#that was the most difficult thing I have ever had to do....

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ me & my husband ]❜

ft. the salesman (gong ji-cheol) x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ you don’t need your husband to be perfect, you just want him to be honest┊3.3k words

contains: written before s2 came out!! probably ooc or inaccurate, angst with spots of fluff & a bittersweet ending? reader’s pov mostly, suspicions of cheating, lack of communication, mentioned age gap, random inaccurate lore for the salesman

➤ author's note: yeah, i saw the sudden uptick in notes on that gong yoo post i made and realized season 2 came out which i completely forgot about. i intend to watch it soon as possible and write fics for it as well as (probably) add new characters to my writing list, but for now, please be content with this!!

₊˚ʚ 💌₊˚✧ this fic was heavily inspired by “emotionally intoxicated” by aurasaurora!

gong ji-cheol is the poster image for the ideal husband. he’s always been like that from the moment you met him, and you can’t help but feel like you’re the luckiest woman in the world when he calls himself yours. he’s tall and handsome, someone who catches everyone’s eye despite his only being focused on you. he’s wealthy and hard-working, able to call a luxurious mansion your home, and willing to buy you anything your heart desires as long as you ask for it. he spoils you rotten with that money, gifting you expensive things even if you didn’t ask if it reminded him of you. he’s doting, always sure to smother you in affection with kisses and cuddles whenever together to make it known how much he adores you. the sex is great too, he makes you feel wanted and desirable without ever leaving you unsatisfied. 

most importantly though, you love him, and he loves you. the last two years of marriage have been so blissful, and there isn’t a single thing you would change.

at least that’s what you believe most of the time.

you like to think you know a lot about him, and in a way, you do. you know his favorite color, how he likes his coffee, what he usually orders at restaurants, the type of wine he prefers over beer, the exaggerated shocked fasces he likes to make, how his favorite chore is folding the laundry, how his least favorite is doing the dishes because he doesn’t like getting his hands dirty, the name of his childhood pet, what positions he likes to cuddle or fuck in, the names he’s thinking of giving to your child when they are finally born— there are so many little details you know about him, yet at times you feel like you don't know anything at all.

you don’t really know much about his childhood aside from a few random stories, he claims there’s nothing really notable and that it was as standard as can be. you don’t know who his parents were or what they were like because he said they died when he was young, but surely that’s an important loss which must have impacted him and made youth difficult in some way? you don’t know about his past partners if he even had any, but you doubt you were his first as he was yours with a face like his. you don’t know any of his secrets, like an embarrassing moment or something sinful he might have committed in the past. 

he knew all of these things about you and the little details of your life, so why don’t you know any of the most basic things regarding your own husband?

these periods of uncertainty are few and far, but once the icy tendrils of doubt creep in, it’s difficult to shake them off when you realize you only know these things through observations and not him actually telling you. it’s a miracle your stupidity allowed you to make it this far in falling head over heels for him, getting married, and carrying his child (not that you completely regret it, you still love him, but you wish you had given it more time).

they say there are no such things as stupid questions, yet the main question you have is exactly that as it’s something every wife should know even before the marriage. it would be impressive how long you’ve been clueless about this matter if it weren’t for how often and how skilled he is in managing to evade your curiosity and steer the conversation elsewhere. you didn’t want to press on it since he seems to shut it down every time the topic is brought up and you don’t want to fight over something you technically didn’t need to know, but it weighs on you and presses into your chest with the knowledge you were being kept in the dark. 

what did your husband do for a living, exactly?

his schedule is always unpredictably changing with little rhyme or reason and it confuses you. sometimes you’ll go an entire few days without seeing him, sensing him wake up in the morning before the sun is even up, feeling him kiss you on the cheek before getting ready, and not coming back until long after you fall asleep with no communication aside from a note on the table telling you he’ll be gone for the day along with a wad of cash for you to treat yourself while he’s gone. other times he’ll be chilling at home for an entire week, waking you up with aggressive cuddles (or morning sex), making you breakfast with the morning news on in the background, and taking you out to wherever you want to go on his card in his rare casual clothing and messy wavy hair rather than the typical fancy suits and hair styled with gel. 

as far as you’re concerned, he’s a businessman of sorts, although you don’t know what company he works for or what position he has in terms of hierarchy or how an occupation of that type allows such flexibility in hours or anything at all. 

“what if he’s having an affair?”

you paused for a second before continuing the motion of slicing the cheesecake with a fork and savoring the taste in your mouth. “that’s ridiculous,” you stated simply after swallowing. “he loves me very much, and it doesn’t explain his weird schedule either.”

today was spent with some friends you met back in high school, but honestly, you were only attending out of politeness and tradition since you honestly feel like you’ve disconnected from these girls long before the current. still, you treasure the memories shared in your more formative years and wouldn’t ever say no to them if they wanted to hang out like old times. ji-cheol doesn’t bother to hide his distaste for them, calling them a miserable lot who try to drag you down at every opportunity out of jealousy for your happiness. you laugh it off, but you know deep down he’s right and yet you’re still sitting here at the cafe with them with bright smiles like their words don’t cut deep. 

“maybe he’s dating the boss— a sexy office siren type— she gives him plenty of days off and he stays with her at her beach house at jeju island or something to keep her company, and then she gives him lots of money in exchange.”

“oh my god, could you imagine?”

“can you be realistic? it sounds like you’re just writing a plot for a new drama,” you giggled, not allowing the feeling of a twisting blade in your abdomen to show on your face or the venom to drip from your words at the mere thought of the man you loved being stolen away a faceless woman who was everything you wished you were more of: more beautiful, more wealthy, more experienced, more intelligent—

“you don’t know because he’s your first love or whatever— and you’re so lucky to have been able to marry him— but men are dogs, and i don’t see why he would be the exception.”

“but he treats me so well—”

“maybe he only treats you well because you’re pregnant— he probably just feels guilty. i mean, when i was pregnant and had my first, my husband wasn’t attracted to me anymore and demanded a divorce unless i lost the baby weight.” she shrugged like it was so simple, so common, like the notion of marriage wasn’t something so deeply important and could be thrown away so easily.

“we aren’t suggesting you get a divorce, but we’re just saying you should keep an eye on him— you know? a handsome guy like him was always bound to get a lot of attention…” her laugh was shrill and high-pitched, making goosebumps erupt on your skin.

“right… thanks guys…”

that night, you couldn’t stop twisting and turning on the large sectional couch with thoughts rushing through your head of your husband with some other woman. the jealousy from these fictional scenarios without evidence of existence plagued you. it made you want to vomit up the negative feelings and go back to the person you were a few hours ago without the images of him cheating planted in your mind, which didn’t go unnoticed by him and caused him to ask what was bothering you as it wouldn't be good for the baby.

you hesitated for a moment, “could you tell me about your exes?”

“why are you suddenly curious about that?” he chuckled, knowing damn well that it was because of those stupid snakes masquerading as people (it truly takes one to know one) running their mouths again, but still feigning obliviousness for your sake. 

“just wondering,” you muttered. “i mean, you’re the first person i’ve fallen in love with, but you’re a bit older than me so…”

“and i hope to be the only one too,” he smirked confidently, making you laugh as he plopped down on the ground and rested his head on the cushion next to yours. 

it was such a casual setting in such a vast space, bringing you back to the days in your little apartment inviting him over for chicken and beer before you knew about your immense wealth and got embarrassed over your cheap dates when he was so used to expensive restaurants. he found it very endearing though, knowing you liked him for him and not his money.

“well, if you’re so curious…” he trailed off, but you weren’t quite sure if it was because of hesitation or because he simply didn’t know where to start. you can’t remember the last time a conversation like this was held to learn more about him since it was usually about you, maybe back when you first started dating and briefly discussed his late parents.

he started with his crush when he was in middle school since that was his earliest recollection of feeling love, who didn’t really count as a girlfriend or love because nothing was established and because of their age, but she was his first kiss that he ran away from right after because of how nervous he was, and it was never addressed again. apparently it was his second girlfriend who taught him everything he knew before he met you, saying she basically “trained him like a dog” to create a gentleman out of an inexperienced boy who still wasn’t quite sure how to treat a woman like a queen. she was a bit mean though, and he didn’t realize he dodged a bullet until later after realizing she was unnecessarily cruel to him for no reason multiple times if he didn’t do things exactly her way.

you suppose you always knew your husband wasn’t always the suave charmer you know him to be, but the image of younger him being clueless on matters of romance made you burst out laughing because of how you could hardly picture it.

he reached over to pinch your cheek affectionately, “are you of all people really making fun of me when you were too scared to hold my hand for me to escort you out of my car?”

“oh my god, that was on our first date, i can’t be blamed! i was shaking like crazy on that day— you had to tell me that you didn’t bite.”

“i was actually thinking about calling off our date last minute because of an emergency at work,” he confessed, “but i’m glad i didn’t and met the love of my life instead.”

“aw, you flirt.” the memory made you smile and feel all giggly inside, all the fears you had about him possibly having an affair falling away, yet there were still some lingering at the back of your mind with the mention of his job. “what happened at work?”

“nothing that important,” he said instantly like clockwork. “just some boring business things.”

you didn’t push it, not wanting to ruin the mood, but once again, your curiosity was just itching to ask more questions about his work life even if it was truly as boring as he says. you wanted to know every mundane detail whether it was what his office looked like or what the annoying co-worker did on a daily basis, anything to satiate your need to know more about this mysterious man you had made life-long vows with.

it all came to a head one night while you were cooking dinner, you heard the doorbell ring a dozen times in quick succession and answered it to find an older man with fiery red hair that seemed to match his temper. when he addressed your husband by name and verified your relationship with him, he began spewing all kinds of insults about the blood he had on his hands by luring innocent people to their deaths and you felt your heart drop. you tried to reason with him that there must have been some sort of mistake, barely able to get your words out in a fit of confusion and surprise at the absurd accusation, but he wouldn’t hear you out and pointed a finger in your face, asking if you had any idea what gong ji-cheol was doing behind your back. 

at that very moment, he was suddenly seized by two anonymous men in all black, causing him to yell out in panic as they dragged him away and stuffed him in the back of a car before quickly driving off into the night without a trace. it all happened so fast, you just stood there with your mouth open in shock, wondering if you should call the police on what looked like an abduction. 

then your husband comes running up the steps with his locked briefcase in hand, shouting out your name, asking you if you’re okay, pulling you back inside the comfort of your shared home, and checking you all over to make sure you aren’t harmed in any way. when you ask about who that man was and what he was talking about, he simply told you he was some crazy customer who was dissatisfied with the company, was looking for someone to blame, and promised to tell you the details later. 

you didn’t tell him that you didn’t believe him, just pursed your lips and furrowed your brow for a second then let go of the topic like you always do, taking his coat off his shoulders with a peck on the lips asking how his day was. he reciprocated the kiss, said it was fine without anything special, and that he would shower before having dinner, something he didn’t really need to say since you already knew but stated anyway as per evening routine. 

as he headed up the stairs and disappeared from sight, you stared at the locked briefcase resting crookedly on the little entryway table and paused for a moment. if you did this, it would be a breach of privacy and a sign of growing distrust in your husband, but it could also answer all of the questions that never cease. 

your hands wouldn’t stop shaking involuntarily as you felt the cold black metal underneath your fingertips, marveling at the smooth material clean of any scratches or dents. fidgeting with the built-in combination lock, six number sequences started rushing through your mind as you started to hastily run through your options with a focus on dates. you were determined to only do this three times since you had no idea if an alarm would be set off or if it would close off permanently.

his birthday?

an electronic beep went off indicating you were incorrect, making you nervous.

your birthday?

wrong again, you only had one attempt left. you swallowed, shaking the accumulating sweat off your hands.

the date of your wedding?

you gasped as the locks suddenly flipped open and lightly knocked against the briefcase. it was undone, you could open it at any moment now and see it all.

and yet you still hesitated during this golden opportunity. was it the fact that the passcode to his most secret possession was the day you got married? was it guilt for going behind your husband’s back for answers instead of directly asking him? was it because you were afraid of what you would find if you discovered the red-haired man was telling the truth?

whatever it was, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and locked it again, leaving it looking untouched and went back to playing dinner.

there was a heavy tension present at the dinner table that night, the only conversation present being him interrogating you about what the red-haired man talked about word-for-word. not really interrogating since his tone of voice was still calm and gentle as he asked questions, but you could see him fidgeting with his fork and not leaving much room for any other topic until he was sure you told him everything. he then sighed and claimed the man was insane, a gambling addict who was too deep in debt to afford treatment and was trying to drag him into his misery after meeting at the subway station. 

“ji-cheol?”

he froze for a second, not used to hearing you use his real name rather than a pet name. “yes?”

“what do you do for a living, exactly?”

a pause, you watched him fidget with his chopsticks and shift the grains of rice around. “you know, business stuff— nothing you need to concern yourself about—“

“but i don’t know! that’s the thing!” you felt tears starting to well up behind your eyes, letting two years of frustration trickle through. “i know it doesn’t seem that important for me to know, but is it really so important that you leave me in the dark about it for the three years we’ve been lovers? and now some guy comes to our doorstep and tells me about how your job is playing games with people at the subway station to make them participate in death games?!” you took a deep breath, calming yourself down, “please, be honest with me, that’s all i want…”

“i-i…” that was the first time you’ve ever heard him stutter, and if the situation wasn’t so tense, you would be proud you finally got one-up on him. “i can’t say… it’s for your own safety and mine.”

“so he was right?”

he remained silent, trying to think of some way to counter what seong gi-hun had told you, but if you didn’t believe the elaborate lie he already told you and wanted to learn more, then he knew this was the end of the road. 

“i-i need some time to think…” you looked defeated and it broke his heart. “i’m going to my mom’s house tonight, i’ll be back tomorrow—“ you got up, not bothering to pack anything aside from your phone and your wallet.

he had prepared for you to start screaming and crying (not that he would blame you, i mean, who would willingly stay with a man who was complicit in mass murder), demanding a divorce and packing your things to shut the door for him never to be seen again with your unborn child. the strangely calm reaction was both a relief and extremely unsettling to him.

“i won’t be mad if you decide not to come back” he stated plainly, defeated in a state you’ve never seen him in before. “whatever choice you make, i’ll support you, just know i love you— more than anything else in this world.”

you stared at him blankly through the open doorway. perhaps your husband isn’t the perfect man you believed him to be, but he was as honest as he possibly could have been with you regarding the matter, and that’s enough. 

“i love you too, i’ll be back in the morning.” that’s how you feel at the moment, but you don’t know if you’ll feel the same way tomorrow morning when it sinks in.

[stardustandash]

How many fics have you worked on since January?

Worked on about 55? I think? Its hard to calculate as I posted whumptober and febuwhump as individual stories but they exist in one doc each on my computer. I've worked on 6 fics that are either as of yet unposted, unprinted in a zine, or just lost unfinished limbo (I need to work on my merrin-focused post nur fic omg)

2. What’s something new that you tried in a fic this year?

I guess I've tried to play more with present vs past tense, and finishing multichapter fics before posting. Did try out a time loop for the first time during whumptober and had fun with that!

3. What piece of media inspired you the most? (This can be the fandom you wrote the most for, the one that spawned the most ideas, the one you thought about the most, etc.)

I feel like Star Wars is the pretty obvious answer, though right at the end of the year here comes Dragon Age with a steel chair after 4 years of not really being involved in the fandom

4. How many fandoms did you write for this year?

Seven, I think! Jedi Fallen Order & Survivor, The Bad Batch, Dragon Age Inquisition & Veilguard, FFXV, FFXVI, Horizon Zero Dawn & Forbidden West, and Twisted Wonderland

5. What ships captured your heart?

As a gen writer its rare for ships to catch me, but thank you Veilguard for giving me Rook x Harding, and M!Rook x Emmrich. (Not a fan of F!Rook x Emmrich sorry yall)

7. What characters captured your heart?

As always Cal remains number 1 in my heart. I love him so much, along with the whole Mantis crew <3 For new this year, I am bewitched body and soul by the Veilguard crew. The writers were cooking with all of them, they're all amazing!!

8. Did you write for any new fandoms or ships this year?

...Does Veilguard count lol? For new fandoms I wrote one FFXVI fic early in the year.

I've got two fics for Rook x Harding and one wip for Rook x Emmrich as new ships!

9. What fic meant the most to you to write?

That's a hard question!! I think I poured a lot of my own personal emotional anguish into a lot of the fics I wrote this year. It's been a rough year for many reasons, and writing out all that angsty hurt/comfort helped a lot

10. What fic made you feel the happiest to work on?

I think finishing 'what makes a family' was honestly one of the best feelings ever! And the fact that I still get comments on it from time to time about people binge-reading it.

11. What fic was the most satisfying to finish writing?

I guess I could go with the above, but actually completing whumptober was pretty satisfying.

12. What fic was the most difficult to write?

'i do not love the bright sword for its sharpness' is at the top of this pile. i think about it constantly but actually writing it is proving super difficult, and it remains unfinished...

13. What fic was the easiest to write?

The one for the Pabu Days zine!! I wrote the first draft in just over an hour, and it was about 1k too many words lol

14. What were your shortest and longest fics posted this year?

of the ones written entirely in this year, 'take a breath before the plunge' wins with its 11k words. If we count just completed this year, 'what makes a family' wins at just shy of 70k

The shortest was one of the whumptober fics, 'where flesh and metal meet'

15. What were your go-to writing songs?

The Horizon games' soundtracks! Less of a song list, but there's too many to put in here.

What was the hardest fic to title?

...all of them. Titling things is the hardest part of writing fics

16. What's your favorite title of the year?

Love and Blood Both Run Red, or maybe Cold But For Your Company

17. Share your favorite opening line

In some way, Tech thinks, it is poetic to die for his family.

From here, at the bottom

18. Share your favorite ending line

He turned, and came face to face with a skull staring back at him. There were holes through the skull, and though everything had been decayed by time, Cal could still see that the skeleton wore Jedi robes.

From then there was nothing

19. Share your favorite piece of dialogue

ooh i don't know! If its humorous then assume its one of my favourites

20. Share your funniest line

see above

21. What's something that surprised you while you were working on a fic? Did it change the story?

I think being able to slip back into old fandoms and characters for whumptober was a surprise. it didn't change the story but it was surprisingly quick to get back into things i hadn't touched in years

22. What writing programs did you use? Did you write by hand?

I use microsoft word for all my fics. which isn't great for longform fic and probably why i don't write too much of it

23. If you had to choose one, what was THE most satisfying writing moment of your year?

Again, actually managing to complete whumptober felt really good!! I've never managed to finish a writing challenge like that so it was a really proud moment

24. Did you do anything special to celebrate finishing a fic?

I don't think I've ever done anything?? Though I am thinking about starting a lil scrapbook of comments or smth like that

25. How did you recharge between fics?

what is this recharge you speak of? I am either possessed by ideas that demand attention or left in a drought of creativity

26. Did you create fanworks other than fic?

I do playlists for myself sometimes. I have ones for Cal, Crosshair, and Omega right now. I constantly wish i had the patience to improve my art skills to do fanart

27. How many events did you take part in? (bangs, exchanges, ship weeks, zines, prompt memes, they all count!)

4 if you count febuwhump and whumptober. I'm in a Bad Batch zine that's in preorders right now - Pabu Days, and participating in a fic/art exchange for new years for Twisted Wonderland

28. If this were an awards show, who would you thank?

firstly I'd like to thank my cat for being the one to hear me talk out plot points and details. I'd also like to thank @pennflinn and @breakfastteatime for being both supportive of all my j:fo fics as well as being inspirations themselves in that fandom! And the whole j:fo fandom at large for being awesome and supportive of each other's works. And I need to mention @fanfoolishness for joining me in not one, not two, but THREE! fandoms here!! As well, shoutout to @shadowcrow for yelling on my rook x harding fics! it's a small corner of the fandom but at least it's got you there!

29. What's left on your to-do list for 2024?

Finish this fic for the new years exchange, and get another chapter of Blood and Love Both Run Red up! Though it may only be one of those that happens...

30. What would you like to write next year?

I wanna finish bright sword and get that post nur Merrin fic postable! And since I'm currently consumed by Veilguard I wanna write more of that next year too!

A slightly revised version of last year's questions! Two ways to play: Reblog and have your followers send you numbers, or answer the whole list!

How many fics have you worked on since January?

What’s something new that you tried in a fic this year?

What piece of media inspired you the most? (This can be the fandom you wrote the most for, the one that spawned the most ideas, the one you thought about the most, etc.)

How many fandoms did you write for this year?

What ships captured your heart?

What characters captured your heart?

Did you write for any new fandoms or ships this year?

What fic meant the most to you to write?

What fic made you feel the happiest to work on?

What fic was the most satisfying to finish writing?

What fic was the most difficult to write?

What fic was the easiest to write?

What were your shortest and longest fics posted this year?

What were your go-to writing songs?

What was the hardest fic to title?

What's your favorite title of the year?

Share your favorite opening line

Share your favorite ending line

Share your favorite piece of dialogue

Share your funniest line

What's something that surprised you while you were working on a fic? Did it change the story?

What writing programs did you use? Did you write by hand?

If you had to choose one, what was THE most satisfying writing moment of your year?

Did you do anything special to celebrate finishing a fic?

How did you recharge between fics?

Did you create fanworks other than fic?

How many events did you take part in? (bangs, exchanges, ship weeks, zines, prompt memes, they all count!)

If this were an awards show, who would you thank?

What's left on your to-do list for 2024?

What would you like to write next year?

[cheyisagirlkisser]

nsfw. ellie fingers you on patrol to help with your cramps. 1.4k words.

Never in your three years of residency in Jackson would you ever predict this–Ellie’s fingers deep inside of you, stroking the soft, sweet spot swollen by your own arousal. You would never have been able to predict actually crying out for her touch, hips bucking up to meet her palm like it was nothing. It was truly everything, because this was never supposed to happen.

You and Ellie had a strong distaste for each other from the start.

You liked to go to parties and drink, be reckless during patrols, and (at least attempt to) sleep with anyone who you thought was even slightly fuckable. Ellie was a wallflower, so maybe her distaste for you was plain jealousy. For you, your dislike for Ellie was much more than just something solvable with a little chat.You really resented her, and maybe it was because she actually made you feel things.

It was just another patrol like the rest, Ellie being quiet around you, and you refusing to make your usual conversation. Ellie was the only person you didn’t chat up a storm with when it came to these long patrol shifts, this one even lasting two days and requiring a camp set-up. If the two of you had really thought it through, you would’ve been more careful. Two people who have that obvious and yet annoyingly oblivious tension? It should’ve been predictable.

It started with the growing of blood in your underwear. The perfect time to be on your period, huh? You only let out a little huff to which Ellie ignored, setting off into the forest to put on a pad. When you returned, it was like fate that hit you, much like a lightning strike. Literally a strike of pain in your lower stomach signifying cramps to come, and on the one patrol you before to bring a bottle of Ibuprofen on.

You laid in your sleeping bag in pain, not wanting to even complain to Ellie, as much as you were the whining type. It’d be real nice to have someone to listen to you express how badly this cycle was, how your body was doing you dirty. You weren’t expecting Ellie to speak to you first.

“You okay over there?” not the usual irritated tone she liked to use with you, but not the most empathetic. Just slightly softer, but that was a mercy due to the strain in your relationship.

“Cramps.”

“Just take an ibuprofen and lay on your side.”

“Gee, thanks. I would’ve never thought to do that,” you bit, making Ellie glare. “I don’t have anything on me. I forgot I was close to my period.”

“Damn,” a not so sympathetic, and possibly indifferent curse from her.

“Yeah, damn is right. I feel like I’m being stabbed in my uterus repeatedly.” 

Silence went on for a few more minutes, but it was visually obvious that you were in a lot of pain. Despite her dislike for you, she didn’t like seeing you suffer. There was a small flutter of empathy deep inside her that made her suggest something she probably shouldn’t have.

“Physical stuff can help cramps, you know.” Quiet, and yet the implication was clear.

“You mean like..sex?”

“Don’t think of it as actual sex, obviously. Just me helping you.”

“If we do this, we aren’t having sex. I’m not moaning for you or telling you how much I want you, so don’t expect that shit. You’re simply giving me an orgasm, and then it’s done.”

“Agreed. No kissing, and as soon as you..finish, we stop.”

And it started just like that, as sexual act of non-sex.

Ellie didn’t warm you up with neck kisses or sloppy love bites like your usual partners did, and partially, you were glad. This was just supposed to be an orgasm, and you didn’t need to like each other to appreciate a good orgasm, right? A simple pain reliever. Anytime your brain would bleed with thoughts of Ellie doing those things for you, however, you’d block them out as soon as they entered into your mind. The imagery was more difficult to get out of your head, though. Just simply picturing her plush lips trailing over your neck, breath ghosting over…

You snapped out of it, and just focused on trying to cum so that this would end, and you and Ellie could go back to hating each other.

One finger slipped inside of you, and you bit back a gasp. You were wet enough to take it without much at all, and you hoped Ellie just assumed that was just because of your period and not actually because you were turned on.

Ellie started out slow, just rubbing your g-spot with her finger, providing some direct stimulation. It made you realize how different the act of sex itself was from sex with all of the other stuff. The teasing, how your typical couple would build up the moment to make it the best possible experience. That wasn’t what this was, though. So, why were you biting your lip to stifle moans when Ellie slipped in another finger into your increasingly wet hole, and even padded over your clit with her thumb?

Your head was spinning, and you were starting to lose your focus on just having that orgasm, the aid to your cramping. You were already too distracted to think about the pain, too focused on trying your hardest to pretend like Ellie’s calloused fingers curling into your pussy wasn’t the hottest thing you’ve felt in a while. 

Ellie didn’t complain when you instinctively bucked your hips up into her touch, and she had to try really hard not to lean down and kiss you when the occasional moan slipped past your lips. She couldn’t blame you, it was a natural reaction.

So, why was it that you were now begging for more when she curled right up into your sweet, tender spot?

“Ellie,” you breathed out, eyes fluttering open to meet hers. The scrunch of her nose that was usually present when you were around faded away, and her eyes were lidded, her lips parted slightly. A delicious, rosy tint set across her freckled face.

“Is it helping?”

“Please. Please, fuck me..just like that, I need it,” you begged, making her stomach do summersaults. It couldn’t be helped, though. Ellie took note that you shed off a little bit of your dignity when she slid her fingers slightly out and shoved them back into your hole, just to slam into your g-spot. She liked the way you sounded, the way your usual walls built around her crumbled when she fucked you good. Even though she didn’t (or at least tried not to) care to observe you enough, she noticed that you were different when at parties dancing with random people, more inauthentic. Something was ironically beautiful about the rawness to your voice that hit hard when she did something particularly mind-blowing to your pussy.

A mix of blood and your juices were dripping down her knuckles, and she really wanted to taste you. It would probably be something she would regret later, but Ellie decided to sate herself with a soft kiss to your lips instead. She felt warm and tasted like the rations from earlier, but you kissed her back fervently. The needy sounds coming from your throat were swallowed by her own mouth.

The orgasm that hit you was mind-blowing enough to aid with the cramps, but that wasn’t what you were focused on. Instead, it was the way Ellie’s tongue coaxed your lips apart, and the scent of her hair against your nose when she buried her face into your neck to taste your pulse. You felt every tremor run through you like lightning, and it was unlike anything anyone else could give you. It wasn’t forced, and the passion there was real. You actually felt something with her. 

As you came down however, the moment dissolved into awkward silence and the careful removal of Ellie’s fingers from you. You swallowed, holding back your words. You wished to forget it all now, not because you wanted to deny it ever happened, but you were scared of what it meant if you got attached to someone in Jackson.

Just like that, it was over, and you and Ellie didn’t go quite back into disliking each other dynamic but rather an awkward limbo. You left that patrol and spent the next few weeks sleeping with people, pulling all-nighters trying to make yourself feel what you did on that patrol, but you never could find the same peak in every single category of feelings that Ellie gave you.

[adieutristana]

Well, reader and Jinx matching rings (maybe even wedding rings), and when Caitlin shoots Jinx's finger, she destroys this ring. Jinx’s honest reaction?

of course! thank you for the request <3

i decided to make them promise rings since she lost her middle finger. i hope that’s alright!

summary; jinx’s promise ring being destroyed, and fem!reader comforting her after the fact.

characters included; jinx

tags/warnings; fluff, hurt/comfort, mentions of war/combat, mentions of poor mental health, medical talk ig? (patching up), s2 spoilers

men dni.

you’re sat in jinx’s hideout watching her tinker away with… something. a new type of explosive she’s experimenting with, she says. something that only requires one hexcrystal instead of two or three, since she can’t keep using so many. she’s unceremoniously hunched over the workbench, goggles over her eyes as she messes with the piece of scrap metal in her hand.

“having fun?”

you ask, sitting back in the chair she got you.

“mm… this is more difficult than i thought it would be. who knew this could be so challenging? but i like a challenge.”

she smirks to herself, not taking her eyes off of her project.

“well, you’ve never let ‘difficult’ stop you. you’re a right genius.”

“oh, stop. you’re biased!”

she teases, but she’s got the lightest rouge dusting her cheeks. got her. your gaze continues to follow your girlfriend, the way she moves so freely and carelessly. getting her face impossibly close to power tools, using her nails to clean up dirt, teeth capturing her bottom lip when she’s particularly stumped.

“alright! that’s enough for right now.”

she proclaims, standing up and placing her hands on her hips.

“already?” it couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes since you asked her how she was doing.

“yeah! besides, i’ve got something for ‘ya.”

jinx springs up from her seat and skitters over to yours, quickly turning it around. you hear cheerful humming from behind you as she shuffles through piles of belongings, clearly looking for something.

"a-ha!"

she spins you back around, both hands on your seat and quickly rises. she's got something clasped in her left hand, but won't reveal it, not yet.

"what's that?"

"you have to be patient, toots! i've got a speech prepared, don't distract me!"

a speech? jinx never gave speeches. was she breaking up with you? so many thoughts began swirling through your mind as your palms began to sweat, gripping the chair- and then jinx revealed what she was hiding. a wooden box. a... ring box?

"isn't it a little soon to be getting engaged, jinx?"

you chuckle dryly, looking up at your girlfriend. she playfully rolls her eyes, and shakes her head, blue bang swaying.

"yes it is, that's why we're not getting engaged."

she clears her throat.

"not yet."

she turns her attention back to the box, and she opens it. inside lays a thick silver ring, with a circular blue gem in the middle. it looked eerily similar to a hexcrystal- but carved into a gemstone. 'JINX' is shakily engraved on the inside, something she undoubtedly did herself.

"this is a promise ring. i've been working on it for a while, and well... it's kind of stupid." she looks off to the side, sheepishly. "but this is me promising myself to you. to show you that i'm serious about this, ya know?"

you look over the ring for a moment, taking it in for all that it is. it's obviously unprofessional, the metal is a bit dull, and the shape isn't precise. but god dammit if it isn't the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. you glance back to your girlfriend, noticing her observing you- likely for any signs of disapproval. poor girl. as much as jinx had improved since meeting you, she still had the habit of expecting the worst. you didn't think that part would ever go away.

"jinx, it's beautiful. i- you made this?"

you ask, your eyes flickering back to the ring she's holding out. noticing how her grip is becoming a bit less stable.

"with my own two hands."

you chuckle, giving her a little grin.

"well? come on, put it on."

jinx doesn't need to be told twice. she gently takes hold of your left hand, removing the ring from the box and slowly slipping it onto your finger.

"there! it's on your middle finger, so your ring finger is open for the real thing."

not an ‘i do,’ but an ‘i will.’

you hold your hand up to the light, admiring how the ring catches it, before leaning forward to press a flurry of kisses to jinx's face.

"ah- hey! stop, you goof!"

she laughs, arms coming to wrap around you as a fit of giggles erupts from her.

"nope! i get to do this!"

it's not a week later when you arrive to jinx's hideout with a promise ring of your own to give her. a thick gold band to contrast the silver jinx had given you, with a rose quartz to accompany your own hexcrystal. pink and blue… she had a theme going, didn't she?

it wasn't handmade, but held the same sentimental value. you weren't as handy as jinx, and you'd learned to accept that a while ago. you had strengths in other areas, one of them being finding perfect gifts. it didn't take you long to find a jeweler in piltover who had exactly what you needed.

"oh, my god- you didn't have to do this."

she gasps, rosy eyes blown wide. both hands are on her cheeks as jinx gently approaches the open box in your hand.

"you promised yourself to me, didn't you? this is my promise to you."

jinx lets you put the ring onto her own left middle finger, her eyes never leaving your face. watching you so intently, she can feel her heart fluttering in her chest. what did she do to deserve you exactly? she could never quite figure it out, but that doesn't matter right now. you glance back up at her, a little smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

"i… you're too good to me, toots. really."

"i am not. i love you, remember?"

"mm… i love you too. i still think you're too good to me, though."

you let out a low chuckle.

"c'mere."

you bring the girl into your arms, tilting her chin with your index finger to gently bring her closer to you. pressing your lips to hers in a slow, gentle kiss.

oh- and of course, your name is engraved on the inside of the ring.

✧.*

you're posted at your girlfriend's hideout, going over notes in preparation for an exam. it's nerve wracking, sure, but the odd tranquility of jinx's desk is useful in its own way.

jinx swings open the door to the hideout, and as soon as she steps onto the panel of the wind turbine supporting her hideout, you can tell she's in hysterics.

the girl is wailing. she's pacing back and forth, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. but most importantly, her hand is gushing blood. you immediately drop your notes, papers scattering across the desk to rush over to your girlfriend.

"jinx? jinx?! what the hell happened, oh my god..."

you kneel down in front of jinx, taking her hand to examine it. her middle left finger is completely gone, blood rushing out from the wound. it seems to be a clean cut, at least, you won't have to deal with any extra bits to clean up.

"the ring, the ring, it's gone-"

she sobs, a hiccup following and her free hand clenching into a fist at her side. you gasp, looking up at jinx, then back down at her finger.

"jinx, seriously? you just lost your finger and you're worried about a damn ring?!"

you breathe out, exasperation and worry weighing heavy on your voice.

"the ring is important! it's- it's our promise!"

she cries, hanging her head low. jinx is so ashamed, it hurts your heart to see. you let go of her hand and frantically sweep along her workbench for anything. you knew you had a first aid kit somewhere, you'd gotten it after seeing jinx patch herself up in a way that would make any doctor shiver. but god damn it, where was it?

there.

you quickly swipe the kit and a bottle of peroxide from her workbench, rushing back over to jinx. you take one of her wrists and quickly guide her over to her beaten-up couch.

"sit."

"but-"

"sit."

jinx huffs and sits down on the couch, you sitting down beside her. you open the kit and bottle, pouring peroxide onto a cotton square and taking her hand into your lap.

"this is going to sting. a lot."

jinx winces at just the thought, but nods slowly. keeping her eyes on what you're doing-

"agh- fuck!"

she yelps, tossing her head back as you press the square to the wound, holding it there to both disinfect and stop the bleeding.

"i'm sorry, baby, it'll be over soon. i just need to stop the bleeding."

you coo, trying to do anything in your power to calm her down. yet it's obvious the injury itself isn't what she's upset about.

"that- that fucker vi is with shot it off, she shot the ring off..."

jinx seethes through gritted teeth, trying to keep her composure as you hold the peroxide to her wound. ah.. that makes sense. caitlyn was never fond of jinx, especially after the stunt she pulled with the council room. part of you was simply grateful that she didn't just take jinx out, as much as you knew she was probably trying to.

jinx was always putting herself in so much danger, both for the sake of necessity and the fact her ego was just so damn inflated. she said it herself- she just can't seem to die. but she got impossibly close way more than you would've liked her to.

you take out a roll of gauze and begin to wrap it around her hand, the wound being in the center of it all. it's far from professional, but this will have to do until you can get her proper medical attention. which you were trying to avoid talking about, since jinx was the last person to ever admit she needed help.

"jinx, i'm just happy that you're alive. i don't care about the ring right now. what if she had shot you somewhere more... vital?"

"then i would've gotten to keep the ring."

god damn it. she could not be serious right now. you finish wrapping her hand, bleeding having come to a halt and wound disinfected. you'd grab some painkillers in a moment. you quickly take both of her cheeks in your hands, forcing her to look you directly in the eye. the cold metal of your own ring against soft skin.

"jinx. again, i'm happy that you're here, and you're alive, and losing your finger was the worst thing that happened. i will get you a new ring, first thing tomorrow. okay?"

she sighs, her lips coming into a slight pout. at the very least, she's not crying anymore.

"but..."

you press your index finger to her lips, shushing her.

"no. just because you don't have the ring anymore doesn't mean the promise went out the window, okay?" you whisper, brushing your lips against her forehead. "i still love you, and still have promised myself to you. that won't change.

jinx closes her eyes, and leans into your kiss. she seems to have finally resigned, and is snaking her arms around your waist.

"i just- i love you so much..."

"i know, baby. i love you too, which is why i'll get you a new ring. a better one, even."

your hand still cupping her face, you lean in to press a chaste kiss to her lips.

"just stay here, with me. you've had a hell of a day."

[hauntedhokage]

𝓈𝓌𝑒𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝓌𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇

Sylus x F!MC

word count: 1.6k

summary: After a UNICORNS holiday party, you meet up with Sylus in the most festive attire you have in your closet.

note: for @silverrings-n-prettythings, merry christmas bitch ily

Holiday parties with mandatory attendance rules were stupid.

You understood and somewhat respected the desire to reward the team for their efforts this year and give them an opportunity to relax, but requiring attendance at the event made the party less of a party and more of a team meeting. Your pre-existing plans be damned, “team bonding” was more important than the dinner reservations your partner had made. Despite how exclusive the restaurant was, how difficult it was to get those reservations - it was the party over anything and you did fear retaliatory missions should you choose to skip.

Tara had tried over the last week to get you to bring the boyfriend she’d yet to meet, seeing this as the golden opportunity to finally meet the mysterious Skye - “If that was his real name”. Every suggestion that you use your right to a plus one is shot down, but you don’t correct her on his name or the way the excitedly slipped off the morning of the party when you’d tiredly mumbled something sarcastic regarding his appearance that evening.

Her disappointment when you show up alone is almost enough to make you feel bad. Almost. But you wear your sweater, a bright red garment decorated with white snowflakes and black feathers and at the front read Santa Caws with a Grumpy Crow wearing a santa hat. Everyone could be well aware that you didn’t want to be there and would only be there long enough to be noticed before you left, but they couldn’t say that you were trying to be a buzzkill. You drank, chatted, danced, and had a merry time with your coworkers until your phone vibrated in your back pocket.

Sylus

6:04pm

Fifteen minutes, sweetie.

Sylus

6:04pm

Don’t keep me waiting.

Your exit is well timed, making sure to grab the box you were eyeing from the white elephant table on your way out in adherence to the rules. It wasn’t anything fancy or expensive, but it was necessary for you to make sure you had the last laugh against Sylus tonight.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” Tara asks, speech slurred as an accusatory finger is pointed in your direction. “It’s only-“

“I still have reservations to make, Tara. I’ll see you on Monday, get home safe!”

She’s too tipsy to be able to catch you before the elevator door closes, and you lean against the wall with a sigh of relief at finally being free from that party. You were having fun, but even forty-five minutes was too long when you knew Sylus was waiting for you.

The elevator doesn’t move fast enough, the security locks take too long to register and record your credentials (and take even longer to actually unlock the doors) but it’s all worth it when you’re finally stepping out of the Hunter Association building and into the crisp winter air outside.

“That sweater is more of a crime than anything that’s ever occurred in the N109 zone.”

The pot was certainly calling the kettle black here, as Sylus was wearing a green cardigan that was obnoxious with every move he made; covered in little bells, garland, and lights that decorated the little tree shapes knitted into the fabric. Luke and Kieran certainly delivered when you’d asked for them to produce the worst thing they could find for him to wear for your date this evening. But still, even in something so heinous, Sylus’ figure was imposing as he leaned against the car that would be your chariot for the evening.

“Mine doesn’t alert everything in a five mile radius of my position when I breathe,” you retort, poking his chest and being in delight when the bells sounded in response. “But nice try.”

He only chuckles, opening the door of the vehicle for you to slide into the passenger’s seat. You set the box down at your feet as Sylus makes his way around to the driver’s seat.

You tell him about your day as he drives, answering the questions he had about the party you were at and your coworker’s - specifically Tara - suspicions regarding your dating life.

“You know, considering you run around with various pictures of me on hand and nobody has said anything, I’m sure you could’ve brought me to your work party.”

“While you’re right, I do like keeping you to myself.”

“Is that so?”

“I’m very possessive, Sylus.”

“I’m very aware, sweetie.” He winks, the action bringing a fresh heat to your cheeks as he continues. “Perhaps I want to see what happens when a kitten’s territory is threatened.”

“I’d have to be insecure to feel threatened,” you counter, smirking in your victory when he hums his approval. “Our uninterrupted time together is often limited, so if I don’t have to share your attention I’m not going to.”

“A sentiment we share, my bell.”

Your dinner is quiet, some patrons of the restaurant also dressed to match the season while others were dressed more formal to match the usual atmosphere of this restaurant. The restaurant overlooks the amusement park, treating you to a holiday light show as you eat your dinner at one of the coveted balcony tables. Despite the chill, you’re kept warm by the various fire pits going strong among the tables and you’re further warmed by Sylus’ attentive gaze as you discuss plans for the holiday and upcoming new year.

“I know you said not to worry about moving the reservation, but I do want to apologize for the inconvenience it must’ve been for you.”

“I appreciate your concern, but it actually worked out for the better because it meant I could secure this table.”

“That’s good to hear then. You should probably make next year’s reservations in advance.”

What were you saying? Making plans for a year in advance when tomorrow was barely guaranteed in your line of work? When you didn’t even know where your separate occupations would lead you? It was silly to make suggestions like that and you’re a bit embarrassed that you would try to.

“A good idea, sweetie.”

The praise has you grinning despite your embarrassment, clearly worried for no reason when he hasn’t even blinked at the suggestion. Maybe he was just as hopeful as you were for continued tomorrows that would carry you to the next holiday and every one after that?

“Let’s finish our ice cream, wouldn’t want the light maze line to get too terribly long.”

The line for the maze moves quickly, and soon you’re holding onto Sylus’ hand tightly as you move through the maze. Even with the balcony overlooking a section of the maze, the lights decorating the walls and other lost adventurers made it difficult to truly find your bearings in the structure. But you’re with Sylus and this time With him feels sacred, so you’re truly enjoying every minute with him that you have. You can’t help but think that you’d like to do this every year with him, exploring the light maze and watching the light shows while wearing ugly sweaters in the fanciest restaurant in Linkon City. The thought makes you slow down, something that Sylus definitely notices if the way he pulls you to the side is any indicator. It’s a good place to stop, not in the way of anyone else exploring the light maze and you’re grateful for the moment to be away from others as you stand at the dead end.

“You’re thinking hard, sweetie.” His observation with coupled with a hand on your cheek, and you smile up at him in an effort to assure him that you were alright. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“Yeah, I was just thinking that I’d like to spend every holiday season watching the lights here with you,” you murmur, your arms winding around his neck tightly as he leans in to lift you into his arms so he could comfortably rest his forehead against yours. His hands are warm through your jeans as they support your weight, and you feel your cheeks get even warmer at your intimate positioning in such a public space.

“I’ll do everything in my power to make sure I get to see the lights decorating your eyes, silver bell.”

You want to argue that it’s him the lights compliment more, pale skin illuminated by the soft hues surrounding you in the light maze. Ruby red irises sparkle with the reflection of twinkling lights, the sight mesmerizing and further complimented by his soft smile as he looks at you.

“The things I’d do to you if we weren’t in the middle of an amusement park.”

“Tell the twins to set up some lights in your bedroom, you can act on it all there.” You suggest, grin stretching across your face when he lets out a hum indicating that he was satisfied with your suggestion. “Just without the jingling sweater.”

For emphasis, you flick one of the bells sitting at the collar of his cardigan, warning a chuckle from your silver haired lover before he leans in to capture your lips in a kiss.

It’s saccharine, sweeter than the ice cream you’d shared on the balcony and carrying every sentiment let unsaid between you. The lights around you only make the moment more magical, and you wish there was a camera that could capture this moment but at the same time are grateful that this would live in your memories alone.

“It seems I’ve defeated the purpose of the mistletoe you’ve had on you since you left your party.” He teases, voice a murmur against your lips as you grin.

“That’s for later tonight,” you inform, pressing your lips to his in a chaste peck. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

After all, how was he supposed to expect that it was going to go around your waist?

[deciduouswaves]

I think it's also important to note what it means that this is so prevalent in online venues where it's impossible to verify who people are and almost disappears completely in meat space:

This is almost certainly the result of sockpuppet campaigns by TERFs and other strains of fascists trying to insert wedges and split the queer community against itself.

It's the same thing they tried to do against the asexual spectrum folks (of which I am one, demi to be specific). It's the same thing they tried to do against bisexuals and other multispectrum folks (of which I am one). It's the same thing they tried to do against transgender folks (of which I am one) from the rest of the queer community.

And it's what they are doing now by trying to split intersex and trans from each other as well as trans masc and trans femme from each other, trans women from nonbinary from trans men.

They are trying to split the larger queer community which is strong and large and can get real progress made... Into a bunch of warring factions which can't effectively defend themselves. That's also why they are trying to inspire queer people to reject the umbrella term of queer, the most effective collective activist label we've ever had, the term we matched with on banners as a proud community to fight for lives stricken by AIDs and apathy, which we marched with on banners to protest our lack of rights and the criminalization of our love and the criminalization of every kind of sex which isn't that of straight cis perisex people.

Please don't believe there is any kind of widespread rejection within the queer community of any of the categories I mention above. In physical queer communities there may be pockets of such among the terminally online who are reacting to things said online about their groups, but... It is not widespread.

My in-person queer communities are the most life-giving parts of my existence. They are where I see love and solidarity and activism and mutual aid on a scale I see nowhere else.

Don't cut yourself of from all of that because of what you see in online spaces where TERFs have proudly bragged about how effective their sockpuppet campaigns are. Don't help them isolate you. Please.

My own immediate friend group includes half a dozen nonbinary folks at this point: I helped two of them move house recently and one other move some months back. One of my transmasc friends (they/them) who is the strongest person I've ever met comes over and opens jars for me and my wife when we are unable to open them, and I help them with trimming the trees in their backyard because I'm taller than they are. I have a weekly craft night which includes three non binary folks, three transfemmes, two transmascs, a sapphic bisexual cis woman, and a bisexual cis man (and a partridge in a pear tree, sorry, couldn't resist). Several of us are somewhere on the ace spectrum. We arrange labour trading, body doubling, transportation, one time I drove a bicycle an hour from one of my queer friends to another because the former is no longer in a situation where they can commute by bike and was happy to donate their old bike and the other needed a bike to commute (not that transporting the bike was a hardship for me, I was meeting up with both of them anyway, the only difficult thing was figuring out how to put the bike rack on my car).

The point being: we have historically had each other's backs and we still do when it comes to in-person queer communities. Just please, go offline and beyond the bars and the clubs and form friend groups, find or form activist groups, find queer coffee shops and books stores, find your queer elders in your communities.

Please, don't let yourself be isolated and cut off from the lovely support and community which is yours to contribute to and benefit from as queer people. And also, there will be people who tell you that only people with your label will understand you and will stick by you. It's not true. If I had cut myself off from everybody who isn't a trans woman, everyone who isn't demisexual or bisexual or or or... I would be so much the poorer for it in my friends and my community.

Take care out there my queer family:

We may not know each other, but I wish the best for you 💜

I’ve been feeling really sad lately bc after this latest rise in anti transmasc sentiment I’ve had to unfollow some trans women I’ve been following for literal years bc they started reblogging and posting really nasty and very uncharitable things abt transmascs on my feed. And like. These are women whose voices I very much respected and listened to, and to hear them basically say they consider me an enemy who can’t be trusted bc I want to talk about my experiences, but all of our issues are really just splash damage from bigotry directed at them and talking abt my own experiences without acknowlefing that it’s not really meant for me is wrong. It’s like. So hurtful. And it makes me feel really hopeless about the future of the trans community.

How do I fight back against that hopelessness?

it really sucks and i'm sorry you're also being affected by this. i hear people talk about this every single day and i really don't like that this is just becoming a default in the trans community in general. it seems like the default mode of most online queers is hating transmascs and trans men as if that will somehow make cishet society accept them more. it's selfish behavior.

i'm an intersex trans woman and it's hard for me to interact with the online transfem and trans woman communities, because we're seeing a new experience in the form of transradfeminism, where trans women proudly adopt the anti-man ideals from rad feminism and spread it like it's the truth. it's a sad and painful thing to say, but these trans women are doing this because they believe rad fems and women who hate men are the only "Real" women and desperately want to be seen as "real" women. it stems from their personal dysphoria rooted in manhood, how they take out their own dysphoria in being seen as men on men and mascs. it comes from a place of pain, and it is misguided. instead of directing their hatred toward transmisogyny, they keep it inside the community. it's vile.

it's really sad but trans women and transfems are not immune to being indoctrinated by rad fems and terfs. applying those ideals to being trans isn't progressive. dictating who is and isn't trans is an act of policing. feeling as though one has the right to sit there and claim to know every trans experience, claiming to be the authority on transness... it's fascism.

i'm just plain tired of hearing people make fun of afab trans people and trans men and to talk about them like they're a blight on the community. im tired of people saying things like "do we really need more men?" i'm really sick and tired of chronically online people saying that trans men "aren't real trans people". this one really pisses me off. implying that trans womanhood and transfemininity are the only "real" ways to be trans is also identity policing. what is "unreal" about trans men? i'm tired of trans men being treated like they're unreliable. i'm tired of people wearing their misogyny on their sleeve to constantly treat trans men like they are not reliable narrators. i'm tired of people thinking somehow the instant you begin identifying as a man, you benefit from patriarchy.

i'm tired that people seriously think trans men and mascs can't coin terms for their own experiences. why the hell not? they happen, just because you don't see them personally doesn't mean they don't happen. i have met and lived with so many transmascs over the years, and we've all shared very similar stories about the discrimination we face. it's not spitting in the face of anyone to coin terms like transandrophobia and antimasculism. they happen just as often as transmisogyny does, and happily participating in it only increases trans violence

these talking points are old and it sucks to see more and more trans women get indoctrinated into literal rad feminism. hating trans men will not make dysphoria around being seen as a man go away. hating trans men does not dismantle the patriarchy. hating afab people isn't progressive, it's misogynistic. hating intersex trans men isn't progressive, it's transphobic -and- intersexist. trans men deserve so much better than this. trans men are trans. trans men are people. trans men are not evil by virtue of existing

i say try to do your best to connect with and appreciate the other trans men and mascs in your life. we have to stick together. if you have transfem friends who are on your side, make sure to be there for them, too. not every trans woman is like this fortunately, most trans women are very chill about trans manhood. this is a vocal minority of people who want to be fascists and want to control and police other trans people. transradfeminism isn't progressive, it's just as bad as regular rad feminism, if not worse, because now there's an even bigger focus on hating trans people.

hating other trans people will never get you ahead in cisheteronormative society. try to take care of yourself as best as you can. really relish trans joy when you experience it. take time to affirm your gender. know that manhood is a blessing. manhood is beautiful. it is varied, nuanced, and complex. it is a wonderful thing to experience. men are not evil. men are not bad. we should never remove the accountability from individuals.

hating trans men makes you transphobic. there's just no other way to it. whether or not you accept that it's called transandrophobia, it is still transphobia, and you really should care. the trans community isn't here for just 1 type of trans person. it's here for all of us. good luck, stay safe out there. be good to yourself

[vampirekiramman]

GOOD MORNING, BEAUTIFUL | caitlyn kiramman

synopsis: caitlyn catches you watching her sleep in the early hours of the morning, red-faced and red-handed.

details: caitlyn x fem!reader | fluff, established relationship, morning cuddles, and gentle sleepy kisses

word count: 1.5k words

a/n: i’ve always headcanoned that caitlyn would be an early bird. she most definitely gets up at the crack of dawn and gets right down to business in my mind, so this is based heavily on that!! if you’re a night owl, this one’s for you hehe

You’ve been planning this for weeks.

You love waking up next to Caitlyn every morning. Usually, she’s already up, dressed, and working in bed next to you by the time your body pulls you out of sleep, and you catch her smiling at you and stroking your hair with her free hand just as you gain consciousness. Sometimes, though more rarely, you’ll flutter your eyes open at the exact time and just smile at each other, pulling each other in close and lying intertwined before you have to start the day.

Once, and only once, did you wake up before her. You had just had a bad dream and jolted awake in your bed, sitting up to catch your breath. To your left, Caitlyn stirred at the movement, letting out a little groan before settling back down into the pillows beneath her. For a moment, you considered waking her up to comfort you. But the moonlight streamed in through the windows and hit her face just right, illuminating the soft curve of her lips and sharp edges of her nose. You realized then that you had never seen her sleep before. You went to bed at the same time each night, but she was always up first.

So, you fell back down into the mattress and laid on your side, facing her. You took in the way that her eyelashes rested on her high, sharp cheekbones, how her lips were slightly parted as she inhaled and exhaled slowly and rhythmically. During the day, she was always busy with something, always taking care of someone, always moving and always worrying. While she slept, she looked so peaceful. Her eyebrows were relaxed and unfurled, jaw unclenched. You touched her cheek and felt her nuzzle into it instinctively. This was Caitlyn in her purest form, and it was the most perfect thing you had ever seen.

You wanted to see it again. Every night for many nights, you went to bed hoping that your body would wake you before hers did again. And every night for many nights, she woke up long before you like she usually did.

It was over breakfast one morning that you decided to ask, “What time do you usually get up? You’re always up so early.”

She finished chewing her food and swallowed before she answered. Always so polite.

“Well, it depends, but usually I’m awake by five. Sometimes four if I need to get some work done,” she said.

You nearly spit out your coffee.

“Four? As in four in the morning?” you said, incredulously.

Even more incredulously, she said, “Well, certainly not in the afternoon.”

You laughed together over your breakfast, but, inside, you were already crafting a plan. It would be difficult, you realized, but it would be worth it. You never were an early riser, always getting up around 9 or 10 o’clock. Waking up at 4, maybe even 3 o’clock, would be no easy feat for you.

Which is probably why it took you so long to do it.

For the past few weeks, you went to bed earlier and earlier, slowly altering your internal clock by a couple more minutes each night. First, you started waking up at 8, then at 7, and so on until you finally woke up one morning, rolled over to check the clock on your nightstand, and saw it read: 3:55am. Your plan had worked.

You glanced over your left shoulder and saw Caitlyn, still in bed and still fast asleep, no signs of stirring or extra-early rising in sight. Quietly, you inched closer to her face and, for a moment, you just stared. She looked to be deep in REM, her eyes twitching beneath her shut lids. You wondered what she was dreaming about. Were her dreams pleasant? Did she ever dream of you?

You imagined her taking a day off in her dreams, something she rarely did when she was awake. Maybe she would allow herself to wake up later, even later than you, giving you a chance to finally rush into the kitchen and make her breakfast in bed like you've always wanted. You'd walk into your shared bedroom with a silver serving tray carrying all her favorite foods: Crepes with blueberries, rosemary and thyme egg frittata, and lemon ginger tea. You would extend your morning together well into the afternoon, posted up in bed together without a care in the world just for one day.

But, then, maybe that was your dream more than it was Caitlyn's.

You watched her whole body rise and fall as she breathed. You studied the way her body moved with her breath. Her features almost seemed to soften with each exhale. Slowly, you lifted your hand to her face and pushed a strand of navy blue hair behind her ear so you could get a better look.

You let your fingers run through her hair, then traced them down the side of her face and jaw, noting every detail of her outline. Her skin was so soft. You remembered, then, when you first met and she sent you a gift basket of skincare to apply, writing in a note that it was all imported straight from Ionia, and that her father had actually been the one who started her on her own skincare routine when she was a teenager. You used those products every day, thinking of Caitlyn with every serum and cream you applied. You never did get your skin to be quite as soft as hers.

You looked a little ways over her shoulder and saw a number of half-empty creams sitting on her bedside table that she applied nightly. One for her face, one for her elbows, and one for her hands. You smiled and traced your fingers down her arm, feeling every inch of skin. Despite her best efforts, her hands were still calloused from carrying her gun around all day. You didn't care. You grasped her hand in yours anyway.

Just then, you felt her squeeze your hand a little bit too tightly for a sleeping person. Your eyes shot up and met hers, which were very much open. You felt your face grow hot.

"Good morning, beautiful," she said, groggily, "Watching me sleep, are we?"

"N-No," you stammered, "I just got up a little early, that's all."

She looked over your shoulder and at the clock behind you. It now read 4:15am.

"Very early, it seems," she commented with a smirk.

Shit. She caught you. Your first instinct was to duck your face under the covers, hiding the obvious blush on your cheeks. Then, you remembered it was so dark that she probably wouldn't have seen it anyways, but it was too late now. You had to commit.

You feigned a yawn and said, "Is it? Well, I'm going back to bed. 'Night."

"Not so fast," she said, pulling the covers off of the both of you. She slipped her hands into the pockets of your pajama pants and pulled you in close enough for your bodies to press right up against each other's. She slid her hands up your waist, sides, and arms, until she could cup your face in them.

If you weren't red before, you certainly were now.

"You think I didn't notice you getting up earlier and earlier lately?" she said, raising an eyebrow.

You buried your face in the crook of her neck, embarrassed and flustered like you never have been before. Of course she would notice. Most days, she had to fight you just to get you awake.

"How long have you known?" you groaned into her neck.

"From the start," she said. You could feel her smiling against your ear as she spoke, "I didn't know why, but now I do. You thought you were being sneaky, weren't you?"

You sat there for a moment, debating how to answer. Eventually, you just nodded, hesitantly and shamefully.

You heard her laugh as she pulled you in tighter. She reached for your face again and guided it away from her neck, forcing you to look at her. You could barely meet her gaze, but, when you did, she just looked... Happy.

"I have to admit, you've beaten me at my own game. I've been having all the fun watching you sleep this whole time."

Your eyebrows shot up.

"Really?" you asked.

"Of course," she giggled, "You didn't think I actually needed to be up at five o'clock every morning, did you?"

You felt the embarrassment come back, this time at the fact that you had failed to catch on to her own sneaking around. She always was more perceptive than you.

"Jerk!" you said, slapping her arm playfully.

"Creep," she bit back, kissing the tip of your nose.

You rolled your eyes and pulled her in for a gentle kiss, this one on the lips. Her lips felt like pillows on yours, reminding you how tired you really were. Halfway into the kiss, you yawned, and she laughed.

"Go back to sleep, little night owl. You can watch me sleep again later," she said. She pulled the covers back over you both, rubbing circles on your back.

"You promise?" you mumbled, burying your head into her chest.

"Promise," she whispered, her voice lulling you back to sleep.

[hxnbi]

hi!! I love your writing :). I wanted to request an angst to fluff scenario where reader likes the boy and confesses to him but he turns her down, but then he later regrets it and comes back?? and they live happily ever after??? i don’t really have any specific preferences other than that but im such a sucker for rejecting and regretting/she falls first he falls harder scenarios!! im using her/she to refer to the reader rn but i dont have any preference, just not sure how else to write it haha id love if you could include suo, togame, and umemiya but totally up to you :).

hey so thanks sm for your request! i loved writing this and with these boys, tho umemiya's does end on a pretty angsty note with how i was initially drafting it. i hope thats okay ♡

confessions, rejections, and regrets

⸻ °♡⃘ . you confess to the boy you liked, only to be rejected. or so you think, as, unbeknownst to you, he was battling his own feelings, too afraid to admit his love, up until he finally finds the courage to stand before you once again. but this time, it was him who would be begging for your heart.

⸝⸝ 𑅛𑅫 Suo Hayato

Tears. All you could feel dripping from your face and down your cheeks was the salty aftermath of your own tears. And standing before you, the boy who had just rejected you.

"I'm sorry, I just don't see you in that light," Suo, with his hands firmly placed in front of the other, repeated, further breaking your heart into a million pieces.

Pitifully, you laughed—but little humour was found in the dreary quiet of your heart. "I know," you whispered, choking down the ache that was your confession to the person you'd grown to admire and love.

The pain lingered with every thought—that Suo was simply just too good for you, but so did your respect for him. Even if you tried your hardest to do so, you just couldn't find it in yourself to dislike him. 

Suo had always been kind, even as he rejected you.

That was part of why you liked him so much in the first place. Even if it hurt, you couldn't blame him for having such feelings about you that just weren't the same. You couldn't continue to be selfish.

"I know. Just, thank you, for hearing me out," you said, your voice becoming surprisingly steady, slowly accepting what you heard. "That's just the kind of person you are."

And then you walked away. You refused to let him see the fresh tears welling up in your eyes. You respected his choice. If he didn't reciprocate your feelings, you couldn't force it. It had to be mutual—or nothing at all.

Days turned into weeks, and though you still felt the ache of his rejection, like with most things, you had to move on and push forward. You treated Suo the same way you treated everyone else. Although, you couldn't deny that it was rather awkward after Suo saw you well up with tears dripping down your face like a waterfall. And it didn't help that you both were friends with the Furin first years, like Kiryu and Nirei, whom you were very close to.

So, time and time again, you would avoid Suo like the plague; all the while, he seemed to watch from afar, unsure of how to bridge the gap. You were always respectful, never bitter, never clinging. It was difficult, but you refused to let your emotions tarnish your friendship or make things awkward. 

Suo, however, found himself unable to stay away. He'd initially assumed your feelings for him were just surface-level, a kind of shallow attraction to his looks, but that couldn't have been further from the truth. He only realized this when he peeled back the layers of who you were—a kind, genuine individual so far removed from the superficial affection he had imagined. And as time passed, he began to notice more—the way you treated everyone around you with the same kindness and consideration.

But over time, Suo would see you purposely trying to hide from him, all the while pretending everything was okay and nothing changed. It was saddening, in a way, how your laughter grew quieter, your gaze avoiding his, and the fun and games you two once shared together seemed to slip through his fingers like grains of sand.

But you couldn't hide from Suo forever. 

"He just doesn't like me, Nirei.”

Taking a walk around the neighbourhood that evening, following his typical routine, Suo had unknowingly overheard you talking to Nirei. And unlike his straightforward character, he continued to hide behind the wall and listen, his heart aching with every word he caught from your lips.

"It’s not that I don’t care…" you said softly to Nirei, who had asked about what had happened between you and Suo. "He rejected me, and I have to respect that. You can't have a relationship if both sides don't feel the same."

"I see... B-But do you still like him?" Nirei finally asked, twiddling his own thumbs. 

You hesitated for a moment before answering, "I do."

That conversation was what really hit him hard. That you still liked him. That maybe... he wasn't too late to come around.

"Nirei, not knowing what to say to a person who seemingly still had feelings for one of his closest friends, winced, "He'll... he'll come around," not necessarily finding the right words, but you didn't appear to mind it. Rather, you were too distracted with your own feelings.

And Suo, hidden from view, felt his chest tighten. He wasn't sure why he'd been hiding in the first place, but suddenly, he couldn't bear to listen any longer. He shouldn't even be here, listening to your conversation and very obviously intruding on your privacy. 

But just before he could slip away, though, very conveniently, Sakura popped out from behind the corner. "The hell are you doing back here?" loud enough for both you and Nirei to hear and turn your heads to meet the noise—and Suo, right before your very eyes. 

Your eyes went wide in shock as you spotted Suo standing right there, seemingly who had heard everything.

"S-Suo, what are you—"

Back-and-forth looks were exchanged, and so too was the silence. Nirei and Sakura gave brief, knowing glances, and with a single look, Nirei left you two alone, much to your dismay and humiliation. 

You stood frozen, your mind racing with a thousand thoughts, none of which managed to form coherent words to say to the boy who had basically just heard you confess your feelings to him once again. Nervous and fidgeting, you finally let out a sigh. "Hayat– Suo, I'm really sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I promise that I'm not going to bother you anymore. I really—"

But your words and apologies were left on deaf ears—cut off mid-sentence before Suo suddenly reached for you, his hand gently pulling you toward him. Before you could even process what was happening, you found yourself wrapped in his arms, your head resting against his chest.

"I was wrong."

"…H-Huh?"

"I was so, so wrong," he muttered, grasping at the edge of your sleeve even tighter than just a second ago. "I thought you only liked me for shallow reasons, but... I've realized that I like you too. More than I ever let myself admit. And I apologize for making you wait."

You blinked, your brain going haywire, trying to comprehend every word that left his lips, but Suo only held you tighter, his chin resting on the top of your head. When you didn't answer, he went on—whether that was for your or his own reassurance that you wouldn't be the one rejecting him this time was unclear.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to see it, but I don't want to let this go," he murmured. "I don't want to lose you." He regretted every moment of him rejecting you since that day. And if you were to be the one rejecting him this time… 

Your breath hitched at the base of your throat, disbelief seeping into your every thought. Was he serious…? The boy who had rejected you, who had caused you so much heartache, was now confessing to the very feelings you had once longed to hear.

'You make it so unfair…' you muttered. 

Part of you wanted to reject him, to make him feel how you felt after he rejected you. But deep down, you knew you couldn't find it in yourself to throw away this chance. And neither could Suo.

"I… I still like you, too."

Your voice was hardly audible, but Suo heard it loud and clear. He pulled away just enough to meet your eyes, his expression soft and vulnerable. "Then let's start over."

Your lips trembled into a small smile. "Alright."

Suo leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, until Suo suddenly grabbed your hand, making you jump slightly. "Come on," he said, tugging you gently. "Let's go grab something to eat. I know of a good spot that just opened that serves your favourite food."

"W-Wait, Hayato, I thought you were on a diet?" you stammered, completely caught off guard by his change in behaviour. He had always been strict about his routine—always so disciplined, so focused. But now, he seemed different. Lighter, somehow. But that was Suo for you.

He smiled, softer this time, his eyes lovingly meeting yours. "I can't miss this opportunity to spend time with a special someone. You can't keep avoiding me forever," making your face flush crimson as his words sunk in.

⸝⸝ 𑅛𑅫 Togame Jo

Shit… he shouldn't have said that.

Togame's words had slipped out before he could stop them, and the second he did, he knew he had fucked up. He cursed from under his breath, his hands already reaching out toward you as your face crumpled with hurt.

You stood there, staring at him—processing every snide word that left Togame's mouth—your chest rising and falling as if you were struggling even to breathe. He didn't mean it. He knew he didn't mean it, and he was pretty sure you knew that, too. But the damage was done, and he could see it in your eyes, the way he could see the shimmering of unshed tears ready to drip down your flushed cheeks..

"I'm sorry," Togame said immediately, his voice softening as he pulled you into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around you like a protective barrier. He could feel you stiffen in his hold, your hands pushing weakly against his chest, but he wasn't about to let go, not on that horrible note. 

"Let go, Jo," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "You made your decision. You've... I've already said enough."

But Togame wasn't listening. Not with what he just had done and said that only left him with regrets. He couldn't take it anymore. Not the sadness in your voice, not the way you tried to pull away from him like he was a stranger. No, he wasn't letting you walk away like this, not after everything you had shared. And certainly not after everything he just spat at you.

"I didn't mean it, okay?" His words were rushed, almost desperate. Togame's grip on you only tightened with time, refusing to let go even an inch. "I was stupid. I-I'm sorry, I didn't know what I was saying, but I promise you, I'll fix this. I can't stand seeing you like this."

Your heart hurt at his words. You were utterly torn between wanting to believe him and protecting yourself from further hurt. After all, he had already said plenty… "You don't get just to say something like that and then take it back, Jo. It doesn't work like that..."

Togame's breath hitched as your words sliced the air and, in turn, his heart. His mind and body froze

That wasn't it. Not at all. He liked you. He loved you.

His rejection was but a projection of his own insecurities—that he wouldn’t be the right person for you.

But never did he think that he too didn’t want anyone else in your life, that it made his heart ache just thinking about it, the idea of someone else seeing your smile, hearing your laugh and holding the piece of your heart he so desperately longed for—that he previously had thrown away. 

He hated himself for it—hated that he’d let his fears dictate his actions, that he’d hurt the one person who made his world feel less empty.

But he couldn’t let this end here. Not like this.

"I know. But— fuck…" he said quietly, his voice breaking, cracking into incomprehensible pieces of a heartbroken sentence. His shoulders trembled as he finally loosened his rough grip on you. Although his hands still rested hesitantly on your shoulders. “I know I can’t undo what I said, but I need you to know... I was wrong. I’m so damn wrong, and I’m so sorry.”

Scrunching your face, you shook your head, gaze fixed on the ground as you tried to will away the tears that had long streamed down your face. “Why, Jo?”

Why. A simple explanation as to his stupid, idiotic, impulsive mistake was all that you wanted from him. 

His heart clenched at your words. Pure guilt tore him apart. He wished he could go back and rewind time to the moment before his insecurities took over. But he couldn’t. All he had now was this moment to make things right.

“Because I’m a coward!” 

His confession all tumbled out in a rush, unfiltered. “I’m a fucking coward.” Every word was a weight being lifted from his chest, all in hopes that you might understand might hear him out, even if it wouldn’t completely change things.  “I thought... I thought you deserved someone better. Someone who wouldn’t screw things up like I always do. Someone who could make you happy without dragging you into all my mess.”

Your eyes flickered up to meet his, for once, the honesty in his voice catching you heavily off guard. He appeared to be so unusually vulnerable, completely stripped of the bravado he usually wore like armour on his fists.

“But I can’t stop thinking about you,” he continued, his hands sliding down your arms as if needing a sense of reassurance that you were still with him and by his side and not a figment of his imagination. Hesitant but hopeful. “Every time I tried to push you away, it just made me want you more. And I was a complete idiot for thinking I could ever be okay without you.”

“Togame...”

“And I get it if you hate me for this,” he interrupted, all the words tumbling out of his mouth before he lost his nerve. “But I need you to know... I’m not asking for a second chanc—” he paused his sentence, before he could lose his resolve completely. “I love you. I’ve loved you all along, even when I was too scared to admit it.”

Your chest tightened. You oh-so-wanted to stay angry, to hold onto the pain, but his confession was undoing every wall you had tried to build.

“I'll do whatever it takes to make it up to you. Just... don't walk away from me. Please. Not like this."

“.....”

“...Do you mean that?” 

Your voice was hardly audible as you looked up at him.

“More than anything.” 

Togame cupped your smaller face in his callous hands, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that had escaped down your cheek, kissing the pain away.  “I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it to you if that’s what it takes.”

For the slightest moment, neither of you spoke. You could hardly hear a thing other than the sound of your breathing and the beat of his heart pressed tightly against yours. You felt his arms around you, warm and safe, and despite everything, a part of you wanted to stay right there, to believe that things could be okay. 

Then, slowly, you nodded, the smallest of smiles breaking through your tears. “I hate that you’re so good at making me believe you,” you said softly, for the first time all day, a small laugh escaped your lips. And it was heavenly. It was what he loved so much about you. 

Togame’s lips quirked up in a tentative grimace. “Does that mean… I get another shot?”

“Don’t make me regret it,” you murmured, but your voice was warm, filled with the hope that maybe—just maybe—this time things could be different. "I'm not going anywhere," you finally said. "But you have to mean it this time, Jo."

He nodded, his forehead resting against yours. "I do. I promise."

So, just like that, you let it go. Slowly, you relaxed in his arms, letting the weight of your sadness slip away, if only for a moment. Togame didn't let go, and neither did you.

And in that moment, wrapped in his arms, you allowed yourself to believe him. For now, that was enough.

⸝⸝ 𑅛𑅫 Umemiya Hajime

"But we can still be friends!" Umemiya's voice rang out, almost too cheerful for the conversation you'd just had. He flashed you that familiar smile, oblivious to how his words felt like a punch to your chest. 

"Oh! There's actually an event at Furin soon. I know you like a good barbecue. You should join us! It'll be fun!"

You stared at him, nonblinking, and for a brief second, you couldn't believe he was serious. How could he be so, casual? He must be playing you, right...? But no, that was just how Umemiya was, as you've found him for years.

You had just poured your entire heart into him, and in return, he offered you friendship—a friendship that you already had with him for years—as if it were a consolation prize. 

But your heart ached so much, desperate for any kind of connection to him, that even the slightest bit of attention, however hollow, felt like a lifeline. So you nodded, forcing a polite smile across your face. "Yeah... sure, I'll come."

And just like that, you became that of a shadow, a close friend who laughed at his jokes, stayed by his side when he needed someone, and cheered for him during the times when you both would play video games. You were nothing more than a mere member of his Furin family. All the times you would talk and laugh together with them were great,  and even the occasional late-night hangouts. But it wasn't enough. It was never fully enough. 

Staying close to Umemyia only made you want him more, and that fact haunted you. Being so close to him yet knowing you couldn't have him the way you wanted was agony. The more time you spent around him, the more you craved his attention, but not as a friend, no, but as something more. It gnawed at you, that longing, and with each passing day, it became harder and harder to pretend. 

It wasn't just unfair to you—it was unfair to him, too. He deserved someone who wouldn't secretly hope for something more, who wouldn't keep pushing the boundary between friendship and something deeper. You knew this arrangement couldn't go on, not without tearing you apart.

So, one night, after finally gathering the courage, you decided to put an end to it. But unbeknownst to you, Umemiya wasn't doing any better either. 

Before, he never considered you more than a friend—someone who'd been there through all the ups and downs, always supportive, always kind, always you.

He never questioned the ease with which he could talk to you or the way your laughter seemed to brighten the atmosphere of any room you were in. 

So when you finally confessed to him that very day—that your feelings toward him were more than what he thought—he hadn't thought much of it beyond friendship. He didn't think it was deeper than that… not until after he turned you down.

At first, Umemiya was convinced it was the right thing to do. He told himself he didn't feel the same way. But as the days passed, those same thoughts weighed differently on him. The way you still smiled at him, still treated him the same even after his rejection—it gnawed at him. 

He started seeing the little things he hadn't noticed before. The way you always knew exactly what to say to cheer him up after a bad day, the way your eyes lingered on him for just a second too long, the way your laugh sounded like it was just for him. 

And suddenly, it wasn't just about friendship anymore.

At night, alone with his thoughts, he realized he had been wrong. So, so wrong. The feelings he'd dismissed as just a fleeting affection had grown—almost insidiously—into something he couldn't ignore. It became a constant. An ache of longing to be near you, but this time, not just as a friend, but as someone who could hold you, kiss you, call you his own. 

So when you suddenly asked for him to, and you meet up together alone after the barbeque, Umemiya's heart jumped in his chest. This was it. This was his chance to fix everything and correct his mistake, to tell you the truth, to apologize for being so dense. He was ignorant, blatant even, to one of the dearest people in the world to him. 

Tonight, he was going to do it. He was going to make it up to you by apologizing and asking for forgiveness. He was excited, hopeful even, imagining the moment when he'd pour out his heart and beg for your forgiveness. You were kind, after all. You'd understand. You had to.

He could barely contain his nerves as he waited for you, replaying his apology speech over and over in his mind. 

But when you arrived, something felt off. But Umemyia merely brushed it off as mere nerves. But then you spoke.

"I can't do this anymore."

Your eyes met his, and for a moment, Umemiya's heart stopped. He forced a laugh, trying to shake off the unease creeping into his chest. "What do you mean? O-Oh! If you're talking about how Sakura was acting earlier, hah, he doesn't mean it! You know how he is, just messing around."

But you didn't smile. You didn't laugh. Your expression remained serious, and it made his stomach drop. No, it couldn't be, right?

"Umemiya, I can't do this anymore," you repeated once again, your voice breaking, trembling in a way he had never heard before. "I can't just act like nothing happened anymore. I thought that I could continue being your friend. I really tried. But... it hurts too much. Please, I—"

His heart clenched. No, no, no—this wasn't right. This wasn't how tonight was supposed to go. He was supposed to apologize, to tell you how he felt, to fix things. But now, seeing you like this, so hurt, it paralyzed him.

"Don't say it."

"Hajime, please. Don't make this any harder than it has to be."

No, he couldn't let you walk away. Not like this. Not when everything had finally clicked for him. Before he could stop himself, the words spilled out, desperate and unplanned.

"—BUT I LOVE YOU!!"

And he said it.

The moment those words escaped his lips, everything seemed to freeze, and the silence that followed was unbearable. He watched you, waiting for some sign, some reaction that would let him know he wasn't too late. But your eyes... they were filled with so much pain, it made his heart ache even more.

You didn't speak right away, and the longer the silence stretched, the more regret began to claw at him. Why hadn't he seen it sooner? Why did he wait until now, when you were standing here, on the verge of walking away, to realize how much you meant to him? His own foolishness, his blindness—it was too much to bear.

"Why now?" you finally asked. Your voice was soft, barely audible, as if you were afraid of the answer he was giving. It wasn't angry, but it wasn't hopeful either. It was aching, that desperate part of you. "Why... after everything?"

Umemiya couldn’t answer. He didn't have a good reason. He just knew that he loved you now, that he couldn't imagine his life without you in it. But he also knew that might not be enough.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his hands trembling at his sides. "I'm so sorry. I didn't realize... I didn't know until it was too late."

The tears in your eyes broke him. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He thought he'd be able to fix things, to make everything right, but now it felt like everything was slipping through his fingers.

And much to his horror, you shook your head slowly, stepping back, the distance between you growing—both physically and emotionally. "It's not fair, Hajime. You can't just say that now... not after everything."

For the first time in his life, Umemiya Hajime didn’t know what to say. He stood there, stunned, the words he wanted to say lodged in his throat because, deep down, he already knew.

He didn’t have the right to ask for more when he had rejected the very thing he now realized he couldn’t live without. He had turned you away, convinced it was for the best, only to understand far too late just how much he had thrown away. His indecision—his cowardice—had led to this moment. And now, it wasn’t just his heart breaking; it was yours, too.

He opened his mouth, tried to reach for you, but his arms fell back to his sides. He couldn’t keep making excuses. He couldn’t selfishly try to pull you back, not when his own fickleness had caused you so much pain.

So he let it happen. Right before his very eyes, he watched you take another step back, your face etched with a hurt he knew he had no way of easing. And when you turned, it felt as though the entire world had slipped out of his grasp.

The streets around him blurred as he stared at the spot where you had just stood, his mind and body going through the realization that he might just never get the chance to fix this.

“Wait...” he whispered hoarsely, hand unconsciously reaching forward, but the word fell into the silence, unheard and unanswered.

And with that, you were gone, leaving him behind—alone, with but the cold remnants of his mistakes.

lol i also noticed how each just gets slowly more bittersweet to straight up angsty in umemiya's

©hxnbi. comments, reblogs and likes are always appreciated ♡

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

Dress Up Part 5 - Second Preview

A little late Christmas present...another preview! Also a little late acknowledgement of 11 months of Lucifer! Almost a whole damn year with this man and I refuse to get over him! And there is actual smut in this part, yippie!!!!

Warnings: Fingering/oral (MINORS DNI)

Your cheeks were practically burning now. Even after all this time, the incarnation of temptation itself never failed to make you swoon. It felt as though you found yourself crushing on the devil all over again as if you weren't already his beloved wife.

Lucifer's hands remined on the curve of your hips, his golden eyes almost pleading for a response. You knew he would never do anything unless you gave him permission; just one of his amazing qualities. You took a hold of his hand and guided towards your core, leaving  no doubt in his mind. You smiled and nodded, watching his face practically light up. His fingers wasted no time finding that sensitive bundle of nerves between your folds, starting with small rhythmic circles. A sharp gasp fell from your lips as your body fell prey to his ministrations once again. He knew your body like it was his own, all that mattered to him was your pleasure. It wasn't long before you felt two of his blackened digits slip slowly inside you. Effortlessly, Lucifer pumped them in and out of you; he couldn't help but chuckle at your reaction to just being fingered. To him, it was the most adorable thing; he wanted nothing more to bring you pleasure. Especially on a day as special as this. After a minute or two, he withdrew his fingers from you and wrapped his forked tongue around them, licking up every drop of your delicious slick. It drove him wild.

"I adore the way you taste, love," he cooed as you mourned the loss of his fingers, a tiny whimper escaping your throat. "Aww hon, don't guilt trip me like that! Come on, why don't you have a seat?"

Before you could respond, Lucifer swiftly moved your body on top of his, your legs now spread around his eager face. He beamed up at you before trailing kisses up the length of your thighs. Your breath hitched as his lips found your needy clit.

"Gaa-aaahh...Luci..." you managed to choke out as the devil began to lose himself in your taste. Words were useless now, there was no stopping him once he started. Not that you ever wanted him to. Your gripped his soft golden hair with one hand as your other reached for the headboard to steady yourself from his relentless motions. Your mind was beginning to fog again, it was difficult to even form any coherent words. Even in your daze, you managed to turn around and noticed Lucifer's lower half still concealed by the comforter. It didn't seem fair to you that you were getting all of the special treatment while your poor husband was left neglected. Without warning, you removed your hand from the headboard and threw off the sheets to reveal Lucifer's very noticeable erection. A small gasp left Lucifer's lips, but that did nothing to deter him from his actions.

"O-On second th-thought..." you mumbled out, "m-maybe I am a little hungry..."

You raised your hips from Lucifer's face to try and turn around, wanting to give him the same feeling he was giving you. But before you could even move and inch, the man beneath you forced you back down onto his desperate mouth. You yelped in protest, trying and failing to break out of the angelic grip he had on your hips.

"Mm-mmm" he mumbled into your skin, shaking his head.

"L-Lucifer!" you chastised him. "What are you doing? Don't you want-"

"No," he answered softly. "I-I mean, yes! But not right now...stay here..."

You raised your eyebrow. Lucifer was never one to turn down the feeling of your lips on his cock. And he knew how much you loved to bring him to the brink with your tongue alone. "I-I thought I was the birthday girl. I don't think y-you can say no to me, legally speaking."

Lucifer chuckled as he peppered small kisses on your slick folds. "I promise I will give you whatever you want today, no questions asked. Just...later. For now, your pleasure is the only thing I care about." You were about to say something back before he peered up at you with pleading eyes. "Please...Please don't worry about me. I'll be fine!" You sighed but conceded. Lucifer was nothing if not selfless; given that it was your birthday, you shouldn't have expected anything less.

"O-Oh alright," you pouted, "but I'm going t-to hold you to that promise!"

"I would expect nothing less from you, my queen," Lucifer grinned. "Now, where was I?"

[rei-ismyname]

The deification of Jean Grey

When a 16 year old Jean Grey was bought to the present by Hank McIrresponsible, she was immediately confronted with the post-death canonisation the X-Men greater social circle had saddled her with. Big feelings and bigger expectations.

The worst of it was from people who'd never even met her, but those closest to her was no less fraught. Adult Scott was certainly affected by her presence, but he behaved the most normal about it (cough, Logan.)

This is a really cute conversation, clearly something Jean needs. Not sure I agree that Jean never had a chance. She made her choices as a hero but there's plenty that *could* have gone differently. Besides, she's already come back to life at least once and travelled through time a bunch. You can't keep Jean Grey down for long. I'd expect Scott to say something like that, though he seems especially pensive at this point. I guess it's understandable, as time travel is a headfuck. It's cute that he's jealous of his younger self and that he admits it.

Scott's empathy for Hank here is really sweet, especially considering the lengths Hank went through to hurt him (intentionally or not.) The very presence of Jean should be reminding people of the culpability of a Phoenix host. Jean is safely dead and can be put on a pedestal, whereas Scott receives nothing but venom. I'm sure Chuck's death is a big factor, but the man tried very hard to die by Dark Phoenix Jean, too. It's easy to overlook the flaws of the dead, and in many ways Jean and Xavier both get canonised as mutant saints. Neither deserve it, for different reasons.

Oh boy, Jean's actions here are difficult to discuss appropriately. She's lonely and scared, she's just woken up from a nightmare, and the person she's closest to is there for her - all grown up. I doubt this is intended to be sexual, my read on it is Jean reaching for platonic intimacy. It's definitely rooted in the love Scott and Jean have for each other, something their awkward 16 year old selves haven't managed to navigate. 'The man I hoped you'd be' is loaded as hell, but it is very human. None of us have ever met our time-displaced selves or loves, and it's very understandable to view them as the same person, except not/better.

I'm not going to credit Scott for not learning into Jean's confusion and need for comfort (because it's just the right thing to do) but I do think he understands and he definitely handled it appropriately. Setting firm boundaries and pivoting the focus to the kind of support Jean needs is considerate and responsible.

Kitty's stance and pseudo-threat here is difficult to parse. She says he handled it well, luckily for him, implying that she was listening the whole time but was also wary of him not handling it well? It's hard to see this as anything other than Kitty thinking they might fuck. I'm not sure they do understand each other, because Kitty didn't listen to him, she just banned him from being in her room alone. Not an unreasonable policy to have, but it doesn't give Scott a lot of credit. As they both leave, Jean cries which seems like a failure of duty of care. Feels like there's more going on here. 'But if the genders were reversed' whataboutery is usually bad faith nonsense, but there is an actual example here. If Kitty heard young Bobby crying alone or screaming in the middle of the night I'm pretty sure she'd check in on him. That she's dated his adult counterpart changes nothing. Adult! Scott and Teen! Jean could communicate telepathically any time they wished, so idk. Maybe just the writers covering their bases and overcorrecting.

Then there's Emma and the Cuckoos. While Emma is the best person to train and teach Teen Jean, she does it in a very messed up way. Jean is so obviously right when she identifies that Emma has issues. I'm not fond of this plot point, or at least how it's written - the whole 'girls are bitchy and jealous' regressive idea put centre stage. This psychic duel fails the Bechdel Test and makes all the adults look super irresponsible for allowing it to happen.

Keep in mind Emma is bombarding a 16 year old with sexual images. Jean IS a saint for putting up with this shit and not melting her brain. Telepathy isn't real, but intrusive thoughts are - and I don't think it's a stretch to say targeted sexualised intrusive thoughts is deliberately traumatizing a teenager. I definitely think this could have been written better. Emma having unresolved Jean Grey issues is to be expected, but dealing with it like this and everyone being okay with it is difficult to believe.

Then again, it seems nobody is immune to the deification of Jean Grey, not even the writers. They all know her as the most powerful telepath so obviously teenage Jean can deal with whatever you throw at her. Kitty and Scott should know better, and Emma has plenty of other ways to train Jean. Yes, she's the great Jean Grey, but she's also a 16 year old who's not coping all that well. I'm glad that Teen Jean and Emma became friends not long after this, but it says a lot that the dude writing it couldn't figure out a way to explain it on the page. There was an opportunity here to show women building a friendship off their commonalities, but instead it's something Jean has to overcome with psychic power not emotional strength - and the adults looking after her don't look very responsible.

[applestorms]

@jessaerys ok shit this took a while but WHATEVER. wammy's lore collection here we go :3c less analysis this time, this is mostly just to archive the main known details we have in canon about the house, and also the people from there more generally. however much you wanna accept all this/take it at face value is up to You, Dear Reader (and tbh y'all should just read all these if ur curious since they're all pretty short + have Interesting narrators. i'll include links to free versions). do whatever you want forever etc. etc. also, SPOILERS. obviously.

LABB: (listen here)

no this book isn't written by ohba. yes i'm including it. shush. anyways, most of the lore in this comes from mello's vague comments about beyond's backstory, but there's a Lot of interesting things established in this, so. here's a bunch of notable quotes. if you're not already familiar, please keep in mind that the narrator of this novel is mello, writing at some point shortly before his death.

"L. The century's greatest detective. In light of his staggering mental abilities, L died an unjust and untimely death. In the public record alone he solved over 3,500 difficult crimes, and sent three times that number of degenerates to prison. He wielded incredible power, was able to mobilize every investigative bureau in the entire world, and was applauded generously for his efforts. And during it all, he never showed his face." (pg. 10)

"So, what you're reading now are my notes about L. It's a dying message, not from me, and not directed at the world. The person who will most likely read this first will probably be that big-headed twit Near. But if that's the case, I will not tell him to shred or burn these pages. If it causes him pain to discover that I knew things about L that he did not, then that's fine." (pg. 10-11)

"I am one of the few people who ever met L as L. When and how I met him...this is the single most valuable memory I have, and I will not write it here, but on that occasion L related to me three stories of his exploits, and the episode involving Beyond Birthday was one of these." (pg. 11)

"Obviously, it never came to light that L--and more importantly, Wammy's House, which raised me until I was fifteen--was deeply connected to the matter, but in fact, they were. L, on principle, never got involved in a case unless there were more than ten victims or a million dollars at stake, and this is the real reason why he belatedly, but aggressively, involved himself in this little case, which only ever had three or four victims. I will explain further in the pages that follow, but for this reason, the case of the Los Angeles BB murders is a watershed event for L, for me, and even for Kira. It was a monumental event for all of us. Why? Because this is the case where L first introduced himself as Ryuzaki." (pg. 11)

"For any one else but those two [Near and Kira], my identity may be of no interest, but I am the old world's runner-up, the best dresser that died like a dog, Mihael Keehl. I once called myself Mello and was addressed by that name, but that was a long time ago. Good memories and nightmares." (pg. 12)

"She [Naomi Misora] briefly considered the idea that Raye Penber, or someone else, was playing a practical joke on her, but she found it hard to believe that anyone would be so bold to sign their name as such. L never revealed himself in public or in private, but Misora had heard several horror stories about what happened to detectives who tried passing themselves off as L. It was safe to say that no one would dare use his name, even in jest." (pg. 18)

"This was L, so he was undoubtedly solving several other difficult cases all at once. Cases all over the world. For him, this case was just one of many parallel investigations. How else could he maintain his reputation as the world's greatest detective? The century's greatest detective, L. The detective with no clients." (pg. 35)

"L had earned a certain degree of hostility from other detectives, and the jealous ones called him a hermit detective, or a computer detective, but neither of these is a particularly accurate representation of the truth. Naomi Misora had also tended to think of L as an armchair detective, but in fact, L was quite the opposite, a very active, aggressive individual. [swoon.] While he had absolutely no interest in social connections, he was certainly not the kind of detective to shut himself up in a dark room with the shades drawn and refuse to come out. It is now common knowledge that the three great post war detectives, L, Eraldo Coil and Danuve were all actually the same person. Certainly, anyone reading these notes is almost certain to know...though they may not know that L engaged in a war with the real Eraldo Coil, and the real Danuve, and emerged victorious, claiming their detective codes. The details of this detective war I will save for another occasion, but in addition to those three names, L possessed many other detective codes. I have no idea how many, but there were at least three digits' worth. And quite a number of those were fairly public detectives--just like, as anyone reading these notes must know, he appeared before Kira, calling himself Ryuzaki or Ryuga Hideki. Of course, Naomi Misora had no way of knowing this, but in my opinion, the name L was, for him, just one of many. He never had any direct connection to that identity, he never thought of himself as L--it was just the most famous and most powerful of the many detective codes he used during his life. The name had its uses, but lacked obscurity. L had a real name that nobody knew, and nobody will ever know, but a name which only he knew never defined him. I sometimes wonder if L himself ever knew exactly which name was written in the Death Note, which name it was that killed him. I wonder." (pg. 43-44)

"If we must discuss why L so adamantly refused to reveal himself, we can explain it very simply: doing so was dangerous. Very dangerous. While the world leaders should make efforts to ensure the safety of all the finest minds, not only for detectives, the fact is that the current societal systems do not allow for this, and L believed he had no choice but to protect his mind under his own power. By simple arithmetic, L's ability in 2002 was the equivalent of five ordinary investigative bureaus, and seven intelligence agencies (and by the time he faced off against Kira, those numbers had leapt upward several more notches). This is easy to think of as a reason to respect and admire someone, but let me say this as clearly as possible: that much ability in one human is extremely dangerous. Modern danger management techniques rely heavily on defusing risk, but his very existence was the exact opposite. In other words, if someone was planning to commit a crime, they would greatly increase their chances of getting away with it by simply killing L before they began. That was why L hid his identity. Not because he was shy, or because he never left the house. To ensure his own safety. For a detective of L's ability, self-preservation and the preservation of world peace were one and the same, and it would not be correct to describe his actions as cowardly or self-centered." (pg. 69 nice)

"So whenever L was working, he would usually have someone else as his public face--and in this particular case, the FBI agent Naomi Misora was filling that role." (pg. 70)

"Beyond Birthday had the eyes of a shinigami congenitally. It was not particularly difficult for him to track down people with the initials B.B. or find people who were fated to die on a certain day at a certain time." (pg. 94)

"Normally contact with a shinigami was a prerequisite for acquisition, but Beyond Birthday had traded nothing--he had seen through those eyes since before he could remember. He knew your name before you said it. He knew the time of death of every person he met." (pg. 94)

"You might think [the eyes] would hardly be useful without a Death Note, but that is simply not the case. The ability to see someone's remaining life is the ability to see death. Death, death, death. Beyond Birthday lived his life unceasingly reminded that all humans would eventually die. From the time he was born he knew the day his father would be attacked by a thug and die, knew the day his mother would die in a train crash. He had these eyes before he was born, which is why he called himself Beyond Birthday. Which is why a child as strange as he was taken in by our home, sweet home--Wammy's House. He was B. The second child in Wammy's House." (pg. 94-95)

"The competition between L and B. L and B's puzzle. 'If L's a genius, then B's an extreme genius. If L's a freak, then B's an extreme freak. Now it's time to get ready. There are things I must do before B can surpass L. Henh henh henh henh.' This thought was the only thing that made him laugh without needing to think about it. And those that know will recognize the laugh of the shinigami. Still grinning to himself, he faced the mirror, brushed his hair, and began applying his makeup. The reflection of himself in the mirror. Himself. As always, he could not see his own time of death. No more than he could see the death of the world." (pg. 96)

"We were raised at Wammy's House in England, in Winchester, as L's successors, as L's alternatives, but that does not mean we knew anything more about L than anyone else. Including myself, only a few of us ever met L as L, and even I knew nothing about L before he met Watari--Quillish Wammy, the genius inventor who founded Wammy's House. Nobody knows what's going on in L's head. But even so, I know how Watari felt. Looking at L's incredible talents from the perspective of an inventor--of course he wanted to make a copy, of course he wanted to create a backup. Anyone would feel the same. As I have already explained, L never appeared in public. L knew that his own death would increase the crime rate all over the world by a few dozen percentage points. But what if they could copy him? What if they could make a backup? That was us. L's children, gathered from all corners of the world.

"But even for a genius like Watari, creating a fake L was easier said than done. Even for Near and I, who were said to be the closest to L...the more we tried to be like him, the closer we got, the father away he was, like chasing a mirage. So I hardly need to tell you what it was like when Wammy's House was first founded, when he was still experimenting. The first child, A, was unable to handle the pressure of living up to L and took his own life, and the second child, Beyond Birthday, was brilliant and deviant. B stood for Backup.

"But B tried to surpass L, not become him...no, that might not be right. I have no way of knowing the inner workings of his mind. He...their generation was not like the fourth generation, with Near and I, all the children bound only to the code with the serial L. They were prototypes, never even given the L code, expected to fail. I prefer to refrain from idle speculation based on my own experiences, but, well, Beyond Birthday may have thought something like this: As long as there was L, B would never be L. As long as the original existed, the copy was always a copy." (pg. 104-105)

"The Los Angeles BB Murder Cases. L.A.B.B.--L is After Beyond Birthday. This reading is why I think this name is so much closer to the killer's intentions than the Wara Ningyo Murders, or the Los Angeles Serial Locked Room Killings. I wasn't talking about the names on a purely stylistic basis. Whether Beyond Birthday had put that much thought into it I have no idea, but if he had a specific reason for choosing to commit his murders in L.A., then that is probably why. I am sure he had a much more personal obsession with L as an individual than Near or I ever did. I can understand why someone would become a criminal in order to fight against a detective, which is why I can write something like this, but even so. What did he hope to accomplish by killing unrelated people? Or perhaps B simply wanted to meet L. Then he could use the eyes of the shinigami he'd been born with and see L's real name, see when L would die. He would be able to figure out who L was. Beyond Birthday had never told anyone that he had the eyes of a shinigami, and it would not surprise me at all if he believed himself to be some kind of shinigami." (pg. 105-106)

"Beyond Birthday challenged L. And L accepted the challenge. To put it bluntly, the Los Angeles BB Murder Cases were nothing but an internal struggle, a civil war within our home, sweet home-- Wammy's House. Unfortunate for the victims that got mixed up in it, but even if Beyond Birthday had not killed them, all those victims were fated to die that day, at that time, for some other reason, so logically and morally, their deaths were unavoidable. So in the strictest sense of the word, the only one who really got mixed up in their war was Naomi Misora." (pg. 106)

"L was said to never move on a case unless there were more than ten victims or a million dollars at stake. The only exceptions to this were cases at difficulty level L (extremely fitting), or when L had personal reasons compelling him to get involved. The Los Angeles BB Murders were both of these. I hardly need to point out the difficulty by this stage of the story, and L was essentially fighting his own dead copy. [harsh, dude.] The current head of Wammy's House had told Quillish Wammy/Watari, who had told L about B's disappearance in May, and ever since L had been looking for him even as he solved other cases. Wammy's House only knew him as B--they did not know his real name, Beyond Birthday, so this search was near impossible, but L knew who the killer was. He had not been looking for a killer so much as he was looking for a case. L had been waiting, expecting Beyond Birthday to do something to challenge him. L could move any policeman in the world, but in this case, he could not ask anyone for help except Naomi Misora...more than likely, for this reason. I don't think L really put that much stock in honor, but everyone is embarrassed by their own sins, and nobody wants those missteps to become public knowledge. L was the goal of everyone in Wammy's House. Every one of us wanted to surpass him. To step over him. To step on him. M did, N did, and B did. M as a challenger, N as a successor. B as a criminal." (pg. 116-117)

"No matter what she did, she had no way of knowing. That this killer, Beyond Birthday, could tell someone's name and time of death just by looking at their face, that he had been born with the eyes of a shinigami--she had no way of knowing that fake names were useless with him, completely and utterly pointless. How could she have known? Even Beyond Birthday himself could not explain how he had been born with the eyes of the shinigami, how he could use them with no payment, with no arrangement. Neither Misora nor L knew why, and, obviously, neither do I. The closest thing to an explanation I can offer is that there are shinigami stupid enough to drop their notebooks in our world, so there might well be shinigami stupid enough to drop their eyes." (pg. 193-140)

"'So, Naomi Misora...' said L, wrapping up. But Misora hastily stammered, 'Um, er, L...' but then she hesitated, not sure if she should ask this or not. 'You...know the killer, right?' 'Yes, as I said. He is B.' 'I don't mean like that...I mean, he's someone you know personally?' On the 16th, L had said that he had known the killer was B, and she had sort of known ever since, but two days before, L had said something that changed her guess to conviction. Whatever you do, please catch the killer. The century's greatest detective, L, would never say that about some ordinary indiscriminate serial killer. And the way his letter was just one letter long... 'Yes,' the synthetic voice agreed." (pg. 144-145)

"'I have nothing to do with him,' L said. 'To be completely accurate, I do not even know B. He is simply someone I am aware of. But none of this affects my judgement. Certainly, I was interested in this case, and began to investigate it because I knew who the killer was. But that did not alter the way I investigated it, or the manner in which my investigation proceeded. Naomi Misora, I cannot overlook evil. I cannot forgive it. It does not matter if I know the person who commits evil or not. I am only interested in justice.'" (pg. 145)

"My great and respected predecessor, the man whose actions were a strong influence on me personally, B, B.B., Beyond Birthday--obviously, I need hardly explain again that the murders themselves were not his purpose. So what was he doing? Again, I hardly need to explain--he was challenging the man he copied, the century's greatest detective L. A matter of winning or losing. A contest." (pg. 159)

"Since L could solve every case no matter how challenging, if he created a case so difficult that L as unable to solve it, B would have defeated L." (pg. 159)

"He knew that the moment he took action Wammy's House and Watari would alert L, so he did not even bother trying to stop them. He could only guess at which stage of his plan L would start to come after him, so he prepared things carefully, ready for L's entrance at any point." (pg. 159)

"B approached Naomi Misora, calling himself Rue Ryuzaki. Rue Ryuzaki--L.L. For anyone from Wammy's House, there could be no higher goal than identifying yourself with that letter--and Beyond Birthday seized this case as his chance. even Naomi Misora knew what had happened to detectives falsely identifying themselves as L, and B was from Wammy's House, so he knew this better than anyone--so this choice suggests the strength of his decision. He never once intended to survive--had had made up his mind. He was ready." (pg. 160) [trans. note: the name "Rue" in Japanese, ルエ (ru-e), is an anagram of エル (e-ru), which is how L is pronounced.]

"Naturally, his face and fingerprints would burn as well--he had always disguised himself with heavy makeup while he was with Misora, and he never left a picture behind, so even if someone directly affiliated with Wammy's House inspected the body, they would have no idea that Rue Ryuzaki/Beyond Birthday was B from Wammy's House. He had left nothing to connect Beyond Birthday to B." (pg. 162)

"B was presenting the Los Angeles BB Murder Cases to L as a case that could never be solved. That L could never solve. In other words, he had never prepared any clear solution to it--since the killer had committed suicide, disguised as the fourth victim, there was no longer a killer to catch, and no clues left to catch him with." (pg. 163)

"My poor, poor predecessor. Not only was he utterly and completely defeated, but he survived, driving home his embarrassment...he must have longed for death. Accept my condolences, B." (pg. 169-170)

"If I had space left over I had intended to carry right on into the other two stories I heard from L: the story of the detective war between the three greatest detectives, all solving that infamous bio-terror case, with guest appearances by the last of the alphabet, the first X to the first Z from Wammy's House; and the story of how the world's greatest inventor, Quillish Wammy, aka Watari, had first met L, then about eight year's old--the case that gave birth to the century's greatest detective, the Winchester Mad Bombings that occurred just after the third World War. But however objectively I look at things, I do not have the space or the time. Oh well." (pg. 170)

"She had spoken to L only once after the killer was arrested. He thanked her for helping to solve the case, and told her just a little about the background of the case. That B had been a candidate to succeed L, and that the pressure of that had driven him off track." (pg. 171)

"And a few years after his arrest, on January 21st, 2004, serving a life sentence in a California prison, Beyond Birthday died of a mysterious heart attack." (pg. 173)

C-KIRA: (read here)

near grief :pensive: pretty sure this was animated in the anime movie thing?? tbh i still need to watch that. Very interesting as some of the most recent post-main story lore we get about wammy's imo. less quotes now + more summarizing since these are just comics

near has apparently only "talked" to L once (in quotes since he didn't actually say anything, just sat in the back of the room doing a puzzle the entire time. real asf girl)

during this "conversation," roger or one of the orphanage heads set up the usual L screen + a camera/mic so that L could see all the kids and answer their questions.

notably, mello & near didn't ask any questions, just lurked in the back watching L with a "nasty look in [their] eyes," which near assumes is what made him pick them to be his top successors, considering the fact that he didn't actually look at any of their data. (somewhat seems to imply that L didn't actually give a shit about grades or anything like that when picking his main successors?)

while answering questions, near is caught off guard by one of L's answers. to transcribe it all directly here--

NEAR (NARRATING): At the time, I didn't think L would put it so bluntly. L: It's not a sense of justice. L: Figuring out difficult cases is my hobby. If you measured good and evil deeds by current laws, I would be responsible for many crimes. L: The same way you all like to solve mysteries and riddles, or clear video games more quickly... For me too, its simply prolonging something I enjoy doing. L: That's why I only take on cases that pique my interest. It's not justice at all. And if it means being able to clear a case, I don't play fair, I'm a dishonest, cheating human being, who hates losing...

not quite the monster speech, but fascinating all the same. near seems to imply that this answer sent some kids into a despair spiral, but it actually caused him to like L more and more, feeling that he was, "exactly the kind of person who wanted to achieve his own goals." kinda goes against the HTR13 ohba comment? shrug

The Wammy's House/L's One Day: (read here)

honestly i interpret these comics as like. canon crack fic. but anyways, here's the established L lore included in these two.

L was taken into wammy's as a nameless orphan at an unknown but likely quite young age

very soon after arriving he beats up all the other kids he meets--

he is "utterly incompatible," with all the other kids and monopolizes all the things he likes simply cause he's stronger than them and presumably could fight them for it-- naturally, he ends up usually just playing by himself

notably, this all establishes that L isn't the first kid at wammy's, that there was already at least one generation of older kids living there before he got there (and could eventually turn it into an L successor creating machine)

once watari realizes that L has some outstanding mental abilities, he gives him his own private room and a computer. afterwards, L spends most of his time sitting in front of the puter by himself

L requests that watari buy 1 million pounds with Japanese yen and tells him which stocks to buy, causing his assets to reach "almost 20,000 times the original amount," in two years. visually this is depicted as happening when L is still quite young

several years later, L stumbles across a serial murder case in the news, which is the first he solves, starting his new career path

-

L can stay awake for 100+ hours and then gets over it by sleeping for like 17 hours. pictures also may imply that he doesn't actually sleep in a bed, but just lies down sideways in his chair. RIP yotsuba light's perfectly designed sleep schedule

L also shits/pisses in the same position he usually sits in (frog-pose), facing the tank south park style

he is a big fan of cleanliness!! human washing machine etc. etc. honestly i think this is just another way for him to hold that same crouched position

text says he always has, "ten or so identical sets of clothes prepared for him," since he's picky about it, but the art itself shows way more than ten. also rare shirtless L moment?? (watari helps)

L does in fact go outside!! he likes roller coasters/theme parks, swinging, art galleries, live music, etc. though most of the time he just sits in his room thinking thru shit n solving cases.

[atleastpleasetelephone]

Little Darling

Chapter 12 - Leave the traces far behind

It's 1997, and Elvis is still alive and well. He quit music in 1972 after a successful world tour, and now he runs Presley Studios - teaching people karate across America. His daughter and grandchildren are regular visitors at Graceland, and when he’s in Memphis he likes to do a little teaching. His life is quieter now, though. Most of the Mafia have gone - going to live their own lives - and after his divorce from his second wife, Elvis is sworn off women for good. Will a Welsh girl with a wicked sense of humour be the one to make him break his promise to himself not to fall in love again?

Need to catch up? Go here.

Pairing: Old Man!Elvis x OC - Tegan, a Welsh girl he meets at karate.

Word count: 5.2K

TWs: Drinking, objectification/worship, possessive kink, MMF threesome, Elvis is a little dominant, reverse harem (kinda), ALL THE SMUT (including DP).

A/N: MERRY CHRISTMAS!! This is my fic gift to you all. Hope you enjoy!

Christmas Day at Graceland is just as magical as Tegan had imagined, and maybe even a little more so. There are lights twinkling everywhere and the smell of food wafts out from the kitchen all day long. The kids are chaotic as always but she enjoys watching them open their presents and play more with the boxes than the actual gifts themselves. Coffi even gets some energy and spends a lot of the morning sitting and shredding wrapping paper whilst making little contented noises. The adults exchange presents a little later, and despite everything Elvis had given her previously, Tegan still finds herself with a mountain to open. She had struggled to think of what to buy him, with him being so notoriously difficult to buy for and Sonny and Lisa providing her with precisely no help when she’d asked. 

“Oh, it’s probably better not to bother getting him a gift,” Lisa had told her. “He can get it all himself anyway.”

But Tegan wasn’t happy with that, she couldn’t conceive of getting the man she loved nothing for Christmas (aside from all of the parading around in her underwear and promises of sex) so she spent days at a time wandering around the shops, looking for inspiration. She talked to Lowell for a long time, and to Mr Lansky. They had a lot of standard suggestions - rings, bracelets, jackets, shirts… none of it really stood out to her. He didn’t wear a huge amount of jewellery nowadays, and tended to live in leisurewear rather than tailored suits. She had just about given up hope when she saw a beautiful silver photo frame in an antique store, and remembered the photos in the living room at Graceland. 

She passes him the present nervously. 

“Oh, honey. Ya didn’t have ta…” he sees the look on her face when he says that, and quickly adds, “but I’m glad ya did. No-one ever gets me anything.”

It’s true, and sometimes it does make him a little sad. Of course he can buy things himself, but he likes to imagine people thinking of him and wanting to get him something he’d like, once in a while. 

He tears the paper open and finds a large silver photo frame, with a polaroid of Tegan and Coffi in it. 

“It’s just a placeholder,” she explains, gesturing at the photos on the wall. “I thought we could get some professional ones done and put the best one in there…”

Elvis grins. “I like this one a lot honey,” winking at her. He’d told her about his love of dirty polaroids and he’s pretty sure this is a reference to that. “But I think that’s a wonderful idea.”

She beams. “I’ve got you something else too.”

She hands him another, smaller package, and he opens it with curiosity. It’s a photo album, and it’s full of pictures from their holiday. Lisa’s partner is an amateur photographer and had spent half of the vacation taking candid shots of everyone, some of which had turned out pretty nicely. And some of which were just downright hilarious. Once she’d seen the frame she got in contact with him and he got her some copies. 

“Honey! This is incredible.” Elvis is beaming, flicking through the pages, then kissing her enthusiastically. He loves it. 

Just as he’s finished with the kisses, the doorbell goes. 

“I’ll get it,” she says, as Elvis looks at his gift again.

Tegan opens the door to a man in jeans and a suit jacket, his white shirt half unbuttoned and exposing a large amount of chest hair. Her first thought is that he must be cold, and her second thought is who the fuck is this? The memory of Elvis telling her about his friend Jerry coincides with him putting out his hand and introducing himself. 

“Oh, hi Jerry. I’m Tegan. Elvis’... girlfriend.” It still seems weird to her, saying that. Especially to his old friends. “Come in to the warm!”

Jerry stares at Tegan unabashedly. Elvis had talked about her a few times on the phone, so he knew she was more than 20 years younger than his friend. But he didn’t think she’d be dressed quite so eye-catchingly on Christmas Day. He drags his eyes back up from her breasts with some difficulty. 

“Thanks, honey. You’re…uh… British?”

She smiles, closing the door behind him and ushering him into the living room. “Yeah, kinda. Welsh to be more specific, but British will do.” She notices him looking at the top of her head and remembers the crown-like tiara. “Elvis thinks I sound like the Queen,” she says, by way of explanation, touching the top of it. 

Jerry laughs. “That sounds like EP.”

Elvis gets up from where he’d been kneeling on the floor between Maria’s two kids, showing them the photos, and starts to make his way over to Jerry. But not before Gina can do her usual trick of barrelling into Tegan with a squeal and then holding her hands above her head to ask to be picked up. 

“Hi, Gina,” Tegan says, wearily, picking her up and then desperately trying to keep her from grabbing the crown. “Gina, this is Jerry. Jerry, this monster is Gina, she belongs to my friend Maria over there.”

Jerry takes one of Gina’s little hands and gallantly kisses the back of it. “Pleased to meet you, little miss.”

“Ha! Still charming the ladies I see!” Elvis booms, before grabbing Jerry in a big hug. 

They slap one another on the back and exchange pleasantries for a moment. Then Elvis extracts Gina from Tegan’s arms and gives her a kiss on the top of her head, telling her something about presents and her mother and launching her back into the room. Tegan sighs with relief and tries to check her hair with her hands. She feels Elvis’ arm slip around her waist. 

“What d’ya think a my woman, Jerry?” 

Jerry laughs. “I think you’re very lucky, EP. But then you always were a lucky old dog.”

Elvis smirks. “Yer not wrong, Jer. C’mon, lemme introduce ya to everyone.”

As he turns to the room and starts his introductions, Tegan feels that familiar tingling between her legs. Something about the compliment from Jerry and the way Elvis had asked him about her like she wasn’t there had turned her brain to mush. She squeezes Elvis’ side and he looks at her briefly, noting her slightly flushed face and guessing with a smile that he knows exactly what has caused it…

***

The rest of the day passes happily, with lots of food and drink and merriment. Just after lunch, Tegan finds herself chatting with Jerry. She thinks he's easy to talk to and more than a little handsome, but there’s some sadness mixed in there too. He tells her about his imminent divorce and she listens. She can't help empathising with his description of the death of a relationship where no-one is to blame, and Jerry is glad to talk to someone who understands for a change. He tries not to talk her ear off about it though. He knows there’s nothing more tiresome than someone you don’t know going on about their divorce. 

***

It’s late, and most people have decided to take their exhausted children home. Everyone except Jerry, actually, who is sitting with Elvis on the couch in the den, Tegan sandwiched between them. She’s been enjoying listening to their stories of the old days, sipping on more than a few glasses of liquor, the three of them sliding into inebriation almost without noticing. There’s a natural pause in the conversation, and then Elvis thinks of something that had interested him earlier. 

“Ya like my woman, Jer?”

Jerry looks at his friend and then at the woman sitting next to him. He does like her. He always seems to end up liking Elvis’ women. Even now, after all this time. 

“Sure.”

“What d’ya like about her?”

“I…uh… well I mean she’s very pretty…” Jerry isn’t sure exactly what to say. The atmosphere feels charged somehow, but maybe that's the bourbon.

“What else?”

He notices Tegan’s hand creeping onto Elvis’ leg and starts to think the atmosphere isn’t his imagination after all. 

“Well she’s easy to talk to, and uh…”

Seemingly getting a little impatient, Elvis cuts him off. “She’s covered in tattoos, Jer. All over her body.”

Jerry swallows, thickly. He can feel himself getting a little turned on. “Is she?” 

Tegan can hear the want in his voice and she squeezes Elvis’ thigh. 

“Look,” he replies, leaning over her to push the material of her skirt up, exposing half of her thigh and the tattoo there. 

“Oh.” Jerry stares at the bare thigh next to him and tries to breathe normally. “That’s a beautiful tattoo, honey.”

Elvis clicks his tongue. “You don’t gotta talk ta her, Jer. Jus’ talk to me.”

Tegan feels her head spin and arousal pool between her legs. She remembers the night in the TV room when Elvis had talked possessively about her for the first time, and she wonders again what has happened to all her feminist ideals.

“I like her tattoos, EP,” Jerry suddenly feels a wave of confidence, probably brought on by all the bourbon. “Very sexy.”

“Mmm. You wanna touch her?”

“Fuck, yes.”

“Over her skirt,” Elvis says, firmly, pulling her skirt back down again. 

Jerry puts a big warm hand on Tegan’s thigh and she feels her heart speed up. Goosebumps spring up all over her arms and the hairs there stand on end. Elvis leans in and kisses her neck. 

“Give her a little kiss on the neck,” he instructs. “She smells damn good.”

He puts his hand on top of Tegan’s as she feels Jerry’s lips against her neck, pressing hot little kisses to it. She hears him moan, softly. 

“E-Elvis,” she says, suddenly. Her heart is beating out of her chest, and she looks up at him with wide eyes. He recognises the look immediately. 

“Hey, Jer. Why don’tcha go up to the kitchen an’ get us all some of that eggnog stuff?”

The sudden change of pace makes Jerry feel almost dizzy, but he gets up, subtly rearranging himself and telling them he’ll be back in five. Mentally, he decides it’ll be more like ten. He needs to calm himself down. 

“You okay, honey?” Elvis asks, as soon as Jerry has gone. 

“Hmmmm.”

“Hey. Talk to me.” He cups her face in his hand gently.

“I… I just um…” she lets out a long breath. “We didn’t talk about where uh… this is going.”

“Wherever ya want it to, baby.”

“Mmm. Okay.” 

There’s a long silence, where they both look at one another and Elvis strokes the back of her hand with his thumb reassuringly. He keeps thinking she’s going to continue, but when she still doesn’t he decides he ought to tell her something. 

“Okay. Ya know my world tour?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Jerry came with me. I mean, Jerry came with me.”

Tegan’s eyes go wide and then she giggles. “What are you trying to tell me?”

“Uh… well honey it was a filthy year, I told ya that.”

“Yes.”

“And uh… I told ya about the girls… well uh, sometimes Jerry and I uh… took turns.”

“On the same girl?”

“On the same girl.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“So, like a threesome, or…?”

“Sometimes. Or sometimes more like… a train.”

“Doesn’t a train need more than two people?”

“Not if ya jus’ keep takin’ turns.”

“Did you… no, never mind. I don’t need to know this.” She covers her face with her hand and then giggles again. 

“Ya like Jerry, honey?”

She looks up at him. “Not as much as you.”

“Well I should damn well hope not!” 

She bites her lip. 

“Ya want us to go find him and tell him ta meet us in the bedroom?”

She nods, dumbly. Then she grabs his arm. “I’ve not… I’ve never done anything like this.”

“I’ll look after ya, baby. Promise. Ya wanna stop, just say.”

He presses a gentle kiss to her lips, then stands up. “C’mon. Let’s go and find Jerry and those pills.”

Tegan takes his hand and they walk back up the stairs in search of Jerry. Elvis tells her he’ll see her in the bedroom, and she watches him duck into the kitchen to talk to his friend. She sits on the bed, holding the pill bottle and trying to remember how to breathe. When she’s still alone after a couple of minutes she pads over to the door and opens it a crack. 

“Elvis?” She calls, softly. 

He appears at the bottom of the stairs almost immediately, looking up the stairs at her worshipfully. 

“Tegan bach. We’ll be up in a sec.”

“Could you bring me a drink?”

“Of course, honey. What d’ya want?”

“Whatever’s kicking around. Bourbon?” 

He nods and disappears. She lets out another shaky breath and goes back to the bedroom. She runs the events on the sofa through her head again and again, feeling turned on even as her hands shake whilst she fiddles with the fabric of her dress. She’s just starting to wonder if she can go through this when Elvis appears with the drink. 

“Here ya go, cariad.”

She takes the glass gratefully, gulping the bourbon and relishing the way it burns down her throat. 

“Diolch, blod.”

Elvis smiles at the pet name. He gently pushes her hair away from her face, admiring her. She’s about to ask where Jerry is when the light changes in the room, and she realises he’s standing in the doorway, blocking it slightly. Elvis catches her looking and turns around himself. 

“Come on in, Jer.”

Jerry smiles and walks in with his own glass of liquor, having realised quite quickly that the eggnog was just an excuse to get him out of the room. 

Elvis takes the pill bottle from Tegan and pops one, offering it to Jerry who holds his hand out for one too. She decides this isn’t the time to tell him to stop sharing his medication. 

“Sit,” Elvis instructs, indicating the bed next to Tegan and then moving round to the other side himself. “We’ve got half an hour or so before they kick in.”

Tegan finds herself very pleasantly sandwiched between the two men, Elvis’ hand on her thigh and Jerry’s holding hers almost sweetly, once he’d confirmed with the other man that it was alright. Their thighs are both pressed up against hers and it’s making her heart race with the implications. 

“Ya wanna see some more of her tattoos?” Elvis asks. 

Jerry nods, and watches with interest as his friend pushes Tegan’s skirt up to just below her panties. “Can I?” He asks Elvis, his hand hovering just above her leg. Elvis nods. 

Tegan can hear her breathing change as hands stroke up and down her thighs. She’s pretty certain her panties are going to be soaked through, whenever they get up to investigating them. 

“Give her a kiss,” Elvis instructs, and Jerry lets her hand go to turn her face towards his. His eyes flick down to her lips and back to her eyes as if he’s asking her permission too, and she feels herself melt at the little gesture. Her nod is almost imperceptible, but it’s enough for Jerry, his lips meeting hers, tongue gently pressing for access to her mouth which she grants immediately. 

Elvis pushes the strap of her dress off her shoulder along with her bra strap, exposing one of her breasts. She feels his tongue on her nipple and moves her hand to the back of his head, encouraging him to keep going, her fingers digging into his hair. The slightly scratchy beard hairs just add to the delightful sensations and she doesn’t want him to stop. 

“Jerry,” he mumbles, against her skin. 

The other man pulls away from the kiss, reluctantly, and looks over. Without stopping what he’s doing, Elvis pulls the other straps down so now both of her breasts are accessible, nodding at the one nearest his friend. Jerry groans softly. Nipple piercings. 

“You didn’t tell me her nipples were pierced,” Jerry remarks, before diving down to investigate for himself with his mouth and then his fingers. 

Elvis smiles against her skin. “Good surprise,” he replies. 

“Any more surprises?” Jerry’s fingers are manipulating her nipple as he speaks, his big hand massaging her breast. 

Elvis moves his mouth off her nipple and starts to kiss up her neck, settling just behind her ear for a moment as he thinks. 

“Tight little puss’.”

Jerry clears his throat and she sees he’s blushing. 

“Ain’t that right, darlin’?”

Tegan is surprised to be consulted, but she nods immediately. “Yes, um…”

“Ya can call me it if ya want. Jerry’s heard worse.”

“Yes, Daddy.” She bites her lip and now she’s blushing too. It seems like Elvis is the only one of the three of them not embarrassed by her pussy right now. 

“Good girl. Let’s get this dress off.”

She shifts so that he can get his hand behind her to unzip her dress and then lets him pull it over her head. His practiced fingers snap her bra open and off too, so she’s just sitting in her predictably soaked panties. 

“Looks like a wet pussy, too,” Jerry remarks, blushing an even deeper shade of red. 

Elvis grins wickedly, both at Jerry’s statement and its obvious truthfulness, his hand making its way between her legs to check just how wet. 

“Absolutely soakin’.” He shakes his head and clicks his tongue. “Damn. She is perfect, ain’t she?”

Tegan feels herself going the same colour as Jerry, the combination of the compliment and the fact that it’s being spoken as if she isn’t there making her hot in more ways than one. 

“She really is, E.” 

Jerry’s eyes crawl over her body, taking in every inch of her. He’s never seen a woman with so many tattoos, but he thinks there’s something very sexy about the way they twist and turn around her body, emphasising her curves. He’s seen one or two piercings in his time, and he’s always enjoyed playing with them. There were plenty of pierced girls on Elvis’ world tour. He remembers the one with her nipples done that Elvis had found on that tour and brought around the US with him, she had been a lot of fun. 

He starts to kiss the phoenix on her ribs, following the twists and turns of the feathers, exploring her body with his mouth. She moans as she feels Elvis start the same thing on the other side of her body, kissing from her toes to her hip bone. They keep going until both of them start to feel their dicks getting properly hard and then Elvis looks over at the other man. 

“Ya wanna fuck her?”

Jerry is jolted from the very enjoyable sensations by Elvis’ question. Of course he does. 

“Yes please.”

Elvis grins, wolfishly. “Think ya should go down on her first. Warm ‘er up a bit.” He turns to Tegan. “Lie down, honey.”

She shuffles down onto her back dutifully, moving her hips to help Jerry peel her panties off. He turns them around, having caught a glimpse of something glittery on the back. Laughing when he sees it’s ELVIS in silvery script.

“Ha! Nice one, EP.” 

Throwing the panties off the bed, he settles between her legs and contemplates her pussy for a moment. It’s pretty and glistening with arousal and he doesn’t want to wait much longer to taste it. He pushes her legs until her feet come off the bed, licking a stripe up her and enjoying hearing her response. Elvis enjoys it too, smiling down at her as she closes her eyes and lets her arms flop above her head. He palms himself through his pants as he watches the scene unfold, Tegan moaning as Jerry buries his face in her pussy. 

Jerry concentrates on her clit as he slides one of his fingers inside, working her open gradually. She pants as she feels her pleasure growing, letting out a little moan when a second finger goes in, and then a third. It takes a while for him to get her relaxed enough to take them easily, but when he does he changes the angle slightly and then she’s really moaning. 

“Oh! Oh! I’m so close!”

Elvis lies down beside her, his hand rubbing one of her nipples as he kisses her neck. 

“C’mon, baby. Cum for Daddy.”

Something about both of them touching her at once tips Tegan over the edge, and her orgasm rips through her as her back arches and her hands ball into fists. 

“Fuck.”

Jerry licks her through it until she starts to thrash her legs a little and he pulls back, his chin glistening. 

“Good girl,” Elvis tells her, before looking over at his friend with a grin. “Tastes good, don’t she?”

“Delicious,” Jerry replies, wiping his face on his sleeve. 

The older man sits up and starts to pull his clothes off, giving Jerry a quick look that suggests he should do the same. Once he’s naked he lies back down and wraps himself around Tegan. Their legs tangle together and he kisses her deeply, hands in her hair and pressed against her back. Jerry finishes pulling his clothes off and looks at the two of them with a combination of admiration and lust. It’s like they’re communicating without having to talk, and he misses being able to do that with someone. But it’s also a bit like watching a porno, so he starts slowly stroking himself. Eating Tegan out had turned him on in a way he hasn’t been turned on for a while now, and his dick is aching. 

Elvis moves to kiss just below Tegan’s ear, then he murmurs, “you clean, honey?”

She knows exactly what that means. He’d asked her that question before the two times they’d had anal sex on holiday. “Yeah,” she murmurs back. 

“Good.”

They go back to kissing for a bit, and then his mouth moves to her ear again. “You okay?”

“Mmm. Yes.”

“Good.”

He pulls back and his eyes flick over her face, quickly. She’s still flushed after her orgasm, and he can see that she’s been nibbling on her lower lip too. He’s pretty convinced she’s telling him the truth but he still wants to take this slowly. He sits up again and looks over at Jerry, who manages to move his hand away from his dick just in time. 

“Lie down, Jer. Let her get on top of you.”

Jerry does as he’s told, and Tegan straddles him as Elvis holds her hips. 

“Be gentle with her, now.”

Jerry nods, stroking himself again as Tegan starts to gradually sink down on him, with Elvis’ help. He groans at the feeling of her all around him, squeezing him tightly. She moans a little too, but she’s grateful that although he has length he’s a little slimmer than Elvis so it goes in fairly easily. Sitting down on him fully, she looks into his dark brown eyes. 

“Shit,” he mutters, trying to remember the last time his dick was wrapped up so nicely in a pussy like this. 

She looks briefly back at Elvis for permission and he nods, so she leans forwards, lying on top of Jerry with her face less than an inch from his. His hand cups her face and his fingers knot into her hair as he pulls her close enough to kiss her. Elvis is still holding her hips, and he uses this opportunity to start moving them for her, back and forth so she slides up and down on the other man’s dick. Jerry moans into her mouth. Elvis sighs with satisfaction, his arousal growing at the sight in front of him. They keep moving like this for a while, at Elvis’ direction, and then he reaches into the bedside cabinet drawer, letting her carry on moving of her own accord. 

She hears the lid of the lube bottle click and stops moving. Not noticing the noise, Jerry’s hands move to her hips now and start to move her on him instead. Coating his finger in lube, Elvis moves back to where he was and then gently presses it against her entrance. He bites his lip as he rubs her asshole firmly. She feels like her brain is short-circuiting, and it’s even worse when the finger slips inside and she can feel it and Jerry’s dick at the same time. 

“Ohhh fuck,” she moans. 

Jerry can’t see what’s happening from the angle he’s looking, but he sees the lube bottle on the bed and has a fairly good idea. Elvis starts to move his finger in and out at the same pace as he strokes his own dick, then when he feels her relax he slips in another. He’s starting to think this is the hottest fucking thing he’s ever done, at the age of 62, and he thanks God for whoever invented those amazing pills. 

When he removes his fingers, Tegan knows what’s coming. They hadn’t directly talked about it, but they’d sort of skirted the issue a couple of times. She’s pretty confident he knows she has fantasised about this and that there’s no way she’d say no, but it’s still pretty intense when Elvis tells them both to stay still and she feels him start to push his way inside her. Although she’s used to him, she’s not used to having another dick in her pussy too and the feeling threatens to overwhelm her. 

“How’re ya doin’, baby?” Elvis asks when he finally bottoms out, his voice husky with lust.

“This is fucking intense!” She squeaks, and then finds herself giggling. 

“Fuck me you’re not wrong, honey,” Jerry replies.

Elvis’ thumbs massage her hip bones gently. 

“Yeah, my dick is intensely near Jerry’s right now.”

“I mean, this was your idea, EP.”

All three of them giggle together and the atmosphere in the room changes. 

“Honey, I’m gonna move. Jer, you stay still. Think we might haveta do this one at a time.”

“Okay.”

Tegan tries hard to keep breathing as Elvis starts to slowly move in and out of her, gentle, long strokes. He moans at the feeling, she’s even tighter than she had been with just him and he knows he won’t last long. Holding on to her hips, he moves a little faster, feeling his release building at the base of his dick. 

“Fuck. Baby I’m gonna cum,” he breathes, and then he does, long and hard and a little louder than he was anticipating. 

Tegan moans too at the feeling of him deep inside her, and then again as he pulls out. She closes her eyes, feeling tears prick at the corners of her eyes with the intensity of all the sensations. 

“Can I… uh…?” Jerry gestures at Elvis and the other man nods, waves of pleasure still crashing over him as he watches his girlfriend and best friend rearrange so that Jerry is on top. 

Jerry wastes no time getting what he wants now he has permission, Tegan’s thighs in his grasp as he pounds her hard and fast. Enjoying watching her breasts bounce with the brutal rhythm he’s setting, listening to her increasingly loud moans. 

“I’m close,” Jerry moans, thinking he almost certainly needs permission to cum inside Elvis’ girlfriend. 

“Tell him where you want it, baby.”

“Ugh. Don’t care.” 

Tegan is teetering on the edge of another orgasm and she really doesn’t want Jerry to pull out any time soon, but she also can’t formulate the words to say that. And then she doesn’t have to, because it becomes quite obvious to everyone in the room what’s happening, as she arches her back again and almost squeals. 

“Fuck, fuck fuck.”

Jerry moans loudly, feeling her walls squeeze him into oblivion, cumming inside her as his orgasm washes over him like a tsunami. 

“Holy shit.”

The three of them lay where they each collapse on the bed for a while, trying to get their breaths back as they float around on their highs. After a while they rearrange so they all have their heads on the pillows, Elvis’ hand on one of Tegan’s breasts whilst Jerry’s rests on her belly. 

“I should uh… leave you two to it,” Jerry says, quietly, as he watches Elvis and Tegan kiss languorously. 

Tegan moves her head quickly. “Please stay.”

He blinks, almost forgetting for a moment that she was a person with preferences. “Oh… uh… I dunno.”

She turns to look at him properly. “Don’t get me wrong, you can’t sleep in this bed too, I have enough trouble with him,” she gestures behind her with her thumb. “But I feel really close to you after that, and I want you to stay for a while and cuddle.”

“Well I guess I can’t refuse a pretty girl asking me for a cuddle.”

“Ya definitely cannot, Jer,” Elvis chips in. 

“And um… you’re staying for the weekend, right?”

He nods. “If you want me.”

Tegan giggles. “Oh. I definitely want you.”

“Hey!” Elvis snaps, a hint of jealousy in his voice for the first time that evening. 

Tegan rolls back over towards him. “Oh, ‘raur. I want you too. Nothing to be jealous of.”

He narrows his eyes at her a little and she kisses him. 

“‘M still yours,” she murmurs against his lips. 

“Yes, y’are.”

He pushes her gently but firmly onto her back and then looks over her, at Jerry. “Can ya believe she thought I’d find someone better?”

“She said that?”

“She did.”

“How could you find someone better than this?” Jerry asks, his hand trailing down her body. 

Tegan finds herself blushing again. “Stop it, you two.”

“Ignore that, Jer. This pretty little doll is supposed ta be stayin’ quiet whilst we talk about her.”

She buries her head in Elvis’ chest hearing those words, and Jerry wraps himself around her, enjoying the feeling of her skin against his. Elvis takes her hand in his and uses his other hand to stroke her thigh. 

“Did ya like her pussy, Jer?”

“I loved it, E. Nice and tight.” His hand moves between her legs and holds her there. She squeezes her eyes shut more tightly. 

“Not as tight as her pretty little asshole, but that’s jus’ fer me.”

Tegan squeaks. 

Elvis chuckles, and she can hear the low rumble of it in his chest. “Jus’ tryin’ ta make ya understand the effect yer havin’ on us, honey.”

“Okay, okay. I get it.”

Jerry presses a kiss to her shoulder. “You’ve really given me a happy Christmas, Tegan. You should know that… I’ve been pretty depressed for a while now and this is the most fun I’ve had for ages.”

“Ya should thank me, Jer, not her.”

Tegan shifts, poking Elvis in the side and making him giggle ticklishly. “Stop that now! That’s enough!”

He chuckles again and rolls towards her. “You told her down, Jer. I’ll tickle her.”

***

Epilogue

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[slimybeth69]

Touch: Part 5

Rating: explicit (smut, language)

Summary: So... it's after you and Din talk...

tags: Angst, slight dub-con (I never know bc I would always fuck Din?), being mad as fuck at Din, how could he?, Din/Mando being a dumb stupid idiot, reader also being a dumb stupid idiot. Idiots in LOVE, mutual pining, then normal smut things (without spoilers to the chapter, sorry) SPOILERS TO The Book of Boba Fett and The Mandalorian.

a/n: I've said it before and I'll say it again. If you read this on ao3, no you fucking didn't. It's still unbeta'd, but proofread!! I did that this time!! I also am re-working the story slightly because I CAN.

a/n pt2: I don't know shit about Star Wars/ The Mandalorian. I did however spend an un-Makerly amount of time learning for all of us. If you're not well versed in the lore or the history of Star Wars/ The Mandalorian-- that's okay! This is Star Wars/ Mando for Beginners. (Also stating this as a warning for anyone well versed in the universe and the lore-- shhhhhhhhhhhhhh. DON'T COME FOR ME)

<- Previous Chapter Series Masterlist

The Jedi Code was taught to you. Engraved in your mind.

Harmony, serenity, peace and knowledge. The force. The lightside.

All the bad things; chaos, emotion, passion, ignorance, death.

The darkside. You learned to not fear the darkside, but instead to embrace the force.

Even though you didn’t have the maker forsaken force inside of you! Not even a litte bit! None of 'the force' had found its way into you!

Luke Skywalker and Ahsoka Tano trained you as if you did!

Why!?

They spent so much time building you from the ground up! They made sure you had muscles and could run for long distances. The pair trained you how to fight with your hands!

Your hands know how to use a lightsaber! That's not an easy feat, and it takes a long time to learn that skill.

Oh, how long? A really long time!

Two years!

Two long years without any sign of that man in the tin can outfit! He's never called, he's never come to visit!

Two. Fucking. Years.

Sometimes you hated Din for leaving you here but you very quickly remember that you asked for this. 

Wanted this more than anything.

Foolish!

You wanted so badly to make sure the child was cared for; the child was older than you are!

Much, much older! Not even a baby at all, but a toddler where he comes from. A very special toddler. A force sensitive toddler.

Coming here was a mistake! The only thing you do here is clean up the messes Grogu- that's the child's Maker forsaken name. He has a name!

Grogu makes messes, so you clean them, and get hit with sticks as some sick and twisted form of 'training'! It feels like a joke when they told you to 'block your face and important organs' and then started to pummel you with the hardest, most fast moving sticks you've ever seen!

Not having any amount of the force inside of you really makes training with Jedi's incredibly difficult! Grogu seemed to be having a blast training with Skywalker.

They trained differently, so unfortunately the two of you didn't see each other much, and when you did, your time with him was cut short.

The two of you grew up here a little, together while separated.

Luke and Ahsoka claimed that you babied him and it would impeed his training, so they kept you apart as much as they seemed humane. You became so very depressed without the child and Din.

All alone even though you were surrounded by so many people.

The nights that you got to spend with Grogu were usually spent laying under the stars outside the Jedi temple, speaking fondly of Din.

Mostly for the child's sake, because you only wonder if he had completely forgotten about you.

The answer to that question came when Luke came to Grogu with a gift. 

“A gift?” You say with a curled lip.

Have you not just spent all of your time here; learning the way of the Jedi? That was an attachment and you– in your two years becoming a mock Jedi– were weary. The darkside. The emotion. The attachments.

This was scary.

Luke held the gift in his hands while he spoke. You're subtlety looking for your gift but... you don't see one. Only one parcel.

Oh.

“This gift would be the end of both of your Jedi training, should he keep it. Attachments may not be had, by anyone.” Luke looks between the both of you as you stand before him.

Why is he looking at you!? You might stay at this temple and learn all the ways of the Jedi and become the most powerful non-force sensitive Jedi the galaxy has ever seen!

“You both have come so far, you have so much potential. Both of you.” Luke’s eyes fall on you. “I’ve been surprised before, but this was a pleasant one. Watching you both learn so much. I hope he both makes the choice that’s best for you.” Luke looks to Grogu and hands him the package wrapped in brown paper.

“Why couldn’t I stay if he wanted to leave?” You ask Luke. 

“You come with the child. You leave with the child.” Luke explains simply. 

Maker-- alright. You can’t argue with that. You don't have much to offer besides cleaning up the kid's messes. They're probably tired of watching you perfect the lightsaber.

You're actually pretty good.

Grogu glances up at you just as you look down at him. You kneel on one knee so you can be closer to him, and watch as his six little clawed fingers struggle with the twine wrapped around it, but he uses the Force.

“Cheater.” You whisper to him.

The gift is beskar. A piece of... Mandlaorian armor for Grogu. 

“ Mando said he can’t put it on until he sees you–” 

“M-Mando’s here?” You interrupt accidentally. Your heart begins to pound in your chest at the thought that you might actually be able to see him right now.

Luke gives you a knowing look, as if you should know better, and shakes his head from side to side.

“Ahsoka sent him away. It would interfere with your training. If you wish to stay here and train, continue to learn the Jedi way. You both have come far, but it’s nowhere near close to done. Accepting this would end that training.”

It’s a warning.

The energy in the room is so intense. You can feel electricity in the air almost. Grogu is still standing beside you, looking down at his own piece of beskar.

What’s he going to do?

Luke reaches into his robe.

Everyone here has all these hidden pockets for things in their clothes. You have a couple hidden pockets now too . For things you may need to hide and pull out in moments just like this one day. You hope. It’s so cool when they do that.

Luke hands Grogu a lightsaber. Grogu’s own lightsaber. 

“You have a choice, young padawan.” His gravelly voice rakes across your brain. 

It's so quiet for so long. 

Grogu touches the lightsaber softly. Admiring it. He did the same thing with the armor. 

So long you waited. Understandably, this was a hard choice.

Grogo picks the armor.

Grogu and yourself are on a ship to a hangar where Din is waiting for a response. Your knees are complete mudslides right now. They are not supporting you and they have two years of Jedi training behind them. They’re strong. 

The nerves got to them, though--ate away all the tendons you ever had and dissolved the muscle down to nothing.

Din had been on your mind every single day for two years, and he didn't even ask if YOU wanted to come back. Only Grogu! You feel like a fool sitting next to the tiny green toddler.

Where are you supposed to go when Din tells you that he doesn't need your services anymore!?

The ramp of the ship drops down and there is a cloud of dust. And then there he is. Standing at the base of the ramp, like he had been waiting for you two. Or apparently just Grogu. Since he’s the one who got the gift.

It’s fine. You’re fine. No attachments. Perfect. You’re basically a Jedi. 

Grogu, who is so much faster, so, so much faster than you ever remember him being, flings himself at Din, and attaches himself around his neck.

You watch in amusement, wishing you could do the same thing but you’re partially a Jedi now, so you keep your composure and walk down the ramp slowly. Your mouth is so dry, you don't even attempt to swallow because you know it'll just end in you choking.

Din hugs the child tightly. Their embrace is so sweet. So kind. It makes you smile so hard your cheeks hurt.

It makes your heart pang as well.

They hug for a long time before Grogu looks back at you, pulling away from Din’s neck. Grogu extends a curved hand to you. You suddenly feel a gentle pressure around your waist, and are being dragged forward, against your will, feet stumbling beneath you. 

You point your finger at Grogu. “Hey!” You shout. The pressure around your waist stops and you’re set back down on your feet carefully. “I told you to knock that off!"

This is Grogu’s new, fun game. Picking you up and putting you where he wants you. He hasn’t stopped doing it since he learned how.

Dropped you a couple times in the beginning. 

Din chuckles from under the helmet. “I see your relationship has changed quite a bit.” His flat rasp is the same as you remember it.  "He's the one carrying you around now,"

“It’s basically still the same. I have to yell at him for doing things he shouldn’t.” You scowl at Grogu, who hides himself behind Din's helmet.

“It’s nice to see you," Din's modulated voice is even and quiet. As if he doesn't want to say it at all.

That’s it. No hug. Nothing. Not even a handshake.

You could hit him. For several seconds you think about doing it.

Now your fist– with two years of Jedi training– and it might actually hurt him. It might hurt him a lot, and you’d feel good about it. So good.

"It's nice to see you, too."

The anger is pumping in your veins as he leads you through the hanger behind him. You look at all the ships, and look for the Crest but you don’t see it anywhere. Eventually Din stops in front of a ship much larger than the Crest. Bigger guns on it too. 

Din just stands there and looks at you with his stupid helmet shining in the bright light of the hangar. You don’t know what to do. He dropped you off on Ossus where the Jedi temple was, and didn't give you a hug. Not a pat on the shoulders. Literally nothing.

"Keep the kid out of trouble. You'll hear from me soon."

That's all Din had said before he and Grogu went to say their goodbyes!

"It's a new ship." Din points to the giant hunk of metal he’s standing in front of. His beskar looks exactly the same. Maybe a new scrape or two. A ding here or there but you’re not even looking. Not even paying attention to him. Trying not to. 

“Okay...” You resort to using your favorite word.

Why, Maker? Why can’t the man in the helmet speak? Is his helmet on mute? Always so fucking quiet. Until you don’t want him to be, then he won’t shut up.

Din leads you inside. Shows you the sleeping quarters. There are two beds. One for each of you.

There is a separate room for the child.

The dining room is nice and everything else is so nice. So much nicer than the Razor Crest. Even the cockpit you have no idea how to use. 

You look all around the hull like it's very interesting. This is so awkward. Not what you expected when you were on your way here. It's not like you expected a welcome back party. Maybe a hug. Something. 

"What happened to the Crest?" You ask, trying to avoid looking at him.

"It was destroyed."

The sleeping quarters are different from the Razor Crest. The beds are close together, but separated and welded to the floor so there is no way to move them closer together.

The mats that are nestled into the metal frames are thicker and much more plush than the one you had slept on for so long before you were banished away to the Jedi temple.

It’s fine. You’re fine. No emotion. No attachments. It’s all fine. 

The small bag that holds your very few belongings stays packed in case he doesn't plan on you staying very long. He could very well be headed right back to Cantonica to drop you back off at the Canto Bight Casino!

The three of you eat dinner in silence.

Din says not one word to you and you don't try and strike up the conversations like you used to. Things feel so different now, like the two of you are complete strangers all over again.

Grogu has changed in ways that are hard to describe. He's still a baby in your eyes even though he's older than you and Din.

The two of you play together on the floor while Din or maybe you should call him Mando again, since you barely know this man after two whole years, does something in the cockpit.

Grogu warbles and you watch all the new, fun things he can do with the Force that aren’t moving you unwillingly. It's the first real fun the two of you are able to have since being dropped off at the temple. You missed being able to play with him. You still snuggle him at the protests of Luke and Ahsoka-- how could you not when he climbs into your lap and cuddles into your arms.

Like he knew you couldn’t resist. 

Grogu can put himself to sleep now which is incredible, and that means you have time to do whatever you want.

So you’re in your bed with your nice new sheets. They’re soft. Like the ones on the Crest.

It’s dark here, too.

Maker, what in the stars?

The sun shields in this ship are no joke! There's no light at all. If you have to go to the bathroom, it’s just blind wishing that you don’t break you toes, or bump into a wall and potentially crack your skull. 

It feels like you were completely forgotten about in those two years and now, in the dark silence of your shared sleeping quarters you just want to cry...

An emotion!? After two years of strict Jedi code training---

There is a ten thousand degree warmth on your upper arm in the void, and it scares you half out of the bed. Your tops of your feet and knees are on the cool metal of the ships floor, and you're leaning against the side of the bed-frame like you are praying to Maker.

“I was going to see if you were sleeping," Din's rasping sounds-- happy to talk to you?

You're unsure. Nothing else about the way he's spoken to you, or treated you at all makes you think he wants to talk to you.

"That's not how you find out if someone's asleep!" You bark at him angrily.

"You're awake though.” A flat, unimpressed response to your outburst.

Maker, if you had your own helmet with night vision, you’d use all your new fun Jedi fighting tricks on him. You sure would, because who is he!? Who does he think he is!?

After two years he can come back and just throttle you awake in the dark like before? Nope. Not this time. 

“You’re lucky I can’t see you right now.” You say over the pounding heart in your chest. “So lucky-- What do you care if I'm awake in the night?! Let me sleep!” You’re so cold with him, mirroring him perfectly minus the emotion. “I’m tired.” You lie to him. 

In the usual Din fashion, he remains quiet. He still had his hand on your arm, and it's not like you really made an attempt to pull it away because it’s hot like you remember.. Burning you, he's so warm.

Din is also so fucking quiet! Maker! Is he okay?

“Tired?” Din’s voice rasps in the dark. "Then why aren't you sleeping?"

You realize the metal man has no grip on you whatsoever. He was just touching you very, very gently, and you easily could have pulled away at any moment.

So you you tug your arm away and you climb back into bed and face the opposite direction from him. "I was trying to sleep when you come over here-- shaking me in the darkness!"

“You…” Din trails off in the dark. “Still don't know the meaning of shake?” He questions you like a dumb idiot. 

"Get away from me!" You almost shout it. "Just leave me alone!" You humph, and pull the sheets over your shoulder.

"Are you... mad at me?"

“Are you kidding me!?” You whisper at him. “I don’t know how you could leave me out there for two years, and I get nothing!?” You sit up in your bed now and talk blindly in the dark. “Nothing. No visit. No calls. Nothing.” You cross your arms over your chest. "No gift!"

Din stays silent- which was predicted- so you carry on.

“But you get Grogu a gift, which was very sweet. Very cute armor, he is going to look very cute it in.” You think of the child dressed in the armor and it's kind of amusing and slightly distracting.

“Are you done?” Din’s stupid modulated voice rings out in the dark after a minute of you imagining an armored Grogu.

It's so dark and you still don't really know where he is, so with your accusing index finger pointing in the direction he could be in, you almost shout, “No! I’m not done!”

You are in fact, not done.

“They treated me like I had the Force in me. Do you know how hard that is when you don’t have the fucking force in you!?” You exclaim in exasperation, still pointing at him.

You start to speak again into the blinding darkness when a warm hand very gingerly moves your accusatory pointing finger eight inches to your right. 

“I figured I should at least be getting pointed at, if you’re going scold me,” Din rasps.

You die inside and wonder how dumb you look in the dark. “Why did you even bring me back? Hm? Why not just send me right back to the casino? Or is that where we’re going next? Gonna just drop me off? You even gonna land first or just let me duck and roll?” You huff, officially done with your rant. 

“Are you don-” Din starts, but you cut him off. 

“Yes!" You snap at him, and then you huff one more time for good measure. You're so angry with him.

So much for all your Jedi no emotion training. 

“I have a gift for you.” Din says flatly through the modulator. 

Oh.

“Well it’s so dark in here, so how would I know that?” You snip at him, not sure you’re fully ready to forgive him. You roll your eyes now. 

“Would you still like it? Or are you too upset with me?” Din’s modulated rasp asks you, sounding annoyed.

Why does he have a right to be annoyed? He could have given you that gift the minute you step foot of that return ship that brought you back to him.

Why wait until the darkness!? Why!?

“Yes, I would.” You hold your cupped hand out into the dark and feel something cold and hard fall into it. “It would be nice if I could –” 

The brightest beam of light you’ve ever encountered shines directly into your eyes. It’s blinding.

You jump again, out of bed because what the fuck is that!?

Is this an attack!?

What even is that light? Where is it coming from?

Thankfully, you wrapped your hand around the thing Din dropped into your hand so you didn't fling it into the abyss to never be seen again before you ever even got to look at it!

“Why are you on the floor?” Din asks, as you hold your free hand to your chest. You blink up at him, having to shield your eyes. 

“Are you the light right now!?” You question him squinting your eyes in its brightness. "Are you the one blinding me!?"

“Yes." Din dims the light tremendously somehow from within his helmet and now, it’s easier on the eyes. Like a candle flame. "Was it to bright?"

“It was too bright! I don’t think I’ll ever see again.” You snip softly, resting on the floor and putting your elbows on the bed. 

You inspect the small pink crystal in your hand. It takes you a couple seconds to realize what it is.

“Is this a kyber crystal?” You look up at Din who is knelt down on the other side of your bed.

He nods in the now pale light that's much easier on the eyes. “I got it on my travels. I thought that if you knew how to use a lightsaber, I’d get one for you. Put this crystal in it.” 

Maker. What is happening? 

“You thought of me?” You didn’t mean to say it. Part of you is still mad. 

“Everyday .” Din’s awe and amazement voice is back. “Di- Did you not think about me?” Just as quickly as that sweet familiar tone had shown up, it's gone just as fast. Din can' believe that you didn't think of him during your time apart.

“I did.” You say quietly. “I thought you had forgotten me. Without the visits or calls or gift.” You do feel silly now because this really is a sweet gift.

The sweetest gift. More sweet than the notebook and the credits and anything else he's ever given you. The small pink crystal in your hand means so much to you. The fact that he got it for you, was thinking about you while you were gone. The fact that the meaning behind the gift is so big. You own lightsaber if you wanted one. Din would get one for you. Said it himself. Your heart is racing in your chest.

“Never . I’ve been waiting to see you. Been thinking of you. Looking at your doodles every night.” He turns the light off and takes the crystal from your still outstretched hand. 

“Hey! That’s mine.” You reach for it but he leaves you kneeling next to your bed like you are praying to Maker in the dark again.

“I’m going to give it back.” Din raps . “Do you want to get back in bed or are you content on the floor?” 

You’re blinking into the dark. Wondering how dumb you look now on the floor blinking into the void. You scramble up without assistance and crawl into bed, facing the same direction as before. Away from Din. 

Secretly, you’re hoping he’s sans beskar and crawls into bed beside you and lets you hold him like he did the nights before you left. With your arm around his waist, stealing his radiating heat from him while he sleeps. You’d mill kisses softly across his shoulders and you’d listen to him sigh and make sleep sounds in the darkness.

But that doesn’t happen. It’s so quiet. It’s so still for so long. You wonder if he’s crawled in his own bed and is fast asleep. What could this all mean? The gift? The cold welcome back after two years? Everything you did before you left? What did it mean and did you accidentally fall for a potential half man- half droid that’s never going to show you his face? 

The dark is still, so quiet and unmoving. You feel like you’re alone in the room. 

“C-can I touch? Or are you still too upset with me?” Din asks quietly, the rasp of his modulator is gone. His sweet deep voice is right in your ear. It doesn’t startle you because you’ve been waiting to hear him speak for so long. 

“No.” You snap. “You couldn’t come touch me for two years! I would have let you then, any time you came to visit, I would have but you-”

His lips on yours stop you. You almost try and push him off, but Maker. I

t feels so good. His warm, soft lips on yours after all this time. You both open your mouths slightly, and as tentatively as Din touched you for the first time two years ago, his tongue slips past your lips and into your mouth just as slowly.

It’s gone as soon as it appeared. 

“I tried.” He whispers against your open mouth. “I got turned away every time. So many times I tried to see you.” He’s speaking fast, like he’s trying to explain himself to you before you beat him off of you with something hard you’ve found in the dark. “ So many times, little one." 

The words melt over your tongue as he speaks them, almost as if they were your words.

Ahsoka and Luke never told you he came to visit. Not one time. 

“I tried. I never forgot about you. Too perfect. Too beautiful to forget..." ” His bare hands cup your face as you speak. “Never forget you. Everyday I look at your doodles. I look at you, and miss you."

You're breathing in the words he's speaking into your parted lip. He kisses you again softly. You feel the bed shift next to you and he’s crawling beside you.

“Do you dislike me again?”

Maker, Din somehow got warmer. He’s running a fever all the time and his body feels like the embers in the fire pit at the end of the night. 

“Again?” You whisper as he pulls your face down to the pillows with his. 

“You didn’t care for me much before the doodles.” Din kisses your lips again, gently as his hand slips from your cheek. “I didn’t think you’d let me.” You can feel his warm breath on your chin as he speaks. 

“Let you what?” 

“Touch. Watch. The first time.” His real unmodulated voice whispers to you. “I've missed touching. Watching."

A warmth hovers over your middle, you reach for it. Tt’s Din’s hand, hovering above your stomach, under the blankets, but over your clothes. 

“Touch me.” It almost doesn’t come out of your mouth because it’s so dry. But you croak it out and swallow hard as the word leaves your lips because you hope he does. You hope this isn't like the first night all over again where he makes you do it alone.

Din obliges and lets his hand drop, you feel the heat spreading out along your nightgown starting from where his hand rests on your lower stomach. It makes you inhale sharply. It’s such a familiar touch and you missed it so much. 

Din sighs and drags his hands gently and slowly up your stomach, the fabric bunching at his wrist as he does it.

He's lifting your nightgown. 

“Din,” You whisper as his palm cups one of your fleshy tits over the nightgown.

His rough, calloused hands were so gently, touching you so sweetly until your hand rests on his, you make him squeeze you. You make him because you need to know this is real and these soft gentle touches feel like a dream.

Din grips you now. He can feel your desperation in your hand on his. Squeezing and pulling and tugging at your flesh. 

“Fuck.” He moans softly into your shoulder where his head was resting. The fiery goodness from his forehead felt like it was melting you. “Perfect. Beautiful.” He says the word like he doesn’t want to. Like he’s been forcing them back but they’re breaking free from his vocal chords.

You can almost feel his heartbeat. Or maybe it’s yours.

You don’t know. 

It’s just obvious that this is what you want and you need him. Badly. However he’s willing to give himself to you or however he wants to take you, you don’t care. You’ve been waiting and thinking about this for two years. Your body reacts to his touch like you were built for him. Your pussy is leaking and throbbing already and he’s only touched you once. 

There's a new warmth, a wetness to these sensations now. Din’s wrapped his mouth around your clothed nipple and is sucking. Biting gently over the nightgown you have on. It sends shivers down your spine.

Words come flowing out of your mouth before you can even stop them. “I've waited so long for this.” You whimper quietly.

Your hips are rolling against the bed below you because everything just feel so good, everything is just so overwhelmingly pleasurable. Din’s hands and mouth on you, the heat he's passing along through his touch. 

“Touch. I wanna hear you moan.” He murmurs against your breast. He’s still biting and sucking it through the fabric like he’s too impatient to take off the nightgown. He just can’t wait any longer. 

“I need you to touch me.” You whine quietly. “Please.” You’re begging him. “Please, Din, I need to fee-” But he doesn’t make you beg long, his free hand slides between your legs and he sighs loudly against you. 

“”Fuck. Fuck. You're s-so wet. So fucking perfect.” Din bites your nipple a little harder now, but then he pulls way. “Let me lick. P-Please. I just wanted to watch but now I need to taste you.” He’s moving down between your legs as he talks to you. Then he stops.

“Okay. Okay. Please. Do it, please.” You’re already spreading your legs but he’s getting off the bed again. “Nononononono.” You whine, reaching blindly for him in the dark. You’re on the verge of tears. “Please don’t leave me again.” 

It’s so quiet. It’s like time stopped. 

“Din?” You whisper. “Did you leave?” 

“Where would I go?” He answers but he’s further away from you now. "It's my ship."

“Well you’re obviously not here– where you were!” You exclaim quietly. You hear him chuckle in the dark. 

“Come to my bed. I want to do something. New.” 

Oh Maker what could that mean? A new stun gun? Some weird thing he found in his travels?

Does he want to make you the lightsaber and put the focus crystal inside you? That’s where you draw the line.

“What does that mean?” You ask nervously, clutching the sheets to your chest as you stare into the void. “New?” 

“Come here. You said I could lick, yes? Let me.” Din’s voice in the dark makes you drop the blankets your clutching and swing your legs over the edge of the bed. “Come, little one. Let me lick you. Let me taste you.” His voice guides you to him and you start to crawl into his bed but he stops you. “Leg.” He says into the dark.

“Leg?” You ask, confused. Din reaches for you in the dark and taps your upper thigh. 

“Leg.” He says like he’s teaching you body parts. “Swing it up here over my head.” 

“What!?” You exclaim. “You want me to do what?!” 

“I want you to sit on my face.” Din’s smiling in the dark and you can hear it in his voice. 

“And you’re going to taste me like that?” You’re exasperated. You’ve never even heard of this. What does that mean, sit on his face. “I’m going to smother you!” 

“Then I’ll die a happy man. Get up here.” Now he’s impatient. Din’s been waiting for this just as long as you have.

You swing one leg over his head and straddle him, pressing both hands to the wall in front of you. The ship's metal is so cold on your clammy hands. You can feel him breathing against your inner thighs as you sit on your knees above him.

“ This is perfect.” Din whispers. You can only whimper quietly because you’re so nervous, you feel so exposed up here. “You want me to lick…” He leans up and gives the very top of your slit a quick teasing lick. “Here? Yes?” 

Your knees buckle because Din’s tongue is just as soft and just as warm as you remember and you do want him to lick there. You can’t find words for how badly you want him. All you can do is let out a breathy sound of consent. 

“Beautiful.” Din wraps his hands under your thighs and pulls you down onto his mouth, his tongue is ready. Eager. Waiting for you to be on him, for him to be inside your folds. “Just as I remember.” He whispers into your pussy, tasting that flavor he memorized before you left and thought of it often. “I touched myself, thinking of you. To your doodles. To your flavor.” Din takes the flat of his tongue and licks you from your opening all the way to your clit, slowly, he presses up against you so you feel him. 

He wants you to know he missed you. 

“ Maker, yes. ” It’s moaned softly as Din presses the flat of his tongue against your slit and lets you ride his mouth. It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever experienced. Why were you so scared? Being on top of him, this way, you were in control up here. “ Oh Din, yes.” You’re not holding back tonight. 

You’ve been waiting to do this. Dreaming about it at night and waking up in the morning having to give yourself some sort of pleasure. You slide one hand down into his thick, coarse hair, just enjoying the feeling of it between your fingers again. You hear Din moan from between your legs and his tongue moves against you faster. 

Your fingers tighten in Din’s hair as he holds you around the legs, you’re pinned down onto him. His tongue is lapping and exploring your folds. Licking at all the spots he remembers make you squirm. He memorized every inch of you before he left and he’s been thinking about you, keeping it fresh in his head for this moment so he can make you whimper and quiver like he used to.

Din is panting underneath you, he’s working for what you’re about to give him. His tongue was drifting between those big lazy circles that had you whimpering and begging him for more and tight fast spinning around your clit. That’s when his hands found your hips and started to move you on his face, his tongue flat, stroking your clit with each movement of your hips. 

“Please don’t stop.” Pushing yourself off the wall you’ve been leaning against, you hover over him now, rocking your hips on your own. You found a rhythm with Din’s help. He holds your hips tighter now–not messing with the rocking of your hips–feeling you roll yourself along his mouth. As he does that he pulls you down harder on his tongue. Your free hand finds his hair and you grip it tightly now in both fists and grind down against his flat, strong muscle. “ Oh fuck yes . Din, I’m so close.” You’re whimpering for him.

Din moans loudly from underneath you, his hands now moving to your ass. He gropes and spreads your cheeks. 

“M-moan again.” You stutter, your hips grinding harder and faster. The vibrations from Din’s moans will be enough. 

Din obliges happily and moans loudly again, over and over as your head falls back, hips never stopping their rocking motion on his tongue. 

“Oh, fuck–ing yes. Din, oh Maker!” You cry out. You don’t care if The Razor Crest is gone, you have those memories inside your head forever. You don’t have to hold back nearly as much here. You can let him know how fucking good he makes you feel. Your body is quivering as you grind against him. You can feel the prickles of his facial hair on your inner thighs and lips as you ride him.

Being on Din’s face like this was heaven. You can hear him noisily licking and sucking at the new wave of juices that are dripping from your entrance. As the warm ball of fiery goodness spreads through you, you start to shudder and tremble on top of him, his tongue never stops moving against your clit and then dipping inside of your hole to taste you as you leak out. Din laps at you until there’s nothing left. Sucking your lips into his mouth at the end to make sure he didn’t miss anything. He leaves you trembling above him for so long he has to tap your thigh again for you to swing It over his head. 

"Sorry." You pant. "That was good. I'd do that again." You go to stand off his bed and you feel him wrap his arms around your waist. 

"Don't go. Share the bed." He whispers up to you. "I waited for so long." 

"I waited too!" You exclaim as all of your anger and fear of being forgotten about returns. "I waited for just as long as you did! You sure didn't act like you missed me or waited for me. Not until the lights went off at least." You're storming to your own bed now. You move quickly, not wanting him to hear or see the tears in your eyes.

You've been keeping this in for a long time. Letting it bottle up until you can't keep it in anymore. And the fact that he confessed all those nice things just to be able to touch you.

Din doesn't say anything in the dark, letting you try and find you way back in the void. It makes you sadder that he isn't trying to comfort you. The tears come, quietly, thank Maker, as you get into your own bed and wrap yourself in the covers. It isn't until you let out a little weeping sound that you hear him shuffle and then your bed shifts under his weight. Din's pressing himself into you gently, wrapping his arm around your waist. 

"If you had reached for me, you could have felt my heart from under my beskar." He whispers in your ear. "I did miss you. I did wait for you." A small kiss along your jaw, "You didn't seem like you were happy to see me today." He sounds disappointed. "I thought you had forgotten about me. Maybe someone with a face and who didn't leave made you forget about me." Another small kiss in the same place. "I sat in the dark for so long, wondering if you were thinking of me. I had to come find out. I did't mean to scare you. Don't cry, little one. Please?" He's kissing your face gently. 

"I don't think anyone could ever make me forget about you." You whisper into the void.

tag list: @thereaperisabitch @pedrospookie @furiousmushroom @creepycorbeaux

I'm still so uncomfortable tagging people in my stories, so like I said, please tell me to fuck off if you want me to stop. My feelings won't be hurt (yes they will), and it's completely fine (I'm a big girl and can handle it).

[blackcatxmagic]

Standing there with Sebastian, Brook felt like he understood the man a little more now. "I know the feeling," he replied. "I've gotten so used to solitude, to doing things on my own, to being by myself when I'm not working. I have family, sure, but we're not..." He trailed off; Brook had been about to say he wasn't close with his family, but that wasn't exactly true. It was just that there had always been distance between them, and long ago Brook had stopped trying to bridge that gap. It was a lost cause, he had realized. "But really it was no big deal," he said. "You're doing something nice for me, and yeah, I know I'm paying you, but it means a lot that you take your job so seriously and will take good care of what I'm currently realizing is one of my most prized possessions." At that, Brook sighed, "Isn't that depressing? One of my most prized possessions is a medical text." But really the book represented the path he'd forged for himself and how hard he had worked to get here.

Listening to Sebastian talk about his grandmother, Brook got the impression that she had been a difficult woman, or at the very least that his relationship with her had been difficult. "Hey, I'm enjoying the conversation," Brook insisted. "I'm not really one for small talk. I don't really know how to do it. I'm...not very socially adept. So you're not the only awkward one here." Brook laughed as he said this, though he hoped he hadn't offended Sebastian. More seriously, he asked, "But what do you want to do, Sebastian? Have you ever considered selling this place and figuring out what your passion is?" He sighed, acknowledging, "I'm just some guy you barely know, and I'm not trying to tell you what to do. Maybe this is what you want to do. But I...I feel like this is almost something you chose to do out of a sense of duty. Am I right about that?" Maybe he wasn't; maybe Brook was very, very wrong. But he hoped Sebastian wouldn't be angry with him for saying so. "See, I'm awkward too," Brook reiterated.

Sebastian's smile softened as he took a sip of the coffee and a bite of the banana nut bread, savoring the sweetness that lingered on his tongue. The bread was warm, comforting, and much more enjoyable than he'd expected. He didn’t usually have much of a chance to indulge in treats like this, as he worked until he was too tired to stand - that way he didn't have to dream. He learned if he ate a little, he would be far more tired at night than if he ate enough.

He looked up at Brook, grateful for the coffee and the treat. The gesture was small and thoughtful, and Sebastian wasn’t used to people taking care of him... not that he was doing a great job taking care of himself right now.

"You didn’t have to, you know," he murmured, the smile slightly embarrassed, as if he were slightly unsure of how to fully embrace the small act of kindness. "But... thank you. I’ve never been great with people doing things for me."

There was a brief silence, then he looked down at the coffee, swirling it in his cup. The warmth from both the drink and the gesture seemed to seep into him slowly. It was neighborly what Brook had done for him.

A thoughtful expression crossing his face, as he considered what he wanted to say. He had grown used to the quiet of his shop, the hum of the radio filling the space as he worked, but something about Brook’s kindness stirred a deeper reflection in him. He found himself wanting to share more than he usually did, to offer an explanation for why things were the way they were.

"My grandmother," he began, his voice taking on a contemplative tone, "she owned this place long before I ever thought about it. Long before I was born, and she built it from the ground up. When she died, I inherited it... and, well, I didn’t know what to do with it at first. Didn't really want it." He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts. "She was a... unique woman. Strong-willed. She ran the shop with a fierce sort of care, always focused on the books, on keeping them safe and pristine. It was her life’s work. But it came at cost of her relationships with others."

Sebastian’s gaze shifted, eyes distant for a moment as he recalled the years he’d spent with his grandmother, learning her ways, feeling the weight of her legacy settle on his shoulders.

"But the thing is," he continued, "it’s not just about maintaining the business for the sake of keeping it alive. I want to do it justice, yes, but I also want to do something that matters." He met Brook’s gaze then, his eyes steady but softened by the vulnerability in his words. "I’ve spent so much of my life focused on preserving the past, I never learned how to live in the present." He exhaled. "So there you have it, one very awkward book restorationist trying to make conversation."

[sekai-no-reita]

A letter to Reita... From my heart to yours.

(Under the cut for your sake.)

My dearest れいた,

I know you will not be able to read this letter, but I hope these words still reach you wherever you are; from one soul to another.

I don't even know where to begin... I never thought I would have to write a goodbye letter like this to you. This all feels like a bad dream that I cannot wake up from.

I followed you and your journey with the GazettE for 18 long years.. I grew up with you. It feels like I've lost a dear friend, a family member, if you will. There are no words to describe this grief I'm feeling. Believe me, I have tried...

You guys were with me through everything from my teenage years to this day. If I was happy, you were there. If I was sad, you were there. You were always there. I could always rely on you being by my side when I needed you.

When you came to Finland for the first time in 2007 I queued outside the venue in the cold late October weather all night long, just so I could get a good viewing spot for the gig. It was insane... I was so cold and sleep deprived on the day of the gig, only having slept for like an hour, haha. But when you guys came on stage, none of it mattered. I was so happy. It was a dream come true.

And that's when I fell in love with you, Reita. That was the turning point. I had been listening to your music for a little over a year by then but Ruki was the one who held my heart. But then you.. You captivated me the moment you stepped on that stage. Of course I had always noticed you, your basslines and talent but.. when I saw you play live, it was almost hypnotizing. Especially during RIDE WITH THE ROCKERS. I was so incredibly happy you played it that time. I still remember the way you moved your belly and hips and shoulders when you were standing in the spotlight... Being admired by everyone.

I was fortunate enough to see you guys live two more times; in 2013 and in 2016 during your world tours. Especially in 2016 when I had the VIP wristband and I got to meet you. I still remember how surreal it all felt to me. It was all like a dream. The most wonderful dream. I was supposed to tell you then how much I admired you, how talented you were. But I couldn't get the words out of my mouth. Not with you staring at me with your (one visible) eye. All I managed to do was give you the little gift bag with the bracelet in it with a shaky "douzo". You were a little surprised by the gift and thanked me "Ahh, arigatou". Then you took my hand and we thanked each other again. Now I kick myself... I should've told you exactly how I felt. Now I will never get another chance to do it. Now you will never know...

You were so incredibly kind and sweet and caring...

Writing about you in the past tense breaks my heart. The world has lost something too pure, too beautiful.

Your passion towards the GazettE was a thing to admire. How you cared for your fans.. You never took anything for granted. All the tears you shed after your tour finals.. they were real (even when you in an interview joked that they were cgi *laugh*). That was how much you cared. That was your true strength.

There will never be anyone else like you.

The world will never be the same after losing you.

Your bass defined Gazette's music in a way. Everytime I listen to any of your songs, your bass stands out. It is incredible. I don't think any other band does that; puts the bass in such a spotlight. That's how important you are, ..were.

You are the reason I even own a bass. I wanted to be able to play like you. Sadly I cannot... I was too short-tempered and lost my nerve when I couldn't get my fingers to co-operate *laugh* But my bass is still there, waiting. Reminding me of you. Maybe one day I'll be able to pick it up again and think of you with a smile on my face.

I really do hope you know how loved you were -and still are-; by everyone. The band, the fans... How much you were respected by your peers and other musicians. You defined an era in v-kei. That's how important you were. Are.

There are so many more things I would like to say to you. But maybe another time. Maybe I'll write you another letter. Maybe someday I'll meet you again in the afterlife and I'll be able to tell you face to face everything I haven't been able to so far.

I hope you are now at peace and can rest.

I love and miss you so much.

Thank you for everything you have given me. It is a debt I don't think I'll ever be able to repay you.

Rest in peace, my beautiful angel.

With all my love,

Marisa

[luthqrs]

“She never even made it off the table.” JENNIFER JAREAU in CRIMINAL MINDS 6x18 | 'Lauren'