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“How’s the dinner?” Logan asked her as they walked alongside one another on the edge of the lake, cones of ice cream in their hands. Storm got her white tank top on, showing her toned stomach, and low-waistline denim jeans, braving the summer sun casually while letting her silver hair flow freely with the caressing wind. She’s a sight to behold, everybody agrees on this, and many looked up to her as a goddess justifiably.
‘You know she fancies you, right?’
‘Yeah, sure, Furball.’ He mused with a chuckle.
“It’s my mother’s idea, actually,” Ororo relayed “She's an old friend with Queen Regent Ramonda, and both agree there’s no one else the Golden Tribe should be welcome as his consort.”
“So, it’s political?”
“Well, for the most part,” Ororo replied as they kept to the shades, enjoying the sounds of children and humans around them “T’Challa was not a bad man or anything, I've known him since we were children, but we are like siblings more than anything, and his eyes are set on someone else already,”
‘So does mine,’ Ororo muttered internally as she glanced sideways towards the long-living mutant, so manly and intimidating in visage that very few get to know the soft sides of his. He was a caring person despite his hard image of a brute; most of the girls in the Institute looked at him like their uncle and she saw many instances in which Logan also acted like their overprotective father without knowing.