#mutant reader

You already knew you were going to have a bad week when you woke up on a rooftop in the middle of Hell’s Kitchen with a headache bad enough to make you feel like you got axed by a serial killer, feeling your powers pulse as you blink, alerting you of your companion before your vision even focuses on him. Last time you help out the X-men, something you should have left with your youth.

“Am I in hell?” You ask.

“You make that joke every time you pop up here,” his gravelly voice lightens when he huffs out a laugh, hand cradling the back of your head as you’re splayed in his lap. “Although usually you’re not passed out on top of my building.”

“Because I feel like I’m being punished when I’m around you, obviously,” you retort, pushing yourself up until your head is brushing against his chin as you observe your surroundings, slowly rebuilding the shield in your mind, feeling the residues of something foreign.

“Not that I’m unused to the harshness, but what have I done to earn to your ire this time sweetheart?” He pulls you up to your feet, hand still on the small of your back, as you slowly centre yourself.

“Exist,” you mutter, rubbing your head before elaborating, “I don’t really like being around someone with senses like yours, ‘s weird that you know what I last ate…I avoid Logan for the same reason, not that it’s hard these days.”

He tilts his head and you realize the irony of your words, “Unlike some other people, I avoid even glimpses into other people’s heads! I use my power for quick, impersonal mind whammies!”

“Really? Not even a peak?” He asks, steadying you after your outburst when you sway. “Never curious enough to see what people think about you?”

“I don’t want to know, dealt with that weirdness when I was a kid,” you respond, gripping his arms when your headache gets worse.

“Guess I should be grateful for that.”

You rest your head against the cool playing on his chest, “Why’s that—“

You have a hard time describing what happens next, a clear dissonance occurring between body and mind. You’re aware you and Matt are just having an innocent enough conversation, but at that moment you can feel his lips pressed against yours, hands roughly exploring your body, and he grips you closer until you’re pressing on his—

“—hey! Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?”

He’s peering down at you, concern clear from the frown as his face and how his thoughts move to calling some for—

His thoughts?

“Oh god,” you push him away, stumbling back, realization hitting you like a bus.

“Careful—!”

“Wait, wait,” you press your face against your hands before inhaling. “This could jusy be a fluke or maybe it’s me—“

Before he can question your rambling, you quickly cross the distant to get his space again, moving closer until your lips are less than an inch away from his.

“What are you doing?” He asks impassively, voice dropping an octave lower to his ‘devil voice’, and yet you can see his intent so clearly, feel it, his thoughts chanting your name over and over—

You let out a shout, the man flinching as you quickly back away again.

He calls your name before pausing, a flicker of something crossing over his half masked face before his unseeing gaze drop his head down for a moment, “Are you—“

You let another cry of frustration, moving across the rooftop before dropping down to the nearest fire escape, “Don’t you dare put this on me when it’s your fault in the first place! How I’m reacting is actually a reflection of you! You’re the one getting turned on a rooftop, not me!

“Wait—!”

You ignore his calls, running away until you’re sure you’re outside of his radar.

Why is that your powers going out of control now is way more bothersome now than when you were a child!?

*

After sleeping the weirdness away, you’re feeling better, so you’re willing to put the humiliation from last night away and pray you never run into Matt again until you die.

So when you’re visited by your friendly neighbourhood Spider-man you aren’t concerned, tossing him a bagel as you join him on your balcony, uncaring of your pyjamas being seen by him due to his continued visits.

“Here to clean out my pantry again?” You ask, looking down at the streets below, quiet as the sky is still stained pink from the rising sun.

“One time, and you never let me live it down,” he sighs, pulling his mask up to eat. “And I’m actually here for business today.”

“Oh? Need help tracking down a lost cat?”

“A little devil told me you ran off last night in hurry after acting maybe the slightest bit strange?” He turns to face you fully, crossing his arms like a disappointed dad.

“And?”

“And?”

“What else did he say?” You ask, suspicion clear.

“That you ran off like a bat out of hell, which isn’t too far—“

“Maybe he should mind his own business,” you scoff, “And so should you, for that matter.”

“He also said you were mad, which you’re not exactly disproving,” he retorts, moving a bit closer until he’s able to link his fingers with you, weirdly touchy bastard that he is, “If something’s going on, you know you can tell me.”

For a moment you swallow your embarrassment, feeling his sincerity, his thoughts blending into yours, his worry—

“Damn it!” You curse, slapping your forehead.

“Well, that’s one way to ruin the mood, but I get it too touchy-feely for you, maybe we should—“

You ignore him and sink to your knees, pressing your head against the railing. Your powers going haywire was becoming barely noticeable, the absence of your usual restraint feeling natural, the same way trailing your hands up Peter’s thighs does, resting your face against his knee as you peer up at him—

“Dude, seriously!?” You shoot up to glare at him as he quickly raises his hands in surrender.

“You didn’t look like you were in the mood to eat your bagel, sorry—“

You raise the hem of your shirt up, revealing some of your stomach and feel his thoughts heat up before you scoff.

“You too!?”

“I am so confused right now,” he mutters before jolting when you storm back into your living room, slamming the balcony door shut behind you, “Where are you going!?”

“To shower!” You shout back without turning around.

Hopefully you’ll find some sort of clarity.

…Among other things.

*

You still weren’t desperate enough to consult with Jean or Professor Xavier, you had your pride.

So, instead you find yourself in the Baxter Building, once again intruding on another meal.

Franklin greets you as you arrive, waving a hand, engrossed with Val’s tablet before Sue turns it invisible with a chiding look.

“Look who’s here uninvited! Again!” Johnny declares, swinging an arm around your shoulder and guiding you to the table.

“Johnny…” Sue sighs before turning to you with a warm look, “Staying for breakfast?”

“I was looking for Reed, had something I wanted to ask him,” you explain as Johnny passes you a glass of juice.

“Still down in the lab with Ben, who can hopefully tear him away from his latest find, we recently discovered a rather peculiar bacteria—“

“Why do you need to talk to Reed? Something going on?” Johnny interrupts.

“Kind of—just,” you pause, turning to stare at him blankly.

You’ve actually seen into Johnny’s head before casually, the blond near shouting his thoughts to catch your attention everytime you see him, making sure you hear every joke and comment he has. Including the ones that are flirty and filled with sexual undertones. Knowing him for so long, you were desensitized to a point.

“Go on,” you sigh, already knowing what to expect. You met him when you were both still teenagers, his head can’t be any worse than those days.

“What?” He tilts his head before narrowing his eyes at you, “If something’s going on, you know you have the Fantastic Four are backing you up, so tell your old pal Torch what’s wrong, and we’ll get it all sorted.”

You’re stunned for a second, before you have to bite back a smile, really you should have known better—

You’re suddenly hit with the sound of wedding bells and the image of you exchanging rings with Johnny. You whip around to see Sue starting at you with a too big smile.

“Hey, are you okay?” Johnny nudges you, looking at you with concern as you press a hand to your chest, drawing into yourself.

“I think,” you breathe out, “my liver is trembling?”

“Huh?”

“I believe you have your organs mixed up,” Val pipes up.

“We should bring you to Reed—! Wait, where are you going!?”

*

“Now here’s a face I haven’t seen in a while, you could have projected a warning, you know,” Emma smiles, posture straight as a bow as you try not to spill tea on her very white couch.

“Can you get your daughters to stop eavesdropping…?” You ask, feeling their inquisitive prodding.

“Yes, they’re a curious bunch, a good trait to have, especially when our local mutant recluse so suddenly shows up,” She hums, and you can feel her warning flare out.

Confident that you two finally have some privacy, you reveal your current struggle in reigning in your powers.

She taps her acrylics against her leg in thought, “Are you sure you aren’t just pent up?”

You picture something unpleasant.

“No need for that now, I’m just saying that maybe your powers are trying to give you a push.” She looks annoyingly amused as she says that.

“What, like some sort of sentience?”

“Hmm, more like you being in denial? You know emotions play a role in our powers, especially if we’re lacking in control.”

“This is literally the stupidest thing I’ve ever had to listen to,” you declare, setting your tea aside. “I’m leaving.”

As you turn your back, she calls out, “Don’t you want to see my fantasy?”

“No!”

As soon as your hand touches the front door, you feel something smack against your head, like a wadded up ball of paper. You’re hit with images of Emma straddling you—

“FUCK OFF!”

Her laughter rings through your head as you rush away.

*

“I see, I believe I understand what you’re trying to convey,” Kurt nods, thankfully not at a sanctuary in the mountains for once.

“That everyone around me is a pervert,” you nod in resignation.

He smiles at you almost knowingly.

“Okay, yeah, sexual attraction is normal and healthy or whatever, but I don’t want to see it!” You complain.

“Sometimes our own unmet desires torment us more than the people around us,” he says, patting your arm, “You have always refused to see the hearts of others, so maybe now you may subconsciously crave that knowledge.”

“Shut the fuck up, Kurt,” you bite out instinctively, before slumping, “…sorry.”

“Already forgiven, my friend.”

You sigh, finally making eye contact with your old ally, “Okay, maybe, you do have a point. I can’t even tell if I’m the one having questionable thoughts about your tail or you.”

“I’m usually able to restrain myself when a dear friend comes to me for advice,” he laughs, eyes lighting up.

“Usually…I don’t need powers to know what’s on in your mind most of the time, Kurt,” you scoff.

“You know me well, liebeling, but I’m sure I can still find some ways to surprise you,” he purrs, leaning closer.

Maybe you should have went to Kurt from the very start.

The tldr of this one is ‘fuck you, fuck you, definitely fuck you— not you though, Kurt, I mean, unless you want to…🤭’

“Thank you,” Sentry murmured, drawing the pack back quickly, as a few droplets slipped from the plastic and landed on your blankets, darkening the fabric in tiny, perfect circles before they could soak through the layers you had over your body.

“Who needs the ice pack?” You questioned, bringing your arm back under the confines of your coverings and nuzzling yourself deeper into them, chasing the illusion of warmth even though you knew it was pointless–because every shift of your body only caused another burst of cool air to envelop you, putting you right back to square one.

“Me. I’m boiling hot and it feels like I’m coming down with the flu or something…” He explained, pressing the newly frozen pack to the side of his neck. The mentioning of his overheating drew your gaze upward, before you shifted your body toward him to get a better view. 

His normally pale skin had flushed a deep, splotchy red, the colour rising high across his cheekbones and spreading down the strong column of his throat before disappearing beneath his shirt. A faint sheen of sweat glistened at his hairline, dampening the wavy light brown strands that fell across his forehead, making them curl at the ends as if he had just gotten out of the shower. The soft fabric of his t-shirt clung in patches to the solid planes of his chest, outlining the heavy muscle beneath, so much so, that you could practically count every single ridge of his abs that were on display to you. 

Even standing still he looked imposing–broad through the shoulders, arms thick with pale blue veins that pulsed over the muscles as if the rapid beating of his heart had ignited the blood that flowed through them–yet the way he was holding himself was not the typical form Sentry often took when he presented his body to onlookers. It was like he was embarrassed of the uncontrollable heat that was rolling off of him–and embarrassment didn’t look good on a sun God.

“Mmm…I don’t think it’s the flu, Sentry.” You stated, your teeth clattering together as a violent shiver tore through you. The cold sank deeper into your bones, contracting every muscle before you forced yourself to breath through it–even though it was like your heart had seized inside your chest. He frowned at your comment, patting the ice pack slowly down the length of his neck.

“Then what the hell is it? ‘Cause I feel like I’m on the verge of setting this whole place on fire.” He huffed, lifting his free hand to fan himself rapidly, hoping that it would aid in cooling him down. The gesture did nothing but stir the humid air around him though, and he felt fresh beads of sweat breaking out along his skin, sliding down his neck and lower back, creating an inescapable dampness over his entirety. He wanted to rip his clothes off in those moments, because modesty wasn’t going to cure whatever was happening to him, but out of respect for you, he held himself back from becoming a free form tornado of fabric.

“You’re having a temperature crisis…It’s normal for people like us.” You informed, watching the confusion deepen between his brows, seeing wrinkles appear between them.

“Temperature crisis?” He questioned, his golden eyes narrowing slightly as he studied you, thinking you were lying to him to make him feel better, but you gave him a small, stiff nod.

“It’s when your body can’t handle the excess energy it takes to constrict your powers, so it just gives up and lets them spiral out of control. It takes a bit of time to recalibrate, but you’ll be back to normal in a few days.” He let out a long, exhausted sigh, rubbing his forehead roughly, as a few damp strands of hair fell forward to frame his face, tickling the sharp line of his jaw. The ice pack was already softening again, feeling the condensation beginning to bead along the plastic, hissing where it touched his overheated skin and dissolved. You were surprised the encasement didn’t melt in his hands, but you didn’t question it.

“There’s no way to speed up this whole recalibrating process?” He pressed, and you shrugged, tugging the blankets higher until they rested just beneath your chin, even though they were useless at this point.

“I haven’t found a solution myself, and I’ve been through hundreds of these…So I’d say your case wouldn’t be any different to mine.” You replied, the words leaving your lips in a faint cloud of breath as another chill surged through your body. Your muscles quivered deep beneath the layers of fabric, a full-body tremor that started in your core and radiated outward until even your fingertips felt numb. Your heart skipped–a sharp, irregular contraction that made you feel like your blood had stopped flowing through your veins, like frozen pipes–before it steadied again into the strained rhythm it had been fighting to keep all evening.

Sentry watched it happen, observing the way your eyes clenched shut for a single moment, the loud clatter of your teeth cutting through the quiet living space, and how you burrowed even deeper beneath the coverings until only the top of your head and the narrow strip of your eyes remained visible above the blanket’s edge. You looked impossibly small against the wide couch, swallowed whole by the cluster of covers–if he wasn’t actively speaking to you he would’ve mistaken you for the couch cushions, and he was thankful he didn’t accidentally sit on you in the heated haze he was in. 

But then it all the puzzle pieces seemed to click into place from these simple little things you had done…You were going through your own temperature crisis right now, just like him. 

Evidently the two of you had synced up in some inexplicable way–likely from the string of back-to-back mission that had drained your respective reserves at similar paces. You were so used to this cycle you had come to expect it and endured it like normal, but Sentry evidently had a larger power bank than you, and with that came a far more intense reaction. Where you accepted the inevitable discomfort with grim resignation, he looked like he wasn’t going to sit with it and do the same, and you could see the impatience in his glowing eyes–the way they shifted around the room as if he was searching for a physical solution to his problem.

“So what do you do to cope with this whole thing then?” He asked, stepping closer to the couch, hearing the floor panels beneath his weight creak in a soft protest, pressing the icepack to the side of his neck again. The frozen block had already surrendered to the heat, reduced to nothing more than a lukewarm liquid that sloshed inside the thin plastic again just like before–putting him right back to the situation he had been in when he approached you just moments ago. Stray droplets slid across his heated skin and rose instantly in faint threads of steam, vanishing into the air and catching the light for a brief moment.

There was a pang of jealousy that sliced through you in those moments–to be that hot right now would have been everything, a fevered dream of warmth you would have given anything to claim because the frigid cold that overtook your entirety was absolutely miserable. Your eyes lifted toward him, and the same feelings were mirrored by him, etched into the way his gaze lingered on the thin rim of frost that was spreading along the blanket’s edge, each heavy breath you exhaled feeding the delicate crystals that clung to the fabric and expanded along it.

“I just su-suffer,” You stuttered, drawing your knees up to your chest, hoping the shift in position would spark even the smallest pocket of warmth against your skin, though your past experiences had already taught you the futility of it–the pessimist in you was on full display tonight.

A short laugh escaped Sentry, dragging one of his large hands through his hair, pushing the wavy brown locks back from his forehead only for them to tumble forward again in a heavier, more disheveled sweep that stuck to the sweat at his temples. The sound carried no mockery, only the shared frustration threaded with reluctant amusement and a faint hint of disbelief that the two of you had somehow collided in the same miserable state.

As much as the two of you existed as literal opposites in temperature, you had always found a solid ground when you worked together. You liked how straightforward he became once his walls had come down, how the sheer scale of his presence never crowded the mission once he let you set the pace–how he let you lead rather than follow his orders.

He stayed out of your way and you stayed out of his, and when the moment demanded it and the two of you had to stand shoulder to shoulder, you allowed instinct to take over–adjusting into an effortless rhythm where fire and ice moved in perfect tandem, as though the choreography had been drilled into muscle memory long before either of you truly realized it.

Being locked in this crisis together felt entirely different. There was no tactical formation to fall back on, and no clear objective to chase down and eliminate. And that absence of control was exactly what gnawed at Sentry now. He knew there was a solution; he could practically feel it radiating off your bundled form even from the distance that he kept, and he hated to admit it–but he craved it. 

The only question was whether you would agree to it, to the exchange, and he found himself weighing the idea in silence, deciding that the risk would be worth taking if it meant ending this torment faster.

“Well…Maybe we could try something that might solve our issues, since it seems like you’re also going through one of your own crises right now.” He said, watching as your eyebrows raised at the tone of his voice–at the soft hesitance that laced every word, like the suggestion that was pressing down on his tongue was going to jump out at any second and display itself to you. In the few seconds of silence you ran through the only two possibilities that made sense in a situation like this, and both of them circled an intimacy line neither of you had crossed together. Still, you found yourself nodding for him to go on.

When he didn’t continue immediately, you cleared the dryness in your throat.

“Let’s hear it,” You urged, because at this point you were willing to entertain any idea that might recalibrate your system before the shivers escalated into something far worse and far more unmanageable.

“We both have something that the other one needs–you have to get warmed up, and I need to cool down.” He trailed off, his eyes locking onto yours like he was pleading for you to finish the thought and offer up the idea yourself so he wouldn’t have to do it. You could sense the hesitation in his voice and it sat strangely on him–almost boyish, like his typical over confidence had plummeted, knowing that there was a chance of being outright rejected. When he saw the patient blankness in your gaze though, he continued “So why don’t we try using each other for that?” 

For a split second your eyes widened at the way he phrased things. Using each other sounded so…Cold and transactional. And you both knew that it wasn’t going to be anything like that, especially depending on how he decided to approach this solution. There wasn’t any harm in entertaining it, you trusted him with your life during every mission the two of you were sent together on, so trusting him with your body–and with your powers–felt like the next logical step.

You could see him bracing for your reply, as if he were already preparing for the sting of rejection. But when you shifted beneath the heavy nest of blankets and eased your head out a little further–enough for the low lounge lights to catch the relaxed lines of your face and the frost that began to glimmer along your lashes–he knew. The tension in his jaw eased, and the golden hue of his eyes softened, turning just a fraction brighter before dimming to a sweet caramel colour.

“Let’s try it…Wh-What’s the worst that can happen?” You questioned, hearing him let out a huff of a laugh.

“Mmm, maybe you shouldn’t say that…Those are famous last words.” He commented, seeing you shrug, the movement stiff from the cold that was continuing to stiffen your muscles.

“It’s true though, is it not?” He hummed in quiet agreement, tossing the melted ice pack onto the side table near the couch with a thud. The discarded bag landed with a faint slosh, already forgotten as he stepped closer to your lying form.

“I guess…” He mumbled, pausing to look down at you, letting his golden eyes trace the bundled shape of your body before lifting to your face. Even from this nearness you could feel the heat radiating off him in thick waves–almost like a invisible force–pressing against the chilled air around you as it expanded outward from his flesh. 

When you drew in a slow breath, the scent of him filled your lungs–smoky and metallic, like overheated wiring that was under strain, yet undercut by something oddly comforting, as if he was a fresh bonfire.

“So how are we going to do this?” You asked, watching as his gaze dropped to the thick pile of blankets still covering you. His fingers twitched against the hem of his top, toying with the stitches.

“We’ll take off our clothes so that we can have skin to skin contact…It’ll speed up the process, so we won’t have to be against one another for too long.” You felt your stomach drop to your feet at that, a deep pang of worry blooming hot through your nerves despite the cold that was locked in your blood. He sensed it immediately–the slight hitch in your breathing, the way your fingers tightened around the edge of the blanket–but he didn’t push. His phrasing had landed poorly again, yet you understood the intent behind it, and after a beat you accepted the practicality of the plan.

“Alright,” You replied, giving him a small nod as you began to shift beneath the blankets. Your hands found the hem of your sweater, tugging it upward, the heavy knit catching briefly on your elbows before you pulled it free and tossed it onto the ground. Three long-sleeved shirts followed, then a plain t-shirt, and finally a thick tank top, the frost along the material melting and creating small puddles of water on the wooden floors.

Sentry’s eyes widened a fraction with every article that you threw off, observing the mountain of clothing that you had created, absolutely shocked that you were wearing all of that beneath the covers that were over you.

“Jesus Christ, how many layers are you wearing?” He asked, the question being followed with a small chuckle. You glared up at him, your hands pausing at the waistband of your sweatpants as your teeth clattered again at the loss of clothing that was containing what little comfort and warmth you had. 

“Unlike you, I need to contain as much heat as possible. It would be crazy of me not to layer up, I would freeze to death if I didn’t, so spare me the judgement.” You shot back, shimmying out of your sweatpants, not bothering to kick them off to the side as you pushed your two pairs of thermal leggings down, letting it join the pile at the end of the couch, leaving yourself in just your undergarments–a simple bra and a pair of long boxer briefs that you were using as another layer for your thighs. 

You tightened your hold on the blankets, the fabric suddenly feeling lighter without the clothes that you were wearing. A gust of cold breath fogged the air in front of your face, while your body started to shake again, this time bordering on uncontrollable. The loss of these additional barriers left your skin stinging, the chill biting deeper now. Your fingers had grown numb, and patches of ice began to form across the plane of your stomach, the blanket sticking to the frozen spots where your body pressed against it.

“Hu-Hurry up and take your clothes off before I start turning into a human ic-ice sculpture.” You managed to say, the words breaking through the violent chattering of your teeth–echoing as if they were knocked loose. The sound snapped Sentry out of his momentary trance, and he made quick work of removing the sweat-soaked t-shirt, dragging it upward in one fluid motion. The damp fabric peeled away from his skin with a wet squishy sound before he let it drop onto the your own discarded clothes with a plop. His shorts followed next, shoved down the thick lines of his thighs, getting kicked aside without ceremony until he stood in nothing but his tight black boxer briefs. 

Through the pounding ache beginning to build behind your eyes, you couldn’t look away from the bare expanse of him. The flushed skin that had been covered by his shirt was on full display now, ruby red and unevenly splotchy, with fresh beads sweat tracing down the ridges of his abs and disappearing against waistband of boxer briefs that hugged his thick muscly thighs that were the width of both your arms combined–not that you were looking to measure. The freckles on his skin carried an almost luminous quality to them, like they were glowing, creating this stark contrast against the ruby hue. He was an absolute adonis, perfectly sculptured and toned–like the God that he was.

If the cold hadn’t locked every other bodily reaction in place, you would’ve felt heat rise in your face at the sight. Instead, your expression laid your enamourment bare to him, eyes tracing every inch of his exposed skin with open appreciation. Sentry caught it immediately, a shy smile lifting on his lips.

“It’s odd seeing me without clothes, huh?” He teased, and even though you couldn’t verbally respond–because your heart kept staggering its beats–you nodded at him, letting your eyes do all the talking. He stepped towards you then, fingers catching the edge of your blankets and flipping them back to reveal your body to him, causing you to let out a little whine at the feeling of the air touching your bare skin. He could see the frosted patches that had already begun to spread up your stomach and thighs, delicate webs of ice forming and thickening in some spots, and that’s when he realized the real time crunch he was on. 

He slipped his arm under your body, lifting you slightly and shifting you onto your side to make space for him, and instantly the both of you let out a joint sigh of relief, hearing his skin sizzling against yours at the contact. He immediately took up the spot he made for himself, laying down and adjusting his position before wrapping his large arms around you, pulling your body into his. He was so soft and warm that if you were able to cry you would’ve in those moments just from the sheer relief of him crowding you in. He slipped his thick leg between yours, getting as close as possible to you while he brought the blanket around you both, letting it rest just below your chests so it could seal the temperature exchange that was happening beneath it.

“Fuck…You really are cold,” He muttered, resting his broad palm between your shoulder blades, urging you nuzzle into him, feeling your soft cheek rubbing against the plush muscle at the top of his pec, finally gaining a semblance of movement back in your bones as the chill began to thaw.

“An-And you’re really hot.” You stuttered, closing your eyes at the heat, hearing a rough laugh escape his throat, quietly acknowledging the double entendre but not saying anything about it directly. 

The smoky scent of his flesh had disappeared with the newfound closeness, and now he smelled like warmed skin and sunlight–naturally creamy and powdery with a hint of clean sweetness that was coming from the sweat that coated his skin. You were used to it–how it filled the room and overtook every space he was in–and often times you got lost in how perfectly it suited him. 

He reminded you of summer days, when the heat felt like it was choking you because of how cloying and thick it became from the humidity, and you found yourself moving your arm over his torso, holding him tighter to absorb the warmth that slipped from his pores. 

You felt like Icarus–flying too close to the sun but accepting your fate and absorbing the heat into your bones–but instead of wax wings it was your icy cool flesh that seemed to be melting, and you could feel water beginning to pebble and slip along your flesh until it sizzled and disappeared against him, followed by a gentle gust of steam that made your skin stick together. 

He shifted against you once more, the solid weight of his body pressing deeper into the couch cushions beneath you that had began to dampen from the condensation that coated your skin, as the frame creaked in protest at the movement. For a moment he drew back, allowing a thin rush of cooler air to slip between your joined bodies, only for him to slide downward, shimmying so there wasn’t a complete loss of contact. 

He settled his cheek against the soft swell of your breasts, chasing the cooling relief that poured from your body, needing the skin of his face to stop heating up. The wavy strands of his light brown hair spilled across your flesh, tickling the thin delicate skin beneath your chin as he moved. You tilted your head from side to side, trying to find a comfortable position that made sure the silken locks didn’t find their way between your parted lips, before resting your chin on the crown of his head. 

Your arms moved of their own accord, sliding around his neck and drawing him in tighter so his face was squished against you. He let out a long sigh, letting his hands roam your back, his fingertips tracing heated shapes along the curve of your spin, each pass melting away the lingering patches of frost that hadn’t left your flesh. Against the plush cushion of your chest, his ears tuned into the steadying rhythm of your heartbeat as it finally found it natural cadence under the influence of his warmth, and he couldn’t help but smile at that–thankful that his plan was actually working.

“You feeling any better?” He asked, his voice sending a subtle vibration across your sensitive skin, his hot breath sticking over the tops of your breasts, sinking into your pores like a body oil.

“Yeah, definitely…I think if it wasn’t for this I would’ve ended up going into natural cryosleep…So thank you for preventing that.” You murmured. His fingers paused mid-motion, right when he was about to draw a triangle on one of your shoulder blades. He lifted his head slightly, his golden eyes meeting yours, as little hints of orange embers lined around his pupils, almost like his curiosity was sparking behind them. 

The flush across his high cheekbones was already beginning to fade in uneven patching, revealing the pale porcelain-like tone beneath, and when your fingers moved to push a few strands of hair away from his face, the tiny flecks of orange brightened. You tucked them carefully behind his ears, and Sentry had to resist the temptation to lean into your touch, allowing you to make that choice for yourself on whether you wanted to keep feeling him like this–though he preferred that you kept doing it.

“Can that actually happen?” He questioned, the tightness of concern lacing his words. You nodded.

“It’s happened a few times. My body’s temperature plummets so much sometimes that all its systems basically go into hibernation mode to compensate. Usually I end up coming out of it a month or two later, but I typically don’t know what’s going on and it takes me a while to get used to my surroundings again…” You explained, watching his expression pull tight with worry–his brows drawing together, and his eyes widening slightly.

“That sounds…Scary.” He commented, his fingers twitching against your back, digging slightly into the soft flesh that lined your spine as if the mere thought made him want to pull you closer so that he could protect you from the possibility of that happening. You offered a small shrug in response, taking in a deep breath that caused your chest to expand beneath his chin.

“It was when it happened to me the first time…I didn’t really have anyone that cared about me back then, so I had to navigate everything on my own.” You said, ghosting your fingers along the side of his cheek, igniting a faint line of frost over the skin there which melted instantly–the droplets of water beading down his skin before evaporating with a small line of steam. You could see the way he was hanging off of every word you were saying, being the attentive listener he always was, and he waited for you to continue, silently encouraging you to keep opening up to him.

He secretly loved learning about you through the little anecdotes you dropped during missions, and oftentimes he found himself looking for more details, but he was always too afraid to ask–more because he didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. From what the rest of the team had told him though, he was well aware that you had been through a lot–disowned by your family at a very young age because they couldn’t handle your mutation, being passed around from facility to facility until you ran away to be on your own, discovering that you could use the power that you had for good…There was a lot of mirroring to his own story, but he couldn’t imagine all the other things you had gone through that you chose to hide. 

“But thankfully that’s changed.” You added, giving him a small smile, watching his lashes flutter at the realization that you were talking about the team–and specifically him–with that comment.

“I’m glad.” He murmured, feeling your fingers trace along the freckles dusted across his cheek, connecting them with an invisible line. 

“Me too…” You whispered back, reaching the bridge of his nose and trailing your soft touch down to the tip of it, feeling him let out a long shaky breath that clung to your flesh, his hand twitching against the small of your back. He leaned into your touch then, urging you to continue, basking in the coolness of your touch and enjoying the way it made his skin sizzle when there was a little surge of frost that escaped the tips of your fingers.

When you dragged them down to his lips you could see the way the embers in his eyes shimmered, glowing just a fraction brighter and you let out a little laugh.

“You like this?” You asked, moving your fingers over his thin top lip before doing the same to the bottom one, stopping in the middle of it when they parted, blowing a gentle gust of hot air against them that made your skin crackle slightly.

“I do…It feels nice.” He replied, the words vibrating over your fingertips as his lips brushed them in the faintest of kisses–like he was testing to see if you would pull away. When you kept your hand still for him though, he pressed his lips into the soft pads more fully, kissing each digit and leaving little wet spots behind that froze instantly on your flesh before melting against under his warmth. 

Then he took your pointer finger into his mouth, the velvety heat of his tongue sliding along the pad until he reached your knuckle. Your throat tightened, pushing out a gasp from your mouth. He kept eye contact with you, the dark golden hue of his irises shifting to a richer saffron that glowed, like he had captured the sun behind his eyes. He sucked gently, hollowing his cheeks just enough to create a tight, warm seal around your finger, and you felt your stomach stir, your heart catching on a beat as an undeniable warmth ignited through you despite the biological coolness that wracked your system, feeling every nerve in your body light up so all you could focus on was the way his mouth felt.

He pulled off with a light pop and smeared the saliva on your finger along his face, closing his eyes at the wetness until it dried on his skin. He hummed low in his throat, a satisfied rumble that travelled through his chest and settled in your belly. Only then–when the spell of his mouth finally broke–did you move your hand to cup his cheek.

“Sentry,” You whispered, a hint of seriousness wrapping around his name like a quiet warning. He caught your tone immediately, gazing up at you, seeing the slight shock in your expression–the way your brows were pulled together, how your jaw had slackened just a fraction, the soft rapid breaths that escaped you…It was like you were processing what he had just done. He hadn’t meant to push; he had simply followed his instincts, desperate to show you how he felt, and he knew then that he shouldn’t have taken such a stupid approach to broaching the act of intimacy like this. 

“Did I cross a line?” He asked sheepishly, pulling back just a little more to get a better look at you, though your hand on the back of his neck tightened, almost like you didn’t want him to move away at all.

“No…I…” You paused for a moment, seeing his eyes dart along your face as you bit the inside of your bottom lip–which he noticed, his golden gaze dropping to your mouth for a heartbeat before returning. “I’m just surprised.” You admitted quietly, and you could see the look of concern soften in his eyes, the tension easing from his shoulders.

He let the silence settle between you, until he let out a long breath and shimmied back up your body so he could be face to face with you. His nose bumped gently against yours as he shifted the leg wedged between yours, the thick muscle of his thigh pressing higher until it brushed the edge of your boxer briefs. 

“In a good way?” He pressed curiously, sliding his hand from your back and leaving a slow-burning trail of heat in its wake as it travelled down the dip of your spine to settle at your hip. His large palm engulfed the curve there completely, his thumb stroking broad circles over the sensitive skin, coaxing fresh goosebumps to rise before the deeper chill of your body overtook the spot–only for his warmth to chase it away again in a subtle shimmer of melting frost that left your flesh glistening. You nodded, your gaze dropping briefly to his soft pink lips–slightly parted and glistening from the trace of saliva left behind by your finger–before flicking back up to meet his eyes.

“Yes.” You confirmed, your hand inching lower to cradle the side of his neck, your fingertips registering the rapid, heavy pulse hammering beneath his heated skin. He gave you a small smile, eyes dipping to your mouth now as his pupils flared wider and the scattered orange flecks within them brightened with unmistakable want.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked, not wanting to take your physical signs as permission, preferring to hear the answer fall from your mouth–needing to see your lips wrap around the words.

“Please, Sentry,” You breathed, leaning closer to him, bumping his nose against your as the two of you shared a brief moment of exchanged air. Then he closed the distance, pressing his lips to yours. 

They were impossibly soft and searing, the contrasting pulling the air straight from your lungs. A little moan slipped from you as your hand tightened at the back of his neck, drawing him closer while his damp strands of hair brushed against your fingertips. He parted his mouth against yours and you followed, tongues sliding together in a slow, hungry glide that made you feel like someone had set a sparkler off right against your spine. His other hand rose to cradle the back of your head, fingers pressing into your scalp, holding you exactly where he wanted as he deepened the kiss, massaging his lips against yours with growing urgency. You laced your fingers into his hair and tugged lightly at the roots, earning a low groan from him, his hand tightening on your hip. You hiked your leg high, draping it over his hip so it rested against the thick muscle of his thigh. He adjusted instantly to you, his leg between yours fleeing upward until the firm ridge of his quads pressed flush against the gusset of your boxer briefs.

The sudden, solid pressure on your core made your hips jerk forward, a needy whine tearing from your throat at the heat radiating through the fabric, warming you immediately. Sentry held you through it, allowing the natural reaction to take over your body as it chased the friction it desperately craved, smiling into the kiss to silently convey to you exactly how much he loved the way you were reacting to him. 

When he pulled back just enough to look at you, his cheeks burned a deep jammy red and his once-soft pink lips were now puffy and slick, glistening with the mess of your shared saliva. He could see a faint flicker of shyness cross your face, noticing the way your eyes widened for a split second as if the eager grind of your hips had surprised even you, and there was an instant moment where he felt the need to urge you to continue–to give you permission to use him.

He leaned in again, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your cheek and jaw, each one leaving wet spots behind that cooled along your flesh. Your back arched toward him in response, tilting your head back to bare more of your throat to him as short, breathless gasps spilled from your parted lips. His teeth dragged lightly along the sensitive line of your jaw, the faint scrape of them being soothed by the flat of his tongue before he reached your ear and nipped at the fleshy lobe feeling you flinch, and drawing out another soft, broken sound from you. 

“You can take what you need from me, Y/N…You don’t have to be embarrassed.” He whispered, his breath warming the shell of your ear, as his hand squeezed your hip gently–providing a reassuring pressure to your flesh. He trailed several more kisses down the column of your neck, letting his lips linger over the rapid flutter of your pulse, giving it a small lick and nuzzling against the frost that formed there to warm it.

Your fingers tightened in the damp strands of his hair you had in your grip, scratching your nails across the sensitive skin of his scalp, drawing a low, appreciative hum from him at the sting. He responded by guiding your hips forward, dragging you along his thigh. Every defined ridge of muscle pressed against you perfectly through the fabric, the contact so intense it felt as though nothing separated your aching core from his scorching skin. Your thighs clenched around him, slipping into the tingling heat that ignited low in your belly.

One of your hands slipped from his neck to brace against the broad plane of his shoulder, the contrast between your chilled palm and his overheated skin trudging up another burst of steam.

“Sen–Sentry…” You stuttered, his name shaking on your breath as he backpedaled along the same trail of kisses with his lips, moving up your jaw until he reached your mouth again. His golden eyes burned even brighter now, pupils blown wide as he registered–and felt–your heartbeat hammering wildly against his chest, a dizzying mix of nerves and arousal flooding through you.

“Y/N…It’s okay. Just rock your hips against me…I want to feel you,” He said, kissing the corner of your mouth with an aching gentleness that made your whole body seize, before blowing a warm breath across the little wet spot he left, “And I want to see you enjoy yourself and indulge…Please…Please grant me that.” He added softly, on the brink of desperation. 

You couldn’t help the way your body yielded to his words–the tension melting from your muscles as you relaxed and loosened against him. He felt every shift, your weight bearing down onto his thigh with just enough pressure that he knew exactly what you were about to do. 

Slowly, your hips began to move, rolling along the thick, flexing muscle with hesitance, adjusting yourself to get the position just right so the fabric of your boxers could rub across your clit, granting you the perfect amount of friction against the swelling bundle of nerves. You shivered against him, a burst of frost spiderwebbing across his shoulder before melting away, turning into droplets of water that slid down his chest, evaporating within seconds under the heat of him. His thumb rubbed slow circles into the soft flesh of your hip, pressing into it every so often as he leaned forward to claim your mouth again. His tongue slid against yours, teeth grazing your bottom lip while he pulled your body towards him, helping your find a steady rhythm that matched the frantic pulse that bounded through your veins.

His fingers dug gently into your scalp, holding you close as your breaths grew heavier, turning into soft, needy moans that he swallowed greedily–letting your noises fill him. You squeezed his shoulder harder, the fabric of your briefs clinging obscenely to you as you ground down onto him with increasing urgency, chasing the tightening coil of pleasure that tightened the muscles in your belly. You whined into his mouth, nails biting into his shoulder while you tugged at his hair with your other hand.

The friction wasn’t enough, and he could tell it wasn’t getting you to where you needed to be–sensing the frustration in your movements, the way you kept adjusting your position so that you could feel more of him, only for it not to change anything. 

His hand left your hip then, his fingertips ghosting just beneath the waistband of your boxers, before sliding beneath it, trailing his touch to your pubic bone, settling it there for a moment. He shifted his thigh down, and the sudden loss of pressure drew a soft moan from you, but the absence of it was replaced almost instantly by his fingers tracing along the heat of your folds. He let out a groan of surprise, pulling back from your lips just enough to breath heavily against the saliva he left there, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours, a pleased smile curving up on his mouth. 

“I was expecting you to be cold here…But you’re…You’re warm. So fucking warm.” He said, marvelling at the discovery as his fingers ran slowly through your folds, savouring the silky softness of your skin while your arousal coated him.

Your breath caught in your throat, head tilting back as your lashes fluttered against the overwhelming sensation of his fingers exploring you, your body tingling with every pass. His lips pressed gentle, open-mouthed kisses over your jaw, each one leaving a warm imprint that made your skin numb where frost tried and failed to form.

When he moved lower, circling your sensitive entrance with the pads of two thick fingers, he felt the way you pulsed and clenched against him, your hips pressing down in silent urgency, wordlessly begging him to push inside. But he held back, drawing the moment out with torturous patients, wanting to hear you break and beg before he gave you what your body was demanding. 

He smeared your arousal up to your swollen clit, covering the throbbing bundle completely with slow, gentle circles that had your thighs trembling. You arched into his touch, urging him to give you more, your nails scraping over his shoulder but doing limited damage to him. It felt better than your own fingers, and it was evident he knew exactly where to touch you to drive you crazy, finding a perfect pressure that made the nub swell even further.

“Sentry…Sentry please.” You breathed, voice cracking with desperation. He hummed against your skin at the sound of your pleas, nibbling at your jaw before licking the spot.

“Please what?” He asked, looking up at you through heavy lashes while your eyes squeezed shut.

“Please give me more…I need more.” You begged, the words tumbling out like you were on the verge of tears, your mind clouded by a thick haze of lust that made every though narrow down to the slow, teasing drag of his fingers. He let out a long, heated breath that clung to your skin, nodding once as strands of his hair tickled your cheek.

“All you had to do was ask.” The teasing edge in his voice sent a fresh shiver racing through you, your stomach stirring and clenching. He brought his fingers back down to your entrance, tracing the muscle for one moment before pushing inside you in a smooth, soul catching stroke. 

You sighed out a broken sound of relief, your walls clenching around the invading heat of his fingers, welcoming him immediately. The stretch was perfect–filling you like a cock would–every ridge and knuckle dragging along your sensitive inner walls until he was buried to the hilt. He curled them deep, stroking firmly against the spongy spot inside you while his thumb found your clit again, pressing steady circles over it.

Frost bloomed up his forearm and his lips turned up into a smile against your throat–proud that he could make you lose control of your powers so easily, relishing in the way the phantom air of you clung to his flesh before evaporating completely. 

His fingers began pumping steadily, setting a rhythm that had your hips rocking helplessly against his hand. His lips met yours again, but this time the kiss was slower, softer, bordering on sensual. He parted his mouth over yours just enough to taste the cool rush of your breath flooding his lungs before sucking your bottom lip between his, pulling on it gently until it swelled and filled with blood under his attention. You clenched hard around his fingers, thighs tightening around his wrist, grinding down on his hand in earnest, riding every thrust, digging you hand into his shoulder even more to keep a steady pace. 

He put more pressure on your clit, rubbing faster, tighter circles along the bundle of nerves, curling his fingers harder against that spongy rigid spot inside you. Your ears began to ring like a stun grenade had gone off inside your head, the world narrowing to nothing but the wet sounds of his fingers working you open and the overwhelming heat coiling tighter and tighter in your core. You became a blubbering mess, trying to form words, but all you could say was his name over and over again, like a mantra–like a prayer of mercy.

“Mmph–Oh god!” You managed to say, feeling a wave of heat exploding over your skin–whether from him or the pleasure itself, you couldn’t tell–as your body shook against his. Your walls clenched tighter around his fingers, pulsing in a fast, rhythmic flutter until you gushed over his hand with a loud, broken whine. Tears stung at the corners of your eyes from the intensity of it, your nails scraping down his shoulder blade as overwhelming relief flooded every nerve.

Sentry moved to the dewy drops, licking the salty beads before they could even fall along your skin, slowing his fingers down gradually, savouring the way you kept pulsing and fluttering around them, your body shivering from the overstimulation that rattled through your nervous system. 

“See? Wasn’t so bad letting yourself go, hmm?” He whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. You shook your head weakly–like your bones had turned to jelly–chest heaving with each breath you took.

“No…No…That was fucking perfect.” He pulled back just enough to flash you a toothy grin, the embers of orange around his pupils and framing his irises setting alight with satisfaction.

“I’m glad.” He replied, slipping his fingers free with a wet sound that made your cheeks heat, then dragged them slowly up your stomach, smearing the glistening evidence of your release across your skin in lazy streaks. He brought the slick digits up between you both, spreading them apart to show you the honey-like sheen the connected them in translucent webs, the sight so filthy and intimate that it made your stomach clench all over again. 

Light bounced off the glossiness, shimmering across his skin like liquid gold before he brought his fingers to his mouth, sucking on them. You tasted salty and sweet, like a savoury dessert, laced with something mineral-like, almost cold in a way like chilled syrup. He let out a little moan, drawing his fingers out slowly, dragging the flat of his tongue along each pad until every trace of your arousal was gone, leaving only the faint sheen of his own saliva. 

“Mmm…You taste amazing…Makes me want to try it straight from the source.” He murmured, pressing a small kiss to the corner of your mouth, putting his weight into you so that you shifted onto your back. A look of confusion drew across your face–brows pulling together, a little frown forming on your lips–and you shook your head. 

“What about you? Don’t you want me to do anything to you?” You questioned, watching as he adjusted himself above you, his knees sinking into the couch cushion so he could spread your thighs wider and settle fully between them, the blanket falling off the side of the couch. He pressed his chest against your stomach, peering up at you through his lashes, a soft laugh of disbelief escaping him.

“Trust me, this is doing a lot for me,” He commented, taking your hand in his and guiding it down to the front of his briefs, letting you feel the warm, daunting thickness of his erection straining against the fabric, heavy and pulsing under your palm. You hadn’t noticed it when you were grinding on his thigh, but now the sheer size and heat of him made fresh heat boom low in your belly again. Your fingers curled around him, giving a gentle squeeze, your thumb brushing over the small wet patch of precum that had soaked through the material. He twitched hard against your touch.

“You didn’t even have to touch me and this happened…So just lay back and let me get a better taste of you.” He said, pressing a kiss to your belly. When you gave his cock another squeeze, he hissed softly, then carefully took your hand off him to settle your palm flat against your stomach, right over the spot his lips had just warmed. He held it there for a moment, letting a thin layer of frost bloom beneath your fingers to preserve the faint imprint of his kiss like a brand against your skin. 

“Okay…” You breathed, settling back against the cushions, using the arm rest to angle your head just enough so you could watch him. He kissed along your hips, slipping his fingers beneath the waistband of your boxers and pulling them down your legs in one smooth motion. You helped by lifting your legs, bending them until the fabric slid free. He tossed it aside without a glance, then pushed your thighs open again, one foot bracing on the floor so he could lay comfortably between them.

He stared at the glistening trails of your arousal pulsing from your core as you clenched around nothing, pushing more sweetness out of you, and he couldn’t help but lick his lips at the sight–like he was a dehydrated man looking at a fountain of fresh ice cold water. He rubbed your inner thigh, the heat of his palm sinking deep into your chilled skin as he gave the soft flesh a firm squeeze.

“All wet just from my fingers…Absolutely breathtaking.” He admired, voice thick with hunger. He leaned down, chest pressing into the yielding cushions, his hot lips peppering a slow pathway of kisses up toward your core. He nuzzled his cheek into the cool skin right at the apex of your thigh, breathing you in deeply–your scent was sweet and icy, like ripened fruit laced with peppermint. A beautiful haze of euphoria washed over his features as he kissed along your pubic bone before pressing his shoulders beneath the backs of your thighs, spreading you open wider and locking you firmly in place. 

He glanced up at you, catching the way your kiss-bitten lips parted on a shaky breath. His hands moved to your core, opening your folds up to him before he pressed his tongue flat against you. The first long, slow lick pulled a gasp from your throat, your hand shooting down to lace tightly through his hair. You were so sensitive from your first orgasm that every pass of his tongue felt like liquid fire pouring into your veins, reigniting the heat deep in your belly all over again. 

He buried his face in you completely, head moving slowly so his tongue could part you more, licking deep inside, tasting every drop while smearing your arousal across his chin and cheeks. Low, filthy moans vibrated against your core as he devoured you, his hand gripping at your thighs, fingers dimpling the soft flesh, sliding his tongue higher to circle your clit before sucking it between his lips. He flicked the swollen bundle, eyes never leaving yours, holding you captive under that golden stare while your fingers massaged through his hair.

“God, Sentry…Ho-Holy fuck.” You whined, hips shifting helplessly beneath him. He moaned into you in reply. The noises that echoed through the room were wet, his mouth sucking on your folds and your clit, burrowing deeper before pressing his tongue into you and tasting you straight from the source, doing it over and over again. It was like he was making out with your pussy, his experienced mouth taking all everything you gave to him with ease. You bucked against his mouth again, and he brought his hand up to your hip, pinning you to the couch cushions, holding you still so that he can keep his rhythm exact, sharp focusing on dragging a second orgasm out of you that would eclipse the first.

He felt your thighs trembling against his shoulders, the muscles quivering with every pass of his tongue. Your free hand found the one he had dug into the top of your thigh, fingers lacing tightly with his as he squeezed back in silent reassurance, another grunt vibrating through you. The pressure of his tongue grew heavier, more insistent, as he continued to devour you without thought.

The lamp on the stand beside the couch suddenly brightened, its glow pulsing in time with the waves of pleasure rolling through you, and your eyes flicked to it for a brief second before dropping back down to him, catching the way his irises glowed like captured sunlight–bright and molten. You knew it was him doing this–you certainly weren’t capable of doing that–and a stifled laugh escaped you as the light flickered again, like he was speaking to you in bursts of golden morse code

You could feel him smile into you, plunging his tongue into your entrance one more time before moving back up to your clit again, his lips wrapping around the swollen bundle, snapping you out of the moment of humour and dragging you back into the overwhelming sensation of his mouth.

You took in a sharp breath.

“Sentry! Oh fuck…Please, right there!” You whined, your thighs clenching hard around his head, fingers pulling at his hair as your hips bucked against the firm hold he had on you. He kept sucking, swirling his tongue in tight circles while pressing his face deeper, the wet sounds of his mouth on you filling the silence. 

The coil in your belly tightened unbearably fast, as his lips sealed over you one last time, making it snap instantly. You came hard with a broken cry, your back arching off the couch as your core pulsed against his chin. A powerful wave of frost bloomed across his shoulders and down his arms, racing over his skin like you got a surge of energy from your orgasm. 

He couldn’t stop licking you, craving every shudder, greedy for every last drop until you were a trembling, oversensitive mess beneath him, your thighs shaking uncontrollably and your breath stuttering.

“Yo-You need to stop, I’m gonna turn you into a piece of ice if your don’t.” You warned quickly, forcing your thighs to loosen from around his head so he could breathe and move away from you. He hummed in response, the vibration sending one last aftershock through your body, before he pulled back, placing one final open-mouthed kiss against your quivering core. 

“I’ve got the power of the sun coursing through my veins, you wouldn’t be able to do anything to me…And honestly, I actually like when you get all chilly–shows me I did a pretty good job.” He commented, his voice a low, velvet rumble that shook against your stomach as he began kissing his way upward. His lips dragged slowly over the soft give of your belly, glistening with the sheen of your release that coated his chin and mouth. 

Everywhere he touched, he smeared the slick evidence of your pleasure across your chilled skin in warm, glistening streaks, the contrast drawing faint curls of steam that rose through the air lazily like hot breath on a chilled window. His teeth grazed the tender flesh just above your navel, a gentle nip that made your muscles flutter and tighten beneath him, followed by the immediate heat of his soothing tongue that lapped away the sting. He nipped your again, just below your ribs, and you felt yourself arch into him, your skin prickling with fresh goosebumps.

“But I’ll give you a break since you need one so badly,” He added, the words husky and teasing as he pushed himself up on his powerful arms, the thick cords of muscle in his shoulders and biceps flexing with the motion. He hovered over you for a moment, his golden eyes locking on yours, the orange embers around his irises flickering like distant stars caught in the pull of desire. Then he lowered himself, claiming your mouth in a deep, sticky kiss that stole your breath from your lungs, his lips parting against yours to let you taste the salty-sweet tang of yourself on his tongue as it slid hot along yours. 

The flavour of your own arousal mixed with the clean, sun-warmed scent of his skin, and you let out a small moan, your hand flying up to cradle the side of his neck, fingers pressing into the strong column of muscle there, feeling the throb of his pulse beneath the heated flesh. You tilted your head up to chase the kiss, tongues tangling with wet, needy sounds escaping the both of you, until he finally pulled back to trail kisses along the curve of your cheek and jaw, his breathing rapid and ghosting over your flesh.

You laid beneath him, chest rising and falling in ragged little pants, every inch of you humming, trying to come down from the euphoric high your orgasm put you in. The heavy weight of his body pressed you deeper into the couch cushions, the heat radiating through his chest and abdomen sinking into your bones like liquid sunlight.

Your thighs cradled his hips, legs locking around his to draw him nearer, the thick outline of his cock pressing hot through the thin barrier of his briefs. It rested just above your aching core, the searing length of him throbbing against your lower belly, feeling the fabric was now saturated in his precum–which had only grown larger while he had feasted on you. Small, translucent droplets seeped through the material, smearing against your skin, creating this sticky warm film there. 

You were so tempted to reach down, to slip your fingers beneath his waistband and wrap them around that daunting thickness, to test whether your hand could even close fully around him, to feel the velvet-steel weight of his cock pulse against your palm. But you held yourself back, nails digging into him for a moment. You truly needed the break, knowing that the moment he finally pushed inside you would shatter what little composure you had left–and losing your mind entirely was something you were trying very hard to avoid right now.

So you made quick work of finding a distraction for yourself. 

“…Can I ask why you were flickering the light like a maniac while you were going down on me?” You asked, carding your fingers through his hair and gently tugging at the roots. He let out a little huff of a laugh against the sensitive skin of your neck, the warm gust of it raising fresh goosebumps that ran up to your chin, as he pressed another kiss there.

“It kind of just happens when I’m feeling really good. My brain is focusing on something else then my powers fall out of my control and it does whatever it can to get out the excess energy.” You hummed softly in response, tilting your heat to the side to allow him to continue his explorations. Then suddenly, your brows pulled together as a realization dawned on you, cutting through the lingering haze of pleasure.

“Wait a minute…Is that why we sometimes have a ‘power surge’ in the middle of the night and wake up to every fuse in the Watchtower being blown out?” His lips curved up into a shy smile against your skin, the warmth of it branding the junction where your neck met your shoulder.

“Guilty as charged,” He mumbled, the words muffling where his mouth had settled, sending a fresh shiver racing down your spine that clashed deliciously with the steady heat pouring off his chest. A soft, playful laugh bubbled out of you, pushing against his broad shoulder, your palm meeting the solid muscle there with no real force.

“I knew it was you! Everyone was denying it and calling me crazy!” He let out a rumbling laugh of his own, the deep sound vibrating against your breasts as he nuzzled closer, his large hand sliding up your torso with a slow, possessive glide. His palm spanned the entire width of your ribcage, his thumb slipping beneath the underwire of your bra to brush the plush underside of your breast, the calloused pad teasing the sensitive skin until your nipple tightened. 

“Well, now you know. Let’s not go spreading that around though…Cause I will vehemently deny it.” Your smile widened at that.

“Your secret is safe with me.” You reassured, flinching when he gave the underside of your breast a little pinch, rubbing the spot to soothe it.

“Can I take this off?” He asked, his golden eyes flicking down to the bra still clinging to your frame, the last scrap of fabric separating skin from skin. You nodded, breath catching as his free hand slipped behind your back, his fingers unhooking the clasp before slowly peeling the straps down your arms, and letting it drop off the side of the couch with the rest of your discarded clothes. You were glad that nobody was coming home anytime soon because there was no way the two of you would be able to clean the mess that was scattered along the floor. 

He leaned up on his forearm, drinking in the sight of you, watching the way your nipples pebbled at the sudden exposure, running his thick finger over the bud, the pad covering it entirely before he cupped the full weight of your breast in his large palm, squeezing with just enough pressure to draw a soft gasp from your throat. You twirled a strand of his hair around your finger, watching the light brown colour catch with golden highlights from the lamp.

“I feel overdressed,” He commented, glancing down at his boxers, and you couldn’t help but smirk.

“Maybe you should get undressed then to make it even.” You replied, feeling his fingers twitch against your breast before he nodded.

“Fair enough,” He whispered, his hands leaving you as he pushed off you and reached down to his waistband, pushing the fabric down just enough so his cock sprang out of its confines, bobbing and tapping against his lower belly, before standing erect between his legs. The outline certainly didn’t do him justice, and seeing it in the flesh was far more intimidating than feeling it against you. The crown was large and red, swollen from him holding back this entire time, and the shaft was thick and veined along the smooth skin that led down to the trimmed hair at his base. He kicked the boxers aside without a glance, then settled back between your spread thighs, adjusting himself so the scorching length of his cock rested flush against your belly, the hot, velvety weight of it twitching and leaking fresh beads of precum that smeared over your flesh. 

You let out a sigh, your fingers trailing down the sweat-slicked planes of his abdomen, following the deep cuts of muscle until they wrapped around the tick base of his cock. Your hand barely closed around the heavy girth, the velvet heat of him pulsing against your chilled palm. You stroked him once from base to tip, feeling every ridge and vein drag beneath your touch, the skin stretched taut and burning. His lashes fluttered shut, a sharp hiss escaping through clenched teeth as his hips jerked forward into your fist, chasing the friction with a helpless little gasp that broke from deep in his chest.

Your thumb swept over the slick head, spreading the steady leak of precum in lazy circles before you stroked him again, firmer this time, twisting your wrist just enough to hear him groan. You kept the rhythm precise and unhurried, watching the way his powerful body trembled above you, the flush on his chest deepening as steam began to radiate off of him. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” He groaned, voice wrecked as he reached down to catch your wrist, guiding your hand away from his aching length before he lost the last fragile thread of control. “If you keep touching me like that, this is going to be over before I even get inside you.” He said, pinning your hand beside your head, fingers sliding down your forearm in a heated trail melting the frost that bloomed on your flesh, before he leaned in to press a small, tender kiss to your lips, rubbing his nose gently against yours. 

“Do you want that?” He asked, his golden eyes searching yours, the orange embers sparking and swirling around his irises.

“No…” You breathed, the word barely more than a whisper as you brought your legs up to wrap loosely around his waist, heels digging into the firm, rounded muscle of his ass to pull him closer, “I’d prefer to feel you cum inside me rather than in my hand.” He let out a hot breath against your lips, the warm rush filling your mouth and slipping down your throat. 

“So…Does this mean you’re ready?” He questioned, as the tips of your fingers glided along the broad slope of his shoulder, tracing the muscle.

“Yes,” You said, the single word heavy with want, and he didn’t need to be told twice to confirm it with you. Slowly, he shifted his weight, creating just enough space between your bodies to reach down and grip the base of his cock. The swollen head nudged through your folds, coating himself in the slick evidence of your arousal, sliding hot and smooth along your slit before circling once over your swollen clit, teasing it, before bringing it back down. 

He notched himself at your entrance, pausing to glance up at you, his eyes locking on yours to make sure there wasn’t even a hint of hesitation, and when you pressed your heels harder into his ass, urging him forward, he took it as permission to go on–that you were sure. 

He brought his hips forward in one controlled push, feeling your walls part around his thickness, the broad crown sinking in immediately. The stretch was overwhelming even though it was only the tip that had breached you, and your breath caught in your throat, chest rising as your body adjusted to the warmth that was filling you. He waited, perfectly still, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your cheek, a quiet sigh escaping him as your walls pulsed and fluttered around him.

“Are you okay? Does it hurt?” He asked, concern threading through his voice, studying the way your breath hitched and how your hands had gripped his shoulders just a fraction more, nailing sinking into the muscle.

“No it doesn’t hurt…I’m just getting used to you. Keep going,” You urged, thighs tightening around his torso. He continued to push forward, your walls fluttering around each new inch he gave you, feeling every ridge and vein dragging inside you until he was finally buried to the hilt. The fullness was unbelievable–his cock seated so deep you could feel him pressing against your cervix.

He stilled above you, chest heaving against your in deep, ragged pulls of breath as he pressed his forehead to your temple. His frame trembled, muscles locking tight beneath your palms, his body fighting the urge to lose himself completely in the tight, fluttering grip of you. He wanted this to feel as good for you as it already did for him; he refused to rush, refused to risk hurting you for even a second.

A few minutes passed in silence, until you rocked your hips against him, testing the depth, and turned your head just enough to catch his lips in a deep, needy kiss. He let out a heavy breath through his nose, the warm rush of it flooding your senses as he finally gave in.

He drew back almost to the tip, the drag of his thick length sending sparks exploding through every nerve, before he rolled his hips forward in one powerful thrust that punched the air straight from your lungs. A keening moan tore from your throat as the blunt head of his cock kissed the deepest part of you as softly as he could. He pulled away from your mouth, closing his eyes tightly.

“God…You feel so good,” He breathed, the words breaking as he felt your nails dragging down his shoulders, leaving faint red trails the disappeared before they could even settle into his skin. He found a steady rhythm then, rocking his hips in deep, claiming strokes that drove every inch of him into you with each forward snap, the wet slap of skin meeting skin echoing through the room as your arousal coated him, smearing along his pelvis. 

His mouth found yours again in a messy, desperate kiss, tongues sliding together in hungry strokes while one large hand came up to cup your breast fully, his thumb circling the tight, pebbled peak of your nipple before pinching it hard enough to make your walls clench around his cock like a vice. A whimper spilled from you, broken and needy, as your nails scraped down his back in response, the sharp sting only spurring him on. 

His hand left your breast then as he slid both arms beneath you, craving a better angle, the thick cords of muscle in his biceps flexing as he lifted your body towards his until you were sitting on his lap. The sudden change in position made you whine, the new angle letting him sink even deeper, pressing against the places inside you that stole every inch of air out of your lungs. It was as if you could feel him in your stomach, pulsing and twitching inside, taking up more space like he wanted to invade your entirety. Your arms came up to wrap around his neck, clinging to him as you steadied yourself against the solid wall of his chest. 

He pulled away from the kiss, trailing his lips down the column of your neck in hot, open-mouthed paths, licking and sucking at any skin he came into contact with, leaving marks that bloomed wide. When he reached your breast he enclosed his mouth around one stiff nipple, drawing it deep between his lips with a low groan that vibrated through the soft, tender tissue. You let out a loud moan, arching your back into him, lacing your fingers through his hair and pulling as his tongue flicked rapidly over the hardened bud.

“Jesus Christ, Sentry!” You cried out, the words breaking on a gasp as his hands settled on your hips, guiding you into a steady rhythm so you could ride him comfortably. His tongue continued its relentless assault on your nipple, sucking and teasing until your thighs trembled around his waist, sending waves of fresh frost up his torso.

The new position let you control the pace, and he allowed it, his large hands splaying wide across the curve of your back as you rolled your hips in deep, grinding circles. Each motion dragged the thick length of his cock through you, the heavy motion stretching you open again and again while he thrusted up to meet you, his pelvis rubbing against your swollen clit with every roll. The added pressure layered the sensations perfectly, your arousal coating him even more, dripping down to soak the skin of his thighs where the pressed against you.

Your moans grew louder, filling the lounge as his hand skimmed up the length of your spine to cradle the nape of your neck, while the other gripped the soft flesh of your ass, helping you lift off him so he could guide you back down onto him with every roll. The wet, rhythmic slap of skin meeting skin echoed louder now, obscene and perfect, each impact sending fresh waves of heat between your joined bodies.

He pulled off your nipple with a pop, breathing heavily against your skin as he moved his mouth to the other breast, enclosing the stiff peak between his lips with the same intensity. His tongue flicked and swirled, sucking hard enough to pull more of your breast into him, a loud moan tearing fro your throat as you laced your fingers tighter through his hair and tugged.

He loved the way you gripped him, the way your walls fluttered and clenched around his cock like you never wanted to let him go, like you wanted to stay like this forever, hearing the broken compliments and needy sounds spilling from your lips in a jumbled mess that only made him thrust up harder.

You rode him like you couldn’t do anything else, nails digging into his scalp as the coil in your belly tightened, every deep grind of his cock and every relentless flick of his tongue pushing you right to the edge. The lamp beside the couch began to flicker again, pulsing once before flaring brighter, as the thawed ice pack fell to the ground with a soft plop. You didn’t lose focus for a second though; the erratic glow only confirming how good he was feeling too, how close he was, how desperately he needed you.

His fingers dug harder into the flesh of your ass, a low moan vibrating through your breast as he felt you fluttering wildly around him.

“Sentry! Sentry I’m gonna cum again.” You whined, and he hummed against you, not wanting to let go of your breast. 

“Give it to me, Y/N…I got you.” He said with his mouth full of you, and that was all the encouragement you needed as you shattered around his cock with a broken cry, your walls pulsing and fluttering in rhythmic waves that milked his thick length, soaking him even more in your slick. Frost exploded across his chest and arms, invading his mouth, making his teeth nibble down on your nipple from the chattering which pulled a surprised gasp from your throat. He grunted, his hips stuttering up into you a few more times before they locked up, burying himself to the hilt as he spilled inside you. 

His cum felt scorching hot, almost like it was burning your insides in the most exquisite way, as thick ropes flooded your core, feeling pulse after heavy pulse coating your walls until it overflowed, spilling out around his cock and mixing with your own release on his thighs. The sensation of him filling you so completely, so deeply, sent another wave of relief crashing through your body. 

The both of you trembled, gasping for air, bodies locking together in the aftershocks that raced through your muscles, and slowly the brightness of the lamp eased, just like the frost that had momentarily overtaken his skin. He let out a breathless moan, releasing your nipple before looking up at you, his golden eyes soft and hazed with pure satisfaction.

“You’re a godsend,” He whispered, leaning up to press a small, tender kiss to your lips before carefully lowering you both back down onto the couch, making sure he was still buried inside you as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck. The heat of him was now perfectly balancing your cooled skin, and every point of contact hummed with shared relief and warmth.

“Feels like we found a cheat code to the whole temperature crisis thing.” You joked, catching your breath, earning a little laugh from him.

“We might have to keep testing it just to make sure…” You nodded.

“I definitely wouldn’t mind that.” You commented, as he pressed a kiss to your neck, biting down where your pulse fluttered against his tongue. You trailed your fingers over his back, tracing the deep valley of his spine, basking in the comfortable silence of the afterglow, until he cleared his throat.

“I know this may not be the right time to ask given that I just came inside you…But…What do you think would happen if we ended up…” He trailed off, looking up at you in hopes that you knew where he was going with the question, seeing the lustful haze that clouded your eyes.

“Having a child together?” You said, finishing it for him, and he nodded slowly, keeping his gaze on yours, seeing the way you were considering the answer in your mind, like you never truly thought about the topic because it wasn’t something that had ever come up in your entire life.

Sure, you had been to a lot of scientists and doctors who practically tore you apart piece by piece just to test your genetic makeup, but even then they never asked about if you ever wanted to have children, which meant you never explored what could happen in that process. Now that the question was posed though, you had to take a moment to reflect on it, because it wasn’t just about your own mutation being passed down in this circumstance, it was also about his.

You bit the inside of your cheek, your eyes roaming his, seeing that the bright lustre that had overtaken them had eased, allowing his irises to return to a dimmed sun-kissed hue.

“It would be an easy answer if you didn’t have the serum, but factoring in that you do and that we are practically on the complete opposite ends of the temperature scale, I really don’t know what would happen…We might end up making a super mutation or something.” You joked, feeling his hand run up your torso.

“Sounds dangerous…” He murmured, and you nodded at him.

“It probably is…They’d probably end up taking them away if we had one.” He didn’t really know who you were referring to, but he could hear the fear that suddenly encompassed your voice, and his arm tightened around you, pulling you impossibly closer to him, wanting to comfort you immediately. 

“I wouldn’t allow that to happen, you know that.” You gave him a small smile, bringing your hand up to cradle his cheek.

“Of course I do, you’re already extremely protective of me during missions, I couldn’t imagine how you’d be with a baby.” His lips turned up into a smile, tilting his head to press a kiss to your palm.

“Do you like the protectiveness though?” He questioned, and you shrugged.

“I don’t mind it…Makes me feel like I’m special to you.” He pressed another kiss to your hand.

“You are…And I won’t let you forget that.” 

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

Masterlist:

Reader's Moodboard

Chapter 1: I Could Be The Eye Of The Storm

Chapter 2: I Am Not My Body, Not My Mind, Or My Brain

Chapter 3: Not My Thoughts And Feelings, I Am Not My DNA

Chapter 4: Don’t You Find It Strange? The Only Thing We Share Is One Last Name

Chapter 5: Get Along With The Voices Inside Of My Head

Chapter 6: I Stray Not From The Path, I Hold Death’s Hand In Mine

Chapter 7: Silver Spoons And Butter Knives, Living Hand To Mouth I’m Getting By

Chapter 8: Sometimes, I wish Someone Out There Will Find Me

Chapter 9:  As Long As I’m Held, I Don’t Care If It’s By Teeth

Chapter 10: Do You Wanna Hear About The Deal That I'm Making?

Chapter 11: Say What You Want, But Say It Like You Mean It With Your Fists For Once

Chapter 12: Don’t Wanna Drive Another Mile Without Knowin’ You’re Breathin’

Chapter 13 (Part 1): All Of My Past, I Tried To Erase It, But Now I See, Would I Even Change It? (Part 1)

Chapter 13 (Part 2): Might Share A Face And Share A Last Name, But We Are Not The Same (Part 2)

Chapter 14: In The River, Your Reflection, Is A Promise You Couldn’t Keep

Chapter 15: Don't Tell Anyone Or You'll Be Just Another Regret

Chapter 16: I’d Like To Start Planning My Funeral, I’ve Got Work To Do

Chapter 17: So What Are You Gonna Do When The World Don't Orbit Around You

Chapter 18: And I Don’t Want the World to See Me, ’Cause I Don’t Think That They’d Understand

Chapter 19: If I Was Not This Woman, If I Wasn't Unwritten, If You Were Still Unshattered, If I Could Break This Pattern

Chapter 20: You've Been Walking, You've Been Hiding, And You Look Half Dead Half The Time

Chapter 21: Now You're All Gone, Got Your Make-up On And You're Not Coming Back

Chapter 22: Do I Need To Lie To Make My Way In Life?

Chapter 23: ‘Cause I’m Just A Girl, I Rather Not Be

Chapter 24: You Make It Look So Easy, Leaving Everything Behind

Chapter 25: To Exist In The Face Of Suffering and Death and Somehow Still Keep Singing

Chapter 26: (TBA)

One shot/Anniversary Special:

Everybody Wants To Rule The World

Playlists:

Fic's Playlist

Maximoff's Playlist

Wayne's Playlist

Bobby's Playlist

Warren's Playlist

Conner's Playlist

Character Ages:

Batfam / Secondary Characters

AO3 Link:

Asks: (Open)

Rules about asks:

I will answer as soon as I can, pls be patient 💖

Don't send mean stuff, it will be deleted

I will not accept any form of Fan Casting for the main reader (meaning Wayne and Maximoff). It's supposed to be a hispanic reader with curly/wavy hair and open to anyone's imagination. Let's respect that, please 💖 (the ask will also be deleted and user blocked)

Fanart is welcome

Memes are welcome

Anons are welcome

No spamming in the asks

Overall, just be kind and respectful, thank you 💖

Sneak Peak Memes (tag: fic spoiler)

If you wish to be part of the tag list for the sneak peeks, here's the link!

Tag List: (Open)

Close. Close to catching the killer. Close to getting on that jet and returning home. Close to putting this case behind you. Close to having the families get some type of closure. 

And close to losing your shit. 

You hated many things; your mother would often say you were the cynic of her three kids. But one of the things you really hated was fucking Nebraska. Known for Warren Buffett (an old white billionaire), Arbor Day, and carhenge; Nebraska wasn’t high on your favorite states list. It was definitely a state you could cross off on your map and be glad to never return to. 

The case was beyond yourself, another stupid white male, between 25-35, probably blends into the crowd, has a car big enough to hold a body— which is every fucking car, mind you because they’re meant to hold bodies— and who got his motivation because of his crush rejecting him. It, of course, was the man who worked random odd jobs and lived between homes. It was nothing absolutely anyone could’ve guessed, as if the past ten cases didn’t have the same exact profile. 

Emily and Spencer went to check his mother's house, Hotch and Rossi went to check at his grandmother's house while you and Derek went to his aunt’s house. JJ was back at the precinct, double-checking the facts and ready to dispatch units to whoever’s location with Penelope. 

Derek drums his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the music. The drive had gotten impossibly quiet after everyone had stopped talking and planning. Your earpieces were still on but there wasn’t much to say while everyone was still driving to their locations. 

It’s not awkward by any means; you’ve known Derek since you joined the BAU, so around eight years now. But it’s just hard to find conversation as you’re double-checking your gun and handcuffs, then doing the same for his gear. His vest was a little loose so he doesn’t mind when at a red light, you quickly adjust the straps and then pat his chest. Although he takes a second to remember the fact that you’ve done the same thing every single time someone on the team wears a vest. Since your first case, really. It’s become second nature to let you adjust the team's vests. 

At the aunt's house, it’s decided that Derek goes first. He’s the more approachable one of the two of you. He knocks on the door to the apartment while you stand behind him, looking up and down the hallway. The air feels stale, not many people walk around and judging by the floor being damn near spotless, you assume the building is new or for rich people who never actually step foot inside. 

The door opens just a crack and you see the blue eye of the aunt. She looks between the two of you, her eyes settling on your vests before she huffs and closes the door. The chain drops from the door and she opens it up. 

When she does, you both turn your heads and you wipe your nose. 

“Oh,” She says as she slowly closes the door again. “You aren’t here for the… ah… erm…” She laughs. “Party?” 

“No, ma’am,” You say and look back at her. She apologizes and grabs a robe from behind the door and tosses it on. “We’re with the Behavioral Analysis Unit—FBI, looking for your nephew? Westly Vel, is he here?” She makes a face, thinking before shaking her head. 

“No,” She finally answers. She looks at Derek and smiles, as if she’s only addressing him now. “I haven’t seen West in a month or two, why?” He’s there, or at the very least, she knows where he is. Penelope has doorbell footage of West at her apartment the week prior. 

“Just wanna ask him some questions, ma’am.” Derek lies and you nod. “Do you mind if we take a look around?” 

“Let me ask everyone to get decent,” She disappears into the apartment and you squint at the door. Derek makes some comment about swingers because of the upside-down pineapple mat. Something he learned about on a cruise. You just snort and wait for the door to open. 

“Stay here,” You tell him as you step inside the apartment. He nods, waiting in front of the door while the aunt walks after you. As you venture into the apartment you see people, they’re sitting and talking. Fully clothed. Nothing is messed up, there’s no fluids on the floor. 

The apartment smells… sterile almost. It’s this medical sort of smell. Definitely no smells akin to a sex party. 

There’s someone standing in front of a floor-to-ceiling window, the sun cast straight down on them but as you look away you can’t help but notice there’s no shadow attached to them. And it does nothing but confirm your suspicions. 

There aren’t many doors to the apartment, but there’s one that’s closed and you head towards it. 

“That’s just a closet,” The aunt says, her voice catching up to her as she walks behind you. You raise an eyebrow, feeling something more than a closet behind the door. “Can I see some—“ Throwing the door open, you see what you had honestly expected. 

The aunt, the actual aunt, is lying on her bed. Her throat is cut and judging by the color of the wound and the blood-soaked sheets, she’s been dead for a day. 

“C'mon man,” Westly says as his skin twists and shifts until you see the man you’ve been looking for. “You really shouldn’t have looked inside.” As he talks, you notice the sounds of the ‘party’ completely disappear. He digs into his pocket and pulls out a gun, pointing it at you. He flicks his hand, motioning for you to raise yours and you do. 

“What gave it away?” He asks, backing you into the room and then closes the door with his foot. 

“No shadows,” You shrug. “And it didn’t smell like a group of people who just fucked. Guessing you wouldn’t know that smell since…” Making a motion to his crotch, he grits his teeth and flexes his fingers. 

“I fuck,” He swears and you just give a noncommittal nod. “I do!” He shouts and stomps his foot. Hmm. Childishness definitely wasn’t in the profile. As he stomps his foot a second time, again swearing that he gets laid, the door slams open and he’s knocked forward. Accidentally pressing the trigger, you duck and quickly pin him while he’s already on the floor. 

“You definitely don’t,” You laugh, pinning his arms behind him with one hand while grabbing your cuffs with the other. 

“We got him,” Derek tells the others as you’re cuffing him. “He killed his aunt…” He pauses as he looks at you, bringing the man to his feet. He’s shifting between forms, trying to find one that makes your grip loosen. “…and tell the PD they’re going to need the power collar.” 

“Mutant?” Emily asks and Derek confirms. 

—

A celebration is in order following the case. It’s the team's first mutant case in three years and this time no one got away from it with any injuries. The last time Derek walked away with a scar on his back but he says it helps him with the ladies so he doesn’t mind it anymore. 

The actual celebration happens the day after you land back in DC. And of course, you’re going straight to the bar. Penelope asks for all the details, minus the blood and death. So not many details, just the action and Derek is more than willing to tell her as you’re ordering a second glass of vodka party punch. It’s heaven in a drink; vodka, Hawaiian punch, ginger ale, pineapple juice, and orange juice. With an orange slice. 

Squeezing the juice into the cup, you put the slice into your mouth and listen to them talk, enjoying the slice as Spencer slides you his own lemon slice. He’s in the middle of his own conversation but he doesn’t miss a beat as he passes it over. 

He doesn’t drink all that much; there’s mostly soda in his drink with maybe a hint of alcohol. If you ask him, he’d probably say something about not liking being inebriated, which is valid and definitely one of the reasons. But you think he’s read about the side effects, he’s afraid that too much alcohol will raise his chances of… well, becoming his mother. 

So it’s incredibly rare for him to drink, aside from a shot every other bar trip, you’ve never seen him drink. Except that one time he said fuck it and did a line of shots with the team. He did end up throwing up after ten minutes, but he did it. 

Putting the orange slice on the napkin, you take a slow sip of your drink before picking up the lemon. It’s not overly juicy, you think the salt on the rim of his glass had taken most of it away but it’s still sour. 

“You look like a child,” Emily notes as she stares at you, the lemon wedge between your lips and you’re messing with the mini umbrella that came with your drink. You frown and it’s big and exaggerated due to the lemon slice. “How did you make it into the FBI again?” She jokes. Rolling your eyes, you lean back in the booth and look around the bar. 

It’s a Saturday, so there’s a ton of people inside. You can see countless people bordering on blackout drunk, another person who’s definitely already thrown up, and a bachelorette party. The bride-to-be is wearing a large plastic crown and a white sash while the others wear black sashes. With matching outfits, you see the maid of honor walk up to the soon-to-be bride. She’s wearing a bronze sash and you make eye contact for a second. 

She laughs and you remember the lemon slice and smile. It only makes her laugh harder and you chuckle, leaning forward to spit it out. 

She’s cute, sure, but you’re not one for flings. Plus, you doubt you’ll meet anyone worthwhile at a bar, nothing against them. It’s just that you only ever go there for work. They’re at the bar for fun.

“Go and say hi,” Derek encourages as you’re wiping spit from the corner of your mouth. You hum and then shake your head. He makes a noise and pushes your shoulder. “You caught a mutant yesterday, I think you deserve to get laid.” He adds and your face scrunches.

“Whaddya mean?” You ask to which Derek gives a noncommittal shrug and rolls his hand. 

“It could’ve gone real bad.” He explains. “I heard of a squad going up against a woman who controls blood. None of them survived.” He sighs and leans over to knock his knuckle against your forehead. “Luckily that dude only had shape-shifting powers.” Nodding, you rub the spot and look back to the other patrons of the bar. 

The bridal party is gone, bar hopping no doubt. In the spot they once stood at, you see some college students. Looking away, you reach for your drink and take slow sips as the conversations around you merge into talks about mutants. 

They all talk, giving their opinions. You try not to care, to act as if you’ve thought about mutants from a normie perspective but you can’t. God, you wish you could. But you can’t and all you can do is down the rest of your drink before the need to speak overcomes your need to not tell government workers you’re a mutant. 

Sometimes you wish there were different work events. Like renting out a hall or going out to eat. That way you won’t go home with a headache from the music or an empty stomach because you’d forgotten to get food and smacked on the free peanuts at the table.

With no one sober, everyone stands a distance away from the bar waiting for their respective Uber. Everyone is a good couple of feet away from one another, something you’ve learned over the years. Drivers tend to think you’re all trying to ride together and cancel it. But you and Penelope always split one, considering you’re neighbors it saves money and time. 

“This is us,” Pen tells you as a silver car rolls up to your location. Nearly everyone else is gone. Rossi had actually called up a taxi company, which you had forgotten were still around. It was a little weird. 

“You sure you don’t wanna come?” You ask Spencer as he’s the last one there. His plan is waiting for an actual taxi, considering he doesn’t have any ride app on his phone and got the number from Rossi.

He shakes his head but you sigh and tug him along. He lets you, stumbling over his feet before you have him slide in after Penelope. Awkwardly sitting with his knees high up, you follow after him and make sure everyone else is comfortable. You don’t mind sitting up front if need be. 

Glancing at Spencer, you find him twiddling with his thumbs and eyes forward on the road. You wonder what he’s thinking, maybe if you’d been a telepath, you would’ve figured out ages ago just which thoughts race through his mind the most. But no, you can just tell that your driver really needs to pee but the apartment building is still another ten-minute drive. 

He glances at you as you look away. His mind flashing the way you smile with the lemon slice, how Derek describes the take down with the mutant. God, he wishes Derek hadn’t gone into so much detail because Spencer has never wanted to be an UnSub more in his life. 

His eyes flutter back to the road as he tries to get the pictures out of his mind. Facts, he thinks of every single fact he can. Anything to distract him. His mind wanders to cases but he finds you in all of them. It wanders to Doctor Who but he finds you in those, too. And he doesn’t even know how or why. You’ve never spoken about the show! 

“Hunky,” Penelope calls, leaning forward to look past Spencer and at you. You hum, looking at her with a smile. “Do you think you could check on my sink? It’s been making this noise and you know I hate to ask Josh—“

“Course,” You nod. “Give me an hour to wash off bar germs and I’m all yours.” She smiles and looks at Spencer. He’s trying not to get in either of your views, pressing himself impossibly close to the faux leather seats. 

“Who’s Josh?” He asks and she groans, pushing herself back into the seat. 

“He’s one of the maintenance workers. He lives in the building so he’s always on call. But he sorta hates Pennie,” You explain with a huff. Spencer almost laughs, he can’t imagine someone not liking her. She’s like the most lovable person alive! He asks why and you snort while she reaches over to slap your leg. “He found out she’s a hacker and said that’s not a real job, so she ‘accidentally’ flashed her badge.” 

“Ah,” He nods. He knows well enough how fragile men’s egos are and a part of him worries that she isn’t safe. Shit, Pen couldn’t go through another crime happening in her apartment. She only moved into your apartment building following her getting shot and he’d hate for it to happen again. 

“He’s harmless, though,” You reassure him. “He’s more of the passive-aggressive type. He’ll talk shit about her decor or won’t answer calls until a week later.” But how many times had you heard that same exact phrase? How many times did no one expect the killer to be the killer? “And I know him. He’s sorta afraid of blood.” Ah. Okay, that’s better. 

“He fainted once,” Penelope laughs at the memory. 

“He faints every time,” You correct with a snort. 

Soon enough the three of you are piling out of the car and you’re in the middle of unlocking the front door when you turn to Spencer. 

“You want to spend the night? Or I could get you an Uber… if you want.” Checking the time, he purses his lips and thinks about it. 

“You don’t mind?” He asks and you shake your head. 

“I have some clothes that would fit you and a guest bedroom.”

“After my sink gets fixed.”

—

Awkwardly standing in your doorway, Spencer watches as you toss your shoes into a rack. There are about seven pairs, various shoes he’s seen you wear to work before along with a pair of house slippers that you immediately put on. He looks at the walls where there are framed pictures of the team together. Nothing predating you joining the team, he quickly notes. 

“Come in,” You beckon him. He listens as you venture further into the apartment, now standing in your living room. For some reason, whenever he imagined your home, Spencer pictured something more… masculine? He pictured weights and exercise equipment lying around. Protein powder jugs on the kitchen island. Some sort of apartment from those fitness men online. 

But no, it’s a normal apartment. You decorate it pretty frugally. A sofa and two chairs, a coffee table, tv, and lamp. No rug, though. Each piece is different: the leather chair, the velvet chair, and the cotton sofa. A second-hand coffee table, he figures, has several different items scattered about. It almost makes him nauseous with how much stuff is on there. 

“I put some clothes in the guest bed. Feel free to pick whatever or go into my closet,” You tell him as you lean against a wall. There’s a towel over your shoulder and your shirt is a little unbuttoned. Not to mention the pants are already undone and he sees your boxers peeking out. “There’s a bathroom across from the guest bedroom. Feel free, again.” You tell him and start to walk away before you turn around. 

“And a closet with towels and rags, it’s to the right of the bedroom.” 

“Thanks,” He nods, unable to say anything more than that until you’re away. 

Mentally, Spencer strangles himself on the way to the guest bedroom. With an IQ as high as his, he should be able to form proper sentences. A proper thank you at least. But no, he gets thrown off by a little bit of skin like a teenager. 

As he’s sorting through the clothes you’d given him, he hears you walk down the apartment again. 

“There’s also a washer and dryer. It’s in the room that has a frosted glass door.” You explain, vaguely pointing down the hallway. 

Rich. He wants to say, to tease but he just nods and thanks you again. But he can’t imagine having a washer and dryer inside of his one-bedroom apartment. Hell, he doesn’t even have an elevator! Old buildings are good, though. They’re more structurally sound and last longer than the more modern apartments. 

Not that he minds your apartment. He likes it… he’d live there if he could. 

Twenty minutes comes and passes and Spencer is fresh out of the shower, moving his clothes into the dryer while you’re still in the shower. He doesn’t know what to do while he waits. 

It would feel a little invasive to explore but he doesn’t want to just sit on the guest bed until you’re done. 

He ends up venturing into the living room again, this time he settles onto the couch. As he sits there in a pair of blue sweatpants and one of your old band t-shirts, he finds a small library on a wall. There’s ten or so books and it all but draws him closer. Luring him in like a siren's song he picks up the first book he can and goes to sit down. 

Another five minutes pass before he hears the shower stop. It had become background noise in the otherwise silent apartment that it nearly scared him when it turned off. He tries not to listen as the glass door slides open and instead he rereads the book, the voice in his head filling the space the shower had left. 

“Heading to Pen’s, wanna join?” You ask, fixing your shirt over your sweats. Spencer looks up from the book and you see him physically pause at the shirt. It’s a yellow star under the words My Tummy Hurts in various bright colors. Then he sees the pants and has to look away for a moment, minion sweatpants. “Not too much on my outfit.” You warn. 

“Didn’t say anything,” He says as he sets the book on the spot next to him. You just wave him after you and head across the hall in your house slippers. He follows, hurriedly putting his converse back on as you knock on the door. 

“Just in time,” Penelope whines as she pulls the two of you inside of her apartment. She’s watching music videos, her way of winding down for the night. Spencer feels more at ease in her apartment; he’s been in her old one a handful of times. 

They chat as you grab the tools from under Penelope’s kitchen sink. She laughs at your pajamas, telling him about the others you have. The Hello Kitty fluffy pants, the Scrooge gown, the Cookie Monster sweats, and, most infamous your Sugar Daddy crop top. 

“I’m a little surprised he had those,” She admits, referencing the outfit you’d given Spencer while the three of you head to her bathroom.  

“I have normal night clothes,” You defend. They share a look and then stare at you. Clearly, your track record shows a different story. Rolling your eyes, you get to work under the sink. 

Spencer watches as you unscrew various parts of the pipe and grab a long, metal pipe cleaner and swirl it. All the while you and Penelope talk, she offhandedly mentions a girl visiting your place the day before the team left for the case and you brush it off. He thinks that’s a tell, that maybe you like the girl. Maybe you’re already dating and by the way she describes the mystery girl, he’s sure you are. 

Nearly sighing, he watches as you remove the cleaner and flick the hair clumps into a plastic bag and push it back into the pipe. He almost gags and has to look away from the damp drain hair. You’re sure it’s clear by that point and re-screw everything into place. And with a quick water test, her sink is fixed. 

The whole thing lasted less than five minutes and he now knows who to call if he needs household repairs. Unintentionally, his mind wanders, imagining you at his door with a white tank, a tool belt, baggy jeans and heavy boots. He’s probably ill-dressed, just his pants, because his landlord likes turning the heat up—

He stops himself, focusing back on the conversation as you’re checking Penelope’s windows and locks. He assumes it’s some sort of tradition, since it’s like clockwork for the two of you. 

Once every nook and cranny is checked, you head out and back into your apartment, where you immediately check your own windows. He doesn’t miss the three locks on the front door, although only two are locked. On purpose, he notes. He’s unsure of what to do with himself, if he should help or stay out of the way. If he should even speak at all, he honestly hasn’t spoken much the entire night. 

“I’m going to bed,” You tell him in a soft tone, dimming the hallway lights. Damn, you have a washer and dryer and a light dimmer. “You can stay up, eat, drink, whatever. Just clean up, yeah?” You smile at him and then offhandedly look towards the kitchen. “Cups and plates are in the cabinet labeled cups and plates.” You add with a small laugh. 

“Thank you,” He says and you nod before walking away. He doesn’t miss the fact that as you’re closing your bedroom door, you’re already discarding your shirt. 

Mystery girl sure is lucky. 

—

You loved your job, you truly and wholeheartedly did. But you didn’t like it. You didn’t like the fear that, as you’re sitting at your desk, someone is getting murdered. The fear that you’re never going to be fast enough, there’s always going to be serial killers and kidnappers and rapists. And you won’t always catch them. 

But you loved your job, you loved the closure, you loved the sense of family the team had. You loved that no matter how late you were, there would always be one less killer on the streets thanks to you. 

And yet, sometimes you find yourself drifting to the paperwork to quit. You can’t help but wonder if this job, doing this is what you want to do. If it’s where your skills are being used to their best. There are several things that keep you at your desk, keep you on the BAU’s payroll and on that jet. 

One of them is Spencer. 

You like him more than you’d admit; he’s your closest friend aside from Derek. You joined with Derek, the two of you were basically brothers by the time Spencer joined and found a quick friendship with him. Both are special in their own way. 

Emily liked to joke that the two of you were Spencer's bodyguards, and you’d never be too far from the doctor. 

Maybe that’s why you stayed. Maybe it wasn’t for him specifically, maybe it was that you couldn’t leave him behind. His head was too big to worry about getting hurt, but yours had more than enough space to worry about you and him. 

Maybe not, maybe so. You didn’t care; all that mattered was getting your work done faster so you could relax. You do end up finishing your files in record time and spend a second thinking of something to do. There’s not much, aside from making something to drink.

“Spence,” You call and he looks up from his book. “Why can’t we stop inflation if it’s made up?” He grins, setting the book down and you know you had his full attention.

That’s his favorite type of question. 

Spencer, as he’s most known for, houses a ton of information in his head. He loves information, in some ways he’s a glutton for information. He digests information at the same rate that he breathes and he loves it. But something that he loves more is sharing that information, he spills and spills the words laying dormant in his head. They beg to be heard, flying out of his mouth faster than he can process that the person has checked out. 

But not with you. 

They never fly, he never loses that focus a person first has when they ask him a question. 

You’ve always engaged with him, you nod and you ask questions. What he loves the most is when you remember what he said. He loves that feeling more than anything he’s felt before. That feeling of teaching— someone has learned something because of him, sometimes he wishes he’d become a teacher just to experience that. Give his never-ending wisdom to the youth or even college students. 

Spencer loves your questions almost as much as you love hearing him talk. He learns a bunch of random facts, knowing sometimes your questions aren’t about anything in particular. Sometimes they’re about history or a college sort of science but he likes the random questions. It makes him feel less like a robot. 

He explains, watching as you let out a great big exaggerated huff before returning back to him. It's confusing, but he explains it as many times as you need. With no secret frustration. 

He smiles, the corners of his lips reaching his nose when you finally get it; explaining it back to him just to ensure you’ve understood him correctly. 

“Still stupid,” You mutter and he nods. 

Spencer watches you with barely hidden heart eyes, he commits you to memory every time he sees you. His… crush of sorts has only gotten worse since the impromptu sleepover the week prior. Never had he woken up to breakfast being made, freshly squeezed orange juice, and soft music coming from a hidden record player he’d yet to find. 

Penelope didn’t join, which you said was normal. She tended to take longer to get ready so you prepared a separate bowl for her, for while she’s on the road. So for the entirety of his morning, it was just the two of you. Hanging around… talking, eating… it was nice. Too nice. The poor kid didn’t know how to act, choosing the yes and approach to nearly all the conversations. 

You’d even gotten him a toothbrush! 

Derek snickers from behind him and he huffs, rolling his chair so he was facing Derek and not you. Derek just makes a kissing motion with his hands before messing with Spencer’s hair and walking away. 

He shakes his head and quietly fixes his hair as you and Derek walk to the exit of the bullpen to grab lunch for the team. He would’ve joined but he’s needed by another team, requested to have the infamous Spencer Reid look over their case files. 

Inside Derek's car, the two of you listen to the radio, mindlessly rocking your head to the beats until he lowers the music at a red light. 

“So,” He starts, looking at you with a wide grin. “You and Pretty boy.” You roll your eyes and look forward. There’s a black SUV in front of you, the back window has those family stickers and there’s about seven kids and a pregnant woman sticker. “Don’t give me that look,” He laughs, pushing your shoulder. You just look at him, unamused. 

“So, you’re telling me that nothing happened between the two of you?” He asks, now looking forward. Chuckling as you see his eyes widen at the number of children. 

“Nope,” You shrug. “It’s almost as if I can take someone home and not sleep with them.” Rolling his eyes, he inches the car forward when the light switches. 

“I’m just saying, you two have a lot of chemistry.” He shrugs back. Pursuing your lips, you sigh. “What? You don’t like Spencer?” Glancing at you, Derek’s eyebrows furrow. 

“It’s not that,” Shaking your head, you change the station as Taylor Swift plays. “It’s just… I dunno. I don’t really think about dating,” Dating normies, at least. 

“You’ve never dated?” He asks, his voice thick with what you can only assume is disbelief. 

“I have. Just— I mean, Spencer is great. He’s funny, smart, he has goals, he has hobbies, definitely not a serial killer, and he’s shown he can be committed.”

“But?” Derek urges. 

The silence following his question is thick. 

You sit in your seat, thinking about the negatives that would come from dating Spencer. If you even liked him romantically. You think about it and dating Spencer seems nice in your head. Waking up next to him, date nights with him. But it wouldn’t be a dream and there would be actual issues with dating him. There's paperwork, no doubt. If either one of you progressed to unit chief then you’d be transferred to another team or branch entirely. If you can even keep your job. If things lasted, then you’d have to tell him you’re a mutant. He’d meet your family, know the truth. 

It’s not worth it. You decide. You can’t trust someone to that degree, not even if you’re dating them. 

“It’s complicated.” You finally tell him. “I think… I do like him. But,” Shaking your head, you almost groan as there’s another red light. “I know I couldn’t date him.” 

“It’s not because of some hidden homophobia, right?” Derek laughs and you laugh back, shaking your head. 

“Please, I’ve sucked too much dick and fucked too many men to be ashamed of being bi.” He holds his hands up, playfully surrendering before he looks at you. 

“What’s the worst that could happen? Honestly,”

“One of us dies and the other has to deal with the grief.” He kills you for being a mutant or gets killed trying to protect you. The first one just seems highly unlikely. 

“Oh,” Licking his teeth, you nod. “Well, what’s the best that could happen?” 

“Nothing bad happens and we get married and adopt two kids. Maybe a cat. Definitely a cat.” He accepts you for being a mutant and doesn’t kill you. 

“And what most likely will happen?” He asks and you think about it. 

“We date, test the waters and see what happens from there, probably come to the mutual understanding that while we do have feelings for each other our careers come first and end things.” 

“God, you’re sad.” Morgan sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“I’m realistic about the negative sides of life.”

—

For the first time ever, it’s your turn to host the team's movie night. Truthfully, you don’t know how you’ve managed to evade it for three years, but it’s caught up to you. You think because Spencer had mentioned your apartment to Derek and Emil,y causing them to think if they’ve ever been. Which led to you opening your door to the team. 

You’d gone all out, truthfully, you’d been nervous and made snacks to calm yourself down. It didn’t fill all of your time so you even steam cleaned your couches— it wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be. Just a little murky. 

Normall,y you’re not such a worrier but this was a momentous occasion. It was a tradition you had avidly avoided for nearly four years without getting caught and now, oh lord, now they were aware of it. 

“Hey, guys,” You greeted them after Penelope had knocked on your door for a minute straight. To think you would’ve gotten there in the same amount of time if she’d knocked once. 

“This was on your door?” Emily hands you a paper and you take it while letting them inside. It’s a note, written in a language you’re all too familiar with. 

Krakoan. 

You don’t read it yet, if it was an emergency, you would know. Rather, you lock the door and put the note on your bed for later. 

“You have a nice place,” Derek comments when you return. 

“Thank you,” You smile. “What movie are we watching? I have like all the movie apps,”

Everyone settles on a movie: The X trilogy. While searching for it, you and Spencer get up to serve everyone. It’s really just moving everything from the kitchen into the living room, everyone self serves during movie nights. 

“I didn’t know you baked,” He admits, eyeing the cookies he knew for a fact weren’t store-bought.

“I stopped some time ago,” You sigh, staring at the cookies, a recipe your younger sister had created. “But I might start back up, I missed making them.”

“They smell amazing,” It’s true, he swears he’s not just saying that. The cinnamon and white chocolate smell from the cookies makes his stomach rumble a bit. They look even better, large cookies with crispy edges. 

“Thank you,” Guiding him back to the others, you move to turn down the lights and double-check that everything is going according to plan. 

The girls all share a couch and a blanket, knees knocking together and sharing shoulders. Hotch and Rossi had taken the chairs on either side so that left you, Derek, and Spencer on the floor. Not that any of you minded, the girls definitely didn’t mind messing with you and Spencer’s hair every so often. 

Derek made it a point to have Spencer next to you, even claiming that he didn’t want the blanket so the two of you were forced to share it. Spencer wasn’t as uncomfortable as he thought he’d be, especially sitting on the floor that he didn’t clean himself or see get cleaned, but your floor had this smell to it. An almost jasmine scent that didn’t linger for long, so you obviously cleaned.

Plus he saw the couch cleaner when he was helping you bring the food. 

His hand brushes yours under the cover, an honest accident because the glass of soda had made his hands ridiculously cold. He flinched away but you didn’t even acknowledge it, so he tested the waters and put his hand back. With his heart racing, his hand finds yours and you turned your palm up, holding his hand. 

You can feel his blood rushing, feel the air in his lungs rush out and rush in before they slowly calm down. You don’t think the movie is scary, shocking for sure. But Pearl definitely isn’t scary. Side glancing at Spencer, you find he’s biting his thumbnail before he drops it and messes with the fabric of the blanket. 

Weird. 

Spencer can’t even focus on the movie anymore; your hand is so warm against his. Your thumb is gently caressing against his hand and he can smell your hair. He gulps, blinking to try and focus on the movie. She’s chasing the neighbor girl; why? 

A knock on the door startles him and Penelope. It’s two sharp knocks and you excuse yourself, the warmth from your hand makes Spencer frown, his hand now feeling incredibly empty. 

Checking the peephole, you glance back at the others before exiting the apartment with the lock out so it wouldn’t lock on you. 

“Did someone leave a note on your door?” Josh asks while messing with his nails. They’re dirty, he’s undoubtedly been digging in the dirt again. 

“Yeah, why?” Moving him away from the door, he messes with his hair. The long blonde strands fall in front of his face before he sweeps them away. You can see bits of dried blood on his roots and squint. “You’re hurt.”

“Yeah,” He stutters out a nod. “I think there's a mutant hunter in the building,” He says and looks around, you know there’s no one else in the hallway so you don’t look with him. “I-I had a note on my door. In Krakoan, was yours also…?”

“It was. I haven’t read it yet, I have friends over,” He nods and continues to pick at his nails. 

“I just wanted to let you know, cause I’m heading to the school in ten minutes. Yeah, so, stay safe. Hank already knows and he’s sending a temp super for the building.”

“Okay, do you want help with anything?”

“Mm-mm, I got everything packed and ready to go. I’m just really shaken, y’know. After the sentinels ‘n’ shit we dealt with.”

“Yeah, no, I get it, J.” He smiles but looks up and down the hallway again. “Stay safe, remember there’s a couple of safe houses between here and the school.” 

“I have them in my GPS— you sure you’re okay?” 

“I’m fine, haven’t sensed anything wrong.” He nods and then takes a step back. 

“Well, I’ll see you. Maybe in a week, hopefully this place is still standing.” You laugh to calm his nerves and watch as he leaves before going back into the apartment. 

Josh isn’t a paranoid man; maybe he does hate technology but that’s not because of the government or anything. You try being stuck in a computer for a year and see if you wanna use one again. But you’re not worried about mutant-hunters, you would be able to tell if someone was sneaking up on you. Not to mention they were rarely ever quiet or hush-hush about what they did. 

Going back into your apartment, you lock the door and rejoin Spencer. The movie has since ended and everyone is waiting for you to return. 

“Where’s the bathroom?” Derek asks once you’re on your way back. 

“Down the hall to the right, the door is open.” He thanks you and gets up, his feet echoing in the empty hallway. “How’d the movie end?” Settling back down next to Spencer, you grab a cookie. 

“She killed Mitsy, lays down with her mother before posing her parents dead bodies for one last dinner. Howard returns from the war and finds them,” Emily explains.

“Pretty sure we had a case like that,” You muse and Penelope gags. How she agreed to watch a scary movie is beyond you, not to mention she’s queuing up the next movie. 

Derek returns from the bathroom soon after and she plays the movie. Your hand ends up under the blanket again, unable to focus on the movie as you think about Josh. You should’ve used the bathroom break to read the note— or read it once Emily gave you the damn paper.

Spencer’s hand finds yours again in the middle of a sex scene. It’s awkward, watching a sex scene with your boss in the room. Derek makes jokes, of course he does, and Emily makes counter-jokes. 

“I bet (Y/n) made more girls scream than you,” Emily chuckles and you look back at her, mouth agape. 

“Is that some type of insult?” You squint and she covers her mouth. 

“Oh, please, how many women have you been with?” Derek rolls his eyes. 

“Two,” You shrug and he hollers, clapping his hands as if that proves his point. “I’ve been told I’m an amazing lover— besides, you’ve been a hundred women for one night, I was with two women for three years.” There’s some ohhhs from the girls and you laugh. 

“Let’s watch the damn movie,” Derek grumbles. 

When the movie is over, everyone agrees it’s late and starts heading home. Spencer is the last one out, helping you clean up the little things that the others hadn’t. The lights are turned up, not by too much, but enough that you can see what you’re sweeping up. 

He’s wiping down the counters, chewing on his bottom lip. 

“(Y/n)?” He calls and you look over. He blinks and thinks for a moment; he didn’t even mean to call you. “Are there any more cookies?” 

“Yeah, should be.” Setting the broom against the wall, you head over to the kitchen and grab a Tupperware from the fridge. There are five left and you hand him the container. He thanks you and takes one, you grab one too and a napkin to catch anything that falls. He stands across from you, holding a hand under the cookie to catch the crumbs. 

He’s nervous again, for some reason. His heart is racing and he’s sweating. Especially on his hands. 

It’s clearly because you’re staring at him with a twinkle in your eyes; something you’re not aware of. You finish the cookie and toss the napkin into the trash before relaxing against the counter. 

“You wanna spend the night again?” You grin, head tilted to the side. He’s probably worried about going home or something. 

“Sure,” He nods and you smile wider. Clearly, you can read him like an open book.

“I’ll get you some clothes. Come,” 

He follows you into your bedroom, taking it in. There’s a smaller dresser next to the closet, your bed is in the middle of the room, big enough for three people with large blankets and pillows. There are a lot of decorations, too. Trinkets, pictures, books, journals, posters, records— he still hasn’t found the player. You take the time he’s distracted to hide the note inside your dresser. 

“Pick whatever, I don’t mind.” You tell him while finding your own night clothes. He nods and follows after you, picking up the first shirt he finds. A yellow and blue shirt with frayed edges and a pair of red pants with two white stripes going down the outer side. You omit a shirt, grab a pair of baggy shorts and head into your bathroom. 

Spencer gets changed in the other bathroom and waits in the hallway. Was this an invitation into your room? He’s not sure yet again. He really should speak up. 

“Was the movie too scary?” You joke when you exit the bathroom. “We can share a bed, if you’d like,” 

“Sure,” Like an excited puppy, he rushes into the room and you turn the lights off with a yawn. You lay down first, placing yourself closer to the door and then pat the bed. Spencer joins and stares at you for a second before he gets comfortable. 

“G’night, Spence,” 

“Goodnight,”

—

It’s shocking that there’s another case only two weeks after the first one. There are typically three and a half weeks of downtime between cases but everyone is called into the meeting room by Hotch. Penelope rushes in, her kitten heels loudly echoing on the concrete path. 

“Today's case,” Penelope sighs as she taps on her tablet. “The Big Apple, we’ve been called in by um…” She trails off, her eyes darting to Hotch for a little assistance. 

“Professor Charles Xavier.” He finishes and it just feels as if the word is collapsing on you. It feels like the life you’ve built up is coming down without leaving you any time to save it. Never has Charles asked for the FBI to help him; Erik sure as hell wouldn’t let him do that, either. You’ve never taken a mutant case in New York either, he handles those personally. 

“Like the leader of the X-men?” Rossi asks, and god, you’re praying there’s a difference, Charles Xavier in New York. That this professor is like Spencer, a really smart cop in Brooklyn or something. Anything but the rich, bald man you’re imagining sent in this request to JJ. He probably bypassed her altogether, now that you think about. Telepathically spoke to Hotch and convinced him to take the case. 

That's so something he would do. 

“Yes.” Hotch confirms. 

After that you space out, you can’t bring yourself to focus on the details. Not when your head is spinning and it sounds like you’re underwater, struggling to get to the surface as your hearing goes in and out. You stare at nothing but the table, unable to feel a single emotion. Or maybe you’re feeling them all at once, you can’t tell. 

Your lack of mental attendance is noticeable to everyone else since you normally love going to New York for cases. You get to visit family and check out your old neighborhood. It’s odd, they don’t know why this is any different from the others until it clicks. There’s only one real difference between this case and the others. 

Mutants. 

“Wheels up,” Hotch says, eyeing you as you’re the first to stand up and grab your stuff. Spencer looks at Derek, confused but Derek is just as confused as he is. They give each other a nod and go to collect their to-go bags before heading to the airstrip. You’re already there, sunglasses on and you’d thrown a sweater on. Which is even more strange, since you never seemed affected by the weather before. 

Spencer tried to speak to you, but you’re gone. Your head is somewhere so far even with him standing in front of you, you don’t acknowledge him. You head onto the jet last, despite being the first one there. You check your phone, nervously looking at the empty notification bar until you decide to put it face down on the table.

The jet is a little tense during take off, but it’s broken by Garica who’s been asked to join the others. She’s so excited to see the school for gifted youngsters, even more to see Wolverine who she says is her absolute dreamboat. 

Everyone hears you try and silently snicker, sinking yourself into your seat when she says that. 

Derek’s eyebrows knit together. He’s known you for a decade and he’d never thought you were a bigot before. Hell, he’d never seen you angry before. Not when someone spilt red wine on a brand new, very expensive shirt. Not when a family member of a victim had sucker punched you because they weren’t believing what you said. Not when you were being chewed out by Hotch or Strauss. 

No one had ever seen you so much as frown, not seriously anyway. The wrinkles on your forehead were new despite how deep and prominent they looked. 

You sigh, deep and heavy as you look out the window of the jet. There’s nothing some fucking BAU agents can do that a team filled with telepaths can’t. This is just some stupid ass plan by Charles, you know it. 

Grabbing one of the files from the table, you look them over. 

The case isn’t anything new, by any means. Aside from the fact that they’re mutants, it’s pretty identical to certain cases you’ve had before. A kidnapping followed by a three-day wait before their body is found dumped in Central Park with the Genovia Act stuffed in their mouths. Why this was hard for Charles to figure out, you don’t know. You’re sure there’s someone who can talk to the dead, or have Wanda talk to her husband and they do some magic and figure it out. 

You don’t know any of the victims, you haven’t been back to that mansion since you left so you’re not all that caught up with who lives inside of there. You wish you could keep it that way but the plane lands and you’re all shuffled into government issued SUV cars. 

Inside, you’re given the news that makes you want to kill yourself. 

Your accommodations for the stay are at the school. 

The large, older than anyone you knew mansion was something you honestly never wanted to see again. In your opinion, it would do the world a lotta good if it was gone. The only good thing about it were the open fields and woods surrounding it and if you focus you can feel the lake to the east of the mansion. 

It’s calm, there’s no one around it, you guess it’s too cold this time of year to go for lake swims. You feel the wind flow back to the mansion, there are several dozen kids hanging about. Playing sports or sitting in the grass, they’re all scattered across the acres of land. There’s more inside the mansion, since it is a weekday, afterall and they still had school. 

Pulling yourself out of the wind, you find that the car is rounding a corner and the Professor is waiting at the entrance. He’s different from the last time you’d seen him, most notably is that he’s back in his wheelchair with Cerebro nowhere in sight, but you still feel the same burning hatred for him as he sits there. To his left is Erik, and to his right is Logan. 

“One hell of a welcome wagon…” Derek trails. You silently agree, waiting until the car comes to a stop before leaving the SUV. 

“Greetings, BAU.” The professor presses his fingers to his temple and the bags float out from the car before anyone could move to grab them. He looks incredibly stupid, in your humble opinion. “Erik will show you to your rooms,” He lifts the bags after him as he enters the school, Logan following behind him. 

“Our rooms?” Penelope gasps, buzzing in her shoes. She hadn’t been in the car when Hotch had explained that small, tiny little fact for the case. You swallow whatever you were wanting to say and your eyes flicker over to Logan. He greets you, silently and in a way only the two of you understand. 

“To keep everyone safe, the team will be staying here.” Hotch explains. “Remember to be on your best behavior.” It feels targeted to you, but you don’t seem to care as you stare at Erik. You smile at him and he smiles back, his silver hair moving with the tentative breeze that blows past. 

“Follow me,” He nods to the team and steps inside. You follow after, seeing the familiar halls of the school. You can hear the classes happening around you, you can feel the potential of young mutants. You feel everything around you, how the wood creaks and how there’s a single wooden panel that’s rotten and about to fall on someone’s head. You feel how people move around, using their powers and writing their essays. 

You sigh, looking at the portraits on the walls and the way they once felt filled with hope. They feel like a painful reminder now. You see your old team, you see you, standing in that stupid suit with a half-face mask. With that stupid grin. 

The steps aren’t covered in carpet anymore; they’re a glossy wood and you can only imagine it’s because speedsters and cloth don’t exactly mix. 

“Your rooms.” Erik stops at the entrance to the East Wing dorms. You hadn’t even realized where he was taking you. But you can’t exactly say you didn’t expect this, of course, Charles would do this. “Your bags are in front of your doors. When you’re done, head down to the study.” He slips past everyone, his hand gently squeezing your arm as he passes by without another word. 

“This is so cool!” Emily says, seeing her bag at the end of the hall. “God, I hope Storm is here!” The others chime in about their favorite mutant heroes, all of them finding their bags in front of a door. 

You don’t need to look to see yours, you know your room. 

Standing in front of it, you feel your eyes sting with tears. You can’t bring yourself to twist the golden knob. It’s gotten that dirty copper look after not being used for so long.

“Kid, you okay?” Morgan asks, suddenly behind you with a hand on your shoulder. “I know the rooms are kinda plain but you’ll live.” He reaches over you and opens the door. It swings open and you shudder at the sight. 

“How come he gets a decorated room?” Morgan groans and everyone flocks to your room. They take in the room you’d grown up in, not a single part of it has changed. Your lip quivers as you remember what happened and that’s enough for you. 

Snatching your bag from the floor, you toss it inside before slamming the door shut and heading downstairs. The others follow, a little concerned but also they don’t want to get lost in the huge school. 

Emily notices how you move through the halls with ease, as if it’s muscle memory. How you know to be careful on the second to last step and walk with this vigor you never used to have. Spencer frowns, watching as you throw open a set of doors. He’s not too far behind, so when he reaches the door he sees the Professor sitting at the table. 

“I need a different room.” You demand, walking past him to find a seat. Your seat, you’ve always sat in the seat closest to the window that overlooks the pond. 

“I’m afraid they’re all occupied. Unless you’re willing to switch with one of your friends,” He says and glances at the others before his eyes settle back to you. He’s almost daring you, egging you on. He sighs and you concede. You know he’s lying, there are a dozen of empty rooms in the school.

“Fine.” You grit. “Let’s talk about the case, then.”

—

“How could you let him call us?” You whine to Erik, sitting on his desk as he cleans the books lining the walls. It’s lunchtime and the others were scattered about. Hotch had gone out for lunch, despite Charles's insistence that there was plenty of food for the team. “I can’t sleep in that room, Erik. I can’t.” Pulling your feet to the edge of the desk, you lay your head on your knees. 

“I’m truly sorry,” He shakes his head, setting the feather duster on the shelf. “I wasn’t aware of his intentions until I saw the cars pulling up. I would’ve stopped him had I known.” He stalks over to you, caressing the top of your head before his hand reaches your back. 

“I know,” You mutter. “I feel so angry now that I’m here. My team— my friends have noticed. They think I hate mutants,” 

“I assume they don’t know.” Nodding, he sighs and takes his seat in front of you. “Why haven’t you told them?” Looking at him through your lashes, he raises an eyebrow, encouraging you to talk. 

“I’m afraid,” You stress, dropping your legs. “They’re government agents and you know how much they like us! Hotch knows… kind of. He knows Bug is a mutant but that’s because they had a fling in law school,” Rubbing your head, you look at him. “I’m so afraid, Erik. I’m this…”

“Mutant?” He finishes but you shake your head. 

“I’m Derek and Spencer’s best friend, I make sure Penelope’s house is safe because she got shot in her last apartment and she’s terrified of it happening again, I have monthly movie nights with the others. I’ve met their kids. They know that I cry when I watch Cujo because he didn’t deserve that. They know I have to eat my eggs with ketchup because otherwise they taste like too much egg. But I-I can’t even think about telling them this!” You ramble. 

“You’ve adopted a normie life,” You nod and he continues. “Why? You’re an omega-level mutant, you could be so much more than an agent.”

“It’s better than that,” You shrug, gesturing to the picture of your old team hanging behind his head. His children were on your team, too. Polaris and Pierto at least. “My current team doesn’t worry about being attacked because they were born with the X gene or some world-ending event anymore. I don’t cradle their dying bodies, pushing their blood back into their system, and I’m not pulling the toxic gas from their lungs. I don’t get buried alive anymore! I can live a life!”

“Are you happy?” 

“Am I happy? I’m safe!” You shout and immediately cover your mouth. He frowns and you can’t meet his face, your eyes staying on the floor. 

“But are you happy? I’ve seen you online, you’re hiding. I know your smile,” He grabs your hand but you stand up and move away, holding yourself. “(Y/n),” He sighs. Your lips purse and you shake your head. “Are you even allowing yourself to love? To connect to someone romantically?” 

“No.” Licking your lips, you stare at the door. “I can’t.”

“You cannot continue down this path, Charles mentioned feeling your affection towards Dr. Reid. Why not pursue him?”

“Man,” You scoff. “Tell your bald ass husband to stay out of my head!” He chuckles and lays his hand flat on your head. He’s going to let you avoid talking about Spencer for now; but not forever. 

“He was concerned for you, he’d seen the news of your latest case. And you’ve ignored his calls,” 

“I don’t want to talk to that British fuck.” 

“Understandable,” He laughs. “Come on, your friends are waiting in the lounge for you.” 

The lounge is a room that was originally meant to talk about missions before it was moved down to the basement. Nowadays it’s filled with arcade games and a pool table. Not to mention various seats in various states. The team is crowded around one of the tables, grabbing their food when you walk inside. 

“I’ll leave you to it,” Erik says as he closes the door behind you. 

“Er, this one is yours!” Penelope says, holding out your food. Thanking her, you take it and settle on one of the recliner chairs. It’s the funky one with the handle you have to jiggle five times up and then down once to make it leanback, you don’t, despite the urge to. 

“Hey, kid,” Derek says, his voice barely hiding the tension he wants to push down. He sits on the couch that’s had enough blood on it to fill an Olympic-sized pool, but you can’t tell him that. Plus, it’s been cleaned well enough that you can’t even tell. You greet him back while ripping open the tissue paper, keeping the sandwich together. “You okay? You’ve been… off since Hotch said we’d be working this case.” It’s hard to miss the ears that tune in to the conversation, the not so sutble conversation quieting until it’s nonexistent. 

“I’m fine,” You look at him and then Spencer. He tucks his hair behind his ear when your eyes meet before he looks down at his sandwich. “Just tired.” He nods, pretending to understand. 

“Because I’m here if you want to talk, get something off your chest.” He adds and you nod into your sandwich. 

“I’m good, trust.”

—

It’s late. You’ve gone into the city and spoken to the witnesses who found the victims, you’ve gone through all the evidence and begrudgingly worked with Charles to try and find a necromancer who wasn’t away or evil. Which is harder than you expected it to be. He could also be lying. 

But, the moon was rising and it was time to turn in for the night. Everyone had gone upstairs to their room but you made the excuse that you were fixing up the paperwork to stay down longer. Instead, you ventured outside and sat in front of the pond. 

The water is deeper than most expect it to be, it connects to a secret room the water mutants use from time to time. You dip your hand inside the water, feeling the fish dart away from the sudden movement and the plants move with the soft ripple of water. Your hand travels to the mud and you find the earthworms eating away, the air moving through the roots of trees and flowers. You find the animals making their homes underground before your hands touch the grass. The snails and ants crawl on blades, one is strangely close to you and you find it. 

The snail glides on your finger, moving up your hand before it settles on your knuckle. It’s tiny, barely the size of your fingernail, and stares at you before it turns around. It goes back onto the grass and disappears from sight. 

Laying flat on your back, you close your eyes and imagine yourself anywhere but there. 

“Get your ass inside,” Logan says from above you. Cracking your eyes open, you stare up at him. 

“Your tits are blocking the moon,” You tell him. He growls, flexing his hands. “Oh, please stab me. I want to go home.” He sighs, it’s deep and heavy and then he moves so he’s opposite to the moon.

“You can’t sleep out here,” He says and you shrug. “You have to go inside.” He urges again. Logan doesn’t try to sound convincing, despite his words. It’s oddly void of any concern and it’s mainly annoyance in his tone.

“I don’t have to do anything but die.” You correct him. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighs heavily. 

“Fine,” He grunts. “When Ororo drags you inside, don’t say I ain’t warn you.” He walks away and you close your eyes again. It’s some time before the moonlight is blocked again and you crack your eyes open, half expecting it to be Erik. 

“Spence,” You blink, sitting up. He fiddles with the sleeve of his shirt and looks back at the school. “What’s up?” Nervously, he gives a half smile and points his thumb back to the school. 

“It’s late and it’s not good to sleep outside without the proper equipment,” He says. “I can see you from my window. It’s expected to get colder and possibly drizzle, so you’re more likely to catch a cold if you stay out here.” Looking towards the East Wing windows, you see Emily sitting on her windowsill, watching you. Hotch is at his, too. 

“Okay,” You sigh, standing up. He nods and follows after you while staring at the grass stains on your shirt and pants. There’s bits of grass in your hair and he thinks there’s a snail on one of them but he’s not too sure about that last bit. You remove it with ease as you walk up the stairs, setting the grass on the banister and dusting yourself off. 

“Do you want to switch rooms?” He asks once you’re at your door. “Or-or share?” He adds when you look at him, eyes heavy with regret. 

“No, I’m fine. Thank you.” He doesn’t miss the deep breath you take as you push into the room. The knob feels impossibly cold in your grip and the door is heavy as you push it open and close. Thankfully, all the lights are off and the curtain is drawn so you can’t see anything. It’s muscle memory as you strip out of your dirty clothes and climb into the bed. 

The covers are the same, it’s still so warm as you pull them up to your chest and imagine you’re home. Anywhere but in that room. 

That night, for the first time in eight years, you have a nightmare. You don’t remember it when you wake up at five in the morning, you just feel the heavy beating of your heart, the sweat building on your forehead and the tears falling from your face. You see it in the fire burning in the center of the room, the small flame in the exact position you’d been all those years ago. You see it in the way the blanket is pulled taught, holding you safely to the bed. 

The fire snuffs out and the blanket loosens so you can leave the bed and head into the bathroom. You just stand under the water, not bothering to get undressed or even turn the light on. It’s blistering hot but you can’t tell, it just feels wet. The temperature is nothing on your skin, not as the water goes arctic cold just as you’re taking your boxers off. 

Grabbing the fresh washcloth from the sink, you wash yourself for what feels like an hour. The familiar-smelling soap does nothing to calm your nerves and you get out, feeling the water slip from your body and go down the drain. 

You don’t know where to go as you’re getting dressed, but you know you can’t stay in your childhood room any longer than needed. You grab your phone, badge, and necessary items before leaving the room. Spencer is awake and exits his room at the same time you do, you acknowledge him with a glance and keep it pushing. 

Your feet bang against the wooden floors while he barely leaves a sound. He follows you down the stairs, through the empty corridors until you enter the kitchen. 

“(Y/n)?” He softly calls as you open the fridge. “The Professor didn’t say we could eat whenever…” 

“That rich asshole can deal,” You grumble, stealing some eggs and cheese. “You hungry, Spence?” He hesitates but eventually nods. You nod back, pointing an egg at him. He goes to take it but you place them on the counter and check the cabinets for bowls. Finding one large enough, you throw it onto the counter and dip into the freezer for some frozen waffles. “Blueberry or chocolate?”

“Blueberry is fine,” Tossing the blueberry eggos next to the bowl, you flick the pilots on and start whisking the eggs. Spencer doesn’t like his eggs with anything, no salt or pepper, no adobo either. And you don’t feel like making two batches either. 

“Wanna make me an omelet?” Scott grins and you nod, pointing to the fridge. He grabs three eggs and butter and you set them aside, throwing some butter onto the pan. “I’m Scott, by the way.” He introduces himself to Spencer. 

“Spencer,” He dips his head down, trying to avoid looking at Scott’s glasses. 

“He’s a doctor,” You grin, tossing four eggos into the toaster. Leaning against the counter, you grab an apple and hold it between your fingers. “Peppers in the omelet or plain?” Scott takes the apple and bites into it. 

“Impressive,” He pats Spencer’s back. “And plain. I’m bulking.” Nodding, you pour yours and Spencer’s eggs into the pan. 

“Twink death, I suppose.” With a large, exaggerated sigh you lean against the counter again, fanning yourself. 

“Because you know all about that, right?” The two of you laugh, like really laugh and Spencer looks between the two of you. You’re loose, compared to yesterday. You’re smiling and happily engaging with Scott, you’re even making him food. Willingly. He doesn’t look past the clear history either and chews on his lip. 

What type of history could the two of you possibly share?

“So,” Scott clears his throat. “You’re a doctor?” His eyes (Spencer thinks, he can’t tell) flicker to Spencer while you tend to the eggs.

“I have several PhDs, I’m not a medical doctor,” He explains and clears his throat. “So, technically, I am a doctor, just not a medical professional. But I am EMT certified as per the FBI guidelines.” Scott looks at you, eyebrow raised and you smile, looking away. 

“That’s cool, I have red beam eyes.” He shrugs, lowering the glasses and blasts the apple. It sprays everywhere and one chunk hits you square in the forehead. 

“I’m not cleaning that.” Scrambling the eggs, you move apple guts off of the stove while Scott grabs a paper towel. 

“Where’s the bathroom?” Spencer asks and Scott points him in the direction. He thanks him and leaves while Scott throws away the paper towels. Once he's gone, Scott leans against the counter with his arms crossed. 

“What?” You sigh, piling the eggs onto the plate. 

“You always like the chatty ones,” He grins. “Wade, Tony for a week, Pierto, Jenn, and what was her name?” He snaps his fingers and you hush him. 

“Misty and she was not chatty!” 

“Mmhm,” He looks forward, his ankles now crossed. “You should date him.” He mutters. “You’d make a cute couple. A cute little FBI, mutie couple.” His nose crinkles and you roll your eyes. 

“He’s not a mutant,” 

“But you like him.” He tilts his head closer to yours and you push him away from you. Focusing on the omelet, you peel the sides and check to see if it’s ready to flip. 

“Did Charles or Erik tell you to do this?” 

“They talked about it,” He shrugs, pushing himself away from the counter. He walks over towards the kitchen island and sits down. “And I agree. You don’t have to only date other mutants. Your track record shows you mostly date normies.”

“My longest relationships were with mutants, though.” You add, looking back at him. “That track record says I should only date mutants.”

“Maybe he is,” Scott grins. “Like a super smart mutant. What then?” 

“Then I’d jump his bones— I’m joking!” You shout as Scott cackles. “Nothing changes. I don’t date anymore.”

“Ah, straight to marriage.”

“Scott,” Adding cheese into his omelet, you blink. “Im good being single.”

“Sure, but you’re pushing forty and still single…” Scoffing, you face him and point the spatula towards Charlie’s office. 

“Charles is like a hundred and still won’t admit he loves Erik. I feel like there are bigger issues than me not dating!” He waves his hand, dismissing your entire statement. “Besides, there’s nothing wrong with not wanting to date someone. I’m happy being single,”

“I know aromantics and asexuals— you’re not one of them. That’s sexual frustration speaking. All that anger and libido built up isn’t good,” Flinging his eggs at him, he grabs the plate and manages to catch all of it. “See. Someone who’s happy doesn’t do that to breakfast.” 

“I really want Jean to divorce you.” 

Spencer walks back into the kitchen soon after and Scott motions his head towards him as he leaves with his food. 

—

The case is going… not horribly. But not good, either. Another two mutants have been found and you’re sure you’re going to strangle Charles soon. Your latest theory is that he’s faking the deaths, they’re clones or something. You don’t know. But you think all of this is hocus pocus. 

You’re three days in now, talking with the others about possible suspects and trying to find some type of rhyme or reason to how they’re picking out the mutants. (It’s Charles, duh.) 

“Crossing every possible line- race, gender, age, type of mutant,” Derek lists through a frustrated sigh. 

“Were they runaways? Had loving parents?” You ask, only to humor Charles into believing this was a real case and not some weird ploy. The man in question thinks for a second before flipping through the pictures again. Of course you’d find some missing link in this case.

“I’ve met all of their parents, they’re from mutant families.” He lists off their families, naming the mutants they’re related to. Some of them aren’t well known to people, even heavily tied with the mutant community. You doubt most of the people in the mansion had heard of them— hell, you hadn’t. 

“We need to talk to the families,” Hotch surmises. 

“I fear it won’t be possible. Most of them are under the mutant protection act and cannot be contacted.” That’s not real. That’s something he just made up, but hey. Leave it to the telepath to lie. Charles sighs as he looks at you. Shrugging, you watch as they believe the lie with a little influence from the professor. “I can gather all the mutant families I know and have them know about this threat, though.” Your eye twitched as what he said sunk in. 

This fucking asshole. 

“Until then, we need to work on the profile.” Hotch says. “The geographical profile won’t be of any help, considering the dump sites are all within Central Park and victims go as far as Queens.”

“It’s likely the Unsub is a mutant himself,” Reid speaks up while fiddling with his pen. “He probably comes from an unsupportive family and envies those who have familial support or understanding.”

“Teleportation mutant isn’t uncommon,” Emily adds. “It would explain how he’s getting the bodies into the park without being noticed.”

“But the placement of the Accords wouldn’t make sense.” Rossi shakes his head. 

“Throws us off the trail,” Hotch explains. “Professor, can you create a list of mutants with teleportation powers and narrow it based on who has an unsupportive family? Garcia, I want you to pull up all the footage from the area where the victims were taken, review it with Reid frame by frame.” 

“Yes, sir,” She nods and the two of them head over to her station. It’s in the room, which is strange considering how many rooms the mansion has but this is a fake case, you don’t expect much. 

Looking over the files, your leg continues to bounce. It’s a matter of time before Charles mentions your family. Hotch will if he doesn’t. You know him, he’s not going to keep something so important to the case a secret. Raking your hand through your hair, you shudder and lean back in your seat. This isn’t going how you wanted it to. You never wanted them to find out. 

You’re fine having feelings for Spencer in private. You don’t care if he never knows, you don’t care. This part of your life was buried for a reason and you didn’t need to uncover it for the sake of a fake fucking case. 

Looking around the room, you see Erik standing at the door. You think him and Charles are having a telepathic conversation by the way his face keeps switching emotions. He looks at you and offers a sympathetic smile before glaring at Charles and leaving. They’re back to the divorce stage, then. Great. 

You wonder what the team will think. It’s been eight years of knowing them, eight years of working together so well you consider them family. A family that hates secrets, especially giant ones. They’ll view this as you not trusting them, that you’ve been lying for almost a decade. They’ll hate you. 

“I found a possible victim,” Derek calls and you pull yourself together. “Nine years ago, a teenage girl was killed in Central Park by her boyfriend.” Your eyes widen as he says that, snapping to the professors while he just sits there. “Danella Harkens, she was a student here. Her parents were in the original X-men.” He nods, as though he’d just remembered her. 

You feel sick to your stomach as all of this settles in. Your sister's death has been something you tried to warn him about— you knew her boyfriend wasn’t any good but she was a rebellious teenager who didn’t want to listen to anyone. You begged him to make her stop, you were away on a mission, you couldn’t do anything. He could’ve. And he didn’t.

“I remember her,” He turns to Derek while you’re breathing hard. “She was a lovely student. It’s a shame—“ He stops, holding his throat as the air in his lungs is removed. Quickly, his face starts turning shades of red and the others scramble to help him. They don’t know what’s wrong, how could they? You walk to the middle of the room, staring at him as he loses more and more air. He silently pleads to you to stop but you don’t. You like it. Watching him suffer. 

“Stop it,” Scott whispers, placing a hand on your shoulder. You shake your head, face tight. “(Y/n), let him go.” He urges.

“He killed her,” You whisper.

“Let him go.” Closing your eyes, you push the air back into his lungs. Charles gasps, holding onto the chair for support while you’re pulled out of the room. No one notices, busy attending to Charles.

Scott takes you to the training simulation room, something he used to do when you still lived there. He clears out the class who don’t hesitate to leave, loving the free period they’ve been provided. He boots up some of the harder simulations, watching as you quite literally burn through them. The fire burns a powerful blue, turning the (holographic) metal into (holographic) puddles. It doesn’t matter that they’re fake, the programming feels so real that there are phantom injuries whenever someone gets attacked by one. 

He watches the sweat build on your face and then get turned into tiny knives that fly through the air. 

“What’s the Avatar doing?” Emma asks, standing next to Scott with her arms crossed. 

“Blowing off steam,” He cringes when your fire fills up the entire room, leaving scorch marks along the wall. “The Professor brought up Ella and he thinks it’s a fake case.” She hums, tilting her head as you suck the fire back in and form a fire sword with it. 

“Is it?” She asks. She wouldn’t put it past Charles to do some fucked up shit like that. 

“No,” He shakes his head. “It’s very real.”

—

Danella Harkness, a name she’s given herself because she fell in love with the book character with her first name. Danella (L/n) is your younger sister, she was several years younger than you, fifteen when she died. She wasn’t the strongest mutant ever; she didn’t have much control over her power. It wasn’t anything crazy or new, controlling light. You’ve seen it used in amazing ways but she never got the hang of it. 

It wasn’t often that a mutant family all had similar powers. The X gene didn’t carry what type of powers someone got. At least to your knowledge. But your mother has moon powers, your father has the wildest energy powers you’ve seen in a long time, your older sister controls gravity, and you have the most basic, elemental powers. 

You stare at the family portrait inside one of the common areas, you’re all in your suits, smiling and alive. It was painted four weeks before Ella died. You’re thankful that she’s been immortalized in such a happy state but it still aches you to your core. She would’ve been twenty-four this year. It's been nine years since she’s died, nine years since you’ve been angry with the world. 

You’ve been angry with Charles since you could be angry— he’s a shit person in general. 

“There you are,” Spencer gasps, clearly out of breath as you sit with your back to the door. “Hotch is calling us, it’s dinner time.”

“I’m not hungry,” You respond and the doors close. Sinking into the seat, you stare at a nineteen-year-old you. You’re hardly smiling in that picture, but you’re happy. You can tell. You’ve never liked your smile all that much so you faked a nicer one for the painting. Your parents didn’t like that, they always wanted it redone to get your true smile but… 

“Are you okay?” Spencer settles next to you. You scoot over, making room for him. His eyes follow yours, finding the painting. “Is that Danella?” He knows her face, of course, he does, he’s seen it once. He knows the slope of her nose, he knows how she had gotten a messy lip ring but he doesn’t know that she ran her finger along her nose to calm her down or that she’d gotten the lip ring because your older sister had gotten one. 

“Yeah,” You bite without meaning to. “Yes,” You say in a calmer tone, silently apologizing.

“We didn’t get a file on the rest of her family,” He points out, a sense of urgency growing in his voice. “The sister and the brother could be in danger.” Your sister is flying in from her latest mission, according to Jean tells you. She’ll be back within the hour. You don’t know what you’re going to do. You don’t know what your life is going to look like after today. 

“Who said danger?” A shrill voice says as the doors to the room slam open. You close your eyes, knowing the voice, while Spencer jumps. 

“Excuse me?” He stutters, watching as Wade rushes across the room and flings himself onto the couch. His knee hits your head and you groan, holding the side of your head while he scrambles to sit down properly, squishing himself between you and Spencer. To Spencer’s credit, he moves over to give more space before eventually giving up and standing instead. 

“Y’know, this is a niche crossover,” Wade sighs while looking at a wall. “I’ve only ever read beanstalk over here and Gambit boning for this crossover.”

“Fuck are you talking about?” You groan, checking your hand. There isn’t any blood, of course there wouldn’t be. But you felt that you should still check. 

“Nothing.” He quickly says and then sighs dramatically and crosses his legs. “What were you two talking about?” He plays with the ends of your hair, smiling under his mask as you glare at him. 

“None of your business,” Smacking his hand away, he hisses and blows on his hand. “God! Kill me!” Standing up, you circle around the couch to grab your sweater and gun holster when the others walk inside. 

“We’ve been looking for you two!” JJ sighs, tucking some hair behind her ear. “The Professor wants to talk about the case, something about the Danella’s girls family.” Your eye twitches again, you never thought that was a real thing but leave it to Charles. 

“Oh,” Wade drags out before he jumps over the couch and spins you into his chest. “And here I thought you were here for little ole moi,” He frowns as you push yourself away from him, angrily fixing your hair. “You used to like that.” He says while staring at the wall again. 

“Do you ever shut up?” You seethe, looking for your gun holster. You were sure it was next to your sweater. Scanning the room, you find it next to the fireplace and squint. How the fuck?

“You know a couple ways to shut me up,” Wade sings, following after you. “Wink wink.” Grabbing your gun, you check the weight and then stare at Wade. “Wink.” His head moves as though he’s making an exaggerated wink. 

“You two know each other?” Derek slowly asks. 

“No.”

“We used to fuck raw.” Wade grins and you shout, ripping his mask off and shoving the barrel of your gun into his mouth. He moans, eyes shut while you can feel his tongue licking along the gun. 

“You freak,” You spit, taking the gun off of safety. The others shout, begging you to stop but Wade pulls the trigger with a loud moan, his eyes rolling back. He drops to the floor without a sound, blood and oddly enough his teeth land on your face. “Some fucking peace and quiet!” You groan, wiping your face before you put the gun's safety back on. 

“You just killed a man.” Penelope whispers, her eyes trained on the wall. Her eyes are red and there are already free flowing tears running down her face. 

“Look man,” Derek takes a hesitant step forward. “We know you hate mutants but this is too far!”

“What?” You ask, hands on your hips. 

“You killed him!” He shouts, a vein bulging out of his forehead. 

“Do you guys know who that is?” 

“Doesn’t matter.” Hotch pulls himself together, blinking away from Wades ‘dead’ body. You can see his head reforming already, steadily breathing again. “You killed a man.” Blinking, you turn to face your family painting. Thankfully, there’s no blood on it, protected by a thick bulletproof glass, considering how many different accidents happen in the school. 

“He’s not— I’m so going to kill myself.” Pinching the bridge of your nose, you let out a loud sigh and turn around again. Charles and Logan stand at the door, slowly letting themselves in. 

“Professor, I am… there’s no words to describe how sorry I am.” Hotch stumbles over his words. Xavier holds his hand up, staring at you as him and Logan move closer to you and Wade.

“You had to make it messy?” Logan grits, staring at the blood-soaked rug and the brains on the wall.

“He’s being a little bitch!” You defend, pointing your gun at him. “‘Sides he pulled the trigger this time.” He chuckles, shaking his head. 

“Course he did,” He puts a cigar between his lips and leans over expectantly. Taking it, you hover it over the fireplace and put it between his lips. “Not what I wanted.” He mutters but takes a long drag from the cigar.

“Suck a dick.” Scrunching your nose as he blows smoke towards you, Logan rolls his eyes. 

“I hope that got everything out of your system.” Charles sighs, watching as Wade starts to breathe again. 

“If you weren’t in a wheelchair, I would’ve thrown you off of the Empire State Building by this point.” You admit, low enough that only the three of you hear.

“You should still do it,” 

“Logan.” Charles blinks.

“My God, that was hot!” Wade shouts as he jumps up, his face still molding itself together. The others scream and you blink, you’ve never heard Hotch scream before. It’s strange. “Do it again.”

“No, you freak!” You spit. “You nearly got me locked up!”

“Bet you’d like that,”

“Wade,” Closing your eyes, you step away from him. 

“My apologies for not explaining the situation earlier, Wade here has a mutation that rapidly grows his cells, a regeneration mutation.” Charles explains. “Simply put, Wade is impossible to kill by normal means.”

“I know how,” Logan offers. 

“How did you know that?” Spencer asks you. 

“Because,” You shrug. 

“They used to date.” Logan blows out another puff of smoke. 

“I’d rather not tell people that, I was desperate.” You blink, unable to look at the team. 

“To a cancer patient,” Wade gasps, hand on his chest. “You know i’m sensitive about my skin.”

“I preferred you without a mask and gagged, I think we know why the relationship didn’t last.” You bite without meaning to. 

“You gagged him?” Emily stares and you close your eyes. Unsure of what was worse, admitting to your sexual escapades in front of your crush and boss or nearly spilling your own secret for the sake of killing Wade. 

“Can we not? There’s a case.” You mumble. 

“Right,” Charles clears his throat and you side glance at him. “Daniella’s family is here.”

The sentence feels like the end of the world. And you’ve experienced the end of the world before. Several times in fact. And those have never left this type of pit in your stomach, this type of dryness to your mouth that you’re sure drinking all of the world's clean water could hydrate. It makes your head spin and your knees are about three seconds from buckling. 

So many years, so many memories and shared with the team, and so— so— much love was about to be put to the test. 

You crumble with each step, feeling as if you’re being walked to your public execution of your own making. Your neck is burning from the inevitable blade coming down and you just hope it’s as swift as a guillotine was. 

You never should’ve taken this job. You never should’ve lied to them. You never should’ve gotten so close to them. You should’ve been more open with them. 

You don’t know which never is right and you suppose you never will. You’ve made your bed and it’s time to lay in it. 

The team is guided to the elevator that leads down to the basement. No one really talks, still shocked and trying to piece together the last three minutes. Spencer is especially quiet, his eyes are traveling with each of his thoughts and he’s picking at the end of his vest. It must be hard, he has a million and five questions and yet, he can’t ask them. He won’t get the answers fast enough and you don’t know if you’ll be around to ever give them to him. 

Logan opens the door to the hanger, it hisses as the seal breaks before it slides open without making a sound. The jet is parked and the door is open, three pairs of footsteps echo through the bay and Hotch is the first to react. 

He turns to you. 

That’s the first thing he does when he sees them. 

His head snaps to you, his eyes wide as his mouth is pressed into a thin line. A knowing line. You avoid his gaze, staring down at the floor as your chest tightens again. Your lips curl into an emotion you can’t place just yet. Because just like that, just by seeing your family Aaron Hotchner is the first to figure out that you're a mutant. 

He knows because he knows your sister. He could have never forgotten her— he’s only ever been with two people. 

Your family stands in front of the BAU, their careful eyes scanning over the team and when your sister sees Hotch, she gives a small smile. Nothing more, nothing less. He gives an even smaller one back, a mental dilemma clearly written over his face. 

“So, we’re all here?” Your mother nods towards Charles. 

“We’re still waiting on your son, ma’am,” Derek eyes, as if it was obvious. Charles had said everyone from the family was flying in but, clearly, they were down a person. 

“My son?” Your mother blinks from him and then to you. She frowns, her crescent-shaped lips almost unnatural-looking as they pout. Emily pauses, tilting her head ever so slightly as the pieces fall into place for her. Her eyes shift to you and she makes a small expression. Barely visible but it lets you know everything. 

Two people. 

Inhaling, you turn towards Logan. Begging him, pleading with him to do something. Anything. Logan isn’t one for pity but he’s not exactly an asshole. He grunts, feigning boredom and ushers everyone back upstairs. Into the meeting room you’d been working out of. 

“We believe that your daughter was the first victim for our UnSub,” Rossi starts the conversation as everyone settles down. You’re still at your seat, your sister to your left, Spencer to your right. In front of you are your parents. “Can you tell us about Daniella’s death?”

“We were gone,” Your mother starts, her eyes drifting as her mind does. “A mission to take down a factory creating Sentinels. She couldn’t go, I didn’t want her getting hurt and she found no issue, they were having a trip that day. But the kids,” She looks at your sister and then you. Spencer tenses for a moment and you can feel the air push from his lungs as he tries not to stare at you. 

Three people. 

“They begged me not to, not to leave her or not to go. Begged Charles. We returned to the news, her boyfriend. A secret boyfriend. He’d stabbed her in Central Park because he found out she was a mutant.”

“You knew?” Derek’s eyebrows furrow as he looks at your sister. “How?”

“We— me and my brother, we knew the kid. His dad, at the time, was working for the government. Working on legalizing sentinels again. She didn’t believe us and then she said he wasn’t like his father. She trusted him,” She explains and you swear it’s like you’re back there again. That you're pleading with everyone to do something, to save your sister from the fate you know she’s about to walk into. 

No one did. No one helped. And you lost yourself that day, you lost your baby sister, your parents, and you lost your trust with the older generation of X-men. 

“Can you think of a reason why someone is copying Danella’s murder?” JJ softly asks as if her tone would cushion her words. You lower your head a little while your hands reach up to massage your neck and then the sides of your head. Your fear is turning into anger and soon enough, if—when someone says the wrong thing you’re going to explode. 

“No,” She shakes her head. “He’s an only child, his mother is alive and his father died four years ago.” 

“I…” Your dad starts, his voice sounding like he’s afraid to say what’s on his mind. Which is unusual. “I can. It’s a strange reason but…” His lips purse and your mother shakes her head, silently telling him no. Slightly, you perk

up while your eyes narrow. 

“Anything is helpful,” Rossi nods, leaning forward in his seat. “Even if it doesn’t seem that way.” Your dad nods and looks at your mother, waiting for her to concede. She does and exhales slowly as he speaks. 

“We moved her grave recently.” He finally says. “We moved her here.” It’s like time froze, like you could finally feel the temperature around you, the chill in the air rushing through your lungs, your veins, and into that well of emotions you’ve kept under lock and key for nearly a decade. You’re not thinking straight, not thinking of the consequences as your voice fills the room faster than your mind can catch it. 

“You what?” You shuddered, looking between the two of them. They avoid your betrayed gaze until you stand from the table, your fist clenched at your side as the chair nearly falls down. “You fucking moved her?” You shout, face twisted with fury that grows with their silence. “Answer me— what the fuck did you do?” 

“This is why we didn’t tell you,” Your mother's voice is almost a plea as she looks at you. “Look at you, (Y/n).”

You grit, shaking your head. “Don’t spin this back to me,” You tell her, trying to keep your voice steady. “My sister was murdered and we laid her to rest next to her favorite park. And you two moved her back to the place she hated.”

“You hate it here,” Your father softly corrects as if he’s talking down one of his patients. “Ella loved it here.”

Lifting your chin, you stare down at him. “Ella hates the X-men. She hates missions, she hates living in this school—“

“Ella is dead.” Your mother reminds you, looking away as the words formed a bitter taste on her tongue. 

“Fuck you.” You spit, nearly enjoying the hurt that flickers across her face, like the air was sucked out of her lungs. “Y’know what? Fine. Ella hated the X-men. She hated how Charles treated us like show ponies. She hated living in a dorm instead of an apartment. She hated how you made us go to courts to watch as people called us cruel words as they treated us like we weren’t people. She didn’t go on that mission because she was tired of being reminded that the world fucking hated her. She was never mutant and proud. She didn’t get a hang on her powers because she didn’t want to.”

“(Y/n),” Your sister looks up at you, eyes bleary. “Stop.”

“What?” You laugh this bitter laugh that feels like it scrapes against your throat. “We’re just being honest, aren’t we? Ella told us how much she hated this place but she wanted to make them proud.” Lamely, you gesture to your parents. “You would’ve known that, had you stopped to think of us outside of being legacy mutants.”

“We never did,” Your mother stands up, hurt written clearly on her face. “(Y/n), you need therapy. This—this isn’t healthy, you’re still so angry,” 

“I’m not angry.” You grit. You’ve never been the angry one, sardonic maybe  Cynical. But you didn’t like being angry, that weird burning feeling in your chest, the way the anger would cloud a person's judgment. That was never you. “Stop calling me angry.”

But she nods, solemnly like it hurts her to do so. “Look at you. Look behind you,” Blinking, you turn around and see that the floor is on fire, a line trailing from your feet, across the room and traveling up the wall. Shaking your head, it snuffs out and you turn back, blinking away the embarrassment lingering in your eyes. “You’re scaring your friends; you’re scaring us.” 

Licking your lips, you shake your head again before leaving. You can’t deal with this, deal with them or the sounds of your mother crying as you leave. You’ve fucked everything up, again. You always do. 

“(Y/n)—“ Spencer’s voice calls after you, a little panicked as he follows the burnt footsteps. The heat that’s radiating off of your body. “—wait, please!”

“I need to be alone!” You warn, pushing through a set of doors that leads to the basement. “Stay with the others, Spencer.”

He waits at the door for a moment, just one, solitary moment to think about it before he shakes his head and follows you down.  “Talk to me… please,” The basement is a metal, but not the type that radiates the heat rolling off of your body; it’s cold down there, reflective in a way that makes the fire in your eyes shine when you face him. 

“I can’t hurt you,” You’re pleading, the anger gone from your body as he only gets closer, a cold fear quickly replacing it. “Spencer, please. Stay back— I when I get like this—“ Stopping yourself, you shake your head and head inside the room. He follows, again because for some reason he can’t stop himself. It’s like he needs to prove himself, to who, he’s sure it’s you. He’s not sure why and he’s not sure how but he enters the room just before the doors close. 

It’s dark, impossibly so. The type of darkness that’s no longer just the color black— this must be what it’s like to be completely blind. But even more so. He can’t tell which way is up or down and it’s so silent. The hall had been quiet but this was silent, silent enough that he could hear the blood rushing through his ears, his soft breathing. But he can’t hear you. And a part of him is afraid to call out, to break whatever this is that’s going on. 

“You need to go,” Your voice echoes from across the room, in some area he can’t pinpoint. He flinches, trying to figure out where your voice came from, his eyes desperately trying to adjust to the darkness. “The room is going to fill with water in fifteen seconds. The door will shut for an hour. And I don't want to have to force you out,” 

“What about you?” He’s panting, and he doesn’t know why. One foot steps in front of the other, venturing deeper into the room. 

“I’m—“ Your voice catches in your throat, the words ringing as not important. Not the focus of right now. “Spencer, you have ten seconds. Leave. This is my… timeout room. Go!” His hand wraps around yours, at first he stutters, unsure in his movements— actions before they hold you tightly. “Spence…”

“I trust you.” The door hisses, the seal clicking into place and your eyes close. Another seal hisses and water starts to pour into the room from behind you. His heartbeat picks up, slightly but enough that you notice. 

“It’s going to fill the room entirely. Floor to ceiling.” You warn, looking at the water. You can’t see it but you can sense it, understand where it’s coming from and going. “Fifteen percent Epsom salt, so we’ll float but still be able to swim. Air gets pumped through… some system, I’m not sure.”

“How do we…” Breathe, he means. The water’s up to your knees by this point but he hasn’t moved. And it feels like he’s staring at you. 

“I can breathe underwater. It’s a skill I learned, filtering the water out before it enters my nose, so I just get the oxygen. I can… make a large air bubble for you.” You’ve done it before, back when you were an X-Men and once, when the team went to the beach and Henry slipped from his floaters faster than anyone could react. 

He leans back, letting the water hold him up and you feel it, his body lying on the surface, slowly drifting about. You do the same; it’s the purpose of the room, after all. By the time your stomach hits the ceiling, you’ve wrapped Spencer into the bubble of air. It moves around him— he’s talking and you swim closer to him before widening the bubble to incase the both of you. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” It, the situation or the other situation. Because, while you don’t want to talk about either, one is certainly better than the other. Then again, knowing Spencer, he’ll want the bigger picture first. 

“The point of this room is to not talk for an hour,” You softly remind him. 

“Still,” It’s up to you, that’s the thing. You can say no, give a firm, black or white yes or no and he’ll drop it. Hand to God he would, but… you want to. You want to tell someone about this, someone like Spencer. To get this off of your chest, to let him see you and see all of you. Not just SSA (Y/n) (L/n). 

Despite yourself, there’s an immediate need to defend yourself. “I’m not angry— I’m not an angry person,”

“I know,”

“I’m not.”

“I know.” 

“It’s just; they make me angry. My parents, Charles… they’re so… self-righteous. Mutant and proud. Putting yourself on the line. These—the great, grandiose expectations about how you’re supposed to be great and this poster boy for mutants. Proud of your mutations, to ignore the vile words, the hatred that normies spew at us. To still help them when they spit at us, treat us like infections. I was the only one of my siblings to try and tell them that we didn’t want this life, they didn’t believe me and it frustrated me. I…I got angry and…” Trailing off, you feel your eyes sting as the memories come back. “I didn’t mean to. I just… I lost control of my powers and ended up burning them. Everyone. My mom, dad, Rose, and Ella.” His breath hitches and he reaches forward while you lean back. “That's why they built this room. It makes me focus on water and not fire.”

“Ella was different, she was always… scared. Of her powers, of people— it really didn’t matter. And then she met him. Walking in a park, he was…normal, that’s what she called him.” Running your hand over your head, you exhale. “She saw the life she wanted in him. Going to high school, living in an apartment with just his family, no one hated him. Nothing that she had in her life. She told us about it, told me and Rose. Swore us to keep it a secret, Rose wanted to but I knew something wrong was happening. She needed an escape, not a boyfriend. And not him. I told them— I stalked him,” It’s the first time you’re admitting this, your arms crossed over your stomach as your eyes dart around, the memories slowly rolling in. 

“I followed him home, this brownstone in Manhattan. I saw him, the Senator who’s the main endorsement for the Sentinels. They looked so similar and seemed too close that there was no way that they didn’t have the same views. I tried telling her, and then Rose, and then our parents. No one listened. Ella thought I was being a protective big brother. Rose wanted to let Ella make her own choices and my parents just… wanted to focus on using her to get close to the Senator.”

You just continued to talk but it felt more like word vomit, your words growing more and more hoarse until you just started sobbing. It was uncontrollable, pent-up feelings bubbling to the surface like a volcano that you couldn’t contain. And Spencer didn’t want you to. He listened and he didn’t judge, not even when you admitted to robbing a liquor store after finding out about her death and getting black out drunk in the middle of the woods. He just sat there, letting you lean on him for the first time. 

By the time you caught your breath, the water was being drained in the middle of the room and the lights were starting to come back. It was a slow progression so as to not hurt your eyes. The water slipped between the new slots in the floor and whatever somehow managed to stay inside the room would be steamed out once you left. 

“Are you ready to go back?” He asks, still squinting due to the bright, white lights flooding the area. 

“No,” You admit, voice steady where your eyes are still red, lips still holding a small tremble. “I’m going to find Ella,” He nods, letting you guide him back upstairs before you leave him to get back to the others. 

—

It’s almost an hour before you return. The team had been trying to focus on the case but it was hard. Especially for Morgan who kept huffing and slamming things on the table; everyone knew why, too. He was hurt, hurt in ways he couldn’t describe. One of his closest friends, someone who he calls when he’s at his lowest, didn't trust him as much as he trusted them. And that stings, Spencer will admit. But he gets it. 

He looks at the cases— your file and slips through countless mission reports. The details in them are gruesome. Buried alive at eleven, thrown into a lava pit at nine, set on fire, kidnapped and tortured, and something about being sent to an alternate universe. Then there’s the press, he skims through videos of you and your family at rallies, protesting at capital buildings, in court— a video of your mother getting arrested at one while you’re struggling to contain yourself, bending the wooden table in front of you before you’re tackled to the ground and placed in a mutant collar. You’d been seven at the time. 

The room itself was quiet, whispers of information passed around like a game of telephone until rapid footsteps approached the door. It swung open like a storm was hitting, bouncing off of the hinges and everyone turned to the door, seeing you frantic. 

“Is Josh here?”

“No,” Scott shakes his head, beginning to stand up. “We sent Logan and Kitty on a search for him.”

“And?”

“Nothing yet,” He sighs. “They’ve checked each safe house and nothing's been touched. Logan hasn’t picked up his scent, either.” He’s speaking like a doctor breaking bad news to a family, taking slow steps until he’s in front of you. Something flashes across your face; guilt, maybe sadness and you whisper to him, shaking your head. Spencer can hear faint I know and it's not your fault from Scott. 

“Cerebro,” Your voice gets higher, eyes snapping towards Charles. “Use cerebro to find him.”

Charles doesn’t give an indication if he can or even will, but he makes his way over to the two of you and the three of you start talking. The air starts to feel hotter, like it had when you learned they moved Ella and Spencer sees the smoke rising from the floor underneath you. Sees the shifting air around Scott’s hair, the way your face twists and contorts as though you have no control over it. And then, a break. 

Your body falters, blearly eyes look between the two of them. “He’s not… he’s…” 

Charles shakes his head. “It’s the most likely scenario. Logan will do one last sweep today for him,”

“So, there is a mutant serial killer,” It’s not a question, it’s a realization. That these past couple of days of bullshitting had been for nothing, that you should’ve taken this more seriously. Scott nods. “Okay— have we asked Jean, Wanda, or Hotoru to take a look at the bodies? See if they can get any information from them?”

It’s weird, now you can place yourself into business mode. Because you’re walking around the room, using your powers to guide files over to the board, standing straighter and that tone, Spencer knows it well. You and Scott work together well, he notes. The man is at your side in seconds and it’s strange how well the two of you balance each other out. He wonders just how connected the two of you are, considering what happened during breakfast. 

“Spencer, did you get a look at the letter on my door?” He snaps out of it, seeing your serious face and nods, standing up with his dry-erase marker to the board. “Both Josh and I got one— I didn’t get a chance to read it. Maybe the others did, too,” You hurriedly explain, arms crossed and teeth finding purchase on the inside of your cheek. 

“So, you’re a potential victim,” Scott notes, arms crossed to mimic you when you turn to him as if he asked a stupid question. “You are. And don’t bring up the fact that you can hide inside of a volcano, again.”

“Well, I can hide inside of a volcano!” There’s a pause, your eyes shift before your eyebrows shoot up. “And Josh can dig underground. Deep enough to not be found by detectors or search dogs.” 

While it convinces Scott, his lips purse. “There are hundreds of miles of dirt between your building and here. It would take you days to search it,”

“Julio and I can— and maybe Jean. She can try and fly with me, sense him. Are there any other earth based mutants?”

He thinks for a moment, recounting all the students in his care. “A couple, but none of them have that much power. It’s just you and Julio. And even he’s not on your level,”

Grinning at him, you move towards the board where Spencer is. “You’re making me blush,” Standing next to him, you look at the board. “That’s everything?” He hums, blinking over at you while you read it over, lips pulled to the side and eyes jumping around. 

“This is weird,” You admit, waving Scott over. “It’s all broken,”

“Broken?” Hotch echoes and you no,d turning to him. 

“This is Krakoan. It’s a language for an island, and if you were on the island at any point, you’d know the language as if it was your native tongue,”

“This is written like someone’s learning the language,” Scott finishes with you nodding in agreement. 

But now the question was, who’s teaching them? “Making a list of all the mutants on the island wouldn’t take too long. Not many of us left it. So, we can start from there.”

—

“This isn’t crazy to you guys?” Derek whispers during dinner. You’re gone, off with Scott and your friends, making a plan to find Josh— who Penelope was surprised to figure out was the same Josh from the apartment building— and connect the letters to the current murders. “He’s been lying for years!”

Hotch is the first to speak, his head shaking slightly with a slight frown etched into his skin. “It’s not that simple,”

Derek scoffs, leaning back in his seat. “We’re not bigots, Hotch. He could've trusted us like we trust him.”

“You’ve seen him,” Hotch starts, slow like he’s still piecing together his evidence. “How he reacted ever since we took this case. He’s scared, he’s barely sleeping, outbursts, and withdrawn. This wasn’t something he wanted to talk about with anyone,” Of course, Derek can sympathize with that. He knows that feeling well but it doesn’t stop the hurt in his chest. Something so deep in his soul that he doesn’t know how to get over this feeling fast enough to make logical choices. 

Outside, they hear someone’s loud laughter and the conversation dies on Derek’s tongue. “He’s cute— he’s cute, I don’t see the harm,” It’s a woman’s voice, one they haven’t heard before. 

“Jean,” That’s you, undeniably that’s your voice. “Name one mutant who's found love in a normie,” The team eyes each other, trying to figure out where the conversation is going. 

“Wanda,” She immediately responds to which you scoff. 

“Jericho is literally the sorcerer supreme,”

It takes a moment but she snaps her fingers. “Ororo and T’Challa,”

“He’s the king of the most powerful nation and has powers,”

She huffs. “You’re impossible,”

“I’m practical and you’re not fitting the criteria. I want a mutant and a non-mutant without any powers in a stable relationship where one of them doesn’t die.”

The silence that follows is heavy. “It could be you and Spencer,” She finally says. 

Her words hit most of the team like a truck, the two of you weren’t just talking in general. This was a specific conversation about you and Spencer getting together. The logistics of someone like you and someone like him being together for the long run. When they look at him, his ears are burning red and he’s staring at the window as if you’d climb through and…confess or something of the sort. 

“You said it yourself, you wanted to kiss him in the sensory room,” If Spencer wasn’t red before, he is now. Avoiding everyone’s gazes and sinking into his seat. 

“Shut the fuck up.” Your voice is fast, embarrassed that she’s speaking about it out in the open. “And I told Scott that in confidence— he's such a loud mouth,” There’s a twinge of a whine to your voice while Jean laughs. 

“I’m his wife,”

There’s no rebuttal for that and the two of you start walking, albeit slowly. “So what if I did, it’s not gonna happen. You, Scott, Charles, Erik, and Derek need to understand that.”

She sighs and it’s this big, loud disappointed sigh that only a mother could pull off. “You need therapy. And I’m saying this to be nice but you and Spencer could be really cute and go the whole way. But your fear of normies not accepting you— all of you is holding you back. You’ve known him for eight years, doesn’t that count for something? You said the two of you held hands—“

“He was scared, we were sharing a blanket and he wanted to hold my hand,”

“You slept in the same bed,”

“Again, he was scared. We watched a scary movie,”

“The X trilogy. Stop interrupting me. He likes you, I've never met him and I can tell. You like him. The two of you are cute and clearly, he’s not going to turn out to be some evil mutant killer or end up kidnapped by an evil mutant killer,”

“He could, though,” When you speak, your voice is smaller, almost breathy. “I’m never going to be separated from this life, and if I merge him with this, who knows who’s going to find out? The wrong person could and I lose Spencer— forever. I could lose all of them, Derek already hates me,” The way you say it, like a child scared they’d disappointed their parent,

makes Derek feel bad. Guilt builds in his stomach as the others glance at him as if he’d refute your claim. He should— he will, he knows that. Just… not right now. 

“No, he doesn’t,”

“You weren’t there, Jean. I saw his face, I know Derek. He’s upset with me and I can’t find it in myself to wish I had told them sooner. I would’ve taken this to the grave,”

“…(Y/n)…”

“What? It’s not like I’m going to pass along the X gene, there was no reason for them to know. And sure, none of them have their pitchfork and torches but what now? Are they going to be nervous around me during work, passive-aggressive, or maybe I’ll just be quietly shunned out until the only thing for me to do is quit? Because I’ve heard the way they talk about mutants. They don’t want us dead, but we need to fit into their boxes.”

“What?” 

“They’re FBI agents, they’ve dealt with mutants. Big and scary ones, ones with what they call inconsequential powers, and everything in between. You’re always lucky to survive a case with them. It's a cool story to tell to pick up chicks in a bar, a war story about what could’ve gone wrong. It’s something you keep hush-hush, don’t assume the UnSub is mutant, it’s taboo. It’s like calling them the devil.”

“If you’re scared of them, then why stay? You could get a job anywhere else, but you’ve stayed with them,”

“Honestly,” You shrug, passing by the window. “They’re amazing people. I just think they’ve been subjected to so much propaganda, they don’t notice it.”

“Y’know what your issue is?”

“Oh, please tell me another issue I have,”

“You dim your light in situations where you’d shine.”

“How about we go look for Josh? We’re burning daylight,”

“It’s nighttime,” 

“I don’t have time for your mind games, Jean. Get in the air already,” The sound of the two of you leaving leaves something short of a sonic boom that makes the glass shake and the team shudder. 

—

That night, while you were still out looking for Josh, most of the team had gathered inside of Penelope’s room. Everyone but Hotch and Rossi couldn’t sleep, their minds filled with the information that not only were you a mutant, but you used to be one of the most powerful— probably still are, if what Scott had said was true. 

None of them have that much power. It’s just you and Julio. And even he’s not on your level. 

Your level, your own separate league for just your earth based powers. Who knew about the other three elements you could bend to your will?

Pen had dug up all the videos she could of you and sent them all one single text: check this out. Which is how they ended up huddled around her desk, chairs pulled up and the curtains drawn as if it would shield them from being found out. 

The first video isn’t bad. It’s a news clip about the school, you’re in the background, playing with Scott and a man they’ve yet to meet. It’s grainy, clearly dated by the bad camera quality when Pen zoomed in, but it’s obviously you. The next video is mission footage, clips recovered from a warehouse. You’re a teenager, maybe even a tween, running with Ella in your arms as robots chase after. They’re huge, skin changing to steel as you shoot waves of fire at it. There are bodies— other mutants, scattered across the floor that you’re trying to shield Ella from seeing. 

At some point, you meet with Rose and your parents. From there, you Ella off to your mother before you and Rose turn back to the creature. “It’s a sentinel,” Emily breathes, quietly as if the word would bring it out from the screen. “In the report, they’re robots who adapted to mutant powers, it nearly wiped the mutant population out,”

In the video, Rose holds her hands up and the room shakes. It’s like everything feels heavy and you strain, trying to use the air to rip it apart when from behind, just out of view, Spencer sees it. A shine on the floor, then a black metal foot before three prongs pierce your chest. If the sound had not been recovered from the footage, they would’ve heard Rose’s screams, and heard the ground split as the gravity became too hard for even the sentinel to handle and collapsed under their weight. 

“He was eleven,” Derek points out, looking at the date on the corner of the screen. 

“He was a baby,” Pen’s voice is filled with pain that only grows when the next video plays. You’re there, on a makeshift operating table. This time, there’s sound and they hear all of your shouts, hear the wind blowing across the room because there wasn’t any anesthetic. This is somewhere in the warehouse, untouched by the sentinels. Blood is rushing from your wounds, there’s an organ poking out from one of the holes, and you’re screaming. There shouldn’t be air in your lungs to make any type of noise, but it’s like your powers are working on autopilot to keep you alive. 

“Where is Silver?” Scott asks, he’s there, holding your hand to keep you from getting up. 

“Rose is finding him now,” Erik replies. He’s somewhere in the room, pacing around. 

“She needs to hurry— he’s losing—“

“I’m aware,” He’s at your side, kneeling down to brush the sweat from your skin. “Just a little longer, I promise it.” You manage a nod through gritted teeth before sobbing again. You’re muttering so they can’t hear the words but they know the tone. 

The video skips as Penelope wipes her face. This one is easier to stomach. It’s homemade footage that starts with Scott pointing the camera in the mirror, showing off his new suit. 

“Hey, heat beam—“

Scott sighs, pointing the camera over to you. You’re about thirteen in your new suit, grinning madly. “It’s a concussive punch—“

“Yeah, whatever,” Waving your hand, you inhale while Scott exhales. “These suits are kinda ass, gotta admit. But Lorena said I look good and I was thinking of asking her out— don’t tell Erik, please. Delete this—“ You hold your hand out and the camera flies into your hand, showing your scared face. Scott shouts and a chase starts, showing off the halls of the mansion until they see a familiar door. 

It’s your room, your current room. It's the same hallway and the inside is filled with whatever items a thirteen-year-old omega-level mutant could want. 

“Scott! How the fuck do I delete this?” You shout, turning the camera over in your hand. 

“Just— gimmie the camera, I’ll do it.”

You stare at him, eyes narrowed. “You said that last time and now Hank knows that we all think he’s on furry chat rooms selling his body!” Looking down again, you grin. “Found i—“ The footage doesn’t end there, though. It just cuts to another video, dated the same day, just four hours later. 

The camera is on the ground, grass blocking some of the view but most of it is still visible. It’s chaotic, like a war zone in the middle of a field. There’s a crashed airplane in the distance, that’s what caused the fire in the background and there’s a team. Two people fall to the ground. Scott is on his knees, clutching his chest, Lorena is just now standing up and Quicksilver is bringing supplies from the plane. 

“Cyclops— don’t breathe it in! Don’t!” Your voice is hoarse, you must’ve been shouting for a while. Your hand plants itself on someone’s chest and they watch as the person convulses before green air is pushed out their body. Pietro places a breathing mask on the person's face as you run to the next person, repeating the process. 

By the time you reach Scott, he’s face down on the grass. “Q— can you see if the— the black box is still in the plane? Someone needs to tell the Professor what happened?” He zips back, returning less than a second later with a solemn look on his face. “It’s okay— it’s okay. Just… move them away from the plane, yeah?”

You lug Scott up, limping towards the camera and they see a piece of metal sticking out from your leg. It’s straight through but you’ve been working through it, using your powers to keep pressure from the leg. 

The video ends there, cutting to a picture of you and a guy with red eyes in front of a grave, giving it the middle finger. It reads Charles Xavier. The next picture of the two of you again, taken by someone else as you’re both hanging your heads at the sight of Charles, alive and back in the mansion. 

Again, it’s a video. It starts with a banner that says it’s prom night. The theme is Under the Stars and there’s terrible music playing in the rented-out hall. “This is proof— because we all know (Y/n) will deny this later,” Jean laughs into the camera as your group of friends rush towards the bathroom. There’s Scott, of course, and three other people they can’t see. The door to the bathroom opens without anyone touching it and they see you, standing with Kurt sat on the bathroom sink, making out. 

The group shouts when the two of you pull away and Kurt bites your lower lip, pulling a noise from you. It doesn’t last long, as your head snaps over and you shout, chasing them throughout the party. 

Then starts a string of videos. Taken at different points of your life but you’re training your powers in all of them. Flying, holding up Olympic-sized pools with just a finger, freezing giant robots midstep, creating tornadoes— incredible feats that continue to top each other with each new clip. It’s somehow but incredibly terrifying and amazing and then they’re reminded that the person they’re watching is the same person they’ve known for nearly eight years. 

The same person that they would’ve said didn’t have a single dangerous bone in their body, whose muscles were for carrying them home from the bar— not the guy who broke off the top of a mountain to fight Apocalypse. 

It’s so weird, like you’re two separate people. But, Spencer guesses that the death of Ella truly did change you, since none of the videos are dated after her death. 

Before the screen turns back, there’s one final picture. It’s a funeral, Ella’s. The rain is heavy, impossibly so and Spencer remembers it— that storm. The rain was so heavy and strong that it reached Vegas, towns flooded and some of the damage is still being recovered to this day. The background is hard to read but there’s a break in the rain, a perfect rectangle above the casket where a golden sun shone down on the beautiful bouquet. 

You’re off to the side, not far from the casket but notably away from everyone else, staring at the brown wood, fist clenched tightly in your suit, two sizes too small for your body. 

Perhaps you are like other mutants who live longer, so you’ve been around for a while. Many believe your mutation is vampirism, but it’s more a collection of mutations that look like vampirism. Like blood manipulation, shapeshifting, mind reading, flight, etc. 

It would even make sense for you to help Charles out with his school at some point, because you still believe in the good of it all. Having two strong mind readers is very difficult though, and at some point, you leave as you two keep butting heads. 

Before you leave, you are able to build good relations with a lot of the students, to guide them however they may need, and you are a big help to the student whose mutations affect their physical appearance. 

Because yes, Charles is a mutant, but he could live amongst the average human if he wants to. But you? You look like a stereotypical vampire, or even a downright monster, so you can't. 

It results in you being someone a lot of the students feel safer coming to, talking to, especially when whatever they need to talk about involves their mutations. 

One of the mutants you help out is Scott, because yeah, he looks mostly human, but his eyes make it impossible for him to live amongst the average population. At least at this time, since he hasn’t learned control. 

Of course, Scott is loyal to Charles at this point, so you aren’t as close to him as other students, but even Scott knows you are always there. 

Even after leaving the communication between you and the students is open, if they need it. Over the years, some have left to travel with you, or to train with you, etc. Etc. 

Over the years you never actually join the X-men, being more of a free agent who helps out when they need it. It does keep the bond open, even as everyone grows and changes as people. 

When everything goes down with Scott and Charles, you are far from the first-person Scott thinks of. It's been a long time since you’ve been part of his inner circle after all. 

But when the team needs a powerful mind reader, and Jean isn’t there, you get the call. At this point you’ve been on vacation somewhere, sunbathing because you don’t burn, drinking colorful drinks, and reading bad romance books. 

I like to think that Scott won’t let himself actually work out the attraction he feels for you. Maybe he even dismisses it because you’ve always been someone that literally all x-men had a little crush on at some point in their lives. 

You do know what you’re feeling though, but in the beginning it’s just attraction, which you can push away. 

That's the plan, but it won’t stick. You've always had a thing for caring for others, making sure they’re safe and comfortable, that they have somewhere they can come if they need it. 

Scott wouldn’t come to you for a good while, not until you pretty much force him.  

Our beloved Cyclops has dated enough people with mind powers, so that has to be comforting in a way, that you can read his mind, so he doesn’t have to say it out loud.  

You can even imagine a mission where it’s just the two of you, and on the jet back, you sprout wings to wrap around you, so Scott can just slump and relax in the comfortable darkness of it all. 

You feel horrible when the normal attraction you feel becomes deeper, more intense, like a living breathing thing in your chest. But you also can’t make yourself pull away, not when Scott has finally found someone he can allow himself to be vulnerable with. 

He's just so sweet when Scott lets himself breathe, to let his mind relax and the tension melt out of his bones. 

This might even be the point where Scott finally acknowledges his own feelings, or more like, the feelings fill so much that he can barely hide them behind his mental defenses. 

Unlike you, Scott will try to withdraw, especially when his needy little thoughts start slipping through the cracks of his mental shield.  

It's miserable though, as Scott has gotten so used to nuzzling into your neck fur, and being wrapped in your wings, he’s gotten so used to being cared for and listened to. To being vulnerable and soft with somebody. 

It only feels right to let him be, since you don’t wanna pressure him or overstep. That is, until Scott puts himself in danger, stupid danger he should have been able to avoid. 

After he’s wrapped up, maybe even a bit loopy from whatever medicine they used, Scott’s mental shields just crumble. Luckily only you are around to hear him, but he’s so... needy. 

He’s so needy, so ashamed for his wants, but so hungry for it. You can almost feel his downright physical pain as his loopy mind keeps chanting out gasped little versions of ‘daddy’ when you hold him. 

To keep his dignity, and perhaps you are a little selfish, you bring him to your room, which will keep his thoughts between you two.  

That also means that Scott gets to climb into your arms, shivering and shaky as he pants against your neck for no real reason.  

He just wants to be held, he wants to be kissed and touched, he wants to be loved and cared for. And most of all, he wants to be yours. 

You wouldn’t kiss him at this point, or do anything extreme, but you do hold him, nuzzling his hair, cooing soft praise at him as Scott twitches and jolts with every compliment. 

The needy arousal he feels is thick like syrup, but doing anything when he isn’t fully present is a big no. Instead you can only calmly stop him when he tries rutting on your thigh, even if it’s so difficult to do so, as he pants out wet little begs.  

The sun was setting over Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, casting a warm, golden light through the large windows of the gym. The usual buzz of activity had quieted down, leaving you alone to get in some extra training. The silence was almost calming, a rare moment of peace after everything that had happened over the past few days.

You were lost in your thoughts, practising your kicks against a heavy bag, when the door creaked open. Without needing to look, you knew who it was. There was only one person who could move so silently yet make his presence known so effortlessly.

“Looks like someone’s been working hard,” Logan’s gruff voice came from behind you, a teasing edge to it. You could practically hear the smirk in his tone.

You turned, arching an eyebrow as you met his gaze. “Just trying to stay sharp. Didn’t expect you to drop in. Thought you’d be nursing a beer somewhere.”

He shrugged, leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed over his broad chest. “Beer can wait. Figured you could use some real training instead of beating up that bag.”

You couldn’t help but grin. “Oh, so you’re volunteering to be my punching bag?”

Logan pushed off the wall and strolled toward you, his movements fluid and controlled. There was always something captivating about the way he moved—like a predator, always aware of his surroundings, always ready to strike.

“Something like that,” he said, his voice low as he came to a stop a few feet from you. “If you think you can handle it, bub.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the smile that tugged at your lips. “Big words, Wolverine. Hope you can back them up.”

He chuckled, the sound deep and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. “Guess we’ll find out.”

The session began as it always did—circling each other, testing the waters with light jabs and quick footwork. But there was an underlying tension tonight, more than usual. Maybe it was the way Logan’s eyes kept straying to your lips, or the way your heart raced every time he got close.

“You’re getting slow, old man,” you teased as you dodged a punch and spun away, landing a light tap on his shoulder.

Logan’s lips curled into a smirk. “And you’re getting cocky. Might have to teach you a lesson.”

His words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, you both just stood there, staring at each other. Then, with a sudden burst of energy, you both lunged forward, fists flying in a blur of motion.

The sparring intensified, the lighthearted banter replaced by focused determination. But even as you fought, there was a spark of playfulness, a dance of words and movements that only the two of you shared.

“Is that all you’ve got, bub?” Logan grunted as he blocked a kick and spun you around, his grip on your arm firm but not painful.

You twisted out of his hold, a sly smile on your lips. “Wouldn’t want to hurt your ego too much, Wolvie.”

His laughter was low and genuine, and it made something warm unfurl in your chest. Logan was a hard man, but moments like these—when he let his guard down, even just a little—made you feel like you were seeing the real him. The one beneath all the gruff exterior and adamantium claws.

As the session continued, you found yourself pushing harder, testing his limits just as much as your own. Each time he got close, you felt the heat of his body, the brush of his skin against yours, and it was becoming harder to focus on the fight and not on how much you wanted him.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of back-and-forth, you saw your opening. With a quick feint, you managed to sweep Logan’s legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the mat with a surprised grunt.

You didn’t waste a second, straddling him and pinning him down with a triumphant grin. “Looks like I’ve got you.”

Logan looked up at you, his eyes dark and intense, but there was a hint of amusement in his gaze. “Seems so. What’s your plan now, darlin’?”

The way he said “darlin’” sent a jolt through you, and suddenly the playful atmosphere shifted into something heavier, more charged. You leaned in closer, your faces just inches apart, your breath mingling with his.

“Maybe I’ll make you beg for mercy,” you whispered, your voice low and teasing.

Logan’s lips curled into a slow, wicked grin, his hands coming up to rest on your hips. “Or maybe I’ll turn the tables on you.”

The challenge in his voice was clear, and you felt your pulse quicken in response. But before you could think of a retort, Logan’s grip tightened, and with a swift, effortless movement, he flipped you over, reversing your positions so that he was the one hovering over you.

“Gotcha,” he murmured, his voice rough and gravelly, but his eyes were soft as they searched your face. He wasn’t pinning you down, not really—there was still room for you to escape, but neither of you made a move to do so.

The tension between you was palpable now, crackling in the air like electricity. Logan’s gaze flicked to your lips, then back to your eyes, as if asking permission. You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest, but you gave a small nod, unable to find your voice.

That was all the encouragement Logan needed. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was as fierce as it was gentle. It was like everything that had been building between you two—the banter, the flirting, the unspoken tension—was pouring out into that one kiss.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, your hands threading through his hair, pulling him closer. The rest of the world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you, lost in each other.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathing heavily, your foreheads resting against each other’s. Logan’s eyes were still closed, his grip on your hip gentle but firm as if he didn’t want to let you go, while his other hand was on the floor, positioned next to your head.

He leaned down to lay passionate but gentle kisses against your neck.

You bit your lip, suppressing the almost vile moan that was on the tip of your tongue, feeling the warmth of his breath against your skin. “I’ve been waiting for you to make the first move.”

Logan chuckled, raising his head to look at you. “Guess I’m not as patient as I thought.”

You laughed softly, your fingers tracing the lines of his face. “Guess not.”

The mood between you had shifted, the playful teasing giving way to something deeper, something more intimate. You felt a connection with Logan that you hadn’t allowed yourself to fully acknowledge before, and now that it was out in the open, it felt right.

“So, what now?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s eyes darkened with a new intensity, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. “How about we take this workout somewhere more private? I’ve got a few ideas on how to… optimise our training.”

A shiver ran down your spine at the suggestive tone in his voice. “Lead the way,” you murmured, your heart pounding with anticipation.

Logan smirked, pulling back just enough to help you to your feet. But before you could move, he captured your lips in another heated kiss, this one more urgent, more demanding. It left you breathless, your knees weak as you clung to him for support.

When he finally released you, there was a hunger in his eyes that mirrored your own. Without another word, he took your hand and led you out of the gym, his pace quick and determined. The cool night air hit your skin as you stepped outside, but you barely noticed, too focused on the man beside you.

Logan’s room was dimly lit, the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting long shadows on the walls. The air was filled with a quiet intensity as you both entered, the door closing behind you with a soft click.

Logan’s gaze was fixed on you, his eyes dark with an unspoken promise. He stepped closer, his rough hands finding your waist, pulling you gently towards him. The world outside seemed to fade away as you stood there, the anticipation crackling between you.

You looked up at him, your heart racing, as his hands slid up your back, his touch both firm and tender. “So, this is your idea of a private training session?” you teased, your voice breathless.

Logan’s lips curled into a smirk as he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. “Just thought we could continue our workout in a more…personal setting.”

Before you could respond, Logan’s lips were on yours, his kiss fierce and hungry. The sudden intensity took your breath away, but you melted into it, your hands finding their way to his shoulders, gripping him as you kissed him back with equal fervour.

His hands roamed your back, pulling you closer as if he wanted to absorb every inch of you. The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent as you both lost yourselves in the sensation. The roughness of his hands contrasted with the softness of your skin, creating a delicious tension that only heightened the experience.

Logan’s lips were warm and insistent, moving with a rhythm that made your pulse quicken. He gently pushed you against the wall, his body pressing against yours, the heat and strength of him undeniable. You responded eagerly, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer, your lips moving in perfect harmony with his.

The kiss was a dance of passion and exploration, each touch and caress filled with a mix of tenderness and desire. Logan’s hands slid down to your hips, his grip strong and possessive as he pressed you closer against him. You could feel the heat of his body, the hardness of his muscles, and it only made you want him more.

“Jump,” Logan said, though it sounded more like a grunt than actual words. As you jump, his arms catch you, holding you by both of your legs as your hands threaded through his hair. You could feel him straining against his pants while he walked you over to the bed. You looked up at him with a smirk from where he tossed you on the bed. You slowly begin to undress, leaving you bare in front of him with the exception of your bra and panties.

“Stunning,” He muttered under his breath as he stared at you in a trance. His hand travelled down to his aching bulge, palming himself at the sight of you.

“Just gonna stand there and stare or are ya gonna do something, Wolvie.”

He let out an almost animalistic growl as he climbed on top of you, capturing your lips with his. His rough hands hands felt smooth against your skin as they travelled across your body. He pulls away from you, looking at his hands as his claws come out. He gently slides a claw under your bra, snapping it, freeing your breasts.

His claws retract and discard the bra across the room. His head quickly dives down to your tits, mouth latching onto one of your hard nipples as his hand kneads at the neglected breast. A yelp escapes your lips as he gently bites down on your nipple.

Your hands twine themselves in his hard, tugging gently as he moves his attention to your other breast. As he focuses on your breast, he shifts so that his elbow is holding him up while playing with your breast. His free hand slides down your body, slipping into your panties.

His fingers brush over your clit, making you let out a very solicited moan. His fingers run up your slit, making him groan.

“Fuck, you're already so wet and I’ve barely done anything yet, bub,” you let out an almost pathetic whimper in response. You feel him rut against your leg, attempting to get some much-needed relief. One of your hands leaves his hair and moves to push off his pants before planning him through his underwear, earning a groan from his lips.

You gasp as you feel one of his thick fingers enter you, pumping and curling in and out. It feels so good, all you can do is moan out his name. Looking into your eyes, he pulls you into a kiss as another finger slips into you. He swallows your moan with his mouth.

“Logan, ‘m so close baby,” you moan into his lips before whimpering at the loss of contact as his hand pulls your of you.

“Need to be inside you, want you to cum around my cock, darlin’” he says making you nod quickly, pulling your hand away from his groin.

He stands up, pulling off his boxers. As his cock frees, it slaps against his stomach and you almost whimper at the sheer size of it. His claws slowly extend out of his fist. He crawls back on top of you before using one of his claws to gently rip off your panties.

He positions himself at your entrance and looks up at you for approval.

“Please Logan just fuck me already.”

Gently and slowly, he pushes himself inside of you. His head falls back at the feeling of you around him. You wince at the slight sting from the size of him. He slows down and looks at you. You nod at him and moan as he bottoms out.

The two of you stay still for a minute as you adjust to him.

“Ok, you can move now, Lo.”

“How d’ya want it darlin’?” his raspy voice sounds out, making you even wetter.

“Rough baby, I thought this was supposed to be private training not–,” you tease him but are quickly cut off by your own moan as he roughly pulls out to the tip before slamming back in. His hands grip your legs, pulling them over his shoulder before moving to tightly grip the pillows next to your head. Your arms move up my your head, loosely wrapping around his.

The room is filled with loud moans and grunts as he fucks you. One of his hands moves down to circle your clit, making you cry out at the feeling. He drops one of your legs off his shoulder, changing the angle slightly.

“Oh fuck, right there!” you scream out as he pistons into your sweet spot. He throws his head back with a loud growl as your pussy clenches around him.

“Holy shit bub, so fuckin’ tight, wrapping around me just right.”

You hear the loud noise of his claws right next to your head as they extend into the bed. He uses them to give him more leverage as he fucks you harder, making you arch your back.

“‘M so close baby,” you moan into his ear as his head drops to your neck.

He doesn’t give up his relentless pace as he brings you closer to your orgasm. The sounds of his feral grunts in your ear throw you over the mess, making you scream as your insides tighten and you cum around his cock.

“Almost there,” he says as his thrusts become sloppier and his dick twitches inside of you.

“Where d’ya want it?”

“Inside, please,” you say, desperately.

Logan moves to kiss your tender lips roughly as he cums in you with a loud groan. His thrusts slow down before he comes to a stop. He drops on top of you with heavy breaths as you both lie there in silence.

Slowly pulling out of you, Logan rolls onto his back next to you before you both turn your heads to look at each other. He grins at your fucked-out expression.

“That was even better than I imagined,” he admits.

“Same,” you agree as you lean over to kiss him, smiling against his lips and muttering as you pull away,

“This was definitely a different kind of training, but I think that I still need a little more work on my form, think ya could help?”