#pryde!reader

[urdreamydoodles]

I love your headcanons!! I’d love to see how you think the X-men would react to the reader playfully biting them, in or out of the bedroom, whatever scenario you’d like (you can go with any characters, but bonus points for Logan, Erik, Charles, and perhaps a new one, Victor Creed 👀)

X-MEN CHARACTERS X FEM!READER

You bite them playfully

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, Rogue, Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff, Hank McCoy, Emma Frost, Laura Kinney, Wade Wilson, Victor Creed, Julian Keller, Kitty Pryde, Cable, Warren Worthington III, Morph, Mystique, Magik & Alex Summers

Reply to anon: OMG yes, Victor my little mad dog!

Logan Howlett

- You don’t expect him to react. Not really. He’s endured bullets, blades, and the unrelenting weight of time itself. A playful bite from you should be nothing—should be a drop of rain against an unshakable mountain. And yet, the moment your teeth graze his skin, a low growl rumbles from deep within his chest, something primal and unbidden. His muscles tense beneath your touch, like an animal caught between instinct and restraint.

- His gaze finds yours, sharp and golden, flickering with something unreadable. His lips curl into the faintest smirk, but his eyes betray him—dark with challenge, with something wilder lurking beneath. “That all you got, darlin’?” he rasps, his voice rough as gravel, his fingers curling at his sides as if resisting the urge to seize you right then and there.

- But Logan is nothing if not a man of action. A heartbeat later, his arm is around your waist, pulling you in close, the heat of his body searing against yours. His voice dips lower, a teasing growl, though there’s a dangerous edge to it now. “Y’know what they say, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. “You bite a wolf, you better be ready for it to bite back.”

- And he does. Maybe not in the way you expect—not with teeth, but with hands that grip too tight, with lips that press too hard, with a possessiveness that lingers in every touch. Because Logan doesn’t do playful. He does hunger. He does need. And if you dare to tease the beast, you’d best be ready for the storm that follows.

Remy LeBeau

- Remy freezes the moment your teeth press against his skin—not from pain, not from surprise, but from something far more dangerous. The corner of his mouth twitches, not quite a smirk yet, but the promise of one. And then, ever so slowly, he tilts his head toward you, his red-on-black eyes gleaming with mischief.

- “Ma belle, you tryna kill me?” he drawls, his accent thick and lazy, but his voice carries that unmistakable edge of heat. His fingers brush over your arm, slow and deliberate, as if tracing the intent behind your bite. “'Cause I gotta warn you, chérie… I ain’t the kind to die easy.”

- The next thing you know, he’s got you backed against the nearest surface, one hand braced beside your head, the other tracing the curve of your waist like he’s memorizing the shape of you. His grin is downright wicked now, his gaze molten with amusement and something darker. “See, you play this game wit’ me, mon amour, you best know the rules.” His breath is warm against your lips, teasing, taunting. “You bite me? I devour you.”

- And then he leans in, and oh—Remy doesn’t just kiss. He claims. He teases. He tastes. His lips ghost over yours, never quite giving you what you want, never quite letting you escape, because if you’re going to start a game with the Ragin’ Cajun, you better be ready to lose.

Kurt Wagner

- The moment your teeth sink lightly into his skin, Kurt stills, his breath catching in his throat. For a split second, his mind goes utterly blank—because of course you would do this, of course you would find new ways to unravel him, to leave him speechless and stumbling. His tail flicks once, betraying his surprise, before curling around your waist in retaliation.

- And then—oh. Oh, then he laughs. A low, breathy chuckle that rumbles in his chest, warm and so utterly Kurt. “Mein Schatz,” he murmurs, his voice rich with amusement, his golden eyes gleaming. “Was that supposed to be threatening? Because I must say… you might have to try harder.”

- But his tail tightens ever so slightly, his hands settling on your hips, his body pressing just a little closer. His voice drops into something softer now, something teasing but fond. “Or perhaps you weren’t trying to scare me at all,” he muses, brushing his nose against yours, an intimate little gesture that makes your heart stutter. “Perhaps you were simply asking for a little attention, ja?”

- And oh, does he give it. He moves fast—so fast you barely register the shift before you’re elsewhere, whisked away in a blink of smoke and laughter. One moment you’re standing, the next you’re tangled in his arms, wrapped in the warmth of his teleportation, caught between breathless kisses and whispered endearments. Because if you’re going to bite him, liebling, he’s going to make sure you never regret it.

Scott Summers

- Scott’s reaction is immediate—sharp inhale, muscles tensing beneath your touch, jaw tightening as if trying to suppress whatever instinct just surged through him. His discipline, his restraint—it has always been his armor, his cage. But you—you have a habit of making him forget himself.

- “What was that?” he asks, voice lower than usual, a little rough around the edges, though the slight flush creeping up his neck betrays him. His fingers flex at his sides, like he doesn’t know whether to pull you closer or set you firmly away. But his ruby-red gaze is locked onto you now, and he is searching—for your intent, for your reasoning, for something he can brace himself against.

- “You can’t just—” He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, as if that will somehow ground him. His lips part, like he wants to scold you, like he wants to tell you biting is not part of a proper battle strategy, but the words never come. Instead, his hand lifts, cups your chin, his thumb grazing over your lower lip in something dangerously close to reverence.

- And then, ever so slowly, his lips brush against yours—light, testing, but oh-so-intense. Because Scott Summers does not give in easily. He does not let himself have. But you—you are different. You are his exception. And if you are going to play with fire, then you had best be prepared to burn.

Jean Grey

- Jean stills the moment your teeth graze her skin, not in fear or surprise, but in the way someone freezes when they have just stepped into the unknown. She has felt so many things in her lifetime—pain, joy, rage, divinity itself—but the sharp, teasing sensation of you doing this? That is something new. Her lips part slightly, a breath catching in her throat, and though she does not speak, you can hear her thoughts as if they are your own: What exactly are you trying to do to me?

- And then, oh, she smiles. Slow, knowing, the corners of her lips curving into something dangerously affectionate. Her fingers trace lightly over your arm, telekinetic energy humming faintly beneath her fingertips as she studies you with emerald eyes that gleam with amusement. “You do realize who you’re dealing with, don’t you?” she murmurs, voice soft but laced with something teasing, something nearly predatory. “You think you can surprise me, love? That’s adorable.”

- But Jean is not one to let challenges go unanswered. The next thing you know, her hand slides to your jaw, tilting your face toward hers with effortless ease. She doesn’t need to use her telekinesis to hold you there—no, the intensity in her gaze alone is enough. “Tell me,” she muses, leaning in so close her lips barely brush against yours. “Do you bite because you want my attention? Or because you already have it?”

- And before you can answer, she kisses you—deep, slow, deliberate. Not just a kiss, but a response, a promise. Because Jean Grey is made of passion and power, and if you wish to tease her, if you wish to provoke her, then you must be prepared for the storm you have just invited into your arms.

Ororo Munroe

- The moment your teeth press gently against her skin, a low, melodic hum escapes her—a sound not of displeasure, but of acknowledgment. Ororo Munroe has spent years cultivating grace, control, an unshakable presence that commands gods and mortals alike. And yet, this—this quiet, playful act of yours—catches her off guard in the most unexpected of ways.

- Her silver eyes flick toward you, gleaming with something unreadable, and for a moment, the air around you shifts, electricity humming faintly in the space between your bodies. Not as a threat, not as a warning, but as a reaction—as if even the very elements themselves are uncertain how to respond to the way you unravel her. “My love,” she says at last, her voice a soft, indulgent purr. “Was that meant to challenge me? Or are you merely being mischievous?”

- Slowly, her fingers trail along your shoulders, feather-light, teasing, carrying the same effortless power as the wind itself. And then, in one smooth motion, she moves—you don’t quite know how, only that one moment you are standing in place, and the next, the storm has wrapped itself around you. You are pulled flush against her, her presence enveloping you in warmth, in strength, in the quiet promise of something far greater than either of you can name.

- “If you seek my attention,” she whispers, her breath brushing against your ear like the gentlest breeze, “you need only ask.” And then, with a slow, deliberate smile, she leans in, her lips brushing over the spot where your bite had just been—a silent response, a wordless challenge of her own. Because if you are to tease a goddess, then you must be ready to be worshipped in return.

Rogue

- The second your teeth sink playfully into her skin, Rogue gasps—sharp, sudden, entirely unprepared. It’s not that she doesn’t like it, not at all, but more that she did not see it coming. For all her strength, all her bravado, you have just done something no enemy, no battle, no nightmare has ever managed to do: you have caught her off guard.

- “Sugah,” she breathes, her accent thickening just a bit, her voice a mixture of amusement and something else—something dangerous. Slowly, her green eyes flick to yours, and oh, that look—half-smirk, half-warning—tells you that you might have just started something you cannot finish. “Did you just… bite me?”

- And then, before you can answer, she does what Rogue does best—she acts. One moment, you are standing comfortably, the next, she has you pinned. Not roughly, not cruelly, but firmly, her gloved hands gripping your wrists, her breath hot against your skin. “Y’know,” she muses, tilting her head as she studies you, “if you wanted my attention that bad, all you had to do was ask.”

- But the glint in her eye betrays her—because for all her teasing, for all her bravado, the truth is simple: she loves this. Loves that you would dare to play with her, loves that you know exactly how to unravel her defenses, how to make her forget the space she so often has to keep between herself and the world. And so, with a wicked little smirk, she leans in, her lips hovering just above yours as she murmurs, “Hope you know what you started, darlin’. ‘Cause I don’t play fair.”

Erik Lehnsherr

- The moment your teeth press against his skin, Erik goes very, very still. Not out of fear, not out of surprise, but out of calculation. He is a man of war, of tragedy, of wounds both seen and unseen, and he has spent his entire life anticipating danger. But this—this playful, fleeting bite from you—is not something he had prepared for.

- And then, slowly, he exhales. Not in frustration, not in anger, but in something far deeper—something like acceptance. His sharp, silver gaze flicks to yours, unreadable yet knowing, and a slow, deliberate smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “Liebling,” he murmurs, his voice as smooth as tempered steel. “Do you think this is a game?”

- He does not move immediately. No, Erik prefers patience, prefers anticipation, prefers to let you feel the weight of what you have just done. And then, finally, he acts. His fingers ghost over your jaw, light as a whisper, his touch deceptively gentle. But his grip—when it finally settles—is not. His hand tightens, not cruelly, but possessively, his thumb tracing over your pulse as he studies you like a puzzle he has yet to solve.

- “If you wish to test me,” he muses, his voice a low, dark promise, “then by all means… continue.” And then, in a move so smooth it leaves you breathless, he takes—captures your mouth with his, slow and unyielding, like gravity itself bending to his will. Because Erik Lehnsherr does not play. He conquers. And if you wish to tempt him, then you must be prepared to surrender.

Charles Xavier

- Charles Xavier is a man of the mind, a man who has unraveled the deepest corners of human thought and consciousness, who has witnessed the entirety of existence through the whispers of others’ souls. And yet, for all his knowledge, for all the mysteries he has unraveled, you still find a way to surprise him. The moment your teeth press against his skin—soft, playful, fleeting—he stills, blue eyes widening just slightly, as if he cannot quite believe that you, of all things, could ever be so unpredictable.

- But then, oh, then he laughs. Not a polite chuckle, not the refined sort of amusement he offers in conversations of wit and charm, but something richer, something real. A warm, low sound that spills from his lips like honey, as if you have just whispered the most delightful secret in the world. He tilts his head toward you, curiosity sparking in his gaze, and for a moment, you see it—the boy he once was, the one who believed in the simple joy of being alive. “My dear,” he muses, a slow, knowing smile curving his lips, “are you quite certain you wish to play this game with me?”

- Charles is a scholar, a tactician, a man who has spent his life wielding words and thoughts like weapons, and he is not one to let a challenge go unanswered. Before you can pull away, his fingers ghost along your wrist, light as a whisper, and suddenly—you feel it. Not words, not images, but a sensation, a feeling, as if he is pressing the weight of his affection directly into your soul. This is how he fights back—by letting you feel what you do to him, by drowning you in the sheer, unshakable depth of his love.

- “You are a fascinating creature,” he murmurs, his voice a soft, intimate thing, meant only for you. And then, with deliberate slowness, he leans in, his lips grazing the same spot where your teeth had just been, a silent response, a quiet promise. Because Charles Xavier is a man of the mind—but with you, he has learned to love the body, too.

Wanda Maximoff

- Wanda Maximoff has spent her entire life on the precipice of chaos. Magic flows through her like a storm, raw and untamed, and though she has learned to control it, there is still a part of her that lingers on the edge—uncertain, fragile, waiting for the world to turn against her. But you—you are different. You do not fear her, do not tread lightly as if she is glass that might shatter at the slightest touch. No, you play with her, tease her, press your teeth against her skin in a gesture so human, so simple, that for a moment, she forgets the weight of her own power.

- Her breath catches—just a little, just enough for you to notice. Her fingers curl against your arm, not to push you away, but to steady herself, as if grounding herself in the moment, in you. And then, slowly, her lips curve into something soft, something real. “You’re bold,” she murmurs, her voice laced with quiet amusement, but there is something else there, too—something dangerous. A challenge. A warning. Because Wanda Maximoff is not someone you tease without consequences.

- Before you can react, she moves. The world shifts around you, a flicker of crimson in the air, and suddenly, you are weightless, as if gravity itself has forgotten you exist. Her magic hums against your skin, curling around you like the brush of unseen fingertips, and she watches you with a look that is pure mischief. “Tell me, darling,” she whispers, tilting her head ever so slightly, “was that meant to tempt me?”

- And then, with a slow, deliberate smirk, she leans in—her lips barely grazing your skin, a phantom touch, a promise of something more. Because Wanda Maximoff is chaos incarnate, and if you wish to play with her, then you must be prepared to dance in the storm.

Pietro Maximoff

- It happens so quickly that even you don’t realize what you’ve done. One moment, Pietro Maximoff is standing before you, talking, teasing, filling the space between you with his usual boundless energy, and the next—your teeth graze his skin, a fleeting, playful bite, quick as lightning itself. And then? He’s gone. A blur of silver and laughter, a gust of wind where he once stood.

- But before you can even blink, he is back—and oh, that look on his face. His lips are curled into a smirk, his blue eyes gleaming with something wild, something electric. “Really?” he breathes, shaking his head as if in disbelief. “You think you can bite me? Me?” His laughter rings out, sharp and bright, and suddenly, he is moving again—circling you, his presence a flickering pulse in the air, there and gone all at once.

- And then, he strikes. Not with speed, not with force, but with something far worse—anticipation. He stops right behind you, so close that his breath is warm against your ear, his voice a whisper of pure, unfiltered mischief. “You know what they say about quick reflexes, don’t you?” he murmurs, and before you can even think to react, his lips brush against your neck—a flicker of a kiss, a ghost of a touch, so fleeting you almost question if it happened at all.

- And then? He’s gone again. Laughing, running, taunting. Because Pietro Maximoff is not someone who is caught—he is the storm itself, and if you wish to play this game, then you must be prepared to chase the wind.

Hank McCoy

- Hank McCoy is not a man who is easily surprised. He has spent his life in pursuit of knowledge, unraveling the mysteries of science, of genetics, of the very fabric of existence itself. And yet, for all his intellect, for all his careful observations of the world—he does not see you coming. The moment your teeth press playfully into his skin, his entire body freezes, blue fur bristling slightly, golden eyes widening in stunned disbelief.

- “Oh, my stars and garters,” he breathes, his voice carrying the unmistakable weight of a man whose entire world has just shifted. Slowly, his gaze flicks down to you, studying you with the same meticulous focus he applies to his research, as if you are some rare, fascinating discovery he has yet to fully understand. “You do realize,” he murmurs, voice warm and teasing, “that by initiating such an experiment, you are opening yourself up to… repercussions, yes?”

- And then, oh, his smile. Slow, wickedly amused, utterly delighted. Before you can react, he moves—not with the hesitant carefulness of a man afraid of his own strength, but with the confidence of someone who knows exactly how to turn the tables. One moment, you are standing, the next, you are swept off your feet, cradled in arms that are both impossibly strong and impossibly gentle. “Ah,” he muses, adjusting his grip as if holding you is the most natural thing in the world, “I do believe I now have the advantage.”

- And then, with a quiet chuckle, he leans in—not to bite, not to tease, but to kiss the very spot where your teeth had been, slow and deliberate, a scholar testing a theory. Because Hank McCoy is a man of knowledge—but when it comes to you, he is more than willing to be a student of the unknown.

Emma Frost

- The moment your teeth graze her skin, Emma Frost’s response is immediate—a slow, measured inhale, the faintest arch of a perfectly sculpted brow. She does not startle, does not react with anything so crass as surprise. No, Emma assesses. A woman of elegance, of control, she has spent a lifetime ensuring that no one catches her off guard, that no one slips beneath the carefully constructed ice of her composure. And yet, you have done it, a playful bite against porcelain skin, an action so simple yet so bold that, for the briefest moment, even the White Queen falters.

- But then, oh, then she smiles. Slow. Deliberate. Dangerous. A curl of her lips that carries no warmth, only sharp amusement and something far more wicked. “Darling,” she purrs, voice smooth as silk, laced with the faintest edge of laughter, “if you wanted to get my attention, there are… other ways to do so.” Her fingers ghost along your wrist, deceptively gentle, a reminder that while you may have started this game, she is the one who will dictate how it ends.

- She does not retaliate with force, nor does she melt into you like some lovesick fool. No, Emma punishes in the most exquisite way possible—she makes you wait. A brush of her fingertips against your jaw, a lingering glance, the press of her body close enough to promise but never enough to give. “Tell me,” she murmurs, tilting her head, voice rich with amusement, “was that truly your best effort?”

- And then, when you least expect it, she strikes. A shift of movement so swift, so precise, that you don’t even register it until it’s happening—her lips against your pulse point, her teeth grazing the same spot where you dared to mark her. It is not surrender. It is not an answer. It is a lesson. A warning. A challenge. Because Emma Frost does not lose—but she does enjoy playing with her prey.

Laura Kinney

- The moment your teeth press into her skin, Laura reacts. No hesitation, no pause—her body tenses, muscles coiling like a predator poised to strike. Instinct kicks in before thought, before reason, before she can even register that it’s you. And for a split second, you feel it—the sheer, terrifying violence that lurks beneath her skin, the razor’s edge of a woman who has spent her entire life as a weapon.

- But then, just as quickly as the tension rises, it fades. A sharp exhale, a flicker of recognition, golden eyes narrowing as she processes what you’ve done. There is no laughter, no teasing retort—just a look. Calculating. Intense. Confused, but not displeased. “…You bit me,” she says at last, voice flat, as if stating the most bizarre fact in the world.

- And then? She tilts her head, considering you in that unnerving, almost animalistic way of hers. “Why?” The question is genuine—Laura has never been one for mind games or coy affections, has never understood the subtle language of teasing and playfulness. Biting is something she associates with combat, with survival. But with you? With you, it is different.

- Slowly, tentatively, she mirrors the action. A nip, precise and measured, as if she is testing this new form of affection, as if she is learning you the way she has learned every other part of the world—through experience, through instinct. And when she pulls back, there is something new in her gaze, something raw and unspoken. Because Laura Kinney may not understand why you did it, but she knows one thing with certainty—if you bite, then she will bite back.

Wade Wilson

- You barely have time to finish biting him before Wade gasps—loud, theatrical, utterly over-the-top. “OH. MY. GOD.” His hands fly to his chest, staggering back as if you have mortally wounded him. “DID YOU JUST—YOU DID. YOU ABSOLUTELY DID.” His voice is thick with emotion, somewhere between scandalized and delighted. “Babe. You bit me. Like a feral little love-goblin. That’s so hot.”

- And then? Then, all hell breaks loose. Within seconds, he is biting you back—but not just once, no, because Wade Wilson is incapable of moderation. He is nibbling at your cheek, at your shoulder, at your hand, peppering you with playful, exaggerated love-bites while making increasingly absurd noises. “CHOMP.” He sinks his teeth into the air dramatically, eyes wide with manic glee. “RAWR. Oh, sorry, that was my dinosaur impression. But honestly? If I were a dinosaur, I’d be a love-raptor. A snuggle-saurus. A Wade-a-don Rex, if you will.”

- The worst part? He does not stop talking. “You’re lucky I don’t have rabies,” he chatters, waggling his brows. “I mean, I might. I did lick a questionable taco truck the other day. But, y’know, if I do have rabies, then I guess that makes you my one and only transmission method—romantic, right?” He grins, then gasps again, as if struck by a sudden epiphany. “WAIT. Does this mean we’re in a vampire romance now? Am I your dark, brooding, undead lover? Babe, I gotta be honest, I am so ready to emotionally gaslight you across centuries of longing.”

- But then—just when you think he’s going to turn this into a full-fledged one-man show—he pauses. Just for a moment. The humor dims slightly, enough for something softer to slip through. And then, in a rare, fleeting act of sincerity, Wade leans in, pressing a kiss—not a bite, not a joke, but a kiss—to the very spot where your teeth had been. “…Seriously, though,” he murmurs, voice warm and uncharacteristically quiet, “that was, like, really cute. You’re really cute.” And then, just as quickly as it appeared, the moment is gone, swallowed up in another round of ridiculous, dramatic antics. But for that one, brief second? He meant it.

Victor Creed

- The instant your teeth graze his skin, Victor Creed laughs—a low, rumbling thing that vibrates in his chest, a sound that is both amused and hungry. He does not startle. He does not pause. No, Victor reacts the way a predator does when something small and delicate dares to bare its teeth—with interest.

- His fingers curl at your waist, grip firm, possessive, a wordless acknowledgment of what you have done. “Now that’s adorable,” he drawls, voice thick with amusement. “Little thing thinks she’s got fangs.” His golden eyes gleam as he studies you, head tilting slightly, as if debating whether to play along—or devour you whole.

- And then? He leans in. Closer, until his breath is warm against your ear, until you feel the sheer size of him, the sheer power in every inch of his body. “You wanna play rough, sweetheart?” he murmurs, voice dropping into something darker, something edged with promise. “You sure you can handle that?” And then, without hesitation, he bites back. Not gentle. Not teasing. But slow, deliberate, lingering—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you exactly who you are dealing with.

- When he pulls away, his grin is wolfish, sharp and deadly. “That all you got?” he taunts, dragging a thumb over the mark he’s left behind. “C’mon, now. If you’re gonna bite, bite like you mean it.” And with that, he watches, waits, golden eyes glinting with something dangerous, something wild. Because Victor Creed is a man who thrives on blood and instinct, and if you wish to play this game, then you must be prepared to lose.

Julian Keller

- The moment your teeth graze his skin, Julian smirks. A slow, lazy curl of his lips, equal parts cocky and intrigued. He doesn’t jerk away, doesn’t react with surprise—no, Julian Keller is a man who thrives in the unexpected, who wears confidence like a second skin. “Well, well,” he drawls, amusement dripping from every syllable, “look at you. Feisty today, huh?” His voice is low, smooth, laced with the kind of arrogance that makes you want to bite him again—harder, just to wipe that smug expression off his face.

- But then, before you can so much as think about it, he moves. Swift, fluid, his telekinesis pressing against you, pinning you in place—not harsh, not cruel, but playful. A silent reminder of who he is, of what he can do. His grip at your waist tightens ever so slightly, his body angled close, so very close, and for a second, it feels less like a game and more like a challenge. “That supposed to be some kind of warning, babe?” he teases, his breath warm against your ear. “’Cause if you’re picking fights, you should know—I never back down.”

- He doesn’t retaliate immediately. No, Julian waits. He lets anticipation build, lets you think you’ve won—that you’ve caught him off guard, that he’ll let this slide. But then, just as you relax, he strikes. A sharp nip against your jaw, quick and precise, a mimicry of what you had done to him. But unlike you, he doesn’t stop there. No, Julian Keller is competitive, and if you’re playing this game, then he’s playing to win.

- “Gotta admit,” he murmurs against your skin, voice a quiet rasp, “you’ve got guts. I like that.” His grip loosens, but that smirk remains, his green eyes gleaming with challenge. “But next time? Maybe try a little harder.” And just like that, he pulls away, walking off as if nothing happened, as if he hasn’t just left you standing there, heart pounding, already plotting your revenge.

Kitty Pryde

- “Oh!” The moment your teeth press into her shoulder, Kitty lets out a startled squeak, her entire body jerking in surprise. She phases instinctively, and before you even register what’s happening, you’re biting nothing—your teeth sinking into empty air as she slips through you, her molecules scattering like mist. It’s not that she minds, not really. It’s just that she wasn’t expecting it. And Kitty Pryde does not like being caught off guard.

- “Did you just—?” Her voice is breathless, half-laughing, half-accusing, her wide eyes locking onto yours. There’s no anger there, no real irritation—just confusion and delight, an almost incredulous sort of amusement at the fact that you, of all people, had dared to bite her. “Okay, rude,” she huffs, crossing her arms over her chest in mock offense. “You can’t just do that without warning! What if I phased and got stuck inside the floor? You’d feel really bad, wouldn’t you?”

- But her protests are all for show, because the next second, she’s grinning, her playful side taking over. Kitty Pryde is mischief wrapped in kindness, and if you think for one second that she’s letting this go unanswered, you’re sorely mistaken. “Y’know,” she muses, tapping a finger to her chin, “if this is how we’re communicating now, I could phase my hand into your ribs and just… give your heart a little squeeze. Not lethal! Just, y’know… uncomfortable.”

- And yet, despite her teasing, despite her empty threats, there’s a warmth in her gaze, an unmistakable fondness in the way she leans in, brushing her lips—soft, fleeting—against the spot where your teeth had been. “But,” she murmurs, voice dipping into something gentler, something real, “I think I like this way better.” And then, with one final cheeky grin, she phases through you once more, vanishing just before you can grab her in retaliation.

Nathan Summers

- The moment you bite him, Cable pauses. No visible reaction. No sharp inhale, no startled flinch. He simply stills, his entire body locking into that unnerving, soldier-like stillness. His metal hand, which had been resting at your waist, remains unmoving, his entire frame rigid as if waiting, assessing. It’s instinct, honed over decades of battle, of survival. Because Nathan Summers is not a man accustomed to softness, and affection—even when playful—is something he has never learned to anticipate.

- And then, slowly, he exhales. His head tilts just slightly, his cybernetic eye dimming, the faintest flicker of something amused passing through his otherwise unreadable expression. “…Did you just bite me?” His voice is low, gravelly, tinged with something between disbelief and reluctant amusement. “Huh.” He says nothing else for a long moment, simply watching you, studying you as if trying to decipher what exactly prompted you to do such a thing.

- And then, finally, he shakes his head, a quiet huff escaping him—something that might, under very specific lighting conditions, be mistaken for a chuckle. “You’ve got guts,” he mutters, the corner of his lips twitching in something dangerously close to a smirk. “Reckless, but gutsy.” His organic hand brushes against the spot where your teeth had been, as if committing the sensation to memory.

- He doesn’t bite back. Doesn’t tease or taunt or retaliate. No, Cable is not a man who plays games. Instead, he opts for something simpler, something quieter—his hand cupping the back of your head, his lips pressing against your forehead in a rare display of open tenderness. A silent acknowledgment. A wordless acceptance. Because Nathan Summers may not understand softness, but for you, he is willing to learn.

Warren Worthington III

- The moment your teeth sink into his skin, Warren lets out a sharp gasp—a mix of surprise and something dangerously close to pleasure. His wings flare instinctively, feathers rustling with a sudden, unconscious movement, his entire body reacting before his mind can catch up. Because Warren Worthington III is a man of control, of composure—and yet, with you, it seems to shatter so easily.

- “Did you—” His voice is breathless, his pupils blown wide, his blue eyes flickering with something unreadable. “You just—” He swallows, as if struggling to find the right words, as if the simple act of you biting him has completely short-circuited his mind. He is an angel carved from marble, all sharp lines and celestial grace, and yet here he stands, utterly undone by something so small, so mortal.

- And then, something shifts. A slow, wicked smile tugs at his lips, the sharp edge of his Archangel persona slipping into his gaze. “You really shouldn’t do that,” he murmurs, voice a velvet purr. “Not unless you’re prepared for the consequences.” His wings snap forward in an instant, encircling you in a cocoon of soft, gilded feathers, trapping you against his chest. His fingers ghost over your jaw, tilting your chin up so you have no choice but to meet his gaze.

- “Because now?” His lips brush against the very spot you had marked, his voice dropping into something dangerous, something electric. “Now it’s my turn.” And then, before you can even think to protest, Warren Worthington III—heir, angel, warrior—bites back.

Kevin Sydney

- The moment your teeth sink into his skin, Kevin’s entire form shifts in surprise. One second, he’s his usual self—sharp jaw, bright eyes, that ever-present smirk—and the next, he’s you, your own expression of mischief mirrored back at you. His voice, now an exact replica of yours, lilts with exaggerated amusement: “Wow, is this what I look like when I do something reckless? No wonder you love me.”

- He lets the illusion linger just long enough to make you blink in disbelief before shifting back, his laughter spilling out in warm, unrestrained waves. There’s no irritation, no reprimand—just the unshakable joy of a man who thrives on unpredictability, who relishes in the absurd. “Biting, huh? I like this new development,” he teases, rubbing the spot where your teeth had been with faux contemplation. “I gotta say, I wasn’t expecting that, but hey, I do have a thing for surprises.”

- He retaliates in the most Morph-like way possible—by suddenly growing a pair of exaggerated fangs and snapping playfully at you, his grin widening as if daring you to test your luck again. “C’mon, babe, if we’re making this a thing, let’s make it fun,” he quips, waggling his eyebrows in an over-the-top display of challenge. “What’s next? Claw marks? A dramatic villain monologue? Give me something to work with!”

- And yet, despite all the jokes, despite the effortless laughter, there’s something softer underneath. Because Kevin Sydney is a man who hides behind humor, who masks emotion with theatrics—but the way he touches you now, fingers brushing idly along your wrist, is genuine. “Seriously, though,” he murmurs, his usual grin dimming into something real, “I like when you do things that catch me off guard. It reminds me that life’s worth sticking around for.”

Raven Darkhölme

- The moment your teeth press into her skin, Mystique doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t jerk away. Instead, she merely stares, her yellow eyes sharp, assessing, calculating. It’s impossible to tell what she’s thinking—whether she’s amused, annoyed, or considering shifting into someone entirely different just to make you regret it. “Interesting,” she murmurs at last, her voice low, velvet-smooth, carrying an edge of intrigue that makes your heart stutter.

- Then, before you can so much as blink, she moves. A blur of shifting colors, of muscle and bone rearranging in an instant—and suddenly, she’s behind you, her lips a ghost of a presence against your ear. “You really think you can surprise me?” she purrs, her breath cool against your skin. “I’ve spent lifetimes being a step ahead. If you wanted to catch me off guard, you’d have to try harder than that.”

- But despite her words, despite her unshakable composure, there’s an undeniable interest in her tone. Because Raven Darkhölme is a woman who’s spent decades in control, who rarely allows herself to be touched without permission—and yet, you’ve just walked right through every layer of her defenses without fear. And that? That fascinates her more than she’d care to admit.

- “Brave,” she muses at last, her fingers tracing the very spot you had bitten, her expression unreadable. Then, with a slow, deliberate smirk, she adds, “But reckless.” And just like that, she shifts—her form melting into someone else, someone entirely unfamiliar—before disappearing into the shadows, leaving only her voice lingering behind: “I will be returning the favor.”

Illyana Rasputina

- The moment your teeth sink into her skin, Illyana freezes. Not in shock, not in discomfort, but in something else—something unreadable, something ancient and dangerous. Because Illyana Rasputina is not a woman accustomed to softness, and affection—even playful—has always been laced with sharp edges in her world. Her grip on her Soulsword tightens, and for a fraction of a second, her eyes flicker with golden fire, as if Hell itself has stirred in response.

- And then, she turns to you—slowly, deliberately, her expression eerily calm. “Did you just bite me?” Her voice is quiet, but there’s something lethal beneath it, something that makes even the air around her still. She doesn’t sound angry. If anything, she sounds… curious. As if she’s trying to decide whether this is something to be annoyed by—or something to encourage.

- And then, after what feels like an eternity, she laughs. It’s low, dark, a sound that carries the weight of fire and steel, of war and something far older than you could ever comprehend. “Hah. You’re bold,” she muses, tilting her head, considering you with something between amusement and fondness. “I like it.” Then, with a flick of her wrist, her Soulsword vanishes, and she leans in—so very close, her breath warm against your throat.

- “But you do realize,” she murmurs, her voice a whisper of shadows, “that I always bite back.” And before you can so much as react, she’s gone—vanished in a flash of eldritch fire, leaving nothing behind but the lingering heat of her presence and the unshakable knowledge that this game has only just begun.

Alex Summers

- The second your teeth graze his skin, Alex jumps—a sharp, involuntary reaction, his entire body tensing as if you’ve just electrocuted him. “What the hell?!” he blurts out, twisting to look at you with wide, startled eyes. There’s no immediate anger, no irritation—just sheer, genuine confusion, as if he cannot comprehend why you would do something so reckless.

- And then, as realization dawns, his expression changes. His brows furrow, his lips twitch, and before you can so much as breathe, he lets out a laugh—not the kind you were expecting, not cocky or smug, but genuine. It’s warm, boyish, disbelieving, the kind of laugh that makes the edges of his eyes crinkle. “You bit me,” he says again, shaking his head like he still can’t quite wrap his mind around it. “Are you—are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

- And yet, despite his reaction, despite his initial shock, there’s something undeniably fond in the way he looks at you now. Because Alex Summers is a man who has spent his life in the shadow of expectation, of responsibility, of chaos—and here you are, bringing something light into his world, something unexpected, something good. And maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t mind that as much as he pretends to.

- “Alright, fine,” he relents at last, rubbing his neck where your teeth had been, his grin turning almost challenging. “But just so you know? I’m keeping score.” And with that, he leans in—his lips brushing against your jaw, a teasing warning before he suddenly nips at your skin in retaliation, pulling back with a satisfied smirk. “Your move.”

[pixiesndberries]

HOW DO I GET YOU ALONE?

— Logan Howlett ❞

𖦰 :: summary — remembering her first love after a long time of running away from it.

→ Logan Howlett, Fem!Reader, Jean Grey, Rogue, Kitty Pryde, and more.

♫ :: Alone - Heart (Bad Animals, 1987) — It Must've Been Love - Roxette (It Must've Been Love, 1990)

𖦰 .. warnings — angst; mentions of intimate moment together (18+ themes), strong words, lmk if I forgot something.

> I haven't double checked this, might contain grammatical errors and typos.

𖦰 author's note — LMK IF YOU WANT LOGAN'S POV GUYS 🙏 I kinda felt shitty and I wanted a heart clenching angst, I don't want them to be happy and all of that love story. Probably my longest work ever and I'll have my break for like a day or two (more like 2 years) anyways HAVE FUN POOKIES!

WORD COUNT — 3, 666k words

"Hey, take care of the kids and yourself too." the man mutters underneath his breath as he places his 'best dad in the world' coffee mug in the sink, quickly grabbing himself a napkin to wipe the left residue on his lips — it took her a quick moment to respond since her attention is too focused on putting her children's school lunch in their very own lunch boxes, "yeah, yeah you too." she nods as she wipes her hand in her colourful apron, giving him a glare.

"did you have everything? car keys? the lunch I made you?" she says with a worried yet hurried tone making sure her husband got everything in his hands before leaving the house — "yes, ma'am." he chuckles with a nod, before she could even say something back he walked up to her wrapping his arms around her, planting a kiss on her temples.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

he nodded and left pulls away, calling the kids to have their goodbyes before their father left for work — she turns around and sighs while wiping the bead of sweat forming in her forehead, she then closes the lunchboxes and place it inside the lunch bags.

for the last nine years, this is her daily routine — to be a responsible wife and mother towards her husband and children, to be her children's first teacher and to be her husband's helping hand.

just like her dream, to be wife to somebody.

to a certain someone.

"Mommy!" james yells from his room making her drop what she was doing in panic that something might've happen to her first born son, she rushed upstairs 'till his room just to see him being completely fine — "Mommy, we need to bring old photos of our parents to school for our family tree." he says slightly feeling scared that he might've freaked his mom out for yelling too loud and exaggerated.

she sighs closing her eyes, but then looks at the kid, again trying to be calm as possible not wanting to scold the child because the school bus is going to arrive in ten minutes and he just had the balls to tell her that right now. "Okay, give me a quick moment. Wait downstairs and watch Peter and Julien for me, is that okay?" she says calmly.

"okay, mommy." james nodded as he carries his backpack with him, she created a space so he could get out of his bedroom door — when she heard his foot steps coming from the stairs she closed his bedroom door and made her way to the attic wherein the old and useless stuff was placed.

she pulled the ladder string making the ladder fall on it's own, she then secured it making sure it's stable enough to step on. As soon as it was stable enough she climbed, her head peeking through the attic.

she then spend her last minutes searching for some old boxes with photos, she already obtained her husband's old photos, mainly the one from his school yearbook photos — on the other hand, she couldn't manage to look for hers. She didn't really had much of photos before except for some that are nowhere to be found, she didn't go to school either which means she does have yearbook photos to share.

she already wanted to give up and just hand out the photos that she had in her hands right now, but her eyes landed on this brown wooden box with her brain processing where it could be from, it looks familiar at the same time it doesn't.

she then crouched to grab the box, it was small and almost fragile considering how old it maybe is. She shook the box making sure it has something inside and it did sound like there are things inside but it feels like it's packed with so much things inside.

she already forgot about the ticking of the clock and how close the school bus might be already. She flick the button open, bringing her hand to open the lid.

letters

photographs

and a locket.

it made her stop breathing for a moment, it's like her soul jumped out of her body for a quick mini second as the realization of what this was — she blinked while her fingers lingered into the rough almost fragile papers that contains letters and the photos wherein the colors are slowly fading.

she exhales and attempted to push back the letters and photos all at once in the small box, she's rushing making it unable to push it all at once except if placed neatly, out of frustration she dropped the box making it scattered all around the floor with the other ones flying somewhere in the room — she sighs closing her eyes, only to see a photo of them lying in the floor with a letter behind it.

the poorly written words even brought those memories back too good yet it stings painfully than being tortured by an electrocuting machine — no, she wasn't supposed to sit here and see this all of these things that are supposed to be gone ever since she left that damn roof. She already left what she was many years ago and she's not planning to remember nor come back because she's already contended of what she have right now, this was her dream right?

she felt a bead of tear slowly runs down her cold cheeks as she stare at the photo with her hand holding into it, wanting to just tear it apart or maybe burn it until it's all nothing but ashes that she's soon going to throw away in the lake nearby her house.

hair was short, smile was wide, she's wearing his leather jacket, his hands wrapped around her waist and her lips was attached into his cheeks — the piece of paper crumbled into her hand as she lets out an exhausted sigh and her eyes' blinking trying to avoid wasting tears again.

the same face she had as they were talking that night, the night that absolutely ruined her.

before this whole him meeting jean thing, everything was way too different compared to what situation they're in after him meeting jean — they're almost entwined and it feels like they're the only one who understands each other wether it's about missions or just in general.

birds of a feather or two peas in a pod, that's what professor x calls them, they're almost inseparable — but as times goes by it's more than just friendship.

at some point the tension started being way too compacted that it's almost hard to resist the fact that he couldn't help but to look at her lips everytime she speaks or maybe she couldn't help but to look when he's just there standing topless while fixing something — everything was irresistible.

"I don't know, he just keeps coming at me or something." she shrugs with their bodies next to each other as stares at her drink, the tension was tight and somehow warm — and the fact that Logan is questioning about this random dude who came up to her basically checking her out, it's not helping.

he doesn't want to sound possessive.

she's not his.

she doesn't want to avoid the guy either.

it's not like he's going to get jealous.

he didn't mutter any response but the moment she looked at him, she can hear the mutters inside his head — she knows that she agreed to not read his mind but she couldn't help, her head got ears and it's hearing too well.

"I'm not going with him, not worth my time. Rather, I know someone's better at wasting my time." she mutters underneath her breath quickly looking back at her whiskey as he looks back — he clicked his tongue putting the glass down in the counter, she then looks back making their eyes locked at each other.

it was deep, it was something, what do you call that? mind fucking?

she's sure it's not her telepathy thing that is wanting to pull him into a kiss right now and let him do the things that he wanted to do to her, and Logan is also sure that's it's not only him who's been feeling this close and those gazes and touches didn't have any meaning.

"fuck." she mutters underneath her breath as she holds into the bathroom's towel rail for balance as Logan's teeth leaves marks on her neck — she can't help but to wince and moan lightly as he squeezes her glutes, feeling the tight pressure.

"Logan, it's going to be visible." she sighs as he pulls away with her free hand resting on the back of his head.

"can't find the problem."

fuck, literally.

she pulls him in a passionate kiss, feeling almost like high or euphoric just by this. It was an overwhelming gut rush that she couldn't explain, she can taste the bitterness of the liquor he just had mixing with hers and it's getting her almost feral — "fuck me, Logan." she groans in his ears, like that her request is what he fulfils.

it would be a lie if both of them say everything happened once or twice, it was more than that — they didn't shared just themselves, their body, a kiss but an intimacy that she knew she wouldn't have with anyone else except for Logan.

it wouldn't be the same if it's not Logan.

every night, as they lay together in bed with Logan next to her sleeping his ass off — she couldn't help but to think, what they really are.

sometimes she would just be there and imagine their future together, kids, a nice house, and them being together — a small house down town just perfectly enough for their family, she even promised herself that if they're going to have their first son, it's name is going to be James Howlett Jr.

she's never really been a vocal type of person since from the start, she prefers quiet over anything else in this world — she never once brought the words, "what are we?" or maybe ask him if they're more than just sharing naked bodies at one bed or crashing lips together as the world falls apart around them.

but then she just spends her whole night pondering when's the right time going to be to just ask him if,

if he feels more than just sexual tension or whatever was this.

like, it couldn't be so casual that he'd hug her from behind or be a worrywart everytime she's out of sight during missions — and most of all, friends don't say I love you during sex, right?

she'd always remember when a fortune teller told her that 'you wouldn't know when the universe is going to turn against you' she never believed it not until she came home from a mission along with kitty — as she walk in the halls, she could already hear the familiar voice; his voice.

and jean's voice?

when she was only few steps away from the room where all the noises of the room is coming from, she was fighting with herself wether to just stay and listen or just walk by the room so maybe he'll notice that she's there or maybe just mind her own business, they're just friends right?

she can hear Logan's chuckle as she teases him over something.

she couldn't help but to feel this weird ache in her stomach, she couldn't explain the feeling but it was slowly going up her chest until it reaches her throat — her chest rises she closed her eyes trying to take deep breaths and thinking to just walk away.

she opens her eyes and exhales heavily, almost audible — she walked pass by the room purposely making her steps audible, she didn't even know why she did that.

she walked quickly back to her room and closed the door behind her, then leaning her back into the door with a heavy sigh — why did I do that?

why do I feel like this?

why,

why,

and why's.

that's all she could think of all night, they're just friends right?

the kiss

the way he holds her hand

no, she pushed herself to calm down — Logan can be friends with anyone, what she witnessed is just a friendly conversation so where's the reason to be paranoid?

and they aren't even together.

each night she wasted her time pondering what to do because they are slowly drifting away from each other — as time passes Logan and Jean's relationship are getting tighter, closer, it's like they're sewn together and she's just there.

letting things be,

letting everything go it's way like nothing happened between them.

"are you seriously going to stand there and just watch them?" rogue scoffs while holding a cup of coffee, scooting herself next to her friend who seems to be swimming in her own thoughts — her mind was blank while leaning into the balcony as the stars shines bright, she's well aware of the company that rogue and kitty offered her.

"didn't know you're a masochist now." kitty teased making rogue let out a low chuckle as she sips her coffee — no reaction from her, she just breaths heavily.

the atmosphere was quiet for a moment, only the sound of crickets was audible but she broke it after seconds — "I don't know, if he wanted me in the first place it wouldn't be like this."

"I mean like, the real thing."

rogue and kitty exchanged glances feeling bad for their friend, rogue looked at her for a moment then let's out a heavy sigh.

"you should talk to him, you know, to have a closure of what you two did isn't just games."

"I wish it was that easy." she says looking back at rogue, "I've made numerous attempts but when it's the actual thing and he's there, it's so hard to speak."

rogue and kitty couldn't find the perfect words to help her put her hopes up, they haven't been in her place — she's not asking for it either, she's doing okay and she appreciated the time her friends are putting on her to help her with this.

"if you wouldn't try, you wouldn't know right?" kitty spoke

she understood both of her friends suggestion to what to do, it's easy when you think about it but when you're actually there the aching feeling that slowly crawls up to her throat was getting her,

but she couldn't just sit there and wait because at some point he'll probably never try because he's focused on someone else.

cinnamon girl, is that what she is right now?

he's addicted on something and couldn't bring himself to care about her, anymore?

she wouldn't say that he completely shut her off his life, sometimes when they would run against each other, they would exchange glances but never would say a thing — sometimes during dinner the whole team would talk, then Logan would agree to her words — after missions Logan would check up the other people and she's one of them, but then she'll just smile and nod.

he's there, but not completely there.

she hated how casual it is for him to just walk pass by her, stand next to her like nothing happened, talk to jean as if she wasn't there.

this wasn't them numerous days ago, she's longing for it and it hurts so bad.

she just wanted to run away from it, but with him and jean being in the same roof as hers — it's so hard to find an excuse.

during dinner, she was so quiet as she was eating this whatever food it was — she couldn't even think straight, all of the people that surrounds her are laughing and she's just there drowning herself in a pool filled thoughts.

"right, (y/n)?" rogue chuckles nudging her arms which made her quickly looked around the people in the table, almost feeling like she just woke up in from daydream which made everyone around the table confused and exchange glances.

"yeah, yeah." she nodded awkwardly chuckling looking back at her food, kitty and rogue exchanging looks as if they already know the reason behind her behavior right now.

to fill the awkward atmosphere gambit created a joke making the whole table laugh again as if nothing happened, there she was so low in her food.

she glared around the people making sure their attention wasn't on hers because honestly it was that embarrassing, but then her eyes landed on Logan who quickly looked back.

no shit.

she glared back at her food and continue to finish it off so she could finally leave the table and rest.

on the other hand, Logan looked confused yet seem to already be puzzling the reasons why her behaviors like that right now.

later that night after the dinner, rogue and kitty said their goodnights to her and made their way to their rooms — while she was walking in the hall she was still lost of what's happening around her, she couldn't help but to think, think, and think.

out of nowhere she had this urge to stop walking, and yeah right.

Logan was in the hall too,making his way somewhere she doesn't know.

Logan also stopped his tracks and looked at her, both of their faces blank.

What do I do?

Should I?

she's fighting with herself inside, wether to approach him and talk about it or just once let it go.

her chest was rising heavily, it's visible and the tension right now is almost compacted as if there's no air.

"Logan."

"(y/n)."

both of their names slipped from each's lips on the same time — is he aware?

"can we talk? please." she exhales feeling the aching torns building up her throat once again, almost choking her — Logan nodded, she gave the somewhere private look and he shrugged agreeing with her.

You don't know how long I have wanted, to touch your lips and hold you tight. — You don't know how long I have waited, and I was going to tell you tonight.

they are in the balcony, with the cold wind feeding the almost dry atmosphere — she can't really explain what she felt but it's almost like she's trapped in a box and she's slowly exploding, it's an overwhelming feeling having him here.

she doesn't know how to start and he's just standing there waiting for her to say the words he needed to hear, she gulps and looked at him with her eyes reflecting the bright colors of the stars and moon.

"it's, about us." she finally spoke, her voice almost cracking through the words — she's fighting the urge not to cry right now, her chest just feels so heavy.

she can see in her eyes how Logan reacted when the word us slips from her lips, he knows that what she's talking about and if she's in the right state she would've plucked her mind to get under his to read whatever he's thinking right now.

he didn't respond, "Logan, what am I to you? Are you really going to shut me off like I was someone who you didn't know." she says with her fist tightening into a ball and her voice raising a little — frustration and pain.

"Logan, are you really going to act like this forever, like I wasn't here?" she says with a firm tone.

"are you really going to forget about what we had?"

"those kisses, sweet nothings, touch, and whatever the fuck it is!"

"(y/n)."

"don't fucking call me now, Logan, I am so fucking hurt." she says pointing at his chest out of frustration, she felt like exploding right now.

beads of tears was already slipping in her cheeks, her chest rising continuously.

he was dumbfounded, not being able to find the right words to defend himself — because it was true, it all happened and he couldn't just pretend that it didn't happened.

"tell me, those fucking things that we had is nothing to you!"

"that's not true."

"then why!" she sobs trying her best to keep her voice down, "Logan, why?"

"I don't know."

"what do you mean you don't know?" she sobs again feeling so frustrated, "Logan, I'm sure those things are easy to forget shit."

"if it's just fucking, flirting, comforting to you. Logan to me it's the real fucking thing, what do you call that again? Love?"

she never once wanted to admit that she's in love, she hated love, they both hated love and all this time they both believed that what they did is just nothing, something they can easily forget — sorry for breaking it to him, she fooled herself for thinking it's love.

"I never learned to care until I met you."

"I never learned to love until I met you." she says almost choking from her own spit as tears continuously pouring.

again, Logan couldn't bring himself to speak — it's not like he doesn't care to what's happening right now, he just didn't know this is what she felt all this time. He thought she felt the way he does, all of this are nonsense.

"I thought it was all nothing." he says back, "I thought you and I agreed that we're doing that no strings attached."

"but you said I love you, and I'm sorry clinged to that but I hoped." she quickly responded, "my mouth hasn't shut up about you since you kissed it. The idea that you may like me the way that I do was stuck in my brain, which hasn't stopped thinking about you since." she says with her voice cracking mid sentence.

"I didn't mean to make you feel that way, but you know we both agreed right? that we don't have something."

"and that was my mistake, but you couldn't just say you love me like it was nothing."

she still remembers it perfect in her head, she can still hear how he said it during sex, while they're just together, kissing her forehead and mumbles I love you before mission — it was all nothing?

"I just wished you could've told me before you," she pauses wiping her tears, in fact she couldn't even bring herself to say her name.

"you could've told me that before meeting Jean, because I felt like I'm some kind of toy that you got sicked of playing."

it was nothing but quiet for a few seconds but Logan cutted the silence as he attempted to explain for himself.

"I was the first person Jean got closed with and during that time you were nowhere to be found, maybe you're there but so far."

"I thought you didn't want me anymore."

she did, she did spaced away from him thinking he doesn't her anymore — it's her mistake for not talking this out ever since she felt jealous.

"but that's not a reason to completely shut me off, you could've ended whatever we are doing in a good way so I wouldn't hope anymore that you would still be knocking at my door, to talk to me." she added

they're are both standing at their own points.

she already felt tired at this moment and just wanted to cry her eyes out in her room and Logan was completely lost right now, conflicted between Her and Jean.

she already know that he wouldn't at least try to explain that he once loved her like she did, she's so dumb for even thinking about it.

"then I'm sorry, if that's what you wanted to hear."

why is he making it sound like she's demanding for an apology? she doesn't want to see him anymore, she's so miserable right now.

she sighs, she doesn't even know what to say now everything is messing up with her head, she already said what she have to say to him and it made her chest lighter now — but there's still an open wound in her heart right now.

"I love her, but I appreciated you."

and when she heard those words it felt like the world came crashing to her and continuously slaps her on the face, Logan then turned back, having himself looking back at her before walking way.

as much as she wanted to stop him, she thought it's for the best to let him be — it already happened, it's clear that he didn't want her from the start.

So this is it?

That's it?

Should I be happy that he appreciated me?

Logan could still here muffles and cries that night, he was in his bed trying to shake off the feeling — this weird feeling, he knew that he should be sorry but in the first place he thought both of them doesn't believe in love, he clinged into that.

He'd be lying if he didn't admit he didn't mean to say those words, those sweet nothings, and those love gestures — he was conflicted between the forming feelings for her and the fact that she once admitted that she doesn't believe in love.

so he stopped himself and found Jean, Jean wasn't so scared of showing her love and the slow burning start of their romance — if he knew that they're both in love from the start maybe he wouldn't be here in this bed right now remembering the words she have said.

he was a jerk and he knows that, but he it'll make things tougher if he admitted that he also felt something for her — it would be useless now that him and jean had this thing now, it'll hurt her more.

Last minute regret, he's going to carry this forever.

"I have to find my myself professor, I think this is just not for me." she mutters underneath her breath while looking at the man in front of her, Professor Charles Xavier.

she professor was dumbfounded for her sudden departure with the reason of she felt like what she's doing wasn't really for her — as much as professor x wanted to disagree because of her helpful abilities that put the team together, it's almost like him and her are alike, he couldn't bring himself to stop her.

there's this energy that tells him that she is in agony, a sense of lost, as if she was in grief — he didn't bother to read her mind, it feels too wrong especially when she look like this.

"if that what makes you happy, I am delighted to fully support your decision, I just wanted you to know that the door is open when you wanted to come back, (y/n)." the professor said with a grin on his face, which somehow sent her a sense of comfort.

"I am holding into that." she smiles, but she remembered something before going.

"please don't tell them, the only people who are aware are rogue and kitty, please?"

"as you wish."

and that she traveled where she can, wherever her feet brings her finding the peace that she wanted — she wanted to leave who she was, wanting her old self dead and forgotten.

as much as it hurts her, she wanted to space away not wanting to drown herself once again — maybe she really love him that much that she reached this point.

Logan was her first love, and she knows it's going to take a long time forgetting that face.

she changed everything about her from head to toes, cut and dyed her hair, attempted to find a new style which she successfully did and to forget everything in the past leaving them where they belong.

she found herself in Switzerland, wherein she built a flower shop and when she's not busy she'll be a part time teacher in preschool — with that being said, that's the same place she met her husband.

he always buys flowers in her shop for his mother who was sick, there he learned his interest towards her — Long story short, they got married and shared three children; James, Julien, and Peter.

and ever since she met her husband she forgot about Logan, not even thinking's where he is, how is he doing, if he is still actually alive — she never once think of him, even the school and her friends.

"Mommy! The school bus is here!" when she heard a familiar voice coming from down the attic she quickly stuffed the box and what it contains somewhere that wouldn't be found by any of the people inside this house except her, she wiped her tears and took a deep breath.

"I'm done, hold on." she says before grabbing a random photograph with Logan and tearing it apart quickly making her way down the attic, handing it to James as fast as possible.

"kids!" she calls out as she walk fast guiding the kids out of the house with the big yellow bus waiting outside.

:: additional note — LMK IF YOU WANTED THIS BUT LOGAN'S POV CUZ LIKE I FELT I DID LOGAN DIRTY WITH THIS ONE 🙏 THIS IS MY LONGEST FIC SO FAR 😭 I'M TIRED BYE.

ᯓ★ pixiesndberries 2024 ! i don't allow my work to be share in any platforms without my permission — REBLOGS, LIKES, AND FOLLOW ARE APPRECIATED !

[pickledpascal]

Thee Wolverine

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Maya Imik

Warnings: animal tendencies, cat behavior, some sexual themes if you squint, fluff otherwise!

A/N: just felt like there was too much feral!logan where he's a fucking machine. what if he just wants to be close to his mate, c'mon now.

Word Count: 1.8k

Hugh Jackman Masterlist

Logan did not go feral. Well, if someone asked, he would say he didn’t.

But there were days, weeks, months when he didn’t act like himself. Where scent, touch, and just about everything seemed to drive him crazy. He’d isolate himself in his room, exiting it with a few more claw marks lodged into the walls or he’d simply leave the mansion. Live in the woods for an indiscriminate amount of time until he felt normal enough to return.

With Maya, that changed.

Similar to their usual routine when they were about to sleep, Maya read a book beside Logan as he got in bed next to her. The whole day, he had felt urges. He knew he was slipping little by little. Around Maya, the fight in him crumbled. His pupils turned to slits as he felt that part of his brain take over.

He pulled her close, causing her to let out a light squeak at how roughly her pulled her. He buried his head into her neck and rubbed his cheek against the exposed skin of her neck and shoulder. His pupils rounded and dilated before he closed his eyes.

Maya looked at Logan curiously, an amused smile on her face. The book was long forgotten as he kept rubbing his face against her until he tucked his head underneath her chin. She carded a hand through his hair and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

Logan wasn’t a stranger to cuddling. Even less so as the person who wanted the affection, desperate for it at times, too. However, this was a whole new level Maya hadn’t experienced yet. Though, she didn’t mind.

A low purr escaped Logan’s chest as Maya kept her fingers in his hair. Surprise was an understatement. She was downright ecstatic at the discovery. Logan was a goddamn cat. Well, more like a tiger. Large and dangerous with deadly claws and an even deadlier bite but downright cuddly and soft when they wanted to be.

They went to sleep like that. Maya’s arms were around Logan’s shoulders while his arms were wrapped around her waist, holding her tightly to him. Their legs tangled together so he could lock their bodies like puzzle pieces. Maya had never felt so warm in her life. It was like being covered in the world's best heated and weighted blanket.

Waking up was another ordeal.

“Logan, let me go.” Maya huffed as she tried to get away from him but he kept a firm hold around her body.

“No.” He hummed, rubbing his face into her hair with a large, easy smile on his face. It would have been more endearing if she hadn’t had an important briefing with Scott in the morning.

Eventually, he did let her go but he full-on whined at the loss of contact. He even growled lowly when she got dressed properly, eyes turning to slits. Maya didn't notice. He hated that she was covering her skin. Hated that he didn't have as much access as he did earlier.

He stood up and pressed his chest to her back and wrapped his arms around her waist, letting his chin rest on her shoulder as a chuff rumbled in his body.

Maya pecked his cheek. “Don't worry, you'll be okay without me for a little while.” Logan frowned. His pupils seemed to get impossibly rounder.

Maya wondered what that was about. In fact, he hadn't said more than a word to her since yesterday, when they had lunch. She brushed it off as just him having a bad day, he'd talk to her later about it, as he always did.

She left the room and went to the briefing with Scott. It went smoothly. They were brainstorming ways to get better protections for mutants from experimentation in a lawful route with Jean and Ororo. Maya didn't think she was of much help but the others reassured her that she was.

During lunch hours, she sat where she usually did with some of the older students. Yukio, Ellie, and Kitty had become friends she liked even if they were nearly ten years younger than her. After a while, she noticed Logan was not in the dining hall like everyone else. Maya pursed her lips.

“Have any of you seen Logan today?” She asked. They all knew of their relationship, at this point, so she felt no reason to hide her worry or favor for the older mutant.

Kitty chuckled. “You didn't hear? He canceled all of his classes.”

“What?” Maya blinked. To be fair, Logan didn't seem like he wanted to converse with anyone, much less a bunch of children. “Why?”

Ellie stared at Maya flatly. As always. “He didn't tell you?” She raised an eyebrow. Then let out a soft “hm.”

Maya pushed a hand through her hair and screwed her eyes shut for a moment, slightly exasperated. There was a lot she didn't know about Logan, he was nearly two hundred fucking years old, of course, she wouldn't be able to know every goddamn thing he went through.

“What is it?” She pressed.

Yukio answered this time, in her usual cheerful tone though it was quieter now as if she was telling a secret. “Sometimes the animal part of Mr. Howlett takes over! He becomes more,” She thought about it for a moment, “Feral. Gives into his animal instincts. He always cancels classes when that happens.”

Maya could not believe what Yukio was telling her. She laughed. She knew it was true. But feral? Describing the cuddle bear that was Logan that morning as feral was silly.

She could still see him in the back of her mind, pupils so dilated they seemed to take over his entire hazel iris. His hair was so fluffy from lying around in bed that it seemed to accentuate the two tufts on either side of his head.

When Maya did come back to his room—their room—she was bombarded by Logan. He pulled her down to the bed with him and nearly shredded off her shirt to expose her skin. He nuzzled his face against her stomach which made her chuckle. He was so goddamn cuddly. She wondered what the students thought he did while he was like this. What urges did they think he had? To kill? Destroy shit? Dare she say fuck?

Logan chuffed again, his entire body rumbled with the noise as he rubbed his cheeks against her. His facial hair made it feel scratchy but Maya didn't mind it much. He was enjoying himself, why would she stop that?

“How've you been?” She asked in a murmur, trying to make some conversation.

“Missed you.” He hummed. His nose traced the soft outline of Maya's abdominal muscles.

Her heart warmed. She glanced around the room. All of the drawers designated to her were slightly ajar. She looked back down at Logan, an amused smirk on her face. He was wearing one of her shirts. A simple black T-shirt with a vintage design on the front.

“Yeah?” Maya tugged a little at the shirt. She raised an eyebrow at him.

Logan pouted softly as he raised his head to look at her. “Smells like you.”

Maya let out a breath, her eyes softening and full of affection as she tugged Logan up her body. “C'mere, sweetheart.” He happily obliged. “I don't mind you taking my clothes if it helps you, okay?” She nodded at him.

He kissed Maya's cheek in response, purring lowly. He wrapped his arms around her again and rubbed his cheek against hers. She laughed. It was his favorite sound in the world. He wanted to hear it all the time. His heart twinged with affection each time he heard even the faintest of chuckles escape her lips.

“Mate makes me happy.” Logan murmured. He rubbed his face against her hair again to feel the softness of it.

He loved her presence, the feeling of her skin against his. More importantly, for his feral mind, he loved having her scent all over him and he loved rubbing his scent all over her. No one else would know besides him and that's what made it so much sweeter.

Maya let Logan mess up her hair, a light smile on her lips. She had never thought of herself as his ‘mate,’ but she was. They were made for each other, it appeared. They fit together like a lock and a key or a pen to paper. They were so similar yet so different. And they embraced those differences without fail. Each flaw seemed to only make them love the other more. Now that they found each other, they were never going to let go. Never could let go.

She pressed a kiss to his cheek, earning her another chuff. “You make me happy too, mate.” Maya wrapped an arm around Logan's shoulder. She thought she might as well appeal to his current mental state.

Logan purred happily. He grew even happier when Maya rubbed her cheek against his. His lips parted. A smile that showed his teeth formed on his face.

Maya wanted to take a picture. But she didn't feel like ruining the moment. It was a rare sight to see Logan smile with teeth. She wasn't sure if it was because he intentionally tried not to show his sharp canines in fear of being seen as scary or what but… it was so beautiful when he smiled like that.

She brushed a hand into his hair. Logan let out a contented purr. She scratched at a specific spot in his hair that she knew made him go weak—she wanted to know if something else would happen now that he was giving in to his animal urges.

Almost immediately, his whole body relaxed and went limp. He closed his eyes and purred louder. His entire body rumbled with the noise. Maya was sure that if Logan had a tail then it would be wagging.

“You’re cute.” She smiled, scratching at the hairs on the nape of his neck.

Logan let out a low gruff noise in protest. He didn’t complain otherwise. How could he? Maya had him weak in the knees.

If he was standing, he would have probably collapsed onto the floor with how she was touching him. He liked it like that. The comfort he could feel from a simple touch Maya gave him was more than what he could put into words. He breathed in her scent, letting his body mold into hers.

“Love you, so much.” He hummed against her skin. It was muffled to the point Maya wasn’t sure what he said for a few seconds.

She rubbed her cheek against the side of his head. “Love you too.”

[honey-minded-hivemind]

🖤Dark AU, Post Two, Same As It Never Was:

(Warning: This fic contains medical trauma and depictions of wounds and scarring, drugging and sedation, darker themes and implications, mentioned and implied death, and features darker platonic yandere content! You have been warned...)

• It was hard to believe they were back after all this time.

• The flight back home is abuzz with unspoken questions, careful touches checking for pulses, and the steady, hopeful feeling they haven't felt in years. They never thought they'd see their friends and kids again. Yet there they were, calling them in the dead of night from a payphone, then waiting for them to arrive, hidden away... And here they are now, passed out in their arms, their faces peaceful in a way they never thought appreciated in full in the past.

• Magneto holds Pietro, stroking back his hair and holding him close, Wanda checking his pulse and frowning deeply at the scar above his eye, at the dried specks of black and red flecked across his face. The speedster is unusually still, too deep under to stir as his father and sister watch over him. His legs show deep bruises, as though something had hit them, hard... Mystique murmurs to Kurt, rocking back and forth lightly in her seat as Rogue whispers small promises to him. The fuzzy blue teen is limp, not even his tail wiggling or wrapping around their wrists or legs for comfort. The discolored flesh of the scar across his throat is stark compared to his fur, and so too is the dark black-brown staining his shirt... Kitty is beside them, held by Scott, Logan sitting across from them, rubbing her back, and both trying not cry or stiffen when they see the hole in her blouse, nor when they feel the dark, sticky stain around it. Her head is tucked into the crook between Scott's neck and shoulder, his arms hugged tight around her like she might disappear. Logan's free hand is grasping her's, while curled into him is...

• Reader... Their face is too still, their shirt useless to hide or stop the bloody gash in their abdomen. There's dried blood in their hair and across the old worn lab coat pressed against them, dark reminders of what happened. Their arms are scarred, flecked in smears of brownish-red, the wound on their head is still damp, their breathing flutters lightly, as though they're still in pain, even in their sleep... Logan keeps his free arm wrapped around them, pulling them into his chest and stomach, keeping them where he can feel the beat of their heart and hear the rasps of their breathing...

• The tapes they'd all watched... Hours, days, weeks worth of footage, depicting what those scientists had done to their missing kids... Taking blood samples, scraping patches of skin off, collecting DNA and cells, taking bone marrow... not to mention all the extra ones done to Reader, or what seemed to be hours of torture, all meant to tear them down and leave them broken. The adults were barely able to watch the entirety of them, ending up having to watch them with one another just to make it through the upsetting footage. Scott had forced himself to watch the tapes, throwing up and crying when they went darker... Evan had tried, so had Jean, and Lance, even Laura... but in the end, all it left was a rotten pit in their stomachs, sending them searching for any of their friends or parents, wanting comfort, any form of it, to stave off the pain and agony and crushing weight of what they'd seen...

• But it would be better now. It is better now. Their friends, their kids, their siblings, are back with them, they're alive, and they won't be hurt ever again. The jet rumbles as it lands, the panels of the ceiling closing above it and sealing it safely into the mansion. The group is careful, maneuvering their wounded ones so they're held tightly, cradled to them as they exit the Blackbird, working their way into the halls and corridors of the mansion, into the medbay... They end up deciding to keep the kids to two larger room, with cots and medical beds ready and waiting as they're set down. Pietro is set up in the first room, his legs wrapped up carefully, an IV inserted into the crook of his arm, supplying much-needed liquids and medicine. His head is checked for any damage or concussion, the blood wiped up and the scar sanitized, any stitches needed added carefully, sealing shut the remains of the wound... In the same room is Kurt, attached to a monitor to alert the others if he teleports in his sleep. Bandages are wrapped around his throat, a coating of antibacterial cream underneath. Any leftover blood or dried ichor is wiped away, the fur and skin cleaned and smoothed down... Kitty is in the other room, a pillow propping her upper body up. Her wound is inspected, swabbed and sterilized and stitched closed, then bandages are wrapped around the area, a few gauze pads added to soak up any small droplets of blood. Her arms are inspected, a dose of sedative given to help with any pain... Reader resides in the room as well... Their head was checked, the wound cleaned and wrapped in gauze... Their arms were looked over, any scratches or gouges wiped with anti-inflammatory and antibacterial medicine, then wrapped up in thick bandages. The gash in their stomach was stitched up, a bit of blood given, and an IV was inserted, sending heavy drugs into their system to keep them asleep as they healed...

• They visited their children, their friends, their siblings. Magneto and Wanda hardly left him. Erik would sit there, keeping him silent company, occasionally holding his son's hand between his own. Wanda would tell her brother how much she missed him, that things were changed now, she'd even read her books to him, her voice emotional. Lance and Todd and Fred would visit, usually in the early mornings or during the afternoon, telling him to get better fast, like he always used to do, saying they had so many new schemes and powers to show off when was back... Charles would roll in, resting beside Erik, encouraging Pietro to recover soon and that he had been missed each day. He'd check his mind, smoothing away any nightmares or fear, leaving calm and warm, quiet fuzz... Evan and Storm would stop by, late at night, Evan recounting old basketball games they'd played together, or field trips they'd gone on, even embarrassing moments the two had gone through together... Mystique and Sabretooth came by, quiet, wishing him well, saying their nephew would need to recover soon so he'd see all he missed with being gone... Scott and Jean would sit by him, saying that his dad and the Professor were together, making them siblings in a way... even Logan and Rogue would wander in, telling him he would make it, he'd beat whatever had been done to him...

• Mystique and Rogue were beside Kurt, telling him they'd missed him and how proud they were of him, how once he was awake they'd have so much to catch him up on... Logan and Sabretooth would wander in, patting his head and saying he'd always made them laugh... Ororo and Evan and Todd and Wanda would come in, cracking jokes and hoping Kurt heard them in his sleep... Xavier and Hank would read to him, comedies and some of his favorite books from when he had been with them... Magneto would read to him in German, speaking words of care and comfort... Scott and Jean would ask him to wake up soon, to wait a little longer, that it would be worth it... Gambit would pat his hand, saying he and Rogue had taken care of each other while he was gone...

• Logan and Ororo and Scott and Jean and Rogue would take turns watching over Kitty, stroking her hair and telling her they loved her and had missed her greatly, holding her hand in theirs... Xavier and Wanda and Magneto would recount her achievements and best test scores, reminding her how she was so smart... Evan and Lance would visit in the morning and at night, saying she was always a fun friend and that it wasn't the same without her... Laura curled her fingers in her's, frowning but holding it together... Gambit and Piotr would wander in, offering to talk and keep her company when the others were checking on her friends... Hank would teasingly say they'd work on cooking classes when she was up to it, offering a few new books to help...

• And they all took turns with Reader... Xavier and Magneto tended to take afternoon visits, trying to invoke peaceful thoughts in them as they rested, assuring them they had been brave... Logan and Sabretooth took late nights, keeping them company and promising they were wanted... Ororo and Storm took early mornings, thanking them for protecting the others... Hank made sure they received their doses of drugs and sedatives, saying he was glad they'd made it back to them... Scott would visit at odd hours, saying he'd misses them... Jean and Rogue thanked them for keeping Kurt and Kitty safe for as long as they could... Evan came in after his aunt, greeting them and thanking them for looking out for all of their friends, saying they had to wake up... Lance and Todd and Fred tended to sneak in and tell Reader they were glad they made it, how they appreciated them doing everyone a solid... Wanda read to them, reminding them they couldn't leave them, not when they'd only gotten them back... Gambit and Pyro and Piotr would come in, jokingly saying who else woukd they tease if Reader wasn't around...

• The next few days were filled with worry, hope, fear, and joy, all one mixed concoction of battling emotions, everyone trying to believe this was real...

• And then Pietro woke up, and they were all focused, making sure he was alright, keeping the scared boy company, making sure he ate, and soon checking his thoughts and asking questions about what had happened...

• The same happened when Kurt, then Kitty, awoke, Mystique and Rogue and Logan and Scott and Jean and Evan and Ororo hugging them, making sure the medicine and needles were in place, smiling softly and saying it had be so long, that they'd missed them all so much, how they were safe now... They felt bad that all three were scared, shaking, confused, trying to make sense of what had happened and trying to figure out if they were real, and if they were, why they were older...

• "Dad... Wanda... please, just tell me... what happened?" Pietro didn't whine, and he didn't beg, but at this point, he was close to it. "Son, do not worry about it. Everything is taken care of..." "Pietro, you're safe, there's nothing to fear..." He still wasn't convinced... Something was off with their family...

• "Mother! Please, I am fine! But vhy von't you tell me vhat has changed?" Kurt didn't want to worry anymore, but when his mother and sister would dodge his questions, he knew they and the others were hiding something... "You're here, and until Hank says you are well, you are staying here, my son..." "Kurt, it will be okay. You'll be out soon!" He didn't think things were as okay as everyone said they were...

• "Logan... Can't you tell me anything? Please?" Kitty didn't know how to feel about the adults and the others being older and acting so strange, but it made her shiver... "Half-pint, there's nothing to say. Now please relax, I don't want ya straining yerself..." She didn't like this one bit...

• And finally, a day or two after the others, Reader began to wake up... Their head felt fuzzy, soft, and their vision wobbled for a minute... but then they were waking up, groaning at the stiffness in their joints...

• "Sweetheart... We're so glad you're back... Welcome back, little one..."

• Reader somehow knew something was wrong, and it seemed that their and their friends' troubles had only increased...

@sugar-soda @vivid-bun @danni1323 @weebwholovesuchihasasuke @crowwithguns @bloodytea @thewickedweiner @opossumdaydreamz @roxanndrummond @c0ld0utside @foundfamyanderes @ainsellshadewalker

[writerinthewoods05]

Marvel Masterlist

Requests are currently open! As of right now I only write X Fem Reader. Could change in the future but as of right now I don't, I apologize.

🌺 = Fluff 🌶️ = Smut 🔪 = Angst

💥 = Crack 🕊️ = Dead Dove; Do Not Eat

~~~~~~~~~~

Avengers

Steve Rogers

Tony Stark

Bruce Banner

Natasha Romanoff

Clint Barton

Thor Odinson

Loki Laufeyson

Bucky Barnes

Peter Parker

Wanda Maximoff

Pietro Maximoff

T'challa

Steven Strange

X-Men

Charles Xavier (young)

Erik Lehnsherr (young or older)

Logan Howlett

Remy Lebeau

Kurt Wagner

Hank McCoy

Jubilee

Kitty Pryde

Wade Wilson

[master-sass-blast]

Let's (Not) Party, Baby.

Summary: You rub your swollen belly, both fond and exhausted. “I think it just feels weird to me. Like, the gender reveal party was to celebrate the healthy pregnancy lasting so long. But I just feel really weird about being, like, ‘I’m growing a human, come give me shit.’”

Kitty laughs as she unwraps another bar of chocolate. “Well, I think it’s the duty of the community to support pregnant mothers, y’know? It’s about equipping the parents with what they need to care for the baby.”

“Yeah, but everything I’ve read about and seen online is a whole spectacle,” you grumble. “And, honestly, I don’t have the energy for a party. I’m fucking tired. I feel bloated and sore. I don’t want to have a party where I have to put on real pants and eat melted candy bars out of diapers.”

Kitty stills, then slowly looks over at you with a wide-eyed expression of horror. “That’s a thing?”

“It’s a game,” you answer with a roll of your eyes. “You’re supposed to guess which kind of candy it is.”

Pairing(s): Piotr Rasputin x Reader, Kitty Pryde x Illyana Rasputin.

Rating: G.

Word count: 4.3k.

Set after "S'mores for Two."

Author's Note: Me? Posting more than once a year? Surely not.

In other news, my CFS/other body and brain shit is still overwhelming. It basically took dragging myself through editing to be able to post this latest round of fics (for those of you who don't check out my other works, no worries, but I like to post in little caches so that everything is updated mostly together). I'm not trying to vie for pity; I'm really fucking proud of myself for pushing through and being able to post. I had an unofficial goal of wanting to post more fics before April was over (because April is my birth month), and I did it! I am that bitch!

Thank you all for your patience -and all the comments! They really kept me going when the grind of editing was starting to wear me down.

Happy Reading!

“I guess I’m just not sure what to do.”

Kitty nods as she paints your fingernails a pretty shade of shimmering lilac. “Well, I think it just depends on, like, what you and Piotr want to do, y’know?”

The two of you are on the family room couch; you’ve both taken over the space a bit, actually. It’s a scheduled at home spa day, courtesy of Kitty. There’s dozens of bottles of nail polish lined up on the coffee table, next to two discarded face mask wrappers, a tub of coarse sugar scrub, a sleeve of cotton discs, and an entire store's worth of toners and moisturizers. There’s a half-empty pizza box on one end of the table, several bars of chocolate (and more wrappers), an open jar of pickles (the good, Kosher deli kind, according to Kitty), and a cereal bowl half-filled with peanut butter.

You swipe one end of a pickle spear through your bowl of peanut butter, then crunch down. I mean, I know that’s the point, but… “I think it’s more, like,” you begin once you’ve swallowed, “that I never thought I’d be in this position in life. And that if I ever did get to this stage in life–” you gesture vaguely around you with your munched-on pickle spear “–that I’d automatically know what to do.”

Kitty nods, curly hair bobbing with the motion of her head. “I get you.” She finishes your right hand, then screws the lid back onto the corresponding bottle of polish. “It’s, like, hard to wrap your head around.”

“Yeah. I mean–” You pause to load more peanut butter onto your pickle, which is harder than it sounds. “How are you even supposed to plan baby shower stuff?”

It’s a quandary that’s been gnawing on the back of your mind for months now. The gender reveal party, at least, had been easy. Tasty food, balloon with colored confetti inside, Aiden’s photography team because you and Piotr had wanted pictures, done. It’d been a celebration of having a pregnancy last long enough to see the baby’s gender –and a wonderful day where you and Piotr learned you’d be welcoming a daughter in a few months.

Trying to plan a baby shower, however…

You rub your swollen belly, both fond and exhausted. Your eviction date is coming for you, Masha, whether you like it or not. “I think it just feels weird to me. Like, the gender reveal party was to celebrate the healthy pregnancy lasting so long. We all ate food and enjoyed each other’s company. But I just feel really weird about being, like, ‘I’m growing a human, come give me shit.’”

Kitty laughs as she unwraps another bar of chocolate. “Well, I think it’s the duty of the community to support pregnant mothers, y’know? It’s about equipping the parents with what they need to care for the baby.”

“Yeah, but everything I’ve read about and seen online is a whole spectacle,” you grumble. You hold your hand out for a square of chocolate, then pop the piece Kitty gives you into your mouth. “And, honestly,” you continue as you tuck the chocolate into your cheek like a hamster, “I don’t have the energy for a party. I’m fucking tired. I feel bloated and sore. I don’t want to have a party where I have to put on real pants and eat melted candy bars out of diapers.”

Kitty stills, then slowly looks over at you with a wide-eyed expression of horror. “That’s a thing?”

“It’s a game,” you answer with a roll of your eyes. “You’re supposed to guess which kind of candy it is.”

She gags, then shakes her head. “Fuck that. That’s just gross.”

“Exactly!”

Kitty eats a few squares of chocolate, expression contemplative. Once she swallows, she says, “I guess I don’t see it as that big of a deal –not having a baby shower and all that. We don’t have baby showers in Jewish circles.”

“Oh.” Your brows lift upwards. “Why not?”

“It’s considered inauspicious,” she explains. “My best friend’s older sister’s parents kept all the baby stuff at their house until she gave birth. Then, they went over to her and husband’s place and set everything up for when she came home.”

“Oh.” You cock your head to one side, considering, then grimace and shrug. “We already have the nursery part way set up, though–”

“I didn’t mean that, like, that should do the same thing,” Kitty interjects. “I meant it, like, whatever you do should serve you and your happiness.” She offers you a reassuring smile. “There is no real rule about what’s normal or not. If a baby shower sounds exhausting, then don’t do it.”

“But people might be expecting for us to have one,” you sigh wearily, “so they can celebrate.”

“Fuck them and their expectations.” Kitty grins when you laugh. “I’m serious! All that matters is what makes you happy.”

“And Piotr,” you tack on once you catch your breath. “And he might want one.”

“Well, there’s only one way to find that out–” Kitty twists towards the front of the house when the front door swings open, then thumps shut. “Hey, speak of the man!”

Piotr pauses his conversation with Illyana as he looks towards you. He glances at you, eyebrows raised, then at Kitty, then back at you again. “Chto?”

“Your wife has a question for you!” Kitty hollers before flashing a dazzling, enraptured grin at Illyana. “Hi, baby!”

Piotr takes off his shoes, then strolls towards you. “You have question, myshka? Is everything okay?”

“Well, first things first.” You cock your head back so you can look up at him. “Will you give me a kiss, even though I’ve been eating peanut butter on pickles?”

He smirks, then bends down and presses his lips against yours.

“Aaw, what a man,” Kitty croons. She cocks her head back when Illyana approaches the couch. “Will you kiss me, even though I’ve been eating pickles without peanut butter?”

Illyana chuckles, then cups Kitty’s chin with her hand and kisses her girlfriend. She looks up when you and Piotr share a grin, then gently tugs on Kitty’s elbow. “Davay.”

“Help yourself to the pizza!” Kitty tosses over her shoulder as Illyana ushers her towards the front of the house (and away from prying eyes).

Piotr kisses the top of your head, then circles around the couch and sits down next to you. The couch creaks beneath him as he helps himself to a slice of cheese pizza, then again when he leans back and settles in. “Ty v poryadke?”

“Da,” you assure him. “I was just talking to Kitty about baby shower stuff.”

Piotr’s brows draw together as he chews a mouthful of pizza. He swallows, then says, “I thought baby showers were not held in Jewish communities.”

“They aren’t. It was more like…” You gesture vaguely with one hand and sigh. “I don’t know if I want to have a baby shower. I’m so tired, and I feel like a boat, and I don’t want to wear pants.”

Piotr lets out a bellowing laugh mid bite, then quickly claps one hand over his mouth. He finishes chewing between giggles, then swallows and sighs. “Oh, moya serdtse. One day, there will be pants that you like.”

“Doubtful.” You smirk, but it quickly gives way to weariness. “I mean… I just don’t know if I have the energy to deal with a baby shower, y’know? But if you want one, I don’t want to take that away from you.”

“What I want–” Piotr sets his partial pizza slice down on a piece of paper towel, then leans over and draws you into his arms. “I want you to be happy and well.” He kisses the crown of your head, then tucks your head beneath his chin. “Masha will be loved and cared for regardless of having baby shower. If you are tired, then you deserve to rest, myshka.”

“Yeah,” you agree as you bury your face in his burly chest, “but if everyone’s expecting us to have one–”

“‘Everyone’ does not get say,” Piotr interrupts gently. “If they wish to help or give gifts, they know where to find us.”

You sigh, then nuzzle against his shirt when he starts stroking your hair. “Maybe we can have, like, a nice dinner or something? With family and close friends? And some help to finish setting up the nursery?”

Piotr gently rubs your back. “That sounds nice.”

“Cool.” You sigh again, far more relaxed this time, then lean over and grab your jar of pickles. “Want a pickle?”

Piotr hums, then nods and plucks a pickle spear out of the jar. “Spasibo.”

“Konechno,” you say before kissing his cheek.

…

“Thanks again for driving me,” you say as you stretch your seatbelt around your swollen belly. “I’ve just been so tired lately that driving isn’t really a good idea.”

“Konechno, ptitsa,” Alex says as she starts the engine on her truck. “How did your appointment go?”

“Good,” you sigh as you stretch and settle into the passenger seat. “Everything’s looking good. Baby’s healthy. Blood sugar looks good. My iron’s still low, though, so I’m taking a higher dose of supplements and I need to be careful about overtiring myself.”

Alex hums and nods as she navigates out of the clinic parking lot. “What can we help with at home?”

“Uh…” Your face and mind go blank. You try, unsuccessfully, to kickstart your brain, then rub your face with your hands when your mind refuses to cooperate. “I think that’d be a difficult question without factoring in pregnancy brain.”

“Fair enough,” Alex chuckles.

“Man, I thought I was spacey before,” you lament. “And then it was bad enough weaning off my meds, but now–” You stop mid-sentence and gape when you see the sign for a McDonalds. “McFlurry.”

Alex laughs again, then changes lanes and drives into the McDonald’s parking lot.

One order for a large fry and an Oreo McFlurry later, the two of you are back on the road and headed for home.

You hum contentedly as you swirl a few fries in your McFlurry. Before you can indulge, though, your addled brain kicks back into gear. “Oh. Did you have a baby shower when you were pregnant with Mikhail?”

“No.” Alex pauses to turn, then explains, “It’s considered back luck in Russian culture. Most expecting parents won’t have one or purchase things for the baby until they are born.”

“Oh.” You blink a few times –the curse under your breath when McFlurry drips off your fries and onto your shirt. You shove your fries and remaining McFlurry “dip” into your mouth, then wipe down your shirt with a tissue (not that it does much good). Once you’re cleaner, and you’ve swallowed, you ask, “Then why was Piotr so ambivalent about whether we have one or not?”

“Because that boy will follow you to the ends of Earth if you asked,” Alex answers with a smirk. “And he’s Americanized a bit since moving here. Plus, we didn’t necessarily raise our kids to be so superstitious. Nikolai and I saw it as more to not ask about someone’s pregnancy unless they wanted to share, rather than luck related. We still prepared a nursery for Mikhail and stocked up on supplies.” She drums her fingers against the steering wheel while you wait behind another car. “To be honest, even if parties were part of our culture, I wasn’t in any shape for one.” She chuckles ruefully beneath her breath. “I was a wreck during that pregnancy.”

“Honestly, I feel the same way,” you admit with a heavy sigh. “I’m so tired, and sore, and I don’t want to wear pants.” You smile when Alex laughs, then continue with your griping. “Plus, all of the shit I’ve seen for baby showers just… doesn’t appeal? I don’t have the energy to decorate, and apparently there’s games you can play? But it’s weird stuff like melting candy bars in diapers, then having everyone try and guess what kind of candy it is–”

Alex grimaces. “That sounds disgusting.”

“Yeah. Plus, if I’m getting candy, I just want to eat the candy.”

“Understandable and wise.”

“We talked about having family and friends over for dinner,” you continue after grinning, “and to have some help around the house and finishing the nursery… but, like, how do you ask people ‘hey, come bring some food and hang out and help us with the nursery and house stuff because we’re expecting a baby?’”

Alex smirks and shoots you a sidelong glance. “That seemed pretty coherent to me.”

“That’s not what I–” You stick your tongue out at her when she laughs. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” she assures you. She brakes for a red light, then looks over and puts one hand on your shoulder. “Just ask, ptitsa. Ask, and we’ll be there.”

You smile, and place your hand over hers. “Thanks, Alex.”

…

“I was thinking of actually printing invitations? I don’t know why, I just think it’d be funny.” You spit toothpaste foam into the sink, then resume brushing your teeth. “We could print an extra one to keep. It’d be, like, a cute memory thing.”

Piotr smiles at you in the bathroom mirror, amused. “We could. What would these hypothetical invitations say?”

“I dunno.” You rinse your mouth and toothbrush, then stick your toothbrush in the little holder you keep on the sink. “‘We’re having a baby; come eat food about it.’ Whatever works, honestly.” When he chuckles, you turn to face him. “Do you have a better idea?”

Piotr laughs, shakes his head, then bends and kisses the top of your head. “I trust your creative vision, myshka.”

“Damn straight.” You smirk, self-satisfied, then turn back to the sink and resume your bedtime routine. Floss, fluoride, wash face… what kind of food are you supposed to serve at a baby shower? “What kind of food would we have?”

“Uh…” Piotr clears his throat. “I am not sure,” he calls from the bedroom. “Perhaps we should discuss in morning. Take night to sleep on ideas.”

Your reflection scrunches its face as you floss. “I don’t think it’s that serious. It’s just, like, a potluck dinner. Almost anything would work.”

There’s a pause, and then your husband’s heavy footsteps approach the bathroom. He leans around the doorway and meets your gaze in the mirror, lips pursed. “Da. However…” He tucks his tongue inside his cheek and looks away. “Your nighttime cravings are… ravenous. And unpredictable.”

“I am not that bad!” You blow a raspberry at him over your shoulder, then toss your used flosser in the trash. “Fine. We’ll talk about food in the morning.” You reach for the bottle of fluoride –then gasp and scamper to the bathroom door. “We should have pancakes for breakfast!”

Piotr laughs and nods as he turns down the bed. “Pancakes for breakfast, very good.”

“With blueberries!”

“With blueberries.”

Pleased, you smile, then head back to the sink. Once you’re done with your routine, you head to bed and heft yourself onto the mattress.

Piotr, the saint he is, helps arrange pillows behind you to support your back. He leans over to watch as you scroll through YouTube. “Ah, nighttime listenings.” He holds out one hand. “Would you like me to find Among Us gameplay for you?”

“I can do it,” you insist, frowning. “I’m pregnant, not missing my hands.”

“Nyet, nyet,” he agrees. “But–”

“‘History of Americana Diner Food.’” You gasp when you see a thumbnail displaying burgers, fries, and a milkshake. Your stomach growls, and you groan. “Oh, burgers sound so good.”

Piotr bites the inside of his lower lip when you gaze up at him pleadingly. He hesitates, then sighs and relents with a soft laugh. “Davay, myshka. Let’s get you burger.”

You coo happily, then leverage yourself out of bed. “Just for that, I’ll share my fries with you.”

…

“I meant to ask you something earlier.”

Piotr glances over as you rummage through your take-out bag, then turns his attention back to the road. “Chto?”

“Why –that smells so fucking good.” You stop to cram a few fries in your mouth, then continue once you’ve swallowed. “Why aren’t you bothered by baby shower stuff?”

There’s a long silence. Then, with quiet bewilderment, Piotr says, “I think I am not understanding your meaning.”

“I mean… Your mom said that baby showers are inauspicious in Russia. But, when I asked you if we had to do one, you seemed ambivalent about it all.”

“I do not believe much in luck,” Piotr says after a moment, shrugging. “Some things are beyond control, da, but choices are what impact outcomes. Not unseen forces.” He pauses to change lanes, then adds, “And I want to be sensitive to you. You had bad upbringing. If there was something you wanted in preparation for our baby, for healing, then I want to make sure that happens.”

“Not everything comes down to my shitty childhood,” you press. “I’m not the only person in this relationship, and this isn’t just my baby we’re expecting.” You wolf down a few more fries. “I don’t want you to set aside what you’re comfortable with just because I had fuckheads for parents. This is all supposed to be about compromise.”

“I am not making myself uncomfortable, dorogoy,” Piotr assures you, tone gentle. He takes one hand off the wheel and takes hold of yours. “I think baby showers as tradition –as mandatory–is foolish. But if you want one to celebrate our baby, that would make me very happy. And if you just want to rest, that makes me happy, also. Khorosho?”

“Alright.” You squeeze his hand lovingly, then reach into your bag and retrieve a few fries. “Open up.”

Piotr chuckles, then opens his mouth and lets you feed him fries. “Spasibo.”

…

The two of you settle on printing one commemorative flier, just for the two of you, then email your prospective guests. The promise is for a breakfast-style buffet of sorts; the two of you will provide the blinis, kasha, and some beef bacon (so Kitty can partake), and everyone else has been asked to bring their favorite breakfast dish.

You bust out laughing when Wade –with Nate and Russell in tow–shows up with a trunk full of Poptarts. “You would!”

“We are not keeping all of those,” Piotr mutters as he eyes the wall of blue boxes uneasily.

“Says you,” you tease. “I’m eating for two! These should last us… oh, about a week.”

Ellie and Yukio supply doughnuts and muffins, Neena comes with a box of freshly made breakfast burritos, and Alex, Nikolai, and Mikhail bring a veritable feast of traditional toppings for the blinis and set up to make fresh latkes.

Kitty and Illyana arrive last.

You blink rapidly when you see the numerous bags and containers carried between the two young women. “You didn’t have to–”

“You’re the one who said to bring breakfast foods!” Kitty interrupts with a cheery grin.

You eye the gallon plastic bowl in her hands with mild suspicion. “What kind of breakfast is that?”

“Okay, this–” she gestures with the bowl as she bustles into the kitchen “–isn’t breakfast, but my mom heard that you’re pregnant, and she wanted to send along some food to help you guys out. This–” she lifts the bowl again “–is cholent, and ‘Yana’s got some roast chicken and challah from mom, for you guys, too. Do you have room in your fridge? Anyway,” she continues as Piotr starts rearranging the fridge contents to make room for everything, “we brought good bagels and toppings for them, because you can’t have breakfast without bagels.” She turns, finally catches sight of all the food in the kitchen, and her jaw drops. “Oh shit.”

“If you leave hungry, is own fault,” Nikolai announces while grating potatoes.

“Hey, that’s my kind of party!” Kitty says with a laugh. “Let me get my skillet and shit set up, and then I’ll start helping you, Nick. Where should I drop everything?”

“We have counter space for you over there,” Piotr says, pointing towards the back of the kitchen. “And vegan pancake mix.”

“There’s dairy free breakfast burritos for you in the paper bag!” Neena calls out. “And the guy doesn’t use pork for any of his recipes.”

“And the pork gelatin free toaster pastries!” Russell adds.

“The doughnuts back there are parve, too,” Ellie pipes up.

Kitty beams. “Thank you so much. You guys are awesome!”

You smile, and pause for a moment to take it all in.

It’s been an inexorably long journey. As far as you’ve come from your past, there are times where you still can’t believe you’ve made it here –somewhere good, and healthy, and safe. It almost feels like a dream. Or a magical trance. Or like you’re watching a movie, and you’re waiting for the credits to start rolling and for the house lights to turn on.

But it’s real. You’re in a beautiful home, with a wonderful husband, surrounded by people who love, respect, and care about you and each other. And you have a baby on the way, on top of it all.

“Myshka?” Piotr places a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“I’m okay,” you assure him quietly as you wipe tears away from your eyes. “Just very happy.”

Piotr smiles softly, then bends down and kisses your forehead. “I love you very much, moya serdtse.”

“I love you, too.” You tug him down by the collar until you can kiss his cheek, then pat his chest when he straightens back up. “Alright, let’s get this show on the road.”

“Uh, only if you’re sitting down.” Kitty blocks you when you try to enter the kitchen. “Pretty sure you’re supposed to be resting? Doctor’s orders and all that?”

You purse your lips. “You guys are guests–”

“And we’re here to help.” Neena gently takes you by the shoulders and ushers you towards the couch. “So, let us help.”

“Resting is good, myshka,” Piotr starts when you protest.

“Aren’t we here to help both of you?” Ellie pipes up, voice flat but eyes glinting with unmistakable mischief.

“Yeah, but who’s gonna muscle Colossus out of the kitchen?” Russell stage whispers in reply.

All heads turn towards Alex.

Piotr’s confident expression quickly slips away as his mother looks him dead in the eye. “Mama…”

“Are you going to sit?” she asks in Russian.

“Bozhe ty moi –I am not pregnant,” Piotr insists. “I can help.”

Alex sighs, then rounds the kitchen island. “Alright.”

“Nyet, nyet, I am not, mama don’t –blyat!”

You laugh along with everyone else when Alex scoops Piotr up bridal-style.

She carries him over to the couch, then sets him down with surprising gentleness. “Be good,” she admonishes lovingly in Russian. She kisses Piotr’s forehead, then glances meaningfully at you. “Rub your wife’s shoulders.”

Piotr chuckles, somewhat exasperated, and rolls his eyes as his mother strides back to the kitchen. “I am grown man, you know.”

“Da,” Alex agrees without turning back. “You are heavy like one.”

You giggle when Piotr rolls his eyes again, then reach over and grab his hand. You fix him with your prettiest, most pleading eyes when he looks at you. “You don’t want to sit with me?”

“I always want to sit with you,” Piotr assures you, relenting immediately. He moves closer to you, then puts one arm around your shoulders. “Would you like me to rub your back?”

“Oh, always.” You lean against your husband, then relax as he starts rubbing your sore back with his thumbs. You groan, eyes sliding shut, and bask –in him, in the warmth of your home, in the happy chatter and delicious aromas wafting from the kitchen.

Your life certainly feels full of magic.

...

Epilogue:

“Insert Leg A into Slot G–”

“That doesn’t fucking tell me which shitbag it is!” Wade snaps. He snatches the instructions out of your hands, scans the page, then growls and hurls the paper against the floor. “You’re a goddamn rocking chair! No one fucking asked you to run the elementary school accelerated program!”

“Definitely comes with the same baggage,” Neena mutters.

Wade looks over his shoulder at her, then back at you. “Remind me why she’s being the peanut gallery again, instead of using her internal magic eight ball to help us?”

Neena rolls her eyes. “For the last time, that’s not how my powers work.”

“Not to mention they’re probably already maxed to keep you from throwing the materials through the window,” you mumble under your breath.

Things would’ve been simpler if you’d just purchased a pre-assembled rocking chair. Unfortunately, not many of them come rated from someone of Piotr’s size (or the wear and tear you’re both certain that your baby –and, eventually, kids–will put the seat through).

“I keep telling you guys, you’re going about this all wrong!” Kitty calls as she carries the vacuum cleaner down the hall.

“Yes, do enlighten us, Ms. ‘Quantumania Axed the Best Character,’” Wade grumbles.

Kitty stares at him for a long moment, face scrunched up in conclusion. “...Right.”

“KURT WAS A GEM, AND WE ALL KNOW IT!”

“Look, you guys just need to let Alex and Ellie do this,” Kitty presses on as she gestures to the mess of wooden slats and rocking chair pieces on the ground. “It’s butch magic. They’ll sort it out in, like, ten minutes.”

“I already told you, Katherine,” Ellie hollers from down the stairs, “I can’t assemble a fucking chair!”

“Fine, Ellen!” Kitty shouts back. “Then just let Alex do it! Honestly, you have a hyper-competent badass in the house, and you don’t stick her on IKEA assembly? The fuck is wrong with you all!”

“Let’s keep things moving, please.” Alex’s voice and footsteps echo up the stairwell. “And reasonably calm,” she adds with a knowing look at Kitty. There’s a pause until Kitty nods and heads off, and then Alex appears in the nursery doorway. “What am I doing now?”

“How good are you at assembling rocking chairs?” Neena asks.

Alex chuckles, then plucks the instructions off the floor. “I’ll give it a go.”

[yuriosakawa]

FEMALE X-MEN x FEMALE!READER HEADCANONS - How Do They React When You Tell Them You’re Pregnant? (Part 2) 

KITTY PRYDE (SHADOWCAT) 

When you tell Kitty you’re pregnant, she immediately squeals and starts jumping like a little girl, grinning ear to ear 

"Like, are you serious?! I’m gonna be, like, a mom?!" She asks you with her eyes positively sparkling with emotion, and you nod, which makes her squeal even more 

Kitty immediately starts rambling about possible future names, to what kind of adorable clothes they will wear, to future birthday parties, all while she lovingly rubbed your belly 

"I can’t wait to, like, bake the cake for them!" She added, and you couldn’t help but nervously laugh, considering her…questionable culinary skills 

Despite this, you smile and give her a big hug which she’s quick to give back; both of you excited to start this journey together 

TABITHA SMITH (BOOM BOOM) 

When you tell Tabby you’re pregnant, for once, the usually spunky and loud-mouthed Boom Boom is silent 

She doesn’t know if she’ll be able to be a good mother. After all, she didn’t grew up with the best role model in the form of her criminal father. She is also aware that she’s a loose cannon and too much of a wild child, so she fears her kid will turn up to be just like her 

You frown at her silence, worried that Tabitha could end up rejecting you. But then, she smiles, and it isn’t her usual cocky and confident smirk, but a soft, barely noticeable grin which was beautiful in your eyes 

"Babe, not gonna lie, I’m nervous as heck…" Tabby confesses as she pulls you into an embrace "But…I’m willing to give it a shot. I promise, our kid will never have to suffer the way I did"

You smile softly as you hug her back, grateful for her support and promising her that you’ll be there for her as well 

RAHNE SINCLAIR (WOLFSBANE) 

When you tell Rahne you’re pregnant, to your surprise, you find out she already knew! 

"H-How?!" You ask as the Scottish girl giggles sheepishly 

"I don’ know. I think it has somethin’ to do with my mutation…" Rahne confesses as she begins to lovingly rub your belly, and a soft smile spreads on her face 

She could feel their pup growing steadily inside of you thanks to her instincts as a wolf, and you watch as she transforms into her wolf form and begins cuddling against you in a protective manner, her tail wagging excitedly as she rubs her snout against your belly 

"I take it you’re excited about being a mom, too?" You ask her, smirking with amusement, and she gives you an enthusiastic bark 

You giggle and pat her head lovingly, and the two continue cuddling with each other, excited to take this huge step side by side 

LAURA KINNEY (X-23) 

When you tell Laura you’re pregnant, she’s left in stunned surprise 

Truth be told, she already had some suspicions considering her instincts that she inherited from her father, but she just thought you were sick or something! Not pregnant! 

X-23 was a living weapon. Her whole life she’s been taught nothing but to kill. She fears she wouldn’t be able to give your child the life they deserve or even end up accidentally hurting them 

"Laura…?" You ask quietly, worried at the silence of the daughter of Wolverine. You honestly feared she was going to reject you "…Are you mad?"

X-23 brakes out of her shock and gives you one of her usual faint, but fond smiles as she grabs your hands and squeezes them lovingly 

"Never. I could never be mad at you" Laura promises you as she softly kisses your cheeks "I am honored…to be able to share this experience with you" 

The daughter of Wolverine then rubs her hand gently against your tummy; hands that were used to maim people now lighter than a feather at what would eventually become your future child 

You smile and give Laura a big hug, and she’s quick to hug back, brimming with excitement on the inside 

She also can’t wait to tell her father how’s he’s going to be a grandpa. She bets that Logan will absolutely freak 

WANDA MAXIMOFF (SCARLET WITCH) 

When you tell Wanda you’re pregnant, her initial reaction is one of quiet, overwhelmed emotion. 

You watch as her eyes fill with tears, her hands trembling as she reaches out to touch your face. "A baby?" she whispers, her voice filled with disbelief. 

For Wanda, this news is a dream she never thought possible, a hope she had long since buried beneath the weight of her complicated life, after being locked away in a mental hospital for so long by her father when she was young 

She pulls you into a gentle embrace, holding you close as she tries to process the enormity of what this means for the both of you. Her powers flicker around her, responding to her heightened emotions, but she calms herself quickly, pressing her forehead to yours. 

"I never thought I would have this chance," Wanda says softly. "But now… now we can have a family."

You smile and nod, and the two embrace each other once more 

"We should probably tell Pietro about this, too" You add after a while, and Wanda snorts 

"Oh my god, he’s going to lose his mind" She giggled, already imagining her twin brother freaking out at the prospect of being an uncle 

[fandomnerd9602]

Kitty stands before Y/N, who’s lying on the couch…

Y/N: why don’t you come cuddle with me?

Kitty: what if I fall right thru you?

Y/N: I trust you baby

Kitty gently lays down and snuggles right into Y/N’s arms…

Y/N: see? Not bad, my shadow cat

Kitty: (giggles) not bad at all

Fan cast: Maude Apatow as Kitty Pride

For @deafeningsharkslimeempath

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Hi! I love your writing and saw your matchup requests opened up, so I'd like to request romantic pairings for DC, Marvel, and X-Men, please, and thank you! no preference for gender :D

I'm 19, bi, and I use any pronouns. I have curly shoulder-length black hair with bright pink highlights, light-medium brown skin tone, and dark brown eyes. I’m 5’7” and I’d say I have more of a wiry body type. I like being able to try different looks and have a lot of interest in fashion. I wear glasses and I also really like wearing elaborate makeup, long acrylic nails, unique jewelry, or anything else of the like.

My hobbies include video games, D&D, and collecting things like dice, crystals, and other trinkets. I also do a lot of craft-related things and like making gifts for my friends. I most draw, but I always love to try out various types of other mediums at least once. I mostly listen to R&B, but I'm always open to song recommendations from any genre.

I’d say that I’m a sort of quiet person, as I find it hard to put my thoughts into words and I have a tendency to come off as pretty monotone when I do speak, but I work to be more open with those I'm close with. Even though I’d say I’m more shy, I do really like people and I try to help others as much as I can.

Hope this isn't too much and that you’re doing well! Thank you for doing these (*´▽`*)❀ - 📼

Hi!

Don't worry, you gave a great amount of information!

I hope you are doing well as well!

<333333333333

I really hope you like your matchups!

I had a lot of fun doing these!

<3

Enjoy!

Romantic Matchups; DC, Marvel, and X-Men

~~~

Romantic;

~~~

DC;

Victor Stone -

You were recruited as the newest member of the Titans, and at first, Victor was the one to show you around the tower.

He made jokes to break the ice, trying to get you to relax when he noticed you were a little reserved.

He was immediately intrigued by your style, pointing out how cool your nails and jewelry were, and even joking that you “got more upgrades than me.”

He quickly became your go-to person for anything tech-related, helping you set up in the tower and tweaking any gear you needed.

You, in turn, made a small handcrafted trinket for him as a thank you, which he immediately put in his room.

He's also very impressed by your powers.

Victor quickly became your closest friend on the team.

He loved your quiet but thoughtful presence, and he'd always take time to check in with you.

He'd play video games with you constantly.

Whether it was a high-energy fighting game, something co-op, or something as simple as Minecraft or Mario Kart, he loved seeing you get competitive.

He thought your dice and trinket collection was the coolest thing ever and made you a custom LED display case for them.

You'd sometimes just sit in his workplace together, you working on crafts while he tinkered with tech, enjoying the comforting silence.

He'd send you song recommendations all the time and would create playlists for different moods for you.

Playlists for when you're happy, sad, angry, and even one for when you just wanted to scream out lyrics to songs, you know, that feel-good stuff.

He started catching himself looking at you a little too long - admiring the way you focused when you worked on something or how you lit up when talking about something you loved.

Whenever you gave him something you made, he treasured it like it was the most valuable thing in the world.

He'd get more protective in battle, making sure you were never out of his sight for too long.

One night, after an intense gaming session, he hesitated before saying, "You know you're my favorite person to spend time with, right?" You chuckled, saying it right back to him, but when you looked at him, he was serious. "I mean it. I think- I think- no, I know that I like you."

It was sweet as it was kind of awkward, but when you told him that you felt the same, he broke into the biggest grin and playfully bumped his shoulder against yours.

Victor is a huge cuddler.

Though it is kind of difficult to cuddle - he doesn't want to risk hurting you since he's like 85% robot - you never seemed to mind, actively reaching out and just cuddling into him.

With this, he loves just lounging with you, whether it's while gaming, watching movies, or just talking about anything.

He always offers to upgrade your stuff, even if you don't necessarily need it.

"Your phone? It could be better. Let me add some custom features."

Dates are a mix of cozy nights in and fun outings, like going to arcades, amusement parks, or music festivals.

He loves it when you wear his oversized hoodies, even joking that you should just keep them at this point.

Victor loves making breakfast for you in the morning.

If you wake up late, you'll find a plate waiting for you with a little note.

Somehow, the food is still warm for you too.

You both have matching accessories - maybe a bracelet or a necklace - something small but meaningful.

He secretly records you when you're focused on your art and later shows you because he thinks you look adorable when you're lost in creativity.

Those videos also help him when he's lonely if you are either away on a mission or for any reason you and him were not together.

He misses you often.

Even if your bedroom is across from his.

He always makes sure you feel included in the team and checks in if you seem down.

Upgrades any tech-related thing in your life to make it easier or just more fun.

Picks up on the little things you like and gets them for you, from your favorite snacks to trinkets that match your collection.

You always make little handmade gifts for him, even if it's something as simple as a tiny figurine.

He cherishes them.

You give him forehead kisses whenever he gets too absorbed in working on tech - just a soft little way to ground him.

~~~

Marvel;

Wanda Maximoff -

You were one of the few people who believed Wanda and Pietro could be good before they officially joined the Avengers.

Pretending that Pietro survived.

During the battle against Ultron, you actively defended them when others doubted their intentions.

That moment stuck with Wanda forever.

When she joined the Avengers, she sought you out, wanting to talk to the one person who had believed in her from the start.

At first, Wanda was a little wary of getting too close, but your quiet kindness and support won her over.

She loved listening to you talk about your art, your crystals, and your crafts.

She thought it was beautiful how much care you put into creating things.

You'd have deep, thoughtful conversations about life and philosophy late at night.

She adored your music taste and often asked you to send her songs and playlists.

She loved it when you let her help pick out your outfits or makeup looks.

She started to crave your presence, finding comfort in just sitting with you in silence.

She loved touching you in small ways - fixing your hair, adjusting your glasses, brushing her fingers against yours.

When she realized that she loved you, it hit her all at once.

It happened on a quiet evening when you were both sitting outside.

She hesitated before softly saying, "I think I was meant to meet you." When you looked at her, she gave you a small, vulnerable smile. "Because I think I've fallen for you."

Wanda is a gentle lover - soft touches, forehead kisses, and lingering glances.

She adores playing with your hair, especially when you sit between her legs and let her braid it.

She surprises you with small floating lights in your room when you're having a bad day, just to make you smile.

She loves slow dancing, even if there's no music.

Lazy mornings where she clings to you like a koala refusing to let you get up.

Whispering in Sokovian when she is feeling affectionate, knowing you love the sound of her voice.

Her giving you one of her rings is a subtle sign of your relationship.

~~~

X-Men;

Kitty Pryde -

You were a new student at Xavier's, and Kitty was immediately drawn to you.

She struck up a conversation, complimenting your style and asking about your interests.

You bonded over a shared love for nerdy things - D&D, video games, and all things fantasy.

She loved that you collected dice and trinkets.

She always brought you new ones whenever she found something cool.

She adored your art and often peeked over your shoulder while you were drawing, offering random commentary.

Kitty realized she had feelings for you when she caught herself getting jealous whenever someone else had your attention.

She started touching you more - grabbing your hand when excited, leaning against you while watching movies.

She confessed in the middle of a game night, blurting out, "I think I kinda like you."

You raised an eyebrow, seeing her serious expression, "Are you sure only 'kinda?'"

And when you confessed that you felt the same, she practically tackled you in excitement.

Kitty loves stealing your hoodies, claiming they're hers now.

Video game dates that turn into playful competitions.

Late-night stargazing where she holds your hand and talks about the universe with you.

[lvvstudios]

Characters I'll write one-shots for:

Actresses:

Sadie Sink

Emma Myers

Sasha Calle

Hailee Steinfeld

Maya Hawke

Maia Michell

Netflix original shows:

Max Mayfield

Enid Sinclair

Robin Buckley

DC:

Kara Zor-El

Marvel:

Kitty Pryde

In short, every character I have a story about on my Wattpad as well as their actresses as well as others that I like 🤷‍♂️

You can also ask for preferences, but then I'll write it for all the characters/ actresses above

Request are welcome!

[urdreamydoodles]

Could we get first kisses with X-Men pretty please?

X-MEN X FEM!READER

Your first kiss

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, Rogue, Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff, Hank McCoy, Emma Frost, Laura Kinney, Wade Wilson, Colossus, Magik, Kitty Pryde & Morph

Requests are still not open but will be soon! (Please understand that I can't do all the requests, I take the one that inspires me)

LOGAN HOWLETT (WOLVERINE)

- The night is quiet, but there���s a storm beneath Logan’s skin. It’s always been that way—rage coiled tight in his ribs, old wounds that never quite close, ghosts that never quite leave. But here, with you, there is something else, something that softens the sharp edges of him. He watches you from the porch of the cabin, a cigar burning low between his fingers, his gaze steady, unreadable. You don’t push him to speak—Logan’s never been a man who talks about feelings, but he feels them all the same, deeper than most, heavier than most. And tonight, those feelings are pulling him under.

- "You don’t scare easy, do ya?" he mutters, and there’s something like admiration in his voice, something rough and unpolished. He’s used to people keeping their distance, used to the way they flinch from the weight of what he is, but not you. No, you stay. You meet his gaze with quiet certainty, as if you see something beyond the blood, beyond the beast. It unsettles him. It grounds him. He isn’t sure which one is worse.

- He moves before he can think better of it, closing the space between you in a heartbeat. His hand cups the back of your neck, calloused and warm, and then his mouth is on yours. Logan doesn’t kiss like a man who’s uncertain—he kisses like a man who has spent lifetimes waiting, like a man who doesn’t know softness but is willing to learn. It’s possessive, a growl at the back of his throat, the scrape of his stubble against your skin, the sheer force of him overwhelming in the best way.

- When he finally pulls away, his forehead presses against yours, his breath uneven. "You sure about this, darlin'?" The question is low, gruff, but there’s something hesitant beneath it, something almost fragile. And when your fingers tighten in his shirt, pulling him back in, Logan exhales like he’s found something worth holding onto.

REMY LEBEAU (GAMBIT)

- The game has been going on all night—the dance of glances, the teasing words wrapped in silk, the unspoken challenge between you and the infamous Gambit. Remy thrives on this, on the art of pursuit, on the thrill of a gamble. But this? This is different. You’re not just another conquest, another momentary pleasure to chase and leave behind. No, you are something far more dangerous. You are a risk that he is terrified to take—but he’s never been one to back down from a high-stakes game.

- "You know, chère," he drawls, voice smooth as whiskey, "I t’ink you enjoy makin’ me wait." His fingers brush over yours where they rest on the poker table, a barely-there touch that sends heat skittering up your spine. He’s been flirting with you for months, every word a promise, every touch a question. But you’ve held him at arm’s length, making him work for it, making him want it. And oh, does he want it.

- The moment happens fast—one second, he’s watching you with that lazy, knowing smirk, and the next, he’s got you pressed against the wall of the dimly lit bar, his body caging yours in. His hands are warm, his eyes burning with something deeper than mischief. "No more games, mon amour," he murmurs, and then his lips are on yours. It’s devastating, slow but demanding, a thief taking exactly what he wants. He tastes like danger and something achingly sweet, like the promise of trouble you never want to escape.

- When he pulls back, he grins, his forehead resting against yours. "Worth de wait, non?" And the way your fingers tighten in his coat tells him everything he needs to know.

KURT WAGNER (NIGHTCRAWLER)

- The air is thick with laughter, with warmth, with the quiet kind of joy that comes from simply existing beside someone who makes the world a little lighter. Kurt has always been light, despite the weight of the world, despite the way people see him as something other, something monstrous. But you have never looked at him that way. Never once. And tonight, beneath the soft glow of paper lanterns strung across the Xavier mansion’s garden, he realizes just how much that means.

- "Do you ever wonder if things happen for a reason?" he muses, his tail flicking idly as he leans beside you against the railing. His accent makes the words sound almost wistful, almost like something out of a fairytale. And you, ever his willing audience, tilt your head in curiosity. "Like destiny?"

- He hesitates only a moment before reaching for you, his three-fingered hand curling around yours. His skin is warm, his touch hesitant, reverent. "I do not believe I deserve such a gift," he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. "But if I did… I t’ink it would be you." The words linger between you, delicate, uncertain. And then, as if drawn by something beyond himself, he leans in. The kiss is soft, almost shy, the kind of kiss that speaks of quiet longing, of devotion that has been waiting for its moment.

- When he pulls away, his golden eyes search yours, as if waiting for permission to believe this is real. And when you smile—when you pull him back in, your hands tangling in the soft curls at the nape of his neck—Kurt exhales, a prayer answered.

SCOTT SUMMERS (CYCLOPS)

- Scott has always been a man of control, of discipline, of walls built high enough to keep even himself out. He has to be—leadership demands it, survival depends on it. But when it comes to you, control is a battle he is losing. The way you look at him, the way you challenge him, the way you make him feel like something more than just a soldier—it unravels him in ways he is still struggling to understand.

- "I shouldn’t," he says, voice tight, almost pained. You are standing too close, your fingers brushing against his wrist, grounding him in a way that makes his head spin. His ruby-quartz lenses shield his eyes, but you can feel the intensity of his gaze, the way it lingers. "It’s not safe." He means the words—Scott has spent too long holding himself back, afraid of losing control, afraid of what he might destroy. But it’s too late for that. He’s already falling.

- The moment is inevitable. He moves with the careful precision of a man who is both afraid and desperate, his lips finding yours in a kiss that is searing, controlled, but barely. His hands frame your face, steady despite the war waging beneath his skin. It’s overwhelming—the heat of it, the weight of years spent denying himself anything that felt this real.

- When he pulls away, he exhales sharply, as if catching his breath after a battle hard-fought. His fingers linger at your jaw, his touch hesitant. "Tell me to stop," he says, but there’s no conviction in it. And when you shake your head, when you pull him back in, Scott lets himself fall, for once surrendering to something other than duty.

JEAN GREY (PHOENIX)

- There are moments when Jean feels like she is too much. Too much power, too much feeling, too much of something vast and unknowable. She has spent years keeping herself restrained, learning control as though her heart beats to a metronome rather than a wild drum. But when she is with you, she wonders if it is safe to be unguarded, if it is safe to be simply Jean and nothing more.

- Tonight, she lets herself be soft. The two of you sit beneath the vastness of the stars, the Xavier mansion looming behind you, distant and forgotten for now. The night is quiet, save for the occasional rustle of wind through the trees, but inside Jean’s mind, there is no quiet—not when you are near. She doesn’t need to read your thoughts to know what lingers there. She can feel it, in the way your fingers brush against hers, in the warmth of your presence.

- "I don’t want to be careful with you," she murmurs, and there is something raw in her voice, something aching. And then she kisses you—not hesitant, not restrained, but with the kind of intensity that burns. Her fingers thread through your hair, her breath stolen between heartbeats, between the desperate need to be close, to feel something beyond the weight of what she is. It is both gentle and consuming, a force of nature wrapped in something heartbreakingly human.

- When she pulls away, her hands linger against your jaw, and she smiles—something small, something meant only for you. "Tell me I don’t have to hold back," she whispers. And when you answer her with another kiss, she knows she has found something worth surrendering to.

ORORO MUNROE (STORM)

- The sky has always been an extension of Ororo, a reflection of the emotions she keeps locked beneath careful serenity. But tonight, there is no storm. No restless wind, no rolling thunder—only the gentle hum of the night and the warmth of your presence beside her. She watches you in the dim glow of candlelight, her eyes filled with something unreadable, something vast.

- "Do you ever wonder how small we are?" she muses, her voice as soft as the breeze that dances through your hair. The two of you stand on the rooftop of the Xavier mansion, the city lights glimmering in the distance, but all she can see is you. Ororo has spent a lifetime above the world, both in spirit and in form, but with you, she feels grounded in a way she has never known before.

- She reaches for you, her fingers tracing a path along your cheek, as though memorizing something she never wishes to forget. And then she leans in, her lips brushing against yours like a whispered secret, like the first breath before a storm. The kiss is deliberate, reverent, like the way the rain kisses the earth after a long drought. There is patience in it, tenderness, but beneath that—something deeper. A quiet promise, an unspoken devotion.

- When she pulls back, the night is still, holding its breath as though the world itself has taken notice of this moment. Ororo’s lips curl into a small, knowing smile. "I think," she murmurs, "that you are the only thing that has ever made me want to stay on the ground."

ROGUE

- She has spent her whole life fearing touch. It is a cruel thing, to want something so deeply and yet never be able to have it. But with you, the longing is unbearable, suffocating, twisting in her chest like something wild and restless. She has kissed before—quick, fleeting moments stolen behind barriers, through gloves, through layers of caution. But never like this. Never real.

- "Ah don’t wanna hurt you," she says, and there is a tremble in her voice, something vulnerable hidden beneath her usual confidence. You are standing too close, and she should move away, should create distance like she always does—but she can’t. Not this time. Not with you.

- The decision is made before she can talk herself out of it. Her gloved hand curls around the back of your neck, and then she kisses you. There is something desperate in it, something that tastes of loneliness and longing, of a girl who has spent her whole life reaching for something just out of her grasp. It is bruising, filled with everything she has never been able to say, everything she has been too afraid to feel.

- When she pulls back, her breathing is ragged, her forehead resting against yours. "Tell me you ain't scared," she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. And when you don’t pull away—when your fingers tighten in her jacket, grounding her—Rogue exhales like she has finally found a place where she belongs.

ERIK LEHNSHERR (MAGNETO)

- Love has always been a dangerous thing for Erik. It is weakness, vulnerability—something that has been used against him too many times before. But you are different. You have always been different. You do not flinch from the sharp edges of him, from the darkness that lingers in his eyes. And that terrifies him more than anything.

- "I have lost too much already," he confesses, his voice low, rough. The two of you stand beneath the ruins of something long abandoned, a place Erik has brought you to without thinking, without realizing how much it means. He does not let people in, does not allow himself to want—but with you, want has become an inevitability.

- And then he kisses you. It is not gentle. It is not sweet. It is a claim, fierce and unyielding, filled with the kind of hunger that comes from a man who has spent his life fighting for something just out of reach. His hands grip your waist, his touch firm, possessive, as though trying to convince himself that you are real, that this moment is not something that will be ripped away like all the others.

- When he finally pulls away, his breathing is uneven, his gaze sharp as steel. "You should leave," he says, but his hands do not let go. And when you press your forehead against his, your fingers curling into the fabric of his coat, Erik exhales—because for once in his life, he does not want to be alone.

CHARLES XAVIER (PROFESSOR X)

- Charles has always known the power of words. He wields them like a scalpel—precise, careful, capable of shaping the world with nothing more than the way they are spoken. But for all his eloquence, for all his careful consideration, he finds himself at a loss when it comes to you. There are no words vast enough to encapsulate the way he feels when he looks at you, no sentence that could hold the quiet reverence that settles in his chest whenever you are near.

- Tonight, the mansion is quiet, the hum of distant thoughts nothing more than a murmur in the back of his mind. You are seated beside him in the library, the warm glow of lamplight casting shadows across your face, and Charles cannot help but admire you as one might admire a great work of art. "You are always in my thoughts," he confesses, his voice as soft as the turning of a page. "Even when I try to quiet them."

- The admission hangs between you like something fragile, something waiting to be touched. And then, with a slowness that is almost agonizing, Charles reaches for you. His fingers brush against your cheek, a gentle caress, before he leans in. The kiss is hesitant at first, delicate, as though he is memorizing the feel of you in increments, but then it deepens—controlled, measured, but filled with something infinite. He is not a man prone to indulgence, but in this moment, he allows himself to want.

- When he pulls away, his forehead rests against yours, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. "You are the only thought I never wish to quiet," he murmurs, and in that moment, you realize Charles Xavier, for all his wisdom, has finally found something beyond the realm of his own understanding.

WANDA MAXIMOFF (SCARLET WITCH)

- Wanda has spent her life surrounded by chaos. It follows her like a shadow, whispering in the language of things broken and rewritten, of destinies unraveled and reshaped. But when she is with you, there is quiet. Not silence—never silence—but a kind of stillness she has never known before, as though the world itself pauses when you are near.

- The two of you stand in the remnants of twilight, the air thick with the scent of rain, the horizon streaked in shades of crimson and gold. Wanda’s fingers are entwined with yours, her grip hesitant, uncertain. "I don’t know what love is supposed to feel like," she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I think—when I’m with you—it feels like something I don’t have to be afraid of."

- And then she kisses you. It is not tentative, nor is it rushed. It is deliberate, the kind of kiss that unravels something deep within, the kind that reshapes and remakes. Her hands cradle your face, her touch featherlight yet unyielding, as if afraid you might slip through her fingers like all the things she has lost. There is magic in it, something ancient and aching, something that feels like the bending of time itself.

- When she pulls back, her lips are parted, her breath unsteady. A flicker of red dances in her eyes, the remnants of something too vast to name. "Don’t let me become a ghost," she whispers. And when you pull her close again, when you press your lips to hers once more, you promise that she never will.

PIETRO MAXIMOFF (QUICKSILVER)

- Love has always been something fleeting for Pietro. He moves too fast, lives too fast, feels too much—always chasing, always running, as if afraid that if he stays still for too long, the world might catch up and swallow him whole. But with you, time slows. It bends in a way he never thought possible, as though the universe itself concedes to your presence, as though you are the one thing in this world worth pausing for.

- "I don’t do slow," he says, his voice laced with something teasing, something deflective—but there is honesty beneath it, a quiet confession hidden between syllables. The two of you sit on the rooftop of the mansion, the night air cool against your skin, the distant sounds of the city humming like a heartbeat. Pietro is never still, even now—his fingers tapping an erratic rhythm against his knee, his body humming with energy he cannot quite contain.

- And then, in a moment of stillness so rare it feels almost sacred, he leans in. The kiss is electric, filled with the kind of urgency that comes from a man who has spent his life moving at the speed of light. His hands tangle in your hair, pulling you closer, as if trying to memorize the shape of you, the feel of you, before the world inevitably pulls him away. It is messy, breathless, real—a collision rather than a meeting, an unstoppable force finally finding something worth stopping for.

- When he finally pulls back, his lips are curled into a smirk, but there is something soft in his expression, something unspoken. "You make me want to stay," he murmurs, and for the first time in his life, Pietro Maximoff does not feel the need to run.

HANK MCCOY (BEAST)

- Love has always been an intellectual thing for Hank. He understands it in theory, can dissect it like a scientist studying a phenomenon, can quote poetry and philosophy on its nature. But experiencing it? That is something else entirely. With you, it is not logical. It is not something he can quantify or analyze. It simply is.

- The two of you sit in his study, the air thick with the scent of old books and ink, the soft glow of candlelight casting golden hues across the room. Hank watches you from behind his glasses, his fingers curled around the spine of a worn-out novel, though he has long since abandoned the words on the page. "There is a passage in Shakespeare," he muses, his voice thoughtful, almost absent. "That speaks of love as an ever-fixed mark. Something that does not falter, even in the face of the storm."

- And then, as if compelled by something greater than reason, he reaches for you. The kiss is slow, unhurried, the kind of kiss that speaks in volumes unspoken. His hand cradles the back of your head, his touch reverent, almost disbelieving. It is a scholar studying the divine, a man who has spent his life in books finally understanding the very thing poets have written about for centuries.

- When he pulls away, his breath is uneven, his glasses slightly askew. He chuckles—warm, a little self-conscious—before resting his forehead against yours. "For once," he murmurs, a smile playing at the edges of his lips, "I find myself at a loss for words." And for Hank McCoy, that is perhaps the truest testament of love.

EMMA FROST (WHITE QUEEN)

- Emma Frost does not give her heart easily. She wears her love like she wears her diamonds—pristine, untouchable, something to be admired from a distance but never possessed. She has spent a lifetime fortifying herself against weakness, constructing walls of ice so thick that even the warmth of devotion could never hope to melt them. And yet, when she looks at you, she feels them crack, just a little, just enough to let the light in.

- The Hellfire Club is a gilded cage of smoke and opulence, but tonight, it is just you and her, the world reduced to the quiet hum of distant music and the press of your bodies too close to be innocent. “You make me reckless,” she murmurs, her voice honeyed, edged with something sharp, something dangerous. There is a challenge in her gaze, as if daring you to step closer, to be foolish enough to reach for something that others have burned trying to touch.

- And then, with the kind of certainty only Emma possesses, she leans in. The kiss is not soft; Emma Frost does nothing softly. It is precise, calculated, as if she is determining just how much of herself she is willing to give. But then—then—you respond, and she forgets all about restraint. Her hands fist in your clothing, pulling you against her, her lips parting against yours in something that feels like surrender, like the slow unraveling of the woman who has never allowed herself to want.

- When she pulls back, her breath is even, her expression unreadable. But there is something different in her eyes—something raw, something that should not exist in a woman who has spent her life perfecting the art of emotional detachment. "Tell anyone I did that first," she drawls, smoothing a hand over her pristine white attire, "and I’ll turn your mind inside out." But the way she looks at you after—the way her fingers linger against yours—is softer than any words she will allow herself to say.

LAURA KINNEY (X-23)

- Love has never been gentle for Laura. It has been ripped from her hands, shattered and rebuilt into something unrecognizable, turned into a weapon like everything else in her life. She does not trust easily, does not give affection freely, but you—you are something different. Something that doesn’t demand, doesn’t take, but simply waits. And that terrifies her.

- It happens in the aftermath of a fight, blood still drying on her knuckles, the air thick with the scent of adrenaline and gunpowder. You are close, too close, inspecting a wound on her arm that she doesn’t care about, but you do. "You’re bleeding," you murmur, and Laura doesn’t understand why those words make something in her chest hurt more than any wound ever could.

- And then, without warning, she kisses you. It is rough, almost desperate, her hands gripping the sides of your face as if trying to confirm that you are real, that this feeling—the way you look at her like she is more than the violence carved into her skin—is real. She does not know how to be soft, does not know how to ease into things gently, so she kisses you the way she fights: with everything she has, with an intensity that could break ribs.

- When she pulls away, she does not speak. Her breath is unsteady, her expression unreadable. But then she presses her forehead to yours, her fingers still curled around your collar, holding on as if she expects you to disappear. "If you leave," she finally murmurs, voice barely above a whisper, "I’ll find you." It is not a threat. It is a promise.

WADE WILSON (DEADPOOL)

- Wade Wilson falls too fast and too hard. He loves like he fights—messy, reckless, throwing himself in headfirst without caring if he’ll get hurt. He makes jokes because the silence is unbearable, because the thought of you looking at him too closely is enough to send him spiraling. But for all his bravado, for all his crass humor, Wade has never been kissed in a way that wasn’t a joke, a mistake, or a transaction. Until you.

- "Okay, so I’m about to do something really stupid," he announces, standing far too close in the neon glow of a shitty diner sign, the night air thick with the scent of grease and rain. "Like, really stupid. Stupid on a level that would make even Deadpool go, ‘Dude, bad idea.’ And that guy makes terrible life choices."

- And then, before you can say anything, he grabs you by the collar of your jacket and kisses you. It is not smooth, not elegant. It is Wade Wilson, which means it is all-in, no hesitation, no half-measures. His hands are shaking, but his lips are sure, as if he has been waiting for this for a lifetime, as if he is afraid that if he doesn’t kiss you now, he’ll never get the chance.

- When he pulls away, he is breathless, eyes searching yours as if waiting for the inevitable punchline, for the moment where you’ll laugh and tell him it was all a joke. But when you don’t—when you just look at him, like he is something worth holding onto—he lets out a breathless, disbelieving laugh. "Holy shit," he mutters. "That was actually kinda romantic. Mark it down in history, babe. First time for everything."

CABLE (NATHAN SUMMERS)

- Nathan Summers is not a man accustomed to softness. His hands have known war for too long, his body a graveyard of scars from battles fought across time itself. He does not waste energy on things that are fleeting, does not allow himself to indulge in things he cannot keep. And yet, with you, all of that certainty wavers.

- It happens after a mission, the two of you holed up in some abandoned safe house, the air thick with the remnants of exhaustion and unspoken words. He is injured—nothing fatal, but enough to make you worry, enough to make you press a damp cloth to his temple with a tenderness he does not deserve. "You need to let people take care of you sometimes," you murmur, and Nathan exhales, something heavy settling in his chest.

- He does not speak. Does not offer some poetic declaration. Instead, he reaches for you, fingers rough against the smoothness of your jaw, and pulls you in. The kiss is slow, deliberate, as if he is trying to memorize the shape of you, the taste of you, before the world inevitably takes him away again. There is no desperation in it, only certainty—the kiss of a man who has seen the end of everything and still chooses to hold onto this, onto you.

- When he pulls back, he does not move far, his forehead resting against yours, his breathing steady despite the storm raging inside him. "I don’t know what happens next," he admits, voice low, rough. "But I know I’m not letting go." And when you kiss him again, you make sure he understands—he won’t have to.

COLOSSUS (PIOTR RASPUTIN)

- Piotr is careful, always careful. He holds back without realizing it, even when the world is falling apart. There is a gentleness in him, buried beneath the steel of his body, a softness that has nothing to do with flesh. He fears his own strength, fears the way his hands, built for war, could break something as delicate as love. And yet, when he looks at you, he wants—needs—to touch, to hold, to feel.

- The battlefield is quiet now, the fight won, though the ruins around you still smoke from the echoes of destruction. You are weary, dust clinging to your skin, but Piotr—Piotr is unyielding, a silver sentinel standing guard over you. He reaches out, fingers brushing your shoulder, and you feel the weight of it, the solidity, the way he is always there, always enduring. “Are you hurt?” His voice is deep, thick with the accent that makes his words sound like poetry.

- You shake your head, but his expression is still storm-dark with concern. And then, as if something inside him finally snaps, he kisses you. His lips are unrelenting, unyielding metal against the warmth of your mouth, yet it is the gentlest thing he has ever done. He does not pull you close—he is afraid of hurting you—but his hands hover, trembling, aching to hold, to claim, to love without fear of breaking.

- When he finally pulls away, he presses his forehead to yours, and for the first time, you feel the heat of him, even in his steel form. “I will be careful,” he promises, voice thick, barely more than a whisper. “But I will never hold back from you again.”

MAGIK (ILLYANA RASPUTINA)

- Illyana does not love easily. She has been carved from darkness, tempered in the heat of Limbo, sharpened into something lethal. Love is a weakness—or so she has always believed. But then there is you, and the way you see her, past the demons, past the blades, past the girl who spent too many years clawing her way through the dark. You make her feel human, and that terrifies her.

- You are standing at the edge of a summoning circle, watching as she mutters an incantation, her voice a low, rolling thing that feels like ancient power wrapped in velvet. “You are distracting me,” she accuses, though there is no real bite in her words. You smirk, unrepentant. “You like it,” you tease. Illyana narrows her eyes. “Do not push your luck.”

- And then, before you can react, she steps forward, seizes your collar, and kisses you. It is sharp, heated, a wildfire consuming the space between you. Illyana kisses like she fights—with precision, with confidence, with the knowledge that she is taking exactly what she wants. There is no hesitation, no fear, only the surety of someone who has walked through hell and come out the other side.

- When she finally pulls away, she lingers, her forehead pressing against yours, her breath warm against your lips. “You make me feel alive,” she murmurs, almost reluctant, almost as if admitting it gives you too much power over her. And then, with a smirk of her own, she adds, “Try not to let it go to your head.”

KITTY PRYDE (SHADOWCAT)

- Kitty has always been in motion, always slipping through things—walls, expectations, relationships that never seemed to stick. She is the girl who walks between worlds, never quite settling, never quite stopping. But with you, something is different. With you, she doesn’t want to run. She wants to stay.

- It happens in the quiet of the X-Mansion, long after the others have gone to bed. You are both sprawled on the couch, the glow of the TV flickering against the walls, some old movie playing that neither of you are paying attention to. Kitty is curled up beside you, her head resting against your shoulder, and you feel her exhale, long and slow, as if breathing you in.

- Then, without warning, she phases through you—just enough to shift, just enough to turn, just enough to press her lips to yours in one smooth, effortless motion. The kiss is soft, almost hesitant, but there is something fierce beneath it, something hungry, something that says finally. She doesn’t move away. Doesn’t disappear. She stays, fingers tangled in your collar, grounding herself in you as if anchoring herself to something real.

- When she pulls back, she grins, breathless, eyes bright. “Guess I finally figured out how to stop running,” she murmurs. And this time, when she kisses you again, it is certain.

MORPH (KEVIN SYDNEY)

- With Morph, love is never boring. He is laughter in the middle of a crisis, mischief hidden behind a smile, a shapeshifter who wears a thousand faces but only one when he looks at you. He is always changing, always adapting, but his feelings for you? Those are the one thing he has never wanted to change.

- You are in the middle of an argument—not a real one, not the kind with anger or pain, but the kind that is all teasing and playful jabs. “I totally won that fight,” he declares, arms crossed over his chest. You arch a brow. “You got thrown into a dumpster.” Morph smirks. “And I made it look good.”

- Then, without warning, he shifts—his features morphing, softening, contorting into your own face. “See?” he teases, voice now identical to yours. “How could you be mad at this?” And then, still wearing your face, he leans in and kisses you. The sensation is strange, uncanny, like kissing your own reflection, and yet—it’s him. You can feel it in the way his lips curve into a smirk, in the way his fingers curl around your wrist.

- When he pulls back, he shifts back into himself, grinning wide. “Was that weird? That was probably weird. But romantic weird, right?” You shake your head, laughing, and he grins. “Good. Because I’m totally doing it again.”

[girlkisser13]

katherine "kate" pryde masterlist

* indicates smut

headcanons

being married to kate pryde would include

nsfw headcanons *

imagines

drabbles

[loving-barnes]

A Touch Of Hope (Logan Howlett)

Pairing: Logan Howlett x female mutant reader

Summary: After a mission went wrong, Logan brought an injured mutant into the school. And with that, new hope has arisen - for mutants, for the school, even for Logan.

General warning: graphic depictions of violence, smut, explicit language and more.

This story is for 18+ audience. Minors DNI.

Author's note: I love that Logan is tall in the movies. They... fucked up. And I am here for it. The reader is a female. I don't do any description BUT she has long hair (I'm sorry). If you find something, let me know. I am writing this for fun, not rushing and just enjoying the process.

Set in an alternative universe. In other words - I can do what I like.

• Begin Again (Chapter One) After a failed mission, Logan unexpectedly brings home an injured mutant. | Words: 5300+

• 'Hell' (Chapter Two)  Y/N shares how she escaped 'hell’. | Words: 4300+

• Spark (Chapter Three) Charles reveals something more about Y/N's mutation. | Words: 3800+

• Window of Opportunity (Chapter Four) In Salem, Logan and Y/N have the opportunity to save the boy. | Words: 5200+

• Revelation (Chapter Five) Scott decided to be a dick and share something he shouldn’t. | Words: 4300+

• Better (Chapter Six) Things are slowly turning around. Or are they? | Words: 3100+

• Bar (Chapter Seven) It’s a fun night out at a bar. | Words: 3300+

• Bonding Moment (Chapter Eight) The students get to know Y/N a little more. | Words: 3700+

• Babysitting Gone Wrong (Chapter Nine) Charles asked Logan and Y/N to babysit the students while the rest of the staff was away for the weekend. | Words: 6200+

• Need (Chapter Ten) Things move forward between Logan and Y/N. | Words: 4300+

• One Of Us (Chapter Eleven) Y/N got an offer to become a member of the X-men. | Words: 3000+

Staff: Charles Xavier, Hank McCoy (Beast), Piotr Rasputin (Colossus), Remy LeBeau (Gambit), Bobby (Iceman), Kurt Wagner (Nightcrawler), Kitty Pryde, Anna Marie (Rogue), Ororo Munroe (Storm), Logan Howlett (Wolverine), Scott Summers (Cyclops), Jean Grey, Peter Maximoff (Quicksilver)

[honey-minded-hivemind]

Dragon Reader dividing up the food for everyone when Ladybird realizes that they didn't set aside any food for themselves.

Reader assures her they ate earlier and tell her she needs food since she's still growing.

She wonders what Reader meant by earlier because she knows they haven't eaten the multiple hours since she joined.

Reader has, for as long as Ladybird (HiveWing Laura) can remember, taken care of her. So have the others, Katydid, Nymph, amd Phasmid (Kitty, Kurt, and Pietro). But Reader has a bad habit of not eating enough, or lying about how much they've eaten. It worries Ladybird, enough that she starts sneaking food over to them, giving them a glare and telling them to eat.

She wishes she knew why Reader was so worried all the time, why they woke up big at night, why they'd left their old home in the first place. But she doesn't. Not until they all have to go back... and Reader finally reveals what little they know about the reason they left...

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

HiveWing powers for The Team:

Kitty/Katydid • venomous bite

Kurt/Nymph • stench power + tail stinger (yes, that is a HiveWing power)

Pietro/Phasmid • venomous bite

Reader/Firefly • glowing eyes + tail stinger

Laura/Ladybird • wrist stingers + back claw stingers

(If you want a name for Reader, as a stand-in HiveWing name, I'm open to discussing it. I have a list of over 100+ unused HiveWing names, and a list of canon HiveWing names. So there's plenty of options!!!)

@sugar-soda

[sunarryn]

DP X Marvel #10

It all started because Clockwork got bored. That was the only reasonable explanation Danny could come up with. One minute he was signing ghost realm tax paperwork—yeah, turns out being Ghost King came with bureaucracy—and the next, Clockwork was swirling his little time-staff like a smug ghostly Gandalf and muttering something about “character growth” and “you’ve gone soft, Daniel.” And then bam, vortex of neon green time-energy, and suddenly Danny Fenton—a.k.a. Danny Phantom, Ghost King, Defender of Amity Park, Sloppy Hot Mess™—woke up in Westchester, New York, in a bed that smelled like lavender detergent and severe academic trauma.

Also, there was a kid across the room with laser eyes. Like, literal laser eyes. Danny dodged the optic blast with a yelp, crashed into a dresser, phased through it out of panic, and immediately got tackled by some blue-furred acrobatic Shakespeare enthusiast named Hank McCoy, who tried to sedate him with a tranquilizer gun the size of a trombone.

The chaos didn’t end there.

After an hour-long misunderstanding involving accidental ghost-punching, a kid phasing through a wall and screaming about “this new spirit trying to possess my Xbox,” and someone named Jean calmly levitating him mid-air like he was a naughty kitten, Danny finally got an audience with Charles Xavier. That guy. The bald one. Professor X. Wheelchair. Mind reader. Wears a turtleneck in July.

And of course, as soon as Danny sat down, Professor X pressed two fingers to his temple and Danny felt his entire mental vault of trauma shatter like a haunted snow globe. “Ah,” the Professor said with the polite cadence of someone realizing they’ve just tuned into a true crime documentary instead of the weather channel. “You have a great deal of… unique experiences.”

Danny laughed. Hysterically. “I died at fourteen and now I run a death monarchy in an alternate dimension. Unique is so last week.”

Turns out Clockwork, that glorified antique grandfather clock with too much free time, had decided that Danny needed to “learn to connect with others his age again” and “gain allies outside the Ghost Zone.” So he dropped Danny off at a mutant boarding school like some sort of half-dead foreign exchange student. And Charles Xavier, either because he’s too nice or secretly thrilled to collect weirdos like Pokémon cards, welcomed him with open arms.

Now, Danny wasn’t a mutant. He made that very clear. He was a half-ghost hybrid from an accident involving his parents’ DIY death portal and a broken sense of safety regulations. But that didn’t stop the other students from assuming he was just a weirdo with very specific powers and a questionable haircut. The moment Rogue tried to absorb him and got an accidental flash of the time Pariah Dark tried to possess his left kidney, she screamed, exploded a tree, and refused to make eye contact with him for a week. Logan thought that was hilarious and called him “Casper with PTSD.” Danny called Logan “Hairy Ferret Man.” A rivalry was born.

Also, it turned out that mutants at Xavier’s School had no chill. None. Zip. Zero. When they found out Danny could go intangible and invisible? Prank war. Full-on, Cold War-style prank war.

Kurt teleported hot sauce into his shoes. Danny replaced Kurt’s shampoo with slime from the Box Ghost. Bobby froze Danny’s underwear drawer. Danny phased into Bobby’s room at 3 a.m. and whispered “I’m always watching” into his ear like a cursed Roomba. Scott tried to discipline them with a “team bonding” exercise. Danny phased his clothes off in front of the entire class during the obstacle course.

He did not know Kitty Pryde could scream that loud. Or punch that hard.

Things escalated.

One day, Jean and Ororo walked into the library to find Danny floating upside down while holding a book with his foot, chewing a pen, and muttering to himself in the Ghost Zone’s dead language. When asked what he was doing, he said he was “reverse engineering a spectral war code to crash the cafeteria’s menu algorithm so they’d bring back pizza bagels.” Jean left the room. Ororo gave him a high five.

That might’ve been the least unhinged thing he did that week.

Because Danny had fans now. The students—bless their hormone-fueled, superpowered hearts—thought he was the coolest thing since Wolverine got into a fistfight with a vending machine. He had followers. A literal cult. Called themselves “The Phantom Phreaks.” They made glow-in-the-dark hoodies with his face on it. One kid tried to dye their hair white using bleach and ghost peppers. It didn’t go well.

It got worse when Peter Parker showed up.

Apparently, he was doing some college-credit tutoring with Xavier’s School because of course the kid with radioactive spider powers and crippling anxiety was the designated Marvel mentor. Peter tried to explain the concept of “laying low” and “not being a public menace” and Danny just blinked, turned intangible, floated through a wall, and popped his head back in to say, “I once bench-pressed a building-sized ghost walrus. I am beyond menace, Peter.”

They became friends instantly.

Peter would swing by to help with science classes and would end up staying for hours, mostly because Danny was a magnet for eldritch ghost disasters. One time, a time-displaced pirate specter named Captain Bloodwhistle tried to possess the student kitchen mixer. Peter got covered in spectral marshmallow fluff. Danny laughed so hard he accidentally ripped a hole into the Astral Plane. Peter got dragged halfway in. Jean had to psychic-yank him back with what she described as “a migraine made of bees.”

Also, Danny started dating one of the Cuckoo sisters.

He wasn’t sure which one. They wouldn’t tell him.

One of them would show up to lunch, sit next to him, hand him a thermos full of ghost chili, kiss his cheek, and then disappear into the crowd. Danny asked once if they were just messing with him. The Cuckoo in question smiled and said, “Maybe. Or maybe we’re all in love with you. Isn’t that romantic?”

He nearly screamed.

That was before the Avengers got involved.

Apparently, Xavier forgot to tell them he’d adopted a literal half-dead godchild of the underworld into his school. So one day Tony Stark landed in the front yard in a red-and-gold panic and tried to “detain the supernatural threat.” Danny responded by phasing into the suit, taking control of it, and flying it into the sky while singing “Let It Go” at full volume. Tony had to eject mid-air. He landed in a bush. Scott filmed it. Jubilee added sparkles in post.

Then Nick Fury showed up and tried to recruit him.

Danny told him he was already King of the Dead and the living were beneath him. Then he tripped on his shoelace and fell into a bush. Same bush Tony had landed in. They bonded. Kind of.

And then Loki showed up, because someone (cough Wanda cough) told him that a teenage ghost king with ancient death powers was living rent-free at Xavier’s. Loki tried to seduce Danny into joining his side. Danny asked if his horns were compensating for something. Loki cursed his shampoo to turn his hair pink. Danny retaliated by summoning an actual ghost bull to chase Loki through the halls while yelling, “Fight me, Party City Maleficent!”

Charles suspended them both for 48 hours.

Danny used the time off to open a haunted lemonade stand in the Danger Room. It made five grand and summoned three minor demons. Hank was not pleased.

And look, Danny was trying. He really was. He went to his classes (when he remembered), tried not to make sarcastic comments during training (he failed), and even got a job at the school paper writing ghost horoscopes. (“Sagittarius: avoid mirrors this week. Capricorn: the undead whisper secrets to you, don’t trust them unless they have snacks.”) But trouble followed him like a clingy poltergeist.

One time a field trip to Central Park ended with a ghost bear rampaging through the zoo. Another time, he got possessed by a Victorian poet ghost and started writing depressing haikus on the bathroom walls. He once accidentally opened a mini-portal in the girl’s dorm by sneezing. No one knew how. Not even Clockwork.

And oh, Clockwork?

He’d drop in occasionally, hovering in midair with that smug look, sipping ghost tea, and muttering things like, “Growth looks good on you,” while Danny was being chased by a ghost goose that had eaten a cursed student ID.

It was chaos.

It was ridiculous.

It was unhinged, feral, terrifying, and oddly heartwarming.

Because for the first time since he’d become half-ghost, since he’d died and come back and been crowned a spectral king with too many responsibilities and not enough hugs, Danny had a home that was weird enough for him. A home full of flying kids, clawed professors, laser eyes, psychic meltdowns, teleporting blue elves, and students who didn’t flinch when he told them his parents once tried to dissect him in a lab accident.

He was just another freak among freaks.

And he kinda loved it.

Even if his bedroom lights occasionally flickered Morse code insults.

Even if Logan kept threatening to shave his head in his sleep.

Even if Peter Parker made a “Ghost King Survival Kit” and stuffed it with snacks, holy water, and emotional support memes.

Even if the Cuckoo sisters left threatening notes in his locker written in glitter glue.

Even if Xavier kept giving him polite but exhausted psychic lectures about “not weaponizing the garden gnomes.”

Even if the Danger Room now had a setting labeled “Phantom Mode” that was literally just a green portal, a pissed-off dragon ghost, and an army of flying textbooks.

Danny Phantom was home.

And Ghost King or not, these mutants had no idea what kind of disaster they’d just adopted.

[cooliocumbucket]

WY@

summary: what happens when you're caught during the invincible war by no goggles before he demolishes the guardians and you're "unfriendly" exes in his dimension.

notes: brent faiyaz and no sleep were the inspirations behind this one 🫡

shiesty mark and no!goggles mark are personal faves of mine but I'm sure if i wrote no!goggles like how he's seen 🤔 extra content for them regardless!

feel free to still request!

no goggles!mark x female!reader

tags: dubious consent, rough sex, female!reader, praise kink, mdni, 18+, light angst

i be doing shit i really shouldn't do fr....

"You know you are impossible to keep track of, man!" The alleyway your hunter had you cornered in seemed to grow tighter the further you ran, anywhere literally anywhere seemed to be better.

The dead-end made the reality of your situation feel even more damning and you grappled with what you were turning to face.

Invincible.

"I think you should probably stop there or are you gonna phase through the wall, Kitty Pryde?" He laughed at his own joke as your eyes frantically searched for an exit.

You knew Invincible, of course, you knew the insanely powerful superhero who flew around your city with freedom you wish you had but without the burden of lives, he insisted on saving.

This deranged bizzaro version that stood in front of you, wasn't him, however, and the familiarity he seemed to have with you made it even clearer.

"What is it with you and taking off, dude!?" Invincible asked and your brain flipped through memories to pinpoint when you'd been in the same vicinity.

"I thought with dimensions there were supposed to be like differences?" He pondered out loud, "Subtle but not so subtle shit across the multiverse you know?"

He was floating at first before his feet planted to the ground and personal space didn't exist between you anymore.

He tugged at a loose string on your t-shirt, his touch sending a shiver down your back.

Tears involuntarily began to stream down your face as death seemed to be an edge you were insanely close to teetering over.

"What the fuck are you crying for?" Invincible narrowed his eyebrows together in confusion, "If I wanted to hurt you, you'd be hurt, duh." He rolled his eyes like it was obvious. As if your heart wasn't going to beat out of your chest and explode on the ground at his feet from anxiety.

Your silence must've bothered him, Invincible inspecting your face even closer.

"You don't got anything to say?" He prodded, terrified blinking your response as he grew slightly frustrated.

"Come onnn, say something!" Invincible urged electricity in his eyes.

"Are you really not going to hurt me?"

"Hmmm I could,"On the spot, he wrapped a hand around your throat and you regretted ever learning how to speak, "It wouldn't take like any effort for me to crush your windpipe and pop your head off." You braced for him to do what he described instead he touched his forehead on yours.

"But killing you quick would defeat the purpose of finding you, ya know?"

Without thinking you shoved him as hard as you could from your space, a sudden boldness coursing through you that should've sealed your fate.

Instead he went back to gazing at you, the push having no effect on him in any capacity.

"How the fuck do you know who I am!?" There were plenty of other things you could've asked but your brain was barely processing this interaction to think of them.

Why did it have to be you?

Why were you targeted by the lunatic?

"If two plus two equals four, and portals equal multiple me's then the answer to your question would beee," He grinned at you expectantly, as if you were on a game show.

Like he hadn't just threatened to take your head from your neck.

Deciding to engage him, in the hopes it'd buy you more time you gulped back nerves.

"You're an Invincible who was close with a different me?"

"Ding, ding, ding! We have a lady with common sense!"

"But like in what way?"

'There's no way in hell I was dating this guy' you thouht to yourself, unaware of how wrong you were.

"Now there's a question you should've been asked, dude." His casual nature scared you more than a domineering presence could, in instant it could be switched- the blood that stained his hands was proof, his entire demeanor was proof of it actually.

"We were big-time in love, super duper committed to each other where I'm from, "He pointed between your bodies,"You wouldn't see either of us without the other type spiel."

"Whirlwind high school sweethearts who followed each other to college and what was supposed to be onward to the stars," Invincible prattled on, pumping up the dramatics the more he spoke, the back of his hand pressed onto his forehead for effect. "I loved you more then air, then blood and gore, then-"

"What-" Before you could finish, his hand was already moving making you clamp your mouth closed. The soaring punch he landed on the brick wall behind you crushed the structure the impact of his fist leaving a mini crater. Through your peripheral vision you could see multiple crumbles of cement fall and your feet could feel the reverberate just from how powerful his punch was.

This felt like warning number two.

"You should never interrupt anybody when they're talking, it's like really rude." He spoke deathly serious with a pout that rivaled a puppy dog's.

"I'm sorry." You said shaking, the apology's purpose to placate him but he wasn't easily swayed.

"No, you're not."

"I am." You begged, almost believing yourself but you knew he truly didn't.

That flip was switched again and he was grinning once more.

"Nah you know you're not." The intense gaze he bore into you continued, your eyes drifting for a second and he gripped your chin in place, still smiling, "You aren't different from my y/n at all, and she never meant any apology she gave." Releasing your chin he cracked his neck in boredom, eyes shifting up at the darkening sky.

"You know I'm getting the vibe you aren't interested in what I'm saying, and its honestly super hurtful." Gulping you figured that if the option to talk to him was removed the other one he was thinking wasn't pleasant.

"No I care!" You blurted out, Invincible looking at you without belief.

"You sure you want me to finish?" You thrashed your head up and down making him shrug his shoulders, "Alright, man."

"I made a mistake like any person does, "He waved his hand absent-mindedly, "I killed a couple thousand people and then suddenly it was like a ghost town with us, pun intended."

"You abandoned me, told me you'd love me no matter how much blood I had to spill and then shat on those words like it was nothing. Like what we had was nothing." He couldn't keep the bitterness from his tone even if he tried, his eyes downcast for a second in memory."But at least this time we're starting on an honest foot, hotness."

"Honest foot?"

"You think I did all that work of tracking you down for fucking fun?" Invincinble shook his head with a toothy grin, "I mean I kinda did but without me loving you I'd have no motivation, baby."

"But you just said I abandoned you."

"Yeah, that doesn't mean I don't want you."He scoffed, pursing his lips, "Who in love doesn't have problems?"

To you, you were strangers and to him you were his second chance at control.

"I don't even know you're name."

"It's Mark, Markkk,"He sounded out the syllables, slow. "Say Mark, come on you can do it."

"Mark?" You tested it on your tongue with hesitation but He swooned out loud still, unable to resist kissing you.

His lips crashed against yours, all logic being lost in how passionately he kissed you.

It wasn't gentle or slow he threw all of his emotions onto you at once. His movements were hungry and frenzied each twist of his tongue searching for more of your mouth to taste.

You tapped at his chest for a breath but he only held you tighter moaning into your mouth with a desperation that had you tightening your thighs. The print in his suit rubbed against your front in a sinful rhythm, your pussy becoming wetter by the second.

A thin trail of saliva was your only connection when you finally broke apart but he hadn't dropped his arms from the embrace.

"You never could hold out on me for long!" He bit his bottom lip hard with excitement, "Let's give that you're not the same theory a test."

i think this time i'll be through fr....

"You're soooo good," He slurred his words with so much happiness, dick covered in your cream from how fast and hard he was moving.

Your cheek was smushed against the wall he punched and you could barely keep your balance as he fucked you like a toy.

"Pleaseee," You couldn't get your request out as you came once more, body squirming from good you felt.

Straining to watch your fucked out face, you could hear his frustrated tsking.

"You know this position isn't any good for some face time." Mark flipped you with ease, back hitting the wall as he slid easily in practically purring from how slick your pussy felt.

"Muchhh better." His mask was off and you couldn't help but notice how handsome he was. The darkness in his eyes still hadn't left and what scared you was how it was beginng to spur you on.

"Nobody can ever take me like you can," He panted feverishly, fingers gripping your neck to keep control, "Ever."

"You hear that?" your wetness spoke for you but he still forced your jaw open with his thumb, spit on his hand, "I know you heard my question, what I say about being rude?" Your wrapped your legs around his waist tighter as he slammed you up and down his length on repeat.

"I do!" You sobbed walls clenching around his dick, feeling so full. You'd never been fucked with this much intensity and it was overwhelming.

"Who did that?"He forced your neck down, your eyes stuck on how much of your cum covered his girth.

"You did-" You whimpered gasping when he snapped his hips at a different angle.

"I think it was a team effort." He murmured teasingly in your ear before biting it, strokes becoming sloppier. Your hands rested on his shoulders then went up to hold onto something.

Mark twitched inside you from the sensation of your pulling his hair, and you found yourself hoping he'd fill you to brim with cum.

"Pull it some more," Your fingers sunk into the back of his hair, and you tugged but it wasn't enough,"Harder, as hard as you can!"

You felt like you were about to rip his hair out but as his eyes rolled to the back his head and his thrusting grew more hurried you knew he was close.

Sinking his teeth into your neck as he came, nut dripping onto the ground from how much it was he still continued to fuck into you.

You were just getting started.