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fettsvette · 3 years ago

Text

Heat

Boba Fett takes you on a faraway hunt that involves a prolonged journey through hyperspace. You’re horny as fuck, but your man is too preoccupied with running a tight ship to pay you any mind - until things get a little too desperate.

Pairing: Boba Fett x Reader Words: 3.0k Rating: Explicit Warnings: Edgeplay, teasing, rough penetration

Can be found on Archive of Our Own here.

Mando’a terminology

ad’ika - little one

cyare - beloved

mesh’la - beautiful

Another whine.

Another stomp of a boot.

Still no relief in sight.

You could be dying, and he wouldn’t even look at you.

“You need to settle down, ad’ika . I don’t have time for this right now.” Boba Fett warned sternly, his helmet just barely twitching to the side to regard you as you paced the cockpit, your footfalls having become increasingly louder and more obnoxious as time dragged on.

The journey through hyperspace had lasted several hours already, and it was projected to go on for many more; and that’s if your flight plan continued on ahead of schedule. Why exactly Boba had felt the need to pursue a job all the way out in Wild Space, you had no idea. It was an average bounty, one that you frankly considered beneath his talents, but perhaps that was why he determined it had been safe enough to bring you along for the ride for once. Not that you really saw the point in your presence anyway; the thought of going on an adventure with your beau had thrilled you at first, thinking that the days would be filled with exploring strange, distant worlds together, the nights consisting of passionate lovemaking for hours on end. Instead, what you were getting was a whole lot of sitting around, staring out the viewport at the blue and white streaks of stars passing you by. The prospect of traveling at lightspeed had seemed exciting, but you truly hadn’t realized just how boring it actually was until you were stuck in the middle of it.

Especially when the man you were on this sojourn with was much too preoccupied with fine-tuning every gadget and system aboard his prized transport, obsessively tracking the ship’s progress across the galaxy, rather than keeping his cyar’ika entertained.

You couldn’t recall the amount of times your lover had told you to sit down, to be quiet, to climb up to your shared sleeping quarters behind the cockpit and take a nap to pass the time. He’d even threatened to lock you in one of the cages reserved for his hard merchandise down in the cargo hold until the Slave I reached its destination, but swiftly backpedaled when you expressed a little too much excitement at the idea.

You were desperate for Boba Fett’s touch, for his hand on your thigh, his lips on your neck, his thigh in between your knees, something - and he was purposefully ignoring you. No, he wasn’t just ignoring you… he was torturing you.

It’d been days since Boba had touched you. He wasn’t even coming to bed with you, as far as you knew - when you’d retire for the night, he’d still be sitting in his pilot’s chair, motionless saved for his gloved hands running across the Slave I ’s dashboard, occasionally pressing a button or typing in some incomprehensible command. You’d wait up as long as your body allowed for the feeling of Boba sliding into the cot next to you, a well-muscled arm encircling your waist, his bare chest against your back, the outline of his thick cock pressed against your ass, but it never came. You’d arise hours later and descend the ladder to find him in the same spot you’d left him, or tinkering about down in the cargo hold, polishing one of his many blasters.

The sight of him running a dirty, oiled cloth over the stock of the EE-3 model that had become his personal calling card, the blaster grease coating his rough hands, was enough to drive you wild, make you wish he was dragging the fabric back and forth between your legs instead. Hell, everything he did nowadays made you horny, from palming the thrusters in the cockpit upon exiting or entering lightspeed - ‘the only thruster he should be palming is this one right here,’ you found yourself thinking more often than not - to just seeing those large, powerful hands of his anywhere near the hard expanse of his thighs.

You didn’t just feel aroused, or even simply sexually frustrated - you felt as if you were in heat , like some kind of debased animal left to rut against its master’s leg until it’s been kicked away. You wanted nothing more than to climb up on the console in front of the pilot’s seat and ruck your panties to the side, spreading your legs wide so he could see just how soaked you were for him, beg him to fuck you - or at the very least, bring you to some sort of release with a calloused finger or that deft tongue of his. You’d refrained from pleasuring yourself for the entirety of the trip so far solely so you’d be more than ready for him when he finally decided to claim you, but now you doubted if that time was ever coming.

“Boba, please. I’m suffering over here, and you’re just sitting there -” You began again in a high-pitched whine, not caring just how pathetic and needy you must sound. You could have begun weeping in frustration right then and there, had actually considered dropping to your knees in front of your lover, groveling at his boots for even just one touch. The ache between your legs was becoming more and more unbearable with the passing of each Standard Time Unit, to the point where sometimes you felt as if you were going to cum in your pants solely from walking around too much or positioning yourself in a chair a certain way, bringing yourself to a release from pent-up friction alone.

But it was your accusation of Boba just sitting there that finally elicited a response, after days of being brushed off and outright ignored. His head jerked up with almost blinding speed, and he swiveled the pilot’s chair around to face you, his visor cocked to one side. His large hands gripped his knees tightly, his knuckles standing out sharply against the black leather of his gloves, his legs wide open. His cock was buried beneath several layers of the heavy black fabric that constituted his kama , but you swore you could still make out an impressive bulge nestled there in the lighting, and your mouth watered eagerly at the thought of him finally allowing you to take him in your mouth after so long, to feel his deliciously veiny member seated between your cunt lips.

“I’m not ‘just sitting here .’ This ship is like an extension of myself. It’s as important to me as you are. I don’t expect you to understand that, but I need you to respect it. Hyperspace can be very unstable. Our coordinates and support systems need to be constantly monitored if we’re to spend this long a time at lightspeed, but now I see comprehending that is beyond your capabilities. Perhaps bringing you with me was a mistake, if you’re going to carry on like a selfish little brat for the remainder of our journey.” Boba retorted gruffly, shaking his head as if just speaking to you sickened him. His words felt like a slap across the face, and the corners of your eyes prickled harshly.

You felt tears trickling silently down your cheeks, your face flushed hotly with the shame of not only being reprimanded by the man you loved, but the fact that despite his harshness towards you, you were fucking wet . You could feel the sticky warmth of your own arousal trickling out from between your inner lips and gathering in the cradle of your panties, soaking the thin fabric through. The fact that this man could berate you, insult you, and still you wanted nothing more than to throw yourself at him, beg his forgiveness, impale yourself on his girth over and over again until he filled you with his seed, was making you even hornier than you thought possible. Boba Fett had complete domination over every aspect of you, and it turned you on more than you could ever admit.

“Boba… please . I’m sorry, I just… I need you so fucking bad.” You choked out, your voice nasally and piteous through your tears, your knees slightly buckling inwards in a half-assed attempt to stop the flow of wetness drooling out from your core. Boba gave a low hum and reclined back in his chair, his legs outspread even wider as he repositioned himself against the leather backing, seeming cruelly satisfied with the state he’d left you in.

“Look at you. Are you actually weeping because you want my cock that badly?” Boba clucked his tongue disgustedly, but you could have sworn that he almost sounded in awe despite his tone. Your eyes flickered downwards when you noticed a slight movement of his hand, just in time to see him briefly squeeze at his obscured length, and you let out a throaty moan despite yourself. With a thinly veiled snort of amusement, Boba gestured in the general direction of your bowed, shaking legs, then raised his palm upwards, calling you forward with a quick movement of his fingers.

“Take those off and get over here, girl.”

You’d never shucked off your boots so fast in your life. You didn’t even bother untying the laces, hurriedly hopping from one foot to the next, pulling your feet from the restricting, clunky material in order to wiggle out of your pants and underwear as quickly as you could, panting and whining high in your throat in your excitement. You flung the garments off to the side, almost stumbling in your rush to get to Boba, and immediately reached out to grope for the seam of his trousers, beside yourself in your urge to free his heavy cock from its cloth prison. You were blocked by a firm, warm hand pressed flush against your chest, blunt fingers pressed into your breast and holding you back. Boba was chuckling at your need, a rumble that emanated from deep in his chest. The sound always went straight to your pussy whenever you heard it, so rough and sultry, and your clit throbbed.

“Oh no , sweet thing. Don’t think your tears are going to get you exactly what you want. Like I said, I’m busy. If you’re that desperate to get some relief, you’ll have to work for it yourself. I’m not going to help you.” The sick glee in the bounty hunter’s voice was evident, and he aggressively patted his meaty thigh in order to show you exactly what he meant, when he’d offered to finally let you have what you desired. Boba made no move to get up or further adjust his stance, holding his palm open and again broadly gesturing to his outstretched leg, as if grandly offering you the best seat in the house in a Coruscanti opera. From the way your cunt was fluttering helplessly though, it may as well have been your throne .

Shuffling forward and squatting daintily, you gingerly settled yourself onto the muscular sweep of Boba’s thigh beneath you, hissing sharply as the rough cloth pressed into the sensitive nub of your clit, wiggling the cradle of your pelvis back and forth experimentally to gauge what felt best. Boba gave no notice of your ministrations, he wasn’t even looking at you, and you glanced up to see that he had actually gone back to fiddling with the console of the Slave I as if you weren’t even there, as if your cunt juices weren’t currently soaking through the heavy fabric of his pants.

And so you began to move.

Gently at first, you writhed your pussy every which way in order to discover some semblance of balance, letting out pleased whimpers as your body gradually warmed to the sensation of your folds dragging along the black flight suit. Boba’s arms were outstretched on either side of you and you could hear him pressing buttons and occasionally typing in commands, completely ignoring the fact that you were currently rutting on his leg like an akk dog during mating season. His body betrayed his supposed indifference, though - with every thrust of your hips, your knee bumped his groin and you tellingly felt the generous erection sitting there, warm and heavy and hard. You attempted to reach out and grasp it, stroke him through his pants in time with the grinding of your cunt, but Boba batted your hand away as if you were a child being reprimanded for touching a hot nanowave stove.

You continued to knead Boba’s thigh with your pussy, undulating your heat in stuttering figure-eight motions, a familiar tightness beginning to build in your lower belly, the scrape of the material against your swollen clit becoming overwhelming all too soon for your liking. Underneath your own needy whines as the sensation continued towards its crescendo, you could hear Boba groaning from somewhere deep in his chest despite his best efforts to ignore you and your lewd ministrations in his lap.

Your orgasm hit unexpectedly, triggered by an accidental bump of the edge of his thick leather belt to the hood of your clit, and you let out a guttural moan that sounded more animal than human. Days of pent-up release crested over you like the sand waves of Tatooine’s Dune Sea, over and over again, and your thighs trembled around Boba’s leg as your muscles clenched him. Your lover groaned appreciatively above you, one of the few signs he’d given to show that he was paying attention to your movements. You knew he could feel the flood of wetness from between your legs soaking into his flight suit, possibly through to his bare skin beneath, and that thought alone prompted another volley of spasms to your clit until you were utterly spent.

Your breath came in harsh, almost painful pants, your legs shaking violently as you continued to hold yourself up, your bare toes biting into the durasteel floor of the Slave I beneath you. Boba sighed contentedly above you, the underside of his helmet nipping at the crown of your hair, one strong arm finally looped around your back, bracing you against his chest. You collapsed forward on the reassuring coolness of his breastplate, laying your sweaty cheek against the cold beskar as you shivered through the aftershocks of your orgasm. The relief you felt, after so long, was indescribable. You could have fallen asleep there in that moment, nude from the waist down, straddling Boba Fett’s thigh in the cockpit of his ship, drowsy on the rush of endorphins still flooding through your body. In your relaxed state, it took you a moment to realize that Boba had begun speaking, and you cracked an eye open as the gravity of his words hit you.

“Kriff, you’re so wet, so beautiful for me. Are you ready, cyare?” He cooed sweetly, and before you could even question what you were ready for, Boba pushed you upwards slightly with his legs and his hold on you momentarily faltered, the sound of fabric being shuffled about filling the room. You then knew what he was up to and began hyperventilating in anticipation, wiggling your bottom as the Mandalorian worked himself into position beneath you.

Boba pushed inside of you roughly, and you let out a choked scream, biting down on the swaths of black material circling his throat. Even though you had already cum, had been constantly horny for days, you still weren’t prepared for the sudden intrusion of Boba’s girth into your cunt, your walls spasming around him violently, the sensations too much for your overstimulated body to handle. Boba shushed you softly as you let out several overwhelmed sobs at the burning, stinging presence inside of you. You could feel the blunt head of him pressing against your cervix, an almost unbearable sharpness that you craved despite the discomfort. You knew you’d be able to feel him there for days after, and a pleasant shudder wracked your body.

“Easy there, little one, easy . I’ve got you. Just stay still, mesh’la .” Boba attempted to shush you, patting your back and readjusting his hold on you as you squirmed and gasped in his arms, but you couldn’t stay still if you tried. You attempted to push your hips against his, get some semblance of a rhythm going, but Boba tsk ed, the light pressure he’d had on your waist becoming an iron grip, almost to the point of pain, and you stilled your movements, whining in protest.

“Boba, please … I need to move …” You begged plaintively, tears once again springing to your eyes The laugh you received in response was almost sadistic in sound, and you moaned out of a raw mixture of pain and pleasure when Boba gave a slight roll of his hips, the head of his cock scraping your cervix. When he spoke, his tone was almost delightfully evil, and it made you shudder under his hold.

“Oh no , sweet one. You’ve been such an annoyance to me for the entirety of our journey, and as I said before… I’m busy, and after the way you’ve behaved, I’m not going to let you get what you want that easily. Letting you get yourself off on my thigh was just a tease.” His gloved fingers lazily crawled over your exposed clit, and you hissed at the brief contact, before it was excruciatingly pulled away, Fett’s hand reaching back up to the Slave ’s console again.

“You’re going to sit here on my cock until our next jump point, understand? Nice and quiet, now. If you try to push yourself down on me or wiggle around like a little brat, you’ll be banished to our sleeping quarters until we land, or until you learn to behave like someone your age. Is that clear, cyare?” His voice was sickly sweet, menacing, low and raspy in his throat. You could tell by that alone just how turned on he was, and his length twitched inside of you.

Without waiting for a verbal answer, Boba gave another painfully slow roll of his hips, igniting that fire within your belly once more, and you groaned aloud in reply, burying your face in the dark cloth protecting his neck, choosing to ignore the dark chuckle. He could be so unfair, so karking cruel at times, but you always found yourself coming back for more… and you had a feeling he had no idea how much you were actually enjoying this.

It was going to be a long trip.

#boba fett #boba fett fanfiction #boba fett x reader

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leapyearkisses · 3 years ago

Note

For the director's cut: Could you do Nice Work If You Can Get It? (Eliseo/Padgett)

That fic... Changed me. I'll never forget it TBH.

Yes, I'd be happy to! This one was really fun to write, and it was the beginning of two OCs I am very fond of now (and who I am happy to know made an impression on quite a few people!).

(If anyone enjoys this director's cut thing and wants to see one for another of my stories, ask away. I had a lot of fun!)

Commentary in bold below the cut! NSFW, mess, deliberately sneezing on people, m/m

This story started from a prompt about one character hiring someone to get them sick. An intriguing idea!! But it was one I actually struggled with finding a groove for when I started out. I actually started a few different scenarios with different character dynamics before I figured this one out. I have a 2600-word WIP of a different version of this in my "unfinished" folder.

"All right... close your eyes." Eliseo swallowed and did so, blocking out his bedroom, the red-gold sunset light pouring in from the windows, and Padgett, who was straddling his hips. He could still hear, quite easily, the other man's labored breathing and feel the heat of his thighs... and his crotch. Eliseo was under no illusion that he was in an incredibly compromising position at the moment. He hadn't thought much about the.. particulars when he'd first decided to strike this deal. "Are we really doing this?" he asked, voice weak.

I can't really write fetish porn without including actual porn lol, so from the beginning it was sexy even without the snz. In this version, the POV character is Eliseo, who is the "naive" character in a way. I pretty much write pairs where one character has the fetish and their partner does not but is indulgent. The one with the fetish is usually embarrassed about it or somehow naively realizing they like this weird-ass thing. Padgett laughed, voice tumbled and edging on hoarse. "Hey now. Not getting cold feet are we, my lord?" His exhale ghosted over Eliseo's forehead and his tousled black hair touched Eliseo's cheek.

Padgett is the confident character, and he brought the humor to this scenario! Eliseo cleared his throat. "No..." He could imagine the other man's smug look. They'd known each other long enough now that the image rose unbidden to his mind's eye. Padgett's eyes always glittered like opals when he was scheming something. Padgett surprised him with a tender touch on the shoulder, and he almost opened his eyes again. "The safe word is 'pumpernickel,'" he said, managing not to chuckle. "We can stop whenever you want... Hhk-" He fought off a gasp. "Decide hh quickly, though." Eliseo shivered. "I'm okay. Let's do it." He didn't want to admit it, but Padgett's reassurance did put him at ease, even if this had been his idea. He relaxed and tried to lose himself in the late afternoon heat. "Yehh-s, my lord." Padgett leaned forward and took a shaky breath. It stuttered and caught on invisible hooks, sounding at once to be full of potential and then gone again, like a ghost at the window. Eliseo could feel his body tightening again with anticipation, especially when Padgett gasped and leaned back. "Hh-... hah--

"A ghost in the window" eehhh this is kind of overworked. I like to write descriptively even when it isn't necessary. "Huh-ktschht!" A warm rush of air burst in Eliseo's face, almost immediately followed by a watery spray over his forehead, closed eyes, and nose. His instant reaction was to curl back, or try to, and he had his hands braced on Padgett's chest before he could think about it.

I had never written anything quite this scandalous as it were. There hadn't been a lot of snzfic I had read where there was direct, purposeful contagion like this or quite so much mess description directly on the skin, the face even. So I was sweating while writing this lol. "Hey now," said Padgett, delayed by a sniffle. His tone was light. "Easy. You specified this in the contract, remember?" He rested his hands lightly on Eliseo's wrists. "How are you feeling about it?"

CONSENT IS THE SEXIEST THING. We get this instinctual edge of revulsion from Eliseo because he has not acknowledged to himself that he likes snz yet and also he has never allowed anyone to do this to him before because why would anyone do this? Eliseo found he was holding his breath, but- Well, that would defeat the purpose of this exercise. He cautiously let it go and then opened his eyes. Padgett was gazing down at him, looking neither smug nor concerned, just curious. "I- this was on instinct," Eliseo murmured. After a beat, he lowered his hands, and Padgett let him go easily. "Yes, I imagine so. It's natural." Padgett smiled then, and then his expression crinkled. "Wh- hh- want to do it again? Hkt-- hhh..." Eliseo forced himself to surrender again to his pillows. "Yes." Again, he closed his eyes. Padgett shifted forward on his lap and oh- but then he was sneezing one more. "Huh- hktsschit!" Again, the spray. This time it dusted over Eliseo's nose and mouth. He fought to keep from thinning his lips and... took a deeper breath. Padgett hadn't moved, was still fighting with his own lungs, reeling in another insistent sneeze like a stubborn trout. "Huh- hh... hh hh huh-" He made an annoyed sound. "Hah-- hah-krttschtts!" Eliseo felt droplets of saliva decorate his cheekbone. Padgett sniffled thickly.

I think artists often point out how funny it is that when they're drawing they mimic the face of the character. I do this with sneeze sounds (IF I'M ALONE). I tend to like softer sounds for my characters, so a lot of sibilance creeps in. "...Bless you," Eliseo murmured. He was feeling hot. Maybe it was Padgett on top of him. The man was running a fever. "You are... doing the job admirably." That earned him a laugh. Padgett shifted his weight to his heels, which did interesting things to his cock's relation to Eliseo's own. "Thanks, I guess? I never would have thought anyone would be hiring for this, much less you." "Circumstances are dire," Eliseo intoned without a hint of irony.

Eliseo is a card. I love him. Of the two of them he is much more my preferred "type." He is similar to my mage character Llewellyn but less fussy. "Mmhm." Padgett sniffled again. "You must really hate weddings. Couldn't you have just gone on a hunt or something this weekend instead?" Eliseo sighed. "No. My sister would do anything to ruin my plans if I tried to avoid the party any normal way. But luckily, she's terrified of germs. I think a miserable head cold will be the ticket." Like hell he wanted to sit through another of his sister's weddings. Every time it was some new, world-changing drama. He wasn't even sure whether the groom this time was noble born. No doubt the reception gossip would be scathing. What absolute drivel.

There's a little "my lord" up there before, but this is kind of where the setting is characterized - Eliseo is a noble and this is a time and place where nobility matters. However, it's also anachronistic, because germ theory is a thing. They're kind of in a pseudo Regency/Victorian world where I just write whatever feels like the most fun. "Lucky also that you have me around, hm?" Padgett's next chuckle turned into a bit of a cough. Eliseo patted his knee awkwardly. "I- well, yes. Very. But believe me when I say that I would not wish for you to be so stricken if I had the power to stop it."

People with shitty immune systems are my jam. Even if it's really unlikely, I love it. Sometimes especially if it's unlikely. Like mister high elf Llewellyn, or if they're a god or angel or something. Or in a world where if you had that bad of an immune system you probably would have died of diphtheria or pneumonia by now. "Of course, my lord." Padgett rubbed his nose. And though his breath hitched a few times in the following moments, he stayed where he was. Eliseo blinked. "Are we...?" Done? He didn't really think the exposure had been long enough. "I am ready." Padgett blushed a little. Blushed? "Sorry," he said. "I can kind of feel that, uh, the uh, next ones are going to be kind of... wet. I could blow my nose." His voice trailed off, wavering again. His nostrils twitched, and Eliseo did see within the promise of moisture. Perhaps it was the taboo of it, but Eliseo was alerted instantly to a sudden thickening of his cock. It pressed at his trousers with some gusto as Padgett sniffled again. Eliseo swallowed. "No. No, this is good. This will... help."

After consent, MESS is the sexiest thing. That's just how it goes. I don't make the rules. Padgett gave him a considering look, at least as well as he could between soft gasps and squinting against the itch in his nose. "If you're sure, my lord." "Just- call me Eli, like you used to," said Eliseo, stumbling over the words. He wasn't sure where they had come from, but now they were bare between them. Still, perhaps a bit of affection wasn't so odd compared to what they were already doing. Eliseo closed his eyes on Padgett's startled look.

I wasn't sure where this came from either. But suddenly they were in love and I was cool with it. Eli btw is pronounced like the name (Ee-lye) but Eliseo is pronounced Ell-ee-zay-oh in my mind. It's of Latin origin and means "God is my salvation" according to that authority Babynames.com lol. Padgett means "attendant" so that was chosen partially because he's Eliseo's employee but also because Padgett is just a SUPER English-sounding name. I really enjoy looking up name meanings and representing different traditions in my characters. I tried to give Eliseo's family members Latin names, too, although they're not mentioned here. "Eli," Padgett said, and he sounded like he'd just come home from a long war to find the hearth kept warm for him. "I will." He leaned forward again, bracing himself. "Now, I'm going to- to hih-- to snhhsneeze, hah-- haktschtsch! Hrh- Hnkgstschhiu! More spray this time, more wetness, and Eliseo gasped himself when he felt a thick drip against his chin. Padgett hadn't moved. When Eliseo tentatively looked up, he saw his friend caught in a limbo of urgency. His green eyes were shut, eyelashes fluttering. His nostrils, gently pink now, flared. A clear trail hung from one of them, quivering as Padgett panted. He looked wild and fever bright and teetering on a precipice. Eliseo ignored what it might mean that Padgett's desperate expression, his wet nose - even the mess - suddenly went to his cock. He was hard, looking up at a portrait of a sneeze.

Sometimes you just have to stop writing for a second and drink some cold water or something. Carefully, he placed a hand on Padgett's thigh. "It's okay," he said, words coming of their own accord. "I've got you." Padgett's fingers tightened fitfully in the sheet as he shifted his weight again. He was making soft, irritated noises. His nostrils flared and Eliseo saw another drip lying in wait on the cusp.

Fingers tightening fitfully in a sheet is a thing I love to describe. If you binge-read everything I've written, you will find that I write snz and sex in a very particular way over and over. Because that's what I like! And I'm super glad readers like it as well! But I can basically only find the motivation to write what I enjoy (when I write at all... .__.), which is why I only write m/m or nb characters and such. When the urge became too much, it was like watching a wave finally crash down. Padgett's breath caught; he tensed and leaned back. Eliseo hurriedly closed his eyes again, and none too soon. "Hhhhrektschuckh!" He felt the mess streak his face, fly to spatter his mouth and nose and chin. Padgett moaned and then gasped again, chest swelling with air.

SCANDALOUS "Hah- Huhrttschuh! Hshtt! Hah- hsshtt!" Again, he teetered, teasing the air with shivering gasps. Then, he abruptly folded with a crush of vowels and congestion. "Hggtschiucht!" A baptism, pondered Eliseo's brain as it detached from reality momentarily. Pinned as he was to the bed by Padgett's sex, he couldn't move when he felt himself coming just as abruptly as the sneeze. Somehow the slick wash had become a mounting sense of urgency in each of his muscles, racing from his fingertips and toes to his abdomen, where, quite unbidden, his cock had tugged all that energy into a gut-wrenching orgasm that sent the shockwaves back out with renewed vigor. Padgett whined, and Eliseo took him firmly by the shoulders and drew him in for a messy, off-putting, contagious, blindingly good kiss. "Wow," said Padgett, when they finally broke for air.

Wow, lol. I have a great imagination. I wish I could make myself write more often. "Don't ask me why," Eliseo muttered, but he refused to be made a fool of by embarrassment. "C- come here." He shifted to sit up further and put his hands on Padgett's hips. "I want-" He wanted. "This. Yes?" Before he could stop himself, he swept his tongue over Padgett's mouth, under his nose, to rest at the edge of a nostril. He tasted salt. It was not entirely pleasant, but whatever pilot was captaining his body right now didn't care. He could still feel his cock pulsing against his trousers.

Also the first time I wrote anything like this, but Eliseo was like go big or go home, so. Padgett moaned. "It feels... odd. But, my lord, you can do what you- I mean, Eli." He was breathless for different reasons now. Eliseo laved the tender skin above Padgett's lips, then licked up his septum. When Padgett shivered, Eliseo kissed him again. Slowly, he cleaned away the mess from Padgett's face. When he was finished, neither of them knew what to say. Eliseo was hard again.

Huahaha Eliseo can have an unrealistic refractory period. I don't really give a shit how accurate this stuff is when it would get in the way of the enjoyment. Not to the point where people are just going in without lube or something crazy like that, but being willing and able to go again is just sexy, so that's fine. Finally, Padgett laughed shyly. "I think you'll be catching your cold, Eli." Eliseo blushed and shrugged. "I should hope so. I am-" He bit his lip. "I'm not ready to stop. Will you stay the night? I'll look after you." Padgett kissed him, tenderly drawing them together. "I would like that, very much."

And then they DEFINITELY banged. I hadn't conceptualized their specific history together at this point, but Eliseo and Padgett were FWB while younger, so the "surprise" at meeting again like this in a sexy fashion is more like "Oh, are we doing this now, as adults with drastically different social standing?" and less "Hey, are you into me??"

I got more than one request to write the direct sequel to this, but I dunno. I usually prefer one character in the pair to be the one who is sneezing, and writing Eliseo sick isn't as fun. Partially because I'm much, MUCH more interested in the shy/embarrassed/"voyeur" dynamic, so someone who gets off on their own sneezes really does nothing for me. I do have a WIP of Eliseo sick that is a direct sequel to Carriage Shenanigans, but I have no idea if it will ever get finished.

Thanks so much for the request for this very fun exercise!

#lyk writes #snz #eliseo jorvald #padgett foxborough #elipadge #director's cut commentary exercise

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alabasterswriting · 5 years ago

Text

Gone With the Rest of Me

Writing this because Chapter 7 of Men of Power is not cooperating, so I need to redirect before coming back to it. Also @jasontoddiefor‘s Medical Trauma Time Travel AU is eating away at my brain. So here you go!

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25050571

Anakin screams.

He screams because his skin is on fire and his lungs won’t work and there’s a man above him with tears on his cheeks as flames burn the sight from his eyes. He screams because the man has wrinkles and the pain is old and his lightsaber cleaves out a piece of his soul as it cuts the man in half. Satisfaction is agony; a cold pit of apathy, like the loss of a mechanical limb. It should matter, but it doesn’t when he’s long convinced himself the original didn’t either.

Something jostles him. There’s a presence in his head and it doesn’t belong there. It stings like new skin, and aches like a muscle freshly used, and no matter what shields he throws at it, it slips through them all like sand through fingers. It’s dug into Anakin’s mind as if it didn’t burn with all the others, and nothing makes sense.

“Stop, stop,” he begs. It’s too deep. Far too deep. It smells of sapir tea and sulfur, home-cooked meals and burning flesh. His voice is a whisper because his throat is scorched and he can’t speak any louder, even though there’s no pain except for the phantom of what was. The presence recedes as if burned and Anakin wants to laugh except he hasn’t laughed in twenty years, and something is wrong. Something is so wrong and he just wants the galaxy to stop so he can get off and fix it.

Hands touch him. They’re gentle and pressing and he doesn’t understand because there’s no pain. There’s no pain even though he feels it as vividly as lightning dancing across flesh. Each touch stings; the hand on his head is like lava on his scalp. It sets flames to hair he shouldn’t have anymore, each follicle a tendril of unrelenting agony, and he doesn’t even know why he leans into it so desperately.

Someone somewhere is shouting. He thinks he hears his name, but that isn’t right because his name belongs to a dead man and remembering the dead is a fool’s errand. There are questions - he thinks they’re directed at him - and a light in his eyes that is bright, bright, oh Force, it’s so bright.

He’s screaming again even though he never actually stopped. White, it’s white. Blinding, horrible white, like the inside of his Qabbrat. Only, it’s not his chamber because he’s laying down and he can’t breathe and the hands are everywhere and - doctors.

They’re doctors. A heart monitor beeps its familiar tune and a droid rattles off the confusing diagnostics that make sense only to healers. He’s surrounded by medical equipment, but it’s too busy, too bright to be the droids and nurses he knows. They shout and touch him with hurried hands and worried voices, and it doesn’t make sense because the nurses don’t touch and the droids aren’t gentle and neither are ever worried. This isn’t familiar. He doesn’t want to be here. He can’t be here. This is wrong, so wrong and he needs to get out.

Something crashes behind him and there’s a sound like crumpling metal close to his ear. It’s loud, horribly so, and it doesn’t make sense because there’s no static and his helmet is off and why is it loud?

Shouts erupt from the people around him. Metal groans and the table he’s on shudders, and suddenly there are more hands. There are more hands and he hates it. He hates them and he hates their concern and he wants them off! A great cry rises up around him from a cacophony of bodies thrown into walls. It splits ear drums that have long melted away, and Anakin cries.

He cries and the table shakes and he doesn’t care if the room collapses around him because at least then there will be silence. Silence and darkness and he’ll know where phantom pain ends and real pain begins. He doesn’t notice as the overhead lights flicker and die. He doesn’t notice as machines warp around him. He shakes on the table as full of agony as he was on that day two decades ago. Arms - weightless and sensitive and foreign - reach to grasp hold of his ears in an effort to block out the world.

It doesn’t work. The world keeps spinning and he spins with it. For the first time he notices the Force’s screams. It’s screaming and shouting and crying, and he doesn’t know if it’s echoing him or he’s echoing it, but it doesn’t matter because he feels like a sun inside and it’s been so long. So, so long since he heard it like this. It’s light and bright, but shadows - familiar and terrible - follow in its wake like vornskers hunting a meal. He hates it. He wants to pull away but he remembers this. This feeling of impending implosion within his own power and it scares him. It scares him and he hates that and there’s nothing left to temper it. He can’t temper it; he never could and -

There’s a hand on his head. It’s callused and steady and warm like sunshine on Naboo. Anakin’s forgotten what that felt like. He hungers for it, head tilting like a babe suckling for milk. Desperately, he struggles for more of that warmth, more of that comfort. It’s been so long since he’s felt either and he doesn’t deserve it, but Anakin Skywalker has always been a selfish bastard.

The hand seems to understand as it cups the back of his head and lifts it up. It’s gentle - oh so strangely gentle - as if Anakin will shatter otherwise, and he’s not so foolish anymore as to say that isn’t possible. Another arm carefully wraps around his chest. It freezes him in place because why isn’t it crushing him? Why isn’t it hurting him? He braces himself for the impact of whatever attack this is, but nothing comes.

Instead, there’s a moment of breathless weightlessness before he feels himself settle against a torso. A heartbeat pounds in his ear, loud and clear and scared, but the body is steady, holding him as if he were a child. He’s not. He’s a monster and monster don’t get held like this, but he’s too tired to fight. Everything is too much - too much sound, too much touch, too much sight - and if these are his last moments, well it’s not the worst way to go. He settles, shaking and gasping against the body, burrowing into it like a bygone memory. He thinks there’s something wet on his cheeks, but that’s impossible because he hasn’t been able to cry real tears in decades.

The arms tighten. They hold him steady as the person bends over, encompassing him fully in an embrace that should feel like a trap, but doesn’t. A voice whispers in his ear, choked with an emotion he thinks he should know but can’t remember, urging him on, telling him to do something, but he can’t concentrate. His mind is a mess, like his Master just gouged out a piece of his brain and set it on fire.

He chokes. He chokes and there’s nothing there to help him breathe and oh Force, where’s his respirator? His body is suddenly alert, flailing about in the embrace struggling for air. So this is what they’re doing. Clever. Let the monster suffocate. They took his respirator and are suffocating him and he can’t breathe and -

“-kin! Bre-! Ana- you have - breathe!” The person yells. Anakin can feel the rumble against his cheek, but the person doesn’t understand. He can’t breathe. “You have to - in! Ana-in. Breathe. Listen, -me. Anak-. An-! In, one, -wo, thre-. Hold. Out, one, two, -ee. Again. In..” the voice continues, but Anakin doesn’t listen. He can’t. He can’t do it. He can’t breathe. Why don’t they just give him his respirator?

“General!” Another voice, also familiar, shouts nearby and Anakin flinches. The arms tighten reflexively, but the pain he should feel never comes. Instead, a sound like pressurized oxygen enters his space, and everything else ceases to matter. A mask is placed over his mouth, forcing oxygen into his damaged lungs and he feels himself sag back into the stranger’s embrace. He can breathe. Oh Force, he can breathe.

The hand on his head cards through his hair and he doesn’t have the energy to question that. All he cares about is the air. Glorious, glorious air and the sunshine warmth of the stranger. A torso bends just slightly further around him, and he can sense the person’s head as they lean towards him. Bristles, pointed and sharp poke at his sensitive skin, and the sensation of soft fingers against his cheek is almost enough to make him sob. It’s electric. His nerves are fit to explode. Every brush against his skin is like liquid fire, but he welcomes it like the pathetic fool he is. It’s gentle. He’d forgotten what gentle felt like.

The stranger’s touch is enough to calm the Force into a manageable screech, and if he concentrates hard enough he can almost drown out the sound of the doctors scurrying around. Almost. Not quite. But he’s too tired now to bother retaliating. Whatever they want to do to him can’t be worse than what’s already been done.

He focuses instead on the crisp voice of the stranger. They murmur softly into his ringing ears, calm and soothing as if afraid to spook him, and it’s familiar in a way that makes his stomach lurch and his heart break. The bristles tickle his nose and he wants to reach out. Wants to see. But his mask is off and it’s too bright and he’s blind without it.

A thumb wipes something from his face. He can’t tell what it might be but a nail clips against his eyelids, sending a burning sting through his head that forces his eyes open. Funny, he doesn’t know when he’d closed them if they’d ever been open in the first place.

Light from a window greets him. It spears through him like a bolt to the brain and he hears something whimper nearby. The stranger cups his cheek again and Anakin marvels at the way the man’s hair catches fire. Anakin hates fire, but it’s a dull hate. Old, and one he doesn’t have the strength to call upon.

But it’s that hate that gives him time to pause. Because the room is bright but there’s color. There’s gold in that fire-hair, and it’s been so long since he’s seen gold he almost can’t believe it. Gold. In copper hair, against a pale face and blue-

Luke? But no. It’s not Luke.

The face that meets his belongs to a dead man. He tries to reach out but his arms won’t move and he only ends up sending a shudder of phantom pain down the length of his spine. It’s agony and he bites his lip to keep quiet, but the dead-man doesn’t care. The hand leaves his cheek and reaches out to clasp hold of his fingers. It’s feather light, but Anakin feels every callus, every scar, every groove. The nails need cutting, but he welcomes the pins and needles they cause.

He knows this hand. He dreamed of cutting it off for years. He dreamed of it reaching out to him for years. There’s a scar from a repair job gone wrong on the inside of his thumb and a burn from a cooking incident on his forefinger. They should be wrinkled, but they’re not; smooth with youth, and leathery with experience.

Fire-hair dances and he can’t stop staring. He knows that healers are bustling around him - knows that they’re touching him, but they’re meaningless next to the dead-man. The man’s face is young, with only the beginnings of laugh lines, and his blue-grey eyes have not yet clouded with age.

Anakin wants to sob. He wants to rage. Because this is the face he’s dreamed of killing. For twenty years, this face wreathed in flames is the one he wanted dead. Dead, for not loving him enough to put Anakin out of his misery when he had the chance. The hunched old-man colored in nothing but the red of his suit’s lenses was a poor substitute.

But the man’s arms are warm. His voice is soothing. He smells like sapir tea and regulation caff. The fingers that hold Anakin’s are gentle and the beard against his cheek is scratchy from days left untrimmed. When he leaves here, he’ll probably trim it. He’ll shower and make caff that Anakin will steal, and then he’ll shake his head ruefully before turning around to make the tea he’s already had in preparation. Maybe he’ll do paperwork. Maybe he’ll nap. It varies depending on the day and Anakin finds himself shaking at the thought.

Because it doesn’t make sense. He doesn’t understand. The galaxy is spinning and the Force is booming. He can’t tell up from down, and bonds long dead are thrumming with energy. He’s going to be sick. He has to be dreaming. This can’t be real and yet all he wants is to curl up into the embrace of the man who haunts his nightmares and beg him to finally end it.

“Please.” He doesn’t know if he says it out loud or in his mind, but the dead man holds him close and quietly shushes him.

Someone tugs on his arm, and he feels the familiar sensation of needles piercing his skin. He doesn’t want it, but he never does. There’s a brush against his mind and he doesn’t recoil. Master does it all the time. The trick is not to fight, even when he digs.

But the dead-man doesn’t dig. He brushes his presence over Anakin’s forehead as gently as a parent does their child. The world grows fuzzy and he thinks he hears the crisp accent say, “Sleep, Anakin. You’ll be okay,” before his eyes begin to close and his head tilts to press against the dead-man’s chest. Someone injects him with something else, but he’s too far gone to care.

He falls asleep to the sound of Obi-Wan’s heartbeat and the knowledge that he’ll still be gone when Anakin wakes up.

#star wars #star wars the clone wars #anakin skywalker #darth vader #obi-wan kenobi #jasontoddiefor #medical trauma time travel au #i blame you completely for this #i couldn't get it out of my head so here you go #darth vader dies and wakes up in the body of his clone wars self and has to adjust to his body #because vader's body is a horror show and we don't acknowledge that enough #even though he totally deserved it for what he did #still we make happy fix-it aus in this house because he could have done so much good

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likelightningafterthethunder · 4 years ago

Text

Like Lightning After the Thunder: Chapter One: Damned Smile

Fic Summary:

His breath wavered as he stared into Katsuki’s eyes. He knew he could get out if he tried. He could knock Katsuki out, hope that no one else would find them, and run back into the shadows where he belonged. Katsuki may have had him pinned down but he was in Denki’s range now and it would take little effort to send a charge through Katsuki to paralyze him temporarily.

It would take barely any additional effort to kill Katsuki.

As the sparks began to charge, lighting up the air around him, Katsuki refused to back down.

–

Katsuki always knew he was destined for great things.

He didn’t think he’d have to turn his back on all he’s ever known to get there.

Rating: T

Warnings: Eventual major character death, implied/referenced child abuse, psychological trauma

Other Tags: Bakugou Katsuki/Kaminari Denki, slow burn, alternate universe - canon divergence

Read on Ao3 (links to corresponding chapter) or read below

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Fic navigation to read the fic on tumblr

Even years later, that damn smile haunted his dreams.

There was absolutely no reason for him to still think about the event. Everything had been taken care of when it had happened― injuries were treated, authorities alerted, information secured, and a press conference to tie it all up in a big red bow. There were no loose ends, no surprise second coming, no physical reminders of what happened lingering in his daily life. Katsuki would have labeled it as done, dealt with, and no longer relevant, shoving it aside in his memory so he could focus on actual important shit.

Except his mind had different plans.

When he was lucky, he could completely forget about the event for months. Other times, his dreams would be filled with nothing but that damn smile, taunting him with its silence. He could usually predict when the dreams would come― the anniversary of the event for example― but other times, it seemed like anything could trigger the memory. He once saw a bright yellow balloon and for the rest of the day, every time he closed his eyes he saw that damned smile, never wavering despite the curses and insults Katsuki spewed.

He wanted to forget it. He wanted so desperately to forget it. For the image to erase itself from his mind, for it to take the feelings away with it. He could deal with the anger, he could always deal with the anger, but when his memory reminded him of the wave of hurt and betrayal that nearly blinded him…

When his alarm jolted him from his sleep and freed him from the smile, he couldn’t get out of bed fast enough. He woke up drenched in a cold sweat, sheets singed and smoking lightly as he unclenched his hands, and Katsuki was, for once, very relieved that not all of his sweat was explosive. He slapped the singes a few times to ensure that all of the embers were put out before heading for the bathroom, cursing under his breath as he flinched at his own reflection in the mirror.

There was nothing particularly wrong with his appearance, if you didn’t count the dark circles under his eyes from a fitful night’s sleep or his clammy skin, but after being plagued by the smile, Katsuki could barely look at himself. His reaction to the smile made him feel weak, like he couldn’t handle himself and that there was something wrong with him. It was just a smile after all. There was no reason for him to react to it like a nightmare, no reason for him to lose sleep over it or to feel overwhelmed by emotions at the thought of it.

Yet when he saw the smile and saw how the corners of his mouth were tugged a bit too tight, how his eyes were open a bit too wide, how the only shine in his eyes were the reflections of light on tears that refused to fall…

Katsuki cursed.

The icy cold shower did little to help distract him from the memory, nor did his morning run nor the steaming shower he took after. He wasn’t supposed to head into the agency today, so he didn’t have any planned beatdowns for today, and yes he probably shouldn’t be hoping for it, but part of him hoped for a sudden emergency villain so he could distract himself by focusing on beating some villain’s ass into next week.

A few hours later when his phone refused to stop buzzing, Katsuki wondered if throwing his phone across the room until it stopped would be close enough to beating villain ass to work. He reluctantly decided that talking to people so they’d leave him alone was probably less hassle to deal with than having to replace his phone and distribute his new number (even if it would give him an excuse to ghost some of these damn extras).

A few individual texts and a group text were the cause of the buzzing. As the group text’s new message count continued to rise, he figured it would be easier to respond to the individual texts first. Just in case he changed his mind about destroying the phone.

Four Eyes (Rocket Legs): Hello Bakugou, this is a reminder about the upcoming Class A reunion. As the head of the reunion committee, it is my duty to ensure an accurate headcount for the event, and I have yet to receive your response about your attendance. Please ensure to respond via the following link by this Friday at 11:59PM. [Class A 10 Year Reunion RSVP]

Four Eyes (Rocket Legs): In case you missed the previous messages regarding the reunion, the event is March 28th starting at 7PM at the Shinjuku Hotel in Musutafu. If you need to rent a room for the night or the weekend, please alert the Shinjuku Hotel staff that you are part of the Class A reunion party by next Wednesday for an event discount.

Katsuki frowned. He wasn’t exactly looking forward to the possibility of being surrounded by all of his former classmates and even less at the idea of being socially obligated to spend the entire evening with them. At least when he met up with his friends elsewhere, he could always claim needing to leave early so he could make the last train or that work needed him to come in early the next day.

He closed out of the conversation, figuring he still had a few more days to decide if he really wanted to deal with his classmates for an entire evening.

Midoriya: Hey Katsugou! I was wondering if you’re going to go to the reunion? Tenya said the deadline to RSVP is coming soon and we haven’t heard from you, so I just thought I’d check in!

Katsuki: The fuck is Katsugou?

Midoriya: Oh sorry!! Typo!!

Midoriya: Anyway, are you coming?

Katsuki closed out of the conversation and moved on to the next one.

Shitty Hair: Katsuki! Are you coming to the reunion or not dude????

Katsuki: Fuck off.

Shitty Hair: Aww dude that’s no way to talk to your best friend, you know you love me!!

Katsuki: I’m blocking you.

He did not, in fact, block him. But he did close out of Eijirou’s texts.

Save for the newest text sent directly from Eijirou, all that was left was the backlog of texts in the group text. It had kept going off while he was reading the other conversations, so Katsuki figured it meant that everyone was either off for the day or on their lunch break.

Raccoon Eyes: guys!!!!! the reunion is COMING UPPPPPP!!!!

Raccoon Eyes: i cant wait to s

Raccoon Eyes: ee all of u guys again!!

Tape Face: lmao you saw us last week

Raccoon Eyes: yes

Raccoon Eyes: an eteRNITY ago

Raccoon Eyes: and like

Raccoon Eyes: kats left early so we didnt have everyone

Raccoon Eyes: so it doesnt count

Shitty Hair: Yeah Katsuki don’t leave early next time!!

Raccoon Eyes: we just have to hold him hostage next time

Raccoon Eyes: or like

Raccoon Eyes: AMBUSH him

Tape Face: i can always tape him up

Raccoon Eyes: YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES

Raccoon Eyes: tape him to the wall

Raccoon Eyes: and then like

Raccoon Eyes: steal his wallet

Raccoon Eyes: cant get on transit w no moneys

Raccoon Eyes: ei and han hold him down

Raccoon Eyes: i run to hide his wallet where he cant fi

Raccoon Eyes: nd it

Raccoon Eyes: probs keeps kats tapped to the wall all night

Raccoon Eyes: free up his arms so he can have a drink????

Tape Face: explosion palms dude

Raccoon Eyes: oh u right

Raccoon Eyes: he can just have a cup w like

Raccoon Eyes: a REALLY REALLY long straw

Raccoon Eyes: make sure u tape him up w his hands behind his back

Tape Face: you got it

Shitty Hair: He’s in this chat guys he’s going to see the plan

Raccoon Eyes: whatevs we can still totally blindside him

Raccoon Eyes: ANYWAYS

Raccoon Eyes: ure all going right?????

Tape Face: ya I rsvpd a while back

Shitty Hair: Yep!! Wouldn’t miss it for the world!

Raccoon Eyes: what about u kats

Raccoon Eyes: kats???

Raccoon Eyes: KAAAAAAAAAAAAATS

Raccoon Eyes: k

Raccoon Eyes: a

Shitty Hair: I’ll text him separately

Raccoon Eyes: t

Tape Face: he probably has this muted lmao

Raccoon Eyes: s

Raccoon Eyes: !!!!!!

Raccoon Eyes: how dare u ignore us

Raccoon Eyes: after everything weve done for u!!!!

Raccoon Eyes: thought we were ur ride or die hoes

Raccoon Eyes: dont tell me ur not going!!!!!

Raccoon Eyes: im so offended

Raccoon Eyes: how could u do this to us kats

Shitty Hair: Maybe he’s at work today?

Raccoon Eyes: boo

Raccoon Eyes: how dare he prioritize wo

Raccoon Eyes: rk over us

Raccoon Eyes: his best friends

Raccoon Eyes: the suns of his life

Raccoon Eyes: the bit of happiness in the cold

Raccoon Eyes: cold

Tape Face: coooooooooold

Raccoon Eyes: COOOOOOOOLD

Raccoon Eyes: thing he calls a heart

Shitty Hair: Lmao

Tape Face: its got a bit of warmth

Tape Face: most of it is his temper

Raccoon Eyes: boom boom POW

Raccoon Eyes: well while we wait for kats

Raccoon Eyes: help me pick some photos for the slideshow!!

Tape Face: are you doing only UA pics or some stuff since then

Tape Face: somehow iida managed to not specify lmao

Shitty Hair: The info email was like ten pages, how did he miss it

Tape Face: idk

Raccoon Eyes: ive got plenty for both!!

Raccoon Eyes: momo said pref UA pics but some new stuff is good too

Raccoon Eyes: show how far weve come n all that

Tape Face: oh cool let me get some opinions then too

Shitty Hair: Anyone have any pics of the camping trip from second year?

Raccoon Eyes: before or after todoroki and kats’ fight turned it into a icy hot springs

Shitty Hair: Both lmao but probably before it went to hell

Raccoon Eyes: image.png

Raccoon Eyes: ofc ive got us chillin in the springs

Raccoon Eyes: well most of us

Raccoon Eyes: kats u never get in the water w us :C

Raccoon Eyes: lets go to the beach next time!!

Tape Face: hed prob boil the water w you in it if you dragged him in lmao

Tape Face: spicy acid time

Raccoon Eyes: id like to see him TRY

Shitty Hair: Don’t tempt him lmao

Raccoon Eyes: image.png

Raccoon Eyes: i got like a shit ton more

Raccoon Eyes: should i send some of THE FIGHT

Shitty Hair: Maybe not

Tape Face: yes

Tape Face: well

Tape Face: depends on how many pissed off katsuki pics youre putting in lmao

Raccoon Eyes: OH

Raccoon Eyes: OHHHH

Raccoon Eyes: OHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Tape Face: ?

Raccoon Eyes: dude

Raccoon Eyes: do u have the POMERANIAN pic

Tape Face: o shit

Tape Face: image.png

Shitty Hair: I still think Katsuki should’ve taken that pup home

Shitty Hair: They’re matching!

Tape Face: image.png

Tape Face: i also have this one

Tape Face: when she tried to bite his nose off lmao

Raccoon Eyes: kats couldve named her king explosion murder

Raccoon Eyes: or just murder

Raccoon Eyes: p sure she wouldve tried to murder kats at least o

Raccoon Eyes: nce

Tape Face: lmao she basically tried when he found her

Shitty Hair: Maybe it’s for the best that he didn’t keep the pup

Tape Face: look what i found

Tape Face: image.png

Raccoon Eyes: AWWWW YES

Raccoon Eyes: LOOK AT USSSSS

Raccoon Eyes: we look FABBBB

Shitty Hair: Is that from the dance?

Tape Face: ye

Raccoon Eyes: guys what if we recreate that pic at the reunion

Raccoon Eyes: the fits?

Raccoon Eyes: immaculate

Raccoon Eyes: the pose?

Raccoon Eyes: perfection

Tape Face: hotel?

Tape Face: trivago

Shitty Hair: I’m down for recreating some pics!

Raccoon Eyes: yessssss

Raccoon Eyes: u have no choice either kats u gotta do it

Raccoon Eyes: wherever u are

Shitty Hair: Oh he replied!!

Raccoon Eyes: SWEET

Raccoon Eyes: what he say

Shitty Hair: He said fuck off

Tape Face: as expected

Shitty Hair: Lmao he threatened to block me again

Tape Face: thought he said he was blocking you last week

Shitty Hair: Yea exactly

Raccoon Eyes: HOW RUDE

Raccoon Eyes: as punishment for not paying attention to us

Raccoon Eyes: im gonna send this

Raccoon Eyes: image.png

Tape Face: LMAO whend you make that

Shitty Hair: Is that Katsuki with a cat face and ears

Shitty Hair: Dude I don’t know if he’s going to kill you for that or for the pink hair first lmao

Raccoon Eyes: lmao made it just now

Raccoon Eyes: well MAYBE if he ANSWERED us

Katsuki: Delete it.

Tape Face: O SHIT

Tape Face: you summoned him

Raccoon Eyes: NO I WILL NOT

Katsuki: Delete it Raccoon Eyes or else I’m coming for you.

Tape Face: are you coming for the left shoes and shittin in them

Raccoon Eyes: NOOOOOOO not my shoes!!!!!!!!

Tape Face: its just the left shoes tho

Raccoon Eyes: BUT THATS MY FAVE SIDE

Katsuki: What the fuck are you two going on about?

Raccoon Eyes: DONT COME FOR M

Raccoon Eyes: Y LEFT SHOES KATS IM SORRY

Katsuki: I’m not coming for your fucking left shoes. Or any of your shoes.

Katsuki: I will be coming for you if you don’t delete that picture, though.

Raccoon Eyes: FORGIVENESS

Raccoon Eyes: I BEG

Raccoon Eyes: PLSSSSS

Katsuki: Delete the picture.

Raccoon Eyes: ugh fiiiiiiiiiine

Raccoon Eyes: its deleted

Raccoon Eyes: i wont send it to momo for the slide show

Katsuki: Good.

Raccoon Eyes: IF U COME TO THE REUNION

Katsuki: Fuck off.

Shitty Hair: C’mon Katsuki!! It’ll be fun!!

Tape Face: ya it wouldnt do if we didnt have our exploding star

Raccoon Eyes: ill send momo WORSE if u dont come

Raccoon Eyes: nd u wont know WHAT til AFTER

Raccoon Eyes: so PLSSSSSSSSSS

Raccoon Eyes: PRETTY PLSSSSSSS

Raccoon Eyes: PLS COME TO THE REUNION

Raccoon Eyes: ill spam u a lot worse if u dont show us proof of rsvp

Raccoon Eyes: pls kaaaaaaaaats

Raccoon Eyes: kaaaaaaaaats

Raccoon Eyes: k

Raccoon Eyes: a

Katsuki: Ugh fucking fine, I’ll do the RSVP now then.

Raccoon Eyes: t

Raccoon Eyes: YAY

Four Eyes (Rocket Legs): Good afternoon, Bakugou! I just wanted to confirm with you that I have received your RSVP for the Class A reunion. As a reminder, if you need to rent a room for the night or the weekend, please alert the Shinjuku Hotel staff that you are part of the Class A reunion party by next Wednesday for an event discount.

Katsuki: image.png

Katsuki: Four Eyes is watching the RSVP form like a fucking hawk apparently.

Raccoon Eyes: YAAAAAY URE RSVPD!!!

Shitty Hair: You know him, always dedicated to his work

Tape Face: sweet

Raccoon Eyes: are u guys getting rooms

Tape Face: yea musutafus too far for a round trip

Tape Face: esp since itll prob end late

Shitty Hair: I got one for the weekend!

Tape Face: wbu mina

Raccoon Eyes: booked a room already!!

Raccoon Eyes: kaaaaats wbu

Raccoon Eyes: u should

Raccoon Eyes: we could have a brunch or lunch or s/t thats just us

Raccoon Eyes: plsssssss kats

Katsuki: I’ll think about it.

Tape Face: better than a no lmao

Shitty Hair: If they run out of space or if you decide last second, you can room with me dude

Raccoon Eyes: awww why not a yes

Katsuki: I haven’t asked the other Four Eyes for the time off yet.

Tape Face: is this four eyes no4 or no15

Raccoon Eyes: four eyes no69

Raccoon Eyes: no wait

Raccoon Eyes: no420

Tape Face: haha blaze it

Raccoon Eyes: BLAZE IT

Shitty Hair: It’s number 7

Katsuki: Fuck you, I don’t have that many Four Eyes saved in my phone.

Shitty Hair: I’d be surprised if you had 420 contacts period dude

Raccoon Eyes: would b hilarious tho

Katsuki: Yes, it’s Four Eyes number 7.

Shitty Hair: I was right!!

Katsuki: Why would I ask any of the other Four Eyes for time off? They’re not my fucking bosses.

Tape Face: dunno

Raccoon Eyes: idk maybe ure secretly dating one a

Raccoon Eyes: nd have to confirm that its ok

Raccoon Eyes: ARE U SECRETLY DATING A FOUR EYES

Raccoon Eyes: U HAVE TO TELL US IF U ARE

Raccoon Eyes: URE LEGALLY OBLIGATED

Tape Face: o shit

Tape Face: scandalous

Katsuki: Shut the fuck up, I’m not dating anyone, secret or not.

Raccoon Eyes: thats what they all say

Katsuki: Whatever. I’m not dating anyone.

Raccoon Eyes: kats n four eyes no420 sittin in a tree

Raccoon Eyes: k

Raccoon Eyes: i

Raccoon Eyes: s

Raccoon Eyes: i

Katsuki: I’ll blow up all of your left shoes when you’re not home.

Raccoon Eyes: n

Raccoon Eyes: NO

Raccoon Eyes: IM STOPPING DONT DO IT

Shitty Hair: Hey what do you guys think of this photo

Shitty Hair: image.png

Tape Face: dude yes

Raccoon Eyes: AWWWW OUR FIRST BILLBOARDS AS PROS

Katsuki: Do we really need to send them pictures? It’s not like we fucking forgot this stuff already.

Tape Face: you can be a killjoy if you want lmao

Tape Face: im sure mina will send more than enough to cover for you

Raccoon Eyes: U BETCHA

Raccoon Eyes: image.png

Tape Face: lmao why do you have a pic of katsuki throwing ei

Shitty Hair: I still can’t believe you did that bro

Shitty Hair: WITHOUT WARNING TOO

Katsuki: I gave you plenty of fucking warning.

Shitty Hair: Saying “I’m throwing you” AS YOU’RE THROWING ME is NOT PLENTY OF WARNING DUDE

Raccoon Eyes: im always ready to document golden moments

Katsuki: Shut the fuck up. We won the training exercise so what’s it fucking matter?

Shitty Hair: YOU THREW ME!!

Katsuki: Tape Face caught you before you could get hurt.

Shitty Hair: YOU /THREW/ ME!!!!!!

Tape Face: barely caught

Katsuki: Whatever.

Raccoon Eyes: im still impressed by how eASY u made that look

Katsuki: What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?

Raccoon Eyes: o look conveniently timed distraction photo spam

Katsuki sighed as he continued the conversation, commenting here and there on the photos his friends sent for judgement. In retrospect, he probably should have tried to talk to Shion first, since there was a chance she would have denied the time off for the reunion. Although, knowing her, she would have accepted just to force Katsuki into socializing. He opened up a new text message, figuring that if Shion did decide to deny the time off, he would at least have a screenshot to send to his friends explaining the sudden change in plans.

Katsuki: I need March 28th and 29th off.

Four Eyes (Shitty Shion): Do my eyes deceive me? The great Katsuki Bakugou, asking for time off?

Four Eyes (Shitty Shion): I’m amazed! Usually I have to ask you to take the day off!

Four Eyes (Shitty Shion): Nay, not ask, but force!

Katsuki: Are you going to give it to me or not?

Four Eyes (Shitty Shion): Depends! What do you need the time off for?

Katsuki: Class reunion.

Four Eyes (Shitty Shion): Oh those are fun!

Four Eyes (Shitty Shion): Fill out the proper time off paperwork and have it on my desk by Monday. I’ll approve the time off.

Four Eyes (Shitty Shion): Just keep your phone on you in case we need you to come in for an emergency, but I’ll try not to ruin your reunion with work.

Katsuki: Thanks.

Well, so much for an easy way out.

Katsuki pinched the bridge of his nose when he noticed that his phone had already accumulated another thirty texts in the past few minutes, no doubt primarily from Mina. He scrolled through the backlog, sending a few mostly empty threats when he saw photos he did not want projected for the entire class to see, freezing when his gaze met a pair of familiar amber eyes.

Shit.

In his scramble to close out of the photo, to escape the genuine smile that somehow was more haunting than the one in his dreams, he left the group text completely. He briefly thanked his past self; he’d impulse or rage quit the group text plenty of times before that this wasn’t unusual behavior. If he was lucky, his friends wouldn’t have noticed the timing of his departure and would assume he was just fed up with the notifications or the conversation.

Shitty Hair: You okay, Katsuki?

A weak laugh escaped Katsuki’s lips as he read the newest notification. Of course Eijirou noticed.

Katsuki: I’m fine.

Shitty Hair: Okay

Shitty Hair: We don’t have to talk about it

Shitty Hair: But if you want to, I’m here dude

Shitty Hair: I’ll tell the others that you left so your phone would shut up and not to add you back yet

Katsuki: Thanks. Really.

Shitty Hair: No problem dude

Katsuki put his phone down, silently praying for the smile to leave him alone.

When he finally laid down for bed that night, he repeated the short prayer, for a peaceful night’s rest free of the smile, of the hurt, of the pain, of the guilt.

But as always, the smile came.

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bakugou katsuki #kaminari denki #bakukami #kamibaku #katsuki bakugou #denki kaminari #bnha fanfic #mha fanfic #story #from the creator

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borom1r · 3 years ago

Note

✋🎉 👔 🌸 😳 for Lawrence and Eric out of those f/o picture asks? :3c (I'm sorry you're having a rough day,, I hope you feel a bit better soon 💚)

ooughjf thanks dude.. i have a vet appt saturday morning but im still. worried abt my cat 😞

n ee wayz sjjdf.... going back thru saw iv got me thinking again (like always) abt how the context of "I'm not the one you gotta worry about" changes if Art is a disciple. thinking about what in the hell he means. thinking abt his apparent surprise at the sight of the ice blocks when HE armed them + what wouldve happened if he just. didnt.

also thinking abt John's "your partner is going to kill an innocent man" line and what if it wasn't Jeff. obviously it was SUPPOSED to be but what if Strahm had trusted his gut n followed Rigg. what if, instead of shooting Jeff, Strahm shoots Rigg before he can open the door because in Strahm's eyes Rigg is already recruited and he can't let Rigg keep going, look at the trail of death he's left behind. Jeff lives, Corbett doesn't lose her father, Strahm never gets stuck in the water cube and Eric and Art live. hmm.... hm.

i also just cant get over the fact Hoffman collared and gagged himself JUST to be a whore. WHEN has John gagged someone EXCEPT for Art, which was specifically suited to the purpose of the trap, or Addy + Allen (which also served the purpose of leaving William alone w/ his thoughts). he makes me insane never once before have i felt the urge to throw rotten tomatoes at a person but he makes me want to. like a cartoon heckler, but im just yelling "WHORE! SLUT!" and trying my damnedest to nail him with a disgusting squishy vegetable

anyways @ that anon who asked me why i hate Spiral. another part of why i hate it is bc IV is SO so good. DLB... i am disappointed </3

Eric time tho!

🤚 Post a screenshot of your f/o’s hand(s)!

hey so while i was looking for pics of Eric's hands n i eventually settled on this one bc i love the way his hand curves around the gun n i love the tenderness of Art's touch. do you ever think about how much fresh blood is caked around his nails? (you can see it in his first scene in IV; 29:14 for anyone really curious) — fresh enough that it hasn't cracked n flaked off, all the way up to his first knuckles. i am thinking about that. i am thinking abt what he was scratching at so hard tht he can still have his nails but have so much fucking blood on his fingers (its his rashes speaking as someone w/ dermatillomania it was his rashes. it breaks my heart. bc ill do it idly but to have THAT level of blood, it comes from a source of distress. he probably dug deep enough to leave permanent scars)

🎉 Post a screenshot of your f/o where they’re smiling/laughing/having a good time.

👔 Post a screenshot of your f/o in a different outfit than usual.

🌸 Post a screenshot of your f/o looking cute.

(yea yea ik but tummy!!)

😳 Post a screenshot of your f/o that flusters you.

i cant get a good photo of this scene but uh. uhhh. i will... admit hearing him yell "YOU'RE NOT JIGSAW BITCH!!" makes me go ape shitt. i want to fuck him so bad in this scene it does, in fact, make me look stupid.

ok now!! Lawrence!!

🤚 Post a screenshot of your f/o’s hand(s)!

his hands make that cellphone look sooooo tiny i-

🎉 Post a screenshot of your f/o where they’re smiling/laughing/having a good time.

he is such a good dad i love him sm i do i love him. thts my husband<3

👔 Post a screenshot of your f/o in a different outfit than usual.

🌸 Post a screenshot of your f/o looking cute.

hey look tummy... do u guys. see a pattern sdjkfhskjdjk

😳 Post a screenshot of your f/o that flusters you.

#ask #THANK U DUDE!!!

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minimitchell · 4 years ago

Note

From what youve read, do you know if it's just filters or do you think we could get in trouble for posting fan works of any kind (gifs, fic, fan art in particular)? Or maybe even for reblogging things like that?

okay so from what i've read (gonna link my sources down below) this law mostly concerns platforms like youtube, instagram or tiktok. it basically changes who's responsible for possible copyright infringements. with this law the responsibility lies with the website (youtube, instagram etc) to check whether copyright laws were broken or not. the main thing is that you're not allowed to make money of third party content. websites will basically have to buy licenses so users can upload certain content. a lot of websites are already doing that, for example instagram, who is linked with spotify so artists get money if someone uses their song in a story etc.

you're still allowed to post your own content. the only way it will get blocked is if the person holding the license (the bbc for example for ee) issues a claim afterwards. (like videos on youtube sometimes getting blocked due to copyright already). at least from what i read, nothing much should change on ao3 as long as you're not too close to the source material. i'd still recommend checking ao3's twitter though.

it sounds like the only thing that could happen is your gifs, art etc will get taken down by the site. i'm not sure if you'll be able to bypass possible upload filters with a vpn. (but that is if a website even chooses to implement a filter) and technically, gifs have never really been 100% legal because of copyright issues but have any shows really cared about this on tumblr until now anyway lmao

by the way to my german followers: cdu and spd voted for this law, grüne abstained from the vote and only linke and fdp (and afd) voted against it. so maybe keep that in the back of your mind for the upcoming election.

german sources: tagesschau article (+who voted what) bundesregierung official site

#ask #don't hold me to any of this i'm not a lawyer #this is just my understanding from the articles #Anonymous

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anggecity · 4 years ago

Text

Heneral Luna, a movie review

By chance I was able to check out the full movie in Youtube; I had always looked forward for free time to watch this and another movie, Goyo: Ang Batang Heneral. But this one came first; better late than nothing!

Heneral Luna is a biopic of the titular historical figure, Antonio Luna. While it has placed a disclaimer at first that certain parts were added—the film has used creative deviations to highlight certain nuances which, we may know or not, would have been in their minds and hidden sentiments before.

The nuances were not all-serious; certain scenes provided ample comic relief or surprise factors that would likely refuse a sleepy watcher from dozing off completely.

There lies a lace of intimacy which easily captures a contemporary perspective, even if some of the scenes were fictitious or “composites”.

The differences of customs before and now would have made it akin to a moving still, but naturalness was clearly evoked with the choice of angles and points-of-views.

But it is not the naturalness per se that made the film pop; it is how it shows what can be considered an act of heroism with the humanness—the fragility, after all, of the characters. How Luna's character was depicted—hotheaded or composed at his will—is a plausible representation of who he was in his day, based on contemporary perspectives.

The character and scene depictions faithfully followed those of the archival images and records, though there are a few inaccuracies such as Fort Santiago lacking its second floor structure and the sculpture (Fortsan lost this structure after World War II) and the fiber clothing being replaced with modern alternatives (the fabrics are apparently machine-embroidered see-throughs). Inconsistencies shall not be perceived as mere errors; the point here is about authenticity weighed with practicality. This, regardless, is a notable move which I think raises the standard even higher for Filipino historical fillms.

Exterior vistas were depicted but not at best, as the current state of Philippine heritage, and the railroad at Northern Luzon being defunct would barely permit such extensive creative liberty. Such a workaround by recreating interiors proved to be an impressive alternative. Though still, the lack of exteriors felt low-key alienating.

Overall, the props are given a sense of life and the production managed to compensate strategically with structural interiors relevant at that time and logical blocking making the height assumptions seem right.

Aside from depicting the titular character without the glossy “hero” branding, I think the best asset of Heneral Luna lies on creativity within the box coming from outside.

The film also shows glimpses of other aspects of Luna's life and relations, from his family to fellow illustrados—Filipinos of his time who were upperclassmen, enlightened, and had opportunities to study abroad. In this short time, the brief recount appears to be a coalescence of a dreamlike state and a dialogue, and is a wink to a closeness between the brothers Antonio and Juan.

The dialogues and solo shots alternating in the film reinforced a sense of life, that beyond the colorized photo color grading, this is a person that once lived that is breathing beneath the big screen, and he was more than a brilliant military tactician.

The full movie is posted in TBA Studios’ Youtube if you wish to check it out.

youtube

I do not own any of the screencaps, though those also happen to be my favorite scenes. (I just did not include one which is a very brilliant choice of blocking and allegory; see it for yourself!)

#heneral luna #movie review #philippines #philippine history #luzon #review #writeup

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voreanddragons · 4 years ago

Text

So I absolutely had to write up a small mouthplay drabble after finishing H/ome S/weet H/ome, because I was discussing an AU with a couple of friends where H/yun C/ha is a size shifter and can grow to fight off monsters— and recently had to put his local weaboo bastard/mortal frenemy, H/yuk L/ee, in his mouth during a monster attack to keep him safe.

But also after he’s done shifting up, Hyun loses his energy and shrinks down to a small size, ‘cause. Ya know. And Hyuk decides to have a little fun/role-reversal while Hyun’s stuck at only a few inches tall. Enjoy!

---

Hyuk rests his head on his folded hands and smirks coyly down at Hyun.

“As far as I can tell, you don’t taste that good. I’m assuming I didn’t taste very good, either, when I was in your mouth.”

Hyun pauses in the middle of his attempt to stammer out an explanation, his face flushed red in embarrassment. Positively reveling in the flustered look on the smaller’s face, Hyuk leans in just a bit closer, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose in order to get a better look.

“Unless I missed something...? Perhaps I might need to give it another go. I only had a little taste earlier, after all, and it would be unfair of me to judge by that alone...~”

Hyun takes a step backwards, his shoulders hunching up defensively even as his team “leader” edges even closer. But then his back hits a solid surface— his eyes widen in surprise upon realizing Hyuk had managed to sneak a hand behind him, effectively blocking off his exits.

Hyuk’s fingers reflexively curl inwards as Hyun’s back brushes against the center of his palm. Hyun is glaring up at him warily— it’s kind of cute, actually, seeing those tiny little brows furrowed like the world’s most expressive figurine.

As he leans in even closer, enough so that he can see his soft exhales ruffling Hyun’s mop of hair, he notes that Hyun quickly grimaces and turns his head, keeping a stiff upper lip.

He knows what’s coming.

Hyuk pauses at the sight before sighing. The sudden breeze catches Hyun’s attention, making him look up sharply to meet Hyuk’s gaze.

“You are aware I would never harm you, correct?” Hyuk mumbles softly.

“...Yeah, yeah. I’m your most valuable asset or whatever,” Hyun grumbles.

Hyuk pauses, idly drumming the fingers of his free hand on the desk’s surface. He mulls over Hyun’s response, something of a conflicted look crossing his face. “...Mmm. That too, yes.”

Before Hyun can get a chance to ask about the odd response, a curious look in his eye, Hyuk’s smirk comes back in full force.

“As it stands now, I’d say this is more than fair.”

Hyun yelps as Hyuk suddenly leans forward and runs his tongue up Hyun’s front, the force of the “taste” pressing his back up against the palm of Hyuk’s hand.

His face somehow gets even redder as a pleased, thunderous rumble of a chuckle comes from the lips of the human just a mere few inches away.

“You’re a bastard,” Hyun snaps, yelping again as Hyuk’s tongue slips from his lips once more. It’s slower this time— the massive muscle slides from his legs to his chest agonizingly slowly, pushing him even further back into the soft surface of Hyuk’s hand.

The lick finishes with a quick little teasing flick upwards, covering Hyun’s face with spit and slicking his hair back.

Even as he sputters, another soft chuckle rumbles around him.

“Oh, I know.~”

Hyun wipes his face off on his sleeve, only to feel the pad of Hyuk’s thumb gently pressing against his cheek.

“Alright, alright. Enough messing around... we still have work to do,” Hyuk teases, swiping away a spot of saliva that Hyun had missed.

Hyun scowls, pushing the offending digit away from his face.

“Next time I shift up, you’re in for it, Lee.”

Hyuk hums at that before offering his hand— the one he hadn’t trapped Hyun against and gotten covered in saliva in the process— and giving the smaller boy a smile.

“I’ll look forward to it. Come on, now; let’s get you cleaned up.”

#astral writes #vore writing #no actual voring involved just mouthplay bc Hyuk's a douche #but at least he's not THAT much of a douche #he care he dumbass fellow nerd friend #hsh vore

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emile-hides · 4 years ago

Text

Out of Australia, into the fire

Based on an in game RP with @aripan12 and @syalin-deerfox (Original prompt from Two Junkers and a D.Va which can be read here)

Edit: Both Ari and Zayne wrote their own versions of this promt as well.

If you want heavy Roadrat, read Zayne’s version HERE

If you want an almost exact one-to-one of the actual roleplay + Bloopers read Ari’s version HERE

Now, on to my take:

In which Roadhog impulsively cares for a war child

Mako “Roadhog” Rutledge huffed as he looked over his empty fridge shelves for the third time in the last hour. No matter how many glances he spared, the ice box remained empty.

The large man gave another huff as he closed the fridge door, lifting himself up straight before heading out of the large barn he called a home.

“Rat.” He spoke in the general direction of a small, one room trailer.

Jamison “Junkrat” Fawkes poked his head out of one of the three holes in the small buildings walls, two of which he swore were made for better lighting. The third of which was an accident.

“Hoggie! Just in time I was about to test-”

“We’re out of food. I’m heading into Junker town. Stay here.” Roadhog cut his boss off, already starting the slow walk to the scrap city.

“Whot??? Wait, mate, lemme come too! I need some shit and-” Both the junker’s momentum from leaping out of his work shed and sentence were cut off by a large hand easily catching him by the tire on his back.

“Stay.” Mako said flatly, setting the smaller back down in his work station.

Junkrat whined and swayed like a blade of grass in the wind, “But Roooooooadie”

His complaints weren’t met with a response as the older Junker again began to walk away, leaving Junkrat unsupervised.

______ ______ ______ ______

The large door of Junkertown was just as locked as it was the last time Mako approached. He’d always hated how hard the queen tried to make the pile of scrap seem like a real city. It wasn’t. It never would be.

“Let me in already!” A squeaky voice thick with an accent not native to the island screeched along side the banging of metal, “Please!! I just need to get home!”

Mako paused for a moment at the small girl standing at Junkertown’s door, banging away and begging for entry. Her clothes were bright pink, a color Mako hadn’t seen in a long time, and seemed almost completely clean. Her hair was long and shiny, almost freshly washed. She was small, thin, but healthy. As if all of this wasn’t enough, the sound of her voice made it absolutely, positively clear she was not a native to the savage wastelands of Australia.

Still. She was in the way.

Roadhog threw his hook, safely wrapping it around the girls waste to pull her away from the door. She yelped, and stumbled by his side before fear ran cold across her face. Mako spared her a glance before knocking at the Junkertown door three times with his hook.

“Rutledge?” The guard of the door spat from his lookout point, “You sure are brave to be showin’ your masked face around here again mate. Better now be armed, we got orders to shoot you on sight.”

These threats meant nothing to Roadhog. He simply waited for the gate to open silently before he strolled in, latching his hook to his belt.

“W...Wait!” The girl from before shouted once she finally snapped from her fear induced daze, quickly chasing after the lumbering man.

Mako, again, barely spared the girl a glance, though slowed down slightly to allow her to walk along side him, hoping to block her bright outfit from the onlooking eye of the local thugs.

“M-My name is Hana Song. I was kidnapped from Busan, South Korea, and dropped here. I-I’m not sure where here... is... D-Do you have a phone I could barrow? Please?” She asked, gripping the bottom of her shirt in desperation.

Roadhog glanced at the local shops before walking into an old convenient store, now with nothing more than rusted canned items and whatever animal was found in rummaging in the trash that morning.

“N...No?” Hana half whimpered, continuing to follow him. She watched his movements was they wandered the mostly empty lanes before starting again, “I-I can pay for the distance call! I-I c-can pay reward money! S-Something for your trouble, please! M-My team- M-My country needs me! I-I can pay-”

Mako handed the girl a can of corn. She stared at it, then glanced up at him, clearly confused as she took it.

Luckily, the confusion was enough to shut her up on the money nonsense as the finished shopping. It wasn’t a lot, but it’d be enough for a last meal on this irradiated rock.

On the way out of Junker town, Hana piped up again, “Does... th-this mean you’re going to help me...?” She asked meekly.

A large hand gently pat at Hana’s hair as they stepped out of the scrap city of Junkertown. Hana flinched for a moment at the contact, only realizing at the third pat it was meant to be comforting.

She smiled, “Thankyou.” slipped from her mouth barely above a whisper as they walked away from Junkertown.

______ ______ ______ ______

“Roadie! You’re finally back, what’d ya get I’m STARVIN’!” Junkrat came bounding from his shed as soon as Roadhog came into view.

The larger Junker didn’t acknowledge the smaller as he simply continued to the barn. Junkrat did the same to Hana, who followed the two closely.

“So! While you were gone I was thinkin’ of ways to get back at the queen and I’ve finally got the perfect plan! Wanna hear it?? Of course you do! So-”

“This is Hana.” Mako spoke up, cutting the smaller off as he drew his attention to Hana Song, “We’re taking her to South Korea.”

Junkrat blinked down at the bring pink stick before him. He stared, unblinking, for almost a solid two minutes.

“South Kor-ee-a?” He repeated, incredibly incorrect of course, “Where in the bloody blue blazes is that?”

“Far.” Mako spoke bluntly, putting his assorts groceries on his make-shift table for now, “Pack what you need. We’re leaving tonight.”

“T-Tonight? Mate what- Don’t you walk away from me!” Junkrat snapped as Roadhog began to leave the barn.

Mako glanced back at Hana, standing awkwardly in the center of the room, “Stay.” He spoke, then continued out, Junkrat shouting behind him.

______ ______ ______ ______

“What about our plans to get back at the queen?! What about our 50/50 split treasure? You wanna just lug that with us?!” Junkrat huffed and hollered all the way back to Junkertown.

Mako continued to ignore him, making sure the smaller was behind him when they approached the gate, easly hiding Junkrat behind his larger form.

“Twice in one day, Rutledge? Ya forget somethin’?” The guardsman laughed as the gate opened.

“I’ve never even heard of no South Kor-ee-a! What makes ya so sure it’s even a real place and that shiela ain’t just one of the queen’s goons sent to whack us, huh?! Ya even left her alone in our place!”

“Mako? Well this is a surprise?” Junkrat’s complaints cut off with the introduction of a new voice, raspy and weary with age. He’d been ranting so long, Junkrat hadn’t even noticed he and Mako walked into one of Junkertown’s many scrap shops.

“Here for the usual?” A short, chubby man with a scruffy white beard asked, taking a large cigar from his mouth.

“I need a boat. With a moter, and enough oil to get it to Asia.” Mako spoke.

“A boat?” The short scrapper asked, scratching his chin, “That’s a tall order. The Queen ain’t very fond of boats she don’t own.”

Junkrat sized up the man before them, rationalizing if he was going to give Roadhog a hard time, and if he’d have to step in to get whatever Roadie was after.

“The moter’s the easy part, I’ve been working on one myself...” The man gave a gentle kick to a scrapped together engine he’d been working on when they walked in, “The fuel I’ve almost got too, but the actual boat...”

“Please, Bruce.” The word was so foreign, Mako certainly hadn’t used it in over 20 years, and he’d doubt the younger generation in this country even knew what the word means.

Bruce paused, giving another scratch to his chin... A deep sigh left his mouth, “Alright. I’ll get something together and have it at Lagoon Pier by 3am tonight.”

Roadhog gruffed a thankyou, placed a hand on Junkrat’s head, and lead him from the shop, back to Junkertown’s gate.

“...We’re really leavin’?” Junkrat asked as they left the scrapped together city he one called home, “Are we... gonna come back?”

Roadhog didn’t speak. He stared ahead blankly at the wasteland he created, a hand resting on Junkrat’s head.

They walked home in silence.

______ ______ ______ ______

The short, hastily put together plan was explained to Hana by Junkrat over a scrapped together final meal. They then packed up anything essential into Roadhog’s bike, and headed out across the country.

Hana had long sense passed out in the side car, tightly hugging Mako’s pachimari doll as she rested. Junkrat has also, supposedly, passed out behind Roadhog on the bike.

As the two slept, Mako took a moment to park along side a cliff and stare out at the desert.

He thought about how 20 or so years ago, this place was just like the world Hana had described to them. How he’d spend his days playing video games on his phone just like her, or how he could spend hours weaving brightly colored flowers into crowns.

20 years ago they were just like every other place in the world.

What... happened?

Mako’s grip on his handle bars tightened.

ALF happened.

HE happened.

For a moment, Mako considered turning around. Driving back to his scrapped old barn on his wasted little farm with the small grave marked only with a dusty little bolder and a few dead flowers.

It wouldn’t be fair for him to leave. He broke the world, he deserves to rot in it. He deserves to sit on this little irradiated rock and slowly die of whatever the world wants to throw at him.

“Roadie..?” A yawn broke Roadhog of his thoughts as Junkrat lifted himself up some, hanging over the larger man’s shoulder, “Why’d we stop? Ya gotta piss?” The younger Junker rubbed at his eye, nuzzling into Mako’s neck from grogginess.

Roadhog released his grip on his handle bars. For a moment his mind wondered where Jamie could be had the Omnium not exploded.

Would he be a child soldier, like Hana? Willing to give his life for a county so quick to throw away it’s citizens? Fighting a war at such a young age...

“Roadie?” Junkrat asked, a bit more awake, “Ya alright? Ya got that sad look on yer face...”

Roadhog glanced to Junkrat. The smaller look concerned.

Mako squished Jamie’s cheeks in his hand, “Sit down. I can’t drive with you standin’ up like that.” He scolded. Jamison whined in his hold, patting weakly at Mako’s shoulders until he was released, allowing him to fall back onto his seat.

Roadhog chuckled before starting the bike again. There’s no point in turning back.

He hadn’t destroyed the world.

At least

Not yet.

#Emile's Arts #In which I write a bit of sad Hog times #As a treat #In which I feel very strongly about Hana Song but don't write her like at all #IN WHICH I FEEL EVEN STRONGER ABOUT ROADRAT SOLIDARITY #This isn't a lot of actual Roadrat tho #Just like #Junkrat is Roadhog's rock #And that's very good #And that's how the boys got out of Australia and started making mischief all over the world #you ever think about how it's very clear the rest of the world knows what happened in Australia #but no one like.. offered aid??#Like it's clear the world knows about the Junkers #And just??? Left them like that???#No other countries offered assistance and that bothers me so much #Overwatch #Fanfiction #Those are not going in tags but whatever I'm tired #I wanted to have the Roadhog debates his problems scene happen by said unmarked grave #And imply it was a daughter of some kind #But I figured it'd make more sense if they were on the road by then #Ya ever think about how Mako was probably in his early 20's when he joined ALF #And how Hana is 19 and basically a war general of other 19 year olds #And how that totally also could have been Junkrat's life because ALF clearly had no problems recruiting children #And how they three of them were/are way too young to be in a war #Because I do. All the time.#Lucio too Lucio is too young to be a part of this #And Baptiste #Really all the Overwatch characters were put into a war very very young #Enough tag rambles have a good day all two people who read this I love you

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kisses-holland · 5 years ago

Text

Escape (Part Two)

Summary: reader escapes an abusive home, only to be met with the leader of the biggest mob in the city, Tom Holland.

Pairing: mob!tom x adopted!reader

Warnings: mentions of abuse, swearing, angst

A/N: here it is! i’m sorry it took so long. i hope you guys enjoy this part :)

Part One

“Sorry, say that again?” Harrison asked, not hearing Tom correctly.

“A girl. She came here. She looked hurt and she was hungry. She ran out before I could stop her. Help me find her.” He didn’t know why he was so concerned about her. Why would he be? He’s head of the mob in London, he hurts people worst than she was hurt.

“Okay slow down. I need to go to that son of a bitch’s house first. Danny, remember? He has our money.” Tom almost face palmed to the fact that he forgot about the mission he sent Harrison on.

“Fuck, okay. I’ll find her on my own. Call me if you need anything. And remember; no mercy.” Reminding Harrison of their little motto, he quickly grabbed his coat and car keys, hoping to find the girl.

You, on the other hand, ended up at a park in the same neighbourhood of the house you ran away from; the second time. It was a little chilly, but it was better than being beaten, right?

Not keeping your hopes up, you lied down on the bench that was placed right in front of the lonely playground, drifting off to a dreamless sleep.

After driving through ten blocks, Tom gave up and parked by the playground in his neighbourhood. He loved seeing the kids and the smiles on their faces. Being a mobster, he would never hurt a child, No, not since Paddy.

Out of frustration, the mobster decided to take a walk through the park and clear his mind. Why does he feel like this towards a girl he met for 3 minutes?

Maybe it was the broken look in her eyes, or the fact that she was hungry. Maybe it was the look that was screaming “help”. Whatever it was, Tom wanted to help.

Deciding to take a walk through the small playground, he trudged along the wet grass, for it had started sprinkling rain a few minutes prior.

He was just about to sit on one of the benches when he noticed a trembling figure sleeping on one of them.

Relief clouded over him as he recognized her immediately; the same girl who had broken into his house.

“C’mon, love, Let’s get you out of here.” He whispered to your sleeping figure.

Slowly and carefully, he picked you up bridal style (right after taking his coat off and draping it over you) and placed you in the back seat of his pre - heated vehicle, before driving off to his house.

After parking in the driveway, he sent Harrison a quick text telling him to continue with the mission and not worry about the girl, carefully carrying you through his home. He carried you up to one of his guest bedrooms, where he placed you underneath the warm covers and made sure you were safe.

He had placed a tray of fruits as well as a bottle of water on the night table beside you, just in case you were hungry when you woke up.

Tom walked downstairs and into his office, where Harrison was already there, in a state of panic.

Tom raised his eyebrows, “Did you get the money?”

Harrison sighed. “I didn’t get it. Said that they had a daughter to look for. How the hell does someone lose their child? Anyways, said that if we found their daughter, they’d pay us double the amount. I say we start looking right now, mate.” Harrison smirked, grabbing his gun and putting it into the waistband of his dress pants.

However, Tom’s face had paled, and he was worried that his fears had come true.

“W-what was the girl’s name? The daughter? What’s her name?” He asked, trying his best not to seem nervous in front of his side kick.

Harrison’s eyebrows furrowed as he read the file his rival had given him earlier in their meeting.

“Y/N Y/L/N. Why?”

Tom fiddled with his fingers. Harrison had never seen him like this. Tom has never felt like this.

“I may know where she is.” He said, taking out a bottle of whiskey from his cabinet and pouring some into a glass.

“Well then that’s great! Let’s go get her and-”

“It’s not that simple.” Tom stated, chugging back the glass.

“How is it not simple? Enlighten me, Tom. Ee need this money.” Harrison sighed. Normally, Tom would be ecstatic about the idea of being payed double the amount he was getting. However, he didn’t like the consequences. He knew who you were, it all seemed to make sense now. He knew Danny, and he was surprised to learn he had a child. Right now, Tom’s only goal was to keep you safe, and as far away from Danny as possible.

“Because she’s in our guest bedroom right now, Harrison.” he hissed. “She broke in here, hungry, beaten up. Hell, she could barely walk! She ran away from her home because Danny abuses her! And I don’t know what to do.” Rubbing his hand over his face, Tom poured himself yet another drink, trying to figure out a way to deal with this situation.

Harrison now realized why this was a tough decision for tom. having a sister of his own, Harrison doesn’t wish for this to happen to any girl, or person, in general.

“Then we refuse the money, tell him we’ll deal with someone else.” Harrison tried, but he knew that they both needed the money.

“If we refuse the money, more than half of our shipments will not come through. the only option in my mind is to-”

“-Take the money, and kill Danny.” Harrison interrupted, but somehow knew exactly what Tom was going to say.

“But, the only way we can do that, is by using the girl as bait.” Tom took in a shaky breath. He would never forgive himself if something happened to you.

“Then let’s do it.”

Taglist:

@fanficparker @your-daily-dose-of-fangirl @magiclolipopqueen @organicpurplepants @delicately-important-trash @butterfliesinthenightsky @redstrawbbaby @shayke-and-bake @olivia1112 @lazymarvelfan @karlitabi-rrito @green-lxght @babylsn @sincerelyfan @awesomeaugustina @joycesld @xxr-88x @czygrlm @ixchel-9275 @peterbxrnes @claredolphinbear24 @fakindob @superheroesaremytea @sltwins @roosterteethgirl @vicisbookishblog @flemishbitch @van-horn-dashner @runway-to-my-aid @anxiousstark @michellemxndes @quacksonsgivemelife

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master-sass-blast · 5 years ago

Text

Hunter and Hunted.

LOOK, THIS FIC IS 100% SELF INDULGENT. THIS FIC IS FOR M E. DON’T @ ME.

Summary: You wake up in the middle of nowhere with Frank Castle sitting next to you. Turns out, the two of you have been abducted --with others--and dumped into a forest to be prey in a sick game of prey and predator. Will you --and Frank--make it out alive?

Pairing(s): Piotr Rasputin x Reader and Frank Castle x Karen Page.

Rating: T for violence, gore, blood, medication withdrawal, death, panic attacks, violence with guns (it’s the punisher), and general intensity. Like, I don’t think it’s the worst thing ever, but it’s all in here.

Set after “It’s Truly Magical.”

Taglist: @marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie, @super-darkcloudstudent, @girl-obsessed-with-things, @nebulous-leo

You wake up to someone’s hand pressing against your neck.

Your first instinct is to lash out at the mystery hand and its owner –so that’s what you do. You let out a choked scream, grab the wrist of the hand pressed against your neck, and fling a fist in the direction of whomstever the hand belongs to.

The person –a man, but not Piotr or Wade or Nate or Hank or anyone you would remotely expect to be touching your neck—blocks your swing and lets out a grunt. “Hey –hey, calm down—”

You aim a kick at the man’s gut –the light is making it impossible to see, meaning that calming down is on your lowest priority list right now—and make contact, successfully shoving him off you. “Don’t fucking tell me to calm down, you fucking pervert, fucking touching my damn neck like some sort of candy van driving creep, I will slamdunk the buttfucking brains out of you…” You stop when you finally see the “neck toucher,” then blink and squint because you’ve got to be imagining things. “What the fuck?”

Frank Castle grimaces at you. “My thoughts exactly.”

You go from crouching to sitting flat on your ass as your brain tries to process what all’s going on –and that’s when you notice another important detail.

You’re in the middle of a forest.

You’re surrounded by trees, dense foliage, dirt, rocks, and fallen debris for as far as the eye can see. There’s no sign of civilization, anyone else, or how you even got out here.

Which, naturally, begs the question: how the fuck did you get out here with Frank Castle and no recollection of how you got here?

“We’ve got a bad fucking track record with running into each other, man,” you grumble as you push yourself into a standing position. “I take it you weren’t casually hiking along and just happened to bump into me?”

“I wish,” Frank mutters as he brushes his hands off on his pants. “I woke up a few meters up the hill.” He jerks his head to the left. “Thought I saw someone through the brush, decided to check it out, found you.”

“And you decided the best way to wake me up was to cup my neck because…”

Frank snorts. “Wasn’t trying to be weird. You’ve got one of the collars on.”

“What?” Your hands fly up to your neck, and you let out a streak of swear words when you feel the repression collar in place. “Mother of fuck –okay, how in the flying fuck did I even get out here with this thing on?”

“Probably a hunting ring,” Frank says, tone darkening. “Was looking into one of their operations last I can remember. They like to pick people up, ship them out to the woods, hunt them for sport. Guess they were looking for a challenge this time.”

Yeah, or a death sentence, you think, considering they decided to pick up the fucking Punisher, of all people. Your hand floats back up to your neck, groping at the collar as you try to get a sense for what model it is. “Tell me what this looks like. Keypad, fingerprint scanner, power cell size, whatever. I’m a dead duck until I get this thing off me, so the more I know, the better.”

“Got a keypad on the back with the numbers zero through nine, a delete key, and an ‘enter’ key,” Frank says, stepping behind you to get a better look at the collar.

“Any seams on the side or areas that would let us access the internal mechanisms?”

“…Yeah. There’s a seam running all around the node the keypad’s mounted on, and there’s a little rectangular hole that you could jam a screwdriver head or a knife blade in to pop the sucker open.”

“Okay.” You take a deep breath and do your best to calm yourself. “That’s… something.”

“Don’t worry too much about it,” Frank reassures you, slowly pacing around as he assesses his surroundings. “We’ll figure something out.”

“…Frank… if I can get the collar off, I seriously doubt we’re going to get out of this place in enough time for me to get my next does of meds, which means…”

Which means the likelihood of an episode happening –even if regular medication and psychic therapy have helped—and you’re not about to risk someone that literally has no ways of protecting themselves.

But Frank –true to form, if Wade and Karen are to be believed—merely shakes his head once your voice trails off. “Not leaving you out here alone. You’re a sitting duck with that collar on. Plus, safety in numbers. We’re sticking together.”

You open your mouth to argue –but are promptly cut off by the sound of gunshots and someone screaming nearby.

Frank tenses, then takes off towards the sounds of the gunfire.

You swear under your breath, then follow after him; it’s not like you have any better options.

***

The screaming leads you to a group of people dressed in full hunting gear –backpacks, hiking boots, camo, the whole nine yards—with guns trained on a person booking it through the trees, screaming –understandably—like a banshee.

Your gut clenches when one of the hunters hits the running person straight in the back. Shit.

Frank bursts into action. With experienced ease, he darts behind a stand of trees, stalking the group of hunters as they go to check their “kill,” until the right opportunity opens up—

And then it’s over in a flash. He snaps the neck of the closest hunter, takes their gun, and the rest fall within seconds.

You grimace as you edge closer to the pile of fresh bodies. “Are there going to be more of them?”

“Definitely,” Frank says as he starts checking over the hunters’ gear. “These events are pretty big. Lots of people put cash down to participate. My bet is that this is just group one –or, if it’s a big enough plot of land, everyone else is spread out.”

“What about them?” you ask, nodding over to the fallen “hunt-ee.”

Frank shakes his head. “He’s toast. That shot would’ve gone straight through his heart.”

You creep a little closer to victim, trying to get a grasp on the situation without getting a full gore display. “She. Not he.”

“She,” Frank corrects, shrugging. “Doesn’t make a difference.”

“Does in this case.” You roll the body over with your foot, revealing a shock of dyed red hair, fingers with webbing between them, and gill slits on the neck that are partially covered by a repression collar. “She’s a mutant.”

Frank looks up at you before joining you near the woman’s body. “Anyone you recognize?”

“Captain Tribecca Jones, also known as Marlene, no last name given.” You close Marlene’s eyes –set in a vacant, lifeless gaze—and sigh heavily. “Mutant grifter, gotten in some trouble with the law. Notable for tracking ships carrying trafficked mutants and humans on them and setting them free –and for breaking out of the Icebox five different times.”

“Damn.” Frank lets out a low whistle. “They were clearly going for a challenge round if they picked her up.”

“Not much of a challenge with the collar.”

“Trophy, then. Bragging rights.”

Your stomach churns, and you look away from Marlene’s lifeless body. “We’re not fucking trophies.”

***

Much to your dismay –and Frank’s derision—none of the hunters were carrying anything that could be used to get the collar off you.

“Who the fuck doesn’t carry a blade on them?” he grumbles as he pairs down the most useful gear into one backpack. “You’re going ‘hunting’ in the middle of the damn woods; take a fucking pocket knife at least.”

“I mean, they might not need one,” you point out as you scan the area around you nervously. “They’re going out together in teams, they’ve probably got maps and tracking equipment, and I doubt they’re actually sleeping out in the woods. Does something seem off to you?”

“We’re prey in a sick hunting game in the middle of who knows the fuck where,” Frank points out as he hands you a metal water bottle. “This whole thing is off.”

“Yeah, no, I mean… about where we are. Something’s not right.” Your gaze darts around wildly as your brain works overtime. “None of this feels right.”

“Hey.” Frank gently clasps your shoulder. “Deep breath. Panicking won’t help.”

“I’m not—” You purse your lips together when Frank gives you a look, then take a deep breath and let it out. “This not feeling right isn’t me panicking. Something is off about where we are –not how we got here, but the woods themselves. Something’s wrong with these woods.”

“Then we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

“You seem pretty dead set on this ‘we’ thing,” you mutter.

“Should I not be?”

“I mean… if I have an episode…”

“You’re wearing the collar,” Frank points out. “Which means you don’t pose a risk to me.”

“Well, if we can’t get it off, I’m fucking useless!”

“All the more reason for me to stick close to you,” Frank says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m not just gonna leave you in this, okay?”

You sigh, then nod. “Alright. Where do we go now?”

Another scream rips through the air –further away this time—followed by more gunshots.

Frank takes off in the direction of the shots. “We go this way.”

***

Your second run in with the hunters doesn’t go nearly as well as the first.

First, the second victim alerts the hunters to yours and Frank’s presence, which means there’s no sneaking up on them and taking them out before they realize what’s going on.

Second, the hunters notice you as well as Frank –and manage to get between the two of you so you have to fend them off as well.

You grit your teeth as you dive behind a massive mound of dirt. Gunfire cracks through the air as shotgun rounds slam into the small hill, and you cover your head with your hands. You can hear Frank shouting and other people letting out various shrieks and grunts of pain, so you can only assume –hope—that he’s holding his own.

This is out of your realm. You’re not a slouch when it comes to fighting, but being gunned down in the middle of nowhere with a repression collar around your neck is well above your pay grade.

You scramble to the side just before one of the hunters clambers over the hill, then kick them in the knee before they can set their sights on you. You make a mad dash for their shotgun, rip it away from them, then skitter back and turn the gun on them.

And then you freeze. You can’t make your finger squeeze the trigger. For all that you’ve shot targets –and been shot at—you can’t bring yourself to fire a gun at another human being.

The hunter lunges at you—

Another gunshot cracks through the air, and the hunter’s head explodes like a watermelon loaded with C4.

You scream, then look up at the bank of dirt.

Frank lowers a rifle –which he presumably took off one of the hunters. His face is spattered with blood, and he looks far too calm for a man who just killed several people. “You froze.”

“I…” You activate the safety on the shotgun and stare at the bloodstained ground. “Yeah.”

“You can’t do that here. If you have a shot, you have to take it.”

“I… I can’t,” you say, ducking your head to hide the tears that have suddenly welled up in your eyes.

“Not an option right now. It’s them or us.” Frank squeezes your shoulder gently, then wraps one of his arms around you and leads you away from the headless corpse. “Come on. I think one of these bastards was carrying a blade.”

***

“This still seems really weird,” you comment as Frank searches the dead hunters for a knife. “Doesn’t it seem weird to you?”

“Outside of being abducted and used as prey in some psychopath’s hunting game? Not particularly.” He lets out a pleased grunt when he finds a pocket knife on one of the hunter’s belt, then removes a pistol from their holster as well. “You comfortable with a .380?”

You swallow hard and start shaking your head. “No, I –I can’t, Frank, I can’t—”

“Look, I know the X-Men have their thing about ‘no killing,’ but this is—”

“No, no, I can’t kill anyone else. I tried to run away from home as a kid, and they hunted me down, and I had to… I can’t, I can’t—”

“Jesus Christ,” Frank grumbles, quickly moving to stand when you start crying. “Hey. Hey. Look at me.” He holds up the knife. “We’re getting this collar off you, okay? You keep ‘em off me, and I’ll make sure they stay down, okay?”

You nod, sniffing loudly and swiping at your nose with your sleeve. “Okay. I can do that.”

Frank nods back, then steps behind you. “Alright, you’ll have to walk me through this.”

“Are there any manufacturers labels stamped on the collar? Any model types or labels at all?” you ask.

“Uh… Essex Productions? Type… 187B?”

You run through your mental file on repression collars –and send a thank you to your uncle—then nod. “Okay. Pop the keypad panel open and tell me what it looks like in there.”

It takes a bit of finagling –and a lot of cursing on Frank’s part—but he manages to lever the panel open with the knife blade. “Alright… got a… glowing, yellow battery-looking thing in the middle. There’s wires connecting the keypad to a motherboard thing, and a… blue something underneath the motherboard. Can’t get a good visual on it.”

“The yellow battery is a cell that contains the repression chip,” you say. “The blue thing is the collar’s power cell. We break the circuit, the collar will deactivate automatically.”

“Great. And how do we do that?”

“See if you can lever the motherboard up with the knife,” you suggest. “There should be wires underneath it that connect to the power cell in there.”

“So, you want me to jam this metal blade next to a power source.”

“I mean, you were going to be on death row at one point,” you mumble. “Could just be part of a well-rounded experience.”

“Very fucking funny; New York doesn’t do electrocution anymore. Hold still.”

You inhale deeply and close your eyes—

And then the collar powers down, opens with a clicking noise, and falls off your neck.

You let out a sigh of relief –then whip your head around when the sensation of ‘this isn’t right’ doesn’t go away. “What the fuck? This place still doesn’t feel right! Did they injection me with repression serum on top of it?”

“Can you fly?” Frank asks with a shrug.

You successfully levitate yourself off the ground, which only increases your confusion. “What the actual hell? Okay, I’m going to fly up and see if I can see any major landmarks.”

“Wait –shit, hold the fuck on.” Frank grabs your arm and yanks you away from the pile of bodies. “We need to move to a new location, just in case anyone else heard the sounds of the fight.”

You follow him along a narrow trail, until the two of you are far enough away that Frank’s willing to stop. “Alright, I’m gonna poke my head above the tree cover. Keep your eyes peeled down here.” You hover up, latching onto branches to help direct your ascent, then push some lush, green leaves out of your way so you can stick your head out and look around—

You gawk. “What the fuck!”

Instead of clear blue sky –or clouds, or anything resembling the fucking sky—you’re greeted by a dark, metal ceiling. Massive industrial lights hang down from the ceiling in a grid, illuminating the space and the “forest” beneath.

“We’re in a fucking warehouse!” you hiss down at Frank.

He frowns up at you, disbelieving. “What? How’s that even possible?”

“I will lift you up here myself if you don’t believe me, I swear to Barbara Streisand—”

“No, no, I believe you, just…” He gestures around at the trees. “How is any of this inside a fucking warehouse?”

You gasp as the light bulb goes off in your head. “Frank! Listen!”

He tenses, eyes scanning your surroundings as he does as you say. “I don’t hear anything.”

“Exactly! No birds, no animals, no bugs –not even a damn breeze. This is a fake forest!”

Frank’s eyes widen as you land next to him. “Shit, you’re right. The trees and shit are real enough, but there’s nothing else. They must’ve built this place just for ‘hunting.’”

“Well, the upside is if we’re in a building, there have to be walls and doors. Some sort of way out, at least,” you reason. “If we can find one of the walls, we can run the perimeter until we find an exit.”

“Hang on.” Frank heaves the backpack off his shoulders. “One of the asshats… yeah, they had a map.” He unfolds it, then holds it out so you can both read off it. “This boundary—” he gestures to a dotted line “—must be the limits of the warehouse.”

“I’m willing to be these spots—” you tap the map where parts of the dotted line are highlighted with red “—are exits and entries.”

“Why would they keep doors if they’re bringing people in here?”

“They might be hidden. Or locked.”

“Then how are going to use them?”

“I can rip them open with my powers.” You kick up a little breeze to illustrate your point. “Or, push comes to shove, we wait for someone to come out and jump them.”

“Good enough plan. Could you see where the walls are when you flew up?”

You shake your head. “No. It’s too big a space.”

Frank grumbles under his breath and peers down at the map. “Okay, we’re on an incline right now, which means we’re somewhere around here.” He taps the bottom of the map. “There’s a stream down here—” he taps the center of the page “—that crosses the whole warehouse. We walk until we find it, then go left until we hit the wall. Closest door will be on the right.”

“Alright,” you say with a sigh. “Guess we better get walking.”

***

The two of you hike through the woods for what feels like half an hour before you blurt out, “Do you think they put trackers on us?”

Frank immediately bursts into a massive, angry barrage of swear words and all but rips the backpack off his backpack. “Should’ve fucking done that right away, goddamn idiot— help me check this shit.”

The two of you check over all the gear Frank’s poached off the dead hunters –guns, the knife, the maps, a pair of night vision goggles, flashlights, boxes of ammo, water bottles, rations—and the pack itself before checking your own clothes over.

Considering you’re wearing your own clothes –and aren’t feeling any pain or finding any bruises that would suggest an implanted chip—you start to think that there might not be anything—

Until you find a GPS tracking device tucked underneath the sole of your shoe.

“Check your shoes,” you tell Frank, holding up the tiny electronic device between your fingers. “I’ll bet there’s at least one in them.”

Frank growls under his breath when he pulls out an identical device. “Son of a bitch. Any chance you can stick this on top of a tree?”

“Hell yeah,” you say with a grin. You find the tallest tree in the vicinity, then float up and wedge the tracking devices in a crack in the trunk.

And, just when you think the two of you might finally have a handle on the situation, the lights shut off as soon as you feet hit the ground.

“Is it night-time?” you whisper. You can’t see anything –not even Frank—and the sudden darkness makes you feel like you can be heard from a mile away.

“Is for us,” Frank says back, voice similarly hushed. There’s a few shuffling noises, and then a flashlight clicks on, illuminating Frank’s face and the map he stole. He crouches close to the ground, hunching over the light to hide as much of it as possible. “Get down. It’ll make you harder to see on night vision equipment.”

You kneel down next to him, squinting down at the map. “What’re you looking for?”

“Topographical depressions. We’re liable to get hurt if we try to walk around in the dark, and if we use the flashlights we’ll lead them right to us. We need to find a place to hunker down that’s as sheltered as possible.” He mutters under his breath as he studies the map. “There’s a spot… but opposite of the direction we’ve been going. Gonna be pretty hard to go uphill in the dark, but if we use the flashlight—”

“Use the goggles and talk me through it,” you insist. “I can use my powers to block the sound of us talking from travelling past us.”

“You might fall,” Frank warns you.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Alright,” he agrees after a moment, rifling through the backpack so he can set up the night vision goggles. “Goggles it is.”

***

It takes no small amount of doing to navigate your way over to the ravine Frank found on the map. Even if there aren’t any animals in the “forest” –which you think might be better called an “arena”—there’s still plenty of plants, fallen branches, partially decomposed logs, and rocks to make your way around.

You keep an iron grip on Frank’s hand as he leads you through the woods, moving as cautiously and quietly as you can.

Eventually, the two of you reach the gulch –and without too many scrapes or bruises, either. Frank briefly flicks on the flashlight so the two of you can find a safe place to hunker down for the night; the two of you are out within seconds of settling down on the ground.

You come to with a jerk when the overhead lights flick back on, blasting the entire space with harsh, white light. You grimace as waves of pins and needles shoot throughout your body and curl up on your side. Fucking withdrawals.

Frank groans next to you and pushes himself into a sitting position. “Gotta get moving again.”

“I know.” You push yourself up slowly, trying to take deep breaths against the pain and general feelings of suckitude coursing through your body. “You sleep alright?”

Frank chuckles as he rummages through the backpack. “Not the worst I’ve had.” He hands you a granola bar and a bottle of water. “Fuel up. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover today.”

The last thing you want to do right now is eat. Just the sight of the granola bar and the water makes your stomach churn angrily.

But Frank’s right –doubly so since you’re a mutant and have that accelerated metabolism thing that Hank keeps talking about.

Frank frowns when you hesitate before taking the granola bar and water. “You sick? You ain’t looking so good.”

“Just withdrawals,” you say with a shake of your head. “They make me feel like shit.”

Frank hisses through his teeth, then scans the map before looking around at the gulch and the surrounding area. “I’d say we could just stay put, but—”

“We can’t,” you finish as you nibble at your granola bar. “I know. We’ll stick to the plan of moving towards the stream. I just… I might need to stop and breathe on occasions.”

Frank nods once, twice. “That works. You just say when.”

***

It’s slower going, what with you being so out of it, but the two of you manage to cover a decent amount of ground in what Frank reasons is only a couple hours. He keeps the map in his hand, checking your surroundings ever few minutes so he can keep tabs on roughly where the two of you are and how close you are to the stream.

All in all, it’s going pretty good.

And then you get hit with a panic attack.

It slams into you out of nowhere; granted, in hindsight, you’ll be able to track the mounting tension in your torso and shoulders, the increase in your heart rate, and the growing shallowness of your breaths.

But, unfortunately, all you have is the present moment –and, in the present moment, you go from striding next to Frank to having overwhelming waves of anxiety crash over you and feeling like you can’t breathe.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Frank quickly moves you over and sets you down in front of an outcropping of large boulders –cover in case a group of hunters is in the area. “You okay? What’s wrong?”

“Panic attack,” you eke out, trembling from head to toe as you gasp for air. You close your eyes, trying to calm your breathing. “Just gotta ride it out.”

“Ah, shit.” There’s a gentle thump, then more rustling. “Hey.”

You open your eyes and see Frank sitting next to you, pack on the ground and one hand outstretched to you, palm up.

“I’m not going anywhere, okay?” Frank says, giving you a meaningful look.

You manage a ghost of a smile and take his hand, squeezing it tight as you try to wide out the waves of fear.

It’s hard, as it’s always been –more so since you’re going through medication withdrawals. You know it’ll pass, that it always passes, but the whole thing has shades of being kidnapped and trapped underneath your parents’ house, which only serves to make it more terrifying—

Except Frank’s here. His hand is solid and warm around yours, and even though the two of you aren’t anywhere near “close,” you trust him. You trust him to work with you through this, to have your back –and, apparently, to hold your hand while your work through a panic attack.

Something in the back of your mind says the Punisher’s probably had his fair share of panic attacks, too.

“Heard you and Rasputin got hitched,” Frank says after a bit, voice gravelly.

You let out a wet laugh and look down at your engagement ring and wedding band –which, miraculously, the abductors didn’t take off you when they scooped you up and dropped you in here. “Yeah, we did. Couple months ago.”

Frank nods slowly, gaze occasionally darting towards you but largely fixed on scanning your surroundings. “Figured that’d be the case. He’s the type. You two are good together.”

“Yeah,” you agree, smiling as you think of your husband. You sniff wetly, then wipe tears from your face. “He is. And we are.” You draw in and let out a jerky, shaky breath, then look over at Frank. “What about you and Karen?”

Frank’s face scrunches up amusingly as he mentally scrambles for some sort way to shut the line of conversation down. “Karen and I—”

“Are a thing,” you interject.

“We ain’t ‘a thing,’” Frank says firmly –sadly. “We just… it’s not gonna happen. It can’t happen.”

“Seems like it’s already happening.”

“We—”

“You took me to her apartment, you knew where stuff was there, she had one of your hoodies there, she showed up to support you when Wade dragged you over to Xavier’s for the target practice outing, you stashed her at Xavier’s when you helped rescue me, not to mention that a majority of people in New York know and believe that you jumped in front of two bullets for her,” you list off. “Face it, the two of you are a thing.”

Frank sighs heavily –like a man dead set on torturing himself—and shakes his head. “We ain’t. Can’t be. I’m… I’m not good for anyone. Not like this.”

You take one look at Frank’s defeated expression and slumped posture, and your current lack of filter does the rest. “Take it from someone who got told their whole life that they weren’t ‘good for anyone,’ Castle—”

Frank looks up at you, surprise evident in his expression.

“The only people who suffer more than you do from believing that about yourself are the people who love and care about you,” you say as firmly as you can. “And, for you, Karen’s definitely one of those people.”

“Karen’s…” Frank swallows hard and stares at the ground. “Karen’s good. She’s… she’s someone I care about. And I can’t lose anyone else I care about.”

“Seems to me you’re already losing her.”

Frank shoots you a sharp look and opens his mouth to retort –then tenses and snaps it shut when the sound of voices echoes from nearby. “Hunters.”

“Sounds like a big group,” you murmur, forcing yourself into a crouch next to him. “Think we can avoid them?”

Frank slings the back pack over his shoulders, cocks one of the –many—guns he’d taken off the wake of corpses, and starts stalking towards the sound of conversation. “Not how this works.”

“Of course it isn’t,” you grumble under your breath before following after him.

***

The third fight is a bloodbath.

You were right about it being a larger group. There’s at least seventeen people, men and women, all in fancy hunting garb and wielding a variety of guns.

A few of them start yelling when they see Frank and you –then scream when the two of you charge them.

You can’t really keep track of the fight in your exhausted, strained state. You merely channel all your energy into keeping the hunters from ganging up on you and Frank, while Frank unleashes his rage in a maelstrom of guttural screams, bone-crushing punches, and sprays of enemy blood.

It’s a mess.

You bat hunter away from Frank with a burst of wind –then let out a scream when another hunter slams into you, forcibly shoving you away from Frank and against a thick tree trunk.

The hunter growls under his breath and unsheathes a massive knife, angling it at your face. “Mutant bitch.”

You grunt as you flinch away from the swing of the blade, heart hammering as he embeds the knife into the trunk of the tree. You use the opportunity to knee him in the gut –then let out a shout of pain when he slams your head against the tree.

“Told me you were X-Men,” the hunter says, pressing his hand against your throat and pushing against your neck while you thrash and struggle. “Told me you’d be a challenge. None of you mutant bastards have even been remotely interesting to kill.”

You let out a raspy gurgle as your pulse pounds in your ears, then focus your powers on expanding the man’s lungs past capacity as quickly as you can.

The hunter jerks, makes a horrific choking noise, then collapses to the ground in a heap as blood trickles out of his mouth.

You stumble forward, almost tripping over the body, gasping and coughing. You brace your hands on your knees, trying to stay steady as your vision clears and your hearing goes back to normal—

And then you hear the sounds of Frank struggling to fend off the last hunter, who’s got him pinned behind a tree and keeps advancing on him whilst firing his rifle.

You grit your teeth, then let out a guttural scream as you aim a blast of wind at the hunter.

The man slams through a nearby tree, shearing the trunk half before bouncing along the ground like a ragdoll.

There’s a beat of silence, then Frank pops out from behind the tree, looking a little startled. “You okay?”

You nod, panting, and wave a hand dismissively. “Yeah. Lets get out of here before anyone else finds us.”

***

The two of you find the stream right as the lights are switched off for the night.

You sigh heavily and drop down onto the ground. “Well, at least we can focus on finding the wall tomorrow.”

Frank grunts in agreement as he settles next to you, then briefly flicks on one of the flashlights as he rifles through the pack. “Here.” He hands you a ration packet and a bottle of water. “Need to stay fueled up.”

You shiver as another wave of pins and needles sweeps through your body and groan. “No. I don’t think I could even keep it down.”

“You need to eat.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that I feel sick.” You shiver again, then curl into a ball as best you can. “And cold.”

Frank goes quiet for a minute, simply observing you, then sits back against the base of a thick tree trunk and motions for you to join him. “C’mere.”

“What?”

“You need to stay warm. Sharing body heat is the best way we have to do that.”

“This sounds like the start of a smut fic,” you mutter dubiously.

“You sound like fucking Wilson,” Frank grumbles under his breath before motioning for you to join him more insistently. “Come on. Not like I’m gonna do anything. I’m just looking to keep you warm, s’all.”

And even though it’s weird –and, in another universe, one hundred percent the start of a smut fic—you trust Frank not to do anything. And, moreover, you want to be warm.

You crawl over to him and sit between his legs, huddling against Frank’s chest. You nestle closer, shivering. “How are you so warm?”

“Testosterone,” Frank grunts, taking your ration pack and mixing some water in it to start the cooking process. “Higher amounts of testosterone means higher body temp.”

You grit your teeth as you shudder. “That sounds like cheating.”

“Probably is,” Frank agrees mildly, mixing your ration pack around with a fork –because the “high end hunters” kept actual silverware on them, for some reason—before handing it over to you. “Alright, try to get most of this down.”

You grimace and shake your head. “No. I just wanna sleep.”

“C’mon,” Frank encourages you, pressing the ration packet into your hands. “Wilson yammers almost nonstop about your guy, including his whole thing about ‘eating balanced meals’ and whatever the fuck. He’d want you to eat.”

You grumble to yourself as you reluctantly scoop some of the contents of the ration packet –which looks like a jambalaya rice mixture—onto your fork. “That’s a cheap move and you know it.”

“If it works, it works,” Frank says with a shrug.

…

Progress the next day is painfully slow. Your body hurts from sleeping on the ground and the withdrawals, you’re exhausted, and you feel sicker than a dog. You trudge along, stopping every few meters to catch your breath or double over from pain, nausea, or some inhumane combination of both.

Frank is markedly patient with you. He keeps an eye out for any sign of danger while the two of you trail along the stream, encourages you by picking out little landmarks –usually fallen logs or rocks—and challenging you to make it to them, and handles keeping track of when to eat and drink.

You’re getting the sneaking suspicion that you’re dead weight –though that could just be the increasing paranoia caused by the medication withdrawals.

Frank seems to think so, too, because he’s adamant about sticking with you when you suggest he go ahead and find the wall. “Not gonna happen,” he says, voice firm. “I’m not leaving you out here like this. We’re sticking together, and that’s the end of it.”

You nod, too tired to argue, then offer up a weak smile. “Besides, Wade would kick the shit out of you if you abandoned me.”

Frank huffs and nods while scanning the route ahead. “You’re right about that. Not to mention your dad and your husband.”

“Piotr’s not a violent person.”

“Pretty sure he wouldn’t hesitate to slam me around if I left you out here while you’re like this,” Frank insists before nodding at a bend in the stream. “Let’s reach that curve, then you can sit and rest for a bit. Sound good?”

You nod wearily and press on. “Good as it’s gonna get right now.”

…

You crumple to the ground when the overhead lights switch off. “Thank Cthulhu.”

“Don’t sound too excited,” Frank snorts as he settles down next to you. He rummages through the pack, then offers you some water and another ration pack. “Here. Eat.”

“No,” you groan, turning away and curling into a ball. “I’m gonna puke up whatever I eat. I’ll just go without tonight.”

“You need to eat.”

“We have limited food supplies,” you fire back, voice heated, “and we are not going to waste them by just having me throw them back up. I’m not eating.”

“Not eating is going to cause more problems than eating,” Frank argues. He switches out the ration pack for a granola bar, then forcibly shoves it in your hands. “Eat. Or, so fucking help me, I’m feeding it to you.”

You sit up with an irritated huff –then let out a cry of dismay when a fallen branch rips your jacket. “Fucking… stupid fucking piece of shit branch –get the fuck off of me!” You whip it away from you—

And it bounces off something a few feet away with a metallic thud.

You and Frank both go stock still.

“Is that—” you whisper, scarcely daring to be hopeful at this point.

“Stay down,” Frank growls under his breath as he scrambles for the night vision goggles. He scans the area, then whispers, “No one’s nearby as far as I can see.”

You suck in a breath and flip on a flashlight—

And, less twenty feet away from you, is a wall.

“We made it,” you breathe, barely able to believe it.

“We still need to find a door,” Frank points out.

“Well, it’s supposed to be to the right, right? I can hop us over the stream, and then we can find the door, break in, and maybe sleep somewhere that isn’t the ground.”

Frank hesitates for a moment, then whips a wild glance over his shoulder when the sound of gunfire and more screaming emanate from the distance. “Fuck it.” He slings the pack over his shoulder and shoves himself to his feet. “Let’s go.”

***

Finding the door is markedly easier than finding the stream or the wall. You get you and Frank over the stream, then the two of you follow the wall until you reach a metal door with an electronic scanner that strongly resembles the keycard mechanisms on hotel doors next to it.

“Maybe there’s a keycard in the pack,” you suggest, voice hushed. “Or something similar that’ll let us in.”

A quick search of the pack does indeed yield a keycard that looks like it’ll fit the scanner –and, from there, you and Frank make a plan for entry.

“You swipe the card, and if the door opens, you stay behind me while I clear everything,” Frank says, tone brokering no room for argumentation.

You nod, then tuck yourself against the wall before swiping the card in the key slot.

The door swishes open, revealing an empty hallway.

Frank does a quick scan, gun aimed and ready, then nods for you to follow him.

***

It doesn’t take long to clear the base connected to the hunting grounds. There’s only a handful of people in there –a couple of guards, another hunting party hanging out in a luxury lounge area while they chat and compare trophies taken off the victims, and a couple of men watching cameras that overlook the outside of the complex –which, by in large, looks like a barren field—and a GPS scanner that covers the hunting arena.

Frank slaughters everyone there without hesitation or mercy, then piles the bodies in one of the opulent suites built into the complex. His lip curls into a sneer as he eyes the place, clearly designed for luxurious, top end comfort and relaxation. “This place is fucking disgusting.”

“If it’s any comfort, I’m pretty sure Wade will help you burn it once everyone comes and picks us up,” you mutter, shivering slightly. “Can I sit down now?”

***

Frank manages to get word out to one of his friends –a “tech spook,” as Frank describes him—who then gets word to the X-Men, who then relays a message that the X-Men are on their way to rescue you and Frank. The only thing the two of you have to do in the meantime is sit tight.

Things are markedly quieter, now. There’s a few more rounds of gunfire as Frank finishes off the last of the hunters attempting to reenter the complex attached to the forested arena, but other than that things are deathly silent.

You feel markedly better once you take a long, hot shower and change into some clean clothes, poached out of one of the dead hunter’s closet. That, plus some decent food that you found in the lounge kitchen, has you feeling miles better than you have over the past few days.

You look up from where you’ve been watching the camera bank, perched on one of the chairs, when Frank walks in from his shower. “Everything’s been quiet.”

He nods, scanning the cameras before plopping down in the seat next to you. Should probably hole up in here. Door’s reinforced, and it’s not likely anyone would think to look in here.”

“I don’t think there’s anyone left,” you say. “There aren’t any other GPS trackers in the arena, and you already cleared the complex.”

Frank simply shoots you a look before going back to watching the screens. “Your people should be here in a little over ten hours. They’ll get us back to New York.”

“I take it we’re not in America anymore?”

Frank shakes his head. “Siberia, according to Lieberman. One of the few places you could hide something like this. Right in your guy’s territory, if I’m not mistaken.”

“I mean, Piotr’s dad has a farm in Siberia, but I’m pretty sure he would’ve tipped us off if this was anywhere near him.” You smile as you think of your husband, then look over at Frank once more. “You looking forward to getting out here?”

“Pretty much anywhere’s better than this shithole.”

“I meant more as it relates to seeing Karen—”

“For the love of Christ, will you fucking drop it?” Frank groans, running his hands through his hair in frustration. “There’s nothing to relate it to! Karen and I are not a thing.”

“Bullshit!” you fire back, swiveling your chair so you’re facing him. You cross your arms over your chest. “Even if you two aren’t an official ‘thing,’ you love her, and you know she loves you.”

“We—”

“Look me in the eye, Frank,” you challenge, staring him down. “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love Karen.”

Frank stares at you for a moment, licking at his lower lip nervously, then sighs heavily and hangs his head. “I love her. I’ll always love her. But we can’t –we cannot—be a thing.”

“Why not? And don’t tell me it’s about keeping her safe,” you snap, pointing at him. “We both know –along with everyone else in the state of New York—that Karen Page does just fine all on her own at being a colossal shit magnet. She’s built her whole career off it. So don’t fucking sell me some sort of line about ‘keeping her safe,’ because the actual chances are she’d be a lot safer if you were always close by to watch her back.”

Frank’s jaw works, and his finger taps against his thigh. “Look, Karen… Karen’s good. She… she deserves better than someone like me. She deserves someone who can give her the whole fairytale ending, y’know? Two story house, picket fence, couple of dogs… a comfortable life. I can’t ever give that to her. I’m not going to just take her future away from her. I’d rather get shot in the head again than do that.”

“Let me ask you a very fair question,” you say, cocking your head to the side and raising an eyebrow. “Have you actually asked Karen what kind of future she wants?”

Frank’s gaze darts to the floor sheepishly. “Don’t matter. I’m not putting her at risk.”

“The fuck it doesn’t matter, you misogynistic shit goblin!” you shout, lurching up out of your chair. “You can’t just make decisions for Karen without even consulting her about what you want. Look, you either love her and want to be with her for who she is, or you’re in love with this tortured ‘will-it-won’t-it’ scenario and keep stringing her along because you like the attention but don’t want the commitment.”

“You fucking –you fucking think that I would do that to Karen?” Frank roars, shoving his chair back so hard it topples over. “That what you fucking think of me? That I’m some –some fucking player who wants some pretty woman’s attention, so I’ll –I’ll just string her along! Tease her with the idea of some sort of future that’ll never be fulfilled! Is that the kind of person you think I am?”

“I think you’re a guy with his head wedged so far up his own asshole that he’s forgotten that there’s another person in this situation and that you’re hurting her,” you fire back, voice going gravelly. “If you’re so dead set on not putting Karen in danger and not having her be connected to you, then just cut her out and call it good so she can move on with her own life.”

“You think I haven’t tried?” Frank’s expression crumples, and he sags against the desk positioned in front of the camera display screens, borderline lifeless. “I have. I thought it… that it was the best option. For –for both of us. And then I come back and I find out that she had to fight an entire war practically on her own and… and I wasn’t there to help. So I decided to stay, decided to stick around and make sure nothing like that happened again, but…”

“You can’t do love by halves,” you surmise.

Frank shakes his head, shoulders sagging. “You can’t. I can’t.”

“So why not just make things official and take things as they come. If you’re protecting her, then she’s still connected to you. May as well get something more out of the arrangement –for both of you.”

Frank growls and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Chrissakes, will you just drop it already?”

“I talk to Wade Wilson for fun and my daily job involves managing and teaching teenagers,” you fire back, placing your hands on your hips. “I can argue circles around you, Castle, even on my off days.”

Frank shoots you an irritated glare. “So –what—I just… I just act like a selfish asshole and—and sweep her off her feet and stay in her life properly?”

“If that’s what she wants, then yeah. Enough with the self-flagellation, Castle, sheesh. We’ve all got our selfish points.”

“Not like this,” Frank insists. “Not like me.”

“Bullshit,” you fire back. “Plenty of us have dark shit in our past and present. That doesn’t stop us from living the lives we want as best we can.”

“You’re not a killer—”

You frown severely. “The fuck I’m not!”

Frank alters course without missing a beat. “What happened to you as a kid isn’t even remotely the same thing—”

“I’ve killed people since then,” you interject hotly, which shuts Frank up. “I went to a murder shack out in Harmony –anti-mutant community, I’ll explain more later—and killed twenty people to steal some repression serum. I don’t care what kind of arguments you make about the trauma that lead me to do that, about the quality of people they were, or whatever the fuck else! Point still stands: I chose to kill people. I still choose to associate with people who kill people. And, for whatever reason, the universe hasn’t chosen to smite me for it. So, I’m going to live the life I want for as long as I can, and anyone who doesn’t like it can go suck my dick.”

The corner of Frank’s mouth quirks up. “Most people don’t go around admitting stuff like that to me.”

You roll your eyes. “Look, I’m sorry if I’m bursting any bubbles of masculinity here, but I could beat you in a fight, easy.”

“Is that so?” Frank asks, brows raising towards his hairline as he chuckles.

“I could make your lungs explode or throw you against a wall so hard you turn into human Jello. Unless you got the jump on me with a gun, it wouldn’t even be a contest.”

Frank shrugs while chuckling. “Yeah, probably. You’re a tough bird, that’s for sure.” He sobers quickly, finger tapping against his thigh in a steady, quick rhythm. “Look, I –I hear what you’re saying. ‘Bout me and Karen. I really do. I just… I can’t lose anyone close to me again. I can’t.”

“I get that.”

Frank pins you with a sharp, intense look. “Do you?”

“Frank, I’m a mutant,” you say tiredly. “I have to register as a mutant by law, and I –and my loved ones—could be rounded up and detained any day. I work with the X-Men, which includes the risk of any of us not coming back from a mission. I may not understand what you went through specifically with your family, but not wanting to lose someone close to you when there’s a daily risk? Yeah, I get that.” You shrug. “Personally, I think it’s better to life happily, even if for a short amount of time, than be miserable forever.”

Frank swallows hard, then starts poking around with the equipment hooked up to the screens and cameras. “Go get some rest. I’ll keep an eye on things.”

It’s an obvious deflection tactic, but you’re too tired to argue right now. You yawn, then head out the door. “Scream if you need me.”

Frank snorts. “Will do, Rasputin.”

You smile at the inclusion of your new last name, then pad off in search of a comfortable place to sleep.

***

By the time the sun properly rises for the day, one of the X-Jets finally touches down next to the complex entryway.

Most people wouldn’t think that someone as big as your husband would be particularly quick or nimble –especially when armored up—but he manages just that as he rushes down the loading ramp and over to you. He lifts you up into his arms –ever mindful of his added strength and, ah, firmness of his armor—then carefully sets you down and looks you over for any signs of damage or illness.

“I’m okay.” You shudder when another wave of pins and needles sweeps through you, then offer your husband a reassuring smile. “I just need my meds and some sleep.”

Piotr nods, then delicately kisses the top of your head. “Let’s go home, myshka.”

You make to follow him to the jet, but stop when you hear a relieved cry of Frank’s name—

And then Karen Page sprints off the X-Jet and into Frank Castle’s arms.

Frank looks shocked to see her but catches her anyway. His eyes dart around wildly for a moment as he holds her close, but then he relaxes into the embrace and lets his eyes shut.

“Man,” Wade says, all suited up, from his vantage point on the loading ramp. “They’ve got it so bad for each other, don’t they?”

You laugh quietly and nod. “Yeah, they really do.”

***

If getting back to the United States takes a long time, being cleared by the medical team at Xavier’s takes even longer. You’re poked, prodded, examined, assessed, and checked on until your head spins.

Fortunately, though, you have Piotr to keep you company throughout all of it. He sits by you for the entire time, dutiful in holding your hand and offering murmured encouragements and affections when needed.

Nathan and Neena also pop in and out during the evaluation –Nathan to ask questions about the hunters, their methods, and the complex, and Neena to make sure that she “rubs some luck on your examination.”

All in all, you’re good.

You look up from talking to Piotr when you hear a loud guffaw of laughter –and then Wade skips into your room.

“Did you really tell the Punisher he was being a ‘misogynistic shit goblin?’”

You grin sheepishly when Piotr makes a choking noise. “In my defense, I was off my medication.”

***

“There have to be more places like them. I seriously doubt the people running that kind of operation would only invest in one location.”

“I suspect you are right, myshka. However, now is not time for thinking of such things. Your job is to rest and recover. Nathan and Wade can handle tracking down mis-doers.”

You can’t help but smiling at the slight mangling of “wrong doers,” and nod. “Yeah. I feel bad for whoever’s running the show. Dad’s gonna put them through a world of hurt.”

You and your lovely husband are walking back to your house, stationed at the back of Xavier’s property. You’d insisted on walking by yourself –and while Piotr had agreed to let you, he still keeps a sharp eye on you for any sign of discomfort, dizziness, fatigue, or pain.

You reach out to pat Piotr’s arm reassuringly –then stop when you spy two certain someones across the lawn. “Well. Would you look at that.”

Frank and Karen are also strolling across the lawn, hand in hand. Frank seems to be talking, head bobbing uncertainly as he keeps an eye on his surroundings, while Karen seems more quiet, more focused on him.

And then Frank stops, finally looks at Karen, and says something that results in her kissing him.

“What is that all about?” Piotr asks, gently tugging you along as Frank slowly wraps his arms around Karen.

You grin, then follow your husband. “That, my dear, is the world as it should be.”

#sass writes #piotr rasputin x reader #colossus x reader #frank castle x karen page #SETTING UP MY OTP #BECAUSE IT'S HOW IT SHOULD BE #tw: violence #tw: gun violence #like i don't think it's the worst or most intense thing ever #but it's there #tw: panic attack #tw: medication withdrawal #this is kind of intense #but there's a sweet dose of fluff at the end i promise #deadpool fanfiction #x men fanfiction

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