marci.

she / they

[devilofxmen]

MARCEL / MARCI — eighteen. happily taken. too obsessed with marvel, especially xmen. in luv with matt murdock, scott summers, writing, and everything daredevil.

first year uni student. not new to writing, just new posting it for the world to read. scattered posts + messier ideas!

masterlist. rules + info.

[devilofxmen]

hello! I absolutely adore the fics you’ve done so far and was wondering if you’d do a scott summers x reader where he’s crushing on them big time but refuses to actually ask them out, but once reader starts getting closer to someone else he’s forced to act upon his jealousy so he doesn’t loose them?

closer. | scott summers.

pairing | scott summers x reader

summary | scott is obsessed with you. he'd spent every waking moment with you, if he could. everything is going perfectly, until Logan starts to pull your attention away.

tags | gender neutral reader, jealous scott summers, protective scott summers, logan howlett mentions, cocky scott summers, kissing, fluff, vague mentions of reader being injured, obsessed scott summers

w/c | 1,264

a/n | i love this version of scott <3 hope u all enjoy and thank you sm for all the love on my fics!!

—

You always had a way to get into Scott’s mind. 

Whether it was how you looked at him when you two met or how you talked so sweet to him no matter how else the team treated him, you made a space for yourself in his mind. The careful routine he had built up hinged on the fact that Scott would never share time with anyone, and your presence around him shattered that quickly. 

He was always desperate to capture your attention and hold onto it for as long as he could, before you’d inevitably focus on something else. Scott was relentlessly teased by Ororo for showing off in front of you, he didn’t even care how embarrassing it was. He lived for your sickly sweet praise on how much of a leader he was. 

Scott soaked up every minute spent around you. In the kitchen during early mornings, danger room briefings, even in your own room when you invited him in. Your room was his favorite place to be in fact, everything there was so uniquely you. He would spend his time admiring your posters and trinkets, careful not to disturb anything while you showed off all your collections. Scott’s heart would beat faster if you stood close enough and rambled about each thing he touched.

Scott knew he was losing his mind and you were always there, oblivious to how much you affected him. 

It would make sense that you wouldn’t think twice about Logan. You didn’t understand Scott’s dedication towards you. If you had, you wouldn’t even be occupied in the living room with Logan right now, you’d be at Scott’s side. 

Scott had just finished a briefing that he didn’t quite care for. He had spent most of the meeting just counting down the minutes until he could see you again, and once he was freed from his duties, he began his search for you.

Jean had pointed him towards the living room, mentioning that you were just lounging after going out for lunch. When Scott stopped outside the closed door, he could hear your sweet voice and his shoulders relaxed. Before his hand could reach the handle, Logan’s voice joined yours. He said something funny enough to make you burst out in loud laughter, his own laugh joining yours.

The fact of Logan making you laugh so loud grated at his nerves before he could stop himself. He knew he was being ridiculous over something as small as a joke, but he couldn’t help it. Logan didn’t deserve to hear your laughs for that long.

Scott took a slow deep breath and pushed open the door. He was met with the sight of you, lounging across the couch, feet bumping against Logan's legs while his arms were wrapped around the back of the couch. Both of you looked incredibly relaxed and the logical parts of his mind told him that he shouldn’t be upset. You deserve this, comfortability and downtime with someone else that wasn’t just him, he should be happy for you. 

The other part of his mind, the one you worked your way deep into, told him that you should be relaxing with him, not Logan. Scott should be the one making you laugh as hard as you were, not any of Logan’s cheap jokes.

Scott cleared his throat as soon as he stepped in. Your eyes snapped up to his and Logan had shot him a quick glare. He couldn’t help but melt when your face lit up at just the sight of him. You waved him over, a smile plastered on your face, and he obliged with his own lazy smile. Logan let out a grunt that sounds closer to a curse than a ‘hello’, but Scott’s attention is already completely on you. 

Scott knew that he was being overbearing and that he shouldn’t be so obviously affected by you, but when you tugged him closer and began to talk wildly about your trip out for lunch, his mind completely forgot about Logan.

He quickly gave up any attempt at being subtle once Logan began to get too comfortable with you. In Scott’s eyes, Logan was trying, and failing, to get you away from him. 

When Logan offered you his jacket during a sudden downpour, Scott offered up his own before you could even register Logan’s offer. The sight of you settled in his own clothing, in front of Logan especially, made his chest warm. 

He purposefully swooped in every time Logan attempted to carry a conversation with you longer than just a minute or two. He’d slide into whatever room you two occupied, creating some excuse to drag you away. Scott would nearly smile every time Logan would point a heavy glare at him. 

Or when, during a movie night when Kurt picked out a particularly scary movie, Logan settled himself right next to you. Scott simply sat down on your other side, knees brushing against yours. He couldn’t help the smug look he shot Logan when you curled up into his side, hiding your face at the particularly gross moments.

The final straw was when you got hurt.

It was a failure on Scott’s end. He should’ve planned the mission better, put you farther away from the direct battlefield than right next to him. Stupidly, he let his heart win over his head and now he was paying the hefty price. 

He couldn’t tell what hurt worse: your pained face or Logan’s worried one. He almost shoved Logan away from you, if it wasn’t for his grip being the only thing keeping you up. Scott took charge instead. He had to do something right, even just getting you back to the mansion in one piece. He broke every protocol to ensure you would, even if he had to listen to Logan soothe you the whole flight back.

Scott refused to leave your side once you were settled in the medical wing. He had forced everybody else away, especially after Logan attempted to linger. He couldn’t handle anyone else attempting to take care of you. 

Scott’s mind was a jumbled mess, more than it ever had been before. He spilled every tightly kept secret to you. He couldn’t help it, he had tried his hardest this whole time. To him, the only solution to his mistake was to tell you how much you mattered to him, more than any mission he could send you on.

Everything that weighed on his heart was whispered to you. How much he loved you, how far he’d go just to keep you safe, and how you sitting here, hurt and broken, felt like a knife in his chest.

Scott assumed that you’d probably push him away or tell him to simply leave you alone. Worse, he was waiting for you to ask for Logan. 

The weight of your hands against his face shocked him out of his spiral. The warmth of your hands against his tightly set jaw and the calmness of your stare. And when you shushed him, with a simple kiss to the cheek, he nearly crumbled in your hands. You were kissing him like it was second nature, like he wasn’t the very reason you were sitting in the medical wing. 

You kissed him like any of his fears about Logan were stupid. That you were always his and he was just too blinded to even realize that. Maybe they were, he wasn’t going to question it now. For the first time since you entered his mind, he stopped worrying about you ever leaving it.

[devilofxmen]

idk if you’re taking requests but could you please do one where the reader thinks scott hates her but in reality he just has a huge crush and doesn’t know how to act around her

unspoken truths | scott summers.

pairing | scott summers x reader

summary | You and Scott haven't been apart since you two met. You and him always seem to have a reason to be attached at the hip, until you aren't. Days stretch into weeks, and you can't seem to understand why Scott won't let you get close anymore.

tags | fem reader, avoidant scott, lots of misunderstandings, friends to lovers, crushing, reader is friends with jean, ignoring feelings, fluff, scott summers is comically bad at feelings

w/c | 2,800

a/n | thank you for the request anon! i had so much fun writing this (shoutout to my gf for betaread!)

—

“The importance of clearing out large-scale buildings before engaging in rescue is high, without doing so it poses a significant amount of risks to yourself and whoever you may be attempting to rescue.”

Your eyes traced Scott’s rigid posture as he droned on about battle strategy. It was easy to forget your frustrations with him if you stared long enough. His voice was monotone but just as intense as anything else he spoke about.

His seriousness was something you were fond of, you seemed to be alone in that. Maybe that because you got to see the more relaxed version of him, you learned to appreciate both sides of the coin. 

Scott didn’t find battle strategy laughable or something to shortcut. To him, it was about the safety of every person in the room, even the half-asleep ones. The seriousness was something that took time to appreciate and anyone rarely did until it either saved a life or protected the grounds of the mansion. You appreciated it the moment you met him. 

You joined this team long after Scott took the leading role and he quickly grabbed your attention, whether he meant it or not. Even the tour he took you on was given the same seriousness of a mission and you had been caught in Scott’s orbit since. 

Of course, you could read past all that seriousness easily. It took you a while to see his own acts of rebellion, they were quiet and laced in every word. It was a puzzle to everyone and yet you seemed to connect every piece the easiest. 

Maybe that’s what drew Scott to you, too. How easy you were given his jumble of pieces and rough edges and connected them like it was second nature. To you, all of the intensity and seriousness was just love in a different jacket.

You and Scott did everything in pairs after a while. Missions, meetings, tours, and even breakfast were done together. Logan once told you that if Scott walked by, he’d bet everything he had that you were not too far behind him. 

The admission had simultaneously embarrassed you and made you realize that you were falling for the man. Falling was a careful term, it felt more like being thrown down a large cliff. 

You weren’t obvious about your steep falling. If anything you wanted to keep it packed down deep in your heart. It was something that would stir whenever he got too close, or kept his eyes on you for just a heartbeat longer. It was a dangerous thing and you wanted to keep it to yourself. 

Scott made that task nearly impossible for a plethora of reasons. Too many to even name if you were given the chance. There were two glaringly obvious ones that never failed to stir that dangerous feeling awake, making it shake in your gut and claw at your heart. 

The easier reason was his fascination with you. How you held yourself, how you talked, solved team issues, how you handled your mutation. It was all an intricate dance to him and he was willing to learn every move. 

You caught him too many times with his attention lingering on you far longer than anyone else's. The intensity of his stare behind those ruby quartz lenses when you spoke up during long meetings. When it was your turn to present at a particularly important meeting, Scott barely broke his attention on you to hand Jean a pen. 

He would linger after everyone walked out just so you two could sit in that room for hours afterwards, having your own meetings about whatever was discussed. He’d compliment each idea you brought up and manage to connect yours to his seamlessly. 

The other reason was significantly more painful. 

There was a jarring distance between you two since last month and you have not the faintest idea where it came from. 

He pulled back slightly at first, so slight that you hadn’t even noticed enough to comment on the abruptness of it. Scott’s focus was reined in now. 

You noticed at the start that he would leave with everyone else after meetings, following everyone else out before you had a chance to catch him. You wrote it off as normal. He was a leader, after all. He couldn’t lend every second of his time to you. 

After a few days, he never stuck around after meetings again. You tried to catch up to him multiple times and you only succeeded once. He told you he was simply caught up in things and needed to put his full focus on an upcoming mission the professor had included him in.

The whole thing seemed farfetched but you didn’t want to accuse Scott of flat-out lying to your face. You let him walk off and, for once, you weren’t right behind him.

The slight bit of distance turned into a vast canyon between you and him. You did your absolute best to act uncaring about it all. If anyone dared to comment on the sudden lack of Scott by your side, you brushed them off with a quick, ‘He’s busy.’

You knew for a fact it dug deeper beyond Scott’s sudden busyness, and it showed itself during the very meeting you were in and actively trying to tune out. Usually, you’d be an active listener, commenting on every point Scott brought up. Yet, you were dead silent, choosing the most interesting point on the wall and glaring at it. 

You gave up the act of trying to conceal how you felt towards the new distance two weeks in. It was growing between you and everyone now, you couldn’t help it. You grew such a comfortable routine with Scott, and it was shattered in days, laying in pieces at your feet. 

Scott’s voice was a steady lull against your thoughts about the past month, a painful reminder of what you missed so much. You try to think back on the last time you and him had a steady discussion about something other than excuses. You cornered him last night about the possibility of just going on a simple walk to get fresh air and he shut you down then too.

You whittled the hundreds of reasons he gave down to him just having a general disdain towards you. Nothing else made sense, you knew there was no mission that the professor gave him and you knew that his mental list wasn’t chalked full of things to do. You ran into a dead-end with Scott and you needed something to choke out that last bit of hope biting at your gut, telling yourself he hated you did just fine. 

You didn’t realize the meeting had ended until Jean’s careful foot knocked against yours, drawing you out of your thoughts. She gave you a worried glance as she stood, but you knew that she wasn’t going to push you for an answer, no one did anymore.

Scott was well out of the room by the time you even spared a glance towards his direction. You stood and mumbled your thanks at Jean, slipping off into the hall before she could catch up to you.

You could hear Scott’s voice from further down the hall, laced with a nervousness he’s been carrying all month. Ororo’s voice cut him off with a stricter tone. You couldn’t pick up on any words as they'd quieted before you had the chance to eavesdrop properly. He walked out of the room faster than you anticipated and you nearly crashed into him. 

Scott looked like a deer in headlights as soon as his eyes met yours, the red of his glasses did nothing to mask the storm of emotions he carried. He looked like a fragment of the man you spent every waking moment with and it almost made you ignore the steadily growing distance between you. 

Your words mumble together as you try to say something before he slips away again, whether mentally or physically this time, “Are you going to talk to me?” 

There were so many things you wanted to say but this took priority. You weren’t going to waste your breath if he believes that even talking to you wasn’t worth it anymore. 

He scoffed and cast his glance down, shaking his head like you asked if the sky was green. For a man that once held so much of your heart, you sure wanted to smack him.

“What’s there to talk about? I have to go find Logan, if there’s something you need just tell me now, I’m… busy.” Scott trailed off and he looked ready to bolt away at the next opportunity.

It was your turn to shake your head at him, “No, no I’m not buying the busy act, Scott. You can find Logan later and you can talk to me now.” He looked stunned and for the first time in a while he looked rooted to the ground.

“You’ve ignored me all month. Not a word, no explanation or reasoning, you were just gone. You made me look like an idiot, like a lost puppy following you around.” You gestured wildly, anger was bubbling up now, searing your throat and chest. Those dangerous emotions were stirring again and you felt sick. 

“Did I do something to you? Tell me now, Scott, and I swear to you that I will just leave you alone.” He looks pained at your words, like he’s teetering dangerously along the canyon that split between you two long ago. 

Students walk by in the hallway and they eye the two of you wordlessly. You know they’re going to gossip about it to every other student, how you and Scott were standing there between a wall of tension so thick it could be cut with a knife. Once they’re further down the hall, Scott lets out a long sigh, his fists clench uselessly at his sides like he’s fighting himself. 

“You didn’t do anything, okay? Just drop it, there’s no point. Logan’s probably already gone by now, too.” He mumbles the last part to himself, and that seems to upset him more than anything. The once-hot anger has cooled into a thick sadness that ran into your veins. 

He was pulling away actively and all you wanted was to reach out and grab him. Shake an answer out of him, at least. Scott pushes past you after a few beats of silence and leaves you standing dumbly in the hall. You let out a shaky laugh that sounds closer to tears and Jean seems to materialize in the hallway. You were sure she listened to the whole ordeal, as she didn’t question you, just walked you into a classroom.

Couches were scattered around the room, along with a mixture of standard chairs. She pulled you to an old couch that groaned when the both of you sat and tugged your hands into hers. They trembled with the effort of holding everything in. 

“I used to think that the only way to get under Scott’s skin was to go against mission orders. Then you came along and he started falling apart if you looked his way.” Her thumbs brushed softly against your hands and she gave you a slow smile, “I don’t think he’s used to that yet.”

Tears prick at your eyes and you rub them away prematurely, “So what? I’m supposed to just hate him until he decides when I can be close?” Hate and sadness sear deep under your skin, and you can’t tell which of the two is winning. Jean shakes her head with a small laugh, “I think you’ll find him in his room.” 

She pats your hands gently and stands, giving you one last smile before walking out, leaving you in silence. You think over everything she told you, picking at it carefully for a while. You think about her mentions of Scott falling apart at your glances, of all the times Scott would stare at you openly, or when he found any reason to bring you along during his busy schedule. You think of every moment spent together, and then the ones spent apart. 

It takes you a minute longer to piece the giant puzzle Jean left for you before the answer clicks. 

Scott’s door is shut when you finally get to his room. You knock on it and shift your weight. It hadn’t been too long since Jean left and you held out hope that Scott didn’t find something to do in the time it took for you to get here. 

The door clicks open and Scott’s glasses flash in the hallway light. He seemed surprised to see you outside of his door after the argument in the hallway and, deep down, you were surprised you were here, too. 

“We need to talk.” You don’t ask if he can, you know he’ll end up just rejecting your attempts like before. The door opens wider and he lets you in, and you make a mental reminder to take Jean out for coffee to thank her for the pep talk. 

Scott looks disheveled in every sense of the word. His hair is unbrushed and some strands are actively fighting him. His clothes look thrown on, different from his usual business casual outfits. He stands in the middle of his room with tense shoulders. If someone walked in, they’d think he was awaiting you to punch him. 

Your eyes glance over his belongings for only a few moments. Sometimes, when there was nothing to do, you’d spend time in each other's rooms. Gossiping, going over battles, or just sharing time together. His room was messier, books and papers scattered along his bed and desk, but relatively the same. 

You sat on the edge of his bed and focused your stare on his carpet. He sank down next to you, bed dipping against his weight. 

Scott spoke before you could, “You make it impossible to feel sane.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed together, eyes darting to him in an instant. He shakes his head quickly, “When I’m around you, I’m somehow off center and caught in your space simultaneously. And I thought that if I denied what I felt, it’d go away soon enough.” He shifts on the bed, facing you directly this time, “When it didn’t, when everything I felt about you just grew stronger, I thought that maybe distance would fix it.”

He runs a shaky hand through his hair, “And clearly, I was wrong about that, too.”

You take a careful breath and think of Jean's words for a final moment. Silence stretches between you two. It’s not tense with anger, but with a whole new feeling. He closes the gap between you two physically, grabbing at your jaw and pulling you closer. You nearly knock off his glasses with how hard you're pulled forward. The tension melts from his frame as soon as your lips are on his, you’re too drunk on him to notice your own shoulders relaxing.

“Next time, just kiss me instead of avoiding me, Scott.” There’s no heat behind your words this time, and you melt into his touch once he grabs at you again. He kisses you like he might die if he doesn’t and you can’t complain, not when you kiss back just as eager. 

Between each kiss, he details every way you made him feel insane. Each look, each touch, everything that drove him crazy, and you think that you might be going insane now, too. 

Your face is warm after he pulls away longer this time, forehead bumping against yours slightly as he catches his breath. “I thought you hated me, you know.” Your voice is small and breathless and he laughs, a sweet sound. 

“Does it seem like I hate you now?”

The last time you were in his room on his bed, he was showing you maps of surrounding forests, detailing weak points and battle strategy. Now, he was kissing the air from your lungs and the thoughts from your head. The thought of him disliking you was far away now, so far gone that you couldn’t even give a reasoning behind your thoughts.

Scott loved you seriously, like everything else he held onto. He wasn’t afraid of that anymore, or what kissing you meant. He was more focused on you than anything in his mind. Tomorrow could be spent unpacking every emotion, detailing everything that you felt towards him, and defining what he meant to you. For now, you went straight back to kissing him. 

[devilofxmen]

marci's masterlist  ꕀ 

⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖

꒰  scott summers   ꒱

─ i guess i'm just a playdate to you

─ eager anticipation

─ head over expensive heels

─ unspoken truths

─ closer.

꒰  matt murdock  ꒱

─ both arms cradle you now.

others tbd.

[devilofxmen]

head over expensive heels. | scott summers.

pairing | scott summers x reader

summary | scott just can’t stop spending money on you, he seems almost obsessed with it. He’ll take you to any store and buy you anything your heart could desire, even if you dig your heels in.

tags | fem reader, sweet scott summers, obsessed scott summers, fluff, mentions of dresses/reader wearing dresses, rich scott summers

w/c | 940

a/n | my scott cards finally came in, gonna pretend scott paid for them

—

“Just buy it.” Scott’s voice is clipped, it’s his fifth time telling you, and yet you’re standing awkwardly in the store.

You know he’s not mad at you, just the fact he still has to show you that money isn’t an issue with him. You want to snap his debit card in half, but you’re sure he has a few more stashed away.

Your hands brush over the jacket, then pick up the tag to study it again. You hear him sigh and pluck the jacket, and tag, out of your hands. He drapes it over his arm, adding to the pile of shirts. He looks expectantly at you like you’re just going to toss clothes at him. You want to pitch a fit and demand that he stops spending so much money on you, yet you know it’d fall on deaf ears. Hell, Scott would just use your distracted mind to pick out more clothes for you.

You saunter over to the display of dresses, hand wandering over the fabric of a beautiful green one. His heavy footsteps are behind you. He’s happy to follow you around. Most men get tired after three stores, and that’s pushing it. Scott is different. He gets upset if you don’t at least stop into two different stores. He’s more than happy to trail behind you, holding each article of clothing, your purse, phone, or anything else you might collect.

You grab the dress off the rack and hold it in front of yourself. You can tell he’s looking you up and down when his jaw goes slightly rigid, he’s fully imagining you wearing it.

“Buy it.” Those two pesky words. Your eyes narrow and you pull the dress away from your body. You study him for a minute, “What color is the dress?”

It’s a low move, you know he can’t actually tell it’s green, but if he’s going to force your hand, you’re basically allowed to poke at him. Scott shakes his head, looking down at the wooden floor, “You’re stubborn, you know that, sweetheart?”

“What color is the dress, and I'll get it.” You hold it behind you, so he can’t snatch it out of your hands. You lift your chin at him, defiant. You’re only teasing and he knows it, he enjoys it. When anyone else teases him, it grates at his resolve. But your little teases make him smile.

“Let me guess,” He hums for a moment before answering, “Green.”

He laughs when you groan, basically throwing the dress at him. He takes it happily, adding it to the pile in his arms. “You cheated,” You grumble, already walking towards the register. He walks behind you, smiling wide, “How could I cheat? It’s not like I lifted my glasses, just a lucky guess.”

You choose to ignore his very sound argument and stand at the register. He places each item on the counter, taking time to detangle hangers and hand them off to the worker. Each item being rung up is torture to your ears, and Scott shoos you away before the worker states the total. He tells you to go outside and see if there’s any other shops you want to visit while he pays. You comply, leaning against the side of the building and eyeing each store. Shoe stores, bakeries, jewelry stores, none quite catch your eye, but you’re sure you’ll visit them anyway.

The door swings open and Scott walks out, bags gathered in one hand. His free hand reaches out and laces together with yours. “Thank you for the clothes, Scott.” You sigh, shooting him a pointed stare with no real heat.

He glances down at you and you know he’s wondering why you are even thanking him. “Of course, no need to thank me. I expect a fashion show, though.”

Scott is almost worse when he takes you out for dates.

He bought a pair of too expensive earrings for you the week before he took you out, claiming you needed them ‘just because.’ The dress you wore was bought last night because he just had to see you wearing it. He basically got on his knees in the middle of a high-end store just to get you to oblige. And to make it worse, he drove you to the extremely expensive restaurant in his Porsche. He was a master at showing off everything, including you.

Dinners, shopping sprees, drives around town, outfits, if you look at something, it’s yours before you can even try to object.

You mentioned an iced coffee that sounded delicious during lunch and it was within your hand in an hour. You brought up how your old necklaces were starting to grow a bit worn and that one had already fallen apart and you had a new collection in a week. It drove you mad and brought a smile to your face at the same time.

Scott couldn’t care. He’d silence your complaints with either a lazy smile or a simple kiss, both were equally effective.

You consider slipping into his wallet and stealing all of his cards while he’s away on a mission, maybe chucking them in the trash so he is at least delayed in his rampant spending for you.

Scott can’t help himself, and who could blame him? Prices weren’t important to him. He knew you could buy things yourself, you frequently did, but where’s the fun in that? You knew that he could get drunk off your smiles or just simply you using, or better yet wearing, something he bought you. He’d never shake the nasty spending habit any time soon.

[devilofxmen]

both arms cradle you now. | Matt Murdock

pairing | matt murdock x reader

summary | After your apartment building was targeted in a gang attack, you’ve been on edge, suffering from intense nightmares and worry. You only catch a bit of peace when Daredevil visits in the dead of night. When one night is too much for you, he invites you to his own apartment to help shoulder a bit of your fear.

tags | gender neutral reader, mentions of past violence/gang violence, reader has trauma, crying, hurt/comfort, mentions of nightmares, fluff, protective matt murdock, gentle matt murdock, strangers to crush, reader refers to matt as daredevil for a while.

w/c | 2,173

a/n | thought of this plot while at the dentist.. hope y’all enjoy

—

The night air was a cold balm against your face. Your cheeks were reddened and ears were already going numb. You didn’t care, just tugging your cheap jacket closer on your body. Even though the sun had dipped far below the horizon, nothing seemed to slow beyond where your feet were planted.

When you first moved into Hell’s Kitchen, it felt more like a curse. You spent all your life in small cities that actually slept. But, after two years deep in this neighborhood, you couldn’t imagine not hearing your two neighbors bicker about their flunking teenage son, or the distant honking of horns with seemingly no traffic to honk at. It soothed a part of you that you didn’t know needed it all this time.

A distant thud of feet meeting concrete broke the comfortable silence. You didn’t flinch or turn around, you were anticipating him. One of the two reasons you even went up to the roof now.

“Can’t sleep still?” His voice is rough and steady, head facing off to the side rather than staring at you. His cowl covers the uppermost parts of his face, leaving only his jaw and mouth shown to you.

You cross your arms around your chest to fight the blistering cold and lean forward against the safety rail, breath trailing from you like smoke as you exhale, “You’re up here too, Daredevil.”

He leans back comfortably against the railing, head pointed up towards the night sky, “You’re still having nightmares?”

He asks it like a question but you’ve talked to him long enough to know that it’s basically a statement. Silence stretches between you two and he doesn’t seem to care. He lets out one slow, careful breath, “You know you’re safe here, right?”

Another statement wrapped up like a question. You nod just to nod, to show that you at least heard him and acknowledge his question-statement. The truth is ugly, you don’t feel safe. You haven’t since the attack on your apartment by some gang you didn’t know the name of. Gangs of all types were popping up all over the neighborhood too fast to even remember half of their members before they were gunned down by someone else.

Logically you know the odds of your apartment building being attacked again are low, but it’s impossible to lean on logic when all you remember is the gunshots and screams. It plagues your mind, digging itself deep and never letting go no matter how hard you try to think of anything else. It crawled its way into your dreams now, too. Convincing you that you were reliving the same trauma again and again, night after night.

Daredevil was the only break in the chaos. He had saved you — well, your whole apartment — from the attack. You had started coming up at the roof as a break from your nightmares and nearly tripped over him from where he was perched in the shadows. Since then, he visited you frequently, making sure you were still alive and breathing. He asked too much about your mental state and you tried to dodge the question each time.

Tonight, everything felt.. different. Usually you’re so fortified in your mental walls and now they’re crumbling like dust in your fingers. The city lights go blurry and you lower your head, tears cascading down to the street. Daredevil moves instantly next to you, immediately tugging you closer to him.

“Hey, hey, what’s going on? What’s wrong?” He’s seen you angry and scared, but never crying. It’s a completely new look for you and he seemed startled. The hard shell of his suit is cold against your cheek as you’re pressed against him. You sniffle and you sound so pitiful that you want to hurl yourself off the building.

“Everything is wrong,” You mumble, gentle tears still falling down your reddened cheeks. You wipe at them with the sleeve of your jacket, trying to scrub the embarrassment away. You were crying in the arms of the Daredevil, getting tears all over his suit. His jaw is near your ear and you can hear his staggering breaths like it’s painful for him to hear you cry.

“Did something happen? While I was away?” You can tell he’s searching for an answer that you can’t just avoid. You push away from him softly, wiping fallen tears and staring down at your feet like the concrete offended you. You try to find your voice between silent cries.

“I’ve been having worse nightmares, and i’m—“ Your breath shudders out and his hand flies out towards your shoulder, “I’m struggling to live, to work, to do anything.” The admission is hard for you to say but it leaves your lips nonetheless. He stands helplessly in front of you and you break out into sobs again. His other hand comes to your shoulder and holds you steady, thumbs rubbing circles against your jacket.

“Everything’s going to be okay, you’re safe, I promise that,” His voice is softer than before, the rough edge abandoned for a gentle mumble. “I’m sure this place.. doesn’t help much with the nightmares.” He reasons, still trying to soothe you. You nod again, trying to show an attempt at believing him and he lets out a soft groan. You can almost hear the cogs turn in his head before he sputters out a small, “You can stay at my place, if it’ll help.”

You choke out a watery laugh, not quite expecting an invite to sleep in his house. You want to say no, say that you’re being ridiculous and everyone has nightmares after something like that. Yet, your voice is smaller when you ask, “Is it some basement?”

He lets out a half laugh-half exhale, breath puffing out before he cocks his head behind him with a simple, “Cmon.”

It’s luckily not a basement, a simple flat sparsely decorated with not a single light on. You nearly tripped over a shoe ten steps into the place and he caught you with a steady hand.

“Why the hell is it so dark in here?” You mumble out, rubbing your neck with a careful hand. He looks visibly nervous as he chokes out a small, “I’m— uh, blind.”

He stated it like a plain fact that would make you stupid not to know, yet you nearly fell over, again. How did you not notice?

“But, you…” Your voice trails off, eyeing him carefully. You stick your hand out — Can he even see that? — “I’m too exhausted to question you, Daredevil.”

“Matt.” He corrects, standing awkwardly between you and the couch. He looks just as exhausted as you, almost pained, like giving each bit of information is a blow. You realize he’s probably never shared so much to somebody so quickly, and you feel something close to guilt.

“Okay, Matt.” His name rolls off your tongue smoothly, and he visibly freezes as it does, clearly affected by his name from your mouth. A steady redness climbs up your neck and you peel off your jacket and rub your hands against your arms to warm them up slightly. He steps to the side and grants you access to his couch. It’s small and doesn’t look as comfortable, but you sit anyway, pressed against the armrest.

Matt shuffles off to his kitchen and the sound of running water breaks up the unnerving silence. He returns with the glass, feeling out the table before gently setting it down. The small offering is kind and you take it, sipping the water as he walks off to what you only assume as his room.

You finish the glass and set it back down, eyes raking over the rest of the flat. It houses only essential furniture and items, nothing more. In the dark, it almost looks eerie. The only light comes from the large paned windows, shining down spare light from a large billboard. It’s not blinding per se, but just enough to illuminate the place.

The bedroom door clicks open after a few minutes and Matt shuffles out, dressed down significantly. His entire suit is off and for once, you can actually get a decent look at the man.

The first thing you notice is how handsome he is. Your eyes linger on his face for too long, taking in his features like they’d vanish back under his cowl if caught. He’s dressed in simple sweats and a shirt and his exhaustion shows through even more. His eyes are heavy and hair messy, and he looks to be barely holding himself up.

“You can take the bedroom, it’s clean. I don’t mind.” He gestures behind him, the bedroom looking as simple as the rest of the house. You open your mouth to object before he cuts you off. “Really, it’s okay. You need the rest.”

You scoff, standing up from the couch while he settles down against it. “You look like hell, I think we both need rest.”

He laughs, a real one this time, ”I’ll take that as a compliment towards all my hard work.” A smile widens on your face at his small joke. You’re acting insane now, smiling at this man you barely know while you’re in his apartment. You must be really exhausted.

He waves you off with a simple goodnight, and you use it as an opportunity to put as much space as you could between him and you. His bedroom is simplistic but covered in the smell of his cologne. You lay down on his bed, tugging the blanket up enough and settling down against the pillows. You listen to the familiar sounds of Hell’s kitchen, wrapped up in the safety of Matt. Your eyes slip close and your breath slowly evens out as your body gives into its bone-aching exhaustion.

When you wake, not much is different. Sunlight streams down from the windows instead of billboard lighting, adding a new warmth to the room. Honking and loud chatter can be heard, but it’s dull enough to not be a bother. You run a quick hand through your hand and shuffle out of bed, taking care to tuck everything back into place, like you were never there.

The smell of bacon and eggs fill the apartment when you open the door and you quickly realize you didn’t even eat dinner last night. Your stomach growls and you cast a glance towards the kitchen where Matt is occupied. He looks tied up in frying everything, an intense look about his face as he shuffles around the bacon in the pan. Warmth spreads from your head to your feet as you soak in the scene, feeling something close to peace.

You take a spot at the dining table, alerting Matt of your presence as he slides the food onto plates and carefully walks them over. “Figured you’d be hungry.” His voice is soft and warms you just like rays of the sun had, and you spend breakfast trying to pick at your brain why you have such a sudden attraction towards this man.

You two eat in silence, forks clattering on the dishes being the only noise in the space. You study him, his features first, eyes trailing over his eyes, nose, jaw. Then you study his mannerisms, how he picks at his food and how he clearly has gotten more sleep. You realize what the whole ordeal is about as you bite into your egg.

Matt is.. safe. You haven’t even thought once about a possible shooting since you stepped foot in his space. Hell, when he’s around, you rarely think about the past at all. Your dreams weren’t plagued by the chilling trauma last night, and it was a blessing to you that you couldn’t even remember if you had a dream.

He did all of it wordlessly, like it was just another thing to do. He didn’t treat your fear as something world ending, nor did he ignore it. He opened a door into his life. It might have been naïve to saunter in but you could hardly be mad at yourself. Your heart carried less weight now, and your shoulders weren’t hunched in worried anticipation. You feel like you could take a deep breath around him. You even cried to him when your world seemingly crumbled. He was a buffer between the sharp corners of the world and you.

You only knew three things about him: He’s named Matt, he’s blind and is the Daredevil. Three things wasn’t a huge number, but it was three things he trusted you with knowing. Each one tied to the other, each could easily be used against him, yet he placed his trust that you wouldn’t.

You set the fork down, plate finished, and lean back against the chair. You should get up and leave, thank him for the meal and never touch that rooftop again. Yet, the stronger part of you begins to talk, asking questions about him. Matt let you into his life without debate and you’re not going to leave so easily.

[devilofxmen]

eager anticipation | scott summers.

pairing | scott summers x you

summary | scott is the worst texter you know, barely replying to anyones messages at all. you’re determined to drag out at least one full sentence, and he’s really trying his best.

tags | established relationship, gender neutral reader, scott summers sucks at texting, sweet scott summers, really really short.

wc | 1,018

a/n | this is one of my favorite scott hcs 🙂‍↕️

—

You don’t even understand why Scott has a phone at this point.

Despite all the importance he places on said communication, Scott is the driest texter.

Before you two started dating, it seemed actually worse. You’d text him about brewing issues from people on the team or that Logan vanished again and hadn’t shown back up for a few days. You’d send him a quick text, something formal yet not pointed. No matter what, you’d be left on read.

No response, not even a reaction. Just a read message. You seemed like a clingy ex if anyone scrolled up in your messages. There would be an occasional message breaking up the five to ten repeated texts of yours over the course of a few months, but it was never anything large. It was times, dates, often with little context.

Your phone had once lit up with Scott’s name and you nearly threw yourself at your phone, thinking the worst. That someone was actively dying or the mansion was about to be blown to shreds.

His text was as simple as possible: ‘11:54 AM.’

You responded with three question marks, heart hammering out of your chest. You reread the message again and again, digging deep in your memory that maybe there was something on the schedule that you missed or he was trying to warn you of something. Your phone had buzzed with a new message: ‘Training. Tomorrow.’

You had laughed out loud, actually laughed for a long minute before Logan had shot you a glare to shut you up. Scott was ridiculous.

You were not the only one with a complaint, yet it got under your skin the most. Ororo had told you he only texts her dates of missions, Jean shows you her phone where she sometimes asks questions or expresses worry, and he doesn’t even respond. They seemed indifferent about it, saying that it was just.. Scott, simply put. He constantly used the excuse of never being a texter and that he preferred face-to-face communication to express lengthier things. You wanted to tear your hair out right then and there.

It didn’t get better once you two started dating, and now his messages carried heavier weight in your mind and heart. At least beforehand, you had no reason to really be upset with a lack of texts. But now Scott’s safety and wellbeing was a heavier thought in your mind, and the lack of clarity over anything sent you spiraling too many times to count.

You couldn’t just make someone text more, but you had at least tried to push Scott in the direction of more words. Give him a gentle nudge towards actually saying anything.

He seemed genuinely lost when you cornered him one afternoon, flashing your phone screen at him full of repeated texts on your end and absolutely none from him. His eyes scanned your face and scoffed, “Why would I need to respond? I read the text and understood, no need to confirm to you that I understand.” His tone wasn’t mean, more confused than anything.

You want to punch him, you think. It’s the closest you get towards being angry at this man. You threw your hands up and gestured wildly, “Because that’s what people do!” His face was screwed up in confusion with his eyebrows furrowed, trying to mentally pick at your words like it was something to analyze. You loved this man and wanted to hit him with a book.

All your words were lost on Scott. He seemed more concerned over the fact of you being upset with him than trying to fix his texting problem. You quickly gave up trying to urge him to text more after that, tabling the debate with a quick kiss and a shake of your head.

To give him credit, at least your upset attitude towards it all rubbed off on him. Instead of being left on read until the next training time, he would send thumbs up emojis or, if he was feeling particularly sweet to you, he’d send a heart emoji with the thumb.

This was your own victory and you happily rubbed it into everyone's faces once he was actually consistent with his emojis. You waggle your phone in Jean’s face and she laughs, shaking her head, partly in disbelief that you actually got this man to pay a single thought towards his phone.

You got the driest texter alive to actually respond to each message, you believe you should be hailed a hero, maybe a statue outside the mansion elected in your honor.

Scott doesn’t understand your excitement at all, really. He catches you flashing your phone at various members, laughing in their face when they roll their eyes. You seem happy and that’s what matters to him, not the words on a screen. He doesn’t understand the weight of text messages, his love for you stretches past what he quickly taps out on his phone.

Yet, he could tell it mattered a lot differently to you, that the words carried an unspoken weight. He was nearly crushed when you had all but pleaded with him to text you anything at this point and he realized something quickly: your happiness outweighed the time it took to actually type things out. He was more than willing to sacrifice his strict schedule when he knew you were smiling behind the phone, giddy at the concept of him actually texting you.

And when he texted you a picture, a black and white cat he spotted while out and about, you were over the moon. Going as far as to save the picture directly to your phone and making it your personal lockscreen. Scott thought it all to be a bit silly and he didn’t think he’d ever understand, but at the end of it all, your smile was worth it.

—

[devilofxmen]

i guess i’m just a playdate to you. | scott summers.

pairing | scott summers x you

summary | you and scott are.. close. constantly teetering on a line of dating and best friends, yet never leaning to a sure side. after one mean comment from logan that lingers longer than you want, you wind up confronting scott about what any of this means to him.

tags | slightly avoidant scott, any gender reader, desperate scott, miscommunications, logan’s kind of mean but for good reason, ororo munroe mention, kissing, no smut.

wc | 1,776

a/n | first time posting a fic i hope you enjoy🤞

—

The mansion was drawn into a steady lull of quiet when the sun dipped below the treelines. The younger children were already tucked away in bed, tired out from small classes and playground fun. Teenagers tended to be more bothersome. Sneaking out of rooms, hanging out in the kitchen, or slithering their way outdoors.

Adults, however, were the trickiest here. You learned this many months ago, when you had first arrived. One or two adults stuck around in their rooms, maintaining the peace of the halls and making sure no emergencies happened while most others slipped out.

Their excuses ranged between missions to smoke breaks, depending on which sorry soul you asked at dusk. Some truthful, some easy lies. Scott always had well rehearsed excuses, like he said them a thousand times to himself before he ever stepped back inside to you. He managed his microexpressions, the furrow of his brow and tightening of his jaw. You lost the ability to read him.

It wasn’t the first thing you lost on him. Microexpressions turned into dinners together, then conversations, connection. You were getting sick of the lack of him. And today, Logan’s random comment shouldn’t have dug as deep and planted roots as far as it did.

It’s the simple ones that carry the most impact. It was in the kitchen during lunch. Students floated in the halls and professors made laps around. Your hands were busy tediously making two sandwiches: one for you, one for Scott. Logan had stepped in, boots clattering against polished wood. A sound that somehow drew trouble in.

“Playing spouse again?”

He said it simply put, a snide comment about how dedicated you were to Scott’s wellbeing. That you toiled away in the kitchen every meal to make sure the poor man actually ate. That, no matter what, you took care of the man. You rubbed stress from his shoulders, laid in bed with him until his breathing was steady, and listened to every gripe he had about this mansion and the people inside. All dedications partners or spouses typically embrace and both of which you weren’t.

The carefully dulled knife in your hands stilled for a moment as it sliced through soft bread. You coughed, a sickly sound, “Making lunch isn’t playing anything, Logan.”

You ducked away plates in hand before Logan could say anything else.

The memory was like ivy in your mind, spreading into every crevice. Curled up into the couch in the living room, you looked every bit of hell. It wasn’t of concern to you, anyway. The day was over and you could be as much a mess as you pleased. Teaching classes seemed impossibly harder today and Scott had slipped out of reach before you even got a chance to talk to the man.

The thud of the front door broke your thoughts alerted you that someone had just come in from a night out. Your eyes darted to the worn clock above the mantle: 2:54 AM.

The red glint of glasses off of the fireplace light silenced everything else. The crackle of burning wood, the giggles of the teens hanging out in the kitchen, the hum of the AC. It was always silent when he stepped into the room. Your attention was pulled away faster than you could even blink.

Scott looked equally spent as you, hair tousled like his hands ran through it at least a hundred times and clothes wrinkled. “It’s late, Scott,” Your voice crackled, eyes softening as he let out a soft sigh and settled into the couch, “What kept you busy now? Traffic?”

The tease was soft but didn’t land, Scott cast a sidelong glance. “I just went for a drive, clearing my head.” He slipped off his jacket with careful arms and hung it off the armrest, then turned his focus back on you, “You’re up too, you know.” A scoff left you, with too many beats of uncomfortable silence after. It cracks at your patience like a hammer, losing steady mental footing.

You stand, socks brushing against the carpet, “You know, Logan pointed out my very dedicated care towards you today. Said I was ‘playing spouse’ with you.”

It came out too pointed then you really meant and it landed hard on Scott like a bullet. He shook his head, hand flying up to rub circles at his temple, “Logan would comment on the nature of his own death, don’t let him trip you up.”

“It got me thinking, what is this? Between us?” You crossed your arms over your chest, the space between you two growing colder despite the lingering fire in the fireplace, “I make you meals, I rub your back, and kiss the hurt away, and l’m, what? A best friend to you?”

Hurt laced your tone and he could tell. Yet, he was too tired to hide those little microexpressions he worked so hard on covering. His brows furrowed together, “I never asked you to do any of that, I appreciate it, yes, but it’s not a demand.”

Okay, that hurt more than Logan’s comment. You feel your patience thin impossibly now.

“Do you not feel a connection between us? Something that tugs at your heart? Or are you so entwined with this school and your duties that it has beaten me in this wild goose chase? ” Your chest burns with something, no, many things, unsaid. Tears burn and prick at your eyes and you squeeze them shut, turning your back to Scott.

You can hear him stand and stay in place, respecting your space well enough. He sounds tired in every word yet you can’t bring yourself out of this spiral. You’re poking and proding for some kind of answer.

“I’m sorry about, everything.” It’s the first bit of truth he tells you in weeks and somehow it doesn’t even feel good, “Not defining this, not choosing this.”

You can hear Scott begin to pace. He’s actually nervous. You want to laugh out loud but more tears strike you first. These ones betray you, dripping down your cheeks.

“I enjoy what you do for me, the little things that take at least one thing off my plate. You center me, keep me orbiting around this—“ His hands go up dramatically and flop down to his sides, ”This fucking place.”

His sigh is restrained, “I love you and I’ve spent the significant half of our time together trying to convince myself I’m making it all up. That every time I see you, the urge to kiss you is just a fleeting urge. And yet it burns deeper and deeper every time I don't fulfill it.”

You turn to face him now, ears burning slightly from the vulnerability of the words. Scott looks worn out, like he’s one more restraint away from crumbling and you want to desperately jolt forward and hold him together.

“I went out today to avoid it all and run farther away until my heart stopped aching as much, and you know what it did?” He steps closer now, “It made it ache even worse. It’s not something I can deny, and now I can’t even run from it. You destroy me and you don’t even know it.” His laugh is small and broken, teetering on insane.

It’s your turn to step closer and Scott’s presence draws you in like gravity. His cologne is heavy and rich, sleeves rolled up and wrinkled shirt tucked in. He looks so.. himself. You could drown in him. “Scott, I—,” Your voice is shaky and tears continue to drip down your cheeks. You nearly crumble then and there when his thumb comes up to wipe each one away. “I can’t go another day with you running away. Another day barely knowing you. I don’t know how much longer I can hold onto this, onto you.”

When he kisses you, it’s certainly not rushed or planned like every other aspect of his life. It doesn’t have the lingering stress of danger rooms and schedules, the hardness of messy battlefields, or the hurriedness of the day. He didn’t go over this in his head a thousand times, going over every possible mistake or outcome. It’s a shared moment between just you two, devoid of the strain and tension.

Your hands fly up to cup his jaw, tugging him closer to you. It’s a plea, every word you want to say melting on your lips and rubbing off on his own. You two separate with scattered breaths, standing still like even the slightest bit of movement would shatter the ice you two now currently toe on.

“I needed that, I needed you,” Scott groans out the words and you know you’re in over your head. He’s in your space now, forehead brushing yours. You press your lips against his once, then twice. He looks starved.

You two connect again, laced with need and desperation. His hands rake down your side until they hit your waist, gripping hard enough to bruise and you nearly catch yourself hoping they do. Everything is wonderful, every doubt quenched in your mind. Your eyes are slipped shut and you’re soaking in every moment that is so wonderfully him. Until he pulls away. You open your eyes in a panic and he presses a careful finger to his lips, smiling the largest you’ve seen all month.

“Scott?” Ororo’s voice cuts through the symphony of bliss, and she materializes in the doorway. Scott doesn’t fully remove his hands off of you, one still planting firmly against your waist, like he needed you to stand.

“Yes, Ororo?” He sounds out of breath yet the usual tension in his voice is gone. “You’re needed in Charles’ study. We’re discussing Erik. Your input would be heavily appreciated.” Her eyes flick between you two with a knowing glint. “Or, I can tell him you’re occupied?”

“No, no,” He waves her off, “I’ll be there in a minute.” She disappears down the hall and a giggle blooms from your chest. He presses a firm kiss to your lips to silence you and you feel like you could fly away, no mutation needed.

“I have to go visit, it’s clearly important, don’t be too bored without me.” He pulls away with the smallest press of his lips to your temple and it hurts a bit less then when he usually walks away.

“I think I’ll be in my room, holding it down with all my boredom.” A teasing smile tugs at your lips and he scoffs, turning on his heel and slipping out of the living room.

The kiss itself was its own messy label. You were Scott’s and he was going to make sure to remind you at every moment after tonight.