The Peninsula

The Fiction and Poetry Archive of Liana Mir and scribblemyname



Rogue was just a teenage girl who couldn’t touch anyone. Accelerator was just a teenage boy no one could touch.



This entry is part 4 of 4 in the series Whispers

She should be afraid of him and what he can do.

With a cocky grin, he charges his cards and brings down his enemies in flashes of light. With a casual word, he charges a room with tension of one kind or another. He charges relationships, conversations, tempers.

He charges her.

With his skillful fingers, he sets her glowing and sparks in her stomach, her arms, her sides. The air grows hot with what’s going to be.

They won’t get the gloves off. They’re going to burn.

She should be afraid of him and what he can do.

She isn’t.


This entry is part 3 of 4 in the series Whispers

They seemed innocent at first.

Touching her on the shoulder to get her attention. Brushing past her in a crowded room. Making contact while training in the Danger Room. (How could anything in that room be innocent?)

They progressed.

Tracing her contours before she even noticed his closeness. Brushing a kiss across her knuckles while whispering, “You’re belle.” Pulling back her hair into a ponytail for her before a training session. (How could anything in that room be innocent?)

She’d catch the brightening of crimson eyes and catch her breath in anticipation.

Touches turned to whispers. Whispers turned to touch.


This entry is part 2 of 4 in the series Whispers

It started with glances.

The first time Rogue saw Remy LeBeau, he was leaning on the banister staring at Kitty with a cocky smirk. His red eyes drank in the smaller girl, almost undressing her, but not quite so brazen.

Rogue had been uninterested, but Remy glanced at her and blinked in surprise before continuing his conversation.

Since then, whenever she walks into the same room with him, he glances over, then returns to what he was doing.

If he would stare, she could brush him off. If he would leer, she could ignore him. But he doesn’t.

He glances.


This entry is part 1 of 4 in the series Whispers

There’s something different about the way he whispers. Something different in those urgent whispers as he draws his hand from the nape of her neck to the small of her back. Something different from the appreciative glances, lewd compliments, and in-your-face flirting he gives the other girls.

Something that makes her stop noticing when Bobby glances at Kitty. Stop staring at her boyfriend wistfully. Stop regretting the Cure.

Something that makes her blush every time that Remy looks at her. Something that lights a fire in her belly when he slides up behind her in some dark corner—and whispers.