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bqstqnbruin · 7 days ago

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Always the Bridesmaid

I'm interrupting my regularly scheduled programming (again)(please read this series) with a fic that I came up with when I was writing a happy ending for @laurenairay, which, considering that is weird for me, I had to balance out the universe with this fic instead.

This is reader insert and for the most part the reader is gender neutral, but does present societally more feminine (mention of doing their hair and makeup, wearing a dress).

Have fun!

Warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, I was mean to Quinn

WC: 5528

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You were always told falling in love with someone would take every part of your heart and have you give it to someone else. Falling in love was supposed to be a whirlwind of joy, sadness, anxiety, excitement, fear, happiness, pain, and bliss. Your parents made you believe that loving someone meant your life would change, hopefully for the better, and you would be able to share your life with someone who wasn’t supposed to leave.

He told you he was taking you out for dinner, to be ready when he got home. You knew you were going to one of the fancier restaurants in town, taking special care to do your hair so not a strand was out of place, do your makeup just the way you liked it, and wearing your favorite outfit that you took the time to steam the wrinkles out of so that you didn’t look like you had spent the entire day rotting on the couch, even though you did.

You knew what he was going to ask.

____________________

“What are you doing right now?” Quinn’s head pokes through your bedroom window, your boyfriend climbing into your room, trying not to laugh as he struggles to bend the right way to make it through without getting hurt.

You turn the page in your book, not bothering to look up. “I’m in the middle of taking over Poland,” you deadpan as he makes his way over to your bed, plopping himself down at your feet. “One day, you’re going to break your leg or something doing that.”

Quinn’s bedroom in your respective family’s lake house’s was opposite yours, allowing the two of you to see what the other was doing whenever the curtains were open. Since you were younger, that was your signal to each other that they could come over. You thought it would involve using the front doors, but Quinn took it as an excuse to truly act like a twelve year old, despite being older than that, and makeshift a ladder from the tree that was right there.

He grinned at you, leaning against the wall and starting to fiddle with the fringe of the blanket sitting at the foot of your bed. “I want to go do something.”

“We haven’t even been here for seventy two hours and I’m pretty sure you’ve been active for seventy of them.”

“Please,” he whines, leaning over so that his body is parallel with yours. You try to ignore him as you attempt to focus on your book, feeling his eyes practically pierce your shin. “I want to go for a walk.”

“If you can scale the side of this house, I’m sure you can do that just fine.”

“I want company.”

“You have two brothers.”

“They’re asleep.”

“We both know if either of them wanted something from you, they would not hesitate to wake you up.”

“But I want you to come with me.” You put your bookmark in to save your space, giving him an unimpressed look. “Please? How often do we get to do things where it’s just us?” He takes your hand in his, the calluses on his hands from using his stick in his driveway back home without his gloves surprisingly soothing to you. You roll your eyes, Quinn nuzzling into the crook of your shoulder as you can’t help but smile.

You pull him off the bed, your book all but forgotten, Quinn trailing you like a love-sick puppy.

____________________

You got ready way earlier than you needed to be, anxiously pacing around your apartment you shared with him. You could see him in every corner; it was his apartment first that you had eventually moved into. The furniture was all his, the decorations that were there were chosen by someone he paid rather than the two of you picking it out yourselves like you wanted, even the books in the bookcases weren’t ones you picked; half of them were just for show, those coffee table books on topics you didn’t care about, but looked impressive to those who didn’t know either of you.

____________________

“This is how you decorate?”

You roll your eyes at him as he flops on your bed. As usual, Quinn was being no help to anything, but it was your first time being with each other since you left for college. “I’m going to be here for a year, why do more?”

“You don’t even have a picture of us in here.” He sits up to wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you into his lap. He kisses the top of your head, you letting your eyes flutter closed as you exhale against him, curled into his chest.

“My roommate keeps bringing guys back,” you tell him. “Four of them would see a picture of you and ask me to send you their highlights.” Quinn burst out laughing, throwing his head back and sending a shiver through your body. You missed hearing him in person, being with him and being able to touch him.

You missed him.

You pull away from him slightly to kiss him, his hands tightening, bunching up your shirt in his fists. Thank god your roommate was away this weekend.

“Leave room for Jesus,” one of your friends barges in, Quinn practically launching you off him. You could feel the heat rush to your face, convinced it was visible from space by the smirk on the intruder's face. “Party tonight at Kappa house.”

You exchange a look with Quinn, trying to get a read on his face before looking back at your friend. “Ok?”

“Are you two coming?”

Quinn shrugs, leaning back on your bed, the hem of his shirt riding up to reveal a sliver of skin that made your heart race. That stupid smirk on his face told you his answer. “Sure.”

Your friend squeals, launching into talking about you borrowing clothing, getting ready, making sure all three of you look as fantastic as possible for what was all, apparently, your first college frat party.

Two hours later, you were in a different room down the hall, pre-gaming, cringing as your friend thrust a shot of rosé wine into your hand, immediately following it up with raspberry vodka. You nearly gagged after downing the combination that never should have existed, looking at the disgusted look on Quinn’s face that mirrored your own. “I wish I never drank that,” he sputters out, sticking his tongue out as if the air around him would get rid of whatever that lingering taste was.

“I’m never drinking vodka again.”

Quinn shrugs. “You never liked it much anyway.” You look at him for a second, not sure if you were unable to see the connection he was trying to make because you genuinely didn’t know, or if the horrible alcohol was somehow already fogging your brain. “Remember a few summers ago when some of our hockey friends came up to visit? They brought vodka and you hated it.”

“Was that the night I fell asleep in your bed and your parents freaked out when they found us?”

“It was the night you fell asleep in the bathtub with Jack, actually.”

You cringe, biting your bottom lip, wishing that he hadn’t brought that night up. Nothing happened between you and his brother, but it was easy to see why Quinn was annoyed at the sight of the two of you. Actually, you remember telling him nothing happened, because nothing did. So why did he get mad at it? “Why would you bring that up?”

Quinn shrugs, turning his attention to the group of guys cheering on another as he shotgun a can of beer. “Just made me think of it.”

____________________

He texted you that he was downstairs, ready to pick you up, just as you agreed he would do that morning. He was late coming back from practice, letting you know that he took the time to get ready at the practice facility so he wouldn’t have to come up and do it.

You felt yourself exhale, the anxiety in your chest dissipating ever so slightly. Him being downstairs gave you more time before you had to see him.

You didn’t want to see him.

____________________

“I want to see you, though.”

You roll your eyes, thankful that Quinn called you instead of Facetimed you, knowing he would get upset over your reaction. You were having this conversation for the fifth time now, Quinn begging you to come see him when you told him it wasn’t possible. “I have four exams this week and I have a job interview. I need to be here.”

“Where’s the job?”

You hesitate for a second, trying to figure out if you should lie or not. “New Jersey.” Quinn doesn’t say anything. “Q?”

“I thought you were applying for jobs here?”

“I am,” you say quickly, “But I need a job after graduation, regardless of where it is. I can’t move to Vancouver if I don’t have a job, too.”

“I can take care of both of us.”

You let out a loud sigh, pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes. “I don’t want you to have to ‘take care of me,’ Quinn, I can do it myself.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to.”

“And what happens if we break up?” you snap. “What happens when you and I aren’t together anymore and I have nothing because you controlled everything? I’ll have no job, no experience, nothing to fall back on and I’m screwed.”

Quinn doesn’t say anything for too long, your heartbeat getting faster with every second he was silent. You didn’t know you were afraid of that. “You think we’re going to break up?” he finally asks, his voice barely audible.

“Quinn,” you start.

“No, no, it’s fine. You’re right. You don’t want to bank on us being together forever.”

“Quinn,” you try again.

“Hey, I have to head to the arena, and you have to study. I’ll talk to you later.”

The line goes silent before you can say anything else. You check the time, taking into account the time difference. You knew Quinn’s game-day schedule. He still had two more hours before he had to leave.

____________________

You get downstairs, seeing your boyfriend leaning against his car. He was in a suit, one you hadn’t seen before. He bought a new one for tonight. It fit him well; you could see the curve of every part of his body, every crevice that you knew by heart, everything that was stashed in his pockets outlined. You could see the box in his pant pocket.

He was looking down at his phone, a lock of his hair falling into his eye without even hearing you coming towards him. That sight of him used to make your heart skip a beat.

He finally looks up, the grin on his face growing with every step you took towards him. He shoves his phone in his pocket, pulling you in for a kiss. His arms wrapped around you, his lips pressed to yours, you praying he doesn’t notice the slight sweat you felt forming over your entire body.

He opens the car door for you, running around to get into the driver seat and take you into the city.

“You are gorgeous,” he breathes out, his hand resting on your thigh as he drives.

____________________

You stare at your phone, praying that someone would email you or call you. If you watched your phone enough, you could will them into getting back to you, right?

“You’re next,” your cousin’s hand finds your shoulder, making you jump out of your skin. “God, ok.”

“Sorry,” you mutter, putting your phone down and getting in the makeup chair. The person your cousin hired to do the bridal party makeup was talking to you about what you wanted, you barely paying attention while your mind wandered, trying not to be rude and check your notifications every time your phone screen lit up.

“What’s with you?”

You look to your left, the makeup artist turning your head back toward them. “I’m supposed to be hearing back from that job,” you tell her.

“So why do you look like you want to throw up?”

You hesitate, a text from Quinn showing up on your screen to let you know that he was almost ready to head to the wedding venue.

“Because it’s my dream job, but,” your voice trails off. She eyes you, the look on her face burning a hole in the side of your face. “It’s not in Vancouver.”

She nods. “So it’s not near Quinn.”

“It’s in New Jersey.”

“Are you going to take it if you get it?”

You exhale. The job was everything you wanted; in the field you studied in college, in a great place where you didn’t have to spend what felt like millions on rent, the people seemed great, the benefits were perfect.

It was just in the wrong country.

“You know what? You’ve just graduated, we’re getting ready for my wedding, and your boyfriend is out there probably thinking about the day that this is the two of you, instead. Relax.”

Before you could give an answer, it was time for you to get your hair done, your cousin being whisked away by the photographer to start getting some pictures taken. You didn’t even have an answer.

Your phone buzzes, another text from Quinn, a new email in your inbox.

You don’t check it, your thoughts lost in the whirlwind that became getting ready to join your cousin to walk down the aisle to who was supposed to be the love of her life.

The bridal party ahead of you starts to enter, your cousin behind you pacing while the music continues to play. She calmed you down before when she was the one who was supposed to be anxious. What could you do now?

You walk forward, the aisle seeming much longer than it did during the rehearsal dinner considering you were now in much higher heels, with makeup that you hoped wasn’t running down your face from the heat you felt.

You catch Quinn sitting by himself, the smile on his face making your heart skip a beat.

You felt yourself calm down, all the worries you had melting away as you headed toward the altar.

You wanted to be walking toward him, to see him waiting for you, ready to tell everyone you cared about that you wanted to be together forever.

The entire wedding went by in a blur, your conscience focused entirely on you picturing yourself with Quinn standing at the altar.

When you finally get the chance to check your phone on the way to the reception, the email notification sits on your screen, unanswered. You open the app, your heart racing.

‘Good morning, we are pleased to offer you the position…”

____________________

The two of you fall into mundane conversation once you’re seated. He had asked for a table away from everyone, off to the side where the two of you had privacy, just as the two of you had liked it. You felt awkward being in the middle of any restaurant; he hated having people stare at him because they were sure they knew who he was and spent the entire time gaping at him once they realized who he was.

He asks about your day, about your job.

You relay to him the events of the day, just as you did every single day the two of you had time to sit down and eat together. It was the same conversation every time, yet he seemed to love to hear about it.

“I remember when I was excited about this job.”

“Do you still want to quit?”

____________________

“How do we manage this?” Quinn’s voice comes through your phone, an exasperated plea.

You hesitate, trying to figure out what to say. “I have no clue,” you admit. “Do we try long distance?”

Quinn sighs, the sound of his car starting up in the background. “We’ve been doing that for the last four years. Do we really want to keep doing it like this?”

Silence comes from you again, this conversation going exactly how you thought it would; neither of you sure what you wanted to do.

Your dream job made you an offer that you couldn’t refuse. Your boyfriend was on the other side of the continent in another country. You couldn’t do both.

“It’s that or we aren’t together anymore.”

“Are you sure you want to take this job?” Quinn’s voice cuts you off before you can say more.

“Quinn.”

“Is this job this important to you? Did you try to look for something near here?”

“You know that it is and you know that I did,” you reply, your tone getting defensive. “I’m supposed to be meeting my friends tonight and I still need to get ready,” you lie to him, giving yourself the best out you could. “I’ll talk to you later.”

You pace around your apartment, pulling up the email chain with the offer letter attached. It was everything you could want. It just wasn’t close enough to the person you wanted.

You end up falling asleep on your couch, waking up in pain from the angle you somehow thought was comfortable the night before, with someone pounding on the door to be let in. Your phone starts buzzing, your brain barely functioning to register anything other than the time, almost noon.

“I’m coming, calm down,” you rasp, hoping the banging would subside. “Quinn?”

“I can’t have this conversation with you over the phone,” he barges in, pushing past you.

“How did you get here?”

“I took the first flight out.” He sits down on the couch you were just asleep on, making no comment of your obviously disheveled state. “We can’t break up. I love you and I don’t want us to break up.”

You sit down next to him. “I love you, too.”

“Do you want to break up?” he asks, panic in his voice. You study him for a second, knowing that the silence you were giving him wasn’t settling him in any way. He was clearly exhausted; his skin was more pale than normal, his hair poking in every direction possible. The bags under his eyes were darker than you had ever seen him, and you’ve seen him after he pulled an all nighter for a final, running only on energy drinks, french fries, and pure hope that he would pass the exam that morning.

“I don’t want to,” you start, your voice trailing off. “But, Quinn, this job.”

“Marry me.”

You jolt back. “What?”

“Marry me. Don’t worry about the job. You don’t have to worry about anything. I want to be with you and I know you want to be with me.”

“Quinn,” you scoff, a laugh bubbling into your voice. “We can’t get married.”

____________________

“You could easily find a job somewhere else, though, right? If you wanted to?” he asks.

You nod. “But it was already overwhelming trying to figure everything out when I first started. Do I really want to do that again?”

____________________

“How are you settling in?” Quinn’s question made your heart ache, the first time you’re talking to him since you moved only able to be a few minutes over Facetime. “Has Jack helped you?”

You let out a laugh. “You know he’s only helped eat my food.” Quinn’s laugh matches yours, a tightness in your chest at the sound. “I miss you.”

Quinn lets out a sigh, closing his eyes. “I miss you, too.” Both of you stare at each other in silence for a moment, you looking away to pretend to continue unpacking. You were still trying to find everything in the boxes you hastily packed up, the start date your job provided you only giving you a week to pack and find a new place. Everything was in unlabelled boxes and just thrown together, meaning you were finding multiple pairs of underwear mixed into a box of dishes and books. “I wish we didn’t have to break up.”

You feel a sob creeping up your throat, the same sentiment you had being verbalized by the one person you wished didn’t feel the same. If this were a clean break, everything would be so much easier. If it were a clean break it would be easier to get over and move on. If it were a clean break, then you wouldn’t have what you were sure was a permanent pit in your stomach telling you that this was the wrong choice.

Before you can answer, someone knocks on your door. “Um, I’m gonna go. I think that’s Jack or Luke. They said they were going to come and help today.”

“Tell them to behave.”

You force a smirk through the tears that were brimming in your eyes. “We know they won’t.” You say your goodbyes, the tears finally falling down your cheeks when you open your door. “Oh, Nico,” you sniffle, Jack and Luke’s teammate standing in your doorway without the two boys who were supposed to be there.

Nico’s brow furrows. “What’s wrong?” he takes a small step towards you, gently resting his hands on your arms. His attempt at comfort sends a shiver through your body, the attempt to hide your physical recoiling at his touch unsuccessful. It wasn’t one of disgust, it was more out of shock. “Sorry.”

“No, no,” you tell him, tugging his sleeve to pull him into your apartment. “I’m just,” you hesitate. Telling an attractive guy that you were crying over your ex seemed like a bad idea. Especially when that ex is the brother of two of this guy's closest friends. “I’m overwhelmed from unpacking.”

Nico nods, looking around at the mess of boxes that are cluttered in what is supposed to be your living room. “When was the last time you ate?”

You stop and think, checking your phone to see it was closer to dinner than any other normal meal time. “Yesterday?”

“Come on.” Nico holds out his hand to you, ignoring the uncertain look on your face. “Jack and Luke asked me to come because they’re doing god knows what, and we both know dealing with them when you’re hungry is going to end up with one of them dangling from that window by their sock.”

You can’t help but laugh knowing that you and Quinn have done something like that to Luke when you were younger over the summer. There’s a reason there’s now a small balcony outside Quinn’s window. The thought of you and Quinn makes your heart hurt again, the threat of tears coming back.

“Hey,” Nico’s voice goes soft, pulling you into a hug. You melt into him, the comfort of his cologne making you exhale. “Whatever it is, you’ll be ok.”

____________________

“Remember that one wedding we went to, one of your college friends?” he reaches across the table to take your hand, his voice shaking as he abruptly changes the subject. He waits for you to nod. “Do you think about what it would be for us to get married?”

As soon as you hear the words starting to form in his mouth, you grab your water with your free hand, gulping it down to give yourself time. “Um, yeah,” you lie.

____________________

“Jack, you fucking idiot,” you scold him, grabbing the napkins and trying to get as much red wine off your white shirt as you could. It’s your fault, really. You’ve known Jack long enough to know how dangerous of a color it is to wear around him.

“I’ll grab you something to wear,” Nico mumbles, glaring at his teammate. He heads to his room, the base of his neck turning bright red as he walks away.

Jack looks sorry, giving you a puppy-dog pout that you were all too used to from your childhood. “It was an accident.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you mutter. Nico comes back with a sweatshirt, a Devils logo and the number 13 on the breast for you to throw on while you’re here. He plants a kiss on the side of your head once you pull it on, sitting down next to you.

The rest of the night passes by, Jack spilling two more drinks all over Nico’s table that made Nico send his teammate home.

You settle in his bed, letting out an exhale as you sink into the soft mattress. Nico comes into his room, your shirt in hand. He tried his best to get the stain out.

“I think it’s a lost cause,” he tells you, tossing the shirt into his hamper. “I’ll see if the cleaners can get it out when I bring my suits in next time.”

“I know better than to wear white around a Hughes brother,” you joke, Nico climbing in next to you and pulling you close.

You hear him sigh, tucking his arm under his head as he lays down. “Do you still miss him?”

The silence between you two is palpable. You never talk about your past with Quinn, awkwardly dancing around the subject whenever he inevitably gets brought up. You weren’t completely over him, but how could you tell your boyfriend that? You lived here, Quinn was in Vancouver. “I miss my friendship with him.”

It wasn’t totally a lie. Even before you started dating Quinn, he was your best friend. Now, you could barely talk to each other.

“I get that,” you hear him say, not without you noticing the strangled tone in his voice.

Your phone buzzes, Jack tagging you and Nico in a story from your dinner, captioning it ‘taken moments before disaster (myself) struck.’ You can’t help by laugh, showing Nico the post. He smiles, the two of you taking in the photo. The way Nico looks at you makes your heart flutter. He loves you. You know he does. And you do love him.

You look at the time, the late hour making you groan. “Ugh, fuck.”

“What?”

“I’m only going to get, like, three hours of sleep if I want to make it home in time to get ready for work.”

“Why don’t you move in here?” Your head whips to him, feeling a pain in your neck, trying to hide your wince so that Nico doesn’t think you hate his idea. “I mean, you spend more time sleeping here than you do at your actual place.”

“Are you serious?”

Nico smiles, pulling you in for a kiss. “Of course.”

You mirror his smile. “Yeah.”

You eventually fall asleep, an excited feeling about a new chapter in yours and Nico’s relationship keeping you awake.

When your alarm finally goes off, you let out a groan, Nico stirring beside you as he wakes up with you, despite not needing to. You see a text on your phone, sent not long after you went to bed.

It was from Quinn.

‘Does he at least make you happy?’

____________________

Nico is clearly nervous, his free hand rubbing against his thigh. You can feel the sweat forming on his hand in yours. “We’ve been together for how many years now? Three?” You nod. “I love you.”

____________________

Every time Vancouver came to play in New Jersey, Ellen and Jim insist on you joining them to watch the game. They think of you like a daughter, despite the hopes of you actually joining their family dwindling down to nothing with every year that passes by with you staying in New Jersey.

Of you staying with Nico rather than Quinn.

It doesn’t get easier any time you see Quinn. According to a drunken Jack, Quinn still loves you. You know you love Nico, but can you also still have feelings for Quinn?

The Hughes parents weren’t there yet, you sitting alone as the two teams come out onto the ice for warmups. You see Quinn, the sight of him making your heart skip a beat, even after all these years of falling in love with Nico. He looks like he’s zoning out while skating in a circle around nothing, his stick in both his hands parallel with the ice. You know him well enough to know that this is how way of focusing, reviewing everything he could remember about the game tapes he had spent the last few days studying, as if this weren’t the third time this season he was playing against his brothers.

Against your boyfriend.

The three brothers meet at center ice, taking a picture as they did before every game, the tradition somehow never losing its magic and never getting skipped over no matter how many meetings the two teams had. You feel your anxiety go up when Nico skates over and joins them, the smile on Nico’s face not being matched in the slightest by Quinn.

The last time you saw Quinn, it was like you were two strangers who were forced together by accident, rather than being two people who grew up with each other, who knew everything about each other. His sentences and comments to you were short, his eyes never meeting yours.The only thing he said that really mattered to you was him telling you he wasn’t sure he would ever stop loving you.

You didn’t remember how that even came up.You had been talking about the wedding you were in, one of your friends from college getting married a few months before yours and Quinn’s last meeting. Quinn was invited, but, according to Jack, he couldn’t get himself to go once he saw you were in the wedding party.

Your phone buzzes, a text from your boss. You can’t help but let out a groan, knowing that nothing good could come of him texting you on a Friday night when he knew you were at the game.

You skim the message, hoping that it was something that you could ignore for a few hours until you and Nico got home that night. One word catches your eye, causing you to choke on the sharp breath you took in.

‘Vancouver’ is right there, your boss telling you that there was an opening in your company’s office there, that you would be perfect for it, that you would get a higher salary, a relocation fee, the company would take care of everything you needed to have you move to Canada.

You would be near Quinn.

You let your boss know that you would think about it, reminding him that you were out with your friends at the game, just as you told him that morning. He sends back a simple thumbs up, as if that was a good enough reaction to letting you know that your dream job just got better.

The Hughes finally join you right as the anthems begin, pulling you in for hugs. The game begins, your attention anywhere by the actual game. You were facing the ice, but your mind was back to your phone. During the intermissions, you’re completely anti-social, looking at the application your boss sent you that you would need to fill out. He was right, you were perfect for the job.

The game ends, you heading down with the parents to see the guys, Quinn the first one out. He talks to his parents, you awkwardly standing off to the side.

He finally acknowledges you when his brothers come out of their locker room.

“So, how are you?” he asks, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking down at the ground.

“Good. You?”

“Good. How’s the job?”

“Good,” you let out. “There’s an opening in our Vancouver office,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

Quinn’s eyes light up, the smile on his face one that you hadn’t seen from him in a while. It made you smile. “Really? Are you going to take it?”

You sigh, the smile melting from your face. “I’m not sure yet. I would have to move. I would have to figure out Visa’s and everything. I would have to figure out things with,” your voice trails off, both of you knowing what you meant without you saying it. “Nico.”

Your boyfriend appears behind Quinn, a sudden panic coursing through you. You remember the idea of being away from Quinn tearing you apart inside, the thought making you sick. The idea of being away from Nico didn’t have that same effect.

____________________

“Will you marry me?” He asks, the look on his face hopeful and nervous while he waits for your answer.

You hesitate, knowing that he was panicking, hating that you made him feel that way. Your phone buzzes with a text from your boss before you can answer, your eyes flicking down to the screen. ‘Still interested in Vancouver?’ You hadn’t told Nico you applied for the job. You told yourself you didn’t want it that much but that it wouldn’t hurt to apply. Seeing Quinn keping coming up in your mind each time you lied to yourself, how you would be back in the same city as him.

You still love Quinn.

“No.”

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yizhou-time · 2 months ago

Text

[ 20.08 ] mafia!hongjoong — hurt to comfort (?)

warning/s: mentions of kidnapping, is this a sickfic 😭

rina’s notes: LOOK WE ALL SAW IOMT I COULDNT NOT???? i havent proof read because i dont do that baddies trust their instinct :) also i love writing for hongjoong it's so easy because like omg i love him

“i’m a grown adult, san.” you frown at the man looming over you. he shakes his head and pulls his handkerchief out of his suit pocket. he considers handing it to you but watches you as you cough and moves to wipe your nose for you. “i’m an adult with a cold, you’re doing too much.”

he continues to wipe your nose, even hongjoong walks in. “an adult who was kept in a flooded basement. you wouldn’t be ill if you weren’t put in that situation. a situation that you were put in because of us. stop downplaing everything please.” he puts the handkerchief on your bedside cabinet and strokes your hair before walking out, giving you and your boyfriend some space.

the door softly clicks shut and hongjoong slowly teeters your way. he can’t bare to see you in a hospital bed and knowing it was his fault makes his heart hurt more. “i- you don’t deserve this.” he sits in the chair next to you and waits for you to finish your coughing fit before grabbing your hand and placing a soft kiss on the top. he keeps it close to him, resting his forehead on it as he apologises. “i’m so, very, sorry, my love.” he kisses your hand again and continues to whisper apologies.

you take your hand out of his grasp and place it on his cheek. “i’m too ill to be angry and in too much pain to be upset.” he leans into your hand and turns his head to kiss your palm. “finding out about your little business through men who took me off the street wasn’t great but, hey, what can we do.” you laugh quietly, trying to find some comfort in joking however hongjoong being here was much more comforting.

“i promise i was going to tell you, i needed to so you could have someone with you but i didn’t and now-.” he reaches up and pushes hair stuck to your head behind your ear. “in all honesty, i wasn’t sure if we would be able to continue this dance we were doing. my heart wanted to but my head worried about things like this and look what happened.”

you shake your head at him. “you can’t talk about leaving me now.” he watches as tears well up in your eyes. “too much is going on for you to talk about that now, not when we need each other the most. who’s going to cuddle you at night when you’re already too hot? who’s going to bring me jelly when i’m upset?” his stoic face cracks a small smile and you giggle quietly.

“who’s going to be doing all that, huh?” he leans further into your hand and you stroke his cheek, mirroring his smile. you pull away from him and move across the bed to make more room, hongjoong gets the message almost immediately and stands up to join you. he pushes the duvet out of the way and lays down next to you.

he covers himself with the duvet and opens his arms for you to place your head on his chest, you do just that and wrap an arm around him. hongjoong hugs you and kisses the top of your head with a small frown. “let’s hope next time you’re ill it’s because you want to kiss in the rain again.”

his steady heartbeat is enough to lull you into a deep sleep quickly, after all you’ve been very busy these past few days and ending it in your boyfriend’s arms was all you could ask for now. he listens to your somewhat soft breaths and it’s music to his ears. you probably will wake up with a sore throat tomorrow and more sick than you were today but he’d rather you were sick with him than alone in your house or stuck in that basement. once he’s sure you’re down for good he closes his eyes, regardless of how uncomfortable he is all he’s needed the three nights without you is to have you back in his arms.

yeosang, yunho and seonghwa stand outside the small room, watching through the glass window on the door. small smiles fall on their faces as they watch their fierce leader fall into a state of tranquil. it was the calmest they’d ever seen him. they hadn’t seen your more intimate moments, san had been the only one to properly get to know you while the rest had only met you when hongjoong dropped you home or he was being dropped off to meet you. seeing him cuddled up was odd but it was what he deserved.

“his suit’s going to be creased.” yeosang shakes his head, still smiling.

“yeah, but he’ll buy a new one.” yunho looks at his friend then the couple.

seonghwa observes the scene in front of him. everything was right now, they were altogether. “come on, let’s get cleaned up and we can sort through everything tomorrow. i’m sure hongjoong wants to be there for it.”

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azriels-shadowsinger · 1 year ago

Note

No. 13 for Azriel please ❤️❤️🤌✨

“Everything reminds me of you, it's driving me insane”

Azriel x Reader

wc: 1.4K

a/n: kinda inspired by cardan’s letters. if yall read the cruel prince series then u know. get ready for some angst yall.

prompt list

“This is the last straw Azriel. I can’t handle not being a priority in your life! You always choose Rhys, Cassian, Elain, work, or literally anything else over me. I have only seen you once in the past week, and we live together for Cauldron’s sake! I feel like I live with a ghost. You’re gone before I wake up and you return after I fall asleep!” You yell between tears. “I can’t do this anymore. I love you, but it is too painful to keep living like this.” Azriel realizes where this is headed.

“Y/n, please. I’ll be better. I promise!” He begs, desperation in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Azriel. You had your chance, multiple actually. It’s too late.” You turn away, unable to look at his heartbroken face without potentially giving in. You can feel his shadows attempting to reach for you as you walk out the door.

———

January 7th

Dear y/n,

Rhys won’t tell me where exactly you left to, but promised he would deliver this. I understand that you are angry with me and that you need some time to calm down. I hope that you will return soon so we can work this out. I love you and I’m sorry.

Sincerely,

Azriel

———

January 29th

Dear y/n,

Point taken, dear. I know I messed up, but it’s been weeks and I miss you.

I know you are getting these letters. Rhys said he ensured they would be delivered. I guess that doesn't guarantee that you will read them. Nevertheless, I am sorry for my actions and I am taking steps to create boundaries in my life so that I can have more time for you. I can prove it, if only you would just come home.

With deepest apologies,

Azriel

———

February 14th

My love,

I had hoped you would return before Valentine's Day. You always loved celebrating this holiday. I know you won’t see them, but I still got you flowers. They're on your nightstand.

It's been over a month. I miss your voice. Please come home.

Azriel

———

March 7th

Y/n,

If this is your way of punishing me, then consider it a success. I’m a wreck without you. Please come home.

-Azriel

———

March 30th,

My heart,

I am begging you to come home. Come home and yell at me, come home and fight with me, just please come home. I love you and I’m so sorry.

Always with love,

Azriel

———

May, 15th,

Y/n,

I understand what you meant about feeling like you were living with a ghost. Everything reminds me of you, and it’s driving me insane. I am haunted by these traces of you around our home. Please end this torment and come back to me.

-Azriel

———

June 7th

I’m sorry.

I love you.

Why are you doing this to me?

I hate myself for causing this and pushing you away.

Do you still love me? Do you even miss me?

Please come home I can’t take it anymore.

I love you I love you I love you I love you

I miss you.

———

Y/n,

This is my last letter. I won’t bother you anymore after this. I hope that wherever you are, you are happy. I will always regret taking your love for granted.

Eternally yours,

Azriel

———

It was another sleepless night for Azriel. He was plagued with the memories of every single time he chose something or someone else over you. He’s past the point of beating himself up over it, but rather, he considers this the worst punishment of all. Being forced to relive each memory over and over, unable to change it. Hating himself and drowning his sorrows in whiskey.

He hears a knock at the door. It’s probably Cass or Rhys, doing their weekly check on him, since he rarely leaves the house anymore. Azriel chooses to ignore them.

They knock again.

“Fuck off, I’m not in the mood tonight guys.” He barks in the direction of the door, taking another sip of his whiskey.

Another knock.

Cauldron boil him, his brothers were relentless. He was going to open the door, but only to yell at them to leave. He grumbles angrily to himself all the way to the door.

“I said I wasn’t-“ It's not Rhys or Cassian on his doorstep. Instead, he sees you, holding a stack of letters. His letters.

This is another dream, he thinks. He must have fallen asleep on the couch. When he wakes you will be gone again, having torn the rip in his heart even wider. But until then, he lets himself indulge in the dream. Azriel doesn’t hesitate for another moment before pulling you into a tight hug.

“My dreams must be especially cruel tonight because somehow I am able to smell your perfume. I can feel your heartbeat.” He mumbles, face buried in your hair. His shadows encompass you two, whispering in Azriel’s ear y/n, y/n, y/n

“This isn’t a dream, Azriel.” You say softly, pulling away to look at him and placing a gentle hand on his cheek. It takes him a moment to realize what’s happening, but as soon as he does, he pulls you back into a hug, even tighter than before. You feel hot tears fall onto your shoulder as his shadows surge around you.

“My love, my heart, my star. You came back to me.” He sobs. Your heart breaks at the pain in his voice. You had known he was probably upset about the breakup, but in an attempt to heal and move on, you never opened his letters… until last night.

After several long minutes of intense bear hugs, he finally manages to let go. Well kind of, he can’t seem to let your hand go yet.

“We should talk, Az.” You say nervously.

“I will do anything you want if it means you will stay.”

Gods, you were the worst person in the world. This poor male, who you still love desperately despite your best efforts, is so broken over you leaving.

“I’m not going anywhere, Az.” You reassure him. He finally loses a small bit of tension in his shoulders a the words, but his hands seem to hold tighter. You take a deep breath, trying to prepare for what you have to say.

“I didn’t read your letters until last night. I was trying to get over you, and so I avoided reading them. In an attempt to move on, I had convinced myself you were happy without me. But I couldn’t move on. I couldn't stop loving you. When I finally read your letters, I realized you truly had changed. I should’ve read them months ago. I should've never left. I’m so sorry Azriel. I understand if you need time or if you can’t forgive me but-“ He cuts you off.

“I forgive you. I don’t need time. I only need you here.” He’s so quick to dismiss every mistake you made, it breaks your heart. It will take a long while to reassure him that you aren’t ever leaving again, maybe a lifetime, but that’s okay.

You take notice of his dark circles and how skinny he has gotten. Gods, has he eaten at all since you left, you wonder.

“Let me make us some dinner, then we can talk more, okay?” Azriel nods and reluctantly lets go of your hand, following you to the kitchen like a lost puppy.

———

After several long hours of tears and brutal honesty, you and Azriel lay in your bed, embracing each other.

You spent the next week holed up in the house, reconnecting and reigniting your love for each other. You even took extra time to apologize to his shadows. They were very happy that you were back and made sure to show you so.

True to his word, Azriel never took your love for granted for as long as you both lived. And true to yours, you never left again.

I think I may do this prompt again later with someone else in more of a rivals to lovers type scenario, but I kinda just felt like this was fun for this one and wanted to try it idk

prompt list

taglist: @fxckmiup

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #azriel #acotar fic #acotar fanfic #azriel acotar #acotar x reader #azriel x reader #my writing

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suuuupernovaaa · 5 months ago

Text

Summary: Azriel thought his love was dead.

Warnings: Mentions of violence, torture, blood.

Alive, his shadows whisper to him. She’s alive.

His wings cannot carry him there fast enough. Snow and ice tear at his skin as he flies over Velaris, and sweeps in through Rhysand and Feyre’s front door.

His chest heaves with strangled breaths as he lands in the foyer. “Where is she?” he demands, rough and loud, even though he can’t see anyone. He hears them upstairs, rushing around and whispering.

“Your room, come,” Feyre says, appearing at the top of the stairs, her eyes frantic and her dress bloodied. He clears the large staircase in three bounds, and follows passes Feyre in the hall.

His feet come to a halt at the entrance to his room, and he takes in the sight of her lying on the bed. Two healers attend to her, one on each side.

Her hair, normally so gold it nearly glows, is matted and dark with dirt and blood. There are wounds everywhere, cuts and scrapes on her pale face, exposed neck and arms, and her dress, the same one she was wearing when she disappeared two weeks ago, is dirty and torn.

She’s missing fingernails, part of her right ear is cut clean off, and blood drips from her nose.

Her chest rises and falls - alive, but asleep. He falls to his knees at the end of the bed, and weeps.

—

As I drift slowly towards consciousness, I expect to wake up in the same place that I have been since I was taken. A dungeon, cold and wet, strapped to stone table that is soaked with my blood and the blood of the poor souls before me.

Soon after I wake, he’ll return, with knives and chains and instruments of torture, and he’ll remain until I drift off again.

As the light begins to fill my eyes, I brace myself for his footsteps.

But they don’t come.

Beneath me is not unyielding stone, but a soft bed. Gone is the scent of blood, and I hear no screams.

I smell home. I smell him.

My eyes open slowly, and I’m so tired I can barely do it, but I need to see if it’s true.

He whispers my name when my eyes finally open, and I slowly turn my head to see him there, sitting next to our bed.

For two weeks, I did not cry. I endured in silence, unwilling to give my captors the satisfaction, picturing the very golden eyes that stare into mine now when it got very hard to stay still.

One look at the devastation in my mate’s eyes is my undoing, and I let out a choked sob as the tears begin to flow.

He’s upon me then, pulling me gently into his arms, and I grip him as tightly as I can.

“You’re safe. You’re safe with me, with us now,” he whispers to me, and I feel his shadows enveloping us, as if to hide me from any further danger. Welcome back, they seem to whisper.

It takes a long time before I stop crying and take inventory of my injuries. “How long have I been out?”

“Two days.”

My body feels okay. Sore, very tired, but I don’t feel anything broken beyond repair. At least, physically.

I reach up to touch my right ear, missing its pointed tip. “Ouch,” I hiss as my fingers brush the bandage.

“I’m so sorry. I’m… so sorry,” Azriel says, and I shush him in an instant.

“Absolutely not. I’ll never blame you and I won’t be able to heal if you’re blaming yourself. Do you hear me?” I glare at him, and he glances over my body once, pain deep in his eyes. “Do you?”

He meets my eyes and nods. “Yes.”

“Good. Now please, help me stand up.”

He makes to protest, and I lift my hand.

“I was not allowed to walk or even stand the entire time. I’ll walk now. Just for a moment.”

He supports me then, a grim expression on his face as he helps me into a sitting position, then standing. It hurts, but also feels so good to use my muscles this way. I groan, leaning on Azriel’s strong form for support.

Through the bond, I can feel how scared and exhausted he is. I want to tell him to lay down, to rest, but I’ve known my mate long enough to know he won’t.

We emerge from his room out into the hall, and I gesture towards the library down the hall. It has a large balcony where I can breathe fresh air, and it’s a short walk.

My legs feel stronger with every step, and when the cool night air hits me, I take in a deep breath, savoring the freshness of it. I close my eyes and let my chest fill with it over and over.

“The air in the dungeon was so stale. It smelled rotten, of piss and death. If you’d let me, I’d sleep on this balcony tonight.” I look over at Azriel, whose face is hardened.

“You need to heal, in a soft bed,” he replies.

I smile. “I know. Maybe camping, when I feel better.”

He nods curtly, and I lean my head on his shoulder. I feel his guilt then, deep and painful, as his shadows creep out to wrap around me as if to offer support.

“You need to process your feelings, Azriel. Work through them and release them. You are not to blame for what happened to me, and I need your help to heal myself.”

He looks down at me, almost startled by my words, and a shadow crosses his expression once more.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he replies simply, his voice thick with emotion.

I reach up and cup his cheek, trying not to grimace at the missing fingernails on my hand. They’ll grow back.

“I was not ready to leave you. They could have broken me, if I hadn’t had you to return to. Thinking of being with you again is all that kept me going. Without even being there, you saved me.”

He closes his eyes and presses his cheek into my palm, and a single tear escapes and slides down his golden-brown cheek.

I press a soft kiss to his lips, and he sweeps me up into his arms bridal style, and carries me back to bed.

Tomorrow, I’ll greet everyone else. I’ll thank them for saving me. I’ll cry and hug my family.

Tonight, I’ll sleep safely in the arms of my mate, wrapped in warm shadows.

#azriel x oc #azriel fic #azriel fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar

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myreallovelymind · 3 months ago

Text

Fucking through the pain

The guy I saw the other day, let’s call him G, told me I wasn’t allowed to touch myself until Sunday which was three days away. He wanted the first people to touch me until then. I was going to the kink event which I had no plans on playing as it was all new to me but I was still going to be horny as fuck. G allowed me to edge for 15 minutes tops after the event to soothe my horniness but I was going to need to him it for him.

I got dressed and ready for my kink event. Something happened in the pre-drinks which kinda made me feel uncomfortable and unsafe about going. G and I were texting about me going to see him after the event as a horny mess on his doorstep. After I made the decision of going home, I texted G asking if he was serious about me coming over because I was now free. He said yes, I should come to see him.

My outfit is hidden under shorts and a jumper so nobody would suspect how much of a slut I look like underneath. I turn up, show him my outfit, he gives me water and immediately bends me over the back of the sofa. He spanks, fingers me and licks me. I am a little tipsy but I immediately realise how much I needed his touch.

I moan and just enjoy the sensations. He pulls me up and tells me to kneel. I start worshipping him, looking up at him. He is in a shirt and fuck he looks good. He pulls me back up and starts fucking me. He moves me into the sofa and fucks me from on top. He’s big and he’s going deep so I’m struggling. It’s tight and hard to take it but I want to please him but I have to tap out a few times.

He pulls me on top and gently presses on the side of my neck. Enough for me to feel controlled but not too far that I feel safe. It gets a little blurry because I can feel myself switch off. I’m just taking me and it feels so good. I can start to feel tears but I try and control it. Not sure I’m quite ready to get that happen.

He stops fucking me and tells me I still need to record myself edging for him. We go to his bed, and he fucks me again. He gets his plug out and gentle inserts it in me. Its way bigger than the ones I have but fuck it feels amazing. He fucks me again.I laugh saying I’ll never actually get to edge. He stops, spanks me and gives me his wand and I try to edge as he sets up the cameras. The problem is 1) I’m tipsy so edging is hard 2) I’m so used to my clit sucker toy that I find it really really hard to edge. But I still enjoy the wand. He’s not even in the room! Though he comes back and spreads my pussy open (could post that on twitter). I stop and we end up chatting for a while. I'm enjoying the mix of lust and talk.

We start kissing again and we fuck. I’m on top and I’m loving it. I'm holding his shoulder strongly as he really fucks me. And then he says something so fucking hot

I'm about to cum. I'm going to fuck you hard and I'm not going to be able to stop so you're going to have to hold it if you need to cum.

Fuccckkkkk. He cums. Its amazing. I'm feeling pretty ruined and raw. We chat and laugh for god knows how long but we end up kissing each other again. I know he's going to want to fuck me. He downs down on me periodically during the evening, so he does again. It hurts again but he's gentle. It hurts but I can tell he needs this. He checks in on me but I tell him its okay.

I'm clenching the sheets and muffling my moans that are from pleasure and pain. I take it. I want him to be happy. I want him to cum. I need to please him. In that moment, his pleasure is more important than mine. I feel like crying again but it makes me so happy to take it. He cums. I'm smiling. I feel like I did did my job as a sub.

We get ready for bed and sleep. I wake up in the morning so horny. He fucks me again. It feels amazing. I ask for the toy, he agrees. I edge this time as he spoons me. There's something about a morning creampie.

I get my stuff. He takes away my underwear telling me I can get them on Sunday. I take the tube, and cum is literally drilling down my leg. Oh and I still can't touch until Sunday. I'm a mess.

#0rgasm denial #edging and denial #edging kink #bd/sm daddy #submission #daddy's wh0re #denial kink #bd/sm dynamic #bd/sm blog #edge slvt

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tomhockstetter7-111 · 2 months ago

Text

Highest Form of Empathy - Chapter 3

3k+ words

Logan x empath!reader

It's a blessing and a curse, feeling other's pain. More so when you can take it away, albeit at the expense of your own peace. One-night stands were a usual for you. That's all this was supposed to be. But, seeing someone in so much pain, you couldn't leave him like that. You just couldn't. Besides, it's not like you'd ever see him again.....

CW: Vague mention of trauma and relationship trouble, mentions of death

Masterlist

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

Early January, 2006

Westchester, New York

Blinking sleep from your eyes, you wake to the slowing of a car. You straighten your back, bones and joints cracking back to life as you stretch out your arms. It was a long flight, and you had drifted off to sleep upon entering the taxi that, turns out, was called especially for you. You vaguely hear the loud shut of the driver’s side door as you look out your window to see a sprawling, Victorian style mansion emitting a hefty sense of old money. A bald man in a wheelchair, maybe in his sixties, sits at the entrance, double doors sitting wide open behind him. Next to him stands a large, imposing figure, seemingly made of metal.

You’re shocked to full attention when the cab driver opens your door, helping you out with a gloved hand, before moving to your luggage in the trunk. He bids you farwell and you thank him before dragging your suitcases to the stairs. You watch as the car begins to disappear from view, and you’ve barely taken a few steps before your luggage floats right out of your hand causing you to stumble. Your brain struggles for a moment before you turn to the side and see the metal man taking your belongings into his hands, lifting them over his shoulders.

"Please, allow me." He offers in a thick Slavic accent. You blink, disoriented when the cogs finally turn in your brain, and you stammer out a small thanks. The man nods his head to the door and you work to pull yourself together as you make your way there.

The man in the wheelchair gives you a kind, welcoming smile. "Charles Xavier." He says with an outstretched hand.

You take it in a firm shake, breathing deeply through your nose in an attempt to hide your nerves. “Y-yeah. It’s great to finally meet you.”

"You as well. This,” he gestures to the large man beside you, “is Peter.”

“‘Colossus’, please,” he cuts in, notes of grinding steel accompany his voice.

You return it with another polite smile. He seems nice enough. “Pleasure to meet you, Colossus.”

“Come.” Charles urges, backing up his chair to let you inside. “I'll show you to your room. Then, we can get everyone properly established in my office."

You follow him through the foyer and up the stairs, watching as he maneuvers the space with surprising efficiency. As he leads the way up the stairs, chair connected to some hidden mechanism in the banister, you take in the space around you — intricate details in the dark oak wood, stained-glass windows casting ornate hues across foyer, and white marble covering the floors, making the space appear bigger than it probably is. Maybe it’s that it’s new, but you can’t help but feel dwarfed by the sheer scale of the place. Buff Tin man next to you certainly doesn’t help.

You hear a puff of air come from Charles’s direction. Did he just snicker?

Reaching the top floor, you make your way down the hall where you see a plethora of doors, and more around the corner. Silver name plaques accompany each, and your little group stops before a door without one, though the space of discolored wall still remains. Colossus sets down your things before transforming into an equally large person, now flesh and bone, with brown hair in a military cut. You shouldn’t be taken aback by this point, but it’s your first time seeing a physical mutation in real life. It’s hard not to stare.

“Pleasure to meet you. I hope you settle well,” he states.

“Thanks. Good to meet you, too.” He bows his head before heading down the hall, heavy footsteps accompanying him the whole way. You watch him disappear around the corner before you turn to Charles and say in a low voice, "You said you could help me refine my abilities. You never really elaborated."

"Yes.” His voice drawls out as he rummages through his pocket. He takes out a key and hands it to you, the metal shockingly cold. “It's my understanding you're perceptive to those around you and can manipulate their minds."

"Sometimes." You look to your side as visions of your flash through your mind, your mother, college roommate, and every failed relationship. But, how would he know?

"That would be my mutation," he explains, and your eyes go wide, blood rushing to your face. Shit, did you say that out loud? "I'm one of a select few with capabilities others would find to be a threat. I'm able to hear others’ thoughts, influence their actions, and take control of their brains if I so wish. Not that it's of interest to me."

"And, yet, you went looking through my head. People don't like that, you know." Your tone is teasing, but you can’t help but feel apprehensive.

“Yes, well, I do overhear things,” he says as you go to unlock the door.

You take in the sight before you. It's a big room, modest in decor. Ahead of the door is a queen-size bed pushed up next to a window and a bedside table with a lamp. Across from it is a desk with a bookshelf to the left and a dresser to the right, a door in between. Next to the entrance is another door. You assume one must be a closet and the other a bathroom. Between it all, in the center, is a big portion of empty space covered by a Hungarian style carpet. You roll your bags inside as Charles explains further.

"Some people project their thoughts louder than others." He leans back in his chair, relaxing. You understood that, the projection of people’s thoughts. In your years, high school especially, you noticed some people’s brains are just naturally noisier than others. "To your previous question,” he continues, “I've only ever encountered one other mutant with capabilities similar to mine. We had to work fairly hard to help her get a handle on her powers. Unfortunately, I had to take drastic measures. But, it worked to save her in the end." You feel a twinge of guilt from him, however faint, at his last remark making your shoulders tense. Though, you lack the details, you imagine it couldn't have been an easy decision. "When I mentioned the school suffered a terrible loss, that would be her."

"What was her name?" You ask as you straighten to stand before him again. You can put your things away later.

"Jean. Doctor Jean Grey."

You nod, shoulders tensing. "Is she why you're offering to help with my uh…powers?" You figure now that you’re here you might as well call them what they are.

"Yes and no. There are parallels, of course, but they're hardly different from any other psychic’s. Much like my other staff, I believe you can help us to help others, and I would like to help you to achieve that."

You take a moment of pause. The mere thought bothers you. Fucking with people’s brains isn’t exactly fun for you, and good rarely comes from doing more than snooping.

Charles seems to take notice when you bite the inside of your cheek. "As I said before, you're capable of more than you're using. Not only that, but I can teach you to control it. Much like Miss Grey and myself, mutations such as yours lie in the subconscious. It’s important not to let your emotions take the reins.” His voice lowers as he says, “Some never learn to. But, your powers don't strike me as terribly unmanageable. If we could fine tune them in addition to your combat skills, you would make for a worthy adversary."

Your breath hitches, muscles going stiff. "I don’t know..." Charles begins back towards the stairs, you in toe.

"No one has to get hurt. Not seriously, anyway,” he chuckles and you crack a smile yourself. “Your abilities are a tool, not a weapon."

In Charles’s Office, you find yourself in front of four teachers. One in particular stands out as looking like something out of a fairytale with his blue skin and backward facing knees. But, the one that catches your attention stands to your right in a black biker jacket, mirroring your own, with red sunglasses. You can detect an aura of hostility coming from him as he seems to be staring you down. Why it's directed at you, you can't tell. Though you can’t see his eyes, something about his gaze makes you squirm in your skin. You redirect your attention to Charles when he says your name, introducing your position as the health teacher, counsellor, and newest addition of the team.

“My dear, this is Remy LeBeau, The Gambit, our sex-ed teacher. He also leads fitness classes and is training Colossus to do so soon.”

Remy shoots you a wink which you return a tight-lipped grimace to.

“Then,” Charles continues gesturing to the fairy creature, “we have Mr. Kurt Wagner, Nightcrawler, who teaches drama and has recently taken over literature for me. Ororo-”

"Please, call me 'Storm'," says the woman. She had darker skin, but her hair is strikingly white, reminding you of the clouds and snow outside.

“Yes. Storm teaches science, in place of Miss Grey, as well as tactical training with Scott.” Charles turns to the guy with the glasses. “Scott, alias Cyclops, also teaches math.”

Scott doesn't give a greeting.

Even after Charles explains the reasoning for codenames, having to do with the task force, X-Men, you can't help but find them a touch hilarious and have to stifle a snicker at each one for which Scott throws you another glare.

Wait! Fuck, are you getting a codename?

"We're just missing Logan, the Wolverine," Charles clarifies, "who we spoke about on the phone." He turns to face you. "He's away for the break, currently, but he should be back shortly. Currently he fills in for absences when needed, and, as I said, you'll be working with him in combat training-"

"What?" Scott pipes up.

It speaks!

"You can't throw her in the deep end like that. She'll get killed."

"Nonsense," Charles snaps, voice rising. "Logan is our best teacher in combat, especially for established fighters. You know that. I'm sure you remember Jean being more capable than she looked as well."

You feel a pinch, almost burning, in your chest as you turn your attention to Scott. Something about this Jean's mention struck a nerve. Who is she, anyway, and why are you getting compared to her?

"He could hurt her...if he's not careful." Scott mutters the last bit. You raise an eyebrow at that. Now, why would he say that? Charles seems like a smart man. He likely wouldn’t put you in harm’s way if the danger was apparent.

"I appreciate your worries,” you cut in, “But, I'll be fine."

"You don't know who you're dealing with-"

"I can protect myself just fine!" You take a step forward. He's starting to piss you off and the ire in his head only serves to fuel your newfound disdain. "What kind of asshole wears sunglasses inside, anyway?" You mutter. A low blow. Maybe a tad childish, especially in front of your new employer. But, he started it.

"Great, another one,” he huffs before turning to Charles. “Excuse me, sir, but I have a class to get to. Storm?" Only then does your brain register everyone else in the room, again.

Storm, who's eyes are still wide from watching the interaction, nods as he stomps out the door. "Good to meet you." She speaks before running to catch up with him.

Charles clears his throat, "You'll have to excuse him. Scott and Jean were very close."

You watch his form further down the hall. Storm seems to be chewing him out for making a scene, though the words are muffled. "What did he mean by 'another one'?" you ask, turning to Charles.

"It would seem you remind him of our Logan. No matter. Now then," he claps his hands and turns to the two remaining in the office, "Kurt, I'm sure you're just as busy. Remy, please ensure our newest member gets settled accordingly."

"Nothing would make me happier, teach." Remy, on your left, finally chimes in.

"And here, cher" Remy opens the door for you, "will be your office."

In front of you is another modest room, although slightly bigger than your bedroom. There's a desk in the corner by a floor to ceiling bookshelf, and two large chairs by a small table across from it. Looks like there's plenty of decorating to do here and upstairs. "It's nice." You say with a nod.

"Used to be Jean's."

You turn around to look at him. "Did you know her?"

"Nah. She was gone by the time Charles found me. Apparently, Scott was gonna propose the week after she died."

You furrow your brows at that. "How did she die?"

"She drowned." It's said nonchalantly, catching you off guard. "They were in Canada on a mission. Dam broke, jet broke down, so she made sure it flew. Got it in the air just in time. Storm says she used Charles to say 'Bye' to Scott. Boy's been a wreck ever since."

"I see..." You'd heard about the flood up north. It never occurred to you that mutants could be involved. The news channel, the only thing that felt worth watching anymore, faulted lack of government regulations. Supposedly it had been neglected for a while.

This still didn't explain Scott's animosity towards you. All you did was fucking stand there, and that somehow threw a target on your back?

"Rumor has it Logan didn't take it too well, either." Remy pulls you back before your thought spirals. Well, this just got interesting.

"What's with Logan, anyway?" You cross your arms.

“Nothin’ to worry about, cher. Logan’s a quiet guy. Real nice when he wants to be, but…” Remy takes a cautious look around the hallway to be sure you're alone before leaning in close to your ear. "Supposedly, Logan tried to steal his girl. First day he met her, he was smitten. You ask me, I think he just liked her curves if you know what I mean."

You shriveled away at the last bit with a sarcastic, "Can’t wait." So far, this Logan guy is shaping up to be quite the character.

"Mmm...something tells me you'll get along just fine, cher." Remy gives you a mischevious grin and pats your shoulder as he walks away. You try not to take offense to his comment. Hell, you haven’t met the guy, yet. "Now, it's a little cold out," he moves on, "but the garden's next. Trust me, you gonna love it. Big, spacious, wonderland in the spring and winter..." Remy gestures wildly with his arms as you follow him down the hall. You still have yet to receive any strong emotions from him. It's refreshing.

Your work began the next day. Settling into your new job comes a fair bit easier than you expect. In the later hours of the day, after meeting with students, a young woman with a quiet atmosphere walks into your office. Based on your file, she's twenty-two, about five or six years your junior, and calls herself Rogue, given name long abandoned. She sits across from you in the green chair closest to the door.

"Are you planning to mind control me?" She asks.

You chuckle at the naive question, "No, I can't do that. I prefer a more conservative approach, anyway. Besides, that's not quite how my powers work." At least, you don’t think it is. She crosses her arms and legs before leaning back in her chair. "I get the sense you don't really want to be here..."

"The professor said I should try it."

"I see." You place your clipboard down on the table. "Rogue, right?"

She nods.

"I hope you understand I'm only here to help. If you're not willing to dive into things, then you're not. I can't and won't force you. Besides, this is only a consultation."

"Meaning..." It makes sense this girl wouldn’t know how therapy works, actually. Most of the students didn't seem to have gone to a doctor in a while, either. Why would they when all that work is done here? Remy vaguely mentioned there was a lab in the basement where everyone went for medical care yesterday.

"Well," you start, "at its core, a consultation is a visit where I ask a series of questions. We get to know each other, and you tell me a bit about your past and what you're struggling with. It's all at your pace, of course. If I have your consent, I’d be taking a look at the reactions in your brain while you talk. I saw you left that box unchecked." You watch as Rogue worries her lower lip between her teeth. "If it makes you more comfortable, you can start, and I'll just listen."

And so, after some consideration, she begins, giving her consent verbally for you to peek into her mind as she talks. Come to find out Rogue had been a runaway after her powers manifested at the later age of seventeen. She put it bluntly, stating "The first boy I ever kissed went into a three-week coma because of me."

You'd heard of several mutations from the news, but life absorption was beyond your imagination until now. She laments on how it’s taken its toll on her relationships since manifesting, the feeling of longing and separation ever present in her mind. She talks of her boyfriend, Bobby, and the struggles that came with dating someone she couldn't touch. Her voice drops at the mention of someone named Kitty, and you feel your body mirror hers as it becomes hard to breathe, your stomach twisting into knots. You had seen her on your schedule earlier today, appointment set a few days from now. You took a moment to check yourself before you attributed any opinions to her, reminding yourself you’re here to help everybody, not just a select few.

"I see the way he looks at her," her voice breaks. "And, they help each other out on mission simulations. Sometimes, I catch them hanging out alone. He took her skating on the pond once when it was too warm for ice. I mean, I know it's not easy dating someone you can't touch. But, it's like he didn't consider it in the first place when he asked me out. This is a permanent thing that's not going away. Now…it’s like he thinks he can have it both ways."

Rogue and Bobby had tried several methods. Her gloves and long sleeves provided enough protection, but nothing could replace the feel of skin to skin contact. Once, Bobby had tried using his ice powers to create a barrier between their skin. But, that had proved fruitless when the heat of their bodies melted it. "I said I was sorry," she says, defeated.

You listen closely as you jot down notes on your clipboard.

"I guess that's what he gets for being nice to me when I first got here." She tries making light of the situation, but it clearly bothers her.

You look up from your papers to meet her eyes, setting the pen down next to you. "Rogue, everyone deserves kindness. You shouldn't sell yourself short like that." Relationship aside, maybe he noticed how lonely and nervous she was. “This isn’t your fault. None of this is your fault.” You say it with a firm tone, hoping it gets through to her. You vaguely remember being her age. All those complicated emotions swirling around, the feeling of your head being pulled between conspiracy and reality as you never truly know what is real. Of course, you could tell when your partners lied or had doubts. You could tell every time.

Rogue sits in silence briefly before glancing over at the clock. It didn't escape your notice that you two only have five minutes left. "Can we meet next week?"

"Of course. Whatever you like." You feel a sliver of joy and relief creep through the shadow over her head. It makes you smile.

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

A/N: LOGAN NEXT CHAPTER!!! Homestretch, Folks! I promise.

#logan howlett #logan wolverine #wolverine #x men wolverine #logan #wolverine imagine #logan x reader #the wolverine #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #logan xmen #james logan howlett #james howlett #wolverine xmen #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine fic #highest form of empathy

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a-romantics-guide-to-life · 5 months ago

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⋆ ₊☽˚𝓵𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓭 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓵𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓼˚☾₊ ⋆

𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂 : you and coryo had gone through hell and back, you've been together and far apart yet you could never find the courage to say how you truly feel for him. so, you wrote them into letter form, but you never sent them. and so what happens when one mr. snow finds each and every letter only to realize that it's too late?

𝓽𝓻𝓲𝓰𝓰𝓮𝓻 𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 : written in letter form from the readers perspective, talks of jealousy and sad feelings, r is definitely from the capitol, self blame, kinda sorta depression, angst, deceit, suicide, coryo finally responds

𝓪/𝓷 : so here’s the grand finale! thank you all for all the support and love on this fic, i turly am so grateful for every single note, kudos, reblog, and comment (even if its just you telling me how i made you cry ; ) ) here we are! hope you enjoy!

𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓲𝓸𝓾𝓼 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽

⋆ ₊ ☽ ·˚𓍲⋆ 𝓮𝓹𝓲𝓵𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓮⋆𓍲˚· ☾ ₊ ⋆

To my Dearest Darling,

My love, my darling, words cannot describe the pain in my chest.

You can’t truly be gone. This must be some kind of hoax. I find that my eyes that you once called the most precious gems are filled with tears as I read the letter I received promptly after returning back from 12.

I have many regrets my dearest, but my most haunting is you.

I can’t believe what a fool I have been, to have tossed you to the side when you have been there for me in a way that no one else can.

Your family has invited me to your funeral, the audacity of those ingrates. They plundered your room, taking anything and everything. Which is how they happened upon your delicate box filled with tear stained letters.

All addressed to me.

The shock that overcame me as I heard straight from your bastard of a father had nearly killed me alone.

He had told me that you had thrown yourself off a bridge. Called you an ungrateful whore who didn’t do anything but take his money and take advantage of your family's good name.

I nearly jumped up from my seat and beat your father to death. How dare he call you names when every single dollar he ever gave you to keep you quiet lay in my drawer. How dare he call you an ungrateful whore for turning down an arranged marriage. And how dare he belittle you behind your cold back when I know I have hurt you like no other.

I have turned my back on you when you have been my greatest supporter, even greater than my own cousin. I have chosen another girl over you who has loved me since the very beginning, since we were young. I have cut you so deeply that you could not bear living anymore.

How could I?

Please my darling, you must know that I, there is no way I can atone for my sins, not that you are no longer here.

Please my darling, you must forgive me.

Please, please, please.

Please forgive me for not writing to you all those years ago when we were young and caught in the middle of a war we had no part in. Please forgive me for not seeing you as the Angel you truly are.

Please forgive me for not noticing how you hurt for me, a man who is so undeserving of your compassion and empathy.

Please forgive me for turning my back on you, even when I knew that you understood me like no other. Please forgive me for not hearing your pleas for me to wake up, for not thanking you for weeping over my sickly frame.

Please forgive me for not turning to you first, my loudest cheer when Lucy Gray was finally out of that arena. Please forgive me for not noticing how you were hurting, how you were aching, as I held you when I kissed you cheek tenderly. Please forgive me for not seeing your inner turmoil.

Please forgive me for not seeing how you loved me.

Please forgive me for becoming the very thing I hated. Please forgive me for giving into the temptation that was Lucy Gray. Please forgive me for not telling you, the one who’d never even breath about my deepest secrets to another, that I had been exiled.

Please forgive me for leaving you all by yourself in the large, large Capitol. Please forgive me for not even thinking about how you would feel all by yourself.

Please forgive me for not being there for you when Billius proposed to you. Please forgive me for not being there for you.

Please forgive me for not telling you the truth.

To be honest, it’s been eating up my insides. I wanted to tell you so badly. I regret it so much, I never even realized how much I would suffer, how much you would suffer, from my actions.

Darling, please forgive me. Please forgive me. Darling, please forgive me for lying to you.

For not loving you like I have.

For not showing you how much I love you.

Please, darling, forgive me.

Wherever you are, please forgive me.

Please, darling, forgive me.

Sweet Angel, my heart felt ripped out of my chest as I saw your delicate face in a coffin, skin cold and flushed pale. Your parents were as stone faced as usual, their eyes bone dry.

Sweet Darling, I pray that you forgive me from the great beyond. I pray that you watch over me and guide me to become a person worthy of your love for as I am now, I am undeserving of your life, your tears, your love.

My Dearest Darling, as I read all those letters and saw the tear stains that marred the paper, my heart ached for you, felt the unbearable pain that no number of sorrys and whiskeys can drown out.

My Dearest Darling, I love you.

I am so sorry that I have been an ignorant fool who is unworthy of everything you ever gave me.

I now know that I will never smile again, unless I smile with you.

Please wait for me my Darling.

Please forgive me,

Coryo

#coriolanus snow #coryo snow #coriolanus x reader #tom blyth #tom blyth x reader #letters #the hunger games #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #thg #emi sanity #ngl not too happy with this one #dunno if it’s really that good

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munson-blurbs · 1 year ago

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086: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader Series

Chapter 001: I Wouldn't Remember Me, Either

Summary: A new patient arrives at the lab unable to recall his past. With a parallel universe seeping into the real world, you've been assigned to pull his memories to the surface, but what you remember threatens everything.

Warnings: dark themes, mostly canon-compliant (Eddie lives), violence, blood, restraint, amnesia, abduction

WC: 3k

Divider credit to @saradika

He awakens with a jolt, heart pounding in his chest. The room is bathed in a fluorescent haze that pinches his retinas and has him squinting as he adjusts to the light after days spent asleep.

“Wh-Where…” His throat is raw, and he coughs up blood, spattering his chin and the top of the hospital gown he’s tied into. He tries to wipe it off, but metal digs into his wrists as he realizes he’s cuffed down. He gives another yank, one handcuff clanging against the gurney’s rail. Pain rips through his torso at his sudden movement, so fierce and intense that his vision blurs. He swallows the bile inching up his esophagus and lays back down in defeat.

A group of men in head-to-toe white surround his bedside within thirty seconds of him waking up, clipboards and charts clutched tightly in their hands. They jot down his vitals that pulse on the nearby monitor, and murmur amongst themselves. One of them must have just come in from a smoke break; the scent of tobacco wafts past 086’s nose and elicits a craving for a pull from a cigarette.

He shakes it off and musters up all of the energy he can to try and make his voice heard. “What’s going on?”

Only one of the men acknowledges his words, turning to him with a blank, stoic expression. “Patient 086,” he addresses him, the heels of his Oxfords clicking against the hard tile, “we are…pleased to have you here with us.” He lets out a singular heh, a pathetic excuse for what passes as laughter.

086’s stomach twists at this; he takes a deep breath that heightens the ache radiating behind his torn flesh.

“Why am I…handcuffed?” he grunts out, teeth digging into his lower lip in a grimace.

The man ignores his question yet again. “You will answer a series of questions before we can determine where to place you.” He glances down at his checklist, pen perched atop the paper, ready to write. “Question one: what is your name?”

A grin appears on 086’s lips, cracking where the thin skin is chapped. “My name? It’s…” He trails off, smile faltering as quickly as it came. “It’s…” No. I have to know it; it’s my goddamn name. He wracks his brain, a throb pulsing against his temples as he struggles to remember the most basic detail about himself.

“Date of birth?”

Days, months, years fly through his head. Maybe April; that seems right. Or is it August? He mouths the word, rolling it over his tongue to see if it brings back a familiar feeling, but it doesn’t sway him in either direction. “I don’t know.”

He can only offer the same response to the questions about his hometown, his parents, his school. Each missed answer draws an amused expression from the man in white, his eyebrows nearly reaching his salt-and-pepper hair when the patient before him fails to recall his own life history.

086 watches as the man nods at one of his colleagues, a short man with a crew cut, who promptly pulls a small key from his pocket. In one swift motion, he unlocks the cuffs, still standing guard in case 086 tries to lash out and attack.

And though 086 feels the urge to fight, to demand answers he should already know, all he can do is bring his left hand to his right wrist. He massages where the handcuff has indented his pale skin, taking note of the three digits etched just below his palm.

086

“Is this…did I…” On the same arm is a small collection of bats; recognition burns in his brain, but he can’t bring forward the memory of why the tattoos are there.

“You already had a host of markings before coming into our care,” Salt-and-Pepper remarks brusquely, “but the numeric identifier is our way of keeping track of patient whereabouts and achievements.”

Confusion furrows 086’s brows and creases his forehead. “My…achievements?”

“Your achievements,” Salt-and-Pepper confirms, his mouth pressed into a straight line. “Once you are healed enough to participate in lessons, we can begin determining what assets you bring to our project.”

“Project?” he repeats dumbly, disorientation morphing into ire at the lack of answers. His fists clench instinctively; the older man’s eyeline flickers towards the slight movement, but he doesn’t order him to be re-cuffed.

The already frigid air chills even more as the man offers a horrible smile. “You have an awful lot of questions, don’t you?” He clicks his tongue against his teeth with another unnerving laugh. “An inquisitive one. Unfortunately, I’m not at liberty to provide those answers.” He nods at the colleague holding the keys, who promptly slides the handcuff around the patient’s wrist once again, his brief moment of freedom slipping away as quickly as it came.

“After I help with the project…then I can go home?” The patient looks at the men before him, scanning their faces for some inkling of a response. “When can I go home?” he asks more forcefully, body aches be damned.

Salt-and-Pepper crosses his arms over his broad chest. “And where is home, 086?” His voice is soft, but his eyes are steely with malice. “Tell you what: give us your address and we’ll take you there right now.” He waits a beat, smirking with the knowledge that his patient won’t be able to remember. “That’s what I thought.”

He pivots on his heel and walks out the door. The group of men follow him without another word, their footsteps disappearing down the hall.

086 lays back down and breathes a terse exhale of frustration. Tears sting at his eyes as the realization of his state of utter helplessness sinks in. He wants to call out for someone, anyone, to save him, but he can’t think of a single person.

This is Hell, he thinks. Numbness overtakes his body as he begins accepting his defeat. I’ve done something to royally piss off God, and now I’m in Hell.

Fingers from his unchained hand reflexively fly to his scalp, a nervous habit that penetrates the fuzziness coating his sense of self. He’s met with no resistance, no tangles, no snags; his hair had been buzzed down while he was unconscious.

A neuron fires: this isn’t right. I don’t know what it is, but something is very wrong. It’s the final straw that sends him hurtling over the edge.

“Goddammit! Let me go! LET ME GO!” He thrashes against the restraints, ignoring the pain ripping through him. A stitch on his abdomen pops with a ping, fresh blood seeping through the thin hospital gown.

Three of the white-clad men rush into the room. One holds down his free hand while another pins his head to the stiff cotton masquerading as a pillow. 086 leans over and bites the nearest man’s wrist until he can taste metal on his tongue, spitting red. The bleeding man holds strong, almost unfazed; it’s clearly not his first time having teeth sunk into his skin.

The third man is Salt-and-Pepper. He stands to 086’s left and plunges a needle into his neck without a moment of hesitation. The syringe’s serum leaves him warm and tingly, eyelids weighed down. “Good night,” the man whispers in sing-song, his malicious chuckle warped as the patient floats into a sedated slumber.

The last thing 086 registers before sleep pulls him back into its embrace is the voice of the man with the now-empty syringe.

“He’ll learn.” A pause. “C’mon, Snell. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Snell. The man who I bit is called Snell.

And then he’s out.

270 days. You’ve been here for 270 days, each one identical to the last. Wake up, attend hours upon hours of training, sleep, repeat. Every morning brings the sinking realization that escape is impossible and freedom is a far-off dream; your new destiny is that of a lab rat. Even the hands of the wall clock have stopped ticking by, their batteries petering out some months ago at exactly 2:17.

If only you’d ignored the phone when it rang that evening. If only you’d run the other way. If only you hadn’t quite literally bumped into Dr. Snell as you’d bolted through the woods, desperate to avoid the evil looming over your ill-fated town. If only–

“055.”

Your head snaps up from your worn copy of Of Mice and Men when Dr. Moseley calls out your identifier—you refuse to consider it your name—from the doorway. He offers a half-smile that has you shriveling inward. Ever since Dr. Brenner’s untimely passing days earlier, Dr. Moseley has been increasing your training, trying to make you the secret weapon that would allow him to step into the late scientist’s shoes.

“Yes, Dr. Moseley.” You force a chipper tone, swallowing your fear and dog-earing your page. You’ve read this book so many times that you could rewrite it from memory, but it serves as your only source of entertainment. It’s rumored that the scientists have access to a small television set, but none of the patients have ever seen it.

He crooks a finger, gnarled with arthritis, to beckon you over. You stand up from your cot while his eyes bore into you, smoothing the nonexistent creases in your hospital gown. The tile floor is frigid against your feet; you have no socks to serve as barriers against it. Every square inch of this place is always cold.

The doctor fixes his posture and peers downward, an assertion of dominance that does not go unnoticed. “Your…expertise is needed.” His nose twitches slightly. “Come.”

You and he both know that he doesn’t even have to tell you to follow him; obedience has been ingrained in you well before you’d been brought to the lab. Before it was the doctors, it was your friends. Before your friends, it was your parents.

A semblance of a smile flutters across his face as you comply with his order. “We have a new patient,” he explains, keeping his volume to a minimum as the two of you make your way down a dimly-lit corridor. “Like you, he was raised on the outside, but there are two major differences between you and him. Number one, he’s not a good listener.” Dr. Moseley chuckles, clammy thumb and forefinger gently perched underneath your chin in a display of affection that leaves you wanting to retch. “I had to sedate him earlier today after an…outburst. And, number two, he cannot recall a thing about his past. Not even his name. That’s where you come in, my dear.”

Another unnecessary statement; besides subservience, your only real use is memory pulling. It’s what you’ve been training for since arriving here last summer.

“We need to know why he was in The Nether, what he did, and anything he may have altered,” he continues. “It’s also highly unlikely that he was alone, and we need to know who else was with him. We can’t have people with this knowledge going unmonitored.” He pauses and makes unwanted, harsh eye contact. “You will find out this information for us so we can ensure everyone’s safety.”

“Of course,” you murmur, nodding your head and casting aside the doubt you harbor over the truthfulness of his words.

Dr. Moseley pushes open the door to the new patient’s room, where Drs. Snell and Cavendish are already awaiting your entrance. You note the beige bandage wrapped around Dr. Snell’s forearm but refrain from asking questions.

“This is 086,” Dr. Moseley reports, gesturing to the gurney where the young man lay sleeping on his side, arm crossed over his face in a makeshift shield. Bits of dried blood still stick to his exposed cheek despite the attempts to clean him up. His chest rises and falls rhythmically; if you didn’t know any better, you would think he was in the midst of a peaceful slumber. But there is no peace here. There never has been.

“Is there anything we do know about him?” The more information you have, the easier it will be to access his memories.

Dr. Cavendish clears his throat. “I was part of the team that rescued him from The Nether,” he ventures hesitantly. “I can allow you into the memory so you will know what to look for.”

You nod, but Dr. Moseley puts out a hand to stop you before you can even begin. “If she does that, will she have the stamina to access 086?” His voice is clipped, not wanting to waste more precious time.

“It’ll just be a moment,” you reassure him. Memory retrieval is much easier when the person brings it to the forefront of their brain; the challenge occurs when memories are tucked away as though being stored for safekeeping.

When Dr. Moseley says nothing, you take a step towards Dr. Cavendish. “Tell me to stop if it hurts at all,” you say, taking his hand in yours. Your eyes meet his steeled blue ones as you pull the ribbon that unravels his thoughts.

The night isn’t pitch-black, but is submerged in a bluish gray that permeates the atmosphere. Thick, tentacle-esque vines snake along the ground, and you—Dr. Cavendish, rather, since you’ve wormed into his perspective and don his skin—carefully avoids stepping on them with Hazmat suited feet.

“I’ve got one!” An urgent voice calls from a distance. “But if he isn’t dead yet, he will be soon.”

Dr. Cavendish spins to face where his colleague stands, striding over to the crumpled body lamely laying in the dirt, surrounded by a flock of dead creatures. The victim is covered in blood; it’s smeared across his face and oozing from punctures along his abdomen. It mats his frizzy hair, tints the ground maroon, and fills the air with the smell of iron.

“I’ll get his legs, you get under his arms.” Dr. Cavendish commands, already bending at the knees and bracing his back to lift the young man. “On the count of three. One, two—”

“That’s enough.”

Two words from Dr. Moseley drag you back to reality. You swipe at the blood that’s gathered under your right nostril and sniff, steadying yourself on the gurney rail. In front of you, Dr. Cavendish massages the bridge of his nose to quell the inevitable headache that follows memory accession.

Your journey was brief, but you’ve gathered sufficient information to delve into 086’s history.

“Okay,” you breathe, grabbing 086’s cuffed hand. This is a much different set-up than you’re accustomed to. For one, there’s no way to make eye contact, not while 086 is asleep. Everything prior to this has just been practice with scientists with the goal of eventually infiltrating the minds of Russian nemeses.

A tattoo peeks out from the patient’s drooping collar, an insect’s spindly legs emerging from a soft tuft of chest hair and fresh scars. There’s a familiarity to the faded ink, but Dr. Moseley does not afford you the luxury of uncovering it.

“055.” His voice is stern. “Please begin.”

Your open eyes find 086’s closed ones as you try to ignore your nagging conscience. This is a person; someone who, as far as anyone knows, has only committed the crime of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Everything within you screams no, that this is a violation, but another brusque throat-clearing catapults you into compliance.

Blue haze. Bat-like creatures. Blood. You grasp onto the image from Cavendish and let yourself into 086’s mind.

You wade through darkness for a bit, hyper focused on finding a resembling memory. Your temples throb as you concentrate on your search. Blue haze. Bat-like creatures. Blood.

Nothing.

Squeezing his hand a bit tighter, you will the wave of remembrance to crash over you. You’re pouring out every ounce of energy you possess, a draining battery, as you stand alone in utter darkness.

Blue haze. Bat-like creatures. Blood.

You latch onto something and pull yourself into it. The visual is hazy, likely because of 086’s own inability to recall it naturally, but you can hear it all.

Unidentifiable screeching objects–possibly the bat-esque monsters you’d seen in Dr. Cavendish’s memory–shriek and thwack against metal in rapid succession just as a scream roars over the clatter. It’s not one of terror, but of vengeance, and you feel your physical self tense up with a rage you didn’t know you held.

“Come on!” bellows 086, the challenge rising up from his diaphragm and rattling his whole body.

The next sounds happen almost simultaneously: fabric tearing, fangs hungrily sinking into flesh, and an unmistakable cry of pain.

You don’t know how much longer you can stand to listen to this man wail in torment as he’s ripped apart, teetering on the brink of death. The cry becomes strangled as though his throat is being compressed, and it allows you to hear a far-away shout, a boy’s voice thick with anguish.

“EDDIE!”

At this one word, you stumble out of the memory and nearly fall to the tile floor. Your breathing becomes shallow as the present infiltrates your psyche, too distraught to keep your nosebleed from snaking down your lips. You’ll be reprimanded for not remaining in the memory longer to identify the mystery boy, but you can’t bring yourself to find it again.

Dr. Moseley catches you by the crook of your elbow, keeping you upright long enough for you to get a better look at 086. His hair is shaved down to the scalp, patchy in places where his curls were particularly knotted and hard to remove. He’s added a few more tattoos to his collection since you’d last seen him almost one year ago, including a swarm of bats trailing up his arm. His fingers are naked without his signature rings; the base of his knuckles are tinged green from the costume jewelry. But it’s him; it’s definitely him.

Patient 086 is Eddie Munson, and for good reason, he absolutely despises you.

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #086

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indicarry · 2 years ago

Text

“oh fuck honey… you felt real good, hm?”

MINORS DNI <3

content: morning sex with pain kink, leads to anal

wc: 2k

pic cred: found on pinterest, message for removal

if you like it, please consider reposting <3

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

what started out as sensual morning sex quickly evolved into a whole play scene. i couldn’t be too surprised, harry and i both had no plans for this rainy sunday. sometimes we like to plan out our scenes, but most of the time, like today, they come naturally.

this morning, i had just started waking up when i felt harry’s arm that was draped over my mid section pull me closer to his chest. “morning love” he whispered into the back of my neck. i gave him a short “mm” in response, barely awake yet. it wasn’t until his hand started to roam up my stomach and to my chest did i really start to gain consciousness. harry moves his hand slowly and sensually over my right boob, applying enough pressure to make my sensitive nipples rock hard. i can feel myself getting wet just from this; we are both so fucking sensitive in the mornings. i rock my hips back to grind against harry’s morning wood that i know is aching by now.

“yeah, baby? you want to?” he asks in his sexy as fuck scratchy voice.

“yes please, H.” i know he gets off on me acting desperate for his dick. it’s not entirely acting, but i like to ham it up for his ego and pleasure. after my consent, he reaches down to guide my flimsy sleep shorts down my legs. i lift my leg up and back to rest over his legs behind me to allow him easier access to my aching cunt. we really went at it last night, him taking me deep and rough with a cock ring on, making him last over an hour. i was almost entirely spent after four orgasms, plus one more in the shower around 2am when he insisted we go clean off, but i knew it was going to lead to a final round of slow, soft sex against the shower wall as a form of aftercare. needless to say, my entire vulva area is sore and likely bruised. i don’t mind a bit though, having a massive pain kink that harry loves to explore with me. he knows i prefer him to go straight into fucking me if i’m wet, knowing the burn and stretch of no prep gets me to orgasm fastest.

with my leg propped up, he takes his heavy cock in his hand and slides his tip up and down my slit making us both hiss in sensitivity. once his tip parts my folds and just barely enters, his hand leaves his dick to come around my neck. he pulls my top half flush against his chest by my neck, just slightly choking me. i turn my head to make eye contact, knowing it’s something he loves. while i love being entered without prep to feel the sting, he loves to see the effect it has on me.

“please baby, i need you.” i whisper into his lips before he presses forward slowly, beginning to fill me, inch by painful inch. my eyes start to roll backwards and roll with pleasure when i feel him tighten his hold on my neck.

“don’t close your fucking eyes, love. need to see what i do to you” he grunts. when we have sensual morning sex like this, he’s much quieter than usual and instead has a furrowed brow and mouth slightly parted while watching my own face twist in pleasure. he observes my body closely in order to give me the most pleasure, in turn helping him get off in knowing how safe and good he makes me feel.

once he bottoms out, he loosens his grip on my neck and slowly begins to pull out. he keeps a slow, torturous pace that makes my head feel completely fuzzy. he increases his speed and force slightly, letting us hear our skin meeting at the end of each thrust.

i let out a long, low moan while staring into my baby’s eyes. his brows furrow at this, squeezing my neck again and beginning to up his face. “h?” i breathe out.

he removes his hand completely from my neck and pushes the hair out of my face, “yes my love? what can i give you?”

“can you take me from behind?”

“fuck baby, of course. i won’t pull out but let me adjust us.” he rolls on top me as i also roll to bury my face in our fluffy white pillows. he grabs me the crease of both hips to lift them in the air, then slowly begins his pace again.

“how does this feel, baby? good for you?” he asks, running his hands over my skin in a comforting manner.

all i can do is groan into the pillows. it must be our activities from last night catching up with me, because while morning sex with harry is always one of my favorites, i rarely get to a state of pleasure like this. he’s not even stimulating my clit right now and is just giving me medium paced deep rolls of his hips, but that along with this loving touch all over my body has lit me on fire. i feel almost as if i’m floating, only tied to my physical body from the pleasure. harry has obviously picked up that i am really in for an intense orgasm from my reactions right now, so he ups his speed slightly and wraps his hand around my front to dust his fingers over my patch of hair, then a bit further down to where we are connected, then back up slightly to my throbbing clit. he begins rubbing fast circles suddenly, shocking me.

“ohhh fuck…oh fuck im going to cum baby. you’re gonna make me fucking come” my eyes are pinched shut, both hands fisting the sheets in preparation for a long, intense orgasm. what i didn’t expect though, was the pressure the suddenly forced me to bear down, literally pushing harry’s cock out of me. i scream as i orgasm, squirting all over the sheets below me.

“oh fuck honey.. you felt real good, hm?” his assault on my clit hasn’t stopped, only slowed as my entire body trembles. i don’t know how much time passes before i feel like i’m back in my body again. i open my eyes to see harry leaning over me, checking my facial expressions for any signs of discomfort. “hi little love. you maxed out? you haven’t squirted in a few weeks, didn’t see that coming”

“yeah neither did i or i would have warned you. wait baby, did you finish? i was kind of out of it.”

“i haven’t baby, but seeing you that blissed out almost did me in. if you’re up for it though can i make a request?”

my body has fully relaxed now, my focus on getting my love to have a just as powerful orgasm as i did. “sure baby. how do you want to finish?” harry is slowly stroking his swollen length and i can tell it won’t be long until he finishes too. i want him to feel as good as i did, and i’m ready to do whatever he asks of me.

“when i had you in doggy i can’t help but fantasize about finishing in your ass. claim all of you as mine, see me dripping out of your stretched bum. are you up for that?” harry and i have had a lot of anal sex, it’s something we both love. we’ve never gone raw though, just for the ease of clean up. but his words right now have me tingling all over again.

“i’d really like that, h. please make me yours. im at your mercy.” this makes him groan as he nods and climbs to straddle my legs that are outstretched while i’m still on my stomach. like vaginal sex, i love the stretch of no prep. it usually hurts a good bit, but i seriously can’t get enough. harry really didn’t like this at first, too scared of actually hurting me in a way i didn’t enjoy, but once i convinced him to try it and see how hard i cum afterwards, he’s been on board since. especially after the intense orgasm i’ve just had plus the fact that i feel completely safe and comfortable with my love, its easy for me to relax my muscles.

he pumps his cock a few more times, then slides it between my closed thighs along my slit to collect my arousal as lube. his tip rubs along my hole for a few moments before he begins to push in.

“jesus christ you’re fucking tight. i’m going to take you slow and deep baby, but say something if it gets to be too much” he says softly, leaning down and pressing a kiss to my shoulder blade.

i moan a “mhm” into the pillow that i’m gripping with both hands and also have my blissed out face shoved into. i feel him straighten again before slowly sliding his length all the way in. the pain is honestly searing, but the pain mixed with the knowledge of how much pleasure harry is getting out of this makes it way easier to handle.

he keeps up his slow but steady pace with his hands tightly gripping my hips. i turn my head to look back at harry, and find him with his head faced towards the ceiling, eyes screwed shut. you can tell he’s holding back and his looming orgasm is getting the best of him.

“harry, use me.” his eyes snap open to look down when he heard my words. any lingering slow morning sensuality has dissipated and replaced with the need to please my lover.

the corner of his lip forms a small smirk as he mutters, “yeah? you sure?”

“want you to use me.” the need to make him feel good is causing most of my brain to dig over. as harry picks up the face and force of his hips, the pain i felt when he entered me has faded into searing pleasure. i open my eyes to see harry’s head dropped between his shoulders, hair hanging down as he heavily pants and mutters praises. i can tell he’s going to finish soon, and at the rate he’s beginning to pound into me, i know i likely won’t be far behind him.

i arch my back sharply to allow me to snake my right hand down to play with my swollen clit. the change in position has harry groaning and his hips lose their rhythm. as my mind tries to process the stimulation to my clit, harry draws back and thrusts so hard and deep we both shout in ecstasy. i water board my fingers back and forth over my clit, my entire body shaking as i squirt for the second time tonight. at the sight of this, harry pulls out but grabs my ass cheeks to keep them pulled open. we’re both groaning for different reasons- me because i’ve just squirted twice in less than an hour which is a new occurrence, him because he’s watching his cum drip out of my ass onto the squirt soaked sheets.

“jesus fucking christ.” i’m still incoherent and barely able to hear harry speak over the ringing in my ears when i feel him remove his large hands from holding me open to a harsh spank on my right cheek. my eyes roll back and i scream out at the shock, “baby! no more please”.

harry groans, presumably at the large red hand print im sure is plastered over my sensitive skin. he leans his face down to be eye level with me before saying, “i’m going to run us a little bath. day hasn’t even started yet and you’re a mess for me.” i feel my cheeks grow red and i nod in response. as i watch him fix his hair off his forehead in a little clip, i wonder how the hell i’m going to make it to the bathtub without making any more of a mess.

#harry styles smut #harry edward styles #harry styles masterlist #harry #harry styles one shot #harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry!y/n #painkink

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