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ichorai · 1 year

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as it was ; logan howlett.

track seven of WASTELAND, BABY!

pairing ; logan howlett x mutant!scientist!gn!reader

synopsis ; you first met logan as weapon x, wiped clean of any memory of his past life. he had nearly killed you then. and now, almost two years later, he’s pressing kisses over the very same scars his adamantium claws had inflicted.

words ; 9.1k

themes ; angst, fluff, action, mutant au, scientist au

warnings / includes ; descriptions of violence and gore, death, blood and injuries, alcohol, smoking, emotions™, logan calls you 'bub' and 'darlin', reader has the ability to manipulate matter, reader is a scientist, based on marvel comics presents: weapon x issues #72-84, mentions of the brotherhood and the rest of the x-men, charles is your bff :D, not accurate x-men timelines </3

main masterlist.

You pressed your knuckles into your tired eyes, wincing when bright colors exploded behind your eyelids. Gingerly, you blinked to adjust back to the brightness of the laboratory’s artificial lights, stifling a wide yawn with the back of your palm.

It was your shift to watch him. Weapon X.

Everything was deathly silent, other than the rhythmic beeping of the machine in front of you. The machine that told you he was still alive. Still breathing.

You shifted in the leather chair, swallowing the uncomfortable lump in your throat.

The man—was he even a man anymore?—laid motionless and limp within the vat. His features, softened with unconsciousness, were still rugged and intimidating, nearly hidden by the hundreds of wires sticking out of his form.

They brought you in just a week ago, so you were still getting used to everything here. The other scientists in the facility had told you that the man was a volunteer for the Weapon X project—that he needed to be given an adamantium skeleton or his own mutation would kill him from the inside out. Being a mutant-in-hiding yourself, you felt a certain calling to help him out.

So if you were helping this man recover, why did it feel so wrong?

Biting the side of your cheek, you slipped out of the chair and strode up to the vat, resting a hand on the glass barrier. It was cold beneath your fingertips.

You could’ve sworn you saw his foot twitch—

The door to the lab whooshed open, and the head scientist, Dr. Cornelius, strode in, shooting you a humorless look, wordlessly telling you that your shift was over.

Pursing your lips, you pulled yourself away from the glass, sparing the man in the vat one last glance before stepping back to the chair to gather your things.

“Anything interesting to note?” the old man asked you.

You clicked your tongue against your teeth. “Nothing at all for the past couple of hours, Doc. He’s responding exceptionally well to the chemical bath.”

He made a disinterested noise, as if the prospect of things going well bored him, before sinking into another chair and heaving a large sigh.

Hesitant, you stepped forward to ask, “Doctor? Sorry, I was just wondering if I could ask you some questions.” It was about time you knew just what was going on here—there was definitely something that he wasn’t telling you.

The man lifted his gaze to you, seeming annoyed already. “What is it?” A scowl threatened to play by the corner of your lips, but you forced on an indifferent expression.

“I just… I keep thinking about him.”

“Who? Logan?”

His name was Logan. He had a name. Well—of course he did. You suddenly felt sick.

“Yeah. I keep thinking about what we’re doing to him.”

The doctor narrowed his eyes in suspicion, but wisely chose to remain silent, goading you to carry on.

The machine beeped. You glanced at the unconscious man in the vat.

“Before I came here… was he—was Logan—here? And I don’t mean him as Weapon X. I mean it like the man before this. Was he here?”

“No,” Cornelius replied, far too quickly for your liking. He averted his gaze, focusing on the machine in front of him. “I don’t know. What are you asking here, kid?”

This time, you didn’t bother to suppress the frown budding across your face. “I mean,” you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest, “did Logan sign up for this?”

“I already told you,” Cornelius gruffed out, “he volunteered.”

“And why should I believe you? Why have you named him Weapon X if all we’re trying to do is cure him? Why did you have to erase his memories? Why have you been forcing him to fight wild animals in the forest? Are you making me attach adamantium to his skeleton because you want to help him, or because you want to manufacture a mindless killing machine?” Your voice had raised several notches in volume, and the doctor seemed to recoil at your words. Sucking in a breath to calm your erratic pulse, you spoke again, “You’re not telling me something, Cornelius.”

The doctor, stunned into silence, took several moments to gather what he wanted to say. A rebuttal was just on the tip of his tongue, but he knew it would be fruitless.

You’ve figured it out.

And he would have to kill you for it.

“Was he abducted? Kidnapped?” you asked again, voice strained.

“Congratulations,” the doctor sneered, slowly rising to his feet. “You’ve put together the puzzle pieces.”

Bile rose in your throat. “Logan was forced into this. He didn’t want any of it. You… you’re trying to make a monster but—you’re the real monster here.” Slowly, you started backing up. “You were using me. You knew that I wouldn’t help graft the adamantium to his skeleton if I knew the truth. You’re insane. You’re sick.”

With a mangled cry, the doctor lunged forward, knocking you to the ground as his palms found your throat. Pain flourished through your spine as it thudded against the sleek tiles of the floor, a strangled sound crawling from your lips. You clawed at his hands at first, desperate and losing air far too quickly.

Then, you grappled at his face, scratching at his cheeks until blood welled in tiny droplets from the red marks you drew. This only seemed to enrage him further, fingers pressing harder into your trachea. Dark spots danced about your vision and you gasped for breath, eyes misting over with unshed tears.

Fuck. You needed to do something. Quick.

Maybe… your powers—

No. No, you’d find another way. You refused to lose control of yourself ever again.

The chair was right beside you. If you could just… hook your foot around one of its legs and tip it forwards…

Your mouth fell open as your lungs begged for mercy, limbs growing weaker with each passing second. You gave it your all to jerk forward, just enough to shift you down and catch the chair with your foot and yank it forwards.

The heavy metal seat tipped forward slowly, before giving in to its own weight and crashing on top of Cornelius. The bald man howled with pain, and his grip loosened on you momentarily. You hiked your knees upwards and slammed them into his stomach, shoving him away with a yell. Your chest heaved raggedly, greedily swallowing as much air as you could take.

The doctor was quick to recover from his initial shock. You thought he’d lunge for you again, but instead, he brandished a walkie talkie and yelled, “CODE RED, GET IN HERE RIGHT NOW! CODE RED!”

Without a damned clue what ‘code red’ meant, you rushed forward and slammed the emergency lockdown button on the control panel. A haggard sigh of relief left you when thick metal slabs slowly lowered down over the doors.

Cornelius, infuriated, grabbed the back of your head and shoved you down, slamming the side of your face into the plethora of buttons. A loud groan of pain ricocheted across the laboratory, blood seeping from one of your nostrils and slipping into your mouth, running a metallic copper taste along your tongue. He did it again, and again, and again, far too quickly for you to even begin to react. Faintly, you registered a whooshing sound in front of you—one of you must’ve accidentally hit the button that released Logan from his chemical bath.

You spat blood over the buttons with a snarl, reinvigorated, shooting your hands out to stop him from bashing your face in once more. Twisting your body, you kicked at his knee as hard as you could, which made Cornelius collapse forward. You messily drove your fist into his eye socket, pushing him back, away from the control panel. The doctor fell onto the ground and you kicked at his skull with the heel of your shoe.

There was blood dripping down your chin. Your nose was throbbing. You were disoriented, vision splitting into blurry duplicates. Dizzy, you dropped to your haunches, crawling as far away as you could from Cornelius.

Noises were coming from the other side of the lab. Where Logan was.

Wincing, you were just about to turn to look before Cornelius’ hand wound around your ankle, yanking you to him with surprising strength. He punched you in the shoulder first, trying to aim for your face. You flailed your limbs, attempting to kick your feet, but he had trapped your legs between his. A struggling whimper shook your lips, breaths coming in fast, staccato beats. The second time he punched you, he hit you dead on. Your vision went dark for a good ten seconds. You could tell one of your eyelids had already swollen shut.

Desperate and panicked, you lurched upwards and bit into whatever you could. You sank your teeth in until red squirted straight into your other eye, and copper flooded your mouth once more. An ear-piercing scream rattled through the lab.

As you furiously wiped away the dark ichor from your eyes, you realized that he wasn’t screaming because of you—not really, at least.

He was screaming because there were three adamantium claws protruding from his abdomen.

And just behind him was Logan.

A terrified garble tore through your own throat. A string of nonsensical words fell from you—ranging from cries for help, prayers to whatever god would listen to you, and incoherent sobbing as pure terror ripped through you, whole and consuming.

There were still wires hanging off of the man’s starkly naked form, dragging against the ground behind him. His skin glistened with the residue from the chemical bath, droplets still falling from his damp hair and rolling over his defined muscles. With a near animalistic growl, he threw Cornelius’ lifeless corpse to the side, his adamantium claws streaking down both your arm and your side in the process. Another wail erupted from you and you curled into a fetal position, cradling your injuries and fruitlessly trying to put as much pressure as you could against the wounds. Blood seeped from you, staining the once-pristine floors with a growing pool of liquid rubies. You were light-headed, tilting your head up to look at Logan standing in front of you. Horror painted your insides with a thick, tar-like substance.

He made no move to hurt you any further, only regarding you with dark, distant eyes, like he just could just barely recognize your face. He remembered you.

You wanted to plead—beg him for mercy.

You cracked your shaking lips open, but the words lodged firmly in your throat, a sob rippling through your lungs. Hot tears streamed down your bloodied cheeks in fat dollops.

The mutant surprised you, then.

He spoke.

“I am…” he croaked out, seeming slightly miffed. It took him another couple of seconds to articulate his next words. His brain had been fried over and over again, the English language was something he had nearly completely forgotten. “I am… dead? I remember… death. Dying.”

You were shaking uncontrollably now. Whether it be because of the terror, or because of the insurmountable blood loss, you weren’t quite sure. Most likely both.

Voice warbling, you croaked out, “No, Logan. You’re not dead.”

His dark pupils darted to the pool of blood by your side, then moved down to his own hands and claws, practically soaked red. His chest heaved.

Slowly, you raised a trembling hand to point at the winding metal staircase at the back of the laboratory. “Run, Logan,” you hoarsely whispered. “They’ll be here any minute. You have to go before they catch you again. Go upstairs—there’s a rear window you can escape through.”

The man narrowed his eyes at you.

He stalked away wordlessly, leaving only droplets of Cornelius’ blood in his wake.

The tension melted away from your body instantaneously. The urge to cry laid heavy on your conscience, but you shoved down the tears and slowly pushed yourself to your feet, placing pressure on your wounds as you staggered onto your feet. With a grunt, you limped to Cornelius’ corpse, kneeling down to rip his belt and shirt off.

A low groan rumbled from your chest when you tied the belt over the deep gash Logan had inflicted on you, wrapping his shirt tightly over the leaking wound on your waist. Whether it was an accident or a purposeful move, you had no clue. Immediately, blood seeped through the fabric. You decided not to pay it any mind.

Faintly, you registered shouting from the other end of the barricaded door. You were running out of time.

Huffing a curse, you struggled to your feet and stepped over Cornelius, bee-lining for the metal staircase. Upstairs, you could see the droplets of blood Weapon X had left behind. You swallowed heavily, before following them to the open window.

“Fuck,” you coarsely spat out, glancing down to see snow blanketing the ground nearly at knee-length. Trembling already, you hopped off the windowsill and onto the fire escape’s ladder, gingerly placing each foot on the lower rung until you were near enough to jump down.

The wind whispered frost into your ears as you looked forward, into the dark forest.

They would kill you if you went back inside. It seemed like you had no other choice but to follow Logan. He was your best chance at survival.

Your sigh misted into an opaque fog as you followed the trail of blood on the snowy forest floor.

It’d been hours.

You had lost nearly all sensation in your feet, numbed by the frigid cold. You supposed that was one upside of the frost—you could no longer feel the pain of your wounds, despite the large blooming of crimson seeping through Cornelius’ shirt. The lids of your eyes were heavy, drooping closed every few seconds before struggling back open. You wrapped your arms around yourself lethargically, struggling to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Logan was only a couple minutes in front of you. At least—you thought he was. Hell, he could’ve been five hours away by now, considering how out of it you were.

You swallowed your throat, dry and scratchy from the whipping wind of the forest.

Not even ten steps later, you found yourself tipping forward, succumbing to the exhaustion.

The snow was suddenly flush against your cheek, the world now angled vertically. Black spots danced about your sight. You only barely registered the pain of hitting the ground, a wooden stick poking uncomfortably against your leg. You couldn’t be bothered to move. You couldn’t feel anything—yet it felt like you were burning alive. Perhaps it was the blood loss. Maybe the shame of failure. Or it could’ve simply just been the fact that you’ve been wading around in the snow for hours. A small breath slipped from your lungs and your eyes fell shut.

A nap wouldn’t hurt… would it?

Just as the corners of your vision waned dark, the shadow of a figure loomed over you.

The last thing you felt right before you succumbed to the cold were a pair of warm arms winding around you.

Lights—far too many, far too bright. Your heavy eyelids narrowed as soon as they blinked open, and you gingerly turned your face to the side to avoid the glare of the harsh luminosity.

There were a couple things you registered in your early stages of rousing. You were no longer cold, bundled in several layers of woolen blankets on what you presumed to be an infirmary bed. You could feel the slight pressure of a proper bandage around your waist, which still throbbed but wasn’t nearly as painful as you remembered.

And there was a man in a lab coat beside you.

You stared at his back as he busied themself with colorful pills and bottles. Your throat was so dry, it took you several moments to muster yourself to croak out a warbling, “Hello?”

The man seemed to jump out of his shoes, turning abruptly with wide eyes behind thick, rectangular spectacles. “Oh, you’re awake! How are you feeling?” He shuffled to your side, watching you with evident concern.

You winced as you propped yourself up on one arm, slowly pulling yourself to sit up on the bed without putting too much weight on your wound. “Like I’ve been hit by a truck.”

He pursed his lips. “That’s unfortunately quite expected—you’ll be feeling that way for a little bit before you get better. You took quite the beating out there—I tried my best to patch you up but I’m afraid the lacerations you got on your abdomen and arm will scar forever. Those bruises on your face, however, will be gone in a week, two tops.” The man paused, as if wanting to ask you a question, but thought better of it, shaking his head. “I’m gonna call somebody here to come talk to you. And I’ll go get you some water and food. Is that okay?”

Still reeling over everything, you nodded slowly, watching as he strode out of the infirmary.

Not a minute later, you heard the smooth rolling of wheels against tile. A bald man on a wheelchair swiftly entered the room, greeting you with a genuine smile and a bow of his head.

“You must be Doctor L/N,” he said, stopping just by your bedside. “I’m Charles Xavier. Now, I’m sure you have many questions—so let me try to answer them. You’re currently in Xavier’s School of Gifted Youngsters. I sensed your distress through my own telepathic mutation and had some of my X-Men go pick you and Logan up.”

At the mention of Logan, your muscles tensed, and your gaze snapped upwards to meet his.

“Logan… he’s here?”

Charles tilted his head, thinking back to the burly, pacing man in his office. “Yes, quite.”

“Is he okay?” you asked softly.

A wisp of a smile graced Charles’ lips. “He’s fine. A bit disoriented, but his memories are steadily returning. You, I’m more worried about. I know you’re a mutant, Y/N.”

Something dangerous flashed behind your irises. “I’ve never purposefully used my powers on anyone, if that’s what you’re asking. What happened to Logan—was because I was foolish enough to trust bad men.”

“I’m not blaming you, Y/N. You thought you were doing the right thing. Besides, the group who tricked you have been apprehended by the X-Men. They won’t be conducting anymore experiments on mutants,” he said, not unkindly. “I wanted to give you the liberty to explain what your mutation is… and if you can control it.”

“It’s only happened once before,” you whispered, fiddling with your nails anxiously. “I can manipulate matter, I think. Rearrange atoms and molecules in space. Once I start, I can’t control it—so I don’t ever intend to use it again.”

Charles regarded you for a moment, before nodding. “That’s quite the commitment. Would you mind me asking why?”

You hesitated, your teeth worrying into your bottom lip. “The first time I found out about my powers, someone died because of me. There was a car crash and my friend tried helping me and I… I panicked—” Tears quickly blurred your vision and you hiccuped, stopping to furiously wipe them away. “Shards of glass flew everywhere and…”

You trailed off, releasing a frustrated sigh.

“The cops ruled it as an accident, but I knew it was my fault. I moved out of town, started doing research with a university in molecular biology in hopes of finding out more about myself, when I got an offer to work with this company that ‘helped’ mutants. They lied to me. They were experimenting on them—and I should’ve known better. I thought I was saving Logan’s life.”

Charles hummed in thought, before shaking his head. “It’s not your fault. It was an accident—you didn’t know how to control your powers. But we can help you with that. If you stay, that is.”

Mouth parting in surprise, you leaned forward slightly in confusion. “You… you want me to stay here? After everything I’ve done? What will Logan think?”

“He knows it’s not your fault. There’s a reason he didn’t kill you—and a reason he carried you through the snow until we found the two of you. The deal is still on the table—just think about it. You’d make a valuable asset to our team.” A genuine smile etched over his face before he asked, “Would you perhaps want to see Logan?”

“No!” you exclaimed, a little too quickly. Charles’ eyebrows rose. Arms wrapping around yourself, you gently shook your head, repeating in a quieter tone, “No, thank you.”

The man observed you rather pensively before humming, “Alright, then. I’ll let you get some rest.”

“Thank you.” Despite the tautness of your tone, Charles knew you were wholly grateful. He bowed his head, and wheeled out of the infirmary room, leaving you with your thoughts.

To none of his surprise, leaning against the wall right next to the door, was Logan.

There was a cheap cigar wedged between his lips, hands clutched over the dog tags around his neck. He cocked his head to Charles as a greeting, gruffing out, “Are they alright?”

It was rather amusing to see such a brooding, stoic man lose his wits over a person he barely knew. Logan cared about you, and that made Charles all the more curious.

“I think Y/N’s going to be just fine.”

Logan huffed in something akin to relief, blowing out a puff of opaque smoke. After a long stretch of silence, Logan queried in a strained voice, “Can I see them?”

“It’s best if you give Y/N some time. They’re still a bit rattled over everything,” said the professor, patiently. “Have you gotten your memories back?”

“I think so. I remember most of my life before getting kidnapped. I taught self defense here, right?” Logan muttered, though it was clear he wasn’t entirely sure of himself. When Charles grinned and nodded, Logan spoke again, hesitant. “I remember Y/N. Their face, watching me through the glass. Talking about curing me—helping me. I remember the doctor there trying to kill them once they found out the truth.”

A low growl rumbled within the grizzled man’s chest, and he slumped further against the wall. “What are you going to do with Y/N now?”

“Well, that’s up to them. They are a mutant after all—I offered them a place here. Whether they stay or not is not for me to say.”

This seemed to pique Logan’s interest. “Y/N’s a mutant?”

“Yes,” Charles stated matter-of-factly. “Though, they don’t use their powers because it’s far too dangerous. Which is why I proposed that they stay so we can help. Now, if you excuse me, Logan, I’ve got to grade some papers. Have a good night.”

“Yeah,” replied Logan, distant. He saluted Charles with two fingers as he wheeled away. “G’night.”

The rest of the X-Men warmed up to you rather quickly. Hank would joke around with you while he did your daily check-up, and Jean, Ororo and Anna introduced themselves with sweet smiles and baked goods that they made just for you. They’d stay with you in the infirmary until late at night, playing boisterous rounds of Uno and exchanging stories of their own childhood mishaps with their mutation. Kurt Wagner was a delight to speak to—you quite enjoyed your conversations with the lively teleporter. Scott Summers was a handsome fellow, who had acquired a broken arm from a training accident, which gave him a good excuse to hang around you. Charles often visited you as well, each time asking once again if you were planning on making your residence here permanent. He even offered you a job to teach the kids here some science—which you kindly declined.

The friendly nature of the mansion and the people residing there really made you want to stay.

But you knew you shouldn’t.

Especially not when Logan was so clearly avoiding you—it was a tell-tale sign that you were definitely overstaying your welcome.

You’d only seen him a small handful of times since you arrived. Lingering in the hallways, passing by the door, and once in Charles’ office when you dropped by to ask him a question. He had stalked away with nary a sound, not even bothering to spare you a glance.

So it was quite the surprise when he stepped into the infirmary while you were packing a small duffel bag with travel necessities nearly two weeks later, practically bristling at the thought of you leaving. Leaving when he hadn’t even said a single word to you. His jaw clenched.

“L… Logan?” you asked, nearly dropping the shirt you were holding out of shock. “What, uh, what are you doing here?”

He stared at you for a long while, unsure of what to say. The man was on his way to a bar for a beer or two before he caught sight of you practically flying across the room in a rush to pack. He was not prepared for this conversation at all. A part of him wished you could just read his thoughts like Charles could, because his mind was running a mile a minute. There were just too many things he should’ve said, too many things he waited too long to say. And none of it seemed to want to come out.

So he opted to heave out a grand sigh, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms, not once breaking eye contact with you. You had awkwardly resigned to folding the last few pieces of clothing, stuffing them into the bag.

The action prompted Logan to husk out, “You’re leaving.”

It was more of a statement than a question. Your muscles tensed at his voice. He seemed angry—frustrated—and you weren’t entirely sure if it was directed towards you, or himself.

“I have no place here,” you whispered, words nearly lost to the deafening silence.

Logan’s brows furrowed. “This is a school—a home for mutants. You belong here.”

Fixing him with a curious expression, you zipped up your bag, shaking your head. “It’s not fair to you, Logan. I can’t just keep pretending that me being around doesn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“So you’re leaving because of me.” Logan pushed off the wall, stalking towards you until he stood just in front of you. This close, you could smell the faint cigar smoke on him, accompanied with a fresh pine-like aroma. He smelled like the forest, like sitting in front of a fire place with a mug of coffee cradled in your palms. A lump formed in your throat, grip tightening on the strap of the bag.

“I’m leaving for you,” you corrected. “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I did all those awful things to you. I know it doesn’t absolve me of anything but—I really did think I was helping you. Oh… and thank you. For coming back and saving me.”

The hardness to Logan’s features seemed to soften just a bit. He watched you keenly, studying the genuine tenderness to your eyes, the way your lips screwed to the side in a fruitless effort to stave away the tears.

“Hey,” he said, stepping even closer. “I forgive you, bub. I forgive you, alright? Stop beating yourself up. Charles told me you thought you were helping me—and I believe it. It wasn’t your fault. Besides, the man truly responsible is dead, thanks to you. You helped me escape, remember?”

Your eyes flickered from the ground to meet his. “Of course I remember.”

A low rumble resonated from Logan’s chest. “If anything, I should be the one apologizing for damn near killing you. I found you passed out in the snow and I—I was terrified. I carried you, worried to death the entire time, thinkin’ you were going to die on me. But Charles found us—and you lived. We both lived. I want you to stay. Hell, if you want to leave, then go ahead. The door’s wide open. But don’t let it be because of me.”

He watched as your shoulders trembled ever so slightly, then sagged as you loosened your hold on the duffel bag. Relief seeped through his bones. For a moment, he was scared you were really going to leave.

Without another word, Logan nodded, stepping back. He turned to walk out of the infirmary, itching for nice, cold beer. Or two. Probably five. Oh, who was he kidding. He could blaze through twenty bottles and barely feel buzzed.

“Logan,” you called out.

He stopped by the doorway without turning.

“Thank you,” you croaked, wiping away a stray tear. A happy one. Maybe you could even ask if the job Charles had offered you was still on the table.

A minuscule smile played by the corner of his lips. He ducked his head, and strode away.

ONE MONTH LATER.

The snow was thicker than ever before. Nearly everybody was outside, either making rotund little snowmen with carrots for noses or playing a game of dodgeball. You caught sight of Kurt teleporting just above Rogue to dump a large armful of snow atop her head. You huffed out a laugh from behind the window when she started spewing out a long string of curses, cheeks tinted red from the cold.

Movement from your peripheral vision made you turn your head to look out the other window. You were met with the lovely sight of Logan hauling lumber nearly double his size from just over the hill, a layer of snowflakes icing the top of his dark tresses. You shook your head, wondering why he hadn’t asked anyone for help.

Ever the lone wolf, he was.

Commotion from the other window made you turn once more, watching with a snort when the kids began pelting Logan with dozens of snowballs, laughing with unbridled glee. The chuckles died away when the burly man dropped all the wood he was carrying, rolling up his sleeves with a wolfish grin. They screamed, scurrying away whilst hiccuping with laughter.

“Quite chilly outside,” Charles’ voice broke out from beside you. “Come have a hot chocolate with me.”

“If this is your way of bribing me to grade your classes’ papers, I’ll have you know I’m not easily swayed,” you teased, though fell into step beside him as he led you into his office. “I’ve got my own class to attend to.”

Despite only knowing Charles for around a month now, the two of you have grown very fond of each other. He was like a big brother to you—just as the rest of the X-Men had gradually become your family.

The professor scoffed. “That was one time! I just wanted your expertise, was all.” He gestured to the array of mugs on his desk, then to the thermos right beside them. “Please, help yourself. Paper grading wasn’t really what I wanted to discuss with you. I have another proposition to make you.”

You arched a brow while pouring the both of you a generous serving of thick, creamy hot chocolate. “Always with the propositions, Charles,” you said, sipping on your drink with a hum. “What is it?”

“I want you to join our missions.”

The lighthearted nature of your conversation visibly seemed to sour. “What?” you asked, placing your mug down. “Charles, I thought we made this clear—”

“You don’t use your powers, yes. I’m well aware. Let me rephrase. I want to help you… er, reacquaint yourself with your abilities. Just to try it out. And perhaps if all goes smoothly, you’d make a remarkably valuable member on our team. I promise, if we try it out and things go south, I’ll let it go. Never speak a word of it to anybody.” There was an earnest tone to his voice, hopeful and contagiously optimistic.

Your finger traced the rim of the mug, pursing your lips in thought. “Just to try it out?”

He nodded. “Just to try it out. I’m curious for you, Y/N. Haven’t you ever wanted to be able to control your powers?”

“More than anything in the entire world,” you murmured quietly, voice cracking.

It took me a while to control my powers, too, Charles said, but his lips weren’t moving. It took you a moment to realize that he was speaking to you telepathically. The key is patience. And I do believe with enough time, you can gain control of yours as well. Imagine how many children who are struggling with their own mutations you’d be able to help if you had a grasp of your powers.

“You’re one hell of a motivational speaker,” you snarked after a moment to mull over his offer, despite the smile fiddling at the corner of your lips. “Alright, Charles. You convinced me. When do we start?”

The large, antique grandfather clock in your office merrily trilled thrice just as the hands turned to three in the afternoon. You glanced away from the homework papers you were grading, before filing them away for you to finish off later. You were in need of a long overdue break. Rising from your chair, you groaned softly as your bones popped with the stretch, rolling your shoulders to ease the mild tension.

Training all night with Charles yesterday certainly took both a physical and mental toll on you.

You needed to get out of your office for a bit—take a walk to clear your head. As you donned your coat and a dark yellow beanie to tuck just over the top of your ears because they grew particularly cold in the harsh winters, you strode out the doors.

Before you could make your way to the snowy outdoors, you passed by one of the training rooms, where you heard a familiar gruff voice.

Logan was teaching a group of about a dozen kids—self-defense class, if you could recall. He was moving his arms about animatedly, demonstrating with a dummy that seemed to be a brush away from falling apart. The kids were watching with rapt fascination, gasping in unison when Logan speared the poor thing straight through the abdomen.

A small grin splayed over your features as you leaned against the doorway.

A young boy raised his hand, asking, “When are we gonna be able to practice?”

Logan sheathed his claws and crossed his arms. “I’ll let you practice with your own dummies next week. But for now you just watch and learn—Y/N? What’re you doin’ here?”

Blinking at suddenly being shoved into the spotlight, you sheepishly stepped forward and waved to the kids. “Just wanted to see what all the fuss is about with Mr. Howlett’s famous self-defense class. Heard it’s the students’ second favorite class.”

“Oh, yeah?” Logan chuckled, arching an eyebrow to the rest of the class. “And what would be their favorite, then?”

You grinned. “Mine, of course.” The kids groaned in protest, though laughing at your blatant sarcasm. You waved them away with a roll of your eyes. “Oh, hush. You guys love science.”

Snorting, Logan propped his fists onto his hips and directed a roguish grin towards you. “It’s not a competition—even though they obviously like me better.” He turned back to the dummy with a nod. “Anyways, where was I—er, yes, Rogue?”

The student’s arm was stuck up in the air, an excited grin painted over her lips. “Why don’t you and Professor L/N try dueling each other? I’m sure it’d teach us a lot more than that dummy,” Rogue drawled in her thick Southern accent. The rest of the students murmured their agreement, bobbing their heads to the idea. Besides, they were all curious about your infamous mutation—they’d never seen you in action before.

Immediately, your stomach dropped and you were quick to shake your head just enough for Logan to see. His features seemed to soften with understanding.

“That’s enough, settle down,” Logan gruffed. “Professor L/N came here to watch, it would be unfair to spring an entire demonstration on them without any warning. The dummy’ll do just fine. Look, it’s in tip-top shape!” His burly fist wrapped around the dummy’s throat.

And the head popped right off.

Logan blinked, stunned. The class burst into laughter. You joined them, hiding a smile behind your palm. Logan watched you keenly, before a crooked smile broke through his rough features, chuckling lowly under his breath.

“I’m sorry about them,” he said, making his way to you once he had dismissed all his pupils (though not before assigning them a butt-load of homework that made all of them groan exasperatedly). “I know you weren’t expecting that.”

Waving his words away, you were quick to shake your head. “No, no, it’s alright. I’m just… not entirely comfortable with using my powers yet. Charles and I are still working through it—I’m not really at the stage of combating an experienced mutant as yourself. Anyways, I don’t want to keep you. I’m sure you’ve got a ton of school-related errands to run.”

You crossed your arms with a hesitant quirk of your lips to assure him that you were okay, watching him keenly as he tried to mirror your expression. It came out more as an awkward stretch of his mouth, so he dropped it soon after.

Logan sucked on the rooftop of his mouth, before stoutly nodding, and turned around to walk away. You’d mentioned he probably had school-related errands to run. Hah. As if Logan ever worked outside of the classes he taught. All he had in mind was to head over to a bar and drink as many beers as the barkeeper would allow him.

By the time he reached the doorway, Logan abruptly stopped in his tracks. He could feel your eyes watching him go, practically searing the skin on the back of his neck.

“God damn it,” he whispered quietly beneath his breath. He couldn’t just leave you alone. Not when his class thrust you into the spotlight like that. Definitely not because he felt an irrepressible urge to spend more time with you. And especially not because he thought that little grin of yours was so darned cute. Of course not.

He turned back to you with a set expression, jaw clenched tight. If you didn’t know any better, he appeared to be angry. Or constipated. One of the two.

Either way, you were surprised to hear him addressing you by the doorway, in a brusque tone.

“The school day’s over. I’m heading out to grab a drink. You wanna come with?”

It took you a moment to respond, a little too frazzled to formulate a coherent thought.

“Yeah,” you finally answered, slightly breathless. Logan pointedly looked away when you beamed at him. “Yeah, I’d love to.”

His thigh was pressed up against yours. You could feel the heat radiating off of him through his jeans. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, which leaned against the bar’s countertop, palms cradled around his tenth (or was it his eleventh?) frosty mug of beer.

You were slowly nursing your fifth drink, snorting into the rim when Logan made an off-hand comment about how stupid Scott looked on one of their most recent missions.

“I take it you don’t like him?”

“Who?” Logan asked, turning his head so he could look at you. Beneath the dim amber-glow of the bar’s lighting, your skin appeared flushed, eyes just a tad brighter. You were too damned close to him.

Nose wrinkling, you nudged his shoulder with yours. “Scott, dummy.”

His eyebrow rose. “Why, do you want me to like him? Do you like him?”

The questions made you splutter beer all over the counter as you choke-laughed, wiping your lips with the back of your hand. “You’re not answering my question, Lo.” You began giggling again, before downing the rest of your mug, swaying slightly on the leather stool. Logan had half a mind to clamp his palm over your thigh to keep you from tipping over.

“I like Scott, yeah. He’s nice. I know he has a thing for Jean though—I’ve been trying to convince him to ask her out but Scott keeps saying it isn’t the right time. Jean likes him all the same, too. They’re just really stupid.” A fond smile grew on your lips and you began laughing once more.

Logan watched you in amusement, just before ordering another beer for himself. You were a giggly drunk, Logan realized, as you buried your face into your hands as uncontrollable laughter shook through you.

“Alright, that’s enough drinks for you. What’s got you crackin’ up, bub?” Logan sighed in part-exasperation and part-mirth when you leaned back so far your stool began to capsize. He was quick to shoot his arm out and yank you back forward. This only made you laugh harder, for reasons unbeknownst to him.

“I just—” You had to pause to heave a breath through your cackling. “Your hair just looks so funny—why does it stand up like that?”

God, you were so drunk. Your hand reached out to pat down the tufts of hair sticking upwards, but missed the mark and instead brushed over his jaw, slightly prickly with day-old stubble.

Logan watched you carefully as your laughter died away, a strange look shadowing your once gleeful one. His eyes flickered down to your lips, which were parted ever so slightly in thought. “You look much younger than you used to—back in that tank.”

Gently, he captured your wrist and stroked his thumb over your palm once, before setting it back down by your side. “Let’s go home. You’re drunk.”

“Yes, sir. ” You mock-saluted as he helped you off the stool and offered his arm when you nearly toppled over your own feet.

You swayed to and fro when walking back to the mansion, hiccupping between every giggle as you told Logan about this one time Kurt teleported into the kitchen and scared you so badly you hit him with a frying pan. Logan let himself laugh at that one.

By the time the two of you reached your room, a good night was right on the tip of his tongue before it was yanked away from him when you grabbed him by the shirt collar and tugged him towards you in a drunken fashion, emboldened by the alcohol coursing through your system. A startled noise fell from his lungs, and the corner of your eyes wrinkled as you smiled. You swiftly planted a soft kiss to his cheek, nose slotted right against his cheekbone. He was frozen to the spot, unsure of how to react.

“You’re a sweetheart. Good night, Lo,” you murmured into his skin with a lopsided smile.

You were drunk. So very drunk.

Logan had to remind himself of this when you pulled away. You wouldn’t have done that if you were sober.

The door groaned as you pushed it open, moonlight spilling over your features. You promptly slammed the door in his face, and he heard you giggling behind it just a second after.

He wasn’t able to snap out of his reverie until an entire minute later.

“G’night, bub,” he mumbled, knowing full and well that you were probably passed out on top of your bed by now. No doubt you’d have a raging hangover tomorrow. He shook his head, before heading off to his own room, a warm sensation clawing at his chest.

The familiar voice of a certain professor rang out across the kitchen, and you groaned at the sudden noise. The hangover headache pulsating through your skull wasn’t nearly as bad as it was when you had initially woken up, but it was still there. And Charles most certainly wasn’t helping.

“Morning,” he exclaimed with a knowing smile, eyeing you with a look you misliked. You grumbled under your breath, before shoveling a spoonful of scrambled eggs into your mouth so you didn’t have to respond to him. Charles didn’t seem to mind, continuing his amiable chatter. “I noticed you weren’t in last night.”

Humming in confirmation, you lifted your mug to guzzle down more apple juice.

“Funny coincidence,” Charles quipped, wheeling up right beside you. Without even looking at him, you just knew that his eyebrows were raised suggestively. “Logan was also nowhere in the mansion yesterday.”

You scowled, then set the mug down. “We just had a couple drinks together.”

“Mmh, right.” Charles narrowed his eyes, clearly in disbelief. “Well, nice to see that the two of you have… warmed up to each other. I’ve got to head back now but don’t forget about our session at three—just because you’re hungover doesn’t mean you can skip out on me.”

A discontent noise erupted from your lungs and you stuck your tongue out at his back when he turned away.

“I saw that,” said Charles, amusement lacing his tone. “Well, I didn’t actually see it. I know you did it, though.”

And with that, he left.

You groaned, before lowering your head to rest against the cool kitchen countertop.

A moment later, a voice disrupted the rare-found quiet. Logan.

“You alright, bub?”

When you lifted your face up, you blinked away the colorful blurs spotting your vision, Logan coming into view. He was wearing a simple white tank top tucked into a pair of faded jeans, hands shoved into his pockets. You eyed his biceps warily, which glistened with a thin sheen of sweat. You swallowed down the nervous lump in your throat.

“I’m good. What’re you up to?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Logan replied sheepishly. “Was in the training room all night.”

He leaned against the doorway, a mild smile itching at his lips upon observing your disheveled state. Your hair was mussed, wearing a simple wrinkly white shirt and a pair of grey shorts. The expression on your face told him that you were still working off the hangover.

“Wanna talk about it?” you asked, patting the seat beside you.

Logan pursed his lips, before moving towards you. “Yeah,” he said, swinging his leg over the chair. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

The cold of the porcelain sent a shiver up your spine as you slumped against the toilet seat, grumbling under your breath. Logan watched you keenly as he dampened a towel, bunching it up in his hand, kneeling down in front of you.

Your first mission as an X-Man was nothing short of disastrous.

You’d warned Charles—told him you weren’t ready to use your powers in an uncontrolled setting—but he’d assured you that you’d be fine. Besides, the rest of your teammates were there for you.

Except the Brotherhood had taken down everybody else and you were the last person standing—and you lost control of your powers. Again.

It wasn’t until Logan stumbled towards you, pushing through the tornado of glass shards whirling around your hyperventilating form, barely even noticing the cuts appearing over his skin. His healing factor was quick to weave together the broken skin—all that mattered was getting to you. Your explosive powers were enough to severely alarm the Brotherhood, and they thankfully retreated soon after your outburst, though he doubted they’d stay away for too long.

Logan had grabbed you, pulling you close until your face was flush against his chest, cradling you atop the cold, hardened dirt, mumbling sweet nothings that you couldn’t really make out into your hair. When the air stilled, you pulled your face away, tear-stricken and bloodied.

The incident was far too similar to the first time you used your powers—when your best friend’s life was taken as a consequence.

A single, searing tear meandered down your face at the memory, and you bit down on your lip to quell the sob rising in your throat.

“Hey, bub.” Logan took your chin between his fingers, grounding you back to reality. It was just him and you—in a small bathroom. He was close, so close that you could see the buzzing lights reflected in the burnt umber of his irises, or how he had a small, faded birthmark just beside his left eye. He tilted your head up so you’d meet his concerned gaze. “It’s okay. You did good. You drove ‘em away. We would’ve all been in hot shit if it weren’t for you. Storm was knocked unconscious, Kitty and Rogue had their powers stripped away, Scott was no match against Quicksilver, and the rest of us were this close to being ripped apart. You did good.”

Your stomach lurched uneasily. “Feels more like I fucked everything up. I told Charles I wasn’t ready.”

Instead of a reply, Logan merely sighed, shaking his head. Softly he swiped the damp towel across the bloody gashes on your face, his fingers on your chin moving to cup your other cheek. His palm was cold against the flushed heat of your face.

“I hate seeing you like this,” he whispered, the usual gruff tone of his voice nowhere to be found. “Wish you had the healing factor instead of me.”

“Nah,” you replied softly, wincing as you leaned forward, closer to him. The large slash over your abdomen from a broken metal pipe Magneto sent hurtling your way burned with every shift of your body. “You’d be dead a thousand times over if it weren’t for your healing factor. And I’m really glad you’re not dead.”

The towel on your cheekbone paused for a second. Logan scrutinized you for a moment, before returning to the task at hand. “Yeah, I guess I’m glad, too.”

A comfortable silence thickened between the two of you, only interrupted by your quiet groans of pain, which were always followed up by Logan’s sheepish apology.

“I still haven’t graded the kids’ homework papers—they’re expecting it back on Monday,” you gritted out, hand shooting forward to grip Logan’s shoulder, nails digging into his collarbone when he moved down to clean up the shallow wound across your torso.

He quirked an eyebrow towards you in amusement. “You’re crazy, you know that? Almost died today and all you’re thinkin’ about is grading papers. Pfft.”

“That’s not all I’m thinking about,” you weakly protested, smacking his hand away when he playfully pinched your thigh.

After wiping away all the crusted blood and dirt on your brand new X-Men suit, he was satisfied to see that your gash wasn’t deep enough to need stitches. He hauled himself onto the edge of the bathtub so he was sitting right across from you. “Yeah? What else are you thinking about?”

“You.” The single word came out as nothing but a low mutter.

“I don’t know whether to be flattered or worried,” he replied with a roguish grin, pupils darting between your eyes and your raw-bitten lips.

You huffed out a laugh. “Maybe both.” His forehead leaned against yours as you breathed him in, relishing in his calming presence. “I really like you, Lo.”

Those five words were what spurred him to push forward, slanting his lips onto yours, stealing your breath away. You made a small noise of surprise, before practically melting into him, looping your sore arms over his neck and tugging him all the closer. He kissed you slowly, careful about where to place his hands, because your body was littered with fresh scars. He settled on just above your waist, smoothing his thumbs out over the back of your ribs, as if to constantly reassure himself that you were here. You were okay.

His nose bumped into yours, and it hurt to smile—oh, it practically burned with each kiss—but you smiled into him anyway. Because for Logan, it was worth the pain.

“Ow,” you lightly complained when he accidentally knocked his knee against your busted one. “Watch it, old man.”

A growl caught in his throat. “You know, I was gonna say I really liked you, too, but I don’t think that applies anymore.”

You burst into a fit of laughter, clutching at your stomach a second later, moaning out with pain. “Don’t make me laugh! You ass!”

He could only smile at that, roping you towards him once more with his fingers anchored over your jaw. This time, the kiss was hot and heavy, more confident. Your hands ran through his hair, gently tugging at his roots, which made pleasant shivers spider down his spine. It was needy with want, his kisses wandering from your lips to the apples of your cheeks, to your trembling throat.

The hand on your back was only starting to traverse downwards when the door flung open, revealing a smug Rogue and an awfully mortified Kurt just behind her.

“I knew it! I knew y’all were a thing!” Rogue called out, clapping her hands excitedly. “Scott totally owes me twenny bucks!”

She scuttled away gleefully, leaving the blue elf staring at the two of you with wide, amber eyes, completely still.

“You can close the door, Kurt,” you hesitantly told him, before Logan could snarl out something unsavory. You were uncomfortably perched halfway between the toilet seat and Logan’s lap, with his hand flush over your ass.

“Er… right… I’ll just use the bathroom upstairs,” he breathily stumbled, before teleporting away in a hazy cloud of sulphuric fumes.

“Damn elf didn’t close the door. Of fuckin’ course.” Logan groaned, pulling himself away from you with a scowl. “You alright, darlin’?”

An embarrassed grin replaced the initial shock of being found. “Yeah, I think so. You?”

“Worst night of my life. The entire school’s gonna know by tomorrow,” Wolverine grumbled, before fondly glancing towards you. “Wouldn’t have it any other way, though.”

You hobbled up with his support, pressing a sweet, chaste kiss to his cheek. “You think the entire team bet money on us?”

“Oh, yeah,” Logan chortled as he helped you out of the communal bathroom, heading upstairs to your bedroom. “Charlie bet a hundred bucks on us. I heard him talking to Storm about it.”

You side-eyed him with amusement. “So did he win?”

“Nope,” Logan said, popping the ‘p’, looking far too smug to be ripping away a hundred dollars from his old friend. “Thought neither of us would have the balls to confess until next month.”

“You’re sick,” you said, wrinkling your nose. “Did you kiss me just to spite him?”

“I kissed you because I wanted to,” countered Logan, shoving the door to your room open with his shoulder. “Professor losing a hundred bucks was just the cherry on top, you know?”

You sank onto your bed, dragging Logan with you, barely giving him enough time to slam the door shut. “Yeah,” you mumbled, pulling him into yet another kiss. “You’re awful, Lo.”

“Love you, too.”

Placing your hand on his chest, you pulled away hesitantly, unsure if you heard him right. “Yeah?”

Logan smiled, all warm and genuine. “Yeah.”

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your-next-daydream · 2 years

Note

Wade Wilson x equally chaotic reader hcs 👀

AH MY FIRST ASK! Thanks for requesting bro!

Ok you didn't specify if you wanted platonic or romantic? Soooo imma do both😃

Reader has no specified gender

Platonic hcs

Oh? Do you want to leave the house without a warm Wade Wilson goodbye? No, you're going to get a hug that smells of cocaine and weed. Upon finally leaving, you hear, "Bye kiddo, make sure you get in trouble for Papa!" With an over exaggerated kiss blown your way.

"Hey kiddo, have you seen my katana...kid? Why is my katana in that guys stomach right now?" He said with a hand in his hip. "I don't know. I got bored, and he was conveniently placed there."

Chimichangas for breakfast and dinner. Lunch is a healthy dose of some sort of drugs or killing. There is no in between. Desert is rom-coms and tears don't forget to say hello to his unicorn.

You help blind Al around the house but for fucks sake quit making so many sex jokes around that poor lady.

please...clean Wade's suit... it smells horrible

"Hey Wade, want to go TP and throw eggs at the X mansion with me? Colossus pissed me off again." You muttered, grabbing some of Al's eggs promising you'd pay her back later. "Umm fuck yeah I want to! Just don't hit pinky pie or teenage angst they'll have my head...well they kinda can, I can just grow a new one!"

You joke about getting avocado lotion for him. "Hey, Deads, I got this avocado scented lotion for you. Maybe some pheromone shit will happen, and you won't look like a dumpster fire anymore." He whipped his head around, grabbing where his heart is and stumbling around,"wounded"

You cut Wade's arm off once just to give it to a bad guy asking, "Need a hand?" While Wade came up behind that person killing them.

he takes you to the bar with him, and you both get on Weasel's ever loving last nerve. I mean, he's both of y'all's arms dealer. Why not mess with him?

there was a fight Wade started in the bar, once where he broke his leg off and just started beating people with it.

Romantic hcs

What's personal space? He's always touching or hugging unless you specifically tell him not to.

you reassure him that he's still a handsome man. You lightly pick on him for being an old avocado, but that's about it.

he gives you his unicorn and whatever else of his you want before he leaves for a mission.

there was a time when you came with him and you both got captured. You're actually the one who figured out how to escape...he was just gonna cut himself up to fit through the bars.

sex jokes? Oh yeah, all the time. You can't stop this man he's hitting on you like you guys are at the bar, and he's trying to take you home. You shock him if you return the same energy.

makes sure you're asleep before he even thinks about going to bed himself.

you and him took a pole dance class so he could show off, and he wanted to see you move like that.

he had a funny idea to put his mask on you during a mission, and it was funny watching another version of himself walking around killing.

Do you know those hugs where you get picked up and are just held there for a while? Yeah, that's him, except his face is in your chest no matter what it looks like.

Colossus has walked in on you both making out and out of embarrassment. You attempted to cover it up and say, "You wanna join?" But Wade went along saying "Yeah big boy, wanna have some funnnn?" You hit him on the head.

Pizza and movie dates. It doesn't matter where y'all are you guys are going on a date if he can help it. He thinks it's cuter when you set things up.

Oh, someone hurt you? They never existed. He knows you can handle yourself he wanted to take care of it.

He'll buy you Deadpool themed merchandise ALL. THE. TIME. You like are running out of space for it at this point.

There's a hoodie with his logo on it and he's definitely fucked you in that hoodie before.

He probably would like running a knife or a gun down your sides. The gun is never loaded, but you don't know that.

knows he could get out of it, but he thinks it'd be fun if you tied him up.

Oh, I'm definitely thinking about his stamina and strength...

After y'all do have sex straight to the bathtub or shower to get cleaned off. He could care less, but he knows you want to be clean.

CUDDLE SPOONING KING

He'd like to be little spoon sometimes. Other than that, he likes laying between your legs with his arms around your waist to make sure you can't leave in the morning.

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random-imagines-blog · 1 year

Text

Imagine Charles Xavier going through your head when your ADHD is acting up.

You were having one really rough day today. Concentrating felt like an enormous accomplishment - for the couple of minutes that you were able to do it. Eventually, your notes dropped off into little doodles as your brain went right back to your current hyperfixation -

Greek Mythology.

There weren’t any classes about it here at Xavier’s School. But you had a couple of books that you bought in the city to peruse through when you had free time. Which of course turned into you reading them even when you didn’t have free time. It turned into your homework being half-finished with doodles of Medusa on the sides. It ended up in you turning in an essay that was supposed to be about genetics, but you made it about how the gorgons could easily have been mutants. Misunderstood.

You had your head on your hand, arm held up by your elbow, zoning out as you watched Professor Xavier talk.

‘If Demeter is the Goddess of Agriculture, does that mean that she’s responsible for pizza? She makes the grain for the dough, and the tomatos for the sauce...’ 'What if Apollo is really Elvis? And he made himself get fat and die to direct any suspicion.’ ‘Xavier kind of looks like he could be Zeus. Or - maybe Erik would be more likely. Maybe ... Professor Xavier would make a cute faun, little goat legs. Big ears. Now that would be-’

“Y/N?” Charles’s smooth voice came front and center, breaking through what you were saying. His blue eyes bore into yours. Instantly, you felt flush. Oh. He was probably reading you. Oh no.

“Yes, Professor?” You asked, trying to make yourself a little smaller in your chair.

“If you could focus on the lesson please, that would be ... goatly appreciated.”

Requested by: Anonymous

#charles xavier #Charles Xavier x reader #Charles Xavier imagines #XMen #XMen imagines #Marvel #Marvel imagines #request #imagines #x reader #charlesx

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chloe-skywalker · 3 months

Text

Don't Listen To Them - Peter Maximoff

Peter x Fem!Reader

Warnings: bullying

Word count: 296

Summary: “H-how long have you been standing there?” - “You make me feel good enough.”

Masterlist

X-MEN Masterlist

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“Oh look, it's hot head.” A boy said coming up near where Y/n was admiring the nature at the mansion.

“Can you keep your temper under control or should the school be evacuated?” One of the girls in this group said. It was the same group that had been bullying her for a while.

“You gonna blow your top?” A different boy laughed.

“You should just leave.” The first boy added.

“Do us all a favor and blow yourself up.” Another girl scoffed glaring at Y/n.

After the bullies left when Y/n flashed her eyes red to scare them off, when she turned she saw Peter.

“H-How long have you been standing there?” Y/n stuttered.

“Long enough.” Peter said with a sad expression, he walked closer to her shaking his head. “Don’t listen to them.”

Y/n shrugged, looking down to her feet. “Hard not to. They do it every day.”

“Have you told anyone?” Peter asked, grabbing her hands in his.

“It’ll just make it worse.” Y/n shakes her head.

Peter sighed, he decided then and there he was going to do something about it.

“I think powers are extraordinary.” He told her putting his forehead against hers.

“I make explosions Peter. That’s not extraordinary that’s dangerous.” Y/n said with a defeated tone and expression.

“Y/n-”

“I’m a ticking time bomb.” Y/n cuts him off.

“Your a gorgeous, in control, ticking time bomb.” Peter smiled, getting her to laugh with his humor. “You're important to me and I believe you have one of the most important mutations of all.”

Y/n smiled looking up into his eyes. “You always make me feel good enough.”

Peter smiled back at her pulling her into a hug. “That's the goal.”

taglist: @padawancat97 @starkleila

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multific · 10 months

Text

Imagine Dating Peter Maximoff

Peter Maximoff x Reader

Summary: You two were the exact opposite, a completely unlikely couple.

Peter was always the fast kid with kleptomania.

Then he became an X-Men and he found his true potential.

Now, he was the fast kid who saved lives and bragged about it back at the school.

You on the other hand was the quiet girl. The quiet bookworm who loved to read romantic stories under the trees.

No one ever noticed you. You liked to take things slow and steady.

You two were the exact opposite, a completely unlikely couple.

And yet, it worked perfectly.

You were what Peter needed to become slow and focused. And he was what you needed to build up your confidence and open up to people.

Peter often found himself in your room, just watching you study or do homework like a lost puppy.

He would stare back and forth between your face and the book in front of you.

"Are you done yet?" was an often-asked question.

"Nope." was always the answer.

But once all of your books were off to the side, all of your attention moved to him.

And Peter craved attention from his pretty girlfriend.

Dates with him were always something else.

He loved the arcade so he would often bring you to one. Playing games together was fun, he would win more than you.

He also enjoyed bringing you to fares. Winning prizes, your room was filled to the brim with plushies he won for you. He loved the ferris wheel and would always kiss you on the very top of it.

It was a tradition.

Peter was not a big fan of cooking but he loved to watch you and help you cook.

Since he loves to eat, he would do anything for a meal prepared by you.

You absolutely adored him, sometimes trying to keep up with him was a bit difficult but you somehow managed.

He often brought you to the roof of the school, looking at the stars and talking about your future. You loved those sweet moments because you knew that everything he said was true.

Every time he told you how much he loved you, every time he told you about the house you two will have and about the wedding you two will plan.

A future so nice it gave you comfort and power.

So yes, it is true the two of you were an unlikely couple, but no one could ever imagine the two of you not together.

Taglist: @fleursirvart @greenarrowhead @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @destynelseclipsa @spilledinkindumpster @capsiclesdoll @puknow @alwayshave-faith @alex12948 @lxdyred @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @praline357 @trshngyn @avengers-r-us @violet-19999 @top1bbgloak @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou @mandoloriancookie @noname2246

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT STEAL, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS

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greenbloodvulcan · 1 year

Text

Same Mistakes (Logan x Reader)

GIF: @asgardswinter

Description: Calming him down during the nightmares

A/N: I’m on my Logan kick and when the obsession is niche enough sometimes you have to write it yourself soooo enjoy.

You always felt it before you heard it. The sudden spastic movements that rocked the bed and had you peering around in the dark half awake and confused. The screams that followed quickly took care of the lethargy and you were scrambling to get out from under the sheets and off the bed. You turned the bedside lamp on and stood at the foot of the bed, your heart falling at the sight of the man you loved; face contorted and covered in a sheen of sweat. You reached out for his leg, shaking him as you called his name, “Logan! You’re ok, it’s me. You're ok.”

It’s always enough to wake him. He sits up quickly, his arm outstretched and raised above his head, the familiar sound of metal breaking skin cutting through the sound of his heavy breaths. His frantic eyes soften when they land on you in the soft yellow light, his arm dropping immediately. He opens his mouth to apologize, but you shoot him a knowing look.

You come around the bed then, lifting yourself up and onto his lap, taking his face in your hands. You hate seeing him like this; hate the defeated look in his eyes and the way you can see the wheels in his mind turning, hating himself for not being able to stop it when you’re inches away from him every night. “Hey,” you whisper, waiting for those hazel eyes to meet yours. “None of that. There is nothing you can do that’s going to turn me away. Nothing.”

“One of these days I’m going to-,” he can’t bring himself to finish the sentence. Your reach for his hand, pulling it into your lap, fingers delicately gliding over the smooth metal. You press a kiss to each of his knuckles before he drops his hand and retracts the claws, both hands coming up your back to pull you into a crushing hug, his chest heaving as he buries his face into your neck. You run your hands through his graying hair, not saying anything just holding him. He pulls away from you after a while, his red rimmed eyes focused on you with an intensity that makes you blush like you haven’t been together for years. “I’ll always choose you,” you tell him firmly, letting your fingers trace the planes of his chest, lingering over the aftermath of bullet holes.

That earns you a chuckle and Logan shakes his head, “Some people can’t help but make the same mistake,” his mouth twists up slightly at the corners and you see the same man you knew all those years ago. “Well then, consider me a fool,” you murmur, rolling off of him and burrowing into his side, doubling down on the previous sentiment. “Every. Single. Time.”

Logan’s breathing has regulated and you take comfort in the steady rhythm of his heart, the warmth radiating from his skin and the kisses he presses into your hair. “I’m here as long as you’ll have me, kid.”

Check out my other, much longer Logan one shot here

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heliads · 2 years

Text

Sunbeam

You and Peter Maximoff have been best friends since forever, as evident by the nickname he won't stop calling you. It's a shame, then, that you might be feeling something a little stronger than just friendship.

masterlist

a/n: this has been in my drafts since november bc i have been afraid to post anything that wasn't a request but Too Bad For You! i am now uncontrollable by man or beast so you get the fic anyway :)

Your footsteps echo through the halls of Xavier’s school. You skid around corners, not exactly running but certainly moving faster than a mere walk. The bell will ring in just a few seconds, and you’re still not at the training room. You manage to slip inside the door moments before class starts, and quickly make your way to the back of the crowd of students before the instructor can notice that you were almost late.

You think you’ve managed to avoid getting called out for your near miss, but as you disappear into the group of mutants flung to the far corners of the room, you hear a voice behind you.

“You took your time getting here, huh, sunbeam?”

You groan, but can’t hide a smile. “Do you always have to call me that?”

Peter Maximoff is grinning at you when you turn around. “Obviously. It fits, doesn’t it?”

You roll your eyes. “Just because my mutation has to do with creating light doesn’t mean you have to use the nickname.”

Peter shrugs. “Come up with a better one, and I’ll use it. I happen to like sunbeam a lot.”

You reach over to shove him on the shoulder, but Peter, as always, manages to move a little faster than you and dodges it just in time.

“Of course you like it, you’re not the one being called sunbeam all the time. You do know no one else calls me that but you, right?” You counter.

Peter snorts. “Yeah, because I’m the one who created it.”

You add one last bit under your breath, but he still hears you. “Because it’s a terrible nickname?”

Peter gives you a look. “Because it’s a great nickname, and they’re simply jealous of my insanely good nickname-creating abilities.”

You’re about to challenge this, but another one of your friends breezes into a spot in between the two of you. “Quit flirting, you two, we’re about to start class.”

You and Peter both make faces at Jean Grey at the exact same time.

“Jean, just because you’re dating the least romantic person on the planet doesn’t mean everyone else flirts by just talking to each other.” Peter says, and Jean rolls her eyes.

“Oh, shut it, Peter. I hope today’s a combat lesson, because I kind of want to punch you in the face.”

You laugh at that. “We all want to punch Peter, that’s just normal.”

Peter narrows his eyes at you, and crosses around Jean to wind up next to you in the span of half a second. “Is that true, Y/N? You’d punch your friend?”

You make a face at him. “Gladly. You’d deserve it, too.”

Peter holds his serious face for a second longer, then loses it in a laugh. He’s never been able to stay upset around you for more than a little while. It’s the same with you. That’s why the two of you are friends, actually. When you get on everyone else’s nerves when you never stop making jokes, you go find the one other person who’s exactly like you– Peter.

True to Jean’s wishes, today is indeed a combat class, although you’re just doing drills. You and Peter partner up automatically, and join the other students in lining up in orderly rows throughout the training room. The Professor has been insistent that everyone should know how to defend themselves if necessary, although you are allowed to use your powers to improve your chances at winning.

Peter aims a lightning-fast punch at your head, stopping just shy of hitting you. You don’t flinch; you never do. Sometimes, you think that’s a sign that you should probably practice combat with someone other than Peter, because you’ve never been able to get it into your head to actually fear him hurting you. All the same, you can’t quite convince yourself to pick anyone else. Maybe Jean was right about the flirting comment after all, although you’d never admit it to her face.

It’s your turn to go now, and you flash a bright beam of light at Peter’s face. This causes him to blink slightly, dazed, and in that time you’re able to lunge forward and aim a kick at his chest. Unlike most of your other opponents, Peter is able to recover in barely any time at all, and one of his hands flies up to catch your foot just before it connects with his chest. You’re expecting this, though, and your second attack hits him in the shoulder.

Peter grimaces slightly, shaking it off. “Nice one, sunbeam.” He grins at your exasperated look. “And no, I’m not giving that up anytime soon.”

The two of you continue with the drills, exchanging sarcastic comments all the while. Despite all the times you’ve complained about the nickname, he’s still the only one you allow to use it. Read into that as you will, but you prefer to not think about it all.

The more you think about it, the more you realize that you might want something more from Peter Maximoff than just friendship. And, seeing as Peter moves on faster from anything than anyone you’ve ever met, you can’t afford to lose him. Especially not if you scare him off by wanting more than he can offer. So, you keep your silence, and pretend you don’t want to smile as brightly as the light from your mutation whenever you hear his favorite nickname for you.

You and Peter walk through the school together after class, specifically choosing a path where you come across the fewest number of people possible. There is no thundering noise like the sound that echoes through the halls of a school for mutants, and simultaneously, no silence like the quiet of finding a moment alone.

Peter pushes open the doors that lead outside to the ground, and you let your eyes flicker shut happily as the fresh air washes over you. In a way, you think your powers are somewhat connected to the actual sun– the more time you spend in its gaze, the better.

When you open your eyes, you notice that Peter isn’t paying attention to the rolling hills, but looking at you instead. He’s wearing this soft sort of smile that you don’t usually see on him. He’s traded in his usual self-assured smirk for contemplative happiness, as easy as changing clothes. You let yourself look back at him for a moment too long, and you swear you could let it go on forever.

But you’ve got places to be, things to see. You and Peter aren’t just wandering aimlessly, you’re both walking to Xavier’s office to hear something about an upcoming mission. You’ve been hearing snatches of rumors about this assignment for a while now, but nothing’s set in stone yet. You know that it involves the entire team of X-Men, so it must be important, but the rest will be revealed later.

Jean is already in the Professor’s office when you get there, and Scott, Storm, and Kurt show up soon enough. Once you’ve all gathered together, Xavier begins to talk. There’s a gathering of young mutants happening in a building near the school. It’s a way for children who have just gained mutations to figure out what to do next, a stepping off place of sorts for them to leave their normal lives behind and learn how to live with their powers. This sort of thing has started happening a lot recently; it’s how you learned about Xavier’s school in the first place, actually.

The only problem is that the Professor has heard rumors of a planned attack on the conference. That’s why he’s sending all of you, so you can act as guards and make sure the younger mutants will be alright. After about half an hour of discussion, you’re ready to go. Xavier only just heard about the attack, so you’ll be shipping out in an hour or so. Not a lot of time to prepare, certainly, but that’s just life as one of the X-Men. Constant battles are nothing new.

The X-Jet touches down in a quieter part of town about two hours later. You, Peter, Jean, and the rest file out quietly, with the Professor giving you directions over a headset. Due to the volatile nature of this mission, and the fact that an attack could come at any second, you all collectively decided that it would be best if Xavier remained on the plane. Although he is certainly a powerful mutant, none of you can afford him getting injured or taken out in the fight.

You find the building soon enough. It’s a tall office building, with many stories of glass windows and concrete and steel walls. You and the rest of the X-Men exchange glances, then head inside. You meet with the event organizers soon enough, who seem grateful to have you. It must be terrifying, knowing that the attack is coming but going through with the conference anyway.

The X-Men spread out to different corners and floors of the building, all of you on high alert. Peter’s on the floor below you, although you walk together until you reach the stairwell.

He turns to you one last time before disappearing through the doors, tossing you a familiar half-smile like this is just another day of training. “See you later, sunbeam. Try not to get killed.”

You manage a smile in return. “You too, Peter.”

Then he’s gone, and you’re left to stare at the closing door. You have no idea how deadly this attack will be, if it will even happen at all. All you can do is watch, wait, and hope that all of your friends will be alright. You pace back and forth, making sure nothing out of the ordinary happens.

After a moment, you see it. A few dark, armored trucks are pulling into the parking lot, even though the event started at least an hour ago and the new arrivals have essentially stopped. Everyone who’s supposed to be here has already shown up, and anyone who’s arriving– well, you don’t know who they could be. You drift closer to a row of windows, and stare at the men starting to pour out of the trucks.

Instantly, you’re reaching for your earpiece. “Guys, I think I have eyes on the attackers. Armored trucks, east side of the building in the parking lot. There’s a lot of them.”

A moment later, Jean's voice crackles into being. “I see them. I think there’s around three dozen. Get the kids out now.”

You fling yourself into action, shouting for the organizers to round up the mutant kids and get them out of there. You help carry the kids who are too young to run as fast as they need to, and make sure everyone gets out. You’re too high up to risk the elevators, as those are likely one of the first targets of the attackers, so you direct everyone towards the stairs.

You look around you, but you think everyone is out of your floor. You radio this into your earpiece, and after a few minutes, you hear confirmation from Storm and Scott that they’ve done the same. Peter’s already making trips to get people out as fast as he can (which, incidentally, is very, very fast), and Kurt is starting to teleport people who can’t get out as easily. Jean is heading towards the parking lot to slow down the attackers, so you start to do the same.

A few moments later, your feet hit the asphalt as you run through the front doors. You fling up wide beams of light to blind your opponents, making it easy to take them down before they even see you. Light appears in your hands like daggers, slicing through weapons and dismantling enemy technology before it can be used.

Jean runs up beside you, breathing hard. “These guys are done for. I’ve taken down one of the other trucks, too. I think we’re done.”

You start to nod, then frown. “Wait, did you get the third truck of soldiers?”

Jean’s face falls. “What do you mean, third truck? I thought there were only two.”

You shake your head frantically. “No, I saw three. We have to find them now, before it’s too late.”

Jean starts to cast around with her powers, searching for the remaining guards. After a moment, her face contorts with horror. “It’s too late.”

A half second later, you hear a massive explosion. Behind you, smoke and fire issues from the building, but you can’t see anything that’s happening, because the blast from the building knocks you back into the ground and you can’t feel anything at all.

You don’t know how long you were unconscious, but when you wake, ears ringing, you can’t seem to keep track of anything at all.

You stagger to your feet. “Jean. Jean!”

Your friend materializes out of the heavy, dark smoke that seems to choke out everything nearby. “I’m here. Guys, radio in if you’re safe. Y/N’s with me.”

You hear a voice spark to life over your earpiece. “This is Scott, I’m safe. I’ve got eyes on Storm, and she’s fine.”

Storm confirms this, and Kurt teleports to your side to prove that he’s alright.

You’re still missing someone. “Peter, you alright?”

There’s no answer, not even a crackle of static. You try again. “Peter, come in.”

Nothing. There’s a heavy sort of horror that’s starting to lodge itself in your throat, one that you can’t seem to claw out.

“Peter!”

Silence. Jean’s staring at you, and starting to say something, but you can’t seem to concentrate. Why can’t you hear him?

“Have any of you seen Peter?”

Beside you, Kurt is starting to shake his head. “Last time I saw him was before the blast. He was heading inside to find more people.”

You swallow hard. “He was still in there?”

Kurt can’t meet your eyes. “I think so.”

You stumble slightly, suddenly dizzy. Jean reaches out an arm. “Y/N, wait a minute. You don’t know what’s happened.”

You brush her arm off. “That’s the problem. I’m going in.”

Jean starts to stop you, but she freezes in her tracks when she sees the look on your face. “I have to find him, Jean.”

She looks like she wants to say something else, but at last she nods. “Stay safe.”

You don’t have time to confirm this, because you’re already off and running through the rubble of the parking lot.

As you draw closer to the building, you feel your footsteps slow in shock. This building had been tall, maybe eight stories, but now? Try four. Three, if you don’t count the ruin of the final level. It’s a mess of ash and dust, and all you can think about is that Peter is somewhere in there. You had been on floor four, and Peter had been one below you, so he’s somewhere in three.

You push through the doors, and they fall apart at your slightest touch. You cough at the dust that hangs through the air like a second atmosphere, and make your way to the stairwell. You stumble and slip, barely able to see a thing, but still you go. The stairs are blocked at the third floor, so you run down to the second floor again and try to find another way up. You have to resort to climbing up onto the ruin of what had once been a conference table to punch a whole through the cracked and broken ceiling to make your way up.

You pull yourself through to the third floor, shaking and covered in dust and ash. Your voice is hoarse, and your lungs can barely work through their layers of smog, but you call out nonetheless.

“Peter. Peter, can you hear me?” You can’t hear anything. “Peter!”

You wander through wreck after wreck of hallways and rooms, shouting all the while.

The more space you cover, the more you start to panic. This floor is barely a floor at all, more just utter devastation. There is rubble everywhere from the collapse of the other stories, and Peter could be buried under any of these piles of concrete and cement. You shout again, then double over, coughing. Dust hangs suspended in the air, so thick you can practically draw a finger through it.

It is now, when you just manage to get your breath back, that you hear something. It’s quiet, barely a shift in the rubble, but it’s enough. You move towards it, walking at first and then running when you hear it again. The sound comes from a pile of debris in the corner of a room. You start to pull away chunks of concrete, ignoring the cuts opening up on your hands. At last, you see something that makes a sob rise up in your throat.

There’s a hand lying there in the rubble, badly scored by ash and blood. You frantically clear rocks away from it, and after a moment, you see him. Peter lies in front of you, so still that you nearly scream. When he moves slightly, barely even a rise and fall of his chest, you want to cry. You crumple to the ground next to him, hands reaching for him even as you feel the need to pull away.

“Peter.”

The word is barely a whisper, more like a hope. The impossible happens, though, and Peter starts to stir. He speaks, and his voice is a cracked, broken version of his usual confidence, but it’s him.

“Hey, sunbeam.”

You let out this half-laugh, half-sob sound, and fling your arms around his shoulders. After a moment, he raises his arms to embrace you back.

“I thought you weren’t coming back. Don’t ever do that again.”

When you lean back, you can’t seem to keep your eyes from tracing his face, again and again.

Peter chuckles. “Not planning on it, trust me. I knew you’d find me, though.”

You frown. “Why’s that?”

Peter straightens up, propping himself up on his elbows. “Because I know you, sunbeam. I don’t need anything else.”

Everything else falls away when he says this. You stare at him, face painted with ash, and then you lean forward and kiss him. You can taste the sharp tang of dust on his lips, the crack of it against your mouth. There’s a certain fragility to it, like you’re afraid to move too fast and hurt him, but when Peter kisses you back, he’s more sure than you’ve ever seen him.

He laughs quietly against your lips. “If this is what I get when I nearly get injured, I think I’ll have to do this more often.”

You want to yell at him and laugh at the same time, so you settle for kissing him again. It produces the desired result, anyways, which is to both shut him up and satisfy the roar in your chest. You’ve got him back. Peter is here. Damn the rest.

xmen tag list: @enchantedcruelsummer, @awaywiththe, @amourtentiaa, @elaineygrace, @rogueanschel, @caswinchester2000, @gods-fools-heroes

#peter maximoff #peter maximoff imagines #peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff oneshot #xmen #xmen imagines #xmen x reader #xmen oneshot #quicksilver #quicksilver imagines #quicksilver x reader #quicksilver oneshot #xmen peter maximoff #xmen peter maximoff imagines #xmen peter maximoff x reader #xmen peter maximoff oneshot

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michelle-is-writing · 1 month

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Food, Peter Maximoff

If you ask anyone, they'd say I'm a clean freak. If you ask Peter, he'd say I'm a "crazy-clean-a-holic." I love him, but he can be kind of messy when it comes to everyday activities. For example, most people would not think eating twenty twinkies within a single day is a normal thing, but for Peter, there's nothing bad about it. He burns off every calorie he eats with his constant running, so it's not entirely a bad thing. However, you would think that he would at least throw away the wrapper to all those twinkies, right?

Wrong.

Without fail, Peter is always leaving his trash all over the place. I have found candy wrappers in the bedroom, the pantry floor, between the couch cushions - I repeat: everywhere. To put it simply, Peter is messy! Plus, he doesn't always watch what he's doing, so when I see him walk into our shared bedroom with a full bag of chips, I pause what I'm doing to stop him in his actions.

"Uh-uh. Go back to the kitchen," I tell him as soon as he steps in the room. Immediately, he stops in his actions with cautious eyes and an impeccable balance. Not even a flying rock could make him budge. "You cannot come into this bed."

Looking at me with pouting eyes, Peter let's out a sigh and slumps his shoulders. "I won't make a mess - I promise!" He tells me, making me purse my lips at him. There is no way he could ever not be messy when he's eating - no way.

"Peter, you always make a mess when you eat anywhere but a table," I remind him, sitting up in bed with my arms crossed against my chest. "Even at the table, you manage to get your food all over the place," I add, watching him closely as he sits down on the bed, his feet planted firmly on the ground with his bag of chips now in his lap.

"Yeah, but I pick up after myself afterward, don't I?" He asks, turning his head back to me.

At his words, I laugh. "Yes, you brush everything into your hand and then toss it back into your mouth," I point out to him, internally cringing at the reminder of my boyfriend's gross habit. "And by the way, it's so gross when you do that! Do you know how many germs you might be putting in your mouth?" Not to mention the lack of table manners, but that's a discussion for another time.

Peter's mouth pops open in response, appalled I would even criticize him for something that is so normal for him. "Well, I don't want to waste it!" He argues back, pulling more of his body onto the bed so he can face me better.

"Peter, we live in school with over a hundred kids constantly running around and making messes - messes which you sometimes help them create!" I exclaim, leaning back into my pillow with a groan. "Just think of all the times they've played outside, covered in sweat and mud, only to run back inside and rub their grubby hands all over the dining hall table," Staring at the ceiling, I sigh. "And then imagine you eating at that table and then eating the crumbs that come into contact- Damn it, Peter!"

Just as I turn my head up from the pillow, my eyes quickly catch onto Peter with his food now on the bed as he eagerly munches on one of the many barbecue chips. On the comforter beneath him is all of the fallen crumbs from the several chips he's undoubtedly stuffed in his mouth with his super-speed. I told him - I told him - not to get in bed for this exact reason.

At the tone of my voice alone, Peter realizes he's messed up and quickly halts in his chewing, and instead, slowly turns his eyes toward me with almost a scared haze filling them. "I didn't mean to?" He lies with a small smile, holding his hands up in an almost shrugging manner. However, despite this being his attempt to appear as innocent, this only causes more crumbs to cover the sheets and blankets.

"Peter, you're getting crumbs all over the bed!" I exclaim once again, laughing as I move to try and playfully push him out of bed. However, with the super-human speed he has, I'm not very successful as I end up landing on my stomach with Peter now standing up beside the bed, his chip bag back in his hand as he resumes munching on his snack.

"Crumbs are easily cleaned, baby," He assures me, a quick flash of grey falling before my eyes as the color of the blanket flashes a few times in front of me a few times. Before I know it, Peter is sitting beside me with his legs underneath the covers and his lips planted firmly on my cheek. Looking down at my blankets, I see them now completely flattened and smoothed out, meaning he tossed the blanket into the air before letting me see and putting it back down on top of me, now free of crumbs. "See?"

At his question, I smile before turning my head and kissing him. Although it isn't long before I pull away and lean my head onto his shoulder, his freshly cut silver hair brushing against my forehead as I do so. "If only you could be this quick in cleaning anything else," I murmur, giggling as Peter quickly pushes me onto my back with his body now on top of mine.

"I tried my best!" He exclaims, smiling as I try to push him off of me. However, he doesn't give, and instead of rolling back over onto his side, Peter lies completely on top of me with his arms wrapped around me tightly. "And because you just had to complain about me showing my love for you, you can't leave this bed for the rest of the night."

"'Showing my love for you'," I repeat his words, snickering. "All you did was clean up your own mess from the bed, Peter," I point out, raising my hands to rest on his sides. He's always so sarcastic, and yet, he's sweet at the same time.

"I love you," He tells me with a small sigh. "But for five seconds, can you not be unsatisfied?" Peter asks me, his voice dangerously close to my ear as he keeps his head beside mine on my pillow.

Turning my head toward him, I find his nose lining up with mine as his dark brown eyes meet mine, a gentleness filling them like always. Just at the sight of the man I love, I sigh with a smile and lean in close to press another small kiss to his lips. "Thank you," I tell him, moving one of my hands from his sides and up to his soft cheek. "And even though you're sometimes messy, I love you too."

At that, Peter smiles back before returning the kiss with a small one of his own. "I love you so much," He tells me, slowly sliding onto his side of the bed with me still resting in his arms. I guess I really won't be leaving the bed for the rest of the night. "And thank you for cleaning up after me - even though you shouldn't have to."

Peter doesn't usually say such raw things, but when he does, I know he means them with all his heart. So, instead of continuing on with my teasing, I let my amusement pass through and let the moment turn into one of seriousness. "I wouldn't have it any other way," I confess, my voice soft as I watch Peter smile once again. No other words have to be exchanged for me to know that Peter feels the same way, and with that, I know that our relationship is a special one that will last - messes and all.

#peter maximof x reader #peter maximof #peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff imagine #peter maximoff imagines #peter maximof imagin #peter maximof imagine #xmen #xmen x reader #xmen imagine #xmen imagines

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in-love-with-srk · 2 years

Text

You were lying on your bed trying to sleep, when you heard a certain someone quicksilver his way into your dorm. So of course you did the sane thing and pretended to be asleep so he wouldn't bother you.

You expected a loud announcement of his arrival but not him quietly rushing over to you and hugging you from behind. "I missed you, my sick sweet little angel". "But you saw me yesterday" You say turning towards him and he jumped not expecting that you had heard his little confession. But he quickly made a recovery "So? You think I can go a day without seeing you're pretty face.". You scoffed "Pretty, in this state?" His expression softened "Of course you're pret-"

"PETER GET BACK TO CLASS" Logan yelled. "Oh shit" Then Logan came to drag his ass back to chemistry. You gave him a tiny wave before smiling secretly. "I WILL BE BACK MY DEAR". He left and you turned your face into the pillow. Then he noticed that you had waved at him and ran back into your dorm. He quickly moved your face to make your look towards him but slow enough to not give you whiplash. And then he pecked your cheek before bashfully waving at you, saying bye and running away once again.

#peter maximoff #quicksilver #peter maximof x reader #quicksilver x reader #evan peters #peter maximoff x you #peter maximoff fluff #peter maximoff imagine #peter maximoff drabble #Xavier! Reader #Xmen is not much on tumblr #xmen #xmen imagines #xmen apocalypse #evan peters x reader #167 notes

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lanawinterscigarettes · 2 years

Note

how ab peter dating a s/o with witch-like powers? like they can control fire and bring ppl back to life (basically ahs 3 witch powers)

Omg this idea sounds really cool 😯 they'd literally be a power couple hehe (ignore my awful joke sksksk) also I decided to write headcanons instead of a fic, so I hope that's okay <33

Peter Maximoff with a s/o who's a witch

Warnings: swearing, brief mentions of violence/fighting

Peter first saw you one day when he was out taking a stroll in the park

He noticed you kneeling down beside a bird who appeared to have a broken wing

He was about to go over and help when he saw you pick the bird up and cover it with you hands

Once you reopened them, it flew away as if nothing happened

He was bewildered by what he'd just witnessed

Thinking you were a fellow mutant, he approached you and introduced himself

You were a bit wary, having heard stuff on the news about people with your abilities being harrassed, assaulted, or killed, but after he started talking about his mutation and stuff you relaxed a little bit and began to trust him more

He found out that you were essentially homeless; your parents had kicked you out of the house after learning about your powers and you had no place to go, so now you just sort of wandered around, using you abilities to help people whenever you could

After you said this, he blurted out, "do you want to come live with me?"

It took him a couple of minutes to explain the place he was talking about wasn't just his home necessarily, but a place for other people like you who had powers the world was too ignorant to try to understand

You agreed, figuring it'd be worth a shot to try it out

Besides, what left did you have to lose?

Once you arrived, everyone immediately welcomed you with open arms, making you feel at home there

You excelled at your classes and made tons of new friends, too

Not only that, but you and Peter started getting closer until one day, he finally asked you out (you obviously said yes)

He's constantly bragging about you and how cool you are to anyone who will listen

Sometimes you'll have races to see who can get to places quicker, him with his super speed or you with your teleporting

Spoiler alert: you tie every. Single. Time

Speaking of teleporting, sometimes you use it to sneak up on him so you can scare him

*pops up out of nowhere* "Hey Peter"

"JESUS CHRI- WHERE THE FUCK DID YOU COME FROM?!?!"

You like making random objects (specifically stuff that belongs to him) fly across the room just to mess with him

He tries to get you back by hiding some of your things, always forgetting you can easily find them with divination

Actually, he probably does it on purpose, because sometimes he'll hide things just so he can watch you find them again. It never fails to amaze him

"How the hell did you find that so quickly?!? My hiding spot was really good!"

"I used magic, duh"

Occasionally he'll let you use mind control on him (with his consent, of course) just to see what it feels like

"Woah! It's like I'm still conscious and know what's happening, but my brain doesn't have any control over my body. So cool"

You don't get mad often, but when you do it kinda scares him, because he knows just how much power you truly have that you don't let on

Let's say you're on a mission, for example, and somehow he gets hurt

Hell hath no fury like when someone injures Peter, because the next thing he knows the bad guy is writhing on the ground in pain and you're standing over them, victorious

Afterwards, you check on him and make sure he's okay, but not until you're certain the bad guy is down for good and won't be getting up again anytime soon

You do not mess around when it comes to your boyfriend's safety

Taglist: @anxiously-sad @iloveentrapta @ghot-girl @taecube @nevilleismywhore @xxromanoffxx @your-next-daydream

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muschiettistrashmouth · 6 days

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MOVIES - MASTERLIST

🕸 DRACULA (1931) 🕸:

All I Wanted Was You. The wonder of you.

Ⓐ AVENGERS Ⓐ:

Favorite Movies.

Horror Movies.

Nightmares.

✵ CAPTAIN MARVEL ✵:

Flirting.

2 times Carol saved you from getting hurt vs 1 time you saved her.

3AM.

🎈IT🎈

🎈BILL DENBROUGH -

Happy Birthday, babe.

Richie was right.

𓊖 X-MEN 𓊖:

Carving Pumpkins.

🎙BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY🎙:

🎙ROGER TAYLOR -

Relax.

Car Accident.

Friends With Benefits.

Food Fight.

🎙BRIAN MAY-

Period cramps.

Amusement Park.

Constellation.

Ticklish.

📽HERCULE POIROT 📽:

I don't wanna be your friend I wanna kiss your lips. Pt2.

Credits:

THE DIVIDERS ARE FROM CAFEKITSUNE

#fandom imagines #bela lugosi!dracula x reader #hercule poirot x reader #brian may x reader #brian may imagine #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor imagine #the avengers x reader #the avengers imagines #xmen imagines #xmen x reader #it x reader #bill denbrough x reader

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qeterqujll · 2 years

Text

the hunger games (part 2); you and warren have to fight against one another in the games when you are both chosen, but what if there’s a way out? (part 1) (part 2)

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, cursing, mentions of death, wc: 2.2k

a/n: it’s been a minute. i’m tentatively posting again, but it won’t be consistent. please let me know if you like this and want more parts, or just send general thought about the characters. any inspo is welcomed and appreciated. enjoy!

“Why did you do that?”

It’s the first time you’ve gotten a moment alone with Warren since the reaping, nearly two hours after Emma ushered you off the stage and sent you into a flurry of goodbyes, meetings with potential sponsors, and half-hearted compliments about both of your physiques. Emma seemed to be trying to appease her guilty conscience by assuring both you and herself that you seemed strong enough to make it far in the games.

“Right,” you snapped after she commented on your tenacity during the Reaping in the face of the tasks ahead of you, “I’m sure tenacity will be a big help in killing twenty-two other people.”

Her nervous laugh grated against your ears as she scurried away, leaving all of the tension in the room behind her.

You stand with your back to Warren for a few moments, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath in a failed attempt to calm your nerves. To his credit, Warren keeps his mouth shut, eyes wide in the unfamiliar face of your fury.

“You could have survived. You would have been fine if you had just let me go. Why the fuck couldn’t you just let me go, Warren?” your voice is low, and you find it hard to meet his eyes the longer he stares at you. “You have a family back home. They need you. Our friends need you, and now we’re both going to die. Why the fuck did you- you goddamn i-idiot-”

You fall to your knees, head pressed between your hands as you try to get a grip on your emotions. You won’t allow anyone but Warren to see you fall apart like this, and you know that you won’t have long before someone else comes looking for you to drag you to another meeting or congratulate you on being chosen.

You take deep, staggering breaths as panic begins to claw up your throat. Your heart is beating out of your chest, and your lungs feel too full for any air to get in. You can’t breath, Jesus, you can’t breath.

Gentle hands take hold of your wrists, guiding them away from your face. Warren replaces them with his own, wiping the tears from your cheeks.

“I’ll follow you,” he whispers, tears of his own falling to the floor between you. “Wherever you go, I’ll follow you. No one, not even the fucking Capital is taking you away from me. I was never going to let you go alone. After our first reaping, I promised myself that I would follow you anywhere. Even if it led me here.”

A sob rips from your throat and you take his face in your hands, stuck between the urge to push him away and hug him as close as you can.

“You’re so stupid,” you tell him, but it’s weaker than before. Your anger begins to fade as you take him in, holding his head between your palms and running your thumbs over his cheeks. There are still tear stains on his face from the reaping, and you can see the fear clouding them. Guiltily, you feel some relief at the fact that he’s the one here beside you as he closes the distance between you. He presses his head into your neck and takes a deep, shaky breath. You bury a hand in his curls and grasp at his shirt, shaking against the onslaught of emotion that you haven’t had time to sort through.

“I love you,” he whispers, the words muffled. “I love you so much. I’ll never leave you in there, even if it kills me.”

“God, Warren, don’t say that,” you sob, pulling him even closer. His arms tighten around you until you’re holding him between your legs so he can get closer to you. “I love you too. Even though you’re a goddamn idiot.”

“Well, this will make for a fantastic strategy.”

You jump at the voice, staring up at an amused but tired looking Erik Lehnsherr.

“What?” you mutter dumbly, sniffing as you try to compose yourself.

“Two lovestruck teenagers from district twelve, fighting to keep each other alive,” Erik sits in a chair on the far side of the room, unfazed by the intimacy that he’d interrupted, “it’s been used countless times, but it never fails to win the sympathy card. You should capitalize on that.”

Warren stands from your embrace, keeping one hand tucked carefully into yours as he glares at Erik.

“We aren’t characters for people to fawn at,” he grumbles, “You’re sending us off to die. The least you could do is treat us like human beings.”

“I’ll treat you however I want if it gives you a better chance to survive. If you need to look at yourselves as characters to put on a better show, then do it. If you survive, you’ll have all the time in the world to be real people. In the arena, your only job is to look pretty and kill as many people as possible,” he looks out the window as you pass through district eleven, staring blankly at the concrete walls surrounding the city, “but from the looks of it, it won’t be very hard to play the part.”

His eyes fall to your and Warren’s joined hands. You scowl at him but don’t move, knowing that he’s right. Combat isn’t the only thing you need to be focusing on. Every person who has won the games has done so with the help of sponsors. To get sponsors, you’ll need a good story.

“Can we have some time alone?” Warren spits, although you can see the fight slowly draining from him, “we have weeks to strategize.”

Erik glances between you. His eyes soften and the tension in his shoulders releases. He doesn’t seem like someone who would vocalize anything but objective fact and strategy, but you remember the way your mentor and his partner got as far as they did before his partner died. Watching the games as a child, you were entranced by the love that the two obviously felt for one another. Looking at him now, you can’t help but wonder if you or Warren will be like him after the games

“You have the rest of the night,” he sighs, “that’s all I can give you. We meet back here tomorrow morning. Don’t sleep in. We have a lot to go over.”

Warren doesn’t understand how this happened. Everything was fine. He was going to age out this year, and next year you would be safe. All of your friends would be safe, and you could live your lives in relative peace.

He wanted to marry you. He’d found a ring from one of the vendors in the market and bought it spontaneously, realizing the moment he held it in his palm that he wanted to see you wearing it for the rest of your lives. He carried it with him almost everywhere he went, as a reminder of the future he wanted with you. But right now it feels heavy in his pocket.

He pulls you tighter against him, closing his eyes again in a fruitless attempt to sleep. He’s kept himself up all night, paranoia plaguing him as his eyes search the empty room for a nonexistent threat, as if he’s already in the arena.

You shift in his arms, pressing back against his chest and sighing as you bury a hand in the soft feathers of his wing. He presses his head into the back of your neck, hand spreading across your stomach to press you as close as he can. He took this closeness for granted before the Reaping, but now these moments are limited. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to hold you close enough to make up for the time that you’re going to lose after the games.

He can’t let you die.

It’s a thought that jolts him. Of course, the plan was always to keep you alive, but he’s still coming to terms with what that means for him. He selfishly wants to keep himself alive too, to see his family and friends again. To see your face when he gives you the ring. To see your face every day for the rest of his life. He wants to live. God, he wants to live so badly.

You shift in his arms, turning to face him with bleary eyes.

“Why’re you still awake?” you murmur, “you need to sleep.”

It’s an impossible thing. Sleep feels farther away the longer he’s awake. His fear grips him like a vice, taking hold of his throat and squeezing any remaining life out of him. He can’t speak. He can’t breath.

“Warren,” you whisper his name, pulling him out of the haze he’d fallen into, “baby, you need to breath. You’re having a panic attack.”

Oh. That makes more sense than his immediate assumption, which was that he was actually dying via some unknown, merciful force.

Selfish, he reminds himself, stop being selfish.

You attempt to move away from him to give him distance, but he stops you, pulling you close again. He sighs when he feels your heart beating against his and times his breaths with each thump against his chest. You relax against him, hand moving into his hair.

“Just breathe,” you whisper into his hair. His hands tremble against your back and he clenches them, hating himself for how weak he is. You’re going to the games too, you shouldn’t be having to anchor him. But despite this knowledge, he still clings to you, pressing his lips to your neck with a shaky sigh.

“Don’t leave me,” he whispers, closing his eyes when you hold him tighter.

“Never.”

Tears slide down his cheeks as the panic starts to fade into sorrow.

“I love you,” he looks up at you, taking your face carefully in his palms and kissing your jaw, “more than anything.”

He wipes away a tear that slides down your cheek, pressing another kiss against your temple.

“I love you too,” your voice sounds as weak as he feels, and he wishes more than anything that this could be a dream. That he’d wake up in his own bed, tucked away in the safety of your arms. You would hold each other for hours, free from the burden of the Hunger Games.

He falls asleep wrapped around you, keeping you tucked in the safety of his wings while he drifts away in your arms.

It doesn’t take much searching for you to find Erik’s room secluded from the rest of the train. It’s far too early to be awake, but you couldn’t wait until morning to talk to him. You tap against the door, looking around tentatively to make sure no one woke up at the sound of your quiet footsteps. You knock again, a bit louder, and sigh when you hear an annoyed groan through the door. It takes a minute, but you wait patiently until you hear Erik’s footsteps coming closer. He slides it open, tired eyes landing on you.

“What?” he grunts, walking back towards his bed as a silent invitation for you to follow. You push the door shut behind you and shuffle towards him, sitting on the chair that he points to and waiting for him to look at you.

“I needed to talk to you before tomorrow. I know you probably have a strategy in mind, but whatever it is, you need to change it.”

Erik looks less than impressed, waiting patiently and expectantly for you to continue.

“He has to live,” you whisper, an admission both to him and yourself. The fight between wanting to find a way for you both to live and needing Warren to get back home is one you’ve been fighting since the moment he volunteered. But you know that two people surviving the games is impossible. This is your only option.

“Warren lives. He has to. I don’t care what I have to do.”

Erik’s expression doesn’t change, and you realize he was probably expecting this. His only question was probably whether it would be you or Warren showing up at his door.

“That’s not up to me,” he tells you, “any strategy we come up with will end with one person coming out of that arena alive. If you end up getting to the end of this, it’s either going to be you or him. It’s your job to decide what happens after that.”

You don’t know what else you were expecting. You feel idiotic for even coming given the little that you’re going to leave with. You feel far from reassured, but at the very least, there’s a tentative plan starting to form. Or at least some semblance of motivation.

“If you really want it to be him that makes it out, you’re going to have to fight until the end. That means the strategy stays the same,” he leans forward, studying you for a moment. “This isn’t an out for you, if that’s what you were hoping. Your training stays the same, as does his.”

“What?” you narrow your eyes at him, “I don’t want an out. All I want is to protect him.”

Erik meets your eyes, looking fully alert as he stares at you. You want to back down from the intensity of his gaze, but you stand your ground.

“Then protect him,” Erik finally says, eyes holding a meaning that you can’t fully grasp, “no one else is going to do it for you.”

#wwdrabble #drabble #warren worthington x reader #warren worthington x you #warren worthington imagine #warren worthington imagines #angel x reader #angel x you #angel imagine #angel imagines #xmen x reader #xmen x you #xmen imagine #xmen imagines #hunger games #hunger games au #imagine

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