… Aidan Quinn
I like to think I have selective memory.
Like, really selective.
Important stuff — bills, homework, government-sponsored assassination attempts — I just toss all that into a dark corner of my brain labeled "deal with later." Sometimes in neon.
But sometimes, certain things just insist on knocking on the front door of my frontal lobe with a damn sledgehammer.
Like last night's dinner.
Or more accurately… the gourmet massacre.
Ten bodies, six unconscious, four captured.
Two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents dead in the process.
All because of me. Or technically, because Hydra just can't mind their own business.
I didn't need official confirmation —every move, every detail screamed their signature style.
That very specific blend of military arrogance, twisted morality, and infiltration so dumb it had to be intentional.
Classic Hydra.
The problem?
I didn't know where they were.
Not yet.
No bases. No trail. Just a few disposable goons sent by someone who clearly skipped their homework.
And yeah… I really did want to send them a gift.
Y'know, something meaningful.
Like a head. Or three.
But for now… nothing.
I stretched on the couch, pulled on the shirt I'd tossed over the back — "I paused my game to be here" — and wandered into the kitchen.
Opened the freezer and snagged the last spoonful of Cookies 'n' Chaos ice cream Raven had "saved for later."
Well, later's now.
She was still asleep — or meditating in a floating cocoon of multiversal darkness, whatever — back in the bedroom.
The most beautiful goth in the multiverse.
And the only one who never laughed at my jokes. At least not out loud.
I think, deep down, buried under all that sarcasm and interdimensional trauma… she gets a kick out of me.
Maybe.
I flopped back into the armchair with the kind of energy reserved for someone ready to embrace another day of selective chaos. Grabbed my phone.
Notifications? A bunch.
But one stood out.
MJ:Party Friday. At Harry's. You in?
I blinked. A grin crept in. I tapped back:
Me:If you're there, I've got a reason to show up.
Typing bubble.
She answered with an eye-roll emoji and a "idiot" — which, in my book, is basically a yes wrapped in flirtation.
Friday. Party. MJ.
Okay. Cosmic priority confirmed.
My brain instantly started switching between outfits and approach strategies. Go for the smooth, mysterious vibe? Or the lovable bastard with a tragic soul?
Choices, choices~
That's when I heard the soft purr of an engine pull up out front.
I walked over to the window.
Black van. No plates. Matte finish. Full "classified mission" energy.
Ah, the X-Men know how to make an entrance.
Who stepped out?
The door opened like it had rehearsed. First out: Ororo Munroe — majesty in motion. Every step looked like the sky itself paused to admire her.
Behind her, Jean Grey. Redhead. Brilliant. Eyes like she was trying to peel back layers… or trying to.
Sorry, Jean. The front door to my mind is rune-sealed.
"Two premium waifus on tour mode. This should come with a soundtrack."
I grabbed my jacket, ran my fingers through my hair for that "perfectly messy" look, and knocked on Raven's door.
"Ride's here. Hair, shadows, and existential dread ready?"
Nothing.
Two seconds later, the door opened by itself — one of those little gestures that screamed, I hear everything, mortal.
She stepped out already dressed. Dark boots. Long coat. Eyes like a private eclipse. A monument of quiet power and general disdain.
"Ready?" she said, flat as ever.
"Yes, m'lady." I gave her a dramatic bow.
I locked the apartment door with a key that probably didn't matter — because, well, Raven — and we headed down together.
Jean greeted us with her usual smile. Friendly… but calculating.
"Ready to see the mansion?"
"Always wanted to know what mutant Hogwarts looks like", I said. "But please — keep the cafeteria radiation-free."
Ororo folded her arms, glancing between me and Raven. "Just don't cause trouble, Aidan."
I shrugged, full of non-promises that sounded suspiciously like promises.
"Depends on your definition of trouble."
Raven walked past me without a word, but gave me that look — deep gray eyes like the void itself — and muttered: "If you flirt with everyone, I'll know."
"If I don't flirt, I'm probably being mind-controlled. Kill me fast."
She just shook her head and climbed into the van.
It was a perfect day to meet superpowered waifus.
And maybe, just maybe, kick off my own arc at Xavier's School.
But before anything else, there was one extremely important question I needed answered.
I leaned forward, eyeing Jean in the front seat.
"Hey, Jean."
"Yeah?"
"Is the Danger Room up and running?"
Or is Rogue awake yet?
…
The black van pulled through the gates with that cinematic little creak that basically said: You're officially entering a plot zone.
And the moment I saw the Xavier Mansion in real life, all I could say was, "Of course it's a castle."
I mean, not a full-on dragons-and-towers castle — but definitely more than just a house. It looked like the kind of mansion designed by someone trying to intimidate billionaires and comfort traumatized teenagers at the same time.
Old stone. Giant windows. Green everywhere. A garden so perfectly trimmed it had to be done by a ninja landscaper.
White columned entrance that screamed, "Someone who's saved the world a dozen times probably lives here."
The Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters.
Or as I've always called it: the most badass school in fiction.
I grew up seeing this place in cartoons, movies, comics.
Every true nerd knows where the dorms are, the hidden lab, and of course — the Danger Room. Which is basically a dream come true for any gamer with a combat fetish and a love for environments that try to kill you.
But being there for real?
Different story.
"Impressive, huh?" Jean said as she stepped out of the van, waving her hand like she was giving us a private Louvre tour.
"Just missing Logan smoking a cigar on the balcony and someone screaming 'Scott, you're a dick!' from inside", I muttered.
Jean didn't comment, but I swear the corner of her mouth twitched.
Raven walked beside me, looking at the mansion the way someone stares at a dark painting in a gallery — no emotion, but with enough intensity to make the artist cry.
The wind made her coat flap behind her like the atmosphere itself respected the drama.
Everything about this place was perfectly symbolic.
Iron gates. Perfect lawn. People with powers walking around casually. No fake smiles — just the raw tension of people who've definitely blown something up by accident before.
I felt like I'd stepped into a mashup of Hogwarts, Wayne Manor, and a superpowered college dorm one meltdown away from imploding.
Ororo led the way like a goddess. Every step oozed authority. Every word came with the weight of someone who's faced both literal and emotional storms.
"Xavier's Mansion was founded as a space for learning, support, and development for mutants", she began, voice calm but firm. "Here, we teach our students how to understand, control, and accept the gifts the world either fears or rejects."
Jean picked it up: "Mutants exist everywhere. Many hide. Others face persecution. Here, they get a chance to learn, grow… and defend themselves."
I nodded, trying to keep up the "well-behaved young man who definitely won't seduce students mid-tour" look.
But honestly?
Every part of the mansion buzzed with references.
The main hall? Straight out of X-Men: Evolution.
That curved staircase? Identical to the one in the 2000 Fox movie.
The architecture? Ripped from '90s comic panels.
And the vibe? Pure teen angst with superpowers waiting to blow something up.
As we walked, we passed some of the students.
There was a wide room with big windows facing the garden. A few students were inside, "relaxing." But "relaxing" means something very different when you have powers.
One girl had blue and white hair, big glasses, and giant headphones. She was literally floating a few inches off the ground.
Definitely a telekinetic. Definitely bad taste in music. Didn't even glance at us. Full "I don't talk to freshmen" energy.
Then there was a tall blond guy in a tank top like he'd just walked off a body spray commercial, crackling with static electricity.
He gave Raven a confident look.
Rookie mistake.
She hit him with a glare that could kill a god with self-esteem issues.
I held back a laugh.
"That's Chris", Jean said like she was reading my mind — even though she couldn't. "Electric manipulation. Bit of a showoff."
"No kidding."
Guy radiated "sends a DM to every girl on campus before 10AM" energy.
Raven, of course, ignored him completely.
We passed another group in the hallway — three girls.
One had pink hair and black eyes. One was straight-up invisible — just her clothes floating. And the third... oof... claws on her fingertips and a look that said "I will bite you."
"That's Mina, Tooru, and Cessily," Ororo said. "Second-years."
"And probably top of the relationship drama leaderboard," I added.
Jean glanced back over her shoulder. "Still keeping your promise to behave?"
"I'm trying, Jean. But come on. This place is like dropping a otaku into Akihabara and asking him not to lose his mind."
She chuckled quietly. Point for me.
Ororo, still serious, kept going.
"Most of the students here are like you. They arrived unexpectedly, with little or no understanding of what their gifts meant. This mansion is a refuge. A home. A place to learn… and feel safe."
"And there's the Danger Room", I added like it was the most important bullet point.
Ororo gave me that teacher-look. The kind that hears your joke, doesn't approve, but won't deal with it right now.
Jean gracefully ignored it.
We walked down a hallway with big windows overlooking an inner garden, where a kid was training with fireballs. Literally.
He kept tossing one up and trying to snuff it out midair before it landed. Failed three times.
We went upstairs, and Jean stopped in front of a big double door.
"This is the library", she said, motioning to Raven. "You can use this space anytime. We've got study materials, rare books — even grimoires and records on unusual mutations."
Raven gave a small nod. Just that. But for anyone who knows her, that was basically a hug.
I leaned over and whispered, "If you find a cursed diary, please don't unleash a demon on the second floor. I'm not in the mood to deal with entities."
She didn't answer. But I swear, her mouth almost twitched.
Jean led us back toward the main hallway.
"We'll show you the dorms, the main classroom, and of course…" She glanced at me. "The Danger Room."
Ah. Finally.
I might've actually lit up a bit. Literally. Or maybe just emotionally.
"I thought you were never gonna say it."
Ororo sighed. "You really want to use it on day one?"
"You brought me to a castle full of superpowered teenagers and gave me access to a digital battle dungeon. What did you expect?"
Raven turned her head slightly. "That you'd have common sense."
"My common sense went on vacation the moment Jean greeted me with that 'I've got sexy secrets' smile."
… Ororo Munroe (Storm)
The Danger Room was quiet.
Still. Lit only by the cool overhead lights coming down from the domed ceiling. The metal floor gleamed like it had been polished that morning — which, knowing this place, it probably had.
It was always like this before a simulation.
Calm. Controlled.
The exact opposite of Aidan Quinn.
"Whoa… this is even better than I imagined", he said, stepping into the center of the room with the kind of genuine excitement that usually meant something reckless was about to happen. "Can I? Just a quick round. Nothing crazy. Promise."
Ororo crossed her arms slowly, feeling the fabric of her uniform stretch over warm skin.
She'd seen this kind of energy before. Young people with way too much power and way too little sense.
"This isn't a toy, Aidan. This is one of the most dangerous rooms in the mansion. Simulations can be lethal if you don't know what you're doing."
He turned to her, and those absurdly clear eyes locked onto hers with a focus that bordered on disrespect.
But it wasn't that. It was worse.
It was temptation.
"Ororo, please…" His voice was low, smooth. Every word slid straight from his throat to the hips. "I promise I know exactly what I'm doing. Or… at least enough to seem interesting before nearly dying."
Ororo felt the heat rise — not in alarm, but in response. Her body was trained, experienced. It knew how to recognize intent. Desire. Danger.
And him? He was radiating all of it.
Up above, Jean hesitated, her hand hovering over the control panel.
"Maybe we should start with something a little more… basic."
It was Raven who answered, in that cold, knife-like tone she used when she wanted to cut without raising her voice: "Please. You're all taking this way too seriously. He's just a functional idiot."
Aidan gave her a mock-offended look.
"I'm an exceptional idiot, thank you very much."
Ororo sighed inwardly. "Fine", she said at last. "But just you. We'll observe. Raven, come with us."
The goth crossed her arms but nodded, heading toward the observation room.
Ororo followed last, her presence steady, eyes fixed on the boy already making his way to the center of the metallic arena.
He took off his jacket slowly, revealing lean muscle — not to show off, but with the easy confidence of someone who knew exactly what he was doing to the room.
And Ororo felt it. His gaze. His attention. That heat, directed and focused.
She hated improvising. But there was something there.
Something in her, too.
"One session only", she said. "Level 3 simulation. Nothing above that."
At the control panel, Jean started programming the simulation — drones, solid projections, moving obstacles. Mid-level stuff. Enough to test defense and agility without serious risk.
She kept her eyes on him.
She was good at reading people.
And Aidan Quinn was a problem.
But not the explosive, out-of-control kind.
He was the kind that crept in slowly… smiled… and before you knew it, you were already under.
He was shameless. Persistent. Like a hormone-fueled teenager — which, technically, he was — but with a level of confidence most guys his age didn't even know existed.
He didn't blush. He didn't look away. He aimed. And he knew where to aim.
All through the mansion tour, he'd flirted. With Jean, with her — even with Raven, who only responded with murder threats.
But there was a pattern to his behavior. He tested limits. And when he hit resistance, he didn't stumble.
With Jean, for example...
It was subtle, but obvious.
She was still composed, still carrying that usual quiet elegance. But her eyes lingered on him longer than Ororo remembered. Her responses had a little more warmth. And even though she couldn't read his mind, Jean was starting to fall.
Ororo saw it a mile away. Not in the words exchanged, but in the smiles. The pauses. The slight spark of challenge Aidan seemed to draw out of her.
And as for Ororo herself…
Well.
She was used to being looked at.
Admired. Feared. Respected.
But Aidan's eyes?
They traveled.
From her face to her mouth. From her lips to her neck. Then lower. Slowly. Deliberately.
To her chest. Her waist. And further — right to the curve of her hips under that tight uniform.
He wasn't the shy type who looked away when caught.
He held it. Bold.
And the worst part? It was honest.
There was nothing fake in that gaze. No cheap, teenage pickup game.
Just raw, unfiltered hunger.
Ororo knew the kind of man he'd grow into.
If she gave him one opening — just one — he'd take it.
Not clumsily. Not uncertainly. With precision.
And maybe, in a hotter universe, one where duty didn't sit heavy on her shoulders… maybe she'd let him. Just to see what he'd do.
But not in this one. Not today.
She took a slow breath, her uniform pressing gently against her chest as she crossed her arms. The fabric's pressure was subtle — but enough to remind her that her body was responding more than her mind wanted.
Aidan stood still, eyes closed for a second, like he was connecting to something unseen.
From the control room, Ororo gave the command: "Start simulation. Level three. Urban setting. Mixed threats."
The lights in the Danger Room flickered.
The floor rumbled slightly.
And Aidan… smiled.
Like he was right where he belonged.
"Let's see what you're really made of, kid…" she muttered.