Slow burn, mention of weapons, blackout, Simon is socially awkward.
There's another blackout in the neighborhood, it's the third this week, you've only survived with old candles and the phone flashlight, this time, your luck is over. There are no more candles left and your phone is dead after watching hours of that shitty show. You've been in complete darkness for two hours and you've already bumped into the furniture a few times.
You think you remember that your neighbor is a military man or something, a quiet guy who never looks at anyone. He once gave you a ride home when it was raining terribly. You thanked him and never spoke to him again. He's a little scary.
"He's in the military, he must be prepared for something like this, right?..." You mutter to yourself as you work up the courage to knock on his door and ask if he has an extra flashlight that he is not using. Twenty minutes have passed while you've been circling the entrance of his apartment without knocking when suddenly it bursts open.
"What?" Your neighbor is there, he seems annoyed, and you think you see a gun sticking out of his waistband.
"Hello, I'm..."
"I know who you are. What do you want?" His tone is harsh and rough, like a heavy smoker or... he just has a sore throat...
Your gaze lingers on more than just his eyes; it focuses on his face and travels down his chest. He's wearing only worn jeans and is barefoot. Moonlight streams through the hallway connecting the apartments.
"Well, you know there's no electricity in the building and I was wondering if youâŚ"
"Spit it out."
"Do you have a flashlight or a candle I could use?... Please?"
"Is that all? Is that why you were pacing in front of my door for twenty minutes? Stay here."
He doesn't even let you answer before closing the door again and leaving you alone in the hallway. You were able to take a peek inside his apartment; there's not much in there.
A few minutes pass before he opens the door again, this time he's wearing a t-shirt and immediately puts a plastic bag in your hands.
"Here."
âŚand closes the door. He simply closed the door in your face. You look inside the bag and there are two candles, a flashlight, and batteries. There's also a note with a phone number.
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Warnings: Institutional & social homophobia, murder, kidnapping, firearms, and cartel/organized crime environment.
Note: Features dark romance, morally grey themes, and a tragic atmosphere. Reader discretion is advised (+18).
This is part two and there will be a part three.
Part one
Valeria would be 27 now. Every year on her birthday, you buy a small chocolate cake and light a candle. No matter how hard you try, no matter how many people are in your life, she left a void that nothing can fill.
If only you had been braver, if only you hadn't run awayâŚ
If you had stayed, maybe she wouldn't have enlisted. There are many "what ifs," but "what if" doesn't exist.
Today you're back in the place you swore you'd never set foot in again.
Las Almas.
It's not the same place anymore. It's still a stupid, godforsaken town, only now the drug cartels seem to have taken over.
The streets are emptier, there are abandoned houses covered in graffiti with boarded-up windows, and armed men where children used to play soccer. They're the same children who played there, only now they have guns.
You're here because your father died.
Apparently, he took out a loan and was stupid enough not to pay it back. You don't mess with the narcos, and he thought he was so clever.
Your mother still can't look at you, this time for a different reason. She's resentful because you ran away ten years ago, and she still hasn't gotten over it. Your brothers barely speak to you; your mother filled their heads with lies about you, and you haven't seen your younger sister. No one will tell you where she is.
You notice it on the third day.
A man has been following you since you arrived; anxiety gnaws at your chest. He follows you to your mother's house, to the hotel where you're staying, to the restaurants you visit, and everywhere you go.
You're everywhere except your mother's house.
Everyone is walking behind the hearse in the sun. Your black clothes are only making you feel hotter. At the cemetery, you see a woman in the distance, dressed entirely in black, with short, shoulder-length hair, but you can't see her face; it's covered by a semi-transparent black cloth. There are two men beside her.
You don't know who she is. You simply place a bouquet of flowers your brothers forced you to buy on the gravestone and leave before anyone can stop you.
You walk past the woman, whose scent is familiar, a smell you'd recognize anywhere.
Not a random perfume you could buy at any store, something more specific. A scent that couldn't be recreated.
You don't turn around, you can't get your hopes up. Maybe it's just someone with a similar scent.
You can't help it.
You turn around, the woman has her back to you now, but you'll recognize that tattoo above her elbow anywhere. It's faded now, the ink looks old, as if it hasn't been touched up, but you know it.
After all, you did the design. In a chemistry class years ago, you played with your markers and drew a phoenix on Valeria's arm. The next day, and every day after, she wore long sleeves to hide it from the prefects.
"Valeria?"
Her name barely leaves your lips, but you lose sight of her as everyone starts pouring out of the cemetery. Even now, years later, society still keeps you away from her.
You never see her again. No matter how much you search, you start to believe it was a hallucination. As you said goodbye to your father at his funeral, your mind conjured up a vivid image of Valeria, her face covered because you don't know what she looked like as she aged.
At the same time, you know she was there; you smelled her.
You draw the phoenix from her tattoo in your notebooks, but it never looks right.
It's like you're chasing ghosts. It gets to the point where it keeps you up at night.
After another horrible night of insomnia, you look at the clock.
5 AM
Okay⌠sure.
You kick off the covers and get up to get dressed. If you weren't going to sleep, at least you could go for a run or see how much the town has changed since you left.
You walk for hours; the sun is at its brightest and highest point.
You head toward the mountains, where you and Valeria used to hide, where years ago you buried a wooden box with locks of her hair and photographs at the base of a tree.
âHey, muchacha. Where are you going, mija? It's really bad over there⌠the drug cartels took over that land a long time ago.â
You turn to see the man sitting on the sidewalk with a cooler next to him outside a grocery store. You're near the last houses in town before reaching the mountains.
âWhat?â
As you get closer, you realize it's Don Salome, an old friend of your grandfather. He doesn't recognize you. Why would he? You were too young when you ran away; that scared little girl is nothing anymore.
âDonât go there. They donât ask questions, they just shoot. DoĂąa Cristiâs son went there looking for work in the other town⌠they shot him. You should have seen what they did to him, the poor guy looked like a sieve.â
God. The violence really did grow like a poisonous ivyâŚ
âThanks for letting me know, sir. Iâm just⌠Iâm just going to walk. I donât want any trouble.â
âItâs not that. If they see you, theyâll think youâre in the army or something. Theyâll kill you.â
âOh, well, then Iâll go home. Thanks for letting me know, Uncle Salome.â
Heâs not your uncle, not really. But he was so close that it was practically as if he were.
As you walk away, you think you hear him whisper your name in surprise.
You don't return until later that night. In the early hours of the morning.
You only want your box, the box you two shared. There are no photos of Valeria, you don't have any; your little phone from those years didn't have a camera. At the town fair, there was a stall that took photos and turned them into keychains for twenty pesos.
You gave the man one hundred pesos; he gave you two photos and a keychain.
In the mountains, there are no lights, nothing but the moon to illuminate the way, and it's not enough.
You carry a small flashlight in addition to your phone. Your body remembers the path as if it were muscle memory; you remember it even though more than ten years have passed.
You haven't even gone halfway when you see it in the distance.
A beautiful house rises on the hill.
A beautiful house, but surrounded by armed men.
A hand grabs your bicep too tightly, dragging you closer to the armed men.
You struggle with whoever is grabbing you, obviously, but they're stronger and bigger than you.
Too fast, you end up with a sack over your head and everything goes black.
You hear people talking above your head, but you can't understand what they're saying.
Maybe you have tinnitus, or maybe the blood is rushing through your earsâyou don't know.
They move you from place to place until you don't know where you are, you can't see, you can't hear. They've deprived you of your senses.
âWhat are you doing, idiots?â
Valeria enters the interrogation room. GonzĂĄlez called her, saying her soul had disappeared, that he'd lost sight of her.
Later, Ayala called, saying they had a soldier or a voyeur in custodyâa woman.
It wasn't hard for her to put two and two together.
Her soul had always been very curious.
âMa'am, we found this woman wandering around; she had a camera.â
Valeria snatches the supposed camera from one of her men.
It's a square flashlight, and she realizes it's actually a purple power bank covered in stickers.
It looks feminine, almost childish, and the contrast between the dried blood under her fingernails and the pastel purple color is ridiculous.
She closes her eyes and counts to three. Sometimes she wondered why she kept recruiting idiots.
âWhere is she?â
âThis way, ma'am.â
She hears a couple of men celebrating behind her. Apparently, they're excited by the live executions and torture.
They're so bloodthirsty it's disgusting, but she can't get rid of them. The business is sustained by the people who keep it running.
When she arrives at the room where her beloved is, the first thing she notices is the bruise on her right bicep and the blood running from her slightly swollen nose.
"Who the hell hit her?"
Her beloved is injured and unconscious.
GonzĂĄlez enters the room behind Valeria.
"Ma'am, I'm so sorry, I⌠I was watching her from across the street at the hostel where she's staying. She must have left through the back doorâŚ"
Valeria doesn't want to hear his excuses; she's seeing red at the sight of her beloved like this.
She pulls the pistol from her waistband and fires near the man's head. The bullet grazed her ear, drawing blood, and left a hole in the wooden door.
GonzĂĄlez stops speaking, stops moving, even stops breathing.
She clenches her jaw. Then she lowers the gun.
âGet out of here before I change my mind. Everyone go. NOW!â
Her men, too terrified to stay, flee. They practically trample each other.
Firing inside a closed room was never a good idea. Valeria avoided it most of the time, but sometimes it was necessary.
The room now smelled of gunpowder, and her ears rang from the gunshot as she moved closer to her soul.
Each step she took in her direction brought her clarity; she could inhale her scent.
She smelled like home.
She knelt and swiftly untied her from the chair. Her beloved's body collapsed against her, offering no resistance.
She is so happy to be strong now, to be able to carry her without difficulty.
So many years in the army, longing and yearning to have her close, to protect her.
The gods heard her prayers.
Death heard her and gave her the greatest gift in the world.
Now she has her woman back, and she will die before they are separated.
Now she has the power to burn the entire town, as she wanted to do years ago, and she will not hesitate.
English is not my first language and I apologize if there are any mistakes.
The conclusion to this story. Thank you all for reading!
Warnings: Mentions of domestic abuse/child abuse (a parent hitting a minor), mentions of murder, cartel/organized crime themes, gun/firearms mention, morally grey happy ending.
Note: Read part one and two before this.
Part one - Part two
Not fast enough to move the air, but enough to make you dizzy, so you close your eyes and take several deep breaths.
When you wake up, the first thing you see is the ceiling fan spinning lazily.
âI know youâre awake, mi amor. Why are you pretending, preciosa?â
Valeriaâs voice breaks the silence.
Maybe you sit up too quickly because you didnât notice how close you were to the edge of the bed.
You end up falling to the floor.
Itâs not the image you wanted to project, or the first thing you wanted Valeria to see.
âIâm fine!â
When you kneel beside the bed, you see her.
Short hair, perfectly groomed eyebrows, short nails painted a soft pink but chipped. She's wearing a cross-body harness and has a gun tucked into her right side, close to her ribs.
She looks beautiful.
"Valeria?"
"The one and only, darling. Get up off the floor, will you?"
Your eyes sting and a lump forms in your throat.
Valeria comes closer and helps you sit up in bed as she kneels between your legs. Her hands rest on your thighs.
âWhy are you crying?â
Her voice is soft, just enough to make tears stream down your cheeks.
âI donât know⌠I thought⌠I thought you were dead.â
âOh, my loveâŚâ
Valeria doesnât climb onto the bed; she stays on the floor, wiping your tears with her thumb.
âIâm here, Iâm alive. Donât cry.â
Those words make you cry even harder. God, you must look like a crybaby right now.
âIâm so sorry, I didnât want to leave. I was scared, and my parents hated me, everyone hated me. My dad died, did you hear that, Vale? Did you hear? He died, and I feel so bad because it doesnât hurt. Mom still hates me, and my brothers wonât talk to me. I donât know where my sister isâŚâ
Everything comes out like a dam has burst. You donât even know if youâre speaking coherently.
ââŚHe owed money to a narco. I always knew he was an idiot, but not that much. Now my family owes a lot of money to someone, and they wonât let me help.â
âI know, my love, I know. I know your father owed money to someone, and he died.â
âYou know? How?â
âHe owed me money.â
âNo, no, Vale, he owed money to a dangerous drug trafficker. You⌠you⌠youâre in the military, right? Yareli told me. She contacted me through Facebook, and I asked her about you.â
ââŚMi almaâŚâ
âWhere are we? HowâŚ? Valeria, Iâve been kidnapped. How are you here? Why am I in a room that looks too luxurious and comfortable for this to be a kidnapping?â
You look into her eyes, waiting, praying that youâre wrong and what you think isnât real.
âOh GodâŚâ
She doesnât answer, doesnât speak, she just looks at you as if⌠as ifâŚ
You know she could never lie to you, much less while youâre looking into her eyes.
âValeria, what did you do?â
âI did what I had to do. Iâm not going to make excuses, and you know I wonât lie to you. Iâm incapable of it. I couldnât protect you years ago, and you left.â
âAnd Iâm sorry about that! Iâm sorry I left, but I asked you to come with me.â
âI wasnât going to. I wasnât going to leave Las Almas.â
âAnd thatâs why you turned it into this? People are scared, terrified, Iâd say! There are armed men in the schools, Valeria!â
âI DONâT CARE!â
Valeria stood up and took several steps back, pressing her hands to her face. Her breathing was erratic.
You know, from her reaction, that she's no longer used to people yelling at her.
âDo you think I care what happens to them? When they pointed the finger at us, no one said a word. When they made you cry, no one said a word. When you left, no one did anything. I stayed in this place because it was all I had left of you!â
Valeria finally looked at you and also seemed about to start crying.
âI had this house built on the hill because you always said you'd love to live here, that you loved the view and how private it was⌠I killed the high school principal for making you feel awful. Everyone who pointed the finger at us is either dead or owes me a fortune.â
Your heart ached. This is the girl⌠No. The woman you loved, who you still love, and who seems to still be hurting from what happened ten years ago.
âYou let hatred consume you, my loveâŚâ
Now you can confirm it's real.
Her eyes⌠are filled with pain.
The girl rejected by the village will return to see him burn⌠or so they say.
When you stand up, she just lowers her head. She was always a few inches taller than you; she used to tease you about it a lot.
She laughed for hours when she discovered you'd started stuffing toilet paper in your shoes to be as tall as her.
You cup her cheeks and press your forehead to hers, just like the last time you saw each other at the bus station.
You lower your gaze between her breasts because something catches your eye.
It's a necklace with your initial, but it's not the same one. The chain is thicker, though delicate, silver, even though Valeria always preferred gold. The initial has pink diamonds and is more durable. It's not some cheap carnival trinket.
"I thought you preferred gold; it looks so much better on you."
"You always liked silver betterâŚ"
You smile slightly and look back into her eyes. She takes hold of your hips.
"You knew I'd come back."
"Actually, no, I couldn't have known. I was prepared to live with your ghost. I thought you'd have a life in the city by now and be happy. I didn't look for you in case⌠I didn't want to ruin your happiness."
âValeriaâŚâ
âNo, donât interrupt me, listen. I lent your dad money because your sister asked me to. She was little when you left, and she knew me. I took her under my wing. Remember when we used to look after her? I looked after her, and I kept looking after her. She called me one night. I always told her to be careful when she calledâŚâ
Valeria sits down in one of the chairs in the room and gently guides you to her lap. She does it slowly, as if she doesnât want to frighten you, still giving you the freedom to refuse or stand up whenever you want.
âYour father overheard us on the phone. He recognized my voice and started yelling that he wouldn't let me corrupt another one of his daughters⌠he hit InĂŠs, I heard it on the phone and went there.â
âInĂŠs wasn't at their house when I went there. I thought⌠she's fifteen, I thought she was with her friends or something⌠I thought she didn't want to see me either.â
âShe lives here, with me. That's why you didn't see her at that house.â
âYou killed my father and took in my sisterâŚâ
âYes.â
âShameless.â
âThat's why you loved me.â
âI still love you.â
The End.
This story is a work of fiction and does not seek to romanticize or idealize drug trafficking. The violence and harm it causes are part of the narrative context and are treated as a tragedy, not as something aspirational. Unfortunately, the current situation in Mexico is devastating: the violence is real, and it is estimated that between 10 and 34 people disappear every day.
Simon takes the phone from Johnnyâs hands and drops it on the table with a dull thud.
âEnough. Youâre only hurting yourself. That video isnât recent andââ
âI know! I know itâs not recent but⌠sheâs my wife, and if they did that to her when sheâd only been missing five months, who knows what else they did to her.â
Johnny looks on the verge of collapse. His eyes are filled with tears and now that the phone isnât in his hands anymore, he grips a necklace with a cross tightly in his fist. The video has visibly shaken himâheâs pale, his leg bouncing with anxiety as he squeezes the cross like itâs a lifeline, the only thing keeping him grounded.
Simon places a hand on Johnnyâs shoulder and then pulls him into a hug. It isnât a gentle hugâSimon isnât gentle. Nothing about him is.
â˘Â°â˘Â°â˘Â°â˘Â°â˘Â°â˘Â°â˘Â°â˘Â°â˘Â°â˘
The next time Johnny hears anything about you is when he has already lost hope. Price said they wouldnât waste any more resources chasing a ghost. Johnny almost killed him for that. Simon had to hold him back while Kyle tried to calm the situation.
That night Johnny spent hours in a church until they kicked him out. Later, Simon had to drag him out of a bar completely drunk. His life has been spiraling lately.
And then⌠then he sees you.
Youâre there, standing on the edge of a building, looking down at him like an angel. An angel with its wings torn off. His love isnât there anymore. In the blink of an eye, you disappear into the darkness.
After that he sees you everywhere in the corner of his eye. When he turns, youâre gone. Youâre never there. He thinks heâs losing his mindâŚ
Until that day.
Everything was normal during the mission, as normal as it could be. Only John is more impulsive now, less careful, and Simon is always there. Before, you used to be the one holding Johnnyâs leash. In your absence, Simon took over.
Smoke fills the battlefield. Explosions, shouts, and orders ring in everyoneâs ears. The ground shakes. Their ammunition runs out far too quickly and now theyâre surrounded.
Johnny exhales shakily. His shoulders relax as he thinks that finally⌠finally his suffering will end, that heâll see you again.
It doesnât happen.
The enemies start dropping one by one, and when the last one falls, there you are. Standing behind him with a knife in your hand. Youâre covered in blood, wearing a military uniform that looks more like a straitjacketâno patches, no insignia, just pure black.
His love, his Bonnie, is there a few steps away.
But something isnât right.
Your posture is wrong. Your back is too straight, your chin lowered.
Johnny ignores it and starts walking toward you, but Simon stops him with a hand on his shoulder. Kyle has his rifle raised but pointed toward the ground, and Price stands slightly in front of the team.
They all notice it.
Itâs you⌠but at the same time, it isnât.
âBonnie?â
ââŚâ
The extraction helicopter breaks the silence. Nik is landing nearby.
Youâre about to run again when Johnny grabs you and drags you into the helicopter with them.
â˘Â°â˘Â°â˘Â°â˘Â°â˘Â°â˘Â°â˘Â°â˘Â°â˘Â°â˘
Back at base they take you to an interrogation room.
No matter how much Johnny threatens, begs, or yells, they donât allow you to go home without answering their questions.
It doesnât help.
You remain silent the entire time. You donât react to external stimuli, and they recover dozens of weaponsâknives and pistol cartridgesâfrom your uniform. You donât resist when they practically strip you of everything, and that breaks Soapâs heart.
They took everything from his love.
They took so much that she doesnât even resist anymore when they stick needles in her and push her around.
Severe shock. Dissociation. Psychological programming. Torture. Conditioning. Possible abuse. Disproportionate increase in strength and speedâŚ
Johnny isnât allowed near you. Not while they run medical and psychological tests.
But the more reports he reads, the more he wants to cry, burn everything down, kill whoever did this to you⌠and die for failing to protect you.
Weeks pass.
You stay there.
Intelligence interrogations. Medical exams. Psychological and physical tests. It almost becomes a routine for you.
The man with the ridiculous hair is always there, on the other side of the glass. He always looks like heâs on the verge of tears.
Your head hurts when you look at him, like you should know himâbut you donât.
The man looks at you like⌠something you donât want to think about. Everything hurts when you try, your mind clouds over, and your fingers move as if they have a mind of their own.
You donât pay attention.
But he notices.
He always notices everything that has to do with you.
One night he sneaks into the room where youâve been kept for weeks. He smiles so widely that a knot forms in your stomach and you feel like youâre going to vomit.
âBonnieâŚâ
The whisper triggers a visceral reaction. The urge to throw up grows stronger and the nickname echoes in your ears like a bell.
Memories float through your mind. Too fast to grasp, too slow to ignore.
They contradict each other.
A man with a strange accent. Your handler calling you Bonnie while they torture you.
And anotherâŚ
Another man with soft but rough hands, teasing smiles, and bright blue eyes.
âNo.â
âNo? No what, Bonnie? Talk to me.â
The first word you say is no. Thatâs fine. You were always stubborn with him, always telling him no until he finally won you over. He wonât give up now, just like he didnât give up when he tried to win your heart the first time.
The man. His scent. The stupid hair.
And most of all⌠his finger.
The ring on it.
It feels so familiar. It shines in a certain way and fits perfectly on his finger.
Immediately you look at your own hand.
Empty.
Wrong.
Your hands move on their own, trembling.
He notices.
His hands don't shake, but yours do.
Youâre writing something.
His name.
Your fingers trace it over and over again on the surface of the table.
Johnny.
Johnny.
Johnny...
JohnnyâŚ
°â˘Â°â˘Â°â˘Â°â˘Â°â˘Â°
As I said, English isn't my first language. I use Google Translate because, although I can read and speak English, my grammar is terrible. If anything is wrong, please let me know. Also, it was exam week at uni, but hey, I passed French! Xoxo đ
Edit: This is part one, maybe it's not as good as this part but here it is.
đŹ 2  đ 2  â¤ď¸ 53 ¡ Jhonny "Soap" MacTavish x Reader
Warnings: Angst, Psychological torture, Kidnapping, Brainwashing, Trauma, Sensitive cont
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Eleven months since you disappeared on that solo mission, eleven months since he started begging God for your return, for any clue to find you. Johnny has never been very religious, despite growing up in a devoutly Catholic household. Now it seems he spends all his free time searching for clues about your whereabouts or in church praying for you to be found, for all of this to end. He drinks, he gets angry, he cries, he yells at God, and then⌠the cycle repeats.
Simon is there for him, the only one who believes him. He was his best man at the wedding, he knows you, he knows you would never leave Johnny just like that, that you're not a traitor like everyone else thinks.
The last update they got from you is an encrypted file, a grainy, blurry video. Your hair is shorter, shoulder-length, and you don't look like yourself. Johnny doubted it at first, but it's definitely you. He would recognize you anywhere, even in a crowd. In the recording, you're⌠there are no words to explain what they're doing to you. You're strapped into a chair, a machine attached to your head, and you scream in pain while biting down on a stick. According to the date in the corner of the footage, this happened five months after you disappeared. Six months ago.
Johnny feels like his brain is filled with cotton wool; everything feels distant, as if wrapped in cotton. He replays the video over and over, trying to convince himself it's not you, that his love isn't going through this⌠but you're unmistakable to him. At the end of the video, a man approaches and removes the stick from your mouth, which now moves freely, mouthing something to yourself.
Silence hangs over the room as the video ends, seemingly for the fifteenth time. Simon is tense, his jaw clenched, his pale fists on the back of the chair where Johnny is sitting.
"That video is from six months ago, JohnnyâŚ"
Johnny doesn't respond; he's too affected⌠he just plays the video again.
I used Google Translate; English isn't my first language, and I wrote this because I'm tired of it always being the boys who end up getting brainwashed. I didn't finish it because I have an exam tomorrow, let me know if you want the second part. Xoxo đ