X-Men Preferences and Imagines

They stay up late after promising they would be right to bed

Logan Howlett:
You're used to Logan staying up late, but tonight he promised he'd be right to bed after a beer and some quiet time in front of the fire. Hours later, you wake up to an empty bed and head downstairs, finding him sprawled on the couch, the dim light of the TV casting shadows over his sharp features. "Logan, you promised," you mutter, crossing your arms as you lean against the doorframe. He grunts, barely looking at you, his eyes glued to some old Western. "Yeah, well, plans change, bub'," he replies, taking a long drag from his cigar before flicking the ash into the tray beside him. You walk over and snatch the remote from his hand, turning the TV off with a firm click. "C'mon, bed." Logan finally looks up at you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "You think you can just boss me around?" he teases, but there's a softness in his eyes that tells you he's just messing with you. You sigh and sit next to him, grabbing his hand and giving it a squeeze. "You need to rest. Your healing factor can only do so much if you don't sleep." He chuckles, pulling you closer until you're sitting in his lap, his arms wrapping around you protectively. "Alright, alright, but only 'cause I like you so much," he mutters before pressing a kiss to your temple. "Let's get to bed, darlin'."

Scott Summers:
Scott Summers isn't the type to break a promise, but tonight he's buried himself in paperwork for the X-Men, claiming it'll only take a few minutes. That was two hours ago. You wander into the living room, where he's sitting at his desk, glasses reflecting the faint light of the screen. "Scott," you say, your voice tinged with mild exasperation, "you said you'd come to bed." He glances up, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. "I know, I know. I just have to finish this one report for the professor." You roll your eyes, stepping closer to him and leaning against the desk. "It's late. The professor can wait till morning." Scott sighs, looking torn. "I don't want to fall behind," he mutters, but there's a flicker of guilt in his tone. You give him a soft, understanding smile, running your fingers through his hair. "It's not about falling behind. It's about balance. You need rest just as much as the rest of us." He finally closes the laptop with a resigned sigh and looks up at you with those intense, ruby-quartz-covered eyes. "You're right. I'm sorry." You take his hand, gently pulling him up from his chair. "Don't be sorry. Just come to bed." He smiles, wrapping his arms around your waist. "Lead the way, then."

Young Charles Xavier:
Charles promised he'd be right behind you, but you find yourself waking up alone in the dark after an hour, your side of the bed still cold. With a groggy sigh, you pull on a robe and head down to his study, where you're unsurprised to find him sitting in his favorite armchair, a thick book in hand, eyes focused and thoughtful. "Charles," you say softly, leaning against the doorframe, "you said you'd come to bed." He doesn't look up immediately, but you feel his apology in your mind before he even speaks. I know, love, his voice rings gently in your head, and he finally closes the book, looking over at you with those piercing blue eyes. "I just got caught up in this," he says, tapping the book, his smile a little sheepish. "I didn't mean to lose track of time." You cross the room, sitting on the armrest of his chair and resting your hand on his shoulder. "You always lose track of time when you're reading," you tease, though there's no real bite to your words. He chuckles softly, setting the book aside and pulling you into his lap. "I suppose I do. But, if I'm being honest, I find it hard to tear myself away from you too." His eyes twinkle with warmth, and you can't help but smile, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Come on, Professor. Let's get you to bed." He sighs dramatically but stands, taking your hand in his. "As you wish, my love."

Young Erik Lehnsherr:
Erik is pacing again. He promised after dinner that he'd come to bed with you, but you can hear his footsteps echoing through the house even as you lie awake in the dark. With a groan, you get up and find him in the living room, his brow furrowed in that way it always does when he's deep in thought, metal objects around him subtly shifting in the air as his agitation grows. "Erik," you say, your voice cutting through the silence. He stops mid-step, turning to face you. "You said you'd come to bed," you remind him, crossing your arms. He lets out a heavy sigh, rubbing his forehead. "I'm sorry," he mutters, though there's a tension in his voice. "I just... there's too much on my mind." You step closer, gently placing a hand on his arm. "It's always going to be like that. But you promised. You need to rest." He looks at you, his intense gaze softening just a fraction as he reaches out to cup your face. "I'm not good at keeping promises," he admits quietly, almost like a confession. You take his hand in yours and press it to your cheek. "You don't have to be perfect. You just have to try." His lips twitch into the faintest smile before he nods, pulling you into his arms. "Alright," he murmurs. "For you, I'll try."

Young Hank McCoy:
Hank swore he'd come to bed after he finished "just one more experiment," but you know him too well for that. Sure enough, it's past midnight, and the faint glow from his lab is still visible beneath the door. With a sigh, you slip into the lab, finding him hunched over a microscope, scribbling furiously in his notebook. "Hank," you call softly, and he jumps, startled by your presence. "You promised." He looks at you guiltily, pushing his glasses up his nose. "I know, I know. But I'm this close to a breakthrough." You raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms. "You say that every night." He winces, knowing you're right, but there's still that spark of excitement in his eyes that makes it hard for you to stay mad. "Just... one more hour?" he pleads, but you shake your head. "Nope. Bed. Now." Hank sighs dramatically but puts down his notes. "Fine, fine. You win." As he walks over to you, he pulls off his lab coat and wraps his arms around your waist, leaning in to kiss the top of your head. "You're really good at this whole tough-love thing," he jokes, though there's affection in his voice. You smile up at him. "Someone has to be."

Peter Maximoff:
Peter is always full of energy, but tonight, after running around all day, he promised he'd settle down and come to bed early. When you wake up hours later to the sound of rapid typing and video game noises coming from the living room, you know exactly what's happened. You pad down the hall and find him sitting on the couch, controller in hand, eyes glued to the TV as he mashes the buttons faster than any normal human ever could. "Peter," you call out, hands on your hips. He pauses the game in the blink of an eye, turning to you with a sheepish grin. "Hey! I was just... uh... finishing up this level." You raise an eyebrow. "You promised you'd be right behind me." He chuckles awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. "I know, I know, but you fell asleep, and I just... kinda lost track of time." You walk over and snatch the controller from his hand, putting it down on the table. "Bed. Now." He pouts but doesn't argue, standing up and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "Alright, alright. Don't get your socks in a twist," he teases, pressing a kiss to your temple. You roll your eyes but can't help the small smile tugging at your lips. "You're impossible." He grins, leading you back to the bedroom in a blur of motion. "That's why you love me!"