Thinking about tf141 x previous child soldier!reader... (in progress)
Their First Meet!
> Cassandra, or Dr. Cuzner, does the talking for you, but you're finally able to meet the men she's told you about. They're curious as to why your call sign is...
The Reason Behind 'Berserker'
> You and the boys are given your first objective, and you're finally able to prove your abilities--maybe a little too much.
First Mission
> As the mission continues, you're faced with a difficult decision. You choose what you think is best, but you know you'll have to face the consequences eventually.
(cw: sub kyle (dont be surprised), light choking, majority of this is dirty linguistics, little plot/more porn, dumbification?, 141 overhears but its okay loll) Â
_____Â
You and Kyle arenât actually boyfriendsâno, you two just know the layout of each other's beauty marks, how Kyle only likes a dash of milk and two sugars in his tea, how you (oddly) wet your toothbrush with warm water before brushing your teeth, and so on and so forth. You two arenât boyfriends, but youâre the one Kyle brings over when he and the other boys come home from being deployed. Â
And itâs obvious when you're home because the rest of the 141 hear when Kyle brings you home; your low, gravelly voice purring out from behind his closed door, slightly breathy from the exertion of your deep and languid thrusts. You have him on his knees, with his shoulders smushed into the bed, and his head craned back from where your hand holds under his chin. Â
âKyle, you feel me?â Your voice is hot and husky on the cusp of his ear, and he clenches sporadically around you, âHow deep, baby? Come on.â Â
"Shoâuhn! Deep, oh my god...â he trails off in a warbled whine, drool slipping from his swollen lips. He hiccups while his eyes trail into the back of his head when you roughly grind your hips into the plush mounds of his ass. You pull out three inches before you lay all your weight into your next thrust, slamming into his prostate with cruel purpose. Â
A gasp pushes itself out of his lungs before it breaks into a desperate moan. You let go of his chin to rest your hands on his hips, moving your thrusts into a sensual mix of speed and forceâtargeting his prostate with your sticky tip. Â
âYou feel how thick I am inside you?â You tap his thigh, signaling him to give you an answer, but heâs too far gone to give you anything other than another moan. You âtutâ at him, âAwe, câmon Kyle, you know better than that.â You run your hand under his body and up to his neck, grasping it, and using it to flip him onto his back. Â
You slip out from inside of him due to the slick mix of lube and your pre, but you ignore how he pitifully whines at the emptiness, taking your time to put yourself back in him. âHold your legs up.â When he takes a second too long for your liking to listen to your order, you love-tap him on his cheek, allowing the sting to bring him out of his fog. Then, you get a cruel thought, and your voice comes out in a cocky octave as you say, âThatâs an order, Soldier.â Â
With his training kicking in, he immediately brings his hands to hold the backs of his knees toward his chest, just as you like it; with a grin you wrap your hand back around his neck as you start up your thrusts once more. Â
Only this time, with the strain of air entering his lungs, Kyleâs moans filter through the air unabashed and pornographicâcompletely unaware of how red in the face his teammates are on the couch in the living room, as they try their hardest to will away their hard ons from hearing how Kyleâs pretty, not-boyfriend-boyfriend is rearranging his guts. Â
Summary: When a case in New York drags you back to a place youâd rather forget, you find yourself pulled in two directionsâ face your truth, or continue to live in your lie.
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Mutant!Male!Reader
Word Count: 21.4k
Tags/Warnings: canon-level violence, anti-mutant sentiment, sexual talks, theme of sibling loss, unresolved trauma, Charles Xavier Slander, canon-level cases, I make my own canon. friends-to-lovers.
A/n: in honor of turning 21, hereâs a 21k word fic and this is a part 1
PART 2
Close. Close to catching the killer. Close to getting on that jet and returning home. Close to putting this case behind you. Close to having the families get some type of closure.Â
And close to losing your shit.Â
You hated many things; your mother would often say you were the cynic of her three kids. But one of the things you really hated was fucking Nebraska. Known for Warren Buffett (an old white billionaire), Arbor Day, and carhenge; Nebraska wasnât high on your favorite states list. It was definitely a state you could cross off on your map and be glad to never return to.Â
The case was beyond yourself, another stupid white male, between 25-35, probably blends into the crowd, has a car big enough to hold a bodyâ which is every fucking car, mind you because theyâre meant to hold bodiesâ and who got his motivation because of his crush rejecting him. It, of course, was the man who worked random odd jobs and lived between homes. It was nothing absolutely anyone couldâve guessed, as if the past ten cases didnât have the same exact profile.Â
Emily and Spencer went to check his mother's house, Hotch and Rossi went to check at his grandmother's house while you and Derek went to his auntâs house. JJ was back at the precinct, double-checking the facts and ready to dispatch units to whoeverâs location with Penelope.Â
Derek drums his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the music. The drive had gotten impossibly quiet after everyone had stopped talking and planning. Your earpieces were still on but there wasnât much to say while everyone was still driving to their locations.Â
Itâs not awkward by any means; youâve known Derek since you joined the BAU, so around eight years now. But itâs just hard to find conversation as youâre double-checking your gun and handcuffs, then doing the same for his gear. His vest was a little loose so he doesnât mind when at a red light, you quickly adjust the straps and then pat his chest. Although he takes a second to remember the fact that youâve done the same thing every single time someone on the team wears a vest. Since your first case, really. Itâs become second nature to let you adjust the team's vests.Â
At the aunt's house, itâs decided that Derek goes first. Heâs the more approachable one of the two of you. He knocks on the door to the apartment while you stand behind him, looking up and down the hallway. The air feels stale, not many people walk around and judging by the floor being damn near spotless, you assume the building is new or for rich people who never actually step foot inside.Â
The door opens just a crack and you see the blue eye of the aunt. She looks between the two of you, her eyes settling on your vests before she huffs and closes the door. The chain drops from the door and she opens it up.Â
When she does, you both turn your heads and you wipe your nose.Â
âOh,â She says as she slowly closes the door again. âYou arenât here for the⌠ah⌠ermâŚâ She laughs. âParty?âÂ
âNo, maâam,â You say and look back at her. She apologizes and grabs a robe from behind the door and tosses it on. âWeâre with the Behavioral Analysis UnitâFBI, looking for your nephew? Westly Vel, is he here?â She makes a face, thinking before shaking her head.Â
âNo,â She finally answers. She looks at Derek and smiles, as if sheâs only addressing him now. âI havenât seen West in a month or two, why?â Heâs there, or at the very least, she knows where he is. Penelope has doorbell footage of West at her apartment the week prior.Â
âJust wanna ask him some questions, maâam.â Derek lies and you nod. âDo you mind if we take a look around?âÂ
âLet me ask everyone to get decent,â She disappears into the apartment and you squint at the door. Derek makes some comment about swingers because of the upside-down pineapple mat. Something he learned about on a cruise. You just snort and wait for the door to open.Â
âStay here,â You tell him as you step inside the apartment. He nods, waiting in front of the door while the aunt walks after you. As you venture into the apartment you see people, theyâre sitting and talking. Fully clothed. Nothing is messed up, thereâs no fluids on the floor.Â
The apartment smells⌠sterile almost. Itâs this medical sort of smell. Definitely no smells akin to a sex party.Â
Thereâs someone standing in front of a floor-to-ceiling window, the sun cast straight down on them but as you look away you canât help but notice thereâs no shadow attached to them. And it does nothing but confirm your suspicions.Â
There arenât many doors to the apartment, but thereâs one thatâs closed and you head towards it.Â
âThatâs just a closet,â The aunt says, her voice catching up to her as she walks behind you. You raise an eyebrow, feeling something more than a closet behind the door. âCan I see someââ Throwing the door open, you see what you had honestly expected.Â
The aunt, the actual aunt, is lying on her bed. Her throat is cut and judging by the color of the wound and the blood-soaked sheets, sheâs been dead for a day.Â
âC'mon man,â Westly says as his skin twists and shifts until you see the man youâve been looking for. âYou really shouldnât have looked inside.â As he talks, you notice the sounds of the âpartyâ completely disappear. He digs into his pocket and pulls out a gun, pointing it at you. He flicks his hand, motioning for you to raise yours and you do.Â
âWhat gave it away?â He asks, backing you into the room and then closes the door with his foot.Â
âNo shadows,â You shrug. âAnd it didnât smell like a group of people who just fucked. Guessing you wouldnât know that smell sinceâŚâ Making a motion to his crotch, he grits his teeth and flexes his fingers.Â
âI fuck,â He swears and you just give a noncommittal nod. âI do!â He shouts and stomps his foot. Hmm. Childishness definitely wasnât in the profile. As he stomps his foot a second time, again swearing that he gets laid, the door slams open and heâs knocked forward. Accidentally pressing the trigger, you duck and quickly pin him while heâs already on the floor.Â
âYou definitely donât,â You laugh, pinning his arms behind him with one hand while grabbing your cuffs with the other.Â
âWe got him,â Derek tells the others as youâre cuffing him. âHe killed his auntâŚâ He pauses as he looks at you, bringing the man to his feet. Heâs shifting between forms, trying to find one that makes your grip loosen. ââŚand tell the PD theyâre going to need the power collar.âÂ
âMutant?â Emily asks and Derek confirms.Â
â
A celebration is in order following the case. Itâs the team's first mutant case in three years and this time no one got away from it with any injuries. The last time Derek walked away with a scar on his back but he says it helps him with the ladies so he doesnât mind it anymore.Â
The actual celebration happens the day after you land back in DC. And of course, youâre going straight to the bar. Penelope asks for all the details, minus the blood and death. So not many details, just the action and Derek is more than willing to tell her as youâre ordering a second glass of vodka party punch. Itâs heaven in a drink; vodka, Hawaiian punch, ginger ale, pineapple juice, and orange juice. With an orange slice.Â
Squeezing the juice into the cup, you put the slice into your mouth and listen to them talk, enjoying the slice as Spencer slides you his own lemon slice. Heâs in the middle of his own conversation but he doesnât miss a beat as he passes it over.Â
He doesnât drink all that much; thereâs mostly soda in his drink with maybe a hint of alcohol. If you ask him, heâd probably say something about not liking being inebriated, which is valid and definitely one of the reasons. But you think heâs read about the side effects, heâs afraid that too much alcohol will raise his chances of⌠well, becoming his mother.Â
So itâs incredibly rare for him to drink, aside from a shot every other bar trip, youâve never seen him drink. Except that one time he said fuck it and did a line of shots with the team. He did end up throwing up after ten minutes, but he did it.Â
Putting the orange slice on the napkin, you take a slow sip of your drink before picking up the lemon. Itâs not overly juicy, you think the salt on the rim of his glass had taken most of it away but itâs still sour.Â
âYou look like a child,â Emily notes as she stares at you, the lemon wedge between your lips and youâre messing with the mini umbrella that came with your drink. You frown and itâs big and exaggerated due to the lemon slice. âHow did you make it into the FBI again?â She jokes. Rolling your eyes, you lean back in the booth and look around the bar.Â
Itâs a Saturday, so thereâs a ton of people inside. You can see countless people bordering on blackout drunk, another person whoâs definitely already thrown up, and a bachelorette party. The bride-to-be is wearing a large plastic crown and a white sash while the others wear black sashes. With matching outfits, you see the maid of honor walk up to the soon-to-be bride. Sheâs wearing a bronze sash and you make eye contact for a second.Â
She laughs and you remember the lemon slice and smile. It only makes her laugh harder and you chuckle, leaning forward to spit it out.Â
Sheâs cute, sure, but youâre not one for flings. Plus, you doubt youâll meet anyone worthwhile at a bar, nothing against them. Itâs just that you only ever go there for work. Theyâre at the bar for fun.
âGo and say hi,â Derek encourages as youâre wiping spit from the corner of your mouth. You hum and then shake your head. He makes a noise and pushes your shoulder. âYou caught a mutant yesterday, I think you deserve to get laid.â He adds and your face scrunches.
âWhaddya mean?â You ask to which Derek gives a noncommittal shrug and rolls his hand.Â
âIt couldâve gone real bad.â He explains. âI heard of a squad going up against a woman who controls blood. None of them survived.â He sighs and leans over to knock his knuckle against your forehead. âLuckily that dude only had shape-shifting powers.â Nodding, you rub the spot and look back to the other patrons of the bar.Â
The bridal party is gone, bar hopping no doubt. In the spot they once stood at, you see some college students. Looking away, you reach for your drink and take slow sips as the conversations around you merge into talks about mutants.Â
They all talk, giving their opinions. You try not to care, to act as if youâve thought about mutants from a normie perspective but you canât. God, you wish you could. But you canât and all you can do is down the rest of your drink before the need to speak overcomes your need to not tell government workers youâre a mutant.Â
Sometimes you wish there were different work events. Like renting out a hall or going out to eat. That way you wonât go home with a headache from the music or an empty stomach because youâd forgotten to get food and smacked on the free peanuts at the table.
With no one sober, everyone stands a distance away from the bar waiting for their respective Uber. Everyone is a good couple of feet away from one another, something youâve learned over the years. Drivers tend to think youâre all trying to ride together and cancel it. But you and Penelope always split one, considering youâre neighbors it saves money and time.Â
âThis is us,â Pen tells you as a silver car rolls up to your location. Nearly everyone else is gone. Rossi had actually called up a taxi company, which you had forgotten were still around. It was a little weird.Â
âYou sure you donât wanna come?â You ask Spencer as heâs the last one there. His plan is waiting for an actual taxi, considering he doesnât have any ride app on his phone and got the number from Rossi.
He shakes his head but you sigh and tug him along. He lets you, stumbling over his feet before you have him slide in after Penelope. Awkwardly sitting with his knees high up, you follow after him and make sure everyone else is comfortable. You donât mind sitting up front if need be.Â
Glancing at Spencer, you find him twiddling with his thumbs and eyes forward on the road. You wonder what heâs thinking, maybe if youâd been a telepath, you wouldâve figured out ages ago just which thoughts race through his mind the most. But no, you can just tell that your driver really needs to pee but the apartment building is still another ten-minute drive.Â
He glances at you as you look away. His mind flashing the way you smile with the lemon slice, how Derek describes the take down with the mutant. God, he wishes Derek hadnât gone into so much detail because Spencer has never wanted to be an UnSub more in his life.Â
His eyes flutter back to the road as he tries to get the pictures out of his mind. Facts, he thinks of every single fact he can. Anything to distract him. His mind wanders to cases but he finds you in all of them. It wanders to Doctor Who but he finds you in those, too. And he doesnât even know how or why. Youâve never spoken about the show!Â
âHunky,â Penelope calls, leaning forward to look past Spencer and at you. You hum, looking at her with a smile. âDo you think you could check on my sink? Itâs been making this noise and you know I hate to ask Joshââ
âCourse,â You nod. âGive me an hour to wash off bar germs and Iâm all yours.â She smiles and looks at Spencer. Heâs trying not to get in either of your views, pressing himself impossibly close to the faux leather seats.Â
âWhoâs Josh?â He asks and she groans, pushing herself back into the seat.Â
âHeâs one of the maintenance workers. He lives in the building so heâs always on call. But he sorta hates Pennie,â You explain with a huff. Spencer almost laughs, he canât imagine someone not liking her. Sheâs like the most lovable person alive! He asks why and you snort while she reaches over to slap your leg. âHe found out sheâs a hacker and said thatâs not a real job, so she âaccidentallyâ flashed her badge.âÂ
âAh,â He nods. He knows well enough how fragile menâs egos are and a part of him worries that she isnât safe. Shit, Pen couldnât go through another crime happening in her apartment. She only moved into your apartment building following her getting shot and heâd hate for it to happen again.Â
âHeâs harmless, though,â You reassure him. âHeâs more of the passive-aggressive type. Heâll talk shit about her decor or wonât answer calls until a week later.â But how many times had you heard that same exact phrase? How many times did no one expect the killer to be the killer? âAnd I know him. Heâs sorta afraid of blood.â Ah. Okay, thatâs better.Â
âHe fainted once,â Penelope laughs at the memory.Â
âHe faints every time,â You correct with a snort.Â
Soon enough the three of you are piling out of the car and youâre in the middle of unlocking the front door when you turn to Spencer.Â
âYou want to spend the night? Or I could get you an Uber⌠if you want.â Checking the time, he purses his lips and thinks about it.Â
âYou donât mind?â He asks and you shake your head.Â
âI have some clothes that would fit you and a guest bedroom.â
âAfter my sink gets fixed.â
â
Awkwardly standing in your doorway, Spencer watches as you toss your shoes into a rack. There are about seven pairs, various shoes heâs seen you wear to work before along with a pair of house slippers that you immediately put on. He looks at the walls where there are framed pictures of the team together. Nothing predating you joining the team, he quickly notes.Â
âCome in,â You beckon him. He listens as you venture further into the apartment, now standing in your living room. For some reason, whenever he imagined your home, Spencer pictured something more⌠masculine? He pictured weights and exercise equipment lying around. Protein powder jugs on the kitchen island. Some sort of apartment from those fitness men online.Â
But no, itâs a normal apartment. You decorate it pretty frugally. A sofa and two chairs, a coffee table, tv, and lamp. No rug, though. Each piece is different: the leather chair, the velvet chair, and the cotton sofa. A second-hand coffee table, he figures, has several different items scattered about. It almost makes him nauseous with how much stuff is on there.Â
âI put some clothes in the guest bed. Feel free to pick whatever or go into my closet,â You tell him as you lean against a wall. Thereâs a towel over your shoulder and your shirt is a little unbuttoned. Not to mention the pants are already undone and he sees your boxers peeking out. âThereâs a bathroom across from the guest bedroom. Feel free, again.â You tell him and start to walk away before you turn around.Â
âAnd a closet with towels and rags, itâs to the right of the bedroom.âÂ
âThanks,â He nods, unable to say anything more than that until youâre away.Â
Mentally, Spencer strangles himself on the way to the guest bedroom. With an IQ as high as his, he should be able to form proper sentences. A proper thank you at least. But no, he gets thrown off by a little bit of skin like a teenager.Â
As heâs sorting through the clothes youâd given him, he hears you walk down the apartment again.Â
âThereâs also a washer and dryer. Itâs in the room that has a frosted glass door.â You explain, vaguely pointing down the hallway.Â
Rich. He wants to say, to tease but he just nods and thanks you again. But he canât imagine having a washer and dryer inside of his one-bedroom apartment. Hell, he doesnât even have an elevator! Old buildings are good, though. Theyâre more structurally sound and last longer than the more modern apartments.Â
Not that he minds your apartment. He likes it⌠heâd live there if he could.Â
Twenty minutes comes and passes and Spencer is fresh out of the shower, moving his clothes into the dryer while youâre still in the shower. He doesnât know what to do while he waits.Â
It would feel a little invasive to explore but he doesnât want to just sit on the guest bed until youâre done.Â
He ends up venturing into the living room again, this time he settles onto the couch. As he sits there in a pair of blue sweatpants and one of your old band t-shirts, he finds a small library on a wall. Thereâs ten or so books and it all but draws him closer. Luring him in like a siren's song he picks up the first book he can and goes to sit down.Â
Another five minutes pass before he hears the shower stop. It had become background noise in the otherwise silent apartment that it nearly scared him when it turned off. He tries not to listen as the glass door slides open and instead he rereads the book, the voice in his head filling the space the shower had left.Â
âHeading to Penâs, wanna join?â You ask, fixing your shirt over your sweats. Spencer looks up from the book and you see him physically pause at the shirt. Itâs a yellow star under the words My Tummy Hurts in various bright colors. Then he sees the pants and has to look away for a moment, minion sweatpants. âNot too much on my outfit.â You warn.Â
âDidnât say anything,â He says as he sets the book on the spot next to him. You just wave him after you and head across the hall in your house slippers. He follows, hurriedly putting his converse back on as you knock on the door.Â
âJust in time,â Penelope whines as she pulls the two of you inside of her apartment. Sheâs watching music videos, her way of winding down for the night. Spencer feels more at ease in her apartment; heâs been in her old one a handful of times.Â
They chat as you grab the tools from under Penelopeâs kitchen sink. She laughs at your pajamas, telling him about the others you have. The Hello Kitty fluffy pants, the Scrooge gown, the Cookie Monster sweats, and, most infamous your Sugar Daddy crop top.Â
âIâm a little surprised he had those,â She admits, referencing the outfit youâd given Spencer while the three of you head to her bathroom. Â
âI have normal night clothes,â You defend. They share a look and then stare at you. Clearly, your track record shows a different story. Rolling your eyes, you get to work under the sink.Â
Spencer watches as you unscrew various parts of the pipe and grab a long, metal pipe cleaner and swirl it. All the while you and Penelope talk, she offhandedly mentions a girl visiting your place the day before the team left for the case and you brush it off. He thinks thatâs a tell, that maybe you like the girl. Maybe youâre already dating and by the way she describes the mystery girl, heâs sure you are.Â
Nearly sighing, he watches as you remove the cleaner and flick the hair clumps into a plastic bag and push it back into the pipe. He almost gags and has to look away from the damp drain hair. Youâre sure itâs clear by that point and re-screw everything into place. And with a quick water test, her sink is fixed.Â
The whole thing lasted less than five minutes and he now knows who to call if he needs household repairs. Unintentionally, his mind wanders, imagining you at his door with a white tank, a tool belt, baggy jeans and heavy boots. Heâs probably ill-dressed, just his pants, because his landlord likes turning the heat upâ
He stops himself, focusing back on the conversation as youâre checking Penelopeâs windows and locks. He assumes itâs some sort of tradition, since itâs like clockwork for the two of you.Â
Once every nook and cranny is checked, you head out and back into your apartment, where you immediately check your own windows. He doesnât miss the three locks on the front door, although only two are locked. On purpose, he notes. Heâs unsure of what to do with himself, if he should help or stay out of the way. If he should even speak at all, he honestly hasnât spoken much the entire night.Â
âIâm going to bed,â You tell him in a soft tone, dimming the hallway lights. Damn, you have a washer and dryer and a light dimmer. âYou can stay up, eat, drink, whatever. Just clean up, yeah?â You smile at him and then offhandedly look towards the kitchen. âCups and plates are in the cabinet labeled cups and plates.â You add with a small laugh.Â
âThank you,â He says and you nod before walking away. He doesnât miss the fact that as youâre closing your bedroom door, youâre already discarding your shirt.Â
Mystery girl sure is lucky.Â
â
You loved your job, you truly and wholeheartedly did. But you didnât like it. You didnât like the fear that, as youâre sitting at your desk, someone is getting murdered. The fear that youâre never going to be fast enough, thereâs always going to be serial killers and kidnappers and rapists. And you wonât always catch them.Â
But you loved your job, you loved the closure, you loved the sense of family the team had. You loved that no matter how late you were, there would always be one less killer on the streets thanks to you.Â
And yet, sometimes you find yourself drifting to the paperwork to quit. You canât help but wonder if this job, doing this is what you want to do. If itâs where your skills are being used to their best. There are several things that keep you at your desk, keep you on the BAUâs payroll and on that jet.Â
One of them is Spencer.Â
You like him more than youâd admit; heâs your closest friend aside from Derek. You joined with Derek, the two of you were basically brothers by the time Spencer joined and found a quick friendship with him. Both are special in their own way.Â
Emily liked to joke that the two of you were Spencer's bodyguards, and youâd never be too far from the doctor.Â
Maybe thatâs why you stayed. Maybe it wasnât for him specifically, maybe it was that you couldnât leave him behind. His head was too big to worry about getting hurt, but yours had more than enough space to worry about you and him.Â
Maybe not, maybe so. You didnât care; all that mattered was getting your work done faster so you could relax. You do end up finishing your files in record time and spend a second thinking of something to do. Thereâs not much, aside from making something to drink.
âSpence,â You call and he looks up from his book. âWhy canât we stop inflation if itâs made up?â He grins, setting the book down and you know you had his full attention.
Thatâs his favorite type of question.Â
Spencer, as heâs most known for, houses a ton of information in his head. He loves information, in some ways heâs a glutton for information. He digests information at the same rate that he breathes and he loves it. But something that he loves more is sharing that information, he spills and spills the words laying dormant in his head. They beg to be heard, flying out of his mouth faster than he can process that the person has checked out.Â
But not with you.Â
They never fly, he never loses that focus a person first has when they ask him a question.Â
Youâve always engaged with him, you nod and you ask questions. What he loves the most is when you remember what he said. He loves that feeling more than anything heâs felt before. That feeling of teachingâ someone has learned something because of him, sometimes he wishes heâd become a teacher just to experience that. Give his never-ending wisdom to the youth or even college students.Â
Spencer loves your questions almost as much as you love hearing him talk. He learns a bunch of random facts, knowing sometimes your questions arenât about anything in particular. Sometimes theyâre about history or a college sort of science but he likes the random questions. It makes him feel less like a robot.Â
He explains, watching as you let out a great big exaggerated huff before returning back to him. It's confusing, but he explains it as many times as you need. With no secret frustration.Â
He smiles, the corners of his lips reaching his nose when you finally get it; explaining it back to him just to ensure youâve understood him correctly.Â
âStill stupid,â You mutter and he nods.Â
Spencer watches you with barely hidden heart eyes, he commits you to memory every time he sees you. His⌠crush of sorts has only gotten worse since the impromptu sleepover the week prior. Never had he woken up to breakfast being made, freshly squeezed orange juice, and soft music coming from a hidden record player heâd yet to find.Â
Penelope didnât join, which you said was normal. She tended to take longer to get ready so you prepared a separate bowl for her, for while sheâs on the road. So for the entirety of his morning, it was just the two of you. Hanging around⌠talking, eating⌠it was nice. Too nice. The poor kid didnât know how to act, choosing the yes and approach to nearly all the conversations.Â
Youâd even gotten him a toothbrush!Â
Derek snickers from behind him and he huffs, rolling his chair so he was facing Derek and not you. Derek just makes a kissing motion with his hands before messing with Spencerâs hair and walking away.Â
He shakes his head and quietly fixes his hair as you and Derek walk to the exit of the bullpen to grab lunch for the team. He wouldâve joined but heâs needed by another team, requested to have the infamous Spencer Reid look over their case files.Â
Inside Derek's car, the two of you listen to the radio, mindlessly rocking your head to the beats until he lowers the music at a red light.Â
âSo,â He starts, looking at you with a wide grin. âYou and Pretty boy.â You roll your eyes and look forward. Thereâs a black SUV in front of you, the back window has those family stickers and thereâs about seven kids and a pregnant woman sticker. âDonât give me that look,â He laughs, pushing your shoulder. You just look at him, unamused.Â
âSo, youâre telling me that nothing happened between the two of you?â He asks, now looking forward. Chuckling as you see his eyes widen at the number of children.Â
âNope,â You shrug. âItâs almost as if I can take someone home and not sleep with them.â Rolling his eyes, he inches the car forward when the light switches.Â
âIâm just saying, you two have a lot of chemistry.â He shrugs back. Pursuing your lips, you sigh. âWhat? You donât like Spencer?â Glancing at you, Derekâs eyebrows furrow.Â
âItâs not that,â Shaking your head, you change the station as Taylor Swift plays. âItâs just⌠I dunno. I donât really think about dating,â Dating normies, at least.Â
âYouâve never dated?â He asks, his voice thick with what you can only assume is disbelief.Â
âI have. Justâ I mean, Spencer is great. Heâs funny, smart, he has goals, he has hobbies, definitely not a serial killer, and heâs shown he can be committed.â
âBut?â Derek urges.Â
The silence following his question is thick.Â
You sit in your seat, thinking about the negatives that would come from dating Spencer. If you even liked him romantically. You think about it and dating Spencer seems nice in your head. Waking up next to him, date nights with him. But it wouldnât be a dream and there would be actual issues with dating him. There's paperwork, no doubt. If either one of you progressed to unit chief then youâd be transferred to another team or branch entirely. If you can even keep your job. If things lasted, then youâd have to tell him youâre a mutant. Heâd meet your family, know the truth.Â
Itâs not worth it. You decide. You canât trust someone to that degree, not even if youâre dating them.Â
âItâs complicated.â You finally tell him. âI think⌠I do like him. But,â Shaking your head, you almost groan as thereâs another red light. âI know I couldnât date him.âÂ
âItâs not because of some hidden homophobia, right?â Derek laughs and you laugh back, shaking your head.Â
âPlease, Iâve sucked too much dick and fucked too many men to be ashamed of being bi.â He holds his hands up, playfully surrendering before he looks at you.Â
âWhatâs the worst that could happen? Honestly,â
âOne of us dies and the other has to deal with the grief.â He kills you for being a mutant or gets killed trying to protect you. The first one just seems highly unlikely.Â
âOh,â Licking his teeth, you nod. âWell, whatâs the best that could happen?âÂ
âNothing bad happens and we get married and adopt two kids. Maybe a cat. Definitely a cat.â He accepts you for being a mutant and doesnât kill you.Â
âAnd what most likely will happen?â He asks and you think about it.Â
âWe date, test the waters and see what happens from there, probably come to the mutual understanding that while we do have feelings for each other our careers come first and end things.âÂ
âGod, youâre sad.â Morgan sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.Â
âIâm realistic about the negative sides of life.â
â
For the first time ever, itâs your turn to host the team's movie night. Truthfully, you donât know how youâve managed to evade it for three years, but itâs caught up to you. You think because Spencer had mentioned your apartment to Derek and Emil,y causing them to think if theyâve ever been. Which led to you opening your door to the team.Â
Youâd gone all out, truthfully, youâd been nervous and made snacks to calm yourself down. It didnât fill all of your time so you even steam cleaned your couchesâ it wasnât as bad as you thought it would be. Just a little murky.Â
Normall,y youâre not such a worrier but this was a momentous occasion. It was a tradition you had avidly avoided for nearly four years without getting caught and now, oh lord, now they were aware of it.Â
âHey, guys,â You greeted them after Penelope had knocked on your door for a minute straight. To think you wouldâve gotten there in the same amount of time if sheâd knocked once.Â
âThis was on your door?â Emily hands you a paper and you take it while letting them inside. Itâs a note, written in a language youâre all too familiar with.Â
Krakoan.Â
You donât read it yet, if it was an emergency, you would know. Rather, you lock the door and put the note on your bed for later.Â
âYou have a nice place,â Derek comments when you return.Â
âThank you,â You smile. âWhat movie are we watching? I have like all the movie apps,â
Everyone settles on a movie: The X trilogy. While searching for it, you and Spencer get up to serve everyone. Itâs really just moving everything from the kitchen into the living room, everyone self serves during movie nights.Â
âI didnât know you baked,â He admits, eyeing the cookies he knew for a fact werenât store-bought.
âI stopped some time ago,â You sigh, staring at the cookies, a recipe your younger sister had created. âBut I might start back up, I missed making them.â
âThey smell amazing,â Itâs true, he swears heâs not just saying that. The cinnamon and white chocolate smell from the cookies makes his stomach rumble a bit. They look even better, large cookies with crispy edges.Â
âThank you,â Guiding him back to the others, you move to turn down the lights and double-check that everything is going according to plan.Â
The girls all share a couch and a blanket, knees knocking together and sharing shoulders. Hotch and Rossi had taken the chairs on either side so that left you, Derek, and Spencer on the floor. Not that any of you minded, the girls definitely didnât mind messing with you and Spencerâs hair every so often.Â
Derek made it a point to have Spencer next to you, even claiming that he didnât want the blanket so the two of you were forced to share it. Spencer wasnât as uncomfortable as he thought heâd be, especially sitting on the floor that he didnât clean himself or see get cleaned, but your floor had this smell to it. An almost jasmine scent that didnât linger for long, so you obviously cleaned.
Plus he saw the couch cleaner when he was helping you bring the food.Â
His hand brushes yours under the cover, an honest accident because the glass of soda had made his hands ridiculously cold. He flinched away but you didnât even acknowledge it, so he tested the waters and put his hand back. With his heart racing, his hand finds yours and you turned your palm up, holding his hand.Â
You can feel his blood rushing, feel the air in his lungs rush out and rush in before they slowly calm down. You donât think the movie is scary, shocking for sure. But Pearl definitely isnât scary. Side glancing at Spencer, you find heâs biting his thumbnail before he drops it and messes with the fabric of the blanket.Â
Weird.Â
Spencer canât even focus on the movie anymore; your hand is so warm against his. Your thumb is gently caressing against his hand and he can smell your hair. He gulps, blinking to try and focus on the movie. Sheâs chasing the neighbor girl; why?Â
A knock on the door startles him and Penelope. Itâs two sharp knocks and you excuse yourself, the warmth from your hand makes Spencer frown, his hand now feeling incredibly empty.Â
Checking the peephole, you glance back at the others before exiting the apartment with the lock out so it wouldnât lock on you.Â
âDid someone leave a note on your door?â Josh asks while messing with his nails. Theyâre dirty, heâs undoubtedly been digging in the dirt again.Â
âYeah, why?â Moving him away from the door, he messes with his hair. The long blonde strands fall in front of his face before he sweeps them away. You can see bits of dried blood on his roots and squint. âYouâre hurt.â
âYeah,â He stutters out a nod. âI think there's a mutant hunter in the building,â He says and looks around, you know thereâs no one else in the hallway so you donât look with him. âI-I had a note on my door. In Krakoan, was yours alsoâŚ?â
âIt was. I havenât read it yet, I have friends over,â He nods and continues to pick at his nails.Â
âI just wanted to let you know, cause Iâm heading to the school in ten minutes. Yeah, so, stay safe. Hank already knows and heâs sending a temp super for the building.â
âOkay, do you want help with anything?â
âMm-mm, I got everything packed and ready to go. Iâm just really shaken, yâknow. After the sentinels ânâ shit we dealt with.â
âYeah, no, I get it, J.â He smiles but looks up and down the hallway again. âStay safe, remember thereâs a couple of safe houses between here and the school.âÂ
âI have them in my GPSâ you sure youâre okay?âÂ
âIâm fine, havenât sensed anything wrong.â He nods and then takes a step back.Â
âWell, Iâll see you. Maybe in a week, hopefully this place is still standing.â You laugh to calm his nerves and watch as he leaves before going back into the apartment.Â
Josh isnât a paranoid man; maybe he does hate technology but thatâs not because of the government or anything. You try being stuck in a computer for a year and see if you wanna use one again. But youâre not worried about mutant-hunters, you would be able to tell if someone was sneaking up on you. Not to mention they were rarely ever quiet or hush-hush about what they did.Â
Going back into your apartment, you lock the door and rejoin Spencer. The movie has since ended and everyone is waiting for you to return.Â
âWhereâs the bathroom?â Derek asks once youâre on your way back.Â
âDown the hall to the right, the door is open.â He thanks you and gets up, his feet echoing in the empty hallway. âHowâd the movie end?â Settling back down next to Spencer, you grab a cookie.Â
âShe killed Mitsy, lays down with her mother before posing her parents dead bodies for one last dinner. Howard returns from the war and finds them,â Emily explains.
âPretty sure we had a case like that,â You muse and Penelope gags. How she agreed to watch a scary movie is beyond you, not to mention sheâs queuing up the next movie.Â
Derek returns from the bathroom soon after and she plays the movie. Your hand ends up under the blanket again, unable to focus on the movie as you think about Josh. You shouldâve used the bathroom break to read the noteâ or read it once Emily gave you the damn paper.
Spencerâs hand finds yours again in the middle of a sex scene. Itâs awkward, watching a sex scene with your boss in the room. Derek makes jokes, of course he does, and Emily makes counter-jokes.Â
âI bet (Y/n) made more girls scream than you,â Emily chuckles and you look back at her, mouth agape.Â
âIs that some type of insult?â You squint and she covers her mouth.Â
âOh, please, how many women have you been with?â Derek rolls his eyes.Â
âTwo,â You shrug and he hollers, clapping his hands as if that proves his point. âIâve been told Iâm an amazing loverâ besides, youâve been a hundred women for one night, I was with two women for three years.â Thereâs some ohhhs from the girls and you laugh.Â
âLetâs watch the damn movie,â Derek grumbles.Â
When the movie is over, everyone agrees itâs late and starts heading home. Spencer is the last one out, helping you clean up the little things that the others hadnât. The lights are turned up, not by too much, but enough that you can see what youâre sweeping up.Â
Heâs wiping down the counters, chewing on his bottom lip.Â
â(Y/n)?â He calls and you look over. He blinks and thinks for a moment; he didnât even mean to call you. âAre there any more cookies?âÂ
âYeah, should be.â Setting the broom against the wall, you head over to the kitchen and grab a Tupperware from the fridge. There are five left and you hand him the container. He thanks you and takes one, you grab one too and a napkin to catch anything that falls. He stands across from you, holding a hand under the cookie to catch the crumbs.Â
Heâs nervous again, for some reason. His heart is racing and heâs sweating. Especially on his hands.Â
Itâs clearly because youâre staring at him with a twinkle in your eyes; something youâre not aware of. You finish the cookie and toss the napkin into the trash before relaxing against the counter.Â
âYou wanna spend the night again?â You grin, head tilted to the side. Heâs probably worried about going home or something.Â
âSure,â He nods and you smile wider. Clearly, you can read him like an open book.
âIâll get you some clothes. Come,âÂ
He follows you into your bedroom, taking it in. Thereâs a smaller dresser next to the closet, your bed is in the middle of the room, big enough for three people with large blankets and pillows. There are a lot of decorations, too. Trinkets, pictures, books, journals, posters, recordsâ he still hasnât found the player. You take the time heâs distracted to hide the note inside your dresser.Â
âPick whatever, I donât mind.â You tell him while finding your own night clothes. He nods and follows after you, picking up the first shirt he finds. A yellow and blue shirt with frayed edges and a pair of red pants with two white stripes going down the outer side. You omit a shirt, grab a pair of baggy shorts and head into your bathroom.Â
Spencer gets changed in the other bathroom and waits in the hallway. Was this an invitation into your room? Heâs not sure yet again. He really should speak up.Â
âWas the movie too scary?â You joke when you exit the bathroom. âWe can share a bed, if youâd like,âÂ
âSure,â Like an excited puppy, he rushes into the room and you turn the lights off with a yawn. You lay down first, placing yourself closer to the door and then pat the bed. Spencer joins and stares at you for a second before he gets comfortable.Â
âGânight, Spence,âÂ
âGoodnight,â
â
Itâs shocking that thereâs another case only two weeks after the first one. There are typically three and a half weeks of downtime between cases but everyone is called into the meeting room by Hotch. Penelope rushes in, her kitten heels loudly echoing on the concrete path.Â
âToday's case,â Penelope sighs as she taps on her tablet. âThe Big Apple, weâve been called in by umâŚâ She trails off, her eyes darting to Hotch for a little assistance.Â
âProfessor Charles Xavier.â He finishes and it just feels as if the word is collapsing on you. It feels like the life youâve built up is coming down without leaving you any time to save it. Never has Charles asked for the FBI to help him; Erik sure as hell wouldnât let him do that, either. Youâve never taken a mutant case in New York either, he handles those personally.Â
âLike the leader of the X-men?â Rossi asks, and god, youâre praying thereâs a difference, Charles Xavier in New York. That this professor is like Spencer, a really smart cop in Brooklyn or something. Anything but the rich, bald man youâre imagining sent in this request to JJ. He probably bypassed her altogether, now that you think about. Telepathically spoke to Hotch and convinced him to take the case.Â
That's so something he would do.Â
âYes.â Hotch confirms.Â
After that you space out, you canât bring yourself to focus on the details. Not when your head is spinning and it sounds like youâre underwater, struggling to get to the surface as your hearing goes in and out. You stare at nothing but the table, unable to feel a single emotion. Or maybe youâre feeling them all at once, you canât tell.Â
Your lack of mental attendance is noticeable to everyone else since you normally love going to New York for cases. You get to visit family and check out your old neighborhood. Itâs odd, they donât know why this is any different from the others until it clicks. Thereâs only one real difference between this case and the others.Â
Mutants.Â
âWheels up,â Hotch says, eyeing you as youâre the first to stand up and grab your stuff. Spencer looks at Derek, confused but Derek is just as confused as he is. They give each other a nod and go to collect their to-go bags before heading to the airstrip. Youâre already there, sunglasses on and youâd thrown a sweater on. Which is even more strange, since you never seemed affected by the weather before.Â
Spencer tried to speak to you, but youâre gone. Your head is somewhere so far even with him standing in front of you, you donât acknowledge him. You head onto the jet last, despite being the first one there. You check your phone, nervously looking at the empty notification bar until you decide to put it face down on the table.
The jet is a little tense during take off, but itâs broken by Garica whoâs been asked to join the others. Sheâs so excited to see the school for gifted youngsters, even more to see Wolverine who she says is her absolute dreamboat.Â
Everyone hears you try and silently snicker, sinking yourself into your seat when she says that.Â
Derekâs eyebrows knit together. Heâs known you for a decade and heâd never thought you were a bigot before. Hell, heâd never seen you angry before. Not when someone spilt red wine on a brand new, very expensive shirt. Not when a family member of a victim had sucker punched you because they werenât believing what you said. Not when you were being chewed out by Hotch or Strauss.Â
No one had ever seen you so much as frown, not seriously anyway. The wrinkles on your forehead were new despite how deep and prominent they looked.Â
You sigh, deep and heavy as you look out the window of the jet. Thereâs nothing some fucking BAU agents can do that a team filled with telepaths canât. This is just some stupid ass plan by Charles, you know it.Â
Grabbing one of the files from the table, you look them over.Â
The case isnât anything new, by any means. Aside from the fact that theyâre mutants, itâs pretty identical to certain cases youâve had before. A kidnapping followed by a three-day wait before their body is found dumped in Central Park with the Genovia Act stuffed in their mouths. Why this was hard for Charles to figure out, you donât know. Youâre sure thereâs someone who can talk to the dead, or have Wanda talk to her husband and they do some magic and figure it out.Â
You donât know any of the victims, you havenât been back to that mansion since you left so youâre not all that caught up with who lives inside of there. You wish you could keep it that way but the plane lands and youâre all shuffled into government issued SUV cars.Â
Inside, youâre given the news that makes you want to kill yourself.Â
Your accommodations for the stay are at the school.Â
The large, older than anyone you knew mansion was something you honestly never wanted to see again. In your opinion, it would do the world a lotta good if it was gone. The only good thing about it were the open fields and woods surrounding it and if you focus you can feel the lake to the east of the mansion.Â
Itâs calm, thereâs no one around it, you guess itâs too cold this time of year to go for lake swims. You feel the wind flow back to the mansion, there are several dozen kids hanging about. Playing sports or sitting in the grass, theyâre all scattered across the acres of land. Thereâs more inside the mansion, since it is a weekday, afterall and they still had school.Â
Pulling yourself out of the wind, you find that the car is rounding a corner and the Professor is waiting at the entrance. Heâs different from the last time youâd seen him, most notably is that heâs back in his wheelchair with Cerebro nowhere in sight, but you still feel the same burning hatred for him as he sits there. To his left is Erik, and to his right is Logan.Â
âOne hell of a welcome wagonâŚâ Derek trails. You silently agree, waiting until the car comes to a stop before leaving the SUV.Â
âGreetings, BAU.â The professor presses his fingers to his temple and the bags float out from the car before anyone could move to grab them. He looks incredibly stupid, in your humble opinion. âErik will show you to your rooms,â He lifts the bags after him as he enters the school, Logan following behind him.Â
âOur rooms?â Penelope gasps, buzzing in her shoes. She hadnât been in the car when Hotch had explained that small, tiny little fact for the case. You swallow whatever you were wanting to say and your eyes flicker over to Logan. He greets you, silently and in a way only the two of you understand.Â
âTo keep everyone safe, the team will be staying here.â Hotch explains. âRemember to be on your best behavior.â It feels targeted to you, but you donât seem to care as you stare at Erik. You smile at him and he smiles back, his silver hair moving with the tentative breeze that blows past.Â
âFollow me,â He nods to the team and steps inside. You follow after, seeing the familiar halls of the school. You can hear the classes happening around you, you can feel the potential of young mutants. You feel everything around you, how the wood creaks and how thereâs a single wooden panel thatâs rotten and about to fall on someoneâs head. You feel how people move around, using their powers and writing their essays.Â
You sigh, looking at the portraits on the walls and the way they once felt filled with hope. They feel like a painful reminder now. You see your old team, you see you, standing in that stupid suit with a half-face mask. With that stupid grin.Â
The steps arenât covered in carpet anymore; theyâre a glossy wood and you can only imagine itâs because speedsters and cloth donât exactly mix.Â
âYour rooms.â Erik stops at the entrance to the East Wing dorms. You hadnât even realized where he was taking you. But you canât exactly say you didnât expect this, of course, Charles would do this. âYour bags are in front of your doors. When youâre done, head down to the study.â He slips past everyone, his hand gently squeezing your arm as he passes by without another word.Â
âThis is so cool!â Emily says, seeing her bag at the end of the hall. âGod, I hope Storm is here!â The others chime in about their favorite mutant heroes, all of them finding their bags in front of a door.Â
You donât need to look to see yours, you know your room.Â
Standing in front of it, you feel your eyes sting with tears. You canât bring yourself to twist the golden knob. Itâs gotten that dirty copper look after not being used for so long.
âKid, you okay?â Morgan asks, suddenly behind you with a hand on your shoulder. âI know the rooms are kinda plain but youâll live.â He reaches over you and opens the door. It swings open and you shudder at the sight.Â
âHow come he gets a decorated room?â Morgan groans and everyone flocks to your room. They take in the room youâd grown up in, not a single part of it has changed. Your lip quivers as you remember what happened and thatâs enough for you.Â
Snatching your bag from the floor, you toss it inside before slamming the door shut and heading downstairs. The others follow, a little concerned but also they donât want to get lost in the huge school.Â
Emily notices how you move through the halls with ease, as if itâs muscle memory. How you know to be careful on the second to last step and walk with this vigor you never used to have. Spencer frowns, watching as you throw open a set of doors. Heâs not too far behind, so when he reaches the door he sees the Professor sitting at the table.Â
âI need a different room.â You demand, walking past him to find a seat. Your seat, youâve always sat in the seat closest to the window that overlooks the pond.Â
âIâm afraid theyâre all occupied. Unless youâre willing to switch with one of your friends,â He says and glances at the others before his eyes settle back to you. Heâs almost daring you, egging you on. He sighs and you concede. You know heâs lying, there are a dozen of empty rooms in the school.
âFine.â You grit. âLetâs talk about the case, then.â
â
âHow could you let him call us?â You whine to Erik, sitting on his desk as he cleans the books lining the walls. Itâs lunchtime and the others were scattered about. Hotch had gone out for lunch, despite Charles's insistence that there was plenty of food for the team. âI canât sleep in that room, Erik. I canât.â Pulling your feet to the edge of the desk, you lay your head on your knees.Â
âIâm truly sorry,â He shakes his head, setting the feather duster on the shelf. âI wasnât aware of his intentions until I saw the cars pulling up. I wouldâve stopped him had I known.â He stalks over to you, caressing the top of your head before his hand reaches your back.Â
âI know,â You mutter. âI feel so angry now that Iâm here. My teamâ my friends have noticed. They think I hate mutants,âÂ
âI assume they donât know.â Nodding, he sighs and takes his seat in front of you. âWhy havenât you told them?â Looking at him through your lashes, he raises an eyebrow, encouraging you to talk.Â
âIâm afraid,â You stress, dropping your legs. âTheyâre government agents and you know how much they like us! Hotch knows⌠kind of. He knows Bug is a mutant but thatâs because they had a fling in law school,â Rubbing your head, you look at him. âIâm so afraid, Erik. Iâm thisâŚâ
âMutant?â He finishes but you shake your head.Â
âIâm Derek and Spencerâs best friend, I make sure Penelopeâs house is safe because she got shot in her last apartment and sheâs terrified of it happening again, I have monthly movie nights with the others. Iâve met their kids. They know that I cry when I watch Cujo because he didnât deserve that. They know I have to eat my eggs with ketchup because otherwise they taste like too much egg. But I-I canât even think about telling them this!â You ramble.Â
âYouâve adopted a normie life,â You nod and he continues. âWhy? Youâre an omega-level mutant, you could be so much more than an agent.â
âItâs better than that,â You shrug, gesturing to the picture of your old team hanging behind his head. His children were on your team, too. Polaris and Pierto at least. âMy current team doesnât worry about being attacked because they were born with the X gene or some world-ending event anymore. I donât cradle their dying bodies, pushing their blood back into their system, and Iâm not pulling the toxic gas from their lungs. I donât get buried alive anymore! I can live a life!â
âAre you happy?âÂ
âAm I happy? Iâm safe!â You shout and immediately cover your mouth. He frowns and you canât meet his face, your eyes staying on the floor.Â
âBut are you happy? Iâve seen you online, youâre hiding. I know your smile,â He grabs your hand but you stand up and move away, holding yourself. â(Y/n),â He sighs. Your lips purse and you shake your head. âAre you even allowing yourself to love? To connect to someone romantically?âÂ
âNo.â Licking your lips, you stare at the door. âI canât.â
âYou cannot continue down this path, Charles mentioned feeling your affection towards Dr. Reid. Why not pursue him?â
âMan,â You scoff. âTell your bald ass husband to stay out of my head!â He chuckles and lays his hand flat on your head. Heâs going to let you avoid talking about Spencer for now; but not forever.Â
âHe was concerned for you, heâd seen the news of your latest case. And youâve ignored his calls,âÂ
âI donât want to talk to that British fuck.âÂ
âUnderstandable,â He laughs. âCome on, your friends are waiting in the lounge for you.âÂ
The lounge is a room that was originally meant to talk about missions before it was moved down to the basement. Nowadays itâs filled with arcade games and a pool table. Not to mention various seats in various states. The team is crowded around one of the tables, grabbing their food when you walk inside.Â
âIâll leave you to it,â Erik says as he closes the door behind you.Â
âEr, this one is yours!â Penelope says, holding out your food. Thanking her, you take it and settle on one of the recliner chairs. Itâs the funky one with the handle you have to jiggle five times up and then down once to make it leanback, you donât, despite the urge to.Â
âHey, kid,â Derek says, his voice barely hiding the tension he wants to push down. He sits on the couch thatâs had enough blood on it to fill an Olympic-sized pool, but you canât tell him that. Plus, itâs been cleaned well enough that you canât even tell. You greet him back while ripping open the tissue paper, keeping the sandwich together. âYou okay? Youâve been⌠off since Hotch said weâd be working this case.â Itâs hard to miss the ears that tune in to the conversation, the not so sutble conversation quieting until itâs nonexistent.Â
âIâm fine,â You look at him and then Spencer. He tucks his hair behind his ear when your eyes meet before he looks down at his sandwich. âJust tired.â He nods, pretending to understand.Â
âBecause Iâm here if you want to talk, get something off your chest.â He adds and you nod into your sandwich.Â
âIâm good, trust.â
â
Itâs late. Youâve gone into the city and spoken to the witnesses who found the victims, youâve gone through all the evidence and begrudgingly worked with Charles to try and find a necromancer who wasnât away or evil. Which is harder than you expected it to be. He could also be lying.Â
But, the moon was rising and it was time to turn in for the night. Everyone had gone upstairs to their room but you made the excuse that you were fixing up the paperwork to stay down longer. Instead, you ventured outside and sat in front of the pond.Â
The water is deeper than most expect it to be, it connects to a secret room the water mutants use from time to time. You dip your hand inside the water, feeling the fish dart away from the sudden movement and the plants move with the soft ripple of water. Your hand travels to the mud and you find the earthworms eating away, the air moving through the roots of trees and flowers. You find the animals making their homes underground before your hands touch the grass. The snails and ants crawl on blades, one is strangely close to you and you find it.Â
The snail glides on your finger, moving up your hand before it settles on your knuckle. Itâs tiny, barely the size of your fingernail, and stares at you before it turns around. It goes back onto the grass and disappears from sight.Â
Laying flat on your back, you close your eyes and imagine yourself anywhere but there.Â
âGet your ass inside,â Logan says from above you. Cracking your eyes open, you stare up at him.Â
âYour tits are blocking the moon,â You tell him. He growls, flexing his hands. âOh, please stab me. I want to go home.â He sighs, itâs deep and heavy and then he moves so heâs opposite to the moon.
âYou canât sleep out here,â He says and you shrug. âYou have to go inside.â He urges again. Logan doesnât try to sound convincing, despite his words. Itâs oddly void of any concern and itâs mainly annoyance in his tone.
âI donât have to do anything but die.â You correct him. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighs heavily.Â
âFine,â He grunts. âWhen Ororo drags you inside, donât say I ainât warn you.â He walks away and you close your eyes again. Itâs some time before the moonlight is blocked again and you crack your eyes open, half expecting it to be Erik.Â
âSpence,â You blink, sitting up. He fiddles with the sleeve of his shirt and looks back at the school. âWhatâs up?â Nervously, he gives a half smile and points his thumb back to the school.Â
âItâs late and itâs not good to sleep outside without the proper equipment,â He says. âI can see you from my window. Itâs expected to get colder and possibly drizzle, so youâre more likely to catch a cold if you stay out here.â Looking towards the East Wing windows, you see Emily sitting on her windowsill, watching you. Hotch is at his, too.Â
âOkay,â You sigh, standing up. He nods and follows after you while staring at the grass stains on your shirt and pants. Thereâs bits of grass in your hair and he thinks thereâs a snail on one of them but heâs not too sure about that last bit. You remove it with ease as you walk up the stairs, setting the grass on the banister and dusting yourself off.Â
âDo you want to switch rooms?â He asks once youâre at your door. âOr-or share?â He adds when you look at him, eyes heavy with regret.Â
âNo, Iâm fine. Thank you.â He doesnât miss the deep breath you take as you push into the room. The knob feels impossibly cold in your grip and the door is heavy as you push it open and close. Thankfully, all the lights are off and the curtain is drawn so you canât see anything. Itâs muscle memory as you strip out of your dirty clothes and climb into the bed.Â
The covers are the same, itâs still so warm as you pull them up to your chest and imagine youâre home. Anywhere but in that room.Â
That night, for the first time in eight years, you have a nightmare. You donât remember it when you wake up at five in the morning, you just feel the heavy beating of your heart, the sweat building on your forehead and the tears falling from your face. You see it in the fire burning in the center of the room, the small flame in the exact position youâd been all those years ago. You see it in the way the blanket is pulled taught, holding you safely to the bed.Â
The fire snuffs out and the blanket loosens so you can leave the bed and head into the bathroom. You just stand under the water, not bothering to get undressed or even turn the light on. Itâs blistering hot but you canât tell, it just feels wet. The temperature is nothing on your skin, not as the water goes arctic cold just as youâre taking your boxers off.Â
Grabbing the fresh washcloth from the sink, you wash yourself for what feels like an hour. The familiar-smelling soap does nothing to calm your nerves and you get out, feeling the water slip from your body and go down the drain.Â
You donât know where to go as youâre getting dressed, but you know you canât stay in your childhood room any longer than needed. You grab your phone, badge, and necessary items before leaving the room. Spencer is awake and exits his room at the same time you do, you acknowledge him with a glance and keep it pushing.Â
Your feet bang against the wooden floors while he barely leaves a sound. He follows you down the stairs, through the empty corridors until you enter the kitchen.Â
â(Y/n)?â He softly calls as you open the fridge. âThe Professor didnât say we could eat wheneverâŚâÂ
âThat rich asshole can deal,â You grumble, stealing some eggs and cheese. âYou hungry, Spence?â He hesitates but eventually nods. You nod back, pointing an egg at him. He goes to take it but you place them on the counter and check the cabinets for bowls. Finding one large enough, you throw it onto the counter and dip into the freezer for some frozen waffles. âBlueberry or chocolate?â
âBlueberry is fine,â Tossing the blueberry eggos next to the bowl, you flick the pilots on and start whisking the eggs. Spencer doesnât like his eggs with anything, no salt or pepper, no adobo either. And you donât feel like making two batches either.Â
âWanna make me an omelet?â Scott grins and you nod, pointing to the fridge. He grabs three eggs and butter and you set them aside, throwing some butter onto the pan. âIâm Scott, by the way.â He introduces himself to Spencer.Â
âSpencer,â He dips his head down, trying to avoid looking at Scottâs glasses.Â
âHeâs a doctor,â You grin, tossing four eggos into the toaster. Leaning against the counter, you grab an apple and hold it between your fingers. âPeppers in the omelet or plain?â Scott takes the apple and bites into it.Â
âImpressive,â He pats Spencerâs back. âAnd plain. Iâm bulking.â Nodding, you pour yours and Spencerâs eggs into the pan.Â
âTwink death, I suppose.â With a large, exaggerated sigh you lean against the counter again, fanning yourself.Â
âBecause you know all about that, right?â The two of you laugh, like really laugh and Spencer looks between the two of you. Youâre loose, compared to yesterday. Youâre smiling and happily engaging with Scott, youâre even making him food. Willingly. He doesnât look past the clear history either and chews on his lip.Â
What type of history could the two of you possibly share?
âSo,â Scott clears his throat. âYouâre a doctor?â His eyes (Spencer thinks, he canât tell) flicker to Spencer while you tend to the eggs.
âI have several PhDs, Iâm not a medical doctor,â He explains and clears his throat. âSo, technically, I am a doctor, just not a medical professional. But I am EMT certified as per the FBI guidelines.â Scott looks at you, eyebrow raised and you smile, looking away.Â
âThatâs cool, I have red beam eyes.â He shrugs, lowering the glasses and blasts the apple. It sprays everywhere and one chunk hits you square in the forehead.Â
âIâm not cleaning that.â Scrambling the eggs, you move apple guts off of the stove while Scott grabs a paper towel.Â
âWhereâs the bathroom?â Spencer asks and Scott points him in the direction. He thanks him and leaves while Scott throws away the paper towels. Once he's gone, Scott leans against the counter with his arms crossed.Â
âWhat?â You sigh, piling the eggs onto the plate.Â
âYou always like the chatty ones,â He grins. âWade, Tony for a week, Pierto, Jenn, and what was her name?â He snaps his fingers and you hush him.Â
âMisty and she was not chatty!âÂ
âMmhm,â He looks forward, his ankles now crossed. âYou should date him.â He mutters. âYouâd make a cute couple. A cute little FBI, mutie couple.â His nose crinkles and you roll your eyes.Â
âHeâs not a mutant,âÂ
âBut you like him.â He tilts his head closer to yours and you push him away from you. Focusing on the omelet, you peel the sides and check to see if itâs ready to flip.Â
âDid Charles or Erik tell you to do this?âÂ
âThey talked about it,â He shrugs, pushing himself away from the counter. He walks over towards the kitchen island and sits down. âAnd I agree. You donât have to only date other mutants. Your track record shows you mostly date normies.â
âMy longest relationships were with mutants, though.â You add, looking back at him. âThat track record says I should only date mutants.â
âMaybe he is,â Scott grins. âLike a super smart mutant. What then?âÂ
âThen Iâd jump his bonesâ Iâm joking!â You shout as Scott cackles. âNothing changes. I donât date anymore.â
âAh, straight to marriage.â
âScott,â Adding cheese into his omelet, you blink. âIm good being single.â
âSure, but youâre pushing forty and still singleâŚâ Scoffing, you face him and point the spatula towards Charlieâs office.Â
âCharles is like a hundred and still wonât admit he loves Erik. I feel like there are bigger issues than me not dating!â He waves his hand, dismissing your entire statement. âBesides, thereâs nothing wrong with not wanting to date someone. Iâm happy being single,â
âI know aromantics and asexualsâ youâre not one of them. Thatâs sexual frustration speaking. All that anger and libido built up isnât good,â Flinging his eggs at him, he grabs the plate and manages to catch all of it. âSee. Someone whoâs happy doesnât do that to breakfast.âÂ
âI really want Jean to divorce you.âÂ
Spencer walks back into the kitchen soon after and Scott motions his head towards him as he leaves with his food.Â
â
The case is going⌠not horribly. But not good, either. Another two mutants have been found and youâre sure youâre going to strangle Charles soon. Your latest theory is that heâs faking the deaths, theyâre clones or something. You donât know. But you think all of this is hocus pocus.Â
Youâre three days in now, talking with the others about possible suspects and trying to find some type of rhyme or reason to how theyâre picking out the mutants. (Itâs Charles, duh.)Â
âCrossing every possible line- race, gender, age, type of mutant,â Derek lists through a frustrated sigh.Â
âWere they runaways? Had loving parents?â You ask, only to humor Charles into believing this was a real case and not some weird ploy. The man in question thinks for a second before flipping through the pictures again. Of course youâd find some missing link in this case.
âIâve met all of their parents, theyâre from mutant families.â He lists off their families, naming the mutants theyâre related to. Some of them arenât well known to people, even heavily tied with the mutant community. You doubt most of the people in the mansion had heard of themâ hell, you hadnât.Â
âWe need to talk to the families,â Hotch surmises.Â
âI fear it wonât be possible. Most of them are under the mutant protection act and cannot be contacted.â Thatâs not real. Thatâs something he just made up, but hey. Leave it to the telepath to lie. Charles sighs as he looks at you. Shrugging, you watch as they believe the lie with a little influence from the professor. âI can gather all the mutant families I know and have them know about this threat, though.â Your eye twitched as what he said sunk in.Â
This fucking asshole.Â
âUntil then, we need to work on the profile.â Hotch says. âThe geographical profile wonât be of any help, considering the dump sites are all within Central Park and victims go as far as Queens.â
âItâs likely the Unsub is a mutant himself,â Reid speaks up while fiddling with his pen. âHe probably comes from an unsupportive family and envies those who have familial support or understanding.â
âTeleportation mutant isnât uncommon,â Emily adds. âIt would explain how heâs getting the bodies into the park without being noticed.â
âBut the placement of the Accords wouldnât make sense.â Rossi shakes his head.Â
âThrows us off the trail,â Hotch explains. âProfessor, can you create a list of mutants with teleportation powers and narrow it based on who has an unsupportive family? Garcia, I want you to pull up all the footage from the area where the victims were taken, review it with Reid frame by frame.âÂ
âYes, sir,â She nods and the two of them head over to her station. Itâs in the room, which is strange considering how many rooms the mansion has but this is a fake case, you donât expect much.Â
Looking over the files, your leg continues to bounce. Itâs a matter of time before Charles mentions your family. Hotch will if he doesnât. You know him, heâs not going to keep something so important to the case a secret. Raking your hand through your hair, you shudder and lean back in your seat. This isnât going how you wanted it to. You never wanted them to find out.Â
Youâre fine having feelings for Spencer in private. You donât care if he never knows, you donât care. This part of your life was buried for a reason and you didnât need to uncover it for the sake of a fake fucking case.Â
Looking around the room, you see Erik standing at the door. You think him and Charles are having a telepathic conversation by the way his face keeps switching emotions. He looks at you and offers a sympathetic smile before glaring at Charles and leaving. Theyâre back to the divorce stage, then. Great.Â
You wonder what the team will think. Itâs been eight years of knowing them, eight years of working together so well you consider them family. A family that hates secrets, especially giant ones. Theyâll view this as you not trusting them, that youâve been lying for almost a decade. Theyâll hate you.Â
âI found a possible victim,â Derek calls and you pull yourself together. âNine years ago, a teenage girl was killed in Central Park by her boyfriend.â Your eyes widen as he says that, snapping to the professors while he just sits there. âDanella Harkens, she was a student here. Her parents were in the original X-men.â He nods, as though heâd just remembered her.Â
You feel sick to your stomach as all of this settles in. Your sister's death has been something you tried to warn him aboutâ you knew her boyfriend wasnât any good but she was a rebellious teenager who didnât want to listen to anyone. You begged him to make her stop, you were away on a mission, you couldnât do anything. He couldâve. And he didnât.
âI remember her,â He turns to Derek while youâre breathing hard. âShe was a lovely student. Itâs a shameââ He stops, holding his throat as the air in his lungs is removed. Quickly, his face starts turning shades of red and the others scramble to help him. They donât know whatâs wrong, how could they? You walk to the middle of the room, staring at him as he loses more and more air. He silently pleads to you to stop but you donât. You like it. Watching him suffer.Â
âStop it,â Scott whispers, placing a hand on your shoulder. You shake your head, face tight. â(Y/n), let him go.â He urges.
âHe killed her,â You whisper.
âLet him go.â Closing your eyes, you push the air back into his lungs. Charles gasps, holding onto the chair for support while youâre pulled out of the room. No one notices, busy attending to Charles.
Scott takes you to the training simulation room, something he used to do when you still lived there. He clears out the class who donât hesitate to leave, loving the free period theyâve been provided. He boots up some of the harder simulations, watching as you quite literally burn through them. The fire burns a powerful blue, turning the (holographic) metal into (holographic) puddles. It doesnât matter that theyâre fake, the programming feels so real that there are phantom injuries whenever someone gets attacked by one.Â
He watches the sweat build on your face and then get turned into tiny knives that fly through the air.Â
âWhatâs the Avatar doing?â Emma asks, standing next to Scott with her arms crossed.Â
âBlowing off steam,â He cringes when your fire fills up the entire room, leaving scorch marks along the wall. âThe Professor brought up Ella and he thinks itâs a fake case.â She hums, tilting her head as you suck the fire back in and form a fire sword with it.Â
âIs it?â She asks. She wouldnât put it past Charles to do some fucked up shit like that.Â
âNo,â He shakes his head. âItâs very real.â
â
Danella Harkness, a name sheâs given herself because she fell in love with the book character with her first name. Danella (L/n) is your younger sister, she was several years younger than you, fifteen when she died. She wasnât the strongest mutant ever; she didnât have much control over her power. It wasnât anything crazy or new, controlling light. Youâve seen it used in amazing ways but she never got the hang of it.Â
It wasnât often that a mutant family all had similar powers. The X gene didnât carry what type of powers someone got. At least to your knowledge. But your mother has moon powers, your father has the wildest energy powers youâve seen in a long time, your older sister controls gravity, and you have the most basic, elemental powers.Â
You stare at the family portrait inside one of the common areas, youâre all in your suits, smiling and alive. It was painted four weeks before Ella died. Youâre thankful that sheâs been immortalized in such a happy state but it still aches you to your core. She wouldâve been twenty-four this year. It's been nine years since sheâs died, nine years since youâve been angry with the world.Â
Youâve been angry with Charles since you could be angryâ heâs a shit person in general.Â
âThere you are,â Spencer gasps, clearly out of breath as you sit with your back to the door. âHotch is calling us, itâs dinner time.â
âIâm not hungry,â You respond and the doors close. Sinking into the seat, you stare at a nineteen-year-old you. Youâre hardly smiling in that picture, but youâre happy. You can tell. Youâve never liked your smile all that much so you faked a nicer one for the painting. Your parents didnât like that, they always wanted it redone to get your true smile butâŚÂ
âAre you okay?â Spencer settles next to you. You scoot over, making room for him. His eyes follow yours, finding the painting. âIs that Danella?â He knows her face, of course, he does, heâs seen it once. He knows the slope of her nose, he knows how she had gotten a messy lip ring but he doesnât know that she ran her finger along her nose to calm her down or that sheâd gotten the lip ring because your older sister had gotten one.Â
âYeah,â You bite without meaning to. âYes,â You say in a calmer tone, silently apologizing.
âWe didnât get a file on the rest of her family,â He points out, a sense of urgency growing in his voice. âThe sister and the brother could be in danger.â Your sister is flying in from her latest mission, according to Jean tells you. Sheâll be back within the hour. You donât know what youâre going to do. You donât know what your life is going to look like after today.Â
âWho said danger?â A shrill voice says as the doors to the room slam open. You close your eyes, knowing the voice, while Spencer jumps.Â
âExcuse me?â He stutters, watching as Wade rushes across the room and flings himself onto the couch. His knee hits your head and you groan, holding the side of your head while he scrambles to sit down properly, squishing himself between you and Spencer. To Spencerâs credit, he moves over to give more space before eventually giving up and standing instead.Â
âYâknow, this is a niche crossover,â Wade sighs while looking at a wall. âIâve only ever read beanstalk over here and Gambit boning for this crossover.â
âFuck are you talking about?â You groan, checking your hand. There isnât any blood, of course there wouldnât be. But you felt that you should still check.Â
âNothing.â He quickly says and then sighs dramatically and crosses his legs. âWhat were you two talking about?â He plays with the ends of your hair, smiling under his mask as you glare at him.Â
âNone of your business,â Smacking his hand away, he hisses and blows on his hand. âGod! Kill me!â Standing up, you circle around the couch to grab your sweater and gun holster when the others walk inside.Â
âWeâve been looking for you two!â JJ sighs, tucking some hair behind her ear. âThe Professor wants to talk about the case, something about the Danellaâs girls family.â Your eye twitches again, you never thought that was a real thing but leave it to Charles.Â
âOh,â Wade drags out before he jumps over the couch and spins you into his chest. âAnd here I thought you were here for little ole moi,â He frowns as you push yourself away from him, angrily fixing your hair. âYou used to like that.â He says while staring at the wall again.Â
âDo you ever shut up?â You seethe, looking for your gun holster. You were sure it was next to your sweater. Scanning the room, you find it next to the fireplace and squint. How the fuck?
âYou know a couple ways to shut me up,â Wade sings, following after you. âWink wink.â Grabbing your gun, you check the weight and then stare at Wade. âWink.â His head moves as though heâs making an exaggerated wink.Â
âYou two know each other?â Derek slowly asks.Â
âNo.â
âWe used to fuck raw.â Wade grins and you shout, ripping his mask off and shoving the barrel of your gun into his mouth. He moans, eyes shut while you can feel his tongue licking along the gun.Â
âYou freak,â You spit, taking the gun off of safety. The others shout, begging you to stop but Wade pulls the trigger with a loud moan, his eyes rolling back. He drops to the floor without a sound, blood and oddly enough his teeth land on your face. âSome fucking peace and quiet!â You groan, wiping your face before you put the gun's safety back on.Â
âYou just killed a man.â Penelope whispers, her eyes trained on the wall. Her eyes are red and there are already free flowing tears running down her face.Â
âLook man,â Derek takes a hesitant step forward. âWe know you hate mutants but this is too far!â
âWhat?â You ask, hands on your hips.Â
âYou killed him!â He shouts, a vein bulging out of his forehead.Â
âDo you guys know who that is?âÂ
âDoesnât matter.â Hotch pulls himself together, blinking away from Wades âdeadâ body. You can see his head reforming already, steadily breathing again. âYou killed a man.â Blinking, you turn to face your family painting. Thankfully, thereâs no blood on it, protected by a thick bulletproof glass, considering how many different accidents happen in the school.Â
âHeâs notâ Iâm so going to kill myself.â Pinching the bridge of your nose, you let out a loud sigh and turn around again. Charles and Logan stand at the door, slowly letting themselves in.Â
âProfessor, I am⌠thereâs no words to describe how sorry I am.â Hotch stumbles over his words. Xavier holds his hand up, staring at you as him and Logan move closer to you and Wade.
âYou had to make it messy?â Logan grits, staring at the blood-soaked rug and the brains on the wall.
âHeâs being a little bitch!â You defend, pointing your gun at him. ââSides he pulled the trigger this time.â He chuckles, shaking his head.Â
âCourse he did,â He puts a cigar between his lips and leans over expectantly. Taking it, you hover it over the fireplace and put it between his lips. âNot what I wanted.â He mutters but takes a long drag from the cigar.
âSuck a dick.â Scrunching your nose as he blows smoke towards you, Logan rolls his eyes.Â
âI hope that got everything out of your system.â Charles sighs, watching as Wade starts to breathe again.Â
âIf you werenât in a wheelchair, I wouldâve thrown you off of the Empire State Building by this point.â You admit, low enough that only the three of you hear.
âYou should still do it,âÂ
âLogan.â Charles blinks.
âMy God, that was hot!â Wade shouts as he jumps up, his face still molding itself together. The others scream and you blink, youâve never heard Hotch scream before. Itâs strange. âDo it again.â
âNo, you freak!â You spit. âYou nearly got me locked up!â
âBet youâd like that,â
âWade,â Closing your eyes, you step away from him.Â
âMy apologies for not explaining the situation earlier, Wade here has a mutation that rapidly grows his cells, a regeneration mutation.â Charles explains. âSimply put, Wade is impossible to kill by normal means.â
âI know how,â Logan offers.Â
âHow did you know that?â Spencer asks you.Â
âBecause,â You shrug.Â
âThey used to date.â Logan blows out another puff of smoke.Â
âIâd rather not tell people that, I was desperate.â You blink, unable to look at the team.Â
âTo a cancer patient,â Wade gasps, hand on his chest. âYou know iâm sensitive about my skin.â
âI preferred you without a mask and gagged, I think we know why the relationship didnât last.â You bite without meaning to.Â
âYou gagged him?â Emily stares and you close your eyes. Unsure of what was worse, admitting to your sexual escapades in front of your crush and boss or nearly spilling your own secret for the sake of killing Wade.Â
âCan we not? Thereâs a case.â You mumble.Â
âRight,â Charles clears his throat and you side glance at him. âDaniellaâs family is here.â
The sentence feels like the end of the world. And youâve experienced the end of the world before. Several times in fact. And those have never left this type of pit in your stomach, this type of dryness to your mouth that youâre sure drinking all of the world's clean water could hydrate. It makes your head spin and your knees are about three seconds from buckling.Â
So many years, so many memories and shared with the team, and soâ soâ much love was about to be put to the test.Â
You crumble with each step, feeling as if youâre being walked to your public execution of your own making. Your neck is burning from the inevitable blade coming down and you just hope itâs as swift as a guillotine was.Â
You never shouldâve taken this job. You never shouldâve lied to them. You never shouldâve gotten so close to them. You shouldâve been more open with them.Â
You donât know which never is right and you suppose you never will. Youâve made your bed and itâs time to lay in it.Â
The team is guided to the elevator that leads down to the basement. No one really talks, still shocked and trying to piece together the last three minutes. Spencer is especially quiet, his eyes are traveling with each of his thoughts and heâs picking at the end of his vest. It must be hard, he has a million and five questions and yet, he canât ask them. He wonât get the answers fast enough and you donât know if youâll be around to ever give them to him.Â
Logan opens the door to the hanger, it hisses as the seal breaks before it slides open without making a sound. The jet is parked and the door is open, three pairs of footsteps echo through the bay and Hotch is the first to react.Â
He turns to you.Â
Thatâs the first thing he does when he sees them.Â
His head snaps to you, his eyes wide as his mouth is pressed into a thin line. A knowing line. You avoid his gaze, staring down at the floor as your chest tightens again. Your lips curl into an emotion you canât place just yet. Because just like that, just by seeing your family Aaron Hotchner is the first to figure out that you're a mutant.Â
He knows because he knows your sister. He could have never forgotten herâ heâs only ever been with two people.Â
Your family stands in front of the BAU, their careful eyes scanning over the team and when your sister sees Hotch, she gives a small smile. Nothing more, nothing less. He gives an even smaller one back, a mental dilemma clearly written over his face.Â
âSo, weâre all here?â Your mother nods towards Charles.Â
âWeâre still waiting on your son, maâam,â Derek eyes, as if it was obvious. Charles had said everyone from the family was flying in but, clearly, they were down a person.Â
âMy son?â Your mother blinks from him and then to you. She frowns, her crescent-shaped lips almost unnatural-looking as they pout. Emily pauses, tilting her head ever so slightly as the pieces fall into place for her. Her eyes shift to you and she makes a small expression. Barely visible but it lets you know everything.Â
Two people.Â
Inhaling, you turn towards Logan. Begging him, pleading with him to do something. Anything. Logan isnât one for pity but heâs not exactly an asshole. He grunts, feigning boredom and ushers everyone back upstairs. Into the meeting room youâd been working out of.Â
âWe believe that your daughter was the first victim for our UnSub,â Rossi starts the conversation as everyone settles down. Youâre still at your seat, your sister to your left, Spencer to your right. In front of you are your parents. âCan you tell us about Daniellaâs death?â
âWe were gone,â Your mother starts, her eyes drifting as her mind does. âA mission to take down a factory creating Sentinels. She couldnât go, I didnât want her getting hurt and she found no issue, they were having a trip that day. But the kids,â She looks at your sister and then you. Spencer tenses for a moment and you can feel the air push from his lungs as he tries not to stare at you.Â
Three people.Â
âThey begged me not to, not to leave her or not to go. Begged Charles. We returned to the news, her boyfriend. A secret boyfriend. Heâd stabbed her in Central Park because he found out she was a mutant.â
âYou knew?â Derekâs eyebrows furrow as he looks at your sister. âHow?â
âWeâ me and my brother, we knew the kid. His dad, at the time, was working for the government. Working on legalizing sentinels again. She didnât believe us and then she said he wasnât like his father. She trusted him,â She explains and you swear itâs like youâre back there again. That you're pleading with everyone to do something, to save your sister from the fate you know sheâs about to walk into.Â
No one did. No one helped. And you lost yourself that day, you lost your baby sister, your parents, and you lost your trust with the older generation of X-men.Â
âCan you think of a reason why someone is copying Danellaâs murder?â JJ softly asks as if her tone would cushion her words. You lower your head a little while your hands reach up to massage your neck and then the sides of your head. Your fear is turning into anger and soon enough, ifâwhen someone says the wrong thing youâre going to explode.Â
âNo,â She shakes her head. âHeâs an only child, his mother is alive and his father died four years ago.âÂ
âIâŚâ Your dad starts, his voice sounding like heâs afraid to say whatâs on his mind. Which is unusual. âI can. Itâs a strange reason butâŚâ His lips purse and your mother shakes her head, silently telling him no. Slightly, you perk
up while your eyes narrow.Â
âAnything is helpful,â Rossi nods, leaning forward in his seat. âEven if it doesnât seem that way.â Your dad nods and looks at your mother, waiting for her to concede. She does and exhales slowly as he speaks.Â
âWe moved her grave recently.â He finally says. âWe moved her here.â Itâs like time froze, like you could finally feel the temperature around you, the chill in the air rushing through your lungs, your veins, and into that well of emotions youâve kept under lock and key for nearly a decade. Youâre not thinking straight, not thinking of the consequences as your voice fills the room faster than your mind can catch it.Â
âYou what?â You shuddered, looking between the two of them. They avoid your betrayed gaze until you stand from the table, your fist clenched at your side as the chair nearly falls down. âYou fucking moved her?â You shout, face twisted with fury that grows with their silence. âAnswer meâ what the fuck did you do?âÂ
âThis is why we didnât tell you,â Your mother's voice is almost a plea as she looks at you. âLook at you, (Y/n).â
You grit, shaking your head. âDonât spin this back to me,â You tell her, trying to keep your voice steady. âMy sister was murdered and we laid her to rest next to her favorite park. And you two moved her back to the place she hated.â
âYou hate it here,â Your father softly corrects as if heâs talking down one of his patients. âElla loved it here.â
Lifting your chin, you stare down at him. âElla hates the X-men. She hates missions, she hates living in this schoolââ
âElla is dead.â Your mother reminds you, looking away as the words formed a bitter taste on her tongue.Â
âFuck you.â You spit, nearly enjoying the hurt that flickers across her face, like the air was sucked out of her lungs. âYâknow what? Fine. Ella hated the X-men. She hated how Charles treated us like show ponies. She hated living in a dorm instead of an apartment. She hated how you made us go to courts to watch as people called us cruel words as they treated us like we werenât people. She didnât go on that mission because she was tired of being reminded that the world fucking hated her. She was never mutant and proud. She didnât get a hang on her powers because she didnât want to.â
â(Y/n),â Your sister looks up at you, eyes bleary. âStop.â
âWhat?â You laugh this bitter laugh that feels like it scrapes against your throat. âWeâre just being honest, arenât we? Ella told us how much she hated this place but she wanted to make them proud.â Lamely, you gesture to your parents. âYou wouldâve known that, had you stopped to think of us outside of being legacy mutants.â
âWe never did,â Your mother stands up, hurt written clearly on her face. â(Y/n), you need therapy. Thisâthis isnât healthy, youâre still so angry,âÂ
âIâm not angry.â You grit. Youâve never been the angry one, sardonic maybe Cynical. But you didnât like being angry, that weird burning feeling in your chest, the way the anger would cloud a person's judgment. That was never you. âStop calling me angry.â
But she nods, solemnly like it hurts her to do so. âLook at you. Look behind you,â Blinking, you turn around and see that the floor is on fire, a line trailing from your feet, across the room and traveling up the wall. Shaking your head, it snuffs out and you turn back, blinking away the embarrassment lingering in your eyes. âYouâre scaring your friends; youâre scaring us.âÂ
Licking your lips, you shake your head again before leaving. You canât deal with this, deal with them or the sounds of your mother crying as you leave. Youâve fucked everything up, again. You always do.Â
â(Y/n)ââ Spencerâs voice calls after you, a little panicked as he follows the burnt footsteps. The heat thatâs radiating off of your body. ââwait, please!â
âI need to be alone!â You warn, pushing through a set of doors that leads to the basement. âStay with the others, Spencer.â
He waits at the door for a moment, just one, solitary moment to think about it before he shakes his head and follows you down. âTalk to me⌠please,â The basement is a metal, but not the type that radiates the heat rolling off of your body; itâs cold down there, reflective in a way that makes the fire in your eyes shine when you face him.Â
âI canât hurt you,â Youâre pleading, the anger gone from your body as he only gets closer, a cold fear quickly replacing it. âSpencer, please. Stay backâ I when I get like thisââ Stopping yourself, you shake your head and head inside the room. He follows, again because for some reason he canât stop himself. Itâs like he needs to prove himself, to who, heâs sure itâs you. Heâs not sure why and heâs not sure how but he enters the room just before the doors close.Â
Itâs dark, impossibly so. The type of darkness thatâs no longer just the color blackâ this must be what itâs like to be completely blind. But even more so. He canât tell which way is up or down and itâs so silent. The hall had been quiet but this was silent, silent enough that he could hear the blood rushing through his ears, his soft breathing. But he canât hear you. And a part of him is afraid to call out, to break whatever this is thatâs going on.Â
âYou need to go,â Your voice echoes from across the room, in some area he canât pinpoint. He flinches, trying to figure out where your voice came from, his eyes desperately trying to adjust to the darkness. âThe room is going to fill with water in fifteen seconds. The door will shut for an hour. And I don't want to have to force you out,âÂ
âWhat about you?â Heâs panting, and he doesnât know why. One foot steps in front of the other, venturing deeper into the room.Â
âIâmââ Your voice catches in your throat, the words ringing as not important. Not the focus of right now. âSpencer, you have ten seconds. Leave. This is my⌠timeout room. Go!â His hand wraps around yours, at first he stutters, unsure in his movementsâ actions before they hold you tightly. âSpenceâŚâ
âI trust you.â The door hisses, the seal clicking into place and your eyes close. Another seal hisses and water starts to pour into the room from behind you. His heartbeat picks up, slightly but enough that you notice.Â
âItâs going to fill the room entirely. Floor to ceiling.â You warn, looking at the water. You canât see it but you can sense it, understand where itâs coming from and going. âFifteen percent Epsom salt, so weâll float but still be able to swim. Air gets pumped through⌠some system, Iâm not sure.â
âHow do weâŚâ Breathe, he means. The waterâs up to your knees by this point but he hasnât moved. And it feels like heâs staring at you.Â
âI can breathe underwater. Itâs a skill I learned, filtering the water out before it enters my nose, so I just get the oxygen. I can⌠make a large air bubble for you.â Youâve done it before, back when you were an X-Men and once, when the team went to the beach and Henry slipped from his floaters faster than anyone could react.Â
He leans back, letting the water hold him up and you feel it, his body lying on the surface, slowly drifting about. You do the same; itâs the purpose of the room, after all. By the time your stomach hits the ceiling, youâve wrapped Spencer into the bubble of air. It moves around himâ heâs talking and you swim closer to him before widening the bubble to incase the both of you.Â
âDo you want to talk about it?â It, the situation or the other situation. Because, while you donât want to talk about either, one is certainly better than the other. Then again, knowing Spencer, heâll want the bigger picture first.Â
âThe point of this room is to not talk for an hour,â You softly remind him.Â
âStill,â Itâs up to you, thatâs the thing. You can say no, give a firm, black or white yes or no and heâll drop it. Hand to God he would, but⌠you want to. You want to tell someone about this, someone like Spencer. To get this off of your chest, to let him see you and see all of you. Not just SSA (Y/n) (L/n).Â
Despite yourself, thereâs an immediate need to defend yourself. âIâm not angryâ Iâm not an angry person,â
âI know,â
âIâm not.â
âI know.âÂ
âItâs just; they make me angry. My parents, Charles⌠theyâre so⌠self-righteous. Mutant and proud. Putting yourself on the line. Theseâthe great, grandiose expectations about how youâre supposed to be great and this poster boy for mutants. Proud of your mutations, to ignore the vile words, the hatred that normies spew at us. To still help them when they spit at us, treat us like infections. I was the only one of my siblings to try and tell them that we didnât want this life, they didnât believe me and it frustrated me. IâŚI got angry andâŚâ Trailing off, you feel your eyes sting as the memories come back. âI didnât mean to. I just⌠I lost control of my powers and ended up burning them. Everyone. My mom, dad, Rose, and Ella.â His breath hitches and he reaches forward while you lean back. âThat's why they built this room. It makes me focus on water and not fire.â
âElla was different, she was always⌠scared. Of her powers, of peopleâ it really didnât matter. And then she met him. Walking in a park, he wasâŚnormal, thatâs what she called him.â Running your hand over your head, you exhale. âShe saw the life she wanted in him. Going to high school, living in an apartment with just his family, no one hated him. Nothing that she had in her life. She told us about it, told me and Rose. Swore us to keep it a secret, Rose wanted to but I knew something wrong was happening. She needed an escape, not a boyfriend. And not him. I told themâ I stalked him,â Itâs the first time youâre admitting this, your arms crossed over your stomach as your eyes dart around, the memories slowly rolling in.Â
âI followed him home, this brownstone in Manhattan. I saw him, the Senator whoâs the main endorsement for the Sentinels. They looked so similar and seemed too close that there was no way that they didnât have the same views. I tried telling her, and then Rose, and then our parents. No one listened. Ella thought I was being a protective big brother. Rose wanted to let Ella make her own choices and my parents just⌠wanted to focus on using her to get close to the Senator.â
You just continued to talk but it felt more like word vomit, your words growing more and more hoarse until you just started sobbing. It was uncontrollable, pent-up feelings bubbling to the surface like a volcano that you couldnât contain. And Spencer didnât want you to. He listened and he didnât judge, not even when you admitted to robbing a liquor store after finding out about her death and getting black out drunk in the middle of the woods. He just sat there, letting you lean on him for the first time.Â
By the time you caught your breath, the water was being drained in the middle of the room and the lights were starting to come back. It was a slow progression so as to not hurt your eyes. The water slipped between the new slots in the floor and whatever somehow managed to stay inside the room would be steamed out once you left.Â
âAre you ready to go back?â He asks, still squinting due to the bright, white lights flooding the area.Â
âNo,â You admit, voice steady where your eyes are still red, lips still holding a small tremble. âIâm going to find Ella,â He nods, letting you guide him back upstairs before you leave him to get back to the others.Â
â
Itâs almost an hour before you return. The team had been trying to focus on the case but it was hard. Especially for Morgan who kept huffing and slamming things on the table; everyone knew why, too. He was hurt, hurt in ways he couldnât describe. One of his closest friends, someone who he calls when heâs at his lowest, didn't trust him as much as he trusted them. And that stings, Spencer will admit. But he gets it.Â
He looks at the casesâ your file and slips through countless mission reports. The details in them are gruesome. Buried alive at eleven, thrown into a lava pit at nine, set on fire, kidnapped and tortured, and something about being sent to an alternate universe. Then thereâs the press, he skims through videos of you and your family at rallies, protesting at capital buildings, in courtâ a video of your mother getting arrested at one while youâre struggling to contain yourself, bending the wooden table in front of you before youâre tackled to the ground and placed in a mutant collar. Youâd been seven at the time.Â
The room itself was quiet, whispers of information passed around like a game of telephone until rapid footsteps approached the door. It swung open like a storm was hitting, bouncing off of the hinges and everyone turned to the door, seeing you frantic.Â
âIs Josh here?â
âNo,â Scott shakes his head, beginning to stand up. âWe sent Logan and Kitty on a search for him.â
âAnd?â
âNothing yet,â He sighs. âTheyâve checked each safe house and nothing's been touched. Logan hasnât picked up his scent, either.â Heâs speaking like a doctor breaking bad news to a family, taking slow steps until heâs in front of you. Something flashes across your face; guilt, maybe sadness and you whisper to him, shaking your head. Spencer can hear faint I know and it's not your fault from Scott.Â
âCerebro,â Your voice gets higher, eyes snapping towards Charles. âUse cerebro to find him.â
Charles doesnât give an indication if he can or even will, but he makes his way over to the two of you and the three of you start talking. The air starts to feel hotter, like it had when you learned they moved Ella and Spencer sees the smoke rising from the floor underneath you. Sees the shifting air around Scottâs hair, the way your face twists and contorts as though you have no control over it. And then, a break.Â
Your body falters, blearly eyes look between the two of them. âHeâs not⌠heâsâŚâÂ
Charles shakes his head. âItâs the most likely scenario. Logan will do one last sweep today for him,â
âSo, there is a mutant serial killer,â Itâs not a question, itâs a realization. That these past couple of days of bullshitting had been for nothing, that you shouldâve taken this more seriously. Scott nods. âOkayâ have we asked Jean, Wanda, or Hotoru to take a look at the bodies? See if they can get any information from them?â
Itâs weird, now you can place yourself into business mode. Because youâre walking around the room, using your powers to guide files over to the board, standing straighter and that tone, Spencer knows it well. You and Scott work together well, he notes. The man is at your side in seconds and itâs strange how well the two of you balance each other out. He wonders just how connected the two of you are, considering what happened during breakfast.Â
âSpencer, did you get a look at the letter on my door?â He snaps out of it, seeing your serious face and nods, standing up with his dry-erase marker to the board. âBoth Josh and I got oneâ I didnât get a chance to read it. Maybe the others did, too,â You hurriedly explain, arms crossed and teeth finding purchase on the inside of your cheek.Â
âSo, youâre a potential victim,â Scott notes, arms crossed to mimic you when you turn to him as if he asked a stupid question. âYou are. And donât bring up the fact that you can hide inside of a volcano, again.â
âWell, I can hide inside of a volcano!â Thereâs a pause, your eyes shift before your eyebrows shoot up. âAnd Josh can dig underground. Deep enough to not be found by detectors or search dogs.âÂ
While it convinces Scott, his lips purse. âThere are hundreds of miles of dirt between your building and here. It would take you days to search it,â
âJulio and I canâ and maybe Jean. She can try and fly with me, sense him. Are there any other earth based mutants?â
He thinks for a moment, recounting all the students in his care. âA couple, but none of them have that much power. Itâs just you and Julio. And even heâs not on your level,â
Grinning at him, you move towards the board where Spencer is. âYouâre making me blush,â Standing next to him, you look at the board. âThatâs everything?â He hums, blinking over at you while you read it over, lips pulled to the side and eyes jumping around.Â
âThis is weird,â You admit, waving Scott over. âItâs all broken,â
âBroken?â Hotch echoes and you no,d turning to him.Â
âThis is Krakoan. Itâs a language for an island, and if you were on the island at any point, youâd know the language as if it was your native tongue,â
âThis is written like someoneâs learning the language,â Scott finishes with you nodding in agreement.Â
But now the question was, whoâs teaching them? âMaking a list of all the mutants on the island wouldnât take too long. Not many of us left it. So, we can start from there.â
â
âThis isnât crazy to you guys?â Derek whispers during dinner. Youâre gone, off with Scott and your friends, making a plan to find Joshâ who Penelope was surprised to figure out was the same Josh from the apartment buildingâ and connect the letters to the current murders. âHeâs been lying for years!â
Hotch is the first to speak, his head shaking slightly with a slight frown etched into his skin. âItâs not that simple,â
Derek scoffs, leaning back in his seat. âWeâre not bigots, Hotch. He could've trusted us like we trust him.â
âYouâve seen him,â Hotch starts, slow like heâs still piecing together his evidence. âHow he reacted ever since we took this case. Heâs scared, heâs barely sleeping, outbursts, and withdrawn. This wasnât something he wanted to talk about with anyone,â Of course, Derek can sympathize with that. He knows that feeling well but it doesnât stop the hurt in his chest. Something so deep in his soul that he doesnât know how to get over this feeling fast enough to make logical choices.Â
Outside, they hear someoneâs loud laughter and the conversation dies on Derekâs tongue. âHeâs cuteâ heâs cute, I donât see the harm,â Itâs a womanâs voice, one they havenât heard before.Â
âJean,â Thatâs you, undeniably thatâs your voice. âName one mutant who's found love in a normie,â The team eyes each other, trying to figure out where the conversation is going.Â
âWanda,â She immediately responds to which you scoff.Â
âJericho is literally the sorcerer supreme,â
It takes a moment but she snaps her fingers. âOroro and TâChalla,â
âHeâs the king of the most powerful nation and has powers,â
She huffs. âYouâre impossible,â
âIâm practical and youâre not fitting the criteria. I want a mutant and a non-mutant without any powers in a stable relationship where one of them doesnât die.â
The silence that follows is heavy. âIt could be you and Spencer,â She finally says.Â
Her words hit most of the team like a truck, the two of you werenât just talking in general. This was a specific conversation about you and Spencer getting together. The logistics of someone like you and someone like him being together for the long run. When they look at him, his ears are burning red and heâs staring at the window as if youâd climb through andâŚconfess or something of the sort.Â
âYou said it yourself, you wanted to kiss him in the sensory room,â If Spencer wasnât red before, he is now. Avoiding everyoneâs gazes and sinking into his seat.Â
âShut the fuck up.â Your voice is fast, embarrassed that sheâs speaking about it out in the open. âAnd I told Scott that in confidenceâ he's such a loud mouth,â Thereâs a twinge of a whine to your voice while Jean laughs.Â
âIâm his wife,â
Thereâs no rebuttal for that and the two of you start walking, albeit slowly. âSo what if I did, itâs not gonna happen. You, Scott, Charles, Erik, and Derek need to understand that.â
She sighs and itâs this big, loud disappointed sigh that only a mother could pull off. âYou need therapy. And Iâm saying this to be nice but you and Spencer could be really cute and go the whole way. But your fear of normies not accepting youâ all of you is holding you back. Youâve known him for eight years, doesnât that count for something? You said the two of you held handsââ
âHe was scared, we were sharing a blanket and he wanted to hold my hand,â
âYou slept in the same bed,â
âAgain, he was scared. We watched a scary movie,â
âThe X trilogy. Stop interrupting me. He likes you, I've never met him and I can tell. You like him. The two of you are cute and clearly, heâs not going to turn out to be some evil mutant killer or end up kidnapped by an evil mutant killer,â
âHe could, though,â When you speak, your voice is smaller, almost breathy. âIâm never going to be separated from this life, and if I merge him with this, who knows whoâs going to find out? The wrong person could and I lose Spencerâ forever. I could lose all of them, Derek already hates me,â The way you say it, like a child scared theyâd disappointed their parent,
makes Derek feel bad. Guilt builds in his stomach as the others glance at him as if heâd refute your claim. He shouldâ he will, he knows that. Just⌠not right now.Â
âNo, he doesnât,â
âYou werenât there, Jean. I saw his face, I know Derek. Heâs upset with me and I canât find it in myself to wish I had told them sooner. I wouldâve taken this to the grave,â
ââŚ(Y/n)âŚâ
âWhat? Itâs not like Iâm going to pass along the X gene, there was no reason for them to know. And sure, none of them have their pitchfork and torches but what now? Are they going to be nervous around me during work, passive-aggressive, or maybe Iâll just be quietly shunned out until the only thing for me to do is quit? Because Iâve heard the way they talk about mutants. They donât want us dead, but we need to fit into their boxes.â
âWhat?âÂ
âTheyâre FBI agents, theyâve dealt with mutants. Big and scary ones, ones with what they call inconsequential powers, and everything in between. Youâre always lucky to survive a case with them. It's a cool story to tell to pick up chicks in a bar, a war story about what couldâve gone wrong. Itâs something you keep hush-hush, donât assume the UnSub is mutant, itâs taboo. Itâs like calling them the devil.â
âIf youâre scared of them, then why stay? You could get a job anywhere else, but youâve stayed with them,â
âHonestly,â You shrug, passing by the window. âTheyâre amazing people. I just think theyâve been subjected to so much propaganda, they donât notice it.â
âYâknow what your issue is?â
âOh, please tell me another issue I have,â
âYou dim your light in situations where youâd shine.â
âHow about we go look for Josh? Weâre burning daylight,â
âItâs nighttime,âÂ
âI donât have time for your mind games, Jean. Get in the air already,â The sound of the two of you leaving leaves something short of a sonic boom that makes the glass shake and the team shudder.Â
â
That night, while you were still out looking for Josh, most of the team had gathered inside of Penelopeâs room. Everyone but Hotch and Rossi couldnât sleep, their minds filled with the information that not only were you a mutant, but you used to be one of the most powerfulâ probably still are, if what Scott had said was true.Â
None of them have that much power. Itâs just you and Julio. And even heâs not on your level.Â
Your level, your own separate league for just your earth based powers. Who knew about the other three elements you could bend to your will?
Pen had dug up all the videos she could of you and sent them all one single text: check this out. Which is how they ended up huddled around her desk, chairs pulled up and the curtains drawn as if it would shield them from being found out.Â
The first video isnât bad. Itâs a news clip about the school, youâre in the background, playing with Scott and a man theyâve yet to meet. Itâs grainy, clearly dated by the bad camera quality when Pen zoomed in, but itâs obviously you. The next video is mission footage, clips recovered from a warehouse. Youâre a teenager, maybe even a tween, running with Ella in your arms as robots chase after. Theyâre huge, skin changing to steel as you shoot waves of fire at it. There are bodiesâ other mutants, scattered across the floor that youâre trying to shield Ella from seeing.Â
At some point, you meet with Rose and your parents. From there, you Ella off to your mother before you and Rose turn back to the creature. âItâs a sentinel,â Emily breathes, quietly as if the word would bring it out from the screen. âIn the report, theyâre robots who adapted to mutant powers, it nearly wiped the mutant population out,â
In the video, Rose holds her hands up and the room shakes. Itâs like everything feels heavy and you strain, trying to use the air to rip it apart when from behind, just out of view, Spencer sees it. A shine on the floor, then a black metal foot before three prongs pierce your chest. If the sound had not been recovered from the footage, they wouldâve heard Roseâs screams, and heard the ground split as the gravity became too hard for even the sentinel to handle and collapsed under their weight.Â
âHe was eleven,â Derek points out, looking at the date on the corner of the screen.Â
âHe was a baby,â Penâs voice is filled with pain that only grows when the next video plays. Youâre there, on a makeshift operating table. This time, thereâs sound and they hear all of your shouts, hear the wind blowing across the room because there wasnât any anesthetic. This is somewhere in the warehouse, untouched by the sentinels. Blood is rushing from your wounds, thereâs an organ poking out from one of the holes, and youâre screaming. There shouldnât be air in your lungs to make any type of noise, but itâs like your powers are working on autopilot to keep you alive.Â
âWhere is Silver?â Scott asks, heâs there, holding your hand to keep you from getting up.Â
âRose is finding him now,â Erik replies. Heâs somewhere in the room, pacing around.Â
âShe needs to hurryâ heâs losingââ
âIâm aware,â Heâs at your side, kneeling down to brush the sweat from your skin. âJust a little longer, I promise it.â You manage a nod through gritted teeth before sobbing again. Youâre muttering so they canât hear the words but they know the tone.Â
The video skips as Penelope wipes her face. This one is easier to stomach. Itâs homemade footage that starts with Scott pointing the camera in the mirror, showing off his new suit.Â
âHey, heat beamââ
Scott sighs, pointing the camera over to you. Youâre about thirteen in your new suit, grinning madly. âItâs a concussive punchââ
âYeah, whatever,â Waving your hand, you inhale while Scott exhales. âThese suits are kinda ass, gotta admit. But Lorena said I look good and I was thinking of asking her outâ donât tell Erik, please. Delete thisââ You hold your hand out and the camera flies into your hand, showing your scared face. Scott shouts and a chase starts, showing off the halls of the mansion until they see a familiar door.Â
Itâs your room, your current room. It's the same hallway and the inside is filled with whatever items a thirteen-year-old omega-level mutant could want.Â
âScott! How the fuck do I delete this?â You shout, turning the camera over in your hand.Â
âJustâ gimmie the camera, Iâll do it.â
You stare at him, eyes narrowed. âYou said that last time and now Hank knows that we all think heâs on furry chat rooms selling his body!â Looking down again, you grin. âFound iââ The footage doesnât end there, though. It just cuts to another video, dated the same day, just four hours later.Â
The camera is on the ground, grass blocking some of the view but most of it is still visible. Itâs chaotic, like a war zone in the middle of a field. Thereâs a crashed airplane in the distance, thatâs what caused the fire in the background and thereâs a team. Two people fall to the ground. Scott is on his knees, clutching his chest, Lorena is just now standing up and Quicksilver is bringing supplies from the plane.Â
âCyclopsâ donât breathe it in! Donât!â Your voice is hoarse, you mustâve been shouting for a while. Your hand plants itself on someoneâs chest and they watch as the person convulses before green air is pushed out their body. Pietro places a breathing mask on the person's face as you run to the next person, repeating the process.Â
By the time you reach Scott, heâs face down on the grass. âQâ can you see if theâ the black box is still in the plane? Someone needs to tell the Professor what happened?â He zips back, returning less than a second later with a solemn look on his face. âItâs okayâ itâs okay. Just⌠move them away from the plane, yeah?â
You lug Scott up, limping towards the camera and they see a piece of metal sticking out from your leg. Itâs straight through but youâve been working through it, using your powers to keep pressure from the leg.Â
The video ends there, cutting to a picture of you and a guy with red eyes in front of a grave, giving it the middle finger. It reads Charles Xavier. The next picture of the two of you again, taken by someone else as youâre both hanging your heads at the sight of Charles, alive and back in the mansion.Â
Again, itâs a video. It starts with a banner that says itâs prom night. The theme is Under the Stars and thereâs terrible music playing in the rented-out hall. âThis is proofâ because we all know (Y/n) will deny this later,â Jean laughs into the camera as your group of friends rush towards the bathroom. Thereâs Scott, of course, and three other people they canât see. The door to the bathroom opens without anyone touching it and they see you, standing with Kurt sat on the bathroom sink, making out.Â
The group shouts when the two of you pull away and Kurt bites your lower lip, pulling a noise from you. It doesnât last long, as your head snaps over and you shout, chasing them throughout the party.Â
Then starts a string of videos. Taken at different points of your life but youâre training your powers in all of them. Flying, holding up Olympic-sized pools with just a finger, freezing giant robots midstep, creating tornadoesâ incredible feats that continue to top each other with each new clip. Itâs somehow but incredibly terrifying and amazing and then theyâre reminded that the person theyâre watching is the same person theyâve known for nearly eight years.Â
The same person that they wouldâve said didnât have a single dangerous bone in their body, whose muscles were for carrying them home from the barâ not the guy who broke off the top of a mountain to fight Apocalypse.Â
Itâs so weird, like youâre two separate people. But, Spencer guesses that the death of Ella truly did change you, since none of the videos are dated after her death.Â
Before the screen turns back, thereâs one final picture. Itâs a funeral, Ellaâs. The rain is heavy, impossibly so and Spencer remembers itâ that storm. The rain was so heavy and strong that it reached Vegas, towns flooded and some of the damage is still being recovered to this day. The background is hard to read but thereâs a break in the rain, a perfect rectangle above the casket where a golden sun shone down on the beautiful bouquet.Â
Youâre off to the side, not far from the casket but notably away from everyone else, staring at the brown wood, fist clenched tightly in your suit, two sizes too small for your body.Â
Spencer gets itâ you are on a completely different level from the other mutants.Â
Thinking about tf141 x previous child soldier!reader...and the Reason Behind Berserker (continuation): First MissionÂ
Cw: graphic descriptions of gore, ooc cod characters (i tried LMAOOO), blood, guns, knives, more awkward reader, mention of the general
(summer classes are abt to start [yikes] so ima be even MORE erratic with my posting)
a/n: this has been updated as of 5/15/26
pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3
______
âI think thaâ answers most of our questions, Johnny.â Price grumbles, slightly humored. Â
âStay on point, boys.â Laswell reminds them, feigning annoyance. Â
Priceâs face immediately shifts back into its determined, furrowed frown. âRight. We still have a terrorist to get rid of.â He cocks his head forward, adjusting his grip on his rifle before he signals the four of you to redirect the focus (ignoring how the blood on your face is starting to cake up) and begin your purposeful, though slightly hurried path toward the facility where Alessandro is said to be hiding.Â
As forest meets asphalt, Gaz and Soap slink off around the sides of the facility, sneaking up on unsuspecting soldiers that stand at their posts. You find it slightly humorous when one of the guards, standing lazily at the far end of the building with his hip popped out and his gun hanging loosely at his side, flails as Gaz brandishes his knife to puncture the dip where the guards' collar bone meets his neck and drags him behind a boiler. Â
âSorted that one!â You let out a dry huff at Gazâs soft enthusiasm echoing through comms. You can hear the smile in his voice as he follows up, âEntertained you with that one, huh, B?â Â
âSure.â In your peripheral, you see the skull donning Ghosts face shake in; what you assume is, amusement. You roll your shoulders, trying to alleviate the unfamiliar pressure in your chest from Gaz calling you âB.â Â
Unnecessary.Â
As the three of you close in on a side entrance of the facility, Price gestures for you to follow down the left side of the eerily long hallway the entrance opens to. âBerserker, you clear the left end and meet Ghost and I up on the second floor. Weâll meet in the middle.â Â
You nod, beginning to walk down the hallway. You hold your breath as a scuffling sound resonates from around the corner at the end of the hallway. Back against the wall, you peer your head over the corner, making a mental note of the rusted, dilapidated staircase leading up to the second floor. You swiftly clear the length of the hallwayâyour breath hitching again as you analyze the weakened areas in the metal railing of the stairs. Â
The tip of your heavy boot presses down upon a particularly squeaky area, and you stallâlistening for any acknowledgement of your noiseânot even allowing the steady drum of your blood to lull your focus. Once again, you hear that same scuffling from earlier, though slower this timeâalmost relaxedâsound out from the floor above the stairs. You release the tip of your boot from the step slowly and lay it against the one above to raise yourself and continue your ascent.  Your rifle swings silently down to your side as you pull out your knife, now flaked with the two soldiersâ blood from previously, though you pay it no mind as you bring it up to shield your face defensively.  Â
Just as you enter the threshold of the top step, you see a much tinier hallway to the right that opens into an expansive floor with high brick walls connected to charcoal-colored tubes and pipes winding through the ceiling. Numerous heavy-looking lamps hang down, casting dim orange-lit caps of light onto the floors. You quickly duck back down onto the second top step and along the wall, noticing the dozen men, clad in uniforms, filtered throughout the room. Theyâre all situated in different states of leisure: a few stand along one of the walls, passing cigarettes between each other; others simply talk, while the other few (who actually seem to be serious) each study a packet of files in their handsâthough none of them stand out distinctly enough to look like Alessandro. Â
For a second, you consider two options. You know you're fully capable of murdering each man in the room while searching for Alessandro yourself...or you could âbehaveâ and relay the information to Captain Price. Smartly, you choose the second option. Â
âSitrep, Captain Price. Second floor crawling with a dozen hostiles. Capogrosso hasnât appeared yet.â You explain. Â
âAffirmative, B. Fall back.â You agree, ignoring âBâ again, as he continues to question Gaz and Soap as to what their positions are. You peek over the corner of the wall once more, only to make eye contact with one of the soldiers. You duck back with a hurried, âFuck.â Â
âHostileâs made me.â You signal over comms. The soldier yells toward you; his footfalls heavy, but quick, and your fingers twitch around the handle of your knifeâmindfully urging Price to give you the clear to engage. The soldier gets close enough for you to hear his ragged breathing, and without the clear from Captain Price, you meet him head on with a punch to his stomach. Â
He blocks it with his forearm, and counters with a heavy swing of his opposite knee. The knife glints as you hurl it through the air to carve a deep gash through the thick upper meat of his thigh, as close as you could to the junction of his hip boneâknowing that slicing him in one of the most sensitive crevices of his body would make it easier to overpower him. Â
From the force of the slice, he knocks backward two steps, opening his side for your heavy boot to slam right into his seeping wound. His body shoves into the wall hard enough to leave a rough-looking indent in the drywall, and he lets out a harsh groan, alerting his friends, but quickly goes to pull a glock from his side holster. Youâre quicker though, and with an efficient swipe, a bullet thuds his head against the wallâspraying gooey, maroon chunks. Â
At the sound of following footfalls, you train your gun on the frantic men making their way down the hallway and open fire. Â
Through the spray of bullets and nicked arteries, you see the 141 enter from the far side of the roomâjoining in on the crossfire by attacking the back flank of men with swift precision. Â
With the final man, who kneels in front of you, you take the butt of your gun and whip across his faceâslapping him to the floor. Heavy breaths echo throughout the rooms from all five of your chests, weapons down by your sides, before Captain Price turns his attention to you with an incensed expression; the furrow in his brow, deeper than youâve had yet to see. Â
âThaâ was stupid, Sandrick.â  His accent is muddled with silently seething disappointment, and you must catch yourself to stop your head from cocking to the side. Instead, your expression clears, your shoulders square, bringing your hands to clasp behind your back.Â
 Listen up, Sandrick. Thatâs a direct order from your General! Â
âWhat was, Sir?â You parrot stoically. Â
He scoffs and grinds his teeth. Â
âRunning into thaâ half-cocked without my clear! It was ignorantâchildish. You had no idea whether Capogrosso had truly been here and yet you still ignored my direct order,â He stalks toward you. His gloved finger poised outward at your chest with conviction. âTo fall. Back.âÂ
When his finger contacts your vest, you see the rest of the 141 have visible reactions. Soapâs head knocks back slightly and Gazâs eyebrow cocks in surprise, though Ghost just shifts the position of his feet. You have the fleeting thought that they must believe you would have reacted physically, but you were taught reaction was swiftly followed with...unsavory actions, something youâve already come to accept will happen the second you rounded that corner to attack that soldier. The General is going to have your head once he finds out what youâve done. Â
âUnderstood, Sir. I apologize for my inadequacy.â Captain Priceâs pigeon-blue eyes search the emptiness of yours, trying to decipher the brevity behind your actions. Heâs seen that exact type of ruthlessness on the field before; from soldiers tipping far too close to an edge of desperation they still canât understand, but to see you do it so comfortably confuses him. Â
He doesnât respond, but he steps back and addresses all of you. âSearch the premises. Find files, documentsâanything thatâll help us locate where Capogrosso is.âÂ
Youâre silent as you and the rest of the 141 break off to search throughout the room as Captain Price speaks over comms to Laswell for extraction. It reeks of the stale cigarettes the soldiers were smoking earlier, but you allow it to overtake your senses, in favor of ignoring the dull hum in the back of your head. Â
There are desks scattered throughout the floor, and you target the one furthest from where the 141 entered the room. Your way of distancing yourself from them, possibly. You pull open the metal drawers, jostling the pens and random knacks inside of it. Gaz, Soap, and Ghost disperse to their own section of desks, though Ghost and Soap stick together trading a few words back and forth under their breaths absentmindedly. There are stacks upon stacks of papers that look like instructions, though the instructions are unintelligible.Â
Just as you suck up your hesitance to speak to Captain Price about your findings, Gaz seemingly beats you to it by saying, âCap!â He pops up and heads over to Captain Price to show him the papers. They exchange a few words together, looking a little too closely into each otherâs eyes to be considered professional, but you donât comment on it. After a few more whispers, they walk back over to the three of you. Â
Captain Price says something about taking the papers back to base and having other soldiers try and decipher the meaning of the instructions, and though everyone gives a sign of acknowledgment, you stand stiff in your placement away from the team. The hum in the back of your mind grows steadily louder, like a swarm of bees making their way through a hive; youâve had worse punishments than bee stings. You just hope youâll be able to move after the punishment youâll get for this mission.
_____
Taglist: Â @fries-pls, @apodyopsisphilia, @ihavesomuchswag, @brainworms4
The 141 used to believe they didn't need an omega. Then, you came along. Through many ups and downs, you joined ended up joining the pack. Things were going well until a mission took a wrong turn. You kept the rest of the pack safe, but got yourself killed in the process.
Imagine they're surprise a year later when they were given another mission and you're on the mission as well.
Chapter List:
⼠fluff â angst ⣠hurt/comfort ⌠smut ⌠other
Chapter 1: Lost â
Chapter 2: Hawk â
Chapter 3: Staying â
Chapter 4: Back â
Chapter 5: Adjustments â (tiniest bit of ⣠with Johnny and Kyle)
Chapter 6: Questioning â
Chapter 7: Therapy â
Chapter 8: ???
Other Stuff:
AO3
Wanna be part of a taglist for the fic? Fill this out!
Summary: Task Force 141 operates successfully without an omega, at least thatâs what Price has been saying since its formation. Two alphas and two betas balance the pack just fine, and they have the numbers to prove it.
It works for a while, until the Omega Initiative is born and the 141 find themselves having to adjust to the sudden addition of an omega to their pack. Fresh out of an institute, youâre hardly fit for their secretive, dangerous world, or so Price thinks.Â
As each member of the team gets closer to you, things begin to come to light, not only about you but about the decision to force you into their lives.
Maybe, just maybe, Price was wrong and the 141 does need an omega after all.Â
Pairings: Poly 141 x reader, Price x Gaz, Ghost x Soap
Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, NSFW content, explicit smut, fingering, oral (m and f receiving), knotting, biting, claiming, mating cycles, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, age differences, military inaccuracies, canon typical violence, blood, weapons, language, no use of Y/N, brief torture, hurt/comfort, let's be real this is so unrealistic but it's a/b/o you're not here for accuracy.
Chapters containing smut are marked with a *
This fic can also be found on my Ao3 -> HERE
I will no longer be using a taglist for this fic, please follow THIS BLOG and turn on notifications
(now i know the brief might not make sense cuz hello im not in the military but just roll with it. also, i ate an entire cantaloupe while writing this)Â
pt.1 pt.2 pt. 3.5
wc: 1.5k (adding this since this is like long as shit)
______Â
Holy shit. Â
Captain Priceâs office grew small when the seven of you stepped into it. Granted, it is spacious, but with five brawny people filing in (including you), thereâs not much space for you to hover in a corner and listen as you're used to. It doesnât help that Ghost took the corner farthest from the doorâleaving you to stand the closest to it. Soap and Gaz quickly fall in line in front of Captain Priceâs deskâcomfortable in their positions but still standing at attention. Your hands cross behind your back, your training once again being triggered.Â
Kate walks up next to Captain Price as he sits in the lush-looking chair behind his desk. Behind both is a projector: highlighting targets, their plans, and where theyâre located. Kate clears her throat, beginning to speak. Â
âThereâs a facility operating out of the mountains of Northern England. A terrorist organization, âFNWOâ, as theyâve coined themselves.â Â
âFNWO? Fitâs at aboot?â Soap speaks boisterously. Â
Very Scottish...That makes sense.  Â
âFree New World Order. Their beliefs revolve around anarchism; firmly set in the idea that all governments deserve to fall.â Kate responds as she clicks on a computer on Captain Priceâs desk. Â
A man pops up on the projector. Â
Heâs sun-kissed, moles dotting all around his face. Thereâs a cocky smirk plastered over his lips, his hooked nose appearing to be smashed inâa result of being broken at some point. His eyes pierce through the screenâan abnormally light-brown color. His ash-brown hair is meticulously swooped out of his face, revealing his forehead where a long, jagged scar runs over it. Â
Attempted scalping. Â
âAlessandro Capogrosso. Italian Military personnel gone AWOL twelve years ago. Insiders have let us know theyâre planning to bomb the Palace of Westminster. Emphasis on âplanningâ as they have yet to collect the bombs they need. Your task is to infiltrate said facility and take out both him and his men before they're able to collect them.âÂ
Cassandraâs been quiet up until this point. But she opens her mouth again. Â
âThe Americans would have found him by this point.â Her snarky tone fills the air. Captain Price scoffs under his breath but chooses to be quiet. Kate looks at Cassandra with an unimpressed expression. Â
âWell, you're not in America. And it was because of you all that we haven't been able to find him until now. What with all the distrust the American Military has enmeshed in it.â Cassandra closes her mouth and turns her nose up slightly. âBut that is also why Berserker is here. Correct, Dr. Cuzner?â Â
âCorrect,â she says meekly. Â
âSoap, Gaz,â Captain Price stands from his seat, âYouâll be watching perimeter while Ghost, Berserker, and I infiltrate. We have an estimate that thereâll be about ten hostiles inside the building, but we wonât know how many are outside until we get there. Now, suit up, we leave at 2100 hours tonight. Affirmative?â His men all agree, but he looks to you last. Â
âUnderstood.â Your voice is deeply hoarse and scratchy from disuse. Everyone but Cassandra looks toward you with concealed surprise. Â
âDidnae think you could talk!â Soap guffaws. Â
______Â
The helicopter lands four kilometers east of the facility; dirt and leaves fluttering up off the ground from its whirring blades as the five of you, decked in camouflaged tactical gear, hop down. You and the teamsâ semi-automatic rifles shift with a metallic sound from being jostled, but you quickly adjust your confident hold. As the heli takes off, Kateâs professionally firm voice crackles through the comms. Â
âComms working?âÂ
âAffirmative.â Youâre the first to speak up, cutting through the quiet with its graveled precision. 141 quickly follows and agrees with Kate, though Ghostâs voice catches your attention. You look at him through your peripheral, half-expecting his voice to be as hoarse as yours, though he speaks with ease. Â
The five of you begin to trek through the shrubbery and brittle, but tall trees of the mountains; the crunch of leaves filling the tense atmosphere. For the first twenty minutes, all is quietâeveryone focused on whatâs lying ahead; the distant lights of the facility peeking over the clearing itâs situated in. Until Soap decides to speak up with a question. He shuffles up next to you with a grin on his face. Â
âSo, Berserker, aye?â You donât respond. Soap looks toward the rest of the task force, still grinning while silently begging for help to establish rapport. âYe dinnae speak much, do ye?â Â
âNo.â Â
âWhyâs that?â You clench your jaw. Itâs not that he pisses you off; he just asks unnecessary questions. Â
âFocus on the mission.â You grunt out. Soap steps back, accepting your answer, though you can hear, who you believe is Gaz chuckle through comms. His voice is softer than the rest. The five of you continue to walk in silence, before you stop suddenly, looking off into the dark forest to the left of you. You raise your gun, focusing on a specific point. The men stop, realizing you're beginning to fall back. Â
âBerserker,â Captain Price whispers as he looks over at you skeptically. âWhat is it?âÂ
âHostile fifteen feet away, Captain. Permission to subdue?â You question, though it sounds more like a statement. Â
âAffirmative.â They all shift their guns, fixing their positions to survey the surrounding area as you dip off into the trees. Â
Youâre silent as you walk. Eyes pointed forward, finding your way through the trees with a little help of the slivered moon high in the sky. You see the man standing idly, three feet in front with his back facing youâas you get closer you fail to notice another man creeping on your right. Â
As you go to pull the trigger, the man on the right kicks your gun out of your handsâhe startles the first man, who quickly goes to adjust the aim of his gun once he turns around. Youâre quicker than he is, pulling a knife from the side of your pants and chucking it at his neck. It punctures his Adams apple, a warbled gurgling sound echoing throughout the space as he drops down to his knees, and then the floor; the impact pushing the knife further into his neck. Â
âBerserker. How copy?â Captain Price relays over the comms, having heard the man's blood gargling through his throat.Â
You focus your attention on the other man, who attempts to swing at your face. You catch his fist, yanking him toward you, before wrapping your arms around his waist to suplex him over your shoulder. He lands on his back, trying to scramble up from his vulnerable position, but you quickly kneel over him, your fists pummeling into his face. He pitifully whines, once again causing Captain Price to speak to you over comms, though more sternly this time. Â
âBerserker. How copy?!â Â
âSubduing two assailants.â You left out a rough grunt as the man under you rams his knee into your stomach. You land onto your back, able to yank the knife out of the throat of the first man, as the second one walks toward you with conviction covering his swollen, blood-covered face. He kneels over you. Â
âMy turn,â He smirks. He wraps his hands around your neck, failing to notice the knife in your hand. As his own begins to constrict around your throat, your free hand shoots up to roughly grip his head still, instantly bringing the knife to slice deeply across his throat, ear to ear.Â
You ignore how the knife slips in and over it like butter. You hear Captain Price say something over comms, but you're not able to answer because you keep your mouth shutâtrying to prevent the warm stream of crimson flowing out of the man's throat from entering it. His blood splashes over your face, drenching your hair and neck. Â
141 bursts through the trees, all tense shoulders and raised guns as you shove the man off you. You hear a few gasps as you stand up, bringing the back of your hand to wipe the blood from your eyes. You huff, ignoring them momentarily, as you walk over to your gun that lays near a tree. You pick it up, finally looking at all their shocked faces and Ghosts wide eyes. The entire front of the vest of your uniform is slick with blood; the crimson seemingly black because of the night. Your hair is ruffled from the tussle, but your eyes remain blank as they usually doâif not darker, from how blown your pupils are from the adrenaline. Â
âTheyâve been subdued.â You speak. Soap, his open mouth beginning to form into another grin, gives a surprised laugh. Â
âWell, I think that answers me question...Berserker.â Â
______Â
A/n: ik the ending is sort of abrupt but i wanted much of this part to revolve around why you're named Berserker lmaooo and well now you know
Taglist:Â Â @fries-pls, @apodyopsisphilia, @ihavesomuchswag đ
[y/n used in this once, just to introduce, but after that there is no use of it]Â
pt.1 pt.3 pt. 3.5
______Â
The plane jolts once it finally skirts across the airstrip to land. Cassandra lets out a quiet âoofâ, her fingers raising up to correct the position of her glasses after the jolt forced them askew. Though she quickly returns to her clinically poised posture just as the cargo ramp begins to descend open; the chilled, nightly atmosphere being filtered out by warm toned lamps that line along the airstrip. Â
You grip the duffle bag resting to the side of your feet and stand up from your spot on the hard, sterile looking benchâCassandra clicking her tongue as she begins to strut down the ramp. Her way of telling you to follow. Your own tongue runs over the inside of your shut teethâyou never really got used to her dog-like commands. Â
About thirty feet ahead of you, standing under the cover of a metal roof, is four burly looking men dressed in cargo pants with tight shirts, and a short but stout looking woman dressed business casual. Â
As you and Cassandra patiently make your way down the ramp, you look at the woman, trekking your eyes down her body in blank, silent scrutinyâsearching for concealed weapons, rattling off possible ways to disarm/defend yourself against her, if need be. She notices your sight instead of your mental analysis, her arms adjusting more firmly across her chest, eyes squinting as she assesses you back. Â
As the two of you get closer, you trade your sight over to the men, trekking down their bodies the same way. The man with thick mutton chops and an equally thick moustache stands with his arms crossed too, and you quickly decipher him to be Captain Price. To the left of him is a man with a gentle smile, a navy-colored hat donning the UK flag resting upon his head. Your eyes linger a bit on his face, momentarily and mentally stunned by how...pretty...he is. Â
Sergeant Gaz...Â
Blinking solidly, you shift your eyes over to the two men to the right of Captain Price. Immediately to his right is a man with a choppy looking mohawk and scruffy facial hair. His prominent, slightly bird-ish features pulled back into a wide grin; his eyes burning with a type of passion youâve had yet to encounter until now. Â
He must be Soap..., you think. Â
Lastly, is the tallest, most-hulking man of the four. You immediately understand him to be their Lieutenant: Ghost, due to the black balaclava shielding his face.  Your gaze meets his, unyielding as he rolls his shoulders and straightens his back even more. Â
Cassandra slides a confident smile over her lips as the two of you come to stop about six feet in front of them. Both she and the short woman walk up to each other, extending hands to shake while greeting each other. The woman smiles professionally. Â
âKate Laswell, itâs been a while!â You have the urge to roll your eyes at the faux sincerity in Cassandraâs tone. Though if Kate noticed it too, she expertly hides it behind her smile. Â
âDr. Cuzner. The flight was well, I hope?â She looks at you in a greeting, nodding her head as you blankly stare back. Cassandra, or Dr. Cuzner as you should say, watches the exchange through her peripheral. A frustrated smile now crawling across her lips. Kate focuses her attention back on Cassandra. Â
âAs well as a silent nine-hour flight can be.â Though Kate gives a small chuckle, both she and the rest of the men notice the irritation slithered through her words. Gaz quirks his head to the side, Soap looks baffled, Captain Price pops his eyebrow up, and Ghost remains as emotionless as youâthough he shifts his stance in response. As usual, thereâs no apparent response from you, besides the minute, tighter curl of your fingers on the strap of your duffle. Cassandra then gestures to the men, âTask Force 141, yes?â Â
âYes,â Kate says, indicating both you and Cassandra to inch a little closer to the men. Captain Price steps up; a kind but gruff smile targeted toward both of you. His voice is more gravely than you assumed.Â
âCaptain John Price.â Cassandra lithely shakes his hand, and he gives a boyish smirk before shifting his hand over toward you. You silently move your eyes from his hand to the now obviously irritated expression settled in Cassandraâs face. Â
âGo ahead,â she says flippantly. You ignore the awkwardness surrounding everyone else as you shake his hand with your free one. As your arm swings bank down to your side, Cassandra introduces you formally. âThis is Y/n âBerserkerâ Sandrick.â Â
âWhy âBerserkerâ...?â Trails Captain Price. You can tell the rest of the menâsans Ghostâand Kate are curious too, by their quizzical expressions. The question of your callsign causes Cassandra to smirk. Â
âYouâll see.â Â
âAlright,â His accent is thick through his dubious agreement. He folds his arms over his chest again, but this time he sways on his feet with a proud smile twitching through his beard. âWelcome to the 141.â Â
______Â
A/n: ughhh holy shit im on a rollâALSO i know thereâs not much interaction between tf141 and Berserker rn but im getting there...Â
Thinking about tf141 x previous child soldier!reader...Â
(wrote this fresh outta my sleep so some of this might genuinely make no sense)Â
pt.2 pt.3 pt. 3.5
______Â
The military is all youâve ever known. The combat, the blood, the all-around gore thatâs surrounded you since you were nine isnât something you find difficult to carry with you. Your first kill had been nothing more than a nuisance; a âmissionâ of opportunity thrusted upon you by your father, though you and most others know him as General Sandrick. Because of him you had seven confirmed kills by twelve years old. Because of him you became the epitome of obedient fatality. You were molded into a lethal force; a quiet one, the sort of force that only elites have the jurisdiction to encounter. Youâre a whispered legend amongst younger soldiers, or so youâve been told by the woman whoâs followed you around for the past two years. You remember her name to be Cassandra. Sheâs a supervisor of some sortâseeming to dissect only you with her pointed questions and monotone silences when you donât answer. Some part deep in your mind tingles when you notice how deadpan she really gets after the fourth or fifth unanswered question, but you never respond with anything other than a stone-face and assessing eyes. You were taught speaking only pertained to missionsânot feeble attempts of understanding. Â
So, imagine the surprise of tf141 when they meet you: a previous child soldier who somehow rivals Ghost in your stoicism. Â
Cassandra had, as usual, let you know of your current objective. You were to âteam upâ with a band of English militia men to track down and overthrow a terrorist organization operating out of northern England. Cassandra gave you a quick debrief about the men youâd be meeting on the plane ride over. Â
âThe task force is made up of four men. Captain John Price and Lieutenant Simon âGhostâ Riley along with their Sergeants: Kyle âGazâ Garrick, and John âSoapâ MacTavish.â Your eyes stare at a random spot of the black metal flooring of the jet, though you nod slightly as she rats off their specialties and characteristics before she pulls out their files. She shows you their faces in the order she said their names earlier while watching as you look over them, noticing the quirk in your eyebrow at the missing photo in Ghosts file. âHeâs the most elusive of the task forceâsimilarly to you, though his silence can be filled by everyone else,â you look at her in the eyes, face blank, as she looks back clinically with a slight-indignant curl to her lips.Â
Your pinky twitches as you shift your eyes back to the floor. While the plane begins to land, you're trying to will yourself to feel some type of apprehension, but all you can muster is the emptiness of your thoughts as your brain locks itself down to your destructive instincts...Â
_______Â
A/n: blah blah something else abt murderous children and tf141 not knowing you're genuinely kind of insaneâŚlmk if i should continue this đ
Just wanted to let you guys know that there are two pages on this app that like to troll and make very degrading stories about black readers! @/suckmuballs and @/whotookmynameareuserious these are two little white girls pretending to be black, who are MINORS.
For starters, im a black girl myself in case you guys didnât know that. I find this very disrespectful and this is not my first time encountering something like this on an app built around community. So if you support me and follow me and you happen to find their accounts âfunnyâ???? Please feel free to block me or message me to have yourself removed.
I donât play that weirdo and disrespectful shit, itâs not cool and I donât fuck with it. Itâs 2026 and weâre still making trolling pages and lying out our age AND race to tear down another just because black girls and boys come on here and have to request for things to be inclusive. These are minors. Report them, do whatever. PLEASE SPREAD AWARENESS & REPOSTâźď¸âźď¸
I havenât seen any big accounts spreading awareness on this topic so please. Thank you guys, thatâs all.
Everyone, please immediately report and block the following users and their known associates. Their content is maliciously racist and deeply disturbing. They are minors impersonating Black individuals specifically to harass Black women and spread harmful stereotypes. Do not engage, argue, or send them hateâthat is the attention they crave. Simply block and report to have them removed. Harassment/Impersonation or Hate Speech are just a few things you can report them for.
Again, block and report @/suckmuballs and @/whotookmynameareuserious
We're all gonna clap and cheer and imagine him having birthday pie with his angel husband in a beach house overlooking the ocean because that's what he deserves <3