X-Men Preferences and Imagines

They catch you smoking after saying you were going to quit

Logan Howlett:
You're sitting on the front porch, the cool evening air rustling the trees, cigarette in hand, when you hear the unmistakable heavy footsteps of Logan coming up behind you. You tense up slightly, knowing he'd catch you eventually. "Didn't you say you were quittin'?" His gruff voice slices through the silence, and you glance over your shoulder to see him standing there, arms crossed, one brow raised in that typical Wolverine way. You sigh, taking one last drag before stubbing the cigarette out on the porch railing. "Yeah, I did," you admit, looking anywhere but at him. Logan huffs, stepping closer and leaning down so his face is inches from yours. "So, what's this then?" he asks, gesturing to the still-smoldering butt. "I've had a rough day," you try to explain, but he doesn't budge. "Bullshit," he growls softly. "You said you were gonna stop, and I don't like being lied to." His tone is firm, but there's a hint of something softer underneath it—concern, maybe even disappointment. "I wasn't lying," you insist quietly, feeling a pang of guilt. "I just... slipped." Logan's intense gaze softens just a bit, and he straightens up, sighing heavily. "I get it. Life's hard. I ain't the best example of healthy choices," he says, lighting up a cigar of his own with a smirk. "But you're better than this. You wanna kill yourself? Do it with something else, not that garbage." You chuckle weakly, leaning back in your chair as he plops down next to you, the two of you sharing the silence, the weight of his words lingering in the air like the smoke between you.

Scott Summers:
You're outside the mansion, pacing nervously with a cigarette between your fingers when you hear the familiar voice of Scott Summers calling out to you. "Hey! What are you doing?" His tone is sharp, the leader in him instantly activated, and you curse under your breath, knowing you've been caught. He strides over, pushing his shades up on his nose as he eyes the cigarette. "I thought you said you were quitting," he says, crossing his arms over his chest, and you can feel the judgment radiating off of him. "I was," you mutter, quickly taking one last puff before flicking it away into the grass. "It's just been a stressful week." Scott exhales sharply, shaking his head. "That's no excuse," he says, his voice firm. "We talked about this. You said you wanted to quit for your health, remember? You can't just—" "I know, Scott!" you snap, frustration bubbling up as you cut him off. "I don't need the lecture, okay? I'm trying, but it's not easy." Scott's lips press into a thin line, and he takes a deep breath, visibly calming himself down before he speaks again. "I'm not trying to lecture you," he says more quietly, stepping closer, "I'm just... worried about you. You said this was important to you, and I want to help. But you've gotta stick with it." You look up at him, feeling a mixture of guilt and appreciation for his concern. "I'll try harder," you say softly. Scott reaches out, placing a hand on your shoulder. "We'll get through it together. Just... don't give up on yourself, okay?" You nod, feeling the warmth of his hand linger even after he pulls away, his words settling deep in your chest.

Young Charles Xavier:
Sitting on the steps of the Xavier mansion, you're mid-drag when you hear the sound of someone approaching behind you. "I was under the impression you were quitting," Charles's voice comes, calm but with a slight edge of disapproval. You freeze for a moment before turning around to see him standing there, hands casually in his pockets, that usual calm and collected demeanor making you feel more guilty than you'd like to admit. "I... I was," you reply, quickly putting out the cigarette on the stone step and flicking it away. "Just... slipped up." Charles raises an eyebrow, walking closer and sitting beside you on the steps, his eyes focused somewhere distant. "I understand that old habits die hard," he says softly, "but I also know you're capable of much more than this." His words aren't harsh, but they hit deep, making you feel like you've let him down in some way. "I didn't mean to hide it from you," you say quietly. "I just didn't want you to be disappointed." Charles smiles gently, turning to look at you. "I'm not disappointed in you," he says, his voice soothing. "I'm just concerned. You've been under a lot of pressure lately, and it worries me to see you turn to something like this for comfort." You sigh, running a hand through your hair. "It's just one time, Charles." He nods slowly, but his gaze remains steady on you. "Perhaps. But one time can become many if you're not careful. I just want you to be mindful of that." You look at him, feeling the weight of his words and the quiet, gentle authority he always seems to carry. "I will," you promise, and Charles offers you a small, reassuring smile. "Good. And remember, you're never alone in this. If you ever feel the need to talk, I'm here." The offer is comforting, and as the two of you sit there in the evening light, you can't help but feel a renewed sense of determination.

Young Erik Lehnsherr:
The flick of the lighter is barely audible, but of course, Erik hears it. He always does. You're leaning against the side of the mansion, exhaling a slow stream of smoke when you hear his voice behind you, low and smooth but tinged with disappointment. "I thought you were stronger than this." You spin around, startled, to see Erik standing there, arms crossed, his steely gaze locked on the cigarette between your fingers. "It's just one," you mutter defensively, but Erik steps forward, plucking the cigarette from your hand with a flick of his wrist, the metal lighter still in your palm twitching slightly from his power. "Just one," he repeats, crushing the cigarette between his fingers, his voice dripping with disdain. "That's how it starts, isn't it?" You frown, feeling a mix of irritation and guilt rising up inside you. "I'm not weak, Erik. I can handle this." He raises an eyebrow, his gaze hard and unyielding. "I didn't say you were weak. But you promised me you'd quit, and I expect you to keep your promises." You bite your lip, the weight of his words pressing down on you. Erik wasn't one for sentimentality, but when he made a point, it was impossible to ignore. "I'm trying," you say softly, feeling the sting of his disappointment more than you expected. Erik's expression softens just slightly, and he steps closer, his voice lowering. "I know you are," he says, his tone less harsh now. "But if you want to stop, you have to want it. Not for me. For yourself." You look up at him, his presence commanding yet somehow comforting, and nod slowly. "I do want it. I just... messed up." Erik gives you a small, understanding nod, his hand brushing against yours. "Then let this be the last time," he says simply, and as he walks away, you find yourself determined to make sure it is.

Young Hank McCoy:
You're sitting on the bench behind the mansion, cigarette in hand, when you hear the sound of footsteps approaching. "I really thought you were done with those," Hank says, his voice soft but tinged with disappointment. You jump slightly, quickly putting out the cigarette and turning to see him standing there, hands in his pockets, his blue fur practically glowing in the fading light of the afternoon. "I was," you mumble, avoiding his gaze. "I am. It's just been... a hard day." Hank nods, moving to sit beside you on the bench, his expression thoughtful. "I understand that," he says gently, "but smoking isn't going to make it any easier. You know that, don't you?" His concern is palpable, and it makes you feel even guiltier. "I know," you sigh, rubbing the back of your neck. "I just... I don't know. It helps in the moment." Hank looks at you, his sharp, intelligent eyes softening with empathy. "I get it," he says. "I really do. But you're better than this. You've worked so hard to quit, and I don't want to see you throw that progress away." You can hear the sincerity in his voice, and it tugs at something deep inside you. "I didn't mean for you to find out," you admit quietly. Hank chuckles softly, the sound warm and kind. "I'm not angry with you," he says. "I just want you to take care of yourself. You're important to me, and I'd hate to see you hurt yourself over a temporary comfort." You look up at him, surprised by the tenderness in his voice, and nod slowly. "I'll try harder," you promise. Hank smiles, his large hand gently squeezing your shoulder. "That's all I ask. And if you need support, I'm always here."

Peter Maximoff:
You're sitting on the roof of the mansion, legs dangling off the edge, cigarette in hand when suddenly, there's a gust of wind, and Peter's standing next to you in a blink. "Whoa, what are you doing?" he asks, eyebrows raised in surprise as he points to the cigarette. You groan internally, knowing there's no hiding it from someone who can move as fast as he can. "Just... having a moment," you mutter, taking one last drag before stubbing it out. Peter flops down next to you, his silver hair shimmering in the fading sunlight as he snatches the cigarette butt out of your hand, examining it with mock disgust. "I thought you said you were quitting," he teases, giving you a playful nudge. "I was," you admit, rolling your eyes. "I mean, I am. Just... took a detour." Peter smirks, leaning back on his hands, his feet swinging casually off the side of the building. "A detour, huh?" he says, his voice light but curious. "You know, I could literally run to the store and get you a million packs of these things in, like, a second, but I won't. Because, you know... I actually like you alive and stuff." You can't help but laugh at his exaggerated concern, and he grins, nudging you again. "Seriously, though," he adds, his tone softening just a little, "you don't need that crap. You're way cooler without it. Plus, you promised me you were done, and I was totally ready to give you all the celebratory pizza you could eat." You shake your head, smiling despite yourself. "You're ridiculous," you mutter. Peter shrugs. "Yeah, but I'm right," he says with a wink. "So, how about we forget this ever happened, and I'll grab you some pizza anyway. Deal?" You nod, feeling a little lighter already. "Deal."