A little initiative can go a very long, long way -Johnny Storm, Marc Spector, Shuri Aja Adanna, Typhoid Mary

Johnny didn't like waiting or playing hard to get, aside from some playful teasing he was all yours, and after a long day of work when Johnnys warm arms wrap around you readily and he begins talking about how he's already booked a hotel to whisk you away at some sunny beach. The hot muscle and sweet face of your favorite man, always ready to drop whatever and take care of you, made your mouth water... you realize you've been caught when Johnnys devilish smirk widens and his hands start wandering

Marc isn't good at communicating thoroughly, or frequently, though the latter is rarely his fault. What he is good at, is doing whatever you might need at any time- he'll haul your groceries out of your car before you manage to turn the engine all the way off, or refill your favorite products when they're about to run out; he operates like some silent house fairy, and when you run a finger down his chest thanking him for taking care of you, he's quick to do whatever you need yet again.

Shuri predicts everything that will happen before it does, to the point that sometimes it's a little unsettling, she is also generous to a fault- your princess will take care of everything- date nights are incredible, with her showing off a new creation that will improve your sleep or relaxation, or your... mutual relaxation. Theres never any need to want something, its all taken care of, but thats impossible with the fluttering that still arises when she turns to you with a sly smile and a kiss to your neck before running off to her lab

Mary... has some problems. There is very little "sharing", and more so taking. But when she's broken out of her bloodlust or orders from Kingpin, the firey woman enjoys watching you react to her displays of romance- she ends up going out of her way to eliminate any poisons from your life, still following her justice killer code... kinda. If they hurt you, theyre bound to hurt again, and her stupid sappy lover would have no chance. But when life is so easy after it, the guilty squirming quiets as you come home more rested than ever, and if you have the extra energy to spend you might as well thank your sweet girl for helping.

A little communication, yes, that's my ideal foreplay-Hank McCoy, Steven Grant, Sue Storm

Hank is the only person with a PhD in communication, not communcations, but his endless talking leaves no room for misunderstandings. He wants to know everything that happens in your life- what you love, what you've begun to hate, why you felt sad at breakfast even though it didn't make sense... Hank is there for it all, and while he may not be able to science all your problems away, his endless understanding and personal care is a cure for any ailment, with no intimacy missed.

Steven communicates, because that's all he really has. After any argument (that he will try to avoid in the first place), Steven is quick to sit behind you and whisper his point of view, trailing off a few times or going on a tangent about how he does see your point he just... he doesn't not agree, but his desperate explaining is so impossibly endearing. He wants to make sure that despite everything you two are okay, that you didn't think he was mad at you, just the situation, the cute flush to his nose and ears making his point even clearer. But the flush covering his entire face later when you'd fully made up is so much better.

Sue loves having someone else mature in the... not a hellhole, but the difficult combination that resides within the Baxter Building. When tension between everyone is bubbling up and you come storming (ha, get it?) to her, she loves to lay you down and talk through everything. Ever so delicately reframing the argument, but she never says she thinks it's stupid, after all you're talking things out before acting, and taking in advice. Her soft hands rubbing across your arms and neck get to you, and Sue is more than happy to redirect any tension into a much more enjoyable evening before you have to go fix whatever mess everyone has gotten into.

Remembering how to use your phone gets me oh, so (oh, so), oh, so hot- Wade Wilson, Jake Lockley, Jennifer Walters

Wade texts very often, or not at all. It's moreso based on whether he actually has a phone at the moment, because despite his near invulnerability, his phonecase does not match. When he can though, Wade is a very attentive lover and texter, sending things throughout the day that remind him of you- making a few lewd comments about how he just cant wait to be home and see you, after sending a picture of some of the peaches you asked him to pick up on the way home.

Jake is incredibly busy, and in a dangerous position for... not majority, but a decent bit of his day. Despite that, his little messages pop in throughout the evening; "Late for dinner", "Out a bit more, love you", "Sleep before me"... you might not have him physically by your side but Jake makes damn sure you know he would be if he could, never missing a moment to dissapear from the action to let you know he's okay through little concise check ins.

Remy LeBeau had met plenty of former lovers.

Occupational hazard.

Sometimes they threw drinks.

Sometimes they threw knives.

Once, memorably, someone threw a live lobster.

So when you told him your ex would be joining a mutual friend's cookout, he'd simply flashed that easy grin.

"Cher, if dey survived dat relationship, den we already got somethin' in common."

You'd laughed.

He'd meant it. Mostly.

The trouble started before your ex even arrived.

"Oh!" Rogue said as she spotted someone crossing the yard. "There they are."

Remy looked up.

Effortlessly put together, a dimpled kind of smile that made strangers smile back.

Within thirty seconds they'd shaken everyone's hand, complimented Ororo's lemonade, helped a neighbor carry folding chairs, and somehow gotten the ever gruff Logan talking about motorcycles.

"...Well," Remy muttered.

"What?"

"Dey got charm."

You nudged him. "So do you, my charming Cajun."

"Mm." His smile remained, ever suave and beautiful,it just didn't quite reach his eyes anymore.

He noticed something else, too- people kept gravitating toward them, they weren’t loud or demanding some sort of attention as a newcomer but it just… kept happening.

Every conversation seemed to open naturally around them.

Remy had spent years cultivating that sort of magnetism, a literal survival tactic and to see someone wear it so effortlessly made something unpleasant twist in his stomach.

Lunch was served buffet style.

You loaded your plate before wandering over to where your ex was already standing.

"Mind if I steal one?"

You didn't wait for an answer.

You reached over.

Plucked a roasted potato right off their plate.

"Pfft."

They rolled their eyes.

"I hadn't even tasted it yet."

"You've got two more."

"Thief, you attract your own I guess"

"Guilty as charged."

The exchange lasted all of ten seconds.

Neither of you thought anything of it.

Remy did.

His fork paused halfway to his mouth. He hated that thought. More than that, he hated that he'd had it at all.

By late afternoon, everyone had migrated toward the firepit, passing around marshmallows and metal skewers.

You wandered off toward the cooler.

Your ex followed a minute later.

Remy watched without meaning to, he told himself he wasn't watching, he was keeping an eye on what's his, that’s fair.

Then he realized he'd stopped listening to whatever Scott was saying.

"...Remy?"

"Hm?"

Scott gestured vaguely.

"I asked if you wanted another drink."

"Oh."

Remy blinked.

"Sure."

Scott glanced toward the cooler before looking back at him.

"...You okay?"

A lazy grin spread across Remy's face automatically.

"Toujours." Always.

Scott looked unconvinced, but was quickly distracted by you returning a few seconds later carrying two sodas.

"Here."

You handed one to Remy.

"Merci, chère."

Your ex sat across the fire.

Conversation resumed.

The moment passed.

Except it hadn't, as the sun dipped lower, someone suggested going out for dinner instead of grilling dessert.

"Oh!" you said. "There's that little seafood place by the marina."

Your ex smiled instantly.

"They still make that ridiculous bread pudding?"

"I hope so."

"I used to have to stop you from ordering two, god the smell makes me nauseous it’s so weird”

The two of you laughed, and as always when you were happy Remy smiled. But he was slowly stirring the melting ice in his drink. He didn’t have an appetite.

Dinner wasn't awkward, your ex laughed at Remy's stories, whistled at his card tricks, bought him another round of drinks

"Dey always like dis?" Remy asked quietly after your ex wandered off to pay for appetizers.

You looked over.

"Pretty much."

"Huh."

"They're a good person."

"Remy can see dat."

He rubbed the back of his neck.

"...Dat's de problem."

The drive home was quieter than usual.

Silence broken by the occasional quip and Remy drumming his fingers across the steering wheel, streetlights swept across the windshield in warm intervals.

You reached over and rested your hand on his thigh.

"You've been awfully quiet."

Remy hummed.

"Remy been talkin'."

"You've been making jokes."

"...Dat’s talkin."

"And?"

He exhaled through his nose.

"You really wanna know?"

"I really do."

For a long moment, only the tires filled the silence.

Finally "I ain' jealous often."

You looked at him.

"But when I am..." A small laugh escaped him "...Mon Dieu, I hate it."

You waited, he wasn't done.

"I keep tellin' myself it don't matter.It don' matter dat dey know where ya like t'eat.It don' matter dat ya can take food off each odda's plates.It don' matter dat everybody smile when dey see y'all togetha." His grip tightened slightly on the steering wheel. "But den I start wonderin'."

His voice softened.

"If I walk in a room wit' you twenty years from now...will we move dat easy?"

The question broke your heart a little, and when you pulled into the driveway, neither of you got out, the only movement was when you turned in your seat instead.

"Remy."

He looked over.

"I need you to listen."

He nodded.

"My ex knows who I was."

"They know old me.They know me before my world changed, mutant life and other things.” You smiled.

"But you?"

You reached over, taking his hand.

"You know me after I learned who I wanted to become."

His thumb brushed over your knuckles.

"You know the version of me that falls asleep against your shoulder during movies."

"The one who steals your trench coat, the one who learned how to shuffle cards because you kept insisting it wasn't that hard, the parts of me that have been wonderfully changed because of you and everything that’s happened with you"

A reluctant smile tugged at his lips.

"...You still cheat at shufflin."

"I absolutely do."

"You terrible at hidin' de extra cards."

"I like winning, I’d never win against you otherwise."

He laughed quietly.

"There you are."

You squeezed his hand.

"And twenty years from now?" You leaned over the center console to kiss his cheek. “I fully intend to keep stealing food off your plate."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Only my plate?"

"Well..."

You pretended to think.

"I guess I could steal from someone else."

Remy's hand caught yours before you could pull away.

"Non." His grin finally reached his eyes again. "Dat job belong t'me now."

You laughed.

"So possessive."

"Nah."

He brought your knuckles to his lips.

"Jes' practical."

You rolled your eyes affectionately.

"Practical."

"Mm-hmm."

"You know if you wanted I can order my own food."

"An' where de romance in dat?"

The words were light and teasing, unmistakably Remy.

But when he reached across the console to pull you into a lingering kiss, there was something else tucked beneath it, quiet relief that whatever memories had come before, you were still choosing to make new ones with him, and he intended to make enough of them that one day, someone else might smile at the mention of your favorite restaurant, only to realize they'd never heard of it.

Because it would be a place that belonged only to the two of you.

Nightcrawler/Kurt Wagner

Kurt told himself he was imagining things, it was so much easier that way. Easier to not focus on the immediate joking and the fact that your guard was lowered immediately. Your ex had only been invited because you shared the same friend group. It wasn't strange. Adults remained friends with former partners all the time. Kurt knew that. He'd even admired the maturity of it when you'd explained it months ago.

"It just... wasn't meant to be," you'd said with a shrug. "That doesn't mean I stopped caring about them as a person."

He'd smiled and agreed, it was a beautiful thing- to love even when having to reconcile a lost future. 

Now, sitting beside you on some old friend's apartment balcony while everyone traded stories over drinks, he wished his heart believed what his head already knew.

"...And they didn’t eat apple pie if it hadn’t been chilled"

Your head snapped toward your ex.

"You remembered that?"

They grinned. "You made a huge fuss over it, somethin’ crazy about fruit not being hot"

You laughed, shaking your head. "I was eight!"

Kurt chuckled with everyone else, but his smile faltered for the briefest moment.

He hadn't known that.

It was such a tiny thing. Almost laughably insignificant. Or well it wasn't actually that small, a large number of foods contained warm fruits. Did tomatoes also fall into your peculiar pickiness? It was so impossibly intimate. 

As everyone stood to move inside, your ex paused beside you.

"Oh."

Their fingers brushed your shoulder.

"There."

They plucked a piece of white lint from your top.

You didn't even glance up from your conversation with Kurt, watching as his yellow eyes slid from your face to your shoulder, up your ex’s hand to stare into their eyes. A shocked sort of assessing hidden thankfully from his lack of visible pupils.

"Thanks."

"No problem."

The exchange lasted all of two seconds. Less, probably.

Kurt stared at the empty space between you after they'd walked away.

There had been no hesitation, or awkwardness over touching still. When Kurt himself questioned doing anything before explicit permission. Something you said you liked and found charming. But the unconscious familiarity of someone who had done it a hundred times before wasn't something he’d gotten to yet. 

He immediately hated himself for noticing, folding his three-fingered hands tighter around yours anyway.

Later, someone started telling old college stories.

Your ex interrupted.

"Wait, wait—tell Kurt about the choir christmas animals."

"Oh, absolutely not."

"You slept on a sheep!"

"I was a kid! Also it was a lamb, get it right"

"You insisted the sheep looked lonely."

"They did! They so did! It wasn't some insane observation, like imagine minding your business and some dude picks you up to show a bunch of singing kids the birth of a cardboard cutout of Jesus"

You had to pause between words before you'd even finished speaking, laughing too hard to keep a straight line on your story.

Not your usual laugh, your eyes watered, and you were coughing on your drink halfway through, and Kurt leaned in to rub your back and soothe you but not before noticing your ex sat forward from their spot to do the same thing. 

Halfway through the story, you snorted so unexpectedly you buried your face in your hands.

The entire room erupted.

"So embarrassing," you groaned between giggles.

Kurt laughed too.

God, you looked beautiful.

He realized, with a hollow feeling in his chest, that he'd never heard that loose laugh before, the snorting or how you had clutched on to his arm like your life depended on it.

How many stories had happened before he'd ever met you?

How many versions of you existed only in someone else's memory? Specifically the someone else staring at you from across the couch ready to rub your back and soothe your laughter.

Eventually everyone gathered their things to leave, one of your friends almost tripped over herself to call after you.

"You know..."

She looked between you and your ex.

"I honestly didn't think anyone could replace them."

The room went quiet for half a heartbeat.

Then the friend laughed.

"I meant, until Kurt came along! It's good he’s here, sorry Kurt."

A few people chuckled, and you sighed before giving her a look. Kurt laughed because everyone else was laughing.

Someone thankfully changed the subject, rides and who was carpooling with who, the conversation moved on as you and Kurt left together arm in arm but the words lodged behind his ribs. 

Didn't think anyone could replace them.

He wasn't a replacement… he was better for you all around. You’d lamented about how perfect he was while early in your dating. 

The mansion was unusually quiet when you returned, most of the lights had already been switched off due to the late time. There might've been a few night owls within the mansion but since it was the school year they were decidedly quiet in order to protect the sleep of the students. 

You said a temporary good-bye in order to shower, as much as you loved sharing the bed with Kurt you did also love a long comforting shower, which was not possible with someone waiting to take their turn. 

You found Kurt sitting on the windowsill in his room, watching rain tap softly against the glass.

"There you are," you said, slipping off your shoes. "I've been looking everywhere."

He turned with his familiar warm smile.

"There is not much to look at, sternchen."

You crossed the room until you were standing between his knees, and he rested his hands lightly against your waist.

Something was off, he didn't lean his head onto your torso or crane his neck up to smile while staring into your eyes, he looked somewhere past you, shoulders slumped in something more than tiredness.

"You've been quiet."

"I have?"

"...Yes, it's ok if you just want to be quiet but I was worried."

His eyes dropped.

"...I am sorry."

Your brow furrowed.

"Why?"

He hesitated so long you thought he'd changed his mind.

Finally, he spoke so softly you almost missed it.

"How long…," he swallowed "...How long were you together?"

You blinked.

"Together? With my ex?"

He nodded once, the slight tremble in his hands matching his shaking voice. You watched as he opened his mouth then turned away, biting his lip like he hated that he'd asked at all.

"About a year," you answered honestly.

Kurt absorbed that in silence.

"I see."

You reached up, gently tilting his chin until he looked at you again.

"Kurt."

His golden eyes met yours.

"Is that what's been bothering you?"

"I should not be jealous."

His eyes dipped, embarrassed.

"They are kind. They have done nothing wrong, I know. And neither have you."

He let out a small, frustrated laugh.

"I know all of these things, but..."

He searched for words.

"... they speak to you, and I realize there are whole chapters of your life I will never know because... because I was not there."

His voice barely rose above a whisper. "And I wonder,” his voice broke, no sound coming out as he tried to speak, before he withdrew his hands and coughed, ducking his head further into his arms. “I wonder how much of you belongs to a past I can never share."

The fragile confession hung between you, the silence only broken as you shuffled forward and knelt closer until your forehead rested against his.

"No part of me belongs to the past."

His breath caught.

"It made me who I am." you took one of his hands, brushing your thumb against the velveteen fur "But the person standing here..." you laced your fingers with his "... this is the one making new memories, learning new peculiarities, finding new reasons to laugh."

You squeezed gently.

"This version belongs with you."

Kurt closed his eyes.

"...If I never know the old stories?"

You smiled.

"I'll tell them to you, whatever you want to know, and more. A lot more. And someday..." you brushed a kiss against the bridge of his nose. "...you'll know stories no one else does."

His shoulders finally relaxed, the smile that returned was small and wobbly, but showing off his cute fangs, and highlighting his golden eyes, still watery around the edges.

"...I think," he murmured, "I would like that very much."

"You'd better."

You bumped your nose against his.

"Because you're stuck with me."

A quiet laugh escaped him, as he locked his arms under yours and pulled you into bed.

The Human Torch/Johnny Storm

Johnny had expected to hate your ex.

Actually, scratch that.

He'd expected your ex to make it easy to hate them.

Maybe they'd be smug. Maybe they'd still flirt with you. Maybe they'd shake his hand just a little too hard and spend the evening reminiscing about all the wonderful years you spent together.

Johnny had prepared for that.

He had not prepared for... this.

"...Seriously?" Ben muttered around a mouthful of burger. "They're, like... weirdly nice."

"Right?" Johnny whispered back.

Across the table, your ex laughed at something Reed had said before turning to Johnny.

"I've gotta say," they grinned, "I've seen your interviews. You're way funnier in person, those journalists gotta up their game, crazy stiff questions."

Johnny blinked.

"...Thanks?"

"And the stunt you pulled in Manhattan last month?" they continued. "That was insane."

"Oh." Johnny rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, well..."

"You saved a lot of people."

"...Yeah."

"...Huh."

They raised their glass.

"To the Human Torch."

Johnny slowly clinked his soda against it.

"...Thanks?"

What was happening? It keeps getting weirder.

Halfway through lunch, you reached for another fry.

Your ex beat you to it.

Without asking, they plucked one straight off your plate.

You didn't even look up.

"Rude," you muttered, continuing your story.

"You weren't eating it."

"I was getting there."

"Too slow."

Johnny stared.

"...Seriously?"

Three pairs of eyes turned toward him.

"What?"

"You just..." He pointed between the two of you. "They just stole your food."

You frowned, "...Yeah?"

"...They've done that for years?”

"Exactly! Oh my gosh I’ve never been able to keep an order entirely to myself like seriously!"

"I don't understand the issue,” Your ex snorted. "I'll buy them more fries if it's a federal offense."

Ben kicked Johnny lightly under the table.

"Dude."

Johnny sank back into his chair, dramatically slumping his shoulders forward and tucking his chin to his neck.

"...Right."

He sounded unconvinced even to himself.

The afternoon drifted into wandering around the city.

Someone suggested grabbing dessert.

"Ooh!" you perked up. "That little place on Twenty-Third."

Your ex smiled immediately.

"Oh, that place's tiramisu is—"

They stopped.

"...Still good?"

You laughed.

"Probably."

Johnny looked between the two of you.

"You've been there."

"A few times," you admitted.

"It was close to our apartment."

Apartment.

Johnny hadn't actually thought about that part before.

You'd lived together.

Of course you had a favorite restaurant, favorite coffee shops… grocery stores… spots in the park.

He didn’t want tiramisu anymore.

"Actually," he interrupted, a little too brightly, "I know this rooftop place that's way cooler."

Ben gave him a look.

"We're standing five minutes away."

"So?"

"So your place is forty blocks from here."

"Dude I don’t think theres forty blocks in the entire city, it’ll be worth it!"

You smiled apologetically.

"Maybe another day? I've really been craving this place."

Johnny opened his mouth.

Closed it again. The bitter taste was lingering on his tongue even before the coffee dessert.

"...Yeah. Whatever you want babe"

He spent the rest of dinner trying way too hard, challenged a waiter to guess everyone's drink order, and he somehow convinced the table to rank the Fantastic Four by cooking ability.

He lit a birthday candle with his finger for a kid three tables over, standing over there as a birthday surprise until four different people laughed until they cried.

He was on fire. Pun intended.

But that was exactly the problem.

"Johnny." Sue's voice cut through another story he'd started telling.

He looked over. "What?"

She smiled patiently.

"You can relax."

"...I am relaxed."

"You've been up for an hour, sit down."

"I literally run around all day for a living."

"This isn’t what you’re doing for a living though, it’s a nice dinner. With nice company.”

Even Reed looked up from the menu.

"Your vocal volume has increased approximately twenty-three percent."

Johnny groaned.

"Oh, come on. There is no way you know that”

Your ex chuckled.

"They're right."

"Not you too."

"You don't have to impress anybody."

Johnny laughed.

"Who says I'm trying to impress anybody?"

The table went silent.

Every single person looked at him.

"...Um okay."

The night ended outside the restaurant.

Your ex hugged everyone goodbye.

When they got to Johnny, they held out a hand instead.

"It was good meeting you."

Johnny shook it.

"...You too."

They smiled.

"Take care of them."

Johnny nodded.

"I will."

"I know."

Simple.

Sincere.

Then they walked away.

Johnny watched until they disappeared around the corner.

Finally, he turned to you.

"...What the actual fuck?"

You laughed.

"What?"

"They're..."

He gestured vaguely in the direction they'd gone.

"...Normal."

"...Yeah?"

"They're supposed to be terrible."

"They're really not."

"They liked me."

“That’s very easy to do."

"They laughed at my jokes."

"They're good jokes."

"They offered to buy me another drink!"

You crossed your arms, smile breaking out across your face, clearly enjoying this far too much.

"So your complaint is...?"

Johnny threw both hands into the air.

"I don't know!"

He laughed helplessly.

"I was ready to hate them."

"And?"

"They made it impossible."

You slipped your hand into his.

"You know why we broke up?"

Johnny glanced over.

"Why?"

"We loved each other."

His eyebrows shot up.

"...That's not helping."

"But we wanted different lives."

You squeezed his hand.

"We were better as friends than partners."

Johnny looked down at your intertwined fingers.

"So..."

"So."

"They're not secretly trying to steal you back?"

"No."

"They don't still love you?"

"They love me."

"What?"

"But they aren't in love with me."

Johnny was quiet for a moment.

Then, almost sheepishly, he admitted,

"...I spent half of dinner wondering if every place we walked past was somewhere you'd kissed."

Your expression softened.

"Oh, Johnny."

"I know,I know, it's dumb."

"It isn't dumb."

"It kinda is."

You stopped walking, gently tugging him to a halt.

"You know what my favorite restaurant is now?"

He shrugged. Eyes looking somewhere past you, decidedly not making contact with yours.

"The one where you accidentally set the dessert menu on fire."

Johnny grinned despite himself. "Okay that wasn't my fault, open candle next to paper menus was a genius idea I'm sure."

"The owner very much disagreed."

"He was obviously biased."

"And my favorite vacation?"

"The beach?"

"The one where you convinced me seashells could explode."

"They can if you heat them enough."

"My point is,” you stepped closer “you keep worrying about places I used to go,” You rested a hand against his chest, drumming your fingers against the muscle “…but somehow every place we go together becomes my new favorite."

Johnny's grin softened into something quieter, "So..."

"I'm making new memories."

Johnny paused, "With me."

"With you."

He leaned down to steal a quick kiss.

"...Okay."

"What?"

"I still think the love thing is weird."

You laughed.

"I'll let you steal a fry next time."

"Oh?"

"One."

Johnny gasped dramatically.

"Only one?"

"You negotiate like that and I'm taking them all back."

"Now that's my baby. Dating me…me. Yeah I like that."

He slipped an arm around your shoulders as the two of you headed home, already talking over each other about where to get breakfast the next morning.

Deadpool/Wade Wilson

Wade had spent the entire drive over rehearsing for this.

Step one: Be charming.

Step two: If that fails, be funny.

Step three: If that fails, fake your own death.

He'd gotten as far as Step One before the front door opened.

Your ex smiled warmly.

"You must be Wade."

"Depends."

They blinked.

"On?"

"If you're here to collect unpaid parking tickets? No?"

A laugh, genuine and rea.

"Come on in."

...Well. That wasn't supposed to happen.

The evening started surprisingly well. Too well. Your ex wasn't awkward, wasn't territorial, didn't give Wade the once-over or stare at his scarred face.

Didn't ask passive-aggressive questions about his career, his life choices, or the fact that he occasionally got shot for money.

Instead

"I've heard a lot about you." Wade pointed accusingly at you. "You've been talking smack."

"Mostly good things," your ex assured him.

"Mostly?"

"They did mention you tried to make pancakes with a flamethrower."

"...Technically successful."

"They were charcoal." You said, with an exasperated smile.

"They were still pancakes, matter cannot be destroyed."

Your ex laughed so hard they nearly spilled their drink.

Wade frowned. God why were they making this difficult?

Halfway through dinner, someone wandered over from another table.

"Oh!"

He looked between you and your ex.

"I didn't realize you two were hanging out again."

You smiled politely.

"We're just friends."

The stranger looked at Wade.

"...Wait...Oh." Their face lit up with understanding."I honestly thought you two would end up back together someday."

Silence, just for a second. Then he laughed awkwardly.

"But obviously life happens!"

"Yes, very obviously," you echoed.

The conversation drifted elsewhere.

Wade made a joke.

Everyone laughed.

The stranger apologized and eventually left.

No one seemed bothered.

Except Wade.

He compensated. Overly.

"So anyway," he announced far too loudly, "did I ever tell you about the time I accidentally fought Dracula?"

"You've told me three times," you said, "each version gets more dramatic."

"Art evolves, my love!"

Five minutes later he was balancing three breadsticks across his upper lip.

Ten minutes after that he somehow had the waiter judging an imaginary cooking competition between him and Captain America.

By dessert he had half the restaurant watching him attempt card tricks.

One child applauded. Another asked if he worked there.

You buried your face in your hands.

Outside, you bumped his shoulder.

"...You okay?"

"I'm fantastic."

"You challenged a twelve-year-old to an arm wrestling contest."

"He started it."

"He asked if you knew magic."

"I do know magic."

"You pulled a spoon out of your sleeve."

"That spoon wasn't there before, I'm not entirely sure how I did it myself, but a magician never shares secrets."

You stopped walking.

"Wade."

He sighed dramatically. "...Fine. You wanna know what happened?"

"I'd like that."

He shoved his hands into his pockets.

"I got weird."

"I noticed."

"You know that thing where your brain decides to ruin your own evening?"

"...Mm-hmm."

"Mine rented a billboard of every possible thing that could go wrong complete with little red strings and conspiracy theories."

You reached the park before either of you spoke again.

Finally, Wade broke the silence.

"They're..." he searched for the word "...Better."

You frowned, "Better?"

"They're stable."

"Wade—"

"They've got an actual career."

"So do you."

"They sleep normal human hours."

"Sometimes."

"They're..." he laughed once, humorless. "...Their face isn't crazy gnarly, it’s even the good kind of gnarly."

Your chest tightened.

"Wade."

"They're funny."

"You are too."

"They're the kind of person people picture when someone says 'good partner.'" he stared at the sidewalk, scuffing his boot against the concrete. "And then there's me. Prince Charming I know, my jawline could cut glass”

You stepped in front of him before he could keep walking.

"They laughed at every joke you made."

"They were being polite."

"They complimented you."

"They were being polite."

"They thanked you for making me happy."

"...They were..." his voice faltered. "...being polite."

You cupped his face.

"They were telling the truth."

His eyes refused to meet yours.

"That guy looked at you like..." he swallowed. "...Like they couldn't figure out how I happened."

You smiled softly.

"I can."

"Yeah?"

"You walked into my life."

"I literally crashed through your apartment window."

"You paid for the repairs. And you stayed, my Prince Charming”

Wade's shoulders loosened just a little.

"My ex knows me," you continued. "Or, they know who I was."

You brushed your thumb across the scarred skin near his jaw without hesitation.

"But you know who I am now."

He finally looked at you.

"I don't compare you. To anyone- anything. You’re my Wade”

"I know"

"I chose you."

Your voice was steady.

"Not because you're funnier, or more broken, or less broken, or because you beat someone else; I chose you because when I picture the rest of my life..." You smiled. "...you're already in it."

For a long moment, Wade just stared.

Then, quietly—

"...You know..."

"What do I know?"

"I spent the entire dinner convinced you were about to realize you could've done better."

You laughed, not at him, but at how impossible that thought seemed.

"Wade."

"I know."

"No."

You leaned forward until your forehead rested against his.

"You don't."

His breath caught.

"I've already met 'better.'" You kissed him gently "I’m at home with you."

Wade didn’t have his usual quip or joke to break the tension or run from the ticklish feeling behind his eyes, he simply wrapped his arms around you and held on a little tighter than usual.

When he finally spoke, his voice was muffled against your shoulder.

"...I'm still stealing the leftover cheesecake from your fridge."

You smiled into his hair.

"I bought that for you."

"...Oh."

A beat.

"...Can I still pretend I stole it?"

"Of course, you have a reputation to uphold."

"There they are," he murmured, his grin returning. "My questionable life choices."

You rolled your eyes fondly, lacing your fingers with his as you started walking again.

“And then Logan says I should’ve 'anticipated the trajectory', like I don’t already have enough to...” You froze mid-sentence, point forgotten as Jean's emerald eyes locked on to yours, a smile decorating her lips. Her lips, covered in a satiny lipstick, smooth and soft looking and fitting to the beautiful woman before you.

The smile she gave you wasn't a simple polite smile. Not like the one she gave students or colleagues, or the paparazzi in the rare instance the X-men were gaining good public perception. This one was much softer. Private, almost amused, corners of her mouth almost trembling with a held-back laugh, like she knew something about you no one else did. And she did.

“You adjusted your stance too late,” she said gently.

Jean knew all of your secrets, everything about you. She knew you better than you knew yourself. Your friend, your confidant, the woman who had linked her mind to yours to absorb all your pain and to heal your wounds, the woman who had appeared in a fiery glory before you to protect you. Your knight, your Phoenix, but not your Jean.

“I adjusted it exactly when I needed to, given the... parameters of the simulation. The ones I was informed of,” you huffed, quickly glancing up to make sure she wasn't upset with your attitude. She was right about it, you just didn't want to be told by a short Canadian that everything you're doing is wrong, it sounds so much better off her lips.

Jean didn't seem to take it to heart, her eyebrow lifted, playfully. “Mmm. Is that what we're blaming?” suave and lilting voice drawing you in.

There was always a line, Jean was not yours. She was your best friend, but she was not yours in the way you were hers.

There was a pause as the back of the room got quiet, the papers shuffling from students studying stopped as dozens of eyes watched your conversation, a few students exchanging glances before going back to their work and poorly hiding their whispers.

You were too focused on the woman in front of you, the silence passed by without notice, but Jean did notice.

The second clue was touch- Jean Grey was not an overly physical person in public. A reassuring and warm hand on the shoulder? Sure. A guiding gesture? Of course. She's one of the mansions main advisors, students confessing troubles and worries to get the calming reassurance of "I understand", but as with many things she drew a boundary, a line in the sand. She did not linger. With, what seems to be, one sole exception.

It happened in the kitchen one morning. You were reaching for a mug on the top shelf, guests in the mansion meant late risers had to grab at the harder to reach cups typically reserved for parties, barely stretching high enough, when Jean stepped in behind you.

“Here,” she murmured, voice fuzzy and low.

Her hand slid over yours, steadying your wrist as her other arm wrapped under your butt and she lifted the two of you into the air, shifting your body to be face-to-face. You couldn't will yourself to pull away- even in the warm late-morning she looked positively radiant, firey hair and lashes framing her captivating eyes, her skin looked soft to the touch, even with the shadow of sleepless nights around her face, small purple veins only visible when you were so close to her.

For a moment your mind wandered, how often would you see this unguarded look if you woke up together, sharing a white pillow and waking with tangled sheets. Would you be able to trace the sun on her cheek to wake her up rather than a blaring alarm clock? Warm tongues mapping each other's mouths in appreciation for each new day? Would you surprise the students, baking together in the early morning to get everyone another treat for the day?

The cool tile now under your feet served a stark contrast to her warm arms still wrapped around your torso, breaking the fantasy you'd been trapped in, holding tight to the remnants before it faded away as she walked deeper into the kitchen to get breakfast, your sight hopelessly following after her before she rounded a corner.

From the dining table, a couple of students froze mid-conversation. The now-familiar sound of stunned silence following Jean's departure.

One of them leaned slightly toward the other. “…Did you see that?” “See what?” "…Nothing.”

Your fingers ran across the rim of the mug, chilled ceramic snapping you out of your trance before getting your drink and returning to the main table, but across the room, suspicion took root.

The third clue was absence, specifically yours. You missed a movie night.

Not a big deal on its own, people had schedules, training, etcetera. Adult responsibilities the younger students were excitedly waiting for and the teens dreaded.

But then Jean missed it too.

And when Ororo asked where either of you were, Kurt hesitated just a second too long before saying, “Probably busy.”

The students didn’t buy it, especially after catching the shit eating grin Kitty gave him just a few seconds after. And definitely not after someone passed by the faculty wing and heard low voices behind Jean’s door. An intimate and hushed conversation.

Muffled laughter, your voice and Jean's acknowledging hums, the warm yellow light pouring through the bottom crack of the door fading and brightening as the two of you moved behind it.

That unknowingly sealed your guys' fate. By the end of the week, it wasn’t a question anymore, there were dedicated theory group chats (which likely existed before, and just gained a new topic of conversation).

A very, very, popular theory.

You noticed something was off when conversations began stopping as you walked into rooms, brushing it off at first as an odd coincidence or maybe you'd stumbled into some betting ring that the students didn't trust you'd keep secret.

Until Jubilee grinned at you, cheeks flushed in excitement, brown eyes smug and knowing, and said, “So. You and Jean, huh?”

You blinked. “What?”

She leaned forward on her elbows, dimples apparent with her wide smile. “How long?”

“I...what are you talking about?”

Across the room, someone snorted.

Jubilee’s grin didn’t falter. “Please. It’s obvious.”

Your stomach dropped. “It is not obvious. Jubilee” eyebrow raising and forcing a stern expression as students all poorly hid their attention on your conversation. You felt slight panic rise in you realizing the scope of your audience, the eyes flicking from you to their work and back.

“Uh-huh.” She gestured vaguely. “The smoldering looks? The heated touching?

A pathetic crack in your voice burst out at that

"There's been no heated tou-"

"The disappearing at the same time? You’re not exactly subtle.”

“I think I would know if I was dating Jean Grey,” you shot back.

“Would you?” she teased.

You opened your mouth, closed it, gaping like a fish out of water at the unexpected prodding.

“…Yes.”

Jubilee’s expression said she absolutely did not believe you.

You found Jean later in the library.

She was sitting by the window, a book open in her lap, emerald shorts clinging to her thighs and waist, but she wasn’t reading, the book lay neglected as she looked up the moment you stepped in, like she’d felt you coming (Which, to be fair, she probably had.)

“There you are,” she said.

Something in her tone, warm and familiar, made your chest tighten.

You crossed your arms. “We have a problem.”

Her lips twitched. “We do?” Her head tilted slightly, sitting up a little bit at the information. She had no doubt assumed you meant some sort of mission.

“The students think we’re dating.”

Jean blinked, just once before she began to laugh.

She actually laughed, soft and surprised, a hand coming up to cover her mouth, her back slumped into the window again before leaning her head on her shoulder, focused on your embarrassed face.

You stared at her. “You’re enjoying this.”

“A little,” she admitted, cheeks flushed and eyes glinting with amusement while watching your flustered gesturing.

“This is not funny, Jean, it means things"

“They figured it out faster than I expected.”

You narrowed your eyes. “So you knew this would happen?”

Jean tilted her head, considering. “I suspected. 25 teenagers isn't a small tight group to keep a secret”

You stepped closer, lowering your voice. “Jean.”

She met your gaze, her amusement fading as it changed into something apprehensive, gently sitting up and putting her book aside before focusing solely on you. Bright irises boring into your soul, she wouldn't even need her powers to see what you were thinking at this point.

“What?” she asked softly.

You hesitated.

Because here was the thing, they weren’t...wrong, not exactly.

There were late nights that turned into hurried mornings, rushing back to your own room. Long conversations, confessing everything to each other any time you were alone. The way she looked at you like she could see straight through you and the way you could see her thoughts as well as she could everyone else's. The way you gravitated toward her without thinking.

The touches God, the touches.

You swallowed. “We never… said anything.”

Jean’s expression didn’t change, but something in her eyes sharpened.

“No,” she agreed. Adding nothing to her vague statement.

Silence stretched between you. The uncomfortable sound of your blood rushing beneath your skin, the only thing persisting in the room, outside, students passed by the library doors as usual. The world kept spinning except for in this little bubble of yours.

She stood suddenly, kicking her abandoned book to the carpeted floor of the library before stepping closer until there was barely space between you.

“Does that bother you?” she asked, close enough that you could feel the warmth of every exhale, her body running permanently hot.

Jean's hand lifted slightly, fingers grazing over your skin so close to your heart, goosebumps following in their wake.

Your heart kicked hard against your ribs, she could no doubt feel it with the way her palm settled against your breast.

“That they think we’re dating?”

“That we haven’t said it.”

You searched her face, there was no teasing now, her calm facade being betrayed by the intensity of her expression.

You stuttered out an exhale, eyes flicking between hers and her collarbones, desperate to hide. “…I don’t think I mind what they think.”

Jean’s lips curved, faintly before murmuring out a simple, "Good". Her hand lifted, hesitated for only a fraction of a second, before settling against your neck, thumb grazing your jaw and the corner of your mouth, she could feeling the fluttering of your heart beneath her fingertips as the blood rushed to your head.

Her lines in the sand washed away by waves of emotion long ago it seemed, not subtle or deniable enough. Though you would never deny your feelings for this woman before you.

Not when Jean leaned in, voice soft enough that you weren't sure it existed outside the space between you.

“Then maybe,” she said, “we should stop pretending they’re wrong.”

Your breath caught.

“Jean—”

She kissed you, certain and warm, closed lips pressing against yours, before Jean pulled back just enough to meet your eyes.

There was that smile again. Her real smile, reserved for you.

“Guess it’s public now,” you managed.

Jean’s thumb brushed your cheek, soft and grounding.

“It was always going to be,” she said, forehead pressing against yours, soft red hair tickling at your cheeks before pulling back. A soft whine of protest leaving you unexpectedly, Jean grabbed your hand and led towards the library door, peeking around the corner to see everyone in class.

The walk to her room wasn’t far, but the hazy feeling lingering from her kiss made it feel like a very pleasant eternity, just her warm hand over yours, gently tugging to keep up with her quickening pace.

Jean dragged you through her door, momentarily letting go of your wrist before shutting and locking the wooden slab behind her. She stood there for a moment, hands still planted firmly before turning around

She looked like she wanted to eat you, the heat in her gaze was almost burning as it focused all over your face then body, walking forward to hold your jaw on both sides now.

She leaned in, espresso scented breath warming your slightly parted lips, pausing before pressing up to you again, her lips and jaw moving perfectly against your own, licking against your bottom lip before pushing further into your mouth. Warm and wet, the espresso scent wasn't strong enough to taste but with the desperation you had you were close to finding some part of her tongue that was still stained with the bitter flavor.

The two of you stayed standing, swaying slightly as your hands roamed, coming to clutch the baby hairs at the nape of her neck. The dizzying feeling as you were running out of air but didn't want to part, enjoying even the clumsy bumping of teeth as her warm torso pressed against your body, feeling her fire-hot hands trailing down from your back to cup your ass.

You needed to breathe, the weakening of your knees was too prevalent now and you didn't want to take her down with you, so you tightened your grip just the slightest amount to hear a breathy moan from her.

At the light tug, Jean pulled back, pearly teeth shown in a wide grin, forehead still pressed to yours as she nosed against your cheek, still trailing small embers of kisses from the corner of your mouth to your jaw, chuckling as your ragged breathing failed to even out.

"Jean" the word was hoarse and scratchy in your throat, you couldn't focus on anything. She was everywhere. A small hum of acknowledgement was all you got before a small nip on the side of your neck, chased by a swipe of her tongue and a kiss. Her hands were rubbing from your waist, to your hips, and lower, pulling you closer and closer before the two of you stumbled, your leaning balance betraying you as your back hit her bed.

The top corner of her sheets had come untucked, but her pillows were arranged neatly, and her blankets had been somewhat straightened out.

Jean followed your roaming vision across her bed, and noticing the untidiness set out to distract you by dropping her body on top of your own, a grunt leaving your chest at the impact as she pinned you down.

Her bright green eyes were watching you, head laying on the blankets next to your own, the only sound being the small shifting from her hips as she dug her knees into the mattress. The intensity of her gaze was hard to keep, heat crawling up your face each time you worked up the courage to look at her, before quickly adverting your eyes to some other part of the room.

"Do you... want to stop? We can stop, i'm just happy you're here"

The quiet whisper from her mouth drew you out of your embarrassed daze, attempting to sit up and making it about an inch before you couldn't push up further, falling back on the mattress with Jean's startled scrambling.

"I didn't mean to trap you, you ca-"

"No I want..." you weren't sure how to complete this sentence, nervous acid bubbling in your stomach as you tried to create some sort of explanation.

'You', well yeah but she's right here. 'This'?, ok, knowing Jean she'll tease you until you say it directly. 'To make out with you sloppily and strip you and worship you'?. Again, yes, but there's no way that's the proper phrasing to "proposition" yourself for the first time.

The psychic trailed her nails up your thigh, tugging at the hem of your shirt before pausing.

"Want?" her hot hand planted itself firmly on your lower stomach, the sensation sending jolts of electricity down.

Thankfully her question was simple, you nodded, glad for the reprieve from your overactive mind running a mile-a-minute.

She took two fingers and traced up your abdomen, walking them on your body while chuckling at your whines, her other hand followed suit, first lifting her from her laying position and sitting up, then creeping up your body.

Your side, your ribs, the wire of your bra, warm hands pushing the firm fabric up as your bra joined your shirt pooling against your collarbones.

You weren't wearing a decorative set, your bra was pretty plain, not the most worn-in one you had, thankfully, but her reaction definitely wasn't from what you were wearing.

You heard her suck in a sharp breath before tentatively making eye contact, her eyes boreing into yours as she kneaded the soft skin, reveling in your breathy moans, but the cold air soon replaced where her hands were, a protest dying in your throat as she lifted you up, fiddling with the hooks of your bra for a few moments before it seceded and she hung it on the post of her headboard, letting go of your body to softly land on the bedding once again and watch as your boobs bounced with the movement

"Jean.." a kiss cut you off, before you pushed back slightly and she relented

"Hm?", the melodic hum was becoming more and more common of a response from her, eyes fogged over and glossy, matching the remnants from your mixed spit and her lipstick on her mouth.

Your fingers slid from her knees up, up, up her thighs, playing with the stretchy fabric of her shorts before snapping it against her skin, trailing your fingers just under it on the soft skin

She let out a low moan at your touch, pressing her pelvis down harder onto your lower stomach, swaying slightly as she reoriented her weight onto the bed, her lips came down on yours harder as she wrapped one of her hands around your wrist and dragged it up, sliding your fingers further into the fabric.

Her pale pink v-cut shirt was pulled taut against her cleavage, pressed against your own as she sighed into your mouth, free hand gripping at the sheets above your head, as she kept trying to move impossibly further and further into your arms.

You moved your free hand to push down the waistband of her shorts, reveling in the excited sounds she made, her own hand releasing your wrist and moving to drag your leg on top of one of hers as she kicked off her shorts.

Her underwear was white and simple, but the contrast of her fiery red hair meant you could make out the silhouette through the semi-translucent material, more interesting than that though was the dark damp spot where her arousal had permeated the material.

Jean ground down hard up against your pelvis, the mutual sensation apparent as the soft material of her underwear dragged against your pants caused the both of you to keen into each other's touch, hurriedly dragging the final pieces of clothing off before laying with a thin sheen of sweat on her bed.

Jean's thigh was pinning one of yours down, pressing her clit up against yours, as your free leg locked around her, heel digging into the soft muscle of her butt. Her hands gently trailed up your figure before settling on your shoulders, leaning down to pin her body weight against you again. Pressing open mouth kisses to your breast before sucking on a hardening nipple, rocking her hips up rhythmically, soft pubic hair tickling your pelvis.

Your eyes were screwed closed at the overwhelming sensation growing in your lower stomach, coiling tighter and tighter as Jean kept grinding, she enjoyed looking down at you, watching your skin shine with sweat and your tits bounce with every rock of her hips as the air grew warmer and heavier, the slicking sounds growing louder as your wetness increased

Her nails trailed up the side of your face, a simple command breaking you out of the haze your mind is in. “Open.. ngh- please,” her hair was brushing up against your ears, cascading down around her. You couldn't see anything around you except her, except Jean, Your Jean. 

The realization hit you suddenly as you began to push up against her more, she was yours now, her soft skin and her naked body a view reserved for your eyes alone. Your breathing quickened, and Jean noticed.

She reached an arm behind her thigh, awkward position straining her shoulder as she used two fingers to rub up and down your folds, never stopping her ministrations against your wet pussy.

Your response is no louder than a small whimper and she can feel you clench around nothing, jutting your hips forward in an effort to catch her hand and feel even just the scratch of her nails against your walls

“You look… so pretty… a little more…” her mouth was watering, every few words interrupted by her need to swallow her spit before she decided the faster way was to just kiss it into your mouth, the wet substance sliding out down the corner of your mouth as you felt the droplet slide between your breasts.

You were getting so much closer now, Jean’s fingers sending little shocks of energy down onto your lower lips, the tightening in your stomach as you dragged your nails down her slender back. 

Jean didn't move away when you cummed, sliding your hands up to her chest and pressing your fingers around her nipples as she kept rocking, the wet sounds slowing down as she suddenly tensed up and then relaxed.

She slid off your slick body, sweat and fluid covering both of your thighs as she dropped herself onto the cool duvet, breathing deeply before rolling onto her side to look at you.

The dazed yet loving look you gave her was mirrored in her own eyes, her wet hand coming to hold one of yours as she pressed her lips to your temple, leaving behind the faintest lipstick stain, before you tugged her body closer to yours and buried her face in the crook of your neck.

“We have to take a shower, and pee”, the gentle mumble against your skin sent vibrations through your body.

An indignant whine left your throat as you tightened your grip on her, running the pads of your fingers against the small scratches on her back.

Baby, just do the dishes, I'll give you what you, what you want/Considering I have feelings, I'm like, "Why are my clothes still on?":

Scott may have been a busy man but he wasnt under any sort of impression that you'd "pick up" all the housework when the two of you moved in together. As your arms wrapped around his waist he moved to put one hand over yours before remembering he was elbow-deep in suds. Looking over his shoulder to see a love-drunk expression on your face and glazed over eyes. A little insulted that you thought he was that backwards in his thinking and... you were still dating him. He needs to have some sort of conversation about this

Jean loved having with her while doing chores, the domesticity of it warm in her chest, but as you tucked yourself into her side, muttering something about "taking such good care of me". She absolutely doesnt object as you start pressing your face into her neck but she is a bit worried she might've been distant the last few weeks, laying her head on you as she finishes up before

Ororo was fine with doing her part around the household, but she did have a specific distaste for dishes. But with the dishwasher broken and you busy at work, she had started on the dishes from last nights dinner and today's breakfast. She'd gotten into a groove when you got home and saw her doing the thing she dislikes just because you were busy and it had to be done. Ororo prides a bit as you press against her back pressing kisses in thanks. She could get used to this... lets hope maintenence was here tomorrow though.

Anna-Marie huffed and puffed about getting it done but when she finally sauntered over to the sink and started working the look of pure unfiltered attraction from you as you finished cleaning the bookcase was all worth it. She'll make a show out of it too, lifting the plate up slightly so that droplets of water run up her arm as your eyes followed the wet trail. Might try to bargain for a reward (kiss) when she's done.

Remy doesnt shy away from doin what his partner wants, he lives to serve. And if the fastest way to get your hands crawling across his skin is to play house-husband then he is more than willing to comply, he doesnt exactly get how you get hot and bothered from doing the bare minimum but Remy would never turn down an oppurtunity to lavish you in attention (and get some in return)

Assemble a chair from IKEA, I'm like, "AhAhAh"/Offering to do anything, I'm like, "Oh, my god":

Kurt has gotten more handy over the years, keeping his small church in order was a lot of work and outsourcing all the labor just wasnt possible- plus watching your eyes trail over his back and arms while he lifted your new bedframe up the stairs was a pleasure like no other. Shocked that he did it by himself, as he assured you it was his duty as your partner, he doesnt want to ruin the moment though so dont be surprised when he bamfs across the room to receive his payment

Kitty and her endless ability to understand complex (and ridiculous!) instructions was one of the most attractive things about her. Oh her brain was so amazing, it's not your fault her face was in front of it! Which is part of the reason she seems so surprised when she looks up, halfway done fixing your phone to see your eyes glossy and unfocused, flitting across her face and hands. She'll fan her face and tie up her hair for you to have a better view, giggling as you come back to and start praising her.

Logan was buff. He was so, so buff. He knew it, you knew it, and he knew you loved when he showed off- moving your new couch to the other side of the room for the nth time as you keep getting distracted. Muttering out another "no not right" as he laughs and rolls his shoulder, hauling it to another area as you trailed behind, staring at his muscles. At some point he'll forego any sense of 'modesty' and take off his ratty white tank alltogether, enjoying hearing your breath catch in your throat

Warren didn't particularly like this process. He had put something on backwards a bazillion steps ago and was groaning in frustration as he had to redo all his hard work, but oh you loved this process. Watching his face flush in frustration and seeing how he kept doing this one little task for you over and over (accidentally making it harder for himself), he was about to call it quits when he saw your half-lidded eyes and knew there was a very nice end in sight.

Storm/Ororo Munroe: 997 words

The mission was more direct than most. A failed weapons convoy intercepted just outside the city, nothing the X-Men hadn’t handled before. Intelligence from Charles flagged the cargo as experimental, Stark-adjacent tech repurposed and sold through black market channels. You’d be surprised if any of the original technology remained or just a frankenstein of metal, stripped down and rebuilt by people who didn’t understand it.

Ororo hadn’t called the storm at first, but the air already felt off when you arrived. Heavy. Like something waiting.

Now rain and darkness swept across the empty highway, slowing you down, turning every step into effort. Storm didn’t seem concerned.

She had a plan, she always did, you knew that.

She kept the winds low, restrained, not dismissing them yet as the team moved in and secured the perimeter. The air shifted around her, constantly nudging debris aside or guiding movement to protect her team.

Then the weapons activated.

A sharp whine, then shocking blue energy pulses cracking through the air, jagged arcs of electricity snapping toward the team. The smell hit fast, burnt metal and ozone, bitter and sticking to your nose and tongue.

Someone shouted. Another voice cut off. You heard the sounds of breath being knocked from the bodies of your colleagues as they fought, formation breaking as everyone split up to protect those they cared most for.

One discharge struck too close to a fuel container. The explosion didn’t fully bloom, but it didn’t need to.

That was enough.

Ororo stopped holding back.

The storm came down hard.

Rain slammed into the ground, thick enough to blur everything into motion and shadow. Your boots slipped against mud and broken asphalt as wind tore in every direction, pressing against you, making each breath feel tight.

Lightning split the sky, close enough to rattle through your bones, your jaw buzzing with static.

Ororo hovered above it.

Eyes glowing. Steady.

Everything bent around her. She redirected power from the damaged tech into the ground, cutting off arcs before they could reach anyone. Wind wrapped around injured teammates, holding them steady, shielding them from debris and stray fire.

It reached for you too.

Not violent. Focused. The wind curled around your body, tugging at you, guiding your steps back.

Toward her.

Toward safety.

It even cleared your path, sweeping rain aside just enough to keep your footing.

You hesitated.

Then ignored it.

The weapons broker was just out of sight, slipping behind the metal frame of a truck. Running.

You pushed forward.

Your boots slid as thunder cracked overhead, loud enough to make your ears ring. Rain soaked through everything, vision blurring from the intrusive droplets.

“Stay back!”

Her voice cut clean through the storm. Sharp and commanding, meant for everyone even if her eyes were frozen to your figure below.

You kept moving.

Your foot slipped for a split second, just enough to throw you off.

That was all it took.

The last combatant stepped into your path. Half-wired into the weapon system, his movements jerking, uneven, like the tech was pulling him along. Energy flickered along the metal grafted into his arms, unstable and wild.

Shit. How hadn’t you seen him?

Too focused on the broker. Who, honestly, wasn’t the real problem.

You pivoted to counter, body too slow from the water weighing your suit down, the wires snapped toward you. One caught your cheek, buzzing and stinging as you twisted away, already off balance.

Your boot lost traction completely.

The world dropped out from under you, your back slamming against asphalt, breath knocked from your lungs. Rain hit your face hard, blurring everything as the man loomed over you, arm lifting to strike.

This was it—

The wind snapped.

Air surged beneath you, lifting you clean off the ground before you could react, pulling you out of reach with enough force to steal your breath again.

“Enough.”

Her voice was quieter now.

Still absolute.

A gust hit your opponent from the side, sending him skidding across the soaked highway. Lightning struck close, forcing him back and buying your space.

By the time you blinked the rain from your eyes, Ororo was already there.

Descending through wind and water as it parted for her.

God, she was beautiful.

Her arms wrapped around your torso before you could protest, firm and steady, pulling you upright and then higher, lifting you off your feet as the air shifted to hold you both.

You barely registered the movement before you were against her. Her body was much warmer than the chill of the rain, a pleasant shiver as you held back the urge to curl up fully. 

“I told you to stay back.”

“I was fine—”

“You were not.”

She didn’t look at you right away, her focus still outward, tracking the field, adjusting the weather with small, precise movements. Her grip tightened as she shifted you, one arm firm around your back, the other under your legs.

She made everything look so effortless.

“You lost your footing,” she said. “You are tired.”

Her hold tightened again when you tensed, like she expected it.

“That doesn’t mean I couldn’t—”

“It means you are done.”

Her tone stopped you in your tracks.

Her gaze flicked to you, sharp enough to cut through whatever you were about to say.

“We are all tired,” she said. “Do not keep your team in this storm just to prove your pride.”

You exhaled, more out of habit than anything, but didn’t fight her.

Didn’t want to.

“…You always do this.”

“Yes.”

No pause. 

As you tilted your head back to look at her, rain catching on your lashes, you considered your next statement, bringing your pointer finger to push at her jawbone.

“…You’re not even gonna ask me to say sorry?” you said, testing how upset she was.

Her eyes flicked down.

There it was. That something softer, the difference between Ororo and Storm.

“No.” A brief pause. “You are safe. That is enough.”

Nightcrawler/Kurt Wagner: 955 words

The compound wasn’t on any map.

That alone should’ve been enough to tell you this mission wasn’t going to stay simple. Still, it made sense in a bleak sort of way. No one leaves a clean paper trail for something like this.

Hidden on the outskirts of an industrial district, the building had been flagged as a holding site. Mutants disappearing from nearby cities, all of it slowly traced back here through scattered intel and one very nervous informant who looked like he hadn’t slept in a week and probably wouldn’t again.

The moment you breached it, everything went wrong.

A two-person infiltration team had sounded much smarter on paper. Fast entry, less chance of detection. In practice, it meant there was nowhere to spread out when things went sideways.

And it went sideways fast.

The kidnappers had money. More than expected. Enough to outfit the entire facility with systems that reacted before you even finished processing what you were seeing.

Red lines snapped into existence down the metal hallway, forming a shifting grid of automated targeting systems. Something clicked somewhere overhead, and suddenly the air felt thinner, like the building itself didn’t want you here.

Teleport disruptors were embedded into the corners, pulsing faintly. Worse than that, the sentinels.

Not full-sized. You weren't lucky enough for them to cramp eachother into shutting down. This version was stripped down for tight corridors, leaner plating and sharp fingers. Thin glowing face plates making them look much faster and meaner.

Kurt had been moving nonstop since the fight started.

Sulfur hung in the air every time he vanished, sharp and biting, filling your senses as you moved separately. He didn’t stay anywhere long enough for you to track.

Bamf. Across the room.

Bamf. Behind an enemy.

Bamf. Reappearing just long enough to shove someone out of the path of collapsing debris before disappearing again.

He was everywhere at once, and it made your head spin trying to keep up.

You focused on what you could do. Undoing dampeners. Ripping them off collars, wrists, anything that looked like it was suppressing power or movement. Some of the captured mutants were too weak to stand, others just stared like they didn’t quite believe it was real. 

Your feet turning to get to the next group, your first mistake.

“Kurt—!” you shouted, ducking under a strike from a half-assembled sentinel that moved far too fast for something that size. Its arm clipped the air where your head had been a second earlier.

He didn’t answer.

Another bamf echoed somewhere behind you. Closer. Then gone again.

You twisted, trying to track him, trying to find where he was moving people. If there were any left still conscious enough to help, space was tight, but if even a few could fight…

A mechanical hand closed around your arm.

Hard.

It yanked you sideways with brutal force, and your foot caught on sharp metal debris.

Pain flared instantly, hot and shooting up your leg so fast your vision stuttered. You barely had time to register the angle you were falling at before your arms came up instinctively to protect your face.

You never hit the ground.

Bamf.

The world disappeared.

For a split second there was nothing but sulfur and pressure, like your body forgot how to exist in a straight line. Your stomach lurched violently, orientation gone, sound swallowed whole

Then you were somewhere else.

Higher and safer, Kurt had you pressed against him before your brain fully caught up, one arm locked firmly around your waist as he reappeared on a broken overhead beam. His tail curled around your leg immediately, anchoring you both so you didn’t slip off into open space.

Below you, the fight looked smaller but no less chaotic. Sparking sentinels had worn out their half-built joints but above it all, Kurt was already scanning over you.

“Eh—no,” he muttered, voice tight. “This will not do.”

“Oh my god -sorry-, put me down, I can handle it”

“You were about to be crushed,” he cut in immediately.

“I had it—”

“You did not.” Sharper now, then softer as his grip adjusted, “Liebchen, please.”

His last plea landed differently. The frustration and concern he wasn’t bothering to hide worming its way through your worry

His hold tightened again as he bamfed further along the beam, repositioning you both away from incoming fire. Your instinct was to grab onto him this time, fingers catching the fabric of his jacket as the space shifted again.

He made a quiet sound of approval.

“Ah,” he said. “Better.”

“You could warn me.”

“I did.”

“When?”

“I said ‘no.’”

You stared at him for a second, breath still catching up.

“That’s not a warning.”

“It is if you listen.” he chuckled quietly before continuing “You don't listen though”

Below, another blast rocked the room. Something heavy hit the floor hard enough to shake the beam under your feet. Sentinels were bashing their broken arms and bodies against the pillar.

Kurt glanced down, then back to you. His expression shifted, eyes sharpening in a way that made the humor disappear, making way to something else entirely.

“…Stay here.”

“No—”

His tail flicked sharply from side to side, eyebrows knit slightly

“You stay,” he repeated, quieter this time. “I will come back for you if you move.”

That was not negotiable. It didn’t need to be said twice.

You let out a breath through your nose, equal parts annoyed and resigned.

“Oh no,” you said dryly, sarcasm bleeding through despite everything. But as his eyes didn't move from your face and he hadn't left you knew you needed to confirm. 

“Thank you.”

A small pause.

Then, like he couldn’t help himself

“Bitte.”

And he was gone.

Rogue/Anna Marie: 1070 words

The convoy had been a trap, but the realization didn’t arrive all at once. It came in pieces. The route was too clean, roads looking like they’d been freshly poured, and a quiet perimeter, the eerie rushing of blood in your head, the only sound being able to be perceived.

The thing that broke that silence was a gunshot and the beeping of your earpieces losing connection with the school.

What should’ve been a standard interception turned into a full ambush the moment the X-Men moved in. Mercenaries emerged from concealed positions along the treeline and broken road barriers, wearing layered armor threaded with power-dampening tech. Not cheap gear either. Someone had invested in making sure the mutants didn’t just get stopped, they got neutralized, forever.

Rogue took the center like she always did when things turned loud.

No hesitation, no calculation you could see from the outside. Just movement. She hit the line first and it cracked open around her. Gunfire tracked her and failed to hold her. Reinforced plating meant to stall her got ripped aside like they were made of foam.

You followed her lead because that was how it was supposed to work. Push in, secure space, keep pressure moving forward.

For a minute, it did.

Then the formation started to fracture.

“Back off!” Rogue called out, voice cutting through the gunfire as she sent another mercenary flying hard enough to disappear through the metal side of a transport truck.

You didn’t back off.

You saw the gap at the same time she made it. A narrow opening in their line, just long enough to slip through and shut down one of their mechanics setting up weaponry before it collapsed back into chaos.

It was the kind of decision you make without thinking too hard, because thinking too hard is what gets people killed in situations like this.

So you moved.

Fast.

Straight into the gap.

For half a second, it worked exactly how it should have. You were through their line, inside their formation, close enough to see the panic shift as they realized someone had broken their rhythm. And you realized this is what gets people killed in situations like this. 

Then everyone corrected themselves.

A counterstrike came from your blind side- the hit slamming into you with enough force to fold your breath out of your body. Your vision flashed white at the edges, knees buckling as your boots scraped against gravel and broken asphalt. Something in your ribs screamed, but your brain didn’t have time to process it cleanly.

“Sweets—!”

Rogue’s voice hit your ears like it was coming from far away.

You tried to recover, to turn, bracing your body as another impact was already coming in.

You never felt it land.

The world shifted.

One moment you were about to hit the ground. The next you were no longer in that space at all.

Rogue had you.

Her arms locked around you mid-motion, hauling you completely off your feet like whatever weight you had didn’t matter. The transition was so abrupt it stole what was left of your breath, your body snapping into her hold as she moved without breaking stride.

“Absolutely not.”

Her tone was sharp enough to cut through the noise around you.

“Put me down—”

“Oh, I will,” she shot back immediately, already turning away from the line of fire. Her boots hit the ground hard as she repositioned, dragging you out of the kill zone like it was instinct more than decision. “When you stop tryin’ to get yourself killed.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Maybe not tryin’ but you were succeedin’.”

You shifted slightly in her grip, trying to regain some sense of control, or at least dignity, as she had thrown you over her shoulder, hand on the back of your upper thigh keeping you close.

Her hold tightened instantly.

“Don’t,” she said.

You stopped moving. Considering her last order probably would've kept you safer it seemed like a good bet to listen this time.

The battlefield behind you didn’t stop for anything. Gunfire still cracked through the air, metal still rang out under impact, and someone somewhere was shouting orders that weren’t going to be heard over the noise.

But in her arms, you were out of it for a second.

“…You’re dramatic,” you muttered, mostly because silence felt worse.

Rogue let out a short laugh, breath a little heavier now as she adjusted her grip again.

“I am the calmest one here, thank you kindly.”

You pushed your body up, tilting your head just enough to look at her.

She wasn’t calm. Not really. Her eyes stayed locked forward, scanning movement, pupils blown wide and already tracking the next push while still holding you steady against her shoulder.

“…Second calmest,” she added after a beat

That got a small laugh out of you before you could stop it.

The sound made her glance up at you briefly.

Just a flick of attention. Bright green eyes checking over you, then she kept moving like nothing. 

The terrain shifted under her steps as she carried you deeper into partial cover, using the wreckage of the convoy and broken vehicles as shielding. The air smelled like burnt fuel and wet metal, static still hanging from discharged weapons and damp earth.

You could feel the tension in her arms now that you were paying attention. Straining to hold herself back from doing something more aggressive than necessary because she had you with her.

“…You good?” she asked after a moment, feeling your eyes boring into the side of her head.

“Yeah,”.

She didn’t immediately accept it. Just kept moving, eyes settling on a dry area decently covered by cars, dropping you into her arms and then to the ground.

“Stay put. If you need to defend yourself,” she swung her finger down to the ground, pointing to some sort of pulse gun. “No leaving here, I'm coming back as soon as we’re through.”

You let out a ragged breath, somewhere between annoyed and resigned.

“…You saved me,” you said, half teasing it out just to see what she’d do with it.

Rogue’s mouth tugged slightly at the corner.

“Oh, I absolutely did.”

She shifted a little as she stepped over debris, keeping her balance steady while walking away even as another round of gunfire hit the far side of the convoy.

Her eyes flicked toward you for a second.

“Try me doll.”

Gambit/Remy LeBeau: 989 words

Glass frontage, gold trim, chandeliers that caught light and broke it into something softer than it should’ve been. Outside, valet attendants moved like nothing ever went wrong here. Inside, the noise swallowed thought before it could settle.

Music layered over laughter layered over the constant churn of chips and glass in the casino. Everything always in motion.

Remy slowed just slightly as you crossed the threshold, lining his body up with yours as his hand found its way into the small of your back.

His black and red eyes were already moving. Ceiling corners, double mirror walls, the slow rotation of security cameras disguised as plants and lamps.

You followed him through the crowd, staying close, letting the tide of people carry you forward.

The information broker would be somewhere in it, hiding amongst the many bodies and agendas. Nobody comes to a casino of this caliber unless they deal dirty.

You felt it before you saw it.

The crowd thinning just slightly near the upper floor access, people unconsciously avoiding stepping into a space they hadn’t been invited into, bouncers lining up around the room all facing this one point. 

Not very inconspicuous, they must be bad at their job. 

Remy didn’t point or signal, just changed direction.

You went with him.

Upstairs was quieter, but not calmer, jaw set in anxiety not sure how nobody had stopped you up to this point, chatter from downstairs fading the further you walked in the padded halls.

A private gaming floor. Glass walls. Soft lighting that made everything look so dazzling and shiny. Security posted at intervals that didn’t match the visible crowd density.

And there he was.

Center table, surrounded by people who laughed quickly after each of his statements, nervously clinging onto the arm of his chair or leaning across the table to be closer.

The broker didn’t look like someone who would be hiding. An absurdly confident looking man whose gaze trailed over to you the second you crossed that threshold.

Remy stopped.

Just for a fraction of a second.

His gaze dipped, not to the man, but to the floor between you and him.

You saw it a beat later.

A clean straight seam in the carpet. Out of place in an expensive establishment like this.

“Cher—”

His voice started.

You couldn't stop your step, as if time slowed down you watched in horror as your weight traveled down onto your foot… and onto the carpet.

The floor answered immediately.

Not an explosion like expected. A drop.

The section under your foot gave out cleanly, balance vanishing as you fell. The world tilting sideways as your body followed the absence beneath you.

Glass rattled.

Chips spilled across polished tile.

Someone shouted, too late to matter.

“Aw, hell.”

A hand caught your wrist.

Then your waist.

Motion snapped sideways before you hit anything below. Remy pulled you out of the collapse path in one fluid turn, your fall redirected into him instead of the opening beneath.

Behind you, the floor continued its sequence. Panels retracting in sections, empty space where you had just been standing.

You landed against him instead of the drop.

“I had it,” you started.

His grip didn’t loosen.

“What you had,” he said, already moving, “was a problem.”

Another shift rippled through the room, the lights flickered once, as somewhere across the room, a console sparked and went dark.

Remy hadn’t even looked at it.

He was already walking you through the crowd.

His hand stayed at your waist, not firm enough to stop you from moving, just enough that you moved where he wanted without noticing the exact moment you agreed to it.

Guards shifted , moving their hands near restraints. Eyes looking through the crowd not yet settled on the two of you.

A dealer froze mid-deal, cards rushing out of his hands

Remy didn’t stop.

Another step, and the room bent slightly around a controlled burst of energy from him, precisely hitting a security panel near the bar as died without sound, a gap opening as people gasped and pointed at the sparking apparatus. He took it immediately.

Tables became cover instead of furniture. Bodies became obstacles, pushing you along like a tidal wave.

“Mm,” Remy muttered, sounding mildly inconvenienced more than concerned, “Dis place think it clever.”

Remy moved instantly.

You felt it in the way his hand tightened for half a second, then shifted you slightly off-center before a ripple passed through the floor, mechanical plates clanking below your feet.

He lifted you just enough that your steps stopped syncing with the unstable surface.

“You done,” he said without looking at you.

You opened your mouth.

He didn’t wait for it.

“You are.”

A guard broke through the crowd line ahead, eyes locking onto you both.

Remy looked at him.

The lights above the gaming floor flickered again.

The guard stopped mid-step, as if he had briefly forgotten what he was supposed to be doing.

Remy kept walking, the two of you toe to toe in line, his attention finally flicked to you for half a second, 

“You trust Remy?”

The man had just whisked you out of the pit of a booby trapped casino.

“…Yeah.”

His signature smirk crawled up his face before he opened his mouth

“Good.”

He angled you toward a reinforced column near the edge of the floor, cast completely in shadows due to the dim lighting

Another pulse from the system hit the room behind you.

Remy stepped in front of it.

The noise dulled where you stood.

He finally let go. Just enough that you were on your own feet, warm palm prints still able to be felt on your skin.

“Den stay,” he said, eyes already back on the room.

Cyclops/Scott Summers: 914 words

Scott was already upset about how everything had panned out- not that there was anything else he could do about it but fight at the moment. Ideally, his team would be away from this so-called "murder world", but a rookie mistake from... well, a rookie, led to the horrifically failing rescue mission at present.

Scott was swiftly clearing a way forward for his team, internally cringing at each replica wearing his colleagues’ faces. Arcade’s twisted copies of his team that were met with the visor's concentrated force. A sick psychological game he was not eager to play, but an even bigger problem was the increasing amounts of smoke and steam the robots were giving off. Scott had already ordered the young mutants to drop to the ground but hands were now limited and the fight was somehow getting worse. The haze was thickening and Scott was losing his ability to keep gaining ground and push forward, his arms were tired and his knuckles were bloody. Exhaustion flooded his body at the lack of air, fatigue building but becoming irrelevant the moment he lifted his visor-covered eyes to look up at you.

Scott was a formidable opponent in combat, Scott was a formidable opponent in combat. Even without his level of experience, you held your own well enough to earn his respect, and more, which is why his leadened arms held no space in his mind as he watched you crowded by the animatronics.

Even if not hit directly by the kinetic concentrate held behind Scott's eyes, anyone not made of pure steel can barely stand the force of the blast, Scott watched in horror as his animatronic pushed forwards- a second animatronic wearing your face rushing behind you as it raised a fist...

Scott ran faster than he had in a long time. Eyes not able to break from the scene in front of him, not even to find an easier shot. His body collided with yours- wrapping his arms tight around your shoulders and head as the two of you collided with the harsh metal ground. Scott's hand clasped over your eyes as the flash from his visor took out one...two. Both robots crumpled, metallic flesh ripped and jagged as parts of your face stared at him. The warmth of your breath against his neck drew his attention away as he sat up and moved his hand to your upper arm.

"It's important to keep watch of all your opponents even if you're outnumbered," he mumbled, crawling low to the floor "especially with someone like Arcade... he knows a lot more about us than publicly revealed"

"Thank you, Scott"

That was all it took to have his grip tighten as he briefly turned his masked face towards you. He didn't never get gratitude, the younger members even now were watching him with admiration as they sat low on the ground waiting for a way out. But it was always assumed that Scott would, in the end, fix things. That was his job as the captain. An honorable job, and one that despite the tiring work he flourished in.

"It's my responsibility to make sure everyone gets back safe". Good. That was a pretty neutral answer. He didn't just throw himself across a room leaving a bunch of teenagers to fend for themselves with no way out or anything. Damnit Scott what a reckless move.

A few minutes of searching gets by before someone finds a vent, and by extension a weaker metal panel to rip out and act as a doorway before contacting Xavier for a helicopter.

Scott stood noticeably close, pretending to watch over the students happily breathing fresh air, inhaling deeply himself as he tilted his head just enough to catch a sight of you already looking at him. A jolt ran up his neck as he stiffened his posture and looked directly ahead.

"I really do appreciate it Scott, I know you were already overwhelmed with the students, it must be hard watching over who you care about like that and leaving to help someone who, by all means should have been able to handle that." A minorly depressed chuckle left your mouth, as Scott's vision snapped back to your face

"It wasn't hard at all, I'd make the same decision again without hesitation." His words, despite their bluntness, sent hot blood crawling up your cheeks and neck.

"Ahem. Yeah, I guess that's why you're in charge, huh" tapping his shoulder with your fist before breaking the seemingly endless eye (visor?) contact.

"You're a valued member of my team"

"Yes, right, thank you." At this point the embarrassment obvious in your face and demeanor, Scott with his face a foot away could totally tell if it wasn't for you trying to cut the conversation shorter

"I mean it" he opened, closed, opened his mouth again. Seeming like a fish out of water. The two of you now mutually facing forwards as the rookies yelled and pointed at the approaching chopper, cheering and exerting the last of their energy before inevitably being cooped up in the infirmary for checkups.

After a long beat of silence, just as the skids touched down, you cleared your throat, drawing his attention (which, you already had. He probably couldn't accurately state anything that had happened within the last three minutes, his charade of attention thankfully helped by his visor)

"I value your presence too, Scott."

His hand came to your lower arm, above your wrist and held it gently, leading a gaggle of “oohing” and “ahhing” teenagers behind as the two of you boarded your escape.

Phoenix/Jean Grey: 901 words

The city lay behind her, burning. Phoenix’s power was too volatile for the dry grass around her, the poor farm area still recovering from a drought.

But even from miles out, Jean could still feel it. The small town’s police lights and smoke climbing into the sky in distant columns, staining the horizon a dull, bruised orange.

You had lured him out. That much had worked.

The open stretch of land ahead was torn apart from the fight already. Uprooted earth and debris scattered where it had no right to be. Scrap metal dragged out into the field during the altercation.

Just like him.

Jean hovered above the battlefield, but the sky offered none of its usual relief. Sirens clawed at her mind. One, then dozens, until they blurred into a single, piercing scream. Her hands snapped to her temples in worry.

Caliban.

The pressure wasn’t physical, not exactly. Like fingers prying between her thoughts, forcing emotions that she didn’t hold forward, the hatred and fear almost overwhelming. The cities below cried out in overlapping waves of panic, each signal crashing into the next, louder, sharper, impossible to separate. Caliban’s influence caused the panic to increase… more and more, and Jean felt her control slip, clinging on to the hope that you’d be able to fight him well enough with her mental shield from his manipulation.

The two of you knew better than to rush into this alone, Caliban would know you were coming the second you approached, and know your plan as well. But the sirens from civilian cities couldn't be ignored and Jean sent Kurt to get reinforcements- leaving the two of you to fend in the meantime.

Caliban's white skin stood out starkly against the haze crawling across her eyes, glowing from the intense sun, as she watched the two of you fight.

It seemed never ending, Jean was gradually getting used to the debilitating noise but you were running ragged, the man in front of you swinging his claws forwards again and again, never tired and never done.

You dodged. Barely. Again. Again.

Too close. Every time too close.

Jean felt it before she saw it, your control slipping where hers already had. The mental shield she’d wrapped around you thinning, cracking under the same pressure tearing through her.

Lunging, fighting faster than you should, sloppily. Exactly as he wanted.

Her eyes darted over to the blue mutant approaching with what looked like Logan, the two careful not to step within his sensor's proximity.

Stumbling forwards Jean took flight one more time, glancing back only to see Caliban with a firm grip on the back of your neck.

Jean brushed against the last few seconds in your mind, turning to watch her and make sure the evil fuck couldn't grab onto her as she flew to safety, moving to block him even more. To buy her distance and safety.

The safety that was compromised for yourself until Logan gave the go ahead- and with Jean wasn't sure he’d be fast enough.

Dread was only way to describe the chill in her blood despite the phoenix’s fire around her and its presence in her mind lashed out in worry, overriding every self preservation instinct.

Jean was tired, she wouldn't last much longer keeping Caliban’s powers trapped in this tiny area, but there was no question in her heart when she dropped from the sky and enveloped the hunters arm in fire. No question in her soul when she caught you dangling in the air and no question in her mind when you were safe in her arms, stumbling as she sprinted away.

The extra weight was slowing her down, but as she passed Kurt and Logan she kept going, dropping to the ground only after the bright X-Men uniforms were blobs in the distance.

Her knees hit the grass hard, the impact jarring up her spine as she dragged you down with her, one agile hand bracing the back of your head before you could hit the ground.

Waves of gratitude filled her mind as you sharply sat up, looking at her tired eyes before unceremoniously checking her exposed skin for injury.

Jean didn't have the energy to stifle her laugh, not that you’d ever want her to.

“How is your head? You should’ve left. I’m sorry—I could’ve held out a little longer. Logan was ri—”

Jean cut you off by letting her forehead fall against your shoulder, her hand weak where it gripped at your side.

“...Jean?”

She hummed softly, eyes closing.

“I couldn’t leave them to save you,” she murmured, voice low, unsteady.

A pause.

“Not when you stayed for me.”

Your hands stilled where they hovered near her face. For a moment, you didn’t move or speak, sitting there and letting the weight settle somewhere deeper than the adrenaline still thrumming through your body.

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” you muttered finally, quieter now.

Jean shifted slightly, just enough to rest more of her weight against you. “See what?”

A short breath. “That he was getting in.”

“He was getting everywhere,” she replied, barely above a whisper. “I felt you fighting it.”

Your eyes flicked over her face again, searching for anything you might’ve missed. “You’re exhausted.”

“I’m upright.”

“Barely.”

“Still counts.”

You huffed something that almost passed for a laugh, one hand dragging down your face before hesitantly settling against her shoulder.

Angel/Warren Worthington III: 1421 words

Warren was not someone who accepted orders easily, he took them to mind and considered following them but aside from select few scenarios, he would rather be caught stark naked in the main hall than sign over his “eternal devotion and compliance”

An extremely dramatic take on what being on an elite superhuman team entails, but Warren liked his freedom.

The illusion of freedom is what he had right now; the Morlocks, despite getting their asses handed to them last time, Angel would like to note- had thought of their most brilliant plan yet to lure in Warren for negotiations.

A kidnapping. Of course.

Not him this time, Callisto’s desire had seemingly faded after Warren had defeated her and her sewer pals. He never thought he’d be so thankful for the survival of the strongest mentality they carried.

Angel’s wings stretched out across the night sky as he looked for a place to land. Nowhere too close to them, Annalee would have no problem sending Leech out to drain away all his strength if she had a chance to spot him before he could get to Callisto.

Before he could get to you.

Warren, public “playboy”, and popular bachelor within society's lens thought nothing of public flirting or attention, it was harmless. You liked it, or you didn't dislike it at least, he liked it, but Storm had warned him time and time to carry his attentions to others as well if he refused to “behave” in public, making you an easy tool to target the prominent and wealthy X-Men activist.

Landing lightly on the roof of a building lining the alley, Angel stared down into the dark before checking his pocket.

The ransom letter (how old fashioned) didn’t have any direct requests for money, no creepy love poems, and simply asked to meet for negotiation. By himself.

Warren dropped to the ground before kicking the manhole cover in. This one, thankfully, led to the militaristic metal tunnels rather than directly to the sewage system. Not that he would've backed out at that, but he’d definitely bargain a few days of chores for it.

The sound of metal beneath his boots increased as he gained desperation to find you in this creepy underground lair, he rolled his shoulders and neck, tension settling into place as he moved. The hissing pipes and dampening air urged him forwards as Warren broke out into a jog, there wasn't enough room to let his wings unfurl in these halls but thankfully echoing sounds of voices carried him to a grimy metal door.

Every corridor looked the same now. Metal, rust, more metal, the maze-like structure of the alley was deliberately designed to keep intruders out, worst case scenario… archangel will have to make an appearance.

Slotting his fingers and nails between the gap, Angel pried the screeching door open to reveal you in an iron cage and Callisto standing square shouldered in front of it.

“So you got my letter”

“I’m surprised you can write at all, need help with that?” Warren’s snide remark made part of you chuckle and another part horrified.

“Angel, I’m locked in a birdcage right now lets not provoke her”

Warren's blue eyes shot through the dark focusing back on you. Thick, iron bars, rusty at the base from lack of care… he could break those if you aren’t let free.

“You’re right,” he unfurled his wings, making his body look bigger and the room incomprehensibly smaller, “Callisto, what’s the price for my colleague?”

She barked a laugh before the deadpan of her face came back. Cold anger seemed to be the only expression Angel was worthy of.

“I want you to fund Morlocks members”

“Absolutely not. I fund plenty of mutant foster programs, there's no reason for me to encourage a terrorist organization to keep children in the sewers”

“We are not a terrorist organiza-”

“You kidnapped me, my friend here, and I'm sure others. That's pretty terroristic.”

You breathed in through your nose, the sharp draw of pungent air stinging your lungs but god you were losing faith this could end in a safer way for you.

“Big words from the big man, huh? You aren't in the position to negotiate right now.”

Callisto’s black nails wrapped around an iron bar and pushed the cage, swinging you back and forth as you slid across the rough metal, scratches digging into your knees and palms.

“Warren-” Your eyes moved to his face, watching as his attention flicked between you and the woman holding you captive.

“Yeah Warren” Callisto’s fingers dropped to a lever you hadn't seen before. “Help us and free them, or help nobody”

“This is ridiculous, you can’t just-” but his words were cut off by Callisto pushing the lever, causing various liquids into a pit below you.

She was erratic. Swinging her arms wildly to point at the flimsy rust covered chain supporting this whole contraption

“This is not a discussion!” She was screaming at this point, your body flinching back automatically “You get to be in public so you loooove the humans. They're so sweet, huh? Putting you on magazines?”

Callisto’s grip tightened on the lever.

The cage jolted again, harder this time.

Warren’s wings snapped outward, filling the space instantly.

“Yeah,” he said, voice cutting through her shouting, “I think we’re done talking.”

The chain overhead buckled as he launched forward, the force of his shoulder crashing into the cage and snapping the chain above as the iron bars hit the wall behind and splintered, leaving the back functionally open.

“Warren—!” you started.

“I’ve got you.” and he did, Angel pried the bars out from their slots, and carried you away from the jagged and splintered metal. His wings were partially unfurled, creating a snowy white shield from Callisto who you could hear rapidly approaching.

“Enjoy the ride”

A quick quip that distracted you from the footsteps of the screaming woman, as Warren hauled you fully in his arms, holding you tight to his chest and abdomen before flicking one wing out to destabilize the Morlock leader before sprinting out, and flying upwards as far as he could in the cistern.

Your eyes were closed for the majority of it, the twisting and turning to maneuver around the pipes and into freedom making your stomach lurch.

Warren’s long eyelashes brushed against your forehead as he looked down. He was at a loss for words, in all honesty. He was responsible for this so he couldn't even chastise you to be more careful, Ororo was sure to have a ball with this new information.

The air changed first, less damp, less metallic.

Fresh air. Well, as fresh as New York can get.

Warren angled upward sharply, wings cutting through the last stretch of tunnel space before the world opened around them in a rush of night sky.

Only then did he slow down. Not by much, but to cruise along under the cover of darkness, even as his grip stayed steadfast and tight.

“You’re shaking,” he said finally, quieter now.

“That’s called adrenaline,” you muttered back, still not opening your eyes.

“Mm.” A pause. “Bad reaction time. Noted.”

His remark earned him a weak elbow to the ribs as he flew, though his grip didn’t loosen, not even slightly. His eyes stayed on you the entire time, even without looking at him the burning feeling was distracting enough.

“Just because you’re flying doesn’t mean you don’t have to look ahead,” you muttered. “What if a plane hits us?”

That got an immediate reaction.

Warren’s whole head turned toward you mid-flight, like the idea itself had personally offended him. Then he barked out a laugh, entirely too loud for the moment.

“A plane?” he repeated.

You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Yes. A plane.”

He shook his head, still laughing under his breath, wings adjusting smoothly as he corrected his path without even looking forward again.

“You might have bad reaction time,” he said, tone lighter now, teasing, “but I’m fairly certain a gigantic metal machine would be loud enough for me to notice.”

A beat.

“And if I don’t,” he added, “I’m pretty confident I can whisk you out of the way before it hits me first.”

That earned a small pause from you.

“…That’s not reassuring.”

“I’m very reassuring,” he said, like that settled the matter.

His grip tightened just slightly as the wind shifted again, stabilizing you both automatically.