Scott Summers

RP Blog for Scott Summers, Multiverse, Multishipper, or no shipper pansexual as fuck, read dem' rules, i'm new at tumblr rp be NICE

[rubycolouredglasses]

Hello! This is an independent, selective RP blog for Scott Summers. I write him in a billion trillion different verses, see the list below or message me if you want to come up with a new one!

Please, for the love of god, if you want to RP with me, send me a message! I like to spend my spare time writing, so hunting memes is not my favorite thing. Just message me, lets talk shop or just throw our people together and see what the hell happens. I also love to make starters, if you talk to me, I’m glad to make one for us. I love to plot and ship, but it's not required.

I'm Strange (Hi!) I'm over thirty and I follow back from @strangenewwords. I have been RPing for a looooong time, almost 20 years, but I am new the Tumblr format. Right now I don't have an age cut off for who I will write with (although this may change) but I won't write anything romantic with writers under 21+ only because it feels weird.

21+ only because it feels weird.

Due to current amount of threads I am VERY SELECTIVE for plotting and threads. send me a message!

Please take a second to read more below if you're interested in us writing together!

Other Muses @lonesomebub - Logan Howlett/Wolverine @opposingpoles - Erik Lehnsherr/Magneto @runningthroughyourwoods - Jean-Baptiste D'Entremont, OC/Indie/Werewolf Alpha (or not) @billybutchersbigd - Billy Butcher @bayoubornandbred - Remy LeBeau/Gambit @betterleftonice - Bucky Barnes

The Rules!

I do not write with cismale authors. It's just a comfort thing, and I appreciate your respect on that.

WRITER AGE - At this point in time I will write with anyone, but antyhing romance-bound needs to be at least 21+.

CHARACTER AGE - I don't really dig the writing with children aspect, it doesn't vibe for me, so no characters under 16, and for romance they need to preferrably be over 21 but this can be discussed with writers. I will not drop below 18.

TIMING - Let's not make this a job, okay? If you want to know if I've forgotten your thread, let me know! But give me time, alright?

SMUT - Again, you gotta be older, and it needs to fit, and I'm totally down. I am WILDLY picky about smut writers though. I've worked hard to get to the point where I write smut really well, so if it doesn't vibe, we may need to just fade to black.

And then your standard RP rules apply. I'm pretty chill though, and if something irks me, I'll just ask for clarification/edits.

Also I write fic! If you want to check out my Scott style please see my Ao3!

[missathlete31]

Dear Lord 🔥🔥🔥🔥

Glen doing what he can to sell tickets

[goddesspharo]

Glen Powell at the UK premiere of The Running Man - 11.05.25

[spinningpesto]

study

[alwaysxinxtrouble]

For a second, Robin couldn’t move. Her pulse thundered in her ears, loud enough to drown out the city — the chatter from the café, the blare of a distant horn, even the steady beat of footsteps passing by. The phone hovered between them, weightless and impossible, and her brain struggled to catch up with what her eyes were seeing.

Her whole body screamed run. Muscles tensed, lungs stuttered, her balance pitched forward for the first step — and then she caught sight of him. The man didn’t move toward her, didn’t threaten or crowd her space. He just stood there, tall, broad-shouldered, the red tint of his glasses catching the light. The expression on his face was unreadable, but there was no alarm, no hostility.

Robin’s breath shuddered out, shaky and uneven. “I…” Her voice faltered. “I’m fine.” The words felt automatic, the kind you used when you were anything but fine. Her burned hand throbbed inside her pocket, every heartbeat a reminder of the morning’s chaos.

He said something — she barely registered the words, only the tone. Calm. Gentle. Like someone trying to soothe a skittish animal. And somehow, against every instinct she had, it worked.

Her shoulders sagged a little. She forced a laugh that sounded more like an exhale. “You didn’t even flinch,” she said, her voice quieter now. “When that happened. You just…” She trailed off, staring at the phone now resting in his hand. “Most people would’ve run.”

The words hung between them, swallowed by the city noise. Robin didn’t know why she said them — maybe because the silence felt too heavy, or maybe because part of her wanted an answer she wasn’t ready to hear. Her chest ached with the effort of staying composed, but something in her eased anyway, just a fraction.

"Why didn't you run? Or say anything?"

[rubycolouredglasses]

“It doesn’t really seem like you’re fine,” Scott replied. His tone was moving into the one he used with his students, with his team, when he needed them to assess themselves accurately. Not because they were a weakness or a vulnerability. But because sometimes they needed a break.

And her? She needed a break too. A break, a breath, maybe some kind of hot chocolate. One of those cupcakes that Jubilee has sent him searching for. Anything that would offer her some kind of soothing.

At her laugh, at the dip of her shoulders, Scott’s friendly expression shifted. It wasn’t gone, not erased, but it changed. His smile, what had once been inviting, now just seemed sad. That’s how he always felt in moments like this, finding people who had experienced their powers through this kind of lens.

“Is that what everyone else does?” Scott asked, voice soft, gentle, somehow between them. Color rushed to Scott’s cheeks, discomfort coming up at the intimacy of the information he was about to offer. Scott didn’t share his private life with others, not normally, but right now it felt useful.

“My ex could do that,” Scott replied, that sadness in his smile easing a little at the memory. “That and more. I ah, have my own, too.” He tapped the side of his glasses. “I’d show them off, but it’ll draw a crowd.”

[madaqueue]

dry humping where he’s on top of you and you can feel him against your core with every faux thrust and you’re both panting into each other’s mouths and it’s needier because you aren’t quite there he’s not actually inside you and you’re grabbing at his clothes and his hands are in your hair and he’s desperate and whining and

[mutantdiaries]

Phoenix and Scott

[feraleyedbeauty]

London loved a challenge.

And the harder it was, the better.

So when Scott suggested trail running, instead of their usual laps, she was immediately all for it.

The bonus was that he had suggested somewhere further upstate, which meant spending more time with him. Both on the drive there and whenever they decided to make their way back.

Aside from their runs together, Scott was notoriously difficult to get alone. Which wasn't surprising, considering all of his responsibilities. But sometimes? She wondered if he wasn't avoiding her on purpose.

She didn't have proof, exactly. It was more just a general feeling... But she wasn't about to ask him about it on the drive there, because that would have made for an incredibly awkward run. So she just left it.

When they'd first arrived, the feline mutant had felt a bit like a tightly coiled spring, almost overflowing with energy just begging to be expended. But now? She was much more at ease, the slightest whispers of tiredness only just beginning to creep in.

Scott was probably closer to his limit, but he had been the one to suggest they see how far they could get before collapsing. So she was absolutely taking those words to heart.

The threat of rain hadn't been a deterrent to her... Although the most she'd expected was maybe a light shower. Not a torrential downpour.

That was okay though. Because with the rain pouring down on them, it meant she had to focus more closely on the way she used her muscles, had to counter her weight as the ground gave beneath her shoes. It was just a few more obstacles to overcome.

Considering her mutation, her friends used to jokingly tease her with remarks like 'If you're a cat, that means you hate water, right?'

Wrong.

She loved it.

She could feel her t-shirt had soaked right through, clinging to her curves in a way that probably left little to the imagination. And her shorts felt much the same. But right now, more than anything, she just relished the soothing cool of it against her heated skin.

She chanced a glance to her right, to check in on Scott, and... Jesus Christ.

He was drenched down to the bone, and he still looked so disgustingly, devastatingly handsome. How was that fair?! And oh... The way his shirt clung to his skin... It was downright fucking cruel.

It was also entirely the reason she hadn't caught the way he had turned, the way he'd slowed just a little...

The collision wasn't gentle, she had been running full tilt.

The momentum, the rain, the mud... It was the perfect storm, and London braced herself for the impact. But it wasn't nearly as rough as she'd expected... Scott had rolled to take the brunt of the fall.

Laying atop him, her hands were bunched up into the soaked fabric of his shirt, dark brows knit together with worry, ❝Am I okay?!❞

❝Scott, you're the one who just landed flat on your back!❞ Searching his face with the same kind of urgency, she tilted her head to look down at him, golden gaze full of concern, ❝Are you okay?❞

[rubycolouredglasses]

He’d always thought her eyes were one of the most beautiful things about her.

Plenty of mutants had mutations that altered their appearance, and a decent handful of those had mutations which changed their eyes into something less human. Something that was better than human. That was more.

London wasn’t only one of the … well if Scott was being honest, she wasn’t just one of the most sexiest women he’d ever seen. Her fangs made him shiver, her spots left him curious, her hair … well he’d also never determined if that was preference or mutation as well, but that wasn’t what Scott was fixated on at the moment.

Or often.

Not the slinky way she had a habit of moving, the grace with each step was taken, the way she’d perch on furniture around the mansion that just made him happy.

No. It was those eyes. They shade of them, the warmth that was always there, the life.

She was what they fought for. She was what he’d dedicated his life to. Not her, specifically, but that ideal.

She was the embodiment. Golden. Beautiful. Sexy.

And very much on top of him.

On top of him, wet, dripping, water pouring down on her to pour down on him to go somewhere. Behind him. There was muck and mud and he was pretty sure there was a root or a rock or something pressed against his spine.

Didn’t matter, though.

Not with the weight of her on top of him. Not with the concern in those golden eyes. Not with the way her hands were grasped into his shirt.

For a moment, a split second, Scott hated Logan. Hated him for getting there first. Hated him for having been buried inside of her.

Had she come around him? Had she gasped Logan’s name?

Hurt ached through Scott at the notion, at the idea. It wasn’t like he and Logan had talked. It wasn’t like they had discussed. Which meant London could be off limits.

Which meant that Scott shouldn’t reach up to touch her cheek, to tuck away a clump of wet, dark hair.

“I’m fine.” He wasn’t, in more ways than one. Pain in his chest, pain in his back, some scrapes and cuts on what had collided with the ground. “I didn’t mean to turn so fast, are you sure you’re alright?” Asked as his thumb drug across her skin.

Clearing mud.

That was all.

[rubycolouredglasses]

It was easy to be angry. To be mad. To be hurt.

It was easy to be righteous, but that was something that Scott fought against constantly, always. A private battle warred because it was important, so important, that as they were, who they were, representing the whole entire mutant species, they couldn’t fall for that.

And yet, he had.

Half way through from texting out one angry, bitter, hurt reply to the next, Scott realized that’s what he was being.

Righteous.

That he was lecturing London about why she should trust him and this and she shouldn’t ever make any mistakes and she couldn’t just up and fucking leave him and yet …

How many of his own insecurities had Scott had? How many times had he questioned? And - this was the kicker - how many times had London combed her fingers through his hair, or smiled that adorable fanged smile, or just loved him through it?

So he put the phone down. She was still messaging. She was allowed to do that. But he wasn’t about to continue this conversation over text.

He shouldn’t have run away to begin with.

He shouldn’t have been a coward.

But he wasn’t going to be. Not anymore. He wasn’t going to let anything fuck this up.

Not even him.

So he flew home. Not literally, he hadn’t taken a bird into the city. All he had was the Porsche. But he floored it, ripping through traffic lights, demolishing speed limits. Knowing that he could get pulled over. And that if he did he’d deal with it.

But he didn’t.

He just got home.

Fast.

Left the car parked catty corner in the drive (and the keys in it in case anyone needed to move it) before he was taking the steps two at a time, racing through the mansion, up and up the stairs to their room.

Theirs.

Their home.

His stuff. Her stuff. Pictures on the wall. Theirs.

Christ he was an idiot.

An idiot who slowed his steps only long enough to open the door. To open in it softly, her name, there, on his lips.

It was left unspoken, though, hanging there, caught in his throat.

She was on his side of the bed. Curled up as tiny as could be, tucked under the covers.

Immediately his chest ached, heart breaking.

“Lon,” he breathed, shutting the door behind himself quickly, struggling out of his boots and dropping his leather jacket on the floor.

(On the floor)

Their bed sagged lightly under the weight of him as he crawled onto it, as he crawled into their sheets, as he pushed his way into her space, between her arms, between her legs, curling around her and he encouraged her to curl around him.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” A kiss pressed against each tear, a kiss dropped light on her eyelashes. “I’m such a jackass, I love you so much, I’m so sorry.”

@feraleyedbeauty

[feraleyedbeauty]

@rubycolouredglasses .

Bare legs dangling over the edge of her bed, London stared down at her phone anxiously. Her heart was absolutely pounding within her chest, and every second that passed without an answer felt like an actual eternity.

What was that saying again...? A watched pot never boils? Maybe she just needed to put the phone down, try and focus on literally anything else...

Gently tossing her phone onto the bedside table, she fell back against the mattress with a low groan. Golden eyes lifted to stare at the ceiling, opting to try and stare holes into that instead of her phone screen.

But as she lay there, it was becoming harder and harder to ignore the worried thoughts swirling about in her head. Had she said the wrong thing? Did he not actually want her?

... Wait.

Were those... footsteps?

The feline mutant immediately shot up to sitting, leaning forward in the direction of her closed door.

Listening with an intense focus, her breath caught in her throat when she recognized the foot falls. She had long since memorized the particular way he held himself, and as such, the exact way his footsteps sounded.

She should probably wait for him to knock, that's the proper, polite thing to do, right?

Running her tongue along her sharp canines, she gave an impatient shift, trying her best to just wait. But as the footsteps came to a stop, what little restraint she'd had, snapped.

She pushed herself up off of the bed, taking the few steps it took to reach the door before grabbing the doorknob and swiftly pulling it open.

Scott.

She had recognized his steps, but to actually see him standing there in front of her... Well, it just confirmed that everything they'd spoken of over text... Was real.

There was a soft exhale as she looked up at him, all of her doubts very quickly pushed aside in place of something else. Something overwhelming and consuming. Desire, yes, of course. But more importantly... Love.

And maybe she should have been a bit more concerned that she was standing in her doorway in just a tank top and underwear... But all she could think of now that he was there, was what he'd said. And how badly she needed to hear him speak it aloud.

Voice breathless, she took a step towards him, ❝You love me?❞

[rubycolouredglasses]

His skin was damp. His hair laying heavy on his head. He’d just showered, just, when he’d gotten the first message.

One. One that was the precursor to many to follow. One that lead to … well, just too much. Too much truth, too much vulnerability.

Things which shouldn’t have been said over text.

That shouldn’t have been said, but only because he wasn’t brave enough to stand there in front of her and say them, shouldn’t have been said, but only because he owed it to her for those words to come from his lips, spoken in his voice.

Scott hated it, wanted to hate it, wanted to push away the truth of it because it was complicated and inconvenient, because it would hurt.

Eventually.

Hurt more than it did now.

But now, for now, he was just grateful, heavy with the weight of that gratitude as he approached her room, water still evaporating from his skin, lounge pants hanging low on his hips, feet bare.

He hadn’t even taken the time to put a shirt on.

The condoms, though, they burned a hole in his pocket and he hated them because he needed them because he needed her.

Needed to be buried in her. To be surrounded by her. To be held, to be wanted, to be loved.

And oh how he did, how he had, how those feelings had changed and grown over the years, how they had evolved.

All those things that made her a foundational part of the mansion, all those things that made her an indispensable part of the team, they were reasons to love her.

Reasons he did love her.

But still that fear held him at bay, that self-hatred, that ever present denial. She was there, she was waiting for him, wanted him, even.

Loved him, maybe.

All he had to do was knock. All he had to do was cross the threshold, but still he hesitated.

Waited.

But he didn’t have to, wouldn’t have to, because the door opened and there she was. Golden eyed glory, wearing next to nothing but Scott could care less about that, couldn’t pay attention to that, because the sheer beauty of her face, a face he loved and loved and loved tore a sob from his throat.

How could he have thought that he’d be able to fight this, that he’d just be able to shut it off, ignore it.

Ignore her?

His fingers itched to touch her, to reach out, but he didn’t know where to start, didn’t know how, and as her question floated soft into the hall, Scott knew he had borne the truth of it too long.

He fell, a man on his knees, in front of the woman he loved, hands scrubbing over his face before dragging through his hair.

“So much,” he said to his palms, to the wooden floor, before he risked to look up at her. “So much,” he all but breathed, crawling closer to her, reaching for her hips, pulling her to him.

“I love you, London,” he said firmly, holding her gaze through ruby-red. “I love you.” He leaned forward, , pressed his face against the flat plane of her abdomen, one kiss and then another laid against the cotton of her tank. “Tell me you love me, too.”

[eleganceofhersoul]

Mine...

[rubycolouredglasses]

@feraleyedbeauty

[jpen-nico]

Make sure to love your wife.

[rubycolouredglasses]

She picked the hard option.

Scott wasn’t really surprised, he was far from shocked, and in truth that was what he wanted, too. He liked the challenge, he liked the change of location, he liked the ability to be somewhere that he wasn’t just Scott Summers: professor, boss, leader of a not-so-small revolutionary team.

In the woods he could just run. And run. And worry about the pumping of his legs and the movement of his arms. He could worry about keeping up with her, all legs and grace and feral ability.

Because she’d decided that they do this, that they come here, that they take the thirty or so minute drive to ride further upstate. To turn down a backroad and then a fire road and park, there in the absolute middle of nowhere.

Logan would have loved this. Logan would be jealous, later, when he smelled the spruce and pine and oak clinging to Scott’s skin, mixed there with sweat and, yeah, Scott was okay admitting it to himself. Logan would be jealous that there’d be her, too.

And maybe Scott was okay with that. Because maybe Logan had driven him insane on a number of occasions telling him about London. Questioning him about London.

He might not be a telepath, but he sure as hell seemed to always know what was going on in Scott’s mind.

And then Scott had walked in on them…

Taking a steadying breath, Scott centered himself again. The only thing he could hear was the sound of their footfalls, she was near to him, a little to the left, they were both running full tilt and he was pushing his limits.

She was just so much faster than him, as she should be, and even though they’d both agreed to keep heading out even with the threat of rain, Scott had assumed it would be a sprinkle.

Instead it was a downpour.

As rain sluiced down over his skin, running in rivulets past his hair, around his glasses, making his shirt stick to his skin as mud flung with each footfall, Scott considered seeing if she wanted to turn back.

It was awkward, they were more than halfway through the route which meant they really had to keep going, but he neither wanted this to be over nor did he want them to stop.

Being back at the Jeep meant going home, which would mean Logan, but Scott didn’t want Logan right then.

And stopping meant talking or spending some time together taking deep breaths and calmly drinking water while trying to make small talk.

And it wasn’t just him who had clothing sticking to his skin.

He could do this though, he could slow and stop and offer. He could spend moments with her in the rain and not look half as hungry as he felt. He was a grown man and she was a very grown woman and really this had been the worst idea.

Still.

“You,” Scott began, turning just a little, slowing in his steps, but he hadn’t given her any warning and she had been right behind him and then in a flash when he changed the patterns of it all she was running full tilt into him.

He caught her, grabbed her by the shoulders, but the momentum sent them both turning, and even in his shoes against the wetness and the leaves and the dirt, there was no chance. All he could do was to his best to protect her. To make sure he took the brunt of the fall, rolling so it was him that hit the ground first, back against roots and stone as they slid.

It was only seconds, not long of a span at all, but he was dirty and sore as he clung to her, grip bruising as he looked up and searched her face urgently. “Are you okay?”

@feraleyedbeauty

[reveries-daydream]

"Uh- Yeah, okay-"

The moment Andromeda steps over the threshold, it all comes back to him. That, or it never actually left. Where the cups are kept, what drinks they usually have stocked in the fridge. As exposed as he feels, he moves around the kitchen with the ease of somebody who still lives there. Somebody who belongs, even if he finds it hard to believe and accept. But at least, to him, he gets to pretend he still does live here. Just for a moment.

"Just- Just water, Scott?"

[rubycolouredglasses]

It shouldn't be this difficult to plate up lunch. It isn't like the meal is a particularly complicated one. Still, Scott can't help but to focus more on Andromeda than on what he's doing, gaze snapping back to the young man again and again.

It feels good, having him there, having him move around like he belongs. The other students make Scott happy, too. They're not overly welcoming, but they do smile and wave, one of them greeting Andromeda by name.

Scott's proud of them all, feels for once like what he's doing is right, as he crosses to the table tucked off the side, setting down one bowl for Andromeda and then himself. "Yeah," Scott says over his shoulder, before sitting down. "Water's great.

[rubycolouredglasses]

Wanted! RP Partner for Scott Summers/Cyclops

I really, really, REALLY, want some long term plotting/shipping/verse building for Scott and someone. I love the freedom of Tumblr RP and getting to write with pretty much anyone, but I would really like to work on some good developed plots that we work through over time.

If we’re already writing together and you’re interested, just let me know.

What I’m looking for, Scott Summers Edition:

Wolverine (romantic)

MADDIE PRYOR OH GOD PLEASE (romantic)

Jean Grey (romantic)

Warren Worthington (romantic)

Literally anyone else. Toss your ocs at me. I can cross him into another verse, I can make him human, I can do a different time period. It does not matter to me!

I’m really just looking for someone to babble at.

Who you are:

At least 21

Literate (but you don’t mind my many typos)

I can do fade to black if you prefer but I love a good smutty scene.

Are interested in starting at the beginning and see where things go.

We do have to click though, and Scott can be a little testy. But remember mun/=muse.

What you get:

Someone who will jabber at you about our characters! It's my favorite thing to do! (But also, if you just wanna write, I'm chill with that too.)

I'm also in between FCs for him. But after some research today I think I like Glen Powell here. If you have preferences, lemme know!

Also, if there’s a (male) muse you’d like to write with that I am interested in, I’d be glad to make it for you!

[reveries-daydream]

Scott's tone is so unlike him. Way too eager and shocked. Andromeda can't remember the last time he heard the man speak like that, if he ever has at all. Yet at the same time, he's wondering if maybe, he's been away so long that anything Scott does right now would seem foreign. God, he hopes he can keep his food down in the midst of all this... whatever this is.

"I don't know, it just feels like it's been... a while. I don't know what's changed. And it's bound to be a little weird seeing some guy pop up in the kitchen after he was on the news a whole bunch and then- Well, you know..."

Andromeda was doing fine, following Scott through the mansion and slowly warming up. Mostly because it felt like it was just them. And if it's just them, Andromeda feels less like there's eyes on him and vultures circling around his tainted, rotting self. But those voices just get louder, and eventually, every muscle in Andromeda's body seizes right before the entrance to the kitchen.

[rubycolouredglasses]

Scott laughed, but it was mirthless, empty and dry as he shook his head. He knew that Andromeda was lost, at least for now. Lost within his own mind of how he was being perceived. Scott knew, too, that he couldn't get frustrated, that he couldn't get annoyed at having to point out the same thing over and over again.

It would just take a while until Andromeda got it. Or maybe he wouldn't. Maybe he was so traumatized by what happened, he would never allow his thoughts to process the fact that his situation was hardly unique.

Especially there. Especially among them.

"They're used to homecomings. They get excited by them. I know you've only been here a few years, but this isn't the first time this has happened. As for being on the news," Scott shrugged, "that's not new either. Half of the school has probably been caught in some kind of story. Ten percent has probably caused sustainable injury. Five percent joined the wrong side and did it on purpose, with malice but they, too, are welcomed back. By us, by their peers. It only takes one thing, Andromeda."

Scott looks at the young man for a moment, lets his words sink in before he moves again, before he walks over the threshold and into the kitchen. "They have to want to make things better."

[reveries-daydream]

As Scott walks away, Andromeda lags behind, letting Scott's words wash over him like a wave pushing driftwood back to shore. Of course, Andromeda wants to make things better. It's the only thing he can do after everything. God knows he's tried to make things better. But everywhere he turns, it seems to be hurt and hatred and fear. Even if it starts out fine. Wouldn't making things better be avoiding the chance of repeating those things then? Avoiding the opportunity for him to repeat his mistake?

Scott's disappeared into the kitchen now. Andromeda can either run off like he did before or join him. Running sounds good. It sounds fantastic right now rather than facing whoever is in that kitchen with Scott, striking up casual conversation and joking. ...Like Andromeda used to.

"They have to want to make things better." Yeah, trust Scott to give some quick leader-like one-liner and walk away for long enough that Andromeda gets to actually think about it.

With a shaky sigh, he steps forward and... Stands in the doorway. Awkward as hell but he's trying. He scans the room while keeping his body small and tight before meeting Scott's eyes. He stands there and waits, bouncing on his heels as though waiting for permission to enter.

[rubycolouredglasses]

Scott thinks he’ll leave.

He doesn’t want that to happens, he wants more than anything for Andromeda to stay. But as Scott strode into the kitchen he did the math, played out the scenarios.

He didn’t think Andromeda was ready. He expected to look back and see that Andromeda had gone.

He doesn’t, though.

And there it is again, that swoop of joy that radiates through Scott, that fills his entire being. It makes all of this worth it. All the horror, all the pain, all the torment.

Beaming, Scott can’t help it, can’t restrain himself, Scott turns to the young man across the threshold and tilts his head back into the kitchen, beckoning Andromeda. “Can you grab us some drinks?” Scott asks as he gets some bowls from the cupboard. “I’ll get us both some lunch.”

[wooldamenace]

Madelyne Pryor and Scott Summers

Scott, how you keep baging these fine women, you're just a dude