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breakthesystm · 3 years ago

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Pink Scarf - Part 1 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda??

(Read Pink Scarf : Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , Part 5 , Part 6 here!)

Prompt: You are part of Elvis Presley's coveted inner circle, and the currently-disgruntled wife of one of the members of Elvis' famous entourage, the Memphis Mafia. After Elvis' dynamite first performance in Vegas, you find yourself in deep water when his magnetism finally gets to you after all these years. [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: Brief talk of alcohol and drug use. Cussing. Mentions of infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline. This part is rather tame. but the others definitely won't be.

Rating: PG (ish?) (but this story will be very NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact) || Word Count: 3172

A/N: It's been a long time, baby! I am rather nervous about posting this because it's been so damn long since I've put my writing out there, but since Black Suit/Pink Scarf Elvis has us all in a chokehold, I figured I should get it out there, so I really hope you enjoy it! I imagined it with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat! If y'all like it, I've got a very smutty part 2 in the works...

I've linked the song Power of My Love that is referenced in the story, and I highly recommend giving it a listen to get the full effect of the moment.

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch. I'm honestly trying to get this out into the world as quickly as possible before I chicken out, lol. I've never written a reader fic before, but here we are!

PINK SCARF - PART 1

You can’t take your eyes off him. They keep drifting to him like the pull of a magnet. You want to stop, you really do. You catch yourself and force your gaze back down to the drink you’ve been nursing for the better part of an hour.

Elvis Presley is a supernova. Every bit of him is lit up, shaking hands, telling jokes, drawing people into his radiance. You’ve never quite seen him this way, not like this. He is absolutely glowing after his performance, and you know why. You finally get it after seeing him live tonight.

It scares you a little, how captivated you are. He’d been so alluring, his voice smooth like butter but a little gritty around the edges, strong, deep, supported. You’ve heard him sing a million times, but with that band and the fuel of the crowd, it shook you to you core. Every word resonated with you, his dynamics and skill showing what a master he is of his craft.

Not many people could pull off a white jumpsuit, but he looked incredible—trim, tan, fit—doing his karate stretches on stage. Between that and his crooning, deep baritone, not one woman (and some of the men, to be sure) in that audience stood a chance. Even when the sweat began pouring down his face, you found yourself feeling things you didn’t want to feel.

You’d watched as prim and proper ladies fell apart at his feet. Part of it was hysterically funny to you, but another part understood that deep, biological need to be in his presence.

You’d always known that, no matter how much you’d pushed those feelings away.

You swirl your drink again, watching the last bits of ice melt, taking a small sip.

You knew how nervous Elvis had been about tonight, beneath all the bravado and jokes. You’d sensed it in his opening moments, his legs vibrating so quickly he could’ve taken off in flight, but the roar of the crowd had given him back what he needed most, that deep confidence of performing that had been buried under terrible, low budget movies for the last decade. It had been magical to watch.

Despite yourself, your gaze finds him again in the crowd. His breathy, musical laugh echoes across the room. It’s a beautiful sound, especially after years of his more moody, depressed state as he was being drained dry creatively. But tonight, his 1,000-megawatt smile lights up the room.

And, god help you, that tailored black suit with the high collar, with no shirt underneath, just a silky black and pink scarf over his bronze chest has you shifting in your seat a little to try and quell the warmth low in your belly.

Jesus, get a grip.

He just looks so fucking amazing, and with that natural charisma of his oozing out of his pores, even you aren’t immune to it. It is frustrating, in more ways than one.

Elvis suddenly looks at you, catching your stare. Those dreamy deep blue eyes sparkle and lock on you, but you look away quickly, blushing despite yourself, turning back to your watered-down cocktail. Your heart flips in your chest, which pisses you off. You’re an adult woman, for god’s sake, not a teenager. An adult married woman, for that matter.

You scoff bitterly at that thought. You wouldn’t really call what you were living with a true marriage. Marriage required two people to actually be in the same room, to actually communicate. Marriage seemed like a make-believe fairytale to you now, after all this time. You barely remember what it was like to feel happy around Jack.

Speaking of, you are alone at the bar, Jack nowhere to be found. Your husband has been part of Elvis’ inner circle forever, one of his early friends who remembered the days before he was a superstar. An integral part of the Memphis Mafia, helping keep the strange life of the world’s first superstar on track and less lonely.

You knew of the rumors, about the girls that frequented the house in Los Angeles. You tried not to dwell on it, but part of you hated Elvis a little for it. If not for him, you might have a normal, fulfilled marriage. Instead, you have a husband who is around a fraction of the time and when he is around, he’s either intoxicated with some substance or bending to EP’s every little whim. Not to mention the lipstick marks left on his clothes and the way he barely even hides the fact that he’s screwing around anymore.

Sometimes you cursed the day you met Elvis Presley.

Good, you think. The anger is tempering the swell of unwanted feelings you’re having for the man. And Elvis is just a man, after all, you remind yourself.

You’d been amazed by him in those early days, meeting the great Elvis Presley and being brought into his inner circle. It was like a dream. And he was every bit as magical as he appeared to be, though also surprisingly down to earth and generous. The gifts—jewelry, cars, the housing at Graceland—were unbelievable. And the man was insanely charming, friendly, and smart, making you feel like a part of the family. He’d even been in your wedding, for god’s sake.

But after that, the shine had worn off, and the partying lifestyle that was fun at first became a strain on your relationships. Years of living in the Elvis bubble took a toll. Days of the week no longer had meaning—you were staying up all night and sleeping during the day, which made it hard to have a job or friends outside the group or to see family. And then it became clear that there was no place for the wives on the road.

There was a cost to being EP’s friend, a deep, lonely one.

It didn’t help that Elvis sometimes played a bit of a cat and mouse game with you, his flirtations varying from light and fun to the occasional serious come-on after a long night or deep conversation. You had always rebuked him, laughing him off, which, considering who he was, was not always easy.

Over the years, it had become a bit of a teasing repartee between the two of you. It would be stupid to try and deny there weren’t a couple of times you’d when you’d gone to bed and let your thoughts drift towards the decidedly inappropriate in regard to Elvis, but you were only human. But you had loved Jack, and so did Elvis, so it was never truly an issue.

Plus, there was a “code” with the men—Elvis didn’t mess with their ladies, and they didn’t mess with his, though you weren’t sure how strictly that code was followed. Nevertheless, Elvis had never pressured you into anything more. You wondered if he enjoyed the fact that you were off-limits, though you had a hard time believing he thought about you much at all considering the throngs of pretty young things that threw themselves at him on a regular basis.

At that, you down the last of your drink, the slight burn tempered by the melted ice. I’m just tired, and honestly, it’s been too long since I’ve been laid, you think with chagrin, blaming all this uncharacteristic thinking on the hour. It’s been a long night.

You are about ready to call it quits when that deep Southern drawl rumbles from behind you, right into your ear, making you jump in your seat.

“Those pretty little eyes of yours have been burning holes into me all night, lil’ mama,” Elvis says quietly, the tickle of his breath sending a wave of heat over your entire body.

You stiffen and don’t dare turn towards him. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you scoff, but your face feels like it’s on fire.

“Mm hmm,” he hums in your ear, obviously amused by catching you. That in itself sends a shock of feeling into your belly that mortifies you.

His presence behind you looms large, and he is so close that you can feel the warmth radiating off him. He does not touch you but his essence, his powerful energy, surrounds you nonetheless. You don’t need to see his face to know he is still riding high from his performance, feeling particularly bold.

Elvis spins the barstool around, forcing you to face him, to look up at him. You steel yourself, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible, despite your flushed cheeks. You roll your eyes up at him slowly, as if bored by his playfulness.

“Is there something you need, Elvis?” you ask dryly. The unique scent of him surrounds you and you try your best to not be distracted by the tufts of dark hair on his tan, bare chest, which is currently at your eye level.

“Is there something you want to give me?” he smiles down at you, eyes sparkling with mischievousness. Closing the space between you, his lean body traps you against the bar.

The blatant innuendo is not lost on you, and you can’t seem to help the way it tingles down your spine. But tonight you want to wipe that smirk right off his pretty face more than you want to humor him.

So, you stand, slowly, refusing to step back, boldly holding his blue-eyed gaze with your own. This causes you to practically roll up his lean body, so close you are almost, but not quite, touching. His bedroom eyes change from playful to surprise to something a little more dangerous as you continue to stare at each other.

“Goodnight, Elvis,” you say, tilting your head, meeting his challenge. Your heart thunders in your ears, but you make no indication of it. The tension between you sits, heavy for a beat and it might be your imagination playing tricks on you, but you swear he leans forward the slightest bit.

This prompts you grab your clutch off the bar and sidestep him, leaving him hanging there, as you stride towards the exit, the heels of your shoes striking the floor confidently. You smile to yourself, at the fortitude of your will to repel the advances of the most desired man on the planet. It doesn’t even matter to you that those advances were more in jest than anything. At least you had the upper hand in the end.

Or so you think.

(In actuality, your ability to reject him is exactly what piques his interest.)

Then you’re out into the cool lobby, a refreshing change after the humid room full of people you’d been in for the last few hours. It wakes you up a little, clears your head a bit. You’re almost to the elevator, reaching for the call button, when suddenly Elvis is there, cutting you off. You didn’t even hear him approach.

“Jesus!” you cry in surprise, jumping back despite yourself. Your heel catches, and you begin to tumble backwards.

He’s there in an instant, one arm grabbing you by the waist, the other steadying you on your back. You grip his firm bicep, gasping. He pulls you up into him.

His touch burns through your dress, and you suddenly realize that all these years, you’ve often avoided touching him beyond a casual arm graze or shoulder grab.

And now you’re intimately confronted with the reason why.

It’s electric between you, positively buzzing, lighting your nerves on fire. Being this close, too close, your body actually pressed into his is completely unraveling to your senses. The deliciously spicy smell of his cologne mingled with his sweat surrounds you to a nearly dizzyingly degree.

“Not Jesus, y/n honey, just me,” he jokes, but it’s practically a whisper, a dreamy lullaby. He grips your waist.

Don’t look up, don’t look up, don’t look up, you warn yourself, but you cannot help it, it’s like you are under a spell. It’s like you are seeing him, experiencing him, for the first time again tonight.

His skin is glowing with the lightest sheen of sweat and his jet-black hair is somehow perfectly mussed. His lips are luscious and soft, the lower one perfectly pouty. Dark stubble covers his angled jaw and upper lip in a shadow (he must have to shave every day to keep it at bay, considering the insane state of those sideburns, you think absently). But it’s his eyes that nearly destroy you.

Still slightly rimmed with dark makeup, those blue eyes pop and burn as they drift down you face. His lashes are dark and impossibly long, batting closed then open again as he looks back into your eyes. It completely takes your breath away. His preternatural handsomeness overwhelms you.

You are only human.

Suddenly, the elevator dings and opens. This jolts you out of the spell, and you push back quickly at the distraction, both grateful for and a little sad at the interruption of whatever strange moment you were having.

He watches you intently, curiously as you fluster, brushing yourself off. You’re looking everywhere but him because if you truly look at him again, you are afraid you’ll never stop. You skirt around him for the second time that night, escaping into the open elevator.

He stops the door closing with his hand, then leans, his long body filling the doorway.

“Where you goin’, honey?” Honey comes out just like it sounds, dripping and viscous. It pours through your veins, warm and sweet. A thousand times he’s used that word, but he’s never said it like this, not to you.

You can barely think, thoroughly discombobulated, but wanting more than anything to not appear that way. You lift your chin, hitting the number for your floor, if nothing more than to give you an excuse not to look at him. You heart rams against your ribcage so hard, you’re afraid he’s able to hear it.

“It’s late, and I’m tired,” you say, trying to keep you voice even, crisp, definitive. You grip your clutch in front of you as if your life depends on it, as if the small thing will create a magic boundary around you that keeps you from whatever hold he’s got on you. From doing something entirely stupid.

Elvis just cocks his head at you, that beautiful lip of his curling up the slightest bit, as if in on a joke you’re not privy to.

That’s when you hear it, the music in the elevator. The hotel has been playing him nonstop because of the opening of the show. It’s one of his most recent hits—Power of My Love—his sexy, gritty voice shooting through the speakers with a heavy blues beat, punctuated by the moans and sighs of women in the background. It’s nearly obscene.

He continues to hold the door, watching you too intently as the music plays through the chorus, each lyric making you blush more than the last:

There’s just no stoppin’ the way I feel for you

‘Cause every minute, every hour you’ll be shaken

By the strength and mighty power of my love.

Yeah, yeah, baby I want you, you’ll never get away.

My love will haunt you, yes, haunt you night and day-ay-ay.

Elvis looks you up and down, eyes smoldering in a way you’ve never seen directed at you, that famous slow, knowing grin of his spreading across his face. It’s like he can sense what all this is doing to you and is pleased by your reaction.

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” he muses. He stands straight, releasing the door, and begins to step into the elevator with you. The move is confident, presumptuous, dangerous.

Oh god, oh god, oh god, please do not get on this elevator. Shock ripples through you, freezing you to the spot.

If Elvis gets on with you, there is no telling what will happen. You feel completely off the rails, out of control, and are barely holding yourself together because of this man. Which is entirely stupid because you have known him for years and he’s your husband’s friend, your friend, but for some silly reason you are having this crazy physical reaction to him. He’s got a hold on you and the worst part is, he knows it.

Squealing suddenly comes from the lobby, and Elvis is suddenly caught in a wave of female fans, begging for his attention. Distracted, he turns, and the elevator doors begin to close. He’s not quick enough because of the onslaught to catch it again, instead giving you a regretful look before succumbing to the horde.

As the doors shut and the elevator lurches up, you gasp, not realizing you’d been holding your breath. You are shaken that you were so suddenly and intensely caught up in him. It’s ridiculous, especially after all this time, after seeing him in his worst moods and practically living in his house for years.

Maybe it’s because tonight, you are seeing him at his best, and that is why you are so overcome.

His voice comes through the speakers, surrounding you, still crooning about how there’s no way you’ll escape his love. You shiver again, down to your toes, remembering the look on his face as you listened to the song.

Oh, this is bad. This could be very bad.

Or very good, a small voice counters.

You shake your head, then burst out of the elevator and book it for your room.

What has he done to you?

As the door closes behind you, you find yourself fluttering around the room with nervous energy. Why now? Why after all this time are his silly flirtations affecting you like this?

For once, you are relieved that Jack isn’t here, preferring to work through this on your own without having to put on an act. Pulling off your heels, you try and convince yourself you must have been imagining it, that the electricity between you two was most likely the product of your tired and slightly tipsy brain coupled with Elvis’ post-show magnetism. You’d never seen him perform live before, and it was kind of an otherworldly experience.

That must be it. It had to be.

If you could only shake that dangerous, heated look he gave you. The bold innuendos. The burn of his hands through your dress.

Stop it! you chide yourself.

Knowing Elvis, this could go one of two ways, you think:

He could instantly write it all off as a joke, poking and teasing at you now and again, like he’s done for years. You hope this is what he decides on and think since most of it is probably in your head anyway, this is the most likely scenario.

On the other hand, if you aren’t imagining things, it’s possible he could get focused on it. And you know that when Elvis homes in on something he wants, he’s not liable to give up easily. The man could be relentlessly stubborn.

And based on the heat coursing through your body right now, you’re not sure after tonight how long you’d be able to resist him.

Or if you even want to.

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breakthesystm · 5 years ago

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Apparently, my sister’s otp is Mr. Tumnus x Lucy Pevensie.

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breakthesystm · 6 years ago

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Split - Part II

Split - Part I

Pairing: Kevin Wendell Crumb x reader

Warnings: angst, cursing, stockholm syndrome

Words: 2,100

When you woke, Claire and Marcia were huddled on the bed, whispering your name as they pointed towards the entrance. Turning your head, you spotted the man, dressed in different clothing. This time a huge, childlike, grin played across his face.

“My name’s Hedwig. I have red socks,” he said, joyfully, staring at the girls before turning his attention to you. “He’s on the move.” Hedwig giggled, keeping his gaze wandering between you three. Something was different, this wasn’t the same guy who had been in here before. It was almost as if they were all entirely different people. Different personalities jam packed inside one head, all fighting for a chance at the light.

“What did you say?” You asked, confused, pulling yourself from your thoughts as you wondered who this ‘he’ must’ve been.

“He’s...on...the...move,” Hedwig said again, this time enunciating every word. His mentality seemed to be lesser than the previous people he’d pretended to be, and you found it almost comforting.

“Who is?” You questioned, hoping to get some answers out of him.

He seemed to reject the entire question, instead choosing to agh you on by leaving you in suspense. “Someone’s coming for you, and you’re not gonna like it.” The man said, before quickly changing the topic. “You guys make noises in your sleep.” It was like talking to a child. One minute his focus was on you, and the next it was a mile away.

“Hedwig, can you tell me who it is?” You tried again, becoming more sincere with your way of asking.

“I’m not supposed to say,” he teased, laughing like a little kid. “But, he’s done awful things to people, and he’ll do awful things to you.” Hedwig said, excitedly. “I have blue socks too,” he finished, losing his train of thought.

“How old are you?” The question came out almost involuntarily, and you felt bad for asking. This whole situation was growing exceedingly weird, though, and you couldn’t help your hunger for answers. What once had been a dark and brooding man, now seemed to take on a childlike persona. It made you wonder how many different identities must be stuck in there, and you held your breath, waiting for his response.

“I’m nine,” Hedwig shrugged before sitting up a little taller. The man seemed to be proud of his age as he looked at you with what could only be a bright, boyish, smile. It only made you that much more intrigued as you scooted closer to him, feeling less and less nervous by the second.

“You’re not the one that took us?” You asked, sincerely, noticing the way his expression changed. You couldn’t tell if it was from your question, or the way you kept moving nearer.

“No?” He said, confused.

“You’re not the lady?” You tried again, wondering how all of this was real. For a split second you could see an ounce of hurt in his eyes before it flashed back to being entirely perplexed.

“What are you, blind?” Hedwig scoffed, growing more defensive.

“So, you don’t know how they think?” This time, you knew to ask the most strategic question of all, and hoped like hell he’d respond the way you wanted him to.

“No, they don’t tell me much,” he admitted, disappointedly. “I just ate a hot dog,” he said, his train of thought gone again.

Sensing a loophole, you got down on your knees in front of him, trying to get down to his level. If you thought this through, you might’ve just found your escape route.

“Hedwig, can you help us?” There was no hiding the slight begging of your voice, and his eyes grew twice their size at your question.

“No, I’m not even supposed to be here. I stole the light from Mr. Dennis, but he’ll be back real soon.” He panicked, realizing just how much trouble he was going to be in. “I can’t steal the light for too long, or he’ll get angry. Etcetera.” He added, making sure to get his point across. “See ya!” Hedwig shouted, leaping from his spot of the floor as he gripped the door handle.

“Wait!” You shouted, stopping him in his tracks. A plan was forming in your head, and you knew you shouldn’t lie, but for Marcia and Claire, you felt like you had to. Just because you wanted to stay, didn’t mean you had to force them here as well. Especially when you may have just found your one way ticket out of here for them.

“We heard something,” you finally said, catching his attention once again. “We didn’t understand it, but, now we do. Do you know what we heard?” Just like that he’d become completely engrossed in what you had to say, making it too late to back out of your lie.

“What did you hear?” Hedwig asked, eyes as big as saucers. If there was any of them you could trick, it would be him. Which is why you tried to bring him on your side.

“Come here.” The words came out softly as you motioned for him to join you on the floor. “I’ll whisper it to you.” This man was strong enough to snap you in two, and you were treating him like a child. If the other identity came to the light you’d be done for.

The biggest grin spread across Hedwig’s face as he took a split second to think it through before agreeing. This was the closest you’d ever been to any of them, and you should’ve been shaking with fear. Why the hell were you so calm?

“This guy...he’s coming for you,” as soon as the words left your lips his grin faded to absolute horror. You regretted it immediately, wanting to take him into your arms and comfort him. To tell him it was all a lie, and apologize for ever saying it.

“You’re a big fibber,” Hedwig panicked, words coming out fast as he pretended not to believe you.

“I never lie, Hedwig,” and with that one statement, you knew you had him. No matter how badly it hurt you, no matter how much you wanted to confess, it was too late. You couldn’t.

“But, Mr. Dennis, he said that he followed those two girls for four days, and that he knew they were the ones that he would want.” It all came spilling out as if his filter had disappeared, and you knew you were looking in the face of a scared, innocent, child. What you were also getting, though, was answers.

This was going to eat at you forever. You cared for him. Why in the hell did you care for him? Why were you doing this? Was it honestly worth it to torture a little boy with such mind games? God, you hated yourself. Were Claire and Marcia even worth the amount of damage this was going to do to your self esteem? It’s not like you were friends? Hadn’t Hedwig said that Dennis only wanted them? So why were you even here?

Coming back to the task at hand, you looked at the man, his face making you want to cry as you said the next words. “Hedwig, when you’re not around, Dennis and the lady talk about you. We heard them talking about how he wants a boy this time. They said they’re going to give him you.” Your head was splitting in two as you tried to keep up this whole charade. You didn’t even know what this man was going to do to you, but, apparently, it wasn’t good because Hedwig went into full on panic mode.

“No! Miss Patricia, she said...she said she’s not mad at me anymore.” He told you, shaking his head like a child who was just told something they didn’t want to hear. “She sings to me sometimes.” He added, reminding himself that she still cared about him.

“I think Miss Patricia is still a little mad at you,” you continued, only pouring salt on an open wound. Just like that, you could see the tears welling up in his eyes, and it was taking everything in you not to blow your cover. ‘Maybe you were the real monster?’ You thought to yourself, hating what Claire and Monica were turning you into.

“Miss Patricia thinks I’m...” Hedwig started, his sentence breaking cause he didn’t want to say it out loud. Saying it meant opening up, and he couldn’t stop himself from letting you see his true feelings. “She thinks I’m stupid.” He finally said, coming to terms with it. “She thinks I make silly mistakes.”

“Look at me,” you told him, resting your palm against his cheek. His skin was soft; smooth. His eyes were wide with wonder, and you feel him tense under your touch before slowly relaxing. “I’m like your babysitter, okay?” You smiled, tears finally filling your eyes to see how broken he truly was. “I’ll let you watch tv, and I’ll make you a fun dinner. We all need to get out of here. You, Hedwig, you can show us the way.” But you didn’t really want to leave. You wanted to stay and help fix the damage you’d just done to him. The damage that the world had done to him, and to all of the others.

“Wait a minute,” Hedwig realized, coming to his senses. “It took forever to get this place safe without the nosey bodies that work here finding out. You can’t get out of here!” He shouted, taking off towards the door again. “I have to blow my nose!” He said, slamming the door in your face.

“No, wait! Please!” You begged, but it was too late. Just like that you’d been stuck with the preps again, and you silently wished you were the only one he’d taken.

“Guys,” Claire finally said, thinking over what Hedwig had just told you. “He said something about making the room safe.” She looked up at you, hoping you’d have some idea of what that could possibly mean.

“This is all new drywall!” You realized as everyone dispersed, banging on the walls. Claire had opted for the ceiling, pulling the bed over as she stared to knock everywhere.

“Y/N, you were right! He was covering up a way out!” Claire exclaimed, jumping down as she picked up her high heels from the corner of the room. She jabbed it into the ceiling panel, creating a small hole before slamming into it again. Her heel continued to tear into the ceiling until she was able to make a hole large enough to fit through.

“He’s here,” Marcia froze, looking through the crack in the door. Your eyes darted to Claire who started to freak out.

“You can’t let him in! This is our one chance!” She shouted under her breath, trying to get a steady grip on the air vent to pull herself up. Twice she had attempted it; slipping both times.

“We’re not gonna make it!” Marcia told her, losing all hope.

“Yes, we are!” Claire assured her, finally taking hold of it before swinging her leg up to get inside.

“What?” Hedwig asked, trying to get into the room. “Hey, what are you guys doing?” He tried again, pushing against the door. “Hey. Okay, quit it. Guys? Let me in!” He pouted, using all of his strength to open it, but it still wasn’t enough. You and Marcia were holding it shut, your collective weight being enough to keep him out. For now. “What are you guys doing? Guys, you’re not being funny! You’re bein bitches!” He yelled, growing stronger with his rage. “Now, I’m gonna slap you! I’m gonna slap you in your face!” Hedwig threatened, before going back to his usual, soft, self. “You’re gonna get me into trouble!”

His force on the door had ended, he’d completely given up, or so you thought. Without warning a heavy weight was slammed against the door, and you were surprised the door hadn’t broken completely with the amount of forced he’d used against it. No, this wasn’t Hedwig anymore. This was Dennis, and he was mad. Your knees buckled, sending both you and Marcia falling to the floor.

When you looked up, Claire was gone. She’d managed to shimmy herself into the air vent, and you were starting to assume the best until Dennis looked around the room for her, eyeing both you and Marcia scattered across the ground until he let out a frustrated grunt and slammed the door behind himself. That was the last time you’d see Claire for a very long time.

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breakthesystm · 6 years ago

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Split - Part I

Pairing: Kevin Wendell Crumb x reader

Warnings: angst, kidnapping, cursing, stockholm syndrome

Words: 2,500

Summary: The reader gets kidnapped, and starts to find a certain light in her mysterious captor.

Birthday parties. You hated them with a burning passion, and you wouldn’t be mad if you never had to go to another one again. The girl from your art class had given you a pitty invite, but secretly hoped you wouldn’t show.

Part of you wanted to prove her wrong, but the other part of you didn’t care enough to even try. Unfortunately for you, your mother had forced you to go. She insisted that some ‘quality time with friends’ was exactly what you needed.

That was until you’d arrived, and ended up sitting alone at the end of the table. Everyone else was taking pictures, gossiping, and flirting with the “cute” waiter boy. You could’ve hurled at the thought.

When the party was over, you sent out an S.O.S. to your mom in the hopes that she would come to your rescue. Fifteen minutes had passed, though, and she still hadn’t shown. Somehow you’d managed to be the only one without a ride, and you cursed her for letting this happen. Your mom knew how much you loathed the idea of social interaction, and you wanted more than anything to be back home in your bed with a good book. Why did she have to be late?

“We are not going until she gets picked up,” Claire’s dad finally said as his daughter demanded that they leave.

“It’s fine, I can wait, I’m sure she just forgot,” you assured them all with a half smile. All you could think about was the long lecture you’d be giving your mother on the way home about how this whole thing wasn’t fair, and that it didn’t help that she couldn’t remember to show up on time. Of course, you knew that when the time came, you’d just bite your tongue and leave your thoughts and opinions to yourself. Opening up was something you never were able to do, and you weren’t going to start now.

Claire’s dad immediately rejected the idea, though. “Y/N, don’t worry about it, I can drop you off. I have to take Marcia home anyway,” he insisted, not giving you any other option.

“Okay,” you finally agreed, following them out to their vehicle. Marcia and Claire took a seat in the back while you opted for the passenger side. There wasn’t enough money in the world to make you sit back there and gossip for the whole ride home.

Instead of focusing on them, you’d let your eyes wander to the rearview mirror, watching Claire’s father load up all of her presents. You’d have thought she were a Queen by the amount of gifts she’d been given, but when you peeled your eyes to look ahead, you couldn’t help but feel like something was off.

Glancing back again, there seemed to be no sign of Claire’s dad, and you’d assumed he had gotten everything loaded and was finally ready to leave. Upon closer inspection you’d found that the takeout boxes had been spilled across the pavement, and wondered to yourself what might’ve happened. That was until another man climbed into the drivers seat, and stared blankly ahead.

“Pardon me, sir. I think you have the wrong car,” Claire stated, more than annoyed by his stupidity of not knowing which vehicle was his.

Just then, everything changed. The man was covering his face, Marcia and Claire were being sprayed by some type of liquid, and all you could do was stare, curiously, at him while they passed out in the backseat. Why hadn’t he done the same to you? Did he not think you would fight back? What made you so special? You had to stop these questions from rolling through your head; were you really about to romanticize a kidnapper for being generous enough to keep you conscious?

There was a slight pause where you tried to regain your thoughts, this wasn’t the time to panic; you needed to think rationally. So you slowly slid your fingers to the door handle, grabbing the latch and giving it the slightest pull until the alarm went off, alerting the man that the door was ajar.

The look on his face seemed to be disappointment as he realized he’d have to knock you out too, and, you hadn’t even had time to panic before everything went black. When you finally woke up, the parking lot had disappeared. It looked as if you were in some kind of makeshift room in someone’s basement.

Something smelt off, and you assumed it was the stale air mixed with the earthy scent of the rock wall above the small cot you were resting on. Taking in your surroundings, you found a bathroom that was way too clean. Apart from that, the room you were in was definitely a work in progress. One wall was completely dilapidated, and pieces of the wood were hanging, limply. The two other walls seemed to be completely brand new as you recognized the sudden smell of fresh drywall, and the concrete floor did little to hold the heat of the room. It was dark, and dingy and, as terrifying as this should’ve been, you couldn’t help but be glad that this had happened to you.

No more school, no more family, no more pretending. Your mother would finally be off your back about leaving the house, and making new friends. You’d finally have some peace and quiet from the chaos that was your life. No, it didn’t matter what he did to you; just so long as you never had to go back.

Your eyes darted to Claire and Marcia who were sat on the other bed, holding each other tightly. Their whole demeanor had horror movie written all over it, and you could almost laugh at the irony. Yeah, ‘they would be the first to go,’ you thought to yourself.

You heard the two of them talking to each other before immediately turning to you, and asking you something you couldn’t quite understand. Apparently whatever he’d knocked you out with had been some pretty hard core stuff cause it was taking you a minute to snap out of it; still stuck inside your head.

That was until the door came open, revealing the same man you’d seen in the car. The one holding you captive. He was holding a chair, and placed it just inside the room, guarding the doorway. Before sitting down, he wiped it with a bright yellow cloth, folded it up nicely, and tucked it back inside his pocket. When he crossed his arms, you could see the outline of his thick muscles, bulging against his tight shirt. ‘The three of you didn’t have a chance’ was the first thing that came to mind. His face went blank as he stared at the wall, eyes finally landing on Marcia as she tried to tug on her short mini skirt; regretting her choice of style all of a sudden. The man took a second before gesturing to her, “I choose you first,” he decided, his voice coming out thick and gruff, expression never changing.

He picked up the chair, snapping it together before setting it aside. When he reached for Marcia, he spoke again. “This will only take a minute,” he said, thickly, dragging her away from Claire as if she were a rag doll. She squirmed, breaking free from his grasp, before diving at the two of you, but it was no use, he’d sifted her into the air, straight off her feet. The way she struggled against the door made you wince to see her so scared. Marcia latched onto the doorframe, horror blazing in her eyes. Even as she slapped him across the face, it still seemed to do no harm. This should’ve horrified you, it should have made you want to get up and fight for her, but a part of you didn’t care. Was it wrong of you to think she deserved it? To be the first to die while you and Claire had to wait your turn. What was this man doing to you? You didn’t even know who he was, in yet, here you were, willing to stay forever. Willing to throw everyone else under the bus just to be alone. ‘Maybe you were just as crazy as him’ you thought before Marcia let out a loud shriek that brought you back.

Her sobs could be heard through the thick, wooden, door, as Claire pounded against it. Marcia was begging him to let her go, and you could count the seconds on your hand before she reappeared once again. Her back was pressed against his chest, tightly, as he set her down, gently on the floor. She must’ve bit his hand as a loud grunt passed his lips, anger filling his face, before he took a firm grasp on the doorway, and growled again. This time, shaking his hand in pain before slamming the door on you once again.

“He wanted me to dance with him,” Marcia said, still shaken up by what had happened just moments ago. “The outside door is locked.”

“Everything is okay,” Claire assured you both, “we’re okay. We’re okay,” at this point you were pretty sure she was just saying it to keep herself sane. She continued to tug on the door, but it didn’t budge. In typical Claire fashion, she went into a full on pep rally in her attempt to motivate the two of you to kick his ass. You being the psychopath that you were, refused to participate. Which only led to her throwing a temper tantrum instead, and managing to turn this whole thing into some kind of democracy to get Marcia against you.

The two of them were trying to convince you that the only way out was for you to gang up on him, but it was no use. You should’ve been pumped, you should’ve been willing to risk your life to bust out of this room, and back to your happy little home life. But you weren’t. Because your home life wasn’t all peaches and cream like theirs was.

Sure, your parents were still together, and, no, they didn’t beat you. What they had done, though, was toss you to the side like you didn’t even matter. This place was sounding a lot better than anywhere else right now; because at least here you mattered. Maybe not to them, but you sure as hell did to the guy behind that door. You knew you’d never make it out of here with her plan. You’d glanced him over long enough to know that there was no getting out, and that, whatever she had up her sleeve, was a suicide mission.

That’s when you snapped. “Did you see how strong he is? There’s no way we’ll ever make it past him,” you reminded her, bringing the preppy blonde back to reality. “Right now we just need to stay calm, and do what he says. Maybe then he won’t hurt us.”

“So what, you’re just gonna sit here? This isn’t some kind of game, Y/N, this is our lives!” Claire shouted, throwing her hands in the air in frustration.

“Exactly!” You hissed back, getting in her face. “And he’s been thinking about this longer than we have. No matter what you try to do, he’s already ten steps ahead.” Just like that, you went back to your spot on the bed, and sat down.

Deeming silence better than arguing, the three of you remained quiet for what felt like forever until you finally heard a woman’s voice on the other side of the door. Both Claire and Marcia dove to try and peek through the lock, but they couldn’t make anything out except her lower half. From what you could hear, the woman seemed to be arguing over something with the man who’d brought you here. All of it becoming one big jumbled mess over the girls shouting. “Don’t go in there!” The man shouted over Claire and Marcia’s screams for help before the door opened and you saw him standing in the doorway in woman’s clothes.

“Don’t worry, I’ll talk to him,” he said with a promising smile, pretending to be someone else. “He listens to me. He’s not well. He knows what you’re here for. He’s not allowed to touch you. He knows that.” Without another word, he disappeared just as quickly as he’d come; every appearance weirder than the previous.

Again the girls began to panic, assuming this was all just some clever scheme. They’d barely had any chance to talk before the man came back in again, dressed in his original clothes. He was carrying a bucket, handle draped across his arm. There were cleaning supplies organized perfectly inside, and he seemed to act more ordinary than ever.

“No!” He said, slightly panicked, when he entered the bathroom. “Please, keep your area neat. The bathroom, it’s unacceptable. To make it easy, I’ve color-coded these.” He gestured, showing you each individual bottle. “Use the blue bottle for the floor and the pink bottle for the ceramic surfaces.” The way he cringed at the spotless bathroom made you finally put two and two together. Between wiping down his seat, folding his napkin before putting it away, and how neat and orderly he always seemed to be, this man had to have a the most extreme case of OCD you had ever seen.

Finally, he motioned for the three of you to join him. You had been the first to go, knowing you were the only one brave enough; although others may have called that ‘suicidal’. No, you seemed to find a soft spot in the way this man was acting right now, and, as much as you wanted to hate him, you couldn’t. Instead you found yourself wanting to learn more.

Taking the bucket from him, you found a place on the floor, looking up at the man with nothing but genuine interest, and, thankfully, he hadn’t seemed to notice. There was an awkward silence before he spoke again, shoving his hands in his pockets as he leaned against the doorframe. “Patricia has reminded me that I was sent to get you for a reason. That you are sacred food, and I promise not to bother you again.” You wanted to believe he said it apologetically, but it didn’t come off that way in the slightest. This should’ve horrified you, but your mentality was so off that you found it almost reassuring that you’d be staying here longer.

The three of you cleaned the bathroom in little to no time, each of you picking a different surface. Although it had been clean before, you somehow had managed to give the room a whole new sparkle and shine. By the time you were finished, the energy from your body had been completely drained; both from the cleaning and the kidnapping. The small, uncomfortable, cot now looking like a five star mattress as you fell face first into the pillow, and passed out from absolute exhaustion.

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breakthesystm · 6 years ago

Text

Surrender

Pairing: James McAvoy x reader

Warnings: angst

Words: 500

Summary: James has to decide what he wants more; acting, or a real relationship with you.

The argument had gotten pretty heated as you and James continued to shout back and forth at each other. “You knew going into this what it was going to be like!” James shouted, continuing your yelling match.

“Don’t try to turn this around on me!” You retaliated, pointing a finger at him. “We agreed to two movies in a year! Two movies! You never even asked me about this! Now you’re in three, and you know as well as I do that we can’t make this work if you’re never around!”

When the realization struck, you couldn’t stop yourself from starting to cry. There had always been nothing but love between you and James during your entire relationship these last two years. Now it felt like he was going to throw that all away just for the sake of a few more titles to his name.

“I couldn’t pass up those movies, you know as well as I do that they’re going to play a big part in my career! I’m already getting calls about future films with different directors!” James said, trying to make you understand.

“That’s great, James, I’m proud of you, but how are we ever supposed to settle down and start a family if I’m here and you’re a million miles away? I refuse to raise kids in a broken home; I won’t do it.” The tears had turned into full on sobbing, and James had realized just how much all of this had really meant to you.

The last thing he wanted to do was end the entire relationship over some silly argument. His thoughts were going a mile a minute, and as much as he tried to, he couldn’t seem to grasp his train of thought.

“I need a minute,” James finally said, shaking his head. He threw his hands in the air in surrender before taking off out the door for a cigarette and some peace and quiet. He needed to be alone with his thoughts. He needed some time to think this through.

“Don’t do this! Don’t shut down now. If we’re going to get through this we need to do it together.” You begged in your attempt to get him to open up.

“What do you want me to do? Quit? Y/N, there’s no ‘happy answer’ to what you’re asking. I love my job, and I love acting.” James fought, determined to protect the one thing he enjoyed doing in his life.

“Alright, then I guess what it comes down to is...do you love your job more than you love me?” You asked, holding your breath as you waited for his response.

His entire body shifted before going entirely stiff. He was suddenly standing up straight, frozen with surprise. James looked like a deer in the headlights. That was a question he never thought he’d ever be faced with, but the more thought he gave it, the more he didn’t know.

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breakthesystm · 6 years ago

Text

Cheater Cheater

Pairing: James McAvoy x reader

Warnings: Major angst and lots of swearing

Words: 950

Summary: James gets caught cheating on Lisa with you

“James! James! Who’s the pretty girl you’re with? Does Lisa know you’re out with someone else tonight?!” Some of the paparazzi shouted as you and James came out of a fancy restaurant together. He had his hood flipped up, and dark sunglasses on - despite the fact that it was night time, and almost a hundred degrees outside.

The two of you ignored their shouting, and continued on your way, shielding both of your faces with your hands.

When you finally managed to squeeze past them into James’ car, you gave him a concerned glance before locking eyes with the floorboard.

“What is it, Darling?” James asked, noticing how quiet you’d been as he took your hand in his.

“Lisa’s going to find out,” you admitted, shaking your head as you realized how stupid all of this was. The two of you were acting like love struck teenagers; stolen kisses when no one was looking, late night phone calls when she wasn’t home, James even changed your name in his phone to something inconspicuous to hide you from her.

“One more week; just one more week,” James promised, throwing his head back as it hit the headrest. He closed his eyes, hating this entire situation. “I am so so fucking sorry for all of this.” James huffed, knowing how hard this must have been for you. “If it wasn’t for all the movies I’d have done it by now.”

“It’s not worth risking the fate of your movie. We’ve been keeping this secret for over a month, a few more days isn’t going to hurt.” You assured him, resting your head on his shoulder to comfort him.

“Yeah, but it shouldn’t matter who I’m with. My stupid publicist thinks she can tell me what to do and who the fuck I’m supposed to be with, and I refuse to put up with it any longer.” James admitted covering his face with his hands.

“Say you do it, you call her up and end the whole thing right now. What are you gonna do if the movie tanks?” You questioned, knowing how much all of this meant to him.

“Y/N, it’s not about the money. It’s never been about the money,” James said, honestly, as he finally looked you in the eyes. “My publicist doesn’t want me to throw away my entire reputation over some ‘silly girl that I just met’.” He rolled his eyes, remembering exactly how the lady had said it.

Just then James’ phone started ringing, and he looked up at you with wide eyes. “It’s her,” he said, answering the call as he put it on speaker. “Hello, dearie, is everything alright?” He asked, doing his best to be completely inconspicuous.

“Yeah, I was just wondering when you’d be home? I didn’t think you had to work late this evening?” Lisa questioned, sounding unsure.

“Damn!” James muttered, pretending to sound apologetic. “I completely forgot to tell you I’d be out this evening for a business meeting,” he confessed, covering his ass for the pictures outside the restaurant.

“Well, just get home when you’re done,” she said, softly, before hanging up the phone.

“I should head out before she gets suspicious,” he rolled his eyes, taking off down the road. The whole way back to your house he was completely silent, and you didn’t know what to say to make him feel better.

“Whatever happens, just remember I’m here for you,” you reminded him, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips as you held him tightly in your arms.

“I love you, Y/N,” James said, gazing into your eyes with his bright blue ones.

“I love you, too,” you blushed, kissing him one last time before running inside.

When James got home, Lisa was waiting by the door, arms crossed, with a dark expression plastered on her face. She was fuming, and he knew he was in for a rough night.

“Who is she?!” Lisa shouted in his face, pulling up the pictures on her phone from the restaurant. Her friend had sent them to her as the two of you walked out alone together. “Some business meeting, huh! You and another girl? I didn’t want to believe it, but I guess a picture really is worth a thousand words.”

“Fuck it all!” James yelled, throwing his hands in the air, furiously. “You want to know the truth!? Sure! I’ve been seeing another girl! I’ve been wanting to break this off for months, and I guess you finally gave me the out I’ve been searching for.” He admitted, starting to tear up. “Do you think I wanted you to find out this way?! Of course not! But my fucking publicist refused to let me end it.”

You could cut the tension in the room with a knife as Lisa looked back at him in utter horror. “I - I didn’t know you felt that way,” she stammered, feeling her heart break inside her chest. “H - how long?” She fumbled, letting the tears spill over as her eyes met his. Part of her didn’t want to know, but the other half needed some form of closure.

“A little over a month, but it started out as friends.” James confessed, hating the way he felt inside. He’d been labeled a lot of things in his life, but never a cheater.

Lisa scoffed at his response, feeling like this whole thing was just a low blow to her. She covered her face, sobbing into the palms of her hands before she managed to try to get ahold of herself. “Get the fuck out,” she breathed, shaking her head. “Get the fuck out right now!”

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breakthesystm · 6 years ago

Text

The Xavier Diaries - Part III

Part II

Pairing: Charles Xavier x reader

Warnings: none

Words: 1,000

Charles looked at you, wondering if his next question may be too much, but deciding to take the risk. “If you’re so intrigued, how would you feel about me extending you an offer to join me at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters?” Charles offered, swirling his wine as he kept his eyes on the glass in his hand.

“Quite a prestigious name, wouldn’t you agree?” You remarked, shooting him your hundred-watt smile.

“Perhaps I should’ve gone with something more appealing, such as ‘Monsters University’,” he mocked, making you burst with laughter. “So, Y/N, is that a yes?” He asked again, hoping to take you with him.

“Well, with an offer like that, how could I ever refuse?” You blushed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you let your eyes meet his.

“I’ve got a feeling the students will just adore you,” Charles said, softly, admiring your features.

“As long as their Professor is impressed with me, that’s all that matters,” you flirted, hoping you weren’t being too forward.

“I don’t think you’ll have much of a problem with that,” he smirked, continuing to reassure you.

It must’ve been his charm that caused you to agree to joining him because that same night you found yourself packing your bags, and taking off for this unknown school. A smart person would’ve researched it, and an even smarter person would’ve turned him down. After all, he was a complete stranger. This could all be some clever rouse to kidnap you, and you’d fallen for it. You took that bate like a kid in a candy shop, and you were beginning to wonder if you’d made the right decision.

“Ready, love?” Charles asked, snapping you from your thoughts as he watched you get the last of your things together.

You zipped up your suitcase, dragging it behind you. “I think so,” you nodded, going over the checklist in your head. The two of you never discussed how long you’d be staying, so you packed for several nights.

“Then we’d best be off, the private jet can’t leave without us, and we’re already running late.” He admitted, following you out the door to his car. The driver took your things, and put them in the trunk while the two of you climbed in the back to get comfortable.

There was a lot on your mind on your way to board the plane, but you tried to stay calm. Even so, the second you sat down you could feel your hands shaking, and you looked at Charles apologetically.

“I’ve - uh...never been on a plane,” you fumbled, twiddling your thumbs as you begged to just get this over with.

“If you’d like, I can hold your hand?” Charles offered, smiling as you intertwined your fingers with his. His wide, toothy, grin made your nerves settle, and when the plane finally took off, you started to calm down.

When you got closer to the school, Charles pointed out the window, gesturing to a large castle that looked as though it had been ripped straight out of the Princess Diaries. “That, my dear, is Xavier’s school,” he informed you, finding it comical the way your jaw had dropped in utter surprise.

“Shut up! Did you grow up here?” You gasped, still trying to put two and two together. The building was ginormous.

“Yes, actually, I did,” he nodded, as if such a life would be considered normal.

“Honestly, Charles, I don’t know how you ever survived, living in such hardships.” You joked, pretending to feel sorry for him.

“It was rather lonely at times, but you learn to manage,” Charles agreed, basking in the way you oohed and awed over his money. It was obvious from your thoughts that you had no interest in how much he made; no, you genuinely cared about him. But still, you couldn’t get past how well off he did seem to be. In yet he never showed it off, or acted as though he was better than anyone else. He was very well mannered and more proper than any other man you had ever been with. The longer you were with him, the more you started to realize that people like that seemed to only exist in your imagination, or a Hollywood movie.

“Forgive me if I’m wrong, but it seems as though you’ve chosen to make something better out of the situation? Where before it was quiet, and lonely, now it is bursting with life and energy.” You could feel the love he had for the academy in the way he talked, and it made you long to be down there with everyone else. To finally meet them, and learn their stories. As a writer, this was a dream come true; even if you could never tell anyone.

“You would be right,” Charles stated, taking your hand as the plane began to land. Once settled, he looked at you again, more closely than ever. What he saw was a beautiful young woman who was wise beyond her years, but he also saw the darkness of your past. A long journey that lead you to where you are today, and gave you more knowledge than you knew what to do with. “Tell me, how is it you can read me like an open book without being able to see into my mind?”

”Because I know what it’s like to be alone, and I also know how it feels to have the world look at you like you’re the problem.” You were shocked to see Charles was still holding your hand, but the comforting feeling made you happier than you’d ever been.

“Y/N, I know you may not think you have any powers, but, already, you’ve shown me the greatest power of all - love.” He smiled, squeezing your hand a little tighter in his. “I hate to say it, but, I have a feeling you’re going to fit in here better than anywhere else. Welcome home,” Charles laughed, as the plane door came open and you looked out at the beautiful path leading you straight to the front doors of the castle.

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breakthesystm · 6 years ago

Text

The Xavier Diaries - Part II

Part I

Pairing: Charles Xavier x reader

Warnings: small alcohol consumption

Words: 1,200

Somehow you’d managed to arrive at the most expensive place in the whole town, and you were shocked when Charles was able to walk in and get a seat without a second glance - no reservation needed. These people had greeted him as though he had been there a million times over - even going so far as to bring him their finest selections of wine; entirely on the house.

“Did I miss something? What is it exactly that you do?” You questioned, still in shock.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Charles leaned back, casually observing the menu. You hadn’t seen a single muscle on his body flinch at the prices; which were high enough to pay your rent for the month.

“Try me,” you persuaded, dying to know something more about this interesting man.

“Well, for starters, I’m a Professor, and...” he stopped, muttering the last words half under his breath. “I run my own college campus.”

“How well off is this campus that you’re capable of eating at a five star restaurant?” You laughed, knowing the question seemed rather rude, but needing more answers. “When you said drinks, I thought you meant the local bar; not the finest restaurant in town.” The mocking tone in your voice made him look up at you from his menu with a smile; he was enjoying this way too much.

“Bars are too loud, I prefer a more elegant, and proper setting, when I’m trying to woo a girl.” He responded, letting you make of that what you wish.

“So now I’m being ‘wooed’? In that case, I think I’ll be ordering one of everything!” You joked, lightening the mood.

“By all means, go right ahead, I think I might do the same,” he quipped back almost immediately.

“If I’m not mistaken I believe you’re dodging the question, oh wise Professor,” your teasing made him nod in approval.

“That it may be, but have you ever assumed I’m doing it for a good reason?” Charles shot back, wondering how much he could truly let slip with you.

“Perhaps, but you’ve made me curious to know more,” you stated, becoming more curious by the minute. You didn’t know whether to be intrigued by his mystery, or for it be cause to run.

There was a moment; a slight pause where Charles sat there, fingers pressed casually to the side of his head as if in wonder. If you weren’t mistaken it looked as though he were trying to read your body language in order to asses his next statement. If you were honest, the only thing that kept racing through your mind was how genuinely perfect this man seemed to be. He was the kind of guy you could take home to your parents, show off to the family, and actually enjoy being with in your free time.

Before Charles could say anything, the waiter had arrived to take your order. When you were finished, he finally managed to come up with a response.

“If I were to tell you that I have a genetic mutation, what would you say?” The question hung in the air, and you were completely caught off guard.

“From my understanding, everyone has them,” you finally said, assuming he meant it in a general aspect. “Unless you’re expecting me to believe that you have some kind of genetic enhancement?”

“And if I am?” Charles asked, fairly shocked by your lack of surprise.

“I guess I’d first be a little excited, but also genuinely curious as to what it actually is,” you admitted aloud as you continued to think it over.

Charles leaned in, his lips pulled up into a smug grin as he whispered in your ear. “I’m a telepath,” he admitted, proudly.

“No freakin way!” You shouted, covering you mouth in surprise as you looked around the room, apologizing to the people nearby. “So you can, like, read minds?” You said, softly, leaning in again.

Charles laughed, nodding his head as he took a sip of his wine; he was thoroughly enjoying your reaction. “And more, actually,” he added.

“Okay, Professor know it all, tell me,” you flirted, moving in closer to him as you let your lips brush against his ear, softly. “What am I thinking?” He watched you pull away, biting your lip as you looked him over.

Charles smirked, locking eyes with you as his fingers came to the side of his head, and he snorted with laughter. “You’re wondering if two people can fit on here,” he blushed, looking down at his chair. He was still surprised that he’d managed to say it out loud.

“Alright, lucky guess,” you said, nervously, as your eyes grew wider. Was he being serious? How did he actually know what you were thinking?

“The answer is yes by the way,” he chimed in, bringing your attention back to him.

“What?” You fumbled, awkwardly, trying to rap your head around all of this.

“What you were thinking? The answer is yes; it’s actually quite spacious,” he gloated, adjusting himself in his seat.

Right when you were about to respond, the waiter came around the corner with your food and the only thing you could do was try to stop your cheeks from turning bright red. You did your best to contain your thoughts, but it was hard when you had someone as attractive as himself sitting across from you.

“What is it you’re wanting to say?” Charles asked you, hoping you might choose to speak freely.

“Don’t you already know?” You questioned, beginning to wonder how all of this worked.

“Darling, if I wanted to, I could, but I think it would be best for you to open up to me yourself. It does no good for me to constantly be inside your head. Everyone needs their privacy,” he assured you, taking a bite of his food. There was no hiding the large grin that spread across his face as he looked up at you, after, though. “I can stay out of your head, but if you keep thinking so loudly it might become difficult.” Charles laughed, watching you blush all over again.

The thought of kissing him kept racing through your mind, and you hadn’t even realized how passionately you’d felt about it. “I’m sorry, I just -” you paused, choosing your words carefully. “You’re honestly perfect.”

“Far from it I’m afraid, but thank you for the compliment,” Charles nodded with a smile. Without warning you heard his voice inside your head, it calmed you in a way you’d never felt before, and you enjoyed every word. “I’ve truly enjoyed my time with you this evening, and I would love to take you out again.” The voice said, filling you with a happiness that had been absent for quite some time.

“Careful, Charles, I think I may be falling for you.” The words slipped off your tongue as the two of you looked into each other’s eyes. You’d never felt this way about someone before, and you already wondered if he might be the one.

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breakthesystm · 6 years ago

Text

The Xavier Diaries - Part I

Pairing: Charles Xavier x reader

Warnings: none

Words: 1,100

Summary: The reader is in for an interesting ride as she comes across the mysterious Professor X. How will she react when she learns about his powers? Will everyone be willing to except her? Find out in this thrilling adventure as you take on the life of living in Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters with Charles Xavier himself.

How many people could honestly say that they loved their jobs? More than half the world is completely disengaged by their work, and, thankfully, you were not one of them. Sure, it wasn’t perfect, statistically you were working for “the man,” but you didn’t necessarily mind. You were a writer for your local paper, filling everyone in on what was going on in their small town.

The most interesting thing you’d been given the opportunity to write about was how congested your local fair always was. It never failed to overflow with people of all ages who were looking for a little family fun. Still, you enjoyed the concept of being able to write about anything for a living - just so long as you could write.

Your latest assignment put you in charge of a meeting taking place in the auditorium of the towns community college. One of the Professors would be going over genetic mutations; both rare and common. For some reason, your boss wanted you to write about the possibility that everyday people could be the carrier of a rare gene without even knowing it.

Of course, it may not appeal to the elderly people who read your paper, but it could very well get the young adults to purchase one out of interest. As the students began to file in for the upcoming lecture, you found yourself looking over the crowd with no place to sit.

“Comes in handy when you bring your own chair,” a young man with a British accent chimed in. He had pulled up next to you in an electric wheelchair that looked as though it cost more than you made in a year.

You smiled at his odd sense of humor, letting your eyes fall to the floor, awkwardly. “I’m-uh-just here for the local paper.” You explained, finally looking him over properly.

He seemed to be in his mid to late thirties - much too old to be a student here. What you hadn’t expected was for him to be so handsome. The caramel color of his hair, paired with his bright blue eyes was enough to have you weak in the knees.

He smirked, unable to hold back a slight chuckle, and you immediately snapped out of your daze. “I am so sorry, I don’t mean to stare, I just-,” you stopped yourself, not knowing what to say. You assumed he thought you were judging him, and had no idea that he was reading your mind.

“It’s alright, love, I understand,” he assured you, looking down at the podium where the professor would be starting the lecture soon. “If you’d be interested, though, I wouldn’t mind taking you out for a drink once this is all said and done?”

Were you hearing him correctly? Did he just ask you out? You had to take a minute to put your tongue back in your mouth for you to finally muster up the courage to respond. Somehow you still only managed an, “m’kay,” before a middle aged man interrupted you both.

“Students!” He shouted, getting everyone’s attention. “I’d like to announce today’s guest speaker, Professor Xavier,” he said, gesturing to the young man who had asked you out.

There was no hiding the way your eyes grew twice their size, or how your heart felt like it was about to beat out of your chest. You were supposed to be writing your paper on the same man who would be taking you out for drinks in a little over an hour.

“Thank you, Professor Collins,” the man in the wheelchair smiled, joining him at the front of the room. You looked around once again, taking a seat next to a group of college girls who were less than enthusiastic about your presence.

When the presentation started you had absolutely no interest in the subject at hand, but, by the end of it all, you were taking in as much information as you could. It had turned out to be far more interesting a subject then you’d previously assumed, and you were more than willing to learn more about this mans perspectives on the matter. The last thing you wanted to do this evening was bombard him with more questions when the two of you were supposed to be having a good time, though.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” The man, had asked, gesturing down at your notes once the lecture was over.

“Is it that obvious?” You fumbled, nervously, as you pulled a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Don’t feel bad, it’s not a subject for everyone, but, for the few who are capable of understanding, it can open up doors to a whole new world.” His explanation was enough to put you on the edge of your seat all over again.

“Who would’ve thought that something as simple as your eye color could be considered a genetic strand of mutation? I always assumed the word mutation only corresponded with something that may be considered abnormal.” You confessed, realizing just how wrong you had been.

“What one person may consider abnormal, another may have never known any different.” Professor Xavier corrected, pulling from his own perspective. “While one may have been born with two brown eyes, someone who was born with a blue and a green would have a different genetic mutation. Even though they had no control over the matter, they still seem to be judged for it in a negative way.”

His entire perspective on things was enough to shine a whole new light on a topic that you had never even thought about.

“With all do respective, Professor, I think that may just be grazing the surface. If you’re right, this could lead to genetic enhancements that far surpass someone’s eye color. No this could lead into uncharted territory altogether.” You stated, going over your notes once again.

“Please, call me Charles, and, you very well may be right. However, I would be willing to assume that none of them would be brave enough in taking the chance to come forward. See, it’s one thing for you to know you’re different, and a whole other thing to have other people know that you are.” He confessed, finding your take on things just as intriguing as the concept.

“Charles, you seem to act as though you’re speaking from experience,” you blushed, feeling special to call him by his first name.

“Perhaps I am, but that is a story for another time,” Charles teased, playfully, as he left you anxiously waiting to find out what secrets remained in his mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Xavier Diaries - Part II

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