#it’s one of the few places where she feels she can be herself and she is unrestricted by aunt Agatha who is very pro having-a-child-prodigy

[pastel-peach-writes]

Hii, i just read all and i mean ALL of ur fics, but i saw you wrote for arcane women and was wondering if you could write headcanons abt them with a socially awkward/anxious reader?? If not thats A-Ok 👌 with me

Sure! How is everyone doing after the first three eps? I still haven't seen it but the edits I've seen... oh boy.

"I Got You." | Arcane Ladies Headcanons

╰┈➤ PLOT: How the ladies of Arcane(Jinx, Vi, Caitlyn, Sevika, Mel) act with a socially awkward and/or anxious partner

╰┈➤ WARNINGS: Spoiler Free, On The Shorter Side, Cursing, Not Proofread

⍣ ೋ Enjoy!⍣ ೋ

JINX

– At first, Jinx didn't get that you were socially awkward. She was used to people being awkward or even scared around her so she thought it was the same case with you until you two got closer.

– After knowing that your awkwardness was just you and not your fear of her, she observed you in social situations and noted what made you more anxious than normal.

– For example, she noticed you're more anxious and timid in bigger, louder spaces but if a space was quiet and quaint, you would be just fine so she often took you to quiet places for dates.

– If Jinx notices you're anxious in places you typically aren't, without a doubt she's removing you from the situation and taking you home where you can relax. No words, just grabs and tugs.

– She's tried the pep talk route before but it ended up in her rambling and somehow planning a terrorist scheme aloud... (yeah, a few patrons quickly left the area after hearing that), so she decided to scrap that idea altogether.

– At home though she would prepare what she calls, "A Safety Nest". It was a place in your shared space that had all your favorite things and trinkets, and she usually kept the space dimly lit and played your favorite music to calm you down.

– In social interactions where you take the lead in conversation, Jinx would quietly encourage you with big, almost alarming smiles and "gentle" pats on your back. Let's face it, Jinx can be socially awkward herself.

– Once the conversation concludes, she'll jump on you proudly, ruffle up your clothing, and pinch your cheeks endearingly all while calling you weird nicknames and quoting what you said while mimicking your tone and cadence.

––

VI

– Before you've had your first real conversation together, Vi could sense that you were an anxious individual.

– You fidgeted with your body while speaking, didn't hold eye contact long, and used a decent amount of filler words to casualize your sentences.

– She thought it was endearing to watch you act and move as if you thought no one truly cared about what you were saying or were afraid of boring others but you never bored her. She didn't think it was possible.

– You had tells and quips that revealed themselves with each conversation you two had. You showed more and more of your personality the more you got comfortable with her too. Vi loved it.

– When you spoke to her, especially when you went on tangents about things you were interested in, she always showed signs of active listening by nodding and asking follow-up questions. Even days later, she'll bring up the topic again to see if you have any updates.

– She made you feel seen and heard, something you've subconsciously craved. And when you went on your worry rambles, she consoled you and tried her best to stop you from spiraling.

– You thought about a lot of things and oftentimes about things no one else thought about. Vi thought your brain must've been exhausted with all the worries, doubts, and judgments that were usually wrapped up as others' but were truly your own; it was a lot for one person to handle so she strove to let you know that you were not alone.

– Is there a night you can't sleep because of your racing mind? Vi is there, holding you or reassuring you that everything is going to be okay. She can't sleep until you do anyway so why not speed the process along?

– You often had yourself stuck with your head stressing and worrying about multiple things at once and Vi was always there to bring you down to Earth.

__

CAITLYN

– Caitlyn's an encourager and a comforter with you.

– She's patient and silently allows you to take your time when gathering your thoughts midconversation but she'll also be the one to say, "It's okay, take your time," in the sweetest way possible.

– If there's an instance when you two are out and about and you really want something but are too scared to get it, she'll spring into action and get that thing for you. (Even if it was just a napkin).

– The only time she's frazzled socially is when you both are in an unfamiliar area and need to ask for directions. She'll stumble over her words and try to get someone's attention but they're moving too fast to hear her soft words.

– She'll get frustrated and you end up comforting her, but after a few backrubs, she's ready to try again. Her voice is strong and powerful, and people have no problem hearing her.

– You secretly thank whomever you have to for her determination but there was no way in hell you were going to walk up to a stranger and ask for directions like a tourist... which you were.

– Since Caitlyn's job has her socializing with a lot of people, she can get burnt out easily. Especially if work hasn't been going her way lately but even if she's burnt out and tired, if you seem to be more awkward or anxious than her, she's more than happy to step up socially.

– When you both have someplace to attend to or some event that holds significance, Caitlyn will not hesitate to stage a "social rehearsal" with you. She'll make flashcards of topics you could bring up, you'll both dress accordingly for the event in her living room, and she'll pretend to be an assortment of people so you can get used to different personalities all at once.

– It may seem like this is all for you, but honestly it helps her too. Sometimes she misses the personal cues of conversation leading the other to think she's a black-and-white thinking who has no time for pleasanties. Not true! She's very pleasant... sometimes she's just shy.

– Shyness is not a crime!

– After talking with the host and a few others she has to talk to due to her job, her social battery is depleted. She's extremely thankful you're able to recognize this and suggest leaving early. What would you two do without each other?

––

SEVIKA

– Oh, man. This lady found your awkwardness charming as hell.

– Your awkwardness was different than all the nerds and scaly-beings she's forced to be around. You were cute, looked perfect sitting next to her, and your awkwardness, as mentioned before, had a certain charming quality she can't quite place.

– She'll see you in your workplace trying to make casual conversation or small talk but none of your topics seemed to be landing. Your coworkers would give you a thin pressed-lips smile that she wanted to strike off of them to your attempts and then scoff at you behind your back.

– You were authentically yourself and those bastards didn't know what to do with it. They were scared, not her though.

– When you two got closer and comfortable enough with each other that you could tease one another or make playful jabs at the other's expense, no doubt she would tease you about your awkwardness.

– With those gorgeous eyes of yours, you would look everywhere else but her own, prompting her to say, "You know you can look me in the eyes, right? I won't bite", with the stupidest most shit-eating smirk on her face. And then when you look at her, a bit shocked and playfully annoyed, her smirk would only grow. "Unless you want me to."

– Sevika never made your awkwardness seem like a flaw. Your awkwardness came with you and she wanted all of you so she often encouraged your awkwardness.

– If she caught you trying to "reel" it in or realizing that you've talked for a few seconds too long, she'll playfully scold you and tell you to continue or to "let it out". Y'know. As someone who seethes dominance does.

– There would be an instance in which you go to Sevika asking for advice to be "less awkward" and her only response would be, "Why? I like your awkwardness, you don't need to change it. Anyone else who thinks otherwise is a sad loser and don't deserve to be in your life anyways."

– like damnnnn, okay!

– Safe to say you never asked her a question like that again.

--

MEL

– Mel understands your worries about what others think and the awkwardness that can come with it so she likes to help you in any way she can.

– If you're stressed about a council meeting and afraid of what everyone's going to think about the new perspective you'd like to bring to the table, she'll reassure you and tell you she's right by your side.

– If she can't physically with her hand on the small of your back, she give you nods of encouragement, raise her brows proudly, and look at you with that sense of pride and admiration in her golden eyes.

– After the meeting goes well, which she knew would, she'll congratulate you with your favorite drink and a night in doing all your favorite things.

– Even if there were parts in the meeting that were rocky, like the council people asking questions you weren't prepared for or getting rowdy, she'll say you did an excellent job and what you presented will help the people of Piltover.

– Oh, and don't think for a second that she wasn't sending glares and daggers to those who stirred up your anxiety even more. If looks could kill.

– Mel sees that sometimes your awkwardness and anxiety result in people-pleasing and she would shut that down real quick. She's fallen into that dangerous pool before and knows how hard it feels when you disappoint others and how much harder it is to get out of that mindset.

– She can get quite spirited with her encouragement...

– "Well, if they don't like it, that's on them! They don't know something good when they see it." "I've learned that hard way that you can't please everyone. You might as well say what you have to now. They can get over themselves later."

– It's actually quite attractive to see her stand up for you, even if she was standing up for the possibility.

– Always keeping her words in your mind, you find yourself navigating through life easier and you only have her to thank.

WC: 1,705

[piece-of-pierce]

Gotham’s Ghosts are an open secret. Outside the city, people think it’s a metaphor referring to how old the city is and the near-endless history carved into every corner.

Gothamites know better though. Some call it a joke, most refuse to say it out loud, but all respect Gotham and her Ghosts. She is a city that cares for and protects her own. Those who are hers never truly leave and those who are not can feel her desire that they do.

Out-of-town-ers tend to trip more, feel paranoid, always catch the red light and rain, and plenty other little things in Gotham that show they are unwanted by the city. The not a joke is that these are acts of her Ghosts, those who once walked her streets now working together to carry out her more subtle desires. The Bats and Birds are believed by some to be more powerful Ghosts, her elites, permitted to carry out more tangible tasks.

Truth is, the only thing Gothamites have wrong is the Bats and Birds. They’re helped by the ghosts who make bullets stray just right and keep their footsteps quieter than is possible. They have Gotham’s blessing and her Ghosts’ assistance, for they are hers and protectors of her others, but they do not yet hear her decrees.

So, when one Bird leaves Gotham, she frets and her Ghosts grow restless. When the news comes that only his corpse will return, they grieve with their knights, both hoping and fearing that their lost bird will join them.

Instead, he wakes up, he wanders, he leaves again (and oh Gotham, how she weeps to see him go, knowing how it had gone before, raining tears down on her people and sending her ghosts to make all feel the dread, if only that one might notice the danger of her missing bird, the danger of tragedy striking a second time.) Then! Then he returns. He returns strong and angry with a ghost of his own festering within but he is home and Gotham beams and her Ghosts all swarm to see him safe.

They aid him in his efforts to rid her of the Mad Clown, then show the Bat their displeasure when he harms Her Bird to stop those attempts. The Dark Knight hears his footsteps and feels his weight heavier than before, adapting as much as he can but only finding relief when he finally abandons his anger at Her Bird. Her ghosts gather around him in the night once more, but they decide amongst themselves that they will leave again if need be and far more choose to remain with the Returned Bird, rather than the Dark Knight.

Between their assistance to Gotham's favored and little tricks along the street, the City's Ghosts have a place to which they retreat. A place to refresh themselves and gather their strength before returning to the larger city. They have a bar where they go, formed by Gotham herself, her own Afterlife for her own Ghosts so that they need never leave her. It is a passable imitation of what they lost when they chose to stay and serve their City.

Gotham's Afterlife is too closely connected to the living Gotham, though, and garners attention from some of the living. Gotham is too deeply entwined with her people and struggles to keep this place of pride a secret from them, so calls to the Realms with a request of a gatekeeper. The Realms respond and send her their favored, a ghost who lives and is experienced in guarding the space between Ghosts and the Living. He becomes Gotham's only living Ghost, a caretaker of her Afterlife, and a friend to the other Ghosts. He even brings a few more who have worked alongside him before (an entertainer and her lover, who happily takes a position as the guard, a young couple who love to travel and take on the job of leading the bats and birds where they need to go, a cook who ensures the Ghosts all replenish themselves properly and regularly, and a worker who keeps additional watch over the warehouse district that desperately needs it. There are even more who flit in and out and Gotham and her Ghosts take to them all quite quickly.)

It is with time that this Gatekeeper and his friends become Gothamites in their own rights. It is also with time that Gotham's Ghosts share that the spirit in her Returned Bird's chest is slowly weakening with time, speeding up slightly when around other ghosts. It is with pride that Gotham learns her own Ghosts can rid him of this foreign influence.

Of course, the only reasonable course of action is to lead the Returned Bird to her Afterlife. Perhaps time with more Ghosts will speed up the process. Gotham has the Ghosts with her Returned Bird start leading him toward her Afterlife, night after night until he finally finds it. He doesn't go in, but he returns to study it, night after night. Then, finally, with enough prompting by the Ghosts, he approaches. He steps through the door, willingly entering himself into their world, allowing Gotham's Ghosts to finally reveal themselves to him.

And oh, what a reveal it is, to welcome the Returned Bird home at last. For even as he stands wary, Gotham beams with pride, her Ghosts all looking to the figure in the doorway, only some with recognition but all with respect for the Living soul who has earned Gotham's pride and the right to see their Afterlife, let alone walk in.

-=o0o=-

From the moment he steps over the threshold, Jason knows he's been drugged. He feels strangely calm, despite the unexplainable knowledge that he is being watched by everyone in the bar, a strangely full bar for a place nobody has gone in or out of, and the pits have quieted in a way he has never known since coming back to life. They're not gone, but for once he's only hearing overlapping whispers instead of the usual constant screaming in his skull.

All these strange people, clearly locals in how they carry themselves, make him feel like this is a sort of homecoming. Unwilling to draw too much attention or behave too strangely, he quickly moves on from the doorway and makes his way to the bar against the wall, settling onto a stool.

"Welcome to the Afterlife, how may I-woah! ...okay, hi, new guy... I'll be with you in a moment." The bartender, one of the few people in the bar who didn't look like he was going to a 'decades in history' themed party, had stark white hair, pale skin, and bright green eyes. They were glowing slightly, too, and his lips had a concerning green tint to them.

"Take your time," Jason said, leaning against the bar with a nod that the bartender returned before darting through a door that seemed to lead into a kitchen. While he was gone, Jason took the chance to take another look around. The people here were varied, some looking like they'd just walked in off the street but most looking like they were stuck in time and had been for a century or more.

Jason hadn't seen anyone going in or out. They mostly looked like they'd been showing up and staying for a hundred years at least. Jason had tried reading Percy Jackson as a kid, and while it didn't hold his interest for long, he remembered some parts well enough not to like how this was looking.

"Here. Might not be what you were planning to order, but dude, you need it. I don't know what you've been up to but it left something rancid in your system." The bartender was back, skin flushed green and a crooked grin on his lips, doing nothing to hide the concern in his eyes. "I'm Phantom, by the way. Sorry about the wait."

"Call me Jason."

"Nice to meet you, Jason. You're gonna want to chug that, by the way. It's kinda gross, but what medicine tastes good?" Medicine? "Just trust me, it'll flush out all that grossness in your system. It'll make Gotham happy." The bartender, Danny, returned to tending the bar as if nothing was strange.

Jason had to get out of here. Fast.

DPxDC Afterlife, But It's A Bar

[discontinued, feel free to add on]

It was weird. Not wrong, alarming or dangerous type of weird. Not good or comforting either.

Just plain weird.

It all started a few days ago, on Wednesday, to be exact. On a rare occasion, Jason was patrolling outside of his territory ("cover for me, I have a date" my ass, Replacement), and he spotted something out of place. A neon green, almost toxic colored sign that read "Afterlife".

Honestly, who names a place like that? But judging by the placement and design, it was a bar, and Jason could almost appreciate the irony. Maybe it had a slogan along the lines of "our drinks will send you beyond the lines of life and death" or something. But at the same time, it could be interpreted as "alcohol can and will be the death of you," which, technically, is not the best PR campaign for a bar.

Jason decided to visit the place anyway. He was curious about the implied death joke, sue him.

Of course, he didn't visit immediately. He was still on patrol, and he just heard the sound of gunshots to the west. Not to say that the place was quiet.

(Oddly quiet for a bar in Gotham, now that he thinks about it)

Anyway, the next day, he went there not as Red Hood but as Jason Todd, an ordinary civilian who decided to grab a beer in the evening. Only to not find the place.

He couldn't have just miss it - he remembered the street, he knew the building, he was absolutely fucking sure where the "Afterlife" should have been. He searched the whole block nonetheless, and then proceeded to check the whole area, but to no avail.

Damn, it seems like he can't get to the afterlife both literally and- the other literally. Yeah, he might be having too much fun with the oddly chosen name for the nonexistent bar.

It didn't exist on the maps and internet either. At this point, Jason was contemplating the idea of it being a hallucination or a dream. He even checked the recording on his helmet from Wednesday night, but the whole time he was in the area, the video was filled with interference and static.

Weird. Slightly suspicious, but Red Robin, who's been patrolling the same area for weeks before him, never reported any interferences, so it probably had something to do with his helmet and not the area in general.

On Thursday night, he purposefully went there right after patrol. And the nonexistent bar suddenly existed again! The same neon green sign, the same quiet street around it.

Seriously, what is this mysterious fuckery?

Now, if he was a Bat, he would have reported this to others and investigated, lurked around in shadows, and approached with caution. If he was a Robin, he would have still reported and then straight up marched in there and saw how it goes.

Alas, he was Red Hood, so he decided to watch for the bar guests and see just who the hell goes in and out of the place.

And there was the next weird thing.

No one was going in or out. Jason sat there for a whole hour, and not even one person entered or left the building. Despite the muffled sounds of music, voices and laughter coming from the place.

The final kicker was the fact that after some careful questioning and dropping hints, Jason found out that no one except him ever saw the "Afterlife"'s sign. No one's even heard of it, both the Batclan and the Gothamites.

The fuck?

So he did the next logical thing. He brought the smartest member of the Bats with him. Tim owed him anyway. Might as well use it now instead of later.

Friday night proved two things: one, Tim was still his favorite to work with out of all the bats and birds, not questioning anything as to why Jason is asking him to check out a bar, and two, Jason just might be going insane.

Tim couldn't see the "Afterlife" even when Jason pointed at the sign from not further than ten feet. The irony of the stipid name was not even amusing anymore.

Tim didn't ask any questions after this experiment, and Jason didn't want to admit that he is losing the grip of reality, so they ended up simply parting their ways after. Can the Pits cause brain damage? More damage than there was in the first place, that is.

Now that he thinks about it, the color of the sign is really similar to the Lazarus waters. He should have noticed it sooner, but in his defense, who would look at the bubbling pool of toxic waters and think, "Oh, that would make a dope neon sign"? Apparently, the owner of the "Afterlife".

The color might be just a coincidence.

...no, in the world he lives in, coincidences like this just don't happen. Besides, Jason doesn't believe in shit like fate or destiny.

So, here he is, on Saturday night, standing in front of the door to the Afterlife. It would have been funny if it wasn't so weird. What's even more weird is that the closer he gets to the door, the less nervous he feels, like the place is radiating some calming aura. Wait, no, scratch that, Jason is so not calling it a calming aura for God's sake. That sounds just like those homemade witches with their crystals, tarot readings, and whatnot.

He's going to call it... tranquilizer vibes. Yeah, that's better.

He takes a deep breath, getting ready to see whatever it is on the other side, pushes the door open, and walks into the bar.

...

Whatever he's been expecting to see, it's not this.

[auclairedetoru]

“This has been y/n and Satoru, thank you so much for watching, bye!”

The moment they reached the greenroom, y/n's smile drops. God, her cheeks hurt, nobody talks about how hard it is to fake a smile all day, it's like a workout for your face except you gain nothing at the end.

Her co-star walks in behind her, a cocky smile on his face. If she was him she would get tired of herself. How can someone be so egoistic? He loves himself more than his own mother loves him. Every second she's in his presence, she feels herself losing brain cells and getting gray hair, and as much as she loves silver locks on other women, she does not want the cause of it to be Gojo Satoru.

“Great job today, everyone! Y/n you could've been a little more cheerful toda-”

“Shut the fuck up.”

She plops down on the sofa and rests her head against the back of it. They still have one more interview left to do, so she's forced to tolerate that dumbass for a couple more hours, and it's a recorded one so she has to pretend she likes him too.

Why did she choose to become an actress again?

Right, childhood dream, worked hard for it, blah blah blah.

“Whoa! Careful there, tiger! Someone might be filming and you don't want to ruin the season before it even starts.” Gojo smirks, eyes glinting with mischief as he continues to push her buttons.

The people in charge decided to promote the filming of the new season of their show to remind people of it and get them excited, not that anyone was able to forget the last two seasons. According to the statistics, people love a slow burn story, especially when it stretches over multiple seasons. Yes, that does mean y/n has been stuck with Gojo as her co-star for three years now, as known as the longest three years of her life. Everyone around her tells her that time is passing by too fast, but it's been the opposite for her.

She's dreading this season the most. It might be the last, but it means the story will finally reach its long-awaited climax, which means her character and Gojo's will become more than friendly.

She doesn't even want to think about it.

“Leave her alone, Satoru. You still have one interview left.” his manager scolded him making the bright blue eyed man pout like a four year old not getting the candy he wanted.

The fact Gojo and y/n can't stand each other is something known only between them and their close staff, not even the director and producers know that the "chemistry" between them is something they make up on the spot and doesn't come naturally at all. They're surprised no one has figured out they don't like each other in any way, but y/n takes that as a compliment because it means that she's a really good actress who has perfected her craft and is able to fake getting along with a menace like him.

After touch ups, she goes to where the interview is being held, greeting the staff on her way and telling them she's excited to be working with them. Gojo smirks at her from his seat as she makes her way to sit on hers next to him. She mirrored him to keep up with the "we're best friends behind the scenes" thing they somehow built for themselves.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Can't a man admire his friend and co-star?” he teases, milking the hell out of the act they put on for the camera. Y/n wanted to roll her eyes but instead she forces out a laugh and takes her seat.

She ignores the way her heart flutters at his words. No need to focus on that.

A few months into filming...

“Alright, everyone!” the director calls out as he claps his hands, “Cameras rolling, sound is up, let's do this.”

Ah yes, the most important scene of the entire franchise. The first kiss scene. This is what the show has been leading up to, this is the moment everyone has been waiting for, this is the thing y/n has been looking forward to the least, in fact, she has not been looking forward to it at all, she wishes it wouldn't happen.

The scene takes place at her character's apartment, a place the set design team has made so cozy looking she wishes she could curl up and take a nap on the couch. Gojo's character is her coworker and he's coming to check on her because she disappeared from the office party after seeing him flirt with someone. That's when she confesses that she's been pinning over him for years and he confesses back before pulling her into a kiss.

“Okay you two,” the director looks at them, “not to put you in any pressure, but this is the most important scene of the entire show. All your hard work has led up to this moment. Satoru, you're the one leading the kiss, remember that she's very vulnerable and heartbroken, so you need to be gentle and soft, she's the person you love most so you're gonna handle her with the most care. Alright? Here we go!”

The apartment door closes between y/n and Gojo as the clapper loader steps in and holds the slate in front of the camera, “episode 11, scene 45, take 1!” they call out before snapping the clapper shut and stepping back.

The director pauses, glancing around one more time to make sure everyone is ready.

"And... Action!”

Y/n steps into character and hesitantly opens the door. Her expression shifts to shock as she sees Gojo standing across from her, hair and clothes disheveled. “What are you doing here?” her voice is a mix between surprise and hurt, just as the script calls for and just as they rehearsed. Gojo's eyes soften, exactly how he was instructed.

Yes, she can't stand him, but that doesn't mean she won't admit that he's really good at his job. He's not one of the most sought out actors for no reason.

“I was worried about you, you left so abruptly.” he says, letting his eyes dance all over her face only to catch her wet cheeks and red eyes, and no, it isn't makeup and fake tears, she spent half an hour before filming started watching "soldiers reuniting with their dogs" videos to get to that point.

He moves to cup her cheek, but just as scripted, she steps back, her expression flattering. She starts to remind herself of things that make her emotional to start tearing up, “I-I'm fine, you can leave.”

Gojo stares at her a bit longer than he's supposed to, but she blames it on his love to suddenly improve, and not that he's admiring her or anything, not like she wants him to admire her, that would be crazy on her part.

"You don't have to hide from me," he says with the same soft tone.

She tries to hold back the tears to keep up the strong and always optimistic personality her character is known for, and after a moment she allows a couple to flow down her cheeks. Gojo's face morphs into a concerned expression.

“I don't like seeing you with someone else,” she mumbles, her voice breaking with every word that slips out of her lips, “it hurts me, right here,” she taps on her chest with a shaky hand.

Gojo's eyes widen to feign surprise, a perfect mix of confusion and disbelief on his face, playing the oblivious character to perfection, “you... You like me?”

“For the longest time,” she sniffs, her voice thick with emotion as she starts opening up, “I held back, I tried not to make it obvious, but i can't anymore.” She drops an octave to deliver the last line, showing as much vulnerability and pain as possible.

There’s a pause, and everyone on set is on the edge of their seat. They could feel the tension between them, the two playing their roles better than what everyone imagined from reading the script. Gojo goes to take a step closer, stopping half way.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, his voice shaking to show that his character is feeling nervous. The director looks intensely between the scene in front of him and the one on the screen, making sure that the intensity they feel in the room is accurate on camera to what's happening in real life.

It's her turn for her to be surprised, playing unsure and hesitant, not expecting those words to come out of his mouth, “w-what?”, her voice trembles as her eyes search his face like she's trying to find any uncertainties.

“can I kiss you? Please?”

Gojo takes the step forward. His voice is soft and his gaze holds hers, intense yet tender, leaving no doubt that his character has been lounging for this and wanting it for just as long if not longer than her.

Y/n takes a deep breath. This is it, she's about to kiss Gojo Satoru, the person she despises the most. She hopes it won't be awkward, the scene was going smoothly and the last thing she wants is a retake from the top, she also doesn't want to embarrass herself in front of the whole crew and become the topic of their gossip.

After a small pause, just as instructed by the director, she gives Gojo a small nod. Gently, and hesitantly, he cups her cheek as he brings his face closer to her. The nervousness on her face is mostly real and she doesn't know why she's feeling that way, she wants the scene to end already.

The moment their lips touch, something surged within Satoru and his free hand quickly grabs her waist to pull her closer to him. Did she always smell so... Devine? Why are her lips so soft? Is her lip balm candy flavoured? Why does she taste so sweet? Why can't he pull away from her?

The kiss is supposed to be gentle, a tender moment of affection, yet the way his hand was gripping the pajama top she's wearing betrays his character's intentions. But the way his thumb caresses her cheek is the opposite, grazing the warm skin softly like he's handling a little kitten. He knows he’s supposed to pull away now. He wants to. He needs to, for the sake of this scene. But something holds him there and it's making him not care about the script anymore.

It’s only when he feels a gentle squeeze on his arm that he finally pulls back. He looks down at Y/n, her lips slightly swollen from the kiss, her wide eyes bright with a spark that stirs something deep within him, making him want to lean down and kiss her again.

“cut !”

The pair jumped away from each other. They both forgot they were on a set, filming a show, and not in the comfort of their own homes.

“that was just... Wow,” the director shakes his head with a smile, “Satoru you went a little out of what I told you with the kiss, huh?”

“yeah, sorry,” he smirks with fake confidence, acting like his heart isn't beating faster than a racing car, “I just thought the moment needed that intensity, ya know? He's been waiting to kiss her for so long after all.”

“No I agree, you did the right thing. Go ahead and take five, everyone. This is one of those rare times when there's no need to do multiple takes, the first was perfect.”

Y/n lets out a breath she didn't realise she was holding and quickly leaves to go grab a water and get some fresh air. She can't believe what just happened. That was definitely not a normal kiss, it felt too real. What was Gojo thinking!? Why didn't he stick to the script and kept it short? And why did she like it so much? She's not supposed to! She's supposed to hate him and everything he does.

“Y/n? Can we talk in your trailer, please?”

Fuck... Please don't let that be Gojo, please let her ears be mistaken and it's not his voice asking her to talk in private, please-

She turns around, and it's him. He stands there, hands tucked into his pockets, looking a little... Shy? Since when does Gojo Satoru feel anything less than bold and confident? There's an unusual softness to his expression, one she only sees when he's playing his character, but without the little voice in the back of her head reminding her that he's just acting.

Despite not wanting to talk to him, she still nods and follows him to her trailer that wasn't parked far away from where they stood. She lets him in first and closes the door behind her to ensure no one can hear whatever they're about to talk about.

As they stood across from each other, Gojo's eyes dart everywhere except to her face, something he has never done before. His usual bravado is gone and replaced with an unusual hesitance. She watches him with a puzzled look on her face. Why is he acting so out of character? It's as if he's nervous to talk to her.

Eventually though, he opens his mouth.

“I apologize for going out of script during the kiss. I didn't plan it to happen and I'm sorry if it made you uncomfortable.”

Now he's apologising? Okay, something is definitely wrong. Gojo has never apologised to her in the three years they've been working together. She is starting to feel nervous herself.

“It's okay, really,” she crosses her arms across her chest, “like you explained to the director, it's what you felt the scene needed, and I respect you as an experienced actor to know what you're doing.”

“That wasn't my reason, though.”

Her eyes nearly bulge out of her skull. Huh?!

“what ?”

He takes a step closer to her, a look on his face she couldn't describe, “that's just a lie I made up on the spot. I felt a pull when our lips touched, I don't know what happened to me and it's driving me mad,” he runs a hand through his hair, a habit his manager told her he does when he's anxious, “I couldn't stop myself, so I just let whatever it is take over, but I still couldn't stop, I tried but I just couldn't pull away and I— I want to kiss you again! I want to kiss you right now!”

“Gojo, calm do-” her words fall on deaf ears.

“No! You don't understand! I want to kiss you, but you hate me! You can't even look at me without being disgusted, and I keep making it worse! I keep showing the worst version of myself around you and it makes you hate me more and-”

“Gojo! Stop!”

The look on his face is breaking her heart. He seems so desperate, struggling to put his feelings into words, but every attempt only makes him more anxious, his words stumbling over each other as he tries to make her understand.

“I don't hate you, Satoru”, his heart flutters at the sound of his first name coming out of her lips. Even in interviews, she always used his last name, this is the first time he hears her call him Satoru, “I hate how you act when we're together behind the scenes. You're always so sweet to everyone but I'm always the one you tease, and sometimes your teasing hurts.”

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. It's just- I've liked you, as a person, before we even started working together, and I treated you how I treated my close friends. I didn't realise I was overstepping boundaries.”

Why is it so easy to forgive him? It must be something to do with the blue I'm his eyes, it holds some sort of spell that makes everyone want to be on his good side.

“It's okay, as long as you own up to your mistakes and don't repeat them, I'm willing to see past it all and start new.”

A huge smile takes over his face, content with her answer. He is so happy, he's been wanting to do this for so long. He knew he wronged her and needed to apologise for his actions, but he never knew how to approach it.

Without warning her, he lifts her up in a hug. A squeal left her lips followed by a melodic laugh as she hears him thank her over and over again. She allows herself to enjoy the warmth of his hug. His fans didn't lie, he is really good at them.

He pulls away enough to look at her face without unwrapping his arms from around her, “Can we start new by allowing me to take you on a date? I promise I'll treat you like the princess you are.”

She feels her cheeks heating up with a blush as she nods, unable to hide the small, shy smile tugging at her lips. Gojo grins wider, his eyes lighting up with an unmistakable spark of excitement and something tender, “can I kiss you again? Please?”

She barely finishes nodding before his lips are on hers. He’s smiling into the kiss, unable to hide the joy bubbling up inside him as he realizes his newfound feelings are reciprocated.

And yeah, she did like him more than she let on. The small crush she had on him before they met definitely didn't disappear like she thought it did, instead it stayed hidden away and came back out when she felt his lips for the first time.

She never expected this nor planned on letting herself fall for The Gojo Satoru Charm™, but with him here, holding her close, and pressing a kiss filled with passion on her lips, she realises maybe, just maybe, she’s been wanting this all along.

The ending looked way better in my daydream lol. Hope y'all liked it still 💕

[66stitches]

abby anderson request !! :)

i wanted something where abby is starting to doubt her sexuality and trusts reader to ask questions and just talk about it (reader is a lesbian and they're close friends, it can end up with them kissing — or more, if you're comfortable)

cw: sfw, kissing (a lot of it), descriptions of masturbation (abby), talk of sexuality and questioning sexuality, no physical description of reader

Daily click - Palestine masterpost - TLOU and israel

a/n: thank you for the req !! I don’t write full on smut unfortunately (though I might write some short stuff in the future), but I tried to write a few kinda sexual scenes here and there

wc: idk prob like 1k

divider creds

Abby loved Owen, truly. She was attracted to him: that is what she kept convincing herself of everyday.

Every moment with Owen was a new lie she fed herself.

He was the man she loved. There was nothing she doubted in her relationship with him. The absence of love’s warmth meant to fill her body was her own fault; her inability to reach climax when they had sex was a problem for which only she was to blame.

It doesn’t mean she never tried, though. Abby had spent nights attempting to pleasure herself to the thought of Owen: the only person she should be thinking of; the only person supposed to be capable of reaching her to her climax.

And yet, all she felt was nothing. She laid in her bed, carnal and romantical dissatisfaction utterly consuming her. She was convinced that she was simply incapable of experiencing any sort of attraction exceeding platonicity.

But it only grew more confusing from there.

In another one of her inevitably futile attempts of bringing herself to climax to the thought of Owen, she felt her mind begin to drift to another thought that would hopefully bring her to that much desired release.

She didn’t intend for it to, but the man was just not doing it for her.

That night, she thought of a woman.

That night, she came so hard she swore she could see stars.

A specific woman she thought of in particular, but she would never admit who it was that finally relieved that ache. Not even in the confines of her own thoughts.

And so here she found herself, seated on the soft cushion of your worn-out couch.

You were Abby’s sole friend who was openly lesbian. Abby had seen you bring women over numerous times before. She had listened to your rants about your sexual and romantic encounters with women.

She even helped set you up with one, which harbored a slight odd feeling in the pit of her stomach for a reason she couldn’t quite decipher.

She had thought of it many times: what it was like being with a woman. She didn’t really know what to make of those thoughts. Whether it was mere curiosity, or perhaps something more.

And now here she sat next to you, trying to find the confidence to speak.

She never found it hard to confide in you. Of course not, you were her dearest friend. But this dilemma of hers was difficult to merely utter aloud, even if it is only to herself.

You were on your phone when Abby spoke.

“So… you’re gay,” she started, and she wanted to strike herself as soon as the words left her mouth, because of course you were gay. What kind of opening is that?

“Good observation?” You chuckled, bemused. You placed your phone down, curious as to where she was going with this.

“What’s it like? You know, being with a woman,” she asked, already regretting bringing it up, but she just needed some certainty.

Your eyebrows twisted in confusion at the inquiry. You and Abby were comfortable enough to share anything with each other. Nothing was considered too much information or too uncomfortable to talk about.

It was just an odd question coming from Abby, who you thought was so sure of her sexuality.

“I guess it’s like how it feels for you being with a man.”

God, she hoped not.

“Why?” You asked.

“Just curious, that’s all. Wanna understand your sexuality more, educate myself,” she spoke rather timidly.

You laughed softly. “Oh, because you’re so woke, right?”

Abby could tell you didn’t believe her. In all fairness, she didn’t really put much effort into trying to sound the least bit credible.

She didn’t even know why she was lying to you right now. She trusted you, she always has. This was just a difficult truth to face.

“I don’t know. I’m just feeling a little confused, I guess,” she confessed, shrugging.

“About your sexuality?” Your voice was slow, but your heart beat quicker than ever before.

You would be lying if you said you didn’t find Abby attractive. You’ve always had a little childish crush on the blonde, but you constantly found yourself trying to shove your feelings aside, somewhere far away so it could no longer reach to gnaw at your heart.

But now this — this made it all different. You might be getting slightly ahead of yourself, but you can’t help but think that now you might have the smallest chance with her.

“I don’t know— I mean, yeah, I guess,” she said as she fiddled with the seams of her shirt. “Owen’s just never really made me feel… well, anything. Anything you’re supposed to feel with a partner, I don’t feel it. I thought maybe the problem was Owen specifically, but I’ve come to realize that it’s not.”

��But women get you going?”

“I think so,” she admitted, finally. “I tried to think about a woman last night, while, you know…” she trailed off, her skin suddenly feeling very hot at the confession.

“And?” You whispered, feeling just as hot at her confession. “Was it just what you were missing?”

Abby went quiet for a moment, then she answered. “Yeah, it was.”

It was silent. Abby still looked like she had something to say, so you offered no response for a moment.

“But how could I know? I’ve never tried anything romantic or sexual with another woman, so how would I be able to tell? I could just be confused,” she said.

You were quiet, contemplating your next words. What you were about to do could either ruin your friendship, or elevate it to something more. You were relying on the latter.

“You wanna try?” You asked. Your voice sounded bold, but everything within you was shaking with apprehension.

She offered naught but an incredulous look. Her eyes were blown wide, disbelieving.

“What?”

Well, shit.

“I mean, solely for experimental purposes, of course. A kiss shared with another woman, just to be certain,” you explained.

The tension was thick, almost palpable. You were nervous at Abby’s silence and you realized that this is where your boldness gets you.

You were ready for her harsh rejection and the revulsion that would surely be evident in her voice, but then she spoke.

“Okay,” she said. Not a hint of revulsion in her tone. You didn’t know it, but her heart beat just as quick as yours.

“Really?” You asked, surprised as if you hadn’t been the one to offer.

“Well, yeah,” she leaned in slightly, bringing her face closer to yours. “Just for experimental purposes, right?”

“Yeah, sure,” you breathed. You brought your face to hers, and in a split second you closed the gap between you, meeting each other in a slow kiss, your eyes fluttering shut.

Her lips were soft. Her kiss felt nervous, lacking confidence, yet it still exceeded every expectation.

You pulled away once you felt it was enough. You looked at her and waited for what she had to say.

“Oh yeah, I’m definitely gay,” she said and pushed your face right back into hers, meeting your lips in a much more heated kiss.

This kiss, however, held the confidence the previous one lacked, her lips moving skillfully against yours. You waited for the shock to wear off before kissing her back, clearly not expecting her to want more.

You disconnected your lips once again, pulling her face away from yours. “Abby—”

“Just need-” she interrupted her own words to press another swift peck to your lips. “A little more-” another kiss. “Just to make sure,” she said, finally and pulled you in for another kiss. She cupped your burning cheeks with her palms and slipped her tongue into your mouth.

What was supposed to be an innocent kiss, solely for the sake of experiment (how the thought made you laugh now), turned into her exploring your mouth with her tongue and pushing her body against yours. This kiss held no place for innocence now.

She softly moaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating throughout your body.

She used her thumb to lightly caress your cheek as she kissed you like her life depended on it. She slightly pulled apart then, nibbling on your bottom lip with her teeth.

As the kiss came to an end, you sat staring at each other, breathless, and oh so blissful.

“You wanna know something?” Abby asked with a dumb smile on her face which brought another smile upon your own. You hummed.

“It was you,” she started, still faintly breathless. “You were who I thought of.”

Your eyebrows rose at the confession. It was unexpected, but certainly not disliked.

What you were more surprised at, though, was how casually she said it, seemingly too blissed out at the moment for any feeling of embarrassment.

“You telling me I was your gay awakening?” You asked, grinning.

“You could say that.” She shrugged and scratched at the back of her neck.

You laughed and scooted closer to her. “Well, I guess I’m honored then,” you said.

“Alright,” she rolled her eyes and laughed. She leaned in then, craving more of your taste.

You giggled into the kiss and pulled away, licking your lips to savor her intoxicating taste.

“I think we’ve already come to the conclusion that you’re gay. You still want more?”

She brought her face closer again and caressed your cheeks. She was close enough that you could feel her breath against your lips.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Now shut up and let me kiss you.”

[silverynight]

Gym "buddies"

Izuku's life changes the moment All Might gives him his gym membership card; he assures him he doesn't need it anymore (he's retired after all) and wants him to use it instead.

Izuku is a quirkless young man whose job is making support gear and suits for pro heroes, however, since he often wears them and tries them himself, he likes to keep himself in good condition. So far, he's been training at home, but now he has the opportunity to go to a proper gym.

He thanks the symbol of peace, hugs him, and leaves with excitement in his eyes.

However, his enthusiasm vanishes when he arrives and realizes that there are only two kinds of people in that place: very rich ones and pro heroes.

And he doesn't belong to any of those groups. After a while he decides to stay since All Might even called the place to let them know Izuku was going instead of him.

He can't disappoint him now.

Nervous, he looks around only to see Uravity and Pinky talking happily to each other; part of Izuku wants to get closer to them and ask for an autograph, but he decides to control himself.

It's not like any of them could recognize him; the pro heroes don't have the time to go in person and ask for repairs to the support department, instead, they send assistants or people who work in their respective agencies to leave the suits.

Of course, there are exceptions, there always are.

"Midoriya!"

Izuku gets slightly startled as he notices Ingenium, waving at him before walking towards where he is.

He's one of the few heroes who has met Izuku.

"Ingenium-san, hi!"

"Please, we've talked about this, just call me Iida."

He nods, cheeks turning slightly pink as he notices the pro heroes around looking at them both with curiosity.

He relaxes as soon as Iida starts talking with him, asking about his job in general and answering Izuku's enthusiastic questions about his latest missions; he's used to those already.

The next day, Uravity introduces herself and upon realizing Izuku has worked on her hero suit, she starts looking at him with admiration and awe; he doesn't think there's anything about him worth admiring, but he doesn't point that out.

He gets to know a lot of pro heroes at that gym and none of them have tried to kick him out so far, even though he doesn't quite belong there.

Izuku's first week is amazing, and he believes there's nothing that can change his mind about it until the second week.

Turns out Dynamight goes to that gym too.

Actually, he's one of the current pro heroes Izuku admires the most, so Izuku is tempted to get closer at first, until he notices the explosive hero has been staring at him the whole time since he arrived.

He can't read the blond's expression, but he assumes Dynamight doesn't like him that much so Izuku decides to keep his distance from him.

He chooses a treadmill that's at the other side of the room to get started. Izuku takes a deep breath, relaxes, and closes his eyes for a few seconds until he hears someone pressing buttons on the treadmill next to him.

He almost falls off when he notices Dynamight. However, Izuku recovers quickly and decides to pretend nothing happened.

Although he swears he can feel the blond's red eyes on him the whole time.

After a while, he goes to one of the leg press machines before he notices that Dynamight is following him closely.

"You work for Hatsume."

Alright, now that he's talking to him, Izuku can't keep pretending he doesn't exist so he turns around to face him. The guy is not only taller but clearly stronger than him.

"Yes, I'm–"

"Midoriya Izuku, I know," Dynamight cuts him off, looking like he didn't mean to. His face turns a little bit pink.

"How do you know that?" He blurts out, genuinely curious.

The pro hero starts rubbing the back of his neck like he's nervous, and he looks away from Izuku for a moment before answering his question.

"I go to her lab often because I like to know exactly what's done to my suit," he admits. "I saw you for the first time a few months ago; Hatsume told me she had a new, very talented employee and that he was the one working on my gauntlets. I got closer to ask you personally what the hell you were doing to my stuff, but you were so happily focused I couldn't... interrupt you."

Izuku notices then, the fond smile curling up the corners of Dynamight's lips, and he regrets glancing at him because he looks very handsome when he actually smiles.

"Uhh..."

"I kept going after that, but you were always so focused on your work you never noticed me," the pro hero continues, pouting a bit. He's so used to the attention he probably doesn't like when he doesn't get it.

"I'm sorry, Dynamight-san..."

"I'm Katsuki, and I want you to call me by my name, Izuku."

His own name on the pro hero's lips sounds so intimate, Izuku blushes immediately. It's even worse when Katsuki notices and smirks at him.

"Ka..." Even trying it makes him feel flustered, so of course he immediately screws it. "Kacchan!"

The pro hero looks back at him in confusion and Izuku is seriously thinking about giving All Might his membership back and never going back to that place when Katsuki chuckles as he puts a hand on his shoulder.

"Fine, you can call me that if you want."

After that Katsuki always follows him whenever he's in the gym at the same time Izuku is; he even helps him when Izuku struggles to figure out new machines and makes a very intense workout routine for him.

Izuku is sure they're very good friends now, and he often laughs at his past self for believing Katsuki hated him.

He used to think he had a bad temper, but turns Bakugo Katsuki is a very sweet guy, although Izuku knows it's better not to say that out loud.

The most surprising thing about pro hero Dynamight is that he's rather clumsy, which is really weird considering he's so precise during his battles (Izuku has watched a few of those) but at the gym he's constantly dropping things and bumping into machines, especially when Izuku has his back on him and bends over to do a particularly difficult exercise.

It's so odd.

He hears a noise behind him and turns around only to find Katsuki on the floor, face red and a little bit of blood coming from one of his nostrils.

"Kacchan, are you alright?"

"He's fine, Midobro!" Kirishima grins, looking quite amused.

"What happened?"

"He got distracted by your... leggings."

Izuku looks at Red Riot in confusion before looking down at his legs; the leggings are not that bright, they're dark red and not flashy at all. He wonders what was that interesting about them that got Katsuki distracted.

"I see that leg day has been really good on you, bro," Kirishima points out, following Izuku's eyes. "You have very thick–"

"SHUT THE HELL UP, SHITTY HAIR!" Katsuki growls, rising from the ground before standing in the middle of Izuku and Kirishima. "Do you want to die?"

"Calm down, Bakubro!" Kirishima chuckles, looking quite relaxed. He's probably used to the other pro hero's displays of irritation. "I'm just being nice to our friend!"

"Fine!" Katsuki says, but he still pushes Izuku behind himself even more, although he does it gently.

***

After an intense workout routine, Izuku ends up on the floor, exhausted. A hand touches his forehead as a big shadow looms over him for a moment.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, just give me a second, Kacchan."

The same hand appears in front of him, and Izuku wakes it without hesitation. Before he can even blink, he's back on his feet already.

Katsuki hands him a bottle of cold water.

"Thank you!" It's been barely a month, but it feels like Katsuki has known him his whole life.

Sometimes it's like he can hear Izuku's thoughts.

"Come, nerd. I'll take you to your apartment."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I have time today."

Katsuki also pays him quick visits to Hatsume's lab, and he actually stays there and talks to him. Izuku takes his break whenever he appears.

"I'm glad you finally decided to talk to your crush," Hatsume tells him the first time the pro hero draws Izuku's attention by saying his name. "It was a bit sad to watch you pine and give him the heart eyes in silence."

"SHUT UP!"

"Kacchan, relax," he chuckles, as he notices him turning bright red at the young woman's words. "She's just joking!"

Because there's no way that's true. Hatsume probably just wants to piss Katsuki off. He'd never look at Izuku with love in his eyes.

It's ridiculous.

Usually, Hatsume doesn't like having pro heroes there, but she makes an exception with Katsuki because he helps them test new gear, especially the magnetic shields she has designed for some heroes.

Besides, she likes watching things explode.

Although the number of times Katsuki is there has led to some of Izuku's coworkers getting the wrong idea about them.

Even the pro heroes at the gym ask Izuku the weirdest questions every now and then.

"We're more like... gym buddies?" Even that sounds odd coming from his mouth, Izuku has no idea why.

"I think you're saying gym boyfriends wrong, sweetie," Ashido chuckles, prompting Kaminari to laugh too.

It's a good thing Katsuki is on patrol that day; he would've gotten mad.

"No, I'm serious," Izuku says, turning bright red. "We're just friends!"

"Wow, Bakugo is an idiot," Kaminari gives Ashido a weird look.

"He totally is!" She agrees. "Anyone could try to steal this cutie if he doesn't hurry up!"

Izuku wants to tell them that their relationship is not like that, but it seems that no matter what he says they're not going to change their minds; they seem to believe Katsuki is secretly in love with him or something.

He has no idea why.

***

Izuku meets pro hero Shoto one Thursday evening; he just finished his work and headed straight to the gym.

When he sees him, he gets immediately flustered. It's not every day one gets to meet Japan's number two pro hero after all.

"Hi. I don't think I have ever seen you before."

Pro hero Shoto is very blunt sometimes.

"I've been coming here since September... so, yeah, I'm practically new here," Izuku smiles, prompting the pro hero to do the same. "I'm Midoriya Izuku!"

"Oh," finally, something akin to recognition in those mismatched eyes. "I've heard your name before. You fixed my suit last time it got destroyed by a villain, right?"

"Yes, that'd be me!"

"You did a great job. I was very impressed."

"Thank y-you, pro hero Shoto!"

"Please, call me Todoroki or just Shoto, if you want."

"Izuku!" Katsuki calls as soon as he walks in the gym. "Come here, I need to bench press you right now!"

He does that a lot lately; he uses Izuku instead of the very expensive equipment around, Katsuki assures him it's better that way, but he's not sure about that.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Todoroki comments then. "There's plenty of things you can use instead of Midoriya."

"What the hell are you doing here, half and half?"

"Toya and the old man got into a fight again," he says like it's nothing that surprises him anymore. "They were in our private gym when it happened, so it's destroyed now. It'll take a couple of days for the people we called to leave it as it was before. That's why I'm here."

Izuku is sure Todoroki doesn't say it to show off, but now he gets an idea of how rich he actually is.

He's so impressed he doesn't notice Katsuki until he's in front of him, almost like he wants to shield him from the other pro hero.

"Come with me, Izuku."

Todoroki looks from one to the other with curiosity.

"Is it really better if you try it with a person?" He asks before looking over Katsuki's shoulders, directly at Izuku: "Can I bench press you too, Midoriya?"

"FUCK OFF, HALF AND HALF!"

***

Todoroki becomes a good friend of his; he keeps coming to same gym as Izuku even after the one in his house is complete again.

Although, Katsuki gets a bit tense whenever he the three of them hang out; Izuku is not sure why, Ashido assured him they were in good terms, sure they're rivals, but they are also friends.

"Do you like half and half?"

"Absolutely, he's a great friend!"

"I don't mean it like that, nerd," Katsuki gets slightly irritated, as he usually does when Izuku doesn't understand what he's trying to say. "I mean if you like him... romantically."

"Oh!" Izuku blushes; he doesn't talk about romance around the pro hero... ever, so he gets a bit nervous, well, it's actually because the one he finds very attractive is Katsuki, but he's not going to say that. "No, I only see Todoroki as a friend."

Katsuki relaxes after that; they finish their routines like nothing happened, but the tension comes back to his shoulders after they take a shower and get ready to leave the gym.

Looking down at the floor instead of him, Katsuki takes one of Izuku's hands in his to stop him.

"What is it, Kacchan?"

"Would you like to go for a coffee with me?"

"Of course, although we usually do that!"

This time, Katsuki looks into his eyes before continuing: "No, I mean... as a date."

For a second, Izuku thinks he's dreaming, but he wouldn't blush that much in one of his dreams; he's usually more confident.

"Yes, I'd love to!"

Katsuki gives him one of those happy, devastating smiles of his before intertwining their fingers together.

Izuku needs to call All Might and thank him for that membership again, but he'll probably do that later.

He has to focus on his date with Katsuki first.

***

Patreon

[comicaurora]

spoiler thoughts in no particular order:

The theme of this season seems to be "replacement." Characters are constantly taking on other character's roles. Heimerdinger highlights that Jayce is his former pupil and Ekko is his new pupil. Jinx acquires a Powder-esque kid sidekick and finds herself in Vi's role, while Vi finds herself hurt and abandoned by someone she loves most in a very Powder-y position. Caitlyn struggles to replace her mother, and Ambessa very tactically places herself in that authoritative role to give Caitlyn the motherly guidance she no longer has - essentially replacing Mel in the process. Everyone is being shuffled around, and very few of them are taking it well.

It's interesting to me that, amidst all this replacing, two roles are conspicuously not being filled: Silko and Vander. Silko's death has left a gaping wound in Jinx and Sevika's operation, and neither of them are attempting to replace him - instead, they're trying to figure out their dynamic without him between them. In a strange way, it feels like Jinx is maturing. She's beginning to recognize that she doesn't actually destroy everything she touches; there are things in this world she CAN fix. This is extremely un-Silko of her. If anything, it's a genuinely healthy extrapolation of her dreams as Powder - to be useful, to help. If she's reaching the point where she thinks she really CAN make things instead of just breaking them, that's a legitimately good sign.

Vi is the obvious candidate to become the new Vander, and I think she will eventually. The first three episodes have taken her some of the way along a very complicated journey. A lot of people have pointed out that she sacrificed every part of her identity to try and help Caitlyn in her grief - she put on the uniform of the people who killed her parents and sold out Vander, the people who tortured her in prison. She compartmentalized her love for Powder and convinced herself she could kill her for Caitlyn, even though she demonstrably couldn't. She packed away everything except her moral code, and then Caitlyn nearly shot a child to get to Jinx, so Vi stopped her. And so she learns that Caitlyn didn't appreciate anything of what she was asking of her. She didn't understand the weight of the sacrifice Vi was making for her. She didn't see Vi as a partner, only as a tool for getting her shot at Jinx, and when Vi broke from that purpose, Caitlyn police brutality'd her and abandoned her at the bottom of a hole. We've never seen Vi at this kind of rock bottom before, because she always had her identity, her stubbornness, her anger. She gave them up for love, and when her guard was down, she was punished for it. Vi is the character most reluctant to change. She voices it overtly; she sees everyone else changing, she begs it to stop. Everyone is preserved in her memory from before the night everything went wrong. Powder's not Jinx now, Powder is dead and Jinx is a new problem. Ekko is still "Little Man." I think Vi can't start becoming whoever she's meant to be until she gets past that terror of change, and it looks like she can't do that until she loses absolutely everything.

I'm less clear on what to expect from Caitlyn, but I think it's going to be fascinating. She's really at her worst in this part of the show, and it's incredibly interesting. Her unchallenged worldview is on full display: the undercity is disgusting and evil, the enforcers are the pinnacle of goodness now that the one bad apple has been excised. She was doing Vi a favor giving her the badge, obviously; Vi deserves the badge so she'll kick up whatever fuss she needs to in order to make it happen. Vi's one of the good ones, so Vi can't be like the other Zaunites, those animals. Her mother sealed up The Gray to keep them from asphyxiating from the pollution? Well, they killed her mother, so they don't deserve to breathe that free air anymore. Vi defies her one time and Caitlyn snaps into the only alternative she can currently understand: you're just like them, you're my enemy, you're beneath me. She never really made an effort to understand Vi's world because she clearly thought she was saving her from it. You don't deserve to be down there in the dirt, you deserve to be up here where it's nice. The dichotomy of Piltover Good, Zaun Bad is so deeply ingrained in her that her raw grief has left it completely exposed. If Vi won't help her, she deserves to be left down there. I want to see where they go with this, because Caitlyn's at her own kind of rock bottom right now - a sniper's fixation on her target causing her to hurt and cast away every other priority. Ambessa's correctly identified her as a weapon and is precisely aiming her wherever she needs her to destroy, and Caitlyn is so fixated on Jinx she can't even tell. I expect "what are you shooting for?" to come back in a big way.

I don't know WHAT the hell is going on with Jayce and I am so excited to figure it out. They really sold the whole "whoops you've been meddling with forces far beyond your comprehension just like Heinmerdinger said" thing and the implications are fascinating.

In the same way that Jinx seems to be sort of building a role all her own instead of taking someone's place, Viktor seems to be doing the same thing. He's not taking anyone's place; what he's up to is totally new. He's doing exactly what he wanted to back in season one - using hextech to help the people in most desperate need. He can heal the poisoning of Shimmer and the toxins in Zaun. He has what nobody else in this show has - a form of power that is curative and presently unchallenged. It isn't a fight for him, not like everything else has been. All he's ever cared about was alleviating suffering, and as far as we can tell, now he can. Nobody else was doing anything to help. I am very intrigued to see where this goes and how the magic system gets fleshed out around him.

I have a hunch that wild magic situation might be yeeting Ekko out of the timeline for a bit. The act 2 preview had him on the Remembrance Wall, so I assume the firelights are gonna presume him dead for a minute - bit of a bummer, but if he comes back with his canonical time powers I'll take it.

Minor note, I liked how they highlighted that the council hall was aggressively non-wheelchair-accessible. A very elegant way to underline how Piltover has never actually been a beacon of progress and opportunity.

Have you watched the new Arcane episodes?

my first "oh FUCK yeah" happened during the opening credits when I noticed Ekko's two shadows were moving like the hands on a clock and that momentum carried for basically the whole rest of the viewing experience

[yourbiggestcrybaby]

Are you afraid of me?

Stalker Billie Eilish x reader

Warnings: stalking, slight manipulation, obsession, not much else tbh

Billie has been watching you for a while now. She knows your schedule, where you live, and even where you walk every night. She needs to be a part of your life. She has a master plan and tonight is step one.

The cool air gently caresses your face as you wander through the city’s misty late-night quiet. It’s a habit of yours to go for long walks when you need to clear your head. But tonight, there’s a strange tension in the air. It’s just you and the fog, yet you keep glancing over your shoulder. Is someone’s watching?

You keep walking. You are prone to imagining things, that must be it. But then you hear something. Just the faintest echo of footsteps, soft but definitely in time with yours. Your stomach clenches, and you stop, pretending to check your phone as you look around. No one. Just the empty street under flickering neon lights.

You’re scared and about to turn back, maybe head home and forget the whole thing, when a voice slips into the quiet.

“Nice night, isn’t it?”

You jump, whirling around. There’s a girl standing a few feet away, hands in the pockets of a baggy black hoodie, the hood pulled low. Her face is partially in shadow, but you can see the glint of her eyes and a faint hint of green in her hair. She’s smiling, but there’s something strange about the way she’s looking at you, her gaze steady, like she’s been waiting.

She watches your reaction closely, hiding her own satisfaction. It’s about time you noticed, Billie thinks, her heart picking up as she steps forward. For weeks now, she’s kept her distance, studying the way you move, your daily routine. She knows you disappear into these streets late at night. She’s spent hours watching you from these same alleys, trailing you from blocks away, always careful, always keeping just out of sight. But tonight, she is going to make her move. It is all a part of her carefully crafted plan, she is going to make you hers, and from the way your eyes widen, it’s working.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” she says, keeping her voice calm and quiet. Casual. Friendly. She’s practiced this. Billie shrugs, like it’s nothing, even though her pulse is thudding. She’s right here, finally close enough to talk to you, close enough to look into your eyes and see if you really are who she thinks you are. She’s imagined this moment too many times to count.

“I just… didn’t expect anyone else to be out here,” you say, your voice uncertain but trying to sound normal.

She smiles a little wider. “Me neither.” She lies. She knew you would be here. There’s a spark in her eyes, a look you don’t quite understand. “But I’ve seen you around. You like the quiet, don’t you?”

You blink, surprised. “How’d you know that?”

Billie shrugs, leaning against the streetlight, casual but purposeful. Careful, she thinks, don’t give away too much. “It’s just a vibe you give off.” She keeps her gaze steady on you, watching you closely, reading every flicker of confusion and curiosity on your face. There it is, she thinks, that look she’s been waiting to see. You’re intrigued.

“Do we… know each other?” you ask, trying to place her

Not yet, Billie thinks, her stomach twisting in a strange mix of excitement and nerves. “Maybe,” she says with a shrug, keeping her tone light. “But I feel like I know you.”

She’s been watching long enough to notice the little things—how you pause on certain street corners, the music you listen to, how you look around like you’re searching for something, or someone, too. It’s those details that made her stay, that made her start following you night after night. She felt the connection the moment she saw you, something raw and unexplainable. She wants to tell you all this, but not yet. Go slow, she tells herself. Make them want to know more.

“How do you mean?” you ask, frowning slightly, but not backing away.

She bites back a smile. “Hard to explain,” she says softly. “It’s like… I don’t know. Like I can see something in you.” She pauses, then lets a hint of vulnerability show, knowing it’ll pull you in. “And maybe you’d see something in me, too.”

You hesitate, clearly thrown off, but she can see you’re curious, maybe even flattered. Good, she thinks, pleased. You’re right where she wants you. You’re not running away.

She’s spent nights picturing this, waiting for the moment when she could be close enough to talk to you without the risk of being caught, of scaring you off. But she couldn’t just let you keep wandering off into the night, disappearing like a dream every time she got too close. She wants to be more than a shadow to you. She wants in.

“Are you scared of me?” she asks, her voice low, almost daring.

There’s a brief silence, and she almost worries she’s gone too far too fast. But then you meet her gaze, holding it steadily. “No,” you say softly. “I’m not scared.”

She lets herself grin, a dark thrill rushing through her. She likes the courage in your voice, the steadiness in your gaze. You’re exactly what I hoped for, she thinks. “Good,” she murmurs, stepping back just a bit, enough to make you want her to come closer again. “Because I don’t think I’m ready to let you go.”

She takes a step back, hands back in her pockets, still watching you with that quiet intensity. “I’ll see you again,” she says, barely above a whisper, but there’s a promise in her tone. Soon, she thinks, a smirk pulling at her lips. She knows where you’ll be, knows you’ll be back on these streets again. You can’t help it. And now, she’s made sure you’ll be looking for her, too.

Before you can respond, she slips back into the shadows, but she knows the memory of her will linger. She walks away, feeling the thrill of success prickling up her spine. This is only the beginning. She’s patient. She knows the game now. She’ll make herself part of your life, piece by piece, and she won’t stop until you’re hers.

[mintywolf]

A Long Road Home - Page 84

Page 84

I remember where I was and what I was doing on the night of the 2016 election; it was exactly the same thing that I was doing during this one — trying to work on the next week’s comic page through the overwhelming sense of dread tightening around my throat. I even know what page it was, because like this one it is now forever trauma-etched into my brain.

It was this one, from the beginning of a darkly appropriate plot arc in which the protagonists have been arrested and are awaiting an unfair trial by their corrupt government. I was inking that night and before I went to bed I posted the lineart that second panel on its own to my tumblr blog because that message, “I can’t promise it will be all right, because I honestly don’t know if it will. All we can do is wait, and be brave,” was all I had to offer.

So I’ll do what I did then and keep making this thing I’m creating out of love, week by week, in the hope that it’s bringing joy and hope and comfort to whoever needs it. I love you all. <3

Chronologically I think I meant for this to be some weeks after they moved into their cabin. Laudna has added some character to the place by sewing patches onto the blankets and painting the plain white dishware they bought at that general store. Imogen’s cup is blue with stars on it and Laudna’s is red with rat feet prints.

Also here it is, the first appearance of the nightgown described in Remember Us:

The sight of it makes Imogen smile slightly, remembering how much Laudna had loved that threadbare thing. After a lifetime of the itchy wool and scratchy linen of northern Exandria, she had been absolutely delighted by the easy availability of cotton fabrics in Marquet. In a general store they had found a bolt of soft cotton cambric used for making handkerchiefs and baby clothes, and she had been unable to stop running her hands over it, to the consternation of the proprietor. They had bought a few yards and she’d made a blouse for Imogen and a nightgown for herself. It’s frayed around the cuffs now from constant wear, the seams mended under the arms and one elbow patched, but it’s only gotten softer with time. She remembers keenly the feeling of it between their bodies in bed at night.

(You can even see the bolt of fabric back on page 80.)

I think her OG outfit is probably linen, judging by the slightly crinkly texture of it in her official level 3 artwork, and the fact that she came by it in Tal’Dorei in What Doesn’t Break. Cotton grows natively in the warm climates that inspired Marquet (the Middle East and, as of C3, the American South) so it’s probably what most of Imogen’s clothes are made of, but it has to be imported to northern Europe (so, Tal’Dorei) so a finely-woven cotton material like cambric especially would seem like a luxury to Laudna.

Her nightclothes and underthings are white in disregard of her ~aesthetic~ for the same reason that Lulu’s are in Guardian; dark or brightly-dyed undergarments weren’t really a thing historically (for practicality, since undyed fabrics were the easiest to wash and also it didn’t make sense to spend money on dye for something not meant to be seen, and the not-unfounded belief that the dye would be absorbed into the skin; before the invention of synthetic dyes a lot of them were toxic) with the exception of a time during the mid 19th century when red flannel undergarments were considered healthy. (Which I will probably talk about on a later page since matching red flannel pajamas are a point of interest in Come In From the Cold.) And she dresses like a 19th century lady so she would absolutely wear a nightgown that makes her look like a Victorian ghost.

[clemkruckinnie]

the pogues + their favorite holidays!!

john b’s always been a christmas kinda guy. some of his happiest memories are of him tearing open the wrapping on the few presents big john had been able to save up for, cross-legged under their little tree. is also 1000% the type to put mistletoe everywhere to kiss you (which backfires when jj shoves you out of the way, wanting a smooch of his own).

pope loves halloween! i know he kind of reads as the type to be a scaredy cat, but i feel like he’s a HUGE film buff, so he’ll gladly sit and marathon scary movies with you. he’ll point out how cool the practical effects are, or make fun of the terrible acting, you happily listening as he rambles. and if you’re passing out candy to trick or treaters? oh my GOD. pope is hyping up every kid and their costume, saves up for a month prior to make sure you guys hand out the big candy bars, just generally has the time of his life. he is ADORABLE.

jj’s favorite holiday is the fourth of july, not because he’s particularly patriotic, but because it’s the one day a year where he can set off as many explosives as he wants without having the police called on him. absolutely insists on grilling burgers on a charcoal grill so tiny he can barely do 2 at one time, so by the time he’s done everyone would be significantly hangry had they not blown through all the snacks everyone had brought. finds the perfect place to watch the fireworks days in advance, unable to tear his eyes away from the blinding colors for the duration of the show. it’s beautiful, watching the wonder in his eyes, truly carefree as he marvels at the fireworks.

sarah is a valentine’s girl!! she was 100% the little girl who made everyone in her class a special valentine, not wanting anyone to be excluded or feel less loved! she’s just obsessed with the vibes, too—pink, hearts, lace, etc. if you’re blessed enough to be her valentine? she is going ALL OUT- a little gift bag, a special dinner…certain activities after several glasses of wine during said dinner…..

though it’s less of a traditional holiday, kie’s favorite is earth day! it’s the one day of the year where no one is allowed to roll their eyes at her environmental campaigns. that and it’s the start of taurus season, because kie is 1000% a taurus and i will die on this hill <33 totally the type of gf to plant a tree for you on this day, or get you one of those turtle tracking bracelets (one to match her’s, ofc).

cleo loves thanksgiving! the girl is a natural born chef, so she’ll really jump at any excuse to cook. that, and she doesn’t really have family in the states besides the pogues, so anything to get you all together for a family meal is good in her book. if you show genuine interest in what she’s making, her heart absolutely SOARS because she really pours herself into her cooking. being her unofficial sous chef gets you points too because acts of service mean a lot to her.

[everythingmp3]

adult Van being your ex lover and trying to get you back - headcanons 𐙚

some detailed thoughts about the scenario of having dated her "casually" for a while until she broke it off bc it got too intense and romantic - only for her to beg for forgiveness after a while. this is narrative in structure, basically a timeline from the first date to where it ended up eventually <3

warnings: nsfw mentions (minors dni), a good amount of emotional lesbian dating drama.

how it all started:

you met on an app, nothing out of the ordinary, but the thing that was unusual, was the Van asked you to meet up after just one day of texting

with other people, she was often the type to leave them on read for a few days before eventually agreeing to a date, but with you she found herself smiling at all your texts right from the start, which was new for her, so just one day after you first texted, she straight up asked "hey would you wanna go out for dinner this weekend?".

your first date was at a nice yet underrated Italian place downtown that she wanted to show you, it was a dimly lit space that was romantic but not overly so and you felt at ease around each other right from the start - you were both insanely nervous the few hours before you met (she definitely felt very sick at one point) but the moment you hugged hello, it felt so natural that all nerves just fell off, replaced by the giddiness of sensing an instant attraction

the evening was lovely, from start to finish. Van made you laugh way more than you had expected, which delighted her immensely and only made her try even harder to win you over completely - she made you try her meal and insisted on you taking a few more bites when it was clear that you really liked it, she never broke eye contact, she leaned closer and touched your hand about an hour into the date when it was clear that you wanted her to - you talked about everything under the sun and lost track of time, sharing a desert and gazing at each other over the table with sparkling eyes, you making her flush whenever you complimented her or looked at her for too long - so by the time you were ready to leave you both felt a shared sense of disbelief like "wow.. this was so nice. I already like you so much."

she offered to drive you home when you told her that you had walked there and once you were parked in front of your house, you both kind of just sat there in silence, a bit nervous, the good kind, smiling to yourselves in the dark before you looked at each other and you told her "I had a really nice time. can we do this again sometime?", she nodded and leaned over to you and said "yes. please." a pause before she added "can I kiss you?", unsure if you would want her to after just one date but you didnt even answer, you just leaned in and gave her a deep, passionate kiss as a response, feeling her smile into it.

your next date was a few days later at a bar, around 9pm, because you had great chemistry and were clearly dying to get your hands on each other, but didnt just wanna make it a hook-up - so you spent about an hour getting tipsy, touching each other under the table, staring into each others eyes and saying overly sweet things like "you’re so pretty.." and "I thought about you a lot this week" before she finally caved and said "should we go back to my place?".

the main thing that made you both obsess over each other was the intimacy you shared. the first time you fucked, you were both out of breath and frantic with desire but it was heavenly - you giggled when you both almost tripped on the way up to her apartment and tore each others clothes off without much elegance, you spent a good amount of time just dry-humping and making out because you were so deeply into each other and really wanted to savor every part of it - moaning pathetically as you both took turns kissing each others necks while grinding and moving, growing unbearably needy and wet from it before you went down on her for the first time.

Van hadn’t told you this explicitly but the second she had her thighs around your head, you realized that your instinct about her had been right: she wanted to surrender. she wasn’t the kind of older woman who only dreamed of dominating her younger partner, she was the type to get most turned on from the idea of you ruining her, so, you used it to your full advantage: eating her out until she was a shaking mess, addicted to her taste, to her sounds, her sensitivity and reactiveness to your touch, and Van thought "yeah, I am fucked. she got me good. this is perfect."

she definitely returned the favor just as eagerly and took her time jerking you off, feeling how wet you’d gotten from eating her out, praising you and lapping it up and kissing and biting your thighs - which was just the beginning of a long night of you taking turns, losing track of time, tribbing and rubbing up against each other, taking little breaks to just kiss and caress each other and catch your breaths. you took a water break before you looked at her and said "do you wanna sit on my face..", which nearly made her choke on her own spit.

you ended the night with your face entirely covered in her juices, blissed out from the feeling of her using you like that, whining and moaning and uttering things like "fuck you feel so good.." while she held your head and rocked her hips against your mouth, already sore from the fucking before but not too sore to absolutely ride herself into oblivion on your tongue. you definitely needed her to do that again, and again and again...

eventually you both fell asleep naked and exhausted around 4 am and both woke up naturally around 10 the next morning. you both laid in bed for a few minutes, smiling almost a bit shyly at how desperate you’d been for each other, both of you turned on from the sight of little hickeys and love bites youd left on the others body - she made you coffee and lent you some of her clothes and asked if youd wanna come over again in the coming days - of course you did.

from then on, you saw each other more and more. sometimes you went on proper dates, like getting lunch and a coffee after or going for a walk and looking at some book stores or thrift shops together, a few times even driving out of the city a bit to see some pretty nature and get fresh air (maybe messing around in public a bit) but a good amount of the time you just came over to her place after school or work and spent the night together, relaxing together, chatting and drinking or watching a film before you inevitably ended up in her bed.

Van definitely liked you more than she said out loud. she did not go on any other dates after she met you, didn’t even talk to anyone else, she was completely focused on you. at first, she thought "oh this is fun, I have a hot girl that I can just call over and have fun with" but a few weeks into it, she realized just how far from casual it all was. she hadnt planned on it, she had gone onto the apps with the goal of finding a way to get off, not to fall in love, but... things were turning out a bit differently..

she started texting you throughout the day, asking you how you were, making sure you were fine, offering you rides whenever you had to be somewhere far from home or had to be picked up. she held you whenever you fell asleep in her bed and comforted you when you were going through something, she wiped your tears when you were embarrassed about crying in front of her, you confided in her and she often gave you little gifts to cheer you up - in general, she gave you way more than you asked for, she was sweet to a degree that shocked even herself.

she is old-fashioned so rather than texting too much, you often called each other, which turned into a sweet ritual: you having her on speaker when you cleaned your room or folded your laundry, her talking to you while making her coffee in the morning and saying "oh come on, you’ll do great" whenever you complained to her about a nerve-wrecking thing you had to master that day. her promising you "how about this, when you get done, text me, I will pick you up and we can go to your restaurant of choice to celebrate, okay?"

Van acted like your girlfriend, right from the start. she didn’t plan on it, it just happened because she liked you so much that none of her usual attempts at keeping her distance even registered to her: she forgot about them all together. you broke down her defenses without even trying and did it so gently that she had no clue, until she was already kind of in love. maybe not just kind of.

it only dawned on her how deep in she was when she started dreading the weeks where you spent more than a few days apart. it scared her, that feeling of "I need her. I need to see her. I miss her so bad." she had a full on crisis and told herself "I cant depend on someone like this. I just can’t."

she freaked herself out and imagined you leaving eventually, all of her old paranoid. avoidant thoughts came bubbling back up, so she spiraled and fucked it up.

how it ended:

about two months into it, after weeks and weeks of you sleeping over at her place, wearing her clothes, spending entire weekends together, you falling for each other and more each minute you were together, she called you over one afternoon and sat you down to talk.

you couldn’t believe it at first when she said "listen. I have really enjoyed this time with you.." because you were so startled by her sudden shift in tone. just a few days before, you had spent the whole night kissing and laughing and there she was, nervously tapping her foot as she tried to tell you it was over, or at least, on ice.

Van said some vague bullshit about "needing some distance" and "not being in a place where a relationship would work" and worst of all that you "deserved better than that". you couldn’t even cry then because it was so shocking - just the night before you had gushed to someone about how safe and held you felt with her -

she said something about seeing each other less, that she wouldn’t cut you off, but you refused let her have any access to you after saying all that - it seemed insulting to you, degrading even, after everything you’d done, you wouldn’t just be her hookup, her play-thing, without the romance you had shared up until then, so you just said "yeah no I can’t do this, I can’t" and walked out of her apartment before you might have thrown up or cried or collapsed or worse, trying to keep your dignity in tact, fleeing the scene.

Van tried to say something like "hey, stop, no I didn’t mean-" as you stormed out but it was too late, she had hurt you too deeply, had crushed your heart, so the moment you were gone, she fell into a self-hatred that was so dark and awful that she didnt open the store for three days after.

Van knew she fucked up BAD. she knew it was just her stupid old urge to push people away the second they had the ability to hurt her, but in the process she had been the cruel one, she had used her fear of vulnerability to make you deeply regret yours and it killed her. she definitely got drunk out of her mind that night to drown out the voices that told her "you didn’t deserve her anyway. she’s better off like this. you’re an awful fucking person. using a girl like that. you deserve to be alone. to die alone."

you were absolutely broken and wrecked to your core from the sudden break-up, you were shattered, so, when she sent you a text the next day saying "I am so sorry, I handled that so badly, can we talk again sometime?" you just said "no. leave me alone, Van. find someone else to fuck." and blocked her number after because you were so hurt in your pride.

you had opened up to her, in a way you hadn’t to anyone else before, you had given her your heart and soul, you had the most intimate sex of your life with her, you talked to her day and night, fell in love with her - the way she seemingly had for you - only for her to ruin it all for no reason other than vague nonsense about not being suited for a relationship, when youd never even asked her for one! part of you wanted to cave and run back to her but you promised yourself to keep your heart guarded from that point on.

the pain was too much. you were too scared of seeing her again and just breaking apart crying, having to be held by her, losing your dignity. you were so devoted to her for two months, you had been convinced that you had found your future girlfriend, that it was only a matter of time, judging by the way she looked at you and kissed you and held you, and you promised yourself to never ever let her have you again.

for a week it was absolute and utter hell. you completely isolated yourself and slept whenever you weren’t busy because you couldn’t face reality while not being distracted - you lost your appetite, ignored calls and texts, stayed inside on the weekend, neglected your chores and just tried to go more than a few hours without crying (it hardly ever worked. once you broke out in tears in the middle of the street because a song that reminded you of her came on)

after that first week, spite and anger took over. you tried to tell yourself that she was just some middle aged loser and that you could find way better than her (that didn’t help at all) - you watched films with actors she hated as a “fuck you” to her but it didn’t work either, it obviously only made you think of her more - you were irritable and pissed off and almost broke a plate once when you stood in the kitchen and remembered how she’d held you in her sleep, how she’d helped you shower when you were sick once, how she had kissed your back all the way down your spine when you laid on her bed face down, how she’d just sat there after doing all that and told you it was “too much” for her. as if she hadn’t been the one to shower you in affection first. as if you’d ever pushed her to do a thing.

about two weeks later you almost unblocked her because you were so miserable and lonely without her, but you were steadfast and just cried your eyes out each night instead, wishing she hadn’t ruined it, hadn’t pushed you away, the memory of her laugh and her scent and her hands all over you and her voice over the phone haunting you and messing with you so horribly that you cursed yourself for blindly falling for her the way you had.

eventually you managed to regulate your feelings somehow but you still avoided walking down the street where you two had always gone to get coffee. you still flinched whenever you saw a woman with long red hair. you still dreamed of her, all the time, hoping and praying that she was being eaten up by guilt. that she regretted it all. that she hadn’t gotten over you already.

how she got you back:

three months after you broke it off, you were sitting at a cafe, doing some work, blissfully unaware of what was about to happen.

Van had just gotten her cup of coffee and thought it would be really weird to sit at a table near you without acknowledging you at first, so she got over her absolute panic and tapped you on the shoulder

for a few seconds you stared at her, not smiling, not frowning, just processing, overwhelmed by the thought "fucking hell. I still love her." the moment you laid eyes on her face, her freckles, her hair, a bit messy but pretty as always, her outfit that was one of your favorites of hers, your whole body buzzed with that old need to reach out and touch.

still, you tried to mask it and just said "oh... hi." as coldly and unfeelingly as you could manage. Van was really nervous and a bit awkward as she said "hey. sorry, I really hope I am not disturbing you. uh, would you mind if I-" she gestured at the seat across from you. you crossed your arms and remained somewhat stoic as you said "sure, yeah", trying to act like her voice wasnt burning your whole body up, wasnt forcing the echo "I missed her, I missed her, I missed her" into your mind.

she sat down and drank from her coffee and cleared her throat, while you just sat there watching, waiting for her to talk because you wouldn’t make it easy for her.

Van started by saying "so, how have you been?" immediately regretting it after, realizing how weird that was to say to someone whose heart you had broken mere months before. you gave her a puzzled look and just said "well, I’ve been better. but it’s fine, nothing much changed since we last spoke." you wanted her to feel bad and she did. she really did. so she cut the small talk and got to what she had wanted to say to you for weeks.

her voice was quiet and low when she said. "okay. listen. I am really glad I ran into you here, because I wanted to apologize, properly. I know that it won’t change a thing and I know you might not wanna hear it but I need you to know that I regret it horribly. what I did. what I said. how I said it. everything. it was just... yeah I was awful to you." she admitted, looking at her hands, not at you. you could tell she meant it, you could hear the hurt in her voice, you almost teared up but you didnt say a word. you waited for the rest.

she went on "and I need you to know that it had absolutely nothing to do with you." and that made you scoff then, laugh almost, but she shook her head and insisted "no please, I mean that, it was my fucking issues, nothing you did", but you interrupted her and said, "Van you do realize that that is insanely hard to believe right? to be cut off like that out of nowhere, after everything we did together, of course that made me feel like fucking shit. like I went wrong somewhere without knowing. of course I have been wondering about what I did wrong, what else would I be doing?".

that made her feel even worse. her eyes went all soft when she saw it written all over your face and she had to stop herself from reaching out to touch your hand. she sighed and thought for a second before changing strategies.

"okay, this is gonna sound so weird but please bear with me. you have never googled me, have you?" she said next, which confused the hell out of you. you shook your head and she said "yeah I figured, because uh... well. you’d have seen something. go on and look up my name for a second, and add the word "yellowjackets"" she told you. you almost asked her to leave and stop the weird shit but you felt generous so you said "okay." and pulled out your phone, curious enough to see what on earth she was referring to.

Van realized that it would take ages for her to explain all of her trauma and all of the reasons why she is fucked up in regards to trust and feeling dependent on someone, why letting herself be open scared her, on a visceral physical level - she knew she wouldn’t be able to find the right words, she’d tried, she’d drafted letters and texts and had despaired over what to say if she ever saw you again, but sitting there she thought fuck it. might as well try this.

you typed in her full name and added "yellowjackets" after - Van watched your face intently, a bit scared, a bit embarrassed and saw it then: your utter disbelief. the search results flashed in front of your eyes: words like "plane crash", "mysterious case", "true crime", "cannibalism", "cult", "miracle", "rescue". a bunch of links to podcasts discussing the case of the plane that crashed in the 90s with a high school soccer team and sure enough her name "Van Palmer" among a bunch of others, again and again, a blurry picture of a young redhead that was obviously her next to other girls.

you couldn’t process it - you silently scrolled through a few articles and skimmed them as she whispered "yeah.... yeah. and I am not making you look at that to use it as an excuse for how I acted, absolutely not, that was my fault, fully. but maybe this sheds a light on why I am... well. you know" - "fucked up" you finished her thought, which made her laugh in relief, the fact that dark humor was still something you were willing to offer her, "yes. exactly."

you hated to admit it but it did make you see things a bit differently then - she’d told you about her mother, her home life, and that horrible nightmare-ish experience on top of her already less than ideal upbringing seemed like an explanation for how she’d acted, why she might have some issues with closeness. it wasn’t an excuse but you could acknowledge that her trauma was uniquely awful: at age seventeen, all of that.

for second you felt like crying, thinking of her at that age, being that scared and hurt. in a way it impressed you almost, that she wasn’t a completely lost cause, that she was so charming and funny and able to put up a tough front. a lot of conflicting feelings swirled around in you then.

her heart beat out of her chest as she watched you process it all but she was also a bit impressed by the fact that you didnt seem scared or disgusted. she was prepared for you to yell at her that she was a fucking freak for keeping that from you, that she was a disgusting person and should leave you alone for good, that you felt deceived, but you did none of that.

you were quiet and eventually put the phone down, looking at her, and shaking your head, sighing, "god. so you lived in the fucking woods for 19 months as a girl and actually survived all that??" unable to believe it. Van nodded and said "yeah... would have been better for you if I had perished out there, huh", which got the first hint of a smile from you. you tilted your head and said "no. it wouldnt have.", genuine, almost as if to say "you idiot. I love you so fucking much." which didn’t escape her.

Van was bold enough to touch your hand then, to hold it and to say "god I am so sorry. really. I thought of you every day, it killed me." she confessed. "so did I." you told her, which only softened her more. she leaned forward and squeezed your hands, whispering "please. you don’t have to forgive me at all but give me another chance. let me make it up to you."

you really struggled then for a second because you had told yourself again and again that she was dead to you, that she would never be allowed to have you again, but looking at her in that evening light, her hair on fire, her face kind and open - actually seeing her again, hearing her, feeling her touch, it made it impossible to deny it: you wanted her back. you wanted her back more than anything.

she seemed genuinely sorry and you knew you would regret it all your life if youd deny yourself a second chance with her, so you nodded tentatively and said "alright. let’s see what you got", which made her smile as if the sun had just come up for the first time since three months of pitch black. she couldn’t believe that youd actually agreed, so she took both your hands in both of hers and kissed your knuckles briefly, while saying "I missed you... I missed you so much."

in that moment you thought about her past, the fact that the woman youd cried over for weeks had been the subject of many articles and podcasts and crime documentaries, and you hadn’t been aware at all - it made you feel an unexpected rush. a sense of power. that someone who apparently had a past of brutality and cannibalism and feral living, had often been so soft and submissive with you, had let you boss her around and manhandle her, had wanted you to. it made your grin to yourself, and she caught it, that you liked it, having someone with a past like that throwing yourself at your feet while begging for forgiveness.

it turned you on, to think that Van was portrayed as a barbaric monster in some of the discussions about her time out there, when she had often surrendered to you, had never tried to overpower you because she liked being your baby, she liked being all weak in private, while seeming tough out in public. she had missed it terribly, she had missed it to a point of almost going insane, the way she had felt in your arms, when you stroked her hair and kissed her, when you gave her exactly what she needed, when you turned her on with just a simple touch.

"so uh" she said then "do you wanna maybe.. come home with me, like.. right now" you agreed and got up with her to leave the cafe and go to her place which was a few blocks away.

as you walked, you definitely teased her about what you had just found out, asking her things like "so. did you guys all have group lesbian stuff going on out there, or..." which she laughed at and said "oh, no, nothing that fun, we were too busy starving and fighting and having freaky religious ideas to all fuck each other. but who knows, maybe I just don’t remember" she was glad to see that you could laugh with her again, that you let her take your arm, that you were amused by her past instead of disgusted or shocked.

"I really fucking suffered you know" you said as you took off your jacket in her apartment "I couldn’t eat for like three days after, I cried so much it started pissing me off, I couldn’t go anywhere because it all reminded me of you. you did me in good" you were in the mood to rub it in a bit, and it worked, she made a sound of pain and looked at you "no, no, stop", but you went on as you sat down on the couch and said "yeah, I was a wreck, you ruined me."

Van joined you and said "if it makes you feel any better if was close to calling 911 on myself not once but twice because I was convinced you could physically die of heartache, so. there’s that." you could tell she wasnt lying, so you said "yeah it does actually", not meaning it, since you hated the idea of her in pain, even when you were cross with her.

you wouldn’t just let her kiss you. you sat close together and she was clearly very desperate to touch you, so you said "beg me for it. I remember you being quite good at that." your tone stern, your eyes never leaving hers, and that made her weak in the knees then.

she flushed and nodded as she leaned closer to you and whispered "I missed you so much, you have no idea. I dreamed of you all the time, all the fucking time, I havent been with anyone since, I couldn’t, didnt want to. I need you to touch me so bad, please. please..." she kissed your cheek, once, twice, a third time, gently, as she caressed your neck, waiting for you to cave. you closed your eyes and soaked it up, being pleaded with. she gave you more, "I will do whatever you want, I will do anything. you can do whatever you want to me."

that was the way to win you over for good, she knew it, you opened your eyes again and took her face in your hands then. you stared at her lips, then at her eyes and said "I should punish you, you know."

instead of protesting Van sighed "please. yes." which made you lean in and breathe against her lips, smiling "yeah?", her whole body hot with sheer need.

Van had always been somewhat of a masochist but with you, right then, it was even more intense because she believed she deserved whatever pain you would make her feel. she craved it. she wanted you to take it out on her. she wanted to repent. you could tell. but you would keep that for another time. in that moment, all you wanted was to have her at your mercy, and you did, so you eventually leaned in and kissed her.

the hours after were a total blur. all of your unspoken feelings bursting out at once, both of you clinging to each other and kissing like you had been separated for years - it was deeply charged and emotional and intense in a way that surpassed everything you’d done before, you almost cried at certain points when you fucked that evening, both of you, because you’d missed it so much. the one upside of all the ache and the hurt over her was that fucking again made you both orgasm in ways that almost scared you in their intensity, similar to your first time of having sex, but so different too, a shared attempt at melting back into each other after your period of almost dying of heart ache over each other.

from that point on Van worshipped the ground you walked on. she had been a sweet lover before but the thrill of you letting her back into your life, opening your heart again, made her feel such a deep sense of gratitude, that she became an even better lover to you, just to prove herself worthy of your grace. she wouldnt lose you again. no way. no way in hell.

the day after getting back together, in the morning, she used a quiet moment to look at you and ask "so. do you want to be my girlfriend." making sure that you knew she was deeply serious about you, that she was not going to back away again, that she wanted you to be hers for good.

you took a second to answer, to make her wait, but then you smiled and said "yes. of course." which made her come over to where you were sitting to tightly wrap her arms around you from behind and kiss your neck, whispering "I love you, I did all along, you know", something neither of you had said before, and she didnt expect you to say it back but you did - you stood up and face her, your hands on her waist "I love you too. so much. it nearly cost my sanity". Van kissed you then and as she felt you give into it and caress her skin under her shirt, she thought of the world "girlfriend" over and over and wondered how she ever convinced herself that that wasn’t exactly what she had wanted all along: you, being hers, all hers.

a bonus, how you had sex after you got back together, including the punishment idea:

you once tied her arms to her bed, to make her watch you as you got off. Van just squirming and whining and growing unbearably wet as she watched you touch yourself - you getting turned on from her gaze burning into your body as you jerked yourself off and gave her a good show, knowing it was killing her that she couldnt touch you or herself - you threw a "you sound pathetic" her way in the middle of it, to try and be mean, but predictably that only turned her on more... you weren’t all that sadistic, so after you finished and untied her, you let her lap up the mess youd made and let her get you off again.

before that though, you pushed your fingers down her throat to make her lick off your cum, but that wasn’t a punishment at all, she sucked your fingers off gladly, and deep down you knew that you were giving her what she needed, that she wasn’t suffering one bit, that she was delighted by your dominance

overstimulation. yeah, god help her... you did that already before but after you got back together, you really got into it: fucking her senseless, leaving her a shaking mess, making her cry from how relentlessly you were pleasuring her - telling her "this is what you wanted, right?" while giving her yet another orgasm, her just taking it and pretending it was too much when it absolutely wasn’t - few things pleased her more than having you manhandle her and get all over her, teasing her, pinning her down, adjusting her position to eat her out from the back while she cried into the pillow and lost her mind.

bruises. you had never been shy with bruising her but after getting back together, you definitely got more aggressive with it, sensing that she wanted it, having a physical reminder of your force - on her inner thighs or her chest or her neck. she loveees it, seeing bruises on her body when she gets dressed, makes her feel claimed <3

on the other hand, when you were on the receiving end, she loved being on her knees, especially during the weeks after you got back together - she loved to have you standing up or at the edge of the bed while she hurt her knees to please you, to eat you out with feverish need, to give you exactly what you needed and to be in a position of repentance. her every touch a way of saying "I love you. I wish I had never hurt you. I will be so good to you from now on. so so good. my baby" and it worked: you were all hers when she got like that, moaning her name and tugging at her hair and letting her take care of you, opening up again, literally.

sometimes you’d sit on the couch and complain about a random ache in your body and she’d immediately be like "I got it" and get you to lay back so she could give you head, whether you were dealing with period cramps or back pain or general discomfort, she would immediately be of service (I think her approach to topping/giving is rather submissive, she just wants to please, that’s it, no need to give orders, she just wants to take them and please, and she does. always.)

you definitely fucked so much during your first week back together that you both got sore from it and had to slow it down... you were starveeeed.

about a month into it, things got settled, you were used to being openly in love by then, being girlfriends - you realized that you had all the time in the world and fell into a comfortable rhythm, both in and outside of the bedroom - you knew each other so well that it came naturally. you also moved into her place eventually <3 and you took a trip together for the first time to get away and have a feeling of a fresh start <3

yeah, thats it 💌

[latibvles]

THE TASTE THAT YOUR LIPS ALLOW.

this week on longform ficwriting that nobody asked for — june & benny first kiss that has been rotating in my head like a rotisserie chicken for the past few months. a special thanks to @flipfloplogic & @upontherisers for lending me two lovely girls who get some name drops in this (Missy Campbell and Henrietta Hobbs, namely)! No warnings for this one besides yanno, June being dramatic as per usual.

[ Read it here on AO3! ]

The lipstick’s out in the hut tonight.

Fern’s singing, so it’s a given. They flew a practice mission today while the other three squads flew over the channel — she went right to the Red Cross girls to ask about hair rollers after the fact. Her hair’s long enough for that now, and she was brimming with excitement about the prospect of “dolling herself up.”

As usual, the beds are alight with conversation.

“And you all better be on your feet,” Fern declares from her spot by the mirror, near the door. “Or I’ll never forgive you for it.” She’s dappling rouge onto her cheeks, soft and subtle enough to get past uniform regulation.

“Yes ma’am,” Missy Campbell, one of Rivera’s girls, affirms from her spot on Jo’s bed, where she’d been showing Jo a letter she’d gotten from her husband down in… Australia? Something like that.

“Oh I know you got me, Soup,” Fern hums, June can practically hear the wink that accompanies the affirmation. “I’m talking to that little rain cloud in the corner over there.”

June lifts her hand, and gives Fern the bird from her spot laid out on her bed, staring up at the curved ceiling. Fern giggles still, and June feels her cheeks burning.

“Come on, Juney,” she pleads in that sing-song tone that she so often uses to get whatever she wants, whenever she wants. June’s resolved to not give in this time. Instead she scoffs, rolling her eyes from her spot and letting her hand fall unceremoniously onto her stomach.

“Hm. No. I could say it in Polish if you want.”

“Nie, right?”

“Well somebody better call the General, Sergeant Carmine’s trilingual!” June announces sarcastically, raising her hand in a faux-triumphant fist before letting it fall once more. That garners a laugh, although it might just be because of the ridiculousness of their current bickering.

“So mean,” Fern counters, more than likely faux-pouting in the mirror, which garners in a few scattered, quiet laughs.

“S’fine,” Lena hums. June can see her crossing the room to sidle up behind Fern, patting her shoulders. “Just send DeMarco after her. She’ll sing a different tune then.”

June’s head snaps up.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!” She asks — or rather, demands — her voice raising in pitch. She can see Lena’s smile in the mirror’s reflection, watches her shrug her shoulders and June has to fight every urge to cross the threshold and shake the woman around until she fesses up her secrets. As if Lena can sense June’s current urges, her grin only grows infuriatingly wide.

“You just seem to be spending a lot of time together is all,” Lena hums, but June scowls.

“We do not.”

“Very convincing,” Lena counters, “It’s like he’s got Meatball on a leash and you’ve got him on a leash. Making sure he doesn’t wander off or something. Like he’s gonna get lost and wind up in France.” June hates that it’s a good joke. There’s another round of laughter from the other girls, she even sees Willie in her corner of the hut running a hand over her mouth, trying to maintain a level of composure. June has half a mind to shove her head beneath her pillow and call it an early night. She doesn’t though. She rolls her eyes, standing up and crossing over to swat at Lena’s head. Lena ducks out of it and grins, sticking her tongue out.

“Missed me.”

“I was doing you a favor. Trying to knock your goddamn screws back into place.” June declares, cheeks burning as she glowers at Lena, who’s unsurprisingly all smiles.

“If you two mess me up, I’ll tell Benny you’ve both got the hots for him and started a cat-fight in the barracks over it,” Fern declares as she sweeps a brush over her upper lashes, drawing attention to the vibrant green of her eyes as she paints her eyelashes black. Lena takes a couple steps back, hands in the air in mock surrender. She's still snickering and June thinks her head might just light on fire.

"He's all yours, Junebug," she offers, and June scoffs, throwing her hands up in the air before making her way out of the hut into the waning twilight. Sometimes the clouds break and make for a half-decent sunset out here — orange and purple broken up by chunks of white clouds and wispy chem-trails.

A few feet off, she hears a dog barking, and elects to ignore the beat of butterfly wings once again making themselves present in the pit of her stomach.

—

It isn't that she has a problem with liking Benny DeMarco.

Okay, that's not exactly the truth, either. She does have a problem with it. Mostly that she doesn't want to like him — didn't want to before, but for some reason he wasn't deterred by her habit of snapping at whatever and whoever inconvenienced her in a day. It made him a good friend, and presumably, a great pilot to his boys. That patience of his that has him dragging her to the nurse's station after dark to tend to her torn knuckles. That keeps him from being mad at her when she does something admittedly dumb.

She knows that she is, innately, hard to swallow. And while June isn't especially ashamed of that fact, she also knows that there are easier girls to be around — even in the influx of female crews coming to replace the ones lost. Nice, pretty girls, who he doesn't have to scruff like a stray kitten trying to take out someone's eyes.

So maybe it's not a problem with liking Benny DeMarco, and more like a problem with the nearly-impossible chance that he could like her, too. There's a war on, which is much more pressing than whatever inconveniences she could thrust upon him. And either way: he never would, a fact that has her stomach twisting in a knot in a weird mix of rejection and relief.

"Juuuuuuuney," Harrie's waving in her face, pulling her from her thoughts. She's sat between Jo on her left and Henry on her right. Across from her, Harrie's looking at her puzzled, with Carrie right next to her and an open seat right next to the younger girl. "You hear a thing I jus' said?"

June clears her throat, looks down at her beer.

"Repeat?"

Harrie smiles, seemingly unbothered by June's poor listening skills.

"Cap's birthday's next month, s'what I was sayin'. Wanna know what t'get 'er."

"We still do birthdays?"

"I'm still doin' birthdays," Harrie declares, tilting her nose up proudly into the stuffy air of the O-Club. "We did your birthday. N' we did Fern's in Iowa," she points out. Harrie casts a look across at Fern, who's talking to the conductor over by the band with her megawatt smile, made impossibly brighter by her red-painted lips. She claps and bounces on her feet, which is how June knows she's got her way again.

"So what're you gonna get her?" June asks, resting her fist on her cheek.

"I was thinkin' maybe a nice scarf or somethin'. Could ask my mama to knit it. Gets cold up here 'round fall," she explains, and June's listening, but she's also taking in the space around them. Lorraine and Lena are over by the bar, shoulder-to-shoulder. Willie's by the Bucks. Inez is listening to some conversation Croz and Payne are having that she can't hear from over here.

No Benny yet. She elects to ignore the urge to get up and go sniff him out, not wanting to give anyone at the table ammunition.

"Dunno what I'll get her. I'll sign the card, though," June leans back in her seat. Over on the other end of the room, Fern giggles into the mic and greets everyone with her signature: You all miss me?

Scattered clapping, a couple loud whistles and a Hey Fernie! from Dougie, somewhere else in the room. June feels a hand on her shoulder, and nearly jumps three feet in the air. She whips her head around, tilts it up.

Benny smiles down at her apologetically. There's a stray curl brushing his forehead, falling out of place.

"Didn't mean to scare you," he offers as the other girls start getting up, understanding the assignment given to them back in the huts.

"You didn't scare me," June huffs. "Just… surprised me." She feels warm again. Can see Lena's traitorous grin and Fern's half-baked threat about telling Benny she's got "the hots" for him.

"Alright. Didn't mean to surprise you then," Benny corrects. She thinks he'll make a move to sit, but he doesn't as the music kicks up again and Fern starts singing; loud and proud and melodic in a way that Bucky knows he's not. She recognizes the song, too — Harry James, Helen Forrest, she'd heard it a couple times stateside. His hand is still on her shoulder, a paperweight pressing her into her spot.

She thinks, briefly, that if he retracts it she might melt into the floor. It's a thought that bruises her ego, if nothing else.

Benny looks like he's debating something before he says it, hand moving to run through his hair instead of ensuring she doesn't run from him. The strand just flops back onto his forehead defiantly.

"Dance with me."

June pulls a face.

"Get turned down by a Red Cross Girl or something?" she asks, brows furrowing. Benny puts his hand over his chest, still smiling even as he feigns hurt.

"Low blows, Juney. You mad at me?"

"No," she counters, suddenly feeling embarrassed. "Just think you got options, is all." Easier ones, at that. Benny shrugs, lips pulling into a contemplative pout, nodding slowly.

"Maybe," he counters. "But I'm askin' you," he then casts a look towards Fern, over by the band. "And maybe saving your skin." June snorts at that, rolling her eyes.

"My hero," she chuckles a bit, looking down at the floor for a moment before meeting his warm, dark eyes once again.

"Yeah well, I'll be here all night." Benny grins, teasing, and offers his hand to her. She stares at it for a long second — a couple torn callouses on his palms. She's been yanked along by him enough times to know they're warm, rough. She tries not to shudder at the idea of those hands pressed into the small of her back.

She sighs, and takes it.

"Thanks for sparing my feelings," Benny teases again, half-tugging her towards the floor where people are already dancing.

"Sparing your feelings would be declining." June lets him tug her towards him, her hand finding his shoulder to steady herself. "The real victim here is gonna be your toes."

"I can forgive it," he offers of her. His hand is warm on the small of her back. June glances down at their feet, self-conscious in a way that's foreign to her. His thumb traces a small circle where it presses against her uniform. "I've gotcha though. Think I'm a halfway decent lead."

"You think?"

"I've got three sisters and a ma who all like dancing and I think at least one of them would tell me if I was bad by this point."

She laughs at that, looking up at him instead of fixing her gaze on the floor. He's laughing with her, breathy and still managing to crease the corners of his eyes.

"Well I'm trusting you, then." She offers and elects to ignore the weight of a sentence like that.

Benny nods, moving with her around the floor, and she tries to keep looking at him to ignore the feeling that she's being watched in some regard. Like there's something to laugh at right now. She preferred being the center of attention when it came to her crew's flying, not so much her own shortcomings. Benny spins her and is grinning like a madman when she settles back in his arms, wondering if he grew a second head.

"Your brothers never teach you?"

"And give boys another excuse to talk to me? Hell no. Think my dad would throw a fit," she admits after she gets her bearings once more. Benny chuckles at that, nodding slowly.

"And what would they think of it if they were here now?"

Why are you asking me that?

"Piotr would be whisking me away and Antoni would be taking you out back to have a word." It's an immediate response, one that has Benny whistling low and has his brows raising, slightly nudging that hair that she can't stop staring at.

"I'll keep that in mind when I visit."

"When you visit?" June fixes him with an odd look, but he just smiles. She thinks, briefly, about how Meatball stares up at the two of them sometimes — mouth open in a pant, tail wagging without a worry in the world.

"Well if I'm allowed that is. You banning me from the residence, Juney?"

"You don't even have my address."

"Well can I have it?" June blanches at him. She can't really tell if he's kidding or not when he asks that. He spins her again, a little slower, like he's giving her time to think about it without him staring at her. June sighs, reaches up to tuck that stray, defiant hair back into place, and rolls her eyes.

"You're ridiculous." She can feel her cheeks burning, and Benny chuckles.

"That wasn't a no." He points out, and he's right. No, it wasn't. But if she thinks too long about the idea of him showing up on her apartment building's front stoop in his dress uniform, she'll wrench herself out of his hold right now and run for the hills before she does something stupid.

"My mother likes violets," she says instead, tilting her nose up. He nods again.

"Hope that keeps me from getting thrown out on my ass, then."

"No promises," June declares.

And there it is again, butterflies in the pit of her stomach. She wonders if he can feel the sweat forming on her palms, which leads into her wondering if he's disgusted by the warm dampness of it.

When the fuck has she ever cared so much about what a person thinks of her?

The song ends and another begins, this one much slower in nature. For a moment, June's breath hitches, and she swallows hard, feeling shy for once.

"I can go sit if you— if you wanna sit this one out," she points out, feeling obligated to give him that chance to maybe get another girl on the floor. Benny's smile turns almost shy. His hand presses a little firmer into her back, the other giving hers a squeeze.

"Do you want to?" She hates when he asks that, bouncing the ball back into her court and leaving her to make the decision. Because her brain's telling her yes, I want to, this is getting ridiculous, but that stupid desire to be near him is screaming no, no, no.

So maybe Lena's had it wrong the whole time — Benny's the one who's been holding the leash, and she's the dog that might just wander into occupied France if he doesn't tug it with stupid, unassuming questions like this.

"I… don't know," June answers, feeling dumb. He smiles, arm looping around to rest on her hip, pressing her closer to him and leading them in a sway. He leans forward and she feels like she might light on fire with his lips so close to her ear.

"I'll let you figure it out then. Feel free to run whenever you want."

Whenever I want, June parrots internally, ruefully. Sure, Benny, you're really making a great case for me running for the goddamn hills.

He's so warm like this, solid beneath her hand on his shoulder. June wonders if he can feel the powerful hammering of her pulse in her wrist, if he heard it when he lent down to mutter in her ear near that spot by her neck. Fern's still singing, low, smooth and sweet, a proper showgirl if there ever was one. It makes her want to hide, press her face into the crook of Benny's tanned neck and pretend that they're not here.

A dance hall in Chicago would be nice. One of the ones her friends from high school would drag her to begrudgingly — she never liked going to them, because she was no good at this. And she didn't want to give anyone an excuse to laugh at her.

"Whatcha thinkin' about?" he asks after a beat of quiet between them.

"First he wants to know my address and now he wants to read my mind. Anyone ever tell you that you're nosy?" June asks, just to feel that rumble of laughter against her.

"Mostly my sisters," he admits.

"Well they're right. And I was thinking of, uh, high school."

"Yeah? What about it?" June swallows, wondering how much she could share before she ends up as the butt of a joke.

"I used to hate dances. But I don't anymore. That's all."

He hums in that pensive, thoughtful way he always does when she says something that's more loaded than she means for it to be. Putting a little bit of space between them, he looks her over, and June tries not to squirm beneath his gaze. His lips part on a sentence she doesn't get to hear before the shrill sound of someone whistling pierces the room.

"C'mon everybody! Race in the Mess Hall!" she doesn't know who said it, but Benny tilts his head before letting go — not entirely, because he takes her hand in a familiar way and tugs along as people start flooding out of the O-Club. June makes a noise of protest, halfway between a whine and a shout of his name as they follow the flood of people.

"Didn't you eat dust last time?" June points out as the guys who have bikes start tugging them along towards the mess, from where they were lined up outside the club. Benny gives her a wide set grin, tugging her with one hand and his bike by the handles with the other.

"I did not, we had that bomb raid before we could call it. Have a little faith in me Juney," he counters, insistent as they stop in front of the mess. He pauses, swathed in the warm glow of the light from inside. It makes his hair look so much darker, his skin even more warm than before. His smile is blinding, the only thing between them being the bike handles. "Do I get a kiss for good luck?"

"What?"

"Benny! You in or what?" Benny looks into the room, then back at her. He hesitates, then walks into the room, still giving her that smile before he goes.

June feels like she's just been knocked in the chest, had all the oxygen siphoned from her lungs. Dizzy, she leans up against the entryway, watching all the guys shouldering and nudging at each other from their bikes, and her knees feel shaky. Her hands curl into fists.

He wasn't serious, she scolds herself, trying to shake it off. No way he was being serious.

And yet her feet can't move those couple steps to walk fully into the room — forcing people and, on occasion, their dates, to squeeze past her. She can't see him past so many people with dark hair and uniforms, and she doesn't even know if she wants to. What if he looks at her and she really does fizzle into dust, right there in the middle of their makeshift bike track?

She can't. She can't do any of it. She's stumbling back, until her feet hit the grass, and then she's standing there with cool summer wind piercing her clothes. It doesn't do much in way of cooling down her pinkened cheeks, but oxygen fills her lungs good and proper again as she turns her back to the door, hugging herself.

Her heart is still pounding, like it had when they danced, and when he'd touched her shoulder, and—

June could come up with an alphabetized list of all the times Benny DeMarco's made her heart race. She wishes it was something she could indulge happily, but really, it just makes her feel mad and dumb like a little kid with a school crush. Like he knows it and does it all on purpose to rile her.

She shuts her eyes, lets the wind brush against her face like it had a month ago when she'd laid in the grass and he'd watched over her to make sure "no other jokers let their dogs off the leash." The thought makes her squeeze herself tighter, like she could force the memory from her brain.

But she can't. He's embedded himself there.

June feels like she's been waiting there forever, but it's only maybe twenty minutes before the night swells again with laughter, people cheering and bemoaning losses, and of course—

"June! Hey, thought you went to—"

She's walking off before he can finish the sentence, towards the gravel road and down it, hoping that maybe Bucky's decided to go for a drunken nighttime drive and will run her over with a jeep. No such luck, the roads are empty and he can hear Benny behind her still.

"June? Slow down, would you?" Benny asks, and she feels the tips of his fingers brush her shoulder before she's turning around and trying to glare.

More hair brushing his forehead, expression so clearly puzzled.

"Your joke's not funny," June declares with a huff. His brows furrow.

"My… joke? What are you talking about?" June points an accusatory finger at him, face burning as she pokes his chest and crowds him.

"Your- your joke! That whole… kiss for good luck, visiting me stateside thing? It's not funny. It's mean!" She's thankful that they've moved far enough away that no one can pay much mind to her words, or her actions. "Did Lena put you up to it? Or was it- was it one of the Red Cross girls? Since it's so damn obvious, right? I'm just—"

"June, what are you talking about?!" Benny hasn't moved her finger from where it pokes at his chest, over his pilot's wings. The metal is cold against her finger tip, a sharp contrast from the warmth of him. She swallows hard.

"That I— That I like being around you! That I like you! It's all just a joke to you, right? That's why you asked that before that stupid bike race!"

"It wasn't a joke!"

Silence between them, heavy and only broken up by the distant murmurings of others. She stares at him, wide-eyed and flushed, finger still pressing into his wings. She feels like she's just run a marathon around the whole of England — heart pounding in her chest, ribs aching, face burning. She wants to bury her head in the dirt.

"What?"

She doesn't have any time to process it before it's Benny's hands on either side of her face. It's Benny, pulling her forward. It's Benny pressing his lips to hers, firm and insistent and warm. He's so warm. His lips taste like whiskey, and they're soft, and her knees are going weak — hardly registering what's happening here beyond that urge to kiss him back, which she does. Eyes fluttering shut, trying to match the pace he's set — insistent and hungry, like he's trying to convince her of something right now.

It's working, she thinks, feeling dumb as she reaches up to card her fingers through messy dark waves, ruining them further.

They part once her lungs start aching, but he hasn't let go of her. His finger traces a line against her jaw, and she stares up at him dumbfounded.

"I wasn't joking," Benny repeats, and June's well of words has run dry in the wake of it. Like in kissing her he's just stolen coherent thought from her as well. "Jesus Christ, June, you really think I'd be that mean? To you?"

She can't tell if she's really hurt him with that or not. She assumes that she has, and she stares at him for a long moment.

"I-I'm sorry.It's just—" June's lips press into a line. "…I'm pessimistic," she starts out. "And… and I'm not patient, not like you. And I hate losing, bad. And I'm really bad at staying up late and I suck at dancing and being all romantic and all that stuff that girls are s'posed to be good at and—"

"June," Benny cuts her off again, thumb sweeping over her cheek. "Makin' it real hard for me to follow you here, honey."

Her stomach twists at the nickname. She wants to kiss him again.

"I'm giving you a warning," June breathes out. Benny chuckles, searing a kiss between her brows.

"Don't need one. I know what I'm getting into," he insists. "S'why I like you."

Benny's smiling like he's just said the best pickup line of all time. And it works, because June is tilting her head to kiss him again and taste the last bits of whiskey on his lips.

[numbersandstars]

Debilitation Series: Venus in Chitra

A debilitated planet means this planet has reached the lowest point in its own sky. There, the planet lies on the ground in a strange place, feeling powerless... At least, it thinks so. The sign and the nakshatra where the planet is debilitated actually allow the planet to fight even more to get back on its feet and become successful.

Venus Debilitated in Chitra

Venus gets debilitated at 27° Virgo, that is to say, in Chitra nakshatra (Chitra: 23°20 Virgo to 6°40 Libra) Venus, the planet of love, has fallen flat onto the hard Virgo soil. Venus, full of ecstatic love, finds herself in a difficult place where peace is absent. Spiritual love can hardly flourish in a place where one has to constantly think about how to remedy material problems of all kinds: that is Mercury's thing, not Venus's. Now Venus has to deal with material details, rigid science, routine, diet, budget... The artistic Venus has to solve technical problems: she is asked to become an engineer. All this flow of challenges that arise constantly smothers her. Chitra's Virgo part is highly demanding: Venus feels irritated like Chitra's symbol, the pearl. And she knows she must become the bright pearl. Once overwhelmed by Chitra's virgo place, Venus wants to avoid any future obstacles: she eliminates all imperfections. Natives become faultless according to society's standards, expectations towards their physical identity. They are physically, externally perfect; women are hence beautiful. But what is the price of it?.... Stress, irritation, inflexibility, that are totally unseen. They actually smother in their Victorian corsets of material perfection. That automatically leads to dissatisfaction in relationships. Natives are used to spot any imperfections and alas, their partner has few of them. Conflicts arise. Then, natives look for the perfect person but it is not going to happen. Because nobody is perfect. Natives must make a choice: keeping their ego and their high standard, perfectionism or giving it all up for a thriving relationship. The best solution is the middle ground. Natives must become aware of their inner tension and accept their partner's flaws. They should also learn to let go of their materialistic tendencies a bit: the middle ground, which comes in Libra sign afterwards, is necessary to find peace. If natives are clever enough to use their debilitation to their advantage, they will use their artistic sensitivity and creativity in service of solid systems. They can beautify their environment and their routine, which will appease them. Relationships with women will be more tense, hence natives need to show affection to them. Women that natives will meet will generally have these Chitra traits.

[anthromimicry]

[trollbreak]

Girl help I’m on about peipre and yarrow hopelessly pining after each other the second the other one isn’t looking

[professorlegaspi]

AU in which Aunt Agatha is more uptight and disallows Celia to go to Renasci. Instead, she sends her to finishing school

[joelsgoldrush]

“crawl home to her” | 7.5k

old man!logan x f!reader

SUMMARY: Will he be able to control himself once he's near you? In this moment, he feels more animal than human. Creeping, on the verge of crawling, back to you. OR Like a sinner seeking absolution, he finds his way back to you after every absence, as if you're the only salvation he's ever known.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ cursing. drinking. dirty talk. some fluff. comfort. feelings. self-deprecation. miscommunication. sort of established relationship. age gap (reader's in her late 20s). petnames. religious imagery. logan's POV. chauffeur!logan. dom!logan. reader wears logan's dog tags and clothes. pussy pronouns. phone sex. oral sex (f and m receiving). 69. fingering. masturbation (he jerks off in the limo). one (1) single spank. sort of rough sex. unprotected p in v. creampie.

A/N: i wrote this as a part 2 of this story, but still, it can be read as a standalone (i'd recommend that you also read the first part as well 👀 you'll understand their relationship better). hope you like this one! <3

Logan is tired. Bone-deep, soul-crushingly tired.

He takes a slow, deliberate drag from his cigar, letting the smoke curl inside his chest, teasing his lungs. Doesn’t even bother to crack the window open—why would he?—before exhaling, the haze lingering inside the limo like a fog.

One quick glance at his phone screen just to make sure his vision isn’t screwing him over—no older notifications. A pang of disillusionment settles in his being.

Not only is he fighting to keep his eyes open, exhausted from driving the same family around for the past few days while they enjoy their quality time, but he’s also bored out of his mind. 

Where the hell are you?

He adjusts his glasses, pushing them higher up on the bridge of his nose, preventing them from sliding down to his lap. When his phone buzzes, he jolts, nearly hitting his head on the roof of the limo due to his excitement.

His poor heart gallops as he fumbles with the screen, unlocking it with the same urgency as a man starved for contact.

But it’s not you. It’s one of his passengers.

We’re getting out in half an hour, the message reads. By we, she means herself, her husband, and their two kids.

Logan can’t bring himself to type an actual reply, so he leaves her on read. She knows he’s not going anywhere, parked outside the arcade as if he’s rooted in place with no way out.

Family after family enters that hell on earth, kids of all ages bouncing on their heels, voices shrill with enthusiasm. He watches, half-heartedly, as parents get dragged by their little ones, who negotiate how much money they are allowed to spend tonight.

He almost feels bad for those parents. Almost. He hopes that at least they know how to say ‘No’.

All in all, he’s got another thirty minutes of solitude ahead. The radio has long since ceased to entertain him. He’s been parked here for two hours, and his mind is starting to drift. He could stretch his legs, walk around, or maybe grab a drink—but damn it.

He wants to talk to you.

You’d said he could call you after dropping the family off. That was three hours ago. The last message he received from you was still stuck in his head, replaying over and over like a lifeline. Logan knows you must be busy, probably taking care of Charles and—

Okay, he’ll get back to that later. 

You: Just got out of the shower. Call me in five?

Right now, he could die a happy man. Were he a dog, his tail would be wagging furiously, anticipation already building for the simple joy of hearing you.

Logan: Got it.

The next five minutes feel like an eternity. He finishes his cigar, flicking the stub beneath the seat without giving it a second thought. For now, he doesn’t care about being a messy fucker. He’ll deal with the mess some other time.

Priorities.

A quick spritz of some cheap air freshener he picked up from a gas station fills the car, masking the distinctive scent of smoke. God forbid the kids start whining about how ‘weird’ it smells in the limo.

With a grimace, he sprays a little more—floral, of all scents? It feels insulting.

How kind of him to still be this considerate.

His thumb hovers over your contact, and he presses the call button with an agility he hasn’t had in years (thanks to you).

One, two, three rings, and then—

“Logan,” you say softly, your voice a little breathless, like you’ve been hurrying all over the place.

He stops grinding his jaw, the tension in his shoulders easing. He unclenches his fists, fingers uncurling one by one, as if letting go of some invisible burden.

Outside the vehicle, people stop dying, babies stop being born, and the world itself pauses just for him to listen to you.

You can’t see him, but he smiles either way. “Hey, baby.”

“Gosh, I’m so sorry. I lost track of time talking to Charles. We had dinner, and then I just—I felt so gross, you know? From cooking and all that. Took a shower, and it got pretty late.”

You end with a sigh, and he imagines you rubbing a hand over your face. “Please tell me you weren’t sleeping when I texted you.”

“Not even close. Still waiting for them.”

“They’re really taking their time, huh?”

“You wouldn’t believe it,” he murmurs, his fingers drumming a soft rhythm on the steering wheel. “How was your day?”

“Great! I’m already in bed.”

“My bed.”

You laugh, that sweet sound making his heart stutter. “Well, yeah. Where else do you want me to sleep if I’m at your place? On the floor?”

If someone had told Logan a year ago that he’d let someone live in his space, let alone take care of Charles, he’d have scoffed. "Pathetic," he’d have said, rolling his eyes with that familiar growl in his throat. Pretty sure he’d also puffed his chest while saying so.

Because Logan Howlett wasn’t one for accepting help. He’s been on his own since the earth was still cooling down.

But for you? He made exceptions. Plenty of them. And if it weren’t for your altruism, he wouldn’t have accepted this job—a job that pays well enough to cover Charles’ meds and put food on the table. He needs this rich family’s money.

“You’ve got a girlfriend now?” Charles had asked, when Logan explained he’d be staying with you while he went away for a few days.

“Big word you’re using there,” Logan had replied, placing two pills into Charles’ palm. The old man gave him a death stare. “Don’t play dumb. It’s not like you don’t know the drill.”

Mumbling something incoherent before swallowing the pills, Charles had taken slow sips of water between each one, sinking back into the mattress with a weary sigh. “If she’s not your girlfriend, then what is she?”

“A friend.”

“That’s nice. Is that what they’re calling it now?”

He shakes that memory away, forcing his mind back to the call. “Try not to be so kind to him. What if he falls in love with you?” he inquires, a mocking tone weaving through his words. 

And that’s when you drop the bombshell. “You mean like you did?” 

You laugh, but Logan… doesn’t. He can’t do it. He makes sure he’s breathing on command: in and out, in and out, in and out. 

The mention of love unsettles him. He doesn’t feel safe anymore, doesn’t know what game you’re playing. Where’s the rulebook?

Is he—could he be—falling in love with you? Is that what you’re implying? And if so, do you feel the same?

In the long run, you mumble: “It was a joke.” Only then do his lungs fill with fresh air, untainted by the weight of his unease. But he can’t let it pass, the fact you sound disappointed. Defeated.

He promised himself he’d never hurt you. Though he doesn’t intend to, it feels as if he’s just stabbed you in the back, twisting the knife further into your frame—unwillingly.

“Remember the—” he pauses a moment, throwing his head back in frustration, silently cursing himself. “The pills. You’ve been giving them to him, right?”

“Yes, Logan.”

“Please, remember it’s only—”

“Logan,” you try again, cutting through the wave of his spiraling thoughts. He can picture you behind closed lids, looking at him through your lashes, your hand resting gently on his chest. “I have it under control, okay? He’s doing alright. I swear I’m taking good care of him.”

“I don’t doubt that, honey.” Casting a glance at the rearview mirror, he feels an unexpected sense of longing for your presence there, like a ghost haunting his every move, confined to the limits of his brain. “Can’t help but worry. That’s all.”

A soft hum reverberates through the line. He hears the rustle of sheets, the sound of you tossing around in his bed, and his pulse quickens at the thought.

“You said you’re sleepin’ on my bed.”

“Good memory you have.”

“You wearin’ my clothes as well?”

 Thick silence, the kind he relishes.

“Yeah,” you finally reply, shifting the phone from side to side. You take a deep breath, and add: “I forgot to bring mine.”

He hates how you easily find a way to get him riled up despite being miles away. It must be the power of words.

“I don’t believe you.” He knows he shouldn’t, hates himself for doing it, but one of his hands palms the half-hard bulge in his black slacks, suppressing a low groan. “Think you did it on purpose.”

A rush of heat, sharp and urgent, washes over him. Is he really about to do this? Get himself off in the very car he uses for work? Twisted, incredibly sick of him, he thinks.

Still, he craves more. “Tell me what you’re wearing.”

You laugh at his demanding tone, fanning the flames of his desperation. “When did you turn into a horny teenager?”

“Always been, baby,” Logan purrs, undoing the button of his pants, followed by the fly. His eyes flick upwards for just a moment—no cars, no one in sight. He’s presumably alone. It’s all the confirmation he needs to say: “C’mon. Tell your old man what clothes you stole from him.”

He’s never done this before—phone sex. He’s heard about it, sure, but never imagined he’d fall so hard for the idea. The thrill of it sinks into him, electrifying.

What are you doing? Is your lip caught between your teeth? Do your eyes wander down your own body? Maybe your fingers are already skimming over your skin.

“It’s just a random shirt,” you murmur. “Plain, white.”

“What else?”

“There’s nothing else.”

Logan’s breath hitches as his hand moves to his cock, spotting the damp patch on his briefs where the tip has already started to leak. The moment he slides the elastic down past his balls, he fists his shaft in a slow stroke, going from the base to the head. “No panties? And you expect me t’believe this wasn’t planned?”

Your muffled whimper is like molten lava spilling into his ear, bringing him to full hardness. More shuffling follows on your end, driving him wild with the anticipation. “Why do you do this to me if you’re not here?”

“‘Cause I want you touchin’ yourself just like I’m doin’.” He thumbs the head, hips jerking involuntarily at the sensation. He aches to feel your mouth there instead. “Bet that pussy’s been cryin’ out for me, huh? Must’ve got used to me fillin’ her every other night.”

Your breathing grows more uneven, small gasps filtering through the speaker. “I need you here with me. This is—ugh—not enough.”

“What’s not enough, sweetheart?”

There’s a pause as the sound of your phone shifts again, and then he hears it clearly—the wet, needy sound of your fingers working between your legs, filling the silence with the loud squelching of your cunt. “My fingers,” you blurt out, more distant than before, like you’re merging with the bed, dissolving with every touch.

Logan spits roughly into his palm, the slickness of his saliva easing the drag of his calloused hand along his length, good enough to make the movement more satisfying.

He moans aloud, eyes shut tight, your name slipping from his lips, a whispered prayer, as if saying it could somehow summon you to his side. “I spoil you too much,” he rasps, wedging his phone between his ear and shoulder, using every resource available to him, anything to feel something real. “Seems like you’ve forgotten how to make yourself come.”

Your moans follow his, the breathy sounds a clear sign of how close you are, hanging on the edge, your release just a heartbeat away. But it’s not enough, and you need him. He wonders if you can feel his thoughts from miles away, because— “Want your cock so bad, Lo. I m-miss you.”

He has to stop jerking himself to hold off his orgasm, stomping his foot against the pedals. “Fuck, darlin’. You keep sayin’ those things and I swear I’ll be back with you by morning.”

His sole focus now is you—getting you to come. Driven by his growing frenzy, it’s the only coherent thought that claws through the haze in his mind. “Keep talking, please,” you plead, fingers still lost in the heat of your body. “Tell me what you’ll do to me when you see me.”

Logan picks up the rhythm again, his movements faltering as his chest heaves, ragged breaths spilling out while his hand works faster. “Gonna fuck you slow and deep, just how you like it. Face to face, so you can kiss me as much as you want, ‘cause I know my girl loves that, am I right?”

My girl. He’ll regret that one the second the high fades and clarity sets in.

Word after word falls from his lips without thought, uncontrollable, as though he’s surrendered to the storm of desire raging in his being—a storm in which your name is the eye of it all.

You are everywhere, and you take up all the empty spaces he thought were impossible to fill, sinking into the depths of his unconsciousness.

Not a single part of him is left untouched by you, by the power of your presence in his life, consuming him in ways he never imagined.

Your airy mewls ripple through the line, feeding his ravenousness, adding to the tightening knot of pleasure coiling low in his abdomen. His muscles strain, thighs tensing. Each stroke of his hand prolongs this sweet torture. 

“Come for me, princess. You’d make me so h-happy if you came right now.”

And you do, because it’s not just his touch anymore—it’s his voice, and the way he commands you without force. How you’ve become accustomed to him, nodding along to each instruction he mutters.

Beneath your fingers, your swollen clit pulses, and though he can’t see it, he imagines it perfectly, having spent enough time worshiping it.

He knows, even from a distance, what your body must be doing. Your back arching off the bed, thighs quivering and clenching tight around your own hand. Those perfect legs of yours trembling as you reach your so-desired climax.

Loud and unrestrained, you moan, and for a moment, he wants to be with you so badly that he ponders if the theory of traveling across time and space sounds that far-fetched after all.

Logan doesn't need much after that for the thread to snap at long last, his groans dying on his lips as he stares in awe at the spurts of his seed landing wherever his eyes fall: a bit on the top of his pants, on his hand, his briefs. His cock twitches in his grip as he continues stroking himself through the aftershocks, gulping when it becomes too much to handle.

So phone sex is off the list now. Great.

“Miss you, too,” he mumbles once he’s caught his breath, tossing his glasses onto the passenger seat. His forehead feels damp to the touch, and he contemplates when was the last time he came this hard.

The elephant in the room hasn’t been addressed yet. He knows you expect him to say more, something deeper and rawer, but that’s all he can force himself to spit out.

Sometimes, he forgets that you can’t read him all the time. Although you know him better than anyone else, there are certain thoughts and memories locked tightly inside him, things you'd never discover on your own. Secrets he admits he should share with you, but he’s at a loss for how. Words aren’t doable when he needs them the most.

Maybe it's a matter of age—you’re a natural at voicing your feelings.

At some point, you ask: “When did you say you were returning?”

One thing’s clear: he can’t afford to lose you. He’d be an idiot if he let that happen.

“In five days, I think.” Were he with you, he'd hold you in his arms, kissing your lips. God, how he misses kissing you. All of you. “I’ll keep you updated.”

“It’s okay,” you respond, and in his mind, a blank canvas fills with the familiar image of you lying on your side, curling into a ball the way you always do. “I should go to sleep. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Sure.” Thank you for everything. “Get some rest.” Are you still in love with me? “Bye.” I’m coming back. You know how I feel about you, do you?

So much left unsaid, words he lacks the strength to speak. That, along with his come-stained clothes. And, of course, the limousine now perfumed like a flower shop.

Exhaustion clings to him again.

His luck has never been this good.

The next afternoon, one of the couple’s kids falls ill. Must be something he ate, the woman tells Logan, her voice light, though he can hear the shuffle of urgency behind her words.

Her husband packs their bags in the background, the muted thuds of luggage hitting the floor. You know how children are. Their hands are always filthy!

What she doesn’t realize is that Logan, in fact, doesn’t know how children are, because how could he?

He’s holed up in the hotel across the street, his only responsibility being to wait on their call, ready to drive whenever they needed him. Needless to say, his accommodations are nothing like theirs. Not that he minds it—he’s not one for luxury, has never needed it.

Truth be told, he’s no stranger to beds that groan if you shift slightly, clogged toilets that spit back water like they’re alive.

Joy rushes through him when he hears the news. He’s coming back earlier than expected, a thrill building in his chest. Twelve days he’s been away, his greed growing with each second in that desolate hotel room.

Now, the beating of his heart quickens, a faint thrumming as he stares out the window. He debates whether to let you know about his early return or keep it as a surprise. Would it be better if he just showed up?

How would you feel, knowing that, by the time the lights are out, he’ll be yours again?

He knows he should feel sorry for the poor kid, but all he can muster is a look of concern that barely reaches his eyes. Each time they pull into a gas station, he listens to the hurried slap of footsteps as the boy rushes for the bathroom to empty his insides.

He watches in the rearview as the kid’s father shakes his head, clicking his tongue with disapproval. “Do you have kids?” he asks, his voice forced into a casual tone, like he’s trying to break the silence that’s settled between them. 

Logan’s only response is to turn up the radio, some pop song he’s never heard spilling from the speakers. The lyrics are a blur of nonsense to him, but it’s enough to drown out the man’s words and the boy’s misery.

Some things never change.

As the sun dips below the horizon, he’s finally free, no longer at anyone’s beck and call. He contemplates the possibility of getting a speeding ticket, weighing his options. It hardly matters. The pull to see you, to feel you, is stronger than anything else.

Even though he tries to think of another time in his life when he felt such a raw need, no memory comes close.

When he does pull up to his place, he does it quietly. Parking the limo, he doesn’t honk, doesn’t announce himself. Fumbling with the keys ever so lightly so as not to wake you up, fitting them into the lock.

His wrist twists, and the door gives way with a soft creak.

Anxiety ripples through him as he steps inside. The smell of freshly cooked food hits him, but it only tightens the knot in his stomach, reminding him of how long it’s been since he last ate.

Later, he tells himself. After. Once he’s sated his true hunger—the kind of hunger that can only be satisfied by sinking his fingers into something real, fleshy, malleable. 

Hunger—yes, it’s animalistic, feral even. Will he be able to control himself once he’s near you? In moments like this, he feels more animal than human. Creeping, on the verge of crawling, back to you.

His feet take him to his bedroom, knowing the path to it very well. Fingers hovering over the knob, he takes a deep breath.

It’s already late, past midnight, yet energy courses through his veins as though he’s just woken from a long, ethereal dream.

He finds you asleep, your body wrapped snugly in the sheets, clutching a pillow close to your chest. Your cheek is pressed into it, breathing soft and steady, lulling him in. Kneeling on the edge of the bed, he kicks off his shoes, then slips in beside you, mirroring your position. 

A lamp sits on his nightstand, one that isn’t his, and he figures you must have brought it from your apartment. There has to be a symbolism for that.

It’s incredible how his entire world can fit into such a narrow bed.

The smart thing would be to let you sleep, to simply watch you for a moment longer. But he can’t help himself.

His thumb lingers near your face before gently cupping your cheek, and the very first contact with your skin sends a shudder through him, the warmth of your skin grounding him. He trails his fingers down to your chin, holding it with just enough pressure to remind himself that he’s here.

Leaning in, he presses his lips softly against your forehead, your typical perfume wrapping around him like a welcome.

Welcome home, Logan.

For the first time, he feels that someone’s been counting down the minutes until his return. He’d always believed a person like him didn’t deserve this. That he just wasn’t built for it.

Countless years had he spent convincing himself he’d never be the kind of man who could inspire love. His life had already been written long ago—predetermined by some cruel hand in the sky.

Destiny, fate, call it what you want—once the cards are laid out, there’s no escaping them. Or so he used to think.

You had taken that pen into your own hands, rewriting his future. You, of all people, had changed his life. No matter what the future held for the two of you, he’d always be grateful. Grateful that you’d seen the dim spark in him that others had chosen to ignore.

Thoughtlessly, his fingers continue their gentle strokes along your cheek, your hair. You stir beside him, shifting in your sleep. Your eyes flutter open, close again, and then open once more, blinking in confusion.

“Logan?” you croak, voice still groggy and thick with sleep, coming to your senses. Before he can respond, you throw yourself on top of him, smothering his face with kisses. “Why—how—”

“Sweetheart,” he says, attempting to hide his grin, but failing when your kisses shift to his neck, your nose nuzzling against his skin. A laugh slips out, warmth flooding his chest.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming home early!”

Home. Had he heard right? Had you used that word knowingly?

Peering into your eyes, he catches his reflection in your pupils, tiredness etched into his features. “Wanted it to be a surprise.”

“You could’ve told me,” you reply, fingers threading through his greying locks, massaging his scalp. You place a tender kiss on the tip of his nose. “I would’ve waited up for you at least.”

“Well, I’m here now,” he whispers back, gaze drifting to your lips, and you close the space between you, his sigh mingling with yours as one hand cradles the small of your back, fisting the fabric of his shirt. His other hand tilts your head, inviting your tongues to greet each other in an unhurried dance.

You move languidly on top of him, and he notices, breaking the kiss and pulling back. “You’re gonna fall asleep on me, are you?”

The way your lashes flutter in response should be illegal. “I could use a human-size pillow.”

“I should shower first.”

“No.”

“Baby, I smell like gas.”

“So?”

A smirk tugs at his lips at your insistence, and he gently lays you back against the mattress. Drawn to your charm once again, he licks into your mouth, mentally scolding himself when he gets carried away, letting the kiss linger longer than intended.

“I’ll be quick,” he promises, pulling the sheets over your body. Resigned, you simply nod, settling on your side.

Ten minutes later, you’re dozing off, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness when he slips into bed, wrapping himself around you from behind. One arm drapes over your waist, the other cushions your head, and there’s not a patch of skin between you left untouched.

Fatigue begins to delve deeper into his bones the longer he stays curled around you, but before the weight of sleep takes him, and the silence steals his chance, he huffs: “I missed you.” His beard grazes your skin in a soft, unintentional caress.

You pull his wrist to your lips, pressing a short-lived kiss to the inside of it. “Missed you, too.”

How the roles have reversed.

In the quietness of this starless night, you leave him no other choice but to believe you.

3:34 a.m. Still hostage to the lack of light outside. The world remains submerged in the gentle tides of sleep, undulating between dreams, except for him.

Logan wakes up at 3:34 a.m. because he’s rock hard, and being flushed against your back wasn’t helping him with his situation at all. If anything, it only heightened it.

He sits at the edge of the bed, his mind running in circles, debating whether he should jump to his feet and head to the bathroom for another shower—this time, a cold one. Returning to sleep, at least in this moment, is not a viable option.

His gaze drifts to the moonlight spilling through the window, casting its pale glow across the room. Is this your doing? The question lingers, unshakable, in his thoughts. It remains as just that: a question.

When you quietly rest your chin on his shoulder, he stifles a sigh, biting the inside of his cheek. Your voice breaks through the quiet.

“What’s wrong? Can’t sleep?” Wrapping your arms around him from behind, you circle his frame, in an effort to persuade him to sink back into the mattress.

“It’s nothing,” he says, pulse accelerating. Please, don’t look down. “I’ll be back in a second.”

“But what is—”

He doesn’t get to hear the rest of your sentence. You do look down, finding the outline of his hardened cock straining against his briefs, stealing your full attention.

“Wow.”

“Go back to sleep.”

“And leave you like this?” One hand creeps toward his waistband, your breath warm against his ear. “Wouldn’t miss this for anything in the world.”

Your nails trace a path through the coarse hair at his navel, and Logan tenses. His legs feel like jelly as you cup his balls, fondling them gently between your fingers.

Behind him, your low chuckle stirs something primal in him, making his blood thrum hot beneath his skin. He should be the one doing this to you, not the other way around.

“Darlin’, I don’t—” He’s cut off by his own guttural groan when you fist his length, pumping him in rhythm with his uneven breaths. “I don’t need this.”

“Seems like you do,” you whisper, momentarily halting your ministrations to place your palm in front of his face, hoping he takes the hint. You kiss his stubble, pausing just short of his mouth. “I want to take care of you. Always do.”

Your palm hovers before him, inviting. Grabbing your wrist, he licks it, coating it in his spit and guiding you back down to him. Together, your hands glide along his length, and his gaze locks onto yours, the intensity of it making his neck tense.

You beam with delight under his stare. That red organ caged within his ribs—a blood-pumping machine of passion—surges back to life as he sees you.

He had won the battle. He had triumphed over his past; had lived enough lives, endured enough years, to arrive at this moment.

This had to be the purpose of his existence: to share this part of his stay on earth with you.

“You’re so hard,” you say, twisting your wrist at the tip of his cock, reveling in every buck of his hips, each movement a reflection of his exaltation. “Guess you did miss me.”

With a quiet growl, he reaches behind, nudging your thighs apart until they find your mound, cupping you through your underwear. “I’m not the only one who’s been missin’ someone.” He pulls the fabric aside, sliding his fingers through your wet folds. His nostrils flare as he feels how ready you are. “Why am I not surprised?”

Your breath hitches, and you press yourself closer against him, your tits against his back, mouth teasing at his neck. “That’s what happens when you’re gone.” Another kiss on his nape. “You could take me with you next time.”

“Can’t do that,” he answers, teasing your entrance. “No work would get done.”

His movements cease to a stop. Yours do too. Turning his head just enough to glance over his shoulder, he scrutinizes your expression, pride swelling in his chest as he takes in your affected state.

“You’re not goin’ back to sleep, are you?”

There’s the shake of your head. A single word escapes your lips, imbued with pure fervor: “Please.”

He captures your mouth in an ardent kiss, tugging at your shirt (which is, in fact, his) to undress you, his wandering hands roaming beneath it.

As his mouth meets your neck, something cold brushes against his lips, drawing his gaze down to what’s hanging from your neck.

His dog tags. The ones he had given you before leaving for that job, as his way of telling you I’m coming back without having to say it aloud. And you, as always, understood; had even promised to keep them safe, though he hadn’t expected you to actually wear them.

Now, with your shirt discarded, they lay against your bare skin, his name resting in the valley between your breasts.

“You like ‘em?” His fingers grip the chain and give it a gentle tug, drawing you closer so he can breathe over your lips, his breath mingling with yours. “Like knowing you’re mine? You get off on it?”

You nod in agreement. Of course, you do. Though emotionally constipated and not the most expressive, Logan is a lover who knows how to awaken desire—a good lover, indeed. A decent one.

Which is why he agrees to any idea that crosses your mind, like the one you just whispered in his ear.

He may be older than you, but he’s always been more on the traditional side. You, on the other hand, are continually searching for new ways to innovate.

The round globes of your ass jiggle over his face as he spreads you apart, entrenched by how your skin moves above him, your glistening hole clenching around nothing, as if your body itself is calling to him.

With his head propped against the headboard, he watches you take him deeper, your saliva dripping down the wiry hairs of his cock. The slick heat of your tongue traces over his slit, back and forth, driving him to the edge.

When he hears you gag, it stirs something inside him—a deep need to return the favor, to match your devotion.

At the end of the day, he’s a man on a mission, and right now, that mission is you.

Right there, with his nose and mouth buried in you, he wonders why he hadn't thought of this sooner. If he could choose a natural end like any other man, he'd wish for it to be by suffocation—your body his last breath.

Logan inhales deeply, like a man starved, working two of his fingers inside your throbbing center, his tongue flicking relentlessly over your clit, punching moan after moan out of you. Each thrust of his fingers, each stroke of his tongue, sends waves of pleasure coursing through you.

His beard, streaked with gray, leaves a trail of fire wherever your hips meet his face, pushing back against him. Every so often, you pull off his cock just to ramble, panting, about how good he's making you feel.

From where he lies, you’re a sight to behold, nothing short of divine. “Just what I needed, doll. You taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he blurts out, your frantic cries pouring into his ears as he sucks the swollen bud between his lips. “Can’t believe you let me do this to you. You love makin’ your old man happy, don’t you?”

He used to think he'd burn in hell for indulging in the desire to know you like this—raw, ungraceful.

His judgment must be fucked up, because now, all he sees in you is heaven incarnate. You must be the closest thing to it he’ll ever find.

“Shit, I…” you trail off, gasping as he replaces his fingers with his tongue, drinking from your arousal and tasting every bit of you. “I thought about you every day.”

“Bet you did, just like that night I called you. You know how I felt when you told me you were wearing my clothes?” His hand comes down with a firm slap on your right asscheek, drawing a whine from you as your movements falter. “Can smell you all over these sheets. Makes me wonder how many times you made yourself come while I was away.”

You slip the tip of his cock back in your mouth, your hands and lips working in sync. His nose brushes against the plush skin of your thighs before his teeth graze your flesh, biting down just enough to leave a sting. His fingers curl inside you, hitting that perfect spot again and again, and you moan around him, your throat vibrating against his length.

He makes you come like this, knuckles deep inside you while his thumb circles your clit. Overwhelmed by pleasure, you let go of his dick, and it hits Logan’s stomach with a wet pop. His strong arms tug you closer to his face, eyes falling closed as you ride the wave of your orgasm against his mouth, palms pressed flat on his chest.

For a brief moment, he can’t breathe, can’t feel anything but you, your scent, your taste filling his senses.

Later, he rolls you onto your back and climbs on top of you, uncertain of how much time he has spent lapping at your wetness. His hard length glides along your folds, and he lines himself up without pushing in, looking right into your eyes. 

“Remember what I told you that night over the phone?” he asks, his breath coming in quick bursts, and you nod, head lolling back as he pinches your lower lip between his fingers. “Repeat it.”

“Logan—”

“You say it, and I’ll make it happen.”

Perplexity clouds your features. “You said you’d fuck me slow and deep, just h-how I like it. Face to face, because—”. The words escape you, a sob tearing through your throat as he eases the first few inches of himself inside you, your walls instinctively making space to wrap around him.

He’s home.

“Go on. What else did I say?” he teases, relishing in it. He’s guilty as sin. “Or were you too lost in thought touchin’ yourself?”

“F-face to face,” you slur, nails digging into his scarred back, and he keeps plunging his length into your interior to the hilt. Your lips part slightly, craving the kiss that only he can give you. “You said you’d do it face to face so I could kiss you whenever I wanted.”

He hums, low in his throat, as he gives the first thrust of the night, taking great pleasure in your expression: open-mouthed, eyes scrunched, and a slight crease forming between your brows.

Smoothing his thumb over your forehead, he tsks, pausing his movements. “None of that, princess. Look at me, c’mon.”

You obey, forcing your eyes open, and in that instant, he swears he can feel every tremor coursing through you. “Logan,” you coo, your voice aching as you stretch your neck toward his mouth.

The way you say his name—seductively, charged with a fascination that riles him up—manages to ignite a fire only you can kindle. It’s all the invitation he needs.

“I know. Too much, huh?” His tone drips with condescension, teasing in a way that feels almost cruel. He can’t help it, though: it’s in very his nature. “Need to hear you say it. Need you to tell me how much you want this.”

Like everything else in your world, your patience begins to wither, hips instinctively bucking beneath him, seeking even the slightest bit of friction. But he still withholds the kiss you long for, dangling it just out of reach.

“Please,” you beg, voice breaking as you plead. “Fuck me, baby. Missed you so much while you were away. Please, please, please—”

Logan enjoys hearing you beg. He won’t pretend otherwise. There's a satisfaction in knowing he holds this power over you, that he's the only one who can unravel you this way, your body splayed open beneath him.

The thought of others who may have once been in his place, making you fall apart just like this, sets his blood on edge.

Jealousy, sharp and corrosive, crawls up his spine, and it spurs him on, guiding the tempo of his thrusts.

He wonders if he’s ever fucked you this fiercely before, with a passion that pulses from every part of him. You’re given no space for thought, no moment to catch your breath—just his unforgiving pace and the sounds spilling from your lips.

He has a way of breaking you down, turning you into a trembling, whimpering mess beneath him, and you surrender willingly, craving each second of it.

So fuckin’ tight. Can y’hear her? How badly she needs me?

Sex had never felt like this before. He’d grown accustomed to quick, meaningless fucks in poorly lit bars, fleeting encounters that left him questioning if this was all there was. If this wasn’t the best he’d ever know. 

For a while, he’d tried to solve that emptiness, searching in nameless lovers and hollow hearts for the very thing he feared most: love.

And yet, he wanted it, yearned it, guarding his desire like a secret he barely admitted to himself. Until one day, you stumbled into his life, and all the strength he thought he had wasn’t enough to push you away.

He presses deep into the back of your thighs, bringing your chests so close they're nearly brushing. Claiming your mouth in a maddening kiss, all teeth and tongue, leaving no space for softness. As he nibbles at your bottom lip, he feels you tighten around him, your cunt pulling him under, clouding his thoughts.

“Close?” he murmurs, hips snapping against you with an utterly obscene rhythm that drowns out the world, better than any song ever made. “Such a good girl. Gonna come, sweetheart? Let me see how gorgeous you look when you fall apart, making a mess just for me.”

The constant, steady drag of his cock doesn’t seem to get old for you. He’s leaving his mark within you, inside you, carving a space for himself. His tip keeps hitting all the right spots, prompting you to tilt your pelvis to meet him halfway, telling him there, yes, there. More, please.

His hand slides down, rubbing your clit with his fingers. Doesn’t need any extra help when doing so, your arousal providing all the slickness he needs. He feels like a runner on the final stretch, the finish line within reach, so close he can almost touch it, savoring the euphoria and bliss of crossing it.

The way you sing his name never loses its allure, despite all the times he’s heard it spill from your lips. Especially at this moment, with him buried deep inside you, every thrust a promise to make you feel good.

You shamelessly come while he keeps driving into you, vigorous and untamed—like a caged animal unleashed, tasting freedom for the very first time.

Ankles digging into his lower back, a trail of persistent kisses along his beard. You want him inside, that much he can tell.  It’s not like he ever finishes anywhere else, but the reminder doesn’t bother him. It only serves as a reassurance: that you still want this, want him. You haven’t changed your mind.

He sinks his teeth into your neck the instant he feels his orgasm tearing through him, hips stilling and sagging as a string of grunts abandons his being, dampening your skin even more.  He loves to fill you up, it consumes him entirely.

Such an intimate, visceral act, and then he gets to see his seed trickling down your thighs. He realizes that he doesn’t need much to be happy.

You keep kissing him, his neck, his face. It may seem absurd to say that every kiss feels like the first, yet it’s true.

Even after he’s traced all the contours of your mouth and committed every detail of your body to memory, he can’t help but feel that same thrill of excitement he experienced months ago when he dared to push beyond the boundaries he had set for himself.

Staring at each other, naked, all the love in the world seems to fill these four walls. The compassion and tenderness in your gaze remain unchanged. You’re a dream come true.

It can’t end like this. He can’t allow you to drift back into sleep without saying what needs to be said. Something has to happen, something only he can conjure.

“I think…” He hesitates. Starting with I think carries an air of uncertainty. “I don’t—”

“Logan,” you interrupt, your hand finding his. “I know.”

Yes, you do. You always seem to know everything, but that can’t be enough. He can’t lean on your unspoken understanding of his feelings.

“You still deserve to hear it.”

“It’s not necessary.”

“It is.”

More silence. The moon is the solitary spectator of his upcoming declaration. 

“You were right,” he begins, drawing your intertwined hands closer to his face, pressing a soft kiss on the back of yours. His voice drops to a murmur. It’s not just his body that feels completely exposed anymore; something deeper within him stands bare. “I’m in love with you.”

You scrutinize him as if he’s revealing the secret to eternal life. Again, you kiss his cheek, cupping it gently with your palm.

“It won’t get any better than this. There are no more layers to peel away, okay?” He offers explanations you never even asked for in the first place. “This is what I am.” Much to his dismay, you overlook his choice of words: what instead of who.

He glances away, his gaze landing on the dog tags resting against your skin. The same old guilt threatens to engulf him, as it does each time without fail, and that seems to be your cue to lower yourself to his eye level, eyebrows raised.

“I’m not with you because I’m waiting for you to change. I like you just as you are, Logan. And I want all of you, both the good and bad stuff.” A gentle smile breaks across your face as you stretch your arm to retrieve his glasses from the nightstand. Placing them on your nose, your eyes twinkle with contentment. “Do they look good on me?”

“You don’t need them yet.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t pull them off.”

“Come here,” he mutters, sighing when you nuzzle his chest, cradling your head between his hands. He ponders what to say, what to do next, but no clear idea sounds promising.

And so it gives you the chance to speak up: “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

I hope I don’t, he thinks to himself as he brushes your hair away from your face, fingers caressing your temples. I hope I never do.

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! <3