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infinitehyperfixations · 3 months

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Piotr Rasputin/Colossus SFW Alphabet

hi, I'm still alive I promise! Still working on fics, but wanted to throw this out here as a fun little writing exercise with the SFW alphabet! So, without further ado...

taglist: @master-sass-blast @osmiumamygdala @black-but-mildly-sunny @seconds-2-midnight

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Piotr is a very physically affectionate man - pats on the back, a hand up if you’re struggling to climb over an obstacle, a hand on your shoulder and a squeeze as he passes. He would struggle at first if you didn’t like physical affection or were uncomfortable with being touched, but his next go-to would be acts of service. Dishes needed to be washed? Done. Laundry needs to be folded? He’s already on it and put on your favorite show so you can watch as you two pair the socks together; he likes making your life easier if he can.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

He’s the type of best friend who you know that if you go to for help, he’s going to help in whatever capacity he can. That being said, he’s the type to offer you solutions and advice as he’s doing it; if you need to vent, you’re going to have to tell him otherwise he’s going to try and fix it as best he can. The type of best friend to give you a lecture for ending up in a bad situation, but still comes to your rescue even if you're an hour away and it’s 3AM on a weeknight.

The friendship starts naturally, you’re a colleague of his at Xavier’s or a friend of a friend and Piotr just…fits in your life. He slots in and makes a home for himself in your life, and you in his.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

He’s a big fan of cuddles, although always very hesitant to initiate since he is one - very large and heavy - and two - covered in a hard metallic armor almost 85% of the time. You’re going to have to initiate and assure him you’re comfortable, and only then will he willingly cuddle up.

That being said, he’s a big fan of laying on his back with you nestled up to his side and your head on his chest. He’s got an arm draped over your side, lazily tracing patterns on your skin and holding you close.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

On paper he’d love to settle down, but knows the reality comes with conditions that he could never willingly ask a partner to be okay with. He’s still a superhero, and so many people would still need his help; if he had to choose between a mission where lives are at stake and you asking him to stay, he hates to admit how difficult a decision it would be. He doesn’t know if he could ever ‘retire’ in the traditional sense, settle down and leave the hero work on the shelf, but if anyone could persuade him, it’d be you.

He’s an alright cleaner in the fact he doesn’t make much of a mess to begin with. Piotr always picks up after himself, and is a very big fan of Marie Kondo’s mantra of keeping a clean and tidy space. As far as cooking goes, he’s good at cooking very specific dishes - Russian comfort food, anyone? But beyond that his cooking is a bit bland; the type to eat chicken breasts and steamed vegetables for every meal because it’s quick, easy, and keeps him fueled. You’re going to need to teach him to use seasonings.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

If there is one man in the world who gives people too many chances, it’s Piotr. He always wants to give people the benefit of the doubt, the chance to change or improve. That being said, the point where the relationship would end would be if a major boundary was crossed; at that point, it’s time to reevaluate and have a serious conversation about the trajectory of the relationship. It would be awkward, and uncomfortable, because he would never want to intentionally hurt his partner, but also he would be quick to the point. Not wanting to drag it on any longer than it’s already gone.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Piotr likes the idea of commitment, of having a partner to share things with. Not so much having a ‘better half’ but just having someone there for him, and someone he can be there for in turn. It would probably take him 3-4 years of serious dating before he would want to get married, although he’s the type to dream about it around 6 months into the relationship.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

As Colossus, he had to teach himself to be gentle - to not accidentally crush someone’s hand in a handshake or put his foot through the floor with each step - it’s carried over even when he’s not armored up. He’s extremely gentle, very aware of the strength of his hands or how his large frame fills a room and could very easily knock over an end table (or, god forbid, a person) with the slightest brush of his hip.

He would need to teach himself to be gentle with his emotions as well, his frustration or anxiety coming off as overbearing or lecturing at first (again, you’ll need to specifically tell him not to offer solutions when you just need to vent). That being said, he’s not the type that’s prone to emotional outbursts, but rather has the need to channel his negative emotions into action rather than sitting with them and fully processing them.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Loves hugs, is perfect for hugs, hugs his friends often (if they are okay with it). He’s a big bear hugger, the type to pick the other person up by the armpits and swing them around if the occasion calls for it.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

As soon as he knows the other person feels the same, he’s going to say it. Not the type to be subtle in his affections for his friends or romantic partners, so at most maybe 6 months into the relationship.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Piotr doesn’t get jealous; if you’re in a relationship together, then he trusts you and knows not to be jealous if you’re spending time with anyone else or aren’t giving him your full undivided attention. He knows you have a life outside of him and your relationship, and he actively encourages it.

Of course, that doesn’t mean he isn’t going to be protective. He’s not jealous because somebody is taking up all your attention, but he is absolutely moving and putting an arm around you if you show any outward sign of being uncomfortable; he’s going to physically move you behind him, if needed. He’s going to check up on you when you’re with your friends, a quick text to make sure you’re having fun and then another to ask when you’ll be home; he’ll wait up for you to come home and breathe a little easier when you walk through the door.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

If he’s armored up, his skin is cool to the touch and his lips are no different as they gently brush against yours. Butterfly soft, the smallest amount of pressure as if he’s afraid you’ll break under him. He’s a big fan of forehead kisses (it’s the easiest kiss to give when you’re almost seven feet tall) but also kisses to both your cheeks and then a soft, final press of his lips against yours.

Kiss his knuckles, his palms, and he’s a goner. He’s so used to his hands being used to smash through walls and push through obstacles, that the gentle press of your lips against his joints has him stopped dead in his tracks.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Loves kids, is fantastic around kids. He is very large and is the perfect jungle gym for rambunctious children, but also can be very gentle and encouraging with any of the shyer ones who are intimidated by a large man made of metal. He’s still a bit of a stickler for rules and structure, no desserts before dinner and all vegetables must be eaten, but makes up for it by just being a really fun adult that kids kind of gravitate towards.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Piotr’s mornings are typically his busiest time; if he’s not working out in the morning, then he’s preparing for the day ahead with his various lessons. Is a very early riser as well, has an internal alarm clock that goes off at 6AM regardless of whether or not it’s a weekend and makes it so he cannot fall back asleep.

Of course, that leads to morning cuddles if it’s the rare occasion where he actually doesn’t have a million things to do that day. He never takes those mornings for granted, holding you close and inhaling the scent of your shampoo and molding his body to spoon yours. If there’s nothing else to do that day, he’ll spend the entire morning like that.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Piotr’s night time routine is less strict than his morning one, mostly focusing on winding down for the evening and getting comfortable before going to bed. A nice shower, pajamas and a chapter of the latest book he’s reading before turning off the lights and waiting for sleep to come. He tries to avoid any screen time before bed, if he can help it, but absolutely will get invested in whatever show you’re watching and will watch an episode with you before bed.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Piotr is a fairly open type of person as far as revealing things about himself, although isn’t the type to say it out of nowhere without a proper relationship being established. If you ask him anything, he’ll almost always give you a straightforward answer, but won’t necessarily give the nitty gritty details until a proper relationship and mutual trust is created.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Patience of a saint, it takes so much to get him to show any frustration beyond general annoyance or displeasure. True anger is difficult to get from Piotr, and is usually reserved for very specific circumstances or people.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He is the type to make notes in his phone if you mention you like a certain brand of something or a specific snack. Those flowers you mentioned offhand? He has a note in his phone and a reminder to place an order to the florist on Valentine’s Day and your birthday. It's an effort, and doesn’t necessarily come naturally to him to remember all the little details, but wants to make you happy so keeps a running list of things that make you happy.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

There’s a moment in the relationship where the dynamic shifts, where it’s less ‘I am trying to impress/entice this person into a relationship’ and it becomes more ‘this is my friend who I love but also am romantically involved with and would tear this world down for’. That moment would be Piotr’s favorite, and it would be a casual moment; the two of you in pajamas, perhaps both in the same room but idly doing your own thing. And it’s then that Piotr looks over at you, in one of his t-shirts and a face mask while you scroll absentmindedly on your phone,and there’s something in that moment when you look up at him and smile that makes his heart clench. There’s nothing particularly special, but it’s you and him and he feels so…at peace in your presence.

It’s at that moment he knows you could ask him to do anything, ask him to jump and he’d ask how high, and it both frightens and exhilarates him to know that you - wonderful, imperfectly perfect you - have this much power over him. A man who regularly faces life or death for a cause bigger than himself as casually as some people court lovers, and he’d throw it all down for the person sitting next to him.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

He’d wrap you in bubble wrap if he could, carry you down every flight of stairs if it meant your safety. Not because he doubts your ability or because he wants to undermine your autonomy, but because the thought of you getting hurt - especially when he could have prevented it - would kill him. If he can’t protect you, what is he? He’s the shield for his team, the battering ram when the situation calls for it, but for you he’ll be an entire suit of armor.

Of course he knows that’s not feasible to always be there to save you, but it doesn’t stop him from always watching you a bit closer, having a hand at your side, or walking on the side of you that faces traffic. If you’d try to do the same for him, step in front of him or try to shield his body with your own - at first he won’t know what to think. He’s so used to being the one to take the hits, and to have someone willing to take them for him? Well, it’s going to take some getting used to, and it probably contributes to him falling for you a bit faster than he usually would.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

He puts in a lot more effort than he puts on when it comes to dates and anniversaries and holidays. He has it planned down to the letter - your favorite restaurant, the flowers that you mentioned offhandedly that you liked, and the outfit you said he looked so handsome in. Of course, it’s played off as effortless, just another part of his routine, and you’ll quickly see the cracks start to form if something goes off course.

Just kiss his hand and assure him it’s perfect, as long as he’s there beside you, and he’ll quickly resume sweeping you off your feet.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Stickler for routine, needs structure or else he will quickly fall into bad habits fueled by self doubt. Often questions his place in the grand scheme of things if he feels like he is not fulfilling his role as a protector, and can spiral very quickly into depression or self destructive habits.

Also, he will wear shorts and a tank top no matter how cold it gets. He’s that kid, you know the one.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Piotr’s interesting in this regard - he doesn’t so much care for his looks as far as aesthetics go. I’ve touched on this in previous asks and various drabbles, but he lifts and works out to be strong rather than to look a certain way. It’s functional, and he's more of a strongman than a bodybuilder, if that makes sense. He works out and stays fit because it suits his lifestyle and helps him be the Colossus his team needs him to be, getting ripped isn’t so much the prerogative. Of course, he enjoys looking strong and like he could tear the doors off a car without trying, and he’s the type to change if he notices a stain on his shirt, but for the most part he’s not a very vain person as far as looks are concerned. He dresses for comfort and utility rather than fashion most of the time, but he has the capacity to dress up if needed.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Incomplete isn’t the right word. He’d feel like something was lacking, like he was missing something that would otherwise make him happy, but he would still be able to function. You don’t make him Piotr, just like he doesn’t make you…well, you. It’s an added bonus of having another person around, and it would be great if you were there and he’ll certainly miss you if you aren’t there, but he’ll be able to function without you. He’ll have to, at least that’s what he tells himself.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Okay, so the Russian stereotype of drinking vodka like it’s water is very prevalent, and yeah Piotr’s able to drink a lot and stay relatively sober, but he doesn’t really like the feeling of being inebriated beyond a slight buzz. It’s a dangerous game to get him really drunk, not only for anyone trying to keep up with him, but also for him. Drunk Piotr is a sad, sappy Piotr who is going to hold onto his friends or significant other and cry into their shoulder while forgetting his own strength. He has absolutely broken a few barstools (and a few bars) by getting too inebriated for his own good and completely forgetting that he can smash through most surfaces with little to no effort.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

I think Piotr wouldn’t be a fan of people who are completely resistant to change or self improvement - he wants to grow and try new things with you! You can be hesitant, you’ll work up to it together and he’ll be the most supportive person in your corner, but to completely shut him down or resist it altogether would really dishearten him. I also think a lack of ambition would really turn him off - if you have a goal, no matter how small, he wants to be there to help you achieve it.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Once he settles down and is fully out cold, he does not move. Absolutely still, he’s conditioned himself to not to move or throw out an arm in fear it’ll strike out and break another bedside table. This will be doubled if you are sleeping beside him, he would be terrified of accidentally rolling over in his sleep on top of you!

#literally in love with this man #he’s such a sweetheart #piotr rasputin #colossus #colossus x reader #marvel x reader #xmen x reader #xmen #marvel #peter rasputin #reblog #not my writing

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infinitehyperfixations · 3 months

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Sexy Piotr Rasputin by Werneck

#OH MY GOD #i am not looking respectfully #marvel #xmen #marvel comics #marvel community #colossus #piotr rasputin #lucas werneck #reblog #not my art

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infinitehyperfixations · 3 months

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That look . That gotee 🔥🔥🔥 Hot Russian Daddy Rasputin by Lukas Werneck

#I AM BARKING #RESPECTFULLY #(that is a lie)#Piotr Rasputin my beloved #hello i am a whore for piotr rasputin #marvel #xmen #marvel comics #marvel community #colossus #piotr rasputin #lukas werneck #reblog #not my art #not my images

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infinitehyperfixations · 3 months

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Europe's Most Wanted Thief

Part 2 of Ribbons and Steel

Ribbons and Steal: Part 1, Part 2

Summary: Piotr faces the aftermath of his first interaction with Maya Durand and learns more about Europe's most wanted thief.

Story Tags: Slow Burn, enemies to lovers

Warnings: Language (mostly Wade)

Word Count: 4.6k

POV: Piotr

Note: Sorry that I haven't updated in a long time! 2023 was not a good year for me but I'm hoping that this year is better!

Comments and Reblogs are love!

Piotr prided himself on his ability to keep a level head in the most aggravating circumstances. He thought it was one of his best qualities. Everyone could rely on him to stay calm in the worst situations. He believed that there has to be at least one person that keeps their composure and Piotr was always more than happy to fill that role.

However, someone else would have to take his place as the “calmest person in the room” while Piotr dealt with his current predicament.

Piotr seethed as he glared at the opened skylight that Maya Durand had escaped through in the museum’s banquet hall. The thief had left the perfectly in tack window ajar as if to mock him on his failure. His outraged thoughts drowned out the police sirens and shouting reporters beyond the entrance doors. He could barely hear NTW’s frantic muttering as she tried to release him from the chain-like prison Maya Durand trapped him in. Only a couple of minutes had passed since her escape and the burning anger inside Piotr worsened with every passing second.

“Piotr!” NTW yelled in his face to pull him out of his furious haze. “I have been calling your name for the last minute!”

NTW nodded, deciphering Piotr’s muffled words as an apology while she tried to pull the cloth off his mouth.

“Anyway,” NTW huffed as she yanked on the tight fabric on his arm, “I was trying to tell you that the Professor is fine. He is currently trying to distract the press outside with Mr. Levine.”

Piotr only grumbled at the thought of the press finding out what happened with Maya Durand. It was inevitable that the X-Men, X-Force, and Wade would learn of the events that transpired but Piotr wanted to talk to them first before they saw it on the news. Piotr was nearly drowning in dread at the thought of Wade finding out before he returned to the mansion. The X-Men would forget about his fight with Maya Durand eventually, but Wade?

Piotr would never live this down.

NTW continued to tug on every strand of fabric with no avail. Piotr was grateful that she tried but even he could barely move in the cloth’s steel-like grip.

“Jesus Christ this shit is way too strong for me to take off,” NTW wheezed, rubbing her reddened fingers. “I think we’re going to need Logan’s claws to get you out of this.”

Before Piotr could think of an alternative plan, the fabric tangled around his body loosened fast enough for him to lose his balance. Piotr’s surprised yelp warned NTW to jump out of the way before he fell flat on his face with a loud bang.

While laying face down on the cold floor, Piotr reflected on the past few months - peaceful and uneventful months that now seemed like a distant memory - and wished he hadn’t taken them for granted. Staring at the scarlet silk that had bound him to the floor moments before did not help to extinguish his anger whatsoever. It only fueled his desire to catch Maya Durand and wipe that devious smirk off her face. He could already tell that the next few months would be the most infuriating of his life, but there was simply no way around it. One way or another, he was going to be the one to put that snarky thief in chains.

When Piotr did not immediately stand up, NTW cautiously stepped closer to him.

“You okay, Piotr?”

“I’m fine,” Piotr muttered, his voice muffled by the cold marble floor.

“You don’t sound like it.”

“I promise I am perfectly fine.”

NTW watched as Piotr stood up, letting the rest of the red fabric fall off of him. Every single piece pooled around his feet except for the one small piece that landed on his shoe - the one that Maya Durand wrapped around his head to keep his mouth shut. The image of Durand’s stupid smirk plagued his thoughts as he snatched up the cloth. With a sneer on his lips, Piotr shoved the material in his pocket for Hank to analyze in his lab. With any luck Hank might be able to figure out why Durand’s fabric was strong enough to hold him down.

Before Piotr could make his way to the museum’s entrance, James Levine threw the doors open to escape the hoards of reporters, flashing cameras, and shouts from police officers that tried to keep the rowdy crowd at bay. The Professor, who looked just as exhausted from dealing with the police and journalists as Levine, closely followed him.

"I see that you were released from Maya Durand's trap," James Levine said when he ran up to Piotr and NTW. "I was afraid that I was going to have to tell Miss Ba to get her briefcase."

Piotr and Ellie looked at Levine inquisitively and then at each other.

"Briefcase?"

"Yes, my toolkit, Mr. Rasputin," Miss Ba's cold voice came from behind him.

Piotr flinched at the sound of her voice before he quickly turned around to meet the assistant's harsh gaze. He wondered if she had the power to teleport because he had no idea how she managed to sneak behind him. Her face seemed to be permanently fixed to an unimpressed frown that wouldn't allow the mere emergence of a smile.

When Piotr finally broke the uncomfortable eye contact with Levine’s assistant, he noticed a large black briefcase she was holding at her side. His discarded suit jacket was draped over her arm, large enough to engulf her small frame.

“As Mr. Levine’s assistant, I must be prepared to protect him and his assets under any circumstances,” Miss Ba explained as she reached in her pocket to grab her ringing phone. Her frown deepened as she glanced at the screen. “That includes a visit from Europe’s most wanted thief…and a call from his relative whose diamond was just stolen.”

Miss Ba excused herself before answering the phone call. She kept the phone almost a foot away from her ear, the woman’s enraged screams audible even as the assistant moved to the opposite side of the room. If she was affected by the woman’s degrading shouts, she did not show it, her face as impassive as ever.

Levine sighed as he watched Miss Ba step aside. “I knew my aunt was going to be in hysterics when she found out about the diamond, but I thought I would have at least an hour to prepare.”

NTW looked up at a banner that advertised the Devil’s Treasure exhibit. “Your aunt owns the diamond?”

“Yes, I convinced her to lend it to the museum.” Levine ran a hand through his dark hair as he glanced from Miss Ba to the open skylight and the crumpled pile of red fabric in the middle of the floor. “I told her that the Devil’s Treasure would be safe and that no one - not even Maya Durand - would dare to attempt to steal it with an X-Man present.”

Levine glanced at Piotr hesitantly before clearing his throat.

“I guess I was wrong.”

Piotr clenched his hands as he took in a deep breath. Levine’s words only made his mood worse. He was an X-Man, he should have been able to stop a thief that controls fabric. He allowed himself to underestimate his opponent, a mistake he wouldn’t be repeating when it came to Maya Durand.

“Who is Maya Durand? How do you know her?” The Professor asked, turning his wheelchair to face Levine.

Levine barked out a laugh, but his amusement quickly faded as he looked between the others’ puzzled faces.

“You’re kidding right? Maya Durand? Europe’s most wanted thief? The woman that has become every billionaire and politician’s waking nightmare? You’ve never heard of her?”

Levine’s astonished look grew when the three mutants shook their heads. He pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath that Piotr couldn’t make out.

“Of course they never heard of Maya Durand,” Miss Ba chided, somehow appearing next to Piotr without him noticing her. She narrowed her eyes at the X-Man as she handed her phone to Levine. “If they did, they might have actually prevented her from stealing the Devil’s Treasure.”

“Nyza,” Levine warned before extending his arm out apologetically. “Please forgive Miss Ba, she can be very…blunt at times.”

“No offense taken,” NTW said, giving Nyza a harsh glare.

Nyza Ba rolled her eyes before she moved closer to Piotr, holding out the jacket on her arm with an irritated look (which seemed to be her default facial expression).

“You may want to put this on,” Nyza suggested, gesturing to his shirt with a nod of her head.

Piotr nearly popped a blood vessel when he looked down at the state of his dress shirt. The seams were ripped open, the fabric was littered with tears of various sizes, and he was missing several buttons. It was a miracle that his shirt was still on his body. Even with his jacket, he would look like he had jumped through a paper shredder.

Just like his dignity, his clothes also fell victim to Maya Durand.

Once Piotr took his jacket, Nyza made her way to a nearby table, brushing aside the remnants of the ruined plates and champagne glasses to set her briefcase in its center . The latches of the briefcase clicked as the assistant opened it.

Piotr gawked at the sight of the neatly organized contents inside of the briefcase. There was a small collection of large, razor sharp knives, two pairs of hedge clippers, and various firearms with extra ammo clips next to them. Piotr realized that this must be the toolkit that Levine spoke of earlier. He grimaced at the thought of them using the knives and hedge clippers to cut him out of the trap.

“What’s that?” NTW asked, pointing at a gun with a small compartment filled with some sort of clear fluid underneath its barrel.

“A mini flamethrower,” Nyza said nonchalantly. “My sources say that Maya Durand has an intense fear of fire.”

Levine’s eyebrows knitted together as he sneered, “I told you to get rid of that.”

To Piotr’s surprise, Nyza’s face paled at the sight of Levine’s hardened gaze and her eyes grew wider as he towered over her small form.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Nyza mumbled, reaching inside the briefcase to disassemble the weapon. She carefully disconnected the gun’s fluid compartment and tucked away the parts inside the briefcase.

Once she was done, Levine pulled out a tablet from the bottom of the briefcase. While he turned it on, Nyza closed the briefcase and moved to stand behind her boss, her normal judgemental look quickly sliding back over her features.

“I have Nyza keep a tablet with all of the information we have on Maya Durand. She has become quite a problem in Europe.”

Piotr reminded himself of the briefing the Professor gave on James Levine and his company on the way to the gala. While the company did produce machinery for medicine and entertainment, Drake Industries was primarily a tech company that specialized in security and weapons. It would not surprise him if the company had extensive records of criminals across the world.

“I wanted to ensure that local authorities knew whom they were dealing with if she showed up,” Levine explained, turning the tablet toward the mutants.

Piotr peered down at the tablet, which was currently displaying a mugshot of Durand. Much to Piotr’s displeasure, her signature smirk was firmly in place as she stared defiantly into the camera. The Professor gave Piotr a stern look as he tried to hide his frown at the sight of the prideful and mischievous glint in her eyes.

As he looked away from the infuriating picture, Piotr’s gaze fell on Levine’s face. There was a ghost of a smile on his face as his finger ran over Durand’s cheek. What unsettled Piotr even more was the way he was looking at her as if she was his next meal. His eyes wandered over her features with a possessive desire and longing that made Piotr’s stomach churn.

Weird.

“You may have this if you wish to pursue her,” Levine said, dropping the strange demeanor as he handed the tablet to the Professor.

“Don’t worry,” NTW asserted, nudging Piotr with her elbow. “We’ll make sure she’s put behind bars.”

Nyza scoffed at NTW’s promise and quickly silenced herself after receiving a harsh glance from her boss. Before NTW could make a scathing retort, Levine interjected to ease the tension in the air.

“It worries me that she has made an appearance in the states,” Levine stressed. “It may mean that she’s bored and wants to cause trouble here. If that’s the case, she is likely to make another appearance soon.”

Piotr nodded sharply. He was going to make Maya Durand regret crashing the gala. He would be the reason her obnoxious grin fell as he put her behind bars.

“Then she will have to face me the next time she shows her face.”

“And we will get that diamond back,” NTW promised.

“I appreciate your enthusiasm, but the Devil’s Treasure is long gone,” Levine chuckled lightly. “By now Maya Durand will have given it to the person who hired her for the job.”

The sound of Levine’s ringing phone took away his attention. Groaning, he pulled the device from his pocket and looked at the three mutants apologetically.

“I’m afraid I will have to deal with my aunt now. Nyza has made arrangements for your car to pick you up discreetly behind the museum so you can avoid the press. I wish you the best of luck catching Miss Durand.”

Before turning to take the call, Levine nodded to each of the mutants, his gaze lingering on Piotr for a fraction longer than the others before he strode off, his aunt’s screeching following him as he headed for the museum door. Piotr tried to ignore the unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach, but something was…off about Levine. If stories from the other X-Men were anything to go by, people like Levine almost always had an ulterior motive when they involved themselves in the mutant world. And besides his involvement with mutants, it was odd that Levine didn’t seem upset about losing the multi-million dollar diamond to Durand. Piotr would have to keep his guard up.

“God, I am so glad that I’m not him right now,” NTW muttered as she and Piotr watched the door swing shut behind Levine. With a significantly colder nod to the group, Nyza Ba quickly followed her boss out of the museum, briefcase in hand as the door swung shut for the second time, leaving them alone in the event hall.

“You will wish you were when we see Wade back at mansion,” Piotr grumbled.

The Professor rolled his eyes, although the slight quirk of his lips hinted at his amusement at NTW’s pallid expression. While they followed the Professor to the museum’s rear exit, Piotr started to mentally prepare himself for the harassment he was going to receive from the X-Men and, much to his displeasure, from Wade. He knew NTW could withstand some playful jabs from the X-Men but he was certain he was going to have to take the brunt of Wade’s teasing so she wouldn’t send him through a wall.

For the sake of his sanity, Piotr hoped he was wrong.

-----

The car ride back to the X-Mansion was deathly silent. Piotr and Ellie turned off their phones to have a little bit of peace before they returned. Both of them refused to look through the tablet’s information on Maya Durand so they wouldn’t have to think about what had happened. The incident was surely on every single news channel by now. Even though Piotr did not have any social media profiles, he knew he couldn’t hide from the flood of tweets and memes of the ordeal with his students and Wade around. Frankly, he wouldn’t be surprised if he had at least a hundred memes and videos about his fight with Maya Durand from Wade waiting behind his phone’s black screen.

When they finally arrived at the mansion, the X-Men were waiting for them in the foyer. Their quiet muttering came to a sudden halt as they stepped through the door. Most of them glanced between the members of the haggard group hesitantly, clearly not wanting to provoke any lingering emotions from the gala. Logan, on the other hand, stood front and center with an amused grin plastered on his face. The X-Man seemed as if he was anticipating some form of entertainment. He did not have to say anything because Piotr knew exactly why Logan was giving him that look.

Piotr closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he released a deep sigh. “Where is he?”

The rapid footsteps from the hallway at the top of the staircase behind the X-Men gave him his answer. Wade bounded to the top of the staircase, waving his phone in the air with a wide smile on his face. Piotr’s frown deepened when Wade took notice of his ruined dress shirt.

“Damn, she really did fuck up your over glorified hall monitor ass, huh?” Wade chortled, sliding down the arm of the staircase with Nathan marching down the steps to follow him. “I cannot believe you got your ass handed to you by a person who controls fabric.”

“Shut up, dickhead,” NTW snapped while her hand formed into fists.

Wade simply ignored her and continued on with his jests. “Just be thankful that you don’t have Twitter because they are having a field day with this selfie of you and Maya-”

“Selfie?” Piotr interjected as his rage from the fight suddenly came back to him. “Show me.”

The sight of the selfie that Maya had taken of them when he was stuck in her trap made his blood boil. The Devil’s Treasure rested casually in her free hand, which was propped carelessly on his shoulder. Her glimmering eyes, perfect teeth, and victorious smile that shined brighter against her red lipstick only made his mood worse. Of course she looked gorgeous while Piotr was tied up with a tattered shirt.

Piotr clenched his fists tightly, “She is going down.”

Before Wade could say anything else, Nathan snatched his phone from him, sending him a harsh glare. He didn’t budge at Wade’s demands to release his phone. Piotr was reminded vividly of a parent taking a toy away from a misbehaving toddler as a punishment.

“You have been talking about this for hours,” Nathan seethed, putting Wade’s phone in his pocket. “I’m tired of hearing about it and I’m sure the Big Guy here is too. Besides, I bet she would kick your ass too.”

“You are no fun,” huffed Wade. “She would never beat me! I would just slice her little ribbons in half!”

“I wouldn’t underrate Miss Durand’s powers, Wade,” The Professor chastised, holding up the tablet that Levine had given him. “According to this, she’s a professional.”

Professor X motioned for all of them to follow him to the large council room that they used for meetings and debriefings. In the center of the room was a grand round table with enough seats to sit the X-Men and X-Force. The massive TVs on each wall of the room displayed different news stations that were all discussing the same thing: Maya Durand. Titles slowly crawled across the bottoms of the screens. Piotr read Breaking News: Maya Durand Strikes in the U.S., Maya Durand Steals The Devil’s Treasure, and X-Man Fails to Stop Mutant Thief before forcefully pulling his gaze away from the screens.

The Professor slid the tablet to the center of the table as everyone took their seats. The device’s screen flickered for a moment before it projected a hologram of Maya Durand’s file for all of them to view. Her mugshot was at the very top of the file. Her perfect smile taunted Piotr as if she was telling him to catch her if he can.

Her basic information was in print below her photo, which Piotr stubbornly ignored as he focused on the text. He felt as if her picture was watching him amusingly as he read what little information the file had. Her exact age was unknown (it said she was in her early to mid twenties), no known family, no known aliases or allies, or anything about her life before she became a thief.

The details that her file did have were of the crimes she had committed, her services that she offered to the highest bidder, and information on her mutant powers.

“This has absolutely nothing on her,” NTW grumbled as she scanned the file.

Scott let out a low whistle as he read aloud her criminal charges, “She’s wanted by Interpol for multiple counts of burglary, assault, theft, espionage, grand theft…everything, and a whole lot more.”

“Who cares about a couple boring charges?” Wade threw his hands in the air as he glared at Scott like he had grievously insulted him. “Homicide and manslaughter are way cooler and you know it!”

Piotr quickly read through her charges to fact check Wade…and he was right. She had not killed anyone, at least not in any incident listed on the file. Piotr wasn't sure if this information made him feel better or worse about the thief. He decided to chalk up this oddity to Durand being too proud to get her hands dirty and label her as the absolute worst person he had ever met.

“That is little extreme… I have fought people that want to kill all mutants,” Piotr reminded himself. “Maya may not be worst person but she is very high on list.”

Scanning through the rest of her file, Piotr came across a section that listed her skillset. Piotr rolled his eyes at the Master Thief at the top of the list. He wondered if Maya had gotten her hands on the file and put that in there to inflate her ego. Her file also stated that she was a chameleon - a master at hiding in plain sight. The way that the file described her abilities made Piotr wonder if she was almost as good as Mystique. On top of that, the file claimed she was a master escape artist as well. He read the brief description of the few times she was sent to prison and her increasingly elaborate escapes. It seemed that no prison could hold her - at least for long.

“Piotr, I think I know why Maya’s fabric was strong enough to hold you down,” NTW said, pointing at the section on her file that listed her mutant abilities.

Mutant Powers:

Fabric Manipulation

Fabric Creation

Material Identification and Application

“Material Application?” Piotr read allowed with a perplexed tone.

“I’ve heard about this ability!” Hank divulged with an intrigued look. “Some mutants have the ability to copy elements of certain materials to another object without changing it physically. A copy and paste power to put it simply.”

Piotr reached inside his pocket for the cloth he had taken from the museum and placed it on the table. He peered down at the fabric inquisitively, running his fingers over the soft silk before handing it to the scientist.

“She was able to make her fabric as strong as metal with this ability?” Piotr questioned, almost impressed by her ability.

Hank examined the material in his hands before pulling at it to test its strength and elasticity. The fabric stretched easily, not showing any visible signs of stress. It didn’t even tear when Hank ran his sharp claws against it.

“Yes, I suspect that her fabric may be as strong as steel,” Hank hypothesized, keeping his eyes on the fabric, “but I will be able to tell you more tomorrow once I’ve taken a closer look.”

The Professor glanced down at his watch, realizing how late at night it was before backing away from the table. With a wave of his hands all of the TVs in the room turned off as he made his way to the door.

“Maya Durand may not look like a big threat now, but I fear this is only the beginning. Judging by her reputation, her jobs may put people in danger,” Professor X cautioned, his face drawn as he looked at the mutants still gathered around the table.

The Professor met Piotr’s gaze levelly for a few moments for a few moments before addressing the group at large.

“Piotr, I’m trusting you to be the one to stop her.”

Before anyone could object, Professor X held up his hand to keep everyone silent. Piotr caught Logan rolling his eyes with an unimpressed grin on his face. He vaguely heard Logan muttering about how this was going to go for Piotr and judging by his tone, the clawed man was betting against him.

“You can count on me,” Piotr nodded before stealing a glance at Maya’s mugshot. The Professor was giving him a chance to deal with the thief himself like he had trusted him to handle Wade, and Piotr could not let him down. “What happened tonight will not happen again.”

“Good,” The Professor let out a satisfied hum before turning to the door. “We’ve all had a long night so I suggest that you all turn in for a well earned rest.”

Piotr and NTW remained in the room while the rest of X-Men, Nathan, and Wade followed the Professor. Wade opened his mouth, no doubt to make an obnoxious quip, but Nathan roughly grabbed him by the ear before he could form a single word. Wade released a flood of insults at Nathan as he pulled him out of the room.

Once Wade’s screeching voice was far enough away, Piotr released a deep sigh as he rested his hands on the table. NTW slumped in her seat as she glared at Maya Durand’s mugshot.

“She’s not even here but it feels like she’s mocking us.”

“We will get her,” Piotr reassured her. “I have plan.”

NTW peered at him questionably, “And what is your plan exactly?”

“We wait until she strikes again,” Piotr decided. “She is practically ghost. No use finding her until she is hired for next job.”

NTW’s puzzled look grew, “So what do we do in the meantime? Twiddle our thumbs and hope she makes an appearance soon?”

Piotr shook his head as he pulled the device closer to him from the center of the table. He felt as if Maya Durand was standing in front of him with her mugshot only inches away from his face. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Her alluring mischievous eyes were like an addictive toxin that fueled his need to put her behind bars.

“While we wait, we learn as much as we can,” Piotr asserts, narrowing his eyes at Maya’s picture. “We will not underestimate her again.”

“Not the best plan, but it's the only one we’ve got,” NTW said listlessly, before sliding out of her chair. With a yawn on her lips, she made her way to the exit to go to bed.

Piotr chuckled at her blunt (yet true) assessment as he settled into his chair. He had a long night ahead of him, but he could not think of any other options that would end in anything besides frustration and embarrassment. Besides, his experience had taught him that good things always come to those who wait.

And he would wait for a century if it meant he would be the one that put Maya Durand behind bars.

-----

Tag list: @master-sass-blast @sadstonewrites

#colossus fanfic #colossus x oc #colossus #piotr rasputin x oc #piotr rasputin fanfic #original character #xmen fanfiction #xmen #deadpool fanfiction #deadpool #deadpool 2 #deadpool movie #piotr rasputin #slow burn #enemies to lovers #Ribbons and Steel #my writing

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infinitehyperfixations · 3 months

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To everyone's surprise, I actually wrote the second chapter of my Colossus x OC fic!

It has only been... *checks calendar* over a year since I posted the first one (yikes)!

In my defense 2023 SUCKED and I'm hoping this year is significantly better!

The new chapter should be posted soon!

#colossus x oc #colossus fanfic #piotr rasputin x oc #piotr rasputin #colossus #deadpool movie #deadpool 2 #hyper speaks

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infinitehyperfixations · 4 months

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After reading “Taken” from @hyperactively-me ‘s king! Ghost x reader au, I threw this together for my prediction for the next part lmao

(Also you guys should really check it out it is SO GOOD. King! Ghost has me on a choke hold fr fr)

#I literally giggle every time I see that it has been updated #remember to support your fanfic writers my friends!#not my writing #simon “ghost” riley x you #simon “ghost” riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #king! ghost #king! ghost x reader

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infinitehyperfixations · 4 months

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THE CLIFFHANGER!?!?!???!!?!!!!!!

AHHHHH

Okay but king ghost if his queen was kidnapped or held for ransom?? I just want some protective ghost in my life

the way i had this idea planned for a while already, but anon, our brainwaves are connecting. i’ve gotten literally countless requests for this same idea. if you sent in a request similar to this, i’m so sorry, i wasn’t ignoring you, i've just had this planned for a while! (word count: 5.8k)

king!ghost x reader -- taken

warnings: kidnapping, physical fighting, physical injuries/blood/bruises, semi-vague descriptions of torture, torture tactics, throw up, restraints, heavy angst, i guess a happy ending? maybe??? idk 😭, ummmm idk what else... please please please let me know if there's anything i've missed. this is a dark chapter! check your media consumption based off the warnings!

It was a quiet night. Eerily quiet. The sounds of the summer insects ceased, the hot air still, unmoving. You were in bed, trying to sleep. You had no clue what time it was, all you knew is that you were hot and exhausted.

You roll onto your side, huffing as you throw the covers off your body. You close your eyes again, trying to will yourself to sleep.

A moment later, you hear a creak coming from the far side of the room where the doors to the balcony are.

You immediately sit up, scanning the room.

“Hello?” you call out, your voice wavering as you slip out of bed. You immediately grab your knife from the drawer of your bedside table, walking around the side of your bed to stare at your slightly ajar balcony door.

Your heart drops in your chest, but before you can say anything, a hand holding a rag clamps around your mouth. Soap was right outside your door. If you could just— Your scream is muffled as you try to fight off the intruder, swinging your knife back and hitting flesh, trying to stomp on their foot, kick them, anything. The intruder lets out a strangled cry from your stab, pulling your head back farther. You know you’ve made contact when you feel blood trickle down your hand. Serves them right for trying to kidnap you. The intruder wraps their arm around your torso, yanking you back as they shove the rag over your nose, forcing you to inhale the fumes.

Your movements become more sloppy as the fumes enter your nostrils, your eyes fluttering as you fight with everything in you to stay awake. Your knife clatters on the ground as you become limp.

“That’s it, go to sleep,” a man’s voice whispers in your ear, sending a cold chill throughout your body. And with that, you succumb to unconsciousness.

. . .

You wake up in a cold, damp cell. You go to rub your eyes, but are stopped by the clanking of metal chains. You look down, and your hands are bound together by heavy, metal manacles.

“What the—” you say, pulling at the restraints multiple times to no avail, the iron bolted into the wall to prevent you from running. “No, no, no no no—” you cry out, flailing as you try to free yourself from the cuffs. Your heart is racing in your chest, how could this happen? The overwhelming urge to cry washes over you, but you bite your lip to stop yourself.

Your body shivers at the low temperature of the cell, the stone keeping the cold air stale in your cell. You’re still in what you wore to bed which was…not much. You push yourself to standing, walking up to the bars of the cell, trying your best to peek out into the hallway.

The hallway is dimly lit, revealing the cold, unforgiving walls of what appears to be an underground dungeon of some sort. The air is cool, and the distant sound of footsteps echoes through the corridors. Panic tightens its grip on you as you assess your surroundings.

“Hey! Is anyone there?” you shout, your voice bouncing off the stone walls. There's no response, just the eerie silence of the place. You take a deep breath, fighting against the rising sense of despair.

As you peer down the hallway, you catch a glimpse of movement. Footsteps approach, and your heart races anew. A figure emerges from the shadows, wearing a uniform that tells you all you need to know. It’s a uniform from the Southern Kingdom. You back away from the bars, pressing your back up against the wall behind you.

“Your majesty,” the figure says, their voice devoid of any emotion. “You won’t be leaving anytime soon.”

Your mind races with questions, but the figure remains stoic, indifferent to you cowering in the corner. The reality of your situation sets in, and a mix of fear and frustration swirls within you.

“Who are you? Why am I here?” you demand, desperation lacing your words.

The person ignores your questions, producing a set of keys to unlock the cell door. The heavy door creaks open, revealing a corridor lined with more cells. The person steps inside the cell, much to your dismay. Your breathing picks up as he steps towards you, afraid of retaliation. Instead, he makes his way towards the wall where your manacles are attached. With a key, he releases the chain from the wall and takes it in his grip. Shortening the length of the chain, he yanks on it, causing you to stumble forward.

“Walk,” he commands, basically dragging you behind him out of your cell. You contemplate pulling against him, but not before you spot the sword on his hip. Without further thought, you lunge forward, pushing the man to the ground in front of you as you reach for his sword with your bound hands.

The man grunts as he hits the cold, stone floor. Seizing the opportunity, you manage to grab the hilt of his sword with your restrained hands, the metal feeling cold against your skin. Adrenaline surges through you as you pull the sword free from its scabbard.

Without a moment’s hesitation, you point the weapon at the man. “Who are you? Why am I here?” you demand again, your voice trembling with fear and anger.

The man on the floor looks up at you, a hint of surprise crossing his face. Despite the advantage of the sword in your hands, he doesn’t seem intimidated in the slightest. The nonchalant look on his face makes you even angrier, and you don’t hesitate pressing the tip of the sword against his shoulder. “You won’t find answers by waving that around,” he states calmly.

Before you can react, the man kicks you out from under your feet, causing you to drop the sword as your hands instinctively go to catch yourself – that is, catch yourself the best cuffed hands can.

You hit the ground hard, the impact jarring through your body. Groaning, you roll onto your side, the cold stones digging into your skin, surely leaving a bruise where you fell. The man swiftly rises to his feet, his expression unchanged.

“Come along, now,” he says as he yanks the chains, completely unbothered.

You struggle to your feet, the manacles limiting your movements. Glaring at the man, you reluctantly follow as he leads you through the labyrinthine corridors of the underground dungeon. The man, seemingly unfazed, leads you through the dark, winding corridors of the underground dungeon. The chill in the air makes you shiver, both from the cold and the anxiety that tightens your chest.

As you walk, you try to gather your thoughts. How did you end up in the hands of the Southern Kingdom? How did the man breach the castle walls and enter your bedroom? How long have you been gone? Where are you? Where is Simon? Johnny? The questions swirl in your mind, but the stoic silence of your captor offers no answers.

The dimly lit passageways seem endless, twisting and turning without rhyme or reason. Eventually, you arrive at a heavy, iron door guarded by two Southern Kingdom soldiers. They exchange a nod with your captor, who proceeds to unlock the door. It creaks open, revealing a dimly lit room.

The room is adorned with flickering torches, casting dancing shadows on the stone walls. A wooden table sits in the center, surrounded by a few mismatched chairs. You notice there’s a guard standing watch in the corner of the room, and two other people sitting in chairs, most likely waiting for your arrival. The air is thick with tension as you’re pushed into one of the chairs.

“Watch it,” you growl, slightly folding into yourself in the chair.

The figure steps back, motioning to the other two people in the room. One of them is wearing a mask that conceals their features, leaving only their cold, calculating eyes visible. You try to read any emotion in their eyes, but they remain expressionless.

“Who are you, and why am I here?” you demand for the third time, your voice wavering between defiance and desperation. You look between the three people, anger bubbling up within you.

The man who brought you here remains silent for a moment, studying you with an unsettling intensity. Finally, he speaks, his words measured and devoid of any warmth. “You wouldn’t have gone with us willingly, so I am sorry you have to be here this way.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes.

The figure’s eyes narrow at your display of defiance. “Your insolence won't change your circumstances.”

You move to stand up from the chair, but you’re pushed back down by the guard lingering in the room. “We’d appreciate it if you didn’t resist.”

You stare at him, the glare still plainly visible on your face. He seems satisfied enough with your cooperation.

“Now, you’re here because your kingdom has assets and resources we need. Your husband, the great King Ghost, won’t give up easily, but we have leverage now, don’t we?”

You should’ve known.

A chill runs down your spine. You clench your fists, frustration and fear fueling your determination.

“Tell me what you want,” you demand, your voice firm despite the tension in the room.

The figure leans forward, resting their hands on the table, their face just inches from yours. “Your cooperation, your majesty. Tell us what you know, and we won’t hurt you.”

Your blood runs cold at that. Hurt you? Now that caught your attention.

You raise an eyebrow. “So, what? You plan to use me as a bargaining chip to force Ghost’s hand?”

“Yes. You’re one of his only weaknesses,” says the man who hasn’t spoken until now. “Ever since you sent your reinforcements, our army has been experiencing some… setbacks. We were going to come to this as a last resort, but the time came to use you in our strategy.”

He’s rolling up his sleeves with care, pulling some intimidating tools out of the drawer of the table.

He notices you eyeing the tools warily. “Oh, don’t worry. We won’t be using these unless you really won’t listen.”

“And, just a brief mention before we start the questioning, you should really do more thorough background checks on your staff. You were given over to us by one of your own. Within the palace, might I add.”

With a swift motion, the man wearing the mask pulls it off their head, revealing a face you didn’t expect. It's someone you recognize, someone from your own court—an advisor you thought was loyal, someone who had been with you especially over the past few weeks.

“Edmund?” you gasp, disbelief and betrayal coloring your voice. “How could you?”

Edmund avoids your gaze, his eyes fixed on the table. “It was never personal, your majesty. The Southern Kingdom made an offer, and I couldn’t refuse.”

You seethe with anger, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on you. “Greater good? Kidnapping me in the middle of the night? Betraying me? What greater good could possibly justify this?”

He shrugs. “Money.”

With that, Edmund slinks out of the room.

The word echoes through the room, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. Money. The one thing that could corrupt even the seemingly loyal. Edmund’s betrayal stings deeper than any blade, and you struggle to comprehend how someone you trusted could sell you out.

“Cooperate, and you won’t have to endure unnecessary pain,” one of the men states coldly, motioning to the tools.

Your eyes narrow at the proposition. “And if I refuse?”

A hand slaps your cheek, the sharp sound echoing through the room. “Refusing won't make this any easier for you.”

Your cheek throbs from the slap, but you meet his gaze defiantly. You won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing you break. You can’t.

The man with the tools takes a step forward, his gaze fixed on you like a predator closing in on its prey. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. The choice is yours.”

You glance at the guard, a mixture of anger and disappointment in your eyes.

“Now, let’s start with something simple. Kastron’s silver supply. Where is it located?” he demands, his patience wearing thin. “Start talking, little princess.”

. . .

You’re not sure how long it’s been since you were dragged into this interrogation room, but all you know is that your body positively aches. You were treated relentlessly, punched to your gut and slapped at the expense of one of your captor’s short tempers. Thankfully they haven’t used the tools on you, but you can’t help but be weary of them. Your body slumps in the chair, pain radiating from your abdomen. The cold, harsh reality of your situation weighs heavily on your shoulders. Sweat beads on your forehead, a mixture of fear and physical exertion.

The interrogators stand around you, unsatisfied with the information you've provided so far. The room feels suffocating, the air thick with tension and the acrid scent of burning torches.

“Last chance,” he sneers, the coldness in his eyes sending shivers down your spine.

You grit your teeth, your jaw aching from the force of their blows. The loyalty to your kingdom surges within you. You won't betray your people, no matter the cost.

“I won’t... betray... Kastron,” you manage to spit out, defiance in your eyes.

The interrogator scowls, and without warning, delivers another brutal blow to your stomach. The pain is unbearable, and you gasp for breath.

“Stubborn little thing, aren’t you?” the man with the tools taunts, a sadistic grin on his face.

As the interrogators prepare for another round of questioning, the heavy door to the room swings open. A new figure enters, their silhouette backlit by the torchlight. The men exchange glances, a hint of surprise in their eyes.

“Alright, that is enough for today,” a commanding voice echoes through the room.

The figure steps forward, revealing a man, dressed in military attire. His eyes are stern and hold no compassion.

“Release her,” he orders, her voice brooking no argument.

The interrogators, albeit reluctantly, step back. The guard unlocks your restraints, and you slump forward, breathing heavily.

The man turns to the interrogators, his expression stern. “That’s enough, you may go.”

The two men scowl but don’t argue. They exit the room, leaving you alone with the mysterious man.

He turns to you, his gaze assessing. “You’ve endured more than necessary. My apologies.”

“You’re not sorry. Go straight to hell,” you spit.

The man’s stern expression falters for a moment, but he quickly regains his composure. “I understand your anger, but I’m here to explain to you what’s going on. I’m General Shepherd. I lead the Southern Kingdom’s military.”

You’re silent. You recognize the name from a few brief mentions around the castle whilst receiving intel about the war, but you’ve never seen him before.

“We’re not here to hurt you—”

You glare at him, still seething with anger and distrust. “Do you hear yourself? What the fuck are you talking about, when I’ve been kidnapped and tortured? Why should I hear anything you have to say?”

Shepherd grabs your jaw harshly, fingers squeezing your cheeks. You claw at his wrist gripping your face, but he doesn’t let go.

“If you would listen to what I’m telling you, then you wouldn’t be sitting in this room. Don’t wear my patience thin, your majesty.”

His words are sharp, and you can feel the intensity in his grip on your jaw. Shepherd releases you, allowing you to lean back into the chair. You shoot him a venomous look, but he seems unfazed.

“Your husband, King Ghost, has been a thorn in our side for far too long. Quite the nuisance. The war between our kingdoms has dragged on, costing our side quite a lot. We need a resolution, and we need it soon,” Shepherd explains, his gaze locking onto yours.

“So, what? You think kidnapping me and torturing me is going to make Ghost surrender?” you scoff, annoyance evident in your voice. “He won’t surrender, if that’s what you want. He’s going to fight back harder, and you’re going to wish you never had me here.”

“Still, it’s a means to an end. A desperate attempt to force his hand,” Shepherd replies, frustration in his voice. “We have leverage now, and we plan to use it to bring about a swift end to Kastron’s military. We’re not heartless, your majesty. We aim to minimize bloodshed.”

You can’t help but laugh bitterly. “Minimize bloodshed? By kidnapping me and using me as a bargaining tool? Very noble and humanitarian of you.”

Shepherd narrows his eyes, but he doesn’t respond to your sarcasm. “Your husband won’t let harm come to you. He'll do whatever it takes to secure your safety.”

“He’s not going to surrender,” you mutter under your breath. He’s going to do much, much worse than anyone could ever imagine.

“He will. This war has dragged on for too long. We need a resolution, and we need it now,” Shepherd emphasizes, his tone stern.

Your mind races, considering the weight of the situation. You hate Shepherd for this, subjecting you to a cruel game that you never wanted to be part of in the first place. It wasn’t even Kastron that started this war, it was the Southern Kingdom. The hypocrisy of the Southern Kingdom and unjust treatment of your own kingdom has driven you up the wall. You think about your people, your kingdom, and the lives at stake.

Your gaze pierces through Shepherd’s cold exterior.

Shepherd sighs, as if he anticipated your skepticism. “You don’t have to trust me. But you should consider the bigger picture. Your cooperation can save lives, including your own.”

A conflicted expression crosses your face. The idea of cooperating with your captors goes against every instinct, but the desire for an end to the war lingers in the back of your mind. You weigh your options, knowing that every decision carries significant consequences.

“What do you expect from me?” you ask, your voice steady despite the turmoil within.

Shepherd studies you for a moment before responding, “Information. Insight into Kastron's military strategies, resources, weaknesses. Anything that can expedite the end of the war and give Kastron over to us.”

You laugh humorlessly. “See, that’s exactly what I don’t want.”

Shepherd’s gaze remains unwavering. “Your wants are not the priority here. The fate of your kingdom is on your shoulders. If you truly care about your people and your husband, you’ll consider the bigger picture.”

Your jaw clenches, frustration boiling within you. You know Shepherd is partially right, but the resentment toward the Southern Kingdom clouds your judgment. You take a deep breath, attempting to push aside your anger.

“What guarantee do I have that you won’t just use me and murder me when it’s convenient?” you challenge, searching for any sign of honesty in Shepherd’s eyes.

He leans in, his expression serious. “My word. Betraying the terms of our agreement would not serve the interests of either of our kingdoms.”

Agreement, you scoff inside your head. As if I had any choice in the first place.

You find his words hard to believe. The events leading up to this point have shattered your trust in anyone associated with the Southern Kingdom. However, you can’t deny the urgency of the situation.

You decide to not say anything. Shepherd nods, seemingly satisfied with your response. “All we ask is that you provide us with information. I’ll give you time to think this over.”

Shepherd motions for you to stand, and you do so with a glare. Your body protests, every movement sending pain coursing through you. He leads you out of the room, the guards following closely behind. The dimly lit corridors of the underground dungeon stretch ahead, and you realize that you’re not being taken to the same cell you were initially in.

Eventually, you arrive at a somewhat more comfortable room. It's still a cell, cold iron bars keeping you prisoner, but there's a cot and a small table.

Shepherd removes the manacles from your wrists, allowing you to rub your raw skin.

“I’m going to leave these off. Don’t get smart.”

The heavy door clanks shut behind you, finally leaving you alone with your thoughts. A guard stands watch outside your cell, giving you no privacy.

The reality of your situation settles in, and you can't help but feel powerlessness. The fate of Kastron rests, in part, on your shoulders. You sit on the cot, your mind racing with questions and uncertainties.

As you ponder the road ahead of you, a small opening in the door slides open, and a guard hands you a meager meal. The gesture is cold, impersonal, but you accept it nonetheless. The guard retreats, leaving you alone again.

The hours pass slowly in the dimly lit cell. You wrestle with conflicting emotions—anger, fear, determination. The echoes of Shepherd’s words linger in your mind, and you can’t help but have doubts in your mind. Would Simon come rescue you? Or would you have to escape on your own? You don’t even know where you are being kept. Your thoughts flicker to Kastron, what Johnny must be doing right now. Surely they’re looking for you.

As the torches flicker and the dungeon remains shrouded in darkness, you brace yourself for the challenges that will come with tomorrow. Shepherd needs your cooperation, and you’re not going to give it to him, no matter the cost. The journey ahead is uncertain, but one thing is clear—you will not surrender easily, and the fight for Kastron is far from over.

. . .

The next two days, you’re dragged back to the same room for interrogation. Again, you refuse to speak, each blow raining down harder on you. Your nose was bloodied, face battered and red, and ribs surely bruised from the blows. You’ve been in a perpetual state of fight or flight, adrenaline and pain racking your body in devastating amounts. You were plain exhausted, body reaching its limit.

But you didn’t really care. You wanted to keep Kastron and Simon safe, so you stayed silent. Save for your screams of pain.

On the third night, you found yourself alone in the dungeons. It was unusual, as there was usually a guard in place to make sure you didn’t do anything out of line.

You move to the iron bars, trying your best to peek both ways before pulling out a stolen fork from one of your meals. The metal of the fork feels strangely empowering in your hands as you work on the lock. The dim light in the dungeon barely illuminates your surroundings, but you're determined to seize any opportunity for escape. The occasional distant sound of footsteps echoes through the corridor, reminding you of the ever-present threat of getting caught.

As you manipulate the lock with the makeshift tool, you can’t shake off the nagging feeling that this might be a setup. Perhaps Shepherd or someone else in the Southern Kingdom’s monarchy is testing your resolve, observing whether you’d take advantage of a momentary lapse in surveillance. You can’t bring yourself to care that much.

The lock finally clicks, and the cell door creaks open. You hesitate for a moment, listening intently for any signs of approaching footsteps. The dungeon remains eerily quiet. Slipping the fork into your clothing, you step out cautiously, avoiding the patches of cold, damp floor. Your battered body protests with every movement, but the urgency of your situation fuels your determination.

You move silently, keenly aware that any noise could betray your escape. The cool air sends shivers down your spine as you head towards the direction you’re taken in for interrogation. It’s a risky venture, and most likely a stupid venture, but you don’t want to be holed up in this godforsaken hell hole for much longer.

After what feels like an eternity, you reach a heavy, iron door. It's slightly ajar, revealing a sliver of dim light from the other side. Your heart pounds in your chest as you inch it open, revealing a narrow staircase leading upward. The ascent is slow and agonizing, each step a reminder of the physical toll the past days of torture have taken on your body. You wince with each step, taking deep, steadying breaths. As you approach the top, you hear hushed voices and the occasional clank of armor.

Peeking through the crack in the door, you spot a guard stationed at the top of the stairs, seemingly engrossed in conversation with another. Their attention is diverted, providing you with a small window of opportunity.

Summoning the last reserves of your strength, you push the door open just enough to slip through without making a sound. The corridor beyond is dimly lit, and you stick to the shadows, hugging the cold stone wall. Pressing yourself against the wall, you listen carefully to the conversations around you, trying to piece together an escape route. Your gaze falls upon an entryway that has the last hints of the sunset pouring through the crevices.

You reach the entryway, and a sense of trepidation washes over you. Before you could push open the door and make a run for it, a hand grabs your upper arm. Without hesitation, you clench your fork in your hand and stab the perpetrator with the prongs.

The guard lets out a pained scream as your makeshift weapon finds its mark. They release their grip on your arm, stumbling back in pain.

“You bitch!” They cry, and a few more guards appear on the scene after hearing their scream.

Adrenaline courses through your veins as you realize that your window of escape is rapidly closing. Without waiting any further, you burst through the entryway, darting into the fading light of the setting sun.

You bolt as fast as you can across the cobblestones, the sounds of yelling guards and footsteps hot on your tail. Every step makes it feel as though fire is shooting up your body, but you push through. Just as you think you’re about to make a clean getaway into the forest outside the bunker, you’re side tackled to the ground.

The impact is brutal, and pain shoots through your battered body as you collide with the hard ground. The guards quickly swarm around you, their faces contorted with anger. One of them wrestles the stolen fork from your hand, while the others pin you down, restraining your limbs.

“Bloody rebel,” one of the guards snarls, spittle flying as they speak.

“Get the fuck– off of me!” you scream, trying to swipe and hit at anyone in your reach.

Your attempt at escape only intensifies their aggression. The guard you wounded with the fork clutches their side, a seething expression of pain etched across their face.

The leader of the guards, a stern-faced man with a scar running across his cheek, steps forward. “Thought you could just waltz out of here, did ya?”

He delivers a swift kick to your ribs, making you howl in pain. The guards show no mercy as they haul you to your feet. You go deadweight in their grasp, making it harder for them to drag you back to your cell. When they manage to pull you halfway back to your cell, you start kicking and screaming again, not wanting to make this easy for them.

“Fuck all of you, let go of me!” you scream, trying to yank your wrists from their grasp.

“Shut the fuck up,” a guard yells at you, digging their fingernails into your wrist.

As you're thrown back into your dark, dank cell, the manacles are back on, alongside chains on each ankle. The heavy door clangs shut behind you, and the bitter taste of defeat settles in your mouth. Two guards now stand outside your cell, watching you intently.

A few minutes go by, and General Shepherd strides into the hallway. His eyes, devoid of warmth, fixate on your battered form.

“Leave us,” his voice commands, and the guards retreat from the dungeon.

He stands just outside the iron bars, his gaze cold and calculating.

“You’re a persistent one,” he remarks, his tone devoid of empathy.

Despite your battered state, you summon what strength remains within you and glare defiantly at Shepherd.

You glare at him, defiance burning despite the exhaustion. “Fuck off.”

He doesn’t say anything, which enrages you.

“I said, fuck. Off. Leave me alone!” you yell. Shepherd's stoic expression doesn’t waver. Instead, he observes you with an unsettling calmness that sends shivers down your spine. The silence stretches, and you can feel the weight of his gaze.

Finally, he speaks, his voice low and measured. “You have spirit, I'll give you that. But it's time to realize the futility of your resistance. It’s been nearly four days. More than half a week. I don’t have the time or patience to keep you around.”

“I’ll never bow to the likes of you,” you retort.

Shepherd sighs, almost as if he’s disappointed. “You’re not seeing the bigger picture here. Your defiance only prolongs the suffering. Kastron can have peace, Ghost won’t have to face such difficult decisions. All we need is your cooperation.”

“I’d rather die,” you spit out, every word laced with venom. “And I don’t think Ghost would appreciate it if I turned up dead. You think he’ll surrender just because you beat me to a pulp? Think again. He’s coming to get me any day now, but that doesn’t mean he’ll show you mercy or pull back the troops. You’ll see. And you’ll be sorry you even looked at Kastron’s borders.”

His gaze doesn’t falter. “Perhaps. But, death is a choice, too. And it’s not just your life at stake, is it? There’s a kingdom relying on your decisions.”

You clench your fists, the chains rattling with your restrained anger. “I won't betray my people for your false promises.”

Shepherd leans against the cold stone wall, crossing his arms. “Think about it. Reflect on where you are right now. I’ll be back tomorrow, bright and early. I hope you’ll have come to your senses by then.”

Without waiting for your response, he turns and leaves the dungeon, the heavy door slamming shut behind him. Alone in the cold darkness, you curl up on the cot as best you can given the heavy chains.

. . .

Shepherd keeps his promise, returning in the morning.

“Well?” he prompts, a hint of impatience in his tone.

You meet his gaze with defiance. “Go. To. Hell.”

His expression remains unreadable. “Very well. You’ve made your choice.”

You’re dragged back to the interrogation room, only this time you’re silent.

You’re met with the tools set right in front of your chair, and a scary looking person you’ve never seen before.

As you’re restrained to a chair, your eyes glaze over.

For once in your life, you’re quiet. No snarky comments, no sharp words. You’re silent.

Because you’re truly afraid.

. . .

The metallic scent of blood fills the air. You don’t think you’ve ever lost as much blood in your life.

The room is spinning, and your body feels detached from your consciousness. The pain, once sharp and immediate, has dulled into a throbbing ache that permeates every fiber of your being. The interrogator’s methods have taken a drastic toll, and you’re teetering on the edge of consciousness.

You think your wrist is sprained, if not broken. You glance down at it, the swollen and bruised flesh causing your stomach to churn. You definitely look worse for wear right now.

Eventually, they tire of their methods, leaving you slumped in the chair, bloodied and broken. The tools they used on you lie abandoned on a nearby table. Every movement, no matter how slight, sends waves of pain through your form.

As the interrogator steps away, their job seemingly done, a faint groan pushes past your split upper lip. The throbbing in your head matches the rhythm of your heartbeat, each pulse amplifying the pain. Your vision swims, and you struggle to keep your eyes open.

Shepherd approaches, crouching to meet your gaze.

“I had hoped you would see reason," he says, almost conversationally. “The pain will continue until you cooperate.”

You manage a hoarse chuckle, the sound more bitter than amused. “Sorry I can’t be of use to you.”

He straightens, his gaze unwavering. “I have all the time in the world. You however… I’m not so sure. I suggest you reconsider. Your defiance harms not only you but those you claim to protect.”

With that, Shepherd turns and exits the room, motioning the guards to take you back to your cell.

The guards, their expressions cold and indifferent, unshackle you from the blood-stained chair. Your body protests as you’re hoisted up, pain shooting through every limb. They guide you out of the interrogation room, each step a painful shuffle. Your vision is blurring, and you lose your footing a few times. As they lead you back to your cell, you catch glimpses of other new prisoners, faces worn and defeated. The stench of dampness and decay fills your nostrils, and you throw up on the floor in front of you. You think some of it has traces of blood.

The guards show no reaction to your vomit, their faces remaining stoic and indifferent. You stumble forward, the world spinning around you, and your steps become increasingly unsteady.

The door to your cell creaks open, and you’re unceremoniously thrown inside. The manacles and chains are back on, securing you in the darkness. The guards, their duty done, exit without a word, leaving you alone with your pain.

You lie on the floor for who knows how long, focusing on your breathing and attempting to not fall asleep in the fear that you won’t wake up for a long time due to the severity of your injuries.

In, and out.

A few hours pass, and you manage to calm your swirling vision and headache. With a grunt, you pull yourself up to your cot with your good hand, dropping onto the solid mattress with a grunt.

You’re not sure how much longer you could go on like this. It was all too much.

As you lay there in the dimness of your cell, a distant noise catches your attention. Footsteps, echoing through the dungeon. At first, you dismiss it as another patrol, but the rhythm and urgency in the steps hinted at something different. A figure emerges in front of your bars, and you squeeze your eyes shut, bracing yourself for the return of the guards or another round of interrogation.

To your surprise, a familiar voice cut through the silence.

“Dove?”

- - - - -

(masterlist)

#I am not okay #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon “ghost” riley x reader #simon “ghost” riley x you #not my writing #not my images #reblog are love remember that everyone!!!#reblog

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