#phoenix x reader

you really weren’t expecting to get this far, go figure you only just realize how out of your depth you are. not so much that you’re wanting to back out, quite the opposite, actually, but still.

your hands fumble with the waistband of your shorts, doing a ridiculous little hip shuffle so you wouldn’t have to stand up.

you manage to get your shorts and underwear off in one fell swoop, and the clothes get tossed off to the oblivion beyond the bed. the second you get your shirt off, your eyes drift down and you see scott sitting between your legs, his hands hovering over your thighs.

“oh, um-” you clear your throat, trying to ignore the way your heart flipped in your chest. “hi? what do you…?”

“easy,” he chuckles, the texture of his hands on your bare skin calming you as much as it only riles you up more.

svelte arms wrap around you just under your chest, and you spot red hair in your peripherals. “are you nervous?” jean’s question is soft, no hint of teasing or mocking, so it makes you feel a little less embarrassed about nodding your head and looking away.

your hands lift before either of them can say anything more. “i-i do wanna do this, like really, i just…” you trail off into a sigh. “this is still sorta new for me.”

“that’s okay,” she tilts your face up by your chin with her thumb and index, forcing you to meet her eyes, looking at you with kindness as much as desire. why does that do something to you? “it’s like we said, we can take this slow.”

scott’s palm brushing against your thigh brings your attention away from her. “i… have an idea, to help ease you into it,” his hand slides to your inner thigh, and then his thumb brushes against one of your lower lips-

your legs open wider, and the smirk that he gives you makes them go completely limp on the bed.

jean giggles, putting her head on your shoulder. “he’s really good with his mouth, if you want my opinion,” her hands slip up to brace your shoulders, and you feel her smile at your shudder.

scott leans down just enough that he’s resting his chin on your stomach, looking up at you through those red lenses. “would you like that, sweetheart?”

you nod instead of answering with your words; you’re pretty sure the sound you’d make would be intelligible.

“okay,” he lifts his head, shuffles back until it’s between your thighs and if you weren’t wet before you can feel the moisture between your folds now.

jean runs her hand down your arms, coaxing you into laying against her chest, pecking your cheek and temple.

the first graze of scott’s lips against your pubic mound, right above where your clit’s hidden, has your whole body tensing before it goes lax again. how are you already so sensitive?

“they’re so responsive,” jean’s coo against your ear doesn’t help, just makes the skin on your shoulders bloom with goosebumps.

“be gentle, baby, don’t wanna overwhelm them too soon, yeah?”

scott’s hum of acknowledgement reverberates through you from your groin and it takes what little strength you have left not to lock your legs around his head.

you feel him stare up at you once, and then those strong hands of his come up to cup the back of your thighs, tilting your hips upward into his mouth, where he starts kissing your clit through the seam of your labia and oh good god.

he’s going slow, he’s going slow like jean said, and somehow that’s even more intense than if he’d just cut straight to tonguing you.

your hands claw at the bedsheets behind you, eyes squeezing shut- “shh, shh,” jean lifts a hand and runs it through your hair, and the sound you let out at the contact is humiliating, but not nearly as much as the one you make when scott’s tongue licks a long strip up from your opening to your clit.

the pads of his fingers press into your skin, pushing you up against his face- when you squirm all it does is just grind you up against the flat of his tongue, amplifying the electricity that’s coursing across your pelvic muscles.

“ffffffff- wow, that’s really—!” you can’t finish your words without mewling and raking your hands through the front of your hair. jesus christ.

she wasn’t lying, you don’t know why you’d think she was, but you’re no less blindsided.

jean’s hand interlaces with one of yours, and she guides it lower until it’s on top of scott’s head. your other one finds its place next to it, shakily tangling through the dark brown strands.

“you can pull if you need to,” she’s tracing circles into your collarbone. “he likes it.”

and when the tip of his tongue prods at the underside of that bud, you do, maybe a little harder than you wanted to.

the groan he lets out into your cunt makes your mind go blank before you can apologize for being too rough.

you grit your teeth, head falling back onto jean’s shoulder, strained noises punching out of your throat, melting into breathy, desperate sounds you’ve never heard come out of you before.

the licks he gives you are languid, but he’s putting pressure exactly where he needs to and every time you yank on his hair out of reflex he moans against you.

whatever inhibtions, nerves, anything that was making you antsy- all of that is gone, you’re simply putty in the hands of two very, very attractive people and getting devoured within an inch of your life.

“there you go, baby,” jean’s hand combs through your hair, serving as your anchor while scott takes you apart. “you’re doing so well… so soft and sweet for us…” she glances down to the man between your legs with mischief in her eyes. “they must taste so good, don’t they?”

he muffles an “mm-hm” into your skin that has your nails scraping against your scalp.

he hasn’t pulled back to stop for anything since he started and you’d worry about him needing to breathe if you weren’t losing your goddamn mind from how good this feels.

a string of barely coherent curses starts to flow from your lips.

“f-fuck— holy fuck- i- i g- shit, that’s- that’s so- oh my god, scott,” when you whine his name he deepens his kiss, his tongue sliding inside of you and flicking up against that sensitive spot-

your legs kick at the mattress in your hopeless attempt to ground yourself in the fabric. without moving or looking away, scott, this absolute bastard, he lifts your legs up and onto his shoulders, flattening his palm against one of your thighs.

he’s encouraging you to put them around his head when you were trying so hard not to do that…

the shrivel of restraint you had left is completely lost, your calves press against the back of his head and push him in deeper, trapping him against your cunt exactly how he wanted to be.

jean’s laugh is hot on your neck, every touch to your skin is painfully, blissfully scorching, you swear you’re gonna die. “look at you, you’re so cute,” nothing she says is demeaning, it’s all genuine adoration and it’s making you dizzy.

“j-jean, i— i don’t— i’m not gonna- i’m not gonna last if he keeps-” of course, just as you mention it, you feel scott’s determination to wring that orgasm out of you, what, with him suddenly speeding up his pace.

you damn near sob at the sensation. “close?” jean asks, her fingers smoothing at the sides of your face.

you nod and press your head into her neck, and she murmurs something you can’t hear over the sound of your own irregular breathing and the squelching sounds from scott’s mouth as he drinks from you with a thirst no one’s ever shown you before.

one of your hands lifts away from his head to grab onto her arm, and she catches your hand in hers when it slips down, her thumb smoothing over your knuckles.

her caresses, the way he’s lapping at you relentlessly, god, god it’s too much, it’s too much it’s too good—

your stomach twists, twists, and then everything goes hot white, your muscles pulse and contract and you choke on your own voice. you grip jean’s hand for dear life while you twitch and throb against scott’s tongue.

he moans into you, opening his mouth a little wider but keeping his head still, letting you ride out each tidal wave without overstimulating you any further.

the exhaustion hits you like a brick when the aftershocks fade, and you collapse against jean’s chest, heaving for air, eyes too heavy to open. “fuck, dude, oh my-” you tilt your head to the side so your coughing doesn’t get on anyone.

“scott,” jean laughs, and as your awareness starts to return you shiver at the feeling of him exhaling against you. has he not moved at all?

you peek at him through blurry vision; yeah, he’s still between your legs, and with the little you can make out of his face (the parts of it that aren’t buried in your cunt, obviously) he looks… dazed.

that’s so hot it almost hurts with the state you’re in now.

jean lets go of your hand so she can tug him back, and the lower half of his face glistening in the dim light of the room gives you a second heartbeat.

he swallows thickly, wiping himself off with the back of his hand. “i get the feeling i did a good job,”

“no shit, what the f—” you almost laugh at the absurdity of his words. why does the man have any doubt after the way he-

jean gives his cheek a light smack and he chuckles, voice hoarse. “alright, alright, sorry.” you can hear her rolling her eyes (of course, with nothing but love) with the way she says “read the room, honey.”

he rises to his feet at the end of the bed. “wait here, i’ll go grab something to clean you off,” he turns toward the en-suite bathroom door across the room.

you slump back against jean, and she wastes no time, cradling you with her arm and petting your head. “how are you feeling, baby?” you make a tired noise that’s halfway between a grunt and a mumble of ‘i dunno’.

she kisses your temple, her thumb running up and down your arm. “well… let me ask this, then,” her voice drops lower, ghosting against your ear. “do you think you have another round in you?”

“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.

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.