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mybutcheredtongue · 9 months ago

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I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

post azkaban sirius black x fem!reader

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (see full series list here)

1993

"Excuse me — sorry — just coming through..." you squeeze past the throes of people, trying to make your way to your seats with McGonagall. "Bloody hell."

You're starting to get quite agitated, though you're still brimming with excitement at the match ahead. McGonagall mutters something under her breath, gesturing subtly to your left. You follow her hand and groan.

There's Cornelius Fudge, and he's just after catching sight of the pair of you.

"Professors!"

Beside him, is a wizard you don't recognise, Mr Weasley, Ron, Harry, and Hermione. You smile widely at them, trying your best to ignore the fool beside them.

"Hello!" you say cheerfully, as yourself and McGonagall make your way over.

"Wonderful to see you as always, Minerva!" Fudge booms happily. He then gives you a weak, forced smile, and says, "And...you, too, of course."

"The pleasure's all mine, Minister," you say blankly.

He begins to chatter away with McGonagall and you can't help but notice the subtle annoyance in her expression. You turn to the kids and Mr Weasley, holding out your hand.

"Mr Weasley, right? It's wonderful to meet you — I teach your children Astronomy at Hogwarts."

Mr Weasley, a red-headed man just like the rest of his family, beams at you, excitedly shaking your hand.

"Ah, yes — I have heard plenty about you! You are here for the match as well?"

You grin. "Of course! Fingers crossed for an Ireland win!"

"Have you ever been to a World Cup, Professor?" Hermione asks you.

You nod. "Oh, yes. Quite a few, actually! Sirius used to — "

You pause.

"Seriously used to love it."

You exchange a glance with Harry, who gives you a small smile, and you return it.

"...ah, and here's Lucius now!" You catch the ends of Fudge's words and fail to hide your grimace.

Edging along the seats is a sour-looking man with disgustingly bleached hair, followed by his equally sour-looking son and his wife.

Lucius, Draco, and Narcissa Malfoy.

Narcissa, who's technically your...cousin-in-law?

"Ah, Fudge," says Lucius, holding out his hand for him to shake. "How are you? I don't think you've met my wife, Narcissa? Or our son, Draco?"

"How do you do? How do you?" says Fudge, smiling and bowing to Narcissa. "And allow me to introduce you to Mr Oblonsk — Mr Obalonsk — Mr — well, he's Bulgarian Minister for Magic, and he can't understand a word I'm saying anyway, so never mind. Let's see, who else — well, the professors teach your son, I'm sure — I daresay you know Arthur Weasley?"

Mr Weasley and Lucius look at each other, tension in the air. Lucius' nostrils flare as he looks Mr Weasley up and down derisively.

"Good Lord, Arthur," he says softly. "What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn't have fetched this much?"

You bristle, but Fudge, who conveniently wasn't listening, says, "Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur. He's here as my guest."

"Trying to save a spot for when you go barmy, are you, Lucius?" you say with a sweet smile. "Or...has that process already started?"

His sour face turns to you, looking down his nose at you. "I would watch my tongue if I were you. I'm sure there's no lack of teachers for Hogwarts."

Ah, Lucius Malfoy. Always threatening my job, the sweetheart.

"Now, now, there's no need for heated words..." Fudge intervenes and you throw on a bright, charming smile.

"Not to worry, Minister! Why, myself and Lucius are old chums from school, aren't we? We're only bantering."

Lucius fails to hide his disgust. "Yes, old...chums."

"Well, isn't that just wonderful? And I'm sure you're close considering your...marital ties!" Fudge says awkwardly, eyeing you warily.

You sigh. "What an astute observation, Cornelius."

"We better get to our seats," Lucius sneers, and Narcissa and Draco follow behind them. Narcissa gives you and almost imperceptible nod and you glance at McGonagall from the corner of your eye.

She pulls out your tickets, glancing down at the seat numbers again.

"Looks like we've still got a ways to go," she says and you nod, smiling at your students and Mr Weasley.

"Alright, enjoy yourselves!" You say cheerfully.

They all say their goodbyes and the two of you set off again, finally reaching your seats among the crowd.

It's a good thing you found it too, because as soon as you sit into your seats, Ludo Bagman's voice suddenly booms over the excited chatter. "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN...WELCOME TO THE FINAL OF THE FOUR-HUNDRED AND TWENTY-SECOND QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP!"

Everyone screams and claps and you share an excited grin with McGonagall. The scoreboard lights up to show: IRELAND: 0, BULGARIA: 0.

"AND NOW, WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, ALLOW ME TO INTRODUCE...THE BULGARIAN NATIONAL TEAM MASCOTS!"

"I've read about these," McGonagall says beside you, flicking open her programme. You glance over at it, before returning your eyes to the pitch.

A stream of beautiful women emerge, dancing elegantly around the pitch. You watch as they dance and twirl and spin, all to the delight of the crowd, particularly the men. They're practically drooling.

Beside you, a woman is angrily tapping her heel while her husband ogles the dancing Veela, entranced.

The Veela dance faster and faster, spinning and twirling, their hair flowing in the air behind them. Another man not far from you looks like he's about to jump into the stadium from his high seat.

Then they stop.

Everyone around you seems to be rather dazed and confused. Angry yells and shouts rise from the stadium. The crowd didn't want the Veela to go.

You begin to wonder whether the Veela is really ethical, considering the amount of men you can see taking off their shamrock hats and Irish flags. You pull the flag tighter around your body, like a blanket.

"AND NOW," Ludo Bagman roars, "KINDLY PUT YOUR WANDS IN THE AIR...FOR THE IRISH NATIONAL TEAM MASCOTS!"

You grin excitedly, clapping furiously as a steady beat starts from a group of men holding bodhráns at the Irish corner of the pitch. Two large spheres of light appear in the air, gleaming and shining. They spin rapidly towards opposite goalposts, before a rainbow appears and moves in an arc to connect the two dots of light. They rise to form a large, glittering green shamrock, and the crowd begins to cry out in delight as what looks like gold coins begins to rain down from it.

You cry out when a few coins painfully hit against your head, colliding with the soft skin. You rub the sore areas, scowling. You glance at McGonagall, checking if she's had the same problem, to find she has conjured up an umbrella for herself and is holding it above her head, deflecting the lethal coins. She looks very unimpressed.

Everyone around you is in bits, gleefully gathering up the shiny gold objects. One woman in front of you is stretching her shirt and making it into some sort of makeshift basket, collecting the coins there. A few fall into your lap and you pick one up, bringing it closer to your eye to inspect it. It's clearly fake — it doesn't have the same indentations as a regular galleon. There are going to be some very disappointed spectators here later.

Then, to your delight, a line of Irish dancers spill onto the pitch, their feet a flurry of movement beneath them, all in perfect sync. They dance and spin and twirl and kick high, spinning around the field before settling finally as the bodhráns stop and they return to the side of the field, sitting to watch the match.

"AND NOW, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, KINDLY WELCOME THE BULGARIAN NATIONAL QUIDDITCH TEAM! I GIVE YOU — DIMITROV!"

A scarlet figure on a broomstick darts out onto the field at an incredible speed, to the raucous applause of the Bulgarian supporters.

"IVANOVA! ZOGRAF! LEVSKI! VULCHANOV! Volkov! AAAAAAND — KRUM!"

The scarlet players zip around the field, raising their arms triumphantly to the crowd of white, green and red Bulgarian flags.

"AND NOW, PLEASE GREET THE IRISH NATIONAL QUIDDITCH TEAM!" yells Bagman. "PRESENTING...CONNOLLY! RYAN! TROY! MULLET! MORAN! QUIGLEY! AAAAAAND — LYNCH!"

Seven green blurs zip out onto the field and you cheer as loud as you can, waving your flag in the air. Excitement has properly settled over you now at the prospect of the good Quidditch game ahead.

"AND HERE, ALL THE WAY FROM EGYPT, OUR REFEREE, ACCLAIMED CHAIRWIZARD OF THE INTERNATIONAL ASSOCIATION OF QUIDDITCH, HASSAN MOSTAFA!"

A small, skinny wizard, completely bald with a moustache, wearing robes of gold strides out onto the pitch. He's carrying a large wooden crate under one arm, and his broomstick under the other. He mounts his broomstick and kicks the crate open — four balls burst into the air; the Quaffle, the two dark Bludgers and the miniscule, winged Golden Snitch. He lets out a sharp blast from his whistle, and fires into the air after the balls.

"THEY'RE OFF!" screams Bagman. "AND IT'S MULLET! TROY! MORAN! DIMITROV! BACK TO MULLET! TROY! LEVSKI! MORAN!"

The speed of the players is unbelievable — they zip around the field, throwing the Quaffle with such speed you'd think they were playing hot potato. Actually, that reminds you of a time when the lads decided to play a game of hot potato — with an actual hot potato. James had launched it at Sirius' face and you had spent the evening running his cheek under cold water, which resulted in a very put-out wet dog.

♡*⁠。♡*⁠。

1976

"Love, I'm sure we've been here long enough — "

"Fifteen minutes, Sirius! Fifteen. You should count yourself lucky I'm even doing this considering how stupid you have to be to even play that in the first place — "

"Come on, it was just a bit of fun — "

You point the tap at his mouth for a second and he blubbers dramatically.

"Not so fun now, huh?"

♡*⁠。♡*⁠。

1993

"TROY SCORES!" roars Bagman, and you're plucked out of your memory to let out a loud cheer in delight. McGonagall jumps in her seat, just as happy, clapping her hands rapidly. "TEN-ZERO TO IRELAND!"

Troy does a lap of honour around the field and you gleefully hoist your flag in the air, waving it enthusiastically. Across the field, the Irish dancers cast glittering green shamrocks above each of their heads with their wands.

Within ten minutes, the Irish team have scored twice more. Volkov and Vulchanov, the Bulgarian Beaters, are whacking the Bludgers as hard as possible at the Irish Chasers, forcing them to abandon some of their best moves and formations. Ivanova manages to break through Ireland's ranks and score Bulgaria's first goal.

The Veela start to dance again as a celebration, and you wait impatiently for them to stop their enchantment and for the game to resume.

"DIMITROV! LEVSKI! DIMITROV! IVANOVA — OH, I SAY!" roars Bagman.

The crowd lets out a collective gasp as both Seekers, Krum and Lynch, plummet through the centre of the Chasers, splitting them. They're neck and neck, speeding faster and faster towards the ground —

At the last second, Krum pulls up sharply and spirals off. Lynch, however, hits the ground with a dull thud that can be heard throughout the stadium. A groan is heard from the Irish supporters.

"What an excellent feint!" McGonagall comments, in awe. "Pity Lynch didn't realise."

You hum in agreement. "One of the oldest tricks in the book!"

"IT'S TIME-OUT!" yells Bagman. "AS TRAINED MEDIWIZARDS HURRY ONTO THE FIELD TO EXAMINE AIDAN LYNCH!"

The wizards hurry out onto the field, carrying medical bags with them. They sit Lynch up, giving him cups of potion to revive him. He finally gets up, much to the delight of the Irish supporters, and returns to the air on his broomstick.

Fifteen minutes of rapid playing, Ireland pulls ahead by ten more goals. You blink, missing an altercation between the two teams, causing Mostafa to give a sharp, shrill blow of his whistle.

"AND MOSTAFA TAKES THE BULGARIAN KEEPER TO TASK FOR COBBING — EXCESSIVE USE OF ELBOWS!" Bagman informs. "AND — YES, IT'S A PENALTY TO IRELAND!"

The Veela leap to their feet, tossing their hair angrily, and start to dance again. You watch as Mostafa has landed right in front of the dancing women, and is acting very odd. He's flexing his muscles and smoothing his mustache excitedly.

You can't help but laugh, watching as he winks at the Veela, though he's unable to wink with one eye so he just...blinks at them.

"NOW, WE CAN'T HAVE THAT!" says Bagman, though he sounds very amused. "SOMEBODY SLAP THE REFEREE!"

A mediwizard streaks across the field, his fingers in his ears, and delivers a harsh kick to Mostafa's shins. He seems to snap out of his daze and starts to yell furiously at the Veela.

"AND UNLESS I'M MUCH MISTAKEN, MOSTAFA IS ACTUALLY ATTEMPTING TO SEND OF THE BULGARIAN MASCOTS!" Bagman cries. "NOW, THERE'S SOMETHING WE HAVEN'T SEEN BEFORE...THIS COULD TURN NASTY..."

It does: members of the Bulgarian team land beside Mostafa, furiously arguing with the referee. You see them point accusingly at the Irish side, whose bodhrán-wielding musicians have enchanted the covers to spell out "HA HA HA". Mostafa doesn't appear impressed, however, and is jabbing his finger in the air frantically, as if to tell the players to get back in the air.

"TWO PENALTIES FOR IRELAND!" yells Bagman and the Bulgarian crowd yells in anger. "AND VOLKOV AND VULCHANOV HAD BETTER GET BACK ON THOSE BROOMS, YES...THERE THEY GO...AND TROY TAKES THE QUAFFLE..."

The play just gets more and more ferocious.

"FOUL!"

You watch as, enraged, the Veela burst from their position and appear to be throwing handfuls of fire at the Irish mascots. Their faces are elongating into sharp, cruel-beaked bird heads and long, scaly wings are bursting forth from their shoulders.

"Oh, Merlin!" McGonagall exclaims.

Ministry wizards flood onto the field to separate the fighting Veela and the Irish mascots but with little success.

"LEVSKI — DIMITROV — MORAN — TROY — MULLET — IVANOVA — MORAN AGAIN — MORAN SCORES!"

The Irish cheers are barely heard over the chaos below, blasts are now coming from both the Veela and the Ministry wizards. Quigley launches a Bludger hard at Viktor Krum's face, seeming to break his nose. Blood gushes from his nose but Mostafa barely notices, too occupied with the furious Veela and the end of his broomstick which has now caught alight from one of their fireballs.

Then, you spot Lynch zipping through the air, seemingly in pursuit of something — the Snitch! But it's not long before Krum notices and takes after him at such a tremendous speed you can barely keep up. They hurtle towards the ground once more and you hope and pray that this isn't another feint from Krum and that Lynch'll pull up in time...but your prayers go unanswered and Lynch barrels into ground once more. You groan, watching as Krum lifts up, simultaneously raising his right hand, which was bunched tightly around the Golden Snitch.

The scoreboard flashes brightly, showing: IRELAND: 170, BULGARIA: 160.

The crowd erupts into incredible cheers and screams and you grin, raising your arms high in triumph.

"IRELAND WINS!" Bagman shouts. "KRUM GETS THE SNITCH — BUT IRELAND WINS — good Godric, I don't think any of us were expecting that!"

The Irish teams lands and dance gleefully around their mascots, as their dancers spin and twirl, throwing green and gold confetti around them. Flags are waved all around the stadium, the Irish national anthem blaring from all sides.

"AND, AS THE IRISH TEAM PERFORMS A LAP OF HONOUR, THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP ITSELF IS BROUGHT INTO THE TOP BOX!" Bagman roars.

You turn to the scoreboard, which has now taken on the form of the top box to allow everyone to see inside. The large, gleaming, gold cup is handed to Cornelius Fudge.

"LET'S HAVE A REALLY LOUD HAND FOR THE GALLANT LOSERS — BULGARIA!" Bagman bellows.

You clap your hands, joining the crowd in polite applause, as a very dejected Bulgarian team files into the box. Bagman calls out each of their names and they all shake hands with their own minister and then Fudge. Krum is nursing two black eyes on his bloody face, lumbering towards the two ministers. The crowd erupts into an ear-splitting roar when his name is called out.

Then comes the Irish team: Lynch is being held up by Moran and Connolly; the second crash seems to have rendered him much more dazed and confused. He grins happily as Troy and Quigley raise the Cup into the air and the crowd thunders its approval.

The team leaves the box, doing a victory lap around the stadium, and you gather up your things and stand.

"What a great match!" McGonagall exclaims. "Well worth the trip!"

You grin in agreement, and the two of you leave the stadium along with the crowd. High-spirited singing carries through the air, the Irish supporters rife with merriment and celebration as the two of your return to your campsite. A campsite next to yours has lit their fire again, and someone has produced a fiddle while the rest dance jovially. You grin, grabbing McGonagall's hand and pulling her towards the festivities. She seems reluctant, giving you a bit of a surprised expression, before she joins you in dancing around the fire mirthfully. You swap partners with another man and she fails to conceal her laughter as he twirls her around gleefully.

You find yourself with a woman, a long braid falling from her head to her ankles, who leads you in a jig around the fire. Finally, when yourself and McGonagall have tuckered out, you bid your goodbyes to the lively strangers and return to your tent.

McGonagall sits down at the little table, sighing contentedly.

"Tea, Minnie?" you ask, setting the teapot down on the table and grabbing your cup, pausing to ask her the question. You're a bit wary of calling her that, but your mood is so light that you find yourself not worrying about it.

"Please," she replies. She lets out a small, surprised chuckle and says, "Minnie."

"Has no one ever called you that?" You place a cup in front of her and sit down, opening the latch on the pot and prodding the teabags with a spoon.

"Only my husband, and my mother," she answers. "It has been quite a while since I've heard it."

"I'm sorry if I overstepped," you say sheepishly. "I won't call you that."

She doesn't answer you, eyes focused on the flame of the candle between you. Then she meets your eyes, a small smile playing on her lips, "No, do. We're friends, aren't we?"

You positively beam at her, honoured at the privilege she's just given you. You don't say anything in response, for fear of getting that privileged revoked.

After a while, you pour the tea out from the pot, grabbing milk from the tent's fridge and placing it on the table as well.

"Thank you for bringing me along, by the way," you say.

She smiles, waving you off. "Thank you for coming. I would have been very bored without you. And — though Bagman is a fine commentator, I think you would have been the better choice."

You chuckle, shaking your head. "I'm honoured you think that but...probably not."

"Do you ever miss it?"

"What, commentating? Yeah, I guess. It was pretty fun — "

"School. Do you miss it?"

You shrug. "I go back every year."

She sighs, giving you a knowing look. "Do you miss the time when you attended school?"

Miss it? Of course you miss it. That's like asking a prisoner 'do you miss the time before your imprisonment?'

"All the time," you reply softly. "It was the best time of my life."

There's a brief silence, before Minnie says, "I never thought you were mad, by the way. I know many make you out to be, but I've never thought it. When I look at you, I see an incredibly strong woman — perhaps a bit stubborn — but nonetheless an extremely intelligent woman, a woman well-worth listening to — and I fear you haven't been listened to enough in your life."

You don't even know what to say, you were not expecting that. You can't find the words at all, so you just look dumbly back at her and open and close your mouth repeatedly.

"I...I don't know what to say. You're amazing."

She chuckles, seemingly taken-aback, and just smiles again before setting down her empty cup and standing.

"Time for bed, I think. Goodnight."

You smile, sipping the last of your tea. "Goodnight, Minnie."

→ all kinds of interaction appreciated ♡

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

→→ read chapter fifteen here!

*bodhrán: a drum used in Irish music

also, I changed the Irish mascots to be dancers instead of leprechauns, just because personally I find leprechauns to be a poor representation of Irish culture and never liked it in the books/movies!!

a big big thank you to my taglist loved for all their constant kindness and support:

@izuoyarmin @carpe00diem @wholelottalove05 @hyperspeedo

→ please message me if you would like to be added to the taglist!

#sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black #angst #angst with a happy ending #harry potter #the marauders #hp #fanfic #fanfiction #marauders

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willowdumpster0 · 2 years ago

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ichorai · 2 years ago

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as it was ; logan howlett.

track seven of WASTELAND, BABY!

pairing ; logan howlett x mutant!scientist!gn!reader

synopsis ; you first met logan as weapon x, wiped clean of any memory of his past life. he had nearly killed you then. and now, almost two years later, he’s pressing kisses over the very same scars his adamantium claws had inflicted.

words ; 9.1k

themes ; angst, fluff, action, mutant au, scientist au

warnings / includes ; descriptions of violence and gore, death, blood and injuries, alcohol, smoking, emotions™, logan calls you 'bub' and 'darlin', reader has the ability to manipulate matter, reader is a scientist, based on marvel comics presents: weapon x issues #72-84, mentions of the brotherhood and the rest of the x-men, charles is your bff :D, not accurate x-men timelines </3

main masterlist.

You pressed your knuckles into your tired eyes, wincing when bright colors exploded behind your eyelids. Gingerly, you blinked to adjust back to the brightness of the laboratory’s artificial lights, stifling a wide yawn with the back of your palm.

It was your shift to watch him. Weapon X.

Everything was deathly silent, other than the rhythmic beeping of the machine in front of you. The machine that told you he was still alive. Still breathing.

You shifted in the leather chair, swallowing the uncomfortable lump in your throat.

The man—was he even a man anymore?—laid motionless and limp within the vat. His features, softened with unconsciousness, were still rugged and intimidating, nearly hidden by the hundreds of wires sticking out of his form.

They brought you in just a week ago, so you were still getting used to everything here. The other scientists in the facility had told you that the man was a volunteer for the Weapon X project—that he needed to be given an adamantium skeleton or his own mutation would kill him from the inside out. Being a mutant-in-hiding yourself, you felt a certain calling to help him out.

So if you were helping this man recover, why did it feel so wrong?

Biting the side of your cheek, you slipped out of the chair and strode up to the vat, resting a hand on the glass barrier. It was cold beneath your fingertips.

You could’ve sworn you saw his foot twitch—

The door to the lab whooshed open, and the head scientist, Dr. Cornelius, strode in, shooting you a humorless look, wordlessly telling you that your shift was over.

Pursing your lips, you pulled yourself away from the glass, sparing the man in the vat one last glance before stepping back to the chair to gather your things.

“Anything interesting to note?” the old man asked you.

You clicked your tongue against your teeth. “Nothing at all for the past couple of hours, Doc. He’s responding exceptionally well to the chemical bath.”

He made a disinterested noise, as if the prospect of things going well bored him, before sinking into another chair and heaving a large sigh.

Hesitant, you stepped forward to ask, “Doctor? Sorry, I was just wondering if I could ask you some questions.” It was about time you knew just what was going on here—there was definitely something that he wasn’t telling you.

The man lifted his gaze to you, seeming annoyed already. “What is it?” A scowl threatened to play by the corner of your lips, but you forced on an indifferent expression.

“I just… I keep thinking about him.”

“Who? Logan?”

His name was Logan. He had a name. Well—of course he did. You suddenly felt sick.

“Yeah. I keep thinking about what we’re doing to him.”

The doctor narrowed his eyes in suspicion, but wisely chose to remain silent, goading you to carry on.

The machine beeped. You glanced at the unconscious man in the vat.

“Before I came here… was he—was Logan—here? And I don’t mean him as Weapon X. I mean it like the man before this. Was he here?”

“No,” Cornelius replied, far too quickly for your liking. He averted his gaze, focusing on the machine in front of him. “I don’t know. What are you asking here, kid?”

This time, you didn’t bother to suppress the frown budding across your face. “I mean,” you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest, “did Logan sign up for this?”

“I already told you,” Cornelius gruffed out, “he volunteered.”

“And why should I believe you? Why have you named him Weapon X if all we’re trying to do is cure him? Why did you have to erase his memories? Why have you been forcing him to fight wild animals in the forest? Are you making me attach adamantium to his skeleton because you want to help him, or because you want to manufacture a mindless killing machine?” Your voice had raised several notches in volume, and the doctor seemed to recoil at your words. Sucking in a breath to calm your erratic pulse, you spoke again, “You’re not telling me something, Cornelius.”

The doctor, stunned into silence, took several moments to gather what he wanted to say. A rebuttal was just on the tip of his tongue, but he knew it would be fruitless.

You’ve figured it out.

And he would have to kill you for it.

“Was he abducted? Kidnapped?” you asked again, voice strained.

“Congratulations,” the doctor sneered, slowly rising to his feet. “You’ve put together the puzzle pieces.”

Bile rose in your throat. “Logan was forced into this. He didn’t want any of it. You… you’re trying to make a monster but—you’re the real monster here.” Slowly, you started backing up. “You were using me. You knew that I wouldn’t help graft the adamantium to his skeleton if I knew the truth. You’re insane. You’re sick.”

With a mangled cry, the doctor lunged forward, knocking you to the ground as his palms found your throat. Pain flourished through your spine as it thudded against the sleek tiles of the floor, a strangled sound crawling from your lips. You clawed at his hands at first, desperate and losing air far too quickly.

Then, you grappled at his face, scratching at his cheeks until blood welled in tiny droplets from the red marks you drew. This only seemed to enrage him further, fingers pressing harder into your trachea. Dark spots danced about your vision and you gasped for breath, eyes misting over with unshed tears.

Fuck. You needed to do something. Quick.

Maybe… your powers—

No. No, you’d find another way. You refused to lose control of yourself ever again.

The chair was right beside you. If you could just… hook your foot around one of its legs and tip it forwards…

Your mouth fell open as your lungs begged for mercy, limbs growing weaker with each passing second. You gave it your all to jerk forward, just enough to shift you down and catch the chair with your foot and yank it forwards.

The heavy metal seat tipped forward slowly, before giving in to its own weight and crashing on top of Cornelius. The bald man howled with pain, and his grip loosened on you momentarily. You hiked your knees upwards and slammed them into his stomach, shoving him away with a yell. Your chest heaved raggedly, greedily swallowing as much air as you could take.

The doctor was quick to recover from his initial shock. You thought he’d lunge for you again, but instead, he brandished a walkie talkie and yelled, “CODE RED, GET IN HERE RIGHT NOW! CODE RED!”

Without a damned clue what ‘code red’ meant, you rushed forward and slammed the emergency lockdown button on the control panel. A haggard sigh of relief left you when thick metal slabs slowly lowered down over the doors.

Cornelius, infuriated, grabbed the back of your head and shoved you down, slamming the side of your face into the plethora of buttons. A loud groan of pain ricocheted across the laboratory, blood seeping from one of your nostrils and slipping into your mouth, running a metallic copper taste along your tongue. He did it again, and again, and again, far too quickly for you to even begin to react. Faintly, you registered a whooshing sound in front of you—one of you must’ve accidentally hit the button that released Logan from his chemical bath.

You spat blood over the buttons with a snarl, reinvigorated, shooting your hands out to stop him from bashing your face in once more. Twisting your body, you kicked at his knee as hard as you could, which made Cornelius collapse forward. You messily drove your fist into his eye socket, pushing him back, away from the control panel. The doctor fell onto the ground and you kicked at his skull with the heel of your shoe.

There was blood dripping down your chin. Your nose was throbbing. You were disoriented, vision splitting into blurry duplicates. Dizzy, you dropped to your haunches, crawling as far away as you could from Cornelius.

Noises were coming from the other side of the lab. Where Logan was.

Wincing, you were just about to turn to look before Cornelius’ hand wound around your ankle, yanking you to him with surprising strength. He punched you in the shoulder first, trying to aim for your face. You flailed your limbs, attempting to kick your feet, but he had trapped your legs between his. A struggling whimper shook your lips, breaths coming in fast, staccato beats. The second time he punched you, he hit you dead on. Your vision went dark for a good ten seconds. You could tell one of your eyelids had already swollen shut.

Desperate and panicked, you lurched upwards and bit into whatever you could. You sank your teeth in until red squirted straight into your other eye, and copper flooded your mouth once more. An ear-piercing scream rattled through the lab.

As you furiously wiped away the dark ichor from your eyes, you realized that he wasn’t screaming because of you—not really, at least.

He was screaming because there were three adamantium claws protruding from his abdomen.

And just behind him was Logan.

A terrified garble tore through your own throat. A string of nonsensical words fell from you—ranging from cries for help, prayers to whatever god would listen to you, and incoherent sobbing as pure terror ripped through you, whole and consuming.

There were still wires hanging off of the man’s starkly naked form, dragging against the ground behind him. His skin glistened with the residue from the chemical bath, droplets still falling from his damp hair and rolling over his defined muscles. With a near animalistic growl, he threw Cornelius’ lifeless corpse to the side, his adamantium claws streaking down both your arm and your side in the process. Another wail erupted from you and you curled into a fetal position, cradling your injuries and fruitlessly trying to put as much pressure as you could against the wounds. Blood seeped from you, staining the once-pristine floors with a growing pool of liquid rubies. You were light-headed, tilting your head up to look at Logan standing in front of you. Horror painted your insides with a thick, tar-like substance.

He made no move to hurt you any further, only regarding you with dark, distant eyes, like he just could just barely recognize your face. He remembered you.

You wanted to plead—beg him for mercy.

You cracked your shaking lips open, but the words lodged firmly in your throat, a sob rippling through your lungs. Hot tears streamed down your bloodied cheeks in fat dollops.

The mutant surprised you, then.

He spoke.

“I am…” he croaked out, seeming slightly miffed. It took him another couple of seconds to articulate his next words. His brain had been fried over and over again, the English language was something he had nearly completely forgotten. “I am… dead? I remember… death. Dying.”

You were shaking uncontrollably now. Whether it be because of the terror, or because of the insurmountable blood loss, you weren’t quite sure. Most likely both.

Voice warbling, you croaked out, “No, Logan. You’re not dead.”

His dark pupils darted to the pool of blood by your side, then moved down to his own hands and claws, practically soaked red. His chest heaved.

Slowly, you raised a trembling hand to point at the winding metal staircase at the back of the laboratory. “Run, Logan,” you hoarsely whispered. “They’ll be here any minute. You have to go before they catch you again. Go upstairs—there’s a rear window you can escape through.”

The man narrowed his eyes at you.

He stalked away wordlessly, leaving only droplets of Cornelius’ blood in his wake.

The tension melted away from your body instantaneously. The urge to cry laid heavy on your conscience, but you shoved down the tears and slowly pushed yourself to your feet, placing pressure on your wounds as you staggered onto your feet. With a grunt, you limped to Cornelius’ corpse, kneeling down to rip his belt and shirt off.

A low groan rumbled from your chest when you tied the belt over the deep gash Logan had inflicted on you, wrapping his shirt tightly over the leaking wound on your waist. Whether it was an accident or a purposeful move, you had no clue. Immediately, blood seeped through the fabric. You decided not to pay it any mind.

Faintly, you registered shouting from the other end of the barricaded door. You were running out of time.

Huffing a curse, you struggled to your feet and stepped over Cornelius, bee-lining for the metal staircase. Upstairs, you could see the droplets of blood Weapon X had left behind. You swallowed heavily, before following them to the open window.

“Fuck,” you coarsely spat out, glancing down to see snow blanketing the ground nearly at knee-length. Trembling already, you hopped off the windowsill and onto the fire escape’s ladder, gingerly placing each foot on the lower rung until you were near enough to jump down.

The wind whispered frost into your ears as you looked forward, into the dark forest.

They would kill you if you went back inside. It seemed like you had no other choice but to follow Logan. He was your best chance at survival.

Your sigh misted into an opaque fog as you followed the trail of blood on the snowy forest floor.

It’d been hours.

You had lost nearly all sensation in your feet, numbed by the frigid cold. You supposed that was one upside of the frost—you could no longer feel the pain of your wounds, despite the large blooming of crimson seeping through Cornelius’ shirt. The lids of your eyes were heavy, drooping closed every few seconds before struggling back open. You wrapped your arms around yourself lethargically, struggling to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Logan was only a couple minutes in front of you. At least—you thought he was. Hell, he could’ve been five hours away by now, considering how out of it you were.

You swallowed your throat, dry and scratchy from the whipping wind of the forest.

Not even ten steps later, you found yourself tipping forward, succumbing to the exhaustion.

The snow was suddenly flush against your cheek, the world now angled vertically. Black spots danced about your sight. You only barely registered the pain of hitting the ground, a wooden stick poking uncomfortably against your leg. You couldn’t be bothered to move. You couldn’t feel anything—yet it felt like you were burning alive. Perhaps it was the blood loss. Maybe the shame of failure. Or it could’ve simply just been the fact that you’ve been wading around in the snow for hours. A small breath slipped from your lungs and your eyes fell shut.

A nap wouldn’t hurt… would it?

Just as the corners of your vision waned dark, the shadow of a figure loomed over you.

The last thing you felt right before you succumbed to the cold were a pair of warm arms winding around you.

Lights—far too many, far too bright. Your heavy eyelids narrowed as soon as they blinked open, and you gingerly turned your face to the side to avoid the glare of the harsh luminosity.

There were a couple things you registered in your early stages of rousing. You were no longer cold, bundled in several layers of woolen blankets on what you presumed to be an infirmary bed. You could feel the slight pressure of a proper bandage around your waist, which still throbbed but wasn’t nearly as painful as you remembered.

And there was a man in a lab coat beside you.

You stared at his back as he busied themself with colorful pills and bottles. Your throat was so dry, it took you several moments to muster yourself to croak out a warbling, “Hello?”

The man seemed to jump out of his shoes, turning abruptly with wide eyes behind thick, rectangular spectacles. “Oh, you’re awake! How are you feeling?” He shuffled to your side, watching you with evident concern.

You winced as you propped yourself up on one arm, slowly pulling yourself to sit up on the bed without putting too much weight on your wound. “Like I’ve been hit by a truck.”

He pursed his lips. “That’s unfortunately quite expected—you’ll be feeling that way for a little bit before you get better. You took quite the beating out there—I tried my best to patch you up but I’m afraid the lacerations you got on your abdomen and arm will scar forever. Those bruises on your face, however, will be gone in a week, two tops.” The man paused, as if wanting to ask you a question, but thought better of it, shaking his head. “I’m gonna call somebody here to come talk to you. And I’ll go get you some water and food. Is that okay?”

Still reeling over everything, you nodded slowly, watching as he strode out of the infirmary.

Not a minute later, you heard the smooth rolling of wheels against tile. A bald man on a wheelchair swiftly entered the room, greeting you with a genuine smile and a bow of his head.

“You must be Doctor L/N,” he said, stopping just by your bedside. “I’m Charles Xavier. Now, I’m sure you have many questions—so let me try to answer them. You’re currently in Xavier’s School of Gifted Youngsters. I sensed your distress through my own telepathic mutation and had some of my X-Men go pick you and Logan up.”

At the mention of Logan, your muscles tensed, and your gaze snapped upwards to meet his.

“Logan… he’s here?”

Charles tilted his head, thinking back to the burly, pacing man in his office. “Yes, quite.”

“Is he okay?” you asked softly.

A wisp of a smile graced Charles’ lips. “He’s fine. A bit disoriented, but his memories are steadily returning. You, I’m more worried about. I know you’re a mutant, Y/N.”

Something dangerous flashed behind your irises. “I’ve never purposefully used my powers on anyone, if that’s what you’re asking. What happened to Logan—was because I was foolish enough to trust bad men.”

“I’m not blaming you, Y/N. You thought you were doing the right thing. Besides, the group who tricked you have been apprehended by the X-Men. They won’t be conducting anymore experiments on mutants,” he said, not unkindly. “I wanted to give you the liberty to explain what your mutation is… and if you can control it.”

“It’s only happened once before,” you whispered, fiddling with your nails anxiously. “I can manipulate matter, I think. Rearrange atoms and molecules in space. Once I start, I can’t control it—so I don’t ever intend to use it again.”

Charles regarded you for a moment, before nodding. “That’s quite the commitment. Would you mind me asking why?”

You hesitated, your teeth worrying into your bottom lip. “The first time I found out about my powers, someone died because of me. There was a car crash and my friend tried helping me and I… I panicked—” Tears quickly blurred your vision and you hiccuped, stopping to furiously wipe them away. “Shards of glass flew everywhere and…”

You trailed off, releasing a frustrated sigh.

“The cops ruled it as an accident, but I knew it was my fault. I moved out of town, started doing research with a university in molecular biology in hopes of finding out more about myself, when I got an offer to work with this company that ‘helped’ mutants. They lied to me. They were experimenting on them—and I should’ve known better. I thought I was saving Logan’s life.”

Charles hummed in thought, before shaking his head. “It’s not your fault. It was an accident—you didn’t know how to control your powers. But we can help you with that. If you stay, that is.”

Mouth parting in surprise, you leaned forward slightly in confusion. “You… you want me to stay here? After everything I’ve done? What will Logan think?”

“He knows it’s not your fault. There’s a reason he didn’t kill you—and a reason he carried you through the snow until we found the two of you. The deal is still on the table—just think about it. You’d make a valuable asset to our team.” A genuine smile etched over his face before he asked, “Would you perhaps want to see Logan?”

“No!” you exclaimed, a little too quickly. Charles’ eyebrows rose. Arms wrapping around yourself, you gently shook your head, repeating in a quieter tone, “No, thank you.”

The man observed you rather pensively before humming, “Alright, then. I’ll let you get some rest.”

“Thank you.” Despite the tautness of your tone, Charles knew you were wholly grateful. He bowed his head, and wheeled out of the infirmary room, leaving you with your thoughts.

To none of his surprise, leaning against the wall right next to the door, was Logan.

There was a cheap cigar wedged between his lips, hands clutched over the dog tags around his neck. He cocked his head to Charles as a greeting, gruffing out, “Are they alright?”

It was rather amusing to see such a brooding, stoic man lose his wits over a person he barely knew. Logan cared about you, and that made Charles all the more curious.

“I think Y/N’s going to be just fine.”

Logan huffed in something akin to relief, blowing out a puff of opaque smoke. After a long stretch of silence, Logan queried in a strained voice, “Can I see them?”

“It’s best if you give Y/N some time. They’re still a bit rattled over everything,” said the professor, patiently. “Have you gotten your memories back?”

“I think so. I remember most of my life before getting kidnapped. I taught self defense here, right?” Logan muttered, though it was clear he wasn’t entirely sure of himself. When Charles grinned and nodded, Logan spoke again, hesitant. “I remember Y/N. Their face, watching me through the glass. Talking about curing me—helping me. I remember the doctor there trying to kill them once they found out the truth.”

A low growl rumbled within the grizzled man’s chest, and he slumped further against the wall. “What are you going to do with Y/N now?”

“Well, that’s up to them. They are a mutant after all—I offered them a place here. Whether they stay or not is not for me to say.”

This seemed to pique Logan’s interest. “Y/N’s a mutant?”

“Yes,” Charles stated matter-of-factly. “Though, they don’t use their powers because it’s far too dangerous. Which is why I proposed that they stay so we can help. Now, if you excuse me, Logan, I’ve got to grade some papers. Have a good night.”

“Yeah,” replied Logan, distant. He saluted Charles with two fingers as he wheeled away. “G’night.”

The rest of the X-Men warmed up to you rather quickly. Hank would joke around with you while he did your daily check-up, and Jean, Ororo and Anna introduced themselves with sweet smiles and baked goods that they made just for you. They’d stay with you in the infirmary until late at night, playing boisterous rounds of Uno and exchanging stories of their own childhood mishaps with their mutation. Kurt Wagner was a delight to speak to—you quite enjoyed your conversations with the lively teleporter. Scott Summers was a handsome fellow, who had acquired a broken arm from a training accident, which gave him a good excuse to hang around you. Charles often visited you as well, each time asking once again if you were planning on making your residence here permanent. He even offered you a job to teach the kids here some science—which you kindly declined.

The friendly nature of the mansion and the people residing there really made you want to stay.

But you knew you shouldn’t.

Especially not when Logan was so clearly avoiding you—it was a tell-tale sign that you were definitely overstaying your welcome.

You’d only seen him a small handful of times since you arrived. Lingering in the hallways, passing by the door, and once in Charles’ office when you dropped by to ask him a question. He had stalked away with nary a sound, not even bothering to spare you a glance.

So it was quite the surprise when he stepped into the infirmary while you were packing a small duffel bag with travel necessities nearly two weeks later, practically bristling at the thought of you leaving. Leaving when he hadn’t even said a single word to you. His jaw clenched.

“L… Logan?” you asked, nearly dropping the shirt you were holding out of shock. “What, uh, what are you doing here?”

He stared at you for a long while, unsure of what to say. The man was on his way to a bar for a beer or two before he caught sight of you practically flying across the room in a rush to pack. He was not prepared for this conversation at all. A part of him wished you could just read his thoughts like Charles could, because his mind was running a mile a minute. There were just too many things he should’ve said, too many things he waited too long to say. And none of it seemed to want to come out.

So he opted to heave out a grand sigh, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms, not once breaking eye contact with you. You had awkwardly resigned to folding the last few pieces of clothing, stuffing them into the bag.

The action prompted Logan to husk out, “You’re leaving.”

It was more of a statement than a question. Your muscles tensed at his voice. He seemed angry—frustrated—and you weren’t entirely sure if it was directed towards you, or himself.

“I have no place here,” you whispered, words nearly lost to the deafening silence.

Logan’s brows furrowed. “This is a school—a home for mutants. You belong here.”

Fixing him with a curious expression, you zipped up your bag, shaking your head. “It’s not fair to you, Logan. I can’t just keep pretending that me being around doesn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“So you’re leaving because of me.” Logan pushed off the wall, stalking towards you until he stood just in front of you. This close, you could smell the faint cigar smoke on him, accompanied with a fresh pine-like aroma. He smelled like the forest, like sitting in front of a fire place with a mug of coffee cradled in your palms. A lump formed in your throat, grip tightening on the strap of the bag.

“I’m leaving for you,” you corrected. “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I did all those awful things to you. I know it doesn’t absolve me of anything but—I really did think I was helping you. Oh… and thank you. For coming back and saving me.”

The hardness to Logan’s features seemed to soften just a bit. He watched you keenly, studying the genuine tenderness to your eyes, the way your lips screwed to the side in a fruitless effort to stave away the tears.

“Hey,” he said, stepping even closer. “I forgive you, bub. I forgive you, alright? Stop beating yourself up. Charles told me you thought you were helping me—and I believe it. It wasn’t your fault. Besides, the man truly responsible is dead, thanks to you. You helped me escape, remember?”

Your eyes flickered from the ground to meet his. “Of course I remember.”

A low rumble resonated from Logan’s chest. “If anything, I should be the one apologizing for damn near killing you. I found you passed out in the snow and I—I was terrified. I carried you, worried to death the entire time, thinkin’ you were going to die on me. But Charles found us—and you lived. We both lived. I want you to stay. Hell, if you want to leave, then go ahead. The door’s wide open. But don’t let it be because of me.”

He watched as your shoulders trembled ever so slightly, then sagged as you loosened your hold on the duffel bag. Relief seeped through his bones. For a moment, he was scared you were really going to leave.

Without another word, Logan nodded, stepping back. He turned to walk out of the infirmary, itching for nice, cold beer. Or two. Probably five. Oh, who was he kidding. He could blaze through twenty bottles and barely feel buzzed.

“Logan,” you called out.

He stopped by the doorway without turning.

“Thank you,” you croaked, wiping away a stray tear. A happy one. Maybe you could even ask if the job Charles had offered you was still on the table.

A minuscule smile played by the corner of his lips. He ducked his head, and strode away.

ONE MONTH LATER.

The snow was thicker than ever before. Nearly everybody was outside, either making rotund little snowmen with carrots for noses or playing a game of dodgeball. You caught sight of Kurt teleporting just above Rogue to dump a large armful of snow atop her head. You huffed out a laugh from behind the window when she started spewing out a long string of curses, cheeks tinted red from the cold.

Movement from your peripheral vision made you turn your head to look out the other window. You were met with the lovely sight of Logan hauling lumber nearly double his size from just over the hill, a layer of snowflakes icing the top of his dark tresses. You shook your head, wondering why he hadn’t asked anyone for help.

Ever the lone wolf, he was.

Commotion from the other window made you turn once more, watching with a snort when the kids began pelting Logan with dozens of snowballs, laughing with unbridled glee. The chuckles died away when the burly man dropped all the wood he was carrying, rolling up his sleeves with a wolfish grin. They screamed, scurrying away whilst hiccuping with laughter.

“Quite chilly outside,” Charles’ voice broke out from beside you. “Come have a hot chocolate with me.”

“If this is your way of bribing me to grade your classes’ papers, I’ll have you know I’m not easily swayed,” you teased, though fell into step beside him as he led you into his office. “I’ve got my own class to attend to.”

Despite only knowing Charles for around a month now, the two of you have grown very fond of each other. He was like a big brother to you—just as the rest of the X-Men had gradually become your family.

The professor scoffed. “That was one time! I just wanted your expertise, was all.” He gestured to the array of mugs on his desk, then to the thermos right beside them. “Please, help yourself. Paper grading wasn’t really what I wanted to discuss with you. I have another proposition to make you.”

You arched a brow while pouring the both of you a generous serving of thick, creamy hot chocolate. “Always with the propositions, Charles,” you said, sipping on your drink with a hum. “What is it?”

“I want you to join our missions.”

The lighthearted nature of your conversation visibly seemed to sour. “What?” you asked, placing your mug down. “Charles, I thought we made this clear—”

“You don’t use your powers, yes. I’m well aware. Let me rephrase. I want to help you… er, reacquaint yourself with your abilities. Just to try it out. And perhaps if all goes smoothly, you’d make a remarkably valuable member on our team. I promise, if we try it out and things go south, I’ll let it go. Never speak a word of it to anybody.” There was an earnest tone to his voice, hopeful and contagiously optimistic.

Your finger traced the rim of the mug, pursing your lips in thought. “Just to try it out?”

He nodded. “Just to try it out. I’m curious for you, Y/N. Haven’t you ever wanted to be able to control your powers?”

“More than anything in the entire world,” you murmured quietly, voice cracking.

It took me a while to control my powers, too, Charles said, but his lips weren’t moving. It took you a moment to realize that he was speaking to you telepathically. The key is patience. And I do believe with enough time, you can gain control of yours as well. Imagine how many children who are struggling with their own mutations you’d be able to help if you had a grasp of your powers.

“You’re one hell of a motivational speaker,” you snarked after a moment to mull over his offer, despite the smile fiddling at the corner of your lips. “Alright, Charles. You convinced me. When do we start?”

The large, antique grandfather clock in your office merrily trilled thrice just as the hands turned to three in the afternoon. You glanced away from the homework papers you were grading, before filing them away for you to finish off later. You were in need of a long overdue break. Rising from your chair, you groaned softly as your bones popped with the stretch, rolling your shoulders to ease the mild tension.

Training all night with Charles yesterday certainly took both a physical and mental toll on you.

You needed to get out of your office for a bit—take a walk to clear your head. As you donned your coat and a dark yellow beanie to tuck just over the top of your ears because they grew particularly cold in the harsh winters, you strode out the doors.

Before you could make your way to the snowy outdoors, you passed by one of the training rooms, where you heard a familiar gruff voice.

Logan was teaching a group of about a dozen kids—self-defense class, if you could recall. He was moving his arms about animatedly, demonstrating with a dummy that seemed to be a brush away from falling apart. The kids were watching with rapt fascination, gasping in unison when Logan speared the poor thing straight through the abdomen.

A small grin splayed over your features as you leaned against the doorway.

A young boy raised his hand, asking, “When are we gonna be able to practice?”

Logan sheathed his claws and crossed his arms. “I’ll let you practice with your own dummies next week. But for now you just watch and learn—Y/N? What’re you doin’ here?”

Blinking at suddenly being shoved into the spotlight, you sheepishly stepped forward and waved to the kids. “Just wanted to see what all the fuss is about with Mr. Howlett’s famous self-defense class. Heard it’s the students’ second favorite class.”

“Oh, yeah?” Logan chuckled, arching an eyebrow to the rest of the class. “And what would be their favorite, then?”

You grinned. “Mine, of course.” The kids groaned in protest, though laughing at your blatant sarcasm. You waved them away with a roll of your eyes. “Oh, hush. You guys love science.”

Snorting, Logan propped his fists onto his hips and directed a roguish grin towards you. “It’s not a competition—even though they obviously like me better.” He turned back to the dummy with a nod. “Anyways, where was I—er, yes, Rogue?”

The student’s arm was stuck up in the air, an excited grin painted over her lips. “Why don’t you and Professor L/N try dueling each other? I’m sure it’d teach us a lot more than that dummy,” Rogue drawled in her thick Southern accent. The rest of the students murmured their agreement, bobbing their heads to the idea. Besides, they were all curious about your infamous mutation—they’d never seen you in action before.

Immediately, your stomach dropped and you were quick to shake your head just enough for Logan to see. His features seemed to soften with understanding.

“That’s enough, settle down,” Logan gruffed. “Professor L/N came here to watch, it would be unfair to spring an entire demonstration on them without any warning. The dummy’ll do just fine. Look, it’s in tip-top shape!” His burly fist wrapped around the dummy’s throat.

And the head popped right off.

Logan blinked, stunned. The class burst into laughter. You joined them, hiding a smile behind your palm. Logan watched you keenly, before a crooked smile broke through his rough features, chuckling lowly under his breath.

“I’m sorry about them,” he said, making his way to you once he had dismissed all his pupils (though not before assigning them a butt-load of homework that made all of them groan exasperatedly). “I know you weren’t expecting that.”

Waving his words away, you were quick to shake your head. “No, no, it’s alright. I’m just… not entirely comfortable with using my powers yet. Charles and I are still working through it—I’m not really at the stage of combating an experienced mutant as yourself. Anyways, I don’t want to keep you. I’m sure you’ve got a ton of school-related errands to run.”

You crossed your arms with a hesitant quirk of your lips to assure him that you were okay, watching him keenly as he tried to mirror your expression. It came out more as an awkward stretch of his mouth, so he dropped it soon after.

Logan sucked on the rooftop of his mouth, before stoutly nodding, and turned around to walk away. You’d mentioned he probably had school-related errands to run. Hah. As if Logan ever worked outside of the classes he taught. All he had in mind was to head over to a bar and drink as many beers as the barkeeper would allow him.

By the time he reached the doorway, Logan abruptly stopped in his tracks. He could feel your eyes watching him go, practically searing the skin on the back of his neck.

“God damn it,” he whispered quietly beneath his breath. He couldn’t just leave you alone. Not when his class thrust you into the spotlight like that. Definitely not because he felt an irrepressible urge to spend more time with you. And especially not because he thought that little grin of yours was so darned cute. Of course not.

He turned back to you with a set expression, jaw clenched tight. If you didn’t know any better, he appeared to be angry. Or constipated. One of the two.

Either way, you were surprised to hear him addressing you by the doorway, in a brusque tone.

“The school day’s over. I’m heading out to grab a drink. You wanna come with?”

It took you a moment to respond, a little too frazzled to formulate a coherent thought.

“Yeah,” you finally answered, slightly breathless. Logan pointedly looked away when you beamed at him. “Yeah, I’d love to.”

His thigh was pressed up against yours. You could feel the heat radiating off of him through his jeans. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, which leaned against the bar’s countertop, palms cradled around his tenth (or was it his eleventh?) frosty mug of beer.

You were slowly nursing your fifth drink, snorting into the rim when Logan made an off-hand comment about how stupid Scott looked on one of their most recent missions.

“I take it you don’t like him?”

“Who?” Logan asked, turning his head so he could look at you. Beneath the dim amber-glow of the bar’s lighting, your skin appeared flushed, eyes just a tad brighter. You were too damned close to him.

Nose wrinkling, you nudged his shoulder with yours. “Scott, dummy.”

His eyebrow rose. “Why, do you want me to like him? Do you like him?”

The questions made you splutter beer all over the counter as you choke-laughed, wiping your lips with the back of your hand. “You’re not answering my question, Lo.” You began giggling again, before downing the rest of your mug, swaying slightly on the leather stool. Logan had half a mind to clamp his palm over your thigh to keep you from tipping over.

“I like Scott, yeah. He’s nice. I know he has a thing for Jean though—I’ve been trying to convince him to ask her out but Scott keeps saying it isn’t the right time. Jean likes him all the same, too. They’re just really stupid.” A fond smile grew on your lips and you began laughing once more.

Logan watched you in amusement, just before ordering another beer for himself. You were a giggly drunk, Logan realized, as you buried your face into your hands as uncontrollable laughter shook through you.

“Alright, that’s enough drinks for you. What’s got you crackin’ up, bub?” Logan sighed in part-exasperation and part-mirth when you leaned back so far your stool began to capsize. He was quick to shoot his arm out and yank you back forward. This only made you laugh harder, for reasons unbeknownst to him.

“I just—” You had to pause to heave a breath through your cackling. “Your hair just looks so funny—why does it stand up like that?”

God, you were so drunk. Your hand reached out to pat down the tufts of hair sticking upwards, but missed the mark and instead brushed over his jaw, slightly prickly with day-old stubble.

Logan watched you carefully as your laughter died away, a strange look shadowing your once gleeful one. His eyes flickered down to your lips, which were parted ever so slightly in thought. “You look much younger than you used to—back in that tank.”

Gently, he captured your wrist and stroked his thumb over your palm once, before setting it back down by your side. “Let’s go home. You’re drunk.”

“Yes, sir. ” You mock-saluted as he helped you off the stool and offered his arm when you nearly toppled over your own feet.

You swayed to and fro when walking back to the mansion, hiccupping between every giggle as you told Logan about this one time Kurt teleported into the kitchen and scared you so badly you hit him with a frying pan. Logan let himself laugh at that one.

By the time the two of you reached your room, a good night was right on the tip of his tongue before it was yanked away from him when you grabbed him by the shirt collar and tugged him towards you in a drunken fashion, emboldened by the alcohol coursing through your system. A startled noise fell from his lungs, and the corner of your eyes wrinkled as you smiled. You swiftly planted a soft kiss to his cheek, nose slotted right against his cheekbone. He was frozen to the spot, unsure of how to react.

“You’re a sweetheart. Good night, Lo,” you murmured into his skin with a lopsided smile.

You were drunk. So very drunk.

Logan had to remind himself of this when you pulled away. You wouldn’t have done that if you were sober.

The door groaned as you pushed it open, moonlight spilling over your features. You promptly slammed the door in his face, and he heard you giggling behind it just a second after.

He wasn’t able to snap out of his reverie until an entire minute later.

“G’night, bub,” he mumbled, knowing full and well that you were probably passed out on top of your bed by now. No doubt you’d have a raging hangover tomorrow. He shook his head, before heading off to his own room, a warm sensation clawing at his chest.

The familiar voice of a certain professor rang out across the kitchen, and you groaned at the sudden noise. The hangover headache pulsating through your skull wasn’t nearly as bad as it was when you had initially woken up, but it was still there. And Charles most certainly wasn’t helping.

“Morning,” he exclaimed with a knowing smile, eyeing you with a look you misliked. You grumbled under your breath, before shoveling a spoonful of scrambled eggs into your mouth so you didn’t have to respond to him. Charles didn’t seem to mind, continuing his amiable chatter. “I noticed you weren’t in last night.”

Humming in confirmation, you lifted your mug to guzzle down more apple juice.

“Funny coincidence,” Charles quipped, wheeling up right beside you. Without even looking at him, you just knew that his eyebrows were raised suggestively. “Logan was also nowhere in the mansion yesterday.”

You scowled, then set the mug down. “We just had a couple drinks together.”

“Mmh, right.” Charles narrowed his eyes, clearly in disbelief. “Well, nice to see that the two of you have… warmed up to each other. I’ve got to head back now but don’t forget about our session at three—just because you’re hungover doesn’t mean you can skip out on me.”

A discontent noise erupted from your lungs and you stuck your tongue out at his back when he turned away.

“I saw that,” said Charles, amusement lacing his tone. “Well, I didn’t actually see it. I know you did it, though.”

And with that, he left.

You groaned, before lowering your head to rest against the cool kitchen countertop.

A moment later, a voice disrupted the rare-found quiet. Logan.

“You alright, bub?”

When you lifted your face up, you blinked away the colorful blurs spotting your vision, Logan coming into view. He was wearing a simple white tank top tucked into a pair of faded jeans, hands shoved into his pockets. You eyed his biceps warily, which glistened with a thin sheen of sweat. You swallowed down the nervous lump in your throat.

“I’m good. What’re you up to?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Logan replied sheepishly. “Was in the training room all night.”

He leaned against the doorway, a mild smile itching at his lips upon observing your disheveled state. Your hair was mussed, wearing a simple wrinkly white shirt and a pair of grey shorts. The expression on your face told him that you were still working off the hangover.

“Wanna talk about it?” you asked, patting the seat beside you.

Logan pursed his lips, before moving towards you. “Yeah,” he said, swinging his leg over the chair. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

The cold of the porcelain sent a shiver up your spine as you slumped against the toilet seat, grumbling under your breath. Logan watched you keenly as he dampened a towel, bunching it up in his hand, kneeling down in front of you.

Your first mission as an X-Man was nothing short of disastrous.

You’d warned Charles—told him you weren’t ready to use your powers in an uncontrolled setting—but he’d assured you that you’d be fine. Besides, the rest of your teammates were there for you.

Except the Brotherhood had taken down everybody else and you were the last person standing—and you lost control of your powers. Again.

It wasn’t until Logan stumbled towards you, pushing through the tornado of glass shards whirling around your hyperventilating form, barely even noticing the cuts appearing over his skin. His healing factor was quick to weave together the broken skin—all that mattered was getting to you. Your explosive powers were enough to severely alarm the Brotherhood, and they thankfully retreated soon after your outburst, though he doubted they’d stay away for too long.

Logan had grabbed you, pulling you close until your face was flush against his chest, cradling you atop the cold, hardened dirt, mumbling sweet nothings that you couldn’t really make out into your hair. When the air stilled, you pulled your face away, tear-stricken and bloodied.

The incident was far too similar to the first time you used your powers—when your best friend’s life was taken as a consequence.

A single, searing tear meandered down your face at the memory, and you bit down on your lip to quell the sob rising in your throat.

“Hey, bub.” Logan took your chin between his fingers, grounding you back to reality. It was just him and you—in a small bathroom. He was close, so close that you could see the buzzing lights reflected in the burnt umber of his irises, or how he had a small, faded birthmark just beside his left eye. He tilted your head up so you’d meet his concerned gaze. “It’s okay. You did good. You drove ‘em away. We would’ve all been in hot shit if it weren’t for you. Storm was knocked unconscious, Kitty and Rogue had their powers stripped away, Scott was no match against Quicksilver, and the rest of us were this close to being ripped apart. You did good.”

Your stomach lurched uneasily. “Feels more like I fucked everything up. I told Charles I wasn’t ready.”

Instead of a reply, Logan merely sighed, shaking his head. Softly he swiped the damp towel across the bloody gashes on your face, his fingers on your chin moving to cup your other cheek. His palm was cold against the flushed heat of your face.

“I hate seeing you like this,” he whispered, the usual gruff tone of his voice nowhere to be found. “Wish you had the healing factor instead of me.”

“Nah,” you replied softly, wincing as you leaned forward, closer to him. The large slash over your abdomen from a broken metal pipe Magneto sent hurtling your way burned with every shift of your body. “You’d be dead a thousand times over if it weren’t for your healing factor. And I’m really glad you’re not dead.”

The towel on your cheekbone paused for a second. Logan scrutinized you for a moment, before returning to the task at hand. “Yeah, I guess I’m glad, too.”

A comfortable silence thickened between the two of you, only interrupted by your quiet groans of pain, which were always followed up by Logan’s sheepish apology.

“I still haven’t graded the kids’ homework papers—they’re expecting it back on Monday,” you gritted out, hand shooting forward to grip Logan’s shoulder, nails digging into his collarbone when he moved down to clean up the shallow wound across your torso.

He quirked an eyebrow towards you in amusement. “You’re crazy, you know that? Almost died today and all you’re thinkin’ about is grading papers. Pfft.”

“That’s not all I’m thinking about,” you weakly protested, smacking his hand away when he playfully pinched your thigh.

After wiping away all the crusted blood and dirt on your brand new X-Men suit, he was satisfied to see that your gash wasn’t deep enough to need stitches. He hauled himself onto the edge of the bathtub so he was sitting right across from you. “Yeah? What else are you thinking about?”

“You.” The single word came out as nothing but a low mutter.

“I don’t know whether to be flattered or worried,” he replied with a roguish grin, pupils darting between your eyes and your raw-bitten lips.

You huffed out a laugh. “Maybe both.” His forehead leaned against yours as you breathed him in, relishing in his calming presence. “I really like you, Lo.”

Those five words were what spurred him to push forward, slanting his lips onto yours, stealing your breath away. You made a small noise of surprise, before practically melting into him, looping your sore arms over his neck and tugging him all the closer. He kissed you slowly, careful about where to place his hands, because your body was littered with fresh scars. He settled on just above your waist, smoothing his thumbs out over the back of your ribs, as if to constantly reassure himself that you were here. You were okay.

His nose bumped into yours, and it hurt to smile—oh, it practically burned with each kiss—but you smiled into him anyway. Because for Logan, it was worth the pain.

“Ow,” you lightly complained when he accidentally knocked his knee against your busted one. “Watch it, old man.”

A growl caught in his throat. “You know, I was gonna say I really liked you, too, but I don’t think that applies anymore.”

You burst into a fit of laughter, clutching at your stomach a second later, moaning out with pain. “Don’t make me laugh! You ass!”

He could only smile at that, roping you towards him once more with his fingers anchored over your jaw. This time, the kiss was hot and heavy, more confident. Your hands ran through his hair, gently tugging at his roots, which made pleasant shivers spider down his spine. It was needy with want, his kisses wandering from your lips to the apples of your cheeks, to your trembling throat.

The hand on your back was only starting to traverse downwards when the door flung open, revealing a smug Rogue and an awfully mortified Kurt just behind her.

“I knew it! I knew y’all were a thing!” Rogue called out, clapping her hands excitedly. “Scott totally owes me twenny bucks!”

She scuttled away gleefully, leaving the blue elf staring at the two of you with wide, amber eyes, completely still.

“You can close the door, Kurt,” you hesitantly told him, before Logan could snarl out something unsavory. You were uncomfortably perched halfway between the toilet seat and Logan’s lap, with his hand flush over your ass.

“Er… right… I’ll just use the bathroom upstairs,” he breathily stumbled, before teleporting away in a hazy cloud of sulphuric fumes.

“Damn elf didn’t close the door. Of fuckin’ course.” Logan groaned, pulling himself away from you with a scowl. “You alright, darlin’?”

An embarrassed grin replaced the initial shock of being found. “Yeah, I think so. You?”

“Worst night of my life. The entire school’s gonna know by tomorrow,” Wolverine grumbled, before fondly glancing towards you. “Wouldn’t have it any other way, though.”

You hobbled up with his support, pressing a sweet, chaste kiss to his cheek. “You think the entire team bet money on us?”

“Oh, yeah,” Logan chortled as he helped you out of the communal bathroom, heading upstairs to your bedroom. “Charlie bet a hundred bucks on us. I heard him talking to Storm about it.”

You side-eyed him with amusement. “So did he win?”

“Nope,” Logan said, popping the ‘p’, looking far too smug to be ripping away a hundred dollars from his old friend. “Thought neither of us would have the balls to confess until next month.”

“You’re sick,” you said, wrinkling your nose. “Did you kiss me just to spite him?”

“I kissed you because I wanted to,” countered Logan, shoving the door to your room open with his shoulder. “Professor losing a hundred bucks was just the cherry on top, you know?”

You sank onto your bed, dragging Logan with you, barely giving him enough time to slam the door shut. “Yeah,” you mumbled, pulling him into yet another kiss. “You’re awful, Lo.”

“Love you, too.”

Placing your hand on his chest, you pulled away hesitantly, unsure if you heard him right. “Yeah?”

Logan smiled, all warm and genuine. “Yeah.”

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hattiewritesalot · 3 years ago

Text

~Hurry now, angel~

Prince Caspian x fem!reader

Summary: Prince Caspian is in serious danger, and must flee Telmar as fast as possible. However, there is no way he is leaving without his beloved, (Y/N).

Warnings: angsty angsty angst, Cassy being in danger, mentions of death, killing, but little hints of wholesomeness.

A/N: My girlfriend has had to put up with my Caspian obsession for too long, so I'm writing this to shut myself up <3

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

(Y/N), being the Princess of Telmar, had expected to wake up to an extravagant breakfast, or the sun's gentle rays peaking through her curtains, or perhaps her lover's skilled hands caressing her hair. It was not greed, it was just what she was used to.

What she wasn't used to, however, was being violently shaken awake by Dr Cornelius, mumbling something hurried and upset.

She had shot out of bed, still half asleep, and threw on a simple ebony gown, when Caspian had rushed in, pressing kisses to the top of her head as well as muffled apologies.

"Caspian, darling, whatever is going on?"

He sighed, grabbing his wife's daggers for her and stuffing them into a small satchel.

"My aunt, sweetheart, she's had her child." "And?" Caspian went quiet for a moment, never ceasing his fast movements.

"Cass, what does your aunt giving birth have to do with the fact that you've woken me up and started frantically shoving things into that satchel?" He didn't speak, instead placing the bag around her shoulders and ushering her out of the room. He was still silent when they were running down the corridors hand-in-hand before (Y/N) yanked him to the wall, eyes blazing.

"Prince Caspian either you tell me what on earth is going on or I swear I will-" "A boy, dearest, it's a boy." "Cass… your uncle-" "He wants me dead."

She stopped speaking then, wrapping her arms around his neck as a signal of apologetic emotion. He kissed her gently before pulling away and dragging her down the hall.

"Hurry now, angel." He said, accent thick and sultry. "Because the last thing I want is for us to be spotted and killed on the spot.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------- Wrote this at like 1am, might finish it after, lemme know if you like it so I know to continue it

#prince caspian #prince caspian x reader #prince caspian x y/n #the chronicles of narnia #ben barnes x reader #narnia #narnia x reader #obsessed with ben barnes #obsessed with this man

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inkandpen22 · 3 years ago

Text

Unlikely Allies (1/?)

Pairing: Peter Pevensie x Female!Reader

Warnings: none

Word Count: 2k

Part Summary: Y/N is the Telemarine Princess. She’s devoted to her family, including her uncle Miraz, who’s keeping many secrets from her. When her aunt gives birth to her cousin, her brother runs away, leaving Y/N lost...

Masterlist

Y/N

"Princess Y/N?" A faint voice appears in my dream. "Princess!"

I wake up yawning and stretching out my limbs. I whine, what time is it? "Yes, what is it?" I grumble, rolling onto my side.

"Your Royal Highness," the servant greets as they enter my room and I assume they bow. "It's your aunt, she's given birth!"

I fly up from my laid position and immediately climb out of bed. "Take me there at once!"

My maid rushes me to my aunt and uncle's bed-chamber. It's the early hours of the morning, but I don't care! A cousin! Finally! People travel in and out of the room as I turn the corner. Lord Glozelle stands outside the door, guarding it.

He bows his head as I pass, "Your Royal Highness."

I enter the chaotic room, utterly gleaming. A circle of people surrounds the bed, chatter high.

"Auntie?" I make myself known.

The crowd parts, allowing me a path. My aunt lays in her bed, holding my baby cousin. My uncle is beside her, smiling ear to ear as he stares down at the baby.

My aunt looks up at me with a bright smile and waves me over. "Y/N! Come!"

I hurry over to her side, settling down on the edge of their bed. The little boy is wrapped securely in a gray blanket.

"Your cousin, a boy!" My uncle tells me, overjoyed.

My aunt extends her arms out to me, handing me the child. He's utterly precious. The true Telemarine black hair is already on his tiny head.

"Hello! You're so handsome!" I greet him, allowing his small hand to wrap around my finger.

"Y/N, your aunt and I were talking," Uncle begins, glancing between me and his wife. "We would like you to be the Godmother."

My eyes grow wide. "Truly?"

"It would be our pleasure," Auntie giggles, placing her hand over mine.

"I would be honored!" I laugh breathlessly. "Thank you, Uncle! Auntie!"

Suddenly, fireworks erupt outside, signaling the start of the celebration. "A son! A son! Lady Prunaprismia has given Lord Miraz a son!" One of the guards announces from the tower to the village.

"My Lord!" Lord Glozelle barges in frantically. He notices me and bows swiftly. "Your Royal Highness!"

My uncle sighs, a tad annoyed by the interruption. "Yes, Lord Glozelle?"

"It's Prince Caspian, he's gone!"

"What!" I panic and hand the baby back to my aunt before I rise off the bed. "What do you mean gone?"

"It'll be okay, Y/N. We'll find him," Uncle Miraz tries to assure me calmly as he stands.

"Where is he?" I question the Lord.

"My men say they saw him ride into the forest," Lord Glozelle informs.

"What! No! He'll die!" I rush out. "There are Narnians!"

"Those are mere superstitions, your tutor has plagued your mind!" My uncle laughs. "Narnians are extinct. Come Lord Glozelle, we'll begin the search immediately." My uncle stops at me, before departing. He brings his hand to my cheek gently with a comforting smile. "All will be well, Princess."

I nod, praying he's right.

Satisfied, he departs with his men, the room shrinking in population. I turn my attention to the balcony and the full moon. "Caspian..." I whisper my brother's name, praying he's alright and safe.

________________________________________

A few days later...

I ride toward the soldiers gathered by the river's side. I take notice of their wagons... they're empty, how odd. I dismount my horse and spot my uncle.

"Uncle!" I call over, gaining his attention.

I hurry over to him, Lord Gozelle, and the other members of Lord's council. They appear to be in a rather heated argument.

"Is everything alright?" I question worriedly. "I was on a ride when your men told me to return to the palace."

My uncle forces a convincing smile as he ushers me away from the men privately. "Yes, My Dear, I'm sorry to have frightened you."

"You're not telling me something," I accuse knowingly. "Is it Caspian?"

Caspian

Peter, Susan, and Trumpkin hide behind a pile of lumber, watching as my uncle and his men discover the mess we've left.

"I say we shoot now," Trumpkin suggests.

Susan preps her bow and arrow. That's when I see her, Y/N... my sister.

"Wait!" I place my hand over Susan's arrow.

"What is it?" She asks.

Miraz ushers her away, his hand pressed to her back. Something's wrong.

"My sister..." I mumble.

"You have a sister?" Peter questions.

"Y/N..." I whisper her name in a daze as I watch her. "She's speaking with my uncle."

Out of my peripheral, I see Peter searching for her. I can tell when he does because his features shift from confusion to astonishment.

Y/N

"Return to your ride. Everything is okay, promise!" Uncle Miraz guarantees. "My one request is that you stay out of the forest. Go straight to the palace."

"It's Narnians, isn't it?" I interrogate enthusiastically as he escorts me to my horse. It would be the only reason the guard has been so jittery and anxious. "They do exist! Oh, I knew it!"

"You and your fairytales," he laughs, helping up onto the saddle. "Be on your way, My Dear. I'll return shortly."

"Alright, I'll go tend to your baby for you," I tease him, sending him a wink.

Miraz

As I watch Y/N ride off down the path toward the castle as I asked, Lord Gozelle appears beside me.

"You should tell her," he advises.

"That her brother is a traitor and has brought back our greatest enemy" I shake my head, turning over my shoulder to join the Lords again. "No, it'll destroy her."

"Why do you care for Y/N, but Caspian is dispensable?"

"Y/N would never betray me," I state with utmost certainty. Then, I snicker. "Besides, she's a young lady. She can't take my throne."

Y/N

I ride along the path that lines the forest. The trees blur as my horse gallops swiftly back to the castle. My mind is wandering with curiosity. Miraz tells me that there's nothing to be worried about, but I can't help and question whether this is true. Abruptly, a cloaked figure appears on the path, blocking my way. My horse becomes startled and I'm bucked off, hitting the dirt with a thud. The wind is knocked out of me and I struggle to catch my breath. The cloaked figure hurries over and grabs me, dragging me off the dirt path.

"Get off of me!" I scream, thrashing about. "I am Her Royal Highness Princess Y/N! I will-" Then, the figure removes their hood and my eyes recognize my brother. "Caspian..." I whisper in disbelief.

"Hello Y/N," he grins.

"You're alive!" I fly up from my position, wrapping my arms around him frantically. Then, I fully process the news and pull back. "Wait until Miraz hears! He's been so worried!"

"No, no!" He rushes out. "You mustn't tell him you've seen me! Y/N, he's behind all of this..."

"What? No, no, that's impossible. He-"

"When he learned he had a son, he sent assassins after me! I had to run!" He squeezes my shoulders urgently. "It's all true! Everything Dr. Cornelius taught us, it's all true!"

My eyes grow wide, it can't be... "You mean about Narnians!"

"Yes! Aslan, the Kings, and Queens of Old, it's all-"

"Caspian, you can't just run off!" A male voice interrupts, followed by rushing footsteps.

"What if Miraz..." A girl begins to shout, but as she, a boy, and a dwarf appear from behind the greenery briskly their eyes land on us.

The dark-haired girl looks down at me strangely, as if she already hates me despite just meeting me. She seems like a know-it-all. I don't even know her name. The boy, tall and blonde, peers at me with parted lips. Surprise not easily hidden. The dwarf, well, he glares a lot. Two out of three already hate me. Caspian must be telling the truth, these truly are Narnians.

Caspian glances between the two and myself. "Y/N, this is-"

"Let me guess, High King Peter," I determine, meeting the boy's gaze.

He appears more astonished than before if that's possible. What? Just because I'm a Telemarine doesn't mean I don't know the legends of Narnia.

"You revealed yourself!" The girl huffs. "She's going to run and tell Miraz!"

"Let me guess, Queen Susan," I remark a bit snarky as I help myself off the ground and brush myself down. "I wouldn't tell."

"Are we just supposed to take your word for it?" Peter challenges.

"Miraz may be my uncle, but Caspian is my only brother," I argue.

"And your loyalty lies with your people, right? Am I wrong?" He presses further.

"And you're loyal to the Narnians?" I snicker mockingly. "Last I checked you disappeared for over a thousand years."

"Even the Telemarine Princess agrees with me," the dwarf huffs with a roll of the eyes.

"At least my family didn't murder millions of innocent creatures," he fires back.

I reach for the dagger resting on my belt and point it at the boy. "Take that back!"

Fearless, he steps forward, directly in front of my blade. "Your entire empire is the reason Narnians are almost extinct!"

"Our father wouldn't have harmed any creature!" I scream.

Caspian wraps his arms around me, pulling me into his chest. "Y/N, Y/N, calm down!"

"Enough of this, we have to return to the camp," Peter announces assertively as he begins to march away. "Bring her."

"No, we're not taking her with us!" Susan shouts.

"We have to!" Peter argues over his shoulder.

Caspian presses a hand to my back, leading me in the direction Peter is headed.

"What? I'm not going!" I challenge.

"Good!" Susan scoffs.

"You must," Caspian tells me calmly. "You know of us now."

"I rather drop dead," I fire back.

"That can be arranged," Peter grumbles ahead.

"Shall I send you back to wherever you came from?" I threaten the former High King.

He turns over his shoulder with a glare. "Anything to be dimensions away from you."

"Stop it!" Caspian finally breaks, looking back and forth between the two of us. "Please..."

"Miraz will send the Lords after me! It's in your best interest to let me go!" I reason with them.

"Perhaps she's right," Susan uncharacteristically agrees with me. "Caspian, we can see her another time. For now, we have to be smart."

Caspian's clearly torn, an internal battle ensuing in his mind. "What if Miraz finds out we've been together. He may retaliate against you."

I frown, "Miraz would never... he cares about me."

"I'll formulate a plan," Peter interjects, causing my brother and me to look at him. "A few men and I will sneak into the castle in two days time. We'll stage it like a kidnapping to avoid any hostility toward Y/N from your uncle."

"That gives me two days to prepare and learn what I can about what Uncle is planning," I try to convince Caspian.

"Very well, but be careful until then," he practically begs, bringing me into a hug.

"Goodbye Caspian," I mumble against his chest as I part from him. This is harder than I had expected. "Now go! Before any guards ride by!"

He nods and begins to back away. "I'll come back for you!"

Susan and Caspian run off in the opposite direction with Trumpkin. Peter lingers behind for a second, walking backward to follow them. "I'll send messages to you until it's time," he informs me. "Be ready!"

I nod, feeling sick to my stomach at the thought of what will happen in two nights. "Yes, alright," I manage to say with my voice shaking.

He nods, satisfied with my response, before jogging off to join his sister and friends. I stand in the woods, alone, utterly dazed and confused. One minute I'm riding home, the next I'm reunited with my brother and learn that Narnians are alive. On top of that, everything about my life that's been concrete, such as my home in the castle and my love of my aunt and uncle are being taken away. My brother or my people? That's the question and I only have two days to figure out an answer.

_____________________________________

Masterlist

Tags: @i-hav-no-life @hellomyweirdos @candyheartsandcigarettes @gillybear17 @hauntedphotographybookstaco

#narnia imagine #narnia #narnia fanfiction #caspian x reader #prince caspian #peter pevensie #King Peter the Magnificent #peter x reader #peter #susan pevensie #edmund pevensie #lucy pevensie

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wellimaginethat · 4 years ago

Text

Stitches: Part One

Pairing: Connor Rhodes x Sister!Reader

Requested?: Yes

Word Count: 3099

Author’s Note: This idea was super cute and I loved it, wish I could have gotten it written sooner for the lovely requester but stupid writers block hit. I decided I am going to make this into two parts

Trigger Warning(s): Hospital, needles, panic attack, injury, needing stitches, being bullied, physical assault

Disclaimer: I don’t owe nor am I affiliated with any of the Chicago shows, I just like to play with the characters

Summary: Y/N Rhodes is the younger sister of Connor, she’s been being picked on at school and it escalates to where she needs stitches and ends up in the ED, where she has a panic attack due to a fear of needles and hospitals, so Connor shows up to save the day.

Chicago Med Tags: @bethii1, @drakelover78, @lorenakaspersen (want to be tagged? message me!)

Y/N = Your Name

High school is rough, especially when you’re being bullied. But you tried to shrug it off and ignore it, but that just seemed to make it worse, so you tried talking to the teachers and the principal and that is how you landed in the ED.

You were brought in by the ambulance because you were pushed down a flight of concrete steps, luckily you didn’t get hurt too badly but the school called the ambulance regardless.

You absolutely hated hospitals, or rather you were terrified of them. You didn’t really have a reason for being afraid of hospitals, but they freaked you out. Everything about hospitals freaked you out. The doctors, the nurses, needles, the noises. Everything. And given that you were already upset over what happened, it just made it all worse.

When they wheeled you in, you heard the paramedic talking to a nurse.

“Sixteen year old female, pushed down a flight of concrete steps outside the high school, has a massive gash on her forehead and possibly some broken ribs.”

When they got you into the room, the nurse the paramedic had been talking to and a red headed doctor walked in.

“Hi my name’s Dr. Halstead, can you tell me your name?” The doctor asked

“Y/N Rhodes.” You managed to get out, your eyes were darting around and you looked uneasy.

The nurse looked at the doctor before looking at you. “You’re Connor’s little sister, aren’t you?” You nodded silently, feeling almost like a little kid. Dr. Halstead peaked out of the room and you heard him call your brother to your room.

The minute Connor walked in his face fell and he rushed to your side, checking you over and especially taking a look at the gash on your head. “God, Y/N, what happened?” He asked you in an incredibly worried tone, looking at you with an almost scared look in his eyes.

“Jake pushed me down the stairs at school.” You told him weakly, scared and sad. “He was mad because I told the principal about him.”

Connor nodded before looking at Dr. Halstead and nodding for him to head out of the room so they could talk.

The nurse approached you then with a soft smile. “My name is Maggie, how about I get an IV hooked up to get you some pain meds to help?” She asked you in a soft voice, noticing how scared you seemed.

“A-an IV? Doesn’t that involve a needle?” You asked, stuttering a bit. You shook your head violently, causing yourself to see stars, when she nodded. “No...no needles.” Maggie seemed hesitant but nodded a bit. “Alright, how about we wait on that until your brother gets back? Maybe he can ease your worries?”

You nodded a bit and watched as Maggie also stepped out of the room.

“I’ll talk to Goodwin about it, see if she’ll allow it this one time.” Connor told Will as they talked about five feet from your room, you couldn’t hear them but could see that Connor was discussing something with your doctor and it made you curious.

“Talk to Goodwin about what?” Sharon walked up behind him after hearing her name, looking at Connor.

Connor took a breath, thinking how best to broach the subject to her to convince her. “My sister was hurt.” He started out. “And she’s scared of hospitals and doctors and pretty much everything involving medicine.”

“I sense I know where this is going.” Sharon stated but waited for him to continue.

“Let me treat her.” Connor stated.

Will crossed his arms, waiting for Goodwin to tell him no.

Before Sharon had the chance, Connor spoke again. “She’s absolutely terrified and I’m afraid if someone else treats her it will cause her to have a panic attack.”

“And you think if you treat her you can avoid this?” Sharon asked him, skeptically.

Connor slowly nodded, a bit hesitant. “I believe so, yes. I know it goes against the code of ethics-”

Sharon cut him off, glancing over into your room and seeing how frightened you seemed before looking back at your brother. “I will make an exception.” She told him. “Due to the circumstances, I feel it’s in the patient’s best interest.”

Connor was beyond grateful and relieved. “Thank you.” He told her before heading back to your room. “Hey.” He said softly, moving over to take another look at the gash on your head. “So it looks like you’re gonna need stitches, okay?” Your eyes widened and you shook your head. “No no no no…” You started to panic.

Connor gently placed his hands on your shoulders. “Hey there, look at me.” He said softly, waiting until you looked at him. “It’s going to be okay, alright? I’m gonna take care of you and it’s all going to be okay.” He said softly.

You nodded silently but your eyes were still full of fear.

“Now Maggie is going to give you an IV, I want you to focus on me while she does that.” Connor said softly as Maggie took your arm in her gloves hands. “Just focus on me.”

You kept your eyes on him and winced when you felt the plastic tighten around your bicep, trying to brace yourself for the needle.

“Just keep focusing on me.” Connor said softly.

You squeaked when you felt the needle pierce the skin in the crook of your elbow but you managed to not panic or black out, which was an amazing feat.

“You did good.” Connor said softly, standing to get what he needed. “Now I’m going to have to give you a shot to numb the area so I can stitch up the gash, okay?”

“Wait!” You said quickly, stopping him before he had a chance to even get the syringe ready. When he looked at you, you met his eyes. “Just give me a second to prepare myself.” You said quietly, still trying to work through the emotions of getting the IV.

Connor nodded and set the syringe down on the sterilized tray, waiting until you were ready.

You took a couple of deep breaths before you nodded. “Okay...I think I’m ready.” You told him and he picked the syringe up.

“Do you want to hold my hand?” Maggie offered softly, holding her hand out to you.

You smiled weakly and nodded, taking her hand as you squeezed your eyes shut, bracing yourself.

It went a lot better than you or Connor was expecting, soon enough the area surrounding the gash was numb and Connor was able to start stitching it up. Luckily, if the gash left a scar it was along your hairline so it would be less noticeable, and you’d be able to hide it with your hair.

“Alright, almost done.” Connor said as he did the last stitch and tied it, cutting off the excess and setting it off to the side before taking a seat. “Now, tell me again what happened.”

You chewed on the inside of your cheek. “Jake’s been bullying me for a while now, but it just keeps getting worse. After he beat me up yesterday, I told the principal and then today he attacked me again and pushed me down the steps outside of school when I was trying to leave.” You explained, looking at your hands. “It just keeps getting worse.”

“Sounds like maybe we should inform the cops.” Maggie remarked softly.

“Why? They probably won’t do anything.” You were convinced that you’d just have to deal with it.

“What he did today qualifies as assault.” Connor told you gently, agreeing with Maggie and nodding to her.

She disappeared out of the room, probably heading to call the police.

“It’ll just make it worse!” You exclaimed, worried, wanting Maggie to stop before she got the cops involved.

Connor hushed you gently, moving to sit on the bed beside you. “It’s not going to get worse.”

“You don’t know that!” You insisted, trying feebly to push him away when he carefully pulled you into a hug.

“I do know that, because I’m your big brother.” Connor told you. “And big brothers are supposed to protect their little sisters. I’m sorry I didn’t know what was going on before otherwise I would have done something a lot sooner.”

You sniffled. “What if the cops don’t do anything?” “Well then I guess I’ll just have to have a talk with Jake’s parents.” Connor replied.

“His parents can’t do anything, he’s eighteen.” You replied quietly, leaning into the hug more as exhaustion took over you. You just wanted to go home and pretend nothing happened.

“Well that means he’s an adult and the cops should do something considering he attacked a minor.” Connor told you, trying to ease your worries. He glanced out of the room and noticed your dad was standing at the nurse’s station. “I’ll be right back.” He told you softly, kissing the top of your head before pulling away from the hug slowly.

“I want to know where my daughter is.” Cornelius demanded of the nurse.

“I just need a name, sir.” The nurse tried to tell him in a polite voice.

“I’ve got this, Doris.” Connor told her, gaining the attention of his dad. He wasn’t thrilled to see him, but the two had an unspoken agreement that they would play nice whenever you were around. “She’s in here.” Connor motioned to where you were, leading your dad in.

“Dad.” You were honestly happy to see him, even though he was a pretty absent father, you still adored him and you were kind of his pride and joy for now, favoring you over your two older siblings.

Cornelius walked over. “What on earth happened?” “A boy attacked her at school.” Connor told him, crossing his arms. “Did you know she was being bullied?”

“Bullied?” Cornelius looked at Connor and back to you before looking back at your brother. “I had no idea.” Connor scoffed. “Figures.” He muttered under his breath, looking out of the room and taking his attention off you and your father as he watched for the police to arrive.

After your brother’s dramatic exit, you and your father both fell silent. You were keenly aware of the fact that your father favored you compared to your siblings, and that he and Connor had an especially strained relationship for some reason. Neither of them ever put you in the middle of it and they always attempted to play nice in your presence, keyword being attempted. As a child, you weren’t aware of the fact that they had issues, but now that you were getting older it was rather hard to ignore, especially in tense situations like this.

You could hear different sounds coming from different rooms in the ED and it made you uncomfortable, causing you to shift on the bed.

“Are you alright?” Your father looked at you with concern in his eyes.

You nodded silently at first. “Yeah. I’m fine.” You finally managed to reply in a quiet voice. “I just really don’t like hospitals.”

“Well after you’re released we’ll take you home and you can rest in the comfort of your own bed.”

You smiled tiredly at him and nodded. “Sounds good.”

It was a while longer before the cops finally showed up to ask you some questions, and that was when Connor finally came back into your room.

“Miss. Rhodes, can you tell us what happened?” A female cop asked you in a polite tone, like the kind adults use with children who seem upset.

You shifted on the bed again. “There’s this kid I go to school with and he’s been bullying me for a while now.” You told her, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear nervously. “It’s been getting worse and worse and today he pushed me down the front steps at school.”

The female cop wrote what you said down, nodding as she did so. “And what did you say his name was?”

You pulled your lip in between your teeth, chewing on it nervously.

Connor walked over to you and gently touched your arm to comfort you.

“Jake. Jacob Smith.” You corrected yourself, taking a deep breath.

“And how long has this been going on?”

You thought about the question, trying to pinpoint just when Jake started bullying you. “About a year or so. It started when I was a freshman and just continued on. I think it was my second semester as a freshman.”

The cop nodded and was about to speak before your dad interrupted.

“We want to press charges.” He insisted.

You shrunk down a bit in your seat, knowing how your father could treat people, already embarrassed.

“We understand, Mr. Rhodes, but we do need to conduct an investigation into this first.”

“An investigation? Look at my daughter, she’s in the hospital for Christ’s sake! She’s traumatized!” He did have a point, but you knew the cops were just trying to do their jobs.

That’s when the male cop spoke up. “We understand that you’re upset, sir, but we need you to calm down and let us do our job.”

That didn’t bode well with your father.

“Dad, please.” You begged quietly, looking up at him with tear filled eyes. “Just let the cops do their job.”

Cornelius had a hard time saying no to you, given that you were the baby of the family and his favorite child, so he slowly backed down and took his seat at your bedside again.

“I hate to say it, but our dad has a point.” You brother spoke up, thankfully much calmer than your father. “She was attacked by this boy and it did cause her both physical and mental harm, so we would appreciate it if you could make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Both cops nodded to him. “We’ll talk to the witnesses, it was reported so we’re sure it will be a pretty open and shut case, but we do need to conduct an investigation.”

“We understand.” Connor told them, glancing over at his father before looking back at the cops. “Or at least I do.” He said in a lower voice as he walked out of the room with them.

It was a few minutes before Connor came back into the room.

“Thank you.” Your father told him tightly. “For agreeing with me instead of them.”

Connor didn’t respond, just shook his head a bit. He knew if he responded it would just lead to an argument and he didn’t want to put you through that.

“Can I go home?” You asked him quietly as he walked over to your side. “Please? I’m exhausted and I hate the hospital.”

Connor nodded. “I know you do.” He looked at your dad. “How about you come fill out the discharge papers so we can get her out of here?”

Cornelius nodded and stood up. “We’ll be right back.” He told you softly, touching your hand gently before following your brother out.

“You need to watch yourself around the cops.” Connor warned him once they were out of your earshot.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Connor turned to face him. “It means you need to be nice otherwise nothing will get done.”

Cornelius scoffed at that. “I know how to deal with people, Connor.”

“No you know how to push people around and buy them off.” Connor retorted, crossing his arms. “Just back off this time, let the cops do their jobs.”

Cornelius walked past him and to the nurse’s station. “I’d like you to discharge my daughter now. Y/N Rhodes.” As soon as the papers were signed, he went back to your room. “Alright, we’re good to go.” He gave you a smile.

You looked past him. “Where’s Connor? Isn’t he gonna come say goodbye?”

“He had to get back to work.” Your dad told you, but you could tell he was lying. Something happened and you knew it and it made you feel like your stomach was sinking into a black hole. You swallowed around the dry lump in your throat and nodded, trying to pretend you didn’t suspect anything. “Oh. Okay.” You could write the sadness off as not getting to say goodbye to your brother. You got up from the bed slowly.

“Do you need some help?”

You shook your head. “I’ve got it, thanks.” You waved him off as you grabbed your backpack from the floor before heading over to him. “I’m so ready to get home.” You breathed out, simply exhausted. “I just want to change into my pajamas and curl up in my bed.” You had plans to watch movies the rest of the afternoon.

Your dad nodded and walked out of the hospital with you, leading you over to his car.

Once you were home, you did exactly what you said you would, changed and curled up on your bed. You fished your phone out of your backpack before tossing it to the floor beside your bed. When you turned it on you saw you had a bunch of text messages from your friends asking if you were okay, you decided you’d respond to them in a bit, wanting to text your brother first.

It took you a few minutes and a few erased attempts before you decided on what to say. Hey, I just wanted to let you know that we’re home. Sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye, dad said you had to get back to work. I love you, talk to you later. And with that you hit send before you began replying to all your friends.

The rest of the night you stayed in your room, texting your friends and watching movies. The housekeeper checked on you a few times, but you didn’t see or hear from your dad at all the rest of the night, which honestly wasn’t that unusual. You may be the favorite, but you were pretty sure he only remembered he had kids when it suited him or he was forced to remember.

Eventually, despite the fact that your head began to throb, you were able to fall asleep. The next morning you were rudely awakened by your alarm clock alerting you that it was time to wake up and get ready for school, which you immediately dreaded after remembering the events of the prior day. You got dressed before picking your phone up and checking it, only to see you got a text from your best friend informing you that Jake had gotten arrested.

Part Two Coming Soon...

#connor rhodes imagine #connor rhodes imagines #connor rhodes x reader #dr connor rhodes imagine #dr connor rhodes imagines #connor rhodes x sister!reader #chicago med imagine #chicago med imagines

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ofapesandmen · 3 months ago

Text

Due For A Thorough Probe

—★ Dr Cornelius/M!Reader

[medicalplay, petplay, prostate milking]

The cold, hard wood was grounding. Comforting in a strange way under your fingertips. Flexing closed and open, scraping your nails against it. You couldn't help the shivers that moved in teasing waves across your skin.

Why was it always so cold?

A hand—warm and tender—placed itself between your shoulder blades. Your arms buckled beneath the weight. Not of the hand but of the presence of its owner.

"Let us begin, yes?"

He wasn't talking to you. You were... not of great consideration for conversation. At least for now that was your role. Merely an animal, a pet. Like the other humans.

He talked to you with the same cadence one would to a dog or mouse. Never actually expecting an answer in return. Silence was your grace, your virtue.

The hand on your back moved slowly, deliberately. Tracing your spine with a delicate touch. You shivered. You tried to control your breathing. The doctor did so dislike difficult to handle patients.

Silence. Stillness. Submission.

The hand caressed you, petting an invisible coat before finally it made its way to your rump. A moment passed by. Your uneven breaths echoing in the room.

"Don't be scared. This is a perfectly normal and natural procedure for humans."

His voice coaxed you to trust him. The confidence and knowledge evident in his tone. Years of practice and study weighed his cadence to a comforting octave. It rang in your ears. You breathed out hot air, shaky and heavy.

Cold and hot at the same time, a single thick finger carefully pressed up against your asshole. It lingered there, at the precipice, as though taunting. Teasing you.

Before you could prepare yourself, the finger pushed in and you released the breath you'd been holding. Your gasp was followed by a whimper. The muscles in your arms flexed, trying your best to hold your own weight. You suddenly felt so dizzy. As though sleep were a stranger to you.

Your brows furrowed and you heaved a shaky sigh as the finger dug deeper, caressing your inner walls with the same ease and care that he had trailed his hand along your back with.

It felt... good. It felt good. It was slow, meticulously so. Almost wandering, as though looking for something. And suddenly one became two. And suddenly—

"Fuck!"

He found it.

Your arms trembled and finally gave in. Your chest now lying on the examination table, the wood grating against your heated skin. Your eyes fluttered as you felt the pressure, the shock, run through your nerves.

You thanked whatever monkey was up there in the heavens that the good doctor decided to forgive your momentary forgetfulness of your place. At least verbally. His fingers, however, continued to press up against that something devilish inside you with much vigour. Stroking, caressing, prodding.

You couldn't close your mouth. The waterfall of moans and whines kept it open while you struggled to see from beneath your tear stained lashes. The salt burned your eyes.

It was so good. His fingers felt so good. You could taste it. At the tip of your tongue, in the saliva that pooled at the corners of your mouth, in the tears that ran down your cheeks. You were almost there but it was too much. A long broken whine escaped your throat, an octave higher than what you'd concider dignified.

"Hush, now. You're a big boy. You can handle it."

Surely the doctor knew best but in your pain and pleasure addled mind you were conceived you were an inch away from death itself. The tantalising way he brushed his fingers against your prostate would kill you, you were sure of it.

And then—the cruel bastard that he was—you felt his other hand gently touch your stomach, feeling the flutter of your muscles. It trailed along your abdomen before ever so carefully wrapping itself around your cock. A slow rhythmic pace of stroke after stroke. One deep inside you, another along your throbbing shaft.

This was it. You would die here. You would lose your mind here and now. And it would all be his fault, him and those cruel hands of his.

“Please, please, please, please…"

You weren't even aware you were talking. A chant of forgiveness for your disobedience but you were so close.

All you got in return was a warm, almost mockingly sweet, chuckle. Both of his hands became rougher, deeper, harder. The hand around your cock thumbed at the tip and the one inside you pressed and massaged into you.

You gave one last weak moan as the electric shocks reached an overflow. You spasmed, muscles tensing as your back arched. You pushed and pulled yourself against and away from his fingers. Apart from one and into the other.

A sequence of hoarse gasps and whines left your lungs in ragged breaths as you emptied your balls onto the table. His fingers continued to milk you through your orgasm. And then finally… The fingers retracted themselves, stopping the torturous onslaught of pleasure.

“Everything's working as normal. I'd go as far as to say this examination was a terrific success.”

You heard the scribbling of pen on paper before the world went black and—you assumed—you took your last breath.

“Well, now. How dramatic you are...”

#ofapesandmen #oaam works #oaam writing #dr cornelius #dr cornelius x reader #planet of the apes 1968 #planet of the apes

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procrastinatorimagines · 4 years ago

Text

I Only Have Eyes For You

Fandom: Chicago Med / One Chicago

Character/s: Connor Rhodes x Reader,

Warning/s: none

Word Count: 3,162

Request: Hi there, can I get an imagine for reader x Connor Rhodes. Lightly based upon 01x03 Fallback where Connor treats on one of his father's employees and his father tried to take him off the case. So like the reader and Connor are married (got married during their residency) and the father flirts with reader who also works at med not knowing that's his son's wife as he didn't think someone like Connor could snag a girl like the reader. The ending is up to you. Thank you x

“Maybe you should talk to him,” you suggested, putting your hand on your husband, Connor’s, shoulder as he stared distantly into his locker, his mind clearly elsewhere.

“I don’t want to talk to him Y/N, I’ve barely spoken to him in years,” Connor sighed, slamming his locker closed and turning to face you. He hadn’t expect to see his dad today, heading into Med behind an ambulance basically demanding to speak to Miss Goodwin and his son at once. Connor had been in surgery at the start of shift so he hadn’t actually come face to face with the man yet, but it was only a matter of time.

“Well now might be your chance, he is in the ED afterall,” you reminded him and he rubbed his face with his hands. It had been a long surgery, starting off the last shift of a very long week, and you knew the last thing your husband wanted was to talk to his father, but maybe he needed to.

“He’s downstairs because one of his employees got hurt on the job and he’s trying to do damage control before a lawsuit is filed, he isn’t here to see me,” Connor all but snapped, his face softening when he realised and squeezing your hand apologetically. There had been some kind of mishap at one of his stores from what you could gather, and one of Cornelius’ workers had found himself practically crushed under a bit of the structure that wasn’t as up to code as it should be.

“I get that, really Connor I do, I’m just saying that while he’s here, maybe you should talk to him, even if it’s just to say your piece,” you tried, knowing that Connor still had a lot of baggage surrounding his father, baggage that had been putting a bit of a strain on your marriage, or more specifically, any discussion of having children. Getting things off of his chest might be the only way for him to move forward, you reasoned.

“I have nothing to say to him, Y/N, he’s the parent, not me, it shouldn’t be on me to be the bigger person,” Connor replied, and he was right, but damn if the Rhodes men weren’t the most stubborn men you’d ever met.

“But you are the bigger person, the better person-” you began, knowing that Connor was ten times the man his father was, and maybe it was about time Cornelius Rhodes saw that for himself, but you were starting to realise that you were crossing a line as Connor interrupted you.

“Y/N, the last time I tried to reach out to my father he decided he’d rather go on a business trip than attend his own son’s wedding,” he said, the bitter undertones very clear as you remembered how crushed he’d been. No matter how bad their relationship was, and even if he wouldn’t admit it, you knew Connor still loved his father, and for him to not show up to his own wedding had broken his heart. “Baby he’s never even met you, and that’s that on him, he’s made his priorities perfecrly clear.” he continued, cupping your face in his hands.

“Okay, okay,” you nodded, realising you weren’t getting anywhere with this conversation, “do you want me to drop it?” It was what you always asked each other when it seemed like you were going to have an argument, or whether you weren’t sure if you’d crossed a line in a conversation, you tried to respect each others boundaries as much as possible.

“Please, I know you’re trying to help but my relationship with my father is basically unsalvageable, and I’m moving forward,” he smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes, he was trying hard to make you believe him but you both knew you really didn’t, this wasn’t the kind of thing you just moved forward from.

“If you’re sure, he won’t be around forever,” you gave it one last try before letting it go for now, telling yourself you’d broach the subject again at a later date.

“I know, and I am,” he said, giving you a quick kiss before pulling away and grabbing his stethescope off of the table next to you, “thank you, though,” he added.

“For what?” You asked finally closing your own locker.

“For being so very you,” he smiled, a genuine smile this time as he looked back to you, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you replied, kissing his again as your phone vibrated in your pocket. Stepping back you fished it out, seeing a text from Will. “Oh that’s me, Will wants me in three to help with Mr Harris,” you explained to Connor as you both headed out the door towards the ED.

“My father’s guy?” Connor realised, opening the door for you and letting you out first as you checked over the message; apparently Cornelius was demanding a second opinion, clearly not satisfied by Will’s, but you decided not to tell Connor that right now.

“Yeah that’s the one,” you nodded, slipping the phone back into your pocket before he could see the rest of the text as you noticed Maggie signalling for you to hurry it along, that couldn’t be good.

“Good luck, you’re gonna need it,” Connor noted Maggie’s impatient gestures as you picked up the pace.

“You’re all the luck I need,” you joked, winking at him as you parted ways, Dr Latham needed him upstairs in 5 for a consult, a fact which he was more than happy with since he was supposed to be working the ED all day.

“Ooh cheesy, go on get out of here,” Connor laughed as you waved your goodbyes, heading to three.

Maggie met you half way and handed you Mr Harris’ chart, looking irritated.

“Everything okay?” You asked, noting the angry voices you could now hear coming from the room to your right, the curtains not providing much in the way of sound proofing, not that you thought Cornelius cared much.

“How Connor turned out the way he did with a father like that is beyond me,” Maggie told you quietly as you quickly flipped through the chart, “he’s been demanding this, that and the other since he got here, and now he thinks Dr Halstead’s not telling Mr Harris all his option because he just wants to ‘extort him for more money’,” she mimicked in a hushed tone as you rolled you eyes, it’s not like he couldn’t afford it anyway, you thought, but there was something about having more money that made some people think they were so damn entitled...

Putting on your best cordial smile you pulled back the curtain and entered, the men stopping in their heated conversation as you did, frozen on some discussion about cost. Will did his best to hide his relieved look when he saw you and Cornelius grumbled in frustration, completely unaware he was standing face to face with his daughter-in-law for the first time.

“Everything okay in here?” You asked, looking between the two men on their feet and the tired, slightly embarrassed, looking man in the hospital bed.

“Terrific sweetheart,” Cornelius retorted sarcastically and you internally rolled your eyes. Externally, you kept your features schooled and looked to the patient in the bed.

“Hi Mr Harris, my name is Doctor Y/L/N,” you told him, having kept your last name when you’d married Connor, a fact you were pretty glad about right now. You offered your hand and he shook it gratefully.

“Pleasure,” he said as you stepped back, facing Cornelius Rhodes as he rubbed his temple before looking to you, taking you in for the first time as he straightened his posture and cleared his throat.

“Cornelius Rhodes, it’s lovely to meet you,” he offered his hand and you shook it, the way he was looking at you making your skin crawl a little as he finally let go. “I was just discussing with your collegue over here the best treatment for my man here, and we seem to be having a disagreement,” the way his demeanor had changed in your presence was alarming, and Will was clearly taken aback by it too, he’d gone from demanding to charming in the blink of an eye.

“I see, well from reading Mr Harris’ chart it’s clear that there are only two option available, the impact seems to have done some internal damage that, while it might heal on its own over time, will most likely require surgery,” you explained in your perfected doctor voice as Will threw you a grateful glance. Cornelius clenched his jaw as he tried to maintain his own facade, pretending to mull over your words even though you knew Will would have said basically the same thing, and that Cornelius had already made up his mind.

“Surgery really is the best option Mr Harris,” Will told the patient, but instead of replying he looked back to Cornelius, the man who would be paying for either option no doubt. The surgery would be expensive, you knew that, and it grated you to know that the fate of this man’s life possibly rested on the greed of Cornelius Rhodes. Could Connor talk some sense into him? You mused to yourself as he began to answer.

“I understand your concern,” he said finally, addressing you alone, a far cry from the accusations of greed he’d thrown at Will before you arrived, “but that kind of surgery is not only expensive, but the recovery time would put him out of work, and he wouldn’t want that.” You hid your grimace as Mr Harris nodded, clearly feeling like he had to agree.

“I have deadlines coming up,” he spoke up as Cornelius gestured to him as if to say, see, there you have it, settled, as you did your best to maintain your friendly face.

“I understand where you’re coming from Mr Rhodes,” you lied, regreting ever trying to get Connor to patch things up with this vile, self-serving man. He didn’t deserve Connor for a son. “But if we leave it and it gets worse, the surgery will be much more invasive and expensive further down the line, not to mention the high risk and potential complications,” Mr Harris paled a little, but still waited for Cornelius to answer.

Seriously? He could sue this man and yet he was still scared of him, the man probably had no means of paying for the court bills that would require anyway, he needed Cornelius’ paychecks to keep a roof over his head. And he was making decisions about his life like he was a god damn asset and not a person.

“Well, that would be unfortunate,” Cornelius pondered and Will looked like he was close to losing it. It was no secret he prioritised his patients over all else, even their own wishes sometimes, and it was also no secret he’d never liked Cornelius Rhodes.

“Mr Rhodes-” Mr Harris voiced up but he was shushed, the other man still thinking. You didn’t know whether you or Will were closer to punching the man, Mr Harris clearly wanting to have the surgery now in fear of more severe future complications. If Cornelius wasn’t such an arrogant-

“Alright, if you thinking it will save money in the future- and more important of course Joseph’s well-being, then I suppose we could do the surgery,” he decided and Mr Harris sighed in relief. Cornelius smiled smugly, like he’d done something so generous, it made you sick to your stomach.

You consciously twisted the wedding ring on your finger as Will fetched the paperwork and soon Mr Harris was being wheeled off to wait for his surgery in a room upstairs, clearing the bay in the ED for the next patient. Will was more than happy to take the next person through the doors as you finalised the paperwork with Maggie, scheduling in his surgery in the system.

Connor texted you then as Cornelius was practically stalking towards you at the desks. He was letting you know that he was finished with Dr Latham and had thought about what you’d said, and maybe it was a good idea to talk to his father before he left. He’d be coming down any minute, but before you could reply Cornelius had reached you at the desks, a predatory look in his eyes that set off your fight or flight response.

“Dr Y/LN,” he grinned and you returned a polite and professional smile as he invaded your personal space, looking you up and down in a way that was so not okay, even if you weren’t his son’s wife. “Thank you for your help in there, your input was very... refreshing.”

“Of course, I was just doing my job, I’m glad Mr Harris is able to get the treatment he needs,” you replied tightly, realising that this conversation was far from over as he continued talking.

“It was the least I could you,” he said, seeming to take your statement as some kind of thanks or compliment to his ‘generosity’. “Say, how about you and me grab a coffee in the cafeteria so you can explain more about how this procedure works, on me of course. If you’re busy now, maybe after you finish work?” As he finished talking he inched closer to you, eyeing you suggestively.

Was he making a pass at you? Was this actually happening right now? You blinked in shock and it took you a second for your brain to process what was happening before you could answer him.

“Mr Rhodes, I’m flattered” you began and he grinned, like he already had it figured out that you were going to say yes even though you were far from actually flattered, “and while I would be happy to discuss your employee’s treatment with you in a professional manner, I’m... I’m married,” you explained, flashing your ring at him, the ring that his son had put on your finger.

“Well I don’t see him around anywhere,” Cornelius winked at you and you took an instinctive step back, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t care, probably the latter if you were honest. “He’d never know.”

“Oh I’m certain he would,” a voice said from behind you and you turned to see Connor heading towards you both, anger clear on his face as he looked from you to his father.

“And why’s that?” Cornelius asked defiantly, practically looking down his nose at his son, clearly not getting the hint from what he had said about who your husband was.

“Because I am her husband,” Connor said definitely, standing next to your side as you relaxed, feeling instantly better in his presence. Cornelius balked a little, he really had had no idea who you were this entire time. It took him a second to regain his composure but when he did, instead of opting for the apology you’d expect from any normal person, he did the exact opposite, actually defending his slimy actions.

“How was I supposed to know that?” He huffed like he wasn’t invited to your wedding, when he’d made the decision to not come of his own accord. Connor put a protective hand on the small of your back, aware you were drawing a bit of attention as April had paused her typing on the computer.

“Well, dad, maybe if you’d come to our wedding, or our anniversary, or any of my birthdays, you would have known that Y/N’s been my wife for the past three and a half years,” Connor’s voice wasn’t raised but you could tell he was getting more and more aggitated by this encounter. He wouldn’t have liked anyone making a move on his wife, let alone his own father.

Cornelius had the nerve to chuckle at that, “honestly I’m just surprised a boy like you could wrangle a woman like this,” he said as you clenched your jaw, so many parts of that sentence rubbing you the wrong was. You could tell Connor felt the same, his stance very defensive as you replied.

"What is that supposed to mean?” You demanded before Connor could speak, Cornelius’ eyes snapping to you like he’d forgotten you were an actual person and not just an object to fight over. “What about me and Connor is so surprising to you?”

“Honestly, you could do better.” he said matter-of-factly and you rolled your eyes, any appearance of a professional facade gone as you faced your father-in-law.

Now it was Connor’s turn to laugh, but it was a dry laugh as he said: “and what, you think your ‘better’?” Cornelius shrugged, the look on his face telling you that that was in fact what he meant. Connor shook his head in disbelief, the first time he was seeing his father in a long time and all of his reservations and fears were being entirely justified as he stood before the two of you.

It was time to end this, you decided, folding your arms and squaring up to Cornelius. “Better? The man who’d rather save money than a man’s life, who thinks it’s appropriate to not only hit on a woman while she’s at work, but to blatantly tell her to... cheat on her husband when she tries to politely tell you she’s not interested. Connor’s a good man, a much much better man than you, inspite of the fact that your raised him, and he doesn’t owe you another second of his time, neither of us do.” You took a breath as both Rhodes men blinked at you in shock. “Now, Mr Rhodes if you’ll excuse us we actually have jobs to be doing, I’d be happy to have somebody escort you to where you can wait,” you finished, seeing April grin out the corner of you eye as Cornelius got a little flustered, clearly not used to anyone, especially women you reckoned, putting him in his place.

“I’m had enough of trying to reach out to you, I felt like I still had something to prove to you, like it was on me to mend what was broken between us. But you’re not worth it dad, you’re just not worth it. We’re done here, stay away from me, and definitely stay away from my wife,” Connor told his father, gesturing with his head for security to come show him to the waiting room.

“Oh this is far from over,” Cornelius raised his voice, pointing his finger at his son as security reached you. But Connor didn’t waiver, clear for the first time as he just looked at his father, shaking his head before turning to walk away. Everything that needed to be said had been said, and he was finally ready to walk away from his father, quite literally in this case as you went to follow your husband.

This wound would never go away entirely, but now, maybe, you really could move forward.

#connor rhodes #chicago med #one chicago #connor rhodes imagine #connor rhodes x reader #connor rhodes imagines #chicago med imagine #chicago med imagines #connor rhodes one shot #chicago med one shot #one chicago imagine #one chicago imagines #one chicago one shot #one shot

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anotheronechicagobog · 4 years ago

Text

Connor Rhodes x Reader Motherfucking Done

requested prompt: Hey!😊 Could you write an imagine with Connor Rhodes, like the reader is a doctor, and he is jealous of her friendship with Will? Cute ending maybe. Thank you so much

written by: @anotheronechicagobog

warnings: swearing, pregnancy complications, this is shit, I’ll probably redo it later, but I’m so tired and stressed, oh and Cornelius Rhodes murdered his wife and no one can tell me otherwise

You and Connor returned to the U.S. as fast as you could. Connor more anxious than you, but then again, he had reason to. Two weeks ago you and your husband were at a party thrown by one of his patients at his penthouse. His massive, over the top, Fast and Furious 7 penthouse. It was three stories with a balcony with a pool. You and Connor always felt out of place at these parties, not even Connor had grown up around such extravagant wealth. But you made do, it was part of doctor-patient culture apparently, so you went. You hadn’t been feeling all that well, nauseous and with a skull-splitting headache. Connor had gotten another email from his sister, so you didn’t want to stress him out more than he already was. You and Connor had mostly stuck to the shade of the indoors, but eventually, you both had to go outside. Connor went to socialize with the host while you went to the third floor to the balcony that hung over the pool. There was a bar there, but you weren’t interested in alcohol. You didn’t think you could stomach it, but you hadn’t been able to stomach anything lately. You’d just sat at a table with a large umbrella and ordered a water.

You’d started feeling dizzy, the heat was suddenly beyond unbearable. You started panting and you knew that stressed out or not, you needed to tell Connor what was going on and leave. Something was very, very wrong. You turned in your seat, waving trying to get his attention. You leaned against the railing while still sitting down and he didn’t notice again. So and flimsy, shaking legs you stood up, clutching the railing. Sweat was pouring down your face and neck, it became so much more difficult to breathe, you were about to try yelling his name over the blaring music when, in a matter of seconds, you felt like you were going to faint, your entire body went limp, and you fell unconscious.

When you woke up you were, not only in a hospital, but the one you worked at. Connor, who was clutching your hand and praying in Hebrew noticed you stirring. “Y/N, sweetheart? Oh thank heavens, how are you feeling?”

“Groggy. What happened?”

“You fell off of the balcony at the top on the penthouse, three stories into the pool. Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well?”

“It wasn’t bad when we left for the party, for most of the time we were there even. It was just at the end, I tried to wave at you, but looking back on it I probably should have just gotten one of the waiters to get you. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Please don’t be. The, uh, the doctors found out what was wrong though.”

“Really? What? Oh please tell me it’s not cancer, you know I’ve got a family history of that.”

“No, you don’t have cancer. You, uh... You’re pregnant.”

“I’m pregnant? Like with a baby?”

“Yeah, heat just doesn’t agree with some women and pregnancy though, so we need to move.”

“I’m pregnant.”

“Yeah, you are... We’re going to be parents.”

“We’re going to be parents.” The dam finally broke and happy tears flooded your face. Connor joined you seconds after, but his tears were a combination of joy and relief, after all, he did watch you fall three stories into a pool.

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You and Will had gone to med school in New York together. You’d been fair acquaintances, but he was a bit too cocky and you were a bit too serious. You both decided to have two specialties, the one you shared was emergency department medicine. You became Facebook friends, but that was about it. Truthfully, you didn’t think you’d see him in person again unless there was a reunion. So you were a bit surprised when you ran into him on your way to your OB appointment. “Y/N? It’s been a while, how are you?”

“I’m doing great. Really, really great, actually. I didn’t know that you came back to Chicago, though. When we were in school you always said you’d never come back.”

“Things changed. Congrats, by the way,” Will gestured to your obviously pregnant belly, “how far along are you? How are the symptoms?”

“Five months. Uh, the symptoms have been really bad. And I’m just on my way to an appointment though so I should get going. But maybe we could get dinner sometime, I’d love for my husband to meet you so that he’ll finally believe all the crazy med school stories I have thanks to you. He works here too, actually.” You weren’t kidding, pregnancy had taken a huge toll on you. You had wretched morning sickness, high blood pressure, gestational diabetes, and a pregnancy-related iron deficiency. It was a quick walk from the entrance to the elevator to the OB ward, so you thought you’d be fine, but you were starting to feel weak and Will noticed. “Hey, are you okay?”

“I need to sit down.” Will whipped around and grabbed a wheelchair for you, helping you to get in. “What’s wrong do I need to call your doctor or husband?”

“Honestly, I already feel better, but would you mind taking me to OB or getting someone else who can? This has just been a difficult pregnancy overall, so feeling faint really isn’t unusual for me.”

“Yeah, I’ll take you, don’t worry.”

“Thanks, I’m just gonna text Connor and let him know, he was going to try to meet me there if he can get away from work for a minute.”

“You don’t happen to mean Connor Rhodes, do you?”

“I do, why?”

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You found out why when Connor burst through the doors just after you and Will had entered. He kissed you on your forehead and gave you a once over. “Y/N, are you okay?”

“Connor, I’m okay. I just started feeling weak so Will got me a wheelchair. I think that I was just on my feet too long, well too long while pregnant. I really hate that I can’t do what I used to be able to...”

“I know, but you should have just gotten help at the door, here let’s go talk to Dr. Hajjar. Thanks, Halstead, I’ve got it from here.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Excuse me?”

“Will!”

“You heard me, Rhodes, why didn’t you meet her at the car or entrance? You can’t really think you’re too important to help your pregnant wife.”

“Will that’s not-”

“That’s enough Halstead, you should get back to the ED, where your obnoxious presence is actually required.”

“Okay, that’s more than enough jabs from both of you. Will, thank you for helping me get here after I tried to get here myself when I probably shouldn’t have, Connor, I’m sorry for being so stubborn and I’m glad you had time today to come to another of my appointments which are happening more and more frequently.”

Will and Connor begrudgingly nodded at each other. “Thanks for getting her here safe Halstead.”

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You decided to hold off on dinner together after seeing how little they got along. Having only realized at that first meeting that the ‘doctor douche’ your husband ranted about so much was your friend from med school. So instead you did what you could to keep the peace whenever you were in the hospital, which was frequent, but their pissing contest was grating on your nerves. It all came to a head the day you went into labour two weeks early. Connor was finishing up a surgery with Dr. Downey so Will was the one in the ED when you were rolled in. “Get Connor, Will.”

“Are you sure Y/N?”

“YES I’M SURE!”

Connor came running into treatment four minutes later and gently kissed you all over your face. “I’m here, Y/N. I love you so much.” Will, who had been holding your hand while you waited for Connor, scoffed.

“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME WILLIAM?! I AM SO OVER THIS SHITTING CONTEST YOU HAVE WITH CONNOR. YOU ARE BOTH GROWN-ASS MEN GET OVER YOURSELVES. YOU ARE BOTH GOING TO APOLOGIZE TO EACH OTHER AND HUG RIGHT NOW BECAUSE I AM MOTHERFUCKING DONE!”

“Y/N-”

“WILLIAM SEAMUS HALSTEAD I KNOW THAT YOUR MOTHER TAUGHT YOU BETTER THAN TO INCUR THE WRATH OF A PREGNANT WOMAN!”

“I’m sorry, Will.”

“I’m sorry, Connor.”

“Y/N Y/L/N you are officially my favourite person in the world, I was just about to ring their necks!”

“No problem Maggie.” You gave a weak smile as another contraction hit and Dr. Hajjar looked under the blanket before nodding. “Alright, Y/N, it’s time to push. If you’re not her husband or part of the delivery team; get out.”

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Five days later you were still in the hospital, because of all the complications you’d had during pregnancy. Dr. Hajjar wanted to make sure your blood pressure wasn’t a high average before she discharged you. So when Natalie went into labour, you could hear her screams from down the hall. You’d also been where Will briefly went to hide with his tail in between his legs after Helen, Natalie’s mother in law, dressed him down. When you heard her screaming for Will, where he was, you gave Connor one look before he sighed and called Will.

Connor briefly appeared at his father’s ‘I-want-control-as-much-of-my-son’s-life-as-possible-so-I-donated-money-in-my-wife’s-name-for-mental-health-when-it’s-mostl-likely-that-I-murdered-her’ ceremony. He only went for the speech, and when it was over he approached his sister. “Connor, it’s nice to finally see you. You’ve been back in Chicago how long?”

“Almost four months. I, uh, want you to meet my wife and daughter.”

“You- what? Who? How?”

“Well I personally have absolutely no idea how I got lucky enough to have a baby with my wife Y/N, much less have her love me as much as I love her, but I’ve decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“How old is your daughter?”

“Five days today.”

“Oh my God... When can I-”

“Now. You can meet them now.”

“I’ll get dad-”

“Claire don’t. Please. He’s the reason I left Chicago, you’re the reason I came back. I just don’t want the happiness I feel to end just yet.”

“Okay.” She hooked her arm around his as he led her out to the hall. “Did you really come back for me?”

“Well Y/N couldn’t stand the heat while pregnant, but you’re the reason we came back here and not to Seattle.”

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You were cradling your bundle of joy and poop, Aviva Nadya Rhodes, in the lounge chair when Connor and Claire came in. “Hi, you must be Claire, I’m Y/N.”

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you too. Is it okay if I hold- Aviva?”

“Sure, here just sit down on the loveseat and I’ll pass her to you.”

“Oh, she’s so tiny. And she looks just like you Y/N. Doesn’t look like she got anything from Connor. You sure are a lucky girl, huh?” Claire had Aviva’s head in the crook of her elbow and was giving the infant an unbridled, beaming smile.

”Hey! Stop trying to turn my daughter against me.”

“Connor don’t worry, you’re going to be an amazing dad and she is going to love you so, so much. I can feel it.”

“Y/N’s right, Connor. You’re going to do great, plus I’m only joking, I promise. Aren’t I, my sweet, sweet girl?”

“She loves my daughter more than she loves me.”

“I’d normally say no and try to reassure you, but she does,”

“And that’s not a bad thing.”

“Yeah, exactly. I love you, Connor.”

“I love you too Y/N.”

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Sorry this was so bad, I’ll probably re-do this at some point cause I really like the whole faint-cause-pregnant-move-to-Chicago storyline I came up with.

Again, sorry.

#One Chicago #chicago med #connor rhodes #connor rhodes x reader #will halstead #maggie lockwood #Natalie Manning

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