#remember to sign up for the taglist if you want to be notified every time i update this fic!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

primofate · 3 years ago

Note

Hi there, can I request the boys seeing you got injured or being attacked, whichever is fine ^^

Hey anon! You didn’t specify how injured but I’ll just run with it hahaha :)

Shortfic

Scenario: You got injured Part 1

Part 2 with Zhongli

Part 3 with Xiao

Characters: gn! reader x Diluc, Kaeya, Albedo, Childe

Warnings: angst, injury, no character death though

Masterlist

https://primofate.tumblr.com/post/653296890583154688/masterlist-for-mobile-version-main-links

Taglist (Want to be notified when something new comes out? Sign up!):

https://forms.gle/VZmJXQssHcv7YzQc6

If you’d like to be extra sweet and donate, here’s my kofi link:

https://ko-fi.com/primofate

Diluc

“Master Diluc, if I could just interrupt--” one of the caretakers in the winery walked up to his office and prepared for the assault of words that could be fired towards him, sure enough, Diluc interrupted. “What is it? I’m a little busy right now, make it quick,” he hadn’t turned his face to look at the grim expression weaving in and out through the caretaker. Hadn’t bothered to look up to check if there was anything amiss, but the caretaker continued quickly “It’s Y/N,” the caretaker had only paused for a moment but Diluc had already picked his head up at the mention of your name. It was here that he realises something must have gone wrong, the caretaker’s expression was not a pleasant one. He was up on his feet, eyes widening a fraction at the following words, “They came back to the mansion seconds ago and they’ve been injured past what Adelinde could fix so we called for a doctor—”

In Diluc’s hurry he had stumbled over his chair, it tripping behind him with a thud on the floor but he ignored it and fast runs towards your room. Dear Archons he should NOT have let you go on that commission by yourself. You could hold your own, yes, but things happened and he really should have thought that through first. He was berating himself for it as he swung the door open. “Y/N?!”

The urgency in his voice tells you that he perhaps had the wrong idea of what was happening, it was really just a gash on your leg, although it was bleeding profusely, the cut must have been deeper than you thought. The maid had already placed a tourniquet to stop and slow the bleeding. You tried not to show it in your face, not wanting to alarm your lover any further, but it. hurt. like. hell. “Diluc, I’m fine, it’s just a gash,”

The maid that was previously sitting on the chair next to your bed moves away, Diluc replacing her, his eyes didn’t tear away from the wound on your leg, his expression contorted to that of worry and nervousness, before finally turning to your face, reaching a hand out to cradle your cheek. “Stop lying. You’re pale, you’re sweating--” of course he sees through you, he knows the second you get upset, knows every crease on your forehead and every slight furrow of the brow. He had memorized every inch of his beautiful, beautiful treasure. “Your hands are trembling, you’ve lost too much blood, where’s the doctor?!” He grips your hand at the realization that you might actually be in a more dire situation than presented, and just on cue the doctor comes through the door, asking for some time alone with you to do his job.

Diluc paces outside the door, unable to stay in one place for long. He kept thinking about how frail you looked. How, if you were unlucky, it wouldn’t have just been your leg. He shook his head at the thought. He didn’t know how he was going to let you out of his sight from then on. He knew full well it would annoy you to have him following you around everywhere but.... How could he not after this?

The doctor emerged half an hour later and explained that you just needed a bit of rest and that, with a little healing magic, you didn’t need the stitches at all. “Don’t let them use that leg for a day and they should be fine, it’s nothing life-threatening but they did lose a lot of blood and is going to need time to recuperate. They’re asleep at the moment,”

Diluc takes note of everything and quietly slips into your room. They must have sedated you in the process and he sighs as he plops down on the chair that was still placed next to your bed. His eyes soften at the sight of you finally relaxed and less in pain, hand reaching out to brush off strands of stray hair that blocked his view of your face. “You’re the only one who can scare me this much,” he mutters under his breath, as if complaining and he swears that he sees a very small and light grin on your face, as if teasing him. He smiles a little, just happy that you’re stabilized and leans in to kiss your forehead, opting to stay by your side till you wake up.

----------

Kaeya

“What do you mean unconscious?”

“J-Just as we said, Captain. They were unconscious when we found them,” Kaeya sighs in slight exasperation. Normally he was a jolly camper but when the knight in front of him is unable to say how injured you are, Kaeya gets a little wordy. “I meant to say why were they unconscious? Were they hurt? Where are they now?”

Kaeya stands. He was in the middle of some Favonius paper work. “They were bleeding profusely from the head,” Kaeya stops as if lightning has struck him and stares pointedly at the knight. “These details should be said early on,” he thought that it had just been something less threatening. Perhaps you had somehow passed out, exhausted, on your bedroom floor. Or perhaps had just rolled from the bed and onto the floor. They said that they found you in the bedroom, and his blood froze when he realizes that someone went in there to attack you.

Kaeya doesn’t bother talking the other knight into giving better reports next time, he’d do that later. He could guess that you were probably taken into the Favonius infirmary. Sure enough, when he walks in there, face scrunched up into what could only be described as worry and anger mingling together, you were awake, head bandaged up and your eyes meet. His heart breaks at how you still smile at him despite the fact that he wasn’t there to protect you. He stands next to the infirmary bed and gingerly touches your cheek, peering into your eyes. “Y/N, what happened?” he asks, eyes scanning the bandages wrapped around you. “Who did this?” and there was that angry and cold undertone in his voice that you rarely heard, as if his cryo vision had taken over his whole being.

“I’m sorry, Kaeya, I-- I can’t quite remember,” You put a hand up to cover half of your eye, your head was still throbbing and in quick realization Kaeya eases up on you and gently pushes you on your back to rest. “It’s fine, sorry, I just--” he cuts his own speech off and takes a deep breath in. Focus on the good. He tells himself. “I’m glad you’re alright, take it easy, I’ll take care of things,” By that he means he might just slaughter whoever even had the guts to break into your house and attack you in the middle of the day. The break-in was reported by townspeople, and Kaeya was sure as hell he’d get every witness to describe that asshole’s face.

“You’re staying with me for the moment,” he decides quite quickly, and you had no qualms with that whatsoever. Hearing that you had no protest at all, he grins and leans down to capture your lips in a soft kiss, afraid to hurt you. “No complaints? Perhaps this was your grand scheme all along to come live with me,” You can’t help but chuckle at how quick he bounces back. “Maybe, honey. Maybe,”

----------

Albedo

“Ow--” the knife clatters to the floor, as blood starts to pool around your finger. Albedo spins around at the meek sound you make, ignoring the knife on the floor and strides over to you just as you’ve turned on the sink and started running water on the small cut on your finger.

“Let me see,” You turn to him, blinking. His face was blank. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking but he was staring straight at you. “Oh, don’t worry, it’s just a small cut,” but he doesn’t waver and glances at the water running over your finger. “Let me see,” he tries again, this time rather forceful. That got you to obey. Turning the faucet off and awkwardly offering your hand to him.

He receives it and cradles it in his as if it was porcelain, upturning your hand to look at the small cut on your pointer finger. It was tiny. Really nothing compared to wounds that a knight might sustain. Albedo sighs and looks up at you, “Don’t go anywhere,” before stalking off, coming back a few seconds later with a first aid kit. “...Al, it’s alright, it’s not a big deal,” Albedo would only let one person give him a nickname. You. No one else. Frankly he thought the nickname was weird but if it danced on your lips, he didn’t mind it at all.

“Y/N, you’re mistaken if you think I’m going to take this lightly,” he takes out some ointment and a small roll of bandage, starting with the ointment. “Everything and anything that hurts you is a significant thing,” his gaze darkens, as if glowering at that microscopic cut. “Miniscule or massive, it doesn’t make a difference to me,” he starts wrapping your finger, “if it taints your skin, I cannot help but feel--” he doesn’t know the right word, but you do, judging from how his hold on your wrist tightens.

A soft smile paints your features at how he was such a worry-wart. Sometimes he was so bad at navigating his own feelings but you could decipher them anyway, from his actions. You let him worry over you, and thank him once he’s done. He finishes his work by taking your hand, and pressing it to his lips, his eyes darting up to lock on yours. That made you blush every damn time. His green eyes were just so mesmerizing, and so was his heart.

----------

Childe

Dear mother of the Archons, perhaps whoever was responsible for your injuries had some type of death wish. Everyone should offer prayers for whoever had cut you up. Your arms and legs were littered with small scratches from trying to run away from the attackers, you thought going through the thick forest was a good idea. In essence, it had slowed the thieves down. They had managed to throw a fire bomb at you that severely burned your right hand, and the right side of your abdomen.

Perhaps it was thanks to adrenaline running through you that you had actually managed to make it to the gates of Liyue, just before the bridge, but you’d crumpled down right then and there. The Millelith guards didn’t recognize you, but the three Fatui agents walking on the bridge did. “Someone had better tell him,” The group of Fatuis scrambled nearer to you, one of them picking you up, but glancing at the other who had just spoken up. “I’m not doing that, you do it,” it was slightly comical, seeing them pass off the duty of who was supposed to report to Childe about it. “You know how he gets when it comes to them, I’m not doing--” then one of them finally gets their bearings together.

“Shut up, get them to the healer first,” The tallest one shoves the one carrying you, urging him to go fast and off he went. Now it was just two Fatui agents looking at each other. Two Fatui agents who decided that they would just face his wrath together. “Sir,” one of them starts as Childe turns around to look at them. He actually had no tasks today and was just about to go off to find you. “About Y/N...” Childe’s eyebrows shoot up, what in the world could these agents have to say about you? “We’ve sent them to the healers, they collapsed at the entrance of Liyue, it... doesn’t look good...”

All hell descends upon Childe’s demeanor and poise. His face darkens, his eyes burning holes through the two agents and his fists closed up on his side. His bow appears and hovers behind him, the only thing that shone through his dark person. “The two of you--” he starts, “are going to find out who did it. I’m expecting a report by nightfall,”

Childe himself shows up at the healers quarters, and was told of your condition. “Their hand is going to scar,” keeps reverberating in his head. Like the sound that he imagines the skulls of those who dared touch you crunching under his feet, over and over again. Childe actually winces when he sees you. Small bandages on your arms and legs from the scratches, your right hand wrapped up adequately and, he couldn’t see it now, but he was sure your abdomen was wrapped too.

You cracked an eye open, feeling another presence in the room. Childe immediately appears next to you, leaning over the bed and watching your expression. “...It hurts, doesn’t it?” he asks, tracing over your bandaged hand. You remained quiet for a moment before nodding your head slowly. Just remembering it caused a blinding pain in your mind’s eye. You’d been given drugs to ease the pain now, but there were still traces of it lingering on your skin. “How dare they,” both your eyes snapped open at Childe’s nearly contorted voice, shadowed and overpowered by rage.

You pick up your good hand and touch his arm with the tips of your fingers. You didn’t like it when he got like this. “Childe, it’s alright,” far from it, but it was the only reassurance you could offer. He catches your hand and brings it up to his face, pressing your hand to his cheek as if it was a lifeline. “It’s not. It’s not,” he repeats to himself, his anger also stemming from the fact that he wasn’t there to protect you. “They’ll regret even laying eyes on you,” You knew he wanted to go now, knew that he wanted to get to the bottom of it, but you yet again pull your hand away to grasp at his shirt, the fabric scrunching up under your hold. “...But stay with me for tonight? Please?”

That got him. He would never say no. His form relaxes and he leans in to kiss your lips, gentle yet with a hidden hunger in them. “Of course,” he simply says, as if his previous agenda forgotten.

But he would never forget. He would never forget for as long as he could see that scar.

Tomorrow, he would decimate each and every one of them.

5K notes · View notes

soothinglee · 4 years ago

Text

Home.

𝗔𝗹𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗮𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘆

𝗗𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗺 𝗦𝗺𝗽 𝘅 𝘁𝗲𝗲𝗻!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

𝗧𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗮 𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗽! 𝗧𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗼𝗻𝗶𝗰!

Warnings: None

!Im not sure if 100% of this is correct, If you want to shift do not go by the directions that I write in the chapter, seek professional websites or amino to get information on how to shift!

~1~

Also, shameless self plug on the twitch notifies! My twitch is the bottom user >_< but! You do not have to follow me! You can simply read!

Enjoy!

Once you got home all you wanted to do was sleep. Sleep your life away but thats not going to slove any problems. You throw the beige colored backpack across the room and slam into your chair. The parents weren't home today seeing as they were on a business trip for the next week so your were alone.

Great.

Shrugging off your coat you twist the cap to your water bottle off and take a big gulp as you sign onto your desktop computer and log onto twitch.

A bar pops up.

FOLLOWED CHANNELS:

➢TubboLive

➢RanbooLive

➢Tommyinnit

➢Jagger_Swag

➢Earthtopoc

You grin and immediately join Tubbos stream. As the screen loads a ad for Coke pops up giving you time to be distracted and to pull out your journal. Reaching across the table you fish for a pen and pop the cap. Tubbos voice fills the air.

"Hi chat! How are you guys doing today!" He grins, waving both hands like a maniac but the sound of happiness in his voice is prominent. Your quick to drop everything to put 'Amazing!'.

He giggles and opens up the DreamSmp where he stands in Snowchester by the mansion. You continue doing what you were doing.

A couple of weeks ago you saw some people talking about 'shifting' on Tik Tok. It seemed instersting to say the least. You saw that it was like dreaming only it felt real. So, you decide to give it a try. Thats why at this moment you had a notebook and a pen writing your 'script'.

"At this point," you mumble "I'll take anything to get away from here."

The first thing you do is write your name and features. All things you remember the video said to do.

Name: Y/N Y/L

Age: (Y/A)

Birthday: (Y/BD)

Height:...-

oh-.. when was the last time you got measured?

'It doesn't feel like I've grown anymore since the last check-up' you think 'I'll just put I'm (Y/H)'

Tubbos laugher is soft in the background as you focus on filling out everything else. Not bothering to make it look fancy, you finish up the affirmations section and finish up. All you had to do was prepare to shift to the DreamSmp.

It was like a comfort place. Every-time you felt stressed you'd watch your streamers play as a way to feel relaxed.

"Haven't felt that in-ages" You retort ripping out the few pages and placing it under your pillow. You'd be trying the pillow method. As easy as it seems. Placing it under your pillow, visualize your DR, say affrimations and bam-your shifting to your DR. The problem is- you have to believe. Which isn't easy because you have a hard time believing.

"Guess I just gotta try harder" You stand up to stretch, limbs on fire after sitting for 4..- 4 hours?! You huff out a grunt while restlessly walking to your bathroom door. The knob cold in your hand. It wouldn't hurt to shower before going. Don't wanna meet them while smelling like trash and sweat.

20 minutes later you walk out smelling like a flower garden. Breath smelling like mint after debating with yourself if brushing your teeth would increase the chances of shifting. You didn't know but did it anyway.

Tubbos stream now off but the screen emitted Green, Black and Red colors. He must have raided Ranboo and your computer automatically decided to join the raid.

You laugh lightly "Nice." and opt for a large gray shirt with the words 'Orlando Florida' In fancy font and basketball shorts thats also a little too big.

You don't brother watching Ranboos streaming, closing out of it and turn the computer off.

'I feel like I just committed a crime' you sigh and close the bedroom door not bothering to make sure if the front door is locked.

It is. Plus if it wasn't its not like anybody would come in and rob you. You practically live in the safest neighborhood of (Y/S).

Sliding into bed, you reach over and feel for the lamps on/off button. After a minute of poking and prodding you find it and push down with a click. The only light source in the room now was the window which was half closed emitting car headlights and the Green,Yellow,Red light coming from the Traffic lights.

You lay on your back and breathe. The video said something about counting? 0-100 you recall. Reaching a hand behind you, you make sure that the script is under your pillow. Reaching back around you lay both arms and legs away from your body and count.

1..

2..

3..

4..

then you start the affirmations after you count to 50.

'Your halfway there Y/N...' A voice floats around in your head but you pay no mind. Why does it sound so Familiar? You continue counting.

51..

52..

53..

'You got this!' Another voice cheers and a wave of goosebumps fill your arms as you shiver. Although..no windows nor a breeze goes through your room.

"I will shift!" You cry and your body begins feel light weight. All of a sudden-

'Welcome Y/N,' A figure calls from the dark

'Welcome home'

TAGLIST!:

@kusuinko

@teenage0jealousy

#dreamsmp x reader #wilbur x reader #Shifting #Dream x reader #Georgenotfound x reader #Teen!reader #Streaming #Arsonisago #Quackity #Wilbur soot #tommyinnit #Tubbo #Ranboo #DR

156 notes · View notes

coraxaviary · 4 years ago

Text

Never Done

EUGENE SLEDGE X READER

Preface: My first Pacific thing! More notes at the end.

Summary: There is a bomb and then they say there is peace. You do not feel it.

Word Count: 3.4K

Warnings: Canon-typical profanity. Depictions of major character death (kinda).

Taglist: @keoghans @papercinders @junojelli @notmykirk (ask to be added; please notify me if you prefer to be taken off the x reader taglist)

He repeats it, but you don’t react as he expects you to. All the other men positively erupt, but you can’t do anything except clench your teeth, rock back and forth, and try to quell the stinging of the tears that are springing up unbidden in your eyes.

You feel a tear slide down your cheek, and you swipe it away roughly. They are tears of shock – the type that spring forth when artillery is so bright the night flashes a phosphorus white and your retinas feel positively sandblasted.

It can’t be done. It can’t be over. Of course it isn’t over – these Japanese are gonna fight until the very last man. The very last woman. The last child, in the street, you suppose, if it comes down to it. Victory means the eradication of every single one of those goddamn Orientals, and you intend to finish the job.

Instead of dropping your rifle, your grip tightens around the barrel, and you are momentarily steadied by the solid metal and wood of the thing – this weapon, this machine, that has followed you throughout your entire godforsaken three-year stint in the mud and mosquitoes. Wading through the corpses and the bloody waters – thickened with suffocating rot and guts spilling out and shells scattering deadly and bright overhead with a noise that could deafen.

It’s not over; of course it’s not. As long as there are still people on that island, the war is not over.

You grip the rifle tight, and you can’t say anything, except you absently hear this kind of keening animal-ish noise, until there’s a hand on your back and a voice telling you to calm down. The hand moves in slow circle and the unpleasant sound stops, and you close your own mouth, and there are sobs ripping from your chest and you are shaking your head no in disbelief.

You are shaking so badly that you can see the tremors in your own hands even though they’re tight around the gun.

“Easy,” says a gentle voice.

You do not give in to whatever is easy, but you do recognize that someone is trying to calm you down. It’s a bit like stroking a dog, whenever someone from the company tried it before, and then after Peleliu it eventually evolved into a “shut up” and ultimately hands closing around your throat if a dream turns out too loud.

This one is not a stranglehold. It comes to rest very lightly on your shoulder. You are crying in earnest now, and the surrounding universe fades away until all you can feel is the disbelief. And then the injustice. The countless bodies littering the shore after every beachhead invasion; the bodies forgotten facedown in the endless jungles; the mutilated, tortured corpses left behind by the Japanese; the ones who are missing a leg or an arm or a couple of fingers; the ones with no more sanity left to spend in the civilian world. The ones with soul torn out of their bodies too soon, bullets puncturing flesh and releasing sprays of lifeblood. And just like that, they bleed out and pile on top of the others, dying in dust.

Returning to the earth, just as Adam was raised from it.

You wish you could dig all of them up with your hands, grasp their souls and drag them back to solid ground with sheer willpower, clutch their faces between your palms and tell them it’s over, and it almost occurs to you to crouch down and start scratching at the ground before you are yanked back to reality.

Were they all for naught? For the Japanese to just surrender? It was that easy. Just issue an announcement.

Too soon and too rough.

“What’s after this, huh?”

You don’t answer. Burgie won’t mind. His boots – all you can see of him – retreat a few moments later when your mouth opens in a silent, agonized scream and another sob rips forth. You fold yourself over your rifle where you are sitting on the ground, and you crumple inwards, holding your head between your hands.

Sledge keeps rubbing you on the back until you relax halfway. And then he sits back, languidly packs the pipe with that routine normalcy, and smokes it. You appreciate the presence. It’s comforting. And he doesn’t ask anything or say anything – he just sits.

Maybe, you think, as you regard him secretly when he’s looking out over the water, he is considering what he’s going to do when he gets home.

Maybe, like you, he just doesn’t want to face it. You have no idea. He’s different like everyone else, including you. Two years ago, you might’ve been overcome with joy.

Now, sudden changes make you grim. No matter if it’s moving out to retake an airfield or a declaration of the surrender of the Empire of Japan.

–

You are correct. It is not over. In fact, it’s far from over, you realize, standing an entire year later in the back of a transport vehicle as it roars and revs through the Chinese country. You sit back down, jam the rifle between your legs, and try to get some sleep. It doesn’t come, though, no matter how hard you try.

It’s the trouble with sleep. It doesn’t come when called. Instead, it becomes increasingly evasive.

Sleep becomes an elusive figure in the night, and a spectre burning off with the morning overcast in the day. You can only get some if your body has to beg for it, and so you work yourself to the bone with pointless tasks while all the other Marines kick back and mess around in the city.

Sledge looks at you from his seat beside you, and his elbow brushes against your arm every time the truck hits a rut. It’s almost like looking at an entirely different person from the one you met at the beginning of the war. He doesn’t smile now. When he laughs, it’s harsh and sardonic. It’s a little like you, but it was just more dramatic seeing him change. He’d been an optimistic one once. But like everyone else, he’d gotten his insides chewed up and spat out. He was absent at times.

He is absent now, and it’s not a bad thing, necessarily, to be absent in the peace of Chinese occupation. His eyes are closed and his shirt is flapping in the breeze – instead of being soaked through with sweat and jungle moisture, clinging to his frame. He needs a haircut, you think, as his strands flutter almost delicately off his forehead.

Absence is comforting. You can feel the world gearing back up again – the world-ending possibility of bombs, the liquidity of the international borders, the cold reaching hands of the hard vengeful nation up north. It’s nice to retreat inwards. Forget your duty as a part of the war machine. You signed up for it, after all. Detachment permits you to momentarily separate from the accumulated, crushing thing that is much more than guilt.

Sledge cracks an eye open, squinting into the bright sun, which is a white-hot disk behind heavy fog. He catches you staring, and raises an eyebrow. You’re comfortable enough with him to just shrug and say nothing more, and he leans back against the bar. His head is bouncing slightly off the metal, and it looks far from comfortable, but at least it’s almost like peace.

–

You’ve cleaned your rifle already that day, but your fingers are itching to be occupied again, and you bring out the cleaning supplies and the rifle, nudging snaps apart and prying locks apart. There are worn calluses on the sides of your fingers that have grown there over time. You distantly remember basic training, when you were told your rifle was your life. It ain’t a gun. It’s a rifle, the sergeant had said. You sleep with it, train with it, fight with it.

It has done you well over the three years. You had clutched it to your chest under your soaked poncho, vainly trying to keep it dry as artillery exploded around you in miserable, mud-filled foxholes. You had run with it, crawled through the gritty sand with it under tank fire, scooping dust into the air and down your shirt, leaving a trail of blood that had spattered onto you from someone close by under threat from Japanese bunkers waiting up the hill. It had come with you all the way from the motherland and it was with you on the ships, in the waters, on the islands, in the jungles, and now in the east Asian lands.

China’s foreign, to say the least. Everyone looks different. You are suddenly the foreigner, barraged with foreign sights and sounds and smells whenever you go off-base. You tire of it, eventually, but some of the other men go after the opium, girls, and questionable food. You stay inside, and sometimes – too often – there are empty moments alone in the barracks when you stare out the window, wondering when the pain will bleed away.

In the battlefield, it’s unsafe to have loud and boisterous nightmares. So no one had them. They were suppressed by pure instinct or something deeper. Ingrained fear, you would like to say, but it’s not like the fear ebbs away when the sound of gunshots recedes. You are still fearful. It’s a different kind of fear. A strange one. It smells of the open air and the crashing sea – the sickening, swelling, desert of a sea – and of the infinite blue sky vaulting into the beyond. Cloudless and suffocating in its volume, grandiose and terrifying in its broad might.

But the loud nightmares commence, because the vice-grip of fiery fear has faded away. Arguably, this new void-mouth of time’s progression and the future of the unknown is even worse.

You are back again, standing on the precipice of one of those coral cliffs in Okinawa. The black ones, rough and abrupt; there is nothing and then everything all at once – the shells and the rifle fire and suddenly there are intermittent flashes of light every time they send up another illumination flare, the shadows spreading and turning with each spark of a sensory flood.

There’s a growing presence in the swimming, churning mixture of hypnotic black and white as darkness folds and bright light ignites and dies in the lifespan of a second or three. Time stutters and flies and then turns around on itself. You are back again.

You are back again in the fields of heat and rapturous metal and death. And you are crumpled into a ball behind a jut of coral.

The firefight is deafening, you realize, as you become rooted in the memory. A man from your platoon beside you catches a bullet straight in the helmet, and with a dull metallic ping, he jerks back violently by the neck and then his entire body falls back heavily into the deep, sucking mud with a tremendous splash, without a word or a groan. The only reason you’re sure he’s dead is because of the red spray that almost aerosolizes from the hole in his head as he is hit – a little like a perfume spray, you observe, as you watch him die silently and quickly in the mixture of rainy black silt in a scene that is a dime-a dozen. A few bubbles come up from where his head is submerged, and then nothing. You have more pressing things to be concerned with.

It’s not really clear who the man was, but the replacements cycle so frequently and men are replaced so often that it’s not really a priority to know, and you crunch into a smaller ball around the cold firmness of your rifle – your friend, your wife, your salvation.

When it’s all over, you have a strange urgency grow in the back of your mind. There are still ricocheting bullets in the distance in another part of the battlefield – there is artillery booming and the sound of rocks hitting the ground, and machine-gun fire. But this small section of the area is clear for at least one or two breaths of air, and the luxury of thought and emotion slams back into your body from where it had dissociated during battle, hovering somewhere out of reach in the sky. It’s a soldier’s best friend and their worst enemy. You become suddenly conscious of the body lying in the caking muck.

Their head is buried deep in the brackish soup. It feels almost like confirming reality to check the tags, like somehow knowing the identity of whoever used to reside in this body would make their death official. It’s acknowledgement from the living, you think, as you bend down, reaching under the sodden folds of dungarees to fish around for the tags against the body’s cold, foul chest. If acknowledgement of the living is required to release a soul, you think, maybe there is some reason to slink off and die alone like a wolf.

You catch them between your shaking fingers, and you manage to grip them in your palms, yanking the tags and their chain out from below the dungarees. You blink, trying to force your eyes to readjust to reading the minutiae of the engravings instead of taking in bare images for the purpose of reaction.

You grip the tags in your hand, pulling harder to bring them into the watery marine-fogged light of dawn, the chain probably cutting into the neck of whoever it was hard enough to cause discomfort if they were still alive.

You blink several more times. The tag reads Eugene B. Sledge.

You yank harder on the chain, squinting at the tags in irritation. Of course it wasn’t Sledge. He was one of the eternal living who never seemed liable to death. He wasn’t here at the start of the battle, was he? You didn’t remember him moving to get next to you.

“You’re gonna cut ‘is neck off,” mutters the guy next to you irritatedly, and he smacks your hand to make you let go of the tags. They fall with a jangle, and somehow the light metal tinkle spirals deep into your mind like a key in a lock, and the last dregs of your own self trickle back into place.

“Sledge?” you whisper, staring at the body. Its face is under the mud, so you fall to your knees and plunge your hands in to the wrists, taking hold of the body’s head and wrenching it out of the heaviness of the mire.

“Sledge?” you repeat, not comprehending. You forcefully swipe the grime away, like clearing dirt from a watch or blood from your eyes so you can see.

It’s him, alright, or what used to be him. By now he will be long gone, sailing off to the halls of Valhalla or the gates of hell – wherever they put soldiers, you guess. Wherever they get stored.

Sometimes you wonder if even God knows what to do with soldiers. You are all walking, talking, battered, miserable, and sinful contradictions.

If you were God, you’d give Sledge a place within the golden streets, or the pearly gates or whatever he believed in.

But you are not God, and all you can do is keep wiping water from his face and trembling and staring emptily at his open eyes, where there are bits of soil resting wrongly in them – and why isn’t he clearing them out? Why won’t he blink?

You are not God as sure as the Japanese ain’t human and as sure as Okinawa ain’t home. You’re just a soldier. And you have no control of the fate of the universe, even something so small as one tortured soul and one bullet lodged in a certain, singular brain. It is out of your hands, because you’re a soldier.

–

There is shaking and turmoil, and someone is trying to tear you away from behind.

No, you scream at no one in particular. There are other incoherent sounds coming from your throat, maybe they are words and you don’t really pay attention to that – but you do claw and scratch and fight your way back to the empty vessel wearing Sledge’s tags.

“No, no, no!” you shriek. “Come back!”

The body lies motionless, the sky is gray, and the rain starts up again. The hands around your waist get stronger, and you are being born away – the coral falls away and you are still clawing for the body because it’s him.

You awake fully in a sweating, writhing mess, and the body is there. You scream wildly, pushing him away and kicking at the sheets, and he looks at you with a look that somehow mixes the most extreme inexplicable extent of empathy and helplessness. His eyes are bright and open and very, very blue.

You are panting and shaking violently and you dart nervous eyes to check your surroundings, making sure you didn’t wake anyone. You are not sleeping below an open sky, and there are actual army cots in the room, and they are all empty. The ceiling is wildly and strangely foreign, even if you’ve been in China for a while now.

And he is there, very much alive.

“Sorry,” you choke out uncomprehendingly, wiping an exhausted arm over your damp face. Tears or sweat, you don’t know – maybe a mix. Probably a mix. Sudden shame comes over you as you look at him and realize you probably were bothering whatever attempt he had made at catching some sleep in this typically empty afternoon.

He shakes his head a few times.

“Ain’t got nothing to be sorry for,” he says quietly.

You are still trying to take in the vitality in his face because a moment before you had come to the conclusion that he was dead.

“I get ‘em too,” he says.

“I know,” you get out, and then swallow in reflexive regret. “I- I didn’t mean that you bother–”

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “Best of us, you know.”

All you can do is nod a few times. He’s leaning over the sheets, you realize, in a position he hasn’t changed since you awoke and jerked away, and your eyes trace his arms until you see the deep scratches in his forearms. There is a small amount of blood beading up in some of the streaks.

You look down at your own hands. There is a hint of fresh red staining your nails, and your mouth opens in shock and more shame and regret.

He was trying to wake you up and you had hurt him. You feel his eyes tracing your own hands as he sees you realize what you’ve done.

“It’s okay,” he says. “Don’t hurt none.”

“I’m sorry,” you say again, because there’s nothing more you can think to say. The shame is beginning to get suffocating, and you can’t look him in the eyes, and you stare at the scratches on his arms, looking like they were put there by an animal instead of a human. You’ve never clawed someone before. You’d always had your M-1 to do the hurting for you.

“I’ve felt worse.”

Something about that statement makes you feel suddenly like crying. Because it’s true. Both of you have weathered the worst of humankind. Whoever had coined the term battle angels didn’t know what they were talking about. You both were floating in a purgatory between learned savagery and a desperate impulse to try and shed the violence.

You haven’t shed it yet. You probably would never.

You heave with sobs. He moves his arms around you, and you lose sight of the scratches and are pulled close.

He is alive, and you are, too. It’s over, you realize, with a heavy weight of realization and grief and a guilty gush of relief.

It’s over and you and Gene are alive.

It may never be exactly done for you or for him. But in this moment, you can pretend that someday this hell will fade to a version where you have time occasionally to breathe.

Moments like this, where the only thing in the world is warmth and proximity.

This work previously contained a shortened form of "Japanese" which was intended to communicate cultural (and era) immersion, but my views have now changed and I don't believe hateful speech or slurs has any place in my fics, especially when I never felt right writing them in the first place. As always, I am open to conversation on the subject :)

#the pacific #the pacific fic #the pacific imagine #eugene sledge #eugene sledge x reader #the pacific x reader #reader insert #hbo war #writing

52 notes · View notes

bts-reveries · 5 years ago

Text

page turner | 4

You made your way into the coffee shop 20 minutes before the event was over. You had the chance of meeting your favorite author yesterday, the first day of signing here in Ilsan and here you are again, on the second and last day of signing. This would be the last signing of the last book of the Love Yourself Trilogy. You weren’t about to miss it. Usually, the best things happened on the last day. Maybe he’ll make a speech far different from the other speeches he made in the previous signings. Or maybe he’ll give us a preview on his next book? Either way, if any of those were to happen, you were only going to get the last bit because you woke up late, and took forever to get ready. You weren’t allowing yourself to look bad in front of Kim Namjoon. The literal love of your life.

“Oh, you’re back.” You heard from behind you. You turn to see the tall man you saw yesterday. He had a baby on his hip and he had a cup of hot chocolate in his hand.

“Oh! Hey Taehyung,” you greet. You happened to sit next to him after you met Namjoon yesterday when he signed your copy of Love Yourself Answer. You couldn’t help but gush about Namjoon to him since you had no one else to talk to. He happily listened though. And you couldn’t help but notice how familiar he and the baby he was holding looked.

“What are you doing here again? Didn’t you get your copy signed yesterday?” He asked with a tilt of his head. You laugh nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Yes.. I did, but I just wanted to be here for the last day, you know? And if I was able to get as many chances as I could to see Namjoon again, I’ll happily take it.” Taehyung chuckles.

“You really like him don’t you?” He says.

“Oh? Why did you ask, is it obViouS?” You say sarcastically, looking at him pretending to be confused. Taehyung rolled his eyes slightly at you.

“hAhA, funny. I was just going to say take your shot,” he shrugged.

“... What do you mean?”

“Ask for his number, or ask him out or something.” Your eyes pop out of your head and you lean your head in.

“Woah, woah, woah, buddy. Are you crAzY??” He smiles at you slightly.

“Maybe just a little.” He looks at the baby that’s been staring at you this entire time. “What do you think Moonji? Do you think daddy would say yes to that?” Your eyebrows raise and you close your eyes. D-daddy.. ?

“Daddy..?” You say out loud. Taehyung looks over at you and nods.

“This is Moonji, Namjoon’s daughter.” Your jaw drops and you lift up your hand to cover it. Realization kicking in.

“You’re Namjoon’s best friend, she’s Namjoon’s daughter..” Taehyung nods his head slowly at you. “Oh my gosh, I’m so stupid, why did I not realize that, he literally just posted about you two..” You say slapping your forehead.

“Hey, you guys okay? Event’s ending soon.” You heard a voice say. It was coming closer to you, and you felt the person standing right behind you.

“Hey sweetie, come to daddy?” You heard. Moonji leans forward, arms reaching out when strong hands slipped under her arms and pulled her up. You turn around and you looked straight into someone’s chest. You knew that that was Namjoon but you were suddenly too nervous to look up.

“Yo Yn, his eyes are up there. Stop staring at the Namtiddies.” Taehyung says from behind you, making Namjoon sigh.

“For the hundredth time, please don’t call them that Taehyung-ah.”

“Then what do you want me to call them hyung--”

“H-hi.” You say, finally looking up.

“Oh, you’re the fan from yesterday!” Namjoon says, smiling widely, making his dimples pop.

“You remember me??” You say, putting your palms on your cheeks, feeling them heat up.

“Oh was she the one you were talking about last night hyung?? She’s the one I was talking about too!” Taehyung says excitedly. You quirk an eyebrow at them. They were talking about me??

Namjoon shyly laughs at Taehyung’s comment.

“Anyways,” he says, changing the topic, “you’re back! We’re about to end the event though..”

“That’s okay!” You say, “just being able to see you was enough hehe.” Namjoon laughs, feeling flattered.

“Well if you want, Taehyung and I will be staying for a bit, you can stay with us so your trip here wasn’t a waste.” Namjoon suggests. Your eyes widened.

“Wait really??”

❆❆❆❆❆

“So you’re from Seoul? What are you doing here in Ilsan?” Namjoon asks, taking a sip of his americano.

“I just wasn’t able to go to the Seoul one because I was busy with some personal activities.” You say, twirling the straw in your cup.

“Oh I see, how long are you staying here?”

“Just a couple more days,” you smile. Your eyes dropped down to the little girl on his chest. This whole time she had her eyes locked on you.

“How old is she?” You ask out of nowhere. Namjoon looks down at his daughter.

“Moonji how old are you?” He asks her, Moonji lifts up her hand and shows you two fingers.

“She’s a little shy,” Namjoon says, smiling.

“She’s adorable.”

“I think she’s sleepy,” Namjoon says, chuckling. He checks his watch for the time. “Oh shoot, we should be heading home.”

You look at your phone for the time and you gasp.

“I should be going home now too.. I- I mean the hotel..” You laugh nervously, putting away your phone. You can feel your chest hurting slightly. You were ever so lucky enough to be able to talk to your favorite author. You enjoyed every minute of it, but unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. This might just be the last time you’ll ever get to talk to him like this.

“Do you need a ride?” Taehyung chips in.

“Oh no no no, no I can just take the bus--”

“No, we should take you home.”

“No, it’s o--” You start, when Namjoon gives you a look that made you swallow air. “Okay,” you say in a quiet voice. And the next thing you knew, you were in the passenger seat of Taehyung’s car.

❆❆❆❆❆

“It was really nice meeting you Yn,” Namjoon says as you were about to get out of the car.

“Thank you,” you say as you got off, Namjoon rolled the windows down in the back seats. “Thank you for letting me hangout with you guys and letting me talk to you and everything it was literally the best thing that has ever happened in my life.” You say all in one breath, making Namjoon laugh.

“It was an honor to get to talk to you too,” he says. You give him a sweet smile.

“Thank you, and Thank you for the ride Taehyung.” Taehyung gives you a smile and a nod.

“Yes, I am just an uber driver and a nanny,” he whispers to himself.

“Bye Moonji,” you wave, and for the first time that night, she gives you a little smile and waves at you.

When you were safely in your hotel room, Taehyung turns around and looks at Namjoon.

“It was an honor to get to talk to you?” He repeats. Namjoon rolls his eyes.

“Would you just take us home now Taehyung?”

“You know, I’m starting to feel like an uber driver, I better get paid by the end of this.”

“I’m paying for your gas, your stay, and your food while we’re here.”

“Touché-- wait, your parents are letting me stay for free, they love me.”

“Yeah, like I love you,” Namjoon smiles, hugging Taehyung’s seat from behind.

“Ew, what’s going on with yo-- youuu want her number, don’t you?”

“I forgot to ask.. and I didn’t want to be awkward.”

“Aw hyung, you like her!”

“Correction, I’m interested in her.”

“Whatever, you’re a strange man.”

“Call me what you want, but can I please have her number?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No, get it yourself.”

“What? How? I won’t see her again.”

“What if you do?”

“What if I do?”

“Then fate is upon us once again, and it’ll be meant to be.” Taehyung says, smirking slightly.

❆❆❆❆❆❆❆

page turner

❆part four: a little shy❆

→ pairings: author!namjoon x fangirl!reader

→ a/n: here i go again with fate

→ taglist:

@xclo02 @salty-for-suga @monosomes @bitchpeachyboo @dammit-jjk @anonymous-assets @lysjeon @realsparkles @igotarmyofarohas @kuroidi @yuriah04 @my-petaldrop @butterflylion @unlikelylittlemiss @mayumioutloud @raplineh0e @dreamcatcherjiah @moon6rop @taehunnies @sope-and-shine @blueberrykenn @oh-worm-yee-haw @tirednation @heartfeltscribblings @chiminilove @lylanie12 @moonlightrose19 @the-things-in-the-dark @sagey-rages @osnapjenn @crystxljinie @brutallysoftwoman @threedecadesofawkward @bts-kay @chims-kookies @taekookcaneatme @callmepaopao @forkpops @sailor-moonss @listless-losers @hhhhwww7 @hellomousie @kxkth @strwberry-jam @parkjiminstan16 @annie-panda @greencorduroyjacket @incredibleella @betysotelo18 @pure-otaku106

TAGLIST IS CLOSED!

to be notified when i post, please turn on my notifications! thank youu~

518 notes · View notes

master-sass-blast · 5 years ago

Text

Out With the Old, In With the New, Part One: The Worst Monsters are Men...

MY BIRTHDAY IS TOMORROW (april 5th)!!!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MEEEEE!!!!!

Summary: A few days into a mission, your husband goes missing. Along Wade, Nathan, and Neena. When the X-Men refuse to help you, you decide to take things into your own hands --and wind up making an unexpected ally along the way.

Rating: T for gun violence, regular violence, ableism, and abduction. And also swear words.

Pairing(s): Piotr Rasputin x Reader, Nathan Summers x Wade Wilson, Frank Castle x Karen Page, and Alexandra Rasputin x Nikolai Rasputin.

Set after "It's Truly Magical" but before "Children of the Gods, Part One."

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

It happens without warning.

Your husband goes on a mission. And then he doesn’t come back.

Your stomach churns anxiously as you wait for your cellphone to chime –for any sign of life from Piotr, really. Baby, where are you? Please come home to me.

***

Talking to the official person in charge of the duty roster does no good.

Chiefly because that person is Scott Summers.

“Look, Y/N, I know you’re concerned—”

“It’s been three days, Scott! Piotr was supposed to be back by now.”

“He requested a mission extension,” Scott says –lies, because Scott Summers is a horrifically bad liar, no matter how hard he tries to hide it.

(Not even those damn sunglasses he wears all the time helps conceal it.)

“If we don’t hear from him by tomorrow, we’ll start the retrieval protocol.”

You raise an eyebrow at Scott. “Piotr requested an extension.”

“Ye—”

“Without telling me he was requesting an extension.”

“He may have not wanted to worry you—”

“He texts me good night and good morning every day he’s gone, Scott. He hasn’t done that for three days. So, do you really want to keep going down this route, or do you want to tell me the truth?”

“Are you accusing me of—”

“Show me the extension request, Scott. I know those have to be filed in the mission logs.”

Scott goes pale, swallows hard, but ultimately holds his ground. “If we don’t hear from him in another twenty-four hours, we’ll start the retrieval protocol.”

You roll your eyes at his back as he quickly retreats away from you, then stalk out of the training room. “Fuck you. I’ll handle this myself. Idiot.”

***

You call Wade first. Nathan doesn’t always keep his phone charged if he gets into a work hole, meaning that Wade’s the best bet to get ahold of your ‘somehow knows everything’ dad.

Except you can’t get ahold of Wade. Or Nate. Or Neena, when you decide to try her. Countless texts, phone calls, emails, and face-time requests –which, under normal circumstances, would be downright sociopathic to pull without making sure the recipient is available first, but these are desperate times—go unanswered.

Towards the end of the day, in what can only be described as a burst of mass anxiety and paranoia, you call your uncle.

He picks up on the first ring. “Hey, punk. How’s it going?”

“Oh, thank fuck.” You collapse into the nearest chair, relief surging through you. “They didn’t get you, too.”

“What?” Your uncle’s voice goes from warm and friendly to all business –and a little panicked—in a split second. “Who didn’t get me? What’s going on? Punk, are you okay?”

“I’m okay, but –Piotr’s missing. And Dad. And Wade. And Neena. Piotr went on a mission, but stopped checking in on me three days ago, and then when I tried to call the rest of my family, I couldn’t reach anyone. I’ve been trying all day, and then I thought that maybe someone’s targeting my family, so I decided to call you.”

“Shit,” your uncle mutters. “You’re sure Nathan and Wade are in town, right? And Neena? They don’t have any hits to fill or silent missions they’re running?”

“Wade and I were talking on Snapchat last night,” you answer, panic rising in your chest. “And I saw Nathan during call. And Neena always lets me know if she’ll be out of touch for a job or something.”

Your uncle exhales heavily into the speaker. “Fuck. Yeah, that doesn’t bode well. Did you talk to Charles?”

“He’s out of town for a conference. I had to deal with Scott, and he just shot me down.”

“Asshole.”

“Pretty much.”

“Talk to Scott one more time. I know it probably won’t help,” he adds when you start protesting, “but it’ll give me time to put my ear to the ground, see what I can find. After you try Scott, go over his head. I’ll help you however I can.”

“Thanks.”

“Of course, punk. Now, get moving. Time’s of the essence here.”

“Right.” You make a quick goodbye, then run out of yours and Piotr’s home and fly towards the mansion.

***

By the time you reach Scott’s room, Russell, Ellie, and Yukio are already there, arguing with him.

“We aren’t responsible for Wade—”

“He’s my legal guardian, asshole,” Russell insists indignantly. “Isn’t there a bunch of legal shit you guys have to do if he dies or goes missing?”

“We—”

“And you are responsible for Colossus,” Ellie adds, arms crossed over his chest. “He’s my mentor and an X-Man. And he’s missing, too.”

“How did you—”

“He texts her to see how she’s doing,” Yukio pipes up, looking nowhere near as pissed as Ellie and Russell given her pink hair and soft, fluffy sweater, but frustration still reads plain in her voice. “And he stopped three days ago.”

“Which is the same time he stopped texting me,” you speak up, joining the fray. “Are you actually going to take this seriously now? Because if that’s not enough, Nathan and Neena are missing, too.”

A brief flicker of frustration crosses Scott’s face, but he masks it quickly. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve tried to reach them all day!”

“Maybe they’re just busy. Could you be overthinking it? Did you remember to take your medication today?”

“Are you shitting me?” Ellie snaps, eyes widening with outrage.

“Easy,” you murmur, putting an arm around her small shoulders before staring Scott down. “So, just so we’re clear, it is your intention to not pursue any of this further even though you have multiple complaints from different residents?”

Scott’s face twitches, but his resolve remains strong. “We have a protocol.”

“Yeah, just like that protocol of logging mission extension requests that you can’t show me right now.” You flash him a fake smile. “Thanks for nothing, asshole.”

The three teens follow after you as you storm off.

“What do we do now?” Russell asks.

“Are Cable and Domino really missing as well?” Yukio adds.

“Should we call the Professor?” Ellie suggests.

“The Professor probably wouldn’t be able to do anything, since Scott’s still the man in charge,” you say as you hurry down the main flight of stairs.

“He could make Cyclops toe the line,” Ellie points out.

“It’s still Scott. He’d do the bare minimum just to shut us up, then go back to jerking off –or whatever it he does for fun. And, yes, Neena and Nathan are missing, too. As far as I can tell, at least. As far as what we do now, we go over Scott’s head. I mean, I—” you turn around and look at the three teens staring at you “—go over Scott’s head. Not ‘we.’ You three should stay out of trouble.”

“But Wade’s my guardian!” Russell argues.

“And Piotr’s my mentor.”

“And Scott’s a pain in the ass,” Yukio adds.

“While all those things are true,” you agree, “that doesn’t change the fact that I can’t bring you three into this. Things could get dangerous. You’re all trainees. You’re not cleared for this kind of stuff.”

Ellie glances at Russell and her girlfriend, then crosses her arms over her chest and takes a step towards you. “Well, the way I see it, you can either bring the three of us in and have some idea of what we’re doing, or you can keep us out of it and we’ll just go over your head. Which means we could accidentally get caught in the middle of whatever you wind up doing and get hurt.”

You narrow your eyes at your husband’s mentee. “You are such a Slytherin, and I’m so proud of you, but also how dare you.” You sigh heavily. “Fine. You guys can come with. But if I get in trouble, I’m taking you all down with me.”

***

Fun fact: attached to every suit worn by X-Men and trainees are little GPS trackers that, in addition to letting you know where the wearer of the suit is, also keeps tabs on their vitals.

“Why didn’t you just try this to begin with?” Ellie asks as you pull up the interface that tracks the suits.

“Because it makes a pinging noise to alert the wearer that their location is being monitored,” you explain. “If they’re on a stealth mission, it could alert an enemy agent. I didn’t want to do that in case Piotr had needed to go silent for some reason.”

“Do you think he could’ve?” Russell asks.

“Considering that, as his spouse, I would’ve been notified by the mission board –not to mention he would’ve at least let Ellie or I know himself—and the fact that Wade, Nathan, and Neena are missing, to, I don’t think so.” As much of a pain in the ass as Scott is, if Piotr had actually gone silent, he wouldn’t have just not told you.

“I thought the mission board and Professor Xavier were the only ones with access to the trackers,” Yukio interjects.

“I have spousal permissions for Piotr’s suit.” You pull up the page that lets you enter a password so you can access the tracker, then turn around and face the teens. “I’ve got to enter the password. No peeking.” You wait until they all cover their eyes, then type in the password and hit enter.

“It’s ‘myshka,’” Ellie says without uncovering her eyes.

You whirl around to stare at her. “Hey!”

“You hit seven keys, one of which was the enter button.”

“You really should talk to Colossus about better password security,” Yukio says with an earnest nod.

You sigh (they’re not wrong), then focus on the computer screen.

The good news: your husband’s tracker is still on and still registering his vitals –which look healthy, as far as you can tell.

The bad news: it’s out in the middle of nowhere in Upstate New York. No nearby roads, no registered address, just a couple of GPS coordinates.

“Where the hell is that?” Russell asks as he peers at the laptop screen over your shoulder.

“A couple hours from here,” you say as you write down the coordinates and the nearest identifiable landmarks. “I’m gonna go check it out. You guys stay here—”

“We’re helping whether you like it or not,” Ellie interrupts, expression comically stern given her round face and rounder eyes.

“Yes, you are, but I can’t carry all of you with me,” you say. “Besides, I need you three here to collect information.”

Russell’s brow furrows. “What information?”

You send a quick text to your uncle to let him know you’re leaving the phone with Russell, Ellie, and Yukio, then hand it to Ellie. “I called my uncle when I realized Wade, Nathan, and Neena were missing, too. He’s looking into all of it for me. If he calls with any information, I’ll need you guys to take it down and possibly do some –computer only—research on it.”

“Won’t you need the burner phone, just in case you get captured?” Yukio asks.

You shake your head. “Can’t risk his number getting in the wrong hands. I’ll have my phone on me, and I’ll wear my suit so you can keep track of me. If I’m gone longer than six hours, or if my suit goes offline, call my uncle immediately. Not the Professor, not Scott, but my uncle. Okay?”

The three teens give you equally scared looks, but all nod anyway.

You hug each of them before flying upstairs to get changed and pack a small bag with some supplies. Hang on, honey. I’m coming.

***

The coordinates turn out to be home to the middle of a massive, matte black warehouse with virtually no windows in the middle of a dense forest. There’s only one road leading in or out, which is cut off from the warehouse itself by towering concrete walls topped with razor wire, a hulking gate with multiple guards, and several armed men patrolling the perimeter as well.

Definitely not suspicious at all. Definitely does not read as “hidden government or evildoers base” whatsoever.

Scott Summers, you are so full of shit, you think to yourself as you peer down at the warehouse through a pair of electronic binoculars (a Christmas gift from Alexandra). Requested an extension, my ass. You frown as you watch a large, but otherwise non-descript van get waved through the gate. Piotr, baby, what did you do to wind up in here?

Your mind flashes to images of Piotr, bound against his well, likely being experimented on by various nefarious, white lab coat and nerd glasses wearing scientists. Your teeth grit together, and you steady yourself with a deep breath. Just hang in there, sweetheart. I’m gonna get you out.

You crawl forward a little further, hoping to get a better look at the lot surrounding the warehouse—

And you wind up bumping into a large, muscular woman, wearing all black –like you—with black hair cut into an angled bob, dark eyes, and—

Angel Dust.

Your eyes widen when the description connects with the stories Wade’s told you, and you quickly shove her away from you with a blast of air. “You fucking traitor! Helping lock up your own kind for a fucking bullshit paycheck! I’m gonna beat your ass—”

“What the fuck –stop it!” She whips a rock the size of a small child at you, narrowly missing your head. “What the fuck are you talking about? Who the fuck are you?”

“You’re working with them!” You jerk your head towards the warehouse.

“The fuck I am!” She finally notes your suit, and her mouth twists into a grimace. “Oh. You’re X-Men.”

“Damn right. Now, give me one good reason not to bounce you down this hill like a beach ball!”

Angel Dust smirks. “You’re a little rougher around the edges than most of them…” The smirk fades just as quickly as it appeared, and the color seems to drain from her face. “Fuck, you’re Wilson’s sister, aren’t you?”

“Ding-ding-ding, bitch!” you hiss. “And if you aren’t here to work for those cockwipes, then what the fuck are you doing on this hill?”

“I could ask you the fucking same—”

“Look, unlike my brother, I don’t have to get close to you to hit you. So, unless you want to go through that line of trees, I suggest you start talking.”

She rolls her eyes, but relents. “I’m here to rescue my daughter.”

“Daughter?” Your face scrunches up in confusion. “Wade didn’t say anything about you having a daughter.”

“Yeah, well, he wouldn’t fucking know!”

“I suppose that’s fair –considering you helped torture him and almost killed him, then helped kidnap his girlfriend!”

“Fuck’s sake –the fuck do you want from me?”

“Proving you have a daughter and that you aren’t lying might be a good start.”

She glowers at you, then begrudgingly takes a wallet out of her pocket and pulls out a few pictures. “Here. Proof enough?”

The pictures show Angel Dust holding a young girl –first as a baby, then a couple shots of them at a park when the girl looks about to be three, one of them eating ice cream together when the kid looks about five, and a school photo headshot dated from this year, in which the girl looks to be around seven.

Granted, she could be lying, but the pictures look real enough. Besides, if she really was working with the warehouse people, she probably wouldn’t have tried to convince you otherwise in the first place.

“What’s her name?” you ask, stiffly hanging back the pictures.

“Madeline. Maddie, for short. Why are you here?”

“They have my husband.”

“He an X-Man, too?”

“Yeah. Colossus. The big metal guy that you punched in the dick.”

She smirks. “Oh, yeah. Good brawler. Kinda sweet. He refused to ogle me when one of my tits fell out of my shirt.”

“Yeah,” you say with a small smile. “That’d be him.”

Tense silence falls around the two of you as you regard each other warily.

“Far be it from me to suggest we team up,” you start.

Angel Dust cuts you off with a sardonic snort. “What makes you think I need –want��your help?”

“You won’t make it through there alone. They’ve basically got an army guarding that place. You’re strong, but you’re not bulletproof. Or, worse, you’ll wind up captured. Besides, I have backup.”

She raises an incredulous eyebrow. “What, the X-Men? Pass.”

“No,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “The schedule master didn’t want to get off his ass, so I’m working without them for this.”

“Sounds like you don’t have backup, then.”

You bite down on the urge to sneer at her. “I have more resources than the X-Men.” Asshole.

“Such as?”

“Such as the kind that don’t mind using real guns.” When Angel Dust’s eyebrows spike towards her hairline, you continue. “Look, I get my husband and my other people out, you get your daughter out, everyone goes home happy and hopefully we never have to speak to each other again. Deal?”

“Fine,” she says after a minute. “So, if we’re not breaking in right now, what’s next?”

“I’ve got some people looking into this place. They should have some proper information by now. We head back to my place, learn what we can, then make plans to bust into here later tonight.”

Angel Dust considers for a moment, then concedes with a nod. “Fine. Wait… how’d you get out here?”

You shrug. “Flew.”

She scoffs, rolls her eyes. “Of course. We’ll take my car back.”

***

You text Yukio once you’re safely in Angel Dust’s car—

“Do you have a name?”

“Fuck kind of question is that?”

“I only know you as Angel Dust,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “So, unless you want me to refer to you as ‘Angel Dust’ all the time, having a name to use would be handy.”

She sighs heavily. Rolls her eyes. “Christina.”

You blink. You’re not sure what you’d been expecting, honestly. “Cool. I’m Y/N.”

“Great. Glad we’re fucking best friends now,” Christina grumbles under her breath as she starts her car and pulls away from the thicket of bushes she’d parked her car behind.

You text Yukio, letting her know that you’re on your way back, that you’ve picked up some help, and that if you aren’t back in three hours to call your uncle. You pocket your phone once Yukio replies, then steal a quick glance at Christina.

All in all, you don’t know much about her. You heard about her and her whole involvement with Ajax –Francis, whatever—from Wade, and you’ve heard a little bit from Piotr about her other criminal escapades –car-jacking, fighting rings, blackmailing—but beyond that, Angel Dust –Christina—is a complete mystery to you.

“How’d your daughter wind up in there?” you ask, breaking the thick silence that had settled around the two of you.

Her jaw clenches tighter, and her hands grip the steering wheel hard enough that –for a moment—you’re worried that she might break it. “My ex.”

“You had a kid with Francis?”

Her hands grip the wheel tighter. “No. I was married before I met Ajax. Long time before. Had Maddie. Got divorced. Met Ajax a little while later.”

“Riveting,” you snark, which gets a murderous glare shot your way. “So, what, your ex-husband decided to do a ‘take your daughter to work day’ and it ended poorly?”

“He doesn’t like mutants. Part of why we divorced.”

Pain strikes your chest as you put the pieces together. “Wait a second. He… he sent his own child to a testing facility?”

“Like I said,” Christina growls as she presses down harder on the gas pedal, “there’s a reason he’s my ex.”

***

Ellie goes from hunched over your laptop to standing bolt upright, fists clenched and energy swirling around her the second Christina follows you through the door—

And, yeah, okay, you definitely should’ve given more warning about the “help” that you were bringing back.

“What the fuck is she doing here?” Ellie snaps.

Christina just smirks. “Good to see you again, short stack.”

“Ellie, please don’t obliterate my house,” you say quickly, stepping between Ellie and Christina before Ellie does something rash –albeit probably deserved. “She’s helping us.”

“Why is she—” Ellie jerks her chin towards Christina “—helping us? She’s a criminal!”

“She has someone that was captured, too,” you explain, doing your best to stay calm. “The more innocent lives we can save in all of this, the better.”

“Fucking Christ,” Christina grumbles under her breath. “It’s like the fucking boyscouts.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be in the Icebox?” Ellie snaps, still glaring down Christina –albeit without the energy charge-up, which you’re grateful for.

“I wasn’t deemed ‘dangerous enough’ for ‘removal from society.’”

“You kidnapped an innocent woman and nearly killed Colossus!”

She shrugs, blasé. “Paycheck’s a paycheck.”

“You fucking bitch—”

“Okay!” You shove Ellie back, and give her the sternest look you can muster at the moment –which, in reality, probably looks more desperate than anything else. “I know you’re mad, but we have a job to do. Can you…” You sigh when Ellie raises an eyebrow at you in challenge, and your expression is definitely desperate now. “Please, Ellie-bell. We need to get Piotr and Wade and Nate and Neena and anyone else they might have locked up out of there. Please.”

Ellie sighs heavily, but relents with a nod. “Fine. But if she—” she points at Christina, who smirks “—does anything out of line, I’m blasting her through a wall.”

“I’d comment, but I know you’re more than capable,” Christina mutters as she sizes up Yukio and Russell. “Also, if this was the back up you’re talking about—”

“It’s part of it, but they’re strictly the research team,” you interject quickly. “We’re bringing someone else along for the actual rescue mission.”

“Who?” Russell asks.

You shoot him a warning, incredibly desperate look to ‘please, for the love of Cthulhu, shut it’ because you haven’t actually figured that part out yet—

And then Yukio comes to your rescue. “Your uncle called while you were gone. He said he wanted you to call him as soon as you were back.”

“He also gave us a lot of information about the warehouse,” Russell adds, having caught on to your ‘please help me bullshit my through this.’ “Covered by ten different teams of armed men that work on five different shifts—”

You glance over your shoulder at Christina. “You mind looking through what we already have while I make the call?”

She sighs, rolls her eyes, but ultimately sits down at the dining room table. “Fine.”

You take your phone from Yukio, then step into the living room so you can talk to your uncle while also keeping an eye on Christina.

He answers on the first ring. “Who am I talking to this time?”

“It’s me. I’m safe.”

“Punk.” Your uncle lets out a sigh of relief. “Okay, I told Ellie everything I could fine, but listen to me. You cannot try to crack this place open, okay? The person running this operation is far too dangerous to mess with. I’m sending some people in to help, and I’ll fly in as soon as I can; just let the professionals handle this, okay?”

You grimace. “I can’t do that.”

“Okay, look, I know you’re worried about Piotr—”

“There’s a kid involved,” you say quietly, watching Christina intently. “A little girl. She was dumped at the holding center. I… I can’t wait. Not with a child’s safety on the line.”

Your uncle swears, then sighs. “…Okay. Just… take some heavier ammunition with you. Please. I’ll get there as fast as I can to help back you up.”

“Alright. I can do that.” You make a quick good-bye, then head back into the dining room. “Alright, what are we looking at?”

“Nothing good,” Christina says heavily. “You were right about not being able to break into this place. We’ll need an army to do just that.”

“…I might just be able to get us one.”

***

The new offices of Nelson, Murdock, and Page come with countless new amenities –one of which being that it’s not located inside a deli.

There’s also a dedicated “back entrance” for clients that don’t want to be –or shouldn’t be—seen by the public.

Which, as fortune would have it, is where you find Frank Castle.

He’s wearing all black, carrying a bouquet of violets, and looks extremely startled when you all but shout his name. “What the fuck?”

“I need your help,” you say by way of greeting as you jog over to him. “Kidnappers, mutant experimentation, guys with lots of guns… yeah.”

“What the—” Christina yanks you aside with more strength than strictly necessarily, eyes so big they look like they’re about to pop out of her sockets. “How do you know the fucking Punisher?”

“Will you let go?” You wrench your arm out of her grasp. “I’m getting us an army. Chill the fuck out!”

“Do I get to know what’s going on here?” Frank interjects, looking equal parts confused, startled, and annoyed.

“There’s a warehouse two and a half hours from here,” you explain. “Heavily guarded. Piotr was kidnapped and taken there, as was her daughter.” You nod to Christina. “Wade, Nathan, and Neena are missing, too, and I’m willing to bet they’re there as well –along with who knows how many other people. The X-Men aren’t getting off their ass for this one, and the two of us—” you gesture between you and Christina “—aren’t enough to break in and get everyone out. We need help.” You take a breath, then shoot Frank a desperate look and add, “Please.”

He exhales heavily, then nods before gesturing at the door with the flowers. “Yeah. Just give me a minute.”

***

Karen, fortunately, gives her blessing for you to borrow her boyfriend for a potential suicide mission without too much fuss. Frank steps back into the alley a few minutes later, grabs a few duffels from his “murder van,” then directs you to where he keeps the rest of his weapons stash before you drive him and Christina back to your home.

From there, two things happen right away.

One: Frank is immediately able to make more sense of the information your uncle had sent, which makes developing a plan so much easier.

Two: Russell, Ellie, and Yukio all refuse to stay behind while you, Frank, and Christina head to the warehouse.

“For the last time,” you grit out, on the verge of ripping out your hair. “I cannot take you three with me. You’re all trainees! You’re not cleared for something like this. Besides, if Piotr doesn’t kill me, Scott definitely will!”

“You could take Scott in a fight,” Yukio says with an earnest nod.

“That’s not the point!”

“The point is we want to help.” Russell crosses his arms over his chest. “Wade’s my friend and guardian, Colossus is one of our teachers, and Cable and Domino are part of the X-Force. They’re our friends. Why shouldn’t we help?”

“I really don’t know how to explain to you that you’re a minor.”

“Yukio and I aren’t,” Ellie pipes up, voice deadly calm. “We’re both adults. We can do whatever we want with this. And I have a license and access to a car.”

“Ellie—”

“Look, either we’re in on the plan and how to handle all of this, or we drive up on our own and insert ourselves into the situation.” She raises an eyebrow at you when you start sputtering. “What? What are you going to do? Duct tape us to the walls so we can’t leave?”

You narrow your eyes at her. “I’m seriously tempted to. There is such a thing as ‘being in over you head,’ and –make no mistake—this is one of those situations.”

Ellie’s jaw tenses. “We’re not staying behind.”

“For what it’s worth,” Frank interjects from where he’s been sitting at your dining room table, pouring over all the data your uncle was able to collect, “if they can help us, we could definitely use their help. We’re pretty damn outnumbered.”

“See!” Russell chimes in. “You need us!”

“That’s not the point!” you snap, nerves finally fraying enough to let your stress show through.

“It’s exactly the point!” Ellie argues. “You need extra help, we want to help!”

“That’s not the point Y/N is trying to make,” Yukio says when you grip your hair in frustration. “It may be the point of the mission, but it’s not what she’s focused on.”

You exhale heavily as silence finally falls, then lean wearily against the dining room table. “It’s not that we don’t need your help. We do. But… you’re just kids.”

“Yukio and I are eighteen,” Ellie points out.

“You are an infant and you will accept it!” you fire back. “This… this isn’t fighting Magneto or a few punk frat boys who just realized they have superpowers. These are trained assassins with guns and who knows what else and… you guys still deserve to be young. You deserve more time before you have to face that.”

The space goes suffocatingly silent as your words hang in the air, bitter and desperate.

Because, really, you all already know what’s going to happen.

“We’re ready,” Yukio says, quiet but confident. She squares her shoulders and gives you a smile. “This is what we’ve trained to do.”

“You already know what my stance is,” Ellie says when you look over to her.

Russell seems a little more pensive when you check with him, but he doesn’t waver, either. He swallows hard, then nods. “I want to help Wade. He’s my guardian… my friend.”

You sigh, heavy and with finality, then plop down into the nearest chair. “Alright. Let’s make a plan.”

***

The plan is simple enough.

Your uncle had managed to dig up a plethora of information –including the policy for dealing with “captured individuals.” Anyone caught snooping around the warehouse was taken, searched for weapons, then taken to a room that was labelled “primary containment area.”

You’re willing to bet that Piotr and everyone will be there as well.

So, you and Christina will pose as a couple of amateur activists, attempting to get some film of what seemed to be a “secret military base” that was undoubtedly propagating violence, war culture, etcetera. You two will get yourselves captured, get inside the base, ditch whoever brought you in, find your missing people, then get out.

And, just for good measure, while the two of you were inside, Frank, Russell, Ellie, and Yukio will create a distraction outside, thus increasing your odds of success.

Frank also had one of his friends –who was some type of tech wizard, apparently—hack into the base and put the cameras on a loop, so that the two of you wouldn’t be caught out right away.

Is it the most sophisticated plan? No.

Is it the most likely to succeed, considering the circumstances? Also no.

Is it the best you all could do, considering the time and personnel constraints? Yes.

“If we die,” Christina growls –she’d been none too fond of the plan, but hadn’t had a better counteroffer—as the two of you cut through the woods, “I’m killing you before these dipshits get a chance.”

“Good fucking luck with that,” you grumble back, pulling a camera –which had a busted release mechanism for the SD card and was therefore useless—out of your bag. “Ready?”

“Let’s just get this over with.”

The two of you skulk around the perimeter, pretending to take film of the place –which, granted, you are, but it’s not like you’re planning on using any of it—and talking in stage whispers about angles, lighting, and framing. When that doesn’t work, you move in closer to the entry –where the guards are stationed—and start taking photos with the flash on.

It gets their attention pretty quick.

“Hey! Stop!”

The two of you feign making a run for it as the armed guards rush towards you, then switch to fake pleas and promise to “give up the footage” in exchange for being let go when you’re caught.

“Look, this is just for a school project,” Christina babbles –and, you have to give her credit, she’s a good actress.

Though, that could just be the guns the guards are carrying providing a proper incentive.

“We’ll give you the camera,” you add, faking desperation. “Just, like, please let us go.”

“Take them inside,” one of the older looking guards says. “Search them, then take them to the main containment center.”

You and Christina pretend to resist and struggle, but ultimately let the men march you past the wall and towards the compound.

***

The search goes well enough. The two of you had made a point to not carry any weapons –or any IDs, just in case. Your phones –fakes—are tossed, as is the camera, but other than that the guards don’t find anything particularly interesting.

Being taken to the main containment area, however, doesn’t go as well.

Mostly because your people aren’t there.

“Shit,” Christina swears when you’re marched into what’s essentially a windowless, metal box.

“Search the base?” you ask.

“We have to.”

You slam the guards against the nearest wall with a gust of wind, knocking them out.

The two of you quickly handcuff the guards with their hands behind their backs, careful to interlock the sets of cuffs to make it harder for them to move or escape once they come to.

You strip off one of their tac vest and quickly adjust it to your body, while Christina pulls out their phones and walkie talkies and crushes them. “I’m guessing neither of them are carrying a map?”

“Wouldn’t that be our lucky day.”

You pull out an ear piece that you’d hidden in your bra, then turn it on and tuck it in your ear. “Ellie, can you hear me?”

“Yeah. What’s up?”

“Slight problem. Containment area’s empty. Is there a lab or something labelled on the blueprints my uncle sent us?”

“…Yeah. Left from the entrance to the containment room, take a right at the second doorway, then all the way down the hall to the back. Do you need us to go now?”

You eye the hallway outside the containment room, then grimace when you see several guards patrolling the space. “Yeah. We’re pretty boxed in otherwise.”

“Alright. Give us five minutes.”

The two of you wait –then, sure enough, the building shudders as a loud explosion echoes outside.

You flash Christina a somewhat manic grin. “Shall we?”

“You’re just as crazy as Wilson.”

“You’re not the first person to say that.”

***

The lab is straight out of some cheesy action-flick style evil lair. There’s a massive –practically floor to ceiling—screen that looks like someone lifted it from a movie theatre that’s framed by a wall to wall bank of computer keys, buttons, smaller inset display screens, dials, and sliders. The center of the room boasts a particularly sinister tilted metal table with arm and ankle restraints on the sides, an operation room light at the top, and various trays of syringes, surgical equipment, and other tools. Towards the back, there’s several rows of tables with various beakers, test tubes, and other items straight out of chemistry textbook.

And, on the wall opposite the door, there are a series of cylindrical, glass holding containers –which are currently housing your husband, Nate, Wade, Neena, and a young, dark haired girl that must be Madeline.

Madeline and Piotr don’t look too much worse for wear. A little bruised and a little tired, perhaps, but otherwise unharmed.

Neena’s face is fixed in a tight grimace. You don’t see any visible signs of harm on her, but that doesn’t mean that she’s okay.

Wade looks sick. He has a repression collar on, just like everyone else in the holding tanks, so there’s no doubt that his cancer is giving him hell.

Nathan looks tense. He’s sat on the floor of his tank, leaned back against the glass, gaze fixed in a pensive thousand mile stare. There’s no visible signs of the virus having spread, but you know he can’t be feeling too comfortable, either.

Madeline visibly perks up when you and Christina enter the lab, then jumps to the feet and presses her tiny body against the glass of her tank. “Mommy!”

“Mom—oh fuck.” Wade glares at Christina. “What is she doing here? And since when did you have a kid with Francis?”

Christina, predictably, ignores Wade. She sprints over to her daughter’s containment tube, pressing her hands flat against the glass. “Hey, sweetie. Are you okay?”

Madeline’s face crumples, and she starts crying. “I want to go home, Mommy. I want to go home—”

“Don’t!” Neena exclaimed when Christina moved to rip off the door on her daughter’s containment cell. “The guy running the tests said there was a different lock on her door.” She pointed to the keypad on the side of Madeline’s containment tube. “He said that if the cell was tampered with, it’d release a toxin gas.”

Christina shot a desperate look at you over her shoulder. “Can you diffuse the gas?”

“I don’t want to risk it,” you said. “Look, Ellie can probably figure out to get it open safely, and if she can’t, we’ve got other people who definitely can. Bottom line, she’s not staying in there for long.”

Piotr shoot you a sharp look. “Why is NTW here?”

You flounder, before shrugging sheepishly. “I got out-voted?”

“It’s going to be okay, sweet girl.” Christina knelt in front of her daughter’s tube, smiling reassuringly. “We’re going to get you out, okay?”

“Can you get the doors off the other cells?” you ask upon checking to make sure that the same locking mechanisms aren’t on the other containment tubes. “If we get everyone else out, I can get the repression collars off, and then we can shut this thing down and focus on getting Maddie out.”

Christina shoots you a look –most likely annoyed by being taken away from her daughter—but rises and walks down the row of cells, ripping the doors off as she goes and chucking them out of the way.

You help Wade out of his cell and get him situated on a chair—

And then Piotr sweeps you into his arms and presses his lips against yours.

He smells a little ripe, his breath isn’t much better, he has a few days’ worth of stubble on his face, and his hair is a mess.

He’s perfect.

“Are you okay?” you murmur, cupping his face when the kiss ends.

“I am now.” He kisses your forehead. “How did you find me?”

“Went over Scott’s head, used the tracker on your suit, and asked my uncle for help.” You lay your head against his chest, and close your eyes for a moment as you listen to the steady thud of his heartbeat.

He’s safe. He’s alive.

***

Getting the collars off is a cinch. They’re basic model collars with keypads. You’ve taken shit like this apart in your sleep.

The building rumbles ominously while you work on defusing the collars, and the sounds of gunfire and death are rapidly approaching the lab.

Piotr eyes the door warily. “What all is going on?”

“Uh… kinda asked Frank for some help.”

Your husband’s eyes damn near bug out of his head. “Frank Castle?”

“Ooh, Frankie’s here!” Wade chirps, perking up now that his collar’s off and his healing factor is kicking back in. “Did he bring any grenades?”

“Why did you ask Frank Castle for help?” Piotr interjects, sounding aghast.

“What else was I going to do?” you exclaim. “Scott literally wouldn’t get off his ass to check in on things. It was either do it alone, or get what help I could!”

Piotr looks like he’s about to drop it –then his eyes widen with horror. “You… you left trainees with him.”

Fucking shit on an ass cracker— “Look, I will be very happy to discuss this with you later, but for now can we just focus on—”

A door at the far end of the lab sweeps open –not the one you and Christina came in through—and a man wearing a lab coat walks in.

A man that, though it takes you a moment, you recognize.

Mostly because you slammed his head into a table and threatened to rip off his balls if he ever hurt your husband again.

Rage floods your system. “You!”

Dwight Bard –stupid fucking nickname “Rogue”—jerks when he sees all of you, then pales when recognition hits his system. “Oh shit—”

You don’t give him a chance to finish his sentence, much less escape or do anything else. You hit him in the back with a blast of wind, bouncing him across the floor of the lab and smacking him against the metal table. You dash over, secure one of his arms in one of the restraints before he can get up, then grab the first thing you find on the tool tray –which happens to be a scalpel—and aim it at him. “I fucking warned you, you son of a bitch. I’m gonna gut you like a fucking catfish—”

“Myshka!” Piotr plucks you up and sets you away from the table before physically putting himself between you and Dwight. “Stop!”

You take one look at your husband’s horrified expression and shrink in on yourself, ashamed. “I’m not—” You try to gesture with your hand, forgetting that you have the scalpel, and nearly nick Piotr with it. You flounder as you try to find a place to set the utensil, then ultimately hand it over to Piotr so he can set back on the instrument tray. “He’s—”

“No killing,” Piotr says, voice soft but firm. “Ever. Under any circumstances.”

Your mouth opens and closes as you try to find the words to explain your headspace.

That Dwight isn’t worth saving because he’s perverted and hasn’t stopped the track he’s on despite having the chance to change and more than enough incentive –can anyone say ‘staying out of prison,’ much—to do so. That killing people recklessly and without thought is bad, but that defending those who can’t defend themselves is another category. That you weren’t even intending to really do anything, but he helped hurt the people you love, that he’s hurt your husband –the most important person in your life—over and over and over again, and you can’t live in a world knowing that person is out there and could hurt him again.

Ultimately, you shrug helplessly and say, “He hurt you.”

An emotion settles on Piotr’s face that you can’t identify. (Grief? Anguish? Fear? A combination of all three, or maybe none of them at all?) He stares at you for a moment, expression inscrutable, then gently takes you into his arms and kisses the top of your head. “I do not want you killing for me.”

You nestle against his chest –then break away when Dwight starts trying to get the restraint off his wrist. “Oh, no, no, no. Just because I’m not force-feeding you your balls doesn’t mean you get a free pass.” You finish restraining his arms and legs, then flip the overhead light on so he has to keep his eyes closed for good measure. “You can just stay right there until we’re ready to drag you out of here and back to jail.”

The door that you and Christina originally entered through opens, and Ellie, Russell, Yukio, and Frank walk through.

You nod at Madeline’s containment cell. “There’s a special lock on this one. Can you get it open?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Ellie says, checking over the locking mechanism before walking over to the bank of computers.

“Building’s clear,” Frank says, momentarily eyeing Dwight before turning his attention to Madeline and Christina. “What’s going on there?”

“Special lock,” you explain, paraphrasing what Neena told you. “Improperly opening the chamber releases a neurotoxin gas.”

Frank’s lip curls into a menacing sneer as he stalks towards Dwight. “You think that’s fun? Putting a little girl’s life in the balance?”

“It wasn’t me!” Dwight panics, trying –and failing—to edge himself away from Frank. “I’m just –look, I’m just a scientist, I had no idea—”

“You’ve got a kid a tube!” Frank shouts. “It doesn’t get more fucking obvious!”

“Okay, okay, just –look. The building’s not clear yet.”

“The hell it isn’t—”

“They had teams on standby, down the road, in case the place was stormed.”

The lights flicker, then turn off before flipping back on—

And then an explosion goes off outside, making the building shake and the windows rattle in their settings.

Frank tenses, then swears under his breath when more explosions sound outside. “Shit.”

“Sounds like we’ve got company,” Wade comments as he stretches lazily (the movement is accompanied by a grimace, though, which is how you know he’s still not feeling good). “Got a gun I can borrow?”

“Best move right now is to handle the team outside,” Nathan agrees as Frank hands them both spare pistols. “You three stay back here.” He nods to the teens. “Get the kid out. The rest of us will hold the base.”

Madeline bursts into tears when Christina takes a reluctant step away from her daughter’s containment cell. “Mommy, I want you to stay! I’m scared!”

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Christina reassures her quickly. “It’s okay—”

“Stay with her,” you decide. “We don’t have enough weapons for you to use, which means your strength won’t be an advantage out there.”

Christina mouths a grateful “thank you” at you, then sits at the base of her daughter’s cell. “It’s going to be okay, Maddie. Mommy’s right here.”

“What about Neena?” Russell asks as the rest of you prepare to head out. “She doesn’t have a gun.”

“I’ve got a good feeling about finding one,” Neena quips, flashing Russell a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

You want to take her aside, ask her if she’s okay –the explosions are still ongoing, meaning that right now, you’ve got more important things to do.

Frank reloads his rifle, then strides towards the main lab door. “Let’s go.”

***

The lot of you make swift progress through the base. Frank and Nate lead you all with military-like precision –go figure—and before you know it, you’re at the main entrance.

The explosions are still going, rocking and rattling the building with each shockwave. The lights flicker ominously overhead each time; a few fall out and shatter against the floor.

Piotr shields you with his body when one lands near the two of you. “What now?”

“You know how many people are out there?” Frank asks Nathan.

Your dad shakes his head. “The number of psychic signatures keeps changing. Maybe… twenty-five? Thirty? They keep bouncing around the lot.”

“We’ve handled worse,” Neena decides as she loads her shotgun (which, true to form, she’d stumbled across while you’d all navigated the base).

“Wait, wait –Natey, hold on a second.” Wade grabs his boyfriend’s arm, holding Nathan back from moving (even though Nate stopped the first time Wade asked him to wait). “Do you not hear what I’m not hearing?”

“The fuck does that mean?” Frank grumbles under his breath.

Nathan cocks his head to the side though, gaze darting back and forth while he listens. “Gunfire. Voices.”

“Exactly!”

Frank’s expression sharpens as he catches the same lack of gunfire and people talking. “They could be trying to draw us out. We’ve got a chokepoint here.”

“Yeah, but why would they be bombing the parking lot they’re standing in?” Neena fires back.

“Should one of us go out?” Wade asks, looking between Frank, Nate, and Neena. “Scope things out?”

“If there are people waiting out there, we’ll get shot to pieces!” Neena exclaims.

“Okay, I can heal!” Wade fires back. “So, if you hear swearing and sounds of carnage—”

“No, no, we are not using you as a fucking guinea pig,” Nathan growls.

“Well, what would you recommend—”

“I’ll go,” Piotr interjects.

“What?” You blink rapidly as he kisses your forehead, then reach for him when he stands and steps away so he can armor up. “No! No—”

“It’s okay.” Your dad puts an arm around your shoulder, equal parts comforting and restraining. “He’ll be okay.”

Piotr ducks around the corner and strides towards the entrance –stooping over so he doesn’t bang his head on the ceiling. The sound of his heavy footsteps clank against the floor, barely audible over the explosions outside.

You listen to your husband’s step retreat away from you, scarcely daring to breathe. Please be okay, please be okay, please be okay…

There’s a moment where the explosions stop, and the ensuing silence stretches out, unending and horrible—

“No one is out here.”

You let out a breath, nearly collapsing with relief when you hear Piotr’s voice—

And then what he said hits you.

Frank stalks out, rifle at the ready in case shit goes sideways. He’s quiet for a moment, then shouts out an “all clear.”

You shadow the others out, mindful that you don’t have a gun or near as much combat experience. You sidle up next to your husband, one hand clutching at the material of his X-Men suit.

The explosions, at least, were real. The lot looked scorched, pitted with craters and dotted with debris and chunks of concrete.

That’s where the legitimacy of Dwight’s claims seem to end, though. There’s no sign of any opposition, armed, dangerous, or otherwise.

“Was he wrong?” you ask as Frank, Wade, Nate, and Neena carefully scope out the lot. “Maybe… maybe there’s no back up.”

“There is car coming,” Piotr announces, quickly tucking you behind his back.

The others hop to, taking up different positions around the lot to set up the best spread of gunfire possible.

You peek around your husband’s side as much as you dare, trying to get a read on the situation.

A lone SUV rolls up to the gate of the compound. It doesn’t seem armored, much less like it could hold the amount of guys your dad was initially sensing in the lot…

The SUV parks just inside the gate, and then the driver’s door opens and Mikhail Rasputin steps out. He grins laconically at Piotr, and lifts a hand in greeting. “Poves'te desyat', mladshiy brat!”

Piotr gapes as his mother exits the front passenger side of the SUV, whilst Mikhail ambles around to the back of the car to open the trunk. “Matushka?”

She’s decked out in black tactical gear and combat boots, and looks ready to kill.

(Granted, Alexandra always looks ready to kill, but the expression is more literal than figurative this time around.)

She graces her son with a brief, greeting smile, but quickly steps into scanning the surrounding environment for potential threats. Alex eyes the craters in the lot with a critical eye, one brow arching as she takes it all in. “Big fight?”

“Not really,” Wade says with a shrug. “Lots of explosions, but when we got out here there was no one around.”

You frown, stepping out from behind Piotr. “What are you two doing here?”

“Sent by uncle,” Mikhail says, nodding at you with a smile that’s entirely too relaxed for the scope of the situation. “To help.”

“Well, I think we’ve got it under control,” Wade says, gesturing at the parking lot.

“For now,” Alex tacks on as she eyes the building. “Man running this place is highly dangerous. Sooner we leave, the better. Is this everyone?”

“There are others inside,” Piotr says, eyes widening with realization. “Ellie, and Yukio, and Russell, and—”

The ground shakes again, and then there’s an explosion that sends chunks of concrete wall flying from the back side of the compound.

You stare at the plume of fire and smoke that billows into the sky, heart sinking. Shit.

***

The lab, once you arrive, is in complete and utter chaos. Tables are strewn everywhere, glass equipment lies shattered on the floor, and a gaping hole gashes through one of the internal walls.

At the far end of the lab is Dwight –who, somehow, has managed to free himself and is grinning as he hovers above the ground. He extends his hand towards the opposite side of the room, flinging several heavy work tables that are deflected by Christina and Ellie.

“He’s a mutant!” Ellie shouts, pointing an accusing finger at Dwight before dodging more flying debris. “He has to be! He undid his restraints without even touching them!”

“Sorry for the deception,” Dwight says, grinning nastily—

And then his body ripples, changing size and form until he’s several inches taller and nowhere near as gangly. His face morphs hideously, hair going from tight auburn curls to slicked back black tresses. His eyes change from hazel to gray, his jawline sharpens, and by the end of it he looks less like some sort of computer tech pervert and more like a rugged assassin.

“Someone fucking promise me we’re not about to go down another ‘it was Mystique the whole time’ writing hole,” Wade groans as he skids to a stop, then ducks to avoid shards of flying glass. “Because I can’t handle another plot headache like that.”

“Name’s Nathaniel. Nathaniel Essex.” Nathaniel tosses Dwight’s glasses aside, smirking laconically. “So, no, no Mystique storyline here. Though, that might’ve been better for the rest of you.”

“How you figure, Captain Chameleon?” Wade fires back. “Don’t know if you forgot how to count, but there are…” Wade starts counting, then gets fed up with the process and settles for cocking his gun and aiming it at Nathaniel. “You’re fucking outnumbered, shit for brains! Best surrender now, and maybe I won’t fuck your ass with the business end of this gun!”

“You do, you’re buying me a new one, Wilson!” Frank snaps.

“Do you accept stolen?”

“The way I see it, my odds are just fine.” Nathaniel smirks, and several pieces of broken tables and twisted metal start floating around him. “Don’t worry. I’ll try to keep from hurting you too bad.” He hurls the objects across the lab—

Only for them to freeze halfway across.

Nathaniel’s face goes slack with shock. “What the—”

Alexandra steps out from behind Piotr, eyes glowing gold as she stares down Nathaniel. “Care to try again, tupitsa?”

Nathaniel grits his teeth and tries to fling more carnage across the lab, but to no avail. “Go fuck yourself, bitch.”

Alex raises an eyebrow, then shrugs. “Have it your way.”

And then the items floating in the air zip across the lab. Those that don’t bounce of the telekinetic shield Nathaniel erects around himself embed themselves in the opposing wall.

“We need to get Maddie out of here!” you shout. “Ellie, can’t you disarm the pod?”

“I couldn’t find anything that disables the gas system!”

You’re starting to think that the supposed “toxic gas” attached to Maddie’s containment tube was a lie as well –but, best not to take chances.

“We’ll figure it out once we take down Essex,” you shout before darting towards where Alex and Nathaniel are scuffling with each other.

Nathaniel lets out a pained grunt when Alex throws him against one of the walls hard enough to crack the concrete, then yanks his sleeves back and starts pressing buttons on a wrist-mounted console. He taps at the display screen between dodging various attacks—

And then security drones fly out from hatches in the ceiling and start raining down Gatling gunfire on all of you.

“Get down!” Frank bellows as he dives behind one of the upended, heavy, metal lab tables.

Neena, Mikhail, and Nate join him, opening fire at the various drones.

You dive tackle Yukio, practically throwing her and yourself underneath one of the computer desks. You tuck her underneath you, doing your best to shield her from flying glass shards and stray chunks of metal.

Wade grabs Russell and Ellie, yanking them into a nearby alcove and shoving them behind him so he can take shots at the drones. “Since when did this go from a redux of my first movie to a redux of Terminator? We don’t have that kind of budget!”

Madeline shrieks when some of the rounds fired by the drones bounce off her containment cell. She drops to the floor of the tube, curling into a ball and sobbing hysterically. “Mommy!”

“Maddie!” Christina wholesale throws an operation table at one of the drones, cleaving it in half, before sprinting across the lab to reach her daughter’s cell. “Maddie!”

The whole building shakes like it’s about to come down. You hold tighter onto Yukio, getting what glimpses you can of the battle from under your table.

Alex and Nathaniel are caught up in a fraught telekinetic tango. They’re both reaching out towards each other –Nathaniel with both hands, red-faced and straining, and Alex with one hand, expression grim but determined—and their stand off seems to be what’s ripping the lab apart.

What happens when there are two unstoppable forces and two immovable objects, and each person has one?

Mikhail pops out of nowhere, landing next to Nathaniel. He lets out a burst of maniacal laughter, hits Nathaniel upside the head with the butt of his rifle, then disappears again.

Nathaniel stumbles, dazed –and it’s enough. He shrieks as he whizzes past you, bouncing off the ground before slamming into the computer station near the main entrance to the lab.

The remaining windows in the lab shatter, along with the lights. Glass rains down on the floor in tiny shards. Smoke and dust billow from one of the destroyed computer terminals, mixing with the glass into a lethal fog.

Your husband grabs Christina before quickly shielding her, Frank, Neena, and Nathan from the worst of the falling glass.

At the lab’s entrance, Wade and a newly reappeared Mikhail shield Russell and Ellie with their bodies.

For a moment, everything goes quiet, save for Essex’s labored groaning, Maddie’s terrified sobbing, and the tinkling sound of the glass making contact with the floor.

And then, not unlike a phoenix, Alex emerges from a cloud of smoke, head held high and eyes glowing menacingly. “Still want to do this, podonok?”

Nathaniel bares his teeth in a snarl before pushing up the sleeve on his jacket, revealing a time travel device like Nathan’s. “Fuck you.” He slaps a button on the device, then winks out of view in a flash of green light.

Alex snorts disdainfully. “Coward.”

Everything goes silent again. Relief slowly starts to sink in, now that the worst of it is over.

And then there’s an ominous whirring noise, and Madeline’s tube starts sinking into the lab floor.

She panics, shrieking and pounding on the glass. “Mommy!”

Christina bolts towards her daughter, equally as terror-stricken. “Maddie!”

The tube sinks fully into the ground, locking into place with a sickening click.

Christina freezes for a moment, staring at the place where her daughter used to be. Then, she lets out an anguished shriek and makes to rip the containment tube out of the ground.

“Don’t!” you shout, batting her away from the tube with a blast of air. “The neurotoxin!”

“I have to save her!”

“She’s already gone,” Nathan says, voice ragged. “He had a teleportation device attached to her cell. It would’ve activated seconds after he left.”

“Fuck you!”

Alex steps between Christina and the cell, keeping her from yanking it back up. “Easy, easy. We will still find your daughter.”

Christina snarls, then punches Alex straight in the face.

She doesn’t so much as flinch. Instead, she raises an eyebrow at the aggrieved woman, then lifts her own fist. “My turn? Or are we done?”

Christina gapes up at Alex for a moment, shocked, then resumes her efforts to try and get to the tube. “Maddie –I have to save her—”

“She is not there,” Alex insists, grunting as she bodily lifts Christina away from the cell. “Our best bet is to find Nathaniel.”

“He could be anywhere!”

“He used a short-range teleporter,” Nathan pipes up. “He’ll be close by. The sooner we start tracking him, the better.”

“Well, that would be our cue,” Alex says, firmly ushering Christina towards the door. “Let’s head back to house. We can plan from there.”

“What about this place?” Yukio asks as she follows after Alex.

“We burn it.”

“We –we can’t do that,” Piotr protests, staring at his mother’s back. “Criminals need to be held responsible for—”

“And, what, we just leave evidence of our involvement? Of your connections to criminal underworld?” Alex snaps, whirling to face her son. “Nyet! We destroy this place and keep ourselves in the clear.”

“And what about the people connected to this place. Without evidence, they will never be held accountable!”

“Justice has many forms, medvezhonok. They’ll get theirs.”

“Come on.” You tug on your husband’s hand when he frowns after his mother. “We need to go, either way. The cops aren’t gonna be able to help us with this, not the way we really need help.”

Piotr’s grimace deepens –but, he ultimately falls into step next to you.

30 notes · View notes

primofate · 3 years ago

Text

Request Continuation - Shortfic

Scenario: You got injured Part 2

Characters: gn! reader x Zhongli

Part 1 with Diluc, Kaeya, Albedo, Childe

Part 3 with Xiao

Warnings: angst, injury, no character death though, not proofread

Masterlist

https://primofate.tumblr.com/post/653296890583154688/masterlist-for-mobile-version-main-links

Taglist (Want to be notified when something new comes out? Sign up!):

https://forms.gle/VZmJXQssHcv7YzQc6

If you’d like to be extra sweet and donate, here’s my kofi link:

https://ko-fi.com/primofate

Zhongli

Time is surely something that Zhongli was accustomed to. Having lived for so long, he had learned how to take everything in stride, enjoy the every day motions: people passing by, merchants coming and going, the city’s lights dimming as the sun rose.

All these were normal to him. Heck, sometimes he already knew what was going to happen. He’d observed this city for a long time, and knew the ins and outs of it. Its secrets, its traditions, how it had changed and how it had continued to flourish.

You came into his life like sudden fireworks, like Liyue was born anew and suddenly his routine had been skewed in so many different but beautiful ways. Mornings were his favourite. Without fail, you would show up at his doorstep, bringing fresh flowers and herbs for tea, the ones that he liked the best. You had figured out his tastes, how could you not when the routine had been going on for 423 days? 423 days you showed up every day. 423 days of him anticipating your arrival. 423 days of you eager to greet him as you try to calm your giddiness and excitement...but on the 424th day...

You didn’t show up.

To say that Zhongli’s worry was at its peak was an understatement. When you were an hour late he had opted to wait outside the door, perhaps he’d catch a glimpse of you there, running a little late. By the second hour he knows that somethings wrong, and sets out to look for you. He knows your usual flower gathering place and he curses himself for not going out earlier.

It was a big field, stray flowers here and there, hiding behind stones and resting under trees. As he walked through the clearing he sees it. Your familiar h/c tuft of hair, flat on the ground, flowers strewn around you as if they were actually FOR you. Fear strikes him like lightning hits the ground, sparks flying everywhere. He runs, reaching you in record time, fearing what he would see when he turns you over to your front.

“Y/N!” he lets out, touching your arm to gently pull you forward. His heart freezes, there’s an arrow embedded deep in your shoulder and his hand was stained with your blood. “Y/N...” He doesn’t remember how long ago since he felt fear this crippling, it was a foreign emotion and he scrambles to think about what he should do. He picks you up in his arms, and runs towards Liyue, no... there’s a small hut nearby and he knew that the granny living there was a proficient healer, he redirects his route, mind running faster than his feet, trying to look for the best solutions.

Damn it, he hadn’t even checked if you were breathing...he just...BELIEVED you were. He wouldn’t accept any other outcome. You were going to be fine. You HAD to be. He so desperately needed you to be.

He bursts through the hut door rather disrespectfully, panting, sweat sticking to his forehead. “Please...” He clutches on to your form, as if afraid you’d lift up into the heavens. “Please, help them,” for him to be reduced to a begging archon was probably a sight to behold. The granny works on you immediately, asking for you to be placed on the only bed in the house and ushers Zhongli out.

Zhongli lets out a shaky breath he didn’t know he was holding. What was happening? Why was his world suddenly unfamiliar and gloomy and melting down? Why could he not process anything, not the cool breeze, not the wonderful weather, not the chirping birds and not the warm sun on his face. Nothing of that. He couldn’t hear a thing and he couldn’t focus on anything.

He closes his eyes to calm himself, but his hand has the slightest tremble when he remembers your blood on his hand and his next thought...

Who did it?

The rage that consumes him is still not enough to rival his anxiety. Gods what would he do if everything stopped at the 423rd day? He doesn’t even recognize himself, the calm, collected person that he usually was, is not here.

It seemed ages before the granny came out and said that you were going to be fine but needed to rest in the hut for a bit before attempting to be moved.

“They’ll be fine, just lost a lot of blood, let them sleep before you take them home,”

And at that it’s as if the whole world starts to turn again. He sighs in relief and with it he starts to hear the birds, starts to feel the breeze, starts to appreciate the sun again. Grandma allows him in, and he stares down at your peaceful face, eyes moving down to look at your form, confirming the steady rise and fall of your chest.

He lifts a hand to brush away the hair on your forehead, then leans in to kiss it. When you wake up, you’ll find that there’s tea on the table, the particular one that you like and you’ll find Zhongli sitting on a chair next to the bed. “How are you feeling?” eyes tracing your features for any sign of discomfort, pain. You sit up slightly, a piercing pain shooting up your shoulder and he immediately guides you back down. “Rest, don’t move too much,” and then he says something that surprises yet sends you into a dizzying spiral of happiness.

“Would you consider...living with me?”

Because he doesn’t want a repeat of this. He doesn’t want to wake up in fear that you won’t come to him. He doesn’t want it to end on the 424th day or the 1000th or the 2000th. So, starting on the 425th day, the mornings were much more anticipated, being able to wake up next to you.

Taglist: @larkspyrr @outlet-0 @rim0na

#zhongli #zhongli x reader #genshin impact #genshin fanfic #genshin short fic #genshin fanfiction #morax #rex lapis #genshin reader insert #genshin reader angst #zhongli angst #genshin fluff #zhongli fluff #reader insert

3K notes · View notes

marvelmadam08 · 6 years ago

Text

The Princess & The Nomad (4)

Sequel to The Captain and The Culprit! With your hypnosis gone and your identity fully known, you and Steve reunite and pick you right where your left off. But with The Avengers disbanded and a new danger looming in the future, what’ll keep everything from falling apart?

Summary: You find Tony and the compound, only to learn that everything fell apart once you left. And now you pick a side.

Warnings: Maybe a small Captain Marvel spoiler?

You land at the entrance of the Avengers compound, the guards at the gates yelling at you in protest, and threatening to have you arrested as you strut forward; your cloak trailing behind you.

The receptionist at the desk takes one look at you and has a look that tells you she knew exactly who your were.

“I’m looking for Tony.” You smile softly, you weren’t going to cause any harm, unless provoked, and you doubt they would try and take you on with any hardcore tech. “I’m an old friend.”

She points in the direction of the east wing, you give a quick thanks before taking off again. Many people moved out of your way when they see you strolling down the halls, you recognize a few from when you arrived last year, and clearly they remembered you.

Tony was tinkering over one of his latest projects, with his back to the door and rock music blasting so loud that he didn’t even notice you entered the room until you knocked out the power from the speakers.

“FRIDAY, what happened to my tunes?”

“It would seem Miss (Y/N) would like to have a word with you.” FRIDAY responded

Tony frantically searched around the room, turning around to see you grinning at him. “(Y/N), you’re back?”

“Try to contain your excitement.” You joke and start toying with a flat triangle Tony had laying on the workbench, a light beaming from the center “What’s going Tony?”

“Well I started a new diet, Pepper says it helps with stress. Thor knows I’ve had plenty of that to last several lifetimes.” He rambled, seeming to watch your hands carefully

“Cut the bull, Tony, you know what I mean.” Your voice raises slightly

“Go to Asgard for a year and suddenly you’re very demanding. Did you have fun playing Princess?”

“Who’s playing? Talk to me Tony, what happened while I was gone?”

“Sir, General Ross is on the line, he says it’s urgent.” FRIDAY notified

“Isn’t it always.” Tony looked to you “Can you step to the right? Time to play the quiet game.”

You roll your eyes but step to the side. A hologram of an older man, dressed in a suit appeared in front of you.

“Stark, I just got a call saying there’s an Asgardian on the compound. Is it her?” He asks

“False alarm, the gate got confused by my shawarma take out.” Tony shrugged “What are you gonna do.”

“Don’t play games Stark, that girl is a weapon, and we both know that if she was given the choice she’d side with Rogers in a heartbeat.”

“Maybe if she was here, but she’s not.” Tony hinted to you just as you opened your mouth to speak “Like I told you before she’s off on Asgard, no where near here. Don’t you have other people to harass, I’m busy.”

“No I don’t, not since the breakout at The Raft. Barton and Lang won’t give up Rogers or the others, and I have the council breathing down my neck because of it.”

“I’m sorry, is this part relevant to me?” Tony asked “Because once I signed off, I thought all government issues belonged to- I dunno- the government.”

“If either of the Asgardians, Thor or the other one, show up and plan on staying on Earth they need to sign The Accords, can’t have a repeat of Bucharest.” Ross speaks sternly

The hologram disappeared, leaving you and Tony alone again. Tony threw down the screwdriver in his hands.

"The other one? Jerk didn’t even bother to learn my name?”

“It’s for the better, Ross doesn’t know who you are, just that you’re from Asgard and have powers. You left before we could officially put you on the payroll.”

“What the hell is going on? Who else is with Steve?”

“Wilson, Maximoff… Maybe Romanoff, who really knows. And- Barnes.” He sighed deeply, the look in his eyes grew dark with hatred and sadness, you could feel the senses in his brain dampen.

“Tony? What happened to the team?”

“The Avengers are done for kid. The team split up.”

“Split up?” You repeat “How? You can’t split up, you’re The Avengers.”

“We were The Avengers.” He shook his head, and returned to messing with the project in front of him “The Accords, freaking Rogers refused to sign. And then Bucharest happened.”

“You speak as if I was there. Tony, I have my grandfather awaiting my return, in the company of a doctor wizard.” You informed him, stepping beside him while he worked “Are you going to tell me or not?”

“You ever see California? I’m leaving for L.A. in the morning, a few conferences, guest appearance on Shark Tank, you’re more than welcomed to come with.” Tony offered

“I can’t go galavanting off to California. I need to find Steve and bring him back. I’ll track him from here or the Tower.”

“If he ever showed his face in public, he’d be arrested on sight. And if Ross find out you’re here, he will use you to get to Rogers, so you can’t stay on the compound or hide out in the Tower; it’s technically government property now.” Tony gives another shrug “So Cali? At least until you and Grandpappy Odin go back to Asgard.”

“We can’t go back, Loki has control over the throne. We’d be locked away or killed the moment we arrived.” You played with the flat triangle

“You just leave a giant mark everywhere you go don’t you?” Tony snatched the item from your hands “Look, I can’t have you wandering around with Ross aiming to get Cap- Rogers back here. But it’s completely up to you.”

You watch Tony’s face closely, the small flicker of hope for your answer was clear to you. If things were as bad as everyone made it seem, then Tony had been through a lot and you could only imagine how much Steve had changed.

“I’d get a plus one right?”

* * *

“What do you mean he’s gone? How do you misplace a five thousand year old Norse god!” You shout at Dr. Strange

“Firstly I don’t appreciate your tone alright. I’m not a babysitter, and he’s a grown man. Like I said I went to meditate for a bit, when I came back he was gone.”

“He just got back in his right mind, and he’s dying. How do you know he isn’t climbing to the top of the Empire State Building, ready to jump.” You begin to pace back and forth along the design of the floor

“I doubt that’s how Odin, King of Asgard, would end his life.”

“I gotta find him. Why is it that every single time someone says they’ll be in place when I get back, they’re never in place?”

“I can help you find him, I just need a strand of your hair.” Strange reached for your head

“Don’t touch my hair.” You slapped his hand away “He couldn’t have gotten far, he barely has his powers. So where would he go?”

“Norway.” Wong stepped through another portal “He asked me to take him like an hour ago.”

You sighed with relief. “He’s safe, that’s great because we leave for California in the morning.”

“Oh he’s not with me. He wanted to stay in Norway.”

“What? Why?”

“He said he wanted to spend his last moments in peace. And he wanted to ensure you that you will meet one last time before his final days.”

You roll your eyes at the cryptic message. “I don’t know which is bothering me more, Asgardians or men.”

“While you figure that out, Wong and I will be will be ordering take out. Don’t break anything.” You give Strange a snarky smile as he and Wong walked out the front door.

You find your way into the living room, the odd comfort of silence over coming you. Taking a page out of Strange’s book you sit cross legged on the floor and close your eyes, focusing your breathing. Thor had mentioned being able to meditate and connect with whomever you wished to speak to, a skill you two brushed upon before he had to take off once more. But you were unsure of who you wanted to speak to.

Odin left very abruptly and without a word to you, however Thor was still off trying to find the stones, unaware of the things happening on Asgard. Heimdall no doubt had his hands full trying to escape and possibly get your family to safety. And you weren’t sure if it would work with Steve since he wasn’t an Asgardian.

But you did see a meadow, a long stretch of trees meeting the horizon where the land greets the sky. You can barely tell if the sun is rising or setting but it’s beautiful nonetheless. Someone stood next to you, they were tall, and green with pointed ears.

‘I think this will be a safe place for us.’ they nod before looking at you ‘What do you think Captain?’

You feel yourself being pushed out, opening your eyes you were back in the middle of the living room.

“What in Hel?”

Taglist: @classybai @moisoverennyi-thestarlessone @floralandspice @bi-bi-bi-bisexualz @theonelittleone @grey-junior @marvelousbuckystark @captainsthor @sebbystanlover-vk @jovialcalzonepaperzine @chook007 @dontchawishyouknewhowtosalsa @geekysimmerthings @codename-buckybarnes @marvelfansworld @emmaschhh @bruisedfaye @mackyk06 @teamcap4bucky @paigeem96 @lily-horvitz @tshollandlove @nerdypisces160 @mrs-captain-evans

22 notes · View notes

justanotherloveaffair · 6 years ago

Text

Breaking Rules (Part 2) - Chadwick Boseman x Reader

>>> Link to Part 1 (June Smutfest one shot)

Summary: The punishment continues, but Chadwick shows you mercy after being very well behaved.

Warnings: Daddy!Chadwick, smut (obviously), Dom/sub

Word Count: 3,638

Author’s Note: I hope you guys like this. Sorry it took so long to get this up!!!! I wrote this in one sitting, it just came out so easily once I got started. Also I love the thought of a very sweet and benevolent Daddy after the punishment is over :)

Your name: Submit (what is this?)

My Masterlist

Taglist: @afraiddreamingandloving, @killmongerrss, @kumkaniudaku, @nah-imjustfeelinit, @tchallaholla, @a-heretic-child, @simplyyamberr, @trillblackmama, @ljstraightnochaser, @h-challa, @theunsweetenedtruth, @fullonfrenzy

* I can’t remember all the people who wanted to be notified about a Part 2 so sorry if I missed tagging anyone. I actually have no idea who wanted to be tagged on this post so sorry if the taglist is whack LOL

Yes. Please. Thank you.

Those were the four words he allowed you to say. The word no was not allowed in your vocabulary as he made you wear a revealing dress, slid a remote-controlled bullet vibrator into your pussy and had you follow him out the door to wherever he felt like taking you, like an obedient pet.

And hell yes, you were loving every minute of it.

Being submissive was something you always knew was a deep, secret part of you but the experience was usually limited to an ex-boyfriend spanking you occasionally. At most, a hand around your throat.

And then Chadwick came along. Chadwick, who was eager to richly and deeply live out any fantasy you had, as you were of his and the sex was so off the charts dynamite that you wished you could tell everyone about it. Chadwick, who, when you were out with friends and wincing as you sat down, would wink at you as only he knew it was because your ass was freshly spanked from his palm. Chadwick, whose dirty talk in your ear would make you moan halfway through dinner.

He was endlessly inventive in ways to turn you on and had a detailed, dirty imagination, and could be ruthlessly patient when it came to punishing his babygirl.

Tonight was no different. Tonight was about him reasserting control, and you made a conscious decision to do everything perfectly, answering him not a beat too quickly or too late, thanking him when he set off the vibrating bullet even though it made you grit your teeth.

At the bar he took you to, you were told to sit on the stool with your legs crossed as your short dress rode up your thighs, only acknowledge him and always with Yes, Please, or Thank you and he damn well knew every man there was salivating at what was his.

He had you swallow a glass of whiskey as his fingers brushed your leg, fingertips grazing just under the skirt while he stared at you with wolfish eyes. He looked sexy as hell, his shoulders and arm muscles popping in a black v-neck shirt and that added another layer of torture, as he still wouldn’t allow you to touch him.

As you placed the old-fashioned glass back on the bar he slipped his fingers a little further up your dress, and his voice was deep and silky as he asked, knowing full well what the answer would have to be but the question was only to remind you that you couldn’t say no,

“Do you want another one?”

You bit your lip and yelped a little as the vibration returned, knowing his eyes were trained on your expression. The edging was starting to become too much, even for you. You had no choice but to answer yes, and right away, Chadwick had another whiskey brought to you.

The liquor made you warm and relaxed and even hornier. He ordered some appetizers and you picked at them but only ate because you were told to. The taste barely registered on your tongue. All you could focus on was him, his heavy hand possessively resting on your upper thigh and how badly you wanted him to make you come. All it would take was a second or two more of vibration each time he turned it on, just one second more, but each time he saw the telltale sign of your breathing starting to hitch, he would turn it off.

He leaned over and whispered in your ear. “Do you enjoy being tortured like this, for everyone to see?”

Your hand gripped the bar, your mind grasping on the only word you had in your arsenal to beg him to stop. “Please.”

You felt his lips on your neck, just a slight graze against your over-stimulated skin and you moaned, your knuckles going white as he asked, “Do you think you’ve learned your lesson?”

Your eyes were screwed shut, pushing out the whole world so it was only him and his breath and voice filling your whole body.

“Yes.” You gasped.

“You’ve been very well behaved, babygirl. Daddy’s gonna take you home and reward you.”

A breath of relief escaped your lips and you mouthed, your shaking voice barely above a whisper, “Thank you.”

After being on edge for hours you were trembling and grateful for any touch or look he graced you with, mindlessly willing to do whatever he wanted as long as it pleased him. Your trusting him with your body and mind was a gift he didn’t take lightly, and after these long punishments he always showed you his thanks and you couldn’t wait to get home to receive it.

Twenty nervous and excited minutes later he walked you in the door, his hand on the small of your back.

As the door closed softly shut behind you, he stepped close behind you, so close you could smell his intoxicating cologne and feel the warmth radiating off of his body, but he still wasn’t close enough to touch you.

After hours and hours of being broken down, you were patient and pliant, like a doll. This was your submissive self in its most pure, raw state. You felt safe, calm and ready for anything. Anything he wanted.

His fingers began to unzip your dress, all the way down until it sagged and fell down your legs. You stood obediently still, feeling every sensation multiplied a hundred-fold: the in-and-out of his breathing, the cool apartment air on your naked skin, the shape of the vibrator inside you every time you shifted your feet.

You were staring ahead into the dark room while behind you, you heard the shifting of clothes and sudden excitement spiked through you at the sound of his belt coming undone. His shirt and pants joined the pile at your feet and your heart was racing, knowing he was so close to you and naked.

When his voice filled the dark room, it was with a honey timbre that made you twinge as he praised in your ear, “You’ve been such a good girl. Will you let Daddy show you how grateful he is?”

The promise of imminent pleasure made your knees go weak and the air burn around you as if the room suddenly caught fire. You felt such giddy, simple pride at having pleased him it made your entire body flush. Nothing was sweeter than the erotic, tender way he showed you mercy after a long session, you craved it, lived for it and now you were about to have it.

All four words combined into one needy sentence, “Yes, please, thank you,” came your strained voice and his gentle laugh filled your ears and you nearly cried.

“To the bedroom my baby.” He touched his hand to your back to encourage your movement and you padded forward, your hands wringing together as sparks of excitement crackled all around you.

His next instruction came paired with a little lovebite on your neck and a light tap of his fingers on your hip. “On the bed.”

You got up and kneeled, your hands still in your lap. He hadn’t even touched you yet but your heart was so full of joy that he was about to ease your suffering that tears pricked your eyes.

The bed dipped behind you from his body weight, the bed springs below you straining and it was the only sound in the room aside than your heavy, anxious breathing.

Two hands settled on your shoulders and twisted you gently, giving you permission to finally turn and face him, your heart beat thudding hotly in your ears as you turned on the bed and melted under the warm gaze he greeted you with. All day he’d been harsh with you, cold in his treatment and now, he was smiling. The image greeted you like a balm that soothed any and every worry you’d ever had in your life. It was like sunshine, coming home, as satisfying as an incredible meal or a cold drink on a hot day.

“I want to make you happy,” he looked over you with warmth in his eyes, that smile still on his face. “You can have whatever you want.”

You looked at him as if he’d just walked you into a candy store and given you unlimited free reign and your eyes grew wide.

“What would you ask of your Daddy?” He prompted, his hands reaching out to your hips to rub circles into them.

There were too many possibilities and your mind couldn’t focus while you looked at his painfully beautiful face so they slid down his body, down the plains of that delicious skin you were aching for earlier and you knew right away what you wanted.

Staring below his waist, you said “Please?” in a small voice, turning one of your four words up into a question and he laughed again, one hand coming up to caress your cheek.

“Baby, you can speak your words again.”

“Let me touch you, please,” you said, begging huskily and Chadwick’s eyes softened as he nodded.

You bit your lip, one hand reaching out to touch your fingertips gently and cautiously to his chest, tentative as if he were going to disappear the moment you did it. He was solid as steel and twitched slightly when he felt you, and at that moment you realized how difficult your punishment had been for him as well as for you.

You traced your fingertip down between his pecs, over his abs and watched with fascination as his stomach tightened, his breathing picking up the lower your touch went. Both of your gazes looked down to watch your hand skate down his abdomen, towards your prize that was hard and twitching as it anticipated your touch and you relished the sight of it, the perfect size that fit you so well, challenging your limits while giving you endless pleasure. You loved his cock and took every opportunity to show him and tell him how good it felt, how much you craved it, how big he was as he pounded you. He saw the love in your eyes as you took a moment to touch him slowly, just tracing him with your fingers, barely holding him but he felt your touch down to his toes.

“Is this what you wanted? To torture me back?” His voice was amused but strained and the corner of his mouth lifted in a crooked smile as his eyes closed.

You didn’t answer but shifted down on your knees and before he knew what was happening, your lips were slipping over the tip of his dick.

“Ohhh, fuck!” he cursed loudly, looking down in surprise at you on the edge of him, opening your mouth wide as you looked up adoringly. The erotic sight almost cost him an instant orgasm and he gritted his teeth and sucked in his breath to steady himself.

When he looked back to you, you batted your eyes coquettishly and smiled with him in your mouth before you slid him deeper, hollowing your cheeks to suck him just right, making his eyes roll back at the pressure and wetness of your mouth.

This was what you wanted all day. From the moment he tied you up and forced you to watch him touch himself, your end game was to have him writhing and helpless as you worshipped his body and as you kept your eyes trained on him, you could see you were well on your way.

Chadwick was fighting with himself for control, making animalistic sounds, his hands becoming fists at his sides while his mouth was dropped open still absorbing the shock of the sudden onslaught of sensations.

“Oh god please, stop….” he started bargaining for control but it only made you want to push even further. You forced as much of him inside as you could and saliva dripped down your chin and into your lap. You were moaning and making a mess as you slurped him with dirty enjoyment and Chadwick was speechless, unable to string coherent words together, only able to grunt and moan as he started to thrust into your mouth and your hands flew to his hips to control him.

He started to shake and you looked up just in time to catch the heart-stopping sight of his face right in the moment he erupted in your mouth. His sounds were the mewling gasps of a man who was seeing the face of God. You greedily swallowed his come, watching his every twitch, breath and groan at the height of his pleasure, your lips smiling around him the whole time.

When you were sure you’d gotten it all, your aching jaw released him, letting his softening cock fall from your lips but you went right back to his body, covering it with the kisses you’d been dying to give him all day. You kissed his thighs, nuzzled your nose in his trimmed pubic hair, and moved your lips up to his stomach as your fingers stroked up and down over his calves, knees and strong upper thighs.

“Baby, come here, oh my god,” he said in a hoarse voice as if one more touch would kill him. He pulled you back up to your knees and you immediately kissed the sweat that had collected on his face and forehead and you ran your hands through his beard while he smiled breathlessly.

“That wasn’t what I expected you to want,” he looked at you smiling, starry-eyed, in awe and wonder of you.

“What other reward could I possibly want, Daddy?”

Chadwick sucked in his breath as you looked at him with round eyes, the sincere sentiment in your words and your worshipping voice making him clench his teeth.

His hands slid around the back of your neck and he looked at you as if he might fuck you and propose to you all at once.

He shook his head, pressed his forehead to yours. “I don’t deserve you, babygirl.”

You basked in his love and attention knowing you’d made him happy and that was all you could want. Even though the evidence of your want was leaking down your thigh, anything else you could have tonight was above and beyond. As far as you were concerned, you’d already had your reward.

Chadwick kissed your forehead and whispered, “Stay here,” before he crawled off of the bed, leaving you kneeling there.

He reappeared in the room and returned to the bed, carrying the small black remote in his hand. With the other hand, he splayed his fingers over your chest and pushed gently with an instruction, “On your back, baby.”

Your heart started to pound as he burrowed between your thighs once you were back against the soft cushions. As you shifted your body, you felt the presence of the bullet vibrator inside your walls and once you were on your back, with a flick of Chadwick’s finger it was suddenly on its highest vibration setting and his mouth was on your clit.

“Oh FUCK!” You screamed at the immediate attack, his wet, warm tongue swirling over and over around your clit while your inner walls vibrated and you weren’t prepared for the onslaught. It was too much, too fast, too intense. It only took seconds for you to come with a gush of juices and a scream and Chadwick happily endured your hands gripping him at the back of his head. His moans vibrated against your clit as your wild cries filled the room.

The next thing you were conscious of was Chadwick sliding the small black bullet out, and then his mouth covered your pussy while you laid there breathing heavily, giving you wide, up-and-down licks over your folds. You went to push him away, make him stop, trying to close your thighs around him.

His fingers snapped your thighs back open and he pulled away from you to say, loud enough for you to hear through your post-orgasmic haze, “Daddy’s not done with you yet. Hold still.”

Eyes wide, you looked down your body at where his lips and tongue were teasing you with slow, wet licks and kisses and Chadwick returned your gaze with one of pure hunger and a warning in his eyes that nothing would come between him and what he wanted.

You were still recovering and sensitive but slowly you relaxed and sank back into the sensations of his searching mouth.

He sucked on you and released you a few times and moaned, “You taste incredible babygirl. Do you know how hard it makes me to feel how wet you are?”

You moaned at the sound of his voice coming from between your legs and then the wet, sucking sounds of his tongue returned as he went back to work. He ate you slowly and thoroughly, not aiming you towards another orgasm right away, but making sure to spoil you with as much pleasure as you could stand.

The contrasting feeling of his silky tongue and rough beard between your legs was one thing but the sounds were another. His moans were nonstop, deep “uhhhhs” into your pussy, making you claw at the bed. The erotic, slippery wet sounds of his mouth sucking you added to the pleasure and you felt yourself start to climb towards another peak at his slow, lazy enjoyment of you.

His mouth traveled upwards, knowingly latching on to your clit while you felt two fingers curl inside you, his considerable experience of your body guiding the way he touched you just right to make you shoot for the stars. He didn’t let up, and added a third finger knowing how much harder you came while being penetrated and began to fuck you, his tongue never stopping and you grinded your hips down against him.

“Yes, yes, Daddyyy!!” You unleashed with a cry, as your muscles clenched, the feelings coalescing and gathering into a tight ball of light before exploding behind your eyes. You clutched blindly down at him and he gripped one of your hands, giving you an anchoring point to squeeze as you threw your head back and bucked your hips. Awash and lost on the shores of another world, you let your pleasure be heard and Chadwick released your clit and smiled up at you, his hand clutching yours tight.

“That’s it, sing for me babygirl, let me hear how good it feels,” you heard him say during your mindnumbing climax and your moans intensified in response.

Slowly, ever so slowly you came back to your body, surprised to find yourself blinking away tears as you looked down at him as he rubbed slow circles into your thighs and stomach.

“Shhh, that’s my girl, good girl,” He praised endlessly while your hips continued to roll in his hands.

It was your turn to be in awe of him. The way he made you feel was a thing of beauty, a work of art in itself, making you come like it was second nature where for past boyfriends it had been a complex task. And yet for Chadwick, coming undone for him was as easy as breathing.

Your heart swelled and filled with gratefulness and you both took a moment to smile at each other, sweaty, happy and totally satisfied.

“Chadwick,” You sighed and squeezed his hand. You didn’t have to say anything more, he knew just how you felt and what you wanted and he crawled up your body to rest over you, holding himself still at your tight, wet entrance before pushing forward until your hips fit snugly together and you sighed happily. His thick cock pulsed inside of you, stretching you wide and you both groaned at the intimacy of the moment, wrapped up in each others arms, as close as two people could get.

“Y/N,” He sighed in your ear, his hands clutching your hips tightly. “I’m yours.”

You smiled and held his head against your neck as he started to move in the familiar, comfortable intimate way you loved as he surrounded you making you feel safe, adored, and needed in his arms. Your bodies rocked together in perfect harmony, the only sounds between you being gasps of pleasure and each other’s’ names until he gripped you in his strong grasp, wrenching one of your legs up behind his arm as he fucked you with long, hard strokes that made your eyes roll back and you both keen towards an orgasm that exploded over you both in tandem, sharing each other’s cries as you both came again, together.

Your arms and legs locked around his back, fusing yourself to him and cradling his head to your chest where he gasped and moaned through the earth-shattering pleasure, his breath scalding hot on your overheated skin, his fingertips rough and biting on your hips as he held you up against him.

Your bodies fell back to the bed, weary, exhausted, totally drained with pleasant aching and still tingling as you smiled side by side up at the ceiling.

As you laid there breathing in and out, you marvelled at how much had happened that day, from being tied up in the living room to having your body worshipped and fucked like a goddess, and the fact that all of that and more was possible on any given day with Chadwick made your heart seize in your chest.

You were a lucky bitch and you knew it. It couldn’t possibly get better.

“Hey,” you felt his hand come to rest between your breasts and rub back and forth to get your attention.

“Yeah baby?”

“You wanna smoke a joint and order some pizza?”

You grinned, realizing you were wrong.

It got better.

#Chadwick Boseman #Chadwick Boseman x Reader #Chadwick Boseman x Reader fanfic #Chadwick Boseman smut #Chadwick Boseman fic #Chadwick Boseman fanfic #Chadwick Boseman fanfiction #Chadwick Boseman imagine

190 notes · View notes