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urdreamydoodles · 3 months ago

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X-Men x Reader (Part.1)

You smacks their ass as they walk past (Part.1)

Each X-Man reacts with a mix of surprise and playful teasing when you smacks their ass as they walk past, leading to affectionate and mischievous moments.

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Erik Lehnsherr, Warren Worthington III, Bobby Drake, Alex Summers, Pietro Maximoff & Jean Grey

Logan (Wolverine):

You’re in the kitchen, mindlessly going about your business, while Logan’s at the counter slicing through a loaf of bread. He’s focused, as usual, with that familiar scowl on his face that never quite leaves. The kitchen is quiet, just the hum of the fridge and the faint sounds of his knife slicing through the bread. You can’t help yourself—you watch him for a moment, admiring the way his muscles move under his tight shirt, the raw strength in every little motion. He looks so serious, so in his own world.

As you pass behind him, you smirk to yourself. It’s too tempting. Without thinking twice, you let your hand drift out, and with a sharp flick of your wrist, you smack his ass, enjoying the solid *thwack* that follows. You don’t stop, just continue walking like nothing happened, a satisfied smile curling on your lips.

Logan freezes mid-slice. For a beat, he doesn’t say a word. Then you hear the low rumble of a growl deep in his chest. “Really, darlin’?” His voice is thick, a little rough around the edges, and you can hear the amusement creeping in. He turns his head, one eyebrow raised, that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You glance back at him, feigning innocence, but you can see the way his eyes darken just a bit. He drops the knife, turning slowly, taking a step toward you. His movements are deliberate, almost predatory. “You think you can just walk by like that and not face the consequences?” His voice is a low, gravelly whisper, sending shivers down your spine.

Before you can respond, Logan’s hand is on your waist, pulling you back against him. You can feel the heat radiating off him, his breath hot against your ear as he murmurs, “If you’re gonna start somethin’, sweetheart, you better be ready to finish it.” There’s a playful challenge in his voice, a glint in his eyes that tells you he’s not about to let you off the hook that easily.

Remy LeBeau (Gambit):

Remy is leaning against the couch, casually flipping through a deck of cards, as he often does when he’s bored. The two of you have been lounging around the living room all afternoon, and there’s an easy, comfortable silence between you. He’s dressed in that effortless way he always is—dark jeans that hug him in all the right places and a shirt that’s just tight enough to show off his lean muscles. He catches you looking at him, flashing you that mischievous smile, the one that makes your heart skip a beat.

You roll your eyes at him, but you’re already plotting something in your head. You stroll past him, heading toward the kitchen, but as you do, you let your hand dip down and smack his ass, hard enough to make him jump a little. You don’t stop, just keep walking like nothing happened, a satisfied smirk on your face.

“Mon dieu, cherie,” Remy’s voice comes out in a playful drawl, full of that Southern charm he’s famous for. He’s immediately on his feet, tossing the cards onto the couch and following you into the kitchen. “You really gonna hit an innocent man like dat and walk away?” You glance over your shoulder, and he’s grinning, his red-on-black eyes glowing with amusement.

Before you can get far, he’s behind you, his hands sliding around your waist, pulling you back against him. “Y’know, cher, dat’s gonna cost you somethin’,” he whispers, his lips brushing your ear. There’s a heat to his words, and you can feel the playful threat behind them. “You know what happens when you mess with de Ragin’ Cajun, right?”

He spins you around, pressing you up against the counter with that wicked grin still plastered on his face. His hands slide down your sides, landing right where you’d smacked him. “Might have t’ return de favor,” he purrs, leaning in to press a teasing kiss to your lips. “You know Remy always collects his dues, mon amour.”

Kurt Wagner (Nightcrawler):

You’re in the middle of tidying up the bedroom when you spot Kurt near the door, his back to you as he’s sorting through some papers. He’s muttering to himself in that soft, lilting German accent that you love so much, completely unaware of your eyes on him. His tail sways lazily behind him as he concentrates, and you can’t help but grin to yourself, an idea forming in your head.

You move silently, making your way over to him, and just as you pass by, you raise your hand and give his firm ass a playful smack. The sound is sharp in the quiet room, and you immediately keep walking, acting as if nothing had happened. But the reaction is instantaneous.

Kurt yelps in surprise, his tail flicking up and curling in the air as he turns to face you, a mix of shock and amusement on his face. “Liebling!” he exclaims, his yellow eyes wide with playful disbelief. “Did you just…?” His voice trails off as he stares at you, his mouth hanging open in mock offense.

You glance over your shoulder at him, feigning innocence. “What? I didn’t do anything,” you say with a smirk, knowing full well he doesn’t believe a word of it.

Before you can blink, there’s a familiar "bamf", and in an instant, Kurt’s teleported right in front of you, his arms wrapping around your waist as his tail curls mischievously around your leg. “Oh, so you think you can get away with that, meine Liebe?” he teases, his voice low and filled with amusement. “You know I won’t let that slide.”

His lips brush against your neck, his breath warm against your skin as he continues, “Perhaps you need a reminder of what happens when you provoke a demon.” The way he says it is both playful and sultry, sending a thrill down your spine. His tail tightens its grip on your leg, holding you in place as his hands move to your hips.

Kurt’s mischievous smile is contagious, and you can’t help but laugh as he presses a light kiss to your lips. “Next time, I might just have to teleport you somewhere… private,” he adds with a wink, his tail flicking playfully as he pulls you closer, the two of you lost in your little game.

Scott Summers (Cyclops):

You’re sitting at the dining room table, flipping through some documents when Scott walks by with his usual purposeful stride. His posture is perfect, as always, and that stern expression he wears doesn’t falter. He’s got a natural air of authority, but you’ve seen the softer side of him that few others get to witness. As he walks past you, that teasing side of you sparks to life, and without warning, you reach out and give his ass a firm smack.

The sound echoes in the quiet room, and Scott stops dead in his tracks. For a moment, you think maybe you’ve startled him too much, but then he turns slowly, adjusting his visor in that way he does when he’s trying to keep control. “Really?” he asks, his voice calm but with a hint of amusement. “You’re feeling bold today, huh?”

You grin, leaning back in your chair as if daring him to react. “What? You can’t handle a little fun?” you tease, enjoying the way his jaw clenches ever so slightly.

Scott doesn’t let himself smile, but you can see the ghost of one tugging at his lips. He strides back toward you, placing his hands on either side of your chair, leaning down until his face is mere inches from yours. His eyes are hidden behind that visor, but you know that intense gaze is focused solely on you. “You know,” he murmurs, his voice low and authoritative, “I could make this a teaching moment if you keep testing me.”

There’s a flicker of challenge in his tone, and you can’t help but shiver at the way he’s so controlled yet playful all at once. “Maybe I want to be taught a lesson,” you reply cheekily, smirking up at him.

Scott’s lips quirk into a small smile at that, and he leans in even closer, his breath brushing your skin. “Don’t start something you’re not ready to finish,” he warns softly, his tone filled with promise. You know Scott is all about discipline and control, but with you, there’s always an undercurrent of heat simmering just beneath the surface. And right now, you’re enjoying pushing all his buttons.

Erik Lehnsherr (Magneto):

You’ve just finished straightening up a few things around the living room when you notice Erik standing by the window, his arms crossed and his expression distant. He’s always deep in thought, his mind constantly working through plans, strategies, and the weight of his responsibilities. But in moments like these, you love pulling him out of that serious headspace, even if just for a second.

As you walk past him, you let your hand trail along his lower back before delivering a quick, playful smack to his ass. You know it’ll catch him off guard, and sure enough, Erik’s head turns sharply toward you, a mixture of surprise and amusement flashing in his steely gaze. “Liebling,” he says slowly, his deep voice laced with a dark chuckle, “I hope you realize what you’ve just done.”

You meet his gaze with a mischievous smile, shrugging casually. “What? Can’t a person have a little fun?”

Erik narrows his eyes, though you can see the faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He steps toward you, his movements smooth and deliberate, until he’s standing directly in front of you, his towering presence almost intimidating. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” he warns, his voice low and dripping with intent.

His fingers reach out, brushing against your arm with a feather-light touch before sliding to your waist. “You should know better than to provoke me,” he continues, his tone growing softer, more menacing in a way that sends a thrill down your spine. There’s always something about Erik’s raw power that makes moments like these feel electric, like you’re on the verge of something intense.

You raise an eyebrow at him, refusing to back down. “Maybe I like living dangerously.”

Erik’s smirk widens, and without warning, he pulls you closer, his hand firm on your waist. “Careful, Liebling,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. “Next time, I might not be so gentle.” His eyes gleam with the promise of something more, and you can’t help but smile, knowing that with Erik, every moment is charged with tension and passion.

Warren Worthington III (Angel):

Warren is pacing around the room, his wings fluttering slightly as he moves. He always gets restless like this, especially after long missions, and you can see the tension in his shoulders. His wings, magnificent as ever, brush against the walls with each step, and you can’t help but admire the effortless grace he carries with him.

You decide to lighten the mood, and as you walk by, you reach out and give his ass a playful smack. It’s quick, unexpected, and you’re already a few steps ahead by the time Warren stops and turns to look at you, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “Really, Y/N?” he says, a soft laugh escaping his lips. There’s a twinkle in his blue eyes, the corners of his mouth lifting into that charming smile you know so well.

“What?” you reply innocently, glancing over your shoulder at him. “Just wanted to see if you’d notice.”

Warren chuckles, shaking his head as he folds his wings neatly behind him and strides over to you. “Oh, I noticed,” he says, his voice smooth and playful, like silk brushing against your skin. He steps closer, his hand slipping around your waist, pulling you back toward him. “You’re lucky I find it cute when you get cheeky.”

You grin up at him, but before you can say anything, Warren’s lips are by your ear, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “But you should know… you’ve got my full attention now.” There’s a teasing edge to his words, and you can feel the heat of his body pressed against yours, his wings subtly enclosing around you, as if shielding the two of you from the world.

His fingers glide down your back, lingering just above where your hand had landed on him. “You know,” he whispers, his breath hot against your neck, “if you wanted my attention, all you had to do was ask.” His lips brush the shell of your ear, and you can feel the playful energy between you shift into something deeper, more intimate. Warren always knows how to turn a simple moment into something unforgettable, and as his wings wrap around you, you know you’re in for more than just playful teasing tonight.

Bobby Drake (Iceman):

You’re standing by the counter, organizing some groceries while Bobby flips through a magazine at the kitchen table. His legs are kicked up, as casual as ever, when you pass by. Feeling playful, you give his ass a swift smack as you move past him. The sound echoes in the small space, and it’s enough to catch his attention immediately.

Bobby jerks, almost spilling his drink in surprise, before whipping around to face you, his eyes wide and his cheeks flushed from both the slap and embarrassment. “Woah! Y/N, what was that for?” he asks, though there’s no hiding the grin pulling at his lips.

You shrug, flashing him an innocent look. “Just making sure you’re awake.”

He laughs, shaking his head as he stands up, crossing the room to stand next to you. “Oh, I’m awake now, alright,” he teases, sliding his arms around your waist, his touch cool against your skin. “I didn’t know you had it in you to get so… bold.”

His playful tone matches the mischievous glint in his eyes, and you can’t help but laugh along with him. “What? You can’t handle a little fun?” you challenge, enjoying the light banter between you two.

Bobby leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he murmurs, “I can handle anything you throw at me, but don’t think I’ll let you get away with that.” His voice is laced with a teasing edge, and you feel a cool breeze sweep through the room, a subtle reminder of the icy powers he wields. You know he’s up to something, but before you can react, he presses a quick kiss to your neck and steps back with a wink. “You’re gonna pay for that, you know.”

Alex Summers (Havok):

Alex is sprawled out on the couch, looking through some reports when you walk by. His feet are up, and there’s a focused look on his face, the kind he always wears when he’s trying to deal with the endless responsibilities of being an X-Man. You take the opportunity as you pass, leaning over to give his ass a firm smack, catching him completely off guard.

Alex sits up instantly, his eyes narrowing playfully as he turns to you. “Did you just…?” he starts, not quite believing what just happened. He’s still processing it, a mix of amusement and shock spreading across his face.

You grin, crossing your arms as you raise an eyebrow. “What? Just thought I’d remind you who’s boss around here,” you tease, knowing it’ll get a rise out of him.

Alex chuckles, shaking his head as he stands up, his presence commanding yet relaxed. “Oh, is that right?” he asks, his voice low, a hint of mischief lacing his words. He walks toward you, closing the space between you quickly. “Well, I think you’re about to find out that I don’t take orders so easily.”

His hands find your waist, pulling you flush against him. You can feel the heat radiating off his skin, his energy always simmering just beneath the surface. “You like playing with fire, huh?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “Careful, Y/N… you might just get burned.”

The tension between you sizzles, and there’s a playful challenge in his eyes as he leans in closer. Alex has always had that perfect balance of power and charm, and moments like this remind you just how intoxicating he can be.

Pietro Maximoff (Quicksilver):

Pietro is a blur of motion, zipping around the room as he organizes everything at lightning speed. You’ve gotten used to his constant fast-paced movements, but that doesn’t stop you from messing with him whenever you get the chance. As he darts past you, you reach out, timing it perfectly to give his ass a swift smack.

In a flash, Pietro skids to a halt, spinning around to face you, his eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and excitement. “Did you just smack me?” he asks, his voice incredulous but laced with laughter. “I didn’t even see that coming!”

You grin, leaning against the counter as you shrug casually. “Maybe you’re losing your touch, Speedy.”

Pietro narrows his eyes playfully, zipping right in front of you in the blink of an eye. He’s so close, you can feel the rush of air from his speed. “Losing my touch? Oh, you’re in for it now,” he teases, his lips curling into that trademark smirk that always makes your heart race.

Before you can respond, he leans in, his breath hot against your ear. “You’re lucky I find this little game of yours amusing,” he murmurs, his voice a low purr. “But don’t think for a second I won’t get you back. Faster than you can blink.”

Pietro’s hand slides down your side, and you can feel the energy buzzing off him, the tension between you electric. His eyes gleam with mischief as he tilts his head slightly. “Next time you try that, you better be ready to run,” he warns, but there’s no real danger in his tone—only the promise of more playful banter to come.

Jean Grey:

Jean is standing at the stove, her mind likely a million miles away as she stirs something in the pot. You’ve always loved watching her in these quiet moments, the way her hair seems to glow in the soft light, her expression so calm and serene. As you walk by, you decide to playfully break the stillness and give her a quick, teasing smack on the ass.

Jean gasps in surprise, her stirring hand freezing mid-motion as she looks over her shoulder at you, eyes wide with a mix of shock and amusement. “Y/N!” she exclaims, her voice half-laughing, half-scolding. You can see the blush rising on her cheeks, and it only makes your grin widen.

“What?” you reply innocently, trying your best to look like you didn’t just commit the playful act. “I couldn’t resist.”

Jean sets the spoon down and turns fully toward you, hands on her hips, but there’s a sparkle in her eyes. “You’re trouble, you know that?” she says, though the smile tugging at her lips betrays any attempt at a stern tone.

Before you can respond, you feel a subtle tug in your mind—Jean’s way of playfully reminding you she’s always got the upper hand when it comes to your little games. She steps closer, her fingers brushing lightly against your arm. “You know I could have you pinned with a single thought,” she teases, her voice soft yet teasing. “But I think I’ll let you off the hook this time… unless you want me to show you what happens when you mess with a telepath.”

You raise an eyebrow, feeling the warmth of her body as she presses closer, her lips ghosting over your ear. “Think you’re fast enough to get away next time?” she whispers, her breath hot against your skin, leaving you anticipating her next move.

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urdreamydoodles · 3 months ago

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X-Men x Reader (Part.1)

You tell them that they are perfect just the way they are (Part.1)

Your partner opens up about their insecurities, whether it's feeling distant due to their powers or perceived coldness. Through loving reassurance, you help them realize that their unique qualities make them perfect as they are, deepening your bond with each of them.

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Erik Lehnsherr, Warren Worthington III, Bobby Drake, Alex Summers, Jean Grey & Wade Wilson

Logan Howlett (Wolverine)

The night was still and quiet, the only sound in the cabin being the crackling of the fire. You leaned against Logan, your head resting on his chest, his arm wrapped securely around your waist. He was warm, comforting, the scent of whiskey and cedar lingering on his flannel shirt. For someone so rugged and battle-worn, he always had a way of making you feel safe.

His fingers absentmindedly traced patterns on your skin as you watched the fire, its glow casting shadows across the room. Logan had always been a man of few words, especially when it came to how he felt about himself. You knew how much he struggled with his past—the wars, the loss, the things he couldn’t forgive himself for.

"Logan," you said softly, lifting your head to look up at him.

He grunted in response, eyes still fixed on the fire, but you could see the tension in his jaw. His past haunted him every day, no matter how many times you tried to remind him that he was more than the sum of his mistakes.

You reached up, cupping his rugged face with both hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. "You're perfect the way you are."

He stiffened slightly, his brow furrowing in disbelief. "You don’t know half of it, darlin’," he muttered, trying to look away, but you held his gaze.

"I know enough. I know the man who’s held me when I couldn’t stand on my own. The man who’s risked everything to protect me, even when he thought he didn’t deserve to live. You’re more than your past, Logan. You’re more than the things you’ve done."

Logan’s eyes softened, the hard edge in them dimming as he stared at you. There was a vulnerability there, one he rarely let anyone see. Slowly, he leaned down and pressed his forehead against yours, closing his eyes.

“I ain’t perfect,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “Not even close.”

"You’re perfect to me," you replied firmly, your thumb brushing along the edge of his jawline. "And that’s all that matters."

His grip on you tightened slightly, as if he was afraid to let go. Logan’s lips met yours in a slow, deep kiss, one that spoke of gratitude, of acceptance. When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours again, his breath steady but heavy.

"You keep me grounded," he said quietly. "Don't know what I'd do without ya."

You smiled softly, resting back against his chest. "You won’t have to find out."

Remy LeBeau (Gambit)

The gentle hum of the city surrounded you as you stood on the balcony, the night breeze warm against your skin. Remy was leaning against the railing beside you, the twinkle of the streetlights below reflecting in his red-on-black eyes. He had one arm casually draped around your shoulders, his fingers playing with the strands of your hair as the two of you enjoyed the quiet moment together.

You could feel him tense slightly beside you, his usual playful demeanor replaced by something more serious. Remy had always been a charmer, full of jokes and flirtations, but there were times when his insecurities crept through. It didn’t matter how much he masked them with his smooth talk; you could always tell when something was bothering him.

He exhaled a deep breath, his voice quieter than usual. "Sometimes I wonder what you see in me, chère."

You glanced at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

Remy gave a small, self-deprecating smile, looking down at the city below. "A man like me… I’ve done things. Lied, stolen, hurt people. Ain’t exactly a saint, you know? You deserve someone better."

You turned toward him, reaching out to take his hand. His fingers instinctively laced with yours, but he didn’t meet your eyes. He had never really opened up about the guilt he carried, but you knew it was there, weighing him down more than he liked to admit.

"Remy," you said softly, squeezing his hand. "You’re perfect the way you are."

His eyes finally flicked up to meet yours, confusion and disbelief written all over his face. "Perfect? Me?"

"Yes, you," you said firmly. "You’re kind, you’re protective, you make me laugh every day. You make me feel like the luckiest person in the world. You’ve made mistakes, sure, but that doesn’t change who you are now."

He blinked, the usual cocky smirk nowhere to be found. For once, Remy LeBeau didn’t have a quick-witted reply. Instead, he stared at you as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

"You really mean dat, don’t you?"

"I do," you said, stepping closer to him, your hand resting on his chest. "I love you, Remy. All of you. The good, the bad, the in-between. You don’t need to change a thing."

He let out a soft chuckle, though it was filled with something more raw, more real. His free hand came up to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he looked at you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

"Mon amour, you always know jus’ what to say," he murmured, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

When he pulled back, that familiar playful glint had returned to his eyes, though there was something softer behind it. "Maybe I am pretty lucky after all."

Kurt Wagner (Nightcrawler)

The soft glow of the moon filtered through the window as you lay beside Kurt, your fingers tracing the delicate blue fur along his arm. His tail curled lazily around your leg, a comfortable silence settling between the two of you as you enjoyed the quiet together. Being with Kurt always felt like this—peaceful, warm, and full of love.

But tonight, something felt different. He hadn’t said much, his golden eyes distant as he stared out into the night sky. You knew that look. It was the look he got when he started to doubt himself, to wonder if he truly belonged in this world.

You scooted closer to him, resting your head on his shoulder as you let your fingers run along his arm. "You’re thinking again," you said gently.

He let out a soft, almost sad chuckle. "I cannot help it, mein Schatz. Sometimes I look at myself and… I wonder if I could ever be truly worthy of you."

You frowned, lifting your head to meet his gaze. His golden eyes were filled with uncertainty, a look that tugged at your heart. Kurt had always struggled with his appearance, with feeling like he didn’t belong because of his mutation, no matter how kind or loving he was.

"Kurt, don’t say that," you whispered, reaching up to cup his face. "You’re perfect the way you are."

He blinked, clearly taken aback by your words. "Perfect? But I am not… I mean, look at me."

"I am looking at you," you replied softly. "And I see the most beautiful person I’ve ever known. Not because of how you look, but because of who you are. You have the kindest heart, Kurt. You’re brave, compassionate, and you’ve made me feel more loved than I ever thought possible."

Kurt’s breath hitched, his eyes searching yours as if trying to find some sign that you were just saying these things to make him feel better. But you meant every word.

"You’re not just worthy of me," you continued. "I’m the lucky one, because I get to be with someone who sees the world with such kindness. Who’s strong enough to love despite everything they’ve been through."

A slow smile spread across his face, his tail tightening around your leg in a comforting embrace. "Ach, mein Liebe," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "You have no idea how much that means to me."

You smiled, leaning up to kiss him softly. His lips were gentle against yours, tender and full of love, just like he was.

When you pulled away, Kurt rested his forehead against yours, his golden eyes filled with gratitude. "I do not deserve you."

You shook your head, smiling softly. "You’re perfect just as you are, Kurt. Don’t ever doubt that."

And with those words, you knew that you had reassured him, just as he had always reassured you.

Scott Summers (Cyclops)

The sun had barely set, casting a warm golden glow over the grounds of Xavier’s mansion. You stood by the large window in your shared room, gazing out at the gardens as the last light of the day disappeared. Scott was behind you, sitting on the edge of the bed, his head resting in his hands. His visor sat on the nightstand, and without it, his closed eyes shielded the world from his powerful optic blasts.

He had been unusually quiet all evening. You knew why. Leadership weighed on him in ways that most people would never understand. No matter how often you reassured him, Scott always carried the burden of responsibility, constantly second-guessing his decisions, questioning if he was doing enough, if he was strong enough.

"I’m failing them," he muttered, barely audible, but you caught every word.

You turned from the window, watching the way his broad shoulders tensed under the weight of self-imposed guilt. The soft evening light cast shadows over his face, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw, the tension in his brow.

"Scott," you said softly, stepping closer to him. He didn’t look up, but you could tell he was listening. "You’re not failing anyone."

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Every day, it feels like I’m making the wrong choices. What kind of leader am I if I can’t protect the people I love? What if I’m just… not enough?"

You knelt in front of him, resting your hands on his knees. His eyes were still closed, his expression one of conflict and frustration, but you could see the vulnerability beneath it all.

"You’re perfect the way you are, Scott."

His brows furrowed, and he opened his mouth to protest, but you quickly continued. "I mean it. You’re always putting everyone else before yourself. You’re always thinking of the team, of what’s best for them. That’s what makes you such a good leader."

He shook his head again, his hands clenching into fists. "I don’t know if it’s enough. I’m not enough."

You moved your hands to his face, cupping his jaw gently, forcing him to feel your presence. "You are more than enough. You always are. I know you think you have to carry the weight of the world alone, but you don’t. We’re a team. I’m with you. Always."

His eyes squeezed shut even tighter, as if holding back the intensity of everything he felt. But after a moment, his hands came up to cover yours, holding them in place against his face. His skin was warm beneath your touch, and for the first time that evening, his body seemed to relax, if only slightly.

"You believe that?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I do," you replied firmly. "I believe in you. I always have, and I always will."

Slowly, he opened his eyes—though you couldn’t see them, you could feel the shift in his mood. His grip on your hands tightened, and he let out a shaky breath, as if finally allowing himself to accept your words.

"I don’t deserve you," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

You smiled, leaning up to kiss his lips softly. "You’re wrong. You’re perfect to me, Scott. Just the way you are."

Erik Lehnsherr (Magneto)

The sound of waves crashing against the shore was a soothing melody in the distance as you walked barefoot through the sand. Erik was beside you, his hand intertwined with yours, his expression as unreadable as ever. The two of you often escaped to this secluded beach, far from the chaos of the world, far from the conflicts that seemed to follow him wherever he went.

But even here, under the vast sky and in the presence of peace, you could feel the storm inside him. Erik was never truly free of his past. No matter how much he tried to distance himself from the pain, from the horrors of what he’d lived through, the weight of it never left him. And sometimes, you could see the way it chipped away at his sense of worth.

He stopped walking, his eyes on the horizon. The wind played with his silver hair, and for a moment, he looked every bit the powerful, unyielding force the world knew him as. But you knew better. You knew the man behind the power, the man who had suffered more than anyone should ever have to.

"I’ve caused so much destruction," he said quietly, his voice almost lost to the wind. "I’ve hurt so many. How can you look at me and see anything but the monster I’ve become?"

You turned to face him, stepping closer so that your hands were pressed against his chest. His heartbeat was steady beneath your fingers, but the tension in his body told you how deeply this was affecting him.

"You’re not a monster, Erik."

His jaw clenched, and he looked away, as if refusing to let himself believe your words. "I’ve done terrible things. Things that can never be undone. You can’t change what I am."

You reached up, cupping his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. His blue eyes were filled with conflict, with pain, and you felt your heart ache for him. "You are perfect the way you are."

He scoffed, shaking his head slightly. "Perfect? You think I’m perfect after everything I’ve done?"

"I do," you replied without hesitation. "Because I know why you’ve done what you’ve done. I know the pain that drives you. I know the love you carry for those you care about, even if you don’t always show it. You’ve fought for what you believe in, Erik, and that’s something most people can’t say. You’ve fought for people like us. For our future."

His gaze softened, though the doubt was still there, lingering beneath the surface. "And yet, I’ve hurt the ones I love in the process."

You shook your head, your thumb brushing gently over his cheek. "You’ve made mistakes, yes. But that doesn’t make you any less of a man. You’ve fought for what you believe in, and I love you for that. You are more than your past, more than your pain. You are exactly who you need to be."

Erik’s expression faltered, and for the first time in a long time, you saw the vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show. Slowly, he leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as he took a deep breath.

"You’re too good to me," he murmured, his voice soft.

You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "No. I just see you for who you really are. And that man is perfect to me."

Warren Worthington III (Angel)

Warren’s wings unfurled with a gentle rustle as he landed on the balcony, the moonlight casting a silver glow over the soft feathers. You watched him approach from where you sat on the edge of the bed, admiring the way he moved with effortless grace. He always seemed to carry himself like an angel in both name and appearance—majestic, otherworldly, yet burdened by something heavier than he let on.

He smiled when he saw you, though the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Hey, you," he greeted softly, sitting beside you. His wings folded neatly behind him, but you knew he was carrying the weight of something more tonight.

"Long day?" you asked, sensing the tension that radiated from him despite his best efforts to hide it.

He ran a hand through his tousled blonde hair, his expression faltering as he glanced away. "It’s nothing."

You tilted your head, giving him a knowing look. "Warren, it’s me. Talk to me."

He sighed, leaning back on his hands and looking up at the sky. "Sometimes I wonder… if these wings are more of a curse than a gift."

His words caught you off guard. Warren rarely spoke about his mutation in such a vulnerable way. You could see the way he looked at himself, as if the wings that made him so beautiful and unique were something he resented, something that made him feel less human.

"They’re not," you said softly, sliding closer to him. "You’re not cursed, Warren."

He glanced at you, his blue eyes clouded with doubt. "It’s hard to believe that sometimes. When people look at me, all they see is… this. The wings, the mutation. They don’t see me. Not really."

You reached out, gently placing a hand on his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. "I see you."

He looked down at your hand, then back up at you. "You’ve always seen me differently, but… sometimes I don’t even know who I am anymore."

You shook your head, moving closer until your foreheads nearly touched. "You’re Warren Worthington III. You’re kind, strong, compassionate, and beautiful inside and out. These wings—they don’t define you. They’re part of you, but they don’t change who you are."

He closed his eyes, letting out a soft breath. "I don’t feel perfect. Not even close."

You smiled, brushing your thumb gently over his cheek. "You’re perfect to me. Exactly the way you are."

Warren let out a shaky laugh, his wings twitching slightly as he opened his eyes and gazed at you with a mix of gratitude and awe. "You’re too good to me, you know that?"

You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "I just love you for who you are. And that’s never going to change."

Bobby Drake (Iceman)

The snowstorm outside the cabin raged on, thick flakes of ice pelting the windows as you curled up by the fire. Despite the cold outside, the warmth of the flames and Bobby’s presence beside you made everything feel cozy and safe.

Bobby sat beside you on the couch, his arm draped lazily around your shoulders, his ice-blue eyes reflecting the dancing firelight. He had been unusually quiet tonight, and you could tell something was on his mind. Normally, Bobby was the life of the party—always cracking jokes and making everyone laugh—but when he was quiet, it meant something deeper was going on.

"You okay?" you asked, leaning into his side, your head resting on his shoulder.

He sighed, his fingers absently playing with the edge of your sweater. "Yeah, I guess. Just thinking."

"About what?" you pressed gently, tilting your head to look up at him.

He hesitated for a moment before speaking. "About how… people see me. How they always expect me to be the funny guy, the one who never takes anything seriously. It’s like… I’m just the comic relief."

You frowned, sitting up so you could face him more fully. "You know that’s not true, right? People don’t just see you as a joke."

Bobby shrugged, a sad smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "It’s just… I’ve been trying to figure out who I am, you know? I’m an Omega-level mutant, but sometimes I feel like I’m just… not enough. Like I don’t measure up to the others."

Your heart ached at his words. Bobby was so much more than he gave himself credit for. Sure, he loved to make people laugh, but that wasn’t all there was to him. He had depth, kindness, and strength that often went unnoticed.

"You’re more than enough," you said firmly, taking his hand in yours. "Bobby, you’re one of the most powerful mutants out there, but that’s not even what makes you incredible. You’re kind, you’re thoughtful, and you’re always there for the people you care about. You’re not just the funny guy. You’re so much more than that."

He looked at you, his eyes softening. "You really think so?"

You smiled, squeezing his hand. "I know so. You’re perfect the way you are, Bobby. You don’t have to be anyone else."

Bobby stared at you for a moment before his lips curved into a more genuine smile. "You’re amazing, you know that?"

You grinned, leaning in to kiss him softly. "Only because I’ve got you by my side."

He chuckled, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. "Guess we make a pretty good team, huh?"

"The best," you replied, snuggling into his embrace as the warmth of the fire and Bobby’s presence surrounded you.

Alex Summers (Havok)

The garage was quiet, save for the faint hum of the fluorescent lights overhead and the occasional clink of metal as Alex tinkered with his motorcycle. You leaned against the doorframe, watching him work. His back was turned to you, his strong shoulders flexing as he tightened a bolt, his expression one of deep concentration.

Alex had always been the quieter of the Summers brothers, less about grand speeches and more about action. But even though he didn’t always say much, you could always tell when something was bothering him.

"You’ve been quiet today," you said softly, stepping into the garage and approaching him.

Alex glanced over his shoulder at you, giving you a small, tired smile. "Just thinking."

You sat down on the workbench beside him, watching as he wiped his hands on a rag, his brow still furrowed. "Want to talk about it?"

He sighed, tossing the rag onto the bench and leaning against the bike. "It’s nothing. Just… sometimes I feel like I’m always living in Scott’s shadow, you know? Like no matter what I do, I’m never going to be as good as him."

You frowned, reaching out to touch his arm. "Alex, you’re amazing in your own right. You don’t have to compare yourself to Scott."

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "It’s hard not to. He’s the perfect leader, the golden boy, and I’m… I’m just the screw-up who can’t control his powers half the time."

You stood up, moving closer to him until you were right in front of him, your hand resting on his chest. "That’s not true, and you know it. You’ve saved more lives than you give yourself credit for. You’re strong, you’re brave, and you’ve faced things that would break most people. You’re perfect the way you are, Alex."

He looked down at you, his blue eyes softening as he listened to your words. "Perfect? I don’t know about that."

"I do," you insisted, stepping even closer until your body was pressed against his. "You’re perfect to me. And you don’t need to be like Scott. You’re you, and that’s more than enough."

Alex’s hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your skin. "How do you always know what to say?"

You smiled, leaning into his touch. "It’s because I know you. I know who you really are, Alex, and that’s why I love you. Not because of who you think you need to be, but because of who you are."

His lips curved into a small smile, and he pulled you into his arms, holding you close. "I love you too."

You wrapped your arms around him, resting your head against his chest as the steady rhythm of his heartbeat calmed your own. "You’re everything to me, Alex. Don’t ever doubt that."

For the first time that night, you felt the tension leave his body as he held you tighter. "I won’t," he promised, his voice soft and full of emotion. "As long as I’ve got you, I won’t."

Jean Grey (Phoenix)

Jean sat by the lake, her eyes fixed on the still water as the last rays of the sun dipped below the horizon. You approached her quietly, knowing she had been seeking solitude for a while now. She had been different lately—quieter, more distant—and you knew it had everything to do with the growing power inside her.

You sat down beside her, not saying anything at first, just letting her feel your presence. The silence stretched between you for a moment before Jean finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever just be… me again," she said, her green eyes reflecting the fading light. "I feel like I’m losing myself to this power, like the Phoenix is consuming me more every day."

You glanced at her, seeing the fear and uncertainty in her eyes. Jean Grey had always been one of the strongest people you knew, but this power—the Phoenix—was something even she struggled to control.

"You’re still you, Jean," you said softly, reaching out to take her hand. "No matter what the Phoenix brings, you’re still Jean Grey. You’re still the person I love."

She shook her head, her expression pained. "But what if I’m not? What if the Phoenix takes over completely? What if I can’t come back from it?"

You squeezed her hand, your voice firm and steady. "You will come back. Because you’re stronger than the Phoenix. I know it feels like you’re losing control, but you’re not alone in this. You have me, and I’m not going anywhere."

Jean’s eyes filled with tears as she looked at you, her vulnerability laid bare in a way that few ever got to see. "I don’t feel perfect. I feel like I’m falling apart."

You moved closer to her, gently cupping her face in your hands. "You’re perfect to me, Jean. Not because of your powers or what you can do, but because of who you are. You’re kind, you’re strong, and you care so deeply for everyone around you. You’re more than the Phoenix, and you’re more than this power."

Jean closed her eyes, leaning into your touch as a tear slipped down her cheek. "I don’t know what I’d do without you."

"You’ll never have to find out," you whispered, brushing the tear away with your thumb. "I’m always going to be here, no matter what happens. We’ll get through this together."

Jean let out a shaky breath, her hands coming up to rest over yours as she opened her eyes, filled with gratitude and love. "I don’t deserve you."

"You deserve everything," you whispered, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her forehead. "And I’m going to be right here, reminding you every day how perfect you are."

Jean smiled softly, leaning into your embrace as you held her close, the two of you sitting by the lake as the night settled in, knowing that no matter what challenges lay ahead, your love would always be the constant that anchored her.

Wade Wilson (Deadpool)

You knew what to expect with Wade Wilson. His jokes, his antics, his erratic behavior—it was all a part of who he was. But tonight, as he lay next to you, staring at the ceiling in an uncharacteristic silence, you knew something was bothering him.

The two of you were tangled in the sheets of your shared bed, his body warm against yours. He was quiet, which was a rarity for the merc with a mouth. Normally, Wade couldn’t go more than a few seconds without making some kind of quip, but now, his silence spoke louder than his jokes ever could.

"Hey," you whispered, turning onto your side to face him. "What’s going on in that chaotic head of yours?"

Wade didn’t look at you, his eyes still fixed on the ceiling. He let out a deep breath, one that felt like it had been trapped inside him for far too long. "Do you ever… I don’t know, wonder why you’re with me?"

The question caught you off guard, and you frowned, reaching out to rest a hand on his scarred chest. "What do you mean?"

He shifted uncomfortably, as if the words were too heavy for even him to carry. "I mean, look at me. I’m not exactly Mr. Perfect. I’m loud, obnoxious, and, well…" He gestured to his body with a grimace. "I’m a walking burn victim with a face only a mother could love."

You sat up slightly, your gaze soft as you took in his scarred skin, his face hidden beneath his ever-present mask of humor. Wade’s insecurities had always been there, buried beneath the jokes and the laughter, but tonight they were closer to the surface.

"That’s not true," you said firmly, your voice filled with conviction. "You’re more than your appearance, Wade. You’re more than your scars."

He scoffed, finally turning his head to look at you. "Yeah, right. I mean, come on. I look like a melted candle."

You sighed softly, leaning over to press a kiss to his chest. "Wade, I don’t care about that. I love you for who you are, not what you look like. You make me laugh, you care about the people you love, and you’d do anything for them. You’re not just some messed-up guy with a messed-up body. You’re Wade Wilson, and that’s more than enough for me."

Wade’s usual bravado seemed to falter as he listened to you, his eyes softening beneath the weight of your words. "You really mean that?"

"Of course, I mean it," you said, sitting up fully now, your hand cupping his face gently. "You’re perfect just the way you are. Every scar, every joke, every bit of you. You’re the only one I want."

Wade stared at you for a long moment, his usual snarky comebacks nowhere to be found. Instead, he reached up to touch your hand, his thumb brushing over your skin. "You know, I don’t deserve you."

You smiled softly, leaning down to kiss him. "Maybe not, but you’ve got me anyway."

For the first time that night, Wade smiled—really smiled—and pulled you into his arms. "Okay, okay. But if you ever change your mind, just know I’m keeping the dog."

You laughed, resting your head against his chest as the two of you settled back into the bed, the weight of his insecurities lifting, even if only for tonight.

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