X-Men Oneshots

A Garden of Possibilities (Hank McCoy)

Y/N stood outside the sprawling X-Mansion, the late afternoon sun casting a warm glow over the lush grounds. She could hear the faint sounds of laughter coming from the training room inside, a reminder of the lively camaraderie shared among the X-Men. But today, she needed a moment of quiet—a respite from the whirlwind of chaos that came with being a part of the mutant community.

She took a deep breath and walked toward the small garden tucked away in a corner of the property. The flowers were in full bloom, their vibrant colors painting a picture of serenity. As she settled onto a bench surrounded by fragrant blossoms, she closed her eyes and let the soothing scents envelop her.

Just then, the soft crunch of footsteps on gravel caught her attention. She opened her eyes to find Hank McCoy, the team's resident genius and blue-furred mutant, approaching her with a book in one hand and a slightly sheepish smile on his face.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked, his voice warm and inviting.

"Not at all, Hank," Y/N replied, gesturing to the empty space beside her. "What's that you've got?"

He plopped down next to her, opening the book to reveal a collection of poetry. "I thought I'd bring a little culture to the mix. Care to indulge?"

Y/N smiled at his earnestness. "I'm always up for poetry. Especially if it comes from the mind of Hank McCoy."

Hank chuckled, adjusting his glasses as he flipped through the pages. "You flatter me, Y/N. But I must admit, poetry is one of my favorite escapes. It allows for a certain depth of expression that scientific journals simply do not provide."

She nodded, intrigued. "What kind of poetry do you like?"

"Ah, the classics. Byron, Keats, Whitman," he replied, his eyes lighting up. "There's something about their words that captures the complexities of the human experience."

Y/N watched as he spoke, his passion evident in the way his hands moved animatedly, as if each word was a precious artifact he was sharing with her. "I can see that. But what about the complexities of a mutant experience? Surely there's poetry in that too."

Hank paused, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "You're quite right. Our experiences are unique, and yet they resonate with the universal themes of love, loss, and identity. Perhaps I should start writing my own."

"Absolutely! I'd love to read your work," she encouraged, her excitement genuine.

Hank smiled, the warmth in his expression making Y/N's heart flutter. "You really think so?"

"Of course! You have such a beautiful mind, Hank. Your thoughts deserve to be shared," she said, her sincerity shining through.

Hank shifted slightly, a hint of color rising to his cheeks. "Thank you, Y/N. That means a great deal to me."

They shared a comfortable silence for a moment, the sounds of nature surrounding them. But as Y/N watched a butterfly dance among the flowers, she couldn't help but feel that something deeper was simmering beneath the surface.

"Hank," she began hesitantly, "can I ask you something personal?"

He turned to her, his expression open and encouraging. "Of course. You can ask me anything."

Y/N took a breath, her heart racing slightly. "Do you ever feel like... like you're not enough? Like, despite everything you do, it's never quite enough?"

Hank's brow furrowed in contemplation, and he leaned back against the bench, his gaze drifting toward the sky. "Yes, I do. There are times when I wonder if my intellect can truly contribute to the world as much as I wish it could. Especially when I see so many suffering, so many who need help."

Y/N nodded, feeling the weight of his words. "I get that. Sometimes, I feel overwhelmed by everything—by being a mutant, by the expectations placed on us."

Hank turned to her, his blue eyes serious. "But you're more than just a mutant, Y/N. You're a person with your own dreams, aspirations, and strengths. Don't ever let anyone make you feel otherwise."

His words hit her like a wave, washing away some of the doubt that had settled in her heart. "Thank you, Hank. That means a lot coming from you."

He smiled, and in that moment, Y/N felt a connection that went beyond friendship. It was a bond forged through understanding, vulnerability, and respect.

"Y/N," Hank said, his tone suddenly more serious, "I want you to know that you are more than enough. The things you bring to our team, to my life—they matter."

She looked at him, her heart racing as she processed his words. "You really think so?"

"Absolutely," he affirmed, his voice steady. "You have a light that brightens even the darkest days. I admire your strength."

Feeling emboldened, Y/N reached out and placed her hand on his. "You're not so bad yourself, you know. You have this way of seeing the world that makes everything feel... possible."

Hank's eyes softened as he looked at her hand resting on his. "Perhaps we could explore that possibility together?"

The warmth in his gaze sent butterflies fluttering in her stomach. "I'd like that."

With a sudden burst of courage, Y/N leaned closer. "Hank, I've been wanting to say this for a while now, but—"

Before she could finish, Hank leaned in as well, closing the distance between them. "Y/N, I feel the same way. I've wanted to tell you for a long time, but I didn't know how."

Their lips met softly, a tentative kiss that blossomed into something deeper as they lost themselves in the moment. The world around them faded away, leaving just the two of them—two souls intertwined amidst the chaos.

As they pulled away, breathless, Y/N couldn't help but smile. "So, this is what poetry feels like?"

Hank laughed, a light, joyous sound. "Yes, and I think we've just penned the beginning of a beautiful story."

Hand in hand, they sat together in the garden, ready to explore the uncharted territory of their hearts, surrounded by the beauty of blooming flowers and the promise of new beginnings.