#would they be able to save dirtied people like us without abandoning them? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

diejager · 2 years ago

Text

A Fantasy

Pairing: YANDERE Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader

Cw: NSFW, DARK, non-con, dub-con, non-con drugging, somnophilia, creampie, possessiveness, obsessiveness, breeding, marking, blood, biting, Stockholm syndrome, tell me if I missed any.

Wc: 9.8k

(A/N): FYI, Tracer’s (Overwatch 2) the reader’s mentor.

Requested by : @oyasumimosura

What stood before you was a great field of devastation and ruin, burned and broken buildings that used to be warm homes, lively parks that were turned to ashes, trees and plants laid wasted around dilapidated cars with broken windows and bent metal. People, young and old, laid motionless on the scarred ground, burnt black or left intact in a pool of their blood. Some were holding hands, a family, friends, a couple. Others were alone, forgotten, and left to their sad deaths.

One minute you were rushing through a portal, behind your mentor and besides your teammates, the Cavalry, as she liked to say. Rushing through fights to protect humanity and omnics and its future. The mission was like the one yesterday, the preparation, the meeting, the briefing, and the deployment, but the fate of it changed. A portal malfunctioned, it sent you elsewhere, far away and lost. This wasn't your world, this wasn't your universe, but now, you were in someone else's universe, playing their game.

The clock had struck and time felt meaningless on the battlefield, the sounds of beating aircraft blades, the booming shot of guns and the shockwaves of grenades were all people could hear. Soldiers were the only ones left, fighting against the other side - the enemy, the traitors, the terrorists - until one came out victorious.

While purposeful, the deaths and ruin of this Occidental village were regretful, families shattered, memories lost, and homes destroyed. All you could do was run around, trying to find the source of those cries you heard. A little girl's, whose tears welled for the mother she lost in the tirade of war.

The longer you ran, the closer you got to her. The girl's purple shirt and jeans were dirtied with soot and ash, dark from what was left of her village. You blinked, fazing through time and space to get to her more quickly. Rounding broken walls and jumping over fallen debris, you left a blue trail behind you, blinking your way to the crying kid.

You wrapped your arms around her, pulling her into your chest when you got to her, recalling to your previous position with the girl, behind a brick wall. She clung to you, eyes red and swollen, lips bit red and her cheeks puffy. She looked like a seven-year-old child, alone, lost, and miserable without her parents or protection.

"Don't worry, love, " you used the words Tracer often used when she saved someone, her reassuring and calm voice. "I'm here."

Those zigzagging lines of light lingered in his mind, a shadow of a woman making her way through the abandoned town. The spring in her steps and the flexibility of her movements, jumping higher than any man should've been able to and changing directions so easily. She was fast, vanishing in a line of blue light and then appearing once more meters away.

Ghost saw her save a child, no older than an eight-year-old - or so he thought. A lone child on the battlefield was dangerous, a death wish for the kid if his enemies got to her first. Fortunately, the athletic woman got to the kid before anyone could, swiping her into her arms and disappearing in a blink. Seconds ago, she stood next to the pole, now all that was left was a blur of blue. She had disappeared as quickly as she appeared.

He picked at the memory constantly, powers, it seemed, were her thing, speed and agility of which no one should be able to wield, but she did and she used it to save a child. Although he admired that from a stranger, the question of her being a danger to them was still left unanswered. Whether she could be trusted or an unknown enemy that would tip the scales in the enemy's favour.

However, months later, after the war ended, there weren't any sightings of her, anywhere on earth, as if she had disappeared - again. He remembered her, though, the determined glint beneath blue goggles, her hair tied in a ponytail, flowing through the air, and her pretty lips.

She could still be in Europe, she probably was, or so he hoped. It would mean that he could run the chance of meeting her, to quench his gnawing curiosity. It would be difficult - near impossible - to find her in the millions living in Europe, but he would keep his eyes open, he had questions and he wanted answers.

He wasn't a believer per se, nor was he an atheist, he had a veto in what he put his trust and belief in. He wouldn't curse others for not believing in a God or gods, he wouldn't scoff at those who believed in them, and everyone had their rights. At this moment, however, the thought of God helping him had crossed his mind.

He had dared cross his limit, entering a small cafe - or a bistro, he wasn't sure - blocks from his flat. It was small and homely, the air was warm with the smell of coffee and tea and the place welcoming with the smiling faces of the cafe's workers.

He sat far into the shop, his back against the softness of the booth's couch, bored eyes observing his surrounding for any danger. Even off duty, the habits that ensured his safety still stuck to him, following him wherever he went.

The waitress, a young-looking woman, with striking eyes and hair pulled in a bun, walked his way. Her face looked familiar, lashes framing her pretty eyes, blushed cheeks and beautiful full lips. He knew those lips, and those eyes, and her build, short and athletic, but strong.

It was the child-saving vigilante he saw, only without her blue goggles and her tight bodysuit, blue and white that emphasized her muscles (it was probably made for usefulness, sticking to her body without any stray cloth when she ran, it made running faster and easier.). Wearing a chemise and black pants, instead of the standard skirt the other women wore, her shoes clicked as she approached him, hand pulling out a pad from her black apron's pocket.

He froze when her hand disappeared into her pocket, the items inside were unknown to him, and the content could be dangerous to him. He had to remind himself that she was a civilian at the moment, not an enemy vying for his head. She was safe, as long as she didn't attack him. He waited for her to speak, her pretty lips forming the words she wanted to tell him.

"Good morning, sir," her voice was melodic, soft and inviting. He craved hearing her speak to him with the soft lull of her tone. "Have you decided?"

Decided? What had she - you - meant by "decided"? Then he remembered he was in a cafe, people walked in to order food and drinks, to go or to eat there. He couldn't drift off like that, he couldn't disappear into the darkest depth of his mind. It was a dangerous place.

He cleared his throat, blonde lashes fluttering as he blinked, staring at your face. You were pretty. His words rumbled out, slightly muffled by his black mask: "No." He neither spoke more nor less, blunt as a hammer and sharp as a knife.

"Would you like more time to decide?" You were polite, smiling at him although his only spoken words were brash. He didn't want you to go yet, he just found you, heard and spoke to you,

"Anything you- uh... you recommend?"

You perked up at his question, seeing a more approachable change in him. Your smile widened, brighter than before as you listed off the menu by heart. Your optimism reminded him of Johnny's, expressively happy and grinning. The cafe - Ma's cafe, he learned from you - had its famously brewed tea latte, a mixture of earl grey and vanilla latte.

He took your recommendation, and you left with a skip, apron bouncing with each step. He watched you walk behind the counter, shuffling around with cups and the machine - he thought it was a coffee machine, those with pre-made coffee in its tank - meticulously, knowing well what he ordered.

You came back minutes later with a smoking mug filled with a milky brown liquid. It was fitting its name - London fog - with the white swirls that mimicked the fog that filled the cool, morning air until early evening when the sun started heating everything.

"Thank you...?" Ghost tried, wanting to know your name, you didn't have a tag on your apron.

You gave him your name with the smile you gave everyone, a customer service kind of smile that would assure that you wouldn't get any complaints about your service. He repeated your name a few times in his mind, memorizing every syllable and the way it sounded so well.

He wanted to repeat your name, whisper it lowly, but he had to make sure you were farther away from him, or you'd hear him obsessively call you. It rolled off his tongue amazingly, a perfect symphony with his deeper, raspy voice. He'll get to know you better, he planned on visiting more often, to learn your schedule and watch over you.

He pushed every intrusive thought back, bringing the mug to his lips (he had pulled down his mask to drink). It was sweet, slightly bitter from the coffee, but sweet nonetheless, perhaps a bit too sugary. He savoured the drink you made him, breathing the warm aroma of your mix. You'd made it, you had it, and served it. It was made for him, with your care and smile.

Ghost came by the next week, wearing the same black hoodie and dark jeans. He sat at the same booth and waited for you to walk by with the same smile as the prior week. You did, eyes wide with recognition when you caught him staring at you from the corner booth. You made your way to him with a grin, clad in a similar uniform and a serving tray under your arm.

"You came back," your calming voice reached his ears, giving him something to cling to in the cafe.

He liked habits, familiar things and usual occasions, but he hated the new and the unknown. They were dangerous, and deadly in his line of work. You expressed your gratitude at the tip he left you, way over the usual price other usual clients would.

"I never got your name."

He hadn't given you his name? That's right, he didn't for fear of people finding out his true identity, a broken man hidden under the mask of a monster - a Ghost. Trust issues stacked with insecurities and his introverted tendencies had made forming relationships much harder, making friends complicated with the backlash of his many blunt comments and irritated huffs, and letting people in from the fear of being betrayed, backstabbed, beaten and abandoned.

You were a vigilante, you saved a girl, you smiled at him and greeted him like you would a friend. You didn't shy away, nor freeze at the mere sight of him. You were new, but you were good - or so he thought you were. To him, you could be the achieved unachievable, a friend made from dust, a relationship formed from miracles and normalcy.

He blinked, mumbling lowly his name, low enough that it only reached your ears. You cocked your head downward, your smile widening as you repeated his name.

"Nice to see you again, Simon. I'm happy to see you again."

He nearly shuddered from hearing his name roll off your tongue, so melodically spoken. He wants to hear you call his name again and again and again, as many times as you could until he got sick of it (he probably wouldn't, he was already addicted to the way you spoke).

He dozed at your words, that you were glad he came back. He was glad too. He wanted to come by the day after his first visit, but it would seem too strange, perhaps dangerous to see him every day at the same spot, at the same time of day. He was a man of schedules, organized and neat planning.

He figured he would start by buying once a week for a month or two, then change it to twice a week for the following months, until seeing him every day would become the norm for you. He would kickstart the routine and make it a usual appearance in your life. He would make *him* a usual appearance in your life.

"Same as last time, Simon?"

God, he loved hearing you say his name. He simply nodded, he would make it his usual, a hut sweet, but enough to drown the bitterness in his soul.

The leaves turned darker, shrivelling and dropping dead to the ground. The mellow sky grew gloomy, and colder with each passing day until it dropped so low that Ghost had to wear a thicker jacket over his usual hoodie. Autumn was at an end and winter crawled ever so closer.

He was back from deployment, on a temporary leave to "relax and diffuse" as Laswell said. Everyone was back home, Price with his cigar and Nik, Gaz back home with his girlfriend, Soap with his rowdy family of seven and Roach went home to open arms and warm welcomes from his parents.

Ghost only had an empty apartment - or he used to, he moved to a house on the quieter side of town - and the cute, dazzling waitress that served at Ma's cafe. That's where he was going, he texted you before he left, letting you know that he was back and ready for a hot cup of London fog and brunch.

You read his message, replying with a "Copy that, Lieutenant". It became a running joke between you after he told you about his work, nothing classified or too detailed, but enough to let you know he was built to fight and survive.

The bell rang when he pushed the door, seeing you peer out of the kitchen once he stepped in. He was hit with a warm embrace, the cafe's heater worked well, warming the place and making it cozy enough to eat with only a t-shirt on. He gave you a nod, finding his way to his usual spot, the one he sat at for the past months.

How many months have passed since he first stumbled here? He couldn't remember everything became a blur when it was associated with you. His moments with you were warmer and calmer than at the start. You opened up to him, walls crumbling down and letting yourself build something out of it: a friendship with Ghost.

He liked being friends - for now. He had plans to make a move, to push farther, into unknown territory and try his luck. He had a feeling you'd say yes, he loved you so much and you showered him with adoration and smiles, you had to be in love with him, no? Of course, you were, he wasn't delusional, he was of sound mind, careful.

"Welcome back, Simon," you strut to him so casually, the same clothes, the same smile. "How was your deployment? Soap and Roach got into any trouble?"

He spoke fondly of his TF, they were his family, and he felt proud when he talked about them to you. He invited them once, and they all loved you as much as he did, you were sociable and easy to talk to. Though Price and Soap had the biggest effect on you, they reminded you of someone. You told him about your friends, chaotic like his TF, but a family. It sounded like an ops team, he wouldn't be surprised. He remembered the first time he saw you, it was still fresh in his memory.

"Soap stirred up some shite again," Ghost huffed, sloshing his shoulders to appear more relaxed in your presence, to make him seem less threatening than he was. "No casualties, everyone made it out fine. Bit bruised but alive."

"That's the main objective, no?" You chuckled at Ghost's indignified groans about Soap and Roach behaving like children high on sugar.

You stuck around longer now, gracing him with a bit of random chatter. He got to know about your days, your activities, your wishful thinking and your goals. He discovered something new every day, whether it came from your lips or from his own time.

You stood by his table until the chef rang the call bell. You winked charmingly and turned to get his order, he hadn't ordered yet, but he came by so often, ordering the same that the employees knew what to make when he walked through the door.

He liked the normalcy, where he came by once every two days when he was on leave. If the Task Force was sent on a mission, he could be gone a few days, a few weeks or a month. It always varied, but he made it work with his hate of the unknown, the unpredictable.

"Are you free tonight, love?" Ghost asked, eyes gazing from your hands to your lips.

He found that open-mouthed expression at his question. You seemed hesitant to answer him, thinking about your reply to the man who tipped you well and was as close as a friend to you; or perhaps you were simply shocked that he finally asked you out, and wondering if you had time for him.

You nodded, a smug smile replacing your shock: "How 'bout eight? I finish at seven tonight."

" 'S fine, eight at the bar down the street?"

"It's a date then."

His heart almost broke his ribs, beating wildly against its cage when the word "date" left your lips. He had a date with you tonight, he couldn't believe his ears. Perhaps you meant as a date between friends than one between lovers, but at that moment, all he could think was how your hands would feel between his, how your soft, plump lips would feel over his and how your body would feel against his, below and over him.

He dove into his delusional mind, imagines and dreams swimming freely, jumping from one to the other. He had dreams for once, a wish that he hoped you'd indulge, and a family he wanted but lost.

Everything seemed to go the way he planned, you waved at him when you saw him waiting outside the bar and giddily joined him. He found a quiet and mellow corner at the bar, a table pushed against the wall with two stools.

The bartenders knew him, he drank here with the others, and they didn't bother him and served and usual. Some were surprised he brought a friend - a woman - with him but left him to his own.

You sat down and downed a few beers while he drank his bourbon. You spoke sporadically, hands waving enthusiastically with every word. Your cheeks were flushed, slightly pink and warm from the alcohol, but you were lively, animated and happy.

It made him happy, seeing you so mirthful around him, being able to let loose from your stricter atmosphere at Ma's cafe. Your tense shoulders were looser, your back relaxed from its ramrod-straight position and your voice felt more invigorated. The alcohol might've played a part, running through your system and making you bolder.

The first time always played well, just as he imagined, and the thing that solidified everything was your parting words: "Next time's on me, Simon!"

You drank together every week, from friends to drinking buddies, there was nothing more intimate than that, to trust someone with your drunk self and your loose tongue, spewing words and thoughts the second they crossed your mind.

That boosted his confidence, the feeling that he could confess, and tell you his deepest and darkest thoughts and wants. You'd know what kind of man he was, broken and messily put together, like a DIY project made by a child gone wrong. He had sharp edges and missing pieces, a cracked personality and dangerous thoughts. He was a SAS soldier after all, once you become one, you see some twisted shit.

Like the week before, you walked out together, your legs shaky but still able to walk home, accompanied by Ghost. He helped you to your apartment, his broad shadow looming over the door, silent as always. When your shaky hands were able to unlock the door, turning the knob and opening the door, you turned around to bid your drinking buddy good night.

Lips parting to say the words, until he cut you off, his chapped lips met yours. His gloved hands caressed your cheek, thumb rubbing under your wide eyes as he held you in place. His lips were warm and plump, but chapped, a scar running over it.

His eyes were closed, lips on you for a few seconds longer until he pulled away, a dazed look in his eyes. While he expected a reaction from you, he hadn't envisioned shock and sadness, one that made his gut plummet. He winced at your expression, unable to understand what he did wrong. He thought you loved him.

"I- Simon, I- I can't, I'm sorry," you hushed out sadly, head turned down to stare at your feet. You were unwilling to gaze into his disappointed - probably heartbroken - eyes.

"Why?" He rasped, voice hoarse as if he hid cried for hours, or was on the brink of tearing up.

"I just can't, Simon," you persisted, feeling much more sober than the last few minutes. His surprise had severed you up - willingly or unwillingly. "I don't mind staying friends, but I can't get too attached. I won't be here much longer."

" 'Cause you're not from here?" He scoffed, but it didn't hold any resentment or irritation, simply sorrow and distress. " 'Cause you're from another world?"

You whipped your head to stare at him, your mouth agape and fearful shock glazed over your eyes. How could he have possibly known? While your identity was fabricated work, you know how to make a believable fake ID, Genji's knowledge helped you. You stepped back, hand reaching for your door knob, unsure of what Simon would do to you now that the secret was out.

He turned and ambled out, shoulders slumped slightly without a word to you. His world shattered once again, God seemed hellbent on making his life a misery.

He stopped coming after your "altercation", you felt horrible, but you couldn't let your heart run wild when you know Winston would find a way to fix the portal in a year or two. One had already passed and you couldn't overindulge in this world's pleasures and leave when you got too attached.

Yet, grief at being relieved that he never appeared again clawed at you, he knew you weren't from his world. It was dangerous information, especially in bad hands, but you couldn't do anything about it. This world had different rules and standards, it worked differently and you weren't book-smart like Winston or Torb. You were a simple agent working under Tracer.

You did, however, regret letting Simon leave so abruptly, he was an amazing friend, the perfect drinking buddy and would probably be a caring lover, but couldn't risk it. Even if you wanted to text him, and apologize over and over until Simon would talk to you again, you knew how to respect people's boundaries. If he left so coldly, never passing by, texting or calling told you enough. He needed time to calm down and clear his mind.

You went back and forth between your home and the cafe every night, your original routine - before meeting Simon - felt alien to you. You'd been so used to seeing Simon at the back of the shop, a hot London fog in his hands and crepes on his plate with melting butter. It was foreign to see the spot occupied by another client, or the cold spot in your chest when it was vacant.

You disliked it. You hated it. The cold, the silence, you wanted to see him at least once.

Can we meet? Usual place. was the sudden text you received from Simon during your shift. It was dated today at 5:39.

Without a second thought, you replied, affirming the date and time, tonight, right after your shift on Friday. A weight was lifted from your shoulder, the silence from Simon was broken and he finally reached out to you. Your break to let him calm down had worked it seemed, the let him cool down and clear his mind.

It was late by the time you got to the pub, around nine. You had returned home and fixed up your depressed look for a more lively one, hoping it would make Simon feel better. You caught him at your usual place, head hung low and demeanour shut off from the world around him. You took hesitant steps towards him, he didn't look exactly sober from the number of cups decorating the table, nor did he look drunk, from his sharp, hooded eyes.

"Simon, " you greeted him slowly, nearly flinching when his brown eyes washed over your smaller figure. Chills erupted through the ends of your nerves, fingers twitching at the sudden burst of danger you felt from your friend. You had no reason to be scared, wary of his demeanour, but not scared or hateful. He'd yet to act out violently or malevolently.

He gave a curt nod, emotions bleeding through his eyes. He was a stoic man, but his eyes were extremely emotional, pain, regret, grief, hate and joy were some you'd seen flash in those pretty brown of his.

He had a whole bottle ordered in advance, the cap still tightly screwed onto the bottle's neck. He poured you a cup, of rum straight out of the bottle without ice or any accessories.

Thanking him, you sipped on your drink it felt hot and heady on your tongue, it burned your throat. You hadn't drank since you'd last seen Simon, weeks ago, and you could see - feel - its effect. You coughed slightly but still downed the rest.

"You wanted to see me?" Your question left an odd sensation on your tongue. He hadn't spoken a word since you walked in, always the brooding, silent menace. He stared, fixated on you or something on you, it was perturbed you.

"I wanted to apologize, love."

You missed that low hum in his voice, and the caring way he said you "love". You'd been used to it since most British you knew always called someone they cared for "love" or "dear", loving terms of endearment used publicly. Now, however, you knew it weighted, an undertone to its meaning, a special significance in his heart.

"Didn't mean to jump you like that," he continued, regret painting his rough tone. "It felt right; to me. Guess I was more plastered than I thought."

He was human and alcohol coursed through his system. It made him bold and erratic, he acted out without a second thought. You could forgive him for the influence his bourbon had on him; you were going to forgive him anyway.

Although you felt better with his apology, forgiveness for his sudden move wasn't what you prioritized. You wanted answers. How did he know? Was it a sudden, incomprehensible blurb that he spat in a spike of hate and pain? Or was it conscience wording from his drunk mind?

"Do you remember that night?" You lost your smile, pursed lips and hardened eyes at your questioning - interrogation of him.

"'Course I do."

"Do you remember what you said? About me coming from somewhere else."

He nodded, eyes levelled to stare straight at you, unwilling to hide or lie, he spoke honestly, "Another world, love. Didn't forget."

"How'd you know? I'm not exactly showcasing it to everyone in bright colours. So how?"

"Saw you save that girl, lil babe crying for her mother," his answer was slow and purposeful, giving you what you wanted to hear. He recalled the event that occurred months prior, everything aligned with your own experience. "We don't - can't - have shite like that, too developed and powerful. Nothin' like that's possible in this era. So I figured you weren't from here. "

His reasoning made sense, his wording was careful, and it seemed like he had time to think about it. The time you gave him had helped. You kept your doubts to yourself, questions you had that he probably didn't have the answer to. A way back; a way home; an escape. All things he had no answer to.

So your shoulders relaxed and asked Simon to pour you a second cup, to which he obliged. You drank and smiled, back to the trying times when you just started drinking with him, the unknown and the awkwardness that lingered in the air stung.

You don't remember how many cups you had, or how many bottles you finished. Did you even finish the first one? Did you get halfway through before your vision started blurring and your mind dazed into mumbles of incoherent words? Simon hadn't touched another cup since the world around you blurred, the corners of your eyes turning black and your movement slowed to a slur.

He paid for the drink on his tab, slinging your arm over his shoulder, hand holding your waist as he walked out. You were drunk out of your mind, but something felt different, you don't remember being this inebriated the last time you drank half a bottle of rum. Was there something else in it?

Simon dropped you in the back, buckling you in before he made sure you sat upright. He was close, his neck bare and sweaty, his musk smelled strong and heavy, smoke and gunpowder weighing at the back of your throat. Although your vision was faulty, you could see the tight muscle of his neck and shoulder tense as he worked.

His scent stuck to you as he closed the door and drove home, the air in the car smelling like him. Whatever had drained you, lulled you to sleep, taking comfort in the familiar warmth even if a small part of you started panicking.

He had you, in the basement of his house, soundproof and padlocked from the outside. Any risk was accounted for and any escape plans were foiled prematurely by his quick mind.

Ghost laid you beneath him, on the soft, plush bed he bought and built for you, queen-sized for the times he'd spend cuddling you. He had you splayed, body limp and limbs pliant to his every desire. He admired your sleeping form, how your lace fluttered lightly and your lips perked, thinking on the corners as if you were wincing - a duck face - and your peaceful expression. You were adorable.

Your shirt came off first, pulled over your head and thrown over his shoulders, then your bra. Without his gloves, your skin felt soft, hot to the touch. Kneading your breasts, he held one in each hand and felt the fat. You twitched and mewled faintly when he pinched your nipples, hardened by the cooler air hitting your drunk-induced heat. He kissed them, lips closing around your nipple and sucking loudly. He gave each one the same amount of attention, pulling off with a wet pop.

His fingers trailed the lines of your abdomen, strong and athletic, but not too burly like anyone in the army. He admired your figure, half-naked and unconscious on his bed, in his home. He kissed down your stomach as he took your pants off, sliding leg after leg out, leaving you only in your panties.

You were beautiful: your skin - soft, your hair - silken, your lips - wonderful to kiss, and your eyes - gems. You were breathtaking to look at, a treasure to his eyes solely. You were an unblemished canvas, unmarked by other men - in his mind - by sin, and your scars were trophies, won through difficult times. He wanted to be the one painting you, displaying you prettily for his eyes alone. Pieces of works were kept secret like Michelangelo's love poems and sketches.

His eyes wandered the expanse of your body, groaning when he saw the wet patch, your body had reacted to his caresses, your arousal turning the spot over your cunt darker, wet. He pushed his nose to it, breathing in the tangy musk. His fingers hooked under the string and ripped it off with a harsh tug. You wouldn't need underwear anymore once he was done with you.

Ghost's pupils dilated, wide, blown eyes as it keyed on your slick cunt. He adjusted your legs, moving them over his shoulders to have better access to you. He gave a testing lap, running the flat of his tongue over your rim, prodding your clenching opening and leaving at your pulsating clit.

You tasted delicious, he growled and dove back. Tongue circling your button, sucking loudly, lifting the protective hood to let it swell and throb. He held your hips tightly ad you squirmed and moaned, but you never awoke. The drug he gave you was potent, tested on bigger, stronger military men. It could knock them out, so it would pull a stronger reaction from you.

It weighed on his mind, that he resolved to drugging you and bringing you home to be able to show you just how much he loved you. He'd preferred if you were awake, he wanted your first time together to be wonderful - fantastic - in all ways, but you would've protested, fought him and left him once more. He couldn't risk losing you completely, it hurt.

He had no other choice and felt guilty, but he couldn't let his mind wander when he had you under him, ripe for the taking. He pushed his thoughts away and concentrated on you, his needy girl.

His tongue returned between your leg, cheek nuzzling into your sweating thighs. He alternated between sucking your button, lips enclosing around it, and dipping his tongue into you, groaning anomalistically at your tensing walls. He pushed his forefinger in, joining his ravenous tongue. His nose bumped your clit, jerking you each time.

A second finger joined the first and his tongue left to give attention to your neglected clit, pumping to the third knuckles and curling upwards. You arched off the bed, hips buckling into his open mouth as he stretched you open with a third finger. The sound was lewd and wet, loud in his ears.

His cock twitched, straining against his pants, the fabric tight and inflexible, nearly painful. He wanted to relieve the tightness, that burning ache deep in his guts, but his needs came second to yours.

He flickered his tongue and pushed his fingers deeper, curling and panting against you. You spasmed, legs closing around his head, squeezing him as you came. His fingers eased out slowly to savour the taste of your arousal, mouth covering your fluttering hole and slurping the slick that drizzled down your ass.

He loved how you tasted, sweet and salty, like a healthy, ripe fruit ready to be bitten into, juicy and perfect. He almost lost himself, dazed by your essence and his anguish; if only you'd accepted him early, you would've been awake and conscious of this act, and you'd be able to love and embrace him as he did to you. He wouldn't have to wait so long, in pain and regret, for not wooing you enough. He wouldn't have to feel so guilty.

Snapping from his hazed thinking, he lowered your legs and climbed off the bed to undress. He peeled his hoodie and shirt, which stuck to his skin by sweat, and he dropped his pants once he unbuckled his belt. His cock bobbed, slapping wetly against his navel before it hung heavily between his legs, the head achingly red and swollen. His balls felt heavy, and tight from all the neglect. They were big and full, ready to pump his seed into you.

He cradled you, pulling your legs over his elbows and slotting his hips to yours, his cock over your slit. He moved his hips, slicking his shaft with your juices, groaning at the wet warmth under him. When it felt slick enough, he dipped the tip in, your labia stretching to swallow his uncut head. The sound was downright filthy in his ears, the squelch and your strained moans.

He watched himself inch deeper, sinking into your depths with unrelenting hunger, panting and growling until he bottomed out, his balls sitting snug against your ass. His bulbous tip kissed your cervix, nudging it as he rolled his hips, testing how deep he could reach and how strong he could fuck.

He slowly pulled out, hearing the wet noise of his cock slipping out to the tip, and slammed in, his balls slapping the roundness of your ass. He rocked wildly, groaning each time he bottomed out, feeling the heat of your walls clench around him like a vice. Your spasming walls wrenched low moans from him, as often as you whimpered and mewled.

"Fuck- you feel so fuckin' good-" he pushed out through his clenched teeth, his cock twitching when you tightened around him.

Your legs shook, your back arching slightly and your voice keening loudly. He covered your body with his, lips meeting yours in a hungry and possessive kiss, tongue diving into your mouth and committing it to memory. His hand found your clit, thumb rubbing your sensitive nub, urging you towards your end.

Keening, you came, gripping him with a vice. He grunted, his pace becoming sloppy as he chased his peak after yours, breathing in your neck with dazed, hooded eyes. He swore, thrusting as deep as he could and came, his seed rushing to fill you.

"Fuck- fuck-" he gasped, rocking a few times into you, riding off his edge until he calmed down.

White globs leaked from your stuffed cunt, rolling down your ass and leaving a trail. His chest rumbled happily, bending down to kiss you slowly, soft and adoring compared to the last. He slid out when he softened, his cum oozing out of your gaping heat, the plug keeping everything in left.

He loved watching you full, oozing of him, asleep and satiated in the bed he bought for you. You were both coated in sweat and cum, hair sticking to your glistening skin. Your dishevelled and panting aroused him, his soft cock jerking upwards, hardening moments after he just came.

"We're not done yet, love."

You felt heavy and warm, a heat - a body - held you tightly, fingers carding through your hair and caressing your back. It smelled like sweat and smoke, a familiar musk. You opened your eyes, seeing a pale, burly chest, Simon's naked chest. You froze, body tensing, shoulders squaring and arms ready to push him back.

"Morning, love," his voice was raspy with sleep, deep and calm as he greeted you, his lips meeting your hairline. "Slept well?"

You frowned, legs moving, jutting out from between his knees as you struggled to free yourself. Your body felt sore, the peak of your discomfort coming from your heat, a pulsating and warm pain. You feared the worst.

When you looked down, you were covered by only a shirt, a big, dark grey t-shirt that smelled like Simon, it reached your knees. You winced, seeing your nakedness and Simon's pants hanging low on his hips, flashing the sharp dip of his navel and his sculpted torso. It left little to imagine, the red blemishes on your neck and shoulders, slightly faded from his careful handling and bruises the size of his fingers around your thighs.

"You-" you coughed before you could day anymore, throat dry and scratchy, alcohol dehydrated people faster.

"Drink," he held you up, back to his chest, arms slipping around you too comfortably to hand you a cup of water, cool and fresh.

He had expected this, he wasn't as delusional as he first seemed, and he was prepared. You took it, gulping it down carefully, counting the seconds - minutes - that would pass until the drug kicked in, if he had diluted any in your water.

He hummed happily, his chest vibrating as he wrapped his arms around you, nosing the collar of your neck, he placed fluttering kisses on your open shoulder. The collar of his shirt slipped from one side, exposing your skin. His teeth grazed you, teasingly nipping you with warm puffs of air.

You gulped, gathering whatever wits you still had after this whole kidnapping situation. Your mind was running miles per second, eyes gleamed over with tensions and tiredness, and your body sore from Simon's perverse affection.

"Where am I?" your voice was small, still raspy from - what you assumed - moaning and mewling.

"Home," he mumbled, latching onto your skin and sucking a dark spot.

Home? It neither meant your flat nor safety. It was *his* home, a prison he built for you. You looked around. You thought it better to get to know the place he decided to keep you captive, to learn and discover its secrets, anything you could use against or for you.

It was like a studio apartment, everything was open apart from the bathroom, it had a small kitchenette with a fridge (probably in case he left for a while, deployed in another country while he kept you here.), a bookshelf filled to the brim with books and a desk pushed to the side. He'd forgone leaving you with a television, a mobile device, a phone or a computer, all were risks of you getting out.

The walls were painted over, bare of windows and stairs lead to a door, locked from both sides. He locked you in his basement, beneath his house and every other neighbour's nose. No one would come to your rescue if you screamed. No one would hear your cries of anguish or your pleas for freedom.

He bit down, teeth pressing onto your skin, denting the scarred flesh with his teeth marks. You yelped, the area hot and painful, his strength leaving an almost skin-deep bleeding, fiery and red. It was irritated and swelled in seconds. He moved from one patch to the other, determined to mark up your shoulder before possibly moving on to the next one.

You squirmed on his lap, trying to free yourself from his restrictive hold. You gripped his hands, digging your blunt nails into his forearms. He scoffed, nuzzling the bites he made, tongue lapping at the bleeding lines.

"Ghost," you gasped, legs kicking and body struggling.

Clicking followed every kick, the distinct sound of metal rattling in a disorderly way. You looked down your leg, catching the cuff around your right ankle, a long chain kept you jailed in the basement. It was long and winding, enough to comfortably walk laps around your new accommodation but too short to reach the door.

You stared at it incredulously, the utter rage and disgust that burned in your gut that he planned to keep you as if you were a glorified pet or some sort of prize he scouted and obtained.

You knew he liked you before, it was a simple and innocent crush, like finding your first one and not knowing how to react. That, and the fact he was a soldier, scarred by time and marked by warfare made him so standoffish. You thought it was simple, but now, it was too late to forget, to not look, to let bygones be bygones.

He was obsessed, not necessarily sane, but not crazy either. He wasn't delusional, by everything he set up as a precaution, but he let his darkness fester, grow and crack the surface of his calm and stoic persona. He was still calm and meticulous, but it was a different kind, storming ideas for your imprisonment and wishes he wanted to make true. Ghost and Simon overlapped, neither good nor evil, he was simply letting the monster rage uncontrolled.

His pent-up emotions drove him to the edge, and your rejection pushed him over, tipping the scale of his sanity. That's how you ended up in your current situation, his hands wandering over your thighs, dipping between them and down to your knees. He still nipped at your skin, biting and pulling the collar down the other shoulder. His teeth sunk into the muscle between your neck and shoulder, warm fingers slipping under his shirt to knead your chest.

You winced, flinching when he plucked your nipples, pulling on them until you let out a pained whine.

"Stop-!" your hands followed his, clamping around his wrists and dragging him out, but he stayed firm, unmoving to your will as he twirled your mounds. "Fucking stop!"

He huffed, hands dropping to your lap. He mumbled into your bitten skin, groaning in complaints about not letting him care for you. His complaints came with hot breaths on your nape, mouthing the back, turning silent and unmoving.

His quietness was familiar to you, his penchant for sifting through his thoughts in utter silence. Then he moved, draping the covers over your body, tucking you in. He stood at your bedside, expression lighting in a gentle smile. Under the dim lighting of the room, he looked like a beautiful angel. A gold halo hovered over his blonde locks, framing his pale skin and warm, brown eyes.

He kissed your forehead, lips lingering a few seconds longer as he took in the calming moment. He had you, he had you in his home.

"How about breakfast? Fried eggs and bangers, how's that sound?"

The normalcy of eating breakfast in bed, to wake up and be greeted with a British breakfast made by Simon. He liked the idea of such normality, it was romantic, domestic even. To be able to cook for you and serve you the food he made, he'd eat at the table in the middle of the room, seated opposite from you.

He left before you could give him a piece of your mind, or your reply to his question. Fried eggs, you knew what that was, but *bangers*, what the fuck was that?

The stairs creaked lightly, bending under Simon's weight, but his steps were silent - dangerous. The lock clicked when it was unlocked, and he left you alone, the door locking behind him. Gone was your escape, gone was your freedom, gone was your life with the door locking before you.

Time seemed endless, it went by in a blink or in long, painful moments that left you angry. He hadn't given you a clock, and without anything technological (the microwave didn't have the time, whatever Simon had done, worked. Time never played on the four-letter screen.), you couldn't tell day from night, seconds from minutes and minutes from hours. Time dragged agonizingly slowly, the only clue was Simon kept a pattern: three meals a day, breakfast, dinner and supper before going to bed with his arms wrapped around you.

How long you've stayed here was unknown. You couldn't know and Simon didn't want to tell you. He changed subjects or glared at you until you dropped it or he decided to drop it. You had no link to the outside, no way of knowing if you'd been announced missing or if anyone was worried. Simon had cut all your connections to the world around you, just outside your reach, on the other side of these walls that confined you.

You desperately needed to know about your case, if they knew, if they filed a missing person report if they were searching for you. It pained you to be ignorant of everything but your small world, the things that happened in your small room. Everything you knew was Simon.

His horribly, soothing words in his deep voice, speaking into your ear or your hair, whispering his dreams and his hopes, his love and his adoration. His wandering hands, raking the tension from your shoulders, the knots in your back, your worry from your eyes and lips, and the pleasure - forced - he brought upon you.

Entertainment was brought through him, or through the books he left for you, most were erudite, both old and new novels. Bram Stoker's Dracula, The Silence of the Lambs and The Heart of Darkness were a few of the novels you'd caught on the bookshelf.

He also fed you. Most days, he'd stay until it was time to eat, he would leave - sometimes half an hour or a whole hour, it ranged between depending on the meal - and come back with warm plates. They always smelled good and they tasted better.

It surprised you how skilled he was in cocking, as he was in infiltration, sniping, abducting and killing. Perhaps he took the time apart from you to forge his plan, to learn to cook and to care.

You ate, slowly and contemplatively. He stared at you eat, always making sure you took the first bites before digging into his own plate. It weighed heavy in your gut, like a reluctant gift you were bestowed, and Simon made sure you ate everything.

You felt dazed, gone, after eating, as if a cloud washed over your mind that made you slower, and sluggish with everything you did. The food was drugged, you were aware of that when you first felt lethargic. It made you less testy, less bratty as Simon grumbled, you were more pliant to his whims and easier to move when you tried fighting him.

Though it eased the nausea that wracked your body in the mornings, the sudden discomfort in your abdomen and the heaviness that the ache gave. You rarely needed to move from the bed if the urge to vomit came up, Simon kept pills for that. If you did, he'd comfort you, holding your hair back as the content of your stomach surged upwards.

Your time spent with Simon was time spent organizing your thoughts, Winston was smart, engineering-wise, he was amazing. Then there was Mercy with her medical breakthrough and Torb with his ingeniously brilliant machines. If they came together, found what went wrong with the portal you went through.

Trace would be so worried if she wasn't already dead worried. She was a caring and responsible mentor, taking you in before and after the fall of Overwatch. Nearly twelve years under her and this was the first mishap. You spent nearly two years in Simon's world - you counted the time your could count, the days you spent working and enjoying life as much as you could in a different place - and your heart never stopped missing your family.

You missed Jack - Soldier: 76 - when he would openly laugh, and Gabriel, when he was still the man he was. You missed Tracer's fussing, blinking around with so much energy, and Reinhardt's proud standard when he loomed over his teammates with his Barrier Field. You missed them horribly, they were the glue that kept you hoping for freedom.

It happened when you nearly conceded to Simon's whims, bending to his will and words, letting his hands wander your body and feeling pleasure - genuine. His confessions were parroted, and his I love youwas returned.

You ate less, however, the lump in your gut grew by the days, weighing heavier and heavier. You had weird cravings, followed by nausea most mornings, gripping the toilet bowl with your head hung low. Simon held your hair back and rubbed soothing circles on your back, bemoaning about your pains and cramps.

He left a few times during your period of captivity, vanishing for long periods - usually a week or two - and had you manage everything on your own. He had cameras set up, watching your every move, connected to whatever device he decided to watch you.

He was deployed a week ago, his steps never walking to the door during the week, but now, you could hear his booming steps around the house. They were loud and intentional. Dread always filled your body when you learned he came back, he was clingy, handsy and obsessive when he came back, growling that he would burn down the world if couldn't have you; or that he was thinking about you - constantly - and that the video feed on his phone was never enough.

You picked up on his pace, hurried and panicked. They stomped around the house in search of something before it stopped at your door. Your ears perked on the clicking of the lock, straining to listen to his heaving breaths.

Crack

You jerked forward. Something behind you cracked, the loud cracking filled the air as you turned. A blue swirl cracked the shift in reality, like glass fracturing and breaking into pieces, it glowed with every line. It pulsed calmly, the swirls capturing your attention. You felt drawn to it, your hands twitching with the urge to touch it, to let your fingers swim in the infinite pool.

"(Name), are you there?" a voice called from the other side, small and feminine. It was dripping with worry and exhaustion. "Luv, are you there?" she cried a second time, a hand emerging from the portal.

You knew the voice, the warm, familiar voice that called out to you with love and compassion. A friend. A mentor. A family.

You reached out to it, hand inches from hers. Then the door to your cage burst open, his screams echoing in the basement. He hurried down the stairs as fast as he could, mask still on his face as he reached for you. His gloved fingers grasped the air for you, rushing towards you with immense worry and fear in his eyes.

Mere seconds behind you, his fingers grazed your back as you fell into the waiting arms of your mentor. He was too late, he fell on the vacant bed, watching the portal close behind you. He clutched the bending, the place you sat moments ago. It was still warm, your heat and smell still mixed into your sheets.

He spun lies about your absence, about your sudden disappearance from his world. You moved away after your breakup, you distanced yourself from him to make the move easier on your heart and his. The TF had accepted the excuse, solemnly nodding about your leave and wishing they could have said farewell to a good friend.

They moved on with life, still smiling nostalgically when you were brought up, but Ghost was left heartbroken. He knew something was wrong that day, the itch in his brain about something happening at home. That's why he was in such a hurry, in a panicked frenzy to get home - to get to you. He was too late though, seeing you being pulled into a portal. Dooming was the effect on him; devastation was the pain in his heart; shattering was the sorrow of his soul.

He poured everything into keeping you, only to lose you. Now, he poured every second of his life into work, never letting his mind wander to the bump on your stomach or the subtle relinquishment in your actions to him.

He was deader than dead, colder and more stoic than before. They saw the change, they understood, but never blamed you. Everyone had fallouts, Simon just had more than the rest of the world. That's why he played Ghost more often than before, building his walls higher and his appearance darker.

Yet somehow, Soap was enthusiastic enough to rope him into playing games on his console (he used to play more before finding time between deployments to jump into a match with the others). Overwatch 2, an evolution of the first made better. Soap promised it was good. His spiel about the characters having a profound background and the gameplay being fun. Ghost was doubtful, he and Soap didn't have the same definition of fun, they were associated with different things.

He liked Soap, though, so he humoured his sergeant. He downloaded it on his console, watching the white line charge until it became playable. Soap had mentioned a few names: Genji, Sombra, Reaper and Zenyatta, he even joked about Reaper resembling him, the skull mask and the dark drapes. He'd also gushed - like an over-enthusiastic gamer - about a new character, a woman, the sole student of this Tracer.

He scoured through the lists of players, eyes skimming over the faces before he spotted a familiar one. It was more cartoonish, drawn in gentle lines and beautiful shades. Your face, it was your beautiful face. He nearly dropped his controller, hands shaking and body heavy.

Was it guilt that washed over him? Was it pain that washed over him? Was it sorrow and melancholy that washed over him? Or was it his world that came crashing down on his shoulders?

The world dulled, his breath became stagnant and shallow as he stared at your hero. You were standing proud and fearless, guns held in your hands with a bright smile. He watched you emote, your character moving as it was coded. He scrolled through your skills and perks, some he remembered you use. You blinked and recalled, moving back and forth between time and space, breaking the fragile shift in the world.

Soap was right about the new hero, you were interesting and lovely. In a flurry of emotions, he opened up your biography - or a snippet of your backstory. Every word bled his heart, every act and every situation wracked his body with sadness. The more he read, the more his tears threatened to fall.

You kept your - his - child, a beautiful kid with his blonde hair and your eyes, a round, yet sharper face like his. You kept him, you hadn't aborted the child. You gave birth and he wasn't there. You took care of your kid and he wasn't there. You watched him grow and he wasn't there.

He cried, body closing on itself. His shoulders shook, his vision blurred and his face streaked with tears. A broken sob broke through his throat, restricted and pained with waves of emotion, deep and harrowing sadness of his loss.

"I miss you, love," he rasped, his fingers gripping his hair, nearly ripping out the seams. "I miss you."

#ghost mw2 #x reader #yandere x reader #yandere #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader smut #yandere ghost #simon ghost riley #yandere cod #cod smut #mw2 smut #ghost call of duty #simon riley smut #ghost mw2 smut #yandere mw2 x reader #yandere mw2 #overwatch 2 #overwatch

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ask-red-guy-dhmis · 9 months ago

Note

“I killed a person yesterday,”

That’s what you said.

Dripping wet in the summer rain,

You were crying in front of my room.

Even though summer had just started,

You were trembling terribly.

The memory of that summer

begins with such a story.

“The one I killed sat beside me,

The one that forever bullied me.

I got fed up and shoved their shoulders,

But the place they hit was wrong.

I can’t stay here for long,

So I’m going far away to die.”

So I said this to you:

“Take me with you.”

Bring a wallet, bring a knife.

Pack the games in a bag.

Let’s destroy everything we don’t need.

That photo and that diary too.

Those aren’t needed now,

that it’s become this.

It’s a journey between you and me,

A killer and a useless person.

And then we ran away

from this small, small world.

We’ll throw away everyone,

Family, school, just the two of us.

The two of us will die far, far away,

With no one near.

Nothing in this world means anything anymore.

Don’t things like killers spring out from nowhere.

You did nothing wrong.

Neither of us was loved.

With that ugly thing in common,

We easily believed in each other.

When I held your hand,

The slight fear of tremor was also gone.

With no one around,

We walked on a railroad.

We were stealing money, running away together.

I felt like we could go anywhere.

There wasn’t anything scary to us.

The enlarged sweat. My falling glasses.

“Nothing matters now that it’s like this.

It’s a good-for-nothing journey.”

Like a dream, I had at times,

If there was a kind hero, loved by everyone,

Would he be able to save dirty people like us,

Without abandoning them?

“If I had such a dream,

I would throw it away immediately.

The five letters in happy don’t exist.

Don’t you know that from your life already?

I’m sure everyone thinks they did nothing wrong.”

Wandering through a flock of cicadas,

Slowly running out of water,

Acting like idiots.

But then you took the knife.

“I made it here because you were by my side.

That’s why it’s enough now.

It’s enough now.”

“The one to die can be me alone.”

Then you cut your neck.

It was just like in a movie,

By the time I realized it, I got caught.

I couldn’t find you anywhere.

You were the only one not missing.

That summer saturates inside my head.

Even now, I still sing.

I’m still looking for you.

There are still things I want to tell you.

Persist sneezing at the end of September, continuing the smell of June.

Your smile, your innocence saturates inside my head.

Nobody does anything wrong.

You did nothing wrong.

That’s enough already,

Let’s throw it all out.

You wanted someone to say that, didn’t you?

(with rizz) (that summer saturates rizz)

This was an interesting and compelling read, thank you for sharing.

#red guy answers #dhmis #red guy

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starryknight-dragonarts · 9 months ago

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Echo the Calamity of Hysteria (Experiment Number: 876) Gender: Male Background: Echo was one of the test subject in the Alchemy Cult of Zelophbog, with the intention of creating The Seven Calamities, a group of natural disasters that have a significance in Dragon history and culture equivalent to representing the Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Echo was given the powers of the Calamity of Hysteria: Mass Panic and Chaos. In Captivity Echo was quite popular among the other test subjects, he was known for being friendly, funny, having a chill demeanor despite the bad circumstances, but he would avoid getting into conflicts, although they seem to constantly spring up around him... Personality: Echo is a charismatic, arrogant, psychopath. He's easily able act like he's normal person, even come off as very approachable and friendly in front of other dragons with the intended purpose to draw them to his side, make them believe they can trust him, learn all he needs to know about them, and then use them as pawns. He has no sense of morality or remorse, his only desire is to create conflicts for everybody because it amuses him, however he hardly ever want to be the one to get his own claws dirty or get caught in a situation he can't get himself out of, so he prefers to be the devil on someone's shoulder convincing them to be their worst selves and then if things start going badly he will abandon his partners without a second thought. His favorite toy to mess with is Scirocco given how gullible the kid is, he has assures Scirocco that he's his best friend and always on his side while encouraging Scirocco to get into fights he can't win and like the perfect plaything he is Scirocco keeps coming back to Echo. This was how Scirocco lost part of his horn. Strengths: Manipulative, Escape-artist, Strategic Weaknesses: Disloyalty, Arrogance, Lack of Empathy Powers: Sound, Fear, Phantom Stats Elemental Energy: 8/10 He has an ample amount energy but he saves most of it for if he needs to make an escape Elemental Control: 10/10 He has masterful control over his powers. He is subtly using them almost constantly in order to mess with people's perceptions Intelligence: 9/10 Echo is great at reading people, figuring out how they think and then exploiting them Combat Ability: 5/10 He is able to fight if he has to but prefers to make other dragons do his fighting for him. First sign that things are not going how his way and he will try to escape. Potential to Grow?: Echo has no desire to change, he does not feel regret or shame for his actions

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alaffy · 2 years ago

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The Baby, Ep.3 – The Bulldozer

The most terrifying thing in this so far is that hellscape that was that child’s play place shown in the middle of the episode. Literally indoctrination of kids to fit certain people’s ideas of social norms. Honestly, if I knew someone took their child to a place like that on a regular basis…I don’t think we could be friends.

The episode starts with Natasha bring Nour, the woman in the car, back to her apartment. Nour lets Natasha know that Nour’s here to save her; but to do so they have to kill the baby. Of course, Natasha thinks the idea is insane as it’s, you know, a baby and demands that Nour leave. Nour says she will and will wait to save the next unfortunate woman. But first, she wants Natasha to give back her drive. Natasha goes to retrieve the drive, but sees the pictures and has second thoughts.

Natasha asks how they would deal with the baby. Nour says that, first, they need the baby to go to sleep. But the baby refuses to sleep as he knows that the two women are planning something. Natasha remembers her friend talking about a toy she uses, a BunBun, that helps her child go to sleep. Natasha calls her friend and asks where she’s at; which is at the play place I mentioned at the beginning. Then, she, Nour, and the baby head to that place.

Natasha tracks down her friend and begs to use the BunBun. Her friend is, understandably, unnerved by Natasha’s behavior; but allows her to use the toy. And the toy works…until a kid comes near the baby and pops a balloon. Natasha scolds the kid and the kid, upset, goes running to mommy. Meanwhile the baby, realizing the power of the toy, rips it to shreds. This, of course, upsets Natasha’s friend. One of the mothers demands that Natasha leave but, long story short, that mother upsets the baby and there ends up being another…accident. The mother is alive, just with one less finger. Which nobody can find.

Natasha apologizes to her friend, who is understandably upset with her. Her friend points out that this is what Natasha always does; she barges in without really considering her actions or what others need. The friend probably would have continued, except Natasha gets a text from her sister saying that she needs Natasha. This information seems to calm the friend down, as she knows the two sisters haven’t spoke in years. Her friend tells Natasha to go help her sister.

Going back in the story a bit, we are introduced to Bobbi (the sister) and her girlfriend, Sam. The two of them are children’s entertainers, specifically they do magic. It’s clear that Sam has bigger ambitions. Bobbi, on the other hand, just wants a child; so they are planning to adopt. They even have this cute little magic trick they’re going to do for the social worker. This thing is, the day that the social worker comes for a visit, Sam doesn’t show up for the meeting. In a panic, Bobbi tries to text Sam; but accidentally texts Natasha.

So, Bobbi is really surprised to find Natasha on her doorstep with an older woman and a baby. Also, she doesn’t want Natasha there as she’s…well, she’s afraid that Natasha is going to make it harder to adopt. Apparently, the social worker has to interview all family members and, with Natasha’s brash attitude, Bobbi is afraid she’ll say or do something wrong. So, she told the social worker that Natasha is overseas. However, now that Natasha is here, the social worker wants to talk to her.

And it doesn’t go well as Natasha starts airing out all the dirty laundry that was their family life. However, it’s in this moment that we find out that Natasha basically had to become a mother to Bobbi after their mother abandoned them.

Of course, Natasha misses the cues Bobbi is trying to give her to shut her up. Bobbi, out of desperation, tries the magic trick she was supposed to do with Sam. It doesn’t go well. And then, somehow, the finger ends up on the carpet? The social worker sees this and freaks out.

Natasha is able to come to the rescue, though, and says it’s a fake finger that’s part of one of Bobbi’s tricks. Bobbi pretends to do the trick, which the social worker seems to accept. Afterwards, Bobbi asks to hold the baby and, amazingly, does something that makes the baby fall right to sleep. Natasha and Nour leave with the baby and go back to the apartment.

But looking at the baby, Natasha is having second thoughts about going through with the plan. Natasha and the woman fight over a knife, but the fight is stopped when someone knocks on the door. It turns out to be Bobbi. Natasha says this isn’t a good time and shuts the door. Then, she continues to fight Nour.

In the end, Nour is able to pin Natasha down and make it clear that if Natasha doesn’t destroy the baby, the baby will kill her. Nour then asks that Natasha, at least, stands down and lets Nour take care of the issue. Natasha agrees, but it doesn’t matter. At the end of the episode, we discover that the baby is gone. My guess is with Bobbi. Now the question is, did the baby to something to Bobbi to make her take the baby or is Bobbi so desperate she took the child of her own accord?

#the baby #natasha williams #bobbi williams #nour eaves

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sohosaturn · 1 year ago

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warning: this post is long af cause i have a lot to say :)

okay so i finished it yesterday and i have MANY thoughts, but my biggest gripe with season 2 (season 1 was fine in most departments for me tbh even with the weird timeline change) is that they completely assassinated SO MANY CHARACTERS, like straight up destroyed them for absolutely no reason.

(spoiler warning, i’m fashionably late to this but jic im not the only one, spoiler warning for everything)

as much as i hate the “female mc loses her powers by the end to be with the love interest” trope, it made sense in the books cause the whole message is that greed is a dangerous thing, and her giving normal people her powers to break the fold just hits so much harder. in the show, it’s as if she’s made the same mistake kirigan did but for mal instead of power, and i HATE that. i wonder if they’re planning to stretch out her and mal’s ending, but who the hell knows. but by far the worst character assassinations were the crows.

why would they do this? the only character thet kinda did justice was jesper but they still made some changes to his relationship with wylan that just made it shallow. i get that he’s a hoe in the show, and that’s funny to me, but we never saw him and wylan fliriting and teasing, it was just straight up they had a one night stand and they’re already together. that is so boring. also wylan’s introduction is so weird to me, i feel like he should’ve just been mildly introduced at the end, like how he and jesper met in the books and just leave for the ice court heist. wylan already being with the crows, already dating jesper, just doesn’t hit as hard as it does in the books. and they already put the mini conflict between him and jesper about the fact that he can’t read, i feel like that should’ve just not been touched until the ice court heist (if we ever get it lmao). also jesper’s reasoning as to why he thinks it’s a curse is just told to us, and not shown like in the book when his father still thinks his power is a curse, and imo that sucked. they should’ve had him contemplate and have a little crisis about how he feels about his power, like this 400 year old saint and his man says it’s a gift but his own loss and what his father’s told him says otherwise. don’t just have him change his mind like a switch flipped lmao.

i know books are completely different medium but this could’ve been avoided, and honestly most of the really heartfelt and nuanced relationships within the crows are just shallow in the show and it pisses me the FUCK off.

they did kaz and inej SO dirty. how’d they manage to make their relationship SHALLOW? how do you do that? HOW??? the line where inej tells kaz she’ll have without armor or not have him at all is completely ruined in the show !!! it just makes it seem like she’s pressuring him to be able to touch her without having a panic attack, and out of all characters, inej would NEVER say that. i feel like her hallucination when they’re all poisoned and dying shouldn’t have been like her hoping kaz would open up, they should’ve explored her trauma instead. i understand this is dated tv-14 and they don’t want to have graphic scenes, but they don’t have to do that to get the point across. they can just show her crying in her room in the menagerie, maybe venting to one of the girls girls or praying that her saints save her, they can just imply her trauma like they did with genya’a character (who’s also somewhat assassinated in the show imo) THAT would’ve been better. while inej’s biggest fear is that she won’t be useful to kaz, so he’ll abandon her, that probably wouldn’t have worked because there’s extra context during and after the ice court heist that adds to that, especially when she says “he’ll never trade if you break me” so i get why they didn’t do that, but they didn’t have to do what they did in the show. inej is just done the dirtiest i think, especially in the end! the way she finds out she wants to hunt slavers and have her own ship is done so much better in the book and how kaz does possibly the most heartfelt, romantic, beautiful thing of all time to get her to live out that purpose and see her family again, that concludes their relationship and their arcs SO beautifully, just for the show to put her on sturmhond’s ship. it’s not even her ship, or her crew!!!! and we just never revisit her missing brother, ever. how are they gonna take her character’s current ending (cause i believe there’s a third six of crows book coming out? idk) without all the other experiences and plot points that get her there, her character arc in the show is a half-baked cake! the basic plot points of her character are baked on the outside, but the deeper more developed plot points are just raw egg. inej just deserved better. also if they make kaz and inej’s relationship into a love triangle with tolya, im gonna jump off a bridge.

kaz was done the most justice, but they took like 65% of crooked kindom and used it in the most anticlimatic ways possible. all the moments from crooked kingdom that they used in the show lacked the proper context, so it was just super fast paced and not developed at all. kaz, a 17 year old kid, tears down TWO rich, powerful men, one of which he’s been planning for revenge against him since he was “reborn.” in the show, his vengeance is directly taken from the book, but it doesn’t hit hard like at all. all the smart things he does in crooked kingdom (the plague, the bluffing he does with pekka’s son, etc.) are followed by his mistakes caused by his clouded judgement that puts his friends in danger, and the show just uses them all willy nilly and i just felt so disappointed by it. the fight in the slat where he gets the dregs back on his side i just taken from the book and done in a more boring and out of place way, and i haaaaaated it.

im not even gonna get too deep into nina and matthias, that shit was so wack it’s insane, it was fast paced and them slowed the hell down. all i’ll say is that nina should NOT love him yet, she feels guilty for putting someone who trusted in jail, yes, but she’s already in love with matthias. how. bro still thinks grisha are just evil witches, it takes like most of six of crows for him to realize that not all of them are evil and that he loves nina, especially after she almost DIES for him and the rest of the crows, and it takes all that for nina to realize that the hate fjerdans feel is ingrained into them and they could change their minds. why should she feel more than just guilt when half of that stuff hasn’t happened yet? idk, they have the chance to be done well in the show, but it’ll definitely be very weird.

honestly the main issue is that they used a lot of the major plot points and events from crooked kingdom, just without the right context, instead made some shit up, and did it all in like 2 episodes when it took 500 pages in the books. that’s a lot of pages. fitting 500 pages worth of story and events into two episodes is bound to not end well?

is this how game of thrones fans felt with season 8? cause i feel so sad that these amazing characters were so badly butchered.

ofc im just reiterating other people’s complaints bc i agree with them but im still sad and disappointed. this post is long enough, i hope we get a season 3 or like a six of crows spin off or something just to at least find a somewhat satisfactory conclusion but until then im pretending the show was just mediocre fanfiction made by someone who loves shadow and bone and feels iffy about six of crows lmao. i got the king of scars duo today, so i hope it’s good (im sure it is, i need like a mind cleanse from all this lmao) and maybe i’ll post about it idk, but thanks for reading up to this if you did, if you didn’t that’s fine lmao i get it !!

im watching shadow and bone after reading the trilogy and six of crows duo and i have never been more confused in my life lmao

#shadow and bone #six of crows #crooked kingdom #i hate netflix so much #they killed such good characters oml #i hate it here #im pretending this is just very weird fanfiction and not real

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princessamericachavez · 2 years ago

Text

Welcome to the Party

It’s been days since Eddie was able to close his eyes without the constant threat of being hunted down —either by a bunch of angry middle classed religious fanatics, the police or a supernatural monster—, for the first time he has a semblance of peace, of knowing he’s surrounded by people who would help him in case whatever gets to him first comes knocking, so he should be able to sleep at least for a few well-deserved hours. Right?

He can’t sleep.

Every time he closes his eyes, adrenaline spikes through his body, every nerve screaming that he’s at risk and he should be alert and ready to flee once more. Again. And again. Always running.

With a sigh, he gets up and carefully tiptoes around the sleeping kids spread through the abandoned cottage, a mess of knotted limbs, clenching to one another, their paused breathings intermixed with the faint sound of Max’s life-saving music.

Eddie makes his way to the kitchen, searching for the bottle of Whiskey whoever used to live her left half-finished on a drawer, but once he has it at hand, he hesitates. His mind races back to those fucking demon bats, and the perspective of fighting them while buzzed is terrifying enough to make his stomach turn. He can’t even drink in peace anymore, apparently.

“Fuck,” he hisses, as he makes his way outside. At least he can have a damn cigarette to calm his nerves.

As soon as he opens the front door, three pairs of eyes turn towards him. It shouldn’t surprise him, in hindsight, their hyperawareness and the tension that lingers behind their haunted eyes a couple seconds until they recognize he’s just good old Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson and not an otherworldly threat. Still, something about those looks makes his skin crawl with some primal awareness that he’s in the presence of dangerous people, even as they look away and get back to their business. Apparently, he’s not the only one who can’t sleep.

Upon further inspection, he notices that Wheeler’s eyes are red-rimmed and that Robin and her are speaking in low hushed tones, voices shaking with held back tears here and there. So he decides to take himself and his cigarette elsewhere, until his feet find Steve, a few feet away from the house, swinging around a baseball bat like he’s preparing for a match or something... except the bat is filled with goddamn nails.

“What the hell is that?” He asks, stopping his approach.

“What?” Steve asks, like he isn’t holding what could be a murder weapon in his right hand. Then, he looks down and fucking shrugs. “Oh, it’s actually not mine. Well, I guess it is. It was Jonathan’s, he let me keep it.”

“Byler?” Eddie asks, eyes darting back towards the front porch.

He regrets the move immediately, because Steve’s eyes follow his and his expression sours.

“Sorry.”

Steve shakes his head, dismissively, without looking away, but whatever pain crossed his expression earlier is quickly replaced by concern. Eddie takes a drag of his cigarette and leans next to the car, by Steve’s right.

“She alright?”

“Yeah, it’s just... that thing, fucking Vecna was taunting her about Barb.”

“Barbara Holland, right? That’s the girl that went missing couple years ago. Why would- oh.” Eddie connects the dots a little too slowly. He thinks of Crissy, of Patrick, of how many more must have been taken by these monsters without anyone ever finding out. “Shit, dude.”

“She was taken from my house, actually,” Steve’s voice sounds hoarse, as he leans back against the car too, his eyes distant. “We were- we didn’t even realize, didn’t do anything. Nancy... she could never forgive herself. Or me,” he adds that last bit with a bitterness deeper than anything Eddie would’ve thought him capable of a couple days ago.

“It’s not like it was your fault,” he offers.

Silence. Steve doesn’t even dignify the attempt with a reply, he just shakes his head again, eyes boring into the grass between their feet. Eddie runs a hand through his dirty hair, nervously, trying to find a way out of this dark hole of a conversation. His nervous eyes land on the bat hanging limply between Steve’s hands.

“So how’d you end up with that, if it’s Byler’s?”

“Oh, this?” Steve wakes up slightly, letting out a huff that is barely a laugh. “First time I fought a monster.”

“First time?” Eddie’s eyebrows arch. “When did Henderson drag you into this?”

“Dustin?” Steve finally looks up, face full of surprise. “Nah, man. I was in it way before I became friends with Dustin. Kinda dragged myself into it, to be honest.”

“How?”

“By not walking away. I was- Nancy and I, we were dating back when Barb went missing and I was... well, I was kind of an asshole back then. I mean, I- I’m not anymore. At least, I don’t think I am...” he rambles absentmindedly, running a hand through that stupidly fluffy hair of his like he wants to pull it off his skull. Eddie’s brow knits. The possibility of still being an asshole seems to disturb him far more than anything they saw in the Upside Down. And then, Harrington forces a smile and looks up at him. “Anyway, I was as much of a douchbag as you probably think I am.”

“Thought,” Eddie corrects. “Thought you were.”

“Either way,” Steve goes on like Eddie didn’t interject, “some... stuff happened, and I went around to Byers to apologize and Nancy was there and I thought she was hurt and- I don’t know, I guess I freaked out, so I barged in expecting a fight or something, right? But I found them gearing up to fight a monster.”

“One of those bats?”

“What? No. The first monster we told you about! Demo- something.”

“A demogorgon?!” Eddie’s back straightens as he recalls the illustration from the Monster Manual.

“That’s the one,” Steve purses his lips. “Anyway, if you think you were freaking out back at the lake, you should’ve seen me. I fucking ran out of that house as fast as I could. I was losing it, man,” he pulls at his hair again, eyes low.

On one hand, Eddie feels a wave of fucking relief at the notion that he’s not the only coward who ran away as soon as he set eyes on one of those horrible things. On the other, nothing he’s seen about Steve Harrington so far fits with that idea. It doesn’t add up.

“So I’m outside, right?” Steve keeps going. “And I’m struggling for my keys, desperate to get away... and then the fucking lights start flickering. And the monster is back. So I... I ran back in, picked up Jonathan’s bat and hit it. Again, and again, and again, until we were able to trap it and light it on fire. Byers let me keep the bat after that.”

“Wait, you’re telling me you saw one of those things, and you ran back in to fight it?”

“Yeah,” Steve shrugs.

“W-why?” Eddie asks, surprised that his own voice sounds so indignant. “Why would you- why would anyone do that?!”

Steve’s eyes bounce quickly to the porch, then back at him. His face is open and honest and almost sad when he says, “I couldn’t leave them to fight it alone. I just- I couldn’t.”

And there it is. The Steve Harrington he’s known for about 48 hours. The dude that came to his rescue only because Dustin Henderson asked and dove into a lake to search for an interdimensional gate and tried to brush off the fact that he almost got eaten alive.

“I would have run,” he admits, quietly, shamefully.

“Yes, but I’m an idiot,” Steve deadpans.

That startles a laugh out of Eddie, a little too loud. Steve smiles back at him, satisfied.

“So Henderson...”

“Fucking ambushed me outside of Nancy’s house one day, hopped into my car and demanded I brought the bat along.”

“Sounds like that little shit,” Eddie sighs, flopping down until his back is resting against the car’s hood and his eyes on the stars.

“Yep. So I did... I signed up to be a babysitter that fights monster dogs and tries to keep those kids alive.”

“Because you’re an idiot.”

“Now you’re getting it, Munson.”

Except Steve’s not an idiot. At least, it’s not the word Eddie would use to describe him. There’s other words, all out of his fantasy books and games, that would fit him far more, but he doesn’t want to risk saying them out loud and losing the chance of actually being friends with Steve. Cool guys that make out with pretty girls and co-captain sports teams and fight monsters don’t tend to associate with nerds like him.

But Steve Harrington lets his weight drop next to him and sets his sight on the dark sky above them like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“Honestly? Don’t tell Henderson this, but that’s probably one of the best things I’ve ever done. I mean- Sure, he and his friends are a pain in my ass and I’ve nearly died trying to keep them in one piece at least a dozen times, not to mention being tortured by some Russian spies, and-”

“What?”

“Not the point. Thing is, after Nance... before Robin... it was all kinda shitty. Kinda lonely, you know? My friends were assholes so when I ditched them... I was alone for a bit.”

Lonely. Finally something Eddie understands. He sighs, turning to look at him. Steve Harrington, bruised and battered and dirty, glaring at the stars with some kind of heaviness that is oddly familiar to Eddie. He’s never really been alone, not like that, at least. He has the Hellfire Club, and he has his band, and he even has his uncle... but he wonders if any of them like him enough to fight monsters, to fight the claims that he is one, if any of them would go to hell for him the way Nancy and Robin did for Steve last night. He isn’t sure. Whatever binds those three together is stronger than anything he’s seen before. Whatever it is... he craves it, too.

“So what’s the deal with Robin?” He asks, as his mind spins around this tangled web of people he’s found himself in.

Steve’s face turns abruptly, eyes finding his, expression suddenly tense, oddly defensive for a guy who was just spilling his guts a second ago. Something about that expression, suddenly all hard edges, makes Eddie want to recoil in fear. He is sharply reminded that he’s dealing with someone dangerous.

“What about her?”

Eddie swallows thickly, before he dares push the words out. “I- I mean- what’s her deal in all this? How did she- you know, how did she get involved?”

Thank goodness, it’s not the wrong question. He doesn’t know what the wrong question would’ve been, but this one must be alright judging by the way Steve’s face softens.

“Oh, right, that one’s on me, actually,” he says, voice all warmth again, like nothing happened. “Though, really, she kinda dragged herself into this, too. I mean, she can blame me all she wants, but she’s the one that insisted on decoding the Russian secret messages.”

“Seriously, are you fucking with me with this Russian thing?” Eddie asks, propping himself on an elbow to glare down at Harrington.

“I wish,” he deadpans.

Eddie’s eyes narrow with disbelief and that is apparently what gets Steve Harrington to lose his nerve.

“Oh my god!” He groans, shaking his hands like he wants to strangle him before sitting back up. He grabs him by the arm and all but drags him towards the front porch, marching indignantly all the way through. Eddie doesn’t fight it (not like he could, because Harrington is way stronger than he looks). Steve stops right before the girls, whose quiet and calmer conversation halts as they look up at them, eyebrows raised in mirrored bemusement. “Robin,” Steve says, pointing at the girl, “were we or were we not tortured by Russian spies last summer!”

“We were! Though I think you got more tortured than I did. I only got the truth drugs.”

“See?” Steve gestures at her, like her sole word is definitive proof he’s telling the truth.

Eddie, to his own surprise, believes her.

“You’re shitting me.”

“They are not,” Wheeler whispers behind her cup of tea. Her eyes are still swollen, but she miles before taking a sip.

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

“It’s alright,” Robin smiles cheekily at him. “I was the new kid once. You’ll catch up.”

There’s a promise there of a future, of time to catch up, of being the “new kid” because he belongs to the group now. It makes Eddie’s chest feel wide and warm, like it might burst.

“I think I need to lay down.”

“You should sleep,” Nancy says. And then, more firmly, “you both should.”

Steve opens his mouth to complain, then closes it again. He repeats the movement a couple times, like he’s a fish gapping for air. Nancy’s eyes pin him down like a hook. Robin stares, chuckling, like fishing is her new favorite sport.

“Right, okay, fine. I guess I could use some rest before I bleed out or something,” Steve finally grumbles.

“C’mon, man, we better go before she makes you bleed again,” Eddie grabs him by the shoulders and pulls him inside. He can hear the girls giggling outside. Neither struck him as the giggling kind, but he’s learning to let go of whatever idea he had of anything by now.

They go back inside and each find a spot close to the children. Max’s miraculous music still sounds faintly in the dark. Steve groans as he sets himself down.

“You good, man?”

“Yeah,” Steve’s voice sounds clipped, though. Holding back something. Pain, probably. “I’m good. I’m used to getting the shit kicked out of me by now.”

“Harrington, do me a favor, alright? Leave the self-deprecating humor to the cowards like me, okay? When cool monster-hunting dudes try it, it only sounds fake.”

Steve laughs, a little too hard for the dark silence of the cottage, and the sound turns into a groan. “Whatever, Munson. Next time, you can get eaten alive by monsters, and then you can make the jokes.”

“Next time?”

“Oh yeah, didn’t I tell you? That’s the thing with this group. Once you’re in, you’re in forever. Life’s never gonna be normal again. Sorry.”

Eddie breathes slowly, trying to figure out if the fear or the excitement in his chest will win. In the end, both emotions come to a tense standstill. For now, at least, he doesn’t want to run. He almost feels brave when he says, “good.”

When sleep comes, it does without warning. In the darkness, his last thought is that if he dies tonight, at least he’ll do it surrounded by friends. And if he lives... maybe he’ll do it surrounded by friends, too.

#eddie munson #steve harrington #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #stranger things #fruity four #steddie #if you squint #also #stancy #if you also squint #and also #ronance #if you keep squinting #but basically they are all in love with each other #some platonically #anyway enjoy #stranger things fic #sofia's nonsense

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maddiwrites · 4 years ago

Text

Let Me Go

Pairing: JJ x Reader

Summary: This was requested! Y/N still lives with the Cameron’s following the death of her brother, but she’s being held there against her will. After many failed escape attempts, Y/N finally gets out of Figure Eight, but she’s far from safe. (The request was long so I’m going to link it here so you can see the full summary of what anon wanted!)

Note: I’m sorry this took so long to get out!!! I literally had half of it written and then it all deleted and I’m so upset because my first attempt at writing it was better but oh well. I hope you like it. Again, sorry for the long wait!

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: MENTIONS OF DRUG ABUSE, CHILD NEGLECT, GUN VIOLENCE, ATTEMPTED SUICIDE. PLEASE DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THESE TOPICS TRIGGER YOU. PLEASE. SUICIDE HOTLINE: 800-273-8255

Masterlist

You weren’t always like this - sitting up in your unmade bed, staring at the blank wall in front of you like you could see through it, unshowered, trembling from your shoulders down to your toes, feeling empty from the inside out.

You forget what it’s like to be free. Following the death of your brother, you’ve been trapped like a rat in a cage. Figure Eight is no longer the luxurious part of the island to you. It’s filled with lies, manipulation, secrets, murder.

You’re still living at the Cameron’s. No, not living. Surviving. Ward refused to give his guardianship of you up. Some people wondered why - why would Ward want to live with the sister of a murderer? Yeah, that’s what they thought - that your brother killed Sheriff Peterkin and tried to kill Ward too. But you knew why.

Ward no longer treats you like a member of his family. He has you locked in your designated room on the third floor that’s basically only used as an attic and storage area. Your own personal prison. Because you know what he did - not only to your brother and his daughter but to your dad.

You felt like you were losing grasps of reality. You only knew fall was approaching because you could hear Wheezy talking about it to Rose outside your door. You guess the time of day by the sunlight through your window and the meals brought to your room.

Of course there have been times you tried to escape. You managed to run away a few times. The first time, you went straight to the police station and tried telling them that Ward was keeping you trapped in his home. Of course they didn’t believe you. Instead, they called Ward to come pick you up. He told the police that you’ve been experiencing delusions since the death of your brother. Without a second thought, they believed him and ignored your cries for help completely. The second time, you tried going to Kie’s, but the police found you first and brought you back to Ward’s now that they think you’re going through some kind of mental breakdown.

By now, you’re exhausted. You’re tired of fighting and arguing and screaming. You feel empty inside, craving some sort of release or embrace of comfort. You haven’t seen your Pogues in weeks, maybe months. You wonder if they still think about you. Do they blame you for leaving John B to go off by himself with Sarah? Do they hate you?

Not only is living inside an enclosed box hard enough, but dealing with the loss of your brother, friend, and father, is killing you inside. You can’t help but feel guilty that you weren’t with them. You and your brother were supposed to be partners in crime and you totally let him go off on his own. You feel like you abandoned him and that keeps you up at night.

Since your ways of coping are limited, you’re not proud to say you found an unhealthy way of relieving your pain.

When you were first locked up, you would scream and kick the door that hid you from the rest of the world, begging for anyone in the house to let you go. Never did it work, but one time Rafe got extremely fed up and raced upstairs to make you shut up. You didn’t know it, but Rafe was on the verge of a breakdown himself. His dad complete shut him out as he tried to fix the damage he caused. He assumed Sarah was dead. And Barry basically owned him, making him do all his dirty work. Maybe he deserved it, but he didn’t live a luxurious life either despite living in Figure Eight.

You took a couple steps back when you heard heavy footsteps approaching your door. Rafe quickly undid the locks and barged in so fast that he almost knocked you down.

“Oh my god. Do you ever shut the fuck up?” Rafe was breathing hard and quickly getting red in the face. You stumbled backwards, suddenly afraid of being alone with him.

You sniffled. “I need to get out of here.”

“You’re not leaving.”

“Please, Rafe. You got to get me out of here. Please!” You never thought you’d be here, begging Rafe of all people for help. Yet here you were. With no other choices left.

Rafe paced the room and raked his fingers through his hair. “You do realize you're not the only one going through something, right?”

You swallowed back your tears and scoffed at the Kook in front of you. “Seriously? Your family is keeping me locked in here like some kind of zoo animal! My brother is dead -”

“Sarah is too!”

“But that’s not my fault!” You screamed. You pointed an accusatory finger in his direction. “That’s yours!” Rafe froze and turned to look at you. You didn’t know where you grew the balls to keep going but you did. “I know what you did. I know what your dad is trying to cover up. And he’s using my brother to do it.” You saw Rafe’s adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed. “Why do you think your dad is keeping me locked in here?”

“Shit,” Rafe cursed. Now he knew why his dad gave him strict instructions to never come up to your room. He started shaking his his head and shaking in his skin. “I didn’t mean to - I - I - it happened so fast.”

You could go on and on about how Rafe would never be able to dig himself out of this hole. How he will never be able to convince you that he wasn’t guilty. But you didn’t. Because he’s the only one who could help you.

“Rafe, please,” You begged. “I won’t say anything. I just need to get out of here.”

Rafe sniffled back his own tears and fears and looked out the one window that looked out into the backyard of his home. He couldn’t let you go. He knew it was selfish, but he had to save himself.

“I can’t,” Rafe said.

A new wave of tears hit you and you felt defeated. You fell back on your bed and cried into your hands, hunched over above your knees.

“I’m sorry,” Rafe said, but his apology was as empty as you feel.

“Just go,” You rubbed your eyes hard enough to see stars.

You hear something light hit the bed next to you. “I know it’s not much. But this helps me get through all this messed up shit.”

When you didn’t look at him or whatever he gave you, he took that as a hint to leave and quietly left the room. You listened to each lock being fastened again, each one leaving a crack in your heart.

Rafe offered you something you should have never taken. A small baggie filled with fine white powder. You should have never even considered it. Drugs were never your thing. You wouldn’t even smoke with JJ when he offered a hit of whatever he was smoking. But the idea of anything taking your pain away enticed you.

And that’s how you ended up here. Broken, alone, and craving something only Rafe could supply you with. Literally. He came around every so often, sliding a small baggie under the door for you. It was the closest thing you and Rafe had to a friendship.

Today was particularly a bad day. It was dark and rainy outside and you remembered John B’s birthday should be quickly approaching. You missed him. God, did you miss him. You would do anything to hear his voice again or steal his clothes or go surfing in the ocean with him.

You trudged out of bed towards your dresser that held a faint line of coke left over from yesterday. With a one dollar bill, you sniffed the rest of it up your nose and blinked back the sting of tears that pricked your eyes after you did it. A rush of energy sparked up your body, through your toes and up to your head. You immediately felt lighter and that the world was spinning a little faster. But with that rush came a surge of emotions. You went from being sad to being angry real fast.

You hated Ward. You hated Shoupe. You hated this house. You hated Kooks. You hated yourself. You hated everything about the Outer banks. You just wanted to leave.

You find the closest thing to you, a small makeup mirror, and smash it against one of the locks on the door. You’ve done this hundreds of times and by now the door was scratched and bruised from your abuse, but you didn’t care. You didn’t feel the glass of the mirror slice into your skin as you continued to bang it on the metal lock. You didn’t care if Ward and the others heard you throwing another temper tantrum. You just wanted out.

When you felt the lock stumble to the side of the door, you froze in your place. You stared at the broken lock, wondering if this was all a dream or a hallucination from your high. “No fucking way,” You mumbled. You looked down at the door knob and repeated the same movements until the handle completely fell off and clattered to the floor.

You dropped the mirror and stuck two fingers through the hole in the door where the door knob use to be. While holding your breath, you slowly pulled the door open and couldn’t believe when it moved without any hiccup.

You never thought that you would get this far, and now that you were here, you didn’t know what to do. You felt scared. Cautiously, you stuck your head out to make sure no one was in the hallway. When the coast was clear, you tip toed throughout the house, listening to the eery silence that filled it. No one was home.

When you passed Rafe’s room, you stopped. You were out of supply and you needed more. Rafe owed you anyway, you told yourself. So you ransacked his room. Found about four more small baggies and stuffed them in your pocket before leaving.

As you walk through the halls, you pass Ward’s office and paused. It was open and unlocked. Even before all this shit happened, you never remember it being this way. You didn’t know what it was. Maybe it was the adrenaline from another escape attempt or maybe it was the cocaine, but you walked yourself into that office and looked around.

You cursed at all the accomplishments hanging on his wall, the trophies, and expensive relics of random shit. His desk was neat and orderly despite the major crime he was trying to cover up. You sat yourself in his chair, trying to imagine what it felt like to be him. Motherfucker probably felt like a king.

You went through his drawers, thumbing through random files you had no business looking through - most of it work related stuff and banking information. You tucked that one in your pocket for later.

Then you hear something thump against the drawer when you pull it out. A revolver. Small and silver. Cold against your fingertips. You breath hitched as you brought it up to your face. It felt like you were holding a bomb. An object that could change your life forever. Another fresh set of tears threatened to roll down your face but you shook them away. No. No more being sad.

You shut the drawer hard and walked out with a couple new items in your possession.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The Pogues were spending another dreary day at The Wreck. The September sun might be out, but their spirits were down. Two of their best friends are dead and the other is trapped with two murderers. They were scared for you and have tried everything to get you back. They tried talking to the cops, they tried breaking her out. But each times the cops got in the way. They were running out of hope. At this point, they didn’t even know if they would ever see you again. They just hoped you were okay. They knew you tried escaping a few times and prayed that you would eventually get yourself out of there soon.

“JJ, you gotta eat,” Kie sighed as she watched JJ play with the fries in front of him. If anyone was handing it the worst, it was JJ. Both John B and Y/N were his best friends first. Hell, he was in love with Y/N. Had been since the sixth grade. One of his biggest regrets is that he never told you. Now he didn’t know if he ever would.

“’M not hungry,” JJ mumbled.

The door above the restaurant entrance rang as a couple of police officers walked in for their lunch break. The group of three glared at them as they walked in with their cocky stride and their hand resting on their tasers and guns as if everyone should be scared of them.

“Fucking cops can’t do their goddamn job,” JJ sat back in his seat and flicked one of his fries down on the table. He hated them. More than he ever had. He couldn’t believe these people took an oath to protect this county. Fucking cowards, all of them.

“Fucking assholes,” Kie said and watched her father approach them with a friendly smile.

Pope snapped up when an idea popped into his head. “Sarah’s sister.”

“What?” Kie’s brows furrowed.

“School starts next week,” Pope explained. “She’s starting high school, right? What if you tried talking to her? Maybe you can -”

Pope paused when he heard the sound of the police radios echoing off the walls from their belts.

“Code10-92. Runaway teen last reported on Baker’s Street. Proceed with caution. Last seen wearing black sports shorts and a white tank. Suspect may be armed and dangerous.”

JJ’s head snapped back to his friends with his brows pinched together. Could this be you? Could you have made it out again? But what did armed and dangerous mean? That didn’t sound like you.

Shoupe radioed back to the station. “On our way.”

The officers dropped ten dollars in the tip jar before charging out the door to go to their vehicles.

“We gotta go,” JJ stood up first and stuffed his phone and keys into his pocket. The other two nod and follow him out the door. If that call was about you, they wanted to find you before the cops did. “Okay. Kie, go home. She tried going to your house last time. Maybe she’ll try that again. Pope, go to Heyward’s. She trusts your dad. She might try to find him for help.”

“Where are you going to go?” Pope asked.

“Everywhere else.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You trudged through your old home with heavy feet. Nothing in there felt familiar to you - like it belonged to you in another life time. You first went to your room and stared at the girl in the mirror. You didn’t recognize her. Bones sticking out of your skin, dark bags under the eyes, and cracked lips and dry skin.

Without thinking, you took the gun that’s still in your hand and smashed it against the glass, shattering it all around you.

Ignoring the stinging in your hands from the shallow cuts on your skin, you moved on to the next room. Your brother’s room. It looked like a tornado made its way through here. Everything was tossed and turned from the police and FBI ransacking it during their search for John B. Nothing felt like it was John B’s anymore. Nothing felt private. And that pissed you off.

Next you went to your dad’s office, somewhere you haven’t been since you found the compass. Even now, it felt like you weren’t supposed to be in here. If you believed in an afterlife, you would think your dad would be shaking his head at you.

The office looked like John B’s room did. Whatever belonged to your dad now belonged to the state. The only things left were random files and belongings the police didn’t find of importance. But they were important to you.

The first thing you found was a picture in a cracked frame of you, your dad, and your brother from when you were ten. Your dad was holding both of you as you blew out the candles on a birthday cake. Looking at the picture, you felt your heart being shredded apart. The picture only brought back pain and grief. You wanted that happiness back that ten year old you portrayed in that picture. But you can’t have it. Ever again.

A cry ripped through your throat as you chucked the picture across the room. From there, you went on a rampage, throwing and kicking anything that was in your way. You took one of the baggies out of your pocket and dumped it on the desk in front of you. Without any precision, you fixed the lines up with your finger and took a long whiff. You gripped the roots of your hair and tugged as you sobbed loudly and felt one of the biggest headaches explode in your brain.

You paced back and forth in the office with the gun held in your shaky hands. You were mumbling to yourself about your options and how horrible of a sister and daughter you were for leaving your family behind. You wanted to see them. You wanted to be with them and prove to them you never meant to abandon them.

You didn’t hear the door to the Chateau open or the sound of footsteps following your cries. It wasn’t until you heard his soft, delicate voice that you turned around and stared at your best friend with wide eyes and a startled expression.

“Y/N...” JJ breathed out. He didn’t see the gun yet. He just saw you, crying and broken and not looking like the girl he knew only a few months ago.

“What are you doing here?” He didn’t recognize your voice either. Hoarsed and scared. “You’re not supposed to be here!”

“The cops are looking for you! Okay? We need to get you out of here!”

“I’m not leaving!”

“What?” JJ looked at you like you grew two heads. “What are you talking about. We -”

“No! I said I’m not leaving! Agh!” Your hands flew up to your pulsating head and gripped at your hair again. The pounding in your head was excruciating and wouldn’t go away. Between the cocaine, your cries, and the exhaustion, you didn’t think it would ever go away.

That’s when JJ saw the gun and took a shocking step back. His hands immediately flew up in surrender and he gulped down his nerves. Now he knew why the cops had called you armed and dangerous. Probably because Ward reported a stolen gun. JJ never knew you to be a violent person. It wasn’t in you. You couldn’t even hurt a fly. Which meant you didn’t steal this gun to hurt someone else. But probably...

Then his eyes flickered to the desk where he saw the reside of white powder next to an empty baggie. Now he was petrified because he didn’t know how to get through to you - if he even could get through to you.

“Y/N, baby. Put the gun down.”

“No,” You shook you head. “No, no, no. I need to see them. I need to see my dad and John B!”

“Y/n...”

“I should’ve gone with them. I should’ve - I - I didn’t mean to leave. I’m so-sorry, John B. I’m so sorry.” You were a mess. Tears and snot and running all over your red and puffy face.

JJ kept looking between you and the gun. His only comfort was that he knew you didn’t know how to use it. You wouldn’t even touch the one he stole from Scooter Grubs. But that didn’t mean accidents couldn’t happen.

“I can’t do it anymore,” You continued. “I can’t go back there. I won’t. I won’t. I just want to see my dad.”

JJ took a hesitant step closer to you and nodded his head, keeping his hands up. “Okay. Okay. What if I helped you see your dad?”

“H-How?” You hiccuped. JJ didn’t know where he was going with this. He just knew he had to get that gun out of your hand. He took another step closer to you, but this one made you jump back. “No! No! Stay away!”

“Okay, okay!” JJ yelled back at you. “Hey. I’m here to help you, okay? Whatever you want to do.”

“I want to see them. I want to say sorry. I - I’m so sorry.”

“Y/N, they’re not mad at you-”

“I’m sorry, daddy, I -”

With you distracted, JJ took the opportunity to run at you and tackle you to the ground. He ignored the pang in his heart when he heard you cry harder, wondering if he hurt you, but he cared more about keeping you alive. He wrestled the gun out of your hands and quickly emptied the cartridge. He chucked the multiple pieces across the room and wrapped himself around your crumpled body.

“No! No!” You shrieked in JJ’s shoulder and gripped onto his shirt for dear life. “Please! Let me go!”

JJ held on to your crumbling body as you wracked with sobs. Exhaustion quickly took over you as the adrenaline slowly vanished out of your system. Your throat was on fire from all the crying and the screaming. Your chest felt empty and your lungs heavy. All you wanted was to close your eyes and never open them again.

JJ couldn’t hold back his own silent tears as they ran down his cheeks. He hated seeing you like this. And he hated even more that he didn’t know how to help you.

“It’s going to be okay,” He said as he brushed the hair out of your face. He kissed the top of your head with his soft lips and kept mumbling into your head. “You’re going to be okay. I’m never leaving your side again. It’s going to be okay.”

He didn’t know if he was trying to convince you or himself. He jus knew he had to make you believe it.

About ten minutes later, he felt your body relax against his. When he found you fast asleep, he pulled out his phone and texted Kie to pick the two of you up.

Until Kie got there, he stared at the delicate skin on your face with such admiration. Rage bubbled through this veins as the ideas of what you possibly went through in the that hell hole in Figure Eight.

He knew it was going to be a long road to recovery. He knew there was a lot of fixing that needed to be done. But he made a promise that he will never let you out of his sights again. Because today was a close call. And he never wanted you to be that close to death ever again.

#jj maybank fic #jj x reader #jj fic #jj maybank #jj maybank imagines #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank one shot #jj mayback x reader #outer banks imagine #outer banks fic #obx imagine

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c-optimistic · 4 years ago

Note

Not sure if you’re still taking prompts, but I just watched Hozier’s from Eden music video and now I can’t stop thinking about Lena and Kara on the run finding and saving a kid from a bad situation...

obviously slightly different from the video and also an unambiguously happy ending

Alex handed over the keys to the beat up car, her eyes not straying from Kara’s for even a second.

“Travel at night as much as you can. The tank is full, but you need to make it last as long as possible.” She blinked, bit her lip, and squeezed Kara’s hand. “No powers. Not for anything. And no contact. I’ll find a way to let you know it’s safe.”

Kara nodded, pulling her sister closer and enveloping her in a tight hug, trying to memorize the way it felt, the warmth that burrowed into her bones and eased her mind. “We’ll be fine, Alex,” she said, injecting as much confidence in those four words as she possibly could. She was glad that Alex couldn’t see the tears she wasn’t quite able to suppress. “I’ll be listening for you.”

Alex pulled away and opened her mouth to argue, probably to point out that Kara’s statement went directly against the no power rule, but then her mouth snapped shut, like she knew better than to argue.

“Don’t put on any music you like on the radio. You know it makes you want to sing, and that sort of thing is bound to attract attention,” Alex said instead, smoothing over Kara’s shoulders and tugging slightly on the collar of her borrowed leather jacket. “Take care of each other,” she added, clearly no longer able to hide her anxiety behind jokes. Her eyes didn’t stray from Kara, but the comment was undoubtedly meant more for Lena than for Kara. “I love you, Kara.”

“Danvers sisters, right?” Kara said thickly, holding back tears. She pulled Alex in for one more tight hug, taking care to listen to her heartbeat, to memorize its unique rhythm. “I love you, too. You call if you need me. Okay? Do you promise?”

“Promise,” Alex said, pulling away and wiping at her cheeks. “All right. Go. Go.”

Kara and Lena didn’t need to be told a third time. They got into the car, and drove off into the night, Kara’s eyes on the rearview mirror long after Alex had disappeared entirely from view.

Very quickly, they developed a routine.

Hats, thick sunglasses, hoodies, and overall easily forgettable outfits became their norm, much to Lena’s eternal dismay. Kara would pretend not to see her wince as she pulled on sneakers, and Lena returned the favor by not calling Kara out when she used her superhearing to listen for Alex every single night.

They drove throughout the night for the most part, sticking to unpopulated areas as much as they could, not speaking much to the people they ran into at gas stations and diners. When the posters with their faces began cropping up on public restrooms and outside of convenience stores, Lena suggested they die or cut their hair.

During the day, they slept. Sometimes in the car, no relief from the sweltering heat. Sometimes, if they figured it was safe enough, they’d sleep a few hours at a motel before setting off again.

They definitely didn’t use each other’s names. Not once. In fact, they didn’t speak much at all.

(One thing filled both their minds:

Keep moving, keep moving, keep moving.

As long as they were on the move, Lex couldn’t get to them.)

It wasn’t much of a life, but it wasn’t all bad either.

It meant Lena would surreptitiously take her hand out of anxiety or a desire to provide comfort when driving past other cars. It meant when Lena’s always busy mind became bored, she’d invent new games to play as they drove along.

It meant huddling up together one particularly cold desert night.

It meant becoming very familiar with the song Lena hummed as she showered.

It meant learning to decipher Lena’s mood based on tuts, clicks of her tongue, breathy sighs, and the roughness of her voice when she would break the silence between them.

No, it wasn’t a bad life, being on the run with her best friend, the only person on this planet after Alex who’d ever made Kara feel at home.

It wasn’t a bad life, with money carefully hidden in the car, under the mats and inside the seat cushions, their every need anticipated and planned for, long into the future. Theoretically, they could stay on the run for years, evading Lex’s long reach.

It wouldn’t be a bad life, but to be fair, when your only goal was survival, having a good life (or really living at all) just wasn’t the point.

Kara chewed on her lip as she refueled the car, her eyes on the meter, her ears on the men coming out of the gas station.

They were laughing, clearly a bit drunk despite the time of day, one of the men complaining loudly as they walked towards their car.

“Costs me a fortune to feed that boy. Clothe him. Give him a place to sleep. And if she can leave him, why can’t I?”

Kara didn’t react. She finished refueling, paid, then slid into the driver’s seat, watching as the drunk men piled into their car and pulled away. Her grip on the steering wheel was tight, knuckles white. Just a tiny bit more pressure, just a little bit more of a squeeze, and she could shatter it in her hands.

“Is something wrong?” Lena asked, reaching out and brushing her hand over Kara’s shoulder, so careful, so tentative. “You seem upset.”

Kara turned to her, still chewing on her lip.“What do you think about getting a good night’s sleep tonight? I know a place we can go. It’ll be safe.”

Lena’s eyes roved over Kara’s face for a moment. “What did you hear?” she asked finally, gesturing with her head in the direction the men had driven off to.

“Just that they’re leaving and won’t be back for a few days.”

Lena eyed her skeptically, clearly knowing there was something else, something Kara wasn’t sharing, but she didn’t comment. “Okay. Okay, if it’s safe. We can both use the rest.”

Kara didn’t respond, but her grip on the steering wheel finally eased. She didn’t speak as she inserted the key in the ignition and started the car, pulling slowly out of the gas station and down the road.

And Lena let out a breathy sigh, the only indication of her displeasure at being kept in the dark, though belied by the slight quirk of her lips.

(And as they drove, windows down and hair billowing in the wind, Kara wondered if Lena felt the way she did:

An aching need to stop running, even for just a moment.)

The floorboards of the house creaked under them as they stepped inside, Lena immediately wrinkling her nose at the smell—something harsh, like paint, and underneath it, the sickly sweet smell of rotting flowers.

“No wonder those men were in such a hurry to leave,” Lena muttered, distaste coloring her features as they stepped further in the home. The floor was littered with empty beer cans and filthy clothes, the smell of rotting flowers growing stronger. “This place is disgusting. Who would live here?”

Kara didn’t respond, just kept walking towards one of the rooms in the very back of the house. She wondered, briefly, stupidly, how Lena couldn’t hear what she could: the sound of a little heart, pounding furiously away in an equally small chest, body and bones rattling in fear.

“Where are you going?” Lena asked, still following dutifully. “Kara?”

It was the sound of her name that made her pause, turn around, and smile. “I had to help him,” she explained in a whisper before dropping to her knees and gently pulling a closet door open, revealing the pale, dirty face of a little boy. “Hi,” Kara said softly, heart breaking as he pressed himself against the wall of the closet in an attempt to create distance between them, his legs tangled in rags that made up what must have been his bed. (And in the corner of the closet, flowers, long dead.) “Don’t be scared,” she continued, though she didn’t advance further. She stared at him, listened to the terrified pounding of his little heart, and she came to a decision. Without thinking about it for longer than a second, she reached up and let her hair out of its ponytail, then pulled off her glasses. “Do you recognize me? Do you know who I am?” she asked, ignoring Lena’s warning hand on her shoulder, silently urging her not to do this.

The boy pushed away from the wall, approaching Kara with more than a little hesitancy. But his eyes never left her face. “Supergirl?” he finally whispered in awe, mouth falling open just a little bit. “Are you really her? Are you really here?”

“Yeah,” she answered, holding out a hand. “Yeah, I’m here.”

He paused for a moment more, as if not entirely sure she was telling the truth, but then he rushed forward, allowing Kara to pull him into a hug. “You’re really her. You’re really here.”

She broke Alex’s rules and used her powers to speed through cleaning the home. Lena was in the kitchen with the boy, digging through the cabinets and the fridge to make him something to eat, eventually settling on soup that Kara heated with her laser vision, much to the little boy’s glee.

Much later, when the child was wrapped in blankets and letting out soft snores as he slept in the only bed in the house, Lena handed Kara a mug of tea and motioned for her to follow her outside. They sat on a rickety bench on the porch in silence, sipping their tea and taking in the cool night air, the miles of empty desert around them. And then:

“You didn’t tell me because you knew it was a bad idea. You knew we shouldn’t have come here.”

“I wasn’t going to abandon this kid.”

“You don’t know this kid,” Lena admonished, sounding tired. And in her tone, something else. Guilt, maybe. “I know what you’re thinking, Kara. But we can’t help him. Lex is still after us. Being on the run is no place for a kid.”

“But what we found him in is?” Kara asked, turning to look at Lena. She took their mugs and placed them on the ground at their feet, then grabbed Lena’s hand. “You can’t look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want to help him. I know you, Lena.”

“It would throw everything off. All our plans, the sacrifices we’ve made,” Lena said, pulling her hand out of Kara’s grasp.

Kara felt her back stiffen. “I know you’ve planned for a decade or more, but I can’t, Lena. I can’t live like this. I don’t want to look over my shoulder running from Lex forever. I just. Life has to be more. And this kid needs our help. We can’t use Lex as an excuse forever.”

This was very clearly the wrong thing to say.

“I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you. No one asked you to go on the run with me. It was your choice, if you remember.”

(It was.

But here was the thing, the thing that Kara wasn’t sure how to put into words: she would’ve made the same choice again and again. She would’ve given everything up for Lena a hundred times over.)

“Lena, you know that’s not what I meant,” Kara said softly, reaching for her hand again, grateful when Lena grabbed on tightly.

“We can’t stay here. We’ll have to drive through the day and night for a while,” she said after a long pause. “We’ll need to get him clothes. And you need to explain to him he can’t mention Supergirl ever again,” she added, narrowing her eyes at Kara.

Kara nodded quickly and, absolutely unable to help it, leaned over and pressed a kiss to Lena’s temple.

“Have I ever told you you’re my favorite?” she asked as she pulled away.

Lena just rolled her eyes, picking up their mugs and getting to her feet.. “After Alex, maybe,” she said with a grin, holding out a hand for Kara to help her up.

“That’s different. Alex is my sister. You’re…” Kara trailed off, not noticing the tremble in Lena’s hand, “you’re you.”

“Very eloquent, love,” Lena laughed, the endearment making Kara’s heart skip a beat. “To think you’re a journalist.”

They laughed as they put away the mugs and settled for a sleepless night on the lumpy couch in the living room, Lena’s head resting on Kara’s shoulder as she slowly dozed off.

And Kara sat there, breathing in the smell of Lena’s shampoo, half of her focus on the little boy’s gentle breathing in the next room, the other half of her focus on Alex’s heartbeat thousands of miles away, her thoughts on what it meant to be a family.

It was after several days of driving that they found a place Lena determined to be safe enough to rest.

The boy, who had yet to tell either Kara or Lena his name, ran ahead of them, heading straight for the small garden littered with colorful flowers.

“We shouldn’t stay here long,” Lena said as she grabbed one of their bags from the car, struggling a bit with its weight. “Have you been listening for him?”

Kara didn’t ask who him was. Either it was Lex or it was the boy’s unfit father, and regardless of who Lena was referring to, the answer was yes. Of course she’d been listening for him. “No news,” she confirmed, taking the bag from Lena, swinging it easily over her shoulder. “I have heard some odd frequencies lately though. Not sure what to make of it.”

Lena, who was smiling gratefully at Kara’s help, suddenly stopped, fear taking over her features. She pulled Kara to a halt by the wrist, eyebrows furrowed. “You don’t think—”

“—no,” Kara assured her, shifting the bag so that she could pull Lena into a loose, one-armed hug. “It’s similar to the frequency on Alex’s watch. I thought it was her way of signalling it’s safe but—”

“—but it seems more like a warning?”

Kara nodded, watching as the boy raced back towards them, a handful of flowers he’d pulled from the garden clutched in his fist. “A day or two,” Kara said in an undertone. “Just to rest. Then we’ll move on to the next place.”

Lena didn’t respond, but her hands twisted into the fabric of Kara’s shirt, and she pressed her face against Kara’s shoulder, and Kara figured that was answer enough.

Their routine changed.

It was as if, in their determination to give the child everything they possibly could for as long as they could, the fear and dreariness of being on the run was replaced by laughter and joy.

Lena took them all on a shopping trip, letting the boy pick out bright colored clothes, even rolling her eyes and conceding when Kara got them all baseball caps.

Rather than stay at sketchy motels, Kara would constantly be on the listen for people going on vacation or on weekend getaways, feeling better about ‘borrowing’ the home by making sure the home was immaculate when they left, Lena purposely leaving behind a small stack of bills.

They ate whatever the boy wanted, from sugary snacks to cheesy burgers. There was always music, usually a bubbly pop song Kara liked and they found that the boy preferred, leading to impromptu dances in the kitchen—with one memorable time, which Kara rather thought was seared into the back of her eyelids, Lena making the boy laugh as she grabbed his hands, swinging his arms to and fro, shaking her hips in time with the music.

(And in the dark, long after the child was asleep, Kara and Lena would lay together, heads close, trying to calculate what resources they had left, how much more they could stretch it out, how much longer they could continue this way.

And every night, long after Lena had finally drifted off, her head nestled on Kara’s shoulder, Kara would close her eyes and listen to the ever-closer frequency she didn’t recognize, increasingly worried about what it could mean.)

Then Lena changed their routine again.

Every morning, as Kara would make them coffee, Lena would press a lingering kiss to the corner of her mouth. She had them play the games she’d invent on the spot, winking at Kara when the boy would win every single one. And at night, every night, rather than just fit her head in the juncture between Kara’s head and shoulder, she would tangle their legs, hold Kara’s hand, pressed so tightly against Kara that she could feel Lena’s heartbeat against her skin.

(And Rao, did Kara want to take one of those moments, freeze it in time, commit it to memory, wanting it etched into her heart, where she could carry it forever.

But mostly, mostly, all Kara wanted was to close those few inches between their lips and finally, finally, kiss her.)

One night, weeks after finding the boy, after he’d already been tucked in and reminded that the next morning they would have to move on to the next place, the next town, Lena played with Kara’s fingers as they lay in the dark, the little breathy sighs she let out every few moments warning enough that she had something serious on her mind.

So Kara shifted a little, pulling away so that they were facing each other, hands still intertwined. And she made it a little easier for Lena. “I can practically feel the gears turning in your head. Just tell me what you’re thinking.”

Lena didn’t respond right away. Instead, her eyes were fixed on Kara’s, and after a moment, she used her free hand to smooth over the scar above Kara’s eyebrow. “How do you do it?” she finally questioned, voice so soft that Kara wasn’t sure she’d even be audible without superhearing. “How are you so effortlessly good all the time?”

It wasn’t really what Kara was expecting (and if she was honest with herself, it wasn’t what she was hoping Lena was thinking about either). “What do you mean?”

“You came with me without a second thought. Then, with the boy, you didn’t even pause to help him. You knew he was in trouble, and that was all it took.” She closed her eyes, her brows furrowing, almost as if she was in pain. “But my first thought was how it would make things harder for us.”

“That’s not true,” Kara said easily, and without really thinking about it, she pulled Lena closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You know it isn’t.”

“Do I?” Lena snarked back, but her heart wasn’t in it. She allowed Kara’s closeness, even going as far as burying her head under Kara’s chin.

With her hand that wasn’t still tightly in Lena’s grasp, Kara began to rub comforting circles on Lena’s back. “Your first thought was the danger he’d be in just because of us,” Kara reminded her gently, still rubbing her back. “Besides, I don’t know if you know, but you’re incredible.”

“Kara, be serious.”

“I am,” Kara laughed. “Being good...it’s easy. It’s the default setting. But you, you’re extraordinary. You were told your entire life that the opposite was true. That the only thing you could do was evil. And yet look at you. You did good anyway.” She paused, wanting Lena to soak in her words. “Do you see how amazing that is? Every single time you make a choice, you have to go through years of noise, years of interference, years of lies, and every time, you find your way through all that,” she tugged their joined hands up, pressing it against Lena’s chest, right over her heart, “to this. A good, kind heart.”

Lena pulled away suddenly, leaving Kara wondering if she’d said the wrong thing, but then she noticed the expression on Lena’s face, the blazing look in her eyes. “Do you really believe that?” she asked, voice barely a whisper.

“I mean, yeah, I wouldn’t have said it otherwise, gosh Lena, I—”

But Lena didn’t let her finish. Instead, she swung one leg over Kara, straddling her, and after waiting for Kara’s eager nod, finally, finally, kissed her.

(It was okay, Kara thought as Lena’s hands pinned hers to the bed, that Lena didn’t let her finish her sentence.

There was all the time in the world to tell Lena how much she loved her. For now, showing her would have to be enough.)

The frequency only Kara could hear, the one that worried her so, got closer every day, and so they stopped staying anywhere for more than a few hours.

It was hardest on the boy. He and Lena had especially grown close, falling asleep in the back of the car as Kara drove, chancing a look at them in the rearview mirror every now and then, feeling her heart swell with fondness. But Lena’s whispered concerns, about how he was faring, how he was feeling, felt more and more serious as the days dragged on.

Being on the run was no place for a kid.

“We could fight,” Kara suggested one night as they drove through the darkness, the child asleep in the back, clutching a toy Lena had bought him weeks ago. “Just wait for Lex to find us and fight.”

Lena tugged on Kara’s right hand, pulling it out of its vice-like grip on the steering wheel, then brought it to her lips and pressed a kiss to the back of it. “We went on the run because we couldn’t fight. Nothing’s changed.”

“Everything’s changed,” Kara said, turning to look at Lena. “What do you want to do?”

“We have a two day head start on Lex, right?” Lena confirmed. At Kara’s nod, she pressed another kiss to the back of Kara’s hands before releasing it. “We’ll find a place, spend one more night with him.” She motioned towards the child. “Then we’ll take him to the police station. CPS, I don’t know. Once he’s safe, we can wait for Lex.”

“No,” came a small voice from the back of the car. Kara watched the boy slowly sit up, toy clutched to his chest, meeting her gaze through the rearview mirror. “I’m staying with you. I want to be with you and Lena.”

(They tried to argue with him, tried to make him see reason, but Kara knew it was a lost cause. There was no convincing a boy who felt he’d found his family that he’d be better off or safer anywhere else.

Kara would know: she’d felt that way after landing on Earth, after Clark sent her away.)

So they made their last stand.

With Lena’s help, Kara found a fairly sturdy home, one that seemed to have been empty for some time, and they began to prepare.

Kara put her suit on for the first time in almost a year. Lena pulled out what she’d called her ‘emergency technology’ and the boy was secured in the house, letting Lena hug him to her as Kara sat nearby, her focus on everything beyond the walls of the house.

The frequency drew closer, the sound almost maddening in Kara’s ear. But there wasn’t much of Lex’s fanfare. No explosions, no gunfire. No whirring of new Lexosuits. There was nothing except for that sound in Kara’s ear and cars approaching.

“Kara?” Lena questioned, taking her hand and breaking her focus.

“He’s here.”

(She could hear it, cars and trucks coming to a halt, heavy footed people beginning to surround the house, the sound of their weapons in their hands loud in Kara’s ears.

And also, something else, something Kara hadn’t heard from this close in a long time.)

“Kara, I’m scared,” the boy said, looking to her, still gripping tightly to Lena.

“That’s okay,” Kara told him, brushing his hair back and then getting to her feet. “But you’ve got nothing to be scared about.”

“Kara—”

But she waved Lena’s concern off. “Trust me. We’re safe.”

One of the people surrounding the house broke down the door, making the boy hide his face in Lena’s stomach. Footsteps approached. A gun was raised. And then:

“Alex. You found us.”

The DEO was loud. Or maybe it was that the city was loud. After being in the middle of nowhere for so long, the sudden influx of noise was a little a little different.

Different, but nice.

“So, you broke all my rules, right?” Alex said as she followed Kara out on the balcony, standing next to her and leaning against the balustrade. “I said to keep a low profile, you kidnapped a kid. I said no powers, I find you in your suit.”

“I didn’t sing,” Kara said with a grin. Lena was still with the boy, holding his hand as he was checked over by doctors, happily sucking on a lollipop that Alex had offered him. “Your watch is broken, the frequency it lets off is wrong, I thought you were Lex for weeks.”

“I had a run in with an Aellon. I knew the watch was acting fritzy afterwards, but Brainy said any changes in the frequency would be ‘nearly imperceiptible.’�� She grinned a little, bumping her shoulder against Kara’s. “So, while I was busy working with Brainy, Nia, J’onn, and Kelly to bring Lex down...you and Lena started dating and adopted a kid?”

Kara snorted, turning her head, watching as Lena and the boy (who were clearly done with all the tests) walked over to where she was standing with her sister.

“Pretty much,” she told Alex, marveling at finally having her entire family together again.

#I watched the video once #sooo I'm sorry in advance #supercorp #fanfic

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bluiex · 2 years ago

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HELLO BLUIE i have finished the second book in the carry on trilogy (those fantasy gay ya books i may have mentioned idk it's been a minute) and i've been thinking a lot abt how magic works in that world + scarian

(for context: that universe's magical spells aren't written by mages (mage = wizard basically) they're created by Normals, aka Speakers, aka non-magical people. based on how common a phrase is (and depending on regional changes) gives the words strength. anything from a children's nursery rhyme to a very popular song lyric can be a spell, if enough people can recognize the words.) (also while wands are a thing, magical heirlooms can also be used to cast spells, but you can't perform Spoken magic without a vessel of sorts like a wand, etc.)

that being said, have this: "I told you, I'm fine Scar," Grian muttered, wincing at the gentle prodding from the other against his rib cage. Part of his sweater had been torn away in the scuffle, and the exposed skin had seen better days, an open gash slowly weeping blood into the dirtied, broken ground. They had survived by the skin of their teeth once again, and Grian wondered when their luck would run out. Surely they wouldn't be able to run forever; the Watcher would catch them, bleed them of their magic like a vampire does a measly rat, and leave them abandoned in a world of Normals, a world that neither of them were built to survive in. Bleed them dry, like Grian was bleeding out right now on a shattered roadside. Really, if it weren't for spelling himself near empty, he would have magicked himself better by now. Or at least tried to. Healing was his specialty after all (even if explosions and fiery messes seemed to follow him wherever he ran.) And poor Scar was no medic. Healing always came clumsily to him, keen to cook something homemade and non-magickal and wait for time to take its course. His gift was in never going dry; Scar always had one more spell to cast, one final burst of magic up his sleeve that always help change the tide of a rough fight. He was the muscle, and Grian was the healer.

But here they were, caught on a bad day and magic running low, in the middle of an abandoned country road after having just barely survived a hoard of vampires, and there was no time to rest.

Scar did his best to bring his magic back up, willing that familiar, buzzing feeling of power that usually was a constant in his chest, but at best he felt soap bubbles: flimsy, thin, weak. His single earring worn from his left lobe, a dangling, pure silver feather, flickered a ghastly, muted blue color.

"There's just no time to die," he whispered. A feeble spell on a good day. Grian let out a small groan; the bleeding continued. "...Eilish? Billie Eilish? Really?" "You know I'm not good at this, it was the first one that came to mind!" Scar ranted, chewing on his lip trying to put words together and push them from his mouth. "I hear your heart beat to the beat of the drums," and that at least stopped the blood up, Grian's heart picking up the pace, though the wound was still open. There was something surreal about Ke$ha saving his boyfriend's life. With a hiss in Grian's teeth, and his wand clutched tight in his fist, "I am not afraid to keep on living," was uttered, and his face was flushed with fresh blood, materialized out of a place neither wanted to think about right now. "My Chem never fails me," Grian sighed. Finally stabilized somewhat, Scar took the risk of scooping Grian into his arms, ignoring his pained yelps, carrying him back to their car, gingerly setting him down in the back seat. This was made easy by the fact that one of the side doors was completely missing, a casualty of the fight. "Full of ecstasy and fire," Scar tried, and Grian loudly complained of his nauseatingly sudden fever, the tremor in his voice offsetting his frustrations. "Sorry, sorry! The cold never bothered me anyway!" Usually a spell for avoiding frostbite, but somehow Scar's jumbled magic turned the words icy, just enough to cool Grian down. "Ugh," Scar grumbled, looking down miserably at his boyfriend, watching his shallow breaths and glazed over eyes try to stay awake. They were both so, so tired, but Scar couldn't leave him like this. "Turn back time," he murmured, pinching his eyes shut. "Change the course of this history."

Grian's eyes lazily drifted over to Scar, and he used all his strength to actual focus on what he was doing. "Lean back, lean back and breathe," he tried, "You are the angel I couldn't kill." A surge of sharp warmth went to Grian's wound, as though millions of little cells were piecing themselves back together at max speed. "I wanna feel like a person again." Weak spells knotted themselves together to make a stronger one, healing Grian with limited success.

"Scar, what're you....?" A distant set of headlights rolled over the hill.

"Just the two of us," Scar hissed, and the car they huddled in faded into nothingness to the passing eye. Back to his haphazard healing he went. "Soft skin, soft lips," failed the first time, it took a few hushed repeats for the growing scarred area over Grian's side to begin to soften, the dark mark becoming ever so slightly lighter. "Just a little bit more..."

"Scar, stop it." The man looked like as though he were on the verge of passing out, kneeling over Grian's own tired form with a hand bracing himself against the car seat. He was spelling himself to death, and Grian couldn't stand it. "Be satisfied, it's all you have," he muttered darkly, Scar's words were more slurred than anything, and it meant his spells did nothing but force him to scrape against an empty barrel for any final drop of power. His magic was being stripped down into nothing but dust at this rate, but he wasn't satisfied. If it wasn't for Scar, neither of them would be in this situation. They wouldn't be thousands of miles away from anything familiar and safe. They wouldn't be on the run, the forces of good and evil both close on their heels. Were they even "good" anymore, with how much death had followed them? But they weren't evil either, turning away from quick escapes and easy outs in favor for the morally sane path. Scar didn't know anymore. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. Grian should be safe in the United Kingdom right now, finishing his final exams right about now. He should be having a warm cup of tea, curled up by a fireplace, wondering what career he would finally decide on. And Scar should still be alone in America, his berserk magic still burning holes into his hands and making his chest feel fuzzy, but at least it would only be him being burned alive. It would be him, in the lawless West, bleeding and burning and alive all alone.

"You're starting to feel like home," Grian croaked, and some of Scar's anxiety faded to a simmer. It was still present, but magickally stifled, like a candle with its flame choked out. "G, you're still hurt, knock it off," Scar grumbled, but Grian pressed on, whispers of familiar spells heavy on his lips. "I used to build dreams about you," he tried, hoping to lull Scar to sleep. It certainly convinced the other to scoot in next to Grian, at least. Both were slightly uncomfortable sitting up in their fatigued states, but it beats standing. "And you're dead tired, spell me later when you're back to full," Grian chided him, quick to lean up against him now that his side was nearly half way healed. "If the world was ending, you'd come over right?" "You don't need to spell me to stay, Gri," Scar mumbled, unsure if it was magic or his own exhaustion pulling his eyes closed. "Makes me feel better if I do," Grian yawned in response. "Now I know when I wake up, you'll still be here." "There's nowhere else I'd want to be," Scar replied, and that at least he was dead certain was the truth. Cross my heart, and hope to die, that was the promise they'd made to one another, right? Grian was humming a song to himself. It wasn't a spell, the music itself, the melody not easily picked up by Scar's ears. The words he was sure to know, but Grian hummed, his reservoir of magic slowly filling back up.

As Scar drifted off, he vaguely heard the spell from the music Grian was humming. "Don't look too hard, 'cause you won't like the scars he left in me."

He wondered for which one of them the words were for. -☾

*clutches my heart* this is amazing. im going ot have to look up those books, I love the idea of word magic, using well known phrases- lyrics- w/e, and them being magic. AND YOU WROTE THIS SO GOOD JUST OUHJGHGBHG STGJHDK cresent moon anon- *hugs* you're a gem

#bluie gets an ask poggers #long post #scarian ficlet

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demonsandmischief · 4 years ago

Text

You Saved My Life

Marvel - Captain America Imagine

Steve Rogers x Female Reader, 1.7k Words

-You Saved My Life-

Imagine you save Captain America's life while he is trying to save yours.

A/N: I dunno when this would take place in the Marvel world. I guess you could say it's my own AU. It's a long one but I like it. I hope you do too.

----

There are a lot of things life prepares you for, but the end of the world is not one of them.

You were covering your best friend's shift at a cafe that she owned. You had a full time job as a teacher, but the school was on a holiday, and you were always willing to help your friend. Normally, she'd have managers do the day to day runnings, but there was a scheduling conflict that lined up perfectly with your free day.

You did love the little place. It was small and home-y, nestled between some larger buildings of the city.

It was after the lunch rush when it happened. You were wiping down menus when a large blast that felt like an earthquake rattled the whole shop. The glass door shattered with the impact.

That's when the screaming started. It was loud and chaotic, as throngs of people ran away from whatever had just exploded.

The customers that were in the cafe rushed out in a panic. They could see something out of the large windows that you couldn't from behind the counter.

You moved closer, hesitantly, not sure what to expect, and you were definitely not prepared.

There were large, robotic creatures wreaking havoc in every direction. You could hear their banshee like screeches that echoed in your ears, but it couldn't be louder than the intense blood rushing as your adrenaline began to flow.

Your protective, teacher instincts kicked in when you saw the young group of kids huddled in the alleyway. They were almost out of view, but you noticed. You always noticed the children. They attracted your energy naturally.

You took notice of the daycare bus still running. It looked like the driver had just abandoned them. Intense anger only fueled the instincts.

You saw the way one of the creatures eyed the group and you scrambled to grab something to defend them.

You didn't have much. You decided on a chair, thankful for your nimble frame that was able to get outside unnoticed.

The kids caught sight of you immediately, but you held a shaky finger to your lips, telling them to be quiet.

You swung the chair with all your might, hitting the thing with a sickening crunch. It faltered for a moment, stumbling forward. You were left with pieces of broken wood, the splintered edges digging into your skin.

"Get inside," you yelled to the group, watching them scramble. At least the robot thing was focused on you, and you prayed that each little boy and each little girl made it home tonight.

You knew you were the only person standing between the cafe and the monster, and you wouldn't go with them to safety for risk of this thing following you into the shop.

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest as your eyes searched for any kind of defense. Instead, you found more creatures and no help.

This thing was ugly up close. It was metallic like a robot, but had blood red eyes, eyes that were staring right at you.

It opened it's mouth to screech into the sky, a snake like tongue curling out. It was cut off by a flash of color in the haze of dirt and debris, but you recognized it immediately. Captain America's shield.

The man himself appeared, standing tall and proud, but you could tell he was winded. You had never been so relieved, as you relaxed a bit, just wanting to melt into the ground with exhaustion.

Steve yanked out his shield, giving it an expert throw, destroying the other visible creatures.

His blue eyes stood out beneath his cowl.

"Ma'am," he nodded. "Are you hurt?" he asked.

"No," you whispered with a shake of your head, wiping your sweaty, bloody hands on your jeans. "But there's kids in there "

He nodded, repeating the information into his com device.

"We'll get them to safety, and you, too. This is no place you want to be. Every civilian has taken shelter in the metro underground. Do you know how to get there from here?"

"Yes, but it's like two blocks," you said. There was no way you could get the kids there without being noticed.

"I'll go with you then, but we need to move quickly. Let's go." He left no room for argument, so you entered the cafe to gather the huddled group.

Their fear struck you, wide eyes and silent sobs. There were probably twenty of them, all different ages. The youngest was probably about six.

"Captain America is going to get you guys somewhere safe," you told them, as reassuring as possible, even though you didn't feel that way.

You led the group as the captain guarded the back. The pace was quick, and eerily quiet. You imagined the tall man had warned the other Avengers to keep the area as clear as possible. You had caught a brief glimmer of Iron Man's metallic suit in the sky.

You had just ushered the kids down the stalled escalator and into safety when you heard a grunt of pain.

You turned to find six more of the robotic creatures surrounding Cap. You could tell he was wearing down as one of them pulled his arms back, rendering him powerless and unable to grab his shield. He kicked the things with all his might, but there were too many of them.

You didn't know what to do. You were exhausted and there was no way you could help. You couldn't even take out one by yourself with a chair.

It wasn't until one of the creatures pulled out a long dagger looking thing, already dripping with someone else's blood that you moved.

Your instincts didn't let you hesitate as you ran to tackle the thing, the knife in turn digging painfully in your upper shoulder, dangerously close to your neck.

You felt the cry leave your dry, cracked lips as you crumbled to the ground, squeezing your eyes shut.

You heard the creature snarl at you before you felt a jolt of hot pain in your ribs. It felt like a boot, but who knows.

Your vision doubled as you saw the metallic shield take out the group once more. You sagged in the rubble as the adrenaline left your body. It felt like buckets of blood were running from your shoulder down the curve of your breast, mixing with the pain in your ribs. You were certain death couldn't be much worse then this.

Steve couldn't believe you saved his life. He was foolish to let his guard down, but you were a distraction. You protected those kids with a fearlessness that reminded him of himself.

He heard over coms that Tony had found the source for these creatures and the fight was coming to a close. He wished he could have been there for his team, but the people came first, especially those kids.

He pressed a hand to your shoulder, cursing when he saw how much blood you were losing. He searched aimlessly for something to stop the blood.

"Your six, Captain," you manage to mutter throught the pain, not failing to notice the final of the robotic things sneaking up on the distracted man.

He kicked a stray car door effortlessly, squashing the creature against the brick building.

"We're going to get you help. You're going to be okay."

That was the last thing you heard before you passed out.

----

There was a pesky beeping that was disturbing your rest. You assumed it was your alarm, until the pain hit you full force, and you remembered the events that took place. Were you dead?

Your eyes opened, and you groaned at the harsh light, blinking rapidly to adjust. Your mouth felt like it was full of sand.

The sterile smell and blinding white walls immediately told you it was a hospital, but what stood out was the dozing man still dirty from battle. His blue suit stood out against the white.

His eyes opened when you stirred, and you noticed the blue eyes that you were beginning to like. His blonde hair was matted from the cowl, and he looked terribly uncomfortable in the small chair.

"How are you feeling?" he asked gently, his deep voice much softer than the commanding tone he used as captain.

You struggled to sit up. The pain in your shoulder not allowed you to use your hand as leverage, and your ribs didn't like the jostle.

"Don't do that," he said, lightly using his hand to keep you from moving. He pushed the button on the side that allowed the bed to lift without you having to change position.

He helped you drink some water before you were finally able to respond.

"How long have I been out?" you ask.

"Just a few hours," Steve responded. "You saved my life, and those kids, too." He shook his head in disbelief.

You felt your face grow hot at his words, not knowing how to respond. "I'm sure you are exhausted. You didn't have to stay."

"I had to make sure you were okay," he admitted. "I'm Steve."

"Y/N." You tried to smile at his cute pleasantries, but winced at the persistent throbbing in your shoulder. "Is it bad?"

"I'm sure a tough girl like you can handle it. The doctor should be in here in a minute to tell you details," he answered.

The doctor told you that your ribs were broken and your stab wound was deep but no longer life threatening after they stopped the blood. It was going to take a while to recover.

You dozed off, and it must have been a long time because when you awoke the second time, the room was covered in flowers. A stack of cards sat on your table, and you rose the bed again to reach for them.

A swell of happy emotions built up inside of you as you read the sweet words of the kids you saved. It was so relieving to know they were okay.

"You're a hero," Steve said from the door, this time in jeans and a blue jacket. He was handsome.

You wiped the fallen tears off of your cheek. "I'm nothing but a teacher."

"You're a hero to me," he smiled slightly, and a warm feeling bloomed in your chest.

----

Here's Pt. 2

#captain america imagine #captain america #steve rogers fluff #captain america x reader #captain America x you #iron man #avengers imagine #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #chris evans #marvel imagine #marvel one shot #marvel

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darling-i-read-it · 3 years ago

Text

Leaving the Baker's

Part 5 (Final Part)

RE7 Rewrite Masterlist

Ethan Winters x fem!reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: spoilers for re7, violence, guns, mold, death

Author’s Note: It’s over! I like how this ended up going. I know not a lot of people read it but I hope those who did likes it! Ethan supremacy besties

Summary: The end of the game.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator. Some of these lines are directly from the game so they may sound familiar.

(not my gif)

You carefully floated down through the water, Ethan driving the boat through the obstacles. You sat beside each other sheepishly, Zoe across from you. She looked uncomfortable. She rubbed her arms, nervously looking around.

“You chose me over your wife,” she said to Ethan.

“You knew the way out,” Ethan said slowly. You nodded. That was what you had agreed on. Well you were pretty sure that was what you agreed on. There was no actual chat. You looked over at Ethan who had a fairly neutral look on his face.

“Yeah,” Zoe muttered.

You soon came up on a large ship. Your eyes went wide and you almost stood up to get a better look but you thought better of it. Ethan and Zoe’s gaze followed yours. They looked at the looming ship, wondering how it had gotten all the way out here onto the bayou.

“What is-” Zoe started and then something came out of the water, cutting her head off. You screeched, grabbing Ethan who was already in the process of grabbing you. You shook a bit as her body went limp in front of you.

“What was that?” you whispered but Ethan didn’t even get the chance to register the question because something came up from under the boat, grabbing you both before you could even properly scream.

====

You woke up slowly. You looked up at the boat above you, looming in the dark weather. It had to have been the boat that Mia came on. She had told you about how she was watching a girl named Eveline. That the girl had special properties. You wondered what that was.

You rubbed your head and started to sit up when you saw Mia walking by. How did she get here? You knelt behind some of the wreckage, watching as she passed you. She stopped a few feet away and knelt down.

“Ethan?” she said. You peeked over the edge and saw him on the ground. You wanted to go to him but you wouldn’t risk a fight with her mad. You gasped as the dark mold came out and grabbed onto him, engulfing him whole and dragged him away. You reached out, wishing you had done something to stop it. Mia did the same thing, reaching for him but he was gone. You leaned back a bit and took a deep breath.

You had to get him before she did. You weren’t sure how that was going to happen but it was going to happen.

====

You entered the boat a couple of minutes after her. You still had your guns and weapons on you so you held them close as you made your way through the boat. Now that you were alone it was a little more daunting. You had been able to crack jokes with Ethan this whole time, have someone to back you up but now you were completely on your own.

The ship was dark. You kept checking the corner for more of the mold monsters and Mia. Every once in a while you could hear her walking around, her voice in the distance. You were right on her tail when she got to Ethan.

You raised your gun to her as she approached Ethan.

“Don’t fucking touch him,” you muttered. She whipped around, face sunken.

“You don’t understand,” she said.

“No you don’t understand. We came here to save your ass Mia and now you’ve gone and gotten us both in trouble. Step aside. Ethan and I are leaving.”

“He won’t leave without me.”

“Oh?” You jabbed your gun at her. “Let’s find out.”

Suddenly a little girl materialized beside her. Your eyes went wide and your aim went to the child. Eveline.

“Don’t hurt him,” Mia pleaded.

“I already told you I wouldn’t mommy.”

“I’m not your mother!” she protested. Eveline went to grab her and while she did so you passed behind Mia, digging through the mold on the wall for Ethan. You moved it aside so you could see his face. You brushed the goop off his cheek and his eyes opened, looking at you confusingly.

“What..wh-”

“You need to leave!” Mia said. “I can’t...I can’t…” When you looked around the little girl was gone. You furrowed your brows, putting yourself between her and Ethan who was still gaining consciousness. You held up your gun and Mia shoved you over, grabbing Ethan’s arm. “You shouldn’t have chosen her!” she yelled. “Either of them!”

You shot her before she could claw at him. Here was another fight. They seemed to be never ending.

You shot at her and Ethan did as well after a moment. It took a couple of minutes but you saw her wearing down. She grabbed Ethan’s arm, stopping. You reloaded your gun and held it up to her but you didn’t need it anymore.

She stared into Ethan’s eyes and then fell over, turning to dust. He held his hands out as though to grab her but she was gone. You slowly put your gun down.

“Mia,” he whispered. You closed your eyes. You didn’t want her dead. You were hoping to come back for her. You were hoping you would all be alright. Ethan turned to you, his face cracked a bit. He was bleeding. “Eveline is turning them that way,” he explained. “All of them. They didn’t have a choice,” he whispered. “Mia didn’t have a choice.” You felt a sting in your heart. You hoped that was true. You didn’t like to believe she would have hurt either of you willingly. Now she was dead.

Ethan took a deep breath, shaking his head as he processed the death of his wife. He turned to you and before you knew what was happening, he hugged you tightly. You buried your head in his shirt, not caring how dirty it was. You breathed him in and then pulled away.

“We have to get out of here,” you whispered. He nodded curtly.

“Let’s go.”

=====

The two of you dug through grime and dirty water before coming to a small house. There were some things in it that looked like they had been used recently. Ethan picked up a pack of bullets. You messed with the radio. It came to life.

“Alpha 1 this is Bravo 1 do you read?” it said. Ethans head cocked over. He walked to you.

“This is Alpha 1. Report. Did you find anything?”

“A thorough search of the Bakers found no survivors. Repeat, no survivors. We did find evidence of a skirmich.”

“Eveline?” “Negative. However we did find several encrypted messages from the Baker’s son, Lucas, to an unknown third party. You can probably guess who that was.” “That’s just great.”

“We’ve had reports he’s in the abandoned mines south of the property.”

“I’m gonna go have a look.”

“Roger that. We’ll meet you at those coordinates.”

“If you encounter Eveline your orders are to shoot to kill. Repeat - shoot to kill.” The transmission went out. You looked over at Ethan, shaking a bit from the cold and from the situation.

“What the fuck did we step into?” he asked.

“Damn if I know.”

=====

You continued to trek through waters and some cave systems. You arrived back in the guest house, where all of the terrors had started. At least you knew you were somewhat close to your car. You kept close to each other, watching the corners, guns up.

Eveline appeared, a wicked smile on her face.

She used her powers to make you see what had happened in that house. Mia attacking you. Ethan’s hand being cut off.

“If you don’t wanna be my family, you die,” she whispered. Then she was gone again.

“Screw her,” you muttered.

You followed along the house. It shook underneath you, making you both jump. Evnline was screaming before you even gotta see her. The room erupted in light blue lights. She stood at the end of the room and as you approached even more lights came out from her, making you and Ethan fall over.

You had to hide behind the wall though no doubt she would break through that as well. You and Ethan shared a look.

“You shoot her, I'll grab her,” he yelled over the wind. You nodded stiffly and came out from behind the wall, shooting her with your handgun as many times as you could manage. While she was startled Ethan ran up against the wind.

Ethan grabbed her and it all stopped.

You looked up and saw that little girl Eveline had turned into the grandmother from dinner. You had seen her countless times around the house. You should have known. She was bleeding black mold from her eyes.

Ethan ran into you as he backed up. You grabbed his arm and watched as Eveline turned the whole room into a large black moldy mess. She was breaking apart, screaming.

“It hurts, it hurts!” she said in a distorted voice. She turned into the mold.

One more fight. One more.

Ethan and you used the last of what you had on her. You shot and threw everything that you had ever been able to carry. You grunted, dodged and got hit more times than you could count.

By the time you were tossed out of the house, you had lost almost all feeling in your body. Everything ached.

It was amazing to feel something other than numbing pain. The ground underneath you was cold. You felt the grass underneath you. It was cold. The sun was on your face. It felt like it had been years since you felt the sun. You took a deep breath but it ended up being a wheeze.

“Y/N?” You sat up. There was a man in your face you didn’t know. “I’m Chris Redfield. I’m here to get you out of here.” You sat up and nodded, taking his hand to help you up. You looked around.

“Where...where’s Ethan?” you asked urgently once you came too. Then you saw him. About as banged up as you felt, he was standing with some other people in the same outfit as Chris. He was arguing with someone and then he walked forward. You reached forward desperately and grabbed his arm, holding him tightly to you. You stayed glued together until you got up onto the helicopter.

You looked down at the mold infested farm. It made you feel bad for the Bakers. They were probably nice people, before it all. You closed your eyes and leaned your head back on the seat. Ethan was looking at something on his phone as you took off. A video of Mia. You had gotten one too but you didn’t want to look at it right now.

He watched it for a second and then tossed his phone off the side.

“You’re going to have to buy a new one,” you told him. “Hey, Ethan.” He had a death grip on your leg. He finally noticed it and loosened up.

“Sorry. I guess I’m just going to be extra protective now. Can’t have you slipping away from me,” he said over the noises of the helicopter.

“Glad we’re on the same page.” You put your head on his shoulder and tried to come down from the events of the past 48 hours.

====

You sat on your bed, looking through an article on your laptop. You ran a hand through your hair. There were countless articles about the Baker house. People were misquoting you and Ethan left and right but you didn’t mind. Neither of you wanted to be interviewed.

A small picture of Mia was bunched in with a family picture of the Bakers. You rubbed the bandage on your collarbone that went up to your shoulder.

It had only been a week since you got back. Everything was still healing.

“That’s gonna scar,” Ethan said as he walked into the room. You nodded, putting your hand down.

“Then your staples are gonna scar too.” “No doubt.” He sat down on the bed beside you. He looked over your shoulder at what you were looking at. “You should probably stop looking at the articles,” he muttered. You leaned back on the bed frame. He put his arms around you, shutting the laptop closed. You let out a breath.

You and Ethan hadn’t lived together before the Baker’s but you were having a hard time being away from each other. So he moved into your place for the meantime. He was liking it more than he cared to admit. People were still giving their thanks about Mia and he was already in your bed.

But he couldn’t bring himself to leave. Everytime he left you alone he would get stressed out. He meant it when he said he wasn’t going to leave you alone. Maybe one day but...not yet.

“Are you going to bed?” you muttered.

“Yeah.” You put your head on his chest.

“Alright you’ve convinced me to go to bed with you.” He chuckled and let you go so that you could both lay down. You looked at him as you both laid on your pillows, after turning the lamps out. He moved a piece of hair out of your face and calmly let out a sigh.

“Goodnight Ethan. I hope the sleeps better than the trailer.” He smiled, closing his eyes.

“We should have asked them to save that trailer. I kinda miss it.” You scoffed. He laughed a bit and put his arms around you. You fell asleep beside each other, dreaming of something better than the Bakers.

#ethan winters x reader #resident evil imagines #ethan winters imagines

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