The gates of the Xavier Institute swung open, and I stepped through, boots clicking lightly on the stone path. Big place. Expensive. Dangerous. And full of people I didn't know. Perfect. A playground designed for someone who notices everything.
I let my gaze sweep the grounds, memorizing the angles of the mansion, the curve of hedges, the spacing of trees. Each element mattered. Each element could be exploited. A pebble caught my attention. Too small to care about, yet too tempting to ignore. I flicked it with a finger, bending its trajectory until it skipped unnaturally far and slammed into a bush. A pair of students jumped, startled. I allowed a smirk.
Always fun to mess with people
Inside, the mansion smelled of polished wood, faint smoke, and centuries of books pressed into walls. Students moved past, some curious, some indifferent. I waved, smiled, threw a joke or two. Some returned the grin. Fun. Easy.
And then I saw her.
She was leaning against the banister at the top of the staircase. Arms crossed, dark hair framing a beautiful, sharp face that drew my eyes like a magnet. Her eyes—sharp, green, assessing—cut through the chatter of the hall. Her body hit me immediately. Thick. Powerful. Sinful. Jeans clung to mouth watering thighs, hips wide and firm, and her backside… I felt it in my chest before I even realized I was watching. She had a subtle sway as she shifted her weight, not for anyone, just a natural rhythm. Perfectly practical, yet mesmerizing.
I didn't know who she was. Didn't matter. My mind cataloged every detail anyway.
"New here?" I asked, casual in tone, deliberate in observation.
Her head tilted slightly. "I might be."
Flat. Controlled. Stoic. Dangerous. Attractive. Perfect.
I extended my hand. "Abel."
She didn't take it. Didn't flinch. Arms crossed tighter. Green eyes flicked at me, then back to the hall.
I let my hand fall. Smirk widening. "Not the handshake type. That's fine. I'll figure it out."
Her body shifted subtly, weight moving from one leg to the other. Hips curved, backside adjusting naturally. Thighs flexed under the denim, quiet strength revealed in tiny movements she was hypnotic and completely unaware of me noticing it.
---
Dinner later. Students buzzed through the hall. I planted myself strategically, glancing across tables. She sat at the far end, silent, shoulders squared, eating with precision. She didn't look around, didn't engage, didn't react. And yet, I couldn't take my eyes off her.
Every small movement caught my attention. Slight shift of hips as she adjusted in her chair. Subtle jiggle of her backside. Flex of her thighs under the table. Muscles in her forearms as she raised a glass. Each motion screamed control, strength, and lethal grace.
"She's amazing," I muttered. Smirk tugged at my lips. Definitely need that.
She glanced up briefly, green eyes flicking toward me. Sharp. Assessing. Then back to her meal. I leaned back, pretending casual, all the while cataloging every curve, every movement.
---
After dinner, the mansion emptied. Hallways stretched long and silent, polished wood reflecting moonlight. I wandered, boots soft, senses alert. Then I saw her again.
By the tall windows, staring into the night. Moonlight highlighted the curve of her hips, the firm strength of her thighs, the straight line of her shoulders. Her posture was controlled, perfect, but micro-movements betrayed subtle restlessness. One hip shifted forward, fingers twitched, a small adjustment of her weight.
I approached cautiously. "Couldn't sleep?"
She didn't turn. "Wasn't trying."
I leaned against the opposite window frame. "Most people would be flattered by attention like this."
Eyes flicked toward me, assessing, then back to the night. "I'm not most people."
I chuckled. "No, you're not. And I like that."
Her body shifted slightly, almost imperceptibly. Hips swayed, backside curved, thighs tensed and released—all highlighted by moonlight. Every motion spoke of controlled power and latent danger.
---
I wandered deeper into the mansion, exploring as I went. Portraits of famous mutants stared down like silent judges. Hallways twisted, rooms branched, staircases spiraled. I noted exits, angles, leverage points—everything. Yet, in every reflection, every polished surface, she lingered in my mind.
A soft creak drew my attention to the kitchen. She appeared there, silently retrieving water. She moved with precision, each step deliberate. I leaned against the doorway, watching. Every curve, every muscle, every subtle jiggle of her hips as she shifted her stance—my mind cataloged it all.
She caught me staring once, green eyes narrowing. But she didn't speak, didn't move, didn't flinch. Just continued her task, silent and imposing.
I took a step closer. "You following little ole me?" " I'm flattered really."
She didn't answer. Just turned slightly, shifting weight again, jeans tight over thighs, hips curved, stance controlled yet fluid.
I grinned. No words. Perfect.
---
The next night, I found her in a quiet hall, leaning on a railing, moonlight spilling over her form. She didn't flinch at my approach.
"Still awake?" I asked.
She shook her head slightly. "Wasn't trying."
I leaned on the opposite side of the railing, observing. Every subtle sway, every micro-adjustment, every curve of her body caught my attention. Her presence was magnetic. Dangerous. Completely impossible to ignore.
"You know," I said softly, "you seem to not sleep at all."
Her head tilted fractionally, eyes catching mine briefly. Then back to the moonlight. "I could say the same about you."
I chuckled softly, leaning back. "you could doesn't mean its true."
She didn't respond. But her body, the way she shifted slightly, subtly, spoke louder than any words. I cataloged it all. Hips, thighs, backside, posture. Every tiny movement told a story.
I left the hall with a grin, hands behind my head. Interesting. I have no idea who she is. Perfect.