#gender-fluid reader

[qveerthe0ry]

Lions Ain't the Kind - Part One

Summary: Frankie hasn't dated in years, but now he knows what he's looking for. He's just not so good at asking for what he wants, and you're willing to help him work on it. Word Count: 8,156 Pairing: Frankie Morales x NB/Gender-fluid! AFAB! Reader Rating: 18+ Explicit Warnings: 18+ mdni, subby!Frankie, soft dom! reader, talks about gender non-conformity, sickening fluff, Frankie is way too cute and sweet for his own good, kissing, making out, handjob (m receiving), anal fingering (m receiving), dirty talk, Frankie has a praise kink, no use of y/n, no physical descriptions of reader Beta: @perotovar (my angel ilysm) A/N: Sorry for talking about this for a month straight without posting it lol! The title is from the song (Let Me Be Your) Teddy Bear by Elvis Presley which I admittedly haven't listened to but I saw the lyrics and knew immediately it was my Frankie. I hope you enjoy, and I'm always open to criticism and thoughts and thots!

Frankie hasn’t dated in years. He hasn’t really had the time, between his first child being born and navigating co-parenting with his ex, along with healing some very deep trauma and getting and staying clean. 

It just hasn’t been on his mind, if he’s honest. He’s been busy finding himself, as Pope calls it. And he’s not wrong. It’s taken a long while for him to be comfortable in his own skin, to come to terms with the things he’s done and the baggage he can now store in an overhead bin, rather than carry it around with him at all times. 

But now, he’s ready. He knows himself, and as a result, he knows what he’s looking for.

Someone kind-hearted and down to earth. Someone who’s independent and established, but not just looking for a hookup. Someone with a sweet smile and a desire for enjoying the little things in life. 

Someone like you. 

He’d swiped right and left dozens of times on men and women alike, but as soon as he saw your profile on whatever dating app he’d downloaded, he was hooked.

You were gorgeous. He felt the heat from your smile through his phone screen, so happy and genuine and sweet.

You were funny, the answers to those weird icebreaker questions full of witty remarks.

You were smart, clearly, from your shoutout to your alma matter and the ‘boring’ job you mentioned in your profile.

He honestly figured he had no chance at all. His face is only getting more wrinkly, and his hair more gray, and he’s never been the sharpest or funniest guy in the room. 

So when he swiped left and you matched, he was stunned. He was even more shocked when you messaged him before he could even think of what to say to you. 

Hi cutie 🥰 

Despite the fact that he was home alone on his couch, he had the sudden urge to look behind him, as if you’d be talking to someone else. The back of his neck got so warm, and your boldness only made him more into you. 

So he messaged you back

Hi :) how are you?

I’m surprised we matched, honestly. Pleasantly surprised 😊

Same here :) Why the surprise though? I’m sure you match with everyone

Not at all, it’s hard to find people whose type I am on here. I usually use the queer dating apps but I opened this one out of boredom. What are the chances?

What are the chances, indeed, Frankie thinks, as he gives your profile another look over. Frankie doesn’t understand how you aren’t everyone’s type. He feels a little bit like he’s talking to a celebrity, looking at your pictures and just a snippet of who you are on this reductive dating app. 

I like the odds :)

——

As your conversation continues normally over the next few days, Frankie learns a lot about you. He also learns a lot about himself. 

It’s been so long since he’s played the field, so to speak, that he’s rusty as all hell and a bit awkward. He’s afraid to flirt too much, every message deleted and re-written at the risk of sounding too cheesy or too forward or too much. 

You aren’t afraid to flirt. You send ‘good morning, handsome’ and ‘sweet dreams, pretty boy’ texts every day and night. You tell him your day would be better if you could cuddle someone, you tell him when you’re taking a relaxing bath that you wished he were there to join you. 

And to say that Frankie likes it is a massive fucking understatement. 

He adores it, he thinks about you constantly, all day long while he works without access to his phone, all evening long while he waits on your replies, all night long, when you’ve bid each other goodnight out of nothing but courtesy for each other’s sleep schedules.

You lead him along like a timid puppy on a leash, showing him new things with patience and care and it drives him insane. He wants to meet up with you so bad, or even just call you on the phone to hear your voice. He thinks about it, late at night, if it’s higher or lower in register, if it’s smooth or raspy. He wants to learn everything about you. 

That being said, he’s not sure if he’s ever met someone who’s ‘non-binary/gender-fluid’ before. He doesn’t get out much, he hardly talks to anyone who he hasn’t known for years. 

So he googles. It doesn’t really help. He understands what it means, but he doesn’t know what it means to you. He wants to ask you a million questions, but is afraid to bring up even one, and ruin the moment, or sound like an idiot. 

You’re so kind though. So he bites the bullet. 

Can I ask you a question?

Your response comes almost immediately, now that it’s evening time, both finished with dinner— his takeout vs. your leftover spaghetti. 

Of course, pretty boy ❤️

He still flushes deep when you call him that, heat spreading all throughout his face and neck and chest. 

How did you know you were non-binary/ gender-fluid? 

He frets over the text a bunch before he sends it, making sure he worded it the same way you did in your profile. His heart pounds as he waits for your response. 

I’ve always just kind of known I didn’t feel like a man or a woman. I used to think everyone felt somewhere in between, and it was just normal to not feel like I checked either box, but then I realized no one else around me felt the way I did. And then I learned all the terms and whatnot, later on, and knew that’s what I am. Just kinda in between, neither and both, sometimes one and sometimes the other. If that makes sense?

His smile splits his cheeks as he reads your in-depth response, eating up every bit of information you’re willing to give him. 

That makes perfect sense to me. Thank you for sharing :) 

It doesn’t scare you off?

Frankie scoffs, as if anything about you could scare him off. At this point, you could show up on his doorstep with a dead body in a bag, and he’d throw it in his trunk, dispose of it, and then ask if he could maybe kiss you.

Not at all. Nothing about you scares me :)

——

It’s a few more days before Frankie works up the courage to ask for your phone number. You tell him you were wondering when he was going to finally ask for it. It makes him itchy to think about you waiting for him to ask, making him be the one to do it. In a good way. In a way that kind of makes him stiffen up in his briefs if he thinks about it for too long.

But now, as he settles in from a long day at work, his grin splits his face from ear to ear as he reads your text.

Can I take you out tomorrow night?

He likes it… a lot. He feels so fucking new to all this, like a fumbling newborn calf taking its first steps, and how forward you are eases him so thoroughly.

I’d love that :)

Meet me here at 5 for dinner. Casual dress, but I’m sure you’ll be handsome in anything 😘

It’s the longest 22 hours of his life, and it’s the shortest, all at the same time. Texting you, making funny jokes like his bones aren’t about to creep right out from under his skin with all the nerves buzzing his body. Thinking about you, dreaming about you, one right after the other. When he wakes in the morning it’s like he didn’t get a wink of sleep, his anxiety drumming up a million different scenarios of how it could go right and wrong. 

Calling Santi mid-morning on a Saturday when he knows he’s spending time with his family, because if he doesn’t talk to someone about this he may just float off into the ether. 

“I’m so fucking nervous, Pope, what do I do? How do I act? Can you just stake out at the bar and feed me lines through an earpiece?”

“Pendejo, fucking— grow a pair man. You’re cute and funny, you’ve got this.”

Reading your texts with pupils shaped like hearts:

I can’t wait to see you tonight, cutie ❤️

and 

I finally settled on an outfit

and

Is it weird that I’m not even nervous? I’m just excited to finally meet you

It is weird, Frankie thinks, but doesn’t dare tell you. It’s weird how he can’t even eat the plain toast he made for lunch without feeling bile rise in the back of his throat, and you’re just excited. It’s weird how he’s never, ever felt so gone over someone, and you haven’t even met yet. 

It’s not weird, it’s sweet :) I’m excited too <3

It’s not a lie, but he’s omitting the truth a bit. He’s excited but he’s nervous, picking meticulously through his closet to find something casual but not too casual, something he likes the look of himself in, something he thinks you’ll like the look of. 

It only gets worse as he stares at google maps. The restaurant is 2.6 miles away, 11 minutes from his house. It’s 4:30, and he wants to leave already, but thinks maybe it’s better to deal with the anxiety in the comfort of his home rather than the parking lot, in case you’re there early too, and you can see how much of a fucking wreck he is. 

He watches the minutes tick up in the corner of his phone screen. At 4:36, he gets up, fusses in the mirror one last time, and leaves. 

When he parks in the lot in front of the bar & grill, you’ve already texted him. 

I’m here a little early, got all green lights. Saved us a table near the back. See you soon!

It’s 4:52. 

He takes a deep breath through his nose, closes his eyes as he lets it out gently, counting just like his therapist taught him. And again. And one more time, and finally that anxious tingling in his fingertips is muted a bit and his heart rate is only slightly above normal. 

4:54.

He pulls the key from the ignition, gets out of the car, and makes his way to the door. 

He finds you instantly. 

You’re looking at him, and you’re smiling, and getting up from your chair as he approaches you. He barely even hears you greet him with all his blood rushing in his ears. 

“Hi, Frankie,” you say, and your arms stretch out to invite him in for a hug. 

He melts into your arms, his strained “hi” muffled in the crook of your neck. You squeeze him tight to you, and he hears you chuckle next to his ear. 

“Knew you’d be even cuter in person.”

He huffs out a laugh as you release him, and the tips of his ears burn. But you’re smiling so sweetly at him that it eases his nervous bones. 

“You look— can I call you handsome?” 

Fuck, he thinks, so fucking awkward. 

But your grin gets even wider. 

“Only if you mean it.” 

“I do,” he sighs, “like straight out of the cologne ads I’d rip out of my older sister’s magazines.”

He holds his breath as you react, the flutter of your eyelashes and the quivering of your lips and your laugh, bubbly and bright and soothing. 

And he isn’t lying, not even a little. You’re rugged but soft, romantic and alluring, and he can’t take his eyes off you.

Even as you take your seats across from each other, and the waiter comes to take your drink orders, and as your gorgeous eyes flit across the pages of the menu. He can’t stop looking, watching your mouth curve into a smile as you talk about your week and ask him about his. 

It’s pathetic, really, when the waiter asks if you’re ready to order, and you ask if he knows what he wants, because he hasn’t taken a single glance at the menu himself. He just hopes to god the dim lighting of the bar hides his flushed face and tells you to order first while he skims the menu. 

He ends up ordering exactly what you got, and floundering when your hand finds his on the tabletop. He watches your fingers trace his own from his nails to his knuckles, and flips his palm up for you to rest your hand in his. 

“I’m glad you came out with me tonight,” you tell him. 

His eyes flicker up from your joined hands to your smiling face, and his nerves completely melt away from the heat of your gaze. 

“Thank you for asking me,” he says.

“Would you have asked me, if I hadn’t asked you?”

He bites the inside of his cheek, and there’s a teasing glint in your eyes. 

“Eventually,” he nods, “I mean… probably.” 

Your eyebrows turn up in question, and he realizes how that sounds, jumping to backtrack. 

“Not like that! I just mean— You know… You’re uh… well, I feel like you’re way out of my league. And so maybe I’m a little… intimidated.”

You smile, then, and sigh, and squeeze his hand as you call him a sweet boy. It makes the room feel like it’s a hundred degrees warmer, like Frankie’s clothes are suddenly two sizes too small. 

“You aren’t so good at asking for what you want, are you?” 

He laughs then, and shakes his head. 

“Not really, no.”

“We’ll have to work on that, then.”

He clears his throat, and tugs at his collar with his free hand, breaking his gaze away from your face as you chuckle. He looks to find a waiter, or maybe an HVAC guy that could crank the AC to sub-zero temps for the remainder of the date. 

No luck. 

The rest of the date goes well. Surprisingly well. Frankie was worried that he’d be so out of practice that he’d freeze up, or say something stupid, or do something stupid, like knock over a drink or get food stuck in his teeth. 

But you’re just so easy to talk to, to click with. Of course, you’re the one who facilitates the conversation, asking him about his favorites— movies, TV shows, music, time of year. 

But he likes to think that he keeps the ball rolling well enough, is aware enough to remember to ask for some of your favorites— holiday, food, cocktails. 

By the time the check comes, he hardly realizes you’ve both had empty plates in front of you for a while, talking and laughing through your meals like you’re just catching up with an old friend. 

He protests when you grab the check, because of course he does. You’ve given him this incredible night, your comfortable company, your sweet smiles, and he feels like his offerings pale in comparison. 

“I asked you out, Francisco,” you tease him, having just learned his full name a mere 20 minutes ago. 

And he can’t really protest anymore, what with the shiver that’s tingling his spine and the goosebumps he tries to hide by gripping the chair underneath him. So he lets you pay, and thanks the waiter, and feels a rush of sadness when they come back with the check to sign. He really doesn’t want this evening to end. 

The apprehension falls second to the sensation of your hand on the small of his back, leading him out to the parking lot. 

“Where’s your car? I’ll walk you there,” you say, your thumb pressing a soothing circle into the base of his spine. 

So he walks to his truck, a little self-conscious about the out-of-dateness of it, and how he didn’t think to run it through a car wash before this. But mostly he’s just nervous about ending this date on a good note. 

“This is me,” he says, barely above a whisper, stopping at his driver’s side door. 

You smile at him when he turns to you. 

“Thanks again for coming out with me. I really did have a great time.”

This makes him smile through the unease, even as your hand drops from the small of his back. 

“I did too. Would you uh… wanna hang out again soon?”

Your face lights up, and Frankie wants to capture it in a bottle and take it home with him. Keep it at his bedside to use as a nightlight.

“Are you asking me on a date?” 

He chuckles and looks down to his feet like maybe it’ll redirect the flush in his face. You grab his hand, hanging by his side, and luckily you don’t make him speak again because he doesn’t know if he’s even able. 

“I’d love to. Really.” 

He smiles when he looks back up at you, only briefly, because you drop his hand and take a half step back. 

“Call me about it.”

“Wait!”

Your brow arches at him, because you weren’t really going anywhere, but Frankie’s mind is running a thousand miles a second. He thinks back to all the times you’ve goaded him into asking for what he wants, so far, and how it hasn’t bit him in the rear yet. 

“Can we— I… Can I kiss you goodnight?”

Your smile softens, and you take that little half-step back closer to him, and he feels all the tension leak from his shoulders. 

“Yes, you can. Thank you for asking.”

He huffs, and smiles at you, and you’re reaching out to cup his jaw and grab his hip, and Frankie closes his eyes far too early, but it’s okay, because he feels your body heat and then your lips. 

He can’t hold back the hum that rumbles from deep in his chest, or the way that he goes a little boneless in your grasp. He finds your forearm and squeezes it, and your bicep too, anything to ground himself as your lips part and your tongue teases the seam of his lips. 

But then you’re pulling back, and it’s over far too quickly, and Frankie is also acutely aware of how tight his jeans feel. His face feels like it could melt right off of his skull. 

“Call me soon, Pretty Boy.”

He nods, speechless, and watches you disappear between the cars of the parking lot. On his way home, he’s already fretting over whether or not he should text you tonight, and what kind of date he should plan, and if his breath was okay when you let him kiss you. 

——

Frankie is perfect. 

You’re still not sure how you found this diamond in the rough that is Tinder. You thank every god you know the name of that you got bored and opened the app on auto-pilot that night. 

First of all, he’s so cute. He’s handsome in such a boyish way, with his dimples and unruly curls and patchy beard. 

But he’s also so kind, the way he talks to you like it’s a privilege, the way he asks careful and curious questions about you like he truly wants to know the parts of you that are deeper than what’s on the surface. 

Every simple text from him makes you smile, the way he always tries to make you laugh or cheer you up when you’re overwhelmed with the demands of life, as you often are.

And meeting him in person solidified everything you thought about him.

He seems like the textbook definition of a golden retriever boyfriend, if you ever get to call him that much. You hope you do.

In fact, it seems like it’s moving quite quickly in that direction when Frankie asks if you’d be down for a movie night. Some blockbuster he missed in theaters is finally streaming, and he thinks you’ll like it. 

You don’t tell him that you didn’t miss it in theaters, or that you thought it was just okay. 

You do tell him you’d be down to watch it, only if he came to your place, where the walls are thin and your surrounding neighbors all know you and watch out for you. Just in case he’s really good at acting  like a sweet, safe guy. 

You find yourself giddy as the weekend approaches, daydreaming at work about how the night will turn out. You tell him to come in comfy clothes, because you’ll be damned if you wear jeans in your own home, even for this sweet man. He doesn’t seem to mind one bit, that’s my favorite kind of outfit :) is his cute response. 

You get everything ready the day of; your coziest blankets hang off the arms of your sofa, your fridge is stocked with fresh fruits and your pantry with candy and microwave popcorn and chips (I’ll eat whatever you get :) his answer to your questioning of his favorite movie snacks, of course.)

And then you sit around and wait, excited nerves coaxing your body to straighten things up that have been straightened up a million times already. When Frankie texts you his ETA, you park yourself on the couch by the door and stare at it until there’s a knock on it. 

You may count to ten before you get up to open it, just to hide how eager you’ve been to see him again. 

Your throat does get a little dry when you answer it to find him in a dark blue t-shirt that hugs his arms and light gray joggers that hug… Other things. 

“Hi handsome,” you smile, pushing down all the nerves and the less-than-PG thoughts. 

“Hi. I um… I brought these. I noticed you ordered them on our uh– well, at the restaurant, and I didn’t want to show up empty handed.” 

You watch a flush break out on his face, and his neck, and wonder how far under his collar it actually spreads. 

He’s holding up a six pack of your favorite beers, and he’s smiling so shyly, and you have to crowd in closer to him to press a kiss to his heated cheek. 

“That’s so thoughtful, thank you.” 

He giggles— giggles, Jesus Christ— and you take them from his hand to let him come through the door. 

You set the beers in your fridge to let them chill as he kicks off his shoes. You watch him from the kitchen as he takes in your place with his pretty brown eyes. 

“It’s really cozy in here,” he tells you as he fiddles with his own hands. 

“Snuggle up, get comfy, I’ll bring us some snacks.”

He nods, so obedient, and hovers by the couch before settling on the seat in the middle. 

Sly move, you think, and you can’t hide your stupid grin as you gather some snacks. 

When you turn off all but one lamp and deposit the junk food on the coffee table, you notice he’s inched himself closer to the arm of the couch, like he was second-guessing himself. That just won’t do, you think, as you settle in right next to him, so close that the length of your body is pressed against his. 

He doesn’t look at you, just stares at the Roku City scrolling across your flat screen. For a second you think he might be uncomfortable, but the way his breathing is uneven clues you in on his nerves. 

You reach over him to grab the blanket in the arm of the couch, and you feel his muscles tense up when you press against him. 

“Frankie?” 

“Huh? Sorry, yeah?” 

“Are you okay?” 

He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head and sighs, heavy and long, before looking at you.

“I’m so nervous.”

He smiles in spite of it, lopsided, dimples so cute that your lips quiver with the urge to kiss them. 

You smile back, and drape the blanket over both of you, patting his leg through it. 

“Nothing to be nervous about, Francisco.”

It gets a laugh out of him, a huff through his nose, and his shoulders lower the tiniest bit. You slowly reach up to cradle his jaw in your palm, careful not to spook this little baby deer of a man, but his face leans into your touch. 

“If it helps, I think it’s really sweet that you’re nervous.” 

“Thank you… I think?”

You laugh at him, and watch as your reaction makes his eyes brighten. You want to kiss him. You want to smooch the absolute daylights out of him, but there’s still 3 hours of a pretentious movie to watch, and there will be plenty of time, if he’s amenable. 

So you just pinch his cheek before you let go, and try not to look so smug at the heat that consumes his face as you get the movie up and running. 

Fifteen or so minutes into the film, Frankie has relaxed into the couch, though he’s stock-still beside you with his arms glued to his own sides. You just want to cuddle, at least. You’ve been thinking about it for weeks— getting his warm, solid but soft body against your own. 

You’re certain he won’t be the one to initiate it, but that’s all fine and dandy. You rearrange yourself a bit, and sling an arm over his shoulders. He looks away from the movie towards you, and you give him a smile that must be comforting. 

He sinks lower on the couch, and leans against you, his messy curls pressed against your shoulder while his arm drapes over your lap. You think you hear his satisfied hum under the dialogue of the characters, and you let your head rest against his. 

This is nice. Frankie’s so warm against you, the most comforting weight all lax against your side. Your hand creeps up from his shoulder to his head, and his hair is so silky when you finally work up the gall to run your fingers through it.

You can feel the way it affects him when he shivers and presses even closer into you. You watch the movie like that for a while, snacks untouched, fingertips stroking his scalp as his soft curls slip through your digits. Every once in a while his head tilts to look up at you, piercing brown, and each time you smile back down and ruffle his hair.

It’s just after the first big conflict of the film when you feel Frankie shift against you. His arm moves in your lap, and you watch his thick fingers grab your thigh over the blanket. 

It shocks you how such a simple gesture makes your temperature rise. You hum and let your nails scratch more firmly against his head. You can hear him gasp, and feel him move impossibly closer, like he’s trying to fuse the two of you together. You glance down at him, past the curls you’ve lost yourself in, and his eyes are closed. Further, the curve of his nose and pout of his lips, his chest that’s heaving with his excited breaths, you notice a suspicious tent in the blanket, and you don’t want to assume, but the context clues are all there. 

Frankie is hard. 

You can’t blame him. You’ve been aroused since you pressed his body against yours, a slow simmering underneath the surface that’s made you feel so comfortably warm and relaxed. 

You shift, and you swear you hear a barely-there whine leave his lips. You move just enough so you can press your free hand to his chest. Under your palm, you can feel his heart beating, a pace that’s concerningly higher than appropriate for sitting and watching dialogue in a movie. 

His head turns toward you, his hair slipping through the grasp of your knuckles. He looks up at you with those puppy eyes and his pupils are so dilated that it makes you take a deep breath. He turns his body  toward you next and there it is the hard line of his cock pressed against the outside of your thigh. You see him shudder at the friction, watch his eyes grow droopy as they flicker down to glance at your lips. 

“Can I kiss you again?” 

And he asks so sweetly, voice a little hoarse from the silence, that you couldn’t dream of denying him. 

“Yes, Frankie.”

His lips tremble until they meet yours, so soft and chaste, a stark contrast to his scruffy beard and mustache. His breath hitches; you can hear it and feel it. His chest shudders under your palm and pushes air out to gust against your cheeks. You feel his prick, too, twitching against your thigh as your tongue peeks out to tease his pouty bottom lip. 

He pulls back so much quicker than you want him to, but it’s also such a reward to look at him this close. His lips shiny, his cheeks flushed, his irises completely usurped by his pupils. His mouth hangs open and you can’t help yourself as you slide your hand from his chest to his jaw and pull him into you once again. 

A surprised little noise works its way out of his throat, and his hips jerk forward, and then he’s groaning as his cock throbs against the outside of your thigh. The noise makes that feeling in your gut draw deeper, lower, and you make one of your own in response. 

His hand rests dutifully still on your thigh, but you can feel his fingers twitching as your taste buds rub against his– a friction that has no right to be as delicious as it is. You want him to feel you up, to touch you all over, to give in to the desire that’s blatantly pressed against you. You want to hear these noises he seems to be holding back, the whimpers that just barely make it past his vocal chords before he cuts them off. 

You pull away this time. Pride swells in your chest as you look at what you’ve already done to him. His curls are even messier now that you’ve run your fingers through them over and over. His eyes are all glassy when he looks at you, pouty lips slick and red. 

He sits so still, aside from his heaving breaths, like he’s waiting for your command. 

“Tell me what you want, Frankie.”

His eyes widen and christ, if they get any wider they’re going to suck you in like a supermassive black hole. 

“I– I’m okay, I like this.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. He nods, trying to convince you, as he not-so-subtly pulls his erection free from its trap between his body and your thigh. His eyes cast downward, but you swiftly grab his chin in your hands to bring them back to you. 

“Francisco,” you mumble, “ask for what you want.”

He gasps and bites his plush bottom lip, hard enough that there’s little indents when he opens his mouth. He shuts it again, and squirms against you, and finally opens it once more. 

“I want you to touch me.” 

His request comes out hardly above a whisper, all broken and breathy, and his gaze settles somewhere behind you. 

“Is that all?”

He nods quickly, eyes snapping back to you. 

“I swear– I just wanna feel your hands on me.” 

Your smile widens as his face gets so serious, eyebrows knitting together. 

“That’s good, that’s really good,” you mumble. 

The shudder that visibly rolls through him is like a shockwave, sending every one of your nerve endings on-edge. You huff, an amazed little breath at this fucking guy in front of you, so responsive and timid and utterly fuckable. 

“You like that? Like being good for me?”

He nods again, more apprehensive this time, but he can’t hold back his whine when his hips press against you. The possibilities of all the things you could do to this man stretch far and wide; it’s entirely overwhelming. 

“Sweet boy,” you whisper, because he is, “c’mere.”

You pull the blanket off of you both, and Frankie reaches down to adjust himself so it isn’t so obvious, like you haven’t felt his cock twitching against you this entire time. It’s so endearing you think you could cry, but you’re much too turned on for sentiment at the moment. Instead, you guide him to straddle you, hands on his slender hips until his thighs cage your own. 

For a moment you just watch as he sits patiently, obediently, waiting for your next words like his cock isn’t leaking a pretty little damp patch into his sweatpants. His chest heaves with every breath, and his tongue licks and bites at his swollen lips, and his eyes stay trained on your mouth in anticipation. 

“So pretty,” you whisper. 

His long eyelashes flutter at your compliment, and he turns his head to try and hide his reaction, but it doesn’t mask the way his prick twitches under gray fabric. Your hands find his waistband and tease the edge and you delight in the way he shivers. 

You need to feel more, so you press your hands under his shirt and hum at what you find. A soft tummy and smooth skin that makes way for a small trail of wiry hairs. It’s all revealed to you a moment later when you hike his shirt higher, reach for pecs that are more solid than you imagined, and the smallest nipples you think you’ve ever had your hands on. 

You look back up to his face for permission with a quirked brow, and he nods eagerly, grabbing the back of his collar to shed the material and bare himself and it’s so lovely. There’s so much tan skin, hardly any of it is obstructed by hair, just the errant freckle here or there. And you can’t help it, you have to lean forward and take one of his nipples into your mouth. 

He gasps your name, but one of his hands finds the back of your head to keep you in place. You hum around the little nub, so small you have trouble getting your teeth to bite down on it, but you do and then he groans, his hips jerking in your hold on them. 

“Is this how you wanted me to touch you?”

You lean your head back to look him in the eyes, to watch a pained expression flit over his face as he tries to come up with an answer he thinks you’ll like. 

“I like this too,” he nods, “but I, um… fuck–”

He cuts himself off to hide his face in his hands. He is so cute and so sexy at the same time, it’s making your brain go haywire. 

“Tell me, Frankie. Be good for me, Pretty Boy.” 

He shifts on top of you as he looks up at your ceiling. You soothe your hands up and down his flanks and wait patiently for him to find the words. 

He drops his hand from his face, fists clenching down by his sides, but he finally looks down at you and smiles, shy and sweet, just a hint of that dimple you adore rearing its head.

“Touch my cock? You got me so hard.”

You smile bright at his request, and nod, and press a kiss to his sternum. 

“Anything you want,” you mumble, “just gotta ask. Just like that.”

He looks pretty proud of himself. There’s a twinkle in his eyes as you look up at him, and you take a playful bite of his skin and savor the gasp it coaxes out of him. 

“Let’s get these off, yeah?” 

Your fingers sneak under his waistband and his skin is so hot under there, searing. You only have a few moments to bask in the warmth before he stands up to remove his pants and briefs in one bashful move. 

Jesus. 

He’s so gorgeous, bare for you, vulnerable, excited. His foreskin is all pulled back, revealing a delicious looking string of pre-cum from his slit. You desperately want to lean forward and taste— but he didn’t ask for that, and you won’t give it to him unless he does. 

Stunned a bit silent, you pat your lap, urging him to settle back over it. Much to your delight, he does, quick and obedient. An approving hum bubbles up out of your chest, and he preens as he sits on your thighs. 

There’s a very wicked feeling in you as you stare at him, completely naked, while you haven’t shed a single layer of clothing. Control, and trust, and power. It’s overwhelming in a way that makes your lungs feel too inflated for your rib cage, to know you could take advantage of it, and to know you never ever would. 

“Good boy,” you whisper, finally, testing those waters. 

Frankie’s dick twitches between you two, and you huff and smile and wonder how something so perfect and precious has literally landed right in your lap. 

He’s been more than good, and so with one hand you grab his hip to steady him, and the other takes his cock as gentle as ever. A sharp inhale inflates his chest as you stroke the smooth skin, a teasing, feather-light touch that makes his legs tense up in your lap. You watch him disappear and reappear through the loose circle of your hand, watch another clear droplet bead from his slit when you squeeze him tighter. 

“Does this feel good?”

He’s watching your hand work when you look back up to his face. He nods, a jerky movement that seems to shake his entire body, and he’s so on-edge. You feel it in the way he shifts his weight on top of you. 

“Words, Frankie,” you urge, a soft smile on your face. 

“So good.”

You hum, taking in the way his eyes flutter open and closed, the way his adam’s apple pokes out when he leans his head back. 

You reward him by speeding up your strokes. You squeeze his hip with your free hand, kneading at the soft flesh there, while you lean forward to press kisses into his virtually hairless chest. His skin is so hot it feels like it could burn you, flushed such a pretty color, just like you knew it would be. 

He whines when you gather up more pre cum with your thumb and gently massage it into his frenulum. You look up to find him staring down at you with glassy eyes, bottom lip tucked tight between his teeth. 

“Can we kiss more?”

His voice is breathy, and you nod, and a fresh wave of arousal flushed through your system when his lips eagerly meet yours. 

It’s sloppier, this time. Noisier, too, as you tighten your grip on his cock and begin to properly work your hand up and down his length. You steal his breath and his noises straight from his lungs, feel every shudder he pushes out when you twist your wrist just right or squeeze tighter. 

His hips start to meet your thrusts, rutting into your hand, such a desperate little thing on top of you, all for you. You want to encourage him to take his pleasure from you, and so you slip your hand back from his waist, find the perfectly pert globe of his ass with your palm. 

“Haa— shit.”

His words muffle into your kiss as his hips stutter in rhythm and you lean forward to smirk into the bald patch of his beard. 

“Yeah?” 

A gasp wrecks through his heaving chest as he nods. 

“Please, fuck— please.”

You hum into his jaw and squeeze his cock and his ass respectively. 

“Please what, Pretty Boy?” 

He leans back. You watch him squeeze his eyes shut and shake his head from left to right. 

“Tell me what you want, Frankie. Know you can.” 

A big gulp of air, and then he opens his eyes to look at you, then blinks them shut again as his head lolls back in his shoulders. 

“Touch me there. I— I can’t—”

“Shhh,” you take mercy on him, bringing your hand up from his backside to cradle his jaw in your palm. He tilts his head into your touch and opens his eyes.

“I got you, sweet boy,” you remind him. 

He nods in understanding, shifting to kiss the heel of your palm. You let him rest his lips there as he catches his breath, feel them quivering every other upstroke of your hand on his prick. 

But as he makes to move, you hold his jaw steady in your hand. His eyes flicker back to your face, and you wonder if you look as wrecked as you feel, if he can tell how beside yourself you really are. 

Slowly, so he can pull away if he wants, you trace the pad of your middle finger along the seam of his lips. You’re awestruck at how they instantly fall open for you, greedy, something you’re definitely looking forward to exploring more later. 

For now, you watch with hooded eyes as he takes it into his mouth, tongue curling and lapping at it. You briefly wonder if fingers are erogenous zones, beyond turned on at how warm and wet the inside of his mouth feels, how he suckles and releases, bobs his head over and over until you snap out of it. 

“Good boy. Fucking perfect,” you sigh.

He gets a cocky little goofy grin on his face at the praise, but his prick twitches against your grasp. You squeeze it for good measure, and more of his pre-cum dribbles over your knuckles. 

You lean into him again, and he leans into you, holding each other up. Your mouth finds his pebbled nipple once again as his prick drags across your shirt and saturates it. He hisses at the friction, then gasps when your hand grabs his ass cheek again. 

You pull it as best as you can with one hand. It isn’t too difficult with how it fits so perfectly round in your palm. You squeeze it, massage it, note how the littlest hint of peach fuzz feels against your clammy hand. You wonder how it would feel under your tongue, too, how it would taste, how the fatty flesh would feel between your teeth. 

His hips stutter forward when your finger, slick with his saliva, strokes the very top of his crack. And you don’t mean to tease too much, but his jerky movements and satisfied sounds when you do are like music to your ears. 

Finally you find his hole, fluttering around nothing, so little and tight, all for you. 

“Ohmygod.”

Frankie sounds pained, so much so that you look up from nuzzling his chest to watch his face. His brows are drawn tight with how his eyes are squeezed shut, and his mouth is hung open, slick with a little drool around the corners of his lips. Without context, maybe he would look pained, too, but the way his cock throbs and dribbles in your hand paints a completely different picture. 

And what a pretty picture he is, gulping for air above you, thrusting his hips back into your finger and forward through your fist, like he’s so out of his mind that he can’t even make it up. 

You apply more pressure to his impossibly tight pucker and sink your teeth into his skin at the way he whines for you. You do it again, and again, a patient little rhythm until it relaxes and the very tip of your finger slips into his warmth. 

He groans, clenching tight around you. 

“Okay, Frankie?”

He laughs, a little puff of air, and you feel it where you’re inside him. 

“Gonna make me come,” he chokes.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, don’t— fuck— please don’t stop.”

You hum into his chest, squeeze your hand tighter around his prick as you speed up your strokes. He’s groaning now, deep and low and constant, like he couldn’t hold it back if he tried. 

You wiggle your finger against his rim, tugging him open for you, toying with the elastic muscle. He’s so pliable everywhere, opening up to you, happily taking what you give him. 

In a stiff moment you think he isn’t into it, because he freezes up and goes silent. You make to slip out of him, but his warmth just drags you in.

And then his cock jumps in your grasp, and his hole clamps around your finger as he gasps your name, and he’s coming. 

He shakes with it as he soaks your shirt and drips over your hand. You stroke him through it and marvel at the way he feels in your grasp and around you, violent waves of pleasure that you can sense where you touch him. 

You look up to watch him tremble through it and he’s gorgeous. Sweat drips from his messy curls at his temple and paints a glimmer down his neck, all pulled taught as his head hangs back. His chest tastes salty under your tongue where it heaves, you can’t get enough of the flavor, or the wicked beating of his heart under your lips. 

And his noises, fucking delicious, wrung-out curses that just keep tumbling from his red lips. His stomach trembles with his shaky breaths, and he sounds so wrecked as the last bit of his orgasm tricked down the back of your hand. 

His whispered chants of “fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” slow to a stop just as his joints unlock and his muscles relax. You take it as a sign to loosen your grip on his spent cock and carefully slip your finger back out of him. It earns you one last whimper before he sags into you, a boneless little heap in your lap. 

You unhand him to hold him against you, wipe your hand on the discarded blanket beside you so you can stroke his back with one hand and his fuzzy little buttcheek with the other. 

You tell him how good he was for you, how pretty he is when he comes, how much you loved getting to do that to him. 

It takes a while for him to catch his breath, and his huffs tickle that sensitive spot on your neck just below your ear. 

“Holy shit,” he sighs. 

You nod, because he’s correct. Holy shit, indeed. 

His voice is a little hoarse, and you’re conflicted. You want to hold him as long as he’ll let you, but you know you should get him some water and at least a towel. 

You shift under him and he whimpers, wraps his arms tighter around your shoulders.

There goes that idea. 

You hold him closer, and smirk at the contented sigh that leaves him. 

“I think… I think I just imprinted on you.” 

It startles a laugh out of you, and he chuckles too, a tiny happy sound against your collar bone. You turn to kiss his heated cheek, and he lets you, before he turns his own head to fuse his lips to yours. 

This kiss is lazy, unhurried, and the adrenaline from making him fall apart is slowly making way for more of that sticky-sweet arousal from earlier. 

“I wanna make you come,” he mumbles against your lips. 

You shake your head, but kiss him some more, as to not give him the wrong idea. 

“Another night, Pretty Boy.”

He makes a disappointed sound, but continues to kiss you until you have to part for air. His brow is turned upward in question when you pull away. 

“Did I do something wrong?”

You’re shaking your head before he even finishes his question. 

“Not a single thing, Frankie. Just wanted to take care of you tonight.” 

His shoulders relax at that, but his face is still confused. It’s a cute look on him, with his pouty lips and big brown eyes. 

“You’d tell me right? If I made you uncomfortable? You can tell me. I don’t wanna upset you.” 

And christ, you feel your heart melting and oozing through your rib cage at how earnest his voice is. 

“I promise, I’ll tell you.”

That seems to quell his nerves, as he sinks back into you again with his sweaty curls pressed against your shoulder. 

You’re sticky in more ways than one, and Frankie’s only getting heavier in your lap the sleepier he gets, but a giggle bubbles up out of you when you realize you’ve never been more comfortable than you are right now. 

Frankie huffs in response, and you press him even tighter against you. 

You don’t know where one-and-a-half dates and one sickeningly hot orgasm places the two of you. And maybe it’s greedy to think about with a handsome, sweet man in your arms, but you can’t push down the overwhelming feeling of wanting more.

next part

[mymoonsight]

Reposting a comment I made on a post and adding to it

x Reader fics need to handle writing “reader” better sometimes

As a 6ft afab person who’s built like a man and has never been super feminine and has a more unique haircut that’s shorter I hate to read about “readers” petite, small, pale body and her “long flowy straight hair”, etc.

Reader is meant to be ambiguous!! And if it’s important to the plot please mention it at the beginning!!! If it’s not important to the plot why is it being included???

Some people who are reading may be tall, fat, skinny, short, or even somewhere in between. The readers could have a hijab, 4c hair, locks, braids, long hair, short hair, wavy, no hair and even more.

Stop making all readers so sweet and innocent, I want a reader who’s petty and sassy sometimes. I’ve noticed also that so many readers are either too baby to do anything or over powered.

Personally I also hate reading about obviously toxic men and relationships that the reader goes back to because they are “so in love”, like no please let me deck that sucker and leave them in the dust and be happier.

Also, if you label your post with the tag “___ x reader” or titled with “___ x reader” and then make descriptions and then ADD A NAME!!! It’s not an x reader fic and I heavily want to block you.

Edit:

Hey hello! I just wanted to add that I heavily respect and love fic writers! So many have a talent that I will never reach or have and I appreciate your content being put out at all! I made this post as a 5 am ramble and was half delirious lol

People can write as they please and I’ll ignore it if I’m not interested or I’ll make slight internal edits to fit me if I am

[deadghosy]

“Why did you kiss me?”

“Because, you’re the only one who stayed with me.”

LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR X GN! READER

FLUFF❤️/ SLIGHT SUGGESTIVE/ BAD GRAMMAR

YOU WOKE UP in bed with Lucifer as you found the king of hell holding you close to his body as soft breathing was heard of the sleeping king. You stretched a little not wake up Lucifer as he mumbles in his sleep, “stay…with me…I need you…” the mumbles were cute as you smile at him softly.

You turn into a black vapor over to the side of the bed to stretch your wings and body. You are still pretty much tired but you have to go meet Charlie since you told her you would be there quick. You walk to the bathroom to get out of this cute cunty vibe robe without knowing that Lucifer woke up not feeling your body.

Lucifer touched the spot you were only to have tears in his eyes.

Did he dream of you being by him?

if so what was the dream so long. He misses you already like an abandoned puppy. He didn’t know if it was real or not as he lays on his stomach facing nothing, only the headboard of this bed you slept on with him. He wipes his eyes as he looked at his hand, his eyes widen to have seen the duck ring.

So it was real…

He was stock to say that you actually did stay with him that day as he blushes kissing the ring. He’s hate to admit it, but this could be the wedding ring of both of you and him if he decides to have balls and ask you. His thoughts stop as he hears the bathroom door open to see you exiting wearing his color scheme on an outfit that was quite formal.

“Good morning Luci.” You said with a smile as your voice was like honey to him and he was the bear. He loved your voice even if you didn’t think your voice was special. He smiled at you as he walks over and hugs you, nuzzling his apple like scent all over you as you just smile patting his back.

“Good morning my angel!” He said as he lifts you up with ease as you grip his shoulders. You were shocked to say that Lucifer never did this to you before. But he must be in a good mood to have done this. You just smile at him as he Carries you to the kitchen with a soft hum. As he hums you smile just getting use to his presence as it been so long you two masked in each other. He sits you down on one of the dining chairs as he goes to make pancakes.

You remember how he use to make pancakes with Charlie and you. It was such a lovable memory in your head as you check your phone to see Angel dust worried about you with 16 messages and 20 missed calls. Charlie called you 1 time and left 27 messages. Alastor left you 1 message as vaggie has send you 12 messages. Man your friends had missed you.

Lucifer broke your train of thought with his famous pancakes as he smiles that toothy charming smile everyone knows and love. He kisses your forehead showing you this new affection that was brought upon the two of you last night.

You both ate in comfortable peace as you two share a piece of bacon and just chatter about today and what will tomorrow bring. You could’ve sworn he kept staring at your neck as you just glanced away from him awkwardly as you look at you watch.

“Ah man..I gotta do Lu.” You said as you got up. Lucifer also got up in a hurry thinking of how to keep you here longer. But he knew he couldn’t as his daughter depends on you too…so it sucks as he nods with a frown. He goes over to you and smiles, “okay. Just be safe on the way out.”

You chuckled at that as you just nod and hold his arm, he looks at his arm as he kisses your hand up and then he kisses you on your lips. Making you surprised, your eyes widened but soon fell into the kiss as he puts his hands on your waist and you put your arms around his neck with a flustered face. He lifted you as you wrap your legs around his waist as he leaves your mouth and go down to your neck, nibbling and biting as he licks your neck up and down.

He couldn’t help himself but feel to claim you somehow as he places you on the dinning table of the kitchen. He kept biting as you wince gripping his shoulder. He bit you so hard you bleed without noticing, but he notice. He licked your neck, cleaning of the blood as he slightly whimpers looking up at you with his demonic red eyes.

“Did a kiss really get him that excited?” You thought as you lift his chin only for him to purr and move closer to kiss you more to the point you both won’t take it.

But you still had to help Charlie, so you push Lucifer’s head away with a smile. “Ah ah, can’t do that sir. I have to do tend to your daughter now. I’ll be back soon Lu-Lu.” With a final kiss to his eye with he whimpered rubbing his face on your neck. You got off the table dusting yourself and wiping the left over saliva from Lucifer on your neck. “Love you.” You said as you left the palace.

Lucifer stands there alone with his demon tail wagging with a derpy smile as he just excitedly.

“YES! THEY SAY THEY LOVE ME!! THEY’RE FINALLY MINE! TAKE THAT DEPRESSION!”

—

TIME AS PASSED as you check your phone to see love messages with hearts on them from Lucifer. This man is certainly high off your kisses from earlier as he is literally kicking his feet on his bed thinking of you. But you wanted to say something about the kiss so you started to text him.

Lucifer saw your text bubble as he brought his phone close to his face with a wide smile to see your text. This boy is whipped badly as he smiles waiting.

“Why did you kiss me?” You had asked over text as Lucifer stops smiling thinking of the most realistic answer ever as he nods and texted you back with a smug face.

“Because, you’re the only one who stayed with me.” He texted back with a flushed expression.

After that, you two started to text everyday. Sending love messages and everything to check up one and another.

Lucifer was finally happy.

[natsarrownecklacx]

Babysitting Groot

*Y/n and Natasha babysitting Groot, introducing him to the team.*

Sam: “That’s a cute little guy. What do we call it?”

Y/n: “Groot? Eh, I don’t know actually. Hey Groot? Mr? Mrs? Eh, Mx?”

Baby groot: “I am Groot.”

Y/n: “Ah yes, my apologies your highness.” *Bows.*

Natasha: *Confused.* “What did they say?”

Y/n: “He said fuck gender, I am royalty.“

Natasha: *Gasping.* “Groot! No cursing, that’s bold.”

Sam: *Laughing.* “I like how you think, your highness.” *Bows.”

[mariasont]

Hello! I saw you were taking some requests? I had an idea for a Spencer fic. The reader (afab) who is gender fluid but doesn’t like their chest area (as they are quite big) on certain days due to how they are feeling that day. Spencer helps them feel a little better by just helping them out with a fitting outfit from his clothes mixed with theirs too.

This can be purely fluff and just all sweet. But you can add anything else if it helps you pad out the story more.

Thank you!

Sweater - S.R

a/n: hi hi hi thank u so much for requesting sorry it took so long i wanted to make sure i did my research and remained sensitive to this subject <3

i hope you like it !!!

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: spencer reid x gender-fluid!afab!reader

summary: in which you struggle with your body and spencer helps you

warnings: a lil angst, fluff, body dysmorphia

wc: 0.8k

You absently scuffed the toe of your sock along the grain of polished floor, your head drifting to one side while your fingers fussed with your fingernail. Your eyes avoided the mirror in front of you, knowing you wouldn't necessarily like what you saw back.

Your fingers lingered along the hem of your shirt, a subconscious motion that sought to smooth more than just the wrinkles. The shirt, a second skin, hugged a little too closely, its lines a little too revealing. You pulled at the fabric, willing it to fall just right, to drape, to hide. 

A crease of frustration marred your face as you turned to the side, the reflection in the mirror stubbornly refused to align with the image in your head. The chest that some days felt like a part of you, today, felt like a stranger--too pronounced, too noticeable, too... there.

The bedroom door groaned softly on its hinges as Spencer appeared in the doorway. His eyes connected with yours in the mirror as he observed the strain etched in your shoulders, and the sudden pause in your hands' restless motion.

"Hey," he said, his voice was comforting, a welcome intrusion to the relentless tangled web that was your thoughts. "I'm making eggs. Do you want some?"

It was a simple offer, but that didn't matter. Just him being there made everything seem a little softer around the edges.

"Yes, please," you replied, feeling the tight coil of anxiety within you loosen ever so slightly.

Spencer's gaze lingered with a softness that betrayed its probing nature, as if he could strip away everything you were hiding, something he was able to do all too often. He stepped closer, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Do you know how much I love you?"

The question hung in the air, it was a rhetorical question really, but you felt the warmth that spread through you as you toyed with the hem of his shirt.

"As much as the neurons in our brains fire every second," you said, a fact Spencer had instilled into you like no other—he didn’t go a day without saying it.

"That's right," Spencer affirmed with a chuckle as he closed the distance between you.

His hands came up to cup your face, sweeping gentle strokes over your cheeks before planting a soft kiss against your forehead.

Spencer's voice was soft, almost hesitant, as if he was giving you the space to decide while he spoke into your skin. "Do you want to talk to me?"

You let out a small sigh, not of frustration, but of surrender as you leaned into his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart—bump, bump—it was almost enough to lull you to sleep standing up in his arms.

"It's just one of those days."

He knew what you meant, of course he did. His arms wrapped around you.

"Did you know," he began, his voice steady and sure, "that the way we see ourselves can be influenced by so many factors, like mood, environment, and even the lighting of the room? It's important to me that you remember that our self-image isn't always an accurate reflection of reality."

You leaned further into his chest, eyes squeezing shut.

He paused, giving you a moment to absorb the words before pinching your sides. "Why don't you try on some of my clothes?"

"Yeah, okay," you agreed, you’d never say no to that offer.

Spencer's eyes crinkled with amusement as he moved towards the closet. "Sit tight," he called over his shoulder.

You perched on the bed, watching his lanky frame disappear into the closet. "Will you pick something out for me?"

"You trust me that much? Bold move."

A chuckle escaped you, and you shook your head, a strand of hair falling into your face. "Just no bow ties, please."

“No promises.”

Moments later, Spencer emerged, holding a soft-looking sweater and a pair of comfortable joggers. "Here."

You took the clothes, the fabric soft under your fingertips. It smelled like him."Turn around, please."

Spencer's eyebrow shot up. "Turn around?" he exclaimed, but his smile revealed just how amused he was.

He leaned in, pressing a quick, tender kiss to your lips before obligingly spinning on his heel to give you privacy.

With Spencer's back turned, you quickly changed into the clothes he had chosen. They were perfect—comfortable, roomy, and more importantly, made you feel more like yourself.

"Okay, you can look now."

Spencer turned, his gaze drinking you in, hands falling to rest on the small of your back. "How’s that feel?”

You looked down at yourself, then back up at him through the mirror. “Like I can breathe again.”

He nodded, his hand finding yours, giving a squeeze. “Good, because to me, you always look perfect.”

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

[millenialfanfictionaddiction]

Being Atsumu’s Pregnant Partner:

YN goes into Labor

Atsumu Miya x Pregnant! GN reader

Warnings: swearing, pregnancy and a lot of stuff to do with pregnancy, mentions of throwing up and bodily fluids

***pregnancy is different for everyone and I’m basing this off my own personal experience

AN: *sigh* friends I’m having major baby fever and since I’m forever done diy-ing my own, I shall instead write about it 😌 maybe I should just get a kitten

Looking back now, it probably wasn’t the best idea to go to a professional, five set volleyball match at 39 weeks pregnant but here you were. You’d always been the devoted type, doing anything and everything you could to support your man no matter what.

Atsumu Miya wasn’t always the easiest partner to have but you loved the big dummy. He was extremely dedicated to his sport and team, which made dealing with him outside the court rather bothersome at times.

Nevertheless, you decided that you could stand just enough of him to spend your life by his side and raise a family. His brother, Osamu, asked you about a million times is you were for sure ready to raise a baby Miya. He knew exactly what it would be like because he was one.

At first you laughed it off, thinking that you had a few years of rest before the chaos would ensure but man, were you wrong. You’d become pregnant relatively quickly, making both you and Atsumu extremely excited.

However, your excitement soon dampened as you began spending most of your day hugging the porcelain thrown or downing antacids to help with the wicked indigestion that crept up your throat at every turn. Your breasts ached, your sleep suffered and the smell of nearly anything sent you running to the bathroom. Your skin broke out, hair began to shed, and most days, you felt like a Sméagol from lord of the rings, just trying to protect your unborn baby.

Atsumu had been as supportive as you imagined he’d be. This mostly meant calling Osamu to make you something to eat or google home remedies to help with your morning sickness. Osamu was also extremely excited for his little niece or nephew to make their appearance, doing whatever he could when Atsumu was gone to help you.

You’d managed to make it all the way to 39 weeks, and you were excited to finally be done. The doctor had scheduled an induction for the following week because of blood pressure issues. You weren’t exactly stoked about the idea of an induction but the fact that you’d be able to meet your baby soon was thrilling.

You waddled your way through the crowd, waving to people as you passed. Akaashi had stopped to talk with you as well as Asahi and Suga. It was nice to see everyone again even though you were exhausted.

“There they are!” Osamu yelled, waving you over to his Onigiri stand as you huffed and puffed, finally able to stop. The pressure from the baby was making it difficult to walk, your pelvis hurting as you leaned on the corner of his stand, his chuckle causing you to glare at him.

“You know you could have stayed him YN. Sumu pays for the expensive sports channels because he’s obsessed with watching replays of his games, I’m sure you’d see him on there,” Osamu joked as you motioned for a delicious looking Onigiri in the corner of the display case.

“This will probably be the last game Sumu plays in for a bit because of his paternity leave. I don’t want to miss it!”

Osamu chuckled, shaking his head as you made your way to the stairs of the bleachers. Your phone rang as you began to ascend, huffing and puffing as you walked up.

“Hello,” you answered as the noise of the locker room filled your ears.

“Hey baby! Did ya make it?” Atsumu shouted back as you finally found your spot and took a seat releasing a heavy sigh as you settled in.

“Not up as high as I normally go but my feet hurt too much to even care.”

Sumu laughed as you looked around to see the stands filled with people.

“Well just relax baby, this time next week will be in the hospital having our baby!”

You groaned just thinking about the idea of pushing out this child, knowing that the possibility of having a small baby was out of the picture.

“Yeah yeah, just make sure you win today, ok? I don’t want yo moping around the house for the next week!”

Atsumu laughed loudly as you smiled. He agreed and hung up the phone, knowing you’d be there to support him no matter what happened.

The teams took their places, and the match began without a hitch. You knew it’d be a long one by the sheer energy happening around you. Two sets had already taken place and the teams were tied. You watched as Sumu slammed a service ace right into the opposing team's court. Your man was on fire today, probably excited about everything happening around him.

The pressure of the baby on your bladder, pushed as you tried to adjust, not wanting to walk out right in the middle of Sumu’s serves. Of course, you knew his serves could go on for a while, so you finally caved, as you thought about the nearest bathroom.

Standing up, you felt a twinge hit. Your back began to radiate pain as it moved to the front of your belly. You gritted your teeth, gripping the side of the chair as you grabbed your stomach.

“Are you ok?” Someone asked as you turned to them confused and nodded. There was no way this was anything more than Braxton hick's contractions, right?

The pain subsided as you assured the person you were ok and made your way to the bathroom. In the bathroom, you noticed you had started losing the mucus plug your doctor had talked about. You knew this meant nothing and weren’t concerned as you continued to feel the baby kick in your stomach.

Washing your hands, you felt the pain against radiate from your back to your front. You had no idea how far apart these pains were as you quickly grabbed your phone and waited for the pain to subside.

Hitting the timer, you exited the bathroom and made your way back to your seat. You felt another pain hit as you quickly checked the timer.

7 minutes.

Standing on the side, you waited for the pain to pass again before ascending the stairs. At this point, you were clearly in denial that anything was happening. Surely these were only practice contractions. Your body had done them before but then again, they’d never felt quite like this.

You restarted the time as you finally sat down, trying to remain calm as you focused back on the game. A few minutes passed again before the pain started, only this time, you felt a pop, followed by a trickle of water fill your pants. You began to stand up as the pain emanated through your stomach.

“Hey Yn- YN HOLY CRAP!” You heard someone yell as Osamu came running over you to, abandoning the Onigiri in his hands to grab onto your arm and steady you.

“Samu the baby, I think the babies coming!” You whined as Osamu’s eyes widened at you, the crowd cheering as MSBY scored yet another point.

At this point, you had tears in your eyes, the pressure from the baby pushing more fluid from your body as the pain continued to radiate. You leaned hard on Samu, groaning as you tried to make it through the pain.

Osamu looked around for anyone he knew, anyone who could possibly help him get you downstairs and to the hospital. As if on cue, he looked down to see Sakusa’s eyes locked with his. He knew his best bet at this point was to try and signal to Sumu that you were in labor.

“YN’s in labor!” He mouthed as Sakusa’s eyes widened and he turned to Sumu who was in the back row. Sakusa wasn’t sure what to do as Sumu was preparing to serve yet again. He wasn’t a person to normally shout but then again, it wasn’t everyday his teammates partner was in active labor at a game.

He looked over to the coach who was now concerned about what was going on with him and why he continued to trail his eyes into the crowd. At this point, Hinata had begun to notice as well, his eyes following Sakusa’s as he saw you, bent over and holding your stomach as Osamu supported you.

“Holy crap YN’s in labor!” He shouted just as Sumu threw the ball up the serve. His eyes widened as his palm made contact with the ball.

“WHAT!?!” He bellowed, sending the ball slamming hard into the other side of the court as the whistle blew signaling the end of the set.

Atsumu quickly looked up to see Osamu helping you down the stairs as you breathed, your face contorted in pain.

“Shit Yn!” He shouted, quickly taking off into the crowd to get to you. He ran as fast as he could, dodging people left and right until he finally met you at the base of the stands.

“YN’s definitely in labor Sumu, their water broke and everything. Contractions are 7 minutes apart right now, but they are in a ton of pain,” Osamu recited as you moaned through another painful contraction, Atsumu grabbing onto your belly and helping lift it to relieve some pressure.

He hadn’t been super eager to take the birthing class suggested by your doctor, but he had to admit, the techniques were coming in handy.

“Sumu the game!” You whined as the contraction ended. Sumu shook his head vigorously before he was interrupted.

“Don’t worry about the game Yn, we will put in our sub and thanks to Sumu’s service ace, we are ahead a set,” Coach answered, coming up with Meian and Sakusa

“Just worry about having that baby Yn!” Meian chuckled as you smiled.

“Please take YN to the hospital now, do you know how unsanitary birthing a baby here would be?” Sakusa demanded as Atsumu blindly nodded and took control of you, Osamu running ahead to grab his car to help.

At the hospital, the doctor checked you before the anesthesiologist made their way to you, providing you with a moment to breathe. Osamu was waiting outside, not wanting to miss the birth of his brothers baby.

“Don’t you wanna watch the game Sumu?” You asked as your partner came beside you and grabbed your hand.

“Nah, Hinata texted me and told me we won. I’ll just watch it when we get home from the hospital. Plus, I want our baby to see how awesome I look on TV!”

You giggled, laying your head back as you rested your body. Atsumu right by your side as you entered this new stage of life together.

[hey-pax]

I need more x NB!Reader fanfics.

Ok, I like F!Reader, and M!Reader too, but where's the NB!Readers??? I am Gender Fluid, so I would like to see more of those... I would make a fanfic myself, but my brain is just: "They met. They kissed. They fucked. They lived happily ever after."

If you're reading this and you know how to do good fanfics and you wouldn't mind doing a NB!Reader... please try do it 🥲

[dreamlandcreations]

Imagine that your power is that you are able to mimic other powers...

Imagine that your power is that you are able to mimic other powers and you accidentally copy Jordan's, resulting in changing your gender and being stuck like that...

[x-press-it]

Devilish Desires - 3/8

Dangerous Temptations, Irresistible Touch 🎞️❤️‍🔥🌹⚔️🖤💻🖱️

Sub!Logan Howlett x Dom!OC (They/Them)

Summary: Logan, typically guarded and dominant, finds himself captivated by E, a mysterious being with a devilish allure and ancient presence that challenges his control.

Context: This story unfolds 'within' the "Days of Future Past" new timeline, during Logan's early years as a history teacher at Xavier’s School. It’s set well before his consciousness from the original timeline reconnects with him in 2023, as seen at the film’s end.

Content Warnings (for the whole story): Smut 18+ (Dry humping, Edging, Unprotected p in v.) - Dom!Logan into Sub!Logan - Pet Names (Good boy, pretty boy, pet, pup, amongst others…) reversed age gap (Logan is younger) - OC Notes: Established name, backstory, powers, fighting style, female body but gender fluid character (Logan misgender them at first because he doesn’t know, even in the descriptions) - Mention of other character from the MCU and subtle references to the comics for flavor (not mandatory to understand what is happening) - Flash back and mention of past trauma - Very quick mentions of drugs - Fluff with Dark Undertones: Emotional tension and possessive affection - Worship Themes: Religious imagery, reverent language and awe - Ancient Mysticism: References to otherworldly or demonic presence - Mental Health: Power dynamics, personal vulnerabilities - Trope: Rivals to lovers.

I'm back after 10 years of iatus and fairly new to how things are done on tumblr now, so sorry if I missed any warnings. Also english isn't my first language so there might be typos/weird sentences...

Notes: Got very inspired by sub!Logan and repeated listening of "Between wind and water" by Hael. Cover made with canva from an idea I got from this post. If you know who made the picture, tell me so I can credit them - Click on the divider to find the creator. Also this was meant to be an imagine turned into a full story. Just so you know, some chapters are very short, other are long. I'm in the process of editing/writing/rewriting parts so I'll post a chapter everytime I have one fully edited. This chapter was hard to wrestle with, but I won! Mention of legal stuff but I'm no lawyer so there might be inconsistencies ^^" Also brace yourself, power shift incoming.

Need some music? I've got you

Previously: in Devilish Desires

Chapters: 3/8

Word Count: 7.1K / 60K+ for now

Sunlight filtered through the wide windows of Charles' office, casting a warm glow over the mahogany desk and polished floors. Logan paused in the doorway, feeling the familiar tension coil through him even before he fully entered. His gut twisted as he took in the sight of E leaning casually against the desk, one hip propped up, her head already turned toward the door, watching him approach. The calm, focused look on her face set him on edge, like she was always one step ahead, pulling unseen strings. Every time he saw her, it felt like she dug her claws deeper into his space, into him, without even trying.

"Logan, come in." The professor’s voice was warm, though there was a hint of tiredness to it. "We were just finishing up. Have a seat."

Logan ignored the invitation, his arms crossing over his chest as his eyes locked on E. “What’s this about?”

Charles gestured to the papers on his desk. "As you know, the school is growing, and with that comes more scrutiny from the government." He glanced at E, then back to Logan. "That’s why we worked on some contracts—to make everything as official and seamless as possible. We want things above board, so no one has any reason to be suspicious of us."

Logan’s pulse quickened as Charles spoke, each word digging into a place he’d thought had scarred over but never truly healed. He could feel the weight of the documents between them, a weight pressing down on his chest, squeezing until he couldn’t breathe. Just the mention of those papers, the mere sight of them, was like a trigger pulled—snapping him back to shadows he’d fought to bury. Contracts meant control; control meant deceit. Old instincts roared awake, instincts that told him to fight, to claw his way free. His mind twisted back, unbidden, to the sharp crack of a pen against paper, his name signed under false pretenses. Faces flashed before him, cold and detached, each one using him as if he were nothing more than sharpened adamantium, each one an anchor dragging him back to glimpses of a past he desperately tried to escape, yet crave to piece back together at the same time.

Memories slammed together—soldiers' cries, the dead weight of bodies, his own silent rage coiled like barbed wire around his gut. Promises broken, betrayals… He could barely register the room around him, the walls that meant safety and acceptance. All he felt now was the past closing in, like a cage—restrictive, suffocating. And then a single thought broke through, a rough mantra, ringing into his head, so loud it pulled him from the spiral: “Today is victory over yourself of yesterday…”

Logan blinked hard, shaking his head as he forced himself back to his senses, the slow ache of his claws tearing through his knuckles breaking through the fog. With gritted teeth, he pulled them back before they became visible. After a short sigh, his eyes flicked from the papers to E, then to Charles, his scowl deepening. “This is bullshit. I’m not some soldier you can pin down with paperwork, Chuck.” His voice was low, the ghost of past betrayals still burning in his chest as his hand clenched tightly at his side. “I don’t belong to anyone, and I sure as hell don’t need to be tied up in a contract like this. I’ve been here long enough, and I’m not about to start following rules that don’t make sense to me.”

Charles clasped his hands together on his desk, his voice soft but firm, trying to ease the distress he saw in his friend’s behavior. “Logan, you’re right,” he validated, calm yet earnest. “You’re no soldier here—you’re a mentor, and you’ve proven that. But this contract is necessary. You know the risks; despite Raven’s actions, the government is still watching mutants closely after all these years. These contracts are for the teachers’ protection, for the students, and for the school itself.”

His expression was calm, deliberate, like he was teaching a class. Logan could see the weight of responsibility on Charles's shoulders, a reminder of the burdens they all carried. “It’s a formality to ensure you’re recognized as part of the staff. If they start asking questions, this contract might be our best defense.”

He held Logan’s gaze, the tension building in the air between them. In a quieter tone, he added, “This isn’t about control; it’s about security. If something were to happen, this paperwork could mean the difference between staying under the radar and drawing unwanted attention.” Logan felt a flicker of unease at the thought but pushed it aside, his feral pride refusing to let him show any weakness in front of E.

He shook his head, the tension in his shoulders thickening with each word. “A formality? Security? It’s a damn leash, that’s what it is! And I know she’s behind this.” His tone was sharp, the accusation clear as his chin jerked toward E, his eyes still on Charles.

E raised a brow, a slight smirk dancing at the corner of their lips. “They,” they corrected smoothly, their voice slipping in like silk over a blade.

Logan’s eyes snapped to her face, his brows knitting in confusion, anger swirling in his glare. “What?”

“You said ‘she,’” E explained, their tone lilting with amusement, not even flinching under the weight of his gaze. “I prefer ‘they.’”

For a second, Logan blinked, caught off guard. The shift in their demeanor—so detached, almost playful—disarmed him. It was a rare response to his fury, and it chipped away at the anger bubbling in his chest. He gave a quick, gruff nod, like a student getting a slap on the wrist for falling into a master’s trap. “Right. They.”

His lips pressed into a firm line, the weight of the situation settling like a stone in his gut. Yet, that primal part of him refused to fold so easily. “But that ain’t the point. The point is, I’m not signing a damn thing before I’ve read it. I’m not some teacher that punches a clock. You know me, Charles.”

Charles nodded, like he expected this. “I do, my friend. And I don’t want to force you into anything you’re uncomfortable with. But it’s necessary. If you’re going to keep mentoring, you need to be recognized officially as part of the school’s staff.”

Logan’s jaw clenched as his gaze flicked from the papers back to E, who hadn’t taken their eyes off him. His fingers twitched, itching to pull at the collar of his shirt, the weight of the contract already tightening around his neck.

A metallic muffled sound came from under E’s jacket’s sleeve as they shifted, leaning into their stance with one hand on Charles’ desk, the other resting on their waist and Logan’s eyes were drawn, almost against his will, to the subtle curve of their chest beneath the deep red blouse. The top few buttons were undone, revealing just a hint of cleavage, a thin golden chain that held a delicate white pearl, resting against their skin. For a second, his thoughts strayed before he forced his gaze back up, catching the faint hint of their dark horns just peeking from under their hair—a sharp reminder of exactly who he was dealing with.

“It’s just official paperwork, Logan,” they said, voice smooth with a playful lilt, enjoying the ripple of energy they felt from him as his thoughts wandered, though their expression stayed composed. “I can help you with the legal mumbo jumbo if you’re having trouble. I’d be happy to give you a private lesson… walk you through all the fine print, personally.”

Logan’s cheeks flushed, just for a second, barely noticeable beneath his hardened exterior, but it was there. E could feel the familiar tingle coming from him, that want simmering beneath his anger. His jaw tightened, fists clenching at his sides, and he shot them a glare, willing the heat away as if it’d been nothing. “I ain’t havin’ trouble with anything,” he growled, his voice low and rough. But E simply watched him with an amused, knowing glint in their eye, a faint laugh catching under their breath.

Charles, observing the exchange, raised an eyebrow, eyes twinkling with the slightest bit of humor. Clearing his throat gently, he spoke up in to ease the rising tension. “E, let’s not push too hard. Logan’s cautious, but we need to find a compromise. And Logan, I’m afraid that until we reach an agreement that satisfies both sides, I’ll have to ask you to step down from your teaching position. I can’t risk the school’s safety.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Logan stiffened, his fists clenching harder, knuckles now white. Stepping down? It felt like an ultimatum, but Charles wasn’t wrong. The safety of the school had always come first. E’s gaze softened just slightly, though he could still see that flicker of amusement in their eyes. “You’re right, Professor. My apologies.” They turned to Logan, offering a nod. “I got carried away—it was unprofessional of me. I understand where you’re coming from, and I’m willing to collaborate with you so we may find a solution that works for both parties.”

As E pulled away into their composed demeanor, he felt the thread coiling in his gut relaxing, leaving him more room to breathe.

Logan wasn’t used to them backing down that easily, and it threw him for a second. He shifted, narrowing his eyes in suspicion, his faint scowl deepening as he muttered, “Huh?” It was as if a switch had flipped, and he couldn’t help but wonder what their angle was. “Okay?”

And E could have left it there, but something inside urged them to add, a spark of teasing in their gaze, “After all, you’re not one to play by anyone else’s rules. So why not help shape the ones that work for you?”

Logan shot them a sharp look, their words sinking in slowly. He hated how they got under his skin, how easily they seemed to read him. But they weren’t wrong, either.

He took a breath, unclenching his hands, though he still felt like a cornered animal. “Fine. We’ll work something out. But I’m not signing anything that tries to box me in, Charles. I need enough room to be me.”

Charles’s expression softened in relief, giving a small nod of approval. “Of course, my friend. Take your time—I want you to feel comfortable with this. We’ll reconvene when you’re both ready.” He paused, glancing at the papers, before adding, “In the meantime, I’ve got other work that requires my attention.”

Logan barely registered the Professor dismissing them, his mind still tangled in the strange feeling of the interaction. E pushed off the desk gracefully, straightening the black jacket of their suit before gathering their things with practiced ease. When they finally stepped out of Charles’ office, Logan followed them out into the hallway. They walked in silence for a beat, the air between them still buzzing, though less tense than before. Yet, their scent still lingered—smoky, with a hint of spice—reminding him of their presence. And E, in turn, felt the simmering conflict inside him—the push and pull of resistance and attraction. It wasn’t enough to satiate them, but it would have to do for now, even if it left them wanting more. They allowed a brief, satisfied smile to ghost across their lips before tucking it away, resuming a more reserved expression.

“When do you want to go over the documents?” E’s voice was professional once more, all traces of their earlier playfulness gone, though a flicker of something else remained behind their eyes, like they were holding back.

Logan glanced over at them, still surprised by how quickly they’d shifted gears. This side of them—focused, efficient—was easier to handle. He could deal with this.

“Tomorrow, maybe. Got some time around three.”

E nodded, a hint of consideration in their gaze despite the reluctance in his tone. “I could make that work. We’ll go over everything, step by step. No surprises.”

The calm confidence they exuded kept catching him off guard, and against his better judgment, he found himself watching them differently. Was there more beneath that troublemaker act they put on around him?

E must’ve felt his gaze because they turned slightly, offering a small, almost sincere smile. “I’ll see you then.” Their voice was all business, but a hint of warmth slipped through—without the usual edge of teasing.

Logan grunted in response, but as they walked away, something lingered at the edge of his mind. Yes, there might be more to them than the predatory front they’d shown since they met. And maybe, just maybe, they weren’t as much trouble as he thought.

Or perhaps it was a ploy to lure him in, to make him relax and step willingly into their web. In any case, he wasn’t about to let his guard down. Not yet.

The library was quiet in the mid-afternoon light when Logan arrived, the subtle scent of aged paper and polished wood mixing with the now too familiar blend of spice wrapped in smoke. He pushed the door open with a soft creak, eyes immediately scanning the room, and sure enough, there they were—already seated at one of the large tables, surrounded by hefty open books, scattered documents, and a legal pad filled with meticulous notes.

E barely glanced up as he approached, their focus sharp on the papers spread out before them. The soft scratching of their pen on the smooth surface filled the air, the fluidity of their movements mesmerizing, almost hypnotic. Every action was deliberate, from the graceful lines they traced to the calm demeanor they carried.

Logan stood there for a moment, taking it all in—the precision and quiet focus they exuded. He couldn’t help but notice the neatness of their work: each point laid out clearly, with little diagrams and annotations. It wasn’t just thorough; it was methodical yet beautiful, almost like an art form. Even their handwriting, flowing effortlessly across the page—a blend of sharp angles and elegant curves—was damn near perfect.

He cleared his throat, and E, still writing, held up a finger, brows furrowed in focus. The gentle chime of their bracelets—three in total, one gold and two red—sounded as they moved, the soft music an elegant counterpoint to the silence. They needed to finish that thought, not wanting to lose their concentration. Logan waited for a few heartbeats, struck by the command in their motion, a powerful yet silent order that stoked the embers they had nestled in his chest during the last couple of weeks. When E finally looked up, their gaze met his with calm professionalism, but there was a flash of something else—an interest that sharpened their eyes, just for a heartbeat, before it vanished.

"You're early," they noted, their voice soft but steady, carrying just enough weight to catch his attention. "I wasn’t expecting you for another…” They quickly glanced at the delicate golden watch on their wrist. “… half hour, at least." There was a pause, and E gestured toward the chair on the other side of the table. "Please, sit."

Logan obeyed reluctantly, still unsettled by the way they were behaving—cold, detached, like they were someone else entirely. The tension between them had loosened so much he could hardly feel it, as if it might vanish entirely if he tried to reach for it. “Figured I’d get this over with,” he mumbled, his eyes not leaving their face.

A small smile played at the corner of their lips, and they flipped one of the hefty books closed to make room between them, before pushing a section of the contract toward him. "Well, I’ve already gone through most of the legal terms and highlighted the parts you might find concerning. If something still doesn’t sit right with you, we can discuss… adjustments."

Logan raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been busy.”

“I don’t like wasting time on work.” Their eyes flicked to the stack of notes they had assembled, before neatly setting them aside. “Let’s just get through this.”

Logan picked up the contract, flipping through the pages slowly. The neat little annotations caught his eye—small, concise memorandums in that same precise handwriting on flashy sticky notes, guiding him through each clause. As much as he hated to admit it, the thoroughness was impressive. “You really did all this?”

E leaned back slightly in their chair, crossing their arms, a faint smile playing at the corners of their lips, like they were enjoying something only they understood, and he felt a subtle pull inside, a tension stirring. “I told you I’d help you with the legal stuff, didn’t I?”

Logan’s eyes drifted to the pages again, unable to ignore how… perfect their handwriting was. Every sentence was clear, fluid, each letter delicate, intentional. They hadn’t just scrawled down information in a rush—not only they’d taken the time to make it legible, but it also felt like they had crafted something meant to be appreciated, drawn with careful control, patience, like each and every stroke mattered.

“You write like a damn artist,” he muttered despite himself, half impressed, half irked by the precision of it all.

E’s soft chuckle was barely audible, but he caught the faintest hint of satisfaction in their expression as they watched him linger on the page. They were absorbing his reaction, almost savoring it, letting his admiration wash over them like a silent, steady current. “Years of practice,” they replied, eyes glinting with a subtle satisfaction. “Didn’t expect you to notice details like that.”

He grunted in response, still staring at the page before flipping to another section. “I don’t miss much.”

E leaned forward again, the light jingle of their bracelets accompanying the movement as they tapped a finger on one of the highlighted paragraphs. “This part, in particular, is important. It’s a non-disclosure clause. You might want to pay special attention to that.”

Logan followed the motion of their finger, noting the cleanly filed nail that glimmered faintly under the light—maybe some sort of transparent polish? Even that was meticulously done, and the thought made something simmer in him before he blinked it away, refocusing on the contract. “So I can’t say anything about… what, exactly?”

“About the students. The curriculum. The specific ways the school operates,” they clarified, their tone even and clear, leaving no room for confusion, even as a subtle ripple passed between them. “It’s a precaution to ensure no one leaks sensitive information.”

Logan scowled, the idea gnawing at him. “I get why, but it feels like a muzzle.”

E’s gaze softened slightly as they leaned back again, folding their hands neatly on the table in front of them. The metallic sound of their bracelets chimed softly, a delicate accent to the motion. “It can feel that way, yes, but it’s standard for any organization handling confidential matters, especially one like this school. It's about protecting everyone here—especially you and the kids. Though, we can amend the wording if that’ll make you more… comfortable.”

Logan studied their face, taking in the sincerity behind their words. For once, it didn’t feel like they were toying with him or trying to play some angle. They were just doing their job—and a damn good one at that.

He exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t like bein’ locked into something I don’t trust.”

E’s eyes softened as they nodded slowly, their expression understanding. “That’s fair. We can tweak the language so it’s more gray, more aligned with what you’re comfortable with. To give you room to adjust? You don’t have to feel trapped, Logan.”

Logan’s hand rubbed the back of his neck as he sighed. “You’re makin’ it real hard for me to argue, you know that?”

Their smile was faint, their fingers gently drumming on the wooden desk between them. “I’m not trying to make it harder. Just easier for you to see that this isn’t about control. It’s about protecting what you’re building here.”

Logan dropped his eyes to the contract again, that tight, familiar knot in his chest loosening just a bit. He didn’t trust easy—but they were making a damn good case. He couldn’t deny that. He could see how carefully they’d worked through the details, the amount of care they’d put into making this whole thing understandable. It was… reassuring, in a way. As much as he hated to admit it, they had a point. It wasn’t about locking him into anything—it was about making sure everything stayed secure. The kids came first, always.

He met their gaze again, something shifting between them. He still wasn’t ready to trust completely, but at least they were giving him a reason to reconsider. “Alright,” he muttered, almost grudgingly. “Let’s go through it.”

E smiled—this time, it was genuine. Not playful, not teasing, just… genuine, content. They slid a few more papers toward him, their focus back on the work, but Logan couldn’t help but notice the shift in their energy. As they started explaining the finer points, guiding him through each legal term with that same sharp professionalism, he couldn’t help but admire the way they handled things. They were focused, sharp, and professional.

Maybe this was the side of them he could start to respect.

For now.

They’d been at it for hours, bending and reshaping the terms until each clause balanced protection with freedom. E kept their demeanor professional, drawing on every ounce of restraint to keep their voice even and their gaze measured, ignoring the familiar hunger snapping at their focus now and then. And the more they worked, the more they could sense Logan beginning to relax, perhaps appreciating this side of them—this businesslike efficiency that gave him room to breathe, rather than the tension they used to stir in him. He was still sharp and guarded around them, but in the subtle shifts of his body language, they sensed they were both easing into a more comfortable exchange, his trust inching closer as they tweaked the terms to help him maintain his independence.

In his careful consideration of each clause, they saw how deeply he valued his autonomy. His desire to protect the kids and guide them through a brutal world was unmistakable, yet he seemed determined to do it on his own terms. Watching him was like seeing a reflection of their own drive: the same visceral need to resist being anyone’s pawn, to forge a path where people like them weren’t turned into weapons or tools for the powerful. E knew what it was to navigate that treacherous line, to have allies rather than be a pawn, to be indispensable but never owned. Becoming a lawyer had finally allowed them to create partnerships, to protect their independence in a way they hadn’t had in the past.

They looked at Logan now, the way he was part of something great without letting it absorb him, and felt a twinge of resonance. It was like looking into a rippling, distorted mirror: his methods protective where theirs were persuasive, his presence blunt where theirs was all charm and deliberate control. But that difference made sense, considering their mutations. He had claws; they had…this. This carefully wielded hold over emotions. Had they been born with claws, would they have protected instead of manipulated? They weren’t sure.

Their gaze drifted from the paper to his handsome face as they sank into those thoughts, the realization dawning—slow and unexpected—that he wasn’t simply a source of energy, or the toy they’d wanted him to be at first. He was a potential ally in a way few others could be. Someone who might amplify their strength instead of being drained. Not just a meal to be consumed but something rarer—a piece that, in its own strange way, completed the picture of who they could be. As if they were two sides of the same coin.

Lost in thought, they almost missed the slight cough as Logan cleared his throat, his voice breaking through their haze.

“Need a break?” he asked, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, catching them just off guard enough that they had to recompose themselves, reassemble that mask over their features before their thoughts slipped any further into the open.

“No, I’m good,” they replied, eyes turning back to the papers in front of them. “We’re almost done, anyway.” But as they looked away, a thought slipped in—a terrifying, persistent thought.

What if, just for a few moments, they let him see behind the surface?

The more they considered it, the more it tugged at them. Curiosity twisted into need—a need to be seen fully, not just for what they could do or the games they played, but for every scarred, layered piece that made them who they were. Logan was unique, after all. He understood the weight of living too many lifetimes, of carrying too many pasts. Maybe he, of all people, could handle the person they kept buried underneath.

They wrestled with the urge, every instinct resisting, their armor honed by years of experience and necessity. Something deep inside warned it was dangerous—unnecessary. But then again… maybe not. Because the thought kept tugging, whispering that maybe, just maybe, it could be something greater. A partnership that didn’t hinge on pretense or servitude but on something raw and real, something powerful.

Their gaze returned to him, lingering. He was relaxed now, waiting, not pushing. And maybe that’s what finally broke their resolve.

“You know, Logan,” they began, the words slipping out, edged with a subtle amusement that curled at the corners of their mouth. “You’re… an interesting case.” Their tone was light, but Logan could feel the weight behind it, something sharper. “In a world full of people pursuing causes, you stand apart. You’re here, fighting for something, part of a team, a mentor—yet you keep a step back, like you’re in it but always on the edge.”

They took their time, choosing their words carefully. “Not interested in becoming anyone’s weapon. Not about to let anyone make a puppet out of you.” They paused, their smile fading as their peculiar eyes locked with his, earnest, with a hint of challenge. “I respect that about you.”

Logan’s expression shifted, his relaxed posture tensing as he regarded them with a sharp glance. Crossing his arms, he studied their face, searching for their angle. There was no mistaking the twinkle in their gaze, a glint that almost dared him to see through it. He furrowed his brows, but his voice was steady. “Yeah? Well, I don’t dance on anybody’s strings. If I’m fighting for something, it’s because it matters to me. And I do it my way.”

He watched as something flickered in their eyes—a veil lingering for a few heartbeats, like his words had pulled something deep from the shadows of their mind. When their gaze met his again, it was steadier, as if a quiet understanding had slipped between them. “I get that,” they replied, voice low, the words hanging in the air with a quiet finality.

Logan studied them, suspicious of this sudden transparency. “So what? You’re saying you’re the same?” he asked, his tone guarded, almost testing.

“Maybe.” Their mouth curved in a smirk, one that seemed to bare their teeth as much as it smiled. “Let’s say I’ve had experience balancing independence with… affiliations.” They leaned forward slightly, the light metallic sound of their bracelets chiming with the motion, drawing his attention and making his senses sharpen. Their gaze glinted with something that hinted at danger, at control. “When people see power, they get ideas. They get greedy. Sometimes, we have to show them who’s in charge—decide where the lines are, or blur them if it suits us.”

Logan’s brows knit, eyes narrowing. “So, you’re tellin’ me you dance along the line but won’t let anyone hold your strings.” He leaned back, gaze sharp. “How’s that working out for you?”

They gave a light shrug, a glimmer of amusement in their eyes. “You’d be surprised. Charles, for one, respects it—but you already know that.” They smirked, as if holding back a bigger truth. “There are others, too. Equally powerful… Stark, for instance.”

Logan’s eyebrows shot up at the name, genuine interest breaking through his cautious demeanor, crumbs of energy swallowed by E’s greedy hunger. “Stark? As in the Tony Stark?” He couldn’t hide the hint of curiosity in his tone and leaned in, almost imperceptibly. “You actually know the guy?”

They lifted their brows, a small pout on their lips, playing down the significance of it with an offhand shrug, though Logan noticed a spark of pride in their eyes. “Worked with him, actually. Fresh out of law school. I had a friend—blind attorney, good guy—who mentioned Stark needed someone sharp to help… clean up a few things. Secure patents, keep his tech out of the wrong hands.” They kept it vague, partly out of client confidentiality and partly knowing that Logan wasn’t likely interested in legal specifics.

“Not exactly glamorous, but it was an exhilarating start,” they added, the flicker of pride now shining in their voice. “Let’s just say that navigating the minefield of a billionaire’s reputation certainly kept things interesting. And it was good for the notoriety.”

Flecks of emotion brushed against something deep within E—a faint thrill they quickly stifled but couldn’t entirely ignore—as Logan muttered something under his breath, a note of respect edging his tone. He’d always seen Stark as the kind of guy who didn’t trust anyone but himself—and maybe his assistant, or whatever she was now. “Bet that kept you busy.”

A chuckle escaped them, eyes glinting as the soft chime of their bracelets accompanied the sound. “Busy? He kept me on my toes. The man’s got a mind like wildfire; it was a challenge keeping up. But it was… refreshing.” They leaned back, an almost nostalgic look slipping over their face. “I guess it taught me to walk the line, to make a difference without being tied down.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, intrigued despite himself. The story felt like a glimpse into the puzzle of their past. “So how’d you end up here?” he asked, his curiosity piqued. “Not that I’m sayin’ this place is a downgrade or anything,” he added with a smirk, resting his arms on the table.

They sensed his interest like a pulse, faint but unmistakable. It seeped into them, stirring that familiar, alluring rush, and they let out a soft laugh, an edge of amusement in their eyes. “Did you know Charles and Stark held a gala a few months back to fund the school’s new equipment?”

Logan nodded, some recognition flitting across his face. “I remember hearing about it. Charity thing, wasn’t it?”

“Exactly.” Their voice stayed casual, but their eyes sparkled with the thrill of memory. “That’s where I met Charles.” Their gaze flicked back to him, pausing just long enough to let the moment breathe. “We got along right away. He needed someone to navigate the legalities and ensure the school’s mission stayed protected. A few conversations later, and here I am.” Their eyes held his, a glimmer of interest that wasn’t easily brushed aside, as his curiosity continued to fuel something deep within them.

Logan could feel it too—a pull he couldn’t resist, a delicate pressure building inside him, different from the sharp pull of their first exchanges. This was smoother, quieter, sinking in with each new glimpse he got of E’s story, drawing him in until pulling back wasn’t an option. He sensed the quiet power behind everything they revealed, and it stirred something deeper in him—a mix of respect, intrigue, and the surprising comfort of recognition, that kept the tension going.

He leaned back, crossing his arms again, a smirk tugging at his lips. “So, you just go wherever the cause suits you, huh?” His voice held a challenge underlined by curiosity. “If Stark showed up again tomorrow, you’d be right back in his corner?”

E nodded, unfazed by the edge in his tone. “If his goals align with mine? Yes. Of course I’d work with him again! Without a second thought! Same goes for Charles.” Their gaze softened, a glimmer of conviction breaking through their usually controlled demeanor. “I want to be part of something that matters, Logan.”

Logan studied them, catching just how much they meant it. He’d known E wasn’t anyone’s puppet, but now he could see they weren’t waiting around for someone to hand them a cause, either. They were carving out their own path—fluid, adaptable, going wherever their instincts took them. And he found himself respecting that: their drive, mixed with that fierce independence. Hell, he could relate to it—maybe even admire it a little.

E felt it, the ripple of his respect, like a quiet current feeding into them. For all their control, a spark of satisfaction slipped through their gaze, their mask almost slipping as they met his eyes. His admiration, rare and guarded, felt potent—dangerously so. The energy coursed through them, lingering like a hidden pulse beneath their skin. They shifted slightly, regaining composure before his steady gaze could pierce too deeply.

They looked calm, in control, continuing their previous thought. “I’m loyal to a cause.” Then, their eyes took on a sharper edge, something deeper flickering beneath the surface. “But I’ll never let myself be chained to anyone ever again.”

There was a flash of anger, fierce and unyielding, sparking in their gaze. The quiet chime of their bracelets sounded as they leaned forward, their voice steady but intense. “There’s too much to do, too many ways to make a difference—like what you do here with these kids.”

Logan didn’t miss the brief fire of fury that had slipped through the cracks in their cool confidence, just enough to reveal a scar, raw and unhealed. They didn’t merely have a preference for freedom; it was a need, born from something that had burned them hard and left its mark. That kind of wound didn’t heal easy—he’d know.

He held their gaze, his expression softening with a rare flicker of understanding. E might play at being dangerous and unpredictable, but he was beginning to see past the games, past the mischief. Beneath it all, they weren’t half as threatening as they liked to seem—not to him, anyway. And now he wondered if their determination to make a difference came from more than just ambition. Maybe they were out here carving paths so no one else would have to walk through the fire alone.

Just as quickly, E’s eyes narrowed, the hint of vulnerability vanishing as they pulled themselves back. Their lips curved into a knowing smirk, that easy, predatory edge sliding into place. “What’s with the look, Logan?” they purred, voice rich with playful menace. “Didn’t think I’d have you figured out that quickly?”

He tilted his head, a low chuckle rolling out as his eyes held steady, watching them with newfound clarity. “Long way from that, sweetheart,” he replied, his voice as rough as the smile he wore. His stare cut through their guarded expression, tracing that hidden spark they were still trying to shield. “But I’ve seen enough to figure out there’s a hell of a lot more goin’ on with you that what you let on.”

They scoffed, dismissive as ever, though Logan’s steady gaze didn’t miss the faint, almost imperceptible shift in their eyes, the way they lingered on him just a second too long. They were good at playing the part; he could give them that. And hell, he had to respect it—the way they held their ground, defiant but calm, ready to take on whatever came next. But he’d caught a glimpse behind their guard now—just enough to give him a way in, a thread he could pull if he wanted, evening the power balance between them. A hint of a smirk tugged at his lips; they’d shown him more than they intended, and he planned on playing that to his advantage.

E met his stare, the faintest crease of tension at the edge of their mouth as they spoke. “There’s not much going on with me,” they said smoothly, though their tone carried an edge, a warning, like a line drawn firmly in the sand. “At best, you’ll see someone who’s lived long enough to know that, at some point, we’re just the sum of our own burdens—regrets, pain, and the constant battle to find a place in a world that sees us as either weapon or threat.” They shrugged, gaze cooling as if daring him to contradict them. “I know you know what I mean.”

Logan’s mouth quirked, and he offered a subtle nod. Oh, he knew. He knew that weight, the feeling of being something both feared and useful, but he also saw how tightly they held onto that defensive edge, like armor too important to set aside. And it made sense. If they’d been through even half of what he had, especially as a woman with power, that sharpness was more than just for show—it was a primal instinct born from necessity.

“So, you play the part of the predator, huh?” he asked, his voice casual, almost challenging. “Gotta keep everyone on their toes, or they might see more than you want ‘em to?”

Their gaze hardened slightly, something flickering before they smoothed it over. “It’s survival, hun,” they replied, tone measured with a hint of sarcasm, the nickname sharp on their lips. Their fingers moved up to toy with the delicate golden chain around their neck, the single white pearl shifting gently between their fingertips. “I wasn’t raised to be anyone’s prey. I’ve always been powerful in a way, even before my true nature revealed itself. Living as a mutant in this world means learning to navigate perceptions—people don’t always take well to what they don’t understand. You know that too. So, yes, most of the time, I have to play the predator. It’s how I keep my place in this society.”

Their eyes gleamed, that familiar guarded edge slipping back into place, like steel settling into a sheath. “And maybe it’s the only way I know how.”

The words settled between them, carrying an honesty that almost surprised him. Beneath the mischief and sharpness, he could see the echoes of past battles that had molded them into someone who walked the line between danger and glamor, between freedom and guarded solitude.

“Doesn’t it get exhausting?” he asked, tone light but edged enough to make it clear he wasn’t just making conversation. “Playin’ that part all the time, keepin’ everyone at arm’s length?”

For a split second, something flickered across their face—an almost imperceptible crack—but they smoothed it over with a cool smile. “It’s only exhausting if you don’t know how to handle it,” they replied, looking down at him with a hint of mockery, as if to suggest he wouldn’t know. Leaning back, they reclaimed control of the moment. “Besides, I didn’t walk this path to blend in with the crowd. The world makes demands. I learned early that if I wanted a future worth having, I’d have to shape it myself—alone.”

They straightened with a subtle chime of their bracelets, a glint of pride in their stance, fierce and unyielding, making Logan’s respect tick up a notch, teasing E’s hunger with a rich, electric thrill. They felt it brush against their senses, fueling the simmer beneath their calm. For a fleeting moment, their expression softened, indulging in the warmth of his regard. But it didn’t escape him that beneath their carefully crafted façade lay a quiet kind of fatigue, a weariness he knew too well. They might be used to the role, but that didn’t mean it didn’t take a toll. With a practiced flick of their eyes, they returned to their cool detachment, meeting his gaze with that same untouchable allure, even as their hunger urged them closer.

Logan shifted, crossing his arms loosely, gaze steady as a teasing smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, his eyes glowing with playful challenge. “Sounds to me like someone’s after more than just puttin’ on a show.”

Their smile froze for the briefest moment, a flicker of tension before they rolled their eyes, snapping the mask back into place. “And you think you know what I’m after?” They raised an eyebrow, voice slipping into that smooth, predatory edge that reminded him just how much they hated being read—just like he did.

“Maybe,” he replied, holding their gaze with that same easy smirk. “Seems like a part of you might want somethin’ more. Connections. Someone to reach out to, now and then. Make it feel less… empty.”

They scoffed, laughter low and guarded as they leaned in, the slight sound of their bracelets punctuating the motion once more. Their voice dropped to a whisper. “Don’t flatter yourself, Logan,” they said, eyes glinting with challenge as they inched closer, the whisper turning almost venomous. “I don’t need anybody, pretty boy. Especially not you.” Both their words and gaze sharpened, a teasing yet defensive spark behind it, though something unspoken lingered there. The faint chime followed their movements, an echo of tension and warning. “You might think you’ve seen through me, but trust me, there’s a lot more here than you’re ready to understand. So, stop digging. You might not like what you find.”

Logan’s smile barely shifted, but he didn’t push further, didn’t try to peel back any more layers. He didn’t need to. He’d seen enough to know that behind the sharp edges and fierce guard, E wasn’t so different from him. And the thing they made him crave these last few weeks might just be the thing they’d craved themselves for a long time.

Silence stretched between them, charged and unbroken, as they sized each other up—E, guarded and fierce behind their confident exterior; Logan, settled and a little more at ease than he’d been since they first met.

He chuckled, a low, quiet rumble that broke the silence and hung in the space between them. A confident smile played on his lips, almost as if he were savoring his small victory. “So,” he murmured, leaning in. “We done here, or… you need me for somethin’ else?” His tone carried a hint of something deeper, something suggestive.

They bristled, the calm mask slipping momentarily as irritation flashed in their eyes, but they regained composure, sliding smoothly into a clipped, professional tone. “If you don’t see any more changes to make, I can take care of the rest. I’ll give you the documents once they’re finalized.”

Logan nodded, his gaze steady as he rose from his chair, towering over them for a brief moment. “Alright,” he said, his voice warm but resolute, like he was sealing an unspoken agreement. “See you around then.”

With that, he turned, heading toward the door. And as he left, he took with him the solid rythm of his presence, that subtle weight of connection they’d woven into him over the past couple of weeks. The room felt colder, emptier without it. The quiet settled in, hollow and gnawing, the sharp hunger suddenly surging in as the connection broke, slipping from their grasp like sand between their fingers.

Alone once again, they could almost feel it—an ache beneath the calm exterior, an unsettling reminder of what he’d managed to stir to life, only to take it away.

To be continued…

Notes: If you enjoyed it, don't forget to comment and spread the love 😊 More on the way!

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🔖 @quillycrow

[olivtristan]

I'm tired of fem creator content just posting their stuff with reader hashtags. What? Aren't we (queer, male, everyone else) considered people?

[bheaste]

I’m so gay for him.

[qveerthe0ry]

Lions Ain't the Kind - Part Three

Summary: You and Frankie talk about your feelings. And also bang. Word Count: 3,053 (it's short but porn with the tiniest bit of plot) Pairing: Frankie Morales x NB/Gender-fluid! AFAB! Reader Rating: 18+ Explicit Warnings: 18+ mdni, subby!Frankie, soft dom!reader, talks about narcotics anonymous, amab terminology for afab genitalia, kissing, making out, p in v intercourse, frottage, dirty talk, Frankie has a praise kink, no use of y/n, no physical descriptions of reader A/N: As always, thank you to @for-a-longlongtime and @perotovar for beta reading and motivating me ilysm

Maybe it’s a little reckless, you think. It’s a Thursday night, and Frankie’s at your place for the fifth night in a row. 

Sunday and Monday he left when you both were yawning into the wee hours. Tuesday, he fell asleep on your shoulder as you watched a movie on cable, and you had to kiss his sweet little sleeping face until he woke to send him on his way. 

Wednesday, he came over later than the days prior, after his weekly community event. He opened up to you about what that meant, his weekly NA meeting, and showed you his one and two year chip, preciously tucked away in his wallet. He told you about how he’s nearly halfway to getting his third, and thinks he wants to become a sponsor soon. 

He goaded you to ask him questions you may have, answered them patiently, and thanked you for listening. He looked tired, that night. He wore a long day of work, a bit of anxiety, and the challenging conversation all in the dark circles under his eyes and his slumped shoulders. 

So you took him to bed for the first time, made him a warm mug of tea as he weakly protested, and settled your favorite weighted blanket on top of him. You let some satisfying YouTube compilation play at low volume, dimmed the lights, and snuggled into him while he sipped the chamomile with sugar. 

When he’d finished, you let him rest his heavy head on your chest and close his eyes. 

“Can I sleep over tonight?”

His voice was small and weary and you couldn’t possibly say no to him. So you set an alarm for him, turned off the bedside lamp, and slept. 

And now it’s Thursday, and even though you woke up with him and showered with him and kissed him goodbye before you both went to work, you still crave the feeling of being near him. 

Actually, you’re fully convinced that you’ve never felt so good in your life than you do right now, lazing in bed with bellies full of pizza and your head resting on Frankie’s solid chest. 

It’s raining, as it has been pretty much all day. The kind of gloomy that begs you to go home and snuggle up with someone. You want to pretend like that’s the reason you’ve yearned for Frankie all day long, but you’d only be lying to yourself. 

The TV is on, but it’s long been abandoned. You breathe together as you both watch the rain through the small slits in your bedroom blinds. 

Easy. 

Always so easy. You’re content to just enjoy the feeling of being this close to him, listening to the storm and the soft breaths. 

But there’s a bit of a heated energy between you. You can feel it in the way his half-hard cock twitches against your thigh, the way his hand slinks lower and lower with each pass he makes across your back. 

You can’t mask your reaction either, the way your breathing hitches every time his fingertips graze the bare skin between your hoodie and your briefs. Humidity builds quickly between your thighs, and feeling his strong one pressed against your cock has it throbbing in no time, has you arching into him for more. 

“Hard for me, guapo?” 

His whisper tickles your forehead, and you crane your neck to look up at him and nod. 

“Can I get you off?” 

You nod again, drowsiness and arousal clouding your brain a bit too much to conjure up words. He coos at you as he presses his thigh harder against your package. Your nails sink into the bare skin of his chest where you’ve snaked your hand under his t-shirt, and it makes him gasp and curse. 

“What can I do? What do you want? I’ll give you anything.”

Jesus. 

Your cock pulses at his eagerness to submit to and serve you. You sense he feels it, because he rolls his thigh into you again. You huff and pull your hand out from under his shirt so you can grip his shoulder, then wrap your hand around the back of his neck to pull his lips to yours. 

His groan mixes with your own, and his hips buck up to find relief against your thigh, too. You fucking love this. You love it so much your entire chest swells with it. Lazy and turned on, exhilarated but tired, and so so comfortable here. You’re in your pajamas, and Frankie’s in a borrowed pair of yours, and you press and roll against each other like a dance you’ve practiced millions of times. 

You shift to straddle him properly, and his hands find your hips, to guide you or to ground himself, you can’t be sure. His dick presses against yours and you gasp, and his teeth sink into your bottom lip. 

“Shit, can you take these off?” 

You slip two fingers under the elastic of your shorts that sit snug against his hips and he nods quickly. 

You work to get yours off yourself as he shimmies his down his legs and before he can even kick them off you’re spitting into your palm to wrap it around his heavy, warm prick. 

His eyelids flutter closed at the feeling and he goes lax into the mattress under him. You make quick work of slicking him up before you lower yourself back down. He hisses as you slide your cock against his, grinding into his frenulum, and for a moment you’re worried that he’s too sensitive. 

The anxiety falls when his hands press you against him harder, and his hips buck up, and he lets out a sweet groan. You rock your hips, reveling in the wet friction of your cocks sliding together, the tips of them kissing before every retreating roll. You bend down to kiss him, open-mouthed and uncoordinated. The rough bumps of his taste buds against your own make you shiver, make you thrust your hips a little faster. 

And his noises. He’s so fucking vocal, it makes you even more wet, that much more turned-on and desperate for him. You match them, unable to hold back the raw desire that’s overwhelmed you in such a short amount of time. 

His prick twitches deliciously as it slides back and forth through your folds, and you start to roll your hips even further, to feel the head of it press against your soaking entrance. 

You aren’t always so into penetration. You have to be in a certain mood, and you have to really want it. 

But right now, as you feel him catch on your rim, and the accompanying gasp when Frankie feels it too… Well, you really fucking want it. 

You bite down on his plump bottom lip maybe a bit too hard, and he hisses as you pull away. 

“Fuck, Frankie,” you pant, “can I— Can I put it inside?” 

You watch him squeeze his eyes shut, and feel his hips jerk at the question, and hear his whimper cut off as he replies.

“Yes, anything. Take anything from me. I want it.”

His babbling eggs you on, and you tilt your hips and lean back enough to let his cock press into you. You watch his chest rise and fall rapidly as you sink down onto him, so easily with how turned on and soaking wet you are. 

He fills you perfectly. Your nails bite into his skin with how fucking good it feels to clench around him. 

“You— Oh god.”

His eyes are squeezed shut, and his grip on your hips is bruising.

“Okay?”

“Too fucking good, you feel amazing,” he pants.

You lift yourself up and begin to ride him, watching with heavy lids as he writhes under you. You work together beautifully, meeting each other halfway. The angle has him grinding into the perfect fucking spot, and you know you won’t last long. You can tell he won’t either by the way his eyebrows are pinched together in an effort to hang on. 

“Touch me,” you breathe, spreading your thighs wider. 

You watch as Frankie’s big, brown eyes open and gaze up at you, then down the arched line of your body, to where he’s pressed deep inside of you. 

His hand twitches on your hip, and you realize you haven’t really done this with him yet. But it’s okay. You’ll show him, you want to show him. And more than just to get off, but because you want him to know you, every part. 

You take one of his hands into your own. His eyes follow them both where you bring them to your mouth. You suck on his thumb first, and watch his eyelashes flutter as he grinds out a ‘fuck me’ through his teeth. You repeat with his index finger, and let the sloppy job you’ve done leave a thin string of spit between him and your mouth. 

He squeezes your hip with his free hand as you guide his other down, past your heaving chest and your belly, to rest on the hairs on your mound. You hear his breath hitch, and it makes you smile, and then you coax him to take your cock between his thumb and forefinger. 

You whimper as he squeezes experimentally, and then you move his hand to start stroking you. 

“Like this?” He asks, eyes so wide as he looks up at you. 

“Just like that. Please don’t stop.” 

He nods and continues to jerk you off, and you finally start moving again, your knees screaming as they lift you up and back down on his cock. You feel it jerking inside you, so heavy and thick. You cry out when you find the perfect angle, and you grind and bounce on him like that until your ears ring and your vision goes fuzzy and you’re coming around him. 

He cries out too, nails nearly breaking skin as he feels you squeeze him and as your dick pulses over and over again between his fingers. You both watch it, the way it throbs in his grip, and the creamy white droplets that leak out of you around his prick. 

You pull his hand away when it’s too much, but you keep riding him. He quickly sits up on his elbows, grabs one of your hips with his big hand. 

“Gonna— Ah, fuck. Gonna come. Tell me where,” he pants. 

“In me, fill me. Want you to,” you say, equally out of breath. 

He keens, whining as he buries his face in the sweaty skin of your neck. He’s supporting himself with just one hand now, the other wraps around your waist as he fucks up into you. You hold his head steady against you, fingers tangled in his hair as his cock pounds into the sensitive nerves inside you.

You’re both a heap of a mess, sounds of your pleasure and your bodies colliding and the bed creaking all mixed together. You feel it when he releases, in the way his dick jumps and twitches inside you and the way his grip on your waist tightens and the way his teeth sink into your skin. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, “Jesus. Shit.” 

You giggle, chuffed with yourself, but also at the way his breath tickles your goosebumped skin. His lips and tongue soothe the nasty bruise he left fairly high up on your neck. You tug on his hair to get him to look up at you.

He always looks so goddamn gorgeous after he comes. So relaxed, hazy, eyes dark and glassy. You press your lips to his and feel him go lax against you as he lets out a big breath. 

“Guapo,” he mumbles low against your lips, “so fucking perfect.”

His voice is all slurred and low and it rumbles your own chest where it’s pressed up against his. You hum your agreement and rest your foreheads together. 

For a moment you just rest there like that, listening to your breaths even back out again, and the accompanying rain against your window panes. His hands draw soothing patterns on your lower back, and you can’t stop running your fingers through his slightly damp curls. 

Whe Frankie goes soft enough to slip out of you, you regretfully have to stumble off to the bathroom. You stare in the mirror a bit too long, eyeing the love bite you will DEFINITELY have to pull out your makeup bag for in the morning. But you also notice your exerted face, the sweat that lingers on your skin, and most of all, the smile that you cannot get to go away. 

When you come back to the bedroom with a towel, Frankie seems to be having a similar problem. 

All cleaned up, you crawl back under the covers with him, coax him to roll over so you can hold him from behind and rest your hand over his heart. 

“Gonna start charging you for rent, Pretty Boy.”

He chuckles, wiggling his ass back into you. 

“Surely there’s some other way I could repay you.” 

It shocks a huffed laugh out of you, and you move to grab his hip and dig your fingertips into the warm flesh. 

“Would you like that, Francisco?”

It still delights you, how tangible his reaction is when you say his full name. This time, you get to see the goosebumps break out on the back of his neck. You press your tongue against them, then your teeth, and chuckle when his response is stilted. 

“Yeah– yes. Fuck.”

You get a wicked feeling that curls around your gut, hot and sticky, almost whiplash to be right back here again so shortly after such an intense orgasm. 

Your hand moves to his thigh, where you toy with the hem of your shorts. 

“You want me to fuck you, Pretty Boy?”

He arches into your touch, encourages you to reach higher. He’s forgone his underwear, you discover, as you stroke the skin just under his asscheek. He shivers as you tease him, cuts off a noise high in the back of his throat to respond. 

“I do,” he whispers.

You grab his hip once more, grinding into him, finding the juncture of his neck with your mouth and suckling before you speak against it. 

“Shit, Frankie. Gonna be my pillow princess? Let me have my way with your cute little ass?”

He yelps when you bite the thin skin behind his earlobe, but his back just arches even more to press back into you. 

“I can’t– I can’t go again right now.”

You huff at that, and smile against the curls at his nape, pinch his asscheek once for good measure. 

“That’s okay. We have time, right?”

He turns in your hold and finds your lips with his own in an instant. Bruising, his mouth is insistent against yours, while his hand scrabbles for purchase on your hoodie. You’re both short of breath, once again, when he pulls away. 

“I really, really think that you’re good for me.” 

It sets your heart racing. It’s not something anyone’s ever said to you. It’s not something you thought was ever really possible, to actually add value to someone’s experience. Not someone worth being with, anyway. 

“I know you’re good for me,” you whisper. 

“Don’t let me fuck this up. I fuck this kinda thing up, usually. Don’t let me. Yell at me, tie me down, call my mother on me, but don’t… just don’t let me fuck this up for myself.”

You kiss the crown of his head. 

“You like being yelled at and tied down, then?”

That gets a real laugh out of him, startled and bubbly, and you squirm under him as he pinches at your sides. 

As the laughter dies down, you watch the wrinkles at the edge of his eyes settle, and even reach up to swipe your thumb across them. 

“You know I wanna show you off, right?”

You nod, an instinct, nothing more. 

“Guapo. I mean it. You’re so… You’re totally out of my league, I wanna brag about it to everyone.” 

“What makes you think I’m out of your league, you crazy, crazy man?” 

Your hand finds his curls again, playfully scraping your knuckles across his scalp. 

“You’re the entire fucking package, you’re sweet and gorgeous, smart, successful, so kind. Everything I’ve always wanted. I want everyone to know I have that. It’s silly, I know, but I feel so… smug about it.” 

You laugh, but it’s broken and breathy. 

“You think you feel smug.” 

“Aw, c’mon. I’m just some guy.” 

“You’re my guy.” 

“Fuck, say that again.”

His hand finds your hip and squeezes, and you bite your lip to hide the satisfaction in your smile. 

“You’re my guy, Frankie.” 

His eyes lose their mischievous glint. They soften, and his bottom lip quivers as he sucks in a deep breath. 

“You mean that? You– You want me… like that?”

Your hand settles at the back of his head to cradle it, and you press a kiss to his heated cheek, then his nose, then his forehead. 

“Sweet boy, of course I do. I want you in every way you’ll let me have you.” 

A little breath hiccups out of him and his face splits into a pearly white grin. 

“Like… as your boyfriend?”

You roll your eyes at him then, but match his smile tooth for tooth. 

“Yes, Pretty Boy. As my boyfriend.”

He lets out a happy sigh, and you feel his fingers fidget with the hem of your hoodie.

“Guapo… What do you want me to call you?” 

You hum, and press your lips to his, so soft and supple and malleable against your own. 

“Partner…” you mumble against him, “better half.”

“That one’s very true,” he jokes into your kiss. 

“Dearest… lover.”

“You’re gonna make me hard again,” he says, low, a warning into your own mouth. 

“Is that such a crime?” 

“You’re gonna send me to an early grave, so, in the long run it is.” 

You laugh, full and deep, lips pressed to his cheek. 

“My dearest,” he says, pressing a kiss to your own cheek, “my partner,” a kiss to your forehead, “my lover,” a kiss against your lips, languid and drawn out, until you’re arching against him and tangling yourself in him. 

“Yours.”

last part / next part

[justdavina]

The Neutral Fashion: "Gender Neutral" and "Genderless"

Eventually, the ’unisex’ started to be used interchangeably with the newer ‘gender-neutral’ or "genderless", but those rarely managed to escape the same intrinsic bias. For example, Hoskins notices that ‘‘gender-neutral clothing always looks like men’s clothing... Why does the ‘gender-neutral’ body have to resemble that of an emaciated young boy?’’

If we needed to establish some nuanced difference: ‘unisex fashion’ approaches garments from the perspective of ergonomics, whereas ‘genderless fashion’ approaches garments from the perspective of identity politics. Where ‘unisex’ sees the bodies, ‘genderless fashion’ would ideally see a spectrum of identities, expressions, aesthetics, and meanings.

Diving deeper into what neutrality denotes in other contexts, one learns that it presupposes a dichotomy (or a binary) in which one acts neutral. In the legal sense, neutral status arises from the abstention of a state from all participation in a war between other states; or similarly, in philosophy, it is the tendency not to side in a physical or ideological conflict. Aesthetically, neutrality would assume a blend, monochromatic or achromatic, and somewhat minimalist outlook. Neutrality, it seems, is just not neutral enough.

[cissyenthusiast010155]

Heyyyy,

could you please write some

Larissa x Genderfluid reader nsfw

where the reader has top dysphoria and can't have their chest touched? Maybe like first time too so they'd actually get to explain it before anything happens?

Heyyy anon!! Absolutely. Thanks for the request 💞 And thank you for your patience. Here’s AFAB!Genderfluid!Reader’s first time with Larissa… Hope you Enjoy ♥️

Wonderful Introductions ~Larissa Weems xAFAB Genderfluid!Reader

Mommy… Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

Warnings: NSFW, 18+!!, top dysphoria, smut, virgin!reader, first times, eating out, clit stimulation, praising, praise kink, etc.

Enjoy (;

“Hey ‘Rissa…?”

“Yes, my love?” Larissa hummed looking up from her book.

You were snuggled into her frame on her bed.

“I think I’m ready…” you whispered.

“What was that, Darling…?”

“I’m ready…” you said quietly, sitting up and facing the blonde.

At this, Larissa put her book down on the nightstand and turned her entire attention to you.

“Are you sure?” She softly asked, her caring and loving gaze meeting yours.

You bit your lip and nodded.

“Yes.”

Larissa hummed and nodded in response.

You two had talked about this a good deal. How you had never been with anyone. And how with your chest dysphoria, you were extra anxious about it. Larissa had lovingly listened through your stuttering in telling her this. And she had said that she’d wait until you were ready. She wanted it to be on your terms, is what she had said.

“Alright, well I think the most important thing is that we take it all to your pace…” she gently spoke.

You nodded in agreement.

“I’ll need verbal confirmations from you, sweet thing.”

You blushed slightly at the pet name and nodded.

“I understand.” You nervously breathed out.

Larissa’s hands took yours and gave them a reassuring squeeze.

“How about we talk about it all first, and then you can direct me with what your comfortable with?” She suggested.

You sighed and nodded once more.

“I’d like that…”

She then guided you to sit in front of her, her legs open so that you sat in between them. You happily moved to her lead, situating yourself in between the blonde’s legs. This compromising position alone was starting to get you all hot and bothered.

“Alright well first…” she hummed, bringing the pad of her thumb to your lips, “I’d kiss those pretty lips of yours… Softly… And with care.”

You shivered as her thumb ran over your bottom lip, asking gently for permission. You opened your mouth enough for the tall woman to slip her thumb into your wet cavern. You whimpered slightly as she entered you.

“I’d take my time exploring your lips and your cavern… I’d bring my tongue in to meet yours, entangling yours with mine…” she husked, rubbing the pad of her thumb on your tongue.

You whimpered slightly at her action, and you instinctually took to sucking on her digit. Larissa hummed in delight, praising you at your action, and making you blush and rub your thighs together.

“Good girl…”

She then popped her thumb out of your mouth and trailed it down you chin, neck, and to your shoulders, where she stopped. Your breath hitched. The feeling of your saliva being dragged on your bare skin made you feel all hot and fuzzy.

“I’d kiss you all the way down here until I’d reach your shirt.” She husked, “I’d lovingly ask you to removed your shirt for me… and then your trousers…”

She skipped touching your shirt and went to fiddle slightly with the buttons to your trousers. You sighed slightly in relief.

“This would be when I’d have to change positions with me, and I’d lay you back with your legs spread wide open…” she hummed, running her hand up and down your legs.

You shuddered at the contact, the skin under your trousers getting goosebumps. She then brought her hand back to your face, cupping your cheek lovingly. You closed your eyes and Leane sun to her touch with a hum.

“And then I’d finally taste those secret juices you have hidden away, one’s I know I will get addicted to, just by a mere lick…” The blonde lustfully cooed.

You opened your eyes as blush swept across your entire face and your heart started racing faster and faster.

“What about you…?” You choked out.

Larissa’s face melted in care and love.

“Oh Darling… We can worry about me later…” she gently purred.

“Ok… Thank you.” You sighed, a little less anxious now.

She brought your gaze back to hers with her hand.

“If at any point in time, you wish for me to stop, simply say ‘Pearl’, and everything will immediately stop.” Larissa seriously yet gently spoke.

“I understand…” you breathed out.

The blonde’s fingers ran against your lips, her eyes flickering from your gaze to your lips and then back up to your eyes. Your gaze mimicked hers.

“Kiss me” you whispered.

The blonde didn’t need to be told twice. She retracted her legs so that she was sitting on them and her body was close enough to feel your breath on her skin. She paused, keeping her hand on your cheek, before leaning in and lightly pressing her lips to yours. You were hesitant, simply letting the blonde lead and kiss you.

“Have you ever kissed anyone before?” She murmured into your lips.

“Once. Sloppy. Drunk. In college…” you muttered, your mind already too far into the moment too far into her lips.

She began licking your lips in between her pecks. Your eyes fluttered closed, sighing in relief at her lingering touches.

“Then just follow my lead, Darling…” Larissa hummed in response.

You hummed in acknowledgment, so in the moment that you forgot to verbally respond. But then the goddess pulled away. She was cocking an amused eyebrow at you. You blushed furiously.

“I’m sorry. Teach me. Please.” You whispered.

The blonde hummed in satisfaction, connecting her lips to yours once more. This time, you were more responsive, you tried to mimic her actions. She bit your lower lip lightly, eliciting a breathy moan from your throat, which the blonde happily swallowed. You then did the same back, causing Larissa to whimper lightly. Her sound make your stomache flip upside down.

You wanted to hear more noises from those lips… You wanted to taste them… You wanted to taste her…

Larissa then traced her tongue along your lower lip, silently asking permission for access. You more than happily opened your mouth enough for her tongue to slip in. Her tongue was quick to entangle with yours, but she went slow in exploring your wet cavern. Now you full on moaned at the blonde’s taste. You hips eagerly bucked forward. And you suddenly didn’t know where to place your hands. Larissa sensed your mild panic and pulled away slightly.

“Here, Touch me. Explore, Darling…” she husked, taking your hands and placing them on her frame.

You looked from where she had placed your hands back to the blonde. You began gingerly exploring Larissa’s body. The blonde’s hot mouth then began peppering kisses along your chin, and she slowly moved to your neck and then to your shoulders. All the while, you ran your hands along her frame… When Larissa got to your shoulders, she pulled away, causing you to pull your hands away.

“Would you remove your shirt, my Darling…?” Larissa softly purred.

You gulped and the thoughts in your mind started to spiral. Larissa quickly took your hands in hers.

“Look at me, love.”

You looked up at the blonde, and your heart was put at ease by her.

“It’s okay if you want to stop…” she whispered.

“No…!” You whimpered, “I just… could… could the top maybe stay on…?”

Larissa’s loving gaze only tripled.

“Of course. Would you be alright with removing your trousers?” She cooed.

You bit your lip, blushed once more, and nodded.

“Yes I’d quite like that…” you breathed out, already going to unbutton your trousers.

Larissa chuckled at how eager you quickly turned to be. Your pants were thrown to the ground in mere seconds. And before the blonde had to ask, you had thrown your knickers out as well .

“Can I move you towards the headboard, Darling…?” The stunning woman asked.

Your breath hitched.

“Yes.”

Larissa then smiled and gently moved you to switch places with her with ease. Now she was the one in between your legs. She then laid you back on the bed, and you instinctually spread your legs for her. Larissa’s eyes widened at your virgin, soaked cunt. She couldn’t help but lick her lips.

“I’d like to make you feel good, love. And I’d like to use my tongue… Are you alright with that?” She breathed out.

“Yes yes please need you please…!” You whimpered, bucking your hips up to meet the blonde.

Larissa’s eyes shimmered with anticipation as she lowered her hot mouth to your needy sex. She licked a stripe through your folds, sending shivers down your spine and eliciting a slight whimper from your lips.

“Did you like that, sweet thing…?” Larissa purred.

“Yes… more please…” you whispered as you went bashfully red at the response she has elicited from you.

Larissa smiled and nodded in recognition of your plea.

“Of course, Darling…” she husked, before slowly dipping her tongue back into your folds.

The blonde explores your core, lapping through your folds, around your clit, and around your hole, pulling more whimpers and mewls from your lips.

“Relax… Let me hear you, love. You can be loud…” Larissa encouraged you.

You took a deep breath and suddenly you felt her hot mouth latching onto your cinder of nerves, sending jolts of hot pleasure through your body. You let out a particularly lewd and breathy moan at the blonde’s action.

“Hmmm, Good girl…” she hummed, before dipping her tongue into your aching core.

You mewled in the pleasure of being filled finally. One hand was holding on tightly to the sheets, while the other traveled down to the woman’s platinum locks. You pushed her face even deeper into you cunt, making the blonde chuckle. Her tongue began fucking your throbbing cunt at a mind blowing pace for you, your eyes rolling back in pleasure.

“Sweet girl… Hmmmm…” Larissa moaned at your abundant taste, “your virgin cunt gets wet so easily…”

The blonde fucked your slick pussy with care and skill. Her hands were placed on you thighs, to keep them from suffocating her head. Eventually, one of her hands snaked to your clit and her digits begun rubbing circles on your bundle of nerves. This only furthered your pleasure, more sparks and flashes of hot pleasure taking over your entire body, causing you to spasm.

“Are you close, Darling…?” Larissa hummed.

“More please please ‘Rissa don’t stop…!!” You mewled.

Larissa understood and continued her administrations, speeding up her a pace a bit. More whimpers and moans spewed from your lips as the blonde continued to lap away at your cunt. The change in pace heightened all the pleasurable feelings, and it was the push you needed to crash over the edge.

Larissa had to hold your thigh tightly as you came, as you were spasming and trying to close them around her head, while you rode out your orgasm on her tongue. When you had come to a point where you were onto slightly trembling and your breathing was coming back down, Larissa crawls up to you and connected her lips to yours.

“How was that, my love?” She hummed into your lips.

“Wonderful…” you panted, “Thank you ‘Rissa…”

“Anytime, Darling.” Larissa hummed.

~~~

Larissa Weems Masterlist

[wtfjd95]

Today's Gender: Sleepy football fan

Today's Mental State: just obsessing over this pic of Leah Williamson

[sevendutchies]

People in this fandom will really look at The Fool, Patience, Lacey, Carson, Sedric, Hest, Davvie, Lecter, Kennit, Ash/Spark, and yes, even Fitz himself, and still have the gall to call it queer bait.

These characters are explicitly queer, their actions impact the narrative, they are well written, and their identities are treated with respect. That is the best possible queer representation you could ask for in any story.

I've seen people on tumblr basing the likelihood of if they read this series on whether or not it's "actually gay" and I'm here to tell you that it is. There are queer characters. There are queer protagonists. And no matter what you see people in the fandom say, Robin Hobb wrote some amazing queer representation in a genre that rarely sees it at all.

TLDR;

Queer bait = disrespectful marketing ploy that exploits queer audiences

Queer bait ≠ "my two favorite characters never have sex"