An X-men Fanfiction

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Summary

Still working on it. ;)

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So I went and saw Dark Phoenix. Enjoyed it. Then I felt like watching Apocalypse. 

Bad idea.

Now I have this lovely OC Plunny gnawing at my brain.

Okay, but here's the deal. We're going to be operating under the comic-canon/film-verse headcanon that Nightcrawler is Raven's child with Azazel (just because I want to play with the idea, so why not CX) and that she was in East Berlin to find him specifically, not just to break up a mutant fight club. This is where my lovely new OC will come in: no finalized name yet but Milo seems to be trying to stick in my head.... She'll be either another mutant fighter like Angel the club's ringleaders had, or possibly even a mutant they coerce/force to find other mutants (all depending on what her powers end up being, but the latter is looking more likely at this point) to put in their cage matches. She has a brief bonding moment with Kurt, leading him to insist they take her with when Raven busts him out, since he's such a pure, sweet soul. <3

Ultimately, the pairing will be her and Quicksilver, but naturally since she's jaded and scarred (mentally and emotionally....and possibly literally as well from her time with the Mutant fight club) she will butt heads with his lackadaisical attitude and sheltered upbringing, etc, etc at first before feelings develop. You get the drift. And later on, of course, some paternal Magneto for both her and Peter? Perhaps even some....'Opa' Magneto? ;D 

Oh, the potential for lovely fluff...... <3

Story will probably go from Apocalypse to the end of Dark Phoenix. Just because they both gave me all the ideas.... 

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Excerpt

Milo staggered, terror clenching tight around her chest. So tight she couldn't breathe, each breath suddenly tearing from her chest in shallow, dragging gasps.

She needed to get away, she needed to escape. She needed to get out. Panic seared through her with each stumbling step back. She barely even registered knocking against another body, the solid frame tipping her off balance and causing her already shaking knees to give way beneath her. She crumpled, still trying to push herself back, away from the flashes and muted gunshots as memories of sharp cracks and the scent of freshly spilled blood invading her senses pressed in on her. Her chest heaved, cramping painfully as her vision began to spot as her panic, fear and lack of oxygen threatened to overwhelm her.

Only to gasp out a cry as a bone-numbing shock burned across the back of her ribs. She jumped, her vision blackening for a split-second as pain from the electric current jolted through her body. Wheezing, she hugged herself tight, the instinct to make herself as small a target as possible taking over.

The dim green light around her flared and flickered, the barely perceptible hum from walls imprisoning them buzzing and hissing in a discordant rhythm to the ragged breaths she fought to take. Distantly she heard the faint, wounded whimpers that stung at the back of her throat as gentle hands fluttered against her arms and back.

But she just flinched and hugged herself closer, curling tighter in on herself as she squeezed her eyes shut, pleas for it to stop, to let her go, not to hurt her falling in a jumbled whine from her lips, the German and English words blending together as her fingers dug through her curls and into her scalp, the heels of her hands pressing into her temples with enough force that they ached.

And then there were arms around her, wrapping securely around her huddled frame. She gasped out a frightened cry, struggling against the unexpected touch, phantom bruises from cruel, remembered hands and worn leather bands blooming and smarting across her arms and ribs as the bitter taste of copper coated her tongue.

But the arms didn't loosen. Nor did they squeeze harder. They just...held her almost...tenderly, tucking her tight against a firm chest and strong, steady heartbeat.

A steady heartbeat that seeped into her awareness like the warmth radiating from the body that held her close, soothing her, grounding her. Her ragged breaths slowly deepening, she burrowed desperately into the embrace, clutching at the smooth leather jacket and pressing her face into the soft, well-worn fabric of the shirt beneath, inhaling the unfamiliar but somehow soothing scent of its owner—masculine, but not overwhelmingly so, with a faint, almost citrus-like brisk tang that was nevertheless pleasant. And slowly, she began to relax, shaking as the adrenaline and fear that gripped her began to ebb. She suddenly felt unaccountably...safe. Sheltered.

And memory of her older brother's sheltering arms surfaced as the phantom pain of long healed strikes and bruises began to fade.

"How did you do that?" A distant, wary but curious feminine voice asked as she gradually came back to herself. The chest beneath her cheek hitched faintly in a partial shrug, the zipper from the jacket clothing it digging briefly into her cheek.

"Dunno. But my Mom used to do it when I was a kid anytime I freaked out the way she was. Something about instinct to mirror slow breaths or pulses or whatever. But it usually worked. Figured it was worth a try." The cheek pressed against the crown of her head shifted slightly in another aborted shrug—Peter, she realized with a start, her cheeks suddenly burning with shame and embarrassment and...relief. "It was either that or wait for her to pass out."

"Thank you," Milo murmured softly then, and against her, Peter drew back slightly to look down at her. Beside them, her hand tentatively coming to rest on Milo's back, Moira's head tilted in silent, sympathetic question while beyond her Raven and Hank shifted.

Automatically, Milo stiffened again at the realization that they were all watching her, but at the subtle tightening of Peter's arms around her she sucked in a calming breath, unconsciously letting the contact reassure her.