As Brandon stared at Mystique, now shapeshifted into the classic Rogue, he circled her slowly, taking in every detail. There was so much more to her in real life than the comic pages had ever shown. He was flabbergasted by how beautiful and fucking sexy she looked in her X-Men outfit. The curves of her body were unreal—did she seriously fight wearing this? It hid nothing from the imagination, clinging to her like a second skin.
The classic Rogue outfit was a masterpiece: a form-fitting green bodysuit with yellow chest panel, trim, and accents, including a high collar and an X-Men logo belt that emphasized her hourglass figure. The yellow gloves reached her elbows, practical yet teasing, while the yellow knee-high boot covers hugged her calves tightly. The white stripe in her auburn hair framed her face perfectly, and the overall design screamed power and vulnerability in one package.
Brandon laughed. "No way in hell the women from Comic-Con could win against my Rogue." He chuckled again, moving behind her. And let's just say she had that Mississippi dump truck. "Damn, look at that ass," he muttered, eyes widening.
Rogue's booty was round and firm, fuller than any artist had dared to draw—plump cheeks that jiggled slightly with each shift of her weight, the bodysuit stretching taut over them like it was painted on. It looked bigger than in the comics, for sure. Real life really changed things. Brandon reached out, groping a feel. "Fuck, this is like a marshmallow." He squeezed, feeling the soft give under his fingers. "Fuck you, Gambit, you lucky bastard."
He backed away and circled to her right side. By his estimation, she was about 5'8", and at 5'11", he could definitely carry her, her toes dangling as he held her from behind. Damn, I'm getting horny, he thought, his cock stirring in his pants.
Walking to the front, Brandon exclaimed to himself, "Wow, you just look gorgeous—like a 20 out of 10. Yeah, no man is gonna walk past you and not stare." He kept eyeing her body, then fixed on her bust. The depictions varied by artist and era, often emphasizing a curvaceous, voluptuous figure with a prominent bust to fit the "Southern belle" archetype.
He remembered fan discussions and unofficial bios—estimates ranged from 38DD to 36G, reflecting her enhanced strength and build from absorbed powers. But those were speculative, not from Marvel itself. Other forums noted that X-Men women were generally drawn with B to C cups, though Rogue was frequently portrayed as larger or more exaggerated in certain runs. Brandon started laughing, remembering how in X-Men: Legacy issue #244, some women's breasts were practically spilling out of their costumes.
"By my estimation, these are definitely 36G," he said. "For science, I must check." He walked closer, heart beating faster. Okay, Brandon, she's yours, so stop being a pussy. Grab it—I mean, estimate the size. His hand landed on Rogue's breast, and he had an epiphany. God damn, these are soft as hell. He molded it in his hand, feeling the weight and warmth through the fabric. Then Mystique—Rogue—moaned softly.
Brandon instantly pulled his hand away, staring at her like she'd stolen his cookie. He coughed. "Raven, sorry—that was insensitive of me. I haven't even looked at you properly. Can you shapeshift back, please?"
Mystique answered, "Yes, master."
Brandon heard that and shook his head. "Just call me Brandon. Think of me as your version of Destiny—a lover and husband now." As he said it, he noticed her unique Mystique smile on Rogue's face. He tensed, half-expecting a stab or something. "Of course, Brandon," she replied.
She shapeshifted back to her glorious self in her classic outfit: a white sleeveless dress with side slits or open sides, often laced or flowing, paired with a skull-motif belt, white elbow-length gloves, and white thigh-high boots over her blue skin, her red hair cascading down. Brandon stared. "Damn, that white dress against your blue skin makes you look sexy as hell, you know." He started walking around her with a flushed face, touching her body tentatively at first. He described her form aloud—her breasts seemed like a B cup at first, but then Raven increased them while he was holding one, surprising him and turning him on even more.
"Fuck," he said, "I forgot you can do that." Raven laughed, a sound that to Brandon seemed amused but edged with something dangerous—like the original Raven might sucker-punch him. While he was still holding her now-DD cup breast, he noticed her height was smaller, maybe 5'10". He moved his hands around her waist, then her stomach, feeling the sexy muscles beneath. Then he went straight for her ass, and let me tell you—the softness and tightness were another level. "Yeah, Comic-Con will have nothing on you either. The guys there are gonna be so jealous of me," Brandon said to himself.
Then he realized she had just smiled. He remembered the note said she had no soul, just a husk— but she could imitate others, so why not imitate herself? "Okay, Raven, can I ask you a question?"
Raven answered, "Yes, Brandon. What is your question?"
"Do you have all your abilities? And when you shapeshift, are you able to use the abilities of those you turn into?"
She answered with a smile that still looked like she might stab him. "Yes, Brandon, I do have my full abilities—though I cannot use the abilities of those I shapeshift into." Brandon nodded as he recalled the classic version of Mystique's powers: Molecular Alteration, Clothing and Texture Simulation, Functional Adaptations, Compression and Organ Shifting, Camouflage and Blending, Non-Humanoid Forms, Self-Duplication Stunt. Then her secondary derived abilities: Enhanced Physical Attributes, Regeneration and Healing, Decelerated Aging/Longevity, Toxin, Disease, and Metabolic Resistance, Psychic/Mental Defense, Enhanced Memory, Body Resistance.
As Brandon listed those abilities out loud, Raven interjected with a "but." He looked up. She continued, "I can use the abilities of those I shapeshift into now."
Brandon was surprised. "How is that possible? The Mystique I know from the comics could only use Wolverine's claws—the organic version, not adamantium. So how?"
Raven answered, "Cosmic fuckery."
Brandon stared at her, caught off guard. "What? Like, really? That means when you turn into Emma Frost, can you use her full diamond form?"
"Yes," Raven replied.
Brandon walked back to his bed and sat down, contemplating. What she said changed everything—especially since she had no form of identification. He looked up at her. "Shapeshift to Sage, Raven."
And that's what she did.