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easy-there-leftovers · 2 months

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Doctor

Summary: Spencer's been there when you had been feeling rather inadequate, for lack of a better term. It's about time that you return the favor. (Written with early s2! Spencer in mind)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem! (mentored by Hotch!) reader| cw: Spencer being unsure (is that a warning? lol), touchy reader, non canon case, vague timeline, reader and Spence being sapiosexual dumbasses, as per usual (weirdos) | word count: 2.3k

Budget cuts suck, especially if that meant doubling up and sharing a room with one of your colleagues. Or worse— your boss.

It's been a few months since your last GSW, and things haven't been much different. Or maybe it only was because you had been so out of the loop for a while that you hadn't noticed if it was. You hadn't changed up your routine nor your demeanor, so perhaps the others were just following your lead and brushing it off as nothing.

You still feel the occasional stares of literally anyone from your workplace, but you've learned to ignore it since dwelling on it never did you any good.

But you suppose something had changed.

Your relationship with your contemporary.

To be more specific, Dr. Reid had become more accustomed to seeking you out. Engaging in conversation with you more than the previous usual. It wasn't extremely unlike him to do so before, but his persistence has surely increased since your conversation at the hospital. Keeping to his intentions of having more dialogue between you two.

The same couldn't be said about the past week or two, however. While it didn't seem like he was completely avoiding you, you've noticed that you've had more opportunities to talk to Elle, JJ, and Morgan more than you have him. As if the overall frequency of his exchanges with everyone had somehow diminished.

You were going to find out why.

"Looks like we're doubling up." Your unit chief had briefed when you made it the shitty motel.

And your plan starts now.

Spencer feels an arm snake around his waist which makes him look up from his notes, and he's not surprised to see that it's yours. If anyone had to be making decisive contact with him, it would've been you.

"What is it?" He whispers carefully since Hotch is still talking. Used to your touch it at this point.

"Would you like to sleep with me, Dr. Reid?" He clears his throat instinctively.

Your indelicate remarks however, most likely never.

Since your little incident, he's discovered that you're less careful with your diction outside of work and it has certainly thrown him off but he knows that's just how you are. You and your forever unreadable expressions and contrasting sentiments.

Before he can answer however, Morgan's voice cuts through.

"I'm not sleeping with Reid." Everyone looks to him, except Garcia who immediately calls dibs on Derek, and he feels your arm slowly pull away.

Aaron looks from you to Spencer with that usual expression of his before exhaling deeply with crossed arms.

"I assume you're rooming with her?"

Seeing that you're no longer facing him, Spencer can only give your mentor a meek nod. Feeling the same wariness one would feel in the presence of someone's father.

The rest then picked their respective roommates and disband. Reminding one another to meet at the entrance tomorrow bright and early.

———————————————

Lately, Reid has become aware of a lot of things. Things that he never had to worry about before, but ever since Morgan had told him how you felt about the team, he had started questioning his place too.

He has never been ashamed of his intelligence. Far from it, actually. It's the one thing that he's ever been confident in and it's lead him to places that, he thinks, bettered him. Like coaching his high school basketball team, graduating with three PhD's, or getting into the BAU.

But he also fears that part of him alienates him from the others. That his intellect might be the very reason that will, or already, keep him from forming lasting and meaningful relationships. Even more troubling, that he might never live up to the expectations that everyone has of him.

Both as a colleague, and as a friend.

It's worse when the only person on the team that might not feel this way about him is you. Which then comes with its own set of problems.

You had been nothing but well-intentioned since the very start, practically shadowing him throughout everything. Being there to reinforce his confidence with your keen insight, your reflective encouragement, and your comforting presence—all things that made him feel seen.

But with the few times that you weren't there, it unnerved him. As if something was missing. Like it became an unshakeable habit to look over his shoulder and he would find you right there. So when you weren't there, it jus didn't seem right.

And he felt bad about it.

By the time that you had finished showering, you see Spencer with his hair still lightly damp from the one before yours. Head resting on his hand with a lone finger covering his mouth as if thinking deeply while sitting on the bedside's edge.

You take the opportunity to sit on the floor adjacent his tucked legs and he blinks out of his trance when he sees you lay your head on them. He doesn't mind, but he still feels a little bad.

And it's not about the shared single bed.

He felt as if he was taking advantage of your kindness. That by allowing himself to indulge in your brand of 'friendship,' he was effectively isolating you from the others. That for whatever reason, he just got lucky that you seemed to prefer him over them when he was arguably the most difficult to be with

That if you ever caught wind of his feelings towards you, it would ruin the current dynamic you had. He wasn't the type to catastrophize, he of all people should know the dangers of entertaining such thoughts, but lately your presence has had quite the influence on him.

Which is why he's been trying to make himself scarce until he found out how to deal with it.

You wait patiently by his legs. Gauging when he would finish his line of thought before asking, plainly and simply,

"How are you feeling, Spencer?"

In this room where it's just you and him, he's called 'Spencer.' No titles, no niceties, just his name. A luxury that no one else from the team has yet to earn from you.

He breathes out slowly when the pressure in his chest finally feels like too much, but he still can't seem to say what's on his mind. Worried that by telling you any of this, it would only add more weight onto your already abundant plate.

You trace your fingers on the skin that you can reach and he laughs a bit when it tickles. That seems to make you smile, and the sight makes his own grow ever so slightly before you continue,

"I'm not a doctor, nor do I have a doctorate like you—,"

"Three doctorates." He corrects and you roll your eyes playfully at that.

"Three doctorates. Fact of the matter is; I'm not a doctor but— I think I might be able to help."

You motion for him to lend you his hand, the one no longer holding his head, and he gives it to you willingly. Still feeling somewhat guilty when just that amount of contact does actually help him.

You know that you shouldn't profile your friends, but there's a reason why you're in the BAU and not anywhere else.

"So what are your symptoms?" You sense that this is a case that must be handled with a bit of humor, so you make that evident in your delivery.

He clears his throat and furrows his eyes, as if actually treating pretending that he was your patient before ultimately shaking his head with a tight-lipped smile.

"Actually, the symptoms aren't that simple." You hum at that, and get up to stand in front of him.

When he sees you get up though, he feels his hand instinctively tighten over yours. Worried that you were closing the conversation because he was being inarticulate, he goes to apologize but he feels yours squeeze him back before he can.

You notice a few stray strands of hair from your new vantage point. You carefully free both of your hands to tuck them behind his ears, and let one rest gently on the side of his face. Holding it in place, and allowing you to see his expression more clearly.

He feels a bit shy at the attention, but he finds himself leaning onto your hand with a confused expression. You breathe out in mirth and that only seems to confuse him even more.

"You better stop looking at me like that before I do something terrible."

He furrows his brows at that. Hand coming up to rest on top of yours. "Like what?"

"Wouldn't you like to know, pretty boy." You continue to observe him, much to his chagrin. Assessing the situation before sighing out.

His hesitance from earlier told you everything you needed to know.

"Do you want to try telling me again, or would you like a diagnosis now?"

He looks into your eyes and sees that you're serious so he just nods slowly. Not really sure what to expect since there's no way that you could've gotten anything from him.

"My diagnosis says that you have 'intellectual schism syndrome.' Common to manifest in young geniuses like you. Characterized by a dependence on one's intelligence as their source of fulfillment, and yet simultaneously fear it as the root of their social isolation and relational difficulties."

You pause to gauge his expression once more before continuing.

"You may have been born with all the wonderful things that help you with this job, but you need to remember that's not the reason why people care about you. You can ask for help. Your worth as an individual isn't dependent on your perceived use."

You let the words hang in the air a bit before correcting yourself, "I mean, that's only when it comes to personal relationships. This job? Well—maybe we'll think about it before kicking you to the curb."

He lifts his face from your hold, still grasping your hand, before shaking his head. As if still not understanding something but he eventually finds the words the words to express that.

"That—That's not an actual syndrome; it's not recognized nor documented in any psychological or medical literature."

You scoff at that. "Yeah, I sure it hope it's not. I'm not a doctor, remember?"

He searches your face for an answer before breathing out incredulously. "Did you know that you have an incredible knack for saying the most terrible things?"

You smile at that. "Was I wrong?"

He think about the answer to that, before shaking his head 'no.' Because you're partially right, but he'd rather not correct you on what you're missing.

He looks down at your still intertwined hands, god he's been holding onto it for a while now, before quietly asking,

"Uh, how did you—?" He trails off. Not really knowing what he's asking.

You shrug. "You forget who you're working with. I notice these things, I notice you."

He flexes his eyebrows and thinks for a moment. "So what's your prognosis?"

You look to the corner of the small motel room to think before eventually settling on an answer.

"Only you can really find that out, Spencer."

You look back to see him already looking at you. "Your intelligence is an integral part of who you are, and that's why you're here. Your intellect isn't a barrier—it's a strength. So do what you will with that information."

"What if I can't find the answer?"

"Hm,"

Your legs are starting to get tired, so you move to get on the bed with him. Making sure that there's enough space for the both of you as you settle in. "You always have friends that can help you. Miss Jareau, Sir Morgan, Sir Hotchner, Miss—“

"Even you?"

The face he's making makes your chest feel tight, like there's a pressure building there and yet you don't know why. With his unusually shy behavior, and rounder eyes, it makes your usually impassive expression (to everyone else on the team, at least) soften.

"Especially me."

You pat the spot next to you as you recognize that you should've been asleep an hour ago. Telling Reid that you two should probably sleep so that you can make it tomorrow without being tired and he does just that.

"You don't think I rely on you too much?" You furrow your brows at that. Now looking at him from down on the bed.

"Not any more than you do sir Morgan."

He tries to see the point you're making but fails. So he turns to look at you.

"I don't really...rely on him."

"Exactly."

"...So I don't?"

"How about this," you can tell that being roundabout your answer isn't going to cut it, so you're going to have to switch gears.

"I don't think you do. But even if you did, I wouldn't mind. So if you find yourself ever needing, or wanting," you punctuate this with an earnest look into his eyes, "help from me specifically, in any way, at any time, just come to me—and ask for help. Say something like um, I don't know, uh—" you shake your head as you try to think.

'I need your help,' is too vague, you hear it all the time during cases. 'Could you do me a favor,' won't work either since it doesn't really excuse the both of you so—

"Can we look at this?", "I need you?"

You laugh. Actually laugh out loud at what you just heard. The words you just said practically blended into one another to the point where you don't even know who said what anymore, but that didn't really matter.

Spencer feels his face flush, and his volume increases due to his embarrassment. "Hey, I was just trying to—"

A loud knock is heard from the room's wall, followed by Morgan's voice.

"Newsflash, kids. Some of us are actually trying to sleep. Go argue about your theories later."

The boy-genius and you make eye contact before trying to stifle your laughter, you having a much harder time than the former before revisiting the conversation.

"You know what to tell me when you need me, yeah?"

He nods.

"Let's go to sleep."

You say goodnight, before turning your back to him so you can process what's going on. You wonder if the buzzing feeling you have would go away in time for an actual restful sleep.

You could use one on this case because it seems like the more you uncover, the more you're confused. Theories of all kinds swim in your head, ready to occupy your thoughts for a little while longer before hopefully sending you to a peaceful slumber.

Hotch is going to need you two ready and working.

And because of your nerves, you don't even notice Spencer turning his back to you too. Wondering if you had been feeling the same thing he was from the situation, from the contact, from the conversation, from everything.

Unlike you, he's for sure not getting any sleep.

[a/n] Every time I write for Spencer with this reader, he just can't catch a break-- Send in some ideas for the next part of the anthology if you'd like!! Like certain character interactions, dynamics, etc. I'd like to see what you're interested in seeing :DD

taglist: @crazychaoticizzy

Like my work? Consider tipping me!!

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x mentored by hotch! reader #spencer reid comfort #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #Spencer Reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid oneshot

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batmanisagatewaydrug · 1 month

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Hi sex witch! This isn’t exactly a sex Ed question but it is related to sex. I’m aro/ace, and I’ve noticed that a lot of other aro/aces say that allos see friendship as a stepping stone to sex or romance, and less important than romantic relationships. I guess it makes sense, but my best friend irl is a gay boy (im a girl) and he obviously isn’t interested in dating an aro/ace girl. I made a post saying this and people in the notes were saying that he’s either secretly bi and lying to make me feel safe, or I’m an egg. I don’t believe either of those things but it got me wondering, is it common for allos to use friendship as a way to get close to people for the purpose of dating or having sex with them? Personally I’ve never experienced that but enough aro/aces are saying it that I have to wonder

hi anon,

okay so we need to start with the part about your best friend, because it's really important to me that we take a minute to recognize anyone trying to convince you that a gay boy is only hanging out with you because he has secret romantic feelings is being a homophobe. I mean, listen, it's annoying and childish when people act like men and women can't be friends in general, okay? but in this case they're not just being heteronormative, they're being actively homophobic. block anyone who said that. jesus christ.

secondly: I don't know if you've ever, like, spent time with people, but yes, many folks find romantic partners amongst their circles of friends because that's who they spend a lot of time with and build meaningful connections with, which can develop into feelings of sexual or romantic attraction for people who experience those things. I'd say it's less often a a case of anyone "using" friendship as a means to an end and more often a case of people realizing that a friendship is taking an exciting new direction and deciding to pursue those feelings.

there's a long-lasting trope, especially prominent it sitcoms and romcoms, of someone (usually a sleezy man) acting friendly to get close to someone else (usually a woman) with the intent of seducing them, but a.) like most works of fiction, that's much less common in real life, and b.) there's a huge difference between lying to someone intentionally and just developing a crush on someone you already know and like, which I think is the MUCH more common scenario.

like, don't get me wrong here, it's absolutely true that we live in a society(TM) that pretty materially privileges romantic relationships - specifically monogamous, legally-binding relationships - over other types of relations, and that's a fucking doozy. that's a thing to work on, for sure. but it's also not weird or creepy that some people couple up with their buddies.

#sex edventures 2024

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dark-corner-cunning · 8 months

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The Magickal Properties of Carrier/Base Oils

In ancient times, our ancestors revered the power of oils, utilizing them in sacred ceremonies, rituals, and magickal workings that spanned centuries. Today, we have the privilege of carrying on this tradition by creating our own blends using the same flora & fauna that have been cherished for millennia. The practice of crafting sacred oils connects us to our roots, offering a meaningful way to honor the past while enriching our present-day experiences.

Carrier/base oils play a crucial role in the world of magick and holistic practices. These oils, derived from plants, seeds, and animal fats, are believed to possess unique energetic properties that can enhance the potency of essential oils and other magickal ingredients we add to them. Whether used in aromatherapy, massage, ritual work, or spell work the choice of carrier oil is significant, as each oil is associated with specific magickal attributes, such as grounding, protection, or amplification of intention. Understanding the magickal properties of carrier oils can empower practitioners to create custom blends that resonate with their intentions and desired outcomes, adding an extra layer of enchantment to their craft.

Magickal Properties of Carrier/Base Oils:

These plant and seed-based oils come from my own grimoire based on my own traditions and practice.

Almond: Prosperity, Money, Wisdom

Apricot: Happiness, Contentment, Love

Argan: Healing

Avocado: Love, Lust, Sex Magick

Borage: Higher Mind, Truth, Clarity, Legal Matters

Canola/Rapeseed: Neutral Base

Castor: Protection, Absorbs Negativity

Coconut: Purification, Cleansing, Protection

Corn: Abundance, Luck, Divination

Evening Primrose: Psychic, Glamour, Clarity

Flaxseed Oil: Beauty, Protection

Grapeseed: Fertility, Money, Strengthening Mental Abilities

Hempseed: Meditation, Psychic, Healing

Jojoba: Healing

Meadowfoam Seed: Protection

Neem: Fortifies, Protection

Olive: Healing, Fertility, Protection

Peach Kernel: Fertility, Love, Fae Magick

Peanut: Grounding

Pomegranate Seed: Divination, Love

Pumpkin Seed: Health

Rosehip: Self-Love, Beauty, Glamour

Safflower: Sex, Baneful

Sesame: Hope, Faith, Positivity

Shea Butter: Calming, Longevity, Patience, Healing, Soothing, Beauty

Sunflower: Happiness, Health, Wisdom, Sun Magick

Vegetable: Neutral

#pagan witch #traditional witchcraft #witchcraft #magick #witch #witches #witchblr #witch community #witchcore #spellcraft #spellcasting #spellwork #spells #folk magic #ritual #occult #mountain witch

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violetasteracademic · 1 month

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I feel like not enough people have actually sat down and read this article, in order, in its entirety, and fully comprehend the development of this (thoroughly planned and staged ) conversation:

Take a look at those paragraphs. Then read them again. One more time for posterity.

Often times with fated mates, the bonds are intense. Metaphorical. Poetic.

But other times- there are no metaphors. The connection seemingly random.

It's after this addressing that not all mating bonds are poetic, thematic, and some are lacking in literary metaphor and meaningful connection, Sarah explains that sometimes she plans for characters to be together and then she literally cannot force them to be together.

Right now there is actually only one mating bond that even remotely fits the category random, anti-thematic, and lacking literary metaphor connecting the two characters together. There is no power. There is no poetry. Only randomness. And Sarah admits sometimes her plans literally cannot be seen through because of chemistry issues. Lol. Guys.

People who say this could be about Azriel and Elain are completely missing the fact that this entire conversation is about mating bonds. And if you think Azriel and Elain are lacking in a connection of power (even though Azriel is the one who discovered her power while her mate couldn't) or theme (even though the amount of themes actually tying Elain and Azriel together in the books is insane) that is literally irrelevant- because this conversation is about some mating bonds being random and lacking literary theme and deep connection, not just any potential romantic pairings.

Read it again. Then again. Aaaaaaand once more, with feeling.

Leaving the photo of Josh and Sarah here so you can see I'm not cutting or rearranging the interview to create my own context- this is where the conversation develops from there:

It's magic in a way how the characters guide the story no matter how many years in advance she tries to plot. The characters (not the strict decisions of the mating bond) guide the story and wind up with the people that offer them the most growth and joy.

Lol. Guys.

Meanwhile, in Az and Elain land in the books following Elain and L/ucien's mating bond reveal:

Elain and L/ucien in the books following the mating bond reveal:

And now here is the next part of the interview- again I have not cut or rearranged or done anything but snap screenshots in order to show the progression of the conversation. We were talking about the use of mating bonds in Sarah's story in everything leading up until now, and we are still talking about it:

After revealing that sometimes her best laid plans don't work out the way she thought, and even she, the author, actually can't control who is right for whom no matter what her intentions were, she shares that her musings on "fated mates" are not set in stone. In fact, she finds the question and ideas interesting. This is all one continuous conversation about fated mates specifically, not about her relationships or love interests in general. The only idea that Az and Elain are relevant to is: What if I was put with the wrong person?

Let me tell you, if an author considers an idea interesting, something that offers a wealth of ideas to explore, and then rattles off about all of the implications and things she finds interesting about it... Babe. She is already writing about it.

SJM has not hidden in recent interviews (including her most recent), that the promise of a happily ever after is why she is a romance author:

She speaks openly about the reassurance of romance. We all love romance for this. We know that the characters are going to end up together, no matter how difficult their journey is along the way.

However, when it comes to mates, she did not confirm she is a "fated mates" author because of the comfort. She did not say that part of what she likes about fated mates is that you know fate can never be wrong and therefore there is trust and reassurance in the process. In fact, what she said was she finds the concept of agency and choice interesting. She muses on how much there is to be explored about agency and free-will after the interviewer said if God put her with the wrong person, that's none of her business. The conversation of an imperfect process is one that a lot of readers find interesting, and SJM has shut down wacky ideas (like Bryce and Hunt not really being mates) in the past. But here, she not only welcomes the conversation, but expands on everything that fascinates her about it.

This is not a woman who will only have her characters ending up with their mates. In fact, she's been building a massive question over it for years.

Meanwhile, in the books:

Free will. Agency. An imperfect system of matching.

Babes. This is all about Elain and L/ucien. Absolutely no one else.

If you cling to their relationship because SJM is a fated mates author and therefore they have to be together, I fear Sarah J. Maas may not be the author for you. She does not believe that the decisions made even by her about who will wind up together are set in stone. She is the one interested in exploring the concept of fate and free will. We did not invent this. She has never once described why she likes the fated mate trope and therefore exclusively uses it, only why she likes stories about romance and love conquering all.

I promise you, it's okay to subvert tropes. In fact, it's fun. It's hot. It's interesting.

The fact that Sarah still has a wealth of ideas to explore regarding mates and fate after years of telling the same story over and over is, frankly, so exciting. To us. To her. To journalists.

She has not come out here once and stood behind fated mates as a non-negotiable trope with her full chest, be it in the actual books that she writes or the conversations she has in interviews. We've been on this journey of questioning fate, Cauldrons, and learning the consequences of the mistakes made for years.

And it's gonna be sooo goooood.

#elriel #pro elriel #elain and azriel #subverted tropes #the Cauldron WAS wrong #let the author cook

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wielderofmysteries · 2 years

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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.

#MTG #jace beleren #gwunky #analysis

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mysteria157 · 8 months

Text

Moment One: An Old Flame

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

CW: fluff, profanity, explicit sexual content (whole lotta smut, I’m talking: vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, creampie…lol you get it).

Word Count: ~6k

Summary: When Nanami has no choice but to work overtime, you bring him dinner as a surprise. But you unexpectedly find his ex-girlfriend already keeping him company.

Takes place a few weeks after Chapter 15 of It Had To Be You!

Notes: I had this idea way back when I wrote chapter 15 weeks ago and I finally made it a reality last night LOL. I don’t have a beta reader, so sometimes there may be a mistake or two. I have a habit of being way too detailed when I write, and that includes smut. So hopefully you enjoy it!

Likes, reblogs, and comments are always welcome! Happy reading!

Divider: @saradika | Header: myself

Those Moments In Between Masterlist | Moment Two

MINORS DNI

Nanami knows better.

He knows that his ex-girlfriend, Pia, is just as devious as she was when they were in undergrad.

When they were younger and together, she gave sweetness and tender love that made Nanami stick around a bit longer than he should have. Though they had nothing in common and she was far too outgoing, she helped him embrace many different things that were normally out of his comfort zone.

She taught him how to express public displays of affection in his own way. She taught him how to express what he felt when it came to romantic love.

He was grateful for it. Truly.

Indirectly, her personality only made him realize just how ill-suited they were for one another despite her good intentions.

Pia was spiteful to those who disagreed with her, disrespectful to those who did not have the same values as her, and outlandishly rude to those who came on to Nanami. She covered it all up with smiles, jokes as a means of apology, and an innocent glint in her eyes that Nanami at the time, didn't have the experience to see through.

Gojo had tried to warn him, year after year.

But he was young--his disdain for Gojo was five thousand times more intense than it is now--so Nanami treated everything that fell from Gojo's lips as a ploy to annoy anyway.

Nanami remained oblivious to her behavior, caught in the haze of young love, until their final year of college.

That haze had gradually become easier to sift through. The complaints from his friends finally began to register in his mind. Then, one day between classes, a significant moment allowed him to finally blink away the fog.

Every action that he had once dismissed, enticed by the flutter of her lashes and the touch of her lips, rose to the surface from an ocean of naivety--loud and unfiltered.

He despised himself for having to come to the painful realization that Gojo had been right all along.

Nanami allowed Gojo to mock him for a week before reverting to his habit of telling him to shut up unless he had something meaningful to contribute to their conversations.

Despite feeling embarrassed and heartbroken, he cut ties--clean and simple--moved on with his life, and never heard from her again.

Until now, that is, as she is currently in Nakameguro for a project to market her wine enterprise. She specifically chose his company to assist in expanding her business in the Japanese market, and he despises every minute of it.

Pia clearly wants to make up for lost time because she goes to great lengths to be close to him.

She has a habit of discreetly slipping into the elevator just before it closes, coincidentally finding herself alone with Nanami every time. With a simple smile and a polite greeting, she faces the front and they ride in silence, but with every encounter, she subtly edges closer and closer to him.

Like clockwork, without fail, she makes a point to peek into his office every morning, disregarding his attempt to keep the door closed. She greets him, extends an invitation to lunch—an invitation he consistently declines—and continues with her day.

Being a recluse by nature, he rarely leaves his office except for coffee runs to the breakroom or when Yuji relentlessly calls for his presence. But with Pia’s presence, he can hardly focus when she’s around. He refuses to engage in conversation or give her an opening to pursue him romantically. Because he knows she will. So now he makes Yuji come to him and will bring his own coffee from home.

He chooses not to confide in you about his struggles.

You had only met her once, but it was more than enough. Because to you, Pia is overwhelmingly beautiful, with a well-traveled life and wealth. You are an amateur ceramic artist with modest savings, a mother that you can’t stand, and a body that had recently been stretched and marked by childbirth.

You thought Kento deserved better—deserved someone like Pia.

You were grappling with the overwhelming responsibilities of taking care of Ulani, trying your best to navigate through postpartum depression in a healthy way, and coming to terms with a body that seemed alien to you.

So the sight of Pia for the first time, radiant and flaunting a badge of honor for dating Nanami, did nothing but throw you into a deep pit of insecurity.

Kento lifted you out of that dark place, demonstrated to you again—without fail—how devoted he was to you then and always.

He made it abundantly clear that he was yours.

He’s determined to never make you feel unsure of yourself again.

So it's not a big deal. She’s just a nuisance that he has to dodge for the next week.

Just another week until she goes back to Italy where she—hopefully—will never return.

What’s the worst that can happen?

It turns out, a lot.

He tries to stay one step ahead, deliberately exchanging a brief greeting with her in the lobby to prevent her from slithering into his office. He even waits until the office is deserted, and the day is nearly over before stepping into the elevator.

He doesn’t know how he got out scot-free, but Friday rolls around and he thinks that he just might pull this off.

But Yaga chooses today of all days to ask Nanami to stay behind to consolidate a few contracts that only Nanami—unfortunately—has access to. In normal circumstances, Nanami would decline and suggest pushing it off until Monday.

It’s even more unfortunate because he has plans tonight. He wants to help you make dinner and spend time with his daughter and he shouldn’t even have to think about excuses because he hates overtime. But, the consolidation is due Monday, and he wants to get it done now so that he can avoid the hassle later on.

You don’t sound upset when he calls you to break the news. Your usually calm voice is slightly downcast with a gentle sigh that you think he can’t hear.

“I guess it’s rare so I shouldn’t be mad but,” you complain weakly, your words tinged with a slight whine that makes Nanami smirk to himself. “I made Katsudon.”

He groans, mouth instantly watering at the mere thought.

“I’ll be home as soon as I can, my love. I promise.”

You grumble a reply that makes him chuckle, a tender sound resonating deep in his chest as he listens to you tell him that you love him before hanging up the phone.

***

It’s seven o’clock and he’s fighting a migraine. But he’s almost done, and he’s determined to finish the last stack of contracts that require organizing before he can make his way home to you and Ulani.

As he pens his signature on the bottom of one contract, there’s a knock on his office door, prompting him to invite them in—assuming it’s merely the janitor since everyone else on the floor left hours ago.

That’s all he thinks to himself; he focuses his attention on yet another clause, preparing to initial his name on the side when everything comes to a screeching halt.

Because standing before him isn’t the janitor—it’s Pia.

Pia, clad in a tight black dress that not only defies workplace etiquette but also starkly contrasts the one she wore earlier in the day.

Earlier that day, he followed her every movement as she got into her car and drove away, silently relieved that he could finally relax. Yet, here she is; her dark brown wavy hair hanging over her shoulder in a manner far too seductive for his comfort, and black heels clutched in her hands instead of adorning her feet.

It takes him only a second to assess how quickly he can maneuver past her without a word. He will take the steps if he has to, or maybe he can grab the remaining contracts and finish the rest at home and—

“Gojo always mentions how you never stay late anymore, so I’m surprised to see you here,” she purrs, her Italian accent grating against his ears, exacerbating his throbbing migraine behind his eyes. Her lust-filled, indecent intentions taint her dark brown eyes, reinforcing the strong urge within him to leave, quickly.

He’s not the type of man to belittle a woman’s appearance because they all possess their own beauty. His mother hammered that among other things about the respect of women deep into his skull before he hit puberty. But he’s well-mannered enough to acknowledge beauty and let the line be drawn there—because other women aren’t you, and he doesn’t have a wandering eye.

He never has and he never will.

“Is there a reason why you are here, Pia?” he questions, discreetly binding the stack of contracts together so he can swiftly grab them along with his blazer and push her out of the way if he has to. “Your project finished at the end of the business day, so I assumed you would be on your way back to Italy.”

She scoffs a deep and guttural noise that makes Nanami’s stomach twirl in distaste and intensifies the pounding behind his eyes. “You know exactly why I’m here, Kento. Don’t be dull. You never were back then, and you aren’t now.”

His stomach churns, the knots tightening with each passing moment between them. The tension becomes unbearable, culminating in a swift rise from his seat as he retrieves his blazer behind his large, deep red chair.

“You need to leave,” he demands, his voice devoid of the polite courtesy he had extended to her during her visit. He tucks the contracts beneath an arm, grabs his car keys, and makes for the door—but she’s quick to sidestep so her frame blocks his path.

Irritation surges within him, an emotion that others—excluding you—are keen to elicit when they begin to waste his time.

“Pia, please move out of the way so that I can go home.”

She arches a perfectly groomed eyebrow, adding to the torment coursing through his stomach. “So you’re saying you don’t even want to talk? It’s been years since we’ve seen each other, and you’ve done nothing but avoid me during my entire stay.” Her whiny, petulant tone and childlike frown only serve to trigger flashbacks to times when she didn’t get her way, intensifying the deep divide that caused their separation.

“And you don’t understand the reason why?” he retorts, irritation heavier and thick in his mouth. A frown etches itself onto his lips, and his patience dissipates in the tense air encircling them.

A noise in the lobby—a noise that implies someone can be listening—makes his heart stammer in his chest and the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

While she has an agenda, he does not. He refuses to allow others to lose respect for him in this office, thinking he indulges in infidelity during his free time when that couldn’t be further from the truth. He couldn’t care less about others’ opinions, except when it involves you and your relationship—that’s where he draws the line.

Unaffected by his sarcastic remark, she delicately places a perfectly manicured hand on his chest. He’s quick to react, catching her wrist in a way that makes his blazer fall to the floor, pulling her hand away from him as his body begins to shake in frustration.

“I don’t know where you’ve gotten the impression that I want anything with you, but I won’t be entertaining it. What we had was a long time ago and it won’t ever be reignited again. Try your best to understand that,” he states firmly.

“But—” she begins to protest.

“Enough, Pia. Leave. Now.”

He isn’t asking nicely anymore, his head pounding, and the decision to simply push her out of the way is made. Just as he prepares to do so, the door swings open, and the person he longs to see the most but also wishes wasn’t here right now, rushes in.

“Ken, I thought I could bring you dinner and—” you stop mid-sentence, words wedged in your throat as you take in the scene in front of you. You’re holding a Tupperware container, the steam inside condensing along the edges.

Nanami with papers under one arm and the other dropping from a delicate wrist to flop down at his side, his hair disheveled from hours of musing, his face clearly disturbed. And Pia, beautiful and ethereal as usual as she whips around to look at you.

Since that first day you met her, you haven’t encountered Pia again. And Kento’s unwavering loyalty and trust have provided no reason to entertain the thought of her.

However, Nanami’s stiff stature, Pia’s tight dress that reveals a bit too much in the front, and the stiletto heels swinging from her finger in one hand make it abundantly clear to you why she is here.

At seven o’clock at night.

With no one else around.

You want to shy away from the implication, to fend off your surprise with a shy chuckle, and let the poisonous current of insecurity draw you away like that time before. But Nanami had skillfully put those doubts to rest weeks ago.

Now you’re just irritated.

“Pia? What are you doing here?” You keep your tone light, masking the annoyance bubbling inside you. Pia’s earlier sultry gaze has vanished, replaced by widened eyes and hands smoothing her already unwrinkled dress, anxiously. “Kento told me the project ended a few hours ago. Aren’t you flying back to Italy soon?”

She fumbles, her rose-tinted lips curling as she searches for something to say, gripping her heels tighter in her hand. It’s reminiscent of watching a child scrambling for an excuse after being caught with their hands in a cookie jar.

Nanami remains silent, astonished. In the past, any other woman daring to breathe his air while Pia was present would have been met with scathing words and threats. But now, that Pia is desperately trying to produce an excuse for her late presence within a workplace when she she should be on a flight home.

“She was just leaving, love,” Nanami interjects, trying his best to make the situation as simple as it can be. Pia agrees, blushing and nodding, hastily slipping her heels back on with hands seemingly covered in sweat.

Watching her struggle to secure her heels, her fingers slipping on the buckle, reignites a surge of confidence deep within you. The once persistent insecurity in her presence now feels like a mere joke. In this moment, she becomes the joke.

And you want to savor every minute of it.

The next words spill from your mouth, impossible to contain. You wiggle the small Tupperware container in your hands, gesturing towards her and offering a shy but satisfied smile.

“I was just bringing my husband dinner,” you chuckle airily, the lie slipping from your lips with ease. You relish the reaction from them both. Pia’s hands slip on her heel strap, causing her to stumble. Nanami struggles to contain his composure, eyes wide as saucers, his breath caught in his throat as your words ring in his ears like a piercing siren.

“Kento is the only one on this floor, it’s awfully late and I doubt you would have left earlier without saying goodbye. Surely you—” you pause, pretending to be taken aback before leveling an accusatory gaze at her. She looks up from her hunched position, hands still fumbling with the straps of her heels, her eyes wide and beautifully tan skin appearing pale. You’re not one for pettiness, but the delight from the sight of her struggling courses through your veins. “Surely you’re not here with the intention to do something else, are you?”

“No!” she quickly retorts, her voice both loud and tinged with a hint of nervousness that makes the corner of your lip twitch. “No of course not—”

“So what are you doing here?” you cut her off with a narrowing of your eyes, repeating your question from earlier with a touch less feigned innocence, your tone slightly more serious and impatient.

“L-leaving actually! Just wanted to say goodbye to Kento before my flight in the morning,” she stammers, now standing three inches taller, maintaining an air of elegance and grace even as her embarrassment paints her cheeks red.

She hastily bids Nanami farewell—a choked and tight goodbye—, a lopsided and anxious smile directed at you, and stumbles once more as she hurriedly exits the room, a snort of amusement escaping your lips as she trips before disappearing from your sight.

You close the door behind her, shutting away her presence for good.

The room falls into silence, Nanami’s face turning a vibrant shade of red that forces you to suppress your laughter with every ounce of effort you can muster.

“Love, I can explain—,” he begins, but you promptly cut him off, a giggle escaping despite your best attempts to hold it back.

You know he would never do anything. Nanami would probably take infinite shifts of overtime instead of letting a woman who was not you touch him. In fact, you heard the entire conversation before you rushed in, and it makes your heart flutter with love that is already overflowing for him.

“It’s not funny,” he grumbles.

But it’s so funny to watch him squirm, his face burning even more and his movements awkward as he clutches the bundle of disheveled contracts in his hand. His expressions of frustration and his furrowed brow only serve to ignite a warmth in your stomach.

You love to tease him. And now you’ve been given the perfect opportunity to make him sweat.

“There’s no need to explain, Ken. I’m just messing with you,” you reassure him, taking his free hand and gently pulling him back to his desk. Turning to face his still-nervous figure, you retrieve the papers from his grasp and place them neatly on his large mahogany desk.

“I heard the entire conversation. I am curious though,” you begin, pressing him down into his chair. He’s silent as he watches you push the chair back a little, so you have room to stand between him and his desk. “What do you think she would have done if I hadn’t come in time?”

“Absolutely nothing because I don’t—” he starts, but his words are abruptly cut off by the touch of your hand gliding against the fabric of his chest. Unlike Pia’s touch, your fingertips radiate heat and beckon him in a way that has his cock twitching in his slacks. His heart skips a beat as he watches your own manicured nails circle the buttons of his dress shirt before undoing them quickly. “We can’t—”

“Why?” you interrupt, your voice low and hot, instantly drying up his throat. Your fingertips dance along the exposed skin of his chest, gently teasing him as your nail flicks against a pink nipple before trailing down between the contours of his abs. You tap your fingers along the downy hair that trails under his slack and his stomach bunches in response, twitching from the stimulation, his heart skipping and his throat tightening slowly.

“Do you want me to stop?”

He doesn’t. God, he doesn’t, and the words ‘no’ are out of his mouth before he can stop them, giving you his consent even though he’s embarrassed out of his mind. His migraine becomes an insignificant thought, the pulsing from earlier falling into a slow ebb, eclipsed by the escalating desire coursing through his veins.

Nanami has never been the type of man to do this sort of thing. While he likes to be inside you anytime he can, he cherishes the privacy that safeguards both himself and you, more.

But he can’t lie to himself that the thought of something happening in this office with you hasn’t crossed his mind multiple times—especially when you used to work together.

The sound of you undoing his belt buckle has his heart racing, thumping loud and heavy in his chest and his face is on fire as he watches you release him from the confines of his pants, his cock already hard and leaking.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, biting down and finding it difficult to contain your own desire from the sight of him. The area between your legs throbs as you trace your eyes down a cock that you’re intimately familiar with. Warm and achingly heavy, leaking with anticipation and pleading for your touch. His abs tense with a sharp intake of breath as you wrap your hand around him, a pleasurable hiss escaping his throat as he watches you stroke him languidly.

You press your free hand into the arm of his chair, leaning in until your lips are mere inches apart. Inhaling his ragged breaths, you admire the way his deep brown eyes blow out, leaving only a ring of burnt umber for you to gaze into.

Your grip on him has his mind foggy, desire overtaking any rational thoughts that he would normally use right about now.

But you’re so good.

You’re curling your wrist with every upward stroke just the way he loves and his abs bunch with every jolt of pleasure that zips inside of him.

He has to touch you, has to get his hands on you in some way to ground himself, and he instinctively reaches out for you when suddenly you tsk, pulling back slightly to create more distance between your lips.

“No touching.”

Oh.

You never deny him when you’re both like this. You always want his hands on you. The fact that you’re now denying him, gazing at him with a dangerous look in your eyes, shocks him. And it arouses him to a degree that makes him choke on a breath.

He sags back into his chair, gasping for breath when your hands trail down to cup his balls. He digs his fingers into the chair’s armrests, scratching red leather, and he’s desperate to keep himself from cumming too soon.

“Did you—did you lock the door?” he manages to gasp, grasping onto any shred of coherent thought he has left.

You tilt your head in confusion, gaze at him with an indifferent stare, and then shrug nonchalantly before sagging down to your knees in front of him. The sight makes his toes curl in his expensive Chukka boots.

The rational part of his mind urges him to get up and check the door. Just get up and make sure the door is at least locked before anything else—but then his thoughts are short-circuiting and stuttering as your tongue slides wet up his shaft and you swallow him down to the base without a care in the world.

The back of his head slams against the cushioned chair as a surge of pleasure courses through his veins. You’re wet and sloppy, teasing him with your gaze as your mouth stretches from the thickness of him—and he’s struggling to hold on, struggling to keep his orgasm at bay even though it’s right there.

He tries to reach for you—tries to card his hands through your hair but you smack it away and glare at him with such a ferocity that he’s embarrassed for even attempting.

Marketing templates. Morning traffic. A cold cup of coffee.

He thinks of everything he can to resist the warmth in his stomach and the coil tightening along his spine; because you suck his cock in a way that makes him fidget in his chair, humming and gurgling into his ears in a wicked melody that’s making him go insane.

You’re enjoying every second of this and it only makes him blush harder with just how exposed he is to you right now. The mere weight of his cock in your mouth and the slightly salty taste of him makes your panties damp, your cunt pulsating and aching to be filled.

And you’ll make sure it happens.

So you patiently wait until he’s panting harshly, his grip on the arm of his chair growing tighter and tighter. You wait until that crazed look dances in his eyes—the one you’re so familiar with right before he cums. And right when he’s on the cusp, you pull away.

He exhales hard and sinks into his chair almost in relief as the band inside of him relaxes slightly, desperately trying to catch his breath and hissing as the cold air of his office wraps around his wet cock.

“Pia really did have a plan, didn’t she?” you playfully tease, standing to card your fingers through his blonde locks. Your fingertips glide across the faint traces of sweat, your hand moving along with the shake of his head in response to you, his gaze unfocused.

You kick off your shoes, hook your thumbs into the corner of your leggings, and slide them down and off your legs—his eyes following every inch of creamy brown skin that is revealed to him.

You’re wearing an oversized sweater, a soft cashmere that he got you simply because he wanted, and it now covers your faint stretch-marked thighs. They are your battle scars, your own reminders of the journey your body underwent to grow and birthed the beautiful daughter you both have now.

His breath falters as he watches you gracefully perch on his large desk, placing your legs on top and bending your knees so your fuzzy sock-covered feet press against the rich mahogany. Leaning back on one arm, you effortlessly open your legs for him. His naturally narrow eyes widen at the sight of your white damp panties, and he longs to lick, suck, and slide his cock inside the very place they conceal.

The glint in your eyes is mischievous and taunting, delighting in the way he struggles to stay seated even as you slide one of your hands down into your panties.

“Can I—” he starts, but you cut him off.

“No.”

You leave no room for argument and don’t offer anything else as you begin to circle your clit leisurely, arching into the touch as echoes of pleasure hum to life. It’s not long before you’re pushing your panties to the side to expose yourself to the open air. Your cunt throbs with desire when you hear Nanami groan softly under his breath.

You’ve never been this bold, never entertained the thought of anything voyeuristic. But Nanami seems to awaken something within you, something you’re slowly embracing. He’s so shy about sex outside of the privacy of your home, and it only makes this more exciting that he’s even entertaining it now.

“Did she do this with you?” you ask him, your voice breathless as you sink two fingers into your wet cunt. The corner of Nanami’s eye twitches from the sight and you swallow down a giggle that threatens to escape. “Did she ever make you watch her while she touched herself?”

You moan softly as you curl your fingers up as best as you can from your angle. Nanami’s fingers dig into the leather of his chair with barely contained restraint.

“Answer me, Kento.”

“No. She didn’t.”

Satisfied with his answer, a sense of pride flaps in your chest, and you gleefully continue fingering yourself in front of him. It always takes you a while to get off with your fingers, so you use that as ammunition to watch Nanami squirm.

You watch the way his exposed muscular pectorals move with his increasing breaths. You watch the way his cock twitches, hot and heavy against his stomach, leaking precum onto his abs. And you soak up the way he traces his eyes along every inch of you, leaving nothing without his attention.

When you finally cum, sharp and abrupt, he’s hanging on by a thread—ready to abandon your command to be still, yank you to him, and sink inside.

He watches your cunt flutter around your fingers as you slowly come down from your high, gasping like an angel into the office air. Breathless, you stand on shaky legs and move to stand before him, lifting slick-covered fingers to his mouth which he readily opens without command, desperate to taste you any time he can. He groans softly against your fingers, eyes drooping, tongue sliding wet between your digits. The sight makes your cunt throb weakly, faint embers that had just died down, licking to life again.

You taste like everything to him, everything he wants and everything he needs.

But it’s not on the menu tonight.

You straddle his lap wordlessly and smack his hands away when he tries to wrap large hands around your waist. He swallows his frustration, yearning to touch you, yet willing to comply for the promise of more.

Using the remnants of your arousal between your legs, you coat him, stroking him enough to make sure you take him effortlessly, and then you guide him to your entrance and sink down to the hilt. The feel of him inside you is glorious, stretching you in the way you like that makes your cunt tremble to life around him, grateful for his presence once again.

“Fuck,” he hisses—chokes with eyes squeezed shut, hand gripping the chair until it groans. You’re so wet, so fucking warm and tight that he’s shaking--practically trembling and swallowing a whimper as he fights the urge to grab your hips.

You didn’t need much to get used to him. You’re a masochist when he stretches you—you crave the way your cunt tenses from the intrusion, gripping him like a vice.

You’re a champ, enveloping him and giving him little time to acclimate before you’re bouncing on his cock with a finesse that would make any woman jealous.

You slide both hands into the hair at his nape and pull so that he cranes his neck back to gaze up at you. He’s slack-jawed, panting with breaths that tickle your lips, his eyes heavy with desire.

“Did she ever fuck you like this, hmm? Come into your office when you would work long hours and ride you until you couldn’t see straight?”

He can only shake his head ‘no’ in response, his throat too dry to speak, his lungs burning. He craves your touch, your lips on him, something to anchor him as he struggles to keep up. It’s the only way he can stay sane when the neurons in his brain are frying by the second. He begs wordlessly, groans deeply up into your mouth, pleading for anything.

And thankfully, you grant him a searing kiss. Your lips mold against his, tongues battling for dominance that he willingly surrenders to. His every thrust hits that perfect spot within you, brushing away hints of oversensitivity and bringing forth faint pleasure that makes you dig your hands into blond tresses and pull tight.

The pleasure caresses the insides of your thighs and tightens the muscles of your legs. Every brush of your clit against the skin of his abs shoots electricity throughout your cunt and up to the base of your spine, igniting a simmering fire that begins to heat deep pools of lava that reside there.

You pull away from his lips with a harsh moan, gasping into the warm air of his office, riding him harder to the point that the legs of his chair begin to squeak.

He knows you well. He knows how you get demanding and delirious and incoherent when you ride him, and he loves to count the seconds until that switch in your brain goes off. And it’s not even a second later when—

“Fuck, you feel so fucking good. So, so good,” you moan against the skin of his lips. “Fucking me just the way I like Ken.”

He watches every move you make, tracing his eyes over the contours of your face and the way your loose curls cling to creamy brown cheeks.

His eyes roll when he picks up your whispered chants. You’re a woman possessed and you take what you want—when you want. And he gives and gives with every yes, yes, more Ken, you’re so good, please, please, please yes!

Your pupils are blown and glazed over with desire, but suddenly your brows furrow in frustration.

“She walked in here in a tight dress and high heels looking to get you in the same position that I have you now. But at the end of the day, you’re mine.”

There’s not an ounce of coyness in your words. You’re so serious, firm, and unyielding that it makes him shudder, a groan sliding from his parted lips, his eyes rolling into the back of his head and—

“Look at me,” you command, voice low, panting from exertion and the feel of your body beginning to draw tight with embers of a powerful orgasm. His eyes roll back without hesitation, locking with yours. “Unless—unless some other circumstance tears us apart, you—you are mine. Pia can have all the money and fame, but she will never have you. I do.”

“Yes,” he whispers, the word tumbling from his lips without faltering. His hips struggle to keep up and his thighs begin to stiffen as pleasure begins to curl deliciously so that his hands dig into the chair. His fingers slip against the leather, sweaty and tingling.

“You’re the father of my child.”

“Yes,” he chants again, breathless and quivering as the rubber band along his spine grows taught, stretching and shaking from the tension.

“You sleep next to me. You kiss me. You fuck me.”

“Yes, only you—only you.”

You tremble from his words, satisfaction oozing like hot thick globs along your skin. “That’s right, Kento,” you purr as your hips begin to roll against him, your clit carrying currents of pleasure through your veins, that pool of lava at the base of your spine boiling and rising to the brim.

“Please,” he whispers, his plea pulling you from your desire-induced haze. You look down at him, admire the flush of his cheeks, the warmth of his breath against the collarbone of your sweater, the sweat that beads along his hairline. “Please.”

“Please what?” you tease, trying to maintain a playful demeanor even though your hips are beginning to ache from overuse. You come to a stop on top of him, your breaths mingling together.

“Can I touch you?” he asks, always gentle and caring, even when he’s bursting from the seams. You love him so fucking much.

“Will you make me cum?”

“Always,” he responds without hesitation, his words filled with conviction. You lean in, pressing your lips against his, savoring the affection he willingly gives you. When you pull away, you brush thick blonde locks from his forehead, exposing more of his sharp features that will never fail to make your heart race.

“Then touch me, Ken,” you whisper, your voice laced with desire and anticipation.

Without wasting a moment, he swiftly lifts you in his arms, his cock still nestled inside as he carries you towards his desk.

Your breath catches as you stare up at him, the sound of papers scattering to the floor filling the air. He pulls your sweater up, revealing every inch of your faintly stretch-marked belly, before tugging down a cup of your bra, heady eyes watching as one of your breasts spills from its confines.

He’s too fast. You fumble for words and let out a surprised yelp when he yanks your waist toward the edge of the desk. He presses your knees as close to your chest as you will allow, and then he slams into you once—and then twice before picking up a rhythm that makes your toes curl.

He devours you, tongue flicking and swirling wet and dripping around your exposed nipple as he pounds into you unabashedly, the desk squeaking and groaning from his efforts.

All bravado that you had earlier splinters away with each smack of his muscular hips against you, the skin of his abs brushing against your clit deliciously, coaxing moan after moan from your lips. His tongue flicks your nipple again before he bites the hardened bud, and your cunt flutters—clenches around him, your thighs beginning to twitch even though they’re pressed to your chest.

“I’m all yours. Always yours,” he whispers against your lips, blonde tresses gliding against your cheeks.

You hope there’s no one on this floor, or that no one has decided to come back for something because the last thing they need to hear is Nanami Kento, Director of Strategic Partnerships, railing his girlfriend on his over-priced, too-large mahogany desk.

You can barely breathe, your moans growing in pitch, the sound of skin on skin echoing through his office, your hands sliding up to dig fingers into the skin of his back. You don’t even have the chance to tell him you’re close.

The stroke of him inside you, the slap of his skin against your bundle of nerves, and the feel of his mouth trailing along the sweaty column of your neck with a deep and heavy cum for me baby breaks the seal inside of you.

The lava boils over—pools along your bones, hot and delicious and caressing every nerve ending within you, your cunt squeezing him without remorse. You can’t help the loud moan that shakes from your lips, growing in pitch when the pleasure seems to spike and overheat you in oversensitivity, your entire body tingling and shaking like an exposed nerve.

Nanami takes every ounce of pleasure you offer. Everything, every part of you is precious—treasured in a way that no one else will ever be able to comprehend. He takes every breath, every hitch in your throat, every droplet of sweat on your skin, every whimper and moan and scratch of your nails against him. He savors it all—needs it to survive, to know that you have chosen him, that you want him, that you love him.

You’re the only woman who makes Pia tremble and stumble over her words. You are a force to be reckoned with, and he knew that the moment you snapped at him when you first met. You’re fierce in the way you love, strong with the words you say, and so fucking beautiful that he cant help but feel proud of just how threatened Pia was by the sight of you.

Those words you spoke confidently to her have played like a record in his head since you forced him into his chair.

“I was just bringing my husband some dinner.”

My husband.

He’s thought about it, so many fucking times. And he swears it will happen. Soon.

One day you’ll be his wife.

His wife.

His thoughts come to a sudden halt because he’s cumming, catching him off guard, that rubber band snapping in half, pleasure yanking from the base of his spine and pulling a harsh groan from his chest as he spills inside of you.

His hands slip from behind your knees and smack onto the wood of his desk and you wrap your legs around his waist as you both regain your breath. He’s putty against you, melted and loose and molding against every crevice of you as he takes in your intoxicating scent. Lilac from your body wash, shea butter from your lotion, and a hint of cooking grease that wafted onto your skin when you made dinner.

Your fingers lovingly comb through his sweaty hair, your legs blissfully achy, your cunt satisfied and throbbing, and your heart coming to normal sinus rhythm in your chest.

“Ome is probably wondering where I am,” you finally speak, breaking the tranquil silence of his office. “She offered to watch Ulani when I left.” Nanami hums against you, a low and gravelly sound that’s typical of him when he’s ready to go to sleep. “Bring the rest of the contracts home. No more overtime.”

As if he would even entertain the thought of being in this office a moment longer. “Okay,” he agrees, pressing his lips to your neck. He still has his arms around you, still connected to you despite having softened inside you minutes ago.

But you don’t mind. You cherish these moments with him, holding them dear in your heart, knowing that each one is a gift.

Because you’re the only one who can revel in the way he needs you, the way he craves having his hands on you, the way he murmurs his adoration into your skin. And you love every bit of it. You love him.

“Will she be back?” you ask, a hint of hesitance in your tone.

He shakes his head, groaning softly as you scratch that spot behind his ear. “No. Never.”

“She better not,” you jest, an eyebrow lifting to the ceiling, gazing at no one. “If she pulls shit like that again, there won’t be a happy ending for you.”

He barks out a laugh against your neck, lifting his head to take in your blissed-out form. Fatigue weighs heavy on your eyes, your lashes delicately curled, your hair spread out on his desk to make you look like the most otherworldly thing he has—will ever see.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, love.”

He kisses you tenderly once and then twice, before resting his head against your chest, the soft cashmere of your sweater caressing his cheek. His eyes catch something on the corner of his desk.

The Tupperware of food that you brought still emits steam, a homemade Katsudon by your hands, just for him.

His heart thrums in his chest, full and filled with warmth.

His wife.

Soon.

Thanks for reading!

196 notes · View notes

straystarr · 20 days

Text

From the Start; lmh

in which you end up getting partnered with the bad boy but it turns into something meaningful. (Somewhat strangers, to friends)

a little soft, a little boring, but comforting (at least I hope)

Blank minds were accompanied by bored expressions and still your professor ignored the dull atmosphere as her words drowned before reaching your ears. Philosophy of sex and love — while immersive in its contents and literature, it was oddly scheduled in the evening of the day. Naturally, you were drained, ready to crawl into bed and sleep the day away. Showing no interest was not your intention, in contrast, this had to be your favourite class of your crammed university schedule. Your days were filled with due dates after due dates. Exam after exam. One long lecture to another. Life was repetitive at the moment. And one can only enjoy the repetition for so long.

You couldn’t help but allow your pen to draw minimal doodles onto the loose leaf sitting in front of you, anything to keep you sane. It was obvious you weren’t the only numb soul as the room seemed to be suffocating due to cumulative body heat and exaggerated exhaustion.

You were pulled away from your pointless observations, the door to the class swinging open, disrupting the scattered peace in the room as heads lifted at the sudden noise. Your eyes caught a glimpse of his dark clothed figure before you swiftly turned your head back towards your notebook, already anticipating the reactions around you.

If it were any other late student, every person in the room would have nonchalantly returned to their business, carefree of the lives outside of their own. Instead, waves of whispers brewed as he confidently made his way towards his designated seat, which happened to be right beside your own.

He gave no attention to the soft chaos his presence ignited, but his plain eyes glared at anyone who daringly gazed for more than expected.

Something about Lee Minho always had people on the edge of their seats. Whether it be the countless rumours surrounding his reputation or the way he detached himself from any social setting.

You never understood it really, the way people obsessed over him. He was popular, for all the wrong reasons. It was either romanticising his ‘cold’ personality or scowling at his existence. How he became known as the bad boy will always remain ridiculous to you.

Some claim he spends his nights at clubs, some say his personality speaks for itself, others believe only people involved in illicit activity would stain their skin so “excessively”, thrown off by the tattoos visible when his arms were out in the open. Stereotype after stereotype was all it was. You found most of these reasons to be baseless, filled with the flaws of people's own beliefs and values.

Sure, he wasn’t the friendliest person, but that doesn’t justify the shit he received on a daily basis. Even if what people said was true, what did it have to do with them? He was just living his life. And still, people managed to bury him six feet under.

He never seemed bothered by the distaste he received, rather amused, a smirk flourishing on his lips with every new story created in his name. Even when all eyes were on him or when assumptions about his life were brought about in conversations, he always stuck to himself, never talking to anyone, a facade of oblivion hanging above his head.

The only people you’ve ever seen welcomed into his own little world were his group of friends, specifically, Han Jisung and Bang Chan. But even then, he remained conserved, only giving small reactions in contrast to their big personalities. You always wondered how they got along. Jisung was known to be a social butterfly on campus, always waving, always laughing, a person one can’t help but be drawn to. One time, he mistook you for someone else and gave you a back hug, spending the next five minutes on his knees profusely apologizing for touching you. Chan was more laid back, but he enjoyed the company of other people. He always lightened the mood with his cheerful and calm persona.

Their relationship took the concept ‘opposites attract’ and played it into reality. It was comforting knowing such a friendship existed in a complex world.

“Can I borrow a pen?” The request came from your right, somewhat hidden in your professor's speech about Vrangalova’s association of love and commitment to sex. You met eyes with him, face stoic and reserved, expectant of your generosity. It wasn’t the first time he had asked you for a pen, and it wouldn’t be the last time you held one towards him. “Thanks.” He muttered, eyes already gone from your sight. You smiled in response, even if he couldn’t see it. It was moments like this that solidified your liking towards him.

In a way, you cared for Minho, watching from the sidelines, stealing little glances whenever he was in the room or catching yourself frowning every time his name was carelessly thrown around. It’s not that you had a crush on him, or that you pitied him, but it’s the same way you get concerned when you see a friend stumble. You flinch as you imagine their potential pain. You hope they're ok. And then you move on with your life. It is possible, and it does happen — caring for someone you know nothing about. The same way you can hate someone you know nothing about.

You sucked in your bottom lip as your pen tapped a rhythm onto the table. His body became clearer in your peripheral, bringing the rhythm to a pause. His thigh slightly brushed against yours, sinking into the chair with his body shifting into a comfortable position. And like clockwork, the wave of gossip diminished as time passed by, and your eyes only continued to fall, forcing you to use all your energy to keep them open.

“I’ll be ending the lecture early. But I am assigning a group paper since it seems as though you all would not be able to complete one on your own, judging from the lack of enthusiasm. To make things simple, your partner will be whoever is sitting to your right. All you need to do is research……” Her voice echoed into the air as you hesitantly moved your head to the right. Your eyebrows trailed up in surprise due to the set of eyes already directed at you.

Minho raised his hand to his cheek, resting against his fingers as he cocked his head to the side. “Y/n, right?” An unconscious smile bloomed upon hearing your name, to which he straightened his posture. Your smile threw him off. He could always guess a person's intentions by their smile. It’s either genuine, or it’s not. And he almost always received the latter. But with you, that wasn’t the case. He found himself fascinated at how quickly the smile came and left. It was an authentic reaction.

It was new to him. And he simply didn’t know how to react.

“You know my name?”

“I’ve been stealing your pens for a whole semester. How can I not?”

He was talking more than he was used to. What should have been a yes or no answer turned into an invitation to continue the conversation. And he again, didn’t know why. The side of your lips dropped at the sudden coldness glazing over his face but you thought nothing of it as you nodded and began to pack your things. “We should start the project tomorrow, are you available?” Standing, you twisted your head to look at him once again to which he just nodded before pushing himself off from his seat.

Your fingers curled under your notebook, instinctively tightening your hold to no avail as he seized it from your hands. A sound of confusion choked from the back of your throat, prompting the questioning look you sent him as he began to write something down. Bringing his head up, he processed your stare, an unexpected wave of caution flooding his system as he placed the notebook back in your hands.

“My address.” The awkwardness he displayed was fresh compared to the certainty he previously held in his actions. “Unless you’d like to work on campus, I just assumed you wouldn’t since everyone is camping out here with the semester coming to an end—” Your shoulders vibrated from the amused giggle in your throat.

He was rambling, and you quite enjoyed it.

His nostrils flared upon hearing your stifled tune. It was odd, he found himself trying his best to ignore the urge to smile along with you. It was barely a success as he patiently waited for you to speak, a hand coming to rub his warm ear. “Maybe we can head to your place together after class tomorrow?” You advised, bag already over your shoulder and coat hanging from your arm, you were eager to leave. But the quick interaction with the stranger who always had your attention lined your thoughts amidst the fatigue. “Yeah— yeah, that works.” He said with a curt nod. Twisting in place, your hand flew in the air, fingers waving ever so slightly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

His lips fell apart, watching as you marched your way out of the room. He couldn’t read your mind, but he so badly wanted to. Because the many questions swarming in his head just about drove him crazy. You were weird. At least in the sense that he didn’t mind your presence. He didn’t mind how easy going you were or how you made him conscious of himself. He didn’t mind that you laughed at him or how he so easily talked to you. You intrigued him. You had ever since you were paired to sit together. And it scared him. He always wanted to talk to you — really talk to you, none of this pen borrowing bullshit he settled for even when his pencil case lay untouched in his bag.

And now that he has, your voice echoed in his head like a soft melody, to which he paused the tune, frightened to dance along to the beat.

“Are you feeling any better?”

“I think so.” He managed to moan out.

You turned your head away from the screen of your computer, waist twisting in place as you caught ahold of his weary eyes, soon widening at the sudden eye contact. It was a few hours after class had ended. You weren’t really keeping track. But you were constantly checking up on the boy who lay on the couch you leaned on.

“You sound like shit. And you still look like shit.” Your observation fell on deaf ears, your eyes blurred against the rays of the white screen staring back at you. “I’m fine.” He sniffled, buried in the blankets you had wrapped around him with care.

And to think a few hours ago, you were frustrated with him, having travelled from University to an unknown area with the only hope that the address messily written in your notebook would lead you to Minho. The frustration grew with each second you loitered in the apartment's hallway. You didn’t want to assume anything when Minho never showed up for class. So you took it upon yourself to find out what was going on.

And there you stood, a deep sigh collapsing along with your eyes as your knuckles came in contact with the door one last time. Pulling your hand away, you clicked your tongue against the top of your mouth, analyzing the options you had left. God seemed to take pity on you as the door swung open, sending you staggering backwards, hand over your chest with your eyes now wide open.

Although his face was barely visible with the hood that covered his head, his feline eyes peeked through the fringes of his hair naturally covering his forehead. The scowl on Minho's face melted upon recognizing your startled figure. Tucking his hands into the pockets of his grey sweatpants, his body fell onto the doorframe. He was very much surprised with your visit, but his blank stare intimidated you into thinking your efforts may have gone to waste.

Guilt crawled into his skin, unsure whether to explain himself or let you assume what you wanted. He would usually give less than a fuck, but with you — with you, he didn’t know what to do. A sigh of relief was given as you felt somewhat reassured by Minho’s presence.

Readjusting the bag hanging over your shoulder, you paused as you felt the reassurance being replaced with confusion. You were ready to bombard him with the questions clouding your mind. Why wasn’t he at school? Did he expect you to finish everything yourself? Did he really not give a shit? Did he not like you?

But the wandering questions were easily dismissed upon noticing the way Minho couldn’t seem to hold himself up, continuously leaning against the door frame. It wasn’t until frail sniffles came from the boy in front of you, his head tossed to the side as if to silence himself. It was then you noticed how his cheeks were painted in a harsh shade of pink, the way he tried to softly clear his throat, the shadows under his eyes.

“I couldn’t go to school today and I didn’t know how to contact you—”

“You look like shit.”

The statement shot through his already weak state, but he wasn’t offended. Instead, a loose chuckle caressed his tongue as you smiled in return. You began to rock on your feet, unaware of what to do or say. Minho observed your actions, carefully stepping aside as his hand pointed towards the inside of his home. He didn’t approve of what he was doing, but he didn’t necessarily oppose it either. He was just as lost as you were.

Your body failed to move, eyes blinking while you began to comprehend his gestures. “What? You didn’t come here just to check up on me.” Dropping his hand to the side of his body, Minho raised an eyebrow, eyes glazing over the words that barely made their way out of your mouth. “I think you should use this time to try to get better, I’ll just finish the project—“ “I can’t let you complete it by yourself.”

Your eyes fixated on the back of his head as he trudged into his home, leaving you to gawk at his figure, hesitation confronting you as you consciously entered through the door frame that separated you from the outside world. Minho watched as you observed the surroundings. It was nothing like you’d imagine, but also seemed to fit him very well.

The living room consisted of a brown leather couch and a circular glass table. Nothing seemed out of place, every decoration he had with a purpose. “Why hello there.” You crouched down, hands fluffing the cat that arrived at your feet. You directed your gaze to Minho. “I didn’t take you for a cat dad.” Minho picked up the cat at your feet before placing him on a cat tree tucked away in the corner of the room that you failed to notice. “I have three.” He managed to say.

Nodding in awe, you set your bag down onto the wooden floor in front of the table, your body sinking as your jeans hit the cold ground. Burrowing his eyebrows, Minho gazed at you with curious eyes. “You can sit on the couch?” You lifted your head as you set your laptop on the table, a smile growing on your face while your hands strung your hair into a loose bun. “I prefer the floor.” Your causality ignited a comfortable atmosphere to which he found himself drawn to. His feet carried him towards the couch behind you as he slumped onto it, his sick body hindering him from acting any further. The simple fact that you spit out about yourself traced through his mind, unknowingly settling in the depths of his memory.

“You can rest for now, I’ll let you know when I need your help.” Your focus was directed towards the screen of your laptop, completely oblivious to the boy whose lips were ever so slightly curved into a smirk. “That’s not how it’s supposed to work.” A string of coughs followed his response, much to his dismay. “Yeah well, we have underlying circumstances so just listen and I don’t know, heal?” There it was again. That light tune that so easily infiltrated his thoughts. The sarcasm laced in your voice only humoured the smirk on his face, somehow guiding it to curve into a light smile as he continued to stare at the back of your head.

How odd it was for him — for him to do as he pleased, not having to shelter himself into the colourless character he lived. How odd it was for him to lie there on a random Friday, a mere stranger on his living room floor as he tried to get some sleep. Well, at least he knew your name. He liked your name. And he was so at ease with the person linked to the name. “Why did you want to work here?” Your question halted his thoughts. “I don’t like public places.” He said with eyes closed. You absently nodded, fingers typing away. “Why don’t you like public places?” He remained quiet for longer than anticipated. “I don’t really like people.”

Silence corrupted the air, bringing your chest to slowly rise in contrast to its previous pattern.

Your eyes soon landed on his face, as your head twisted in place, focus no longer directed towards the gleaming screen of your computer. It occurred to you that the line of questioning was heavy, too heavy and you were in no position to ask him such heavy questions. Especially with his weak state. Minho opened his eyes, his gaze trailed on the ceiling, avoiding your hard stare as the two of you shared the understanding that explanation was to follow. Although you were aware of the reason.

“I'm sorry.”

The apology was louder than a whisper but not quite full in tone. You inhaled, slowly turning back around as the hot air left your nose. The tapping of your fingers began again, spelling out a sentence that lacked your attention. “Why do you prefer the floor?” Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, nonchalantly resuming as your shoulders moved up and down in oblivion. “I’m not sure. I just find it more comfortable.” He hummed in acknowledgement, making an effort to rise from his place but immediately groaning while trying.

“Now what happened in the span of a day that you went from being all healthy to barely being able to move?” You asked, still typing away on your computer. Minho sighed, embarrassed and hesitant to explain the ridiculous events that occurred the previous night. But with the way your expectant eyes gleamed in the dark room, his lips betrayed him. “Jisung made me dance in the rain last night because you apparently only live once.” His voice was barely a whisper towards the end but that only solidified the giggle shaking your body. Minho smiled, conscious of the highs and lows of your laugh and somehow harmonizing with the one coming from his sore throat.

You listened to Minho’s laugh, fully aware that this was the first time you had heard it. It was pretty and contagious. And you couldn’t help but think about how nice it would be to hear it more often. “So you’re telling me, you’ve lived every girl's dream.” Your cheeks were full with pressure from the grin on your face. Minho’s smile melted into a smirk. “Jealous much?” You nodded before standing up. “Very much so.”

Minho found himself searching for you as you made your way out of his sight. But soon enough, you returned, a bowl in one hand while you kneeled beside him. You hesitated before laying your hand flat against his forehead, falling to his cheek. “I think you have a fever.” Minho weakly hummed, unsure what to say. So he continued to watch you dip a towel into the bowl, lifting his bangs up before placing it on his forehead. The cool material felt nice against his hot body, prompting him to close his eyes.

He felt vulnerable. He was vulnerable. Never would he allow someone so physically close to him unless it was his friends. But here you were, hand to his cheek with no ounce of refusal in his gut. You were as close as anyone could get with him, and it only took you a few hours to do so. Perhaps that’s why he continued to speak, susceptible to you in ways he couldn’t quite understand. “People let you down.” His voice was frail, but you caught his words. “It's like they’ve pieced my life together without even asking me about the details.” He didn’t need to ask whether you understood what he was referring to, because with the way your face slightly fell, he knew you weren’t immune to the rumours.

“People suck.” You left the towel on his forehead, turning away as you settled back down in front of your computer. “We make assumptions in order to help us understand the world. Even if our assumptions are ill-mannered. What makes sense to us, protects us.” You paused, now looking at him. “I’m sorry you’re experiencing the consequences of other people’s actions.” You spoke quietly, your bottom lip slightly pushed forward.

Minho said nothing, offered no expression of regard. Instead, he cleared his throat, letting his eyes fall shut. You bit your bottom lip, unsure how to interpret his nonchalance and choosing to continue whatever you were typing. “I’d like for you to hear about them.” Your fingers lay still against your keyboard. “The details.” The breath you were holding blew past your lips, subtly. “Well, you can tell me all about them while I finish up this paper of ours.” You stated, a smile threatening to break out on your face, a low murmur of acknowledgement coming from behind you.

“How many pages have you done?”

“Two.”

“How many do we need done?”

“Twelve.”

Minho’s eyes shot open. “I— what have you been typing this whole time, I thought you had this shit locked and loaded.” You swiftly faced him, arms crossed over your chest. “I’m sorry for being invested in our conversation.” Your tone was entirely satire and he could only groan in disbelief. You both stared at each other, your face relaxing while his lit up, smiles breaking out as laughter filled the air.

“Should we ask for an extension?” Miho forced himself up, now sitting against the couch. “I emailed her the minute I opened my computer.” You shrugged, reaching for the towel that was now lopsided on his forehead. Minho could only stare at you with wide eyes. “Why’d you stay?” You tilted your head in confusion, as if it were obvious why you had been here for the past hour or so. “I wasn't going to leave you here to rot.” His lips parted slightly.

He had your voice paused in his mind, replaying it to familiarize himself with your tone. He liked you. This he knew. And was more than willing to accept. It was new for him to welcome someone so eagerly into his small world, but with the way you dipped the towel into the bowl of water and casually placed it back onto his forehead, he knew a new friend would do no harm and probably more good than he deserved. His soul welcomed your presence. Something he’d never come to regret.

“I’ll invite you next time.” “Next time?” You continued to pat the towel down, retracting your hand and making eye contact. Minho nodded. “When Jisung asks me to dance in the rain with him.” You blinked slowly. You didn’t think much of Minho when you first sat beside him in class, other than his obvious physical attraction, you knew nothing but his fabricated reputation. And yet, here you sat in his living room, worried and cautious over him while simultaneously laughing and enjoying his company.

You were unaware that he would soon become someone you’d think the world of, someone who’d make you laugh a little harder and feed your soul. Until then, he remained the boy who borrowed your pens, had a pretty laugh, and was sick from dancing in the rain.

“I’d like that.”

AN: A gentle or not so gentle reminder that this is written fanfiction. xoxo

𝙎𝙏RAy𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙍r★

#skz #skz imagine #straykids #skz scenarios #straykids x reader #lee know x reader #lee minho x reader #lee know #lee minho #skz fluff #skz minho #stray kids minho #leeknow skz #leeknow x reader

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