Latest Posts by chaoticrockmusic - Page 2

↫彡🂡"My Girl can Wear Whatever"🂡彡↬

↫Peter Maximoff↬

You were just trying to get a snack. That was it. But the moment you stepped into the kitchen, Peter nearly dropped his Twinkie.

"Whoa—" His silver brows shot up as his eyes scanned your outfit. Not in a gross way, but in a "Do I need to start running?" way.

You raised a brow. "Problem?"

Peter shook his head way too fast. "Nope! No problems here. You can wear whatever you want, babe."

Jubilee, sitting at the counter, smirked. "Really? You don’t care?"

Peter scoffed, tossing an arm around your shoulders. "Pfft. Why would I? My girl can wear whatever she wants..." He hesitated, glancing at you and then lowering his voice. "...'cause I'm scared of her."

You narrowed your eyes. "What was that last part?"

"Nothing!" He grinned nervously, stepping back. "You look amazing! Stunning! Fantastic! A completely independent person with great fashion sense! I love that for you!"

Jubilee cackled. "Dude, you are terrified of her."

"Well, yeah," Peter said without shame. "Like, you think I'm about to tell her no? You think I got a death wish? Nah, I value my life, I like my face. I’d like to keep it in one piece."

You rolled your eyes, grabbing a granola bar from the pantry. "Good answer, Maximoff."

Peter sighed in relief. You were scary, but hey, at least you were his scary.

彡Logan彡

Logan had been minding his business at the bar when you walked in, dressed in something that made half the room do a double take.

He noticed. Oh, he definitely noticed. But instead of reacting like some jealous, overprotective boyfriend, he just sipped his whiskey.

It was not until some guy at the pool table let his eyes linger a second too long that Logan made a noise in the back of his throat—a low, rumbling ahem that sent a very clear message.

The guy turned, raising an eyebrow. "What?"

Logan smirked, tapping a single claw against his glass. "Nothin'. Just wonderin' if you're stupid or just feelin' lucky tonight."

The guy scoffed. "Relax, old man, it's just a look."

"Mm. See, I ain’t too worried ‘bout what she wears." Logan tilted his head, eyes sharp. "She can wear whatever she wants… ‘cause I can fight." He flashed his Adamantium claws.

The guy raised his hands and backed off real quick. Logan just chuckled, downing the rest of his drink.

You leaned against the bar beside him. "You always gotta scare people?"

He shrugged. "Ain’t my fault they spook easy."

You smirked. "You are such a show-off."

Logan just grunted, but the way he slid a possessive arm around your waist told you everything you needed to know.

🂡Remy LeBeau🂡

Remy was kicked back on the mansion's couch, long legs stretched out, flipping a poker chip between his fingers. He had seen you walk in, noticed the way heads turned, but unlike the others, he did not bat an eye.

Jubilee, being Jubilee, could not help but stir the pot. "Remy, you just gonna let her walk around like that?"

Remy did not even look up from his poker chip. "Remy think his chérie can wear whatever she want," he said lazily.

"Yeah?" Jubilee smirked. "You that confident?"

He flicked the chip up, caught it between two fingers, and finally smirked. "Mm-hmm. ‘Cause she's a houe, and I knew that before we started dating."

Gasps. Laughter. Even Logan huffed out an amused breath from the other side of the room.

Your eyes widened. "Excuse me?"

Remy grinned, finally looking at you. "What? You know it’s true, chérie. I fell for you ‘cause you a heartbreaker. A flirt. A menace." He tilted his head, voice dropping to a lazy drawl. "And yet, here we are."

You crossed your arms. "That does not make it better, you know."

"But it is true, non?" He flashed that dangerous, charming grin. "An’ I do not mind one bit."

You rolled your eyes, but you could not stop the small smirk tugging at your lips. Damn Cajun and his smooth talk.

Jubilee snorted. "I hate that he actually got away with that."

Remy just winked.

Hope you all enjoyed!! Love you all, kits! (houe means hoe in French. Idk what else to put there T ' T)

Titles

Quicksilver-  ↫ ↬

Wolverine- 彡 彡

Scott Summers- 💥 💥

Gambit- 🂡

Kurt- 🌒 🌘

Hank- 🧪 🥼

Charles- 𖡎 🧠

Magneto- 🔗🧲

I made silly thanos drawings from squidgame s2!!

Silly!

(NOT MY VID)

I'm slowly obsessing over this slimy Goober oml-

One Chance

X-Men Evolution Toad x mutant!reader

Word Count: 1,249

Summary: Toad always hears the same answer from you every single time, “no.” What happens when you finally agree to a date.

~~~~~

Don’t judge me, I wrote this after watching X-Men Evolution S3E7: The Toad, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. My man’s deserves love on that show.

~~~~~

“Don’t look now, but here comes your not so secret admirer,” said your best friend Kitty. You let out a little sigh already knowing exactly who she was talking about.

When you had moved to the institute you had expected difficulties. New town, new neighbors, new people who think you’re a freak. But what you didn’t expect was an admirer.

Toad.

Keep reading

That was so cute! 😭😭 we need more Toad stuff on this app

Heyyy, I'm back 😍 I'm the weirdo that said I'll give you my life for some Todd fics. And I do owe you now because you did it and I'M SO happy. Since you asked for ideas, could you do a fic about Todd with an insecure reader (specifically a plus sized reader if you could ☝️☺️❤️💪) I will literally give you my first born child.

Different People Same Feelings

Todd Tolansky x plus size reader

Words: 824

Author’s note: I tried not to delve too deep with the emotions cause I’m not good with emotional stuff and this one kinda rung home with me so sorry if it’s not what you were looking for.

Creep. Gross. Freak. Toad’s heard it all. 

But while other people’s words brought him down, yours were right there to bring him back up. 

Affectionate. Witty. Wonderful. Those were the words that came to his mind now. He got so used to your optimistic thinking that it didn’t even occur to him that you might need some of that positivity yourself. 

You weren’t the thinnest and you were okay with that. While most of the time you tried not to care for what others thought you couldn’t help but focus on your coworkers words, said earlier that week. 

“Squishy?” You repeated as you looked at yourself in the mirror, your hand grabbing at the skin of your waist when Todd threw the door open. 

“Keep your cool, the Toad-miester has arrived,” he shouted, his eyes landing on you. 

Stepping into your room he could tell the typical vibes were off but he didn’t care, he was just happy to see you. So in his bliss of happiness he hopped over, and once close enough he straightened his back and met your mouth.

His lips caught you off guard, with your mind elsewhere, but you eased into the kiss, at least before his hands landed on your waist. When his hands rested on your body you were instantly reminded of that word again. 

Squishy.

Your hands found his, as you tried to gently move them away without any detection but obviously that wasn’t the case.

Todd separated from you, his hands returning to his side as he gave you a nervous expression to which you just smiled back. It wasn’t the first time you’d done something like that recently. He was honestly going to avoid the whole conversation, afraid that if he mentioned it, it would just end up with him hurt, but something about your face moved him to ask.

“Did I do something wrong?”

That question plus the sad expression he wore made you feel guilty for even making Toad think that. “What? No, of course not, no you haven’t done anything wrong.”

You both stood in silence awkwardly, you; being unable to express yourself and him; being afraid of creating conflict. But eventually one of you had to break the tension created and it seemed like Toad was willing to take that risk. 

“If it isn’t me, then what’s wrong?”

You held your lips tight breathing in through your nose, before telling him the story. “At work my coworker was, you know, joking and telling a story, and she poked my stomach. Then she quickly removed and asked what that was that she poked? And I said my stomach and she said it felt way squished than she expected. And I know it was just a word and she probably didn’t mean anything by it, but now I’m just looking at myself. Every roll, every bump and handle. I’m just staring and thinking that everything that I try to hide about my body everyone can see. And you know when you tell yourself it’s all in your head, nobody notices it. Now I’m realizing everybody does notice and I’ve just been out here gaslighting myself.”

Toad was not prepared for any of that, he had no idea this was going on. 

“I don’t know, I just wish I was different, do you ever wish I was different?”

You knew the question was way too much, you sort of hated yourself for even asking it, but you couldn’t help but wonder what Todd thought especially considering he was on the other side of the scale with him being more slender. 

That question was just about the least depressing way you figured you could’ve worded it. 

Todd took a step back looking you up and down, “are you kidding, you’re hot!” 

You gave him a tight lipped smile, of course he would say that’s, he was your boyfriend. But honestly you didn’t want to think about it anymore, all you wanted to do was be alone.

”Thanks,” you said, turning your back to him. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” he he’d your elbow turning you around again. “No, I don't wish you looked different. You’re my babe. You’re gorgeous inside and out,” in the process of his words he lifted your arms to wrap around his shoulders, “you gave me a chance. I never want you to be anything but yourself. If you think people are looking at you funny it’s me they're probably looking at.”

“Hey,” you warned while he shot you a laugh making you grin a little. 

“Do you ever wish I looked different?” He asked, using your own question against you.

You looked at him before bringing your foreheads together. “Never.”

Toad learned something new that day. He learned that there are times when you felt just as bad as he did and he learned that his words actually meant a lot to someone, and that fact itself meant alot to him.

Thank you to everyone who got me to 2500 likes!

....AAAHHHHH-

NOT MY VID

Jealousy is in the Air

Synopsis: When a charming newcomer to the team takes a little too much interest in you, Kurt Wagner finds himself battling an unfamiliar feeling—jealousy. His usual calm demeanor wavers as he awkwardly tries to mask his growing frustration. Despite his best efforts to stay composed, his swishing tail and brooding glances give him away. It doesn’t take long for you to notice, and when you confront him about it, he shyly admits his feelings, afraid he might have overstepped. Reassuring him that your heart belongs to him, you manage to turn his jealousy into a moment of tenderness, leaving Kurt flustered but undeniably happy.

The laughter in the rec room was lively, everyone enjoying a rare moment of peace. You had found yourself in conversation with a charming newcomer—someone fresh to the team and eager to make connections. They were easy to talk to, asking questions about your work and hobbies, their attention focused solely on you.

Across the room, Kurt tried to stay engaged with the small group he was sitting with, but his golden eyes kept darting to you. It wasn’t hard to miss how the newcomer leaned a little closer to hear you better, their smile a little too wide for Kurt’s liking. His tail swished sharply behind him, nearly knocking over a nearby chair.

“Easy there, Kurt,” Jubilee teased, nudging him with her elbow. “What’d that chair ever do to you?”

He cleared his throat, attempting to mask his irritation. “It is...nothing. Just stretching.”

His attempt at nonchalance failed miserably as his gaze returned to you, watching as the newcomer made you laugh—a laugh Kurt adored hearing. He tried to busy himself by sipping his soda, only to realize he’d drained the can in one go.

“Are you okay, Wagner? You look like you’re gonna pop a vein,” Logan grumbled, not bothering to hide his smirk.

“I am fine,” Kurt insisted, though his tail betrayed him by thumping against the floor.

Finally, you noticed Kurt’s unusual behavior. Excusing yourself from the conversation, you crossed the room and plopped into the empty seat beside him. “What’s with all the glaring?” you teased, leaning a little closer.

“I was not glaring,” he protested, though his ears flushed a deeper blue.

“Oh, really? Then what do you call this?” You mimicked his brooding expression, furrowing your brows and squinting your eyes.

He sighed, his tail curling around one of the chair legs. “I suppose... I may have been a little jealous,” he admitted, avoiding your gaze. “You are...very special to me, and I did not like the way they were looking at you.”

A warm smile spread across your face. “Kurt, you don’t have to worry about that. I was just being polite. Besides...” You placed a gentle hand on his arm. “You’re the only one who gets my attention like that.”

His golden eyes lit up at your words, the tension in his shoulders melting away. “Really?”

“Really.”

Kurt’s tail unwound from the chair and hesitantly wrapped around your wrist, a shy but affectionate gesture that made your heart flutter. His smile, wide and full of relief, was worth every moment of teasing him earlier.

Unable to resist the adorable way his ears flushed and his golden eyes lit up, you leaned closer and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

Kurt froze, his tail snapping upright before swinging sharply to the side—and knocking over the chair he had been sitting on moments ago.

The loud clatter turned every head in the room, but Kurt’s wide, sheepish grin as he looked back at you made it impossible for you to feel embarrassed.

“Was that your tail or the chair’s fault this time?” you teased, biting back a laugh.

“It is both,” he stammered, ears darkening to an even deeper blue. “But mostly the tail.”

His flustered reaction only made you laugh harder, leaning into him as he rubbed the back of his neck. Even with the eyes of the room on you both, Kurt’s gaze never left yours, his smile growing softer by the second.

彡Allies (or Roommates 😉)彡

Synopsis; Basically, reader with Deadpool's personality

Warnings; Deadpool's personality.

“Can you stop bouncing around for one damn second?” Logan growled, his claws halfway extended as he glared at you.

You peeked out from behind a tree, grinning like you’d just found a box of explosives labeled do not touch. “Stop bouncing? Bouncing on what exactly, honey badger? You naughty bear! But anyways, bouncing is literally my thing. Well, that and making grown men cry. Speaking of which, do you need a tissue for all that gruff man pain you’re radiating?”

Logan ran a hand down his face, muttering under his breath. “I should’ve left you back at the mansion.”

“You say that every time, and yet, here we are. Together. Like peanut butter and jelly. Or whiskey and bad decisions. Or—you’re gonna love this one—claws and quips.” You spread your arms dramatically. “See? Perfect pair.”

Logan glared. “I’ll give you ten seconds to start acting serious before I—”

“Snikt me into ribbons? Oh, Logan, you romantic devil.” You clasped your hands over your chest, batting your eyelashes. “You’re always threatening me. It’s like foreplay.”

He groaned audibly and turned back to the trail, trying to ignore you.

“Aw, don’t walk away, sugar bear!” you called, jogging to catch up. “We’re just getting to the good stuff. I had, like, three more zingers about your height lined up. Oh, wait—four if you count the one about the step stool.”

Logan didn’t even pause. “I’m too old for this.”

“You’re right. You are ancient.” You walked backward in front of him, ticking off points on your fingers. “Wrinkles, grumpy attitude, that permanent smell of cigars and regret—classic ‘dad who went out for milk and never came back’ vibes. Except you came back, and now we’re stuck with each other. It’s poetic, really.”

Logan stopped, his claws popping out with a loud snikt.

You held your hands up. “Whoa, whoa. Easy there, Freddy Krueger. I’m on your side, remember? You handle the claws, and I’ll handle the witty one-liners.”

“You mean the non-stop verbal diarrhea?” Logan growled, his claws retracting.

“Potato, po-tah-to,” you said with a shrug. “Besides, you love it. Admit it, Logan—you’d be bored out of your mind without me. Who else is gonna make jokes about your weird fetish for flannel?”

Logan’s lip twitched—just barely—but you caught it.

“Oh my God,” you gasped, pointing at him. “You’re smiling. That’s it. I’ve broken the Wolverine. Next stop: Hallmark movies.”

He turned and started walking, muttering, “I need a drink.”

You zipped in front of him again, walking backward with your hands on your hips. “You’re stuck with me, bub. Just think of me as your wise-cracking, ridiculously attractive conscience. Except I don’t actually care if you do the right thing, as long as we get to blow something up along the way.”

Logan gave you a long, tired look. “You keep this up, and I’m gonna let the bad guys have you.”

“Aw, you say that now, but wait until I save your hairy butt with my ingenious improvisation skills. You’ll be begging to team up with me again,” you teased, leaning in with a wink.

“Not a chance,” he replied, but there was a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You love me!” you called after him, skipping to catch up. “Admit it!”

“Shut up,” Logan muttered, though he didn’t sound entirely convincing.

↫Midnight Snacks↬

Synopsis: In the middle of the night, you are met with an annoyingly awake speedster. Maybe you could share this small moment with him. And maybe like it...

Warnings; none!!

The mansion was silent at this hour, the kind of quiet that made every creak of the floorboards and every hum of the refrigerator seem louder than they actually were. You shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, and headed straight for the fridge.

“Midnight munchies, huh?”

You yelped, nearly slamming your head into the fridge door as you spun around. Peter was leaning casually in the doorway, arms crossed and a trademark smirk plastered on his face.

“Peter!” you hissed, clutching the carton of milk you’d grabbed as if it were a weapon. “Do you get off on scaring me?”

“Pretty much,” he replied, zipping into the kitchen and leaning on the counter next to you. “So, what’s on the menu? Leftover pizza? Ice cream? A questionable combination of both?”

“Hot chocolate,” you said, setting the milk on the counter.

“Classic,” Peter said, nodding approvingly. “Mind if I join?”

“Do I have a choice?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nope,” he said, already grabbing mugs from the cabinet at super-speed. He tossed them onto the counter with a flourish. “Allow me to assist.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling as you reached for the saucepan. “Fine. But no super-speed stirring. You’ll spill everywhere.”

Peter gasped in mock offense. “What kind of culinary amateur do you take me for?”

“The kind who’s broken three blenders trying to make milkshakes.”

“That was one time,” he protested. “Okay, maybe three. But this is different.”

While the milk heated, Peter zipped around the kitchen, gathering whipped cream, sprinkles, and a bag of marshmallows. By the time you poured the hot chocolate into the mugs, the counter looked like a sugar-filled battlefield.

“Subtle,” you said, gesturing to the mountain of toppings.

Peter shrugged. “Go big or go home.”

He grabbed a mug, piling on an absurd amount of whipped cream and marshmallows before sprinkling the whole thing with a generous handful of chocolate shavings. He took a sip and promptly got whipped cream on his nose.

You burst out laughing, setting your own mug down. “You’ve got a little something…”

“Where?” he asked, crossing his eyes in an attempt to see the mess.

“Here, let me—” You reached out to wipe it off, but before you could, Peter licked it away at super-speed, flashing you a smug grin.

“Got it,” he said.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, shaking your head.

“But charmingly so,” he countered, clinking his mug against yours. “Admit it—midnight snacks are better with me around.”

You sipped your hot chocolate, pretending to think about it. “Mmm… debatable.”

Peter gasped dramatically. “Rude! You’re lucky I like you.”

You smirked, leaning against the counter as the two of you sipped your drinks. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was warm, comfortable, the kind of quiet that came with knowing someone so well you didn’t need to fill every second with words.

“Okay,” you said after a while. “Maybe you’re not that bad.”

“Now that’s the spirit,” Peter said, giving you a playful nudge. “Told you—I’m the ultimate midnight snack buddy.”

🧸Requests plzz inbox and messages are open🤍

↫𝒞𝓊𝒹𝒹𝓁𝑒𝓈↬

Synopsis; After a particularly rough mission, you are welcomed by your favorite speedster and his warmth.

Warnings; none! <3

The mission had been an absolute disaster—or at least that’s how it felt. Every step back into the X-Mansion was like dragging lead weights, and your entire body screamed for rest. You had enough energy to kick off your boots but not enough to make it to your room. Instead, you flopped onto the couch in the common room, burying your face into a throw pillow with a muffled groan.

The familiar whoosh of displaced air and the sound of a chip bag crinkling were your only warning before Peter Maximoff appeared, standing over you like some kind of smug vending machine mascot.

“Well, well, look who’s all tuckered out,” he teased, dropping onto the couch beside you.

You didn’t bother lifting your head. “Go away, Peter.”

“Nah,” he said, already popping a chip into his mouth. “This is way more entertaining. Plus, I brought snacks. You should be thanking me.”

“I can’t even move,” you muttered, your voice muffled by the pillow.

Peter snorted, tossing the bag of chips onto the coffee table. “Then it’s a good thing I’m here. Move over.”

You turned your head just enough to squint at him. “What?”

“Scoot,” he repeated, nudging your shoulder. “You look like you need some of my patented Peter Maximoff TLC. And by that, I mean cuddles.”

“Since when do you cuddle anyone?”

“Since now,” he said with a grin. “Come on, don’t make me beg. It’s undignified.”

With a dramatic sigh, you shifted over slightly, allowing him to wedge himself beside you. He wasted no time draping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you against his chest, tugging the blanket from the back of the couch to cover both of you.

“There. Cozy, right?” he said, leaning back and resting his head against the couch.

You let out a small laugh despite yourself. “This is weirdly nice.”

“‘Weirdly nice’ is my middle name,” Peter quipped, his hand coming up to trace absentminded circles on your arm.

For a guy who couldn’t sit still for more than five seconds, Peter had a surprisingly calming presence. The tension in your shoulders started to melt away, and you found yourself sinking deeper into the cushions.

“Thanks, Pete,” you murmured, your voice soft.

He looked down at you, his usual smirk replaced by something gentler. “Hey, you did good out there. Don’t let your brain tell you otherwise, okay?”

You gave a small nod, your eyes growing heavy.

“Go ahead and sleep,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “I’ll stick around, just in case you need me.”

The last thing you heard before drifting off was the sound of him quietly humming some old 80s song, the warmth of his arm around you lulling you into peace.

MF ICON BITCH ❤️❤️❤️

Silly little animation I made of Todd 'The Toad' Tolansky from Evolution!!

X-Men Christmas Scenarios

Scott Summers (Cyclops): Decorating the Tree

The living room was filled with the scent of pine and the soft hum of Christmas music. You were perched on a step stool, reaching to hang a snowflake ornament on one of the higher branches. Scott stood behind you, holding the box of decorations, watching you with an amused but cautious expression.

“You know,” he said, “if you fall, I can’t catch you. I’m holding fragile glass ornaments here.”

“You could try to catch me,” you shot back, placing the snowflake and hopping off the stool. “Besides, I’m nimble.”

Scott raised an eyebrow. “Nimble enough to handle the tinsel? Because last year, it looked like a five-year-old threw it on the tree.”

“Hey!” You grabbed a handful of the shiny strands. “It’s called artistic expression. Watch and learn.”

He didn’t have to watch long before you gleefully tossed the tinsel into the air, letting it cascade haphazardly onto the branches.

Scott pinched the bridge of his nose. “You cannot be serious.”

“Dead serious,” you said, smirking as you grabbed more tinsel. “And if you don’t like it—”

You flung another handful, this time deliberately aiming for his head.

Scott sighed dramatically, pulling a stray strand off his visor. “You do this to torment me, don’t you?”

“Absolutely.” You laughed, leaning in to kiss his cheek before grabbing another handful of tinsel and sprinting to the other side of the tree.

Kurt Wagner (Nightcrawler): Christmas Morning Surprise

The soft glow of fairy lights framed the edges of your room as you stirred awake, blinking against the dim light. Before you could properly sit up, a burst of brimstone filled the air, and Kurt appeared at the foot of your bed, arms overflowing with brightly wrapped presents.

“Guten Morgen! Merry Christmas!” he exclaimed, his tail wagging behind him like an overexcited puppy.

You sat up, rubbing your eyes. “Kurt, it’s barely six in the morning.”

“But it’s Christmas!” he insisted, depositing the pile of gifts at the foot of your bed. His golden eyes sparkled with excitement as he plopped down on the edge of the mattress, bouncing slightly. “Come, open them! I cannot wait to see what you think.”

You yawned, smiling at his enthusiasm. “You carried all of these in one trip?”

“Of course! I teleported. Efficient and festive,” he said proudly, his tail curling in contentment.

You reached for the first gift, marveling at the careful wrapping. “You wrapped these yourself?”

His ears turned a deeper blue. “Ja...well, mostly. Jubilee helped me tie the ribbons.”

As you opened the first present—a beautifully carved wooden trinket—you couldn’t help but laugh. “This is amazing, Kurt. Did you make this too?”

He beamed. “Ja, but there’s more! Keep going!”

You shook your head fondly, already knowing this would be the best Christmas morning you’d ever had.

Logan (Wolverine): Building a Fire

You found Logan crouched in front of the fireplace, carefully stacking logs with an intensity that made it look like he was preparing for battle rather than a cozy evening. His plaid flannel shirt was rolled up at the sleeves, revealing his scarred but capable hands.

“Need some help there, lumberjack?” you teased, leaning against the doorframe.

“Not unless you can make the wood light itself,” he shot back without looking up.

“Matches are a thing, you know.”

“Matches are cheating.” He struck a piece of flint against steel, and sparks flew. After a few more tries, the fire roared to life, casting a warm glow across the room.

“Very impressive,” you said, walking over and sitting cross-legged on the rug. “What’s next? Are you going to chop more wood with your claws?”

He smirked, finally turning to look at you. “If you ask nicely.”

Reaching into your pocket, you pulled out a Santa hat and plopped it onto his head. He frowned, his hand immediately going up to pull it off.

“Leave it,” you said, grabbing his wrist. “It’s festive.”

“It’s ridiculous,” he grumbled but didn’t take it off.

You tilted your head, grinning. “You secretly love Christmas, don’t you?”

“Don’t push your luck, kid,” he muttered, but there was a twinkle in his eye that told you otherwise.

Peter Maximoff (Quicksilver): String Lights Disaster

You should’ve known asking Peter to hang the lights would end in chaos.

“Peter, slow down!” you yelled, watching as he zipped back and forth across the room, leaving a blur of glowing string lights in his wake.

“This is efficient,” he called back, draping the lights haphazardly over the furniture. “You said you wanted them up fast, right?”

“I also said I wanted them to look nice!”

He stopped abruptly, standing in the middle of the room with the lights tangled around his torso. “Nice is overrated. Messy is more... artistic.”

You crossed your arms, giving him a pointed look. “You’re tangled, aren’t you?”

Peter looked down, as if just noticing the strands wrapped around him. “Uh...no?”

“Uh-huh.”

He sighed dramatically, throwing his hands up. “Fine, maybe a little.”

Laughing, you walked over and started untangling him, trying not to laugh too hard when he pouted like a child.

“You know,” he said as you freed him, “if you’d just let me do my thing, we’d already be done.”

“And if I let you do your thing, the mansion would probably catch fire.”

He shrugged, smirking. “Worth it."

I got a new phone bc mine was glitching out and was rlly old and was dying fast but like- Is it spoiled to say I don't want it? I AM GRATEFUL DO NOT GET ME WRONG IM HAOPY MY MOM GOT ME THIS AND PAYED FOR IT- But I was happy with my old one. I had everything I ever needed and sure, it died fast and it'd glitch and everything but I liked it. Maybe I'm just being privileged(?) Idk guys.

{I love Wade. He's so silly}

GUYS. PLZ. ASK ME ANYTHING IM BORED.

Yall, I'm sick. Like- Coughing so hard imma throw up but can't kinda sick. So, you either might get some more fics from me staying home, or only get 1 or 2. I'm srry! 🥲😭😭

Wrapped in Him

Synopsis: After a long day of work, Logan returns to the cabin expecting the usual quiet, but instead, he finds you fast asleep in his leather jacket. The sight—and the way you’ve wrapped yourself in his scent—stirs something warm and tender in him. As he watches you nestled in the firelight, Logan is reminded of the quiet, unexpected comfort of having someone who feels like home.

Warnings: None, just pure fluff! Hope you enjoy kits <3 Also this is Lumberjack! Logan

The cabin was steeped in a cozy hush when Logan walked through the door, boots scuffing against the wooden threshold. Outside, the wind howled faintly through the pines, but inside, the crackle of the fire and the faint aroma of woodsmoke wrapped the space in warmth.

He kicked off his boots, rolling his shoulders to ease the day’s work from his muscles. The scent of the forest clung to his flannel shirt—pine sap, freshly split logs, and the ever-present, faint tang of cigars lingering in his jacket. Except, his jacket wasn’t hanging by the door where he’d left it.

Logan frowned, scanning the room, and then he spotted it. There it was, draped over your small frame as you curled up in the oversized armchair near the fire.

His frown melted into something softer.

You were fast asleep, your legs tucked beneath you and his heavy leather jacket cocooned around your shoulders. The rich brown leather swallowed you whole, the sleeves falling limp past your hands. One sleeve hung over the arm of the chair like an afterthought, while the other was pulled snug around your body.

He stepped closer, careful to keep his heavy footsteps quiet on the wooden floor. As he approached, the mix of scents became undeniable: the worn leather of his jacket mingled with the smoky remnants of his favorite cigars, all blending into something entirely him. The way you clutched the collar close to your face, your fingers resting there as though it brought you comfort, made something warm settle deep in his chest.

Logan crouched beside you, his knees groaning slightly from the long day’s work. Gently, he brushed a strand of hair from your face, his calloused fingers light against your skin. The firelight painted your features in golden hues, soft and serene, your lips parted slightly in sleep.

You stirred under his touch, murmuring something he couldn’t quite make out, and shifted deeper into the chair, burying your nose into the jacket’s collar. A faint smile pulled at your lips as you sighed, clearly content.

“Damn thief,” Logan muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, though there was no trace of irritation—just warmth and a trace of amusement.

Leaning in, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering just long enough to breathe in the faint scent of your shampoo beneath the leather and smoke. It was grounding, soothing in a way he’d never admit out loud.

When he pulled back, he took a moment to simply watch you, his sharp eyes softening as the firelight flickered across your peaceful expression. The way you’d stolen his jacket—without so much as a word—was such a small thing, but it hit him harder than he’d ever expect. You didn’t just wear his jacket. You wore him, and you looked so at home in it that the thought made his heart ache in the best way.

Shaking his head, Logan grabbed the throw blanket from the back of the couch and draped it carefully over you, tucking it in where the jacket didn’t quite cover.

“You’re lucky it looks better on you,” he whispered, his lips twitching into a quiet smile.

Straightening, he ran a hand through his thick hair, his fingers lingering on the back of his neck as he turned toward the kitchen. He still smelled faintly of pine and cigars, but now, there was something sweeter in the air.

Tomorrow, he’d tease you about it, maybe pull the jacket off your shoulders just to watch you fuss and steal it right back. But tonight, he’d let you keep it. After all, it suited you.

And so did being his.

ꜱᴛᴏʟᴇɴ 'ʙᴏʀʀᴏᴡᴇᴅ' ʜᴇᴀʀᴛꜱ

Synopsis: Peter Maximoff has a habit of borrowing little things—your scarf, your hoodie, even your headphones—and you’re finally fed up with his carelessness. But when you confront him, his explanation catches you completely off guard: he isn’t just borrowing, he’s keeping pieces of you close. As you unravel the truth behind his impulsive actions, you discover that sometimes, even speedsters need someone to anchor them—and maybe, just maybe, you don’t mind being the one he keeps running back to. Warnings: None! <3

It starts small. A scarf you draped over the back of your chair one evening vanishes without a trace. Days later, you spot it wound loosely around Peter’s neck as he lounges on the couch, the ends fluttering whenever he shifts.

Then it’s your favorite hoodie—a soft, worn thing that feels like a hug in fabric form. You find it carelessly tossed across the rec room sofa, smelling faintly of cool air and his cologne.

You tell yourself it’s harmless, even charming. Peter is Peter: the kind of person who moves too fast to consider boundaries. But when your headphones disappear and reappear in his room—one earbud dangling by a precarious wire—you decide you’ve had enough.

The next time he zips into the room, you plant yourself in front of him, hands on your hips.

"Peter Maximoff," you say, your tone sharper than usual. "We need to talk."

He skids to a stop, blinking at you with wide, guileless eyes. "Uh, okay? What’s up?"

"Stop stealing my stuff."

His expression morphs into mock offense, a hand flying to his chest. "Stealing? That’s a harsh word. I’m merely borrowing. Temporarily."

"Temporarily?" You arch an eyebrow, crossing your arms. "My scarf, my hoodie, my headphones? Borrowing means you return them intact."

"Fine," he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "You caught me. But I swear, I’ve got a good reason."

"Let’s hear it."

He hesitates, shifting his weight from foot to foot. For once, Peter looks out of place, like he’d rather be anywhere but here. His usual smirk falters, and something softer flickers across his face—something vulnerable.

"I—" He stops, sighing again, before finally meeting your eyes. "They smell like you, okay?"

You blink, unsure you heard him right. "What?"

"They smell like you," he repeats, quieter this time. His cheeks flush pink, and he looks down, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "The scarf, the hoodie… even your stupid headphones. They smell like your shampoo, or your perfume, or just… you."

He swallows, his voice almost too low to hear. "When I’m not around you, it makes me feel like you’re still close. Like I’m not..." His words trail off, a humorless laugh escaping his lips. "I don’t know. Alone, I guess."

For a moment, you’re stunned. This is Peter—confident, reckless, always in motion. But now he’s standing here, red-faced and vulnerable, avoiding your gaze like he’s afraid of what you might say.

When you step closer, his head snaps up, his gray eyes searching your face.

"Peter," you say softly, your tone gentle now. "You could’ve just told me."

"Yeah, well." He shrugs, forcing a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "Talking about feelings isn’t really my thing, you know? Speeding away from them? Way more my style."

You can’t help but laugh, your chest tightening in a way that feels both warm and bittersweet. "You’re ridiculous."

"Ridiculously charming, right?" He tries to smirk, but his voice still holds that edge of hesitation, like he’s testing the waters.

Shaking your head, you smile. "Next time, just ask. You don’t need to steal my stuff to feel close to me."

His grin widens, but there’s a softness to it now, his usual cocky mask slipping just enough for you to see the relief beneath.

"Really?"

"Really," you say, your smile growing. "But if you touch my headphones again, I’m going to kill you."

Peter’s laughter rings out as he zips away, scarf trailing behind him like a silver banner. But later, when you find the hoodie neatly folded on your bed—your favorite scent lingering faintly on the fabric—you can’t help but smile. As much as Peter runs from his emotions, he always finds a way back to you.

CHAT I'M BOUTTA-

AAAHHHHHHJAJAJAJAJAJAJJAJAJAJAAAAAAA-

Crash Course

Synopsis; A quick ride on Jason Todd’s motorcycle turns into a dumpster disaster. As he grumbles and patches you up, you catch glimpses of the care he hides behind his tough exterior—and learn just how much you mean to him.

Warnings; None! Hope you enjoy, kits!

Jason stood beside his motorcycle, arms crossed, the faint glow of a streetlamp reflecting off the red of his helmet tucked under his arm. "Let me make one thing clear," he said, voice firm and low. "You’re not touching my bike."

You raised an eyebrow, arms folded as you met his glare. "It’s just a ride around the block, Todd. Not like I’m planning to join a street race."

He scoffed, his lips pulling into a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "This isn’t one of your little toys. It’s a Ducati. Custom-built. Worth more than your apartment. You crash it, and you’ll be working for me until you’re sixty."

"Afraid I’ll ride it better than you?" you teased, your grin wide and shameless.

Jason’s jaw tightened, his expression darkening into something unreadable. After a beat, he shoved the helmet into your hands with a sharp glare. "Fine," he said curtly. "But if you lay it down, you’re paying for every scratch, dent, and bolt out of your own damn pocket."

"Deal," you said, practically bouncing as you straddled the sleek machine.

He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "Throttle’s touchy. Lean into the turns. And for the love of God, don’t gun it."

You nodded, but you were already revving the engine, adrenaline buzzing in your veins. Before Jason could say another word, you were off, the roar of the bike echoing through the narrow alleyway.

The wind whipped against your face as the bike surged forward, the power of it sending a thrill down your spine. You couldn’t help but let out a victorious laugh. But as the first sharp turn approached, you realized—too late—that you’d underestimated just how sensitive the bike was.

The back wheel skidded. The world tilted. And before you knew it, you and the Ducati went crashing into a dumpster with an echoing clang.

"Shit," you groaned, sprawled on the ground as the bike settled on its side.

Jason’s footsteps were heavy, fast, and loud as he stormed over. He didn’t say anything at first, his jaw tight as he hauled the bike upright and inspected it for damage.

Then he turned to you, his eyes dark and his voice low. "What the hell were you thinking?"

You winced as you tried to sit up, your shoulder protesting with a sharp ache. "I think the bike hates me."

Jason let out a sharp, humorless laugh as he crouched beside you. "The bike doesn’t hate you. The bike doesn’t have a death wish. That’s all you." He grabbed your arm, his grip firm but careful, and helped you to your feet.

You winced again, and Jason’s frown deepened. He guided you to a nearby crate, practically shoving you onto it before crouching down in front of you. His hands were already pulling a small med kit from his jacket pocket.

"Sit still," he muttered, not looking at you as he snapped on a pair of gloves.

"I’m fine," you protested weakly.

"You’re bleeding," he shot back, grabbing an antiseptic wipe and dabbing at the scrape on your arm. "And you’re lucky it’s just scrapes. Do you have any idea what could’ve happened if—" He cut himself off, shaking his head. "You’re reckless. Stupidly reckless."

You tilted your head, watching him work. His hands were steady, but his jaw was tight, his brows furrowed in that way they always did when he was more upset than he let on.

"You’re really worried about me," you said softly, trying for a teasing tone, but it came out quieter than you intended.

Jason froze for a moment, his hand hovering just above your arm. His lips pressed into a thin line, and he didn’t meet your eyes. "I’m worried about my bike," he said gruffly, resuming his work.

"Sure," you murmured, a small smile tugging at your lips.

He ignored you, focusing instead on wrapping your arm in clean gauze. His movements were precise, his touch gentle despite the grumbling under his breath. When he was done, he leaned back on his heels and crossed his arms, finally looking at you.

"You’re banned," he said flatly.

"Jason—"

"Forever," he added, cutting you off.

You sighed, your shoulders slumping. "I said I was sorry."

He shook his head, standing and reaching out a hand to help you up. "Sorry doesn’t fix a totaled bike or a broken neck. Next time," he said, his tone firm, "you ride with me."

His words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you just stared at him. There was something unspoken in his gaze—something protective, almost desperate, that he tried to hide behind his usual gruff exterior.

"Got it," you said softly, taking his hand and letting him pull you to your feet.

Jason grunted, picking up the helmet and tossing it onto the bike. As you both turned toward the alleyway, you couldn’t help but notice the faint tremor in his hand as he ran it through his hair.

"Come on," he said over his shoulder. "Let’s get you cleaned up properly before you start smelling worse than that dumpster."

And as he walked ahead of you, muttering about reckless idiots and ruined leather, you couldn’t help but smile. Beneath all the grumbling, Jason cared more than he’d ever admit.

A Little Light in the Dark

Synopsis; Bruce Wayne invites you to Wayne Manor for an intimate dinner, a rare glimpse into his world beyond the mask. But when a sudden blackout plunges the mansion into darkness, his chaotic family takes over the evening, and you see the unpolished, human side of the Wayne household. Amid the teasing, laughter, and chaos, Bruce’s quiet moments with you shine brightest, proving that even Gotham’s Dark Knight has a soft side reserved just for you. Warnings; Damian being a little sassy brat

Bruce invites you to Wayne Manor for dinner, promising a quiet, intimate evening. When you arrive, the sprawling estate is even more magnificent than you imagined, but Bruce’s warm smile and the way he takes your coat quickly dispel your nerves.

The dining room is grand, yet the table is set simply, with just two settings and soft candlelight. It’s a surprising contrast to the billionaire’s public persona, and the subtle care he’s put into the evening makes your heart flutter.

"Not as intimidating as you expected?" Bruce asks, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he pulls out your chair.

"I wouldn’t go that far," you reply, but your smile is teasing. "It’s... cozy, in a billionaire kind of way."

The conversation flows easily as the two of you eat, laughter mixing with the soft clink of silverware. Bruce is more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him—his usually guarded demeanor slipping just enough to reveal glimpses of the man behind the mask.

But just as dessert is being served, the lights flicker—and suddenly, the room is plunged into darkness.

"That’s odd," Bruce mutters, standing immediately. "Stay here. I’ll check the breakers."

Before he can even leave, chaos erupts.

From the hallway, Damian’s sharp voice cuts through the dark. "Grayson, stop bumping into me! You’re going to break something."

Tim appears next, holding his phone up like a flashlight. "Did Gotham’s most powerful man forget to pay his electric bill?" he asks, smirking.

Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering, "Not now, Tim."

Then comes Dick, cheerfully stumbling in with a handful of candles. "Who needs power when we have ambiance? Romantic, right?" he says with a wink, grinning at you.

"Romantic?" Damian scoffs, stepping into the room and giving you a critical once-over. "Father, your standards are slipping."

"Damian," Bruce growls in warning, his tone sharp.

The teasing only escalates when Jason arrives, flashlight in hand, shining it directly at Bruce’s face. "Relax, Bats. Power outages build character. And hey, it’s not my fault you didn’t warn them about the chaos they were signing up for."

Bruce shoots him a glare that would terrify anyone else, but Jason just smirks and leans back against the doorframe.

In the midst of the family’s antics, Bruce is uncharacteristically quiet, his focus flickering between them and you. When the others drift off to investigate the outage—arguing and teasing each other the whole way—Bruce returns to your side, the shadows from his flashlight dancing across his face.

"Sorry about all of this," he says, voice low and almost hesitant. "I wanted tonight to be… better. Less chaotic."

"Bruce," you say softly, placing a hand on his arm. "This? It’s perfect. It’s you—all of you. I don’t think I’d want it any other way."

His gaze lingers on you, and for a moment, the weight he carries seems to ease. "You’re something else," he murmurs, almost to himself.

As he steps closer, the space between you shrinks, the candlelight casting a golden glow over his features. You feel his hand brush yours—a tentative, unguarded gesture—and when your fingers intertwine, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

"Next time," he says softly, his voice a low promise, "I’ll make sure it’s just us."

"Next time," you agree, your smile warm.

The power finally comes back on, the lights revealing Damian glaring at Jason, Dick grinning triumphantly, and Tim tinkering with the breaker box. Alfred breezes into the room as if nothing unusual has happened, asking if anyone would like a fresh pot of tea.

Bruce lets out a quiet sigh, giving your hand one last squeeze before releasing it.

As the family chaos continues around you, Bruce’s attention remains on you—his expression soft, his smile rare and private, meant only for you. And as much as you enjoy seeing this side of him, you can’t help but look forward to the quiet moments when it’ll be just the two of you.

(God Damian is a little shi-)

JASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODDJASONTODD-

Re-blog if you're accepting anonymous asks from anyone about anything.

Hotter Than the Stage

Synopsis: After a sultry performance, Remy invites you to a private room for a personal show. The dimly lit space, charged with palpable tension, becomes the backdrop for an intimate, slow dance where every movement teases and entices. As Remy strips down and moves toward you, his every action is designed to draw you in, building an undeniable chemistry between you. What starts as a private dance quickly turns into a passionate, unforgettable night, as Remy makes it clear that tonight, you're the only one who matters.

Warnings: A little sensual. Hope you enjoy, kits! 😘

After a long, exhausting night of performances, the club was starting to quiet down, but you knew Remy wasn’t done. You’d always admired his confidence on stage, but there was something about the way he looked at you tonight that made everything feel more intense, more personal.

He beckoned you toward his dressing room, where the music had faded and the lights were dim, the atmosphere thick with anticipation. The door shut softly behind you, and as soon as it clicked, Remy turned to face you.

A sly smile curved on his lips as he approached, slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours. "Thought I’d give you a little private show, chérie."

You didn’t even have time to respond before he was unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his toned chest, the muscles shifting as he moved. His hands lingered on his pants, teasing you as if he had all the time in the world. The air felt charged as he stepped closer, his body radiating heat.

With a smooth motion, he guided you to sit on the couch, his hands gentle but firm as he hovered over you. “Relax, mon cœur,” he whispered, his voice low and velvety. “This is just for you.”

Before you could say a word, he was dancing around you, every move calculated and mesmerizing. He swayed his hips to an imaginary beat, each twist and turn smooth like silk. You could feel the tension between you two building with every step he took, and when he finally turned to face you, his eyes darkened with desire.

Remy slowly closed the distance between you, leaning in close enough that his breath brushed against your ear. “You know,” he said, his voice a sultry whisper, “this is just the beginning. I’m not stopping until you’ve got no doubt what you mean to me.”

His lips barely grazed your neck before he pulled away, his hands moving down his own body as he unzipped his pants, letting them fall to the floor. You swallowed hard, caught between the raw intensity of the moment and the heat swirling between you.

Without a word, he guided you to lie back on the couch, and as he climbed over you, the space between your bodies grew impossibly small. His movements were slow, sensual, teasing as he kissed your lips, your neck, your jaw. Everything he did was designed to drive you crazy, to leave you wanting more.

Finally, he stopped, pulling back just enough to look at you with that signature grin. “Told you, chérie,” he murmured, his voice low and full of promise. “I’m all yours tonight.”

And just like that, the world outside his dressing room ceased to exist as he gave you a night you’d never forget.

(Yall like Magic Mike!Remy?)

Playin' Hearts

Synopsis; A playful game of pickpocketing with Gambit turns into a quiet evening of jazz, dancing, and stolen moments. As the teasing gives way to sincerity, you find the courage to make the first move, discovering that some risks are worth taking. Warnings; None kits! <3

You frowned as your hand brushed against something unfamiliar in your coat pocket. Fishing it out, you discovered a playing card—a queen of hearts—marked with a small, flourished "R" in the corner. You turned it over, puzzled, trying to figure out how it had gotten there.

“You dropped somethin’, chérie,” came a familiar, honeyed voice behind you.

Spinning around, you found Remy leaning casually against the doorframe, twirling another card between his fingers. That trademark smirk of his was firmly in place, a glint of mischief lighting his red-on-black eyes.

"Did I now?" you asked, holding up the card. "Care to explain how it ended up in my pocket?"

He shrugged, completely unbothered. “Can’t blame me for wantin’ to stay close to you, non? Thought you might enjoy a lil’ reminder of me.”

Rolling your eyes, you stepped closer, card in hand. “You’re telling me you pickpocketed me just to leave… this?”

“Not just any card, chère.” He tapped the queen of hearts with his fingertip. “It’s got a meanin’. You’re sharp; I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

You couldn’t help the warmth rising to your cheeks, but you refused to let him win so easily. “If you’re so good at sneaking things into my pockets, guess I’ll have to start keeping them zipped.”

“Aw, now don’t do that,” he teased, his voice a low, velvety drawl. “Would make my job so much less fun.”

Shaking your head, you tried to hide your smile as you walked away, but his chuckle followed you down the hall. When you reached into your pocket later that day and found another card—a joker this time—you couldn’t help but laugh.

Gambit always had a way of leaving an impression.

Later that evening, you wandered into the common room to find Remy sitting on the couch, shuffling his deck of cards with practiced ease. He looked up as you entered, that perpetual smirk softening into something warmer when he saw you.

“Evenin’, chère,” he drawled, sliding the cards into a neat stack and setting them aside. “Come to accuse me of more mischief?”

You crossed your arms, pretending to consider. “Depends. Find anything else to slip into my pockets?”

He stood, hands raised in mock innocence. “Now why would I risk it? You’d catch me red-handed.”

“Maybe I’d let you off easy.” The words escaped before you could think twice, and the flicker of surprise in his expression sent your heart racing.

Remy stepped closer, his movements fluid and unhurried. “Careful, mon cœur. A man could take that as an invitation.”

You tilted your head, trying to keep your composure. “And what if it is?”

For a moment, the teasing glint in his eyes shifted to something deeper, more earnest. Without a word, he reached for the old radio on the shelf and turned the dial until soft jazz crackled through the room.

“Dance with me,” he said, holding out his hand.

Caught off guard, you hesitated. “I don’t—”

“Don’t matter if you can,” he interrupted gently, taking your hand in his. “Just follow my lead.”

Before you could argue, he pulled you close, one hand settling lightly on your waist while the other held your hand securely in his. The warmth of his touch and the way he swayed with effortless rhythm made it impossible not to relax.

The world seemed to shrink to just the two of you, moving together in the soft glow of the room. You found yourself smiling as his fingers gave yours a playful squeeze.

“You’re a natural, chère,” he murmured, his voice low and velvety.

Your eyes met his, and suddenly, the teasing facade he so often wore was gone, replaced by something vulnerable and inviting. Heart pounding, you gathered every ounce of courage you had and leaned up, brushing your lips against his.

For a moment, the world stilled. Then, his hand tightened gently at your waist, pulling you closer as he returned the kiss with a slow, deliberate passion that left you breathless.

When you finally pulled back, his lips curved into a grin that could only be described as triumphant. “Took you long enough,” he teased, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Maybe I just wanted to see if you’d make the first move,” you countered, your boldness surprising even yourself.

Remy chuckled, his forehead resting lightly against yours. “Chérie, if I’d known that, I wouldn’t have wasted so much time with cards.”

And with that, he spun you back into the dance, holding you close as the music played on

(GAMBIT CONTENT YAY!)

GUYS IM GONNA CRY

C.ai keeps asking for my b-day everytime I try to open the app and when I ignored it my chats weren't there. The ones I made myself also. I'm boutta cry.

"I love Morph!" "Morph deserves more love!"

*Watches ep. 2 s1 of the og X-Men series*

...😃😀😆😄🙂😐...

Someone tell me how to watch Step Up illegally plz-

wooohhhh....

I'm bored. Let's talk if yall want