#highjackmanisdaddy

“(f/n), please come in. How was your day?” Professor Xavier greets you with his usual warm, kind smile as you step into his office. His voice, though calm, carries the weight of his authoritative role.

“Like always,” you respond, settling into one of the plush leather armchairs positioned in front of his desk. “They don’t know how much I enjoy teaching them, but it’s best not to let them know. Can’t have them thinking I’m some big softy now, can I?”

Charles lets out a soft, genuine laugh, glancing up from his paperwork. “No, of course not. That would be downright disastrous if they found out.” His eyes twinkle with amusement, reflecting his understanding of the delicate balance you maintain.

Your gaze drifts toward the large windows behind Charles, catching a glimpse of the students playing outside on the grass. The scene outside is a stark contrast to the intensity of the discussions that usually take place inside. “Am I just early, or was the meeting canceled tonight?” you ask, your discomfort evident. You long to be in your pajamas, curled up and away from the formal attire that feels increasingly restrictive.

“And here I thought you just wanted to enjoy my company,” Charles remarks playfully, causing a soft laugh to escape you. “They should be here soon. You, dear, just have a talent for arriving early. Not that I’m complaining.”

A flush of warmth rises to your cheeks at his statement. You appreciate his kindness, even if you feel undeserving of it. “Likewise, Professor.”

A comfortable silence falls over the room, the only sound being the soft scratch of his pen against paper. The familiar tranquility of Charles’s office wraps around you, offering a brief respite from the storm of thoughts swirling in your mind. Your eyes close for a moment, your head leaning back against the chair, savoring the peace before the chaos begins.

Charles’s gaze softens as he observes you. “You do know if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here (f/n). I know you’re a very private person. Just know you don’t have to be alone.”

Your eyes drop to your hands, fingers nervously picking at one another. It’s a habit you’ve had for years, an involuntary reaction when anxiety rears its head. The quiet and darkness sometimes pull you back to a place of fear—back in that cell with those monsters. The thought of what you endured before finding refuge here is a heavy burden.

Charles knows some of the truth. He’s aware of your involvement with mutant trafficking, a dark chapter of your past revealed when he found you barely surviving on the side of the road. But the full details remain unspoken, a secret you guard fiercely. The idea of their reactions if they knew the extent of your past actions and choices is almost unbearable. You release a shaky breath, realizing how deeply his words resonate with your internal struggle. “I know, Charles.” The apology is unspoken but present.

Before Charles can offer more comfort, the door to his office swings open, shattering the peaceful atmosphere with a burst of noise. The team bursts in, their voices blending into a lively cacophony of playful bickering.

“Can you guys stop comparing those and be aware? We’re here for a meeting!” Ororo's voice rises above the din, trying to bring order to the chaos between Cyclops and the others.

“Well, look who beat us here,” someone remarks, though their identity is lost in the noise.

“Hi, guys!” you call out, managing a smile.

Scott, holding up a crumpled piece of paper, joins in the fray. “You wouldn’t have anything to do with this horrendous, unproportional, God-awful drawing I got from a student on the way over here, would you, (f/n)?” He presents the drawing of him firing his optic beams, clearly proud despite his grumbling.

Ororo chimes in, her voice smooth and calming. “Come on, you guys. You should be grateful any child considers you ‘heroes.’”

As the rest of the team filters in and finds their seats, your gaze drifts to the corner where he stands. His stance is relaxed but alert, suggesting he’s ready for action if needed. Even in the dim lighting, his muscular build is apparent, and the weariness in his features speaks of countless battles fought. His hair, tousled in a way that makes him seem almost softer, only adds to his intense allure.

When his eyes lock onto yours, the focus is piercing and palpable. His gaze is sharp and unwavering, cutting through the space between you with an intensity that feels almost tangible. You find yourself blushing under his scrutinizing stare and quickly turn your head forward, hoping to hide your embarrassment. Damn it, why does he have to be so... intense?

“Alright, everyone, there’s a matter that is extremely important we need to discuss,” Charles says, regaining the room’s attention. His tone shifts to a serious and resolute note. “We’ve received intelligence about a mutant smuggling ring known as Venos, operating in a remote location. They’ve been trafficking mutants and are involved in particularly egregious activities.”

The room falls silent, the gravity of the situation sinking in. Your heart sinks at the mention of the name. The cold dread that follows makes your blood run icy. No, not this.

“I’ve invited Logan here to assist with his combat knowledge and mission expertise. I will be using Cerebro to locate survivors and pinpoint their location. I need everyone to stay alert and train accordingly.”

Logan’s expression darkens as he grumbles, “You really think this is gonna be easy? I’ve seen what these guys can do. We need to be ready for anything.”

“Which is exactly why we’re putting together a team. And you will be training them all. Thank you again for volunteering,” Charles responds.

Logan’s frustration is palpable as he mutters a curse under his breath and abruptly exits the room, slamming the door behind him. His departure leaves an uneasy silence in his wake.

The conversation among the remaining team members and Charles continues for a few more minutes. You look down at your hands, feeling the weight of dread settle in. The thought of facing those from your past—people who are still operating, still victimizing others—makes your chest tighten. This mission isn’t just about justice; it’s about confronting your own demons.

Charles eventually dismisses everyone with a warm gesture. “I don’t wish to keep any of you longer than necessary. Go and enjoy your evening. Wonderful job today, everyone.”

As the team begins to file out, you head toward the door, only to be stopped by Logan’s abrupt, gruff voice. “Hey,” he calls, his tone demanding attention. “Got a minute?”

Startled by his sudden approach and the harshness in his voice, you hesitate. “Um, sure. It’s Logan, right? What’s up?”

Without waiting for a more formal invitation, he motions for you to follow him to a quieter part of the hallway. His steps are purposeful, almost impatient, as he leads you away from the main area.

Once in a more secluded corner, he leans against the wall, crossing his arms in a way that highlights his imposing, muscular build. His eyes lock onto yours with a challenging glint.

“Listen,” he begins, his tone direct and uncompromising, “I don’t know you well, but when Chuck started talking about this mission, you looked like you were about to crumble. If you’re not serious about this, don’t bother. I don’t need anyone who can’t pull their weight.”

His blunt words sting, and you bristle at his assessment. It’s clear he doesn’t mince words, especially when it comes to evaluating his teammates.

“I was just processing everything,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s a lot to take in, especially since it’s my first mission. I don’t usually do missions.”

Logan’s eyes narrow, scrutinizing your response. “Processing is fine, but if you’re going to be part of this team, you need to be ready. I don’t want anyone getting hurt because they weren’t prepared.”

His harshness is tempered by a hint of something—perhaps a begrudging respect or concern. You meet his gaze with determination. “I understand. I’ll do my best to catch up and be ready. I won’t hold you back.”

Logan gives a curt nod, his mouth twisting into a snarky smirk. “Yea, sure, bub.”

With that, he pushes off the wall and heads down the hallway, his heavy boots echoing in the corridor. The encounter leaves you feeling a mix of apprehension and resolve. Despite his gruff demeanor, it’s clear that you need to prove yourself. And his harshness, while tough to take, has lit a fire under you.

“It’s (f/n),” you call after him, but he doesn’t acknowledge your correction.

As Logan disappears around the corner, you take a deep breath, bracing yourself for the challenges ahead. You know you need to face this mission head-on—not just for the sake of the team, but to confront your own past and the scars it has left behind. The path won’t be easy, but you’re determined to prove yourself, no matter how hard it gets.

CLANG 

CLANG CLANG

.

.

“Get up.”

You peek through your eyes, feeling as if you are the earth gazing upon humanities evils. There’s so much crust and filth embedded in your skin, it’s essentially consuming you. You just want to sink and hide beneath it. Away from all of this. Away from this pain. 

You look past this facade and see the same place you’ve been encased in for…how long now? You’ve lost track of time, between the hell they put you through and the salvation you call your mind when everything goes black.

Grime and grease, blood and bodily fluids litter the concrete floor of your cell. No bed, no toilet, just chains they use to confine you. To use you. 

“I SAID GET THE FUCK UP! WHAT YOU CAN’T EVEN HEAR ANYMORE?” The man yells, the increase of volume and proximity making your earthbound soul shake. He pounds the cell wall, this fist probably getting scuffed trying to make himself look like a monster. 

A monster.

You shift your head, (e/c) eyes finding the same guard as always who comes to collect you. His face naturally hosts a snarl of a smirk, as do most of the people at this place. Oh how you just wish to clean the earth of them all. People like them, all they do is hurt and consume others. You manage to contort your muscles in your face to paint on some form of a twisted smile. If it even could be called that. It’s more so of a snarl, but depends on who’s looking. To him, he takes it as a smile, throwing one back as he enters the stall. 

“I knew that would catch your attention honey,” He draws out while his hand jerks out to grab your head, smacking it against the wall behind you, “ya know you’ve lasted way longer than another mutant down here. Poor Wanda couldn’t handle it anymore…tsk. What a shame, right.” 

As you take in his words, your heart feels like it stops. There’s no way she’s..gone. She was so strong, way stronger than me. We both promised to get out of here together, to finally free ourselves of this filth. To make sure no other children and women would ever go through this pain. 

Something that is all you feel right now, throbbing throughout your body. If your body had anything left in it, you would feel the tears slip past the threshold, becoming one with the dirt on your face. You let your eyes fall, shutting out the feeling his hands go lower to your neck ready to start. The cold steel of the needle just barely pierces your skin. 

His chapped fucking lips scorch your ear, “You’re all just filthy demons. You act like you're all powerful when really all you are is weak. Disgusting and impure. Can’t even fight back, I bet you like what we do to you huh? You filthy whore.”

Fight back? All I’ve been doing is fighting back. Day after day, fighting the urge to just let myself die. To end this hellish loop I've been stuck in. But I never did, because of Wanda….

You fall inside your mind, where you're standing surrounded by your shadows. Your safe place. It’s here where you can truly react to what just happened. Wanda is gone. The only person who made you feel an ounce of sanity. Gone. Your knees give out as you gasp, feeling the air leave your body. You feel the shadows around you, swirling between your fingertips and through your anger. You gaze up, tears cascading down your cheeks to see the door. That goddamn red door. 

You begin to smile. Wanda wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. 

I’ll show them who the real monster is. 

And you let your shadows paint the door Black. 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Miss (l/n)?” 

You look up from your stack of ungraded assignments to see Daven holding his hand up. You smile. “Something on your mind Daven?” 

“I was wondering if you have a favorite hero here? Like mine is Cyclops. He’s so cool with his lasers that go ‘bbsszzzz’” Daven asks with a huge grin, hands reenacting exactly what Scott’s eyes do when fighting. The whole class starts to laugh, children chiming in louder who theirs is. 

You can’t help but chuckle as they start to all talk about who on the X-men is their hero. So much for a quiet break. “How about you all draw your favorite X-men and give it to them as a gift? I think that would be quite nice, wouldn't you?” 

This of course went over very well with them, their smiles growing wider in excitement. Chairs topple over as you see them all rush to get their papers and crayons, some grabbing paints. “Remember to be clean!” You chime while sitting back down, grading their homework assignments before their attention span dies. 

By the end of class, everyone has their special drawing and the room is clean. Thank God. 

You hold the door for them as they all let out one by one. “Next week you have a quiz! So remember to read your chapters over the weekend.” You smile at them all, feeling content they enjoyed their art class. It’s something you hold dear to yourself, always finding serenity and peace with it. Which makes your heart happy to be able to share with them. 

“Miss (l/n), I have something for you.”

You look down to see Marie, adorably clad with pigtails and bows that match her uniform. 

“Whatcha got sweetie?” You say while reaching out to grab what she was offering. 

“My hero doesn’t come here often. He’s mysterious like that. But I wanted you to give it to him if you see him.” Her drawing is a misshapen round circle person clad in a yellow suit with what looks like knives poking out of his hands like Freddy Kreuger. HUH

“Honey, you sure you don’t want to give it to him? You made it. I’m sure he’d love to receive it from you.” You look down to see her shake her head no.