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americas1suiteheart · 1 month ago

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I have something called Juvenile Myoclonic Epilepsy that I was diagnosed with when I was 15 which isn't caused by flashing lights or strobes, but rather hormones. So, I decided to do something with a reader that is epileptic, just not with something exactly like mine. Enjoy!!

I Won't Tell, I Promise

James Wilson x Epileptic! Reader

Summary; Y/n has been working at Princeton for 4 years, hiding her epilepsy in fear of losing her job. But what happens when an episode comes out of no where?

Notes; Everyone I've met and told I have epilepsy always thinks it's light sensitive, but it's not. I wanted to kind of have this as a thing to give a bit of what it's like dealing with that stigma.

Warnings; Foul language, mentions of taking prescription drugs, epileptic episodes, angst.

Word Count; 4,230

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You've been working at the Princeton Plainsboro teaching hospital for a short while so far.

Before Prinston, you worked at a hospital all the way over in Oklahoma City as a nurse, then to Chicago as a doctor.

You probably would've never gotten this job if you mentioned what would be considered a "safety concern", to anyone.

You were diagnosed with Myoclonic Epilepsy when you were 17 and though it was said to be hormonal, it still hasn't gone away 26 years later.

"It'll go back to normal, just give it time, it usually goes away by your 20s," the neurologists and your mother constantly reminded you that. And nearly 30 years later and they were wrong.

That's what upset you the most. The fact that they assured you that it would go away and you would no longer have to take anymore of the god damn medicines or switching them constantly. They lied to you.

But, no use in moping about it. It is what it is. This problem, this disorder, is what pushed you to do what you do now. Neurology.

The doctors and neurologists could never figure out what was "wrong" with you. Countless tests, week long EEG's, CT scans, blood tests and draws, more brain scans, everything you could think of. Nothing.

No tumors ever found, nor any family history of it.

You'd just figure it out yourself.

Being in the medical field for almost 20 years has just earned you one of the larger titles.

Dr. Y/n L/n | Head of Neurology.

You had your own office on the floor where all of the MRI and CT machines resided. Made recently for you.

You just got that title just a couple months ago, and man was it difficult.

You had to take an extra dose of medicine due to the amount of stress and lack of sleep you were getting. And you weren't about to give that title you worked so hard for up.

Maybe (you knew it was,) mixing one of the strongest medications with another concentrated one was a bad idea.

750 mg of Levetiracetam, 370 mg of Lamotrigine, and 50 mg of Clobazam 3 times daily. On top of vitamins due to deficiency.

Now, that high of a dose of the Levetiracetam was already bad enough, but mixing it with the Lamotrigine made it worse. But you couldn't have an episode on the job. You feared that if you did, you would lose not only your title, but your job, and at the worst, your medical license.

You just couldn't risk that.

"...Y/n? You okay? Can you hear me?" A hand waved in front of your face with a couple snaps, trying to get your attention

Now see, that was the tricky thing with epilepsy. Absent seizures. You never knew if you'd just spaced out or had another small seizure.

"Oh, uh, sorry. Yeah, I just spaced out for a second, my bad." You respond, forcing a smile with a chuckle.

"Oh, good. Thought I lost you there," Wilson says, putting his hand down and taking another bite of his salad.

Your watch begins to beep, indicating it was time to take the second medication of the day.

One in the morning, one during lunch, and one at night, taking each one with water and food.

"Um, give me a second, I gotta go get some water real quick. I'll be right back." You awkwardly rush.

"Don't worry, I'll get one for you. I've gotta throw my trash anyways."

"No, Wilson. Really it's fine I can get it," You began to panic. Don't panic.

"Then I'll go with you," Wilson smiles, getting up with his trash.

You mutter out an "Okay."

'He's going to ask about the pills. I've never taken my meds in front of anyone before. What do I say?' You began to freak out even more. 'What if he sees them and tells Cuddy about them? I'll lose my job.'

Technically you weren't supposed to supply your own medication to yourself. That's how House got in trouble. It's not like I'm abusing them, though. Right?

"What's that timer for?" Wilson asks.

"Well, sometimes I'll be working and I'll forget to grab lunch, so I don't want to forget to eat, y'know?" Liar.

"Oh,"

You continued walking in an awkward silence before you quickly went to the food bar and bought a bottle of water.

"You left me, what was that for?" Wilson chuckles with a hand on his hip.

'Do I just tell him? He'd be the first to know apart from my family or friends back in my hometown. No one since I left there knows about it. But I could trust him.'

"Uh, well.." You begin.

"Wilson! Come here!"

You turn around to see House marching (or trying more so,) toward the two of us.

"House-"

"Shut up, I need you. You can talk to Ms. Addict later."

'Shit, did House know?'

"Excuse me, what did you just call me?" Unbelievable.

"..real bold coming from you, House." You continue.

"At least I admit it! You’re exactly like me!" House shouts as he walks away with Wilson.

"What do you mean by 'Ms. Addict?'" Wilson asks, you being able to hear him as he walks away with House.

'If House knows, will he tell Wilson? Shit, more importantly, will he tell Cuddy?'

You sigh as you walk out of the cafeteria and go down the stairs to your respective level and enter your office.

"God, I've gotta stop this shit.." You say, picking up some x-rays of brain scans.

The patient was an 8 year old little boy. He was experiencing small seizures regularly, without any family history of seizures or epilepsy diagnosis'.

He'd been in the hospital for nearly a week now, countless tests were run, and he'd been attached to an EEG machine to see what would spike when he had an episode.

'Shit.'

You looked more closely at one of the radiographs. On the right side of his temporal lobe there were two black masses, most likely tumors, which looked to have been roughly 5 to 6 inches in size.

"Fuck.. Fuck, what do I do with this." You began to panic. There shouldn't be masses like that. This could just be something wrong with the machine, right?

You can't just stand there. You had to say something.

'Wilson,' You thought to yourself.

He would be the one to go to. You could only hope that they weren't cancerous tumors.

You gather up the rest of the radiographs and make your way out of your office to go to Wilson's, hoping that House was finished doing whatever he does, and that he would be in there.

"Hey, Dr. L/n, I was wondering if you have any updates on Noah yet?" The boy's mother stopped me in my tracks.

"Oh, good afternoon, Mrs. Pieters. I was actually just looking at Noah's radiographs now. I'm going up to Dr. Wilson's office right now to go over them with him, so the final results should hopefully be out soon," You explain anxiously, still trying to sound as professional as possible.

"Oh wonderful! Once again, thank you for putting Noah in your care. You have no idea how lucky and relieved we feel now." She replies, a big smile on her face.

You feel so bad...

"Of course, Mrs. Pieters. Noah's health is one of my top priorities right now, and I couldn't be more happy to help. If you don't mind, though, I really need to go over these with Dr. Wilson right now."

"Of course. Sorry for keeping you," She apologized.

You wave her goodbye and rush to the stairs to reach Wilson's office.

You urgently knock on his door, waiting for a response, yet none came. You knock once again, and still no response. "James, are you in there? There are some radiographs I need to show you,"

You wait more, and still no response. Maybe House or Cuddy know where he is.

You go next door and open House's door, not even bothering to knock.

There House sat, throwing and catching his oversized tennis ball.

"What the hell-"

"Do you know where Wilson is?!" You cut him off in an urgency.

"He's probably in the bathroom touching himself, I'd check in there if I were you," He says sarcastically.

Oh..

"I'm being serious, House!" You roll your eyes and shout in frustration.

“Why, do you want to finally confess your undying love for him?”

You look at House with your mouth agape, looking like a fish out of water trying to create a response that wouldn't make you seem flustered. “I-”

You figured it would be near impossible to have an actual serious conversation, though not that you wanted one, with House. “I’m just gonna go ahead and go to Cuddy’s..” You sigh, frustrated with the time you’d just wasted trying to talk to him.

“Fine then! Be-” House shouts before you shut the door on him, silencing whatever bullshit he was going to say to or call you.

You make your way to Cuddy's office, looking at the radiographs on your way to make sure they really were something to be concerned about, though you would still look them over no matter what.

You knock on Cuddy's door and barge in, the same way you'd just done with House's. "Cuddy, have you seen Wils-" You say, stopping as you see Wilson standing at Cuddy's desk, going over some files.

"Oh my gosh, thank god. James, please, I need your help and time just for a moment," You plead.

"James? I got upgraded to James now?"

"Not the time now, Wilson,"

"Can you two do this somewhere else?" Cuddy says, a tinge of annoyance barely clear.

You leave Cuddy's office with Wilson following behind.

"What is it I can help you-" He says before you urgently (rudely,) cut him off.

"It's about Noah's MRI and CT scan results," You sigh, sadness in your voice.

Wilson's face softened, "Please tell me it's good,"

You pull up the radiographs and show them to him, not being able to see it all that great.

"Let's go to my office,"

You and Wilson make your way into your office, you put the pictures onto the intensifying screen and take a look at them once more, that feeling in your stomach getting deeper.

Please don't let it be bad..

"Those black masses right there at the temporal lobe, do you think those are.. tumors?" Your voice shakes.

Wilson inspects the pictures and points out the same two that you feared.

"Th-these ones?" Wilson questioned.

You nod your head.

You were horrified, but at the same time, you were anticipated. If these were the cause, then you would know why this was happening to him, unlike you with yours.

Wilson lets out a deep breath and turns to you, "We're going to have to run some more tests.. these are.. definitely tumors, but we don't know if they're cancerous..."

You sigh and rub your hands over your face.

Wilson walks to you and rubs your back with one hand, and places the other onto your shoulder.

You shiver at his touch, you began to feel dizzy and after taking your hands away from your face, you see black auras begin to obscure your vision.

And then, you blacked out.

--------------------------------------

Your head was pounding and your tongue was swollen. You looked around you in confusion as you found yourself laying on your side.

Where am I?

A hand ran through your hair as someone softly assured you that you were okay.

You get up before quickly falling back down to the floor.

"Hey, hey, L/n, just- sit back down. You're okay," a familiar voice assured you.

You blink slowly.

"Hey, look at me, look.. What's my name?"

You look at the male, his face becoming more familiar, though not enough until a couple seconds passed by, him staying patient with you.

"Wilson?" You slur.

"Good- um, what's your name, now?"

You felt like you were going to vomit. Your head was still spinning, though you were starting to become more familiar with your surroundings,

"Y/n? What happened?" You groan.

"Y/n, you just had a seizure.."

Those five words sent you into shock, though now it was beginning to quickly rise up to a panic attack..

"What?"

You put your head into your hands and brought your knees to your chest, a lump began to form in your throat and tears welled up in your eyes, "No, no, no, no, no, oh god, no..." You sobbed. You let yourself stress out enough to the point that you had an episode after not having one for nearly 6 months. You were doing so good. God there's no way you're going to ever drive again.

"Hey, hey, hey, it's okay, it's okay, Y/n." Wilson tried to assure you as he patted your back.

"No, no it's not okay.. shit," You choke up.

You wipe the saliva off of your mouth, presumably from spitting up during your episode.

You rock yourself back and forth, head still in your hands.

Wilson stayed quiet. He had no idea what to say, but you preferred that he didn't. You needed some silent time to gather your mind together.

"God.. fuck, I'm so sorry, James. You shouldn't have had to deal with that.." you exhale and apologize, afraid to even look at him.

"Y/n, don't- don't apologize,"

"You're not going to tell anyone are you? Please don't tell anyone, please, Wilson," You pleaded, tears welling up again at the thought of losing your job.

You didn't know that House had already known before. House had overheard you when you were speaking to Noah that one day, and then found out how much you were taking a day, earning your new nickname 'Ms. Addict'.

Him being the huge blabbermouth that he is, he obviously felt the need to tell Wilson. Wilson didn't know if he told him because he had some sort of worry for you, or if it was just him being an asshole, but by God was he glad that House told him.

"I won't tell, I promise." Wilson said as he wiped the tears away from your face, cupping it with his hand.

You melt into his touch and sigh.

"How.. how much Levetiracetam have you been taking..?" Wilson questioned.

You look at him in confusion, "What? What are you talking about?"

"Your meds.. how much of them are you taking?"

House.

"House- House told me, just earlier today," Wilson admitted hesitantly.

House!

“I’m gonna kill him!” You suddenly shout in a fit of sudden rage.

You get up only to fall once again, not just triggering your vertigo, but also making the previous dizziness you’d just had only mere minutes ago worsen.

You grab onto the nearest table to stable yourself, stumbling around as you try to pathetically attempt to speed walk.

“L/n– L/n hold on just– Y/n!” Wilson says anxiously.

“Fuckin’ asshole, I’m gonna kill him.. How does he even know?” You grumble to yourself.

You stumbled around the workplace, bumping into things and nearly dodging others, looking like a lunatic disguised as a doctor, or to be more accurate; House.

“Y/n!” Wilson calls out to you, catching up to you far more quickly than you had been “speedwalking”.

He stops you, getting ahold of your left arm and goes in front of you, grabbing your other arm after successfully stopping you from even taking one more step.

“L/n, don’t. I know he’s an asshole but let's just go back to your office so we can sit you down, and then talk about this, okay?”

You were upset, and overwhelmed. He was right. You should go back to your office, sit down, have some water, and focus on Noah.

Noah..

You nod at him and turn around to make your way back to your office, one of his hands on your back and another out in case you fall.

He was so.. caring. You’ve never had someone care so much for you. You haven’t had that in years, you’d forgotten just how nice it was to be cared for, even if it were in upsetting circumstances such as now.

You smile to yourself as he helps you to your office chair, thanking him.

Wilson pulls up a stool in front of you, “L/n, are you okay?” He questions, taking your hands into his own, warm and calloused.

“Yeah, I guess I just freaked out a bit. I’m alright,”

“How much medicine have you been taking, L/n..” Wilson asks concerningly.

You sigh. You didn’t want to admit you had a bit of a.. problem with substances, specifically your prescribed ones. God, I really am House..

“Uh,” You look away from him. You were more than ashamed of yourself. There was a reason the drugs were controlled, because they were addictive..

It had gotten to the point where you depended on them too much. The Clobazam wasn’t even necessary, either.

“750 mg of Levetiracetam, 370 mg of Lamotrigine, and 50 mg of Clobazam.” You mutter.

“750 of Levetiracetam??”

“Yeah.. three times daily.”

Wilson sighs and lets his head fall low, muttering something to himself.

“L/n, you could overdose on just the Levetiracetam and Lamotrigine together twice, maybe even once! But you're mixing it with the Clobazam, too? Three times a day? Who’s prescribing you this much medicine?!” Wilson was genuinely concerned for you, he didn't mean to sound or come off as angry or upset, but that’s definitely what he sounded like.

"Myself," You looked at your hands, his were still holding yours.

"..I'm sorry but- I couldn't risk having an episode, especially not here. If- if anyone else found out I thought I might lose my job or- or my medical license, I can’t risk that, I- I worked so hard for this title, I can’t let it be taken away because of some stupid-” You started to get worked up and hysterical. So much build up just over the years of not telling anyone your worries, not even your parents or friends from home, all of it just spilt out in front of Wilson.

Wilson gets up and pulls you into a tight hug, stroking your hair as his chin rested on to of your head. “I won’t tell anyone, and I promise you, I absolutely promise you that you won’t lose your job if anyone else finds out,”

You tense up, but the sound of his heartbeat so close to your line of hearing made you relax into his arms, wrapping your own across his torso.

“I don’t know about you, but this is one of the first times that I’ve ever been happy that House is an asshole. I’m glad he told me. I’m glad you’re safe.” Wilson continued, holding you closer to him.

His overwhelming affection and concern began to make you tear up. He actually cared for you.

And though House would never admit it, so did he.

You began to cry into Wilson’s lab coat, still not letting go of him in fear that you would lose him forever if you did.

“I care for you, Y/n. I never want you to feel this way.”

He didn’t even care that you were dirtying his coat with your own tears and snot, he only cared for you at that moment.

“Oh, you finally found him. Did you find him in the bathroom touching himself like I said he was? Is that why you’re crying? Do you need a hug from me, too?” House says sarcastically as he barges into your office.

You take your face out of Wilson’s coat to scowl at House. “Fuck off, Greg..” You sniffle.

“House, it’s really not the time for your shit, and that’s a highly innaproppriate thing to say- wait, where did you get that from?” Wilson says, pulling away from you.

“I’ve heard you,” House ‘whispers’ very loudly.

House hobbles over to you and stares for a few seconds before ruffling your hair, making it messier than it already was before.

“Addict,”

“Says you, asshole,” You respond, trying to smooth out your hair for it to look decently.

“..Uh, how did you know? About my..” you continue.

“You have really gotta start being more quiet when you talk to your patients about stuff like that, it was hard not to hear you blabbering to that kid. Do you just do that with all of them? Pretty wreckless if you ask me,” House responds.

“And my medication?”

“You’re not as sneaky with it as you think. Maybe being more open about it would raise less flags. You just might actually be worse than I am, Ms. Addict.”

Wilson stood aside, watching the interaction between his best friends. They hated eachother, but cared for eachother at the same time. He smiled at the scene.

“Whatever,” You say as House leaves your office.

“You two are an interesting pair,” Wilson chuckles.

“He’s a child.” You roll your eyes and smile.

House pops back into your office, sticking only his head in through your doorway. “Druggie addict.” and he disappears once more.

“There’s my point being proven,”

“Oh, I never doubted you,”

You look up at Wilson, with him looking back down at you.

You took in his features for a good couple of moments,

his thick brows were one of the most noticable features of his, in the best way possible in your opinion at least. You could never imagine him with what people would concider “normal proportioned” brows. They sat atop those puppy dog eyes that held a sort of tired softness to them, you could just get lost in them forever. A single section of hair seperated from his usual kept up hair, laying on top of his forehead. His smile. My god, his smile was so nice.

“What?” Wilson lets out a breathy laugh.

“Nothing, you just look nice today,” You reply back before getting up out of your chair in your best efforts, successfully making it back to Noah’s Radiographs.

“Thanks, you do, too,” He stood next to you at a closer proximity than before.

You and Wilson looked closely at Noah’s Radiographs for a few minutes before Wilson declared, “I don’t think you have to worry about these tumors too much, they look benign to me. We just need to remove them and Noah should be fine,”

You let out a sigh of relief. Noah was an amazing kid. You have no clue what you would do if you had to give news that he had something that could possibly be a cause of death. At least you found the reason for his.

You lay your head on Wilson’s shoulder and smile, “Thanks, James.”

He brings his hand up to grab your waist, pulling you closer to him and laying his head onto yours, “Thank you for letting me help out with him. He’s lucky to have you,”

“..though, I think I would be even luckier to have you, Y/n.” Wilson continues.

Wilson had always been good with his words when he wanted to. They always came out to be smooth, yet not too vulgar or forward. Thats exactly what it felt like now. It felt genuine, it felt like it actually came straight from the heart, and now you felt like yours was about to practically beat out of your chest.

“I think you would, I’m just special like that,” you giggle.

Wilson raises his head off of yours and looks at you, taking in how beautiful you looked before placing a small kiss to your head.

You grin, practically from ear to ear and lift your head off of his shoulder to press a kiss to his cheek, only for him to lift your chin up. You two were practically teasing each other, for as when you went to close the gap, he lifted you up and carried you to your office chair bridal style and sat down with you in his lap, now closing the gap himself as he spun around in the chair with you.

You smiled into the kiss and you could feel he was too.

This would be one of your most memorable days ever, in so many ways. Not only because of Noah, but because of this moment with James that you would never imagine would happen to you in a million years.

Its not to early to think to yourself or say, you love him.

You love James Wilson, and you would scream it from the top of your lungs so everyone else could be reminded of it.

You were in love with him, and he was in love with you.

#james wilson #james wilson x reader #house md #greg house #lisa cuddy #robert sean leonard #hugh laurie #house md x reader

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ask-whitepearl-and-steven · 8 months ago

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I admire your patience with those readers who need you to spoon feed them the story. Everything is in the comics but they still manage to go pass it. I can't help but feel a bit sad for them? Do they not understand what they read? Are they not attentive when reading it? I'm legitimately concerned because I function so differently I can't fathom this. If you like a story, isn't it normal to make your best to grasp it's essence and reflect on it? I know I project a lot about this, everyone works and registers things differentely of course but sometimes it's very frustrating to see people consume any media and just completely miss all the important messages in it, or even just fail to get the scenario sometimes, and it feels like it's very common now... Idk I just wanted maybe to have your perspective on this? Sorry for the long post (Been here for a few years now and your a true inspiration to me. All my luv to you! ❤️)

You know, I'm gonna be honest. I used to stress out about this... a LOT.

As a story-brained person, this is definitely something that comes naturally to me, and perhaps to you, and to many other people who are wired similarly. To us, following the path of a story in an analytic, highly detail-motivated manner and unwrapping the themes can be as exciting as lifting up a rock to see the bugs underneath. It's an exciting mental activity that's stimulating and feels effortless.

And yes, as an author who spends literally 60% of my day thinking about this comic and how to draw it, panel it, script it, make it better (I script and panel in my head constantly)........ I have trouble realizing/dealing with the fact that some people are just here to CASUALLY enjoy the story that I am lowkey obsessed with.

But I've come to realize that... that's NORMAL! And healthy.

People have different attention spans for different things.

People have varied ways to read a story and engage with it.

People have unique interests.

People don't have the same amounts of energy to devote to reading!

Maybe someone missed a detail I lovingly and painstakingly put into the dialogue because they're reading the update late at night after a long shift at work. And maybe someone scrolled past the dialogue completely and just got the gist from looking at the art, because they're in a hurry to get to practice at their favorite sportsball.

And maybe someone just had a really bad day with a really bad encounter, and they're reading the update in a terrible mood and instead of seeing MY grey-morality narrative, they're focusing on all the negative points and misread the vibes because of their own biases that stem from places of hurt.

The thing is, I have to be okay with that as an author, because I will NEVER be able to get into my audience's heads and read this comic 'correctly' for my own sake.

They will always have a slightly different interpretation of things, and they will always misunderstand details and miss clues. And sometimes, they will be wrong about the way they read a character's motivations... and sometimes maybe they won't be! That's just a part of communication. That's a part of telling a story.

An imperfect delivery, and an imperfect reception should, in my opinion, be a natural and accepted part of storytelling. We're human, and we all have a different lived experience, and we will ALL have different takes on a comic, even if it's so close that we THINK we are both getting the exact same thing. That small human interpretation variation is a home-made touch that makes it feel more organic.

In short.... Not all light particles make it here from the sun, but damn the result is stunning anyway.

#chekhov answers

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kamig4mes · 8 months ago

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heyy, could you please write headcanons for how shigaraki would react/feel with a gn s/o who gives him small things that remind them of him? like, they see a red rock and give it to him bc its the color of his eyes, that kind of stuff

hey hey honey, of course! It's the first request from mha that I make here, although I must admit that I didn't expect it to be from shigaraki! ksdjdjsj 🤭 anywaay, I came up w/ a couple of things for this boy, I hope you enjoy it

#pov: Shigaraki would react/feel with a gn s/o who gives him small things that remind them of him.

★ warnings: realistic hc, fluff, established relationship, affection, couple love, league of villains

—shigaraki!

Realistically, you don't even know how you managed to get this guy to end up being your boyfriend. I mean, your mental dictionary is so broad and far-fetched but the words "love" "consideration" "passion" seem not to be included in it but here they are both! Celebrating even the smallest things you do for him.

Sometimes the gifts with the most emotional meaning are found when you least expect it.

They were walking hand in hand through some deep neighborhood of the city with a path to the forest when something suddenly made you brake sharply and scream.

"Oh my- STOP!!"

"WHAT?!"

Shigaraki flinched when he heard you, alerting all his senses. You got rid of his grip to step back on the way to take something in your hands.

When you came back to his side he looked at you surprised, almost angry.

"Here, take it honey" your arms outstretched towards him with that smile adorning your face, he was looking at you like you were crazy "it's for you"

"If it's a fcking spider I swear to yo-"

"Who do you take me for? C'mon, just hold out your hands" he reluctantly does as you ask, rolling his eyes when you smiled in victory.

At first Shigaraki stiffened when he felt the light weight on his bare palms, moments later he relaxes when he sees that it was a small stone. But not a current.

"A red stone?"

"Yea', a little weird, isn't it? But.. It reminds me of the color of your eyes.." you confessed, feeling your cheeks (and his) burn red hot.

Shigaraki froze instead. The poor man didn't expect to hear you say that, and he never expects it! He's not at all familiar with this type of treatment and sensations that you generate for him, and despite having been dating for a couple of months, this type of affection is still unexpected for him.

Deep down, his heart warmed up like a torch, sending his brain the signal to shout out all the tenderness that you generated in him with that simple gesture. But he couldn't, he felt blocked and too shy to answer correctly.

Since your boyfriend was silent for what seemed like a whole minute, you rushed to bring his attention back.

"We must get back soon before dark, don't you think? We don't want to get lost" you laughed, awkward kissing his cheek quickly. You didn't need him to respond to your acts of love, you understood his heart perfectly. But, sometimes, you wished he would express his emotions more with you.

"And I'm so sorry for yelling earlier"

"Uh-mh, it's okay.." Shigaraki sighed, before linking his hands again and kissing the top of your head "let's go back home"

You learned to identify your eccentric boyfriend's tastes and understand his peculiar manias, but you suspected that you still had a lot to discover about his twisted inner world.

It was just another day of the year when, while cleaning inside the drawers of Shigaraki's bedside table, you came across a somewhat small and neglected notebook with his name engraved on the lid.

You decided to take a look at it, surprising yourself with the amount of sketches that were embodied inside. And you couldn't help but melt with tenderness when you saw that a large part of the drawings that filled that notebook were you portrayed. You rushed to leave it where you found it and get on with the cleaning. It seemed strange to you that that book was out of place but thanks to that cluelessness, you discovered that Shigaraki liked to draw.

From that moment on, every instrument/drawing material you saw reminded you of him. And without realizing it, you ended up buying an impeccable set of graphite pencils for him.

When Shigaraki returned home in the afternoon, a box with a note greeted him in the living room. He looked everywhere in your search, in vain. The white-hair then approached the table to inspect the gift.

"This reminds me of you, and I think it may serve you. All yours"

As he guessed, the calligraphy was yours. Upon unveiling its contents, the thousands of drawings inside his notebook whipped his mind, clearly remembering every moment he made them, especially those where you were: sitting in the living room, in bed asleep, with your back on the balcony, etc. Just thinking about it, his corners rose in a smile that, if you were looking at him, you would be disarmed of love.

"God.. So adorable..."

He may never ask you how you found out about his hobby, but that didn't interest him. Because the best piece of art he can have is you. It will always be you.

Luckily, you have in mind his love for sweet foods. It became essential for you to buy breakfast cereal, specifically the sweetest flavor that existed on the market because it seemed to be the only one that met the necessary sugar levels for him. It's the first thing you look for when you come back from shopping.

"Tomura, honey, I'm home!" you screamed once you entered his warm abode. Soon you heard how a few footsteps crawled down the stairs to receive you next to a kiss.

"You're back soon" Shigaraki took the bags from you and carried them to the kitchen, poring over their contents. When he didn't see it anywhere, he questioned you, "Did you buy it?"

"Of course, it was already running out"

Shigaraki examined your facial features to make sure you weren't lying.

"The one with the double honey-? "

"The one with the double honey and sprinkles, baby, here it is" and you waved the long-awaited colorful box.

Shigaraki blinked with a hidden surprise when you finished his sentence. He loved that you remembered the details about him, he loved feeling special and listened to. Especially if it was you.

The white-hair nodded before turning around to leave the kitchen and go back to his business, hiding from you that goofy smile that was starting to outline on his face.

Whenever you pass by a video game store, the impulse to buy a game from their range of tastes ends up taking over you in some way or another.

"What are you getting me now, puppy?" he mumbled a barely audible giggle as he took the rectangular gift and tore the wrapper "Is this another one of your jok- Oh.."

His eyes widened as he observed the package in his hands. That limited edition Mario Kart game that came out a couple of weeks ago had him so surprised.

"Damn, y/n.."

With his role as a villain, he had moved away from his gamer side quite a lot. But he made sure that no one touched his glorious shelf full of his best and favorite video games. And you were there to stock that dusty shelf, to remind him that that side of him isn't quite dead.

"Do you like it? Although it's not such an important thing"

"Isn't it such an important thing?!" Shigaraki raised his voice offended.

You shrugged your shoulder, feigning indifference even though his beautiful surprised little eyes had you internally screaming "I thought it was missing from your collection"

Shigaraki looked again the video game, his heart turning completely upside down, not believing that you could give him something so difficult to get in the first weeks of release, but you would do anything for him.

He subtracted the space between you, catching you by surprise when he pulled you by hugging you tightly.

"Thanks u, babe.."

As long as it comes from you no matter what you gave him, even if he doesn't show it to you verbally, he appreciates all your gestures.

You smile softly, stroking her hair "don't thank me, honey"

That's the way he was, shy, inexperienced, spontaneous and shy just like a little boy. But little by little that child was growing up, opening up to the affection that you offer him and experiencing the rules of love with you by his side because thanks to you the words "love" "consideration" "passion" were added to his mental dictionary with a clear and real definition, thus finding ways to show you all that love that he also has to give you.

227 notes · View notes

ohmtoff · 11 months ago

Text

Creep

Nick Sturniolo x OC smut

Summary: Nick tried to take a picture of a hot stranger in the grocery store, but when his flash went off, Ethan, the hot man in question, used Nick’s clumsiness for his own advantage

Contains: Anal sex, bottom!nick, top!oc, oral sex, spanking (very minor, not explicit), unsafe sex, barebacking, unconsensual photo taking, fingering, rimming, hair pulling, light dom/sub, dirty talk, slight crying during sex, overstimulation

Word count: 5,078 words

Disclaimers: minors dni. will contain grammar mistakes, english isn't my first language. this is FICTION, always use protection during sex, never take a pic of a stranger without their consent.

a/n: this was partly made bc i cant get over the idea of larray tara and nick as a trio like IM GNA LOSE IT. the tiktok talked about was (https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSF8YxXn6/) its so funny i need to include it.

——————————————————————————

Nick laughs, reading Larray’s last message about a tiktok he found of a guy pretending to be called gay in middle school and his friend defending him, both of them relating to that video strongly.

He tries to reign in his grin, as he’s on a supermarket trying to buy groceries, and laughing to yourself is just plain weird, so he forces himself to press his lips together as Larray and Tara sent jokes that make his belly hurt. He briefly takes his eyes off the string of messages, hearing a loud cough, and clocks grey sweatpants on strong thighs. He’s interested, immediately, checking out the rest of the tall boy who is standing next to him by the snack aisle, holding onto his cart. A black short sleeved compression shirt defining his strong chest and bicep, complimenting bouncy and slightly curly brown hair, a face adorning deep brown eyes that could pass for both handsome or pretty, and veiny hands that make Nick’s mind wander. He texts the group.

jacob elordi brainrot

Nick: hottest. guy. ever. in the grocery store

Larray: ???? not possible, I’m at home

Tara: ew

Larray: rude

Tara: anyways

Tara: PHOTO

Larray: how hot?

Nick: grey sweats and compression shirt hot

Larray: PHOTO

Tara: PHOTO

Nick: I can’t take a pic guys that’s creepy

Larray: PHOTO

Tara: PHOTO

Nick: No

Tara: come oooonnnn PHOTO

Nick: ugh fine

It didn’t take much for them to convince Nick because he knows he actually really wants to take a picture of the hottie to his right, for scientific purposes of course. Nick makes sure his phone is on silent before he angles it, tipping it back a little as he hopes he captures most of the guy. He tries to look at others on the store, rather than focus on what he’s doing, thumb moving around where he thinks the snapshot button is until – flash – the bright white light of his camera lights up the entire back case of his phone.

Nick feels his heart catch in the back of his throat, and he’s slow in moving his hand, the immediate humiliation making him freeze. He can’t help but look at the stranger, and he sees how he takes in Nick’s obvious creeper shot, Nick feeling the anxiety coarse through him at lightning speed.

He’s fearful as the stranger frowns, stepping over to him, and Nick slightly backs up immediately.

“I’m - ”

“Did you just take a photo of me?” the stranger asks, and Nick thinks his face may melt, the shame of his actions making him lie, shaking his head silently.

“You didn’t?” the stranger asks, even more handsome, prettier, up close, but he’s clearly unimpressed by Nick’s rudeness, and Nick is panicking, brain drawing blanks.

“I…” Nick gapes, looking for the words, “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” the stranger demands forcefully, grabbing Nick’s phone, Nick gasping at that, but too embarrassed to fight it. The boy doesn’t look through Nick’s phone, just holds it and stares at Nick accusingly, Nick having to shrug, truly embarrassed and he feels pairs of eyes on his back judging him.

“Come with me,” the stranger demands, still holding Nick’s phone, making his way to ut of the store, both of their carts abandoned. Nick doesn’t have much of a choice if he values his phone, and he follows, ashamed.

“I am sorry,” he pants, keeping up with the other boy’s pace, “can I have it back?”

The stranger slows down slightly, starting to look through the phone. Nick realises with horror that his phone isn’t locked, as he kept the camera open, and he reaches to grab his phone back, but the stranger is tall, holding it higher as he clicks on the incoming messages.

Larray: PHOTO!!! What’s with the silence girl? You better be sucking his dick!

Tara: PHOTO

The stranger scrolls up, Nick groaning in embarrassment, watching him read Nick’s earlier messages about how hot he is.

“Seriously creepy,” he shakes his head, deep voice just making it even worse as Nick cringes, “you’re perving on me in the store and taking my photo without my consent?”

“I’m genuinely sorry,” Nick said, his voice tinged with guilt, “I’ll delete it immediately and leave.”

The boy is doing something on his phone and Nick attempts to grab it back, but still, he’s too slow, still not tall enough.

“Ah ah,” the stranger tuts, “don’t worry. I was just sending your friends the creepy photo.” Nick starts to feel a little sick with anxiety, just wanting this to be over. He is never, ever listening to both his friends again. He’s frustrated and desperate, and in a fit of anger, he flounces off, “keep the fucking phone,” he rages, regretting it instantly, but he has no choice but to continue walking, leaving his very badly needed phone in the hands of another man. You idiot, you’re a public figure, what if he does something to your socials, he screams internally

“Hey!” Nick hears, “come back here.” He stops, and looks at the stranger with anxiety, his face hot from the embarrassment as he awkwardly walks back. Nick is confident that now his phone will be given back to him and he is secretly relieved, knowing he can’t afford to walk away and leave his public image in the hands of a stranger. He isn’t sure how he’d explain that to his brothers.

“You could make it up to me,” the boy suggests, and Nick looks at him properly, the smirk on his mouth and the way his eyes move, seemingly resting on Nick’s crotch.

“W – what?” Nick stammers, blushing, and the guy shrugs.

“You think I’m hot,” he states, “I think you’re hot, too.”

Nick chuckles nervously, unsure, a little scared this is some bizarre prank, but the boy is so sincere, nothing about him suggesting this is a joke. Nick has seen the look he has in his eyes in many boys and men, who Nick has flirted with and fucked before, but this is the first time Nick’s ever felt so drawn to another.

“I live near here,” the boy gestures, “I can think of a few things you can do for me to make up for your lack of manners.”

Nick wants to tell him to fuck off, wipe the slightly arrogant smirk off his face, but the confident way the guy stands, waiting on Nick’s response, his certainty, is making Nick’s dick twitch in interest, in want.

“Whatever,” the man smiles, casually slipping the phone back into Nick’s pocket before shrugging again, sauntering off, leaving Nick stood in the middle of the parking lot, torn between walking away – and he knows, he knows, kicking himself for it – or running after this guy desperately, letting him know how badly he wants him to make good on his promises.

He’s about to disappear when Nick makes a snap decision and runs after him, panting as he catches up, the boy turning to look at him from his car as he hears footsteps, bursting out in a laughter, his grin taking up his entire face. Nick readjusts his sweater.

“I’m horny, don’t – don’t get cocky,” he mutters, but the other boy doesn’t say a word, just makes Nick feel dizzy with a long look as he opens the passenger seat of his car and motion for Nick to get inside.

“Nick, right?” he asks, as he hops in and shut the door of the drivers seat, and Nick nods, assuming he saw his name on the messages, “I’m Ethan.”

Nick was going to respond but his eyes catches the way Ethan’s seatbelt tightens on his pecs and Nick almost drooled. His eyes traveled upward to see this adonis-like man smirking and Nick swiftly turned his head towards the road. The drive to the apartment was short and thankfully not awkward due to the music playing, but Nick was still sweating even with the air conditioner on because oh my god he’s so fucking hot, is that his huge dick print on his sweatpants? Fuck, his veins are so visible why are his fingers so LONG? that shit can reach my tonsi-

His thoughts were interrupted by the car finally parked at the other man’s house. Both of them walked towards the door with haste and no words exchanged, eyes focused on going inside.

Ethan unlocked the door and let Nick in, the latter unable to get a word out before Ethan’s mouth flew towards his, and he’s harsh and fast and demanding, so Nick matches it, kissing Ethan like he needs it, and maybe he does. Ethan is shoving him into what Nick assumes is his bedroom, pulling off Nick’s sweater, as Nick yanks that heavenly tight shirt, until they meet Ethan’s bed and Ethan throws him down on it. He watches, heart racing, as Ethan pulls down his jeans, pulling at them forcefully, yanking them off as Nick helps him, pulling him back down for a kiss. Nick’s never known someone kiss this way; unyielding and demanding as he grabs Nick’s head and devours him, Nick pulling back at Ethan’s tangled hair, until Ethan grabs him wrists and pins them down.

Nick can’t help but moan, his dick hard in his briefs, because Ethan is pressing all his buttons right now. He hates the self-satisfied grin on Ethan’s smug, pretty face, but there’s no denying Nick loves it rough, which Ethan clearly does too.

“Like that, sweetheart?” Ethan asks, tongue running over his bottom lip, Nick watching it’s every moment, groaning in response, Ethan’s large hands still wrapped around delicate wrists, still pinning Nick down. Nick is fully hard and needy now, Ethan letting go of his wrists to grip each side of his face and bruise him with a kiss, Nick making the most of his new found freedom by gripping Ethan’s shoulders, nails digging in.

He’s a mess already, the curly haired man moving harsh kisses to his neck and chest as he moves down, the kisses becoming wetter, sloppier, Nick whimpering as Ethan ghosts over his clothed dick, mouthing at him teasingly.

“Please,” Nick whispers, but Ethan either doesn’t hear or ignores it, pressing feather light kisses across him, Nick beginning to peel his briefs off only to have his hands batted away.

“Do that again and I’ll tie you up,” Ethan warns, and Nick’s cock jumps at the tone in his voice, obeying, hands grabbing fistfuls of Ethan’s duvet instead to stop them from straying. Ethan stops, pushing Nick encouraging so his head is propped up, and he has little choice except to look at Ethan as he mercifully begins to strip him off his briefs. Nick’s toes curl as they’re discarded and Ethan is back between his legs, Nick waiting for the inevitable lick, looking down at Ethan as he’s forced to wait.

“What?” he asks, knowing his face is pink and he’s far gone, Ethan looking at him with playful eyes as he spreads Nick’s legs even further apart, leaning down, finally, Nick thinks, to touch his dick, but Ethan presses wet kisses and soft bites to the inside of Nick’s right thigh, moving up as he gets closer to Nick’s dick, nudging his balls with his nose and Nick is going to pass out from the feel of Ethan’s skin right there, from feeling his tongue and his little huffs of breath, whimpering embarrassingly loud as Ethan finally licks a long stripe up his dick to the tip, suckling the pre-cum collected there before he stops.

“Ethan,” Nick begs, and Ethan does the same to his left, Nick sure he’s intent on leaving bite marks on his fleshy thighs where there’s plenty for Ethan to sink his teeth into, Nick wondering if it’s possible to come from this. He’s obeying Ethan’s no touching rule, for now, and it is torture, before Ethan repeats this special form of hell – licking from Nick’s balls up to the tip of his cock, in one long, slow lick – flicking his tongue over the head, and pulling away. “This – I can’t do this,” Nick moans, “please just, give me…”

Ethan shakes his head, and Nick falls quiet, until he feels the blessed tight heat of Ethan’s mouth around his cock, Ethan sucking his dick perfectly, swirling his tongue around the head as he comes up, Nick crying out, trying his best to hold off, to wait.

“Ethan, I’m – I - ” he whines, Ethan stopping, quick and elegant as he leans up and kisses Nick’s mouth, “what’s wrong, baby?”

“Let me,” Nick gasps, trying to push Ethan down, “I want to do it to you.”

He does, too, because Ethan’s sweatpants are still on and he needs them off, wants to see Ethan’s dick and taste it in his mouth. Nick loves sucking cock, loves the feel of it in his mouth and the taste of come, and he’s good at it, wants to make Ethan whimper in the way Ethan’s made him shake.

“Yeah? You like sucking dick?” Ethan asks, unyielding, sadly, still looming over Nick and Nick gives up on trying to change their positions, not exactly hating this one, Ethan grabbing his bitten thighs as he attacks Nick’s mouth and neck with his soft lips.

“Yeah,” Nick grins, “of course.”

“Why should I let you suck me off?” Ethan asks, letting Nick’s thighs drop as he keeps Nick pinned down, kissing parts of Nick’s face that Nick doesn’t think anyone has ever kissed, always coming back to his mouth, his neck, moving to his collarbone, shoulder, biting. Nick is going to look like he’s been in a fight. Matt and Chris will have a field day when he finally turns up at home.

“Um, because – I’m great?” Nick asks, frowning, wondering what kind of weirdo turns down a blowjob, and Ethan stops so he can look at Nick, Nick continuing to be bowled over by the way Ethan’s eyes seem to burn into his skin.

“What makes you so great, pretty boy?” Ethan rasps, and Nick brings his nails down Ethan’s back.

“I look good with a cock in my mouth,” Nick teases, “and, after all, you did say I need to make it up to you.”

“You need to, don’t you?” Ethan grins, then moving so that he straddles Nick’s waist, Nick helping him pull down his sweats, Ethan standing briefly to get the fabric off his feet and boxers off before he’s shuffling up, Nick still propped up nicely by the large pillows. Nick attempts to not given Ethan the satisfaction of his astonishment at how large Ethan’s dick is, but he fails.

“Still feeling confident, baby?” Ethan asks, hand wrapping around his cock as he plays with himself, jerking off, and Nick can’t help but lick his lips in anticipation, nodding, while he’s nervous he’s excited, knowing Ethan’s dick is going to fill him up properly, that he’ll feel the thick head knock at the back of his throat and makes his eyes water. He’s hungry for it. Ethan moves closer, knees over Nick’s shoulder as his big hand plants against the wall and his other hand hangs onto his headboard. Nick opens his mouth, ready for it, desperate for it, but he’s patient, waiting for Ethan’s say so, and Ethan makes slow, deliberate movements, wiping the leaking tip of his cock on Nick’s mouth and his cupid’s bow.

“Good boy for waiting,” Ethan praises, and Nick’s dick jumps, “you can suck it now, baby.”

Nick takes as much as he can, which is over half, but not all of it, and sucks in a hollow motion, moving back up before he forces himself to take every inch, down to Ethan’s balls, and pulls back, spluttering.

“Hey,” Ethan says, taking Nick by the chin, “take it easy, baby, don’t choke.”

“M’sorry,” Nick whispers, embarrassed, wanting to be good, to hear Ethan’s praises once more, and he’s easier with it this time, taking Ethan into his mouth and sucking him properly, rather than racing to get the entire dick inside him, and he can enjoy this, sucking Ethan at a nice, fast pace, but not too fast, getting off to the weight of Ethan’s dick and the smell of him, Ethan silent but present, running his thumbs over Nick’s cheekbones as Nick sucks his dick, happy and contented.

He mewls in protest when Ethan grabs his hair and pulls him off, trying to follow Ethan’s dick, not ready to stop, but Ethan isn’t interested, easily flipping Nick over so he’s face down on the bed. Nick waits as the pillows are wrenched from him, Ethan lifting him like a ragdoll as he puts them under Nick’s hips, Nick’s ass higher than before. Nick’s feels like he’s on fire, his skin aflame, pale but also pink with the heat, and he braces himself for Ethan’s fingers, surprised when Ethan covers him with his own body, kissing his neck.

“You’re so hot,” Ethan growls, mouth on Nick’s jaw, and Nick is sure Ethan is trying to actually eat him, “as soon as I saw you get on that aisle, the first thing I thought was, I want to fuck that boy,” Ethan smiles, Nick moaning as Ethan continues licking him, “saw your ass and thought, I bet he loves riding dick.”

Nick all but whimpers, pushing back, needy, and Ethan shows compassion, bringing his hand past Nick’s waist to curve over Nick’s ass, gripping at his hip.

“Do you? Love riding cock?” Ethan pants.

“Yeah,” Nick says, pushing his ass back to feel Ethan’s dick against it, “want me to ride you?”

“Patience, baby,” Ethan demands, pulling Nick over to kiss him, Nick moving with Ethan, not expecting the disappointed moan when Ethan leaves him, moving down and spreading Nick’s legs further apart. Nick keeps his hands up, mouth open and wet on his left hand, gripping the duvet with his other hand, and he trembles as Ethan spreads his ass open, crying out as he feels Ethan’s thumb tease over his rim, pressing down and ever so slightly inwards, teasing, always.

“I’m not a virgin,” Nick says throatily, hoping Ethan will speed up at that, the way he’s playing with Nick’s ass slow and gentle but mind melting at the same time, and Ethan just laughs at that, slapping Nick’s ass playfully with his other hand.

“I didn’t think you were,” Ethan says, voice loud in the silence of the apartment, “I still wanna take my sweet time.”

Nick whines as Ethan continues to give him something but not everything, loud as Ethan slips and pushes a finger inside of him, Nick stretching his legs, his toes, in a heavenly trance as the man explores him. He feels Ethan move, and then hears the squirt of lube, feels another finger join the first, and he gasps as Ethan scissors them, pulling them to the rim, almost fully out, as his thumb makes the gentlest of scrapes on his perineum, to his balls. Nick moans out on his hand, practically drooling.

He panics as he feels Ethan’s fingers disappear, not wanting this to be over, throwing his head back as he searches for an answer.

“Turn back around, baby,” Ethan insists, not looking at Nick, transfixed on his ass. He immediately obliges, feeling his brain mush and fill with Ethan Ethan Ethan. He feels like it’s been hours but he knows that’s untrue, and he’s ready to beg for it, for Ethan to open him again and slide his big cock inside him, but he doesn’t have to say anything as Ethan spreads him before dipping down. Nick all but screams as Ethan’s tongue licks across the rim of his hole, wet and rough. Nick instinctively tries to move forward, but he can’t; he’s facedown and Ethan’s hands are alternate from his hips to his asscheeks, spreading them again, as he eats Nick out. The rough texture of Ethan’s tongue, the way he presses his big, puffy lips on Nick’s rim is almost enough to make Nick sob. He’s holding it together, just thrusting as much as he can with the pillows underneath him and when he moves his forehead, he notices how sweaty he is, the back of his hands shining.

He yelps as Ethan pushes his tongue inside his hole and brings his hand up to the base of Nick’s spine, pressing his thumb inside of Nick to keep him slightly open. Nick is lost, utterly ruined, shook by how this stranger knows his body better than he does, whining as Ethan keeps his face buried in his ass; not for one-minute hesitating or slowing down as he eats Nick out as passionately as he kisses his mouth.

“I’m – Ethan - ,” he begs, knowing he’s a few well timed thrusts from Ethan’s tongue and fingers away from coming on the pillows beneath him, Ethan pulling his fingers out with a clear, wet pop, removing his tongue too, not before he sinks his teeth into one of Nick’s asscheeks. Nick is wrecked, his body tingling, his thighs burning from Ethan’s sharp teeth, a wetness between his legs like he’s never felt and an ache in his balls that is begging for release.

“You’re perfect,” Ethan assures him, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Nick looking at him longingly over his shoulder, “what do you want, baby?”

“You,” Nick moans, pushing himself back, wanting Ethan’s cock in him, “please, Ethan.”

“Mmm,” Ethan muses, and Nick is pleased to see he’s also hot, pink, sweat linging on his forehead from exertion, Nick yelping as Ethan brings his hand down on Nick’s ass, playful but enough to tan it, “turn around.”

Nick does, fairly weak now and desperate, beyond desperate, for his orgasm to tear through him and leave him blind and gasping. Ethan throws away the pillows carelessly, grabbing Nick’s hips and bringing him down, as he lubes up his dick and presses the head against Nick’s hole. Nick nods, and Ethan begins to push, Nick inhaling, mouth open, as he feels the familiar burn of a nice, thick cock pressing inside of him. Ethan is slow but intense, forcing Nick’s thighs up as he makes his way in, Nick groaning, a little high pitched towards the end when he feels Ethan is fully in. He lets one of Nick’s legs drop, apparently unable to leave Nick’s face or hair alone, before he begins to fuck Nick, gently at first.

“You naughty boy,” Ethan whispers, “is this what you wanted, huh?”

“Yeah,” Nick begs, voice broken, “god, please, give it to me.”

Ethan doesn’t waste time. Nick lets go of any dignity he was hoping to keep, moaning and whimpering with every single thrust Ethan makes. Ethan takes Nick like Nick belongs to him, like this is his right, to spread Nick wide and to fuck him, hips snapping into hips as Ethan clings to him tightly, Nick feeling Ethan’s dick so deep inside him, touching places he’s never felt anyone touch, his vision clouding over.

“Ethan,” Nick sobs, overwhelmed, Ethan slowing down, holding Nick open by his thighs as he pulls his cock out, Nick horrified.

“Ethan! Please! No! I’m sorry, I’m fine, I’m ok, please give it to me,” Nick begs, now losing his self-respect along with his long-gone dignity, feeling on the edge of tears. Ethan can’t leave him like this, can’t bring him to the brink of such pleasure to stop, it’s too cruel, Ethan once again flipping him over so now Nick is on his stomach. He cries out as Ethan slides straight back in, pulling Nick so Nick is on his knees, his upper body stretched out, Ethan’s big hands on both hips, slamming into him, the wet sound of slapping skin obscene alongside Nick’s enthusiastic cries and Ethan’s panting.

Nick is dripping with sweat, sliding off his own arms every time he tries to rest his head, yelping as Ethan yanks him up by his hair.

“Yeah? This what you need, Nick?” he asks, grunting, and Nick moans his agreement, unable to do much else. The forced stretch of his neck is delicious, Ethan not letting his pace drop for a moment, setting a punishing and perfect speed, Nick’s leaking cock a mess as he feels his balls tighten, knowing he’s finally, finally going to lose control and feel that blissful high.

“Want you to come like this,” Ethan says, slapping his ass again, “want you to come from getting fucked.” Nick can’t say anything, can’t even nod, because Ethan’s still pulling his hair as he slams in, quickening his almost reckless pace, Nick only concentrating on that one thing, that one feeling. Ethan is hitting his spot, perfect and fast and desperate and with one last yank of Nick’s hair, he is coming, begging and groaning, babbling a mixture of Ethan and God, blacking out as he does.

He’s beyond over-stimulated, debauched and destroyed as Ethan follows him, letting go of Nick’s hair to cling onto his hips and fuck him with a few last, sprinting thrusts, Nick gasping as he feels Ethan fill him with come, warm and thick, Ethan crying out loudly as well, collapsing on top of Nick.

“Fuck,” Ethan groans into Nick’s hair, “holy fuck.”

“Yeah,” Nick agrees, still too weak to open his eyes or speak.

Ethan kisses the back of his neck before he pulls out his dick, Nick cringing as he hears the wet sounds, feeling Ethan fall out of him, and he’s mildly disgusted when Ethan rocks back onto his knees, opening Nick’s ass again, looking down at his wet, come filled ass.

“Ethan,” Nick accuses, feeling his face heat up Ethan further, Ethan just smirking, proud of the mess he’s created, Nick sore and sensitive as Ethan plays with him a little, whimpering as he feels some come drip out. Ethan laughs at Nick's embarrassment, leaning over and scrambling around some bedside drawers. Nick gasps as he feels coolness on his ass, Ethan clearly wiping him clean.

Ethan flips back down next to Nick, Nick still curled into the pillow, not shy but very aware of his sweaty, exhausted, fucked-out look. Ethan runs his fingers through red hair, not tugging this time, and he leans in, kissing Nick in a way that betrays his previous rough and ready treatment. Nick responds softly, kissing back.

“You ruined me,” Nick gasps, still numb, and Ethan stifles a giggle, “you ruined me,” he retorts. They lie like this for a few precious minutes, Ethan still excited as he sits up, ruffling his hair before he fishes around for something, Nick half watching out of the corner of his eye when he sees Ethan hold out Nick’s phone like he’s won a prize.

“Unlock it,” Ethan says, handing it to Nick, who does it without question. Ethan scrolls, finding the groupchat

The chat after Ethan sent a photo of himself went into a frenzy, a long conversation between his two friends going about how hot he is.

Ethan giggles at it, and Nick thinks he’s quite beautiful, pretty brown eyes and that sinful mouth and a tongue that Nick wants to feel a thousand times more.

Nick frowns as Ethan types, lazily trying to grab it back but missing entirely.

“What are you typing? Ethan?”

“I’m saying… ‘he’s just been balls deep inside me’,” Ethan cackles, and Nick shoots up at that, grabbing his phone, seeing the exact words sent by ‘Nick’ in the chat.

“Fuck!” he says, “Ethan!”

He settles back down, cringing as he sees the messages from Ethan's first text fly in, making Ethan laugh loudly and Nick cringe but smile all the same.

jacob elordi brainrot

Tara: HOLY FUCKKKK

Larray: u little SLUT

Larray: how big is he?

Tara: NICK FINALLY GOT DICK GUYS IM SO PROUD OF HIMM 😭😭😭

Larray: ANSWER ME RN

Ethan snatches it back, taking Nick by surprised then takes a snap of them, Nick hiding half his face under the duvet, Ethan looking far too pleased with himself.

“You look so cute,” Ethan says, and Nick’s stomach summersaults again, watching Ethan send the picture, waiting for the instant replies.

His phone pinged constantly after the photo was sent, Nick can imagine what kinds of debauchery his two friends are yapping about the situation.

“Your friends are funny,” Ethan laughs, putting the phone aside, and Nick is over his initial embarrassment, especially as Ethan cuddles into him, letting Nick rest in the crook of his neck. He feels Ethan’s arm around him and kisses into his hair so he sneaks an arm around the other, hugging his waist close, enjoying the feel of a smile against his forehead.

“They got me laid, so, yeah, they’re ok,” Nick says into Ethan’s chest, Ethan playing with his hair as he mutters, “they got you completely fucked – ruined – I think you said.”

“Shit, let it go,” Nick teases.

“You’ve had better, baby?” Ethan checks, and Nick wants to lie, to tease, to flirt, but he has no energy and it’s preposterous to think he's had better than this. The sex was magnificent, electric, and Nick is still buzzing from it, wondering if he’ll ever come down from it.

“No,” he says shyly, honestly, “you?”

“No, shit. I thought so, but you were something else,” Ethan praises, and Nick preens under his compliments and praise, flushing from pride rather than embarrassment this time around.

“You’re gonna stay, yeah?” Ethan asks, and Nick assumed he was. It feels natural, being here, like this, with Ethan. Nick nods into Ethan’s chest, and Ethan hugs him tighter, promising they’ll chill and order food later, Nick can stay and they’ll watch films.

“Maybe you can make good on your word later,” Ethan growls, “and ride me, bounce on my dick, huh?”

“I can’t even think about any physical activity right now,” Nick sighs dramatically, Ethan tickling his ear. Nick has his eyes closed but he can feel Ethan’s huge, beautiful smile, the visual of it imprinted in his brain. He’s already thinking about it though, climbing on top of Ethan and sitting back on his dick, rolling his hips.

“Okay, sweetheart,” Ethan said, and Nick snuggles into him, making a mental note to thank his friends when he next sees them. He’s sore but satisfied. All he needs is a nap, some food, and then he thinks he’ll enjoy showing Ethan exactly how good he is.

#nick sturniolo #nick sturniolo fanfic #nick sturniolo smut #nick sturniolo imagine #nick sturniolo fanfiction #nick sturniolo x oc #nick sturniolo x male reader

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lordfreg · 4 months ago

Text

Hello all,

TW for p3d0ph!l!a, z00ph!l!a

Today, I have gotten some allegations against myself for being a pedo + zoophile. This is not true.

As many of you know who are in the TMNT fandom and enjoy the spicy side of these turtles, you often get accused of this. It is unfortunate but true. I knew this was coming, but I feel like I must explain myself further.

As you know, I have a patron. This was actually made prematurely, and is sort of bad, so that will be closing shortly (I apologize). And on this patron, is the option to see "sexy turtles", but nobody has signed up for this and I have no patron exclusive content (yet).

Apparently, this is pedophilia and zoophilia.

(They have conveniently left out the "mutant" part)

This is not true. All the turtles are aged up, which I thought would be implied in the fact that I only (really) draw for the EPA au, and they are visibly, mentally and emotionally older than their cannon counterparts. I.e. wrinkles, more pronounced features, bulkier.

This may be my mistake for wording this poorly, or not taking the proper measures, but you would think the implication, and my two different art styles, would be a major difference.

Anyway, the zoophilia claim is also ridiculous because... seriously? My explanation for this is that they are not only canonically human, they also have been confirmed human DNA. Enough to make them stand on two legs, walk, talk, read, cry, enough human to make them, well.. human.

Another reason is that (rise) Donnie has autism; which is a brain malformation. This means his brain is big enough to not only be malformed, but still functioning. A real turtles brain isn't big enough to be deformed in that way, and if it was, the turtles would unfortunately die.

Continuing, I had the claim that I was "15" because I had put a 18+ only warning on my content. I am not.

AN IMPORTANT ELEMENT; I have put the 18+ warning not because of the sex, but because it contains extreme violence and triggering topics. Sex is NOT the main focus of this AU, or any of my works unless stated "this is for fun/this is because I wanted to/this is explicit" etc. My au is to delve into trauma, war, violence, sexual trauma (to both male and female), and generally bring awareness to things and help support people. It is NOT just smut.

This, again, could have been my sever lack of forethought and under-explaining my au, simply because I didn't actually know what my au would be about/contain. Again, I take responsibility for my poor wording and lack of (more) warnings.

Also, this person is actually just bullying me with my old self ship art (which i still love and adore), so... pity points?

More on myself; I'm coming to the realization (after years of being hypersexual), that sex is not a priority to me, nor is it something that I feel a strong compulsion to make/indulge in. I am not a sexual deviant, meaning I do NOT support harmful sexual behaviors. Zoophilia is actively taking advantage of animals, which I am not, and will never do.

It is unfortunate that some people genuinely cannot control themselves, but I am not one of those people.

I honestly have no idea what I've done to this person to make them put me on blast, and whatever it is, I'm sorry. I will, again, be taking down my patron page to start over, and I apologize to my patrons already, but it's sucky.

Again, sorry about this and for everyone who goes through this. I am sorry, dear friend, that you're writhing with jealousy. And I am sorry, patrons, that I have to close my patron. I love all my followers, and I try my best to send the "Thanks for the follow" to show my appreciation.

Myself and @lexiechr will continue to work on the EPA au, and that will be posted when ready.

(Also, my Instagram is now private because I don't want harassment nor people thinking I'm a bad person. I am just being bullied and bring a socially awkward idiot about it.)

Again, much love, Jorjie :3

#freg speaks #fregart #freg art #update #tw pedophila mention #tw zoophile mention #faulse allegations #tw bullying #tw bullies #im soooooo over this person for real

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zablife · 4 months ago

Text

Long Distance

Johnny Davis x reader

Johnny Davis Masterlist

Summary: Johnny calls from the road to check in on you. He can tell from the sound of your voice, you're desperate for him so he decides to help you...but only if you're a very good girl.

A/N: Sorry for all the requests I have piling up in my inbox! I will get to them soon. This was giving me brain rot tho. 18+ MDNI, guided masturbation, use of the term "daddy"

The phone trills once, then twice as you scramble to reach it, knocking the heavy receiver from its cradle in your eagerness. "J-johnny?" you falter softly.

"Hey, babydoll," he hums. If he closes his eyes, he can almost picture you in a pastel nightgown, brushing your hair in front of the television set as you do every night.

"Waited for your call," you simper, despite your drooping eyelids. "I needed to hear your voice tonight."

"You waited for me, huh?" he asks, a smirk audible in his voice as he realizes the need present in your voice.

"Course I did," you coo back at him and he can envision that look in your doe eyes, large and glossy as you listen to his every word with pure adoration.

"That's right, cause you're my sweet girl. So good for me," he praises, knowing how wet that makes you.

"I am," you nod obediently as though he might be watching.

"You ready for me?" he asks, even though he knows the answer to the question before he asks it.

"Want you so much," you murmur, hips rocking against the sofa involuntarily, a vain attempt to gain some kind of friction.

"Oh, sweetheart...you don't sound so good," he can't help but tease, knowing you haven't had a release in over a week. "Tell daddy what's wrong?"

You want to touch, fingers sliding down your abdomen and stopping at the band of your underwear. However, you freeze as you remind yourself it isn't allowed when Johnny's not home. The more you try to talk yourself out of it, the worse the torture becomes. The fire burning beneath your skin simply won't abate so you decide to beg. "The tingles are too bad tonight," you whine pathetically. "Please let me touch, daddy."

Johnny hums for a moment as he considers it, relishing the power he holds and then his mind is made up. "Only if you listen to my voice very carefully, little one."

Your heart leaps at his permission, chin nodding against your chest vigorously before you've even heard his terms. "Yes, yes, yes," you pant, tracing your hand along the gusset of your panties in expectation. It draws a tell tale whimper from your lips which doesn't go unnoticed.

"You're breakin' the rules, darlin'," he warns in a low growl, making you gulp and jerk your hands from your body, head turning to see if he might be peeking through the curtains.

Then you hear a good natured chuckle rumble from his chest followed by honey coated words of praise, "Just joking, sugar, want my girl to feel good all the time. But you gotta let me show you how, okay?"

You sink back into the sofa with a sigh, eyelids half closed as Johnny gives you the okay to slide your panties from your legs.

"Pull your nightie up and let it sit high on your waist now," he instructs in a thick whisper. "Spread your legs so you feel that nice, cool breeze on your pussy....But don't touch her yet."

You pant into the receiver and hear him laugh at you. "Johnny, don't!" you scold him as your crimson nails dig into the cushions, head tossed back in agony.

"Sorry, angel," he corrects himself. "Can't help but imagine you spread wide, dripping on the couch cushions," he defends himself. "My lonely little baby making a mess just cause she misses her daddy."

You bite your lip, his filthy words making you warmer by the minute. "Pl-please," you whimper.

"Oh, angel..."Johnny breathes down the line and you can practically hear him palming himself to your frantic panting. "Go on and touch. Tell me how wet you are f'me."

You trill in exquisite delight as your hand slides between parted lips, your slick coating your eager fingertips. "So wet," you echo back to him.

"Wish I could have a taste'," he murmurs in appreciation and you can vaguely hear a smacking sound in the distance. "You go on and taste for daddy like a good girl, won't ya?" he asks with a deep sigh.

"Uh-huh," you slur out in promise.

"Slow now, leave a trail up that perfect body before you suck those fingers. Got two in your mouth now?" he asks.

"Mmmmm," you confirm, pursing your lips and licking your juices.

"You taste sweet or salty tonight?" he prods, wanting to know every detail.

"Sweet," you taunt, middle finger popping from your pouty lips audibly.

"Then you're ovulatin' darlin'. Gotta get back to ya soon," he grits out, the wet sounds on his end growing louder. The idea of breeding you always a turn on for him.

"Daddy?" you whine.

"What is it, honey? What you want?" he begs to know.

"I ache," you remind him.

"Gonna take care of that right now, sugar," he promises lowly. "Rub for me like you I taught ya."

Your hand slides to your clit, fingers tracing circles feverishly now that you've been given permission. A wanton moan escapes and Johnny knows you've complied.

"Feelin' good?" he asks.

"S-soo good," you slur as your back arches off the sofa to meet your own hand.

"I know, playin' with that pussy feels like heaven, don't it?" he reminisces to himself, thinking of your soft, warmth clutching his fingers and milking his cock. "Can make you feel drunk," he adds with a sigh.

You nod in agreement, fingers fumbling against your swollen bud in satisfaction until he adds soberly, "But that's why you gotta stop when you can't think straight. Stop and count to ten."

"Wh-what?" you mutter, feeling your pulse throb in your clit painfully the moment you cease movement.

"I said, hands off," he instructs sternly. "Start countin."

You nearly cry as you begin in slow uneven breaths, Johnny humming his approval and hushing the tears he knows are threatening to spill over your beautiful lashes.

When you come to the end, he soothes you, "Good girl, I know that was hard. Wish I could see that pretty pussy clenching for me, I do," he sympathizes in the softest voice you've ever heard. Yet somehow you still want to hit him, claw at him for keeping you from your release.

"Johnny, please..." you whimper. "N-need it," you beg.

"Smack it first," he answers. As your knuckles tighten against a cushion without verbal reply, he coaxes, "S'okay, little one, didn't say I was gonna ruin it, did I? You're gonna cum hard for me in a minute. Hang on, now."

And you know he wants to hear the sounds of your palm meeting your wetness, giving you just enough stimulation to keep you on edge. Brow furrowed as your hand raises in the air, you whine against the sting, his chuckle your only answer to the question if he's satisfied.

After a long pause he sighs deeply over the line, imagining the jaw dropping sight of your red, puffy lips. "Go on, slide your fingers in," he tells you breathlessly, wishing he could feel the heat against his own hand. "You deserve it, angel baby."

"Thank you, thank you," you mutter to him as you pump your digits into your throbbing cunt, needing something, anything to help you peak.

But it isn't enough and your frustrated grunts soon prove it. Johnny knows it before you can express the thought and he whispers a solution in your ear like a savior. "Hairbrush, darlin'. Use the handle to fuck yourself," he offers.

The relief is instant, reaching further than your small hand ever could and you're a whimpering mess, dropping the receiver from your shoulder before you realize you're cumming hard.

That doesn't matter to Johnny though. He's listening to every harmonious sound over the static filled line, spilling over his hand just as you seem to crest. "My perfect babydoll," he grunts in complete satisfaction.

When you recover, you find the phone and place it to your ear. "J-johnny?" you repeat much like the beginning of your conversation.

"Did daddy make it better, darlin'?" he asks with a smug grin on his face.

"So much better," you huff out, still experiencing aftershocks as your hands trace over trembling thighs.

"Sleep tight. I'm comin' home tomorrow and I want you well rested," he reminds you, thoughts of everything he wants to do to you in the forefront of his mind.

---------------------

Tag List:

@potter-solomons

@mollybegger-blog

@gardens-light

@mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler

@buttercupsandboys

@dreamlandcreations

@kmc1989

@mayfieldss

@semperamans

@frnchgirls

@anqeliclust

@stvr-dust

@maisie-rebloging-blog

@filmtv2022

@leenieweenie12

@lyralu91

@alfiestreacle

@hecatemoon87

@darklydeliciousdesires

#the bikeriders #the bikeriders fanfiction #Johnny Davis x reader #Johnny Davis fanfiction #Johnny Davis x you #Johnny Davis #Tom Hardy

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valley-of-headcanons · 5 months ago

Note

You asked for request so here’s a fun silly one. Bachelor reacting to the farmer getting annoyed and yelling “Bite me!” In the middle of a fight/argument. Do they? Don’t they? Or does it just had fuel to the fire? Enjoy and have fun~

bachelors reacting to “bite me!” || headcanons

in the middle of a small argument, your words move faster than your brain. well, here goes nothing!

warnings: slightly suggestive at times? not really tho

requested by: anon! hiya, thank you so much for requesting! sorry for the mini-hiatus. life moves so fast sometimes. this isn't really well written, i apologize, not my finest but i hope you enjoy it nonetheless! <3

alex

• Alex stared at you for a minute. The nature of the argument was playful, and your statement made him just want to tease you more. He playfully smirked at you, placing his hands on your hips with a small chuckle. He was pretty tall, so he was most likely looking down at you, a devilish grin on his lips.

• “Where?” he said, laughing softly. Seeing your face grow red, realizing what you've just said, he held back his laughter. He loved seeing you all flustered, and he's sure you just said that out of instinct. “Now you're getting all shy? You're no fun,” he fake-pouted. He released his grasp and watched you practically explode. It was really, really entertaining for him.

elliott

• Elliott wasn't expecting such a remark from you. He gasped playfully, placing a hand on his chest. It was like you had just insulted his entire family line and spit on his grave. How dare you say such a thing! He was really playing up his response, drawing it out in his dramatic way. That's just Elliot, and you absolutely love to see it.

• “Why would you say something so cruel?! To even suggest that I would do something as crude as biting you? That's preposterous! Gosh- that is so offensive- I don't think we should speak anymore. I will never utter a single word in your direction for the rest of eternity. Goodbye,” he said, his hand coming up to block you. He didn't mean it, he loves messing around in his own little way. What a man.

harvey

• Harvey's face flushed a bright red. He didn't expect such a comment, and it made his stomach do a somersault. He cleared his throat, taking a step back. Readjusting his coat, Harvey wracked his brain for things to say. You were so smug about it! You just stared at him with a big ole grin. Little bastard. He had no idea what to respond with, becoming a stuttering mess!

• “W-What?- wh- ... huh? H- ... How does that even come to mind in a situation like this? ... why would I bite you?- oh- you meant it as- ... I apologize for the misunderstanding- ... what do you mean, it's cute?!” he said, getting even more flustered as you kept going. The poor guy can never catch a break while you're around. You may be a menace to society, but you're Harvey's menace.

sam

• Sam says the phrase pretty often, so the fact that you started saying it practically warms his heart. But he's been waiting for the day someone says it to him. His perfect response, his perfect rebuttal. Sam doesn't get these moments often, so he's prepared! This is it, he's going to get you back so good! Hah, you're going to be practically speechless after you hear this!

• “Bite you? ... uhh- ... no, you probably taste like- ... hot dog water, or something else ... equally ... gross ... man, I really thought I had a good comeback this time,” Sam laughed, looking away nervously. He's just a little dumb, but you have to admit, it was probably the best response to that statement you've ever heard. So yeah, it did leave you speechless. Maybe not in the intended way, though.

sebastian

shane

• Sebastian softly smiled at your stupid little remark. It was cute, he had to admit. You were really cute in his eyes anyway. He loved you being “annoying,” even though others might not. It was amusing, and he loved every little aspect of you. Your little quirks are always fun to analyze on his end. So, he wanted to see how you'd react to this.

• “So you argued with me to ask me that? I would've done it without the argument, I'd bite you whenever,” he said, his face flushing softly. Yeah, he didn't think he'd say something like that either. You were bringing a playful and slightly more confident side out of him! Your face was just about as flushed as he was, both of you now sitting in flustered silence. How the tables have turned.

• Shane was going to fuck with you. Of course he was. His dry sense of humor, his slight pettiness. He loved fucking with you in little ways like this, especially when you were “upset.” His face was completely deadpan, staring at you for a few seconds. Silence filled the room for quite some time before he gave his response, leaving you questioning what was going through his head.

• “Disgusting. Why would you ever suggest that? That's fucking gross, man,” he'd say, before moving closer and softly sinking his teeth into your neck. He'd pull away, a smug grin on his face. “Don't ever suggest that again. Do you think that I'd do something as revolting as biting you? Geez, you need some serious therapy.”

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x-press-it · 7 days ago

Text

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.

Before Logan could react, they smacked him across the face with a loud slap, the sound echoing in the quiet library.

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 scowl.

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, sprawled on the grass, their breathing steadying. 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 Scott 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 Logan’s 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…

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