the reason i gave this one Aways for free, Claws are wonky. Sorry :( . about every 5th one the claws turn out correct!

🩸 X23: Weapon of Lust

Trigger: X23
“You know what you want. I’m just the first man honest enough to give it to you.” – David Michaels

They told her the man running the black-site in Nevada was charming.
Laura didn’t care.
They said he had secrets about mutantkind.
She didn’t flinch.
They said he could offer her anything.
She brought her claws.

The lights in the cell block flickered when she stepped inside, trailed by two decapitated guards and a hallway slick with gore. Her boots squeaked on blood-polished tile. Her tank top was soaked, half torn, and her skin glistened—but no injuries remained.

Nothing lasted on her.

Not bruises. Not cuts. Not chains.

She was already healing before they screamed.

He was waiting at the end of the hallway.

Not behind glass. Not with backup.

Just leaning casually against a steel desk, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, like he was bored—or playing a part he’d played too many times before.

“Laura,” he said smoothly. “You’re even more beautiful in person.”

She didn’t answer. Just raised one hand and shink—six inches of adamantium tore from between her knuckles.

“Oh good,” he smiled. “I love an opening act.”

She struck like a whip.

One heartbeat. Two claws at his throat.

He didn’t move.

“You gonna scream?”

“Why would I?” he said calmly. “I’ve already won.”

She tilted her head.

“You haven’t won shit.”

“Not yet.”

He held her eyes. No fear. No bluff. Just something far worse: calculated affection.

“But give me fifteen minutes—and I will.”

She didn’t retract the claws. But she sat. She was curious now. She hated that.

“Let’s cut the flirt,” she growled. “I know who you are. You’re David Michaels. CIA spook turned black-op warlord. You collect monsters like baseball cards. You think I’m your next trick.”

“Almost right,” he said, pouring two glasses of something dark. “Except I already own monsters. I don’t need more.”

“Then what?”

He slid one glass toward her. She didn’t touch it.

“I want to make you rich, famous, and free.”

“Try again, rat.”

“Okay. I want you to be the most sexually addictive creature on Earth.”

She stood up.

“So that’s your angle—OnlyFans for mutants. You want to film the feral slut jacking off in an X-branded thong. Not happening.”

“No thongs,” he said, sipping. “You’re nude in every scene.”

“Fuck you.”

“Eventually.”

He was calm. Way too calm.

And it made her pause.

Because something in her brain was warning her—not about danger, but temptation.

She didn’t like that.

“I’ve seen what you do,” she said. “You make us dance for the public so they’ll stop being scared.”

“Vice wins faster than politics.”

“It’s exploitation.”

“It’s liberation with tits.”

“You think that works?”

He tapped a holoscreen behind him.

“Logan thought it wouldn’t, either. But look who’s filming workout reels for my ‘Veteran Mutant Initiative.’”

She looked.

There he was—Logan. Shirtless. Bloody. Growling. Holding a tractor tire over one shoulder. Streaming to twelve million subscribers. Tip jar glowing.

“That’s fake.”

“Nope. That’s merch.”

She looked away.

David leaned forward now, just enough.

“He’s doing it for the cause. And because he finally admitted he likes being seen. And Laura…” he dropped his voice—

“So do you.”

She turned back with a snarl, claws out again.

“You don’t know me.”

“No,” he said softly. “I studied you.”

He turned the holopad again.

A list.

Her list.

• A name

• A purpose

• Recognition not from fear

• A family

• A legacy

• To be wanted without pain

• To be known, truly known

She froze.

“Where did you get that?”

“I have my ways.”

“You invaded my mind?”

“No,” he said, voice honest now. “I just listened longer than the rest.”

And suddenly she wasn’t angry.

She was exposed.

“I could kill you.”

“And you’d still hear my voice when you came.”

Silence stretched.

She was standing now. Not threatening. Just facing him.

“You want to turn me into an erotic icon for mutantkind.”

“Yes.”

“You want me naked, bleeding, growling, dripping cum and blood on camera for decades.”

“Yes.”

“And you think that’s a gift?”

“No,” he said. “That’s the price.”

“Then what’s the gift?”

He walked to her. Close. Too close.

“You want to belong. To be seen without fear. To make the world your stage instead of your cage.”

“So you give me lights and lube and call it freedom?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

He smiled.

Pulled a chip from his coat. Tossed it on the table.

It lit up with a single name.

“Gabby.”

She stared.

The breath left her lungs.

“You found her.”

“And I made her safe.”

“Where?”

“Off-grid. Private island. Eleven cameras for you to watch her grow up. No missions. No drugs. Just beach, books, and quiet.”

She didn’t speak.

“Say yes,” he whispered. “And I’ll let you see her tomorrow.”

Her claws retracted.

Her shoulders dropped.

“You motherfucker,” she breathed.

“Say it.”

She closed her eyes.

Bit her lip.

“Fine.”

“Louder.”

“I said fine. Fuck it. Let’s make your world wet.”

He didn’t cheer.

He just stepped back and said:

“Good. Because America’s about to fall in love with their favorite little killing machine.”