#it looks out of place and it is and the people there still clinging to pre war life are ridiculous!

[xetlynn]

Arcane Imagines- Violet

Sweet and Sour

Requested by: @m0ranna "vi and a s/o who looks, seems and acts very soft but is actually a beast when fighting."

[arcane] [main page]

Summary: you and vi have been apart for some time, and when she sees you all the feelings come back.

“Hey, someone’s here for you.” Your only employee, Mexi says, you hum in response waving that you’re coming. You feel slightly grateful to stand up from your desk and be done with all the paperwork for just a moment. It’s been slow running Benzo’s old shop. Nobody has really come in, especially now with everything going on between Zaun and Piltover so money’s real tight.

 You walk out into the shop from behind the counter after your employee leads you there. You look up with crossed arms. “What can I do for you?” Asked with a fake interested tone.

“[Name]? You own the place now?” A familiar voice rings in your ears. Your eyes widened to look more clearly at your past friend/crush. “Violet?!” You jump over the counter, pulling her into a tight embrace. You hadn’t seen her since that horrible, idiotic heist that went so wrong. “Hey!” She holds you close to her, before pulling you back to get a better look at you. 

“You still have that sweet innocent look.” She whispers, pulling you into another hug. Taking in your scent as tears fills your eyes. “How did you get out?” You back away this time, holding onto her shoulders to make sure she doesn’t go away. “Uh, see that pilty officer out there.” She points to the dark haired lady standing outside the shop with her hands on her hips seemingly impatient. “Yeah?” 

“Her, I don’t know why but I’m not complaining.” Vi chuckles and you smile at her. “Want to invite her in?” It stuns her when you offer that, even Mexi was taken aback. She gets nervous, walking into the back so she doesn't have to speak to an officer. “Eh, she can experience the undercity a little more.” Vi waves it off, jumping onto the glass counter to sit down. 

“Looks the same in here.” She sadly sighs, browses the place. “Tried not to change it drastically. Benzo did a pretty good job.” You frown, thinking back to the man who was like a father to you. “Is Ekko…” 

“Nah, he’s doing his own thing now. Unfortunately it's the same with your sister.” You groan, reminding yourself of the blue-haired girl's antics with Silco. “Powder? What do you mean unfortunately?” Vi perks up. “She’s not really Powder anymore.” You start, hugging yourself as you think back to when Ekko begged you to fight with the fireflies. 

“Let’s talk about something else.” You pick up a random gadget, fidgeting with it in your left hand. “How’s the free life?” 

“I want to talk about Powder.” Vi gets off the counter, walking towards you. “Vi, no. You’ll find out on your own. I really don’t want to get into this.” You tell her simply, pleading silently with your facial expression. She wants to argue with you, beg for you to say more but she can’t. Not when your eyes are full of fear and sadness. You’ve always been so sweet-looking. So kind to people, giving them the benefit of the doubt. Which is rare in the undercity. It’s also stupid to most. 

“Okay, okay. I- I don’t know, I’ve only been free for a few hours. This was the first place I went to.” She averts eye contact now. “Hm, I’m the first person you wanted to see, huh?” You joke, there wasn’t really any other option sadly. “Of course.” Vi smirks, nudging your arm. 

“I’ve missed you.” You turn to her, pulling her into another hug. “I don’t want to let go of you. It’s like you’re going to disappear at any moment.” You whimper out, trying not to cry. Vi’s face softens, kissing the top of your head. “I promise I’m not leaving again.” Her hands go to your waist just letting you cling onto her. 

“I’ll kill you before you get the chance to leave me.” You say, causing her to scoff out a laugh. The door bells go off and you both let each other go to see that officer standing there. 

“Sorry to interrupt, Officer Caitlyn Kiramman.” She bows down to you before looking at Vi. “We should get going, I have important things to get to.” 

You raise a brow on why Vi needs to go with this lady so badly. Vi sighs. “Give me a moment.” She tells the officer whose face contorts into an annoyed expression. “I’ve given you quite a few moments to reunite with your girlfriend here.” Cait spits out, obviously very antsy to get where she needs to be. The both of you awkwardly glance at one another now with flushed faces.

“Uh, it’s alright. I’ll see you later Vi.” You chuckle, taking her hand in yours. “There’s a fight in that one arena we used to go to behind Vander and Benzo’s back. It’s huge and you should come. Just like old times.” You propose to her, your face full of hope that she agrees to come. 

“You can bring your bodyguard too.” You tease making her playfully roll her eyes. Cait tries to bite back a smile at the joke. “I’ll be there. I promise.” Vi squeezes your hand before letting go. “It’s at the usual time as well, I hope you remember.” You tell her as she leaves with the girl. “Oh I remember!” Vi calls back. 

When the door shuts behind them and the bells still ring in your ears you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. Mexi comes out of hiding. “You two are dating?” She asks curiously. You choke on your spit. “Huh?” 

“Well the officer said you were her girlfriend and neither one of you denied it.” She shrugs her shoulders, taking out her box of things to put away. “Oh, I mean we had a small thing as children but I haven’t seen her in 7 years. I’m sure she doesn’t think about me that way.” You ramble, putting the gadget back that forgot you were holding. 

“I don’t know. The way she looked at you says otherwise.” Mexi winks, your face heats up. “Whatever.” You mutter, going back behind the counter and heading into the back to finish the paperwork you had. 

•••

Vi and Caitlyn rummage through the crowd of people, trying to find you. “I don’t know if we’re going to find her before the fight!” Cait shouts over the yelling and the music that blasted. “I’m gonna try!” Violet huffs, shoving past all the people, getting to the front where maybe she could spot you on the other side of the arena. Her eyes traveled through the sea of moving bodies. “C’mon.” She mutters to herself. She didn’t want you to think she didn’t come. She had only made it five minutes before the fight even started because of what Cait and her had to do. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen!!!” The announcer screams into the mic, only making everyone louder with their cheers. As he speaks, Vi only zones everything out, trying her hardest not to panic when attempting to find you. 

“Isn’t that her?” Cait points down into the arena with eyebrows scrunched together. Vi’s eyes shoot down to see you standing there against a large woman. “Shit, what’s she doing!?” Violet urgently asks, gripping onto Caitlyn. “I think she’s about to fight.” 

Vi gives her a dirty look, giving her attention back to the scene in front of her right as the announcer starts the fight. The woman attempts to attack you but you swerve out of the way. You look up to see Vi and Caitlyn. You blow them a kiss before turning to the woman and throwing a punch. 

The lady doesn’t dodge it in time, getting hit right in the eyebrow. She tries to throw hits at you but you maneuver around them, hitting her in the right places to cause her to stumble. Vi leans over the edge, now cheering for you. “Kick her ass!” She shouts. Even Caitlyn was amazed at your fighting skills. She wasn’t expecting that from someone so… cute and sweet looking. 

You swiped the lady's feet out from right under her. Going in for the punches. The larger lady attempts to push you away with no avail. 

But when she sees an opening after multiple hits to the face she shoves you off of her. Getting herself up. You roll away, jumping to your feet, you weren’t paying attention when she gets a hit to the middle of your face. Violet gasps, nails digging into Caitlyn’s arm. The dark blue haired girl doesn’t pay attention though. 

You spit out blood, wiping your mouth before going after the woman with more passion than before. Looking like a beast in the ring. You go right for her head, only taking a few hits for her to be back on the ground. 

Not even five minutes into the fight and you win. Leaving her knocked out. 

The announcer commentates as the crowd goes wild. Violet listens to all the people saying how little miss [Name] out there is undefeated. “Holy shit.” Cait whispers. You pump your fists into the air, jumping around for yourself. You have blood guzzling down your nose but you’re having a blast with the attention. You look up, locking eyes with Vi who has a look of bewilderment. You chuckle then motion with your head to the exit doors. She immediately understands what you’re saying. “Meet me at her shop, I’ll see you later.” Violet places a hand on Caitlyn’s shoulder before pushing through the crowd.

You and Vi used to sneak and see the fighters in the back frequently as children. Not to meet them or anything but just to say you were in the same room as them. Even then it was kept a secret between you both. 

She sneaks through the men guarding the doors and slips into the very first room she can. Hands snake around her from behind. “Hey!” You scare her, making her jump away from you. She turns with her fists up in defense. You roar into laughter, mimicking her stance. She pouts from being made fun off and smacks your arm. “Why didn’t you tell me you were fighting?! I didn’t even know you could do all that!” She exclaims as you grin. 

“I wanted it to be surprising! Wasn’t I so amazing out there?” You lift your arms, flexing your muscles. “Yeah but honestly I did not see that coming from someone so… adorable?” She tilts her head as she tries to find the right word to call you.

 “Awe I’m adorable?” You poke her side, heading over to the full body mirror in the room, taking the wraps off your hands. “I mean, you’ve always been pretty cute. Like y’know sweet looking. I’ve never seen you even hurt someone!” she maundered, speaking with her hands flailing trying to explain what she meant with bright red ears. 

“Desperate times call for desperate measures. I don’t exactly enjoy being some beast fighter but it pays the bills.” You lean against the little table beside the mirror. Staring off into space at Vi’s shoes. “The shop not doing good?” Vi asks. “It’s seen better days. I have enough for everything except paying Mexi but I’m not letting her go. She’s helped way too much for me to do that.” You sigh, thinking about the young worker who you practically took under your wing. 

“So you risk yourself so you don’t have to fire just one person.” She quizzes and you go to defend your actions but she just snickers. “Gosh you really are too sweet for your own good, [Name]. I love you so much.” She holds her stomach as she laughs. Amused by how kind you are. “You love me?” You attempt to tease her but her face drops, realising what she said. “I mean, yeah! I’ve been in love with you since we were kids.” She speaks so nonchalantly it catches you off guard. When she said she loved you, you thought of it as a family thing. Not romantic. You weren’t upset but your mind was spiraling now. 

“I’m sorry if it’s too much. I don’t even know if you have a partner already or something. I’ve been gone for so long I just. I’ve never stopped thinking about you even though we were only 15.” She over-explains, and you go up to her, putting a finger to her lips. “I love you too, Violet. I wasn’t kidding when I said I missed you.” You tell her earnestly, your hand going to her cheek. 

Her shoulders drop, relieved by your words. “Oh thank god, I thought I had just scared you or something. I feel so stupid.” You shush her with a small laugh. “I forgot how much you talk when you’re nervous.” You whisper as she plants her forehead on yours. “I only do it with you.” She shamefully admits. 

“Mm, really?” You ask before locking your lips on hers. She moans into the kiss, deepening it by bringing you closer to her. The kiss was rough, making up for lost time. Wandering hands over one another's bodies. 

When you pull apart you grin, throwing your arms over her shoulders. “We're dating.” You state, not asking but telling her. She shakes her head. “I didn’t know that.” 

“Well you do now.”

 You peck her lips. 

•••

Time passes and Vi comes into the shop whenever she can, you let Mexi watch over so the both of you can go out. Always in cute light colored clothes in such a dark place. 

People never understood how you were so bubbly, giving to others and dancing in the middle of Zaun. 

Violet loved it, watching as a street performer played and you danced to music. Children joining you. Even a few adults. It was these moments the undercity needed. A little distraction from the horrors about to come. 

You’d have these sweet moments everyday and then night comes and you’re in people's nightmares. Fighting to pay the bills you said. Fighting to win and prove you’re more than what others call a weak minded, overly nice girl. And Vi’s there to support her girl through it all. 

Loving every second. 

[smalltownduck]

tw discussions of su1cide and death ideation

Sometimes I think about this post and others that shed light on Vecna's (albeit twisted) compassion for struggling living beings, particularly the four victims of '86. Obviously he had something to gain from those murders (compared to the 79 massacre, on top!), but 1) it has never been explained why and how exactly those killings created so much energy to open gates and 2) in a not too similar parallel to those animals caught in traps and eventually killed around the Creel house (put a pin on whether you think Henry, One and Vecna -hell, or even show Henry and TFS Henry- are one and the same or if you subscribe to the Edward/Henry theory), perhaps the whole 'prey on the weak' wasn't necessarily 100% malicious, but rather (in Vecna's mind) a merciful act.

Aligning to the "vecna's curse was a sui allegory", he might have thought that each of the '86 victims were hopeless in regards to their living situations AND their inner strength/coping mechanisms to deal with them and their own futures. In fact, that might have probably been the only reason why he could create a psyonic connection with them in the first place. For example, even if Chrissy's or Patrick's parents, "the ones" (obvs not the only) that were causing them pain, were removed from the equation, their impact and presence would still remain in everyday life and haunt their children forever. They didn't really have anybody (seems like therapy wasn't working either, or they might not have commited to that process by openning up) to rely on, and they weren't in a place to willingly look for companionship at all.

The sad reality is that sometimes, even in a supernatural universe, it's impossible to make trauma and triggers dissapear for good and begin anew with a clean slate. For instance, it wouldn't be enough to undo Billy's death for Max to heal, but also undo his previous abuse of her, her mother not protecting her, her dad emotionally abandonning her, and so on, or stopping Fred from running off after the accident, the accident in the first place, him having done anything prior to prevent him losing control of the vehicle in the first place, etc. It's a cycle that would go on with them lacking a support system and/or not having developed have the skills to cope and seek for community and love on their own terms. I guess that, for Vecna, that was just the system (everybody around you) being rigged as usual -those four were not only dealt a bad hand, but they didn't (and would never have) have what it takes to play and come out on top.

Turns out a very powerful supernatural being is as capable of rewriting the past (or at least he can't yet), along with all its individual strings and webs, as us normal humans are irl. It's natural to wish that getting rid of those things, those people who seem like the biggest obstacles between someone and a fullfilling life would fix everything, but there are too many variables at play; it takes changing too many minds for real and for good. Perhaps Vecna, underestimating/ignoring the power of a support system and willpower (hence why only Max escaped the first time and continues to cling to life -because, unlike the others, she had a chance and the support to realize that she did want to live and that there was a way out of the darkness), thought that the four couldn't make it on their own into the future anyway. They were weak, isolated by their own doing, too broken, and in so much pain to go on -it was pointless and more cruel for them to continue to exist. Like the trapped and wounded animals in the Creel house, he "facilitated" the ending of their suffering in earnest-ish.

or maybe he thinks that far too many people are lazy cowards for not putting time and care into committing to make systemic changes nor break the cycle of abuse so he doesn't have any faith in anybody and they were easy targets idk

sorry this derailed so far away from will's vanishing. all i can say is that i, too, don't believe in that the "main villian" of ST is 100% evil. that'd reductive and scapegoat-ish to the ideas that began it all: forced comformity, perpetuating cycles of abuse and systems that fail everybody.

Deducing what may have actually happened to Will Byers on Nov 6, 1983 using evidence from the show.

Trigger warning: M*rder, s*icide.

part 2. part 3.

Before I begin, I just want to remind everyone that this show has many layers to it. What I mean is, if you watch carefully, a piece of dialogue can actually mean two (or more) things. The dialogue can be meaningful for the specific scene (surface level) and it can be a sneaky way to foreshadow something else entirely (subtext).

From this specific moment, we can assume that moving forward: any and all mentions of JFK’s assassination will actually be about Will’s disappearance (subtext).

So when the writers gifted us with these mentions, they are actually referring to the conspiracy surrounding Will’s disappearance. So let’s investigate, shall we?

Here’s the briefest overview of the JFK assassination: Oswald was convicted of assassinating JFK. Oswald denied his involvement stating that he was “a patsy”. Many conspiracy theories believe that Johnson was actually the one responsible.

Both Mrs. Driscoll and Dustin do not believe that Oswald assassinated JFK. Mrs. Driscoll is an outcast; she’s an older woman with schizophrenia. The guys who work at the newspaper are quick to dismiss her for these reasons. Now remember, this is Stranger Things, the show about outcasts being right and those fitting the norm being wrong. Then there’s our beloved Dustin, who states that “Oswald was a patsy”. Thus we can conclude: Johnson assassinated JFK, and Oswald was a patsy.

So… who if Will is JFK in this equation, who are our “Johnson” and “Oswald” counterparts?

Well right now, I assume most people believe Vecna is responsible for Will’s disappearance. He is our “bad guy”. So my guess is that he is our “Oswald”.

Who is our “Johnson”? Now remember, Johnson was someone close to JFK, he was the vice-president. He had something to gain in this. I believe Lonnie fits the bill the most for our Johnson.

So many clues surround Lonnie that tell us he was actually responsible. Plus, remember, he has something to gain from Will’s death: life insurance.

Though to be far, I am definitely not ruling out Brenner and Hawkins lab being involved in this too.

So… what happened exactly then? I’m not certain but this is my theory:

Lonnie was prepared to kill Will that night, but his plans were thwarted by our “Oswald”. Vecna swooped in and saved Will from his fate. His “come with me if you want to live” moment.

Moving further into the theory territory… here is a prediction:

- Our characters believe that the only way to defeat Vecna is to travel back in time and “stop him”.

- They travel back, stop him, then return finding out that the alternate present is much worse. By this I mean: Will was murdered, Mike ended his life by suicide, Joyce got admitted to Pennhurst Asylum, Jonathan was struggling with addiction, Lonnie got his payout, etc.

- Thus realizing that “killing” Vecna is and never was the solution here.

Now you may be thinking: but Vecna is 100% evil, why are you trying to redeem him? Well, the thing is, he’s not. Vecna is a villain but he’s not 100% evil. The show isn’t that simple friends. Plus, remember, nothing is exactly as it seems in this show.

[jun1perf1nch17]

Shadows and Silk

Chapter one: First Impressions

Sevika x (F) Reader

Summary: You a new prostitute at Babette's brothel meets the regular Sevika a harden criminal with a dark history. Despite her past and her reputation of being cold and closed off, behind closed doors she shows you a different kind of woman. Throughout your time together your purely transactional relationship grows into one of love and affection. How will the both of you handle a relationship and the uprising of a revolution against Piltover, will she drag you down with the revolution or will you both flourish in the chaos.

Warnings: 18+ Sex work, Mentions of Sex

Word Count: 2377

A/N: This is my first time writing fan fiction like ever! So let me know what y'all think of it. Hopefully y'all are in love with Sevika as much as I am. Also I'm gonna try and update every week if not every other week.

MEN and MINORS DNI

I stand before Babette's brothel, the neon lights adorning the front of it paint my face in a kaleidoscope of vivid colors.

Just days ago, I was living in a small town seven hours outside of Zaun, working in a brothel not much different than Babette's. Life was manageable, steady, even. I had earned enough to scrape by, and I even had regulars I’d grown comfortable with. But everything changed when the town's governing council launched an effort to crack down on prostitution. It turns out a lot of the men on the board had gotten caught with prostitutes in other brothels across town, and it seems like their wives did not like that too much. One by one, brothels across town were raided and shut down. The Red Garter, my little corner of solitude, was no exception. And so, here I am, standing in front of Babette's.

Even after over three years in this industry, the anxiety of a new job still clings to me like a second skin. I inhale deeply, willing my nerves to settle and step toward the door. As I push it open, a small bell chimes overhead, announcing my arrival. It was earlier in the afternoon so the place was almost barren of any clients. The clients that were there were sitting with some of the girls in their rooms, and looked like they were chatting away about whatever was on their minds at the time. 

Walking down the dimly lit hallway past the rooms where I could assume the workers were housed, I made my way toward the back of the establishment. If I had to guess, the office was back there. Sure enough, I soon came across a curved door with a sign hanging on it that read Employees Only. I knocked lightly, and a muffled “Come in” echoed from within.

Pushing the door open, I stepped into a small, cluttered office. Behind the desk sat a short yordle woman, her large ears twitching slightly as she scribbled something onto a piece of paper. The desk was a chaotic mess, papers were scattered everywhere, as though she’d been juggling a dozen tasks at once.

“Are you (Y/N)?” she asked, her soft eyes meeting mine.

“Yes, ma’am. That’s me.”

She let out a soft hmmph at my reply, leaning back in her chair.

“I was reviewing the application you sent in. Quite the resume you’ve got there. Most people who apply here are on their last legs, desperate and out of options.”

I offered a small shrug. “Well, being a prostitute wasn’t exactly my dream job either, but I’ve come to enjoy the work.”

Her lips curled into a knowing smile, her expression one of quiet approval. “Good attitude,” she said, her tone firm yet warm. “You’ve been around the block, and it seems like you’ll fit in just fine here. I trust you already know the ins and outs of this line of work, so let’s cut to the chase. Do you want the job?”

Relief flooded through me, a weight lifted off my shoulders at the stress of not finding a job. My face lit up, unable to hide the joy surging through me. “Yes ma’am I would love to take the job”

“Perfect! Let me give you the rundown on how things work around here and a few warnings about Zaun, especially since you’re new to the area,” she began, her tone brisk but not unkind. “First things first, most of the clients you’ll see are thugs, criminals, drunks, you name it. Be smart about who you let into your room. You’re your own company here, so you have full control. You can accept or deny whoever you want.”

I nodded along attentively, letting her know I was listening. Encouraged, she continued, “Now, you’ll be staying here at the brothel unless you’ve got another place to live, which I’m guessing you don’t?” She paused, raising an eyebrow as she waited for me to respond.

“No, ma’am, I don’t,” I confirmed.

“Perfect!” she said with a cheerful clap of her hands. “In that case, let me show you to your new room.”

Sliding off her chair, she stood, and I couldn’t help but blink in surprise as she stepped down, revealing her full height or lack thereof. She barely came up to my knees. How does someone so tiny manage to run a place like this, let alone in a city as dangerous as Zaun? I wondered. Before I could linger on the thought, she gave a gentle push to the small of my back, nudging me toward the door.

We walked back down the hallway, her pace brisk despite her stature. As we passed one of the rooms, I noticed its curtains were drawn tightly shut, but faint, Wanton moans escaped through the velvet fabric. My cheeks warmed as my mind wandered, imagining the scene unfolding behind the heavy drapes.

Just a few feet beyond the occupied room, she stopped in front of another doorway, drawing aside the curtains with a dramatic flourish. “Here it is, your new home!”

I stepped inside and took in the space. The centerpiece of the room was a circular bed set against the back wall, dressed in blush pink sheets and bedding. To the right, was a matching pink velvet couch to add a touch of comfort, and on the left, an antique wooden dresser stood ready to hold my belongings. The room exuded a strange mix of elegance and whimsy, a stark contrast to the gritty streets of Zaun.

As I walked further in, something on the bed caught my eye, a mask. Curious, I picked it up and turned it over in my hands. The mask was intricately crafted to resemble an albino deer. The ears had a soft blush of pink on the inside, with tufts of delicate fur peeking out. The snout extended downward, the pale pink nose blending harmoniously into the design. It was hauntingly realistic, each detail painstakingly precise.

Whoever made this must be an amazing artist, I thought, running my fingers over the smooth surface. It’s almost unsettling how lifelike it looks. Awe washed over me as I continued to inspect the mask.

Babette must have noticed me inspecting the mask because she spoke up. “Everyone must wear a mask at all times when they’re with a client. It’s purely for your safety, nothing more. We wouldn’t want anyone recognizing you in public and causing you trouble, now would we?”

“No, ma’am,” I agreed, carefully placing the mask back on the nightstand beside the bed.

“Now,” she continued, “why don’t I show you the bathing quarters?”

I followed her out of the room and down the hallway to the far end, where she stopped at a stairway concealed by heavy curtains. With a dramatic sweep, she pulled the curtains aside and gestured for me to go first. I climbed the stairs and found myself in a stunning bathroom. At the back of the room, a wall of frosted windows let in soft, diffused light, illuminating a massive circular bathtub. The windowsills near the tub were lined with a wide variety of soaps and lotions, presumably for the employees’ use. To the left of the tub, several vanities were arranged along the wall, some cluttered with makeup and perfumes, others nearly bare. On the right, a row of doors likely concealed toilets.

“This is where you’ll bathe while you stay here,” Babette explained. “The soaps are yours to use, but feel free to bring your own if you prefer.” I hummed softly in acknowledgment. “And one rule about the bathrooms: no clients are allowed up here.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied with a nod.

She led me to the left side of the room, where she pointed out my designated vanity and sink. Each vanity was marked with a colored ribbon to identify its owner, mine had a pink ribbon tied neatly around the top, matching the soft blush tones of my room.

We lingered in the bathroom for a while as she explained more about the expectations during my stay. I was required to pay Babette 400 Notes at the end of each week. She advised me to keep my prices high enough to maintain value but not so high that it discouraged clients. Most of the girls charged 100 Notes per hour, she added.

After discussing the job and getting to know each other better, Babette finally led me back downstairs.

As we descended the stairs, Babette led me back toward my room. Before I could reach the door, I collided with something solid, something that felt like a brick wall. I stumbled backward, only for Babette to catch me by the waist, stopping me from falling onto her.

“Watch it!” the brick wall barked.

I looked up, startled, and found myself face-to-face with a woman towering at least 6’5”. She was massive. Her shoulders were broad like a linebacker’s, and her muscular arms looked strong enough to crush a skull. As I gave her a quick once-over, I realized she was shamelessly doing the same to me. Her intense gaze sent a shiver down my spine. Without a word, she huffed, brushed past me, and strode toward the front door.

I turned to watch her leave, but my eyes flicked toward the room she had just exited, the previously closed-off one. Inside, I saw a woman sprawled on the bed, fully nude and visibly panting. “Looks like she had a good time,” I whispered to Babette, half-teasing.

But when I glanced at Babette, her expression wasn’t amused. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her eyes clouded with concern. She grabbed my hand and gently pulled me closer, speaking in a low, urgent tone.

“Listen, you need to be careful with that one. Her name’s Sevika, Silco’s right-hand man. She’s known for pushing the girls to their limits. Some can’t handle it and end up out of work for days. A lot of them refuse to work with her anymore.” Babette paused, watching my reaction before continuing. “If you decide to take her on, that’s your choice. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I nodded, trying to sound nonchalant. “Well, we’ll see if she even wants me first,” I said with a teasing smirk.

Babette narrowed her eyes slightly but didn’t reply. Instead, she turned and continued down the hall toward my room. Pulling back the curtain, she gestured for me to enter.

Breaking the silence, she said, “Now that you’re caught up on everything, here are your keys, one for your bedroom and one for the bathroom. I figure you’ll want to head out for clothes and essentials. Just make sure you’re safe if you leave.”

With that, she turned to go.

“Bye,” she called over her shoulder as she walked away.

Once Babette leaves, I turn to face my room. I walk over to the bed and let myself fall face-first into the pillows, savoring the softness after the long, exhausting day of moving in. For a moment, I just lie there, letting the quiet envelop me. But reality soon hits, I don’t have anything to wear, for work or otherwise. With a groan, I push myself up and off the bed, reluctantly grabbing my purse before heading toward the front door.

Since I’m still unfamiliar with the area, I decided to stick close to the brothel. Luckily, I found a thrift shop and a small lingerie store nearby. At the thrift shop, I pick out some basics: a couple of pairs of jeans, denim shorts, tank tops, and crop tops. I also grab a few trendier, club-worthy outfits for nights out. The lingerie shop offers more elegant options, and I settle on a simple pink set to match my room and a sultry black one-piece that oozes confidence.

By the time I finish shopping, the night is alive. The city streets are filled with laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the hum of people enjoying themselves. As I make my way back to the brothel, something catches my eye, a bar called The Last Drop. Through the windows, I spot her, the towering woman I ran into earlier. She’s seated at a round table near the back of the bar, surrounded by men who seem engrossed in a card game. Judging by their scowling faces, they’re not winning.

She’s got a cigar hanging loosely from her mouth, its ember glowing faintly as she exhales smoke without even bothering to remove it. There’s an air of effortless dominance about her that’s hard to ignore. My eyes linger on her, tracing the sharp lines of her jaw and the way she seems to command the room without saying a word. Suddenly, as if sensing my gaze, she turns and locks eyes with me.

My heart skips a beat, and heat rushes to my cheeks as I quickly look away, embarrassed at being caught staring. I hurry past the bar, my steps quickening until I’m out of sight.

When I finally reach the brothel, the exterior is abuzz with activity. Men linger by the walls, cigarettes glowing between their fingers as they laugh and chat. A few toss lewd comments my way as I walk past, but I keep my head down and ignore them, focusing on getting inside.

Back in my room, I pull the curtains closed behind me, tying them off to block out the outside world, then lock the door. I begin unpacking my purchases, folding each piece carefully and tucking it away into the dresser. As I work, I can’t shake the thought of Sevika. Despite our only interaction being that brief, accidental collision, she lingers in my mind. There’s something magnetic about her, a mix of strength, mystery, and danger that both intrigues and unsettles me. Babette’s warning echoes in my head, but it doesn’t stop me from wondering what it would be like to have a moment alone with her.

The rest of the night passes quietly. I finish unpacking and change into my PJs. I curl into my pink sheets, letting the softness lull me into relaxation. Yet, as I drift off to sleep, my mind inevitably wanders back to the tall, imposing woman.

[tinkaaabutt]

FOR THE FIRST TIME— Jinx

The hum of city life buzzed faintly beyond your apartment windows, the occasional car horn breaking the rhythm of your quiet sanctuary. The vinyl you’d been spinning crackled softly as “For the First Time” by Mac DeMarco started to play, its dreamy melody filling the space.

Jinx, sprawled across your couch in her usual chaos, was mid-rant about a graffiti project she wanted to try on an old factory wall downtown. Her electric blue braids spilled over the armrest like rivers of rebellion, and her hands gestured wildly, fingers tattooed and perpetually smudged with paint.

“You don’t think I’ll get caught, right?” she asked suddenly, her bright eyes darting to yours.

You looked up from where you sat cross-legged on the floor, moisturizing your legs. The scent of cocoa butter and shea wafted into the air, mixing with the faint tang of paint fumes that always seemed to cling to Jinx.

“Girl, with the way you move? They’ll see you coming a mile away,” you teased, smiling.

Jinx pouted, sitting upright. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re loud,” you said, pointing at her with a raised brow. “Like, loud loud. You’re not exactly subtle.”

She stared at you for a moment before bursting into laughter, throwing her head back. “You’re not wrong,” she admitted. “But that’s why I’ve got you. You’re my quiet one. The stealthy one.”

You smirked, reaching for the bonnet on the table and pulling it over your freshly twisted hair. “Don’t drag me into your mess.”

“Oh, please,” she said, sliding off the couch to sit next to you on the floor. “You love my mess.”

She wasn’t wrong.

Jinx had burst into your life like a hurricane, colorful and chaotic in a way you’d never known before. You were the type to keep your head down, to mind your business and focus on your art, the vibrant canvases scattered around your apartment proof of your creativity. But Jinx? She was the opposite—loud, wild, unapologetically herself.

She’d spotted you at a street art festival a few months back, admiring a massive mural with a skeptical look on your face.

“You don’t like it?” she’d asked, suddenly at your side, a grin tugging at her lips.

You’d blinked, caught off guard. “It’s… fine. Just not my style.”

“Oh, so you’ve got style?” she’d teased, her eyes narrowing playfully.

That was how it started.

Now, she was practically a permanent fixture in your life, crashing on your couch whenever she felt like it and pulling you into her world of chaotic creativity.

“Why do you always put that on before bed?” Jinx asked, motioning toward your bonnet as you leaned back against the couch.

“Because I actually care about my hair,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “Unlike some people.”

Jinx gasped, feigning offense. “I care about my hair! Look at these braids—they’re flawless!”

You gave her a look, your lips quirking into a smile. “Yeah, because I did them for you last week. You were crying about your arms getting tired.”

“Okay, fair,” she said, leaning closer. “But that just means you’re amazing. And you’re, like, totally obsessed with me.”

You snorted. “In your dreams.”

Jinx fell silent for a moment, her teasing smile softening. “Actually… yeah. You kinda are.”

Her voice was quieter now, the usual wild energy in her eyes tempered by something you couldn’t quite place. She reached out, tracing a finger along the edge of one of your small, framed paintings leaning against the wall.

“I’ve never met anyone like you,” she said softly, her eyes still fixed on the painting. “You’re just… different.”

You felt your chest tighten at her words, at the way her voice seemed to hold an unfamiliar vulnerability. “Different how?”

She finally looked at you, her gaze steady in a way that made your heart race. “Like… good different. Like when I’m around you, I don’t feel like I have to be this… crazy version of myself all the time. You don’t look at me like I’m broken or too much. You just… see me.”

Her words lingered in the air, heavy and raw. The song on the record player swirled around you, its dreamy tones a perfect backdrop to the moment.

“Jinx…”

She leaned closer, her blue braids brushing your shoulder. “You feel it too, right?”

Your breath caught. You did feel it—the magnetic pull of her, the way she lit up your world like neon against a dark sky. But you’d been afraid to name it, afraid of what it might mean.

Now, with her so close, her sharp edges softened by the dim light of your apartment, you couldn’t deny it any longer.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I feel it.”

Her grin returned, softer this time, almost shy. “Good. ‘Cause I’ve been dying to kiss you.”

Before you could respond, she leaned in, her lips brushing yours. It was soft at first, hesitant, like she wasn’t sure you’d let her stay. But when you kissed her back, her hand found your cheek, pulling you closer.

When you finally broke apart, she rested her forehead against yours, a laugh bubbling from her lips. “Damn, I should’ve done that sooner.”

You smiled, your fingers tangling in the fabric of her hoodie. “Yeah, you should’ve.”

Outside, the city continued to hum, but for the first time in a long while, you felt like everything else could wait.

Authors note:-Let me know if you’d like more posts that are modern 😘 oh also if I should create a tag list and start having emoji anons.!

[transformers-spike]

I cannot be the only one who wants to bang peepaw Alpha Trion plEASE TELL ME IM NOT ALONE 😭

I will never stop being an old man enjoyer. Give us your spike, peepaw

“I’m relieved we aren’t the only ones in this universe.” The words echo in his processor like sand in the desert wind. Fading in and out of consciousness under the rubble, he clings onto the softness of your voice, the faded edges of your smile burnt into his memory. He cannot make sense of your shape anymore, it’s a blotch of ink in his vision, something he recalls but cannot fully visualize. His mind reaches out to you, so close yet so far away. With every step he takes, you grow smaller, and still, you patiently wait for him with your arms outstretched. Like old times. You are dead. This he knows. Unequivocally dead. His digits twitch, warnings encapsulate his vision, reminding him each and every nanoclik of wakefulness that the next in-vent could be his last. He can’t help himself. Duty has led his life for so long, bestowed upon him by his creator, and he cannot fall back now and forgo his promise to protect Cybertron. But he is weak; pain receptors growing numb from the boulders crushing his frame, limbs quivering from a battle long lost. Primus forgive him, allow him this final comfort. Cycles ago, your crew had first established contact with Cybertron. It was a message sent across space, a simple signal that would tie your fates forever. The Council debated answering, fearing you could pose a threat to their planet, but there were only three ships with only a handful of members each. They chose fraternization over static silence. Communication was difficult, but somehow, someway, you understood each other just enough to arrive on their planet. Surprise struck him when he saw your kind, small, frail and soft to the touch. Your people were just as startled as them, but in your optics he saw something greater; a delight in meeting fellow sentient beings. They took in your crew and treated them like brothers and sisters, communicating through gestures and drawings. You could not speak their language, but they could learn yours. Knowledge was shared among you, tales of your worlds, their history, your technology, your people… Perhaps your place among your own was what drew him to you. Standing on the sidelines, you watched and took notes, occasionally serving as a sketch artist to exchange information. The others were mingling with the Council, asking questions, telling stories, showing what machinery brought you to them. But you kept your distance, politely nodding along and busying yourself with your notebooks. When he approached you, taking slow careful steps, you nearly dropped your pen in shock. His size was already intimidating by Cybertronian standards, but for a human? He could barely imagine the primal fear you felt when met with someone of his stature. You recovered quickly despite it, uneasy but maintaining your composure. Having knelt down to your level, he offered you servo, the sand within it shaping into a miniature version of your ship. You blinked, clutching your notebook to your chassis. Then, after a drawn out silence, you smiled, optics gleaming with wonder. That was the start of your companionship. You would sit in his servo, looking up at the night sky, speaking words he could barely understand but tried his hardest to learn. He recalls bits and pieces, meanings he managed to grasp through what you taught him. It wasn’t long until your time together grew intimate. As a prime, he was so focused on his duties that he barely got the chance to relax, much less interface. Things were… difficult due to the size difference, but there were workarounds. Charge runs through his fuel lines at the memory. How you would brush your digits against his valve, testing the waters so to say, before slipping your servo inside of it. There was no true relief in the interface, no way for you to properly satisfy each other. But you were both content, savoring every moment of your companionship. You would press your lips to his spike, working your servo in and out of his gushing valve. It made his frame shudder and his optics glitch.

He touched you much the same way, digits rubbing at the sensitive nerves between your thighs, gazing down at you lovingly as you grit your denta and arched your optical ridge in pleasure.

[didyoulookforme]

a different arrangement

a fluffy, rambling, unedited blurb based on this from months ago.

it just kept popping up in my mind, so yeah...

—

the morning feels like a secret. the air is cool and delicate, the kind that belongs to an hour when most people are still tangled in their dreams. the cafe patio is calm, empty except for the shuffle of leaves and the scrape of chairs against concrete. you’re moving through it on autopilot, balancing a tray in one hand, the other shielding your face from the sun cutting low across the horizon. the smell of coffee—warm and grounding—clings to you, though it does little to wake you up. opening shifts always feel like borrowed time, half-remembered and hazy.

and your feet slow when you spot him.

he’s sitting at the farthest table, one leg is stretched out, the other tucked beneath him, and a suitcase sits neatly at his side. his notebook lies open, its corners curling slightly, and a pen twirls idly between his fingers. his hair is dark and messy in a way that feels intentional—like he’s pushed it back a hundred times and given up. sunlight catches on the soft scruff along his jaw, softening the sharp lines of his profile.

he’s focused, brow furrowed as though the page in front of him holds a puzzle he hasn’t solved yet. but there’s no rush in the way he sits, like he has all the time in the world. polished isn’t the right word for him—he’s too unruly for that—but there’s something distinct about him, something that makes this sleepy town feel even smaller. and yet, he doesn’t seem out of place. he looks like he belongs to the morning in the same way the sunlight does, temporary but perfect for the moment.

the tray in your hand feels heavier as you approach, the cups clinking louder than you intend. “black coffee,” you say, your voice steady but unfamiliar in the quiet.

he looks up, and the moment stretches, folds itself into something unexpected. his eyes meet yours, and they’re darker than you’d imagined. not cold, though—there’s warmth there, something sharp and curious. he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away the way most people might. and then, the faintest smile curves his mouth. it sends a quiet, breathless ache somewhere deep inside you.

“thanks,” he says, and his voice is low and easy, his accent stretching over the word like honey. it’s the kind of voice that feels like it belongs to another life entirely, something out of reach.

your eyes flick to the suitcase beside him before you can stop yourself. “heading somewhere?” you ask, feeling suddenly too aware of yourself.

“yeah. back home later today.”

“and where’s home?”

“london.”

you blink at the answer, the word heavy in your mind. london. it feels distant and impossible, like it belongs to movies and postcards, not to this conversation on this patio.

“i’ve always wanted to go,” you say softly, the admission slipping out before you can think better of it. “but i’ve never made it past here.”

“why not?”

his question feels casual, but the way he asks it—his eyes steady on yours, his tone light but sincere—makes it feel like more. your fingers tighten slightly on the edge of the tray. “life, i guess. work, family, money… the usual excuses.”

he hums, tipping his head slightly as he taps his fingers against the mug. “sounds like you need a break.”

you let out a soft laugh, trying to deflect the way the comment lands too close to something you’ve been avoiding. “don’t we all?”

“maybe,” he agrees, his voice dropping to something softer, more deliberate. “but you mean it.”

there’s a certainty in his tone that makes it hard to meet his eyes for too long. you glance toward the cafe, catching sight of a regular waving for your attention. the moment breaks like a thread being pulled loose.

“i should—” you start, nodding toward the door, but he interrupts gently.

“wait. what’s your name?”

the question feels startlingly intimate, even though it’s simple. you tell him, your name unfamiliar on your tongue, and he repeats it softly, like he’s testing how it fits in his mouth. it sounds better coming from him, and you hate how much you like it.

“matty,” he says, offering his name with a tone that feels just a touch warmer than before. “nice to meet you.”

the words stick with you as you retreat into the cafe, your heart thudding in a rhythm that doesn’t belong to the quiet morning. when you glance back, he’s still watching, his expression steady but unreadable. it’s enough to make your pulse stutter all over again.

—

matty doesn’t just sit at the table—he claims it. every time you step outside, he’s doing something different, though the focus in him never wavers. at one point, he’s writing, the pen in his hand moving with a kind of urgency that makes you wonder if the page will catch fire. later, he’s leaning back, one arm draped lazily over the chair, a crossword puzzle in front of him. the grid looks like a battlefield—half-filled answers, some scratched out, others left untouched. his pen taps against his bottom lip, his brow furrowing like the clue in front of him holds the answer to something far bigger than a single word.

you also notice the napkin—a blank canvas when you brought him his coffee, now covered in tiny sketches and spirals. there’s a cartoon coffee mug with a ridiculous expression, a constellation of stars, and looping scribbles that don’t seem to form anything in particular. it’s messy and oddly endearing, the kind of thing you wouldn’t expect from someone who carries himself like he’s got everything figured out.

when you bring him a refill, he pulls out an earbud before you’ve even reached the table, his attention snapping to you like he’s been waiting. the way he smiles makes something unfamiliar twist low in your stomach.

“you’re spoiling me,” his is voice warm with humor, his fingers tracing the edge of the mug you’re refilling.

you tilt your head, feigning nonchalance as you set the pot down. “you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“not bad,” he says, leaning back in his chair as though the morning were made just for him, “just risky.”

his reply catches you off guard, and your face betrays you—just a flicker of surprise before you recover. his mouth curves slightly, almost smug, like he’s pleased he’s thrown you. you lift an eyebrow, refusing to let him win. “i’ll take my chances.”

his eyes dip briefly to the crossword, and he twirls the pen between his fingers before gesturing toward it. “you any good at these?” he asks, as if it’s the most natural thing to include you in whatever this is.

“why? need rescuing?”

“possibly.” he glances at the page, his lips pressing together like he’s fighting off a laugh. “turns out ‘chaos’ doesn’t fit into a six-letter space.”

your laugh is soft but unrestrained, spilling out before you can catch it. his gaze finds yours again, heavier this time, and your pulse stutters under the weight of it. “try ‘mayhem,’” the suggestion tumbling out before you’ve had a chance to think about it.

he raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. “clever and helpful,” he murmurs, jotting down the word. “what would i do without you?”

the question lands somewhere it shouldn’t, leaves a warmth behind that lingers too long. you glance away, catching sight of the tattoo covering part of his forearm. it’s bold against his skin, and you’re grateful for the distraction.

“mortal kombat?”

his gaze follows yours, and his smirk widens into something softer, almost nostalgic. “yeah. childhood obsession.”

“didn’t peg you for a gamer.”

“i’m full of surprises.” his tone dips, playful but steady, and he leans forward slightly, closing the space between you just enough to make you breathless. “what about you? ever play?”

“once or twice,” you admit. “terrible at it.”

“button-masher,” he accuses, the word landing like a challenge. the laugh that slips out of you feels unintentional, easy in a way you didn’t expect.

“is there any other way?” you counter, crossing your arms as though to steady yourself.

his smirk softens into something quieter, his gaze lingering on you for a beat too long. “not if you want to win.”

—

“so, you’ve always lived here?” he asks, not quite a question, more like a statement he’s waiting for you to confirm.

you nod, brushing a hand over the edge of the tray still balanced against your hip. “born and raised. it’s not exactly exciting, but it’s home. predictable, you know?”

he hums softly, his expression thoughtful as he glances past you toward the street. “predictable’s not the worst thing in the world,” he says after a moment. “but you don’t strike me as someone who’s too thrilled by it.”

you laugh softly, the sound more honest than you intended. “no, not really. but it’s easy to get stuck, you know? years go by, and suddenly you’re still here, doing the same thing you were five years ago.”

“sounds familiar,” he admits, his voice dipping lower, quieter. “sometimes i think the only reason i’m not stuck is because my job keeps moving me around. but even then, it’s not like i’m actually living in those places—just passing through.”

“what do you do, exactly?” you ask, tilting your head slightly.

his gaze shifts back to you. “i scout locations for films. basically, i find places that match the story—where the light works, or the atmosphere feels right. spots that set the tone before anyone even says a word.”

“that’s… unexpectedly poetic,” you say, smiling despite yourself.

he chuckles softly, the sound warm and easy. “yeah, well, the reality’s a bit messier. lots of late nights, arguing over budgets, dealing with directors who want impossible things. but every now and then, you stumble across somewhere that just works, and it makes all the chaos worth it.”

his gaze flicks back to you, steady and deliberate. “this place… it’s got something. quiet, sure, but there’s a kind of honesty to it. like it’s not trying to be anything other than what it is.”

you raise an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “honest? that’s one way to put it. most people would just say boring.”

he shakes his head, leaning back in his chair as his fingers drum lightly against the table. “nah. it’s not boring. it’s… understated. besides, if it was so dull, you wouldn’t still be here.”

his words settle into something heavier than you expect, and you hate how much they get under your skin. you glance down at the tray in your hands, brushing your fingers over its edge.

—

you find yourself wandering back to his table. it’s not because you have to—his coffee’s still half-full, and he hasn’t waved you over. but something about the way he’s sitting there, relaxed and yet quietly focused, draws you in.

“everything alright over here?” you ask lightly, tilting your head as you stop by his side.

his attention shifts to you immediately, like you’ve just become the most interesting thing in the room. “more than alright,” he says, his lips curving into that expression that’s already starting to feel dangerous. “though i wouldn’t say no to a top-up.”

you pour slowly, the steam curling between you. when you glance up, he’s watching you again—not just watching, but really seeing, like he’s cataloging every little movement.

“so,” he starts, setting the pen down and leaning forward slightly. “if you could get out of here, just for a little while, where would you go first?”

the question catches you off guard, and your hand stills over his cup. “i mean… anywhere,” you say, shrugging slightly as you set the pot back on the tray. “i’ve always wanted to travel—see places that feel bigger than here. but it’s not exactly in the cards right now.”

“what if it was?” he presses, his tone lighter but still carrying a hint of something more serious.

you raise an eyebrow at him. “what are you getting at?”

he leans back again, crossing his arms over his chest. “hear me out,” he says, his smile widening just enough to make you suspicious. “you stay in my flat in london for a couple of weeks. see the city, live a little. in the meantime, i’ll stick around here. get to know what it’s like to slow down for once.”

the suggestion hits you like a splash of cold water—shocking, absurd, impossible. “you’re joking,” you say, though your voice doesn’t carry as much conviction as you’d like.

“dead serious,” he replies, his face softening into something clearly sincere. “you said you’ve never left. maybe it’s time to change that.”

you blink at him, your mind racing to keep up. “and you’d just… what, live my life for a couple of weeks?”

“something like that,” he says, shrugging easily. “seems like a fair trade. i get to breathe for a bit, and you get to see the world—or at least, a small corner of it.”

“you don’t even know me,” you point out, your voice quieter now.

he tilts his head, his gaze steady. “i know enough,” he says simply. “and besides, this isn’t exactly a permanent arrangement. think of it as… an experiment.”

you let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “this is insane.”

“most good ideas are,” he counters, his voice dipping lower, warmer now. “so? what do you think?”

you hesitate, your pulse quickening under the weight of his gaze. “and how exactly would this work?”

“easy,” he says, reaching for the napkin covered in doodles. “give me your number. i’ll reach out once i’m back in london, and we’ll sort out the details. no pressure—you can back out anytime.”

his tone is light, but there’s a flicker of something earnest in his expression, something that makes it hard to look away. against your better judgment, you take the pen resting beside his notebook and scribble your number in the corner of the napkin, your handwriting slightly slanted from the nerves tightening your grip.

“don’t make me regret this,” you say as you slide the napkin toward him.

his fingers brush against yours as he takes it, the touch brief but enough to send a shiver up your spine.

“i wouldn’t dream of it,” he says softly, his grin returning just enough to make your heart stutter.

you straighten up, clutching the tray to your chest like it might keep you grounded. “we’ll see,” you manage, though your voice feels far less composed than you’d like.

“we will,” he says, and the way he says it—calm, certain—makes it feel less like a question and more like a promise.

—

the minutes stretch and settle as the day unfolds, but matty stays rooted at his table. his coffee cup sits empty now, his notebook tucked back into his bag, but he doesn’t seem in any hurry to leave. you catch glimpses of him through the window as you move around the cafe—leaning back in his chair, his gaze wandering over the trellis above, as though he’s letting the stillness soak into his skin.

when he finally stands, the scrape of his chair against the concrete draws your attention. you watch as he stretches, arms reaching high above his head, his movements slow and unhurried. his suitcase, still sitting neatly beside him, serves as a quiet reminder that this is temporary—that he doesn’t belong to this place the way you do.

he adjusts the strap of his bag and slips the folded napkin with your number into his pocket. the motion is deliberate, careful in a way that makes your pulse flutter, though you try not to let it show.

he lingers by the table for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the patio as though trying to memorize it. when he turns, his eyes find yours through the doorway, and that faint, crooked smile of his returns—softer now, less teasing but no less disarming.

“thanks for the coffee,” he says, his voice low and warm, carrying easily through the space.

“anytime,” you manage, though the word feels flimsy under the weight of his gaze.

he nods once, his expression calm and steady, before turning toward the street. you watch as he pauses at the curb, his head tilting slightly as though deciding which direction to go. the sound of his suitcase wheels clicking against the pavement feels louder than it should, each step pulling him farther away.

just before he disappears around the corner, he glances back. his eyes find yours again, and the curve of his mouth deepens into something warmer, something that makes your chest ache in a way you don’t want to name. he lifts a hand in a casual wave, his movements easy and unhurried, and you lift yours in return, your heart racing as you watch him disappear from view.

the rest of the day passes in fragments—orders taken, tables cleared, polite conversations carried out without much thought. but his words linger, echoing softly in the back of your mind.

by the time you lock up for the night, the patio is empty, the chairs stacked neatly under the trellis. the air is cool now, carrying the faint scent of ivy and coffee grounds, and for a moment, you let it all settle around you.

[loopdile]

loopdile so real. i have a Vision of both siffrin and loop being Deeply Deeply Closeted Repressed Transfem and having gender envy over odile and i feel like that'd do Something to the Dynamic. Something......... Something........................... well i'm not successfully envisioning it but maybe YOU are?

i am positively plagued by loopdile gender visions!!! maybe not the exact same as you're thinking but i think you will enjoy them. walk with me, anon, through the garden of my loop gender headcanons. it's kind of a big garden but we'll get to the odile part eventually i promise.

Before they were Siffrin, Siffrin had their gender on lock: something transfem, but also tied to unique cultural elements in some way, either the specific identity or the way of thinking about it or just the particular set of presentation options. Perhaps they even started fantasy HRT! But then they forget everything, obviously, including their identity and transition plans. They decide pretty quickly that they're not a man, but none of the alternatives feel exactly correct either; if their previous identity was presented as an option, maybe it would click and they'd settle into it pretty fast, but unfortunately that is literally impossible.

So, no clear goals in mind. And because of his forgotten past, continued memory problems, and constant traveling, Siffrin starts to really value the few things he can count on to stay consistent. He'd rather wear his comfortable hat and cloak than leave them behind in favor of anything more gendered. He'd rather stick with his familiar body than risk changing it. Still, maybe there are some changes he'd be happier in the long run to have made... but the process would be stressful, and he's got enough stressful things to worry about already!

But then we get to Loop. Who has already been changed, suddenly and irrevocably and so very, very accidentally. They are not Siffrin anymore, they do not have the hat and cloak, they aren't even human. They don't even really remember who they were pre-loops. There is no familiarity for them to cling to; instead, they're desperate to find things they can control, things they can change, proof that the world moves forward and they're in charge of their place in it. The motivation that Siffrin lacked, Loop now has in spades!

However, their negative feelings are more intense as well. They struggle to face real stakes, to put effort into anything too complicated, to try anything that might disappoint them. They take risks, yes, but not about things they care about; they take risks because they don't care. And they have a lot of other things going on, too, both practically and psychologically, so gender isn't their immediate priority. "Who and what am I?" is a very difficult question for them right now on multiple levels, a difficult question with only difficult answers.

But, starting with the practical: wearing clothes is an easy way to look and feel a little bit more normal, right? So they experiment, and they decide that dresses are just similar enough to the cloak to be comfortable, but distinct enough to not be as emotionally fraught. And they like them in a frivolous way that Siffrin was never willing to lean all the way into. Siffrin didn't put much thought or energy into his appearance, but Loop's inhuman form is a constant issue, so they might as well dress it in a way they like! Something good to balance out the bad, since they can't be neutral any longer.

And of course they think about body craft, though in a different context from most people. Even the nearly-human parts of their body are lacking detail, without all the right functions behind the form, and then other parts aren't human at all. Their body feels wrong, distracting, constricting. They don't understand how it works, and it draws attention they don't want, and it's not them. And yet, isn't it? Even if they'd been put back into a Siffrin body again, they aren't Siffrin anymore, either. Loop is what the loops made them. They want to change their body, to make it something they can be comfortable in, but they can't. Because body craft is a method of changing flesh and blood and bone, and Loop is not made of such human stuff anymore.

So we've got Loop. Trying to find themself, and maybe succeeding in some ways, but stymied or uncertain in others. Desperate to change, but scared to hope. To make a long story short, they join back up with the party, which brings its own set of problems, and yet... it's also a step towards fixing some of their problems, too. Most relevant to our post, here: Odile is a craft expert with a unique set of experiences. She's got a wide foundation of knowledge, since she's familiar with all three main craft types. She used to be part of Ka Bue's underground body-crafting scene, where she not only crafted her own body but also helped and taught other people; and unlike in Vaugarde, where Houses provide resources and education, Odile and her peers had to do their own research and experiments, develop their own techniques. She even has some knowledge of wish craft from Siffrin, and the way she stopped Siffrin from looping proves that she's unusually good at analyzing and adapting to new forms of craft.

So once Loop's dissatisfaction with and ignorance regarding their own physical form comes to Odile's attention, of course she offers to help. To see if she can figure out what their body is made of, and how it works, and hopefully, in what ways it can be changed.

And this dynamic with her... it's totally different from her relationship with Siffrin, both pre-loops and post. And Loop has always admired her, and here she is, talking about the confidence and determination with which she changed her own body, not without fear or frustration but not letting herself be slowed down by them, either. Taking her fate into her own hands and refusing to be anyone other than herself. And Loop used to feel that Odile understood them best, and losing that connection felt like the end of the world, but here she is, still! Observant and caring as ever. Dedicated to figuring them out again. Unflinching as she sees them for the strange thing they currently are, but equally unshakable in her insistence that they do not have to stay exactly as they are.

So Odile helps them figure out their body. Helps them with the craft itself, too, but even more than that — through both encouragement and example, she helps them be brave enough to genuinely try. To ask themself what they really want. To strike a balance between Siffrin's complacent hesitation and Loop's miserable desperation. To experiment, and face both the chance of failure and the chance of success with head held high. To hope.

Odile is not one for platitudes and empty positivity, after all. If she says something's possible, then it is, or she will make it so, one way or another, despite any setback. Isn't she proof? She remade herself, and she can remake Loop, too. Changing them, slowly and carefully and so very, very deliberately. Loop will never be human again, but they can decide who they are and become themself.

[fountainpenguin]

"She's gonna cut my head off... but I don't caaare! They say, 'You clean up nice... Just like a dead man! Like a dead man!'" (x)

---

New Dog's Life chapter today! ~ 3rd Life series fan-season

Chapter 42 - “Raider Reunion (Martyn, Etho, Impulse, BigB)”

❤️ Read on AO3

💛 Start from Chapter 1

💚 More Pixels Imperfect fics

---

“Hey, everybody! Welcome back. My name is Josh, and we’re glad to see you here. Pleasure to meet you. Mumbo; it’s been a while. Etho! I just saw your twin and niece. He’s good with kids. She’s… not.” You both know this guy? BigB tries to sneak a glance at either one of them, but the only response he gets is Mumbo’s shrug. “I’m BigB,” he tells the enderman, still focused on the man’s neck area more than on his face. “I don’t shake. I’m an illusioner underneath the moth mods; from knox ZnHeITtk HTvkH IkItn. What are you guys doing out here?” If his terse refusal to touch hands bothers Josh, he doesn’t show it. He does, however, break into a wider smile. “Well, thanks for joining us today. We’re setting up for one of my favorite games: Is There a Limit? Specifically… Is there a limit to how many people we can have waterskiing behind a dragon at the same time?” “… What’s waterskiing?”

Scott gave BigB until sunset to talk to his old raider friends. BigB didn't bring a clock.

Meanwhile, Impulse seeks help for his goo problem and Martyn breaks into Cleo's house. Just a typical day in New Star Station...

(First 1,000 words under the cut)

---

InTheLittleWood

Location: Approaching wool farm, North New Star Station

🖤  🌕  🖤

Are you sure you can handle this? Every twitch in Martyn’s form screams at him to voice the question. Spikes and feathers twist inside his hearts. Nostrils flare. Maybe that’s why Bdubs blurts out his words without thinking them through: because keeping a shut jaw fills a guy with alligator wriggles. Technically, the proper way to sort out this lack of faith would be to take it to the sparring ring, but Martyn can’t do that either… Not with Rosejoy’s rippling muscles a hand’s breadth from his own. Hey, she has claim on the Fox Dragon’s turf. That can’t be an accident. And if it was, then it’d be just my luck that lightning strikes her twice.

“You did all right out there,” Martyn tells her, which is less direct than asking why she challenged Impulse in the first place. You think she knew she’d lose upfront? Huh. Maybe she gets drunk on the way people talk. They’ll have gossip and clip compilations for days.

Chunky fingers tighten around his own. Martyn looks down to the wobbly eyes of a much lower-XP phantom hybrid clinging to his hand. “What about me?”

“Aww, you too, slugger. You really showed Baker what-for. All tuckered out now, are we? Yeah…”

Lucky rubs a fist across his eye. It hides a yawn, but Martyn’s hearts spring forward like rabbits when the arrows come a’flyin’. The foxes he hatched would’ve liked to eat rabbit, actually. Martyn pats Lucky behind the shoulder, but throws a glance to Rosejoy to see if she caught what just happened there. And the stare she returns, uh… answers that question pretty dang well.

Sleepy kid. His energy’s dropping fast. The portals are still down, so there’s no dodging this by jumping AFK. We need more food. If Bdubs will listen long enough to follow orders-

“Aw, Lucky’s gonna love hanging with me,” Rosejoy butts in, thwapping him with the end of her tail. She caught Martyn on the way, which was probably the point.

And you’re sure? he wants to ask again. Lucky’s a member of the New Star flock; he’s never been alone with Rosejoy before. Mental ping after mental ping fires down Martyn’s spine. Rival captain bad. Rival captain take or kill. Brrr. That’ll wake you up in the morning. That’ll give you shivers all the way ‘til bed.

“So, what’s the big guy’s story?” Rosejoy asks, moving a few steps away. The shift of her wings and the grimace of his lips paint a picture Martyn only dares to imagine from the outside looking in: Two flock captains testing one another’s boundaries; they maintain a truce ‘cuz someone outside told them so. It sure ain’t instinct keeping the rules intact. She continues, bouncing every step. “Who would mod out of being a phantom with a wingspan like that? I bet wind resistance runs from him!”

Oh, it does. The glitter in her eye ripples Martyn to his core. The swing in her tail’s a little too lax for a guest who’s got everything to lose with raiders in her home. The soft smirk’s a little too wide. She doesn’t want to lead him aboveground… Does she? Will the Lone Spruce refugees even be allowed aboveground when the coast is clear? Unsure. And Martyn wonders then, with a quickening through his hearts… whether Impulse - if offered the chance to rejoin a flock - would actually say ‘Yes.’

I mean, I don’t see any reason Scott could refuse him, right? Impulse can fly. He’s got the wings, the strength, the speed… If the phantoms get to go, why wouldn’t he?

“Ah, just medical reasons,” he says anyway, clinging tighter to Lucky’s hand. “Nice guy. Just super pent-up, if you know what I mean. I just feel sorry for his wife. He can’t target anymore, y’know? There go the love hearts.”

“He can’t hunt?”

“Lost his soul teeth. We keep him fed.” We have a system. He’s with us. So back off. He can’t ascertain from her silence whether the implication came across, printed in his tone, but at least Rosejoy doesn’t press the topic harder. Seriously, she hovered around Impulse enough back there at the squall- Did you hear the stuff she asked him?

There should be enough souls left in storage to keep Lucky going. Martyn looked through the mess with Bdubs last night. Bdubs still has a few in his soul pouch, but whether he shares is anyone’s guess. Like Hels he will, Martyn gripes, because Bdubs already made his position quite clear when he caught Cleo offering a feed: That’s the captain’s job. And he’s not the captain.

Really, though? To refuse a kid? Technically Bdubs didn’t refuse Lucky, but Martyn’s not about to ask him to share. Not before exhausting all his options. And maybe not even then.

We prep the nest. I feed the kid. Simple, simple two-step plan. And if it comes to it, there will be no asking. It’ll be a demand straight from his mouth to Bdubs’ ears. And the boss better listen up if he knows what’s good for him.

Their first stop is for more blankets from the wool farm. Last night everyone was restless, off and on the roosting platform for hours. Martyn brought out the board games and Bdubs did a little improv show - a little open mic night - but the fewer souls they’ve got on hand, the more exhausted everyone will get. What’s wrong with a little cuddle pile? Aw, roosting’s such an effort. Nobody says that, but they could! And you don’t grow up to be Martyn InTheLittleWood unless you’ve learned to be prepared.

Mumbo used to compliment me on random stuff in my inventory. Cleo too, but this is Sad Times About Mumbo right now. Martyn is trying very, very hard not to think about Cleo. Just check the moon and her AFK status if you wanna take a crack at why.

“Lucky, keep your hands behind your back. You’ll spook the villagers, remember? They’ll run.”

“Okay.”

“That’s why I wear the hoodie,” Rosejoy says, keeping back. When Martyn shoots a glance at her, debating whether to shoo her even farther off (Because let’s be real, three approaching phantoms would get anyone’s hackles up, even if they’re on foot), she just smiles. “You go on and do your thing. I’m barracking for you.”

The villagers regard Rosejoy with way too much apprehension to approach the fence. Martyn can read it in their shoulders; not even Meriwo will get close, and it’s the village headman. Martyn pulls his hoodie sleeves over his hands and hops the fence the old-fashioned way. He can’t speak the villager language and New Star’s mobs sure as hell aren’t sparked, but he’ll find a way. He’ll use bold gestures with his arms.

“Oh, this’d be so much easier if they didn’t scramble off when they see sign language.” Or if I had BigB and Cleo out here.

❤️ Read on AO3

[novelconcepts]

There are a lot of Worst Things about depression. Everybody's got a different Worst Thing. Hell, I can't always decide on what my personal Worst Thing is. Sometimes it's the numb despair. Sometimes, it's the dumb animal panic. Most of the time, though, it's that there isn't enough room inside of me.

What I mean is: I care about too many things. I think that's pretty standard these days for a lot of people. Empathy stretched fine as gossamer. We see so much suffering each day. We see so much more than any one person was meant to. So you wind up caring, because caring is what a person is wired to do, what makes life worth living. You care about people you know. You care about people you've never met. You care about situations in countries you haven't set foot in. You care about the political climate of your own hometown. You care about your own dreams. You care about your best friend's bad luck. You care about your pets' health. You care about when the next book in your favorite series will come out. You care, and you care, and you care, because you're wired to care about it all. It's exhausting sometimes, but it's life. Sometimes the best part of life.

With depression, the caring space gets to feeling too full. Has packed tight, all those elements butting into one another until they lose meaning, the darkness threading into the gaps. There just isn't enough room inside of me for all the fear and the despair and the weird empty anger, much less the stuff that actually matters. So I start shorting out. Because, see, depression makes it so I can't care; don't see a point in even trying. And the real me, the part of me that isn't being cannibalized by the demons, doesn't know how to do anything else. So the middle ground becomes: shrink the caring space. Shrink it down bit by bit. All systems are running at once, and we're getting low on juice, so the natural thing is to start shutting off lights. Start jettisoning the extraneous to make room.

Except it's depression at the wheel, not common sense, so it's not just the extra flair getting turned off. Not the despair and the mind-numbing terror and the reckless urge to pick fights. The stuff that winds up getting tossed is stuff I need. Stuff that keeps me going. It's all being shut down at once, no rhyme or reason, until I suddenly can't care about the things that are me. Intrinsic, fabric-level stuff. I can't care about creating. About making art. About telling stories. I can't care about other people telling stories. I can't care about my friends the way I'm supposed to. I can't care about their travel or their kids or their wins. I can't care about making food for myself. I can't care about brushing my teeth. I'm shutting down to component parts, but I didn't get to pick which components are still running full-power, so I wind up with just a handful of randomly blinking lights. Suddenly, I care very much about my fear of the future, my financial insecurity, how fast I can run a 5K, a single television show--and just about nothing else.

It isn't healthy. It's sure as fuck not sustainable. And I know from experience that the rest of the system will come back online eventually. I'll find myself telling another story in a week or a month. I'll find myself sketching something out of nowhere. I'll find myself able to grieve a lost loved one and treasure my new nephew. It'll all come back, in time. But it's the in-between bit that grates. The bit where I'm in the shuttle with my knees tucked against my chest, sucking oxygen through a straw, trying to conserve whatever is still running. The bit where I resent the people in my life who aren't running on fumes like I am. Where I'm furious that they can care, that they can move freely, that they aren't pacing a minuscule cage like I am. It's a loss, all the months and years I've spent on life support. It's a fucking waste.

That's where I am right now. Life support. Little things get in, from time to time. I can suddenly inhale a book series start to finish. I can suddenly coax myself into eating the same thing for lunch for three weeks straight. Those are extra lights on the dash, and I have to treasure them. Because there isn't really room, so any little thing that I find space for is a gift. And everything else--talking. planning. trusting. creating. intake.--has to stay dark for a little while longer.

It'll come back on. I have to believe it'll come back on.

In the meantime, I hunker in my shuttle, and I wait.

[gibbearish]

a weird little thing abt me is i will definitely mock shitty ai art but it never feels right doing it about the hands simply by virtue of the fact that a lot of them look indistinguishable from the hands i was doing years ago when i first got a drawing tablet

[narugen-moved]

feeling bad again 😧

[chiscaralight]

cw: shy!choso x reader, prone boning, college au. sukuna and gojo ver linked at the bottom!

college athlete!choso who’s an absolute beast on the field. everyone loves to watch him play, it’s almost like a movie every time he’s out for the game! he’s always ready to charge headfirst when it comes to his sport, and he won’t let anyone take it away from him.

college athlete!choso who doesn’t talk to anyone outside his teammates and a select few. it’s fair anyway, a lot of people only want to speak to him bc he’s deemed important, not like they want to know him.

college athlete!choso who’s also known for his aloof personality. but when you’re partnered up for an essay, you soon realize everyone is painfully wrong.

college athlete!choso who’s the most shy thing ever! it almost breaks your heart how he starts to stutter and avoid your eyes while you work out the details, just humming in agreement and you swear he almost passes out when you ask for his number.

college athlete!choso who’s practically about to fall off the edge of your bed, trying to sit as far away from you as possible. it’s like trying to coax a hostile cat to eat food you brought it, but with the way you’re looking at him, choso is sure he wouldn’t mind you putting him in your mouth just a bit.

college athlete!choso who finally warms up to you after a couple of evenings together. there’s still significant distance between the two of you, both physically and emotionally, but he’s more open now. he can actually hold a conversation with you now, and he thinks you’re the coolest! he can’t get you off his mind at all, whether he’s walking to the field hoping to spot you on his path, or secretly searching for you in this shared class.

college athlete!choso who jerks himself off to the thought of you after practice, making sure the locker room is empty as he moans out your name, wishing it was your hand wrapped around his cock instead.

college athlete!choso who forgets he’s supposed to meet up with you, cussing himself out when he sees your texts and missed calls. you’re super understanding though, and you tell him to take his time or you can reschedule if it’s better. but he assures you he can be there in less than ten minutes.

college athlete!choso who’s at your door in three minutes, panting and soaked. you can’t tell whether it’s from the shower water or if it’s sweat, but your eyes are more focused on the outline of his exposed arms and damp shirt clinging to his frame. he’s babbling, saying sorry for wasting your time, he ran because he couldn’t find his keys! but his apologies are hitting deaf ears, your mind is definitely on something else. and he notices.

college athlete!choso who’s eyes widen when you pout, shyly asking him to kiss you. this is something you’ve been trying to avoid since the first day he sat in your room, but it’s so hard to hold yourself back when he looks like this!

college athlete!choso who presses his back to the door, holding you in his arms while your tongues tangle. he’s moaning around your tongue, shamelessly feeling you up while you grind your front against his hardening bulge. he’s almost embarrassingly loud, but each sound he makes sends vibrations straight between your legs.

and you’d have to say the same for yourself, fingers dragging down his arms, around his neck, across his chest. but the real kicker is when you softly place your hand against his abs. he’s unconsciously flexing beneath your touch and it draws you in like magic. maybe he’d have good core strength? you’re the one who’s going to put college athlete!choso to the test.

college athlete!choso who passes your test in flying colors, prone boning you with an ease that has you seeing stars. you’re face first in the sheets, cries muffled by the pillow your head rests on while he slams into you like he hates you, much different from the way he asks if you’re okay after a couple of thrusts. you can’t even get your head up! and he’s getting worried but you guide his hand towards your neck, struggling to place your head in the crook of his elbow before telling him to squeeze.

college athlete!choso who gets off on the way your eyes roll back and your voice gets whinier. his hips falter just a bit when you call out his name in that voice, and if not for how good you felt, you would’ve teased him for the way his cock just twitched.

college athlete!choso who can’t face you in class the next day. you’re a little sad when you don’t see him, so you decide to check the field later in the day.

college athlete!choso who freezes up when he sees you waving from the stands. his teammates don’t miss his change in demeanor, and they start to laugh and nudge him in the side, teasing him about the cutie cheering him on from the bleachers.

college athlete!choso who comes up to you during their break, face still blazing hot from the exercise and the memories of you from last night. he says he would have hugged you but he’s insanely sweaty right now. not like you would’ve minded, that sweaty body was all up on yours last night like it was nothing!

college athlete!choso who gives you a nice long kiss before he leaves. trying to drown out the sounds of his team hollering at the two of you from a distance. you break the kiss with a laugh and tell him he can come over later if he wants.

college athlete!choso who forgets his keys and runs all the way to your place for the fourth time this week. he doesn’t mind though, he just thinks of it as prep for the calories he’s about to burn with you in a couple of minutes.

sukuna ver here!

gojo ver here!

geto ver here!

choso pt2 here!

[writersdrug]

Bartender!Simon accidentally running into Waitress!Reader while she’s carrying a bunch of drinks for a table, causing them to spill all over herself 👉🏻👈🏻

Even more bonus points if she’s dressed in a white shirt, iykyk 👀

You're onto something here

Also, combining this with the ask about reader snooping through Simon's flat on the 3rd floor

Warnings: NSFW, slight humiliation, Simon goes from gentleman to having nasty nasty thoughts

It's a busy night - when mid-September rolls in, the nights get colder, and people gravitate towards the warm lighting of the bar through the street-front window. You still have a couple of hours left on your shift, which means Ghost still has a while, too.

He can't remember how many beers he's poured tonight. The noise of the shaker is drowned out by the buzz in his head. Mack wants another PBR. Table eleven still needs their shots and two Martinis. He's in the zone, pouring liquor and juices and bitters with practiced skill. He catches every word from the patrons at the bar - at least, every order. He mumbles out a quick "step back, please" when a gaggle of girls tries to stand near the end of the bar, waiting for their drinks. The bar is completely seated, people stuffing themselves between chairs to place their orders. Somon's got half a mind to tell them to clear out and get the fuck back, but he has to be civil. It won't be this hellish for too much longer - Price texted Simon that he'd be there in a bit to help.

Simon's more concerned about you: you're running around, delivering food and drink, bringing condiments and refilling waters - you're weaving between tables, maneuvering around bodies with a quick "sorry" or "scuse me"... you're at one table, and in the blink of an eye, you're at another. Simon sometimes doesn't realize you went into the kitchen until you're busting the door open with plates of food. You're covered in a light sheen of sweat, your usual chipper attitude dampened by the Friday night rush. Simon doesn't miss the way you scowl when you hear a table calling for you, when both of your hands are full.

You push yourself through the crowd of girls hovering by the end of the bar. You huff, grabbing a tray and some glasses. "Is it national 'Go to a Bar' day?" You mumble, squeezing behind Simon and heading to the free soda gun.

He barely makes an effort to reply. "Must be." He grunts, pulling several bottles from the shelves and setting them on the counter. He's snatching this and that - you fill your glasses with water, sliding behind him and grabbing the various drinks on the end of the back and stacking them on your tray.

A man elbowed his way between the patrons at the bar. "Can I get another DogFish IPA?" He says, sticking his glass across the bar.

Simon groans internally, but he keeps a stoic face. He quickly leans to his left and reaches for the glass - right as you were picking up your tray, now stacked with drinks. You stumble back, not expecting Simon to be so close to you, and bump into one of the girls that crowds by the bar's entrance.

Simon feels his stomach drop when he sees each of the glasses topple over. You're instantly drenched, alcohol splashing across your eyes, which you have squeezed shut from the onslaught of fluids. Your shirt is absolutely soaked; a few of the glasses fall to the ground and shatter upon impact, alerting the entire bar and making their heads turn to you - the man who handed Simon the glass is ogling at you shamelessly, and the girl you'd bumped into turns around with a simple oh…

You're frozen, eyes wide and your entire front soaking. Your white shirt is practically see-through, clinging to your skin and providing little coverage for your pink, lacy bra. You look mortified and on the verge of tears. Your panicked stare drifts to Simon - you think he's going to yell at you, or worse: give you the silent treatment for the rest of the night because he's too frustrated to speak.

Simon is trying to keep his own staring under wraps – your tits look absolutely tantalizing, hugged so tightly by your wet shirt – but he snaps out of his daze when he sees your teary eyes. He drops everything - you're the most important person in the room right now. He quickly takes the tray from you and sets it aside.

"Here-" he shoves a fresh rag into your hands. "Cover up with that." He says, taking you by your shoulders and leaning down to your level. "Third floor, there's a dresser on th' left side, second drawer has shirts. Go dry off 'n get a new shirt, I'll clean this up."

You're too stunned to cry. You're angry, embarrassed, frustrated... there's so much happening around you, so many eyes staring at your fuck-up, but Simon's eyes keep you from losing control of your emotions. He doesn’t seem angry or irate – he’s worried about you. Shouldn't you help him clean up? It's your mess after all. "But-"

"Hush. Go on, luv - you're practically see-through." He quickly turns you around and gently shoves you into the crowd, and you hurry away to the stairwell without protest, holding the rag close to your chest.

Simon sighs. The pub slowly starts to return to normal, though people aren't trying as hard to get their drinks. A sense of shame seems to hang around everyone’s heads, though there was only one party at fault, here. He stares daggers at the girls who are still hovering by the bar. The one you ran into is gawking back in fear - she knows she messed up.

"Get the fuck back." Simon seethes, storming over to the POS. They all scramble away and press against the wall, afraid he might start swinging at them. "Finish ya drinks and leave. 'M closin' your tab. You're done."

They dissipate back into the crowd, right as Soap pops his head out of the kitchen. "Heard a crash, ye alright?"

"Fuckin' wankers can't understand simple orders." Simon grumbles, grabbing a broom from the corner and sweeping up the glass. "Slag couldn't get her ass out th' fuckin walkway and made bird spill a tray."

"Christ, she ok?"

"Upstairs. Changin'. Shirt nearly disappeared when it got wet."

"Need me tae check up on-"

"Got a fuckin' kitchen t' run, don't ya?"

Johnny scoffs and disappears back into the kitchen. Simon continues sweeping - he spots Price jogging up to the building throught he street front window, and he sighs in relief.

Upstairs, you do just as Simon instructed. You're topless, your bra still a bit damp after you tried to towel-dry it with he rag Simon gave you. You're sifting through his drawer, face scrunched as you shuffle through and inspect each shirt. You're a bit miffed at how many plain, black t shirts he has - has he ever stepped foot into an Old Navy? - but, eventually, you hit the jackpot.

You pull a shirt from the very bottom of the drawer. It's army green, a bit worn over the years, with a bit of a natural, masculine musk clinging to it. The right front chest has a skull, a sword, and wings, along with the table "Task Force 141". On the back, in large letters: "LT. RILEY".

A smile creeps its way onto your face. He never said which shirt... he said any shirt. And this is the one you want.

Your bra comes off quicky, the fabric still wet and uncomfortable. You toss it somewhere on the bed behind you – you’re sure Simon wouldn’t mind if you hung it over the back of his chair, right? Can’t be wearing a wet bra while you’re running around the restaurant; you’d have a bra-shaped water stain on your shirt. Or, worse – you’d get sick. And you know for a fact (though he’s never said it to you) that Simon would kick himself if you got sick on the job.

You quickly pull the shirt on - it swallows you, both in size and scent. It smells just like him - the bodywash you catch a whiff of when you pass him, the slight muskiness that surrounds you when he reaches above you to grab something - it's all there, just tenfold. You stand up and pull it down; it covers your thighs down to your shorts, almost making it look like you weren’t wearing any to an unassuming person.

You take a peek around the room: it’s quite cozy, even with a lack of real décor. The bed sits against the middle of the wall, with Carolina blue sheets and a grey comforter. The pillows look rather worn, but there’s at least three of them. There’s a television on the dresser that faces the bed, and a small bookshelf in the corner next to an antique-looking chair, except the shelf is filled with mostly keepsakes and memorabilia. Any books in the room are stacked on the edges of the two bay windows, embedded in the brick wall that faces the street. The only lighting comes from three lamps: one on the nightstand by his bed, a taller one next to the clothes rack near the bathroom, and a lantern-looking lamp that he’s somehow attached next to the door.

Curiosity gets the better of you – discovering anything about Simon that he hasn’t already told you is like striking oil. You pad over to the shelf, leaning down to inspect the various objects. A balaclava, rolled up and tucked behind a box. In said box is a medal, bronze and dull, with a fist tightly holding a blazing torch. A worn-down pair of sunglasses lay next to a ring. A green stone sits on a silver band, nestled between two ivy vines. There’s a picture of the four of them: Simon, Johnny, Price, and even Kyle – you had assumed they had met Kyle through the restaurant industry, but there they all were. Dressed in military uniforms, holding guns and posing with stern faces in front of a helicopter. Simon was wearing a rather terrifying skull mask, the rest of him completely covered by his uniform. You were only able to recognize Simon from his brown eyes, but the man in the photo looked entirely different from the bartender downstairs.

Fuck! You completely forgot that you were a waitress, sniffing around your manager’s office when you should be tending to your tables. You turned on your heel and left Simon’s room, running down the stairs two at a time.

Simon was still in the eye of the storm – barely a word had been passed between him and Price, other than a simple hello when he had first hopped behind the bar. Simon was keeping an eye on your tables, which were currently satisfied for the time being – but damn, what was taking you so long? Were you showcasing all of his shirts? The thought of that would’ve had him biting his cheek to prevent a boner, but he was too busy to be anything but concerned for you.

On cue, you come bounding down the stairs, throwing yourself back into the busy crowd as you tie your server apron around your waist. Simon pours a tap, barely able to make out your form flitting through the crowd, making sure your tables are well-off and happy. Price calls your name over the din of the crowd, and you squeeze yourself through the mass of people to collect the drinks sitting on the end of the bar.

“Sorry!” you exclaim, setting your drinks on a tray. “Had to mop myself up a bit with the rag. Did anyone order anything from my tables?” you ask, looking at Simon.

He’s… occupied. His eyes are trained on your shirt. His shirt. That army green that brought up so many old memories, ones he hadn’t thought of in a long time,..

His shirt. Covering your body – and, fucking Christ, you’re not wearing a bra. You’re completely naked under that shirt.

You’re confused. He’s staring at you with such a shocked, glassy pair of eyes that you wonder if you’ve shot him in the leg. You look down at what he’s staring at – oh, right. The shirt. A part of you heats up in embarrassment, and a part in… something else. Yes, I took your shirt. I’ve got your name on my back. If he’s thoroughly upset by this, he’s not expressing it. And if you’re mistaken in the thought that he looks aroused (you wouldn’t be surprised to find him drooling behind the mask – you know how delicious you look right now), you’ll give him the shirt back eventually and pretend this never happened.

“Thanks for earlier.” You spoke over the noisy chatter around you. “This, uh- I hope it’s ok, it was the first shirt I saw.”

Bullshit. He knows he buried that thing deep in his drawer. He did it on purpose. “’S fine.” He mumbles, still dazed.

You glance at him as you carefully balance the tray on your hand. The printer is dealing ticket after ticket of drinks as Price enters them – the man looks at Simon with a frustrated, tight-lipped glare, working double-time to push orders through.

“I’ll be back to grab the rest.” You say quickly. You scurry off, careful to avoid slamming into anyone this time. Simon nearly has a heart attack when he sees his last name across your back. You might as well have his bite mark branded onto the side of your neck.

This opens up a nasty can of worms for him. He’s a goner – he’s thinking about chasing you around the bar, after hours, while all you’re wearing is his shirt; snatching you up and slamming you down on the bar, shoving his face in between your thighs; what you sound like when he pumps you with his fingers; pounding you against the wall in the office, hips crashing into yours as he growls and grunts in your ear, “wanna wear my fuckin’ name, baby? hmm? wanna make sure everyone in this fuckin’ pub knows you’re mine? I’ll gladly fuckin’ help you, fuckin’ tease-“; god, he needs you, he needs to know what you feel like wrapped around his dick, what you sound like when he’s reaching those spots, he needs your nails in his back and your palm smacking him across his face and your teeth on his neck-

“Simon!”

John’s- no, Captain Price’s voice shuts off the movie playing in his mind. He looks at him, barely recognizing the growing frustration in his eyes – Simon’s fighting his own demons right now, and he isn’t even sure if his Captain’s wrath can save him.

“Stop thinkin’ with your Pork Sword and get your arse back on bar.” Price barks – a few of the regulars laugh at that, and Simon realizes he’d had an audience.

He clears his throat and grabs a ticket, quickly reading it and grabbing a glass. He forces himself to let go of the fantasy – he’ll have all night to think about it once he closes. That, or he’ll be hating himself for even thinking of you in that way, especially when the situation wasn’t in your favor. For now, though, he’s got a job to do. He continues to pour and stir and shake drinks left and right, occasionally stealing glances at you, prancing around with his title.

He knows one thing’s for certain – your bra is still somewhere in his room.

[clara-a7]

On Set | Nicholas Alexander Chavez

Pairing: Nicholas Alexander Chavez x Reader

Requested? No~ (I accept requests!)

Word Count: 969

A/N: Sorry if here are any mistakes, english isn't my first language, not my best writing...~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today was a special day for you, visiting your boyfriend on set for the first time. You’d heard all about his role, the long hours, and the excitement of filming, but now you were seeing it up close. The energy in the room was electric as the crew prepped for the scene, and you couldn’t wait to watch him step into character, bringing his hard work to life.

After you sign in at the security desk, a production assistant leads you to the soundstage where they’re filming. The place is buzzing with activity, people rushing around with equipment, makeup artists adding final touches, and the director deep in conversation with the actors. And then, you see Nicholas, standing by his trailer, going over his lines.

He smiles the moment he spots you, striding over with his usual easy confidence. “Hey, you made it,” he says, pressing a kiss to your cheek, his hand resting on your waist just a moment longer than necessary.

“You sure you’re warm enough?” you tease, your voice playful despite the quickening beat of your heart at the sight of him wearing only a boxer.

“Not at all,” he laughs softly, though there’s a mischievous spark in his eyes. “But you might be the one shivering once you see this next scene.”

Your eyebrow lifts, curiosity piqued. “Oh? What kind of scene?”

Before he can answer, a voice calls out, “Nicholas, we’re ready for you!” The director is motioning him to the set. Nicholas gives you one last grin before heading toward the scene. You follow, curiosity piqued.

The decor is designed to resemble a luxurious bathroom from the 80s, with a little steam in the air, giving the illusion of warmth. Nicholas steps into the shower, already in character. You can’t help but stare as he begins to act the scene.

The water splashes over his skin, droplets clinging to his toned muscles, his abs glistening as he runs his hands through his wet hair. He reaches for a towel, wrapping it loosely around his waist. The camera pans up, but your eyes can’t help but follow the way the towel clings to his hips, barely covering him. His every movement is slow, sensual, deliberate. You feel a flutter in your stomach as you watch, a warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the fake steam filling the set.

The scene ends, and the director calls for a break. Nicholas walks over to you, still dripping wet, his towel slung dangerously low. He’s smirking now, knowing full well the effect he’s having on you.

“Enjoy the view?” he asks, his voice low and teasing.

You swallow, trying to play it cool. “No…. I didn't.”

He chuckles, stepping closer until you can feel the heat radiating off his skin. “I saw the way you were looking at me,” he murmurs, his voice husky. “You’re not so good at hiding it.”

Before you can respond, his hand slips to your waist, pulling you into a corner just out of view from the team. His lips brush your ear. “Do you know how hard it is to focus on work when I know you’re watching?”

Your breath hitches, the air between you electric. He’s still so close, the scent of soap and skin filling your senses. You can feel the tension growing, a mix of excitement and desire swirling inside you.

“You’re not supposed to be thinking about me,” you whisper, but the way your voice wavers betrays your thoughts.

“I can’t help it,” he says, pressing a soft kiss just below your jaw. “Especially when I know how much you like watching me.”

His hand slides down your back, pulling you against him, the wet towel barely separating your bodies. You bite your lip, trying to suppress the rush of heat that pulses through you. You should stop, remind him you’re on set, but the way his body feels against yours makes your thoughts blur.

“Nicholas,” you start, but he cuts you off with a slow, teasing kiss. His lips are soft but insistent, his hands sliding down to grip your hips, pulling you closer. His towel slips a little lower, exposing more of his skin, and you feel the heat rise to your cheeks.

Your body reacts instinctively, pressing against him. He groans quietly, the sound vibrating in his chest as your hand trails down his slick, wet torso. Your fingers graze the edge of the towel, tugging at it just slightly as his lips claim yours in a deeper kiss, more demanding this time. His hands slide lower, gripping your hips as his mouth moves from your lips to your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

“Nicholas, we’re on set,” you murmur breathlessly, but you don’t pull away. Instead, your hands find their way to his waist, fingers trailing along the damp towel.

“I know,” he replies, his lips brushing against your ear. “That’s what makes it so exciting, isn’t it?”

Before you can respond, his hand slips lower, gripping your thigh and pulling you closer. His lips capture yours again, more urgent now, and you can feel the heat of his skin, the firm press of his body against yours. Your pulse quickens, your body aching for more, but the sound of footsteps approaching makes you freeze.

Just as things begin to heat up, you hear a voice call out, “Nicholas, we’re back in ten!”

You both pull away quickly, hearts pounding, the thrill of almost getting caught making you both laugh breathlessly. Nicholas smirks, running a hand through his wet hair.

“We’ll finish this later,” he promises, winking as he walks back to set, leaving you flushed and breathless.

You watch him go, a grin tugging at your lips.

Visiting him on set definitely has its perks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

!Pictures is not mine. Found on Tumblr. Full credit to the owner! 

[selfcarecap]

Both

✧ Logan Howlett x reader x Storm

✧ summary: Storm and Logan are both hopelessly crushing on you. When they realise that they both like you, they get into a silent competition about who can win you over first… until they realise there might not be a need to make you choose; or: You have a threesome with Logan and Storm

✧ warnings: smut 18+, threesome, oral, fingering, handjob, unprotected piv sex, creampie, liiittle bit of ass play, use of dildo between reader and Storm, I think those are the main things, reader is sub-ish and Logan and Storm are more dominant, reader gets called baby, good girl, princess, pretty girl, bub, nothing happens between Logan and Storm btw because I’m a jealous bitch, reader is shy and a bit awkward, this is definitely mostly porn but romantic feelings are implied too, reader is bi, talking about coming out, but reader is in denial about her crush on Storm and also on Logan bc she’s oblivious and a lil insecure tbh, mention of being drunk, they’re all mutants but it doesn’t rlly come up, Logan is taller than the reader, the part leading up to the smut is a little unserious lol they’re all just whipped but yeah it’s kind of a different fic from my prev Logan ones idk it’s more just fun for the first part; also alternative title is BOAF but I didn’t know how many people would get that lol

✧ word count: oh. umm 11k (the main smut is 4k at the end if you wanna skip to that loll I’ve put a divider (stars) so you know when it starts, you don’t necessarily need to know the backstory)

✧ note: Recently watched X-Men 1 for the first time (yeah i know) and these two are literally the definition of bi panic whaaaatttttt + also I called her Storm and not Ororo(?) because I’ve only watched X Men 1 where they just call her Storm so that’s the only way I’m familiar with her, so yeah idk if anyone else wants this combination of characters but i def do so <33

-

You’re focussed as you do your daily stretches, completely oblivious to Storm and Logan watching you from the other side of the gym. 

They stare as you bend down into downward dog and you make a little exhausted noise at the stretch. Logan almost flinches with how good it feels to hear it; with his enhanced senses it’s as if you’re moaning right into his ear.

Storm’s eyes trail up your legs, over your pink gym set that clings to you in all the right places. She watches a pearl of sweat slide down your belly – she wishes she could lick it off your skin. Logan thinks about making you sweat more if he finally gets you in his bed one day.

He clears his throat after you slide down to your knees, arch your spine and let out a little contented sigh at the welcome stretch. A movement to his right catches Logan’s eye. Storm is standing right next to him, hands on her hips, mirroring his own position.

Is she here to stare at you too? Not that that’s what he’s doing. He was training here himself and was done a few minutes after you got here. Resting his eyes is part of the cooldown – you just so happen to be in his view.

“You training today?” Logan breaks the silence.

“Trained earlier this morning,” Storm answers, folding her arms, “What’re you doing here?” She sounds almost accusatory.

“Just finished my workout. Making sure she’s fine with the weights.” Their eyes drift to you, still stretching.

“She said she might use weights later,” Logan adds, averting his eyes.

The only thing Logan doesn’t like about his little crush on you – if you can even call it that – (you can definitely call it that) is that it sometimes makes him nervous, even if just a little. You’re so sweet and so shy and you’re usually oblivious to his flirting. He’s not used to that.

“Aha,” Storm nods with suspicion and slowly walks out of the gym.

Logan sighs a breath of relief and hopes you didn’t hear any of that. He stops himself from looking at your cute little gym outfit again and leaves to shower.

-

Later that day, Storm knocks at your bedroom door, “I’ve made lunch if you want some.”

Her voice is so angelic, you think, and you briefly wonder if that’s a normal opinion to have about your friend. It’s not just her voice, but those pretty lips her voice comes out of – just from woman to woman. She has nice lips. That can totally be a platonic compliment.

You realise she’s waiting for you to answer as you just stare at her gorgeous, gorgeous face – okay, maybe you do like her as more than a friend.

“That’s so sweet of you, I’ll come join you,” you put on a high-pitched platonic voice.

You’re sitting down at the table getting your plates ready – Storm made your favourite food, said she was just craving the taste today – when Logan comes in. 

“Brought my own lunch, thought I could join you?” He asks but doesn’t wait for an answer, sitting down next to you. 

“What if you can’t?” Storm says, an eyebrow raised, though playfully. 

“And what would your explanation be?”

“We need girl time.”

You’re looking between them with wide puppy eyes. You’re not sure if they’re being playful after all. Their faces soften when they look at you.

“Maybe Logan can stay for lunch and we’ll go to your room later?” you suggest, “We can have a sleepover tonight.”

Storm’s face lights up, “Good idea.” You miss the smirk she gives Logan, who then huffs. 

Logan takes off his leather jacket. You’re sure that’s just your mind playing tricks on you but it almost looks as if he’s doing it deliberately slowly, showing off his big, defined arms. You’re drooling like a dog.

He reaches across the table and your eyes stay glued to his triceps until you hear your name.

“What?”

Logan smiles down at you, “I asked if you could pass the salt.”

You swallow and nod, eyes searching for the salt, but Storm gets there before you. She firmly presses the salt shaker into his hand, and his arm is gone from in front of your face. You resist the urge to pout.

A moment later though, Logan reaches out for the pepper himself, “Sorry, just needa…” He fumbles with the shaker across the table. This time his arm is angled differently and your eyes land right on one of those delicious veins on his skin. 

Storm is kind enough to pass him the pepper too, but this time you think you audibly sigh with frustration when Logan pulls his arm back to his body. You focus on eating instead of panicking about whether either of them heard that.

Storm swallows down her jealousy after watching you mesmerised by Logan’s arms for what felt like an eternity with no idea how obvious you were being.

She finishes her glass of water and gets up to get more. She looks at Logan as she walks to the sink. Two can play this game.

With her back turned to the both of you, Storm undoes the top two buttons of her shirt and places the pendant of her necklace right between her breasts. When she sits back down, she leans her elbow on the table and pushes her forearm right against the side of her tits. Your eyes are immediately drawn to them like a honeybee to a flower.

Storm bites back a smirk. She remains silent so as not to pull your attention away from her cleavage. She wants you to get lost there as long as you need to.

Logan rolls his eyes at her and asks you to pass some food from across the table, pulling you out of your trance.

You see the next exchange of looks between the two of them – their eyes do all the talking. You look away and realise… are they flirting? You thought they were mad at each other, having a silent argument, but now you think you might have been wrong. They’re teasing each other. 

You can’t decide if you should be jealous or turned on. They’re the two people you have a crush on – again, platonic crushes, obviously. If they got together, in whatever way, at least they’d make a hot couple for you to stare at. But you’d also be devastated that it’s not you who gets to be with either of them.

A quiet sound catches your attention – Storm’s fingernail against her necklace, the necklace that’s nestled right between her breasts. You briefly wonder if she’s trying to get Logan’s attention with it, but in that moment you don’t feel jealous. You just appreciate what’s in front of you.

With your elbow perched on the table, you’re leaning your head against your hand, and you notice too late that your arm is sliding off the table. You gasp when your head loses its support and you sit up quickly, gaze pulled away from Storm.

Heat blooms on your face and you lift your glass of water to your mouth to cool yourself down. But the picture of Storm’s perfect boobs lingers in your mind and you spill half of the water. It rolls down your neck and to your chest, and before you can even consider drying off, Storm’s holding a folded up napkin to your skin, patting from your collarbones to the neckline of your low-cut top. 

“Awh, there you go,” she’s done patting you dry and gives you a reassuring smile. Your nipples get hard at the close contact. You hope she doesn’t notice.

You hear a scoff from Logan. Maybe he got something stuck in his teeth. Or maybe it’s directed at you and Storm.

“Thanks, Storm,” you smile your sweet smile and finish your meal. 

But you’re not oblivious to what’s going on between them – the looks they’re giving each other – and you don’t know if you like it yet. Not that your opinion matters, sadly.

-

You bring your own pillow to Storm’s bedroom that night for your sleepover, but she’s got her bed made up all comfy with more pillows than you could need.

“Didn’t know how many you needed,” Storm tells you from in front of her mirror, “I’m so happy we’re doing this. We haven’t had any alone time in so long. Been so busy.”

She’s braiding her hair for the night, hair pulled to one side as she curls the bottom of her strands around her finger, her beautiful neck now exposed. You think about falling to your knees and begging for just one touch. Maybe draw your finger across her skin, or better yet – your lips. The way friends do. 

It’s between the first and second film that you decide to finally say something. You were going to ask her during a boring scene of the romcom you just watched but it suddenly turned into a sex scene. You did your best to seem unbothered and tried to move naturally, scratching your head and flexing your wrist. You’re not sure if it worked.

“Soo,” you turn to your side to face Storm as the credits play, “You and Logan?”

You reach into the bag of gummy bears between you and Storm, attempting to seem nonchalant, as if her answer won’t affect you.

She looks a little panicked, and you’re afraid you know what her answer is going to be.

“What about us?” she asks.

You give her a suggestive look but she waits for you to say it.

“Well, is there something going on between you two? I felt like you were flirting during lunch.”

“No, not at all,” she says almost too quickly, “We’re just friends, if that.”

“Really? You’d make an attractive couple.”

She lowers her voice, “We’re really not into each other like that.” You believe her, and withhold your big breath of relief.

“And anyway, I prefer women,” she adds.

“Really? I mean, yeah, I thought you might. I wasn’t sure. I do too, by the way. Well, I like everyone. I mean not everyone obviously but I like all genders. Not that that’s relevant.”

Storm smiles at you sweetly and puts a soft hand on your wrist. “Of course it’s relevant. I’m glad you trust me enough to tell me.”

You giggle nervously, “Of course. I trust you more than anyone in this house.”

Storm’s heart swells in her chest.

You continue, “Well, and Logan obviously.” 

Oh.

Obvious, is it?

Well, Storm can work with that.

She picks an incredibly gay film next. She didn’t do it on purpose. She just happened to see the film on Netflix. Sure, perhaps she chose it because there were two women in the picture, but she genuinely wasn’t aware how much sex was in the film.

You’re squirming beside her, even more than during the straight romcom you just watched, and it drives her crazy. She’s just better at hiding it, but she’s turned on too. She wishes she and Logan hadn’t fought over your attention during lunch; if you hadn’t thought that there was something going on between them you might have been ready for more tonight. But she ignores her desire for you, holding her arm tightly as she presses her nails against her skin to relieve some pressure.

When the film is over, Storm tells you how she realised she likes women. When she was little, she had a crush on her babysitter, and ever since then she just knew. You grow bashful when she asks you for your story.

“Uh, Halle Berry as Catwoman? That did it for me,” you tell her as your cheeks heat up. Storm only vaguely remembers the film, but she still has in mind that all of her friends told her that the main character looked like her. 

It’s not that she didn’t know you were attracted to her before, but that solidifies it. Now she just has to get rid of Logan.

-

Storm is busy the next day and you miss her presence the entire morning. You woke up before her, your hands still intertwined from when you fell asleep like that, and – like a fucking loser idiot – you imagined what it was like to be her girlfriend and wake up next to her every day.

Now that you know she doesn’t like Logan, you can fantasise about being with her again without the jealousy looming underneath if he got her before you. And she didn’t just say she wasn’t attracted to him (which is crazy) but that they’re both not into each other (which is crazy of Logan). Both of your crushes are safe.

You decide to try out a new stretching routine to distract yourself from how much you’re missing Storm, your bestie who has no idea how much you like her. The positions are nothing you can’t do, but they’re definitely more challenging than your usual.

Logan’s not expecting to see you when he enters the gym; you’re not normally here at this time.

“Hi,” he says. Your head is between your legs as you’re bent upside down. He crouches down to smile at you from between your thighs.

You grin, standing up to turn towards him to say hello. 

“Y’need some help?” He asks. It’s more of a rhetorical question, he’s being polite.

“Actually, there’s this stretch I can’t get into. I think I should be able to do it, but I just need someone to help push me there.”

Logan huffs out a laugh. This is like the porn he plays in his head every night with you and him in the starring roles. “Of course. Where do you want me?”

-

It’s even better than he could have dreamed. He thought you’d need him to hold your hands and pull to add some resistance, but now you’re bent over in front of him and he’s pushing you into a stretch like a pervy gym instructor. 

You keep letting out these little huffs every time you ask Logan to push you further. They sound awfully close to moans. His knee is pressing into the back of yours like you asked him to but you keep asking for more.

He changes up his position, standing behind you fully. If he moved even an inch forward you’d feel his cock pushing against your ass. Logan would usually feel like he’s taking advantage with all the thoughts running through his mind about little innocent you but you’re the one arching even further into him.

He thanks himself for his level of self control and how he manages not to get hard with your pretty ass pressed up against him. It fuels the animalistic side of him and he wants nothing more than to fuck you right here, right now.

It was obvious that you were attracted to him before, but with the way you’re pushing back against his crotch makes him realise that it’s far from innocent.

“Thank you, that felt really good,” you tell him when you stand back up, losing balance after hanging your head upside down for so long. You use Logan’s chest to brace yourself, palms against the hard muscles there. His hands fly to your waist as he makes sure you’re alright. You nod shyly and, with another quick thanks, quickly make your way to your bathroom.

He’s got you. Now he just has to get rid of Storm, and she’s really good with you.

-

You check in Storm’s room after a long shower, but she’s still out. You find Logan in the kitchen; he’s looking through the almost empty cabinets. 

“Wanna go shopping?”

-

You didn’t think grocery shopping could turn you on, but everything Logan does makes you want to rip off his clothes. 

The little things fuel your crush in more heart-warming ways. Like how he picks all your favourite foods, holds the package up to you to ask for approval and places them into the cart that he’s pushing along with one hand as if it’s not full to the brim. 

He’s got it all down even to the most obscure snacks you like. It’s sweet that he remembers and it makes you as dizzy as you felt during your sleepover with Storm. It’s not like you really have a chance with either of them, if you’re being honest with yourself, so you’re fine liking them both.

But it’s his touch that drives you crazy. 

You’re trying to reach a snack on the top shelf. You’re on your tiptoes and your fingertips are only an inch or so away from it. Just when you’re about to give up, you feel two strong hands on your waist, lifting you that tiny bit with no effort at all. 

“There you go,” Logan smiles down at you, taking the package from you and putting it in the cart. Your body still buzzes with the sparks of his touch. 

You’re not very helpful for the rest of the shopping trip. All you’re doing is staring at him. You almost fall to your knees when he reaches up to the top shelf and his shirt lifts a bit. You think seeing even just a tiny sliver of his abs might be the highlight of your day, until you remember how he was pushed up against you during your stretches earlier. 

God, you’re so into him. 

-

Storm finds Logan as soon as she gets home. She hasn’t had a chance to talk to him since your revelation yesterday yet.

“She’s in her bedroom,” Logan tells Storm when she comes in, assuming she’s looking for you.

“I need to talk to you,” she crosses her arms, “She told me yesterday that she thinks we’re into each other.”

Logan cringes, “What, us two? Is she blind?”

“Apparently. I told her that it’s not like that but I don’t know if she believed it. She thought we were flirting with each other at lunch the other day instead of with her.”

“Alright, we just need to stop making it so obvious we’re fighting over her. Let’s just not get in each other’s way and she’ll choose whoever she’ll choose.”

“Yeah,” Storm agrees.

Logan smiles, “I can’t believe that stunt you pulled when she spilled the water. I mean, come on, that was so unfair, I can’t just press a napkin to her tits.”

She laughs, “Okay Mister Bicep, we both have our benefits.” They smile at each other.

Storm huffs, and reluctantly admits: “I wish she looked at me the way she looks at your abs.”

“I wish she looked at me the way she looks at your chest.”

They’re standing next to each other now, staring at nothing, consumed by thoughts of you. They’re so into you.

“When did you realise you like her?” Storm asks.

“I don’t remember an exact moment but it’s just, her gorgeous fucking face. And her whole clumsy thing just does it for me, I don’t know.”

“I like it too. She’s so adorable when she gets all awkward.”

“It makes me want to fuck her so bad,” they say at the same time, then laugh quietly.

Logan clears his throat, “Not to be crude but I’d fuck all that nervousness out of her.”

“Me too. Until she’s so exhausted she can’t even begin to overthink anything.”

They exchange a look – this is getting too heated.

“May the best one win,” Logan concludes, and with a last nod at each other, they both leave the kitchen.

-

It’s a mutual friend’s birthday that week, and all three of you are going to the party.

You’re walking to your room the evening of the party, and Logan opens his bedroom door just as you’re walking past it.

“Hey, you got a minute?” Logan asks, “I need help with my outfit.”

You smile. It’s an excuse to stare at Logan, of course you’ll help.

He changes his shirt about five times – even though there are only two that he can’t decide between. But every time he changes his top, there are a few seconds in which he’s half naked – his muscular, hairy, gorgeous chest and abs exposed, with that thick happy trail reminding you why it’s called that – and you forget all about what the previous shirt looked like.

You watch him change yet another time, quietly sighing to yourself because at some point you have to decide. You watch him button up his shirt and let your eyes roam over the lower part of his body. 

His trousers are hugging his legs so deliciously, they must be tailored. And that sexy belt he always wears keeps sparkling with the reflection of the light, as if you’re not staring at his crotch enough anyway.

“So this one?” Logan asks. 

“Y-yeah,” you nod, as if he doesn’t look equally good in both shirts anyway. 

“What do you think of the material?” He asks. You smile, getting up to feel it. 

You place your hand on the side of his arm, trailing down it, feeling his muscles while you pretend to be feeling the shirt. 

“I like how it feels,” Logan says, looking down at himself and rubbing his fingers over his clothed chest. You follow, bringing your palm to his collarbone to trace his body, from his chest to his lower abs. 

“It does feel nice,” you say. It’s a normal dress shirt, made from whatever material they’re usually made of, but with the warmth of Logan’s body it’s one of the best things you’ve ever felt. 

Distracted by his body, you don’t realise Logan looking down at you, tracing your every feature with his eyes. He can practically see the water pooling in your mouth, and he doesn’t need his enhanced senses to know that you want him in this moment. 

He clears his throat and it makes you lose your balance, gripping Logan’s shirt to steady yourself as his hands fly to your waist. 

“Careful, bub,” he smiles and you feel the heat on your cheeks. How can this man make you stumble without even moving?

“Are you gonna wear a tie?” you ask quietly — you can’t trust your voice right now. 

“I’ve got one here,” Logan passes it to you. He feels like a tie might be a bit too formal for a birthday, but he won’t stop you from staying close. 

You go on your tiptoes to drape the tie around his neck, nervously fiddling with the fabric. “Actually, uh, I don’t know how to tie a tie,” you admit, giggling at your own words. 

“That’s okay, bub, I’ll show you.” 

You don’t retain any information as Logan helps you with his tie, guiding your fingers with his big, warm hands over yours. 

Your breaths intertwine from standing so close, and you don’t even realise that you’re on your tiptoes again, trying to get as close to Logan as possible. 

You know that he can hear how fast your heart is beating, but when his tie is on and you smooth it down against his chest, you feel his own heart beating wildly against his ribcage. 

Logan looks into your eyes, a soft smile on his lips, and you know what’s going to happen. You’re about to kiss. 

He gently places his hand on the side of your face, leaning in. 

Just when your lips are about to touch, you hear Storm calling out your name from the hallway. 

“Uh, Storm was gonna do my make-up,” you stutter, Logan’s hand still on your face. He silently drops it and smiles sadly, “yeah,” he says. 

He moves back to stand in front of the mirror, taking the tie off again, “Think this is too much.”

You nod, “yeah. Sure. I’ll see you later.”

You walk out of Logan’s room with a weird feeling, but as soon as you get to Storm’s room it’s like nothing just happened. 

It smells so good in her bedroom, a mix of her perfume and hair products and her clean bed sheets. She smiles at you, patting the bed for you to sit next to her. 

You close the door behind you, creating a space for just the two of you. It always feels like that when you’re with her, even when there are other people around. Except for Logan maybe; he’s the only one who can get in without even trying — but it’s still different when it’s really just the two of you. 

You’re immediately lost in the world of beautiful Storm as she presents to you her outfit for the night; it fits her every curve and contour and you briefly wonder how you could ever think of her as nothing more than a friend. It breaks your heart that she only sees you as one, but it doesn’t stop the desire you have for her and the joy you feel when you’re around her.

Storm does your make-up on her bed, both of you sitting cross-legged with your knees touching. Her hand is placed gently on your face as she does your eyeshadow.

“You’re so naturally beautiful,” she tells you in her calm voice, “Don’t really need any of this.”

You feel your heart beating wildly in your chest. She just means it as a friend, she just means it as a friend.

You gulp, “Wish I looked like you. You’re so gorgeous.”

She smiles at you softly, “Thank you, but you’re perfect like this. Lips.” You open your mouth slightly so that she can apply your lipgloss for you. Even though she’s using the applicator, it feels as intimate as if it were her finger.

She called you perfect.

Your eyes go down to her lips and you realise she hasn’t put any product on her own lips yet. You’re not sure what comes over you at your next question.

“You want some too?” you ask, breathless, staring at her lips. Even though you’re not looking into her eyes, you can see her looking down at your lips and she smiles a beautiful, sexy smile and nods.

Storm briefly presses her lips to yours, the way straight girls sometimes do at parties – except that neither of you are straight and you’re not at a party, and you doubt that straight friends feel like this after kissing each other. You pull away instinctively, you don’t want her thinking that you could ever even assume that she likes you like that. You’re just friends, and you know that.

Still, you can’t resist reaching out a finger to swipe the excess product over the top of her lip, and you let out a nervous giggle when you notice that her eyes are still on your lips.

An alarm on your phone interrupts you; you set it for 20 minutes before you have to leave to make sure you have everything. You didn’t notice how close you and Storm were until you both pulled away at the noise. 

The alert pulls you out of your Storm induced warm cloud, an uncomfortable feeling settling on your skin. Being the good friend she is, Storm realises immediately.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, a soft hand on your arm.

“Nothing, I just get nervous about these types of parties sometimes. There’ll be so many people I don’t know, and it’ll be so big and loud. I was thinking of taking a shot or something.”

Storm smiles, “Not that I’m against a little shot for courage, but d’you wanna know something natural that always helps me calm down?”

“Mhm, what is it?”

“I feel like a nice orgasm always makes me calmer. Just a quick one with my fingers or a vibrator.”

Her words knock the air out of you. Somehow, you manage to respond. “I’ve always wanted to use toys but I don’t have any. I should really get one,” you chuckle nervously.

“I’m happy to share one of mine if you don’t mind,” she looks deep into your eyes and all you can do is nod your head pathetically. There are some types of thoughts you’ve done your hardest not to let into your head – she’s your friend, she wouldn’t want you thinking about her like that – and now she’s the one putting them there on purpose.

She twists her lips, almost.. nervously? and, in a low voice, says: “You think an orgasm right now would help you?”

Again, you don’t manage to say any words but you do nod your head, biting your lip. 

“You wanna do it yourself or can I stay?” she asks, one shoulder pulled up seductively.

“S-stay,” you stutter.

“I could eat you out if you want, but no pressure. I just feel like that’s the quickest way.”

You take a deep breath. All kinds of thoughts are shooting through your head, but maybe she’s just horny. During your sleepover the other day, she told you how she hasn’t had sex in a while, and how she gets off on making her partners come, so maybe it’s just a natural desire that she wants to make someone other than herself come again for once. It’s got nothing to do with you, you know that, but you revel in the knowledge that she at least finds you attractive enough to want to make you come, even if it’s just as a friend.

You’re also confused. Your ex always took hours to make you come with his mouth, but, still, you believe every word coming from Storm’s pretty lips.

You nod, “Ye-yeah. If that’s okay with you. That’s a very uh, very nice, friendly favour.” You have to make sure she knows that you’re not delusional, thinking this is more than friendly. 

As you squirm in your seat, you miss Storm’s little sigh of frustration at your oblivion. Instead of pitying herself, she decides she’ll show you why you should be more than friends.

“Y’ready?” she asks, blessing your ears with her bedroom voice.

“Yes,” you breathe. 

Your next breath catches in your throat as Storm leans in to press the most gentle kiss you’ve ever experienced to the side of your neck. She’s warm and soft and smells like heaven.

Her lips slowly press along your pulse point, the tip of her tongue darting out as she makes her way up to your ear. Her teeth scrape along your earlobe, but she doesn’t bite. You almost whimper when her warm mouth is gone from your ear.

Storm slides her hand to your jaw, moving her thumb to your lower lip, “May I?”

You nod quickly, and she pulls your lower lip down, sliding her thumb into your mouth to wet it.

You suck on her thumb, mouth watering at having her so close. Storm takes her hand away from your face with a satisfied hum and gently folds your skirt up to your hips, pulling your panties to the side.

She giggles, “y’got such cute underwear.” You look down and remember the panties you decided to put on today – pink underwear with cherries and a red lace trim. You weren’t expecting anyone to see it, let alone Storm. Before you have time to get embarrassed, her thumb is on your clit.

You gasp at the first contact, and your knees buckle. You’re glad you’re already sitting down. She goes to kneel on her soft carpet, sitting down between your legs.

Her breath is on your pussy and you feel yourself clenching around nothing.

“What a pretty fucking pussy,” Storm whispers, more to herself, and impatiently pulls your underwear out of the way more harshly, making sure it stays there. She looks up at you from between your legs, pushing your knees up to your chest, and you bite your lip.

This doesn’t feel so friendly anymore. Unless she just gets off on making her pretty friends come.

Storm sucks her thumb into her mouth to wet it again and begins to gently rub your clit in circles. She realises how wet you already are and smiles, leaning in to press a kiss to your clit. 

“There you go,” she says quietly, and then puts her mouth on you. She runs her tongue through your folds and she’s so gentle. You’re torn between enjoying it and wanting more.

“Feels so good,” you mumble, and Storm grips the flesh of your thigh to hold you still. 

She smiles against you, “Yeah?” and brings her middle and ring finger to your pussy. Licking your clit, she pushes two fingers into you, slowly making her way inside even though you’re more than wet enough.

Your pussy makes a squelching sound against her fingers as she begins to fuck into you, curling her fingers up to rub against your g-spot. You gasp when you first feel her there, your head dropping to the side in pleasure as you moan.

She pulls her fingers out to suck them into her mouth, tasting you with a satisfied hum, “Taste so good, baby.” You get even wetter at that name alone, squirming beneath her gaze.

“Be a good girl for me and stay still, okay?” she asks, mouth connecting with your pussy again as she looks up at you. You nod desperately, hoping she can’t feel the intense heat spreading over your face down to your chest.

She slides two fingers back into you, fucking you gently but precisely, and you already feel the excitement building up in your belly. Storm’s tongue dances over your clit, exactly how you need it to. The only thing missing now is just a liittle more friction.

It’s like she can read your mind, continuing to fuck into your wet pussy at a steady pace, as she begins to suck on your clit. You see stars immediately.

Her mouth has been on you for only a few minutes when she’s got you coming on her tongue and fingers. You whimper her name as you arch your back, hips chasing her face to prolong your orgasm as it crashes over you in waves.

She pulls her fingers out and rubs your clit for a bit longer until you’re squirming again, patting your pussy before she gets up. “Good”, she simply says, biting her lip.

“You feel better?” she smiles at you, innocently sucking your arousal off her fingers as if it’s something she’s done a million times before. As if it’s a normal thing to do with a friend.

“Yeah, much better,” you smile shyly, wondering how to ask her what that was.

She sits down right next to you, pulling your panties and skirt back in place, keeping her hand on your thigh afterwards. She smiles at you, and it feels so intimate. Storm reaches for the lipgloss again, “It’s all wiped away. Here.”

You smile and let her apply the lipgloss again. Storm places a hand on the bed next to your hip to lean in as she does so. She puts the lipgloss away but stays close. She looks at your lips. Your heart starts beating furiously in your chest – she’s about to kiss you.

This time it’s Logan who interrupts you. He calls out your name from the hallway, it’s time to leave.

Storm sits back, “you ready?”

“Yeah,” you nod. She takes your hand as you leave her room. You don’t let go even when you see Logan, his eyes immediately finding your intertwined hands.

He doesn’t know what it means. There are plenty of platonic girlfriends that hold hands. 

You don’t know what it means either, but you know you like the feeling.

-

You don’t mean to get drunk but that’s kind of what happens when you subconsciously try to keep up with mutants with healing factors that make it almost impossible for them to get drunk.

You arrived at the party still hand-in-hand with Storm and spent the first half joined at the hip with her. Logan couldn’t even get you alone for a second because every time one of you left for the bathroom the other went too without hesitation.

Logan finally finds you alone in the kitchen, looking for another drink.

“Y’sure you should have more to drink?” he smiles.

You notice him then, “Logan!” you run over to hug him.

Being drunk makes you more affectionate.

“Can you mix me a drink?” you ask Logan, his arm still around your waist. It feels good there.

“Maybe you want water for now?”

You pout at him drunkenly, taking a step back and folding your arms, “You’re just jealous you can’t get drunk. Doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to.”

Logan lifts his arms in defence, “‘Course you’re allowed to, bub. Just making sure you’re up for it. What do you want?”

-

You, Logan and Storm end up in the living room at the mansion. You’ve been very entertaining in your drunk state but, more importantly, you decided to hold one of their hands each in your lap in the back of the car on the way home. They know you get like this when you drink, and they’d never try anything with you like this, of course. But they could have a bit of harmless fun.

It’s your idea to play never have I ever, but the two of them are just as happy to. You’re playing the game with water instead of alcohol, but that’s probably better for you anyway.

Storm and Logan resist the urge to make the game sexual; they’re unsure what you’d be comfortable with if you were sober. You’re the one who makes it explicit.

“Never have I ever…” you’re leaning the bottle of water against your cheek to cool yourself down, “had a threesome.”

The room is immediately struck with tension. Logan and Storm exchange a look that you miss. How have they not thought of this before? 

You look at them expectantly.

It’s a perfectly innocent statement – well, innocent in a way that you’re not implying anything to them specifically. Even in your wildest thoughts you’ve only fantasised about one of them at a time. 

Your eyes are on Storm but she shakes her head. Logan drinks. He shrugs, “Been alive for so long, you try some things.”

You’re torn between arousal and jealousy, but settle on arousal. You forget all about the game.

“I’m not that experienced,” you tell them honestly, “I’d love to experiment a bit but I get shy. Not that I’m– um, not a threesome necessarily. I’m just saying.” You clear your throat, averting your eyes.

“How many people have you been with?” Storm asks, voice soft.

You swallow, unsure whether to count her or not. Does it count if it was with a friend? “Just my ex boyfriend.”

“There’s been no one else?” Logan asks, and you shake your head in embarrassment.

“I told you I’m shy.”

“Nothing wrong with being shy,” he says, “It can be endearing. Don’t you think, Storm?”

When you turn to her, her eyes are already on you, “I agree.”

Your face feels hot and you’re suddenly nervous. They’re both flirting with you, if the alcohol isn’t deceiving you, and you don’t know who you like more. You think of some stupid ‘never have I ever’ statement to change the topic. They do you the favour of playing along.

It’s not long until you all go to bed, going your separate ways but not without a long hug from both of them.

-

The next morning, Logan and Storm meet in front of your room. She’s made breakfast for you and he’s brought you water and some aspirin.

“I should have thought of that,” they say at the same time. Logan knocks at your door.

“It’s us,” Storm says after another knock.

You’re not in your bedroom.

They look for you in the entire mansion, but you’re not there.

“Maybe she’s walking off her hangover,” Logan shrugs, starting to eat the food Storm made for you as they’re standing in the kitchen.

They don’t see you all day.

Storm’s in the kitchen in the evening, starting to worry. She knows you’re not far, and you can handle yourself, but she’s worried you’re embarrassed about what you said when you were drunk, or regretting what you did before the party yesterday.

There are footsteps coming down the hallway, and she knows it’s you before you’re there.

“Hey,” she smiles when she sees you.

“Hi.”

“Haven’t seen you all day.”

“Sorry,” you sit down next to her, a shy smile on your face, “Didn’t mean to disappear. I just needed to think.”

Storm breathes. “Yeah, that’s okay. What were you thinking about?” Her heart starts beating faster.

“Well, I’ve been thinking about what Logan said yesterday. And I don’t know if I’m misinterpreting things and I don’t want to make anything awkward between us or anything…” you look at her in worry, and she takes your hand. She’s not sure what you mean but she knows you need her encouragement to say it. 

You continue, “I don’t know but maybe… maybe Logan could show us what a threesome is like?”

All the worry on your face melts away when Storm grips your hand tighter and gets up. She grins as she pulls you upstairs.

She walks you to Logan’s room and, without knocking, pushes his door open, “My bedroom. Right now.” He follows you without question. 

“Lock the door behind you,” Storm tells Logan when you’re all in her bedroom. Your skin is on fire.

“Whats’s going on?” Logan has his arms folded, a smile playing on his lips.

His eyes are on you but you look over at Storm, who just smirks.

“Are you gonna make me say it again?” you ask, horrified.

“You got this, baby,” she tells you, and hearing her call you that again gives you courage.

You look at the floor, “Uh, I don’t know if you two want to do that with me but. I was thinking maybe we could, like, have, um, a threesome?” You were a lot smoother in your head.

Logan raises his eyebrows, “You don’t know if we want to do that with you? You tellin’ me you haven’t noticed what’s been goin’ on, bub?” He’s right in front of you now, hands holding your face.

“Uh…” you know he can feel your skin heating up under his fingers.

“Want you so fucking bad. Both of us,” Logan nods towards Storm.

“Oh.”

(Logan decides this isn’t the time to tell you that his threesome was with two guys.)

They both grin at each other and Logan walks you to Storm’s bed. They sit down on either side of you – you don’t even know where to look. You don’t know who to kiss first.

Storm makes the decision for you, gently turning your head towards her. You lean in without another word.

This time you get more than a peck. Her mouth is hungry and wet against yours, her lips soft. You’re kissing messily and loudly, and you do your best not getting on top of her yet. You pull away only because Logan’s there too.

“Been dying to do that since last night,” you smile.

“I know,” Storm giggles, “Knew you appreciated my friendly favour.” You hide your face in her neck at her teasing. You’re not sure how you could be so stupid. Now you know it’s more than friendship.

“What’s that?” Logan asks, an eyebrow raised.

You bite your lip, “We’ll tell you later.”

Before he can question it, you pull Logan closer by his shirt. His kisses are rougher, but not in a bad way. His beard scratches against your cheek with the desperation in his kisses, and he’s pulling you closer. You moan into his mouth as his tongue slips between your lips, and you grab a fistful of his shirt.

Storm starts kissing the side of your neck, the way she did last night, and you’re so lost in pleasure that you stop kissing Logan.

“Too hot,” you mumble, pulling off your top absentmindedly. They both stop what they’re doing.

“You wear stuff like this all the time?” Logan smirks, finger slipping under your bra strap. You forgot about the lingerie you put on for them.

You shake your head, “Thought we might do this tonight.”

Logan grins and starts kissing your shoulder, pulling one of your bra straps down with his teeth. Storm turns your head back to her and kisses you again – gentle, teasing pecks from her soft lips to yours. She kisses over your cheek and your jaw, begins to gently nibble on your earlobe.

Logan pauses when his mouth is at your wrist, “You know, bub, the problem with pretty lingerie like this is that it ends up coming off again real quick.”

You’re already so horny from two pairs of lips on you that you can barely speak. “Doesn’t sound like a problem to me at all,” you mumble. 

“Can we take it off, baby?” Storm asks.

“Please.”

You feel Storm’s fingers at your back, opening your bra, and Logan is the one who pulls it off. 

They both sigh when they see your tits for the first time, moving to the breast closest to them. Logan thumbs over your nipple, gently playing with it while Storm wraps her lips around your other nipple. You feel yourself getting so wet. 

“H-how about—” you take a deep breath to calm yourself down, “how about you take your clothes off too.”

“How about you take them off?” Storm bites her lip. 

You nod quickly, lifting her top over her head to find her bare underneath. You trace your hands over her perfect tits, cupping them as your thumbs rub over her nipples and she lets out the sweetest moan. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Logan moving to take off his shirt so you quickly turn to him, grabbing hold of his shirt to do it yourself while Storm stands up to take off her trousers. 

You pull off Logan’s shirt and, even though you’ve seen him shirtless before, you’re mesmerised by the muscles and the hair and how good he looks. 

“Y’like what you see, bub?” He smirks and you bite your lip, resisting kissing him. You move on to his belt, trying to ignore how Logan gropes your tits as you get him naked except for his boxers. 

Storm sits between your legs, helping you out of your trousers and you all move to the middle of the bed. You’re panting before anything has even started, “Sorry, it’s just cause I’m excited,” you breathe, grinning with anticipation. 

“It’s okay,” Storm kisses you behind your ear. 

“So are we, bub,” Logan tells you, moving to press his lips to the side of your neck. He kisses further up, to your jaw, while Storm’s lips ghost over your collarbone on your other side. 

Excitement builds up in your belly, your skin tingling all over. You kiss whoever is closer to you – it’s Logan – and start making out with him. The only way to accurately describe the kiss is to say that it’s sloppy. Logan’s devouring you, licking your lips and into your mouth. 

You carefully feel for Storm’s face and don’t stop kissing Logan until she’s right next to you too so you can kiss her instead. She puts a hand behind your neck to pull you in, and you lean your hand on Logan’s leg to steady yourself. 

When your hand moves just an inch, you feel how hard he is, and how big. You force yourself to pull away from Storm, your lips already kissed raw.

Logan’s thigh tenses under your hand, “How are we gonna do this?”

“Don’t know, just wanna cum,” you say. You don’t want to seem petulant, but you’ve never been this turned on in your life. Your underwear is soaked through and it almost hurts how badly you need to be fucked right now.

“We got you, baby,” Logan says, “Can I take these off?” He starts to pull at the waistband of your panties where they hug your hip, and you nod quickly.

Storm gets up to walk to her nightstand, but you can’t focus on her too. Your mind is on Logan all but ripping your panties down your legs, discarding them somewhere on the carpet. 

He takes your knees to push your thighs up to your chest as you lie down, your head supported by a pillow.

“God, look at you. So fucking pretty. Look at her, Storm,” Logan says, spreading you open for him to take all of you in.

Storm smirks at Logan, “I know.”

You feel Logan’s eyes going between you and her, but she’s leaning down to kiss you so all of your senses are taken over by her.

“Got this just for you, baby,” Storm stops kissing you, pulling something out of the drawer of her nightstand. She’s holding a pink, soft silk bag, “Had a feeling you might want to play.” She pulls out a pink dildo, and you bite your lip as she kisses you again.

Logan asks you something twice before you register what he’s saying, lightly squeezing your ankle to get your attention.

“Huh?” you pull away from the kiss.

“Can I eat your pussy?”

You nod, “But I want you inside me.”

Logan smiles, “Alright, just let me get a taste first. Been dying to know how you taste.”

Storm lies down next to you on her stomach to kiss you some more. Her lips trail over your shoulders and move up to your neck.

Logan bends down so his face is between your legs, and he shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re so wet already, bub. So fucking pretty,” he smiles, moving to lick all the way up your pussy once. 

“Here,” he pulls your legs over his shoulders as he settles between them. He pushes two of his thick fingers into your pussy and puts his mouth on you. His tongue on you is fast and skilled, but you still need more.

“‘S not enough,” you whine, and Logan looks up, smiling.

“Need me inside?” he asks, wiping his mouth that’s smeared with you with the back of his hand. You nod, staring in awe as he finally takes off his boxers and you get to see his hard cock in all its glory.

“Y’gonna be okay, bub? It’s kinda big,” he teases. You can see that. But all you can do is keep staring with an open mouth and nod. Storm wipes some spit from the corner of your mouth and gives you a quick kiss.

“You got this, baby,” she tells you, cupping one of your tits while she strokes over your hair with her other hand.

“Yeah,” you say, eyes not leaving Logan’s cock.

“You ready?” he asks, bending down to give you a long, wet kiss.

“Mhmm, need it so bad.”

He chuckles as he spreads your legs for him again, rubbing the tip of his cock along your pussy. It’s so wet you can hear it.

Logan slowly pushes inside you, and you gasp when he fills you up. He’s big, but the pleasure outweighs the pain.

“Theeere you go, bub. So fucking tight f’me. Taking me so well,” he starts to thrust into you in a gentle rhythm, fucking you deep but pacing himself.

It takes you a few moments to get used to his size, but Storm’s kisses at your neck help you ease into it. You can’t believe this is happening – you never would have thought you’d be with either of them, especially not with both and at the same time.

“Feels so good,” you moan weakly, pulling Storm to kiss you again. You whine when she lets go, but she’s sitting up at your side again soon, holding the dildo. You nod before she’s even said anything.

“Let me,” she leans over to Logan, who pulls out of you. Storm fucks your pussy with the cool silicone for just a moment, and it’s wet with your arousal when she brings it up to your chest. 

She teases you first, rubbing the wet tip of the dildo over your nipples, trailing it up your chest and over your cheek, smearing your own arousal over your face. You bite your lip in frustration, and look down to see Logan jerking off to the sight of you spread out for him. You can’t decide who of them you need more.

You’re salivating just at the thought of Storm fucking your mouth with the toy, and you hum when she rubs it across your lips.

“Close your mouth, baby,” Storm says when you’re about to take it in your mouth. She leans over you and lets her spit drop onto your mouth, smiling as she trails the tip of the dildo around your mouth, your lips desperately parting for it.

“Here, baby,” she says finally, pushing the dildo past your lips. You moan around it, taking the silicone as deep as you can. 

Storm fucks your mouth with it and all it’s doing is making you even more horny. The sound of Logan’s slicked hand on his cock stops, and he’s grabbing your thighs to spread them more, finally fucking you again. This time his pace is rougher, and it’s exactly what you need.

Storm’s wet lips are on your jaw as she continues to push the toy in and out of your mouth as you suck on it eagerly. She bites her lip as she leans over you to watch you, pushing the dildo in just a bit more.

“Doing such a good job, baby,” she hums, holding your chin.

“Yeah, being such a good girl for us,” Logan rasps, voice hoarse as he fucks you, “Look so fucking sexy with your lips wrapped around a cock.” You know he can feel your pussy clench around him at his words and he smirks, rubbing your clit with his thumb.

As you focus back on the cock in your mouth, you notice that Storm’s free hand is down her panties, and you can see her getting worked up too, a bead of sweat rolling down the valley of her tits.

You hum around the dildo and she pulls it out. “Wanna eat your pussy,” you tell her, voice almost whiny.

She smiles, sitting up to pull down her underwear. You reach out to touch the flesh of her thigh, and all you want to do is taste her.

You get up, disregarding how Logan slips out of you as you turn around to get on all fours. Storm sits down in front of you, leaning against the headboard.

“I’ve never done this,” you tell her, leaning down with your ass in the air. Logan positions your hips so he can rub the tip of his cock through your folds, and you take a moment to close your eyes and focus back on Storm.

“That’s okay, baby,” she tells you, “I know you’ll do well.”

You nod eagerly as you spread her legs, leaning in to press a kiss to her clit. You’re addicted as soon as you taste her. You open your mouth wider to lick up all of her that you can, attaching your mouth to Storm’s pussy like you never want to let go.

Her hand goes to the top of your head, careful not to mess up your hair as she spreads her knees wider to accommodate you between them.

You lick at Storm’s clit, tongue trailing down to taste her some more. You revel in the sounds she makes when you start to make out with her pussy, all but putting your face in it.

It’s then that Logan begins to fuck you again, pushing his dick all the way inside your wet pussy. He’s rocking into you so much that it makes your whole body move forwards and backwards with his thrusts, and you can barely focus on Storm’s pussy.

“Sorry, bub”, Logan says from behind you when he notices that you’ve stopped, but you can hear from his voice that he’s not sorry at all. You and Storm smile at each other as you grip her thigh to hold yourself in place and go down on her again.

You get the hang of eating pussy quickly, paying attention to the sounds Storm makes and what makes her knees tremble around your head.

She comes against your lips when you suck her clit into your mouth. Her hand is at the back of your head, hips chasing your face as you play with her clit through her orgasm. 

Being between Storm’s thighs as she comes ignites a fire in your core, and Logan’s fucking you so good, getting messy from how close he is.

You push yourself up on your arms to kiss Storm, smearing her wetness over her lips as you make out. She has to hold your face so that you don’t move too much with Logan’s thrusts, but you’re too weak to keep kissing her as you get closer to your orgasm.

“You close, bub? Gonna cum inside you,” Logan grunts from behind you.

“Mhmm, don’t stop, please.”

“I got you, baby, I got you. Doin’ so well,” he grabs your hips to fuck you even deeper as you arch your back. He hits that sweet spot inside you, and one of his hands sneaks down over your belly to rub your clit. 

Even though you can hear him starting to lose his breath, trying hard not to come yet, he plays with your clit in a way that’s perfect, and your orgasm has you biting back your moans because you’re scared of how loud they’d be.

Logan blows his load in you before you’re done coming, and it prolongs your own orgasm as he fills you with his cum, somehow even deeper inside you than he was before.

You almost collapse when he’s done with you, smiling as you roll over to lie on your back.

Storm lies down next to you and kisses you while Logan gets the bottle of water from her nightstand. She drinks a sip first and then passes it to you.

Logan chugs the rest of the water when you’re done, his adam’s apple bobbing as a drop of sweat slides down his neck. You follow it all the way over his glistening abs and down into his happy trail. You notice then that he’s hard again – or still hard – and you’ve finally got the answer to that question you’ve spent nights thinking about, wondering if his healing factor also applies to his sex drive.

“You want more, bub?” Logan asks as Storm starts kissing your neck in that way she knows how to do so well.

You nod as you sit up, Storm getting the dildo as she gets behind you, Logan sitting in front of you.

“Can I fuck you, baby?” Storm asks, hand trailing down the back of your spine and over your ass as you get on all fours again.

“Yeah,” you tell her, looking back at her with a smile, a new desire forming deep in you.

You get between Logan’s legs, leaning in to kiss him again. Every time his mouth is on you, it feels like he’s devouring you, and it’s one of the best feelings you’ve ever had. He’s all tongue and teeth.

“Can I suck your cock?” you ask against his lips, your mouth squished up with his hand grabbing your face.

“Been waiting for this since I saw you for the first time, bub. Don’t know if I’ll last long.” You never thought you’d hear Logan of all people say those words, but it turns you on that you could reduce even a man like Logan to nothing but his most primal needs.

You grin as you wetly kiss down his chest, arching your back so your ass is in the air for Storm.

“So pretty,” she mumbles, lost in her own world as she runs the tip of the dildo through your folds, and you almost lose balance.

Logan’s cock leans against the side of your face as you kiss all the way down to his happy trail, and without further thought, you take him into your mouth. You can still taste a bit of yourself on him. 

Storm starts fucking you with the dildo just as you’re getting into going down on Logan, and you pull your mouth off his cock. Somehow the dildo feels bigger in your pussy than it did with your mouth. Storm knows exactly what she’s doing.

“Didn’t realise how big it was,” you say, steadying your hands against Logan’s big thighs as you fuck back against the toy.

“Not bigger than me, bub” Logan grumbles, and you giggle.

“We know, big boy. It’s not a competition,” Storm tells him, and even though you can’t see their faces you know this just became a competition for them. And you really don’t mind the two people you have a crush on competing on who can make you come more often.

“Can I play with your ass, baby?” Storm asks you when you’ve adjusted to the toy in you and you’re back to trying to stuff all of Logan’s cock in your mouth. You moan around his dick.

“What was that, princess?” it’s Logan who asks.

“Yeah, you can,” you turn to face Storm, “But I’ve never done that before.”

“It’s okay. I’ll be gentle. Logan, can you pass me the lube from over there?” Logan ignores her – it’s not on purpose, but you’ve gone back to putting your wet mouth on him and you’re sucking his cock, and it’s hard to focus on anything but your wet mouth.

You pull away and look up at Logan, and he passes the lube after seeing the pretty smile you give him.

“Fuck, bub, so fucking gorgeous,” he says, bringing your face up to his to give you a kiss and then getting up to sit next to Storm.

“Just relax for us, baby,” Storm says, and you’ll never get tired of hearing her call you that.

Logan rubs a hand across your ass cheek, kneading your flesh. He finds his discarded shirt at the edge of the bed, wiping down your inner thighs that are dripping with his cum to try and stop Storm’s sheets from getting too messy. 

He runs his hand softly up your spine as Storm squeezes drops of lube onto your ass. Logan’s hand goes back down, settling between your legs to gently play with your clit, not to make you cum but to relax you.

“So pretty,” Storm says absentmindedly as she rubs her thumb over your tight hole.

“Can you come over here?” you ask Logan, feeling weird with both of them at your back. You like having one at each side.

“I’m here, bub,” he sits down in front of you again, lifting your head to rest your cheek on his meaty thigh instead. He gently runs the back of his hand over your other cheek as you sink down into the bed with your upper body.

Storm gently pushes the tip of her finger into your ass, “That feel okay?”

“Feels good,” you hum, letting her go deeper as she simultaneously starts to fuck your pussy with the dildo.

“Such a good girl, hmm?” Logan coos from above you and you sigh in pleasure.

“Doing so well,” Storm tells you, thumb hooked in your ass as she begins to fuck your pussy more roughly. You instinctively start fucking back, your hips moving on their own as you get up on all fours again.

Logan’s biting his lip as he watches you take Storm, hand reaching down to jerk off again, but you shove his hand away. “I wanna,” you pout, wrapping your hand around him.

“‘M not stopping you,” he tells you, sitting back as you make him feel good with your hand.

“I’m close,” you say, suddenly feeling the pleasant pressure between your thighs, looking back at Storm who smirks at your words.

She fucks into you more roughly, the added stimulation by your ass making you tip over the edge. You let go of Logan and grab his thigh to keep your balance as your orgasm flows through you, even better than the previous one.

She pulls out of you slowly, rubbing a hand over your ass cheek.

“Wanna make you cum again,” you turn to Storm.

“Later, baby, come sit on my face,” she says, and how are you meant to resist that?

She lies down on the bed and you straddle her, careful to balance your weight out on your knees rather than on her, “you sure?”

“C’mere,” she says, pulling you down onto her face, and you’re lost in the pleasure of her tongue on your clit for a few moments before you can even open your eyes again. You take Logan by his wrist and make him stand up in front of you so you can keep sucking his cock.

You suck on Logan’s dick as eagerly as Storm’s tongue is on your pussy, spit running down to his balls like it’s running down the side of Storm’s mouth. You hover over her to let her breathe but she pulls you back down.

“Don’t worry about me, I can handle you.”

She sucks on your clit with a new intensity, and you forget all about Logan’s cock as it slips out of your mouth and slides wetly across your cheek. You clumsily stick out your tongue, and Logan chuckles, “So fucked out already, hm?” He jerks off in front of your face, holding you in place. He begins to fuck against the inside of your cheek, filling your mouth with his cock.

You hum, not really listening but simply taking his cock in your mouth as the pleasure builds up inside you when Storm pushes her tongue into you. Her hands are on your ass and she sucks on your clit harder. 

Your back arches as you suddenly cum again, cheeks hollowing around Logan’s cock in the process as you suck him in deeper. Storm plays with your clit for a few more moments, lifting you to roll to the side, and your knees sink into the mattress.

“Such a good girl. Y’gonna make me cum again?” Logan says from above, and you look at him with puppy eyes as you take as much of him as you can.

“Been doin’ such a good job all night, baby. You can take him deeper,” Storm says, watching you. You’re going down on Logan but you want her praise too, so you take as much as you can of Logan under both their gazes.

“Fuuuck, baby” Logan groans, his cum spilling down your throat as you swallow him eagerly and he fucks your mouth until he’s finished, the wet sound of his cock in your mouth echoing through the room.

When he’s done coming, Logan lifts you to kiss him, and you know you still taste like him. Storm is on your other side, and you turn to kiss her, both their hands on you as you keep kissing.

-

You’ve lost count of how many orgasms you’ve each had by the time you collapse in a tired heap of sweat and lust and endorphins. 

You’re sandwiched between them, your pussy feeling as warm as your heart.

“Not that it’s a competition but I think I made her come more times than you did,” Logan tells Storm over you. 

She props herself up on one elbow, smirking at you, “You wanna tell him?”

You shake your head shyly, looking over to smile at Logan. You’re close to falling asleep, only half registering what they’re saying anyway.

“Helped our beautiful girl calm down before the party last night. Tasted better than the birthday cake.”

Logan smiles, “Can’t even be mad at you, I would’ve done the same.”

They notice you drifting off, pressing gentle kisses to your lips one after the other. You feel Storm’s hand on your face.

“Look how gorgeous our girl is,” Logan says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. Those are the last words you hear before you fall asleep.

Our girl. You like it. 

-

P.S. reblog to get a kiss from Logan and let me know your fav moment/line/whatever to get an even sloppier kiss from Storm 😳🤭  (no but seriously skhksjhg😭, I appreciate every single reblog and comment a lotttt, even if they’re just short <333)

[esmeralda-juniper]

even if 1, 2 & nv feel too big or too empty because it's set in the desert, i prefer that a lot more than the many buildings you can't go into in 3 & 4