X-Men Preferences and Imagines

How they let you know that they're in the mood

Logan Howlett:
When Logan's in the mood, there's a shift in his demeanor, subtle but unmistakable. You're lounging on the couch, reading, when you feel his strong hands settle on your shoulders, massaging gently. His touch is rough but careful, and you feel his breath against your neck as he leans down, pressing a lingering kiss to your skin. "What're you readin', darlin'?" he rumbles, his voice low and gravelly, sending shivers down your spine. "Just something I picked up earlier," you reply, but the book slips from your fingers when his hand trails down your arm, slow and deliberate. He smirks against your neck, knowing exactly the effect he has on you. "How 'bout we put that down for a while?" he suggests, his lips grazing your ear. His other hand slides down to your waist, pulling you closer against him as his fingers slip under your shirt. "Logan..." you murmur, already breathless, but he chuckles softly, turning you around to face him, eyes dark with desire. "What? You're tellin' me you don't want this?" He raises a brow, teasing you, but you can see the hunger in his gaze. You meet his lips with yours, answering him without words, the tension between you already melting into something much hotter.

Scott Summers:
Scott doesn't need to say much when he's in the mood. He's a man of restraint, but when his guard slips, the way he looks at you is unmistakable. You're in the middle of making dinner when you notice the intensity of his gaze, the way his jaw clenches as he watches you move around the kitchen. "Scott, are you okay?" you ask, sensing something in the air, but his only response is to stand behind you, his hands resting on your hips. "I'm fine," he says, but his voice is tight, controlled, as though he's holding something back. You turn to face him, only to see that familiar heat simmering behind his visor. "You don't look fine," you tease, knowing exactly what's on his mind. He lets out a soft chuckle, one hand sliding from your hip to your lower back, pulling you flush against him. "You're making it hard to focus, that's all," he admits, his voice a little hoarse. You smirk, running your fingers up his chest. "Dinner can wait," you whisper, your lips brushing his, and that's all it takes for him to lose the last bit of his composure. "Thank God," he murmurs, capturing your lips with a fervor that leaves no doubt about what he wants.

Young Charles Xavier:
With Charles, it's always the smallest gestures that reveal his desire. You're curled up beside him, both of you engrossed in conversation when he reaches for your hand, tracing slow circles on your palm with his thumb. His touch is gentle, but there's a certain weight to it tonight, something more intentional. You glance up at him, finding his eyes already on you, warm and searching. "Charles?" you ask softly, tilting your head in question, but he just smiles, that charming, knowing smile that makes your heart flutter. "I was just thinking," he begins, his voice as smooth as ever, "how much I love spending time with you like this." His words are sweet, but there's a deeper meaning in the way his fingers trail down your arm, lingering on your skin. "Oh? Is that all you were thinking?" you tease, catching the shift in his tone. He chuckles, leaning in a little closer, his breath warm against your cheek. "Maybe I was thinking about something else," he confesses, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth. You can feel his restraint, always so careful, but the way his hand tightens around yours betrays his real thoughts. "Care to share?" you murmur, closing the distance between you. "Only if you're interested," he replies softly, his eyes darkening as you press your lips to his, making it clear that you are.

Young Erik Lehnsherr:
Erik is more direct when he's in the mood, never one to dance around what he wants. You're working late, papers scattered across the desk, when you feel his presence behind you. He doesn't say anything at first, but you can feel his gaze on you, the tension building. "Erik, is something wrong?" you ask, turning in your chair to face him. He smirks, shaking his head as he steps closer, placing his hands on either side of your chair, caging you in. "Nothing's wrong," he says, his voice low and steady, but there's a heat in his eyes that makes your heart race. "I've just been watching you work for hours, and it's driving me crazy," he admits, his hands sliding down to your waist, pulling you up from your seat. "You know there's more to life than paperwork, don't you?" You bite your lip, knowing exactly where this is going. "I'm almost done..." you start, but he cuts you off with a kiss, rough and possessive, his fingers digging into your hips as he presses you against the desk. "I think you've done enough for tonight," he growls, his lips trailing down your neck, leaving you breathless. "Erik," you murmur, half-protest, half-plea, but he just grins, his hands already slipping under your shirt. "No more excuses," he whispers, and you can't argue with that.

Young Hank McCoy:
Hank gets a little awkward when he's in the mood, his usual confidence slipping into nervous energy. You're sitting on the couch, watching TV when you notice him fidgeting beside you, his hands twitching in his lap. "Hank, are you okay?" you ask, nudging him gently. He looks up at you, his cheeks slightly flushed, and you can tell he's been working up the courage to say something. "Yeah, I'm fine," he says quickly, but you can see right through him. "You sure?" you tease, leaning in a little closer. He laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just... well, I was wondering if... maybe you'd like to, uh, move this to the bedroom?" he stammers, clearly uncomfortable but determined. You smile, charmed by his awkwardness, and slide closer to him, placing a hand on his knee. "Are you trying to tell me something, Hank?" you ask softly, your voice teasing. He glances at you, and you can see the desire in his eyes, even though he's trying to play it cool. "Maybe," he mutters, leaning in to kiss you, his hand resting on your thigh. "Is that a yes?" he whispers against your lips, his nerves fading as you pull him closer. "Definitely a yes," you reply, and that's all the encouragement he needs.

Peter Maximoff:
Peter's approach is playful, as always, when he's in the mood. You're sitting in bed, scrolling through your phone when he suddenly appears at the foot of the bed, that familiar mischievous grin on his face. "Hey, what's up?" he asks casually, though the way he's looking at you says he has more than conversation on his mind. "Not much, just catching up on some news," you reply, eyeing him suspiciously as he climbs onto the bed, inching closer. "Boring," he teases, grabbing the phone out of your hand and tossing it aside. "Hey!" you protest, but he's already leaning in, his lips brushing your neck as he murmurs, "I can think of something way more interesting to do." You roll your eyes, but can't help the smile that tugs at your lips. "Oh yeah? And what's that?" you challenge, but your breath catches as his hand slides up your leg, his touch light but electrifying. "You really need me to spell it out?" he jokes, his voice low as his lips move to your ear. You laugh, pushing him back slightly. "Peter, you're impossible." He grins, pulling you onto his lap with a speed that makes your head spin. "Impossible to resist," he quips, his eyes gleaming with amusement and something darker. "Yeah, yeah," you mutter, but your lips are already on his, proving his point entirely.