#X-men Wanda

[unstablequeerbitch]

X-men Evolution Wanda is more comic accurate in her heritage and powers than MCU Wanda. In this essay I will prove why X-men Evolution Wanda is better in every way…

[deyageka]

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No srsly I can’t believe they’ve actually done this:

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[sillylittlecat1]

Felt silly might delete later

[livfordoodles]

Some magnet family

[urdreamydoodles]

X-MEN x FEM!READER

The X-Men Receiving a Dirty Picture from You in Public

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, Rogue, Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier, Emma Frost, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff, Hank McCoy, Laura Kinney & Wade Wilson

Logan Howlett aka. Wolverine

You aren’t sure what possesses you to send it—not exactly. Maybe it’s boredom, maybe it’s the way Logan’s been gone longer than expected, leaving you restless. Either way, you know it’s reckless. The second the picture sends, you can already hear his voice in your head: Darlin’, you got a death wish? But you know Logan, know that he’s a beast caged in skin, and there’s nothing he loves more than being provoked by you.

He’s at a dive bar when his phone vibrates. The place is crowded, a few bikers at his table arguing over a pool game. Logan isn’t paying attention—until he glances at his screen. The moment he sees you, bare and sinful, every muscle in his body locks up. His breath hitches, his grip on his beer tightening until the glass threatens to crack. The scent of his own arousal floods his senses, so sharp he’s sure the few mutants around can catch it. One of the bikers nudges him, saying something about his "weird face," but Logan’s already pocketing the phone, jaw clenched.

He needs to get out of here. He doesn’t get embarrassed—not exactly—but the heat that licks up his spine is too much, too distracting. Logan swipes his tongue across his teeth, exhaling hard through his nose as he stands. His voice is a growl, all gravel and heat. “Got somewhere to be.” His movements are stiff, his body thrumming with need as he shoves out of the bar, barely resisting the urge to snarl at the people in his way.

The second he’s outside, he presses a number on his phone. When you pick up, he doesn’t say hello. His voice is low, dangerous. “You got no idea what you just started, sweetheart.” His free hand flexes at his side, his control razor-thin. “You better be home when I get there. And you better be ready.” Then he hangs up, already making his way to his bike, his thoughts full of nothing but you.

Remy LeBeau aka. Gambit

Remy is used to being desired. He knows the weight of hungry stares, the way people fall over themselves trying to get his attention. But you—you’re different. You make him ache. And you know it. Which is why you send the picture when you do, when he’s at a poker table, mid-game, surrounded by half a dozen people.

He sees the message light up his phone and, without thinking, checks it. The second the image fills his screen, his pupils dilate, his breath hitching just enough that the man across from him—some big-shot casino owner—narrows his eyes. “Something wrong, LeBeau?” Remy schools his features quickly, smirking as he locks his phone. “Non, mon ami,” he drawls, voice smooth despite the heat licking at his spine. “Just feelin’ a little… distracted.”

But he is struggling. His heartbeat is unsteady, his palms itching to touch, to grab. You’ve effectively thrown him off his game, and you know it. He shifts in his seat, stretching his legs out, forcing himself to focus. But his mind keeps circling back to the curve of your body, the way your skin looked in the dim lighting. His fingers twitch, itching to shuffle his deck, to channel all this pent-up energy somewhere before it burns him alive.

He doesn’t text back. No, that would be too easy. Instead, he waits until he’s out of the game, until he’s walking down the neon-lit streets of New Orleans. Then he calls you, his voice a lazy purr. “Ma belle, you really gon’ tease me like that?” He pauses, his smile slow, wicked. “Think you should be waitin’ by the door for me, chérie. Don’t want me comin’ in all impatient now, do you?”

Kurt Wagner aka. Nightcrawler

Kurt is used to wanting. He has spent a lifetime longing for things he believes he doesn’t deserve—love, touch, a home. But then there’s you, and you make him greedy. So when his phone vibrates in the middle of a crowded hallway at the Xavier Institute, he doesn’t think much of it. Not until he sees what you’ve sent.

His tail flicks so fast it nearly knocks over a nearby vase. A choked sound catches in his throat, his golden eyes widening, pupils dilating. He should look away, should pocket his phone before someone notices. But instead, he stares, heat rushing to his face so quickly it nearly makes him dizzy. The image of you burns itself into his mind, searing and divine.

Someone calls his name, and he nearly jumps out of his skin, fumbling to lock his phone. His three-fingered hand twitches, his tail coiling around his waist as he forces a shaky breath. Gott im Himmel, you’re going to be the death of him. He can feel the heat rising to the tips of his ears, can sense the way some of the younger students glance at him in curiosity. He clears his throat, tugging at the high collar of his uniform, muttering something about needing air.

The moment he’s alone, he teleports straight to your room, appearing in a burst of sulfur and smoke. His voice is hoarse, thick with something between reverence and hunger. “Liebes… do you have any idea what you have done to me?” He steps closer, eyes gleaming in the dim light. “I hope you are prepared to confess your sins… because I am more than willing to be your punishment.”

Scott Summers aka. Cyclops

Scott prides himself on control. It is all he’s ever known—containing his power, his emotions, his every sharp-edged want. But you? You make control feel like a curse. So when his phone vibrates in the middle of a team debriefing, he barely glances at it. Until he does. And then his world tilts.

His breath halts, heat rushing up his throat so fast it makes him dizzy. The conversation around him blurs, the sound of Logan and Ororo discussing strategy fading into static. He swallows hard, locking his phone, fingers tightening into a fist on his thigh. You are going to ruin him.

“Scott?” Jean’s voice pulls him back. He clears his throat, straightening his shoulders. “Yeah,” he says, voice just a little too tight. “I’m fine.” But he’s not fine. His skin is too hot, his thoughts spiraling. He adjusts his visor, as if that’ll help him regain some semblance of control. It doesn’t. He can still see the image burned into his mind, can still feel the ache you’ve ignited in him.

The moment the meeting ends, he heads straight to his quarters, his movements stiff, controlled. He doesn’t call, doesn’t text. Instead, he waits until he’s inside, the door locked. Then he pulls out his phone, staring at the image for a long, slow moment before finally responding: You just made a very big mistake, sweetheart. And you’re going to spend all night making up for it.

Jean Grey aka. Marvel Girl / Phoenix

Jean is used to knowing. She reads people as easily as turning a page in a book. But you—you manage to surprise her. When her phone vibrates, she’s mid-conversation with Ororo, standing in the bustling halls of the X-Mansion. She checks the message out of habit, and then—Oh.

The world around her vanishes. Her breath catches, her fingers gripping her phone tighter. Heat blooms beneath her skin, a slow, simmering thing. She locks her phone quickly, but not before Ororo arches an eyebrow, a knowing smirk curling her lips. “Something interesting?” Jean lifts her chin, feigning nonchalance. “Just a… distraction.”

But she is not unaffected. No, she can still feel the pull of you, the way you linger in her mind like a whispered temptation. She exhales slowly, steadying herself. You’ve always had a way of making her unravel, of setting her pulse racing with just a look, a touch. And now, with that picture—she knows exactly what you’re doing.

So she doesn’t text back. Instead, she closes her eyes, reaching out mentally, brushing against your thoughts with a teasing whisper: You’re playing a very dangerous game, darling. And you know I always win.

Ororo Munroe aka. Storm

Ororo has always carried herself with grace. There is a quiet strength in her, an effortless command of any room she enters. But when her phone vibrates, when she glances at the screen and sees you, bare and unapologetic in your teasing, even a goddess can stumble.

She is in the middle of the X-Mansion’s garden, surrounded by students tending to the plants under her guidance. The air is warm, the scent of rain lingering from a previous storm. But the second she opens your message, heat spreads through her veins like wildfire. Her fingers tighten around the phone, the wind around her shifting just slightly, enough for the nearby students to glance up in confusion.

With practiced ease, she takes a steady breath, forcing composure to settle over her. She locks her phone, tucking it away in the folds of her robe, but the image of you remains burned in her mind. She has faced gods and walked through storms, but nothing has ever made her this desperate. She exhales slowly, smiling at the students before dismissing them early.

Later, when she is alone in her room, she finally allows herself to look again, to savor. Then, with a smirk, she types out a message: You test the patience of a goddess, beloved. But I promise you—when I return, I will show you the consequences of such boldness.

Anna Marie aka. Rogue

Rogue ain’t shy. Not really. But there are certain things she doesn’t expect—like her phone buzzing in her back pocket while she’s in the middle of a conversation with Logan. She pulls it out absently, expecting a mission update. But when she sees your name, when she opens the image—her whole body locks up.

"You good, kid?" Logan asks, eyebrow raised as she nearly drops the phone. Rogue snaps the screen down against her thigh so fast she nearly fumbles it. "I—uh—yeah! Peachy!" But she can feel the heat rushing to her face, burning down her neck. Logan narrows his eyes, but she’s already stepping back, waving him off. "I—uh—gotta go!" She turns so fast her boots squeak against the floor.

She beelines for the nearest empty room, slamming the door shut before pressing her back against it, exhaling hard. "Mon Dieu…" she mutters, staring at the phone again. The sight of you makes her stomach flip, makes her hands itch with the desire to touch—even though she knows she can’t. And maybe that’s what makes it even worse, the sheer torture of it.

Her fingers hover over the keyboard before she smirks, biting her lip. She types back, her accent thick even in text: Ya better be waitin' for me, sugar. ‘Cause I got some real pent-up frustration I need to work out.

Erik Lehnsherr aka. Magneto

Erik is a man of control. He has spent his entire life bending the world to his will, shaping metal and fate alike with the force of his power. But when he sees your message, all that careful composure fractures like shattered steel.

He is in the middle of a political gathering, surrounded by dignitaries and mutants alike, discussing the future of mutantkind. He is calm, poised, his presence commanding the room. But then—his phone buzzes. And when he checks it—his grip on his glass tightens. The metal bends beneath his fingers, distorting under the force of his sudden, sharp desire.

He exhales slowly, willing himself to focus, but it’s impossible. His thoughts are consumed by the image of you, the sheer audacity of what you’ve done. He lifts his eyes, scanning the room, but the conversation has blurred into meaningless noise. He is no longer interested in politics. No, there is only you now, and the punishment you so clearly deserve.

Later, in the privacy of his chambers, he finally allows himself to react. He sets his drink down, removing his gloves with slow, deliberate movements. Then, he types a message: You are a very foolish woman, my dear. And I am a very dangerous man. I suggest you prepare yourself accordingly.

Charles Xavier aka. Professor X

Charles is used to knowing things before they happen. His telepathy grants him insight into the minds of others, makes surprises a rare thing. But you—you always manage to catch him off guard. So when his phone vibrates mid-lecture, when he absentmindedly glances at the screen—he nearly chokes.

His fingers tighten around the armrest of his wheelchair, his usually composed demeanor faltering for the briefest moment. He quickly locks the screen, but it’s too late—the image of you is seared into his thoughts. And worse, the faintest flicker of his reaction has echoed across his psychic link with you, letting you feel the way his breath hitched, the way his pulse stuttered.

He clears his throat, composing himself with practiced ease. "Shall we continue?" he asks smoothly, though his mind is miles away. The students remain oblivious, but you? Oh, you know. And Charles can feel your amusement through the bond you share, a teasing whisper against his mind.

Later, in the quiet of his study, he sends a message—not with his phone, but directly into your thoughts, his voice smooth, measured. My dear, if you wished to test my restraint, you have succeeded. But I fear you’ve also ensured that when I return, you will be left utterly undone.

Emma Frost aka. The White Queen

Emma Frost is not easily shaken. She has built an empire on her confidence, her ability to keep control in even the most delicate of situations. But when she receives your message, she very nearly gasps.

She is at a Hellfire Gala, surrounded by high society, diamonds glittering at her throat. The room is alive with conversation, champagne glasses clinking. She is draped across a velvet chaise, effortlessly poised—until she sees you on her screen. The way her lips part, just slightly, is the only betrayal of her reaction.

With a slow inhale, she tilts her phone away from prying eyes, locking the screen. But inside, her mind is already buzzing. You have nerve, sending this while she’s in public. It’s a power play, a challenge. And Emma does not lose. She takes another sip of champagne, a knowing smirk curling her lips.

Later, when she is alone, she finally lets herself look again, savoring the way you look—so tempting, so utterly hers. Then, with a slow, deliberate tap, she types: My darling, I do hope you enjoyed your little game. But let me make one thing clear—you are mine to tease. And when I return, I will remind you exactly why.

Wanda Maximoff aka. Scarlet Witch

Wanda has spent most of her life feeling like the world was just a little too unsteady. Magic crackles beneath her skin, her emotions tied too tightly to the fabric of reality itself. But when her phone vibrates in the middle of a very serious conversation with Doctor Strange, she has no idea the real chaos is about to begin.

She checks the message absentmindedly, but the second she sees you, bare and utterly wicked, the world around her tilts. The air shimmers—just slightly—like heat rising from pavement. Wanda sucks in a sharp breath, locking her phone quickly, but it’s too late. Strange is watching her with an arched brow, the flicker of mystical energy curling at her fingertips a dead giveaway.

“Are you alright, Wanda?” Strange’s voice is calm, but there’s a glint of amusement in his gaze. Wanda clears her throat, forcing her magic back under control, smoothing her expression into something composed. “Fine,” she says, a little too quickly. But inside, her mind is burning, and it’s all your fault.

When she finally gets a moment alone, she sends a message—not with her phone, but with her magic, a whisper of her voice threading into your mind: You have no idea the kind of spell you’ve just cast, my love. But don’t worry—I’ll break it soon enough. And when I do, you won’t be able to breathe without thinking of me.

Pietro Maximoff aka. Quicksilver

Pietro is always moving. His mind, his body, his thoughts—everything is fast, too fast for the rest of the world to keep up with. But when his phone buzzes, and he actually takes the time to check it, the impossible happens—he stops.

He’s in the middle of a conversation with Clint Barton, something about training drills, when he pulls out his phone. And then—bam. His mouth shuts, his brain short-circuits, and for the first time in years, he is frozen.

“...Pietro?” Clint frowns, waving a hand in front of his face. “You good, man?” Pietro’s fingers twitch, and suddenly, he is gone, zipping out of the room at impossible speed. The moment he stops—several cities away, in the middle of nowhere—he grips his phone, running a hand through his silver hair.

Then he smirks, his heartbeat pounding. He types back, quick as lightning: You are so cruel, bellezza. But don’t worry—I’ll be home in five seconds. Hope you’re ready for me.

Hank McCoy aka. Beast

Hank prides himself on his intelligence, his ability to remain rational in even the most unexpected situations. But when his phone vibrates in the middle of a scientific symposium, and he—without thinking—checks it, all rational thought leaves his brain.

His glasses slide down his nose. His usually eloquent mind is reduced to pure static. He should lock his phone, put it away, but instead, his blue-furred fingers tighten around the device as his brain short-circuits. A faint growl rumbles in his throat before he catches himself, quickly clearing it.

“Dr. McCoy?” One of his colleagues is staring at him, waiting for a response to a question he definitely didn’t hear. Hank straightens, adjusting his glasses, willing his heartbeat to slow. “Ah—yes. My apologies. I seem to have been... momentarily distracted.”

The second he’s alone, he finally allows himself to breathe. Then, adjusting his tie, he sends a message: My dear, I do hope you’re prepared to be thoroughly lectured on the consequences of distracting a scientist. In great detail. Preferably with a demonstration.

Laura Kinney aka. X-23 / Wolverine

Laura doesn’t get flustered. She doesn’t blush, doesn’t stammer. But when her phone vibrates, and she checks it in the middle of a mission briefing with Logan, something deep in her animal brain nearly malfunctions.

She sees the image, and every muscle in her body locks up. Her sharp, enhanced senses go into overdrive. Her claws almost unsheathe from sheer tension. Logan is talking, saying something about enemy patterns, but she hears none of it. The only thing in her head is you.

“Laura?” Logan’s voice pulls her back, and she snaps her phone shut, jaw tight. “Tch,” she mutters, shifting in her seat, pretending like she isn’t burning alive under her own skin. “Nothing. Keep talking.” But she’s not okay. She’s seething with the need to do something about this, now.

The moment the briefing is over, she finds the nearest exit, presses her back against the cold wall, and breathes. Then, she types—short, sharp, dangerous: You think that was funny? Good. Let’s see if you’re still laughing when I get my hands on you.

Wade Wilson aka. Deadpool

Wade is always unhinged. Nothing shocks him. Nothing catches him off guard. But when his phone pings in the middle of a mercenary bar, and he casually opens your message—his brain leaks out of his ears.

“Oh holy chimichangas.” His voice is too loud, and every thug in the bar turns to look at him. Wade barely notices, his masked face tilting down at his phone, staring. Staring so hard his mask is probably fogging up.

One of the mercs nudges him. “You good, Wilson?” Wade slowly lifts his head, his voice an octave higher than usual. “I have never been better. In fact, I am having a religious experience. Thank you for asking.” Then he stands—abruptly—phone clutched to his chest like a lifeline.

The second he’s outside, he’s already typing, fingers flying: BABE. BABY. LOVE OF MY LIFE. I AM ON MY WAY. DON’T MOVE. ACTUALLY, MOVE A LITTLE, STRETCH OR SOMETHING. MAYBE DO A LITTLE TWIRL. OH GOD. I’M RUNNING HOME IN SLOW MOTION FOR DRAMATIC EFFECT.

[soranatus]

Don't be so quick to judge witches

THE SCARLET WITCH By Peach Momoko

[holothuroideaa]

[thevulturesquadron]

The fact that Lorna, Wanda and Pietro are on that boat alongside Rogue is EVERYTHING to me. They are the first thing he remembered!!! They are his heart, they are his anchor to humanity. Always have been in the comics, always will. I am so happy we got this version in the '97 animation as well. This scene is all I needed from the show. I am at peace. That's the best part of his soul on that boat, hope you understand.

[scentofmint]

[electricgg]

Ancient Dreams In A Modern Land

Chapter 9: As Long As I’m Held, I Don’t Care If It’s By Teeth

Masterlist Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 (Here!) /

‘A family is forever.’

It sounded like static. At least the first few times, until her ears finally tuned in to the words as if she clicked into the right channel.

‘A family is forever.’

She was sitting on a small bed, made for a child, with colorful lines on the bedsheets. Toy cars and dolls were scattered on the floor. Posters of movies, old series, and robots hang on the walls. A pair of white sneakers with green stripes were just by her bare feet.

When she lifted her head, a twin bed stood parallel to hers on the other side of the room.

It was empty. The bedsheets were unmade.

‘A family is forever.’

The door of the bedroom creaked open. She got up and walked through the frame, encountering a never-ending hall of different types of doors. Their shapes, colors, and sizes, changed in the blink of an eye.

They were glitching.

‘A family is forever.’

It was a woman’s voice, the one repeating those words over and over again and echoing down the long hall and reaching her still body. Sinking right through her skin and enveloping her senses. 

It felt like she was in some kind of trance.

Her steps felt light, like walking in a cloud. She walked down the hall, hands hovering right in front of her as she scanned the changing doors. Trying to figure out which one was the right one.

The right one for what? She wasn’t sure, but it had to be the right one.

Another creak was heard farther down, making her snap her head towards the noise. There, in a dark corner, a red glitching figure dived inside a half-opened wooden door on the right side of the hall.

She didn’t hesitate and started to run. 

“Hey, wait!” she yelled, running harder when she took notice of the hallway narrowing down and the doors glitching and slamming open and closed.

The groaning and splintering of wood made her look over her shoulder. The sight of the hall falling apart in a dark hole made her sprint harder, and she decided not to look back again, as cold sweat dripped down her temple.

As she passed by the doors, bits of conversations filtered through her head.

‘My wife and her flying saucers’  ‘My husband and his indestructible head’

Dad? Mom?

‘I'm so sorry. Excuse me. I am Glamour, and this is my delightful assistant, Illusion.’ ‘I am Glamour, and he's Illusion!’  ‘Yeah, what she said. Today, we will lie to you, and yet you will believe our little deceptions because human beings are easily fooled due to their limited understanding of the inner workings of the universe!’

Where are you? What is this?

‘I can't tell from this angle.’  ‘I can’t wait to be a proud papa-ya!’

Dad. I’m right here?

‘That puts you at about... six months! Boy, oh, boy, I thought I had superspeed. I can't keep up! Please don't misinterpret; I can't wait to meet you, little Billy.’  ‘Billy?’  ‘Yeah!’  ‘Well, I was thinking Tommy. Just a nice, classic, all-American name.’  ‘Hmm, Tommy? Hmm, yeah. Yeah. Then there's Billy, isn't there? Named after William Shakespeare, “All the world’s a stage. All the men and women are merely players.”’  ‘Well, I guess there's only one solution to this debate. Hope for a girl.’

MOM, I AM RIGHT HERE. MOM. DAD. MOM-

‘Can you believe it? Twins!’ 

‘I’m a twin. I had a brother. His name was Pietro-’

A deafening screeching sound made her scream out, covering her ears and scrunching her eyes shut. But she didn’t stop running. She could feel the floor splintering under her feet, scraping the skin and making it bleed.

But she didn’t stop running.

If she had opened her eyes, she would have seen how everything around her had blurred out, or how her legs were leaving an imprint on the floor by how fast she was running.

‘You know, I don't miss the crying, but jeez Louise, did you have to learn to walk? You two never stay put.’

There! The door!

She reached out for it as it began to close, slamming it closed behind her and sinking to the floor with a crushing sob. Her back against it, hanging onto dear life by the frame of it as it rattled and tried to get busted open by the unseen force.

Then, silence.

She didn’t even notice she had her eyes screwed shut, tears slippnig down her cheeks as sobs ripped out of her throat.

What was happening? What is this? So lost, so confused. She wanted this to stop. The pain, the noise, everything. She just wanted to go ho-

“Sweetie, did you fall?” a motherly, warm tone snapped her out of her internal turmoil.

She wasn’t in the manor. Gone where the dark walls and expensive painted portraits. The smell of old dust and piney scent was no longer there. Instead, bright colors and a living room straight out of an 80s sitcom, with the heavenly aroma of freshly baked cookies and the faint smell of spices in the air, stood right in front of her.

But what took her breath away was the curly-haired woman wearing a suspender pants and a square-pattern shirt with a gentle smile on her face.

“Look at you! You’re bleeding, sweetheart!” she fussed, taking her in her embrace and carrying her towards the huge kitchen.

The woman settled her on the counter, muttering to her and wiping away her tears with her fingers. She kissed her forehead before separating from the girl and walking around the kitchen, picking up paper towels and a glass of water.

The girl looked around until she made eye contact with her reflection on the metal toaster. Gasping, as her little fingers touched around her face and the new wardrobe. A long-sleeved striped shirt and green overalls made out of soft material, her hair in two ponytails with huge green plastic balls on the hairties. Two on each side.

She didn’t even notice how small she had become. She looked like she was five years old!

“That’s why we always wear our shoes when running around, sweetheart.” The woman began to wipe off the blood on her feet, making her focus on her once again.

“Sorry,” wow, even her voice sounded small!

“Oh,” the woman cooed. “That’s alright. We all make mistakes, but we learn from them, right?”

She could feel tears coming out once again, lips trembling with an ugly sob, and pulling the woman in a state of panic. Items around the kitchen began to float, which only kick-started a new crying session.

The living room, the smells, the kitchen, the outfit. Everything. Everything was the same. This was home. But home had disappeared. Along with Mom. With Dad. With Billy. Home was gone. It was supposed to be gone. They were all supposed to be gone, but now she is here, and she knows it can’t be real. It can’t be real, but god, she wants it to be so bad, and it’s so selfish of her because Mom had to do the right thing, but she wants it back. And she wants it ba-

Her sobbing gets muffled as she gets pulled against somebody’s chest, hearing strong heartbeats under her ear. Hushing and soft words while her pony tails get undone by gentle hands, and soothingly caressing her hair.

Her Mom continued to hold her until her sobs settled down, taking big breaths as she gripped her mother’s clothes.

“You’re so strong, my sweet girl.” She said. “You have done what you can by yourself, and I’m so proud.”

“I wanna stay here,” the girl whimpered.

“I know.”

“I wanna be with you and dad.”

“I know, baby.”

“I want Billy with me.” She sniffled, lifting her head and looking at her teary-eyed mother. Her mom smiled wetly, cupping her cheeks and stroking the chubby skin with a soft laugh.

“He’s coming, sweetie. He’s closer than you think.” 

The light in the room began to brighten up. Muffled noise coming from outside the house. She looked around, heart pounding as the walls and the tables started to glitch and disappear.

When she turned to look back at her mom, she was standing up and face to face with her. Back to her real height, it seemed. 

“Mom, please,” the girl pleaded, hugging the woman tightly. “Don’t make me leave. Stay, please.”

Her mom held her tightly, making sure the girl’s face was against her body so she wouldn’t look at the glitching house. “Billy is close. I am close, and so is your father.”

The girl shook against her, hands fisting around Wanda’s shirt, as if hanging as tightly as she could would be enough to keep her grounded to her.

“Mama, I can’t do it. Not alone.” She whimpered, feeling the counter glitching behind her and the voices outside becoming louder.

“You’re not alone. And you're strong,” Wanda took her daughter’s head away from her shoulder so she would be able to look at her directly. She smiled widely at the crying girl.

“You’re a Maximoff. You’re strong and brave. And you will never be alone, because you have a family out there looking for you, and you need to hang on.”

The girl took deep breaths, and the ground started to glitch beneath the two of them. But she only looked at Wanda.

Even when everything glitched out and became black, all she heard was her mother’s voice.

“A family is forever. We could never truly leave each other even if we tried.”

“-me on! Snap out of it!”

She blinked, a loud, grave voice yelling right in her face, making her wince out loud. The bruising grip on her arms suddenly loosened as the tall, concerned man took a few steps back from her space.

The cold night breeze had made her skin cold to touch, her senses finally kicking back in. She quickly hugged herself, looking around the empty street she had woken up in.

The street lights flickered every three seconds. The road was soaked with what she supposed was from the late-night rain she remembered pouring outside in the manor while she listened to Wayne’s recordings once again. There were a few parked cars scattered around, some of them visibly damaged with broken windows and missing tires. The smell of trash and smoke almost made her cough and gag, but her teetering teeth made sure that didn’t happen.

She was wearing her sleeping clothes, a worn t-shirt of a seventies asian singer, and pajama shorts that she only used for the sake of wearing something underneath. 

…She didn’t like long pants for sleeping. It was a pain in the ass waking up with pantaloons after twisting around in bed, don’t judge.

“What are you doing out?” The man in front of her growled out, an angry frown on his face. “It’s three and a half in the morning, and you thought going for a stroll down in Chinatown was a good idea?!”

He was tall, really tall. And built like a tank, judging by how his arms and legs threaten to rip out the seams of his clothes if he dared to flex even a little bit (best to take cover if something like that happened-). His hair was a messy mop of black, with a white streak curling in the front. A healed scar running down the side of his cheek, accompanied by a toxic green glare that truly made her hesitate to move from her spot.

If she weren’t so disoriented, she would probably yell at him to mind his own business and walk away. But right now, her mind is still wobbly, so her charming comebacks are a no-go.

“I’m-” Her hand instantly went to her throat, caught off guard by how cracked it sounded. As if she were screaming her head off. She cleared it with a cough, wincing at the raspy sensation.

“I don’t know.” She groaned out, receiving a blank look from the fuming man.

He began to take off his jacket and put it around her freezing body, the whole time grumbling under his breath about ‘damned Wayne genes of acting dumb’ and ‘how are you even so far away from the manor’. She gawked at him, shoving her arms inside the huge sleeves.

Until she noticed a familiar flickering pattern from a nearby street light.

“.--- .- ... --- -. .-.-.- / -... . / -.-. .- .-. . ..-. ..- .-..”

JASON. BE CAREFUL

‘So this is Jay,’ She mused to her thoughts, letting him guide her down the street with a hand on her shoulder.

Wayne barely mentioned him. All that she had learned about the missing brother of the family was from the recording tapes and mentions from eavesdropping conversations around the mansion by pretending to ignore them while using her headphones.

And most of the information she found wasn’t exactly good.

₊°︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶ ‧₊˚

Diary Entry: Year 8

“...I don’t really know how to begin his tape.”

“I’m supposed to be happy. Be glad that he’s back with us. That he is alive and safe and finally home…”

“But it feels wrong.”

“He looks wrong.”

“His eyes look so, so wrong.”

“...Mom mentioned something like it. A long time ago, when she wasn’t like she is now. About old rituals. Of bringing people back from the dead. She said that it was never good to anger Death, especially when it’s about taking a soul away from her.”

“Whoever takes from Death shall pay the consequences with their blood. Mom always warned me about it… But I can’t tell Dad about it.”

“He is still strange. With Jason back, he barely leaves the office, and in the past years, even mentioning Jason would be enough for him to shut down and disappear for days.”

“And Jason… he has changed. A lot.”

“He’s so angry. At everyone. And I can’t blame him for it because he has every reason to, no matter how much Dick tries to make things smoother.”

“...But sometimes, letting people be angry is a good thing. It is good that Jason feels angry rather than nothing.”

“No matter how much he scares me now, I prefer that he yells and fights and argues.”

“Even if I miss his smile and his talks, I know that Jason is gone.”

“All that is left is the anger, and I’m okay with that.”

“Even if it hurts.”

“Even if it scares me.”

₊°︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶ ‧₊˚

At least, she wasn’t the only undead person in the family. Yay!

Though both of their cases were quite different, there was one common fact. Which was that the two of them didn’t come back the same after their deadly encounters.

She still didn’t know how exactly Jason came back to life (still researching on that), but she was sure that Jason didn’t get his soul switched up by some twin brother that somehow-

“Since when do you sleepwalk?” He asked, gathering her attention once again.

The question made sense. She remembered falling asleep on her bed, all the tapes around the mattress before snoring her ass off all sprawled out over the covers. Then, that dream sequence (that’s still stuck in her head, by the way. Because she saw her mom. Her real mom. Her real house. She finally has her real last name. She is a Maxi-) and now, she woke up while standing in the middle of a street with no shoes and-

Wait. That’s right.

She ran. 

She ran barefoot.

Jason yelped when she came to a full stop, lifting up her foot and holding it with her hands with a puzzled expression at the sight of the skin.

See, the skin on the soles of your feet, while thick, is still delicate and can be damaged by friction and pressure. Even in her dream, she had her feet all scraped and bleeding from mere wooden splinters. If she had managed to get out of the manor, go through the rocky path towards the gate, climb over the gate, and go through the dirty streets of Gotham while running, there was a huge probability that her feet were screaming out in pain, and she wouldn’t be standing at all.

Instead, there was no sight of blood. Not even a scratch on her skin.

“Damn lucky, if you ask me,” Jason said, tilting his head as he observed her unscatched skin. A glint of wonder in his gaze directed towards her.

“Yeah, lucky me,” She muttered, wiping away some of the dirt on her foot and sighing. She smoothed back her hair, some annoying strands bothering her view while staring at Jason with a grimace. “I guess you’re my ride back?”

He stood quiet for a moment, his glare getting under her skin and making her feel on the edge about his unsettling green color.

Wayne was right. Something about him was off.

“No, actually,” He grunted, walking forward and nodding towards an upcoming familiar car. “That would be Alfred. Good luck on that rant, kid.”

Jason walked over and passed the car, giving Alfred a quick nod as he got out of the car before continuing down the street to get on an old-fashioned bike that was parked further down.

Guessing on how much Alfred’s sharp eyebrows furrowed on his forehead, she knew she was having a long ride back to the mansion.

Well, she got a lot of things out of this. For example, Jason was also someone that she should avoid (still questioning that). And, of course, a very important detail.

Maximoff. She has her name back.

Fucking finally.

──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ────

Contrary to what Tim believed, sleeping in the Titan’s tower did not work out like he expected.

His mind was on the verge of a breakdown, his brain begging for rest and sleep, but still refusing to do so. Like his own body knew what it needed to do, had even tried to do so without his permission, by the multiple times he jolted back to consciousness after nodding off in front of the main computer, or the sound of his friend walking down the halls.

Tim compared his situation to Pavlovian conditioning. And he was sure two people shared the blame.

It was a classical conditioning experiment or respondent conditioning. A behavioral learning process where a neutral stimulus becomes associated with an unconditioned stimulus, leading to a learned response to the formerly neutral stimulus. 

This process was named after the russian physiologist Ivan Pavlov, who famously demonstrated it through his experiment with dogs.

In the experiment, three things were used: a dog, a bell, and food. The neutral stimulus (the bell) is repeatedly paired with an unconditioned stimulus (the food), which naturally elicits a reflexive response (the dog starting to salivate whenever he hears the bell because he knows that when the bell rings, he will be getting food). 

In his case, Tim was the dog, and his reflexive response was sleep.

And the bell was his sister’s piano.

He thought it was stupid at first, but after a week and a half without proper sleep or naps, everything made sense.

Tim had associated his sister’s music with sleep. Unconsciously conditioning himself and his body to wait for the soft keys of the same old song echoing in the halls, so he would allow his tiredness and sleep to consume him and go to bed. And he had done it for years, even! Without ever noticing what she was doing!

Because two share the blame in this.

Him, because he was stupid enough to get himself conditioned like a fucking dog and understimating her.

And her, because, of course, she had these intentions the whole time.

Drive him insane without her music. Her daily check-ups. Not picking up his dirty dishes in the hall. It was all part of her meticulous plan of starving and depriving him of sleep.

He couldn’t help but laugh breathlessly, rubbing his eyes while leaning back in his chair.

His clever and cunning sister.

‘I can’t believe she managed to outsmart me,’ he thought as a contented smile pulled to his lips.

Maybe it was pride that he felt. Proud that she had twisted the odds and put him down from his high horse by playing the long game. By acting with patience. Waiting for the perfect moment to take away something as simple as-

“Still can’t sleep?” Conner’s voice kicked him out of his head, turning around in his chair to look at his concerned friend.

Conner had been the one to suggest that Tim could take a break in the tower, noticing on their calls that he wasn’t resting enough due to the current case going on in Gotham. And the young Kryptonian had been checking on him during his whole stay.

But no matter how much Kon tried to get him to talk, Tim wouldn’t say what was really going on.

He will keep his discovery to himself. No one else.

He was the one to figure her out.

His discovery. 

His investigation. 

His and only his.

“Just a bit,” Tim lied with ease, turning back his chair to the computer. The screen shows the new statistics and documents from the missing kids case. “I’m still going through the clinic documents that B sent a few days ago.”

Bruce had found their missing piece: Medical History.

All of the victims had been visiting hospitals in Manchester, Metropolis, Bludhaven, and Gotham in the past three years. General and specialized clinics.

Clinics that worked with genetics, specifically.

Kon leaned with his elbow against the back of Tim’s chair, scanning through the documents on display with intrigue. “What are your theories? Trafficking? Ransom?”

“It’s too late for ransom,” Tim muttered, tapping away on the keyboard for more documents to pop on the screen. “And trafficking would be more precise. Like a group of kids that stayed out too late or anything along that line, all of the children were taken at different times and with weeks of difference-”

Tim’s personal phone began to vibrate on the table, drawing both of their attention.

He took his phone, frowning at the ID Caller being none other than the demon spawn of his nightmares. He answered.

“What could you possibly want, Damian?”

The boy ignored his slashing tone. ”When are you returning, Drake?”

“Why do you even care?” Tim gave Kon a roll of eyes, to which the taller guy just shrugged.

“Because you’re the only one competent enough to hack into Arkham Asylum’s archives without questioning too much.”

“...You want me to what?”

“I am well aware you don’t lack hearing, Drake.”

Tim stood up from his chair, motioning to Kon to stay there as he walked outside the room to talk in the hall with his demanding younger brother. “I will need some context if you want me to do this behind B’s back.”

The line went quiet for a moment, hearing some door closing in the background and some shuffling around.

“I found some letters in Father’s office. Hiding in a compartment on his desk.” That got a groan out of Tim.

“Damian, you know that Bruce doesn’t like it when-”

“They’re letters for Embarrassment.”

That got Tim’s attention. “From Arkham? Letters from Arkham? To her? From who?”

“They’re all signed as U.H.. I believe the U stands for uncle, judging by the contents of the letter.”

“You read them?”

“And so will you, if you manage to hack into the Arkahm archives so we can figure out who this bastard is.”

The older sibling was very intrigued, despite the headache that was invading his brain. He was pretty much in the moment she was part of the investigation (more information about her, the more he could have in common with her-), but he would still complain about it just to annoy the little demon.

“And why is this bastard so important to you?”

The next words out of Damian’s mouth sent him down a spiral and directly to pack his things so he could head out of the tower as soon as possible.

“Because he is taking her away. All of the legal custody belongs to him.”

──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ────

“I have made it perfectly clear, Clark.”

It’s been three days since that urgent meeting.

Three long days of rejected calls, ignoring messages, and blocking emails from everyone in the league, trying to change Bruce’s mind on the whole ordeal before he made a big mistake that could lead them to a completely preventable war.

Though that scenario was a bit extreme. But you could get the point.

“I get your point. I do,” the hero of Metropolis assented, his hands over the long meeting table in the Hall of Justice. “But you have to see what the consequences of your rule can bring to everyone else. Especially to Gotham.”

The Bat didn’t even look up from his file report. 

“I do know. And the answer is still the same as before,” It didn’t take too much for Clark to know Bruce was glaring at him once he dropped the file to look at the hero directly.

“No metas in my city. And that includes mutants.”

Clark shook his head with a sigh. “You can’t control that. There’s no way of knowing who is a meta when they’re not actively using their powers, and mutants have been fighting for years for their rights and avoiding a legal registry so they can live normal lives.”

“Then, Gotham is not the place for that normal life.” Bruce shot back. But Clark didn’t let it deter him.

“So what then? The moment a mutant kid has their abilities awakened, they should just pack up and move? Leave their family and the place they have only known as home?”

Bruce got up from his chair, posture upright and tight. But didn’t say a word, simply glared at the fuming man in blue and red.

“...I know we are negotiating with a dangerous man,” Clark said in a calmer tone, sitting down on the nearest chair. “But Erik Lehnsherr is only trying to get rights for mutants after years and years of discrimination. I have interviewed mutants, Bruce. They are still humans and deserve to-”

“I will not,” his voice was like rumbling thunder, coming from deep in his chest and thundering around the empty room. “Listen to the pleas of a madman and a terrorist, Kent.”

They stared at each other for a few deafening moments of silence. The harsh exchange of words brought a tense and cold atmosphere between the two leagues’ most important members. Bruce’s chest was still as stone, but Clark could hear the blood pressure going up in the Bat’s veins.

It was Bruce who moved first. Picking up his things and walking towards the exit door, he muttered to Clark on his way out.

“No mutants in Gotham, that’s my order.”

Clark mused to himself, now alone at the table. The tip of his fingers tapped against the white fiberglass table.

At least, the meeting with Magneto wasn’t as ineffective as this chat with Bruce.

╰───────────✧──────────────╮

“-we’ve talked about it and we’re still discussing the outcome of such demand, Mr. Lehnsherr.”

The whole League was gathered with a rush from the sudden call, sitting on their designated chairs with Batman at the head of the table and Superman and Wonder Woman on both of his sides. 

A life-sized hologram of the man the world used to know as Magneto (now known as Erik Lehnsherr, ruler of Genosha) stood proud and tall with his hands behind his back as he listened to Wonder Woman’s words.

He was an older man, significantly older than the rest of the heroes by appearance, despite the good shape he was in. Judging by his muscles and good health, Lehnsherr took care of himself and kept a balanced way of life. He had a head of full white hair, slicked back with stray strands framing his severe face. Tanned skin, covered by an armor of red and purple accents. A dramatic cape was draped over his shoulders, and it waved at his ankles. His helmet, floating just beside him since the beginning of the meeting.

He commanded attention. Power. And Clark could see that Bruce did not like him one bit.

“Wonder Woman,” his deep, accented voice filtered through the sound system. “I am well aware that as an important security branch of the American government, you must make alliances with ‘threatening’ countries for the sake of your president’s peace.”

Everyone could understand what he meant by that.

“But,” he drawled, gaze sharpening towards the man sitting at the head of the table. “I can’t simply grant access to Genosha to the same government my people had to take refuge from. I have, above all, the security and well-being of my kind as a top priority.”

That’s when Clark decided to give his piece to the discussion. “We understand your views on the manner, sir. But what you ask in exchange-”

“Your leader wants to know if I’m making weapons. If I’m building an army.”

Glances and stares were exchanged as the silence in the room became tense.

But Erik Lehnsherr simply sighed, suddenly looking way older by the look in his eyes. 

“I know my reputation. I know my history, and that can’t be mended. No one can erase the mistakes from the past. What is done is done, and I’ve made my bed with it.”

Suddenly, he turned, making sure he could look at every hero sitting at the table.

“All that I do, all that I’ve done, is for my kind. For the new generation of mutant children. So they are able to walk securely on the streets. Be accepted into normal schools. Live normal lives without the fear of getting chased or isolated by something they were simply born with. Simply because nature decided they would be different.”

He looked over his shoulder at the three main leaders.

“I am willing to have official visits from any of your members, monthly or yearly, with strict conditions during your stay.”

A few members visibly sighed in relief at that. They have been trying to get somewhere with this manner, and it was finally showing that it would be getting to a more positive route.

“As long as you grant sanctuary to mutants in your protected cities.”

╰───────────✧──────────────╮

And that’s when the meeting went to shit.

All because Bruce didn’t want mutants in Gotham, and Erik wanted sanctuary in each city that was under the territory of every single member of the Justice League.

“All or nothing” was what he said before leaving the meeting.

Clark understood both sides. Gotham is a stressful place, always under threat, and it could trigger a powerful mutant and cause more trouble and damage.

But most of these mutants were just kids. Scared children who have nowhere else to turn but their clueless families. And of course, a huge part of the homeless community was formed by mutants. People who didn’t get any help or were denied the help they deserved.

Maybe he was being biased, but Clark would have to change Bruce’s mind.

And that thought alone made sure he had a headache for the rest of the day.

──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ────

“Give me two more laps, Wayne!”

When Mr. Munroe had inscribed her to the track and field team, she wasn’t expecting him to become her coach.

“The school said they didn’t have enough people to form an official team. They just let athletes warm up in the track, and that’s it. But what your family doesn’t know won’t hurt them.”

And with that, she had an excuse to stay after school. Track and field practice with Mr. Munroe (Who insisted on being called Logan, but just to get on his nerves, she started calling him Mr. Logan-).

Even if it was a made-up club, she had Mr. Logan as backup in case something happened.

And it wasn’t like she wasn’t practicing!

“Come on, Babes! You can run faster than that!” Bobby yelled and clapped from a bench as she jogged by him. She gave him a quick middle finger before sprinting down the track, his loud laugh making her grin.

Warren and Bobby were also tagging along with her to pretty much everywhere.

They took most of their classes together, excluding extracurricular activities (meaning Bobby’s baseball team and Warren’s debate team). Other than that, they would be attached to the hip even while at lunch or free period.

No matter how much Warren complained about needing to study, he wouldn’t move away from the two smiling idiots.

“She is gonna burn those shoes again,” Warren muttered, without looking up from his notebook, while Bobby turned to look at him.

“We put tape and glue on the soles yesterday, it’ll be fine.” He shrugged, glancing back at her as she began to run her last lap.

That would have been her twentieth lap. And it’s only been less than half an hour. Both of them knew she was fast, but it still shocked them how fast she actually was. 

On Tuesday, she made five laps while still wearing her school uniform, not a single sweat in sight, but her shoes were suffering the consequences.

On Wednesday, she made ten laps with proper shoes and attire. Still not a sweat in sight, but she looked thin after running. Until Mr. Logan shoved some homemade energy bars into her hands and gave her a rant about eating properly and having enough calories in her food.

On Thursday, (While looking pretty much half dead and complaing about sleepwalking) Warren gave her the number of his tailor. Her uniform was way too big on her and needed adjustments. Bobby decided to keep a closer look at how much she was eating and the number of servings she got at lunch (A total of six servings, and big enough to make him a bit nauseous. That’s without counting all the snacks Mr. Logan kept giving her throughout the day and in practice.) She made fifteen laps. And the soles of the shoes chaffed off. 

It’s Friday, and she just made twenty laps without a single sweat. In just five minutes. And no shoes burned.

“Oh shit!”

Scratch that. Two shoes burned.

Warren closed his notebook, walking towards an exasperated Mr. Logan, who inspected the ruined shoes, and a whining girl, who sat on the ground with her legs sprawled out as she ripped off her socks. Bobby followed him.

Her green jacket (a track jacket that she always wore to practice) and running attire (A white compression shirt and some green Lycra shorts with white stripes on the sides) didn’t show any signs of perspiration. Not even her skin seemed to sweat (and now it had some light tan to it, after spending this week running outside on breaks and in the afternoon).

“Looks like you need new shoes, bub. Can’t let you run in these anymore.” Mr. Logan said, making her throw herself back on the ground with a wail. “You melted the glue with your laps. The track is probably running hotter than I expected.”

For many reasons, Warren didn’t believe anything in that last sentence.

Bobby crouched down next to her as she mourned the death of her precious shoes, tapping her forehead so she would at least look at him. He smiled brightly when she opened her eyes and pouted up at him, making Warren roll his eyes.

“We can go shopping tomorrow! I need to buy clothes, and we could get you better shoes!”

Warren scrunched his eyes and crossed his arms. “Who is ‘we’?”

He was obviously ignored by both of them. She groaned out sitting up while slouching. “I can’t. I’m gonna go to the hospital to visit my mom in the afternoon.”

“We could go early,” Bobby offered, standing up and grabbing her arm to help her get off the floor. “I got my car, so we can go to the mall and then drop you off at the hospital! Maybe even meet your mom too!”

Warren waved his hand with a twitching smile. “Again, who is ‘we’?”

She threw herself over Bobby’s back, sighing at the cold temperature of his body and making the heat of the sun go away from her skin. Bobby jokingly broke his posture, receiving a whine and a pinch to the shoulder. He stood still as she looked over at Warren with a pleading glance.

“Would you guys do that? For me?” Bobby joined in the puppy dog eyes, both of them pouting at Warren as Mr. Logan shook his head in amusement, clapping off the dust from his hands as he walked away with the shoes.

Warren, red in the face, as his two friends scooched closer to him. Making exaggerated pleading faces and motions, until he groaned out to the sky and let them drag him into their weird and awkward embrace as they cheered.

“Fine, but only because I need to look for some shirts.” He grumbled, a twitch under the clothes on his back.

“It’s gonna be fun! We can also go eat something. I heard there’s this booming boba tea place, and I really want to try it. Oh, we can also go to Chili’s!” Bobby began to list off a lot of things to do, as he dragged both of his friends towards the bleachers to gather their things and kill some time before it was time for her to get picked up.

Maximoff could only think that she was glad to have people whom she could hang on to. 

Until Billy found her.

She could see them getting along with him. They could make a great group.

Perhaps… she could tell them what is truly going on. Eventually, obviously. 

Yeah, eventually.

──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ────

Author's Note: PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR, I'VE GOT A NEW CHAPTER FOR YOU!!! Literally locked in to write this chapter because I found out I was gonna spend the weekend celebrating my Mom's birthday. This is probably my favorite chapter to write uptill now. We got Mama Wanda, Insane Tim, PEEPAW MAGNETO- and more insight in the mutants💖😉 And got filled with energy by all the asks (AND NOW ACTUAL FANART???) and the love this story has been reciving. Keep in mind the new schedule! Update will be Sunday night/Monday morning. And remember that I love to answer comments and asks so keep them coming!! Lots of love and hugs. GG✨

Tag list:

 @bat1212 @kneelforloki @1abi @galaxypurplerose @yhin-gg @cxcilla @momentomoribitch @stargirl404 @initial-ari @welpthisisboring @icefox8155 @bunniotomia @alittlelostmoonchild @devotedlyshamelessdetective @shycreatorreview @nirvanaxx1942 @soulsire @ryuushou @rinkydinkythinky @lithiumval @ithoughtthinks @reeyy0-2 @cssammyyarts @lordbugs @ilovecoffe0 @kore-of-the-underworld @fortunatelydifferentqueen @vanessa-boo @livingund3ad @aelxr @im-so-goddamn-tired @lovebug-apple @staarflowerr @xoxoyukixoxo @whyiseveryuseenametaken @holderoflostmemories @doggyteam2028 @leeiasure @shadowypeachsweets @jjoppees @astraeasworld @wrenbirde

Bonus Memes:

[padawan-carol]

Study ✍🏽

[shoujo-dreamland]

[fangs-trait]

God forbid be the favorite of the Father.

[bonanza-tact]

Cherik family

Charles is also pregnant

[mkpersephone]

[urdreamydoodles]

Hello!!! I just found your page and yes I already I love your work!!

If it’s no trouble, may I ask for X-men characters with a Pregnant s/o headcanons? Like how they would be when you tell them you’re pregnant, how they are when you’re pregnant, and how they’d be during labor! 😵‍💫😵‍💫

Could I also ask it be with: Logan, Scott, Gambit, Ororo, Colossus, and Kurt??

If not it’s totally okay! Have a great rest of your day 💖💖

X-Men x Pregnant!Reader

How they handle your pregnancy

Each X-Man reacts differently to your pregnancy, from initial surprise and joy to unwavering support during labor, reflecting their unique personalities and love for you.

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Scott Summers, Ororo Munroe, Kurt Wagner, Colossus (+ my personal addition : Erik Lehnsherr, Wade Wilson, Wanda Maximoff & Pietro Maximoff)

Thank you for saying that, hearing that my work is liked makes me really happy, thank you ♡ And it's not a trouble at all — love the prompt! — Love, Marie, your friendly marvel fangirl

Logan Howlett (Wolverine)

When you tell Logan you’re pregnant, his initial reaction is a mix of shock and silence. For a moment, he’s frozen in place, his gruff exterior cracking just enough to reveal how truly taken aback he is by the news. He’s been through so much, lost so many people, and had so many regrets in his life that the thought of bringing a child into this world overwhelms him. But after a long, quiet moment, his eyes soften, and he gently places a hand on your stomach, the roughness of his calloused palm contrasting with the tenderness in his gesture. His voice, usually gruff and low, is quiet when he says, "I’ll protect both of ya… no matter what."

During your pregnancy, Logan becomes fiercely protective. He’s always been the protective type, but now it’s ramped up to an entirely different level. He doesn’t let you do anything that might risk your health or the baby’s, even if it’s something small like lifting a grocery bag. He makes sure you’re comfortable, constantly checking in with you—though he tries to act like he’s not worried. You often catch him watching you, eyes filled with a mix of awe and uncertainty. He tries not to hover, but you can see how much he cares. The moment you’re uncomfortable, he’s there, ready to do anything to help. His biggest fear, though he never outright says it, is that something will happen to you or the baby, so he keeps an almost obsessive eye on both of your well-being.

When labor begins, Logan is a mess of emotions. He’s usually the calm in any storm, but seeing you in pain makes him feel helpless in a way he’s not used to. He holds your hand, trying to keep you calm, though his own heart races. "I’m here, darlin’. You’re strong. You got this," he murmurs, pressing kisses to your forehead, staying close, trying to mask his own panic. When the baby finally comes, and he hears that first cry, tears fill his eyes. He never thought he could experience something so beautiful and terrifying at the same time. Logan would quietly hold the baby, marveling at the tiny life you both created, knowing he’s going to protect this child with everything he has.

Remy LeBeau (Gambit)

Telling Remy you’re pregnant is like lighting a firework. He’s always been a charmer, quick with a grin and a flirtatious quip, but when the news sinks in, his eyes light up with uncontainable excitement. "Mon dieu… I gon’ be a papa?" he says in disbelief, his signature grin widening as he pulls you into his arms. His hands immediately find your stomach, even if there’s no sign of the baby yet, and he plants a loving kiss on your lips. Remy is the kind of man who loves with his whole heart, and now, the idea of a family with you makes him feel like the luckiest man alive.

Throughout the pregnancy, Remy is absolutely doting. He spoils you beyond belief, making sure you have everything you need. He constantly brings you little gifts—flowers, chocolates, or even things for the baby—and he can’t help but talk to your belly every chance he gets, whispering sweet nothings in French. "Cher bébé, you gon’ have de best life wit’ us," he coos. He’s also incredibly playful, making jokes to keep your spirits high during the more uncomfortable parts of the pregnancy. If you’re feeling tired or sick, he’s quick to comfort you, but he does it with his usual playful charm. "You look beautiful, ma chérie, even wit’ a lil’ bump," he teases, kissing your cheek. Remy’s energy makes the whole experience feel lighter, more fun, and less daunting.

During labor, Remy’s usual calm and collected demeanor falters. He’s still his charming self, but there’s a frantic edge to his words as he holds your hand. "You okay, chérie? I’m right here wit’ you," he reassures, though you can see the worry in his eyes. He’s not used to seeing you in pain, and it shakes him more than he thought it would. As the labor progresses, he stays by your side, whispering sweet encouragements in French and English, never letting go of your hand. When the baby finally arrives, he’s completely overwhelmed, tears of joy running down his face as he holds your child for the first time. "Our lil’ miracle," he says softly, his heart full to bursting with love for both you and the baby.

Scott Summers (Cyclops)

When you tell Scott you’re pregnant, he’s stunned, standing still for a long moment as he processes the news. Scott, being the logical and responsible leader he is, has always thought about the future and the possibility of a family, but hearing it from you makes it real in a way that both excites and terrifies him. "We’re… we’re going to be parents?" he asks, his voice soft with disbelief before his arms wrap around you tightly. You can see the joy in his face, mixed with the weight of responsibility that’s already setting in. He’s already planning everything in his mind—how he’ll protect you, the future he’ll build for the three of you, ensuring that you and the baby are always safe.

Throughout your pregnancy, Scott is incredibly attentive and thoughtful. He’s the type to read all the parenting books, meticulously prepare for every scenario, and ensure that you’re comfortable and healthy at all times. He schedules every doctor’s appointment, makes sure you’re eating well, and insists that you take things easy. He’s also incredibly emotional during this time, though he tries to hide it. You often catch him looking at you with a softness in his eyes, one hand resting protectively on your stomach. "I love you so much," he says out of the blue one night, his voice filled with quiet awe. Scott takes everything seriously, and your pregnancy is no exception—he’s already planning how to be the best father he can be.

When the day of labor arrives, Scott is calm and composed, but you can feel the tension rolling off him in waves. He’s a natural leader, but this is out of his control, and it scares him more than he’ll admit. He holds your hand the entire time, murmuring words of encouragement, but there’s a tightness in his voice that betrays his worry. "You’re doing great, we’re almost there," he says, though you can tell he’s just as nervous as you are. When the baby is born, Scott is overcome with emotion. He’s usually so controlled, but in this moment, tears stream down his face as he holds your newborn in his arms. "We did it," he whispers, looking between you and the baby with a sense of awe and love so profound it leaves him speechless.

Ororo Munroe (Storm)

When you tell Ororo you’re pregnant, her reaction is calm yet filled with quiet joy. She has always been a steady presence, and that doesn’t change even in a moment as life-altering as this. You watch as her eyes widen slightly, and she takes a deep breath, letting it out with a smile that’s filled with nothing but love. "A child," she says softly, as if testing the words out on her lips before she steps closer, pulling you into a tender embrace. She kisses your forehead, her fingers gently brushing your stomach. "We will raise them together with the strength of the earth, the wind, and the skies," she whispers, her voice filled with a quiet reverence for this new journey you’re about to embark on together.

During the pregnancy, Ororo is a pillar of strength and grace. She watches over you with care, making sure you feel supported and at peace throughout. Her connection to nature allows her to sense even the smallest changes in your well-being, and she’s quick to help ease any discomfort you feel. She spends hours talking to your growing belly, whispering stories of the world, of the sky, and the beauty of the elements. Her presence is soothing, and she brings you peace in moments where the discomforts of pregnancy are hardest to bear. At night, she holds you close, her hands resting protectively on your stomach, often saying a quiet prayer to the earth for your safety. "You and our child are my heart," she says softly one evening as you drift off to sleep, her love for you as powerful as the storms she commands.

When the time comes for labor, Ororo is a calming force by your side. Even as the pain begins, she stays with you, her hand in yours, reminding you to breathe, to focus on the world around you. "Feel the wind, my love, let it guide you," she murmurs, her voice steady as she helps you through each contraction. You find yourself drawing strength from her presence, her deep connection to the elements grounding you. When the baby finally arrives, she cradles the tiny life in her arms with such tenderness that it brings tears to your eyes. "Welcome to the world, little one," she whispers, her eyes filled with awe and love. Ororo knows this is a moment of great power, not just in the birth of your child, but in the creation of a family bound by love and strength.

Kurt Wagner (Nightcrawler)

When you tell Kurt you’re pregnant, his first reaction is pure, unfiltered joy. His golden eyes light up, and in an instant, he’s pulling you into a tight embrace, his tail curling around you protectively. "Mein Gott! You are serious, ja?" he asks, his excitement palpable. When you nod, he lets out a delighted laugh, teleporting you both into the air for a brief moment in his excitement before bringing you back down gently. He cups your face in his hands, pressing kisses all over your cheeks and lips, his happiness absolutely infectious. "I am going to be a papa?!" he repeats, as if he can’t quite believe it, but the pure joy on his face shows that he couldn’t be happier. He immediately begins to talk about your future together, about how he’ll be the best father, about how lucky the child will be to have you as their mother.

Throughout your pregnancy, Kurt is an absolute ball of energy and love. He’s always fussing over you, making sure you’re comfortable, making sure you’re happy, and doing everything he can to make you smile. He talks to your belly constantly, telling your baby stories of his own childhood, sharing his love for adventure and his deep faith. "You will be loved, little one. So very loved," he whispers often, his tail lightly wrapping around you as he presses his head to your stomach. Despite his own rough upbringing, Kurt is determined to make sure your child is raised with nothing but love and joy. He’s so excited for every little milestone, constantly asking how you’re feeling, and making sure that you never feel alone or overwhelmed. He even starts knitting baby clothes in his spare time, determined to create something personal for your child.

When labor begins, Kurt is nervous but tries his best to stay calm for your sake. He teleports in and out of the room, fetching things, bringing you water, doing anything he can to help. "You are so strong, meine liebe, you’ve got this," he says, though you can see the nervous energy in him as he paces slightly. When things get intense, he stays by your side, holding your hand tightly, his usual calm demeanor replaced with pure awe at what’s happening. The moment the baby is born, Kurt is overwhelmed with emotion. Tears fill his golden eyes as he looks at the tiny life you’ve created together. "Our little miracle," he whispers in awe, his tail brushing gently against the baby’s tiny hand as he cradles them carefully. His heart is full, knowing that this is the start of a new, beautiful chapter for your family.

Piotr Rasputin (Colossus)

When you tell Piotr you’re pregnant, his first reaction is one of quiet shock. His gentle nature has always been a core part of who he is, but the idea of becoming a father leaves him momentarily speechless. He stares at you for a moment, as if processing the magnitude of what you just said. Then, slowly, a smile breaks across his face, and his massive arms gently pull you into a warm, protective embrace. "We are going to have a child?" he asks, his voice soft and filled with wonder. His metal form, cold to the touch, somehow feels comforting as he holds you close, his hands resting gently on your stomach. "I… I will do everything to protect you and our child," he promises, his deep voice filled with determination and love.

Throughout your pregnancy, Piotr becomes an even more protective and attentive partner. He’s already used to being careful with his strength around you, but now he’s even more cautious, always making sure you’re comfortable and safe. He spends hours drawing and painting, creating art that reflects the love and joy he feels for you and the baby. His gentle nature shines through as he constantly checks in with you, making sure you’re well-rested, eating enough, and not doing anything that could put strain on you or the baby. "You should rest, moya lyubov’," he says softly, offering you a cup of tea or a warm blanket whenever you look the least bit uncomfortable. He talks about the future often, about how he wants to raise the child with the same love and care his family gave him, how he wants to teach them to be strong but gentle, like him.

When labor begins, Piotr is a bundle of nerves beneath his calm exterior. His metal form shifts, and you can see the tension in his usually composed demeanor. He stays by your side, holding your hand gently, though you can tell he’s trying not to show just how worried he is. "I am here, love, you are so strong," he says softly, his voice a low rumble as he reassures you throughout the process. As the labor progresses, he’s there every step of the way, doing whatever he can to help. When the baby is finally born, Piotr is overwhelmed with emotion. He carefully cradles the tiny life in his large, metal arms, his eyes shining with tears as he looks at you with pure love. "Our family," he whispers, his deep voice filled with awe and devotion. "You have given me everything."

Erik Lehnsherr (Magneto)

When you tell Erik you’re pregnant, his initial reaction is one of deep, contemplative silence. You watch as the weight of the news settles over him like a heavy cloak, and for a brief moment, there’s an unreadable look in his sharp eyes. He’s always been a man burdened by the past, his life filled with loss and pain. But then, his expression softens, and he reaches out to touch your face, his fingers trembling ever so slightly. "A child," he murmurs, almost as if he’s afraid to believe it. Slowly, a smile tugs at the corners of his lips, and he pulls you into a tight embrace, burying his face in your hair. "We will give them the world," he promises, his voice low and filled with the intensity that only Erik can bring. Though you can tell the news has stirred up memories of his past, the joy he feels for this future with you is undeniable.

During the pregnancy, Erik becomes fiercely protective, bordering on overbearing at times. He’s always been a man who values control, and now that you’re carrying his child, that instinct is heightened tenfold. He monitors everything, making sure you’re safe, making sure you’re comfortable, and making sure nothing threatens you or the baby. His magnetic abilities become almost a subconscious part of how he protects you, moving objects out of your way before you even realize they’re there, adjusting the temperature of the room without a second thought. Despite his intensity, there’s a tenderness in the way he speaks to your belly, as though he’s already trying to form a connection with your unborn child. "You will be strong," he says one evening, his hand resting on your stomach. "I will make sure of it."

When labor begins, Erik is calm but incredibly focused. He’s been through many battles in his life, but this is something different—a battle of a more personal kind. He stays by your side, his hand gripping yours tightly, though you can see the tension in his jaw as he tries to remain composed. "You can do this, my love," he says, his voice steady despite the worry in his eyes. As the contractions grow stronger, he channels his abilities to make the environment as soothing as possible, dimming the lights, adjusting the metal fixtures in the room to make everything feel more comfortable for you. When the baby is finally born, Erik is silent for a long moment, staring at the tiny life you’ve both created. Then, without a word, he takes the child in his arms, his eyes filled with a rare vulnerability as he gazes down at them. "I never thought I would have this again," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you."

Wade Wilson (Deadpool)

When you tell Wade you’re pregnant, his reaction is, unsurprisingly, over the top. He stares at you with wide eyes, his mouth hanging open comically for a moment before he suddenly breaks into a huge grin. "Are you serious?!" he shouts, throwing his arms in the air and spinning around in excitement. He grabs you and starts bouncing you up and down, all the while chattering on about how you’re going to have the coolest kid in the world. "Oh man, this is going to be awesome! Our little baby Wadelette, or Wadelino!" His excitement is infectious, and though his humor never stops, you can tell there’s genuine love and excitement behind his wild antics. He talks about everything from baby names to what kind of mini-costume the kid will wear, all while being completely and utterly himself.

During the pregnancy, Wade is a chaotic but devoted partner. He’s constantly hovering, making ridiculous jokes to keep your spirits up, and finding the weirdest ways to pamper you. "You’re eating for two now! Gotta keep that belly happy!" he’d say, handing you a tray of the strangest food combinations you’ve ever seen. Wade has a way of making even the most uncomfortable moments of pregnancy into something funny, but when the serious moments hit, he’s surprisingly thoughtful. He talks to your belly in exaggerated voices, telling the baby stories of his adventures and promising to be the best (and weirdest) dad ever. Though he can’t quite stop being himself, you know that beneath all the humor, Wade is completely committed to you and the baby.

When labor hits, Wade is... well, Wade. He’s running around like a madman, alternately panicking and cracking jokes to try and keep things light. "Okay, okay, I’ve got this! I’ve fought ninjas, I’ve blown up buildings, how hard can this be?!" he says, though the genuine concern in his eyes gives him away. As things progress, he becomes a little more serious, holding your hand and whispering words of encouragement between his nervous ramblings. When the baby is finally born, Wade is struck speechless for once in his life. He stares down at the tiny bundle in awe, his usual mask of humor slipping as he gently takes the baby in his arms. "Holy crap," he whispers, his voice barely above a breath. "We made a tiny person." He looks at you with wide eyes, his usual bravado replaced with pure, unfiltered love.

Wanda Maximoff (Scarlet Witch)

When you tell Wanda you’re pregnant, her initial reaction is one of quiet, overwhelmed emotion. You watch as her eyes fill with tears, her hands trembling as she reaches out to touch your face. "A baby?" she whispers, her voice filled with disbelief. For Wanda, this news is a dream she never thought possible, a hope she had long since buried beneath the weight of her complicated life. She pulls you into a gentle embrace, holding you close as she tries to process the enormity of what this means for the both of you. Her powers flicker around her, responding to her heightened emotions, but she calms herself quickly, pressing her forehead to yours. "I never thought I would have this chance," she says softly. "But now… now we can have a family."

Throughout the pregnancy, Wanda is a bundle of emotions—both excitement and worry. She’s incredibly protective, her powers always at the ready to keep you and the baby safe, but there’s an underlying fear that something could go wrong. Despite her concerns, she embraces the experience fully, surrounding you with warmth and love. She spends hours researching everything about pregnancy, reading books, and using her magic to ensure you and the baby are healthy. She talks to your belly every night, using her magic to create little illusions of what she imagines your child might look like. "You will be so loved," she whispers to your stomach, her hands gently resting over the growing life inside you. Despite the fears that linger in the back of her mind, Wanda finds joy in the journey, grateful for the chance to experience this with you.

When labor begins, Wanda is nervous but focused. She holds your hand, her magic swirling around the room in gentle pulses, trying to ease your pain and keep you calm. "You’re so strong," she says, her voice soft but full of conviction. "I’m here with you." As the contractions intensify, Wanda uses her powers to help as much as she can without interfering too much, guiding you through the pain with a steady hand and reassuring words. When the baby is finally born, Wanda is overwhelmed with emotion. She cradles the newborn in her arms, tears streaming down her face as she gazes at the life you’ve created together. "Our child," she whispers, her voice filled with awe. "I can’t believe it… they’re perfect."

Pietro Maximoff (Quicksilver)

When you tell Pietro you’re pregnant, his reaction is fast—literally. He zooms around the room at breakneck speed, his excitement palpable as he tries to process the news. "Wait, wait, wait—seriously? I’m going to be a dad?!" he exclaims, coming to a sudden stop in front of you with wide eyes and a grin that stretches from ear to ear. He’s so thrilled that he can barely stand still, constantly moving from one side of the room to the other, muttering excitedly to himself about baby names, future races, and all the things he’ll teach your child. "They’re gonna be fast, I just know it!" he says, already imagining a little speedster following in his footsteps. His excitement is contagious, and though he can be overwhelming at times, you know that Pietro’s joy is genuine and heartfelt.

During the pregnancy, Pietro is both attentive and hilariously impatient. He’s constantly zipping around, checking on you, fetching things, and making sure you’re comfortable. "You need anything? Water? Snacks? Foot rub?" he asks at lightning speed, already halfway out the door before you can answer. His energy is boundless, and though it can be a bit much at times, you appreciate how much he cares. Pietro is always talking to your belly, encouraging the baby to hurry up and grow faster. "Come on, little one, we’re all waiting for you!" he says with a grin, pressing a kiss to your stomach. Despite his impatience, Pietro is incredibly sweet, and he does everything he can to make sure you feel loved and supported throughout the entire process.

When labor begins, Pietro is a whirlwind of nervous energy. He’s constantly pacing, moving from one side of the room to the other, his speed betraying his anxiety. "You’re doing great, babe, really great!" he says, though his voice is tinged with nervousness. He tries to stay calm for your sake, but you can tell he’s on edge, desperate for everything to go smoothly. When the baby is finally born, Pietro’s world comes to a complete standstill for the first time in his life. The moment they place the baby in his arms, everything around him slows, and for once, he’s not in a rush to go anywhere. He stares down at your newborn child, his usual cocky smirk replaced with a look of pure awe and disbelief. "Wow," he whispers, his voice soft and reverent. "I… we made this." His hands, usually moving a mile a minute, are gentle as he cradles the baby close, eyes wide with wonder as he examines every little detail of their face.