Could you do a mutant!teen!reader and fatherfigure!Wolverine fic where Reader is in love with the new murder me mutina movie (it’s from the new uncanny x men) and has all the merch and shrines and everyone and How wolverine would react to that considering murder me mutina is a anti mutant film ?
(Just an idea of the reader dressing up like mutina and welding her weapons for a danger room session)
Murder Me Wolverine (1.5k)
ft. Wolverine (X-Men)
Content Warnings: Fem!Reader, Controversial opinions from "Reader", Logan says 'queer' but its then insinuated he is queer himself, reader gets scolded a lot, Logan calls reader "pips"/"kid"
A/N: Reader is obviously considered to be in the wrong here, and there is no 'well she didnt mean it!! so its ok!!' because we #takeaccountability
Also i wanted a lox bagel SO BAD these last two days and they've fucked it up major scale the two times ive gotten one. If any of yall work at bagel places please lmk what salmon you use because i need to just make my own atp.
The Danger Room doors hissed open, and announced your presence with a robotic "Initiating combat scenario."
The speakers barely finished before something small and silver whipped through the air, Logan caught it without looking, and studied the miniature metal scythe you had chucked his way.
"...What."
Across the room stood you, bouncing excitedly on your heels. The outfit had taken weeks to piece together, but you did it and it looked so real! Eerily real, to Logan. A spitting image to Leticia.
From the leather boots covering your toes to the cat-like mask disguising your expression. 3D replicas of Mutina's signature blades strapped to your back. Even your hair was covered by a styled wig… or had been bleached pure white somehow. Every small thing had been changed to match the actress from the newest Murder Me Mutina film.
Logan truly believes if you hadn't left your eyes uncovered he would have attacked. Just out of reflex, out of disgust.
"You like it?" you asked proudly. "I finally got everything! I even found someone online who prints screen-accurate weapons."
A dead silence filled the air as you spun around showing off. Barely catching Wolverine’s stony expression.
Logan looked at you for a long moment before throwing the prop on the floor.
"...Take it off."
You blinked. "What?"
"The costume."
"But-"
"I said take it off."
Your smile faltered. "I just wanted to train in it."
"No."
"But it's just a movie, Logan! I spent so long on this, where am I supposed to wear it if not in here?”
His jaw tightened.
"You think that's just a movie?"
"...Yeah? It’s not like I’m naked or anything, literally what is the problem? A costume, uniform, et-cet-er-uh" You huffed out your answer, enunciating the last few syllables dramatically
Another long, dead silence, as Logan's cold anger bore into your skin. Your only reprieve was when he rubbed a hand over his face.
"Kid. Walk, now."
The hallway felt unusually empty, Xavier had set up trips for most of the school to still learn during the summer season. As the two of you walked, Logan's eyes flicked over to how you still had the mask tucked awkwardly under your arm.
"I didn't mean anything by it, Logan, honest."
"I know."
"You know?"
"I know." Logan sighed, "You ain't a hateful kid."
"So what's the problem?"
He stopped walking.
"You know what Mutina is?"
"...a slasher killer?"
"No." His answer came instantly. "She's propaganda."
You frowned "I mean that's a little dramatic, it's fictional."
Logan glared, the muscles in his jaw flexed beneath a day's worth of stubble,"So're cartoons, so're comics, so're movies.",
His eyes relaxed, now just seeming flat and… tired
"People don't wake up hatin' somebody outta nowhere, kid. They get taught. Joking and comin’ up with their sick fantasies." He tilted his head toward the mask in your hands. "Then one day they stop seein' the difference between pretend and the folks standin' right in front of 'em."
You hesitated.
"I don't—"
"You've actually watched those movies?"
"It’s just one...five times."
"And what does she do?"
You smiled automatically.
"She kills people”
He stared, and your smile slowly disappeared.
"Yeah pips? How.”
"Well...they're usually hiding."
"Mh. And?"
"She..." you swallowed. "...finds them."
"Finds 'em because?"
"They..." The words sounded different now. "...can't hide what they are."
He nodded once. "And then?"
"...Kills them."
"Whole crowds cheer every time?"
You remembered the theater.
People laughing and clapping. Like in every slasher movie, the victims are stupid and make some mistake, but even beyond that smokescreen explanation it was obvious. They didn't have the luxury to do things “normal” kids can. No Mutant can.
"...Yeah."
Your muttered response brought you out of the building dread.
"You know what I was doin' before movies like that stopped makin' money?"
You looked at him but he wasn't looking back, blunt nails digging into the side of his neck and staring somewhere above the two of you.
"I was pullin' kids outta burned houses. I've seen parents tell mobs where their mutant kid was hidin'...”
Logan dropped his hand and stared at yours. The baby fat still clinging to the base of your fingers, your hands smaller than his, knuckles soft and not marred by scar tissue.
"I've seen little girls your age… dragged out because somebody spotted blue skin through a bedroom window."
His voice never rose, and it didn't have to for you to realize how much emotion Logan was baring to you.
"I've buried friends because people thought mutants were monsters."
You stared at the floor.
"I..."
"When people spend two hours cheerin' while someone guts mutant characters..."
He looked at the mask in your hands.
"...you think every person in that theater leaves it there?"
You didn't answer.
"They don't."
"I just..." Your voice came out small. "I thought it was like... zombies."
"I know."
"I didn't think about..."
"I know."
You frowned.
"But the actress said in interviews it's satire."
He barked a humorless laugh.
"Kid. You think the folks buyin' shirts with a mutant killer on 'em care what the actress meant?"
"I guess not."
"They like watchin' mutants die. And the actress likes it too, she tried to beat my ass. Scotty’s too, and Jean, and Kurt… all your heroes"
The sentence sat between you.
"I bought..." you whispered. "...everything."
"I noticed."
"My room..."
"Yeah."
Heat flooded your face.
"I wasn't trying to say mutants deserve it."
"I know."
"You believe me?"
Logan finally looked at you.
"I do."
Relief started to bloom
"Doesn't make it okay."
It disappeared just as quickly.
"You don't get judged just by what you mean.", He tapped the top of your replica mask, and the small action made indignation rise.
"Who are you to say anything about liking something problematic-" the embarrassment was flooding your chest, irritation growing that he wasn't letting it go.
"This ain't just 'problematic’.” His tone sharpened. "This ain't some old action movie that aged bad."
He flicked the mask.
"That franchise exists because people wanted to watch mutants butchered. They’d be screenin’ snuff films if they could”
"..."
"You think somebody makin' movies called Murder Me Queero would've gotten ten sequels?"
You blinked.
"No, and you can't say that Logan… don't say that, especially not in front of- "
"Yes I can, and back to my damn point, ‘s ‘cause people would've called it hateful."
Another silence.
"But mutants, that's all they see us as entertainment. We’re heroes for show and chew toys for show"
The walk back to your room was quiet, briefly you considered broaching the subject of what Logan had (possibly accidentally) confessed about himself but deemed it better to keep your mouth shut, your turmoil ending as you reached the door.
As soon as you pushed it open, your eyes fell on the corner where your merchandise had piled up. Posters, some featuring Mutina standing on a pile of corpses. Mutant corpses, obviously. The print blanket covering a chair, with her mask and scythes scattered across it in a messy pattern. Boxed figurines, photocards… and it was…
Different, now.
You hadn't noticed before. Not really. The little shrine right in your doorway, for everyone to see anytime they stopped by to ask a question or hang out.
Logan stood in the doorway.
"I'm not gonna march in there and throw your stuff away."
You looked up.
"That's your decision. Not really, it’ll piss me off as long as it’s there and ‘m not lettin this go,”
“But I needed you to understand why seein' you dressed like that..." he exhaled. "...it’s fucked up kid, it hurts."
That word caught you off guard.
"Hurts… you?"
"You know how many kids live here?"
You nodded, a shocked gasp escaping as you realized where he was going.
"They already spend every day wonderin' if the world wants 'em dead." He glanced back toward the hallway, "What do you think it tells 'em.. when one of their own dresses up like the woman famous for killin' people like them?"
Your throat tightened. You'd only thought it looked cool.
"I'm..." Your voice cracked, a small humiliating squeak interrupting your poor attempt at pretending you weren't about to cry.
"I'm sorry."
Logan nodded once. "I know."
You looked around your room again.
"I think..." you sniffled as you slowly pulled the poster off the wall, not from any sense of loss but pure regret. Stupidity, all of it. "...I have some redecorating to do."
He didn't smile but some of the tension left his shoulders, rolling them as he uncrossed his arms.
He turned to leave before pausing.
"Good. And kid?"
"Yeah?"
"Next Halloween..." He glanced over his shoulder. "...pick somebody who didn't try to kick my ass two months ago."
A tiny, embarrassed laugh escaped you. "I think I can manage that."
This time, Logan's expression softened just enough to count as a smile.
Me and my husband have been watching all of X-men and X-men 97…. So yall get this. Scott summers x black reader (dont come on here saying SHIT about no Jean or Madeline, period), southern coded reader cause yall…I’m from AR okay most of my readers are from the south lol, cute lil fluff though as I work my fingers to the boooonnneee with these 20+ requests yall sent lol (I love yall down bad never stop sending stuff in) I definitely think Im going to do a southern girl series soon but I will post about that later. Enough yappin, enjoy
“Scott. Baby, no.”
You say at you turn to him. It was once again the 4th Sunday of the month which meant dinner with your family. It would also be the first Sunday that your boyfriend would be coming to visit with you. Breaking it to your black family that you were dating a mutant? For the most part it was easy. Like you, he knows what it’s like to be considered “different” just not in the same way. “Girl, where the hell you get a mutant from?” Your cousin had said when you announced that you wanted to bring him over. “We met at the school I was volunteering for. I told yall this.” You express. Your family was very open to anyone you all brought home but that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be questions. And damn they had a lot of them.
“You talking about the bald headed man in the wheelchair. Who is your boyfriend, one of the teachers or something?” Your granny yells over the music. “Something like that. But he is coming over for dinner so play nice.” After dodging fifty-leven questions, you managed to set a date. So here you were getting all dolled up. Makeup on, jeans that hugged just right and a cut tie up shirt that showed just enough skin to not get you cussed out by your elders. Everything was going great…until you turned to your sweet boyfriend and saw the monstrosity that he decided to put on his body. “What’s wrong with it?’ He asks you. Your eyes look at the shirt and you can’t help but laugh.
“Does it not match?” He asks turning to the mirror. Anyone who knows Scott is aware of the issue with his sight. Over time you had managed to help him distinguish colors by teaching him how each one looks under the blaring red gaze he always wore. For the most part, his style was simple and he usually manages to do a great job. Until today. “Baby, where the hell did you even buy this shirt?” You giggle as you walk closer to examine him. His hair was slightly disheveled, pants wrinkled and you are pretty sure he is wearing two different colored socks. “I…” he squints in the mirror. “I have no clue actually.” He shakes his head and turns back to you, hands wrapping around your waist. “Sorry honey bee, I guess I’m a bit nervous.” He sighs. You smile softly and plant a kiss on his lips. “Aw baby, don’t be nervous. They are going to love you.” You encourage. Scott sighs again. He has every right to be nervous of course.
One, he is a mutant. And with the current state of the world, he knows the stance around mutants
Two, his powers aren’t the easiest to deal with especially when his emotions get the best of him.
And three, even through red glasses he can make out the beautifully melanated skin of yours.
Everything together, he feels like the odds are stacked against him. Meeting you has been one of the best things in his life. And he didn’t want to mess it up. He knows how important family is to you. Which is why he is running around like a chicken with its head cut off trying to make sure that his nerves were in check and everything is perfect for today. Your hands on his face catches his attention. “Scooter, listen to me. Everything will be fine. You will fit in, my family will love you. Just be yourself. The you I fell in love with.” You reassure him, pressing gentle kisses along his face and neck. His cheeks turn as red as his lens. “B-baby.” He chuckles nervously. “Please, I’m already red enough as it is.” You smile at him. “Come on, let’s get you properly dressed so you can look like mine.” You say pulling him into the bathroom.
An hour later you are walking back into the dining room of your childhood home. Laughter and loud conversation fills the air. The minute you step in you hear it, “BITCH IS THAT CYCLOPS!” Your cousin’s voice booms through the room. “girl, if you don’t watch your mouth in front of elders.” Your auntie says, smacking her on the arm. You laugh as you encourage Scott to step in. “Uh, hello everyone. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Scott Summers.” He stutters out, ears tinging pink. “Boy, you a whole superhero. I know you ain’t nervous to meet the family.” Your granny teases. He lets out a shy chuckle. “It’s nice to meet you Scott. Come on in and grab some of these plates from the kitchen will you.” Your mother pulls him in and just like that, the noise continues. “You said you were bringing a man home. Not the damn leader of the X-men. You lucky bitch.” You cousin whispers in an excited tone, keeping her voice low so she doesn’t get chastised again. “I wanted to give him a chance to be him.” You smirk. You both look at each other and let off the girliest squeals. “This is so fucking cool. My cousin. Dating an x man. I need so many details.” She pulls you back into the chaos. Your eyes look over to find your man. Face still red but shoulders relaxed and a smile on his face.
He sees you and offers you a smile. “Ah, cut all that out you will sit by her at dinner. Come on in here and get you a drink.” You hear the men tease him and it makes your heart smile. Yeah things in the world are a bit chaotic but here in this space, everything is perfect.
I love ur work!! I write stuff for Gambit so could I ask if you could write a jealous Gambit would love to see ur take on it. You can add others to it if you want but I’m thinking gambit jealous over ur ex or something like that. Or even just a gambit reacting to ur ex. Fem reader if possible. Your writing is great <3
Jealousy, Jealousy...
Ft: Misc Marvel Men, GN reader + GN ex
-> Included: Gambit, Nightcrawler, The Human Torch, Deadpool
Content Warnings: General jealousy/feelings of insecurity, ex partner not a terrible person, religion in Kurt’s
A/N: LOLLL SORRY FOR THE HIATUS, I had to become a legal guardian for someone and its been cray-cray but I'm a New Yorker now so if any radioactive animals wanna bite me... (˵ ¬ᴗ¬˵)
Also I'm getting rid of my rating system because I really couldn't tell when to mark it PG or PG-13 so if its NSFW I'll put a warning otherwise the content warnings can "rate it"
Gambit/Remy LeBeau
Remy LeBeau had met plenty of former lovers.
Occupational hazard.
Sometimes they threw drinks.
Sometimes they threw knives.
Once, memorably, someone threw a live lobster.
So when you told him your ex would be joining a mutual friend's cookout, he'd simply flashed that easy grin.
"Cher, if dey survived dat relationship, den we already got somethin' in common."
You'd laughed.
He'd meant it. Mostly.
The trouble started before your ex even arrived.
"Oh!" Rogue said as she spotted someone crossing the yard. "There they are."
Remy looked up.
Effortlessly put together, a dimpled kind of smile that made strangers smile back.
Within thirty seconds they'd shaken everyone's hand, complimented Ororo's lemonade, helped a neighbor carry folding chairs, and somehow gotten the ever gruff Logan talking about motorcycles.
"...Well," Remy muttered.
"What?"
"Dey got charm."
You nudged him. "So do you, my charming Cajun."
"Mm." His smile remained, ever suave and beautiful,it just didn't quite reach his eyes anymore.
He noticed something else, too- people kept gravitating toward them, they weren’t loud or demanding some sort of attention as a newcomer but it just… kept happening.
Every conversation seemed to open naturally around them.
Remy had spent years cultivating that sort of magnetism, a literal survival tactic and to see someone wear it so effortlessly made something unpleasant twist in his stomach.
Lunch was served buffet style.
You loaded your plate before wandering over to where your ex was already standing.
"Mind if I steal one?"
You didn't wait for an answer.
You reached over.
Plucked a roasted potato right off their plate.
"Pfft."
They rolled their eyes.
"I hadn't even tasted it yet."
"You've got two more."
"Thief, you attract your own I guess"
"Guilty as charged."
The exchange lasted all of ten seconds.
Neither of you thought anything of it.
Remy did.
His fork paused halfway to his mouth. He hated that thought. More than that, he hated that he'd had it at all.
By late afternoon, everyone had migrated toward the firepit, passing around marshmallows and metal skewers.
You wandered off toward the cooler.
Your ex followed a minute later.
Remy watched without meaning to, he told himself he wasn't watching, he was keeping an eye on what's his, that’s fair.
Then he realized he'd stopped listening to whatever Scott was saying.
"...Remy?"
"Hm?"
Scott gestured vaguely.
"I asked if you wanted another drink."
"Oh."
Remy blinked.
"Sure."
Scott glanced toward the cooler before looking back at him.
"...You okay?"
A lazy grin spread across Remy's face automatically.
"Toujours." Always.
Scott looked unconvinced, but was quickly distracted by you returning a few seconds later carrying two sodas.
"Here."
You handed one to Remy.
"Merci, chère."
Your ex sat across the fire.
Conversation resumed.
The moment passed.
Except it hadn't, as the sun dipped lower, someone suggested going out for dinner instead of grilling dessert.
"Oh!" you said. "There's that little seafood place by the marina."
Your ex smiled instantly.
"They still make that ridiculous bread pudding?"
"I hope so."
"I used to have to stop you from ordering two, god the smell makes me nauseous it’s so weird”
The two of you laughed, and as always when you were happy Remy smiled. But he was slowly stirring the melting ice in his drink. He didn’t have an appetite.
Dinner wasn't awkward, your ex laughed at Remy's stories, whistled at his card tricks, bought him another round of drinks
"Dey always like dis?" Remy asked quietly after your ex wandered off to pay for appetizers.
You looked over.
"Pretty much."
"Huh."
"They're a good person."
"Remy can see dat."
He rubbed the back of his neck.
"...Dat's de problem."
The drive home was quieter than usual.
Silence broken by the occasional quip and Remy drumming his fingers across the steering wheel, streetlights swept across the windshield in warm intervals.
You reached over and rested your hand on his thigh.
"You've been awfully quiet."
Remy hummed.
"Remy been talkin'."
"You've been making jokes."
"...Dat’s talkin."
"And?"
He exhaled through his nose.
"You really wanna know?"
"I really do."
For a long moment, only the tires filled the silence.
Finally "I ain' jealous often."
You looked at him.
"But when I am..." A small laugh escaped him "...Mon Dieu, I hate it."
You waited, he wasn't done.
"I keep tellin' myself it don't matter.It don' matter dat dey know where ya like t'eat.It don' matter dat ya can take food off each odda's plates.It don' matter dat everybody smile when dey see y'all togetha." His grip tightened slightly on the steering wheel. "But den I start wonderin'."
His voice softened.
"If I walk in a room wit' you twenty years from now...will we move dat easy?"
The question broke your heart a little, and when you pulled into the driveway, neither of you got out, the only movement was when you turned in your seat instead.
"Remy."
He looked over.
"I need you to listen."
He nodded.
"My ex knows who I was."
"They know old me.They know me before my world changed, mutant life and other things.” You smiled.
"But you?"
You reached over, taking his hand.
"You know me after I learned who I wanted to become."
His thumb brushed over your knuckles.
"You know the version of me that falls asleep against your shoulder during movies."
"The one who steals your trench coat, the one who learned how to shuffle cards because you kept insisting it wasn't that hard, the parts of me that have been wonderfully changed because of you and everything that’s happened with you"
A reluctant smile tugged at his lips.
"...You still cheat at shufflin."
"I absolutely do."
"You terrible at hidin' de extra cards."
"I like winning, I’d never win against you otherwise."
He laughed quietly.
"There you are."
You squeezed his hand.
"And twenty years from now?" You leaned over the center console to kiss his cheek. “I fully intend to keep stealing food off your plate."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Only my plate?"
"Well..."
You pretended to think.
"I guess I could steal from someone else."
Remy's hand caught yours before you could pull away.
"Non." His grin finally reached his eyes again. "Dat job belong t'me now."
You laughed.
"So possessive."
"Nah."
He brought your knuckles to his lips.
"Jes' practical."
You rolled your eyes affectionately.
"Practical."
"Mm-hmm."
"You know if you wanted I can order my own food."
"An' where de romance in dat?"
The words were light and teasing, unmistakably Remy.
But when he reached across the console to pull you into a lingering kiss, there was something else tucked beneath it, quiet relief that whatever memories had come before, you were still choosing to make new ones with him, and he intended to make enough of them that one day, someone else might smile at the mention of your favorite restaurant, only to realize they'd never heard of it.
Because it would be a place that belonged only to the two of you.
Nightcrawler/Kurt Wagner
Kurt told himself he was imagining things, it was so much easier that way. Easier to not focus on the immediate joking and the fact that your guard was lowered immediately. Your ex had only been invited because you shared the same friend group. It wasn't strange. Adults remained friends with former partners all the time. Kurt knew that. He'd even admired the maturity of it when you'd explained it months ago.
"It just... wasn't meant to be," you'd said with a shrug. "That doesn't mean I stopped caring about them as a person."
He'd smiled and agreed, it was a beautiful thing- to love even when having to reconcile a lost future.
Now, sitting beside you on some old friend's apartment balcony while everyone traded stories over drinks, he wished his heart believed what his head already knew.
"...And they didn’t eat apple pie if it hadn’t been chilled"
Your head snapped toward your ex.
"You remembered that?"
They grinned. "You made a huge fuss over it, somethin’ crazy about fruit not being hot"
You laughed, shaking your head. "I was eight!"
Kurt chuckled with everyone else, but his smile faltered for the briefest moment.
He hadn't known that.
It was such a tiny thing. Almost laughably insignificant. Or well it wasn't actually that small, a large number of foods contained warm fruits. Did tomatoes also fall into your peculiar pickiness?
It was so impossibly intimate.
As everyone stood to move inside, your ex paused beside you.
"Oh."
Their fingers brushed your shoulder.
"There."
They plucked a piece of white lint from your top.
You didn't even glance up from your conversation with Kurt, watching as his yellow eyes slid from your face to your shoulder, up your ex’s hand to stare into their eyes. A shocked sort of assessing hidden thankfully from his lack of visible pupils.
"Thanks."
"No problem."
The exchange lasted all of two seconds. Less, probably.
Kurt stared at the empty space between you after they'd walked away.
There had been no hesitation, or awkwardness over touching still. When Kurt himself questioned doing anything before explicit permission. Something you said you liked and found charming. But the unconscious familiarity of someone who had done it a hundred times before wasn't something he’d gotten to yet.
He immediately hated himself for noticing, folding his three-fingered hands tighter around yours anyway.
Later, someone started telling old college stories.
Your ex interrupted.
"Wait, wait—tell Kurt about the choir christmas animals."
"Oh, absolutely not."
"You slept on a sheep!"
"I was a kid! Also it was a lamb, get it right"
"You insisted the sheep looked lonely."
"They did! They so did! It wasn't some insane observation, like imagine minding your business and some dude picks you up to show a bunch of singing kids the birth of a cardboard cutout of Jesus"
You had to pause between words before you'd even finished speaking, laughing too hard to keep a straight line on your story.
Not your usual laugh, your eyes watered, and you were coughing on your drink halfway through, and Kurt leaned in to rub your back and soothe you but not before noticing your ex sat forward from their spot to do the same thing.
Halfway through the story, you snorted so unexpectedly you buried your face in your hands.
The entire room erupted.
"So embarrassing," you groaned between giggles.
Kurt laughed too.
God, you looked beautiful.
He realized, with a hollow feeling in his chest, that he'd never heard that loose laugh before, the snorting or how you had clutched on to his arm like your life depended on it.
How many stories had happened before he'd ever met you?
How many versions of you existed only in someone else's memory? Specifically the someone else staring at you from across the couch ready to rub your back and soothe your laughter.
Eventually everyone gathered their things to leave, one of your friends almost tripped over herself to call after you.
"You know..."
She looked between you and your ex.
"I honestly didn't think anyone could replace them."
The room went quiet for half a heartbeat.
Then the friend laughed.
"I meant, until Kurt came along! It's good he’s here, sorry Kurt."
A few people chuckled, and you sighed before giving her a look.
Kurt laughed because everyone else was laughing.
Someone thankfully changed the subject, rides and who was carpooling with who, the conversation moved on as you and Kurt left together arm in arm but the words lodged behind his ribs.
Didn't think anyone could replace them.
He wasn't a replacement… he was better for you all around. You’d lamented about how perfect he was while early in your dating.
The mansion was unusually quiet when you returned, most of the lights had already been switched off due to the late time. There might've been a few night owls within the mansion but since it was the school year they were decidedly quiet in order to protect the sleep of the students.
You said a temporary good-bye in order to shower, as much as you loved sharing the bed with Kurt you did also love a long comforting shower, which was not possible with someone waiting to take their turn.
You found Kurt sitting on the windowsill in his room, watching rain tap softly against the glass.
"There you are," you said, slipping off your shoes. "I've been looking everywhere."
He turned with his familiar warm smile.
"There is not much to look at, sternchen."
You crossed the room until you were standing between his knees, and he rested his hands lightly against your waist.
Something was off, he didn't lean his head onto your torso or crane his neck up to smile while staring into your eyes, he looked somewhere past you, shoulders slumped in something more than tiredness.
"You've been quiet."
"I have?"
"...Yes, it's ok if you just want to be quiet but I was worried."
His eyes dropped.
"...I am sorry."
Your brow furrowed.
"Why?"
He hesitated so long you thought he'd changed his mind.
Finally, he spoke so softly you almost missed it.
"How long…," he swallowed "...How long were you together?"
You blinked.
"Together? With my ex?"
He nodded once, the slight tremble in his hands matching his shaking voice. You watched as he opened his mouth then turned away, biting his lip like he hated that he'd asked at all.
"About a year," you answered honestly.
Kurt absorbed that in silence.
"I see."
You reached up, gently tilting his chin until he looked at you again.
"Kurt."
His golden eyes met yours.
"Is that what's been bothering you?"
"I should not be jealous."
His eyes dipped, embarrassed.
"They are kind. They have done nothing wrong, I know. And neither have you."
He let out a small, frustrated laugh.
"I know all of these things, but..."
He searched for words.
"... they speak to you, and I realize there are whole chapters of your life I will never know because... because I was not there."
His voice barely rose above a whisper.
"And I wonder,” his voice broke, no sound coming out as he tried to speak, before he withdrew his hands and coughed, ducking his head further into his arms.
“I wonder how much of you belongs to a past I can never share."
The fragile confession hung between you, the silence only broken as you shuffled forward and knelt closer until your forehead rested against his.
"No part of me belongs to the past."
His breath caught.
"It made me who I am." you took one of his hands, brushing your thumb against the velveteen fur "But the person standing here..." you laced your fingers with his "... this is the one making new memories, learning new peculiarities, finding new reasons to laugh."
You squeezed gently.
"This version belongs with you."
Kurt closed his eyes.
"...If I never know the old stories?"
You smiled.
"I'll tell them to you, whatever you want to know, and more. A lot more. And someday..." you brushed a kiss against the bridge of his nose. "...you'll know stories no one else does."
His shoulders finally relaxed, the smile that returned was small and wobbly, but showing off his cute fangs, and highlighting his golden eyes, still watery around the edges.
"...I think," he murmured, "I would like that very much."
"You'd better."
You bumped your nose against his.
"Because you're stuck with me."
A quiet laugh escaped him, as he locked his arms under yours and pulled you into bed.
The Human Torch/Johnny Storm
Johnny had expected to hate your ex.
Actually, scratch that.
He'd expected your ex to make it easy to hate them.
Maybe they'd be smug. Maybe they'd still flirt with you. Maybe they'd shake his hand just a little too hard and spend the evening reminiscing about all the wonderful years you spent together.
Johnny had prepared for that.
He had not prepared for... this.
"...Seriously?" Ben muttered around a mouthful of burger. "They're, like... weirdly nice."
"Right?" Johnny whispered back.
Across the table, your ex laughed at something Reed had said before turning to Johnny.
"I've gotta say," they grinned, "I've seen your interviews. You're way funnier in person, those journalists gotta up their game, crazy stiff questions."
Johnny blinked.
"...Thanks?"
"And the stunt you pulled in Manhattan last month?" they continued. "That was insane."
"Oh." Johnny rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, well..."
"You saved a lot of people."
"...Yeah."
"...Huh."
They raised their glass.
"To the Human Torch."
Johnny slowly clinked his soda against it.
"...Thanks?"
What was happening? It keeps getting weirder.
Halfway through lunch, you reached for another fry.
Your ex beat you to it.
Without asking, they plucked one straight off your plate.
You didn't even look up.
"Rude," you muttered, continuing your story.
"You weren't eating it."
"I was getting there."
"Too slow."
Johnny stared.
"...Seriously?"
Three pairs of eyes turned toward him.
"What?"
"You just..." He pointed between the two of you. "They just stole your food."
You frowned, "...Yeah?"
"...They've done that for years?”
"Exactly! Oh my gosh I’ve never been able to keep an order entirely to myself like seriously!"
"I don't understand the issue,” Your ex snorted. "I'll buy them more fries if it's a federal offense."
Ben kicked Johnny lightly under the table.
"Dude."
Johnny sank back into his chair, dramatically slumping his shoulders forward and tucking his chin to his neck.
"...Right."
He sounded unconvinced even to himself.
The afternoon drifted into wandering around the city.
Someone suggested grabbing dessert.
"Ooh!" you perked up. "That little place on Twenty-Third."
Your ex smiled immediately.
"Oh, that place's tiramisu is—"
They stopped.
"...Still good?"
You laughed.
"Probably."
Johnny looked between the two of you.
"You've been there."
"A few times," you admitted.
"It was close to our apartment."
Apartment.
Johnny hadn't actually thought about that part before.
You'd lived together.
Of course you had a favorite restaurant, favorite coffee shops… grocery stores… spots in the park.
He didn’t want tiramisu anymore.
"Actually," he interrupted, a little too brightly, "I know this rooftop place that's way cooler."
Ben gave him a look.
"We're standing five minutes away."
"So?"
"So your place is forty blocks from here."
"Dude I don’t think theres forty blocks in the entire city, it’ll be worth it!"
You smiled apologetically.
"Maybe another day? I've really been craving this place."
Johnny opened his mouth.
Closed it again. The bitter taste was lingering on his tongue even before the coffee dessert.
"...Yeah. Whatever you want babe"
He spent the rest of dinner trying way too hard, challenged a waiter to guess everyone's drink order, and he somehow convinced the table to rank the Fantastic Four by cooking ability.
He lit a birthday candle with his finger for a kid three tables over, standing over there as a birthday surprise until four different people laughed until they cried.
He was on fire. Pun intended.
But that was exactly the problem.
"Johnny." Sue's voice cut through another story he'd started telling.
He looked over. "What?"
She smiled patiently.
"You can relax."
"...I am relaxed."
"You've been up for an hour, sit down."
"I literally run around all day for a living."
"This isn’t what you’re doing for a living though, it’s a nice dinner. With nice company.”
Even Reed looked up from the menu.
"Your vocal volume has increased approximately twenty-three percent."
Johnny groaned.
"Oh, come on. There is no way you know that”
Your ex chuckled.
"They're right."
"Not you too."
"You don't have to impress anybody."
Johnny laughed.
"Who says I'm trying to impress anybody?"
The table went silent.
Every single person looked at him.
"...Um okay."
The night ended outside the restaurant.
Your ex hugged everyone goodbye.
When they got to Johnny, they held out a hand instead.
"It was good meeting you."
Johnny shook it.
"...You too."
They smiled.
"Take care of them."
Johnny nodded.
"I will."
"I know."
Simple.
Sincere.
Then they walked away.
Johnny watched until they disappeared around the corner.
Finally, he turned to you.
"...What the actual fuck?"
You laughed.
"What?"
"They're..."
He gestured vaguely in the direction they'd gone.
"...Normal."
"...Yeah?"
"They're supposed to be terrible."
"They're really not."
"They liked me."
“That’s very easy to do."
"They laughed at my jokes."
"They're good jokes."
"They offered to buy me another drink!"
You crossed your arms, smile breaking out across your face, clearly enjoying this far too much.
"So your complaint is...?"
Johnny threw both hands into the air.
"I don't know!"
He laughed helplessly.
"I was ready to hate them."
"And?"
"They made it impossible."
You slipped your hand into his.
"You know why we broke up?"
Johnny glanced over.
"Why?"
"We loved each other."
His eyebrows shot up.
"...That's not helping."
"But we wanted different lives."
You squeezed his hand.
"We were better as friends than partners."
Johnny looked down at your intertwined fingers.
"So..."
"So."
"They're not secretly trying to steal you back?"
"No."
"They don't still love you?"
"They love me."
"What?"
"But they aren't in love with me."
Johnny was quiet for a moment.
Then, almost sheepishly, he admitted,
"...I spent half of dinner wondering if every place we walked past was somewhere you'd kissed."
Your expression softened.
"Oh, Johnny."
"I know,I know, it's dumb."
"It isn't dumb."
"It kinda is."
You stopped walking, gently tugging him to a halt.
"You know what my favorite restaurant is now?"
He shrugged. Eyes looking somewhere past you, decidedly not making contact with yours.
"The one where you accidentally set the dessert menu on fire."
Johnny grinned despite himself. "Okay that wasn't my fault, open candle next to paper menus was a genius idea I'm sure."
"The owner very much disagreed."
"He was obviously biased."
"And my favorite vacation?"
"The beach?"
"The one where you convinced me seashells could explode."
"They can if you heat them enough."
"My point is,” you stepped closer “you keep worrying about places I used to go,” You rested a hand against his chest, drumming your fingers against the muscle “…but somehow every place we go together becomes my new favorite."
Johnny's grin softened into something quieter, "So..."
"I'm making new memories."
Johnny paused, "With me."
"With you."
He leaned down to steal a quick kiss.
"...Okay."
"What?"
"I still think the love thing is weird."
You laughed.
"I'll let you steal a fry next time."
"Oh?"
"One."
Johnny gasped dramatically.
"Only one?"
"You negotiate like that and I'm taking them all back."
"Now that's my baby. Dating me…me. Yeah I like that."
He slipped an arm around your shoulders as the two of you headed home, already talking over each other about where to get breakfast the next morning.
Deadpool/Wade Wilson
Wade had spent the entire drive over rehearsing for this.
Step one: Be charming.
Step two: If that fails, be funny.
Step three: If that fails, fake your own death.
He'd gotten as far as Step One before the front door opened.
Your ex smiled warmly.
"You must be Wade."
"Depends."
They blinked.
"On?"
"If you're here to collect unpaid parking tickets? No?"
A laugh, genuine and rea.
"Come on in."
...Well. That wasn't supposed to happen.
The evening started surprisingly well. Too well. Your ex wasn't awkward, wasn't territorial, didn't give Wade the once-over or stare at his scarred face.
Didn't ask passive-aggressive questions about his career, his life choices, or the fact that he occasionally got shot for money.
Instead
"I've heard a lot about you." Wade pointed accusingly at you. "You've been talking smack."
"Mostly good things," your ex assured him.
"Mostly?"
"They did mention you tried to make pancakes with a flamethrower."
"...Technically successful."
"They were charcoal." You said, with an exasperated smile.
"They were still pancakes, matter cannot be destroyed."
Your ex laughed so hard they nearly spilled their drink.
Wade frowned. God why were they making this difficult?
Halfway through dinner, someone wandered over from another table.
"Oh!"
He looked between you and your ex.
"I didn't realize you two were hanging out again."
You smiled politely.
"We're just friends."
The stranger looked at Wade.
"...Wait...Oh." Their face lit up with understanding."I honestly thought you two would end up back together someday."
Silence, just for a second. Then he laughed awkwardly.
"But obviously life happens!"
"Yes, very obviously," you echoed.
The conversation drifted elsewhere.
Wade made a joke.
Everyone laughed.
The stranger apologized and eventually left.
No one seemed bothered.
Except Wade.
He compensated. Overly.
"So anyway," he announced far too loudly, "did I ever tell you about the time I accidentally fought Dracula?"
"You've told me three times," you said, "each version gets more dramatic."
"Art evolves, my love!"
Five minutes later he was balancing three breadsticks across his upper lip.
Ten minutes after that he somehow had the waiter judging an imaginary cooking competition between him and Captain America.
By dessert he had half the restaurant watching him attempt card tricks.
One child applauded. Another asked if he worked there.
You buried your face in your hands.
Outside, you bumped his shoulder.
"...You okay?"
"I'm fantastic."
"You challenged a twelve-year-old to an arm wrestling contest."
"He started it."
"He asked if you knew magic."
"I do know magic."
"You pulled a spoon out of your sleeve."
"That spoon wasn't there before, I'm not entirely sure how I did it myself, but a magician never shares secrets."
You stopped walking.
"Wade."
He sighed dramatically. "...Fine. You wanna know what happened?"
"I'd like that."
He shoved his hands into his pockets.
"I got weird."
"I noticed."
"You know that thing where your brain decides to ruin your own evening?"
"...Mm-hmm."
"Mine rented a billboard of every possible thing that could go wrong complete with little red strings and conspiracy theories."
You reached the park before either of you spoke again.
Finally, Wade broke the silence.
"They're..." he searched for the word "...Better."
You frowned, "Better?"
"They're stable."
"Wade—"
"They've got an actual career."
"So do you."
"They sleep normal human hours."
"Sometimes."
"They're..." he laughed once, humorless. "...Their face isn't crazy gnarly, it’s even the good kind of gnarly."
Your chest tightened.
"Wade."
"They're funny."
"You are too."
"They're the kind of person people picture when someone says 'good partner.'" he stared at the sidewalk, scuffing his boot against the concrete. "And then there's me. Prince Charming I know, my jawline could cut glass”
You stepped in front of him before he could keep walking.
"They laughed at every joke you made."
"They were being polite."
"They complimented you."
"They were being polite."
"They thanked you for making me happy."
"...They were..." his voice faltered. "...being polite."
You cupped his face.
"They were telling the truth."
His eyes refused to meet yours.
"That guy looked at you like..." he swallowed. "...Like they couldn't figure out how I happened."
You smiled softly.
"I can."
"Yeah?"
"You walked into my life."
"I literally crashed through your apartment window."
"You paid for the repairs. And you stayed, my Prince Charming”
Wade's shoulders loosened just a little.
"My ex knows me," you continued. "Or, they know who I was."
You brushed your thumb across the scarred skin near his jaw without hesitation.
"But you know who I am now."
He finally looked at you.
"I don't compare you. To anyone- anything. You’re my Wade”
"I know"
"I chose you."
Your voice was steady.
"Not because you're funnier, or more broken, or less broken, or because you beat someone else; I chose you because when I picture the rest of my life..." You smiled. "...you're already in it."
For a long moment, Wade just stared.
Then, quietly—
"...You know..."
"What do I know?"
"I spent the entire dinner convinced you were about to realize you could've done better."
You laughed, not at him, but at how impossible that thought seemed.
"Wade."
"I know."
"No."
You leaned forward until your forehead rested against his.
"You don't."
His breath caught.
"I've already met 'better.'" You kissed him gently "I’m at home with you."
Wade didn’t have his usual quip or joke to break the tension or run from the ticklish feeling behind his eyes, he simply wrapped his arms around you and held on a little tighter than usual.
When he finally spoke, his voice was muffled against your shoulder.
"...I'm still stealing the leftover cheesecake from your fridge."
You smiled into his hair.
"I bought that for you."
"...Oh."
A beat.
"...Can I still pretend I stole it?"
"Of course, you have a reputation to uphold."
"There they are," he murmured, his grin returning. "My questionable life choices."
You rolled your eyes fondly, lacing your fingers with his as you started walking again.
The billboard in his head was finally dark. The only voice left was yours(and the narrator), and it was enough.
I need a Hc of riding Victor Creed's 🤫 please 😭 I can't stop think about this man!
Well met my fellow Ink! I grant you your request and I hope you enjoy its as much as I did writing it!
(Also I kept over thinking if you only wanted to ride him or ride his face so I did both! think of it as a little bonus 😉)
Warnings!! MDNI NSFW, age gap (it doesn't matter how old you are you can be 40 and there's still going to be an age gap lol) I think there's nothing triggering but if there is please let me know
Victor Creed Headcannon
Riding the beast
Sitting on his face -
First thing first that man is eating like a starved beast, to him that's fine dinning right there a 5 star michelin restaurant, he's not letting you go until he's full and he treats you like that every time
Second if you're chubby or on the thicker side don't even try telling him that "I'm too fat I'll crush you" he will look at you like you just insulted him, he's strong he can handle you, and don't you dare not to fully sit yourself on his face he will grip your thighs and pull you down
I hope you don't mind the texture of his beard on your inner thighs (depending on which version of him you're riding ofc)
Third he's an expert it's in his animal instincts he will lap up your sopping went cunt until you can't anymore he literally will suck and lick until you're overstimulated and he's doing all that just for you, he's not even taking care of himself you could go through 6 orgasms and hell still not touch himself, he like to test how much he can last before he fucks you properly, his face is a mess afterwards (you cannot tell me he doesn't clean his face like a cat)
Riding him -
Oh boy so cowgirl? Intriguing impress him! Don't get me wrong he's still in control or at least he thinks he is for the doms over here wink wink
I always like to imagine that between him and Logan he's ticker his brother is a bit longer but he's still thick, but this isn't about him, Victor is thick af he will stretch you so he always like to prep you before either by fingering you or by making you sit on his face, I feel like he doesn't mind using toys on you but he will eventually get desperate
He's gripping on your hips while you ride him, he likes to grab you by the hair or neck and lower your face to kiss, he's sucking your breast while you desperately move, I feel like he would run his long nails at your back in a soothing manner he likes seeing you trembling (with pleasure)
After a while if you get too cock drunk he will grab you and switch to finish in a mating press but this is about riding him
Your moans and the sound of wet skin slapping fill the room in a sinful orchestra of noises, you've already came on his cock multiple times but he still won't budge he plays with your nipple while he has that cocky grin of his plastered all across his face he's been holding himself back, continuously edging himself just for the thrill of it and watching your desperately moving up and down it's one hell of a view to him, you have your hands placed on his chest while trying to steady yourself but he doesn't make it any easier, he keeps stimulating your bud while you're trying to keep your cool
"Can't help myself, you look so helpless and vulnerable it makes me want to devour you" <3
He's not helping at all, he likes to see you unravel on top of him, slowly loosing yourself to the pleasure but isn't that what you wanted? So no complaining
He grunts if you play with his chest while slowly moving up and down on him, if you lay yourself on him while going slowly he will wrap his arms on your back and kiss your neck and face, he really does value vulnerable moments like this even if he doesn't say it often, he also makes sure you don't get hurt accidentally so if he sees your going really aggressive he will grip you to slow you down so you don't hurt yourself, he knows he's big he brags about it but he's careful not to hurt you, keep in mind he's only like this if you've been together for a while in a way he knows you're the one, can't have you break so easily now can't he, although you can probably handle yourself but still
He grip you harder now so you know he's close, you speed up already a panting mess, he's grunting and lost all composure like an animal, he grabs you by the neck and pulls you down to a heated kiss you didn't even try to take control so you just let him (you probably wouldn't have won anyways) he starts moving too so you came first, the wave crashing down, he made you orgasm again for the last time, you moan into the kiss, and now he finally lets himself go he pulls out and cums on your belly it hit him hard given how he kept edging himself trying not to cum
You're both a panting mess, but he's grinning like crazy and you can't help but be smithen, he makes sure you drink water and eat something while he rubs all your sore spots
"Now for round two"
"What"
Joking joking! Or am I? That's for you you to decide.
-------------------
I hope you enjoyed reading this hot mess! I apologize for any writing errors I will try to proof read this as best as I can! I gave it my all! I had so much fun writing for him again after so long! I just dropped a fic and disappeared, I want to keep writing so even if it takes me long I'll try to be more productive! Your request literally summoned me back loll, I also tried to make this male and female friendly although the sitting headcanon is afab I will keep working on becoming better thank you for reading!!
Content Warnings: Suggestive content, implied AFAB!reader (from the "get wet")
A/N: I'll do a part two after I finish the Jean Grey ask I got! thinking Deadpool and Human Torch for that one... hmm
Baby, just do the dishes, I'll give you what you, what you want/Considering I have feelings, I'm like, "Why are my clothes still on?":
Scott may have been a busy man but he wasnt under any sort of impression that you'd "pick up" all the housework when the two of you moved in together. As your arms wrapped around his waist he moved to put one hand over yours before remembering he was elbow-deep in suds. Looking over his shoulder to see a love-drunk expression on your face and glazed over eyes. A little insulted that you thought he was that backwards in his thinking and... you were still dating him. He needs to have some sort of conversation about this
Jean loved having with her while doing chores, the domesticity of it warm in her chest, but as you tucked yourself into her side, muttering something about "taking such good care of me". She absolutely doesnt object as you start pressing your face into her neck but she is a bit worried she might've been distant the last few weeks, laying her head on you as she finishes up before
Ororo was fine with doing her part around the household, but she did have a specific distaste for dishes. But with the dishwasher broken and you busy at work, she had started on the dishes from last nights dinner and today's breakfast. She'd gotten into a groove when you got home and saw her doing the thing she dislikes just because you were busy and it had to be done. Ororo prides a bit as you press against her back pressing kisses in thanks. She could get used to this... lets hope maintenence was here tomorrow though.
Anna-Marie huffed and puffed about getting it done but when she finally sauntered over to the sink and started working the look of pure unfiltered attraction from you as you finished cleaning the bookcase was all worth it. She'll make a show out of it too, lifting the plate up slightly so that droplets of water run up her arm as your eyes followed the wet trail. Might try to bargain for a reward (kiss) when she's done.
Remy doesnt shy away from doin what his partner wants, he lives to serve. And if the fastest way to get your hands crawling across his skin is to play house-husband then he is more than willing to comply, he doesnt exactly get how you get hot and bothered from doing the bare minimum but Remy would never turn down an oppurtunity to lavish you in attention (and get some in return)
Assemble a chair from IKEA, I'm like, "AhAhAh"/Offering to do anything, I'm like, "Oh, my god":
Kurt has gotten more handy over the years, keeping his small church in order was a lot of work and outsourcing all the labor just wasnt possible- plus watching your eyes trail over his back and arms while he lifted your new bedframe up the stairs was a pleasure like no other. Shocked that he did it by himself, as he assured you it was his duty as your partner, he doesnt want to ruin the moment though so dont be surprised when he bamfs across the room to receive his payment
Kitty and her endless ability to understand complex (and ridiculous!) instructions was one of the most attractive things about her. Oh her brain was so amazing, it's not your fault her face was in front of it! Which is part of the reason she seems so surprised when she looks up, halfway done fixing your phone to see your eyes glossy and unfocused, flitting across her face and hands. She'll fan her face and tie up her hair for you to have a better view, giggling as you come back to and start praising her.
Logan was buff. He was so, so buff. He knew it, you knew it, and he knew you loved when he showed off- moving your new couch to the other side of the room for the nth time as you keep getting distracted. Muttering out another "no not right" as he laughs and rolls his shoulder, hauling it to another area as you trailed behind, staring at his muscles. At some point he'll forego any sense of 'modesty' and take off his ratty white tank alltogether, enjoying hearing your breath catch in your throat
Warren didn't particularly like this process. He had put something on backwards a bazillion steps ago and was groaning in frustration as he had to redo all his hard work, but oh you loved this process. Watching his face flush in frustration and seeing how he kept doing this one little task for you over and over (accidentally making it harder for himself), he was about to call it quits when he saw your half-lidded eyes and knew there was a very nice end in sight.
Illyana was currently assembling your new dresser drawers, using her body weight to push down on the difficult wood as she secured the screws, as she sat back proudly and turned to you, she was caught off guard when you grabbed her hand and jumped onto the bed.
"that was hot we should make out"
Illyana was not an idiot and she would absolutely be taking you up on that, shoving aside the dresser in her final flaunt of strength before joining you.
ft. X-MEN
-> X-MEN included: Storm, Nightcrawler, Rogue, Gambit
Content Warnings:
canon typical violence, reader able to be carried/shoved by characters, mutant reader, not established relationship but feelings implied, no use of “y/n”
Rating: PG-13
A/N: Still getting a hold over character presence but i thinkkk im getting better...? Part 1 (ft: Cyclops, Phoenix, Angel)
Storm/Ororo Munroe: 997 words
The mission was more direct than most. A failed weapons convoy intercepted just outside the city, nothing the X-Men hadn’t handled before. Intelligence from Charles flagged the cargo as experimental, Stark-adjacent tech repurposed and sold through black market channels. You’d be surprised if any of the original technology remained or just a frankenstein of metal, stripped down and rebuilt by people who didn’t understand it.
Ororo hadn’t called the storm at first, but the air already felt off when you arrived. Heavy. Like something waiting.
Now rain and darkness swept across the empty highway, slowing you down, turning every step into effort. Storm didn’t seem concerned.
She had a plan, she always did, you knew that.
She kept the winds low, restrained, not dismissing them yet as the team moved in and secured the perimeter. The air shifted around her, constantly nudging debris aside or guiding movement to protect her team.
Then the weapons activated.
A sharp whine, then shocking blue energy pulses cracking through the air, jagged arcs of electricity snapping toward the team. The smell hit fast, burnt metal and ozone, bitter and sticking to your nose and tongue.
Someone shouted. Another voice cut off. You heard the sounds of breath being knocked from the bodies of your colleagues as they fought, formation breaking as everyone split up to protect those they cared most for.
One discharge struck too close to a fuel container. The explosion didn’t fully bloom, but it didn’t need to.
That was enough.
Ororo stopped holding back.
The storm came down hard.
Rain slammed into the ground, thick enough to blur everything into motion and shadow. Your boots slipped against mud and broken asphalt as wind tore in every direction, pressing against you, making each breath feel tight.
Lightning split the sky, close enough to rattle through your bones, your jaw buzzing with static.
Ororo hovered above it.
Eyes glowing. Steady.
Everything bent around her. She redirected power from the damaged tech into the ground, cutting off arcs before they could reach anyone. Wind wrapped around injured teammates, holding them steady, shielding them from debris and stray fire.
It reached for you too.
Not violent. Focused. The wind curled around your body, tugging at you, guiding your steps back.
Toward her.
Toward safety.
It even cleared your path, sweeping rain aside just enough to keep your footing.
You hesitated.
Then ignored it.
The weapons broker was just out of sight, slipping behind the metal frame of a truck. Running.
You pushed forward.
Your boots slid as thunder cracked overhead, loud enough to make your ears ring. Rain soaked through everything, vision blurring from the intrusive droplets.
“Stay back!”
Her voice cut clean through the storm. Sharp and commanding, meant for everyone even if her eyes were frozen to your figure below.
You kept moving.
Your foot slipped for a split second, just enough to throw you off.
That was all it took.
The last combatant stepped into your path. Half-wired into the weapon system, his movements jerking, uneven, like the tech was pulling him along. Energy flickered along the metal grafted into his arms, unstable and wild.
Shit. How hadn’t you seen him?
Too focused on the broker. Who, honestly, wasn’t the real problem.
You pivoted to counter, body too slow from the water weighing your suit down, the wires snapped toward you. One caught your cheek, buzzing and stinging as you twisted away, already off balance.
Your boot lost traction completely.
The world dropped out from under you, your back slamming against asphalt, breath knocked from your lungs. Rain hit your face hard, blurring everything as the man loomed over you, arm lifting to strike.
This was it—
The wind snapped.
Air surged beneath you, lifting you clean off the ground before you could react, pulling you out of reach with enough force to steal your breath again.
“Enough.”
Her voice was quieter now.
Still absolute.
A gust hit your opponent from the side, sending him skidding across the soaked highway. Lightning struck close, forcing him back and buying your space.
By the time you blinked the rain from your eyes, Ororo was already there.
Descending through wind and water as it parted for her.
God, she was beautiful.
Her arms wrapped around your torso before you could protest, firm and steady, pulling you upright and then higher, lifting you off your feet as the air shifted to hold you both.
You barely registered the movement before you were against her. Her body was much warmer than the chill of the rain, a pleasant shiver as you held back the urge to curl up fully.
“I told you to stay back.”
“I was fine—”
“You were not.”
She didn’t look at you right away, her focus still outward, tracking the field, adjusting the weather with small, precise movements. Her grip tightened as she shifted you, one arm firm around your back, the other under your legs.
She made everything look so effortless.
“You lost your footing,” she said. “You are tired.”
Her hold tightened again when you tensed, like she expected it.
“That doesn’t mean I couldn’t—”
“It means you are done.”
Her tone stopped you in your tracks.
Her gaze flicked to you, sharp enough to cut through whatever you were about to say.
“We are all tired,” she said. “Do not keep your team in this storm just to prove your pride.”
You exhaled, more out of habit than anything, but didn’t fight her.
Didn’t want to.
“…You always do this.”
“Yes.”
No pause.
As you tilted your head back to look at her, rain catching on your lashes, you considered your next statement, bringing your pointer finger to push at her jawbone.
“…You’re not even gonna ask me to say sorry?” you said, testing how upset she was.
Her eyes flicked down.
There it was. That something softer, the difference between Ororo and Storm.
“No.” A brief pause. “You are safe. That is enough.”
Nightcrawler/Kurt Wagner: 955 words
The compound wasn’t on any map.
That alone should’ve been enough to tell you this mission wasn’t going to stay simple. Still, it made sense in a bleak sort of way. No one leaves a clean paper trail for something like this.
Hidden on the outskirts of an industrial district, the building had been flagged as a holding site. Mutants disappearing from nearby cities, all of it slowly traced back here through scattered intel and one very nervous informant who looked like he hadn’t slept in a week and probably wouldn’t again.
The moment you breached it, everything went wrong.
A two-person infiltration team had sounded much smarter on paper. Fast entry, less chance of detection. In practice, it meant there was nowhere to spread out when things went sideways.
And it went sideways fast.
The kidnappers had money. More than expected. Enough to outfit the entire facility with systems that reacted before you even finished processing what you were seeing.
Red lines snapped into existence down the metal hallway, forming a shifting grid of automated targeting systems. Something clicked somewhere overhead, and suddenly the air felt thinner, like the building itself didn’t want you here.
Teleport disruptors were embedded into the corners, pulsing faintly. Worse than that, the sentinels.
Not full-sized. You weren't lucky enough for them to cramp eachother into shutting down. This version was stripped down for tight corridors, leaner plating and sharp fingers. Thin glowing face plates making them look much faster and meaner.
Kurt had been moving nonstop since the fight started.
Sulfur hung in the air every time he vanished, sharp and biting, filling your senses as you moved separately. He didn’t stay anywhere long enough for you to track.
Bamf. Across the room.
Bamf. Behind an enemy.
Bamf. Reappearing just long enough to shove someone out of the path of collapsing debris before disappearing again.
He was everywhere at once, and it made your head spin trying to keep up.
You focused on what you could do. Undoing dampeners. Ripping them off collars, wrists, anything that looked like it was suppressing power or movement. Some of the captured mutants were too weak to stand, others just stared like they didn’t quite believe it was real.
Your feet turning to get to the next group, your first mistake.
“Kurt—!” you shouted, ducking under a strike from a half-assembled sentinel that moved far too fast for something that size. Its arm clipped the air where your head had been a second earlier.
He didn’t answer.
Another bamf echoed somewhere behind you. Closer. Then gone again.
You twisted, trying to track him, trying to find where he was moving people. If there were any left still conscious enough to help, space was tight, but if even a few could fight…
A mechanical hand closed around your arm.
Hard.
It yanked you sideways with brutal force, and your foot caught on sharp metal debris.
Pain flared instantly, hot and shooting up your leg so fast your vision stuttered. You barely had time to register the angle you were falling at before your arms came up instinctively to protect your face.
You never hit the ground.
Bamf.
The world disappeared.
For a split second there was nothing but sulfur and pressure, like your body forgot how to exist in a straight line. Your stomach lurched violently, orientation gone, sound swallowed whole
Then you were somewhere else.
Higher and safer, Kurt had you pressed against him before your brain fully caught up, one arm locked firmly around your waist as he reappeared on a broken overhead beam. His tail curled around your leg immediately, anchoring you both so you didn’t slip off into open space.
Below you, the fight looked smaller but no less chaotic. Sparking sentinels had worn out their half-built joints but above it all, Kurt was already scanning over you.
“Eh—no,” he muttered, voice tight. “This will not do.”
“Oh my god -sorry-, put me down, I can handle it”
“You were about to be crushed,” he cut in immediately.
“I had it—”
“You did not.” Sharper now, then softer as his grip adjusted, “Liebchen, please.”
His last plea landed differently. The frustration and concern he wasn’t bothering to hide worming its way through your worry
His hold tightened again as he bamfed further along the beam, repositioning you both away from incoming fire. Your instinct was to grab onto him this time, fingers catching the fabric of his jacket as the space shifted again.
He made a quiet sound of approval.
“Ah,” he said. “Better.”
“You could warn me.”
“I did.”
“When?”
“I said ‘no.’”
You stared at him for a second, breath still catching up.
“That’s not a warning.”
“It is if you listen.” he chuckled quietly before continuing “You don't listen though”
Below, another blast rocked the room. Something heavy hit the floor hard enough to shake the beam under your feet. Sentinels were bashing their broken arms and bodies against the pillar.
Kurt glanced down, then back to you. His expression shifted, eyes sharpening in a way that made the humor disappear, making way to something else entirely.
“…Stay here.”
“No—”
His tail flicked sharply from side to side, eyebrows knit slightly
“You stay,” he repeated, quieter this time. “I will come back for you if you move.”
That was not negotiable. It didn’t need to be said twice.
You let out a breath through your nose, equal parts annoyed and resigned.
“Oh no,” you said dryly, sarcasm bleeding through despite everything. But as his eyes didn't move from your face and he hadn't left you knew you needed to confirm.
“Thank you.”
A small pause.
Then, like he couldn’t help himself
“Bitte.”
And he was gone.
Rogue/Anna Marie: 1070 words
The convoy had been a trap, but the realization didn’t arrive all at once. It came in pieces. The route was too clean, roads looking like they’d been freshly poured, and a quiet perimeter, the eerie rushing of blood in your head, the only sound being able to be perceived.
The thing that broke that silence was a gunshot and the beeping of your earpieces losing connection with the school.
What should’ve been a standard interception turned into a full ambush the moment the X-Men moved in. Mercenaries emerged from concealed positions along the treeline and broken road barriers, wearing layered armor threaded with power-dampening tech. Not cheap gear either. Someone had invested in making sure the mutants didn’t just get stopped, they got neutralized, forever.
Rogue took the center like she always did when things turned loud.
No hesitation, no calculation you could see from the outside. Just movement. She hit the line first and it cracked open around her. Gunfire tracked her and failed to hold her. Reinforced plating meant to stall her got ripped aside like they were made of foam.
You followed her lead because that was how it was supposed to work. Push in, secure space, keep pressure moving forward.
For a minute, it did.
Then the formation started to fracture.
“Back off!” Rogue called out, voice cutting through the gunfire as she sent another mercenary flying hard enough to disappear through the metal side of a transport truck.
You didn’t back off.
You saw the gap at the same time she made it. A narrow opening in their line, just long enough to slip through and shut down one of their mechanics setting up weaponry before it collapsed back into chaos.
It was the kind of decision you make without thinking too hard, because thinking too hard is what gets people killed in situations like this.
So you moved.
Fast.
Straight into the gap.
For half a second, it worked exactly how it should have. You were through their line, inside their formation, close enough to see the panic shift as they realized someone had broken their rhythm. And you realized this is what gets people killed in situations like this.
Then everyone corrected themselves.
A counterstrike came from your blind side- the hit slamming into you with enough force to fold your breath out of your body. Your vision flashed white at the edges, knees buckling as your boots scraped against gravel and broken asphalt. Something in your ribs screamed, but your brain didn’t have time to process it cleanly.
“Sweets—!”
Rogue’s voice hit your ears like it was coming from far away.
You tried to recover, to turn, bracing your body as another impact was already coming in.
You never felt it land.
The world shifted.
One moment you were about to hit the ground. The next you were no longer in that space at all.
Rogue had you.
Her arms locked around you mid-motion, hauling you completely off your feet like whatever weight you had didn’t matter. The transition was so abrupt it stole what was left of your breath, your body snapping into her hold as she moved without breaking stride.
“Absolutely not.”
Her tone was sharp enough to cut through the noise around you.
“Put me down—”
“Oh, I will,” she shot back immediately, already turning away from the line of fire. Her boots hit the ground hard as she repositioned, dragging you out of the kill zone like it was instinct more than decision. “When you stop tryin’ to get yourself killed.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Maybe not tryin’ but you were succeedin’.”
You shifted slightly in her grip, trying to regain some sense of control, or at least dignity, as she had thrown you over her shoulder, hand on the back of your upper thigh keeping you close.
Her hold tightened instantly.
“Don’t,” she said.
You stopped moving. Considering her last order probably would've kept you safer it seemed like a good bet to listen this time.
The battlefield behind you didn’t stop for anything. Gunfire still cracked through the air, metal still rang out under impact, and someone somewhere was shouting orders that weren’t going to be heard over the noise.
But in her arms, you were out of it for a second.
“…You’re dramatic,” you muttered, mostly because silence felt worse.
Rogue let out a short laugh, breath a little heavier now as she adjusted her grip again.
“I am the calmest one here, thank you kindly.”
You pushed your body up, tilting your head just enough to look at her.
She wasn’t calm. Not really. Her eyes stayed locked forward, scanning movement, pupils blown wide and already tracking the next push while still holding you steady against her shoulder.
“…Second calmest,” she added after a beat
That got a small laugh out of you before you could stop it.
The sound made her glance up at you briefly.
Just a flick of attention. Bright green eyes checking over you, then she kept moving like nothing.
The terrain shifted under her steps as she carried you deeper into partial cover, using the wreckage of the convoy and broken vehicles as shielding. The air smelled like burnt fuel and wet metal, static still hanging from discharged weapons and damp earth.
You could feel the tension in her arms now that you were paying attention. Straining to hold herself back from doing something more aggressive than necessary because she had you with her.
“…You good?” she asked after a moment, feeling your eyes boring into the side of her head.
“Yeah,”.
She didn’t immediately accept it. Just kept moving, eyes settling on a dry area decently covered by cars, dropping you into her arms and then to the ground.
“Stay put. If you need to defend yourself,” she swung her finger down to the ground, pointing to some sort of pulse gun. “No leaving here, I'm coming back as soon as we’re through.”
You let out a ragged breath, somewhere between annoyed and resigned.
“…You saved me,” you said, half teasing it out just to see what she’d do with it.
Rogue’s mouth tugged slightly at the corner.
“Oh, I absolutely did.”
She shifted a little as she stepped over debris, keeping her balance steady while walking away even as another round of gunfire hit the far side of the convoy.
Her eyes flicked toward you for a second.
“Try me doll.”
Gambit/Remy LeBeau: 989 words
Glass frontage, gold trim, chandeliers that caught light and broke it into something softer than it should’ve been. Outside, valet attendants moved like nothing ever went wrong here. Inside, the noise swallowed thought before it could settle.
Music layered over laughter layered over the constant churn of chips and glass in the casino. Everything always in motion.
Remy slowed just slightly as you crossed the threshold, lining his body up with yours as his hand found its way into the small of your back.
His black and red eyes were already moving. Ceiling corners, double mirror walls, the slow rotation of security cameras disguised as plants and lamps.
You followed him through the crowd, staying close, letting the tide of people carry you forward.
The information broker would be somewhere in it, hiding amongst the many bodies and agendas. Nobody comes to a casino of this caliber unless they deal dirty.
You felt it before you saw it.
The crowd thinning just slightly near the upper floor access, people unconsciously avoiding stepping into a space they hadn’t been invited into, bouncers lining up around the room all facing this one point.
Not very inconspicuous, they must be bad at their job.
Remy didn’t point or signal, just changed direction.
You went with him.
Upstairs was quieter, but not calmer, jaw set in anxiety not sure how nobody had stopped you up to this point, chatter from downstairs fading the further you walked in the padded halls.
A private gaming floor. Glass walls. Soft lighting that made everything look so dazzling and shiny. Security posted at intervals that didn’t match the visible crowd density.
And there he was.
Center table, surrounded by people who laughed quickly after each of his statements, nervously clinging onto the arm of his chair or leaning across the table to be closer.
The broker didn’t look like someone who would be hiding. An absurdly confident looking man whose gaze trailed over to you the second you crossed that threshold.
Remy stopped.
Just for a fraction of a second.
His gaze dipped, not to the man, but to the floor between you and him.
You saw it a beat later.
A clean straight seam in the carpet. Out of place in an expensive establishment like this.
“Cher—”
His voice started.
You couldn't stop your step, as if time slowed down you watched in horror as your weight traveled down onto your foot… and onto the carpet.
The floor answered immediately.
Not an explosion like expected. A drop.
The section under your foot gave out cleanly, balance vanishing as you fell. The world tilting sideways as your body followed the absence beneath you.
Glass rattled.
Chips spilled across polished tile.
Someone shouted, too late to matter.
“Aw, hell.”
A hand caught your wrist.
Then your waist.
Motion snapped sideways before you hit anything below. Remy pulled you out of the collapse path in one fluid turn, your fall redirected into him instead of the opening beneath.
Behind you, the floor continued its sequence. Panels retracting in sections, empty space where you had just been standing.
You landed against him instead of the drop.
“I had it,” you started.
His grip didn’t loosen.
“What you had,” he said, already moving, “was a problem.”
Another shift rippled through the room, the lights flickered once, as somewhere across the room, a console sparked and went dark.
Remy hadn’t even looked at it.
He was already walking you through the crowd.
His hand stayed at your waist, not firm enough to stop you from moving, just enough that you moved where he wanted without noticing the exact moment you agreed to it.
Guards shifted , moving their hands near restraints. Eyes looking through the crowd not yet settled on the two of you.
A dealer froze mid-deal, cards rushing out of his hands
Remy didn’t stop.
Another step, and the room bent slightly around a controlled burst of energy from him, precisely hitting a security panel near the bar as died without sound, a gap opening as people gasped and pointed at the sparking apparatus. He took it immediately.
Tables became cover instead of furniture. Bodies became obstacles, pushing you along like a tidal wave.
“Mm,” Remy muttered, sounding mildly inconvenienced more than concerned, “Dis place think it clever.”
Remy moved instantly.
You felt it in the way his hand tightened for half a second, then shifted you slightly off-center before a ripple passed through the floor, mechanical plates clanking below your feet.
He lifted you just enough that your steps stopped syncing with the unstable surface.
“You done,” he said without looking at you.
You opened your mouth.
He didn’t wait for it.
“You are.”
A guard broke through the crowd line ahead, eyes locking onto you both.
Remy looked at him.
The lights above the gaming floor flickered again.
The guard stopped mid-step, as if he had briefly forgotten what he was supposed to be doing.
Remy kept walking, the two of you toe to toe in line, his attention finally flicked to you for half a second,
“You trust Remy?”
The man had just whisked you out of the pit of a booby trapped casino.
“…Yeah.”
His signature smirk crawled up his face before he opened his mouth
“Good.”
He angled you toward a reinforced column near the edge of the floor, cast completely in shadows due to the dim lighting
Another pulse from the system hit the room behind you.
Remy stepped in front of it.
The noise dulled where you stood.
He finally let go. Just enough that you were on your own feet, warm palm prints still able to be felt on your skin.
“Den stay,” he said, eyes already back on the room.
