#Six airbags | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mo0nfairy · 7 months

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ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ UNCHAINED MELODY, PART SIX !

summary :: surviving raccoon city together, you catch the affections of leon kennedy, ada wong, jill valentine, and carlos oliveira. six years later, you reunite with them and realize their obsession with you has increased tenfold.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 12.3k.

content warnings :: mdni! yandere!leon, yandere!ada, yandere!jill, yandere!carlos, gender neutral reader, smut (not involving reader), murder, death, violence/gore, suic1dal tendencies, suic1de attempt, alcoholism, weaponry, panic attacks, ptsd, hallucinations, & sleep paralysis.

leon kennedy's yandere traits are . . .

clingy, heroic, & territorial

──── Leon Kennedy hates sunlight in his eyes. Yet still, he finds himself basking in the warm rays.

When the sun hits the window just right, ensnaring the room in its golden hues, he bathes in its light the same way he'd lay in a hot bath. The lulling warmth melts his muscles and eases his body. After he falls asleep in the office after another unsuccessful investigation, your sunset is there for him. When he passes out after a drunken night at the bar, your sunrise is there for him. You're looking down at him always, embracing him in splotches of sunlight.

For a while, Leon thought he knew what it meant to be alive. To touch the hands of guttural pain; to feel the jagged juts of his past nestle against him. But, after that horrid night six years ago, after the exposure to sunshine he did not know existed, he truly touched the scorching surface of rock bottom.

And it is killing him. All because of a singular person.

Y/N L/N. The name he will never forget.

Leon remembers your exuberant eyes, your adorable mannerisms, the glimmer of your smile; he will never forget how you sparked the beginning of his life in Raccoon City.

He remembers the orange lights had swayed in his vision. How everything was stuck in a blistering sea of vertigo. Listening to the fire crackle and creatures groan, Leon coughs from the tickle caught in his throat. There is a weight pressed to his chest, something akin to a cushion. White. Artificial fabrics, a plastic touch. An airbag, maybe?

September 28th of 1998. The memories all return to him like a violent supercut. The yell of his name, the squeal of the brakes, the collision afterward. His precious Jeep Wrangler had now been flipped upside down and he was now caught in the savagery of the aftermath. The blood rushing to his head has the world swirling around him, lulling him into another state of unconsciousness. Leon touches the passenger seat with his red hands, terror ensnaring him upon realizing the seat was empty.

Something blurry in his trail of vision grips his attention. Through the shattered window, a figure stumbles through the brume of the flickering streetlights. Blue glares frame the dirt-stained "R.P.D" sign and the figure hastens towards its doors.

A whimper of your name is stuck on his tongue, as words get trapped in his congested throat. Don't leave me. In Leon's efforts to escape, his foot gets caught on the gear shift. He pulls with all his might, despite the twists and strains his ankle endures. Y/N, please don't. Shards of glass fall from his hair as he wrestles his way out. A few pieces manage to leave shallow nicks against his flesh. Come back to me.

Leon then plummets to the wet pavement, finally free of his demolished car. Frivolous debris and fresh corpses litter his path. His newly-purchased white sneakers (which he bought solely to show off to you) are splattered in the disgusting matter. Stumbling, he is able to persevere through all of this and he quickly trudges through the wreckage.

Leon barrels through the doors of the R.P.D. and surges through the police department. Bullets pierce through the skulls of pedestrians and coworkers roaming the building. Blood paints his body like rainfall. All while he is searching for the face that will end the torment reigning havoc through his mind.

The holding cells are inspected thoroughly while Leon's disposition is one of acute desperation. The adjacent areas are consumed with infected prisoners, all of which he promptly executes. Much to his dismay, however, the rookie does not find you sitting at a bench or clinging to the rusted bars. It is all empty, leading him to become more frantic in his search for you.

Something navy blue then captures his attention. Left on the floor of a cell is a name tag. Something small and wet with blood.

Leon takes the object into his fingers. His heart wrenches when he reads the name stamped on the plastic. The familiar "Mizoil Gas Station" is printed above "Y/N L/N".

A gasp fills the empty silence. Y/N... Where did you go? Why did you leave me?

"Hey.”

He jerks around to the intruding voice.

"Who is that?"

"Stay sharp."

Behind him is a rotting face with dead, paper-white eyes staring right through him. The zombie towers over him, growling for a bite. Leon yanks Matilda from his holster. The action is swift. Adept. Exactly the way he was trained. The echo of a gunshot permeates through the large expanse and fuses with the squelching sounds of brain matter oozing from the zombies' open skull. The corpse falls to the grimy floors with a thud and once more, silence returns.

The click of stiletto heels treads closer to Leon. On the threshold of the prison cell, a woman walks into his train of vision.

Ada Wong.

Finally, a human! Leon thinks to himself. He is quick to take advantage of the company of a normal, uninfected person. The pestering questions he has all tumble out out his mouth like an avalanche of blabbering nonsense.

"Please, you have to help me! I-I'm looking for someone!"

Her lack of articulation urges Leon to continue.

"My name is Leon Kennedy."

He takes a breath before continuing.

"The person I'm looking for- they, um- they're about... this tall." He holds his flat hand up to demonstrate your height. "Their eyes are Y/E/C. Well, maybe not like an exact shade of Y/E/C. It's more like a softer, prettier-"

She scoffs, cutting him off from his incessant rambling. Turning her heel, Ada begins to walk away from the pathetic mess she stumbled upon.

"Wait! Their name is Y/N!”

The woman halts.

“Y/N L/N! Please, you have to help me find them!"

Body tense, her eyes peer at him through the dark barrier of her sunglasses. Her arms weaken, once sternly folded over her beige trench coat.

"They're my partner... Please..."

Ada's lips part. From them, a sharp inhale.

Leon begs her with desperate worry, encompassed in a vehement frame of mind. His plead is spoken with such clarity, Ada can only assume it as truth. And the prospect of you belonging to someone else cuts like a dull knife. It is gross, it is nauseating. Unnatural. Like worms slithering around in her stomach, trying to escape the heart-shattering effect this information has on her.

Then, there is the anger. The betrayal is like a song too loud, the resentment like sheer alcohol on her tongue. Everything manifests into a spirit so overwhelming that Ada cannot find air to breathe. This blanket of rage stirs with her sorrow like two conflicting chemicals. The reaction sparks something iniquitous.

So, in turn, she does what she does best.

Lie.

"Y/N is dead."

A silence settles in the room.

Leon stares. That is all he does.

He stares at Ada and tries to scrutinize her to find some other truth. Anything other than this.

"Ambushed. No possible way of getting them out of that mess..."

Ada speaks with defective emotion. The words land mercilessly and hit with ruthless force.

A harsh ringing noise permeates around Leon. He covers his ears, blunt nails digging into his scalp. He shakes his head no, as though he merely disagrees with fact. It's not true. It can't be! Losing grasp on the only good thing in his life is something he will not accept. He refuses to.

You are his sun. What is existence without its warmth? What will happen to Earth without its necessity?

How can he possibly survive without you?

Ada rolls her eyes at the dramatic scene now playing out at her hand. She ignores her own hypocrisy, of course. If she had learned of your demise, only God knows what blood-curdling reaction she would have. When it comes to Leon, however, every blink of his eye and twitch of his muscle has her riddled with irritation. Does he not know how lucky he is? Ada would endure any pain if she knew she had the comfort of calling you her lover. It is a dream she would kill to make reality.

Leon soon collapses to the floor. A shot of pain courses through his knees from landing harshly on the cement. His hand clutches over his heart, absolutely gutted by the torment forced upon the organ.

Ada then leaves this lie where she puts it down. She struts out of the prison cell, thus continuing her search for wherever in Raccoon City you may be.

You do not need a boyfriend. Especially one as pathetic as Leon Kennedy.

The man in question has been rendered into a puddle of blubbering nonsense. Questions still fill the silent air. How, when, why? Why did it have to be you? The one person on this disgusting planet who did not deserve it. Why couldn't you have just stayed with him and let him devote his life to protecting the precious gem of your life? Why? Why? Why?

Leon has already lost so much, you were the very last thing keeping him afloat. You are his life preserver in the middle of the ocean. He has now succumbed to the thrashing waves, as he was always destined to be swallowed by the sea. Saltwater permeates his lungs and his limp body sways with the lulling current. As though this is what his life was always meant to be: crawling after happiness just to have it yanked away when he gets too close. In the end, his sugar-sweet delusions will always sink down to the ocean floor.

Tears do not escape Leon, no matter the weight of the pain. He does not care for anything but you. Now that you have left him, nothing else matters. Therefore, no emotion can be elicited from him anymore. He has been touched so violently by this intensity, it eradicated any surviving nerves.

His handgun had been left on the ground, a few feet away from him. Assumably falling from his grasp after his knees gave out. He takes the weapon and it shivers in his trembling grasp. It's blurry in his gaze, as his entire vision is overwhelmed with stupor. Should he? God knows he wants to. What is there left to experience in life without you there with him?

As he guides the barrel of his gun to his temple, the static ringing in his ears accelerates in volume. Somehow, though, Leon does not feel fear. He does not feel anything. No dread, no despair — just sheer, hollow nothingness. It infuses his entire body like a roaming virus, ensuring it does not leave any traceable fragments of emotion.

A quivering finger hovers over the trigger. One pull and he will be free.

Leon presses his finger down.

Click.

Nothing.

Click. Click. Click.

Nothing happens.

Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.

"FUCK!"

Leon chucks the gun to the ground. His yell comes out guttural, a touch away from being a growl.

The clatter of Matilda's impact is not enough to appease him, as this swamped nothingness is more than he can endure. In a fit of defeat, Leon balls his fists and punches the cement floor. Agony surges through his entire hand and blood smudges his knuckles. The sound of his bones cracking still does not satisfy him in the slightest. Nothing can aid him now. Absolutely nothing.

With heavy legs, Leon stands to his feet. He holds his broken fist close to his chest and limps out of the empty prison cell. As he meanders through the station, he finds a set of car keys to a police cruiser on the corpse of his former co-worker. Despite claiming the title of "hero" when he first earned his badge, he does not intend to help anyone tonight. He couldn't save the only thing he ever loved, what kind of hero fails to do that?

The screaming of pedestrians and desperate pleas for help fall on deaf ears. The vehicle's engine rumbles and Leon's dead eyes stare at the road ahead. He leaves Raccoon City forever in his dust.

Six years have passed since the night you were taken from him. Leon wants to die, that much is for certain. The only thing preventing him from giving in is the fact that people need him. They all fail to see that he needs you, as he always will. Besides, he’s got some last few words he wishes to tell Umbrella before he bids this life farewell.

This is his life now. And in a morbid way, he thinks it is romantic. He read somewhere that if a swan dies, their surviving mate will fly into the sky and let themselves plummet to their death. Is that you and him? Should he put the final puzzle piece in your happily-ever-after and end it all? When the sun shines through the window and he wakes up without you again, however, Leon cannot romanticize the empty shell he is trapped within. He is desperate to know why you couldn't have taken his body with you on your way to heaven. Why death couldn’t have brought him eternal peace the very second you passed.

These several years have been spent drowning in alcohol. Leon has no preference for whatever booze he consumes, either. Anything that will make him forget it all will do the trick. At the bar with concerned bartenders or in his almost-empty liquor cabinet at home — he’ll take whatever he can get his hands on.

All his nights are now spent beneath the golden lights of the local bar. Dawn is spent crying on the kitchen floor with a queasy stomach. His days are all the same, too. Saving the lives of helpless citizens, he never forgets how the glimmer of gratitude in their eyes should have been yours.

This night in particular was no different. Leon has nearly drunk the entire bar's alcohol supply in hours. He imbibes a glass of whiskey and cringes at the cheap taste. Too sweet. Poorly made. He does not mind this, however, as anything that can ease the pain is satisfactory enough. And just like any other night, Leon is thinking of you. He watches the ice cubes dance in the cup, arms lazily resting on the sticky countertop. If only things were different, then he wouldn't have to be in this shit-hole right now. He could spend all his nights with you, instead. God, he misses you.

"You look lonely."

Leon didn't have to look up from his glass to know what was happening. At a place like this, it was inevitable.

He never took to heart whenever his coworkers teased him with names such as "pretty boy" or "Leonardo DiCaprio." It seemed to be a "chick magnet," as they so called it. So, when another stranger approaches him with that familiar glint in their eye, he knows what they want from him.

"I can fix that."

Leon looks to where the woman is sitting beside him. Like he does with every courting, he searches her for any remnants of you. If he were honest with himself, these people served as a good distraction. Enough bottles and he can delude his fuzzy brain into believing it was you standing beside him instead of another stranger.

The sight is blurred from his intoxicated state, but his judgment is clear as day. Her face shape and height contrast from yours. She is an inch or two shorter. Her smirk is sensual, not as toothy and adorable as your vivacious smile. Her body is entirely different, as well. Too bony, with wonky proportions that were nothing like you. The only similarity was her eye color. Your exuberant shimmer was missing, but the collection of hues shared puny similarities.

Eh. Good enough.

"Daddy! S-So big- fuck!"

The blaring sounds of heavy rock playing outside the motel room do not ease the headache Leon has, nor does the vociferous calamity of this woman. She doesn't sound anything like you. Too submissive, too goddamn insufferable. In his head, he can only imagine the dulcet sounds he could pull from your pretty lips. This woman was ruining that heavenly fantasy.

"I told you to be fucking quiet."

He uses his strength and pins her harder against the squeaking mattress. Insufferably irritating moans are muffled upon shoving that loud mouth into the pillows. Leon squeezes his eyes shut and puts all attention to the image he has painted in his mind.

You'd be different, much different. He can only imagine you beneath him like this. Harsh demands formed from your dulcet voice, commanding his every move and action. Telling your puppy dog to make you feel good with the promise of a reward — the thought alone never fails to send a shiver through his body. Leon is sure your golden voice praising him is all he needs to die happy.

"Fuck, 's too much. Daddy-"

The reverie shatters as quickly as it was formed. His calloused hands find the woman's hair and he forces her further into the pillows. She is not opposed to being treated roughly in the sheets, discernible in the way her moans and mindless babbles increase in volume.

"Shut your fucking mouth!"

Leon would be different, too. Much softer than this. He would handle every inch of your skin like he's unmasking an archeological masterpiece. God, he couldn't treat you roughly even if he wanted to. Ruin every orgasm of his, leave his body littered with bruises and scratches. He would be a slave to your every whim, as pain at your hand would bring him bliss like no other. And in return, Leon would still touch your body with the same glass-like softness he is only ever capable of treating you with.

He buries his face into the stranger's shoulder and inhales the scent of their perfume. It is nauseating and nothing like you. Artificially sweet and too strong. Leon desperately fills the plot holes in his fantasy and imagines you dolling yourself up for him. Maybe after a tireless day at work, he would arrive home to you greeting him with a surprise. Where you got all dressed up for his eyes only and allowed him to indulge in your body again and again and again and again.

He can only imagine the look in your eyes when you call him your puppy, your husband, your good boy.

The thought sends him over the edge.

It is not a euphoric unfolding. It is sharp. Gross and weak. It is merely something to help him get by, even just barely. At least tonight Leon was able to finish inside a warm body instead of the plastic toy he keeps in his bedside drawer.

He doesn't even remember the name of this stranger. However, that doesn't matter when loud whines of your name jump out of his throat instead. The word tumbles from his mouth as though if he spoke it enough, you would materialize into this bed with him.

The unsatisfied woman does not overlook this. Another person's name shamelessly moaned by the man she thought she would have some late-night fun with, is he serious? She rolls her eyes and escapes from his sweaty hold. As she dresses herself, rehearsing how she'll tell this horror story to her friends, Leon stays on the bed. He does not try to stop her from leaving.

The afterglow is feeble, but he merely pretends it is as strong as he knows it would be with you. He wants to ensnare his body around yours and reaffirm just how deeply he loves you. He just wants to be with you again, no matter what the circumstances are. In the sheets after Earth-shattering sex with the love of his life or back in the grimy streets of Raccoon City, he will take anything if it means looking into your eyes again.

The door closes with a slam. Leon is now alone. But, then again, how could he notice? It is what the past six years have looked like, after all.

2,327 days and counting since he lost you.

If you asked him all that time ago where he thought he'd be right now, he would answer with the hope and happiness he only had then. He'd sit cozy in the little cabin in the woods you and he would occupy, he was sure of it. Summers would be spent in the sunlit lakes and Winters would be spent huddling for warmth by the fireplace. Years would pass like this. All laughter and kisses, snuggles, and healing hearts.

These fantasies haunt him like a horror-flick ghost floating around an attic, as it is what his life could have been had he not failed to protect you. He could have you in his arms this very second, but because of his God-awful driving skills, your body was left behind in the rubble of Umbrella's mistakes. It is what he devoted his entire career to now: tearing down that damned corporation. It is why he is in this motel room, to begin with, where he rots in these musty sheets and sleeps with people he can't remember the names of.

Images of you and him sharing smiles flicker through his brain and lull him. Your eyes are the last thing Leon sees before he falls asleep.

It is a light slumber. He does not dream, he is merely unconscious. When he wakes an hour later, it is like he has not slept at all. As if the short period of time passed in a sheer blink. This is what his sleeping schedule normally looks like nowadays, complemented by the heavy, storm-grey bags beneath his eyes.

The sheet draped over his waist leaves him cold. The Winter weather creeps into the room and engulfs his naked skin in goosebumps. When Leon tries to grasp more of the cheap blankets to drape himself in, he is at a loss when he finds himself unable to move. Almost as though a weight had forced him back onto the bed. He can't move even a muscle; he is wholly and utterly paralyzed.

There's a soft footstep that permeates. Leon's eyes dart around the room, but there is nothing to perceive in the dark emptiness. When he tries to open his mouth and question if that woman has returned, his jaw remains locked shut.

Another footstep. He searches for anything to defend himself from whatever monster lurks in the shadows.

Then, another step. There is no doubting someone is in this room with him. He tries to regain mobility of his body, scrambling to use his fists or to find his gun.

"Leon?"

Something blooms within him. A vibrant, healthy flower persevering through the fiery ashes.

"It's me..."

Home. That is the only word Leon could use to explain your voice. Like the swirling scent of oven-fresh cookies made by his grandmother. Like the imagination in his mother's voice when she read him a bedtime story. Like the scent of freshly mowed grass when he plays outside after school. The cadence and inflection of your words bring a sense of comfort like no other. Honey-sweet in the purest form.

Through the dust-ridden curtains, the hues of streetlight seep into one corner of the room. You step into the light, midnight shadows framing your features. You're dressed in the exact clothing he last saw you wearing, in the absence of all that blood and grime from that night. Those beautiful, beautiful eyes bore into him as you step closer. Sitting down on the edge of the mattress, a smile grows on your lips and robs him of all coherent function.

Leon can't but wonder if this was it, if he had died on this disgusting motel bed and you were finally taking him back into your arms. He doesn't even mind losing all sense of mobility, as long as you keep looking at him like that. Neither his face nor his body can physically react to the rush of emotion that comes with your presence, but it is more than perceptible in his eyes. Sky-gray irises drowned in oceans of fervor. Baby blues overwhelmed with shimmering, flamboyant love.

"If only you had just heard me out, then I could actually be with you right now." Your words, as heavenly as they sound, confuse Leon.

You tuck some fallen wisps of blonde hair away from his face and he swears it is real. His heart hammers like a snare drum. This is real, it must be real, it has to be.

"If only you had just looked at the damn road instead of me. Then neither of us would be in this mess, would we?"

Something shifts in your gaze. That smile he loves so much is torn away and replaced with a scowl. There is now a perceptible rage in your expression, drowned in hollow emotion that clenches his heart.

"And look at you now! Cheating on me with someone you knew for three fucking seconds!? Like everything we have means jack shit to you!"

No, no, no, no, no! It's not like that! She means nothing, she is nothing! He only used her as a placeholder for you! There isn't a single redeeming feature about her that compares to you. Jesus Christ, how could he want anyone else when you exist?

Leon tries to respond, he really does. He wants to tell you how sorry he is, how badly he wishes he could go back six years and change it all. How many hours he has spent with his hands clasped in prayer, apologizing relentlessly to the sky and hoping you'll hear him from down here. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry.

You stand from the bed, hands balled into fists at your side. "You're not gonna say anything? Just lay there and look at me like I'm nothing but-!"

A figure then barrels at you from the shadows. Your infuriated rant was cut short with a gut-wrenching shout when you are knocked to the ground. Saturated flesh peeking from dead skin and groans of hunger plunging from their slack mouth — a zombie had leaped from the darkness and sunk its teeth into your shoulder. Blood spouts from your wound and cascades down your body. You plead for Leon to help you, that he not leave you behind like he did all those years ago. And so desperately, Leon tries to.

A scream is locked behind his closed mouth as he tries to wrestle his way back to you. It pries and fights to escape, as though the force of his shout would be enough to convince this brainless creature to leave you be. Eyes blown wide with dizzying panic, all he can do is watch. His toned chest, sheen with sweat, rises and falls with rapid movements. Muffled whimpers of horror escape from the subtle crease of his mouth.

With every beating second your life fades away, the more Leon latches to any vigor he can grasp. His efforts to save you are overwhelmed in sheer desperation. He cannot let this happen all over again; he cannot lose you a second time. It would kill him, he is sure of it.

Something twitches in his finger. Then his foot. And for a moment, hope flickers in his mind. He can save you and atone for what he failed to do before. When the squelching sounds of flesh torn asunder fill the silence, that hope wears thin.

Like a bag of sand, Leon is able to drag his limp body across the mattress. His jaw weakens, to where sounds of despair are granted the ability to escape in roaring fervency. Off the side of the bed with the speed of a slug, he hits the ground with a harsh thud. Hauling himself onto his stomach, a verbiage of your name leaves his mouth.

He begins to crawl helplessly to where you are, only to stop in his efforts when he finds nothing. The lights from outside still seep into the room and the racket sounds of rock music still play from a room over. But, you have vanished. Leon stares at where you had fallen, scrutinizing every detail for any resemblance of you.

Misery strikes like a gunshot through his chest. Why did he fail again? Why can't he be enough, even for just once?

Why do you always leave him in the end?

He is alone again. Sat by himself on top of the soiled motel carpet and used condom he had frivolously thrown across the room. But, once again, how could he notice? It is what the past six years have looked like. And now, it is what the rest of his life will likely be encompassed in — empty solitude and hopeless dreams of you.

Leon does not sleep for the rest of the night. He is far too restless from the stressful events, terrified of watching that scene play out all over again. The digital clock on the bedside table provided minimum light, where the vibrant red numbers tick away. All he does is lie in this mess, watching the hours drift away.

A dark blue soon ensnares the sky. Birds squawk and sing. Dawn has finally arrived and so does the sun, bathing the room in its glowing orange and pink hues.

Your sunrise welcomes him, once again. The warmth and its serenity fails to placate him, though. Sitting here, he realizes how much of a fool he was to believe it was you in some form. The very second you left, you took everything warm and bright with you. You left him cold and empty and lifeless. You nestled the sun behind your resting eyes when your life faded away.

Cuddling up with you in that imaginary cabin is the only thing that can vitalize him. Two cups of steaming tea, watching the wind sway through the trees from the porch. Oh, the things Leon would take to bring this fantasy to life. To bring you back into the warmth of his arms is all he could ever need, where you will be safe and forever alive.

6:02 AM on the clock, Leon is expected at work in the following hour. Without a morsel of energy left in his feeble body, the thought of standing on this grimy floor overwhelms him with disdain.

Despite how badly he wishes to beat all scientists involved with Umbrella to a bloody pulp, he must take a course of action that abides by legal standards. To do this, Leon must work behind the scenes, ensuring every nail and screw is fastened with flawless finesse. This slow journey toward his goal of tearing Umbrella to shreds has taken a toll on him. No punching bag to take his rage out and his anger nestles itself into his body. Once Umbrella is six feet under, only then will he grant himself permission to join you and let Earth reclaim his body.

Today, Leon is now a part of the Torrents: a Capture-Force team designated to take down Umbrella's rumored return and prosecute those working for them. He has been assigned to replace someone on the team upon their suspension for "severe mental issues,” or whatever that entails. Alcohol heavy on his breath and bags beneath his eyes, Leon arrives at work for the day. He walks through the doors of a sanctuary Umbrella was confirmed to have been located at but has since fled from.

"You're late."

Leon doesn't care to look at the voice, as he already acknowledged and dismissed the vibrant "7:39 AM" on his wristwatch. They should be grateful he was even here in the first place and not rotting in bed.

"Not exactly rooting for employee of the month. Do I look the type?"

Leon's comment causes him to let out a quick huff of laughter. This new guy is much more amusing than his previous coworker, after all.

"Tyrell. Call me 'T."

He takes his hand out for Leon to shake, which he ignores. Tyrell stuffs his hand back into his pocket upon his refusal to reciprocate. An awkward silence settles between them.

"Leon. But, you knew that already."

The blonde then walks away from his new acquaintance. He can't recall the last time he had one, no less a genuine friend. The only person he put honest effort into discerning was you. Everyone else was just painfully bleak background noise stood behind your radiant aura. There is no one in the universe he wishes to befriend anymore, not when you're gone.

Leon treads through the building in search of the office organized by the team. Working behind a desk provides him his wanted rest, but taking part in the action scene provides an acute distraction. With his hands covered in blood and his fingers reeking of gunpowder, it is the most peace he can feel. Punch after punch, shots upon shots — the thought of you is eased little by little. The memory of you still lives on, but it is ephemeral moments like this where Leon can forget it all.

Several workers walk through the halls with heavy boxes marked "EVIDENCE". Others photograph imperative scenery around them, while some are busy scribbling on their notepads. Leon passes all of them without a second thought. However, two of his coworkers in particular capture his attention.

They both guide a surviving patient through the hallway. A young man holding a file in his hands and a perceptible fear in his eyes. The man then swiftly, albeit pathetically, throws himself at Leon and the file is shoved against his chest upon impact. A few of the files' contents slip from the folder and splat against the tiled floors. Hands curled around the sheepskin hems of his jacket, the man begs Leon for his help.

"Please, you have to help me! I-I'm looking for someone."

Leon's stare is harsh. Cold and empty. Any living creature would surely keel over beneath that terrifyingly vacant gaze. The man, riddled with desperation, perseveres through this fear and continues to plead.

"They're my best friend... Please..."

The guards quickly shuffle over to the scene. Their hands grip the man's shoulders, but do not apply any further pressure. They look to Leon, waiting for the demand of their superior.

And without breaking eye contact, Leon speaks.

"Get him out of my sight."

They do as told, nearly shoving the man to the ground in their efforts to escort him out of the building. The hopeless gleam in his eyes should have sparked some form of guilt within Leon. Looking into that man's eyes, however, he feels nothing. Leon instead shifts his gaze to the ground. There, right beneath his boot, the sight of something causes his heart to quicken. Swiftly taking it into his gloved hands, his breath is then yanked from his chest.

In the polaroid is no other than you.

Snow engulfs the ground and you’re dressed in a large coat that practically swallows you whole. Pine trees blanketed in the white matter surround you. With chunky mittens on, you form a heart with your hands. Snowflakes descend from the sky, a few landing on your shoulders and knitted hat. Behind you, a stack of plastic sleds. You're captured with that smile of perfection on your face, the very smile that could rival the sun.

How...?

How did he have this? Leon could've sworn he had every picture of you...

He crosses the hallway in several large strides and finds him in mere seconds. With every sliver of strength in his body, Leon tears the man from the grasp of the guards and shoves him against the wall.

"Where did you get this!?" His voice has been reduced to a gruff timbre. A horrifying whisper.

Gesturing at the Polaroid, the man looks at him in bewilderment.

"W-What are you talking about-?"

Leon's forearm pushes against the base of his throat, pressing harder and arousing choked gasps from his throat.

"I won't ask you again..."

"Me! Me, I-I took it! I took the picture!" The man, wide-eyed and terrified, desperately exclaims the truth. However, his answer seemed to be the exact opposite of what his interrogator wished for.

Calloused hands clasped around his collar, Leon pulls the man back before shoving him back into the wall. A blood-curdling crack, then a grunt pervades the air. The unmistakable scent of iron diffuses from the man's skull, inevitable from the force of the hit. Leon practically snarls through his heavy breaths.

"When!? When'd you take this fucking picture!?"

The man slurs out his answer, now rendered delirious from the strike his head endured.

"Jan... January... La-Last January..."

The world then shatters around Leon.

The tumultuous clamor of everything falling apart before his eyes robs him of any coherent, proper function. These past six years play out like another nightmare. Every sip of alcohol, every aimless nightmare, every mediocre hookup — it all crumbles and joins the rubble of the destruction.

This whole time... This whole time you...

His vision blurs as the revelation settles, swimming through a void of vertigo and devastation. A sharp ringing permeates around him. It complements the sound of his hyperventilating breaths and hammering heartbeat. The firm grasp he once held on the man weakens, to where he scrambles away from Leon and his violent antics.

This whole time you were...

Alive...?

Leon turns his feet and stumbles away. Sweat seeps down his face and then his neck, staining the musk-stained clothes he had not washed in weeks. The sheer luminosity of the white lights, white walls, and white floors do not aid him in his attempts to soothe his sorrows. There's a sudden tightness in his chest. Leon brings his hand up to the painful ache, falling in his efforts to mend his affliction, once again.

"Are you alright, sir?"

The new voice could easily be spoken from miles away. Vanished and impossible to discern. Leon tries to clutch the walls to maintain his stability, but this inevitably fails him, as the shock derived from this epiphany sends his weak body to the unforgiving ground.

"I'm dying..."

He can hardly recognize his own voice. It is now a higher, fearful pitch than he is used to. The other person speaks once more, but he cannot perceive what was said. Their words are merely a quiet boat in a thrashing ocean.

"I can't breathe. I can't breathe."

This feeling of realization bubbles in his chest and infiltrates every inch of his form. His chest is overwhelmed with panicked breaths. Up and down, up and down. The stranger then sprints away from Leon. Their shouts for a doctor are distorted, now an echo Leon cannot discern.

Voices from his past speak to him from all directions. As though the very walls surrounding him were taunting him. Mocking every failure of his.

"Leon- LEON-!!"

"And look at you now! Cheating on me with someone you knew for three fucking seconds!?"

"I wanted to. I wanted to kill him."

"Ambushed. No possible way of getting them out of that mess..."

"If only you had just looked at the damn road instead of me."

His world has been torn to paper-thin shreds. Then, it all goes dark. Leon is left alone and unconscious in this vast abyss of nothingness.

Tyrell sighs in frustration. He wonders why this team has such a knack for hiring people with "severe mental issues".

A harsh cut to reality is what Leon was next met with. Inside this shoebox-sized hospital room, ragged belts are restrained around his limbs. Doctors rush in and out of the blinding-white room. A myriad of drugs course in his system, intended to ease the rampant panic pumping through his body. The aftermath of his panic attack was fresh, yet still, all Leon could think about was you.

How you, his sunshine, his sweet baby, have been alive all this time.

Leon thrashes and fights against his restraints, as though you were just outside the door, waiting for him to come scoop you in his arms and close the distance between you at once. For the umpteenth time, several nurses race into the room and sedate him. Again, he is forced into another fit of unconsciousness. This routine will go on to repeat numerous times. Knowing you are out there somewhere, alone, makes for a man inconsolable.

Several days pass before Leon is brought to a state of mediocre tranquility. His heart is still rampant, but with fear of more time wasted without taking proper action, he abides by the doctor's demands. He will do anything to get to you, after all. Kneel before God, succumb to the Devil. Face him with the most torturous, humiliating, gut-wrenching fate with the promise of your return and he will simply smile in response. Leon will lay with blood painting his teeth and purple bruises caked into his skin, unhinged with euphoria knowing you are the prize at the end of the tunnel.

Mere picoseconds had passed before he sprung into action. He is swift to return to his work. Fervently, he begins scouring through every detail Umbrella left behind to pinpoint the exact location you reside at.

The most valuable piece of evidence was security camera footage. A prominent clue that made Leon's stomach coil like a snake ensnaring itself around its prey. Outside of the window to your bedroom, the night-vision camera highlights the scene of two intruders. With careful ease, they pull your unconscious body through the room and flee to the adjacent forest with you in their arms.

Jill Valentine and Carlos Oliveira are their names.

Or, as Leon prefers to refer to them, two names that have now been added to his lengthy list of those who will face his wrath.

The team has theorized the two have been working for Umbrella and were assigned to sneakily escort survivors to a new location. Due to this, patients still in this present location are now being sent to a hospital guarded by the Torrents. A place where they will be kept far away from Umbrella's grasp. What the team can't piece together, however, is why the two never came back to take more survivors. They had plentiful opportunities, but you, Y/N L/N, are the only missing patient. Or, as the team has now assigned your code name as, "Baby-Eagle".

Now, Leon is coursing through Spain. Guns strapped in their holster, knives out at the ready, and a reveling rage in his eyes — he counts every second spent away from you. The chilling temperatures gust against his skin like sharp teeth as he practically tears the country asunder. All that matters is finding the face that has been stamped in every dream of his for the past six years.

Alive. Alive. Alive.

He still can't believe it. You are alive.

If Leon grants himself permission to revel in this fact, he will lose what little control he still possesses over himself. God knows how much he needs the slivers that still remain. These feelings, despite all, have kindled strength Leon never recognized. A new spark; a fresh, riveting chapter. Emotions which only you, some sort of sorcerer, are capable of conjuring.

A day has now passed of his relentless search. More and more does fear cradle Leon. Like a warm blanket nestled around his heart, he is horrified by the silence that ventures through the land of Los Iluminados. The mere thought of potentially stumbling across you, lifeless, is enough to evoke a gag from the back of his throat. He cannot handle that. He cannot lose you again.

The dim light of dusk irradiates the loading docks. Every rushed step Leon takes causes the decrepit surface to moan weakly from the weight. He scrutinizes every shipping container, every nook and cranny, every barrel splattered with yellow paint. He becomes increasingly more ridden with desperation as his lasting hope begins to flicker.

Leon turns a corner and finds it: the sight he has been crying every night to see for six years. His mouth speaks before his brain can emulate these soul-crushing sensations.

"Y/N...!?"

You turn your head to the intrusion. Leon is shocked he had not died right there beneath your gaze.

You, his epic, undying love, rest there as though Botticelli painted you as the focal point for 'Birth of Venus'. Sat against some paper sacks like Venus stood on her scallop shell, Leon has never seen a sight quite as perfect as this. Strikingly similar to the pearl Venus resembles, you and her are pure and exquisite as you are brought to life. In a way, it is precisely the events which take place now. Six years wrestling with the burden of your death, only for you to be reborn before his very eyes like the natural, divine God you are. Absolutely, irrevocably perfect in your stance.

Leon stands frozen in place. Staring at this work of art, this utter masterpiece mere yards away from him. He is then taken aback when he feels something wet trickle down his cheeks. What he assumes to be rainfall is actually... tears?

All these years, he has begged the universe to feel his emotions. Or to feel anything, for that matter. It will not bring you back, as he wholly prayed for every night, but it would bring temporary, weak relief. Right now, as though you had some form of superpower, Leon cries. He cries like he has never before. His face twists into an ugly scrunch; he can feel the hot tears and stringy snot seep down his skin. He listens to the gut-wrenching sobs protruding from his chest and holds his hand over his heart, overwhelmed by the intensity the organ is enduring.

Despite the tragic scene, Leon has never been happier. The journey these six years have taken him on has been rough. Irrevocably soul-crushing. Seeing you here, beautiful as you always were, makes everything worth it — utterly, indubitably, and completely.

Then, someone else interrupts.

Ada Wong, a few years older, steps into view. Guarding you from the unwelcome intruder.

The epiphany strikes like a broken heart. It is not betrayal, as he has never trusted Ada. Rather, it is a flood of humiliation. It is absolute shame, unadulterated and pure. How could he have been such a fool?

All this time, Ada had kept you with her. She was the reason he was apart from you; she was the distance that stood between two soulmates. That must be the story, right? She sunk those acrylic claws into your pretty skin and took you away from him, spewing lies about your death and granting Umbrella access to you.

Leon is hit with this epiphany. Hit with what he perceives to be the truth. And it makes him alive with rage.

"It was you, wasn't it...?"

The silence is shattered by his voice. Sewn with fury and nestled deep inside him. His attention, once solely devoted to the love of his life, has now been shifted towards someone else. The one he believes to be responsible for these six years of sheer agony.

"This whole fucking time-!"

In one swift motion, Leon storms over with his fingers clenched to his holster. You stand from the paper sacks and use your body as a shield between Ada and him. Your hand ghosts over Leon's chest to prevent any more unwanted violence. And how unaware you are of the sheer impact your physical touch has on this man.

For a moment, just a fleeting second, Leon is able to overlook the context of the circumstances. Your hand barely makes contact with his body, and from them, he can feel your warmth. The same warmth he has been chasing after; the same warmth he has killed himself over and over to try and retrieve again. It is like a gentle breeze, like tepid bath water. Somehow, your simple touch has pacified his rage as though it were merely child's play to you. Something Leon never thought was feasible.

And just like always, Ada Wong is there to shatter yet another trance.

"Have you really gone so far off the deep end, that you think you could ever amount to being their boyfriend? You truly believe you deserve that title?" Ada laughs. A deep, mocking chuckle. "Are you really that delusional or just naturally blonde?"

You look at Ada and speak for the first time.

"'Boyfriend?'"

An expression of puzzlement is plastered on your face. In return, their heads whip to stare at you, brows furrowed while searching for confirmation.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Leon was never my boyfriend...?"

Their confusion deepens. Ada questions how she could have so foolishly fallen for a fantasy this dumb boy created. Leon questions why you are telling her such lies. You've been dating for almost seven years now, what are you talking about?

"Y/N/N, you don't have to lie to her. You know I won't let her hurt you."

Now, it is your turn to be just as perplexed as they both are. What the fuck is he talking about?

As you're busy scrutinizing him for an explanation, Ada grasps hold of your forearm. Protectively and with softness, she guides you away from the deranged antics of Leon. You lean into her touch in response, as your trust in her is stronger than whatever you feel for him. Especially after the events you and Ada have both endured today.

The man in question, however, does not favor this action. With a swiftness that makes you dizzy, Leon shoves her off of you. Ada falls to the ground from the force of his strength but gracefully springs to her feet. Eyes narrowed and hunting knife in hand, she is ready for battle.

A shriek then falls from your mouth when Leon takes his pistol from its holster but is replaced with shocked silence when Ada kicks the gun from his grasp with her stiletto heel. A stab towards his chest is easily blocked by his meaty forearm, but she still manages to retaliate and surges a punch across his jaw.

Everything happens so fast that it is impossible for you to keep up with the speed of it all. When Ada drops to her feet, encasing her leg around Leon's ankles and sending him to the floor, the loud clamor of his harsh landing takes you back to a few days ago. That bang! is all too familiar. The fire of gunshots out of Jill's gun and the pounding of their fists against flesh — these memories return more harshly than before. Your heart hammers with dread and adrenaline, as though the same inner turmoil has returned yet again.

Once again, who do I choose? The clingy customer at Mizoil, the overly affectionate Superwoman, or myself?

In a state of pure instinct, you do what you predominantly fail at the most. Run.

You don't anticipate how close they may be behind, or if two of your past lovers may be waiting somewhere in the forest. You do not pay these thoughts any attention, for that matter. Focused entirely on the path ahead, you run like you never have before. And if it weren't for the rampant adrenaline coursing through your system, you could say you've become familiar with this forest. It is almost ridiculous how much you have raced past all these trees. Burning lungs, numb legs and all — oh, this is really getting old.

When a sudden force knocks you to your feet, you can feel yourself begin to succumb to lethargy. The relentless sprint and post-laser-induced pains have become too much for your body to endure. Shifting your gaze up, however, you are met with a burst of energy when you see that you have collided with... A person?

Thick gear is strapped to his strong body. Glasses are rested upon the bridge of his nose. This is the first stranger you have seen in months and you do not know how to handle it.

"Oh, shit. It's really you..." His concerned gaze peers at you through his foggy eyewear.

When his fingers ghost over your arm, you flinch away from him. You do not mean to do this, but your body, riddled with turmoil and trauma, reacts before your brain can.

"It's alright, it's alright..." His voice goes softer. "My name is Tyrell. I'm here to help you."

He reaches a cautious hand out to you, as though you were a feeble, terrified animal backed into a corner. Your trust has been worn thin, but whatever fight left in your system has entirely perished. You cannot run anymore; you cannot defend yourself. If this is death, then you will welcome it with open arms. At least you can say you've made it this far.

Lifting a shaky hand up, you let out a gentle gasp when you make physical contact with him. With tender encouragement, Tyrell brings you to your feet. Your tired legs wobble as though you were a baby fawn. Touch that does not inevitably follow with romantic expectations is something foreign to you. This level of kindness has almost become a stranger. Although you would never verbalize it, his touch feels good. It is a comfort; a softness.

Before you know it, your eyes flutter shut. Your body fails you and you collapse into Tyrell's arms. Now, unconsciousness comes as a solace, instead of that familiar trepidation.

And so engrossed in their own feral need for dominance, neither Ada nor Leon had taken notice of your sudden disappearance.

Fresh bruises and blood splatters permeate their bodies. What neither of them realizes about the other is that Leon fights hard, yes, but Ada doesn't fight fair. In a matter of several seconds, she takes the man to the metal floors, once again.

Leather heels pressed to his neck, she points his own pistol to his face.

"Now stay down."

Leon has never been one to back down. Even with death staring directly into his eyes, never once has he begged. However, with you here, alive, he can't bear to be torn from you again.

"Don't... Please, I-I'll do whatever you want. Just please don't take me away from them. Not again..."

Ada is nearly struck dumbfounded by this new side of him. Leon Kennedy, the savior of the president's daughter, one of the few survivors of Raccoon City, is begging for his life? What has she done to this man? Or, above all, what have you done to him?

"Tell me what Umbrella wants with Y/N."

Leon's eyes trail off behind her, seemingly searching for something with frantic movements. Her words had merely gone through one ear and out the other. His silence is only met with frustration.

"I've kept you away from them for this long." Her finger moves to hover over the trigger. "I can easily turn those six years into forever."

"Where did Y/N go?" Leon cuts her off.

Ada nearly snaps her neck with how fast she turns around. Dark eyes scanning the loading docks, her stomach sinks into a sea of dread when she cannot find you. Leon scrambles to his feet and searches alongside his nemesis. Shouts of your name echo into the gloomy skies; their hammering hearts could rival a war drum.

From here, yet another search for you begins. And between them, there is now an unspoken agreement, a newfound alliance. Although their plans rarely come to fruition, they have both found a conclusion together. The two are now wholly focused on the scheme they will achieve or die striving for.

Find you, ensure your safety, and keep you forever in their arms.

A warm, wet rag pressed against your forehead is what you awaken to next. The sudden shift into consciousness causes you to jerk back. Your eyes burst wide, scrutinizing as much of your environment as you can.

You're finally out of that dark forest. Now, you've been rested upon a dilapidated couch. Damp clothes are still stuck to your body, but a thick comforter has been draped upon you. The golden lamplight highlights Tyrell, who sits on the coffee table beside you. With a bowl of water and a rag in his hand, he looks at you with a concerned gleam in his gaze.

You are brought to a mild sense of ease once you comprehend your surroundings. You do not have it within you to trust anyone, but for some reason, this man has brought tranquility you cannot explain. Safety has become a rarity. And you gobble every breadcrumb of it you are able to garner.

"Welcome back." He jokes. His tone is still quiet, as it has been. Careful.

Your throat aches, but you still speak.

"Where am I?" You nearly cringe at how scratchy, how pathetic your voice is.

"My house." This does not calm you. Tyrell notices.

"Hey, no one can get you in here. You are safe, I swear it." His assurances help ease you. He, once again, takes notice of this before continuing.

"I'm sure you have a 'lotta questions for me, huh? I got some for you, too."

"Umbrella. What do they want from me?"

"That's a good question because I don't know either. It's what we're trying to figure out." You furrow your brow, to which he answers to your confusion. "I work with a team called the Torrents. We've been tasked with locating Umbrella and finding any survivors. You were top of our list, 'Baby-Eagle'. Now that you're safe and sound, my teammates can finally get some sleep."

Your smile grows at that nickname. God, when was the last time someone elicited a genuine smile from you?

"We think they may have been testing on some of the patients they have. Do you happen to know anything about that?"

Then, the dread settles with the realization. Jill and Carlos were right this whole time. When you would travel to the ends of the Earth to defend that corporation, it was all for a lie in the end. When Jill and Carlos saved you from them, you paid them back with cruelty and distrust. You left them both in the dust when all they wished to do was save you. Should you have ever left them?

"What about Carlos Oliveira? Jill Valentine? We know they had, um... taken you. If you're willing to talk about them, I'm all ears. 'Got all night, anyways."

There Tyrell goes again. The voice of reason in a bubble of incoherent regret.

"All I-um... All I remember is being at the sanct- er, Umbrella. I drank some tea and then I woke up in Jill and Carlos' house. The next several months, they-uh, they convinced me we were in a... relationship, of some sort. Matt- or Umbrella, found us in the end. They all hurt each other. Real bad. Then, I ended up here." Your words are quiet and broken, but Tyrell manages to pick up every cracked piece of your voice.

"Okay. I see..." He nods. "Do you think Jill and Carlos could have possibly been working for Umbrella?"

This question leaves you taken aback, evident in your dramatic reaction and scrunched face.

"God, no! They despised Umbrella. And I... I defended Umbrella. I thought they helped me, I thought they were the good guys. Every time Jill and Carlos talked shit about them, I would get so-" You interrupt yourself with a coughing fit.

Reaching to his side, Tyrell holds a plastic bottle of water in his large hands. The prospect of drugs floating through the liquid fills you with apprehension. However, with your throat on fire, you eagerly take the bottle and nearly down the entire beverage. Tyrell is one of the good ones, he wouldn't do that to you. You're sure of it.

"It's alright. You don't have to answer any more of my stupid questions, don't worry. All you 'gotta do is rest."

If you were more conscious and without the weight of fresh trauma, you'd make a joke of how he should be a voice actor with such a soothing voice like his. Tyrell's hand finds your shoulder and softly guides you back down to the couch. You ignore the unfamiliar, teenage-love-like bolt of electricity that flows from his touch and you follow his lead. When your head hits the rough fabric of the pillow, you let your heavy eyes fall.

When a door down the hallway bursts open, you cannot tell if you had been asleep for hours or if you had slept at all. Without Tyrell's presence, that all-too-familiar sense of terror returns. When you are barely able to discern his muffled voice through the walls, that terror is slightly diluted with ease. The context is what lies outside this room still has you riddled with fear.

Then, like every cheesy romance film you've ever seen, Leon Kennedy stands on the threshold of the living room entrance.

You are barely allowed a mere second to process his presence before he is barreling for you. His arms, thick and warm, ensnare around your waist. He exhales your name with a breathless tremor, burying his head further into the crevice of your neck. And you melt into him. After everything you've been through, a hug is something you are in dire need of. Leon croons in response, latching onto you tighter. Nestling himself closer against you like a touch-starved, needy puppy-dog.

"Oh, sunlight... I was so worried...!" Although this man has suffered drastic changes in the six years you've been without him, he never seems to have let go of that saccharine tone. Unbeknownst to you, you are the only one capable of summoning that side of Leon.

Although you feel safe in the comfort of Tyrell's home, there is still that stagnant terror fizzing in your stomach. A myriad of questions overwhelm your brain. What has happened? How much time has passed? Where is Ada?

You weaken your hold on him. He does not like that. "Leon. Please, I need to know-"

"Shh..." He interrupts, his hands trailing up your form until they grasp hold of your face. His grip on you, tighter than ever, shifts so he can gaze into your eyes.

"Just let me look at you..."

And that he does. Seconds, then minutes pass. All Leon does is stare directly into you. As though every inch of your irises were being studied to memory by him. As though he was pulling the depths of your soul to the surface of your eye, all for him to gawk and goggle at. It should make you blush and avert your gaze, as the characters normally do in those romance movies. However, you can't bring yourself to. You feel uncomfortable and scrutinized. As though you are restrained to a metal table for strangers and doctors to poke and prod at.

The doorbell then rings and the echo roams through the halls. You are broken from this entrance with Leon, but he is not. God, how could he?

With you here, all the cruelty he has been faced with is now wrapped together in a pretty bow. It was all a present, he now realizes. Everything that has happened led him to the personification of utmost, perpetual happiness. So, you must forgive him if he finds himself staring for too long (not that he even realizes, for that matter). It is impossible to fathom the flood of euphoria rushing through him, hence the dumbfounded, love-struck expression stamped on his face.

"Y/N..." He exhales, honey dripping from his voice.

Although he does not wish to close his eyes, Leon cannot imagine a better time to kiss you. Where the music swells, the candles glimmer, the moon gleams. It is what he has been dreaming about for six years, after all.

Just as Leon leans in, his intentions are cut short. Someone else, once again, interrupts.

Tyrell avoids the death glare from Leon and focuses on you, oblivious to how this action is the root of Leon's fury.

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything. Someone was just here for you, Y/N."

Carlos and Jill are the first people who enter your mind, here to take you back to the affection-ridden toxicity of their humble abode. When Tyrell holds his hands out and displays what this stranger left, however, you're taken aback.

"She claimed to be your wife...?"

Tyrell informs you with uncertainty in his voice.

"And she left this."

What he then gives to you is a plushie, one you remember all too well. It is an opossum, the very same opossum you cuddled with every night during your time at the sanctuary. You've missed him very much whilst you were stuck with Jill and Carlos. Despite your expressed wishes, they never made the effort to retrieve your darling opossum. Why cuddle some measly fabric and cotton when you can cuddle them instead?

You let out a sigh of relief. Thank God it is not those two at the door.

The only striking difference in your fuzzy friend is the blood-red ribbon tied around the opossum's neck. Wedged between the silk and faux fur is a folded piece of paper. Both Tyrell and Leon watch as you open the letter, digesting the contents written on the surface.

In red ink, "Wait for me, petal..." is written with flawless, cursive handwriting. Beneath, a dandelion is drawn. The pappus drifts through the wind and scatters across the paper.

Ada?

Why is she here? Where has she been?

Or, more importantly, how the hell did she find your opossum?

A rough, sharp gasp sprouts from Jill's throat when she awakens.

A flickering light sways above her, the sight blurred in her tired gaze. Her body aches from the awkward position she was unconscious in. Lifting her weakened body up, Jill discerns several bodies, painted in blood and grime, that had been splayed in a frivolous mess. There are miscellaneous documents scattered amongst this violent disarray. Shifting her distorted gaze, she finds two metal doors that had been sprung open. How the hell did she get inside of a truck? What caused it to crash in the first place?

Using the dented walls for support, she stumbles forward. Black dots dance in Jill's vision for a moment, before returning to a hazy blur as she staggers out of the vehicle. With an abrupt grunt, she collapses into the mud. Her hands, stained with dirt, hold her ribs in an attempt to ease the stagnant pain.

For this simple moment, Jill is alone in the world. When the most important thing in her life finally flashes through her mind, the pumping of her heart accelerates.

Y/N... Where did you go?

Memories of her last encounter with you return, as well. It harbors terror like no other. She speaks your name and it sprouts from her throat in a desperate call.

Jill's breath quickens when she discerns a voice. The indubitable sound of someone crying for help echoes through the forest. She turns to the source with hope and worry shimmering in her eyes. Oh, it's her baby, her butterfly! You need her help!

"Y/N...! I'm coming..." Her voice is weak, but her attempts are the entire opposite.

Jill limps through the forest, clambering over wreckage with frantic effort. Averting her blurred gaze to the sound of cries, her face drops when she finds something entirely different.

That doctor you are evidently so infatuated with is stuck beneath a pile of rubble. His face appears as though it had been sunken in. Drowned in a mess of gore.

And sitting on top of the doctor is no other than Carlos Oliveira, whose fists are painted in that same gore.

His clenched fists plunge into Matt's face over and over and over again. His teeth are barred and bloodied like some sort of animal. His voice is several octaves lower than ever before, all guttural growls and grunts like some sort of rabid creature. It is something Jill has never seen before. Not in Raccoon City, not when they took you from the sanctuary, not even when she took you out for a ride on her motorcycle. He is now a monster in its absolute form.

However, Carlos is not something she is concerned with at the moment. She hurls herself over to the two and shoves Carlos off of Matt. He falls to the ground with a loud thump and a harsh curse. Jill ignores his dramatic reaction, before climbing atop of Matt and ensnaring her hands around his red-stained neck. Jill then proceeds to interrogate him of your whereabouts.

"What did you do to them? Where the fuck did you take them!?" Jill does not recognize herself, either. Her voice has morphed into a low, violent tone, an inflection she never knew she was capable of producing.

Matt does not respond to her pressuring questions. He chokes and gurgles on chunks of blood, teeth, and spit. His eyes, now puffy and swollen from the relentless blows they have endured, gape at her in confused terror. However, not that Matt could even be given the chance to respond. Jill glances at the sudden movement in her peripheral and is met with Carlos' fist striking her cheek. The force of the punch sends her to the dirt.

"This is all your fucking fault, Jill!" Her ears almost ring from the sheer volume of his shout.

Once again, it is a side of Carlos she has never seen before. She can take a punch, that's for damn sure. God knows she's handled worse. But fuck, is he out for blood right now.

"If you had never taken Y/N outside, they never would've wanted to leave in the fucking first place!" The tremble in the back of Carlos' throat jeopardizes his intimidation factor. Of course, he is crying, Jill sighs to herself.

Her lanky fingers press into the damp ground to stabilize herself. Before she can bring herself back to her feet, however, something catches her eye. A single document among the millions. She takes the closest one into her grasp and reads through the classified contents. With that damned Umbrella logo in the corner, Jill is fully aware of what evil, corrupt plans await her in the following passage.

As Carlos sobs like a child behind her, whimpers of "my baby" and "come back to me" filling the silent air, she scours through the information printed on the page. Three names are stamped in bold: Jill Valentine, Carlos Oliveira, and Y/N L/N. More survivors collected from Raccoon City, they claim. There are reports of your physicality and state of being, accompanied by their predictions on how you'll react to their new testing. "Las Plagas" is what they refer to it as.

At the very bottom of the document, most imperatively, is a series of coordinates to their new location.

With this newfound, fruitful information, Jill trudges over to Carlos for additional aid. When she finds him practically tucked into a ball, sobbing his lungs out, she cannot restrain herself from rolling her eyes.

"Get up. Get up, pussy, come on-!" When she tugs on his arm, he pushes her harshly away from him.

"You don't understand!�� Brown eyes, overwhelmed with tears, glare at her in accusation. “I can't live without them..."

Jill is swift to counter back. "Neither can-fucking-I! And we will never see 'em again unless you man-up and fuckin’ listen to me!"

This grabs his attention.

"So, are you just gonna sit there and fuckin' whine about it or are you gonna help me?"

With a sniffle, Carlos nods in agreement.

"Good. Now get your shit together and find me a goddamn map."

Jill does not waste another second before springing into action. She begins with a thorough scrutinization of the scene of the crash, searching for any specific landmarks that will inform them of their current whereabouts. When all she finds is a street sign made of decaying wood that reads "Los Iluminados," she knows her luck is wearing thin.

When Carlos announces with a cracked voice his discovery, Jill limps with urgency to him. Nestled beneath the passenger seat is a map, crumbled and stained with filth. Jill yanks the paper from his hands and searches for the street they are currently stuck on, while also discerning the coordinates Umbrella had disclosed in their document.

Meanwhile, Carlos chokes out demands left and right. Asking her what all of this is for, and how this will help him in his efforts to reunite with his sweet bumblebee. Despite his irritating questions, she does not respond to him. She is too engrossed in her own head, manipulating her detective skills.

"There." Jill finally breaks her fit of silence.

Presenting the map to Carlos, she points to where the coordinates line up.

"That's where Y/N is."

A beat passes as Carlos, too, inspects the contents before him. Then, he snatches the map from Jill's hands. He storms off in the direction she advised with a desperate vengeance in his disposition.

When Jill takes a step to follow him, something clutches around her ankles. With a sharp gasp, she looks down to identify the sudden matter. When the hopeful fraction of her mind told her it could be you, she was met with disappointment when she finds Matt. Whining and pleading for her help, blood still oozing from his butchered head and seeping into the mud below.

Jill stares at the man with absolutely nothing in her eyes. She, instead, snatches a loose, sharp twig from the mess of detritus scattered around. Before Matt can obtrude another helpless plead, she drives the stuck directly into his eye. Blood squirts from the fresh wound like a fizzy soda. One last gurgle for air and his body finally goes limp.

She spits on his corpse. Then, Jill turns back to follow Carlos on his trail.

Wherever you may be, she will find you. Even if it kills her.

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

THE BONUS TRACK !

❝ I TRY TO FALL FOR HER TOUCH,

BUT I'M THINKING OF THE WAY IT WAS . . . ❞

long wait but we back again babyyyyy

gif creds :: leon.

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ichorai · 10 months

Text

airbag ; steve rogers.

track one of OK COMPUTER.

pairing ; steve rogers x reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; five time steve tries to propose to you, and one time he actually does.

words ; 4.3k

themes ; fluff, mild angst, kind of avengers tower au?

warnings / includes ; mentions/descriptions of injury, alcohol, lots of lovesick fluff, rest of avengers are mentioned, natasha and tony Meddling, reference to spider-man & sandman :)

main masterlist.

Steve considered himself a romantic of sorts. Call him old-fashioned, but he liked bringing you flowers, he liked taking you to the theater, and he liked walking you home—all the way up to your door and listening for the lock, so he knew you’d be safe in there.

It was only fitting how cliché it felt when he realized he was in love with you. Firework-igniting kisses and butterfly-filled tummies and face-splitting grins. Everything described in those movies you enjoyed watching—but so much more.

Steve Rogers wasn’t a man to waste time. After all—enough of that had been done while he was frozen in the ice. If he was going to start something, then he was most definitely going to go all the way and finish it, too.

Almost immediately after your first anniversary, he bought a ring. It was simple and classic, maybe a bit out of style but hey, you seemed to be into that. You were dating a century-year-old.

It was December then, soft snow lining the streets and piling upon naked tree branches. During the drive to the fancy restaurant he’d found (courtesy of Tony), there were children building snowmen and sledding down shallow hills. You smiled watching them, eyes rife with fond warmth, and Steve knew then that he had to do it. He had to propose to you tonight.

Inside, you wouldn’t stop telling him how underdressed you felt, but Steve reassured you by saying a simple, “You look perfect, I promise.”

And he wasn’t lying. You did look perfect to him.

Dinner consisted of several decadent courses, with the waiters serving platters the two of you could barely even pronounce. It was delicious, nonetheless, and the chef had even come by to shake the hand of the Captain America.

During the last course—a silken slice of chocolate cake for dessert—Steve slipped his hand into his suit’s pocket, the velvet box smooth beneath his fingers. He replayed the question over and over again in his head, rehearsed a million times prior to the dinner.

Will you marry me?

And just as he was about to pull the ring box out, another diner pushed his chair back just far enough to accidentally knock into a waiter passing by, holding a plate of spaghetti. Completely sauced, to top.

To Steve’s horror, the plate tipped, almost in slow motion, and fell with a wet, splattering noise all over your outfit. You’d let out a small yelp of surprise, the spaghetti was hot, but not enough to burn. Steve stood up a second too late, hand falling away from his pocket as he rounded the table and placed it on your shoulder, asking if you were okay.

“I’m okay,” you told him gently, reaching over to grab a few napkins at the center of your table.

You didn’t get mad, of course you didn’t—it was part of the reason Steve loved you so much—instead, you were kind and patient, reassuring the flustered waiter that it was alright. “Mistakes happen,” you said. Another waiter came by a few minutes later with a few damp cloths so you could wipe the rest of the spaghetti sauce off.

Needless to say, the chef insisted that the meal was on the house that night, much to Steve’s chagrin.

The drive back home smelled of marinara sauce and oregano, but the heavy weight in his chest at the failed proposal seemed to lighten when you joked about how the five course meal ended up being six.

Natasha knew about the ring. Steve wasn’t quite sure how—he’d never explicitly told her—but then again, he wasn’t surprised. Nat seemed to always just know things from the smallest of details. It was why she made such a brilliant spy.

“So,” she’d said once she stumbled across from Steve in the Avenger Tower’s lavish gym, a sly grin stretching over her lips, “when are you popping the question?”

There was a pause to his movements—the dumbbell he’d been curling hovered in the air, his muscles tensing. He thought about it for a little longer, considering asking her how she knew but—he seemed to sense that Natasha would wave it away with a laugh and a light, “A magician never reveals her secrets.”

Instead, he told the red-head, “I’m working on it.”

Natasha leaned against a treadmill, arms crossing over her chest. The smile on her face seemed to grow even wider. “Uh-huh. How long have you had the ring?”

Steve resumed doing his reps. The burn felt nice, even if it was only barely there. “Long enough.”

There was a soft tenderness to Natasha’s eyes, and she bumped a fist into his bicep. “Take Y/N hiking. Far away from the city, where it’s quiet.”

Again, Steve paused his exercise. Slow, he put the weights down, thinking over her words.

“That’s actually—that’s a good idea, Nat.”

“Of course it is.” There was a knowing glint in her eyes.

“Thanks, really. I just want things to be perfect.”

She dipped her head once, before climbing onto the treadmill. “Send pictures. I’ve got a bet going on—Clint would want proof.”

Steve spared her an amused roll of his eyes. With a wave and a hurried goodbye, Steve rushed out of the gym to take a quick shower. The weather app on his phone (that he took an embarrassingly long time to find) told him the skies were going to be clear that afternoon—perfect for hiking.

Maybe, hopefully, perfect for proposals.

Half an hour later, you were ready to go, too, bouncing on the balls of your feet excitedly.

“I packed us sandwiches.”

“Did you? Oh, great—thanks, honey. We could have them as an early dinner.” He rubbed your shoulder and nudged you into the car.

“I packed a bunch of snacks, too.”

Steve arched a brow. “Like?”

“Gummy worms, popcorn, chips, cookies. Oh, and Wanda actually made something for us, I’m not really sure what it is, but it smelled nice—”

Your words died away when Steve laughed, loud and chesty. Of course you’d pack just about the entire pantry. How you managed to stuff all of that into your travel backpack with room to spare was beyond him. You couldn’t help but break out into an infectious smile when he leaned forward to kiss you on the forehead.

The drive out of the city to the hiking trail was long, and you nearly dozed off if not for the road getting progressively bumpier the closer you got.

The sun was high in the sky by the time you arrived. You slipped out of the car with a pleased hum and stretched out your limbs, ready to get the hike over and done with. You might’ve been dating a superhuman, but you had no powers of your own. The pressure to keep up was something always in the back of your mind.

And that’s how the hike went—you were determined to stay on par with Steve, no matter how grueling the terrain became. Even when he suggested a break to have some of the many snacks you’d packed, you tossed him your bag and kept trekking on—you were worried that if you stopped, you would never get back up again.

Really, you shouldn’t have overexerted yourself this quickly—the two of you were barely halfway done with the trail. Your feet were starting to drag, and your pace grew staggered. Just as you turned around to face your boyfriend and ask for a breather, your foot caught on a tree root that poked up above the trail’s surface, and you stumbled forward.

Thankfully, Steve’s quick reflexes came in handy, and he darted forward to grab you before you could go rolling down the steep hills.

He tugged you close into his chest, not yet registering your wince of pain. “Are you okay? That was a close one!”

When you pulled away, you gingerly tried to test your wait on the foot, but quickly lifted it back up with a grimace. “Oh, God. I think I’ve rolled my ankle.”

Steve stiffened, glancing further up the trail. It was maybe another two hours, but that was only with two fully-functioning pairs of legs.

The proposal would have to wait another day, then.

He cupped your face, soft and gentle. “Wrap your arms around my neck from behind. I’ll carry you down to the car.”

“You sure, Stevie? I can try hopping down on one foot.” You tried to demonstrate, but nearly lost your balance again. All the jostling sent bolts of pain down your foot, which surely wasn’t a good sign, either.

He snorted, huff-laughing, other hand slipping over your waist to keep you still. “I’m sure. Come on.” He leaned down expectantly.

Relenting, you wrapped your arms over his shoulders and hooked the inside of your thighs over his waist, careful to keep your injured foot extended so it wouldn’t bump into him. It was beginning to throb.

“‘M sorry,” you mumbled, resting your cheek over his shoulder, one of your hands lifting to toy with his short, blonde hair. He began to walk down, and you tried your best to ignore the pain in your ankle. “Ruined our hiking trip. I was so excited.”

“It’s okay, honey. It was an accident! We can always go another time. Maybe a different trail, though.”

You apologized again, the whole way down, in fact, despite his assurances that he wasn’t at all tired. He really wasn’t—barely broke a sweat during the descent. Besides, he quite liked the feeling of your holding so tight onto him, your nose pressed into the side of his neck, your soft laughter brushing over his skin in one moment, your slight winces in the next.

“I love you,” you whispered, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

He felt a shiver traverse down his back, and briefly wondered if you felt it, too.

“I love you, too. That tickles, though.”

Your laugh was abrupt and ever so heart-warming. “Sorry.”

The movie, you’d told him, was a cult classic from the seventies. Steve couldn’t really remember what it was called. Callie? Cassie? It was an awful lot of blood. The arm he had wound over your shoulder squeezed you every time someone screamed in the film—which was… startlingly often.

Proposing in the middle of a gorey movie wasn’t exactly the romantic vision Steve had in mind, but since the previous attempts really didn’t work in his favor, he wondered if keeping it casual was the best way to go. So when you asked if he could come over for an abrupt movie night, he readily agreed—and brought the small, velvet ring box with him.

It was tucked safely in the pocket of his slacks, on the side you weren’t pressed up against. The weight was a constant reminder of what he wanted to ask you—occupying his mind away from the movie he should’ve been paying attention to.

He’d propose once the credits started rolling. Yes, that’d be best, right? Wouldn’t want a horrified scream interrupting his profession of undying love to you.

And so he watched. He watched and watched, absentmindedly wondering what on earth the movie was even about. He dragged his knuckles up and down your arm. When a particularly gruesome scene unfolded, Steve glanced over at you.

To his surprise, your features were softened with sleep, only barely illuminated by the crimson glow from the television, your lips slightly parted and eyes shut.

With gentle movements, Steve reached over to guide your head onto his shoulder. Your hair tickled his cheek, and he let out a soft puff of a sigh before smiling. He kissed your temple, nose resting over your forehead.

The proposal would have to wait another day.

Tony’s parties were always an affair that Steve looked forward to. He wasn’t a party-goer by any means, but he found that the grand events were a great way for him to catch up with all his colleagues, acquaintances, and work associates he otherwise wouldn’t have spoken to for months to come.

And, of course, your excitement always seemed to rub off on him. You were buzzing about the room with what looked like twenty different outfits hanging off of your arms, holding them between you and the mirror with a scrutinizing look.

“Tucked or untucked?” you asked, more to yourself than him. He wasn’t given the chance to respond, anyway, since you chucked the shirt somewhere behind you and promptly started looking for another.

When you’d finally settled for appropriately formal attire, and Steve slipped into a button-up dress shirt (which was his one and only option, much to your envy), the two of you set off for Tony’s.

The party was already in full swing by the time you got there. Steve wasn’t entirely sure what the event was for—an anniversary or birthday, maybe? Fundraising gala? A celebration of some sort of scientific breakthrough Steve couldn’t even begin to comprehend? It was always a toss-up with Tony.

You were greeting people here and there, stopping to chatter amicably about what you’ve been up to, how work was going, the latest shows you’ve been catching up with…

And then you kissed his cheek and told him you were going to go grab some drinks. Steve watched you go with fond eyes. You looked incredible tonight.

A hand on his shoulder jolted him out of his reverie, and Tony Stark’s smug face came into view.

“Enjoying the party?” he asked, sly and knowing. What did he know?

“Hey, Tony. We only just got here. What’s all this for, by the way?” Steve crossed his arms and glanced around for any telltale signs.

A smirk flitted across his expression. “Just thought we all needed a bit of social activity pumped into the team. It’s a great place to… get your courage up, hm?” Tony smiled, and Steve narrowed his eyes.

“Did Natasha tell you?”

Tony snorted. “We all know.”

“Great.” Steve slid his hand into his pocket and traced the smooth grooves of the ring box. “Is everyone expecting me to propose tonight?”

“No, pfft—we don’t want to pressure you or anything…” Tony pointedly glanced at a stage conveniently placed front and center of the room. “But if you need some, what should I call it… assistance, the stage is all yours to use.”

Steve balked. Proposing at a party was one thing, but proposing on a stage in front of hundreds of people was completely out of the question.

Or was it?

“I’m not going to propose on a stage. That’s more your style.”

With a shrug, Tony rolled his eyes. “I mean, Pepper hasn’t left me yet, has she?”

Steve chose not to grace him with a response, but frown-smiled when Tony grabbed a flute of champagne and shoved it into his hands. He was gone the next second, off to greet a new round of guests.

Thirty seconds later, you appeared by his side, positively beaming, but slightly out of breath. There were two chilled glasses clutched in your hands, almost sloshing over with how quickly you bounded to him.

“Oh, you already got a drink?” you asked, grinning. You clinked both glasses against his, chiming, “Cheers!”

And as you were downing the sugary alcohol in your right hand, Steve ran a finger along the ring box again.

Maybe… maybe it really wasn’t a bad idea. He looked back at the stage. There was a microphone stand on there. Has it been there since the beginning?

He turned his head back to you, and you told him about Banner inviting the two of you over for dinner some time. Just as he was about to reply, his phone started buzzing in his other pocket. Deftly, Steve slipped his hand away from the box and went to pick up the phone—Sam’s caller ID staring up at him.

His friend’s voice sounded strained through the phone, and Steve gripped your hand and led you to a more quiet hallway, away from the crowd and the thrum of music.

Sam hurriedly told him that there was trouble downtown—something about Spider-Man and a very sandy guy.

“Sandy?”

“Yeah. Dude’s made of sand.”

“Oh.” Steve paused, brows furrowing. “I’ll be there in twenty. Can you keep it together till then?”

“Don’t have another choice, do I, Cap?”

With that, Sam hung up. Steve looked to you, crestfallen.

“Honey, I gotta go.”

Your voice was light and airy, despite your slightly crestfallen and confused countenance. “Sam’s in trouble?”

“Yeah. I’ll—” There was an uncertain pause. Steve leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to your forehead. “I’ll see you at home. I love you.”

Your brows pulled together. “I love you, too. Stay safe, Steve.”

It was something you just had to accustom yourself to—when your boyfriend was a superhero, his priorities encompassed far more than you. But you understood, as you always did, and let him hurry away with a stiff lip.

The hospital was packed. Claustrophobically dense. You hurriedly wove through the crowd of anxious people hovering around the information desk, having already gotten the text which room Steve was in.

A few twisting hallways later, you pushed through a door and just about collapsed with relief when your eyes landed on Steve.

He was badly bruised. Hues of deep purple and faint blues were blossomed all over his face. One of his eyes was swollen, his sandy-blonde hair was tousled, and his bottom lip was split. He was wearing a hospital gown, and you felt nauseated wondering just what other injuries he was hiding beneath the fabric.

But he was alive. That was the least you’d hoped for.

Tears pricked your eyes, and you only then registered that Bucky was there, standing by the bed, expression grim and steeled. His blue eyes darted away from his best friend’s face to meet yours.

“I’ll give you two some space,” he murmured with a tight edge to his voice. Bucky patted your shoulder and whisked off before you could say anything.

“Steve?” you croaked, drawing nearer to the bed. Your throat felt tight. “Oh, God…”

Despite his entire face aching, Steve managed to tug one of the corners of his lips up into a meager smile. “Hey, honey.”

His voice sounded hoarse and overused, but was still utter music to your ears. You just about collapsed onto the side of the bed, reaching out to gently brush the back of your shaking knuckles over what little of his face wasn’t bruised.

“I heard what happened on the news,” came your tearful whisper. “I was so worried you…”

Something softened within the blue of his eyes. “I’m still here.”

You dipped forward to press a soft kiss to his forehead, and his tired eyes slid shut.

“Has a doctor checked on you yet? Any permanent damage I have to look out for?” You pulled away so you could roam your eyes over his form once more.

“Just a few bruises. Bone fractures. Nothing I can’t recover from,” he replied, though he winced when he tried to shift and sit more upright. You placed a hand on his back and helped him move, cautiously slow.

“Take it easy, old man,” you warned. “Don’t want you to pop a hip.”

Steve wheezed out what seemed like a laugh. Then, his eyes darted to the bedside table, where some spare clothes were neatly packed in a bag. Bucky had brought them, making sure to hide the ring box safely underneath a few layers.

Should he? Now, when he had the chance?

“I have something to ask you…” he began, tentative, dragging his eyes back onto you. You tilted your head pointedly, beckoning for him to go on.

Just as he was about to say the words, there were three rapid knocks to the hospital room’s doors and they creaked open immediately after, two nurses shuffling in, clipboards in hand.

“Hello, just here to run a few more check-ups!” one of them chirped. “It’s not often we get a super admitted in here.”

Steve just about physically deflated. Your brows kinked, and you patted his cheek fondly.

“I’ll come by later—gonna go see if Sam is okay. You should rest, Stevie. Love you.” With one final kiss to his cheek, you got up from his bed and made space for the bustling nurses. He barely managed to lift his hand to wave you goodbye before you hurried out of the room, back into the packed hallways.

A month had drifted by since he wound up in the hospital (and discharged the very next day). It was pleasantly breezy that day—gusts of wind tousling his now-overgrown hair and whistling sweetly in your ears.

Steve bent at the waist to place the bouquet of flowers down in front of the headstone. If it were any windier, he was sure it would’ve blown away. But it stayed put, the petals only barely swaying to and fro, and he righted himself back up.

“Sarah Rogers,” you whispered, eyes trailing across the smooth grooves of her name indented into the slab, voice thick with fondness. “What did she look like?”

Your arm wounded over the small of his waist. The two of you had visited the cemetery a few months prior, where you helped him scrub all the moss and dirt from her headstone. He told you about many of his adventures with Bucky before his time frozen in the ice, but very little about his mother.

A wistful smile touched the corner of his face. Now fully healed, much to your relief.

“She was blonde. Blue eyes. Crow lines, I think. Really faint, but they appeared every time she laughed.” There was a nostalgic warmth to his tone.

“Took after her, then.” You beamed down at the grave. “She must’ve been beautiful.”

Steve leaned into your grasp and kissed the very top of your head. “She was. She would’ve loved you, you know.”

“Yeah?”

“She would’ve thought you were perfect. She saw a lot of terrible things in her lifetime, but you—you would’ve made her laugh a lot.” A pause. The wind hummed a disjointed tune. “She always believed in me, even though she was terrified for me all the time. Worried herself sick. If only she knew I’d end up here…”

Your head landed on his bicep. “She knows. She knew from the very beginning.”

The blonde smiled at you again, and you couldn’t help but notice his crow lines, too. It was comforting to know that there was so much of his mother in him.

“You ready for lunch?”

“I’m starving.” you told him, before blowing a chaste kiss to the headstone. “See you soon, Mrs. Rogers.”

Steve began to lead you away, and he couldn’t seem to scratch the smile from his lips. The two of you started walking back home, taking your sweet time. You were saying something—something about a nice lasagna you had frozen in the fridge—

But Steve could barely hear any of it. He couldn’t hold it back anymore. He had to tell you now.

“I love you,” he interrupted. The words died on your tongue and you regarded him curiously, as if he’d grown a second head.

Apparently, there was a near manic look to his eye that prompted you to worriedly query, “Is something wrong, Steve—?”

Instead of answering, Steve stopped walking. He dropped down onto one knee, brandishing the ring box from his pocket, flicking it open. The realization broke across your features just a second later. Your eyes widened, and you reared back in shock.

And the words—the words just came tumbling out. Not at all what he’d scripted for months on end, but something entirely different. Something raw and unfiltered—purely from his heart. “I love you, more than I can ever put into words. You’re just—amazing, perfect in every goddamn way. I don’t want to go another day without calling you mine. I want to be yours, honey. All of me, every single bit of me, with all of you. It’s been an honor being your boyfriend. Really, it has, but I’m… I’m ready to be your husband, if you’ll have me. Will you marry me?”

There were tears pricking the corners of your eyes. You were only but a streak of color before you were yanking him forward, practically burying his face against your chest. He didn’t care that there was a rock digging into his knee. Barely even felt it.

The next moment, you were pulling away to yank him back up, kissing him like he was the very air you needed to breathe.

“Is that a yes?” he asked against your lips, slightly muffled. He was smiling, because he already knew your answer.

You nodded into the kiss, refusing to pull away. “I’d marry you a million times over, Steve. Again and again and again, until you get sick of me.”

“Could never get sick of you,” he whispered, forehead leaning over yours. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The two of you broke apart minutes later, reluctantly, though you had permanent smiles etched across your faces the entire way back home. The ring fit you perfectly.

When the news broke to the rest of the Avengers, they all erupted into an array of groans and cheers, and multiple wads of cash were passed around. Natasha sent the two of you a pleased wink. You two just landed her a combined total of a hundred bucks, but some secrets were simply better left unsaid.

#steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #marvel fanfiction #avengers fanfiction #avengers x reader #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers angst #steve rogers fanfic #captain america x reader #captain america fanfiction #steve rogers imagines #steve rogers oneshot #steve rogers drabbles #steve rogers ff #steve rogers x you

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moonshynecybin · 3 months

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sorry i was talking about this with dante last night but it’s literally so funny that marc was like i don’t even care about winning i’d trade it all for this podium with my brother :) and then you go down the laundry list of things he did to try and win this weekend and it’s like his bones are broken his ribs are bruised he was in excruciating pain he couldn’t breathe the bike was fucked six ways to sunday BEFORE franky morbidelli decided to clip him and take half his wind screen clean off/make his airbags compress his movements to death and in fact THAT event in itself is what made him go crazy and put it p2. like literally the shock adrenaline and pain of it. and then he passed ALEX for second place handily on like the second to last lap. so all this to say i think he is lying through his teeth,

#of course he is very happy to be on a podium with alex i’m sure that helped soothe the wound a LOT. and he loves him SO much.#but also very funny and yelling that his fist words in front of a camera after stepping off the bike were ACTUALLY IM OKAY WITH LOSING.#LIKE ITS FINE I DONT EVEN CARE. IT MATTERS NOT WVEN A LITTLE BIT.#after he did the trials of HERCULES to even get a shot at putting that thing p1 #motogp #callie speaks #marc marquez #good morning.#*telling. you understand

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ohtobeleah · 1 year

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Dark Red // Jake Seresin

Summary: Jake Seresin is usually pretty cool, carm and cock sure of himself. But when his wife has an accident? He hits the deck pretty hard.

Warnings: Character death. Mentions of car accidents. Fainting. Jake Seresin x F!reader.

Word Count: 2.7k

Author Note: Day Eleven of Whumptober. Prompt I chose: ‘Fainting.’ Thank you to @ailesswhumptober for the prompt list.

It was enough to shake you that was for sure. The sheer force of the car behind you that had run right up the back of you and sent your bonnet into the back of the car in front of you, practically sandwiching you in, was enough to rattle you.

It was enough to have the airbag deploying in your face, breaking your nose that would surely leave two very black and swollen eyes from the sinus pressure. It was enough to shatter the glass of your front and back windscreens like they were paper thin. The forces had crumbled the aluminum of your 1999 Ford Festiva with ease. Like a paper bag being trot on. The same car Jake was adamant that you finally upgrade from. The same care that you were so attached to.

Guess there wouldn’t be any love lost when Jake found out that your beloved Festiva was totally gone. She was to put it simply—unsalvageable. But at least you were able to walk away relatively unscathed.

“Would you like us to give your emergency contact a call?” Jake Seresin had been your best friend for just over ten years. The two of you had only just recently gotten married after dating for eight of those. There had never really been any real rush to put pen to paper and make all the legal arrangements and challenges. You were pretty content in the role you played in Jake's life. But when his career started to see him in more life threatening situations, he started to wonder what exactly he’d be leaving you behind with. It made sense on paper to get married and it made even more sense to share the Seresin name with the six month old fetus kicking it in utero. Little Baby Seresin.

“My husband’s at work—“ You sighed to the woman checking on your little boy's heart, strong and stable. No signs of distress from his end which was the best possible outcome. “You can probably just clean me up and send me on my way.”

“Hmm—“ Although there were no obvious signs, Linda Masters thought it would be in your best interests to stay overnight for observations. She was waiting to hear back from your OB. “I’d rather keep you in overnight, just to make sure baby doesn’t decide to change his mind.”

“Okay, but when you get someone to call, just make sure you let him know that we’re fine.” You were really insistent on that, you knew how Jake could get when it came to you. For someone who was usually so cool, calm and cock sure of himself, he could get a little flustered to say the very least whenever something involved you. “He doesn’t need to leave work, but he can definitely swing by with an overnight bag afterwards.”

“Oh boy.” You knew that voice from a mile away. “Seresins ganna go into cardiac arrest when he finds out that little miss is sitting in my Emergency Room.” Doctor Benjamin Ocka or more affectionately known by the Daggers as, Doc Ock, cooed as he came up to your bedside. “I was called for a consult?” He addressed the technician who was just packing away her ultrasound machine.

“Y/n Seresin, six months pregnant, sustained a broken nose and possibly sinus damage from her airbag. There doesn’t seem to be any other major injuries, just a couple of bumps and bruises.”

Ben chuckled as he assessed your nose, ears, eyes and mouth. Your bloodied nose was huge, swollen as swollen could be. He knew immediately that you were gonna be on bed rest for a few days. Especially when it came to the part in the healing process where your sinuses would swell so much that you wouldn’t be able to see.

“I’ll call Hangman shall I?” He sighed as he placed his little light into the top pocket of his doctor’s jacket and sat beside you. “Bubs okay?”

“Perfectly fine, we’re staying for a sleepover just to be sure.”

“I’m probably gonna need to readjust your nose.” He frowned softly as he kept assessing your face. “Little bit of surgery but we can discuss that once the swelling goes away—if you can breathe and can deal with a crooked nose for a small period of time I might like to hold off on non essential plastic surgery till after Baby Seresins here.”

Ben was Payback's husband. He was as charming and as a part of your little group as any of the spouses and all Roosters girlfriends were. He cared about the people who took care of his husband in the sky and made sure he got to come home every night.

“Sounds good, but yes—please, call Jake and let him know we’re fine.” You pleaded. “Lead with they're totally fine, if anything this is just a courtesy call from your wife to say that it’s take out for dinner.”

“He’s gonna flip out Y/n.” That was your moment of defeat. You sighed into the pillow of your emergency room bed and let your head lull to the side as you placed two very protective hands across your belly.

“I know.” You grumbled. “I know he is and he’s gonna be so happy about that damn Festiva too.”

***~***~***~***~***~***

Jake only wore a Garmin watch when he was on the ground because it was connected to his phone. He only wore a Garmin watch so that if someone called him during the day, all he had to do was look at his wrist and decide if the call was worth taking on the clock.

Jake only wore a Garmin watch for moments like these, where he sat in the middle of a debriefing on this afternoon's drills and saw Payback's husband's affectionate caller ID, ‘Benny Boy’ flash up on the screen.

“I gotta go.” Jake knew deep down Ben wouldn’t call like this if it wasn’t an emergency. “I’ll be right back.” Jake stood so fast that the feet of his chair made a high pitched squeak against the smooth concrete floor. All eyes were on him, colleagues and instructors alike as he rushed out of the hangar and fished his phone, which had been on silent, out of his pocket.

His heart nearly stopped inside his chest when his body and mind immediately knew what to ask as his thumb swiped over the screen of his phone before he held it up to his ear. Shaking, Jake knew that it had to be about you—why else would Ben be calling in the middle of the day when they were both on shift?

“What happened? Is she okay?” It took all the breath out of Jake's lungs when he spoke. He never wanted to get this call. If anyone ever asked him about his biggest fear in life, he wouldn’t say dying in a dog fight or crashing into the pacific. No. He’d say losing the love of his life. “Ben?”

“Hey man.” Ben tried to be as calm as he could be because really, you were fine. There was no cause for concern, just a broken nose. “Y/n had an accident, not her fault, distracted driver situation.” Jake felt like his entire world was crumbling around him as he took panic filled strides towards the locker room. “She’s fine, her nose is busted pretty good but other than that her and the baby are—“ There's a very loud, very audible thud on the other end of the line as Ben checks your lab reports at the nurses station. “Hello?” He questioned with concern laced in his tone. “Hangman? You there?” Ben knows he’s not. “Fuck—“

Meanwhile, on the floor of the locker room, laid Jake Seresin. Completely out cold and unresponsive as his teammates sat in their debriefing wondering what the hell had gotten into the newlywed man they all loved to hate and hated to love.

Jake had smacked his head on the corner of the long metal seat that ran down the middle of the locker hall. He was face down, bleeding pretty bad and had his cheek squished so hard into the grate on the floor it was gonna leave a mark when he peeled himself up. Like those parks you get when you have a killer nap.

The crimson red that pooled on the tiles was thick and spread thin into the grooves of the tiles. It crept its way across the locker room floor like vines. Jake was under, but even in his unconscious state you were the only thing on his mind. You smile, your infectious laugh, the way you looked carrying his son, so swollen and perfect. His wife. The love of his life.

“Can someone go get Seresin?” Mav sighed as he held the bridge of his nose behind the podium. “Rooster, go drag him back here before I send him up there blind.” Everyone knew it was an empty threat, but regardless, Bradley stood to his feet with an exaggerated sigh and headed down the hall in the direction of where he thought his wingman had gone.

Bradley wasn’t expecting to walk into the locker room and see what he saw. He was just trying to make sure Jake didn’t get torn to shreds for ditching during the debriefing. But to his shock horror—as he rounded the corner into the locker room, his heart jumped out of his chest at the sight of his wingman lying face down on the grime covered tiles. There was probably dirt caked into the grouting from when his dad roamed these halls.

“Holy crap—“ It was the first thing out of Bradleys mouth as he made his way over in a hurry. “Hangman?” The way Bradley said his wingman’s callsign was laced in pure panic. “Jake man, you okay?” Rooster shook Jake's shoulder gently at first—but when the six foot something blonde didn’t stir, he shook him a little harder. “Hangman! Wake up man, c’mon open your eyes.”

“Mmhph—“ It wasn’t a word, but a sound, and Bradley was happy with that as he rolled Jake over onto his side to start with.

“Jake you’re bleeding.” It was everywhere. Bradley looked around frantically to try and find what may have been the cause of such a head wound. But when his eyes locked onto the corner of the cold, old metal bench—he knew immediately. “Don’t move alright.”

“Y/n—“ Jake grumbled as he tried to sit up. “My wife.” It was pure need and adrenaline that coursed through Jake Seresins veins the second he’d come to. “I need to get to Y/n—“

“Woah, take it easy Hangman.” Bradley tried to steady Jake as he tried to stand. “You hit your head pretty hard on the bench, we should probably get you to medical?”

“Hospital—“ Was all Jake groaned as he stood, Rooster watched in horror as the blood gushed from Jake’s gash. It looked deep and angry, like he’d been cut almost through his skull. “I need to get to the hospital.” Bradley can’t keep up to save his soul. “Y/n—“ As Jake stands to his very unsteady feet, he mumbled your name over and over as his fingertips reach up to touch the crimson red dripping down his face. “Oh fuck my head.”

“I’ll take you to the hospital if you can remember what happened?” It’s the only way Rooster can think of putting two and two together. Why did Jake need to get to the hospital to see you? And why was he passed out of the floor of the locker room? “Jake? Why’s Y/n at the hospital?” It’s a question laced in as much concern as it is dread. You’re not due yet, what if something happened to the baby and that’s what caused Jake to break? “Is she alright? Is baby Seresin alright?”

The silence that lingered as Jake stumbled his way over towards the door had Rooster's heart caught up in his throat. He knew how much Jake loved you and his unborn child. He knew that the man with the bloodied forehead and the sure fire concussion would move mountains and part seas just to kiss a paper cut on your fingertip. So when Jake stopped in his tracks, swayed side to side as if he was going down again, Bradley knew something had happened that completely rocked Jake Seresins world.

“They were in an accident—“

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***

It was the way Jake came racing into the emergency room that worried you the most. He slammed right in for the doorframe like he either didn’t see it or like he’d been running a million miles and hour to get to you.

You hadn’t yet been moved from the emergency short stay area into one of the wards, which you were thankful for the second Ben spotted Jake stumbling towards you with a head laceration.

“Oh my god, what the hell happened?” You asked Rooster as he rushed in after Jake. He knew he was about to cop an earful. “Bradshaw, why is my husband bleeding?” You barely got to ask before Jake was at your side.

“He fainted when he got the call you were in hospital.” Rooster explained softly as he pulled up a chair for Jake to sit beside you in . “Here you, sit down man before the room starts spinning.” Bradley ushered Jake to sit as he reached out for your hands. “You and bubs alright? What happened?”

“We’re fine.” You tried to explain. “Nose is pretty sore but we’re fine.”

“Baby I swear I can’t ever lose you.” Jake began as he sat as close to your bedside as he could. It was the sweetest thing, although you suspected it was all coming from the concussion you knew your husband definitely had. “You or bubs.” Jake placed a gentle hand across your stomach. “My heart nearly burst out of my chest when I got the call.”

“I should probably take a look at that—“ Ben interrupted as he sent you a shy, all knowing smile. “Hit the hard deck, did you Seresin?” Ben chuckled to himself as he gave Jake's head the once over. “I specifically remember telling you that your wife was fine.”

“‘M’panicked, can’t lose her boss.” Jake replied softly as his eyes never left you, it pained him to see you like this. Bloodied and bruised, but alive. “I think I hit my head though.”

“He smacked it pretty hard on the corner of the metal bench in the locker room.” Bradkey added as Ben started to clean out the head wound at your bedside, he knew there was no point asking Jake to move when the answer was going to be a hard no.

“I’ll order a tetanus shot because that thing is grotesque and get some antibiotics sorted.” Ben stated as he worked, Jake however—he never took his eyes off you.

“Did you really pass out when you were told I was in an accident?”

“Can’t lose you.” Was all your husband mumbled against your hand as he kissed your palm. “Can’t lose you, won’t lose you or baby Seresin.”

“We aren’t going anywhere, love.” You sweetly replied as you reached out to caress Jake's chin. “I promise.”

“My head really hurts.” He whispers softly as you chuckled to yourself. “Gotta work on my landing huh?”

“Yeah bubba.” You sighed. “I need you around for the long hall.” As you gently stroked your husband’s chin you saw his eyes begin to roll as he swayed to the left. Jake's entire body stiffened as he lost all sense of direction, his surroundings were gone in the blink of an eye as he began to seize uncontrollably.

“Woah! Hey! HEY I NEED SOME HELP OVER HERE!” Ben shouted as you watched on in helpless horror as he went with Jake to the ground. Placing him in the recovery position. “LETS GET HIM BACK PEOPLE!”

“Rooster, what's happening?” You sobbed behind your hands as tears poured down your face. “Jake?” It was the last thing you remembered before everything went cold and dark. The last thing you remembered seeing when you woke not a few moments later, was your husband and father of your child—hemorrhaging before you.

All because he bumped his head.

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***

Whumptober Tags 🏷️ @xoxabs88xox @oldermenaremyreligion @slut-f0r-u @emma-is-cool @armydrcamers @topguncortez @topgun-imagines @kmc1989 @els-marvelvsp @blindedbythelightt

#ailesswhumptober2023 #leahs whumptober masterlist #Jake Seresin whump #jake seresin x female!reader #jake seresin fanfiction #jake hangman fic #tw: whump #tw: death

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for-ests · 9 months

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Suffocation: Gojo Satoru x Reader

Suffocation MLIST Summary: Gojo saves you just in time, and in return, you reveal the secret you've never shared with another. You then agree to go on a date with him. Wc: 4,606 Warnings: violence

Terror. All Gojo could hear was terror.

You had gotten into his head, and you were in mortal peril. His blood ran cold, realizing he was correct in his assumptions. He had let you leave against his better judgment, relenting to your insistence.

He would be damned if anything happened to you. The guilt would be too much, and he still didn't understand why. He was drawn to you in a way he’d never known.

Because of that unexplainable reason, all he had to do was feel for you. You were close enough; your emotions were loud enough. Your connection broke through the barriers, and Gojo could follow that tug through the compressed space until he appeared behind the curse that was currently forcing you to your feet by your hair.

Behind you was your flipped car, the back end of it flattened, the airbags spilling out of the shattered windows. You screamed out again and desperately tried to grasp onto the curse’s face, clawing it with all of your force. All you needed was one look in its eyes; you had to if you had any chance of surviving.

And you didn't even know if it would work.

The curse was laughing madly, seeming to enjoy your torment. "Pretty.... I can be pretty...Like human girl?"

Horrified, you thrashed against whatever the misshapen creature in front of you was. You did not know curses could speak; it was far different than any you'd encountered before. It was clawing against your skin, drawing more blood the harder you resisted.

"I-I..." The inhuman voice filled your ears. "I want...skin..."

Hearing those words, watching how it toyed with you, Gojo confirmed that one of Sukuna’s fingers was inside it. The curse probably sniffed you out the second you left campus, as his scent was all over you, and so was the proximity of Sukuna's vessel. If this curse were to kill you, it would follow your trail back to campus.

Legs kicking, you cried out. What angered Gojo the most was that your face was already bloodied, and your clothes were ripped. It touched you in a way that angered every part of him as if it wanted something more than just your power—the filthy thoughts of the demon.

Despite your predicament, you refused to stop fighting. You were almost there, hooking your nails into the flesh of its cheek, forcing its eyes closer to yours. You tried to ignore how its hands inched down your sides, latching onto the hemline of your pants. It was touching you all over, tainting your skin.

“Stop!” You screamed, the discomfort and pain catching up with you. As if finally sensing your motive, its hand clamped down on both your wrists and pulled them off its face. Any hope you had of escaping vanished. There was no way you could fight against six hands.

That was when Gojo stepped in. He knew you hadn’t noticed him yet, and the more cynical part of him wanted to see what you could truly do, but it wasn’t the time. You weren’t strong enough, not experienced enough. Only a second had passed since his arrival, but it felt longer. It made him sick to see you in pain, to see you fearful.

All those strange emotions inside of him bubbled over, and he reached forward to rip the curse’s head off with one swift movement.

It happened so fast that you were reactionless, only able to close your mouth before steaming hot blood was splattered all over you. You hung there, limp in the headless curse’s grip, blinking in confusion. Gasping, you felt the hands slacken around your frame.

And before your feet could even connect with the ground again, Gojo pulled you from the curse’s death grip and into his own arms.

In astonishment, you stared up at Gojo, then buried your face into his chest. It was all you could think about, seeking safety in his touch and presence. One of his hands held your face there, shielding you from the remaining massacre as he exorcized the curse, the body exploding out in all directions.

Hearing the squelching of mishappen flesh, you winced against him.

He protected you from the blowback, not wanting you to get any more dirty than you already were. “It's okay now,” Gojo whispered lowly. “Its gone.”

Setting you down gently, you kept your eyes shut and back turned as you found your footing again. Your heart was still hammering in your chest, the absurdity of it all crashing into you. You almost died, and Gojo had saved you just in time, eliminating a beastly cursed spirit within two movements.

But you couldn’t open your eyes just yet. You didn't want to see it. You could still feel the hands all over you, how helpless you were.

The sorcerer leaned down to pick up the only thing left—Sukuna’s finger. He shoved it into his pocket before you gained the courage to glance over your shoulder.

“T-thank you.” You managed to choke out, hurriedly peeling off your jacket to wipe the blood off your face, only to watch it bubble and steam into thin air, leaving you clean once again.

“I should have never let you leave.” His shoulders were slumped forward in shame, pausing for a moment, head turned away. "Knew this would happen."

You didn't know how to respond. All you could do was stare at the rips in your jacket, the fabrics far beyond saving. You bundled it against your fists.

"It's too dangerous for you," he said.

The sound of glass shards squeaking against concrete made you glance up timidly. Gojo stepped back toward you, closer to you. You could feel his eyes inspecting your entire body.

All you seemed to suffer from was a punch to the face that broke the skin of your cheekbone, with some deeper cuts along your arms and torso. Strange, as he thought your durability would be lower. Maybe, just maybe, you had other abilities that were invisible even to him.

Gojo grasped your chin and beckoned you to look up at him. The look of admiration in your eyes took his breath away as you parted your lips nervously. Why weren’t you afraid of him? Why weren’t you still shaken up from what just happened to you? Were you even in pain?

Safe. That was what you felt in his presence.

“What could possibly be so important in that motel room that you had to leave at this hour?” He asked, brushing his thumb softly along your cheek and wiping away the blood before he could stop himself.

Your expression immediately softened. The contact felt surprisingly peaceful, diminishing the lingering fear and paranoia that still danced in the back of your mind. Gojo's comforting touch alone was enough.

“I can show you,” You whispered with a tinge of seduction, leaning into his touch without realizing it and seeking comfort in his large, calloused hands.

Oh, how badly you wanted to look into his eyes.

Realizing how close he was to your lips, how he’d touched you so tenderly without asking, Gojo dropped his hands away. Your fingers had been inches away from tugging against his bandage. “I see what you’re trying to do.” He smirked.

“I’m not trying to do anything, Gojo.” You pouted, crossing your arms and taking a step back. “I would never do something like that without your permission.”

“Aha!” Gojo pointed at you, grinning as if he’d caught you in a deliberate lie. “So you thought about it?”

Laughing at the absurdity of it all, you threw your hands up. “You caught me.”

Good. You were laughing. And when you stopped, glancing at him with a shake of your head, he watched you smile. A smile that undoubtedly took his breath away. And for a moment, he was speechless.

He noticed that your lips were moving but could not register any words, only allowing himself a split second to fantasize about how they would feel and taste.

Then, the question you asked filled his ears. Why do you hide them?

He shrugged, releasing himself from the haze you seemed to cast over him. “Because I’m powerful.”

“Clearly,” you sighed. A moment passed where you seemed to gather your composure, not just from him, but from the fight you endured before he arrived. It was all too much. It was all too confusing. “Am I allowed to know the reason why?”

Feeling his gaze without seeing it, your heart skipped a beat. You remembered the brush of his finger across your cheek, the warmth of it, the comfort. How he’d come as quickly as he could and saved you. He saved you.

Your cheeks grew hot as Gojo gestured toward the direction of the motel. He began to walk, and you trailed behind him without question. There was no denying how powerful he was. A part of you then promised you would bother him until you learned more and understood every part of him. Even if that required you to share your dark secrets in return.

“My gift allows me to see cursed energy all the time,” Gojo said, glancing down at you as you approached his side. He suddenly revealed your purse, seemingly out of thin air, and outstretched it to you. “Covering my eyes helps relieve that stress.”

When did he grab your purse from your car? Your head shot back to the crushed vehicle now behind the both of you. Mouth parting in confusion, you moved to snatch the purse from him until he held it above his head.

Tsking at you, Gojo instead fastened it around the shoulder farthest from you. “What do you have in this bag, woman? It's heavy as hell.”

All you could do was throw your head back in laughter. “At least get the key out,” you replied, knowing that battling for it back would be futile. It was a kind gesture, after all.

The two of you strolled through the parking lot until you approached the room you’d rented. It was nothing special, definitely run down—but the hot springs had drawn you there. It was too bad you wouldn't be able to bathe in them tonight.

Gojo held the door open for you, flipping the lights on as you entered.

He only saw a backpack on the bed and a dark violet notebook on the bedside table.

“I didn’t think you’d be the type of girl to pack light,” he said, leaning against the door once it clicked shut.

Scoffing, you immediately walked to the table and reached for the notebook. Once you grasped it, your mood shifted into something more sour. “I didn’t think I’d find my brother so quickly and be attacked by a curse today, either.”

Gojo noticed, and for a moment, his confidence diminished. The playfulness that you reciprocated before felt like a guise. Were you really okay? He wouldn't have cared this much for anyone else, but with you—he did. Deeply.

“You’re positive you want to come back with me?” He asked, somewhat apprehensively.

“Clearly, I can’t be alone anymore,” you replied, knowing you sounded snippy as the words flew from your mouth. Even though you had every reason to be, it still made you stiffen. You weren't mad at him; you just felt helpless at the same time. You quite literally stepped into a world you did not know. And he needed to be honest with you. If he was what he claimed to be.

So, you turned to face him. There was nothing particular in your eyes, but your stare was enough to etch a reply.

“There’s nothing else for miles.” Gojo shrugged. "If you need some alone time."

You raised an eyebrow and slung the backpack over one shoulder, tilting your head as you crossed the room toward him. Of course, he would catch your mood shifting; of course, he would see that you were really not okay, that you were scared, that you found it hard to trust. At least he could be thoughtful when he wanted to be.

You looked up at him, opening your mouth to reply until he cut you off.

“Yes I can tell. If I'm around, nothing will attack you."

He was way too cocky, you decided. But for some reason, it didn’t bother you. In fact, the confidence suited him. The way he held himself was most definitely for a reason. And you would play along for distraction or not. If he could protect you in the way he claimed, you would indulge.

“I was actually thinking I would take your bed for the night, and you could sleep on the couch," you declared teasingly as he leaned into you, and you instinctively tilted your head up to meet him, lips inches from each other.

“Nobody sleeps in my bed without me.” Gojo smirked, the tone bordering on a dare.

“Even after everything I’ve been through today?” You bat your eyelashes, holding the notebook against your chest tighter. The door handle was an inch away, and your eyes flickered to it.

Strangely enough, the sorcerer noticed your gaze and the energy billowing from the notebook pressed tightly against your chest. Swiftly and without words, he turned, guiding you until your back was leaning against the door.

“Show me what's in that notebook, Princess.” Gojo set his arm against the door, just above your shoulder. He had trapped you. “And maybe I’ll consider.”

Your tongue nervously glided across your lips. “Get me out of here first-”

Breath stopping short, you felt his arm slide back around your lower waist before you could finish. Flirtatious that time, his hand on your hip was filled with tenderness, curiosity, yet patience. It wasn’t like the last time. There was no teasing behind it. Instead, he waited for your reaction to affirm he was correct in his assumptions, to see if you felt that other-worldly pull.

Through your eyelashes, you glanced at him timidly but curled both your arms under his, holding on tight. He better not drop you.

“Your wish is my command,” Gojo hummed, his grip tightening when he moved you as close to him as possible. The contact triggered the enchantment you refused to feel earlier, those uncategorized feelings that felt foreign and undeserved. An acknowledgment of your attraction, the desire for something more.

Voice catching in your throat, you couldn’t muster a reply before the ground disappeared from your feet.

What you witnessed in that split second was something you would never be able to explain. It was limitless power in its purest, rawest form. Lights and stars, neverending peace and tranquility. Across space and time, flashes of unnamed organisms. The essence of life itself was viable, but only for a moment.

It was all ripped away before your eyes could even comprehend what colors flashed before you.

Blinking, still pressed against him, you found yourself in a surprisingly well-furnished apartment.

“Wow," you blurted, eyes immediately finding a Star Wars poster framed above a leather couch. There was more, but your vision was hazy. “I wasn’t expecting this.”

And then it hit you, the nausea, the prickling of skin, the beauty of what you’d experienced. Words were unavailable to you at that moment. Your mind was racing, and your heart was still pounding.

Peering up at him with wide, sparkling eyes, you remembered just how close you were to him, how safe you felt in his arms, how comfortable it was to feel his hands around your hips. “What in the absolute fuck was that?” You breathed, gathering what you'd seen faster than anyone else who had witnessed his domain.

He chuckled, letting his arms fall away, giving you your space. Gojo scanned your body language and debated if he should teleport a trashcan before you.

“I’m fine,” you chuckled light-heartedly, letting the backpack slide off your shoulders.

Could you read his mind? It seemed so with how witty you were. No woman had ever been able to deal with his bashful humor, let alone read his body language so well.

“I’m not trying to tease you any more,” Gojo reassured. “If you need to sleep I won’t stop you.”

“No.” You rolled your eyes, snatching your purse off his shoulder. “I’m showing you not matter what.”

After rummaging through your purse, you pulled out an unusually outdated item. You held the quill to him, which seemed to have never been dipped in ink.

“Ink?” Gojo looked at you.

“Nope.” You popped your lips, finding the nearest surface which happened to be the island in his kitchen. A moment passed as Gojo watched you set the notebook down and the quill next to it. The way you moved was somehow delicate and thoughtful, yet he knew there were layers about you, layers he was desperate to peel back.

God, you were beautiful. Like the brightest star in the galaxy, seemingly so close but so far away—almost unattainable. As if it would take a lifetime to understand your intricacies.

You opened the notebook to the most recent entry. Immediately, Gojo saw the cursed energy woven into the pages. There were symbols and words, poetry and art.

Despite your previous confidence, you were now timid as you brandished your secrets, still debating if you should trust him even if it was too late. “I don’t even remember writing any of these. I sort of black out when it happens. I keep the quill on me at all times, just in case.”

“Why?” He asked, standing behind you, peaking over your shoulder with intrigue. He had his guesses, but there were times when even his extensive training and knowledge couldn’t identify or explain what was displayed in front of him.

Still unable to see if he was looking at your work, you rambled on nervously. “It never works with any other utensil. And if I don't write it out in time, I glitch in and out of consciousness until I do.”

Gojo was enraptured with your talent. Prophecy was rare enough in itself. But what stopped him short was how intricate it was. Somehow, your cursed energy was utterly mesmerizing. You were an artist, and you didn’t even know it. He hadn’t even processed what had been written yet.

“Months ago, I refused to write until I seized. When I woke up, 2 days had passed, and I wrote complete gibberish that filled the four notebooks I had in my house. And then I scribbled symbols onto the wall of my apartment,” you paused. "I was never able to figure out what it all meant."

Nodding his head, Gojo set both hands on the table, his pinky finger brushing against yours. “Do you remember what day exactly?”

“September 7th.” You looked at him hesitantly, on the verge of blushing.

That was the same day Yuji swallowed Sukuna’s first finger.

Pulling your hand away, you pushed the notebook to him and flipped the page. “I wrote this two days ago.”

The page would be blank to the average eye, but perfectly etched lines were visible for any jujutsu user. Other-worldly penmanship graced Gojo's eyes.

The goddess of the stars foretells serenity born from destruction

Reuniting a pair of powerful siblings, descendants of demonic plight

The white-haired emissary will reach fruition after trading souls

And when the moment comes that the sky turns a different blue,

The seer will reach infinity, guiding the new generation into victory.

Your finger smushed against the invisible ink. “That’s definitely about you.”

“Have any of these ever come true?” Gojo raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

You nodded confidently. “Every single one of them. But they don’t come often.”

A moment passed before he threw his head back and laughed, genuinely taken aback. “You continue to surprise me.”

“So, do I get the bed?”

The sorcerer closed the gap between you, the expression on his half-hidden face enough for you to understand that he was truthful with his words. It made you wonder how easily you could read him by looking into his eyes. You fantasized about their color, how they would widen or squint, how they would soften when he looked at you.

Deep inside your soul, you could feel they were doing that. You desperately wanted to explore that curiosity, once again leaning closer, waiting for him to take your lips.

“Maybe I want mo-”

Before Gojo could finish, the front door shot open, revealing a frantic Yuji. His phone was gripped tightly in his hand, flashing your text.

“Are you okay, Y/N!?” Yuji bellowed, rigid and ready to fight.

“Y-yeah?” You stuttered, immediately backing away from Gojo, trying to ignore how enticed you had been, how close you were, and what almost happened.

No. It was nothing. Nothing was going to happen.

Yuji blinked, glancing between the stances of his teacher and supposed older sister. “You literally only texted me help!” He shoved the screen in your face. “And you didn't think to let me know you were alright?”

Weird. You glimpsed the messages with no recognition, but the contact was visible, your phone number apparent. “I’m sorry Yuji.” You frowned, face contorting more than that, guilt and shame, regret. Of course, you would be that careless. And it did not reflect well on you if your main goal was to try and befriend your biological brother.

“I picked her up, no worries Yuji,” Gojo chided nonchalantly, stepping between Itadori and you. “I just brought her back a few minutes ago.”

“What happened?” He dropped his hands to his side.

“I was attacked by a cursed spirit…” You trailed off, trying to find a way to explain it all without sounding like you almost died. “My car is totaled.”

“WHAT?” Yuji yelled, mouth dropping open. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine!’ You threw your hands up with a forced smile, letting out a nervous giggle. You pointed to the cut on your face. “Seriously, it’s okay. Just a few scratches. Plus, I’ll be staying here for a bit longer.”

Your younger brother studied your face before grasping your arms, holding them above his head, and inspecting. Just a few scratches, as you claimed.

“Why did you let her leave if you were suspicious?” Yuji turned to Gojo and questioned on your behalf. “She could have died!”

“I left on my own, Yuji,” you said. “He tried to make me stay.”

Gojo glanced between the two of you. He stopped on Yuji and saw how furious he was, and it made him feel incredibly guilty, knowing he had messed up. The fact it was with you made it harder to deflect.

And clearly, you were flustered and confused, not just because he was pursuing you but because your brother had caught you both red-handed. Not that anything was going on, of course. But still, Gojo felt strange, in the middle of two siblings, knowing more about the other than they knew about each other.

Both were powerful in their own ways without realizing their potential.

“How can I make it up to you?” Gojo asked calmly, turning to look at you. His heart panged the most when he caught your frustrated gaze. He would do anything to make it right and couldn’t fathom why. There was no logical reason for it, spiritual or not. “Yuji is right. I should have made you stay in the first place.”

Yuji’s mouth hung open. It barely took any convincing. There was no playfulness in Gojo’s tone either; he was earnest, and there were no excuses. That was rare from Gojo, and it was the first hint that something else was going on between his sister and his teacher.

A rare, almost impossible, and unique bond that he and others wouldn’t be able to understand. And because of that, Yuji couldn't think of anything to say. All he could do was watch.

You noticed the shock on Yuji’s face, etched in his expression. “Why don’t you show me around the campus tomorrow?” You responded to the white-haired sorcerer, glancing between him and Yuji for their reactions.

“I know you want more than that,” Gojo laughed, elongating his words in a soothing tone.

“Take me out for some drinks then,” you dared. “See if you can outdrink me.”

He agreed almost instantly. “Prepared to lose?”

Yuji blinked, finally butting in. “What is happening?”

“Nothing!" You blurted, almost stumbling on your words before you caught yourself. “Gojo owes me some drinks tomorrow, and I will hold him to it.” You smiled at Yuji, so genuinely and so heartfeltly that Gojo started smiling in return.

“Alright then…” Yuji surveyed you and Gojo, still trying to configure if he was making more of the situation. But he knew he’d seen you too close to his teacher. And the smile on Gojo’s face… was astonishing. His careful gaze turned into a glare as he looked at Gojo. Even if he had just figured out you were his sister, he would protect you with everything he was. After all, you were the only family he had left. “Don’t hurt her.”

“I’ll keep her safe,” Gojo replied nonchalantly. “We will see you in the morning, yeah?”

The dismissal was taken with grace and understanding.

“Of course Sensi!” Yuji rushed with a bow, abruptly turning on his heels. “Goodnight Y/N!” he added.

“Goodnight Yuji.” You covered your mouth to stifle a laugh.

Silence stretched longer than necessary after Yuji had left the makeshift apartment. Neither of you could think about what to say after that conversation. A stern yet laughable scolding from your younger brother.

Once you were certain Yuji was out of earshot, you glanced at Gojo. “Thank you for protecting Yuji when I couldn’t.”

“Go crash in my bed,” he chuckled, accepting your praise with a bashful over-stretch of his arms. “I don’t go back on my word.”

“Are you sure?” You squeaked.

He nodded. “There’s a shirt and shorts on the bed for you already.”

Your cheeks felt hot at the insinuation that he already prepared for your company.

“I’ll buy you whatever you need tomorrow.” Gojo winked.

Beginning to walk to the bedroom, you stopped under the doorframe. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me!” He laughed, kicking his shoes off and sinking into the couch. “You’re the one that’s going to have a huge car insurance bill to pay.”

“I take it back!’ You rolled your eyes, acting as if you were going to slam the door behind you but letting it click shut quietly.

“Goodnight Y/N!” You heard his muffled voice before noticing the lights outside shut off.

Like he said, there was an outfit laid out for you. And your backpack was somehow leaning up against the bedframe. You tried to keep your eyes from scanning the rest of the bedroom, deciding it would be something to occupy your mind tomorrow. You had been through enough today, enough to understand that your life would never be the same.

Stripping down and throwing on the shirt, you quickly got comfortable and snuggled into the sheets, surprised at how much they resembled him and smelt like him. You didn't know Gojo; he was still a stranger, yet the unexplainable affirmed differently. How much longer could you deny it? The proof was right before you, and it was clear when you glimpsed him.

Gojo Saturo was someone special, and you wished you had more self-control. Maybe too much time had passed since you’d even had a crush, let alone given in to the urge for physical pleasure.

Much to your dismay, you fell asleep with a smile on your lips, wondering if Gojo was comfortable, what it would feel like to be in his arms, all the while speculating what tomorrow had in store for you.

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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theblue6ook · 7 months

Text

The Young Years PT 3

Summary: This is a prequel to "Shit Interview" in the "Out of My League" series. Read about Bruce and Y/N in their troubled teens. What about their past makes them work so well together? You'll find out. (Hint: they've both been through major struggles.)

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x fem!reader

a/n: Death and blood. Also, Bruce is all the drama. [Eventual slow burn with Bruce]

Caught [B(19) Y/N(17)]

First, it was selling illegal car parts. Then, it was modifying cars illegally. Then, it was racing. Y/N didn't have to worry about money anymore, but she still kept appearances up at Dorthie’s Flowers with Carrie; she didn’t want to look suspicious. The house was paid off, the utilities were paid, and she started saving money for her brothers' school funds. She was set, and even better, she was a winner.

Ronnie taught her how to properly drive at 13. The lot for the mechanic shop was pretty big, and honestly, there were barely any cops in this part of town. The only rule was don’t go past the narrows. Once she hit 14, she was starting to get good. After modifying cars, she’d head out and watch the races, watch the different moves people made with their cars, recreate them on cars they were working on, and if they got fucked up, she’d fix them before anyone knew.

By 15, she was in races. By 16, she was coming in second. By 17, she was dominating. The money she had saved was insane, but there was one problem. The races were moving out of the narrows, and the cops were cracking down, particularly Don Colley and his partner Jim Gordon. All she had to do was keep her head down. She should have stopped. She had money saved, but the rush was so addicting, and the money was so rewarding. In her eyes, as long as no one knew who she was, what was the damage?

Getting caught. Getting caught was the damage.

The last race she was in was over by Gotham Harbor. She was in first, per usual, when the police swarmed. She was on her way out, swearing and huffing, when one of the drivers, trying to make a break for it, spun out and crashed. She didn’t even think. She stopped the car and ran out to help, but it was too late. It was a horrid scene. The airbags didn’t go off, and his car had smashed him into the steering wheel. His chest was caved in, and there was so much blood everywhere. It smelled like gasoline and death. There was no mistaking it, the driver that passed was David Colley, the Comminsioner’s son, and oh did he blame Y/N. She was caught on the scene and the only one he had to blame. Boy, did he fight hard when she went to court, lucky for her, Jim Gordan saw right through it, and so did the judge…

“You were a part of the Martha Wayne Foundation?”

“Yes, your honor.”

“You say you were doing this to provide a good home for your brothers after your mother left? Help your father pay the bills?”

“Yes, your honor.” Y/N felt the sweat on her temple, and her heart was beating so quickly. She felt fucked. She felt like she ruined her life, but the judge only hummed and thought quietly. There was a pregnant pause before he spoke, and the entire courtroom was on the edge of their seats.

“Despite having the wrong motivation, I think you have a good head on your shoulders. You’re young,” he continued, “I don’t want you to throw your life away in jail. So, here’s what I’m going to do. Not only will you return the money won to the court, but you will also complete six months of community service. Pay two fines, each $1000. One for the drag racing conviction and the other for the illegal gambling. Is that clear?”

It didn’t go over well with Don Colley. He ended up stepping down from the position of commissioner as Jim Gordon stepped up…it didn’t go well with her father either.

“What are you doing with your life?!” he covered his face with his hands. “You know what, it might have been easier if you were in jail and not wasting my money, my time-”

“Your money?!” Y/N interrupted. “Who’s been running your business? Who’s been providing? You haven’t even stepped out of the house in years!”

“Will you shut up! Do you not understand you are ruining your life-”

“Oh, so now you want to be a parent?” Y/N was up in arms. After years of picking up after him, providing, and putting food on the table, this is what she gets?

"You know what, go fuck yourself. You don't want me as your parent? You can get the FUCK out of my house!"

“The house I paid for? The house I clean and cook in and drag your ass into when it’s snowing. That house!?” she shouted until her throat hurt. Maybe she shouldn't have, she knew she fucked up, but she was so tired. So tired of taking care of other people. Every sentence she punctuated with a step closer to him until she was up in his face.

"You're unstable. You're not good for me. You’re not good for the boys. You need to leave," he looked into her eyes.

"I may be unstable, but you've always been a shit father." That seemed to be the last straw.

“GET OUT!” he grabbed her by the hair and shoved her out the screen door. He had never in her 17 years ever put his hands on her. He had always been silently grateful. Silently watching as she keeps the house running. He had never shoved her the way he did now.

“What the fuck-” she said, stumbling down to the ground.

“You don’t live here anymore. Tell Carrie to pick up your things.” He went to step inside but paused, looking over his shoulder. "You can't live here until you get your act together, and I can't live with you until I get my act together."

Her father stepped inside. She heard her brothers through the door asking what was happening and where she was. Y/N sat out on the concrete steps and said nothing. Was there anything to say? Slowly, she stood and made her way down the block.

Bruce wasn’t sure what to consider his position here. Was he a prisoner? Would they let him leave when the time came? At least they were training him. They’ve been training him for the past two years.

It wasn’t hard for him to leave Gotham. When he was fifteen, he received his diploma. He had skipped enough grades to get it and had enough credits through online courses. That was the deal with Alfred. You can go and travel, but you’re going to be officially educated. He traveled with Alfred for some time. Moving to different places, training with different people, learning different languages. Then, things went sideways. He was recognized. He was robbed. He could defend himself at this point, but not from twenty people. That’s ridiculous. In the end, he ended up in a Bhutanese Prison. This is where he met Ras Al Ghul. A strange man who had broken him out of prison and asked him what his plans were. Bruce didn’t really have a choice, so he told him. Now he was here, but honestly, where was he? He had no clue.

He had learned so much. He would continue to learn so much. He would solve his parents' murder, and he would solve Gotham. That was the plan. If he can survive here, he can survive anywhere.

He looked up at the ceiling of his bunk. He was bunked with many other soldiers and assassins; he wasn’t sure who they were. He had thought about Alfred. What he might be doing? What he did do after Bruce had been taken? The door to his bunk had opened, and there was the strange man who had found him.

“It is time,” he said. Bruce stood and followed him out to the training grounds. He sparred with different soldiers, at some points, several at a time. Another trainee was sparring as well. Eventually, they were tasked with sparring with each other. Bruce moved flawlessly, and his master smiled. He fought easily and used his opponent's faults against him until he had him on the ground.

“That’s good,” he grinned. “Now kill him.”

Bruce’s blood went cold. He looked over at the man, startled. “I can’t - I can’t kill him. He did nothing wrong. We were just training.”

“Training is to prepare you for real-life situations. You may have to kill someone, so it’s best to do it now. Kill him.”

Bruce held his breath, and his sword rose to strike. Training. That’s what it was. If I want to clean up Gotham, there has to be sacrifice. I have to do this-

You really think this is what your father would have wanted? You going to prison for the rest of your life? To kill someone?

The sword came down hard and swiftly, puncturing the ground. His master turned toward him, angry. He grabbed Bruce by the shoulder, shoving him to the ground as he dug his own sword into the struggling trainee on the ground. “Is this what you’re so afraid of? Death. These are the necessary sacrifices we must make for the good of the world.”

Red stained the snow around them, and the smell of blood lingered in the air.

“Well, that’s not the way I’m going to do it,” he stood stubbornly.

“How do you expect order? How do you expect to deal with the chaos?”

“Fear.”

#bruce wayne x reader #batfam #batfamily #batmom #batman #young!bruce #bruce wayne

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janeyseymour · 5 months

Text

Won't You Be... My Neighbor?- pt 6

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5.

Summary: Melissa is released from the hospital, meanwhile, JJ is located.

WC: ~1.65k

The little boy ends up falling asleep in the car, adrenaline leaving his body and pure exhaustion setting in. When he wakes up, he wakes up to nearly being thrown out of the seat of the car again. This time though, the seatbelt catches him, and while it burns like hell on his neck- because he shouldn’t be in the car without the seatbelt, he does not repel forward. He slams back into his seat with a loud yelp, and he hears a loud bang.

Joe just crashed the car. Joe just crashed the car into a tree on one of the back roads he was taking, and the airbags deployed- saving his life. With the fire-retardant that comes out of the airbag in a big cloud, they’re both coughing, gasping for breath. Neither of them are found by the time the sun comes up.

Almost as soon as day breaks, Melissa is awake, and hellbent on getting out of the hospital. She cannot lay here idly by while her four year old son is God knows where with her jackass of an ex-husband.

“I do not care!” she’s shouting at you. She winces is pain, but she doesn’t let the aching in her ribs put out her fire. “We have to find JJ!”

“What we have to do is get you to recount what happened last night, and then I need to find out how I’m supposed to take care of you while you recover,” you tell her as you lay a hand over hers.

“When are they going to get here?!” the redhead shouts.

“Hun, it’s…” you glance over at the clock. “6:45 in the morning. Give it time, and try to get another hour’s sleep, because once we get out, you won’t be getting the rest you need to anyway.”

She, in a fit of rage, slams her hand down on the call button on the remote attached to her bed. You close your eyes and take a deep breath at that action- so defiant. You wonder how she’s a second grade teacher sometimes, and this is a prime example.

The nurse comes in, and you just give her a sympathetic look as she’s yelled at in both English and Italian.

When the nurse leaves, somewhat terrified of what she just witnessed, Melissa just taps away on her phone before answering a call.

“Tommy, you better get your ass over here now to take my damned statement before I rip you a new one,” is what she hisses into the phone.

“Mel,” you grumble as you open one eye to look at her sleepily.

She just rolls her eyes and continues on her tirade in her second language. You don’t understand any of the words she’s saying, but you do know that she’s all but threatening this man’s life if he isn’t here in a flash.

And he is. Melissa gives her statement while the doctor comes in and explains to you her recovery plan.

“Three broken ribs is no joke, but there’s also unfortunately not a lot that we can do to help the healing process along,” he sighs as he rubs at the back of his neck. “For the first few days, icing it will help. As ridiculous as it sounds, we usually do recommend a frozen bag of peas because they’re easy to move and manipulate.”

You nod, taking notes on your phone.

“She shouldn’t sit or lay for extended periods of time, sleep sitting upright for the first few days- it’s best for her to keep moving when possible to help her breathe and clear the mucus from her lungs. If she has to cough, she should not suppress it. It will be painful for her, but we do suggest holding a pillow to her chest while she does to help absorb some of the blow. If we can prevent a chest infection, we should. And when her son is located, she should refrain from holding him as much as possible- straining herself is only going to make the recovery time that much longer.”

“How long is recovery time?”

“With the damage he did to her? I’d say four to six weeks, but that would only be if she’s taking care of herself. What does she do for work?”

“She’s a second grade teacher,” you sigh.

The doctor frowns, lines drawn into his forehead. “So I guess I should write her a doctor’s note to excuse her from work for the next few-”

“She’ll never agree to that,” you tell him. “She’s a single mother who is just doing her best to make it all work, and I can guarantee that she will want to leave her kids for that long.”

“If she’s constantly straining herself at work-”

“I can get attempt to get her to agree to teach from her chair,” you argue. “But that’s probably the best I can do.”

“I suppose that will have to do,” the doctor reluctantly agrees.

Meanwhile, JJ has woken up and is in the backseat crying, Joe passed out, who’s to say whether that be from the accident or the alcohol in his system, when a kinder gentleman who occupies the land takes note of the truck on his property. He slowly approaches it, but upon hearing the little boys wails, he picks up his pace, calling for his wife.

The woman runs up alongside of him, also speeding up when she hears the little boys loud cries. They glance into the car, and while the older man clocks the open bottle of vodka right away, the woman’s eyes go right to the little boy cowering in the backseat.

“Oh my god, Jerry,” JJ can hear. He all but curls into the backseat, terrified that whoever this is might take him even further from his momma. The door opens, and the little boy can feel a warm hand on his back- on that reminds him of his nonna’s. “Hi, sweet boy. You’re okay. You’re alright.”

JJ looks up, tears still pouring over his face, a thick trail of snot falling from his nose and into his mouth. “I want Momma!”

“Okay, honey,” the woman says softly. “We’ll get you to your momma. Can you tell me your name?” When he doesn’t respond, she says as gently as she can, “I’m Bev, this is my husband Jerry.”

“JJ,” is all the little boy offers up. She gives her husband a look and mouths, ‘9-1-1’. He trails a little further up the driveway to make the call.

“Is JJ your nickname?” Bev asks him. He nods. “What does it stand for?”

“Joe Jr.”

“And how old are you, sweetheart?”

“Four,” he whimpers out, but he holds up three fingers. The little one uncurls just slightly.

“Can I pick you up?” At JJ’s nod, she smiles softly and lifts him out of the seat. He cries out in pain at his shoulder. “Oh, sweetheart,” she whispers.

“Daddy pulled my arm,” JJ reveals softly. He lays his head on the woman’s shoulder, hoping to find some warmth and comfort- any warmth and comfort.

Jerry walks back up to the two. “They’ll be here as soon as they can.”

It’s a bit later that the police along with an ambulance show up and speak with the elderly couple and JJ. The older couple insists on riding to the nearest hospital with the little boy and his father.

Upon getting there, they ask the little boy basic questions.

“What’s your name?… How old are you?… Do you know these people that brought you here?… What happened?”

While all of this is happening, a few others work on Joe- and they find his license. Joseph Schemmenti… that name sounds-

“Is this the man that kidnapped his son after beating the living shit out of his ex-wife?” one of the cop’s eyes go wide.

“Oh my god,” another gasps softly.

“Melissa,” you say softly as you drive the two of you back to your apartment complex.

“I. Am. Fine,” she grits out as she holds an icepack- one from the hospital, to her body. “I don’t even care right now. I just need to find JJ.”

“And we will,” you promise her. “We will find him.”

The redhead in the passenger seat starts to crack as she looks over to you. “What if… what if it’s too late?”

You take a shaky breath at that before uttering the words, “It won’t be.” She can tell that you’re trying to convince yourself just as much as you’re attempting to convince her.

By the time that they’re able to locate where the little boy is with the elderly couple, JJ’s shoulder has been set into place, they’ve tended to the burns from the seat belt, and Melissa has been contacted.

“Tommy, you better have-”

“We found him and Joe in a small town out by Lancaster,” the officer gets out quickly. “They’re at Lancaster General Hospital.”

The redhead nearly jumps off the couch, and you have to catch her as she stumbles. “Y/N! they have JJ! In Lancaster! We have to-“ she wheezes for breath, gripping at her ribs. “We have to go!”

“That- that’s over an hour away,” you tell her. “You can’t possibly make that trip right now- not in your-”

“We’ll be there,” Melissa says quickly into the phone before hanging up. She’s grabbing her keys and slipping her shoes on before you can get another protest out.

“You are not driving,” you practically rip the keys out of her hand. “And you are not-”

“This is my son we are talking about!” the woman shouts at you. “I do not care!”

Knowing you aren’t going to win this fight, you grab a pillow and guide her out to the car slowly.

TAGS: @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @thesamesweetie @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @sapphicxrat @a-queen-and-her-throne @sunsol-22 @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld

#melissa schemmenti fanfiction #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti #abbott elementary fanfic #abbott elementary #abbott elementary fanfiction

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lucawrites11 · 2 months

Text

what is a phryge?

part of the evie-verse

chapter five: the number ten

Bordeaux.

They’d been a lot. It wasn’t Evie's favourite away day while they were at Lyon, that award went to anything along the South Coast of France, but it wasn’t the worst away day in the world. That went to Wolfsburg in the Champions League. Evie declared that there was nothing to do there but look at car things.

Lucy kept the rental they’d got for their trip to the beach to trip them to Bordeaux. She was dropping the car in Bordeaux for a flight to Lyon. She had a backup plan to get them to Paris too in case Spain came second in the group but she was more prepared for Lyon.

The only downside was that she had to drive almost four hours to Bordeaux from Nantes. She decided to leave early when the roads were empty and Evie was still sleeping. She packed everything into the car the night before and carried Evie down in her pyjamas at six the next morning and got her set up in the car seat with a travel pillow around her neck. She didn’t even wake up. She’d stayed up late when they’d gone to dinner after the match.

Lucy did one final sweep of the hotel room, the car wasn’t hot and she had a baby monitor in there with Evie, and they’d left nothing behind. She dropped the key card and made sure Evie had food and clothes right next to her for when she woke up and started the drive. She managed three hours in with no breaks before Evie woke up, a little confused.

“We’re on the way to Bordeaux,” Lucy reminded her, she’d told her the night before. She pulled into the nearest services as Evie slowly woke up and realised she needed to pee.

Two pain au chocolat that Evie talked her way into later and she'd somehow also talked her way into the front seat. Lucy turned the airbags off and started on the last forty minutes of the drive to the soundtrack of Evie's subpar DJ-ing.

read on ao3

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d1xonss · 4 months

Text

Desert Rose

Chapter 50 ~ Bring me to Life

✧ Pairing : Daryl Dixon x Rose

✧ Era : Season 4

✧ Word Count : 7.5k

In this chapter ~ When all hope seemed to be lost and the sickness only getting worse, the group finally returns with the meds after a very close call. With her newfound freedom, Rose decides to take full advantage to spend it doing something exciting. Although, nothing can last forever, and just as she was finally feeling happy again, it all came crashing back down.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* ROSE POV ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The sound of coughing bounced off of the walls around the three of us as we tried to help a man named Henry who was currently fighting for his life. Glenn and I panted heavily as we tried to hold him down on the ground as he continued to squirm, while Hershel was attempting to lower a tube down his throat so we could get air in his lungs.

"Henry, we need you to calm down. We're trying to help." Hershel said through the man's coughs and heavy breaths.

He kept fighting the feeling of the thick tube slowly slipping down his throat, and I honestly couldn't blame him, it probably felt awful. I wanted to gag just looking at the scene. But we needed to do this in order for him to live, clearing his lungs for him because his body could no longer fight and do it himself.

Eventually, Hershel got it down far enough and attached the airbag on the other end, squeezing it quickly so air could flow into his lungs, and the man stopped struggling almost immediately as his eyes fluttered closed. Glenn and I both sighed in relief as we pulled our hands away from his chest, continuing to cough and try to catch our own breaths after watching him struggle for so long.

"Drink some of that," Hershel nodded to the cups of tea sitting next to Glenn, "Both of you."

Glenn lazily handed one of the mugs to me as he lifted the glass up to his lips as well. Hershel just continued to squeeze the bag for Henry every few seconds as he watched us breath, drinking the tea he continued to provide.

"Some council meeting, huh?" Hershel asked, his tone sounding as if he hoped to bring light to the situation.

I huffed out a breath, "We're a few members short."

"I think we should make some new rules before they get back." the old man announced, "I hereby declare, we have spaghetti Tuesdays...every Wednesday." he joked. The two of us just looked at him blankly. "But first we have to find some spaghetti."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes as I let out a dry chuckle, "You know what, I would love to live to see spaghetti Wednesdays."

The two men both gave me a look, staring at me with disapproving eyes, "Oh, what? He can make a joke, but I can't. Hypocrites."

Hershel chuckled lightly, "You okay to take over?" he asked holding the airbag out to me and I nodded, "Every five to six seconds, squeeze. You start feeling lightheaded, grab somebody else to take over. We'll take it in shifts."

I nodded again and began to squeeze the bag like he instructed me. I was determined to keep him alive for as long as I could, hoping that the group would be back any minute now and save the man's life. We had already lost too many people in the time that they were gone, I wanted desperately to avoid another. I could feel that everyone else was holding on by a thread.

Not only that, but my worry for the ones who went out was only growing more by each hour that they hadn't returned. In the back of my mind I knew that they were okay, they were smart enough to make a trip like this. But I couldn't help but think it was too far of a trip to make in such a short amount of time. It really hit me then, and only then, that I truly might die before Daryl came back.

I was racking my brain as I continued to keep Henry alive, thinking back to the last thing I said to him before he took off. Until I remembered I just told him I loved him, and felt myself sigh in slight relief, knowing that if I were to die, at least my last words to him was something meaningful.

About an hour passed and I was starting to feel tired, my hands growing weaker by the second as they started to cramp up. Keeping someone breathing really was a lot of work, I didn't know how Hershel was holding his shit together so well. Glenn took notice and offered to take over, allowing me to take a break as I slowly waddled my way out of the cell, wanting to check on a few others in the space. But Hershel seemed to read my mind, coming up to me the second I left the room and asked if I could make his rounds with him.

We walked down the stairs silently and looked in to check on who was still alive. We passed by a few breathing people before Hershel stopped suddenly at a cell and saw a man with blood coming out of his eyes, and I peered down at his chest to see he was completely still. I closed my eyes when I saw him, and Hershel was quick to set his light down to fully walk into the room. I knew what I had to do, and I slowly took out my knife with a breath, but Hershel placed his hand on top of mine.

"No. Not here." he whispered.

He then walked back out of the room quickly while I watched the deceased man, making sure he didn't come back at the wrong time. The old man returned only a few seconds later with a stretcher so we could roll him out and put him down without anyone else having to see.

"Help me get him on this." he whispered.

I sighed as my mind began to wander, "But what about in a couple of hours, when Henry's dead,-"

"Rose." he whispered sternly.

"How are we going to get his body down the stairs and across the cellblock without anyone noticing?" I asked, "It's hard enough to do that when they're on the ground level."

"If that happens- if- you're going to help me." he responded.

I took in a breath as I looked at him seriously, "And what if I'm gone?" I asked quietly.

"Shut up," he whispered harshly, not even wanting to think about my words, "Help me get him on this."

Letting out a heavy breath, I moved to grab his legs to help pick the man up, setting him down on the stretcher gently without making too much noise. We then slowly tried to make our way out of the cellblock without too many people noticing, not wanting them to be aware of the amount of people we were taking out. Though right as we were about to make it up to the door, a child's voice suddenly cut through the quiet cellblock.

"What are you doing?" Lizzy asked.

The two of us whipped around to see the younger girl standing there with a tilted head as she eyed the covered body. I hesitated for a moment, but Hershel was quick to think of something that wouldn't scare her, walking over to bend down to her level.

"We're taking Mr. Jacobson to a quieter place," he said simply before raising his hand to feel her forehead, "Why don't you go get my copy of Tom Sawyer from my room. I want you to read it by tonight."

She coughed into her hand harshly before looking back up to him with a shaking head, "I won't finish it."

"Why?" he asked.

"It's going to get too dark." she replied.

Hershel only nodded in understanding, "Well, give it your best try." he said calmly, hoping to distract her.

I watched as she slowly nodded and walked away, but not without looking back at us a few different times, before completely disappearing back into the darkness of her cell. To be honest that kid always creeped me out.

Though once she had gone back to her room, we quickly ushered the body out of the cellblock and took him down the hall a bit so we could keep this as quiet as possible. The stretcher came to a stop as we glanced around for a moment, pulling out my knife again as I stood up near the man's head, glancing back up towards Hershel with heavy eyes.

"You haven't had to do this yet have you?" I asked him.

He quickly shook his head, "There was one late last night, Glenn did it. People don't need to see it; I don't want them to."

It seemed as though as soon as he finished his sentence, the man beneath the sheet began to groan and try to sit up as he came back to life. I brought my hand down on his chest to keep him still before plunging my knife into the side of his head, ripping it out harshly as his blood began to seep through the white cloth. I mindlessly placed my knife back on my his securely as I looked down at his dead body, hearing Hershel recite a few words from the bible like some kind of funeral.

But my vison slowly began to blur, feeling myself begin to break out into a cold sweat as I could hear my heartbeat in my ears. I blinked repeatedly to try and stay awake, steadying myself with my hands on the stretcher, but the darkness was slowly consuming me, and I knew I couldn't last another second as I fell to the floor.

The last thing I managed to hear, was Hershel's panicked voice calling my name before it all went quiet.

My face scrunched up a little as I could see the dim light behind my eyelids, feeling a soft touch running across my head. I grew confused the longer my eyes remained closed, finally peeling them open again as my vison was still just as blurry as before, trying to allow them to adjust as I woke. Eventually my gaze focused on Glenn who hovered above me, his head facing down and his hand resting against my head, gently stroking my forehead with his thumb.

But once he lifted his head to look at me again, seeing me returning to consciousness, he sighed in obvious relief. "Oh, thank God," he muttered as he placed a kiss on my forehead, "Jesus...you've been out for hours."

My mouth parted in slight shock as I glanced past his head and noticed it was now dark outside. The day completely vanishing it seemed like. I shook my head and tried to think of the last thing I remembered before passing out, "What happened?"

"After you left to put that guy down, you just passed out cold. Hershel had to bring you back in here and lay you down, he said it was probably from exhaustion, dehydration..." he rambled on before sighing again, "God...I thought I was going to lose you." he finished sadly.

"I'm okay." I whispered in reassurance, resting my hand on top of his own as I slowly came back to reality.

He nodded, "Okay, good... just sit tight for a second, I'll be right back. I've gotta check on Henry quick, he's just in the next room."

"Okay," I agreed as he gave me a small smile, shakily standing back up to head outside, leaving me alone with my thoughts as I stared back up at the ceiling.

I laid there perfectly still as the minutes passed, trying to gather my thoughts as I leaned over, reaching for the cup of water conveniently placed right by my side. I knew I needed to get up, find Hershel to let him know I was okay, wanting to know if there were any signs from Daryl. But I paused suddenly when it hit me then that Glenn had yet to return, causing me to realize the area had grown oddly silent. A chill ran up my spine as it didn't sit right with me, slowly sitting up on my cot to try and listen for any noise, even so much as someone walking. Anything.

Lizzy's familiar voice then suddenly called out for Hershel in a slight panic, and that alone made my ears perk up. I slowly got out of bed while wincing at my sore muscles before someone else then started to scream. I tried to push myself to move faster out of the room, looking over the balcony to see that there were walkers everywhere, some killing the people who were still alive, while others fought with everything they had to try and defend themselves.

I had watched this familiar scene before, the sight taking me back to when the illness first started. A pit formed in my stomach as I knew we couldn't let it happen again.

My eyes widened as I turned to rush and find Glenn, but when I made it towards the next room, Henry was nowhere to be found, and Glenn was laying flat on the floor. I instantly dropped to my knees in a panic, turning his head to see he was choking and could no longer breathe, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he struggled.

My stomach dropped, "Hershel!" I called out as I laid him down on his back, beginning to press firmly on his chest to keep his heart beating, performing CPR.

My hands pumped up and down on his chest at a steady pace as I counted to thirty in my head, pinching his nose and tilting his head back so I could breathe into his mouth, before counting all over again. I felt tears forming in my eyes when I saw he still wasn't responding, only growing worse as he fought for his life.

"Come on, Glenn please!" I cried, "Hershel!" I called again over my shoulder, desperate for the old man's help as my vision began to blur.

I repeated the actions over and over again, I wasn't going to stop until he had a heartbeat. My back was still facing the doorway as I hovered over him, barely even hearing the sound of a walker slowly making its way closer before I finally turned around it face it. It was just about to grab my leg until I reached for my knife and stabbed its head harshly, not even bothering to pull it back out as I faced Glenn again.

My arms began to shake as I cried, pushing down harsher and harsher as I refused to believe that this was it for him. I couldn't let him die, not when he was so sure that the two of us would make it out of this together. There was no way in hell I was going to give up on him.

Just as I was about to lean down and breathe into his mouth again, he was dramatically gasping for air, leaning over to spit out a bunch of blood that were once filling his lungs. I sighed in relief as my cheeks were wet with tears, patting his back to try and help him get it all out and clear his lungs.

Hershel then frantically turned the corner with wide eyes once he saw the state we were in, "He stopped breathing." I informed him, trying to catch my breath.

"You saved his life." he replied, "Hold on, we're going to need that airbag." he said before turning back around to find it.

"Wait!" I called out, seeing him stop in his tracks, "I'll go find it. Just keep him breathing, I don't think I can do it anymore." I said as I continued to try and catch my breath.

The man nodded frantically, quickly switched places with me as I walked out of the cell to try and find the airbag we had made. I racked my brain for where it could be, thinking back to the last person who had it. Before I stopped dead in my tracks once my eyes landed on a certain figure that I recognized quite well.

Henry had turned and was now trapped over the balcony, his body lying on the netting that kept him from falling down towards the bottom level of the cellblock...the airbag still attached to his bloody face.

"Son of a bitch." I cursed quietly, before slowly pushing myself to move forward.

I kicked each of my legs over the railing clumsily, falling to my knees in an instant on the flimsy net that was now struggling to support both of our bodies. He noticed me quickly as I gasped for air, taking it to his advantage as he crawled over toward me in an instant, not giving me a chance to balance. He hovered on top of me as his teeth chomped right near my face, my arms struggling to keep the dead weight off of me as my jaw clenched. I could feel my muscles shake wildly as I turned my head away from his face, gritting my teeth as he attempted to sink his teeth into my flesh.

I tried to maneuver his weight slowly, reaching for the airbag from where it was latched onto his face, keeping his teeth away from me as best as I could. I cried out suddenly, not being strong enough to handle it on my own as I was only one step closer to death, before a sudden voice called my name from below me.

My gaze snapped down to see Maggie with wide eyes, aiming her gun towards the walker's head as she saw it was about to kill me, but my screams of protest stopped her. "No! You might hit the bag we need it for Glenn!" I yelled as I continued to struggle with the walker.

I groaned as I continued to fight with the dead, my arms nearly giving out as I tried to reach for the bag one last time. But the weight suddenly subsided in a split second as it collapsed on top of me dead, looking back down to see Maggie lowering her gun.

I nodded quickly in appreciation as I shoved the thing off of me, tugging the airbag from its mouth before trying to stand up on the wobbly net. My heart was racing in my chest and my limbs had never felt weaker as I fought with everything I had to try and make it back up to him, steadying myself on the railing.

"He's turning blue!" Hershel's urgent voice called out, only pushing me to move faster as I lifted myself back onto the second level in a not so graceful manner.

The moment I reentered the room, I handed the airbag to Hershel and couldn't pull my eyes away from his face as he continued to struggle. He was wheezing and gasping for air as blood continued to pour out of his mouth and my breath caught in my throat. I felt tears slip down my face effortlessly once again as Maggie held him down so Hershel could place the tube down his throat to get him breathing again.

My eyes never moved away from him the entire time, standing there like a goddamn statue, not allowing myself to relax until I knew he would be okay.

Once he successfully got it down his throat, he started to squeeze the bag, and Glenn finally stopped struggling as the room went quiet once again. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding and plopped down onto the floor in exhaustion, my hands shaking from adrenaline. I wiped the sweat off of my forehead staring down at him as his chest rose and fell with steady breaths. I could barely process the fact that I almost lost him so easily, I didn't want to think about it too much. He was almost ripped away from all of us, and it scared me so badly.

Maggie then noticed me struggling to catch my breath and placed a hand on my leg as she glanced back at me, "Ro? You okay?" she asked.

I tried to form some kind of reply but nothing came out as I started to cough again, blood beginning to pour out of my mouth. I heard Hershel instruct Maggie to keep squeezing the bag for Glenn as he quickly moved over to me, switching places as they both frantically moved. He gently pushed me over to the side so I could get all of the blood out of my mouth, but it just kept coming, a never ending cycle that I couldn't escape from nor prevent. My eyes started to get heavy again and he visibly noticed as he patted my back harder.

"Come on Rose, stay with us." he pleaded as he slowly lifted me up and onto the nearby mattress I was in front of.

I was trying, but I couldn't stop coughing as I struggled to stay awake. I kept trying to tell myself that Glenn needed the airbag, he needed it to stay alive and I needed to pull through for him. But I felt so tired and Hershel's steady voice started to fade again into almost nothing as it was replaced with a slight ringing. I felt myself slowly slipping away again like I did once before, knowing in the back of my mind that this could be it.

Until I suddenly heard the cellblock door slam open and a familiar voice calling my name.

The life was instantly brought back into me as my ears perked up hearing the sound of his sweet voice, however I didn't open my eyes. Though I knew that I was conscious, my eyelids felt as if they weighed a thousand pounds, the feeling being almost painful for me to open my eyes again.

"Up here!" Hershel yelled back, hearing heavy footsteps echo around the place before they were suddenly right in front of the entrance, a small gasp leaving his lips.

"What happened? She pass out?" he asked frantically.

I mustered all the strength I had left in that moment, opening my eyes slightly to see Daryl standing right above me with a bag hanging lazily from his grasp. He noticed almost immediately that my eyes squinted open, not wasting another second before he was kneeling at my side.

"Rosie? Baby?" he whispered softly, the pet name just slipping right out to prove how scared he was, raising his hand to run his thumb over my cheek.

I cleared my throat roughly before nodding my head, "I'm here." I breathed heavily.

There were sighs of relief all over the room upon hearing the sound of my strained and tired voice. I then felt Daryl lean down to place a kiss on the top of my head, "Thank God yer okay." he whispered against my hair, "Yer okay." he repeated.

I smiled weakly at him and saw Bob lingering in the doorway, hesitantly making his way inside to hand out the medicine we needed.

"We need to get her an IV to get the meds in her." Hershel said, beginning to stand.

I sat up quickly upon hearing that, "No." I protested before a cough cut off my words, "Glenn," I breathed, "Help Glenn first."

All eyes were on me in question, but everyone seemed to understand as I laid back down, resting my eyes again. Relief filled my entire being now knowing that Glenn, Sasha, and anyone else who was left was going to be okay. I was going to be okay. A weight was lifted from me, knowing now I could finally relax as everything was falling into place.

Opening my eyes again to look at Daryl, his gaze had never left me, "You're back." I said weakly.

He smiled, "Yeah m' back, angel. And yer gonna be okay." he said quietly, pushing some of my hair back and out of my face.

"You know I'm too stubborn to die."

He chuckled lightly, "Damn straight."

It had been about a week before Hershel would even let me step outside. He wanted me to recover fully before being around everybody else, and I haven't had any human contact other than him in a whole seven days. I had briefly seen Maggie and Glenn since they were in the same cellblock that I was in with Glenn still recovering, but that was it.

After Daryl and the others came back with the meds, he wouldn't let us see each other for the soul purpose so no one else would get sick. So now I was anxiously waiting for his approval, so I could see everyone again after what felt like an eternity. He held the stethoscope up to my chest, telling me to take deep breaths as he listened to the sound of my lungs. But once he was done checking nearly everything under the sun, he didn't utter a word, silently knowing I was dying for him to say something.

I rolled my eyes at his silence, "Oh, spit it out please!" I exclaimed.

He chuckled before slowly nodding his head, "Well it looks like you're in luck...you're free to go, dear."

I squealed in excitement before quickly wrapping my arms around him in a hug, feeling him laugh again before squeezing me back tightly. I wanted him to know how much I appreciated him always, how I noticed how hard he was working to save not only my life, but everyone else's. And how I knew he would still look after me even though I was completely in the clear.

When we pulled away from one another, he kept his hands on my shoulders to make sure I wouldn't rush right out, "But take it easy, you hear me? Doctor's orders." he said.

"Oh please, I've been taking it easy for a whole week. I think I'll be okay." I assured.

He nodded, giving my shoulders a soft squeeze, "I love you...I just want you safe and healthy. I'm allowed to worry."

My eyes softened as he voiced his concerns and his adoration, leaning back in to hug him once more as if I couldn't help it, "I love you too..." I whispered, "Thank you for just...everything."

"It's my pleasure, dear." he said as he held me tight, before pulling away again to keep his hands securely on my arms as if he was scared to let me go. It warmed my heart at the thought, knowing that he's always cared for me like a daughter, and I couldn't have cherished it more.

"Why're you acting like we're never going to see each other again?" I laughed, "I'm just going outside for a bit."

He nodded, "I know. But be careful, alright. Don't push yourself too hard."

I rolled my eyes slightly, "Yeah, yeah." I muttered while giving his hand a squeeze and standing to my feet, "See you later, old man." I said over my shoulder, hearing him chuckle to himself as I made my way out of cellblock A.

As soon as I stepped outside the prison walls, I instantly felt relieved as I breathed in the fresh air. I always loved being in the sun because of how much happiness it brought me. Being inside for that long didn't exactly do me any good, feeling like an actual prisoner most of the time as I could hardly even stand up on my own without Hershel scurrying to make sure I wouldn't fall on my ass.

"Rose!"

I turned around when I heard the brief call of my name, seeing Carl and Beth rushing over toward me quickly with excited smiles. My face broke out into a grin of my own when I caught a glimpse of them, opening my arms for them as they both collided into me to give me a giant hug. I hung onto them tightly, slowly realizing how much I had missed them the longer I held them again in my arms.

"Oh, I missed my babies." I muttered as I squeezed them tighter, hearing them both laugh happily.

"We missed you too." Carl said seriously, beginning to pull away.

"I was so worried about you." Beth said as she looked at me now, clear sadness filling her voice as her features contorted in concern.

I shook my head quickly, "Hey, I'm okay. You don't have to worry about me." I said while placing a hand on each of their cheeks.

Whether they realized it or not, they both leaned into my touch the second I reached up, my heart warming at the sight. I knew how concerned they were, but I would rather go through that a million times over than have them be the one to catch the illness. I would have been a nervous wreck, so I was silently grateful that they were perfectly healthy, and not the other way around.

"So, what are you guys doing?" I asked as I pulled away.

Carl shrugged, "Just taking a walk, do you want to come?"

I went to answer, but then my eyes briefly landed on where Daryl and Rick were standing, leaning against a few of the cars as they spoke. "How about I take a raincheck?"

The two of them turned to where I had been staring before giving each other a certain look, Beth starting to make kissy faces at me which caused me to roll my eyes while Carl snickered to himself. "Oh, shut up." I muttered as I pushed her shoulder. "Bye you two!" I called over my shoulder.

"Bye!" they yelled back as they made their way to the field side by side.

I had a bit of pep in my step as I made my way over toward the vehicles, a part of me a bit surprised that they were talking in the first place considering how they left things. But right on cue, as if they could hear my thoughts, they both turned at the same time when they heard me walking up to them, and Daryl wasted no time jogging over the rest of the way.

He quickly picked me up into a hug, leaving me squealing in surprise as I squeezed him tightly around his shoulders. I felt him sway me back and forth a little as my feet still couldn't quite touch the ground, before lowering me back down with his arms still secured around my waist. I had missed him like crazy, wanting to spend every single second with him until the sun went down to make up for the lost time.

"I missed ya so much." he finally said, pulling back slightly to look me in the eye.

"I missed you more." I whispered.

Rick clearing his throat from behind us is what made our heads turn to look over at him at the same time, "You have an audience." he reminded awkwardly.

I huffed out a small laugh before pulling away from Daryl, making my way over towards him to wrap him in a hug as well. He rested his arms across my shoulders as he squeezed me once, "Hey, Rosie." he whispered.

"Hey," I smiled, "Um...since when did you and Daryl make up?" I whispered in his ear.

I heard him chuckle a little, "Well it took a lot of talking, and me telling him I apologized to you and all that. But we're okay."

"Good." I muttered while finally pulling away from him.

"So, how do you feel?" he asked.

"Refreshed," I said simply, "I can't wait to actually do something." I rubbed my hands together excitedly.

Daryl came closer to me and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, "Well, why don't we get outta here and do somethin. Anythin you wanna do." he suggested.

I raised my eyebrows, "Anything?"

He nodded his head, "Mhm."

I thought about it for a few seconds before a slow smirk was brought onto my face, and I could tell that it made both men a bit nervous. "I don't like that glint in her eye." Rick said.

I smiled as I turned towards Daryl, "I know what I want to do." I spoke confidently.

"Shoot." he said.

"Teach me to drive your motorcycle." I stated without any hesitation.

He stared at me in slight disbelief for a moment, trying to decipher if I was being serious or not before shaking his head, "Nah, no way."

My mouth fell open slightly, "Oh come on! You said anything; that's what I want to do."

"That's really what ya want?" he asked hesitantly, watching as I surely nodded my head.

I had no idea why, but lately I had been itching to get out and ride on Daryl's motorcycle again. However, I wanted to be the one to drive. Though it made me a bit nervous, I couldn't deny that I was excited too, figuring now was a perfect time to learn. I was practically imprisoned for a week straight and I needed to do something.

He sighed and thought about it for a few moments before eventually giving in, "Alright."

I smiled brightly, kissing his cheek as a thank you before moving over towards his bike that was just a few feet away. In all honesty I didn't really know what compelled me to want to learn, but it sounded almost freeing. Although I thought it was funny that I wanted nothing to do with motorcycles in the beginning, and now I wanted to learn how to drive one. My guess could only be it was Daryl's constant bad influence on me.

Being cooped up in a cell for a week made me realize how much I take for granted. I missed being outside in the sun, I missed having the wind whip me in the face, and I especially missed my family the most. I knew I hadn't taken the time to see all of them yet, but I knew I would eventually when the sun went down, all of us usually gathering around for dinner. My mind wandered to Sasha and Glenn, knowing that he was still recovering as he had a bit more trouble bouncing back. But Maggie was practically glued to his side so I knew he was just fine.

I was snapped out of my thoughts when I felt Daryl begin to slow the bike down to a stop in the fairly open road, shutting it off briefly before turning back to look at me over his shoulder, "Alright, this ain't a toy. Ya gotta take this seriously."

I blinked, "Okay, dad."

He narrowed his eyes at me, "M' serious."

"So am I." I smiled.

He huffed at my sarcastic state, before getting off the bike as I slid myself down to the driver's seat. He then hopped on the back as I glanced down at the handles, trying to get the feel of things before he started to instruct me. I grabbed the two of them hesitantly, knowing already which was the brake versus the clutch from what I've seen Daryl do in the past.

He placed his hands on top of mine and gave me a quick kiss on the side of my head before I felt him pause. I then glanced up in the rearview mirrors, seeing him looking at the back of my head in slight confusion.

"What?" I asked with a tilted head.

He pointed to the small purple clip I had my hair pinned back with, "Where did ya get this?"

I subconsciously touched the back of my hair, "Oh, Maggie gave it to me a few weeks ago. I thought I would pin my hair back today; you like it?" I asked.

He nodded his head, "Mhm, it's pretty." he approved, watching me smile as I turned my attention back towards the bike, hearing his voice become a little more nervous, "Mkay, start it up." he said hesitantly.

I paused momentarily as I tried to remember how, but quickly picked up on it as it roared to life, nodding to myself as I heard Daryl mutter good under his breath. "Alright, ya remember which one is the clutch?" he asked over the sound of the bike. I nodded my head and motioned towards it, "Good," he said again, "So, when ya wanna go, ya let go of the brake slowly and lift the clutch a little."

"Okay," I said to show that I understood, though he could quickly tell by the slight shake in my voice that I was nervous.

He kissed my head again, "It's okay, just trust yerself...and don't kill me."

"Yeah, that's helping." I spoke sarcastically.

He chuckled, "I'm kiddin, you'll do great. Just let go of the brake, lift the clutch a little." he repeated.

I took a breath and nodded before doing exactly what he told me to do. He removed his hands from mine and placed them around my waist to hold on while I slowly let go of the breaks to ease myself into it. The bike began moving pretty slowly, but it was moving. I smiled and got a little more confidence and sped up just the tiniest bit to try and slowly get more comfortable.

But whilst I was speeding up, I accidentally hit the clutch a little too hard and it sped up a lot faster than I wanted it to, and I could feel Daryl fly off of the back at the impact. I gasped in surprise and tried to get control of the bike to check and see if he was okay, but I couldn't turn around to look back without it turning the whole bike right along with me.

Though the seconds of panic didn't linger for very long as I could hear him laughing loudly from behind me, his heavy footsteps following shortly after to try and catch up with me. He hopped back on the second he was close enough while the bike was still going, placing his hands over mine again to get me to hit the brakes slowly to bring it to a stop. We were both laughing wildly as it finally came to a halt, causing me to turn around to glance at him with apologetic eyes.

"I'm so sorry." I breathed as I let out another laugh, covering my face in slight embarrassment.

He chuckled as he gently moved my hands to kiss my forehead, "Don't be sorry darlin, it was yer first time. Ya just gotta practice some more."

"Okay." I sighed, turning back around to try again.

It took some time, but eventually I was driving the bike at a normal speed and didn't kick Daryl off of it in the process. In just those few hours, I had laughed harder than I had in what felt like forever, and it felt good. He really brought out the best in me in ways that I wasn't able to describe.

I couldn't help but notice the way he was looking at me as I drove by on the bike by myself as he watched me from on the grass, with his arms folded over his chest and a proud smile on his lips. But I also didn't miss the lovesick look on his face every time I passed him, but I liked it, and I was pretty positive I looked at him the same damn way. I was glad we got to spend a few hours just enjoying each other's company, while we laughed at the few times I made an ass of myself in the process of learning how to operate the thing that he knew best.

Eventually we headed back to the prison and to my surprise, he let me drive back on my own. To him I was going painfully slow, but I wanted to be careful, cautious as if I would somehow knock him off all over again.

Once we made it through the gates and up towards the prison, I hopped off first and saw that Daryl was about to follow my actions, but I stopped him. "Ah, wait." I said before holding my hand out for him to take.

He looked confused at first, but then seemed to realize what I was doing and rolled his eyes, taking my hand nonetheless. "I do that for a reason, so ya don't fall on yer ass." he said.

I smirked, "I thought I would be the gentleman for once. Plus I was the one driving, it's only fair."

He rolled his eyes again at my words, placing a kiss on the top of my head before we both turned to see Rick jogging over toward us with a small smile upon seeing our return.

"Hey, how was it?" he asked.

"Good. I didn't crash it." I responded while gesturing to the bike next to us dramatically.

He chuckled, "Good." he spoke with a nod, only turning more serious a second later, "I'm uh...I'm glad you came back when you did, I was actually going to ask your help for something."

Daryl narrowed his eyes a bit in concern, "What's wrong?"

"I was on my way to tell Tyreese about Carol, but uh... I wanted to have some kind of backup. I don't think he'll freak out again, but just to be safe."

I could feel Daryl tense from next to me, "So, yer willin to put my girl at risk of gettin her ass beat, again? Nah, no way."

I turned to look him in the eye, "Hey, it's fine, I'll do it. Nothing's going to happen. Plus, Rick came by and apologized for everything, we're good." I reminded him.

"Yeah, he told me, but that don't mean I want ya in there." he said.

I shook my head at him, "I'll be fine."

He thought about it for a second, and then probably came to the realization that he couldn't stop me, nodding his head reluctantly in agreement. We then followed Rick, making our way through the prison to try and find Tyreese to break the news to him about who actually killed Karen and David. I didn't know how he would take it, but I hoped that since she was gone, he would be a little more relieved.

My mind went back to Daryl and how he was taking the loss of Carol. I knew that they were closer friends, and I could only imagine how hard it was to hear that she was gone. But he never seemed to mention it, to an outsider he didn't seem to be affected by it at all. Though I knew him better than that.

I gently nudged his side as we followed behind Rick, "How are you doing...about Carol?" I asked hesitantly, keeping my voice down.

He only shrugged, "Sucks...but I'll be alright." he said as he nudged my shoulder in return.

I nodded in understanding as I could see he didn't want to talk about it much. I knew he was hurt about what Rick did, I could see it in his eyes, but at the same time I knew he understood too. Otherwise he would be on his bike as we speak looking for her to come back.

The three of us made our way down to the tunnels now, Rick calling out into the space, "Tyreese! You down here?"

There was a moment of silence before he heard him call back, "Rick? That you?"

We all then followed the sound of his voice, seemingly at the same time he started to come out of the darkness. He was taken aback a little when his eyes landed on me, probably shocked that I was out of cellblock A as I hadn't seen him since he had taken me.

He smiled warmly, "Hey Rose...you feeling better?" he asked.

"Yeah, Hershel finally let me go." I smiled.

He nodded, "Good," he said before looking back to the two men beside me, "Look you guys gotta see this." he said, pointing behind him.

"Can we take a beat? There's something we need to talk about." Rick said.

"It can wait, come on." he said urgently while heading back the way he came.

We all looked at each other cautiously before following the man back into the room where he came from. It was dark and the men had to raise their flashlights for us to see what he wanted to show us, but once my eyes landed on it, I couldn't help but let my mouth fall open a little. There was a dead rat up against the wall, with its insides spilling out of it.

I heard Daryl mutter, "The hell?" as he stepped closer to get a better look, shining his light over the bloody surface.

"I was just looking around, I needed...answers. Then I found this," Tyreese explained while pointing to the dead rat, "Same person who killed Karen and David did this. Remember the rats at the fence? They show up the same day she was killed, we got a psychopath living with us. We gotta find him Rick, and I'm not going to sleep until we do."

I almost wanted to laugh a little at Tyreese's detective skills, but I didn't. The rats had absolutely nothing to do with Karen and David and at this point I think he was just trying to find something, anything to lead him to who was responsible for killing them. None of us knew who was doing this with the rats, it was all too weird.

"Tyreese," Rick started calmly, "Whoever did this, I don't think that's who killed Karen."

Tyreese looked at him confused, "Why?" was all he could ask.

But before anyone could say another word, a large booming sound rang out from right outside the prison walls and the concrete around us crumbled a little at the impact. I jumped in surprise at the sudden explosive sound, growing confused and uneasy as my heart started to beat out of my chest. My eyes panned up to see Daryl who was already looking at me with the same panicked expression and I knew we both seemed to have the same sinking feeling.

"No..." I muttered.

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