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quietlyimplode · 3 years

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@whumptober2020 - Day 28 - Accidents

(Short one today- Happy Wednesday!)

Masterlist is now pinned (I didn’t know you could do this??)

The knife is still embedded in Natasha’s midsection, and Tony side eyes Clint, resists the urge to say something sarcastic.

——-

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Clint doesn’t know what to do first; secure their prisoner or help Natasha. He needs to take the threat out and considers just shooting him in the head. He looks at the unconscious man with malice. He knows these men. The white masks, it’s obvious, they’re here for Natasha.

He’s trying to analyse everything that’s happened in the last 10 minutes, how did they get in? Know where they are? What the fuck has just happened. He looks to the man again and decides against killing, Natasha used the bites for a reason rather than the gun, trusts her judgement. He can’t help but shoot the man in the leg though. Feels like spitting on him.

At Natasha’s groan he moves over to her.

“It was an accident, I didn’t see the knife.” She says. “I want him alive.” She clarifies, her breathing labored, reading his mind as always.

He doesn’t question her on this. It’s her right, to take revenge, take back anything she feels she may have lost. He looks to where the knife is lodged. It looks deep. It looks painful, but he supposes, she’s had worse. He puts pressure on it, holding her hands in his over the wound trying to stem the blood coming out.

“Lungs?” He questions, feeling that he knows the answer, but asks her anyway.

“Filling.” She responds, shallow breathing.

There’s a clamoring in the hall, Natasha makes her way to her feet, pushing Clint away as he stands in front of her, both of their guns raised in defense.

Tony skids in front of them.

Oh thank god. The relief is evident across his face. Clint’s attention turns as Natasha drops again.

“Natasha??” He questions.

“Tony,” Clint orders, “get Bruce and get her to the med bay. Her lungs filling, she’s been stabbed.” The knife is still embedded in Natasha’s midsection, and Tony side eyes Clint, resists the urge to say something sarcastic. Is proud of himself when he doesn’t mutter ‘duh’. Instead he turns to Natasha and picks her up in a bridal hold. He places pressure across her wound, to stem the bleeding and feels her body tense, a shudder run through her body.

She schools her face.

“What are you going to do?” There’s blood across Clint’s face and Tony wonders if it’s Natasha’s.

“Secure the area.” Clint says, looking to the prostate man and then to Natasha.

“As what was done to me.” She says in Russian with a feral grin. “I’ll be there when I can.”

I swear this is building to an ending. I can’t believe it’s almost the end of the month.

#whumptober2020 #day 28 #accident #clintasha #natasha romanoff #black widow #clint barton #hawkeye #tony stark #iron man #master assassins at work #feral ones sometimes #and defs more ruthless than the rest of the avengers

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sarcastically-defensive17 · 4 years

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15 Minutes - P. Parker

So I’ve been stuck in a writing funk for so long, and I got inspired and I’ve been writing this for days until I got it just right and it made me sad and I hope y’all like it and I’ll defs get onto my requests more efficiently now!

TW: Death of loved one, torture, degrading language, abuse, sad Peter, grief, all round angst.

Original story by sarcastically-defensive-17

It was routine. Every day, three times a day. 6AM, 12PM and 5PM. He barely had the chance to recover. Psychologically. Emotionally. Physically.

The machine was cold. The dull grey of the sides reminded him of how alone he was. Deserted. Left for dead, he supposed. No word of contact from any outside source, no hope for a rescue mission. He lost count at 3 months in captivity.

Every single day he had to see her. Had to relive it all. He never once thought that he would physically be transmitted through time and space. The worst part, he knew the woman holding him hostage. One of the most intelligent people on the planet. An expert in Thermodynamics and - so he now discovered - a ruthless person fueled by grief.

A bell chimed followed by an alarm and blinding green light. The glass door swung across the machine, trapping him inside as he stood upright with no way out.

“5, 4, 3, 2...” the countdown rang out, and the green light intensified. His stomach spun, eyes clenched shut at the feeling he will never get used to.

He was back in his apartment. Clothes he hadn’t seen in a long time on his person, his hair a few inches shorter and his reflection almost a stranger to him as is stared back at him in the mirror of their bedroom.

The ringing of his phone was foreign, yet expected. Same schedule.

He lifted the device, holding it to his ear in the same way he had at least 100 times before. Including the day it first happened.

“Y/N,” he breathed. The only thing he enjoyed about the event was the chance to hear her voice again. The breath sigh through the receiver as she strolled through the bustling streets of New York, on his way to her.

“Hey, I cant wait to see you!” Her voice held excitement, the same he had heard over and over. It became his own self indulgent nightmare. He longed for her, he had never held her in this, but he could hear her and feel her near. He could see her laid out on the pavement...

“Me too,” he answered, feigning the joy he felt that day at the idea of her return. She had been in England for the past month and a half, working to quell a growing drug import/export ring. How little she knew that the same work she focused on would be her demise.

After all, she was an ex-cop turned badass avenger. She was known for fearing nobody.

“Im about 15 minutes away from home. I can’t wait to see you!” Peter couldn’t stop the tears from falling from his eyes as he rushed to get his shoes on.

In exactly 26 seconds, his signal would ring.

“Aren’t you a pretty little thing,” a voice snarled in the background of the call, followed by a clattering sound and a muffled shriek.

Peter pushed out a breath, putting his phone on loudspeaker and jumping out of his window.

He had no webs, no mask, no care. He had been over this scenario many times and wasting time with the spidey gear left less time to save her. When he tried it, he was met with her body slumped on the ground, blood flowing from her neck as she choked on the crimson liquid. He didn’t even have time to do the same to her attackers before he was pulled back to the present.

The actions must be damaging to the space time continuum, but the doctor had a lethal artifact in her possession, and she was prepared to do anything in her power to change events.

His ankles painlessly cracked as his feet hit the pavement below the window and he was off. He needed a new detour. He had tried many over the months, but a new one was running through his mind.

He cut down a side alley that would lead him around buildings and directly across from the alley she was pulled into. It was broad daylight in Queens yet nobody cared to see a young woman dragged away by three men.

Peter was just thankful that Y/N didn’t have to suffer in the original telling of the story.

He cut corners by vaulting from the walls of the alley way. He jumped over fences, dodged trash cans and even ignored an elderly lady who had dropped her groceries - a mistake he made by helping her in his first run through of attempting the detours.

He reached his destination in the form of a alley way decorated by versions items of graffiti. The bright colors stood out from the grey brick in the shape of various symbols. He and Y/N had often gone to that alley to observe the work of local street artists. She adored it.

As soon as the rubber toes of his shoes hit the mouth of the painted backstreet, a gunshot rang out and Y/N’s body slumped down on the other side of the busy road.

His heart broke once again at the sight.

He barely had time to step onto the road to get to her before the green light erupted in his vision again. His head reconnected with the thin cushioned pillow in the machine as a roar tore from his throat.

“Failure, once again.” The feminine voice snapped. “Always failing!”

Peters throat was sore. He had spent far too long screaming. His head was pounding, evidence of underfeeding and the sheer transference of his body through time.

He never expected to time travel. He knew how damaging it could be to change history, but here he was. Held against his will to save a woman that he loved so desperately. Forced to watch her death over, and over, and over. To hear her voice and feel the construction of his heart with the knowledge that he most likely wouldn’t be able to save her.

The physical pain of being returned to the day it happened and the image of her dead in various way seared into his mind. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw her.

The machine slid open, and a boney hand grabbed his face. He was far too weak to fight back, even with his powers.

The eyes of the doctor glared into him, bloodshot and poisoned by grief and ferocity, “Why are you such a failure? We have been doing this for 5 months! There has been no improvement. No chance of saving her, all because you are pathetic!”

“I’m trying,” he mumbled.

The hand left his face, leaving a biting cold in its wake. They always kept him in cold rooms. Part of the torture to encourage him to do better. After all, Peter believed just as the doctor did. He deserved the pain after what happened to Y/N. He should have protected her.

A loud bang echoed through the white room. The fury in the eyes of the Doctor made him almost shrink. He already felt miniature under her gaze, but somehow, he felt worse whenever he came back empty handed.

A hiss left her lips as she cradled the bony hand, Peter assumed she had hit something. “This happened because of you, Parker. You were the one she trusted the most. You were the one who she put her life on the line for countless times on your pathetic missions. You are the reason she is dead.”

“No,” he choked. It was a wet noise, his throat constricting as the mind games took hold again. His hands wove into his hair, tugging harshly. The action had quickly became a coping mechanism of his. He would do anything to distract himself from her words. “No, no, no, no. It wasn’t me. It was them. The gang. Not me.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” She hissed, the eyes staring down at him incredibly similar to the same glassy ones he saw every time he went back. “You were never good enough for her. You were always four steps behind her. Y/N deserved better than you.” The doctor stood up again, the expression on her face void of any emotion as she kept her steely gaze locked on his brown eyes. Her lips turned up at the corners slightly as she watched the tears fall down his face. Her back was straight, regaining the posture she often adopted when addressing those working for her, “Send him back again. Maybe if he does it right, I won’t need to be stuck looking at him in 15 minutes.”

“Ma’am, he needs time to rest. His body can’t handle such a short recovery time between jumps,” a random man in a lab coat told her. He - like Peter - cowered under her gaze.

“Send him back.” She growled with every word, pushing the door shut across the machine and walking back towards the other room.

The green light erupted again and he soon found himself in the same scene from before, although this time he emptied the contents of his stomach on the floor of their house.

His phone rang like clockwork, and he answered, placing it on loudspeaker and reciting the script he wrote for himself on the original date.

He slipped his web shooters onto his wrists before he left, following the same route as his last trip. Everything was the same, down to the exact way he dropped from his windows and bounded through the alley, although this time, he sent a web across the street, pulling himself forward into the alley way.

He collided into one of the men that had Y/N cornered, sending him crashing into the brick wall of the alley.

“Peter?” Y/N shrieked, doing her best to fight the other men off in the same way he had seen her do so in the past. Or, other pasts.

Two of the other men launched at him, both with blunt weapon and scuffed faces. As one swung high, the other swung low. His mind was centered on Y/N and his reflexes were working in overdrive, burning him out faster than anticipated.

It all came to a halt when the two men were on the ground and the sound of a blade slicing through flesh filled his ears. Y/N gurgled on her blood, eyes full of anguish as she stared at Peter with fear on her face.

He only had time to catch her body as she fell before the light overtook him once again.

The overly sterile room greeted him, sobs wracking his body. The door slid open once again and heels clicked against the tiled floor.

The malicious eyes watched him again.

“Please, no more,” he begged, knowing he would be on his knees if not for his fear of moving out of turn. “I can’t do this anymore. It’s torture.”

The hand returned to his face, a soft touch that lifted his wet face to look at the furious glare fixed on his being.

The doctor tutted, patronizing him. “Oh, honey. You think this is torture? You should see what I’m prepared to do to you if I need to spend another month doing this.” Her smile was pure evil, but her eyes held the depth of a woman mourning. The circles under her eyes and the deepening wrinkles fold of her grief, and despite the recurring pain, he felt for the woman. He wanted to apologize to her, had she not disregarded every apology that fell from his chapped lips.

“Please...” he whispered under his breath, feeling the hand leave his face and close the door once again.

“Send him back,” she announced to the other room before turning her attention back to him. “Save my daughter, Peter. Or you’ll wish it was you that died that day.”

The green light flooded his senses once again.

Tag List: @starshonerose @mantlereid @theanswertoeverythingisl0v3 @another-lonely-heart

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #spiderman #marvel #tom holland #tom holland x reader #peter parker angst #spiderman homecoming #spiderman far from home #mcu #Spiderman mcu

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dearlazerbunny · 5 years

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Lie to Me (Ch. 18 of 28)

Pairings: Loki x Reader

Genre/Ratings: M eventually (aiming for a slow burn here); warnings for kidnapping and subsequent anxiety/PTSD (will be marked before every chapter)

Words: 1500

Summary: If you had to guess what the captured, traitor, trickster god Loki Laufeyson wanted or needed at this moment, a babysitter would be far, far down on the list. (Set after the events of Avengers 1.)

SHOUTOUT TO @molmcb and @jessiejunebug, who fair warning are def laughing at everyone freaking out because they know exactly where the story is going

Requested Tags: @deraniel, @iamverity, @yasnooshka24, @wegingerangelica, @themusingsofmany, @dark-night-sky-99, @tarynkauai, @stuffandstuff-stuff, @angelicshinigami, @my-current-fandom-is, @geekysimmerthings, @lokis-butter-knife

WARNING: Loki is M A D and thus HYDRA agents die sickly deaths

[[Bold+Italics = Y/N’s thoughts, Italics = Loki’s thoughts]]

Um. Loki?

Loki’s head snaps up, eyes blazing, fists curled in green magic. “I have her.”

“You have found her?” Thor demands. “How?”

“She is…” his voice breaks, words spiraling off into an abyss of bittersweet terror. “She is praying. To me.”

Thor’s eyes soften just for an instant, before his resolution returns in spades. “Then I believe you would do well to answer her, yes?”

Loki looks at his brother, standing by his side, matched in fury and determination. Ready to charge headfirst into battle for nothing but the sake of himself and yours. And he wonders how he has called himself intelligent for millennia while still being so oblivious to who he truly has had poised in his corner all this time. “Brace yourself,” he says, and puts a hand laced with green magic on Thor’s arm.

In a shimmer and haze they reappear in some sort of compound. Based on the chill emanating from the concrete walls, underground. Though he does not know their precise location, Loki can tell they have travelled hundreds of miles from where they began- how had they managed to move you so quickly?

He shakes his head. Questions for another time. Both warriors are silent as they take in their surroundings, noting the echoing of footsteps- a hallway, through the door to their right- and low chatter all around.

“This is the HYDRA they spoke of?” Thor’s voice is a low rumble; Mjolnir seems to crackle impatiently in his grasp.

“Yes.”

“Can you sense her?”

Loki reaches out through every means he has, trying to strengthen your thoughts in his mind. “Faintly. She has little time.”

“Time enough.” Without warning, he arcs Mjolnir into the ground below him, crumbling the floor to dust and landing on a lower level. The screams start scarcely before the rubble settles, and despite the circumstances, Loki spares a moment to roll his eyes. And they call him dramatic.

With Thor providing a sufficient distraction, he summons his daggers to him and slips through the nearest door, every footstep bring him closer to wherever you hide.

He comes upon his first opponent the next time he hears your voice. Do I need to, like, invoke your full name or something? Startled, he falters, and the lackey dressed in military gear almost lands a blow before Loki’s reflexes kick in and efficiently pin the man to the wall. He is dead in mere seconds, when green energy overwhelms him and seizes his heart. The body slumps to the floor, and Loki tries to regain his balance. He can still hear you. And that means you’re still alive. For now. Leave it to you to ponder the proper protocols of summoning a god whilst bleeding out in a corner somewhere. Something in his heart pangs. Keep talking to me, love. You can do it. I’m coming. By the stars, I’m coming.

Loki Laufeyson, son of Odin

When you speak his name, your connection grows stronger. He makes a hairpin turn down a corridor to his left, and bangs open a door so hard spiderweb cracks are left in the steel. It leads to a staircase

rightful king of Jotunheim

Steps are cleared ten at a time, each leap pushing him further underground

God of Mischief and Lies

When two stocky guards appear at the bottom of the steps, Loki doesn’t hesitate before putting a dagger through one’s throat, and smashing the other’s head into a concrete block, leaving a sickly trail of blood leaking from the back of his skull

Royal pain in my ass for the past year

Had any HYDRA personnel glanced at the god’s face in that moment, they would have seen a ruthless, wolffish grin overtake his features, his smile as sharp as the daggers aimed at their hearts

Um, hi. It’s me.

Loki huffs as he retrieves his weapons from yet another pair of unfortunate victims. As though it could be anyone else. As if anyone else could have worked their way into his head so quickly, wrapped their fingers around his heart so thoroughly, had their laugh running through his veins like morphine when the nights proved too dark for him to handle on his own

You’d laugh if you were here, trust me

“My sense of humor only goes so far, Witling,” he growls, “and at the moment you are severely pushing its boundaries.” His next target only has time to give him a confused glance before their eyes roll back into their head

So, I know you’re kinda in a cell

Once again, his smile turns dark, and he lets a little extra energy crackle and spiral up his arms, enjoying the feeling of pure power he’s been missing in his imprisonment. Not anymore. Would there be consequences waiting for him? Yes. But he’ll gladly take them and more if it means getting you out of here alive-

I mean, I’m gonna die either way

With a roar, he rips more pathetic beings out of his way and descends another level. You. Are. Not. Dying. Stop saying that.

Sorry, that was a joke. You know I like you better.

And I adore nothing in the world so much as you. Is that not strange?

More hallways that lead to dead ends, more rooms with no treasure to be had but the thrill of seeing the light leave another’s eyes

I don’t know if you can hear me

My love, I would wager all of Asgard that I could still hear your voice if I was frozen in the heart of Ginnungagap itself.

a prince is still a prince, no matter where he comes from

And with his shoulders steady, his aim quick and true, his feet lithe and dancing over the destruction that lay in his wake, Loki Laufeyson looks every inch a fearsome prince no one in the nine realms would dare deny

Thor loves you, even if you don’t believe it

Somewhere above him, thunder rumbles, and the building shakes with heaven-sent lightning. The telltale smell of ozone lingers in the air. Loki has seen enough battles to picture his brother now, glowing with energy as he searches for the next soul that stands in his way

try not to dagger him unless he really deserves it

A smile touches his lips. Ah, Witling. Always so forgiving.

So does Frigga

Frigga. Something low in his gut twists. All-Mother, may you hear her pleas as well as mine. Watch over us both.

Trust me, I know these things

Indeed you do, darling. Somehow you seem to know more of the world than I ever shall, and you have only seen a pinprick of what it has to offer. The thought makes him angry, makes him curl his fists harder and slam it into someone’s jaw even more ruthlessly. I will show you the cosmos, my love. I swear it.

You’re close now, he can tell, because your anguish is starting to feel like a tangible thing he could reach out and rip from the air. Your pain becomes his, his terror becomes yours. He isn’t sure if the blood lingering on his tongue is yours, his, or a mingling of both

You aren’t anything like I expected

A smirk quirks his features. I have never, ever been what they expected. I have always been far more.

Closer, closer. He is closer but your voice grows dimmer, further away. He abandons stealth for an all out run, recklessly wrenching open doors as he passes in desperate hope that you might lie behind them

but I’m glad you’re not

You’d be the first.

I don’t think I’d love you nearly as much if you were

I don’t think I’d love you

love you

An unassuming hatch cracked the slightest bit open gets ripped off its hinges so forcefully it is thrown down the hall. Light floods the abandoned space, highlighting old equipment and stray bullet casings

and you.

You, curled up in the corner, clutching an old weapon to your chest like the cold metal might keep your heart from stopping. From here, he can see jagged edges of bone, glowing white against pale skin. Your hair sticks to your scalp in a mess of blood, and drops of it trickle down your cheek, marring your face. What isn’t white is red, and what isn’t red is black and purple and blue.

Keep yourself out of trouble, Trickster. For me.

“Never,” he breathes. It is trouble that led me to you, darling, and for that I shall consecrate myself at its feet for the rest of my days.

Your eyes open, blearily, his whispered words having stirred something inside you. Though you look right at him, your gaze goes through him, seeing nothing but a shadow haloed in green light. Some minuscule part of your brain wakes up enough to say point, aim, trigger

You manage to fire off three shots before everything in you goes slack.

Some notes:

- So @christ-on-a-fucking-stick-tm decided to go and WRITE ME A FUCKIN FICLET and it’s amazing and go read it: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20631224/chapters/48990377. In honor of their utter perfection, have a chapter <3

- Ginnungagap = “gaping abyss”. It’s basically the primordial void of Norse mythos.

- Spot the Shakespeare quote! ‘Tis one of my favorite quotes, and I feel like Loki would have a (grudging) respect for the Bard.

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