#phoenix x reader

Baby, just do the dishes, I'll give you what you, what you want/Considering I have feelings, I'm like, "Why are my clothes still on?":

Scott may have been a busy man but he wasnt under any sort of impression that you'd "pick up" all the housework when the two of you moved in together. As your arms wrapped around his waist he moved to put one hand over yours before remembering he was elbow-deep in suds. Looking over his shoulder to see a love-drunk expression on your face and glazed over eyes. A little insulted that you thought he was that backwards in his thinking and... you were still dating him. He needs to have some sort of conversation about this

Jean loved having with her while doing chores, the domesticity of it warm in her chest, but as you tucked yourself into her side, muttering something about "taking such good care of me". She absolutely doesnt object as you start pressing your face into her neck but she is a bit worried she might've been distant the last few weeks, laying her head on you as she finishes up before

Ororo was fine with doing her part around the household, but she did have a specific distaste for dishes. But with the dishwasher broken and you busy at work, she had started on the dishes from last nights dinner and today's breakfast. She'd gotten into a groove when you got home and saw her doing the thing she dislikes just because you were busy and it had to be done. Ororo prides a bit as you press against her back pressing kisses in thanks. She could get used to this... lets hope maintenence was here tomorrow though.

Anna-Marie huffed and puffed about getting it done but when she finally sauntered over to the sink and started working the look of pure unfiltered attraction from you as you finished cleaning the bookcase was all worth it. She'll make a show out of it too, lifting the plate up slightly so that droplets of water run up her arm as your eyes followed the wet trail. Might try to bargain for a reward (kiss) when she's done.

Remy doesnt shy away from doin what his partner wants, he lives to serve. And if the fastest way to get your hands crawling across his skin is to play house-husband then he is more than willing to comply, he doesnt exactly get how you get hot and bothered from doing the bare minimum but Remy would never turn down an oppurtunity to lavish you in attention (and get some in return)

Assemble a chair from IKEA, I'm like, "AhAhAh"/Offering to do anything, I'm like, "Oh, my god":

Kurt has gotten more handy over the years, keeping his small church in order was a lot of work and outsourcing all the labor just wasnt possible- plus watching your eyes trail over his back and arms while he lifted your new bedframe up the stairs was a pleasure like no other. Shocked that he did it by himself, as he assured you it was his duty as your partner, he doesnt want to ruin the moment though so dont be surprised when he bamfs across the room to receive his payment

Kitty and her endless ability to understand complex (and ridiculous!) instructions was one of the most attractive things about her. Oh her brain was so amazing, it's not your fault her face was in front of it! Which is part of the reason she seems so surprised when she looks up, halfway done fixing your phone to see your eyes glossy and unfocused, flitting across her face and hands. She'll fan her face and tie up her hair for you to have a better view, giggling as you come back to and start praising her.

Logan was buff. He was so, so buff. He knew it, you knew it, and he knew you loved when he showed off- moving your new couch to the other side of the room for the nth time as you keep getting distracted. Muttering out another "no not right" as he laughs and rolls his shoulder, hauling it to another area as you trailed behind, staring at his muscles. At some point he'll forego any sense of 'modesty' and take off his ratty white tank alltogether, enjoying hearing your breath catch in your throat

Warren didn't particularly like this process. He had put something on backwards a bazillion steps ago and was groaning in frustration as he had to redo all his hard work, but oh you loved this process. Watching his face flush in frustration and seeing how he kept doing this one little task for you over and over (accidentally making it harder for himself), he was about to call it quits when he saw your half-lidded eyes and knew there was a very nice end in sight.

You could count on one hand the number of times you have doubted Peter’s judgment. There had been that huge fight while in Europe, when he had willingly trusted Quentin because he was craving the father figure he had lost. That argument had been… bad. Awful. Unforgettable.

You had stormed off in the middle of the airport after his fight with Mysterio, swearing up and down you never wanted to see him again. You had stayed away from everyone, sick and tired of being ignored by who you considered your best friend, until you have seen it; Mysterio, in front of the entire world, revealing Peter’s secret identity.

The aftermath of that had been filled with very awkward conversations and the strength to hold back the need to say ‘I told you so.’ There was no point in beating a dead horse, and Peter… he was beyond gone. Especially after losing May and having MJ and Ned forget him.

You had been spared, thanks to your magic you honestly had no idea where it came from. The spell hadn’t worked on you, and in the worst period of time of Peter’s life, you had remained a stubborn constant, not allowing him to slip away into the darkness, begging to fight until he started to do it.

He had become an amazing hero; not that he wasn’t before, but after May, he fought like it was his calling— like he needed it as an outlet to not tip over the edge.

And you had been there by his side, watching his back and stopping him for going too far. His oldest friend, his trusted sidekick, which was the name New Yorkers had apparently given to you, despite how much you hated that title; you only fought to watch over Peter, not for glory or a cool name, but still… Spider-man’s sidekick? Really?

You shook your head, focusing back on Peter’s voice. You recalled quickly what he had been telling you, and blinked at his pacing figure in the living room of your shared apartment.

“A telepath,” you repeated, thinking over the words. “Who controls people.”

“Yes,” Peter ran a hand over his messy curls. “It’s— I don’t know. It’s something strange.”

“Avengers type of strange?” You inquired.

He gave you a meaningful look. “Maybe.”

“Alright,” you said, standing up from the sofa.

“Wha— where are you going? We’re in a crisis.”

“I know, dummy,” you said, going to the bathroom.

“Is that a swimsuit?” Peter called after you.

“Yes!” You replied through the closed door. “I’m going to see Yelena and ask her what she knows.”

He sighed. “Be careful, please.”

“I will.”

With new (and albeit little) information, you departed Yelena’s unusual office and made your way back home. It was starting to get dark, and you knew if you didn’t get back soon, Peter would start to worry. You didn’t blame him one bit, you always worried about him too. You had a rule to always call if you were a little late for dinner, just to not concern the other.

But as you took a left and entered a less crowded part of the city, you felt it; a small tingling in your hands, your hairs standing on end, blood pumping fast in preparation for a fight.

Shit. Shit.

Something slammed against you and pushed you into a wall of the deserted alley to your right. You tried to talk, but a gloved hand was pressed against your mouth.

A warm body moved until it was right over yours, grabbing your wrists and holding them in place against the wall.

“Well,” the voice was surprisingly sweet considering who —or what— was holding you down. “If it isn’t Spider-man’s sidekick.”

You almost rolled your eyes at the name, but you knew it wasn’t the time to lose focus; you needed to stay on high alert.

You couldn’t see the face, blocked by the hood over her head and the darkness of the alleyway, but as she moved closer you saw green eyes staring you down.

“Are you gonna scream?” She asked, almost mockingly. In response, you bit into her gloved finger. She put her hand back and used it to hold your arms more securely over your head. “Feisty.”

“What do you want?” You asked, sounding tired and frustrated. You hated that she had managed to sneak up on you, hated that you had been stupid enough to get caught. But mostly you hated that you would get an earful from Peter the moment you were safe. “Money? Power?”

“I want to know where V-max is,” she said. “And you know it. I know he does.”

You found yourself looking into her eyes. They were… tired. Exhausted, even. As if she hadn’t slept in days. She didn’t look like a maniac on a power trip, but… but like a lost person searching for something.

“V-max,” you repeated. The name sounded utterly unfamiliar to you; you had never heard Peter mention it, and none of the villains you would beat up and send to jail had ever said anything remotely similar to what the woman said.

“Yes.” She squeezed your wrists harder, pupils dilating in excitement of what she thought was the big reveal she had been waiting for.

“I don’t know anything about that,” you told her. You hoped it sounded sincere.

She got closer, her nose almost touching yours, and her lips curled in anger as she spoke: “Bullshit.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but something cut you off. The woman, she was— she was trying to get into your head. And…

She was succeeding.

You pushed against the invisible force trying to breach through your mental walls, forcing it out until she stumbled back, clearly taken aback by how strong you were.

“What is it with you and your boyfriend, uh?” She asked, breathing loudly through her nose. She was starting to get frustrated; you needed to get out fast. “Did you do something to make you immune to me?”

You threw your head back as much as the wall allowed and hit her square in the face with your forehead. The hit was enough for her to pull away from you and she stumbled backwards, cursing loudly.

You didn’t stay to see if she was okay; you took off running as she watched, surprisingly docile as her prey escaped.

But you weren’t escaping— no, she was playing with you.

As you turned your head to the side, you saw bodies moving awkwardly. A young man with sporty clothes pivoted and ran towards you.

“I just want to know where V-max is!” He —she— screamed at you as he chased you. “I need to know.”

“Fuck off!” You screamed, going up a fire escape staircase as the man observed, clearly done with the chase for the time being.

As you stayed on the roof and called Peter to come pick you up, you couldn’t help but think of her words.

I need to know.

Why? Why was V-max —whatever that was— so important that she was willingly antagonizing the most persistent hero in all of America?

There was something else, something far beyond the common villainous greed. Yes— this was personal to her, and if you were to judge her sunken-in eyes, it was crucial.

But Peter had already made up his mind; she was a villain that needed to be stopped.

“Shit,” you said, running a hand over your hair to push it out of your sweaty face.

You were going to have to go behind Peter’s back to figure out what this was all about.

Great.

“I told you to be careful,” Peter said, pacing back and forth in front of your bedroom door. “And what do you do? Almost get caught by her!”

“I didn’t get caught!” You threw back, changing out of your work clothes. It was the following day and Peter was still freaking out about what had happened the night before. “She couldn’t get into my mind. Magic, remember? The thing that made it impossible for me to forget your annoying ass?”

Peter threw his hands in the air, clearly frustrated. Not with you per se, but with the situation as a whole. He hated the feeling of his loved ones being in danger; especially if it came from a person he seemingly couldn’t stop.

“Sorry,” Peter said.

You walked up to him, wearing your comfy pijamas you had bought with your first salary, and squeezed his shoulders.

“I know,” you told him softly. “And I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to scare you. I know you’re angry at her, but you can’t let her get into your head.” You paused. “Literally and figuratively.”

Peter chuckled, moving to wrap his arms around your waist. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice cracking halfway through. “Please don’t die.”

“I love you too,” you squeezed his neck hard. “And ditto.”

He pulled away and reached for his mask. “I’m going on patrol, okay? I’ll be back before dinner.”

“I’m making burgers,” you told him.

“Extra cheese, please, ma’am,” he told you as he opened the window of the living room.

You tried to ignore it at first. That gut feeling in your chest that was telling something was off about the entire situation.

You just wanted peace and calm. To have a laugh with Peter during dinner, go to bed early and wake up with enough time to take a hot shower before your shift as a cashier at one of the Deli’s around the corner.

But you couldn’t help but feel as if something was wrong. Utterly, completely wrong.

With a sigh, you turned off the TV program you weren’t even watching and stood up. You walked around for a bit, trying to think of something to do. Your eyes landed on Peter’s computers, an ugly sight that sometimes made you regret letting him set up his ‘office’ in the living room.

“Fuck it,” you murmured, going up to one of the screens and turning it on. “Hey, E.V.,” you called, smiling when the robotic voice welcomed you. “Do you think you can find me some info on V-max?”

“Let me check.”

After an agonizing minute and a half (not that you were counting or anything), the AI replied: “Nothing. Maybe you got the name wrong?”

No. You could remember perfectly the feeling of her warm hands on your wrists, squeezing as she said the name. It was V-max, and whatever that was, it was so important that not even Peter’s super smart AI assistant could get access to it.

You checked the clock on the corner of the screen. It was early. You could go around and check on some of the facilities, but…

But you would be a fool of you didn’t try to question the girl again, before you went onto this tangent that could put Peter in danger.

Opening the window that led to the fire escape, you stepped outside and looked around.

“Hey,” you called, because you knew she was close. You could feel her in the back of your mind, a tingling sensation that was almost playful. She must have followed you and Peter last night as he took you both home; she must be waiting for you to leave the house so she could get inside and get any dirt she could on your best friend.

God, what the fuck were you doing?

A body on the other side of the street moved, and soon enough another followed, until a woman was trying to climb the stairs.

“No,” you said. “I wanna talk to you.”

The middle aged woman looked at you, blinking, before she moved around as if possessed; well, technically speaking, she was. The next second, she was looking around confused, not remembering how or why she had been trying to get up the stairs of a fire escape building.

Soon enough, a hooded figure walked the same path your eyes had tracked before. You were momentarily surprised she had decided to listen to you; she was either stupidly naïve or desperate enough to obey your request.

As she climbed, her hood shifted to the side and you caught a glimpse of her vibrant red hair. Once she was in front of you, you noticed she was slightly taller, with too many layers of clothing and—

Jesus, those eyes. They were full of indescribable grief.

“Why do you want V-max?” You asked her, crossing your arms. Standing so close to her made you feel on edge. She was powerful, although not fully aware of it; you were sure if she really tried, if she put her mind to it, she could also control you as she did with everyone else.

“Do you know where it is?” She asked. She sounded skeptical, and hopeful.

“I don’t even know what it is,” you admitted. Her shoulders dropped. “But… tell me. Tell me why you’re searching for it.”

“So you can snitch on me to your boyfriend and get me killed?” She asked, sarcastic and angry and bitter.

What the hell had she gone through to be so… so cynical?

“Not my boyfriend. And no,” you said. “I think you’re not a crazy person trying to destroy the world. I think you actually want whatever v-max is for something good.”

“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow. “And how can I trust it’s not a trap?”

“Listen, smartass, I’m trying to help you here.” You hit her arm. She had the decency to pretend it hurt. “You’re a scary cat that doesn’t trust easy, fine. Show me.”

She blinked at you. “Show you what?”

“Why V-max is so important to you,” you said. “Let me judge if you’re insane or not.”

“If you want me to show you—”

“You have to get inside my mind. I know,” you took a step back, sending Peter a wordless apology for what you were about to do. “I’m gonna let you in. If you take advantage of me and try to use me to get that thing—”

“I won’t,” she rushed to say. Under the bright sun, she seemed so lost. God, she was either an amazing actress or she really was being misunderstood by everyone. “I swear.”

You were a lifeline she was clinging onto; the one person giving her a chance to explain herself.

“Then do it.”

You took a deep breath and let your walls down for the first time in years.

You blinked to try to get used to the light blinding you. You looked around, noticing you were laying on—

Jean. Her name was Jean. She was just a girl your age trying to find her sister. And the government was going after her, and so was your best friend, the closest thing to a brother you had; a big brother who was unknowingly getting in the way of Jean’s big sister, and—

And shit, you must have almost stumbled backwards when she had entered your mind. She had been harsh, probably not used to doing it gently, but she had caught you and held you as you watched her memories.

You weren’t sure if she had entered your mind or had just led you into hers. Her emotions… they had hit you so hard you had wanted to cry. Jesus, she was so scared and alone…

“Hey, sleeping beauty,” she smiled softly down at you. She was kneeling on the fire escape floor, using one of her legs so you could lead on her. Both her arms were carefully placed around you, being careful not to touch you too much in case it was unwelcomed, but ready to hold you if you started to slip.

“Jean,” you said her name. “I…” You sat up, trying to wrap your mind around everything. “Was V-max the organization that took Sara?”

“No.” Jean sat down, resting her back on the railing opposite to you. “It was the last thing she told me. In my mind. It was a few weeks ago. She sent me a message. A cry for help. She needs me to find her.”

You cursed. This was all a fucking mess.

“Okay.” You blinked at her. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Jean asked, frowning.

“How did you know it was me?” You asked, changing the subject suddenly. It had been irking you, how she had been able to find you within the crowd so easily when you prided yourself in staying under the radar.

“You’re the only person I can’t read,” she said. Her hand raised and she played with the chain around her neck. She looked oddly… human, and you tried not to think how attractive she was with her hood down. “Out of this entire town, you’re the only one. I knew it was you who was protecting Peter’s mind. I just looked until I found you.”

Protecting Peter’s mind. Was that what you had been doing unconsciously? You had always wanted to keep him safe, so it was a given, but still…

“I can feel you,” you said. “Just like you can feel me.”

She pursed her lips, clearly unhappy with the knowledge that whatever it was going on between the two of you, it was mutual.

“Yes,” she said. “I think… I think you’re like me.”

A freak. A contradiction of nature.

“I think so too.”

Silence. Jean looked down at her hands, sighing. She seemed even more troubled now that she had gotten confirmation that Spider-man and his friend didn’t know anything about V-max.

“I didn’t mean to,” you said. Jean looked up and found you looking at her lips. When you had hit her the night before, you had aimed for her nose as Peter had taught you; the bones in the nose were surprisingly fragile compared to other bones around, so you always aimed for it when an asshole tried to grab you without your consent.

But the headbump had landed on her lower lip instead, cutting it as it hit her teeth.

Jean passed her tongue over her cut lip. “It’s whatever.”

You stood up, offering her your stretched hand. “C’mon.”

She eyed it for a moment before she grabbed it, using your help to stand up.

“What are we doing?” Jean asked, observing you as you got back inside the house.

“I’m dressing your wound and feeding you.”

Jean waited a moment, trying to take in your words, and once she saw you looking at her challengingly through the window, she rushed in to get inside.

Jean was oddly still. It was something you had noticed when you first saw her; her muscles locked and her body stopped any motion, making it seem as if she wasn’t even breathing.

She had stayed unmoving as you sat her down on Peter’s desk chair and disappeared to grab the first-aid kit you were constantly using with your best friend. It was more of a test on your part, to see what she would do alone in your apartment. You even waited an extra minute, looking through the med cabinet and humming as you checked the expiration date on any bottle you grabbed.

After you were satisfied, you walked back into the living room and inspected Jean.

Still sitting down where you had left her, her eyes on the ground as she waited for you to come back. She had even made a point of putting her hands on top of her thighs so you could clearly see her hands at all times.

“Look at you,” you said, walking up to her. “Who knew you could actually listen when I talk?”

She rolled her eyes. She kept her stare strictly on you, analyzing your every movement intensely.

“What are you gonna tell your boyfriend about me?” She asked. You pressed the gauze with isopropyl alcohol harder against her lip, making her hiss.

“I told you,” you said through gritted teeth. “Not my boyfriend.”

She raised an eyebrow, suddenly really interested in the conversation. “So you’re single?”

You laughed. The sound made Jean’s heart skip a beat. It was a melodic sound, albeit a little bit loud and high-pitched.

She loved it.

“Why the sudden interest…?” You tried to dig through your brain to remember Jean’s memories, searching for the word you weren’t sure had heard before.

“Grey,” she replied, seemingly able to understand where your mind had wandered to.

You held back the need to laugh and instead told her your own name. She whispered it back, her lips moving and grazing the back of your fingers. The touch set a shiver down your back.

“So Jean Grey, uh?” You asked, smiling cheekily. You had finally finished disinfecting the wound you had caused, and were starting to pull everything away.

“Yes.”

“Favorite piece of clothing?” You bit your lip at the awful joke. She eyed the movement with her blue orbs, the stare to instead you had to turn around suddenly.

She let out a laugh you barely heard as you walked up to the kitchen and threw away all the packaging you have used to play nurse with the ginger.

“What are you going to tell Peter?” She asked once you stood in front of her again.

You took a step back. “How…” You gave her an accusatory look. “Did you go into my mind?”

She raised her hands in a display of innocence. “No. I swore to you I wouldn’t.”

“So?”

She shrugged. “I read it in your mailbox.”

You cursed. Of course. God, you were awful at this whole ‘maintaining anonymity while saving New York’ thing. It was a wonder no one had caught you yet, considering you tent to leave your bag with your I.D. inside in whatever alley you could find while you went on to save the day.

“Sorry.”

She looked to the side, eyeing your mask. Peter had made it for you after Dr. Strange’s spell, apparently too paranoid to want you to be a vigilante without the proper face cover.

“Spider-man’s sidekick,” she said. “When are you gonna be your own person?”

You gritted your teeth, snatching the mask from the table. With a smirk, she made the mask levitate towards her. You allowed it, observing her.

“You’re a good person,” she whispered, looking into the eye lens from outside. You wondered what she was thinking about. “Why are you helping me?”

“Well, you said it yourself,” you walked up to her and delicately grabbed the mask. “I’m a good person. I help people who need it.”

“So I’m in that selected category?” She looked at you through her eyelashes. They were pretty, more blond than ginger, but still visible enough under the light of the living room.

“Yes,” you replied.

“What an honor,” she said, but there was no playfulness in her tone as she said those words. Her eyes were surprisingly kind as she looked at you. That was her saying thank you, you realized. The most vulnerable she would allow herself to be with a stranger.

You put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “You’re welcome.”

Her hand landed on your thigh, squeezing it back.

She remained seated as you moved to the kitchen. She was once again unnaturally still, hands on her lap. It was as if she was scared of moving, of catching someone’s eye and giving away her location. You thought it over as you pulled the two packages of burgers from the fridge, deciding to make enough food so she wouldn’t go hungry; she seemed as if she needed a good meal in her body. She was a little too skinny for it to be considered healthy, but taking into account she lived in the streets and her entire focus resided on finding her sister…

“Hey,” you called, turning your body to give her a look. “Can you help me peel some potatoes?”

“Sure.” She stood from the chair and walked over to you. You raised an eyebrow and she stopped.

“Take off your jacket. Put your hair up. And wash your hands.”

“Jesus, you’re bossy.”

“Like you couldn’t believe it.”

She took off her utter leather jacket, long and worn out, and laid it on the back of the chair. Standing there with her yellow jacket, she looked more… well, less intimidating.

“Nice pants, Jean,” you said. She didn’t dignify that with an answer, rolling her eyes and walking away to the bathroom.

Once she was out, with her hair in a messy bun and hands still damp, she walked to you.

“What are you going to do about Peter?” She asked once more.

“Well, he won’t be here for a while. I say we eat and you go hide in my bedroom once he’s here. And tomorrow…” You shook your head. “I’ll think of how to talk to him about this tomorrow.”

“Hide in your room?” She asked. “Won’t he be able to… feel me?”

“That only works when someone is in danger.” You looked at her over your shoulder. “And you’re not going to hurt me, are you?”

Jean replied before you could finish the sentence. “No.”

“Good.” You pointed at the washed potatoes on the counter. “Then you stay, and tomorrow we’ll figure it out. I know you don’t like him, but trust me, he’s a good guy. He’ll help us.”

Us. The word choice wasn’t lost to Jean. It was refreshing to have someone on her corner.

Jean moved silently, even with her combat boots. She was graceful, in the way only someone raised to be quiet can be.

Jean rested a hand on top of the counter, palm down. Her rings shone in the light of the kitchen, making you swallow. Her hand was close to your waist, as if she had wanted to hold you there but thought better of at the last second. You could feel her; her warmth behind you, her presence on the back of your mind. When you turned, she moved her other hand and successfully trapped you between the counter and her body.

“Are we a team now?” She asked. Her breath was minty, probably from chewing gum she had thrown out before obeying your request to come inside to eat.

“I don’t know,” you whispered. Her eyes felt like a physical presence that caressed your entire face. “Are we?”

“I’m used to doing things solo,” she replied. Her eyes went down from your eyes, going to your nose and then finally your mouth. “But maybe I can get used to your help.” She smirked. “Maybe you could be my sidekick.”

You almost growled; the nerve of this woman… always joking, always pushing your buttons. You weren’t sure what to make of her, but you knew just what to do to keep her quiet.

You hooked a finger over her chain, twisting until you had enough leverage to push her down. She went willingly, gripping the counter with all her might; she was holding back, letting you set the pace, and you loved it as much as you hated it.

You wanted to see her unravel. To wipe that knowing smirk from her lips. To make her lose the control she had been clinging onto for months.

When your lips connected, she moaned into your mouth. You expected her to take it slow, letting her savor your mouth, but she was greedy. She took everything you were offering her, seeking more the moment you wrapped your arms around her neck. Her hands were all over your body, as if she wanted to touch you everywhere and didn’t know where to begin. She settled for the back of your thighs, pushing you up until you were sitting on the counter. She didn’t stop there; her fingers, so long and sly, made you wonder what else she could do with them. They would fit perfectly inside of you, you were sure of it.

Fuck, she was driving you crazy.

Jean broke the kiss, and you pushed your head back a little, expecting her to talk. Instead, she grabbed the back of your head and began kissing your neck. Everywhere she touched, you could feel an aftershock under your skin. Your body was singing in pleasure, and you were sure you could hear her inside your mind, responding to you.

“Shit, Jean—”

She was hungry. You had been able to tell the first you saw her. Hungry for love, for answers, for help, for closure. But now… now she was hungry for you.

“I’m home—”

You grabbed Jean by the back of her head and pulled on her hair, forcing her to move her body away from you.

Peter was standing in the doorway, a bag full of groceries in his hand. He looked at you, and you looked at him; with your body on top of the counter, your legs spread to accommodate Jean’s body between them and her hands all over you, you knew there was no way out of this conversation now.

“Hey, Pete.” You made Jean turn her head until your friend could take a proper look at her face. “I found the telepath that’s been driving you crazy.”

To say these two take care of you well is the understatement of the century. Both Anne and Remy are strong willed, and determined to make sure you are comfortable at all times.

Anne usually takes care of anything physical. If you have trouble getting up or down stairs for whatever reason, she'll gently pick you up and walk them for you. There's been a few embarrassing times where she's found you sitting in the middle of the stairs, totally dejected because you overestimated yourself for the day- but she's nothing but comforting, letting you know she thought it was great you got as far as you did, and that she's happy to help the rest of the way. If you don't want to be carried, she'll let you lean on her and guide you instead, going at your pace the entire time.

Remy handles other things like chores. He's more than happy to cook a warm meal for you, and even more happy to sit in bed and eat with you. If your hands shake, don't worry, he's got scarily steady ones that will help you. He helps with chores that take it out of you, happy to sit on the floor side by side as the two of you fold laundry and probably watch a TV show- something like real housewives. If you can't get around to doing something he's on the job, no need to apologize for it, what's an extra load of dishes anyways?

Both of them carry around any medication you might take, be that an injection or pills, they are READY.

Every step of the way they are nothing but encouraging. They are pillars of support ready to catch you at all if you fall, to hold you up as you regain balance and stand high once more.

They coddle, but not as much. Well, Susan doesn't coddle as much, Reed definitely does.

Reed is someone who feels like if he isn't helping every second of the day then he isn't useful, so to say he's a bit of a helicopter is laughable. Of course, he doesn't ever want you to feel as though you're incapable of doing things on your own, it's just that why bother doing something and possibly hurting yourself when he can easily do it. He doesn't realize how bad of an ideology that is, and has been scolded on multiple occasions by basically everyone in his life that has common sense.

Susan is always there for you, but she's more there for encouragement. She'll sit in bed and rub her hands against your back, encouraging you to get up and giving you any medications you take. She's always got her hand in yours, but she doesn't let you know it's because she's worried all the time.

Both of them enjoy seeing you be independent, getting up and working on your own. It gives them a sense of pride that you're pushing through, that you're brave enough to try things that might be physically taxing and push through even when your bones start to hurt like hell.

Of course, the Baxter building is completely formatted to accommodate you. Elevators, ramps, hell even one of those wall chairs that move up and down stairs that Johnny probably uses more than you is there. All of it was meticulously done by Reed, even when Susan told him to tone it down a little, he just can't help it.

On rough days, they both wrap their arms around you and squeeze you tight, pressing kisses against your face. They claim they're squeezing the bad day out of you, wringing you dry like a towel, except instead of water it's the bad vibes from the day. Whether it's scientifically real or not is questionable, but if Reed says it's scientifically proven to work who are you to question?

Both of them are worry warts. Big, fat, worriers. They try and be nonchalant but it's hard to hide how much they care for you, how much they want to be there and help.

Scott is the more hands on one. He'll let you grab his arm and lean on him like a life support as you do stuff, helps you do chores like drying the dishes after you hand wash them and changing out the laundry- because it's such a tedious task. It's never a burden to him to help you, and he always jokes that if he had it his way your feet would never have to touch the ground again, that he'd carry you everywhere you want to go without a single complaint. Take advantage of that, and make him do just that, please he wants to be helpful so bad.

Jean is more on the silent side, sort of off to the side work you don't even realize needed to happen. She's helping make the x-mansion more accommodating, preparing things you don't even realize would be tedious to do like pre-chopping ingredients for meals. She's the type to always cut your apple slices for you, to peel your orange without you ever having to ask, and she does it without a single word. You don't even have to ask, she's already there and ready to help.

Neither are very vocal in their worry of offers to help, they're just... There. Hands resting encouragingly on your back and waiting for you to ask for anything. They would give you the world, should you ask.

Carol always welcomed you like one of her own, with a warm smile, a hug that smelled like fresh laundry and vanilla, and a plate of something home-cooked waiting on the table. Over time, their house became your second home, the place where you memorized the sound of their old floorboards and where you felt safest when the sky felt just a little too big.

And then there was Bradley.

Older. Cooler. Already growing into the kind of person you could only dream of becoming. He had this effortless way about him—music in his ears, sun in his smile, the kind of person that made rooms quieter and your heart louder. You followed him around with books hugged to your chest, spilling facts about superheroes and black holes, always hoping he'd listen—and he did.

He never rolled his eyes. Never made you feel silly for talking too much or knowing too many things. He let you tag along, called you “kid” with a grin that somehow didn’t sting, and made you feel like being exactly who you were, loud laugh, wild ideas, frizzy hair and all, was something worth being proud of.

You adored him.

Not in a way that needed anything in return, but in that pure, clumsy way that only happens when someone older and kinder and just out of reach shows you what it feels like to be seen.

When Bradley left for college, you told yourself not to miss him. You tried to tuck the ache away somewhere quiet, somewhere small, behind schoolwork, hobbies, competitions and all the things you used to ramble about to him when he’d pretend not to listen but always did. It wasn’t just that he left; it was that things changed.

You only saw him once after that. At Carol’s funeral. The air that day was thick with loss, the kind you could feel in your throat. You spotted him across the room—older, more tired, a stranger in the shape of someone you used to adore. You exchanged a look. Maybe a nod. Nothing more. Heavy. Wordless.

Calls stopped. Messages faded. And after the falling-out between him and your dad, whatever thread had quietly tied the two of you together just… vanished.

But even as time tugged Bradley further away, you never drifted from your dad. If anything, you clung to him tighter. You sent him everything—snapshots of you mid-flip in your gymnastics uniform, shaky videos of your band performing at school, newspaper articles of your victories, long, rambling letters from chess tournaments detailing every single move like it was a mission report. When you got your college acceptance letter, you didn’t just call him, you sent a copy with a doodle you’d drawn of the two of you in matching aviator sunglasses, grinning like dorks.

Because he wasn’t just your dad. He was your rock. Your anchor. Your hero in a flight suit. And no matter how many people came and went, how many versions of yourself you outgrew, he was always the one constant, the voice on the other end of the line who never once stopped believing in you.

And then… you became something more.

Charlie's Angel.

Not long after you started college out in California, with wide eyes and ambition for your future, you were approached by a curious agency. The Townsend Agency. It wasn’t like anything you expected. There were no job postings or open interviews. Just a whisper, a test, and then a door you didn’t even know was there opened right in front of you.

What followed was a whirlwind training that pushed your body to its limits, missions that tested your mind and your morals, and partnerships that carved something fierce and beautiful into your soul. You weren’t alone in it, either. There were two other girls—no, women—who became your teammates, your family, your sisters in everything but blood. Together, the three of you tackled the impossible. Missions took you all over the world—scaling rooftops, decoding encrypted files on the fly, surviving car chases, shootouts, betrayal. It was thrilling. Dangerous. Meaningful. Just the kind of beautiful chaos you lived for. Like a good Mitchell. You always did love flying close to the sun.

That being said… you still haven’t told your dad.

Not because you didn’t want to. You did… do. You’ve come close a dozen times, standing at the edge of the truth with your phone in hand or your heart in your throat, thinking this is it. But it never felt quite right.

Because how do you tell Maverick, the legendary naval aviator, your fighter pilot of a father, that his little girl became a spy?

Not a doctor or a lawyer or a quiet observer behind a desk. No, you became an Angel, a full-blown, off-the-books, world-saving, chaos-wrangling secret agent. You jump out of planes sometimes without a parachute, trusting only your timing and a teammate’s hand to catch you. You've fought trained mercenaries twice your size in the back alleys of foreign cities. You’ve disarmed bombs with ten seconds left on the clock. Posed as arms dealers, infiltrated corrupt corporations, survived car crashes, scaled a glass building in Dubai with nothing but suction grips and nerves, hotwired a moving car in Paris while dodging sniper fire.

And somehow still walked away—bloody, bruised, but grinning with your sisters.

How do you sit your dad down and say, “Hey, remember how you used to panic when I scraped my knee on the monkey bars? Well, now I carry lockpicks in my heels and can kill a man with a paperclip.”

Your friends tell you to just do it. “He’ll understand,” they say. “He’s military. He gets it, he's done dangerous things all his life."

But you know better.

He was a father first. He always had been, even when he wasn’t physically there, even when he was halfway around the world, flying high above everything. His heart was always anchored to you. You were his little girl, his sunshine, his soft spot in a hard-edged world, who checked your helmet twice before you could ride a bike, who made you text the second you got somewhere, worried when you scraped your knee, when you stayed up too late studying.

He was Maverick. Top Gun. Hero to most. But to you, he was just Dad.

So no, it’s not easy. Not when you know the truth will make his pulse spike and his mind race to every worst-case scenario. Not when you can still picture his face the day you fell off the beam at your gymnastics meet and he looked like the world had ended.

But still… there’s a part of you that hopes—when the moment comes, when you do tell him—he won’t just see the danger. He’ll see the strength, the purpose, the pride.

That somewhere deep down, the Maverick in him will recognize the Angel in you... Today is not that day, though.

Not when you’ve finally managed to visit after months apart—not because you didn’t want to come sooner, but because life had a funny way of keeping you both busy. His schedule was packed with flights and trainings and whatever top-secret projects still pulled at the edges of his life. Yours… well, yours was classified. Let’s just say saving the world tends to mess with your calendar.

But now, with a rare stretch of time off, you showed up at his hangar-home like no time had passed at all. He met you at the door with that familiar squint and slow-building smile, arms pulling you into one of those hugs that made you feel twelve again, like the universe could shrink down to just the two of you and still be enough.

You showed off your latest toy—a vintage, growling Mercedes-Benz Heritage, sleek and silver, like something out of a Bond film. He gave it an approving nod, muttered something about it being too pretty to trust you behind the wheel, and you both laughed like no time had passed.

At some point, after he proudly showed you the new project he was working on—an old plane with more history than metal—you insisted on cooking. Said you wanted to treat him. He looked skeptical but stepped aside, letting you take over the tiny kitchen.

The thing is… you might know how to hack into secure government servers blindfolded. You can decode encrypted files while hanging out of a moving vehicle and disarm a bomb with nothing but a bobby pin, chewing gum, and sheer nerve.

But apparently, you still don’t know how long garlic bread is supposed to stay in the oven.

Smoke curled out of the toaster oven like a signal flare, thick and dramatic, as if announcing your failure to the whole Mojave. You stood there, spatula in hand, staring at what used to be garlic bread—but now looked more like a charred fossil.

“Dammit,” you muttered under your breath, coughing as you fanned the smoke with a dishtowel, trying to open a window that didn’t want to budge.

So, you stumbled out of the silver trailer—smoke still trailing behind you like you were escaping a failed op—waving the towel above your head, hoping to clear the air.

"Everything is fine, just give me a vacuum and a YouTube tutorial," you coughed, still fanning the smoky air like your life depended on it. The kitchen now smelled less like garlic and more like defeat.

Then you heard it—your name, called out in a voice that was both familiar and unfamiliar all at once. Warm but deeper. Steady. Older. You froze mid-wave of the dish towel, eyes narrowing as you turned around.

And there he was.

Bradley Bradshaw.

Holy. Shit.

"Bradley!" you gasped, the breath catching somewhere between shock and joy.

Before you could think, you dropped the towel, launched forward, and threw your arms around him. It wasn’t graceful—your elbow clipped his sunglasses, you nearly tripped over your own feet, and there was definitely still flour smeared across your shirt—but none of it mattered. The hug was tight, warm, all the things unsaid wrapped into a single, breathless squeeze.

“Oh, it’s been forever,” you said breathlessly, pulling back just enough to look at him.

You were grinning wildly, eyes dancing, completely caught up in the joy of the moment. What you didn’t notice—not at first—was how stunned he looked.

He blinked, almost like he wasn’t sure how to catch up.

“Look at you!” you said, poking his chest with mock offense. “You grew a mustache!!!”

Bradley let out a soft, incredulous laugh, shaking his head as if trying to make sense of it all.

“And you… grew up,” he said quietly, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud—like the realization had just hit him and slipped past his guard.

“Barely,” your dad chimed in from across the hangar, where he was wiping his hands clean with an old rag, smudged with grease from the plane’s engine. His voice cut through the moment like a well-timed punchline.

You turned just in time to see him eyeing the thin trail of smoke still drifting from the open trailer door.

“Please tell me you did not burn down my kitchen,” he said, eyebrows raised, half-exasperated, half-amused.

You held up your hands in surrender, cheeks flushed. “Not entirely! It’s still standing. Just… maybe don’t open the toaster for a while.”

“Great…” Your dad shot you a long-suffering look, then sighed like a man who’d seen combat but still wasn’t prepared for you in the kitchen. Then he turned to Bradley, wiping the last of the grease from his palms. “Hey, I wasn’t expecting you today.”

“Yeah… uh, just happened to be nearby,” Bradley said, almost too casually. Then he lifted the takeout bag in his hand. “And—looks like I showed up just in time.”

He gave you a small smile, the kind that was soft around the edges and held a hint of something else—something unreadable and warm.

,You grinned at the bag like it was the Holy Grail. “Ohh, like a psychic… or maybe Lady Fate herself. What you brought and please tell me you brought enough for an unexpected mouth?”

“I did,” Bradley smirked, giving the bag a little shake for dramatic flair. “Thai. From a little spot near the base—place looks like a shack but cooks like heaven. One of those joints where they always forget the utensils, but never mess up the order.”

You gasped like he’d just told you he found buried treasure. “My kind of place. Who needs forks when destiny delivers Pad Thai?”

Bradley chuckled, handing you the bag with a knowing grin. “Hope you still like spicy, because I told them to go easy—and they still said ‘mild’ was more of a suggestion than a promise.”

You peeked inside the bag, the smell already making your mouth water. “Perfect. I like my food with a little danger. Keeps me humble.”

Your dad chimed in from behind you, grabbing plates “You say that now, but let’s see you talk tough after the first bite.”

You shot him a look. “Says the man who thinks pepper is a bold seasoning choice.”

The three of you settled in around the small table—plates spread out, drinks poured, laughter drifting lazily through the warm air. Conversation flowed easily, the kind that bounced between memories, light teasing, and just enough catch-up to fill in the gaps years apart had left.

You asked Bradley about his life, his job—nudging him gently with curiosity, dancing around certain topics with the kind of practiced grace that would’ve made Bosley proud. You didn’t lie—you just knew how to steer. How to let a story breathe without giving away the details underneath.

While delicately munching on a spring roll, you hummed quietly, savoring the flavor, then murmured without thinking, “I’ve been craving them like crazy since I came back from Thailand.”

Bradley, mid-bite, paused and looked up with a mild tilt of his head. “You’ve been to Thailand?”

You froze—not visibly, just a flicker of hesitation behind your eyes. The kind of pause most wouldn’t notice. But Bradley had always paid attention.

Still, your smile was easy as you nodded, grabbing your drink for cover. “Yeah. Work keeps me traveling.”

Bradley leaned back slightly, chopsticks in hand, eyeing you with playful suspicion. “Yeah? What do you do, exactly? Something fancy, I imagine, if that car outside is any indication. Since when do you have that kind of taste, huh?”

You raised a brow, feigning offense. “Excuse me, I’ve always had taste.”

He snorted. “Right. Last time I saw you drooling over a car, it was that busted-up ‘Back to the Future’ knockoff you swore was the coolest thing ever. What was it? That rusty little hatchback with spray-painted flames and a bumper sticker that said ‘Flux This’?”

You laughed, nearly choking on your spring roll. “Hey, that car had personality. It was vintage.”

“It was a safety hazard.”

“It was charming!”

Bradley grinned, shaking his head. “You’ve upgraded. I’ll give you that. So, seriously—what do you do now?”

You smiled sweetly, taking another bite of your spring roll with practiced nonchalance.

“I’m a private art conservator,” you said, repeating the same polished line you’d fed your dad years ago—the one you’d carefully crafted to sound just vague and boring enough to kill curiosity.

Bradley blinked. “A what?”

“Art conservator,” you repeated, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "I restore paintings and sculptures—help private collectors preserve rare pieces. Lots of travel, lots of delicate work, very serious,”

Bradley glanced at your dad, who didn’t even flinch, too busy digging into his pad see ew like this was Tuesday.

Then he looked back at you, eyes narrowing slightly, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Seriously?”

You met his gaze, unblinking. “Dead serious.”

He leaned back in his chair, skeptical. “You? Art conservator? The same girl who once glued googly eyes onto her dad’s Elvis poster because—and I quote—‘It improved the emotional depth’?”

You shrugged, all cool confidence. “Every great artist starts somewhere.”

Bradley laughed, shaking his head. “Unreal.”

“Hey,” you said, pointing your chopsticks at him. “Don’t knock the hustle. Art is very fragile. Almost as fragile as, say… classified intel of the worlds economy on a microchip hidden in the frame of a nineteenth-century oil painting inside the vaults of the luvre.”

Both Bradley and your dad raised their eyebrows in perfect unison, like a synchronized team of disbelief.

You blinked, then raised your hands. “Kidding, pass the rice please."

Bradley chuckled and reached for the plate, shaking his head as he handed it over.

“See, that’s what I find unreal,” he said, his voice laced with something halfway between nostalgia and awe. “You were always… I don’t know. Too clever and smart for your own good.”

Your dad grunted in agreement, still chewing.

You tilted your head, scooping rice onto your plate with a lazy grin. “Is that your way of saying I was annoying?”

He smirked. “Terribly. But also kind of a genius. I always figured you’d end up running some multibillion-dollar tech company or… I don’t know, sending astronauts to Mars.”

You snorted. “Wow, aim high, why don’t you?”

He leaned his elbows on the table, studying you. “I did. You had that kind of brain, y’know? The kind that never turned off. It always felt like you were thinking ten steps ahead of everyone else.”

You paused for just a second, fingers tightening on the chopsticks before you smiled again, softer this time. “Still am, just not in the way most people would guess.”

Bradley narrowed his eyes slightly, playful but curious. “Yeah, I’m starting to get that.”

You returned to your food, casually scooping rice onto your plate, but you could still feel Bradley’s eyes on you—curious, watching like he was trying to piece together a puzzle he didn’t know he’d started.

“So,” you said, changing the subject with a too-bright smile, “what about you, Lieutenant Mustache? Still flying? Still breaking hearts?”

Your dad let out a soft snort, clearly enjoying the turn of the conversation.

Bradley leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, giving you a look. “I’ll have you know the mustache has become a very powerful asset.”

You raised a brow. “Does it come with a security clearance?”

“Practically,” he said with mock pride. “Still flying, still in uniform… just with slightly more facial hair and responsibility.”

“Terrifying,” you muttered, hiding a grin behind your drink—because in all honesty, that mustache looked damn good on him. Not that you’d ever admit it out loud. At least not yet.

There was a beat of silence after that, easy and warm. The kind that settles between people who’ve shared enough history to skip over the awkward parts. Three lives woven through time, scattered and now briefly realigned. It felt like no time had passed at all—and somehow like everything had changed.

Your dad stood with a quiet groan, stretching his back as he grabbed the empty soda cans and crumpled napkins.

“I’ll grab more,” he said casually. “Napkins, too, since someone eats like she’s still thirteen.”

You shot him a look. “Rude.”

“But true,” he replied over his shoulder, disappearing inside the trailer.

And just like that, you and Bradley were alone.

The hangar fell into a soft, ambient quiet—just the hum of the overhead fan, the distant creak of the cooling engine, and the sound of Bradley’s thumb absentmindedly tapping the rim of his drink.

He looked over at you, eyes thoughtful. “So… ‘private art conservator,’ huh?”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “Still hung up on that?”

“Just trying to picture it,” he said, tone teasing but curious. “You, in gloves, hunched over a painting with a little brush.”

You leaned in slightly, resting your elbow on the table. “What, you don’t think I’ve got the patience for restoration?”

“I think you’ve got the precision,” he said, eyes not leaving yours. “I’m just not used to you being quiet for long.”

You smiled slowly, the kind of smile that said you’re not the only one who’s changed. “People grow up, Bradshaw.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, gaze flicking down and then back to you again. “Apparently, they do.”

The tension between you wasn’t thick, but it was there, like static. Familiar and new, cautious and curious. It buzzed just beneath the surface, waiting- your phone began to ring.

The sudden sound made you flinch just slightly, dragging you out of the moment. You set your plate down with a reluctant clink and fished the phone from your pocket.

Bosley.

Your eyes flicked to Bradley for half a second—he was watching you, still relaxed but alert, picking up on the shift in your energy. You forced a smile, one hand already tucking the phone to your ear as you stood.

“Gimme a sec,” you said casually, stepping away from the table, from him, from that dangerous almost-moment.

You put the phone to your ear, trying to keep your voice casual. “Hello… Yeah, okay. I’ll be right in.”

You hung up, slipped the phone back into your pocket, and took a moment to school your features before turning back around. A practiced smile curved across your lips—effortless, easy. You walked back to the table like you hadn’t just been called back into a secret life.

Bradley was still seated, watching you with mild curiosity, like he knew something wasn’t adding up but didn’t know quite what.

“Everything good?” he asked, tone neutral but eyes searching.

“Yeah,” you said with a shrug that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Work. Something I need to take care of.”

Before he could say more, your dad emerged from the trailer with two cans of soda under one arm and a bundle of napkins in the other.

“Alright, I brought backup—oh.” He paused, catching the shift in your expression, one you always wear when you need to leave impromptu. “You leaving already?”

You gave him an apologetic look. “Duty calls.”

He sighed, handing over a soda anyway. “Figures. You show up after a year, almost burn my kitchen down, steal my spring rolls, then vanish.”

You grinned and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Classic me.”

Your dad chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t be a stranger and text me ass soon as you get there.”

"Of course and don’t worry I'll come back as soon as I can."

You turned to Bradley, catching his gaze again—still curious, still trying to piece together the puzzle of who you were now.

“Guess I owe you a proper catch-up,” you said softly.

He stood, nodding slowly. “Yeah. You do.”

And just like that, you slid into your sleek silver Mercedes, the engine purring to life beneath your fingertips like it knew exactly where you were going—and why. One last glance in the rearview mirror caught the faintest reflection of your dad watching from the hangar, soda in hand, and Bradley still standing by the table, napkin clutched loosely in his fingers, brow furrowed like he wasn’t quite ready for you to disappear again.

You gave a small wave—half playful, half I’ll be back—then pulled out of the dusty lot, tires crunching against gravel as the sun dipped lower behind you.

Back to the mission.

Back to the life they didn’t know about.

Back to saving the day, as usual.

And the only reason he deemed her worthy was because of you.

There was something about his front seater that mesmerized you. Shyly, you had asked your husband if he would be willing to allow her into your shared bed, just for a night. He had complete freedom to say no, and if he did, you promised that you would respect that, and you wouldn’t bring it up again. But Bob was very open to exploring new things in the bedroom, as you had quickly learned early on in your relationship. 

Natasha was the only person in the world he would trust to handle you the way he himself would. She held his life in her hands every single day when they went up in the sky. He knew that he could trust her with his wife, too. 

First, he needed to make sure that she was on board with it. Though rigid and disciplined when it came to her job, Natasha was much more relaxed and free spirited outside of work. She was not one to hide the fact that she liked to let loose and enjoy herself. 

She was approachable, personable, and open to just about anything. It was why Bob didn’t feel odd about bringing it up to her. He knew she wouldn’t balk, or shy away. Either she would tell him no, plain and simple, or she would eagerly agree. There was no fear of facing judgment from her just for asking about it. 

Besides, he had a connection with her that he didn’t have with anyone else on the squad. Second only to Mickey Garcia, Natasha was Bob’s closest friend. He couldn’t imagine asking someone like Bradley to have a threesome. And certainly not someone like Jake. Bob wasn’t into blonde surfer dude types. But that was neither here nor there. 

Bringing it up to Natasha was a gradual thing. He didn’t necessarily want to blurt it out over the lunch table, surrounded by his coworkers. That wasn’t appropriate. However, after hours, it was fair game. 

Nat certainly caught the hint when you began to subtly flirt with her. A night spent at the Hard Deck was a rare thing, at least for you and Bob. The two of you preferred to stay in most nights, opting for dinner and a movie together, enjoying solitude and each other. 

Tonight, though, was different. For mid-autumn, the California weather was pleasant. You’d worn a flouncy sundress, and you were in your element, as beautiful and carefree as ever. Natasha Trace was very observant, and she didn’t miss the way you kept stealing glances at her, or the way you leaned into her, arm brushing against hers as you giggled at something your husband was saying. 

She caught Bob’s eye across the table, gaze covert but questioning. He merely nodded at her, eyes glimmering behind the lenses of his glasses. 

This wasn’t what she thought it was, was it?

She got her answer later that night, when Bob slipped outside to get some air. Nat caught sight of him through the window, leaning against the railing of the patio, gazing out into the ocean. Her sandals scraped lightly against the wood as she stepped out, wind blowing her chestnut tresses across her shoulders.

“Am I absolutely insane to think this, or is your wife flirting with me, Floyd?” She asked, as she sidled up to him. 

His eyes remained fixed upon the churning waters as he nodded. “You’re not insane,” he assured her. “At least…not totally.” His mouth curved into a teasing smile. 

Nat hummed thoughtfully. “Whose idea was this?” She asked, well aware of what he was hinting at. 

“Hers,” came his honest reply. “She asked me if I’d be willing to invite you into our bed for a night.” He turned his body toward her, looking fully into her eyes, confident and decisive. “I said yes, because you’re the only person I trust to handle her the way I would. But it’s totally up to you. No bad blood if you say no.”

A beat passed, silence settling between the pair, interrupted only by the crashing of waves upon the shore. “So…are we talking threesome here? Will you participate? Or will you just be watching?”

“I’ll be participating, but we’d be putting all the focus on her. This is her fantasy, she wants us to be in control of her.”

“I see.” Nat mulled over the offer, carefully considering it. “Well, Bob, I’d love to go for a romp in the sheets with your wife. Why don’t we have a little sit down and talk about boundaries, kinks, so on and so forth?”

At that, Bob smiled, lashes fluttering. “Oh, she’s gonna be so excited,” he replied. “And, yeah, let’s do that. You should come over for dinner sometime next week, and we can talk things over.”

His front seater nodded, reaching out to shake his hand, sealing the deal. “Sounds like a plan.”

As if on cue, you appeared in the doorway, eyes glimmering with curiosity. Bob’s face lit up at the sight of you, and he strode over to you, arm sliding around your waist, holding you comfortably against his side. “She said yes, honey,” he murmured, lips brushing your temple.

Warmth rippled through you, and your eyes widened. “Really?”

Nat slinked up to you, her eyes darkening slightly. “I hear you wanna have a play date,” she murmured, voice low, sultry. “I’d love to play with you, angel.”

Something in the way she said it made your knees go weak, and you had to hold onto your husband to keep yourself upright. Bob hummed in amusement, catching Nat’s eye. “I think she likes that idea,” he teased.

“It appears so,” she agreed, reaching out to tap your nose gently. “Bob invited me over for dinner next week. We can talk things out then, alright?” 

“A-alright,” you stammered. And then she was gone, leaving a trace of citrus perfume in her wake.

“You alright, sweetheart?” Bob asked, mouth against the shell of your ear, amusement in his tone. “You seem a little flustered.”

At that, you turned, slapping his chest lightly. “Shut up,” you mumbled, though you couldn’t hide your own smile. Fingers closing around his lapels, you pulled him in, kissing him deeply, messily, tongue delving into his mouth.

Taken by surprise, he quickly relaxed into your touch, body settling warm and solid against your own. “I take it you’re happy?”

“She actually said yes. Like…oh my god. This is actually happening, Bobby.”

“It sure is.”

The following Friday, Natasha arrived at your home for dinner. There was nothing shy or reserved about the way she settled into your home. She owned the space that she took up, confident and unwavering. A woman who knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to voice it.

Dinner long since finished, you sat around your coffee table that night, discussing how the scene was going to play out. Nat even took notes, wanting to be absolutely certain that she didn’t miss anything. She was very aware of the fact that you and Bob were inviting her into your relationship, if only for a night, and she would abide by every boundary you set, out of respect for you both.

In detail, you described how you wanted the scene to go. The two of you allowed her to be privy to the dynamic you shared. Bob, though a switch, was often in control. Submitting to him, allowing him to take that control, was a source of emotional fulfillment for you. You wanted Nat to take on the same sort of role, in which both she and Bob would have control of you. 

All the puzzle pieces fell into place, and when Nat left that night, you were at peace, knowing you were in good hands. You’d set a date for the following week, in which the arrangement would finally take place.

Now that the day had arrived, you were thrumming with eagerness, and a little anxiety. But all of that anxiety was put to rest by your husband’s gentle, steady hands, fingers pressing into the taut muscles of your shoulders as he stood behind you, where you lingered in front of the full-length mirror in your shared bedroom, modeling the simple lingerie you had decided to wear.

“Relax, my love,” Bob murmured, nose dragging over the crook of your neck. “We’re going to have so much fun tonight.”

“I know,” you murmured, leaning back against his warmth. “I just can’t believe this is finally happening.” Tilting your head back, you kissed him languidly. “Thank you for making this happen.”

“Mm, anything for my girl,” he whispered softly. “Now, Nat just texted me that she’s a few minutes away. I want you to wait here, and I’ll bring her to you, okay?”

“Okay.” It came out breathless. Your head spun slightly, and as Bob slipped out of the room, you found yourself moving toward the bed, legs unsteady beneath you as you lowered to sit upon the softness of the duvet. 

Heat bloomed up your chest, heart rate picking up. This was actually happening. You would soon have a beautiful woman in your bed, alongside your husband, their shared mission to bring you pleasure.

It was dizzying.

When Natasha arrived, she slipped into the bedroom, quiet as a whisper. Dressed in a simple exercise dress, dark hair cascading down her back, she looked so effortlessly beautiful. Relaxed. Poised. In control of her every movement.

Her sweet mouth curved into a smile at the sight of you, seated so nicely on the edge of the bed. “Hey there, pretty girl,” she cooed, and the velvety tone went straight between your thighs.

Bob entered the room, eyes dark and heavy-lidded. “Isn’t she just the sweetest thing you ever did see?” He hummed proudly at his front seater. 

“Oh, she is,” Nat agreed, all while you ducked shyly beneath her gaze. “And how precious, she’s getting all shy on us now.”

“Isn’t it adorable? As if she isn’t the one who begged for this,” came Bob’s teasing, as he approached you. His hand, warm and gentle, cupped your cheek. “Are you going to be a good girl for us?”

Your mind had already gone a bit fuzzy. “Uh-huh.”

He clicked his tongue. “Words.”

“Yes sir.”

Pleased, he tapped your mouth, and your lips parted to take his thumb against your tongue, suckling softly. 

“So well-behaved, too,” Nat murmured in delight.

“Tell me our safe word, honey,” Bob reminded you, slipping his finger from your mouth.

“Cloudburst,” you answered, no room for doubt in your tone. 

“That’s right.” He offered a gentle smile, and his hands came up to cup your face as he kissed you. When he pulled away, he was still gazing at you, a look of sincerity blossoming in his eyes as he lowered his voice for only you to hear. "If you want to stop at any time, I want you to say so. Understand?"

"Y-yes," you mustered. But you would be perfectly fine, you knew. No safe word would need to be uttered tonight.

Gently, Bob coaxed your chin up, urging you to watch as Natasha sauntered backward, holding eye contact with you as she slid the thin straps of her dress down her shoulders. Then, the top half of the dress came down, over her breasts, as her body moved with practiced ease, languid and confident. Your breath hitched at the sight of her lithe frame as it was slowly exposed to you. Her supple breasts, her soft skin, the flash of neatly kept dark hair between her pretty thighs.

She watched, eyes narrowed and catlike, as Bob reached behind you, dextrous fingers unhooking your bra. A rush of cool air met your skin as the garment fell away, leaving your top half exposed to the woman before you. Bob stepped away from you, fading slightly into the background as Nat sauntered toward you, never breaking eye contact.

As she bent forward to kiss you, heat thrummed within your body, spreading through your veins. Pliant and eager, you kissed her back, mouth falling open, allowing her to taste you, to drink you in. 

Her delicate fingers came up to brush across your warm cheek. "You...are so, so perfect." Her voice swirled through your head, silken and delicate. “I can’t wait to play with you.”

“Lay down for us,” Bob urged. When your gaze flickered to him, you realized he had stripped down to just his boxers, his cock already half hard within the confines. Oh, god. Here you were, moments away from being pleasured by the two most beautiful people you had ever known. It was enough to make you tremble as you inched backward across the bed, not bothering to hide your eagerness.

“Mind if I take her panties off, Bobby? I’m just dying to see her pretty pussy.”

“Go right ahead, Nat,” he obliged.

The woman climbed onto the bed, movements fluid, easy, creeping toward you as if she was about to devour you. And, in reality, she was. 

Her elegant fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, and she inched them down past your thighs, little by little, until she tossed the thin fabric aside without a care. Hunger clouded her expression as her eyes flickered down between your legs. You were already wet. Visibly so.

“I can’t wait to taste you.” Her mouth was on yours again, body slotted against your own like she’d always belonged there. 

She let her hand drop to your right breast, softly cupping it before her fingers brushed over your nipple. You couldn't help the pathetic whimper that bubbled up from your throat as she did so, and you could see the smug satisfaction in her eyes at the sound. While she ducked down to wrap her pretty lips around the hardened bud, eased himself onto the bed, warmth grounding you as he settled in beside you to watch Nat pleasure you. 

Both of them pressed against you at once was overwhelming. Her intoxicating citrus scent, paired with the spicy sweetness of his own cologne, acted as an aphrodisiac, almost, and you shivered beneath them, body responding in kind. Soft, open, wet.

Her lips found their way to your neck, sucking at your sensitive skin, teeth nipping, tongue soothing. Bob never left your side, his presence steady, reassuring. I’m right here with you. 

You moaned unabashedly, your head lolling against his shoulder as Nat continued her descent of your body, mouth exploring. Her hand wandered, fingertips sliding over soft skin, lower and lower. You clenched around nothing, already anticipating the electricity of her touch at the place where you needed her most.

Goosebumps raised in her wake, shiver running down your spine, a contrast to the warmth surging through you. Fire and ice.

As Nat went lower, Bobby focused on your upper half, mouthing at your pulse point, fingers playing with your nipples. The heightened stimulation was almost too much to bear.

Communicating silently, Nat caught his eye. With a nod, they both moved, Bob’s mouth wrapped around one of your nipples, while Nat’s wrapped around the other. You gasped, back arching at the new sensation.

Your husband’s fingers were at your slick pussy, nudging the digits inside. As he did so, Nat pressed her fingertips lightly against your clit, and you saw white.

“Oh!” You cried out, jolting beneath them.

“See? She loves it,” Nat cooed. “Such a good girl.”

Speaking about you like you weren’t even there. It was so hot, and it sent you clenching around Bob’s thick fingers. 

“I know. So sensitive, too,” he mumbled in delight against your breast.

"P-please." You had no idea what you were even asking for. All you knew was that you were dripping all over Bob’s fingers, and you needed more. 

"What is it, angel?" Nat purred in your ear. 

"I..." Your voice betrayed you, mouth unable to form words. A pathetic little mewl was all that followed.

“Aw, poor thing.” Bob nipped at your jaw. “I think she wants someone’s mouth on her.”

“I wonder whose she wants?” Nat questioned.

You managed to squeak out a response. “Yours. Pl-please.”

“Aw, such good manners. You want me to eat your pretty pussy?”

“Mhm.” 

Her teeth scraped lightly over the shell of your ear. “Say it.”

“I w-want you to eat my pussy.” You sounded pathetic. The two lovers above you were loving every minute of it.

"I think we should take care of our girl, what do you think?" Nat looked up at Bob for confirmation, and he nodded.

“We've teased her enough."

The pair moved with ease, their fluidity in the sky translating to their ability to work together in the bedroom. Communication was easy, simple. Together, they arranged you how they wanted. 

Once you were settled, your back resting against the warmth of Bob’s chest, his velvet cadence reached your ear.  "Miss Nat here is gonna to eat your pretty little pussy until you come all over her face, alright?”

All you could do was nod, eyes hardly able to focus as Nat settled between your legs. As she began kissing and nipping along your inner thighs, a new wave of heat spread through you, more intense than the last. 

Bob’s arms were strong and steady around you, holding you close as you shivered.

As Nat continued to leave kisses against your skin, she drew closer to where you needed her most. Teasing, her mouth hovered over where you were dripping for her, clenching around nothing. When she blew lightly over your clit, your hips pushed up toward her face, searching.

"Ah-ah. Manners, angel. What do you say?"

"Please."

"Please what?"

Your heart fluttered in your chest at her tone, and the way she was looking at you. "Please eat my pussy. I need it so bad. It hurts."

“Aw, you hear that, Bobby? She said it hurts.”

“Poor thing,” Bob cooed. “I think you should help her feel better.”

“I was just gonna suggest that.”

You opened your mouth to beg her to stop teasing, but she cut you off by diving forward, hot mouth connecting with your aching cunt. You cried out, jolting against your husband, a shock of pleasure vibrating through you, driving you to throw your head back, mouth parted.

You were already overwhelmed. Her mouth was so warm and wet, her touch was so delicate, yet deliberate. She lapped and sucked at your clit, and spread her tongue over the expanse of your center, tasting you fully. When her fingers slid into you, you couldn't help the loud that ripped itself from your throat. 

“You’re loving every second of this, aren’t you?” Bob spoke against the shell of your ear, breath hot against your skin.

"Y-yes!” You wailed. “Feels–ah!–incredible!”

Encouraged, Nat sped up her movements, slender fingers slipping inside you, brushing against that spot within you that made you tighten and gush around her, surely soaking her pretty mouth as it worked against you.

All the while, Bob brought his own fingers to your mouth, tapping your lips. "Open," he instructed, and you did so. When his pointer and index fingers were pressed into the wet heat of your mouth, he said, "Get ‘em nice and wet for me, honey."

Once you'd obeyed, drool soaking the digits, he brought his hand to your chest, circling each nipple with his wet fingers. You gasped, and Bob leaned over to blow across each pebbled bud. Goosebumps creeped along your skin, and you whined, entirely overwhelmed. You were ashamed of how close you were already. But the two beautiful people invading your every sense, bringing you to new heights of pleasure, had you plummeting towards the edge at an alarming rate. 

Bob held you, kissed you neck, whispered in your ear, praised you for being such a good girl. Nat curled her fingers faster, deeper still. You were making a mess of yourself, arousal soaking her fingers, dripping down onto the sheets beneath you. Bob's hand squeezed at your breasts, teeth dragging against your pulse point. 

Tears welled up in your eyes. It was too much and not enough, all at once. Thighs trembling, heart racing, you knew you were nearly done for.

"Mm," the feminine purr reached your ears. "Your little pussy is getting so tight, are you going to come for me?"

You couldn't answer, you could only cry out, wailing out your pleasure. Shuddering almost violently in your husband’s arms, you were losing yourself. Sensing your overwhelm, Bob soothed you. "Breathe," he reminded you, "deep breaths, baby. You're okay."

You sobbed, breathless and deep, grabbing for something, anything, to anchor you. Nat took one of your hands, and Bob took the other. Then, she brought her mouth back to where you were gushing, pulsing, lips closing around your puffy clit. 

Mouth open, incoherent sounds left your throat, drool dripping over your lips. All inhibitions had left your body, leaving you to succumb to the primality of it all. A delicious, white-hot sensation thrummed inside you, a coil ready to come unravelled. You clenched so tightly around her fingers that she could hardly move them, but she pushed through, knowing you were so close, just a little more and you’d tip over the edge.

Back arching, chest heaving, you cried, "I-I'm...I...oh, fuck!" and she knew you were right there. 

In the end, it was Bob who pushed you over the edge.

"That's it, honey," he breathed against your neck, "come all over her pretty face."

With one final sob, you let go, tensing up just before the mind-numbing, earth-shattering pleasure enveloped you in a searing, pulsing wave. You sobbed, deep and loud, convulsing in Bob's arms, bucking against Nat's mouth. She continued, mouth still moving, fingers undulating within you, coaxing you through it all until you were pushing her face away with trembling hands. She pulled away, emerging from between your legs, trailing her hot, wet mouth along your abdomen before she came to hover over you.

When she kissed you, it was hot and open-mouthed, tongue laving against yours, letting you taste yourself. "Good girl," she praised. “Did so well for us.”

“Mm, the best girl,” Bob agreed, tone deep and gravely. Even in your hazy, blissed out state, you could feel him, cock hard against your lower back. Your cunt pulsed around nothing, aching to be filled again.

When he kissed you, it was deep, gentle, loving. And as he shifted out from behind you, his hands came up to cup your face. “Think you can handle my cock?”

“Uh-huh.” Eager. Needy. Desperate. “But I wa-wanna taste her pussy while you’re inside me.”

Bob met Nat’s gaze. “What d’ya say? Think our pretty girl deserves a taste?”

“Oh, yes,” she sighed. “She can have whatever she wants.”

You watched as she moved to sit where Bob had just been moments earlier, her thighs, strong and lean, spreading to reveal what soft, pink slick that was her delicate pussy. It was gorgeous, inviting, and your mouth watered at the sight.

Bob arranged you as necessary, face down, hovering between Nat’s thighs, while he tugged your hips back, so he could take you from behind. As he began to nudge the thick head of his cock inside you, Nat guided you forward, fingers parting her folds, allowing you easy access. Whimpering lowly, you flattened your tongue against her, licking a stripe along her folds. There was a slight sweetness beneath the tang of her, an addicting taste that drove you to go at it with renewed fervor. 

The moan she let out made your head spin, the weight of it sending a pulse through your core. As you began to swirl your tongue around her pretty little clit, Bob groaned deeply, inching his hips forward, hardness sliding into you little by little. 

He sighed in utter bliss as he bottomed out, and you whined against Natasha, the sound of it muffled in her cunt. Bob allowed you a moment to adjust to him before he began to move. Drawing back, pushing forth, he began with slow, careful thrusts. Thick and insistent, his cock filled you to the brim, the stretch almost overwhelming, stealing the breath from your lungs. 

Every sense was overcome by your lovers. The taste of her, the stretch of him, it was all-encompassing. You could hardly handle it. As Bob set his rhythm, you focused on pleasuring the woman above you.

Soft and breathless, she coaxed you on. "Good girl. Just like that, you’re so perfect.:

Bob moved faster now. Harder, deeper, the head of his cock brushing against that sensitive little spot within you. At this angle, bent forward, it seemed to only intensify the feeling of fullness. With each push and pull, you clenched around him, as if your pussy didn’t want to let him go. For leverage, his hands moved to grip your hips, holding you in place as he moved. 

Pretty and sweet, Nat was gushing around your fingers, even as your mown pussy dripped down your thighs.

Hands guiding you, she held your face against her while she ground against your mouth, chest heaving, head thrown back, chasing pleasure. The eroticism caused you to tremble. The feeling of being filled, while tasting someone else, was indescribable. 

Bob growled above you, thrusting deeply, roughly, jarring you to your very core. Your cries were muffled, and you almost struggled to keep your rhythm to bring Nat to her end. But you kept up the pace, despite the intensity surging through you, wanting to bring her to her peak, as she had done for you.

She continued to praise you, eyes finding your own as she took in the sight of your face buried between her thighs, devouring her. "Faster," she breathed, “harder."

You complied, fingers moving faster still, mouth suckling at her clit. You could tell she was close by the way her muscles tightened around you, and the way she trembled, nearly losing control. 

You relished in the way she shook, in the sound of her pretty whines, the soft moans of your name. It didn't take much longer to push her over the edge, and she came against your mouth, evidence of her release spurting hot and wet against your tongue. You remained there, lapping at her center, tasting all she had to give.

Her legs twitched around your head as she came down, and with a whine of overstimulation, she gently pushed your face away. 

“Good girl,” she gasped, “so fucking good.”

Bob had slowed his movements, allowing you a moment to process everything. His mouth was at your ear, tone breathless. 

“Gonna turn you over now,” he murmured. He caught Nat’s gaze, and she nodded, despite herself. Now, it was his turn to finish what they’d both started

Before you could utter a reply, Bob eased his still hard cock out of you, careful hands easing you onto your back, where you settled into the softness of the bed, Nat’s warmth at your side as she pressed herself against you, cradling you close as your husband found his place between your legs again.

When he slipped inside you once more, your cry was swallowed by Nat’s waiting mouth as she kissed you slowly, sweetly, lovingly. Then, she rested her head against your temple as she gazed down at the place where you and Bob’s bodies met.

The way your anatomy stretched around his thickness was a sight to behold, and she praised you for taking it so well. “Look at you. Can’t believe your pussy’s able to take all of him,” she lulled. 

Fingers swirling over your nipples, she continued. “Want you to tell me how good his cock feels.”

Heat buzzing through you, head spinning, you could hardly utter a reply. All that came out were broken, incoherent half-sentences. “Fe-feels so g–ah!–”

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t describe it if you tried. How could you? So thick and deep, stretching you deliciously. It was utterly indescribable. 

With her fingers playing with your breasts, and her mouth at your neck, you were losing yourself. Eyes rolling back in your head, whimpering pathetically, you babbled nonsensically.

Bob's hand came down between your legs, fingers pressing into your clit. "I want you to come again for me," he gritted out, "soak my cock."

You locked eyes with him, and the intensity on his face sent you writhing on the end of his dick, a strangled cry tearing itself from your throat as your body went taut, muscles tense, on the precipice of release. 

All the while, Nat spoke soothingly against your skin. “Go on, angel. Wanna watch you squirt all over him.”

That did you in.

It ebbed through you in searing waves. Warmth and stardust glimmered through your veins as you sobbed, convulsing against your lover, beneath your husband, pleasure stricken. Your vision left you for a moment, engulfed in white. In fact, you might have even lost conscious for a brief second, because when you returned to yourself, if was to the feeling of your husband’s pulsing cock within you, flooding you with his pearlescent release.

Natasha’s voice was soft against your ear. “Oh, look at you. You did so well. Took it like such a good girl.”

Bob remained inside you for a moment longer, returning to himself as he kissed your cheeks, your nose, your mouth. You could only lay there, still trembling, as he eased out of you. Hands moved over heated flesh. Not his hands, familiar and strong, but Nat's - soft and dainty. 

She held you close in Bob’s absence, shushing your whimper of protest. “He’s coming back, angel. Just went to get something to clean you up with.”

When Bob returned, moments later, he soothed you with a kiss. “I’m here. Let us take care of you.”

Sleepy, soft, pliant, you remained sprawled against the mattress, allowing your lovers to reverently clean you up. Bob was careful and delicate as he wiped your most sensitive parts with a soft, damp cloth. You relished in the care, feeling entirely too blissed out to do anything else but let them bestow care upon you. You were adorned in kisses, gentle touches, words of praise.

When Bob was finished cleaning you, it was Natasha who took the reins while he went to pull on a pair of clean boxers.

"Sit up for me," Nat guided, and as you did, she wrapped one of your fluffy blankets around you so you wouldn’t catch a chill. "Do you need some water?"

"Y-yes."

Communicating silently once again, Bob was already handing her one of the mini water bottles he kept tucked into his nightstand drawer, specifically for aftercare. Nat cracked open the lid, and guided you to drink from the bottle, quenching your thirst.

Bob was joining you on the bed once more, settling in beside you as you finished the water. He was warm and solid as you snuggled into him, melting into his arms while Nat set the water bottle aside.

“How you feelin’, honey?” He asked you.

You giggled, sleepy and content. “Really good. Had a lot of fun.” Your head came to rest upon his shoulder. 

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh.” You reached for Nat, and she joined you, leaving you sandwiched between her and Bob. “Hope we get to do this again soon, sometime.”

Sleep had begun to overtake you as Bob and Nat exchanged looks. “I think that can be arranged,” he murmured, lips gentle against your forehead.

“Yeah,” Nat agreed, “I think it can.”

“Yay,” came your sleepy mumble.

Bob couldn’t help but smile in amusement. “Rest now, baby. We can talk about it more later.”

But you were already fast asleep, cradled in the arms of two people who made you feel safe as could be.

-

TAGLIST

@cosmic-marauder @thepurplelovewitch @auroralightsthesky @rainymitskicain @marymun

@mrcspectr @sebsxphia @westviewheartss @sadboyeddie @magicwithaknife

@goodvibesandglitter @sentrys-shadow @mashtonbunny @universallymoonwitch @live-love-be-unique

@sleepretreat @musicislove3389 @willherondale1937 @every-single-day @kehelsi

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑ Jean Grey

WHAT SHE CALLS YOU: Your name, spoken with such softness it reaches straight into your mind. She often calls you "Sweetheart" or "Light." When joking: "My little secret" (because she knows all of yours).

• WORDS OF AFFIRMATION: She whispers the gentlest things into your mind – things she can't say aloud. "You've got this," "Your strength is beautiful." She needs you to know you're not alone. She sees your fears and dark thoughts and always finds words to clear them. Sometimes she tells you what you need to hear – even if you're not ready: "You deserve love. I know that for sure."

• PHYSICAL TOUCH: She needs a physical anchor to keep from drifting into cosmic distances. She holds your hand, rubbing her thumb across your knuckles like she's checking you're real. She loves lying in your lap while you read, just feeling your warmth. When the Phoenix overwhelms her, one touch from you brings her back.

• QUALITY TIME: Jean wants to be with you in complete silence – when no one demands the world from her. She can sit with you in the library for hours without a word, but her thoughts brush against yours, weaving a cozy cocoon. She doesn't choose you for missions – she chooses you for rest.

THE LITTLE THING: When you're exhausted and need the world to pause, Jean wraps you both in a mental dome of silence. You hear only her breathing and her thought: "Rest. I'll hold everything else." She can make you forget pain for an hour, just by holding your hand.

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑Ororo Munroe

WHAT SHE CALLS YOU: "My hawk" (if you're free-spirited), "Heart," or "Little flower" (with a warm smile). In moments of tenderness – "My peace," because you're the only one who can calm her winds.

• QUALITY TIME: She'll have tea with you in her tower while lightning fills the sky outside. She teaches you to see beauty in chaos. Ororo has no patience for rushing in relationships – she wants to be with you slowly, deeply, completely. She might take you to the greenhouse and tell you about every plant, because sharing her passions is her highest form of intimacy.

• ACTS OF SERVICE: She won't cook you breakfast (there's a kitchen staff for that) – but she'll change the weather in the garden so you can read in the sun exactly during your day off. She watches over your health – brings you tea when you're sick, covers you with a blanket when you fall asleep on the couch. She commands the elements, but she cares for you like the most fragile thing.

• WORDS OF AFFIRMATION: Storm speaks in a voice like music. She calls you her "quiet harbor" and says you're the only person who lets her close her eyes without fear. She thanks you for every small thing – she was raised to be a queen, and a queen values loyalty.

THE LITTLE THING: During a thunderstorm, Storm comes to you, lies down beside you, and lets you run your fingers through her hair. The storm outside quiets – not because she's controlling it, but because she let herself be just Ororo, loved.

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑Anna Marie

WHAT SHE CALLS YOU: Playfully, with a Southern drawl: "Sugar" or "Sweetheart." When serious and scared: "My lucky charm." In moments of despair, she whispers against your shoulder (through fabric): "My everything."

• SACRIFICE: She's always finding ways to touch you. Runs her fingers across your palm through her glove, nuzzles your neck when you sleep. She remembers your warmth through kisses to the back of your head (through your hair). She only removes her glove in the rarest moments – to run her bare palm across your cheek, risking everything because she needs to feel you for real, even just for a second.

• WORDS OF AFFIRMATION: She constantly checks: "Did I hurt you? Does it hurt?" But when you say you love her, she always answers: "Are you crazy?" – with a wide, teary smile. She says every fear aloud because she trusts you. She says "I love you" a hundred times a day – like she's afraid she won't get to say it tomorrow.

• ACTS OF SERVICE: When you're sick, she double-gloves and makes you soup – standing at the stove with her back to you so you won't see her cry from helplessness that she can't just hold you under the blanket. She walks you to the door and waits until you're out of sight to make sure you're okay. She knits you scarves and mittens – so you'll be warm even when she's not there.

THE LITTLE THING: When you fall asleep, Rogue sits on the floor beside the bed, rests her head near your hand (through the blanket), and just listens to you breathe. She doesn't sleep – she guards your dreams.

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑Raven Darkholme

WHAT SHE CALLS YOU: She uses code names or mocking nicknames to throw others off. But when it's just you two, in the dark, her voice drops: "Little one" – with a tenderness she'd kill anyone else for hearing. When she's angry or scared, she snarls "Mine" – possessive, feral, absolute.

• PROTECTION: She doesn't let people touch her. But she touches you constantly – a hand on your lower back, fingers brushing your jaw as she "adjusts" your collar, her body pressing you against a wall when she needs to feel you breathe. Every touch is calculated, but when she forgets to calculate, her hands tremble. She'll shift into someone you trust just to hold you when you can't hold yourself. It breaks her that you're the only one who sees her underneath.

• ACTS OF SERVICE: She will burn the world for you. Literally. She tracks down everyone who ever hurt you – and they disappear. She leaves evidence trails that lead away from you. She'll steal medicine, money, identities – whatever you need – and never tell you the cost. Her love is in the bodies she buries so you can sleep peacefully.

• QUALITY TIME: She doesn't do dates. She does stakeouts – you and her on a rooftop, sharing a cigarette, watching the city burn below. She talks about nothing while meaning everything. When she's quiet and lets you lean against her shoulder, that's her surrender. She'll fall asleep on you only if she trusts you with her life – which is the rarest gift she owns.

"This is my lovely partner! Look look! Aren't they so cute? We make a cute couple, don't we? And they're so funny too, and they buy me burgers whenever I want them."

"And they're so smart as well, like--" She goes on for ages rambling about you.

"Don't be jealous Nick, your time for young love has long since passed, but maybe if you try hard enough you can find someone just as amazing as my partner."

MIA FEY

"This is Y/N L/N, my partner. They're a lawyer too, if you could believe it. But they don't handle cases like I do, I think I prefer it that way."

"They're always worrying about how much I'm working, and I can't help but feel bad sometimes. But just knowing they're waiting for me at the end of the day gives me the strength to push through trials."

"Did you show me this to get me emotional before the trial Phoenix? Come on, let's focus, I can chat to you about my spouse later, okay."

DICK GUMSHOE

"Oh, that reminds me! I gotta introduce you all to Y/N, you'd have a blast, pal."

"All the guys at the firm love them, one time they insisted on cooking hot dogs for us after I told them about that stressful De Killer case, and even weeks after most of the guys were asking me for seconds!"

"Yeah- Clear your calendar, Mr Wright, I'll even invite Mr Edgeworth too. I'm going to make sure everyone knows that my partner just so happens to be the best in the world."

FRANZISKA VON KARMA

Instead of your profile, I imagine Franziska would just have a painted portrait of you in her office, something grand and extravagant. Phoenix is investigating in there and clicks on it.

"You fool! You'll ruin the frame if you touch it like that! Who even let you in here, where is that scruffy detective, hm? I told him to keep all spiky haired lawyers out."

"Well, if you're curious, I may as well tell you. This is my partner. Beautiful, aren't they? Do not look so surprised, Wright, I can get along with people, just not you and your... entourage."

"They will be a Von Karma one day, once I marry them. They always tell me that I have nothing to prove to them.. that I can continue to be myself to make them happy. And that's why they're better than you, much more mature. Hmph!"

GODOT

"Funny, isn't it, Trite? For a guy who prefers his coffee to be bitter and harsh, to be so in love with someone sweet and caring."

"Y/N shines brighter than any star in the sky and that's a fact."

"Wondering why I'm dating them? Well that's for me to know and for you to ponder. But don't start crushing on them, or then I might just have to actually take you down. In court. Of course."

"Now give me that, they have nothing to do with this case, so you won't be needing any info on them anymore."

Jean Grey (Phoenix):

knows the second you take the test and is waiting very impatiently on the other side of the door while you take it

so happy when she reads the results from your mind, but still pretends like it's the first time she's hearing it when you tell her

understands if you want to still come on missions at first but is not happy to see you there and looms over you the entire time making sure you never come within 100 yards of any real danger

practically begs you to not come on mission after the first 2 months and it would turn to arguments if you still tried to go

does everything she can to make sure you have everything you need and jumps up every time you move to ask if she can get you something

gets very over affectionate throughout the pregnancy and always wants to be touching you in some way

so gentle when fucking you especially after you start to show and would way tone down the speed and roughness of your sex even if you complain about it

got her plan for the birth when she first found out and is ready the second you start showing signs of labor

refuses to leave your side through the entire birthing process and makes sure you're not in too much pain (she regrets that she can't dull the pain completely because the Dr's say that'd be dangerous)

Emma Frost:

the second you have the thought you might be pregnant, she's showing up with five different pregnancy tests and an already scheduled Doctor's appointment

a little nervous, but she hides it well and is more excited and happy to have a baby with you

you better get comfortable around the house because she won't be letting you set foot in the field or go on missions for nine months and there won't be any compromises about it

overbearing about everything prenatal, gets you all the recommended prenatal vitamins and gets very snippy when you eat/drink something that's not "nutritional for the baby"

does not like to be apart from you during and will hover over you anytime you're sitting asking if you need anything or telling you there's some pregnancy exercise she wants you to try

would never admit it, but seeing you pregnant with her baby turns her on like nothing else

would fuck you almost every night and grows a special love for spoon fucking because it's most comfortable one you start to show

an absolute disaster in the delivery room, she's so distressed about you and the baby being okay the entire time she's snapping at every doctor, nurse, and once you (she realized very fast that was not wise)

Anna-Marie (Rogue):

panics when you tell her because not sure you're both ready or that she even wants a baby, she worries the baby will have a power set like hers and struggle to control it, or she'll be a bad mother like Mystique

but the second you say something about how you're having the baby with or without her in your life, she's stepping right up because that's the last thing she wants and after a bit of reassurance and talking through things, she'll start to look forward to the idea of you having her baby

you're going nowhere near danger and if danger comes near you (very likely given how often the mansion / x-men homes get attacked) she's going ballistic on whoever threatened to hurt you

reads all the pregnancy books and is constantly trying to get you to follow all the recommended routines and do everything possible to prepare for labor

treats you like you're made of glass during sex, but after some encouragement and begging (plus research and talking to a Doctor) she'd pick it up after realizing it's safe

surpassingly calm during labor and stays right by your side to hold you hand and encourage you while you push

bonus hc for rogue: she'd be so scared her baby would have similar powers to hers and would drain your life force from inside while there's nothing she can do to save you (she knows mutant powers don't usually develop till puberty anyway but it's still a constant nightmare)

Ororo Munroe (Storm):

happy when you tell her, but is pragmatic about it, asking if you're sure and what you're planning to do before she gets too excited, but once you're sure, she's just so happy you're carrying her baby

knows you still want to be part of the team, but makes sure she's on every mission you come on and would make sure you're safe (she does that always anyways but it feels even more important knowing you're carrying her baby, she doesn't want you getting hit at all)

once you start showing, she's asking you to stay back and will be more forceful than she usually gets with you about it

always making sure you have everything possible you need and are following the doctor's orders very stubborn with you about your daily routines and habits to ensure a healthy pregnancy (you tell her you're craving something sweet- she's bringing you a strawberry)

overjoyed when you ask her to have sex during pregnancy because she gets to make you feel good and get you off your feet

would happily just eat you out and take care of herself but if you asked her to actually fuck you, she'll happily indulge you

she'll do her best to stay calm during labor but it will be storming outside as her control slips in her anxiousness

she'll hold your hand, encouraging you to squeeze as hard as you need and offering every possible word of encouragement as you labor

Betsy Braddock (Captain Britain/Psylocke):

happy, she's excited to take the next step with you, and though it's a surprise, she thinks she can be a good mom with you by her side

most of her nervousness comes from worrying about you during pregnancy and how your delivery will go

would be very unhappy about it, but would tolerate you coming on missions at first

would finally put her foot down about it once you start showing because it's more likely to impact you and makes it more real to her

spends the whole pregnancy looming over your shoulder waiting for you to need something from her or ask for something

makes notes of all the doctor's recommendations and reminds you every day about what you should be doing, eating, etc, and gets an attitude when you go against her

sees you carrying her baby as something so intimate and wants to reward that by giving you intimacy in return

she wants to make you feel good and every time you feel like it, she's ready to fuck you and make you cum, she understands you body very well and knows when / where she needs to hold back

she's calm during your labor, she trusts that you're in the best hands with the doctor's and nurses and assures you the whole time you're doing great

happy to let you crush her hand and apologizes at least once for getting you pregnant (even though she doesn't mean it, she's happy for the baby, but she's sorry for the pain)

Kitty Pryde (Shadowcat):

thinks you're playing a prank on her when you first tell her and only realizes you're serious when you get upset with her for laughing

gets really nervous about the prospect of you being pregnant because she doesn't feel quite ready to parent, but she's not going to abandon you, she knows the baby is hers, and she'll step up and try to be the best mother she can

she'll tolerate you coming on missions for a few weeks, but make sure you stick right by her side the whole time

but the second you have an ultrasound she can hear the fetus heartbeat- she's making the executive decision that you're done coming on missions for the foreseeable future

spends all her time trying to make you comfortable and is always researching what's good for pregnancy and encouraging you to do what's highly recommenced and beneficial

very stubborn about your diet and gives you a dirty look anytime you have caffeine or anything that's recommended to limit during pregnancy

she's done all the research and knows sex during pregnancy is generally safe and can sometimes help ease discomfort

she's all too happy to share this fact with you and is more than happy to make you feel good and fuck you

panicking during your labor but tries to appear calm for your benefit (she does a bad job but it helps a little)

tells you over and over again how good you're doing and stays right by your side no matter how long it takes

Illyana Rasputin (Magik):

shocked when you tell her, had the idea of "well I haven't been wearing condoms or pulling out this whole time and no pregnancy yet so it must be impossible" so she just stares at you dumbfounded

the thoughts come slow, but she manages to wrap her head around it and is just like okay, let's do this, let's have a baby and somehow goes from surprise to very overconfident in her ability to raise a child in a matter of minutes (she says repeatedly "what it's just a baby")

wouldn't think too much about you still coming on missions until the second you start to show and it's like a switch flips in her brain and she's demanding you stay out of the field

gets you everything you ask for or anything she thinks you'd need, which is often some weird food or drink she saw is good for pregnancy and then she'll stand there and watch you to make sure you eat / drink it

thinks it's hot when you start to show which surprises herself but she's happy to act on it

turns into a huge groper, hands always on your body, wandering over every part before she works you both up enough to fuck you

absolute disaster during the delivery, all the anxiety she hadn't been feeling during the pregnancy hits her all at once when you go into labor

pacing the room and muttering to herself about how she's crazy for thinking she could be a mother and your kids going to be have all kinds of problem because it's hers

has to be reminded repeatedly by nurses to calm down because she's stressing you out and manages to hold your hand and comfort you about half the time before she freaks out again

Laura Kinney (Wolverine):

very surprised and says she needs some time alone to think about it

calm when she comes back and ready to hear whatever you have to say about, though she is very scared about her abilities to be a good mother because of her lack of childhood, but after reassurance, she gets excited about the prospect of having a baby with you

no you will not be coming in the field anymore and if you try to argue with her about she gets very broody and upset with you about putting yourself and "her baby" in danger

asks you every 2 seconds if you're alright and need anything and wants to assist you in everything you do even if it's not a two person task (shower? she's in there too, taking a nap? she's right there watching you sleep, waking up at night because you can't sleep? she's following you to the living room to sit with you on the couch, where she promptly falls asleep slumped against your belly)

very hesitant to hurt you and would rather just eat you out and jack off than fuck you, but after a lot of begging, she'd agree to fuck you just a lot more gently than normal

freaks way out when you start spotting after though and only calms down after looking it up to see that it's normal after sex

trainwreck in the delivery room, seeing you in pain deeply upsets her especially because she's partially responsibly and there's nothing she can do aside from let you squeeze her hand