, but he pushed it aside for the time being, knowing both of you wanted him to finish looking through the entire album. Little did he know, he was in for quite the surprise, and you couldn’t wait.

As he flipped through the pages, image after image of you showing yourself off for him seared themselves into his mind. One particular photo he hesitated on was one of you kneeling in front of the mirror. Facing the camera, with your back to the mirror, it gave him the perfect view of all of you. The way your hair fell to the side when you tilted your head, with your fingers in your hair. The way your thighs looked, spread ever so slightly, inviting him in. And the way your ass rested gently on your heels, looking all too perfect for his hands to grasp.

After that one, he needed to take a second to gather himself. There were still a few pages to go, and he was already turned on beyond belief. He cleared his throat and swallowed hard, before breathing deep and looking up at you. “You are so gorgeous, my girl. I can’t believe I get you all to myself.”

You blinked slowly a couple times, the way his dominant and possessive side flickered in his tone made heat pool between your legs. You leaned forward to kiss his lips tenderly, “I’m yours. All yours.”

Your words made it next to impossible for him to continue, wanting nothing more than to toss the album aside and start undressing you right then and there. But he didn’t. With his jaw clenched, he turned back to the album in front of him, before taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out.

Finally turning the page once more, there they were, the stunning photos of you in that royal blue set scattered the pages in full colour. With your eyes locked on him, you felt your body exhale at the way his jaw dropped, and his eyes widened, “is this.. that’s the same..” He was having a hard time articulating the emotions running through his mind. It was the same set he’d been dreaming of for months, he knew it.

Lifting his head, he eagerly looked at you in search of reassurance of what he knew was true. You nodded enthusiastically, and before you could speak, his lips were crashing into yours again. Giggling through the kiss, you reluctantly pulled away and confessed, “I went back the next day.. I couldn’t resist.”

His eyes scanned your face longingly; he was in complete disbelief over the fact that the amount of love he felt for you was able fit inside his chest at once. He didn’t know what he’d done in his life to deserve to have you by his side, but here you were, and you were his entire world.

At a complete loss for words, he simply turned his focus back to the photos in his hands. It was the way your breasts fit perfectly inside the cups, and the way the cheeky cut of the underwear made your ass look divine. He couldn’t stop staring. He was slow to turn the page, as more photos filled his mind, doing nothing but making him fall even deeper in love with you.

You’d done all of this for him. He could hardly believe it. You two had been intimate together countless times before, so seeing you like this was nothing new. And yet somehow, this was completely different. This was more permanent, he’d have it forever. It was something he would be able to turn to when you weren’t there. It would be a reminder of the love you had for him. Not to mention the fact that you’d gone to the effort of putting yourself out there in a way you never thought you could before, just to prove to him that he was worthy of love. Maybe he was doing something right after all.

The last two pages had a single photo on each, both taking up the entire page. The first was one of you in the middle of the floor on that gorgeous rug, with your knees bent and toes pointed, your back arching off the floor, and your hair shining flawlessly in the light. The second was a shot of you in the centre of the bed, lying on your stomach, arms stretched above your head with your ass in the air slightly, your hair the perfect amount of tousled as it fell to the side.

With another deep breath out, he closed the back cover of the album and carefully set it on the coffee table in front of him. Looking over at you, he spoke breathlessly, “come here..” In no time at all, he was reaching out to you, hands finding their way to your hips as he pulled you into his lap, finally. Kissing you passionately, a soft giggle of yours made him smile against your lips, before you both wrapped your arms around each other and held on tight.

You whispered against his neck, “so.. do you like it?”

Pulling back from your embrace slightly, his arms still around your waist and your hands now on his shoulders, he confessed, “do I..” he trailed off, taking a moment to gather his thoughts, “sweetheart.. I love it. And I love you.” With one hand now resting on the side of your face, he ran his thumb across your cheek lovingly. “It’s an incredibly generous gift. You did all of that, for me?” he breathed out hot, “I just.. I have no words.. I don’t know how I could ever thank you enough.”

As you listened to his words, your heart swelled, and you couldn’t help the flustered smile that made its home on your face. Leaning forward, you kissed him once more before looking him in the eyes and admitting cheekily, “well.. I can think of a few things..”

He didn’t need to be asked twice, as he smiled wide at your implication, before connecting his lips to yours once more. With both of his hands back on your hips, he pulled you even father into his lap, as your lips parted to allow his eager tongue to slip past. He kissed you deep, and slow, with your fingers carding through his hair, you tugged ever so gently, causing him to moan against your lips.

He was still urgent in his movements, still desperate to have you, but things had taken an unexpected turn. Something about the vulnerability of you putting yourself out there like that, just for him, had turned the evening on it’s axis. What you both thought was going to be a night full of hungry, rough, and heated sex, had quickly turned into what you now both understood was going to be a night of making tender, deep, and passionate love with each other.

Regardless of how things progressed, one thing was always true, and that was the care he put into making sure you were more than satisfied by the end of the evening. And tonight would be no different.

You felt his hands slowly move from your hips to slide along your thighs. Once he reached the hem of your dress, he began pushing the material back, exposing you to him. As one hand slid even farther under your dress, he applied gentle pressure with his thumb, caressing your core through the thin fabric of your underwear. The second his thumb made contact with the material, he knew exactly what you were wearing.

Halting his movements, he pulled his lips away from yours to look you in the eyes, his pupils blown wide. “You’re wearing the blue one, aren’t you?” You nodded lightly, your breathing laboured. He swallowed deep, “you’ve been wearing it all night?”

You nodded again, “oops.. did I forget to tell you that part?” you teased.

The way his eyes darkened made heat pool between your legs, “fuck sweetheart.. show me..”

He helped you up, and once you were standing in front of him, you leaned forward and gently grabbed hold of his tie. “Okay.. but you first..”

He didn’t hesitate, tugging on the knot and pulling the fabric from around his neck before tossing it aside, making you both laugh. Kneeling in front of him, you started working on his belt while he pulled his suit jacket off and undid the buttons on his shirt. In no time at all, he was stripped down to nothing but his boxers, his already hard length making itself know.

Before standing again, you leaned forward and trailed kisses across his chest, and down his stomach, before placing one final kiss against him through the fabric of his boxers. You smiled at the moan that escaped his lips as you did, causing your walls to clench around nothing.

Knowing the new lingerie would mean he’d want you to undress for him, you’d planned for it. You wanted to make it easy for yourself by picking something that not only matched the lingerie set, but was stretchy enough that it would come off easily. Once you were standing, you carefully pulled the sleeves down one at a time, slipping your arms out the top.

You effortlessly hooked your thumbs in the now crumpled material, pulling it down past your breasts, and past your waist, before finally dropping it to the floor. With the lingerie set now on full display for him, accentuated beautifully by the dainty gold necklace still hanging around your neck, he was nearly speechless once again. “You.. sweetheart, you’re..” he mumbled, “fuck, you’re so gorgeous..”

Smiling at his flustered confession, you moved forward in an attempt to rest your weight in his lap once more. As you did, he spread his legs slightly, and guided one of his knees between yours. It didn’t take long for you to figure out why he’d done what he had, as your already soaking core made contact with his thigh.

With his hands immediately finding their way to your hips, he encouraged you to begin rocking back and forth, dragging your still clothed core along the muscles in his thigh. The feeling was already so good, as you tipped your head back, your hair falling behind your shoulders, giving him a direct view of the stunning colour that clothed your body.

He gently ran his palms up your sides, before bringing them to the front of your body, cupping your breasts in his large hands. As he ran his thumbs across the material, you both knew this was exactly what he’d imagined in the store that day. You on top of him, using him to make yourself feel good, as he trailed his palms along the material; the thought made heat rush through your veins.

With your hands planted firmly on his chest, keeping yourself steady, your body got used to the familiar contact in no time, and you desperately needed more. The moan that escaped your lips told him as much, so his hands were back on your hips in an instant, gripping your soft flesh with his fingertips, and helping you move faster.

“Does that feel good, sweetheart? he asked, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear you say it anyway. When you simply nodded your head in response, he prompted you again, “Yeah?”

Your heart was racing, “yes..” you admitted between deep breaths, “Aaron, it feels so good.”

With your climax quickly approaching, he could feel the tension building with how uneven your movements had become, “are you going to cum for me?” Again, you could only nod in response, your breathing getting more and more ragged by the second; the feeling was almost too much. “Good, that’s my good girl. You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” he encouraged, “fuck, you look so good like this.”

Bringing your hands up to the side of his face, you pulled his lips to yours and kissed him deeply. He was quick to respond, kissing you back with just as much passion, all while his hands still had a firm grasp on your hips. As you got closer and closer to the edge, you felt the muscles in his thigh tense, and you knew he was doing it on purpose.

Separating your lips from his, you rested your forehead against his. “Ohhh..” you moaned, “Aaron, I’m close.. I’m so close..”

With a huge grin on his face, he kept a firm grasp on your hips, “yeah, that’s it, cum for me sweet girl..”

The praise that fell of his lips was all you needed, as your body crested the wave. With your body shaking, and hips stuttering, you felt relief consume your mind as he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you into his chest. You gently wrapped your arms around his shoulders with what little energy you had left in you, and nuzzled your head into his neck.

Your heavy breathing began to slow as he gently ran his fingers through your hair and whispered in your ear, “shhh, shhh, there you go. I love you so much, sweetheart. Yeah, just breathe.”

Once you’d caught your breath again, you laughed softly against his neck, “shit.. that was so good.”

He laughed right along with you, “yeah? You liked that, huh?” You hummed in agreement, before nuzzling your body even closer to his.

With his arms still holding you close, his palms exploring your soft skin, he trailed his fingers along the back of your bra, revelling in the way the smooth material complimented your skin so flawlessly.

It wasn’t long before your hips started moving along his thigh once again, and he couldn’t help but chuckle, “does my girl want more already?”

Sighing heavily, your body still impossibly close to his, you admitted, “yes, more, please..”

With a huge smile on his face, he encouraged you to lift your weight off his lap so you could readjust, “lay back sweetheart, let me take care of you..”

Exhaling deep at his words, you didn’t hesitate, allowing him to help you lay back, your shoulders resting on the arm of the couch. It was a tight squeeze with both of you laying on the couch, but you’d made it work so many times before that it was like second nature for both of you. The way you spread your legs wide for him, and the way he nuzzled himself between your thighs, right where he always loved to be.

Gazing down at him, eyelids still heavy under the weight of your first release, you watched as he gently ran his fingers along the outside of the fabric covering your soft lips. “You’re so wet, sweetheart, we’ve ruined these already..” he spoke through a smirk, before he leaned forward and kissed you gently through the material.

He took his time, getting you riled you up ever so slowly with soft kisses against the outside of your panties, before finally pulling the now soaking fabric to the side and eagerly attaching his lips to your body. The moan that graced your lips was music to his ears, and in no time at all, he felt the familiar tugging of your hands in his hair. Allowing your head to drop back, you did your best to relax and enjoy the pleasure he was offering. With long, firm swipes of his tongue through your folds, he took his time devouring you.

With one arm wrapped around your hip, his hand lying flat against your stomach holding you in place, he continued with the calculated motions of his tongue against your body. But it wasn’t long until the familiar feeling of him lining his fingers up with your entrance consumed your mind. And before you knew it, he was slowly guiding two fingers between your tight walls, his name blissfully falling off your lips.

With a slight curling motion, he gently ran the pads of his fingers against that spongey spot inside you, over and over and over. All the while, his tongue was still dancing effortlessly against your swollen clit.

“Oh fuck.. yeah, right there..” you could feel the smile that spread across his face at your pleas, “Aaron.. don’t stop, oh please don’t stop.”

In a matter of seconds, he felt your walls clenching around his fingers, as your grasp on his hair tightened. Slowing his movements ever so slightly, he drew your pleasure out of you as long as you would allow, until he felt your slight nudge on his head telling him that was enough.

As you desperately tried to regain your composure, your chest heaving, he trailed soft kisses along the inside of your thighs in between words of praise. “That’s my girl..” a tender kiss on the inside of your knee, “so sexy when you’re cumming for me..” another gentle kiss farther up your thigh, “so beautiful, sweetheart.”

Resting his cheek against the inside of your thigh, he slowly brought his fingers back up and gently ran them through your folds, smiling wide at the way your body shuddered at the overstimulation. As a gentle laugh escaped your lips at the feeling, you finally lifted your head and looked down at him. As your eyes met, you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face as he placed another gentle kiss against the inside of your thigh.

Repeating his sentiment from earlier, you reach your arms out to him and whispered, “come here..”

Without hesitation, he carefully pulled your hips farther down the couch so you’re shoulders were flat against the cushions, causing you to giggle lightly. With his body now caging you in from above, you wasted no time in wrapping your legs around his waist, with your hands on either side of his face, pulling his lips to yours. You could taste your own release on his tongue, and it made heat rush through your veins, as you hummed against his lips.

“Aaron..” you mumbled, “I want to feel you..”

“Okay..” he mumbled just as you had, “here?” inquiring if you wanted to get more comfortable in the bedroom.

Nodding softly, you admitted, “right here. I just want you..”

He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth, “okay.” Placing a gentle kiss to your forehead, he swiftly leaned back and removed his boxers, tossing them to the side.

Hovering over you again, he gently caressed the side of your face with one hand, while carefully lining himself up with the other. Gazing into your eyes, he asked softly, “you ready, sweetheart?” You nodded, your soft hum of agreement gripping his chest in the best way.

With that, he was gently pushing his hips closer to yours, his length stretching you inch by inch. As your lips parted, a soft sigh escaping, he dropped his head beside yours and you felt your body exhale at the way he groaned in your ear.

He started slow, pulling out of you gently before pushing back into you, and you could have sworn you’d never felt him this deep before. The way his hands instinctively found their way into your hair, the way his breath on your neck made you shiver, and the way his body rubbed blissfully against your clit, had your body tightening around him.

With your legs still around his waist, pulling him closer with every thrust, you held him tight with your arms around his shoulders, your nails trailing along his skin. “Oh Aaron, ohhhh fuck..” you were breathless again, “you’re so deep.. I love you so much..”

With another quiet moan in your ear, he trailed kisses along your neck, “I love you too, my girl..” His lips captured yours once more, and he swallowed the sounds you made as he began moving faster. With every drag of his length out of your walls, and every passionate thrust forward, you felt yourself getting closer and closer to another climax.

With one more gentle nudge of your body with his, you felt ecstasy wash over you. “Yeahhh, there you go..” he whispered against your neck, “that’s my good girl.. fuck you feel so good..” Your breathing was laboured, as your grasp on his body tightened, holding him impossibly close.

As you slowly began to catch your breath again, he trailed gentle kisses along your neck, and your jaw, before capturing your lips with his once more. And once you felt like you’d recovered enough, you spoke excitedly, “okay, now it’s my turn..” as you encouraged him to sit up.

Once he was sitting, his back against the couch, you straddled his lap, and immediately his hands were on your hips. With your panties still pulled to the side, you reached behind your back and undid the clasp on your bra. You took pleasure in watching the way his eyes were glued to your chest as you pulled the material off your body and tossed it aside.

With his hands reaching up to cup your breasts, he gently twirled your nipples between his fingers, causing your back to arch instinctually. Unable to resist any longer, you reached down between your bodies and lined him up with your core once again, before sinking down on his length.

Repeating your motions from earlier, his hands gravitated towards your hips yet again, as you began rocking back and forth. Desperately wanting to hold him close, you leaned your chest against his and wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders.

The quicker you moved, the closer he got to the edge, and through gritted teeth he confessed, “I’m so close.. sweetheart I’m going to cum..”

With one final rock of your hips, you lifted your body off his and immediately reached down to grasp him in your hand. Resting your forehead against his, you spoke softly, “yeah? Go ahead.. cum for me my love..”

With your soft fingers wrapped around him, moving up and down sensually, it wasn’t long before his body was reaching its high. With a deep moan rumbling in his chest, his hips stuttered and you smiled at the soft grunts that escaped his lips. With his hands still grasping your hips, fingertips digging into your skin, his hips bucked instinctually a couple times as he spilled his release across his abdomen. You continued with your motions until you felt the tell-tale shiver of it being too much run through his body.

He dropped his head back against the couch, a deep sigh consuming his chest, as you leaned forward and placed tender kisses along his jaw. He took a moment to simply enjoy the bliss that clouded his mind, before kissing your lips tenderly.

Once his heart rate began to slow, and he could finally catch his breath again, he stated quietly, “you didn’t.. I’m, I’m sorry.. I couldn’t last long enough for you to have another..”

Shaking your head in response, you laughed gently, “oh, no Aaron, it’s okay..” it was your turn to place a loving kiss against his forehead, “you’ve already given me my fair share..”

He objected once again, “no, you can give me one more, I know you can..” He was quick to slide one of his hands over your thigh and between your legs. You felt heat rise in your cheeks at his persistence, so you didn’t try to stop him, as his fingers found their way along your folds yet again. The soft moan you let out at the contact only urged him on.

With your hands planted firmly on his chest again, and your eyes connected with his, you lifted your hips a little father, just as he slipped two fingers inside you. The sounds that left your lips drove him wild, as he began with those same curling motions deep within you, his thumb strategically placed on you clit.

It didn’t take much for him to get you going again, and the smile on his face made your heart flutter. “I can feel you, sweetheart.. you’re close again aren’t you?”

A soft, “mhm..” was all you could get out, as your eyelids slowly closed, giving into the pleasure.

You leaned forward and rested your forehead against his, as he kept up with those same glorious motions between your legs. Before you knew it, you felt that same euphoria reach its peak. As your fourth orgasm of the night ripped through your body, it took everything in you not to completely collapse on top of him. Your legs shook, and your breath caught in your throat, but he didn’t stop, wanting to draw it out as long as possible.

Sliding your hands up, you gripped his shoulders tight as pleasure consumed you. When it finally reached the point of too much, you breathed out his name, “Aaron..” and he swiftly pulled his fingers out.

Collapsing into his lap, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him close, sighing heavily. He laughed breathlessly against your chest, his arms circling your waist and holding you close. You both sat there for what felt like an eternity, his palms running along your back comfortingly, as you placed lazy kisses against his neck.

Breaking the silence, he whispered, “Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart.”

Trailing your kisses along his jaw, you captured his lips with yours tenderly, “Happy Valentine’s Day, my love.”

With another gentle kiss against your lips, he leaned back to look in your eyes, one hand coming up to rest on the side of your face, “let’s get cleaned up.”

You laughed softly, “okay.”

Standing from the couch, he made sure to hold your hands tight, knowing your legs would be a little unsteady in the aftermath of everything you’d just experienced. Once he was standing, he gently encouraged you to lead the way with a nod of his head. Still holding one hand in yours, he trailed close behind you as you made your way to your ensuite bathroom.

You quickly threw your hair into a messy bun, before starting the bath, checking to make sure the water was warm enough, and adding some of your favourite bubble bath. As you turned back to face him, he crouched down in front of you and slowly pulled the panties that you were still wearing down your legs, discarding them in the sink to be washed by hand later.

Grabbing a small wash cloth, he held it under the running water before kneeling in front of you once more. He gently grasped your ankles one at a time, and lifted them to rest your foot on his thigh. Each time, he guided the warm cloth up the inside of your leg, before focusing on your thigh. Finally, he very carefully ran the warmth along your folds, two, three, four times, just to make sure you were comfortable.

Placing a gentle kiss against your knee, he finally set your foot back down before standing. He used the wash cloth to clean his own thighs, before finally wiping his release off his stomach, and tossing the cloth in the sink as well.

Facing each other once again, you reached your arms out to him, and he smiled softly, pulling you into his embrace and holding you tight. He kissed the top of your head, and whispered against your hair, “thank you for the gift, sweetheart. Thank you for trusting me, and thank you for allowing me to love you.”

Looking up at him, you stood on your tiptoes and kissed his lips tenderly, wrapping your arms even tighter around him. “Anything for you, Aaron.”

With a gentle kiss to your forehead, he finally released you from his grasp, before leaning down to shut the water off. With one hand holding yours, he kept you steady while you stepped over the side of the bath and settled under the bubbles. Sliding back, you made room for him in front of you, and in no time he was lowering himself into the water facing you.

Another tight squeeze, but it was something else you’d done countless times before and was now second nature. Sliding your legs alongside each other, you both leaned back against opposite ends. With your elbow resting on the side of the bath, you leaned your head against your hand and stared at him lovingly.

The soft smile that graced your lips caused a flustered grin to spread across his face, “what are you thinking about?”

Your smile grew as you admitted, “how happy you make me.”

The love he felt for you in that moment completely took his breath away. With a sharp exhale, his eyes trailed from the messy bun top of your head, down to your lips, along your arm that was resting on the side of the bath, and finally to the gold necklace still hanging around your neck.

When he finally looked back up at you, you simply gazed into each other’s eyes as he attempted to gather his thoughts. He opened his mouth to speak, but was ultimately unable to; he found himself utterly speechless. All he wanted to do was hold you.

He carefully readjusted so his legs were on either side of your hips, and guided your feet over his thighs, pulling you close as you settled your legs around his waist. With your bodies tangled together once more, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, as one of his hands rested on your lower back, the other gently cupping the side of your face. His thumb ran back and forth across your cheek, as he placed a kiss to your forehead, then on the tip of your nose, before finally capturing your lips with his.

Pulling back slightly, he gazed into your eyes longingly and whispered, “I love you so much. I can’t imagine life without you by my side.”

Your eyes smiled back at him, and you kissed him gently before responding, “I guess that makes two of us.”

He laughed softly at your words, pulling you even closer and resting his forehead against yours.

It wasn’t long before you were both readjusting once more, so your back was leaning against his chest, his arms wrapped tight around your shoulders. As he nuzzled his head beside yours, you both stayed there for quite a while, on the verge of falling asleep, until he gently nudged you. The bubbles were long gone, and you had to admit the water was definitely starting to get cold.

Once you were both out of the bath and dried off, you followed him out to your bedroom where you slid on a pair of underwear and he pulled on some boxers and a t-shirt. In no time, he was grabbing one of those quarter zip sweaters he knew you loved so much and turning to you. “Here you go, sweetheart,” he spoke quietly as he helped you slide the soft material over your head.

In the warm glow of the bedside lamp, his heart swelled at how exquisite you looked; he couldn’t wait to curl up in bed and fall asleep with you in his arms.

The way he looked at you wasn’t lost on you, and you asked sheepishly, “what?”

He blinked slowly, nothing but love radiating from the warm smile on his face. Closing the gap between you, he gently lifted your chin so your attention was on him, as he gazed into your eyes longingly. “Oh it’s nothing really..” he teased softly, “it’s just, I love you is all..”

You felt your chest tighten, and you breathed deep as your body attempted to process the joy that consumed you. There was something about this moment, something about the love you’d just shared, and the vulnerability of the evening, that had you falling even deeper in love with him.

Standing on your tiptoes, you connected your lips with his tenderly, wrapping your arms around his waist and holding him close. When you finally pulled away, you lingered, brushing your nose against his playfully, “I love you, too..”

You could hear the smile that spread across his face, as he let out a soft laugh, cupping your face in his hands. Placing a gentle kiss against your forehead, he spoke once more, “come on, let’s get some sleep.”

With his hand on your lower back, he lead you over to the bed before pulling back the covers for you. In no time he was shutting the lamp off and climbing in beside you, rolling onto his side and reaching his hands out to you. You didn’t hesitate, tucking your arms into your chest like you always did, and allowed his strong arms to encompass your body. As he held you tight against his chest, you nuzzled your head under his chin and tangled your feet with his.

Your eyes slowly closed, and it wasn’t long before you were drifting off to sleep. The way your body relaxed in his grasp, and the way your chest rose and fell a bit heavier than it had minutes earlier, were telltale signs that you were fast asleep.

He placed a tender kiss on the top of your head, and although you couldn’t hear him, he whispered against your hair, “I’m going to marry you one day..” before closing his eyes and succumbing to his own weariness.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Tag List: @ssamorganhotchner ; @ccristata ; @anlin2058 ; @sannunah28 ; @hotchgirlsummer ; @mesnyder ; @red-red-rogue ; @chibsytelford

[firesnap]

Honestly, the more i learn the more upset i get. I've been here since pretty much the beginning of L'manburg, and got so attached to these creators and characters that seeing them one by one turn out to be assholes just hits so hard. I feel dumb but i feel like I'm in a mourning process now- I've drawn, written and thought so much about Wilbur it feels so disheartening looking back on all of it. A part of me still feels in denial, and i hate myself for it, because Shelby made it obvious and I can't ignore the victim - i support her, I'm happy she's healing, but by god do I wish it wasn't him. I wish this person i spent so long admiring and watching wasn't an abuser and i feel stupid for feeling this way, if it makes sense. I almost don't know what to do with myself now, because so much of my creative process was tied to these characters which included music, drawing, writing - I truly hope you're doing okay, since I've been following for a while and I know you were very attached to him too. I only hope for the best for Shelby and the victims, it still doesn't feel real

I'm happy she's healing too. She's got a great support system too and it's heartening to see people who knew Wilbur be on her side.

I didn't make like... true creative fan content for this community. I argued with people, I helped lazily with an update account, I wrote meta about RP characters. But I do understand that sort of "what happens now" thing. Because I still loved the things I wrote and the fun I had with that story, but it's so tied TO him that it's hard to separate. I don't think I'm deleting anything.

For everyone who has created any kind of art/writing around his character, it's up to the individual if they want to continue or not. Because these characters are ours now and have been for a long time at this point. Don't let a terrible person take that joy of creating away from you. But if you don't feel comfortable continuing to create around his character that's fine too. Just take time to figure out your feelings. Don't make any rash decisions.

I also want to emphasize that you should not feel bad about wishing it wasn't him or feeling betrayed or tricked. We don't know these people and we could have never known what he was like behind closed doors. Honestly, he was better at putting on a persona than 90% of other streamers so of course we didn't see it.

[lightlycareless]

Heyy !!

I just wanted to request if you could write something about Naoya punishing us🤭😭 you can choose why he’s punishing us cuz I don’t have any ideas ;)

And like I was rereading some chapters of your fic with Naoya and omg like , your writing is really good I literally felt in a romance book , the way you wrote each character is amazing too and I just really appreciate your work I hope you will keep writing it 😭

Heya anon!!

Of course!!! I actually had to think a bit as to how he'd punish us... or more like how I would write it, since these are two things I'm not really that experienced with yet (Naoya is always rough, I mean, when does it become a punishment? or so that's my perception lol)

But I eventually settled with something I wanted to try :) I feel like Naoya would really love doing something like this when he's not that involved with you (He's busy lmao)

Anyways, here are the warnings: slight exhibitionism? One of Naoya's brother's got very unlucky. Use of vibrators, plugs, or so. kind of dub-con if you think about it, Naoya is also a manipulator, you're an enabler. Minors DNI!!!

Now, without further a do, happy reading!

“Y/N, are you…  alright?” After much debate, a member of your staff member, Mariya, says after silently observing the rising fluster of your cheeks or the slightest hesitation in your usually nimble hands.

“Ye—yeah.” You murmur, taking breath and exhaling. “I’m just overwhelmed, that’s all.”

“Oh, are you sure you don’t want to take a break?” she suggests, which you deny almost immediately by shaking your head.

“No, I just—I’ll be fine.” You insist, and Mariya begrudgingly lets you continue, attempting her best to move past her concern and focus on her duties.

But when she sees you struggle on the simplest of tasks yet again, she’s quickly reminded that more than helping you complete your duties, she’s there to ensure your well-being; so, after relegating part of your responsibilities to nearby staff, and essentially forcing you to accept this change, Mariya leads you onto your bedroom, intending to let you rest and recover—

Until bumping onto Naoya on the way there, who after taking a quick glance at your dismayed appearance, immediately relieves Mariya of her obligations and takes you to the bedroom himself.

A gesture she takes with great elation, glad that your husband had always been attentive to you—no doubt in her mind that you’re in much better hands now…

If only he weren’t the reason behind your ailment.

“So much for holding decorum, my love…” he says upon firmly closing the door behind him. A tone so threatening, you quickly turn around to face him and spew out your defense.

“Naoya—I wasn’t—Mariya didn’t—” you gasp.

“No, I get it.” He says. “She’s your friend, your loyal companion, someone that gives you security. Were you intending to gang up on me with her, perhaps? Use her to avoid the inevitable?”

“What? N—no…!” you fretted, he closes the distance between the two. “Nao—ya—”

“On the futon—now.”

You obey immediately, making your way over to the futon and taking a seat just by the edge, fingers fidgeting amongst with other before mustering enough courage to glance up to him, flinching when seeing the smirk on his face, the indication his following acts would be nothing but etched with dark intentions—

Something you were nothing but fearful, and unprepared to face.

“You know what you ought to be doing, princess” Naoya says as he walks over to you. You try your best to move away from him, far and safe from his retribution…

But too deep into your own terror, all you could do instead is whimper as you remained there, anxiously taking in the scrutinizing way his eyes scan your body.

If he noticed the result of such struggle, he did not say. Yet, it wouldn’t take much to guess that your reaction, far from offending him, would only excite him.

“Don’t act all innocent now, it’s unbefitting of a whore like you.” He frowns. “Do not make me repeat myself.’

Pushing through the fear and embarrassment your following actions were to provide, your hands carefully grip the edges of your kimono skirt and lift it, effectively revealing the culprit behind your shaky morning, a sight that makes Naoya’s satisfaction grow, kneeling to your level so he could get a better look at the situation you’ve gotten yourself in—

All because you were a needy princess for attention.

Filling your cunt, was a vibrator that had been diligently working the moment Naoya placed it within you early in the morning—faithfully keeping you company throughout your various duties while he cruelly played with its settings from afar.

He’d either give you a false sense of comfort by lowering the vibrations, almost undetectable, enough to allow your mind to dwell onto other matters… before reminding you of your naivety by rising it to the maximum and forcing you onto disconcerting consequences.

There was no way Naoya knew where you were, or whom you were with when alternating between settings, but you wouldn’t put it beneath him to have found a way to do so—specially with what happened earlier: to the moment you were pushed dangerously close to the edge, a simple matter of enduring few more seconds of stimulation before coming undone—

And right before one of his brothers, the most innocent of all: Naofumi.

At that, you couldn’t help but suspect Naoya knew what you were doing all along, carefully planning the moment where Naofumi would naturally worry if you were ok, if you’ve perhaps been struck with an unprecedented sickness, and if there was something he could do to help you…

Before finally placing the pieces together the longer your heavy breathing went on, as the color in your cheeks deepened.

Once evident, Naofumi quickly excused himself and sprinted past the door, into the hallways and away from the scaring image of his sister-in-law having an orgasm right before him.

Oh, Naoya would’ve undoubtedly killed to see something like that.

But for now, he supposes he’ll do with what he has now.

“Fits you quite well, doesn’t it?” he says, fingers teasingly sliding across the edge of your lips, giving them a light pull and getting a better view of its lovely pink color, before licking his lips at the way your bud twitches, eventually refocusing on the other equally cruel part of this intricate arrangement:

A nicely fitting plug placed in your ass, capable of stimulating your greedy rim through various vibrations, yet decorated with a beautiful shiny pink jewel—because a desperate princess like you still deserved only the nicest.

“I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to satisfy your needy holes, but of course, my beautiful wife can never disappoint.”

Unless, of course, when you did.

“Naoya—” you whine, invertedly pushing your hips into his touch, crying when he pulls away. “Naoya please—”

“Are you serious?” He laughs, as if he couldn’t find your behavior any more amusing. “Didn’t you have enough today? You still want more?”

“I want—I want you—” you breathe, trying to rub your legs together, his hands stop you.

“Of course you do, slut.” Naoya spats. “Can’t get enough of that can you? It’s how you got into this situation, after all—because like the desperate whore you are, you always have to be looking for someone to fuck you.”

“No— No Naoya.” You frantically shake your head, before trying your best to reach for him—Naoya pushes you back. “I only want you!”

“That’s not what it looked like that day.” He growls, releasing his grasp over you, soon hearing his pants unfastening—the sight and sound sends a jolt of heat towards your cunt, making you clench in eagerness. “Don’t lie to me!”

“I would never—ah!” Naoya shuts you by landing his hand against your cunt, a loud slap and a stinging aftermath leaving you to ponder on your supposed lies. “I could never—I could never do that! —I love—”

But your words weren’t ones he could consider truthful anymore, not when he’d seen the evidence with his own two eyes:

The infuriating image of you gleefully laughing alongside his brother, the most insufferable of all, Naoaki, when he’s told you countless times to keep the fuck away from him.

Sure, he could admit knowing you were only being amicable for his sake, upkeeping your reputation as respectable lady of the house and honoring all that Naoya has worked for—but it still angered him, in such way many wouldn’t be able to comprehend, not even in the slightest, because just as he knew you, he also knew his brothers.

Saw right through their envious intentions, their jealous, lustful motivations.

Which only fueled him to let everyone know you were his.

That he’s the one you married, the one he’s claiming every single night, filling with his seed, chanting his name like it was some kind of prayer, and soon—carrying his child.

Seems a reminder is long overdue. And what better way to do so than continuously putting you through a state his foolish brothers could only dream of achieving…

But to Naoya, all he had to do was ask.

“I love you” you whimper when he pulls out the vibrator from your cunt, swiftly and without warning, leaving you empty, yet eager, for you wholeheartedly expected this agonizing void to be replaced by his intoxicating warmth…

You’d get it, of course, but not the way you anticipated, nor wanted—for Naoya would tell you that in order to obtain what you desired, you’d have to convince him you’re worthy of his cock, the pleasure you’ve been agonizingly longing for, even when overstimulated—

And like the ever-dutiful wife, you’d oblige, taking his member into your mouth and eagerly bobbing your head up and down his shaft, doing your best to show just how much you loved the entirety of him—from the tip of his head, to the prominent vein on the underside… there’s nothing more blissful than to be filled to the brim with his hardness and seed.

When feeling him close to his release, through the familiar sound of his shaky voice, tightly shut eyes as his head is thrown to the back, while heavily grunting just how good you’re making him feel, you tried to pull away from him, make him reconsider finishing inside your cunt instead.

But once more, you weren’t to receive such blessings—not when you had yet to comply with the cruel requirements of said punishment—so instead, Naoya simply pulls you back to his cock, nose against his pelvis as he does one, two, three more thrusts before emptying his seed into your mouth.

You moan at the warm strings flooding your throat, hands tightly clenching at his legs as you do your best to fight against the choking sensation his intruding member forced onto you—but as difficult this task was, your mind could only focus on the fire underneath, and the desolation you were dying to ease—

“N—No, Naoya…!” you’d cry when realizing that the only time he’d touch your cunt was to fill you with his seed but void of the pleasure he’d always given you when doing so. Instead, relegated solely to preserve his future heirs, safely guarded deep into tight walls and sealed with the same vibrator as before, to ensure nothing goes to waste. “It’s not—It’s not fair!”

A cry that makes him smirk, before his face turns sour at seeing your hands reach for your bud, undoubtedly seeking release through your own merits, him quickly peeling it away.

“If you touch yourself one more time—I’ll have you walk naked around the estate!”

There’s sincerity behind his tone, all the intentions of keeping his words if you fail once more, clear in his eyes.

And thus, without putting up a fight, you sorrowfully accept his condition, tears in your eyes as you’re bound to face another hour yet again without coming undone through the care and warmth of your husband.

Though Naoya would remind you that his actions aren’t of a cruel man, but rather, of fair one, by pressing a kiss on your cheeks, lips wiping away your tears as he sweetly reassures you…

“Just don’t do it next time, ok?” Naoya coos as he places a soft peck onto your lips, you continue quietly sobbing. “You know how I feel when you talk to my brothers… do you really want it to be like this, always?”

You shake your head.

No, of course not. You’d rather die than make your husband upset.

“Then be a good girl and do as I say.” Naoya carefully grabs your face, making you turn to him—watery eyes looking up to his surprisingly soft, promising ones. “Can you do that? Can the future mother of my children obey me?”

At the promise of becoming the mother to his heirs, your heart flutters, a soft smile appearing on your lips before eagerly revealing your response.

“Yes.”

A guarantee that would briefly provide a glimpse of your undying loyalty towards him, willing to do not only that, but more—from keeping your hands away from your burning cunt, eyes stray of all men but him, to eagerly taking his seed and only his seed, preparing for the day you’d announce you were with child…

There was nothing you wouldn’t do for Naoya. Happy to accept your punishments for actions you weren’t even aware of…

As long as you had his love.

I was actually upset that I didn't write y/n wearing a vibrator/plug on this oneshot over here, like, commit to it, you know?! That would've sent Naoya over the edge waaay earlier.

Also, thank you so much for your lovely words!! I'm so glad you're liking my fic so far :') It's always such an honor... and I've long promised myself that even if it took me a while, I will finish it!! I have to... I owe it to myself and y'all....

Anyways, thank you so much for sending in this ask!!! :> I hope it was worth the wait! I got to write something I wanted to try out... hehe. Totally worth it.

Now, take care and hope to see you soon ❤️