I Could Have You Done For Domestics
A few weeks pass by of sneaking to the Avengers compound, quick make-out sessions during Sinister Squad missions, and a shitload of meetings from both sides. It’s far more difficult than you thought – being on both sides, you mean. There’s more plotting and pretending than anything else, Genesis thinking you’re helping him locate ‘Cerebro’ and the Avengers leaching off you to set a trap for him.
You could easily be playing either side and they all know it, but Genesis controls fear and has to trust that you have enough common sense not to betray him, while the Avengers simply have to go by Natasha’s word. And if you do betray them, then she has already stated she’ll be willing to take all the blame for it. The punishment will be whatever they see fit and you’ll likely be long gone by then. But you’re not planning on betraying her at all; if anything, you’ve been wanting to escape this lifestyle for a while now.
“There’s not much on your file.” Natasha observes quietly with her naked arm wrapped over your waist. She effectively pulls you out of your deep thoughts.
You look down at her, your chin funnily squishing at the angle. “Well, that’s because I’m a low-level criminal that you never bothered to build a file for.”
Natasha doesn’t appreciate your ‘jokingly’ self-deprecating tone; her hand comes down to smack your abs in punishment. “We bothered. I bothered.” She says before biting her bottom lip, shedding a protective layer in her eyes as she looks up into yours. “I wanna know everything about you.” She confesses and it makes your heart flutter, butterflies flapping about rapidly.
Her vulnerability has you shifting uncomfortably, still finding it difficult to be this…open. Natasha has definitely been shocked at the dynamics because it’s usually her that takes her time to open up, but everything just comes out with you. It’s freeing and comfortable, like riding a bike. But you’re still holding back, and it’s hard for her not to feel like it may have something to do with her, despite your constant reassurance that it’s a you problem.
You sigh heavily. “Well, I’m in my early thirties with back problems. Probably has something to do with falling out of windows.”
“Probably.” Natasha snorts in interruption, nuzzling her face into your neck.
Your arm around her shoulders pulls her closer. “Only child, not very well-off so I thought it’d be cool to join MI6 to make a living. Couldn’t tell my parents about it so they rarely took my money, assuming it was blood or drug money of some kind. Which I don’t blame them for since we lived in London, so…that’s pretty self-explanatory.”
“Mmm.” Natasha hums, rubbing soothing circles into your hip. It’s enough to keep you calm, keep you talking. Your eyes fixate on one of the spotlights in her bedroom, your jaw tightening the more you think about your family and past.
“I–Uh–There was–I got into an accident. Got stuck, I mean, during one of my undercover missions. Some shit about mad scientists with experimental serums. There was an explosion, and, I mean, I assume this is how it happened but, anyway, long story short, steel pipe in my stomach mixed with experimental gas formula and here I am. Charming as ever with steel-hard abs.”
Trying to keep the tone light doesn’t do what you intend it to do. You hate thinking about this. Fuck, you really hate thinking about this with every fibre of your being. Why are you even reliving the moment? Just because Natasha wants to add it to your stupid fucking file?
Sitting up as you pull yourself away from her, you turn your back to her. “Have what you need for your file?” You spit out, eyes shut tight as you try to force the screams out of your head, the pain as your body shifted, molecules and cells forcibly changing. The flashes are almost too much to handle.
The first time, you fell onto the ground with a loud thud, unable to move and navigate. The belief that you were dying was set in your mind as you remained unable to see exactly what had happened to you. You must have been lying there for hours, perhaps days until you fell asleep from sheer exhaustion. When you woke up, you were alone and back to your human form.
“That’s not why…Y/N, I just wanted to get to–”
“Know me?” You snap your head back to her with glaring eyes, having no one else to blame for making these goddamn memories come back to the forefront of your mind. “You don’t know me, Natasha.”
The redhead sighs, falling back, her hair spread across the pillow as she reacts surprisingly calmly to your anger. “Well, I want to.”
Your eyes slit in caution and confusion. “Why?”
Why would she? You have a good thing going. It’s playful, it’s fun, it’s sex and coffee and midnight burgers; there’s nothing wrong with it so why does it have to change? Adding your sob story to the mix will only make things real. It’ll make it real, and it’ll make you want to run away from Genesis out of pure fear of losing the very real relationship you’ve built with Natasha. And you…you can’t have that. Nothing good ever comes your way let alone something perfect, as perfect as her.
“Why not?” Natasha replies with a simple shrug of her shoulders. It’s casual, far more casual than you thought she’d be at this moment. But it’s oddly comforting seeing her like this. Your shoulders sag a little this time, the tension slowly dissipating from your body.
As you drop back, your head falls onto her soft stomach. “I’m not…like you.” You whisper, rawness evident in your quiet, strained voice.
Natasha snorts, running her fingers through your hair delicately. “No, you’re not. You’re better.” She says, insists with her fingers tugging your locks right back when you try to run away from her again. “I’m not perfect. None of us are. I’ve made mistakes, but I’m slowly cleaning the red off my ledger. And I’m willing to tell you mine if you tell me yours.” Her voice is barely above a whisper but in the silent hours of the morning, everything sounds like it’s being said through a microphone.
Turning your head to face her, you’re only met with her naked chest and can’t help but smirk. “Nice.” You pretend not to see her incoming hand, letting her smack the side of your head playfully. “I could have you done for domestics, you know.” You tease, growling as you shift your body, nipping along her beautifully pale stomach.
The redhead giggles, rolling her eyes as you kiss your way up to her addictive lips. “I love your accent–”
“I love you.” You interrupt, impulsivity filling you when you meet her soft, welcoming, adoring eyes. They practically hypnotise you, shining with beauty and rawness and so much love how could you possibly not say it? It’s her fault, really. For being her.
Natasha only looks shocked for about two seconds before she presses her lips to yours softer than she ever has. She holds your jaw like you’re precious to her, fragile, like she wants to do everything in her power to make sure you’re safe in her hands and that you know it. You do.
When she pulls back, you whimper, overwhelmed with emotion, and kiss her again, and again, and again until she’s sighing into your mouth, thighs resting against your hips to pull you closer to her like she’s desperately trying to mould your bodies together.
“Fuck, Y/N.” She moans quietly as you kiss down her sharp jawline, leaving gentler kisses on her cheeks, a long, loving one on her forehead, and then a final appreciative one on her cute nose. There’s a permanent blush on her cheeks at this rate, you’ve noticed; it’s always everpresent with you around.
“Do you love me?” You whisper, masking the vulnerability in your tone with fake cockiness. “Hmm?” You brush your nose against hers, eyes fluttering before meeting hers. “Do you? Or is it just my British charm that you–”
“Of course I love you, dumbass.” She confesses endearingly, biting her bottom lip bashfully before pecking yours quickly. Relief fills your chest. “And maybe it’s the accent, too.”
The two of you laugh softly together, sinking into each other’s arms as the sun comes up and shines through the windows, demanding you get out of bed. But you don’t want to. You don’t think you ever want to leave Natasha, and the thought no longer scares you. Not one bit.
One thing that does scare you is him. Him, with his intruding, bulging bug eyes consistently watching you like a hawk. Him, with his onslaught of intense questioning for updates on the mission. Him, with the threat of his power and death looming over you with every decision you make.
What you tell him is, “They still think I’m on their side,” with a gulp of fear. You convince him that, “They think that you think I’m infiltrating you for them, but, really, I’m just feeding them lies.” It comes out confused and muddled, your sentences stringing together and barely hanging on by a thin thread, but his narrowed eyes relax eventually. You promise him, “I’ll give you the real location, and tell them I’ve given you the fake one. They want to ambush you, but they’ll be ambushing useless goons all while you use ‘Cerebro’ to control every mutant there is.”
It pleases him enough. Enough to pat your head like you’re one of his minions, like he owns you, controls you. Maybe he does, or did, rather. But Natasha has made you want to be strong. She’s sparked something in you that has long been diminished: hope. Hope for more, for something real, something that makes you feel.
You’ve always been avoiding feelings, emotions, guilt. Every mission of you ignoring the discomfort in your chest at the terrifying sounds of screaming civilians, at having to watch Genesis assert his authority through murder and violence, at teaching recruits the ins and outs of surviving under his leadership.
Natasha has helped you acknowledge that it’s okay to feel, and that guilt is heavy and a burden but with it comes the chance of redemption. Redemption is what you keep telling yourself over and over again as you pace back and forth in the makeshift ‘Cerebro’ location. They want you here to confuse him first, they told you. They’d be in the skies, waiting for your signal…
It never comes.
The first thing you notice when you blink into consciousness is pain. It’s a pain like no other, something you haven’t felt since the accident; your abdomen’s on fire, insides desperately trying to heal but being blocked by something. Your body feels like it’s heating up quickly, sweat beads forming all over your skin and dripping uncomfortably.
“Fuck.” You groan out quietly, grunting as you try to shift your hand around to press against the wound, but you find your hands are blocked too. It hurts to open your eyes, a harsh light above your head stinging and piercing your vision. You cringe and wince at the blinding pain, hanging your head down to avoid it.
When you finally start to blink your eyes open, they land on your lap. You don’t see the blood stains on your black jeans but you can feel them sticking the material to your sweaty skin. There’s a large hole in your white tank top, the material surrounding the hole stained crimson red. But the wound has already healed. How…
“Second in command…”
Your head snaps up to the voice – as best it can snap up with how weak you feel. Wide, horrified eyes land on Genesis standing tall, powerful, oozing with arrogance.
With a clenched jaw, he steps forward into the light, his blue eyes piercing into you. “To think I trusted you over Scorch. It was my mistake to give the clever one enough power to think she could challenge me.” He sighs in clear frustration, teeth gritted together. It’s evident he didn’t expect this from you, didn’t expect this mistake from himself.
“Well,” You begin, voice so croaky you have to clear it, “We all make mistakes, don’t we, boss?” You joke with a little hard edge to your voice. The best way you can get out of this is for him to make another mistake, which only comes from rage. He’s embarrassed with himself for making this mistake, embarrassed for trusting you and believing your lies, embarrassed that you’ve taken him for a fool.
“I don’t.” He hisses, coming to his own defences. There’s blood on his shirt too and his boney hands. Is it yours? You tilt your head, eyes narrowed to see if it’s wet or dry. “Wondering if I managed to get a hold of your girlfriend?” He smirks.
No…
There’s no way they would have let him. You don’t even let that possibility get to your head, blocking out the panic you’re suddenly feeling with pure anger instead.
The dark glare on your face is one he’s never seen before, filled with a murderous rage. But you refuse to give him what he wants, so you stay silent, only frustrating him further. You know men like him. He wants a reaction, validation of his strength, power, superiority. You won’t give him what he wants.
“Did she tell you she loves you?” He mocks, venom clear in his eyes and tone, and a hint of jealousy. “That she’ll protect you? That they only want to take me down?”
You interrupt him with a snarl, losing control for a moment. “At least I’m capable of love.” Your voice shakes and quivers, trying not to let his words get to you. But your movement forward hurts your insides, making you wince and shift in pain.
“Love?” He bursts into laughter patronisingly, forcing you to look away with a pursed frown and shaky lips, failing to hold it together.
Yes, love, you want to yell at him, tell him that it’s real. It’s real, she’s real and she loves you, for you, for your heart, for the person you are underneath all the jokes and deflections. And she’s probably looking for you; all of them are. It was part of the plan for you to lure him in. Without your signal, they must know something’s wrong and Natasha would not stop until she finds you…right?
“We’re all the same to them.” He steps forward, hands locked together behind his back. “Villains, monsters, we’re all sinister.” His eyes widen with anger at how he feels he’s been treated by the Avengers, by fearful and hateful humans. “I thought you were too intelligent to fall for her lies. I always thought you and I were quite similar. Both survivors.” He comes to a stop in front of you, blocking the light with his tall, looming figure. You refuse to look up at him, eyes fixated on his muddy, bloody shoes. “After all…you survived the death of your parents–”
“Don’t you fucking dare!” You shout, yell, scream for vengeful murder as your head snaps up to him. The room practically shakes with your yelling, with your violent tugging against your restraints, the metal chair noisily scraping against the concrete as you try to jump up to him.
Genesis smirks down at you and you do all you can to break free, to punch that smirk right off his face, but your efforts fall flat. Trying to transform to steel barely works in this weakened state. Your eyes flicker silver for a moment or two before you let out a frustrated guttural growl from the depths of your sore throat.
Genesis hums with his hands behind his back. “Many of us have lost our families. In fact, most of us lost them the moment we figured out what we are. Yet yours…yours loved you, accepted you, taught you that you can be loved despite the monster you innately are. Or they tried to.” He leans down, eyes satisfyingly scanning over your clenched jaw and glossy, angry eyes. “Where did that get them?”
“Shut your fucking mouth!” You grunt, snapping your head, to try and collide your forehead to his, but he’s quick to move back and chuckles as he does so.
They’d tell you it wasn’t your fault, that it was out of your control and their control. It was an accident. But they wouldn’t have been driving that fast if you weren’t so drunk. If you weren’t still struggling with your new identity, with your powers, with the hateful and fearful looks you’d receive. It was hard for you to cope with the changes. But you didn’t have to bring them into it. You didn’t have to call them to pick you up because you could barely stand on your own two feet, drunk, beaten and bruised by strangers from the bar. It was you who started the fight, you who couldn’t steel up because of your inhibitions, you who wanted them to hit you like you deserved it for what you had become.
It was your fault they crashed into the other car. You never deserved their love, not then, not now.
Your anger and heavy sobbing only make the pain in your abdomen throb harder; a whimper forces its way out of your throat at that, still confused on what exactly he has done to you. Genesis notices the confession and struggle; having had enough pleasure from that, he decides to finally explain.
“I’ve been working on that for quite some time.” He laughs deeply, comfortably pacing side to side in the small interrogation room. “Can you feel it moving inside of you?” He asks, already knowing the answer if you take his smirk into account. “It’s a steel bullet. An exact match to your supposed impenetrable skin.”
Shit.
There’s no way to get it out, not that you know of at least. If anything tries to harm your skin, your body automatically protects it, shifting to steel. You knew your time would end at some point, but death isn’t what you fear, not for yourself at least. Not now, not anymore. The only thing on your mind is Natasha.
If he has you, you can’t protect her. So you tug against your restraints angrily, trying to get past the pain to steel up. Just a few seconds will be enough to break free, but you keep flickering, pain consuming your body with every movement, halting your progress.
He stands with his back against the wall, a smirk firmly on his lips as he watches you fail over and over again. “I hope you survive long enough to see her heart in my hand when I’m back.” He threatens. Promises.
The horrible image in your head is enough for your body to turn to solid steel as you push past the pain, your wrists breaking free with a loud groan as you lift your arms up. “Don’t you fucking touch her, I’ll rip your fucking heart out, you fuckin–” Before you can stumble your way to him, a loud bang followed by a sharp pain in your stomach stops you. “Fuck!” You drop to a knee but do your best to ignore the pain, trying to get to him, to stop him. Scrambling as your hand slides on the pool of your blood, you slip, face-planting the ground. “Shit, come on.” You whimper out in fear and desperation, panicking as you hear his boots walking away while you crawl in pain, weakened by the second bullet.
“You let me down, Steel. I warned you not to.”
Time slows down as you crawl your way to the door, blood staining the concrete. He’s long gone by now, but you know the location and you can get there; you’re determined to get there in time to at least warn Natasha. You’ve already lost everyone that has ever loved you; she deserves better than that, than you.
But you’re halfway into the warehouse and out of the small interrogation room before your body slumps down, exhaustion taking over. The adrenaline is running out quickly as the pain finally catches up to your body and mind. You can only push it aside for so long.
“Shit.” You groan out, banging your hands against the ground in anger. “Come on, Y/N,” You whisper to yourself, “don’t be a fucking pussy, come on.” Trying to climb up to your feet while taking a deep breath, you only manage to slip and fall again, unable to stand up with the excruciating pain weakening you.
You don’t know how long you’ve been lying on the ground. It’s dark, but you think it was already dark when you crawled out of the interrogation room. Maybe it’s your mind playing tricks to try and soothe you, reassure you that it hasn’t been that long and Natasha is okay. There’s still a chance. But you can barely move and you can feel your life slipping out of your grasp second by second.
You don’t really believe in God. Not with what’s happened to you, to your family, to your friends and recruits and to everyone you’ve ever cared about. But you won’t let it happen to Natasha too. She wants redemption, wants to help people and spend the rest of her life doing so. She wants to travel – for pleasure rather than business – and work on eventually feeling confident and happy with her body and the beautiful scars littering them. She wants to adopt one day and raise children the way they should be raised, the way she should have been raised. Natasha has and wants a life and a future.
So you shut your eyes tight and breathe as best as you can in this state. Please, you beg. To whoever is up there, whoever controls this shit fucking timeline, whoever is listening. You beg to see her one last time, to tell her she’s pretty, so pretty, to kiss her. Warn her that Genesis is coming for her, for all of them. Beg for her to stay living, to reach all her goals, to move on from your death and forgive herself for it like you were never able to do with your parents. You lay there, dying, and pleading that your life is only part of the plan, the balance of this universe, your life a sacrifice for hers.
You beg, and beg, tears streaming down your cheeks, promising to believe in your final moments that there is a plan there for everyone and Natasha’s does not end–
The familiar sound of boots on the ground catches your ears. Your mind could be making it up; delusion is the stage you should be at now, hallucinations and all. But you still hear it, and you still think it’s not creepy for you to know exactly how she sounds like running.
Maybe you’re hallucinating, you think, when you lift your head at the sound of the warehouse door breaking and you see her figure, her both worried and relieved expression, her beautiful, teary eyes. She runs to you and, for once, you’re a believer.
“Oh, hey. You look nice, is that a new suit?” You breathe out, too tired to laugh, too tired to even smile or smirk. But you’re smiling wider than you ever have on the inside because you can see her now, see her safe and Genesis is far, far away, too far to lay a finger on her.
Natasha immediately drops to her knees after running to you, tears freely streaming down her smooth, perfectly rosy cheeks. “God, are you okay?” She asks shakily, her soft, warm hands all over your face.
Your eyes want to flutter at the feeling but you don’t know how long you have left to simply look at her. “Not my name but I’ll take it.” You mutter, your tears falling now as you thank God for letting your prayers come true. You want your last moments to be with her so you’ll hopefully be forever lost in the forest of her eyes.
“Y/N, can you be serious for once? Where are you hurt?” She scolds you, finally looking at the rest of your body, gasping when she sees the red practically soaking your tank top now.
“Help, I need CPR.” You dramatically pucker your lips, falling into a coughing fit when you laugh at the angry look on her face.
“Y/N, seriously!” She tells you off, frowning when blood trickles down the side of your mouth as you finally stop coughing. “Shit, Y/N. No, no, this can’t be happening. How did this happen? We’ve caught him but he’s refusing to speak.” She wipes the blood away and you lean into her touch, eyes blurry now but you refuse to blink away the tears. You just want to look at her because she’s real and she’s yours, all that is yours in death.
“Fine.” You gulp, voice trembling. “I’m gonna pass out soon.” You warn her, having been feeling woozy for the last few minutes but you were trying your best to hang on just in case she’d make it back to you. It doesn’t hurt anymore, not as much as before. Now all you feel is…bliss and fulfiment when you look into her emeralds.
“Fuck, Y/N.” She sighs, her hand caressing your cheek and the other pressing onto the earpiece in her ear. You don’t pay attention to her panicked and rushed words as she speaks to her teammates. You only pay attention to the furrow of her brow, the tightness of her lips as she chews on them nervously, the way you can see more of the beautifully bright green of her eyes when they’re this wide, even if they are panicked.
“He shot me, twice. I don’t know how but it’s some steel bullet he’s been working on and they’re both stuck in me.” You rant quickly, explaining. She turns her head to you, looking down but seeing the outer wound has cleared due to your fast healing. But they’re both lodged in there and they’re killing you and, man, she’s just– “Man, you’re so pretty. The prettiest.” You whisper happily, a dopey smile on your face. This is all you wanted, your final wish.
Natasha sucks in a sharp, trembling breath, shaking her head quickly as tears slide down her pretty cheeks and splash onto the concrete. “Okay, no, I’m gonna get you out of here, okay? You’ll be fine. You’re gonna–”
“You’re fine, baby.” You interrupt with a cheesy grin, eyes fluttering as you blink for a few seconds longer than you probably should but you feel so tired and her hands are like clouds you want to fall into.
“Oh, God.” Natasha’s crying, crying so hard she’s shaking a little. You can’t help but frown, wanting to cheer her up. She’ll be okay eventually, even if you don’t survive. You don’t want her to remember you like this, hurt, bleeding on the floor and crying; you want her to smile and laugh and–
You start signing softly, though you’re trying to be loud. It comes out weak, breathy, lyrics undistinguishable, but you try either way because your friends used to laugh and smile underneath their glares.
“I got her.” Hey, you know that voice. You totally know that voice, but your eyes are tired right now and your insides are hurting. If death is this easy, as easy as falling asleep, you don’t know why so many people fear it.
“Stay right where–” Natasha’s voice goes defensive, dark, and you hear the clicking sound of her gun. But you continue singing, probably Elvis, desperately trying to keep her calm, keep her attention on you.
“I said I got her. Just tell me where to go. I’m faster than anything you have right now.”
Natasha sighs, clearly contemplating what to do. Her hand rests on your jaw, thumb stroking as you sigh and lazily kiss her palm. It’s barely a kiss, a brush, really.
But it makes her whimper, and makes you whisper, “I love you, gorgeous.” You know she likes that one.