#but a RUDE gesture???? nuh uh! not in front of my voices!!!

[salty-an-disco]

something just dawned on me–

Slay the Princess, a game full of violent and gorish imagery, all described in explicit detail– and the ONE thing that’s censored in the whole game–

is a fuckin’ middle finger.

they didn’t have to censor that, but they did anyway, because it’d be hilarious, and they were absolutely RIGHT

[lonelyghosts-stuff]

Peppermint and Pinewood

Peppermint and Pinewood (Draco Malfoy x Reader)

Premise:

Draco Malfoy x muggleborn, Slytherin! Reader

Although the time setting isn’t too important, I envisioned it taking place somewhere in the fifth year.

Warnings: none really? I mean, I guess bullying, mild angst, and fluff lol. I dunno if Draco goes a little off-canon character wise here but I tried to make his personality as close to the source material as possible.

Word count: 4,581

Note: This is my first ever fan fiction I’ve ever written so yea.

Read it on wattpad too:

https://www.wattpad.com/story/244556691-peppermint-and-pinewood

It was another bad day. After getting yet another berating from Snape due to putting one too many dried lavender flowers in the Calming Draught potion and subsequently losing five house points from Slytherin, y/n found herself once again the target of insults and sneers. As if being a muggle born placed in Slytherin wasn't bad enough, it seems like every single mistake made, no matter how simple or innocent it may have been, was held against her as if it was the highest insult to the wizarding world.

Following a long walk down the hallway to her next class, a cold and judgmental presence drew near. With his steely gray eyes, Draco Malfoy looked down upon y/n.

"Well well... looks like the mudblood lost us even more points! As if it wasn't enough of a plague upon wizard kind and the Slytherin House to have a mudblood part of it..." Draco leaned in towards y/n towering over her by at least 15cm (about 6 inches rounded up) and continued "we have to further suffer your utter lack of any practical skills in class. I mean, bloody hell y/l/n! We've been learning the calming draught for what, the past three days? And you still managed to screw that up. If it was up to me, your kind wouldn't even be allowed in the magical world much less Hogwarts; as pathetic as this school is."

After the cacophony of insults and belittlement, Draco continued onward, gesturing his cronies to follow...

Only, they didn't follow right away. Crabbe and Goyle decided that it was their time to shine and decided to push y/n around, knowing full well she wouldn't do anything to stop them. With some rude comments and pathetic chittering of a laugh, Crabbe gave y/n one final shove sending her onto the ground and spilling out her supplies including books, quills, and a jar of ink. Despite the squawking coming from Crabbe and Goyle, Draco looked more bemused than anything. While he should be laughing at a lowly mud blood getting what they deserved, he felt empty. He almost pitied y/l/n.

"Crabbe, Goyle, hurry up or we'll be late to D.A.D.A. and I sure as hell am not losing any house points because of you buffoons." Draco demanded, leaving y/n on the ground, scurrying to clean up the mess.

Eventually one Slytherin classmate and their Hufflepuff friend spotted y/n and helped her clean up.

"Scourgify! There you go! All better now!" The Hufflepuff chirped as the Slytherin handed y/n the last of her things.

"Are you sure you simply tripped and fell?" The Slytherin doubted y/n's story. "I mean, you aren't the most popular nor liked in Slytherin."

"Oh uh yea. I know where you're coming from but I promise it was just a little trip. Just me being clumsy is all!" Y/n fumbled through her response. "But thanks for the concern Mallory!"

Mallory was one of the few Slytherins who didn't despise y/n for her blood status. Coming from a home where her dad is a wizard and her mom's a muggle, not even muggle born, she found herself sympathizing with y/n.

"Hey y/n, promise us you'll come for help if you really need it, okay?" Susan Bones the Hufflepuff, a caring and hardworking witch who, while maybe initially coming across as weak and a pushover, is not one who is past fighting someone in order to defend her friends.

"Yea yea I promise I promise." Y/n chuckled. If only Mallory was in y/n's dorm room. Things would be a lot better for sure.

After a couple more minutes of reassuring Mallory and Susan that she was alright, y/n begrudgingly made her way to her next class with her fellow housemates of the same year, Defense Against the Dark Arts. While not her particular favorite due to the inconsistency of the instructors, y/n found herself enjoying D.A.D.A. more than most classes due to not only the wide variety of skills and spells learned, but the hands on approach of applying said new skills in practical situations. It was certainly a sight to behold when she transformed her boggart from Voldemort to a mere Pansy Parkinson, shackled by her ankles no doubt by Filch. Of course this only earned y/n more nasty comments hurled her way as well as an unappreciated "gift" from an owl left on her bed, but y/n felt that the site was worth it nonetheless.

D.A.D.A. was unfortunately highly uneventful that day as the class merely reviewed the basic defensive and combative spells from previous years (a shocking amount of students performed poorly on the review exam and thus the whole class had to suffer). On her way out of the class, y/n was met by another Slytherin, none other than the she-devil herself, Pansy Parkinson. As if on cue, the moment y/n stepped out of the classroom and was out of sight of any faculty, y/n was roughly pulled by the hand and pushed into the neighboring, empty classroom by Pany who promptly closed the door behind her, holding it shut.

"Hey let me out of here! Pansy you downright insufferable git!" Y/n burst out, an uncommon instance that was released due to pent up rage from days of harassment.

"Nuh uh! Maybe when you learn your lesson that Draco is mine and you'll neeeveeer be more than a pathetic, weak, and intolerable mudblood!" Pansy chortled in a sing-songy voice.

"Pansy I swear to Merlin..." y/n started before stopping themself to recompose and calm down. "Pansy, I'm asking nicely... please, open the door. I have no clue what you are talking about with Draco, but you don't need to worry. I want nothing to do with that cocky, rude, hair-gelling bastard, okay?!"

"Augh?! You think that pathetic excuse for an apology is gonna cut it? Nuh uh! Maybe you need some more time alone to think about your actions, y/l/n. Colloportus!" And with that, y/n heard the doors click locked, Pansy mumble the anti-alohomora charm, and the ever fading footsteps of Pansy proudly striding away.

Feeling all of her built up emotion come to a boil, y/n allowed herself to blow some steam off while she was alone. Casting one destructive spell after another, the classroom suffered greatly from the y/n’s rage.

"BOMBARDA! STUPEFY! DIFFINDO! INCENDIO!" Y/n proclaimed with much fervor before stepping back in fear.

The last spell carelessly cast quickly caught the ratted tapestry curtains over the windows, sending them ablaze. In the panic, y/n stumbled back to the door before pounding on it wildly for help. Fortunately for her, her absence in her next class and last class of the day was reported and McGonagall was passing by to look for her. Quickly reversing the rushed anti-alohomora charm on the door and then following up by unlocking it, the door swung open as y/n fell through, almost onto the ground before catching herself.

After extinguishing the fire with a quick flick of her wand and a mutter of 'aguamenti' and long winded conversation filled with explanations, denial, and intense pleading, McGonagall decided it was in the best interest to remove 100 points from Slytherin for the utter lack of safety and human decency.

Of course this didn't go well for y/n. That evening she found herself locked out of her own dorm room as her roommates found the blame for the points lost resting solely on y/n. Making her way to the empty common room, y/n sat on one of the couches in front of the green, crackling fire. Equipped with nothing outside of her button up, vest, and pants, y/n used her robe as a blanket and cuddled up on the couch.

At that moment, y/n's bottled up emotion overflowed and she sobbed into the couch cushion. Feeling more like a burden than a human, y/n repeated in her head the insults she's heard many times. "Hinderance. Pathetic. Weak. Worthless..." she choked out between sobs. "Filthy... little... mudblood."

Before y/n could even get one wink of sleep, a door creaked open revealing the prince of Slytherin himself, Draco. Only, unlike most other times, Draco was sans henchmen. Presumably, Draco snuck out for one reason or another and was only returning about now. As Draco stepped into the light, he noticed a covered figure on the couch. Draco glimpsed at y/n h/l h/c hair, quickly deducing it was y/n.

"What are you doing out here this late, y/l/n?" Interrogated Draco. "Shouldn't you be in your room?"

"I could ask you the same thing. Wandering about this late at night, you could lose us house points or worse depending on what suspicious activities you are into." Y/n mumbled as she tried to tune out the excess noise, not caring anymore about how she responded to Draco.

"Harsh, but fair." Draco let out a rare chuckle.

For some reason, hearing Draco chuckle sent warm tingles throughout her body from one hand to another. This is just barely a fraction of a side of Draco she wished she could see all the time. Before getting too caught up in daydreams, y/n remembered it was Draco's fault in the first place that she's even locked out of her room at all.

"Well, to put it short, I'm still a, as you say, a filthy mudblood and it would appear as if torturing me and locking me in an abandoned classroom wasn't enough for them so they decided to lock me out of our own room." Y/n vented with both a sense of exasperated relief as Draco stood silently, stiff as a board, as if he was shocked as to what he was hearing.

Draco took a moment to drink in y/n. Her e/c eyes, red and glossy from tormented crying. Even in this state she was still breathtaking. Wait, what? Breathtaking? Draco suddenly forgot how to speak as his mind raced from his sudden observation. She's not pretty, right? She's just a muggle born, a disgrace to the wizarding world! Is that all she is though? And only a muggle born, not a mudblood? Draco panicked internally for a brief moment before finally recollecting himself and regaining his composure.

"Oh." Was all Draco could manage at the moment. Appearing deep in thought, Draco organized a response. "As much as I would love to hear more of your life problems, I have a room to go back to. So... um... good night..."

Draco awkwardly turned around and shuffled towards his room, pausing only for a brief moment and throwing a quick glance over his shoulder as if he was contemplating something. He quickly shook off any feeling of turning back and entered his room for the night.

The school year progressed without much of anything significant happening outside of the common bullying and stress of the holidays approaching. It was almost winter break and, as usual, y/n would be staying at Hogwarts for Christmas. Her parents always took a long vacation over Christmas break and figured they would save money by leaving y/n at school where she would still get food and housing without them having to pay for an extra plane ticket. Y/n didn't mind too much. She had always been pretty independent from her parents, but she loved them nonetheless. They all loved each other but they weren't very affectionate about it, a factor that probably contributed to her apathetic approach to most things. While always hopeful to be invited to one of her parents annual holidays, y/n also looked forward to the more or less peace and quiet of having the common room and school mostly to herself with the exception of the other few students who also remained for the holidays.

Unbeknownst to y/n, ever since their interaction at night in the common room, Draco has been secretly watching her. While seeing her in such a devastated state should logically make him happy as she is only a muggle born, Draco felt anything but happy. It was almost like looking into a mirror for him, seeing her broken. It reminded him of his many nights of anxiety and depression after getting an earful from his father about how he wasn't "good enough" or constantly feeling inadequate compared to the "chosen one", Potter. From that moment on, Draco avoided y/n. Y/n didn't really think anything of it except that she appreciated the extended periods of peace and silence between the other students' insults. This of course only prompted Crabbe and Goyle to try to make up for their ring leader's apparent avoidance and growing distaste of picking on y/n. Fortunately for y/n however, Crabbe and Goyle were quite dim witted and easy to outsmart or avoid. Another development for y/n was that, after her time in the abandoned classroom allowing her to let off some steam, followed by her mini rant to Draco, she found herself able to stand up for herself a bit more, much to the chagrin of Pansy Parkinson. Now when Pansy strode up to y/n with a cocky and mischievous smirk plastered on her face, y/n simply looked on with a strong and unavoidable expression of mere annoyance and anticipation of disappointment. Pansy would try to insult y/n only for y/n to retort with a simple motion of dismissal or a clever comeback.

"Well if it isn't the local mudblood of Slytherin!" Pansy would shout with falsely placed pride.

"Well if it isn't the local tramp of Slytherin!" Y/n would respond with a mock curtsy. "What an absolute honor to be in your presence. Oh, and of course the presence of all the guys you try to hook up with."

Pansy would only stare on, gobsmacked and dumbfounded. She would walk away trying to act as if y/n's responses meant nothing to her, but her embarrassment would be evident with the bright red burning at her cheeks. Y/n would always take a silent pride in herself when she managed to hold her composure and deliver lines to Pansy that would shut her up without the need to stoop down the Pansy's level herself.

The days progressed even more until it was eventually the last day before the Christmas holiday. As the other students were packing their things and saying their goodbyes, y/n spent her time in the library or in the Slytherin common room, sitting next to one of the many windows looking out under the Black Lake. Y/n would often sit by the windows and look at the fish and grindylows swim by, almost entranced by the aquatic life that resides within the lake. Y/n always hoped to spot the giant squid someday, but outside of the rare silhouette of a tentacle, she was disappointed. Of course her biggest achievement of her many nights of lake gazing was when she spotted a mermaid right outside the window. The mermaid smiled a soft and ethereal smile before singing a peaceful song, lulling y/n to a restful sleep. Y/n would constantly be on the lookout for that same mermaid each night, even more so than the giant squid, but was unfortunately commonly met with mere fish or the occasional grindylow that would give her a wicked smile. At the end of the day, students began to turn in for the night in preparation for leaving bright and early in the morning to go home or wherever for their Christmas vacations. Y/n, on the other hand, stayed up, sitting on the couch and watching the green flames dance and in the fireplace. A wave of contentment washed over her as she looked forward to a peaceful break. She had just been told by Mallory that, while she was leaving for the holiday, Susan Bones would be staying as her she had no family to return to (her family having been killed personally by Voldemort in the First Wizarding War) outside of her aunt Amelia Bones who was attending to business all holiday. Y/n looked forward to spending some time with Susan, especially knowing how hard the holidays are for her due to her family's past. She has already planned on taking her to Hogsmeade for some quality time as a “girls’ day” together and to make sure that, despite her circumstances, she would still have the best Christmas possible.

As y/n sat alone, mesmerized by the fire and picturing her plans to hang out with Susan, none other than Draco Malfoy once again stepped into the picture. He didn't directly approach y/n, more or less standing off to the side and looking outward at the lake. Y/n eventually directed her attention away from the fire and noticed Draco staring out at the lake. He seemed a lot more fidgety than usual, almost as if he was nervous or dreading something. 'It couldn't possibly be he's not looking forward to going home, could it?' Y/n thought to herself as she observed Draco's body language. After a brief minute, Draco turned around as if to head to bed only to notice y/n staring at him.

"Ah! W-what are you doing here y/l/n?" Draco jumped slightly, caught off guard.

Y/n quickly looked away, feeling her cheeks burn in embarrassment from being caught. "I, uh, well..." she calmed down and recomposed herself, "if you don't remember, despite yours and most everyone else's wishes, I'm still in Slytherin so I have just as much of a right to be here as you!"

"Oh. Yea. I mean, that's not what I meant." Draco fumbled through his sentences, his nervousness becoming more and more obvious. "I meant, what are you doing here, here. Shouldn't you be in bed so you'll be ready for the holidays?"

Once again, y/n found herself saying, "I could ask you the same thing." Y/n gave a playful yet unconfident smirk.

Defying anyone's best guess, a faint pink rose to Draco's cheeks, completely catching y/n off guard. He quickly tried to laugh it off before continuing to uncharacteristically stumble his way through the conversation. "Uh, yea. My bad, sorry."

Once again, y/n was caught completely off guard. 'Did the Draco Malfoy just say, "sorry"?' Draco didn't even seem phased by the absurdity of what he just said.

Quickly moving on from what just happened, y/n spoke up, "Well, to answer your question. No. I'm not leaving for the holidays. I'll be here all Christmas break."

Almost as if without a second thought, Draco made his way over to the couch area, sitting on the chai directly across from y/n. His previous nervousness seemed to fade away as he responded, "So, why are you staying here? How come you're not going home or traveling somewhere?"

"Well, my parents like to go on big fancy trips for the holidays and they figure that they can save money by leaving me here."

"Oh. Does that bother you at all? That they just leave you behind while they go and have a great time?"

Y/n shrugged, trying to ignore how weird this whole situation is. "Not really. It's always been like this. They never really went on vacations outside of an occasional camping trip with me when I was still living at home and they wanted to take advantage of the situation of me being at a school away from home to go on a nice trip while I was being cared for. We still go camping over the summertime though, so that's fun."

Draco was amazed, listening intently to every word that came out of y/n's mouth. The concept of needing to save money was pretty foreign to him, but he found himself able to relate to her situation of not having the most affectionate family.

"So, what about you, Draco? Why aren't you in bed? No doubt your family has some extravagant plans for the holiday." Y/n asked, turning the tables on Draco.

As soon as she asked this, the previously present nervousness and dread returned to Draco's face. "Oh, uh, not tired yet. A lot on my mind..."

"Well, surely your family has something exciting planned. I mean, you are a Malfoy after all."

As if she just pushed a button, Draco seemed to flinch away at the mention of his family name. For a brief moment, his nervousness was overcome with an irritated, defensiveness as he snapped, "Well it's not all perfect like you so clearly think!"

Y/n flinched back as he shouted this, confused by the sudden change in attitude. Draco noticed her almost immediately shut down, losing any joy that previously graced her face.

"I-I'm... sorry... I didn't mean to shout." Draco sighed. "It's just that-"

"No, I'm sorry." Y/n interrupted. "I saw you were clearly uncomfortable at the first mention of your family and I shouldn't have asked again... you don't have to say anything you don't want to."

"Thank you." Draco simply said. He began to stand up to head to bed before y/n got to say one last thing

"Draco. I-", y/n cut herself off, questioning if she should really finish her sentence. "I'm... always here if you need anything. Okay? I may not know of your family's background or yours, but I'm no stranger to hardships. I'm always here if you need help with something or even just someone to talk to."

Draco looked at her with a face full of mixed emotions. Uncertainty, confusion, fear of letting someone in, fear of pushing her away, and more. He was quiet for about a whole minute as he stood there, looking at y/n.

"But, why? Would you care about me? I've been nothing but cruel and rude to you. Why would you care how I feel?" Draco suddenly asked, breaking the silence.

"Just because you may not be the most pleasant person in the world to be around doesn't mean you don't have your own battles and issues in life, nor does it mean your issues are any less valid than anyone else's. You're still a human and... I care about you just like anyone else...", y/n looked down at the floor as she quietly said the last part.

Draco stood there, silent and uncertain about how to respond. Another minute of silence passed and, without a second thought, Draco turned around and walked to his room. Y/n kept looking down, berating herself in her head. 'You went too far you idiot! You just had to push it and make him feel uncomfortable...'. Y/n lied down onto the couch and closed her eyes as she tried to fall asleep.

As Draco walked away, he stopped for a second and whispered under his breath, "Thank you... y/n. Merry Christmas."

The night was rough for Draco; he couldn't sleep as he replayed the conversation in his head over and over again. When the time reached 1:30 am, Draco decided to get up and go for a brief walk to clear his head. He opened the door from his dorm room and quietly snuck out so as to not awake his roommates. Making his way down into the common room, he spotted y/n still there, only asleep on the couch. He quickly deduced she must have been locked out of her room again and that was another reason she wasn't in bed yet when he first came across her. He quietly walked over to her and looked at her. Despite her messy hair and unconventional sleeping position, she had a peaceful look on her face as she slumbered. As he turned away to continue his short walk, he heard a noise come from y/n. When he turned around, he noticed her shivering in her sleep. The fire had died down since he was last here and y/n was without a blanket or anything else to keep her warm. He wanted to relight the fireplace but he also didn't want to risk the sudden light waking her up. He eventually turned back to head to his room as y/n laid there.

The next morning, Draco and his friends were getting ready to leave the school and board the trains. A smirk was plastered on Draco's face, one which did not go unnoticed by Pansy.

"Hey Drayyyy!" Pansy cooed in a sickeningly sweet tone of voice. "What's got you so happy this be-a-utiful morning?"

Even Pansy's annoying presence couldn't dampen Draco's mood. "Oh it's nothing. Just looking forward to leaving this joke of a school is all." Draco proudly lied, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.

Despite many more attempts of learning what the truth was from Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle, Draco remained silent on the truth.

Back in the Slytherin common room, y/n began stirring awake. Surprisingly, she slept through the commotion of the other students leaving for Christmas. Stretching and yawning, y/n stood up off the couch, accidentally dropping the jumper that was draped across her onto the ground. Without hesitation she picked up the sweater and slid it on, quickly leaving to brush her hair and get ready for the day to take Susan to Hogsmeade.

Once in Hogsmeade, y/n lead Susan to Honeydukes to pick out an assortment of sweets.

"Thank you so much for all of this, y/n. I really appreciate it." Susan beamed as she grabbed a chocolate frog with one hand as her other held a box of treacle fudge.

"Of course. It's my pleasure and it's a nice change of pace from a normal school schedule. And one never needs an excuse to go to Honeydukes!" Y/n responded gleefully.

After they made their way back to Hogwarts with their bounty of sweets and a few items from Zonko's, Susan led y/n to the Hufflepuff common room so they could indulge themselves.

After taking a big bite from a liquorice wand, Susan spoke out, "oh I've been meaning to ask you, when did you get that jumper? It's been cold all winter but I haven't seen you wear it all!"

Y/n looked down at the jumper. It was green and silver in the Slytherin colors with a big, snake S in the center. "You know what? I don't know... I just woke up this morning and it was draped over me. I'm not sure how I got it."

"Weird. Maybe you made an impulse purchase and completely forgot?"

"No, I don't think that's it. It's a little big for me too. Maybe Mallory bought it for me and left it as a surprise? I know she's a bit bigger than me so that would explain it."

"No that can't be. She got you a new scarf and matching mittens for Christm-shoot!"

"Susan!!!" Y/n burst out laughing.

"Oh no I'm so so so sorry!!! Please don't tell Mallory I told you! She's been planning this for a week! Please act surprised when you get it! Aghhhh I'm so dumb!" Susan panicked as her face flushed from embarrassment.

"Don't worry don't worry!" Y/n chuckled loudly. "I'll act surprised I promise!"

"Thank you thank you thank you thank you!" Susan cried out as she stuffed her mouth with a pumpkin pasty.

The rest of the Christmas holiday was full of fun and funny times like this. For the first time in a while, y/n looked forward to getting up in the morning and seeing people. She would always wake up bright and early, brush her hair and her teeth, and slip on the mysterious oversized jumper. While it still bugged her and Susan as the jumper's origin remained a mystery, y/n was grateful to have it nonetheless on these cold, winter days.

It also had a pleasant scent of peppermint and pinewood cologne too.

[taechaos]

That scenario was really good😱 Yeonjun’s last line made me GASP lolol

can you do another scenario where Yeonjun gifts OC roses and a teddy bear through a delivery service so she is shocked when she receives them, how would Jungkook react? 😱

I love jealous/pissed/possessive Jungkook 🥵

YALL JUST REALLY LOVE THE DRAMA 💀💀 making my man suffer like this,,, you'll be hearing from my lawyers

im gonna be including this bit in the scenario so 😎

"Is this for you or me?" you ask Soyeon who can barely keep her eyes open after waking her upon seeing a bunch of gifts when you opened the door of your dorm room to attend your morning lecture. It's a teddy bear holding a bouqet of roses in its fluffy paw, sitting on the hall floor to provide you with today's first surprise.

You know Soyeon is single, and you know Jungkook like the back of your hand: his romance doesn't extend to these cheesy gestures. It may seem rude to not even think of the possibility that it might be your boyfriend's doing, and despite being such a hopeless romantic, you're certain it's not from him.

Soyeon grumbles drowsily as she stretches before rubbing her eyes with her fists. "What?" she yawns tiredly.

"That," you point past the open door and she follows the direction of your finger with puffy eyes.

"Definitely not," she answers with a sleep strained voice. "Look for a card." She doesn't leave room for a response before turning on her side to face away from you and fall back asleep.

You listen to her advice and crouch before the toy to search for anything that would reveal the identity of the delivery person. It's with close inspection that you find a white card stuffed between the roses.

In your hand it reads: Good morning, beautiful. Can't wait to see you in Human Anatomy.

There's your clarity, and you can't doubt it's Yeonjun when Soyeon doesn't even take this course. It's pathetic, you think, to try and court someone who's already in a stable relationship. This isn't him going after you, but beckoning you to go to him just like he said you would before calling your boyfriend a cliché. It more or less sounds like a mind game, and you're stuck between ignoring his advances completely or confronting him about it.

Yeonjun seemed like an understanding guy; he did say he wouldn't go around you asking for a date, and for two days, he hasn't. If he takes orders so well, it wouldn't hurt to tell him to leave you alone once and for all.

That's your reasoning to march down the hall and find Yeonjun after crumbling the note and leaving the gift on someone else's doorstep. Front rows are your go-to spot to not miss a single detail in your lecture, and it's no shocker seeing Yeonjun sitting on a front row bench.

You clench your fists and scowl to intimidate the creep before stomping over to him. Dismissing your demands is out of the question when your stance nothing short of angry. He needs to know you're not playing around, that he can't manipulate your naivety like he's attempting to.

His eyes twinkle the moment they land on you and he stops spinning his pencil to give you his utmost attention. Good, he's listening. You don't trespass the barrier in the form of a stretched out table between you two as you glower over him.

"I'm gonna make this short," you glare with slit eyes, "I don't want anything that has your fingerprints on it nor do I want to hear you speak to me ever again. Leave me alone or I will report you for harrassment. Say yes if you understand."

The light in his gaze dims momentarily as his awed smile falters. "Y-Yes." He appears afraid and innocent, but your gut denies it. "But may I ask why?"

"Oh, you know why," you scoff in a hushed voice, "I don't want your stupid cards and your stupid gifts, and most of all, I don't want you. Get that through your thick skull."

He never knew you could be this mean, and it almost throws off the sweet impression he has of you until he remembers that you're just loyal. He loves that you're so faithful, and he wants you to be faithful to him only. He craves it so deeply, but he says nothing of the sort and instead stammers, "I-I understand. I-I'm sorry, I'll leave you alone if that's what you wa–"

The slam of the lecture room's doors echo in the spacious hall, and you hurriedly take a seat on the edge of the bench to distance yourself from Yeonjun as much as possible. He has to bite his lip to stop a smile from growing on his face from having you sit next to him.

But just as you requested, he doesn't interact with you throughout the lecture except for a few glances to drink in the sight of you being so close to him. Instances like these are the only time he can feel intimate with you, but it'll only get better on from here.

Because the professor assigns a pair project before you're dismissed.

"Before you leave, by the end of the term, you will have a report submitted in pairs regarding senses that affect the human system in a topic of your choice. More information on the college website, along with the assigned pairs. You can go."

"I already checked," Yeonjun whispers to you, making you immediately wear a distasteful expression, "I'm your partner."

"Nuh-uh," you deny childishly before taking out your phone as you stand from the bench to leave after packing your stationaries. You log onto the site just as you receive a notification from Jungkook.

the love of my life ♡: no good morning text? sus

You have to swipe it away out of worry that you'll actually be forced to spend time with Jungkook's new nemesis. The site loads. You scroll past the details of the task and finally land on the pairs.

And there it is—your name next to Yeonjun's on the screen.

"No," you exhale to yourself and rush out to the hall to avoid Yeonjun. "No, no, no."

Below the names explicitly states: No changes in the assigned pairs. It's too big of a coincidence for you to think it's just your bad luck—you're certain bribery is involved, and how lovely that you can't do anything about it.

You take pride in your intelligence, but you can't outsmart him in this situation, especially when your grades are being held over your head to force yourself to be around Yeonjun. Jungkook would get arrested for murder if you involved him in it, and he surely wouldn't leave you alone if you told him about it.

But then again, you promised—no more secrets.

You: good morning kookie!! i was a little busy so i couldn't text you :< did you sleep well?? <3

"Fuck, fuck," you shriek to yourself as you keep walking, not paying attention to where your feet are leading you. Just as long as you're safe from Yeonjun so Jungkook wouldn't find you with him. You need to tell him when the guy isn't around, so you need to wait until his lecture's over–

Yeonjun calls for your name softly while running past the roaming students, and you stop on your tracks with the desire to spit out every insult you have in mind to his face.

"You asshole!" you grit the moment he faces you while breathing heavily. "You planned this, didn't you? I said–"

"I-I'm sorry, but I had nothing to do with it," he pleads with that innocent expression of his. "I promise I-I won't act like before! I'll respect your relationship and stop being weird!"

"Good," you jab a finger at his chest as you seethe, "I don't want to spend any more time with you than I have to."

He frowns with a jutting bottom lip, looking like a kicked puppy as his eyes turn glossy. You are so mean, and he hates it, but his only leverage is that he can be meaner—not to you, never you, but to Jungkook. He's a step ahead of you, and you can shower him with all the bad words you can think of until you heart is content, but he sees it as just a step in the process of owning you.

You think he's submissive and persistent, but no, he's just manipulative.

—

"Don't get mad," you warily caution while lying down on the grass next to your boyfriend, basking in the sun to last the peaceful atmosphere a little longer. His arm is under your back and his hand on your chest as you hold it.

He has his eyes closed as he says, "no promises."

"We promised to tell each other everything, and there's nothing you can do about this one so please don't get mad at me." He quirks a brow when he opens his eyes to see your timid face. "Remember Yeonjun?"

"You have to be fucking kidding me," he groans angrily as he sits up, prompting you to do the same. "You talked to him, didn't you? I specifically fucking said–"

"Can you just listen?" you sigh. "We have a project together." His brows scrunch intimidatingly, making it harder to say what's on your mind. "And this is unrelated but... he brought a gift to my doorstep."

He doesn't say anything for a few seconds. "Is there anything more I should listen to? Are you done?"

"H-he said he'd stop acting weird and respect our relation–"

"Fucking bullshit. What, did he also say he just wants to be friends? That he's not interested in you anymore?"

"He didn't say that–"

"And you didn't tell the professor you wanted a different partner? Did you keep the gift too?" he sneers mockingly.

"Jungkook, I can't switch, and no I didn't keep the freaking gift," you defend, feeling offended. He can be so provocative when he's mad. It isn't even your fault! "I'm telling you, there's nothing I can do except to convince him to work together online. Isn't that better?"

He grabs your jaw and pulls you a little closer. His grip is bordering on painful and you hold back a wince. "Are you fucking hearing yourself? You can't even be around him and yet you're not allowed to switch? Listen to me. You go to that fucking professor, tell him this guy is harrassing you and that you can't work with him, and if they don't listen, you go the headmaster. You hear me?" he slightly jolts you to command an answer.

"Y-Yes, but–"

"Don't make any fucking excuses," he hisses and lets go of your face. "If you don't do something about it while I'm giving you the chance, then I will."

You hold onto your chin as you meekly question, "what will you do?"

"Things don't need to escalate," he shrugs as he lies back down. "I'll threaten him with my pocket knife and one wrong word from him, I'll use it."

"Like kill him?" you exclaim in shock.

He rolls his eyes. You take him too seriously sometimes. "No. Just send a message. Now go run off to your professor before I ask Yoongi to be my alibi."

[theskyeandsea]

When You Get What You Want... || Cutler & Skylar

Timing: Late January 19th,  shortly after this chatzy

Location: Clarke’s Convenience Store

Tagging: @clarkesconvenience & @theskyeandsea

Description: Skylar’s rampage around town continues; Cutler offers a helping hand.

Warnings: Drug use, addiction, body horror, memory loss, medical blood

Disoriented and covered in flour and blood, Skylar stumbled down the road away from the shop, a giddy smile still on her face as her feet began to skip across the pavement. She bounded down the road before turning abruptly, eyes caught by the displays in the window. Staggering forward, she pressed her fingers against the glass and the same sticking sensation filled her. The atoms and molecules and all the tiny parts of what made her a person shifted until she was crashing into the center of the convenience store. With a dazed grin on her face, Skylar began to push displays over. Blood trickled down the side of her face from her ear, a clean jagged section of her earlobe ripped free and stuck in the glass of the convenience store. She barely noticed as the liquid splattered across the clean floors while she shoved at the shelves. Cutler had been mentally preparing himself for a break-in since he had come home. It was bound to happen eventually, as it had for his parents several times over the course of his childhood. When it did, he would handle it the same way his parents had: with calm, slow movements and total compliance. 

It didn’t go that way. 

For one thing, he had expected it to happen while the shop was open and the money would still be in the register. Instead, the crashing sound of displays being toppled downstairs had awoken him in the early hours of the morning. The cool and collected man of his practiced break-in fantasies was quickly replaced with a groggy version of himself in a wrinkled t-shirt and boxers, squinting in the dim light. 

Slowly, he took in the scene before him in pieces. Spidery crimson tracks spilling down pale skin and dripping onto waxed tile, collapsed shelving units spilling all manner of dried goods onto the floor, and a familiar, crazed look behind wide, dark pupils. He had dealt with this many times in the ER. Well, maybe not this, exactly, but he knew intoxication when he saw it. His hand hovered over the light switch to his right and he called out before clicking the buzzing fluorescents on above them, “You need some help.” A statement, not a question; carried with the arrogant weight of medical school behind it. “I can patch that up for you.” 

Stepping on bags of spices, Skylar took particular joy in watching as the dried herbs crumbled under her shoes. She ran her hand along the shelves, knocking more and more of the goods onto the ground, blood dripping across the crinkly bags. And then, she realized she wasn’t alone. Someone had entered from the back of the shop. Skylar spun around to look at him, tilting her head at him quizzically. “Help? I don’t need help, I have all the help I need.” She said with a giddy smile on her face, her teeth bright and gleaming in the lowlight. “Don’t want patches, nope, I don’t need another patchwork skin, nuh uh.” She said to herself, rubbing the sores on her arms as she spoke. She could feel something leaking from the raw abscesses that dotted her legs, but the pain was like a distant memory, far far away from her right now.

Bright white light washed over the store, revealing the full extent of the damage. Product littered the floor under the shifting soles of his unsteady guest. Cutler dropped his hand from the light switch and walked forward, sidestepping the lentil spillage by his feet. “Uh huh.” The wheels in his mind ground against each other, desperately trying to wake up in time to process the finer details of the situation that wouldn’t come together. Sharpened teeth inside a lazy grin and his front door still locked and unbroken; pieces of a puzzle that refused to click. “Can I take a look?” The wounds on her body were various levels of depth and severity, ranging from dark and old to bright and fresh. The whip-sharp crack of a brown paper bag crinkling under his foot caused him to freeze in place. He stared, cautious and gentle, afraid she would startle like a wild animal. His hand extended slowly, pale pink underside raised to her in timid surrender. “I’m not gonna hurt you. You know it makes it worse when you scratch them.” His voice continued in a muted string of comforting sound, filling the space between them. “Nothing intensive. Just get something on that ear, stop the bleeding. Do a once over for breaks and fractures, maybe disinfect those sores. If it’s food you want, I can get you some of that, too.” 

Skylar watched as the man continued to walk towards her, slow, so slow. She didn’t want to slow down, she didn’t want to pause to stop and think and let all the thoughts she’d left behind catch back up to her. She just wanted to ride this wild, cresting high as far as it would take her and this man? No, no, no, he seemed like he’d put a stop to it. When he asked to look at her, Skylar squinted at him. “Why?” She asked. He took another step and then froze for some reason that she wasn’t quite sure of. There was a muffled sound, but she couldn’t tell what it was. Running her finger tips around her ears, Skylar remembered why. “Oh, that makes sense.” She said, tapping the place where her hearing aids normally rested. Focusing back on the man, she laughed. “You can’t hurt me, even if you wanted to. Even if I wanted you to,” Skylar paused, staring down at the blood that covered her. Looking up at him abruptly, she asked, “Do you think I need help?” Cutler watched her fingers lower from her ears, slick with blood. There was no alarm in her face as they came away, only a laugh that felt discordant and wrong. Even if I wanted you to. When her eyes met his, he felt his heart clatter against his ribcage with deafening irregularity. Something distinctly inhuman looked back at him. Or maybe it was the lack of something. “I do.” He replied, hoping his honesty would cut through the frenetic, animalistic energy to the person behind it. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know. Accepting help.” 

Another step toward her. She was almost within his reach now. He blinked slowly, a prayer running across the back of his eyelids: Please don’t fight me. “At the very least, let me get some gauze on that. You’re bleeding all over my floor.” His hand reached up and touched his own ear instinctively, brushing against his full intact earlobe. He ran his tongue across the flat backs of his own teeth, feeling the square edges. Hers were definitely unnatural. Modified, maybe. “I haven’t even asked your name. How rude of me.” A ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, echoing the grin he might have worn in lighter circumstances. “I’m Cutler. And you are?” 

He thought she needed help. But so had everyone else and that wasn’t what she’d wanted. Erin and Morgan and Leah and even Shiloh and Rio. They all said they wanted to help, but how could she know that? Skylar mulled over his words, tapping her fingers against her chin, ignoring the way the pads of her fingers stuck to her skin. All of them knew her, they all knew her and they knew what she was and who she was and even if they didn’t know why she was-- Skylar didn’t know why she was even though she could remember every pretty little pill she’d swallowed-- they knew what she should be. And this man didn’t. So maybe that made his help real. “Okay.” She said blithely, not realizing how much tension hung between the two of them. “Oh, but there is. Because people will help you and help you and help you and then one day, they leave. Because they’re too tired of putting up with all your shit and think it’s better to quit while they’re ahead.” She said earnestly. 

At the mention of his floors, Skylar glanced down to the mess of crushed herbs and ruined inventory that were spattered with a thick trail of blood. “Oh. Whoops. I have a lot,” She said with a nod, before gesturing around at the mess. “Of blood. Lots of blood. This is… probably okay.” She said with a shrug. Squinting at him, Skylar repeated his name. “Cut-ler.” She let out a slight giggle, wondering where her knife had gone. Cutler. She could make that literal. “I’m Skylar.” She said, before looking expectantly at him. “So, are you going to help me not bleed all over your floors?”

Cutler listened intently. Someone had hurt this girl, and he didn't intend to be the next in the long line of grievances she had suffered. "If people desert you, that's their shame. Not yours." The contempt in his voice bled through and he swallowed it back down into his stomach. "I'm not going anywhere."

He followed her gaze down to the floor, and back up to her nonchalant shrug. "That's me. You ever go by Sky? I've gone by Cut to my friends." His mouth moved on it's own, giving his mind a chance to catch up with the unreality of the situation. 

"It is a lot of blood, huh. Whooole lotta blood. Still limited supply, though." A deep sigh shot downward as his hands drifted to the resting spot on his hips where his apron drawstrings usually hung. He focused his gaze back on Skylar, unwilling to think about the cleanup he was going to have to do later. Alone, of course. No insurance company is gonna cover an illegal surgery. "Let's get something on that. I've got supplies back here. Gauze and tape and uh, all sorts of stuff. You need a hand?" 

Shrugging, Skylar’s mind wandered to all the people she’d loved, who’d left this place, who’d left her behind because they had to go. Nic and Winston and Remmy, they’d left. They hadn’t abandoned her, not the way Ricky and her parents had, but they’d left this town and they’d left her too. “Sometimes people leave and that’s just what happens. And then you’re left trying to figure out who you were without them.” Skylar said with a nod. 

“S-K-Y-E, yup. Just friends, though.” She said as she followed behind him, her footprints leaving thick smears against the linoleum flooring of the shop. At his question, she shook her head vigorously. “I don’t want a hand, nope, nope. Got two right here, don’t need more.” She said. “One of my friends kept losing their hands, but now they’re gone.” Skylar said, mostly to herself. “Gone, gone, gone.”

Cutler led the way to the back of the store, propping the EMPLOYEES ONLY door open with a coffee can of ice salt. “Alright, no hands. No problem.” Beyond the crack of the door, a grey cement room stared back at them, devoid of all the usual upholstery; no shelving, or paint, or tiling. The floor sloped ever so slightly downward, puckering at a large metal drain. Under the naked bulbs above him, he knelt to root through a box, pulling out various medical supplies and glancing over every so often to assess the damage. 

“Skylar.” He called back, tendons in his neck jumping with the strain. “What hurts? Can you tell me if anything hurts inside?” As he ambled back toward her, his gaze shifted from sympathetic to critical, mind kicking into higher gear. Silicon gloves rolled down his wrists and his hand paused inches from her lesioned arm, waiting for permission. “Is there any point in me telling you to get rest after this?” 

Skylar hadn’t been in the back rooms of many stores before, but she had a feeling that they didn’t look much like this. Staring around as he began to pull things out of a box, Skylar’s attention dropped back to the floor as she watched droplet after droplet of greyish red splash against the tile. They began to form a small trickle, flowing down, down, down the drain. At Cutler’s words, Skylar looked up and looked at him. “Nothing hurts. Nope, nope, can’t feel anything.” She said and, to prove it, she reached up with her fingers and grasped the chunk of her ear and pulled on it. Blood ran down her fingers, but she didn’t flinch because there wasn’t any pain to feel. It was all just light and bright and nothing at the same time. Holding out her arms, she shrugged. “I can rest. Sometimes I lie down in the woods for hours and hours.” She replied.

Cutler's lips parted in protest, too late to stop her from tugging on her ear. They came back together in a constricted wince. Crimson slick coated her hand and he redirected his attention from her unusual lesions to the fresh tear beside her face. "Okay. Alright. Let's clean this up." His voice was robotically measured, practiced bedside matter. Whether he was trying to steady her or himself, he wasn't entirely sure. "No pain is good. This still might sting, though. Let me know if you want me to stop."

The act of cleaning a wound is intimate by necessity. In close quarters, he could see the rise and fall of her chest below him and the heat of her skin under the sanitizing pad. He afforded her a gentle smile. It didn't say everything he wanted to say; that he too, had lain for hours in the forest while intoxicated. That he has, on more than one occasion, injured himself while drunk and mercifully felt no pain. Instead, he opted for a subtler approach. "Mhm. That sounds nice. Peaceful. Stay still for me if you can, Skylar." The skin of her neck started to become visible as he fastened a series of bandages to the area and wiped away the gore with soft, consistent movements. "Do you know what you took?"

Skylar was barely aware of the gauze pressed against her face. She could smell the sharp of the alcohol as it was used to clean her wounds, but the moment it touched her flesh, it felt like nothing at all. There was no pain, there was no pressure, there wasn’t even hot or cold. Her entire existence was just the manic thrum of excitement and giddy happiness that she had no control over. “Nope, it doesn’t hurt. You can keep doing your stuff.” She said and let Cutler wash away the blood. Sitting still was hard, but she managed it, even as her fingers felt like they wanted to sink into the nearest wall. She couldn’t do that, no, he wanted her to stay still. And he was helping her.

“Oh, it’s really nice. Really, really nice. Sometimes I’d just stay out there for days and days, because it was better than having to feel. But this, this is even better than that. Because I’m just so happy. So, so happy. I’ve never felt this happy before.” Skylar said breathily. At his question, Skylar grinned, remembering the way the pills had looked in the palm of her hand, the way the smoke had burned in her lungs, the soft burn of the Bliss as it ran through her veins. “Some pills, something in a cigarette, a mushroom or three and lots and lots of Bliss.” She said, her expression dreamy as she thought about the box of “supplies” she had stashed away back in her room. 

Cutler concentrated on not letting his concern bleed through his expressions as he listened, resisting the downturn of his mouth and darkening of his brow. His hands moved from wound to wound, adept at giving them exactly the amount of attention they needed before moving on. When he had addressed everything in his view, he extended the white bundle of gauze toward her. “If there’s anywhere else. Underneath your-I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” 

Of course he understood that sores don’t end at the boundaries of his patient’s clothing. It was more than likely that she had significant injuries that weren’t immediately visible. But she hadn’t come to him as a client, and he wasn’t about to start peeling clothing off a vulnerable woman, even to help her. “I need to make a quick call, anyhow. Do you mind?” His thumb was already swiping through a digital rolodex of old work contacts, distant friends, and exes. “I’ll be right over here, and you can call me if you need help. How does that sound?” 

Skylar didn’t notice the way that Cutler’s expression shifted, she was more focused on the way her fingers were wrapped in gauze. Already, she could see the tips of white beginning to darken as blood soaked through the cloth. What started out as pinpricks of color blossomed into thick circles and Skylar pressed her fingers against the side of the wall, watching as the blood spread through the gauze. As he handed her another roll of gauze, Skylar looked at it blankly for a moment before realizing what he was saying. That’s right, she had the gash-- a gaping slash, a gash-- on her side. Mm, she should take care of it.

With clumsy hands, Skylar slid her hands under her shirt and pressed the pad of gauze against her bleeding side. It was hard wrapping the bandages around, but she managed it after a bit of effort. At Cutler’s words, Skylar tilted her head. “What are you doing?” She asked, standing back up, the world shifting around her as she did. Her head felt light, lighter than air, as her vision went black round the edges, but she didn’t care. Taking a step forward, Skylar shook her head. “Who are you calling?” Doctors? Hunters? People who’d poke her, prod her, hurt her, kill her? No, no, no. 

Cutler’s eyes only flicked down to his hand for a moment, enough to dial but not enough time for his impromptu patient to injure herself further. He hoped. Next to his ear, the phone rang out. Once, twice. In his periphery, Skylar wrapped the gauze around her body. She looked strangely fragile in the unshaded bulbs; white fluorescents piercing sickly pale skin to sharp bone underneath. “I’m just making a call.” His chin tilted upward, speaking away from the still-ringing cell. Before he could come up with a lie that she would accept-not that he thought he had one ready-the soft click over the phone alerted him to the presence of someone on the other end. 

He shifted away slightly, hoping the broad slopes of his shoulders would shield the storage room from the soft words he was speaking into the phone. “Hi, it’s Cut. Sorry about the hour. Yeah, yeah, long time. Listen, I need a favour. Do you still work at the Crisis Response Unit? I’ve got a young woman here who’s in distress. No cops, she just needs-” He was interrupted by scuffling behind him, turning just in time to see Skylar getting to her feet. She swayed so slowly that the room seemed to tilt with her. “Skylar-” His protest died in his throat as she lurched forward with surprising intensity, causing him to take a mirroring step backward. She was substantially smaller than him, but something in her eyes caused his heart to leap to his throat. It took another step forward for him to recognize it. Hatred. “It’s just an old friend. She might be able to help you. Better than I can.” 

As the man turned his back on her, Skylar’s ears strained to pick up his hushed tones. She couldn’t pick up specifics, but her mind was already buzzing with possibilities of who was on the other line. Her eyes flicked around wildly, looking at the strange utensils that were laid out neatly on the table he’d taken her to. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she remembered that this was… a store. A shop in the center of town. With packets of chips and gum but also scissors and scalpels and gauze and gloves. Lips curling into a feral grimace, Skylar reached out and grabbed one of the shiny silvery tools from the table and pointed it at Cutler.

“Put down the phone.” Skylar said clearly, glaring at him while blood pounded in her ears. She could stab at him, plunge the tip of the scalpel into his chest over and over and over. She could lunge at him and bury her teeth into the soft flesh of his throat. She could rip him to pieces, she could hurt him, hurt him the way that Hunters wanted to hurt her. A trap, was this all a trap? “I don’t want your friend’s help-- I don’t, I don’t even want your help.” She sneered, tempted to rip the cotton gauze from her hands just to prove it to him. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I could. I could want to hurt you.” She said with another laugh, shaking her head. “So just, just put down the phone.”

The voice on the other end of the line began to rise into a higher register, tinny treble crackling through the rectangular mic at the bottom of the screen. “I’m completely fine. No one’s gonna hurt anyone here. Let me call you back.” Cutler spoke the words loudly and clearly, hoping the slight shaking his hand didn��t translate to his voice. Light flashed off the thin reflective blade of the scalpel. It was a tiny little thing, almost dwarfed in her white knuckle grip, but it could do serious damage. He knew that better than anyone. 

“I’m putting it down.” The phone clattered to the cement floor, sending a nervous jolt through his body. Nice, Cutler. “I don’t think-” His tongue felt heavy against his sticky-dry lips, struggling to form the words he wanted to say. “I don’t think you’re a bad person. And I don’t think you really want to hurt me. If you did, you would have done it by now, right? You’ve had plenty of chances.”

Skylar watched as the man spoke, her eyes trained on him. The lights were bright and sharp around the two of them and it made the scalpel in her fingers glimmer like quicksilver. Liquid in her fingers, she could let it flash out, once, twice, a hundred times, she thought. She could let it slither from her grasp and embed itself into the man’s body, she could watch the blood flow, so slow, down down down the drain. It would be so easy, so quick. A sliver of silver, a knife, a life. The dull thudding of the phone against the floor brought her back to her senses and Skylar nodded. “Yup, it’s down.” She said before kicking out a foot, sending the phone skittering away.

“I could, I could. Everyone could. Everyone wants to hurt people, everything’s only ever wanted to hurt me. Why shouldn’t I hurt someone else? Why shouldn’t I be just like them?” Skylar asked, though the scalpel was already lowering in her hand. She didn’t want to. She didn’t really want to do that. Her arms felt weary, heavier than they’d felt in… well, she couldn’t remember. But the weight of the sharp blade in her fingers felt as though it was dragging her to the floor, pulling her down. “I never wanted to be like this.” She said gesturing to herself with the scalpel, hands waving wildly. “I thought I was normal. I thought everyone was normal. But it’s not and I’m not and I’m just some… thing. Some kind of monster.” Skylar said before letting out a watery laugh. Swiping at her face with her free hand, Skylar wondered when she’d started crying-- why was she even crying? There was nothing to be sad about, nothing to feel. “I-- I…” She stammered, shaking her head as she backed away towards the door she’d come from. Tossing the scalpel away, she looked at the man, mind caught between the urge to charge at him and to run far, far away from him. “I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you.” She said, shaking as she turned around and ran.

Cutler watched a thousand emotions pass over Skylar’s face in an instant. One well-placed slash with the scalpel in her hand and it could be over for him. The karmic balancing of the scales; a fitting end for him, maybe. But she wasn’t going to. He could see it even before her arm started to lower. She was at breaking point, tears overflowing their hitch-breath confines and words spilling out of her, stream-of-consciousness. “I know.” He said softly. And he did. He knew that she wouldn’t let him help. That she was leaving, and there was nothing he could do to stop her. “I know.” 

For a moment, it appeared as if she had changed her mind and decided to tackle him anyway and he tensed, ready to parry or dodge whatever she threw at him, including herself. At the last second, she pivoted, running by him in close quarters. A quicker man might have blocked the door. A stronger man might have reached a hand out to stop her as she passed. Cutler was neither of these things. Instead, he just watched her go.

[abusybuzzingbee]

Wendigo | Supernatural Season 1 Episode 2 Rewrite | Dean x Reader

A/N::: This is another reupload from my previous account under the same @. I hope you newcomers enjoy!

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Major Characters: Dean Winchester, Reader, Sam Winchester

Warnings: Canon level violence, language, Dean and the reader being assholes to each other

Word Count: 7,380

Summary: Post-Dean and the reader’s first big blowout fight, they’re still at each other’s throats, much to the disgruntlement of Sam.

Series Rewrite Masterlist

Season 1 Masterlist

You were sound asleep in the back of the Impala when you were rudely awakened by Dean slamming down on the car’s horn. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you groaned, squeezing your eyes shut as you blinked at the blinding sunlight. You slowly sat up and rubbed the sleep out of your eyes as Dean chuckled. 

“Morning, sunshine.”

“Fuck you.”

 Dean looked at you in the rearview mirror. “Aw, somebody’s grumpy.”

“I wouldn’t be if you would wake me up like a normal person.”

“But that’s not as fun,” he pouted. You could see a slight smirk tugging at his lips in the rearview mirror. 

“Asshole.”

“Bitch.”

“Guys,” Sam sighed. He turned to you. “You just woke up and you’re already fighting with him?”

“Yeah, Madelyn, take a joke,” Dean sneered like a bratty child.

“We’ll see how funny you think the joke is when I wake you up by banging pots and pans in your ears.”

“You don’t have pots and pans.”

“I’ll buy some just for the occasion, then.”

“Guys!” Sam shouted over you two.

“Sorry,” you muttered, lying back down across the smooth leather of the bench seat. 

“Nuh-uh,” Dean told you, stealing another glance at you in the rearview mirror, “Up. We’re almost there.”

“Where’s there?”

“Ranger’s station just outside of Blackwater RIdge,” Sam answered for his brother.

“Ranger’s station?”

“Uh, that’s what he just said,” Dean cut in.

“Fuck off, Dean. You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, he does, he’s just being an ass. Blackwater Ridge is in the middle of a forest.”

“Oh...” you trailed off. “And your dad would be there because...?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “If we knew, we wouldn’t be out here, would we?”

You scoffed. You didn’t want to admit that he was right.

***

You and the boys walked into the Lost Creek Ranger’s Station. You took in the various pictures of dead grizzly bears and their hunters adorning the walls, as well as the giant three-dimensional map in the center of the room. In the far right corner stood a desk, and to the left of that desk was a hallway that led to other rooms in the station. 

Sam immediately took interest in the three-dimensional map, speaking as he looked over it. “So Blackwater Ridge is pretty remote.” You watched as he hovered his pointer and index finger over the map, pointing at the different physical features as he spoke about them. “It's cut off by these canyons here, rough terrain, dense forest, abandoned silver and gold mines all over the place.”

“Dude, check out the size of this freaking bear,” Dean called to his brother from behind you and Sam. You turned, seeing Dean focused on one of the many pictures of the grizzlies with their hunter.

“Would it kill you to focus for a second?” you deadpanned. 

You heard Dean take in a breath to respond, but he was cut off by a voice coming from behind you. 

“You kids aren't planning on going out near Blackwater Ridge by any chance?”

Startled, you whipped around to see a park ranger standing there.

The younger Winchester came up with a lie in a flash. “Oh, no, sir, we're environmental study majors from UC Boulder, just working on a paper.”

Dean grinned and raised a fist. “Recycle, man.”

‘What the fuck, Dean.’

“Bull.”

‘Ha,’ you thought, ‘I knew he wouldn’t buy it.’

“You're friends with that Haley girl, right?”

You stepped out in front of the two boys. “Yeah, sorry about all this.”

“It’s no trouble,” the ranger replied. “But I’ll tell you exactly what we told her. Her brother filled out a backcountry permit saying he wouldn't be back from Blackwater until the twenty-fourth, so it's not exactly a missing persons now, is it?”

You shook your head. 

“You tell that girl to quit worrying, I'm sure her brother's just fine.”

“We will,” you told him.

The older Winchester spoke up from behind you as he moved to stand by your right side. “That Haley girl's quite a pistol, huh?”

The ranger chuckled. “That is putting it mildly.”

“Actually you know what would help is if I could show her a copy of that backcountry permit. You know, so she could see her brother's return date.”

The ranger eyed Dean curiously but ended up giving him the paper nonetheless.

The three of you walked out of the ranger’s station, Dean holding the permit and laughing to himself. 

“What, are you cruising for a hookup or something?” Sam questioned his brother pointedly.

“What do you mean?”

“The coordinates point to Blackwater Ridge, so what are we waiting for? Let's just go find Dad. I mean, why even talk to this girl?” Sam pressed.

Dean stopped on the opposite of the Impala from you and Sam, placing his hands on the hood of the car. “I don't know, maybe we should know what we're walking into before we actually walk into it?” Dean watched his brother strangely.

“What?”

“Since when are you all shoot first ask questions later, anyway?”

“Since now.” And with that, Sam opened the door and slid into the car. 

“Really?” Dean asked more to himself than anything, shaking his head.

***

You rapped your knuckles against the door of the Collins house. When a pretty girl’s face appeared at the door, Dean swept you to the side with his arm, stepping in front of you. 

“Hey!” you exclaimed. 

Dean ignored you, speaking over your small exclamation. “You must be Haley Collins. I'm Dean, this is Sam, that’s (Y/N), we're rangers with the Park Service. Ranger Wilkinson sent us over. He wanted us to ask a few questions about your brother Tommy.”

Haley studied you all carefully, hesitating. “Lemme see some ID,” she finally said.

Dean pulled out his fake ID and held it up to the screen door. The brunette examined it closely, her eyes flicking from the card to Dean. She opened the door a moment later. “Come on in.”

“Thanks,” you told her. 

As the door swung open, you noticed Haley checking out the Impala. 

“That yours?” she asked Dean.

“Yeah,” he smiled.

“Nice car.”

Haley turns to lead you three into her home. You watched Dean as he mouthed, ‘Oh, my god,’ to Sam, who shook his head and rolled his eyes. 

“If all he does is eye-fuck her this whole hunt, I’m gonna scream,” you whispered to the younger Winchester as you walked into the Collins’ kitchen.

“Yeah, me too,” he whispered back.

You turned your attention from Sam to Haley, who grabbed a bowl off of the countertop. “So if Tommy's not due back for a while, how do you know something's wrong?”

Haley walked back to the table where a teenage boy sat playing mindlessly with his fork. She placed the soup bowl on the table. “He checks in every day by cell. He emails, photos, stupid little videos—we haven't heard anything in over three days now.”

“Well, maybe he can't get cell reception,” Sam proposed.

“He's got a satellite phone, too.”

“Could it be he's just having fun and forgot to check in?” Dean questioned.

“He wouldn't do that,” the teenager snapped, surprising you. He looked down in embarrassment and grabbed the ladle out of the soup bowl.

Haley placed more dishes on the table. “Our parents are gone. It's just my two brothers and me. We all keep pretty close tabs on each other.”

“Can I see the pictures he sent you?” Sam asked her. 

“Yeah,” she answered. She grabbed her laptop and pulled up the pictures her brother sent her. 

“That’s Tommy,” she pointed out, gesturing to a young man with a bright smile on his face, sitting next to another guy you assumed to be a friend of his.

She clicked through another photo before stopping on the still frame of a video. She played the message for you and the boys. 

“Hey Haley, day six, we're still out near Blackwater Ridge. We're fine, keeping safe, so don't worry, okay? Talk to you tomorrow,” Tommy told his sister.

You noticed something flick past in the background during Tommy’s speech. You turned your head to Sam, who seemed to have noticed it, too.

“Well,” the older Winchester started, “we'll find your brother. We're heading out to Blackwater Ridge first thing.”

“Then maybe I'll see you there,” she replied.

You quirked a brow at her.

“Look, I can't sit around here anymore. So I hired a guy. I'm heading out in the morning, and I'm gonna find Tommy myself.”

“I think I know how you feel,” Dean told her. He was watching her closely.

‘Damn, he’s really going for it,’ you thought. 

“Hey, do you mind forwarding these to me?” Sam asked Haley.

“Sure.” 

***

“You wanna talk about me whoring around with my puppy-dog eyes,” you scoffed as you and the boys walked back to the car after exiting the Collins’s house.

“What?” Dean questioned. 

“She’s hot, you obviously were trying to get in her pants in there,” you shrugged. You did your best impersonation of Dean’s voice. “All, ‘I know how you feel,’ and shit.” 

The three of you got into the car. 

“Oh, come on, (Y/N). We dished that out two weeks ago. And I’m just sympathizing with her, not trying to hook up with her.” Dean started up the car, pulling it away from the front of the Collins’s house. 

“I’m sure,” you deadpanned.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know.” You crossed your arms and stared out of the window, slumping down in your seat. 

“God, you are such a bitch.”

“And you’re a dick.”

“Know-it-all.”

“Man whore.”

“Guys, enough,” Sam begged.

The car went silent. 

***

You were sat next to Sam opposite Dean at a table within a dingy bar. Activity swarmed all around you. Busty waitresses carried trays, guys were going after their flavor of the week, and the buzz of talking and laughing in the building never stopped. 

You took a sip of your beer as Sam spoke. “So, Blackwater Ridge doesn't get a lot of traffic. Local campers, mostly. But still, this past April, two hikers went missing out there. They were never found.” 

“Any before that?” you asked.

The younger Winchester pulled newspaper articles from his dad’s journal to show to you and Dean.

“Yeah,” the brunet started, “in 1982, eight different people all vanished in the same year. Authorities said it was a grizzly attack--” Sam pulled out his laptop, “--And again in 1959 and again before that in 1936.” He opened his laptop which already had the window of Tommy’s video pulled up. “Every twenty-three years, just like clockwork. Okay. Watch this. Here's a clincher. I downloaded that guy Tommy's video to the laptop. Check this out.” He clicked through the three frames in which you saw the shadow appear earlier one by one.

“Do it again,” Dean told his brother, his brow furrowing in concentration.

Sam did so. “That's three frames.”

“That's a fraction of a second,” you noted.

Sam nodded. “Whatever that thing is, it can move.”

Dean smacked his brother on the arm. “Told you something weird was going on.”

“Hey, check this out,” you told them, looking down at the newspaper in front of you. “In 'fifty-nine one camper survived this supposed grizzly attack. Just a kid. Barely crawled out of the woods alive.”

Dean quirked an eyebrow at you. “Is there a name?”

***

Mr. Shaw led you and the boys through his cluttered, dark house. He had one lamp on in his living room, glowing dimly and doing nothing to illuminate the room. The only reason you could see anything was the moonlight streaming in from the window.

The old man spoke around the cigarette hanging from his lips, his voice gravelly. “Look, ranger, I don't know why you're asking me about this. It's public record. I was a kid. My parents got mauled by a—”

“Grizzly? That's what attacked them?” Sam interrupted. 

Mr. Shaw took another puff of his cigarette and nodded.

“The other people that went missing that year, those bear attacks too?” Dean spoke up. 

Mr. Shaw hesitated.

“What about all the people that went missing this year? Same thing?”

Another momentary silence filled the room.

“If we knew what we were dealing with, we might be able to stop it,” Dean pressed further. 

“I seriously doubt that,” the old man shook his head. “Anyways, I don't see what difference it would make.” Mr. Shaw sat down in his plaid-printed chair. “You wouldn't believe me. Nobody ever did.”

“Try me,” you told him, your voice gentle. “What did you see?”

“Nothing. It moved too fast to see. It hid too well. I heard it, though. A roar. Like...no man or animal I ever heard,”  he told you.

“It came at night?” Sam asked.

The old man nodded. 

“Got inside your tent?”

“It got inside our cabin,” Mr. Shaw said, his face changing as he recollected the event. “I was sleeping in front of the fireplace when it came in. It didn't smash a window or break the door. It unlocked it.”

You quirked a brow.

“Do you know of a bear that could do something like that? I didn't even wake up till I heard my parents screaming.”

“It killed them?” you asked.

“Dragged them off into the night.” Mr. Shaw shook his head. “Why it left me alive...been asking myself that ever since.” The man wrapped his hand around his collar. “Did leave me this, though.” He pulled the collar down to reveal three gigantic claw marks. They looked like they had cut deep, as the scars were wide and raised above his skin. “There's something evil in those woods. It was some sort of a demon.”

***

You walked behind Dean and Sam down the hallway of your motel. Doors lined the dark, wooden walls. 

You were only half-listening to Dean and Sam’s conversation as you tried to figure out what the creature was. 

“Spirits and demons don't have to unlock doors. If they want inside, they just go through the walls,” Dean stated. 

“So it's probably something else, something corporeal.”

“Corporeal? Excuse me, professor.”

“Shut up. So what do you think?”

“The claws, the speed that it moves...could be a skinwalker, maybe a black dog. Whatever we're talking about, we're talking about a creature, and it's corporeal. Which means we can kill it.”

‘No, no, can’t be a skinwalker. The scar would’ve had four claw marks. Not to mention, puppy claws can’t cut that deep. Same thing with the black dogs,’ you thought as you completely tuned whatever the two brothers were talking about as you three walked outside. ‘Three long-ass claws, ridiculously fast, drags victims off to god knows where, left the little kid alive. Left the little kid alive... kid has less meat on his bones, parents will sustain him. Sustain... every twenty-three years... keeps food at the ready for twenty-three years til he needs more... drags ‘em off into the night...’ You stopped next to the boys by the Impala, still deep in thought as you stared off into space. ‘Too fast to see--’

Sam’s voice brought you out of your thoughts. “We cannot let that Haley girl go out there.”

Dean was loading guns and other weapons from the trunk into an army green duffel bag. “Oh yeah? What are we gonna tell her? That she can't go into the woods because of a big scary monster?”

“Yeah,” Sam stated as if it was obvious.

Dean gave an incredulous look to his younger brother. “Her brother's missing, Sam.” 

You reached into the trunk and grabbed two flare guns. 

“She's not gonna just sit this out-- (Y/N), hands to yourself,” he commanded, giving you a hard glare. “Now we go with her, we protect her, and we keep our eyes peeled for our fuzzy predator friend.” 

“Finding Dad’s not enough?” Sam questioned.

You continued rifling through the trunk and loading things you thought were useful into the bag as Sam spoke. “Now we gotta babysit too?”

Dean neglected to answer Sam’s question as he turned to you. His conversationalist tone he used with Sam completely shifted to hard as he spoke to you. “(Y/N), I thought I told you to stay outta my shit.”

“I’m helping,” you threw back at him. 

“No, you’re not, you’re pissing me off.”

“Well, I think I have a better idea of what the monster is then you do, and you’re picking up the wrong damn weapons. So, yes, I’m helping.”

“And what exactly do you think we’re dealing with?”

“A wendigo.”

“Right, because those are only up in the Minnesota woods, or Michigan, even. They’re not out this far west.” He spoke down to you, and you did not like that at all.

“First of all, I’m not a dumbass, so don’t treat me like one. Second of all, I thought about that. But what else makes claw marks like that? Or moves that fast? Or drags its victims off before killing them?”

Dean went to say something in retaliation, but he seemed to realize you might be right, even though he would never admit it. He turned away from you, shaking his head as he zipped up the duffel bag and slammed the trunk shut. “The two of you, man.” He walked off, but not before chucking the duffel bag at Sam. 

You stared after Dean for a moment before shaking your head and stomping off to your own motel room. 

***

You were slumped in the backseat, arms folded as you stared out of the window of the Impala’s backseat. You chomped down on some mint-flavored gum, enjoying listening to the music that played through the car.

“Can you stop chewing your gum like that?” Dean asked, aggravation clear in his voice.

Truly, you were not being that obnoxious with your gum chewing. Dean just wanted to get pissed at you for something, apparently. Out of spite, you chewed your gum a little louder, making sure your lips smacked together with every chew.

“Mature,” Dean deadpanned. You smirked at him in the rearview mirror.

He parked the car near the place where two other cars were parked. You noticed Haley and the teenage boy standing with another guy. Haley shook her head, clearly disappointed to see the three of you.

You grabbed your duffel bag off the floor of the backseat. You tossed the one for the Winchester brothers to Sam.

“You guys got room for three more?” you heard Dean ask the other group as you shut the back door of the Impala. 

“Wait, you want to come with us?” Haley inquired.

The older man that you assumed was the guy Haley hired was the next to ask a question. “Who are these guys?”

“Apparently, this is all the park service could muster up for the search and rescue,” Haley deadpanned.

“You're rangers?” the guy asked.

“That's right,” Dean nodded.

“And you're hiking out in biker boots and jeans?” Haley pressed.

Dean looked himself over. “Well, sweetheart, I don't do shorts.” Dean walked past Haley over to Sam, who had passed all of you to get a look at the forest. 

“What, you think this is funny?” the older man snapped. “It's dangerous backcountry out there. Her brother might be hurt.”

Dean turned back to the guide. “Believe me, I know how dangerous it can be. We just wanna help them find their brother, that's all.”

***

Your pack trekked on through the dense trees over dead, fallen leaves that covered the forest floor. You brought up the rear of the group, just behind Sam. Haley and her brother-- whose name you still did not know-- were in front of Sam and behind the other Winchester brother. The older man, whose name you discovered was Roy, led the group.

You noticed Dean and Roy having somewhat of a tense conversation, but did not bother paying close enough attention to their chat to hear what it was about. However, things got interesting for you when Roy grabbed Dean roughly by the arm. 

You watched Roy as he picked up a stick and poked at something on the ground that turned out to be a bear trap.

“You should watch where you're stepping. Ranger.”

You snickered at Roy’s comment.

“It's a bear trap,” Dean announced to the rest of you.

You shook your head, rolling your eyes as you did so. 

You continued your walk as you saw Haley jog up to Dean, who walked a few paces ahead. She spoke in a hushed tone, and you didn’t hear her from how far back you were. She grabbed his arm and spun him around to get him to stop walking.

Dean indicated to Sam to keep walking, so you followed Sam forward. You hummed to yourself as you kept going. You loved music, and so did your mother. She, like you, had a lovely singing voice. The two of you used to sing together when you were little. You were humming one of her favorites, “Dream a Little Dream of Me” by Ella Fitzgerald. 

“Hey, princess!” Dean called to you from a few paces behind. “Keep the humming for when we’re not being hunted by something that finds us by sound.”

“And you yelling at me isn’t gonna attract it?” you called back over your shoulder.

‘Dick,’ you thought.

“This is it. Blackwater Ridge,” Roy announced up ahead.

Sam asked about the coordinates, and as it turns out, they matched the ones John had sent to the brothers. 

Dean walked up to his younger brother, and you followed. “You hear that?” he asked Sam.

“Yeah. Not even crickets.”

“I'm gonna go take a look around,” Roy told the rest of your group.

“You shouldn't go off by yourself,” Sam warned him.

“That's sweet. Don't worry about me.” He waved his gun around to display it, pushing between you and Sam to get back in the lead of the group.

“All right, everybody stays together. Let's go,” Dean commanded.

After a few more minutes of walking, your group decided to have a look around. You noticed drag marks in the dirt, following them to the tattered remnants of a campsite. The tents had been torn open, one of them splattered with blood. Backpacks were destroyed, supplies scattered all over the place, and things from within the tent, like sleeping bags, ended up in pieces on the ground. 

“Haley?” you called to her.

She rushed over to you, letting out a breath when she saw the scene. 

“Oh my God.”

“Looks like a grizzly,” Roy said.

“Tommy?” Haley threw her backpack down and ran across the campsite, calling for her brother.

Sam shushed her, but she kept yelling Tommy’s name.

He shushed her again, a bit of bite to his tone.

“Why?”

“Something might still be out there.”

“Sam.” You pulled him away from Haley.

“Yeah?”

“I followed tracks in the dirt to find the camp. I assume those were made by the bodies when they got dragged away.”

Haley caught your attention when you saw her crying out of the corner of your eye. She had what you assumed was Tommy’s cell phone in her hand. 

Dean walked over to her, crouching down next to her. “Hey,” he said gently, “he could still be alive.”

‘It’s amazing how sweet he is with everyone else but me.’

You were pulled out of your thoughts by a man’s voice yelling for help. His voice was gravelly, almost raw from shouting.

Roy ran after the voice.

You grabbed Dean’s arm before he could run after the rest of the group.

“Dean, I don’t think that’s a--”

He shrugged you off of him, running after Sam and the rest of the pack anyway.

‘Dick.’

You decided it was best for you not to be alone while a wendigo was on the loose, so you opted for running after the others. 

“It seemed like it was coming from around here, didn't it?” Haley asked as you reached your group. They were looking around for the source of the voice but found nothing. 

“Everybody back to camp,” you ordered.

You were the first to reach the campsite, noticing yours and Dean’s duffel bags missing, as well as Haley’s and Roy’s backpacks.

“Our packs!” Haley groaned.

“So much for my GPS and my satellite phone,” Roy commented.

“What the hell is going on?” Haley questioned.

“It's smart,” you informed them. “It wants to cut us off so we can't call for help.”

“You mean someone, some nutjob out there just stole all our gear,” Roy challenged.

“No, Roy, I mean ‘it,’“ you responded.

You grabbed Sam and Dean’s arms, pulling them away from the others. “I need to talk to you guys.”

“Fine,” Dean said, “but I can walk on my own.” He yanked his arm out of your grip.

“Now,” you started once you got a safe distance away from the others, “I’m not gonna say I told you so...” you trailed off.

“Fuck off, (Y/N).” He turned to Sam, raising his pistol in the air. “Well, then this is useless.”

“Yeah,” you started, pulling a flare gun out of the back of your jeans, “but this isn’t.”

“Is that mine?” Dean asked.

“Yup,” you stated, popping the ‘p.’

“I thought I told you to stay outta my shit.”

“And I thought I told you that I knew what we were hunting. But ya didn’t listen to me then, did you? So why should I listen to you?”

“Gimme that,” Dean groaned, ripping the gun out of your hands.

“Hey!”

“We gotta get these people to safety,” Sam prompted, hoping to end the fighting.

You shoved Dean with your shoulder, and he shoved you back as you headed back to camp.

 “All right, listen up, it's time to go. Things have gotten...more complicated.”

Haley seemed slightly offended at the mere suggestion. “What?”

“Kid, don't worry,” Roy piped up. “Whatever's out there, I think I can handle it.”

“It's not me I'm worried about. If you shoot this thing, you're just gonna make it mad. We have to leave. Now,” Sam explained.

Roy stepped a little closer to Sam. “One, you're talking nonsense. Two, you're in no position to give anybody orders.”

“Relax,” you told the two men presently competing in a glare-off. 

“We never should have let you come out here in the first place, all right? I'm trying to protect you,” Sam pushed back.

The older man got right up into Sam’s face. “You protect me?” he laughed. “I was hunting these woods when your mommy was still kissing you good night.”

“Yeah? It's a damn near perfect hunter. It's smarter than you, and it's gonna hunt you down and eat you alive unless we get your stupid, sorry ass out of here.”

Roy laughed again, venom dripping from his tone. “You know you're crazy, right?”

“Yeah? You ever hunt a wen—” Dean shoved Sam away from Roy, silencing him.

Haley went after Roy, trying to calm him down. 

“Chill out, alright?” you told Sam.

“Stop. Stop it,” Haley demanded. “Everybody just stop. Look. Tommy might still be alive. And I'm not leaving here without him.”

A silence settled over all of you before Dean spoke up. “It's getting late. This thing is a good hunter in the day, but an unbelievable hunter at night. We'll never beat it, not in the dark. We need to settle in and protect ourselves.”

“How?” Haley questioned.

***

You were drawing Anasazi symbols in the dirt, using the dim firelight coming from behind you to see what you were doing in the dark of night. 

You noticed Sam sitting alone on a fallen tree by the edge of the campsite. Dean made a comment about Roy’s skepticism about your whole situation before heading over to Sam. They seemed to be having a deep conversation, so you left them alone for a little bit.

You stood at the sound of a twig snapping, reaching for the flare gun, only to remember that Dean had it.

‘Dick.’

“Help!” the wendigo cried.

"He's trying to draw us out,” Dean told everyone, “Just stay cool, stay put.”

“Inside the magic circle?” Roy questioned, tone filled to the brim with sarcasm as he scanned the tree line.

“Help! Help me!” it tried one more time. When it realized none of you were coming after it, it growled.

“Okay, that's no grizzly,” Roy finally admitted, pointing his gun at the sound.

Haley was attempting to keep her younger brother calm as something rushed through the bushes right behind her. She let out a shriek as Roy shot at the rustling. And then again, he shot.

“I hit it!” the older man exclaimed, running to see what he hit.

‘Coconuts and tobacco,’ you thought as the scents filled your nose. You sprinted after Roy, yelling for him to stop. 

“It's over here! It's in the tree!” he yelled. 

You got there just in time to see the wendigo reach down for Roy. You leaped into action, grabbing onto Roy’s foot as the wendigo began pulling Roy upwards. You planted your feet in the ground under the roots of the tree, pulling as hard as you could, but the wendigo gave a hard yank and pulled you off of the ground, too. You knew there was nothing more you could do for Roy, and due to the fact that Roy hadn’t been screaming during that tug-of-war session, you assumed he was dead.

You dropped to the ground, landing flat on your ass. 

Dean and Sam ran up just as you stood up and dusted your pants off. 

“It would’ve helped if I would’ve had the damn flare gun just now, Dean,” you scolded him. “I could’ve killed it and saved Roy, too.”

Sam figured another argument was about to ensue, so he went back to the camp to check on Haley and Ben. 

“Well, maybe don’t be so reliant on me to have all of your guns for you. Get your own damn flare gun, and stay outta my stuff,” he threw back.

“Why does it matter to you so much? We’re a team now, we work together. Basically, we all have joint custody over each others’ weapons,” you argued.

“No,” Dean said gruffly, “we are not a team. You... are a stowaway. I don’t even know why you’re here! You don’t know our dad. Hell, you barely know us.”

“I stuck around because I cared and I wanted to help! You’re an asshole, but Sam’s my friend. So forgive me if I’m just trying to be supportive of someone who’s just lost his girlfriend.”

“Whose death you seemed to have predicted. I’m not ruling out the possibility that you didn’t somehow kill her.”

“Kill her? Are you hearing yourself right now, Dean? I was with you and Sam the whole time, how could I have killed her?” You stared at him incredulously as he ran a hand through his hair.

“How the hell else would you have known to turn the car around before Sam’s apartment got deep-fried?”

“First of all, that’s none of your business. Second of all, I had nothing to do with Jessica’s death.”

“I think it is my business,” he stated firmly, stepping closer to you.

“Too bad, dickhead. Let’s head back to camp before we kill each other.” You sidestepped him, storming away. 

***

You refused to sleep that night, too busy keeping watch over the camp and too uncomfortable to sleep inside one of the destroyed tents like the rest of your crew did. It felt disrespectful to you. 

You hugged your knees, resting your head on top of them against a tree near the outskirts of the “magic circle” as Roy had called it.

‘Roy.’

You felt so guilty for his death. He was a douchebag, but you still didn’t want him to die. 

‘If only Dean wasn’t a dickbag and let me keep the gun, Roy would be alive right now.’

You stood up, pacing around the area, trying to keep yourself awake. You yawned, rubbing a hand over your eyes.

“Why don’t you get some sleep,” Dean murmured in your ear.

You inhaled sharply, jumping away from him. “Dammit, Dean,” you breathed. “You scared the shit outta me.”

“I meant to.” You could see the smirk on his face barely illuminated by the pale moonlight shining through the trees. 

“You’re a dick, and I’m fine. I can’t sleep in those tents.”

“Well, sorry we don’t have a cabin for you, princess,” Dean sassed.

"It’s not about a cabin, Dean. It’s about the fact that the people who used to sleep in them might be dead,” you responded. 

A silence fell between the two of you.

“Well if you’re not gonna sleep, I am,” he told you, for the first time since you had met him speaking without an edge to his voice. He walked back over to the tents. 

‘What a weird dude.’

***

Morning came around, all of your group members minus Roy assembled in the clearing. You were dog tired, but you needed to power through the day. You sat next to Sam beneath the same tree you occupied last night, leaning your head back against its trunk. Sam held his dad’s journal in his hand, pulling at a lanyard attached to it. 

You were watching Haley, Dean, and Ben having a conversation about the wendigo and its origins when Sam spoke up.

“Did you sleep at all last night?” he asked you.

“No,” you groaned, squeezing your eyes shut.

Sam shook his head, chuckling at you. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I know you weren’t asleep either.” You rolled your head toward him.

He turned to look at you.

“I could hear you tossing and turning all night.”

Sam looked back down, playing with the lanyard again. “C’mon,” he finally said softly, “we should get going.”

He stood, extending his hand to pull you up.  You gladly took it, walking over to Dean and the Collinses. 

You noticed an empty beer bottle, a white cloth, and a lighter among the supplies scattered about the camp. 

“What are you doing?” Dean asked.

“Well, since you staked your claim over the flare gun, I get a Molotov cocktail.”

“Bringin’ that up again are we?” Exasperation was clear in his tone.

“Mm-hmm.” You shoved the cloth into the mouth of the bottle.

“Guys--” Sam butted in. “Focus, please.”

“I am focused!” you protested. “And productive. See?” You held up the lighter and the cocktail. 

“Impressive. You put a towel in a bottle.”

“You know what, Winchester--”

“Will the both of you stop?” You and Dean turned to look at Haley. “We gotta find Tommy. Now let’s go.”

The five of you started off, heading in the direction of the drag marks. They circled around the camp and stopped deeper into the woods. You and Dean walked side by side at first, before you noticed how close the two of you were. You sped up your walk, getting slightly ahead of him. Dean noticed what you were doing and walked in front of you, too. The two of you got angrier with each time one passed the other, and you noticed the two of you were leading the group. Everyone else had just let you through. You spotted something out of the corner of your eye, your angry expression softening. 

“Claw marks,” you noted, looking at the bloody ones on the tree in front of you.

“Yeah, no shit,” Dean chided.

“Dean--”

“Okay,” Sam said, dragging out the ‘o.’ 

You and Dean glared at each other but kept moving through the forest behind Sam.

A few minutes of walking had passed when you heard a chomping noise coming from behind you. You turned around to see Dean holding his bag of peanut M&Ms.

“Seriously?” you questioned monotonously.

“What?” he asked, mouth full of the chocolate candies. You slowed your walk, getting side-by-side with him.

“You’ve just had that the whole time and didn’t bother telling me?” You reached for the bag, but Dean snatched it away. “Hey!”

“Hands off my stuff.” He popped a few more into his mouth. “I think we've had a conversation about that before.”

“You sound like a grumpy old grandpa.”

“Dean,” Sam called, getting his attention.

Dean caught up to Sam, and you followed close behind. 

“What is it?” the older Winchester questioned.

Dean and Sam looked around the clearing you were in at all of the bloody claw prints marking the trees.

“You know, I was thinking, those claw prints, so clear and distinct. They were almost too easy to follow.”

A grin spread across your face as you snatched the bag of M&Ms out of the arms of a distracted Dean.

“Hey!”

You laughed, shoving a few in your mouth. You were silenced by a growl coming from above you. You held your Molotov cocktail in one hand and your lighter in the other, the bag of candy now tucked under your arm. 

You pulled your eyes from the tree leaves when Haley shrieked. You turned around and saw her scrambling to her feet and Roy’s body on the ground. 

Dean bent down and looked Roy over. “His neck's broke.”

A growl came from directly behind you. 

You sprinted further into the woods, yelling for the others to follow your lead. You took the M&Ms from under your arm before they fell, holding those in your left hand and the cocktail and lighter in your right.  

You turned your head around to check for the rest of your group, but you saw only Haley a few paces behind you. You did a double-take, yelling for Sam, when you slammed into something hard. You fell flat on your back, looking up into the face of the Wendigo. 

Haley screamed as the Wendigo grabbed you both, one in each hand. It had you by your leg, and you had managed to hold onto the M&Ms but not the cocktail when you fell. You ripped the bag all the way open with your teeth, dropping the candies as the Wendigo sprinted through the woods. You lifted your head up to see a miner’s cave a little ways off in the distance before the Wendigo carelessly rammed your head into a tree, knocking you out cold. 

***

“(Y/N)?”

You could barely hear Dean’s voice through the haze that seemed to cloud your senses.

“(Y/N)? Wake up.” 

You opened your eyes, blinking a few times. You noticed Dean’s hands on either side of your face, slightly squishing your cheeks together.

“Aren’t you a little short for a stormtrooper?” you let out, your voice a little deeper and gravelly. 

“I am not short,” Dean grumbled as he began cutting you down.

Despite your still foggy state of mind, you found it within yourself to go through another argument with Dean. “Oh, come on, Dean. It’s a Star Wars reference--” Dean helped you down, tossing your arm over his shoulder. “--Don’t take it so seriously. And I can walk on my own, thank you.” You ripped your arm out of his grip, immediately stumbling as you took your first step.

“No, you can’t.” The older Winchester grabbed you again, putting your arm back around his shoulders. 

You groaned in pain as Dean set you down against the wall of the cave. 

“You okay?” Sam asked you.

“Yep. Yep. All good,” you groaned, trying to sound convincing. “Where is it?”

“He's gone for now,” Sam told you.

“Cut him down!” you heard Haley order. You looked over to see her standing next to Tommy, who was hanging from a meat hook by his wrists like you were. 

Sam and Dean rushed to help Tommy. 

You rolled your head to the side to see your group’s bags sitting in the corner. 

“Sweet,” you muttered, instantly perking up. You crawled over to them, grabbing yours and standing.

“Dean come get your shit since you don’t want me touching it.”

“Not a good time for this, (Y/N),” Dean sighed.

“Well if I would’ve touched it, you would’ve started the fight.”

He rolled his eyes at you, picking up his bag while Ben and Haley helped their brother walk. 

“Dean, can I pretty please with sugar on top borrow a flare gun?” you asked, dramatically batting your eyes at him.

“Fine,” he grumbled. He dug around for the other one you had packed in his bag, handing it to you when he found it. 

“Wow. Didn’t think you’d actually give it to me.”

“I hope you know how to use that thing.”

“Oh, puh-lease, I learned to use a gun before I learned my ABC’s.”

Dean shook his head. “Let’s just go.”

Your pack traveled down the mine train corridor, fear filling all of your hearts when a growl came from somewhere within the mine.

“Looks like someone's home for supper,” Dean commented.

“We'll never outrun it,” Haley stated.

Dean looked back at his brother. “You thinking what I'm thinking?”

“Yeah, I think so,” he sighed.

“Uh, he is, but I’m not,” you piped up.

Dean ignored you. “All right, listen to me. Stay with (Y/N) and Sam. They’re gonna get you out of here."

“What are you gonna do?” Haley questioned.

Dean winked at her and started walking. “Chow time, you freaky bastard!” he yelled. “Yeah, that's right, bring it on, baby, I taste good.”

You could hear him continuing to yell, but he was too far away at that point to make out what he was saying.

“All right, come on! Hurry!” Sam urged, leading the Collinses down the tunnel.

You got behind the family, your back facing Tommy’s, pointing your flare gun down the tunnel. 

You heard growling coming from within the mine. 

“Get him outta here,” you ordered Haley and Ben.

“(Y/N), no,” Haley protested.

“Go! Go! Go!” Sam pushed them.

“Come on, Haley!”

Her younger brother’s words finally got the brunette to leave and continue helping Tommy limp down the mine corridor.

You were poised to shoot, staring down into the darkness of the mine shaft. “Come on, you bitch,” you muttered under your breath.

The monster crept up from the shadows, catching you off-guard. You still landed a solid shot with the flare gun, watching the monster go up in flames. 

You scrunched your nose in disgust at the smell of its burning flesh but took satisfaction in watching the son of a bitch disappear. 

When all that remained of the wendigo were ashes, you could see Dean standing opposite you in the corridor.

“And you didn’t wanna trust me with a flare gun,” you commented, smiling proudly.

“Can it, (Y/N).”

***

You observed the scene around you as the EMT before you tended to your brush burns and cuts.

Sam and Ben were talking to the police, describing the “grizzly attack” they had just experienced.

Dean was leaning on the hood of his car and Haley stood in front of him. At one point in their conversation, Haley kissed Dean’s cheek, making a wide grin spread across his face. 

Sam came up behind Haley with Ben, and she put her arm around her younger brother’s shoulders. She said something to Sam before yelling to you, “Thanks (Y/N)!”

You nodded at her, smiling. 

“You’re all good,” the EMT said to you.

“Thank you so much.”

You walked over to the Impala.

“Man, I hate camping,” you heard Dean say as you got closer to the two brothers.

“Me too,” the younger of the two responded.

“Me three.”

The ambulance carrying the Collinses drove away behind you, its sirens blaring through the quiet of the night.

“Sam,” the older Winchester started, “you know we're gonna find Dad, right?”

“Yeah, I know.” He paused. “But in the meantime? I'm driving.”

Dean tossed his brother the keys.

“Aw, man. I wanted a turn,” you whined.

“Uh-uh, missy. It’s taken twenty-two years for him to let me drive. You got a long ways to go,” the younger of the two brothers smirked.

“Damn.” You climbed into the backseat, feigning hurt. “Someday.”

“How ‘bout ‘never,’” Dean quipped.

“I like ‘someday’ better.”

“Well, it’s not happening, so you can forget it--”

“Guys!”

Tags are open! Feedback is always appreciated!

Series Rewrite Tags:

@rach5ive​ @ppeachygemss​

[justlookatthosesausages]

Prompt cause I can’t stop thinking of the art that was done: Anna has a horrible day with queen issues and she just needs Elsa to snuggle with her and calm herself down?

(A day? Hon let’s make it more angsty, shall we? Rise it to a week.)

=======

“It’s good to catch up with you guys.” Grinned Elsa. 

Kristoff petted Sven’s nose after feeding him a carrot. “And it’s good catching up with you too!” He said in Sven’s voice. 

The blonde chuckled. Kristoff cleared his throat and added: “It’s true, you know. Sven missed you as well.”

The reindeer nodded, and Elsa bent her head in awe. Olaf turned to Elsa, still bouncing in joy to see her. “Anna missed you even more. Like, a huge lot.”

“It’s been a long week for all of us, I see.” Smiled Elsa. “She hasn’t even got the time to send me a letter since last Friday.”

“She didn’t?” Briskly said Kristoff, and his eyes had widened. He exchanged a glance with Olaf, and their happy faces had suddenly faded. 

“Oh.” Simply muttered the snowman. 

“What?” Asked Elsa, and worry started to form in her. “What is going on?”

“Nothing bad happened”, assured Kristoff, who knew his sister-in-law’s natural stress too well. “She’s just… Very busy lately.”

Elsa stared at him. “…She hadn’t even send me a reminder for game night tonight. I mean, not that I forgot, I’m even early, but… Yeah, it’s not really her style.”

Olaf shook his head. “Nuh-uh.”

The Snow Queen gulped, trying to manage her worry. “Okay, I’ll see you later, I have to go check on her.”

“I thought you wanted to surprise her, and that’s why you came in the stables?”

“Yeah, didn’t you want to hide for when she’d go down and greet us after our day of ice harvesting?” Frowned Olaf. 

She looked at him with a sad face. “Say, did she come to greet you at least one evening this week?”

The three of them suddenly pouted and winced. “No.”

Blood ran cold in Elsa’s veins, and it wasn’t in the normal way. She immediately turned around and crossed the courtyard to the doors of the Arendelle castle. 

She ran so fast that she bumped over Gerda and slipped on the Great Hall’s floor. The servant grunted as Elsa grabbed the staircase railing at the last second to not fall.

“Careful! We just waxed the floor!” Gerda said to whoever just knocked to her. 

“Well, that explains it”, muttered Elsa, trying to calm down her heartbeat. 

She usually never slipped, especially on ice which she always walking on like regular ground, but here her ice sandals were sliding on the parquet like glass. 

Gerda widened her eyes when she recognized the familiar radiance of white who was facing her. 

“Elsa! It’s you!”

“Hi, Gerda.” Chuckled the blonde. “Sorry for coming in running. I know you hate it. I won’t run in the castle anymore, I promise.” 

The maid put her hands on her hips. “Always in a hurry for some reason. Anna really is rubbing off on you.” She said, shaking her head as the woman she knew since her birth smiled nervously in front of her. “Oh, she’s in her study, if you’re looking for her.” Gerda added, one thought joining another. “She… She’s been quite busy lately.”

“So I’ve heard.” Gulped Elsa, and she was about to run the stairs two by two, but restrained herself right in time to go slowly. 

She could feel Gerda’s eyes staring at her in her back as she went to the upper floors, but she could also tell that the servant was worried for Anna as well. 

As Elsa walked with a fast pace in the corridors, her fists balling at her sides, a thousand questions turned in her mind: Was Anna okay? Was she eating properly? Was it because of Queen duties? Was it the stress? Not feeling like she belonged on the throne? Doubting about her role? Charged with complex paperwork? All those were topics of discussion they already had many times in the previous months. Was one of them coming back? Was it a new one this time? 

Elsa shook her head as she reached the study’s ajar door. 

She paused for a moment, thinking about the history of this room. She remembered when Anna and her were little and would burst in it to surprise their father as we was working, and he would pretend to be scared to make them laugh. She remembered how, after the Great Thaw, Anna had knocked and came with many different treats and lots of hugs to make her have some breaks in her royal paperwork days. And Elsa’s heart squeezed as she realized how, now she was living away, she wasn’t always here to give Anna back the love she received from her all that time. She chased her tears and entered. 

Anna didn’t see her, too focused on the papers she was scribbling on. She was drafting letters, Elsa could tell, because her pencil was dancing on the pages and she was fidgeting with the rubber in her other hand, making it twirl and pass between her fingers, her elbow on the desk. 

Her teal blue eyes were switching from one word to the other, and she was muttering to herself as she phrased her sentences. 

Elsa smiled tenderly and knocked to the wood of the door.

“Yes, I’ll take another coffee, Kai, please. Black. I need to finish this before–” Anna said, distracted at first and then lifting her head, now meeting her sister’s eyes. “–ELSA!!”

She comically dropped her pencil and rubber on the desk in a loud way, and her eyes widened as the blonde stepped to her in with a smile. Anna blinked.

“Wha… What? When did you… What time is it?” She blabbered, looking at the little clock on her desk. 

“I’m early.” Informed Elsa in soft voice. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

“Are you kidding? No, it’s fine! It’s even amazing! I’m so happy you’re here.” 

She quickly stood up, her chair’s legs scraping the carpet, and practically ran around the desk to jump into her elder’s open arms. 

Elsa giggled above her shoulder, taking in her warmth, her joy, but also her smell that she missed so much. She couldn’t help but notice how it was accentuated with hints of sealing wax, blotting paper and coffee, and easily concluded that she spent a lot of time in this very room since they last saw each other. And she noticed that the hug was longer than the ones they normally had. She was craving it.

After a while, the blonde gently parted the hug.

“How are you?” Inquired Elsa. 

“You first.” Smiled the Queen, who didn’t see how serious her elder was. 

“No, I insist, Anna. How are you. What’s going on. You barely went out this week.”

The redhead pouted a bit, disappointed. “That’s a bit rude.”

“I saw Kristoff, Olaf and Sven before entering the castle. I know. They told me.”

Anna seemed shocked that they had told her, but another emotion passed on her face, detected by Elsa immediately: she was heartbroken to not have seen them as often as they deserved. The younger looked down, and her silence was un-characteristic. 

“Hey, hey, I’m not reproaching anything.” Assured Elsa on a soft caring voice. She took her hands in hers. “Are you okay? That’s all that matters to me.”

A smile stretched Anna’s lips. “I know.” 

She shrugged. “I’m just… Very busy.”

“Okay, it’s the third time in a row I hear this of you. Can you be a bit more precise?” 

Anna didn’t know where to start with. “Letters for foreign countries, now that we have all those new trading contracts. Writing said trading contracts. And writing to the foreign officials again. And meeting scheduling. And organizing the venues. And there’s all those new inhabitants. Oh, and we have those celebrations to welcome them, and–”

“Breathe.”

The redhead interrupted herself, thinking Elsa had something to say, and once she registered the advice, took the time to actually catch her breath. 

“Anna…” Muttered Elsa, bending her head, and her hands squeezed her sister’s. “I told you many many times that you can ask me for help day and night, you just have to send me a letter, I’ll interrupt everything and come here to guide you, you just–”

“No, no, no, don’t give me that look.”

“But–”

“Huh-huh.” Glanced Anna with a frown and a head shake. “I’m 22, I’m fine, I can handle myself.”

“That’s obviously not what I meant, I’m not treating you like a child, quite the opposite… I just… Please, you always tell me that we should never shut each other’s out. Well, I’m here for you, and you deserve- You should ask me for assistance if you need it. Not overwork yourself.” 

“I’m fine, Elsa! Really.”

She had a knowing smile. “Besides, you’re not one to talk. You were on your own for three years, and had to handle all the queen issues alone.”

Elsa frowned. “What? What are you talking about? You were always there for me. Always supporting me.”

“I didn’t mean the three years after the Great Thaw. The three years before. After… After Mama and Papa died at sea. And you became Queen overnight.” 

The elder blinked. This seemed like centuries ago. Like another life. She barely believed that it had happened. 

“Oh. Yes.”

“See? I have all those years to compensate.”

Elsa was shocked. “Are you saying that you’re purposely working on your own so that we’re even?!”

“Of course noooot, you silly!” Smiled Anna, nudging her arm. “It’s just… I want to be a really good Queen, and the more I’ll practice on my own…”

“Anna, that’s the most stubborn, stupidly obstinate thing to do!” Scolded Elsa. 

“Hey.” Frowned the younger.

“You shouldn’t… Oh, you dork.” 

“Nhgn” Was all Anna could say when Elsa tackled her in a sudden hug. 

Her eyes widened, surprised by the gesture, which was unusual coming from Elsa. The Snow Queen normally was the one welcoming the hugs, not giving them. She felt her hands rubbing her back. 

There was a silence, and Anna’s weight in Elsa’s arms seemed to grow. The latter could tell that she was enjoying the hug more than she admitted. She held Anna tight. 

“I’ll stay all weekend.”

“Wha–?” Started Anna on her shoulder. She was about to step back to look at her, but Elsa kept her firmly against her. 

“Please forget about every issue starting from now. We’ll make it a relaxing weekend, okay?”

Anna didn’t know what to say, and her throat tightened with emotion. Or maybe it was Elsa’s strong embrace.  

“I… Okay. Thank you.” 

The Queen slowly stepped back and put her hand on Elsa’s arms. “I missed you.” 

“Me too.” Smiled Elsa.  

Someone knocked at the door. Both sisters startled, and turned to the entrance. Kai was standing on the threshold, holding a tray with a steaming coffee mug. 

There was a silence as they stared at him. “I brought you another coffee. I figured that…”

“You did well.” Smiled Anna, assuring the man that he was welcome in the room, which he seemed to doubt of. 

“Hello, Elsa.” Saluted Kai, smiling at the elder when he approached. Elsa nodded with a smile as he put the mug on the wood of Anna’s desk. 

“Thank you.” Said the redhead. 

She was about to take the handle, but Elsa grabbed it and put the coffee mug in her hands. 

“No, wait, don’t cool it down!” Jolted Anna. “I prefer it piping hot. I really need it right now.”

“You’re aware that my magic isn’t linked to my emotions anymore, unless I want it to. It won’t get more fresh if I touch it.”

“I know that. I thought you were going to blow on it to make it colder for me.”

“No, I actually really need a sip right now.” 

On those words and without further warning, she drank a long sip of the coffee under Kai’s amused eyes and Anna’s outraged gaze. 

“HEY!!”

“Sorry.” Said Elsa after swallowing. “You really stressed me out earlier. Magic may not be connected to my fears anymore, that doesn’t change that I still have panic attacks.” She paused to look down at the black beverage. “Ahtohallan, I miss coffee in the forest, but yours is really strong.”

“I call it the Anna brew.” Smirked Kai. 

“Are you two done? Can I please have my coffee back?” Grumbled Anna. 

Elsa smirked as she gave her the mug, and the younger grunted when she saw the portion she took from it. As she gulped the rest of the coffee, Kai bowed and exited the room, leaving the door open as Anna always requested it. 

The blonde watched how quickly her sister finished her coffee. 

“Waow, you really needed it, uh?”

Anna exhaled loudly after drinking. “Yeah.” 

She smirked to Elsa. “Now I have all the energy to beat you tonight.”

Elsa’s eyebrow lifted at the challenge. “You seem to forget that it’s draw-and-guess this week.” 

Anna’s smile vanished. “Oh, shoot.”

[parkerspicedlatte]

First Mornings and Little Feet (Peter Parker) REMASTERED

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Content: fluff and lots of giggles

Warning: do not read unless you want to squeal and clutch your knees to your chest from these cute little brunettes. 

A/N: I figured that since it has been about a year since I posted the original “First Mornings and Little Feet” that it was time to have a do-over and the amazing @you-love-myself helped me out big time with this. Literally took the piece of garbage this used to be and turned it into a master piece. Big round of applause for her! So anyways here it is....

 You would have been alerted by the slow footsteps that were headed towards your bedroom door if it wasn’t for the giggles that followed. You didn’t need to open your eyes to know that they had entered the room as the door creaked open, the body that slept next to yours shifting slightly.

“She’s sleeping.” It was spoken in a whisper, as if he were trying not to wake you. His sister made no effort to lower her voice and pried further, entering the room, “There’s a boy in the bed.”

“Maybe she got married,” he offered but he was shut down by the other, rudely telling him that there would have been a wedding with a ‘pretty dress’ and a ‘big cake’.

 You smiled to yourself while listening to their little conversation, but the smile was enough, alerting the two that you were awakened by their talking.

“She’s awake.” At this you removed the smile from your face and nuzzled into your pillow, saturated with a familiar scent of shampoo that was absent in the room prior to that night.

 A set of small feet shuffled closer to your bed, “No she’s not, her eyes are closed.” He said,  as he stuck one of his fingers into the corner of your eye, as if to prove his point.

“Nuh uh, it’s just pretend.” It was spoken matter-of-factly, leaving no room for her brother to argue with her deduction.

 There was more whispering but the words being said weren’t clear enough to be made out. Their footsteps walked towards the door, and then you heard the door as it clicked shut. A sigh of relief passed your lips as you were worried that they might have awoken Peter with all of the noise they were making. It was obvious that you wanted them to meet, but you just didn’t really know how he would react to your brother and sister as he had no siblings of his own.

 He was always good with children. Whenever Peter was around the kids in the apartment building he always talked to them, asking about their day, or telling them how cool he thought they were with their colourful cartoon backpacks and matching shoes. But, as good as he was with kids, being woken up at 7am on a Saturday didn’t sound like the best way for them to meet for the first time, especially considering it was the first time that he had stayed over. You also knew that he would have to deal with your parents very soon, so you didn’t want to cause him any additional stress by having him meet your siblings so early in the morning. Though, since they had already left, luck seemed to be on your side.

 As you opened your eyes, you were startled to find a small pair of bright green ones staring right back at you, just mere inches away.

“I told you she was awake.” Abbi giggled, poking your cheek as you sat up on the side of the bed.

“Shhhh,” You held your finger up to your lips, indicating for her to talk quietly, “don’t be so loud, Honey.”

 A voice spoke up from where you would least expect it, “Is he your husband?” Your little brother emerged from his hiding place behind your desk chair as he asked the question. You hadn’t even seen him because of the pile of coats and clothes that were flung over it in disarray.

“No Theo, he’s not,” you whispered as you hoped to inspire them to speak more quietly. They were only four and hadn’t quite grasped the concept of whispering or speaking softly when others are asleep, or at any other time.

 Abbi turned towards her brother who was now standing right next to her, “See Theo, I told you so.” She sang as she stuck her tongue out at her brother.

 You spoke up, “Hey, be nice.” She quickly moved away from you before you could reprimand her further. You were a bit relieved when she did as you didn’t have the energy to scold her this early in the morning, plus you usually left the discipling to your parents. You settled back into the bed, facing them, as you refused to deal with your sister’s antics.

 The whole family were used to Abbi’s assertive and bossy behaviour, being the more feisty one while Theo was more shy and reserved, happy to go along with whatever his sisters were doing.

 Before she could mouth back at you, Peter rolled over, snuggling into your back. His brows furrowed as he tried to make sense of where the voices were coming from. A smile crept up your face as he sleepily grumbled incoherent words into your shoulder.

“Hey, it’s alright, you can go back to sleep.” You reassure him, rubbing your thumb across the forearm that he had lazily slung across your waist.

 Theo came close and sat on the edge of the bed next to you, “Can you make us breakfast?” He asked giving you a look that would put a million puppies to shame. Whoever said that puppy dog eyes didn’t work with green eyes was clearly wrong and Theo was the living proof.

 You just wanted to go back to bed with Peter, so you tried your best to get them to leave for a bit, “How about you two go get some cereal and watch TV until Mum and Dad wake up instead, yeah?” As you were saying this Abbi started shaking her head frantically.

“We can’t,” Abbi gestures largely, as if she were in a teen-drama, “there’s no more milk.” She said it as if you should have known there was no milk.

You decided to give in to their request before Abbi got any louder, “Okay okay, fine, just give me a few minutes to get up, alright?”

 They nodded eagerly and scampered out of the room, but before Theo shut the door, he looked back and gave you a little smile and wave. You chuckle to yourself at how sweet and adorable he was, a great contrast to his sister, especially in the morning.

 What you didn’t realise was that Theo was actually waving to Peter, as, not even two seconds after the door clicked shut, you felt him smile into your shoulder before pressing gentle kisses to your neck.

“How long have you been awake?” you turned around in his arms to face him as you spoke.

“Just a few minutes.” He answers, grinning sleepily at your messy bed-hair. “They’re so much littler than I imagined they would be. The way you talked about your siblings made me thing they were ten or twelve.

You shook your head lightly, “Yeah nope, they’re only four.”

He raised his head slightly to see you better, “Both of them?”

“Mmm hmm. They’re twins. Not identical, obviously, we don’t even know who’s older.” You played with his fingers as you were speaking.

 Peter looked at you quizzically, trying to understand what you just told him. He couldn’t tell if you were being serious or not.

 You let out a breath before answering the unspoken question, “We weren’t there when they were born. They were dropped off at a hospital the day after. They’re adopted.”

 He looked surprised as his eyebrows shot up, nearly to his hairline, as he listened to what you were revealing, “Wow, I had no idea, I don’t know what to say.”

You shrugged, “It’s alright babe, it’s not that big of a deal. They know they’re adopted, it’s not some big secret. My parents have told them from day one, it was easier than trying to hide the truth their whole lives. Plus my parents are both red heads, I think they’d get suspicious after a while since they’re both brunettes.”

“Yeah, probably.” He looked up at you and squinted his eyes slightly, “Are, uh, does that mean that you’re adopted too?”

You just nodded, “Yeah.” There was an awkward pause in the conversation as Peter mulled over what he’d just learned.

“Huh, me too.” He half whispered, “I’m adopted too.”

“Huh, yeah, I never thought of it that way.” You said, as you held onto his hand tighter than you were before.

“Me neither.” He chuckles at his confession. “Is that why, in eighth grade,  you said that you would rather adopt kids then have your own?”

“Um, yeah actually.” You paused for a minute, “Peter, I honestly don’t know whether to be impressed or weirded out that you remember that.”

“Oh, I see. You clearly didn’t believe me when I said that I had my eyes on you for a while.” He laughed as he spoke but you could tell that he was telling the truth.

“I know now.” You giggle “That actually makes me feel kind of bad that I didn’t notice you earlier than when I did.”

 He shrugged, “Meh, I think it just gave me time to really fall for you.” You could tell he regretted saying it as soon as the words left his mouth.

“Eww, oh my goodness that was so cheesy.” The both of you laughed.

“Always for you.” His reply made you visibly cringe, scrunching your whole face up. Peter leaned over to close the gap between your lips. They’d just barely connected when you heard a chorus of giggles and ‘ewws’ erupt from the doorway behind you.

 You sigh and roll over to tell them off but as soon as you moved, they bolted out of the room giggling as they went.

Peter chuckled lightly at your departed audience.

You covered your eyes with your hand, “I am so sorry about them.”

He gently pulled your hand away from your face, keeping hold of it, “Why be sorry? They’re cute.”

“Believe me, they stop being cute after a while.” You said, patting his hand lightly.

“Where are you going?” he questioned as you wiggled out of his grasp to sit up on the edge of the bed.

“I have to feed the monsters remember?” you reminded him as you searched through the sweaters laying over your chair, finally settling on a navy blue one that was just slightly baggy on your frame. You stood in front of the mirror while you fixed your messy bed-hair.

“And where do you think you're going?” you asked as you noticed in the reflection of the mirror that Peter had pulled the blankets off himself to sit on the edge of the bed and stretch.

“Thought we were feeding the quote-unquote monsters. Unless you don’t want me to.”

“Peter, I’m not going to say no.” You giggle, sitting down on his lap, bringing his arms around your torso. “I just didn’t think that you’d want to.”

“You already know that I’d do anything with you.” He smiles, kissing the tip of your nose, then your forehead and at last, your lips. You grin into the soft kiss, pulling away after a few moments.

“Did you sleep well.” You whisper.

“Yeah, the best I have in a long time.” He leans back in for another kiss but you move your head before he can connect his lips with yours.

“Can’t get too distracted remember?” You said as you stood up, pulling him up with you.

“Mmmm of course.” You didn’t know it was possible for someone to look that cute after denying them a kiss.

“Well then, off to feed the monsters.” The two of you walked out of the room and into the kitchen to see Abbi and Theo sitting in front of the TV watching Paw Patrol. You put two pans on the stove to heat them up while Peter took the eggs and bacon out of the fridge. By then you’d caught the attention of your brother and sister, who had decided that they wanted to help with breakfast.

 You decided to assign them the task of toasting and buttering the bread. While they were waiting for the toaster to pop, they took turns tackling Peter. One of them would cling to his leg or foot while the other jumped onto his back. Eventually the toast was forgotten by them but you didn’t mind. All of your previous worries involving Peter and your siblings disappeared the moment you looked back to see them all playing together.

 After a few moments of flipping the bacon and eggs you turned to see Peter. He walked back into the kitchen, his arms flexed and a child hanging off of each bicep They were dangling a foot or so off the ground, giggling and squealing the whole time. He carried them around as if they weighed nothing.

 That just happened to be the moment your parents walked in to see their youngest children hanging off the arms of a stranger. It wasn’t a complete surprise to them as you had mentioned the day before that Peter might stay over. You couldn’t believe that they didn’t say no immediately. You were prepared to have a big list of reasons why they couldn’t say no, but thankfully, that wasn’t needed. They were okay with the idea under the promise that there was no funny business. They would rather their daughter stay at the house than sneak off somewhere with someone they hadn’t met yet.

“Morning hun, that smells delicious.” Your mother said as she walked into the kitchen, then stopped when she noticed the clowning around that was happening. “Ahhh this explains the gigling. You must be Peter. It’s nice to finally meet the boy who stole our daughter’s heart.”

“Mum!” you scoffed, mortified and blushing as bright as the bacon in the pan.

“He’s cute.” She whispered as she passed you, stealing a piece of bacon from the plate.

“Hi, um, it’s nice to uh meet you too Mrs. L/N.” Peter stammered blushing nearly as red as you were, if not more. He’d barely had time to recover before your dad walked in.

“Ah yes, I was definitely not prepared enough to deal with this this morning. Meeting the boyfriend.” He stalled as he tried to figure out how to handle the situation. He’d completely forgotten about Peter staying over. That was kind of the plan though, you had asked while he was watching golf so he wouldn’t give it too much thought before saying yes.

 You groaned quite loudly, “Dad, stop being weird.”

“Right, sorry, uh I’d shake your hand but I see that they’re both a little full.” He recovered nicely, gesturing to his kids that clung to Peter arms.

“That’s alright.” Peter said starting to calm down once he realized that your dad was just as freaked out by this as he was.

 Peter had admitted earlier that he was nervous about meeting your parents, especially your dad. Apparently the last time he met someone’s dad it didn’t go over too well. Other than the first awkward conversation, the rest of the morning went smoothly, Peter was smart about not showing PDA with your parents around. Your mum loved him right away while your dad was a lot more hesitant, but he eventually came around.

 Honestly, the morning could not have gone any better. It was just you and your little family that you’d accumulated over the years and you couldn’t imagine your life without them.

[sareyen]

X-Pressions of the Heart: A Boyband AU (Part 1/3)

Read on ao3

Charles is a member of the popular boyband X-Boys. Erik is a harsh music journalist. This is exactly as cliche as it sounds.

Chapter 1

“Fuck no,” Erik said flatly, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared down his boss, Emma Frost. Even though he was standing while she was sitting at her desk, the immaculately-dressed woman did not flinch as she regarded Erik with something bordering on apathy. Emma simply gestured her white-sleeved arm at the chair opposite her desk, Erik glaring at her before plonking himself down.

“You didn’t even hear what I wanted you to do,” Emma said, manicured nails clacking on her keyboard as she responded to emails from some of the other music journalists under her employment.

“I saw your face – you’re definitely going to try and make me do something I don’t want to do,” Erik grumbled, but Emma ignored him, eyes glued onto the computer screen in front of her.

Erik opened his mouth to say something along the lines of ‘why did you call me in here if you’re just going to answer emails’, but was cut off when Emma just raised a finger in a brisk ‘shut up’ motion. Erik swallowed his annoyance, sinking further into his chair and glaring at his boss.

Erik had been working for Emma and her music journalism company ‘Brotherhood of Music’ for years, and is her longest-serving and closest journalist under her payroll. Erik had been there since the beginning, and had almost been made a co-CEO, but Erik hadn’t wanted to be stuck inside the office answering emails all day. No, he had wanted to be amongst the music, in the heart of it.

Emma was unphased by Erik’s rudeness, too used to his abrasive personality after years of working with him. Erik was really the only employee who could blatantly disrespect Emma this way; none of the other employees had the balls to talk back to the woman they dubbed the ‘Ice Queen’ while controlling their pay checks. Erik, on the other hand, was known around the small office as ‘The Shark’, and terrified all of his co-workers.

Emma finally finished responding to the morning’s emails, turning to Erik with a smooth swivel of her plush white leather chair. Emma flipped her blonde hair over her shoulder and linked her fingers together as she leaned on her desk, smiling at him with a little too much feigned sweetness etched into her features. Erik narrowed his eyes, alert.

“I have a job for you, sugar,” Emma said, Erik snorting.

“Not with that expression, you don’t,” Erik countered. “Spit it out, Emma.”

“I do have a job for you, don’t need to be such a sour puss about it,” Emma said languidly, glossy lips beginning to spread into a smile, one that Erik did not like at all. Whenever Emma had that smile, she was definitely roping him into a job he did not want to do. The last time he saw that smile, he had ended up being stuck on a week-long tour with a terrible, terrible punk band that had vocals that he likened to a cat being dismembered. Not only was the music bad, Erik had been forced to stay with the band in their shitty, cockroach-infested hotel and dragged to their Satanic ritual parties, in which Erik was sure cats were actually being dismembered ‘for the music’.

“Whatever it is, I’m not doing it Emma,” Erik said again, his boss just grinning. Another reason Erik hated that look on Emma’s face was because she knew that Erik would give in. Even after working with Emma for so long, Erik hadn’t been able to fend off Emma’s power of persuasion (or manipulation, and sometimes, blackmail) to get what she wants. That’s why she was called the Ice Queen – no one could say no to the Queen, not even the resident shark.

“I do find it adorable how you think you have a say in this, sugar. But yes, you will do this job,” Emma said, laughing. “Whether you like it or not, Erik, I’m assigning you to cover X-Boys. I’m sure even you know who they are?”

X-Boys.

Who didn’t know X-Boys? Even Erik, who abhorred modern pop music like it was the plague knew of X-Boys, the newest teenage-centric generic recycled boyband hitting the music scene. X-Boys, who had been formed on a shitty TV show after producers didn’t know what to do with five somewhat aesthetically pleasing tween-looking foetuses with less pleasing voices. X-Boys, who made the shittiest, cheesiest and most lyrically bland music in history?

“Fuck no,” Erik said quickly, getting up from his chair. “No, Emma. I’d take ‘Satan Katz’ and their satanic sacrificial blood magic and demon orgies over X-Boys any day. Hell, I’d take interviewing Jojo Siwa over X-Boys. Nope. No way. Nuh-uh. Not happening, Emma.”

“Erik, sit,” Emma ordered, but Erik just flipped her off as he made for the door. “If you do this job, I’ll delete The Photo from my hard drive.”

Erik, hand on the doorknob, paused. Emma was already smiling in smug victory before Erik even turned back around, hesitant scowl on his face.

“You’d delete it from all of your hard drives?” Erik asked, Emma smiling sweetly, gesturing back to the chair in front of her.

“Sit, Erik.”

Erik sat.

“Now, I know how you feel about pop music and boy bands, and trust me, I would have sent anyone else to do this if I could. Even if you don’t like them, X-Boys is big, and I can’t afford one of the new journalists to fuck it up,” Emma said, Erik snorting.

“What about Angel? She usually covers all of this pop shit, while I cover real music,” Erik said, Emma rolling her eyes at that.

It was no secret that Erik was a bit of a music snob, but should anyone be surprised? Erik was a music journalist, it was literally his job to be able to differentiate good music from utterly shitty music, and frankly, modern pop was a huge churning pit of recycled one-chord trash with lyrics that sounded like they were written by mid-pubescent horny teenagers who had discovered their right hands for the first time.

Erik did not waste his time interviewing wannabe artists like X-Boys. No, Erik interviewed real artists, like Big Black, Wire, Neil Young and The Clash. Erik wanted to interview real legends, like Elton John and Fleetwood Mac. Not X-Boys, with their clean-cut looks, floppy hair and fucking baby voices that needed two layers of autotune to even make their songs a fraction more tolerable.

A fraction.

“Angel is busy covering both Taylor Swift and Katy Perry right now, so she’s spread a little thin. Plus, Erik, you’re my best, and we need this article to do well, whether you praise them or-”

“I would never praise them,” Erik scoffed, Emma giving Erik a resigned look.

“Or break them to pieces with your prose, whatever. People always read your work even if it’s about an obscure band only you’ve heard playing in shitty bars, Erik, so covering a big group like X-Boys will be good for the company. You know that music journalism hasn’t been as… lucrative as in the past. We need this, for the company,” Emma sighed. That was true; the company hadn’t been doing particularly well lately, even after shifting to a more online publication medium. Erik also blamed modern pop on that; there was no real music to review any more, just pop artists churning out the same albums over and over.

Erik stared at his boss, noticing the slight crease in her brow. If Emma was letting herself develop wrinkles, then things were, maybe, quite dire.

“… And you said you’ll delete The Photo?” Erik said slowly, Emma’s mouth twitching.

“Yes.”

“You promise?”

“Yes, Erik. I promise. I’ll delete it from my phone, my work computer, my laptop and my three hard drives. Capiche?”

“Fine,” Erik grumbled out, already developing a minor headache. “I’ll interview the prepubescent children who don’t have a lick of creativity in their tone-deaf bones.”

“There’s our shark. Sounds like you already have a title for your article,” Emma said, Erik grinning at that with a full show of his teeth.

***

“Hey, Charles, Hank and I are gonna head off first,” Alex called, blonde hair peeking out from around the door frame of the dance studio.

“Alright, have a good night,” Charles replied, smiling at his band mates, who had already showered and were dressed in casual clothes, bags slung over their shoulders. Hank frowned a little at Charles, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his sharp nose.

“Are you sure you don’t want to have dinner with us?” Hank asked, worried for his friend. Charles warmed at his concern, but waved it away, leaning over to continue stretching his limbs in front of the mirrors that spanned the entirety of the wall in front of him, only obscured by the ballet barre.

“I’m sure, Hank. I just want to practise the choreography a bit more, you know how the second verse of Love Me, Hate Me trips me up. Go and enjoy dinner,” Charles assured his friends, who glanced at each other before nodding, waving as they left. Charles heard their footsteps echo down the now-empty halls and the swing of the dance studio doors, before everything was plunged into silence once again.

It was just past 6:30 in the evening, and the band had been practicing the choreography for their concert tour scheduled to start in just under a month. It was their first world tour, and Charles was immensely excited, but also beyond nervous.

Charles had always loved singing and music, but he had never expected to get to where he was today – in a world-famous boy band about to embark on a world tour. When Charles had entered the X Factor, he had just been a college graduate whose singing experience started and ended with belting out heartfelt ballads or emotional acoustic songs in the shower, performing for the bottles of shampoo and conditioner lining the shower caddy.

Charles had auditioned by singing an original song of his, one called Paralysed. He had written the first iteration of his life-changing song when he was only fourteen and feeling like he had hit rock bottom. Charles had fallen into a dark place, the heavy-handed torment supplied by Cain and the coldness at the hands of his mother dragging him somewhere no child should ever have to tread. He had felt trapped and paralysed in his palatial family home, and those feelings had inspired what, at the time, had just been a poem scribbled into the margin of his notebook and a background hum in his head.

He had finished writing the song, as well as many others, by the time he had graduated with a degree in genetics (something he was interested in apart from music), but he never thought that it would ever be more than a hobby.

But then, Raven had apparently submitted a video of him singing to the X Factor production team, and that was how he found himself on the show. He hadn’t gone through as a solo act like he had originally planned, since his talent apparently wasn’t enough to stand on its own, and had been pushed into a group with four strangers into a group called X-Boys alongside Alex Summers, Hank McCoy, Sean Cassidy and Armando Muñoz.

They had been strangers back then, four boys completely out of their depth on national television, but they had grown a lot since that first live show. The strangers became friends – family, even – and now they were one of, if not the, biggest boy bands in the world.

Charles still found himself wondering how this happened to him; inside, he was still the guy who sang Celine Dion in the shower and wrote an ode dedicated to cup noodles (a short song titled ‘MSG and Me’ that had been a party favourite at college). On the outside, though, he was Charles Xavier, oldest member of X-Boys and, probably, the most left-footed member of the group.

Charles, fundamentally, was a singer-songwriter. He hadn’t ever really thought that he would be a member of a boy band that not only had to sing, but dance at the same time. It wasn’t that Charles never danced – he had danced quite a lot in college, but mainly when he was drunk as a skunk, and even then it had veered more into ‘lap dance’ territory than actual choreographed dance moves.

Still, Charles could move. He just had a bit of trouble memorising such complex choreography, especially when compared to the other members of his group. Even the shy and dorky Hank picked up the choreography faster than Charles, the boy somehow quick-footed and with a strong, powerful body.

So, that was why Charles often stayed behind in the dance studio, even when the rest of his band mates had gone home. Tonight was no exception, and Charles sighed heavily as he stopped stretching and stood up. His dance clothes were already damp with sweat from the day’s rehearsals, the loose tank-top sticking to his back and the inner layer of his black sweatpants far too humid. Charles’s brown hair clung to his pale forehead, and his cheeks were flushed with colour from the exercise.

Charles took a drink from his water bottle, before flicking through his phone to replay Love Me, Hate Me for what felt like the millionth time that night. The heavy electronic beat began to pump through the speakers his phone was connected to, and Charles closed his eyes, sucking in a deep breath, before launching into the choreography, determined to nail the routine this time.

‘This is important to all of us,’ Charles thought to himself as he spun, sweat droplets flying through the air. ‘I have to work harder so I don’t let them down.’

Charles danced late into the night, and by the time he went home, he had no more energy to expend and promptly passed out on his bed, hoping to get enough rest so he could rinse and repeat the day after.

***

“You’ll be allowed to follow them around while they prepare for the tour,” Emma told Erik, who was looking more and more sour as Emma gave him the details of his assignment. “Their record company, Hellfire Records, has allowed you and only you such intimate coverage, so use it wisely. You’ll interview them during their rehearsals and preparation, talk about their newly released album, and then review their concert at the end. That’s it.”

“That’s it?” Erik huffed to himself, scratching his bare stomach as he waited for his coffee machine to spit out his strong, black coffee, which he would definitely need if he was going to get through his background research of X-Boys. Coffee, and maybe a couple pops of aspirin (or Valium), would hopefully get him through listening to their ear-grating album without wanting to throw himself off the roof of his apartment complex.

Erik was going to meet the band for the first time in just under a week for preliminary interviews, and even though he hated the assignment, he was still going to do his job. Unlike most of the other artists he usually covered for Brotherhood of Music, he knew nothing about X-Boys except that they’re a group of prissy boys who sing inane songs about love and breakups, with ‘Baby, you’re so beautiful, a work of art,” being the most lyrical line in any of their songs, which, to Erik, sounded like carbon copies of one another.

Erik was already growing irritated by the time his old coffee machine had finished dribbling out the last of his brew, and Erik padded back to his couch with his mug, settling into the centre dip. He kicked his legs up onto his coffee table, pulled his sticker-laden laptop onto his grey-sweatpant clothed thighs, and quickly searched up X-Boys on Google.

Erik immediately let out a disgusted noise from the back of his throat as a few fan sites popped up, all just sounding like screaming teenage girls who were the type to cover their walls in a collage of their favourite celebrity’s teen magazine posters while writing fan fiction about having babies with their perfect, family-friendly crushes.

Erik went to Wikipedia first, just to get a grasp of the members of the group, of which Erik found out there were five. Erik glanced at the names, only lingering long enough to memorise them for future reference when he would need to interview them.

As Erik read, his preconceived notions about the band were only confirmed; they really were another mass-produced company group, a ragtag bunch of boys who dreamed big but delivered little, famous because they were maybe a little pretty. Or, at least, that kind of short one with the really blue eyes that the camera could somehow pick up from far away was kind of pretty.

But, he was probably 16-years-old, maximum, and Erik grimaced. Looking up some more articles about them, most of them titled ‘New Boys on the Block!’ or ‘The Next 1D!’, Erik began to find out more about the individual members. From the texts Erik flicked through, it seemed like Hank McCoy was the designated ‘endearingly shy’ member, while Alex Summers was the token blonde white boy with a slight bad-boy streak. Sean Cassidy was the goofy one that could apparently sing ridiculously high, while Armando Muñoz (stage name Darwin, for some reason) was the politically correct addition so critics couldn’t say that there was no diversity (but putting one black member into a group was a piss-poor attempt at making things inclusive). All four of these guys were 20 or under, making Erik roll his eyes. Their mothers must be so proud that they were all millionaires while still sucking on their teats.

Lastly, there was Charles Xavier, the oldest member at 24 years old. 24 wasn’t particularly young, not when the majority of the band were still technically teens. Xavier was only 6 years younger than Erik, which in the long run, wasn’t that much of an age difference. What was ridiculous about him, though, was that he was the jailbait-looking guy with the floppy brown hair, bottomless blue eyes, and, now that Erik was looking at a high-definition group shot taking up the majority of his screen, bright red lips that looked more obscene than appropriate for a teenage wet dream. Gott.

Even though the group was adamant that they didn’t have a ‘leader’, Xavier seemed to be the spokesperson for the group. Erik was sure that was just on the basis of age and not talent, because like Hell any of these boys would actually have a shred of musicality with their ‘doof-doof baby come here’ tracks.

Xavier also looked like the paragon of ‘Boy Band Member’ – he was overly smiley, exceptionally kind and respectful, eloquent and handsome in a boyish, youthful way. Even the cynical, music snob Erik had to admit that the guy was attractive, even if he looked like his voice hadn’t broken yet. And to look like that at 24, that was just… not right. The guy could attract paedophiles legally.

Erik closed the tabs, Charles Xavier’s face disappearing from his screen, and the journalist moved on to listen to their new album – X-Pression. G'tt, the title name almost gave Erik a stroke. The album cover was a painful attempt at being artistic, with the five boys lying with their heads together submerged in water, wearing all white and looking pensive. Ugh. Erik’s cup of coffee was already drained, but he hadn’t needed to reach for the aspirin – yet. Reading about the group was one thing, but needing to listen to them was a whole other ball game.

Erik considered getting some headphones like he usually would if he were listening to another artist that he was covering, but he couldn’t do it. Erik’s ears weren’t insured, and he needed his ears for his job. There was no way he was risking the safety of his ear drums for a group like X-Boys.

So, Erik listened to the X-Pression album, and by the end, he really wished his eardrums had blown before having to listen to that horror.

It was terrible.  Terrible couldn’t even cut it. Copy-and-pasted beats overlaid with the same three-chord progressions and electronic beeping every other artist used. The lyrics to their songs were all bland and emotionless, and Erik would have been more inspired by Kristen Stewart reading him the daily weather report. Erik shouldn’t have been surprised, though, not when the first three songs on the album were called ‘Sweet Love’, ‘Strawberry Crush’ and ‘Love Me, Hate Me’.

“Music is dead,” Erik groaned to himself, walking to his kitchen and popping an aspirin into his mouth and swallowing it down with some whisky, not caring if the mix made him shit blood later. Anything was better than the splitting headache that 14-song torture tracklist gave him.

Erik had to give himself a break, flushing out his system with some real music and another glass of scotch. If he was going to move on to their group’s music videos (G'tt help him) he wasn’t going to do it 100% sober.

Sooner than he would like, Erik searched up the group on YouTube, watching their latest music video for Sweet Love. It was everything Erik expected – a group of boys in outfits that screamed twink to Erik, but apparently sex-bomb to 14-year-olds worldwide, dancing to the excessively perky pop song like they loved nothing more than shimmying to ‘your sweet love sustains me, girl, yeah, your sweet love sustains me’.

‘But wow, Xavier’s ass…’ Erik thought idly to himself, ignoring all of the other members, his eyes immediately falling to the oldest member of the group. In Xavier’s white pants, he could see the plush curves of his ample ass, which swung left and right as he danced. Xavier was by no means the best dancer out of the five, but there was something mesmerising about the way he moved his hips, the motion strangely obscener than Erik expected the blue-eyed boy to be capable of.

‘I bet that ass would be great riding my cock,’ Erik thought to himself, before realising what he was staring at and thinking about, letting out a choked noise.

“What the fuck,” Erik growled to himself, tearing his eyes from Xavier’s ass, wondering what the hell had gotten into him. It was the whisky. It had to be the whisky.

And maybe the fact that Erik hadn’t gotten laid for a good minute.

Slamming the screen of his laptop down, Erik made himself focus on other things, and actively pushed all thoughts of Xavier’s blue eyes, red lips and perky ass out of his mind.

***

It was a Monday morning at 10:30am, and Charles had his leg kicked up on the ballet barre, leaning to stretch his joints before another practise session. Even though they had most of the choreography down pat now, they still had to keep up regular practises to make sure their bodies didn’t lose the ingrained movements or the fluidity and elasticity of their limbs.

Today, though, they would apparently have a guest observing them, and Charles was more excited about practise than usual. The owner of X-Boys’s record label, Sebastian Shaw, dictated the group’s actions with an iron fist, and everything X-Boys was involved in was either run by him first or designed by him. Charles wasn’t overly fond of the man, even if he had given Charles his big break – Shaw was, in the end, a business man, and Charles felt like he couldn’t care less about the music. Sometimes Charles felt a little bit like a marionette, but in the end, X-Boys’s music made their fans happy, and that’s what Charles wanted.

But, one of Shaw’s decisions that Charles did like, was that he had hired Erik Lehnsherr to cover X-Boys’s X-Pression World Tour. Charles was a fan of Lehnsherr’s work, and had been following his articles long before Raven had auditioned him for X Factor. Lehnsherr’s prose was blatantly honest, never lavishing praise on the artists he covered if he didn’t deem them fit for it, nor did he ever criticise just for the sake of it. He wrote about what was great and what was bad about artists and their music without bias, just appreciating the music for what it was – music.

Charles had discovered a lot of great music from reading Lehnsherr’s articles, and knew the man had great taste. It also didn’t help that Charles knew he was drop-dead gorgeous. Though Lehnsherr mainly produced written pieces, a number of years ago he had done a video interview with the lead singer of a popular metal band called ‘Devilish Teleporter’, whose stage name was Azazel. The video had gone viral because Lehnsherr had ripped into the man’s music so hard in person that the devil actually cried.

Erik Lehnsherr was, undeniably, hot. Charles’s exact type – ruggedly handsome, chiselled features, sharp jaw and mesmerising blue-grey eyes. 16-year-old Charles had definitely wanked to mental images of Lehnsherr ever since that video came out 8 years ago, and Charles never thought he would ever get to meet him in real life.

Charles knew that Lehnsherr never covered musicians like X-Boys, but the romantic in Charles couldn’t help but think that maybe this was just meant to be. Charles laughed at himself at the silly thought, amused and giddy, before returning his focus to loosening up his quads.

Sean and Darwin chatted lightly as they also stretched, while Hank was busy warming up his throat, always a bit nervous when he knew he was going to be interviewed. Alex, on the other hand, was doing push ups in front of the mirror – he was apparently trying to bulk up a bit before the world tour, making Charles chuckle in amusement.

“Hey, Charles,” a female voice said, drawing nearer to him. Charles turned from where he was leaning over his legs, smiling when he saw Moira MacTaggert walking over to him, hand raised in a wave. Charles returned it, dropping his leg and meeting her halfway across the room.

Moira was X-Boys’s manager and a good friend of Charles’s. Moira and Charles had become good friends, mainly because they were somewhat close in age, Moira only three years older than Charles. The rest of the group teasingly called them the group’s Mother and Father, though Sean did so a little grudgingly (he had a very obvious boner for Moira, even though she made it clear that she could not see an 18-year-old like that, legal or not).

“Hey, Moira. How has your morning been?” Charles asked chirpily, Moira smiling at him after they hugged.

“Same as usual, which means busy,” Moira said, huffing. “Shaw’s got me running around with the tour approaching, plus organising time for interviews with the guy from Brotherhood of Music.” Charles’s stomach fluttered at the mention of Lehnsherr, but Moira didn’t notice. “I read some of that guy’s work – he’s harsh.”

“Honest, Moira,” Charles said, laughing a little. “He’s just honest. It’s not a bad thing.”

“It will be if he starts ripping into you guys,” Moira sighed, giving Charles a knowing look. Another reason why Charles and Moira got along well was the fact that they knew X-Boys’s music was pretty… shallow. Charles liked it because it made their fans happy, and it was genuinely fun dancing and singing with his friends, but in terms of musical inspiration, Charles knew X-Boys was not it.

Charles himself wrote songs better than the work Shaw chose for them, but apparently his music didn’t have the right ‘vibe’ for the band. So, Charles kept his music to himself, sometimes performing it for Moira or his sister, Raven. Or the shampoo and conditioner in his shower.

Mainly for his shampoo and conditioner.

“I don’t get why Shaw asked Brotherhood to cover you guys,” Moira muttered under her breath, Charles shrugging.

“I think Shaw knows the CEO, Emma Frost? I overheard that Shaw had asked for one of their other journalists to cover us, a reporter named Angel Salvadore, since she usually writes flattering reviews about pop artists. But Frost assigned Lehnsherr instead.”

“Must have been a bad break up,” Moira sighed, Charles snorting.

“At least to Frost. Shaw is still trying to get back with her,” Charles said, the two friends chuckling, before Moira’s phone buzzed, giving Charles an exasperated look. “Go, it’s probably Shaw about the journalist. He should be coming sometime soon.”

Moira nodded, quickly walking out of the room with her fingers tapping furiously on her phone, and Charles returned to stretching his limbs.

It was when Charles was bending over into a comfortable downward dog that the door to the studio opened, first revealing Shaw and Moira, and followed by the one and only Erik Lehnsherr. Charles immediately blushed when the man’s eyes drifted across him after casting a cursory glance over the rest of the room. Charles was sure that he was imagining that Lehnsherr’s eyes lingered on him a little more than the other members.

‘Wishful thinking,’ Charles thought to himself, straightening back up as the group headed over to where Shaw was looking at them sternly.

“Boys, this is Erik Lehnsherr from Brotherhood of Music. He’ll be covering your tour in their publication,” Shaw said a little stiffly, eyeing Lehnsherr’s imposing form discreetly. He then turned his gaze onto the young boys, giving them all hard looks. ‘So behave,’ his eyes warned silently, and Charles could feel Hank gulp beside him. Shaw nodded to Erik, patting his shoulder, before heading out.

Alex, Sean, Darwin and Hank were all aware of Lehnsherr’s reputation, and warily looked at each other. It was just Charles who stepped forward, extending a hand towards the man, warm smile on his face.

“Hi, Mr Lehnsherr, it’s great to meet you. I’m a huge fan of your work. Oh, and I guess I should introduce myself – I’m Charles Xavier, but please call me Charles,” Charles said smoothly, and Erik’s brow creased for a moment, before smoothing out and taking Charles’s hand, shaking it with a firm grasp. Erik’s hand was warm and slightly rough, and Charles shivered at the touch.

Charles hadn’t realised that Erik was so much taller than him, and had to tilt his head upwards to meet his eyes. And God, Erik was much more attractive in person than in the video. That video was made 8 years ago, and Erik had only grown into his looks now that he was thirty. He had been clean-shaven back then, but now sported a sultry dusting of ginger scruff across his stoic jaw, and Charles was a goner.

It wasn’t conducive to PG-13 thoughts when Erik Lehnsherr was wearing dark jeans which showed off long and lean legs (plus what Charles could make out as a sizeable cock), white V-neck top exposing sensual collar bones and a well-worn leather jacket. A walking wet dream, if Charles had ever seen one.

“Nice to meet you too, Charles,” Erik said, voice smooth yet gruff. “And just call me Erik.”

“Erik, then,” Charles repeated, smiling as his tongue wrapped around the name. Moira narrowed her eyes, picking up on the slight change in Charles’s tone and eyes.

Charles was older than the other members, who had joined X-Boys as teens, and thus not having had a college experience. Charles, though, had joined after he got his degree, and lived through three solid years of college and partaking in everything that it had to offer.

Charles had been pretty liberal with his body at college, something that Moira and the rest of the company’s management had kept pretty hush-hush. It was easy to persuade the public that Charles Xavier was a complete angel, a picture of innocence, with his shorter stature, baby face and angel-blue eyes. But, his high school and college friends knew better than to be fooled – yes, Charles was kind and sweet, but he was also wild in the sack and, in college, was not shy in making that known.

Before he became famous, Charles was not unfamiliar with picking up men and women from bars, and he was very successful at that too. Charles felt a surge of excitement bubble up inside him – it had been a long time since he had been able to flirt with a dirty edge, usually only being playfully flirty and charming for cameras and fans.

The look he gave Erik now, though, was not playfully flirty.

It was downright filthy, and if he had used it in a bar, he would probably be in the bathroom sucking the man off.

Erik’s eyes narrowed a little, thin lips pressing together tightly. Charles and Erik just stared at each other for a moment, before there was a cough from behind Erik, Charles remembering that they weren’t alone in the room. Moira had coughed, giving Charles a raised brow which he ignored, turning to his band mates.

“These are the other members of X-Boys,” Charles said, pretending that he hadn’t just been sexing Erik up with his eyes. Sean, Hank, Darwin and Alex introduced themselves one by one, Erik just giving them curt nods, before turning back to Charles with a direct gaze. His grey eyes were contemplative, like he was trying to figure Charles out. Or, like he was trying to imagine what he looked like out of his slightly revealing dance outfit.

“Um…” Charles started, licking his lips. “We were about to start dance rehearsals. I suppose you’ll be wanting to see that, so you can mention it in your piece on us? Moira said that she gave us time for some prelim interviews after, is that right?”

“Yeah, whatever,” Erik said brusquely, nodding and stepping back to lean on a purposefully exposed concrete wall, arms crossed. Charles could hazard a guess that Erik could care less about them and their dancing, and probably cared about their music less, which made him a little glum. He had expected that to be the case after following Erik’s work, but it still hurt when people dismissed their work so quickly. Sure, it wasn’t ground-breaking, but Charles had spent a lot of late nights perfecting the choreography and stabilising his vocals. Even though X-Boys didn’t produce the music Charles made himself, he appreciated the work that went into it.

He wanted to show Erik that, yes, they made music targeted at teenagers attracted to pretty boys, but they were still valid. And that, maybe, Charles was more than a pretty boy and someone Erik could find attractive in a non-PG way.

At the mention of rehearsal, the younger members of X-Boys quickly dispersed to their positions, Hank fiddling with the music system. Charles found his own mark on the floor, glancing back at Erik as he crossed his hands behind his back in Sweet Love’s starting pose, breath catching in his throat when he noticed that Erik was staring back at him.

‘Good God, you better not mess up the choreo, Xavier,’ Charles said to himself sternly, turning away from the hot German man who was definitely thinking about writing a scathing review of their work.

And who, Charles noticed, was kind of checking out his ass.

***

Charles’s ass was even better in person. That was the first thing Erik had thought when he entered the rehearsal room. He had honestly expected Charles’s looks to have been the product of stage make-up, carefully selected camera angles and maybe some sneaky CGI, but no. Charles had been bent into downward dog like it was as easy as breathing, and his plump ass had stretched out his ridiculously tight black compression pants.

Whoever dictated this man’s wardrobe today needed to be fired. Or get a raise. Erik hadn’t decided yet.

What he had decided, was that Charles Xavier’s ass looked illegal in those pants, the stretchy fabric clinging to the curves like they could barely hold it together. That ass was illegal and should be locked up, but also freed because shit. It was a criminally nice ass.

Though Charles had a deceivingly young and innocent face, his thighs and calves were strong and well-muscled, and the loose white tank-top Charles wore showed off his defined biceps and the slight rise of the veins on his forearms.

Erik’s cock may or may not have twitched a little in interest at the sight of Charles bending over, something Erik also decided that he would deny until he died.

‘It’s fine,’ Erik thought to himself as Xavier sauntered over to him, a sway in his step that made Erik’s eyes not quite know where to look. ‘Once he opens his mouth, he’ll have a scratchy voice like a pre-pubescent teen, and probably spew absolute nonsense, and any attraction you have will die.’ Erik continued to assure himself this, but the moment Xavier opened his mouth, all thoughts just died.

But his attraction did not.

Erik had not expected Xavier to have a fucking English accent. Erik had done some more research after watching that one music video, but had avoided interviews because, somewhere deep down, Erik was afraid of this.

This being finding out Xavier had a fucking posh English accent that was more hot than repulsive. No, Xavier’s voice was not repulsive in the slightest. It was smooth like rich butter, but with a slight edge that betrayed his age as being more than an immature 16-year-old who thought that every artistic choice he should ever make should be based on some wannabe ‘bad boy’ on TikTok.

No, Charles Xavier’s voice was comforting and sounded like it held the curve of a mischievous smile, like he knew that whenever someone met him, their minds turned to scrambled eggs that just kept repeating ‘crap, Charles Xavier is hot, his voice is hot, his ass is a work of art and maybe, maybe, I would subject myself to listening to horrible boy-band pop just to watch his face and his ass move across the screen in an artsy music video.

And Erik knew the look Charles had given him. He’d seen it plenty of times before, but usually from men in gay bars and not in a dance studio surrounded by barely-legal boys. It was a look Erik was accustomed to seeing on the faces of men gyrating against him in clubs to heavy bass tracks which weren’t too bad since you listened to them already half-sloshed in a club. It wasn’t a look Erik was supposed to find in a dance studio where Xavier, the undecided leader of a boy band, was swinging his hips to ‘your sweet love sustains me, girl, yeah, your sweet love sustains me’.

Erik had expected that once he met Charles Xavier in person, he would realise that the boy – man – was like all of the other cookie-cutter pop acts out there these days. He hadn’t expected to be trying to hide his hard-on in front of the boy-band and their manager because one appraising look from Xavier had made Erik imagine bending him across a ballet barre and fucking his plush ass as he made Xavier watch every one of Erik’s thrust in the dance mirror.

Erik only realised that the routine was over when Xavier’s ass stopped moving, and that he was approaching him once again, but now a little slick with sweat and panting slightly. Charles lifted a water bottle to his lips and tilted his head back, exposing the column of his pale neck. A little water dribbled out and slid down the man’s chin, sliding down his neck and skirting around his pronounced Adam’s apple, finally disappearing beneath his loose tank top down the cleft of his strong pecs.

Then, as if Xavier knew what he was doing to Erik, the man lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, revealing a stomach that wasn’t cut deeply with muscle, but was toned yet a little soft-looking.

Erik wanted to lick the faint indentations of Charles Xavier’s abs. Among other things.

Erik’s mind was littered with a series of expletives in both English and German, Charles Xavier walking over to him with an easy, charming smile and a sparkle in his blue eyes.

“Did you enjoy the performance?” Xavier asked in that disarming English accent, and Erik’s head was forced to nod up and down stiffly, trying to will away the erection building in his jeans.

“Okay! Great! How about you guys run through the choreo for Love Me, Hate Me, and then go and freshen up for your prelim interviews,” Moira said, clapping her hands. The boys agreed, Charles just giving Moira a look, which she returned with a roll of her eyes, Erik looking at the two and the silent conversation they seemed to be having with narrowed eyes.

Erik felt annoyed for some reason, and it was definitely not because Charles Xavier gave Moira an odd smile that seemed strangely intimate.

No, definitely not.

***

“Oh, please, Charles. I saw you,” Moira said, gesturing to the bright red closed door across the large foyer of Hellfire Records. Behind it, Erik was conducting interviews with Sean and Darwin, while Alex and Hank had gone to grab some lunch. It had been organised so that the interviews were staggered after holding one whole group interview, which had gone smoothly enough.

It mainly consisted of the boys answering basic questions like ‘what is the style of the new album’ and ‘what is the meaning of the title track’. The questions had been pretty generic, but that was standard for a preliminary introductory interview.

Charles, and the rest of the boys too, had picked up the general vibe coming from Lehnsherr through it all, though. The man couldn’t make it any more obvious that he was not a fan of them nor their music. Hank had kept his eyes trained at his feet the entire interview, while Darwin had adapted, remaining his usual calm and unflappable self. Sean had kept raising his eye brows every time Erik would roll his eyes at one of their basic answers, before giving Moira looks as if saying ‘this guy is a dick’. Alex, on the other hand, looked pissed and glared at Lehnsherr, who just blinked back at him, unaffected and unamused.

Charles, though, had answered the man’s questions eloquently, never dropping the slight curve to his mouth, even when Erik would say something about ‘how the album sounds a lot like the last one’ and that ‘the writer of Sweet Love also wrote songs for One Direction, what do you have to say about that?’. In fact, Charles’s grin would widen a little every time Erik’s eyes turned to him with a challenging look, Charles just responding with measured and, admittedly, well-formed answers.

Somehow, Charles had made a song with lyrics like ‘your sweet love sustains me, girl’ sound like a love poem by John Donne, and Erik, for a split, split second, may have been persuaded that the meaning of Sweet Love was deeper than a guy being horny for a girl ‘sweeter than melted chocolate and lemon drop candy’.

After the group interview, Hank and Sean had been interviewed separately, and that had gone as well as everyone imagined (i.e. Alex ended up cussing at Lehnsherr and storming out, while Hank was busy apologising and bowing as he trailed off after the hot-headed band member). There was currently no screaming happening with Darwin and Sean’s interview, though, which Moira was thankful for.

Even though Alex had dropped the F-bomb in a recorded interview, Moira was more concerned about Charles. Not that he’d have a meltdown and engage in a screaming match with Lehnsherr like Alex had, but that he would push the journalist up against a wall and climb him like a tree.

“Saw what, Moira?” Charles asked, though he couldn’t help the twitch in his red lips, Moira rolling her eyes.

“I saw the way you were literally asking Lehnsherr to push you against a wall and bang you with your eyes,” Moira said flatly, Charles snorting.

“Please, Moira. Can you blame me? He’s hot. Exponentially hot,” Charles said, Moira groaning.

“Yes, you made that clear when you were mentally undressing him in the studio. Charles, I’ve heard enough college stories from you to know that you’ve got a track record miles long, and I wouldn’t have a problem with that if you weren’t an incredibly famous, recognisable public figure whose fan demographic has an average age of 15.”

“15-year-olds have sex, Moira. It’s not a foreign concept to them,” Charles said, Moira internally groaning in frustration.

“Yes, but Charles, you have a reputation and an image to uphold,” Moira said.

“Yes, I’m aware,” Charles said, scrunching up his nose. “Virginal and upbeat, basically overtly gay but ‘oh-so-straight’. A twink that can flirt with girls and be happily invited to your grandmother’s Tupperware party.”

Moira shot Charles a look, the 24-year-old levelling one back at her with equal force.

“Moira, I get that you’re just doing your job and looking out for me. Or, at least, looking out for the image Shaw has curated for me, but I’m a fucking 24-year-old paid to appeal to underage girls. That’s way more fucked up than me being interested in a man that’s actually legal. And insanely hot.”

“You… You have a point,” Moira said, Charles grinning. “But! Charles, your image right now is clean and scandal-free. Imagine what the paps and the public would do if they catch you with your tongue stuffed down the throat of someone like Lehnsherr. They’d never leave you alone, and in the end, we both know that you’re a regular guy. You’re not the caricature of a person Shaw paints you to be. You said it yourself once, remember?”

“I’m just a guy who likes writing songs about ramen and singing into my loofah,” Charles said, Moira smiling a little now, nodding warmly.

��Yeah. You’re that, and a regular 24-year-old guy. But, at least partially, you’re also a public figure. So just… be careful, okay? I’m not telling you not to go for it – as in Lehnsherr, because yeah, I’m not blind – but… be careful about it. I care about you, and I don’t want you to turn into one of those stars with major issues,” Moira said, Charles nodding, smiling at his friend.

“I know. Thanks for caring about more than just my image, Moira,” Charles said, kissing the woman’s cheek as the interviewing door opened, revealing Erik. Strangely, Darwin and Sean were still in the room, and when Charles craned his head to peek in, they were staring at each other like they had just seen their lives flash before their eyes.

Erik must have grilled them until they turned to stiff charcoal.

Erik’s eyes narrowed when he saw Charles standing by Moira, who just gave Charles one last look before heading into the interview room to check on the catatonic Sean and Darwin. She nodded at Erik when she passed him, but the man ignored her and made his way straight to Charles like a man on a mission.

And on a mission he was.

***

The other four band members that weren’t Charles Xavier weren’t terrible. They each had some semblance of a personality, even if it had taken Erik basically verbally abusing them to get them to break the boy-band façade.

In the end, though, Erik thought of them all as appetisers, just obstacles to get over before reaching the main course.

Charles Xavier.

In one look, Erik knew that there was more to him than the plastered pop smile and carefully styled hair. It wasn’t only that he was, to Erik, the most attractive one out of all of them (or, maybe the most attractive man Erik had ever seen, period), but he was… intriguing.

Erik didn’t put up any pretences. He had been rude during the group interview, and he knew Charles had picked up on his less-than-subtle jibes. Charles’s reactions could have gone one of two ways, Erik had imagined. On one hand, he could have crumbled to pieces with the slightest piece of criticism, one of those thin-skinned celebrities that cowered before the public. Opposingly, he could have been the type of celebrity whose head was too far up his ass to think that he was anything less than godly, the celebrity of all celebrities, and that any criticism Erik had was just because he was jealous of his fame and fortune.

But Charles Xavier had been neither of those. He had been something else entirely.

Charles had listened to Erik’s questions carefully, humming and nodding as he asked them. His devilishly red mouth even smiling at them, insults and all, like he enjoyed it. Erik had made a mental note that an eye-catching but not clickbaity title would be ‘Charles Xavier is a masochist who like being insulted (and not only in bed)’.

Charles had answered all of Erik’s questions thoughtfully, like he actually thought about the answer for himself and didn’t just read off a pre-planned ‘Pop Q&A Guide’ like the other members had. Charles defended his work, highlighting the nuances in the differences between genres featured in this album and their last, talking about how their choreography was difficult this time around because of how it drew upon European ballroom dancing styles mixed with hip-hop – which Charles had endearingly and self-deprecatingly said he was rubbish at – before going on to talk about how one of the last tracks was inspired heavily by Bossa Nova. He even drifted into an in-depth music analysis on the topic, one that Erik had unwittingly been drawn into, almost in a daze.

Erik did notice that Charles never explicitly said that their music was good. He just commented that some of the stylistic choices had been ‘interesting’ or ‘different’, but he hadn’t been like other artists who just said that their music was the best thing to ever happen to the industry since the dawn of time.

Erik even thought that, in the slightly amused quirk of Charles’s mouth, that he agreed with some of Erik’s thoughts on their music. Charles, maybe, also thought that Sweet Love was a slew of recycled notes strung together, but he balanced out that thought by saying that the choreography was challenging and a wonderful mixture of styles. Charles hadn’t quite sold out to the industry, but he was definitely a little complacent.

Erik was glad that Charles hadn’t been roped into one of the other duos he interviewed, somehow being scheduled to talk to Erik alone.

“Erik! How have the interviews been going?” Charles asked, a little bounce in his step. Erik noticed that he had changed clothes since the group interview (in which everyone had still worn their dance clothes), and was now wearing a pair of neat light-wash denim jeans, a white T-shirt and… a frumpy, baby-blue cardigan that, though horribly out-of-fashion, matched his eyes and made Erik’s arms itch to crumple the shorter man into his arms.

Erik ignored that thought.

“They’ve been alright,” Erik said, shrugging. Charles just raised a brow, silently calling Erik out on his lie, the man smirking. “Well, they’ve been pretty boring. But I’ve sat through worse.”

“Ah, are you talking about your piece on Warren Worthington?” Charles asked, chuckling a little. Erik blinked, surprised.

“You read that?” Erik asked, Charles nodding, a small smile playing on his lips.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I was a fan of your work, Erik,” Charles said, touching Erik’s arm, the touch seemingly friendly on first glance, but lingering a little too long, heat a little too warm. Erik melted into it. “Did he really say that he was the new Elton John? Because if he did, you calling him a ‘self-obsessed and delusional twat’ was much deserved.”

Erik choked on a laugh at Charles’s cheeky expression, not expecting something like that to come out of his mouth.

“I can confirm that he really did say that. I was going to add a few more choice words in there, but my boss, Emma, didn’t want him to sue the Brotherhood for defamation,” Erik said, Charles letting out a loud, genuine laugh that made his eyes crinkle in the corners.

“Would it still be defamation if it’s all true, though?” Charles replied, Erik chuckling now.

“Emma didn’t want to risk it, and contrary to popular belief, I actually do like my job,” Erik said, Charles’s eyes softening then.

“It is obvious that you like your work, though. You wouldn’t be able to write articles with that much passion if you didn’t love music,” Charles said, Erik speechless for a moment. He regarded Charles carefully, and it was like he was seeing him for the first time.

‘Is this the Xavier charm all of those teenagers and menopausal women keep going on about?’ Erik asked himself, a little pained. Erik was not going to be one of those people, even if he thought that Charles was very, very attractive even in that atrocious cardigan, and that his mind was more interesting than the last 100 musicians Erik has interviewed combined.

“Yeah,” was all Erik said to that, but Charles didn’t seem to mind. “Anyway, your interview?”

“Oh! Of course,” Charles said, Erik beginning to turn back to the interview room, but was stopped when Charles reached out to grab his wrist. G'tt, his grip is actually pretty strong for such a tiny person. I’m sure he’d grip my cock firmly if he-

Verdammt.

“It’s already 1:15, and I haven’t eaten since 6am. I’m absolutely famished,” Charles said, eyes impossibly wide, almost pleading. ‘Stay strong, Erik. G'tt.’ “How about you conduct your interview over lunch? It’ll be on me. I know a great café just down the road from here, it’s usually less busy by half past 1.” Erik opened his mouth to protest, but Charles barrelled on, like he knew what he had to say to change Erik’s mind. “They have really good coffee, beans from Jamaica, apparently.”

Coffee. Charles just had to play the good coffee card.

“I’m Jewish,” Erik suddenly said, Charles blinking. “The café has kosher options, right?”

“Oh! I’m actually not sure,” Charles said, brow creasing, looking genuinely concerned. Erik’s heart may have squeezed, just a little.

“No, I… I’m not strict about keeping kosher, but I do try to adhere to it as much as I can,” Erik said quickly, suddenly wanting to smooth out the crinkles between Charles’s brows. “As long as there are non-pork options, it should be fine.”

“I can definitely say yes to that, my friend,” Charles said, and Erik really should have been more put off at Charles’s casual term – because what 24-year-old actually calls someone ‘my friend’ – but he wasn’t. He really wasn’t. “They have an amazing steak sandwich. The vegetable pancake with salsa is also great, and it’s meat-free so that should definitely be fine.”

“Let’s go then,” Erik said, Charles beaming at him. Charles stopped by what looked like his locker before they left, pulling out a cap and some sunglasses. On the door of the locker, Erik noticed that Charles had stuck some pictures of him from what looked like college – Oxford, even. Erik did a minute double-take. No, that was definitely an Oxford shirt Charles was wearing as he… chugged the biggest vessel of beer Erik had seen in his life, and he was German.

Another picture was of Charles cross-dressing at what looked like another college party alongside a pretty blonde girl, and another picture was of him and the same girl, but when they looked quite a bit younger (and Charles already looked young to begin with).

These were versions of Charles that had never appeared in TMZ articles or fan pages.

And Erik decided that he liked them. He liked them quite a bit.

Next chapter (2/3) →

[parkerspicedlatte]

First Mornings and Little Feet

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: none

What's it got: FLUFF and Peter Parker x Reader

  You knew they were in your room before you’d even opened your eyes. Their little feet padded down the hallway first to you parents room, then to yours. You felt the body next to yours shift ever so slightly as the door slowly creaked open.

“She’s sleeping” one whispered, then the other, not even triying to be quiet asked “Who’s that?”

“Maybe she got married.” the first voice offered but was quickly shot down by the other rudely telling him that there would have been ‘a wedding with a pretty dress and a big cake.”

  You smile to yourself while listening to their little conversation. Unortunitly for you, the small smile gave away the fact that you were no longer sleeping.

“I think she’s awake.”

  The smile quckly disapeers and you try to cover-up your mistake by nuzzling your face into your pillow. The pillow was saturated with the smell of a familiar yet, unfamiliar shampoo.

“No she’s not her eyes are closed.” One says sticking their pudgy little finger in the corner of your eye to prove their point

“Nuh unh she’s just pretending.”

  You could hear more whispering but couldn’t make out the words, then you hear their footsteps walking towards the door, then door door clicked shut. You sigh in relief as you were worried that they’d wake Peter up. It’s not like you didn’t want them to meet him, but you weren;t really sure how he’d react to your little brother and sister as he didnt have any of his own. He seemed good with the younger ones in his appartment building, always asking them about their favourite teacher and about the characters on their tiny shoes and backpacks, telling them how cool he thought they were. But maybe being woken up at 7am on a Saturday wasn’t the best idea. Especially since this was his first time staying over. You didn’t want to throw him to the wolves that your siblings could be so early in the morning. Though since they’d left, luck seemed to be on your side. Or so you thought.

  As you opened your eyes, you were startled to find a small pair of bright green ones starring right back at you, just mere inches away.

“I told you she was pretending.” Abbi giggle, poking your cheek

“Shhhh,” You hold your finger up to your lips, “don’t be so loud honey.”

“Is that your husband?” questioned your little brother, emerging from his hiddling place behind your desk chair. You hadn’t even seen him because there were a few autume coats and sweaters flung over in disarray.

“No Theo he’s not.” You whisper back, trying to inspire them to be more quiet. They were only four and hadn;t quite drasped the concept of speaking softly when others are sleeping. Or speaking softly in general.

“Told you so.” Abbi chanted, sticking her tongue out at her brother.

“Hey be nice.” He quickly dodges away from you before you could swat her. Not that you would have. You didn’t have the energy plus you usually left the discipling to your parents.

  Theo and you were used to Abbi’s assertive and bossy behaviour. She was the more fiesty one while Theo was more shy and would be happy to go along with whatever his sisters were doing.

  Before she could mouth back at you, Peter rolled over snuggling into your back. You could feel his brows furrowing as he tried to make sense of where the small voices were comign from. You smile as he sleepily grumbles incoherrant words into yor shoulder.

“Hey it’s alright, go back to sleep.” You reasure him, rubbing your thumb across his forearm that he’d lazyily slung across your waist.

“Can you make us breakfast?” Theo asked giving you the look of a million pathetic puppys. Whoever said the puppy eyes didn’t work with green eyes, was clearly wrong.

“How about you two go eat cereal and watch TV until mum and da wake up instead."

“Because,” Abbi gestures as if she’s in some teen-drama “there’s no more milk.” Clearly this was a high ranking problem in her little world.

“Okay okay fine, just give me a few minutes alright.” Giving in before she got any louder.

  They nod eagerly and scamper out of the room, but before Theo shut the door he looks back to give you a little smile and wave. You chuckle to yourself at how sweet and adorable he could be in the morning, quite the contrast to his sister. Which you found odd because he was the least cuddly out of the two when they were babies.

  What you didn’t reallize was that Theo was actually waving to Peter. Not even two second after the door clicked shut, you feel him smile into your shoulder before pressing gentle kisses to your neck.

“How long have you been awake?” you ask as you turn around in his arms to face him.

“Few minutes.” He answers grinnign sleepily at your messy bed hair. “I didn’t realize your siblings were that young. I was expecting like ten or twelves years old.”

“Mmmmm nope they’re four.”

“Both?”

“Mmm hmm. Twins. Not identical obviously.”

“Interesting, who’s older?”

“Yeah we have no idea.”

  Peter looked at you quizically, trying to understand what you just told him. He couldn’t tell if you were being serious or not.

  You sighed before answering the unspoken question.

“We weren’t there when they were born. They were dropped off at a hospital the day after. They’re adopted.”

  Peter’s eyebrows shot up, nealy to his hair line as he listened to what you were revealing.

“I wow I had no id-I have no idea what what to say.”

“It’s alright babe, it’s not that big of a deal. They know they’re adopted. It’s some big secret. My parents have told them sice day one.”

“Man that must have been hard on them.”

“Easier then trying to hide the truth their whoel lives. Plus my parents are both red heads, I think they’d get suspicious after a while since they’re both brunettes.”

“True, so are uh are you adopted too?”

“Yep.”

“Hunh.”

  There was an awkward pause in the conversation as Peter mawled over what he’d just learned.

“Me too.” He half whispered

“What?”

“I’m adopted too.”

“Yeah, I guess you are. Huh, I never thought of it that way.”

“Me neither.” He chuckles at his confession. “So does this have anything to do with the fact that in grade 8 you told the teacher that you would rather adopt kids then have your own.”

“Um yeah actually. Peter I gotta say I’m kind of impressed that yo remember that.”

“Ohhhhh I see. You didn’t believe me when I mentioned that I’ve had my eyes on you for a while sis ya?”

“I know now.” You giggle “That actually makes me feel kind of bad that I didn’t really notice you until much later.”

“Meh, no harm done. I think it just gave me time to fall for you.”

“Oh my goodness that was cheesy.”

“Always for you.” He replies making you visibly cringe. Peter leans over to close the gap betweenn your lips. They’d just barely connected when you heard a chorus of giggles and ‘ewwws’ erupt from the doorway behind you.

  You sigh and roll over to tell them off but as soon as you moved, they bolted out of the room giggling as they went.

  Peter chuckled lightly at your departed audience.

“I am so sorry about them.”

“Why be sorry? They’re cute.”

“Believe me, they stop being cute after a while.”

“Where are you going?” he questions while youwiggled out of his grasp and out of bed.

“I have to feed the monsters remember?” you remind him as you searched the through the sweaters laying over your chair, finally settling on a navy blue one that was just slightly baggy on your frame. You stand in front of the mirror while you put your hair up in a messy bun.

“And where do you think your going?” you ask noticing in the reflection that he’d pulled the blankets off of himself to sit on the edge of the bed and stretch.

“Thought we were feeding the quote-unquote monsters. Unless you don’t want me to.”

“Peter I’m not going to say no.” You giggle, sitting yoruself down on his lap, bringing his arms around your torso. “I just didn’t think that you’d want to.”

“Anything with you is an adventure.” He smiles kissing the tip of your nose, then yoru forehead and at last, your lips. You grin into the soft kiss, pulling away after a few moments.

“Good morning.” You whisper

“Good morning yourself.” He leans back in for another kiss but you move your head before he can connect his lips with yours.

“Can’t get too destracted remember?”

“Mmmm of course.” Honestly how is it possible for someone to look that cute after denying them a kiss.

“Well then, off to feed the monsters.”

  The two of you walked out of the room and into the kitchen to see Abbi and Theo sitting in front of the TV watching Paw Patrol. You put two pans on the stove to heat them up while Peter takes the eggs and bacon out of the fridge. By then you’d caught the attention of yoru brother and sister who’d decided they wanted a job. Well more like demanded a job. I’ll let you figure out who did that...

  So you assigned them the task of toasting and buttering the bread. While they did that, they would take turns tackling Peter. One would cling to his leg or foot while the other would jump onto his back. Eventually the toast was forgotten by them but you didn’t mind. All of your previous worries involving Peter and your siblings dissapeared the moment you looked back to see them all playing together.

  After a few moments of flipping the bacon and eggs, you turned to see Peter walk back into the kitchen with his arms flexed and a child hanging off of each bicep, dangling a foot or so off the ground, giggling and squealing the whole time. He just carried them around as if they weighed nothing.

  That just happened to be the moment your parents walked in to see their youngest children hanging off the arms of a stranger. It wasn’t a complete surprise as you had mentioned the day before that Peter might stay over. You couldn’t believe that they didn’t forbdi it. You were prepared to have a big list of reasons why they couldn’t say no. Thankfully, that wasn’t needed. They seemed to be okay with the idea under the promise that nothing ‘funny’ would happen in the bedroom. They far rather the two of you stay at the house than sneaking off somewhere with someone they haven’t met. Well now it was time to meet the parents anyways.

“Morning hun, that smells delicious.” You mother says as she walkes into the kitchen, then stop when she notices the clowning aorund that is happening. “Ahhh this explains the goggling. You must be Peter. It’s nice to finally meet the boy who stole Y/N’s heart.”

“Mum!” you scoff mortifies and blushing as bright as the bacon.

“He’s cute.” She whispers as she passes you to steal a piece of bacon from a plate.

“Hi it um, it's nice to uh meet you too Mrs. L/N.” Peter stammers blushing nearly as red as you , if not more. He’d barely had time to recover before your dad walks in.

“Ah yes, I was definetly prepared for this, this morning. Meeting the boyfriend. Today, the morning of today.” He stalles trying to figure out how to handle the situation. He’d completly forgotten about Peter staying over. That was kind of the plan though, you had asked while he was watching golf so he wouldn’t give it too much thought then freak out.

“Daaaaad. Stop being weird.”

“Right, sorry uh I’d shake your hand but i see that they’re both a little full.” He recovered, jesturing to his kids still clinging to Peter.

“That’s alright.” Peter said starting to calm down once he realized that your dad was just as freaked out by this as he was.

  Peter had admitted earlier that he was nervous about meeting your parents. Especially you dad. Apparently the last time he had to meet someone's dad it didn’t go over to well. But other than the first awkward conversation, the rest of the morning went sommothly. Peter was smart about not showing PDA with your parents around. You mum just loved him right away while you dad was more hesitant. But, he came around. Honestly this mornign could not have gone better. Just you and your little family that you’d accumulated over the years

AN: Okay so this has only been spell checked so please forgive the awful grammar and such. This is the only fic I've done this week because I've been busy with family stuff and lots of home work n top of that. Hope you like it, thanks for reading-xx Reetz <3