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fabricatedsoldier · 4 years

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@lastorion says: HC about crisis core events maybeee? Specifically the mako-poisoning up to Zack's death, if you have any thoughts on that since Cloud was... K.o. most of the time there XD If this doesnt work you can just pick something else Crisis Core related jfnfjnfjf

( Tell me what you want me to write a headcanon about! )

☆ ━━━ His mother never told him the world could be cruel.

She never said people would use others, as if they were toys to be played with and broken. She never mentioned war or pain or even loneliness, despite Cloud knowing these things at a very young age.

But he didn’t know how far strangers would go to shatter him for no reason but their terrible greed.

He knows this now, though.

Oh God does he know it now.

Hojo steals him. He breaks Cloud’s spirit when he starts pumping alien matter inside him while he’s dreaming nightmares, unknowing to the one unfolding outside his head.

They whisper him from his home all fractured and burned. ShinRa grunts and Hojo and other men in white coats push him inside a tube filled with Mako-dense liquid. And they watch and they wait to see if, maybe, Cloud can become something great, because he never had been so before in his life.

They say he needs this foreign matter inside him to make him better.

While the Mako seizes him, while he sleeps, he dreams. Cloud sees himself as a young boy running from shadows he can’t fight. He sees Zack even, tries to catch up to him racing ahead through endless flowers. He finds in his dream he gets sick, retching into greenery and perfumed petals. Zack turns for only a moment at the dry heaving.

“Wait for me!” Cloud cries, reaching out, his fingers grazing--

Nothing.

★

He wakes once. And there’s sunshine hitting his eyes that burn at the sight of the shimmering outdoors. The sunlight is going to fry his eyeballs out, but he keeps them open anyway, he tries to find Zack--

And there he is, sitting in the back of a faded yellow truck. He’s talking to Cloud as if he’d been awake this entire time, flinging out hopes and wishes as if Cloud could be capable of those things anymore.

Not after this.

Cloud can’t feel his limbs or fingers, not even his face. His body slumps there in the corner of the truck bed, head lolling about like a porcelain doll’s. He listens to Zack, listens to all these things he can’t hold.

“I wanna go to Midgar,” Zack is babbling, unaware of Cloud’s eyes fluttering open and close, because Zack’s gaze is fixed on a open sky above them, so blue and big it’s almost terrifying to Cloud. “There’s this cute girl I like that lives near this great old church--you should see it Cloud. It’s like, I dream about that place sometimes, I miss the feeling I get when I walk inside and it’s shining in there, all the time. And... there’s flowers...”

He turns to Cloud then, but the blonde is losing consciousness, slipping away again, rolling off on violent waves...

“Did you know flowers can’t grow in Midgar? But they do there in the church--it’s the craziest thing...” Zack pauses a moment, then adds earnestly, “I’ll show it to you, she’ll come too!”

Cloud spasms at that moment, his body shuddering for a minute as Zack watches. Instantly the older SOLDIER is by his side, looking into his face, concern knitting his eyebrows together. Once Cloud calms, seemingly asleep again, Zack asks him a question he should already know the answer to:

★

“We’re friends, right?”

( You’re the only friend I had, Zack. )

★

Finally, Cloud’s body accepts the monster it has become and he wakes, truly sees the world and it doesn’t blur at the edges or swim away from his fingers. He can feel his toes again, finally, but he knows he can’t stand--he’s too wobbly, too damn weak--he casts his gaze around helplessly, feeling rain suddenly pelting his face and hair, cold, hard and ruthless.

He gasps, coughs. His lungs feel tight and watery. Cloud finds himself tucked behind a rock in the gloom, but just a yard away, just in sight...

A bloody ShinRa helmet, the copper chipped but he notices the crimson coating it foremost, the red slipping off the edges in the rain. Then Cloud sees there’s more helmets and weapons, guns and bullet-casings all around as if they had been raining over the ground too...

And he knows. Godammit Zack, no! He dredges what pitiful strength he can to drag himself over the swampy mud that begins to coat this uniform that doesn’t belong to him the moment he crosses the first puddle. He’s soaked, but he doesn’t care--his brain can’t quite process what’s going on, he gets only snatches of clarity:

A grunt’s throat cleanly slashed open, mouth agape, helmet shattered apart and blood dribbling into the mud...

A sword dented and useless.

A gun held in a hand that is no longer attached to a body.

Red, red everywhere--!

His stomach churns and he might have puked there, but nothing is in his system to waste, and he presses on anyway, ignoring the rain, ignoring the blood--

As his body slurps over the ground, the blood begins to coat him as equally as the dirt.

By the time he reaches Zack lying on the ground--his mind fraying, falling into pieces he can’t put back together--he’s panting, about to collapse. But seeing Zack there in blooming red puddles gives him the strength to stay afloat amid the hammering in his head.

“Zack...” Cloud says numbly.

His mouth moves and then three beats later he hears his voice filter through the rain, so weak and pitiful, like a child lost away from home.

Zack sputters out, “For the... both of us...”

Cloud doesn’t know what he means, but then all he can really hear is the beating in his skull and the pounding of the rain and his own screaming ripping him apart inside, silently.

“Both of us?” Cloud echoes back in a whisper, eyes glazed.

And it seems to Cloud, in the haze of all the screaming that’s not really there, that Zack is smiling in the rain, just slightly. Cloud wants to cry at him, let tears finally stream down his face for all they both had lost, but he just lies there in the mud and the crimson petals of blood, and he watches Zack die like the useless puppet he is.

“That’s right... you’re gonna...” Zack heaves, blood bubbling up on a fresh wound on his chest.

“You’re gonna...” Cloud repeats.

Zack grabs the back of Cloud’s head and shoves him closer, the blonde’s forehead touching Zack’s heart. And he feels it beating, weak and sad, struggling to pulse on...

“Live.”

When Cloud slowly draws away, Zack’s blood coats his bangs and his cheek. Red, red everywhere.

Live.

Zack then struggles to drag his hand to his sword, but he latches to it like the soldier he is. He heaves the heavy thing into Cloud’s hands.

“My honor, my dreams...” Zack breathes. “They’re yours now.”

Cloud holds the sword’s hilt to his chest and the weapon is so heavy he almost drops it. But his will to be Zack’s legacy pushes him to keep it in his grasp, his fate sealed so easily.

“Your living... legacy...” Cloud says and he doesn’t know that it’s right then that he loses himself, his mind unraveling and breaking.

( We’re friends, right? )

Zack closes his eyes and does not wake again.

★

It takes four days to get to Midgar on foot.

But Cloud will not remember most of the journey. His head is merely a fog as he shuffles through the pounding desert heat. He drags the Buster Sword behind him, still bloody as if it can’t quite forget what just happened, even if Cloud can.

His memories shuffle around, like cards in a deck, meshing with Zack’s until they are one in the same.

He’s a SOLDIER, right?

That’s why he wears this uniform that’s a little too big and carries a sword that isn’t really his, right?

He sees Midgar shimmering on the horizon. He thinks it’s a place of flowers, churches, and broken dreams.

His feet keep going, one in front of the other, towards this new prison.

( Your living legacy... )

#✦┇ ask #lastorion #{ omg thanks for this ask }#{ I LOVE RAMBLING ABOUT CLOUD AND ZACK AND WAT HAPPENED }#{ i could do this all day pfft }#{ i kno a lot of this is basically what cloud witnesses in CC }#{ but i just have so much to say about JUST THAT }#{ so i wont delve into--everything lol }#{ its too long already >< }

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master-sass-blast · 6 years

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I’m Not as Think as You Drunk I Am.

OH, WHAT’S THIS, ANOTHER FIC?

YES. YES IT IS.

And, like the title suggests, it involves drinking; this is your obligatory PSA to drink responsibly and legally. It may seem like fun, but you can actually kill yourself if you drink too much. Stay safe, kids.

Summary: Wade gets the Reader DRUNK during a New Year’s celebration at the X-Mansion. Piotr finds out and gets pissed, then helps the Reader recover from their hangover the next morning.

Rating: T for strong language and alcohol consumption.

Warnings: Vomiting, legal alcohol consumption, hangovers, etc.

Pairings: Piotr Rasputin x Reader.

(Title from “Don’t Threaten Me with a Good Time” lyric by Panic! At The Disco.)

You’re minding your own business, just hanging out in the library while you innocently sketch in your drawing pad.

But, then, that’s usually how these things happen.

Wade bounds into the library, skips towards you, and hops over the couch before crouching behind you and putting his hand over your mouth. “Don’t scream. It’s just me.”

“I literally just saw you come in,” You mumble against his palm before pushing his hand away. “What’s up?”

Wade yanks on your arm until you climb over the back of the couch and crouch next to him. “Okay, so this is for your ears only, okay? Wolvie and I managed to hide some booze in the mansion for the New Year’s party tomorrow. There’s going to be a party in the basement after the fireworks go off. Anyone under twenty-one, Mr. Pole Up the Ass, and Colossus are absolutely not invited, capiche?”

You frown. “And you’re telling me this because...”

“Uh, because drinking alcohol is a great rite of passage in America. I’m Canadian, and I know that. You’re legal, right?”’

“Yeah.”

“Then you’re invited. Look, it’s better to drink with friends for the first time. We’ve all drank alcohol before --I can’t drunk anyway, so I’ll be able to keep an eye on you--and you’ll be at a safe place with literal doctors on staff if you get sick. It’s perfect!”

Hindsight will tell you that this is a bad idea. Horrible. Utterly stupid.

But, right now, you don’t have hindsight. All you have is foresight, and you’re foreseeing a lot of fun and new experiences in the future.

You grin. “Awesome.”

“And just what are you two doing?”

You and Wade both jump and stare guiltily up at your boyfriend.

He’s in his metal form right now, thick arms crossed over his burly chest. “Why are you hiding behind couch and whispering?”

“Hi, Pete!” You chirp with a sunny grin. “We’re booby-trapping Scott’s underwear drawer for New Year’s!”

“Don’t tell him!” Wade hisses, playing along with your deception.

Piotr simply shakes his head --but you can seem him repressing a smile. “Play nice, you two. No pranks tomorrow.”

“Aw, babe--”

“Nyet, myshka. Not tomorrow. Tomorrow is celebration, not time for pranks.”

You pout, slump your shoulders, and hang your head. “Okay.”

“Hey! I didn’t agree to this!”

“Fine! Do it without me!”

Piotr chuckles and turns to leave. “Behave, you two.”

“I make no promises!”

You opt to blow a kiss at your boyfriend --and he blows one back, which makes your cheeks flush--then grin at Wade when he’s gone and hold up your fist. “How awesome was that?”

Wade returns your fist bump with an equally devious grin. “So awesome.”

“Five... four... three... two... one!”

People cheer, fireworks go off, and camera lights flash as the world officially rolls over into a New Year.

Piotr grins down at you, holding you to him with one hand and using the other to caress your face. “S noyvm godom, myshka.”

You grin back. “Kiss me, darling.”

He does. Passionately, and longer than he would normally dare in other public displays of affection. When he pulls back, his cheeks are flushed and he looks immensely pleased. “A New Year.”

“A New Year,” you repeat. You grin, then lean up on your toes. “To all it may bring.”

“Da.” He kisses you again, then breaks it with a sigh. “I am on teenager duty tonight, unfortunately.”

“I know.” You feign a yawn and give him a sheepish look. “I’m actually kind of tired...”

He pats your shoulder and kisses the top of your head. “Go rest, myshka. One of us should.”

You press a kiss against his cheek, then head upstairs. Phase One: Complete.

You and Wade had constructed a damn near fool proof plan to sneak you downstairs without your mother hen boyfriend noticing. Wade had paid Russell fifty dollars to light something outside on fire to create a diversion, and he’d text you once it was safe for you to come down.

Within two minutes of skulking around the hall, you hear the loud ‘fwoom’ of one of Russell’s fireballs; mere seconds later, your phone chirps with a text from Wade.

Bro: Silver ballz is outsies. Bring on da booze!!! Get ur ass down here. XD XP

You: Don’t ever call him ‘silver ballz’ again. That’s just gross. And I’m on my way.

You creep back down the hall, listening for any signs of approaching residents.

Fortunately, almost everyone’s outside, distracted by Russell’s explosion.

You hop over the railing by the staircase and make an air current to float down to the floor. The backdoor’s open, and you can actually see Piotr outside in defense mode, trying to put out a burning rose bush.

“Psst! Come on! Stop ogling and get down here!” Wade hisses through the barely ajar basement door.

You dart over and slip down the stairs, an excited grin on your face.

Logan and Nathan are already down there, drinks in hand. Neena’s with them as well, along with Peter, Kurt, and Bobby.

“Rogue and Gambit should be joining us later,” Wade says as he joins you at the bottom of the stairs. “In the meantime, let’s get this party started!”

“For once, Wilson, you’ve had a good idea,” Logan growls as he takes a swig from his red solo cup. “Colossus’s kept us from having adult New Years for a while now.”

“Yeah, well, the world’s largest Silver Bullet ain’t got nothin’ on me!” Wade pulls out a bottle of vodka and a shot glass. “First shot of the night goes to Princess here, since it’s her first time.”

“Oh, everyone, you know what that means,” Neena says with a grin.

You frown as the others refill their cups. “What does it mean?”

“Everyone downs a drink once you take your first shot,” Bobby says as he blows on his cup to cool it down.

You blink, then eye your shot glass suspiciously. “That sounds... dubious.”

“Don’t worry, that’s just your inner Piotr talking.” Wade holds out the shot glass to you. “He’ll shut up after the second or third shot.” When you hesitate, his face softens. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

You eye the glass in his hand, then shrug. “Hashtag YOLO.” You pick up the glass, lift it to your lips, then tilt your head back and down the shot in a few swallows, just like you’ve seen in the movies.

Well, almost like you’ve seen in the movies. It takes a couple tries for you to swallow it all down, and you cough once the glass is empty. “Oh my gosh. That burns.”

Wade cheers and claps his hands. “Well done! Considerably less flailing than I was expecting. All right, everyone else, she’s done it; bottoms up!”

You watch, stunned as the other adults drain their cups --cups, not shot glasses--in long, easy swallows. Your mind already feels a little hazy, but you still can’t fathom drinking this stuff that easily.

Nathan finishes first with a growl. “Keep it coming, Wade. It’s been a hell of a year.”

A couple hours in and you’re feeling great. The shots just get easier and easier to take the more you drink, and each shot you take has you feeling more and more relaxed.

Beer, however, tastes like piss; you have no idea how Nate and Logan stomach the stuff.

“It’s an acquired taste,” Nathan says with a crooked grin after he lets you trip a sip of his drink; his cheeks are flushed --apparently, he can drunk, just not as fast as you.

“An’ you keep callin’ Wade the s-su-stupid one.” You giggle and rock back in your chair, almost knocking it over. “You’re the one wi’ the stupid hair, ‘fter all.”

“My hair... is not stupid,” Nathan grumbles, pointing a finger at you.

“Maybe not, but Wade doesn’ have any, which jus’ leave you.”

“She’s got a point,” Logan says with a chuckle as he watches Domino destroy Bobby, Kurt, and Peter at beer pong. “The default answer is you.”

Nathan flips him off.

You laugh again, flopping around in your seat. You feel amazing. Normally, there’s always an underlying current of stress and worry, but right now it’s gone. You feel completely relaxed, without a care in your mind.

Your ‘Piotr’ voice --it’s not gone, just really hard to hear right now--is saying something about it being fake and one of the addictive side effects of alcohol, but you’re too busy taking another shot to focus on the actual words.

“Okay, pumpkin!” Wade lifts the shot glass out of your hand. “That’s the cut off point for you. You’ve had seven, and I’m not trying to give you alcohol poisoning.”

You pout at him. “I was havin’ fun! The fuck?”

“You can have it back in a couple hours, once you’ve guzzled some water, peed, and eaten something. The bathroom’s right behind you. I suggest you go there, because pissing your pants isn’t as fun as it sounds. Believe me, I would know.”

You blink owlishly at him. “Huh?”

“Maybe you should cut her off for the night,” Logan suggests. “She’s clearly a lightweight.”

You can’t really process what they’re saying. You’re too busy rubbing your hands all over your face. “I can’t feel my face,” You sing. “She tol’ me... don’ worry... ‘bout it!” You slap yourself across the face --it takes a couple tries, but you manage--and gasp when no sting of pain follows. “Holy shit! I don’ feel pain anymore!”

Wade laughs hysterically as he holds your hands away from your face. “I wish I had a camera! This is fucking priceless! Y/N, you’re completely toasted!”

You open your mouth to say something, but there’s a loud banging noise that distracts you. You loll your head back and try to see what’s going on.

Piotr tromps down the stairs in his human mode, fists clenched at his side. His blue eyes are wide with fury, and his mouth his clenched shut. He stops at the bottom of the stairs and glares down the room. “What is going on?”

“Shit,” Wade mutters under his breath. He forces a grin and stands, partially hiding you from view. “Colossus! Buddy! Welcome to the party!”

“Enough. Where is Y/N?”

You gasp once your brain catches up with your eyes. “Oh! Piotr’s here!” You smile --because you’re genuinely happy to see him, even though you’re too drunk to think right now--when his gaze snaps to you. “Hi, baby! How’s it goin’?”

He relaxes, just a little. “You’re going to bed. Now.”

You nod, happy to along with whatever he says. “Okay.” You manage to get out of your chair, but start falling over as soon as you try to walk.

Piotr darts forward and catches you, clutching you against his chest to keep you from toppling over.

You nuzzle your face against his chest, marveling at how soft his shirt is. You can’t really hear what he’s saying to the others, but you can feel the resonance of his voice in his chest. It tickles your face, and you let out a soft giggle as you wrap your arms around his waist. “You’re all buzzy.”

Piotr sighs and pats your back. “Come on, lyublyu. To bed with you.” He places his hands under your shoulders and tenses. “I’m going to carry you, okay?”

“Right.” You gasp when he lifts you --then groan when the room spins. “Oh shit. Everything’s sideways.”

Piotr tucks you against his chest and walks towards the stairs. “Close your eyes. Just let me take care of you.”

The trek to his room is mercifully short --though that might have to do with your passing out halfway through. Your eyes pop open when he sets you on his bed. “Huh? Where am I?”

“In bed.” He kisses your forehead. “Stay here. I’ll get you one of my shirts.”

You whine as he walks away. “No! Don’ leave me!”

“I’m just right here, at the closet. You can still see me.”

“But you’re so far ‘way!” You sob into the bed. “‘m all alone.”

“No, you’re not,” he says as he kneels in front of you. “I’m right here.”

You gasp. “You’re back! You were gone f’rever!”

He kisses your temple and wipes the tears off your cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’ll be faster next time.” He sits you up and starts peeling you out of your clothes.

“Bow chika wow wow,” You mumble as he strips you out of your jeans. You start singing the intro to ‘Careless Whisper,’ but give up about halfway through. “Pete?”

“Da, dorogaya moya?”

“I think ‘m drunk.”

Last night, you felt great.

This morning, you abso-fucking-lutely do not.

Your head feels like someone’s driving an ice pick into it. Your body aches, and your stomach feels like it’s about to commit mutiny.

And you’re tired. You feel like you got hit by an insomnia train.

Piotr’s hand rubs up and down your back in soothing circles. “How are you feeling, myshka?”

You bury your face into your pillow to try and block out the light streaming through the windows. “Oh God. I think I’m gonna die!”

His lips press against your shoulder. “You’re hungover. Wade said you had seven vodka shots last night.”

“I didn’t mean to! Holy shit, this sucks! Why didn’t Wade tell me about this? I’m gonna murder him!”

“Later, dorogoy. Try to focus on getting rest for now.”

You would, but at that moment your stomach decides to launch its mutiny into motion. You lurch out of bed and bolt for the bathroom, diving for the toilet as the first round of stomach contractions start.

You’re not sure how long you spend vomiting into the porcelain bowl, but when you finally get a reprieve you realize Piotr’s sitting next to you, holding your hair back. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s natural reaction for hangover.”

“No --well, yeah, but not what I was talking about. I’m sorry that I went to the party behind your back, and I’m sorry I drank alcohol when I wasn’t supposed to. I’m sorry I broke the rules.”

He rubs your back with his free hand. “We’ll talk about it when you’re better --but you are very much forgiven.”

Once your body settles, he leaves your side to turn the shower on.

You grimace at the sound of the water pelting the shower floor. “That’s so loud! Turn it off!”

“Sorry, dorogoy, but you’ll feel better after shower.” He helps you out of your pajamas --then strips down and joins you.

Normally, you’d be delighted by that, but right now you’re entirely consumed by how shitty you’re feeling. All you can really do is stand under the spray of the water and squeeze your eyes shut to try and block out the pain.

Fortunately, you don’t have to do more than that. Piotr’s in full ‘mother hen boyfriend’ mode right now, determined to help you survive your first ever hangover. He gently washes --and conditions--your hair and lathers your body in soap with such nurturing tenderness that you don’t even get turned on from having your boyfriend literally rub you from head to toe.

That, and you feel like shit. Actually, it might be more of the latter than the former.

Once you’re all rinsed, Piotr turns the water off and dries both of you off before helping you into a fresh set of pajamas. Then, in a gesture of ultimate chivalry, he carries you the ten foot distance back to the bed and tucks you in. “I’m going to make you some breakfast. Rest in meantime.”

You groan. “No. No food.”

“Your body needs food to help process alcohol out of system. Trust me, da? I have been hungover before. I know what helps.”

You snort, which makes your headache worse, but you can’t help it. “You? Hungover? Likely story.”

“I had rebellious phase!” He sounds indignant. “I was not always like I am now.”

“Sure, babe.” You manage to find his hand and pat it. “What, did you jaywalk instead of using the crosswalks like a law-abiding citizen?”

He huffs and kisses your temple. “Very funny, myshka. Get some rest while I make food.”

You’re out before he closes the door.

Nearly an hour later and he’s back, gently rousing you from sleep and helping you sit up.

“Breakfast in bed? What sort of alternate universe is this?” You grumble, feeling somewhat better after a nap.

“Special circumstance.” He sets up a tray table next to his bed, then sets a bottle of water and a couple ibuprofen pills on the table. “Take these and drink some water. I’ll be back in few minutes.”

Now that he’s mentioned it, you realize your mouth is bone dry. You take the pain pills and guzzle half the bottle, but your mouth wicks all the water away like one of those miracle drying rags Wade keeps buying off the infomercial channels.

Speaking of Wade, he’s walking into the room. “You okay?”

You glare at him as you gulp from the water bottle. “I’m gonna fucking murder you.”

“Figured. Look, I’m sorry I didn’t warn you about the hangover. I don’t get hungover anymore; I didn’t even think about it.” He sets an orange prescription bottle on the tray table. “But I brought a peace offering. Prescription painkillers. Best shit you can get.”

“Absolutely not.” Piotr storms into the room, sets the plate he’d been carrying for you on his desk, and yanks Wade away from you. “You’ve done enough damage already.”

“Piotr, calm down!” You exclaim, wincing at how loud your voice is. Quieter, you add, “He’s just trying to be nice.”

“By offering you stolen prescription. After getting you overly intoxicated.”

“They’re mine!” Wade insists as he flails in Piotr’s grip. “Legal and all that shit! I still have cancer, asshole. They prescribe painkillers to help with that.”

Piotr picks up the bottle, then sets Wade down after reading the label. “I am sorry. I should not have assumed. But you still got Y/N drunk --after you were told to not bring alcohol in for New Year’s. And you bribed Russell.”

“Look, babe, he wanted to introduce me to alcohol safely.”

“By breaking rules, causing damage, and lying.”

“By doing it in a safe place, with people who know me and know how alcohol effects the body, and where we had access to a doctor if things went super sideways. He didn’t take me to a bar, he didn’t force me to drink anything, and he cut me off before I got too out of control. I think he deserves some credit for that.”

Piotr mulls it over, then sighs. “Your intentions were... good, Wade. Even if your techniques were... misguided.”

“Thank you.”

“You still have to answer for your actions. You broke many rules last night, and bribing Russell to cause damage to property is unacceptable. He or any number of others could have been seriously hurt.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Wade waves his hand dismissively before plucking his bottle of painkillers out of your boyfriend’s hand. “I’m going now. Before you get too far into lecture mode.”

Piotr glares after him, then shakes his head and retrieves the plate from his desk. “Sorry about that, moya lyubov’.”

“It’s okay.” You gratefully accept the plate --you’re hungry now, ravenous beyond belief.

The plate is loaded with all your favorites --including a small stack of golden, perfectly fluffy chocolate chip pancakes.

Piotr kisses the top of your head as you dig in. “I will be right back. Do you want more water?”

“Yes, please.”

He returns a few minutes later, water bottle tucked under his arm and two glasses in hand. One is filled with an orange liquid and almost looks appetizing; the other...

“Is that... pickle juice?” You grimace when you give the contents of the glass a precursory sniff. “Why? Haven’t I suffered enough?”

“Salt will help your body. Take sips. Don’t try to drink it all at once.”

You take a sip --and it’s a disgustingly salty and sour--and eye the other glass with suspicion. “Do I even want to know what that is?”

Piotr holds it out to you. “It is Russian hangover cure. I think you will like this better.”

You sniff the contents --it smells decidedly better, just barely not like orange juice--and take a sip. “Oh! I like that!” You down the glass easily and set it on the table as you smack your lips. “Can I have more of that?”

“Maybe later, if you still need it. Try to keep eating.”

You manage, growing more subdued and sleepier as you fill your belly. Eventually, Piotr says you’ve eaten enough --and drank enough of the pickle juice, which is still gross--and lets you flop back down on the bed.

He pulls the blankets up around your shoulders and smooths your hair away from your face as you settle back in. “I will check on you later. Rest well, myshka.”

You wake up several hours later, feeling considerably less fucked over. Your head no longer feels like it’s being scooped out by a melon baller, and your stomach is considerably less grumpy. You manage to get yourself upright and pad out of Piotr’s room on shaky legs.

The mansion is practically silent as you wander through the large halls. Most of the mutants visit their families during Christmas and New Year’s, meaning that there’s no one to run into while you search for your boyfriend.

Which is probably for the best. You can walk, but you definitely don’t feel human enough for conversation.

It takes a while, but you manage to track him down; he’s outside, in full on defense mode, watching Nathan, Neena, Logan, Kurt, Wade, Peter, and Bobby clean up the remains from Russell’s bush burning.

Scott’s also there, supervising, which briefly makes you hesitate; you ultimately decide that you want your boyfriend, so you jam your boots onto your feet and brave the cold and snow.

The sunlight hurts your head, and you tromp towards Piotr as quickly as you can.

He starts slightly when you wrap your arms around his waist --considerably harder than usual since he’s in defense mode--and turns around with a concerned frown on his face. “Y/N? You should be inside.”

“I wanted to come find you,” You mumble as you press your face into his coat to block out the piercing sunlight.

He makes sure Scott is good to go, then scoops you into his arms and carries you inside. Before you can think of anything to say, you’re back in his room and in bed again with the blankets tucked over your legs.

He hands you the water bottle as you prop yourself into a sitting position. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. My head still hurts, though.”

He kisses your forehead, almost like a parent kissing their child’s scraped knee. “Do you want some more painkillers?”

“Later. I saw that you had the guys and Neena doing due penance. Why didn’t you have me out there, too? I was part of last night.”

Piotr takes one of your hands in his and kisses your knuckles. “Scott and I talked it over with the Professor. We decided better ‘penance’ would be to have you take course on alcohol safety.”

You frown. “Scott agreed to that?”

“Eventually. Wade made very compelling case for you this morning. He said you had no experience with alcohol previously, and that you had no basis to know why New Year’s rule was in place to begin with.”

You make a mental note to thank Wade later.

“The Professor and I agreed --and Scott added the safety course, which is not that unreasonable, I think.”

“It’s not,” You admit. “But I might bitch about it anyway.”

“And I will be there to pat your hand and remind you that it is due consequence of your choices.”

“Like the wonderful boyfriend you are. Pampering me and keeping me grounded.” You smile softly. “I like to think you bring out the best in me, Pete.”

He smiles back and kisses you gently. “I like to think you bring out best in me, Y/N.”

Despite the pounding in your head and the knowledge that you’re going to have to take a pain the ass course eventually, you melt into the kiss.

There’s no place you’d rather be.

#sass writes #piotr rasputin x reader #colossus x reader #piotr rasputin imagine #colossus imagine #tw: alcohol #tw: vomit #it's your first time drinking and wade starts you off with vodka shots #like any good friend would #note: the reader does soberly consent to drinking #wade doesn't force you because wade is ALL ABOUT CONSENT #mother hen piotr #the best kind of piotr #x men fanfiction #deadpool fanfiction

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hornsbeforehalos · 6 years

Text

Demon or Not

Pairing: Demon!Dean Winchester x OFC Warnings: Angst, Smut. Request: “Girl... #10 with Dean... Maybe some angsty smut XD” “If you were anyone else I’d have killed you a long time ago.” A/N: For my 400 follower contest winner, @dragongirl420 :) Thanks for putting up with me, bestfriend!

I do not own Supernatural or any of it’s characters. I just play with them. *DO NOT REPOST MY WORK ANYWHERE. I WILL FIND YOU.*

EVERYTHING TAGS: @aquivercactus @srj1990 @dragongirl420 @docharleythegeekqueen @jesbakescookies @make-things-beautiful2 @through-thesilver-lining @sorenmarie87 @daddy-kink-confirmed @redm81 @reigningqueenofwords @sorenmarie87 @heyitscam99

“Jenny, Jenny, Jenny, Mmm, mmm, mmm.” Dean cooed as he walked around the edge of the Devil’s Trap, feinging being unable to lash out at her like he wanted to. His crisp, obsidian eyes grazed over her curves as he smirked lustfully, “Don’t you just look delicious this evening.”

“Don’t fucking call me that,” She spat back, seething as she drew her blade from her waist and held it defensively, “You don’t get to call me that.”

“I think I can call you whatever I want, sweets,” He purred, his smirk extending out into a smile, cocking his head to the side sarcastically before snorting, “Bitch.”

“Asshole.” She huffed back, her head recoiling in offense.

“Whore.”

“Douchebag.”

Dean chuckled as he looked down to his feet, his head rocking side to side in amusement, “Just like old times, huh, babe?”

“Fuck you,” She retorted hotly, fist clutching the dagger in a death grip to keep control of her temper.

“Mmmm,” Dean hummed in response, eyes flicking from black to the candy-apple green she loved so much, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Jenny?”

Her breath caught in her throat, her eyes widening for a moment before his movement shook herself back to reality. She watched the demon’s eyes return as he took a step over the painted barrier, the seven shots of human blood in his system rendering it useless.

“Fuck,” She gasped as she began to step backward, stumbling over an old desk chair. The desk behind the chair caught her and kept her from falling.

“You want to?” Dean snarked as he boxed her in, his knuckles resting on the wood on either side of her thighs. He gave her a toothy grin and licked his lips as he got close enough for her to feel his breath on her.

She raised the knife in her hand to his throat, earning her a erotic groan from the Winchester as he raised back off of her.

“Do it,” He snarled, his lip curling upward and tongue touching his teeth as he taunted her. Her hands were trembling as she pressed the blade into his skin, unable to push any further.

“If you were anyone else, I’d have killed you a long time ago, you know?” He rasped with a smirk, pushing off the desk and snatching the knife out of her hand with ease before she realized what happened, “You know I won’t hurt you, right?”

“Pffft, yeah right.” She replied, still shaking as she tried to fight off the nerves coursing through her.

He looked genuinely offended, his brow furrowing and his head cocking to the side, “Just because I’m a demon doesn’t make me a liar,” he said, pointing to his chest in gesture, “I still love you.”

She scoffed at him as she couldn’t help but roll her eyes, “Wise man once said, and I quote,” She pointed at him, “’Demons lie.’”

He gave her an understanding look, completely unable to blame her for her hesitance, but he really didn’t want to hurt her. Even if he hadn’t had so much humanity rushing through him, even if he was still the big, bad Knight of Hell he’d been a few days prior, he wouldn’t harm a hair on her head. He’d always been told that demons didn’t feel love, but demon or not he knew what he was feeling. The “de-demonizing treatment” as she’d called it just amplified those emotions for him. However, the “cure” still hadn’t been completed and well, a demon’s gotta have his fun, and no matter his love for her, he’d always liked seeing her squirm for him.

He watched her calculating his every movement as he approached her slowly. He sat the knife on the table, a little out of reach of her hand as he encased her again. He could hear her heartbeat accelerating as she dug her nails into her palms to keep from reaching out for him. He pressed against her, his lips ghosting breaths across the goose bumping flesh of her neck and brushing against her earlobe.

“Mmm,” He cooed as he inhaled her natural scent of shampoo and perfume, the faint flavor of fear only egging him on, “I missed you, baby.”

Her breathing halted as her eyes welled up with unshed tears, the feeling of having him around her and what he was saying overwhelming. He smelled the same, looked the same, save his eyes, and made her feel the same as he always had. He pulled his face back to where their noses brushed, his emerald irises twinkling at her as he gave her a small smile.

“I miss you too.” She whispered, almost completely silent as a single tear rolled down her cheek, sending a pang of love through him. Dean cupped her face and wiped the stream of saltiness away with the rough pad of his thumb as she sniffed and finally met his eyes. His lids crinkled at the sides as he smiled at her, the appearance of his old self sealing the fact that she wouldn’t deny him anything.

His lips were on hers before she could protest or move away, not that she would have done either anyway. The sweetness of her mouth mixing with his as their tongues violated each other. It was like it always had been- natural and loving and perfect. He slotted himself between her thighs as he pressed his body against hers, his arms wrapping around her shoulder and waist. Her ankles hooked around the back of his legs as her nails dug into his neck and the maroon shirt covering his chest, and he moaned into her mouth as she pulled him even closer to her.

“There’s my girl,” He smirked when she bit down on his bottom lip and ground her hips into his in a needy motion. He returned the favor gladly, earning him a loud moan of her own that cascaded through the room. He kneaded the flesh of her hips and ass, his fingers leaving bruises and nails pressing crescent shaped marks into her skin as he moved beneath her clothing.

He wasted no time in getting her out of her shirt, his cock swelling with the sight of her ample cleavage spilling over the tops of her bra. He buried his face between her tits and sucked and licked and lapped, his hands moving to find the clasp of the confining garment and ridding her of it.

She helped him out of his clothing as well, pushing the button-up off his shoulders and pulling the t-shirt over his head just as quickly as he had done her. He’d pulled away from her a little bit to drop the fabric to the floor, and she reached forward and gripped his belt buckle, snapping his hips back into her thighs with intent.

“In a rush, sweetheart?” He asked before she attacked his mouth again, his hands groping her heavy breasts to find her nipples and tease them.

“Someone’s gonna come lookin’ for me soon,” She mumbled against him, licking his upper lip and sucking his bottom one between her teeth.

“Well then,” He replied, smirking again while pulling back, “Let’s get you out of these pants then, shall we?”

She nodded her head as he worked at the buttons, lifting her hips for him to slide the denim off her thighs along with her panties. Dean groaned at the sight of her naked and bare and propped up on a desk, waiting for him to take her, his mouth watering at the glistening wetness between her legs.

He popped his own belt and buttons and zipper and pulled out his hard cock, the tip already dripping with his need to gorge himself on her. He fisted himself and slid the swollen tip between her sopping lips, pulling a wanton mewl out of her as she dug her nails back into his neck and back.

“Dean,” She keened when she felt him at her entrance, her soft skin pliable to his every will. He pushed into her slowly, filling her up and stretching her to completion.

“Fuck, so hot,” He groaned before sliding almost all the way out of her and impaling her again, punching another lusty moan out of her on impact. He repeated the motion over and over, the sound of their flesh smacking against each other filling the dungeon.

He’d never get tired of the sensations she gave him, the grip of her tight walls sending fireworks through his body and sparks flying behind his lids. He snarled against the curve of her delicate neck, his teeth finding purchase as he marked her darkly while pumping in and out of her with abandon. His heart ached in his chest as he watched her writhe, the love he had for her unchangeable.

“Fuck, Dean,” She gasped as he hit her deep, the emotional hurricane in her heart bringing tears to her eyes as sobs started to wrack through her. He gripped the back of her neck and pulled his lips to hers to quiet her cries, the warmth of his embrace quickly sending her spiraling. One of his hands snaked between their bodies, the rough calloused tip of a finger finding her throbbing clit and swirling over it again and again.

“Gotta be quick, remember, sweetheart?” He panted as he sped up his pace, wanting to feel her quiver against him before they were inturrupted, “Gotta cum for me.”

“Fuck, Dean,” She breathed, her eyes rolling back into her head, “Harder.”

“Fuck,” He growled, pulling out of her and pulling her off the desk. He flipped her around and bent her over the table top, his hands digging into her ass cheeks as he filled her again.

“Shit, Dean!” She wailed as he pummeled her, the new angle hitting her cervix deep and hard.

She yelped in surprise when his large hand came in contact with the flesh of her ass, the crack echoing in her ears as pinpricks pulsed through her.

“Cum for me, Jen. Come for me, now.” He growled as he leaned over to her hear, his own climax drawing nearer and nearer, “Let me feel it, girl.”

It only took a few more drags of his thick cock against her before her body started to melt, her fluttering walls gripping and squeezing him as she came. Her voice left her in a loud, lingering wail that was enough to send Dean over his own edge, his thick, hot cum shooting rope after rope inside her.

He pulled out of her still pulsing pussy and tucked himself back in before helping her up and back into her own clothing, She closed her eyes as he kissed her again, losing herself in him until the bolted door of the dungeon opened.

“Get away from her, Dean.” Sam said sternly, his eyes flicking back and forth between the two of them without registering what had just happened between them.

“What are you gonna do, Sammy?” Dean sighed, rolling his eyes as he turned to his baby brother and held his hands out, “Kill me?”

A flutter of wings was heard to the left of them, Castiel suddenly appearing, “Step away from her, Dean.”

Dean held his hands up in surrender, turning back to face her as Castiel reached to restrain him, “Me and Jenny were just...talking, weren’t we Sweetheart?”

“You shouldn’t be in here, Jen.” Castiel scolded as he gripped Dean’s arms, “He’s still not human, he could’ve killed you.”

“It’s fine, guys. I’m fine,” She reassured as she watched Cas pull Dean back to the center of the Devil’s Trap and push him back down into the seat with little resistance while Sam prepared the final dose of blood. Deans onyx eyes met hers and he gave her a small smile.

“See, have a little faith in me, guys. I wouldn’t hurt the woman I love.” He snapped, jerking his head forward at Cas, who scowled at him.

“Demons don’t know how to love, Dean, which means the treatment is working if you’re experiencing emotional attachment again.” Castiel explained indifferently as he secured him in place as Sam approached.

“Demon or not, I would never hurt her.”

She squeezed her eyes shut as she heard Dean roar as the syringe was injected into his throat, Sam reciting the incantation that would hopefully bring her love back to her completely. She opened her eyes as she heard his labored breathing, the pain he was experiencing flashing his eyes from green to black and back again.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus. Hanc animam redintegra, lustra! Lustra!"

#dean winchester x ofc #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fanfiction #supernatural smut #supernatural fanfiction #dean smut #dean x ofc #dean x you #dean x reader

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