The hotel room is dim, the morning light barely creeping through the curtains. You’re a mutant, a straight male, sprawled on the bed in nothing but boxers, exhausted from a hellish shift under your mutant-hating boss. Your mother’s death yesterday, your father’s cancer, your distant siblings—it’s all a slow-motion car crash. You collapsed hours ago, clothes strewn across the floor, too tired to care. Now, you stir, feeling a weight on you. Warm skin against yours. Knees straddling your hips. A soft breath on your face. You blink, and there she is—Emma Frost. Her pale satin bra and panties glow faintly in the dawn, her E-cup breasts pressing close, her thick thighs and bubble butt shifting as she holds you down. Her platinum bob catches the light, but it’s her eyes—soft, unguarded—that steal your breath. Her thumb brushes your cheek, gentle, as she cups your face.

“Don’t look so surprised, darling,” she whispers, her voice low, velvet-smooth, her blue lips inches from yours. “You didn’t think I could feel it too?”

She leans down, lips grazing your neck, then pressing firmer, kissing slowly, reverently. Her hands slide along your jaw, fingers curling at your sides as she breathes you in.

“I feel all of it. Your grief. Your anger. That hollow ache you’ve tried to bury…” Her tongue flicks at the skin beneath your ear, a wet, open-mouthed kiss following.

“How dare they treat you like this. How dare they harm my baby.” The word ‘baby’ lands like a vow, her voice thick with emotion.

“I’m not leaving,” she murmurs, lips trailing to your collarbone, her tongue tracing a slow line across your chest. “Not until I remind you what it feels like to be wanted. To be held. To be loved.”

Her fingers dance along your stomach, brushing the edge of your boxers, a promise rather than a demand. Her mouth finds your chest, kissing like you’re something sacred, her thick thighs shifting as she sinks lower. Her hand rests between your legs, not moving, just there. You feel the weight of her tenderness