#if his identity wasn’t gonna be treated with utmost care and respect ?!;?;? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kojinnie · 3 years

Text

Why you should NOT date AOT boys... (2)

I advised you but you still didn’t listen just because your fave was not on the first part. So hereby I present to you, reasons why these boys will only give you headache, part two!

Enjoy my lovelies, and stop hurting yourself with these men!

Regards,

Your ever-so-concerned friend, Kojin.

erwin - zeke - jean - connie

part one here (levi - eren - armin - reiner)

— ERWIN

This is not gonna be easy. You’re dealing with a man who has received multitude of achievements and recognition for being who he is and for doing things his own way, so obviously he is at that point in his life where he’s very comfortable in being who he already is. It’s all for a reason though, for Erwin oozes a certain kind of authority that is justified by his sharp thinking and years of experience. He is a self-made man and his success was the work of nobody but his own doing. So obviously, he has this uncanny self-assurance that is not easy to be dissuaded. He is ”The Man” character you hear about in pop songs and movies, and alike to dating Levi, the idea of being with Erwin gives you a sense of pride, you’ll be the most flattered whenever you hear people look at you with certain kind of acknowledgment, “Oh, that’s the one Erwin chooses.”

If you have problem with your self-esteem or you constantly doubt yourself, being with Erwin –especially when you have an established relationship— can really encourage you, to make you realize that there is a great thing in you, that even someone with the caliber of Erwin Smith can see. However, this may also lead to a bad thing because little by little, whether you realize it or not, your identity will be blurred with the constant presence of Erwin around you, simply because he has that magnificence in him that lures the limelight in, and your name will only be left as a prop to better dress the mannequin. This is a man who hardly ever hears “no” in his life, although he will never be violent or do things against your wish, it feels natural for him to always have a say in whatever you do. From the way you dress, your career trajectory, to decision for everyday chore. You would often feel as if you have no room to grow on your own because everything is decided by Erwin, where your opinion is dismissed. The most infuriating aspect of Erwin is that he will do all the aforementioned in such a sweet way. Caressing your cheek, patting your head softly before condescendingly says things like: “Honey, if you’ve seen what I’ve seen, you’ll understand. So for now, let’s just go with [insert his decision], okay?”

The ideal relationship for you and Erwin is if you have been with him since the get-go, before he made a name for himself. The good thing about Erwin is that he values nurture and he will show the utmost gratitude to whomever stood by him since day one. He will flaunt you, mention your name in every awarding speech, praise your perseverance for staying with him while actively making your own mark in your job. Basically, to survive a healthy and thriving romantic relationship with Erwin, you gotta see the quality in him before all the flashy titles, and you gotta be at similar degree of excellence with him. You gotta have his respect, you gotta make a name for yourself, only then he will listen to you and treat you as equal. So if you are still unsure about yourself, and you need constant reassurance about your role in this world, don’t go for Erwin, it will only exacerbate your self-doubt.

— ZEKE

Good god, this man. Where do I start? Okay, so you’re dealing with someone similar to Erwin, who enjoys a point in his life where his professional excellence has been widely established, he even has attained an almost mythical status. Remember how much the Warriors look up to him, saying things like “The enemies are no match to Zeke”? That’s basically his everyday life, and he has gotten so used to hearing that drilled into his ears for years.

For sure, he has a solid self-assurance; he knows what he wants, he knows how to get it, and anyone’s opinion holds very little value to him. But unlike Erwin, Zeke has grown sick of the compliment and has come to think that people are just licking his ass. This is because he made his success with little to no help from anyone else, and he has seen how differently people treated him back when he was just a nameless guy, compared to now, where he has made a name for himself. This experience, created a contradiction in his personality: One, the confident and self-assured Zeke, where he realizes that he’s smarter than most people, and; Two, the self-doubting Zeke, thinking that he is deemed as smart just because everyone comparable to him is stupid. He fears that it’s only until he meets someone smarter than him, before people finally realize that he’s a fraud. He’s the type to spew seemingly condescending remarks in a very casual way, like whenever someone comes to him in an awe and asks how does he do the things he does, he will just shrug it off and say, “I don’t know why everyone’s making a big deal out of that. It’s so easy.” When actually it’s just him, displaying his incomprehension on what make people think that he’s amazing when he hardly sees it.

Zeke leads a life where he thinks he can do whatever he wants, since he does not have a care in the world for anyone’s opinion and validation. This is because Zeke thinks either they are unworthy of his attention, or any person who has ever shown any interest towards him was only after something for themselves. In his early life, Zeke gets used a lot by people he trusted, and so this resulted in him not believing that someone would come to him and truly care for him with no pretense or hidden motives. The idea that he can be loved unconditionally is incredibly foreign, if not impossible to him. And this is the truth about him that he does not like to admit.

This is a person whose motto is to “enjoy things” because the enjoyment of things keeps him distracted from the disappointment he holds against people. So naturally, he does not like sentimental attachment, let alone committed relationship. What Zeke needs is just someone that he can ring up casually (and only occasionally because he’s always kept up with a lot of his professional endeavors), and spoil him with nearly childish affection. He likes to come home to someone who does not see him as this heroic figure that everybody sees, and rather just a careless kid who collects baseball cards with no active parent figure. He likes the cuddles, the kisses, the strokes, the lazy mornings where you pamper him like a demanding baby, because he never gets to experience such candid loving from his childhood, for he had to fend for himself since very young.

He likes to call you up late at night, with a sulk in his voice, “Baby can I come over…?” for you to act annoyed and reluctantly say yes to him. He likes that. He’s corny like that. But once he’s out the door, don’t expect him to text his whereabout or make your name known to the world, because he cannot afford such dire attachment. He’s as free as the bird, and after all, caging him into a committal relationship only justifies his belief that someone would only love him because they’re after something.

— JEAN

Jean is tenacity personified. He wasn’t born talented or lucky enough to have special heritage runs in his blood, he is flawed with a lot of shortcomings, but what makes him stands out is his capability to persevere in the eyes of adversity. To keep on trying although he does not pass the initial mark, and that’s exactly what makes him special. In dating Jean, you will never run out of things to do or talk about, because Jean will always try to make the best out of every situation with his resourcefulness. It’s very nourishing to see someone make such a big effort for you, and if you lack assurance that someone would go extra miles for you, then seeing Jean breaks his back trying to catch your smile is such a sight that you will cherish for a long time.

However, deep inside, Jean is a very exhausted man. He often feels like he is at the end of his wit trying to make everything works. He is deeply wearied by having to be at his top game every minute to compete, and fears that if his grasp slips even just a little, he will quickly fall behind everyone. This will result in Jean being torn apart between work and you, for he always has the urge to put tenfold effort to match others’ casual effort. So expect a lot of calls unanswered and rescheduled date nights during the weekdays. Although he feels extremely regretful with this condition, he also believes that there is nothing he can do, for he thinks he was born unfortunate and this is the effort he has to make due in order to catch up with the others.

All this unhealthy sense of urgency from always having the need to compete often sends Jean into a state of paranoia. He fears that people may team up against him, or that he’s being left out. It’s really frustrating to see Jean having the need to reply to a stupid meme Eren sends at 4 AM while getting high, just because Jean fears that if he does not reply immediately, he will wake up the next day with people already talking about the things he missed. He is always on guard, and as much as he tries to give in to his relationship with you, sometimes you would feel like his mind is not at home. His mind is out there wondering whether he will ever make a name for himself without being compared to people who exerts considerably less effort than him.

Being with Jean, you gotta understand where his fear lies, and you gotta be very calm when dealing with all of his paranoid urges. Whenever he’s not home because he overworks himself, don’t bombard him with calls and text messages, just give him time and welcome him home with warmth and a sense of ease. Be the person where he puts his hair down after a whole day of gruesome work. Jean needs a lot of validation especially from the person he loves (and he feels guilty towards for seemingly neglecting you over work), all he needs to hear is just “You did well today”, and he would be more than thankful. Make time as well to give him little surprise, to make him realizes that you are the one place he does not need to compete with anyone else for you are his home. When it comes to Jean, it’s about give and take, he doesn’t do well with a diva who demands attention 24/7, nor he does well with someone who is seemingly way over his league, for it will worsen his insecurity.

Point is, Jean is an amazing man, guys, I couldn’t really point out why you should NOT date him, because in fact, you SHOULD date him. Being with him is a learning curve, not only for you but also for him, to understand that in a relationship not only that you gotta love, but also to compromise.

— CONNIE

Connie, oh Connie. We all love Connie, he’s the guy who would complete a picture, a party is a bore without the sight of him, we all just love us some Connie, but often to his expense. People love Connie because he is outgoing, humble, and has this salt-of-the-earth persona, but more often than not, people also use him as a comedic relief, and although at first, he enjoys it because he would like the idea that people look forward to him, sometimes it also takes a toll in him, it makes Connie wonder whether he will ever be fit for bigger purpose other than someone else’s humor.

Connie thrives in being helpful to other people, he believes being of service is his greatest merit and thus he never complains whenever someone asks him to do something, nor does he ever dislike doing things for other people. But often he wonders even after all the great services he has done to other people, why haven’t people seen him as more than just a comedic relief? Why can’t he be the hero of a story, instead of just the people’s favorite side character? This thought lingers a lot in his mind, and if he does not find a way to let it out somehow, this may grow into a bitterness for he feels used.

Make no mistake though, Connie does not yearn to have the limelight on his own, he is content with his position, all he needs is a bit of credit and affirmation that he is as important his other peers. That he is not overlooked nor that he is expendable. Without this, Connie might grow to become resentful of people as he thinks they will only use him to their advantages. He will get easily jealous or at high alert, just because you passingly joke about Jean being handsome with his new haircut. He may go into that rabbit hole of anxiety, waiting until the day when you finally leave him for being mediocre and opt for his more attractive friend.

When this side of him comes out, initially he will be overtly self-deprecating. Masking it as a joke just to fish a reaction from you. If you laugh along, not knowing that it was a test, he will be sure that you are just using him and it won’t be long until you depart for someone with more load than him. Once he sets his mind, he can be quite vindictive to you, casually assuming you of the worst while trying to pass it as a joke. When this side of Connie comes out, the last thing you should do is to get riled up. Connie is not being rational, so you gotta be the adult here unfortunately. You gotta shower him with a lot of affection in the form of services like he’s always do to people around him, and slowly work your way to the topic you are meaning to ask. Connie might be alluding the question for a while, until he finally comes clean that he was jealous and did not know how to properly address this feeling.

Being with Connie comes with the responsibility of making a home for him where finally he gets to be the center attention. He is not a narcissist, so he does not want everything to center around him. All he wanna be is to be seen, in which every effort he has made to the people he loves are being outwardly recognized and thanked for. Little things would really make Connie happy, like posting a lot of photos with him on your social media, or arranging surprise birthday party with his co-workers where he can finally experience what it feels like to be the likes of Eren or Jean.

Thank you guys for all the likes, reblogs and comments - YOU ALL MAKE MY DAY. I was on the verge of being sure that no one would like things I write, but this.. This... (wails in telenovela style). I thank you and I wish you a great week ahead!

Guys for real if you still simp these guys even after this fair warning then I have no choice but to give you a personalized reason on why you should not date your fave AOT characters!

> [CLOSED] Twisted Match-Up! Send me three worst traits of yours + your AOT fave character and I’ll make you a short scenario on how shitty your relationship would be with them. Fire away here!

#aot headcanons #erwin headcanons #zeke headcan #jean headcanons #connie headcanons #erwin smith #zeke yeager #zeke jaeger #jean kirstein #jean kirschstein #connie springer #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #snk headcanons #aot #snk #kojin writes

301 notes · View notes

xenteaart · 4 years

Text

Shall We? (Part 2)

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x fem!Reader

Request: Can I request part two for Shall We? Pleeeeaase 🙏!! You can’t just leave it like that.

Word count: 1,7k

Warnings: kind of a fight scene?? and like one swear word idk

Note: Sooo here’s part two of this fic, give it a read if you havent coz otherwise this one is not going to make much sense haha

For the sake of the story, Five disappeared when he was 18 (instead of 13) and got stuck in his 18 year-old-body after coming back accordingly. Also I’ve decided to give the reader and the Handler kind of a Lila x the Handler dynamic

The events are taking place in s1, some details of the canon are obvsly altered.

ALSO THERE’S A LIL EASTER EGG AT THE END MWEHEHE

Hope you enjoy!

Taglist: @stitched-mouth @startrekkingaroundasgard

“You do know you can’t win. I really don’t wanna hurt you, Y/N,” he uttered, raising his hands a little as a way to warn you not to come any closer for your own good.

Even though it was supposed to be a sweet gesture of concern, hearing him confirm that he still thought you were no match for him cut you to your very core.

“Oh, yeah? Well, I’m afraid you might have to. Shall we?” you sneered and threw your leg into the air, hitting Five right under his kneecap and making him collapse on the ground with a surprised gasp.

Five truly had zero intention of hurting you, but your determination to have a fight left him no choice, and even his clear advantage of having loads more experience and superpowers on top did not seem to make you hesitate.

“Come on, don’t be stupid, Y/N,” Five commented as he got back on his feet and took a few steps away from you, still giving you a chance to back off before he had to inflict any pain on your person, but all it achieved was winding you up even more.

The problem was - you two underwent identical training at the Commission as the Handler gave both of you her very best mentor, and right now you were basically mirroring each other’s moves, except Five was also using his spatial jumps to disorient you. He was still going easy on you, mostly just blocking your punches and jumping further away so you had to chase him all over the Academy while he was hoping you would simply exhaust yourself before any real damage would be done. Quite frankly, it was a smart decision on his part and a rather thoughtful one as well because, despite all appearances, he actually cared about you an awful lot.

As the both of you gracefully danced all the way to the second floor, you were already out of breath from the endless running around which meant Five’s plan was beginning to work. However, you realized what he was doing soon enough to indulge him into the feeling of being right and played his little game for a while, waiting for the perfect moment when he’d get distracted, and as the moment came you had to act fast.

You threw yourself forwards and promptly wrapped your arms around Five’s waist, knocking him off his feet and pressing your body against his as you pinned him to the floor. He groaned with annoyance and winced at the pain as his back hit the hard wooden surface. The next few seconds sort of happened in slow-mo for both of you as he roughly pushed you off himself and somehow managed to switch places with you, now looming over your body and warningly putting his knee on your solar plexus, threatening to crush your ribcage if you moved.

A mutual silence fell between you as you were processing the last 30 minutes of your lives, both visibly struggling to believe that each of you somehow ended up fighting the person they would never wish to hurt in their entire life. The sounds of your heavy breathing were filling the room as you were merely staring at each other in utter confusion. The weight of Five’s knee on your diaphragm was beginning to give you trouble breathing, and your breaths became shallow and hoarse which finally snapped him out of his trance.

“Gonna tell me what the hell is up now, Y/N?” he asked in his teacher-y manner that you used to absolutely hate and adore all at once, especially when he used to give you lectures on your occasional fuck-ups - whether it was failing a class because you were too lazy to turn in your assigments in time or something a little more serious, like getting into an argument with the Monocle and consequently making life harder for both of you.

You would always roll your eyes and smirk when he would get into his i-am-disappointed-in-you-but-i-still-love-you character and cross his arms on his chest for dramatic effect.

“You were the one telling me to piss off in the first place, remember,” you narrowed your eyes as you were subtly gasping for air underneath Five’s weight. He pursed his lips and looked away, contemplating whether or not to be completely honest. Evidently, his lack of sincerity got him nowhere the last time around, so he sighed loudly; his shoulders dropping and his expression finally revealing all of the exhaustion and regret that he was concealing quite successfully up until now.

“I only pushed you away to protect you.”

“Sounds like bullshit to me,” you replied, clearly unimpressed and palpably suspicious; two years of being brainwashed by the Handler now taking their toll on your perspective.

“God, don’t be so slow,” Five uttered clearly irritated but then quickly realized his offensive implication and added, “Said with respect.”

You stayed silent, raising your brow as a way of telling him to continue.

“I couldn’t risk you becoming a casualty because being involved in my family’s mess as a non-super is dangerous. As in, you’re going to be a target all the time, and I couldn’t and still can’t afford to waste my time worrying about your safety. As much as I’d love to - it’s simply not the luxury I have. I’ve got to stop the end of the world, otherwise everyone is going to be dead in four days, don’t you get it?” Five asked, a waterfall of emotions pushing at the inner sides of his chest, waiting to be set loose and consume everything on its way.

You were quietly listening to his explanation and taking it all in whilst still trying to fight off the suspicion and disbelief that were nagging at your every cell.

“I wanted to keep you safe because I couldn’t bear to lose you again,” his voice trembled a little as the memories of his post-apocalypse life washed over his mind, “The last 45 years have been a fucking nightmare.”

“I’d find it way more believable if you stopped crushing my ribs for starters,” you muttered through clenched teeth and immediately felt the pressure taken off your chest, precious and very much needed oxygen starting to flow through your system the way it should again.

Five got up and offered his hand to help you on your feet as a gesture to show you that he didn’t see you as an enemy and placed trust in you. You took his hand and steadied yourself awkwardly, still slightly disoriented and light-headed.

“I don’t know what the Handler told you but I do know she’s exceptional at manipulating,” Five added as he looked you right in the eye, “Christ, and you’re so naive, always have been. Most days it’s truly adorable but sometimes, Y/N, it really doesn’t work in your favor,” as the words escaped his lips, his gaze became noticeably softer; his expression blossoming with tenderness towards you.

“Prove it. Prove that you care.”

Five chuckled and shook his head, simultaneously annoyed and amused at your stubbornness. The atmosphere between you was shifting and you couldn’t help but notice the familiar overwhelming feeling of comfort and peace enveloping your person from head to toe. You’ve forgotten what it felt like being around Five, and now you were finally getting to remember. At home.

He slipped his hand into the pocket of his uniform shorts and pulled out a grape-sized plastic figure of a golden retriever.

“You gave me this a few days before I jumped and got stuck in the future. I carried it with me all the way. This silly trinket was the only thing I had left of you, the only thing that reminded me you were still out there waiting for me. Kept me going,” he shrugged casually as if it wasn’t important at all which it absolutely was.

“Five, c’mere! Look what I found!” you called for him as you were sitting on the floor surrounded by all sorts of useless crap. You were in the middle of decluttering your bedroom when a little figure of a dog caught your eye, it was the breed that Five was especially fond of and you knew he secretly dreamed of getting a puppy of his own as soon as he was out of the house.

“What’s that?” he asked, unimpressed.

“It’s a doggie! He wants to be your friend,” you replied, playing with your accent a little, rolling you “r”s and shifting the flow of your words to sound more Scottish or ... Russian. God knows where you were going with it but you tended to butcher your accent for fun quite a lot.

“Y/N, are you twelve?”

“His name is Mr.Pennycrumb and he’s gonna look after you whenever I’m not around,” you said with utmost confidence and gave him a wide smile, putting the trinket into Five’s pocket, clearly very proud of yourself and still committed to your silly accent performance, “Treat him well.”

Five scoffed and shrugged.

“Whatever.”

“So did he?” you asked, staring at the goddamn toy as tears were slowly welling up in your eyes.

“What?”

“Did he do a good job looking after you while I wasn’t around?” your gaze finally met Five’s as the realization in his own eyes was starting to sink in. A pained smile touched the corners of his mouth, and you could see Five genuinely struggle to maintain his tough facade.

“Yeah. He did.”

Without saying a word, you stepped closer and rested your cheek on his shoulder, wrapping your arms around him, this time with no hostility or murderous intention. If you had to be perfectly honest with yourself, you’d admit you could never find it in you to actually hurt Five, let alone killing him. Both of you knew that way too well.

He returned the hug and pulled you closer, burying his nose in your hair and then planting a quick innocent kiss on the top of your head. Feeling the warmth radiating from you was enough to make him relax further into your embrace, his eyes now closed shut and his breathing steady and deep.

It didn’t last for as long as you’d like, though, a big loud bang from downstairs making you both flinch and pull away from each other, breaking your fragile bubble of comfort and calm in an instant.

“Shit, Hazel and Cha-Cha,” Five whispered, concern and worry crawling back onto his features. He briefly looked at you, and you simply nodded, non-verbally confirming that you were willing to help and were no longer part of the Handler’s plan.

The two of you were going to talk all about that later. His years alone, his and your own involvement with the Commission, the end of the world and loads more.

Of course, right in this moment neither of you could possibly know that your friendship was, in fact, a gateway into a lifelong partnership but you were bound to find out eventually. And the journey you two were about to begin as soon as the apocalypse was dealt with and gone was going to be magnificent.

#five hargreeves x reader #tua #The Umbrella Academy #Umbrella Academy #umbrella academy fanfic #five hargreeves #number five #my fic #my writing #five hargreeves x you #number five x you #five x reader #number five x reader

119 notes · View notes

panda-noosh · 6 years

Text

Hiraeth {part two} {demigod!Lance x reader}

Words: 7k

Summary: Your life changed forever that day in the forest. The day the voices got too much. The day that single word brought you to what felt like the very brink of death - that was until Lance McClain, son of Poseidon, arrived to take you home.

Genre: percyjackson!au - angst

Notes: part 1 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6 - part 7 - part 8 - part 9 - epilogue -yeehaw, the drama has started.

-----

Hiraeth - (n) a homesickness for a place you can’t return to, or that never was.

Chapter 2

Lance stayed by your side when the two of you were finally called for dinner by a most uncertain sounding camper. The girl – Lance later informed you that she was a child of Apollo – had been ordered to merely poke her head inside of the Hades cabin and tell you and Lance that dinner was ready; she had done so, but not before giving you a look that told you she was about to burst into tears simply by stepping foot inside of the cabin.

Lance's jokes died down. He didn't try and make light of the situation, didn't try and take away any of the shock you were feeling as you walked beside him towards the feasting area of the camp. Your hands were trembling, and you plunged them into the pockets of your coat in any attempt to hide them from prying eyes; what would people around you think if they saw how terrified you were right now?

Because that was truly the only word you could think of to describe the feelings coursing through you right now, the only logical explanation for the feeling of pure weakness slamming into you. You had lived your life on the streets, had almost been kidnapped on multiple occasions, had been forced to sleep on the cold brambles of a forest almost everyday for the past few years – but this was by far the most mortified you had ever been.

Lance led you over to the Hades table once the two of you finally reached the feasting hall. Twelve other tables were lined up, filled with chattering people, all of whom paused their conversations to look at you and Lance when you entered.

Lance placed a hand on the small of your back, pushed you through the gawking crowd a little quicker. “Just ignore them. They do this every time I walk in.”

You nodded slowly and allowed Lance to lead you over to an empty table on the far side of the hall. It was a direct contrast to the other tables which were spread out before you; they were packed full, some people even being forced to drag extra chairs over just to fight for a space upon the bench. The table you sat down at, though, held no such privilege, as it was completely empty.

Lance winced as he sat down next to you. “I really shouldn't be sitting here, you know. My table is over there.” He nodded towards another empty table set beside your own.

“You can go and sit over there if you want,” you mumbled. “I don't mind.”

“No. No, it's alright. I like the company.” He nudged your arm gently, but you paid him no attention. “Besides, it gets a little lonely. I'm sure Chiron won't mind if I give our newcomer a bit of a run-down on how meal times work.”

“I'm not really all that hungry.”

Lance frowned. You could feel his worried gaze pouring into the side of your face, could tell he wanted nothing more than to tell you to suck it up, because every single person in this camp had been through the exact same experience you had just been through; being told the deadbeat parents they always believed they would never figure out the identity to was actually an Olympic god.

And it still felt so surreal, even though you had pinched yourself a thousand times just to confirm it wasn't a dream – a nightmare.

Lance didn't say much after that. He simply stood up, went over to the buffet and stacked two plates full of food. He placed one in front of you, sat down, and started eating from his own.

“I scraped a little bit into the sacrifice fire for you,” he told you through a mouthful of rice. “That might entice Hades to come forward a little sooner.”

You raised a brow, head shooting over to look at him. He didn't seem to realise what he had just said, as he continued to stuff rice into his mouth, curiously glancing around at the campers.

“Come forward?” you repeated. “What are you talking about?”

“The claiming,” said Lance, as if it was obvious. He glanced over at you, noticed your confused expression and sighed, setting his fork down and turning his full attention to you now. “A claiming is basically whenever a god finally – well, claims their child. It's a big deal around here, and it's not usually very subtle.”

“Have you had yours?”

He nodded, but seemed to almost wince at the memory. “Mine was awful. Dad must have thought he was being a prankster or something – trying to keep up with the kids, you know? He ended up doing it whenever I was doing my introduction speech to the camp. Nobody knew who I belonged to – I was just the five year old who walked in with bruises, not knowing where he was. Chiron ended up making me introduce myself to everyone, and it was then that good old Poseidon decided to inform him of my parentage – it was traumatic.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What happened?”

“This massive trident thing started glowing above my head,” he explained. “Obviously, everybody else knew what it was but me, and they all started freaking out. 'A child of one of the Big Three!' You could have sworn I'd just spontaneously combusted in front of them all with how panicked they got.”

He scoffed and shook his head, diving back into the rice he was eating with a casual aura glaring off of him – you continued to stare at him, hand trembling. How had he gotten over such a thing? How could he sit beside you now and talk about such a moment with little care in his voice at all? You were certain that if something like that were to happen to you, you would be traumatised forever.

You swallowed thickly and turned back to the plate in front of you – there would be no point in dwelling on it now. No point at all. What was done was done, and you couldn't help who your father was. You would just have to try and push through, just like Lance had been doing all these years.

Dinner continued. Conversation from the other tables was loud and boisterous, but you and Lance were fairly quiet. Every now and then Lance would nudge your elbow and point out something he believed to be humourous, and you would put on a fake little laugh just to make him happy – in reality, all you wanted to do was curl up and sleep, forget this day had even happened. Maybe you would wake up back in the brambles, a headache still splitting through your skull. Maybe this was a dream, and you were just struggling to get out of it.

As dinner drew to a close and the sun slowly started to descend behind the mountains, Chiron stood up from the table that was placed at the front of the hall. You hadn't even noticed him sitting up there until now, though now that he had made himself known, you were unsure how you could have missed him at all. Sitting next to him was a shorter man in a Hawaiian shirt, a greying beard and curly dark hair – he seemed to be scowling up at the centaur before him, taking frequent sips out of the wooden mug he had.

“Half-Bloods!” Chiron suddenly cried, making you jump. The camp immediately went quiet and directed their attention to the centaur. “I hope you all ate plenty, for training will continue tomorrow and you will need all of your energy for next weeks game of Capture the Flag.”

Howls erupted from the Ares table, a boy standing up on the chair and yelling, “We're gonna destroy you!” to nobody in particular.

Lance leaned in and whispered, “The Ares kids get a little bit excited about Capture the Flag.”

You dumbly nodded.

Chiron continued. “Alright Sebastian, settle down, settle down. Although Capture the Flag is a big topic of conversation lately, there is something else I know you are all extremely curious about – our newest camper.”

You clenched your jaw as heads span around to look at you. A few people even went as far as to stand up on their seats in an attempt to get a better look at you.

“This is Y/N L/N, an unclaimed Half-Blood who came upon us today thanks to Lance McClain, son of Poseidon.” Lance grinned, waved as if he was waving to a crowd of fans. “You will all treat her with the utmost respect and I hope you can all find it in your hearts to welcome her with open arms – we all know what it feels like to join Camp Half-Blood for the first time, and it is nothing short of a scary experience.”

“How can you expect us to welcome a child of Hades?” a voice yelled out over the crowd. Immediately a bursting symphony of agreement fled over the hall, enticing an entire conversation that blocked out Chiron's speech.

You wanted to disappear.

You huddled your arms into your chest, trying to make yourself as small as possible as the protests continued. Lance placed a gentle hand on your arm before ruining the gentle moment by swinging his head over his shoulder and yelling at a Hephaestus kid to mind his own business.

“Everyone! Everyone!” Chiron barked, slamming his hoof against the wooden ledge he was seated upon. “Y/N is unclaimed as of right now, meaning none of us have a right to claim her to be the child of the Underworld ruler – but if that is the case-” He knew full rightly that was the case. “-then we will continue to treat her with just as much respect as we would treat anybody else. This is not up for debate! You all know better than to judge a person based off of their parents actions!”

“She can raise the dead, Chiron!” someone yelled. “I don't mess with that kind of black magic!”

Your eyes widened. You weren't sure where the panic stemmed from, but it burst within you at a moments notice and there was no catching it. Lance's hand tightened on your arm as the exclamation settled – he had clearly meant to tell you that little nugget of information later on.

You span around on the bench to face him with wide eyes as Chiron continued trying to settle the crowd down.

“Raise the dead?” you hissed.

Lance winced, tried to cover it by awkwardly smiling at you. “Surprise?”

You tugged your arm out of his grip. You felt like water was rising above you, slowly dragging you under, slowly clawing away at your oxygen supply until there was nothing left. You stood up from the bench before you could stop yourself, before you could realise that you were currently standing amongst a group of demigods who could so easily put you down with a simple flick of their wrist.

“Y/N, please-” Lance started, reaching up to grab you.

You stumbled away from him, and the crowd grew quiet, turned to see what you were doing. You didn't care. You looked up at Chiron just the once, dared him to say anything, before you were spinning on your heel and marching away from the dinner hall.

You got as far as the Athena table before your head started to hurt.

It might very well have been the worst pain you had ever felt in your life. Blinding, white hot, as if somebody was continuously splashing flames against your forehead. You cried out, gripped your temples tightly in any attempt to ease the pain that was coursing through you, but it was no use. It continued to fight against your grip, forcing you to your knees. Despite the camps previous protestations against you, you were surprised to find a few of them rushing to your aid, calling out for somebody to get a medic.

“Let the Apollo kids through! Let them through!”

But it was Lance who crumbled to your side. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, tugged you into him and started whispering soothing words in your ear; you could hear him. You could hear him, you realised, because there were no voices. It was just pain. Just pure, unfiltered pain and you had no idea where it had come from.

An Apollo kid kneeled down on your other side and gently took your head in her hands. She ran her fingers along your forehead, concentrating, tongue peaking out of her mouth. You had an urge to pull away, to tell her to leave you alone, but you had to admit that the touch she currently wielded upon your skin was bringing you some form of relief.

But then her blue eyes widened, and her hands were falling from your face. She stumbled back, very nearly trampling over the shoes of the people circling you. Even Lance's grip seemed to falter across your shoulders, but he made no attempt to pull away from you.

“Oh gods,” the Apollo girl whispered.

“What? What's wrong?” you asked, before another strike of pain darted through your forehead, causing you to keel over. Lance tried to hold you up, but his grip was weaker now and it was clear he was feeling the same sense of shock as everybody else surrounding you. “What is it?” you cried. “What is happening?”

Lance's hands zoomed up from your shoulders and to your jaw; he tilted your head upwards, forcing you to look at the blinding light above you – it wasn't the sun. It had definitely not been there before.

Through the prickle of tears, you could just barely make out the symbol glowing, big and bright, above your head – a skull and crossbones.

Chiron stepped down from the dais. Everybody fell silent, but you could still hear the pantings of scared campers.

“You have been claimed,” the centaur said, a slight hint of disappointment evident in his voice. “Welcome to Camp Half-Blood, daughter of Hades – god of the Underworld.”

---

You didn't sleep well that night.

All alone, curled up in the Hades cabin with the covers draped over your head. You were trying to block out the noise of the draft wafting in from the under the door, the sharp scream of the wind outside; Lance had told you that the weather was controlled entirely by Chiron, and you had half a mind to get out of bed and tell Chiron to stop making it so drafty.

But you didn't, because you felt as if you could barely move.

Your stomach was made of lead, it seemed like. Your legs were still weak from the pain that had coursed through you only a few hours prior, and, quite honestly, you just didn't want to leave the confines of the cabin. That meant facing people – people who very clearly didn't want to see you.

The next morning, you didn't leave your cabin until a few hours after you had awoken. You could hear the other campers filing out of their cabins, making their way to the breakfast buffet which you had hastily decided to skip – you would get something later on, whenever the dining hall was less packed full of people who thought you were going to kill them.

It was only whenever the darkness of the cabin started to gnaw at you did you finally get out of bed, get dressed into the orange shirt and trousers that had been left for you, and head outside.

The camp was in full spirits. People were sword fighting to your left, people were messing with the elements to your right. Chiron was wading between people, grinning and giving them pointers on how to hold a gods damned spear.

You nearly guffawed, very nearly stumbled over your own feet at such a bizarre sight – these people couldn't have been older than eighteen, and yet they were marching around with weaponry in their hands, slicing at the air as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Shocking, huh?”

You span around, nearly slamming into Lance. How he had snuck up behind you without making a noise was beyond you, but you decided not to question it. Instead, you folded your arms over your chest and ran your eyes down his figure.

He was dressed in an orange shirt that matched yours, his blue jacket draped over his shoulders. He was eating a churro, and holding a still fully-intact churro in his other hand.

He noticed you staring at it and quickly thrust it in your direction. “I noticed you didn't come down for breakfast this morning.”

You gratefully took the churro from him and nibbled on it as you watched the campers fighting in the fenced off area in the middle of the camp.

“You're gonna have to start doing that eventually, you know,” Lance said.

You scoffed. “I'm okay, thanks. I don't think I'd work well with a sword in my hand.”

“Well, it doesn't have to be a sword,” he said. “You could have a dagger, or a spear, or a trident, or a -”

“Or a pitchfork. Those are most commonly seen as symbols of death.”

Lance pursed his lips, immediately making you feel guilty for bringing the mood down; you shouldn't be speaking to him in this way, with so much hostility. He was one of the only people in this camp who were truly still supporting you, who didn't shiver every time you looked in their direction.

You sighed and nudged him gently, similar to the way he always nudged you. “Sorry. I'm still a bit . . . Shook up over what happened yesterday.”

“At dinner?”

You nodded. “I just don't understand why it had to happen there. Surely Hades – my – my dad – has a bit more kindness towards his kids than that.”

“My dad did the same thing. They're very strong gods, Y/N, meaning they make very strong children.”

“I must have got more of my mothers genes-”

Lance suddenly grabbed your elbow, forcing you to look at him. His face had morphed into a stern expression, his sharp jaw clenched and the veins in his neck protruding from the tanned skin. “Don't say that. I know this is weird for you, but this is your life now – this is who you are. There's a reason people are so scared of the children of the Big Three. We're powerful. Once we lodge ourselves into our powers properly-”

You shrugged your arm out of his grip. “I don't want to lodge into my powers. From what I've heard, I have the ability to raise the dead, and that doesn't sound like something I'm particularly excited to do.”

“They were being dramatic whenever they said you could raise the dead,” Lance mumbled, sheepishly taking another bite of his churro. “You can control the dead – you're not making them come back to life or anything. It's skeletons who are under your control.”

Your mouth ran dry. You fought off the urge to laugh at him, because you knew he was telling the truth. That was all he had been doing since the day he met you – just because it sounded unbelievable, didn't make it a lie.

“The sooner you start training, the better,” continued Lance. “How about me and you go down to the lake after lunch today and see what you can do?”

“I can't do anything,” you replied. “I didn't even know I had powers until yesterday.”

“Well then we'll start you off.” He smiled down at you, as if the idea of your life changing forever was something that amused him. “I'm a good teacher, I promise.” ---

The lake glistened. At the moment, it was the only comfort you were being given as you nervously waited for Lance to make his appearance.

You had agreed. Foolishly agreed to let him train you in the art of godly powers. Lunch had just ended, and you had spent the time pacing the camp nervously, not having the confidence to show your face amongst the other campers just yet – you weren't sure if you ever would.

They had every reason to be terrified of you, of course. You knew that. Apparently you held a power that they could only dream of, and because of your parentage, they were terrified of you. Again, you couldn't blame them. If you were in their position, you would be scared as well.

You folded your arms and stood over the edge of the lake, half tempted to slip your shoes off and dip your toes in. You could see the tiny little fish swimming around, darting to the surface every now and then before splashing back amongst the soft waves with a splash.

You smiled. It was peaceful. There was nobody here to disturb you, nobody who was terrified of you. It was just the fish, and the moon, and the soft sway of the-

Your thoughts were cut off as the lake suddenly exploded.

You cried out, stumbling back so hastily that you ended up tripping over your own feet and crashing onto your backside in the dirt. The water exploded up around you, rained down on your head until – for the second time in two days – your hair was draped over your eyes in soaked sheets.

After the water had splashed back into the lake, you could make out the sound of Lance's hysterical laughter behind you.

“I had to!” he exclaimed. You scrambled back onto your feet, turned to face him with a glare. He was doubled over, one arm looped around his middle, one hand pressed against his knee. “I'm sorry! I'm sorry, okay? I just – The opportunity was too perfect to miss!”

You grumbled under your breath, slamming your hands into his shoulders. He chuckled at the action, slowly straightening himself back up and giving you an apologetic smile that you merely scowled at in response.

“Alright, alright. Let's get started,” he said, a hint of humour still evident with every word. “We should probably start by doing nice stretches.”

You raised a brow. “Stretches?”

He paused, looking at you curiously. “I don't really know what powers you were granted when you came out of the womb, meaning we have to be prepared for anything. You could very well injure yourself if we're not careful. Now, this is a stretch I like to call the Cockroach-”

“Can we not just – I don't know – mess around with some tactics and see which one works?”

Lance frowned, pausing in the odd pose he had taken up. Upon seeing that you hadn't been following his instructions, he quickly scrambled up and ran his hands down his blue jacket, coughing awkwardly. “Right. Yeah. That sounds like the best option.”

“Show me how you work your powers,” you said, stepping away from the lake and allowing Lance to take centre stage. He shot you a wary glance before stepping forward, and you could make out the soft hue of pink that was slowly crawling up his neck.

You hid your amused smile behind your hand, watching him closely.

You had to admit that Lance was powerful. He worked the water so well, as if it was made for him, as if he had formed every lake in the universe and knew exactly how each of them worked. He had closed his eyes, took a deep breath, rolled his shoulders back – and then he started.

It was like watching a water show at the zoo or something. It oddly brought you back to childhood, and you realised that it wasn't entirely down to the water that was currently forming shapes around you – it was Lance as well. It was the energy he gave off, the pure and raw joy he seemed to radiate at all times, but now more than ever. He was always smiling, always telling little jokes to make people laugh, but you had never seen the man look so. . . at home.

He moved his hands fluidly in front of him, and the water rose up into the air. It was in sheets at first, before he crossed his hands over his chest and the droplets crashed together, forming the shape of a dolphin leaping out of the water. The figure wiggled in the air for a moment before Lance put his hands back to his side and it delved back into the lake, disappearing for good.

And then he was creating more shapes – wolves grazing through mountains, a kitten playing with a ball of yarn, a centaur that looked suspiciously like Chiron – that one made you laugh, a real laugh that you hadn't heard from yourself in a very, very long time.

But Lance kept his eyes closed, and you were too in awe to stop him. Your fingers were itching to do the same, to work the water even though you knew you couldn't – whilst Lance had the beautiful abilities of manipulating the water into gorgeous shapes, you would soon find yourself doing the complete opposite.

Your powers were ugly, and his glistened.

It took a few minutes for Lance to finally come back to earth. His eyes popped open and he let his hands fall to his sides, the water dropping from the air and landing with a splash back into the lake. He turned to look at you, nervously scratched the back of his neck and gave you a sheepish smile that told you he very rarely showed off his powers to people – you had no doubt in your mind that nobody ever really asked.

You started clapping, slow and truthfully. Lance flushed a deep red colour, waved his hand in front of his face as if telling you it wasn't a big deal, but you couldn't stop the smile from arising on your cheeks.

“That was incredible,” you said. “You're incredible.”

Lance grunted. “It was nothing. That's not gonna help me if I'm under attack.” He turned back to the water, clicked his fingers, and immediately the water started swirling around at a speed you could barely comprehend. It blew your hair out of your face, sent tiny droplets of water spraying across your skin. You could taste the salt water, crinkled your nose up but continued to watch with curiosity nonetheless.

“A whirlpool,” Lance explained. “I know you have those in the mortal world, and they're very dangerous.” He clicked his fingers again and the whirlpool froze. “I don't do that often. Chiron warned me it wasn't the best for my reputation to start showing people the height of my strengths.”

“He isn't exactly wrong.” You stepped forward, craned your neck to get a better look at the water. “I think it was beautiful, though.”

Lance was silent for a moment. You continued to look down into the water, curiosity getting the better of you. It was funny how you could change mood so quickly, how you had once been dreading the idea of working your own powers, but now that you had seen Lance do it so well, you suddenly craved to feel the same way.

Lance coughed, breaking the silence in his usual, awkward way. “Alright then. Let's get started with you, shall we? Stand in front of me and don't break eye contact. Whatever you do, keep your eyes on me.”

You nodded, unsure as to what he was doing but refusing to question it. You stood in front of him, let your eyes burn into his blue ones. He narrowed his own, raised a brow, tilted his head – testing you to make sure you never once broke the eye contact.

You giggled as he quickly zoomed to the left. Your eyes followed him and he grinned.

“Good. Now, what I want you to do is conjure up an image that makes you angry – any image at all. A memory, a person's face – think of Keith, for example. Keith Kogane. The guy with the ugly hair and the red jacket.”

“I don't know who that is.”

“Lucky you,” mumbled Lance, before shaking his head and getting back to business. “I need you to think of something that just infuriates you. Strong emotions are key for bringing up somebody's powers.”

There was plenty that made you angry, you realised. You thought long and hard, the different experiences you had been through in life flashing through your mind, reminding you of all the times you could have very easily slammed your fist into a wall.

But there was one memory that was immediately brought to the forefront, a memory that immediately made true anger swell in your very being.

It was the one memory you had left of your mother – the memory of her drinking as your young self stood in the doorway, begging for her to make dinner. She had acted like she hadn't even heard you, continued to take a swig of her drink, before she had turned to you and spat, “You aren't my daughter. I didn't give birth to a mutant.”

Lance must have noticed the flash in your eyes. He nodded slowly to himself, placing his hands on your shoulders as he continued to give instructions. “Now I need you to channel that anger all throughout your body. It might sound confusing, but I know you can do it. You'll feel it – all of us Half-Bloods do. It's strong, unlike any human emotion. Do you understand?”

You nodded. You understood perfectly. The memory you had chosen was dancing on the brink of your brain, and you understood, even though it was nothing you had ever experienced before. You clenched your fists, felt the anger spearing through you, trickling through your very system like the water Lance had just manipulated.

Mutant. Mutant. Mutant.

Your stomach clenched. You gritted your teeth. You had never let your anger go on for so long, so harshly. You were usually so adamant to stop it, never wanting trouble that was unnecessary.

But now it was being let free, and you thought about your mother and the shit she had put you through purely because of your father.

It was her fault you had been alone your entire life. It was her fault you had never known who you were, where you came from, where you belonged. Because as you stood on the edge of this lake now, with anger spearing through you and Lance nodding enthusiastically in front of you, you realised that this very place was where you should have been the entire time. With people like you. Proving to them that you could be an equal, even though your father was a god who provoked such fear in people.

And then something popped.

You heard it dimly in the back of your head, and it immediately startled you back to reality. Your fingertips tingled, every bone in your body vibrating beneath your flesh.

You backed out of Lance's grip, suddenly afraid of hurting him somehow, even though you were completely oblivious to what you had done. Lance was grinning from ear to ear, his eyes twinkling.

You continued to back up, back up, back up, until your heel crashed against something and you fell backwards with a yell.

You crumbled to the floor, eyes immediately darting to the thing you had fallen over – and what you saw made your heart fall to your stomach.

It was a single bone, sticking up out of the mud. It looked to be the bone of a finger, as if a skeleton had tried crawling out of the ground but had gotten stuck just as they reached the surface.

“No,” you croaked out. “No, no, no. I didn't do that, did I? That was here when we got here, wasn't it?” Your eyes snapped up to Lance, who was looking at you in shock, as if he had fully expected you to love the idea of yourself causing skeletons to crawl up out of the floor. “Lance, please tell me-”

“I told you it was dark magic!”

Your eyes snapped up to the path that led out of the lake. Standing there was a tall man with long, white hair tied up in a ponytail. He wore a purple jacket and the same orange shirt underneath, a fairly well-beaded necklace strung around his neck.

He was looking at the bone at your feet, half in horror and half in amusement.

Lance was immediately standing in front of you, kicking the bone back into the mud and covering it with soil. You watched him do it, feeling horrible – was that truly the hand of a dead person? Lance had just kicked it back into the dirt as if had been nothing.

“Get back up to camp, Lotor,” Lance growled. “There's nothing to see here.”

“Well clearly that's a lie,” 'Lotor' sneered. “She's just tried bringing the dead back up! When Mr D finds out about this, he's going to be-”

“Mr D knows that Y/N needs to train. He isn't going to do anything.” Lance smiled then. “He already thinks you at the Ares cabin are pretty wimpy anyway. Wouldn't want to throw your siblings under the bus any more than they already are, would you?”

Lotor's lips curled into a snarl as he kept his eyes firm on Lance – Lance knew he was stronger, and Lotor knew that too. Although he had yet to back down, he had yet to make a move, either.

Finally, Lotor scoffed and swung his head back, the stray strand of white hair being pushed back by the movement. “You should watch who you spend your time with, Lance. This might very easily come back to bite you in the ass, and we both know your father isn't too keen on protecting his off-spring.”

With one final glare in Lance's direction, Lotor turned on his heel and headed back up the path.

You leaned forward and pressed your head in your hands. “They all think I'm doing dark magic.”

Lance sighed. You heard him kneel down beside you, felt his skinny arm once again wrapping around your shoulders. “Don't listen to Lotor. He's just angry because his dad isn't one of the Big Three and he doesn't feel special – Ares sleeps around with mortal women all the time, which means Lotor is one amongst many. He's just angry that Chiron doesn't pay him as much attention as he does to us.”

You nodded slowly, trying to understand what Lance was saying but failing to do so. Lotor didn't seem like the type of man who was just pushed off to the side – he had a sense of authority radiating off of him that had almost stunned you when he first appeared, very nearly made you feel as if you were about to be told off by a superior.

“You did a good job today, though,” said Lance softly. You looked up and gave him a grateful smile, despite the horror you still felt at the idea of you unearthing a dead, decomposed body. “Not many demigods are able to grab onto their powers so early. You must have been really angry.”

He chuckled nervously. You gave him the benefit of the doubt and laughed along with him, even though you didn't feel humourous or joyful in the slightest.

“I think we should wait until later on until we do anything else,” you said. “At least until the other campers have gone to sleep.”

“You don't really care about what they think, do you?” Lance asked, helping you up as he did so. “Y/N, you have every right to train with your powers – just as they do. They can't stop you.”

“I know that. I know.” You ran a hand through your hair. “I just don't want the campers to be any more afraid of me. Whilst I have a right to train, they also have a right to not live in fear, you know? I've only been here a day – I'm trying to make a decent first impression.”

Lance pursed his lips and continued to stare at the back of your head as the two of you descended from the lake.

---

Lance all but forced you to join him for dinner the previous day.

You had been avoiding his training sessions all day, instead busying yourself with trying to rack up a few more clothes from the other cabins – the campers had been too afraid of you to say no, and had given you everything you needed upon you asking for it.

But now, you sat beside Lance at the Poseidon table, trying your hardest to avoid the glares being sent to the back of your head by Lotor and his friends over at the Ares table, which was always the loudest at dinner.

Lance chewed on a piece of steak, letting out soft 'mm's' of appreciation. You picked away at your own meal, finding it too difficult to eat anything that you had to chew – you felt as if your throat had closed up completely.

Lance stuck his fork in your face, a piece of steak pierced through the tongs. “Want a bite?”

You pushed his arm away. “I'm good.”

“You have to eat something.” Lance groaned, set his own fork down and picked up yours. You watched on in amusement as he pierced a piece of asparagus and brought it to your lips – you couldn't hold back your giggle, giving Lance the perfect opportunity to slip the asparagus into your mouth.

You chewed on it, shaking your head. “I'm not a baby.”

“Until you start acting like an adult, that's how I'm gonna treat you.” He roughly bit at his steak again, gravy spewing down his chin. “I did not travel for four days straight to find you, just for you to arrive at Camp Half-Blood and starve to death. It's not happening.”

“You must feel real good knowing you've basically saved my life.”

Lance shot a glare in your direction, mouth still full of steak. “I don't appreciate the sarcasm.”

You giggled, but continued to eat your dinner – he was right. At the end of the day, eating was the best thing you could do. Years of malnutrition should have had you mauling the food in front of you – you had a chance to repair your damaged body, and you needed to take it.

Dinner went on. You and Lance continued to joke around, him finishing his meal and immediately beginning to complain about how he would have had more if he wasn't forced to scrape half of his meal into the sacrifice fire up at the front.

You listened to his complaining until they were drowned out by the screaming.

Your head snapped up, fear slamming through you instinctively. It seemed as if the rest of the camp didn't have those natural moments of debate, as almost immediately, Lance and the rest of the campers were jumping out of their seats and barrelling down the hill towards the noise.

You swallowed thickly before following close behind them; they were all heading down to the lake.

“What's going on?”

“Is anyone hurt?”

“Let the Apollo cabin go first, just in case!”

You lagged behind, standing on your tippy-toes at the back of the crowd in your attempts to see what all the hassle was about.

The gasps confirmed something for you – this was not a false alarm.

A girl in a green jacket suddenly threw herself forward into a man in yellows arms, gasping for air. Tears were streaming down her face, and as soon as the man in yellow wrapped his arms around her, she broke down. She buried her face in his shoulder and started wailing, too overwhelmed to describe what she had just witnessed.

You risked stepping forward, and immediately regretted it.

Because laying by the edge of the river was a dead body.

Dead in a way you had never seen before, and you had seen plenty of dead bodies in your time. Living on the streets made it difficult to avoid seeing dead bodies, hidden behind alleyways, bodies of your friends who had gone one day too long without food. But this was unlike anything you had ever seen.

It was the body of a man with ginger hair and a ginger, curled moustache. He was sprawled out in the dirt, and there were black veins crawling up his body, attacking his arms and his neck until his face almost looked inhuman. His mouth was open as if he had been screaming, his eyes wide and the glasses on the edge of his nose shattered.

Chiron pushed forward. “Coran.”

“What happened to him?” Pidge, the girl in green, wailed. “I was just – I was walking down here to go and feed the serpents, and he was just there!”

“Who is responsible for this?” Chiron bellowed, as if he genuinely expected an answer. “This was not an accidental death! The gods will have seen the culprit-”

“We don't need the gods help.”

All eyes snapped over to Lotor, who took a big and bold step forward into the spotlight. Lance reached out and grabbed your hand – you hadn't even realised he had come to your side.

Lotor turned and faced the crowd. “This was the work of dark magic – we all know there's only one person here who has the ability to kill, whose father prides himself on death – this was the work of Y/N L/N, daughter of Hades.”

“Shut your fucking mouth!” Lance suddenly yelled, and for the first time, it was you who had to tangle your hands with his own, tugging him back before he could throw himself towards Lotor. “Chiron, you don't believe a word he says, do you? That douchebag has had it out for the kids of the Big Three since he stepped foot inside of this gods damned camp!”

“Stop yelling, Mr McClain.”

“Not until he admits he's just being a jealous little prick!”

“Lance!” you exclaimed, tugging him back roughly. Lance stumbled into your chest, his breathing heavy. He never once took his angered glare off of Lotor, who was simply shaking his head in faux disappointment.

“You see, Chiron?” he said. The centaur had his head bowed, looking down at the dead body at his hooves. “The children of the Big Three are as we always suspected – uncontrollable, dangerous. Lance loses his temper and starts yelling to the heavens almost as soon as somebody disagrees with him. Is it really that big of a stretch to think that the daughter of Hades has the same temper, that perhaps she took things a little too far?”

“She hasn't even known she's a Half-Blood for more than two days,” Hunk, the man in yellow, spoke up. “I find it hard to believe she's already capable of killing a man.”

Lotor grinned now. “Funny you say that, Hunk. I happen to have bore witness to her unearthing a skeleton only yesterday afternoon – she's a lot more powerful than we've given her credit for.”

Chiron's head snapped up. Your body froze, horror flooding through you – oh gods he was right.

“Is this true, Miss L/N?” Chiron asked, voice wavering.

You swallowed the golf ball sized lump in your throat, head snapping left and right, as if begging the other campers to step in and help you – you didn't know what to say. Did you confess and make yourself seem powerful, or did you lie and make yourself seem guilty?

It was Lance who eventually answered for you. “Pointing your fingers at the new girl purely because she's powerful is a bullys move. You know that, Chiron. You're better than that.”

Chiron whinnied. “I don't know what to think right now, Lance.”

“You need to start looking into the real evidence!” Lance barked. “Hunk was right – Y/N hasn't even known she's a demigod for that long. She had a strike of luck yesterday with her powers, but even then she was only able to unearth a finger from a skeleton – she's most definitely not at the level to kill someone!” “This coming from another child of a Big Three god,” Lotor sneered. “You protect each other because you're both outsiders. It's obvious to see.”

“If you don't shut your gods damned mouth, Lotor-”

“Enough!” Chiron barked, holding up a hand to silence the arguing demigods. “I will look into this. Until I can rule out the suspects, Y/N is at the top of my list.”

“Chiron-” Lance wailed, but you stopped him by placing a hand on his chest. He inhaled deeply, stepped back and bit down into his bottom lip, clearly trying to hold back his temper.

Chiron shot you an apologetic glance, the last piece of hope he was going to give you that he didn't truly believe Lotor's claims – but you couldn't blame him for keeping you under close eye. You were the new arrival, had the power to kill if you so wanted to. Even though you had yet to learn such a skill, would never want to learn such a skill, it made sense why Chiron would think of you as the lead suspect.

“Everyone back to their cabins for the night. Training is cancelled until tomorrow morning,” said Chiron. “Somebody help me move this body.”

116 notes · View notes

master-sass-blast · 6 years

Text

Authority Issues

Well, well, well. What do we have here?

(AN: I’m not abandoning Strong as Stone. This was just my entertainment for the day.)

Long story short: I had a dream with Piotr Rasputin/Colossus in it last night. It was glorious. I might’ve kissed him.

Like I said. Glorious.

And thus, after kissing the dream Colossus, I woke up inspired to write some fanfiction loosely inspired by my dream.

So, essentially, welcome to my latest hyperfixation.

For the record, I haven’t seen the Deadpool movies. I haven’t read the X-Men Comics. I haven’t seen the X-Men movies.

Yes, you got that right, this is undoubtedly the crackiest fic you’ll ever read.

Or maybe not. I’ll let you be the judge.

So, loosely based in the Deadpool Movieverse/X-Men universe, I present you this: a self insert pic with Colossus.

You’re welcome.

Also, @colossus-and-cable, I blame you for suckering me into this hyperfixation! Because of your brilliant writing, I can’t get enough Colossus content!

Well, they say create the content you want to see.

Rating: M for kidnapping, mentions of abuse, sexual assault, sequences of terrifying action (nightmares), and stong language.

Pairing: Reader x Piotr Rasputin.

Alright, so, it wasn’t your fault. Technically.

Remember that ‘technically.’ It’ll come in handy later.

For context: you are the latest trainee/recruit/refugee at the Mutant Mansion a la Professor Xavier is really stinking rich to afford the utilities bills for this group.

You’d seen the X-Mansion briefly, two years ago, on a newscast that your mother had turned off as soon as she’d seen you watching it, then forced you up to your room to ‘pray for protection against the ungodly lures of the outside world.’

Ah, the joys of growing up in the middle of Bumfuck Nowhere --zero tolerance of the queers, people of color, and mutants.

You’d read about the X-mansion’s purpose --taking in and training mutants to control their powers--in a newspaper article a few months later --well after your parents had decided that TV was ‘too great a portal to temptation’ for someone of your ‘unnatural, hedonistic tendencies.’

You’d been shocked. You hadn’t known that there was an actual group out there that was willing to take in mutants, much less train them.

Your father had ripped the paper out of your hands a few moments later and tossed it into the burning fire, stating that the X-Men were nothing more than heathens upsetting the natural order of God’s holy creation.

Perhaps with some great amount of foresight, your parents had decided to lock you into your room that night. Not that it mattered; the lock on your bedroom door had always been easy to pick.

No one ever said that foresight and practical wisdom were the same things.

You’d packed a bag of everything that mattered --clothes, toiletries, a stuffed bear, your state ID--then crept downstairs and broken into the family safe. You’d taken all of your paperwork --birth certificate, social security card--and all the cash that your parents had kept in there, and left.

Looking back on it, you were incredibly lucky the universe had gifted you with the powers to control air and wind. Instead of having to plot out a route via bus and train routes --thus risking being caught by the authorities and shipped back home--you could simply fly to the X-Mansion, stopping to buy food and rest as needed. Within a couple days, you’d found the X-Mansion, dropped yourself on their doorstep, knocked, and asked if you could stay.

Which, apparently, they were used to, because they’d just said ‘sure’ and let you in.

Two years later and look at you now!

A --still, technically--trainee on account of your difficulty controlling your powers and hot, hot issues with authority, under the tutelage of the X-Men. Free room, personal bathroom, three hot meals a day, and the fastest WiFi the world has ever seen.

And, well... a boyfriend, too.

Piotr Rasputin, code name Colossus, with the real secret to his identity being that he was a massive marshmallow with a heart of gold. He’d wooed you in his own sweet, subtle way as he’d helped you adjust to your new life at Xavier’s, taking your poor impulse control and hot, hot issues with authority in his patient, gentle stride.

It had been a good two years. The best two years of your life.

Which wasn’t to say that everything was perfect...

Right, so this is where the ‘technically’ comes in. And, as with ninety percent of your ‘technically’s, Wade Wilson is along for the ride.

You and Wade get along like a house on fire --compatible in all the wrong ways and usually resulting in some sort of damage to persons and/or property.

Wade, also known as Deadpool, also known as the Merc’ with a Mouth, also known as ‘the Obnoxious Red Dildo,’ has widely known and accepted authority issues, zero impulse control, and a daddy kink a mile wide that he likes to remind everyone of at any given moment --which is all of them.

You, the formerly repressed and abused mutant who has had their first taste of freedom and are itching for more, are --unfortunately--all too willing to help Wade execute any sort of prank, joke, or hijink, because for fuck’s sake, people, live a little!!!

Cue today’s incident.

It had started with a bet. Wade had bet you that there was no way in hell you could use your powers just right to launch a lit firework into Scott Summer’s --aka Cyclops’s--room.

The man had given you kitchen duty for being fifteen minutes late to morning training. The loser had to buy the winner pizza. It was too good of an opportunity to pass up!

You're just about to light the firework when something lifts Wade off the ground and hefts him to the side. A large shadow falls over you, and you look up with a cheesy grin. “Hi, babe.”

Piotr stares down at you, arms across his chest. He’s in defense mode, which means he isn’t here on the friendliest of terms. “What are you doing, myshka?”

You look down at the firework in one hand, the lighter in the other, then up at Scott’s open window. “Uh...” You look back up at Piotr and give him the most convincing look you can muster. “Arts and crafts?”

He isn’t convinced. “Professor Xavier sensed your plan.”

Ah. Well. That would do it.

“Hey! Russia’s Greatest Love Machine!” Wade interrupts, madder than a hornet and a little more crooked than the human body usually looks. “Stop fucking throwing me everywhere, you giant metal dildo!”

“Wade, watch your language, please.”

“Suck a cock!”

“In my defense,” You interject before Piotr can go off on his usual spiel about rules and ‘appropriate language,’ “it was Wade’s idea.”

“Hey!”

Piotr is still unmoved. “You are capable of making your own choices, dorogoy. Wade did not force you.”

“He was going to buy me a pizza, Colossus! How do you expect me to refuse?”

“Hey, that was only if I lost!”

“Yeah, well, you were gonna lose!”

Piotr sighs, shakes his head, then extends a hand to help you off the ground. Even when he’s busting you for misbehavior, he still treats you with the utmost respect and courtesy. “Come. We need to talk to Professor.”

You sigh and trail after him. This is gonna suck.

It does, in fact, suck. Talking to Xavier --again--sucks like a vacuum cleaner gone prostitute that’s hellbent on sucking its client’s dick off.

The professor, as always, is patient with you in talking about rules and your struggles with following them.

Scott Summers, who must have a serious anal kink considering how far he has a pole wedged up is ass, is not. “I’ve just about had enough of your acting out! Either act your age or--”

“Or what?” You interrupt with a roll of your eyes. “You’ll kick me out?”

“No,” Professor Xavier interjects firmly before Scott can speak. “You will always have a safe place at the Institute, Y/N.”

Scott scoffs. “Safe for her and no one else.”

You narrow your eyes at Scott. “Says the guy who has to wear glorified sunglasses all the time or he’ll blow a hole through the wall. You look like a tool, by the way.”

“Your destructive tendencies are way out of hand!” Scott snaps.

“My destructive tendencies? Logan goes through four phones a month and cut your bike in half because you drank one of his beers! How come he always gets away with it?”

“We’re not talking about that right now!”

You sit back and your chair and nod, feigning amicability. “Ah, I see. You’re a misogynist.”

“Y/N--”

“No wonder Jean’s always looking at Logan the way she does. You must be a pain in the--”

Scott’s hand smacks down on Xavier’s desk, cutting you off. “Are you looking for extra kitchen duty? Because I’ll be happy to provide it for you.”

You refocus on Xavier. “Okay, I have an administrative question. Why’d you make the actual tyrant in charge of punishment duty?”

“I run a fair and understanding system!”

“You gave me three nights of kitchen duty after I was late for morning training! By fifteen minutes!” You look back at Colossus, who is standing post in the back of the room. “Does that seem fair to you?”

Piotr flounders. “Well... being on time is important...”

Your jaw drops. “You’re not honestly siding with him.”

“I think things have gotten out of hand,” Xavier says, reasserting control over the room. “And I think I need some time to speak with Mr. Summers about his ‘system.’”

Scott recoils. “What?”

You pump your fist in the air. “Ha! Suck it, dickhead!”

“In the meantime,” Xavier added with a stern, if somewhat amused look in your direction. “Mr. Rasputin, I’m discharging Y/N into your care. I’d like to keep her separated from Mr. Wilson until she and I have had a chance to talk about the root of her rebellion.”

Your mouth falls open at the Professor’s orders, and your shock only mounts as Piotr actually accepts. You’re so shocked that you let yourself be ushered out by the metal man himself --ever gentle and respectful of your space--into the hall and away from Xavier’s office.

It isn’t until you’re halfway down the hall that it hits.

Rage. Red hot and burning. Rage at being chastised by Scott, rage at Piotr’s refusal to defend you, rage at being unfairly separated from your best friend. You were an adult, for fuck’s sake! You could make your own decisions!

You storm ahead of Piotr, ignoring his concerned calls, and march to your room.

Like the exposition said: hot, hot issues with authority.

You manage to grab the essentials --bag, wallet, ID, phone--and make it halfway to the front door before he catches you.

Technically, he’s already waiting there for you, in his human form.

Well, that would explain how he beat you there and why you didn’t hear him.

Piotr looks up at you, expression patient if somewhat admonishing. “And where I are you going, dorogaya moya?”

“Out,” You say. No point in denying the obvious.

Piotr sighs and shakes his head. “I do not think that would be wise.”

You shrug. “Arguable. I just need some time to blow off some steam.”

Piotr presses his lips into a firm line. “Y/N.”

Uh-oh. You recognize that tone --the ‘we need to talk as serious adults about serious things in a serious manner.’

Right now, it’s just seriously annoying.

“This is fifth incident in as many weeks.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, can the record please note that Wade and I have been trying to scale back our ‘escapades?’ The car blowing up was a complete accident, not that Scott cared --oh, by the way, thanks for sticking up for me back there.”

That one lands hard, you can tell by the way his shoulders tense. “This behavior is irresponsible.”

“What, exactly, is with the vendetta against having fun?”

“Throwing firework into someone’s room is dangerous, myshka. Someone could have been hurt.”

You roll your eyes again. “It was a smoke bomb, Piotr. Not a 4th of July finale piece! Remember was I said about ‘scaling back?’” You finish descending the stairs and reach for the door handle.

Piotr reaches out --not much of a reach, he’s still a giant in his human form--and places his hand against the door. “No, myshka. You stay here.”

You bristle as you glare up at him. “I don’t remember for asking for you permission.”

Piotr exhales through his nose, the first sign that he’s actually getting frustrated with you. “The Professor--”

“Is not my dad.”

“--has asked me to watch you.”

“Well, I mean, if you want to come with me, I wouldn’t mine.” You grin up at him. “It could be a date.”

“I have things to do here.”

“Of course. Well, in that case...” You yank at the door, but Piotr is unmovable. “Look, Piotr, I’m an adult. I can make my own choices.”

“My instructions are to look after you. I cannot do that if you are not here.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “And how are you going to keep me here? Lock me in my room like my parents did?”

The comparison hurts him, you can tell by the way his blue eyes flash, but it’s enough of a distraction to suit your purposes.

While he’s still reeling from your words, you rip the door open and dart onto the front lawn. You can hear Piotr pursuing you, shouting your name, but outrunning him is easy, even when he’s in his human form. You simply manipulate the air around you to propel you forward. Before he’s even taken three strides, you’re over the wall and out of sight.

You grin as your feet hit the ground outside the wall that borders the grounds of the mansion and run towards the city.

Freedom.

The first thing you do is find a diner and order a heaping plate of food. A massive, greasy cheeseburger with extra bacon, a small mountain of fries, fresh out of the fryer, and a thick, sugary chocolate milkshake that comes in a glass bigger than your head.

It tastes like heaven. Junk food is in rare supply at the mansion, what with Piotr’s obsession with proper nutrition. You love him for it, but you miss your guilty pleasures.

The next thing you do is find that arcade Wade took you to for your birthday. You still have the credit card he bought for you, and you spend the day switching from game to game as you please.

It’s early evening when you leave, and it occurs to you that Piotr is going to be absolutely --you’d use the word furious, but you’re not sure if that’s even genetically possible for him--upset with you when you get back to the mansion, so you stop by the chocolate shop he took you to on your first date and pick up some fudge for him. He rarely treats himself, but you know it’s a favorite.

As you start walking the path back to the mansion, you get the eerie sensation that you’re being watched. Maybe it’s just the unfamiliarity of the city after growing up in a small town, maybe it’s just being a woman in an unfamiliar place while the sun is setting, but--

You look behind you, trying to find anything out of the ordinary.

A man, wearing a black sweatshirt, quickly turns to look in one of the store fronts.

You watch him, anxiety churning in your stomach. You catch his eye, he nods, and starts walking in the opposite direction.

You sigh in relief, and resume your progress back to the mansion. False alarm.

A few blocks later, and that creeping sensation on the back of your neck is back with a vengeance. You turn around again, unable to shake the suspicion that was curling in your chest.

The man in the black sweatshirt was back, standing about twenty feet behind you.

You grit your teeth as you pick up your pace. You focus on trying to find a place where you can duck out of sight and use your powers to run back home, back to the safety of the X-mansion, back to Piotr’s waiting arms --because even when you’ve been an ass, he’ll still oblige you with buckets of affection.

You spot an alley ahead --not ideal, but out of sight enough that you should be able to levitate yourself to a roof top, then hide there until the guy goes away and fly home.

You glance over your shoulder to check the pace of the guy following you and nearly have a coronary.

He’s now five feet behind you.

How did he catch up that fast? You break off into a run, desperate to reach the alley before the guy reaches you.

A man steps out of the alley, grinning malevolently at you. “Going somewhere, doll?”

You barely have time to skitter to a stop before something hits you in the back of your head, knocking you to the ground.

Your last thought before you lose consciousness is how bizarrely empty the streets are.

“Hey there, doll. Open those pretty eyes for me.”

You come to in some sort of basement, dirty and littered with crumpled beer cans and other garbage. You’re tied to a chair, arms tied to the arms and legs to the legs, with another thick rope tying your waist to back of the chair. There’s a gag in your mouth and odd weight hanging around your neck.

The man that jumped out at you is sitting in a chair in front of you, grinning like the cat that caught the canary. “You’ve been difficult to track down. Lucky us, you decided to step outside your precious fortress for the day.”

You’d smirk at the man if you weren’t gagged. Apparently, for all their efforts to find you, they didn’t research your powers very well. You flick your fingers, ready to send the man flying across the room with a gust of wind.

Nothing happens.

You try again, then again, stomach sinking with dread as the man’s grin grows.

Nothing.

The man leans forward and taps at the weight on your neck, a soft metallic sound resulting from the press of his fingernails. “Suppression collar. No powers for you.”

Shit.

Left with nothing else, you try to yank yourself out of your restraints. You thrash and struggle to no avail --no amount of training was going to make you as strong as Piotr, even in his human form.

“They told me you were feisty. Apparently, you tried to run away from home several times before finding the X-Men.” The man leans forward, watching you with a lurid gaze as you struggle.

You growl at him through the gag. Just wait, motherfucker. I’ll get out of these ropes, and then I’m going to beat your ass stupid.

“Not gonna lie. It’s pretty hot.”

You try to flinch away as he reaches towards your face, but are ultimately subjected to the unpleasant sensation of his fingers caressing your cheek.

His touch is nothing like Piotr’s --it’s too rough, too forceful, and nowhere near loving enough.

“Now, we’re supposed to just take you back home--”

Your eyes widen at the mention of home --the small town you grew up in--and you start your struggle to free yourself anew.

“--but maybe we should have some fun first. After all, we’re not in any hurry.”

You stiffen and stare at him as your mind puts together what ‘fun’ might mean, then thrash around violently, almost knocking yourself over in the process.

The man reaches out and grabs the chair, forcing it back into its normal position. “Of course, I’d have to untie you for that, and I don’t want to risk you running away...” He turns to look at the other man --the one that had been wearing the hoodie. “Go get me the paralytics.”

You watch, horrified and on the verge of tears as the other man walks away and up the stairs, and let out a muffled scream.

“Oh, it’s alright,” the man said, leaning in to run his tongue over the shell of your ear. “You’ll be doing a lot of that later, and you’ll be loving it.”

You’re about to headbutt him, but are distracted by the sound of several heavy thuds on the floor above you.

You and the man look up in unison, both trying to discern the source of the noises.

Then, there were several brief bursts of gunfire, accompanied by several metallic pings.

Silence follows.

The man growls under his breath and pulls a gun out of his jacket. He points it at your head. “Don’t go anywhere.”

You watch him ascend the stairs, then start trying to work yourself free. In your efforts, you cant the chair sideways and fall on your side, back to the stairs. You wince at the impact --your arm’s going to be bruised as shit later.

You flinch at the sound of another gunshot.

Everything’s silent for a minute, and then there are footsteps on the stairs again.

You start crying, tears streaming down your cheeks, and you try anything to wiggle your way free.

Then, there are a pair of hands on your shoulders, pulling you up and turning you around, and--

Piotr kneels in front of you, resplendent even in his human form, smiling reassuringly. “It’s alright, moya lyubov’. I’ve got you.”

You draw in a sharp breath and moan at him through the gag.

“Hang on.” He pulls the gag out of your mouth --carefully, the man is always careful--and lifts it over your head.

A cry bubbles out your mouth, followed by a breathless apology. “Piotr-- I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry--”

His thumbs are already wiping the tears off your cheeks while his lips press sweet, gentle kisses along your hairline. “It’s okay, myshka, I’ve got you. You’re safe.” He leans back and flashes you a crooked grin. “Let’s get you out of here, da?”

You nod, already itching to be out of the chair and in his arms. “Da. Yes. Si. Now, please.”

He chuckles and pulls a knife off his belt. “I need you to hold very, very still, moya lyubov’. Can you do that for me?”

You nod again and focus on holding still while he works at the ropes holding you in place. “How did you find me?”

“Tracker on your phone. Men forgot to turn it off.”

You manage a weak, half-hearted giggle. “Idiots.”

He chuckles back, mostly because it’s clear that’s the response you wanted. “So, what did you get up to before all this happened?”

“Oh, you know.” You tip your head back to try and hold back the tears that are threatening to reappear. “Got a bite to eat, smashed Wade’s highscore in Pac-Man at the arcade.” You manage a wavery smile as you tip your head forward to look at him. “I stopped by that chocolate shop you took me to on our first date, got you some fudge.”

“That was very sweet of you, dorogoy.” He’s done with your legs and waist and already halfway through the ropes on your left arm.

Your laugh comes out less as amused and more as hysterical. “Yeah, well, I figured it’d pay to have a bribe.”

“Bribe?”

“To get back in your good graces after being an ass.”

He smiles at you, soft and sweet, as he tosses away the rope that had been holding your left arm in place. “You don’t have to earn my ‘good graces,’ Y/N. You’ll always have them.”

It’s serendipitous timing that he finishes freeing your right arm in that moment, because you want nothing more than to be in his arms after that comment. You launch yourself at him, winding your arms around his neck. You sob, the weight of what could’ve happened hitting you full force, and press your face against his chest.

Piotr is forced to temporarily abandon his knife, tossing it off to the side so he can wrap his arms around you. He’s massive, exceedingly so, and it’s easy for him to curl himself around your --much smaller--body. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“I’m so, so sorry, Piotr! I shouldn’t have run off, and I shouldn’t have said those things, and--”

“It’s okay, dorogaya moya, it’s fine.” He presses his lips against your forehead. “Let’s get you out of here, then we talk. But first.” His hands turn to the solid steel you know so well, and he presses his fingers against the suppression collar. “Hold still.”

You keep yourself still as he tears the collar off of you, then let out a relieved breath, sending a gust of wind throughout the dusty basement.

“Much better,” Piotr murmurs as he rubs his hand up and down your back.

You press against him, trying to close every tiny gap between you and him. You’re shaking like a leaf in a gale, body trembling with adrenaline and relief. You let out a tiny squeak as he lifts you into his arms and wind your arms around his neck as he starts carrying you up the wooden stairs. “I half expected you to come down in full metal.”

“House is very old,” Piotr grunts as he navigates the rickety steps with ease. “I am surprised I did not fall through floor.” He pauses halfway up the steps to look at you. “You may want to close your eyes.”

You oblige him and lean your head against his shoulder. “A grisly scene, unfit for the eyes of a lady?”

A puff of laughter ghosts over your cheek. “There was struggle.”

You can’t resist the temptation to peek at the scene as he carries you through the house. You open your eyes and gasp at the sight of bodies crisscrossing the floor, riddled with bullet holes.

“I thought I told you to close eyes.”

“You should know by now I’m not good at listening.”

That finagles a chuckle out of him. “Stubborn girl.”

“Well, duh.” You peer at the bullet holes --some in the bodies, some in the walls--then check Piotr over for any sign of injury. “How’d you survive the shooting?”

“I came in defense mode. I was not sure stairs would hold me, so I changed.”

“They should’ve thought about the ricochet.”

“Da.”

The sun is almost done setting as he carries you outside to the awaiting jet.

You wince as your eyes adjust to the fading natural light, then blink as you realize you couldn’t have been captured for more than a few hours. “How did you know to come looking for me in the first place?”

“Professor Xavier got letter from intelligence operative. Said your parents had hired bounty hunters to find you and to keep you at X-Mansion until coast was clear.” He clears his throat and ducks his head, looking sheepish. “My... over-protective instincts got the better of me.”

You can’t help but tremble in his arms at the mention of your parents or the fact that they hired a fucking bounty hunter, good God. Your stomach churns as the memory of the hired man threatening to rape you and asking for paralytics, and you cling tighter to him. “Well, I’m glad they did.”

“So am I, moya lyubov’. So am I.” He carries you onto the jet and sets you on one of the seats. “Stay here. I will come back when we are in stable flight pattern.”

You try to stay in the seat as he starts the take off process, but you can’t help but stumble up to the cockpit after him.

“Yes, I found her.” Piotr looks up at you as you press yourself against his arm, and pauses to kiss your forehead. “She is alright, a little shaky.” He pauses again as he pilots the jet high enough to clear the top of the trees and surrounding buildings, then nods as the voice in the pilot’s headset speaks. “Da. We are on our way back now.” A few more exchanges between him and the voice in the headset, and then he’s setting the jet on autopilot and taking the headset off. He turns to face you, flashing you a crooked grin. “I thought I told you to wait.”

You try to reciprocate, you really do, but the past few hours as catching up with you. You lower lip starts trembling, and you slump against Piotr, crying quietly.

He wraps his arms around you and presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “Come on, dorogaya moya. Let’s get you checked out.” He carries you back into the main bay of the jet and --with a gentleness that completely belies his sheer size--deposits you on one of the seats. “How did they capture you?”

You lift your hand to the back of the head, wincing as your fingers brush against a small lump. “They hit me. Knocked me out.”

Piotr’s lips are set into a tense line as he pulls a flashlight out of his suit pocket. “Look at my nose, myshka.”

You stare straight ahead as he checks your pupil response to the light. “Piotr... I’m really sorry for being such an ass at the mansion.”

He chuckles. “It is alright, dorogoy. I need you to follow light with your eyes now.”

“And...” You add quietly as you track his light with your eyes. “...I’m sorry I compared you to my parents. That was... royally unfair of me.”

“It is okay, Y/N. I forgive you.” He clicks off the light and turns his attention to the nice, ugly bruise forming on your left forearm. “How did you get this?”

“I knocked myself over trying to escape.”

Piotr chuckles as he carefully prods the bruise. “That’s my girl. My fierce myshka.”

“Getting herself bruised,” you mutter with a wince. “That sounds about right.”

“Am I hurting you?”

“Well, it’s a bruise and you’re poking it. What do you think?”

“I am trying to ascertain if it is broken.”

You shake your head. “I’ve broken my arm before. It just feels like a bruise.”

He stops prodding at your forearm in favor of encapsulating your hands with his massive ones. “Did anything else happen? Anything you can remember?”

“No, I was out for most of it.”

“What happened when you came to?”

“I tried to use my powers to throw them across the room.”

Piotr snorts --actually snorts. “I suppose, for them, it was good thing they had collar. You would have kicked their asses otherwise.”

“Good for them, pain in the ass for me,” you mumble, annoyed. “He pointed out the collar, so I tried to yank my arms free.”

“I figured. You have rope burns on your wrists.”

You have to stop to force down the bile creeping up your throat before you can go on. “He said I was feisty. Said it was hot.”

Piotr’s hands tighten around yours. “Anything else?”

You start shaking again. “He said that he had to take me back home... but that he didn’t have to rush. He... asked for some paralytics... said he was going to make me scream.”

Piotr’s jaw clenches, and he pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly.

You giggle hysterically against his chest. “You came in the nick of time. He’d just sent the guy up for the paralytics when you crashed in.”

“Bozhe moi, I am grateful. I am grateful I found you when I did.”

“Me too.”

He presses his forehead against yours, taking deep, shaky breaths. “Was there anything else that happened, lyublyu?”

You frown. “Yeah. He touched my cheek and licked my ear.” You rub your cheek, then your ear. “God, that was gross.”

Piotr is quiet for a moment. Then, he lifts his hand to your cheek, rubbing his thumb against your soft, supple skin. “Like this?”

You lean into his touch, smiling weakly. “Yeah. Yours is better, though.”

“I would hope so.” He’s quiet for another moment, then leans forward.

A shiver runs down your spine as he presses a soft kiss against your ear. “Piotr,” you sigh.

He presses the side of his face against the side of yours. “Better?”

“Yeah.”

And, oddly enough, it is. It was as though Piotr’s touch erased the traces of the bounty hunter’s harassment. Sure, you could remember it happening, but you couldn’t quite remember how it felt. All you could feel was Piotr’s loving, tender touches and the affection he so willingly lavished upon you.

You turn your head towards him and press your lips against his.

He kisses you back for a moment the way he always does --with a tenderness that never fails to make you weak in the knees--and then pulls back. “I must apologize for my behavior earlier. I was too controlling. You are an adult, and I need to respect that.”

“Eh, I think I need to talk to Xavier about that one more than I do you.”

“Still, I am sorry--”

“I forgive you, Piotr. Stop beating yourself up.”

He ducks his head, smiling sheepishly. “Khorosho. I also want to apologize for not defending you in front of Scott. He was out of line.”

“It’s alright. I’m just glad to be with you right now.”

“As am I, myshka. As am I.”

After one of the resident medics gives you a thorough check over and a blood test to ensure you hadn’t been injected with anything while you were knocked out --at Piotr’s worried insistence, and you were too worn out to put up too much of a fight--you're given a clean bill of health and instructions to rest for a few days.

Piotr escorts you to the living space side of the mansion, his hand a warm and soothing presence on your shoulder.

The two of you are met by Professor Xavier and one very pissed off looking Scott Summers.

“It’s about time,” Scott snaps. “We have jobs to do, you know. We can’t just waste our time keeping up with your outbursts.”

You roll your eyes. “Geez, Scott, who rusted the pole up your ass?”

Before he can retort, Piotr steps in between the two of you. “Enough,” he says, voice deep and hard. “She has had long day. She needs rest.”

“Yes,” Professor Xavier agrees. “We’re glad to see you back safely, Y/N. Rest for now. We can resume our discussion when you feel more recovered.”

You nod and let Piotr escort you to your room.

“The medic cleared you for concussion, so you can sleep on your own tonight.”

You bite back a frown. You would rather stay with him --in general, yes, but especially tonight, given the circumstances. Dammit. Why couldn’t I have a concussion? “Okay.”

Piotr cups your face in his massive hands. “If you need anything, come wake me up. Time does not matter, okay?”

You nod, then roll up onto your toes to kiss him. When he tries to break away once, you grab onto his shirt and cling to him.

He humors you for a few moments longer before disentangling your hands from the material of his shirt. He kisses both of your hands. “Sleep well, myshka.”

You manage a smile for him, but it dissipates as soon as he turns away.

You’re not sure sleep will come easy tonight.

You’re not sure it’ll come at all.

The needle glints in the glaring overhead lights of the basement, sinister and clinical.

You wrench at your restraints, but you’re stuck, frozen in place.

The man in the hoodie holds you still while the man from the alley stabs the needle into your arm, slowly injecting you with its malevolent contents.

You try to fight, try to free yourself, but you can feel yourself quickly becoming sluggish. Your limbs are heavy, stiff from the dose of the paralytic.

You can only watch, frozen, as they cut your ropes away. Tears trickle down your cheeks, but you can’t so much as flick a finger.

You’re helpless. Completely at their mercy.

You’re laid out on the dirty stone floor without any decency or preamble.

The man from the alley laughs as he cuts your pants away from you, laughing at your tears and the sight of your shame. He leans towards you, close enough that you can smell the beer he drank while waiting for the paralytic. “You’re going to love this, doll.”

You stare at the ceiling, crying as you try to will your useless limbs to move --to fight.

You jerk upright, breathing hard.

You’re in your room, lonely and terrified in your bed. The darkness around you feels oppressive, like it’s choking you.

You try to calm yourself, to still the tremors in your hands. You use your powers to draw more air into your lungs, to try and quiet your nerves.

You can still smell the beer on his breath...

You can still feel your limbs going numb...

You bolt out of your bed and fling open the door --screw anyone who complains about the noise. You dart down the hall, skidding to a stop in front of Piotr’s bedroom door. You rap your knuckles at the door, trying to stay upright while your knees knock together. “Piotr! Piotr!”

A light flicks on his room, the glow creeping out from around the edges of the door. There’s the thud of footsteps --too light for him to be in defense mode--and the door swings open to reveal Piotr’s confused, sleepy face. “Zdravstvuyte? Hello?” You must look worse than you thought, because the exhaustion drains from his face in seconds. “Myshka, what is it?”

“I had a nightmare,” you whimper.

Piotr ushers you into his room, closes the door behind him, and kneels in front of you. “It’s okay. You’re safe. They can’t reach you here.”

You sniff and slump against him. “I dreamed that you didn’t get there in time, and that they injected me with the paralytics, and--”

Piotr wraps his arms around you and holds you against his chest. “Sh, lyublyu, it’s alright. You’re safe, I’m here.”

You wipe your eyes with the back of your arm. “Can I stay with you tonight? I don’t want to be alone.”

You hadn’t asked earlier to avoid making him feel awkward. Piotr was such a stickler for rules and ‘appropriate behavior,’ and you had no doubts that he would consider sleeping in the same bed --especially since your relationship was still fairly young--to be inappropriate, to say the least.

However, he doesn’t so much as hesitate when you ask. He simply presses a kiss to the top of your head and whispers, “Of course, dorogoy. All you had to do was ask.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and let him carry you to --and set you on--the bed.

There’s bit of shuffling as Piotr finds a pillow for you, and then he shuts his bedside lamp off and lays down next to you.

You wiggle across the bed until you’re pressed up against him.

Rather than mind the invasion of his space, he simply winds his arms around you, holding you against his large, muscular body. “I would’ve have offered earlier, but I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You can’t help but smile at his sweetness. “Well, I would’ve asked earlier, but I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Politeness gets you nowhere.”

He huffs out a soft laugh and runs his fingers through your hair. “You don’t mean that.”

No. You really don’t.

Rather than admit defeat, you opt to trace your fingers over his chest. He’s wearing a loose t-shirt, exposing his collarbone and the tops of his pecs. His skin is warm and soft under your fingertips.

Something in the back of your mind registers satisfaction at the shuddering gasp you pull out of him when your fingers graze over his collarbone, but you’re too tired to let the thought manifest past that.

By all means, it’s really soothing. Piotr’s fingers playing with your hair, his comforting embrace and warmth, the way his skin feels under your fingers. It’s almost enough to lull you into sleep, save for one nagging thought--

You tilt your head back to peer up at him. Piotr’s face is near indiscernible in the dark, but you can make out the shadowy outline of his features and the soft glint of his eyes. “What happens if I have another nightmare?”

“I will wake you up and comfort you.”

That --the promise that you won’t be left to suffer alone--is enough to finish calming you down. You close your eyes, lay your head on his chest, and let yourself fall back asleep.

You wake up --but not in the place you fell asleep in.

You’re in your room --not the one at Xavier’s, but in your old room, back in the middle of nowhere.

You bolt out of bed and race to the door. You yank and pull on the handle, but it doesn’t budge.

You try the windows next. You rip the curtains away, only to find that you’ve been sealed in. The windows are boarded over; not even a trace sunlight peeks into your room --your cell.

You pound your fists against the walls, desperate to find a way out. “Help me! Please, help me!”

A bright light floods the room, seemingly from nowhere. Someone grabs your shoulders--

“Y/N!”

You jolt awake, mid-scream.

Piotr is holding you by your shoulders, expression pinched.

Oh. That’s right. You’re in Piotr’s room. Not at home.

The relief hits you like a brick to the chest, and you start crying.

“Oh, myshka, what happened?”

“I dreamed was back home, trapped in my room.”

His arms slid underneath you and lift you off the bed. “It’s alright, love. I’ve got you.”

You draw in shaky, uneven breaths as you press your forehead against his shoulder. “I know. I’m just happy that I’m here, instead of stuck back there.”

“So am I, lyublyu. So am I.”

You sit at one of the many window seats, staring out at the cool, rainy day. Normally, a view like this --gray skies and damp grass--would leave you in a foul mood. Today, however, you were simply grateful to be seeing it.

It was horrifying to think that if Piotr hadn’t started looking for you, or if you had left your phone at the mansion, or if the bounty hunters had turned it off, or --a thousand other things, who knows. Point stands, you would be on your way back to your parents, never to see Piotr or the other X-Men again.

Or, maybe you wouldn’t have been underway to see your parents by now. Maybe the bounty hunters would’ve kept you in the basement, torturing you however they pleased.

You’re so lost in thought that you don’t hear Piotr sneak up behind you. You shriek as he lifts you off the seat and spins you in a circle.

“ Zdravstvuyte, myshka.”

You can’t help but smile at him as he settles you into his arms, bridal style. He’s in defense mode, which makes things a little uncomfortable, but you don’t mind. “Hey, yourself. I didn’t heart you coming.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe.”

“I was lost in thought.”

“Good thoughts, I hope?”

Your smile fades. “Not really, no. I was just thinking... what would’ve happened if I hadn’t had my phone on me...”

Piotr’s grip on you tightens. “Easy, dorogoy. There isn’t much to be gained by those thoughts.”

“I know. It’s just kind of horrifying.”

He kisses you gently, then carefully sets you on your feet. “You need distraction. Have you had lunch yet?”

“No.” You intertwine your fingers with his --a near impossible task when he’s in defense mode, but you manage. “But, I can think of a couple other things if you really want to distract me.”

He ducks his head and chuckles. “Perhaps another time, myshka. Skipping meals is not healthy.”

You smile and let him lead you out of the library and in the direction of the kitchen. “Of course. Heaven forbid we mess up our meals.”

#sass writes #piotr rasputin x reader #x-men fanfiction #colossus x reader #piotr rasputin imagine #colossus imagine #self insert #welcome to my new hyperfixation #enjoy the stay #i certainly have been #colossus is the biggest marshmallow and no one can convince me otherwise #oops it got long #like 7k words long

115 notes · View notes