HI!! not to bombard you with like, song based requests, but can you do a prompt with yelena (platonic) ? where it's based off of the song 'Call it What You Want' by taylor swift
preferrably during red room to post red room, where they like, lose contact?
HAHA, don't worry about 'bombarding' me... this is the only song-based request i've gotten so far. ...so many requests today!! exciting. :)
red room!yelena x red room!reader (platonic), drabble
𝘽𝙐𝙏 𝙒𝙊𝙐𝙇𝘿 𝙔𝙊𝙐 𝙍𝙐𝙉 𝘼𝙒𝘼𝙔 𝙒𝙄𝙏𝙃 𝙈𝙀?
do not copy / steal / plagarise
It had always been unfair–that was a point that never needed to be said. No one dared to, after all. Speaking out always ended in punishment, and punishment was, at its worst, fatal. No one would object, except Yelena. She had always been a fighter, a strong-willed girl, and that stayed true during her time in the Red Room.
It was always that familiar blonde hair, slicked into a tight ponytail, and the mischievous gleam in her eyes. Maybe that’s what drove you to be friends with her. She was the only one kind enough to talk, and confident enough to speak up. When bullying became a constant in your life at the Red Room, it was quickly silenced with Yelena’s harsh yelling and aggressive outward demeanour.
“Do you think we’ll ever get out of here?” you had asked once, when the moon had been high in the night sky, blanketing the Red Room in a dark, clandestine haze.
“Of course,” she says confidently. She knows she’ll get out, somehow–she’s always had that kind of confidence.
You smile at that, reaching a hand out to her bunk. She snorts, giving your hand a little squeeze with her own, before her hand falls back to her mattress. “Now shut up, we’ve got sparring tomorrow. If you lose to Natalia, you’re a loser.”
Natalia–the widow’s sister. She had always been senior to the pair of you, but you knew she was safe. As long as you were friends with Yelena, Natasha would never lay a finger on you. Even when life in the Red Room became harsher, too much for your already fragile mental states, you knew you had Yelena and her sister.
It happened one night. You had woken with the rest of the widows to silence. It hadn’t been real, until you had moved over to your best friend’s bunk and stared at the emptiness. The sheets were cold, and Natalia’s bed was empty as well. You could only assume that the pair had left without you. They had left before mind-control was implemented. They had been lucky.
You lost everything when they left. With them, your hopes of escaping vanished, your hope of being more than just a weapon dwindling quickly. You hadn’t realised how dependent you were on them until you found yourself bearing the brunt of abuse from the other girls. You only had one choice–grow tougher, or die alone. As much as death seemed like a sanctuary of silence, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it, not after you had been brought into a room, your senses stripped away from you and replaced with eerie silence and only a command in your head.
And so you took the hard way out. You trained yourself to the bone, honed every muscle in your body until you were finally told you were going on your first mission to celebrate how strong you’d grown.
You should have realised the Red Room was sending you off to die when they asked you to travel to America and retrieve files. It was never a simple retrieval mission, and you’d realise that when you were deposited in a field behind the SHIELD headquarters. For the most part, it was quick and easy. You tranquillised and killed those you saw, and snuck in through the back entrances. The hard part, you’d find, would be facing your past. As you jammed a hard drive into a computer, you felt hard steel pressing into your skull. You took in a soft breath, your hands raising away from the keyboard and into the air.
“Медленно повернитесь, (turn around slowly)” the holder of the gun says. You do, slowly spinning on your heel to face her. She’d grown so much, you’d noticed. Her hair was shorter now, her eyes wide with surprise.
“You’ve changed,” she says now, in English, the barrel of the gun still inches from your face.
“You have too,” you point out, your eyes hardened, fingers tense–as if you were seconds away from gripping the barrel of her gun and trying to twist it from her grip.
“Don’t tense up,” she warns, assessing you. You looked stronger. Healthier, and taller than she remembered you.
A red vial is pulled from the former Widow’s pocket, the particles inside swirling within the vial as a small cloud of dust. “I’ve been saving this,” she admits, “For when I find you.” She brings the gun closer to your neck, grabbing the vial with a harsher grip and pressing a button on the back, the particles firing into your face. Your head hurts, a splitting headache overcoming you as you keel over, Yelena grabbing you and holding you in her arms as you collapse forward.
When you recover, your breath comes heavily against her shoulder. “Let me go,” you say softly, but she doesn’t listen. She’d seen the effects of mind control and what it had done to its victims, and she was worried.
“I just want to save you,” she says quietly, helping you over to a chair.
“You did,” you wheeze, rubbing your temples, “But would you run away with me?”