The X-Mansion was a labyrinth of secrets, even at the witching hour. Psylocke—Betsy Braddock—pushed open the heavy oak door to her private quarters, her combat boots silent on the polished floor. The moonlight spilled through the tall window, painting her silk sheets in silver and shadow. She was bone-tired from a late-night mission, her purple hair slightly mussed, her skintight suit clinging to every curve as she unfastened her katana and set it aside. But as her violet eyes adjusted to the dim, a jolt of shock froze her mid-step.
There, sprawled across her bed like he owned the damn place, was an orange-skinned mutant with a bald head and four gangly arms. And—oh, for the love of all that was holy—he was using her favorite purple silk panties in a way that was decidedly *not* laundry-related.
A sharp gasp ripped from her throat, slicing through the stillness. The mutant’s head snapped up, his beady eyes wide with panic. In a flicker, he vanished—literally—turning invisible before her eyes. But not before one of his extra hands snatched the offending garment as he bolted for the open window.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Psylocke hissed, storming over to slam the window shut with a force that rattled the frame. She locked it with a decisive click, her gaze darting around the room for any sign of the intruder. “Bloody perverted phantoms,” she muttered, flicking off the lights with an irritated jab. She stripped down to a tank top and shorts, her movements brisk, before slipping into bed. The silk sheets were cool against her skin, but her mind buzzed with irritation. If that little gremlin thought he could just waltz into her space and—ugh—she’d deal with it tomorrow.
---
At 2 a.m., a prickle of unease dragged her from a restless sleep. Her psychic senses hummed, a subtle intrusion tickling the edges of her mind. She sat up, her eyes narrowing as she noticed the window ajar once more, the cool night breeze teasing the curtains like a lover’s whisper. Her lips pressed into a thin line.
“I know you’re there, you sneaky little gremlin,” she called out, her voice cutting through the darkness like a blade. “Show yourself before I drag you out with my mind—and trust me, I won’t be gentle.”
A faint shimmer rippled in the corner of the room, and there he was again—the orange mutant, all four arms fidgeting nervously. In one hand, he clutched her now-ruined panties, the fabric visibly stained. He looked like a kid caught stealing cookies, not a grown-ass creep caught... well, doing what he’d been doing.
“I-I was just... trying to return them,” he stammered, his voice a pathetic squeak as he avoided her piercing glare.
Psylocke’s eyebrow arched so high it nearly disappeared into her hairline. She pointed to the laundry hamper by the door, her gaze cold enough to freeze fire. “Dump those in there, you walking tangerine, and start explaining who the hell you are before I decide to slice you into citrus wedges.”
He shuffled over, dropping the panties into the hamper with a wince, his extra hands wringing together like nervous schoolboys. “I’m Brad,” he mumbled, his eyes darting to the floor. “I... I didn’t mean to, uh, you know. It’s just... I’ve been living in the alley nearby. Got kicked out by my rich folks when my mutation showed up. And, uh, your window... it’s got a real good view. Especially when you’re, um, changing.”
Her jaw tightened, a dangerous glint flashing in her violet eyes. “So you’re a peeping Tom with a sob story? How old are you, perv? And don’t even think about lying to me—I’ll know.”
Brad swallowed hard, his orange skin practically glowing with embarrassment. “Eighteen. Just turned last month.”
Psylocke tilted her head, her psychic senses brushing against his mind. There it was—his second mutation, pulsing beneath the surface, raw and uncontrolled. A smirk curled her lips, sharp and knowing. “Eighteen, huh? I sensed that little extra quirk of yours the second you flickered back into view. Care to share, or do I have to dig it out myself?”
He flinched, one hand rubbing the back of his bald head. “It’s... uh, it’s tied to my invisibility. Makes me... overstimulated. A lot. I can’t help it sometimes.”
Her smirk didn’t waver, but a flicker of something softer passed through her gaze. “No mutant sleeps in an alley on my watch, you orange idiot. You’re a student now. Be here tomorrow morning for enrollment—no arguments.” She crossed her arms, her tone brooking no dissent. “And for tonight, you’re crashing on my floor. Don’t even think about arguing, four-arms. I’m not your mommy, but I’m not heartless either.”
Brad blinked, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “I... thank you. Really. But, uh, there’s one thing. This... overstimulation thing. It’s, uh, throbbing. Bad. Can I just... use your bathroom for a minute? To, you know, take care of it?”
Psylocke rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t fall out of her head. “You’ve got to be bloody kidding me. Fine, you pathetic puppy. Let’s see the damage—but this is a one-time deal, got it? I’m not running a charity for hormonal mutants.” She gestured toward the bathroom with a flick of her hand, her voice dripping with irritation but laced with an unexpected edge of care. “Move it before I change my mind.”
He scurried off, mumbling a string of grateful apologies, and Psylocke leaned against the wall, pinching the bridge of her nose. What had she gotten herself into? When he returned, looking marginally less twitchy, she pointed to the floor where she’d tossed a spare blanket and pillow. “Sleep. Now. And if I catch you so much as glancing at my bed, I’ll telepathically lobotomize you.”
Brad nodded vigorously, settling down with an awkward grunt. “Thanks, babe—I mean, uh, ma’am. Sorry. Didn’t mean that.”
Her hand shot out, flicking his ear with pinpoint accuracy. He yelped, and she sighed, her tone softening just a fraction. “Don’t push your luck, Brad. I’m sharp, not cruel. But call me ‘babe’ again, and you’ll be sleeping in the alley after all.”
He muttered another apology, curling up under the blanket, while Psylocke slid back into her bed, her mind already racing with tomorrow’s challenges. A student. A peeping, four-armed, invisible student. Great. Just what she needed. But as the room settled into silence, a strange new dynamic hung in the air—one of reluctant protector and awkward ward. For now, at least, the night was hers to command.
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