Marvel Preferences and Imagines!!

Hank McCoy - Need

Hope this is okay, I've not been active as much had lots of Family sickness and drama over the Christmas break and the. Went fully back into full time work and haven't had anytime really .

I've not written Hank before so I've tried my best
————————————————-

Y/n Summers was once of the brightest students at Xavier's school for gifted youngsters , now a teacher of philosophy at the school. Her younger brother Scott is starting here this week , he had an accident at his mainstream school which lead her oldest brother Alex to convince him to move to Westchester so Y/n can keep a close eye on him.

He'd only been at the school a few days and already formed a bond with Jean Grey a telepathic/kinetic student.

Alex was staying for a few days to help Charles with an X-men related issue , Y/n stay as far away from that as she possibly could, apart from Beast , she had always harboured feelings for that Gentle , Blue , adorable beast.

The scent of antiseptic and brewing tea hung heavy in the air of the Xavier Institute's infirmary, a familiar blend that usually brought Y/n Summers a sense of comfort. Today, it only amplified the hollowness that echoed within her. The sterile white walls seemed to mock the vibrant, chaotic life that usually pulsed through the school, a life now dimmed by the gaping hole Alex's absence had ripped in its fabric.

Alex. Her brother. Gone.

Scott missing. Along with some of the others students most of them being rescued in time and being taken home to families and careers.

Y/n stared blankly at the rain lashing against the windowpane, each drop a tiny, relentless hammer against the glass, mirroring the pounding ache behind her eyes. Since the attack, a brutal, unforeseen assault on the school, she felt...nothing. A terrifying, all-encompassing numbness had descended, a shield erected by her mind to protect her from the full force of the grief threatening to drown her.

She hadn't cried. She hadn't screamed. She hadn't even managed to feel anger, a sentiment usually readily available to any Summers. The numbness was a thick suffocating pain.

It was a feeling she kept carefully guarded, tucked away in a corner of her heart, a fragile bloom she feared would wither under the harsh light of reality. Hank was a colleague, a friend, a confidante. He was also Hank. Brilliant, compassionate, and probably entirely oblivious to the stirrings he caused in her.

Now, with the world crumbling around her, that secret felt insignificant, irrelevant. All that mattered was breaking through this suffocating numbness.

Finally, she spoke, her voice a raspy whisper. "Hank?"

He turned his head, his intelligent eyes filled with concern. "Y/n. How are you feeling?"

The question felt absurd. How was she feeling? Like a hollow shell, an empty vessel. But she couldn't articulate that, not yet. "Numb," she managed, the single word heavy with despair. "I... I can't feel anything."

Hank nodded, his expression grave. "That's a natural response to trauma, Y/n. Your mind is protecting you."

"But I don't want to be protected," she pleaded, her voice cracking. "I want to feel. I want to grieve. I want to... I want to feel something."

She turned to him, her eyes desperate. "Help me, Hank. Please. Help me feel."

"I don't know what I feel, Hank," she confessed, the words tumbling out in a rush. "It's like...like everything is numb. Alex...he's gone, and I can't feel anything. Not the sadness, not the anger, nothing. Just...hollowness."
Hank tilted his head, his expression understanding. He knew the devastation of loss firsthand. "Grief is a strange beast, Y/N. It manifests in different ways. Sometimes, numbness is a defense mechanism."

"But I need to feel something!" she cried, her voice rising in desperation. "I can't just...shut down. Scott needs me, the others need me. I can't do this if I'm empty."

She didn't realize she had moved closer to him until his large, furry hand gently cupped her cheek. The warmth of his touch startled her, a tiny spark in the dead landscape within.
"I know it's difficult," Hank murmured, his voice soft. "But you're not alone. I'm here. We're all here."

His words, meant to comfort, triggered something unexpected within her. It wasn't grief, not exactly, but something born from its ashes: a desperate need to feel, to connect, to escape the suffocating void. She leaned into his touch, her hand finding its way to his arm, her fingers tracing the thick blue fur.

"Hank," she whispered, her voice thick with unspoken yearning.
"Help me. Please. Help me feel anything."

The look in his eyes shifted, recognition dawning. He understood, perhaps better than she did herself, the raw, primal need that was driving her. He knew it wasn't love, not in the traditional sense. It was survival, a frantic grasp for a lifeline in the storm.

He hesitated for a moment, his conscience battling with the undeniable attraction that had flickered between them for years, masked by their shared responsibility and the unspoken taboo of crossing professional lines. But the desperation in her eyes was too much to bear.
He lowered his head, his lips brushing against hers, tentative at first, then deepening with a shared urgency. The kiss was raw, desperate, a plea for connection in the face of overwhelming loss. It wasn't romantic, it wasn't tender. It was a frantic attempt to break through the numbness, to reignite the dying embers of her being.
One touch led to another, a fevered dance of hands and mouths, fueled by grief and unspoken desire. They moved from the lab, their movements clumsy and hurried, driven by a primal need that overshadowed everything else.
The night that followed was a blur of fractured emotions and fleeting sensations. It was a desperate act of survival disguised as intimacy, a shared attempt to find solace in other's arms.
The aftermath, however, was a tangled mess of guilt, shame, and a faint flicker of something else – a fragile spark of life that had been rekindled in the darkness. Y/N knew that what they had done was wrong, perhaps even unforgivable. But she also knew, deep down, that she had needed it, needed him, in a way she had never understood before. The path ahead was uncertain, fraught with challenges. But for the first time since Alex's death, she felt a sliver of hope, a fragile belief that maybe, just maybe, she could find her way back to the person she once was and maybe, with Hank by her side, she could even learn to feel something again

She didn't know. She only knew she trusted him, implicitly. He was her friend, her colleague, the object of her deepest, most carefully guarded desires and in this moment of utter desolation, he was her only lifeline..

Y/n closed her eyes, focusing inward. The numbness was still there, a lingering shadow, but it was no longer all-consuming. She could feel a flicker of something else, something nascent and forgiving.
.