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master-sass-blast · 5 years

Text

You Can Always Go Back Home.

THIS FIC IS 22K WORDS LONG. 61 PAGES IN WORD. THREE WEEKS OF WRITING!!!

VALIDATE MY PARKING P L E A S E !!!!

Summary: You wake up alone in a cell with no windows. The following days are nothing short of Hell on Earth.

Rating: M for physical abuse, emotional abuse, verbal abuse, manipulation, injury, blood, vomiting, mental health stuff, panic attacks, kidnapping, and H E A V Y A N G S T.

Pairings: Piotr Rasputin x Reader, Nathan Summers x Wade Wilson, Frank Castle x Karen Page, and Alexandra Rasputin x Nikolai Rasputin.

Set after “The Literal Crack Fic.”

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

You wake up alone.

Okay, not necessarily disturbing.

You’re in an unfamiliar room with no windows, no conceivable exits, and no memory of how you got here.

Definitely disturbing, and also worrisome, troubling, anxiety-inducing, alarming, perplexing, and… other adjectives…

You push yourself off a small cot. You’re dressed in a baggy white shirt and baggier white pants, someone’s taken your engagement ring, and upon inspection you realize that someone’s put a mutation repression collar on your neck. Okay. Might be time to panic.

There’s a door on the wall opposite where the cot sits. It goes practically flush to the floor and ceiling, has no handle on the inside, and has a small hatch at the base that is currently closed, as your luck would have it.

There’s a couple of vents pumping out cool air along the line where the walls meet the ceilings; they’re far too small to try and escape through –though, without your powers, it’s not like you could get the covers off anyway.

At the far end of the room –not that you have to go far to get to it—is a bathroom. Upon inspection, it only holds a toilet, a small wastebasket, and a sink; checking the drawer attached to the base reveals a small hairbrush, a toothbrush, and some toothpaste. The cabinet underneath has a couple packages of toilet paper and some menstrual products.

This is a holding cell, that much is obvious. You’re meant to be here a long time, judging by the amount of toilet paper and toiletries.

You frown.

Kidnappings aren’t all that uncommon with the X-Men –an unfortunate hazard of the job, one might say. It would seem that you’ve been snatched up –but by who? Are the rest of the X-Men here with you, in different cells? Was someone targeting the X-Force specifically? Did some of your uncle’s enemies figure out where you were and grab you to get to him?

You try to walk back through your memories, but nothing fruitful comes of it. The last thing you can remember is waking up next to Piotr –but was that a few hours ago, or a few days ago?

You suppose it doesn’t matter, in the long run. You’re trapped for now, but someone will look for you eventually and come rescue you. All you have to do, for the time being, is wait.

You head back to the cot with a sigh and plop down as you prepare yourself for the mind-numbing boredom that awaits you.

***

The first hint comes when a meal –lunch or dinner, presumably, judging by the contents—is shoved through the hatch at the bottom of the door on a small tray.

There’s no anxiety medication.

Either whoever’s holding you doesn’t know you’re on antidepressants, or they intend for you to suffer.

You sigh heavily as you crack open a little mini bottle of water and sip from it –then grimace; it tastes like room-temperature plastic bottle.

Judging by the lack of any recording equipment whatsoever –cameras, microphones, speakers, nothing—these people are amateurs. They’re not particularly concerned about you breaking out –which even with your powers gone, if they knew anything about you, they should be. You’ve built a career out of getting out of tough situations.

So, whoever these chumps are, they haven’t done their homework on how to keep you stable –or done any real homework on your past “is a mutant,” it would seem.

Admittedly, that would stack things in your favor, except you’ll be facing withdrawals before too awful long. Hopefully, you can figure out how to get the mutation collar off and escape before you get too deep into those.

You bite into what is arguably the blandest turkey sandwich of your life and lean back against a pristinely painted white wall. Karma, don’t fuck me over now.

***

There’s no mirror in the bathroom.

You notice after your meal, when you try to head in and twist the collar around so you can see what make and model you’re working with –a short lived plan, to say the least; without a mirror, there’s not much you can do to figure out what you’re working with.

Still, you can at least get a sense of the locking mechanism –keypad, key, fingerprint scanner—from touch.

You smooth your hands around the collar, then grimace when you only find a solid plastic node on the back of it. Shit.

These types of collars, as your uncle had taught you, are lockdown collars. They’re meant to go on and stay on, to permanently render a mutant incapable of accessing their powers. No keypad to hack, no lock to pick, no fingerprint scanner to override. The only way to get the damn thing off is short circuit it or cut it off.

Just your luck, there aren’t any scissors in your little cell.

***

The boredom kicks in fast. There’s only so many times you can analyze your surroundings or make escape strategies before you start to lose your mind from the repetition.

There’s not too much to be said for pacing your tiny quarters, either. The room is three strides wide and four strides long –borderline claustrophobic, only big enough for you, the cot, and… that’s about it, really.

Confined spaces can be used to torture people; even if they aren’t particularly claustrophobic, the inability to move around and do things can drive even the most grounded individuals a little batty.

You wind up laying on your cot and staring at the ceiling. You spend time thinking about how to handle your anxiety once your most recent dose of medication runs out, about your upcoming wedding, about what you want your future home with Piotr to look like…

About Piotr. You think a lot about Piotr. You’re not sure how long you’ve been separated from him, but you already miss him dearly.

You sigh, and roll over onto your stomach. Come find me, baby. I’ll be waiting for you.

***

Dinner –well, your second meal, and you’re starting to realize that without windows you have no way of knowing what time of day it is—is delivered what feels like a few hours later; it’s another little bottle of water, a plain turkey sandwich, an apple, and some canned corn that’s been put in a bowl.

Along with it comes a little bottle of shampoo, a little bottle of conditioner, a little bar of soap, and a washcloth.

You’re stumped at first. There’s no shower down here, how could they possibly expect…

The sink.

You let out a shocked laugh when you realize that your captors mean for you to wash yourself via using the sink. No way! No fucking way!

But… you don’t have any other options –unless you want to use water from the toilet, but ew, gross.

You sigh, shocked and more than a little frustrated, and dig into the sandwich.

***

The lights turn out halfway through your venture with attempting to wash up using the sink.

You yelp, drop the bottle of shampoo, and topple against the wall behind you; you wince as you rub your shoulder. With a rush of annoyance, you realize that there aren’t any light switches in the main room or the bathroom. You have absolutely no control over when the lights are on and when they’re off.

You scowl in the direction of the ceiling. “Really!”

***

The lights switch on again while you’re sleeping. You’re not sure how long it’s been, but it doesn’t feel like it’s been a whole eight hours.

Then again, that could just be the cot. It’s thinly padded, and no matter how you sleep you can feel the metal frame holding it up.

You’re also starting to feel the effects of withdrawal. Your brain feels foggy, your anxiety has spiked (well, more than the situation’s already spiked it), and you have pins and needles feeling all over your body.

You shiver as you wrap your thin blanket tighter around you and curl into a little ball. Baby, please come find me.

***

Your first meal of the day –or is it the third? How long have you been asleep, even?—comes what feels like a couple hours later.

Objectively, you know you should eat. You need to keep up your strength, but as you look at the tray of a plain turkey sandwich, a little bottle of water, an apple, and some canned corn –and no meds, which further confirms that your captors aren’t giving you any—you can’t even work up the shadow of an appetite.

You manage to choke down a few bites of the turkey sandwich before your stomach churns, take the water bottle and the apple, then chuck the rest of your meal in the trash before setting the tray with the others.

***

You try to focus on exercising. Easier said than done, considering you barely ate anything, but you push yourself through to try and keep your endorphins up. You do rounds of push-ups, squats, crunches, planks, and lunges until your limbs are shaking from exertion, then chug water from the sink faucet until you almost puke it all back up.

You whimper as splay out on the floor in an effort to cool down faster. Okay. I need to pace myself better, and I need to eat regardless of what’s given to me. They’re clearly trying to break me by keeping my schedule off. Slow and steady is key.

You take a deep breath, then focus on your breathing and the points where your body is making contact with the floor in an effort to meditate.

You manage to keep that up for a bit until a panic attack hits –and normally you’d use an app on your phone to help yourself work through it, or meditate, or call Piotr, or Nate, or Wade, or Ellie, or Yukio, or Russell, or Neena…

It’s so much worse without the meds. You can’t catch your breath, you can’t stop the overwhelming rush of anxiety, you can’t get your mind to stop racing—

Bed. Get to the bed.

You crawl across the concrete floor and barely manage to get into the cot before you curl into a fetal position and sob.

***

It’s hard to be alone.

You’ve gotten used to having your friends and family right at hand over the past few years –come to depend on it, even; they’ve always been there to help you through rough patches. You’ve come to love having so many companions around you during your time at Xavier’s. It’s a direct one-eighty from growing up, when you only had yourself and your parents for company most of the time –and your parents weren’t exactly what you’d call “company.”

Aside from exercise (which you can’t do too much of without risking hurting yourself), there’s only sleeping, yoga (also limited for safety reasons), meditating, masturbating (which you don’t feel like doing, given your current withdrawal situation), or listening to the gentle hiss of the air vent.

You can’t remember how you got through being so alone as a child –though, technically, you suppose you didn’t; it fucked you up. Badly.

That, and you’d barely been able to handle being at Xavier’s when you’d first arrived. It’d been like a shock to your system. You couldn’t fathom so many people being around each other all the time –and wanting to spend that time with you, no less.

Objectively, you know that isolation is a basic destabilization tactic –but that doesn’t make it any easier to go through.

You roll over so you’re on your other side –your ribs are hurting from the metal support frame for the cot—and close your eyes. Piotr’s gonna come for me. He’s gonna come for me. He won’t leave me here.

***

You have to resist the urge to scream when your next meal is slid through the hatch at the bottom of the door.

Plain turkey sandwich. Canned corn in a bowl. Apple. Room temperature mini-bottle of water.

Sadists.

You’d kill for a bag of Cheetos right now. Or some of Piotr’s pancakes.

You take the tray back to your cot –your ass can’t handle any more of sitting on a concrete floor, and your back can’t handle leaning up against the concrete walls—and try to focus on recalling any sort of memory that might tell you how you wound up here while you choke down your meal.

Waking up next to Piotr. Him smiling at you. And… everything goes black after that.

A blackout might mean head trauma. Or a traumatic event. Or drug use –someone might’ve knocked you out.

A quick check of your head doesn’t reveal any sore spots or cuts –but you probably would’ve felt that when you woke up for the first time. You can’t do a full body check for injection sites without a mirror –not to mention it’s possible the drugs were fed to you—but you can’t find anything on the parts of your body you can see. As for trauma-induced memory repression, well, it’s possible, but you have no way of knowing if that’s it.

You take another bite of sandwich –and it immediately hits your tongue wrong, making you gag.

You spill your corn all over the floor when you dash to the bathroom.

***

You have to get out of here. You have to, you have to, you have to, you have to youhavetoyouhavetoyouhaveto—

“Information first,” you can remember Nathan telling you during one of your earliest training sessions with you. “Get as much information as you can, then act. Patience never hurt anyone.”

You measure the hatch at the bottom of the door first. It’s big enough for you to slip through, even with the collar around your neck. After some careful debating, you decide it’d be best to slide through on your stomach; your back will be facing up, meaning your face and organs will be more protected from blows, technically.

You’ll have to wait before you can declare your “recon” done, though. You have no idea how long the hatch stays open for, or if you’ll be able to hear any footsteps through the walls that’ll alert you to when the hatch is going to open.

You squat down by the door and get as comfortable as you can.

You waited nearly two decades to get out of your first cage. You can wait another day to escape this one.

***

Waiting nearly kills you.

It isn’t the patience –as contrary as you like to play with Piotr about the topic, you are capable of being patient.

No, it’s the exhaustion. The medication withdrawals are doing a number on you; you can’t remember another time in your life you’ve been this tired. Even the accidental coke withdrawals from that one mission where you fell into a vat of the stuff weren’t this bad, because at least you had your family, your friends, and your fiancé to help you.

You chuckle a little to yourself at the memory of the incident. You’ve definitely lead an… interesting life.

You groan as another wave of withdrawal-induced pins and needles pain sweeps through your body, then perk up –well, as much as you can perk up right now—when you hear a series of dull thumps approaching the door to your cell.

Footsteps.

You hardly breathe as the hatch unlatches and slides open –and it retracts into the door, which is another factor in your favor—and count off the seconds as a tray of food slides in. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine—

The hatch slides back shut and latches once more.

Nine seconds.

It’ll have to be enough.

***

You’re wide awake well before the lights come on again.

Your entire body feels like a live wire. Your chest is tight, your palms are clammy, your mouth is dry, your muscles are tense, it feels like something’s constantly crawling up the back of your neck, and despite the fact that you’re utterly exhausted, you can’t sleep.

You stagger to the bathroom on shaky legs and all but collapse onto the toilet. You have no idea how long you’ve been down here, but you know you can’t afford to stay any longer. You need your meds, you need your family –fuck, you need some understanding of how time’s passing; you feel like you’re on the verge of losing your mind with the way things currently are.

You shiver as you stare down at your bare feet, jaw and fists clenched tightly. I’m getting the fuck out of here.

***

The waiting game for the footsteps to sound outside the door is a long one. You pace in short circuits near the door, careful not to wander too far so you don’t miss the sound of them approaching and lose your earliest window of opportunity. You switch to doing what exercises and stretches that you can when the pacing starts to drive you batty, then wind up just crouching next to the door, staring down the hatch with laser-like focus, as though you can make it open with sheer will alone.

And –finally—after what feels like an eternity, you hear the footsteps approach.

Adrenaline surges through your system as your entire body tenses in anticipation. You get down into a borderline army-crawl position as you hear the latch for the hatch release, ready to whip the tray out of the way and dive through the hatch opening before your meal-deliverer can react.

Sure enough, the hatch door slides away, and a tray starts skidding across the threshold—

You rip it out of your captor’s hand and shove yourself halfway through the hatch, eliciting a scream from whoever’s delivering your meal this morning—

You know that voice.

You look up in time to see your mother collapse back onto a flight of wooden stairs, looking half scared to death at your sudden appearance.

Shock hits your system first, both at seeing her face for after so long and the realization of just who is holding you and all the implications that bears.

Anger –rage, white hot fury snarling in your chest like a caged lion—hits next, prompting you to bare your teeth at her in a vicious scowl. “You fucking bitch! Let me out of here!”

Your mother screams again when you grab her by the ankle in an effort to yank yourself out of your cell, then rears back and kicks you in the face repeatedly. “Demon child! Get off me, you whore!”

You shout when the toe of her shoe makes direct contact with your brow, then duck your head when you feel blood start spurting down your face.

You need to retreat. You’re not in a good enough position to fend off her blows like this, and at this rate you’re liable to get seriously hurt before you can get out and get to your feet.

You duck back into your cell and hunch over, pressing a hand to your brow in an effort to stem the flow of blood.

The hatch slams back shut, and your mother’s frantic footsteps retreat back up the stairs and out of hearing range.

You stumble to the bathroom and unravel nearly half a roll of toilet paper before pressing it to your brow. You’re shaking like a leaf as a mixture of adrenaline and fear course through your system. That was my mom.

Your mother, in flesh and blood. Not a withdrawal induced hallucination. The real-life woman who gave birth to you, then made your life hell on earth when your mutation presented.

What the fuck?

***

You have to be at your parents’ house. That’s the only logical explanation. Even though there are other scenarios that might bring your parents into the picture –you’re being held in community bunker back where you grew up, and your mom just happened to be delivering your meal when you tried to break out, for instance—the least complicated answer is usually the most accurate one. Combine that with the knowledge that your parents have tried, inexplicably, to have you kidnapped and brought back home before, and there’s no other explanation that does justice to your current predicament.

Again, what the fuck?

Why the fuck can’t they just leave you alone? They never wanted you –at least, not after your mutation presented—and you don’t want to be around them, they literally don’t even have to think about you since you left, so why do they keep trying to bring you back?

Although…

What if you never left to begin with?

Once the thought pops into your brain, it takes root so deep you can’t stop it –because what if you really haven’t left? What if you’ve been here the whole time, and your precious memories of Xavier’s and your friends and family there are just delusions your mind came up with to help you cope with the abuse you’ve suffered over the years? Your escape, your time spent at the Institute, Nate, Wade, Ellie, Yukio, Russell, Neena, Piotr…

Piotr.

A desperate whimper rips through you as the realization that Piotr might not be real sinks into your brain. No! you think desperately as tears start mixing with the blood on your face. No, he’s real! He’s my fiancé, we’re going to get married—

But you don’t have your ring. Your parents took it from you before locking you in here –or maybe whoever abducted you to begin with chucked it or sold it or—

Or maybe it was never real to begin with.

You sob brokenly, chucking the bloodstained wad of toilet paper away and ripping more off the roll to try and clean up your face as best you can. Without the ring, you don’t have proof that any of what you’ve experienced in the past few years is actually real. Any of the new scars on your body could be explained by abuse or other unsuccessful escape attempts, your muscles could be explained by working out in your cell…

It’s real, you tell yourself desperately as you gasp and choke on sobs. It’s real, it’s real, Piotr’s out there, he’s going to find me, please just let him be real.

You toss your latest wad of toilet paper away –then double take when you see your left hand.

There’s a tan line in the shape of a ring band on your ring finger.

A mixture of hope and relief courses through you, even though you barely dare to let yourself feel it—

And then the lights turn out, plunging you into darkness once more.

You pant frantically as you try to get a grip on your spiraling anxiety, then scream.

***

You manage to crawl back to the cot and fall asleep at some point. Your face hurts –your entire body hurts, really—and there’s no good way to lay without irritating your new cut in some way, shape, or form, but you do eventually pass out for a bit.

The lights come back on sometime later, waking you up with a jolt. You groan, both from exhaustion and the bolt of pain from the cut on your brow –and then all the hair on the back of your neck stands up when the door –not the hatch, the door—to your cell opens.

It’s him.

A slew of memories, some that you’d forgotten, rush into your mind’s eye. Growing up, there’d been a pattern to the abuse you’d suffered from your parents. You’d do something to upset your mother –either legitimate or some made up slight she’d create so she had an excuse to punish you—and then she’d verbally and emotionally abuse you –sometimes physically, too—before locking you in your room for hours on end.

And then she’d lament to your father about how poorly behaved and undisciplined you’d been when he got home from work, and he’d “correct” you with whatever he had at hand –usually his belt.

Get up. Get up, get up, get up getupgetupgetupgetup—

You manage to roll out of the way of his first strike. You tumble to the floor as his folded-up belt smacks against the cot, making the frame vibrate from the force of the strike. Before you can get off the ground, though, he kicks you in the gut and knocks the wind out of you.

“You ungrateful brat!” he snarls as he brings down his belt against your body over and over, often hitting you with the metal buckle. “How dare you disrespect your mother like that! In my home!”

You scream and try to shield yourself from his blows as best you can. “Stop it! Stop hitting me!”

“Spare the rod, spoil the child,” he growls before yanking you off the floor by your hair.

You move on instinct, muscle memory. You knee him in the crotch before breaking his grip, block a weak attempt at a punch the way Nate taught you to, then snatch his belt off the floor and get behind him before he can try anything else. You wrap the length of leather around his neck and pull it tight as hard as you can.

Your father chokes and struggles, attempting –and failing—to get his fingers between the belt and his neck before trying to reach back and pull you off him.

You snarl as you stumble with his movements, trying to keep control over him and his belt. Unfortunately, given your withdrawals, you’re nowhere near as steady as you need to be. You trip over the cot and lose your grip, tumbling to the floor in a heap.

Your father hacks and gasps as he gets his own belt off his neck, then staggers towards the open cell door.

You charge after him, narrowly avoiding slamming your face into the metal surface when he gets it closed before you can reach him. You pound your fists against the door as his hurried, stumbling footsteps retreat up the stairs and bellow at the top of your lungs, “I’ll fucking kill you! You bastard! I’m going to kill you!”

The lights turn off again, leaving you stranded in the dark once more.

You seethe as you step back from the door, then let out a wrathful shriek.

***

Your stomach is killing you.

You hadn’t been able to eat the meal your mother delivered earlier due to the adrenaline dump over the realization that you might’ve never truly escaped from your parents’ home. Even if you could find any of the food in the dark, the meat in the sandwich has definitely gone bad by now, and you’re pretty certain everything else got smashed beyond edibility during your struggle with your father.

You do manage to find the mini-bottle of water. You drain it without thinking, then head to the bathroom to guzzle some water out of the sink when you’re still thirsty.

Except the tap’s been shut off from upstairs. And, when you get desperate enough to check, the water reservoir for the toilet –along with the bowl—has been drained, too.

You laugh until you cry, then cry until you laugh, then follow that cycle until you throw up.

Worse still, you’re unbearably hot. The flow of air was shut off shortly after your confrontation with your father. You’re pretty certain that you’re still getting some air, but without the air conditioning on your tiny cell is downright stifling.

Maybe it would be better if they’d sealed you in here to asphyxiate. At this point, you’d take passing out and dying shortly thereafter over suffering like this.

Your head swims as you wipe a layer of sweat off the back of your neck. You have no idea how much time has passed since your fight with your father. You’ve been lapsing in and out of consciousness, meaning that it could’ve been anywhere from a few hours to maybe over a day.

Are you going to die down here? Is this how you’re going to go out? To malicious negligence?

You weep softly as you curl up on your side. You’d hoped, ever since escaping, that you’d die in comfort, surrounded by those you love –or, if not that, in a blaze of glory that leaves everyone awestruck.

Though, considering you may have never escaped at all, perhaps those aspirations were never meant to be within reach for you.

Your body tenses when you hear footsteps outside your door. This is it. This is the end.

You force yourself into a standing position. You’re not going down without a fight, even if the fight you have left in you is bordering on pathetic at this point. You brace yourself against the nearest wall as the door swings open, letting light from the stairwell into your cell—

Nathan steps in, dressed in all black and with a gun strapped to his back. “Kid!”

You stare at him, shocked. “Dad?”

Neena follows in after him, beaming when she sees you. “We’ve got her,” she says into an earpiece. “She looks a little rough, but she’s conscious.”

Nathan doesn’t bother to talk to whoever Neena’s talking to. He closes the distance between the two of you faster than you can blink, yanking you into his arms and almost crushing you with a hug and—

It’s him. It’s really him. Down to every single last detail –the way his techno-organic arm whirs when it moves, the smell of the soap and deodorant he uses, the slight rasp of stubble on his chin and cheeks that he can never seem to get rid of no matter how often he shaves, the fuckboi haircut Wade never stops ripping on him for.

Dad.

You sob, borderline scream, with relief and collapse against him. You cling to him for all you’re worth, ignoring the various pains in your body that the effort causes.

Nathan holds you tight to him, smoothing your hair and kissing the top of your head in a paternal manner. “It’s okay, kid. It’s okay. I’ve got you, you’re okay.” To Neena, he says, “Let’s get her upstairs.”

You make it to the first step of the stairs outside your cell before you have to stop. “I’m too dizzy,” you whine as your legs give out. “I haven’t had my meds, I’m too dizzy—”

“Okay, okay.” Nate sits down with you. “We can wait here until you feel better.”

You grip his shirt like your life depends on it and cry against his human shoulder. “Please don’t leave me, I don’t want you to leave me—”

“No way in hell I’m leaving you,” he reassures you, wrapping both arms around your shaking form. “I’m staying right here with you, I promise.”

“They took my ring, dad,” you ramble, almost manically. “They took it, they took my ring, they took the ring Piotr gave me, I don’t have it anymore, I thought none of you were real—”

“Go find the ring,” Nathan commands to Neena. “And let Pete know where she is.”

“It’s gone,” you protest. “They took it, it’s gone, I don’t have it—”

“Hey.” Neena kneels in front of you and clasps your shoulder gently. “Look at me, Y/N. This is me we’re talking about. I’m going to find your ring and that’s the end of it. Okay?”

You sniff loudly and nod. “Okay.”

She smiles reassuringly at you. “Good. First, though, I’m going to get your guy and send him down here.”

You stare after her as she jogs up the stairs, then look over at Nathan when she disappears from view. “Piotr’s here?”

“He is. He was very worried about you. We all were.” His face creases into a frown as he takes in your full appearance. “Oh, kiddo…”

“My dad hit me,” you choke out as you start crying again. “And my mom—”

Nathan hugs you again, rubbing his human hand up and down your arm as you sob. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. We’re going to get you out of here, I promise.”

Then there’s the sound of frantic, extremely heavy footsteps at whatever’s at the top of the stairs—

Piotr.

He stops at the top of the stairway leading down to your cell when he sees you –and then you’re surprised he doesn’t trip over his own two feet with how fast he gets down to where you and Nate are, but then he’s pulling you into his lap and wrapping his arms around and kissing you—

You cry until your throat goes raw. You cling to him until your hands hurt. You kiss him until your lungs burn, until you’re on the verge of passing out, but it’s all worth it because he’s real, and he loves you, and you’re going to be okay.

“Easy, easy,” Nate says after a minute. “Let her breathe. She needs to breathe.”

Piotr pulls back, which is when you realize that he’s crying, too. “I love you so much, myshka. Bozhe moi, I thought I would never see you again—”

You mash yourself against his chest as hard as you can, given your injuries –and even then, you’re still not really giving them the consideration that you ought to. “I missed you so much, baby. It’s been so horrible. They didn’t give me any meds, and I couldn’t keep my food down—”

Almost like magic, Piotr reaches into one of the pockets on his cargo pants and produces a protein bar. “Here. Eat this.”

You giggle, wet and a little hysterical, as you accept the snack. “Always protein bars with you, huh.”

He manages a smile for you. “Good for bones.” His face quickly creases back into a teary frown, and he cups the back of your head while he kisses your forehead –scrupulously avoiding the cut by your eyebrow—and murmurs something in Russian that you don’t understand.

“Turn around for a minute, kid,” Nathan says, tugging on the power cell for the repression collar when you do. “Let’s get this thing off you.”

You hold still as best you can while he works on the collar, then let out a sigh of relief that sends a gust of wind up the stairs when he finally gets the thing off.

“There we go,” Piotr says with a smile as he rubs your back soothingly. “Much better.”

“Have you had anything to drink today?” Nathan asks, looking you over and gauging your overall physical state.

You manage to shake your head limply. “No. They shut off the water supply to my room after my fight with my father.”

Nate’s mouth tightens into a deep grimace, then he stands with a grunt. “We need to get her upstairs and start hydrating her.”

You whimper when Piotr tries to lift you up. “No, no, no, no! I want to walk, let me walk—”

Both men quickly soothe you, and Piotr sets you down so you can walk on your own. It’s slow going, given how unsteady you are, but eventually you reach the top step.

You’re in the basement of your childhood home. Everything’s where you remember it being; there’s a washer-dryer set next to a laundry sink, a folding table with a small pile of clothes on it, a few cardboard boxes set on some storage racks, and a desk that your father used for various “tinkering” projects.

“Come on,” Nathan encourages you after a moment. “You’re almost there. Just one more flight of stairs.”

You lean heavily against Piotr as you stumble up the last flight of stairs. Your head is swimming, and you feel nauseous even though your stomach is empty, but you don’t want to stop. You want to get out of here, you want to go back home, and you never want to see your parents again for as long as you live.

“Holy shit.”

You look up as you step into the kitchen of the house where you grow up –and almost do a double take, but that is most definitely Frank Castle standing in the dining room, dressed in all black, a tactical vest, and carrying a gun that’s almost as big as Nate’s.

(There’s a euphemism there, but you’re too tired to think about it enough to find it.)

He also looks genuinely shocked and concerned as he takes your appearance in –and you know Frank’s not the sadist the media makes him out to be, but you’re starting to think that you might look worse for wear than you originally suspected.

You manage to flash a weak smile at him. “Hey.”

He nods back. “You okay?”

You let out a thready laugh. “Been better.”

“She needs water, ASAP,” Nate says as he emerges from the basement behind you.

Frank reaches into his jacket and pulls out an unopened bottle of water, which he then tosses over to Nate.

Nathan cracks it open and hands it over to you with the stern instructions to “Sip slowly. Don’t guzzle it; you’ll make yourself throw up if you do.”

“Oh thank fuck, you found her!”

Piotr takes the water bottle from your hand a split second before Wade crashes into you, wrapping you in a hug so tight and borderline full-body that he must’ve found a way to incorporate octopus DNA into his regular gene sequence to give himself extra arms.

Which… he might’ve actually done. Because he’s Wade.

You still cling to him just as tight anyway, crying like you did when Nate found you, and then again with Piotr, because you’re just so damn happy to see him.

“You’re okay! I’m so glad you’re okay!” He pulls back, and he winces –he’s forgone his usual suit in favor of wearing black tactical gear like everyone else, though he is sporting his mask. “Or I spoke too soon. Ow.”

“Did I grow second nose or something?” you ask, laughing nervously as you reach up to feel your face. “Everyone keeps looking at me like something’s wrong.”

“No! Nothing’s wrong!” Wade says, forcing a bright tone. “You definitely don’t look like your face lost a fight with a blender.”

“You look like you got hurt,” Nate clarifies when your expression changes to worry. “It’ll all heal just fine.”

“You found her?”

Your jaw drops when you see Alex poke her head into the kitchen. “What are you doing here?”

“Rescuing you,” she says as she gives you a thorough once over before pulling a cellphone out of her pocket. “I will call him quick.” She lifts the phone to her ear and disappears, though you can hear her say something in Russian to someone else—

And then Mikhail appears in the kitchen, wearing the same get up as everyone else: black tactical gear and strapped within an inch of his life. He claps a hand over his mouth when he sees you, recoiling for a second before approaching you tentatively. “Bozhe moi, you are okay? We were so worried! Is hugs okay?”

“Hugs are fine,” you confirm with a shaky laugh, tearing up again as he gently wraps his arms around you.

Piotr hands you the water bottle when Mikhail releases you. “Little sips,” he reminds you as he gently rubs his hand up and down your back.

You lift the bottle to your lips, and while you work on not sucking it all down in one go, you finally look around and get your bearings.

The sky outside the kitchen windows is stained a golden color that fades into slowly darkening hues of blue–the light’s coming from the west, if you’re remembering the orientation of the house correctly, meaning that it’ll be night soon.

You glance over at the stove clock.

The digital display shows it’s a little after seven.

“It’s nighttime, right?” you ask quietly.

“Evening,” Nathan confirms.

You nod as you process the information and continue scanning the kitchen. It’s as conspicuously clean as you remember –save for a half-eaten piece of toast left on a plate, a mostly empty glass of orange juice, and a partially read newspaper next to it.

A quick inspection of the floor reveals some smudged, barely-there red stains that, if you squint, might be patterned like the tread of someone’s shoe.

You don’t have to guess how those got there.

“How long was I gone?” you ask, still quiet, as you start in on Piotr’s protein bar. Your stomach gurgles greedily when the smell of chocolate hits your nose, and the past few days of barely eating hit you all at once. “And when can I get something to eat?”

“Four days,” Nate answers again. “And we’ll get you something more filling once we’ve cleared the town.”

Alex comes back around the corner at that moment, arguing with someone on the phone. “Yes, yes –she’s fine, I already told you she’s fine… do not take this out of context, you know what I meant.” She hands the phone off to Wade abruptly. “Keep him occupied for two minutes.”

Wade takes the phone and lifts it to his ear. “According to all known laws of aviation, there is no way the bee should be able to fly—”

She turns and faces you, cupping your face in her hands as she looks you over with motherly concern. She frowns sadly, and gently rubs your cheeks with her thumbs. “Malen'kaya ptitsa…” She lifts her hand to gently brush her fingers against the cut above your eyebrow. “How did you get this?”

Any steadiness you might’ve gained crumples as your eyes start watering again. “I tried to escape… my mom kicked me in the face…”

Alex visibly tears up at that and pulls you into a tight hug.

You shake in her arms, partially from the past few days and partially from the overwhelming feeling of having a maternal figure that loves you.

You have a feeling you’re going to wind up dedicating a few therapy sessions to both.

Frank pipes up from somewhere in the living room –probably keeping an eye on things, given his background and your dad’s general ability with constructing a mission plan. “Still no sign of anyone. Not even across the street. Entire town’s dead.”

“They’re probably at the church,” you pipe up as you step back from Alex and lean against your fiancé, wiping your face dry with your shirt. “Deciding what to do with me.”

Mikhail frowns. “They already took you. What else is there?”

“Whether or not they need to kill me,” you say, voice flat –and even though you’re exhausted and more than a little out of it, you can feel the snap of tension that runs through everyone else within earshot.

“We need to get her out of here,” Nate says, voice low and thrumming with barely controlled anger. He taps Wade on the shoulder, who is in the middle of rambling in Spanish to whoever’s on the phone. “Cars. Now.”

Wade gives Nate a little salute –without stopping his monologue—and heads towards the front door.

“Wait!” You panic a little when Nate and Piotr start moving you towards the door as well. “My ring –I still don’t have my ring, I need my ring!”

“It is okay, myshka,” Piotr reassures you. “I can get you new one—”

“I don’t want another one!” you sob as you dig in your heels to keep from being moved further. “I want the one you already gave me –it’s mine, they took it from me, it’s supposed to be mine—”

“I found the ring!” Neena shouts from upstairs. There’s a series of quick footsteps above you, then a thud that makes you think she jumped the entire flight of stairs in one go, and then she’s jogging into the kitchen with your engagement ring in hand. “I believe this is what you’re looking for.”

You almost collapse with relief when you see it. Your hands are shaking so bad that you can barely hold onto your bottle of water, much less a delicate engagement ring.

Fortunately, Piotr’s there to help you. He takes the ring from Neena with a murmured ‘thank you,’ then carefully slides it back into place on your left ring finger.

“There we go,” Alex says with a note of approval in her voice.

Nathan nudges you forward –albeit not unkindly—as Frank, Neena, and Mikhail head out the front door. “Come on. Time to get out of here.”

You walk through the dining room and entryway on shaky legs, then across the small porch and down the little flight of steps. It’s cool outside, and Piotr shucks off his jacket and drapes it around your shoulders when you shiver.

There’s two sleek, modern, massive black SUVs that look entirely out of place on your parents’ gravel driveway. Neena’s behind the wheel of one, Frank’s behind the other—

And Wade is standing between the two cars, holding the cellphone six inches away from his ear as some rages at him from the other end of the line—

You recognize the voice; it’s your uncle.

Wade shoots Alexandra a slightly shell-shocked look. “I think he’s pissed.”

You hold out your hand to him. “He’ll settle down when I start talking to him.”

Your uncle’s still going as you clamber into the back of the SUV that Frank’s driving. “—Wilson, I swear to all things holy and not, if you don’t put my niece on the phone right now—”

“Hey,” you say quickly before he can start listing off various death threats. “It’s me. I’m okay.”

Your uncle lets out a rush of air that almost makes you think he’s been punched in the gut “Punk.”

Piotr climbs in next to you –which gets an eyebrow raise from you, to which he merely kisses your forehead—and buckles you into your seat before buckling himself in and closing the door next to him.

“Hey,” you say again, voice wobbly and hoarse from all the crying you’ve been doing. “It’s okay, I’m okay—”

Your uncle lets out a broken sob. “Punk –Y/N—I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry!”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, equally as teary. “It’s okay, it’s not your fault, it’s alright.”

Nate closes the front passenger door of the car with a thud and quickly buckles himself in. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

“We’re leaving now,” you say as Frank pulls out of the driveway. “I’ll be home soon.”

“I’ll be here,” your uncle promises. “I’m… I’m sorry I couldn’t be there.”

“It’s okay,” you say for the umpteenth time. “I know you would have if it was an option.”

“Damn right.” He sniffs wetly, then groans. “There’s some other people here that want to check in on you. I need to… yeah.”

You let out a tired laugh –you don’t have to ask what he means. “That’s okay. I’ll see you when I get home.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Alright, I’m gonna put you on speaker before I get mobbed.”

There’s a brief moment of shuffling on the other end of the line, and then—

Chaos.

Russell, Yukio, and Ellie –and possibly Kitty as well, if your ears aren’t deceiving you—all try to talk at once, asking how you are, what happened, when you’re coming back, what’s going to happen to your parents… It all comes out as a jumbled, cacophonic mess, and even though you have to hold the speaker of the phone away from your ear a little, it makes you smile.

“Okay, okay.” Nikolai’s voice breaks through the din, warm and fond but undoubtedly authoritative. “One at time. Do not want to overwhelm here.”

And that devolves into, from the sounds of things, a ‘rock-paper-scissors’ match for who gets to talk first—

Until Illyana takes the phone. “How are you?”

“I’m okay,” you answer while trying not to giggle at the grumbling you can hear in the background. “I’ve been better, but I’m okay. I’m on my way home now.”

“What’s going to happen with your parents?” Russell blurts –which gets a few hisses of ‘don’t ask that’ from the girls, but you can understand why he’d want to know.

When you come from backgrounds like yours and his, it’s natural to want to know if the people like your abusers are being held accountable.

“I don’t know,” you say honestly. “But, if I have it my way, I’m never seeing them again.”

“We missed you a lot,” Yukio pipes up. “We were all really worried about what happened to you.”

“I missed you guys, too,” you say, choking up with emotion again. “I’ll be home soon, I promise.”

“Did Wade kill anyone?” Kitty asks, which prompts a snort from Illyana.

“As far as I know, he behaved himself.”

“Told you,” Russell grumbles at someone –Ellie, most likely, she’s usually the first person to doubt Wade’s self-control (not that she doesn’t have good reason or plenty of evidence to support her suspicions). “Karen’s here, too.”

You blink, surprised. “Karen? As in… Karen Page?”

(You swear you see Frank perk up in the driver’s seat, just a little.)

“Yeah,” Karen says, speaking for the first time. “I was brought here for… supervision.”

Which is another way of saying ‘safekeeping,’ but either way it isn’t hard to miss the distaste in her voice over being babysat.

“Well, uh, thanks for loaning your friend out,” you say for lack of something better to comment on. “I appreciate it.”

Karen snorts. “Now that’s a business idea. But we both wanted to make sure you came back in one piece.” She clears her throat. “How are you doing?”

“Been better,” you admit wearily. “Been a lot better.”

“I can imagine.”

“I’m sure, considering you’re New York’s ‘most kidnapped reporter.’”

Frank snorts.

“Did he laugh at that?”

You smirk. “Yeah.”

Karen grumbles something under her breath before saying, “Well, I’ll have you know that claim is unsubstantiated at best.”

“I’m sure,” you yawn, suddenly overwhelmed with exhaustion.

“We’ll let you go,” Karen says decisively. “You should rest.”

“Probably,” you mutter, too tired for functional human conversation. You make your good-byes with the group –Nikolai promises to say good-bye to your uncle for you—then hang up.

The car’s already at the fringes of the town where you grew up. The populated area is quickly giving way to fields of crops and forest; if it weren’t for all the sins you know lie close to the surface of the place, it’d look beautiful.

You watch the sun continue to set before you turn away from the window and let exhaustion claim you.

***

The cars pull over to the side of the road about twenty minutes later –far enough outside of town that you’ve got a head start, but still too close for comfort in your opinion.

You blink sleepily as Nate hops out of his seat and walks over to the door next to you. “What’s going on? Why did we stop?”

“We need to get you cleaned up and make sure you don’t have any serious injuries that require immediate attention,” he explains as Alex and Mikhail hop out of the other car and walk towards him.

You frown. “And if I do?”

Nathan nods to Mikhail. “He’ll teleport back to the Institute with you so you can get immediate treatment, and the rest of us will finish the drive back.” He pauses to take a large medical kit from Alex. “You got a preference for which one of us looks you over?”

“Dad,” you decide, voice quiet, after a moment of thought. “I want dad to do it.”

The three of them nod, and Alex and Mikhail walk a respectful distance away while Nathan puts on a pair of medical gloves.

“Alright,” he says as he turns on a mini flashlight. “Look straight ahead for me.”

Piotr unbuckles his seat belt and shifts so he’s sitting behind you. He kisses the top of your head when you interlock your fingers with his. “Does anywhere hurt?”

“Everything hurts,” you grumble as you follow Nathan’s light with your eyes.

Nate clicks the flashlight off. “No signs of concussion. Can you run me through how you got injured?”

You swallow hard and grip Piotr’s hand tighter. “I tried to escape… earlier today, I think. I caught my mother off guard… and she—” you tap where you’d gotten the split in your skin on your forehead “—kicked me. Couple times.”

Piotr lets out a shaky breath and scoots closer to you, lips pressing against your temple.

“Later, my father…” You chin trembles as your voice trails off, and you find yourself blinking back tears.

“It’s okay,” Nathan reassures you. “You don’t have to tell me how it went. I just need to know where you got hurt.”

“Ribs. Stomach. Neck,” you rattle off. “Legs too, probably.”

“Okay. Can you lift your shirt up for me so I can see your ribcage?”

You do –and for the first time, you realize there’s blood crusted on a good portion of your shirt. Some of it dripped down onto your pants as well. “Oh. That’s why everyone was looking at me weird. I look like Carrie.”

“All you’re missing is the bucket,” Nathan deadpans. He helps you roll up your shirt to the bottom of your bra when you wince, then grimaces. “Aw, kid…”

Your ribs are a mottled myriad of purples and reds, shiny and just a touch swollen. “Huh. I was wondering why that hurt.”

“That would do it,” Nathan agrees, jaw clenching as he inhales and exhales slowly. “Alright, I’m gonna feel your sides to make sure your ribs aren’t broken. This’ll probably hurt a little.”

It hurts a lot, but it’s nothing compared to the past few days.

You squeeze your eyes shut and breathe through the stabs of pain that Nathan’s poking creates. “I used the fighting techniques you taught me with my father. Almost choked him out.”

He presses a fatherly kiss against your forehead. “Atta girl. Good job. Alright, your ribs don’t seem to be broken, but you’re going to be sore until you can see one of the healers. We can always have Mikhail take you back if you’re uncomfortable.”

You shake your head automatically. “No. I want to stay with Piotr.”

Piotr hugs you gently, careful to avoid your bruises, and kisses your cheek. “Myshka, be reasonable.”

“I thought I was never going to see you again!” you whimper as you press yourself against him. “I thought you weren’t even real! I’m not leaving you!”

“We have painkillers,” Nate says when Piotr hesitates. “We can keep her physically comfortable, and her physical well-being isn’t in question. The next immediate step is her emotional well-being. She’ll be calmer if she stays with you.”

Piotr nods after a moment. “If you are certain she will be fine.”

“If I wasn’t, I’d be sending her home with your brother.” Nate nods when Piotr nods again, then pulls a pack of baby wipes out of the medical kit. “Okay, kiddo. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“Pictures,” Frank pipes up from the driver’s seat. “This is an abuse case. You need to take pictures.”

“I’m not taking my parents to court,” you sigh. “I probably wouldn’t win, since I’m mutant. All I ever care about is not seeing them again.”

Frank meets your eyes in the rearview mirror. “All due respect, ma’am, but they went to the trouble of kidnapping you and dragging you back to their house. Even if you’re done with them, they clearly aren’t done with you. You need a paper trail.”

“He’s right,” Nathan says when you pull a frustrated face. “The more documentation we have, the better things go if the courts ever do get involved.”

You sigh, exhausted and frustrated. “Fine. Let’s just make it fast. I want to get all this blood off me.”

Nathan calls Alex over to help with the picture taking process. Using Nate’s phone, they start off by taking several pictures of your face and the cut and bruising there, before documenting the state of your clothes and all the blood over it. The snap a few shots of your neck –chafing from the mutation repression collar, apparently—then move on to taking pictures of your ribs and back.

Piotr kisses your forehead soothingly when you whimper from your ribs hurting. “Almost done. You are doing so well.”

They finish off by getting photos of the bruises on your legs from your encounter with your father, then Nate hands the package of baby wipes to Alex. “Start getting her cleaned up. I’m going to save these.”

Frank rolls down his window and holds his phone out to Nathan. “Send them to Karen’s number, too. She works with a law firm; they’ll be able to help.”

“I thought she was a journalist,” you say as Nate copies Karen’s number into his phone.

“She moonlights as a private investigator and paralegal for a law firm, too,” Frank explains.

You nod, impressed. “Pays to be connected.”

“It certainly does,” Alex agrees as she clasps your chin with her hand. “Alright, malen'kaya ptitsa, let’s get you cleaned up.”

With the practiced gentleness of a loving mother, she wipes your face clean with methodic, circular strokes. She goes through several wipes before she moves on to your neck, gently scrubbing the dried blood off your skin.

Your hold on Piotr’s hand tightens further as waves of emotion threaten to overwhelm you.

This should’ve been your mother. The societal laws of the universe dictate that it’s your mother, the one who gave birth to you, who should be loving on you and caring for you like this.

Instead, she helped lock you in a cell and kicked you in the face when you tried to escape.

“There we go,” Alex says softly, fondly. “All clean.” She throws the baby wipes in a plastic bag, then nods at the medical kit –which is really just a black duffel bag with more medical emergency supplies in it than you would’ve thought possible—as she ties the plastic bag off. “There’s clean clothes for her in there. Help her get changed.”

Piotr kisses the back of your head before sliding back across the back bench of the SUV and exiting on his side of the car. He circles back around to you and withdraws a pair of pajama pants, some fresh underwear, and a shirt of his that’s large enough your won’t have to wear a bra. “Alright, myshka. Let’s get you into proper clothing.” He stands so he’s blocking you from view of everyone else –even the driver’s side mirror of the car, not that you’d ever take Frank Castle as the ‘sneak peek’ type.

Still, you appreciate the gesture.

You shuck off your white, baggy clothes with Piotr’s help, then let out a sigh of relief when you pull on the fresh underwear and pajama pants.

“I bet that feels better,” Piotr says as he helps you get the clean shirt on.

“Yeah, it does,” you admit.

Piotr puts your bloody clothes in another plastic grocery bag, then ties it off and tucks it in the medical kit. He zips the duffel bag shut, hands it back to his mother, then nods at Nathan. “We’re ready.”

“Good. We can’t afford to stand still any longer.”

Your stomach growls angrily as everyone gets back in their respective car seats. “Dad, I really need to eat something.”

“I know, kiddo. I promise, as soon as we’re a good distance away, we’ll get you fed,” Nathan says as he buckles himself in. “Think about what you want in the meantime. We’ll get whatever sounds good to you.”

Piotr kisses your cheek as he buckles you back into your seat. “Hang in there, myshka. Just little bit longer.”

“I want burgers,” you whine tiredly –you’ve earned a good whine, though. “Plural. As in lots of them.”

“We can get you burgers,” Piotr promises, buckling himself in as Frank steers back onto the road.

“And fries. I want fries.”

“You can have fries, also.”

“I want your fries, too.”

Piotr chuckles, then nods. “You can have my fries as well.”

You lean against his shoulder, worn out. “Can I get a milkshake, too?”

“Whatever you want, dorogoy,” Piotr says as he carefully wraps his arm around you and kisses the top of your head. “You can get whatever you want.”

***

Forty minutes later, you finally hit a strip with a bunch of stores –and, even better, fast food joints. The two cars order enough food for twenty people, then drive over to an abandoned movie theater with a parking lot that’s more grass than asphalt and park there so everyone can eat.

You manage to slurp down half your chocolate shake before Piotr takes it from you and hands you one of the burgers you’d asked for. “Protein first, please,” he says as he sets your shake in your cupholder. “I do not want for you to get sick.”

After four days of withdrawals and plain turkey sandwiches, the burger tastes like heaven.

You moan obscenely as you take your first bite, then gulp it down before going back in for more.

“The hell are you doing to her?” Mikhail asks, grinning lasciviously as he opens his door and swing his legs so he’s sitting sideways in his seat, facing the car you’re in. “I could hear that through my window!”

Piotr just rolls his eyes, takes a bite of his burger, and hands his fries over to you, the sweetheart.

“What’s the plan for the parents’ house when we get Y/N back home?” Wade asks as he horks down his burger almost as fast as you’re eating yours. “I’m feeling something arson-y. Frankenfurter, you down?”

You can almost hear Frank’s eyes roll at the nickname, but he shows restraint by only flipping Wade off for it instead of cursing him out. “You’re buying the gas.”

“Ooh, I do love good burning!” Mikhail says with slightly manic brightness. “If I come, you will not even need matches!”

“Send a good message,” Nathan reasons, techno-organic eye flaring as he considers the idea. “Warn all the other shitheads not to go after mutants.”

Behind you, Piotr makes a noise of disapproval. “X-Men do not kill.”

“We’re not X-Men!” Wade reasons. “It’ll be fine!”

“I don’t know,” Neena says softly as she watches you closely. “I’m not getting a good feeling about this idea.”

You’re not sure when you started crying, but her sudden attention makes you realize that you’re shaking and that tears are trickling down your cheeks.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Wade crouches in front of you, smiling brightly even though panic is easy to see in his eyes. “It’s okay. We wouldn’t leave you out of it.”

Piotr sighs heavily. “Wade—”

“Hey, a little vengeance towards childhood abusers is very cleansing for the soul!”

“No,” you snap, scrubbing at your face –and then wince when you press against the cut by your eyebrow too hard. “No one’s doing anything. No arson, no killing, no threats, nothing!”

“What the shit? Are you listening to yourself right now?” Wade exclaims. “These are your parents, the people who beat you growing up and again within the past twenty-four hours, and you just want to –what—let them get away with it? The fuck kinda bullshit is that!”

“You can’t,” you sob, almost on the verge of hyperventilating. “You can’t –Wade, you can’t, you have to promise me—”

“Hey, hey.” Nate clasps your hand while shushing softly. “Deep breaths. No one’s going to do anything if you’re not okay with it.”

“Speak for yourself!”

Neena kicks Wade in the shin –albeit not too hard. “We’re trying to calm her down right now.”

“What do you think the arson is for?”

Piotr lets out a harsh exhale behind you. “Wade—”

“Everyone be quiet,” Alex interjects in a tone that brokers no arguing. She fixes Wade with a steely glare when he opens his mouth to argue anyway. “I said quiet. There is more going on here than you realize.”

Wade gives you a skeptical look. “What else could there possibly be? Your family situation is already entirely fucked.”

You sniff wetly and blow your nose into a Kleenex provided by Piotr, then give everyone watching you –which is the entire group at this point—a desperate, pleading look. “What I’m about to tell you cannot ever go any further, okay? Someone else’s life is at stake. I’m putting them at risk –and the rest of you, too—just by telling you all this.”

Everyone nods seriously –even Wade—and then it all comes tumbling out.

About your uncle. About the life he was forced into. About how he got out and has to stay under every radar conceivable to avoid being forced back into “government service.”

“If anything happens to my parents –or their property—that isn’t natural causes, the government drops a massive manhunt on his head,” you explain, voice thick with emotion. “It’s an agreement they made to keep him from taking me when I was a kid and to keep him from lashing out at them from all their bullshit.”

“Why haven’t they just dropped the bomb on him anyway?” Neena asks. “Your parents don’t exactly seem like the most rational, deal-honoring people anyway.”

“He warned them that if they did pull something like that, his first stop would be to come get me and ‘wipe all evidence of them from existence,’” you say. “I think they valued their own lives enough to keep from doing that.”

“Why not just take you and run anyway?” Mikhail pipes up, forehead creased with confusion and concern.

You purse your lips. “For all about him that’s great… he’s flawed. I don’t think he ever thought he’d be in a good position to take care of a kid –and, in all honesty, he wasn’t.”

“But he could have saved you,” Mikhail argues. “He could have gotten you out.”

“My uncle was just as abused as I am, if not more,” you say flatly. “He’s had his own demons to deal with –still deal with. And, at any rate, this isn’t about what he has or hasn’t done; this is about his present safety, and believe me when I say there is a very real threat staring him down.”

“We believe you,” Nate reassures you. “And we’re not going to do anything that’s going to put your uncle at risk.”

Wade holds up his hands defensively when you give him a pointed look. “I’ll behave! I promise!”

You heave a sigh of relief and lean back against Piotr. “Thanks, everyone.”

…

While you all finish eating, Nate, Alex, Neena, Piotr, and Frank work out how the rest of the travelling is going to go.

There’s no stopping for a hotel –or anything other than food, gas, and bathroom breaks, really. Even though you’re safely out of your parents’ clutches, the possibility of them chasing after you –along with who knows who else—still looms ominously like a black thunder cloud.

“We left the collar at the house,” Nate says while looking over some maps with Frank and Neena. “With any luck, they’ll think she got it off and escaped into the woods.”

“By unlocking the door from inside the room,” Frank says, voice heavy with doubt.

“I can unlock handcuffs with my powers,” you retort between massive bites of burger and fries. “And I used to take my bedroom door off its hinges to escape from my room. It’s not that much of a leap.”

Frank shrugs, looking equal parts impressed and irritated –though the latter, you’re certain, is directed at your parents. “If you say so.”

“If they come after us,” Nate says, stressing the first word for your sake. “You’re—” he points to Mikhail “—going to get her and get back to the Institute. We’ll be able to handle whatever they throw at us.”

You frown when Mikhail nods and look to your fiancé. “What about you?”

Piotr kisses your forehead. “I will be fine. My armor mutation will keep me safe.”

“Yeah, honey, but you’re official X-Men. You can’t be associated with a shoot-out in case something hits the news.”

“Grab both of them,” Nate tells Mikhail.

“Do I have to?” Mikhail mock-whines. “Mladshiy brat too heavy.”

Piotr rolls his eyes and says something in Russian, which Mikhail pulls a face at and replies in a short, irritated tone, and then the two of them tangent off into some sort of rapid-fire argument that leads to the two of them talking over each other—

“Stop it, both of you,” Alex admonishes them crisply. “This situation is serious. Act like it.”

“One of us is,” Piotr mutters under his breath.

“Trakhni tebya!”

“Enough.” Alex levels a serious, mildly annoyed look at Piotr. “Quit antagonizing.”

Mikhail laughs.

“That goes for you, too, Koroleva dramy.”

You squeeze Piotr’s hand when you catch him barely suppressing an annoyed grimace. “Be nice.”

Frank noisily balls up the wrapper his burger had come in, effectively distracting everyone away from the argument. “We should get moving again. Do we have a route picked out?”

Neena tosses him a map with a series of roads and highways highlighted. “I’m feeling good about this one.”

“Still lazy writing,” Wade grumbles under his breath.

Nate pats Wade on the shoulder before heading back to his seat. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Once you’re buckled in, Piotr hands you a small container with some pills and a bottle of water. “Medication,” he explains when you give him a perplexed look. “Dr. McCoy wanted you to have meal before you took it.”

You quickly –gratefully—down one of the pills and follow it with a swig of water. “Thanks, babe.”

He produces another bottle with a few smaller looking pills in it. “Xanax. He instructed me to have you take one as well to help you sleep.”

You take one of the Xanax, chase it down with some water, and flop back in your seat with a sigh as Frank drives the car towards the nearest highway. “How long until we’re home?”

“About two days, give or take four hours,” Nate answers from the shotgun seat of the car.

You adjust yourself so you’re leaning against Piotr and close your eyes.

You may as well get some sleep in that time.

***

You wake up to the sun blasting your eyes –and ow, no, I didn’t need my retinas to be functional, just go right ahead and scorch them, you fucker. You blink hard, trying to get the little spots from accidentally staring at the bright, early morning light to fade from your field of vision, and stretch your back and sit up.

For a moment, you panic when you realize Piotr isn’t next to you –but Nathan is, napping, and if he’s still here then you’re still safe…

You let out a little sigh of relief when you see that Piotr’s in the driver’s seat, steering the car around a bend in the road. You lean forward –mashing your face against the back of his seat in the process—and gently squeeze his shoulders. “Hi.”

He lifts one hand off the wheel when he gets to another length of straight, open road and lovingly squeezes one of your hands. “Dobroye utro, myshka.”

You yawn and latch onto his shirt when he lets go of you so he has both hands on the steering wheel once more. “How long have you been awake?”

“Couple of hours. I switched off with Frank around four.”

Sure enough, Frank’s in the front passenger seat, completely dead to the world and snoring slightly.

“How much longer until we’re home?”

“I think we will reach halfway point later today, provided everything goes well.”

You grunt a little and turn your head so only your cheek’s pressing the back of his seat. “Can we get breakfast soon? I’m hungry.”

Piotr chuckles a little and pats your hand. “Da, dorogoy. We can get you breakfast soon.”

***

Breakfast comes in the form of a Panera Bread. You can only imagine how big the cashier’s eyes must’ve been when Neena and Piotr had gone in to place the order, judging by the three massive bags of food and multiple drink carriers they bring out, but fortunately the place is pretty dead since it’s still early in the morning.

You all eat in the parking lot, car doors open to let in fresh air and facilitate easy conversation.

“We should refuel soon,” Frank says, voice still gravelly –well, more than usual—from sleep. “And stock up on some supplies and coffee.”

“You ordered three large black coffees for breakfast,” Neena remarks, disbelieving. “What are you going to need more coffee for?”

“He doesn’t just punish criminals and jackasses,” Wade quips. “He also likes to punish his cardiovascular system by scouring it with mass amounts of caffeine.”

Frank just rolls his eyes and flips Wade off.

Alex groans as she works a brush through her hair. “I will be glad to not sleep in car soon. I am too old for this.”

“I can take you back,” Mikhail offers, a worried frown tugging at his lips.

Alex merely shakes her head, though. “I would rather be present in case something goes wrong.”

“We’ve made some good progress,” Nate says as he works on polishing off a breakfast sandwich. “If we were going to see them, it would’ve been last night, either at the house or when we stopped to treat her injuries.”

“Doesn’t mean they’re not following behind us,” Frank adds darkly. “Best to stop as little as we have to.”

***

The two SUVs stop at a gas station fifteen minutes later.

Nate eyes the meter critically as the beast of a car continues guzzling down fuel. “And people say climate change is a myth.”

The eight of you head into the gas station two at a time to freshen up in the bathroom and get whatever snacks and drinks you might want, while everyone else keeps an eye on the road for any signs of trouble.

Mikhail comes out with two bags full of Monster and Red Bull.

“Nyet,” Piotr says before you can even muster up so much as a hopeful look. He points at the bags his brother’s carrying. “Keep those in other car.”

“Do you mind if I ride in the front while he drives?” you ask Frank when he comes out from his trip to the gas station, nodding at Piotr while you speak.

Frank shrugs. “Sure. I can sleep in the back.”

“You should rest, myshka,” Piotr says as he kisses the top of your head.

“Yeah, but I want to rest next to you,” you explain. “And hold your hand.”

He chuckles and hugs you gently before ushering you towards the front passenger seat. “I suppose that is reasonable.”

***

For the first time in your life, you don’t mind the monotony of car travel.

You can keep track of how much time is passing, you’re close to Piotr the entire time, you have access to water and good tasting food, and you’re able to talk to the people you love most (other than Piotr) basically whenever you want.

The only real downside is that Frank listens to Bruce Springsteen on repeat whenever he’s driving –during the day that is, he’s not enough of an asshole to play it at night—but even that’s tolerable compared to your past few days in hell on earth.

Piotr sticks close to you throughout it all. If he’s driving, you’re in the front passenger seat next to him. If you’re in the back, he’s sitting in the seat next to yours. If you head into a gas station to use the restroom, he’s the one that heads in with you. Wherever you eat –usually in the car, but sometimes leaning against the side or the hood so you can stretch your legs—he’s right next to you.

You’re both equally clingy to each other, really. On some level, you know the considerate thing to do would be dial it back so you don’t annoy everyone else –but, on the other hand, you spent four days being held and tormented by your parents and thought that everyone you’d ever met outside of your childhood community might’ve never existed to begin with. If anything, you’ve earned a little PDA.

(Besides, it’s not like anyone’s complaining or pulling faces.)

“I thought you didn’t exist,” you murmur quietly one night, while Nate’s driving and Frank’s co-piloting for him. You’re in the back with Piotr, nestled against his chest and snuggled up in his jacket. “I thought I’d made you up –that I’d made everything up.”

Piotr holds you tight, cradling you in his arms as he kisses the top of your head. “I will always find you, myshka,” he promises in an equally quiet voice. “You will never have to wake up alone again.”

***

The two SUVs finally reach the X-Mansion around three in the afternoon, a little over two days after your rescue.

Your uncle’s waiting in the garage for you, pacing nervously and generally looking like a wreck.

“And I thought I was the one that was kidnapped and held prisoner,” you remark as you watch him stare down the cars, like he can make them park and turn off faster if he keeps his eyes on them through the whole process.

“He was pretty cut up when you went missing,” Nate says from the backseat. “Flew here in twelve hours when Xavier contacted him with the news.”

“Holy shit,” you mutter under your breath as Piotr finishes parking the car and turns the engine off. You unbuckle your seatbelt and get out of the SUV as quickly as you can—

Your uncle’s still quicker. He practically lifts you out of your seat and into a crushing hug, sobbing brokenly as he holds you.

Which makes you start crying. You’re surprised your tear ducts have anything left to offer after all the crying you’ve done over the past couple days.

“I’m so sorry!” he gasps between sobs as he clutches you tighter and tighter. “I’m so sorry, punk; I’m so, so sorry!”

You hold onto him just as fiercely. “It’s okay; it’s not your fault, it was never your fault…”

The two of you collapse to the cement floor of the garage in a discombobulated heap, weeping and clinging to each other like it’s all that either of you can do.

And, given the depth of everything that’s happened, it just might be.

Piotr, Alex, and Nate help the two of you stand, steadying you both until you’re each calm enough to stay upright on your own power.

Your uncle cups your face his hands, jaw trembling with rage as he looks you over. “What did they do to you? What did they do –I’m gonna fucking murder them!”

Alex shushes your uncle, quickly stepping between the two of you as he starts shaking again. “Deep breaths.”

“Don’t you fucking ‘deep breaths’ me!”

“She needs you calm,” Alex fires back, pointing at you.

Which you don’t think is the whole truth; of the two of you, you’re miles calmer than your uncle (that would be the Xanax, thank you modern pharmaceutics).

But he needs to calm down. And if thinking he’s helping you is the bridge that gets him there, so be it.

You offer your uncle a watery smile when he looks at you. “Honestly, all I really want is to go inside, take a shower, and nap in a real bed.”

That ekes a ghost of a snort out of your uncle. He takes a deep breath, then nods. “Yeah. Probably a good idea. Easier to bathe in water than in deodorant.”

You snicker. “You’re telling me.”

You’re ushered into the house by your uncle and your rescue group. Piotr stays by your side the whole way, holding your hand reassuringly as you step through the back door and into the kitchen—

And there’s Russell, Yukio, Ellie, Illyana, Kitty, Nikolai, and Karen, all waiting for you with varying looks of worry and anticipation.

Russell, Yukio, and Ellie all swarm you at once. It takes a bit of work figuring out how to hug all three of them at once, and it makes your ribs sting like a bitch, but you don’t care. You’re overjoyed to see them; you’ve missed their energy and company fiercely during all of this.

Illyana and Kitty go next –though they have a little more self-control and opt to go one at a time, sparing your ribs from an extra squeezing.

Illyana holds onto you for a surprisingly long amount of time. When she lets go, her eyes are watery enough that her usually impeccable eyeliner has started running.

“Was very worried about you,” she manages, voice wobbly with emotion when you ask her what’s wrong. “And for medvezhonok. Very distraught while you disappear.” She smiles at you, genuine and bright despite the tears in her eyes. “I am glad you are home.”

You have to hug her again after that.

Nikolai’s hug almost makes you cry (again). It’s so gentle and nurturing, and in direct comparison to the past few days –save for being rescued—it’s an outright shock to your system. “We are all glad you come home, malen'kaya ptitsa,” he says before placing a gentle, fatherly kiss against the top of your head.

If you sniffle a little when you step back and wipe a few tears from your eyes, no one mentions it. “I’m glad to be back.” You turn—

And then it’s just Karen left.

She grimaces when she sees you. “You look rougher than you did that one time when Frank brought you by my apartment.”

“Hey, at least I didn’t bleed on your couch this time.” You mentally flounder for a moment, then shrug at her. “You want a hug, too?”

Karen chuckles –along with everyone else—and shrugs back. “Why not? Hugs are good.” Your hug with her is briefer than your hugs with everyone else, but she does clasp your shoulder when it ends. “Your dad sent me the pictures he took of your injuries and a basic rundown of how they found you. I showed them to the law firm I moonlight for –they’re willing to represent you, if you’re interested.”

Granted, you’d rather not have anything to do with your parents ever again, but knowing what your legal options are wouldn’t be a half bad idea.

First things first, though.

“Can I, like, at least take a shower and a nap first?” you ask.

Karen smiles and nods. “Yeah, definitely do those first. I’ll let them know you’re interested in working with us?”

You nod after a moment of thought. “Yeah. I’m interested.”

***

Before either a shower or a nap, though, comes a thorough medical examination and healing session. Vitals, x-rays, bloodwork, the whole nine yards and a few extra for good measure.

Hank takes some higher quality pictures of your injuries and documents your medical status for your meeting with your new lawyers, then sends you off to one of the healers so you don’t have to treat yourself like the most delicate, frail china doll until everything heals.

“Alyssa and Professor Xavier want to do a session with you,” he informs you before sending you to one of the healers. “To make sure no irreversible damage has been done from going off your meds and being held captive.”

“Define ‘irreversible,’” you sigh as you rub your neck.

Hank flashes you a pained smile. “I know. But better to take all the steps than cut corners. Especially with situations like this.” He waves you along when you go quiet. “Go on. Go get healed up. That should help you feel better.”

***

The healing session does help –but honestly, all you want now is a shower and a proper bed.

Which is exactly what you get for yourself. Once the session is done, you head straight for the room you share with Piotr, beeline for the bathroom, and make yourself a nice, steaming shower.

Ah, just mildly scalding, you think as you step under the cascade of water. Perfect.

The warm water feels like heaven. You can feel your muscles relaxing under the soothing spray, and you waste no time washing your hair and scrubbing yourself down.

The first shower after a healing session is always a little weird. You know you were injured –you can still feel dull pain in your ribs and the stress your body went through from coping with the injuries—but seeing completely smooth, unmarred skin in contrast to all of that always makes you feel like you’re having a bit of an out-of-body experience.

Your fingers automatically lift to your brow. There’s not so much as a fine line scar left from where your mother kicked you, let alone the scabby, crusty mess that had been there only fifteen minutes ago.

You’re not sure whether it’s a blessing or a curse to have everything erased like this. On one hand, you definitely don’t want to bear the proof of your parents’ hatred towards you for the rest of your life. On the other hand, if you don’t have any proof at all, does that mean you didn’t even suffer? It could’ve all just been a nightmare, or a horrid hallucination your psychosis cooked up—

You groan and scrub your face with your hands. I need to sleep.

Piotr joins you halfway through your shower. It takes him considerably less time to scrub down than it does for you, so he spends most of his time caressing your body and planting kisses along your jawline and neck.

By the time the shower’s over, you’re wound up in an entirely different way.

The two of you dry each other off –which really means that you spend more time kissing and groping each other than you do actually drying each other off.

You moan softly as Piotr runs his tongue over the spot where your neck and jaw meet. “Take me to bed, baby.” You sigh happily when he complies, looping your arms around his neck as he picks you up and carries you out of the bathroom.

You’re home.

***

“How are you doing?”

You let out a harsh bark of laughter. “How the fuck doing you think I’m doing?”

The corner of Alyssa’s mouth turns up in a smile. “Probably like shit.”

You snort, then nod. “That’s not far off the mark.” You sigh heavily. “I’m happy to be home.”

“But?”

You shrink back into the couch in your therapist’s office, picking at the hem of your shirt. “I’m scared.”

“That it’s not real,” Alyssa supplies when you don’t volunteer any other information. “Your dad mentioned that you said something about thinking none of this was real when he rescued you.”

Your jaw clenches as the moment you saw your mother’s face for the first time in over two years flashes through your mind’s eye over and over again. “I just… I saw her face, and I felt like I’d been hit by a truck.”

“That’s not an uncommon reaction. Interacting with abusers puts our systems through a great deal of stress.”

You swallow hard, staring out the window as everything that followed that moment flashes through your head at dizzying speed. “It was like… everything I thought I knew uprooted in that moment. And I thought… ‘what if I made everything up? What if I’m a delusional maniac?’”

“What makes you think you’re delusional?” Alyssa asks, clasping her hands in her lap as she studies you.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “Just… I’m afraid that none of this is real, and that I’ve been with my parents this whole time.” You look over at her. “I could be delusional. It’s possible.”

“Delusional people don't question whether or not they're delusional,” Alyssa says calmly. “They hold their beliefs with total conviction, regardless of whatever evidence is presented. The fact that you're questioning your experience is symptomatic of your anxiety and depression, not because of a delusion.”

“But it is possible!” you insist, gesturing with your hands in short, agitated motions as your anxiety spikes. “It technically is! People cope with abuse in all sorts of ways! Delusions can be one of those ways!”

“Yes, they do, and yes, it is, but that’s not the case with you,” Alyssa fires back. “In order to construct an alternate reality, you would have to be severely schizophrenic. Delusions can be a subset of schizophrenia, but they're about beliefs and obsessions, not constructing locations, people that have never been met, seen, or heard of, or interactions with those people. The latter would fall into the category of hallucinations. What you’re describing to me isn’t within the limitations of a delusion.”

“Then maybe I’m schizophrenic!” you exclaim.

“You’re not,” Alyssa says evenly. “You don’t exhibit any of the symptoms of schizophrenia. And, if you were, your interactions with your alternate reality would not be as linear as anything you’re experiencing now.” She cocks her head to the side as she looks at you. “Why do you keep looking for reasons why this might not be real?”

“I have to. I have to make sure that everything’s real.”

“Why? What’s the worst thing that happens if none of this is real?”

You draw in a shaky breath as you rip at your shirt’s hemline. “Because if none of this is real, that means I was always with my parents, and no one ever loved me.” You freeze, full body, as what you just say registers, then slump over against the arm of the couch and start crying.

“There it is,” Alyssa says softly as she pulls a couple tissues out of the box on the table next to her chair and hands them to you. “Not delusional. Just scared of not being loved.”

“But what if it is?” you whimper. “What if no one really loves me?”

“It’s not a delusion, honey, I promise. Your questioning reality was a side effect of heightened anxiety due to withdrawals, that’s all. This is all real, and you’re really loved.” She hands you a few more tissues. “Your parents were working very hard to destabilize you, even if they didn't know you were on medication. They took away your ability to track time, any personal effects, had almost complete control over your schedule. When you got back to being in control of yourself and back on your medication, you stabilized. People with delusions don't stabilize when interacting with the delusion. You've stabilized due to being out of a stressful environment and getting back onto medication.”

You grit your teeth as you wipe your cheeks dry with a balled-up tissue. “I hate them. I hate them so much.”

“I know, honey. And they’ve definitely earned it. Just make sure you don’t stay there,” Alyssa encourages you, smiling softly as she looks you in the eye. “Because you don’t deserve having to give them all that energy and effort when they never did that for you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not sure how fast the whole ‘moving on’ thing is gonna go,” you grumble as you start shredding your wadded up, damp tissue.

“Fast doesn’t matter,” Alyssa reassures you. “Just as long as you’re moving.”

***

Franklin “Foggy” Nelson and Matthew Murdock are nothing like what you expect.

Though that may largely have to do with the cheery “Hiya, Red!” Wade tosses Matt’s way as soon as the man walks through the front door to the Institute, which makes Matt pull a face like he’s about to shit his pants so hard he’s gonna rip the seams.

Granted, things aren’t necessarily much improved by Frank following them through the door –presumably to make sure Karen stays safe in case things blow back with your parents somehow—

Except Matt turns towards him and growls, “You didn’t say Wilson was going to be here.”

Which leads the grand revelation that one of your lawyers is actually Daredevil, one of Hell’s Kitchen’s leading vigilantes and a staunch rival of sorts with both Frank and Wade.

…Honestly, it’s not the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to you.

***

“I’ll be honest, Miss L/N,” Foggy says once the whole “Matt is Daredevil” kerfuffle is settled and the five of you –Matt, Foggy, Karen, you, and Piotr, who agreed to sit in when you asked him to—finally have a chance to sit down. “Given the severity of your abuse case, I’m a little surprised you haven’t already taken steps to issue a restraining order against your parents. You have more than enough grounds for it. Heck, you have enough grounds to take them to criminal court –and win.”

“I’m not interested in having a day in court,” you say quietly. “I just never want to see them again.”

“Understandable, given the tragic circumstances of your upbringing,” Matt says, tone perfectly sympathetic; he’s clearly had a great deal of practice with this. “A restraining order, however, would go a long way towards making sure that could happen.”

“We’d work with the authorities and whatever legal support your parents might have,” Karen adds, notepad settled on her lap and pen poised to start taking notes at any moment. “And, given the severity of the abuse you’ve suffered, we could represent your interests along with someone that you give power of attorney. You could be as removed from the situation as you want.”

Piotr’s hand closes around yours when you don’t say anything, thumb tracing delicate circles against your skin. “It may be worth considering.”

Matt tilts his head for a moment, a slight frown tugging at his lips. “Is there a specific reason why you never issued a restraining order against your parents, Miss L/N?”

Right, you think dejectedly. He’s Daredevil. He can hear my heartbeat. “You think I’m lying.”

“No—”

“You think I’m hiding something, then.”

Matt’s mouth hangs open for a moment, then slowly closes shut.

You swallow hard and look away as tears threaten to spill. “It’s a complicated situation.”

“We work with complicated situations all the time,” Foggy reassures you. “The more open and honest you are with us, the better we can help you.”

“This isn’t just for you,” Matt tacks on. “Restraining orders can also be used to protect whatever children you may choose to have in the future. Even if you don’t want it for you, it may be worth the peace of mind for your future self, to know that your parents can’t get anywhere near your offspring.”

And that does make the whole idea a lot more tempting. Matt’s right that you really don’t care about yourself in all this, but you wouldn’t wish your parents upon your future kids in a thousand years.

You also know you can’t rain hellfire down on someone’s life without even consulting them first.

“Would you mind if I took a few minutes?” you ask, desperately trying to keep your voice steady. “There’s, uh, someone I need to talk to.”

Matt nods. “Take all the time you need.”

You’re not sure if he’s being nice, or if he doesn’t mind because he’s paid by the hour and you’re still technically using his time.

“We’ll be here when you come back,” Karen says with a reassuring smile. “In the meantime, Mr. Rasputin, perhaps we can get started on asking you some questions about your relationship with Y/N, how much you know about her history, that sort of thing?”

Piotr nods when you nod, squeezing your hand before letting it go. “Of course. Whatever I can help with.”

You quickly step out of the classroom the five of you had settled in, then all but run down the hall and towards the residential side of the mansion.

You need to find your uncle.

***

He lets out a low whistle. “Restraining order. That’s some serious shit.”

The two of you are seated in the gazebo towards the back of Xavier’s property. The skies have decided to cast a relentless downpour on the world beneath them, drenching everything within their reach and making mini-swamps out of various patches of the lawns that encircle the mansion.

The space under the gazebo is dry, though, and the rain is loud enough that you don’t have to worry about anyone overhearing you, and the spot is far enough removed from the house that the telepaths that could pick up what you’re talking about will be able to infer by the distance that the conversation you’re having is deliberately private.

“It’d be good for my future kids,” you comment as you watch little streams of water drip off the edges of the gazebo’s roof. “Honestly, it’d probably be good to do more than just a restraining order, make sure that my parents are completely locked out of everything.”

“Damn right it would,” your uncle agrees with a nod. He glances over at you. “So what’s stopping you?”

You sigh heavily. “They’d probably rat you out to try and get me to stop the proceedings. Or just rat you out to spite me.”

“Oh, there’s no doubt about that,” you uncle says immediately. “The second you do anything to actually shut them out, your mom’s going to throw an absolute shitfit. I know for a fact that the only reason they didn’t turn on me sooner is because, legally, the government couldn’t do anything to force you to go back home to them.”

You frown. “Wait, how can you know that?”

Your uncle flashes you a pained smile. “Who do you think supplied them with the repression serum? Or the collar? Or built the holding cell you were in? Sure as shit wasn’t me, punk.”

Your blood runs cold. “Why?”

“Probably wanted another agent,” your uncle says, entirely too blasé about the whole thing for your comfort. “They knew I was around, they just didn’t know where to find me.”

“Then why not get rid of me?”

“Because getting rid of you would make your mom a ‘bad mother.’”

You scoff, fists clenching against your thighs. “And kicking me in the face doesn’t?”

“Spare the rod, spoil the child. No, I figure once you turned eighteen, they would’ve shipped you off and claimed you were at college or working or what have you.” He grimaces, eyes going flat and dark. “You are lucky you chose to run when you did.”

You swallow hard, trying to stay calm despite the rage bubbling up inside you. “Then why keep kidnapping me? What’s the fucking point of it? They don’t want me, I’m out of their hair, what do they get by dragging me back to a place I never wanted to be from the get go?”

Your uncle shrugs. “Could be the government ordered them to track you down so they’d have better tabs on their ‘potential asset.’ Could be that they just wanted to keep control over you. Honestly, I��m not sure –and I don’t really care to know, either. I stopped trying to figure out your parents’ fucked up cognitions a long time ago. But we’re not talking about them. We’re talking about you getting your parents out of your life.”

“I mean…” You scrub your face with your hands and let out a frustrated groan. “I’m not sure what I can really do. If they’ve got government backing—”

“You let me and the other people in your life worry about that,” your uncle says firmly. “You’ve got more than enough mercenaries and vigilantes in your pocket. If someone tries to fuck any of this up, they’ll get their ass handed to them in short order.”

“But what about you?” you fire back, finally pointing out the elephant in the room. “If I go through with all this, your former handlers are going to start a manhunt for you.”

Your uncle considers that for a moment before shrugging. “Not my first time I’ve had to run. I can always do it again.”

“No! That’s not fair to you!”

“You’re right, it isn’t, but that’s not your fault. I was dealt this hand a long time before you ever showed up,” your uncle says, eyes shining as he smiles at you. “Don’t put your life on hold for me, punk. You deserve to live it without having to deal with your parents. I’ll be fine.”

You hug him, wrapping your arms around his waist as you start crying. “What about your house?”

“I’ll clear it out and burn it. Give them a good ol’ ‘fuck you’ before I duck under.”

You frown. “But… you won’t have anywhere to go once everything settles.”

“Eh, I’ve been thinking about relocating for a while now,” he comments casually as he stares out at the rain. “Maybe… somewhere closer to New York.”

You look up at him, disbelieving. “Really?”

He grins and hugs you closer. “Yeah, really. I miss you when you’re gone, punk. And…” He sighs. “I’m tired of being on my own so much.”

You gasp, feigning shock. “Are you… admitting you feel emotions?”

Your uncle snorts. “Don’t get used to it.”

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, listening to the rain fall and watching it wash away the sins of the earth.

“I might need you to answer some questions for my lawyers,” you finally say. “Just so they know what’s all going on.”

Your uncle pats your shoulder. “Whatever you need, punk. Whatever you need.”

***

Matt, Foggy, and Karen take your uncle’s status in remarkable stride –which, considering that Matt is Daredevil, Karen unearths some sort of mob or government conspiracy every other week, and Foggy is constantly looped into the two’s insatiable drive to get into as much shit as possible, isn’t all that surprising, actually.

Your uncle does help confirm everything you’ve said –and everyone else, for that matter—about your parents. Even if he can’t testify, he can tell the three of them where to look for various details to confirm your version of events.

“Given your medical and therapy records, we have what basically constitutes an ‘open and shut’ case,” Foggy says during one of your sessions with them. You’d opted to meet at their office, which is attached to a deli and butcher’s shop run by Foggy’s family. “Even this doesn’t get taken this to criminal court, getting a restraining order should be easy. I can’t imagine there’d be a judge in New York that’d deny it.”

“Well, maybe one or two, but they’re in prison now,” Matt adds with a small smile.

Piotr squeezes your hand gently when you don’t react to either lawyer’s statements. “Are you alright, myshka?”

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “Just… it’s a lot to wrap my head around.”

“Why not start with an ex parte order?” Karen suggests. “That’ll make sure you’re immediately protected, and then we can work with the judge to get a long-term order in place. Once that’s done, we can look at your file and work on anything else you might want to get set up to safeguard yourself against your parents.”

You nod sluggishly. “Yeah, just… can I have a night to sleep on it? I’m still trying to recover from everything.”

“Absolutely,” Matt says immediately. “You’ve been through a great deal of trauma, Miss L/N. It’s understandable that you’d want to take time to think about everything.”

You know he means to sound sympathetic and understanding, but right now it just sounds coddling. All you want to do is go home, crawl into bed, and sleep for a thousand years.

Piotr makes good-byes for both of you as you head out of the office and towards Piotr’s car. He catches up with you quickly, gently lifting you up from where you’d slumped against the car door so he can open it for you. “Are you well, myshka?”

“Yeah,” you murmur as you plop into your seat. “Just really tired. Can we go home?”

Piotr bends down, ducking under the roof of the car so he can kiss your temple. “Da.”

“And can we snuggle?”

He stops mid-way in closing the car door to give you a loving smile. “Konechno. Whatever you would like.”

***

Once the two of you get back home, Piotr lifts you out of the car and carries you all the way upstairs to the room the two of you share. He gently tucks you in bed before slipping his shoes off and climbing in on his side.

You wriggle over to him, nestling against his chest as he wraps his arms around you. “I’m so tired.”

“I know,” he murmurs as he kisses the top of your head. “It is okay. You are allowed to be tired.”

You trace your fingers over the planes of his chest in swirling, nonsensical shapes. “I just… I don’t know how to feel about it. The restraining order.”

“Why is that?”

“I don’t know. I guess… it feels like I’m not allowed to do it.”

“Because of your uncle?”

“That, but also… I spent my childhood trying to figure out how to be a good daughter. I feel like if I lock my parents out, they’re never going to love me.”

Piotr stays quiet for a moment, before hugging you tighter and trailing kisses from the top of your forehead to your lips. “Perhaps you are right. But, I would say you have so many people here that love you. People who you do not have to prove yourself to. And I think it would be worth peace of mind to not have your parents looming over your shoulder so much. Especially when we start having children.”

And that’s the kicker of it, in the end.

Besides, Piotr’s right. You do have a wonderful family and life here at Xavier’s; everything’s improved for the better since leaving your parents and hometown community. No sense in fucking that up by leaving things to chance –especially once kids come into the picture.

“Okay,” you decide, pressing your forehead against your fiancé’s chest. “I’ll do the restraining order.”

***

You’re still extremely fatigued and weak the next morning, and Piotr deems you too unwell to travel (not that you’re complaining, because hello pajama day). He calls in to the law firm of Nelson, Murdock, and Page and lets them know –and as luck would have it, they’re in a position to make a house call since all you’re doing today is signing paperwork.

Frank also shows up. Whether it’s of his own reasons or he’s tagging along with your legal team, you neither know or care. He pretty much pairs off with Nathan and Wade as soon as he steps over the threshold into the house, talking with the two fellow assassins in hushed tones about who knows what –the latest style of bullets, maybe, or the most efficient ways to clean a gun.

(What do assassins talk about over lunch, anyway?)

You set up shop in the dining room with Piotr and your lawyers. Piotr’s family and your uncle are a few feet away in the kitchen, and further back are Nate, Wade, and Frank, still enraptured in whatever conversation they’re having.

“Alright,” Foggy says as he pulls a sheaf of paperwork out of his briefcase. “This is going to look like a lot, but it’s really just a bunch of reading and signing. Some of these are just waivers giving us permission to act in certain capacities –to use your medical records and therapy records as evidence in the courts, to act on your behalf without you being there in our capacity as your attorneys, stuff like that—some of these are forms that basically just say you understand, to your best ability, that you’re telling the truth, and some of these are also your permissive relief requests.”

You stare down at the papers like they’re liable to catch fire at any given moment. “And then?”

“Then, an emergency protective order goes into effect,” Karen says. “The emergency protective order only lasts a few days, but in that time we’ll request the ex-parte order to extend the time while we work through the litigation. Once we get through the process of establishing the long-term restraining order, it’ll be issued.”

You take a deep breath and nod slowly. “And then?”

“Given the severity of your case, we’re going to push for the longest term possible,” Matt explains with a small smile, “which is about five years. You’ll have to renew it at those intervals, but given the amount of evidence that supports your side of the story, it shouldn’t be difficult.”

Piotr puts an arm around your shoulders when you start shaking. “Are you okay?”

“Just… feel like the world’s going to explode,” you murmur as you try to breathe evenly. “Or… that they’re never really going to love me again.” You hide your face against his shoulder as tears start leaking out.

Karen produces some tissues from her purse and hands them over to Piotr. “I know this isn’t easy…”

Normally, you’d snap at anyone who dared to issue that phrase while you’re dealing with family shit, but something about the sincerity in Karen’s voice makes you believe that, somewhere along the way, she’s gone through the same kind of shit that you have.

You lift your head and meet her gaze.

Her eyes are just as watery as yours. “Letting go of people who were supposed to love you but don’t is never an easy thing to do. It hurts, and it sucks, and it forces you to go through so much grieving that life just doesn’t prepare us for. But you deserve to have peace of mind in your day to day life. You deserve to never go through again what you went through two weeks ago.”

You sniff, inhale deeply, then nod. “Okay. Just… uh… do we have to go in any order?”

“Nope,” Foggy says with a kind smile. “Just so long as everything gets signed.”

“Okay.” You take another deep breath, then nod to yourself. “Okay. Let’s do this shit.”

***

It’s so much paper. The top of the dining room table has disappeared under all the papers you have to sign. At least twenty forests must’ve died for all this paper to be here.

Also, you’ve officially hit the point where you’re questioning whether or not you know your own signature or not. Just looking at the black scrawl of ink makes you go a little cross-eyed.

“Alright, almost done,” Foggy says as he preps the next form for you to sign while Karen organizes everything and gets them tucked back in his briefcase. “We just have your permissive protections request left and the form that lets us act in your capacity as attorneys.”

“Thank fuck,” you mutter as you reach for the permissive protections request. “Is it possible to get carpal tunnel syndrome in less than a day?”

“I did it once!” Wade calls from the kitchen.

“I don’t even want to know how you managed that,” you fire back as you sign and initial the various spots on the form and hand it over to Karen. “Alright, last one.”

Matt stiffens in his seat before Foggy can hand it over to you, though. “Someone’s coming to the door. Several someones.”

Everyone freezes –and, sure enough, a couple seconds later there’s a series of raps on the front door.

You can hear Russell get up from the rec room and head towards the door, and then the door swinging open—

And past that, you can’t necessarily hear the conversation, but Matt’s hackles basically go up, which makes you tense further—

“Wade!” There’s a brief sound of struggle, and the Russell books it towards the kitchen. “Wade, Y/N’s parents are here with a bunch of other guys!”

Your blood runs cold, then white hot. If they hurt him, if they fucking hurt him…

Piotr tries to grab you when you jump up from your chair. “Myshka, stop—”

Your uncle reacts at the same time, immediately lunging in the direction of the front door. “Fucking assholes—”

Alex and Nikolai catch him, and Frank wraps his arms around his waist and hauls him back and out of sight for good measure.

You manage to slip past everyone in the chaos caused by your uncle’s attempt, charging down the hall towards Russell’s panicked voice. You can hear Piotr behind you, along with Wade, but you can’t think about either of them right now. All you can think about is Russell, and making sure no one hurts him, and if they hurt him, I’m going to kill every last one of them with my bare hands.

You nearly collide with the younger teen, but push him behind you and snarl directly in the face of your town’s pastor. “Get the fuck out!”

He –along with your parents and several of the men from your community—recoil in the face of your rage and the gust of wind that blasts through the hall.

Hit a dog long enough…

Your mother recovers first, scowling at you as she advances on you. “You disobedient, disrespectful—”

Piotr bursts into the hall, physically putting himself between you and everyone else before anyone can do anything. He glares down at your mother, drawing himself up to his full, massive height and balling his fists at his side. “Do not dare touch my fiancée.”

You mother blinks, shocked. “You actually proposed to her?”

“You took my fucking ring off me!” you snap, pointing at the hand in question.

“I thought it was fake!”

Of course she did. The whole time she told you –and everyone else told you—that no one would ever love you, and they actually believed it themselves.

Fuckers.

“Everyone, please,” your town’s pastor says above the chaos and all the shouting. “We don’t want to cause a scene or a problem.”

“Oh, I think you’ve already fucking done that,” Wade says, voice deadly, as he steps up to stand next to Piotr.

“You’ve been doing that for years,” Nate adds, gun clearly visible on his belt, as he steps between you, Russell, and everyone else.

“We’re not here because we have a problem with any of you,” your town’s pastor continues. “We’re just here to take Y/N back home, where she belongs.”

You stare at him like he’s the one growing a second head. “What?”

“We’re concerned about your spiritual well-being,” he says, like that’s applicable to the situation in any way, shape, or form.

You sputter at him, outraged. “What the –fuck your religion!”

“You mind your mouth!” your mother snarls. “And you’re coming back home with us!”

“The fuck I’m not!” you shout back. “I’m an adult! You can’t make me go anywhere if I don’t want to!”

“The daughter’s place is under her father’s headship until she is married,” your pastor says, desperately trying to keep some semblance of control over the situation. “It would be most appropriate for you to return home until you’re married to ensure your sexual and spiritual purity.”

“Now, we don’t have time to unpack all that,” Wade mutters under his breath as he flashes a none-too-subtle ‘cuckoo’ gesture at you.

You just stare at the pastor, agape and eyes wide. “What the… what?”

“I know this may seem shocking—”

“They beat me!” you shriek, pointing at your parents. “They locked me in my room for days on end! They told me they hated me, that no one would ever love me, that I was an abomination!” You narrow your eyes when your pastor blanches, the chill of realization settling hard in your stomach. “You knew. You knew all of it was wrong. Just like you know that this is wrong! You let it all happen!”

He grimaces, but ultimately says nothing.

“Doesn’t matter,” your father growls flatly. “You’re not shaming my name by dallying about like some whore. You’re coming home. Today.”

You can’t even wrap your head around it. You’re staring in the face of people who know what they did to you, on some level, was wrong, but all they care about is taking you back to the environment where it all happened and will keep happening. Like they don’t care about your well-being, or what makes you happy, or about how much progress you’ve made since coming to Xavier’s—

I can’t make them care.

The penny drops right as you’re on the verge of tears. You can’t make them care about you. You can’t make them love you. Every single person you’re facing down –your parents included—decided a long time ago that you weren’t worth loving or respecting. No amount of arguing, pleading, or proof to the contrary is going to make them change their minds because there’s so much guilt on their shoulders –emotional or legal, though it should be both—that if they ever pulled their heads out of their asses, their necks would snap from the weight of it all.

And, amid all the pain the revelation causes, a single thought rises above all the emotional chaos: I can’t keep giving them my energy.

As much as it hurts to admit, it’s a useless fight. And as much as you want them to love you, they’re, at their cores, not people that are healthy to be loved by. You’d have to change every single thing about you –including things that can’t be changed—for them to ever love you.

And they don’t deserve that, least of all from you.

You look over your shoulder and see Foggy, Karen, and Matt all looking at you –well, Matt isn’t, but you know he’s focused on you and the fight unfolding in front of you.

Karen raises her eyebrows at you and holds up the form that lets them act as your attorneys without your presence and a pen.

An offer. A ladder out of the hell you were born to and raised in. A way to close the door once and for all.

It’s about time you take it.

“You know what?” you say, almost laughing from the sheer ridiculousness of it all. “I’m done with all of you.”

“And just what does that mean?” your mother says with a roll of her eyes.

You look back to Foggy, Matt, and Karen one more time before glancing over to your mother. “It means you’re dealing with my attorneys from here on out.” You turn and walk towards the trio, ignoring the squawks of protest the group from your hometown lets out.

As soon as you sign the form, they step past you and between Piotr, Wade, Nate, and everyone that’d joined your parents. “We represent the law firm of Nelson, Murdock, and Page,” Foggy says brightly. “And we’re here to inform you that you are currently violating an order of protection that was issued for our client’s safety against you.”

“The local authorities have been contacted and are on their way to arrest you for violating the order, in addition to charges of domestic abuse and conspiracy to commit abduction,” Matt adds.

“You fucking bitch!” your mother screams, lunging forward at you only to be stopped by Matt and Foggy. “You can’t do this!”

“Miss L/N,” Matt says, turning towards you. “For the sake of your emotional well-being, I would advise you to leave the room. Mr. Rasputin, perhaps you could accompany her for her comfort?”

“He needs to be here to represent the Institute,” you say, suddenly drained from the whole ordeal.

“I’ll go with her,” Wade offers, stepping back to clasp your shoulder. “Come on, sis.”

You put an arm around Russell’s shoulders. “Let’s go, bud. We’re done with them.”

Back in the kitchen –and out of sight of your parents and everyone else—Alex, Nikolai, and Frank are still holding your uncle back.

He relaxes once you cross the threshold and step out of sight of the hall. “Are you okay? What happened?”

You sigh, then shrug. “I decided to let my attorneys handle the situation.”

Your uncle stares at you, then smiles as tears well up in his eyes. “Good. Good job, punk.”

You try to smile back, but ultimately start crying.

He reaches over and pulls you into a massive hug.

The two of you stay like that for a while, holding each other while tears flow down each of your faces.

***

The whole process of your parents –and everyone else that decided to show up with them—being arrested is exhausting.

There’s a lot of screaming. A lot of arguing. A lot of insults –those are mostly directed at you, even though you aren’t in the room.

Frank and your uncle have to duck into the basement to avoid being seen by any of the officers –which Wade makes a “alternative seven minutes in heaven” comment about that makes you smile briefly, but you’re honestly too tired to really do anything except stare at a wall right now.

Piotr has to talk to the officers as a representative of the Institute, which means that you can’t just drape yourself over him like you want to and soak in his affection and love for you.

The only upside is that Matt, Foggy, and Karen can speak to the police on your behalf. Right now, you’re not sure you could handle dealing with all the questions you’re bound to be asked.

Eventually, Alex walks up to your seat and squeezes your shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go for walk.”

You frown up at her. “Don’t we need to be here in case the police have questions for us?”

“Your attorneys are already representing you,” she says. “Besides, if they really need something, Illyana will let us know and we can come back in.” She squeezes your shoulder again, then nods towards the back door. “Come. You could use some fresh air and quiet.” She puts an arm around you as you stand and gently ushers you to the back door and outside.

It’s far calmer outside. A cool, easy breeze ruffles your hair, and the grass is soothingly soft beneath your feet.

Alex nudges you forward, though not unkindly. “Come on. Medvezhonok keeps saying I should see the gardens.”

You walk alongside her through the various gardens that dot Xavier’s property. In the wake of the adrenaline and stress abruptly leaving your body, you’re feeling numb, almost detached. It’s almost like your body can’t fully process the shock and stress of having your parents show up.

Well, come to think of it, that’s probably exactly what’s going on.

Alex is markedly quiet as she examines the garden, expression placid and body language lax as she ambles along the pathways between various clusters of flowers and flora.

“You seem calm,” you remark, voice barely more than a mumble as you stare down at a few bright, cheery yellow lilies.

“Age brings serenity,” she says as she crouches down to better look at a butterfly feeding off some hummingbird mint. “And there is not much to be afraid of when you can outmatch nearly every opponent facing you. That, and they are not my nightmare.” She looks up at you, a ghost of a sympathetic smile on her lips. “They were –are—yours. It’s always harder when it’s personal.”

You let out a huff of air. “Ain’t that the truth.” You sit down on a nearby bench, staring blankly at nothing. “What happens next?”

“I am not the person to ask that question,” Alex admits, brushing her jeans off as she stands back up. “I would wager, though, that your lawyers will know how to handle things.”

You nod slowly, numbly. “Yeah, probably.”

Alex watches you closely for a moment before sitting down next to you. “How are you, malen'kaya ptitsa? How are you feeling?”

What you mean to say is something along the lines of “overwhelmed,” or “numb,” or “exhausted,” or maybe even “angry to the point where I can’t feel it anymore.”

What comes out, though, is: “I don’t think my parents ever loved me.”

You feel a slight pulse of shock hit your system once your words register in your own brain, then the slow, sinking dread and resignation as the truth of it sets in. You’ve been on the precipice of realizing the truth for a while, but you’ve never really admitted it at all, much less out loud to someone else.

Alex grimaces and nods. “I would wager you are right. No parent who loves their child treats them how you were treated.”

You nod along, lips tugging into a frown and chin trembling. “Yeah. I kind of just… realized I can’t make them love me or respect me. That’s why I just decided to let Matt ‘n Foggy ‘n Karen handle everything, you know? I was just done with all of it.”

“You’re right,” Alex reassures you. “On all counts. You cannot change their stance, but you do not have to hold onto people who refuse to treat you with decency.”

Your eyes sting and water as a lump rises in your throat. “I just… I don’t understand why I couldn’t be worth it to them. I mean, I get that they never wanted a mutant child, but I was just a kid. What about being a mutant made it worth beating me, terrifying me, demeaning me, abusing me, making my life a miserable hell every single day I lived in their home—”

Alexandra wraps her arms around you as you start crying and presses a motherly kiss to the top of your head when you press yourself against her. “Some people are just horrible, malen'kaya ptitsa. Sometimes they are so lost in their own misery that the only way they can make themselves feel better is to make others hurt, sometimes they only care about themselves to the point that they stop caring when they hurt others, and sometimes they just enjoy making others hurt because it brings them pleasure. Either way, the end result for their victims is still the same: pain and abuse they should have never suffered.”

You whimper and weep against her shoulder as she slowly rocks you back and forth. “I don’t understand –I tried so hard to be good—”

“It was never about you being ‘good,’” Alex murmurs against your hair. “You have always been ‘good.’ It was about their hatred and inability to love unconditionally. Unfortunately, you got stuck with short end of stick, and I am so sorry that you did, dorogoy rebenok.”

You sniff and swipe at your face as you sit up and look her in the eye. “Did you go through this kind of stuff with your parents? Did they care that you were a mutant?”

Alex’s face goes completely blank as she stares at you. “My par… Piotr never told you.”

“Told me what?”

Alex’s lips purse into a thin line; she slides off the bench to kneel on the ground in front of you and clasps your hands in hers. “Malen'kaya ptitsa… I was taken from my family when I was four to train as government asset. I never saw them again, and when the KGB disbanded in the nineties, I found out that they had been executed to prevent any leaks of information from spreading. The only family I have ever had is Nikolai and my children –and now you as well.”

Guilt drops in your stomach like a lead brick. “Oh God.” You double over and start crying again. “I’m sorry –I’m so sorry! I’ve just been complaining like a brat—”

“Nyet. Nyet, nyet, nyet -- malen'kaya ptitsa, look at me.” Alex cups your face in her hands, forcing you to lift your head and meet her gaze. “Never apologize for hurting after what you have endured. Understand?”

“But what you went through was so much worse!” you protest. “I at least had a family, I had a home—”

“You had neither of those things until you came here,” Alex insists sharply. “You may have had biological parents, but they were not family or home. ‘Family’ and ‘home’ means safety and love, and they certainly provided neither. And, yes, my time as asset was horrible, but I never had to second guess whether or not I was loved. I never had to deal with mind games as to whether I was wanted or respected or what have you. I always knew where I stood with my handlers and what was expected of me.” She rubs your cheeks with her thumbs, wiping the tears away. “People who try and rank pains as ‘worse’ than each other are people who cannot handle their own emotions and need to put them in boxes to cope –and, more often than not, they are the type of people who contributed to our pain in first place.” She swallows hard, tears welling up in her eyes, and when she speaks again her voice is shaky with emotion. “So please, do not stop yourself from grieving. Because I am most certainly grieving for you.”

You sob and collapse against her, body shaking as grief wells up and pours out of you –grief for the childhood you lost, for the pain you had to endure, for the love you should’ve had but never received…

And, through it all, Alex holds you tight with strong arms as she cries along with you. “It’s okay, malen'kaya ptitsa. It’s okay.”

***

Once the authorities leave –and take your parents, pastor, and the others that’d joined them along—Piotr comes out to the back with Nikolai to collect you and Alexandra.

The two of you are significantly calmer, having had time to cry and catch your breath, but it’s still apparent that you both have been crying.

Piotr lifts you into his arms and carries you towards the house, while Nikolai sits down next to his wife on the bench.

“Can we just go to bed?” you croak, voice hoarse and throat dry from crying. “I’m just really tired. I just want to go to bed.”

Piotr kisses your forehead as he adjusts his hold on you so he can open the back door. “Da. We can go to bed.” He carries you all the way up to your shared room and gently tucks you into bed before going back to close the door, then joins you in bed. “How are you?”

“Tired,” you mumble. “Angry. Sad. It’s just—” you point at your head, twirling your finger around like you’re stirring a pot of soup “—a lot in here right now.”

“I bet,” Piotr murmurs as he wraps his arms around you. “But you can rest for now. You have earned good rest.”

“You’re telling me.” You sling an arm over his waist, then sigh when he starts tracing swirling designs on your arm and shoulder. You slow your breathing, counting your inhales and exhales until you feel less like you’re about to completely crumble apart.

And then you say, “I want to get a tattoo.”

You can practically hear the slow, shocked blink Piotr does. “Uh… khorosho.”

You tip your head back so you can see his face –and he definitely looks surprised. “Is that really okay with you?”

“It is your body,” he says, smoothing your hair away from your face. “I was just more… surprised by lack of context, I suppose.”

“I mean, I kind of wrote it off when my uncle told me that the ink wouldn’t take as well, but… I want something permanent on me. Something that can’t be taken away. When my parents took my ring, and I thought you weren’t real…”

Piotr holds you closer as your voice trails off. “It is alright, myshka. And if you want tattoo, we can find way for you to get one.”

“You don’t think it’s irresponsible to get a tattoo because of the trauma I went through?”

He sighs as he contemplates your question. “In this case, I think not. I know you will get one done safely. And, honestly, I do not think it is very drastic change to yourself considering what happened. Besides, people who lose loved ones or self-harm or feel suicidal get tattoos to help them stay grounded. I do not see why you cannot do same.”

You snuggle closer to him, soothed by his support. “You don’t care if we have kids and I have a tattoo?”

He snorts. “Nyet. What you want to do to your body is your choice. My mother and Mikhail have tattoos, so our kids will see them anyway. Plus… I was thinking of getting some of my own.”

“Really?” You tilt your head back so you can see his face. “What were you thinking of getting?”

“Maybe DNA strand on my wrist, for mutantism,” he says, tapping his right wrist. “And possibly some work on my shoulder and back that looks like northern lights night sky scene. And… I know I want to get our children’s fetal heartbeats. On my forearm.”

You smile softly. “I like the sound of all of that. Especially the heartbeats one.”

He smiles back at you and leans down to kiss you. “So do I.”

You nestle closer to Piotr as he kisses you, hands softly gripping the material of his shirt as his arms hold you tighter against his body.

Your journey to recovery is far from over. If you had to wager, it’ll probably never be over, not entirely.

But you climbed an important mountain today. And with Piotr by your side –along with Wade, Nathan, Neena, Russell, Yukio, Ellie, and the rest of Piotr’s family—you’ll be able to keep climbing whatever mountains happen to find you.

One foot in front of the other.

You’ve got this.

Sources about how delusions work:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Delusional_disorder https://www.buting.com/blog/2015/02/false-memories-lies-and-the-limitations-of-the-human-brain.shtml https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/delusion/ https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3016695/

#sass writes #piotr rasputin x reader #colossus x reader #nathan summers x wade wilson #cablepool #frank castle x karen page #alexandra rasputin x nikolai rasputin #ANGST ANGST ANGST #SO MUCH ANGST #tw: abuse #tw: manipulation #tw: injury #tw: blood #tw: vomiting #tw: kidnapping #this entire fic is basically a trigger warning #x men fanfiction #deadpool fanfiction

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sadstonewrites · 4 years

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Fractured Psyche Chapter 5

Hey guys! I recently got an ask (who wished to remain private) who asked if it would be ok to ask questions/comment/critique the story. THe answer to that is yes - absolutely! I’m not a perfect writer by any means and although I’m doing this for funsies, I’d absolutely love to hear constructive feedback! Hope you all are doing well and staying safe!

Pairings: Piotr Rasputin (Colossus) x OC

Rated M

Piotr was trying his best not to vomit as he approached Wade’s body, a smoking hole where his chest should be. The beam had shot clean through to where he could see the road on the other side of his body, the edges of his uniform smoldering; the smell was enough to make everyone in the vicinity gag.

Yukio was shaking in Ellie’s arms, Ellie herself looking a bit green at the sight of seeing Wade’s body partially disintegrate in front of her. Dopinder had caught up as well, his taxi parked off to the side of the road, which he was now vomiting beside.

“Aw, dammit. I liked this suit.” Wade croaked, his body already beginning to knit itself back together in a mass of mottled skin. If it was painful, he didn’t let it on. Cable helped to pull him to his feet, unbothered by the grisly sight. “Anyone seen some ribs?”

“Mr. Pool, they are over here.” Dopinder called back, turning away to vomit again.

“Wade, are you alright?” Piotr asked, attempting to swallow his lunch back into his stomach.

“Oh yeah, just peachy. Not like I needed any of those internal organs anyways. Or major sections of my spine.” Wade grunted, “Everyone else okay? Negasonic Tropical Depression? Dopinder?”

“Fine, we’re fine.” Ellie said, her tone void of its usual iciness, clearly shaken up but trying not to show it. Piotr put a hand on her shoulder and softly squeezed it.

“Ellie, breathe. Everything is okay.” Piotr frowned. “It’s my fault, I should have warned you -”

“Hey, don’t be too hard on yourself man of steel.” Wade clapped him on the shoulder, his posture slightly bent as his spine was continuing to reform. “I don’t think anyone saw that light show coming.” Wade asked. “Anyone else tasting metal? Besides you, obviously.”

“Ah shit, Domino.” Cable said in sudden realization, taking off back towards the ruined trailer. There was no sound of gunfire, which could’ve either been a good thing or a bad thing considering the current circumstances. The rest of them took off running, Wade bringing up the rear with a slow hobble as his body reformed.

Domino had indeed stopped firing, and was standing in front of the trailer, looking upwards quizzically.

“They just...dropped.” She said, pointing up towards the roof of the trailer. Even at his height, Piotr had to get up on his toes to see the outline of the black figure laying down on the roof. They weren’t moving, no sign that they were even still conscious.

“I’m picking up vital signs,” Cable said, his cybernetic eye glowing as it scanned over the trailer. “Still alive. Someone needs to go up there.”

“Could be a surprise attack.” Domino murmured. “Catch us with our guard down, blast us with that energy beam.”

“Or they could be hurt.” Yukio offered in a small voice.

All eyes turned to Wade, who crossed his arms over the hole in his suit, his reformed chest exposed beneath. “No way, nuh uh, I already got one suit ruined today.” Wade argued defensively. “Do you know how hard it is to get this fabric in the exact shade of red?”

“I’ll go.” Dopinder announced.

“Gonna nix that one Brown Panther, the last thing we need is another bloodlust, Kirsten Dunst episode.” Wade threw up his hands. “Ah, fuck it, fine. Chrome-dome, give me a leg up.”

“Need to hurry before DMC arrives.” Piotr said, “last thing we need right now.”

“Oof, yeah, I’m with you on that one,” Wade gave a shiver. “I’m still kind of on their shit list after last time. Now, firmly but gently grab my butt and boost me.”

“Wade...no.”

“I mean I wasn’t going to suggest doing it roughly but if you insist -”

“No, I didn’t mean... just hold still.” Piotr grabbed Wade by his waist and hoisted him up effortlessly. Clambering up the side, Wade looked back down at him and mimed a swoon.

“This is the second time you’ve manhandled me today, I must be dreaming.”

“Hurry it up you talking buttplug.” Cable yelled up at him.

“Fine, fine. Alright, let’s see who’s really behind this mask - Old man Jenkins or -”

Piotr caught the cracked helmet as Wade threw it off the side of the trailer; it felt surprisingly lightweight in his hands to have been so sturdy in their fight. He passed it off to Ellie - she was good with tech stuff, maybe she could get something out of it - for safekeeping. From up above, Wade had stopped talking, and from his position on the ground he could see the sudden stiffness in Wade’s demeanor.

“Wade? Are you okay?” He called up. No reply, no smart comment, nothing. That wasn’t a good sign. “Wade?”

“I uh...Oh, my god. Oh my god.” His voice was strained, near hysterical; that was cause enough for Piotr to be alarmed, climbing up the side of the trailer and raising himself up onto his feet.

Wade had the figure’s head resting on in his shoulder, the rest of their body pulled into his lap. With the helmet removed, Piotr could now see their face - light brown hair shorn short to their head, gaunt and pale. Their skin was the color of candle wax, sallow circles underneath their eyes. In Wade’s arms, it was hard to believe that this still figure had been the one causing all the trouble when it looked like they could barely keep their head up on their own.

“I know them, they were - we - oh god. This can’t be happening.” Wade groaned, readjusting his position to have the figure sitting up. “Hey, c’mon, you gotta stay with me. Stay with me.”

“What’s the hold up?” Cable shouted from below.

“One minute, please.” Piotr called back, taking a step towards Wade and the person in his arms. He got onto his knees and sank to the roof, eye-level with the mercenary in red. “Wade, I need you to calm down. Are they breathing?”

“Yeah, yeah they’re breathing but it’s all rapid and shallow, and their eyes are all glassy.”

“We need to get back to jet, we can give them proper medical attention there. NTW,” he called down to the trainee, “prep emergency medical on jet.”

“You got it,” she called back up, running back to the jet with Yukio close behind her.

He turned back to Wade, still holding the mystery person in his arms. “Wade, we need to move to jet. Can you carry her-?”

“Them.” Wade all but shouted, his grip on the body in his arms tightening.

“What?” Piotr blinked.

“They’re not a girl. And...and their name is Lane.”

#stone writings #stonetag #celestial steel #fractured psyche #marvel fanfiction #colossus x oc #colossus marvel #deadpool fanfiction #nonbinary oc

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elliotlikespuke · 6 years

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Deadpool fic! I loved Deadpool 2 and was totally enthralled with Negasonic Teenage Warhead and Yukio! Cute lesbians in a Marvel movie? Fuckin right! So, there’s some swearing and maybe some out of character-ness?

Warnings: puke, period cramps, swearing, lesbians

“It’s not what it look like. Hold the phone. What the fuck is going on?” Deadpool kicked the duffel bag behind him, pretending he was hiding it. His boots crunched on the broken glass from the window he had just shattered.

Negasonic Teenage Warhead was leaned over a garbage can with Yukio perched on the couch behind her. Yukio had frozen in the middle of running her hands through Negasonic’s hair, which was laying flat against her head and messy.

“Go away,” Negasonic grumbled, holding tighter to the can.

“I’m sorry, what? That was a bad comeback, even for you. Seriously, what the fuck is going on? You know that Colossus is too big to be taken all the way, you have to build up to it, breathe through the nose—”

“Fuck off,” she snapped. Her fingers were turning white against the grey plastic trash bin. Her voice was tight with pain and nausea.

“She’s sick,” Yukio mumbled quietly. “She gets really bad cramps and they always make her sick.”

Negasonic flushed dark red and sunk her head into the can. She moaned, embarrassed and too tired to come up with anything funny to say. It was true, and there was nothing she could do about it. That’s why her and Yukio were in one of the many living rooms instead of their separate rooms.

“What are you doing here?” She changed the subject.

“Well I was going to drop off my copy of Are You There God, It’s Me, Negasonic Teenage Warhead, but I see I’m too late.”

If it weren’t for Yukio behind her, running a soothing hand up and down her spine, she’d have vaporized the whole room, including the merc with the viscerally upsetting mouth. She had never wanted to rip anyone limb from limb like she did now, but she held herself back.

She lifted her head from the can and took in a deep breath to shout, “Colossus!”

She didn’t get through the first syllable before Deadpool was on her, clapping a hand over her mouth.

“No no, no need to get Silver Balls, he doesn’t need to know why I’m here.” Negasonic used his hand to her advantage, sinking her teeth into the parts that she could, feeling them slip through the fabric with surprising ease. “Motherfuck, Jaws! Good to know we’re still in third grade. Well, for your information that’s the hand I wipe with.”

He pulled his hand away. Negasonic was just glad she hadn’t broken the skin: she did not want to catch anything he had.

“Well, even though I don’t think I owe you an explanation after you tried to eat me, I am here to see if you have fixed my time watch, and to take it either way.”

Yukio piped up from her place behind Negasonic. “You were supposed to surrender it to us anyway. You’re not getting it back.”

Negasonic buried her face in the trash bin again, desperate to drown out the sound of Deadpool’s voice. Luckily, a wave of nausea was dispersing her thoughts and the other pain in her gut.

“Shut up,” she whispered. She was pretty sure Deadpool had been talking, but if it was Yuki she’d apologize later.

Her girlfriend moved closer, practically spooning her. “Are you going to puke?”

Negasonic nodded into the bin, feeling her throat begin to ache under the pressure to gag. She gave in without much fight. The sooner this was over, the sooner she could pass out from exhaustion and pain. She burped into the bin, unproductively. She gagged again. Nothing came up.

If it was just Yukio, she would have groaned pitifully. Since the red-suited ass clown was there, she did nothing except silently pray that he’d leave. Breathing through her nose, she steeled herself through another gag, refusing to appear weak in front of Deadpool. She could vomit up her stomach and get back up if she had to prove something to someone.

Finally, blissfully, she heaved productively. A fine stream of watery vomit sprayed into the trash can. Deadpool was saying something again, but all Negasonic did was flip him off and continue vomiting.

Yukio stayed behind her, quietly cheering her on. Negasonic wished she’d shut up. She didn't want Deadpool thinking she needed this kind of encouragement. It was humiliating.

“Breathe, Ellie. It’ll pass.” Negasonic felt the nausea wane. She removed her head from the foul-smelling receptacle and looked back at her girlfriend, deliberately ignoring Deadpool, who was (for some reason) still in the room with them. Yukio groped the couch beside her, looking for the water bottle she had grabbed in preparation of this moment. Once she found it, she uncapped it and passed it off, smiling gently.

Negasonic took long sips, nearly draining the bottle before she pulled off. “What are you still doing here?”

Deadpool laughed. “Well, I couldn’t just leave you. What if you choked on your vomit and died?”

“I’m not having a seizure, dipshit.”

“That, and,” Deadpool continued as if she hadn’t said anything. “Vanessa told me that she used to get cramps like this too, and she said the only thing that worked for her was ginger tea. Maybe you should give it a shot.”

Negasonic looked up at him. “Are you actually being helpful?”

The merc with a mouth put a hand over his heart. “I’m hurt, kid, I really am. I spend every day being nothing but helpful. Plus, Vanessa told me that I had to start acting more fatherly towards kids if we were going to start trying so, here we are.”

“Not a kid—”

“Is Ellie your real name, by the way? Never would have guessed. With your demeanour and general look I would have guessed something… I don’t know, butchier? It’s just that you seem pretty—”

“Colossus!”

#emeto #emetophilia #negasonic teenage warhead #negasonic x yukio #deadpool #deadpool 2 #marvel

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kibaa-hart · 6 years

Text

Dem Feelings (Relationship Post) Missing a few people.

Shivnekh Norah - “She calls me her khair.”

“Shivnekh came into my life after quite a few sobering events in my life....Remembering how desperate I was for companionship back then leaves a taste of disgust in my mouth that makes me wish I could go back to those moments and beat myself within an inch of my life.....If it wasn’t for that same desperation giving me Shivnekh, I’d actually look into it. Nothing is worth losing my Tumet.”

Saruah Norah - “The Sister.”

“I haven’t seen Saruah in a few moons....Mostly my own fault....Not too many people know of her, again...my own fault but why would I tell them? I left the family for a reason, and well now I’ve stayed away for other reasons. I just hope she and her kids are doing alright.”

Zalitai Dalamiq - “He’s...Not as scary as I originally thought..”

“The Archmagister is a man I like to pretend I draw most of my inspiration from. At least that’s what I tell myself...In my first few moons with The Collective he was portrayed as a monster; bringing a hammer down on folks because he could...Though upon getting to know him; as little as that may be, I’ve learned nothing he does is purposeless or undeserved. He truly does wish to save Hydalen and that’s something I can get behind.”

Jebei Dotharl - “One of my most unexpected friends.”

“The first time I met Jebei I swear I thought he was the most idiotic man in Eorzea....His methods...Seemed...terrible....Idiotic...and...Impulsive, but overtime....I learned why he took them...and commend him for taking the shit we all gave him, despite knowing he was right....Jebei is someone I’d trust with -Anything-.”

Kataani - “The Magistrix”

“She’s unstable. She’s impatient, She’s a mess. I don’t agree with many choices the Magistrix makes, but I think she’s realized the same things I have about her and at least is trying to work on such. She was my -in- to the Collective.”

Leith’ir Eilam - “A man without faults.”

“The Magister has my upmost respect. He doesn’t pretend to know everything and he doesn’t try to know everything he’s able to admit his faults unlike some and doesn’t try to cover them up. In my eyes anyone who can do that has none. He’s not around a lot and he doesn’t pretend it’s because he’s off being busy. All I know is that when he is around shit get’s done and that’s all that matters to me. Plus he fixed my arm that’s always good.”

I’mhati Tia - “A shadow I won’t follow.”

“I’ve nothing but good feelings for the man. He’s not around a lot, but again when he is here it’s for a reason, just like the Magister. However being one of the few Shinobi here I get compared to him a lot. FUCK that. After Shiden I’ve refused to follow in anyone’s footsteps he’s not exempt from that.”

Alaste Verius - “The blue.”

“Eh...He’s cool.”

Alyx Nortier - “The Exemplar.”

“The man is someone I’ve....Been confused by for a long time. I don’t understand his M.O...He’s more fitting of the comparison people have given me. One day he’s laid back and the next he’s intense and seems disappointed...like a dad...It stings and I don’t know why.”

Eiai Airi - “The son....She’s not my actual son.”

“Eiai has always been a friend since my start here in the Collective she has been, but recently I’ve realized she needs to be a friend I care little about what happens to. I love her like family, but I’ve no problem letting her hit rock bottom or throwing her there myself.”

S’hizu Tia. - “.....”

“He’s a thing in my life now. He’s like a younger brother who get’s you so angry you want to beat him, but in this case that feeling never leaves.”

Kiyokage Mizuhiki - “He’s depressed.”

“I’ve never understood the man, nor have I really made an attempt to. He doesn’t seem the type to want to be understood at least that’s what I get from him. We’re friends. That’s enough for me.”

L’raza Tia - “Another Newblood”

“He’s fresh to the Collective, I’ve no idea why he joined, I’m not gonna ask why, He seems to have a working head on his shoulders...Sometimes.”

Maiya Maiilah - “She a’ight.”

“Maiya is about as close to a sister other than my actual sister as I can get....Her, Chee, Eiai, Renias, Yvaine and her son with Ren, along with Shiv...Obviously are about the closet to a family as I can get....I didn’t want it, nor did I ask for it, but I got it and I’m not gonna shit on it....Too much.”

Mazin Khin - “A man who get’s too much shit.”

“The shit Mazin got just for speaking his mind when he got here was enough to make me nearly vomit. I speak my mind much more than he does, and I’m much more crude. The thought that just because someone is a petitioner means they don’t have a say in anything here is...Idiotic in my eyes, especially if what that person is saying is smarter than half the shit that comes out of other’s mouths anyway. Mazin is still pretty dumb...But good dumb...Humorous dumb...He’s just the person you gotta get to know....”

Namine Sin’dal - “Too Innocent.”

“She’s sorta childlike from what I’ve gotten from her...Needs a bit more grit. She’ll get it if she stays. Doesn’t even know what Moko was....I’m offended.”

Sa’ran - “She’s everybody’s aunt.”

“Sa’ran is odd, I haven’t had too much interaction with her, but she’s sorta like that one cool auntie you have. The one that your mom doesn’t hate and that you don’t feel awkward about when you have to go to her house because your mom is going to get her haircut...She’s pretty chill good Alchemist too.”

Sophine Beaujont- “We’re friends.”

“While everyone else thinks she’s cold and hollow...To me every interaction I have with her is sorta Awkward, in a good way, but still Awkward...It’s not her fault...I just don’t like having to guess if people are happy or angry. Though when she’s been blessed with Moko she isn’t as awkward anymore. She’s someone I’d say is in my personal friend group.”

Sumi Kawayama - “She’s odd.”

“She didn’t do anything but clean for awhile....I haven’t seen her in awhile either...”

Syren - “Where the fuck did he even go?”

“I don’t even know.”

U’shen Tia - “Kinda just there.”

“He sorta just showed up one day. Now he’s here. I don’t have any problems with him.”

Ylva Nortier (?) - “The fanatic.”

“Almost everytime I’ve spoken to her it’s been to tell her ‘No we don’t allow black mages here’ or ‘No I don’t know what language it is your speaking.’ she’s Alyx’s betrothed and otherwise seems...Okay.”

Yukio Tsukimi - “He reminds me of a gecko.”

“Dude is like.....super short. Fragile as fuck, but he’s young. So whatever. I know he’s friends with Eiai and Sophine....”

Zahri Davigoh - “Puprle Freak, Local Nerd, He builds cool shit.”

“Zahri i’m friends with, he’s also someone I’d consider to be in my inner friend group; however he’s one of those friends you wouldn’t mind bringing around your parents....I think he’s actually the only one of those I have. Eh, whatever he’s building me a cool mount.”

I’dana Kaiyo - “The Mentee.”

“I’dana was the first mentee who I actually didn’t write off immediately; I was right not to. She’s smart, confident, and skilled. She’s never disappointed me in her time here and I hope she never does.”

Grimm - “He’s trying.”

“Grimm is the third Shinobi in the collective and....Sadly the.....weakest in that skillset. However that’s not his fault. Everyone has to learn and the boy has just only reach his adulthood. I sent him away. To where I learned, he’s been gone for quite some time and I’ve heard good things. I’ll call him back soon. I was too harsh on him when he was here, but I need not expect so much from him..He’s just like I was.”

Tarixxian - “I’m gonna punch him.”

“The bastard didn’t even say goodbye....Nah, in reality I’m not mad at him for leaving. He had his reasons and it’s not my right to question if he didn’t feel like he could have told me. I’m still friends with him, even though I haven’t met with him in some time. I was at his wedding and while I don’t know his husband too much personally I have conversed with him a bit and he seems like a pretty calm man.”

Lunae Valhan - “A much needed lesson.”

“While I am friends with Lunae still, we had a fling that needed not end how it did. I was a bitch and nothing I can say will change that....The person I was then is gone....Thankfully. Regardless Lunae has got a new operation that she’s starting and it’s got me feeling like I’m a kid again.”

Oliver Valhan - “A very very very troubled man.”

“Dude got his throat actually fucking bit out....Was pretty metal, but that was sorta my fault.......Ehhhh sorry. Regardless he’s someone who’s been through a lot and it’s not hard to see. He’s got an odd air about him.”

Avigail Amaranth - “Devil’s Advocate”

“She’s a wise old grandma, but fuuuck if I’m ever gonna take her advice at face value ever again.”

#FFXIV #ffxiv rp #relationships #balmung #Balmung Roleplay #balmung rp #Final Fantasy XIV #Final Fantasy 14 #final fantasy xiv: a realm reborn

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ourneverendingpossibilities · 7 years

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Commission - All you’ll ever need

Anime: Kuroko no Basuke Character: Kasamatsu Yukio Rating: K+ Word Count: 1,650 A/N: I went OVERBOARD with this again.. BUT, I really like how it turned out. A comfort fic for my beloved friend, Faith. @onliafaze , Thank you very much for commissioning two fics from me, and I’m glad I finally got around to finishing them both.. I honestly loved writing this one a lot, and i got carried away, but I feel the result is great! ALSO this is a warning for those of you with panic/anxiety attacks. One does happen in here.. and How I described it is how I generally have one. Just a little warning now!

Kasamatsu was watching the soccer game, along with Moriyama and Kobori, a tiny smile on his face. To think Kaijou would be leading by such a margin, he couldn’t help but feel pride for your team. Especially you, who seemed to command the team with little to no effort, and also enjoy yourself on the field.

But… That was also a problem.

He vaguely recalled the conversation he’d overheard a few days prior, when one of your teammates had interrupted the two of you leaving the school grounds.

....

“____-chan! Wait!”

You blink, halting in your tracks as you turn around, seeing your striker advancing rather quickly.

“What’s wrong? You look worried..”

She pants, rubbing her knees before meeting your stare, anxiety glowing under the stare of your boyfriend.

“Captain just told me she’s not going to be at the game on Saturday.. Which means you have to lead us….”

You open your mouth, wanting to say something, but stop, feeling your boyfriend’s gaze now on you.

“Is that all you’re worried about? I already know… She told me before I left.”

Her eyes are wide, and she flusters, as if embarrassed… “O...Oh…. Of course you’d know… You and captain are always talking…” she smiles, moving to lightly pat your shoulders, “Don’t let us down, captain!”

You laugh, scratching your head and nod, “No need to worry! Oh and I talked with coach… We’re not going to practice Friday.”

Her eyes are wide, and now she looks frantic. “B...But!! ____-chan!! Do you know who - “

“I know exactly who we’re going against… And that’s why we’re not going to practice the night before… We need to rest too you know… Our health and grades are just as important, if not more, than winning this game.” you place your hands on her shoulders, “Trust me… Everything’s going to work out… You’ll see…”

You turn to Kasamatsu, grinning and taking his hand again, “Shall we go?”

He nods, a bit nervous at holding your hand in public, but doesn’t say anything. He remembers the walk being silent, and the slight doubt of his feelings for you begin to fester.

....

The cheers bring Kasamatsu out of his reverie, and he feels immense happiness to see your team holding you above their heads. Despite what you said a few days ago, you had kept your word, securing your place in the championships… You lead your team just like you promised.. He takes his time to meet with you, biting his bottom lip… He vaguely remembers that disgusting feeling in his gut, a reminder of how shameful he felt that night..

Did he really doubt his feelings for you because you were so laid back? Granted, he felt the way you handled the situation should’ve been done with a little more care… But that shouldn’t be a reason for him to doubt his feelings for you…

Should it?

He shakes his head, standing outside the gate as everyone starts to head out.. When he hasn’t seen you come, he blinks, confusion on his face.. You were one of the first girls to head inside.. Just then, your coach comes, and notices Kasamatsu standing at the gate.

“Kasamatsu? If you’re looking for _____, she already left… She got a ride with her friend... “ he watches his reaction, “She didn’t tell you?”

Something settles in his gut, and he bites back the anger, shaking his head..

“No…. She didn’t… But thank you, sir.”

He heads home, feeling not only hurt, but confusion and doubt ache in his chest.. What’s been going on with you lately?

////

“_____-chan… you should’ve told Kasamatsu-senpai…” your friend whispers, watching you get out of the van with your bag.

“It’s fine… I don’t want him seeing me like this..” you whisper back, shutting the door and giving a wave. You were grateful for your parents’ absence, because you wouldn’t want to answer any questions.. Not without feeling like you were going to vomit.. You get inside, tossing your shoes and bag at the door, heading right for your bedroom.

What you weren’t prepared for, was your boyfriend to be sitting on your bed, staring at you with a void expression..

“K….Kasamatsu…”

“We need to talk.”

You wanted to run, run very far away and hide in the nearest corner possible.. But your feet were stuck to the ground.. If only it would open up and swallow you whole… This entire situation could be avoided…

You open your mouth, ready to say something, but all words die on the tip of your tongue.. You watch him stand up, heading towards you and despite your eyes being wide in shock, you feel sweat drip down your cheek..

Shit… Not now….

Kasamatsu, on the other hand, was growing very concerned… He’d never seen you freeze up like this… Nor did he see you so… scared… so.. Tiny… Your face continued to pale, and he could hear your breath begin to quicken..

“____-______?? W….What’s wrong??”

He grabs your hand, sensing you were about to run, and he pulls you to his chest, hearing your whimper against his shirt. He feels your body tremble, and he slowly brings you to the floor, holding you carefully as he whispers soothing words in your ear.

“I...I’m here…. Focus on me, ____…”

He feels your hand grab his shirt, clutching it tightly as you slump against him, and at first he worries you need medical attention… But you slowly open your eyes, taking longer breaths to calm your heart as you come back down…

‘.....i….I’m fine… J...Just keep holding me like this…. Please, Yukio…”

He ignores the fact it’s the first time he hears his first name from your lips.. He focuses on holding you to him, rubbing your back gently as he pecks your forehead. He lets his lips linger, hoping it’ll help you calm, and never stops rubbing your back.. And when you finally loosen your grip on him, he picks you up, carrying you to your bed as he grabs some water.

He helps you drink it, seeing your hands still tremble as he gently wipes away the tears on your cheeks.

“W...What happened, ____?”

You sigh heavily, pulling back and try to ignore the blush on your cheeks. You stare down at your feet, unable to meet his eyes after that terrible attack.

“.... I… I know I’m pretty laid back…. But that’s just a facade …” biting your lip, you feel your shoulders slump, “I suffer from panic attacks… And they generally happen when I’m put into situations I can’t handle.. They can be as bad as what you witnessed.. Or sometimes worse... “

He watches you carefully, trying to piece everything together… It’s then he remembers a few days ago…

“So you’re saying… You never knew your captain wasn’t going to show? You lied to her?”

You shake your head, “I..It wasn’t entirely a lie… But I found out when I got home… When my friend told me, it was the first time… But as Vice Captain, I have to be responsible for anything that happens to my team when our captain isn’t there… So I told her I knew.. Just to put her at ease..”

You meet his gaze, and bite your lip again, “Whenever things get rough, a lot of the girls on my team panic.. They always think the worse case scenario… But when they see me being laid back, and calm, it puts them at ease… Which makes me feel calmer and less likely to an attack. So when we won today…”

“You felt relieved..”

You nod, a bit timid, “A part of me was worried we weren’t going to win.. But if I panicked or took things too seriously, I wouldn’t be able to function. I put on the calm facade because it not only helps me, it helps my team…” you sigh, “And when I saw you looking really mad… I.. I started to get scared.. Because I thought I let you down… Or I made you disappointed because I’m not as serious as you...”

You blush when his lips are on yours, his hand cupping your cheek and keeping you in place. This wasn’t like his regular kisses, and you felt yourself melt in his embrace. He somehow brought you together, and you had a suspicious feeling Kasamatsu was slightly nervous or doubting because you played things too cooly.. But with the tenderness in his kiss, you could feel his emotions overwhelm you, and you succumbed to his touch..

“I.. I’m sorry…” you whisper against his mouth, trying not to choke on sobs, “I… I’m really sorry… Y...Yukio…”

“Shh..” he whispers, pressing his mouth harder to yours, as if reaffirming his feelings for you. He can feel his heart hammer in his chest, and he holds you closer, robbing you of all breath.. It’s slowly gets harder for him to breathe, but he doesn’t want to pull back.. Not yet..

“D...Don’t you dare apologize, ____… I.. I should be sorry… For thinking you weren’t taking things seriously.. For putting on such a facade because you had your own issues to deal with…” He whispers, pulling back to stare into your eyes. He pants lightly, but presses another kiss to your mouth, as if reassuring, before kissing your cheek.

“I’m here for you, ____..” he promises, holding you to his chest, “If things get too difficult again, please tell me… I’ll help you get through it… Just let me in…”

You feel your eyes soften, a few more tears slipping from your cheeks as you hug him tight. Honestly, how this day turned into one of such ugly emotions has left you baffled… But you’re really thankful Kasamatsu is here for you… Is willing to be a support for you..

“T...Thank you… Yukio…”

He nods, holding you in his arms, until everything was calm once more.

#commission #onliafaze #tw: anxiety #kasamatsu yukio #knb imagines #knb scenarios #hurt #comfort #fluff #panic attack #support

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johannepetereric · 4 years

Text

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0s5rCXjxNuw

After watching this, and reading some Satan/Yuri fics, and ACTUALLY FINDING SATAN X YURI TUMBLR STANS, I am REALLY thinking that maybe I could try to conjure up some Satan/Yuri content for the White-Haired Rin AU (found on ao3. I literally type in “White-Haired Rin Okumura’ as a tag). Like, they doing stuff in Gehenna n whatever. Maybe one-shots where the couple (the pre-twins versions) are time-traveled forward to sometime during the twins’ lives and stick around for a bit, likely a catch-up chat. And if asked about if they committed any sins, well...Yuri would vomit, feel like the worst mother in the universe, and probs lose some faith in humanity or somethin’ at how many I’m making ‘em do (even just pre-canon alone).

Or, y’know, regular romance stuff. Maybe Human Satan or somethin’, if that even exists. Yukio is lots like Yuri in this respect “What?! How dare they think [inset insult]! I love you as you, don’t listen to them! I don’t care!”

So, reblogs count as comments in my channels, y’know!

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yuki-d-raizel-blog · 7 years

Text

Believe Me

Chapter 14/??

Relationship: Rin x Reader (Your/Name) , (Full/Name)

Summit: Inside the class there was the same confusion of always, Rin and Bon were fighting over something stupid, Shima and Konekomaru were trying to stop them while Shiemi and Izumo were laughing for the scene. Everything was as always. Until the bell rang. The Exwires notice that the professor was late, but nobody knew why. When the door opened… A new student arrived to the True Cross Academy. She’s smart and strong, still a quiet and solitary person. Moved by a strange feeling, Rin would like to know her, help her if he can but nobody would think that that student was someone so… special.

---

<<(Y/N)!!!>> Rin screams scared, nobody would survive after that powerful hit.

<<Who can summon a golem so big?>> Shura knows that they must defeat that thing, before the city will be erased. Your crush has destroyed a couple of buildings and the streets are now disconected, <<How can we reach->>

<<Kuro, let's go!>> Rin jumps on the black cat again, but a golden slash stops the creature.

<<The spawn of Satan must stay!>> a man with long and blond hair arrives with a squad of exorcists, <<I, Angel, will now take lead!>>

<<Wait a sec bold head!>> Shura approches him with an angry face, <<Why are you here?>>

<<Vatican's orders. I must control the son of Satan and->>

<<It hurts, you son of bitch!!!>> a bluish explosion lits the city in the night and a figure walks surronded by blue flames, <<I told you, leave me alone!!>>

Everybody is so shocked that they don't have even the force to speak or think. That person is supposed to be... you? No, it's impossible, only Rin has Satan's flames, nobody else. Then, why you have the same powers of the son of Satan? Are you his daughter?

<<Who is her?!>> Angel shouted angryly, <<Shura, you hide->>

<<I didn't know about it either!>>

With a swing of your hand, a blast of flame cuts off the monster's arm and burns him brutally. Trying to hit you, the beast destroys a lot of buildings, but you are in the sky already, watching him with a bored face.

<<What a stupid creature.>> under the moonlight, your look is creepy but beautiful at the same time, six dark wings on your back, a long tail, your clawed hands are dividing your black hair, showing your body branded with a lot of tattoos...

<<What in the heavens is she?>> Yukio, Angel, Rin, Shura, Bon, Konekomaru, Shiemi, Shima, Kamiki and the others have thought at the same question.

<<I'm here idiot!>> you charge the enemy unarmed, <<HIYA!>> with a hysteric and enthusiastic scream, and a swing of your clawed hand, the flames create a clawed sign and burn violently, destroying the left side of the monster.

You keep attacking so fast that the bluish strip you leave are like shooting stars. When the creature decides to retrat, it jumps towards the mountain. but (Y/N) is staring at it and calling two names, her usual swords appear. She throws them in a precise direction, then move her beautiful wings and goes higher, quietly.

---

<<Stop saying this bullshit bold head!>> Shura argues with Angel, <<You can't kill her! She saved our lives! She saved a whole city!>>

<<She has Satan's powers! Look at her! She is not human, is a monster!>>

<<Unlike Rin, she controls her powers greatly!>>

<<I don't->> two weapons pierce the ground and bright shinely, <<What?>>

After the light fades, two men are standing there, holding the swords...

<<Yukiya?! Raika?!>> exclaim Shiemi and Rin with wide open eyes, <<W-what is t->>

<<Who are you people?>> Angel raises his huge sword, and points it at the men, <<Why are you here?>>

<<Our Master ordered us to protect the people of this city.>> both reply at the same time.

<<Protect us? How a monster like that has such wonderful thoughts like protect somebody?>>

<<My Master is not a monster.>> Raika speaks increasing the volume of his voice, <<You->>

<<Keep that mouth shut Raika.>> Yukiya orders crossing his arms, <<We are not here to talk with this stupid human.>>

<<Stupid?!>> Angel take a few steps fowards, <<Are talking about me?>>

<<You’re noisy too, shut up.>> checking you, Yukiya speaks for the last time, <<Everyone, don't move or we can't garante your safety.>>

---

All the flames fuse together and create a giant, blue phoenix. With a smile, you open till the limit your wings and your arms, the creature does the same, lightning the night sky. In a blink, the monster is in pieces and for avoiding to destroy something else, you increase the speed and fly in the sky, piercing all the rocks, turning them into dust. When you’re about to hit the last one, light chains traps and drags you down with force. Before you could crush, the chains are broken, so you could adjust your own body and land softening the impact, lay a knee on the ground.

<<Don't touch our Master, human!>> Yukiya and Raika are the ones who cut the chains.

<<(F/N), you will come with me!>> Angel and his team approches you, <<You will be judged->>

<<For what? For saving thousands of lives?>> you keep the distance, you know how these things works too well, <<I'm sorry, but I won’t come to Vatican.>>

<<You will. You don't won’t your little brother will get hurt, right?>>

<<You fucking bastard.>> you go near him, almost touch his nose with yours, <<Lay a finger on him, and I will burn you to ash.>> the blue flames comes again and Angels can feel they are different from before, now they’re too hot and not warm...

<<Are you threatening me? Are you sure about that little lady?>>

<<That's my line. I can kill all of you without a single person of your stupid team will get what happened.>>

<<Such a stupid demon->>

<<My Master isn't demon! I swear->>

<<Calm down, Raika. It's ok.>> you face him with a smile, <<It's always like this. We- KHAA...>> a huge sword is in your belly, make you vomit blood.

<<(Y/N)!!>> Rin rushes to you, but Shura and Yukio stop him right away, he can't do anything with the Vatican on him.

<<I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!>> both Raika and Yukiya are charging Angel, but...

<<Modore, Mizuki, Raimaru!>> the men turn into light and fly until they reach a tattoo and then disappear, <<You fucking piece of shit!>> turning, you punch Angel in the face and manage to pull out the sword.

<<F/N, due to your action against us, we condemn you to death!>>

“What?” Rin doesn’t understand the words that came out from Angel’s mouth. Rin doesn’t understand what he saw, he doesn’t understand nothing in that moment. He needs time to process, “What was that?”

You know these emotions, it’s nothing new… Your all life was like this. The old you would escape easily kicking their asses, but not now. Not today. This time, Rin is there.

To avoid troubles for the demon, you choice to stay still and quiet while Angel and the exorcists move towards you, blocking your body to the ground with force, handcuff you with heavy chains and only God knows what else. They want to be sure that you will not move a single muscle without their permission. Rin wants to help, he wants to prove that you’re harmless, kind and… but your sad smile and your words turn into chains that block him right away.

<<It’s fine, Rin…. Believe me, everything is gonna be ok.>>

---Continue...

Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18

#rin okumura #yukio okumura #ao no exorcist #blue exorcist #scenarios #fanfictions #anime #manga

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master-sass-blast · 6 years

Text

Wade. No. Stop.

Sometimes, I write fluff. Sometimes, I write angst.

Sometimes, I write crack

Welcome to the drug trip.

Summary: Wade finds out that Piotr grew up on a farm and teases the two of you relentlessly about enjoying cow play. He crosses an unforgivable line, and you decide to get revenge.

Pairings: Piotr Rasputin x Reader, Nathan Summers x Wade Wilson, and Ellie Phimister x Yukio.

Rating: M for utter sexual inappropriateness, vague descriptions of vomiting, and strong language.

Many thanks to the CACAT discord for helping me come up with some of Wade’s various pranks.

Being best friends with Wade Wilson comes with a number of advantages.

First, if you ever need someone to help you hide a body at 3:48 in the morning during a tornado watch, he’s your guy. He’ll even take you out for pancakes afterward.

Second, his extensive knowledge of the Internet and all things Golden Girls makes him a surprisingly valuable ally on trivia night.

Third, he always has a vast supply of junk food on hand, hidden in little stores around his room --in airtight containers to keep bugs out, thank you Nathan. Snack nights with Wade are the best.

Fourth, he’s genuinely everything you’d ever want in a big brother. Severely inappropriate sense of humor with a gun collection he’s happy to let you borrow from and the best taste in spike heels? Uh, yes please!

You know, not to mention the fact that he loves on you at any given opportunity like the touch-starved octopus he is, will happily waste a day watching YouTube or movies with you if you’re feeling down, and always checks before each shark week to make sure you’re stocked on everything you might need --even though he knows that you and Piotr manage that just fine, he says you deserve to have someone checking in on you.

Which is wonderful. He’s wonderful. In his own weird, mildly stabby sort of way.

However, there are times where being friends with Wade comes with... challenges. Let’s call them challenges.

First challenge: Wade is a purely destructive force of nature when he gets bored.

And not in the ‘I-tried-to-do-wood-shop-things-and-broke-a-few-power-tools’ kind of way.

He’s most liable to go to Blind Al’s and get high on cocaine. Which was unnerving the first couple times he did it, admittedly. Wade gets extremely wound up when he’s on coke, and while his dust bunny catching skills are impressive, the French maid’s outfit he prances around is not.

That particular incident had been a distinct feature in your nightmares for several weeks. You’re still not sure you’re over it.

Fortunately, though, now that he and Nathan are together, most of Wade’s coke episodes are handled by the time-traveling cyborg. He simply scoops Wade up with some telekinesis, takes him to their shared room, and stays in there with him until Wade comes down from his high.

Unfortunately, however, Wade’s boredom fits don’t always involve coke --and, when they don’t, Nathan’s ability to circumvent Wade’s destructive tendencies runs out pretty quickly.

When Wade isn’t coking himself out, he’s shooting things. Or blowing things up. Or lighting them on fire. Or... doing unspeakable things to them.

And, since none of the telepaths in the mansion can read Wade to figure out what he’s doing ahead of time, there’s no stopping him beforehand. It’s always follow the sounds of destruction and clean it up afterward.

Which is what the ‘flaming pool incident,’ the ‘juggling chainsaws incident,’ and the ‘whipped cream in the fire suppression sprinkler system’ are all categorized as. As are the ‘carpet of actual kittens, Wade how did you even get this many kittens, oh god Remy’s allergic to cat hair someone get his Epi-Pen,’ the ‘mac and cheese overflowing from all the toilets,’ the ‘how did Poptarts get glued to the ceiling?’, the ‘wait, you aren’t actually barbecuing a person, oh shit you are, WADE NO, I don’t care if it was for a job and you only need a picture and you weren’t actually going to eat it,’ and the ‘en masse tp-ing’ incidents. Not to mention--

Perhaps the list ought to be left for another time. You know Scott has a file cabinet or two devoted to Wade’s exploits, and there’s no way you’re going to make it through all of them right now.

(Though, in Wade’s defense, if he had known Remy had allergies to cat hair, he wouldn’t have brought cats into the mansion.)

Second challenge: Wade will argue with anything.

True story. It doesn’t even have to be breathing. You’ve watched him carry on a two hour argument with a plastic ficus at Sister Margaret’s. And he lost.

Admittedly, this comes in handy when the game of the night at the X-Mansion is ‘debater’s table.’ You and Wade have an unbroken winning streak.

Unfortunately, that winning streak is only a total of one because everyone decided --aside from you and Wade--that ‘debater’s table’ would be banned henceforth. Possibly maybe definitely because you tried to supplex Scott through the table when he called one of your points ‘uninspired.’

In your defense, Wade tried to help.

In both of your defenses, they really should’ve known better than to put two of the most combative people in the house on the same team --let alone play such a competitive game with them.

Extra unfortunately, Wade’s argumentative streak is the literal biggest pain in anyone’s ass at any other given time.

Especially when rules are involved.

“Wade!”

“Hang on! Hang on!” you shout as you hear your boyfriend tromp through the mansion in defense mode. You grab your bag of insta-popcorn from the microwave and run in the direction of Piotr’s angry stomping, swearing as you toss the searing bag from hand to hand. You sprint towards the clinic room Wade is being patched back together in and dive into your chair, perched between Ellie and Neena.

Neena opens the bag without burning herself, somehow. “Thanks. These are a pain in the ass to sit through without a snack.”

Ellie reaches across you and grabs a handful for her and Yukio to share. “Try to get the Parmesan cheese kind next time. The generic flavor is boring.”

“I tried, but I think we’re out. We’ll have to restock.” When you realize Piotr is watching you four with a mildly exasperated expression, you wave your hand at him. “You can start now. We’re ready.”

He shakes his head, then refocuses on Wade --who’s still regrowing a leg and several bullet holes. “Wade. How many times do I have to say--”

“You can say my name as much as you want, you big silver stud,” Wade interjects before your boyfriend even had a chance to work up a head of steam. “I never get tired of hearing it.”

“Down, boy,” Nathan mutters in his seat next to Wade’s hospital bed.

“What is first rule?” Piotr asks, arms crossed over his chest.

“Label everything in the refrigerator.”

You wince internally as you watch Piotr restrain himself from yanking Wade out of the bed and slamming him against the nearest wall. “Why does he keep opening with that?” you whisper to Ellie. “It never works.”

“Because he’s hoping it will someday,” Ellie whispers back. “Pass the popcorn.”

“You know that is not first rule,” Piotr growls --and damn if that doesn’t do something for you--accent thickening with his anger. “As much as you play idiot, you are not one.”

“Oh, honeypie, I’m touched! But not in the way I’d like to be, if you know what I me--”

You cough pointedly, and Wade relents with an apologetic gesture of his hands.

“Point stands, Tin Man on steroids, I genuinely don’t know what I’ve done wrong or what I’ve done to deserve this raging Russian display of restrained passion --not that I’m complaining, mind you--”

“Rule One: No killing. Ever.” Piotr’s jaw flexes, and there’s a slight metal scraping noise as he grits his teeth. “How is that so hard to understand?”

“Uh, because some people deserve to die. Specifically, the actual child traffickers we were fighting today. Because they’re actual. Child. Traffickers.”

“You do not have right to take lives!”

“Uh, like hell I do! Did you miss the part where they were child traffickers?”

“Who’s winning?” Yukio asks quietly as she scoops more popcorn into her mouth.

“Unfortunately, I think Wade is,” Ellie murmurs.

“You can’t honestly look at me and say the world is worse off for me having killed those guys. Honestly.”

Piotr’s hands clench into fists. He’s on the losing side of the argument, and he knows it. “Your actions reflect on all of mutant kind.”

“Not a mutant, my comrade. I’m a reject science experiment. Come on, the first movie literally covered this in extreme, nude detail!”

“Your actions still reflect on X-Men. We can’t afford to have easily misconstrued actions on our hands.”

Wade shrugs. “Hey, you asked me to come with. You know how I handle people like that, and you asked me anyway. Frankly, I’m not sure I like that you’re willing to let fuckers like that live for the sake of your image.”

Piotr’s jaw tenses.

“Holy shit,” Neena breathes. “He’s winning. He’s literally regrowing a limb. How is this even possible?”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” you mutter. “Wade fucking Wilson.”

“Need I remind you that staying at X-Mansion is privilege,” Piotr says, tone icy. “Those who cannot follow rules cannot stay.”

“Fine. I know where the door is. Say the word and I’m gone. I’m still gonna deal with the irredeemable assholes of the world the way I always do whether I’m here or not: scrub them out, one at a time, until there aren’t any left and I can finally retire for the rest of eternity.”

You’re starting to see just exactly why Nathan fell for Wade.

Piotr glares at the mouthy merc for a moment before turning on his heel and storming out of the room.

Wade flops back against his bed with a wince and sighs. “I take it that one goes to me?”

“Amazingly, yes,” Ellie says as she stands, hand already wrapped around Yukio’s. “Stop killing people, dipshit.”

“No can do, Negasonic Beetlejuice. Bye, Yukio!”

“Bye, Wade!”

You toss the empty popcorn bag into the trash and brush your hands off on your pants. “I’m gonna go find Piotr before he implodes on himself.”

You could technically add in Wade’s less than lucid days and grumpy pain-slash-feeling suicidal days in as challenges, but you don’t think there’s anyone in the mansion that would have the heart to assign that to the him as a consequence of his own behavior and choices.

Which, by default, only leaves one other challenge: Wade’s perverted sense of humor.

Wade’s sense of humor is like a fire hydrant: all or nothing. Unstoppable once it’s started. Overwhelming in every sense of the word.

Unlike a fire hydrant, it’s also largely sexual.

Which happens into some less than stellar moments where Wade hits on anything in sight --including your boyfriend--not so much because he wants to fuck whatever he’s laid eyes on, but because he loves the reactions his increasingly horrifying innuendos get.

And, admittedly, he’s funny ninety-nine percent of the time. He has a mouth that won’t quit and he’s not afraid to use it.

However, he does happen into that one percent of the time where it’s just. Too. Much.

Cue the cow-play incident and your revenge on Wade for all his related wrong doings.

You’re all sitting around the kitchen table when the fateful bit of information comes out.

“Wait, hold the fucking phone for a minute.” Wade stares at Piotr, shocked. “You grew up on a farm?”

Piotr nods. “Da. In Siberia.”

“What did you farm? Ice?”

That gets an eye roll. “Nyet, Wade. Cattle, mostly. It was easiest to maintain.”

“Well I’ll be darned,” Wade says in an offensively hickish Southern accent. “Ol’ Petey-pie’s jus’ a regular cowboy, ain’t he?”

“Stop it,” Ellie says flatly as she scrolls through Tumblr. “You sound stupid.”

“That was the point, Negasonic laser canon, thank you very much.” He refocuses on Piotr with a familiar glint in his eye. “So, is it stereotypical of me to ask if you two do the cowgirl position a lot?”

You flick a Cheeto at him while Piotr sighs heavily. “Stop it. Stop being gross.”

“Okay, that’s fine. I don’t want to know about all your cow-play activities anyway.”

And that’s... not a term you’re familiar with. You dig your phone out of your pocket and type in the term into your search engine.

Across the table, Ellie sucks in a breath. “Y/N, no!”

It’s too late.

It’s all too late.

Your precious brain will never be the same.

You stare down at the Urban Dictionary definition, unable to tear your gaze away as your brain tries to comprehend the horrors of Wade’s implications.

Next to you, Piotr drops his head into his hands. “Wade, no--”

“So you do know what it is! You kinky fuck! Here I thought you wouldn’t want to be milked--”

That mental image makes you scream. You drop to the floor and cover your face with your hands. “Oh God, why? Why! Wade, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Hey, no kinkshaming! As long as you two are both consenting--”

“Shut! Up!” You roll to your feet and glare at him. “I didn’t need to know about any of that! I was fine just the way I was without learning about that corner of the world!”

“Oh, but you so weren’t!” Wade cackles. “Man, your reaction was priceless--”

You charge after him, hellbent on beating the ever living shit out of him.

You do, but it’s too late.

Wade’s hooked on the joke.

It starts with texts. Usually late at night, when Wade’s still up and normal people are trying to sleep.

The first one comes in the same night at two in the morning.

It takes a moment for your eyes to focus on the small lettering, but when they do you wish they hadn’t.

Bro: So, how did the milking session go tonight?

Piotr groans when you toss your phone across the room. “What?”

You flop down next to him with a huff. “Don’t even ask.”

From there, it just gets worse. Not only do the texts become at least a daily feature in your life, but Wade starts tormenting you and Piotr in other ways.

Bro: Question. Does Colossus ‘moo’ when he climaxes?

You: Fuck. Off.

You hadn’t thought anything of it other than Wade was hellbent on being an annoying prick, and had shoved your phone into your pocket.

Until later that night, when Wade loudly, dramatically shouts “I can’t find my phone!”

And Piotr, being the kind and gentle soul that he is, says “I can call it.”

You spy Wade’s phone on the kitchen table, in very obvious and plain view, which isn’t anything suspicious because Wade could lose anything, anywhere.

What is suspicious, however, is the devious grin Wade’s wearing.

You almost tell Piotr to hang up, but the call connects before you can say anything.

Wade’s phone vibrates across the table, playing the distinctive sounds of cows mooing in chorus.

You smack your palm against your forehead, while Piotr merely sighs and hangs up. “Just stop it already!”

After that, it’s just unstoppable.

You find cow everything everywhere. Black and white pictures taped inside the covers of books or tucked in your shoes. A bundle of cow fridge magnets addressed to your boyfriend in red crayon --not subtle, Wade, by the way. An email with a couple’s Halloween costume set of a farmer and --you guessed it--a dairy cow.

The subject line of the email reads “Because milking should be an equal opportunity pastime,” which really should’ve been all the hint you needed.

And the texts. Holy fucking tits, the texts.

They’re horrible. Obscene. They use entirely too many emojis in ways that the app creators never intended!

Bro: philly cheesesteak all in that order, chili cheese fries as a starter got the steroids keeping me stronger bitch im a cow, bitch im a cow, i am not a cat, i dont say meow bitch im a cow, bitch im a cow

Bro: ca$h rules everything around me ice cream ice cream you a calf bitch, you ma daughter i ain't bothered get slaughtered got the methane, i'm a farter with my farmer mcdonald and they feed me real good, it's a honor

Bro: I took the liberty of doing a little redecorating before leaving town for my job. Hope you like it!

Okay, that last text isn’t necessarily obscene, but it is... concerning.

You meet Piotr right by the main staircase. He looks just as panicked as you do, which means he got the text, too. “How bad do you think it’s gonna be?”

He looks up the flight of stairs, expression fearful. “Probably worse than what I could imagine.”

The two of you climb the stairs in silence, proceeding like prisoners to their slaughter --execution.

Dammit Wade.

There’s a trail of straw in the hallway that leads to your shared bedroom.

“Oh God no,” you whisper. “Please. No.”

Piotr groans. “This will be impossible to clean up.”

“I think there are other priorities to think about here.”

“I can’t. If I do, I might go insane.”

You walk together to the bedroom door, which has a note attached to it.

You’re welcome for fulfilling all your kinky dreams! --Wade

Piotr tears the note off and crumples it. He put his hand on the door knob, then looks at you. “Like bandaid, da?”

You take a deep breath, steel yourself, then nod. “My body is ready.”

He pushes the door open, and--

It’s worse than you could’ve imagined.

The floor is covered with straw, from corner to corner. On the desk is a machine that looks extremely suspect--

Piotr groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. “...blyad.”

“Is that what I think it is?”

“Da.”

“Dammit, Wade.” You spy a Hello Kitty sticky note attached to the side and peel it off.

Fun fact! You can buy Dairy Cow milking machines at Walmart! Who knew? --Wade

Perhaps most suspect, however, is the massive cardboard box sitting on your bed.

With a sigh, you walk over and tear it open. “May as well get it over with. How bad could it be?”

So much worse, is the answer. Apparently.

Sitting right on top are a cattle prod and a branding iron.

You close your eyes and try to breathe through the aneurysm you’re suffering from right now. “Life Lesson Number One: It can always get worse, especially when Wade’s involved.”

There’s also a pack of gloves that go all the way up to the shoulder, a coupon for a free septum piercing, and a book.

On.

Artifical. Fucking. Insemination.

Your phone buzzes in your hand, and it takes all your will power not to chuck it out the window. You inhale deeply and look down at the screen.

Bro: You like it?

You: FUCK. YOU.

The final straw, believe it or not, actually comes a few weeks later. Because you draw the line at being made to vomit.

You’re in the kitchen, innocently pouring yourself a glass of milk to go with a few cookies you’d swiped from one of Wade’s snack stashes when the merc himself walks in.

He stops, waits for you to eat one of the cookies and drink half the glass of milk, then cocks his head to the side and says, “You know, I may have not expected you to milk Pete, but I sure as fuck didn’t think you would store it in the fridge and drink it.”

And that sentence --along with the mental image it conjures up-is enough to make you gag. Your eyes water and your stomach churns, and you have to set down your glass of milk to keep from spilling it all over yourself.

Wade’s waiting, grinning deviously, clearly expecting you to give him hell for what he just said.

Except you don’t. You can’t. You can’t get the mental image of... that out of your head, and it’s making you nauseous.

You sprint past Wade and to the nearest bathroom. You throw open the door, flip the toilet lid and seat up with a resounding smack, and brace yourself for the oncoming storm.

Halfway through puking everything in your stomach, Piotr darts in and pulls your hair away from your face. “Myshka, is everything alright? Are you sick? What happened?”

“She can’t talk,” Ellie says somewhere in the background. “She’s puking. And Douchepool’s looking pretty guilty.”

You can almost hear the glare Piotr gives Wade. “Wade. What did you do?”

“I wasn’t trying to make her puke!”

You dry heave once, twice, and then when you’re sure nothing else is coming up anytime soon you glare over your shoulder at the merc and point an accusing finger at him. “This means war. I’m going to fucking murder you.”

Wade, at least, has the decency to look sheepish. “Yeah, I probably deserve it.”

You’re in the middle of plotting what exactly you’re going to do to Wade --high road be damned, Piotr, some things just required a strong response--when you happen upon a calendar and realize what’s coming up in three days.

It’s perfect. Fated by the universe. There was never a better time for revenge than now.

You fish twenty dollars out of your wallet and go in search of Nathan.

The older man’s in his room, sitting at his desk while he glares down various monitors with findings about various corrupt politicians, black markets, and skeezy billionaires.

You knock on the door frame. “Got a minute?”

“Sure.” He swivels in his chair and takes off his reading glasses. “What can I help you with, kid?”

You hold out the twenty dollars to him. “I made a deal with you about six months ago. You helped me escape Wade’s rant on Halloween in exchange for me promising to help you prank Wade. And twenty bucks.”

He accepts the cash with a sly smirk. “You did.”

“I take it I don’t have to bring you up to speed about Wade’s latest bullshit?”

“You don’t.”

“So, here’s what I’m thinking: I help you prank Wade, and I also get my revenge. Sound good?”

He grins. “Mutually beneficial. Good way of thinking.”

“Great. Do you have a driver’s license?”

“I have a fake one.”

“Close enough. We need to get some supplies.”

There are, of course, a few ground rules.

“One, no destroying anything. Two, nothing about Vanessa; I don’t want to give him a mental break down. Three, nothing I can get in trouble with the Professor for.”

Nathan nods. “Sounds reasonable.”

The first stop is Whole Foods, where the two of you get the blandest, healthiest, boring-est stuff you can find.

Quinoa. So much quinoa. You never want to see this much quinoa again in your life.

The next stop is Home Depot. You clean them out of leaf blowers.

The stop after that is Lowes. You clean them out of leaf blowers, too.

The average person might find it suspect that your plan requires so many leaf blowers. You really don’t care about what average people think.

After the hardware stores, you stop at a craft store and buy as many plain t shirts as you can and enough fabric markers and puff paint to stock a summer camp.

When you drag everything into yours and Piotr’s room --sans leaf blowers, you leave those in the trunk of Nathan’s car for the time being--you boyfriend gives you a puzzled look. “Myshka? What is all this for?”

You grin up at him. “Revenge. Duh.”

He sighs. “Moya lyubov’, I thought we talked about taking high road.”

“I promised Cable I would help him prank Wade for April Fool’s! You wouldn’t want me to go back on my word, would you?”

It’s a bullshit argument, granted, but it’s not one he can technically out talk you on without giving himself a headache. He sighs and gives you his patented “dad look.” “Y/N.”

“Piotr. We’re not destroying anything, we got our own stuff to make sure we weren’t damaging X-Men property, and we’re not doing anything that relates to Vanessa. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

He relents with a sigh. “Very well. Since you are being responsible about it, I will not complain.”

You lean up on your toes and kiss his cheek. “Thank you, honey. Can I ask one little favor, though?”

“...Da.”

“Can we use your forty-eight hour or less delivery thing with Amazon? There’s some stuff we couldn’t find at the craft store that we still need to get.”

The night before April Fool’s, you and Nathan put everything into motion while Wade’s out of the house on a job.

You switch out all his snack stashes with the healthy, delicious, bland shit you got from Whole Foods; you commandeer the food, hiding it in yours and Piotr’s room.

“It’s just for a day or two, and then I’ll give most of it back!”

“All of it.”

“Ugh, fine!”

Next, you hide all his shirts and replace with them blank ones you’d gotten from the craft store --after writing “I hate Bea Arthur” on all of them with fabric markers and puff paint.

The cherry on top, though, is the death gauntlet you and Nathan construct in the backyard. You tarp off the sides and the tops, put a spraying rig at the very front filled with aerated spirit gum, and attach the leaf blowers at regular intervals down the length of the gauntlet.

And then you fill the barrels of said blowers with glitter.

“Where’d you even get this idea?” Nathan asks as he eyes the fruits of your mutual labor.

“Wade,” you say as you pull the final piece of the puzzle out of your backpack --Wade’s unicorn, Mr. Fluffykins. “He wanted to do this to Scott.”

Nathan chuckles, sharp and gravely. “Nice.”

You carefully carry Mr. Fluffykins down the gauntlet, careful not to disturb any of the glitter canons on your way. You set him on a pedestal out of range of the canons, give him a pat, then creep back down the gauntlet again. Once you’re free, you exhale and grin at Nathan. “I think we’ve got April Fool’s day pretty well in hand, don’t you?”

He grins back. “I’m inclined to agree.”

The day starts, delightfully enough, with Wade wailing at the top of his lungs.

You snicker as you sit down at the kitchen table while Piotr rummages around in the fridge --having anticipated the absolute hell today would bring, he’s already in defense mode. “Do you think it’s the shirts, the unicorn, or the snacks?”

He shakes his head, but you can just barely see the corner of the amused smile he’s wearing. “No comment.”

Wade storms into the kitchen, looking pissed off. “What the fuck did you do with Mr. Fluffykins? Where is he?”

You smirk. “Good morning. How’d you sleep?”

“Perfectly fucking fine, until I realized that my one and only unicorn love was missing. Where. Is. He.”

“Oh, you’ll find out soon enough.”

Wade flips you off and storms upstairs. Less than five minutes later, you hear him shriek again. “Quinoa? I hate quinoa!”

You revel in self satisfaction as Nathan’s cackling and Wade’s bitching float down the stairs. Strap in, bro. It’s gonna be a rough fucking day for you.

Wade throws an absolute shit fit when he finds the shirts --“How dare you! How fucking dare you!”--but largely spends the whole day searching the mansion for Mr. Fluffykins.

After a quick confer, you and Nathan decided to not tell Wade about the outdoor gauntlet until he notices it or gives up.

It isn’t until three in the afternoon that Wade finally notices the giant tarped structure outside, which is a record even for his track record of obliviousness.

You and Nathan stand a safe distance away as Wade scampers around the construction, looking for a quick way in and out. “You remembered to hide his knives too, right?”

Nathan gives you a look that says ‘yes, what kind of idiot do you think I am?’

“And you can handle the glue sprayer and the leaf blowers with your telekinesis, right?”

“Relax. It’ll be fine.”

“For us. Not for Wade.”

By the time Wade figures out just what he’s looking at, a small crowd including the X-Force, Logan, Remy, Scott, Jean, and Hank has gathered by the back door.

Wade jabs an accusing finger at you. “You! You did this! You traitor!”

“This is what happens when you take your jokes too far!” You retort. “This is what happens when you joke about things that aren’t meant to be joked about! You dig your grave, and you lie in it!”

Nathan simply holds out a pair of lab goggles and a dust mask. “You might want these.”

Wade gapes at him. “Et tu, Brutus?”

“Take them now or spit up glitter for the next decade. Your choice.”

Wade snatches the goggles and mask before Nathan can take them away. “Just for this, buster,” he grumbles as he puts on the goggles. “You’re sleeping on the couch for the next two weeks.”

Nathan chuckles. “Sure thing, princess. Whatever you say.”

Wade flips him off as he adjusts the mask over his mouth, then walks over to the front of the gauntlet. He inhales deeply, stretches, then mutters “maximum effort” before sprinting down the gauntlet.

There’s a series of screams as Wade flails around inside. They pause when he reaches the safe zone and procures Mr. Fluffykins, then start anew --with added vigor now that his unicorn is being exposed to the glitter death run--when he bolts for the only exit.

A chorus of laughter erupts behind you as Wade emerges, covered head to toe in every conceivable shade of glitter and a sheen of glue.

You smirk triumphantly at him as he tries --and fails--to brush the glitter off him and Mr. Fluffykins, then spin on your heel and strut inside.

Victory to you.

Later that night, when your sitting in a pile of Wade’s snacks, watching YouTube videos and shoving Keebler Fudge Stripes in your mouth, someone knocks on the door.

“Come in!” You smile deviously when Wade shuffles in. “Ah! Have we learned our lesson?”

“I had to take a three hour shower before I stopped rinsing glitter out of my ass! How is this fair?”

“You bought us a milker, a book on artificial insemination, and covered our floor in straw. We’re still finding pieces of straw everywhere.”

Wade grimaces. “Okay, fair enough.”

“Also. You made me vomit!”

“I said fair enough!”

You cross your arms over your chest. “Wade, I’m serious. I love you like a brother, but there are times where you go too fucking far--”

Wade holds up his hands in a calming gesture. “I know. I figured that out when I made you puke. I’m sorry.”

“I just... I really don’t appreciate you joking about my sex life to that extent. I know it makes Piotr uncomfortable on any level, but it really crossed the line after the cow magnets.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I wanted it to be funny, not traumatizing.”

“I know.” You smile fondly --albeit somewhat exasperatedly--at him. “And I forgive you. I really do. But Piotr needs to hear you say that, too.”

“What do I need to hear?” Piotr asks as he walks into the room.

“I’m sorry for taking the cow play stuff too far,” Wade says without prompting. “I took it too far.”

Piotr blinks, clearly shocked by the freely given apology, and then he smiles and pats Wade’s shoulder. “All is forgiven. Just... don’t do it again. Please.”

Wade nods. “Trust me, I won’t. I know when I’ve had my ass handed to me.”

You smirk triumphantly. “You mess with the bull, you get the horns.”

Wade opens his mouth, closes it, then groans. “I can’t comment, can I?”

“Nope. Suffer, bitch.”

Wade looks like he’s about to physically explode, but manages to contain himself. “Can I at least have my snacks back?”

“Da,” Piotr interjects before you can say anything. “Please. Take them.”

You sputter, outraged. “What? No! Not fair! My tastebuds are in heaven.”

“Myshka, you promised you would give everything back.”

You continue sputtering as Wade starts scooping his goodies back into his boxes, then start squawking when Piotr starts helping. It devolves into a tug of war over a box of Cheez-Its that end with Piotr holding you out of reach of the snacks and with the three of you laughing.

Yeah, being friends with Wade comes with challenges.

But, for as many downs as there are, there are at least as many --if not more--ups.

It’s a friendship you wouldn’t trade for the world.

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master-sass-blast · 6 years

Text

“Myshka.”

Oh. Would you look at that. It’s 10k words long.

*sighs* On one hand, I have mild regrets.

On the other hand... I REGRET NOTHING.

Welcome back to my hyperfixation with Piotr Rasputin. This installment shows some of the highlights of you, our lovely reader, becoming “myshka” (little mouse) to Colossus.

Side note: I definitely took inspiration from @colossus-and-cable ‘s https://colossus-and-cable.tumblr.com/post/176047533623/soft-skin and https://colossus-and-cable.tumblr.com/post/176314375850/dinner-date! Obviously, I didn’t copy either piece (I ain’t no plagiarizer) but if you’re in the mood for more Colossus x Reader fluff, go check out those two pieces (and colossus-and-cable’s blog in general. They’re amazing, their writing is amazing, and they are my main supplier for my thirst addiction).

Warnings: Descriptions of injuries, strong language, and enough fluff to rot teeth.

Pairing: Piotr Rasputin x Reader.

The first time it happens, as with all great love stories, you wipe out on your ass.

Hard.

For clarification: Colossus calling you “myshka” didn’t make you wipe out on your ass; rather, you wiped out particularly hard during a mission and he called you “myshka” after he’d found you post-wipe out.

Technically, not the same, but the former way of phrasing the situation sounds much funnier than the latter, in your opinion.

The scene is set: the X-Force team is in the midst of taking down a group of mutant traffickers so they can rescue the latest group of victims.

There’s gunfire. Bullets whizzing everywhere. Lots and lots of bullets.

And, over the din of it all, Wade is cackling like a madman.

There were times where you really questioned your decision to be friends with Wade Wilson, aka Deadpool. This was one of them.

You grit your teeth as Wade runs headfirst into the gunfire and use your powers to knock a row of shooters off their feet with a hard blast of wind. You’re currently pinned behind a car by way of gunfire, waiting for the others --Colossus, Yukio, Domino, Cable, Russell, and Ellie--to catch up. “Wade!” you snap, knowing full well he and the others can hear you via the earpieces issued by the X-Men. “I swear to Cthulhu, if I die from your dumbass choices, I will personally come back just to kill you.”

“What’s going on?” Colossus’s voice floods the line, strained with effort and worry.

“The fuckstick decided to set off the shooters and charge them,” You growl as you watch Wade take down another trio of criminals. “It’s a mess over here.”

Colossus mutters something about proper language before starting to rant at Wade. “Deadpool, we talked about this. The plan was to wait for rest of team before--”

Wade cut him off with an undignified shriek. “Shit! Snipers! Fuck!”

You can hear the sound the bullets, both from where you’re sitting and through your earpiece. “Serves you right, dumbfuck. I hope they hit your ass.”

“Stop bitching at me and take those cock-gobblers out! Comprende?”

You mutter a list of death threats under your breath and rise up as much as you dare.

Wade’s dodging bullets as he darts around the abandoned parking lot in front of an equally abandoned three story warehouse. Most of the shots are coming from the third level.

You assess your odds. On one hand, Wade’s taken out all the active shooters in the parking lot. You don’t have to worry about any extra people firing extra bullets at you. Plus, snipers will make it much tougher to get into the warehouse --and to the trafficked mutants--before the shippers come in and whisk them away.

On the other hand, the team’s not that far out, you don’t relish the idea of running into direct gunfire, and --candidly--watching Wade get shot at is pretty entertaining. Ten out of ten, would watch again while eating popcorn.

Ultimately, you decide you can’t justify not doing what you can to save the trafficking victims. You grit your teeth and jog a few feet back. “I’m going to blast those dipshits.”

“Y/N, no.” Colossus’s voice. “Wait for us.”

“I can’t risk the traffickers taking away another group of mutants,” You say as you line up your shot.

There. The center window on the third level. Based on the schematics, it should line up with a long outer hall that you can use to blast the snipers out of.

“No, it is too dangerous.”

“I thought that was the point of these missions.” You steel yourself and focus in, taking a second to feel the air around you. “Wade?”

“Yeah?”

“You better hope I don’t die, dumb cunt.”

And, with that, you’re off. You use your powers to propel you halfway across the parking lot, then launch yourself off the ground and through the center window.

The brief looks that you catch on the sniper’s faces before you blast them out the opposite ends of the warehouse are priceless.

You look up, ready to land --and almost have a coronary.

A wall with a decorative window is speeding towards you, and you’re not slowing down the way you thought you would.

“Shit! I miscalculated!” You barely have enough time to make a wind shield before your plowing through the window, into something that makes a vague screaming noise, and onto the floor. You roll over broken glass and metal rebar before smacking into a wall, cracking the drywall.

Pain. Lots of it. In your back, your sides, your head, your legs. You groan and almost vomit, it’s so bad. “Fuck. I hurt myself.”

“Where are you?” Colossus asks, panic evident in his voice.

“On the third level. Follow the wake of destruction and the sounds of pissed off swearing. You won’t miss me.” You let out a gasp of pain as you try to pick a few gnarly shards of glass out of your side. “Shit, I rolled through glass. Oh, fuck, that hurts.”

“Can you move?” Cable’s voice this time, considerably calmer.

You shift yourself into a sitting position --which takes an amount of effort and stomach control you didn’t know you had--and almost lose your lunch at the sight of your leg. “Oh, definitely not. Shit, I fucked up my leg. I think my knee’s dislocated.”

“You shouldn’t have gone after snipers,” Colossus growls over the sound of men screaming.

“Would have, wouldn’t have,” You grumble back. “I cleared them out for you. You’re fucking welcome.” You take stock of your surroundings --glass, glass, more glass, crushed beer cans, glass--and gasp. “Holy shit.”

“What?” Colossus again, fretting as a mother hen must.

“Is that...” You peer closer at the dark, soft looking lump and gag. “Oh shit. That’s a body. I think I decapitated a guy when I went through the window.”

“Impressive,” Wade says. “I don’t think even I’ve managed that one.”

“You had to be clocking in pretty fast to pull that off,” Cable growls over the sound of his gun firing. “How quick were you moving?”

“I don’t know, dad, let me check my speedometer,” You grumble back. You lean back against the wall and try to breath for a minute.

It’s something no one ever thinks to tell you --being in pain is exhausting. On a good day, one might need to sleep off a particularly nasty headache. Now, however, when you’ve been running around and crashing through walls? You feel like a de-boned rag doll, like a pile of slowly melting Jello, like an over-wrung wash rag.

You let your head rest against the wall --despite the fact that you’ll probably get drywall in your hair--and slowly let your eyes close. You’re so... tired...

“Hey, kid, are you still with us?”

You force yourself to stir, fighting through the layers of pain. “Yeah. I’m here. ‘m jus’ tired.”

“Uh-huh. Why are you slurring your words? Did you hit your head?” Cable asks.

“I hit everything,” You grumble. “I thought that was clear from all my cursing.”

“Y/N, you need to stay awake,” Colossus orders over the earpiece. “Falling asleep now would be dangerous.”

“I’ve got something that’ll keep her awake. There’s a group of guys on their way up to you. They’re in the stairwell, T minus two minutes,” Cable says.

That does wake you up. Adrenaline courses through your system, pushing the pain down and forcing you into alertness. You take in shallow, gasp-y breaths as you try to put together a plan. “How much time?”

“Less than two minutes.”

You scan the room, searching for something to defend yourself with or a place to hide. Your eyes lock on to the decapitated dude’s gun and an idea starts forming in your head. “How many of them are there?”

“Five. Minute and twenty seconds.”

You lurch for the gun, barely biting back a scream of pain as your force your body to move. You yank a clip off the guy’s belt and shove it into the gun, then pull yourself under a table next to the door that --somehow--survived your impromptu trip through the wall.

You almost black out from pain as you get yourself into position, gun aimed down the hall. “How much longer?”

“Fifteen seconds.”

You count down and try to breath.

Right on cue, the door to the stairwell smacks open. Five burly men dressed in black, all carrying rifles, pour into the hallway.

You clench your teeth together and open fire.

Within seconds, they’re on the ground, as dead as the guy you decapitated.

“Y/N?”

You let out a ragged breath, wipe some blood away from your eyes --you must’ve cut yourself on your way through the window--and answer Colossus’s worried call. “Got ‘em. Stupid chickenshits. How’re we doing down there?”

“Only a few fuckers left!” Wade shouts cheerfully. “Then it’s down to finding the victims and releasing them!”

You let your forehead drop against the floor. “I’m gonna need someone to come get me. I doubt I could even fly myself out of here.”

“Stay where you are,” Colossus orders. “We will have someone up to get you in few minutes. In meantime, stay awake.”

Wade helps your effort to stay conscious by quizzing you on all manner of movie and music trivia. Most of his questions are inane at best, but it does the trick. You manage to keep your eyes open until you register a series of hurried, heavy thuds on the floor, and then--

The table you’re hiding under is tossed across the room like it was a piece of paper, and Colossus kneels next to you. “Bozhe moi. What did you do to yourself?”

“Nothing any self-respecting mutant with poor math skills and even worse impulse control wouldn’t do,” You mutter back. You roll onto your back with a yelp of pain and try to grin up at him --though you suspect it just comes out looking pained. “How do I look?”

“Like shit,” Cable answers, coming into view above you. He lets out a hiss through his teeth as his eyes scan you. “The fuck did you do to your leg?”

“Dislocated it, I think,” You manage. “I would try to set it, but I don’t know if my body’ll let me bend like that. It’s pretty pissed at me, all things considered.”

“Do you want me to try to pop it back in?” Cable asks.

“No, I don’t think that is good idea--” Colossus tries.

“Do it,” You interrupt. “I’d rather that happen than have it dangling around while I’m carried around.”

“Y/N--”

“Do it,” You snap at Cable, ignoring Colossus’s pleas for you to wait to let the medics do it. “Just give me something to bite on.”

Cable pulls a bandanna out of his fanny pack and hands it to you. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

You stuff the fabric into your mouth, bite down, and take a breath.

A second breath.

A third.

You close your eyes and nod. You let out a scream as Cable snaps your knee back into place --purely efficient and unhesitating--then rip the bandanna out of your mouth, roll up onto your side, and promptly vomit.

It hurts. Everything hurts. Your body feels like its on fire.

The pain is so intense that your arms give out and you nearly drop face first into your own puke.

Colossus’s massive hands shoot out and he catches you, pulling you up and into his arms.

The sheer amount of movement makes you scream again as pain ricochets around your body.

“I’m so sorry,” Colossus murmurs as he adjust his grip on you.

“It’s okay,” You assure him, even as your body demands sacrifice and as tears stream down your face. You can’t bear the idea of this gentle giant tearing himself up over hurting you. “It’s okay, big guy, it was going to hurt anyway. It’s okay.”

He starts carrying you down the hall, moving with extra care so as not to jostle you unnecessarily. “That’s my tough myshka,” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” you groan as he starts carrying you down the stairs. “Diving headfirst into trouble and hurting herself in the process.” Your head lolls against his shoulder, the toll of enduring the pain catching up to you fast.

You can vaguely hear Cable talking to someone --Ellie, you think, because he’s not nearly pissed enough for it to be Wade--and confirming they’ve found you and are on their way. You can hear the metallic clang of Colossus’s footsteps, but everything sounds like your head’s underwater --distorted, distant.

You can feel yourself fall asleep with every step that your favorite gentle giant takes. Your eyes slowly start to close--

Colossus’s voice brings you back to the surface. “Stay awake, myshka. You need to stay with us.”

You blink and stare at the way the thick muscles in his neck and shoulders work as he moves. “Myshka.” The word feels awkward and unfamiliar in your mouth, but you like it all the same. “What does that mean? Does it mean idiot? ‘cause I feel like that’s a fair accusation for you to make right now.”

He chuckles --a really pleasant sound that you hadn’t noticed how pleasant it was until this exact moment--and holds you a little closer so he can maneuver you through a doorway. “Not quite.”

You hum in response and watch the metal that comprises him ripple. “I like it. It sounds pretty.” You tuck your head into the crook of his neck, relishing the way the cool metal there soothes the ache in your head. “Colossus?”

“Da, myshka?”

“I think I hurt my everything.”

He chuckles again --a little more strained this time--and carries you to the jet. “Hang in there. We will get you fixed up soon.”

The second time it happens --not the exact second utterance of the word, but the second situation the word is uttered in--you’re hanging halfway off the couch in pursuit of one particularly evasive remote.

It’s not too long after the fuck forsaken mission where you’d tossed yourself through a window, and you’ve been confined to the couch on orders of both Hank and Colossus.

All in all, it isn’t too bad. The X-Force takes turns helping you get around and playing nurse --having Neena wash your hair for you had been a borderline orgasmic experience--and everyone’s pretty willing to keep you company --especially Wade, who’ll take any excuse he can get to introduce you to trash TV.

Right now, though, you’re on your own, and you’re trying to lift the remote off the ground via an air current and fling it to where you’re sitting.

It isn’t working. Not in the slightest.

You growl as the remote flops further away from you and you glare daggers at the traitorous device. “Stupid piece of shit.”

“Myshka.”

You look up and grin at Colossus. “Hey, big guy. ‘Sup?”

He raises an eyebrow at your precarious position, half-on, half-off the couch. “I do not think you should be laying like that. Is bad for your back, to say nothing of your knee.”

“Well, I didn’t start like this. I was trying to get the remote, but Wade left it all the way over there when he switched channels.” You grimace at the dramatics on the TV screen. “Is this really considered the pinnacle of modern entertainment?”

“For Wade, yes.” He scans the card outlining your prescription times --you’d gotten the good painkillers, plus some antibiotics after your little escapade at the warehouse. “Your next dose is due. You need to eat something.”

“Would that I could, but --alas--I am confined to this couch for the time being.”

He chuckles. “I can make you something, myshka. You only need ask.”

You smile softly at him --how could you not, when he’s being so considerate and sweet. “Thanks. I’m up for pretty much anything.”

He nods and walks to the kitchen --but not before he retrieves the remote and hands it to you.

You start flipping through the channels, trying to find something decent to watch, but realize that you don’t even know what to look for. A lifetime without TV has left you with absolutely no idea of what even qualifies as good.

“You know, you might find something easier if you watch more than five seconds at a time.”

You look up in time to see his gentle, teasing smile, and stick out your tongue in response as he sets two plates on the coffee table in front of the couch. “Very funny, big guy.”

He opens his mouth to respond, the pauses to frown --specifically at your injured leg. “I thought you were supposed to have your leg elevated.”

“I tried. I can’t get it high enough without the pillows toppling over.”

He stares down at you for a moment, frowning contemplatively, before heading back to the kitchen. “Wait there. I have idea.”

“I don’t know,” You call after him. “I was contemplating a breezy flight to Las Vegas. Play the slots, cheat at the Poker tables, try to win big.”

He chuckles --a warm, deep sound that you absolutely love--and reappears with a fresh ice pack in hand. “Cheating is against the rules, myshka.”

“Well, duh. How else am I going to win? I’m not that good at Poker.” You wriggle up on the couch so you can see him better. “So, what’s this idea of yours?”

He ducks his head, looking flustered. “Well, I need to eat as well. I thought I could sit with you, help keep pillows in place, that sort of thing. Would that be alright?”

You grin up at him. “Sounds perfect.” You wriggle up the couch a little more, making space for him, and pat the now open spot. “Come join me, big guy.”

He sits --the couch groans in protest as he settles himself on the cushions--and grimaces when he sees that the TV has defaulted back to Wade’s pick of Toddlers and Tiaras. “Is... is this what you want to watch?”

You grimace with him. “No. I just... I wasn’t allowed to watch TV growing up. I have no idea what to look for, much less what I might like.”

He’s quiet for a moment, then holds out his hand. “May I? I think I might be able to find something you will enjoy.”

You hand him the remote and start in on your plate, quickly taking your pain pills before you forget to.

He’s fixed you a sandwich --delicious, you’re sure, Colossus is a surprisingly good cook--paired with some grapes, carrots, and...

You grin as you pop a unnaturally bright, not remotely flavored like any cheese you’ve ever tasted Cheeto into your mouth. “You remembered my crunching addiction!”

He nods, the corner of his mouth turning up in a smile. “Why you and Wade like those, I will never understand.”

“Hey, don’t knock ‘em until you’ve tried ‘em.” You stare up at the screen, frowning as an intro for some sort of science-y show plays. “What’s this?”

“American show called Mythbusters. I discovered it when I first came here. This is rerun from one of the earlier seasons.”

You settle into the couch with a shrug and start into your lunch. Whatever it is, it can’t be worse than the shit that Wade picked.

As it turns out, he’s absolutely right. The show is amazing, and you’re genuinely entertained by watching the two hosts blow up, break, and generally destroy anything and everything that they get their hands on

And, admittedly, you can see where he was pulled into the show as well. It’s surprisingly intellectual, and does an amazing job of making the math and science going into the tests and myths accessible to the average viewer.

About halfway through the episode you’ve finished your plate and the pain meds have kicked in nicely. You giggle from the high of the medication and roll back onto the couch.

Colossus’s hand settles gently on your uninjured leg. “Easy, myshka. Don’t hurt yourself.”

“I’m not going to hurt myself!” You declare as you flop around. Your hand smacks into the coffee table. You wince and cradle the stinging appendage against your chest. “Ow.”

Colossus helps settle you back onto the couch in a less haphazard position. “You were saying?”

“Okay, fine. I hurt myself. Happy now?”

“I will be happier when you settle enough to stop hurting yourself, myshka.”

“Myshka.” You giggle and repeat the word a few times before the buzz of the drugs makes you dissolve into laughter. “Why do you call me that? Not that I’m complaining --it sounds pretty cute.”

“Is a nickname in Russian.”

“Well, I gathered that much.” You grin up at him. “Don’t tell me what it means; I want to guess!”

“Very well.”

You peer up at him, doing your best to sift through the fog the painkillers have put you in as you try to puzzle out what he could be calling you. “It means ‘idiot,’ doesn’t it?”

He seems alarmed. “Why would I call you that?”

“I mean, I did toss myself through a wall and dislocate my leg in the process. I think it’s kind of warranted.”

Colossus shakes his head. “I would never. That would be unkind --and unwarranted.”

“Okay.” You eye him for another minute, then try again. “Fool?”

“No.”

“Lovable fool?”

“Also no.”

“Klutz?”

“It is not an insult,” he says, both amused and exasperated.

“Ah.” You grin at him. “Well, that’s nice --but I’ll have to completely rethink my strategy now. This might take longer than I thought.”

“I could just tell you.”

“No! No spoiling my fun!”

He shakes his head, smiling, and resumes watching the show.

On impulse --one which you will later admit was prompted by your growing feelings for him, not by the pain meds--you plop the pillow propping up your knee on his lap and swing your legs up so they’re draped over his legs. You flash him your nicest, sweetest smile when he looks at you, startled. “This okay, big guy?”

He nods, somewhat flustered. “Da, myshka. This is fine.”

You settle back in and finish out the episode with him, more content than you’ve been in a long time.

The third time it happens, you’ve admitted to yourself --and Wade, after some obnoxious prodding on the merc’s part--that you’ve got a crush on the metal man himself.

Which is why you’ve been careful to ensure that you’ve got a prime spot next to Colossus when you all head out to watch the mansion’s New Year’s firework display.

He has a fire extinguisher on hand, a sight that makes you laugh. “Ready for anything, eh?”

He grimaces. “Wade set up the display this year.”

You blanch. “Oh, god, is the house even going to survive?”

“Hey, have a little faith in me,” Wade whines as he skips past you to finish the final touches on the display. “I can have self control. When I want to.”

“Yeah, the question is does he ever want to?” You mutter as you watch Wade and Russell arrange the first row of fireworks.

“Speaking from experience, no,” Colossus mutters back.

“Ladies, gentlemen, noble gentry of non-conforming gender identity, and Yukio!” Wade crows from his position several yards down the drive. “Tonight is a date that technically doesn’t matter since time is a social construct, but we’re going to use it to celebrate surviving another year! That’s right, tell Death to go fu--”

“Language, Wade,” Colossus interjects over Wade’s tirade and the giggles of the younger mutants.

“Okay, okay. Take it easy, Long John Silver. Anyway, since the resident party poopers here at Casa de la Mutant have kiboshed getting drunk off our ass--”

“Wade.”

“Okay! Fine! Long story made short: fireworks! Lots of them! Cover your ears if you don’t want to wear hearing aids by the time you’re thirty!” He spins dramatically and pointed to Russell. “Russell! My man! Let it burn!”

Russell lights the fuse lines then books it to a safe distance with Wade.

You clap your hands over your ears just as the first set shoot off into the sky.

Multiple bursts light up the sky in what is a colorful, exciting, and surprisingly tasteful display, given that Wade and Russell were the ones that set it up. It takes several minutes for the main set of fireworks to finish going off. Once they’re done, Wade and Russell scamper back in to set up the finale.

By this point, you’re shivering. The New England weather in the dead of winter is none too forgiving to those who dare to venture outside without the proper protective wear.

You were contemplating running up to your room and grabbing a sweatshirt when Colossus reaches out and gently clasps your shoulder. “Myshka? Are you alright?”

You flash him a tight, ‘I’m-dying-from-the-cold-but-don’t-want-to-let-on-because-I’m-stubborn’ grin. “Yupp. A-okay.”

He frowns. “You’re cold.”

“Are you kidding? In this weather?” You feign wiping sweat off your brow. “We’re in a heat wave right now, big guy. How could I be cold?”

He laughs, then unzips the jacket he’s wearing. “Here. Use my jacket. We can’t have you freezing.”

Before you can protest, he’s draping the massive jacket around your shoulders, and oh--

It’s warm. Super warm. Like a beach in the tropics on a perfect sunny day warm.

You nestle into the jacket, sticking your stiff, chilled arms down the sleeves. You let out a happy, soothed sigh and relax a little. “Thanks, Colossus.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but ends up being cut off by a crazed screech from Wade.

“Alright, muchachos! Let’s blow this pop stand!”

You stick your fingers in your ears and keep them there until the finale’s done.

Once the smoke clears, most of the crowd does as well. Wade and Russell run off towards the back of the house, while everyone else heads inside.

Well, almost everyone.

Colossus sighs, and --with a good-natured smile--walks down the drive to pick up the remains of Wade and Russell’s firework display.

You scamper after him, far more content to spend time with him --even if it means helping with chores--than to head inside with everyone else. “Honestly, that didn’t end as disastrously as I thought it would.”

“Da. Wade and Russell were surprisingly controlled,” he agrees between coughs from the smoke.

You stop for a minute and make an air current to carry away the smoke. “There. That’s better.”

“Thank you, myshka.”

You bend to help him, but have to stop every few seconds to retuck the sleeves of his jacket so that you can physically grab onto the destroyed firecrackers. After the fifth time they slither down your arms, you drop the partially destroyed canister you’re holding and start rolling them up your arms. “Stupid motherfucking traitorous--”

Colossus chuckles. “Here, myshka.” He hands you the bag he’s been using to contain the trash. “You hold this. I can finish the rest.”

“Why do you need a jacket anyway?” You ask as you hold out the bag for him. “Aren’t you protected from the cold?”

“I am. The jacket is not so much for my benefit as it is for others. I may not suffer from the cold, but I still get cold. Complaints arise, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

You smirk. “That, and Wade won’t try to lick your arm to see if he’ll stick if you wear the jacket.”

Colossus groans. “Please, do not tell him about that. I would rather he didn’t try.”

You giggle and mime zipping your lips. “Secret’s safe with me, big guy.”

“Piotr.”

“Gesundheit.”

He laughs --actually laughs, full-bodied and joyous--and shakes his head. “My name. It’s Piotr. I thought you should know.”

You grin --it’s a surprisingly attractive name, which you suppose is fitting--and extend your hand. “Nice to meet ya, Piotr. I’m Y/N.”

He laughs again and shakes your hand with the utmost gentleness. “Very funny, myshka.”

You’re about to suggest that the two of you head inside when a loud explosion, a towering fireball, and a scream that sounds suspiciously like Wade emanates from behind the mansion.

Colossus --Piotr--mumbles something under his breath that sounds like a curse. “We should go check on that.”

You grimace and nod. “Come on. Let’s go see what Wade’s done to himself now.”

The fourth time it happens, two things are different.

One, you’re undoubtedly head over heels for Piotr. He’s sweet, kind, an unbelievably good looking, steel and all.

Two, you almost murder someone.

To be fair, that someone was Scott and he absolutely had it coming.

Let’s set the scene again: You had pissed Scott off.

No surprise there. You’re unbelievably good at it. You’re so adept that you could list it as a skill on your resume.

This time around, it’s because you and Wade had utterly booby-trapped his room for April Fool’s day.

In fairness to you and your best friend, you hadn’t done anything lethal or extensively damaging to his property. Just a bunch of toilet paper, some dyes in his shampoo, conditioner, and shower head, and Wade had swapped all his underwear with cheap lace thongs.

For the record: Scott Summers wears tighty-whities, and that’s a fact you wish you didn’t know.

Scott smacks his hands on the kitchen table. “This is an unfair violation of my personal space!”

You roll your eyes. “It was April Fool’s Day, Scott. Also known as ‘everyone’s free game.’ I mean, come on, Wade and I didn’t even do anything that serious! No blood, no bombs, no breaking anything.”

“You switched out all my underwear with lace thongs!”

“That was Wade. If you want a refund, you can talk to him or the returns person at the nearest Walmart.”

Scott scowls. “Admit it! You’ve been out to get me since the day you got here!”

“You’ve been a pain in the ass since the day I got here. What do you expect me to do?”

“That’s your excuse? That’s your excuse!” He lets out a pissed off laugh and shakes his head. “You’re such a piece of fucking work. No wonder your parents kept you locked in your room. I bet you were a nightmare to deal with.”

You can feel your blood run cold as a dangerous calm sweeps over you. “The fuck did you just say to me?”

“Scott,” Jean says, stiffening in her seat. “Run.”

Scott doesn’t hesitate or offer an apology. He bolts for the back door.

You sprint after him, hot on his heels. You’ve killed before, and you’ve never been so tempted to do it again until this precise moment. “I’m gonna fucking murder you, Summers! You cowardly piece of shit!”

“I didn’t mean it! I misspoke!”

“Like ass you did!” You chase him around the back lawn, managing to scoop up a baseball bat left out by the kids as you do. You use your abilities to summon a burst of wind and push you forward. You close in and move to swing the bat--

It catches on something metal, resulting in a loud clang.

You almost fall off your feet when you can’t jerk your bat away from whatever it’s smacked into and look up.

Piotr frowns down at you, hand wrapped around the barrel of the bat. “No, myshka. This is not appropriate.”

“Not appropriate? On the contrary! This is completely fucking appropriate!” You yank and wrench at the bat. “Give me my bat! I’m going to beat his head in!”

“Uh, no!” Wade interjects. “No erasing Cable from the timeline!”

“Fine! I’ll maim Scott instead!” You brace your foot against Piotr’s legs and try to tug the bat out of his grip --not that it works, but you’re mad beyond reasoning. “Give me the bat!”

“No, myshka. Whatever he said, there is better way to handle this.”

“Oh, but there isn’t!”

“Myshka--”

“Do you know what he said to me?” Your eyes are stinging now, and your shoulders are starting to shake as you try to hold back angry sobs. “He called me a ‘fucking piece of work’ and said that it was no wonder my parents kept me locked in my room because I’m a nightmare!”

That gets a scowl out of him, and he turns to unleash it, full force, at Scott. “Is this true?”

Scott has the decency to look sheepish. “I misspoke.”

“No, misspeaking is calling someone an asshole, or a cunt, or a dipshit!” You snap. “It’s not saying their parents were right for abusing them!”

“I’m inclined to agree.” Professor Xavier emerges from the crowd of watchers, calm as ever. “Mr. Summers, if I could speak to you for a moment. Mr. Rasputin, I trust you can help Ms. Y/L/N calm down.”

Piotr puts a hand on your shoulder, holding you in place --not technically, he’d let you walk away if you wanted to--until the back door closes, leaving the two of you with some privacy.

You scrub at your cheeks with your sleeve, pissed off and embarrassed. “Well. That was a train wreck.”

“It did not go well,” he agrees. “You need to try to react better, myshka. Don’t let him get under your skin as bad.”

“Don’t let him bug me?” You paraphrase with a withering glare. “He said my parents were right for locking me in my room! How am I supposed to not let that piss me off?”

“Myshka, please, try to calm down. Let me try to get the words right,” he says, holding his hands up in a calming gesture.

You make in effort. It’s for him, after all.

“I am not saying Scott was right. He was very wrong, and he should’ve never said any of those things. I am just trying to say that beating him up all the time is not right response. You could get hurt, or someone else could get hurt in process. I think it would be better for you to get someone --the Professor or myself, maybe--when these things happen so you and Scott can work out your differences instead of fighting all the time.”

He’s right, you know he’s right, but outright admitting defeat right now is too great a task. Instead, you contort your face into a comical pout and whine up at him, “Aw, but my way is more fun!”

He smiles softly, a clear indicator that he knows that you know he’s right. “Perhaps, but more dangerous too.”

“Well, yeah, that’s why it’s fun.” The silence that follows lets the pain you’d been holding back rush to the surface. You grit your teeth together as tears sting your eyes. “Fucking asshole. Where the fuck does he get off?”

“People say unkind, unwise things when angry. Scott is one of those people, unfortunately.”

Your lower lip trembles, and you duck your head to hide the fact that you’re starting to cry. “I just... the fuck did I do to deserve that? What did I do as a kid that warranted locking me away?”

There’s a soft grunt as he kneels, and then Piotr’s hands come up to hold your shoulders. “Myshka, look at me. Please.”

You do. Because it’s him. You love him, and you know he’ll never make fun of you for crying.

“You could never do anything to deserve the way your parents treated you,” he says once you look at him. “You are wonderful, and smart, and kind; they were fools not to realize your worth.”

You smile, deeply touched by his unabashed praise of you. “Thanks, Pete. You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

He gives you a bashful smile. “I would hope so. You are... you are my best friend, Y/N. I hope you know that.”

“You’re really special to me, too. I’d use the term ‘best friend,’ but I’m afraid Wade would hear, and he’d throw an absolute shit fit if he finds out he has competition for that category.”

Piotr laughs. “Say no more. I understand. Wade is Wade.”

“No kidding.” You hesitate, then ask, “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but... can I have a hug? I’m feeling really shitty right now.”

“Of course, myshka. You don’t have to ask.”

You step forward into his arms, winding yours around his neck as you lay your head against his shoulder. You let out a soft sigh as his arms wrap around you, and you melt into the hug.

It’s soft --despite the fact that he’s literally made out of metal--and loving and exactly what you needed.

It’s a complicated, overwhelming moment due to the anger you’re feeling at Scott, the painful memories of your parents that are playing in your mind’s eye, and the utter joy thrumming through your body at being hugged by your crush.

You press against him and start to cry again, unable to really do anything else.

Colossus rubs his hand up and down your back, as gentle and careful as ever. “It’ll be okay, myshka. You’re going to be alright.”

And, despite how you’re feeling right now, you know he’s right. After a moment, you pull back with a sniff. “Thanks. I really needed that.”

“No problem, myshka.”

You grin as he stands. “You use ‘myshka’ more than you use my real name. What’s up with that?”

“Sorry, I--”

You stop him before he can build up too much steam. “No, big guy, I like it. I was teasing you.”

He smiles and shakes his head. “You are nothing but trouble.”

“And yet you keep hanging out with me. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you liked it.” He gets oddly flustered at that, so you move on to spare him any embarrassment of trying to respond. “I still haven’t figured out what it means though. I’m starting to think that you just made it up and are messing with me.”

“It is real word. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“I know that, Pete. I’m just yanking your chain.” You pat his arm as you cock your head to the side. “So, it’s supposed to be something nice. Is it ‘idiot’ in the sense that I call Wade an idiot? Like, in a loving sense?”

He rolls his eyes. “Nyet. I would not call you ‘idiot’ because it’s unkind. Besides, you are not idiot.”

“Okay, okay. Just thought I’d check.” You quirk your mouth to the side. “Is it a term for ‘friend?’”

“No.”

“Does it mean ‘genius?’”

He laughs. “No, but I would venture to say you are one.”

You grin. “Careful. I will absolutely use you as a reference when I apply for my official certification. What about... ‘super awesome badass?’”

Another laugh. “No.”

You wrack your brain for ideas, then waggle your eyebrows at him, unable to resist an opportunity to rib him a little. “Does it mean ‘sexy?’”

His reaction is immediate. He ducks his head, rubs the back of his neck, and laughs nervously. “Ah... no.” He mutters something else in Russian, and smiles bashfully at you. “That would be something Wade would say, but not me.”

You chuckle. “Fair enough.”

“You know, I could just tell you--”

“Uh-uh. I’m having fun with this. Don’t spoil it for me.”

The ‘myshka’ moments, as you call them, are a near constant part of your life after that. Colossus uses the term more than he uses your own name --not something you mind, though. You’re beyond tickled that he has a nickname for you.

You’re head over heels for him, plain and simple. Just about anyone can tell --except, as it would seem, Piotr.

Or, so you think.

Everything comes to a head a couple months after the hug moment on the back lawn, a little over a year after you arrived at the X-Mansion.

It’s a rainy day, which is almost a calamity in and off itself --it’s the week during the school year where all the teachers meet together and talk about curriculum and meeting student’s needs, which means the X-Force --since none of you, save for Piotr, are teachers--is stuck with babysitting duty.

Fortunately, Piotr volunteered to help, but that still leaves only four adults --Wade doesn’t count, since his impulse control is worse than some of the kids present--and three teenagers to try and manage a group of fifty bouncing, shrieking, hyperactive kids.

Neena ends up having the great idea to play hide and seek --which is perfect, since everyone can play.

You draw the short straw and start counting in the kitchen while everyone runs off. Once you reach ‘one hundred’ you pop up and run up to the library. You heard Piotr’s heavy steps heading in that direction, and an easy find will help you once you start tracking down your kids.

That, and you want to spend some time alone with him, but you’d only admit that to Wade. Under duress.

You pop into the library, victorious smile already tugging at your lips...

And he’s not there.

The library’s not empty, just notably Piotr-less. Instead, a large, pale man dressed in a t-shirt and jeans with black hair and astonishingly blue eyes sits at one of the tables, drawing something on a sketchpad. He looks up when you walk in, seemingly startled.

“Oh --uh--sorry.” You smile politely. You’ve never seen this guy before --and you’d know if you had, because he’s capital H-O-T hot. Massive, thick muscles, smooth skin, gorgeous eyes, chiseled features, the whole nine yards. “Uh, you wouldn’t have happened to see a metal guy walk by, would you? About the size of your average giraffe, made out of steel, probably muttering something about safety or rules.”

A small smile tugs at the corner of the man’s mouth, and he points to the right.

“Thanks.” You pop back out of the library and dart down the hall to the right. You make it about halfway down, then stop.

The man’s face is stuck in your head. He looks so familiar, but you can’t place where you’ve seen him before.

You jog back to the library, hellbent on scratching this itch that is currently occupying your brain.

The man looks up as you walk back in, smiling slightly as he watches you. He doesn’t look uncomfortable or confused. If anything, he looks borderline amused.

You stare at him, trying to match up his handsome features to the faces that you know at the mansion. You’re sure you’ve never seen his face before, but he also looks so fucking familiar...

And the man, he’s just... letting you stare at him. He’s staring back at you too, brow raised and the corner of his mouth lifted up into an small smile.

And that seals it for you, because there’s no way a stranger would be chill with you just ogling at them like this.

He’s almost the same size as Colossus, you think as you study him.

And that’s where it starts. You know Piotr draws --he teaches art to the kids here, actually. Honestly, this guy looks like him, too. He’s the right build, the right size, just shrunk down a little.

But it can’t be. You peer at his face, and --yeah--the features are right, just a little more delicate and articulate than Colossus’s metal ones. You do a double take, then let out a hesitant, “...Piotr?”

The man laughs --which settles it, because you know that laugh-and nods. “Da.” He sets down his sketchbook. “Honestly, I thought this would work better. I guess I can’t get anything past you, myshka.”

You grin at him, awestruck. “Holy shit... I... I didn’t expect this.”

Because, good God, he’s handsome. He was plenty attractive as a metal titan of justice, but he’s downright gorgeous like this. His hair is dark and fluffy and lays nicely against his forehead. His cheeks are rosy and flushed, and he actually has dimples that you’re guessing don’t show up with the metal armor in place, because you would’ve definitely noticed them before now for as much time you spend staring at his face.

And his eyes. His eyes are doing things to you. They’re making you think dirty, sexual things. You’re going to need to shower in holy water tonight. Holy shit.

“Oh my gosh!” You walk over to the table he’s sitting at and lean against the edge. “I didn’t realize you had a human form! I just thought you were metal all the time!” You hop up onto the edge of the table, look him up and down, and wink at him. “Looking babe-ly, my man.”

He chuckles --and it sounds completely different now that it’s not reverberating through layers of metal, but no less attractive. “Thank you. I prefer to be in my armor. Especially with Wade around.” He wrinkles his nose. “Wade... necessitates being ready for anything.”

You giggle, partially because he’s right, but mostly because you’re completely overwhelmed by his transformation. “Yeah, he does that.” You catch a glimpse of his sketchbook and gasp. “Whoa! You did that?”

It’s a detailed, intricate drawing of a bird. Well, ‘drawing’ might be underselling it; the bird looks so life-like that it looks like it’s about to fly off the page.

Piotr nods, cheeks flushing. “Da. It’s not finished yet.”

You make a choking noise. “Your ‘not finished’ looks like my ‘only in my dreams.’ Can you teach me how to draw? I’d love to get better.”

He nods again, smiling softly. “I would love to.” He leans forward in his seat, an excited expression on his face. “Would you like to see others?”

You nod eagerly. “Hell yeah.”

He shows you a few other sketches --there’s one of the gardens on the grounds, one of a set of mutant twins that shipped in from Russia a few weeks ago, and a full color one of a sunset that makes you gasp.

“Piotr, it’s beautiful,” You murmur as you gaze at the seamless blend of colors.

He cheeks flush again --he’s a blusher, apparently, and you probably shouldn’t like that as much as you do--and he smiles bashfully at you. “Thank you. This is not one of my better ones.”

“It’s wonderful,” You insist. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

“You can have it, if you want.”

You blink, startled and undeniably pleased. “Really? I don’t want to take it from you.”

“Really, myshka. If you like it, you can have it.”

“Piotr, that’s so sweet of you. I’d love to have it, if you’ll let me. Though, we should probably keep it in the sketchbook until the day’s done. I wouldn’t want it to get accidentally destroyed.”

You both move to close the sketchbook at the same time, your hands brush against each other. You gasp and stop to clasp his hand --still massive, especially compared to yours--in yours. “Oh my gosh. I’ve never felt you without your armor before!”

Thank goodness that Wade isn’t with you right now, because he’d never let you live that comment down. Unwitting innuendos aside, you’re right --you’ve never touched him out of his ‘armor mode’ before, and his skin is so much softer than you’d expected.

Your fingers make it halfway up his hand before you realize that you’re probably --definitely--crossing way too many lines right now. You withdraw your hand and let out a nervous chuckle. “Sorry. That was weird of me.”

“No, it’s fine,” he says quickly, cheeks flushing scarlet. “It feels... good.”

Well. That wasn’t the response you were expecting.

Encouraged by his reaction, you brush your fingers against the back of his hand again, moving them up and down his hand, over his wrist, and up his forearm.

He’s just as muscular as he looks. There doesn’t seem to be an inch of fat on him anywhere, even on his forearms.

You look up, ready to quip about how many protein bars he had to eat to look like this, but the words die in your mouth when you see the look he’s giving you.

He’s staring at you --gazing at you, really. His blue eyes are watching your every move, intense and... maybe even a little fond? He smiles softly as he lifts his free hand and lets his fingers graze against your forearm. “May I?”

You nod, temporarily rendered mute from his intense gaze and the overall earnestness of his expression.

His gaze lowers to follow his fingers as he touches you in kind, fingers brushing against your skin. He traces his fingers over your forearm and up to your shoulder, lips parted slightly as he studies you. Then, in a moment of boldness that you almost can’t believe, he lifts his hand to your face and grazes his fingers against your cheek.

You close your eyes and lean into his touch. You don’t try to stop your pleased smile or the soft, happy sigh that follows. What would be the point? You’re one hundred percent head over heels for this man, and if he hasn’t figured that out by now, he never will.

When you open your eyes again, you gasp.

He’s staring at you, at your face, with such a strong intensity that it almost knocks you over.

You watch as his gaze lingers on your lips for a long moment, then flits back to your eyes, and you decide ‘fuck it’ and lean in to press your lips against his.

Piotr’s reaction is almost immediate. His free hand comes up to press against your back, pulling you towards him.

You slide off the table and into his lap, perhaps a little too happy to close the gap between the two of you. You let your hands rest against his muscular chest, bracing yourself against him.

After a moment, he breaks the kiss, gasping slightly. “Bozhe moi.” He looks utterly delighted as he smiles at you. “I have wanted to do that for... for a while.”

You grin back, completely blissed out. “Yeah. Me too.” You wince when you catch sight of the clock and realize that you’ve spent half an hour in the library with him. “We should probably go find the kids. It’s been thirty minutes.”

Piotr stands --careful to not knock you over--and tucks his sketchbook under his arm. “Da. Lead the way.”

You walk out of the library together, hand in hand.

The rest of the day is spent sharing quick glances and smiles with each other, along with careful, appropriate touches.

Wade shoots you a look when Piotr’s hand lingers on the small of your back longer than strictly necessary, then gives you two thumbs up --along with a series of crass gestures that make you roll your eyes--when you nod and grin excitedly.

Fortunately, the rain lets up about an hour before dinner, which means that you can take the kids outside to eat dinner. Hot dogs and fries --along with plenty of healthy sides, thanks to Piotr--are distributed to all the bouncing, happy kids on brightly colored disposable plastic plates.

You sit next Piotr during dinner and occasionally manage to share sweet looks and smiles with him before one of the kids distracts one or both of you. You can’t help but grin when you watch him converse with the set of twins from Russia, and you absolutely relish the way his leg presses against yours during the entire meal. You stay after everything’s done to help him clean up, hoping to have enough time to sneak another kiss.

Wade, the ever dependable wing man, manages to persuade or coerce the rest of the X-Force into herding the gaggle of kiddie mutants back into the mansion. He gives you an excited thumbs up, mouths the words ‘suck his face... or his dick’ at you, then disappears inside, closing the door behind him.

You smile up at Piotr. “Hey.”

He smiles back. “Hi.”

“What were you and the twins talking about?” You ask as you stack up a table’s worth of plastic plates.

“Mostly about what they think of America. They think the weather is too hot.”

You chuckle. “Yeah, it must be a big transition for them. Not gonna lie, it was really cute to watch you interact with them.”

He grins and raises his eyebrows. “Da?”

You nod. “Yeah. You’re really good with them.”

He ducks his head, cheeks flushing, then favors you with a bashful smile. “I liked watching you work with girl who can fly. I think you made her day when you showed your abilities.”

“She was a sweetheart,” You agree.

Piotr goes quiet for a moment, then leans forward and kisses your cheek. “She’s not only one.” He ties off the bag of trash from dinner and tosses it in a nearby barrel. “Shall we go for walk?” he asks when he turns back around.

You nod eagerly and take his hand.

The two of you walk towards the gardens, talking quietly about the day and what you think about the kids living at the X-Mansion.

Piotr leads you to a bench tucked behind a tree. He tugs your hand gently so that you sit down next to him and promptly presses his lips against yours once you do. “Sorry,” he says once the two of you part. “I’ve been wanting to do that all day.”

You kiss him again, simply out of the satisfaction that you can. “Don’t apologize. I was hoping you’d do that.” You snuggle up against him and lay your head against his shoulder. “So, do you want to know what my last guess for what ‘myshka’ means is?”

He grins at you. “Sure.”

You can feel your face flush as you gaze up at him. “Does it mean ‘beautiful?’”

He shakes his head. “Nyet, though you are very beautiful.”

You can help but glow under his affection. “Well, then, I give up. I have no idea what it means.”

“Does that mean I can tell you now?”

“Go for it. I’m dying to know.”

He takes your hand in his, interlocking your fingers. “It means ‘little mouse.’”

You frown at him. “Really? ‘Little mouse?’ I know I’m short, but I didn’t think I was that small.”

He laughs quietly. “It is not about height.” The tips of his ears go downright scarlet. “In Russia, it is term of endearment... that boyfriends use for girlfriends.”

Oh.

You have to take a minute to process the new information.

He’d been calling you myshka for the better part of a year now --knowing full well what it meant.

“Does... does that mean you liked me all this time?”

He nods, fixing with that intense, gorgeous blue gaze of his. “Da. You are kind, and smart, and unbelievably fierce, and achingly beautiful. You swept me off my feet the moment I met you with your humor and spirit, and I have been in love with you ever since.”

“Why didn’t you say something? I could’ve kissed you months ago!”

“You told me not to say anything! What was I supposed to do?”

You slump back against the tree. “Man, the one time my stubborn streak really doesn’t pay off.”

He chuckles and wraps his arm around your shoulders. “I think it all worked out in end.”

“Oh, there’s no way I’m disagreeing with that.” You grin up at him. “So, Mr. Rasputin, is this your way of asking me to be your girlfriend?”

He blushes, but nods. “Da.”

You’re pleased beyond words, and simply opt to kiss him again.

“May I take that as ‘yes?’” he asks when you break the kiss, slightly breathless.

“Da,” You reply, earning a soft, sweet smile and an equally sweet kiss from him.

#sass writes #piotr rasputin x reader #colossus x reader #piotr rasputin imagine #colossus imagine #x men fanfiction #this is literally so fluffy #also #most of this was written at 5 am #take that for what you will #god i love colossus so much #he's so precious

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