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thetempleofthemasaigoddess · 3 months

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When you touch me, I am where love is born

Young!Mihawk x reader.

Prequel of the short series that began with Built a haven for your love (until I let you fall apart). Title taken from yet another song by Beast in Black, One night in Tokyo.

The man is attractive, if you like the burly type, with rough features and a full beard - which you occasionally do, even though you are slightly put off by the fact that your would-be victim, a former pirate who is now working solo as a robber, has killed twelve people, all of them but one defenseless civilians and including four children, to steal their valuables. Your grandfather, who put your first gun in your hand when you were only nine and taught you to use it, and a number of other firearms, to perfection, told you emotions are often a shooter's worst enemy, a cause of confusion and inaccuracy and worst of all hesitation, especially when the target you are shooting at has a weapon of their own; still, in your heart you feel satisfaction, even joy, and not guilt, at the thought that you will rid the world of this lowlife and protect his future potential victims.

Your target has no permanent residence and is notoriously proficient at putting pursuers off his tracks, but you were able to track down an accomplice of his who, for a small price, told you he would be in a certain island, on a particular day.

He is, and you are as well, having reached the island yesterday by ferry under the guise of a normal, innocuous tourist eager to enjoy the island's luxurious beaches and night-life. The truth couldn't be more different, and as you check for the twelfth time your gun is loaded and ready to shoot, you order yourself to keep your cool and stop your heart from beating twice as fast as normal. Yes, this is your first assignment as a mercenary; yes, you are still very young, and a woman, which would lead many of your fellow killers for hire to look down on you and doubt your ability; yes, you have never killed anyone before, which could make you hesitate once you will have to actually pull the trigger, not at a clay pigeon or another target prepared by your grandfather for your training, but at a living, real person.

But you can do it. You want to do it, because you have trained so much and so long for this, and that man does deserve to pay for what he has done, and you want to prove, to the world and more importantly to yourself, what you are worth, how strong and clever and resilient you are, beyond the family you were born in and the role you will take on one day. Your grandfather, an excellent gunslinger who had been a mercenary himself in his youth, expects you to put to good use everything he taught you and succeed, and your mother, while naturally worried for your safety, raised no objections and allowed you to begin a career as a killer for hire, knowing you felt the need to put yourself to the test beyond the comfortable, tranquil borders of your island. They both count on you, and you'd rather eat glass than disappoint them… and yourself, the harshest, least forgiving judge of all.

Also, if I don't kill that guy, he will probably kill me. That's also something I should keep in mind.

Having kept watch on the old barn, in the middle of the countryside, your target had spent the night in, you have seen him leave soon after dawn, the long sword he used to kill most of his victims as usual by his side, and set out towards an uninhabited corner of the island. You followed closely, careful not to lose him and, at the same time, not to be spotted, and three miles later you saw him reach an old abandoned mine; there is no sign of life for miles all around, which makes you suspect that, more than preparing an heist in a bank or a shop, or to attack an unsuspecting traveller to rob and then kill them, the man is meeting with an accomplice to organize an hit, or perhaps he has chosen the mine as his new hideout, to lay low for a while.

But all things being equal, the reason that has brought him here doesn't really matter; he might be looking for a safe place to store his stamp collection, or planning to transform the place in an ice cream shop for all you care. The only thing that counts is that you will kill him today, provide justice for all the people he has murdered, and begin making a name for yourself as a mercenary. You don't care about the bounty money, that you plan to donate to the less affluent families of your island (after, perhaps, you have treated yourself to a good dinner) and even becoming famous as a killer for hire is a side issue; you only want to do what is right, and prove yourself you are more than a privileged young woman, born with a silver spoon in her mouth and destined to a life of tranquility and power.

Even if it means risking your life.

Your target has reached the entrance of the mine, securely boarded up and surmounted by a large KEEP OUT sign; he walks back and forth, clearly nervous as he smokes a cigarette, fingering the hilt of his sword. Hidden in a small ramshackle building, perhaps the old foreman's office, no more than ten paces away, you look at him through a crack in the door, kneeling on the dirty floor; your heart is pounding, a feeling of tightness constricting your stomach, the hand grasping your gun (a good, reliable and lethal model; not the derringer you will one day receive as a gift from your father and that you will treasure for the rest of your days, but still perfectly up to the task) sweating. Despite all the time and effort you dedicated to prepare for this moment, you are a nervous wreck, which is not completely a bad thing, since the last thing you should do is underestimate the danger you are in. Your target is still alone, busy smoking and apparently unaware of your presence, but any moment you waste could be the one he decides to leave, or he is joined by someone else; after all he does look as if he is waiting for someone. You can't hesitate any longer.

You stand slowly, grimacing at the pain in your knees, retrieve a second gun from the bag you have left on the floor, to use should the first one jam, and slide it in the holster hanging from your waist; you have chosen comfortable clothing, for obvious reason, and soft-soled boots, that allow you to walk as noiselessly as possible… and, in turn, to make it harder for your target to hear you approach.

The man has turned his back to the shack, busy lighting another cigarette after the one he has just put out under his foot; it's your moment, you decide, and you waste no time in slipping out of the splintered door and take one step, and then another, towards him.

Years and even decades later, as the list of your victims grows longer and you get used to the tension and the danger your job entails, you will still remember this moment as clear and vivid as if it had taken place yesterday, down to the smallest detail. The glowing yellow-red of the sun barely raised above the horizon; the natural vegetation rustling in the gentle wind; the russet colour of the unsown earth under your feet; the expectant, charged silence broken only by the distant call of a carrion crow. You are only partially aware of your actions, your instinct and training taking over, as you take a third step, which brings you at maybe six from your target - more than close enough for a clean shot. Your gun is aimed, your finger already brushing against the trigger. You are about to talk, but the man, still turned the other way, anticipates you.

"I was waiting for you." he says, tense but calm, and the shock is almost enough to make the gun slip from your hand; you have been very careful to remain hidden, making sure he had no idea you were keeping a close eye on him, and you were absolutely sure you had succeeded, and would easily sneak up on your target. Apparently the truth is different… or at least so it seems for a moment, before the man finally turns, sees you, and goggles.

"What the… who the hell are you?!"

"I…"

"Where is Mihawk?" he insists, which is a question you have no answer for, but that at the same time is enough to dispel your doubts: he had no idea you were coming, and was actually waiting for someone else - perhaps an ally or an accomplice.

It takes your target half a second to notice the gun you are aiming at him. "What the…?!" he exclaims, letting his second cigarette fall to the floor and grabbing his sword.

It is already a full second to late.

"Jack 'The Tiger' Vespertine." you begin, mimicking the formal tone you heard your mother use so many times; you will decide to do away with the declaration of intents by your third assignment, like virtually all World Government-sanctioned mercenaries and killers for hire do, especially when the target is already aware of the danger they are in and armed, but since this is your first time you deem appropriate to follow the rules to the letter "You have been found guilty of twelve counts of murder…"

Vespertine's sword is drawn with a movement too fast for your eyes to follow, but thank all the Gods you are fast as well, and ready; a battle-cry fills the air, and half a second later, when the man has barely had the time to raise his blade above his head, your finger pulls the trigger, and the bullet explodes out of the gun's barrel, opening a hole in the middle of his forehead.

Vespertine is not an heavy man, but the thud of his body hitting the ground is deafening, the ground shaking under your feet. He doesn't move, and for a full minute you don't either; you stare at the body in front of you, your gun still pointed at him even though you know he is most likely already dead, as you push his sword away with your boot. You can't see his face, since he has fallen on his belly, so, for safety's sake, you shoot him again, in the back; the man doesn't move, which is proof enough for you.

Somewhere in the distance, the carrion crow cries again, a sound vaguely similar to an acid laugh; you glance all around you, making sure you are still alone and no one witnessed your actions, and then cautiously crouch down, using your free hand to turn the body on his back and look at it -at him- in the face.

This moment is the reason why you decided to do it like this. Up close, looking at him in the face and making sure he saw you and, within reason, knew you were going to kill him, instead of finding a safer way, hidden among the shrubs or from a moving vehicle or even at the third floor of a building, so that your target would have no way to know what was going to happen, and to defend himself. You had to let him know; not because you owed him (he was a killer, scum like that was entitled to nothing) but because you needed it.

"There is nothing wrong with aiming from a distance, and shooting at someone who doesn't expect it, at least if you're a mercenary and chasing a certain sort of people; in a fair duel, or when the person you are shooting at deserves to know what is going to happen to them, different rules apply." your grandfather told you one day, as you walked together in the fortress' gardens, at the end of yet another training session; he was an honourable man, your grandfather, but he was also smart and pragmatic, and he knew honour was something a person could not always afford to care for, and that when you didn't leave someone else to pay for your actions there was nothing wrong with running away to fight another day "We are not swordfighters; we don't duel for supremacy, for a grandiose title or so that everyone in the world knows our name. The gun is a weapon; if you want to kill someone, use it and it will do its work. It's not your friend, or a talisman that endows you with some arcane power; it is a tool that you need to learn to use, otherwise you will be the one getting hurt. It is a bloody business, a raw and practical one, devoid of heroics and ethics, but it can protect you and help you make your way in the world. It all depends on you. Just..."

"Just?"

Your grandfather had stopped, contemplating the rose bushes your mother tended to personally, and that ran all around a tiny plot of grass, where your family had enjoyed so many outdoor breakfasts.

"What I'm trying to say is that using firearms, especially for a deadly purpose like you mean to, is something you mustn't take lightly." he continued as he looked at you; he loved you dearly, but in that moment there was sternness in him, as if he were warning you against a terrible danger, or a grave crime you were about to commit. You liked it; he was the first person to treat you like an adult, years before you could even vaguely call yourself that "It... goes to your head; the power to kill with a simple press of your finger can make even the most rational and moderate person feel all-powerful. And the risk of forgetting it is people you are shooting at and killing, not clay pigeons or game to serve at dinner, is high."

You looked at him; he was probably the person you loved the most in the world behind your mother, and he was wiser than even her. You trusted him completely, and you knew he only wanted what was best for you; had he said bathing every day in olive oil would make you immortal, you would have believed him.

"And you think this could happen to me?" you asked, afraid of hearing his answer; evening was approaching, flames of red and purple painting the darkening sky above your heads "I... I don't want it to, grandfather; I only want to kill bad people, like you did. I don't want to become bad myself."

Suddenly he smiled, as he took your hand in his like he did when you were still so young you needed to be guided as you walked. "I have faith in you, (name); I know there is no kinder girl in all the four seas, and I am sure you will one day rule over our island with justice and mercy." he told you "But if you really want to become a gunslinger... you have to promise me something: when you kill a man, you have to look at him in the eyes; not necessarily before, as I told you, but at least after. Take responsibility for what you have done, and face the consequence of your actions. Especially the first time."

A sudden gust of wind passed over you; the evening was warm, but you suddenly felt chilled.

"Promise me, (name)."

"I promise, grandfather. I will do as you said."

And you do, contemplating the body of the man in front of you, now truly alone in that isolated corner of the world. You feel no guilt; rather, you are proud of yourself, and you know your grandfather will be as well, when you'll call home to reassure him and your mother you are all right. You have proved yourself, punished a vicious murderer, and given justice to his victims. All in all, a good day... even though you do feel a bit upset, even if you couldn't exactly say why.

You can't tear your eyes away from Vespertine -or rather, from his mortal remains- even longer than what your grandfather would deem necessary. The bullet you have killed him with went right through his cranium, but the hole it created is no bigger than a bean at the centre of his forehead, and his face is still perfectly recognizable... which is good, since you wouldn't be able to collect the bounty if you can't prove you killed the right man. You saw another body once, an inexperienced guard on your island, who had shot himself in the face with his service pistol as he cleaned it, and the bullet had completely erased his features, so much that even his parents couldn't formally recognize him...

Vespertine's old bounty poster, from the time he was still part of his old pirate crew, is folded in the inside pocket of your jacket; you take it out, open it, observe it carefully comparing the man in the picture with the one lying on the ground in front of you, and finally sigh, relieved. You had already checked it for the third time twenty minutes ago, as you waited for the right moment in the foreman's office, to make sure you had actually found the right man and were not about to kill an innocent who simply resembled him, but this is obviously the first time you can examine him up close and yes, this is undoubtedly Vespertine himself. You killed him... but your work is not over yet.

Still, you can't stop looking at him. His eyes, of the same colour of your mother's, are still open, a single drop of blood that slid down from the wound leaving a tiny blood trail along the side of his nose. He had had time to realize you were attempting to kill him, but his expression betrays neither fear, nor rage, nor the pain he must have felt as he died; rather, he seems... surprised, as if he really hadn't expected to see you, to be attacked, and that that quiet, still morning would be the last of his life.

I'm doing it, grandfather, you think; you will make sure to tell him in person once you're back home, to let him know you haven't forgotten what he had taught you, but for now, mentally addressing him is the best you can do. Just like you told me to. And now I know what you meant; I feel exactly as you thought I would. I killed him; and all it took was pulling a trigger. He wasn't a good man, and he deserved this and even more. But still... But still...

It is sudden and violent, like a punch (or a bullet) to the stomach; the bounty poster falls from your fingers, and you fall to your knees, your legs unable to support you. Your head swims; your heart beats fast enough to hurt; cold sweat covers your back, your arms, your whole body...

A disgusting sound (bleeeaarrggghh) escapes your lips, followed by everything you had eaten in the last twelve hours.

*****

You start feeling a little better fifteen minutes later, and thank all the Gods you have water and paper towels in your bag, which allows you to clean yourself at least a little bit.

After a brief rest, you get to work, retrieving other tools from your bag: a knife, a sturdy sack, the sort you use to store grain or flour, and a tinderbox. You bit your lip, ordering yourself not to feel sick again, as you cut Vespertine's head, sawing through skin and tendons and bone and separating it from his body; consequently, you put it in the sack. Collecting wood takes you only a few minutes, since the countryside abounds with fallen branches and twigs; lighting a fire is equally easy, since you have been taught to use flint and steel since you were a little girl. Dragging your victim's body over the (still unlit) pyre is the hardest part, since he must be twice as heavy as you, but in the end you succeed, and soon Vespertine's remains are burning and then reduced to ashes, leaving no trace of his passing that an eventual friend or ally could trace back to you. Unsure of what to do with it, you finally bury the man's sword near the entrance of the mine, digging with your bare hands since you don't have a shovel at hand and making sure it cannot be found.

You then place the sack containing your victim's head in your bag; the idea of carrying that thing around is more than a little disgusting, but doing the same with the entire body would be much more tiring, and your grandfather said it will be more than enough to claim the bounty, since a severed head is clear proof of a person's death.

Soon after, you set off. You haven't lowered your guard yet, in case Vespertine hadn't come alone or had friends and allies nearby, not to mention that watching your back will now have to become the norm, but you feel relieved you have completed your task, and you can't wait to reward yourself with a good meal, cash the bounty and return home to tell your mother and grandfather about your first success as a mercenary.

You have started whistling a popular song of your island, the warmth of the blooming day kissing your skin, when suddenly you are not alone on the road anymore; a tall man is walking purposefully towards you, and towards the mine... a man with a large sword hanging from his belt.

Shit. Vespertine did say he was expecting someone, and while you cannot be sure this guy is (was) a friend of your victim and would want to avenge his death, the best, safest thing you can do is to get away as quickly as you can, before he realizes what has happened and that you must be responsible for it. Is it cowardly? Perhaps - no, it surely is, and your grandfather did tell you the honourable man is very often the dead man as well, and you are a mercenary, not a warrior, you are not bound by a code of conduct and it would be very stupid to risk your life when you have nothing to gain from it, but...

But...

"Excuse me." you call to the man who has by now walked five or six steps behind you, turning to look at him and thinking back to your brief conversation with Vespertine "Is your name... Mihawk?"

The man turns, clearly surprised to hear a stranger mention his name. He is very tall, slim but strong, dark-haired, practically but elegantly dressed.

"Do I know you?" he asks after a moment he has spent observing you.

"No, but perhaps we have a mutual acquaintance. Did you know Jack "The Tiger" Vespertine? Were you meant to meet him today?"

You grimace, realizing you have used the past tense when this man -Mihawk- still has no idea Vespertine is dead. This is probably the stupidest, most dangerous thing you have ever done, a leap in the dark, because your gun is still charged and nothing would stop you from at least trying to kill your second swordsman of the day, but you could simply keep walking, and he would have no way to know what has happened, since there is no trace of Vespertine's remains and by the time Mihawk may suspect he had been killed, you would be long gone.

Still. Something in your heart tells you you are doing the right thing, because you are not a coward, and because this man will not prove to be a danger for you. You don't know why, but you are sure.

"Is he a friend of yours?"

Mihawk brings his arms to his chest; he is still staring, and there is something in his gaze that makes you squirm - in his gaze, or perhaps in his eyes, which are of a very unusual colour...

"Why should I tell you?" he asks in the end.

"No reason, actually." you admit "It's just... well, I hope you were not close friends, or related, because he is dead."

Silence. You tense, ready for whatever his reaction will be, but the man lets his arms fall to his sides, without touching his sword - a good blade, he will tell you in time, but still largely inferior to Yoru, that will not come into his possession for a few years still.

"You killed him?"

"I did. Less than an hour ago, at the mine he was waiting for you at."

"Are you a pirate?"

No, just the daughter of one, you are for a moment about to answer, before quickly stopping yourself. You have been sworn to silence regarding the identity of your father, for the safety of your family and your own, and you have never been tempted to break that promise until now. What is happening to you?, you wonder, feeling strangely numbed all of a sudden, why do you instinctively feel able, or even eager, to share your secrets with a man you had never met before...?

(You will understand it; in time. And you will be happy of it.)

"No; I'm a mercenary working for the World Government." you answer in the end, trying to pull yourself together; it is technically not the truth, at least until you cash your first bounty, but the Marines do have a number of killers for hire on call, and who knows, perhaps one day you will be part of that selected circle... "Vespertine left a long list of victims behind him, there is a bounty on his head."

"I see."

You wait for him to elaborate, to express rage or regret or joy at the news of Vespertine's death, but Mihawk is clearly not the loquacious sort, because he keeps his emotions for himself, and "Thanks for telling me." he simply says.

"No problem. Why was he waiting for you?" you ask again, cocking your head; you have no idea of how dangerous he is, even now that he is little more than a boy, but even if you knew, you wouldn't be deterred. You are curious... and fascinated, somehow, by this stern and hermetic young man.

Mihawk looks at you, clearly disapproving of your curiosity, but in the end he sighs, and finally gives you the explanation you wanted. "We were meant to duel, Vespertine and I. He had challenged me a month ago, and we were meant to meet this morning at the mine. I... am running late, unfortunately, because the ship I took to reach this island clashed against a larger one and for a while it seemed it would go under."

"Oh, that's... scary."

He shrugs, clearly unconcerned. "I would have managed, I am a capable swimmer. I was just afraid Vespertine thought I had decided not to meet him because I was afraid."

"He... was a capable swordsman?" you ask again, still eager to learn more; the only bladed weapon you have ever handled is the knife you use at the table and, now, the larger one you took with you from home to separate your victim's head from his body, but you have always been fascinated by the world of the swordfighters, bound by a strict code of behaviour, who often have to prove themselves before a more experienced fighter accepts to train them and among whom most serious duels end with the death of one of the two opponents. For them, the weapon is not a tool, of defense and offense; it is... an art. A cult, almost.

"Above average, from what I saw, which is not saying much. But he had challenged me, and refusing would have been a stain upon my honour."

Just like you expected. "I see. Well." you add, suddenly embarrassed "I'm sorry I took your opponent away from you."

Mihawk shrugs, marginally more inclined to chat. "If he let you kill him, it means he wasn't a worthy opponent." he reasons; he has no facial hair, but his sideburns are long and neatly trimmed, and while already tall he's still a few inches away from his full stature "I should thank you for saving me a futile effort."

You cock your head, an eyebrow raised. "Are you saying I am less capable a markswoman than you are a swordsman?" you inquire; you don't care if Mihawk will propose to see for yourselves and challenge you, forgotten is the guilt you felt for ruining his morning. Who the hell this smart-ass thinks he is, especially considering you must be the same age? You don't care how actually powerful he is, you wouldn't even care if he were the world's strongest swordsman, no one can insult you and get away with it "Is it because I am a woman? Or because I use a gun and not a sword?"

"No, I..."

"I'll have you know I've been trained by one of the most capable former mercenaries of the four seas, and that Vespertine didn't even have the time to attack me before I put a bullet through his head."

"I'm sure you are more than capable." Mihawk says, clearly aiming to pacify you but, fortunately, without sounding patronizing "Forgive me; I meant no disrespect."

He seems sincere - he is, he will confess to you years later, and deeply embarrassed for the gaffe he just made; it is rare for him to admit he had erred... but, he will confide you with the shadow of a smile, he is happy those words didn't make you hate him, then and in the years to come. Because of this you decide to forgive him, and

"If you want we can split the bounty." you propose, feeling generous; you intended to donate the money to someone who needed it on your island, but you can take another assignment soon "Or, you know, there is Verspertine's sword, I can tell you where I buried it..."

Mihawk shakes his head. "I can only take another swordsman's blade if I am the one who bested them; in any case, I doubt a man like Vespertine owned a blade I could be interested in." he points out "And I don't need compensation; you killed him, you deserve to keep the money. Well, I... I suppose I should go back."

"Right..."

Silently, you both set off once more, walking side by side along the only path towards the nearest village. You are still on edge, both happy for your first success and shaken by the fact that you have, after all, just killed a man, but soon you find yourself focusing on something else... namely, on the young man walking next to you. He is undoubtedly handsome, but it's something else that piques your curiosity... a depth, and complexity, unusual for one so young, and that you can perceive behind his apparently impassible façade.

"So." you begin conversationally after a while; you have almost a mile to walk to the village, and maybe chatting will make you reach your destination faster "Are you any good with that sword?"

Mihawk grunts, the tiniest hint of amusement in his voice. "I like to think I am more than good."

"Really? Are you famous?"

"I am... becoming famous. This is why Vespertine wanted to duel me."

"And you think you would have beaten him?"

"I know I would have."

He speaks matter-of-factly, as if describing an undeniable truth and without the slightest hint of arrogance or overconfidence; you usually appreciate humility, and you have no way to know whether he is as good as he thinks he is, but you like the self-assurance he carries himself with.

"So this is what you do? Go around, duel other swordsmen so that you make a name for yourself as a powerful fighter?"

"I do." Mihawk easily acknowledges "When I'm not too busy fighting the Marines and looking for a loot or another."

"You're a pirate."

"I am. A wanted one, in case you were thinking of claiming my bounty as well."

You smile, aware you are both involved in a game whose rules are still undecided. "Is that a challenge?" you inquire, and Mihawk shrugs, looking straight in front of him.

"If you want to consider it as such."

"I see. Luckily for you, I intend to cash Vespertine's bounty before looking for another assignment, so I will not challenge you today."

"Luckily for me..."

Silence falls between you, an unexpectedly companionable one considering you have known each other only for a few minutes. As you glance sideways at Mihawk, you can't help noticing his eyes, yellow like the ones of a hawk; you have never seen anything of the sort, but there is beauty in his gaze.

"What about you?" Mihawk asks "What has brought you to become a mercenary?"

"Are you surprised?"

"Women are a minority in the trade, those as young as you even more so. You are wearing clothes of good quality, which means you are probably not doing it for the money. Am I right?"

"You are."

Mihawk grins. "As I thought. So what? Are you following in a relative's footsteps? Or were you simply bored?"

"Both things, in a sense." you admit, walking leisurely along the mud-smeared path; the fact that a virtual stranger is able to read you so easily should upset you, but it doesn't, maybe because you can perceive Mihawk poses no danger to you, or maybe not "I... simply needed to test myself. Growing up, I never had to worry about money, or fear for my safety; I'm not saying I was spoiled, or that I spend my days idling without duties and responsibilities, but I feared letting things go like they were meant to, I would become indolent, content with what I had but unable to aim higher. I never needed to prove I was strong, and clever, and capable of taking care of myself; but I wanted to make sure I was anyway."

You are not sure your reasoning makes sense, especially to someone who barely knows you, but Mihawk nods in understanding - in approval, even. "That was brave of you. And clever."

"I just wanted to do what I thought was right."

Twenty minutes of sporadic but pleasant conversation later, you have reached the village, actually little more than a handful of houses and little shops and a tiny harbour, connected by a regular ferry service to a larger island from where you can easily catch another boat to return home. Perhaps, you reflect, you should think about buying a small ship of your own; experienced sailors are not lacking on your island, and you could ask someone to teach you...

"You want to join me for a meal?" you propose as you walk past a tavern; you know you and Mihawk are destined to part soon anyway and will probably never meet again, but he is the most interesting person you have met in a long while, and you like talking to him "After all it's breakfast time..."

Mihawk hesitates for a moment, taken aback by your offer. "I'd... like that." he answers, and you could swear that surprises him as well "But I need to depart soon."

"I see. Well..."

You are both standing in the village's tiny, almost empty square. This is good-bye, then, you're about to say, but impulsively you step closer to the man in front of you, who tenses. "What...?"

"Your eyes." you murmur without realizing. You were right, they are yellow, their gaze piercing and deep, intense albeit not necessarily cruel "They are... beautiful."

"... you think?"

"Of course; I had never seen anyone with eyes like yours! They make you look like a bird of prey. Like an hawk."

Something in your words makes the man in front of you smile; he is flattered, and still not as good at hiding his emotions as he will be in twenty years. "I've been told that before."

"Is it hereditary? Do you have a particularly sharp vision or...?"

"I... don't think so; no one I have ever met has them, and I see normally."

"Amazing..."

Silence again; you face each other, both still so young, full of dreams and ambition, unaware of what the future has in store for you - individually and not. Neither has any idea you will meet again, and how your relationship will change and grow, but in that moment, both of you are sure, a sort of quiet, clear certitude: you will remember that brief encounter forever.

In the end Mihawk takes a step back, both literally and metaphorically. "I should go." he softly points out nodding in the direction of the village's harbour "So... good-bye."

"Good-bye, Mihawk." you answer, intimately saddened for reasons you can't fully explain even to yourself; it is not like you to get attached to people you barely know, but there is something interesting in this young swordsman, something special, and you wouldn't mind having the time to discover exactly what...

A nod, the hint of a smile, and he's walking away. You look at his retreating figure for a minute, his dark hair gently swaying in the breeze, his hand elegantly resting on the hilt of his sword.

"Maybe one day we'll meet again." you call out to him, making Mihawk turn "Maybe I'll be asked to bring you in to the Marines."

He smiles; once again, amused, but not patronizing. "I look forward to it." he answers, raising an hand in farewell "What is your name?"

"It's (name). (full name)."

"I'll be seeing you then, (full name)."

A minute later he has disappeared, hidden by the buildings across the square. You smile to yourself; something tells you Mihawk is destined to make a name for himself, as a pirate and even more as a swordsman, and you can only hope that, by your next meeting, you will have done the same.

Still, that could take years, and in the meantime you have a couple of more pressing matters to attend to: breakfast, since your stomach has started growling, and calling both your family, to let her know you're all right, and the Marines.

You decide to take care of that first, to get it over with. You glance once more at the tavern, hoping the coffee they offer is better than the one you drank on the ferry, retrieve your transponder snail from a side pocket of your bag, and dial the number you had learnt by heart before setting off from home. You could technically cash Vespertine's bounty in any Marine base of the world, but you decided to do it at their HQ, especially since it's your first time; you hope it will be easier to get noticed, and make a name for yourself as a capable mercenary.

"Good morning. Who do I have to talk to in order to claim a bounty? Vice-Admiral Garp? Yes, put me through to him, please..."

#One Piece #One Piece Live Action #OPLA #Dracule Mihawk #Mihawk #Dracule Mihawk x reader #Steven John Wars #Mihawk x reader #Steven John Ward #Theo Le Ray #Bellona's stuff

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runfreebirdrun · 7 months

Note

got any funny weed stories?

Rissa, all I am is funny weed stories.

Let me give you the classic, though, the most well-known: the Build-A-Bear story.

My buddy's dad used to make these insane pot brownies that my buddy calls "sotweeds." Normally, to make pot brownies, you put some pot in the butter and mix a little of that with normal butter, bake, enjoy. His dad, being a middle-aged gnomish sort of man with a goatee, had insane tolerance: sotweeds were *100%* pot butter. They were cut into strange little asymmetrical pieces rather than squares for no good reason. His dad would make like 50 of these at a time and store them in his freezer.

So, once, when we were younger and not-too-much dumber, my buddy stole a bunch of the chunks and we took (too many) gleefully outside an aquarium. The fun thing about the Cubist approach his dad took to cutting the signature brownies meant that the THC content of whatever chunk you just took was between you and God. Any given chunk could be either mostly chocolate chip, or the type of shit to make you see the hat man. This time, we rolled the dice and got snake eyes.

The aquarium was great. The shark tunnel was beautiful, and I made eye contact with a sea bass. An anemone hugged my fingers in the petting pool and I felt connected to the world in a new sense. And then, I pulled the fire alarm in the elevator.

It was an accident — I just leaned on the side of the elevator for a second, but as it turned out, that's how you press the alarm button. My friends and I made frightened eye contact and decided instantly: we had to flee the scene. We were wanted criminals, now, and nothing would ever be the same.

So we hike our asses out through the gift shop and in the bright light of the afternoon we stand looking down the steep staircase from the aquarium and right then, the edible hits.

We'd spent an hour and a half in the aquarium. The average pot brownie hits about forty minutes in, and lasts for a couple of hours. My last un-fried brain cells did the math: if it was still hitting *now,* we were only going to get higher.

Have you ever played a multiplayer video game on a really, really, poor connection, Rissa? I was rubber-banding. My ping was low. As I walked carefully down these stairs, I could feel the frames drop.

We descend into the nightmarish tourist trap neighborhood around the aquarium, and the least high of us goes and buys some too-salty fries to take the edge off. I sit on a bench and wonder: will I ever think again?

The only way out is through. My buddy suggests that we need some child-like whimsy to set us right. We go to Build-A-Bear, for the first time in my life.

You have to understand: I'm clutching my debit card in my hands the whole time because I don't trust myself to operate a zipper when we get to the cash register. At one point, I think I actually teleported across the room. I can see through walls. I can see new colors.

The heart ceremony? I felt that shit. You try being that high and told by an over-enthusiastic Build-A-Bear employee that you're sewing the soul into this animal you've adopted. I reveled in the joy of divine creation.

We get to the bit where you name your Build-A-Bear, and I decide the funniest possible name for this stuffed dinosaur is, all caps, "SPECIES." My weed-addled fingers typo, and I decide not to fix it. We get to the register, and I am not kidding you: 137 fiscal US dollars.

I teleport home by a method unknown to me to this day. I pass out instantly, and wake up, $137 poorer, to a red dinosaur Build-A-Bear wearing a promotional "I <3 Crabs" shirt, a full brown wig for a woman, and a Build-A-Bear birth certificate. Name: SPRCIES.

Her birthday's coming up.

#weed #tw drugs #this is the most i've ever typed

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jacobsnicket · 1 year

Text

anyway, don't be a stranger

written for @missingmae as part of the wicked way exchange run by @asouefanworkevent! this was so so much fun to work on

The first thought that Lemony has as he steps off the Thistle of the Valley and into Stain’d-by-the-Sea for the first time in two decades is this: the town seems smaller than he remembered. The streets don’t stretch on into oblivion the way they used to, unending rows of boarded-up shops.

Perhaps it is simply because there are people here now. Busyness seems to suit Stain’d much better than silence did.

Though he’s sure that a reliable taxi service is available, Lemony takes the walk anyway, attempting to situate himself via a large, unwieldy map of town that he’d found at the train station. Between the map, his briefcase, the oversized scarf covering one half of his face, and the oversized sunglasses covering the other, he must look like a tourist. It’s an entertaining thought, almost reassuring. Maybe, at some other time, Lemony might have visited Stain’d-by-the-Sea for pleasure, rather than because it was the only place he could think of where the citizens would not actively try to arrest him.

(Perhaps the citizens of Stain’d might try to arrest him anyway, false arson charges or no. Maybe he deserved it.)

After an unreasonably long walk, Lemony finally stops in front of his destination, a spindly little building with a faded sign. The flowers in the windowsill are blooming despite the cold, and the flowerpots are new, but the roof still sags the same way he remembers it.

He could have chosen any other hotel— with the town booming as it was, he was sure there was no shortage of them. And yet, for whatever reason, he comes here, For whatever reason, he chooses what is familiar, what is easy.

For whatever reason, he shoves the map into his briefcase and steps inside the doorway of the Lost Arms.

Ornette pauses in the middle of the stack of memoirs she’s reshelving when the library door creaks open.

“Hello,” she says, without looking away from the shelves. “What brings you here today?”

“I just need a little help getting settled, I suppose.” A man’s voice— deep, wavering a little. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been here. It’s… a lot bigger than I remember.”

She finally turns around to get a good look at the newcomer. He’s decently tall. She can’t get a good look at his face because a scarf, absurdly bulky, is covering half of it.

“I understand. We’ve recently done extensions, repurposed the old police station as part of the library. Even I get lost in here sometimes, and I’ve been coming here my whole life.”

The man nods, and then pauses. “You’re… you’re Ornette Lost. You run the hotel, don’t you?”

For a second she stops in her tracks, wondering how a stranger would’ve known her name so quickly. Then she remembers that she’s still wearing her name tag. “Yes, but I do like to come and help out here whenever I can. Goodness knows the Bellerophons—they’re the regular librarians— have their hands full between this place and the taxi.”

“So you’re a sub-librarian,” he says, looking at her strangely.

She smiles. “I suppose I am.”

There’s an awkward silence, in which Ornette reminds herself that this man has probably come here to browse the shelves, not to make small talk with her. “So, what would you like to find today?” she asks.

“I’m… not sure, actually.” The stranger fidgets with his gloved hands. “Do you happen to have any recommendations?”

“As a matter of fact, I do! We have this biography of Dame Sally Murphy that’s very detailed, has a lot of information on both her and the history of the region. It should be in the theatre section— second row on the right, just over there.”

“Dame Sally Murphy,” he repeats. “I’ve heard she’s a local legend.”

“She is.” When he moves to walk away, Ornette adds “You can take off your scarf, you know. It’s plenty warm in here.”

Turning the majority of her attention back to her memoirs, she watches the man pick out the book she’d mentioned, and then sit at one of the corner tables and begin to read. He doesn’t take off his scarf.

The following is a transcript of a conversation between two teenagers, shoved into a booth at Hungry’s Diner.

GWEN: You know, this might sound crazy…

CECIL: Crazier than usual?

GWEN: But I think Lemony Snicket’s come back to Stain’d-by-the-Sea.

CECIL is silent.

GWEN: No, really, I’m being serious! I saw him come in when I was doing my shift at the check-in desk.

CECIL: Oh, this is so stupid.

GWEN: He was covering his face. He bought a room under the name Monty Kensicle, which really confused me for a second— but then after work, I got out the alphabet soup, and it’s an anagram!

CECIL: That doesn’t even mean anything! And I still can’t believe you think Lemony Snicket is real.

GWEN: We are not having this argument again—

CECIL: Lemony Snicket is an urban legend! He’s a myth parents made up to scare their children out of misbehaving, like Santa or the Bombinating Beast, like oh, if you stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, you’ll end up running away into the forest with blood on your hands.

GWEN: That’s just your parents, and anyway, he’s in history books!

CECIL: That one memoir Cleo Knight wrote does not count as a history book.

GWEN: Yes, it does! She was there! She’s a primary source!

CECIL: There is no way there is a real person in the world named Lemony Snicket.

GWEN: Do you not read the Daily Punctilio?

CECIL: Why on earth would I read the Punctilio?

GWEN: It’s been front-page news for weeks— Lemony Snicket’s on the lam for multiple counts of arson. Here, I have a copy with me, I’ll show you.

CECIL: I haven’t seen anything about that in the Lighthouse. That’s strange.

GWEN: I know!

CECIL: Okay, assuming, of course, that Lemony Snicket is a real person, and everything people say about him is true, and the Lemony Snicket in there is the same man, you’re saying that now he’s come back to Stain’d to continue his streak of arson and murder—

GWEN has gone silent.

CECIL: Gwen?

GWEN: That’s him.

CECIL: What?

GWEN: He’s here. I see him at the counter, he’s wearing the same coat. I swear, if I’m right— he’s here.

Hungry’s Diner is nearly empty, save for two kids at a corner booth, but Lemony figures that’s less about the popularity of the establishment and more about the time— it’s a bit early for breakfast. He might have preferred more people; easier for him to slip in and out near-unnoticed. But at least now all the counter seats are vacant.

“Hello and welcome to Hungry’s! What can I get for you?”

In other circumstances, he might not have recognized the man in front of him— it had been quite a long time since he’d seen him, after all. But despite the added twenty years of age, he couldn’t help but remember Jake Hix.

“What would you recommend?” Lemony asks, out of habit. In all the times he’s been there, he doesn’t think he’s ever actually seen Hungry’s menu.

“Hmmm…” Jake tucks his hand under his chin, thinking. “Today’s breakfast special’s a baked Florentine omelette— spinach, tomatoes, ricotta, the works. You want that?”

“That sounds nice. I’ll have the breakfast special.”

“I’ll get right on that for you, then. Thanks for stopping by!” Jake disappears into the kitchen, presumably to go make that omelette, leaving Lemony alone at the counter.

He figures he looks silly, still wearing his scarf, but he hesitates to remove it— he can’t help but feel that the kids in the back are staring at him, even if it may be a trick of his mind. But then, he reasons, he’d have to take it off to eat anyway. So he slips it away and places it on the chair.

When Jake reappears, he thinks, for a second, that he sees him double-take, sees a flash of something in his face— but he must be imagining things, because now Jake is smiling again, warm and genuine.

He hands him the plate. The omelette is exquisite— but then again, he didn’t expect anything else.

“So,” Jake says, almost casual. “I feel like I’ve seen you around here before.”

And what is he supposed to say to that? Yes, Jake, I came here every day for lunch and dinner when I was twelve years old because I didn’t have anywhere else to go and you were always so kind to me, and then I murdered a man in front of you and disappeared forever and if I told you all this you’d have every reason to kick me out with my breakfast.

“I’ve been told I have one of those faces, I suppose. No, it’s my first time in Stain’d-by-the-Sea.”

“Oh.” Jake frowns. “Well, how are you finding the town?”

He wracks his brain for something to say, deciding on something mostly truthful. “Haven’t been here long, but it’s nice. I went to the library yesterday.”

“Oh, I love the library. It’s so comfortable.” Jake’s expression shifts. “You know, I’ve been rereading The Wind in the Willows lately myself. What are your thoughts on Grahame?”

There was no possible way Jake recognized him. How could he? The last time he saw him, he hadn’t even hit his growth spurt yet. It’s been twenty whole years, Jake couldn’t have— shouldn’t have remembered him.

And yet Kenneth Grahame.

Even if he was right, Lemony tells himself, it’s not safe here, in public, at a diner counter where people could be listening in. Circumstances have changed. It’s best to be cautious.

“I haven’t read it in a while; don’t think it would hold up upon reexamination,” he hears himself say, before finishing his omelette and bidding Jake goodbye.

He probably should seek elsewhere for meals in the future.

The town square is crowded today, Moxie notices, filled with tourists taking pictures of the lumpy statue and the little museum and, in a much smaller amount, the library. Usually, Moxie is expert at navigating crowds; she has to be, given her profession. But today, she nearly walks face-first into someone.

The person gives her a strange look. The scarf he’s wearing has slipped down onto his shoulders, letting her look at him straight in the face.

“Snicket?” she says, before she knows that she’s saying it.

In any other case, she would have thought she was mistaken, would have thought that she was dreaming. But Jake has told her about seeing him at the counter for breakfast, and Ornette has told her about his alias on her registry, and when she says his name, he jolts back like he’s about to make a run for it.

(“I know he’s in a lot of trouble, he’s trying to hide, but— he doesn’t need to hide from us,” Jake had said, slumped over on her armchair. “He should know that, right?”

Moxie had told him that she was surprised he expected Snicket to do anything else.)

Then he stills, scribbling something down on a notepad that he must have retrieved from his coat.

Moxie stops herself from speaking further. After a few seconds, Snicket stops writing with a little hum of finality and walks right past her.

She almost chases after him. Then she feels a note pressed into her palm.

If you’d like, meet me at the cliffs near the lighthouse at exactly 10:16 PM sharp.

With all due respect,

By the time Lemony arrives at the spot near the lighthouse he had mentioned, Moxie is already waiting for him. He isn’t sure whether it’s out of a sense of duty, simply wanting to be early, or wanting to show him up somehow, I can’t believe you didn’t think I would come.

Knowing Moxie, it’s a mix of the latter two. “So,” she’s saying, “why here? Why now?”

He hesitates for a second. “Have you been reading the Daily Punctilio recently?”

“I always read the Punctilio. It’s a valuable resource for what not to do in journalism.” She sits down on the ground, legs folded. “I saw all the articles about the arson case. Why’d you do it?”

“What?”

“Come on, Snicket. Whatever you do, I know you always have a good reason for it.”

It takes him a second to understand just what Moxie’s implying. “ No— no, you don’t understand, I didn’t start those fires. I was framed.”

“Oh.” Moxie looks almost surprised. “I knew you’re on the lam— that doesn’t answer my other question. Why come to Stain’d, of all places?”

That’s the question Lemony’s been asking himself since he arrived in town. “I… I don’t know. I suppose it was just the first place I could think of.”

She hums. “You talked to Jake at the diner and Ornette at the library. Why didn’t you just tell us you were here?”

Lemony should have expected it, inviting Moxie here, but this conversation is starting to sound more and more like an interview. (Or, another, slightly unkinder part of his brain proposes, an interrogation.)

“I don’t know,” he says finally. “It wasn’t safe— I’m a wanted fugitive, after all. And… I didn’t think that you would really want to see me anyway. We all didn’t exactly part on the best of terms.” Meaning, of course, that he’d killed a man in front of them and they were mad about it.

“What did you think? We were all going to go on hating you for two decades?”

“... yes?”

Moxie laughs at that. “I don’t have the time or the energy for that these days.”

Lemony smiles a little too, at that. “I didn’t even know if you’d remember me at all. It’s been so long.”

“Snicket.” She looks him straight in the eyes. “Stain’d-by-the-Sea would never be able to forget you, even if they try. You know that, right?”

Lemony doesn’t answer, instead looking down the cliffs to where the sea used to be. It was nearly the same, barring a tour bus or two rattling around on the old ocean floor. “Didn’t they try to bring the sea back?”

Moxie chuckles. “Oh, they tried. Cleo ran experiments and tests and surveys for years, looking for a way to do it. It’s impossible, not without destroying the whole town.” Her fingers tap along the dirt. “I think it’s fitting. We brought Stain’d back from the brink, but we’re never going to go back to how things were.”

“But you’re running tours in there,” he says, pointing to the buses.

“It’s a bit depressing, but visitors flock from all over to see it. These are geological formations you can’t find anywhere else.” Moxie paused. “Hey, you’re a visitor. Maybe I should get you a ticket for one of those bus tours.”

“No thanks,” Lemony says, laughing. “I think I’ve been down there long enough.”

#kiran writes #atwq #wicked way exchange

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tobiasdrake · 2 months

Text

A whole new island to explore. What wonders will we see? What mysteries will unfold? What--

...tribal stereotype masks in the visage of Crono from Chrono Trigger.

Okay. Now I truly have seen everything.

Wonder if we'll see Lucca and Marle at some point. Those two are the real heroes. Crono's just some dipshit who swords things good.

Incredible aesthetic. Looks very much like a shop. This is the most shop that any shop has ever shopped.

We are not making that mistake again.

Looking good, Mu--Shopkeeper.

FUCK. Why am I so bad at navigating conversations with you? T_T

You're entirely correct and I'm sorry for being an inconsiderate tourist.

Okay, in my defense, Mesa Island is all we've got left in my world.

Thanks, I was wondering if I was stuck in one time period here. I miss my sweet hat. I think you're going to love it too. It's a very good hat.

...those aren't the gecko dudes, are they? Like the one I just butchered right outside your door?

Look, where I come from, we get two types of weather: Fuck You and Get Bent. This might be standard for you but the relaxing atmosphere of this place means a lot to me.

So maybe your perspective is interfering with your ability to engage with this conversation too!

Oh cool, you have one of these too. Whatever it is.

Hey, I just noticed that the tarp covering it is blue. Is. Uh. Is this thing a Blue Robe?

The enemies here are a lot meaner than they are in my timeline. Really not appreciating the fucking cluster bombs.

I have no idea what it is but it reminds me of the Power Seals. In which case, there's only one thing to do, right?

Nothing better than destroying mysterious artifacts that you don't know what they do.

Is. Uh. Is it going to be a problem that I just punched it into a million pieces?

Oh my goddess, they're so goddamn cute I love them!

I'm participating!

Man, I don't know why people hate tourists so much. This shit's so much fun!

OH NO I DIDN'T MEAN TO LITTLE GUY

...

So.

I can.

Cut down the Little Dude Tower to make it more useful for me to navigate.

If I'm a monster.

What kind of monster would actually do that on purpose. T-T These poor little guys just want to have fun and enjoy life.

Apparently me. I'm the monster.

Look, it was either "Be the worst kind of tourist" or "Don't destroy the sacred cultural artifacts", and I just don't have it in me to choose the latter. If I want to smash their stuff for no clear reason or purpose, then I'm going to have to be a little rude about it.

#the messenger #drake plays the messenger

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rosecoloredknight · 9 months

Note

Here’s a long ask you might have to think about but I’m bored and interested in your answers too so what the heck! 😂

What are your top 5 countries you’d love to visit and top 5 cities in those countries ?

Top 5 songs that you listen to when you’re sad?

Top 5 movies?

Do you have a top 5 actors or actresses who you love and same goes for bands/ artists? :)

ANON, MY GOODNESS —

first off, I only think I can give 1-3 max cities for each country so I hope that's okay with you!!!

Top 5 countries I'd love to visit and will visit at least two or three in my lifetime:

1. Germany!!

Cities:

Möttingen, Germany - why? Because of 'The Romantic Road'!! Obviously driving can be a nuisance and take a toll on you BUT it seems like a nice 3 - 4 day vacation? here's a link that I read and saved a while back. It's not a must for me but something to think about.

Erfurt, Germany — why? Unlike the rest of the countries and cities, it will be because one of my friends live there and it's better or at least it seems wiser to visit my friend and spend time with them as they show me around and I experience their culture, the location, etc!!

2. Scotland!!

1. Edinburgh, Scotland - it's obvious because it's a popular or seems like a popular tourist attraction and I really want to walk those stairs I keep seeing in Instagram reels!! Aghh

Another reason would be because my mom is a HUGE Outlander fan and she stated that she would love to visit that place sometime so I'm like !!!!!! YES. I want her walking around Loch Ness, Old Course, and anywhere near the vicinity of Edinburgh. Have her enjoy a different scenery for once.

3. France!!

I actually tried learning French 5 years ago and that's pretty much why haha. I know that France, well I don't know, but I have been paying a little attention that there seems to be a revolution or disagreement with their laws or government and I don't know where it would be a good place to visit just to experience a life in France (I don't want the fake experience) but if someone can help me with that and just help me find a place where I can walk around, shop groceries, park walks, thrift shopping, and etc then I'd greatly appreciate it!!

4. Canada

British Columbia is just above Washington State and I've been looking around there and it's not necessarily that I would like to travel there for a week or so but more so give it a day or two of walking around there and then heading back to Washington. I guess it's more for me to say that I've "been" to Canada 😆

5. Japan/South Korea

I have no particular reason as to why, HOWEVER, if I can visit any of these two places then I will — I'd like to learn about their culture, the things they teach in terms of manners or beliefs, way of living, etc.

—

Top 5 songs I listen to when I'm sad:

Chances Are • Bob Marley and The Wailers

Leave a Light On - Acoustic • Tom Walker

My Tears Ricochet • Taylor Swift

Call Your Mom • Noah Kahan

Mercury • Sleeping At Last

* by the way, it's not me intentionally listening to sad music but moreso the music I like to help me feel better ARE sad music. I'll honestly listen to anything really when I'm sad. The point or more important question is AM I WALKING, PLAYING BASKETBALL, OR JOGGING while listening to music?!

—

Top 5 movies:

Oooooh, I recently got introduced to my new all time favorite so I'm glad I can share it here!! I can boast and ramble about each one listed but the message of this is YOU GOTTA WATCH IT SOMETIME IF YOU HAVEN'T ALREADY!!

1. Notting Hill

2. While You Were Sleeping

3. Pizza My Heart

4. The Family Man

5. One Fine Day

6. 13 Going on 30

7. The Incredible Hulk

—

Top 5 actors/actresses and bands/artists!?

Artists/bands

Taylor Swift

Noah Kahan

Harry Styles

Sleeping At Last

Twenty One Pilots

Bastille

—

Top 5 actors/actresses:

Hmm, this is a little bit more complicated because I've haven't watched much lately and only rewatch mostly — all I can give you is actors I've enjoyed watching on more than one films!!

George Clooney

Ben Stiller

Jennifer Lawrence

Michelle Pfeiffer

Mel Gibson

Nicolas Cage

—

*catching my breath* THANKS FOR THE ASKS, ANON. I hope I made sense!!

#asks #personal

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thepaperpanda · 2 years

Text

Cuddle His Angst Away || Steven Grant x fem!reader

Summary: Steven doesn't show up for your scheduled date once again, so you decide to visit him. As a result, you cuddle him to sleep to ease his stress

Warnings: none

Words: 2890

Authors: Cass & Fenrir

"Of course, this is the main hall; I don't think I need to explain it to you," Donna grumbled, bored and a little annoyed. She was lucky enough to be given the opportunity to introduce a new employee for some strange reason. "And here's our lovely gift shop, complete with Stevie." She tapped her fingernails against the counter as she spoke.

Because you didn't like her tone, you merely smiled and fawned at the poor man who looked like he had been up for days. "Hi.”

After a second blink, Steven realised what was up, as if he had been shaken awake from a deep state of reflection. "Hello." He replied. Welcome. You must be Y/N person. The tourist guide position has been replaced, I've been told. And it's Steven with a "v”, not Stevie, Donna."

"It's Y/N, not Y/N person. Bloody hell, Stevie, it's time to wake up," Donna said as she looked at her watch. "Y/N, you don't have any tours scheduled today. Just get to know this place. Stevie, and then you can get back to work." She walked away without saying anything more.

"Isn't she a lovely person?" You inquired, your eyes rolling. "So! Once again, hello, my name is Y/N and I'm a new tour guide." You smiled and extended your hand to him.

Clearly, Steven hesitated before taking your hand in his for a brief shake. He fixed his gaze on you for a few moments before he cleared his throat to say, "Just so you know, if you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask me. I've been here for a while, so I know what, where, and how."

"This will be hugely helpful. Thank you incredibly much, Steven." You smiled as you looked at his name tag. "I'll contact you as soon as I need something. I honestly wouldn't dare to ask Donna anything." You nodded quietly, giggling.

"After all, she is the boss. Everyone in a position of power is a little bossy. She is the master, and I am the servant." Steven yawned quietly, covering his mouth with his curled palm.

"Being a boss does not imply being a jerk." You sighed and took a quick look around. "Difficult night?"

If it was just a bad night, he thought to himself, sinking back into his thoughts. Soon after, he shook his head and said, with a flat smile glued to his face, "Rather a difficult life filled with questioning the reason for being." His tone was still so low that he had to repeat twice before you could hear him properly.

You gave him a slight smile and nodded. "You say? As another of Donna's servants, can I purchase something from the gift shop? Or will she sever my head?"

Steven frowned briefly before breaking into a bright smile. "Sure. I don't presume any of those less would pose a problem for our beloved leader," Steven pointed to various items gathered in baskets or displayed on the counter and shelves behind him. "What would you want to get? Have any of those fancy souvenirs caught your eye, Y/N?"

"That Taweret plushie," you exclaimed happily and giggled as Steven handed it over to you. "Dear God, I wish she looked like she did in all the books. Goddess of fertility and childbirth. But for visitors, it's sold as cute stuffy. How much for it?"

"To you for free, this one's one me." Steven smiled as he ran his hand through his dark hair, which resembled a bird's nest. "I'm also not a fan of turning goddesses and gods into those," he said, pointing to a few other small statues and Osiris, who had been transformed into a whistle, "But money is money. As long as people are willing to pay for plastic Osiris to blow into his buttocks, they will be manufactured. There is nothing more or less. The essence of life."

You couldn't help but laugh quietly. "This is more than true," you said as you moved in closer. "Just between you and me, outside, whoever made those banners did a terrible job considering Ennead had only seven gods."

Steven's shrug was followed by a slight nod. "I believe you already know who came up with the idea."

"I'm betting on Donna. I believe she simply does not care to be accurate." With a shrug, you stuffed the plushie into your shoulder bag. "Thank you so much for that wonderful gift. I won't take up any more of your time, Steven. I should go take a look around."

Grant asked a simple question with an unexpected burst of courage that surprised him, "Do you want to meet for coffee later? With me? We could, for example, discuss museum related stuff. Or just drink the hot, black liquid that's supposed to enlighten your brain and burst your endorphins."

Looking at him, you blinked, surprised by the sudden invitation, but he was the only normal person you'd met here so far. You gave a nod. "Sure! That's perfect for me. So, Steven, I'll see you later."

Grant followed you with a careful glance, feeling a little dizzy as you walked away.

When a pair of children came to the gift shop looking for souvenirs, he simply pulled a sign with WE'RE CLOSED written on it and placed it on the counter, right in front of the children's faces. He then left his desk and went to the restroom, despite protests from children.

You obviously noticed him leaving, but you didn't give it much thought because you were too occupied with your surroundings. He was an odd lad, a tired one for sure, but he was nice, much nicer than your boss. Hopefully, you would make at least one good friend here.

In the bathroom, he sprayed his face with cold water and wiped it with a paper towel, looking in a large, long mirror.

"You're fucking stupid." Suddenly, a deep voice said within his head.

Even though Steven knew he was alone in the bathroom at the time, he took a moment to look behind his shoulder. "Who said that? WHO SAID THAT?!"

"Idiot. Did you just looked around even though you have a fucking mirror in front of you? Just so you know, this is not how you hit on a girl. How come you're so stupid to first talk about some plastic shit and then asking her out?"

Steven slipped hands in his hair, shaking his head. "You're not real."

"If I'm not real then you're not real as well, idiot."

Steven sat down on the floor for a few moments, gasping and thinking. Soon he realised the voice was gone.

You walked around the museum, making certain that you understood everything. On your latest tour, you even bothered the security guard, who was standing behind cameras, but he appeared to be more preoccupied with kitten videos on his phone.

When the work day came to an end, you decided to wait at Steven near the main entrance.

You both went to get that promised coffee after he joined.

Soon, you and Steven were sitting on the park bench, sipping your coffee. Your shoulder bag was next to you, plushie peeking out from beneath the clap.

"I hear a strange accent, so I'm assuming you're not from here." Steven said casually as he sipped his coffee.

You chuckled as you licked your lips after another sip of coffee. "Is it really that obvious? I was certain I'd be fine after my mother, who was actually from here." You sipped one more time and nodded. "I moved here from New York because I no longer felt safe there."

"All the superhero stuff, huh?" Steven inquired casually as he finished his coffee. "I, surely, would not want to live there. It's much calmer here."

"Exactly, I'd never heard of aliens wreaking havoc on London. So here I am, trying to find a job." You shrugged as you finished your coffee as well.

Steven indicated with a nod. "A reasonable decision."

"And you're the one who decides which decisions are reasonable and which are not?" Within his head, a deep tone whispered. "You're unable to gather yourself even."

Steven took a quick look around. "Be quiet." He muttered through clenched teeth.

"Steven... "Are you all right?" You asked, your eyebrow raised at him.

He shook his head quickly. "I'm fine, I'm fine. I apologise. Sometimes... Sometimes I'm a little odd."

"Don't we all at times?" You made a joke and threw away your cup. "I'm really worried about tomorrow. I'll be meeting with my first group."

Steven, after a brief moment of thought, stated, "I am confident that you will succeed. The previous tour guide was a stutterer. Can you imagine how long it took him to finish the sentence? He was never able to complete the tour on time, according to schedule."

"You've made me even more nervous! Oh my goodness, I hope I can stick to my schedule! What if I don't? That bloody woman will rip off my head." You became a little concerned.

"Well done, dumbass, you scared Y/N." Steven's inner voice screamed angrily. "Apologise."

Steven jerked up, startled by a sudden sentence he heard in his head. "Don't tell me what I should do!"

He noticed you glaring up at him after a brief moment; your head tilted as you blinked. "Please accept my apologies...," Steven referred to you, scratching the back of his neck. "I think you'll fit the role perfectly, don't worry."

"It's all right." You shook your head and took a few deep breaths to relax. "I apologise. I am a very nervous person, and being a tour guide is a little intimidating for me, but as you put it, I will be successful."

He simply rubbed your shoulder and patted it at the end. "You'll see, you'll do fantastic."

--------------------

Two months have passed.

Steven tried to see you as often as he could. He knew you were upset with him for disappearing a few times and failing to show up for dates, being late for several days, but you kept forgiving him and his oddities.

Steven was an odd fella, and even after getting to know him better, that didn't change.

In terms of friendship and caring for him, you tried to be patient with him when he told you about some of his problems.

When he failed to show up yet again, you decided to go and see him yourself; you wanted to ensure that he was well. Fortunately, you knew where he lived, so you knocked on Steven's door soon after. "Steven! Are you in there?"

Steven eventually opened the door, peeping out of his flat, and smiling hesitantly as soon as he saw you standing on the corridor with your arms folded over your chest. "Y/N, hi, hi, I didn't expect you here, I thought we were set on Wednesday."

You said, tapping your foot against the floor with anger, "That's why I'm here. It's Wednesday, and we were supposed to meet an hour ago. Do you mind if I come in?"

Steven hesitated, but when he saw your cold stare, he let out a loud huff and stepped aside to make way for you to enter. "I still haven't cleaned so it's messy."

"I don't have a problem with that, Steven. I'm more concerned about you than your messy flat." Nodding, you stepped inside. "It's nice."

When Steven closed the door, he hurried to the living room to gather dirty dishes and place them in the sink.

"Steve, it's fine really. You better tell me what happened? I was worried."

Steve yanked on his shirt and replied, "I've lost my sense of time." He continued, "Of course, I think I dozed off..."

You sighed. "To be honest, I was worried something would happen to you." You said. "Let me help you clean up here."

"I'll do it later on my own. Do you want something to drink? Have a seat... Wherever there is free space."

You nodded as you walked to the couch and moved a few books to sit down. "Tea would be nice."

Steven then went over to the aquarium to feed Gus after the tea was served.

"So, it's Gus the fish. He's cute." You smiled, taking a sip from the cup.

Steven agreed and joined you right away. "I apologise once more for forgetting our date and for messing up dates in general... You know how difficult that is for me."

You moved your hand through his messy hair as you sighed, "Steven, you know it's hard, but it happens more often than when we started. I'm worried." You said, sighing. "Is there something we can do with that?”

"What would you like to do? We know there's nothing much we can do at this point."

As you sat there, you thought. In reality, he was right and this made you a little frustrated.

"Okay... You're right... I really don't know. Also, it's getting late. Maybe," shrugging, you glanced around a little, "I could stay here and keep you company?"

Nodding, he rubbed the back of his neck. "That would be wonderful. I think Gus already has enough of me and my talking. I would appreciate someone with whom to converse."

You joked, "Is it okay if I go home to grab some clothing? Since I don't think I could sleep in your clothes."

Steven glared at you, rolling his eyes back, and hummed loudly. "You don't need to change your clothes, Y/N, you can stay in them. If you feel the need to change, I can give you one of my t-shirts and a pair of sweatpants."

You nodded. "That would be lovely. It's hard to sleep in jeans. I hope those little requests won't bother you.".

Steven shrugged. "No, I don't mind at all. As far as I can tell, Gus has no objections, either."

Gus was probably sleeping in the water as the fish floated gently.

"Well, I am glad." Your reply was short as you looked in the direction of the kitchen. "Have you eaten yet?"

Steven didn't reply as he rummaged through his small closet. "I did... Some time ago... I'm not sure anymore."

"Do you feel hungry?”

"No, but if you are, I can go out to grab some takeouts."

"Well, I was planning to make something tasty, but since you aren't hungry, I won't go through your fridge," you said, getting up from the couch. "Tea?"

"No thanks. The refrigerator is empty, so no food can be found there."

Nodding once more, you walked to him and accepted the clothes he chose.

After changing in the bathroom, you returned to him as soon as it was done.

Grant was already in bed with his ankles cuffed.

It caught your attention as you sat on the bed. "Wow, I must say, I didn't fully believe this part. So, would you like to cuddle?"

He only nodded hesitantly after looking down at his ankles. "As you can see, I didn't lie. It's only for protection. I would appreciate some cuddles as well."

As you laid on the bed, you relaxed and opened your arms for him soon after.

"Come here, Steven. I'll cuddle you to sleep or simply carry you through the night." Your tone was sweet and soft as you placed your offer.

Steven rolled onto his side as far as his cuffed ankles would allow, creating an ocean of curly hair on your belly as his head was placed there.

As soon as you moved a little closer to make him more comfortable, you grabbed a blanket to wrap him a little. As you hugged him, one of your hands reached into his messy hair, gently stroking them, while massaging his scalp.

While humming softly, he let you fully embrace him and rolled to his side as much as he could. "Will this ever end?" Steven asked quietly.

One of your eyes was open when you looked at him. "What do you mean?"

"Will I ever feel normal again?"

"Steven... Do not say it as if you were some kind of maniac killing people all the time. You are a normal guy." You sighed and kissed his head. "Maybe someone can help you manage it."

Your tone made him feel as if his heart was melting.

"Even though we missed our few dates, I will still help you in any way that I can. Don't worry about that." You squeezed him a little.

Steven once believed that his emotional scars were a net that would sink him into briny depths. Nevertheless, he stood on the rock and the scars became bright sparks in the sunlight, golden fireworks giving light to the dawn, promising a brighter tomorrow. Your presence by his side made him think so, always being so caring and patient with him and all of his oddities. Grant felt relieved knowing you were always nearby to ease his worries.

Although Steven's problem was difficult, you knew better than to abandon him because of it.

Tucking the blanket around him a bit more, you held him. Throughout the night, you simply held him and offered him whatever comfort you could. He was the man you loved in the end.

#moon knight #moon knight fanfiction #steven grant x reader #steven grant #steven grant fluff #marc spector #steven grant x you #moon knight fluff #marvel fanfic #writers on tumblr #fluff #moon knight x reader #moon knight x you #fenrir the writer #cass the writer

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lucy-sky · 3 years

Text

The Break of Dawn (Leo Barnes x f!Reader)

You work in a small diner not far from the bus station and try to get over a tragic event that happened to you three years ago. Leo Barnes is one of the steady customers, and at some point you realize there's mutual attraction between the two of you. There's no time for romance though - only one night left before the annual Purge, and Leo has an important job to keep Senator Roan safe as it's the only chance to finally put an end to the Purge.

Words: 3 656

Warnings: Sexual content (not super detailed, I would rate this story as Mature rather than Explicit, but still they f*ck), a bit of angst (trigger warning: loss), but Leo is a caring and protective guy who’s ready to hold you

A/N: My first time writing Leo Barnes or any Frank Grillo character, so please don't be mean :))

Taglist: @sweetfictionalworld, @skvatnavle, @lunamoon-87

“There he is.”

Stella pokes you with her elbow.

“What?”

“Your tough guy. He’s here,” she nods to the corner of the diner and you don’t even need to follow her gesture to know that Leo Barnes is sitting there, his usual spot. He’s a bit early today, and it’s understandable - you too find it harder to sleep well as the Purge is getting closer.

“He’s not my tough guy, Stells,” you roll your eyes.

“Oh yeah? Tell it to someone else,” she snorts. “So far I’m just wondering how long you’re gonna keep ignoring that sexual tension…”

“Stella, please.”

“What? Honestly, I don’t know why he’s being such a gentleman… But just FYI, y/n… You know it’s not the 19th century and you actually can make the first move?”

“Even if I wanted to, it’s not the right time,” you shrug. “You know he’s doing an important job. He’s got plenty of stuff to think about and it’s definitely not romance.”

“Who’s talking about romance, sis?” Stella laughs. “You’re both so goddamn tense, you need to blow off some steam. No, seriously. You need to get laid. He needs to get laid. It’s just way too obvious!”

“Oh dear god, just please shut up…” you groan.

“Fine,” she gives you a wicked smirk. “If you don’t want him, then I’m bringing his order.”

You chuckle at this.

“Don’t you dare.”

To be completely honest, you can’t deny that Stella is partly right. There is something between you and this grumpy silent man in the corner. But what exactly? You can’t really put it into words, it’s not just the attraction, or sexual tension as Stella says. You do find him handsome though, you admit that. A couple of times when he was wearing a t-shirt, you caught yourself staring at his muscular arms. Yes, guilty. And still… There’s more than that. You’d call it some sort of mutual understanding.

Leo Barnes works for Senator Roan. In the past, he used to be a cop, now he is the head of security for her. You learnt that one night when he was here, having his usual late dinner. The TV was on, evening news, something about the election of course. And suddenly you noticed him there, standing behind Roan’s back with another guy in a formal dark suit. You blinked, stared at the screen, then looked back at him. He caught your glance.

“Is that… you?” you blurted, realizing too late that you said it out loud. But he smiled, and in his smile there was no anger or annoyance.

“Apparently so,” he replied with a soft chuckle and ran his fingers through his dark hair. “How do I look?”

You started talking ever since then. Barnes usually came to the diner twice - in the morning he just had a mug of black coffee, and in the evening he ordered something to eat. Mornings were often crowded as many people passed the diner before heading to work in the city, so you were busy. But the evenings were mostly quiet.

You often stayed at work late, covering Stella who had to run to her kids or another date. You didn’t mind that since work was always your way to escape. Nobody was waiting for you at home anyways. Somehow, Leo Barnes started to keep you company. He wasn’t much of a talker and you were never into heartfelt conversations with the clients here, but something just clicked. Especially after you learnt about his job and it became clear that your views on the Purge are the same.

Many people hate The Purge, as well as many people support it. Some people hate it because they’re scared for their loved ones, their business (small shop owners who don’t have enough money to afford the Purge insurance often suffer), or they hate it just because they’re against violence in general. And the others… They have more personal reasons. You’re one of them. And somehow, even if you don’t know for sure, you just feel like Leo Barnes has personal reasons as well. He never really told you, and you don’t dare to ask because you know well enough how the memories can hurt. You didn’t tell him either. But still, you don’t know how exactly it worked, you just looked at each other and saw it. It’s like an unspoken secret between the two of you. The details don’t matter anyway. Your stories are in the past and you can’t change it, but what you can change is the future. If Senator Charlene Roan wins the election - the Purge will finally end. You can help with your vote, and Leo… Leo is determined to do anything to help her survive this year. Just this year, and hopefully no one would ever have to survive this nightmare again. You both want it more than anything else.

“Hey.”

You smile at Leo as you place a mug of coffee and a plate on the table in front of him.

“Hey…” he looks confused when he sees the food. Nothing really special: eggs, bacon, some beans and a toast. “What’s that? I... only asked for the usual…”

“Just thought you might need some extra fuel,” you shug. “Only one night left before the Purge, so… you must have a lot of work to do.”

“Yeah, you’re right… I actually do,” he gives you a tired smile. “Thank you.”

“Welcome,” you nod and turn to leave, but Leo suddenly touches your arm and you freeze.

“Y/n?”

“Yeah?” you face him again.

“Do you work tomorrow?”

“Yes… Why are you asking?..” you give him a puzzled look.

“Well uh… To be honest I’d be happier if you took a day off… You know, just to make sure you’re safe…”

You feel the heat on your cheeks. Does… does he worry about you?.. The realization makes your heart shrink for a second. Apparently he’s not just someone who understands, he’s someone who cares. You already forgot what it feels like when someone really cares. Well, of course there are your parents, but they’re far away… And Leo, he’s right here.

“It’s okay,” you say, trying not to look too baffled. “Tomorrow we’re closing the diner earlier, right after lunchtime, so I’ll be home long before the Purge begins. There’s no need to worry, really.”

“Good,” Barnes nods. “I just… don’t think I’ll be able to come over and check on you tomorrow, so I just…” he stutters as if trying to figure out something to say.

“I just want you to be careful, okay?” he finally utters, and to your surprise his hand reaches yours, squeezing it lightly. “Just be careful, yeah?”

“Yeah, I... Of course I will,” you try to smile reassuringly. “I promise.”

There’s about five minutes left before closing hour when Leo appears. As usual, you’re still here, helping Mary, the chief and the owner’s wife with all the cleaning up after the working day. While she’s in the kitchen, you wipe the tables, TV-set is murmuring something in the corner. The election, the purge… Always the same.

“You’re closed?” he asks, meeting your gaze. “Sorry, I… Didn’t realize it’s that late already…”

“We’re about to close, but it’s fine, come in!” you assure smiling at him maybe a bit more brightly than you wanted to show. “We’ll get you something to eat, right, Mary?”

“Sure thing,” she replies from the kitchen door. You weren’t the only one who saw Barnes on TV. Since then, he became an always welcome guest as the diner owners supported Roan as well. Otherwise, to be honest you don’t think you could possibly be able to work for them.

You put a plate with food in front Leo as he takes a seat at the counter. While he’s eating silently, you wipe the coffee mugs and place them carefully on the shelf. The TV keeps talking. Something about the bloomimg economy and international murder tourists who keep coming to the US to take part in the annual Purge. You glance at the screen, see their gut-wrenchingly excited faces.

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter under your breath and shake your head. “Fucking insane.”

“True,” you nearly jump at his words, as you didn’t realize Leo heard you. “I knew people who killed someone on Purge night for… different reasons. But those who kill just because they enjoy it, for fun or sport or whatever you call it - those are the most dangerous.”

“They’re just psychopaths. People like that should be kept in mental hospitals or something. But they just walk around as if nothing’s wrong with them. And the new founding fathers keep telling them how proud they are of them…”

“Roan’s gonna make it stop,” Mary joins the conversation. “This lady’s got some balls, am I right, sir?”

“Yes ma’am,” Barnes chuckles. “She absolutely got them.”

You leave the diner together with Leo. Mary chose to stay inside, waiting for her husband to come pick her up in a few minutes. The night is a bit chilly; you’re shivering, not sure if it’s the cold or the fact that you’re alone with him for the first time.

“Where’s your car?” he asks.

“Oh um… It’s in the service actually. So I’m going to the bus station right over there,” you point. Barnes frowns.

“What about tomorrow?”

“Stella promised to give me a ride home. Leo… I’ll be okay. It’s not the first Purge night in my life, you know.”

“Right,” he clears his throat. “Anyway, since I’m here I can drive you home.”

“You… sure it’s okay?” your voice betrays you a little. “I mean you must be tired…”

“I’m okay,” he assures, then nods at his car. “Come on. I insist.”

“Okay,” you hear yourself saying.

You’re mostly silent on the way. You feel a bit tense, but also kinda… weirdly excited to be in this car, next to him. Damn. Is Stella right, and you’re actually into him? Definitely so. But after all these years you almost completely forgot how it feels - to be into someone or how the relationships work. As if you’re a teenager again. Leo Barnes is the first man who actually made you think of something close to romantic longing since… That night.

“It’s here?” he asks as you reach your house. You nod, and he pulls over. You wait for him to say something, to tell you goodnight maybe, but he doesn’t. Without the sound of the car engine, the silence between you becomes even more awkward. You open your mouth to say goodbye to him, but instead different words suddenly come out.

“Leo, I…”

He looks at you intently. You stare down at your knees.

“Yeah?”

“I just… The fact that you worry about me - it’s very nice of you, really. And… I just wanted you to know that I worry about you too. I worry about you a lot actually…”

“Y/n…” his voice is quiet as he brings his hand to your face, gently urging you to look up at him. His eyes look darker than usual in the dim light of the street lamp nearby. You think if it’s possible to drown in someone’s eyes you’d already be gone.

“I’ll be fine, okay?” he says softly. “It’s gonna be a tough night for sure, but I’ll be fine, I have to be fine. You gotta trust me on this. You trust me?”

“Yes,” you barely whisper, unable to take your eyes from his, and when the tension becomes almost unbearable, his lips finally crush on yours.

You both expected and didn’t expect it, didn’t dare to admit even to yourself how much you really wanted it. Your breath hitches somewhere in your throat as you kiss him back eagerly, forgetting about everything and everyone for this moment that lasts so long and so painfully short at once. You’re both panting as your lips part, foreheads pressed together.

“I… I think I should go,” you mumble as a rush of panic suddenly overwhelms you.

“Yeah… Yeah…” he nods. “You should get some rest.”

“You too.”

You squeeze his hand for a second. Gosh, you didn’t even realize your hand was on his all this time.

“Good night,” you finally murmur, bracing yourself to get out of the car. You feel like something else needs to be said, but can’t really figure out what.

You enter the house and just lean against the door, heart hammering wildly inside your chest. You close your eyes and try to catch your breath. What the hell just happened? And why are you reacting like that? There’s nothing wrong about this kiss. You’re two single adults… Well, probably single. Leo doesn’t wear a ring, so… Damn it, you really got out of practice when it comes to relationships.

A knock on the door made your eyes snap open. As if in a daze, you slowly turn and reach the door handle, already knowing who you’re going to see.

Leo doesn’t say anything. And you can’t read the expression in his eyes, or you simply don’t have time for it, because the next moment he steps inside, his hands cup your cheeks and he kisses you with such longing and desperation it nearly kicks the breath out of your lungs. You don’t know what you’re doing any more, but your fingers are already in his dark hair, scratching the nape of his neck while his lips and tongue keep attacking your mouth. It feels like shockwaves running through your body, and for the first time in years you feel just so alive. All this time your feelings, passions and emotions were asleep, everything around you seemed pale and lifeless as if someone turned down the contrast, but something changed. Not right now, not in the snap of a finger, of course; it happened gradually. Something kept changing deep within you since the very first time your eyes met, and now - you’re finally ready to feel something. To let him in.

You don't think about it though. Or about anything else, to be honest. All you can focus on is what his lips are doing to you, how hot his breath is and how weirdly nice his stubble feels against your skin. Leo’s coat falls on the floor. His big hands seize your waist as he lifts you up, causing you to grip onto his broad shoulders. Pressing you against the nearest wall, he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, the kisses are sloppy, open-mouthed, and you can't suppress a soft moan. He's big and strong, you feel small underneath him, but you like it.

You can’t even remember clearly how you finally reached the bedroom, frantically helping each other to get rid of the clothes. When you tumble down and he hovers over you, the skin to skin contact is overwhelming. He brushes your hair away from your flushed face, kisses you with sudden tenderness. The look in his hazel eyes is warm yet still full of passion as you cup his cheek and he presses his lips to your palm. An affectionate gesture that makes your heart skip a beat, but you both are too impatient to be soft right now. So he leans in, kissing you harder this time, grunting against your mouth when you pull him closer, craving as much of him as possible. You can feel him twitching against your lower belly as you wrap your legs around him, eager to get more pressure. He’s not even inside you yet, but it already feels so good you can’t help bucking your hips, earning a low groan from him at the friction. His lips trail along your jawline, down to the side of your neck, where he kisses and nibbles, and you just know there’s gonna be marks tomorrow, but damn, you can’t care less.

When he finally enters you and starts moving, you’re almost delirious. Clinging to him, you gasp and whisper his name into his skin, feel the muscles on his back tense as he thrusts deeper. The wave of bliss hits you so hard your vision turns blurry and for a few seconds it feels like you’re not there.

Reality comes back to you slowly, with all the dark and troubled thoughts you can’t escape. Leo is lying next to you with his eyes closed, breathing evenly, so you think he must be asleep. Good for him. Carefully, you slip out of the bed to get a glass of water. It doesn’t help you to get rid of the lump in your throat though. Back to the bedroom, you sit on the edge of the bed and let out a deep sigh, trying to fight back tears. Too many emotions for one night.

“Y/n.”

Leo’s voice doesn’t even seem sleepy. You can feel him shifting in bed to reach you, the warmth of his calloused hand stroking your back soothingly.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, uh…” You shake your head, bringing your hand to rub your eyes. “I’m good. It’s just… It’s been a while since I… You know…”

“I know. It’s been a while for me as well.”

“I lost my boyfriend three years ago,” you blurt out, surprising yourself that you said it out loud. “During the Purge night. He um… He was a medical student. We lived in an apartment building and we heard someone crying for help. I wanted to stop him but he just couldn’t ignore someone who needed help, you know. He got shot accidentally, right into his head. There was no chance to save him.”

Leo’s hand gently squeezes your shoulder.

“Sorry, I… Don’t even know why I’m telling you this. I’ve never talked about him since the funeral…”

“It’s okay,” he moves closer, pressing a kiss against your shoulder blade.

“I was so angry at first, you know,” now that you start talking you seemingly cannot stop. “I wished I could find and kill them. But then I thought he wouldn’t want me to become a murderer...”

He presses his forehead against the back of your head for a moment. “I know how you feel, y/n.”

You finally turn to meet his gaze.

“I lost my son. I know what this anger feels like. Two years ago all I was thinking about on the Purge night was revenge. I was determined, almost obsessed.”

“Did… you do it?”

“No. I was close to it. Very close. But… One wise person made me realize that it wouldn’t help. Violence only brings more violence.”

“It has to be stopped,” you whisper.

“Yes,” he nods. “That’s why I left the police. Cops have to stay away from the Purge. I couldn’t any more. At least now I know I'm doing the right thing.”

“Right… Just… I’m just scared of losing you too,” you say very quietly, but he hears you anyway. His strong arms wrap around your body, pulling you closer, enclosing into his warmth. Making you feel safe.

“Hey, hey...” He whispers into your hair as he nuzzles into the top of your head. “It’s not gonna happen, you hear me? Everything’s gonna be alright. I promise.”

You have no doubt your colleagues noticed who drove you to work this morning. But today no one is in the mood for comments, not even Stella. Even though the work goes on as usual, there’s still this tension in the air before the Purge night.

Through the window you can see a bunch of guys gathered around the car with an open trunk full of baseball bats and other stuff you can’t discern. The owner proudly shows off his stuff, other guys laugh, they look pretty chill and relaxed, and your stomach nearly twists at the sight.

All night you could barely sleep a wink. A knock on the door drags you out of troubled slumber. At first you’re not even sure if you really heard it or it was in your dream. But the sounds repeat and you jump off the bed and without even caring to slip something over the huge t-shirt you sleep in. Barefoot, you rush to the door, open it with shaky hands.

He looks so exhausted it seems like he can barely stand. The collar of his shirt that used to be white is now stained with blood. And yet… He’s smiling.

“Leo!..” you gasp, stepping towards him and bringing your hand to his stubbly cheek. “Oh my god, are you… Everything okay?..”

“I’m great,” he breathes out huskily, and his smile slowly turns into a wide grin. “We did it, baby.”

You don’t even try to hold back tears as you fall into his arms, bury your face into his chest. He smells a bit like sweat and blood, but you absolutely don’t care. “I’m so glad you’re here,” you mumble into his ruined shirt. “I’m here,” he whispers back, stroking your hair. Then you realize the two of you are still standing at the porch.

“Alright,” you say, drawing back a little. “Let’s get you in, you need some rest… And you’re probably hungry too… And you definitely need a shower…”

“Wait, y/n. Let’s just… Stay here for a bit? I think we both need to catch a breath,” he chuckles crookedly, reaching out to wipe a tear from your cheek. You smile back.

“Okay.”

Sitting on the porch with your head on Leo’s shoulder, his arm wrapped around your frame, you watch the sky becoming lighter and lighter as the dawn breaks. You can hear the sounds of sirens in the distance. The city’s slowly getting back to life, waking up after another nightmare.

You both know it’s not the end, the war isn’t won yet, but at least you won this very important battle. And for the first time in what seems like ages you have a good feeling about the future.

Thanks for reading!

Hugs, Lucy

#the purge #leo barnes x reader #frank grillo #fanfiction #the purge fanfiction #the purge anarchy #the purge election year #lucy tries to write

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roscgcld · 3 years

Text

HEDACANON + NANAMI KENTO || friends to lovers

request: Headcannons for my husband Nanami and a fem childhood friends to lovers? They became friends as children because they were the only ones who could see the weird scary monsters that no one else could see, and he’s very protectice of her! Gojo used to flirt with her in highschool to tease Nanami and get him to finally confess （＾＿＾）☆

note: honey you mean OUR husband nanami - because i love him a lot as well TT and of course gojo will do that lol - he just wants nanami to get off his ass and ask you out before some random ass boy tries to steal you away. but i love this honestly, such a cute request for our husband TT

pronouns: she/her

note: very long because i love nanami and more people need to give him love

you and nanami met in the park one day, and it was because of a weird ability that only you two share that bonded the both of you together

nanami had always been able to see curses, but he hates telling people this; espeically the adults, who just think that he is making things up for attention and will lecture him for it

so he had learnt to ignore it for awhile now, pretending that he does not see that weird catfish like curse lurking in the pond that he stood next to as he fed the ducks

“h-hey - can i feed the ducks next to you?” a shy and sweet voice had called out, causing for him to look over to see you; dressed in a cute flowery dress and haired pulled back with a matching fabric headband. “i wanna feed the ducks too...but i don’t like the scary monster in the water...”

“...you can see it too?” nanami asked you in shock, having never met anyone who can see the things he does; even his parents were blissfully unaware of the weird creatures and monsters that lurk in almost every corner of the small town you live in

when you had shyly nodded your head in reply to his words, you had no idea that it was the start of your relationship that will last a lifetime

because you were from the same town, you two basically became the best of friends; going to the same preschool and middle school together, spending most of your free time playing with each other, and always seeking each other out even if you two have different friend groups

when he had developed his technique, he uses to exorcise a few of the low level curses that are in your town - of course he does to quietly and in the covers of shadows so no one will notice

he always make sure that there are no curses near you that can scare you, and if they try to attack you or are scaring you too much, he’d exorcise it - yet at the time he didn’t really know what he was doing

he had remember once when you had come crying into his room, clinging onto him since there were a few fly heads that were terrorising your room - you had no idea how they had managed to enter, but they were knocking things off your shelf and scaring the living daylights out of you

nanami had entered your room and somehow dealt with them, even staying the night by sleeping on the floor next to you on your futon; only to make space for you in the middle of the night so you two can curl up together when you were too anxious to fall asleep

with how small your town along the outskirts of Tokyo is, everyone there is tight-knit and very close with each other; with very strong family-centered and peaceful living values instilled in everyone from the moment they are born

everyone was pretty sure that one day you two are going to marry one another, with how you two come as a package deal as the years go by. even your families have pretty much accepted that fact and just act like they are in-laws a this point

when he was offered a space at Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College for high school, he was hesitant - this will be the first time that he is going to be away from not only you but the town you lived in, and the first time either of you had been separated from one another ever

yet you were the one who encouraged him to go to school there, since he’d be wasting his potential if he doesn’t - you didn’t want to be the reason for him to stay back in your small town

so he had went, and now you two mostly spend time on your phone; calling and texting one another late into the night, even if you have classes the next day

there was once, during your long break, that you had decided to take a bullet train up to tokyo to spend the weekend with nanami and to explore the city that you’ve always wanted to visit

so he had waited for you by the train station, dressed in his simple Jujutsu High Uniform with his then wrapped sward resting in a weapons bag over your shoulders - smiling softly when he spotted you before catching you in his arms when you launched yourself into his embrace to give him a long awaited hug

soon you found yourself standing before the temple that hides the college within, looking around in awe as you latched onto his arm, walking beside him with the most entranced look on your face that had nanami watching you with the softest of smiles

it was there that you had met his small group of classmates - the bright and positive haibara who had stuck to your side to ask you a few more questions about his usually quiet classmate

the second years had just returned from classes, the three of them turning into the main hallway just in time to see you giggling up at nanami at a joke that haibara made; and gojo’s eyes nearly popped out of his head at the sight of his usually cold kouhai smiling back at you so freely

it took him a few seconds to realise that you were probably the reason why nanami spend so much time on his phone, to which he just grinned and rubbed his hands together; this action causing geto and shoko to just sigh tiredly

operation: getting nanami laid is a go

“kent-kun~ you never told me about your pretty little friend.” gojo called out as he skipped over to his junior, his grin widening at how nanami’s expression dropped as he gave his senpai the most unamused look on his face

yet you were just curious as you blinked up at the tall man, offering a warm smile as you untangled one arm from nanami’s and held it out for gojo to shake.

“my name is l/n y/n, and i am from kento’s hometown. it’s nice to meet you!” you had greeted him with a wide and warm smile, causing everyone in the hallway to just stare at you before it was wordlessly decided that they were going to protect you from all the curses of the world

saying that, gojo is still going to go ahead with his plan on making nanami confess to you

so the entire time you were there, he made sure to suck up to you, being extra nice to you and giving you a few flirtatious comments here and there - but you just brushed him off with a soft smile, not really interested at his advances at all

but pushing him aside lol - you loved meeting his seniors, who asked a little more about yourself and how you seem so casual with the idea of nanami being able to see Curses

it was then you admitted that you can see and sense Curses as well, but you had no Inherited Curse Technique, meaning that you were just the every day civilian with the exception of seeing Curses

they also took the chance to ask questions about their usually quiet kouhai as well, wanting to know more about his life back home in your town that he keeps so private

usually nanami will be against it, but since you were laughing and giggling at all the fond memories you two share, he decided to let it go for once - even if it’s all at his expense

the rest of the weekend was a blast - nanami brought you about tokyo to see all the tourist sights, visit a few places that he loves to shop at or drop by from time to time, letting you try all the different street snacks and famous restaurant to your hearts content

but it is when you’re in the college that he is the most annoyed with - not at you, no. but at gojo - who kept flirting with you and kept making jokes with you about random things

if that wasn’t bad enough, you had shared a few laughs with the older male, since a few of his jokes were genuinely funny - and that had nanami fuming

geto probably took pity on the dense boy before he started to nudge at him to confess his very obvious feelings he had for you, since it was obvious that the both of you are very much in love with one another

it was either he confesses, or more dumbasses like gojo might try to pull something like this on him and take you away from him

and even though he was sure that wouldn’t happen, the more he thought about it, the more he realised that geto might be right - and that there is a chance he is going to loose you to someone if he doesn’t act fast

and there is no way he is going to loose to that white-haired ferret - no wat in hell

when he had returned home for the semester break, meeting you up at the train station where you greeted him with a wide smile that you only reserve for him and pulling him into your warm and comforting embrace, he just sighs in relief and holds you close as well, taking a few moments to just appreciate you

throughout the semester, he had slowly build up the courage to confess his feelings to you - making a rough plan of how things are going to go before he went full on ham on the day he plans on confessing

and if we know something about nanami - it is that this man always stick to his plan

for most of your free days, the both of you are out on dates; visiting old favorites of yours, trying out the new restaurants and cafes that you’ve yet to visit, going to a few arcades, and even a few stores to just do some window shopping together

it went on like that for a few days before he suddenly asked if you wanted to go out to visit the nearby festival that your town is holding - which you agreed with a warm smile on your face before he promised to drop by your home

you had decided that since it was a festival, you’d put on one of your most favourite yukata pieces - a beautiful dark blue one made of silk, with cranes and clouds printed all over the fabric, a simple dark blue obi to tie it all off

nanami had decided to wear a simple grey kimono, since it just adds to the excitement of going to a festival - so when he saw you dressed for the occasion as well, he smiles and takes your hand in his, telling you how beautiful you looked

while you were still fangirling about the comment, nanami promised your father to bring you home before midnight, to which the older man just smiles and waves him off; knowing that he can trust nanami to keep his word and make sure you’re safe

when you two were there you had a blast - trying out all the different kinds of candies and treats, playing a few games, and visiting a few vendors that have set up shop at the tourist spots as well

nanami had even won you a cute seal plushie, one that you hugged to your chest in delight the entire time with the brightest smile on your face; nanami blushing and rubbing the back of his neck bashfully at how that look was directed right at him

he had confess that night when the both of you were just admiring the stars and the moon visible in your small town, asking if you had wanted to officially become his girlfriend

when you had agreed the biggest and most happiest smile on your face, launching yourself in his arms with an excited giggle while he smiles and hugs you around the waist, happy that you had agreed

to be honest there was not much of a change between your current relationship and the one you had before - the only difference is the more physical aspects of your relationship, and how open nanami is when it comes to showering you in affection

when gojo had found out that you two finally got together, he just grinned and clapped his hands in delight, happy that nanami finally got off his ass to admit his feelings for you

and as much as nanami hates that gojo will forever take credit for the both of you getting together, he isn’t wrong either. but there is no way in hell is he going to admit that to the older man

even when he was a salesperson or return to the jujutsu world after awhile, he is forever going to be the protective boyfriend that he is

an arm around your waist whenever you two are out together, sharp eyes glaring at anyone who stares at you a bit too long or is eyeing you up like you’re a piece of meat

doesn’t stop you from wearing things like short dresses or low riding tops if it makes you happy, but will make sure that you are safe whenever you go out together; tossing a jacket over you if you get cold, and keeping a hand on your thigh the entire time

even now he makes sure that you’re safe, texting you when he gets a mission so you aren’t in that part of town where he is going so you’re not hurt by the curses that are roaming that part of town

by the way, it didn’t take him that long to propose to you and ask if you wanted to get married to him, which you agreed to with the same enthusiasm that you had when he asked you to be his girlfriend all those years ago

and he’s never been more grateful that he gets to call you his

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fortheloveofwonderland · 3 years

Text

Sweet Tooth [Spencer x gn! Reader]

A/N: this is for my “Donuts” square on my CM Bingo Card for @cmbingo AKA The four times Spencer gave you donuts and one time he didn’t.

CW: absolutely none, complete and utter fluff.

WC: 1.5K

Find my Masterlist here.

You would always remember the first time you saw him. The morning rush had you exhausted, sweaty and somewhat flustered. You swore every DC man and his mother got their coffee for their morning commute at your shop.

Just as it was dying down he stepped up to the counter, large hazel eyes and a slightly awkward smile.

“Black coffee please.” His voice was like honey to your ears. It took a few seconds for you to register his words.

“Uh...yeah sure. Coming right up.” You swallowed the lump that had formed in your throat and turned towards the coffee maker. “Anything else?”

The man mused this for a moment. He had unruly curly hair and a jawline that could cut glass.

“Do you have a donut recommendation?”

You finished his coffee and slid it across the counter as you contemplated this.

“Well my favourite is strawberries and cream. But you have to have one hell of a sweet tooth for that.”

He smiled with a small nod.

“I’ll take one of those.”

You got a paper bag and cautiously placed the delicacy inside.

You rang up his order and he paid. You slid his donut across the counter but he smiled playfully.

“It’s not for me.” He slid it back, his eyes sparkling at you. “Enjoy.”

And with that he was gone.

You stared dumbly at the spot he had just been standing. The moment had been so fleeting it was almost as though it had never happened.

But there was a strawberry and cream donut on the counter in front of you.

***

Three weeks passed and there was no sign of your mystery donut customer. Every time the little bell over the door chimed over those three weeks your heart skipped a beat and your eyes would dart to the door. But it was never him.

Over time you started to think you must have imagined him. You’d been exhausted that morning and maybe your mind had created the handsome stranger as a distraction.

Or if he had been real, he’d probably been a tourist which would explain why you hadn’t seen him again. And every day your hope dwindled a little more that you ever would see him again.

You weren’t even sure why it mattered. It had been a fleeting moment, a small act of kindness but for some reason it had stuck with you. Maybe it was his intoxicating eyes or his warm smile.

After you returned from your break that day and were getting your apron back on, something caught your eye. It was a paper bag behind the counter with your name on.

“What’s this?” You asked your colleague with a frown.

She turned from where she was cleaning the coffee machine.

“Oh some guy came in and asked what the sweetest donut we did was. I told him it was probably the caramel sensation and he paid for it and told me to keep it for you.” She shrugged.

“What?” You picked up the bag. “Who? When?”

“Some guy.” She shrugged again. “Tall, messy hair. Said his name was Spencer I think.”

“When? How long ago?”

“I don’t know?” She laughed. “Maybe a quarter of an hour ago?”

Your heart dropped and soared all at once. He’d been here and you’d missed him. But he’d left you a donut.

You cautiously removed the donut from its bag and before you took a bite you muttered to yourself, “thanks Spencer.”

***

Two days later right smack bang in coffee lovers rush hour, he appeared again. He sidestepped being served by your colleague and as a dad and his boisterous children stepped away, he materialised in front of you.

“Hi.” He smiled. “How was the donut?”

“It was good thanks.” You blushed, you couldn’t help yourself.

“Good.” He blushed slightly too. “So you know my name, am I allowed to know yours?”

You giggled a little and pointed at your name badge pinned to your apron.

“Y/N.”

Oh god he felt foolish. He’d never thought to look.

“Oh yeah.” His blush deepened. “Sorry.”

“Can you hurry it up!” A large, angry looking man behind Spencer grumbled. “I don’t got all day for your flirting.”

You both blushed again at his words.

“Uhm...black coffee?”

“Yes please. And a donut of your choice.”

You set about making his drink, trying not to stare at him but it was hard when he was so gorgeous.

You picked out two chocolate sprinkle donuts and bagged them separately.

“Why two?” He frowned a little when you slid one over the counter.

“It’s your turn to have a donut on me.” You pulled at all your confidence and winked at him. “Coffees on me too.”

“What? I can’t do that.” He shook his head a little frantic.

“You’ll think of a way to return the favour.” You smiled at him and then you moved on to serve your next customer while Spencer just stared, slightly slack jawed.

***

Another few weeks passed and Spencer didn’t come back into the coffee shop. You worried you scared him off with your blatant flirtatiousness. Maybe you’d come on too strong.

Just when you’d resided yourself to the fact you had indeed frightened him away and that he was probably getting his fix at Starbucks rather than your small boutique cafe, a delivery man of all people proved you wrong.

He nudged the door open with his hip, a large flat box in his hands.

“I’m looking for Y/N.” He grunted slightly as he came to the counter.

“That’s me.” You pointed at your name badge. How did people always miss that?

“These are for you.” He set the box down on the counter.

You stared down at the delights through the transparent lid. At least a dozen donuts of all varieties laid inside.

You looked back up but the delivery man had already gone.

You carried your treats through to the back office and opened the lid where you found a small note inside.

You unfolded it and read the messy handwriting inside.

Y/N,

Sorry I haven’t been in for a while, my job is hectic. But I wanted to make up for it, so here is a donut for everyday I haven’t been able to see you. Hope to see you soon,

Spencer.

You felt yourself blushing as you read his words over and over. He wasn’t avoiding you. You hadn’t freaked him out. He sent you a donut for every day you’d been apart.

God this man was something else. You couldn’t wait to thank him to his face. You just hoped you didn’t have to wait too long.

***

It was another week before you spotted that mop of curly hair sat at a table outside the coffee shop in the DC sunshine.

You waited for the place to quieten down, placed two chocolate custard donuts on plates and took your break.

You took a few deep breaths as you pushed open the cafe door and stepped out onto the street. He had his back to you reading a newspaper as you approached.

“I thought it was high time I returned the favour.” You spoke, making Spencer almost jump out of his seat.

You giggled a little and without being invited you slid into the empty seat opposite him.

“Oh hi Y/N.” He spoke, regaining his composure and folding his newspaper.

You slid him one of the donuts.

“Hi Spencer.” You smiled back at him.

You kept eye contact as you both took a bite of your respective donuts.

“So, as much as I love trading donuts back and forth,” you started between mouthfuls. “Are you ever going to ask me on a date?”

You weren’t sure what came over you, you were never so forward with men. But Spencer was different. You would do anything it took to make him yours. The attraction between the two of you was palpable. He’d made the first move with the donuts, now it was your turn.

“That’s why I’m here.” He smiled at you and it sent shivers down your spine. “What time do you get off work?”

“Five.”

He looked at his watch, it was just before two.

“Ok, I’ll be right here when you finish.”

“You’re going to wait all that time for me?” You couldn’t hide your blush.

“As long as I have coffee, I don’t mind waiting.” His smile turned a little shy and you thought it was the most adorable thing you’d ever seen.

“I’ll make sure you never have an empty cup.” You finished your donuts, your eyes fixed on one another. “I need to get back.”

“I’ll be waiting.” You pushed your chair back and stood up.

“Where do you want to go for dinner?” He looked up at you, eyes sparkling.

You thought about this for a second before you grinned. You started walking away and turned to speak over your shoulder.

“I donut mind Spencer. I donut mind at all.”

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #cmbingo21 #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x gn!reader #spencer reid x you

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five-rivers · 3 years

Text

Home

The building that housed Fentonworks had never been normal, no matter what neighbors and real estate agents might profess.

Things had happened there. Deaths. Wild twists of fate and shocking coincidences. People who lived there heard noises, saw things, felt things. Experienced sicknesses with no cause. Were cured of sicknesses without cause. Survived things that should have killed them.

It was a thin spot between worlds. Reality was a rippling membrane, frayed enough for things to shine through.

The construction of the neighborhood itself had been… strange. It happened much faster than it should have, as if there was a whole extra shift of workers on the project.

The townhouse that would one day become Fentonworks had stood out even in that mystery. Extra rooms, a basement deep enough to cause a nasty fight with regulators, features not approved by the architect.

It was a wonder they hadn’t hit any of the water lines or the sewage systems. A wonder- and an impossibility. So, the matter was ignored and dropped.

Then the next owners expanded that impossible basement, building another, secret basement and putting things in the walls- They were criminals, of course. It was expected for them to do illegal things. (Although exactly what they had done was… oddly uncertain.)

(Drugs, perhaps.)

Then, the lunatics. Then, the tiny cult that collapsed in on itself. Then the empty years, dozens of transient ghosts trying and failing to pass through, and the ghost hunters. So many ghost hunters, none of them particularly successful.

Then, the Fentons.

Then, little Jazz.

Then, little Danny.

Danny with wide eyes that saw too much.

And all the horrors that the Fentons could dream up, from living hotdogs to weapons that burned like stars and doors to places that should not be visited.

And this was Danny Fenton’s home.

The Manson estate was an odd case, even for Amity Park. Save for the basement, the entire building they lived in had been transplanted, brick and beam, from Germany.

Rich people were bizarre.

Even the Mansons couldn’t explain it. The man who had done it hadn’t been a Manson. The Mansons, who were relatively new money, all things considered, had purchased it from one of the man’s children. Anything to boost their prestige.

It was fancy, and it was old, a gothic and statuesque mansion worthy of its name. Still, it wasn’t quite fancy or old enough to merit the kind of expenditure moving it had to take.

Hence the rumors, squelched by the Mansons, that the place was haunted.

It wasn’t.

The rumors, however, were enough to get one Samantha Manson interested in the occult. Especially given how hard she saw her parents working to hide the rumors from her.

No. The mansion wasn’t haunted. For all it’s oddities and quirks – which only multiplied as the Mansons added more and more features to it – the building itself was mundane.

(The land it was built on might have been another story.)

And this was Sam Manson’s home.

The Foleys didn’t want to know what Tucker got up to in the attic, but liked to think that, with that one exception, their home was a nice one. It was on a nice street, in a nice neighborhood, just far enough away from Fentonworks to keep both sightings of the Ghost Assault Vehicle and resultant property damage and property taxes to a minimum. Within walking distance of the high school, a supermarket, and a park.

They kept the fridge and pantry stocked. Their food might not have always been healthy – red meat was an element of almost every meal – but it was always available and filling. They made an effort for the dietary restrictions of Tucker’s friends of course.

All the rooms were kept clean and neat. Even Tucker’s, by way of bribes. Everything was organized, everything had its place. Except, perhaps, for the stray shoe or piece of schoolwork.

But that attic.

It really hadn’t been anything, before Tucker asked if he could move his computer stuff up there. Just a storage space, one too difficult for either Angela or Maurice to climb up there often. They didn’t consider themselves old, but they couldn’t call themselves young either. Not with a son Tucker’s age.

Once Tucker had realized the attic was there, he had been fascinated. And, well, once he was old enough for them to not worry about him falling off the ladder, they let him go up.

Some days, it seemed, he didn’t come down.

Better than his faintly disturbing Ancient Egypt phase, where he kept bringing pictures of mummified corpses to the table. Or, worse, the werewolf phase.

And this was Tucker Foley’s home.

Amity Park had claimed the distinction of ‘most haunted town in America’ long before the Fentons opened their portal. In fact, that was the reason the Fentons had set up shop there, in the first place.

No haunted town was complete without at least one haunted house. Amity Park had several. Not to mention a haunted hospital, a selection of haunted schools, a haunted museum, a haunted pool, a haunted crosswalk, a haunted mall, a haunted football field… The list went on, essentially ad nauseum.

Of course, that list mostly consisted of places that became haunted after the Fentons built their portal. But even before then, some places offered their dubious charms to tourists.

Mostly gullible ones. More than half of the claims of hauntings before the portal opened were fraudulent in their entirety. These places quickly went broke and got abandoned when real ghosts started showing up.

One of these was the ominously named Raven House, which stood in the hills on the west edge of town.

The story the tourists of years gone by had been told was that a widower had lived out here, all by himself and that one day, he stopped coming to town, or paying his bills, or even getting his mail. When the mailbox at the end of the long driveway was full, the mailman decided to go check on the widower. What he found was a flock of ravens and a skeleton, entirely picked clean of flesh.

No such death had occurred there, nor in any part of Amity. No such person had ever lived in the house, either. The last owners, before the company that decided to market the house as haunted, were a couple with two children.

It wasn’t until months after the portal started up that it became haunted in truth.

“This place isn’t haunted,” said Danny, panning his flashlight over cobwebbed corners on the ceiling. “I don’t think it ever was.”

“That’s what, strike five?” asked Sam.

Danny shrugged. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Four, actually,” said Tucker. “We counted the hospital as inconclusive, since we don’t know if anyone was there before Spectra.”

Danny nodded. “It’s weird, though, isn’t it? That no one lives here, I mean. It looks like a perfectly nice house.”

“Décor’s a bit… eh. Trying to hard to be haunted,” said Tucker, poking a raven decal on the wallpaper.

“I like it,” said Sam. “Needs cleaning, though.”

“Hey,” said Tucker, “you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking, are you? Because I’m pretty sure that’d be illegal.”

“It isn’t as if anyone else is using the place,” argued Sam. “It could be a great backup hideout, if we ever had to… you know.” She glanced at Danny. “Plus, we’d be doing them a favor, really, keeping things clean and lived in.”

“I think it’s an okay idea,” said Danny.

“Yeah, but you think lots of dumb things are good ideas. Like showing up at a party hosted by people who publicly humiliate you on a regular basis.”

Danny grumbled something about trauma responses that sounded like a direct quote from Jazz and something else about that incident being ages (aka weeks) ago. Then, he brightened.

“We could get one of the little ectoplasm generators to power everything,” he said. “Remember all that stuff we lifted from Skulker and Technus? We could actually use it. Study and test things without worrying about whether our parents will walk in. I mean, your attic is great, but still.”

“Plus, we can have actual lab safety protocols. No offense, Danny.”

“I am the one that half-died in a lab accident, so… None taken.”

Tucker rubbed his chin. “Alright. I suppose I can see the appeal… But if we have stuff that can trace back to us, we could get in serious trouble."

“We’ll be careful, then,” said Sam.

“Anything I take from Mom and Dad has plausible deniability. They’ll assume ghosts stole it.”

“We also need to clean if we’re being serious about this. And get a fridge. And figure out the pluming situation.”

“Fridge is on the list. We have to be careful about the outside, too. If this place is suddenly well maintained, people will notice.”

“Sure, but that isn’t something they’d call the cops over,” said Danny. “They’ll just assume new people are moving in. If anyone sees it at all. We’re pretty far away from anything. But pluming won’t be too hard. We just need to bring our own water. Like, toilets flush using physics. If you dump more water in, they’ll go, no electricity required.”

“How do you know that?”

“I can’t even tell you how many time Mom and Dad blew out all our breakers with stuff in the lab,” said Danny. “You pick up a few things.”

“Well,” said Tucker, swinging his flashlight over to examine a discolored spot on the ceiling. “Then… Home sweet home, I suppose.”

There was a house in the hills in the west hills of Amity Park.

And this was the home of two and a half humans and half a ghost.

#danny phantom #dannymay2021 #dannymay 2021 #dannymay #dannymay day 2: home

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shelby-love · 3 years

Text

ELIJAH MIKAELSON

Past Catching Up.

Requested: yes (by anonymous)

Prompts: none

Warning(s): none

Word count: 1.2K

Author's note: It’s always a pleasure to write about my Mikaelson men! Thank you for your lovely request. Happy reading! <3

The French Quarter was brimming with people, the streets buzzing all around. There were tourists in every nook and cranny of the city. Many sounds danced in the air, from wheeling bicycles to chattering. Jardin Gris Voodoo Shop was having a busy day, which was proved by the long amount of time you had spent inside.

These people didn't know in what kind of city they had stumbled in, but they didn't seem to mind.

Your hold on the small bag filled with herbs you had bought for Freya tightened impulsively as a little kid passed by you in a blur of a moment, ducking just in time not to trample you over with his bike. You sighed, glancing over your shoulder after him. There really was no point in lecturing the kid.

Your gaze fell in the direction of your walk again, being free of obstacles for what looked like 3 seconds. You felt yourself stumble against something hard, and instinctively you held onto the mystery for support. It takes you a moment to compose yourself and figure out the right excuse.

"Are you okay?" the man asks smoothly, still holding your shoulders in a vise grip.

You stepped out of that very same hold and looked up. He saw the shock register on your face before you could even attempt to hide it. Just like a year ago, a small smile played on his lips. Always in a way that made someone think he knows something they don't.

He reminded you of Klaus now that you thought of it. He was much like Kol too, yet very…no.

Yet entirely different from the sophisticated man you loved. Elijah Mikaelson was one of a kind after all.

"What are doing here Levi?" You asked him quickly. Your eyes fell on the surrounding vampires, those sent by Elijah to keep an eye out on you. There was not a doubt in your mind that one of them had already left to fetch him.

Even though Levi crushed your whole being when he broke up with you, erasing your feelings for him forever – a part of you refused to see the man with whom you shared many memories suffer great pain at the hands of Elijah.

You are a different woman now. An entirely different one; the last of your human beliefs had disappeared months ago when you were introduced to the supernatural world.

"Came to see you, of course," he drawled, lips twitching into a magnified smirk.

"Well, you wasted your time," you told him with a frown. "I want nothing to do with you."

Attempting to walk around his muscled body was of no avail as his hand grasped your wrist in which you were holding the herbs.

Levi took noticed and smiled, "You were never into gardening. What changed?"

You glared at him, wanting now more than ever to tell him you were delivering the herbs to the oldest witch on the planet. "They're not mine."

"Do you want to go get a drink? We should catch up," he proposed and you hated the way his smile grew by a mile. "There's a jazz bar here. St. James Infirmary am I right? Do you know where it is?"

"I've been living here for the last year Levi," You growled. "Of course, I know where it is."

And you did wish to take him there more than anything. You wanted to take him to the long-standing establishment of New Orleans, that has served as neutral territory between the supernatural factions of the city for decades. Fixing someone a drink using Levi should be easy as no vampire dared to touch you due to being Elijah's love.

"Great!" Levi said, his white teeth gracing you under the sun. "Then let's go."

"I'm not going anywhere with you!"

How he managed to act like nothing bad ever happened between you two was puzzling, to say the least. While you had your wounds reopened with his sudden appearance, he seemed everything but wounded.

"Is there a problem here?"

You were never gladder to see Elijah's Armani suit as you were right then at that moment. You nodded your head eagerly and attempted to free your wrist. By now you had caught the attention of several locals and tourists in passing.

"He won't leave me alone." You gritted out, pulling your wrist again. "Levi let me go!"

It took a great amount of self-control for Elijah to keep his vampirism at bay. The look in your face was enough to pull at his heart that wanted nothing more than to protect you and have you in his arms.

"Can I suggest you listen to her and take a step back?" He asked him calmly, the tone of his voice stoic.

"Why should I do that? Y/N and I go way back, right love?"

Elijah's eyes visibly darkened, the veins of his vampire part threatening to surface. The younger man didn't know what he was dealing with, and as much as it pleased you to be in possession of that particular fact, you didn't want to your garbage-like ex of a boyfriend to be the reason behind Elijah's control loss of self-control.

Levi let you go, raising his hands in mock-surrender. Eventually he did stagger away, acting in a way that made it seem like the rejection didn't hurt or that the cold stare didn't put him into submission.

Elijah pulled you to him, grasping the side of your face with his hand while inspecting your wrist with the other.

Glad that he was there to intimidate your ex-boyfriend, you leaned in to give him a peck on the lips as a thank-you.

Although your brows came together very soon.

It's not over yet.

"Stay there," You pointed to Elijah before turning around. The Original vampire didn't attempt to stop you as the noble man in him had full trust in you like always. It was one of the many things you adored about him.

"I knew you were-"

You placed your hand lightly on Levi's shoulder, halting him in his steps and turning him around to face you – beaming.

Slap!

When it came to physically and verbally attacking someone, in your case, background always mattered.

Did they deserve it? What was it in for you?

Yes, and everything.

It sure felt good when your hand met his cheek. No. It felt more than good.

Amazingly satisfying aren't even the right words.

"Leave me the hell alone." You said in his face. "Unless you want my boyfriend to break your body like a twig."

Levi didn't have a clue how serious that threat was.

With a determined look you stalked back to Elijah. "Do you want me to wipe his memory?"

You eventually came to a decision and nodded. "Wipe it clean."

***

"Brother dearest!" Klaus' voice boomed when you and Elijah crossed the entry of the Mikaelson home, hand in hand. "I got a whiff of your encounter with Y/N's past lover. I've got to admit… You handled yourself very well back there."

"Why thank you, Niklaus." Elijah said monotonely.

"How melodramatic." Klaus mused. "Am I right?"

"Yes," You agreed. "I slapped him."

Klaus grinned, "So I've heard."

Ignoring Klaus became your expertise. Shrinking his voice into the background seemed way too easy as you leaned toward Elijah.

He placed his hands on your hips, your breathing mingling together.

"I've got to find Freya."

"She's in the drawing room." He whispered, having picked up where his sister was with his hearing.

Understanding dawned his eyes, "We can't change our past, so we live together in the present, and we fight the past off together when it comes knocking at our doors."

"Thank you for…you know. Not freaking out."

"Were you always this wise?"

"No," He replied with a chuckle. "That's the millennium rubbing off me."

Tags (general (all posts)): @fofisstilinski @short-potato @miranda0102 @httphiddlestan @caromichaela @xx-missunicorn-xx @jemmakates @theravenclawmarauder @httphiddlestan @tclaerh @chefdoeuvre @abimoon @sofiasamps @princxss-fia @thirstykpophoe

Tags (The Originals): /

Let me know if you want to be added to my ‘The Originals’ tag list! My updated tag lists ♡

p.s. tumblr is being a b again and isn’t allowing me to tag people

MASTERLIST

#elijah mikaelson #elijah mikaelson imagine #elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah mikaelson fanfic #elijah mikaelson one shot #elijah mikaelson fanfiction #elijah mikaelson jealous #elijah mikaelson fluff #elijah mikaelson reader insert #elijah mikaelson writing #the originals #the originals fanfiction #the originals imagine #the originals one shot #the originals fluff #the originals fanfic #the originals x reader #Reader x oc #Reader x ex!oc

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punprincess321 · 3 years

Conversation

Tarot Cards and Tea Leaves AU!: Rumours & History

*It's night time, Hanzo is getting ready for bed in his apartment above his shop. He gets in bed and sets his alarm before falling asleep*

???: HAHAHAHAHA!

Hanzo: *wakes up* Huh?... *looks out the window and sees a shadow fly past the moon, it looks like a witch* What the heck!?

*The next day, Hanzo is serving customers in the shop, he's still thinking about the shadow*

Lady: Mr. Hanzo? You seem distracted, is everything alright?

Hanzo: Hm? Oh, I'm fine ma'am, but can I ask you something?

Lady: Sure.

Hanzo: Last night I saw a shadow in the moon, it looked like a witch... I'm quite new to town and I was wondering if this was just a local tourist trick.

Lady: Ah, you saw the witch!

Hanzo: Witch?

Lady: He goes out for a joyride on his broomstick every full moon, he's a kind man and protects the town, nobody knows who he is but many suspect it's Mr. McCree.

Hanzo: McCree? The man who brews for the bar?

Lady: Yes, he's been on this land longer than all of us and lives in the cottage on the edge of the forest outside of town, he's kind but very odd and quiet, nobody has ever been to his home.

Hanzo: If you don't mind me asking, why did people build here? Why is Mr. McCree here?

Lady: You'll have to ask the town's historian, he works at the library.

Hanzo: Thank you.

*At his lunch break, Hanzo closed the shop and went to the library*

Hanzo: *walks in* Hello?

Historian: Yes? Can I help you?

Hanzo: I'm the owner of the new tea shop and café, I wanted to ask you about Mr. McCree and the town.

Historian: *chuckles* Have a seat, it's a long story; 20 years ago, Mr. McCree ran away from home when he was 17, he was abused by his father and his mother drank herself to death, this is only known because some legal people visited the town and told him in public about his father's death, he told the townsfolk about it and everyone rallied to make him feel loved.

Hanzo: That's so sweet...

Historian: Anyway, Mr. McCree found the cottage he lives in, it was abandoned and he took ownership of it, no idea where the previous owner went... 10 years after, some people who were runaways like Mr. McCree broke down here, he was hospitable but he didn't have room in his cottage so all he could offer them was a hot meal and a tent but they were grateful, they decided to stay in the area and using what little they had and some material from the forest, they built a home. Over time, more and more people came, all were runaways from abusive relationships, marriages and families, I myself am here for that reason...

Hanzo: Wait... Is that why this town is called 'Safe Haven'?

Historian: Yes, after everyone realized how they all ended up there, they decided to name the town that to be a sign to everyone that you're truly safe within this community. Some governing bodies have visited, probably out of fear of this place being a cult but they soon realized it was not, we all abide by the same rules of society and follow our own religions, we did request the town stay off any official maps and we do not be mentioned in official news as we wish to remain private to protect ourselves from our abusers. The town can vote in national elections and we've been provided with water and electric, we used to rely on manmade wells and candlelight, we were medieval level.

Hanzo: That's incredible.

Historian: Yes, Safe Haven has really prospered and we always expect a new friend to come into our community, just like you Hanzo… By the way while you're here, would you like to fill out some documents?

Hanzo: Hm?

Historian: You're quite new but the local government has asked that all new members of the community fill out documentation whether you consent that if you pass away your family can be notified, or you can have a court file a restraining order that cannot be traced back to you.

Hanzo: *takes the forms and fills in the 'do not consent' and hands it back* I don't want my family to visit me when I die... I'd rather they think I'm already dead. Is there anything else?

Historian: No, that's all.

Hanzo: Thank you for telling me about the town, I definitely plan to stay. *he leaves and goes back to his shop*

(EDIT: I changed wizard to witch, didn't realize they were genderless and not the same thing LOL)

#tarot cards & tea leaves au #witch mccree #mchanzo #hanzo shimada #mchanzo au #mccree x hanzo #hanzo x mccree #jesse mccree

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malfoys-demigod · 3 years

Text

Turn Me or Leave Me 2/2

1/2

Summary: Elijah makes his choice to find and return you to him with the help of Marcel.

A/N: It was really nice to see that people wanted a second part. This one's shorter but I hope you still enjoy it!

Word Count: 1.8k

Tagging: @puddinmistahj-blog @moon-child-writer @wanniiieeee @agent-anna @mysticalfallsss

“All I wanted was a happy ending. A happy ending to what I have caused on our special day.” Elijah said, expressing his guilt on a sunny morning. A day after the evening of when he learned that you, the love of his life, had chosen to leave, and adding to the misery, asked that your memories were to be erased. Every last one memory he and you shared for the past five years.

Marcel and Klaus, being his only two anchors who felt responsible to hold the honorable and noble Mikaelson standing, stood behind the still-sad Elijah, listening to him sulk around the compound.

Marcel felt highly accountable for putting Elijah in greater pain, confiding in him the truth that came along with nothing but distress. He also felt sorry that he had to tell them something that made you unsure of telling Marcel in the first place, despite not telling them exactly where you were headed… yet.

The right hand of Klaus had sighed, looking at the ground, getting Elijah to turn around and look at him with focus.

“I’ll have you know Marcellus that I completely feel regret in myself for giving her the choice to leave. I shouldn’t have referred to her as a wall when it came to discussing important matters as that. I feel entirely in the wrong as she was right in making that point of no difference between now or five years for me to turn her. I vowed that I’d do anything to make her happy and I denied a simple request that I could have given in a heartbeat. I am clearly spiraling down a whole of great depression and fear, on the brink of turning my humanity off knowing that I cannot attempt to get her back. Is that what you wanted out of me?” he asked, irritated and drained.

Marcel looked at Klaus, who seemed to have shrugged, signaling that this was not his floor for him to say anything since he wasn’t the one to have gotten Elijah’s attention. He then looked back at Elijah, who was breathing heavily from what he had just told Marcel.

“I’m sorry, Elijah, you must have misunderstood me,” Marcel stated, “You see, I wanted to honor the moment Y/N and I had together that night in the airport. In order for her to tell me where she was going, I told her that there was no use in feeling hesitant to tell me since there was an assumption that you’d back off and respect her wishes of leaving, staying here instead. I shouldn’t have done that now that I’m hoping you’d sweep her off her feet again and get her back. Before you snap my neck or anything, just know that I’m on your side now, I want you to get her back.”

Elijah used his super-speed to quickly appear in front of Marcel, looking at him with serious eyes, “Then kindly tell me where she is. I’d like to get my wife back.”

Marcel patted Elijah in the back, smirking with delight, “With pleasure, but there’s someone you should know with her over there who’ll be brought back as well.”

Elijah’s face turned to stone, as his excitement was abruptly brought to a pause. “Who?” he asked with worry.

“I’m so glad we could end today’s shopping at this wonderful restaurant’s seating choice, Rebekah.” you thanked your newly made friend.

The two of you were currently at Duke’s La Jolla, a Hawaiian-inspired restaurant known for its beautiful outdoor seatings, overlooking the ocean views San Diego had to offer. This was near La Jolla Cove, a place Rebekah had planned on taking you to see after.

Right now, Duke’s was the place to gather energy and restore appetite after today’s massive shopping care of Rebekah at The Shops, an unparalleled experience for shopping at the city. She surprisingly took care of all the expenses, managing you to not stress about the endless rolling of receipts. She said it was another warm way of welcoming you to the city.

“Of course, dear, Y/N,” Rebekah waved off, “I’ve befriended the chef quite some time ago and got us the best seats for today. He’s remarkably a talented chef I might say as our meals are on the house.”

You gasped at the fact that meals were also taken cared of, “First the shopping, now the meals? This clearly has to be a dream, Rebekah, I’m serious, nobody could be that lucky in one day.”

“I can assure you that the chef of Duke’s has his ways of welcoming newcomers to his city and giving out free meals on your first visit is one of his many ways,” said an masculine voice, interrupting the conversation.

You looked up to see an elegant and sophisticated man, wearing a black luxurious suit, smiling at you with such captivation in his eyes. He removed one of his hands that had been hiding in his pocket, lending it out for you to shake.

“I’m Elijah, Rebekah’s brother,” the man introduced himself to you.

You took out your hand, shaking it with a small, enchanted smile on your face as you were charmed by his presence, “It’s nice to meet you, Elijah, I’m Y/N.”

Elijah felt nothing but pure attractiveness in how refreshing you looked compared to how he saw you last time. He was feeling nervous but wonderful to see you as you felt and appeared so different.

He examined how different you looked in terms of fashion. Rebekah transformed you into this fresh West Coast beach girl, successfully rocking the sundress and denim jacket as your hair was flowing down in a wavy manner. Your smile, it really showed that you were compelled. You had no thoughts of the troubling life you had in New Orleans, especially during the last time you interacted with Elijah. You seemed to have had no thought on the supernatural events happening, as there was nothing but sunshine on your mind.

Marcel seemed to have noticed that Elijah was about to start fawning over you for a much longer time than he had expected, which caused him to nudge Elijah in the shoulder, bringing him back to reality.

Elijah, animated back to reality, turned to Marcel, who was smiling warmly at you, “This is Marcel, a friend of mine.”

“He’s also my boyfriend actually,” Rebekah stated, smiling at you and Elijah. Marcel extended his hand and chuckled at you, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N.”

You shook Marcel’s hand, gasping again at Rebekah, “Rebekah I didn’t even know about you having a brother, and now a boyfriend? You seem to be hiding lots of things from me,” you teased.

“Relax darling, I’ve only met you a few days ago, I can’t just talk you through my entire life,” Rebekah sarcastically replied, “No doubt that would take centuries,” she looked at Elijah with a smirk.

“Right, well I wouldn’t want to be rude anymore, Elijah, Marcel, would you like to join us? The view is to die for, and so is the food!” you proposed, inviting your two new friends to sit with you by the table.

Rebekah waved her hands at Elijah and Marcel who had begun nodding and gesturing to sit, “But would you look at the time? Y/N was meaning to be taken to La Jolla Cove and now seems to be the perfect time.”

You turned to Rebekah, narrowing your eyebrows in confusion. But before you had a say in it, Elijah took a step forward and pointed at his sister, “Yes well, perhaps you’ve forgotten that you and Marcel have matters to attend to by this hour, sister? Y/N shouldn’t be worried about cancelled plans on her end, I’d be delighted to take her for you, if that's alright with you, Y/N?” he asked, now looking at you.

You rapidly nodded in excitement, “Of course, I don’t see why not!”

Marcel clasped his hands together, rubbing it in successfully, “Well now that’s settled, I think it’s time to make a move now,” he offered, looking at the group with a big grin on his face. Rebekah pursed her lips in irritation, “Right, just fantastic…” she murmured, standing up and making her way beside Marcel.

Elijah took his hand out gracefully, which you took in response, standing up beside him with an elated smile on your face. “Well, thank you for lunch today, Rebekah, and of course shopping. I’ll see you at home later?”

“With good things to look forward to I hope,” Rebekah strangely replied, which somehow Elijah and Marcel knew what she meant, leaving Marcel and Rebekah to part ways after that, resulting in you and Elijah left alone again.

He looked at you with mesmerism for a quick second and then gestured his hand to the exit, “Shall we?”

Plans with the person taking you to La Jolla Cove may have been changed but something about Elijah taking you instead didn’t really bother you. He was nothing but a pleasure to be with at the moment. After multiple times of offering that you drive, you finally gave up when Elijah strongly insisted that he’d take the wheel and drive the two of you to your destination.

For some reason, the drive to the cove had been surprisingly quiet in a good way. Glances at each other were exchanged every so often, smiling at each other as if you two were an old and sweet married couple enjoying each other’s moments together.

While you were thinking about how kind and handsome your friend’s brother was, Elijah was feeling nothing but a breeze of happiness in his heart, seeing you smile as if nothing in the world was bothering you at the moment. He was a little sad that you weren’t aware anymore of the feud between you two, but he wanted to cherish this happy and silent moment the two of you were sharing, knowing it would come to an end later on as he intended of bringing your memories back.

Once you arrived at the cove, you quickly stepped out and breathed the fresh and sunny air in the small, picturesque cove and beach that was surrounded by cliffs. “Wow, I can see why this place is deeply loved by both tourists and locals.” you admitted, gazing at the waves and breathtaking sky.

You turned around, looking at Elijah, who seemed to have already made his way beside you, putting his hands back on his pocket. You noticed how elegantly perfect he looked in his suit, but it didn’t really suit the setting. “Can I be honest with you, Elijah?” you asked, getting his attention.

He gave a small smile and nod, gesturing for you to continue, “Of course.”

“No offense because I really like your whole get up and all but wearing a nice suit… on a beach?” you joked, laughing at what you said.

Elijah looked down at his whole look, grinning at your observation and started unbuttoning his jacket, “Yes, I suppose you’re right. I do hope though that folding up my shirt and trousers would suffice at the moment.”

“We could head back to the mall and get you some beach clothes if you want,” you offered, turning around to the car.

Elijah shook his head, and stopped you by grabbing your forearm, “That won’t be necessary, Y/N, I wouldn’t want you to miss out on spending more time in this lovely place.”

You nodded, showing a gesture of appreciation and looked back at the view of the beach, “It’s beautiful isn’t it? I’ve never seen such magnificent views like this. You see, I’m originally from New Orleans and I just moved here to the West Coast and I haven’t really had much exposure to things like this.”

Elijah, finished folding his shirt and trousers, looked at you with care, “Do you like it here so far?”

You nodded, showing eyes of hopes and dreams awaiting to be accomplished, “You bet. I don’t really see myself going back to New Orleans. I can’t explain how I’m feeling exactly but this place makes me feel free and at ease. Like nothing’s stopping me to live a carefree and happy life.”

Elijah displayed somewhat of a small smile, which to him was because he was relieved and happy that you were happy. The smile was small because he also felt unhappy that he was not able to provide you this happiness.

“What about you, Elijah?”

“Hm?” Elijah hummed in confusion.

“Are you living a carefree and happy life as well?” you prompted, asking innocently. “Perhaps there’s a special person in your life that’s giving you the additional happiness in your life?” There was something in your gut that wanted you to ask this, wanting to know if he had a significant other in his life.

Elijah chuckled to himself in a depressing way, looking down at the ground. “It’s quite a long story.”

“Ah,” you opened your mouth, happy that you understood what he was trying to say, “But do you love her?”

There seemed to be a quick and honest nod from Elijah, who seemed to be looking directly at the horizon, as if he was vividly thinking about his girl. “Words cannot express how much I love her.”

“So what happened?” you genuinely asked.

“One single yet vast mistake I made on my end. It ruined everything that we had together and I will never forget how much I regretted everything that led to her completely starting a new life without me. It broke my heart but I deserved that. She doesn’t deserve to have her heart broken because I wasn’t thinking things correctly.” he utterly confessed with grief.

You touched his shoulder out of pity, causing him to look at you with soft eyes, “Fight for her, Elijah. She has to be around here somewhere, hasn’t she? It isn’t too late to see if you have a chance to get her back and I know you will. I can help find her!” you supportingly said, trying to get his hopes up.

But it somehow failed. He sighed, shaking his head at you. His hand slowly touched yours, the one that held his shoulder. “Looking around for her won’t be necessary,” he replied, confusing you, “Because you’ve been standing alongside me today.”

You narrowed your eyes, wondering what he meant as this sounded strange to you. “I-I don’t follow, Elijah.”

Elijah placed both his hands on your shoulders firmly, looking you straight in the eye as he started compelling you.

“What we have just briefly discussed between us is considered a highlight of what I’m about to bring back to you,” he first said, “Recently, Marcel Gerard had compelled you to forget everything that happened to you in the last five years upon your request. The reason for this was because I denied you of becoming a vampire after being asked by you on our five year anniversary. With this, we had a massive quarrel, leaving you to have your memories erased and decide to start a new life here, away from New Orleans. Eventually you met again, Rebekah, but that doesn’t matter as much as what I’m about to say. I, Elijah Mikaelson, your husband, have travelled to see you, ending this compulsion to give you free will upon hearing what has been said.”

A few mere seconds had passed after Elijah’s compulsions and there you were, standing, and staring at someone who grew fondly familiar to you, bringing about tears slowly falling on your face as emotions were just attacking your body, hitting you right in the face with such clarity and impact.

Elijah only saw a tearful wife of his, narrowing her eyes with emotion as she didn’t know how to feel at the moment. He wanted to hug her and tell her everything was fine but he wanted her to make the first move, giving her the choice on how she wanted to react.

“E-Elijah,” your voice broke, causing you to just wrap your arms around his neck, breaking out to sob quietly. Elijah frowned in pity, hugging you back with such grip on his arms, wanting to not let you go. He gently rubbed your back, whispering sweet words and telling you to let it all out.

“My darling,” he whispered, “Just let it all out, it will be alright.”

Still embracing him, you shook your head, which he felt you do, “No,” you denied, “I’m so sorry, Elijah.”

This caused the heartwarming hug to stop from the two of you, as you simultaneously pulled out from each other. Elijah looked at you with slight confusion, after hearing you apologize. “Elijah,” you continued, “It was really wrong of me to lash out on you that night. I completely destroyed our anniversary night all because of one thing I kept going on about. Then I didn’t even let you know what choice I chose, leaving you to find out in a way you couldn’t imagine. I’m very, truly, sorry.”

Elijah gloomed, lowering his face with guilt, “No, Y/N,” he started with a low, sad voice, “It is I who is in the wrong, not you. You will never be in the wrong. What you asked for was something to do with what special thing we have. Of course it is my dream to live an eternal life with you, and when the situation appeared in front of me, I foolishly ignored it and words cannot express how wrong that was of me to do. I was a fool for doing so, for letting you go, and making you unhappy. It went to show how vapid I was as a husband and the guilt of that lives in me. It was I who destroyed our special day together, not you, but I. When you left without telling me, I deserved that as it gave me the time to reflect on how much of a mindless person I was that night. Knowing that you went here to start a life without me broke me. I never wanted to imagine what it was like to not have you in my life anymore and that fear arrived the moment we fought and I was trembling with such immense fear, knowing that life would crumble down without you by my side. I want you to know Y/N, that you are the love of my life always and forever. I am deeply apologetic for what I have done and I want you to know that I will do everything in my power to make things right, to make us right again, because all I want in my life is to make you happy and if you will, I would like to live an eternal life with you, for you are the light of my life.”

It didn’t take another second for you to think about it. Despite going through a lot on both your ends, he was still the love of your life. If there was one thing the Mikaelsons taught you, it was that no matter what happens, family will always come down as the number one thing in life, always and forever.

You nodded, starting to grow a smile on your face, followed along with giggles, which caused Elijah to tense down and return the smile, “Yes, Elijah,” you replied, “I will always love you with all my heart. You are after all, my husband, my lover, my favorite person in the entire world and I would never want things to end between us for you too are the light of my life.”

With that, Elijah cupped your face and connected his lips with yours, planting a passionate and heartwarming kiss to end the beautiful day in one of your favorite places with your favorite person. You returned to wrapping your arms around his neck, hoping to stay like this forever with him.

Perhaps the two of you could stay in this beautiful place for awhile, after all… It is your special week in the end.

#elijah mikaelson x reader #the originals #the vampire diaries #tvd #to #elijah mikaelson #elijah mikaelson x you #elijah mikaelson x y/n #elijah mikaelson imagines #elijah mikaelson imagine #elijah mikaelson fluff #elijah mikaelson angst #klaus mikaelson #marcel gerard

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captain-yeet · 3 years

Text

A Beautiful Way To Die

Pairing: Heidi x Fem!Reader

Summary; When you thought of death or the possibility of you dying, you never seriously considered the possibility of dying at the hands of a gorgeous vampire.

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: swearing, Heidi accidentally being creepy give her a break she's new to interacting with mortals and NOT eating them

Author's note: I've been wanting to write about Heidi for a while now because her character, even though we got so very little of it is fascinating (again thanks smeyer for making your side characters more interesting than the main ones). Also, am a simple gay.

Arising from your jet-lagged slumber, you'd hoped the beautiful blue, sunny skies you enjoyed yesterday would still be there. Sadly, your luck was out the window along with the welcoming warm weather.

You'd travelled to Italy with the intention of finally getting out into the world and having the freedom to explore and go your own path. Looking online for travel destinations was both a struggle and exciting! "Where should I go?" you wondered while scrolling through all your proposed options. None caught your eye until you landed on one listing;

Enjoy an enriching, quaint experience in the city of Volterra!

Nestled in the country hillsides of Italy, Volterra has a host of activities for you to enjoy, from historical site tours and many shopping locales, bars and more. From the Palazzo di Priori to the Volterra Cathedral... Come, and lose yourself in a city who's architecture is frozen in time.

You wandered the town, taking in the sites of all the old buildings around you. Even with the clouded sky above your head, Volterra was still a breathtaking place.

After an hour of wandering you came to a stop in the Palazzo, plopping down to sit by the large fountain. Hands resting under your chin, you entered a blissful, happy daydream.

Sighing dreamily, you let your eyes close.

You didn't notice the woman watching you attentively.

Heidi had been tasked with finding more humans to feed the guards and the masters themselves, her own hunger growing more ravenous by the day. She'd managed to lure in a few stray helpless tourists, but she still needed just a few more.

Striding through the streets with confidence, she halted as a sudden alluring scent hit her like wave. Mouth pooling with venomous saliva, she held in an instinctive growl. Where is that scent coming from? More so... who?

Following the mouthwatering aroma, she let herself be guided through the cobblestone streets of Volterra, the beast within her growling with glee as she got closer and closer to the human. Heidi had had many victims, many catches that she's reeled in from her "fishing" that have satisfied her, but none that made her yearn for blood more so than whoever it was that smelt like this.

She found herself in the Palazzo, her eyes desperately scanning every face, every scent of anyone who was nearby. She needed to know which it was.

Taking in another deep breath through her nose, the scent hit her again, and she found the poor helpless human.

A woman, who smelt better than anything she'd ever had before. Heidi sunk into the shadows of a nearby alley and studied you. You were plain, simple clothes and your eyes were currently closed as you enjoyed some blissful daydream. Her throat burned with thirst by this point, and as she watched you... something else began to grow.

Curiosity, was it? Heidi couldn't put her finger on it. Letting out an unnecessary huff, she decided to approach. I'll make sure to let Felix and Demetri know that this snack is strictly mine alone. Heidi put on her best smile and sauntered over to the human.

“Pardon me, Miss?” a smooth voice called your attention away from your daydreaming.

You jump in surprise as you turn your attention to the source of the voice that startled you. The owner of the voice was equally startling; her beauty blinded you, as she stood directly in front of the faint rays of sunlight you swore she was literally shining. The red dress she wore clung nicely to her body, an off the shoulder piece that only highlighted her best assets. Violet eyes gazed at you curiously, flicking from the art book open in your lap to your face.

If angels were real, you’d believe this woman was one.

Unbeknownst to you, but the shock went both ways. Now that she was face-to-face with you, Heidi’s painted red lips had parted, an inaudible gasp to your ears escaping them.

A pull she had never experienced before took hold of the vampire. She needed to be near you - not just in the hunger sense, but more of a “If I am separated from this woman for any reason I will rip someone’s arm off” kind of way. At least, that is how Heidi would describe it.

Trying to shake herself out of her jumbled train of thought, she flashed you a quick smile, savouring the way it made your heart stutter. “I couldn’t help but notice you sitting here, are you new to Volterra?”

You nodded, gently smiling at the pretty woman. “I am, just passing through on my way to Venice.”

Heidi giggled. "Venice? That's quite the destination. And what brings you to Volterra?"

"I'm going on a tour here before I leave for Venice," you explained, none the wiser to the sudden shift in Heidi's demeanor. "I needed a place to stay since it was such a long trip, and..."

"What tour, if you don't mind my asking?"

You blinked. The woman was now very serious, the playful almost-flirtatious air about her gone. "In there, actually," you reply, pointing to the castle-like cathedral just behind her.

"I see."

Shit. Shit, shit, fuck! A string of curse words swam in Heidi's head in multiple languages. She can't go in there! But she's booked already, they'll be expecting her and we don't often get cancellations and if we do -

"I'm sorry, is there a problem?" You ask, growing more confused by the pretty lady as the seconds went by.

"Ah, hello Heidi."

You both turn your head to the rather tall man who had appeared at Heidi's side. He was quite the looker - very tall, heavy build and looked like he could break you in half with one hand.

"Felix, what are you doing here?" The woman - Heidi - says to her companion with an airy smile.

You didn't fail to notice the sharp look she had in her eyes.

"Just roaming about the city is all," the man replied coolly, a grin on his face that faltered into a curious smile when his gaze shifted to you. “And who might this lovely lady be? Perhaps a tour guest of the castle?”

With a laugh, Heidi linked her arm into Felix’s bicep, her fingernails digging deep into his arm. Under his breath Felix hissed and looked at Heidi with wide, confused eyes but she kept her airy exterior up perfectly.

“Our tour bookings are full, Felix,” she said pointedly.

You looked on at the exchange feeling lost. There seemed to be some animosity between the two but why? You didn’t know. Maybe they were exes.

“I see.” A thin, curt smile replaced his cocky grin from just moments ago. “Well then, I’ll meet up with you later. We’ll talk more then.”

As the man left, Heidi left out a small huff and then turned back toward you, her brilliant smile bewitching you again. "Forgive him, he's always prowling during the tours for pretty young women to bore to death with his rants about his hobbies."

You giggled, grinning back at her. "I'll be sure to try and stay off his radar when tomorrow's tour begins."

Tomorrow's tour, Heidi's thoughts echoed your words. So she's coming in on that tour. Keeping her composure cool, she tilted her head down and gazed at you from beneath her eyelashes. Seduction tactics, only this time she was trying to steer her prey away. "Please beautiful, I want you to listen to me very closely."

Frowning at her sudden serious nature, you began to stand up from where you were perched, listening intently.

"Volterra has a lot to offer tourists, many fascinating sites to see. Our cathedral however... don't come. Please," she pleaded, her voice low and silky, "find somewhere else to go sight seeing."

You froze mid-way through putting away your art book. Her serious tone and the look in her eyes... something about the look in her eyes sent a chill down your spine. "I - I'll consider it."

The corner of Heidi's mouth twitched. She then straightened herself up and the deadly serious disposition left as quickly as it had appeared, the friendly seductress returning once more. "Well, I suppose all I can do is steer you away," she chuckled, more to herself.

You smiled politely back, your eyes flickering to your surroundings briefly. As you took in how the sky had gone much darker than it was before, you gasped. "Oh damn, it looks like its going to rain!"

Sure enough, as soon as the word "rain" left your lips, Heidi felt a droplet from the sky land on her cheek.

"I had better get going, it was really nice meeting you!" You began saying your farewells to the beautiful lady, pulling your backpack hastily up onto your back. You didn't want to get potentially drenched in the downpour.

"Wait!"

Ice gripped your wrist abruptly, sending a shock up your arm and making a surprised gasp escape your lips. The fuck?

Oh.

Heidi had grabbed your wrist. She must have some bad circulation, you vaguely thought to yourself.

"I never got your name." The word were desperate, to Heidi pitiful even.

"It's Y/N," you breathed, taken back by Heidi's behavior.

She let go of your wrist, a half smile appearing. "Y/N," she repeated, your name leaving her mouth - in your mind anyway - almost reverently. "Beautiful name, cara mia... anyway, we should head our separate ways! The rain is sure to stat pouring any moment now."

You hummed in agreement, internally trying to shake yourself out of the stupor you now found yourself in. God damn, this woman... help. She's pretty. So pretty. I am very gay.

"It was nice meeting you, Heidi. Maybe I'll see you around?" You offered with a hopeful smile, trying to shut out your internal screaming.

As you quickly walked away, Heidi carefully breathed in after holding her breath. The air stung her throat, your scent, your blood, making her moan wantonly.

She only hoped for two things; one, that she would get the pleasure of seeing your exquisite face again, and secondly and most importantly, that you would heed her warning not to come to the Volterra Cathedral tour tomorrow.

#it's Heidi's turn to shine #twilight renaissance #twilight saga #volturi #volturi x reader #heidi volturi #heidi volturi x reader #twilight fanfiction #my fics

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babbushka · 3 years

Text

The Shape of You (3/12)

Supreme Leader Kylo Ren x Reader

You do a good job of it, staying out of the way. You’re quiet, you’re unsuspecting, you’re practically invisible; just the way you like it. Until one sunny summer day in 1962, the government base where you work acquires an unusual asset, and everything you know is about to change. In the race to save this lonely, desperate, beautiful man, loyalties are shaken on all sides – and the bonds of true love are tested.

7.4k ; CW: mentions of injury, mentions of past torture, angst

Tumblr Masterlist | Available on AO3

----------------------------

When you wake, it is dark once again.

For a moment, you blink and stare at the ceiling, the phantom image of his face swimming in the inky black of night. Holding on to that face, you tentatively reach a hand out into the air, hoping to touch him, hoping to feel something.

In the end, it is nothing but empty air, and your hand drops.

“The only station for when you’re on the go, tune in to AM W-6-Z-O!” The swingin’ dancers on the radio blare once again, an official signal that the time for dreaming is over.

With this new encounter, this new…you don’t even know what it is, you can’t help but feel your pulse quicken. Everything is the same – you will get up to brew your coffee, Armitage will pound against the wall, you will share your breakfast and take three buses to work – but simultaneously, nothing will ever be the same again. Because possibly for the first time in many years, you do not dread the thought of going to work.

Not that you dreaded it, work, not really. It was a good job, an important job, a job that was part of something bigger, much bigger than yourself. But you could not deny the excitement that simmers just below your skin at the thought of it.

The thought of seeing him again.

“You’re chipper this morning.” Armitage scowls as he opens the door for you, a bright cheerful smile on your face.

“Haven’t the foggiest idea what you mean.” You breeze right past him, placing the percolator down on his pot-holder that he keeps on the counter just for this very occasion. Immediately going to his cupboards, you begin to remove the flour and sugar, giving him a knowing glance and asking even though you know the answer, “Pancakes?”

“Please, god knows I’m going to need something sweet today.” He groans, moves to sit at the table.

Sometimes, you can’t help but think how domestic this is. How your friendship had blossomed into a bond so much stronger than you had ever expected. You wonder if Armitage thinks it too, if he ever is reminded of a lifetime ago, when he was married to a beautiful woman and had a house in the suburbs, if when you pour his coffee and flip pancakes on the stove, his heart aches for that long gone time.

If he does, he says nothing about it, so you don’t bring it up.

“What have they done now?” You ask instead, knowing that this is a topic of conversation in which Armitage will always have something to say, always have something to complain about.

“It’s just these essays. Half the class it would seem, completely missed the point of the extra credit film.” He sighs, gesturing to a stack of papers once again sitting on the kitchen table.

“Oh that’s alright, at least Boris is happy.” Sliding pancakes off of the pan and onto a plate, you douse them in a generous helping of syrup and powdered sugar for the both of you, before moving to sit opposite him at the table.

Just then, the lights flicker on and off, making you both frown. The power had never had much of an issue before, what with the movie theater just downstairs needing those extra generators. You glance out the window, it wasn’t raining, and it wasn’t windy – both telltale signs of potential power failure.

“Do you ever worry about what will happen when he has to shut down the building?” Armitage grumbles, carefully and very specifically cutting his stack of pancakes into wedge pieces.

“No, because he won’t.” You shut that train of thought down at once within him, knowing that while he likes to pretend otherwise, your Professor has a proclivity for the dramatics unlike anyone else you’ve ever met. “He has renters for a reason after all, and the summer tourists bring in enough to make ends meet.”

Armitage thinks about that for a moment or two, before accepting the answer.

“You’re right.” He concedes, sounding resigned.

“I’m always right.” You wink, and the two of you finish your breakfast in companionable silence.

------------------

When you leave Armitage’s apartment and go back to your own, you cannot deny the rush that is the thought of seeing him again. It seems so silly, and of course it is silly, but something in you wants to look nice for him.

You fix your hair and pick out your cleanest most nicely ironed uniform, concerned for the first time about how it fits you, how it forms to your body. It is a modest uniform – you are a cleaning woman after all – but you find that despite the drab color palette and utilitarian shape, you look good. The clock chimes, and you realize that there isn’t much time to fuss, so instead of standing in front of the mirror, you pick a pair of heels off your grand shoe display, and hope that he finds the bright blue color appealing.

Dawdling had never been a trait of yours before, and now you understand why.

The bus is sitting and waiting at the stop when you exit your apartment building, and you run in those bright blue heels as fast as your legs can take you to make it just in time. The click-clack of your steps on the pavement alert everyone nearby, as you bolt towards the bus. Water on the ground from the night’s dew reflects the colors of the neon signs all around you, and when your foot splashes in one of the light puddles, a rainbow scatters around your ankles.

You make a beeline straight for the doors, which are open and welcoming you like a warm embrace, and only once the momentum of your body has thrown you into your seat, do you let out a long exhale.

“Thank you, I’m so sorry!” You could bury your face into your hands with how embarrassed you are, but your hands are shaking from the adrenaline of nearly missing the bus.

Missing this bus would have been bad, very very bad. It would have meant that you’d be late to work, and you have never once, not in the entire ten years on the job, have you been late for work. Such an irregularity would have raised suspicion, would have called attention to you – more attention than there already was. They wouldn’t like that, it would compromise your larger job, your more important mission -- you could not afford to be late. So, you sigh with relief and will your heart to stop pounding in your chest; all was well, you are on the bus, it did not pull away from the stop without you on it, you will be there on time.

“Good morning Miss (Y/N), no need to apologize, you know I’ll always wait for you.” Mr. Henry’s kind eyes glance at you with amusement through the rearview mirror, and you once again thank your lucky stars to have a friend like him.

Much like Armitage, you had never expected to befriend the bus driver. You had of course planned on being friendly and polite, but the extent to which you enjoyed the elderly man’s company had surprised you. And what’s more, you were constantly surprised by his willingness to be friendly with you in return. It reminded you that perhaps, there was a solidarity at the bottom – when there is no one to look out for the people like you and him, you look out for one another.

Could Mr. Henry have gotten in trouble by waiting for you? Would he be late to his other stops now? These were questions that you couldn’t help but think, but you have to wonder if they were questions he considered. Surely it would have been easier to simply leave you behind, but he hadn’t done such a thing, and you cannot express how grateful you are for that.

You resolve to thank him somehow, some way more meaningful than simply the words. It strikes you then, that despite speaking to one another every day, you still know very little about the man. You know he has a beautiful wife and a blossoming garden, you know he picks up a cup of coffee from the donut shop before starting his route, and you know which music stations he prefers to listen to. But beyond that, you have both remained relatively private.

He was not so different from you in that regard, you suppose.

Most people are not so different from one another, you suppose.

“For absolutely no reason at all, what is your favorite type of baked good, Mr. Henry?” You ask after a few moments, when the bus has left the stop and has continued its route, the Las Vegas strip a myriad of lights and colors, blinking and twirling in the night.

“Oh you don’t have to go doing all that – ”

“But I want to.” You insist, “Please let me?”

He looks up at you once again through the rearview window, and you see the sparkle of a smile in his eye. You wonder when the last time someone did something kind for him was, someone doing it just out of the want to see him happy.

“I may or may not be fond of those caramel brownies you make.” Sheepishly, almost as if he will be scolded for revealing such information, he confesses this to you.

You recall a time when you had to bring something to the company party, a holiday get together many years ago. You had been charged with bringing a dessert, and as a thank you to Mr. Henry’s continual kindness and hard work, you offered him one.

It makes you strangely emotional, to know that he had enjoyed it enough to remember it, after all these years.

“How very interesting to know.” You smile, and he smiles back, before he turns his attention to the next bus stop, and your window for conversation comes to a close.

She is waiting for you at the bus exchange today, standing and huddled in the large group of other passengers. It is chilly out in the desert tonight, and she has a beautiful black and white checkerboard coat wrapped around her body. In moments like these, watching the steam and fog of the bus exchange plume around her feet, Gwendoline reminds you of a movie star.

Perhaps in another life, her face would light up the screen, her silvery blonde hair and striking cheekbones commanding every man in the theater to fall head over heels in love with her. Sometimes she talks about it, about moving away from this city, about quitting her job.

Perhaps in another life, you might go with her.

Armitage would surely come too, wouldn’t he? He could get a job as a professor anywhere, he could pack up his apartment and join you and Gwen on a trip to Los Angeles, or New York City, or perhaps somewhere abroad – but you can’t, can you. You can’t leave.

And so, as selfish as it is, you hope that Gwen never leaves either, because you’re not so sure what you would do, were she to go.

This is especially true, as she catches sight of you politely making your way to where she is standing, and she smiles and throws a hand up to wave to you, as if you didn’t already see her. Gwen was, in so many ways, a beacon of color in the world of black and grey.

“(Y/N)!” She hollers happily to you, competing with the noise of the bus exchange.

The hiss and hydraulics of brakes and doors opening and closing, the sound of engines revving and radios humming, of the news playing on black and white screens behind a window of glass, of people talking and smoking and eating and laughing even though it’s too early for it all, still through this noise Gwen’s voice cuts through.

“Morning,” You smile back at her, offering a thermos as is your tradition every morning. “Coffee?”

“You’re a saint,” Gwen responds, accepting it as is her tradition. “Oh I love when you wear the blue shoes!”

She takes a step back for you to point your toe and extend your leg ever so slightly, the dazzling satin shining like sapphires in the artificial light of the fluorescent overheads. One of the men waiting in the crowd with you lets out a whistle when your skirt rides up just enough to show a little thigh, and you have to physically restrain Gwendoline from snapping her teeth at him.

“I really like this pair, I don’t know why I don’t wear them more often.” Chuckling just a little at your friend’s fierce protective nature, you draw her attention back to the shoes. It wouldn’t do to get into a fight just minutes before being in an enclosed crowded space together.

“Maybe because they’re the least practical thing for a janitor?” Gwendoline mutters, still shooting the man dirty looks. He has, thankfully, backed off – probably for his own safety. Rarely do men ever expect women to snap back, and oh how Gwendoline’s bite is worse than her bark.

“Maybe, but they are so beautiful.” You shrug, and this at the very least, Gwen can understand.

“Come, I think that’s our bus now.” She whispers to you so as to not draw the attention of the crowd around you, knowing how the rush of everyone wanting to get onto the bus and secure a seat can often lead to a mob.

Sure enough, as she pushes her way to the front and you follow her diligently, when the bus rounds the corner and the pushing and shoving begins, you two are already on your way to the back of the bus, coats and purses in your laps, a deck of cards ready to be shuffled.

In the back of the bus, you and Gwen hide your faces behind a hand of cards each, a game of Go Fish that you are sorely losing. You almost wish that the bus would hit a bump in the road, so that the cards could go scattering all over the floor and you wouldn’t be shamed with the loss, but then the thought of having to clean it all up makes you reconsider.

Gwen, for her part, doesn’t ease up on you one bit, a great big grin on her face as she claims yet another of your cards for her own little pile.

“I dreamt of him again.” You bring up, as nonchalantly as you can.

The bus has greatly reduced down its number of passengers, thankfully. No longer packed like sardines, you and Gwen have enough room to spread out, your belongings no longer piled up on your lap. Instead, they rest on the seat just across the little aisle, as you normally do. Still, it’s not entirely empty, there are quite a few stops to go before the bus pulls over into the dark of the desert and identification is requested.

All this means, is that while you can speak, it has to still be in hushed tones, lest someone from outside the building’s personnel overhear. Gwen hears you perfectly well despite your near whisper, and her face practically alights in the same way those flood lights search the sky.

“Please tell me there’s a face this time!” She abandons the cards to grasp at your hands.

For someone who prides herself on practicality, Gwendoline was incredibly invested in these dreams that you have. Every time you bring it up, she is genuinely and completely interested in hearing more, and you’re more than happy to indulge her.

“There is, and you won’t believe it, but it was, well, it was the Asset.” The last word is whispered so quietly that you might as well just be mouthing the words.

Upon hearing this, her eyes widen, mouth falling open ever so slightly.

“You’ve seen him?” Her shocked whisper makes you cast a glance around.

Good, you think, no one is paying any attention to you, everyone who is left has seated themselves at the front of the bus, knowing that they will be getting off soon and not wanting to have to shuffle through the narrow aisle.

“I – ”

“(Y/N) you didn’t sneak into the lab after all that, did you?” Gwendoline suddenly turns frustrated, exasperated with you. She hisses through clenched teeth, “After that creep Tarkin warned us specifically not to do that very thing?”

“I couldn’t help it Gwen, you can’t tell me that you’re not so curious to know what’s going on in there!” You explain, and she only scoffs and rolls her eyes.

“Of course I’m curious! But I also have some sense of self-preservation.” She looks down at where her hands are clutching yours, turns your palms over in hers. You look down, see how calloused and rough the both of your hands are from a decade of harsh chemicals and hard work. “What if that man is dangerous? What if he hurts you?”

“He can’t, he’s behind bulletproof glass, I don’t think he can even hurt himself with how secure they’ve got him.” You try reassuring her, and it seems that at least for the moment, she is convinced.

Chewing on her lip for a moment or two, eventually she relents to your assurances, and a great big smile spreads over her face once more. You have half a mind to ask her what lipstick she’s wearing, and there you go again, daydreaming about looking nice for this man…

“What does he look like?” Gwen snaps you out of your reverie, and you duck your head, bashful.

You’ve been thinking about him and the way he looks ever since you laid your eyes on him, on his incredibly impressive frame.

“He’s huge. Built like a refrigerator, tall and wide. His face was hard to see, he wears a mask that covers nearly half of it, but his hair is long and dark, and his eyes…” You can see it so clearly, there in your mind’s eye; can see his flexing biceps, the abs, the thick trail of hair that disappears behind those swim trunks they have him in.

With a knowing smile and a shake of her head, Gwendoline sighs.

“You’re going to see him again, aren’t you.” It’s not so much a question, as it is a resignation. She knew you well enough to know that once you’ve decided something, once you’ve put your mind to something, there was very little that could stop you.

If only she knew how deep that sentiment ran.

“I have to, I promised him that I would.” You say, that giddy excitement returning to you once more.

You know that the lab is going to be on your list, you and Gwen are the only ones with high enough clearance for it, you know that at some point in the day, you’ll be face to face with him once again. And that thought thrills you, it has your leg bouncing, your pulse quickening.

Gwen can feel it in your palms, and she lets go of your hands so that you can fiddle with something to keep those busy fingers satisfied.

“Just…just be safe, okay?” She whispers, “You know I’ll cover for you, but I need you to promise me that you’ll be safe.”

Much like Armitage, and even like Boris, or Mr. Henry, you find yourself once again wondering how you got so lucky to have friends so willing to look out for you. You would do the same for any of them in a heartbeat, of course, but something about the knowledge that Gwen would lie to Mrs. Parker, or even Robert – something that could risk her job – made your heart clench.

“I promise.” You whisper.

She looks at you hard, trying to see what thoughts are going on inside your head, before letting the conversation go entirely, picking up her cards once again, determined to beat you at a few more hands before pulling up to the shuttle stop.

------------------

The morning passes uneventfully, as the mornings typically do. Today though, there’s an undeniable pep in your step, a glow about you that the other janitors notice. It’s not that they hadn’t noticed you before, they had of course – but with Gwendoline around, usually she absorbed all the attention. It was flustering to be on the receiving end of it, listening as the boys in the halls got a little too chummy with you, thinking your smiles were for them. Things like:

“Lookin’ good (Y/N)!”

“Where are you off to with a smile that big?”

“Fancy a smoke with me and the boys?”

Are whistled and shot your way, much to your amusement -- funny what a little confidence and a pair of heels could do!

You politely reject everyone’s advances, diligent about getting your work done and doing it well. The sooner you finish everything on your clipboard, the sooner you can get to the lab. It’s on your list, as you knew it would be, but it’s so far down and comes after so many other tasks, that you feel as though Mrs. Parker knew you were eager to return to the tank and the man inside of it.

Thoughts of the man consume you, as you go about your list. Nothing was too strenuous today which you were grateful for, it wouldn’t do to be too exhausted to spend time with him. So, as you empty all the little trashcans and ashtrays, as you clean windows and glass panes in offices, as you take the great dust broom to the floors, you let yourself wonder about him.

What were they doing to him today? Were they going to hurt him again? Would he kill someone again?

The last time you saw him, he was wounded, and that bacta shit had healed him. Would they be wounding him further, or did they have what they needed? You wondered if the scientists in the lab would be so careless as to leave their notes out again. The boys back home would be more than interested in reading further developments, you were sure.

Reminded of the boys, you feel more determined than ever to figure out what’s going on with this man, why he’s there in the first place. Surely he must be Russian, why else would the government be so keen on keeping him as contained as he is? Although, you don’t recall ever seeing a plane like the one that was being dissected in that warehouse, so maybe he wasn’t.

Maybe he wasn’t human at all…the thought pops into your head, and you blink it away.

The stories of alien life in Area 51 were just that – stories. No matter how often you liked to joke about them with Gwen, that’s all that it was, just jokes. Still, that ion engine, the strange shape of the wings, the strange gel that seems to have otherworldly healing properties…it raised so many questions that you simply didn’t have any answers to.

As you sweep the floors, back and forth and back and forth with your big dust broom, you wonder if perhaps you’ll be able to speak to the man. Perhaps he could give you some answers, perhaps you could help him.

You have no idea how you could, but maybe if the two of you worked together, you could figure out a way. One thing was for certain, you felt something for this mystery man. A sense of protection, a bond of some sort. It didn’t have a name, didn’t have much to define it at all – but it was there. Much like the dream, that reoccurring dream, it was indefinite and blurred around the edges, but it was there all the same.

For a brief moment, you wonder what the man dreams about.

You wonder if he dreams at all, in the tank.

------------------

Time passes strangely, in the building. You’re certain that you’ve just gotten there, had just hopped off the shuttle with Gwen – but in the blink of an eye, it’s lunch time. Gwendoline very shyly lets you know that she’s going to be having lunch with Mary, and true to your word the other day, you’re nothing but encouraging.

Besides, it means that you could spend your lunch in the lab, it was the next place on your list anyway, no one could be angry with you for being there, no one could accuse you of being out of place. In the locker room though, you find yourself frozen, standing in front of the little metal locker that you call yours. There’s a compact in your purse, and you pull it out, look at yourself, really look at yourself.

You feel so foolish for all this, especially when you open Gwen’s locker and find one of her tubes of lipstick. She always keeps a couple in her locker for emergencies, something you found silly, but now are eternally grateful for. Picking out a shade that best compliments your skin tone, you apply it carefully. The damn thing is likely going to smudge anyway while you eat your lunch, but at the very least you’ll look put together when you first arrive at the lab.

He better be appreciative of all this, you think to yourself with a nervous chuckle, he better care about all the effort you’re going through. Gwen would tell you that men never care, but she’s not here right now, off playing footsie in the courtyard with Mary.

As you walk the halls down in the bowels of the building, you realize how utterly alone you are in here. Everyone is on lunch, all the scientists, the janitors, the management. Not a single soul is in these halls, the greenish bluish light no competition for the sunshine that waits them near the picnic tables outside. You don’t mind, not one bit, and in fact it thrills you, the thought that you might be with him all alone.

Swiping your keycard through the little number pad, the doors beep and slowly open. Three layers of bulletproof steel slide open, one set horizontally, one set vertically, and one set diagonally. This lab would likely be perfectly impenetrable, in case of an attack, but you recognize that as well designed as it is to keep things out, it is also designed to keep things in.

Things like the man, who finally, after what seems like a lifetime, you will get to see again.

The lab is, much like the rest of this wing of the building, empty.

Once again you are faced with the mechanical nature of it all, the dark grey metal walls and floor, the tables with all sorts of piles stacked high atop them. The lighting is dark, kept dim, even dimmer than the halls outside. You hold your breath as the doors shut behind you, as they lock time and time again, sealing the lab away from the rest of the world.

You park your janitorial cart against the wall, your brown paper bag lunch clutched in your hands, just for something to hold, something to keep your hands occupied so that they don’t shake.

"Hello?" You call out gently, hopefully.

The tank is on the far end of the lab, and you take care to approach it cautiously. There are a million bubbles filling the tank, the bacta gel having been disturbed, and recently. Those bubbles trap the air and make the gel look nearly white with all the foam. You have to get closer, have to approach the glass, straining to see inside it.

“It’s just me, I’ve come back to visit you.” You try again, this time speaking a little louder. Maybe he just couldn’t hear you, through the glass and the gel.

Bracing yourself for him to scare the shit out of you with a startling appearance, you nearly press your nose to the tank. But seconds go by, and there is no activity. A deep deep sense of disappointment and fear spike through your body – if he was not here, where was he? What had they done to him? Where had they taken him? Was he alright -- ?

The immediate string of questions is interrupted by a splashing sound coming from your left, and you whirl around, clutching the brown paper bag to your chest.

He is out of the tank, but he is still here, still in the room with you. For whatever reason, he has been moved from the tank to the pool, and you know this because as you watch with wide eyes, he rises up out of the water, standing up to his full height on his two legs, strong legs, powerful thighs that flex and carry his body towards you.

Remaining perfectly still, you do your best not to gasp. You had thought perhaps, the glass from the tank had distorted his proportions, maybe he wasn’t nearly as big as you had thought. But you’re wrong, he’s even bigger somehow, in the flesh, in front of you. He must be over six feet tall, and twice as wide as the normal man, or at least, twice as wide as any man you had ever seen.

But the most unexpected thing of all, is that he is not wearing the mask.

You have a clear, unobstructed view of his face for the first time, and it takes your breath away. He is utterly, completely, totally handsome. Your imagination could have never come up with the configuration of his features, never in a million years. His nose, so strong and proud looks slightly broken from the front, but when he shakes the water away from his hair and you catch sight of his profile, it is beautifully sloped and triangular. His lips have to be the most full and plush that you’ve ever seen, his ears are large as they poke out from the dark drenched blackness of his hair.

You’re staring, you know you are, but he doesn’t seem deterred. In fact, he’s staring right back at you, looking at you with soulful brown eyes that seem to be sharper than anything you’ve ever seen, eyes that seem to be taking you in with the same level of intensity that you do him.

“Oh!” You realize that he can hear you now, you realize that this is the chance you’ve been hoping for, so you reach out your hand for him to shake, and offer him a friendly, “Hello.”

The man’s eyes track the movement in a way that can only be described as predatory, as an apex creature focusing all their energy on their prey. Strangely though, you don’t feel like prey. Keeping your hand extended, you take slow even breaths, showing him that you mean no harm, showing him that you won’t hurt him.

You’re not like those men, those scientists, you won’t hurt him.

“My name is (Y/N). It’s a pleasure to meet you.” You introduce yourself, speaking as carefully and clearly as you can. “What’s your name? Can you understand me?”

The man simply looks at you, as if in a trance of some kind. You look around, check over your shoulder to make sure, absolutely sure, that no one is around.

Once you’re determined that the coast is clear, and this man continues to take in the sight of you, you move one step forward, closer to the edge of the pool.

“Can you understand me now?” These words come in another language, a switch of your tongue that would have you arrested on site if anyone had heard.

He frowns, confused, and you wonder if this is the first time anyone has tried being polite to him since his capture. You’re about to retract your hand, when suddenly, he lifts his own, his arm tensing as he reaches for you – only to be stopped by long chains that are attached to cuffs on each of his wrists, and to the metal collar he wears around his throat.

The man looks at his bindings, and strains against them with a strangled shout of frustration. His muscles bulge, but it’s to no avail, whatever he has been shackled in, is too strong for him to break through. You have to sit, your legs unable to support you for the moment as you take him all in. Settling on a step near the edge of the pool, you lean in enough for this man to do the same. He too sits, just on the other side of the edge, as close to you as the chains will allow.

Reaching your hand further, further, further still, the man freezes as you place a palm to his cheek. The skin of his scar is smooth, and you find that surprising, as you stroke his face. Eyes closing, the man lets out a shaky shuddering exhale, nuzzling into your palm. He reminds you of a bear trapped in spiked teeth out in the forest, or a lion in the cage of a circus.

“Why do they have you chained and collared like this, why are you here?” The Russian flows freely now, you no longer hold it back the way that you might have in front of anyone else.

Then, suddenly, the strangest noises come out of his mouth. You think that he might be in pain for a minute, but then you realize no, he is speaking to you, impassioned and desperate, his voice is deep, rumbling, coming from the depths of his chest, a baritone that vibrates down inside your bones.

This is the voice that you heard in your dream, you realize. The voice parroting your words back to you, now you know why it had sounded so strange, so off. This man didn’t speak English, and he had only been mimicking the sounds, not knowing what it meant. You’re not sure what this man speaks, and it pains you, it pains you to not share this with him.

“I – I’m sorry I don’t understand.” You have to cut him off, putting your hand over his mouth to interrupt him, to get him to stop. You’re not sure if he even knows what you’re saying, if he can understand but not translate it out of his own mouth, you don’t know. “I’m familiar with ten different languages but yours isn’t one of them, I’m sorry.”

The man looks so sad, devastated, and that at least feels like maybe he can understand you. All at once, you recognize that if he can understand you, there may be hope. Perhaps if you both learn to communicate in a way that doesn’t rely on words, perhaps if you can find a way, you can help him.

That will require some planning, great planning, careful planning.

The man is watching you, he rests his head on the ledge of the pool, his black hair slinking and sliding down the strong muscles of his back. It is as if he is telling you to not be afraid of him, the very same way you were trying to tell him not to be afraid of you.

It strikes you, for a moment, how human he is. Even if by some cosmic improbability he is an alien, he is human. His stomach growls then, loudly, so loudly that it makes you laugh, and you shut yourself up immediately, afraid of scaring him with the noise. He doesn’t go anywhere though, his eyes only widen, making you smile.

The man mimics the motion, smiling back at you, a small laugh of his own.

He has dimples, you think, as you only grow more and more attached to him, and his teeth are so crooked.

“Here, I don’t know what kind of shit they feed you, but you must be hungry.” You rifle through the little brown paper bag that you’ve been holding in a death grip this entire time, pulling out the first thing you see. The clementine fills your palm, you offer it to him cautiously, encouraging, “Go ahead, you can have it, I promise it’s okay.”

The man, wherever he has come from, must not have seen one of these before, because he takes it in his hand and immediately goes to bite through the rind. Your hand flies out and grabs his before he can do so, and despite it all, you laugh again.

He scowls, thinking you’re making fun of him, so you simply shake your head and demonstrate how to peel the hard outer flesh of the fruit away.

“Don’t make fun of me for the way I peel it, I can never get it to come off in one go.” You mutter, wondering wondering wondering if he can understand you.

Watching diligently and carefully, he sits patiently at the edge of the pool, his palm extended, resting near your hands. Piece by piece you peel the clementine, always trying to get it in one spiral but failing, as usual. Eventually, once the floor has been littered with peel and the clementine is bare, you pry the citrus into segments, and place one in his hand.

It looks so small, comically small in the man’s palm, even smaller as he raises the piece to his mouth and pops it in between his teeth, the juice squirting into your face, making you laugh once again. The man’s face lights up immediately, already asking with those strangled sounding words that you cannot understand, a language foreign to even your ears.

“It’s good right?” You hope that that’s what he’s saying, you hope that he likes it. Giving him the whole thing, you watch as he delicately pulls the segments apart. “Bright and sweet. It’s just about the only thing bright in this whole place, hm?”

Instead of eating the entire thing as you would have expected him to do, the man thoughtfully gives you half of the segments. You notice that they are the larger pieces, the ones that must be more flavorful, juicier. He is kind, you decide, kind enough to offer you the better of the halves at the very least.

“Why are you here?” You whisper, knowing he cannot answer. “Why do they torture you so?”

There are no fresh wounds this time, you are glad to see. Nothing healing or inflicted, just the smoothed over scars. You long to touch them, the pink lines that mar his flesh, but he is a person of agency, and you will not disrespect him the way that these scientists do.

So instead, you offer your hand out to him once more, and after careful consideration, the man presses his cheek against your palm. Your thumb rubs soothing circles against the little beauty marks and freckles that pepper his skin, and you sigh.

“I’m going to figure out a way for us to communicate. I don’t know how, but I will.” You tell him, tell yourself, “You won’t be alone, I’ll help you, I just need to figure out how.”

Out in the hall beyond the sealed off lab, a bell chimes, signaling that lunch is over. Regret and disappointment rise up in your throat like acid, you don’t want to leave him, you don’t want to go away from him. He has been in your dreams, all this time, it has been him, of this you’re now sure. But you have a job, you have a responsibility, and you cannot lose it now.

Pulling away, he makes a noise of protest, and this is a noise you can understand.

“I have to clean. You can watch me, if you’d like, but I can’t just sit here all day, or else they’ll be very angry with me.” You explain to him, willing him to understand, “And if they’re angry, then I can’t visit again.”

The man sighs, chews on the segmented clementine.

With that, you move to the other side of the lab where you’ve parked your cart. The only thing on the list is to mop the floors, and you find that you hate that, you wish there were more, wish that you could have more time. You never thought you’d think this, but you hate how efficient you’ve become, how they’ve entrusted you with the jobs they know you are quick at. It is a double edged sword, because if you weren’t good at it, then maybe they wouldn’t have assigned this lab to you in the first place.

Dunking your mop in the solution that you make yourself – vinegar and baking soda, and a little dish soap – you begin to work, the thing you’re actually there for. It is very obvious that he’s watching you, from his spot in the pool. He walks back and forth, almost stalking you, his hulking frame tethered to you by an invisible string. When you go to the right, so does he. When you double back to the left, he goes as well. You smile, hoping that he finds the incredible mundanity of it all not so mundane.

“You’re very handsome. I’m only saying this because I know you’ve got no idea what it is that I’m saying, otherwise I’d be dying of embarrassment. But you’re handsome.” You admit when your back is turned to him, swishing the mop this way and that, picking up the little stains and debris that have stuck to the floor in the time since it was last mopped. “I was wondering what your face looked like, without the mask.”

You continue to mop, and he continues to watch you.

In a strange sense, it is almost like a dance. The sound of the water splashing as he moves back and forth, as he creates little waves and currents, acts as a rhythm, a steady beat to which you mop. His breathing is calm, and he seems to be in a relaxed mood. Maybe he has been hypnotized by the repetitive motions that you make, or maybe, a hopeful part of you thinks, maybe he feels completely at ease with you.

The thought sours in the back of your throat, because you know that once you have finished this, you will have to leave.

You prolong it, you try your best, you really do. But eventually there comes a point in which you cannot procrastinate any longer, you cannot draw it out. The floor is mopped, your clipboard is checked.

Carefully, walking over the freshly mopped tiles slowly and deliberately so that you don’t slip, you sit on the edge of the pool once again, something painful like sorrow making your head hurt.

“I’m done.” You whisper, “I have to go now.”

He’s alarmed by this, the man. He seizes forward, rushes to reach for you with wide panicked eyes, but the chains around his neck yank him back, and he stumbles for a moment, nearly loses his footing in the water. You could cry, with the desperation in the words that he speaks, with the way he reaches for you with bound hands.

You lean as far into the pool as you can, your arms wrapping around him, nearly toppling over into the water with how far forward you are. You don’t care, so what if you should fall? You cannot bear to see him so sad, and so you pull him into an embrace. He holds you tightly, hands curling in your hair, breathing in your smell.

“I know, I know I’m sorry – I don’t want to leave you. But I’ve got more work to do.” Your voice wobbles, hating this, hating how he’s chained, hating how he’s going to be all alone, how he’s going to be tortured and harmed in your absence. You hate it, and he doesn’t want to let you go, you can tell by how strong of a grip he has on you as he talks and talks and talks in a language you don’t know.

There is nothing you can do today though, to help him. For the first time in your life, you feel overwhelmingly insignificant, in the way that you can’t do anything to help him.

“I’ll come back tomorrow, even if it’s not on the list, okay? I’ll come back, I promise.” Your hands cup his cheeks, looking at one another, your eyes boring into his. “I’ll always come back.”

You let go of him now though, and you turn your back to him, mopping up your steps so that the footprints do not give you away.

Swiping your keycard through the number pad once more, the doors open for you, and you do your best not to cry when you hear his pained shout muffled behind the steel.

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