#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.

[hummingbird24220]

Can I request genderfluid! Reader just chilling out with the strawhats. Maybe they have a devil fruit that lets them have complete control of their body (within reason). I imagine Luffy, Chopper and Franky find it very cool, chopper and robin definitely want to find out the limits of their devil fruit. Sanji gets very flustered by their changing (they definitely use their fem body to get more snacks) and shopping trips with Nami. The rest of the straw hats are pretty indifferent to their devil fruit power (unless you have a cool idea for them) Also feel free to play around with how the devil fruit works if you want!

This was more rambling then I expected, you don’t have to write about all the strawhats if that’s too much you can just pick your favourite!

Hello! Yes, absolutely. Ive never written Genderfluid!Reader before, so i hope i did it justice.

----

Shifting Tides - Part 1

One Piece x Genderfluid!Reader

Part 2

The Thousand Sunny bobbed gently on a calm, glittering sea. No Navy. No bounty hunters. No chaos.

In other words: the perfect day to do absolutely nothing.

“Y/Nnnnn!” Luffy's voice echoed across the deck, limbs flailing as he bolted toward you. “Let me see the stretchy one again!”

You stretched your arm lazily above your head, grinning. “Stretchy one, huh? You mean this one?”

Your form rippled slightly as your body shifted—arms lengthening, fingers flexing like elastic, before snapping back into a different version of yourself. Taller. Buffer. Your voice a little deeper, cocking an eyebrow at Luffy.

“YOOOOOOO!” Luffy gasped, eyes sparkling. “THAT’S SO COOOL!”

Franky, polishing something vaguely explosive nearby, paused to adjust his shades and nod appreciatively. “That’s a super fruit you got there, bro! Sis? Bro-sis?”

You chuckled, morphing again mid-sentence—your frame shrinking slightly, hair flowing out longer, features softening. “I’m just me, Franky. But hey, you can call me whatever fits. I shift more than this ship does in a storm.”

Chopper practically popped out of the infirmary, notebook in hand and eyes gleaming with scientific curiosity. “I have so many questions! Do your organs change? Your bones? What about your hormone levels—do you produce different amounts depending on your form?!”

You laughed and ruffled his hat, ignoring how Robin subtly appeared at your side, gaze curious but calm. “You’ll have to join the queue, Chopper. Robin’s been cataloging me like I’m a sentient encyclopedia entry.”

“I simply find the limits of your Devil Fruit fascinating,” Robin said with a small smile. “The Body-Body Fruit, was it? Total control of your own biology, within reason. Do you have to imagine the change or feel it?”

“Little of both,” you answered. “It’s not like drawing a picture—it’s more like… feeling myself stretch toward a different version of me.”

Robin tilted her head. “Have you ever considered turning into someone with wings?”

“Please don’t give them ideas,” Zoro muttered from his napping spot against the mast. “They’re weird enough already.”

You stuck your tongue out at him. “Love you too, sword boy.”

Sanji exited the kitchen right on cue, tray balanced on one hand. “Snacks are ready for—”

You switched to your more femme form with a flick of your wrist. Your hair bounced, your eyelashes batted, and your voice dropped to a sugary, singsong pitch.

“Saaaanjiii~ You’re so sweet to me~ Could I maybe get an extra plate? For all this shapeshifting, I really must replenish my calories~”

His nose erupted in a predictable geyser of blood as he collapsed backward with a dreamy sigh. “A-a-a-anything f-for you, mademoiselle…”

You winked at Nami, who had just walked up beside you with a shopping list.

“You’re so evil,” she said fondly, grabbing your arm. “Now c’mon. I need backup for the next island. Pretty faces get better discounts.”

“Just say you like shopping with me,” you teased, shifting seamlessly between forms as you posed dramatically. “This look or this one? Or maybe—” you flicked to something androgynous, long coat billowing behind you. “Battle-ready discount mode?”

Nami laughed, dragging you toward the helm. “Doesn’t matter, you’re paying half.”

Later, as the sun began to dip and the crew gathered for dinner, you relaxed in your favorite form—somewhere in-between. Hair tousled, voice warm and casual, you leaned back and watched your chaotic family bicker, laugh, and eat like pirates do.

Usopp was trying to convince Luffy he could also control his body with sheer will (“I can stretch my nose!” he claimed, yanking it violently). Brook played background music that didn’t match the tone at all. Sanji sneakily brought you another plate.

“I don’t get what the big deal is,” Zoro said, sipping from his sake cup, eyes half-lidded. “They change shape. So what?”

“Yeah,” you replied, mouth full. “And you fall asleep in every corner of the ship. We’ve all got talents.”

Robin smiled over the rim of her wine glass. “I think it’s nice. You’re truly yourself, however you choose to look.”

Luffy threw an arm around your shoulders. “You’re awesome! I wanna see what else you can do tomorrow!”

You leaned into him, grinning. “I’ll show you the stretchy one again, captain. But only if you don’t eat my dessert this time.”

“NO PROMISES!”

----

It started innocently enough.

Chopper had asked to do some basic testing—nothing invasive, just a few form swaps, flexibility checks, a reaction speed test, maybe a tissue sample or two (he was very polite about that part).

Robin had also taken notes. Pages and pages of neat handwriting. You were about 60% sure she was planning to write a paper on you.

“Can you shift muscle mass instantly?” “Yup.” “What about vocal pitch without altering your throat?” “Sure.” “Can you make yourself taller and still retain agility?” “Wanna race?” “What happens if you do this—” poke

Meanwhile, Luffy sat cross-legged in the middle of the deck, watching with wide, fascinated eyes. He clapped every time you transformed. “DO THE TALL ONE AGAIN!” You stretched up into a tall, broad-shouldered build with a sly grin. “Like this?” “YEAHHH! SO COOOOOL!”

Zoro leaned against the rail, arms crossed, brow furrowed.

“…Y’know,” he said after a while, squinting, “it’s weird.”

“What’s weird?” you asked, flexing one arm in a very gratuitous show of your newest build. You had gone with an athletic look—abs on display, golden skin glinting with sweat. It was giving swordsman rival energy and you knew it.

Zoro shifted slightly, cheeks just the faintest bit pink. “I mean… not bad weird. Just weird.”

Usopp peeked out from behind a barrel. “Yeah! Like, one second you look like a cool dude, and the next you're a hot girl, and then you’re just… something else entirely! It’s like—like—brain static!”

You looked down at your current form, which was leaning into gender-neutral grace: lithe, sharp-featured, with a killer jawline and the longest lashes you’d ever conjured.

Then you looked back at Usopp.

“I cause brain static?” you said, smirking.

Usopp made a sputtering noise. “I—I didn’t mean—I mean, maybe! But like, in a cool way!”

You shifted forms again, landing in your soft, femme form—the one with the dewy eyes and curves that made Sanji short-circuit every time.

You turned toward him slowly.

“Sanji~” He was already mid-spin with heart eyes before you finished the first syllable.

“YES, MY LOVE?!”

“…Do you prefer this version of me?”

THUD. Sanji collapsed. Again. Chopper was beginning to consider a “Sanji Nosebleed First Aid Kit” specifically for you.

Luffy wandered over and poked your face. “So wait… when you’re like this, are you still the same you?”

“Yup,” you said easily, shifting again—now back to a masculine build with striking eyes and a lazy smile. “Still me. Always me.”

Luffy tilted his head. “Then how come I feel different when you change?”

You paused. “Different… how?”

He frowned hard. “Like… when you’re the tall guy version, I wanna fight you. But when you’re the pretty one, I wanna give you meat. And when you’re in-between, I just wanna sit next to you.”

There was a silence.

Usopp and Zoro both looked away. Sanji was still unconscious. Chopper looked mildly stressed.

You stretched your arms above your head, cracking your neck. “I think that just means you’re into me, no matter what I look like.”

“OH.” Luffy looked thoughtful. “...Cool.”

You smirked and dropped into a lounging position in a sunbeam. “You guys overthink this way more than I do.”

Zoro groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “You’re too chill about this.”

You looked at him with a raised brow. “Why? You confused too?”

“…No.” “Yes,” Usopp whispered behind him. “Shut up, Usopp.”

Sanji groaned faintly from the deck. “Th-this is too powerful… weaponized attraction…”

You threw your head back and laughed.

“Y’all are lucky I’m nice. I could be so dangerous with this fruit.”

Robin flipped another page in her notes. “You already are.”

-----

It started during another chill day on the Sunny.

Nami had asked for your help at a merchant island—not because she needed it, but because shopkeepers tended to give you the “we-don’t-know-what’s-happening-but-we-like-it” discount.

You walked beside her in a charming, neutral look—cool, suave, just the right mix of soft and sharp.

She was talking about coral bracelets or something, but then she paused.

“…Wait,” Nami said, blinking at you. “Have you always had that jawline?”

You tilted your head. “Nope. Shifted it like ten minutes ago.”

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Then made a very quiet, very frustrated noise.

“…Do you ever not look attractive?” she muttered, mostly to herself.

You wiggled your eyebrows. “You noticing, Cat Burglar?”

Nami elbowed you in the ribs and stormed off muttering about “stupid sexy shapeshifters.”

Later, Robin walked beside you, arms folded elegantly, and said very softly:

“Do you find it enjoyable, causing identity crises in everyone on board?”

“Immensely,” you said, flipping your hair (which hadn’t been long ten seconds ago). “You feeling the brain static too, Robin?”

She hesitated. Then calmly said, “…I will neither confirm nor deny.”

-----

You didn’t have long to bask in your power.

Marines.

A small ship spotted yours, then sped toward it—clearly thinking a frontal assault on the Thousand Sunny was a good idea.

“Want me to take care of it?” you asked, already walking to the rail.

“No killing!” Luffy called from the deck.

“No promises,” you called back.

You were in your tall, femme form—long legs, battle-ready, impossibly elegant. You leapt onto the enemy ship mid-sprint.

“Hello boys,” you purred, one hand on your hip. “Need something?”

Half of them froze. The other half tried not to stare.

“We—we are here to apprehend—”

You shifted mid-sentence—taller, broader, a sharp masculine form with rolled-up sleeves and a very punchable smirk.

“Oh,” you said, cracking your knuckles. “You’re here to die.”

BOOM.

The deck exploded into screams and confusion as you pummeled through them—fluid, fast, a one-person hurricane. When one of them tried to run, you shrank into a petite, lithe body, dodging low and then slamming an elbow into his gut with brutal precision.

When the dust settled, you stood atop a pile of groaning Marines, adjusting your collar like it was just another Tuesday.

“Done.”

-------

Zoro invited you to train with him. That was a first.

You joined him in your most jacked, bulky form—biceps like tree trunks, tank top barely holding on. He eyed you once, nodded in approval, and threw you a sword.

You sparred for a while, clashing blades, sweat flying, both of you grunting in that way that said "respect earned."

Then, just as he swung for your shoulder, you ducked, spun, and shifted—

—into your smallest, most delicate-looking form. Wide eyes, sharp smile. A twirl and a flip over his blade.

Zoro froze. The sword missed you by a mile.

You landed behind him and whispered, “You always this easy to distract?”

He made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a gulp. “Don’t—do that.”

You winked. “What? Scared I’ll win cute too?”

-------

Later, you were lounging in the crow’s nest when Luffy climbed up beside you.

He flopped down, chin on your thigh like a lazy dog. “Hey.”

“Hey, Captain.”

“…What were you like before the fruit?”

You paused. Shifted forms once. Twice. A third time. Settled somewhere right in the middle.

“Mm,” you said. “Yes.”

Luffy blinked. “…What?”

You smiled. “Exactly.”

He giggled, kicked his legs lazily, and nodded. “Cool.”

You patted his head. He fell asleep ten seconds later.

---

You hadn’t expected it.

The Straw Hats were not a subtle crew, but they weren’t exactly known for heart-to-hearts either. Chaos? Absolutely. Fistfights? Daily. Group therapy? That was… new.

It started with a dinner.

You had walked in late—fresh from training, barefoot, a towel over your shoulders, and casually morphing from one body to another to get the stiffness out.

Tall to short. Femme to masc. A soft androgynous blend somewhere in the middle. Your muscles still ached pleasantly.

You sat down, yawned, and said, “Smells good.”

Sanji blushed so hard you worried he might combust.

The table was rowdy as usual—Luffy stuffing meat in his cheeks, Usopp talking with his hands, Nami counting coins, Franky yelling about cola, Brook asking someone to see their panties, Chopper taking notes on your post-training flexibility.

And then Robin—blessedly, elegantly, horrifyingly—spoke up.

“You know we love you, right?”

The table went dead silent.

Your brows raised. “Excuse me?”

Robin smiled faintly, eyes half-lidded. “All of us. In different ways, perhaps—but we do. No matter how you look, no matter what form you’re in.”

“YEAH!!” Luffy shouted around a mouthful of meat. “You’re YOU! That’s what matters!”

Chopper’s hooves flailed. “You’re so cool and strong and kind and funny and—I don’t care what you look like!!”

Nami leaned her chin on her hand. “Honestly, sometimes you’re prettier than me and I hate it—but you’re amazing. I trust you with my life.”

Usopp raised his cup. “I can’t even explain what I feel when I look at you. But it’s definitely… affection. And fear.”

Zoro huffed, arms crossed, eyes slightly averted. “…Tch. Doesn’t matter how you look. You’re a pain in the ass either way.”

“Translation,” Robin added smoothly, “is: Zoro also cares deeply.”

Franky jumped up, doing an exaggerated pose. “YOU’RE SUPERRRR! Doesn’t matter what body, gender, height, or hairstyle—if you’re one of us, you’re one of us! Forever!!”

Brook tilted his skull slightly. “I do not have eyes, but if I did, they would weep with admiration. You are lovely, my friend—no matter how you appear!”

Sanji, dead silent this whole time, stood awkwardly. He looked at you like you’d hung the moon. Slowly, he walked around the table, stopping right beside your seat.

You watched him.

He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “I, uh… I’ve said a lot of dumb stuff. Probably still will. But…”

He crouched beside you, one hand reaching—not to grab, but to rest gently over yours.

“You’re beautiful. All the time. In all the ways. But it’s not about that. I love you because you’re you. You’re strong, and clever, and stupidly good at messing with my head—but you make the Sunny feel more like home.”

You stared at him, a smile tugging at your lips. “Sanji…”

He grinned, a little crooked. “You already knew, didn’t you?”

“Yep.”

The whole table groaned.

“You’re the worst,” Nami muttered.

You looked around, heart warm, body soft and relaxed in whatever form it chose. “You guys really mean it?”

Luffy gave you a big thumbs-up. “YEAH! You’re one of us!”

“You’re our crewmate,” Zoro said firmly. “No matter the body.”

Robin nodded. “And always loved.”

You tilted your head thoughtfully. “So does this mean I don’t have to do chores for a week?”

“NO,” everyone said at once.

You laughed so hard you almost fell off your chair.

Later that night, after the dinner, after the hugs, after the crew had dispersed into their chaotic sleep schedule, you sat at the bow of the Sunny—alone for a moment.

The wind blew through your hair—short, long, curly, straight. You didn’t even notice what form you were in anymore.

You were just… you.

And that was enough.

[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

[x-press-it]

Devilish Desires - 7/8

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.

I kept getting derailled by stuff but El Famoso Chapter 7 (as my hubby has been calling it those last weeks) is finally done T^T I think my ADHD brain doesn't want me to finish this story because once it's done, it's done and I'll have to say goodbye to Ezekiel and this Logan. Regarding the poll I made about male x male smut, as the results were mixed, if I write anything between Logan and Zeek, I'll make this a bonus scene. Okay, people, it's time to feed the hunger again :)

Need some music? I've got you

Previously: in Devilish Desires

Chapters: 7/8

Word Count: 12.4K / 60K+ for now

E opened their eyes as the ray of the sun stroked their skin. The golden light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. Next to them, Logan was still sleeping, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, his expression peaceful—more so than E had ever seen since their first encounter in that tense hallway weeks ago.

They let their gaze roam over the lines of his face, memorizing every detail: the scruff along his jaw, the way his lashes rested against his cheek, and how his tousled hair fell messily across his brow, lending him an almost boyish look. The sight stirred a rare, warm smile from E, a glimmer of something fragile and cherished flickering within them.

Despite the contentment that coursed through their veins, a seed of resolve pressed at the back of their mind, they didn’t want to disturb him, nor did they want him to wake up alone, with only the ghost of their presence left in the warmth of the sheets. But time wasn’t on their side, as the rest of the mansion was about to awaken.

E brushed their fingers lightly along Logan’s arm, feeling the solid muscle shift beneath their touch even as he slept, the faint brush of their fingers drawing a soft, instinctive hum from him. Slowly, his eyes cracked open, still heavy with the haze of sleep.

The sharp alertness that often defined him flickered briefly before his gaze landed on them. Almost immediately, his features softened, the edge of wariness melting into something softer.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice rough and hoarse, but so low it felt like a quiet confession.

E’s lips curved in a small, tender smile. Something in his tone, softer than anything they’d ever expected from him, made their old, dusty heart stutter in their chest. For all the years they’d walked the earth, never had they been spoken to in such a way.

“Hey,” they responded in kind, voice almost shy as their eyes traced his features—the rugged lines of his face, the way his hair stuck up slightly, the barest hint of something unguarded in his expression.

Logan shifted slightly, his arm flexing beneath their touch, though he made no move to pull away. “Leavin’ already?” he asked, the whisper still rough but edged with something else—an unspoken reluctance, maybe, or the wish to hold onto this fleeting moment a little longer.

E leaned in, their lips brushing against his temple. “Wouldn’t want people to find out they’re right about us, would we?” Their voice was tinged with light humor, but the reference to Scott’s pointed remarks during the trial still lingered between them. The subtle accusation—that it was easy for lovers to fight in sync—now felt like he had seen right through them, and they both didn’t like that.

Logan’s face turned thoughtful, a shadow of concern settling over his features. “Is there anything we can do about it?” he asked, the question heavy with the understanding that staying under the radar was going to become increasingly difficult in the days yet to come. “Turn their feelings around, maybe?”

“There might be a solution,” E said, their tone serious. “But you’re not going to like it.”

He frowned, curiosity mingled with caution. “Go on, lay it out.”

“We act like something happened between us,” they explained, eyes flickering with a hint of reluctance. “Something bad. We make them believe we can’t stand each other anymore.” They paused, studying Logan’s reaction. “It has to be convincing, Logan. Real mean. We’ll need to sell it, even if it means hurting each other in the process.”

Logan exhaled slowly, the tension in his jaw tightening as the weight of the plan settled on him. “You’re right—I don’t like it. But I see how it could work.” His eyes met theirs, resigned but resolute. “If you’re game, I’m in.”

A small smile, bittersweet and fleeting, crossed E’s lips as they leaned in and kissed his cheek. “We may have to do it more than once.”

“Yeah,” Logan said with a heavy nod. “The more we do it, the more convincing it’ll look.”

They sat in the stillness that followed, letting the warmth between them linger just a moment longer before the masks would have to come on and the distance between them would become painfully real.

The silence in the room grew heavier, the weight of what they were about to do settling over them. In a rare moment of connexion, E reached for Logan’s fingers, the tips of their own brushing against his in a soft, tentative dance. Logan’s response was immediate; he closed his hand around theirs, the warmth a brief comfort against the cold edge of reality.

“It’s a difficult time to go through,” they murmured. Their voice, barely above a whisper, carried the tremor of uncertainty. They tried to sound reassuring, though the words were as much for themselves as for him. “We need to focus on the moments we’ll be alone. Let’s not let ourselves get lost in our own lies.”

Logan nodded, his thumb moving in slow circles, brushing gently over the back of their hand. His expression was raw, the look on his face saying everything words couldn’t—the pain of what lay ahead, the quiet acceptance of it, and the unyielding resolve to shield them, even if it meant taking the fall himself.

The hurt, etched into the hard lines of his face, was a reflection of everything E felt. They both knew this was the quickest way to shift the tide, to keep E safe from the suspicion tightening around them like a noose. And if it meant bearing the brunt of it, he would—because of the fierce, protective feeling blazing in his chest, but also because he trusted them.

E let out a heavy sigh, their lips pressing into a thin line before they smoothed back the strands of his hair with their free hand, fingers brushing through the dark mess. They were about to speak when Logan’s head turned slightly, his ears twitching as he picked up the faint sound of running water. It came from the direction of Kurt’s room, judging by the echo through the walls.

Logan’s gaze shifted back to them, softer now but edged with urgency. He brought their hand to his lips, pressing a gentle, lingering, kiss to their knuckles. “You have to go,” he said, voice low and reluctant. “People are starting to wake up.”

E exhaled deeply again, the air leaving their mouth almost trembling, but they nodded. They leaned forward, pressing their forehead against his in a quiet, intimate gesture that said everything they couldn’t put into words.

“See you around, pretty boy,” they whispered, the familiar teasing lilt in their voice dulled by the reality of what was to come.

Logan gave a small nod in return, the reluctance in his eyes mirrored by the heaviness in his chest. The thought of what they were about to do—the lies they’d weave to protect their arrangement—made the air between them feel sharper, more fragile.

He watched as they slipped out of the room, the emptiness they left in their wake pressing down on him like a weight he couldn’t shake. It was a stinging sense of loss, one he knew would linger long after the door closed behind them.

Once he found himself alone, he rose from the bed, the space around him cool and empty in the absence of E. Their scent lingered faintly in the room, and his heart ached with want—no, the need—to see them, to have them against him, to touch them.

What was happening to him? Was he that far gone already? Wrapped around their little finger? His head felt foggy, exhaustion creeping in at the edges of his awareness, adding to the strange weight pressing against his chest. He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to clear his thoughts, willing the heaviness away before heading to the bathroom.

The steady patter of water as he showered grounded him, but it did little to clear the memories that crowded his mind. E’s teasing smile, their eyes dancing with mischief; the way they’d pushed and pulled at him the night before, challenging him yet surrendering with a trust so deep it shook him to his core.

The thought of it sent warmth coursing through him, a pulse that beat in time with the thrum of the water. They had told him they were a giver—always putting others first. For so long, they hadn’t allowed themselves to be selfish, maybe not ever. Only once in their long, lonely existence.

But with him, they had.

That truth sank into him, mingling with a sense of awe that twisted into longing. He knew a thing or two about keeping things—instincts, urges, emotions—in check for years, decades, centuries even. The weight of being chosen by someone who, like him, had kept their guard so high for so long was something he felt with every fiber of his soul, making him shiver with pride.

He’d known satisfaction before, shared heated moments with countless partners over the span of nearly two centuries—men and women, different faces and places—but this… this had struck deeper than he thought possible.

Rinsing the shampoo from his hair, Logan let out a breath that fogged the glass wall of his shower. His mind replayed the previous night, as if on loop: the way E had looked at him, unguarded and raw; how their movements had mirrored a kind of surrender that words couldn’t touch.

That feeling of being seen and wanted—not just as a weapon, not just as a mutant or a means to an end, but as himself. Whole. Flawed. It was dangerous, intoxicating. A craving took root in his chest, a quiet yet insistent need for more of that feeling, more of them.

Stepping out of the shower, he dried himself off, wrapping a towel around his waist before brushing his teeth. The routine motions were automatic, but his mind spun with those vivid images, heat already pooling low in his belly.

He styled his hair, the habitual tug of the comb pulling him back to the present, but not completely. Not when his senses were still keenly aware of their scent lingering on his skin despite the shower, faint but unmistakable, as if they had marked him as theirs.

One night. That’s all it had taken for them to make him theirs. He got dressed before making his bed with the practiced precision of someone who’d been a soldier for a long time, the last trace of E smoothed out beneath the taut sheets. Moving on, his hand reached for the small, worn notebook on the nightstand—a habit, a piece of routine that kept him anchored. But today, even that felt different. His eyes flicked over the scribbled notes—reminders and plans for his lectures—but they barely registered. His mind was still caught in the gravity of E’s laughter, the way it had curled around him, warm and dangerous.

Logan made his way to his desk and sat down, the notepad now forgotten in his grip. No matter how many mornings he’d seen after tangled nights, none of them carried this. None of them ever left him feeling whole the way E had, even if just for a fleeting moment—before the hollowness crept in as soon as they were gone.

His reflection caught his eye in the mirror: rougher around the edges than usual, but still carrying that stubborn resilience he never seemed to lose. Tugging at his shirt collar, he adjusted the fit of his flannel, then ran a hand through his hair to push it back into place. A breath shuddered out of him as he wrestled the knot in his chest, forcing himself to focus.

With one final glance, he made sure everything was in order—boots laced tight, notepad folded neatly on the desk’s edge, though the ghost of last night still clung to the room. He inhaled deeply, the faint scent of E lingering in the air, uninvited in the way it stirred memories too raw, too exposing.

The space felt emptier than it should, as though a piece of it—and him—had left with them. Closing his eyes briefly, he centered himself, then rose and made his way down the hallway to the mansion’s first floor.

The hum of early morning voices grew louder as he neared the kitchen. He could already pick out Jean’s quiet laughter and Scott’s steady, self-assured tone. The familiar sounds grounded him, even as a faint tug of anticipation simmered at the edges of his thoughts.

When he entered, the conversation quieted momentarily as their eyes turned toward him. Jean and Scott shared a glance, surprised to see him this late; Logan was usually here long before either of them. He nodded their way—silent, but not unfriendly—before crossing to the counter. Grabbing the coffee pot, he filled his mug and brought it close, the steam curling in the air.

He was still lost in thought when E entered, their stride confident, eyes sharp with mischief. The air shifted the moment they stepped in, crackling like an unspoken challenge. Their smile was subtle, but unmistakably smug, as if they owned the space.

“Morning, everyone,” they greeted, their voice silk, effortless. Two of the three people they addressed didn’t seem entirely comfortable, their wariness obvious, but E wore their nonchalance like armor, as though they couldn’t care less. They moved through the room with practiced ease, every motion so deliberate, so fluid, that it made Logan’s pulse quicken in a way that used to irritate him—but now, it simply thrilled him.

They made this masquerade look effortless.

Their eyes met his, a flicker of shared understanding passing between them before they glanced away, the moment hidden beneath a mask of casual indifference.

They reached for the coffee pot, their fingers brushing Logan’s where his hand rested casually on the counter. The touch was fleeting, something no one else in the room would notice, but it left a warmth that lingered between them. The slight squeeze they gave him was enough to send a silent message: brace yourself. His jaw tensed, but he masked it with a sip, his gaze hardening as he prepared for whatever came next.

“Black coffee again, Logan?” E’s voice broke the silence, playful and biting. “You ever consider trying something with flavor?” They poured themselves a cup, their smirk deepening as they glanced over their shoulder at him.

Logan’s response was automatic, rough, as he played along, letting them lead the dance of their back and forth. “Coffee’s coffee. Doesn’t need all that extra crap.”

E’s eyebrows arched, their grin widening as if they’d caught him off-guard with a well-placed jab. “Ah, a man of simple tastes. Should’ve figured.”

He met their eyes, a silent challenge sparking between them. “What’s that supposed to mean?” The words came out with an edge, but there was a tension in his chest that had nothing to do with annoyance.

“Oh, nothing.” E shrugged, taking a sip of their coffee, their eyes dancing with amusement. “Just that I thought someone with your experience might be a bit more adventurous.”

Logan felt the tension coil tight in his chest, the line between reality and performance starting to blur. He forced his expression into one of irritation, letting a spark of anger flicker in his eyes. Leaning into the feeling to give the act weight, he set his mug down with a deliberate thud.

“Careful there, sweetheart. Last time someone thought they had me figured out, it didn’t end too pretty,” he said, letting the hint of a growl seep into his voice. Jean and Scott exchanged glances, brows raising as they picked up on the shift in atmosphere.

E’s smirk grew sharper, almost daring. “Wouldn’t dream of it, old man,” they retorted, a flick of mock respect in their tone that had the others in the room shifting uncomfortably. Jean's eyes darted between them, curiosity turning into concern as the tension thickened.

Logan clenched his jaw, leaning forward just enough to invade E’s space, his face a mask of barely-contained fury. “Old man? You better watch your mouth or I’ll remind you why you don’t cross me, kid.”

Scott’s gaze snapped to them, mouth opening to intervene, but E beat him to it. They laughed, a sharp, biting sound that bounced off the walls and made Logan’s skin prickle. “Oh, I’m terrified,” they said, their words dripping with sarcasm. “Please, Logan, save the dramatics. You’re not as intimidating as you think, kitty cat.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, and Logan felt his pulse thunder in his ears. He reminded himself that this was part of the plan, that E’s sharp jabs were calculated. But damn if it didn’t cut deeper than he’d expected. He caught the brief flicker of apology in their eyes, barely noticeable to anyone but him.

Jean’s voice cut through the standoff, soft but steady. “Is everything okay here?” she asked, trying to smooth the tension with a touch of authority.

Logan didn’t break eye contact with E as he replied, “Peachy, Jeannie. Just a friendly morning chat.”

“Yeah, friendly,” E added, their tone so falsely sweet it made Jean’s frown deepen.

Scott’s eyes narrowed, suspicion clear as day. “Well, if you two are done, maybe we can all get on with our morning without the theatrics.”

Logan bit back a retort, taking a step back and grabbing his coffee cup. The room was stifling now, and he could feel the way E’s presence tugged at him even as they stood apart. “Yeah. We’re done,” he muttered before turning his back and leaving, letting the act settle like a stone in his gut.

Behind him, he heard E’s soft chuckle, a practiced sound meant to sting, and it did. But they’d both agreed—this was the way it had to be. And so, the distance began.

Logan spent the hours following the kitchen fight lost in his thoughts, the conversation replaying in his mind like a broken record. He knew it wasn’t real—that much was clear—but E’s words had hit harder than he’d anticipated. Not because there was any truth to them, but because they came from them. A part of him hated how it lingered, stirring something raw inside. He wasn’t the type to let something like this gnaw at him. He was the Wolverine, damn it. But it still dug under his skin.

He tried to shake it off, but the feeling wouldn’t fade. He needed to see them. To remind himself it was all just an act.

By the time he reached the library, the weight in his chest had grown unbearable. E was hunched over a stack of papers at one of the long oak tables, their focus intent on something that looked law-related. Figures. Logan leaned against the doorframe for a moment, watching them. He was always amazed by how easily they could shut everything else out. He let the silence hang for a beat before pushing himself off the door and making his way inside.

E glanced up when he approached, the brief flicker of relief in their eyes catching him off guard. “Logan,” they said softly, setting the pen down. The words were warm, but there was something unreadable beneath them.

“Got a minute?” he asked, his voice quiet, almost careful.

“For you? Always,” E replied, their smile faint but genuine.

Logan sat across from them, his rough hands resting on the polished surface of the table. He didn’t quite know how to start, what to say, but when he opened his mouth, the words just poured out of him, unguarded. “That stuff in the kitchen,” raw emotion coated the rough edges of his voice, “I know it’s all for show, but… damn, you didn’t hold back.”

E winced slightly, their gaze dropping to their notes. “I know. I’m sorry. I hated saying it.” They took a breath, their eyes meeting his again, darker now, their expression tight. “Unfortunately, we might need to take it up a notch. Be even more convincing.”

Logan leaned back in his chair, trying to keep his voice casual. “It’s fine. I ain’t gonna lose sleep over it.” He shot them a look, though—he wasn’t convinced by his own lie. Not entirely. “But if we need to go harder… what’s the plan?”

E’s eyes searched his face for a moment, their fingers brushing against his where they rested on the table. It was brief, but it caught him off guard, something warm and unspoken passing between them. “We make it meaner,” they said quietly, their voice low, tinged with a hint of regret. “You push me, I push back harder. We have to make them believe it’s personal.”

Logan nodded slowly, though the idea of making it worse, of biting deeper, didn’t sit well with him. “You sure you’re up for that?” he asked, his voice gruff despite himself.

“If it means we’ll have better days, then yeah, I am.” E’s hand lingered for a moment longer, their thumb tracing an absent pattern on his skin. The small touch, so simple but with the weight of everything unspoken, grounded him, a silent reassurance amid the chaos they were building. “Are you?”

The question hung in the air, and for a second, the noise of the world outside the library faded away. He exhaled slowly, the tension in his chest releasing with the breath. “Yeah. I’m in.”

A slight twitch at the corners of E’s lips. There was something almost tender in their gaze, a fleeting softness. But that moment was broken by the sound of footsteps approaching. Their expression shifted in an instant—like a switch had been flipped, delicate features hardening suddenly—and their hand pulled away from his, curling into a fist.

Before Logan could react, they smacked him across the face with a loud slap, the sound echoing in the quiet library. “Who the hell do you think you are, Howlett?” E snapped, their voice cold and cutting, each word like the crack of a whip. “Talking to me like that? You think you can just come in here and throw your weight around?”

Logan blinked, the sting of the slap still fresh on his skin, but it wasn’t just the pain that lingered—it was the venom in their tone, keen and raw, that struck deeper. A flicker of heat stirred low in his gut, unbidden and maddening, the kind of sensation that set his instincts on edge. Damn it. He hated how his body responded to the bite of it, to the fire in their eyes. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt this twisted pull, the way pain and tension tangled together in a way that left him craving more.

His gaze flicked toward the doorway, catching Hank standing there, a stack of books balanced in his arms. The doctor’s expression was frozen in surprise, his wide eyes darting between them. Logan forced the heat back, burying it under a frown.

Without missing a beat, his face twisted into a scowl, his jaw tightening as he played along. “You’re lucky I don’t throw you outta here, witch,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous, practically vibrating with barely-contained intensity.

E scoffed, their eyes blazing as they leaned into the act. “Oh, don’t you worry, you rabid dog. I’m leaving. I can’t stand to breathe the same air as you right now.”

They swept up their papers in one sharp motion, the sound of rustling edges filling the heavy silence. Their shoulder brushed his as they stormed past, the contact deliberate and forceful. Logan didn’t move, his hands curling into fists on the table, every muscle in his body taut as he fought the urge to call after them—or worse, follow.

Hank stood rooted to the spot, his mouth opening slightly like he wanted to interject, but whatever words he had died before they could form. He stared after E, then shifted his gaze to Logan, clearly hesitant.

Finally, Logan broke the silence with a grunt, shoving his chair back roughly. The scrape of wood against the floor was loud in the stillness. “What’re you starin’ at, Hank?” His tone was gruff, laced with irritation, but the effort to keep the edge in his voice felt heavier than before.

Hank raised a single eyebrow, his composure sliding back into place like a well-worn mask. “I was about to ask if everything is all right, but… I suppose I already have my answer.”

Logan didn’t reply. Instead, he stalked toward the door, his steps heavy and deliberate, a growl rumbling low in his chest. The act was working. Too well, maybe. And for reasons he didn’t care to admit, that fact sat heavier in his gut than he liked.

Later that night, when sneaking into each other’s rooms wasn’t an option, they both found themselves in the forest clearing. Neither had planned it, but some unspoken pull brought them to this spot, far from the prying eyes and ears of the mansion. It was theirs—a sanctuary untouched by the chaos of their daily lives.

The clearing was quiet, the kind of stillness only the forest could hold. The soft rustle of leaves danced with the cool night breeze, and a sliver of moonlight spilled onto the grass, casting long shadows across the ground. Logan stood a few paces away, rolling his shoulders as he circled E, his gaze locked onto theirs. There was no need for pretense out here.

“You sure you wanna do this tonight?” he asked, his voice low and gruff, carrying a hint of concern that he couldn’t quite mask.

E’s lips curved into a smirk, their stance relaxed, yet poised. “What’s wrong, pretty boy? Afraid I might embarrass you?”

Logan snorted, his mouth twitching into a brief grin. “Ain’t no chance of that, darlin’. But you ain’t exactly fresh off the bench after today.”

“And you are?” E shot back, lunging forward with a quick burst of energy. Logan sidestepped with ease, their movements more familiar to him now. They twisted on their heel, throwing a jab that he caught mid-air, his hand closing firmly around their wrist. A shiver ran down their spine, stoking their hunger in the most exquisite way.

“Point taken,” he muttered, his voice tinged with amusement as he pulled them closer, his smirk returning.

The sparring unfolded in a steady rhythm, their movements fluid and purposeful. It wasn’t just a fight—it was a conversation in motion, a silent exchange of trust and challenge. Each strike, dodge, and counter carried its own cadence, a private language spoken in the dead of the night.

By the time they called it, E was sprawled on the grass, breathless and flushed, sweat glistening on their skin in a way that made Logan’s gaze linger a moment too long. He dropped down beside them, leaning his back against a tree, his eyes roaming over them as a heat that coiled low in his gut tightened, stirred by the sight of them so alive, so unguarded under the moonlight.

“You gotta work on that right hook,” he teased, the grin on his face softening the edge of his words.

E huffed, propping themselves up on their elbows. “I landed it once.”

“Once don’t make a streak, sweetheart,” Logan countered, his voice quieter now as his fingers brushed against theirs in the cool grass.

For a while, they both simply stayed there, the silence between them comfortable, filled only with the soft chirp of crickets and the distant whisper of leaves. Eventually, E sat up, leaning into Logan’s steady frame. Their hand rested lightly on his stomach, fingertips itching to slip beneath his shirt, but as his warmth enveloped them in a way that felt safe, grounding, they didn’t want to break the peace.

“It’s harder than I thought,” they said softly, the words barely breaking the stillness.

Logan turned slightly, his brow furrowing. “What is?”

“This whole thing.” E gestured vaguely at the forest, at him, at everything. “The fights. The secrecy. Hurting you. Hiding—just to be us. It’s only been one day, and I already hate it.”

Logan’s chest tightened, their words circling in his mind, refusing to settle. ‘Just to be us’. The unintentional confession lingered in the air between them, heavy and unspoken. It wasn’t just the exhaustion from the sparring session that had them speaking so openly—it was trust. Trust in him.

He looked down at them, nestled against him, their breathing steady. Their guard, that armor usually so rigid that centuries had forged, had slipped, leaving behind a version of them few ever got to see. There was a softness there, a vulnerability they rarely allowed, and it filled him with something between awe and a quiet ache. That they thought of them as a ‘us’, even subconsciously, stirred something deep in his chest—a mix of pride, longing, and adoration. That they trusted him enough to bare this side of them made his heart flutter in a way he hadn’t expected.

His hand moved without thought, his fingers brushing through their dark hair with a slow, deliberate reverence. The wavy strands slipped like silk between his fingers, tethering him in the moment, a silent reassurance that this wasn’t just a fleeting dream.

“It’s rough, Angel,” he said softly, his voice gravelly in the quiet. The nickname slipped out naturally, a little softer than usual, carrying more weight. He hesitated, letting the words sink in before adding, “But we’ll push through.”

E’s lips twitched into a faint smile, though their eyes remained fixed on his free hand, resting next to theirs on his stomach. “Yeah, I know,” they murmured. Their fingers shifted, brushing his for a moment before lacing them together. The contact felt soft, simple, yet charged with an unspoken understanding.

They exhaled, their voice tinged with frustration. “It would be easier if we could plan the fights, but we can’t. If we do, it’ll feel… off, staged. They’ll figure us out.”

Logan nodded slowly, his thumb sweeping over their knuckles in soothing circles. “You’re right. It’s gotta feel real… for them and for us.”

That last part slipped out before he could stop it, and he tensed, unsure if they’d catch the hidden meaning. E turned their head, meeting his gaze, their eyes searching his face. “And you’re okay with that?”

His lips quirked into a smirk, his defenses sliding back into place just enough. “I’ll live. Ain’t my first rodeo, sweetheart.” He reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair from their face, his hand lingering against their cheek before finding hers again. “‘Sides, I’ve had worse things thrown at me than words.”

They leaned into his touch, their eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment before reopening, their expression softening. “I hate that it has to be this way,” they admitted quietly.

Logan let out a low, thoughtful hum, lowering his head to nuzzle lightly against theirs. “Me too, Eki,” he murmured almost hesitantly, his voice softer now. “But we’ll get through it. I know we will.”

It was the first time he called them this way. The name rolled off his tongue with a warmth he hadn’t intended, but it was there all the same—gentle and intimate, carrying more weight than he realized.

They stiffened ever so slightly, not out of discomfort but surprise. A flicker of something unfamiliar sparked in their chest at the sound of it, a flutter, and a quiet warmth bloomed around it as they tilted their head to glance at him, lips parting as though to respond, but no words came. The urge to kiss him, to lick and nip at his lips gripped their gut, but they couldn’t, not without harming him.

Instead, they stayed like that, the night wrapping around them both, the stars scattered above like silent witnesses. E sighed, leaning back into him, their head resting against his chest, and he instinctively tightened his arm around them, pulling them closer.

“At least we’ve got this,” he murmured after a long stretch of silence, his voice low but heavy with meaning.

E smiled faintly, their hand squeezing his. “Yeah,” they whispered, warmth coating her tone. “This is nice.”

Logan bent his head, pressing a tender kiss to the top of hers, the gesture unhurried and sincere. “It is,” he agreed.

For now, this was enough. The clearing remained their sanctuary, a pocket of time untouched by the outside world, as they held onto each other, finding strength in their shared determination to see this through, no matter the cost. Whatever came next, they’d face it—together.

The fights had started happening more often—small sparks igniting without warning, flaring into roaring fires. Every little thing became an excuse to clash, to bruise each other for show. It was a performance they played, and the mansion was their stage. It didn’t matter what set them off—a look, a comment, a minor disagreement—each moment seemed to lead them to scrape against each other’s nerves. Yet, beneath the verbal clashes, another kind of pyre burned. This one was different, stoked not by anger but by their need to reassure each other once the curtain fell. It consumed them in private, a fire that was anything but an act.

Logan could feel it burning now, simmering, as he watched E coming out of Charles’ office. He’d been on his way to his first class of the day when his gaze landed on them, and an unexpected warmth blossomed in his chest. They looked composed, calculating as usual, every line of their body a testament to the control they wielded so effortlessly. It was that same composure that made something inside him twist—a familiar frustration, a gnawing at his gut that tainted the lukewarm affection he felt for them.

He hated it—not the ache in his gut or the sight of them, but the distance their polished exterior created. It was a weight he couldn’t shake no matter how hard he tried. Every time, it reminded him that what they had now wasn’t simple anymore, wasn’t easy. There was no space for softness between them, not in public, at least until further notice.

A sigh slipped between his lips, and he braced himself. This was the perfect opportunity, and he couldn’t let it pass. So he picked up the pace, his boots echoing in the hallway as he approached, each step deliberate. E’s eyes caught him, but they didn’t flinch, though there was a flicker of something unguarded flashing across their face—caution—just for a second before the mask fell back into place. Their poise didn’t falter, but Logan saw through it.

“Well, look who’s here,” he drawled, playing the part, his voice loud enough to draw attention, the edge in his tone slicing through the quiet of the hallway, freezing a passing student in their step. “The school’s puppet master.”

E turned to face him fully, their gaze sharp and unreadable as they assessed him. “Howlett,” they replied, stepping into their role, voice low and steady, but it carried a warning. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t start something here.”

“Oh, come on, sweetheart, I ain’t starting anything,” Logan shot back, a sly smirk tugging at his lips. “Just calling it like I see it.” He took another step, closing the gap just enough to feel the tension coil tighter between them. “You’re always scheming, aren’t you? Pulling strings, keeping everyone in line.” His voice dropped lower, each word sharper than the last. “Bet half the staff’s already eating out of your hand.”

They straightened their stance, jaw tightened, the only crack in their armor. “I’m a qualified lawyer and I’m doing my job,” they said smoothly, though the words came out clipped. “You might want to try that sometime.”

Logan let out a bitter chuckle, his tone laced with mockery. “Oh, I’m workin’ just fine, sweetheart. Don’t need your little lectures. ‘Qualified lawyer,’ huh? Tell me—what’d you do to earn that title? Cheat your way through the bar exam? Maybe pay someone off?” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, venomous growl, still very much audible to the audience gathering not far from them. “Or was it somethin’ else? Maybe you just slept your way to the top.”

The words hung in the air like a gunshot, the hallway falling deathly silent. A collective gasp rippled through the few students and staff watching the exchange, their eyes darting between the two of them, waiting for the fallout.

But against all odds, E’s face shifted, their expression a razor-thin mask of mockery, as if the words Logan had thrown at them were beneath consideration. “Watch your mouth, Howlett,” they snapped, voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “Another comment like that, and I’ll have you up for sexual harassment.”

For a moment, everything froze. The crowd held its collective breath, the charged stillness pressing in on all sides. Logan’s fists clenched against his thighs, his muscles taut as if ready to snap, to strike at something—anything—to vent the storm that seemed to be brewing inside him. His breath hissed through his teeth, the silence surrounding them hanging thick in the air, leaving only the sound of his heartbeat drumming in his ears.

A few feet from them, the door to Charles’ office swung open, its creak slicing through the tension, a subtle command that immediately stilled the room. The professor’s calm voice followed, cool and unyielding. “That will be enough.” The steady words cut through the sharp air with authority.

Every head turned as the headmaster entered the hallway, his gaze sweeping between Logan and E, the tension palpable. Logan stood bristling, fists still clenched at his sides, while E remained unflinching, their posture a perfect balance of defiance and composure.

“Logan,�� Charles began, his tone measured but leaving no room for argument. “This behavior is unacceptable. Whatever concerns you have, this is not the way to address them. Such language and accusations have no place here.”

Logan’s jaw ticked, his teeth grinding together as he shot a glare toward Charles. “You don’t get it, Chuck—”

“On the contrary,” the Professor cut in, his voice firm but even. His eyes, clear and resolute, locked onto Logan’s with quiet strength. “I do. I know exactly what’s happening. But I’m telling you now: it stops here.”

The words hung in the air, firm. He shifted his gaze briefly to E, who stood calm and unaffected, their expression unreadable but charged with unspoken triumph. Logan’s chest rose and fell sharply, frustration seemingly rolling off him in palpable waves. His jaw remained clenched, posture taut, keen eyes betraying nothing but the simmering tension in his frame—a masterful performance that left no cracks for doubt.

Still, Charles continued, his focus shifting back to Logan with unwavering steadiness. “E has earned their place here,” he said, each word measured, deliberate. “Through hard work, expertise, and dedication. Qualities I expect you to recognize and respect. Whatever grievances you harbor, they do not justify this behavior.”

Logan’s chest tightened, his fists flexing against his thighs as a growl rumbled low in his throat. His eyes flicked to E, blazing with fiery defiance that looked convincingly real to anyone watching. Meanwhile, E, ever the picture of composure, turned to Charles with the ease of someone who knew how to play their cards perfectly.

“It’s fine, Professor,” they said smoothly, as if brushing off the situation as a passing annoyance. Their voice carried just enough weight to draw the attention of the onlookers. “Logan’s entitled to his opinions, misplaced as they are. My work isn’t for him to recognize—it’s for the students. That’s what matters.”

A faint murmur of admiration rippled through the crowd at E’s collected response. Logan’s shoulders tensed further, his apparent fury simmering just beneath the surface, but his eyes held a flicker of something almost imperceptible—an edge of satisfaction in how well the act was landing.

Charles nodded at E, his expression approving. “I admire your commitment, E. Truly. However,” he continued, turning back to Logan, his tone sharpening once more. “You are an example here, Logan,” he said, his words leaving no room for argument. “Consequently, I expect better from you. For now, I’d like a word with you in my office.”

Charles turned his wheelchair toward the open door, gesturing for Logan to follow. Logan didn’t move immediately, his body remaining taut, every muscle coiled as if ready to snap. His gaze stayed fixed on E for what felt like an eternity, the tension between them almost electric. But with a reluctant growl, he finally shifted, his heavy footsteps echoing as he stepped into the Professor’s office.

The door clicked shut behind him, its sound reverberating through the hall, leaving hushed conversations in its wake. The lawyer remained still for a moment, head held high, their composure unshaken as the students’ gazes lingered. Curiosity mingled with admiration in their stares, though none noticed the faint smirk curling at the corners of E’s lips—a near-invisible aura of triumph. Without a word, they turned, their stride deliberate, whispers of victory trailing behind them like shadows of their success.

In Charles’ office, the door clicked softly shut, sealing off the muffled hum of conversations outside. Logan crossed the room with deliberate strides, his arms folding tightly over his chest as he stopped in front of the Professor. His stance was taut, his brows drawn, and his jaw clenched—all the hallmarks of frustration expertly crafted into an act that, to anyone else, would seem entirely genuine.

Charles, ever composed, sat calmly behind his desk, his fingers steepled in front of him. His steady gaze met Logan’s, but the faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes betrayed an edge of knowing that Logan instantly caught. The flicker of amusement sent a ripple of unease through Logan, but he held firm to the role he’d been playing all morning.

“My friend,” Charles began, his voice smooth and measured, “I think it’s time we discuss this little… performance of yours and E’s.”

Logan’s brows furrowed, his expression hardening with practiced defiance. “If you’re about to tell me to cut it out—”

“Quite the contrary,” Charles interjected, his lips curling into the faintest smile. “You and E are charming idiots, both of you. In fact, I’d say your commitment is remarkable. The arguments are convincing. Almost too convincing.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, though the flicker of his gaze betrayed his uncertainty. “So, you knew?” he asked, his voice low, the usual gravel edged with something lighter—caught between annoyance and relief.

Charles leaned back slightly, his expression softening with patience. “Logan, I am a telepath. Nothing escapes me in this mansion. Did you really think something as… vibrant as your exchanges with E, along with your little settlement, would go unnoticed? I suspected it from the very beginning, but the confirmation came quickly enough.”

Logan shifted his weight, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked away, his discomfort evident as the mask slipped from his features. “If you think it’s a waste of time—”

“I think,” Charles cut in smoothly, “that it’s clever. Effective, even. E has been earning the team’s trust far faster than they would through conventional means. Their role as the so-called ‘victim’ in your dynamic has not only won them sympathy but also admiration. And your willingness to take on the role of the aggressor,” he added, his voice dipping with warmth, “speaks volumes about your character.”

Logan’s shoulders stiffened, the compliment settling awkwardly on him. He huffed, shifting his gaze to the side. “Ain’t about me, Chuck. It’s about makin’ sure they get a shot. At the whole thing.”

Charles inclined his head slightly, his smile softening further. “Even so, it takes courage to play the villain, especially when it places you under scrutiny. Your actions show a deeper understanding of what this team needs to thrive.”

Logan scoffed, the heat creeping up his neck. “Yeah, well, don’t go spreadin’ that around. Got a reputation to keep.”

Charles chuckled softly, his amusement tinged with genuine affection. “Your secret is safe with me, Logan. Just be sure to keep the balance. This arrangement, as effective as it is, can’t come at the expense of mutual respect—or your sanity.”

Logan’s lips twitched into a faint smirk, his usual gruffness returning as he grumbled, “We’ll manage. E’s tough—they can take it. We both can.”

Charles nodded, his gaze steady. “I trust that you will. But remember, my friend, even the best performances need the occasional intermission.”

Logan snorted, the corner of his mouth tugging up in reluctant agreement. “Noted. Thanks for not blowin’ it up. Now, if we’re done here…” He gestured vaguely toward the door, his tone laced with impatience but lacking its usual edge. “Got a class to run.”

Charles waved him off with a faint smile. “Of course, my friend. Now, if you would, make a bit of a show as you leave. It wouldn’t do for the others to think you got off easy. And try not to terrorize anyone else on your way out.”

Logan smirked faintly at that before turning away. The tension in his body had eased slightly, and he inhaled deeply, drawing the simmering anger back into his gut to slip into character. With deliberate force, he yanked the door open, letting it slam against the wall. “Got it, boss,” he called over his shoulder, his voice cutting sharply through the room.

He stormed into the hallway, his boots striking the floor in heavy, echoing thuds. His scowl was perfectly crafted—a tempest of irritation that sent students scattering like leaves in a gale. Pale faces turned away, and whispers followed him, swirling in his wake.

Before he could make it far, a door to his right creaked open. A hand shot out, gripping his arm with surprising strength, and hauled him into the shadowy confines of a supply closet. The door clicked shut behind them, sealing them in near darkness.

“The hell—?” Logan grunted, his surprise barely surfacing before the familiar scent of spice and smoke wrapped around him. His glare softened in an instant, his lips twitching into something close to a smirk. “Eki?”

“Shh,” they whispered, amusement lacing their tone. They pressed closer, their presence steady and teasing. “You’re supposed to be in trouble, remember?”

Logan huffed, his eyes narrowing, though there wasn’t a trace of real irritation. “What’re you playin’ at?”

E leaned in, their hands trailing up his chest with slow, deliberate intent, pausing at his shoulders. The faint light slipping through the door’s edge slanted across their face, highlighting the wicked curve of their lips. “Heard you stomping out of Charles’ office like a wounded bear,” they murmured, their voice dripping with mock concern. “Thought I’d check on you.”

His brow twitched, the stubborn set of his jaw softening despite himself. “Checkin’ on me involves draggin’ me into a closet now?”

E’s smirk widened, their tone a mix of teasing and confidence. “Don’t act like you mind.”

Their movements were playful but edged with intent. They leaned closer, their breath warm against his neck as their lips hovered near his ear. The subtle press of their body against his sent a ripple of heat through him.

“Besides,” they whispered, their voice dipping lower, more intimate, “I wanted to tell you something.”

His hands moved to their hips without a second thought, his fingers settling naturally along the curve of their waist. “Yeah? What’s so damn important it can’t wait?”

E’s fingers drifted lazily over his arms, their touch light but electric. They tilted their head, their lips brushing his ear in a deliberate, measured move. “You were so hot when you yelled at me earlier,” they murmured, their voice a sultry purr. “All fire and fury… made me want to slap you again just to see what you’d do.”

Logan’s breath hitched, a low, guttural sound rumbling in his throat as his grip tightened on their hips, just enough to warn. “You’re playin’ with fire, Angel.”

E pulled back slightly to meet his gaze, their eyes glittering with mischief and challenge. They could feel his hunger feeding their own. “Am I?”

Their voice was soft but charged, every syllable a spark fanning the flames between them. The pull was undeniable, intoxicating, and he felt himself give in, just enough to let them reel him closer. Damn it—he didn’t want to fight it. Not this time.

“You’re lucky we’re in this closet,” Logan muttered, his voice dropping to a low, rough tone that sent a shiver through the confined space.

E tilted their head, their smirk softening into something warmer, almost tender. “Lucky?” they asked, their tone playful but carrying a trace of sincerity. “Or smart?”

A quiet huff of laughter escaped him, the tension in his hands loosening slightly as his grip softened on their hips. But his fingers stayed, a lingering reminder of the fire simmering beneath the surface. “Maybe both,” he admitted, his voice quieter now.

The air between them grew heavy, thick with a charged anticipation neither seemed willing to shatter. Time stretched, every heartbeat amplifying the pull between them, the unspoken heat crackling like a wildfire ready to ignite, a match struck on a flint.

Then, faint footsteps drifted in from the hallway—distant, but clear enough to cut through the tension.

They both froze.

Logan recovered first, his voice steady, though the faint edge in it betrayed his reluctance. “We should get outta here before someone catches us.” Yet he didn’t pull away, didn’t move to create the distance his words suggested.

E leaned in, their lips brushing lightly against the crook of his neck. The touch was fleeting, soft as a feather, yet it left a mark he couldn’t ignore. They lingered for a moment before pulling back, their voice a low murmur. “Guess so. But next time, Howlett…”

They let the words hang for a beat, their smile teasing but layered with something deeper. “You owe me a real fight.”

Logan smirked, one corner of his mouth quirking up in that familiar, roguish way that made it impossible to tell if he was amused or intrigued. He cracked the door open, peering into the hallway. Satisfied the coast was clear, he glanced back, kissing their cheek quickly and murmuring, his voice a quiet promise, “You’ll get one.”

He stepped out into the corridor like nothing had happened, his boots striking the floor with a steady, confident rhythm. The sound echoed faintly as he disappeared down the hall.

E lingered in the closet for a moment, their smile turning satisfied as they watched him go. Something flickered in their expression—anticipation, maybe hope—as they slipped out in the opposite direction, the promise of what was to come hanging thick in the air between them.

The common room resonated softly with the chatter of Ororo, Marie, and Kitty. Seated in a cozy cluster around a small table, they were quietly planning their next trip to the mall. Kitty leaned in, her eyes sparkling as she described a sweater she had spotted online, while Ororo listened with a small, indulgent smile that softened her regal demeanor. Marie occasionally chimed in, her voice warm and lilting, adding her own thoughts about colors and styles.

A few feet from them, E sat upright on the couch in the center of the room, one leg crossed over the other, a cup of tea resting steadily on their knee. They watched the television with quiet focus, as the news anchor’s voice delivered updates about local events. There was a trace of weariness in their posture, the kind of exhaustion that settled behind the eyes and hinted at a long day spent poring over legal documents.

The moment Logan entered, the room’s tranquil atmosphere shifted. He strolled in with his usual swagger, the faint scent of cigar smoke trailing him. His flannel sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing his sturdy forearms. His gaze swept the room briefly before he plopped down beside E without a word. His hand brushed their knee as he reached for the remote on the coffee table, a casual but deliberate motion that claimed space.

Click.

The news was replaced by the vibrant green of a baseball field, the roar of the crowd pouring from the speakers. A game was already in progress, the commentary animated and full of energy.

E let out an audible sigh, their lips pressing into a thin line. “Seriously?”

“Game’s on,” Logan replied casually, settling back into the couch, his feet on the coffee table, as if nothing were amiss. He didn’t even look at them, his eyes fixed on the screen, his poise relaxed but unyielding.

E’s hand shot out and snatched the remote from his grip, flicking the channel back to the news. “I was watching that.”

Logan straightened slightly, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. “Yeah? Well, now I’m watchin’ this.” He grabbed the remote again, switching it back to the game, with a decisive press on the TV clicker.

The tension between them crackled like static electricity, the air thick with unspoken challenge.

E’s jaw tightened. “Are you five? Grow up, Howlett.” With measured precision, they took the remote again and returned the television to the news. Their movements were controlled, deliberate, as though refusing to let Logan’s antics rattle them.

His eyes narrowed, his voice dropping as he leaned in. “You’ve got somethin’ to say, witch?” The word was low but sharp, cutting like a blade slipping between ribs.

Behind them, the conversation amongst the others faltered. Ororo exchanged a glance with Marie, and Kitty froze mid-laugh, her eyes darting between the two.

E didn’t rise to the bait, not at first. They simply set the clicker down on the arm of their side of the couch, their gaze fixed on Logan. “I’m trying to stay informed. Something you should try once in a while.”

Logan smirked, though there was no humor in it. “Informed, huh? That why I don’t see you in the Danger Room? Too busy stayin’ ‘informed’ to pull your weight?”

E’s expression hardened, their composure cracking slightly. “I’m not a soldier, Logan. I never signed up to be. Unlike you, I have an actual job that involves more than swinging claws or quoting history. Being a lawyer means spending hours—days, even—preparing cases, handling crises, and keeping this place from falling apart.”

“Sure,” Logan drawled, leaning back with an exaggerated shrug. “Real noble. But we’re all bustin’ our asses for this school, so what makes you so special that you can skip out on the hard work?”

E’s voice dropped, each word razor-sharp. “The work I do is just as important as your training sessions. Or do you think the contracts you sign, the legal battles I fight, and the protections I negotiate are meaningless?”

Logan chuckled darkly, the sound low and mocking. “Contracts don’t save lives when the next fight comes knockin’, sweetheart. Maybe you’re just lookin’ for excuses. It’s easier to sit on the sidelines than to get your hands dirty, huh?”

The jab landed. A flicker of hurt flashed in E’s eyes, quickly masked by steely resolve. They inhaled deeply, their voice steady but heavy with disappointment. “I thought we were on the same side, Logan.” The weight of their words hung in the air, each syllable a quiet accusation. “Guess I was wrong.”

The room’s silence was suffocating, the atmosphere unbearable.

Logan’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching on his thighs, and for a moment, it seemed like he might back down. Instead, he stood abruptly, his gaze hard and unyielding. “You don’t know the first thing about loyalty.”

The words hit like a hammer, reverberating in the heavy silence that followed. Before anyone could react, Logan turned on his heel and strode out, his boots thudding against the wooden floor with each step.

E remained seated, their face unreadable save for the faint trembling of their hand as they gripped the arm of the couch. After a moment, they set their tea down with careful precision and stood, smoothing their clothes as if to steady themselves.

“Wow,” Kitty murmured, breaking the silence. “What the hell’s his problem?”

Ororo’s gaze lingered on E, sympathy softening her sharp features. “Are you okay?”

The lawyer managed a tight smile, though it didn’t reach their eyes. “I’m fine. Thanks.” Their voice was composed, but there was a brittleness to it, like glass under strain. With a measured motion, they reached for their teacup, lifting it carefully as if it provided some small anchor in the wake of the exchange. “I should…get back to work.”

Without another word, E left the room. Their posture remained straight and unwavering, but there was something fragile in their steps, as if they carried the weight of Logan’s words with them.

Behind them, Ororo, Marie, and Kitty exchanged quiet glances, their subdued chatter shifting to murmurs about Logan’s behavior. They kept their voices low, but their concern lingered in the air, tangible and unresolved, as though the room itself hadn’t quite recovered from the tension.

The Danger Room’s hum vibrated softly in the air as the team gathered, the younger members shifting with barely contained energy while the veterans stood with their usual aura of quiet confidence. Charles’s voice rang out, calm and commanding, as he outlined the day’s objective: clearing one floor of a simulated building of hostile threats and rescuing the hostage.

As usual, people paired off naturally. Scott and Jean exchanged a glance, already stepping into position together. Ororo teamed up with Kurt, offering a serene nod in his direction. Kitty, Marie, and Bobby gravitated toward each other, chatting quietly in low voices.

That left E and Logan, awkwardly standing in the cleared center of the room, where the group had split into smaller teams around them. The silence between them bristled with unspoken tension.

Scott frowned, his visor glinting under the cold light. “Are we seriously pairing them together?”

“They did well during the trial last week,” Charles reminded him, his tone firm yet patient. “Better than anyone expected. It only makes sense for them to try working together again. And perhaps channeling that aggression as a team will mend some of it. ”

Skeptical glances passed between the team members. Logan crossed his arms, his stance as rigid as stone. E stood beside him, their posture stiff and guarded, though their eyes darted toward the others, catching every raised brow and murmured whisper. At least they didn’t sense outright hostility from the rest of the group, which was a small relief amidst the tension.

Finally, Charles’s voice cut through the room with quiet authority. “Begin the simulation.” The words were directed at Hank in the command center, where Charles was now heading as the machinery of the room began to hum louder.

The walls around the X-Men and E shifted, morphing into the interior of a crumbling high-rise. The floor beneath their feet groaned ominously, and the sound of distant gunfire echoed from somewhere above.

Logan glanced at E as they moved cautiously down a simulated hallway. “We take the stairs. Blitz ‘em all the way to the hostage. End it quick.”

E raised an eyebrow. “Blitz? That’s your plan? You think we’re going up against a horde of mindless zombies, or did I miss the memo?”

Logan growled low in his throat. “Look, sweetheart, I don’t have time for your lawyer talk. You want to win, you hit hard and fast.” He punctuated his words by striking his left palm with his right fist.

E stopped mid-step, their gaze catching on the floor layout displayed on a nearby wall. They gestured toward it, a hint of strategy sparking in their tone. “Or, we could think for more than two seconds. See this?” They pointed to a narrow corridor on the map. “That’s a bottleneck—perfect for an ambush. We lure them in, control the fight, and pick them off one by one.”

“You mean drag it out,” Logan muttered.

“Ororo?” E called out over their shoulder. “What’s your take?”

The white haired woman, walking a few feet behind with Kurt, tilted her head thoughtfully. “It’s a sound strategy. Fighting smart is just as important as fighting hard.”

Jean chimed in, her voice measured and calm. “Agreed. Brute force only gets you so far. For all we know, there could be fifty of them in there.”

Logan turned to Scott, silently hoping for backup, but his teammate merely folded his arms and gave him a look—a pointed one, like Logan had just suggested fighting blindfolded. Even Kurt’s tail twitched awkwardly, as though uncomfortable with Logan’s stubbornness.

“Fine,” Logan grumbled at last, his voice dripping with reluctance. “We’ll do it your way.”

“Good choice,” E quipped, already moving ahead.

Scott stepped forward, his visor glinting in the dim light as he addressed the team. “Here’s the plan. Storm and Nightcrawler, you’re on decoy duty—draw their attention toward the main corridor. Shadowcat, Rogue, and Iceman, you’re the scout team. Find the hostage and get them to safety. Jean, Wolverine, and E, you’re with me at the choke point. We’ll hold the line and clean up any stragglers.”

The group split seamlessly into their designated roles. Ororo and Kurt advanced toward the wide-open hall at the far end of the floor, preparing to lure the enemy, while Logan, E, and Jean moved into position at the narrow corridor for the ambush.

Ororo stepped into the open, her eyes faintly glowing as she summoned a swirling gale. A deafening crash echoed through the space as she hurled a metal filing cabinet into a crumbling wall, scattering debris and drawing immediate shouts from the mercenaries.

Kurt vanished with a soft bamf, reappearing behind two guards. Before they could react, he disarmed one with a sharp tail swipe and incapacitated the other with a swift punch. A third guard spun toward him, but a gust of wind sent the man’s weapon skidding out of reach.

“That’s our cue,” Ororo murmured, retreating into the shadows. Kurt followed, the sound of their retreat baiting the mercenaries into pursuit.

At the bottleneck, Logan crouched low, claws unsheathed, his muscles taut as he prepared for the enemy to funnel in. E stood to his left, chakrams glinting in the dim light as they adjusted their stance.

“Remember: controlled chaos,” E said lightly. “Try not to go feral too fast.”

“Funny,” Logan muttered, his eyes narrowing as the first wave of mercenaries rounded the corner.

Jean stood behind them, her focus locked as she created a shimmering telekinetic barrier to intercept the inevitable projectiles. The mercenaries opened fire, but their bullets froze mid-air, suspended like raindrops caught in time.

Logan surged forward, slashing through their ranks with brutal precision. E darted to his side, chakrams spinning in graceful arcs that deflected bullets and struck with unerring accuracy. A guard raised his weapon, only for one of E’s metal disks to slice through it before returning to their hand in a fluid motion.

“Not bad for a desk jockey,” Logan muttered, slicing through another mercenary with a savage sweep of his claws.

E smirked, ducking under a wild swing and planting a chakram squarely into an enemy’s knee. “Thanks, lumberjack. Didn’t know you even knew what a desk was.”

Logan snorted, sidestepping an incoming blow. “I know plenty. Like how not to overthink in a fight.”

E shot him a sharp look, flicking their chakram with a flourish that knocked a gun from another guard’s hand. “Overthink? Sorry, some of us like to use both brains and brawn. It’s called multitasking.”

“Focus!” Jean snapped, her barrier flickering briefly under the hail of bullets as she reinforced it with a concentrated burst of telekinetic energy.

“Scout team, status?” Scott’s voice crackled over the comms.

Kitty’s reply was calm but clipped. “Hostage located. Three guards in the room. Reinforcements heading this way. We can’t engage yet—too many nearby.”

“Understood,” Scott replied. “We’ll clear the path soon.”

“Yep, soon would be great,” Bobby’s voice chimed in, followed by the faint sound of ice cracking.

Scott turned his attention to Ororo and Kurt. “Decoy team, double back and draw reinforcements away from their position. Make it loud and chaotic.”

Ororo gave a nod and turned to Kurt with a playful smile. “Time for a distraction?”

He reached out, grabbing her hand with his blue-skinned one, his smile matching hers. “Let’s make it count.” They both vanished in another one of his characteristic bamfs.

The team at the bottleneck only heard the distant sounds of chaos—shouts, clangs, and the occasional explosion—as the decoy team created their diversion.

“Chaotic enough for you?” Kurt’s voice crackled over the comms.

“Nice work, keep going,” Scott instructed.

Not far from him, the fight intensified. More mercenaries poured in, Logan's large frame crowding them into chaotic clusters in the narrow corridor. One lobbed a grenade, but E reacted quickly, their chakrams spinning out and deflecting it into the wall. The explosion sent a shockwave rippling through the space, leaving E’s ears ringing but sparing the team from serious harm.

Logan growled, claws carving through the crowd with brutal precision. “They just keep comin’,” he muttered, elbowing a guard in the face before slashing another across the chest.

“Almost like they’re programmed to, huh?” E quipped, catching one of their chakrams mid-spin and flicking it toward an approaching guard.

Scott’s optic blast tore through the adjacent wall, collapsing part of the corridor and forcing the mercenaries into an even tighter cluster.

“Nice,” E muttered, resetting their chakrams on the hooks at the back of their shirt.

Logan, now drenched in sweat, glanced over his shoulder at Jean. “Think you can drop somethin’ on ‘em?”

Jean nodded, her telekinetic energy flaring as she wrenched a section of the crumbling ceiling down onto the remaining guards. Dust and debris filled the air, muffling the mercenaries’ groans as they scrambled to recover.

“All clear on our end,” Scott called into the comms. “Scout team, you’re up. Decoy team, escort them back.”

On cue, the younger team members escorted the hostage out, covered by Ororo and Kurt. Together, they retreated under the relentless flow of enemies, making their way to the staircase—the designated extraction point according to the simulation.

The high-rise dissolved back into the metallic walls of the Danger Room as the simulation halted.

“Nice work, team,” Charles’s voice echoed from the speakers above.

Logan rolled his shoulders, claws retracting with a metallic snakt. “Would’ve been faster my way.”

E wiped a bit of sweat from their brow, tossing him a dry look. “Faster, maybe. Messier, definitely.”

Logan smirked, something feral flickering in his eyes. “I’ll give you messy, sweetheart.”

Before E could retort, Logan lunged.

Gasps rippled through the team as his massive frame barreled toward the lawyer. But instead of bracing for impact, E moved.

They dodged to the side, fluid as water, sliding past his outstretched arms. Logan whirled around, but E was already behind him, darting away like a shadow slipping through cracks.

Their movements became a dance—graceful, calculated, almost mesmerizing. E sidestepped his strikes, ducked under his swipes, their bare feet gliding across the floor with uncanny ease. A faint smile tugged at their lips, their eyes alight with challenge.

Logan, by contrast, was all force and fury, each swing of his arms carrying enough power to send anyone else sprawling. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t catch them.

“Quit dancin’, witch,” he growled, his voice rough and strained.

“You quit swinging, old bear,” E shot back, twisting out of his grasp once more.

The onlookers watched in stunned silence. To anyone else, it might’ve looked like Logan was furious, his teeth bared and his movements unrelenting. But the subtle nuances of his posture—how his shoulders stayed loose, how his strikes never fully committed—told a different story.

And, of course, E saw everything.

Finally, Logan managed to grab them, his arms encircling their waist in a vice grip. He pressed them firmly against his chest, his breathing heavy, his pulse hammering against theirs.

From the outside, it looked like he wanted to crush them. But up close, the heat of his gaze burned with something far more intense than anger.

E’s breath hitched, and they fought to keep a smirk from curling their lips. Instead, their fingers brushed against his chest, reluctant to break the embrace, but they needed the show to keep going so they pushed him back with all their strength, slipping free of his hold.

“That’s enough!” Charles’s voice cut through the tension like a whip as he entered the room again.

Logan stepped back, his chest heaving, though the predatory gleam in his eyes didn’t fade. “Logan. E. My office. Now!”

The rest of the team stared as the two of them followed Charles’s voice toward the exit, leaving the charged silence of the Danger Room behind.

“Am I the only one who thinks that was…” Kitty began, searching for the right word.

“Terrifying?” Kurt offered.

“Hot,” Marie muttered under her breath, earning an amused eye roll from Ororo.

But no one dared say anything else.

Charles sat behind his desk, his fingers steepled as he regarded Logan and E with a calm but pointed gaze. They stood across from him, arms crossed in a near-mirror of each other, just as they had during their discussion about Logan’s contract weeks ago. However, the tension between them now was markedly less volatile than it had been back then.

“You did well today,” Charles began, his tone measured. “The training session proved that the team has accepted you, E. They trust your skills and instincts. However…”

Logan shifted his weight with a grunt, already sensing where this was headed.

“…you both need to work on mending the… tension that you’ve been projecting toward each other,” Charles continued.

E raised an eyebrow, their lips twitching with mild amusement.

Charles’s gaze flicked between them. “You’ve played this ruse of animosity so convincingly that it’s starting to unsettle the team. If they find out you’ve been misleading them, it could lead to feelings of betrayal, even resentment, and undermine all the progress you’ve worked so hard to achieve.”

“Great,” Logan muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “So what, we’re supposed to just stop fightin’ all at once?”

“Not quite,” Charles replied with a small smile. “I suggest spacing out these little arguments. Gradually lessen the intensity. Make it appear as though you’ve come to a mutual understanding over time.”

E exchanged a look with Logan, their shared exasperation reflected in his expression. “Honestly? That sounds like the most exhausting part of this entire charade.”

“No kidding,” Logan grunted. “It’s been weeks of butting heads during the day, and I hate it.”

“You hate it?” E shot back, their voice dripping with mock incredulity. “Try being on the receiving end of your constant growling.”

“Yeah, well, you’re no picnic either, sweetheart.”

Charles raised a hand, silencing them before the exchange could escalate further. “I trust the two of you can manage for the sake of the team.”

Both of them nodded, though they shared a small, sheepish smile.

“Good. That will be all for now.”

As they walked down the hall, the guarded tension dissolved entirely now that they were alone, replaced by an easy companionship they both found natural. The faint murmur of voices drifted from the dining room, and both of them slowed instinctively, ears pricking as snippets of conversation reached them.

“I think we’ve been too hard on E,” Marie was saying, her tone tinged with guilt. “They’ve got good instincts, and they’re a damn good strategist.”

“Agreed,” Ororo added. “Their fighting style is intriguing—fluid, adaptive. We could all learn something from that approach.”

Hank’s thoughtful voice joined in. “I did some research on kalaripayattu, their preferred martial art. It’s not just excellent for coordination but also sharpens the mind. A fascinating discipline.”

“You’re all missing the bigger picture,” Scott interjected, his voice edged with frustration. “Logan’s the real problem here. He’s been acting irrationally for weeks.”

Kurt spoke next, his tone hesitant but sympathetic. “He has not left the mansion in a long time. Perhaps he is… how do you say… getting cabin fever?”

“I personally think Logan is an ass, and that’s not gonna change overnight,” Scott added, drawing a few chuckles. “It’s just his basic instincts resurfacing.”

“Or maybe it’s some kind of twisted mating ritual?” Bobby quipped. “Am I the only one who noticed how they were watching each other during that fight? I couldn’t tell if they were going to kill each other or just have sex on the floor.”

Laughter rippled through the room, and Jean’s voice was the next to cut through. “I think he’s taking it out on E because they’re both such strong personalities. And, let’s face it, they couldn’t be more opposite if they tried.”

Logan and E exchanged a glance in the hallway, a slow, knowing look passing between them. A faint smile tugged at both their lips, underlining the shared triumph. Mission accomplished.

Neither of them said a word at first as they continued walking, their footsteps echoing softly against the polished floors. As they reached the next corridor, Logan glanced around, checking to see if they were alone. Then, with a swift motion, he leaned in and pressed a brief kiss to their cheek, his voice low as he murmured, “See you later, Angel.”

The warmth of his words and the kiss lingered as he turned and strode toward his room, leaving E to stand there for a moment, their fingers brushing the spot he’d kissed. They watched him disappear around the corner before turning on their heel and heading in the opposite direction, a small, lingering smile playing on their lips.

To be continued…

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

✨ Masterlist ✨

Don’t forget to follow the tags “Devilish Desires” and “xpressit writings” to stay tuned for the next chapters 😁

🔖 @quillycrow

[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...

[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?

[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.

[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

[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

[hummingbird24220]

The gender fluid reader was done amazingly! I really enjoyed it could I ask for a part 2 where they get put in sea stone cuff and they crew sees how they look without their devil fruit. I want alll the angst pls!

Hello! Thank youuu, i was so nervous writing it, i think i re-did it like 5 times. Thankfully, this was a bit easier to write.

Hope you like it!

------

Shifting Tides - Part 2

One Piece x Genderfluid!Reader

Part 1

The attack came in the middle of the night. Swift. Quiet.

Too quiet for a crew like the Straw Hats—spread out, sleeping in hammocks, cabins, crow’s nests. They didn’t notice when the enemy ship docked without a sound. Didn’t stir when shadowy figures crept aboard.

You did.

You always slept light. Too many years spent on the run, with powers that made you both valuable and feared.

You were mid-shift—somewhere between small and agile—when they hit you with sea prism cuffs. The pain was instant. The pressure in your chest, like your own body was folding in on itself. Your Devil Fruit powers fizzled out in an instant.

You couldn’t change.

They saw you.

Truly saw you.

No masks. No shifting. No femme form. No masc build. No neutral grace.

Just… you.

Your real form.

The one you hadn’t let anyone see since that day you first bit into the Body-Body no Mi.

You weren’t ugly. Not by any means. Just… real. Raw. Unfiltered. Soft in ways you didn’t like. Sharp in ways you never meant to be. Your hair tangled, your eyes tired.

And worse, you were powerless. Vulnerable. Mortal.

They didn’t waste time gawking.

You were gagged, dragged off the ship by a group of bounty hunters with no name and no honor. One of them muttered something about “worth more than a Warlord if we deliver ‘em straight to the World Government.”

Your last look at the Sunny was from a distance—too far to scream, too far to fight.

And no one was looking.

Morning.

The crew stretched. Yawned. Poured coffee. Fought over breakfast.

“Where’s Y/N?” Luffy asked, scratching his chest.

“Sleeping in, maybe?” Nami offered, spooning fruit into her bowl.

“She always beats me to the top deck,” Zoro muttered, scanning the rail.

Franky paused mid-cola sip. “…Didn’t see ‘em when I did my rounds either.”

Chopper’s ears twitched. “…Wait. I didn’t see them at all last night. Not even in the infirmary.”

Robin looked up slowly from her book. “…No footprints past the bow. No signs of them on board.”

Brook frowned. “Could they have… left?”

Usopp's voice cracked. “They wouldn’t.”

Luffy stood slowly, face unreadable.

“…They’re gone.”

Somewhere Else.

You sat on cold metal.

The cuffs bit at your wrists. The room reeked of damp sea salt and rust. Somewhere above you, waves slapped at the hull of the ship you were trapped on.

Your shoulders slumped.

No more shapeshifting. No more confident smirks. No more switching forms to play a trick, to dodge a blade, to make Sanji’s brain melt out of his ears.

Just your hands. Your breath. The dull ache in your ribs where they hit you.

You’d always thought—if you ever got captured—that it’d be quick. That the crew would fight beside you. That you'd go out swinging.

But this?

This was slow.

Quiet.

And as time passed, your thoughts turned darker.

They’ll take you to Enies Lobby. You’ll be put on trial, then sent to Impel Down. Maybe they’ll skip the trial. Maybe they’ll execute you just to send a message: not even a Straw Hat can escape the World Government forever.

Your fingers twitched.

You weren’t crying. Not yet.

But you were afraid.

You’d never wanted to be seen like this. Not by them. Not by the crew who saw you as untouchable, untamed, powerful in every form.

Would they even recognize you like this?

Would they care?

…Would they come?

The thought slipped through like a crack of sunlight in a prison wall.

Yes. They would. They have to.

But until then, all you could do was wait—shackled, scared, and still.

----

There was a moment—just one—where everyone stood frozen on the deck of the Sunny.

The realization had hit like a wave: You weren’t there. You hadn’t been there. You hadn’t said goodbye.

Straw Hats didn't just disappear.

Luffy stared at the empty spot you always took near the bow. Eyes fixed. Unblinking.

Zoro's hand clenched around the hilt of his sword. Slowly. Controlled.

Sanji’s cigarette drooped from his lips. The end burned long and fast, untouched.

“Footprints,” Robin said softly. “There was a struggle.”

Chopper’s voice trembled. “Sea prism cuffs… I smell the metal on the rail.”

“They took them,” Franky growled. “In the night. Slipped right under our nose.”

“No,” Usopp said, shaking his head. “No way they just let themselves be taken—Y/N would’ve—would’ve fought or—!”

“They did fight,” Robin said, her tone low, steady. “They lost.”

Nami stepped forward, hair whipping in the wind. “Then whoever took them is dead.”

Luffy still hadn’t moved. He stared out at the sea like he was listening to it whisper something only he could hear.

Then, quietly—too quietly for Luffy—he said, “We're getting them back.”

His voice was calm.

It was not peaceful.

It was the stillness before the storm.

He turned.

“Franky. Cannon ready.”

“Already loaded.”

“Zoro.”

“Tell me where.”

“Nami.”

“I’ve got the map. And the storm dial.”

“Sanji.”

He was already gone—just wind in the galley, footsteps echoing, coat flying behind him as he returned with supplies, eyes burning like fire.

Robin closed her book. “I believe I’m owed some overdue payback from certain bounty hunters.”

Chopper shifted into Heavy Point, growling. “They’re gonna regret this.”

Brook spun his cane. “They made a grave mistake.” He paused. “A grave—ah, forgive the pun.”

“Y/N wouldn’t have just left,” Luffy said. “They’re one of us.”

He said it like a promise.

Like a threat.

Like a war cry.

Somewhere else.

You were cold.

The cuffs still bit into your wrists. You tried not to think about the rough whispers outside the door, the plans they muttered—about bounties, about marine escorts, about chains and ships that never returned.

You pressed your forehead to the wall.

Please.

Not desperate. Not begging. Just… tired.

Please come.

And somewhere, out there, something shifted.

The wind picked up.

The sea stirred.

And a ship with a lion's head carved on the bow turned sharply in the current, faster than the wind, faster than logic.

The Straw Hats were coming.

You just didn’t know it yet.

-----

The bounty hunters never saw it coming.

They had time to blink—once—before the first cannon ripped through the side of the ship. Wood splintered. Men screamed.

Then came the real storm.

Zoro landed first—three blades gleaming, eyes burning with fury.

Sanji was next—moving like smoke and lightning, his kick colliding with a man’s jaw so hard the floor cracked beneath him.

Robin’s limbs sprouted from every wall and corner, flipping rifles, twisting arms, dropping enemies before they could blink.

Chopper growled in Heavy Point, a terrifying wall of fur and muscle.

Nami’s staff sparked in her hand as thunderclouds began to form above.

And then, at the center of it all, Luffy.

His shadow loomed in the firelight.

He didn’t yell.

He didn’t smile.

He just said:

“Where’s my crewmate?”

No one answered. So he started breaking things.

Below deck.

You flinched at the first explosion.

Then the screams.

The world tilted as the ship shook violently, but you didn’t move from where you sat—back to the wall, knees pulled to your chest, the cuffs cold around your wrists.

They were coming.

You could hear them.

Boots on scorched floorboards. Shouts of familiar voices. A kick smashing the heavy steel door off its hinges.

Light poured into the cell.

And they were there.

All of them.

Franky’s fists still smoked. Chopper’s jaw dropped. Robin exhaled sharply. Brook was dead silent. Nami clutched her staff like she’d kill again if needed.

Zoro froze, mid-step.

Sanji staggered like someone had hit him in the chest.

Luffy stood in the doorway, still.

You didn’t shift.

You couldn’t.

The cuffs were still on.

Your real form—raw, exposed, unfiltered—trembled in front of them.

Your voice came out as a shaky whisper.

“Don’t look at me…”

They all froze.

You couldn’t meet their eyes.

Not like this.

Not with your hair a mess, skin bruised, posture curled up like a kicked dog. Not without the beauty, the confidence, the control you carried in every form. Just you. Just you.

You flinched as footsteps approached.

Then paused.

A familiar coat dropped around your shoulders.

Warm. Smelling faintly of smoke and spices.

Sanji crouched beside you, his voice soft—so soft.

“I don’t care what you look like.”

You shook your head, voice cracking. “I’m not who you thought—”

“You’re exactly who we thought,” Robin said behind him.

“We just didn’t see all of you yet,” Nami added.

“We do now,” Chopper said, sniffling. “And we still love you.”

Usopp wiped his nose with his sleeve. “Y-Yeah. You’re our Y/N.”

“Who cares about bodies,” Franky muttered, his shades slipping down. “You’re our crew.”

Brook knelt beside you. “If anything, this proves how strong you are.”

Zoro walked up, silent. Sat next to you.

Said nothing.

But stayed.

And Luffy… Luffy knelt in front of you.

He reached out—slowly—fingers brushing the side of your face.

“I said I’d always come for my crew.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks.

“I’m… I’m so scared.”

“I know,” he said.

Then, quietly: “But we’re here now. And we see you.”

You curled into Sanji’s coat. Shaking. Small.

But not alone.

Not anymore.

----

The cuffs clattered to the floor.

Robin had found the key—of course she had—and when the lock clicked open, the weight fell away like a curse breaking.

But your arms didn’t move right away. You just sat there, blinking down at your bare wrists, as if unsure whether you could breathe without that pressure pressing you in place.

The silence stretched.

Then—warmth.

A hand on your shoulder. Gentle. Steady.

Sanji.

“You’re free,” he said quietly. “We’ve got you.”

You looked up, vision blurred from the sting behind your eyes.

“I don’t… I don’t feel like me.”

Chopper stepped forward, checking you gently with careful hooves. “That’s the sea prism. It messes with your body and your head.”

“But it’s gone now,” Nami said softly, kneeling in front of you. “You’re still you. You’ve always been you.”

You looked down at yourself.

No shifting. No armor. No curated versions of yourself.

Just you.

And for once… you let it be.

Back on the Sunny, the world felt too big at first.

Every creak of the wood. Every smell—sea salt, Sanji’s cooking, Zoro’s sweat from training. Every voice.

It was overwhelming.

Until you stepped onto the deck.

And the crew cheered.

Luffy threw his arms in the air. “Y/N’S BACK!!!”

Franky hit a SUPERRRR pose with tears in his eyes. “WELCOME HOOOOME!!”

Brook twirled his cane. “Yohohoho! Shall I play a return song?!”

Nami ran up and threw her arms around you. “You scared the hell out of us.”

Usopp hugged you next. “We were gonna raze an island if we had to!”

Chopper latched onto your leg. “I missed you so much!”

Robin placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “It’s good to have you back.”

You stood there—stunned, arms slightly raised like you didn’t know how to receive this.

Then Zoro walked up, calm as ever.

He looked at you. At your real, resting form. The way your eyes still flinched slightly when someone reached too fast. The way your fingers curled nervously.

And he said:

“You’re still you.”

That was it.

That was all you needed.

You felt it return—the pulse. The beat. The self.

Your body shimmered.

And you shifted.

Not because you had to. But because you could.

A flicker of long limbs. A softer look. A stronger one. One with wild hair and a grin that could cut steel. Another that was compact and sly, ready to steal wallets or hearts. And then, finally, the in-between—your favorite shape, your comfort zone.

Everyone stared, but no one gawked.

Sanji stepped forward, smiling through red cheeks. “You’re breathtaking. But… even if you couldn’t do any of that again—”

Luffy nodded beside him, already halfway through a meat skewer. “You’re still my crewmate.”

Franky clapped you on the back. “You’re one of us. No matter what.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “You guys really mean it, huh?”

Nami raised an eyebrow. “Do you want another dramatic rescue to prove it?”

“No, no,” you said, hands up. “Once was enough.”

You looked around the deck—at your deck. Your crew. Your family.

And for the first time since you’d been taken, your smile didn’t feel like a defense.

It just felt like you.

[wtfjd95]

Today's Gender: Sleepy football fan

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

[littlesheeneffect]

She's My Husband (Part 14) ❤️

Miles Maitland x yn (Afab Genderfluid)

Three months went by, and we entered another September. The fall was awfully cold and sudden that year.

Miles and I were going to a small synagogue every other week, he'd found it via the man who sold him the candlesticks. As it turned out that boring, gothic, ol' fellow, was actually the rabbi there!

I always dressed manly when we attended, so Miles and I could sit together and hear the services. To our surprise, the rabbi had noticed the nature of me, yet seemed undeterred in the faintest. In fact, he seemed quite happy to see us both every time.

But one Friday, Miles came home from work with a terrible cough. Alfie stopped short of running to him as normal and instead began whimpering and licking at his trousers. "Goodness Miles, are you alright?" I worriedly exclaimed wrapping my arms about him and bringing him in to the fire.

"I, ugh," he finally choked out, "I think I've caught a bit of a shiver." He grinned weakly, as I layed a blanket over his seated form. And quickly poured him a cup of tea.

"You really don't have to..." he was interrupted by a sneeze. "Yes, I do Miles. Now shush and drink up." I said handing the cup to him and feeling his forehead for a fever. Which he had slightly. "Mmm" I grunted and looked about absent minded.

I knew he was a bit stupid when it came to his own health, so I tried to creatively entice him to do as he should.

"You know Miles, I don't think we should go anywhere tomarrow. It's raining like crazy!! And besides, I think maybe reading a book in bed would be ravishing." He looked up at the roof for a second before beginning to scrumptiously say, "Well that could lead us to sin... wouldn't that be nice, huh?" I burst into laughter, as he smiled energyless.

Though he was quite true- we had never stayed in bed during the day together ever. Not that either of us had ever crossed the line of more than a passionate kiss, but still the idea stood. It was entirely out of mind though as Miles seemed to grow iller by the second.

So, with Alfie's aid, I helped the weakening Miles to bed with a large blanket draped over his shoulders.

...... To Be Continued......

[x-press-it]

Devilish Desires - 2/8

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. Get ready for some push and pull.

Need some music? I've got you

Previously: in Devilish Desires

Chapters: 2/8

Word Count: 5.1K / 60K+ for now

The smell of freshly brewed coffee hung in the air, thick and rich. Logan leaned against the counter, arms crossed, his usual black drink steaming beside him. This was his morning ritual—his quiet moment before the mansion came to life. It was the one part of the day he could claim as his own, a sliver of peace amid the chaos.

Then he heard her before he saw her. The soft click of polished shoes on the tile floor, a subtle shift in the air, and a scent that was both unfamiliar and intoxicating. It unsettled him, that scent—it reminded him of something dangerous, something he couldn’t quite place, out of time, ethereal.

E stepped into the kitchen, moving with that effortless grace that always put Logan on edge. Their sharp blue eyes scanned the room before they approached the coffee pot, casual, composed, like they belonged in every space they entered.

Logan’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t sure what it was about her that got under his skin. Maybe it was how she moved, like a predator—silent, sure, and entirely aware of her surroundings. Or maybe it was the way she didn’t acknowledge him with the same apprehension or deference others showed. No fear, no caution. Just… presence.

They poured their coffee—black, just like his—and took a long sip, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of their lips as they leaned against the counter opposite him. The air between them thickened. For a second, their eyes met, and Logan felt the weight of her gaze, heavy and searching, like she was peeling back his layers one by one.

He grunted, turning his attention back to his mug, refusing to acknowledge the sudden prickle of heat crawling up his neck. But E didn’t need him to say anything. They felt it—the way his focus shifted, however briefly—and they drank it in. It was like fuel to them, feeding something deep inside, something dark and hungry.

“You always this quiet in the mornings?” E finally broke the silence, their voice smooth, too smooth, like they were toying with him, testing boundaries he wasn’t ready to acknowledge.

Logan’s grip on his mug tightened. He didn’t like how she talked, like she knew something he didn’t, like this was a game and she already had the upper hand. “When I got nothin’ to say,” he muttered, keeping his eyes trained on the dark liquid in front of him.

E made a soft sound, almost a hum, taking another sip of their coffee. Their eyes never left him, as if they were studying him, waiting for something. “Strange. You strike me as someone with plenty on their mind.”

Logan’s gaze flicked up, his eyes meeting hers for a moment longer than he intended. She was watching him with an intensity that made the back of his neck tingle, amusement dancing in those bright, unflinching blue eyes. “You don’t know me,” he muttered.

“Don’t I?” E’s voice dipped lower, almost a whisper, but it carried the weight of something deeper, something more dangerous. They set their cup down, the movement deliberate, controlled, before stepping closer. Too close. Logan’s muscles tensed instinctively, his body coiled, ready, but for some reason, he didn’t move. Couldn’t move.

“You don’t like people seeing through you, do you, Mr Howlett?” Their voice was soft now, yet sharp enough to cut through the thick air between them. “It makes you uncomfortable.”

His brows furrowed, the hairs on the back of his neck rising as an old, familiar defense mechanism kicked in. “I don’t care what you think you see,” he growled, his voice gravelly, rough.

But E’s smirk widened, a flicker of something wicked glinting in their eyes. “Oh, but I do see plenty and it’s fascinating, really.” They leaned in even more, their voice a low purr, words wrapping around him like a net. “The way you try so hard to keep that mask up. Makes me wonder… what happens when it finally slips?”

Logan swallowed, his pulse quickening despite his best efforts to stay calm. He didn’t like this feeling—being out of control, the way she so easily slipped under his skin and played with his instincts. But damn if he wasn’t drawn in, hooked by something primal, something he hated to admit.

E’s eyes flicked over him, slowly, deliberately, as though they were savoring the conflict bubbling beneath his surface. “Don’t worry,” they whispered, leaning in closer, their breath warm against his ear. “I won’t bite. Not yet, anyway.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, every muscle in his body taut, every instinct telling him to move, to get away. But he stayed rooted to the spot, caught in whatever spell she’d cast over him. His breath hitched—barely noticeable, but E caught it. Of course they did. Their smirk deepened, a silent acknowledgment of their victory.

And just like that, they pulled back, their composure perfectly intact, as if the entire exchange had been nothing more than idle conversation. They picked up their coffee cup, taking one long sip, their eyes never leaving his.

“See you around, Logan,” they said, voice lilting with amusement as they turned to leave the kitchen.

Logan stood there, fists clenched, heat still simmering beneath his skin. He watched her go, tension radiating through his body as he tried to shake off the lingering effects of her presence. But he knew, deep down, that this wasn’t over. He was in deeper than he wanted to be—and he wasn’t sure if he could get out.

The sun hung high in the sky, casting warm golden rays over the garden, and for a moment, it almost felt peaceful. Logan jogged down the stone path, his muscles loose from the run, sweat clinging to his skin. The garden wasn’t a place he came often—too many damn flowers. But here, in this quiet stretch of the grounds, he could think. Or rather, try not to think. Fewer people, fewer distractions.

His boots hit the stone in a steady rhythm, the soft whisper of the breeze the only other sound. The air was fresh, almost cool, and he welcomed the solitude. For days now, he’d been trying to shake this nagging tension that had settled between his shoulder blades. It gnawed at him, an itch he couldn’t scratch, a restlessness that no amount of running seemed to ease.

As he rounded a corner, his steps faltered. She was there.

Sitting on one of the wrought iron benches, her long black hair cascading over her shoulders, a thick leather-bound book resting on her lap. The sun kissed her deep, radiant skin, glinting off the small obsidian bumps above her hairline, and for a moment, it seemed as if the light itself was drawn to her. Logan’s breath hitched—just for a second, but enough for her to notice. His senses sharpened, every instinct firing off in a way he couldn’t quite control, as if she was a predator waiting, calculating, and he’d just stepped into her line of sight.

She didn’t look up. But he knew she felt him. The air shifted around her, just the faintest change in posture. It was subtle, deliberate—the kind of thing he’d notice in the heat of a hunt. Her fingers turned the page slowly, like she wasn’t in a hurry. Like she had all the time in the world. Like she knew he was watching.

Logan gritted his teeth, forcing himself to keep moving. His boots thudded against the ground louder now, as if the noise could drown out the unsettling quiet that coiled between them. He wouldn’t get drawn in again. Not today.

But as he passed, they tilted their head just enough to catch him in their peripheral vision. It was barely a glance, but it hit like a shot of whiskey straight to his gut. A shiver crawled down his spine, one he tried and failed to ignore. Against his better judgment, he glanced back. A mistake.

Their eyes met his, sharp and knowing. They didn’t smile—they didn’t need to. A flicker of something—satisfaction? amusement?—crossed their face, gone as quickly as it appeared. But it was enough to make Logan’s pulse quicken, enough to unsettle him.

“You always in a hurry, Logan?” Their voice slid into the air between them, smooth and teasing, like they already knew the answer. Their eyes had returned to the book, fingers trailing over the page, as though this conversation was just a casual aside to whatever had their attention.

Logan’s jaw clenched. He kept moving, even as something in his guts told him to stop. To engage. “Just trying to get some air,” he muttered, not slowing his stride, not letting her pull him in.

“Air, huh?” Their voice held that same amused lilt, like they were playing a game only they knew the rules to. “Funny, considering how tense you look.”

Damn it.

Logan stopped. He couldn’t help it. His muscles tightened under his skin, irritation flaring hot in his chest. He should’ve kept going, should’ve ignored her like he’d been trying to do since they first crossed paths. But there was something about the way she spoke, the way she prodded at him—casually, confidently—that made it impossible to walk away.

He turned slowly, narrowing his eyes at her. “What’s your point?”

Their eyes finally lifted from the book, locking onto his with an intensity that made his skin prickle. And there it was again—that hum in the air, electric, thick with something unsaid. Their gaze wasn’t just piercing; it was probing, searching for the crack in his defenses.

“My point…” they said softly, closing the book with a soft thud and setting it aside. They stood with deliberate ease, every movement slow, unhurried, as if they knew exactly how much space to take, how close to get without pushing too far. “…is that you seem restless. Distracted, even.”

Logan snorted, crossing his arms over his chest like it could shield him from whatever she was about to say next. “You think too much, sweetheart.” The nickname came out sharp, deliberate, as if he were using it to keep her at arm's length, a verbal wall meant to keep her at bay.

But they ignored it and took a step forward instead, their smile small but dangerous. “Maybe. Or maybe you’re the one thinking too much.”

Another step, and Logan could feel the heat of her presence, the air between them charged with something he hated to admit was getting under his skin. She stopped just shy of invading his personal space, but close enough that the tension between them was palpable, a tight wire stretched too thin.

“You feel it, don’t you?” Their voice dropped lower, softer, like a secret meant only for him. “That tension… the way the air shifts when we’re in the same space.”

Logan swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He hated how right she was. Hated how much he noticed her, how much his body reacted without his permission, as if some primal part of him recognized the threat—and the allure—she posed.

“I don’t feel anything,” he growled, the words rougher than he intended, betraying the lie he was trying to sell. He knew it. Hell, she knew it too.

Their lips curved into a knowing smile, slow and deliberate. “You’re lying.”

They didn’t need to step closer. Didn’t need to touch him. Just the way they said it, with that quiet confidence, made Logan’s blood simmer. His fists clenched at his sides, every muscle in his body coiled tight, ready to spring—but he couldn’t move. Not yet.

“Maybe one day,” they murmured, their voice dropping to a purr, “you’ll stop fighting it.” Their eyes never left his, watching, waiting for that crack in his armor, for the moment when he’d let something slip. And damn it, they were close. Too close.

Logan’s heart hammered in his chest, his pulse thudding in his ears. He wanted to walk away, to tear himself free of whatever hold she had on him, but his feet wouldn’t move. His fists clenched tighter, knuckles white.

“Don’t talk like you know me,” he muttered through gritted teeth, almost a growl.

Their smirk widened, just enough to send another shiver down his spine. “Oh, Logan,” they whispered, their tone dripping with something dark and sweet. “I know you better than you’d like to think.”

With that, they turned, their movements as smooth and deliberate as ever, leaving Logan standing there, chest tight, blood pounding, the weight of their presence lingering in the air like smoke after a fire.

He stood frozen, his breath coming in ragged pulls, his body still tense with that simmering heat they’d left behind. It took every ounce of willpower to shake off the feeling, to force himself to move again. But as he walked, the itch—the pull—they’d left behind only grew stronger, gnawing at him with every step.

And deep down, he knew this wouldn’t be the last time.

The sound of fists pounding against the heavy bag filled the gym, echoing off the walls, mingling with Logan’s low grunts as each strike landed. Sweat trickled down his back, soaking through his shirt, but he welcomed the burn in his muscles. It was another way to keep his head clear—pushing his body until he couldn’t think, couldn’t feel anything but the raw force of each hit.

He shifted his stance, throwing another punch, harder this time, letting out a sharp breath. Just as he pulled back for another strike, the gym doors opened, drawing his eye.

There she was again.

Logan’s fists slowed, his attention shifting against his will as she walked in, crossing the room with purpose until she stopped at the bench press. He kept throwing punches at the bag, though his rhythm faltered. She eased under the bar, wrapping her hands around it before lifting a weight that would make most people hesitate, her body moving with a sleek, powerful grace that tugged at something deep in his chest. The bar rose and fell smoothly, muscles straining under her skin but never faltering, her breathing steady and focused.

He wasn’t easily impressed, but there was something about the way she moved—so precise, so damn effortless—that made him pause.

For a moment, he just watched, his brow furrowing slightly. Most people in the mansion wouldn’t touch that kind of weight, but she handled it like it was nothing. A flicker of surprise ran through him. Admiration, even.

He quickly shook it off.

E finished their set, their chest rising and falling as they sat up and wiped the sweat from their brow with the back of their hand. Logan felt the pull before he even realized it, his eyes meeting hers across the gym. Her blue eyes were sharp, sparkling with an intensity that sent a jolt through him. It felt like he’d stepped into her space—invaded it—even though he’d been there first.

Logan’s jaw tightened, and he forced himself to look away, turning back to the heavy bag. He swung again, his fist connecting with more force than necessary, trying to drown out the sudden spike of heat that had crept up his neck.

But it was too late. They’d already sensed it. That brief flicker of admiration—of unspoken curiosity—it rippled through them, feeding that bottomless hunger that simmered just beneath their surface.

Logan could feel it in the air, thick and electric, as if the room itself had shrunk around them. He could sense her gaze lingering on him, watching him, but he refused to meet it. His knuckles slammed into the bag again, harder, trying to force the tension out of his body. But all it did was stoke the fire that had been building for days now, ever since they first locked eyes.

Footsteps padded softly across the gym floor, and Logan cursed under his breath. He didn’t have to look to know who it was. She was getting closer—he could feel the heat of her presence, the way it shifted the air around him, making it harder to focus.

He kept his fists flying, trying to ignore the growing need that tightened in his chest, in his gut, making it damn near impossible to keep his head straight.

“Nice form.” Her voice was smooth, that teasing, silk-like tone threading through the space between them. Close enough now that it was impossible to ignore.

Logan didn’t respond, didn’t stop. His fists continued to pound the bag, but the rhythm had faltered, his focus slipping. He could feel her just behind him, standing too close. Close enough that he caught the faint scent of her sweat, her skin, mingling with his own.

“What is it about you that makes you go quiet every time I try to talk to you?,” they continued, circling slowly, casually, as if they weren’t even trying to get under his skin—but they were. Every move they made, every word, was deliberate. And it was working.

Logan finally stopped, his fists lowering as he exhaled sharply, his chest heaving. He still didn’t turn around, but he could feel her at his back, her gaze searing into him, making the hairs on his neck stand on end.

“Not in the mood,” he growled, his voice rougher than he intended.

“Oh, I think you are.” Their voice dropped deeper, the teasing edge more pronounced now, hinting at the heat pooling in his lower stomach. They stepped closer, just a fraction, but enough for Logan to feel her body heat at his back, enough to make his muscles coil with tension. “You’ve been in the mood for days now. Haven’t you?”

Logan’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. Every ounce of reason urged him to move, to put some distance between them, but his feet stayed planted. His instincts—the feral part within him—wanted nothing more than to pull her closer. Damn it. Why the hell was it so hard to walk away from her?

“You’re real sure of yourself, aren’t you?” Logan bit out, finally turning to face her. His eyes were hard, but his chest felt tight with something else—something that felt like surrender, even if he wasn’t ready to admit it.

They were standing close, too close, their lips quirking into that infuriatingly confident smile. “I’m sure of what I see,” they replied, their gaze flicking briefly to his chest and shoulders, before locking back onto his eyes. “And I see a man who’s barely hanging on by a thread.”

Logan’s breath hitched, his hands flexing at his sides. “You got no idea what’s goin’ on in here,” he muttered, tapping his temple with a rough finger.

Their smile widened just a fraction, head tilting as they stepped in closer, their voice dropping to a soft, lingering murmur. “Maybe.” They paused, closing their eyes for a heartbeat before looking back at him, deep satisfaction dancing on their face, as if savoring the richest taste. “But I can feel this.” Their gaze roamed over him once more, a spark of hunger lighting up their features as their hand rose—slowly—hovering just above his lower belly, palm not quite touching but close enough to stoke the fire burning in him through his t-shirt. “That delicious tension building inside you.” The words rolled off their tongue, each one deliberate, dragging out the moment. “The want…” Their voice dropped even lower. “The need…” Tantalizing. “I know exactly what you crave, Logan.” Their eyes locked onto his, piercing and intense, the heat coiling tight in his abdomen until his breath turned shallow.

Logan swallowed hard, knuckles white, his throat suddenly dry. His pulse raced, blood pounding in his ears. He should’ve pushed her back, should’ve told her to get lost—but he didn’t. He couldn’t. Not when each of her words sent a shiver down his spine, not when the air between them was thick with tension, every inch of space charged with the unspoken need that he was trying—failing—to ignore.

“I don’t want anything from you,” he growled, but even to his own ears, it sounded hollow. Weak.

They leaned in just a little, their breath ghosting over his jaw. “Liar.”

And with that, E pulled away, their gaze lingering on him for a moment longer before turning back to the bench press. Logan stood there, rooted to the spot, watching them walk away, a noticeable bulge in his sweatpants. His fists were clenched at his side, his jaw tight, throat dry, heart hammering in his chest. Every muscle in his body was taut with the effort of holding himself together. The heat pooling low in his gut and that tension between his shoulder blades were getting worse by the second.

And he knew—damn it, he knew—they were right. He was losing control.

Logan’s boots barely made a sound as he moved through the library, the soft thud against the polished floors blending into the quiet. His intention had been simple—find Marie—but that goal dissolved the second he saw her. Seated under the warm glow of a desk lamp, she was surrounded by a stack of documents—papers, brown files—engrossed in whatever work she was doing.

The library, once expansive and peaceful, seemed to shrink in around him. Logan paused mid-step, his gaze lingering on the curve of her neck, tracing the line of her arm, down to the way her fingers moved with precision across the papers. Every gesture felt purposeful, calculated—yet there was an ease to it, a control that pulled him in.

He knew he should move. Keep walking. Find Marie and get the hell out of here.

But then E’s eyes met his. Calm, but laced with that flicker of hunger he knew too well. It twisted something deep inside him, tightening his gut, stirring up emotions he wasn’t ready to confront, stoking the fire he tried so hard to put down when he saw them. And the smirk—barely there, just a hint at the corner of their lips—felt like they’d caught him in the act, exposed something he hadn’t meant to reveal.

Logan’s jaw clenched, the muscles in his shoulders tensing as he snapped his gaze away. He turned quickly, moving deeper into the rows of shelves, needing space. Needing air.

But even as he tried to put distance between them, he couldn’t shake the feeling—the awareness that her eyes were still on him. It was like she had a direct line to whatever was churning inside him, pulling on it, drawing it out even when he was trying his damn hardest to push it down.

Behind him, E leaned back in their chair, fingers drumming lightly on the wood. That brief exchange had sent a ripple of satisfaction through them, a confirmation of something they’d suspected. Despite the tough act Logan was putting on, his resolve was breaking, little by little.

And that? That only made the game more interesting.

They returned to their papers, but they weren’t really focused. Not fully. They were waiting, ready for the next time his eyes would drift back their way, because they knew it was only a matter of time.

The kitchen was quiet, the soft hum of the fridge filling the space as Logan stepped inside, his eyes scanning the cabinets. It was late, the mansion long since settled into its usual nighttime lull, but for him, sleep still felt a long way off. He reached for an apple on the counter, rolling it between his fingers, the cool skin grounding him for a moment.

That’s when he caught it—familiar and unmistakable.

Spice wrapped in smoke.

His senses sharpened as he turned slightly, watching E glide into the room, moving around him with a deliberate ease. They flowed effortlessly, brushing against him just enough to send a jolt through his veins, lingering close as they reached for a cup from the shelf, not even looking his way. Each movement was unhurried, a silent dance that seemed to say the world outside could wait as long as they wanted it to.

Logan’s heart raced, the tension thickening in the air. He tried to focus on the apple, but his gaze kept drifting back to her. Finally, she poured steaming water over the tea leaves, the fragrant scent of jasmine lazily curling through the air, wrapping around him like a warm embrace. Their hair, still damp from a recent shower, fell in loose waves over their shoulders, glistening under the soft kitchen light, revealing the smooth, rounded tips of their obsidian horns that rose just above their hairline, looking a tiny bit longer than he remembered.

"Late-night snack?" Their voice, soft yet intimate, broke the stillness, the sound of it sending a faint shiver down his spine, already igniting the flames in him. She hadn’t even turned to look at him, but Logan knew she was aware of every move he made.

He grunted, biting into the apple with a sharp crunch. "Somethin' like that."

E stirred their tea, the metal spoon chiming softly against the mug, their attention fixed on the swirling liquid as if it held all the answers. Then they turned to face him, and their eyes met his. For a moment, Logan couldn’t look away. There was something unsettlingly perceptive in the way she watched him, as if she could see right through him, past the gruff exterior and down to the parts of himself he kept locked away. His chest tightened in response, and for just a moment, he hated it—hated how easily she could get under his skin without even trying.

"You seem restless." They took a slow sip of their tea, never breaking eye contact, their voice smooth, drawing him in like a riptide.

Logan shrugged, leaning against the counter, trying to shake off the weight of her gaze. "Got a lot on my mind."

They raised an eyebrow, a faint smile teasing the corners of their lips. "I bet you do."

The air between them thickened, heavy with tension that seemed to wrap itself around Logan, holding him in place. He could feel it—the pull she had on him, like an invisible force drawing him closer even though she hadn’t moved a muscle. It gnawed at him, that frustrating desire to pull away while feeling stuck, as if she held onto something deep inside him, a red thread connecting them, so tight she could pull at it whenever she wanted.

E set their cup down and stepped closer. It was subtle, just a shift in their stance, but Logan felt it—the warmth of her body, the way her presence seemed to fill the room. The soft, floral scent of jasmine with a hint of honey drifted between them, mingling with the heat of their closeness, and Logan’s grip on the apple tightened.

"You ever think about finding a way to… relax?" Their voice dropped, soft and teasing, the question hanging in the air like a tempting offer.

Logan narrowed his eyes, his jaw clenching. He didn’t trust easily, and he sure as hell wasn’t about to start now. But the way she said it, the way those words curled around him, made him wonder if she meant every word that escaped her lips—innuendos included.

"I relax just fine," he muttered, taking another bite of the apple, though the tension in his voice betrayed him. Even he didn’t believe it.

E smiled, stepping even closer now. They leaned against the counter beside him, their fingers brushing the surface near his hand, not touching but close enough that Logan could feel the warmth radiating from her. His pulse quickened, a heat pooling low in his belly as his body betrayed him, reacting to her proximity.

"You keep playin' with fire," Logan warned, his voice rougher than usual, like he was fighting to keep himself together. But the usual edge was missing, softened by the heat building between them, the struggle to maintain his composure growing harder by the second.

Their eyes darkened, something deeper flickering beneath the surface as they held his gaze. "Maybe," they murmured, the words dripping with challenge. "Or maybe I’m just waiting to see if you’ll give in."

The silence that followed was thick, almost suffocating. Logan could feel it—the tension tightening around them, pulling him in closer, like invisible threads wrapping around his resolve, threatening to snap it in two. He knew he should walk away, retreat to the safety of distance, but once again, he stood rooted to the spot, his body betraying him at every turn. The rational part of him screamed to break the moment, to turn away and shut her out like he always tried. But another part of him, the part that felt the heat of her body and the way her gaze made his heart pound, wasn’t so sure anymore.

E stepped back just enough to let the moment unravel, lifting their cup for a slow sip, their eyes holding his, unyielding. "I’m headed to bed," they whispered, casual words wrapped in something heavier, something that lingered in the space between them like an unspoken invitation. "You should too…" Their voice trailed off, hanging in the air for a couple of heartbeats before they finished, softer, almost suggestive. "Might do you some good."

Logan’s jaw tightened, his knuckles turning white around the apple. His eyes tracked her every movement as she turned and walked away, her hips swaying in that same deliberate, confident way they always did. But this time, there was a slowness to it, a knowing in the way she left him standing there, like she was daring him to follow.

And for a split second, his body nearly obeyed. His muscles tensed, his feet itching to move, to follow her down the hallway and give in to the pull that had gnawed at him for weeks now. But then he caught himself, stunned by how close he’d come to losing control, to how easily she had him dancing in the palm of her hand, right on the edge of giving in.

Instead, his eyes followed her, glued to the way she moved, the heat in his chest simmering as desire coiled in his gut.

As they disappeared into the hallway, Logan let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. His resolve was breaking, little by little, and each time it slipped, he found himself caring less and less about stopping it.

To be continued…

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