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#listen...I love piotr with all my fucking heart
awarriorqueen · 4 months
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ok so i kind of read A LOT this weekend but I didn't take time to put my thoughts down in order--so let's do that now! first of all...how macabrely romantic this Astonishing X-Men cover is alksdhfag
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ok so rogue is finally out of the whole avengers nonsense (except for like little side missions--including one where she like totally puts a stop to her thing with Deadpool after he kills someone--don't know why, don't really care tbh) so we're back to 'normal' x-men missions and gambit still obviously flirting with her--and keep in mind the last time they really saw each other was that whole drama with joelle (in which rogue was acting like she was gambit's gf and he cheated on her) and then during the thieves guild thing when rogue wanted gambit to join her with the avengers and he said no (because why would he ever say yes?) but gambit was still like 'i still love you, we're fine'
so of course gambit volunteers to go on a dangerous mission with rogue and reiterates that he's the love of her life (twirling my hair, alright gambit, let's go 💖💖💖)
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I actually thought this whole theatre bit in shadow king's realm was really good lmao (also the kitty/piotr role swap 😂) but when they were like 'that's not us' part of my heart died lmao
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and now this whole fantasy of them getting to be together and touch each other...obviously a trap and then professor x's whole weird plan (in which he does not give a shit about gambit because nothing has changed since the 90s lmao he is always doing gambit dirty because he doesn't trust him/wants to leave him out of the loop of his secret plans like that one time he made it so that rogue died in his arms in a false illusion scenario...it's fucked up tbh 😅)
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and listen, i'm with gambit (and i think it's so funny rogue is out here being angsty about it meanwhile mystique and fantomex are just living it up while they can aslkdfhsag) and I'm a little annoyed at rogue's whole 'it never works out with us' and it's like...i haven't been keeping a tally, but if we cut out the end of the world/insane weird space alien reasons that get in the way of her and gambit being together...most of the time I think it's rogue who is the one who breaks it off/doesn't want to try and I don't really think that's fair to gambit, who has pretty much NEVER been wishy washy about his love for her (let's ignore that very OOC arc where he got mad at her for a-his own blindness and b-not being able to have sex anymore because that was just...terrible writing).
and yes, gambit has had his issues/problematic moments as well as rogue, but boiling it down to 'i don't want to try again because it never works out with us' but most of the time they break up...it tends to be over rogue's own shit/difficulty with processing bad things that happen (like after their first epic real kiss, and her literally running away and going on a roadtrip with bobby just because she couldn't handle what she saw in gambit's mind while he was in an actual coma and he had no idea why she left 😬) and listen I get how she needs time to process/be her own person (but then she'll fuck off with magneto and that doesn't help! at all! and is kind of hypocritical to the whole 'i need to be alone to find myself before we can be together') anyway, god bless gambit for being so patient to wait for rogue this whole time... (even though it's always clear on rogue's end too that she's not going to love anyone else the way she loves gambit)
so anyway they don't do anything in the astral plane and gambit is left to get possessed because 'X' just didn't want to take the time to break him out of the mind prison lakdhfasg
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but everything ends up generally fine for gambit and rogue... and then I got to finally move on to Rogue & Gambit (2018)... 👀
post coming soon for that one!
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You can't mend a relationship, but you can slap crappy tape on it and call it good.
This takes place in a mission where Illyana and Piotr run into Mikhail and Piotr just can't take it anymore
Warning: Talk of dying, cussing, death, and violence
Piotr stood there in the open field, the breeze blowing so gently it felt more like a tickle than a slap on the face. He looked up at the sky, squinting at the harsh sunbeams that beat down on him. He felt hot and sticky, but distant and cold - hard to tell you feel so many things at one time.
In the distance he hears the rustle of his teammates as they go about checking the surroundings for civilians and, more importantly, themselves. Piotr chances a glance to the right and spots his older brother, Mikhail, panting in exhaustion - he had just warped a huge nearby structure and teleported those they were fighting to possible death.
To his left he peers at Illyana, his baby sister, and views her eyes losing their glow. He sword drops lower as she loses the tension in her stance, even her own gaze moves around - first at the surroundings, then the various teammates, to Mikhail, and finally on him.
Nothing is said for a time before Illyana lifts her sword and points it in Mikhail's direction. Her words come out in a dark edge, saying things like 'you can't fucking trust him, brother', 'you have to fight him', and 'Piotr listen to me, you can trust me damnit'. Mikhail in chance he got, lifted his hands and snapped back 'she didn't want to bring you back when you were gone', 'I will always be there for you', 'You can trust me'. It all was so much noise to Piotr, and beat down on him like the sun.
He covered his ears and called his eyes hoping to block it out, but he couldn't do it. He couldn't do better, he couldn't do better.
"Shut up. Shut up. Shut up, please. I can't take it anymore. Я больше не могу это терпеть."
He didn't realize the silence, the screaming was him. He was doing it at the top of his lungs and everyone was staring.
"You two are helpless. You two don't care what I want or think. I spent how many years being the best younger brother and then older brother. I spent longer being a teammate, and then when I finally had chances to be a brother again I - I couldn't be better.
Piotr dropped his hands and stared off in the distance. His eyes blinked at the dust that got in them, he'll blare it on that not the tears that were collecting.
"I fucking tried and tried. I did my best, or what I hoped was my best, to be a brother and bring my family back back but no matter what you people hurt me. You people manipulated me in doing horrible things just to what?!?! Prove a damn point ?!"
He dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around his body. A shuddering breath was taken.
"I died so much and came back to less each time. I never got what I wanted but everyone else did. I have had my heart broken too much yet everyone else got to feel love eventually. I wanted my siblings but I couldn't have that.
I should have stayed dead. I should be dead. It doesn't matter because I have nothing. The longer I love the more I just lose."
Through his rant his siblings just stand there, having not moved an inch unsure if they could even offer a kind word or caring touch.
"This relationship I have is use and use and use till I have nothing left and I just give up. To just try again till I rinse and, о черт, I repeat. I am so tired, so very tired of this sad game I have been willfully playing.
I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE. I want it to stop, I want it all to just stop. I can't take you two manipulating me anymore! I just can't take it!"
Piotr remembers hearing that saying 'just stick a bandaid on it' when he first came to America. He didn't quite understand what that meant till later when Mikhail used him the first time and hurt the Morlocks. He realizes since then he just has been sticking the proverbial bandaid on all of his woes and hoping for the best. Now that bandaid is dirty, covered in blood and torn.
"I can't do it. Please leave me alone. Please, please, please. I can't beg any harder. I just want to be alone. I can't - I won't - no more! Just please no more ..."
Piotr kept begging right there on the ground in front of siblings, in front of his teammates, in front of those civilians, and the structures that lay in ruin around them, voice drifting out in that light breeze as the sun beat down on him.
(Just gonna add this) Tagging @sadstonewrites @emma-frxst and @osmiumamygdala
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bamfdaddio · 3 years
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X-Men Unabridged: 109 (1978)
The X-Men, those plant-loving mutants that have sworn to protect a world that hates and fears them, are a cultural juggernaut with a long, tangled history. We’ve been untangling that history for a while, but sometimes, you really want a more in-depth look. Interested? Then read the (un)Abridged X-Men!
(X-Men 109) - by Chris Claremont and John Byrne
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Ororo not noticing Moira casually drowning Banshee or Wolverine being punted around by some poutine-roided idiot because she’s too busy eating the Piotr-shaped eye candy is such a mood.
I wonder what my ethnic curse would be. Perhaps: ‘By Mata Hari’s bedazled bikini!’
Plot-wise, issue 109 is not that dense. Half the issue deals with the X-Men coming home from their space-adventures, the other half has Wolverine dealing with the Canadian government coming to claim their lost asset. I mean, Claremont uses three pages to tie up some loose Shi’ar ends through flashback because the last issue couldn’t fit it all in. It’s by its very definition a breather issue.
Doesn’t mean it’s not awesome.
WHERE TO START?! Why not with plant mommy Ororo?
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Storm’s secondary mutation has to be that her hair always looks like a fabulous follicular cascade, even during an indoor spring shower.
Look, if I had weather powers, I’d probably be using it for mundane shit like watering my plants and ensuring nice weather at my friend’s weddings too. (Okay, maybe sometimes I’d zap dudes who tell random girls in bars to smile more.)
While Storm talks to plants and takes all her clothes off, Kurt does the other thing I do after a rough day at the office: he calls someone for some nookie.
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I love that Amanda is so extra that she gives out signed photos of herself.
Kurt just looks so fucking cute here. Look at those little fangs! Yeah, Amanda, get it.
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Like a lot of people to whom communication comes as easily as breathing, Piotr is defeated when faced with a blank letter. Look at that trash can: he’s tried this waaaaay too many times.
Anyway, I think “Sorry I haven’t been writing, was busy saving the universe. Weather’s lovely” has a nice ring to it.
Star Wars had been out for around half a year when this comic was published, and it’s safe to say Claremont was a huge fan. You can tell by the direction these comics are taken: the whole Shi’Ar space opera is obliquely inspired by Star Wars and Star Trek and their aesthetics. I mean, Corsair asks to be beamed up and there’s even references to a captain “Spo’ock”.
It was the end of the 70s. Everybody wanted to be a Skywalker: space was big, y’all. Nightcrawler loving the movies is not a coincidence - I wonder if Claremont was also a fan of Errol Flynn.
Anyway, we follow Kurt one more floor down, where he spooks Scott, brooding at the window. The result is an unintentionally hilarious interaction, where Scott and Kurt discuss Real Issues Like Men while Jean comes out to her parents outside.
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“Mom and dad, I’m… the Phoenix.”
“Honey, we figured you might be when you introduced us to Misty Kn… Wait, what?”
To be fair, being possessed by a cosmic force for rebirth is almost the same as being gay: it imbues you with fabulous new insights, you start experimenting with your wardrobe and ever so often, you want to burn down the galaxy because some bitches in a gay club have slighted you.
But all that will come later.
Anyway, Jean’s kinda silly coming out leads to a pretty honest heart-to-heart between Nightcrawler and Cyclops. Scott tries to give Kurt grief because of his happy-go-lucky attitude, and Kurt gives him a deserved put-down.
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Life can be unkind, Scotty, so embrace the kindness provided to you by a wise little devil.
Scott prefers to brood and Kurt is hanging with Amanda, so it’s a foursome - maybe even a double date? Moira and Sean, Piotr and Ororo. Logan asks for a ride - not because he wants to eat cheese and crackers among ants, no, he wants to blow off steam.
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The X-Men’s chicken or egg: did Logan’s sideburns decide the shape of his headpiece, or did the headpiece shape his haircut?
I started reading the X-Men just when the Marvel Universe was starting to reach the height of Wolverine saturation: he was simply everywhere. Like, at some point, he was in X-Force and the Avengers while also being a Headmaster of the Jean Grey school. Add to that him being the face of the Fox X-Men universe… Listen, it was easy to get sick of him. I kind of did.
But this? Original flavor Wolverine, who’s still kinda short, kinda ugly and kinda stuck being a loner? He works as a character. Chris Claremont is beginning to explore his duality: the wild animal who has been experimented on vs. the honorable man who would do anything for his found family. He gives me major Granny Weatherwax vibes: he’s the kind of person who doesn’t need people, but he does need people to know that he doesn’t need people.
So yeah, he's still cool.
Also, his healing factor hasn’t been kicked to superhuman levels yet - you know, being able to regenerate from a single cell or whatever - so he actually feels kind of anxious when he’s about to toss himself off cliffs etc.
Not happy about that red belt, though.
Anyway, Wolverine is out doing the noble hunting-without-killing-thing, and then this motherfucker wrapped in a flag shows up. Look, I know I have something against dudes who brandish their nationality as their superhero identity, but this fool is just… ugh.
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James MacDonald = the worst. Trust me on this.
Major MacMapleleaf then punts Wolverine across the forest, right into the other X-Men’s picnic, and now we’re all caught up.
Out of all the X-Men in this issue, Sean gets the least amount of screen time but, hey, at least I can steal a joke from him.
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Don’t worry, despite the martyr/pièta pose, Moira will turn out just fine!
You weren’t worried?
Anyone?
Look, is there anyone who genuinely likes Moira as a character?
James Hudson, being the worst, doesn’t give a fuck that he just cross-fired an innocent woman - er, innocent as far as he knows, at least - and just nopes out of there, too outnumbered to fight the X-Men.
Yeah, you better run.
He vows to return with Alpha Flight, which… Eh, he’ll at least bring some more interesting characters with him. (Snowbird!) Now that he has sown enough seeds for a future plot to pick up on, Claremont calls it a day. I will also call it a day, after a little fashion watch. Out of all of these character, who has chosen the worst outfit?
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Scott. It’s Scott. Look, I get that those ruby quartz glasses make the world a different color for you, but you’re wearing a mustard suit and a bespeckled yellow shirt underneath. Even when considering Moira’s attitude, it’s still the most stank thing in the doorway.
Sean, just what do you see in her?
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huahsu · 3 years
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A RAT YEAR
previous years: THE MOON REPRESENTS MY HEART :: 2019 A SONG THAT DEGRADES EACH TIME YOU PLAY IT :: 2018 A CHURCH AND JOHN LENNON’S “IMAGINE” :: 2017  SIKH DEVOTIONAL MUSIC :: 2016 SPOOKY BLACK :: 2015
Not just other people, the sight of other people on the subway or bus, walking carefree down the street, lost in their music, emitting auras, and I’m wondering what that music is. Not just music, I miss the stories, the way we gather around a sound as though it’s a flame, the way other sounds, triggering other other sounds, can shatter and send us. Not a sound, but a volume I miss is when you’re at a club or a show, and you’re trying to tell someone something, and you’re conscious of not wanting to shout directly in their ear, since you know a polite whisper will get drowned out by the music, and so you (or, in this case, I) resort to a loud mutter, or you emphasize the most important words and hope they can fill in the rest, or you tiptoe your sentence through the noise, guiding whatever you’re saying in between the quiet spaces of the music. Not music, but a sound I thought about a lot this year was a young Black man killed by the cops, his name was Elijah McClain, and he used to play the violin to comfort stray cats. Not playing the violin, rather sawing open this world to reveal one somewhere else that I’d like to believe exists.  IF ONLY THIS HAD EXISTED WHEN I WAS LEARNING CELLO AS A TEENAGER Clarice Jensen, The experience of repetition as death PER USUAL: MY FAVORITE HARP RECORDINGS OF 2020 (HORSEHAIR CATEGORY) Rhodri Davies, Telyn Rawn
FAVORITE HARP (PEDAL) Dezron Douglas and Brandee Younger, Force Majeure MOST LISTENED-TO ALBUMS THAT FELT INSTANTLY FAMILIAR AND WELCOMING Duval Timothy, Help Jeff Parker, Suite for Max Brown MOST LISTENED-TO ALBUM THAT CONFUSED AND DELIGHTED ME ANEW EACH TIME, IT SOUNDS LIKE NOTHING ELSE Still House Plants, Fast Edit ROOKIE OF THE YEAR KeiyaA, Forever, Ya Girl FREE JAZZMATAZZ Boldy James and Sterling Toles, Manger on McNichols
FREQUENTLY SUBLIME...MOTORBIKES, RICKSHAWS, CHAOS THROUGH WEAK CLOCK RADIO SPEAKERS 3Phaz, Three Phase EARTH HEALED HERSELF Gaia Tones, #002 Chains/Shackles BUT ESPECIALLY TRACK 4  ⣎⡇ꉺლ༽இ•̛)ྀ◞ ༎ຶ ༽ৣৢ؞ৢ؞ؖ ꉺლ, ooo ̟̞̝̜̙̘̗̖҉̵̴̨̧̢̡̼̻̺̹̳̲̱̰̯̮̭̬̫̪̩̦̥̤̣̠҈͈͇͉͍͎͓͔͕͖͙͚͜͢͢͢͢͢͢͢͢͢͢͢͢͢͢ͅ  oʅ͡͡͡͡͡͡͡͡͡͡͡​(​ ؞ৢ؞ؙؖ⁽⁾˜ัิีึื์๎้็๋๊⦁0 ̟̞̝̜̙̘̗̖҉̵̴̨̧̢̡̼̻̺̹̳̲̱̰̯̮̭̬̫̪̩̦̥̤̣̠҈͈͇͉͍͎͓͔͕͖͙͚͜͢͢͢͢͢͢͢͢͢͢͢͢͢͢ͅ  ఠీੂ೧ູ࿃ूੂ I MISS THE NIGHTLIFE Julion De’Angelo and Viola Klein, We
ASK THE AGES Mary Halvorson’s Code Girl, Artlessly Falling
JOURNEY TO THE ONE Ambrose Akinmusire, on the tender spot of every calloused moment JOURNEY TO THE ONE, IN A RAINFOREST Matthew Halsall, Salute to the Sun BEST LIVE MUSIC Pharoah Sanders at Zebulon BEST OLD MUSIC Foul Play, Origins I OFTEN PUT THIS ON AND FORGET WHAT IT IS AND CYCLE THROUGH MY WINDOWS EXCITEDLY IN ORDER TO REMEMBER Alabaster DePlume, To Cy & Lee: Instrumentals, Vol. 1 WONDROUS...WE FLOATED OUT OF THERE...IS THIS HOW PEOPLE FEEL ABOUT ‘HAMILTON?’  American Utopia at the Hudson Theater ONLY POSITIVE VIBES Dougie Stu, Familiar Future Jeen Bassa, Cassava Pone R E S P E C T orion sun, “mama’s baby” I WOULD HAVE PLAYED THE SHIT OUT OF THIS BACK AT THE ENORMOUS ROOM drea the vibe dealer, priestess of vibrations SIM SIMMA (SLOW VERSION) Ruth Orhiunu, “Loving Goes Down” AT LES (VERSION) ọmọ igi, “Coco” and Prone2 THIS WAS THIS YEAR??? RMR, “Rascal” FLY AWAY Morray, “Quicksand” “I GOT POWER NOW I GOTTA SAY SOMETHING” Lil Baby, “The Bigger Picture”
LOVE IS ESSENTIAL Ian Isiah, “Loose Truth” STARING AT THE SUN Sharada Shashidhar, Rahu 2 BRIDGES MUSIC AND ARTS APPRECIATION POST THOUGH MY TASTES ARE ADMITTEDLY HELLA BASIC COMPARED TO THE SHOP’S GENERAL ETHOS AND VIBE NYZ, OLD TRX [87-93] Conrad Pack, Stations of Control I CAN’T BELIEVE I FUCKING FELL FOR "CHOPPED AND SCREWED WILCO” Chopstars x Barry Jenkins, Yankee Purple Foxtrot OR “JAZZY CLUB MUSIC”...BUT I DID SW., Night PROBABLY THE BEST THING I BOUGHT THIS YEAR Angel Bat Dawid, “Transition East” 7-inch bundled with Emma Warren’s wondrous Make Some Space and Piotr Orlov’s killer manifesto ANNUAL “THING I DISCOVERED THROUGH BEING FRIENDS WITH/FOLLOWING ORLOV” Ase Manual, Black Liquid Electronics HEADHUNTERS Jadakiss f/ Pusha T, “Huntin Season” ”I WAS LEFT BACK LIKE EVRA” Tion Wayne x Dutchavelli x Stormzy, “I Don’t Know” 56 BARS Lil Eazzyy, “Onna Come Up” ALFA ROMEO / FUEGO / I’M ON MY WAY, YO / WACO / ALFREDO / SCOTT BAIO / MAYO / MAINO Roc Marciano, “Downtown 81″ I WILL ALWAYS LIKE THE VULNERABLEST SONG ON YOUR PROJECT ZahSosaa, “Emotions” THIS BEAT GOES TO ELEVEN Heem Sosa, “Expose You” SAME, BUT WEST COAST YeloHill, “Tales From the Hood” BEST NEW DRONES FUJI​|​|​|​|​|​|​|​|​|​|​TA, iki
BEST OLD WOBBLES Skream, Unreleased Classics 2002-2003 JOURNEY TO SATCHIDANANDA Deradoorian, Find the Sun VERVE’S “SLIDE AWAY” VIDEO Raymond Richards, The Lost Art of Wandering THE OPENING SECONDS OF “HOLY ARE YOU” Corey Fuller, Sanctuary SHOPPING CARTS CRASHING FOREVER HPRIZM, Loops Are a Form of Meditation I MEAN IT’S CALLED Chris Crack, White People Love Algorithms  $ilkmoney, Attack of the Future Shocked, Flesh Covered, Meatbags of the 85 A NICE LOOSIE Ryuji Ono, “Should Be There” SOME THINGS YOU LISTEN TO A LOT BECAUSE YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW THE BEAT AND VERSES WORK, AND WHETHER IT IS INTENTIONAL Choose Up Cheese x ShittyBoyz, “Shitty Cheese” I HAVE NO IDEA WHY I BOUGHT THIS BUT THE GENRE TAG IS “POPOL VUH” Ñaka Ñaka, “Thorny Place” ANNUAL MOOD HUT INSTANT CLASSIC CZ Wang, Neo Image, “Just Off Wave/Open Mic Beat” IS THIS BETTER THAN THE ORIGINAL?? 岩本清顕 Kiyoaki Iwamoto, “Love Will Tear Us Apart” ONE OF THE BEST SONGS OF ALL TIME IS Lim Giong, “A Pure Person”
WHICH SADLY COULD NOT BE INCLUDED ON this Pure Person collection of covers by Taiwanese artists (as well as LG’s own spiritual sequel to the original) that is an incredible vibe FREE GUZHENG  Mindy Meng Wang 王萌, An Improvisation Through Time and Space 穿越时光的即兴 I KNEW NOTHING ABOUT THIS SOUNDTRACK OR FILM BUT IT IS FANTASTIC Carman Moore, Personal Problems OST THE BEST GENRE OF MUSIC IS SADE patten x sade 54D3 SECOND BEST: LATE 80s/EARLY 90s UK STREET SOUL  Soul Connection, Street Soul BRONZE: SEAN PAUL ASSAULTED BY JUNGLISMS Gallery S, “I’m Still in Love Restructure”
SPEAKING OF BLARES Standing on the Corner, “Angel” ONLY GOT TO SEE STANDING ON THE CORNER TWICE THIS YEAR 2/7/20 :: Black Music Future :: NYU 2/21/20 :: Artists on Artists :: Studio Museum  BUT THIS SUFFICES Standing on the Corner, “Zolo Go” SONG OF EVERY YEAR
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rovvboat · 5 years
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Painted Flaws - Colossus/Piotr Rasputin x villian!Reader
Part 12
A/N: send an ask if you wanna be added to the taglist! Lmk how you feel about this series!
Summary: You’re a villian with a moral grey area. You meet Piotr at an art exhibit, but both of you are there for completely different reasons. Though the attraction was inevitable, will it be enough? A growing passionate love wrought with secrecy, both of you try to move through this maze. But when the ball drops, what will you choose?
word count: 2k
The X-Jet roars over the Lazarus Headquarters – a large metallic building coasting over the side of a preserved mountain range.
NTW leans forward from her seat next to Colossus – as he pilots the X-Jet – and peers over the front glass panel. But before she can say anything, she feels a Deadpool looming over her shoulder.
‘’Wow. Don’t think they have any parking available,’’ Deadpool quips, leaning with a casual arm draped over the top of her seat. 
Cable rolls his eyes from his seat.
‘’Wade, please get back and strap yourself on to seat for your own safety,’’ Colossus calmly instructs, eyes never leaving the sight in front of him.
‘’I’d like a different kind of strap, tinman – but that’s only after you buy me dinner. Also, don’t you for a second think I wouldn’t try to fit a cockpit joke in there, because I just want you to know th�� ’’
Deadpool’s sentence was cut off as the cabin jerked to the side from a disturbance, sending him hurtling and falling flat against the side of the cabin.
As he rubs the sore part of his head, he notices Colossus snickering from his seat – ‘’You fucking did that on purpose!’’
‘’It is cloudy day. Turbulence was inevitable, Wade. I told you to wear belt.’’
Cable titters as he looks ahead at Colossus, ‘’Didn’t know you had it in you, Colossus. Good job.’’
NTW laughs heartily at the sight, ‘’That’s some good karma. And anyway, before I was interrupted by doucheface, I think this HQ was probably designed to only be accessible to helicopters. Colossus, you might have to let us off and land somewhere nearby.’’
‘’Yes, very good observation NTW. Soon enough, you too can be Pilot of X-Jet. There was an airbase that I saw not too far from here. I will be there. Please radio me if you need extraction,’’ Colossus directs the team as he adjusts his headset. He flicks the tab on the panel of controls in front of him, releasing the jet’s back door from its’ closed position.
Deadpool cracks his knuckles – and then does the same to his neck – in a showy fashion.
‘’It’s go time, muchachos.’’
‘’Wade! Please wear a para–‘’
And as in Deadpool fashion, he lets himself fall backwards – hurtling down to the Earth without a parachute.
Cable sighs, grabbing an extra parachute from the racks – ‘’I’ll take care of that.’’ – as he makes his jump off the end of the platform.
There was someone waiting to meet them at the landing area, as Cable and Deadpool make their contact to ground. Cable held his face in a disgruntled deadpan look, as Deadpool hung onto his torso with arms and legs wrapped around him.
‘’Are you done?’’
‘’What? I couldn’t get the parachute on.’’
‘’If you don’t get off of me in the next 5 seconds – ‘’ Cable mutters with a low voice, his hand motioning to grab his submachine gun.
‘’Alright! Alright! I’m off now!’’ Deadpool remits as he climbs off of Cable, laboriously slowly.
The person waiting on the landing grounds had been observing the whole tirade, with an incredulous look on their face. Cable ignores the moments of before and gets right to it.
‘’You got what we need?’’
‘’Yeah. I’m sticking my neck out for you. But I don’t give a shit about either the fucking bitch or the boss she works for.’’
A flash of recognition blights Cable’s TO eye.
’’I remember you. You’re the shitface that shot Colossus in the back. The prick from the helicopter.’’
The man chuffs. But Cable’s stare bears into him, cracking his knuckles as he does.
‘’I have some choice words for you, but I won’t count on me using my words.’’ – NTW holds a cautionary arm in front of Cable – and he lets off.
The man remains slack, and holds out the drive between his thumb and index finger.
‘’Everything you need to know is in this thumb drive. Address and real names are encrypted data – but it should be easy enough for you to decode that on your own,’’ the man eyes Cable intensely and before – as Cable reached out to take the drive – in one swift move, flicked the drive and caught it in a fist.
‘’But I need something from you first.’’
NTW walks ahead, just ahead of Cable.
‘’We’re listening.’’
‘’I want out. New name, location, papers. For me and my family. I want to be untraceable within the next 2 days.’’
‘’That should be easy enough. If you aren’t stupid.’’
The man scoffs – ‘’Yeah, and if you aren’t stupid, you wouldn’t antagonize that only lead you’ve had in months. Talk about stupid.’’
NTW rolls her eyes, and Cable steps forward to bring a satisfactory end to the negotiations.
‘’Alright. I’m sure we could arrange for that. Now,’’ he holds his arm out for the drive.
The man seemed to hold back at first, but quickly dropped the drive onto Cable’s open palm.
‘’We will send you your new papers once we’re done. You’re in good hands.’’
The man scoffs again. ‘’I don’t believe in there ever being a good side. You fight only for your own interests. You wouldn’t even be here if not for the information that I got for you.’’
Deadpool yawns and stretches dispassionately, ‘’Yeah, yeah. You’re a hack, we get it. We’ll see you next week, champ.’’
The team turns back, with NTW radioing for Colossus to pick them up.
***
Your phone buzzes with messages from Piotr; asking about your day, if you’ve eaten, if you’re busy. With the amount of time the man sets aside to check up on you, you never would have guessed he was an X-Man.
His replies don’t always come quickly though – sometimes it takes him ages, and he always apologises for it (no matter how much you’ve tried to reassure him that you understood); but it kept in line with his previously claims of being a firefighter.
You grab your phone off the table, hurriedly setting your phone on mute.
You shift your focus back to your computer; eyes still stinging from the hours spent trying to book flights and layovers for D.K.
It would’ve been much easier if you were just booking flights though.
You had hired a few bodyguards (you’ve previously met many of them from working in the field, but few you knew you could absolutely trust) – and they were to help D.K. through his trip and make sure he was safe. Though they all had the condition that they would operate from a distance.
None of them were willing to fend off against your Boss if it meant putting their lives and livelihoods in jeopardy – and you understood that for the most part.
You close your eyes for a minute, letting yourself rest from the demands of the world.
As you lay back against the couch, you envision your sleepy mornings with Piotr – oh how you wished you could be there now; with you starfished on top of him – sometimes clothed, most times not – as his fingers drew slow blissful lines over your back, before running reassuring strokes with slow, long strides of his calloused palms.
Calloused palms which you grew to love, because they were his.
When you looked up at him from your position, he would never fail to give you a smile – with sweet, supple lips that would tell you ‘’I love you’’ a million times if you asked – and would kiss you instead if you didn’t.
Kisses you could never get enough of, because they were his.
The way he would nestle against your neck – strong arms curled up over you – snug and tight and warm against his loving chest
– especially on the nights that were quiet – as if to tell you that he’d hold you close, even if he didn’t need to;
Because he was yours.
You’re jolted back to your empty living room, and into the silent whirring of your laptop.
You push all those thoughts to the back of your mind, as began you typing away on your laptop.
The hours rolled by, uninterrupted – when a sudden urgent knocking sounds at your door.
Your face turned quizzical.
That’s odd… I’m not expecting anyone.
You quickly head over to your room and grab your electric baton.
When you reach your door, you try to put an eye onto the peep hole, but the person on the other end starts knocking aggressively again, making you flinch back. You press your face over the keyhole, and look for who was outside your door so late.
When you realise who it was, you breathe a shaky breath of relief, but your heart rate only picks up from there. Your hands move swiftly to unlock the door and greet your visitor.
‘’Piotr? It’s 3am… What are you doing here so late?’’
‘’I’m sorry, Y/N. You were not responding to your calls… and I grew concerned. I was coming back from work, and thought I could check up on you.’’
Your heart was both elated, and sinking at the same time. You try not to make eye contact with him for too long. Whenever you did, you felt as if he could see right through you.
‘’Yeah, I was just… busy. I was going to call you back.’’
‘’Okay… May I come in?’’
You hesitate, and the uncomfortable look on your face stings at Piotr.
‘’It’s not that I don’t want you here, Piotr – its just that… I’m working on a case right now with a client over the phone. It wouldn’t be professional, and I wouldn’t be able to concentrate.’’
‘’I.. Yes, I understand, myshka…’’ he rubs his neck, trying to hide his embarrassment, ‘’I’m sorry for having interrupted your work… I will wait for when you are free next time.’’
It took all you had to not just pull him closer to you – to show him that he was loved and needed and wanted around.
But the jury doesn’t call for that.
You bite your lip, ‘’okay, get home safely, Piotr.’’
He gives you an awkward nod, before walking away from your door as it shut.
***
The room sits still, waiting for you to make a move as you stand leaning against your bedroom door. Your breathing becomes jagged and heavy as your heart thuds against your chest, and as you do, there's the wetness that escapes your eyes – demanding to burn down your hot cheeks.
You sniff the layers of unease away from your nose, as serious as you can.
Get your priorities straight, Y/N!
There was an ache and an anger and torment brewing in the pit of your stomach, rising and rising as your chest heaved in frustration.
You turn around to bring a closed, fist hard against the door, pounding out your frustrations – hard and unflinching – with gritted teeth as your stinging tears forced your eyes shut.
You wanted to scream. You wanted a release. And you did.
Your groans and sobbing would go unnoticed everyone outside – with the house covered roof to floor with every kind of proofing you could think of;
and in that you found a delinquent sense of security – in the same place you also found the lonely pit sprouting in your chest.
It felt like a daze.
Every person you’ve ever met, taken – lost – killed.
Left.
And those whom you’ve grown to love, were never allowed to be a permanent part of your life.
Your legs grew weak, the hours and thoughts sapping what little energy they had from their muscles – as you lower yourself down, sitting with your back against the door.
There isn’t much left for me. The sooner I let this go, the better for everyone involved.
You head to the bathroom, rinsing your face off – then drying it off with a towel. You face yourself in the mirror; eyes red and swollen.
You abandon the face in the mirror – striding over to your study room, grabbing a pen and paper;
And in that page, you let yourself be free.
You let yourself be seen.
—————————————————————————-
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Talk
Colossus x Reader
56. “Would you just hold still?”
69. “I just really miss talking to you.”
Word count: 1.3K+ (oof) 
A/N: FINALLY! IT’S HERE. AND I’VE COME BACK WITH ANGST. Requested by the lovely @rovvboat! Hope you like it and I am so sorry it took so long (but thank you for waiting ;u;) 🙂 Also we’re just jumping right into it. 
“That was very irresponsible of you to do that, Y/N!” Piotr scolded as he wiped dirt and blood off your face. Both of you have just returned from a mission and let’s just say it didn’t go as planned.
“Oooh, somebody’s about to get grounded~” Wade sang as he watched Piotr forcefully carry you to the medical room upon your return. You scowled and gave him the middle finger.
“Do you have any idea that you could have died back there!?” Piotr went on. You winced as you felt the cuts sting of the antiseptic.
“Piotr, if I didn’t-“
“Would you just hold still for a second?” Piotr cut you off. You growled at him which he ignored and went back to bandaging you up.
“I cannot believe you would throw yourself out there!”
“Oh- like you wouldn’t do the same!” You answered back “Oh wait... you did!” You snarled.
“Because you were hurt back then! I was fine.”
“You were not fine at all! I could already tell that they were capable of killing you! Fucking hell--You know what?” You slapped his hand away. Piotr’s eyes widened and froze. You were caught up in the moment that you didn’t care what you’ve done.
You were going to speak your goddamn mind and he was going to listen.
“I fucking saved you,” You spat. “the least I can get is a ‘thanks Y/N’, but no. You’re just gonna lecture me on how ‘irresponsible’ I was. I fucking know what I did. I was aware that I could’ve died, but what the fuck was I supposed to do? Cheer for you by the sidelines?” The more you thought about what happened a few hours ago, you were at your limit. 
“They were beating you into the ground!” You cried. “You couldn’t even fucking get up!  And you call that fine!?”
There was an eerie silence that filled the room. You kept glaring at him, even though your eyes began to puff up from the tears trailing out. Your heart pounded furiously against your chest, and your breathing became erratic. Oh, you still had a lot more to say, but you’ve said enough. Piotr was getting the message too.
Not waiting for him to speak, you hopped off the bed and limped your way out of the room. Piotr didn’t try to stop you. He just watched you leave- at a lost for words.  
From there, you kept your distance from him as he did the same. You were mad at him at the start, but later on you realised how much you’ve hurt Piotr. He would never forgive you from how you yelled at him and (God help your poor soul) swear at him.
Piotr thought the same. He thought you’d never forgive him either because of how overprotective he was. He had good intentions. Maybe I went too far, was his conclusion. You were capable of looking after yourself; he knew that. It was the fact that he cares too much about your wellbeing that dismisses his own.
He just wanted to make things easier for you. For him to be so vulnerable back then made him feel useless. When he saw you fight by yourself it scared the shit out of him. He just felt that he had to be there and protect you at all costs. To him, it was entirely out of love, but maybe in your eyes you think he just doesn’t trust you.
“...What have I done?” He choked and shoved his face into his hands.
It’s been nearly a month since your argument with Piotr occurred, and either of you haven’t spoken to each other. It’s been killing you, to say the least. Being without him for this long left you feeling empty. It felt wrong and it was frustrating you. You wanted to say something to him, but it was rejection that held you back. That he would turn his back and never want to speak to you ever again.
No- he’s not like that. He’s the most forgiving person in the world, but maybe you’ve pushed it.
“Jesus, Y/N, I can’t take it anymore,” Wade complained one day. The little shit was making himself some pancakes, and somehow, he ended up talking to you about you and your lover boy. He never thought that you and Piotr would ever have a full blown argument. In fact, he didn’t even think it was that serious that day. Turned out he was wrong.
“It’s weird not seeing you and chrome dome together. Why aren’t you two talking?” He whined. You shook your head; a sign telling him it’s never going to happen. “I don’t know what to say to him...” You sighed. “’Sorry’ isn’t going to cut it. I honestly can’t face him anymore; I’ve already hurt him enough.”
“Oh my GOD! Colossus just said that to me the other day!”
You paused, processing what he just said, then eyed him suspiciously.
“What?”
“Uh, yeah.” Wade sassed, “he kept saying he wants to talk to you, but he’s scared that he’ll hurt your feelings and then he said he hurt you enough.” He huffed. “Like seriously- just talk to him and fuck it out already. What am I to you guys? Your therapist?”
You frowned. “Wade I don’t think--”
“No, you go do that now. Or I will. Just the fucking-it-out part, actually. I will gladly do that for you.”
“Alright, alright. I’m going.” You grumbled as you left the kitchen. There was no way in hell you were going to let Wade try to get a piece of Piotr.
So here you were; standing in front of Piotr’s bedroom door. Rejection creeped into you; telling you to turn back, but you really wanted to see Piotr again. Let alone hear the lovable sound of his thick Russian accent.
“Fuck it.” You sighed and knocked on the door.
“Who is it?” Hearing his voice again felt as though your soul had just revived.
“Uh... it’s Y/N... “ You stuttered. FUCK, you mentally scolded yourself.
No reply. You didn’t even hear any movement either.  
“Um… I don’t know if you want to talk to me- well, maybe you don’t want to talk at all- since it’s been a month...” You laughed nervously.
Still no reply.
You sighed. “Look... I just really miss talking to you.” You finally said as you rested your head against the door. “And I’m sorry, Piotr… I really am.” You cringed at the horrible memory of your outburst. “I know it’s stupid to say all of this now, but I… I don’t know…”
It felt as though that whatever you wanted to say wasn’t worth it. That you were too late.
“I should’ve said something earlier… you know- that I shouldn’t have yelled at you or that I should’ve just listened to you and--” You heard a thumping noise gradually getting louder. You stepped back as the door swung open.
And there he was. He was in his defense form and you could already see the pain in his eyes the moment gazed down at you. He might’ve been like that during the month to hide his sorrow.
You bit your lip.
“I’m sorry.” You whispered.
Piotr still doesn’t answer you, but instead, he leaned in and took you in his arms. Oh how much you missed this feeling. You immediately melted into the hug and nuzzled your face against his broad chest.
“You have every right to express how you felt that day. I thought about what you said and… you were right… I was being unfair to you,” He murmured as he ran his fingers through your hair. “I should be apologising. I’m sorry, Y/N.”  
The two of you stood there, embracing each other’s warmth just a little longer. Making up for what had happened.
“Is it alright if I come in?” You asked shyly, pulling away from him.
At first, Piotr was taken aback, but he chuckled and gave a small, sweet smile. Seeing him smile again struck your heart. Thank god a man like him existed.
“Of course, dorogoya.” He said. To your surprise, he leaned in again to slowly, and tenderly, kiss your forehead.
“Thank you for saving me too.” 
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negasonicimagines · 5 years
Text
“All Yours.”
requests: “Hii! Can request an ellie x reader imagine? I do not really care, I am giving you free hand because I am so thirsty for this girl :D thank you very much (maybe get kittens involved) [rq by @crazypurplesnowman]” + “10 FROM THE BUFFY PROMPTS COULD B PRETTY SICK LOOVE UR WRITING KEEP IT UP BABE”
[ 10: “I want to take comfort in you, and I know it will cost me my soul, and a part of me doesn’t care.” ]
notes: I wanted to try something new, so… Yandere!Ellie. Yeah, I’m writing that trope in 2019. This will probably be a flawed version of the trope, because I still want to be at least a little true to the character, and this will mostly be from Ellie’s perspective. Still 2nd person, but will be centered around her thoughts and feelings towards the reader, as opposed to the reader’s perception. DISCLAIMER: I am not encouraging fraud. This is literally the craziest fucking thing I’ve ever written and I LOVE IT. Like… Kittens, an iconic line from BTVS, Chuck E. Cheese, Yandere!Ellie…. Whew.
mini playlist for this fic:
superstar - marina
possession - sarah mclachlan
undisclosed desires - muse
happy place - terror jr
make you mine - public
tear you apart - she wants revenge
warnings: this is a yandere story, so just overall trigger warning. Ellie’s gonna be a little creepy and definitely a little OOC. Also, animal abuse mention & animal death. Also, graphically-detailed birth of kittens. (Here’s the video I watched for research, yes, it’s of a cat giving birth. The things I do for my thirsty ellie thots.)
There was just something about you.
Maybe it was your eyes, those perfect E/C eyes. The way you’d glance at her and smile, unsure of why she’s staring.
Or those lips. Every word you spoke was a song tumbling from between them, even if she didn’t like the fact that it was being sung to someone else.
Maybe it was your mutation. You both were mutants, you already had something in common, not to mention that you follow her Twitter and make her heart burst every time you retweet something from her. Same political opinions, same sense of humor, similar taste in music…
You rush in, a bundle in your arms. You’d gone for a walk and Ellie didn’t trust herself to be stealthy enough to follow you, not outside of the house. So, she’d sat on the loveseat by the door on her lonesome, waiting for you to return. You were all she could think of. She slinks over to where you’ve run, the infirmary.
She watches from the doorway, slowly entering as you open the bundle on one of the small beds used for long-term patients. It’s a large, fluffy black cat, some of its fur matted.
A stray? I love her… Ellie thinks. And it’s even black!
“She’s pregnant,” you tell the nurse, Annie. “I can feel it, the little lives. I’d say she’s going to go into labor very soon. I did some googling, and she’s already started the rhythmic purring.”
“So, you brought her here?” Annie asks, a brow arched. Don’t look at her like that. Just because they’re animals doesn’t mean they don’t deserve care. Ellie grinds her teeth, watching the situation. But, with you in sight, her anger is less intense.
“Well, where else was I supposed to bring her? I can try to heal her, but I can tell she might not make it through labor. I need help making her comfortable. Oh! Ellie, do you need something? I can heal you, if you have a headache or something,” you offer, distracted from your own cause by her. Me, Ellie thinks, lovesick.
“A bit of a headache,” Ellie lies. “But it can wait, if you want me to find some old towels or something.”
“I’d really appreciate that, thank you!” You beam, and she almost gasps in wonder, swiftly leaving to get the towels so you can’t see her blushing. She brings them into the infirmary, and helps you to organize them, hands brushing.
Ellie twitches away in surprise, cursing herself for her natural reaction to touch. While she knows that your touch feels good to everyone that you make skin-to-skin contact with, due to your mutation, which is to heal through touch, she feels that it must feel especially good to her, so she should accept the opportunity to feel your skin whenever she can.
“Thank you so much for the help, Ellie,” you say, eyes glimmering with excitement.
“No problem, Y/N,” she replies. “Anything else I can do?”
“Moral support would be appreciated, but I understand if you’ve got something better to do.”
Nothing’s better than you.
“Not at all,” Ellie responds, and the cat begins to meow. You go to pet her, and she purrs.
The cat starts to get a bit fidgety on the bed, wandering a bit. You and Annie make sure she stays on the bed, stroking her fur as she begins to yowl.
“Looks like we’re getting started,” you say, and Annie & Ellie nod. “Ellie, could you get us some gloves? Two pairs, unless you wanna help.”
Ellie gets three pairs of gloves, and the cat sort of squats on the bed, tail tucked. The yowl increases in volume, and she squeezes out the first kitten, a wet clump of black attached to a placenta nearly the same size. The mother cleans her child with her tongue, detaching the kitten from the placenta and eating it. Ellie notes the droplets of blood on the towels, and you nod.
“That’s normal, but we’ll have to be careful because if there’s too much she might be bleeding internally. It wouldn’t be surprising if she was, that man was kicking her really-” you sniff, clearly trying not to cry, and Ellie wants to slit his throat. “...Really hard.”
As soon as the first kitten starts meowing, another emerges from the mother cat.
“Good girl,” you praise the cat, petting her as she continues to clean her first-born, before moving on to the second. The two kittens, now mostly clean, move on to feeding from their mother, the three purring as she continues to clean them. After a short period of time in which she snuggles the two, and the bleeding starts to get heavy, another is born, and then another. She cleans and cares for them in the same fashion.
Ellie texts her groupchat with Piotr, Wade, Domino, Nathan, and her best friend, Yukio, about the situation, asking if they’d like to meet in the infirmary for an impromptu baby shower. They all excitedly agree, and she warns them that the cat may not be alive when they get there, but that the kittens are in good shape.
She listens silently as you hum to the mother, who you’ve nicknamed “Mama Cat.”
“She’s hemorrhaging,” you say, pointing out the increase in blood loss. “I read that could happen. I- I don’t know how much I can do without touching the wound, and it’s internal.”
“She knows you did your best,” Annie tries to reassure you, and Ellie tries not to glare daggers at the woman. You were Ellie’s to comfort. Ellie strokes your back, watching tears roll silently down your cheeks as you continue to hum to the cat and her litter.
“She’s gone. It’s all… I can’t feel her anymore,” you sob, and Ellie brings you into her arms, not caring about your amniotic fluid-soaked gloves one bit as you cry into her shoulder. But you pull away, and Ellie feels cold, empty. “I’m so sorry, we don’t even know each other that well, I just… I have a deep amount of respect and love for all living things, and this is so-”
“Don’t worry, Y/N. Come here, it’s gonna be okay.” Ellie wraps her arms around you again, and you accept her comfort. She tries not to let her excitement show, knowing that this is a solemn moment for you. She’s also sad, but your feelings definitely take priority over her own in this situation. In most situations. At least, that’s how she feels.
“We came as soon as we heard!” Wade and the gang enter with last-minute gifts and some decorations. Their joy dies down as they realize what’s happened. “Oh. That’s so… Oh. The kittens, are they…?”
You lift your head from Ellie’s shoulder so that your voice isn’t muffled, but you don’t exit her embrace, not yet.
“No, no, thank god. Just… Just the mom.” You pull away, attending to the tiny, helpless creatures. You dry the little screamers off a bit before bundling them in the least dirty towel and turning back to face the group. “I see you all brought gifts. Does there happen to be any formula?”
“I’ve got a good amount here, plus the equipment.” Domino fulfills the request. “Lucky guess.”
“Me, too,” Nathan adds. “I figured it wouldn’t be an easy thing to get ahold of. I was wrong, so I also got a PetSmart gift card.”
“Thank you so much, you guys,” you say, and Annie stacks the canisters on the counter. “Jesus Christ, that’s a lot.”
“Oh, right, I got some, too,” Wade says, and Ellie thinks maybe he got a can. Nope. The amount he got doubles the supply.
“Jeez, I guess we don’t have to worry about feeding them,” you comment. “Thanks a ton, you guys.”
“So...What are you going to do with them?” Yukio asks.
“I mean, keep them, I guess. The only official rules on pets here are that you can have them as long as you keep them away from those allergic and don’t let them make a mess or distract you from your studies. I could probably request a month of independent study while they need round the clock care, and as long as my grades don’t seriously falter, that’ll be fine.”
“Do you think you’ll give any of them away, once they’re weaned off milk and litter box-trained?” Yukio continues to investigate.
“Uh, I don’t know… Maybe? Right now, though, I wouldn’t dream of it. Sorry,” you apologize, able to tell that the sweet girl wants to adopt one.
“Have you named them, yet?” Piotr asks.
“I think I’ll wait ‘til their personalities start to show,” you decide, and Ellie nods, wrapping an arm around you.
“You guys are gonna make great cat moms,” Domino comments, and Ellie finds herself blushing a little. Us? Cat moms? Together? It’s a dream come true...
“Maybe you should share room,” Piotr suggests. “So that you can care for kittens together. It can be arranged.”
“That’d be great!” you agree.
“Yeah, sure,” Ellie does her best to hide her enthusiasm, but based on the expressions of everyone in the room but you, it’s clear she has a crush. At least they don’t know it’s a rapidly-growing obsession, rising with every little interaction, even if that interaction is just you looking back at her and smiling.
“I will go file paperwork,” Piotr informs. “Do not hesitate to open gift while I’m gone.”
“Thank you so much, Colossus!” you cheer. Annie hands you each a pair of kittens and a pair of small bottles, allowing you to nurse your new children together.
Wade takes a picture, and Ellie finds that she can’t be annoyed. She was actually happy someone captured this, even if it was Wade.
“Thank you so much for all your help, everyone, especially Ellie and Annie. I couldn’t have done it without you guys.”
“Happy to help,” Ellie replies, and you smile at her.
“You’ve been such a help, El. Seriously, I- I couldn’t have done this alone.”
The two of you are feeding the kittens in your shared dorm, studying for an American Literature test at the same time. It’s been a couple weeks since the birth of the kittens, and the two of you became fast friends, now that she actually talked to you regularly.
“No problem, Y/N.” It’s my pleasure.
“They’re so beautiful, aren’t they? We can start weaning them off the milk in two weeks.”
“Incredibly beautiful,” Ellie replies, but she’s looking at you, not the cats. She can tell you notice this because of the way you blush, ducking your head. But, you don’t say anything, so she doesn’t either.
“So… What do the eyes of Doctor TJ Eckleburg represent?” You ask.
“The eyes of god over the lawless wasteland that America has become due to greed.”
“Nice answer,” you compliment.
“Thank you,” she replies, it’s getting harder and harder to hide her excitement.
“So, hey, I have kind of a weird question…” You start. Ellie’s heart immediately starts racing. Had you discovered her obsession, or any of the strange habits that came with it?
“Um- Uh… Shoot.”
“It’s nothing bad!” You reassure her. “I was just wondering if you wanted to maybe… Maybe go on a date, this Friday? I’m sorry if you wouldn’t want to, you probably just see me as a friend and maybe not even that, so-“
“I’d love to!” Ellie enthusiastically responds, not bothering to disguise the way she felt as a grin splits her face open.
“That’s great! I asked Yukio to kitten-sit if you said yes and she agreed, so I figured maybe we could go do something relaxing, like watching a movie, or… I don’t know, I honestly didn’t think you’d say yes.”
“You- You didn’t?” Maybe I’m too good at hiding my feelings for her. Her face falls, and you rush to explain yourself:
“Well, I know you didn’t really like me all that much before the kitten thing… I thought you were really attractive and seemed really cool, but you’d glare at me a lot and I didn’t know why, so I figured it was best to keep my distance and be nice to you in small ways in the hopes you’d forgive me for whatever I did. What did I do, if you don’t mind telling me?” You ask, cheeks flushed, and Ellie’s heart still hasn’t stopped racing.
“Nothing, nothing at all, I swear!” Ellie attempts to reassure you, even if the concerned expression on your face is adorable. She decides the best route is to be honest, now that she knows you do like her. “I- This is really embarrassing. I wasn’t glaring at all. I was, um, staring at you, because I really, really like you. If I didn’t think it’d freak you out, I’d say I love you. You’re just… Absolutely perfect.”
“No way!” You laugh off her adoration, and she wishes she could kiss you then and there, to prove that she’s serious. “You’re too nice, El.”
“Well, you saying that just proves that I really do like you, a lot. I’m not nice to people, I push them away. But you, I could never hurt you like that, or in any way. And if anyone else ever did, or tried to, I- I-“ Smoke starts curling off of her at the thought, eyes lighting up orange in fury.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay…” you tell her sweetly, putting your hand at the spot between her neck and shoulder, partially covered by the neckline of her tee shirt...but uncovered enough for the healing energy of your touch to radiate through her.
She happily allows this, taking a deep breath and calming down so much faster than she would’ve on her own. It was meant to be a reassuring hand on the shoulder, but she got so much more from it.
From you.
“Thank you,” she says gratefully. You yawn, removing your hand as you stretch.
“I have another question,” you say. “And please don’t be afraid to say no.”
“Okay,” Ellie replies, curious.
“Well, I was thinking… The cats always sleep on my whole torso area at night… So, to give them extra nourishment, I was thinking about sleeping without a shirt on? So I’ll have skin-to-skin contact with them. If you’re not comfortable with that, it’s totally fine, they’re doing really great health-wise, I just wanted to give them a boost. You know how worried I get, especially about Witchy.”
Twitchy-Witchy (nicknamed “Witchy”) is the runt of the litter and is, well, twitchy! She’s less social than the others, and will hide when anyone other than you or Ellie approaches.
“Yeah, sure. I mean, you could sleep without a shirt on if you just didn’t wanna wear a shirt,” Ellie tells you, returning to being glad about her ability to hide her feelings from you. Her anticipation is returning, and she’d hate for you to think of her as some sort of creep!
“Oh! Sorry, I just didn’t wanna cross any lines or make things weird. But I probably made it weird by asking, didn’t I?”
“No, it was thoughtful of you. You’re so thoughtful…” Ellie says, a mysterious glint in her eye as she looks you over, hoping it’s not obvious she’s imagining what tonight’s gonna be like. She probably won’t even be able to sleep, not that she gets very much sleep anyway with all those thoughts of you bouncing around her head.
You blush at her comment. Ellie wonders how much you’d heat up if you knew about her thoughts, and it’s tempting to tell you… But she knows it’d be too soon. She has to be careful, methodical. She wouldn’t want to scare you, her perfect, delicate flower, away.
“What do you wanna do for the date, anyway? I was thinking a movie, but we wouldn’t get to talk very much if we did that. But I want it to be relaxing, since we’re away from the kids- kittens, for the afternoon and evening.”
“Maybe we could go to Chuck E. Cheese and inspect the pizzas to see if they’re really made of leftovers,” she suggests, snickering a bit. “My family took me and my brothers once, and they have this co-op Terminator game that’s really fun, even if you haven’t seen the movies.”
“That sounds great!” You agree. “I love it.”
And I love you, Ellie thinks.
That Friday, the two of you have an amazing time at Chuck E. Cheese, giggling and bonding over jokes and games, somehow enjoying pizza the same texture as cardboard.
“Kiss my hand for luck, please?” You ask Ellie, watching the light spin in the game you’re playing, Cyclone.
She blushes deeply, but tenderly takes your hand in her own and gently kisses the top. You watch the light dance between the bulbs before pressing the button.
“Holy shit, jackpot! Oh my god, this is the most fun I’ve ever had in my life,” You declare, tickets spewing from the machine.
“Really?” Ellie asks.
“Well...Yeah. You’re just so fun to be around, I feel so safe and happy with you. Sorry if that’s dumb, I just really like you.”
“No, it’s not dumb at all. I feel the same way about you,” she admits. She liked how you made her feel, too. The only time you ever made her feel bad was when she thought she’d never be with you, and that was really her making herself feel bad by being insecure. She tears the tickets from the machine once they’re done spewing, folding them up and keeping them with the others you’d earned together. “Being around you just makes me feel... Better. No matter what.”
“That’s so sweet!” you cheer, giving her a peck on the cheek and taking her hand. You take her to the next game, Skee-ball. “I suck at this, but it’s still fun.”
“I’ve been told I’m pretty good, do you want me to help you?” Ellie bluffs. She was average at best, but the easy excuse to be in close quarters with you was too tempting.
“Sure,” you reply, and something in your smile and the way you blush tells her you’re at least partially aware of her scheme...And that you like it. You put the required tokens into the slot.
Standing behind you with her chin on your shoulder, she takes your wrist into her hand. “Let go in 3…” She says quietly into your ear, relishing in your poorly-disguised shivering before she gently sways your arm forward. “2…” Then, back. Then, forward. “1.” You let go, and miraculously, it rolls up the ramp swiftly before bouncing into the 10,000 hole in the top corner.
“I guess at this point there’s no denying it. You’re my lucky charm, El,” you decide, turning to your date, who smiles at this, pleased.
The two of you continue to play various games before eventually running out of both tokens and energy.
“Okay, Y/N, cover me. I’m gonna do a trick my dad taught me,” she mutters as the two of you walk to the ticket counter. You stand between her and the woman at the prize counter, subtly looking around for personnel while she holds the ticket in place, letting the machine read it over and over again until it gets to about five hundred. She lets the tickets go in, and does this with the next strand, and the next, and the next.
At the end of it, you two have five thousand, five hundred and fifty tickets, at least, according to the receipt.You both approach the counter, and the attendant looks at your receipt.
“Uh-huh…” she eyes you both, but shrugs, deciding either that you two looked skilled enough to have this amount of tickets, or that it wasn’t worth pursuing. “Pick out your prizes.”
“Ooh, Ellie, wouldn’t that mini gumball machine be so cute to keep the kittens’ toys in? Plus, gum. It’s three-thousand tickets, so I understand if-”
“No, I like that idea,” Ellie cuts you off, before putting an arm around your waist to bring you closer, not liking the way the attendant was looking at you: giving you her full attention, not even bothering to hide it. “We’ll have the gumball machine, please.”
“Alright… You’ve got two thousand, five hundred and fifty tickets left.”
“Maybe the giant slinky? We could give it to Yukio for pet-sitting, she likes colorful stuff and novelty stuff,” Ellie suggests.
“Ooh, yeah! And then we could use the rest of the tickets to get little things the cats can play with? Like the rubber bracelets, those should be fine as long as we keep an eye on them.”
“Yeah, that’s a great idea,” Ellie agrees.
“Oh, but what about you? You deserve something,” you insist.
“Y/N… I think I’m good,” Ellie chuckles, and you remember that most of these prizes are, in fact, for young children.
“Right…” You nod. “Alright, we’ll have the giant rainbow slinky and as many of those small rubber bracelets and plastic frogs as we can get, if that’s alright,” you politely ask the woman behind the counter. She nods, uses her calculator, writes down your desires, retrieves all the requested items, and gives them to you and Ellie in a plastic bag. “Thank you so much, ma’am. Have a nice evening.”
“You two...too,” she replies with a laugh, and you laugh back. Jealousy courses through Ellie’s veins.
“Here, let me get the bag,” Ellie offers. She takes it and holds out her other arm for you to intertwine yours with. You do, leaving the arcade together. You rest your head on her shoulder the taxi ride home. She pets your hair, soothing you to sleep on the half-hour drive back.
It’s another week later when Ellie returns to her dorm from Poetry Club in a panic. She’d accidentally grabbed your math notebook, which could only mean you had her poetry journal.
She throws open the door, and finds her worst fear: You’re reading it.
“Y/N, I- I can explain,” she says, but she really can’t. Who can?
“These poems are really beautiful, Ellie. I can’t believe they’re about- About me.”
That’s not the reaction I was expecting. Maybe the one I was hoping for, but…
“Definitely not the reaction I was expecting,” Ellie breathes. You rise up from the bed, closing the notebook and approaching her. You give it to her, afterwards pressing your lips to hers in a gentle, but passionate kiss. She drops the notebook, holding your waist tightly. Eventually, you part, foreheads pressed together.
“Ellie, I- I read them all, and… I- I want to take comfort in you, like what you said. And I know that there’s a darkness in you, and that embracing it will probably cost me my soul… But a part of me just doesn’t care.”
“Perfect,” Ellie responds, taking your face in her hands. She presses a kiss to your forehead. “You’re all mine.”
You nod, looking into those beautiful eyes of hers.
“All yours.”
51 notes · View notes
angelaiswriting · 5 years
Text
Lace | Sergei x reader
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[original picture: pinterest]
✏️ Pairings: Sergei (Yurchenko) x fem!reader
✏️ Requested by Anonymous: Hi I love your writing so much and I just wanted to request a Sergei imagine about how the reader and him are taking it slow but she keeps teasing Sergei and it’s making him go crazy and if you want to do smut with it you can💛💛💛💛💛
✏️ A/N: holy mother of God! Have I... Is this... Is this my best smut ever?? I love this guy hahaha I got so horny at some point that I started to write so slowly it was pure torture HAHA
✏️ Warnings: slow burn + smut, so 18+ only!!! This is also hella long, a fucking dissertation on this guy’s penis and arousal probably.
✏️ Word-count: 8,408 (this is a motherfucking essay. kudos to you for reading, I love you)
REQUESTS ARE OPEN IF YOU WANT ME TO WRITE FOR YOU 💛
🎤 Song: Я так хочу... by Океан Ельзи (English translation) (is it okay if I add suggested songs to my stories?)
Jesus Christ, give me strength!
He cannot look away. Fucking shit, Sergei Yurchenko cannot look away from…
(O my God. Don’t look there!)
… from her fucking tits.
Oh God, he’s finally admitted it.
Sure, he’s not a saint, but he’s not a douche, either. Really. Sergei is a gentleman–the best gentleman one can find at Veles Taxi, that is. But Y/N… Fuck, when she’s present and she’s bent over the hood of his cab just like she is now and you can look underneath her blouse… It doesn’t matter that she’s half-yelling at him, repeating him that she is the one dispatching calls and not him and that he should do as she says, and she’s trying her hardest to drill the concept into his stone-hard skull. It doesn’t matter because from the driver’s seat he can see her black lace bra and holy mother of God, the things lace does to him…
He tries not to wiggle in his seat and even more, not to fix his pants–he already knows her speech by heart by now, so it’s not like he’s busy listening to her. What he’s busy with, though, is ogling those two hanging boobs that just…
Fuck, they do things to him.
For starters, they get him hard–fucking stone-hard, for his woods haven’t been called ‘woods’ ever since Y/N started to work for Anatoly and Vladimir Ranskahov at the garage.
And he should not–boy, I should yes–think of her that way. Shouldn’t think of fucking her senseless on the back seat of his cab and not even on the desk she uses at work. He shouldn’t think of how she might look under her blouses nor of how many fucking lace bras she owns–shouldn’t think of his hands on her hips and her above him as she unclasps said bras and throws them somewhere. He shouldn’t even think of those lipstick-coated lips as they wrap around his-
“Are you even listening to me?” Y/N yanks the driver’s door of his taxi open and shakes his shoulder. He looks up at her, his lips parted, eyes slowly trailing from her bosom to her lips and he tries his damn hardest to divert his mind from the sight of her bent over his car–he’s starting to think he’d like to take her from behind in that position, her breasts pressed against the metal surface of the hood, but he should not think of her that way. “I swear to God, Sergei! You can’t up and leave me without a car because you just want to get off the grid for a couple of hours! Let me do my work and I won’t fuck up yours.”
You’re already fucking me up, zayka, he thinks, but he doesn’t voice his thoughts.
“Da, da,” he groans instead and she moves to let him out of the car. His head is pulsing where his cheek met a punch, but it’s still more bearable than the throbbing inconvenience between his legs. He hopes and prays she won’t look down because he’s not sure his pants are doing much to conceal him.
“What in the world happened to your face?”
She grabs his chin before he can stop her and he hisses both in surprise and in slight pain. Her fingers are cold against his warm skin, her fingertips pressing so hard into his flesh that it’s almost like she’s grabbing his bones. It’s her payback and he knows he deserves it, it’s just that motherfucking douche deserved his fists.
Sergei tries to dismiss her worries, but she’s not moving away, she’s not taking her hand off of him. His breathing pattern slowly turns ragged and he has to force himself to keep breathing–slowly in from the nose, slowly out of the nose, it doesn’t matter if its bridge hurts–because he knows that if he lets his mind wander, he’ll have her pinned between his body and the wall.
“Jesus Christ, Yurchenko!” she groans, nostrils flaring, eyes hard as stone. “I can’t fucking believe you left me with one man less just because you wanted to pick up a fight!”
They both hear Piotr’s amused chuckle as he quickly clocks out to go home for the night. He yells a final exclamation before leaving the garage, one only Sergei understands because Petya makes sure to use Russian, a language Y/N still doesn’t speak. Fuck her already, he smirks and boy, if only Sergei could…
But there’s some age gap between him and Y/N, and he… He doesn’t know, he’s insecure. It’s not even that much, but who knows if she’d entertain the idea? He should just stop having those thoughts about her, leave her the fuck alone, but even her cheap perfume draws him in like a magnet.
“I will tell Vladimir next time.” It’s a promise, he knows, and as he stares into her eyes, he knows she wants to do it now–she’s pissed, she’s mad, they probably lost a couple of clients because he felt so insulted he needed to throw some punches, but she still holds back. Her fingers are still on his chin, their grasp not as hard now, and she doesn’t make a move to step back and let him go. “You can’t just do this,” she sighs after a minute or two and slightly shakes her head.
He feels like holding her, like wrapping his arms around her waist. He wants to feel her flush against him–just for once, just to know what it feels like–but he, too, doesn’t move. “I will call next time,” he finds himself promising. It won’t happen, they both know it, but it doesn’t exactly matter.
“You won’t.” Her fingers leave his skin and she takes a step back. Sergei has to stop himself from taking a step forward, closing the distance, or at least reducing it. “Because you won’t do such a thing again. Now give me a lift home.”
*
The passenger’s seat of his car still smells like her the next morning. Sergei doesn’t know if it’s just an illusion or if her perfume still really lingers on the leather seat, but it doesn’t matter. He stares at it longer than he realizes and it’s Piotr that brings him back to reality, banging on his window and laughing like the dick he is.
“What the fuck were you doing?” Piotr’s tone is amused when Sergei finally gets out of the car. There’s an exchange of cigarettes and lighters and for a moment they both keep quiet, enjoying the harsh drag of the smoke as it reaches their lungs.
It’s a welcoming feeling, a morning ritual before starting their shift. They often don’t have a problem smoking during their cab rides–clients can either go fuck themselves or shut the fuck up–but it’s still good to have a few minutes of peace before starting the day.
“So?”
Sergei shrugs his shoulders. He looks up at the clear morning sky, puffs out the smoke and takes a deep breath of the chilly air. “What?”
“What were you staring at?”
Another shrug. “Nothing.” He doesn’t mention the ride he’s given Y/N the night before, nor that he’s had to relieve himself in the shower, nor that he’s found it hard enough to fall asleep. He doesn’t even know what it is exactly that does this to him–doesn’t know why she has this effect on his body and his mind–but there’s nothing he can do to stop himself from feeling like a horny teenager around her.
Piotr takes a long drag from his cigarette and stares long and hard at his buddy. “Did you drink?” he enquires. “Because if you’re drunk and she finds outs…” He chuckles, his thumb drawing an invisible line that cuts all the way across his throat.
“I’m not drunk.” Sergei’s answer is a grunt. He hasn’t drunk in ages and he’s proud of that, he doesn’t want to… to go back there, do the shit he’s done when he hit rock bottom. “And she-”
But he’s cut off when he sees her walk through the open gate that looks on the garage’s backyard. His breath is cut short and his next drag from the cigarette is harsh, it hisses in the clear morning air.
It’s like he’s alone not just in the yard, but in the whole world, too, and she’s right there with him. He’s that desperate. And when she greets him and Piotr with a smile, Sergei likes to think she’s smiling at him.
With a whistle, Piotr calls his usual ‘Privyet’ and while his friend hears it, he doesn’t see his omnipresent smirk.
She looks… so good in that flowery dress of hers. It’s always breathtaking to see her in a skirt and not in her usual jeans–and Sergei has to admit that her legs are a fucking weak spot of his. He imagines his rough hands trailing up her soft skin, from the ankles to her knees to her thighs as he spreads them open to-
Stop it.
She’s too much for him, more than he deserves, and he knows this, really, he does. She’s her and he’s… well, he is what he is. There is no way she’ll ever… ever consider anything more than a friendship with him. And yet, this doesn’t do anything to stop his fantasizing.
He wonders if she’s wearing a lace bra today, too. And what color it is. And how it feels to the touch.
“Yurchenko has a crush?”
When he turns to his left, he sees Piotr chuckling like a kid faced with the hottest secret he could ever find. Sergei doesn’t answer: he grits his teeth, clenching his jaw so hard the bone feels like breaking, and he throws his cigarette to the ground.
“Holy shit!” There’s a gasp at that realization. Piotr is rarely surprised by things, but when it comes to his best buddy… Yeah, holy shit. Seriozha is a grown man, he’s probably been with more women than Piotr will ever know, and yet, to see him squirm like that in front of that girl… It’s almost hilarious.
“I will fucking end you.” Sergei is not looking at him, but Piotr knows he’s serious. Maybe he won’t actually kill him, but not even God will be able to stop him from punching that shit-eating smirk off of his friend’s face.
*
“Give me a lift home?”
When Sergei gets out of the toilet after a long day in his cab, the last thing he’d have expected was to find her right there, in the corridor waiting for him. He’s taken aback and he stops in his tracks: she looks tired and her shift should have ended two hours ago, when Ivan took her place, but she’s still here.
He’s tired, too, but she’s a sight for sore eyes–for sore everything, to be honest. He heaves a sigh without even realizing it. He doesn’t stop to wonder why she’s not asked this to Piotr, or to Vladimir, who’s left earlier than usual today. It’s almost comforting to realize she’s been waiting for him long after the end of her shift and not because she had to scold him.
“Sure.” His voice croaks and he starts to move again.
He leads her to his car, his hand on the middle of her back. Neither of them knows how that hand ended up there, but she doesn’t move away and he doesn’t, either.
She’s warm under his touch. She somehow feels real–which is really a stupid thought, Sergei curses himself. Of course, she’s real! But it’s weirdly comforting to know she is, after all, really real and not a product of his imagination. And it’s not like they haven’t touched before–even if not how he’d like to touch her–but…
But his mind is derailing and he has to stop the course of his thoughts.
They’re both quiet when they enter the car and there, in that confined space, Sergei feels his throat close up. It’s almost like he doesn’t know how to breathe anymore. All he feels is her: her perfume as it tickles his nostrils, her gaze as he turns the key and the engine roars, her presence right there, a few inches from him.
The car feels cramped, but it’s a weirdly pleasant feeling. He knows that, if he only tried, he could touch her–he could stretch his hand out and grab hers, hold hers as he drives. He could even move his hand slightly now, as soon as he removes it from the stick shift, and brush his fingers against hers.
He likes to think she’d let him touch her. It doesn’t have to be sexual, obviously, even just her hand in his would feel like heaven.
“Would you like a drink?” He finds himself asking. The shock of his proposal cuts his breath short–both because he’s suddenly anxious she might say no and because he hasn’t had a drink in what feels like forever. There’s no reason to get back to drinking, just as there’s no reason why a drink should catapult him back where he had fallen last time.
“I’d love that, Sergei.” She smiles–he sees it from the corner of his eye–and she’s staring right at him.
He dares a quick glance at her, a shy smile tugging at his lips before he returns his attention back to the road.
I’d love that. Those three words feel good. It’s like a weight has finally been lifted from his shoulders and his stomach and his heart and he can breathe again. Sergei. His name has never sounded better than falling from her lips–and if that night was meant to end in failure, he’d still feel like a hero, for hearing her call his name was better than anything else in existence.
“Good,” he nods.
Right after that, he mentally scolds himself. Good. What kind of answer was that?
Fuck.
He hasn’t been with a woman in so long he’s forgotten when the last time was. The fear to ruin everything creeps up his spine, shocking his muscles so hard that they tense.
*
He doesn’t remember much about last night, but this time it’s not because he drank too much.
All he remembers are her lips pressing against the rim of the beer bottle, her eyes smiling at him as she listens to his usual bullshit, her thigh pressing against his in the packed space of the booth.
I love to listen to you talk–her confession is still swirling in his mind. The music had suddenly become loud when someone decided to resuscitate the dying party and she had to scream those words into his ear. Her lips had brushed against his skin, her nose brushing against his earlobe and his hair, her chest against his shoulder to keep her balance.
He wasn’t proud to say it, but the boner he’d gotten from that contact had kept on bugging him until he dropped her off at her place–would she notice? Would she point it out? Would it creep her away?
The fear still lingers: he didn’t see her all day, for today was her day off, and as he stands in front of her apartment building, he’s not sure he wants to go up to her door. But he has a bottle of red wine in his hand–still new, he hasn’t drunk from it and he’s damn proud of it–and he doesn’t want to bring it home, where he could do some shit.
So, he enters the building, walks up the stairs and stops in front of her door. His hand stills mid-air, almost knocking, when he realizes he should have probably called her. What if she’s not home? Or, even worse, what if she is home but with some guy? It’s not like they’re best friends–even though he likes to consider himself a friend of hers; he knows close to nothing about her private life.
His fist falls back down at his side and he’s suddenly second-guessing everything–his presence here, the chance he’d like to have with her, the smiles she sends him…
Someone coughs behind him and he feels like a deer caught in flashlights. His whole body tenses up, his fist tightens. “Are you a friend of the sweet girl that lives here?”
It’s just an old lady, he realizes with a sigh when he turns around. His muscles relax, his brain starts working again. He nods, uncertain–is he, though?
“Well, you should knock, then,” she goes on. The unknown lady does nothing to go back into her apartment. Behind her, Sergei can see a tidy hall and the light of a television reflecting off the mirror at the end of the corridor. He can see himself in it, too, and as he stares at his reflection, he wonders why Y/N should give him a chance–half his face is still bruised, part of his bottom lip is still slightly swollen.
“I-” What was he going to say? He doesn’t know. He sees himself swallow in the mirror, his head towering above that of the old woman, and all he wants is to flee that place. “I don’t know if she’s home,” he eventually confesses, his gaze meeting that of the woman.
“She always is,” the neighbor shrugs. She probably belongs to the nosy type, Sergei thinks, but he’s somehow happy she’s caught him.
They stare at each other for a few minutes after that, none of them saying a word, and the silence is weird and uncomfortable. Sergei shuffles his feet, stares down at his shoes for a second before the door in front of him closes shut without the woman uttering a good-bye.
He doesn’t mind it.
He just turns around and knocks on Y/N’s door before his mind can stop him again.
“Sergei?” She’s surprised when she opens the door, but a smirk tugs at the corner of her lips before she’s fully smiling at him. “What are you doing here? Come in.”
He walks through the door and it’s like walking through an invisible veil. While he was nervous in the corridor just a few moments ago, a wave of calmness and peace washes over him when he passes her and stops a few steps from the door.
His deep breath is met by her quick, unexpected hug before she closes the door behind her back.
“I…” He holds the bottle up between them, almost like a shield in case he needed any protection. But when his insecurities come back, a frown settles on his eyebrows. “I thought I would… stop by?” It comes out like a question. But it doesn’t matter because her smile turns brighter and she takes the bottle he’s handing her.
She grabs his hand in her free one and leads him into her house. “I’m happy to see you.”
His thumb absentmindedly brushes against her skin, but he doesn’t even realize it. He feels light and suddenly his mind is emptied of all his worries. And this time the effect lasts.
*
Things get busy after that night and Sergei finds himself struggling between the legal and the illegal sides of his job. Because of this, his free time is cut short and he barely sees Y/N. Vladimir and Anatoly keep him busy for days with ‘the business’ and all Sergei can think about is that Piotr gets to see her every day.
His insecurities come back with the same force of a freight train.
Piotr knows his secret. What if he spills it? Or what if he decides to ignore it and claim the girl for himself?
Sergei trusts his friend, but he also knows how he is with women. Petya is a fucking Casanova, while he is… trapped in the mud of his past, probably. Piotr knows what to do and what to say to a woman on any occasion. He knows how to make them laugh and how to make them moan. He doesn’t even have to worry because, with a face like that, it’s women that fall at his feet and not the other way around.
Therefore, it’s always hard to focus on the task Sergei is given. He wants to at least play his cards with her and if he’s doomed to fail, then so be it, but at least he’ll be able to tell that he tried. At the same time, though, he doesn’t know what to do. Nor how to do it. He hasn’t put himself out there in so long he fears of making a fool of himself.
But Y/N would never mock him. Or would she?
Anatoly notices his mind is somewhere else and he approaches him one night. “Whatever’s distracting you, forget about it.” Both of them know those words weren’t meant to come out that hash, but there’s no way to swallow them back down.
“Nothing’s on my mind,” is Sergei’s lie.
He still manages to do his job quite well, though, even if he ends up with more bruises than usual–no stitches this time, however, so he’s quite content. It still doesn’t matter, though, because tomorrow he’s going back to his usual job and he’ll be able to see her. And, probably, to know if he’s lost any chance he might have had before he disappeared for all these days.
He’s just got out of the shower when his phone beeps. And as he reads Piotr’s name on the screen, worries and thoughts of failure swarm his mind like locusts.
I gave Y/N your address, hope you don’t mind.
Sergei doesn’t understand those words. What does that mean? Why would she need to know where he lives? Not like it’s supposed to be a secret, of course, but… Unless it’s to tell him to fuck off. That she has Piotr now and she’s happy and taken.
But Piotr would have probably bragged about it. Right?
She heard you came back beaten up and she was worried, was the next message. Piotr might have noticed Sergei was online and that he had read the message, that he was probably still staring at the screen of his phone like the fucking coward he was and thought well of expanding his explanation. Stop dancing around her and make your fucking move.
The last message irks Sergei. He throws the phone on his bed as he hastily puts on his boxers.
Not your fucking business, he writes back before grabbing the first pair of sweatpants he finds in his wardrobe. He doesn’t want to be found there half-naked, not by her–it doesn’t matter he’d like to see her naked and that he’d also like for her to see him naked.
Dickhead. Make your fucking move before she gets tired of waiting for you!
Sergei frowns at those words. He’d like to ask what the meaning behind them is, but he’s too scared. Too scared of deluding himself into thinking someone like her might actually even consider liking someone like him back.
He doesn’t have the time to type a reply because someone knocks on his door and he’s suddenly sprinting down the corridor. It’s not until he opens the front door and hears her gasp that he realizes he should have put a shirt on.
“What the hell, Sergei?” she whisper-yells when she sees the bruises on his ribcage.
He’s suddenly ashamed–of himself, of his job, of his bruises, of his messy apartment.
She pushes him back into the hallway and even when her hands leave his chest to close the door, he still feels that contact.
“It’s nothing,” he tries to apologize–even if there’s nothing to apologize for.
“This is not ‘nothing’! And oh my God, your brow is bleeding!” And with those words, she’s taking his face in her hands again to examine the cut above his left eye.
He doesn’t say anything, not even a word.
“Come on, let me clean it up.”
Sergei doesn’t tell her he’s just gotten out of the shower and that, therefore, the cut is as clean as it can be. He simply leads her to his bedroom and then into the bathroom to pick up the first-aid kit.
Steam is still lingering in the air when she pushes him down on the closed toilet. She kneels in front of him and dabs his cut with trembling hands.
“You disappeared,” she finally says after an endless silence.
He’s facing her back, but he can still make out her features on the fogged mirror. “I’m sorry,” he says back, not exactly knowing what else to say. “Work,” he adds after a while when she’s put the box of the first-aid kit back under the sink.
“I was worried,” she continues and this time she turns around and faces him.
“I’m sorry.”
She nods twice before lowering her gaze, her hands fidgeting with each other.
He wants to speak. He desperately wants to. But he doesn’t know what to say. ‘I’m sorry, I had to help kill a man’ didn’t sound like the thing you’d want to tell the woman you like.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asks, looking back up at him and finding him a step closer.
The bathroom suddenly feels smaller.
He nods.
“Would you tell me otherwise?”
There’s a chuckle before Sergei stops to actually think about it. He’s another step closer now. “Yes,” he eventually admits, surprising himself and her as well. Yes, he would tell her. He might not have the balls to tell her he likes her, but he’d probably be honest about his well-being with her.
But when her lips press up against his, he doesn’t have to worry anymore. He’s taken aback at first, surprised by the unexpected gesture, his eyes staring into hers, so close he feels her lashes brush against his cheekbones.
There’s a trembling breath on her part before he drags her closer with a grunt, her eyes finally falling closed, her body pressed up against him as he backs her against the sink. Its edge cuts into her back, but she doesn’t feel it, not now.
She’s putty in his arms and Sergei has to hold back a sob. There will be a time to take all this in, but it’s not now, not with her hands crawling up his bare arms and around his neck, pressing his head closer to hers, the kiss a clash of lips and teeth and tongues.
His hands fall lower, down the curve of her back until they grab her buttcheeks and he pulls her closer against him. He grunts and she moans and hers is the sweetest sound Sergei has heard in literally forever. His fingers knead the flesh and she’s almost purring, her breath quick and ragged against the skin of his face.
His lips slowly leave hers and press kisses along her jawline, his tongue swiping over every inch he kisses. Her skin is smooth and soft and he can’t get enough of it, not even when his mouth reaches her neck and starts suckling on its sensitive skin.
She quietly moans in his ear when he sucks on her sweet spot and he grins against her skin, pressing his pelvis harder against hers. He’s growing harder and he can only hope she’s growing wetter.
When she softly calls his name, he moans against her jaw. “Why did it take you so long?”
He chuckles at that. His hand slips into her pants and panties and his fingers press against her core. “Were you waiting for me?” He’s honestly terrified of what her answer could be, but she’s letting him tease her pussy, so it can’t be that bad. Right?
“Yes.” Her answer is a moan and as his forefinger presses against her clit, her head falls back. “Fuck, yes.”
She’s breathing hard and all Sergei can do is drink her in–closed eyes, kiss-swollen lips, flushed skin. She’s a fucking goddess and…
And this must all be a dream. Or his personal version of seven minutes in heaven before he dies for real and goes down to hell.
He removes his hand from her pants and grabs her hips, pushing himself closer against her, hiding his face in the crook of her neck. Her arms wrap around him and all he can do is breathe her in. “Will you be here at morning?”
“I will.”
Sergei needs nothing else: he picks her up in his arms and when she wraps her legs around his waist, he can’t help but buck his hips up against her. When he looks up at her, she’s grinning down at him. She grinds herself against him and he groans at the soft moan she lets out.
He looks up at her and he’s breathless. Even when he lays her down on his undone bed, he has to remind himself to keep breathing, for her eyes are drawing him in, they make him forget his own name.
There’s a question burning the tip of his tongue–Are you sure? Are you sure you want this with me?–but he can’t bring himself to voice it, not when she’s looking up at him with glossy eyes, lips parted, breath short.
She giggles. “Stop staring at me.” Her hands come up to cover her face, but his are quicker: his fingers wrap around her wrists and he gently forces them on the mattress on either side of her.
He doesn’t say anything. He just dips his head down and pecks her lips before sucking on her lower lip, his body better nuzzling between her legs. Her skin is flushed as he kisses her neck; her chest rises and falls quickly against his. He loses himself every time her chest touches his and he can’t stop the slow grinding of his hips against hers.
He’s held back for so long that he can’t stop himself now. He doesn’t want to stop himself. Doesn’t see why he should in the first place.
“I want to see you,” he whispers against her ear and she shivers in his arms. “Can I?”
She moans when he asks that and she pushes her shoulder against him to prompt him to sit up. At first, he’s scared–fuck, she’s pushing him away, he stepped over an invisible line and now she’s done with him, she doesn’t want to have anything to do with him anymore. But then her hands grab the hem of her shirt and she quickly pulls it off.
Sergei is left breathless.
That’s lace.
That’s motherfucking lace.
His knees, pressing into the mattress he’s kneeling on, turn weak and he almost falls forward, against her.
That’s… that’s probably too much. That lace bra compliments her skin so much that he can now feel his dick throbbing in his briefs. And when she pushes him to lay down on the bed and she climbs over him, his eyes roll back into his head.
“Are you okay?” The tone of her voice is concerned, but he can barely register it, for his mind has momentarily forgotten anything about English.
Her face is millimeters from his when he opens his eyes again. His fingers graze the skin of her sides and up until they skim against her lace bra.
Holy mother of God.
They both moan when he swipes his thumbs across her nipples, turning them into hardened buds a little more with each stroke.
Sergei Yurchenko is in a fucking trance and he can’t look away. Not even when she grinds down against him. His eyes are glued to her lace-covered breasts and it’s almost as though his lungs have stopped working. His mind is empty, his blood has all rushed to his loins.
He seems to come back to reality when he notices her hands are now behind her back, trying to unclasp her bra. “Keep it on,” he groans, bucking his hips upward once before turning her with her back to the bed. “A little longer,” he adds, lips brushing against hers, hands running down her arms.
She holds her breath when his kisses glide down her neck and her cleavage before moving to her breasts. Hands bruising on her hips, his own grinding slowly against the mattress, Sergei wraps his lips around her left nipple and he sucks hard before swiping his tongue over it. He goes on like that for what feels like an eternity, until she’s a squirming mess under his heavy body and she begs him to stop, she threatens to come.
He wouldn’t mind that.
Not one bit.
But he still stops–or, better, he focuses on something else. His lips move down her abdomen, they leave open-mouthed kisses on her right hip as his fingers hook under the hem of her pants. He takes them off slowly, making sure to maintain eye contact with her, and this time he has Piotr’s same shit-eating grin on his face.
Then, when her pants have almost reached her ankles, his eyes catch the turgid nipples visible from under her bra and he groans. He yanks her pants off and has to resist the urge to touch himself.
His calloused hands are coarse against the smooth skin of her ankles, of her calves, of her knees. But she doesn’t move away, she doesn’t cower under his touch. She simply moves her hands against her own skin, from her belly then up, until she’s cupping her breasts, back slightly arching under his burning gaze.
He kneels down, between her legs, and he kisses the inside of her thighs ever so slowly, and softly, and tenderly.
It’s almost as though he’s never stopped having sex and, at the same time, it all feels new. The way she meowls under his touches, or shivers at the feeling of his stubble brushing against her tender skin. She calls his name in whispers, like a prayer, and all he does is smile against her flesh as he inches closer to her core.
Lace panties.
The thought that maybe she’s always worn lace in the hopes of getting bedded by him does cross his mind. And even though there’s no certainty behind it, even though he knows it’s just one of his billion illusions, he likes to think that way.
He inhales sharply against her before leaving a kiss on her.
It’s all so fucking…
Fucking…
Sergei can’t think anymore as he removes those panties from her body and all she’s left in is a damn lace bra.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
It feels like dying and coming back to life straight after. He could literally purr at the sight of her, splayed on his bed in nothing but the same lace he’s often–always–fantasized about.
His mind goes to Piotr for a fraction of second–God bless that motherfucker for giving Y/N his address. But it’s all over before he can even realize that thought.
Because when she begs him–begs ‘Sergei’ in the lewdest voice possible–he bends lower and swipes his tongue over her labia. He groans at her wetness and the vibrations make her squirm, they make her beg harder, moans turning into a soft litany as he goes straight for her clit.
He gives it a gentle lick, then a rougher one, and before they both know it, he’s pushed a rough finger into her pussy. All he can think is, she’s so fucking tight. He loves it, it makes him grind harder into the mattress as his lips latch around her clit to give it a harsh suck.
They’re both panting now. And the fact that he is the cause of her quick and labored breathing–his tongue and lips and stubble and fingers, for he now has two thrusting slowly into her–brings his arousal to the next level. To the next thousand levels.
One of her hands moves to the back of his head to push his face harder into her, the other is tugging at her right nipple. Her toes curl and her thighs close in on Sergei’s head, but he doesn’t seem to care as he eats her out. He keeps up his work even when the walls of her vagina start clamping down harder on his fingers and the arch of her back deepens and her moans increase in volume.
Sergei. Sergei. Sergei.
It’s a new mantra. He–a new god being begged and prayed upon.
He feels like he’s going crazy, like he’s going on fire just by pleasuring her.
When she comes–and she comes hard on his face and on his fingers–she’s breathless, thighs a cage around his head and he has to fight his way out of it, a grin plastered on his lips.
He kisses his way up her belly, the valley of her breasts, her neck. His body pushes down harder against hers, hands moving underneath her and grabbing her shoulders, tongue lavishing the sweaty skin of her neck. His hips lull against hers as he breathes her in, kisses her shoulders, the dip in her collarbone, her cheeks, her lips.
It takes her some time to come back to reality, and a little longer for her arms to wrap around his solid, Ukrainian body. She smiles under his kisses, exhaling hard from the nose, and she pecks his lips, presses hard against them because that’s the only thing she’s able to do now, her body and mind and soul still swimming in pure bliss as her body shivers and her core throbs and her nipples, as hard as stone, hurt against his muscular chest. He’s her anchor, keeping her grounded to the ground–or mattress–and she’s glad he’s here with her–for her. She’s glad she forced Piotr to give her Sergei’s address in the first place and she’s glad she’s come, she’s glad she’s kissed him. Heck, she’s glad she’s kept on her lace lingerie for she now thinks he loves it.
And the longer he holds her, the quicker she calms down–and comes back to him. He’s not even aware of his hips ever so slowly grinding against hers until she moans–low and guttural from the base of her throat–and she bucks up against him.
His lips resume their kisses and they glide over her skin, following her collarbones, hands moving from underneath her to slide the straps of her bra down her shoulders.
As he looks down at her, a smile tugging at his and her lips alike, he swears she looks like an angel. The lamps of the bathroom shed light on the side of her face and–fuck–isn’t she the best vision he’s ever had. He stops what he’s doing and he bows his head, captures her lips in a kiss–lingering and bruising and slow and deep, all at the same time. And he doesn’t want to pull away–nor does she.
One of his hands glides down the side of her body, holds her hip in place as he presses harder against her, almost as though he wants to become one body and one soul with her.
He feels like he’s ready to die. And all the mistakes of his past seem stupid and important at the same time, and he’d do them over and over again if they’d still bring him here, in this bed, with this woman calling his name like a prayer against his lips.
But human nature is what it is and his erection is uncomfortable, caged in both his briefs and his pants, pressed up against her dripping cunt. And so, his arms wound themselves around her waist, they push back again underneath her. His fingers unclasp her bra and when she sighs in contentment, he groans and his hips buck forward with the force of an animal.
“Sergei.”
She calls his name again and he loses it–loses his mind and his control over his body and he swears he could come right then and there if she called his name like that again. He hums, forehead falling forward to rest in the crook of her neck when her hands slide down his back, fingernails lightly scratching his skin before slipping underneath his pants and boxers, grabbing his buttcheeks in a steel-hard grip. His hips buck forward of their own accord and he gasps and she moans.
And she arches against his chest, her bra an annoying barrier between the skin of her breasts and that of his pecs.
There’s no time to think, for her hands are trying to push his clothes down her body, but she can only reach underneath his ass. She groans and he sucks hard at the base of her neck, scraping his teeth against her skin before lapping at it with his tongue. And when he’s happy with his work, he holds her tight and rolls over on his back.
The pressure of her weight on his rock-hard dick is almost too much and he groans hard, holding her hips and dragging her back and forth against him for a couple of seconds before she finally yanks her bra down her arms and throws it behind her back.
Tits plump and nipples beaded–she’s a motherfucking vision.
He calls her name and she moans softly, under her breath. His fingers walk on the skin of her arms, they trace her collarbones and slowly, slowly, slowly they reach her nipples. Skin on skin, the contact is amazing: it ignites a fire that seems to travel down her spine and straight to her core and she has to–she has to–grind against him once again before she moves down between his legs. She kisses his V-line, her breath tickling his skin and her lips sending waves of arousal to his already throbbing dick.
All he can think about is her pussy wrapped around him and he has to refrain from manhandling her and pushing into her, for he feels like they have both waited too long, too much, too hard.
But he sighs when she takes his sweatpants and boxers down his legs, letting them fall to the ground. His dick arches back against his stomach and he hisses when its head brushes against the skin of his abdomen.
She moans when she sees him–hard and veiny and leaking pre-cum–and her hand travels down her belly until it stops between her legs. Sergei’s hips buck up into the air at the sight of her fingers teasing her clit and when they make eye contact, they’re both ready to devour each other.
A string of adults-only Russian leaves his lips like fingers counting rosary beads when she settles between his legs, hands running up and down his thighs. Eye-level with his cock, she’s a vision to behold. But when her tongue slips past her lips and drags a stripe up his dick, from base to tip, pressing hard against the vein on his underside, he’s forced to close his eyes.
His hands wrap the sheets into fists when she starts peppering kisses on his shaft, breath hot and damp against his burning skin. Her fingers tease his balls, her tongue flattens itself against his erection and moves upward until she’s kissing his angry-red head. She sucks on it, and she hums, and lost in the pleasure of the moment, Sergei bucks up and shoves his dick further into her mouth.
But he can’t…
He doesn’t…
“Y/N.” His voice is weak, his hands demanding as they push her shoulders.
When she looks up at him, devil-tongue licking those angel-lips, he’s panting, breath ragged as it drives up his throat.
“I know,” she whispers, kissing up his torso and paying attention to each one of his bruises. Her tongue soothes the stinging away, her kisses leave burning skin behind.
“Condom,” he says–he wants to fuck her raw, but he guesses there’s going to be time for that later. He hopes there’s going to be time for that later. “Bedside table.”
She’s quick at coming back. She sits on his thighs and he stares as she rips the foil open. It’s new for him–to have a woman to wrap him up and not do it himself. Raptured, his eyes are glued to her every movement: the way she pinches the tip of the condom, how she grabs his dick at the base, the way she rolls the latex down his length. And then, the way she perches herself on his shoulder with one hand as the other guides him to her entrance before sinking down on him in one swift movement.
It’s… mind-emptying. It locks his muscles and tenses his body like a bowstring.
She is… “So fucking tight,” he lets out in a huff.
She’s panting above him, lips brushing against the side of his neck as his hands grab her hips tight.
She’s so tight and so wet and so fucking hot he feels himself being tugged into another astral plane. There’s no other fucking explanation for the way he’s feeling–nor for the way she feels wrapped around him like a glove.
They both lay there for a while, breathing each other in, feeling each other’s skin–and each other’s breath on each other’s skin. It’s heaven and hell and purgatory combined and they both wonder why they haven’t done this sooner, why they’ve kept on being cowards for so long.
Because right now… Boy, right now it feels so fucking right. Like they belong there, on that bed, his dick up her vagina, her breasts pressed against his chest, lips blindly searching each other as they both try to breathe.
He holds her closer, hands bruising on her doll-skin. And she lightly bites the skin of his shoulder and when she slightly moves, they both moan and hiss and gasp. It’s a fucking symphony no one but them is able to hear.
Then, ever so slowly, he pulls his hips back, ass pressing down harder into the mattress, before he thrusts back into her. Y/N whimpers, Sergei moans. They lull each other slowly before the fire in their stomachs starts to build again and it becomes a raging hell.
She plants her hands on his pecs and pushes herself up and the change in angle leaves them both breathless. It takes them a while, but when she starts to move, to bounce on his dick, the rhythm increases.
And, once again, she’s a sight to behold. Her breasts bounce with every movement and he can’t stop himself: he reaches his hands up and grabs a hold of them. He massages the skin, tugs on the nipples, and she’s a whimpering mess under his touches. And when his gaze wanders lower…
Fuck–his hips buck up hard and he ends up deep into her and she squeezes down on him, wrapping around him so hard that…
Fuck.
He can’t look away from the sight of her pussy running up and down his dick. He’s fucking entranced and he moans at the sight, moans at the feeling.
There’s no holding back now–not now that he sees his dick shoved up into her, condom glistening with her wetness under the light of the bathroom. He picks up the rhythm, arms wrapping around her body and pulling her back down flush against him.
Her breasts pressed against him feel like heaven; her moans a sinful humming in his ears. It’s his name again–Sergei. Sergei. Sergei. Sergeisergeisergeisergei. Rhythm and volume pick up with each thrust of his hips and his back arches without him being able to stop it.
His hands trail down her back, glide over the curve of her ass, grab her buttcheeks like she’s done with him before–but harder. He squeezes the flesh and he pounds harder and the wet sound of his dick thrusting in and out is the only intelligible sound in the room as he grunts and she moans.
His orgasm strikes him like lightning. Like a punch to his stomach that leaves him breathless. He tenses under her, hips pushing upwards and deeper into her spasming pussy.
She follows him right after and she, too, tenses in his arms and she tries to squirm away for the force of her climax robs her brain of its ability to function. And his hips slowly and sloppily thrusting into her are too much and his throbbing and twitching dick is too much and his arms around her are too much and his body under hers is too much. And she comes again, lightly this time, but she’s still shivering and quivering and whimpering as she tries to recover from the second orgasm of her night. And she tries to breathe so hard it almost hurts and it takes her a while to feel Sergei’s lips and tongue lapping at the flushed skin of her neck.
*
The next morning, when Sergei wakes up, he can barely move. His body hurts and aches and his dick is still sensitive, even more sensitive now that it’s hardened by his morning erection. The muscles in his thighs and arms are sore, the bruise on the side of his ribcage thrums dully through his morning haze.
“Good morning.”
He turns his head quickly at the sound of that voice, skull throbbing through his recovery phase from Vladimir and Anatoly’s job.
His breath gets stuck in the back of his throat when he sees her there: disheveled hair, swollen lips, soft skin beaming in the early morning light. His hand reaches out, traces the profile of her jaw, trails down her neck before it gently grabs one of her boobs and stops there. Its weight is strangely comforting, it brings him back to last night.
And he smiles.
He scoots closer to her, leaves a kiss on each of her nipples before he presses his lips against hers and she giggles.
Her arms are welcoming–and warm, so warm he feels like losing himself in their embrace–and they tug at him until he’s hovering over her, his head dipped down to kiss her cheeks and her neck and her shoulders.
They still have a couple of hours before going to work and they plan on making the most of them.
Raw, this time.
*
This is not even my wildest smut, but I’m still wondering: where is Jesus when I need him? 
Tell me what you think of this pls I’m still dying at the thought this is 23 motherfucking pages on Google Doc. Good job for reaching the end btw!! You can now consider yourself my best friend, this is true dedication haha
TAGS (to be added to or to be removed from any list, shoot me an ask. Same goes for ‘Bratva’)
Everything: @idhrenniel @saibh29 @fuckthatfeeling @aya-fay @pebblesz892  @mblaqgi
Bratva (people not on the lists but that might still be interested): @sweetvengeancee @theranskahovs @brobachev (this is not Vladimir but maybe you’re interested in Sergei too? @kellydixon01)
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jocelynships · 5 years
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Gush about kurt! But additionally: any xmen of your choosing!!
HHHHHHH IF YOU SAY SO???????
Anyways, I love my fuzzy blue boyfriend so much?? I went on a little gush fest over on my twitter over how much I love Kurt so I’ll just kinda repeat what I said there here:
(Also putting this under a readmore bc it might get long whOOPS)
Okay so Kurt in my opinion is the most gorgeous dude in Marvel. I absolutely adore his design. He’s a pretty shade of blue, he’s got these gorgeous golden eyes, I also love the fact he has fangs!!! Like fangs are such a good addition to a character design.
I also love it when Kurt is drawn with curly hair. Like most artists don’t draw him with it nowadays (tbh a few of the X-Men used to have curly hair but they don’t anymore??? Unacceptable) but it was such a great choice for Kurt? I know he was designed in the 70s but c’mon, give my boyfriend his pretty curly hair again. But I will admit the curtain bangs look from Wolverine and the X-Men was a pretty nice look for him. 
Also his cheekbones and his jawline???? Especially when Alan Davis drew him????????????? LIKE MR. DAVIS SIR HOW COULD YOU MAKE HIM SO PRETTY????????????????????
I know I mentioned his fangs but honestly, let me talk about them again. Sharp teeth on a character is something I really like and also Kurt has such a dashing smile??? Like if Kurt were to grin at me I would be dead.
And I love the fact that in the comics his tail sometimes wraps around people when he hugs them!! That’s just so frickin’ adorable and I imagine that whenever he hugs me his tail wraps loosely around my waist or leg and it’s just a super cute thing 
Do I even need to mention his voice? If you’ve seen the movies or cartoons, he has a deeper voice, but it’s pretty soft and gentle at the same time?? My go-to voice for Kurt is either Alan Cumming (X2) or Liam O’Brien (Wolverine and the X-Men). It’s just so soothing to listen to.
I’m really glad in the movies they didn’t get rid of the fact he’s German and has an accent, bc they kinda... messed that up with a few characters (Colossus, Banshee, and Pyro for example... Also with Storm she sometimes had the accent and sometimes didn’t????????) IDK why that’s a pet peeve of mine from the movies, but like... a lot of the X-Men AREN’T American and are said to have accents so don’t erase that???????? While I do enjoy the movies I do have some issues with that and that’s one thing that annoys me. But I will applaud the Deadpool movies for making Piotr Russian like he’s supposed to be. I felt like in the movies they just threw him in to have him bc in the first three films he only said like... 3 things. (Which was a shame tho bc the guy they got to play him had the look)
OKAY ENOUGH ABOUT MY RANTING ON THE X-MEN MOVIES I HAVE A LOVE/HATE RELATIONSHIP WITH THEM and if you guys wanna hear me go into detail about it... we’ll save that for another time ahjsdfjfjfjkfjkfjk
But anyways, that brings me to another thing I love about the X-Men, not just Kurt: I LOVE how all of them are from different walks of life? They’re from all over the place and have different beliefs (ex. Kurt is Catholic and Kitty is Jewish) and they’re all VERY different people, but they come together and form a family DESPITE these differences! I’m very bad at putting it into words over how much I love this aspect of the X-Men, but honestly it’s such an amazing thing. They found each other and while they have had some disagreements here and there, they stick together for the most part. They have to. Most people are scared of or hate them because they’re mutants and are different. The X-Men is just one big huge family and that’s what drew me to them.
I don’t talk to a good majority of my family because a lot of them are really awful people, and everyone except my sister on my mother’s side just about dropped me because I wouldn’t move in with my mother and allow her to abuse me more. I really only talk to my dad, my grandparents, and my siblings nowadays. I sometimes talk to my uncles but they live in different states so my contact with them is limited. 
But basically what I’m trying to say is this: the fact the X-Men all found each other and formed a family despite how radically different they all are means something to me. When my parents were getting a divorce my life was falling to pieces. I didn’t even want to be around anyone in my family, and I was very torn over the fact my family was so fucked up at the time and even being at my friends houses with their families distressed me to a point because they had something I didn’t. And when I got into the X-Men, I saw how they all came together and honestly, I wanted to be apart of that family, so I started writing and drawing myself hanging out with them as kind of a means of escape. And Kurt was someone I could heavily relate to because he also has a horrible mother and while I’m not blue, I was an outcast and many people did not like me when I was younger. However, we both try to see good in others and try to help people out however we can. I kinda saw it as him and I could help each other get over our pasts and lift the other up. And honestly, Kurt has been such a HUGE comfort character to me over the past two years (technically three since I got really into X-Men when I was 17). Him and the other X-Men were there for me when I needed someone and while they aren’t real, they’re very real in my heart. I mean besides classic rock, the main thing that kept me from killing myself was imaging the X-Men telling me NOT to hurt myself. Other Marvel characters too, but the X-Men were the most effective. Also I imagine from time to time them protecting me from my mother, and honestly it helps me feel so much better and safer too.
Okay that went from just gushing over how pretty Kurt was to really deep and emotional and I apologize SO MUCH for that, I wasn’t expecting to get so deep with this but the X-Men just mean so much to me and at times it’s really hard for me to get the words out and explain it, but I try my best to convey my feelings about them.
So uh, I kinda gushed about the X-Men as a whole here? If anyone wants me to gush about a specific character feel free to do so lmao
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roboraindrop · 6 years
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Listen.... Listen to me..... I am full of intense love.
I love my f/os
Every single one of them.
J? An angel. The absolute love of my life. The man stole precious gems and keeps them in his eyes. He never fails to make my heart sing with how silly he is, even on my worst days. I could be the most horrible person in the world but he'd love me anyway just like i love him when he's a brat 💕
Rein? Love him with all my heart. He can shield me with his love and I will comfort him and protect him better than any armor. Nothing will hurt this man while I'm here.
Piotr? I'm swooning, need this metal man to catch me. We can draw portraits of each other with hearts surrounding them and I will endlessly run my fingers through his hair and tell him how lucky I am too have him.
Alan Breck? Strong. Fierce. Loyal. The ultimate man to dance with and sword fight for my honor. He can be away in France and I will wait a lifetime for him.
Warp? I'm gonna punch him in the mouth. With my mouth. Hard. Because I love him even though he's a little fuckin shit. I'd leave my entire life behind to explore the stars with him.
Ariel? So sweet. The original fishwife. So curious and happy and full of life. 10/10 would explore the world with her and love watching the sunlight play in her hair.
Brigitte? Gorgeous. An immense sweetheart who only wants to do what's right. I would fight for her, and we can fix each other up at the end of the day. I hope she knows that the weight of the world isn't hers to carry alone.
Daisy? Sassy and deadly. You KNOW she'll win. She has my heart in those flower lace gloved hands and I trust her fully with it. I want to play video games with her.
Miranda? She's so beautiful drenched in the blood of her political enemies. I would murder for her. The goddess of the sea imo. An absolute fucking queen. I would carry her everywhere.
Pearl? So much stronger than she thinks. I would sit by her side, tell her how wonderful and strong she is as her own person, and we will fight side by side.
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bamfdaddio · 3 years
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X-Men Abridged: 1976
The X-Men, those fiery mutants that have sworn to protect a world that hates and fears them, are a cultural juggernaut with a long, tangled history. Want to unravel this tapestry? Then read the Abridged X-Men!
(X-Men 97 - 102) - by Chris Claremont and Dave Cockrum
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If I ever participate in Drag Race, this will be my entrance look. (“Hear me, bitches! No longer am I the woman you knew! I am fierce! I am fashion incarnate! Now and forever, the winner of season 27!” *mugs at camera* ) (X-Men 101)
It really amazes me how quickly Claremont shifts things into high gear. One year in and he absolutely does not calm down, giving us both the Shi’ar, more Sentinels and the (motherfucking) Phoenix. SO LET'S GOOOO
You’d think that, as a telepath, Charles would be used to dreaming absolutely twisted shit, surfing everybody else´s freaky dream waves, but apparently, vividly dreaming of space is so exhausting that he needs a vacation.
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To be fair, I’d be exhausted too if I dreamt of schizo space bugs on detailed splash pages. Get into it, Mr. Cockrum. (X-Men 97)
Meanwhile, Alex and Lorna have absconded to the sizzling Rio Diablo to work on their doctorates. It’s unclear what they’re studying (archaeology?) and where this Rio Diablo is (Panama, Chili, Ecuador?), but considering that Rio means River, I’m unsure whether drawing a dry dry desert is the appropriate setting. But hey, this was the pre-Google era and you’re not here for topographical nitpicking, so.
Lorna is shot by an unknown assailant and continues the long, long history of Polaris being mentally overtaken by other entities. Together with the equally not-himself Havoc, they travel back to NYC and attack the plane Xavier is boarding. The X-Men battle them, until it is revealed that these former not-quite-X-Men are in league with… Eric the Red?
Scott is all: But I was Eric the Red! Also, Eric the Red does not exist!
Xavier escapes, apparently not giving a fuck that all kinds of X-Men are demolishing the JFK airport, but the still-evil Havok and Polaris also get away. The X-Men are shook!
Some time later, The X-Men celebrate X-Mas at Rockefeller Square, where Claremont skips some steps in favour of narrative expediency. Moira and Sean are apparently in a relationship, Jean and Storm are the best of friends. It’s some pretty rough telling, not showing, but we’ll allow it, but only because the Storm/Jean-friendship is one of my favourite things.
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What, you think only the movies indulged in Lee/Kirby-cameos? (X-Men 98)
Anyway, Jean and Scott are attacked by the Sentinels, who continue their trend of being way too sneaky for supersized racist robots! Xavier is kidnapped on his boat trip with super-duper scientist Peter Corbeau (seriously, he has two Nobel Prizes), while they steal away Jean, Sean and Logan in NYC. When they come to, there’s some gloating from Stephen Lang.
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Jean Grey being a literal pin-up while delivering nazi-burns is such a big middle finger to everything she was in the sixties and I am here for it. (X-Men 98)
When the three kidnapped X-Men make a break for it and escape the Sentinel’s clutches, they burst through a wall, only to be greeted by the cold vacuum of space! They’re not on Earth at all: they’re on a formerly SHIELD space station! GASP! (literally)
In secret, Peter Corbeau, inventor of sliced bread, helps the X-Men back on Earth board a space shuttle, where Colossus remembers his brother Mikhail (objectively the worst Rasputin), a kosmonaut who died at the launch of another spacecraft. It’s another Future Plotline Seed©.
The X-Men dodge solar storms which sounds like a made-up contrivance but aren’t, while the Sentinels try to destroy the shuttle. In what the kids these days call a pro-gamer move, the X-Men instead ram the space station and go through to these apparently sub-par Sentinels like Magma through butter. Kurt’s showmanship and Colossus’ loyalty are highlighted, while Cyclops becomes more robotic and repressed the more Jean is in danger.
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Colossus’ secondary mutation is apparently BEING THE BIGGEST DORK. (X-Men 99)
Scott almost kills Stephen Lang, but then Stephen throws his ace in the hole at them: THE OLD X-MEN? This reveal throws us right in the hallmark one hundredth issue!
And, look. Stephen, this is just a terrible plan. Instead of using most of your budget on making more impressive Sentinels, you blow half of it on making janky X-Men clones to… what? Confuse the real X-Men?
It works for a hot minute, but Kurt and Ororo quickly figure out something is wrong. This Beast, for example, isn’t hairy and this Jean doesn’t remember being in Storm’s confidence. Wolverine is the first to snap: acting on instinct, he kills ‘Jean’, proving she’s an android.
Stephen Lang, foiled by the X-Men’s logical thinking skills (which, to be fair, are notoriously unreliable), spews some hatred and accidentally blows himself up. Nothing of value is lost.
Too bad the X-Men can’t return to Earth: their space shuttle is too damaged. I actually love this: going to space is kind of a big deal for most people and the fact that the X-Men have trouble because they’re stranded in space lends them a kind of vulnerability that has been lost over the recent years. Jean steps up to the plate, herds the other X-Men into the protected life cell and assumes the pilot seat of the shuttle. This is after zapping Cyclops into unconsciousness and telling the other X-Men to kindly fuck off when they try to stop her.
As the X-Men descend onto the Earth, Jean’s telekinesis isn’t enough to protect her as she’s engulfed by solar flares. OR IS SHE?
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Nothing funny. All of these panels are just beautiful. Forget those robot copy X-Men, this is why this issue is worthy of being the hundredth one. (X-Men 100)
The space shuttle crashes, rolls over JFK airport before dunking in the water. The X-Men emerge, safe, sound and very lucky and then, defying all odds, Jean emerges as the Phoenix. Fire, life incarnate, etc.
After a brief but melodramatic burst of energy, Jean collapses into unconsciousness and is hospitalized. Wolverine intends to bring her flowers (aw!), before throwing them out when he realizes the gal’s taken, establishing the X-Men’s most famous love triangle. (You can fuck right off with your Scott/Jean/Warren-bullshit.)
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I’m not sure what my favorite thing is here: the absolutely bonkers everybody’s-elated-panel (special mention to Kurt’s boots and his bounce) or the subtle character beat where Kurt goes all heart-of-the-team and checks on Scott, who turns out to be not so stoic. (X-Men 101)
Charles orders all the X-Men (except Scott) to go on vacation, so he can take care of Jean. Like, Charles, you’d think they could just go hang out at the X-Mansion. Instead, they go to Ireland because Sean has conveniently inherited the ancestral Cassidy Keep.
All the X-Men dress up fancy for a welcoming feast, and it seems Kurt and Ororo are flirting? But sometimes, it also seems like Ororo and Piotr are flirting? Listen, I’m not judging: I love these polycule vibes from the early X-Men. Especially because neither Kurt nor Ororo have had particularly satisfying romantic plotlines for the past 20 years.
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I’m not here to insinuate nothing, but last time I said “I enjoy being with both of you”, it ended up in a spitroast. (X-Men 101)
The soiree is interrupted by… THE JUGGERNAUT, BITCH, and Black Tom, Sean Cassidy’s evil cousin. They are hired by an unknown someone to kill the X-Men! Since nobody subtle is involved, they quickly wreck the castle and everybody tumbles into the dungeons. (Local news paper reports: gay power couple harasses ill-dressed American tourists.)
This story is mostly a vehicle to tells Ororo’s backstory: Storm, one of the few who could conceivably put up a fight to Cain Marko, feels caged by the cold rocks of Cassidy Keep and is incapacitated by her claustrophobia.
Back in the USA, Charles, who’s heard Storm’s mental anguish, is furious with Scott because he doesn’t hop in a plane to save the other X-Men, even though Scott correctly points out that he’ll never get there in time if he leaves now. Meanwhile, Jean awakens, convinced she somehow brought herself back to life. Yeah, you go girl.
While the rest of the X-Men fight the evil duo in Ireland, Claremont tells Storm’s backstory in a few gorgeous spreads.
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“I could write a novel about Storm’s backstory.” “You get two pages.” “Deal.” (X-Men 102)
Another classic comics trope appears here, where family members are immune to one another’s powers. I have no idea how Black Tom is immune to Banshee’s sonic scream - he has ears.
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Does Black Tom just have a voice in his ears going NEENER NEENER NEENER when Sean screams? (X-Men 102)
When Storm finally pulls herself back together, it’s too late: the Juggernaut has pummeled the other X-Men into a paste and she also falls to his onslaught. IS THIS THE END OF THE X-MEN?!
Other things introduced this year:
Kurt’s image inducer, which he abuses to look like Errol Flynn. (I would abuse it to look like an amalgam of Milo Ventimiglia (ca. Gilmore Girls) and Timothée Chardonnay. OR like Emmy Raver-Lampman.)
The fastball special!
All kinds of name confusion: Lorna is Polaris, Havok is sometimes Havoc and Piotr becomes Peter.
Best new character: Phoenix. Hit me with that iconic shit.
What to read: The Stephen Lang arc is not fully necessary, just read issue 100 and 101. Don’t skip issue 102 if you want to know all about Storm’s past.
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rovvboat · 5 years
Text
Painted Flaws - Colossus/Piotr Rasputin x villian!Reader
Part 10
A/N: send an ask if you wanna be added to the taglist! Lmk how you feel about this series!
Summary: You’re a villian with a moral grey area. You meet Piotr at an art exhibit, but both of you are there for completely different reasons. Though the attraction was inevitable, will it be enough? A growing passionate love wrought with secrecy, both of you try to move through this maze. But when the ball drops, what will you choose?
word count: 3.3k
You lie in bed the rest of the day – the same scene repeating through your head; like the world’s worst silent film; of Piotr and his form as Colossus. And with that flicker of recognition, you realise just how much more you’re entangled into the X-Mens’ affairs – how much more you were set-up to be the catalyst for their demise.
There’s a moment when sleep catches up to you, somehow, despite the headache of thoughts.
You see him.
He’s standing in your room – the colours on the walls all distorted into a deep and ugly purple and pink – blending into every piece of furniture, fluid and balmy in its touch – as if it was all happening underwater
but Piotr doesn’t seem happy to be there; his face twisted into one of disgust and disappointment as he faces you.
Piotr I can explain –
You try to speak, but no sound come out no matter how hard you try. You bring a hand up to your throat, and that’s when you look down and realise: you’re naked.
Your hands springs onto your bed, pulling desperately at the sheets to cover yourself – trying your hardest to scream your heart out at the same time, just for Piotr to listen to your pleas – but the sheets don’t come out, and neither does your voice.
Piotr, all of a sudden, has his back turned to you, walking out of your apartment as the door shuts with a loud creak.
The sheets finally spring out of the bed, and you scramble to get them to cover you.
You run to the door, swinging it open – but he’s no longer there. He’s no longer waiting.
 You wake up in a cold sweat, gasping as your eyes shoot open. You sit up on your bed, beads of sweat run down your back, sending a vaguely uneasy sensation down your spine. You look to your window, yanked wide open, as it swayed back and forth with heavy screeches.
The weather outside matched your sentiment – heavy thundering rain crash against the surface of the outside, alongside the ghosts of howling winds that sent sprays of rain onto the spot where the calm moonlight would normally hit.
You rub at the tiredness of your eyes, unravelling from the nightmare that had awoken you so terrified, before getting up to shut the window close.
It wasn’t in your nature to feel fear – where it wasn’t used as fuel to succeed on your missions – but you knew how far gone you were with Piotr.
To have felt his love, and to be brave enough to love him back – that was a risk in and of itself, and you knew it.
But now that his truth has been bared –
where does that leave me?
Your phone buzzes against your bedside table – and you turn to look at your notifications, somewhat tethering you back to the present.
10 unread messages
[Dd]: hey, I’m locked out of my apartment – could you come give me the spare key?
[Dd]: hey
[Dd]: heyyyyyyyyy
[3 missed calls from Dd]
 You immediately hop off your bed, stretching your arms over your head as you let out a high-pitched whine.
This is no time for a pity party.
You wash yourself up and immediately suit up – throwing on a thick white t-shirt, paired with a black leather jacket as you hurriedly grab your keys (and DK’s spare keys), wallet and the purple vial. You put the purple vial into a small black drawstring bag – your grip tight on it as you walk towards your motorcycle.
You revv the engine – booming down the street – before speeding off towards the direction of D.K.’s dorm.
***
NTW fiddles with the interface to the hologram, bringing up profiles of people with their physical and affiliation descriptors.
‘’We were able to track the manufacturing company of the spear that hit Colossus in the back. It belongs to a small company called Lazarus – which has ties to the creator of the Sentinels, Dr. Bolivar Trask,’’ – she swipes at the hologram to reveal Dr Trask’s profile, ‘’who is also linked to this man.’’ She swipes at the hologram again, but this time, the profile showed a silhouette of a man with a question mark in the middle.
Name: Unknown
Alias: Boss, D
Affiliations: Sentinel technology, Dr Bolivar Trask
‘’We don’t have any idea what he looks like, but he’s been linked to dozens of mutant testing labs and sentinel technology. He also does seem to have a weak link.’’
A picture of the mystery lady comes up, half her face covered under a thin fabric of her turtleneck.
‘’We’ve been tracking this lady for past 3 months and we just came in contact with her again. Intel tells us that she had the serum on her at that time, but we’re pretty sure she was to hand it off to her boss after she fled on the helicopter. The Sentinels also had their eyes on her, but she managed to evade them when we were too busy keeping them down.’’
‘’So, what you’re telling me – is that we’ve been helping this lady get her way?’’
NTW rolls her eyes at Deadpool.
‘’I’m just saying what everybody’s thinking, sugarplum. She doesn’t seem like that weak of a link to me – going by how she kicked half our asses out there,’’ Deadpool lightheartedly brandishes one of his katanas around– pointedly at Cable and Colossus – as he lay sprawled over the sofa.
Cable tenses his fist on the table, uneasy at the prospect of having this mystery lady getting in their way of getting the anti-mutant serum.
When an idea pops into his head.
‘’Where’re you headed, foxy pops?’’ Deadpool quips, as Cable stands up – pushing his chair back with a screech – and strides over to NTW.
‘’Do you think we could scan this for prints or DNA?’’ Cable presents his metal hand, swaying each finger in a wave. ‘’I burnt her hand, and I’m sure some of her skin is on here.’’
‘’Sounds like something I could do.’’
‘’Holy Mother of God, all we do is sit around trying to track this woman! I wanna go do something fucking worthwhile!’’ Deadpool howls.
‘’You’d be doing us all a favour by shutting the fuck up, douchepool,’’ NTW crosses her arms as she stares at Deadpool.
‘’Suit yourself, one-man travelling circus of megatronic teenage big head,’’ Deadpool stands up and steps directly infront of NTW, staring her down.
‘’Enough.’’
Colossus’ booming footsteps enter into the meeting room.
‘’You are not children. There is no need for this nonsensical bickering. Come, Wade. We will do some review of the evidence from the helicopter weapon.’’ Colossus instructs as he starts heading for the door.
Deadpool lifts up his mask partway, showing only half his face, humming as he sticks his tongue out at NTW – then yelping as he gets elbowed hard in the ribs by her, before pacing behind Colossus.
***
The afternoon sun was slowly waning, disappearing and reappearing behind passing clouds as you zoom down the highway to D.K.’s dorm.
You see him the moment you turn into the dorm’s parking lot, standing near the lobby – no doubt playing some stupid game on his phone. He looks up when he hears your motorcycle pull up near the curb. You flip up the wind shield from your helmet, greeting him with a little toss of your head backward.
‘’Here’re your keys, dumbass,’’ you toss D.K.’s spare keys at him.
‘’I have the highest GPA in my class. I beg to differ,’’ he retorts as he catches the key between both hands, clanking against his phone.
‘’Well, that didn’t help find your key, did it? You better get your locks changed.’’
‘’Yeah, yeah whatever.’’
You park by the curb, before following behind him up to his dorm room.
The smell of fresh flowers hits you when he swings open the door to his room. You had to admit, he was an overall meticulous and responsible kid – which didn’t make sense that he would lose his keys; especially considering that the both of you were always on high-alert with the threat of Demetrius and his goons looming around you.
But teenagers will be teenagers – even though this one was just initiated into the young adult 20s club recently.
‘’Make yourself at home,’’ D.K. announces, pulling out a chair out of his study desk towards you. He heads to the bathroom, leaving you alone in the room.
You look at the pictures on his desk – of his 2 little sisters back home, and him in the middle; the three of them seated on some kind of child-sized toy car. They were all beaming at the camera – carefree and innocent. As they should be.
You snap back when you hear the click of the bathroom door unlocking.
‘’So, what brings you here, sis?’’
‘’Well, for one – you forgot your keys somewhere.’’
D.K. smiles at you sheepishly, shrugging as he drapes his towel over his shoulders.
‘’But more importantly – I got the anti-mutant serum vial with me. I need you to pass it onto to Dr. Wong. I’ve sent him instructions–‘’
‘’My chemistry elective professor, Dr Wong? You’re kidding me, he’s working for you too?’’
‘’He works with me. Not for me.’’
‘’hE wOrKs WiTh Me,’’ D.K. imitates you in an annoying high-pitched voice – which prompts you to reach out to his ear lobes, twisting it as he winces.
‘’I was joking! Ow– OW!’’ He swats at your hand.
You spend the next hour going through your plans with him – giving him contingencies and back-up plans in case he’s unable to deliver the vial for any reason.
‘’So… how long until I have to go back?’’ D.K. asks, a hand rubbing the back of his neck.
You tilt your head at him. ‘’You don’t sound too happy about that.’’
‘’Yeah, well. This has been my home for the past 9 years… and you – you’ve been taking care of me since I got tangled up with your Boss. I just… Maybe we could make it so that you don’t disappear from my life after this?’’
There was a knot in his throat you could hear through his voice, and it broke your heart.
You hold him by the shoulders, looking directly at him as he looks up at you surprised – ‘’Hey, kid, listen to me okay? You’re gonna be okay. Your family can’t wait to see you again. Your life is over there – living like a 20 year old kid; working for your goals, partying with friends and just living a normal life. Not this. I was never meant to be in your life. In fact, I’m probably the reason why you’re here in the first place–’’
‘’But that’s not your fault!’’
‘’It was. And I’ll pay the price for it, not you.’’
D.K. frowns at you, then looks to the floor.
‘’I’m sorry, D.K.. It’s the only way I can keep you safe.’’
‘’I know,’’ he sighs. ‘’I just – I’m sorry.’’
‘’Don’t be, D. I know it’s hard. But you have to be strong. I’ll be okay, and I’ll definitely contact you, one way or another – I promise.’’
He holds out a pinky to you. You look at it, then smile at him – before meeting his pinky finger with yours in a pinky promise.
***
Colossus meets with Beast at the analytics lab, as Beast worked on pinpointing the different locations that the weapon could have come from. Deadpool walks up to the closest piece of evidence – a large broken spear – and slowly puts a finger towards it – only for Beast to smack it away without even looking up from his screen.
‘’Do we have any more information about our mystery lady yet, friend Hank?’’
‘’I’m afraid not, Colossus. We only managed to get information on the organizations that she might be affiliated with. Most of them are contractors – but we do have information on who was piloting the helicopter. Perhaps we could pay them a visit – ‘’
Colossus’ phone notification sounds inside his pocket.
‘’Da¸ we could. Please excuse me– ‘’ he fishes his phone out of his pocket, and walks a little away from Beast.
Y/N: Hey big guy♡ Hope you’re recovering well. I was wondering if you wanted to take a walk with me? Wanted to see you. Let me know♡
Colossus couldn’t keep his smile in, when Deadpool peaks over his shoulder, startling him.
‘’What’s this, tinman? Another booty call?’’
Colossus rolls his eyes – ‘’No, it is not.’’ – as he walks back towards Beast.
‘’I have some matters to attend to. Please alert me if there is any urgent business.’’
‘’Will do, Colossus – ‘’
‘’Chrome-Dome is ditching us for his side chick!’’ Deadpool accusingly points at Colossus, ‘’that’s right, I said side chick, because we all know I’m the main course. And also! How is this fair? I ask for a fucking vacation and it’s ‘’superhero is a full-time job’’ this and ‘’Wade, you can’t demand money in exchange for saving lives’’’ that. I’m sick of the double standards – Hey, listen to me when I’m talking to you!’’ Deadpool calls after Colossus, who’s already disappeared behind the lab doors.
***
You debate sending the message for a good hour.
I should break up with him. I can not deal with anymore emotions on this issue.
Your mind swirls with ideas on how to break it off gently – but every time you imagine the scenario, your heart gets much too heavy to get to the we should see other people part of the dialogue.
Maybe not today.
You decide that maybe just having a quick meet-up with him could calm you down a little – maybe even prepare you for the next time you meet him.
To break things off, of course.
Even the internal mentions of it makes your heart drop. He made you happy. Happier, safer and more loved than you’ve ever been.
I don’t deserve any of it.
You let out a resigned sigh. No matter how you looked at it, you were incompatible. Not to mention that he lied to you about his job.
Not that I didn’t, but still.
You fiddle nervously with your hands in your pockets – when your phone rings – a call from none other than Piotr.
***
You feel the soft – almost fluffy – fine sand sinking under you with every step, getting between your toes in the most crisp manner that only barely itched the edges of needing attention.
You wave it away, and instead focus on the small tingles you felt when the back of his hands brush against yours, as you walk along the shore.
He had asked to meet you at this beach – ‘’It is a good beach for couples and walking,’’ he suggested through the phone – an eagerness to his voice that was now something you always looked forward to hearing.
Not for long…
The thought makes your heart dread your next few steps.
Distant squawks of pelicans and seagulls fade out across the beach as you trod along, arms swinging gently, with Piotr next to you.
You look up when you hear him inhale, long and slow, as he takes in the glistening surface of the sea. You watch him, as his body relaxes, and he exhales an equally long breath. You follow his eyes to meet the sunset before you.
‘’Your taste in beaches is impeccable,’’ you mention off-handedly, mostly as an attempt to calm your own nerves.
He smiles back at you – that million dollar smile – ‘’Really? I am glad you like it too…’’
A strong chill breeze brushes past – bringing with it the fresh salty savour of the ocean – gliding over your exposed skin and gently caressing your hair, as it finds its way the back of your neck – cooling you off from the sweltering heat of the day.
Piotr’s arm slowly snakes around your waist, drawing close to you, without taking his eyes off the scene before him, as you feel a heat rising to your cheeks.
“Beautiful is it not? I wish I had a chance to paint this. To maybe… capture this moment”
You look up at him and attempt a sly grin to cross your face, as you hook your arm through his.
“This moment, after you spent half the week in bed?”
Piotr chuckles – a deep well-kept laugh that rumbles in his chest – then smiles back at you, smile lines creasing the edges of his lips – his eyes twinkling under the slow receding sun.
His eyes regard you warmly, and you feel an intense burning in the pit of your stomach – a desire. To not only spend the rest of the night with him, but your whole life too.
You feel your cheeks burn with embarrassment at the thought of even considering a normal life with someone so kind and generous and wonderful.
‘’Hey Piotr? –’’
He raises his eyebrows at you, his full attention undoubtedly on you.
‘’– do you believe… do you believe that good people can do bad things?’’
He doesn’t even take a moment to answer the question.
‘’Of course. Good people do bad things all the time. But it only matters what they do to make things better. If they know what they are doing is bad, they should stop immediately – if not it can make them… tolerate more evil in the world.’’
‘’What about– ‘’ You cut yourself off when you notice a lady clad in her bikini walking past the both of you, giving Piotr a painfully slow once over – smirking as she nods in his direction.
Your stomach drops as you loosen your grip around his arm, letting your hand fall back next to you, and Piotr’s face changes to one of concern.
He doesn’t deserve this. Not me. Not for who I am, that’s for sure.
“Is everything alright?”
“No, I… I think I’m not feeling too good.”
“Would you like to head back home?”
You think for a moment. And though you wanted nothing more than to stretch these serene and wonderful moments with him – moments which felt almost final – you genuinely didn’t think you deserved it. Much less be competent enough to protect it from the life you actually lead.
“Yes please,” you force out, albeit a little choked, as you look away from him. When you’re with him, your feelings always showed somehow – something which in your line of job was called ‘a massive liability’.
He watches you, deciding whether to press the matter – but your avoidance makes him want to do nothing else but bring you home and allow you to settle in comfortably for the night.
His finger grazes the back of your hand – finding the inside of your palm – before allowing each of his fingers to interlace with yours; and he does it loosely – in case you weren’t comfortable with it. You smile up at him, before gripping his hand tightly, as you walked back towards the road.
Piotr walks you to your apartment, stopping near the entrance. You busy yourself with sliding your fingers over the straps of your handbag, looking anywhere but at Piotr. You start at a sentence, when Piotr speaks up.
‘’Are you sure you are okay, myshka? You sound unwell…’’ he tilts your chin up towards him, ‘’please tell me if there is anything I can do for you? I can stay the night if you –’’
‘’No! I– I mean, I would love that but, I have a lot of work to do tonight and, uh… yeah.’’
‘’That is okay,’’ his voice soft and unhurried, ‘’please take care of yourself if you are working through the night. I heard lawyers do that a lot,’’ he huffs a laugh, trying to ease your nerves. He reaches out for your hand, and when you offer it, he steps forward into a tight hug. He whiffs at your hair – in the way men do in affection – then presses his lips against your temple.
You pull away a little to look at him, still enveloped in his arms – safe and full – tiptoeing as you pull his face towards you into a deep, needy kiss; eyes scrunched closed.
You let yourself enjoy his love; pure and unadulterated by anything.
Even though it hurt to know that it might be one of the last times you can actually do so.
Taglist! 
@emma-frxst @chromecutie @fluffymadamina @master-sass-blast @marvelhead17 @onthequill @candle-light-writings
42 notes · View notes
rovvboat · 5 years
Text
Painted Flaws - Colossus/Piotr Rasputin x villian!Reader
Part 1
A/N: i’m dead (in a good way) from writing this. Hope you enjoy from the bottom of my heart. A lot more to come! (this is also my first colossus smut uwu)
Word count: 4.8k
Warnings: smut, n s f w 
Summary: You’re a villian with a moral grey area. You meet Piotr at an art exhibit, but both of you are there for completely different reasons. Though the attraction was inevitable, will it be enough? A growing passionate love wrought with secrecy, both of you try to move through this maze. But when the ball drops, what will you choose?
They all looked as pretentious as they were.
Prancing around, pretending to understand the art around them. As if they weren’t deliberately being conned by massive price inflation of seemingly valuable pieces. A bunch of rich snobs who could do better things with the money than hang it on their fucking wall in their private mansion and villas and– okay calm down. That’s not the priority here. You just have to look for the supplier, and make sure she gets the message.
You strode along the long hallways in your lace black long-sleeved, knee-length dress; complete with a cream clutch and pastel beige heels, and you undoubtedly got your fair share of stares from men and women alike. You didn’t look like the models on T.V., but you had your own allure that rendered you irresistible – much to your annoyance. On a normal day, you would prefer to dress a lot more like a hobo, just to keep yourself as much in the background as possible.
But on days like this, with these high-standing people, you had to put your best, charismatic-self out. And that means getting ogled at, but whatever.
You kept your eyes on every inch of the party, looking out for exit points and persons of interest. You had to judge every person you came into contact with, and for the most part they were all your standard issue snobs, with only a selective few who were genuinely interested in the art and artists. The other high-level celebrities were just there to hype up the party. It was a big event – but for you, it was important for an extremely different reason.
The supplier for today would make or break all future plans of The Hand, and it was pertinent for you to get the meeting set up with her.
After a few more moments of wandering, you spot a lady in a wheelchair, looking to be in her mid-40s with hair greying off at the edges; dressed in an elegant outfit of her own. Though she looked fragile, beneath that act lay an evil in its own right. The lady in question was your ‘’supplier’’, at least, that’s what you were told to call her ever since the beginning. You casually move towards her, but before you could make your presence known, two huge men in black suits, eyes covered by black visors, block your path. You stare them down, before showing them your business card – as if this wasn’t the thousandth time you’ve met with her. They inspect it and allow you past them, as you finally approach the lady.
‘’You look lovely, darling’’
You take her hand and kiss it, as is custom with her. ‘’I always look my best for the job. I can say the same about you.’’
She laughs heartily, ‘’Flattery will get you everywhere, love.’’ She motions for you to lean in, and you do.
‘’Tell me now, what is the important message I was supposed to receive?’’
‘’I’m sorry, I am not allowed to tell you here. But we have arranged for you to meet the Boss at midnight at a more private section of the gallery. If you wouldn’t mind, I could bring you to the room that we have arranged for you for the night. I’ve seen the place, and I can assure you that you will not be disappointed. May I bring you there personally?’’
‘‘Of course, darling. If that’s what you need to do.’’ She obliges.
You move to push her wheelchair, and before you do, you ask if she allows you to do so. She waves a hand granting permission. You slowly wheel her to the room, letting her take in the surrounding of the gallery and tell you about her long trip to New York, before allowing her to settle down in her private suite.
Once she was taken care of, you had the rest of the day, and you certainly did not want to spend it around these snobs. You walk along the string of the lesser coveted art pieces, bored out of your mind, when you hear a voice quip up from the end of the hallway. A large man was standing with a lady with short, styled hair by his side. They looked like they could siblings, from what you could tell.
They seemed very out of place in this gallery, though. He was a tall and brawny man, but he wasn’t dressed like a body guard, or a rich snobby collector – which raised some alarms.
Could he be a spy?
He’s wearing a navy-blue turtleneck with medium-khaki pants. He looked fashionable enough to seem like the artistic kind, but much too dressed down to be part of the target audience for this event. He was also at least 6 ft. tall, and you decided that those strong curves peeking out from under the sleeve fabric were definitely something worth investigating.
‘’Look NTW! This piece was made by one of the artists that inspired me when I first came to America. The use of colours is absolutely astound– ‘’ the man explains before he’s cut off.
The teenage girl next to him yawns. ‘’I’m sorry, Colossus. I’m just not an art person.’’
‘’Da. That is alright. You may go back to the mansion if this is not something you like. I just wanted for you to try something new, instead of being stuck inside all day.’’
‘’I think I’m going to go find Yukio, maybe she’ll be more interested in this than I am.’’ The girl pats him on the back and bids him farewell, walking past you to the exit.
You stride over towards the mysterious man, as he studies the details of the painting in front of him – even making sure to read the inscription on the plaques.
‘’I have never seen you around here before. Are you new?’’ You open. He jumps a little at your presence. He takes you in for a moment, his eyes wide. You smile and tilt your head at him, jolting him back to the conversation.
‘’Uh yes. I saw the sign outside about an art exhibit… and bought some tickets.’’ He responds in a thick accent – clearly Russian.
‘’You might have wandered too far from that particular art exhibit, my friend.’’ You point out. ‘’This one’s a little more of a… private event’’
‘’Oh, I am so sorry. I did not– ‘’
You laugh. ‘’Hey, it’s alright. If I’m being honest, out of everyone here, I think you probably deserve to be here the most. The rest of them… just look for prestige. Reputation is what matters to them, no matter how good the work might be. They might pretend to admire the work, but it’s all a game of who knows who.’’ You lament. He looks at you intently, curious about your thoughts of the art world.
You laugh again. ‘’I’m so sorry! It’s only been seconds since we’ve met and I’m already venting. Tell ya what, handsome. Since you had to listen to me be all negative about something you love, I’ll put your name on the guestlist, and you can spend the rest of the day admiring the artwork how it’s intended to be. The showcase ends tomorrow at 2am, so you can take your time and come back tomorrow as well.’’
‘’Oh no, I didn’t mind listening to you… I also think there are some things worth fixing in the community. But that is… very kind of you to put me on the guestlist. May I know your name?’’
‘’Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N. And yours?’’
‘’Piotr. Piotr Rasputin.’’ He puts out a hand to you. You go for a handshake, and revel at how big his hands were.
‘’Nice to meet you, Piotr. Well, I have some time on my hands. Maybe I could show you around? I would love to hear your perspective on certain works as well. Would that be alright with you?’’
‘’To have a beautiful lady offer to escort me around this wonderful gallery, I would be a foolish man to say no.’’ He remarks. You giggle as you loop an arm around his.
You spend the rest of the day sticking close to him. You talk to him about art, all its intricacies and your general disdain for the insincere – before enquiring more about himself. Piotr tells you about how different things are here and talks about his time as a farm boy and how he’s always been interested in painting and drawing. The time passes far too quickly for either of your liking – before a tall, brawny man in an expensive-looking suit approaches you, with urgency in his steps. Piotr tenses, and moves to stand between you and the man, but you hold him back gently with a hand to his shoulder.
‘’It’s alright, Piotr. This is an associate of mine.’’ You tell him, turning to the tall man. ‘’Do you have any updates for me?’’ You ask, your face stoic and devoid of all the emotion that you freely showed when you were with Piotr, who watches your change in demeanor with intrigue.
The man moves close to your ear and whispers something, before a look of disappointment crosses your face.
‘’I’m so sorry, Piotr. I’m going to have to cut our private tour short. But you are welcome to enjoy yourself for the rest of your evening. It was a pleasure talking to you.’’ You say before shifting to make your way to the problem.
‘’Wait!’’ A hand reaches out to grasp you, stopping you in your tracks. ‘’I apologise if I was too rough, but… will I see you again?’’
You give him a sad smile. ‘’Maybe.’’ You could tell he was crestfallen – as he let go of your hand – at your response. But you had no time to be thinking about prospective relationships at the moment, especially not when your job was on the line. He was sweet. And amazing company. But it wouldn’t be worth your time if you weren’t going to pursue him in the long run. He probably deserves better anyway.
 After making a few calls, it turned out that the problem was that your Boss was caught up with a different matter, and because of that the meeting was postponed to midnight the next day; which only meant there was a whole day for you to focus on other areas of work. In the meantime, you ran some errands outside the gallery and returned the next day to make sure everything was going smoothly.
It had been a long day of checks and monitoring around the gallery, but your mind kept wandering to the man you met yesterday. Was he here today? You check your watch. It was already 11:50pm. You push your thoughts of the man away, and make your way to the meeting venue to ensure last minute checks.
As you walk down the long hallway, you spot a familiar figure – it was Piotr – studying the same artwork that he did the day before. From the back, you could tell he was dressed up for the venue this time around.
You wanted to approach him, but decided that would only serve to distract you. You got your priorities straight before making your way to the meeting.
 Everything went according to plan, and you finally exit the room an hour later and out into the main room. You look around, your eyes searching for the familiar build of the man whose face shows up whenever you had the time to daydream. His piercing blue eyes, crinkling as he laughs heartily at a joke you made, or wide-eyed at your explanations of how certain industries work.
You realized that unlike all the other sleazebags you were exposed to, he never once touched you without permission or tried to cop a feel, but would always apologise if he felt he was pushing it.
But, alas, he was no where to be found. You escort the remaining visitors out of the gallery as a security guard comes up to you.
‘’Thank you for the assistance, I think there is one more person who is still around the ‘Hues’ exhibition. He said he was waiting for someone so I left him alone. Not sure if he’s still around though.’’
‘’I’ll handle it. You go ahead and take off’’ You smile at the guard. He gives you a nod before wandering off.
Your heart quickened at the words of the guard, and your feet took off toward that particular exhibit.
Please be there. Please be there.
The words ring through your head – you felt as if life was giving you another chance. Your heels clink furiously on the floor, in sync with the thumping of your heart through your chest, as you gained ground towards the exhibit. Everything felt so terribly loud, and you felt like he was going to slip through your hands if you didn’t catch up to him on time – and thinking about it made your heart pump faster still.
You look at your watch – 1:12AM. There was no way he was still here. You stop abruptly at the doorway to the Hues exhibit, and your hopes start to fall. You try to regain your composure, when you look up in front of you.
And there he was, in the dimly lit section of the gallery, taking in the sight of one of your most favourite pieces. A deep relief washes over you, as you let out all your tension in a sigh.
He looks at the painting for a long time, eyes wide in awe, before leaning down closer – hands in his pockets – to read the inscription.  
The piece is one with a black background that slowly fades into lighter hues of grey then white, littered with smaller strokes of all the possible colours, but only in one of shade of each. The strokes form a spiral through to the medium grey in the middle – which ends off with a short vertical line of gold, and a horizontal line of silver – both of the same length – all of which came together to make it look like a telescope. It was a masterpiece in its own right – and you personally knew the artist behind the work.
‘’That’s a one-of-a-kind piece.’’ You say as you gracefully make your way into the smaller section of the gallery – meant for the best of the best works – as the sound of your stilettos against the marble flooring echoed through the room, catching Piotr’s attention; his head swivels around to catch your gaze, as you come to a stop next to him.
‘’It is… most beautiful.’’ He says, looking at you. You turn your head to him and smile.
‘’It’s nice to see you again, Piotr. What brings you here at 1am in the morning? And dressed to the nines, might I add. You look even better than you did yesterday.’’ You remark, as he gives you a shy smile in return – the blush on his cheeks stark against skin. You can’t help but want to eat him up. But before he responds, an ideas pops into your head.
‘’C’mon, I want to show you something,’’ you grab his wrist and tug him along behind you. You guide him up the steps behind the curtains at the very end of the room that has a ‘’restricted access’’ sign prominently hung on it.
‘’Are you sure we are allowed back here?’’ Piotr whispers to you, lowering himself to make sure that you could hear him. You laugh in response, but continue tugging him deeper into the studio.
Once you arrive at your destination, you walk over to the far wall and flip a heavy switch with a loud chunk. Lights buzz open to reveal an art studio with high ceilings and exquisite furnishing – fit for only, one could imagine, the ‘’royals’’ of the art world.
Beyond the small lounging area, there is a huge floor-to-ceiling length window which overlooks onto the front entrance of the art gallery, placed adjacent to a small area with tall shelves that also reached the ceiling. They held every colour you could ever imagine. Further into the room there were smaller windows, all made to adjustable to ensure that the lighting was always constant in the room. These windows faced the canvases and easels that were in the room – which were placed in a circular arrangement facing away from each other.
‘’This all looks so… fancy. And professional. Does this studio belong to you?’’ Piotr asks, awe-struck as he runs his hand along all the cases containing all the different paint colours.
‘’No. I’m not an artist, but I remember you told me yesterday that you were. This belongs to the painter of the piece you were looking at from before. And this– ‘’ you wave an arm as if to present the room to him– ‘’is where all the magic happens.’’ You say proudly, perched on the edge of the sofa. You look up to see Piotr, who’s now walking towards you. He looks like he has something to ask you. You tilt your head – your heart beat picks up again – and you straighten up to show that you’re listening. ‘’Got something on your mind, Piotr?’’
He gets close to you, and all of a sudden, his face is against yours, noses brushing past, as you melt under him – his lips eagerly meeting yours. You stand up to deepen the kiss, as his hand holds one side of your face.
He pulls away abruptly, but still looking at you with hooded eyes – the intensity of his gaze absolutely driving you wild.
‘’I am sorry to be so forward. But I… I could not stop thinking about you.’’ He breathes heavy.
‘’Me neither.’’
You let your palms run over his chest before tugging at his black tie, pulling him back into a kiss.
A few moments pass and you push him back, breaking the kiss abruptly. You stare at him, your eyes needy, as you walk towards him. You push him a little more and he relents, until his back is against the wall.
You push against him, your lips meeting his with an insatiable hunger – the warmth of your lips follow, inching down to his neck as his face lifts up to allow your presence; sucking and nibbling, leaving loving bruises in your wake. You unbutton his shirt, one by one – untucking it from his pants – leaving his bare chest exposed. You lift your face back up to kiss him. He pulls your face closer to deepen the kiss still; your tongues, impatient, gently get a taste of each other.
Your hands wander over every perfect line of his physique as you kiss – yearning to feel every part of him against you – as they finally loop around his neck to bring your body closer to his. He lowers his hands to your waist, holding you close, before slowly letting them trail down – grazing over your ass and gently caressing it. The sudden action causing you to moan against him.
Your hand moves down to his crotch – feeling up his stiff member through the fabric. You hear a sharp inhale from him, as you rub your palm up and down against his hard on. A shaky breath escapes him.
You gently push yourself away, and shift to get down on your knees – before Piotr’s hands hold up your shoulders, stopping you from moving down.
‘’I… would prefer to take you out to dinner first…’’ He says, somewhat sheepishly. You smirk at him. What a sweetheart.
You lean in close to him. ‘’Tell ya what big guy,’’ you say slowly, painstakingly trail a finger down his chest, ‘’we can do dinner after this. How’s that sound?’’ You whisper slowly into his ear. If he wasn’t on edge before, he sure as hell was now.
He puts his hands back down to his side, as you move to your intended position. You unzip his pants, his length springing up as you tease his cock; pumping it from base to tip, as you bring it out in all its glory.
Suddenly, the lights go out, engulfing the room with a dull blue glow, courtesy of the windows. Piotr jumps a little at that and looks up around him – clearly tense.
‘’Hey, don’t worry. They’re automatic lights with sensors.’’ You reassured him. ‘’Besides, we’re not gonna need so much light now, are we?’’
You get to work, holding his cock in your hand, and licking up its length. Once at his tip, you let your saliva pool in your mouth, before bringing his dick close – getting it nice and fully wet with your tongue, your saliva covering every inch of him. You tease his head, swirling over it with your tongue before using the pad of your thumb to swipe over his slit. ‘’Bozhe moi…’’ Piotr hisses in response, which tells you everything you need to know.
You open your mouth wide, and slowly take him in. You were only halfway down his shaft before he hit the back of your mouth. You slowly retract before going in again. And again. And again. Piotr’s breathing hard and raspy, peppered with stifled moans as your mouth moves up and down – your hand trailing behind, as your grip tightens and untightens – stimulating him to no end.
He brings a hand to your head, following your pace, then urging you forward into a quicker rhythm. You wanted to take all of him in, and knew that he wanted that too. You gaped wider to allow more of his length into you. He let out an exasperated breath in response, his head up; eyes closed, facing heavenward in a silent prayer.
His cock was now past the back, and inside your throat. You knew how to keep a gag reflex down, and it was especially helpful in this situation.
You quickened your rhythm, moving up and down his length with ease – releasing him from your mouth at one instance with a loud ‘pop’ and giving him a few strokes with your hand – before going right back into it. You pressed your tongue against his cock at each move. He hisses at the sensations, following them immediately with moans, before suddenly pushing his dick into you in a swift motion – as you take him in deep – but he quickly pulls out. You hold onto his cock with a hand, and let his release pump into your mouth, tongue out and flared to get every drop of him. You lick his head of residual cum – and once it’s over – he moves to get his composure in check, and is dressed up in seconds.
You lick your lips and swallow, before you give Piotr a satisfied smile.
All of a sudden, he kneels before you, both of you now at eye-level. You look at him quizzically.
‘’It is not in my nature to let myself be pleasured and not return the favour. Please. Allow me.’’ He asks, a different kind of need in his voice. Your lips curve into a smile.
‘’If you insist.’’
He sits down with his back against the wall, and pulls you onto his lap, letting your head rest against his shoulder. He hitches up your dress, before running his finger down the fabric of your panties. He places a hand under you as he gently pries your legs open, slowly running it up and down your inner thigh in the process. Your face scrunches up as you feel the growing arousal in your core. He brings his lips next to your ear, a string of Russian escaping him in a heavy breath.
‘’I don’t know what you’re saying, but keep saying it.’’ You whine as he starts putting pressure all around your sensitive spots – two fingers moving up and down over your entrance.
‘’I said… Just relax for me, I will take care of you.’’ He quickens his motions, before placing his finger directly over your clit. He presses down, and a deep moan emerges from you against his ear. He continues, circling over it – pressing down every time he hits full circle. You try your best to contain your pleasure, but with no such luck. Your grasp at his free arm to ease off the pressure and put a hand over your mouth to stifle your moans.
He realises he’s found your most pleasurable spot, focusing entirely on the bundle of nerves that’s driving you insane – with each movement of his finger eliciting moans of alternating pitch. You bite your lip before your head tilts back abruptly, mouth open wide, threatening to release a much-too-loud indication of pleasure. Piotr quickly brings a hand over your mouth, as you moan into it, dampening the sounds of utter pleasure coming out from your mouth. He slows down his actions, but doesn’t let up. He moves his finger closer to your core, shifting your panties aside to gain access, before pushing in slowly.
One… two fingers in, as he pulses into your pussy – which had been aching for this very moment. You were already wet all over. Panties soaked, but he’s still at it.
A little bit of you flows down your thighs, and onto the fabric of his pants. But he didn’t seem to mind.  He pushes deeper into you before adding one more finger – now three – while using his other hand to stimulate your clit, edging you into climax. You use your hand to shield your mouth – you knew you were close, and didn’t want a repeat of what happened before. ‘’Piotr…’’ you whine, ‘’I’m so close, baby. Take me home.’’
‘’kak pozhelayete.’’ (As you wish) he breathes into your ear.
He picks up speed, drawing circles onto your clit with just the right amount of pressure that makes you squirm on his lap – his fingers still moving in and out inside you. You twist your upper body to face him and draw him into a deep, fiery kiss, just as the orgasm found you.
The sweet sensation of release flows down your core, as you throw your head back onto Piotr’s shoulder, holding on tightly to his arm as the climax takes over you. He holds you still with a hand around your waist, as your body trembles through the sensation, and removes his fingers from inside you.
Heavy pants fall from your mouth, as you turn around to face him, straddling over his lap.
‘’That was… I’m sorry if it was…‘’ He begins.
You interrupt him with a kiss, softly placing a hand on his cheek, hooking the other arm over his neck – keeping him close. He instinctively brings his hands up to your waist.
‘’Don’t be sorry, babe. I enjoyed it… enjoyed you.’’ You say as you pull away from the kiss.
You gaze into each other, as time stood still around you, with only the dancing lights from the headlights of cars and streetlamps from outside world to illuminate the moment in its familiar dull blue glow.
For the first time, you notice just how serene his blue eyes look – and the dim lighting did nothing to impede their beauty. What was more bewitching was the person they belonged to – you could feel the warmth that this man exuded, and it made you feel magnetised to him; like you didn’t want this moment to end. This was bad. You weren’t meant to have anyone for the long term – one night, one timers were more suited to your lifestyle, but you didn’t know if you wanted to let go of a man like him.
 ‘’When can I see you again?’’
His deep, raspy voice breaks the train of your thoughts, and now you’re here again in this moment.
‘’Oh, um… yeah I…’’ You preemptively look at your watch. ‘’Let’s get you out of here first.’’
You walk him back to the entrance of the art gallery. Debating whether it would be worth the trouble to move forward with him. You think about your Boss, and a deep hatred is lit within you.
Piotr’s eyes linger over you, as you both make your way out onto the driveway. It was a cold night, and just as you bring your hands up to brace yourself from the cold, Piotr immediately put his jacket –  (when did he take it off?) – over you. With that one action, you had your mind made up for you.
You smile tenderly at him. ‘’Piotr?’’
‘’Yes?’’ All his attention was on you at this moment. A rush of adrenaline pushes through him as he awaits your next words.
‘’I’m free next weekend. Is that alright? I’ll give you my phone number, and we can work out the details later.’’
‘’That sounds perfect, Y/N.’’
Just as he responds, you hear the sound of gravel popping, followed by a pulling screech, as a cab arrives at the driveway. He holds your gaze for a moment, moving to open the door. You pull him back and give him a kiss on the cheek, before walking briskly away from the driveway; leaving Piotr to watch as your figure disappears back into the gallery.
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rovvboat · 5 years
Text
What Are Those? - Colossus x Reader
*Requested by the wonderful @emma-frxst - Prompt: What Are Those?*
A/N: henlo!! I know the request was for about something that piotr doesn’t know about / something he doesn’t know how to say in English - but i couldn’t come up with anything ;-; B U TTT it made me think of one specific thing which is kinda unique!! - I’ll attach a picture of it at the bottom ;)) and if any of you readers wanna try it, you could possibly get it from a local store!! 
Really hope you enjoy it! :)
Word count: 1.4k
Summary: There’s a suspicious surprise at the front door from reader, and Wade and Colossus love it. 
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‘’Listen, we don’t want these hairy-looking balls. I like that they’re red, but they’re much too hairy for my liking. How is anyone supposed to eat these anyway?’’
You wake up to the sound of Wade bickering with someone at the front door.
‘’Sir, this delivery is for Mr/Ms. Y/L/N. Are they home right now?’’ you hear a familiar voice ask calmly. You quickly get up off the bed and rifle through the closet, looking for your robe. You find the pastel pink cloak and cover yourself with it – securing it with a knot at your waist. You tiptoe back to the bed and lean over Colossus, still sound asleep, and place a kiss on his cheek. Just as you turn around to leave, a hand finds yours and gently tugs at you. You stop and look back as Colossus rises from the bed; stretching out his free hand and bringing it over his mouth to cover a yawn
‘’Good morning, keesa (kitten). Where are you off to?’’
You take a step closer to him as he wraps his arm around your waist. ‘’It’s a surprise.’’ You whisper into his ear before walking towards the door. He smiles at your figure, as you disappear into the hallway.
You trod down the steps as Wade and the delivery man were still arguing about the delivery.
‘’Listen here Mr. Hair Balls Delivery, I have no idea what these are and I have no intention of claiming responsibility for them – even though I would love to. But this is quite clearly a prank, and Wade Wilson does not fall for – ‘’
‘’Ah, Mr. Wilson! I’ve heard many stories about you… Y/N has spoken – ‘’
‘’Hey there, Michael! Is that for me?’’ You ask the delivery man as you take the last step down the stairs.
‘’Michael? So, you’re on a first name basis with the hairy balls man?’’ Wade quips. Michael gives Wade an amused look, then looks back to you and laughs.
‘’Hiya Y/N! Yeap! And I now have had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Wilson as well.’’ He said with a nod to Wade. He lifts the crate and makes his way into the kitchen. It’s filled with ping-pong sized fruits, each of them coloured a bright shade of red with greenish, soft hair-like projections.
They were exactly what the doctor ordered.
You sign the delivery form on the clipboard as Michael helps bring the crate into the kitchen and places it onto the countertop. ‘’These are fresh from the greenhouse. Mr. Jones made sure that you got the freshest pick of the day.’’ He says proudly.
You say a quick thank you to him and he tips his hat at you; ‘’Nice meeting you Mr. Wilson!’’ He calls out before hurrying out the front door back to his van.
‘’Are you fucking kidding me? You really ordered all this?’’ Wade asks in disbelief. ‘’Sorry missy, the only hairy balls I like are– ‘’
‘’Wade, no, please. These are for the kids.’’
‘’WHAT? For the children?’’ Wade exclaims with his hands on his cheek.
‘’What is all this ruckus about?’’ A heavy accent floats into the room.
‘’Hey, Colossus! Your girlfriend’s making us eat these… hairy balls!’’ He accuses dramatically, pointing at the crate. ‘’Please make her stop!’’
Colossus steps into the kitchen – surprisingly, in his human form – and gives you a little kiss on the cheek, before pouring himself a hot cup of coffee. He spots the crate, overflowing with the red berries.
‘’What are those, myshka?’’ he asks, a kind of inquisitive concern plastered on his face. You laugh at that look.
‘’They’re just fruits, bub. And God knows Wade needs more of those in his damn system.’’
‘’These are… fruits? I have never seen such… unique looking fruits before.’’
‘’They aren’t native to America. I found them at a local market in Asia while I was on a mission there! They’re exquisite!’’ You reply.
Both Colossus and Wade look bemused at this statement. You let out a light whine.
‘’Listen, I thought they were weird too. But I saw a bunch of kids eating them and they looked pretty happy with it! I tried one and it was so sweet and fleshy and it felt more like sweet treat than fruits! You gotta trust me on this.’’ You implore.
‘’Fine. But if I choke on these hairy motherfuckers, I’m burning the whole crate.’’ Wade exclaims.
He plucks one of the berries off its stem and inspects it. He sniffs it before opening his mouth, slowly bringing the fruit – thick dense skin and all – towards his gaping mouth.
‘’NO, WADE. Not like that, you moron! You gotta open up the skin first. Like this –’’
You grab one of the rambutans, or mamon chino as they’re called in central America, and skillfully place your thumbs onto the equator of the berry. You apply some pressure, pulling it apart from the ends, revealing its white, translucent flesh. You take it out and show it to the boys.
‘’This right here, is the main event, my compadres. There’s a seed in there. You’re supposed to eat around it, but it’s big enough that you can bite around it while it’s in your mouth! You gotta make sure to throw away the seed though.’’ You present the berry to Wade, who by now is a lot less puzzled and open to eating the much more innocent looking white fleshy berry. He pops it into his mouth and carefully bites on it.
‘’Ho-ly fucksicles, thes-e ah-ren’t hh-alf bad!’’ He says between eating and sucking on the berry. ‘’And they’re this sweet? Bring on the diabetes!’’
You look at him, happy that he’s enjoying the foreign berry. You turn to Colossus, who’s still sipping on his coffee.
‘’Your turn, big boy.’’ You say to him with a smirk. You pick out a bright red berry, nice and ripe – some mildew still on it, adding that much more to its allure – and split it open clean. You present the fleshy berry, still cradled in the half-open skin. He gently takes it out of the leathery casing, and bites a little off the berry.
‘’C’mon Piotr! You’re not getting the full experience here! Put it in your mouth and suck on it!’’
You immediately regret saying it as you hear Wade bellow into laughter.
‘’You probably hear that pretty often, don’t ya Coco?’’ He looks from Colossus, to you. ‘’Wow, way to bring your bed room talk public, Y/N! If you wanted me to join you, you could’ve just asked me straight up, no need to tease.’’
You bring a palm to your face, embarrassed by what’s happened. Colossus gently places a hand on your arm, and you look up to him. He puts the berry into his mouth and closes it; and his eyes widen.
‘’I know better than to doubt your tastes, kisa.’’ He says, clearly pleased with how nice this new fruit tastes.
‘’That was the surprise! See, these are great when you peel them and leave them in the fridge. They’d be a great substitute for ice-cream. I know you’ve been talking about getting the X-kiddos to eat more fruits and I think that if we put like little wooden picks into them, they’d look like round mini-popsicles! And, and – ‘’ you open the fridge to look at all the other fruits inside– ‘’We could also put all the other fruits onto them…’’ You ramble on excitedly as Colossus watches you, neither of you noticing Wade pick out half the fruits from the crate and sneak out of the kitchen.
Colossus wraps his arm around your waist and slowly pulls you to him. Your body twists around as your eyes meet his gaze; tender and warm all over. You tilt your head at him.
‘’What are you looking at?’’ you say with a smile.
‘’The most beautiful soul in the world. ty moye sokróvishche – you are my treasure.’’
Your face turns red within seconds, you look away for a moment, clearly flustered as Colossus laughs. ‘’It is fun seeing you embarrassed. But what I say is from my heart, lyubímaya (beloved)’’
He’s still holding onto you, and you take this chance to pull him in – allowing your lips to meet in a gentle kiss as your hand finds his cheek, and your thumb leaves strokes on the light stubble of his face.  
You slowly break the kiss, and when you take a quick look behind Colossus, you see half the crate’s contents missing.
‘’Oh my God. WADE!’’ You holler after him, spotting a trail of berry stems leading out of the kitchen. You follow the trail looking for Wade, and suddenly you get a fuzzy feeling in your chest and smile, as you detect a hint of coffee and sweet berry on your tongue.
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negasonicimagines · 5 years
Text
Hello / Wonderwall
good fucking night I haven’t posted in like a bajillion years I’m so sorry jdklfldkfjs “anyways here’s wonderwall” (lol anyone remember that meme) anyways this is inspired by two things 
1) this request:  i just listened to adele and my heart is shattered and my angsty soul loves it so could i ask you to write ellie x reader where they're not dating but reader has a crush on ellie and she finds out but neither of them want to be in a relationship because 'feeling things sucks and i dont wanna' something like that because they're both really closed off tough people. and they love eachother and dont want to and its complicated and ugh ANGSTY. im really sorry i hope you're having a great day!!😀💞💞 [btw sorry if i didn’t fill this properly i did my best but my writers’ block is literally THE WORST and has been for a really long time(duh)]
2) This really cool mashup of Adele’s “Hello” and everyone’s favorite Oasis song, “Wonderwall.” It fucking slaps and TOTALLY suits this imagine. If there’s any way you could listen to it and read this at the same time, I recommend it. It’s what I listening to when I was writing it (that and Adele’s “Chasing Pavements.”)
Anyways, enjoy! Who knows when the next one’ll be out, amiright?
Ellie didn’t like love. Even platonic or familial love was shrugged off. It just… Wasn’t her thing. It was too dangerous for mutants, the world. Forget emotions.
You’re new here, at the school. Wade’s forced you to quit your previous line of work, saying that “you’re too damn young to be killin’ people for a living!” You’d rolled your eyes, but agreed that a break would be nice. So, now, you’re being shown around by a charmingly bitchy girl that’s around your age, maybe a smidge older.
“This is the art room, and, um, that about covers it. So, uh, just go away now.”
“Are you not going to show me where my room is?” You ask, letting your eyebrows arch skeptically.
“And how would I know where your room is?” She inquires in response. Where she was the rude kind of standoffish, you were the polite, distant type.
“It’s the same as yours, Negasonic,” you carefully inform her, gauging her reaction.
“It’s- It’s what?”
“Did no one tell you?” you wonder. “That’s weird.”
“Very. Whatever, come on. At least you’re not extra annoying,” she sighs, and you follow her down to the dorms, your suitcase rolling behind you.
“Thanks,” you chuckle a little, and she twitches, her eyes flickering to yours for a moment. The ghost of a smile phases across her lips, disappearing just as subtly as it appeared.
“Alright, now…” She looks at her phone. “Yeah, now, it’s time for training. Depending on your mentor, you’ll have different times. Who’s your mentor?”
“Oh, uh, Emma Frost?” You tell her looking at your schedule.
“You’ll be with me, then. Training with me. Piotr and Ms. Frost’s students train together, I guess because they both have weird skin. Emma’s is temporary, but still. Let’s move.”
“Okay,” you respond, walking with her to the gym.
“If you need any sort of protective gear, it’ll be in the closet by the entrance.”
“I think I’ll be alright,” you say, taking what she said more as a challenge than a helpful tip. She scoffs, rolling her eyes.
But when you catch a glimpse of the light smirk she’s wearing, electricity sparks through you. (Not literally, don’t worry. Your mutation is different and not embarrassing in that way.)
Two weeks later, you and Ellie are fast friends...And maybe more.
“Gaga okay?” she asks.
“Duh!” you respond, scrolling through your twitter feed. “So, whose stans are we trolling tonight?”
“What’s your mutation, anyway? You never did say.”
“Ah, it’s lame,” you brush her off.
“Wade doesn’t think it’s lame… But that’s not really saying much, is it? Damn, sorry,” Ellie chuckles. She smiles more around you than anyone else, but you’re not sure why. Not yet.
“I just… People tend to think less of me when they hear. It’s a bit destructive.”
“You did not just say that to me,” Ellie delivers a surprisingly good rebuttal.
“Well, uh… Basically, by coming into direct contact with it through touch, I can temporarily gain access to their abilities and sometimes even their knowledge. If I consume it, it lasts longer or can even be permanent. Kinda perfect for a kill-for-hire. Not so much for a normal high school girl, though,” you admit shyly. Ellie’s dead silent.
You look to your crush, nervously, and she looks awe-struck.
“That’s so fucking cool. I wish I could become stronger by giving someone a bloody nose. I’d do it all the time. No wonder you killed people for a living.”
“If only everyone saw it that way,” you tell her with a relieved smile. “I can’t believe the stoic Ellie Phimister just called me cool.” Don’t blush, Y/N, don’t blush, you beg yourself.
“Don’t let it get to your head. I once called Wilson cool.”
“He’s not so bad. He’s the reason I’m here.”
“He is?” Remind me to thank him, she thinks. “Hey, listen. I know we didn’t get off to the best start, and uh… I just wanted to say that… I think you’re really awesome.”
“Well, thank-”
“No, that’s not what I wanted to say. What I wanted to say is that, uh… I’m not really much of a romantic or anything, but I really like you. And I normally wouldn’t ever tell a girl that I liked I like her, because then she would stop talking to me and also hate me forever, I think. But you seem…  Different.”
Oh shit. You’re glad your crush likes you back, but...I know what I have to do. I just fucking hate it. “Listen, I’m sorry for giving you the wrong impression, but I don’t like you that way. At all. You’re just my roommate that I really like as a friend. We probably wouldn’t even be friends if we weren’t roommates.”
“But we are roommates.”
“Then I should probably change rooms.”
“Wow. I never thought I’d be the asshole who turns into a, well, a fucking asshole when I get rejected, but I guess I am that kind of asshole. Maybe it’s because I know you’re full of shit. Fuck you, Y/N.”
You sigh, and she turns the music off as you leave the room, making your way to the offices. It’s the early evening, so it’s likely either Jean Grey or Professor Xavier is still in their office.
An hour later, you return. Your efforts were fruitless.
*Guess it’s likely time to make with the apologies, see if she’ll at least treat me with civility after the stunt I pulled.*
“I tried to get a room change. It looks like there isn’t anywhere else for me to go.”
“Then just get out of the school, you murderous scum,” Ellie fires.
*Guess not.*
“Oh shit,” you say, trying not to let the hurt show. She knew how insecure you were, how you just knew that’s what everyone here really thought about you. You’d told her that. Foolishly opened up to her, knowing it’d end like this, or worse.
But in the end, you knew you deserved it for pushing her away. Shattering her blackened heart.
“You’re right. I’ll start packing my things now.”
*Wait,* Ellie thought, but her pride had its hand over her mouth. Don’t go. Don’t be like everyone else.
But, faster than she thought possible, you’re out the door. Guess you hadn’t taken root in this place as deeply as she’d fooled herself.
There’s a knock on the door about ten minutes later.
“Go away!” Ellie yells, throwing a random textbook at the door.
“Why did Y/N leave?” Wade asks through said door.
“Because she’s a stupid fucking liar! Go away!”
“Oh yeah? Well, that stupid fucking liar is gonna get us both in trouble if she we don’t retrieve her, so get the hell up, Negasonic Punkass Mean Teen Queen!”
Ellie begrudgingly gets off her ass and opens the door, hoping that Wade doesn’t notice the eyeliner that’s lightly stained her cheeks, or, at least, that he doesn’t point it out. He seems to have enough courtesy to do at least the latter.
“Tracked her phone to here,” He says, looking at his own phone and walking towards a door. Ellie follows, but stands off to the side when he opens the door.
“Go away.”
“That’s funny, that’s exactly what your little girlfriend said when I knocked on her door.”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” you disagree.
“Then why are you running away? You only run away when you like someone, you’re always willing to stick around for a fight. It used to be a good quality, when you were doing a job no kid should be doing. I really should’ve pulled you outta that life sooner, but I knew you wouldn’t’ve listened to me,” Wade admits, unintentionally explaining a *lot* about you.
“She’s not like you, Wade. She can die. I’m not risking that for some cheesy teen romance that’ll probably last around two dates and then fizzle off into us being acquaintances,” you argue, peeking out the window to notice you ex-friend, ex-something, at least, outside. Shit. But you know the truth:
“If you really felt that way, kid, you wouldn’t bother running away.” He continues in a grave, lowered tone: “You wouldn’t have bothered hurting her. If you were anyone else, I’d’ve kicked your stupid ass. You’re lucky.”
“I wouldn’t consider myself lucky.”
“Ellie fucking Phimister told you that she liked you. Like, as a person. You’re luckier than anyone else I’ve ever met.”
You roll your eyes. “Just go away. And take Ellie fucking Phimister with you.”
“Can’t say I didn’t try, kid.”
“I wouldn’t bother telling anyone about this. Go,” you say, slamming the door in his face and sliding down it to the ground, hiding your face in your hands. Your life was so unbelievably fucked.
You let yourself cry, thinking no one’s there to listen. And then there’s a knock on the window. You look to find Ellie there.
“Let me in, asshole,” she says, her voice muffled by the glass. You open the door, too tired to say no. You were so tired, you realized. Tired of running. Tired of fighting. Tired of being so fucking alone.
“You fucking idiot,” she says, pulling you in for a hug, her head buried in your chest. “You fucking idiot.” She pulls away, telling you: “You keep forgetting that I’m just as tough as you are. What am I gonna have to, arm wrestle you?”
You laugh harder than you should, the laughter dissolving into tears.
“I’m so sorry,” you tell her.”I just- I’m not used to people being safe around me. I’m so used to being the most dangerous person in the room, I- I’m sorry for forgetting that you’re- You’re a fucking force of nature, E. I’ll do anything for you to forgive me for being such a fucking scumbag.”
“Just shut up with the apologies, okay? You- Make it up to me by paying for our first date, yeah?”
“I really don’t think it’s a good idea-”
“Well, I do. And, listen: I’m sorry, too. I should’ve realized that just throwing my feelings on you wasn’t the best course of action. I’m not the only person in the world with people issues, and I seem to forget that sometimes. So, let’s have people issues together, okay?”
“I-”
She fixes you with an impatient stare.
“Okay,” you sigh, smiling. “I paid for a night here, do you just want to stay?”
“Yeah. I’d like that, actually. I…”She hesitates, searching your expression for something. “I call big spoon.”
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angelaiswriting · 5 years
Text
The Assistant (3 of ?) | Vladimir Ranskahov x reader
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[original picture: pinterest]
✏️ Pairings:
(eventual) Vladimir Ranskahov x fem!reader
Anatoly Ranskahov x OC (Paulina)
probably other pairings in the future
✏️ Requested by @kellydixon01 : Y/N–hacker, big mouth, even bigger attitude–is the new addition to Fisk’s team. Sent to help the Ranskahovs, she immediately gets on Vladimir’s nerves. But as time passes, they start to take a liking to each other, even if none of them is willing to admit their feelings. Yet.
✏️ A/N: I am so sorry, I suck at titling chapters HAHA I don’t have anything to say for once. My mind is torn between thinking this story is shittily written and enjoying the process hahaha 
✏️ Warnings: none ? I mean, probably mentions of humping but 🤷🏻‍♀️
✏️ Word-count: 3,253 (finally getting to the length I like hehe)
REQUESTS ARE OPEN IF YOU WANT ME TO WRITE FOR YOU 💛
<< chapter two <<
📚 Translations: bozhe moy! – my God!
🎤 Songs Mentioned: Полегче by MC Doni (I’ve had this on loop for days. Give it a listen when you have time, even just the rhythm is amazing)
CHAPTER THREE: HERE TO HELP OR HERE TO SPY?
The lack of dreams had been a blessing that night. For how good a day Vladimir could have, it was always the often wakeful hours that separated dusk from dawn that tormented him, that ate him alive. At first, he had disguised his lack of sleep by working at night, when Tolya went home to his woman, but when his brother had started to ask questions, he had had to stop and step back behind his walls. He was safe there–he was actually not, but he wasn’t going to acknowledge the problem, either. His cage wasn’t silent–it truly wasn’t–but it was still better than the screams he’d hear at night.
The reason behind his running away from his own problems was that he despised weaknesses–and he did so even more when they were his own. As he had often repeated to his father, he was no pussy. It didn’t matter that he was all broken inside, now, and that it wasn’t his fault, for he still perceived it as a weakness and, therefore, as a failure. The whispers he heard and the touches he felt were a constant reminder of what he tried to avoid day in and day out with all his strength. Unlike Anatoly, though, he didn’t have anyone that could shield him from the shadows that hid inside his head.
But whenever a dreamless night graced him with its undeserved peace, he went back to feeling invincible. And alive. It wasn’t quite like fighting–nothing was like fighting, to be honest–but it was something. Something he never dared hope for, but still, something he’d always cherish.
Those peace and sudden happiness were the reason behind the spring in his step as he closed the door of his apartment behind his back today. That night’s calmness, that had finally gifted him a few hours of rest and sleep, had completely erased the previous day’s unwelcome meeting with Wesley and, though unknowingly, he was content. It allowed him to take a deep breath and think of the day to come with a lighter heart.
However, it didn’t last long–it never lasted long. He had just gotten into his car and deleted the five missed calls from the garage he had received while asleep, when he opened his answering machine.
Aslan had left four messages and their tone went from confused to irritated–even if, as he listened to the last recording, Vlad knew all the guy had wanted to do had been yell at him. He smirked: for some reason he couldn’t quite name, it was always hilarious to see Aslan get mad.
He had half-forgotten about the woman Fisk had forced him and his brother to work with, though, and now she presented herself through his man’s words ready to shatter his newly found inner peace. And to have his day ruined was not something he liked, most of all because it usually ended with his night ruined, too. And that was way worse.
Slowly, the conversation held at the meeting came back to him, one slow word after the other. I want you at the garage tomorrow morning at five, he had ordered her the night before, just before storming out of the building Wesley had chosen for the occasion. He hadn’t thought much of it, back then, but now he found himself gritting his teeth in annoyance.
We hate latecomers, he chuckled as he parked behind the Veles Taxi garage.
He hoped he had at least intimidated her a little, for the idea that he’d have to endure the presence of what could well be a spy in his home still annoyed him to no extent. Still, if they had to be coworkers, he needed to know she’d respect his working hours because none of them could afford to fuck anything up if they still wanted to have a roof above their heads and blood still flowing through their veins in a month’s time.
The will to try and bring back the peace that had welcomed him that morning, though, was stronger than any worries, so he did what he did best: he pushed his thoughts to the side and emptied his mind as much as he could. Squaring his shoulders, he glanced around to make sure that everything looked in order before stepping to the side to let the oncoming car pass. With a wave of his hand at Sergei, who was leaving the garage with his cab for his first ride of the day, he entered the building.
Curses were his only good morning that day–it made him smirk.
“You’re late, you moron!” Y/N complained, voice dangerously raising with each spat word.
“Who the fuck is this chick?” Aslan had made sure to avoid speaking in English: he truly didn’t want this chick to understand what he was saying, for he didn’t want to give her the chance and the excuse to start yelling again. He was tired: he had been last night’s shift supervisor and the last thing he’d have ever imagined to witness (nor wished to witness) was a stubborn girl demanding to see his bosses to ‘start working’. “Bitch says she’s working with us from now on,” he continued, his gaze wandering back to the girl sat at the reception desk. She didn’t look like a prostitute, nor like she had any criminal background that could come in handy for the business. “Should I have given her a car?” He was not sure he should have–she had, after all, taken a taxi to get there and she had a computer bag with her. She looked nothing like the drivers he had always worked with.
When he turned again, Vladimir noticed his features, contorted in an angry and disappointed grimace as his hands clutched at his car keys to speed back home for some rest before his next shift would start again in the afternoon. Aslan’s confusion had quickly dissolved and it had left him upset at the memory of the countless insults she had thrown his way without him having the chance to shut her up.
Vladimir’s only answer was a roll of the eyes at the beginning. He didn’t really want to talk about the new agreement he had unexpectedly found himself being forced to follow, most of all because he hadn’t even wanted to sign it in the first place. Anatoly should make the speech: he was the one who had convinced him to accept the new rules, therefore the dirty work had to be his responsibility. But then he remembered that they had agreed Toly would take a day off of work to celebrate his stupid anniversary with his woman and the realization that he had to deal with the spy–as he thought of her–on his own crushed him under its weight like a demolition ball.
There was no way he would manage to play along, he thought. No chance. Zero. He would have rather had to work with Wesley, for he knew Fisk’s servant had no chance against him. But this… this girl. She was the embodiment of anything that could go wrong. There was a reason if he and Anatoly had always been the only ones doing the real office work: because he trusted no one, not even Anatoly’s woman, no matter how important she could be for his brother. He could accept Sergei, for he trusted him and loved him like a brother, but even then, he had to consider letting him help more than just thoroughly.
And this Y/N… He knew nothing about her: she could be a spy just as she could very well be a saint. It was a fifty-fifty chance of being wrong or right. Yet, he didn’t like the idea of taking such a big risk. That had probably been the mistake that had ended with him and Tolik in–bozhe moy–Utkin in the first place. And now he sure as hell didn’t want history to repeat itself–he was already caged enough, he… he didn’t want the invisible four walls of his mind to become real.
Yet, he should have probably come to work earlier to deliver the news to his men and told Y/N to come later. Just as it was hard for him to face the new reality of things, it would have probably been just as hard for his men–probably not for Piotr, though. No, the smug bastard was going to try to sneak into her panties, Vladimir was sure of this. But the only thought he had had on his mind last night had been his thirst for revenge against that new outrage thrown his way and he hadn’t exactly thought rationally. No one fooled themselves Vladimir Borisovich Ranskahov could be even remotely rational, but at the same time no one knew he always tried his best–it didn’t matter that his best efforts were often–always–met with failures.
“No,” he groaned at Aslan’s questioning look. “She’s working in the office with me. We have a batch of new rules, it seems. When did she arrive?”
“At five. On the dot,” was the answer and Vladimir was pleased and surprised to learn she had followed the order he had given–that had been the last thing he thought she’d do. “Any chance we can hump her or is she yours?”
Vlad scoffed, a frown furrowing his eyebrows. “Not mine at all,” thank God. “But she bites. Wouldn’t surprise me if she had teeth up her cunt.” He didn’t chuckle, but the intention was there, and Aslan, barely containing his laughter, still understood.
*
That day proved itself to be a slow day. Minutes stretched into hours and annoyance into something bigger. It was the deep breath before the jump; the last minute of peace before the storm, when the sun slowly but surely went to hide behind the clouds approaching like a galloping horse.
Vladimir had taken Y/N to his office, sat her down on the couch and started to check that everything was in order for the following week’s shipment. It wasn’t an important order, but he still cared about his job–and the quality of his job–so he treated every customer with the same care.
At first, he had thought of leaving the girl in his brother’s office, just to then realize that Anatoly probably wouldn’t like the idea of having a hacker among his stuff when he wasn’t there. He was not going to ring him a call, either, for he could only imagine how he was spending his free time with Paulina: Vlad had never been a cockblock and he surely didn’t want to turn into one right now.
His second thought had been that he, too, didn’t trust her–not that he was by any means interested into getting to know her and prove wrong the idea he had of her. So he had settled for a compromise: sit in his office with her, plug in his earphones and ignore her presence completely.
If anything, though, she had proved to at least be collaborative and he sure enjoyed that quality in a coworker–even in one he didn’t want to have anything to do with. His work and day-to-day life were already stressful enough and he didn’t want to have to babysit a grown-up woman. Therefore, her silence was a welcome guest as he revised his numbers, MC Doni making his foot lightly tap the floor at the rhythm of his Полегче.
He didn’t like to work with music hammering his eardrums, but it had been a stressful and chaotic past month that had ended up with him picking up his brother’s habit and stealing his iPod. Not that Vladimir was complaining about that subtle distraction, on the contrary.
Moreover, Anatoly still hadn’t found out about the theft–and hadn’t it been for the increased amount of time he had started to spend with Paulina, Vladimir would have found it weird, alarming even–so everything was fine.
“So, when are we starting to work?” Y/N’s voice suddenly covered the song in his ears and he was forced to raise his gaze from his laptop to her. “Any chance the answer’s gonna be ‘soon’?” She didn’t ask when he was going to show her around the place as she had planned to, though. She wanted to personally meet or at least see the people she was going to work with, to put a face to the things she knew about them, but as she stared at Vladimir’s profile, she accepted what she thought was the truth: everything was going to follow his rhythms, not hers.
He looked up and stared long and hard at her. The temptation to ask her if she was making fun of him or what she thought he was doing was strong, but he bit his tongue, swallowed his harsh remarks and grimaced. She was standing in front of the window, back resting against the glass and arms crossed right under her breast.
A smirk tugged at his lips and he didn’t even try to stop it. For how much her presence could annoy him, he was glad she was at least a good view at, bandaged in that suit of hers.
“I am working.” The roll of his eyes made her close her mouth.
It hadn’t simply been the look he had sent her way. There had also been that teeth-gritting jerk of muscle in his jaw, tugging at his cheek, that had seemed to say shut up or else. And she really didn’t want to know what that ‘or else’ could mean, she didn’t want to know that the things Vladimir Ranskahov had done to his victims could happen to her, too. Wesley had promised nothing bad would happen to her, but… Could he guarantee for that?
The fear that Wesley and Fisk could throw her into the lions’ cage and abandon her there was probably the only reason why she let herself be shut up by him.
Silence stretched between the two like the growing distance between diverging galaxies. And while it fed Y/N’s annoyance, it put Vlad’s raging thoughts to rest, allowing his mind to go back to work.
But the more he tried to focus, the farther he got from succeeding.
Y/N’s foot was impatiently tapping against the ruined parquet of the first floor. He could see that movement from the corner of his right eye pretty well. And once he noticed it, there was no going back. It bugged him. It almost felt like it was thrumming in his temples, setting his nerves on fire.
“Stop that,” he ordered, pressing the pause button of Tolya’s old iPod.
She stopped the movement long enough for him to switch his attention back to his task at hand before resuming it.
Fighting a child would have probably been easier. “Stop,” he repeated with a grown as he picked up a pen to take some notes on a loose sheet of paper–he was going to lose it soon, but at the moment, it didn’t matter.
Without any sort of music in his ears, he could now hear the tapping of her foot on the floors and it got on his nerves. She got on his nerves more than she had even just upon his arrival at the garage.
It was an annoying tip-tapping that arrogantly distracted him from his paperwork. It brought him back there–remember rule number one–and it reminded him of the stubborn pitter-patter that dropped down the humidity-soaked ceiling of his cell.
He had to resist the urge to take his gun and unload it into her foot. “What is it that you want?” he eventually asked instead, trying to go through every single bad consequence he’d have to live through if he truly decided to disobey Fisk. Hadn’t it been for the fact that such consequences would have reflected on Anatoly and his woman’s lives, he would have at least used one bullet. Just a little wound, so that Y/N could remember who was boss here and that she should do anything in her power not to piss him off.
“I want to know what I have to do. James said-”
“I don’t care,” Vladimir groaned. He didn’t give a single fuck about what Wesley had said, for that doormat was still alive for the same reason he hadn’t grabbed his gun a few minutes before. “Do what you have to do. I am busy.”
“We’re supposed to be working together,” she reminded him, stepping closer to his desk and planting her hands firmly on its surface. She was imposing herself too much into his personal space and he did not like that. “I’m sure you have enough brain to remember that if you let me do, you and your brother will get richer than you already are.”
Vladimir’s eyes gazed at the ceiling–God, give me the strength–and he heaved a sigh. “I’m already doing my job. If you keep disturbing me, you won’t get part of deal your boss promised you.”
“You did a terrible job with that failed shipment. Stop being stubborn, I am here to help.”
“You are here to spy.”
That was it. Now the truth was out in the open and he could kick her out of his office, his life and his business. He had lasted… what? Two hours in her company? A quick glance at the clock on his wrist revealed that, in fact, he had lasted less than two hours.
He needed Anatoly for this. He was good at this, whatever ‘this’ was. Vladimir… He hadn’t had to deal with people he didn’t like for a long time and he wasn’t able to put his personal likes and dislikes to the side, not anymore at least.
Working side by side with someone else just wasn’t how he worked. Sure, he did go through paperwork and order preparations with Anatoly, but that was his brother, not some stranger he knew nothing about and with whom he wanted to have nothing to do.
Hadn’t it been for his past, still haunting him, he would have never taken orders from some self-proclaimed kingpin dick. He hadn’t had the Russian capital on the palm of his hand just to fall so low he had to become someone else’s dog.
“Is this what worries you?”
Brought back to reality, Vladimir was almost confused to see that her reaction was more surprised than upset.
“Isn’t that why a hacker has been sent here?” He was so confident in his own beliefs that he didn’t even want to listen to her answer. He just couldn’t wait to finish all the preparatory work for that shipment and pass to the next.
But Y/N scoffed, her arms once again resuming their crossed position on her chest. “I could have spied on you from the comfort of my bathtub as I sipped on a margarita. Why come here to work with a dick when I could do much better without you?” she tried to reason, but he was too stubborn to even try and look at the facts from an unbiased perspective. Not that she had expected anything less. “I’m here to make Anatoly’s job and your job, too, a little more efficient and less time-consuming. And if you would kindly stop rolling your eyes, for you will not find a brain in there, I’d be immensely happy.”
>> chapter four >>
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