X-Men Preferences and Imagines

How they wake you up

Logan Howlett:
You wake to the scent of fresh coffee, the room filled with the crisp, earthy smell that always seems to cling to Logan, like pine and leather. His gruff voice breaks through your sleepy haze. "Rise and shine, darlin'." The bed dips as he sits on the edge, his rough hand gently brushing a strand of hair out of your face. "I made coffee. Figured you could use it after last night." His smirk is all too familiar, teasing yet tender. When you groan and try to pull the covers over your head, Logan chuckles. "C'mon, don't make me drag ya outta bed." But before you can hide from the morning, his strong arms slide under you, lifting you with ease. You yelp, half laughing, half annoyed as he hauls you out of bed. "Logan, put me down!" you protest, trying to wriggle free. He only grins wider, his voice low and gravelly, "Not a chance, sweetheart. Breakfast's waiting, and I ain't eatin' alone." He presses a quick kiss to your temple before carrying you to the kitchen like it's the easiest thing in the world.

Scott Summers:
Scott is always up early, his disciplined nature pulling him out of bed long before the sun fully rises. The soft click of the curtains being drawn back stirs you from your sleep, and you blink blearily as the morning light filters in. "Good morning, beautiful," Scott says in that warm, steady tone of his. You squint up at him, still half-asleep. He's already dressed, neat and ready for the day, though his visor is the only thing that breaks the clean-cut look. He sits beside you, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Sorry, I know it's early, but I thought we could grab breakfast before training today. I'll make your favorite," he promises, his hand resting lightly on your back. You sigh, turning to bury your face in the pillow. "Five more minutes?" you mumble. He chuckles softly, his hand moving in soothing circles across your back. "Alright, but no more than five," he agrees, though you can tell he's watching the clock like the responsible leader he is. Even though you're still groggy, the warmth of his presence is enough to make you smile as you drift back into a light doze.

Young Charles Xavier:
You're always woken gently by Charles, his calm, soothing voice whispering through the remnants of your dreams. "Good morning, love," his voice echoes softly in your mind, before you even feel the bed shift under his weight. His mental presence is like a soft caress, bringing you out of sleep with an overwhelming sense of warmth and love. You open your eyes to find him sitting beside you, a soft smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I didn't want to wake you too suddenly," he says, his hand finding yours under the covers. "You looked so peaceful." His fingers are warm, tracing slow patterns on your palm, his expression tender as he leans down to brush a kiss against your forehead. "We could stay in bed a little longer if you'd like. I have no pressing matters today," he offers, his voice as smooth as ever, and you know he means it. With him, time always seems to slow down, and the world outside fades. "Stay," you murmur, your hand tightening slightly in his. He chuckles softly, his lips brushing your hair as he lies down beside you, pulling you into his arms. "As you wish," he says, and you know you're exactly where you're supposed to be.

Young Erik Lehnsherr:
Erik wakes you up in a way that's both annoyingly effective and entirely him. The familiar hum of metal shifting in the room pulls you from sleep as you realize your pillow is being tugged from under your head, ever so slowly by the zipper on the side. You groan and reach out to grab it, but it's already floating in midair. "Erik," you grumble, cracking one eye open to see him standing near the window, smirking. "Good morning, liebling," he says, his voice rich with amusement. He makes a small gesture with his fingers, and the metal frame of the bed creaks ever so slightly, just enough to jostle you further awake. "You know there are less... dramatic ways to wake someone up," you mumble, trying to pull the blanket over your head. But with a flick of his hand, the blanket flutters to the side of the bed. "Where's the fun in that?" he replies, stepping closer. "Besides, you promised me breakfast this morning. And I've been very patient." His smile softens as he reaches down, pulling you gently into a sitting position, his hands lingering on your shoulders. You grumble, but you can't help the smile that tugs at your lips as he leans in to kiss you, the sharp edge of his humor tempered by the affection in his touch. "Fine, fine," you concede.

Young Hank McCoy:
Hank wakes you with the most endearing kind of excitement, the kind that's impossible to be mad at. You stir from sleep to the sound of papers shuffling and the faint smell of something... burning? "Hank?" you mumble, sitting up to see him at the desk, a mess of blue fur, glasses slightly askew as he fumbles with some experiment. He turns to you, wide-eyed and sheepish, a smudge of something on his cheek. "Oh, you're awake! Uh, good morning!" he says, rushing over to you. "I was trying to make breakfast, but I may have... miscalculated." You glance toward the doorway where a thin trail of smoke seems to be coming from the kitchen. "Hank, what did you do?" you laugh, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. He scratches the back of his neck, looking incredibly bashful for a man with superhuman intelligence. "I, uh, might have gotten a little distracted with some research while the eggs were cooking." He sits on the edge of the bed, giving you a hopeful smile. "But! I can still fix it! Or we could... order something?" You chuckle, leaning over to kiss his cheek, smudging the grease further. "How about you let me handle breakfast from now on?"

Peter Maximoff:
With Peter, waking up is never peaceful. One moment you're blissfully asleep, the next you're jolted awake by a rush of wind and the unmistakable sound of Peter's voice. "Hey, wake up! I got donuts!" he says, suddenly standing at the foot of the bed, holding a box of pastries and grinning like an overgrown child. You groan, burying your face in the pillow. "Peter, it's too early," you mumble. But he's already zooming around the room, tossing a donut onto the bed next to you. "Come on, come on, don't make me eat all of them by myself!" He's back at your side in a split second, bouncing slightly on his heels, the energy practically radiating off of him. "I got your favorite," he adds, waving a chocolate donut in front of your face. You reach out, still half-asleep, and take it just to get him to calm down. "You're insufferable," you say, though your words are softened by a smile as he flops onto the bed next to you, already halfway through his second donut. "Yeah, but you love me," he says with a smirk, planting a sugary kiss on your cheek before zipping off again.