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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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borisyvain · 23 days

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image in the middle my art, all others except for that of the belfast 14th july celebrations from pinterest

WIP Reintro: Red and Riotous Light

Status: seven morbillionth draft

Genre: historical fiction, gothic horror

Content warnings: gore, death, cannibalism, place & time typical bigotry, &c

The year is 1796 and the island of Ireland, once considered peaceable, is awash with sedition. In Belfast, the arrival of a mysterious Englishwoman whose defection to the French makes her a target of both curiosity and suspicion brings with her tidings of a prospective deal between a local United Irish cell and the French government: guns, and ammunition, sold at a premium price, delivered by a French ship. The only problem? The ship is arriving at the opposite side of the country, and these would-be insurgents need it where they are -- and the French said nothing about transport. Additionally, the committee seems to have had a suspicious number of brushes with authority lately. More than they used to. Hopefully someone isn't getting cold feet...

Meanwhile, in the isolated townland of Áth Síomóin, the arrival of a hapless new schoolmaster sparks the powder-keg the two sides of the area's sectarian divide have long been sitting on and leads, inadvertently, to the death of a Catholic of some consequence -- and, crucially, does not lead to the punishment of his killer. The resulting crackdown on Defender activity, facilitated by the arrival of another English visitor, is to be expected at first. However, as the situation deteriorates, it becomes clear that local agrarian resistance leaders have neither intent nor indeed means to capitulate, and all sides begin to adopt increasingly extreme measures in an attempt to win the seemingly endless feud. And there's also something off about some of the local children -- hearing voices, saying funny things. It can't be good for them, after all. All this bloodshed.

Ask to be +/- from the taglist + main characters under the cut

William Hughes Rearden - an extremely driven and neurotic member of the Belfast United Irishmen hellbent on getting French arms for his men. he/him

Lady Maria Whittaker - an English reformer who defected to the French; Rearden's close friend. Her mission is to arm the UI and she doesn't care what she has to do to accomplish it. she/her; first name pronounced "mariah"

Seamus "Seamy" Breen - a small, unhappy Irish Catholic boy who, after he witnesses the death of a schoolmate, develops the ability to speak to the dead. he/him; nickname pronounced "shaymie"

Eoin O'Donnell - a womanising Defender leader in Áth Síomóin who has decided that he will also be taking and using some of these French arms, actually. he/him; first name pronounced "owen"

Sarah Connolly - a nihilistic Catholic peasant woman trapped in an unhappy relationship with an abusive boyfriend, who knows much more than she lets on. she/her

Edward "Lazarus" McClure - the loyalist owner of a rural inn who has lately betrayed his principles for a Catholic boyfriend who he seems disturbingly devoted to. he/him

Elizabeth "Eliza" Durham - the heiress to the fortune of an Anglo-Irish landowning family who runs her family's estate like it's the navy and suffers little dissent. she/her

Anthony Franklin - an actor, committed abolitionist, philosophy enthusiast, and London Corresponding Society delegate originally from the West Indies. he/him

Charles Nathaniel Maurice Irving-Hamilton, Lord Drenning - a foppish English soldier brought over by Eliza to help quell agrarian disturbances. Really really bad at his job. he/him

Eleanor "Ellie" Gage - a waif of uncertain background who lives with the Presbyterian minister in a neighbouring townland and works unofficially for the local regiment. she/her

#my wip reintro ☝️#wip: rrl #wip intro #writeblr #jory.txt

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klbwriting · 2 months

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Broken Prism

Chapter 24

Fandom: Red Hood

Pairing: Jason Todd x f!reader

Warnings: descriptions of mutilation, slight torture, body horror

Summary: the Batfamily interrogates their prisoner and he leads them to a horrifying sight and you are done with everything, including Jason

Dick and Bruce strung the Professor Pyg knock off in a corner room off the garage on a chain, facing the wall so he couldn’t identify where he was at. They were going to take him to the GCPD but wanted to ask their own questions first, so they used the chain from the ceiling and secured his hands, searching him using a kind of x-ray gun based on Superman’s powers. He had a tracking device installed in his bicep, so Tim shorted it out using a less than kind electric shock. The man didn’t react. They tried to pull off the mask, but it didn’t move, it was sewn into his skin. Jason couldn’t lie, that was smart but gross. The bag Pyg had been carrying sat on a lab table near by being investigated by Dick and YN. The hearts of those at the bar were inside.

“Are you part of the group that has been committing the murders around the city aimed at Red Hood?” Batman asked. The man nodded. “Tell us everything you know, or this experience will be less pleasant than it already is.” There came a laugh from under the mask.

“I do not care about unpleasantness Bruce Wayne,” he said. The air seemed to go out of the room. Even though everyone was aware that this group knew who they were to hear one speak the name of Batman out loud was still a shock. It still made them freeze and look around, wondering who had let the secret out, whose fault it was that they were now targets, not their alter egos. “You may all remove your masks; we know all of you.”

“And who is we?” Batman asked, keeping his cowl in place. Pyg let out another laugh. This whole situation was apparently hilarious to the creature. Batman balled his fist and threw it, hitting him in the face. The mask sustained more damage, a tear showing just a hint of pallid skin beneath it. Other that a sharp exhale at the impact of the punch there was no other indication something happened. No grunt of pain, no increase of heartrate on Tim’s monitors, nothing. It was like he didn’t feel it.

“We are those who want to see how far we can push the Hood, we knew he was from the Wayne family, but we were very surprised to see that he was the long thought dead Jason Todd. What kind of man comes back from the dead? What does that do to the mind? The Doctor is very interested in what will make him break, especially now that his quest for the blood of his killer is complete. What else matters now? The children he wants to spare? The old friends he used to have before death? The new brother from after his return? Perhaps his new fiancé? Will see be the final piece to destroy him? The doctor is not so sure. He wants to talk to the Red Hood, really understand how he ticks,” the voice behind the mask said. Batman frowned.

“Where is this doctor? I’ll pay him a visit,” Jason said, getting tired of this guy’s attitude. He hated this dramatic monologue bullshit. The Pyg looked at him. “He wants to chat tell me where he is.”

“O you will not find him, he will find you when he wants. You cannot even enter his office only we few have the privilege. And he is always watching,” he said. Jason nodded and aimed a gun at the Pyg’s head.

“Always watching? Think whatever camera he’s watching from will work with a bullet in there?” he asked, snarling. Batman shot him a look.

“Red Hood, we’re not done with him,” he said. Jason snarled but put the gun away, turning to pace. He was starting to feel caged, the pit rage burning through his veins, dying to be released. He could feel himself starting to lose control. His eyes found YN like they always did in these situations, and she looked back at him. He watched her, seeing her slow her breathing, his matching it. He was burning still but it had dulled just a little at the sight of her face. It was enough for him to keep control of himself for now.

“He does have a transmitter in the mask, but if I short it out the shock will kill him,” Tim said, still looking at his tablet. Jason shrugged.

“Seems like a win-win to me,” he grumbled. Batman once again gave him a disapproving look, but Jason didn’t care. He was too angry to worry about Bruce’s moral code at the moment. When he got his hands on these guys they were dead, all of them.

“All this time this is taking, such a waste,” Pyg said. “I already decided to dieeeeeee,” he sang out, now swinging on the chain that held him up. “It’s slow and it’s burning me from the inside out, but it’s giving us time.”

“Time for what?” Dick asked, looking up from cataloging the heart evidence.

“The Wayne family isn’t the only family involved. There is also YN and her little family, the one she left alone and so very vulnerable. Do you think they need you now? Those you called your sisters?” Pyg asked. YN’s face paled. There was a laugh from behind the mask that started to sound like gurgling, then the Pyg fell silent.

“He’s dead,” Tim said. He started trying to track a feed location from the camera and dug the tracker out his bicep. “I’m going to fix this, see if I can get the last location from this too.”

“I need to go see if Jocelyn and Aura are alright,” YN said, face pale. She ran out of the room, getting into the McLaren and leaving before even Jason could catch up. He hopped on his bike and followed.

You ran up the stairs, the elevator seeming too slow. You approached the door and your breath hitched, seeing the door cracked just a little. It opened to a horror scene and everything in your world seemed to stop. There was a buzzing in your ear, your eyes couldn’t focus. Blood was everywhere. Jocelyn lay on the couch, reclined like she was watching TV, hand even holding the remote. Only the skin of her face was missing, her chest ripped open, a gaping hole where her heart should have been. Aura was at the table, bowl in front of her, both hearts in it. Her face was also missing. You smelled something burning but couldn’t get your mind to think process anything beyond the sight of your best friends, dead and posed like dolls in some sick playhouse. You weren’t sure when you fell to your knees, you didn’t feel the pain of them hitting linoleum. You didn’t even know when Jason got there, his arms suddenly around you as he tried to pull you back out the door. You let out a cry as he yanked you out, gripping you close as everything finally slammed into you. The buzzing had been the beeping of the smoke alarm from the burning faces on the stove. The smell the melting flesh of your friends’ identities stolen from them. The floor had a message in their blood.

We will take everything from you Red Hood

You looked at yourself, seeing blood on your clothes from you kneeling in it. You let out a cry of horror. You didn’t care when the blood on you was from yourself, but this was your best friends, your sisters. Jason hugged you again, whispering anything in your ear to try and calm you. After several minutes you finally were able to gain some control of yourself, just in time for the GCPD to arrive.

“YN,” Jim said softly, looking at you as his investigators entered the apartment. You stared at him, still not sure if everything that was happening was real or not. “YN, let’s go downstairs.” You nodded slowly and followed him, your brain moving quickly as you started to think of a plan that Jason would hate but considering they wanted to break him it might be the only way to find these monsters.

Jason had been quiet driving you back to the cave. He had said he would get his bike later, now he just wanted you safe. You stared straight ahead, mind empty of everything but the sight of Jocelyn and Aura, mutilated and humiliated in their deaths in a way that would never leave you. You could never imagine closing your eyes again without seeing that destruction. You wondered when you would stop smelling their blood mixed with the burning flesh on the stove. You needed a shower, but there would be time for that later. You needed to end this.

Dick was there to help you out of the car when you were back in the garage. You heard Jason get out and he took of his helmet. You rounded on him, fury in your eyes.

“THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!” you screamed, eyes blazing. Jason stood, shocked, staring at you, first confused, then hurt. “They were innocent, and you let them…they tortured them Jason all because you had to go after Joker!” You walked over, fist balling, until you were close enough to throw it at his face. He reeled from the unexpected impact.

“YN…I didn’t mean for this to happen…” he said, trying to scramble, think of anything to make you stop. You knew this would kill him, but you needed to do this.

“You didn’t mean for it to happen? Or course not Jason, you never do anything, everything just happens to you. You don’t mean for me to get kidnapped by Black Mask and drown, you just stupidly showed up at my door, leading them to me! And Poison Ivy? If you had just, I don’t know, pulled a fire alarm when you got to the lounge instead of having to find me like an idiot, more people would have lived! You are the reason these things happen, and I was so stupid to think that I could help you, that maybe if I sat by long enough and let you see the messes you made you would finally realize that everything was better without you. I’d rather never see a single color again than have you in my life,” you said, taking off the ring and throwing it at him. He caught it and stared after you as you ran over to Tim, hugging him, hammering the last painful nail into the coffin. Let Jason see that he was being replaced again. Tim kept his arm around you and walked away, dropping the Pyg mask he had been carrying that had just watched everything unfold. Watched as you imploded Jason’s world and your own.

#jasontodd #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #red hood #redhood #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood x y/n #brokenprism

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a-halo-for-you · 5 months

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Grishaverse Tribute

I'm pissed. I'm vengeful. I'm going to march on Netflix.

The cancellation is uncalled for, now all we will see in return for the snubbing of one of the best series on Netflix, with one of the best fandoms, cast and creators another stupid documentary glorifying a serial killer, another shitty teen show with no plot but plenty of sex (because sexualizing children will be something they always get away with), and another over-marketed pointless action film with some former boxer or wrestler leading it who can't really act more than one type of nice-buff guy.

In my mournful and restless vengeful spirit, I have come up with another playlist dedicated to the Grishaverse, the fans, the cast and Leigh Bardugo. This breaks their hearts so much because we know how excited and passionate they were about telling this story, and to think now so many won't be able to go on and live their beloved characters through to the end. I can't stand it.

"None of this had been fated; none of it foretold. There had been no prophecies of a demon king or a dragon queen, a one-eyed Tailor, Heartrender twins. They were just the people who had shown up and managed to survive. But maybe that was the trick of it: to survive, to dare to stay alive, to forge your own hope when all hope had run out. For the survivors then, Zoya whispered to herself as the people before her knelt and chanted her name. And for the lost." - Leigh Bardugo, Rule of Wolves

I got to dream through them, Shadow and Bone saved my Covid years, when I was alone in a dorm learning online, unable to be with anyone else, with no friends and no family. I had little to no confidence and was stuck in a place that scared me. But then I had Shadow and Bone, I had these amazing characters and when I dove into the books, I found so much more. (A found family is my favourite literary trope for a reason.)

“Kaz leaned back. "What's the easiest way to steal a man's wallet?" "Knife to the throat?" asked Inej. "Gun to the back?" said Jesper. "Poison in his cup?" suggested Nina. "You're all horrible," said Matthias." - Leigh Barugo, Six of Crows

This is a playlist for all of us who are mourning and for all of us willing to fight on. I've seen petitions already posted on change.org, lets sign them all, share them all and try our best to change this while we can. Warrior Nun got their season 3. Who says we can't? Who says we shouldn't? Brick by Brick we will build our season 3, or we'll go down trying.

“Have any of you wondered what I did with all the cash Pekka Rollins gave us?" "Guns?" asked Jesper. "Ships?" queried Inej. "Bombs?" suggested Wylan. "Political bribes?" offered Nina. They all looked at Matthias. "This is where you tell us how awful we are," she whispered.” - Leigh Bardugo, Crooked Kingdom

Pardon the ecclectic taste of this long playlist, but there are so many types of song that I feel fit the plot, the charcaters and themes as well as their relationships to each other. This has sparked inspiration in me to create more playlists catering to the Grishaverse and I'll do that alongside my usual playlist posts.

I would also like to say that this playlist isn't just mine, it's for everyone and I would love for any fans of the show or books to let me know if they have any songs that they love to be added to the playlist and I will do so.

There are over 60 songs on this playlist, so I'm not going to write them all here for obvious reasons, I hope none of you mind that.

For our founding mother Leigh Bardugo. For the Six of Crows; Kaz Brekker, Inej Ghafa, Jesper Fahey, Wylan Van Eck, Nina Zenik, Matthias Helvar. For our S+B crew; Alina Starkov, Malyen Oretsev, The Darkling, Baghra Morotzova, Nikolai Lantsov, Zoya Nazyalensky, Genya Safin, David Kostyk, Tolya Yul-Bataar, Tamar Kir- Bataar, Nadia and Adrik Zhabin.

Let the revival of Season 3 be our final grand mission.

Lets stream the show, post more art, more fanfics, more posts, more petitions. Let's fight for what we can.

No Mourners, No Funerals.

'Yuyey sesh'

'Ni weh sesh'

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morbidology · 2 months

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Keith Dardeen and his wife, Elaine, lived in a mobile home just outside Ina, Illinois, with their 2-year-old son, Peter. At the time, Elaine was also pregnant with their second child, a daughter. Keith worked as a treatment plant operator while Elaine worked in an office supply store. In their free time, they played in the musical ensemble at a local Baptist church.

The area the young family lived in had been becoming increasingly violent and the couple wanted to move somewhere safer for their children. Keith was very protective of his family and only wanted what was best for them. On one occasion, he refused entry to the home to a young woman who asked to use their phone.

On the 18th of November, 1987, Keith didn’t show up to work for his shift nor had he called in sick, something which was very out of character for the reliable worker. When Keith's supervisor called his home, there was no answer. He decided to call up Keith's parents, but they too were unable to get a hold of him.

Keith's parents called police and arranged to meet them at Keith's home with the spare key. They slowly opened up the front door and were met by a scene that traumatized even the most seasoned detectives. Elaine, Peter and a newborn baby girl lay deceased on one of the beds. Elaine and Peter had been bound and gagged and then beaten to death with Peter's own baseball bat which had been a gift from his father. During the senseless attack, Elaine had given birth to a baby girl, but instead of giving her mercy, the killer beat her to death too.

Keith was nowhere to be seen, and detectives surmised that he had killed his family and then fled. They noticed that his car was missing from the driveway, only adding more to to heir suspicions. However, the following day, Keith’s body was discovered in a field approximately a mile from the trailer. Keith had been shot three times and his penis had been chopped off.

His car would later be found parked outside the local police station. The inside was spattered with blood, indicating that Keith had been killed or mutilated there. As news of the murders circulated around the area, residents were left even more fearful than they already had been. There was a rise in gun and security system sales as people sought to protect themselves.

Detectives were stumped to find a motivation. Nothing in the home had been stolen, and there were no extramarital affairs or enemies that could hint at a revenge motivated killing. The murders were so brutal that some detectives even theorized that the crime was the was work of a cult trying to appease the devil.

The most promising lead came when serial killer Tommy Lynn Sells claimed he had carried out the killings along with around 70 other unsolved murders. While he was linked to a number of these murders, detectives could never definitively link him to the Dardeen murders. He often gave statements which didn’t match with the evidence.

Sells claimed he met Keith at a gas station and was invited back to the home for a threesome with himself and Elaine, something which his family and friends completely refuted. They said that Keith was a family man, and rarely even opened the door to strangers never mind invite them inside.

To this date, nobody has ever been charged with the murders of the Dardeen family.

#true crime #unsolved #cold case #mystery

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cascodeddeangirlie · 5 months

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No because what if Destiel was canon when Cas met Cain in that graveyard…

I used the actual script so 99% of the dialogue is not original! Also sorry if the formatting is weird, it’s my first time posting and I’m on mobile.

“It's Cas.” Dean put his phone on speaker. He hadn’t heard Cas’s voice for a good while, but as much as he’d like to keep it for himself, they were looking for Cain. He couldn’t afford to be selfish right now. “Hey, where you at?”

“Illinois.” It was good to hear his voice again. Especially after he hadn’t been picking up his calls earlier.

“Hey, Cas, we got a lead. Cain abducted a Texas death row inmate named Tommy Tolliver.” Sam said, sounding like he barely believed what he was saying. It sounded a little ridiculous, but that was normal for them. This seemed normal. Almost like they were working a case again.

But Sam and Dean weren’t with Cas. They couldn’t see him crouching in the woods, holding a white sneaker that had ‘TDJC’ written on the bottom. When Cas spoke again, it’s nothing close to what they wanted to hear. “He's dead.”

“What? How do you know?” Sam asked, staring at the phone. Dean was worried now, his concern clear on his face.

“Call it an educated guess. Cain has been very busy.” Castiel stood, looking around. The woods where he had been were never really woods at all, just woods surrounding a clearing. A clearing full of freshly dug graves.

Dean’s fear was clear through his voice. “Okay, where are you? We'll come to you.”

Cas felt someone watching him through the trees. He looked around, unsure where it was coming from. “I'll call you back.”

Dean sighed, exasperated, and put his phone in his pocket. With Cas leaving as unexpectedly as usual, he must be okay.

Meanwhile, Cas turned around to find Cain staring at him.

“Hello, Castiel.” Cain seemed unfazed, despite being surrounded by death that he caused. Perhaps it’s natural for the father of murder.

“What have you done?” The angel is appalled, angry.

“These bodies? Just cleaning up a mess I made a long time ago.” He still sounded relaxed. Maybe there was a tinge of regret in his voice, but it was too faint to tell.

“Cain, I know what you were. But you'd resisted for so long.” He was desperate and it showed. He wanted Cain to say something to redeem this, to say he would stop, that he could stop.

“What can I say? I got the taste back.” Cain isn’t moved at all by Cas’s attempt at reconciling him. “With Abaddon's army gunning for me, I had to take up arms again, and I liked how it felt.” As he spoke, he walked closer to Castiel.

“Those were demons. These-” Cas looked around once again. The graves were appalling. The deaths were an abomination. It never should have happened.

Cain crouched down and lifted up a teddy bear. It was muddy and torn apart, and Castiel just knew that it was a small child’s favorite toy. A now deceased child.

“Humans.” Cain breathed out, staring at the bear. “Eh, the Mark thirsts for all kinds.” He lowers the bear and looks away from it.

“This is a massacre.” Castiel’s voice was filled with anger. So many dead. Children, fathers, mothers, siblings, entire families destroyed because they happened to be descended from a killer.

“Yes.” Cain looks up at Cas. He sounds almost dreamy. “And soon it'll be a genocide.” He stood, tossing the bear aside. “My children, my whole poisoned issue. A lot of them out there right now... killers, fighters, thieves, some more peaceful than others. But they still carry it... the disease. If the Mark wants blood, I'll give it mine.” He walked closer, stepping between graves. He seemed peaceful, as though he were simply accepting this as something that had to happen, that he needed to do.

“You'll kill them all? You are Adam and Eve's firstborn. Your descendants are legion.” Cas walks closer to Cain.

“At most, I'm culling... 1 in 10.” Cain said this in a way that attempted to justify what he was doing. To say that maybe it was acceptable.

He earned himself a glare from Cas. “Of everyone.”

“I’ve got time.” Cas’s glare hardened. Cain continued like he couldn’t see it. “How's Dean, by the way? I hear he did good, took Abaddon down.”

Cas looked away, losing his glare. Cain’s expression finally dropped a little.

“He's…not well.” Cain said, realizing. He knew. Cain knew that look. It’s the look his Colette wore. It’s the look of someone slowly losing their lover.

Castiel’s gaze flickered back up to Cain. “Even with the First Blade hidden, Dean is losing his fight against the Mark. If we don't find a cure…He’ll start and never stop.” His eyes wander around the graveyard again. Knowing that one day, he could be standing in another graveyard, but next time it will not be created by someone evil, not by an entity that they are stopping, but Dean. His Dean. His charge, his human, his love. The one he risked everything for. The one he rescued from Hell and reconstructed, saw every single part of his being and soul, and fell for. There was no one else like him and there never will be. Castiel already knew that one day he could lose Dean, maybe in a hunting accident, maybe to old age, something mortal, but not like this. Watching him lose himself was worse. Watching everything that made him fall in love fade was worse. Watching the soul that he sewed back together tear itself apart was so, so much worse. This, the mark, is the worst thing that could have ever happened. “He just needs to stop. I need him to stop.”

Cain saw it. He saw that he had created another one of himself, that he was destroying someone else in love the way he had destroyed Colette. Those eyes, full of fear, sadness, anger, are the same ones he saw when he looked at her. He had destroyed her from the inside out, and now he was making Dean do the same to his angel.

But it was too late.

“There is no cure. I'm living proof of that. But don't worry about Dean. I'll get to him. In due time.” Cain couldn’t apologize, not now. He knew this would happen. He had tried to warn Dean of the consequences. The final thing he knew, the most concrete thing to him, was that there was nothing he could say or do at this point to save this angel from his Colette’s fate, his new fate.

Castiel’s moment of vulnerability with this murderer passed. His angel blade dropped from his sleeve into his hand.

“Sorry Castiel.” Cain’s gaze softened, if only for a second. He had so much more in that apology than Castiel might have realized. “I’m sorry that you have to lose him like this. I’m sorry that I’m going to kill him. I’m sorry that the Mark is taking him apart. I’m sorry…I’m sorry, Colette.”

“You’re not on my list.” Cain said, then disappeared. Castiel was alone. And as he looked around the graveyard, he knew. He knew this could be his future, that Dean could end up leaving him the same way Cain just did, cold and uncaring and only focused on killing.

And he knew he would never be able to stop him.

Thanks for reading :3 apologies if it was ooc at all

#superntural #supernatural #destiel #castiel #dean winchester #deancas #mark of cain #cain spn #supernatural castiel #sam winchester #angst #supernatural angst #destiel angst

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princeescaluswords · 3 months

Note

Random question, Prince but do you think Victoria or Gerard had military backgrounds? Maybe serving themselves or had parents that served?

I want to preface this answer with a caveat: this might be the most speculative meta I've ever written. While I'm going to try to draw as much evidence as I can from canon, I don't think it would be out-of-the question for people to disregard it on its surface merits.

So, here goes. I don't think that the Argents would join the military and they would strongly discourage their children from joining the military. I'm sure that during the time of the draft there might have been some Argents serving, but it would be under duress. If you accept the same head canon that I do, that Victoria was also from a hunting family, she would not be either. I think the reasons would be historical, practical, and philosophical.

Historical: Of all the characters in the Teen Wolf series, Marie-Jeanne Argent née Valet had the most emotionally true (if not entirely rational) reaction to the discovery that her beloved relative turned out to be one of the most prolific serial killers in that world let alone a terrifying demonic werewolf. As we see in The Maid of Gévaudan (5x18), she reacted with outright condemnation, hunting him down over three years and destroying all trace of him with a damnatio memoriae, which in reality meant destroying her own past, too. We can assume that the Argent Code was written by her, including the part where any hunter who was Bit by a werewolf had to kill themselves. This is extreme behavior (even if valid) and it is echoed in the revulsion non-corrupted Argents like Chris and Allison had when discovering Kate's and Gerard's crimes. It was certainly less permissive than the Hale family's tendency to react to deaths caused by their family which ranged from outright condoning ("But still beautiful, just like the rest of you") to dismissive (after all, how many people did kooky Uncle Petey kill, including the guy he shoved alive into a burning barrel, and still have the keys to the family home?).

Considering that Sebastian became a demon wolf while he was serving in the French king's war with England across an entire ocean in their respective colonies, I don't think it's a stretch for Marie-Jeanne in establishing her code to steer her descendants away from military service. It might even have been a requirement.

Practical: While both the military and hunters use weapons, military service wouldn't seem to bear much resemblance to hunter training. It appears to me to be much closer to espionage or criminal work. Hunting werewolves requires training in specific weapons (bows, tasers, and poisons), technology (hypersonic emitters), and techniques (torture, infiltration, intimidation, and cleaning up evidence). In addition, the soldiers of the Argent family exhibit a level of discernment when it comes to tactics and targets that the military simply would not tolerate. Chris points as much out to Kate in Code Breaker (1x12):

Chris: No one asked you to murder innocent people. There were children in that house, ones who were human. Look what you're doing now. You're holding a gun on a 16-year-old boy with no proof he spilled human blood.

Later on in Relics (6x04), Chris explains that he should have intervened when he saw how Gerard was training Kate. That implies to me that while Argent soldiers are supposed to follow the lead of the matriarch, they're also expected to do more than just follow orders. While civilization demands we hold individual military soldiers to answer for their conduct, I can tell you from personal experience that military training does not have a goal to instill a sense of individual agency.

Philosophical: In my encounters with real-life military people, it is my experience that they see themselves and the military as a whole as an immanent part of society itself. They enable civilization to exist; they uphold society's laws and mores as one of its pillars. I am sure that many people on this site would disagree with that assessment, but I'm talking about the perception within military culture itself. The military focus on being a vital part of their country, and when they err it is when they come to believe that they are the most important part and thus have a greater right to say how a country and a civilization will behave.

One of the things I've noticed about the Argents and the other hunting family feature, the Calaveras, is that they don't consider themselves part of the greater society. They see themselves as protecting it from monsters that the average person cannot comprehend, and while they certainly do infiltrate law enforcement and emergency services, they don't seek permanent authority over the mundane social institutions. This is one of the significant departures that marked Monroe as different from previous organized hunters, and one that made her more dangerous. Victoria, Araya, Chris and Allison (and when they weren't being selfishly corrupt, even Gerard and Kate) saw themselves as operating outside of it all as a necessity. They work with criminals like the yakuza; they hire mercenaries; and they understand that they will never be fully accepted.

Chris: We're gonna be pariahs in this town. Victoria: We can handle it.

Monroe, on the other hand, organized hunters to protect society, but she wanted to change society as well. She accused the werewolves not only of being monsters by virtue of their natures and by their acts, but by the power that privileged them ("No one should have this power"), and she accused people like Sheriff Stilinski of abetting that unfair advantage. (I will never forgive Teen Wolf for giving up on exploring that difference half-way through 6B.) Since Gerard was only interested in using Monroe, he didn't train to see herself the way he and his family saw themselves: protectors working from the outside.

All these things lead me to believe that the Argents wouldn't have military training, not even corrupt ones like Gerard or Victoria.

#victoria argent #gerard argent #chris argent #argents #araya calavera #calaveras #teen wolf meta

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lilyevanstan1325 · 4 months

Text

❤️ Built For This World ❤️

Chapter 3

I look around trying not to lose my mind.

Behind me I can hear the quiet patter of a horse, its low whinnies are the only thing keeping me company.

They won't kill me.

Right?

Oh shit.

Ok ok, I have to stay calm, I can't lose my mind right now.

Breathe Summer, breathe.

Despite the darkness, interrupted by only a few rays of moonlight passing through the old wooden planks of the ceiling, if I concentrated I could try to understand how the hell to escape from this place.

Would it be such a bad idea after all?

I almost miss the woods full of biters.

I sigh shaking my head.

Bullshit.

I'm just panicking and this isn't going to help.

I'm safe now.

I'll be fine here and Daryl won't let anything happen to me.

Daryl.

Another big sigh leaves my lips.

I'll be honest, when he puts a gun to my head I felt betrayed.

It was an unexpected gesture but after the initial shock I think I can understand his motivations.

He doesn't know who I am and the people he cares about live here.

From what I understand and from what little I was able to see there are women here and perhaps even children.

It is more than normal to want to protect them from the new intruder, even if the new intruder is a girl on the edge of death.

A pang runs through my shoulders.

Damn Shane.

That's the name of the man with the crazy look who tied me up as if I were a serial killer.

Without even realizing it, I relive in my mind the meeting with these people on the top of the hill.

As soon as the three men reached us, the one with the shaved head was the first to start yelling at Daryl.

"Are you crazy?What the hell is going through your head?And who the hell is this kid?” he shouted, looking down at me and waving the gun in my direction.

I found myself staring into two black pools full of hate and…madness?

For the first time since I set foot out of that damned woods full of biters, I was truly scared.

I felt a drop of cold sweat run down my spine and with eyes wide open and full of panic I did the only thing I thought was safe at that moment.

I turned my head in the direction of the archer, looking for help, finding his blue eyes already fixed on me.

I know it was an irrational thought.

Asking for help from the man who points a gun at your head is certainly not a smart move but at that moment my every action was the result of my instinct.

I remember moving a little more towards him, sliding my knees on the hard ground scratching my knees, bringing me closer to the archer's legs.

The tip of my left shoulder grazed his knee.

Without hesitation Daryl moved from my side and positioned himself in front of me, interposing himself between me and that dickhead who, waiting for an answer, was looking at me as if he was ready to rip my heart out of my chest.

With bare hands.

Everything about him screamed danger.

There is definitely something wrong with him.

At that moment, however, I couldn't do anything other than look at Daryl.

From my perspective I could only see his boots but better than the eyes of that raging madman.

Now he was my only chance of salvation.

Daryl for his part seemed calm.

Relaxed.

Even too much.

Looking up I saw him take a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his jeans and very calmly, as if at that moment we didn't have the end of the world on our heels ready to bite us in the ass, he took a cigarette, lit it and took a long, deep drag.

Spirals of white smoke dispersed freely into the sky.

For a moment he turned his head, glancing over his shoulder, right at my figure kneeling on the ground.

“I found her in the woods.I couldn't leave her"

A clear sentence.

Short and concise.

But also a big lie.

He could have left me to die, he didn't have to take me with him and jeopardize the safety of their safe place.

Another spiral of smoke rose above his head.

From my position I could hear the crackle of tobacco consumed by the flame.

Daryl's attention was totally focused on the man in uniform.

Another useful detail for me.

He's the leader here, I thought.

I remember observing his figure, half hidden by the man in front of me, for endless minutes.

I could hear the gears turning at lightning speed in his head as he pondered what to do with me.

After another deep exchange of glances between Daryl and the cop, the latter moved to the side, kneeling in front of me and bringing his eyes up to mine, studying me for a few more seconds, as if I were a fucking animal in the zoo.

I had some difficulty keeping myself from snorting and rolling my eyes.

All that was left was for him to throw peanuts at me.

The cop ran his hand over his face, rubbing his tired and exhausted features and then finally I heard his voice for the first time.

“I'm Rick Grimes.Who are you?"

“I'm Summer Davis” I stammered uncertainly, using my mother's last name as information.

I had already abandoned my father's surname a long time ago, no longer using it helped me overcome his betrayal.

I saw him nod just once as if he was satisfied with my answer.

"You are alone?Do you have people looking for you?”

Now to anyone this might seem like a simple question.

But not for me.

Not for me.

Was I alone?Yes.

Was someone looking for me? Probably.

Would I have told him?Hell no.

Looking at the men in front of me I knew immediately that I didn't care what they did with me in the end.

The only thing that mattered was that I would never allow their path to intertwine with that of him and his men.

After all, they seemed really good people.

Except for crazy eyes, he's definitely a disturbed son of a bitch.

So I did the thing that came most naturally to me.

Lie.

After all, I had been lying to him for months now.

I also became quite good at it.

I cleared my thirsty throat and I straightened my back.

The first rule for lying is to show confidence when speaking and look your interlocutor straight in the eyes.

“Yes, I'm alone, I don't have a group or a family.I was just trying to get to Atlanta”

Rick's blue eyes suddenly clouded with sadness.

I remember looking at him with curiosity.

Why that reaction?

“Atlanta is overrun.Nothing exists in that city anymore” Rick replied softly, responding to my questioning look.

“Oh…” was all I could mutter.

The memory flies from my mind.

Atlanta is overrun.

I cannot believe it.

I left Washington and arrived here with the illusion of being able to find something but instead?

In the end I almost lost my life to find myself tied to a pole in a stable.

I move my aching shoulders again and a hiss slips between my parted lips.

Why did Shane have to tighten the rope so much?

Where the hell did he think I would go?

After Rick's little interrogation I was left alone, but kept in sight by all four men, while they conversed among themselves.

About what?

Well I found out soon after.

Rick and Shane left without even looking back, the two were too busy arguing heatedly with each other.

And I'm sure that the topic of their heated discussion was me.

Great.

Antagonizing someone like Shane is never a good thing.

Glenn and Daryl instead escorted me into this stable, leaving me here and telling me to wait.

After a few moments Shane arrived with his damn rope.

Prick.

The stable door creaks open, taking me by surprise and tearing me away from my mental ruminations.

In front of it was a man watching me.

I try to understand who it is but then the timid sound of his voice takes away any doubts.

“Hey”

“Hi Gleen” I smile.

“I'm still here” I add with an ironic laugh.

Where the hell could I have gone anyway?

Slowly he approaches me.

His footsteps echo lightly around us.

I watch him carefully while in the dim light he sits on an old chair in front of me.

In his hand he holds a glass of water which he places near his feet.

“I'm sorry about that” he murmurs ashamedly in a low voice as if it were his fault, while with a wave of his hand he points to the rope that keeps my hands tied behind my back.

I shrug, feigning indifference, trying to hide the grimace of pain caused by my aching shoulders.

“Shane is an idiot.I tried to tell him it wasn't necessary but…you saw him…he can be a real hothead” he admits defeated, taking the baseball cap off his head and fiddling with it.

I smile at his sweetness.

Glenn is a really good guy.

“Don't mind” I try to reassure him.

His gaze wanders for a few seconds and then stops on me.

“I brought you some water and these” he says, taking what appear to be crackers from his pocket.

Food and water.

I think I could cry with gratitude.

I try to settle myself more comfortably even though the hard wooden floor beneath me is leaving indelible marks in my battered flesh.

I straighten my back grunting and cross my legs waiting to receive my dinner.

Glenn gets up from his chair with a little huff and after lighting a small oil lamp hanging right above my head he sits on the floor right in front of me, also with his legs crossed.

I blink several times trying to get my weak eyes used to the dim yellowish light.

The smell of the oil burning in the lamp fills my nostrils.

Glenn grabs the glass and brings it to my lips.

I drink enthusiastically without ever taking my eyes off the boy in front of me.

He seems really happy to be helping another human being.

After drinking half a glass I move my lips away, better to go slowly and avoid throwing up on the poor Glenn.

“Thank you” I whisper while the boy fiddles with the plastic of the cracker packet and after a few moments he brings one to my mouth.

I gladly accept and starting to chew slowly in ecstasy.

It's just a stupid cracker but...damn, it tastes like heaven.

"Are you crying?" he asks me hesitantly.

At first I don't understand what it means but then I realize that some big tears are slipping from my chin, wetting the once light fabric of my worn jeans.

“Sorry” I reply, accompanying my words and tears with a big hysterical laugh.

My reaction seems to scare the young man even more as he looks at me with his big dark eyes.

I shake my head and continue to smile, I smile so much that my cheeks hurt.

"Sorry.I assure you I haven't gone crazy but I haven't eaten in days.Can I have more?” I ask impatiently, looking at his hand which is still holding half a cracker.

Glenn seems to recover and giving me a wonderful smile he hands me the food.

Wrapped in a pleasant silence I eat my meal.

A meal that didn't last long but gave my hungry stomach some respite.

“You should be out there eating a hot meal with everyone else” Glenn murmurs dejectedly, looking at me sorrowfully.

“Nah” I reply with a smile after drinking the last drop of water.

“I'm not one of you”

My words seem to hit him and I see a flash of anger cross his naturally kind eyes.

“You are a human being.You are someone who seems to have been through a lot.You don't deserve this” his words are accompanied by his hands waving and pointing to the place around us.

I look around again, focusing my gaze on the open door of the stable.

From it I can glimpse the sky.

There isn't even a cloud and a blanket of shining stars covers it entirely.

I will never get used to the beauty of the starry sky.

Living my entire life in a city, the only opportunity I had to observe the stars was in the summer, when my parents and I went to spend the holidays at the seaside at my grandparents' house.

I remember that every night I spent whole hours lying on a blanket looking at the stars, drinking in their splendor.

I look back at Glenn and, gathering all the courage I have, I ask him the question that scares me the most.

“Glenn?”

The boy lifts his gaze from his hands to rest it on my face.

Gripped by anxiety I shift my gaze towards my boots unable to look at him.

Afraid of the response I might read on his face.

He certainly understood that there is something that disturbs me but he doesn't push me.

He waits patiently letting me take my time.

“Do you think…do you think they will kill me?”

"What?" he responds agitatedly choking on his own saliva.

“No, oh my God!No!Don't even think that”

“And why shouldn't I think that?” I quickly reply angrily.

“They tied me here, alone, in the dark”

I shudder.

The anger seems to evaporate instantly leaving only a lot of fear in me.

"I...I don't want to hurt you.Please, please Glenn convince them to let me go.I'll disappear.You will never see me again.I swear I won't tell anybody about you or this place.I just want to have a chance.I want to live”

I feel my chest tighten and my breathing becomes short.

I'm hyperventilating.

I feel the panic crawling in my stomach as it slowly rises, wrapping itself in my heart and clouding my mind.

I feel the walls closing around me, suffocating me.

Hot tears flow from my eyes.

“Please Glenn” I repeat letting my head fall forward.

Big sobs shake my chest.

I feel out of control.

So far I had managed to stay calm but interacting with this sweet good soul in front of me shattered my facade.

“Hey, hey Summer.Look at me!"

I feel his hands on my shoulders.

His strong and firm grip forces me to look up.

There is a strong determination in his eyes.

“No one will hurt you.Nobody.Rick would never allow it.I won't allow it” he smiles sweetly at me.

I feel my entire body shaking under his grip.

“You know, no one wants a bolt in his ass” he chuckles immediately afterwards.

The veiled allusion to the archer makes me blush for no reason.

The thought of Daryl being out there fighting to keep me alive makes my heart beat with an emotion other than fear.

Why would he do that?

Why expose himself so much for me?

I am nobody to these people.

And yet…and yet Daryl saved me in the woods first.

Glenn is here, kneeling in front of me, promising to help me.

Suddenly a loud commotion catches our attention causing our heads to snap towards the large stable door.

Outside I can clearly distinguish footsteps and frantic voices.

My body trembles without restraint now.

Even though the warm air of this summer night envelops us I feel a cold that grips my bones in a cruel grip.

Glenn's grip on my shoulders tightens, he looks worried too.

"It's madness.Madness!” a woman's voice shouts.

The footsteps are getting closer and closer.

"Wait!" another voice shouts.

This time I recognize who it belongs to.

Rick.

After a few moments some dark figures stand out against the entrance.

Here we are.

They came here for me.

Without thinking twice I curl into a ball pressing my body against Glenn's, burying my head in his chest.

His skin smells like laundry soap.

I can hear his heart beating furiously.

At first, perhaps due to the surprise at my gesture, his hands detach from my shoulders as if he had been burned but after a few moments, without any further hesitation, his arms tighten around my shoulders, engulfing me in his embrace, trying to give me the protection I seek.

I feel the muscles in my shoulders pulling and burning from the unnatural position I'm in but I don't care.

“What the hell is going on?”

It's the same woman speaking before but I'm afraid.

I can't move.

I don't have the strength to look, I don't want to see.

The agitated voices stop, in the air only the sound of my sobs suffocated by the cotton of Glenn's t-shirt.

“Summer?”

Daryl's voice makes me jump like someone just slapped me across the face.

His tone seems worried.

I don't have the courage to look at him.

I couldn't bear to see his eyes.

I couldn't bear to read his placid resignation for what is about to happen.

After endless moments of silence, some light footsteps approach me and a delicate hand like the wings of a butterfly rests on my head, making me tremble.

“It's okay honey.It's over”

That woman again.

I feel her hand move down my back, towards my tied hands.

I feel her fumbling with the rope, I feel a cold blade graze the tortured flesh of my wrists.

Another shiver shakes me violently.

“Don't worry” Glenn whispers without loosening the grip of his arms wrapped around my figure.

I trust him so I try to stay as still as possible.

“Carol”

“Shut up Shane!She's just a kid.You should be ashamed” the woman hisses in disgust.

Now the voice also has a name.

After a few moments my arms are free.

With aching muscles I move my arms forward and with my hands I cling even harder to Glenn, squeezing his shirt between my fingers and crying even harder.

I don't care that strangers are watching me, that they are judging me.

I do not care.

I'm tired and scared.

Carol's hands continue to caress my back as she softly whispers reassuring words in my ear.

Slowly, Glenn on my left and Carol on my right, support me, helping me to my feet.

I tighten my grip on the boy's t-shirt, burying my head further into his chest as he slides an arm around my waist.

Carol instead wraps her arm around my shoulders and the three of us walk towards the door.

Towards the public who witnessed and is witnessing my pathetic mental breakdown.

The few steps that separate me from the exit seem to expand, becoming miles in my head.

I feel like I'm walking my own personal green mile.

My walk of shame.

I feel tired, empty...as if panic has drained every crumb of who I am.

A few steps from the door Carol slows down until we are forced to stop.

“You should be ashamed.Everyone” she repeats.

“Especially you” she adds after a few seconds.

I risk a glance in the direction of her gaze.

And my eyes meet the archer's contrite ones.

I feel an uncontrollable blush color my cheeks, totally embarrassed I look down again.

Glenn tightens his grip on my body.

“Come on dear” Carol whispers in my ear again.

Now there is no longer any trace of anger in her voice but only an infinite sweetness.

We start walking again and as we finally get out into the open air I feel my heart getting lighter.

The grip that oppressed me until a few minutes ago seems to lighten with each step that takes me further and further away from that place.

"Where do we go?" I croak, sniffing at her and finally lifting my head from my refuge.

I straighten my back, popping several vertebrae.

I can finally give a face to that sweet voice.

Carol has short silvered hair and eyes as blue as the sea, full of sweetness and pain.

She reminds me a bit of my mother.

She smiles at me in a reassuring way, pointing with her hand to a point in front of us.

“Let's go somewhere safe and quiet, okay?Nothing will happen to you, I promise”

With my gaze I follow the direction of her hand and a few meters from us I see an RV.

I look at Glenn and he nods his head reassuringly, inviting me to continue.

Once we reach our destination, Glenn opens the door of the RV and Carol helps me up the steps.

“Now I'll help you get cleaned up.Glenn can you go get a real meal for our new guest?” Carol murmurs softly.

Glenn nods vigorously but before he can leave I quickly go down the steps I just climbed and standing on tiptoe I throw my arms around his neck.

Just like a little while ago in the stable, at first Glenn remains still and surprised by my gesture but then his arms tighten around my waist.

“Thanks Glenn.Thank you so much” I whisper with my cheek pressed against his.

“You have nothing to thank me for Summer”

I quickly break the hug and when we are eye to eye I meet his sweet smile.

Then he turns and digging his hands into the pockets of his jeans he walks away.

I watch him for another couple of seconds until my attention is drawn to a figure in the distance watching me intently.

Motionless in the dark of the night.

Daryl.

“Let's go” Carol whispers, drawing my attention and inviting me to enter the RV again.

Once back, Carol accompanies me to where there is a bed, then indicating it with a wave of her hand and another reassuring smile.

I sit down without saying a word as the woman walks away.

The bed under me is so soft that my brain does nothing but scream at me to lie down, to rest my tired and exhausted limbs but I can't.

I have to stay alert as long as possible.

I have to understand what's happening.

I have to understand what will happen to me.

I don't feel ready to let my guard down yet even if something tells me I can trust these people.

Or at least I can trust Carol.

And Glenn.

And then there would also be Daryl.

I think back to his eyes, in that stable.

I can't decipher his look.

The regret in his eyes, the way he whispered my name when he saw me trembling in Glenn's arms.

What does it mean?

My thoughts are interrupted by Carol's return, in her hands she has a basin full of water.

She sits next to me keeping a certain distance, I'm sure she does it to show me that she doesn't want to invade my space.

With slow and measured gestures she grabs a small towel and dips it in the water after which she begins to clean my face, my neck, my arms, being careful not to rub too much on the irritated skin of my wrists.

“I would like to apologize on behalf of everyone” she mutters after a while.

I look at her confused and remain silent.

She continues to clean me gently.

“You know, we've been through a lot lately, we've lost so many loved ones.We are all very stressed and suspicious”

Her voice cracks.

I am sure that among those people there is also someone very important to her.

And in fact her wet eyes immediately dispel all my doubts.

Carol clears her throat, I can tell from the tone of her voice that she is struggling to hold back tears.

“A few days ago, we encountered a horde of walkers”

Walkers?

Is that what these people call those fucking monsters human flesh eating?

“We hid but something went wrong…my daughter Sophia got scared, she ran away and we lost her.We've been looking for her ever since.This is why Daryl was in the woods when he found you”

The last words full of gratitude for the archer come out in a whisper.

“I'm sorry Carol.Really.I'm sure you'll find her again”

I try to smile reassuringly, placing my hand on hers.

I know my words mean nothing but how can I deny a little comfort to a broken hearted mother?

She smiles back at me, getting out of bed.

“I'll go get you some water” she whispers.

I'm sure she needs a minute alone to regain some composure, talking about her missing little girl must not have been easy for her.

I think about Daryl again and why he was in the woods.

Imagining him looking for that poor little girl confirms what I already thought.

Behind that tough mask there is a big and pure heart, the same heart that I saw in his eyes when he offered me that sip of water.

Before Carol can return there is a knock on the door of the RV.

Will definitely be Glenn with my meal.

I smile at the thought of seeing his friendly face again.

Carol opens the door, mutters something.

I see her nod her head at me.

After a few moments, a man I have never seen before enters.

He has a cloud of white hair and a kind look, he wears a pair of elegantly gray trousers and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows.

I immediately notice a stethoscope around his neck.

He approaches cautiously, smiling at me reassuringly.

A noise behind him distracts me and I just need to look up to understand what it is or rather who it is.

Behind the kind man is Daryl, his gaze wanders everywhere except on me, next to him Carol smiles at me.

“Nice to meet you, I am Hersel, the owner of this farm”

Hersel speaks confidently catching my attention as he extends his hand towards me.

“You must be Summer”

I nod accepting his handshake, his skin is soft and warm.

Daryl clears his throat.

“I thought about calling Hersel 'cause he's a doc.I thought ya needed one” he mutters under his breath, scratching the back of his neck.

Carol looks at him curiously, raising an eyebrow.

My gaze returns to Daryl's eyes.

My heart does a somersault.

He seems almost embarrassed.

My confused look softens.

His gesture is so kind.

“Technically I'm a vet but I guess we should be satisfied with this nowadays” the man in front of me chuckles.

“I'd like to make sure you're okay, I know they found you unconscious” he smiles at me and when he does so his eyes smile too.

“Thanks but I'm fine now” I try to reassure him but the tremor in my hands and especially in my voice don't seem to convince him.

Behind him, Daryl shifts his weight from one foot to the other, biting the side of his thumb.

Our eyes meet again but this time I can't look away.

His eyes are like deep blue pools that draw me in like a magnet.

Thank goodness he's the first to look away, allowing me to turn my attention back to the sweet doctor in front of me.

Hersel smiles again.

“I would feel more comfortable if I could visit you, I would just like to check your blood pressure and your pulse.Then I promise I'll leave” he chuckles.

“Ok” I whisper in response, sketching a shy smile.

I don't feel like telling him no.

After all, he is welcoming me into his house and it costs me nothing to indulge him.

With another big smile he invites me to lift my shirt.

I'm about to do so but suddenly I remember the archer's presence and I stop embarrassed.

I don't even have time to look up before I see him turn his back on me.

Nice of him to turn around so as not to embarrass me.

After making sure that everything was ok, Hersel recommended me to eat and rest and that he would check me again in the morning.

“Thanks Hersel, thanks for everything”

“You're welcome, Summer” he replies, walking away and leaving me, Carol and Daryl in an awkward silence.

What happens?

Why is it suddenly hot here?

Why does Daryl look at the floor of the RV with such interest while Carol giggles?

I reflexively look down and focus on my hands clasped in my lap.

The silence continues, charging me with a strange anxiety.

I should speak, say something.

I lick my dry, chapped lips but when I open my mouth nothing comes out.

Just a strangled sound.

A sob shakes me and then another one.

Great.

I can't seem able to keep my damn emotions to myself tonight.

“I'm sorry” I murmur between sobs, burying my face in my hands so as to avoid the pitying looks that Carol and Daryl are surely giving me.

I hear some footsteps, then someone sit next to me.

The mattress sinks under the weight of the latter.

“Ya safe now”

His voice immediately stops my tears.

I honestly didn't believe that he would actually come close to console me.

God, he'll think I'm pathetic.

Crying in Glenn or Carol's presence had definitely been easier and less embarrassing.

We both remain silent.

I can't even think of what I could say to him.

After a few minutes Daryl gets up and walks away.

His gesture makes me snap up.

Is he leaving?

But after a few moments I see him return with a steaming plate in his hands.

“Eat”

His is almost an order.

Without hesitation I obey by grabbing the plate he is handing me and he sits down next to me again, this time a little closer.

I grab what looks like a piece of meat between my fingers, hold it to my nose to smell it before taking a bite.

As soon as the meat comes into contact with my taste buds, an embarrassing moan escapes my control.

It's absolutely delicious.

I don't know if it's because I was literally starving but this meat is the best thing I've ever eaten.

Forgetting about the man next to me, and about my good manners, I begin to eat with more ardor, bringing larger and larger pieces of meat to my mouth.

Daryl doesn't say a word the entire time but I can clearly feel his eyes probing my face continuously.

“Mmmh” I murmur at the end of my hearty meal after licking my fingers.

I feel calmer now, more relaxed.

This meal gave me time to reflect and calm down.

So with a big smile on my face I turn to Daryl.

For a moment I remain silent.

I was smiling and he was serious, his lips were a hard, serious line.

"Thank you.It was truly delightful” I thank him trying to convey all my gratitude into my words.

In response I get a grunt and a shrug.

I look back at my now empty plate and find myself once again surrounded by silence.

The smile on my lips is now the shadow of a memory.

Daryl jumps up making me jump.

What?

What happen?

I watch him as he nervously runs along the entire length of the RV a couple of times.

What have I done?

He seems to be upset because of me.

Did I say something I shouldn't?

I get up from the bed taking a couple of steps in his direction but suddenly the archer stops his walk and turns towards me.

I think he didn't expect to find me so close because he takes a sudden step back, hitting his hip on the corner of the small table to his right.

Another grunt, accompanied by a puff of air coming out of his nostrils.

“Daryl…”

“’M sorry” he suddenly grunts, making the words die in my throat.

I frown in confusion at his apology.

Why is he apologizing?

His eyes look in any direction except mine.

“Daryl?” I call him and his eyes focus on his boots.

I wait patiently for him to decide to look at me but when this doesn't happen I take another step in his direction and when I notice that he doesn't step back I take another step.

Now only a few inches separate us.

From here I can smell his skin.

Daryl smells like the woods, he smells like the woods where we met.

It is a strong, pungent but pleasant smell.

He smells like wood, musk and smoke.

An intoxicating smell that enters my head.

Very carefully I lift my arm and then place my hand on his bicep, squeezing it delicately.

As soon as my hand comes into contact with his warm skin a discharge seems to pass through my skin, my muscles, my bones.

Straight into my soul.

It's like I've been hit with a teaser.

Pure electricity.

His eyes dart first onto his arm where my hand is and then into my eyes.

And the emotion I read in it destabilizes me.

Panic.

This big, thick, muscular man with a menacing look is totally panicking just because I'm touching him.

His eyes are wide open.

I don't want to make him uncomfortable so I remove my hand from his body and take a step back.

“Why are you apologizing?” I ask in a small voice still shocked by the sensation I just felt.

Sensation that I can't explain and to which I don't even want to give a name.

His eyes are still fixed on me, a few locks shadowing them.

I have to use all my willpower not to bring my fingers to his face and move those locks away.

I dig my nails into my palms, the pain caused helps me concentrate.

When I think he won't answer me anymore I take another step back and turn my back on him and go back to sitting on the bed.

I rest my back against the wall of the RV, stretching my legs out in front of me, trying to relax my sore muscles.

The silence around me makes me understand that he left me alone.

Fantastic.

I close my eyes trying to understand what happened.

“I shouldn't have let Rick and Shane treat ya like that”

Jesus.

I jump, putting a hand to my chest to try to contain the pounding of my heart.

“Damn” I mutter through gritted teeth, my eyes wide with panic.

Daryl lifts one corner of his lips in what looks like the ghost of a smile although in the dim light of the RV it could also look like a grimace.

“'M sorry.I didn't mean to scare ya" Daryl apologizes, biting his lower lip slightly.

I shake my head as if telling him not to worry.

I cross my arms over my chest, softening my gaze at the image of a man so strong, with a dominant aura, so absolutely incapable of managing his own feelings.

“That's ok.It's not your fault.You…you have already done so much for me Daryl that a whole lifetime wouldn't be enough to thank you” I stammer.

His gaze wanders nervously from one point of the RV to another.

Ok.

Daryl isn't even comfortable with compliments.

I leave the bed again followed by the protest of my aching muscles and cautiously I approach him again but this time I remain at a safe distance.

I don't want to invade his personal space but I need to make him understand how grateful I am to him.

“If it wasn't for you I'd be walker food right now”

Daryl snorts in response.

“Yeah…sure” he grumbles without saying anything else.

I roll my eyes even though he can't see me.

This man can be truly unnerving.

His vocabulary is limited to snorts and grunts, what the hell!

In exasperation I watch him as he crosses his arms over his chest, his firm, toned muscles contracting elegantly, his tanned skin glistening under the moonlight streaming in through the windows.

In the silence peppered by our breaths I surrender to the thought that perhaps I will never be able to understand this man.

I'm too tired and anything he does or says only adds to my frustration so I do the only thing I think is wise at the moment.

I head towards the RV exit.

“Night Daryl” I murmur passing by him avoiding any visual or physical contact.

As soon as I find myself outside, I breathe deeply, raising my face towards the sky.

Above my head millions of beautiful stars shine set in a dark velvet blanket while the smell of grass tickles my nose.

Within a few moments I regain a bit of serenity...serenity which is interrupted after a few seconds by the door of the RV being slammed forcefully.

Daryl makes no sign of leaving, remaining behind me.

I slowly turn around determined to face him.

His eyes seem full of anger.

It's my fault?

Is all that anger for me?

Maybe my presence is causing trouble to him with his group.

With Shane.

“What's wrong with you?” I snort without being able to contain myself.

His mood swings make me dizzy.

First he seems worried about me.

He brings me food, calls a doctor and then…then he treats me like I'm a disease.

Like I'm one of those fucking biters.

I feel like I've reached the limit of my kindness for today.

Now that's enough.

I had a gun pointed in my face.

A crossbow.

I let myself be dragged.

Interrogated.

Tied up.

I let myself be treated like a criminal even though I didn't do anything.

Nothing.

The banks are breaking and the words are starting to flow like a raging river giving vent to all my frustration.

“Why do I get the impression that you're regretting having brought me to safety from that damned woods?Well know that if it bothers you it's not my problem, I wasn't the one who asked you!You could have just let me die and come back here to mind your own business on this nice farm safe from the walkers with your stupid water and your stupid food” I spit the words out angrily.

I feel the blood boiling in my veins.

Something in my words seems to set off an alarm in the archer's head.

He storms down the steps of the RV, getting dangerously close, his every step sounding like an imminent threat.

His massive body towers over me as his cruel gaze pins my feet to the ground.

He remains to observe me with a menacing expression for a few moments, his dilated nostrils quivering with anger.

If a look could kill right now I'd be six feet under.

“Is this what ya think?” he hisses.

His posture is rigid, his arms at his sides with fists clenched.

White knuckles seem to want to pop out of his skin.

Honestly?

Yes that's what I think.

I have the impression that once the adrenaline of the moment has passed he is realizing that perhaps it would have been better to let me die.

This thought hurts me.

And I don't understand why...

After all, who am I?

And in the end he could be right because even if I personally am not a danger, the people who are looking for me are.

My life is certainly not worth more than those of these people.

I would just like a moment's respite.

Nothing more.

“That's what I see” I murmur dejectedly.

My eyes fill with tears and I don't even try to hide them this time.

My heartbeat is deafening in my ears.

Daryl looks at me with even more disgust, clenching his fists even tighter as if he's holding himself back from hitting me.

Would he really be able to do that?

This Daryl scares me.

The archer takes a further step towards me invading my personal space.

“If ya looking for consolation sunshine ya have chosen the wrong man.Go cry to Glenn, it doesn't work with me” he taunts me viciously and then walks away without even sparing me a glance.

I turn to watch him as he walks away, stomping his boots angrily on the grass.

I'm totally shocked.

What the hell just happened?

He's the one who was acting strange to me.

He started.

I was kind, I tried to reason with him, I respected his space.

What did he give me in return?

Only silences.

Threats.

What the hell was I supposed to do?

I put my hands on my hips, huffing loudly.

My eyes are still on him as he walks away and enters a tent not far from the RV.

“Don't worry, you'll get used to him.He may seem grumpy but deep down he's a good guy”

I jump with fear.

God!

Tonight everyone is having fun testing the resistance of my heart.

Another scare like this and I don't know if I'll see the dawn rise tomorrow.

I spin around looking for the person who spoke but strangely I don't see anyone.

“Hey!I'm here”

The man chuckles and following the sound of his voice I look up.

On the roof of the RV there is a man, sitting in an old chair with a rifle in his lap.

He wears a bucket hat and has an unkempt beard.

How long has he been up there?

How much did he hear?

I look at him for a couple of seconds in total embarrassment.

Nothing happened between me and Daryl but the fact that this man may have misunderstood our attitude makes me blush to the tips of my hair.

Thank goodness it's dark and I don't think he can notice it from up there.

“Anyway, I'm Dale.If you're looking for Carol, she went that way” and with his finger he points to a small bonfire a few meters from me where Carol and other women are chatting.

“Thank you” I murmur under my breath, glancing one last time at Daryl's tent and then walking briskly towards Carol.

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oddella37 · 11 months

Text

Uprooted and Adjusted (Part 2)

Summary: After being taken captive by the Sky Demons, Y/n tries to make acquaintances with the human boy named Spider. Eventually he helps her escape the deadly hands of the Sky Demons.

part 1 // Part 3

I was held at the top of the Demons’ ship. My hands were still bound, as I stood beside the human boy who I had come to learn his name is Spider.

He was not bound, but he explained to me that he couldn’t leave, how they would track him through his mask. He tried talking to me to take my mind off of the events happening out on the water. He told me stories about his friends, Toruk Makto’s children from the oldest to the youngest. The oldest, Neteyam, followed by Kiri, who is adopted, then Lo’ak who is Spider’s best friend, and Tuk who is the youngest. He told me how the Sully’s helped to raise him and teach him the Na’vi ways. They taught him how to hunt and speak Na’vi.

He continued telling me stories until we eventually felt the ship stop. We both turned out heads to the large windows to see Demon Na’vi flying on what Spider told me were ikran. Something the forest Na’vi rode to fly around. They held large net and landed on the deck of the ship. Spider gasped from beside me and whispered, “That’s Lo’ak.”

Before I had time to process his words, Spider took off running down the hall, fighting any of the men in his path.

With my bound wrists I knew I wouldn’t make it as far as he would, especially with the guard who already had an arm around me.

I watched out the window as I saw Spider approach the Na’vi on the deck. Two of them were a vibrant blue color while there was one who looked like me. She was Metkayina.

I studied them. If I had to guess, which I sort of do, the older boy must’ve been Lo’ak while the young one of the group must’ve been Tuk.

It wasn’t long before Spider was dragged back away from his friends and back up the stairs where we were both now being held in place to ensure no other escapes.

Spider and I watched closely as tsuraks came into view from a distance. They stopped a good ways away from the ship, stuck in a stand still.

It was a while before any movement was made. I watched carefully when a Forest Na’vi began to come forward, away from the army that was behind him. I could only guess him to be the one and only Jake Sully.

Everything was moving in slow motion as something broke free of the water, a massive Tulkun leaped onto the ship, shaking everything and everyone inside. I gasped and held onto Spider to keep the both of us steady. I gazed at the tulkun and recognized the creature with the missing fin.

“Payakan,” I spoke aloud. Spider looked at me with confusion, and I couldn’t help but laugh at the change, for once I could teach him something. “Payakan, he is an outcast Tulkun. All Tulkun stay together, but he is a killer of Na’vi so he is outcast,” I paused, watching as the massive Tulkun dove back into the water. “And here he is, saving us,” I laughed as I felt tears trying to drip from my eyes.

Spider smiled and looked up at the captains of the ship while they tried to do damage control. “Well we can’t let him be the only one,” Spider said when he suddenly grabbed a red metal object and hit the captain with it before smashing at the control panel. I grinned at him and followed his lead, grabbing the gun from the surprised demon beside me and hit him over the head with it and began smashing at the controls as well.

The ship began moving forward rapidly as Spider and I were grabbed. The Demons tried to get control of the ship back, but we were running into rocks and ramping over them before they could stop anything. Everyone was momentarily thrown into the air before we landed back into the water. I hit the ground roughly and dropped the weapons from my hand.

I heard the captains talking back and forth frantically, seeming panicked when suddenly everyone began to leave, Spider and I being dragged with them. I gave my newfound friend a panicked look and he gave me a sly grin. “We’re evacuating. This ship is going down,” He said triumphantly.

A grin spread across my face as we both were guided down the stairs to get what the demons were calling ‘lifeboats’.

I simply followed along, knowing when we got to the water, I would be able to escape. The men kept seemingly nagging at Spider who kept pushing them the same as they pushed us. I silently wished I could react that way without a weapon being pointed at me.

We walked for what felt like ages and I felt so lost from all the twists and turns. The ship abruptly began to shake which made me stumble. One of the demons grabbed my braid to keep me from getting far to which I hissed at, bearing my fangs.

At that moment, the man was suddenly on the ground. A blur of vibrant blue being my only warning before I was pulled by my wrists away from the demons.

I realized what was happening and quickly reached down to grab a knife off of the demon on the ground. I was yanked away and behind a wall where we took cover from the deadly bullets.

A swift cut of the blade I had freed my wrist and suddenly I felt like a feral animal again. I could once again fight and defend myself. I took a second to recognize the two Forest Na’vi. I was not sure who was who, but I knew they were Neteyam and Lo’ak.

The younger of the two boys used a gun he had snagged to shoot at the demons who were now trying to kill us. He was younger so I had to guess he was Neteyam? Or was it Lo’ak who was the younger one? There was so much information to remember.

“Lo’ak,” The older boy scolded, pulling him into safety. Ah, so I had it backwards.

Neteyam Pointed towards the pool in the deck which we could easily swim away through. Which would be the sane idea.

I so badly craved the blood of these monsters, but I couldn’t do it with other lives at risk. I pushed Spider and Lo’ak towards the pool as they took off running for it and looked back at Neteyam who was trying to ward away the demons. I pulled at his arm towards our escape and only when the bullets began flying and his gun was empty did he duck back behind the wall.

“Come, we must go,” I insisted as he nodded and made his way to the water. I took the gun from him and threw it with all my might at the closest demon. I hit it square in the head and cheered in triumph as I saw it fall to the ground.

My triumph was short-lived when I was pulled into the water by a strong arm. Bullets whizzed into the water with us and I felt a painful burn in my shoulder and looked down to see blood mixing into the water.

Neteyam grabbed me and we both began to swim away to safety after Spider and Lo’ak.

When we surfaced, Lo’ak and Spider were cheering and celebrating their escape. I looked over at Neteyam whose face was scrunched in pain. I dipped my head under the water to see his hand held against his abdomen where blood was spreading into the water. I lifted my head just in time to hear the words from Neteyam as he grabbed my arm. He looked worried, and spoke to his brother words I didn’t understand.

Lo’ak swam over and I looked from him to Neteyam, “You are hit,” I said, reaching for his arm that held his wound. He tried to maneuver away from my touch, but I was able to grab him and feel for the wound. I was able to quickly realize how deep it was and he was unable to hide his pain when I began to put pressure on it.

A Metkayina woman joined us, she rode on an ilu as Lo’ak and she began to work together getting Neteyam onto the ilu. Lo’ak offered to help me up, but I simply took hold of the ilu’s fin with my uninjured arm and rode along while we got to land.

Once we made it to a decent sized rock everyone worked together to help Neteyam up to rest. “Guys I am fine, please.” he tried to calm everyone, only wincing at his own words. Once onto land I began to look and care for my shoulder. I couldn’t stop the guild that crept from my stomach to my chest as I remembered my betrayal. I hurt this family in front of me by leading the demons to them, I almost got one of them killed because I was weak.

The Metkayina woman began to work at his wound, trying to help ease his pain. I could tell by the way she worked that she had worked with a Tsahik before and was doing well at helping him. An Older forest Na’vi man joined them and helped, keeping Neteyam’s attention away from the pain that I could only experience from his cries.

I watched closely as they fished the bullet out of him before patching up his wound. Neteyam’s cries slowly died down as all that was left was his heavy breathing.

“He will be okay, but he must get away from battle,” The girl explained to the older man that I guessed to be Jake Sully.

One of the ikrans appeared out of nowhere as a woman leaped off of it, “Neteyam!” She cried, leaning down beside who I could only assume to be her son. She kneeled behind him and I heard her mutter soft prayers to the great mother, thanking Eywa for his life being intact.

The Metkayina girl stood and approached me. She seemed to watch me like I was a feral animal that would attack at any moment. She kneeled beside me and inspected my shoulder while the family discussed the recent events and how this all happened. She put pressure on it, triggering a hiss from me.

“I am Tsireya. What is your name?” She tried to ask, attempting to take my mind off of the pain she was causing me.

“Y/n,” I told her before letting out a cry of pain as I felt her dig into my shoulder, trying to pull the bullet out. I felt dramatic when I noticed the family looking over at me. I quickly looked away, trying to keep from making eye contact.

“She’s from one of the clans,” I heard Spider tell them, “They took her captive so she’d guide them to you.”

Jake Sully stood and walked over to me, kneeling beside me. Without another thought, I bowed in front of him, wincing in pain when Tsireya’s hand slipped due to my movement. He began speaking to me in the demon language and I looked at him with no understanding.

“She only speaks Na’vi, Jake.” Spider laughed at the older man’s attempts.

Jake shook his head at himself and looked at me, “You do not have to bow to me, kid,” He told me. I gave him a wary look, “But you are Toruk Makto,” I told him. “I betrayed you and hurt your family by telling the demons your location. I am very sorry,” I could not help the cracks in my voice as my words fell.

A hand fell on my head. It was oddly soothing, “And how many of your family died to protect mine?” He asked me. He didn’t need an answer. He already knew. “Thank you.” He told me, bowing his own head.

The moment was short lived when Tsireya ripped the bullet from my shoulder, a scream coming with it. Jake quickly applied pressure to my wound while Tsireya disposed of the bullet and began to wrap it to stop the bleeding.

Jake’s kind demeanor changed suddenly as he turned to his sons. “Where are your sisters?” He demanded. They both looked at each other, looking lost.

“She’s at the moon pool, they have her,” Tsireya responded to him, “We didn’t have time to turn back for them.”

Jake looked at his mate, they had a silent conversation with one another as they both stood. “You kids stay here. We’re going to get your sisters,” He paused, looking at Spider, “I need you to show me where this moonpool is.”

Spider nodded, “Yes, sir,” he responded while they all split off.

Not long after they took off, Lo’ak stood up, “You guys stay here. I’m going to help my dad.”

Tsireya tried to stop him, but it was no use. We watched as he swam off to help. I looked a Tsireya, who looked at me obviously worried. I looked over at Neteyam who was still inhaling deep breaths, I moved over towards him. His eyes were half lidded and I bowed my head at him. “Thank you for saving my life,” I told him and he laughed weakly.

“It is no problem. I am used to it by now,” He breathed out. I smiled and looked over at the massive ship as it began to sink, praying to Eywa that everything would end okay.

#na'vi #x reader #awow x reader #neteyam #neteyam x reader #neteyam sully #neteyam fanfiction #neteyam x y/n #avatar the way of water #avatar #avatar 2 #jake sully #fanfiction #fluff #part 2

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odinsblog · 7 months

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It was all part of a beautiful dance Alex choreographed for his dear friend Roselena's quinceañera. Alex even went so far as to don his friend's Cinderella-like dress during rehearsals to show her all the steps.

They were neighbors and close friends, raised together from a young age. And that dance celebrating Roselena's 15th birthday, "it was something that was very beautiful," Alex's mother, Eubdulia Delgado Alvarado, said.

It was the last big milestone Alex got to experience.

Just a few months later, the 16-year-old stopped at a Nashville gas station for a chocolate bar and Gatorade, his mother said. In the moments that followed, a chain of dramatic events left his family devastated, heartbroken and searching for answers.

His mother lost her only child on the early morning of January 7, awoken by a phone call that her son had been shot after his car was struck by another at the gas station and an altercation ensued. The happy, lovable and outgoing teen left behind both parents, four half-siblings on his dad's side and two stepsiblings.

Alex is one of more than 1,300 children and teens in the US killed by gunfire so far in 2023, according to the Gun Violence Archive. Firearms became the No. 1 killer of children and teens in America in 2020, surpassing motor vehicle accidents, which had long been the leading cause of death among America's youth.

“He was just starting to live his life,” said his mother's longtime partner, Claudia Gutiérrez. “He wanted to be someone in life, and they just took it away from him.”

The family celebrated together for Alex's last milestone, the quinceañera, last August. They watched as Alex cheered on and escorted Roselena as her chambelan, her only court at the event.

“He taught the girl how to dance, he taught her how to spin, and he put on the girl's dress to teach her how she needed to move so that the dance would come out perfectly,” Delgado said.

(continue reading)

#guns #gun violence

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floral-and-fine · 10 months

Text

Take a Shot

Walter Skinner x fem reader

Warnings- lots of fluff, temporary roommates, lemon, long fic

Summary- Walter meets a teacher and they go out for drinks, eventually leading to a relationship he wasn’t expecting.

A/n- This has been in my drafts for over a month, sorry. I couldn’t help writing for him… I know there’s not a huge fandom for him, but hopefully, those who read this will enjoy it ❤️ Thank you @steeevienicks and @where-is-my-mind-tho

Skinner rocked on the balls of his feet, staring at the gray speckled linoleum floors that shined underneath the fluorescent lights. He still wasn’t quite sure how he got roped into this. The whole ordeal seemed below him as the Assistant Director of the FBI, but on the other hand it was important to maintain a good public image, even in a situation like this one.

Skinner tsked, picturing a few of his colleagues and how their actions on several occasions damaged the FBI’s reputation, the ridiculous things Mulder would choose to share would make them all look like fools.

He glanced up at the wooden door, gold metal numbers at the top read Rm 17. From outside the room, he could hear eager whispers and excited chatter. Taking a peek through the window that was in the center, he almost lost his nerve, his palms feeling clammy as he looked at all the faces. He wasn’t expecting that there would be so many of them.

Sighing to himself, he wondered if he could hold their attention, he could only imagine the chaos that would ensue if they all got bored.

Taking a deep breath, he finally knocked on the door.

“Quiet down everyone,” a gentle voice announced. “Our guest speaker has arrived.”

Skinner mustered up a smile, but it was more of grimace as a young woman opened the door, beaming from ear to ear. She was pretty, much prettier than he remembered his teachers ever being.

“Please come in,” she said, stepping aside. “I’m Ms. L/n. Thank you so much for coming.”

Skinner strode in, standing front and center of the classroom. He was greeted by cheeky young faces, grinning up at him from their desks.

Ms. L/n stood at the back of the class and gave him a reassuring nod before he began speaking.

“Good afternoon,” he started. “I am assistant director Walter Skinner of the FBI.”

To his surprise a hand immediately shot up in the air.

“Yes?” Skinner asked, raising his brow.

“What does FBI stand for?”

“Federal Bureau of Investigation-“

“What does that mean?” Another student blurted out.

“It means that we investigate on behalf of the federal government,” he answered. “While also upholding the law and protecting innocent people.”

Questions continued coming one after another, Skinner could hardly keep up.

“What do you investigate?”

“Do you have a gun?”

“Have you ever shot anyone?”

“Do you know the president?”

Skinner took a deep breath, “The bureau investigates a variety of crimes from terrorist attacks to serial killers. Yes, I am armed, I have shot someone, and no, I do not know the president personally.”

He noted Ms. L/n trying her best to maintain some composure. Her eyes were closed as she covered her mouth and tried to resist laughing.

After an hour or so of speaking about his position, answering bizarre questions, and listening to random stories about missing puppies, annoying little brothers, and cartoons, Skinner was relieved to hear the bell ring.

In a rapid and chaotic fashion the elementary schoolers scrambled out of their seats and bolted to the exit with their backpacks in tow.

“You might want to give it a minute,” Ms. L/n informed him. “It’s a literal zoo out in those halls and the parking lot is just as bad.”

“Thanks for the tip,” he replied, eyes still on the door as he listened to the stampede of children continue down the hall.

“Thanks again for coming in,” she smiled. “I know this probably wasn’t something you’d do normally.” She shrugged, tucking her hands into the pockets of her A-line skirt.

Skinner turned his attention to the teacher. “What do you mean?”

Ms. L/n rubbed the back of her head, sighing a little before she spoke. “You having to come here is all probably my fault,” she elaborated. “My uncle is a senator, so when I asked if he could arrange for some guest speakers to visit my class, I wasn’t expecting him to take it so seriously… I’m sorry.”

Skinner chuckled dryly, now it all made sense. “At least it wasn’t a complete disaster… I’m not used to being around children.”

“What? You did an amazing job, honestly, they had a lot of fun with you.”

He leaned against the desk. “How do you do it?” He mused. “There had to be about 25 of them, I’d lose what’s left of my hair trying to keep it all under control.”

She giggled, “Lots and lots of patience, and when that’s not enough there’s a bag of chocolate in my desk drawer and a little bottle of aspirin for the headaches… and on Fridays after a particularly challenging week, I go home and enjoy a glass of wine.”

Skinner nodded, “I keep a bottle of scotch at home for similar days… so what usually happens to get you to break open that bottle of wine?”

“Let’s see…” she hummed, leaning against her desk right next to him. “Just off the top of my head, this week we had Billy pulling Suzy’s hair and her retaliating by kicking him in the shin, then I had sent Tommy to the nurse only for him to come back to class and throw up on the floor, I had to deal with parent complaints over the amount of homework being too much or not enough, and then of course a surprise fire drill to top it all off. Thank God it’s Friday, right?”

Skinner laughed, “Sounds like you definitely earned that glass of wine or maybe even a whole bottle or two.”

“So, what does a tough day for the assistant director of the FBI look like?” She asked.

“Besides making classroom visits?” He joked. “A lot of stress, paperwork, and putting out a lot of fires caused by my own agents… I’ve got an agent who's probably just as much trouble as some of these kids.”

A comfortable few moments of silence fell between the two of them.

“Hey, do you hear that?” Ms. L/n asked, looking towards the door,

Skinner immediately straightened up, listening carefully. “I don’t hear anything,” he answered after several seconds.

“Exactly,” she smiled widely. “Sweet sweet silence. Looks like it’s safe for us to make our escape.” She grabbed her purse and coat, “Come on, I’ll walk you out.”

As they walked through the halls, Ms. L/n continued to make small talk, but it didn’t feel forced or awkward at all. It had been awhile since the last time Skinner felt so at ease with a stranger. She was lovely, intelligent, and charming.

He didn’t really have time to weigh all the pros and cons, but as they got closer to the exit the more he wanted an excuse to stay and talk to her.

“It was nice meeting you,” Ms. L/n stated as they reached the parking lot. She offered her hand for a quick handshake.

Skinner accepted and while shaking her hand noticed the absence of a wedding ring and decided to go ahead and take a shot.

“Can I treat you to that glass of wine?” He offered, before he lost his nerve. “There’s a decent bar nearby that we could go to, if you’re interested.”

She beamed, “Sure as long as I get to return the favor and buy you a drink.”

…

“A headlock? Really?” Y/n laughed in disbelief.

Walter sighed, taking off his glasses and massaging the bridge of his nose. “I’m telling you, it’s like dealing with the most unruly child sometimes.”

A half bottle of red wine sat on the bar between them along with several empty scotch glasses. The evening went by quickly as they exchanged outrageous work related stories.

“But you can’t help feeling like you're responsible for them, you know? Keeping them safe and out of trouble, trying to mold them into caring and empathetic hu-man beings,” she hiccuped.

Walter nodded, “Oh I know… believe me, I’ve put my ass on the line for them, probably a dozen times by now, yet they still don’t seem to learn.”

Y/n rested her head on her hand, elbow propped up on the bar as she gazed at the assistant director. “I’m having a really great time with you,” she added suddenly. “I don’t usually have a lot of spare time to go out like this…”

“Me too,” he agreed, his eyes meeting hers. “Dating and my kind of work don’t exactly go hand and hand.”

“Maybe we can make this a habit,” y/n suggested.

They both perked up as the bartender announced the last call.

“Oh wow,” she muttered, sitting up and looking around, what was a packed bar just hours ago, now only had a few couples and some stragglers left. “I didn’t know it was so late already.”

Walter settled the tab and then pulled out his cell phone. “Here, I’ll call you a cab.”

He could tell from the clouded look in her eyes that she was past her limit and needed a safe ride home. Walter helped escort her outside as she stumbled beside him. They waited quietly under a street light in the cool night until the cab arrived.

“Thanks for tonight,” Y/n said as the taxi pulled to the curb.

“Of course, thanks for the scotch.”

Like a gentleman, he pulled open the door for her but before she got in she quickly opened her purse and dug around until she found a piece of paper and a pen. On the scrap of notebook paper she jotted something down.

“Call me, next time you need a drink or have some time to spare,” she instructed, handing it to him.

Walter nodded, eyes downcasted as he looked at the number, but soon stiffened when he felt her press her lips to his cheek in a sweet little kiss good night.

“See you soon,” she waved as she climbed into the backseat of the taxi.

Skinner watched the cab drive away before tucking the paper away in his coat then searched for his car keys. Despite the long week, Skinner noted that he was leaving the bar feeling more chipper and excited than he had felt all week or all month.

Arriving at his apartment, he took the note out and placed it safely by his phone on the table.

It was a week or so later when he finally called the number listed. It had been a particularly trying day, when he entered his apartment. He dropped his coat on the back of the couch and loosened his tie. The bottle of scotch sitting at the bar looked appealing, but drinking with y/n sounded even better.

This soon evolved into a weekly ritual. They’d have a few drinks and unload about their day.

As the weeks passed and their meetings continued, Walter found himself becoming closer to the young teacher. Almost as if reflecting their growing intimacy, they had stopped sitting at the bar during their dates and now sat at a secluded table in the corner.

Y/n realized early on that Walter showed his affection in very subtle but meaningful ways, he wasn’t the sort of guy to spend loads of money on frivolous gifts or to toss around poetic words of love, instead he did things like walk her to her car and then call her later to make sure she got home safely.

She liked that he acted with thought and that everything he did had clear intentions behind it. He was chivalrous, fair, and had a righteous sense of justice. Walter Skinner, soldier, FBI agent, gentleman, she had thought to herself.

There wasn’t much discussion about their relationship, no labels or expectations, just a weekly tradition in a nice bar. But in that dark corner they had claimed as their own, he placed his hand over hers, her thigh brushed up against his, her head tilted and her lips parted, all leading up to a kiss.

That was when Walter suddenly realized that they had crossed a line beyond simple friendship, and it scared him. He feared where this could lead and how he wouldn’t be able to be what she wanted.

In his ex wife’s opinion he was emotionally distant. Would this relationship too become hollow or lacking?

Unsure what to do, he came up with some weak excuse the following week, and offered her a hollow promise of a rain check. He felt as though he was in some sort of emotional limbo, trapped by his desires to continue seeing y/n and his worries of breaking her heart and his own,

…

Walter sighed, slumping in his seat, scattered on his desk were photos and reports of a recent killing tied to a local serial killer who was currently on a spree.

What he found so unsettling wasn’t the gruesome nature of these murders, this wasn’t the first serial killer case that he’s worked on afterall, but it was the location. All the kills took place in y/n’s neighborhood, in fact this last one took place just a few buildings down.

This put him in a difficult position, sharing this information with her could cause a panic, and there was the moral obligation of whether or not it was fair to protect her life over others, yet he feared that she could be the next target.

She fit the victim type. Single woman living alone. Same hair and eye color as the previous victims. Predictable schedule and routine.

He shouldn’t be jumping to conclusions, making himself worked up over something that may not happen, still…

His eyes landed on the telephone on his desk, what would he even say? He couldn’t ask her to stay in a hotel until further notice, and he couldn’t arrange for her to stay in a safe house either.

Skinner drummed his fingers on top of his desk as he mulled things over, y/n would be safe at his apartment he figured. She could stay with him until they arrested the culprit or the killings stopped.

He lifted the receiver, his knee bouncing anxiously as the line rang.

“Hello?” Y/n’s voice answered.

“Hey, it’s me,” he replied.

“Everything alright?” She asked, wondering why he was calling so late.

There was a long pause, Walter suddenly didn’t feel comfortable sharing all this over the phone. Instead he felt that it would be easier to talk to her face to face. “Everything is fine,” he finally said. “Can I stop by?”

“Sure.”

“Alright, I’ll leave work in a couple of minutes. See you soon.” He hung up the phone, grabbed his coat and locked up his office.

…

When y/n opened her front door, she smiled gently as her eyes landed on the assistant director, looking professional as always in his work attire.

“Sorry for dropping by so late,” he muttered, noticing that she was dressed in her pajamas.

Her hand cupped his cheek. “You look tired,” she said sympathetically. “Rough day?”

He nodded, “You can say that.”

She invited him into her small apartment. “Was it a hard liquor sorta day or would you prefer something more comforting like tea?” She offered.

Walter shook his head, “I’m fine, really.” He sighed, stuffing his hands in his coat pockets.

Y/n tilted her head, sitting on the sofa while Walter remained standing. “I suppose you’ve heard about the recent murders,” he started.

“I have,” she said. “But the news reports have been pretty vague.”

“We’ve been focused on not letting the media turn this into a frenzy or cause any unnecessary panic,” Walter explained.

“Makes sense… must be pretty bad if it has you so worked up,” she commented.

“Not exactly,” he answered. “It’s all fairly typical as far as serial killings go, but some of the details have me concerned about your well being,” His eyes met hers.

“You mean I’m similar to the other victims?”

“Plus there’s the factor of location,” he added, “Last murder happened right down the street and the rest were also close to this area.”

He could see the fear on her face as the information sunk in. Out of instinct, her eyes panned the room as though the murderer was lurking in a corner or in the shadows.

“Guess I should make sure to keep my door locked,” she joked nervously.

“Or,” Walter started, averting his gaze. “I was thinking, if you’re open to it, that you could stay at my place, just until we either arrest the bastard or when he moves on or whatever.”

“Are you sure?” She questioned.

“I’m sure,” he replied without hesitation. He was of two minds on the whole ordeal, but after thinking it over the drive here, he concluded that he’d feel loads better knowing that y/n was safe, despite his anxiety on their budding romance.

She smiled, “Thank you… I’ll pack a bag.” She stood from the couch and went to her bedroom.

Walter carried her bags to the car and then carried them into his apartment when they arrived. His apartment was clean and neat, nothing excessive or frivolous, a mature and simple bachelor’s pad.

“Here’s the guest room,” he pointed out while opening the door and setting her bags inside. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Y/n nodded, “Good night.”

Not wanting her to feel like he was hovering, he excused himself so she could familiarize herself with the space.

Retiring to his room, Walter laid in bed and stared at the ceiling. Before today, he had anticipated that if his relationship with y/n ever reached this point of her staying the night that they’d at least be sharing a bed.

It was strange knowing she was in the next room. She was so close but not close enough. He could only wonder how the next few days would unfold.

…

She was staring. She didn’t want to stare, but she couldn’t help it. When she woke up in the unfamiliar guest bed this morning, she hadn’t mentally prepared for such a marvelous sight. And, yes, it was truly marvelous.

Standing in the kitchen preparing a cup of coffee was Walter, shirtless. Who would’ve guessed that lurking beneath the coat, the blazer, and the dress shirt were such broad shoulders and muscular arms. His back was facing her, giving her a moment to admire him without him noticing. She watched his shoulder blades flex as he started cooking his eggs.

Y/n wasn’t sure how to put it into words, Walter was not only very masculine physically, but also emotionally and with the way he acted, yet it wasn’t at all a bad thing or in a chauvinistic way. His masculinity was exhibited through the way he provided, protected, carried himself with confidence and integrity.

The perfect man, she thought to herself. Finally averting her eyes, she took a breath before making her presence known.

“Good morning,” she chirped.

“Morning,” he greeted, glancing at her quickly before returning his attention to the stove. “How do you like your eggs?”

“Over medium.”

Y/n sat at the small dining table and practically choked on her coffee as Walter turned around and sat a plate of eggs, fruit, and toast in front of her. His chest looked… solid, firm, and adorned with chest hair. She should’ve figured his chest would be just as good as the rest of him.

“Did you sleep okay?” He asked, taking his seat across from her.

“I did,” y/n answered, then took a bite of toast. “Did you?”

He nodded, although truthfully it took him a few hours to finally fall asleep, but he didn’t want y/n to think it was because of her.

“Do you always make such a spread for breakfast?” She asked. “I’m lucky if I have a piece of toast or cereal before leaving for work.”

Walter shrugged, “Usually, I suppose it’s the meal I can count on having, some days I don’t get the chance to have lunch and other days I come home too exhausted to bother with dinner.”

“Well, I appreciate getting to have an actual meal before work.”

As she passed him carrying her plate to the sink, she kissed the side of his head. Then returned to the guest room to get ready for work.

By the time she was finished and headed back downstairs, Walter was dressed in his suit, straightening his blue tie in front of a mirror before throwing on his coat.

He gave her a spare key to his apartment, before they went their separate ways for work.

…

As Walter walked through the parking garage, he figured that he should stop somewhere to grab a few essentials and food on his way home. It was important for him for y/n to feel comfortable while living with him.

Wandering through the aisles, he grabbed a loaf of bread, more eggs, strawberries and blueberries, and a couple of other things to make a few dinners this week.

As he walked toward the checkout lanes, a bottle of Chardonnay caught his attention, the brand, if he recalled correctly, was the same one y/n had enjoyed a few nights ago. He grabbed it, adding it to his basket, before getting in line to checkout.

Opening the door to his apartment, Walter first noted the smell of a home cooked meal wafting toward him accompanied with sounds coming from the kitchen, little clings and clangs from the pots and pans and the radio was buzzing lowly.

He stood at the doorway taking it all in. He had forgotten how nice, how comforting, it was to come home to somebody.

“Hey, welcome home,” y/n said peeking out from around the corner. “Hope it’s alright that I’m making dinner, I just figured since you weren’t home yet, you wouldn’t mind.”

“I don’t mind,” he responded, finally lugging the groceries he bought into the kitchen.

“Is that for tonight?” She asked excitedly, seeing the bottle of wine.

“Can be,” he shrugged, handing her the bottle.

Her eyes lit up as she recognized the brand, “I’m going to get a couple of wine glasses.”

With ease they maneuvered around each other, y/n focused on cooking while he put away food in the fridge and cabinets.

“Go have a seat,” she instructed him, playfully nudging him toward the table. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

During dinner, she told him about her day, her expressions were all so animated as she went through the highlights. He intently listened, engrossed in her stories, he felt at ease. Typically, he’d still be thinking of work, either about a current case, an old case, or wondering what trouble Mulder and Scully were involved in.

Walter insisted on washing the dishes when they were done. Y/n retired to the living room, curled up on the couch with the TV on and a stack of papers on her lap that she graded during the commercials. He joined her when he was done, sitting in his armchair and overlooking a report.

She glanced in his direction and smiled softly, before returning her attention to the tests she was grading.

As the evening progressed a single question seemed to plague his mind, did he deserve another chance at having a domestic life, at having a life outside of his work?

He was going to miss her, especially the little moments that gave him an idea of what it would truly be like to live with her, like how’d he watch her from the corner of his eye as she painted her toenails, or how amusing it was for him when she’d become so invested in some ridiculous TV drama.

With the way things were going he could see the potential here between the two of them, potential to have something resembling a healthy relationship.

But he wasn’t sure if he was ready or capable for something serious like that. Between the fear and the guilt, he didn’t know what was holding him back more.

The next few days went by just as smoothly, Walter couldn’t deny they were compatible. He also couldn’t deny how much he enjoyed just having her around.

It was late at night on Friday when he arrived home. Unlocking the door, he found the apartment dark, walking in further he saw the light of the TV illuminating y/n’s face. Her eyes were fixated on the movie playing.

“I’m home,” he announced standing right by the couch.

She jumped slightly at the sudden sound of his voice and reached for the remote and paused the movie.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he chuckled, switching on the light.

Y/n laughed a little at herself for getting so worked up, “It’s alright… I just didn’t hear you come in.”

He glanced at the frozen TV screen. “What are you watching?”

“I rented ‘The Silence of the Lambs’ on my way home,” she answered, but quickly added, “But we can watch something else.”

Walter removed his jacket and tie, laying them on a chair, before setting his wallet, gun, and badge on the table. “I’m fine with it. Did you have dinner already?”

“Does popcorn count?” She asked, referring to the bowl sitting on the coffee table.

He shook his head, “How does pizza sound?”

“Perfect.”

Walter picked up the cordless receiver and ordered a pizza to be delivered. Y/n turned the light back off and pressed play as he joined her couch. She took one of the couch pillows and wrapped her arms around it, holding it tighter against her chest as Anthony Hopkins’ stare met hers.

As the movie continued, her body seemed to slowly inch closer to him, her fingers soon gripping the sleeve of his shirt. His attention shifted from the movie to her when he felt her grip, he was tempted to place a comforting arm around her shoulders, until there was a knock on the door.

Y/n reluctantly loosened her fingers, allowing Walter to go to the door. When he returned with the pizza, so did the space that was there between them earlier, but it didn’t last long.

Plates were sitting discarded on the coffee table and y/n was again pressed to his side as the movie began to reach its climax.

Walter’s hand found hers, his fingers clutched her hand and gave her a reassuring squeeze. She smiled, snuggling closer to him, her head resting against his shoulder.

He found himself enjoying the close proximity, savoring the feeling of her hand in his. They remained that way until the end of the credits. As she slowly sat up, he wished the movie had been longer or for some other excuse to have her close again.

“So why that movie?” Walter questioned, as Y/n stretched her arms above her head.

“Cause I like it,” she answered simply, looking back at him.

“Looked like you were pretty scared a few times,” he pointed out and gave her a skeptical look.

She laughed, “I love scary movies because they scare me, what I don’t like is watching them alone.”

Walter shook his head and started picking up the plates and taking them to the kitchen. She shuffled in behind him with the empty bowl of popcorn.

“We should do this again soon,” she suggested. “Could become a weekly thing for us, like our end of the work week drinks.”

“Only if I get to pick the next movie,” he countered.

“Deal!” …

Walter was sitting on the couch, bare feet resting on the coffee table, the baseball game on the TV. He was dressed casually in just a white t-shirt and jeans, no suit or tie. It was a rare sight.

He took a sip of his beer and leaned back.

This was one of those rare days off where he didn’t have anything to do, he could just be lazy and enjoy his Sunday by unwinding with a cold beer.

Y/n was on the other side of the couch, twirling a pen between her fingers as she looked over her lesson plans for the upcoming week.

“Sometimes I think you have it harder than I do,” he mused, having noticed that Y/n brought work home with her daily and even worked for a couple of hours every weekend.

She raised her brow, “What do you mean? You literally catch criminals and save the country.”

“Yeah, but I work with adults who are usually capable at their jobs,” Walter elaborated, having thought about the challenges she must face compared to his. “I get to yell at people who screw up and if they really piss me off, I can fire them.”

She laughed, he had a point.

“You’re stuck with pretty much every single child put under your care, it’s a lot of responsibility,” he added. “Not everyone has the patience or dedication.”

She looked at him, her expression soft and her eyes swimming with gratitude. “Thanks,” she said.

“For what?”

“For saying that. For treating my job like an actual career rather than something that’s fluffy or cute…” she blinked away a couple of tears. “My family has always been very condescending when it comes to my career,” she explained. “They assume it’s not difficult or important. Or at least not as important as anything they’ve accomplished.”

Walter furrowed his brow, listening to her intently as she spoke about her family, about how she didn’t share their views or values, about how they scoffed at her life choices.

“Sorry,” she muttered, looking away. “Didn’t mean to lay all of that on you.”

“Don’t be,” he assured her. “You’ve got a break coming up, right?”

She nodded, “One of the perks of the job.”

“Good,” he said in approval. “You deserve a break, maybe you can even go on a real vacation.”

Walter took another sip of beer, he had racked up quite a few vacation days himself. It was a tempting idea, to get away from it all, maybe rent a cabin in the mountains and spend some time out in nature, fishing, or maybe go somewhere tropical, stay at a fancy resort where they serve cocktails with those little umbrellas.

He wondered what type of trip y/n would prefer, either way, he liked the idea of him and her taking a trip together whether it included taking an early morning hike or sitting side by side near the pool.

Y/n moved the papers on her lap over to the coffee table, and scooted closer to Walter. “So who's winning?” She nodded at the TV.

“Yankees,” he answered, casually putting an arm around her shoulders as they both watched the game.

…

Walter woke with a start one night, his body covered in a cold sweat. The red light of his alarm clock read 2:00 am. He groaned, rubbing his forehead, before he sat up and swung his legs over the side of his bed.

He knew it would be futile to try to go back to sleep, and even if he could, he didn’t want to return to whatever nightmare woke him in the first place. Rising to his feet, he quietly made his way downstairs.

He turned on the TV, turning the volume down. He wasn’t in the mood to actually watch, but it felt better to have it on compared to sitting alone in the dark.

His head perked up when he heard footsteps coming from upstairs.

Y/n rubbed her eyes as she reached the last step. “Hey,” she croaked, seeing Walter on the couch. “Can’t sleep?”

He nodded, “You?”

“Thirsty,” she answered.

He sighed, resting his elbows on his knees, listening as she went into the kitchen. Walter closed his eyes, only for them to snap back open when he felt y/n’s hand on his shoulder.

He lifted his brow as she peered worriedly at his face. The hand that had been on his shoulder slowly crept to his face, gently stroking his cheek with her fingers.

For a brief moment, he looked vulnerable like there was something that he wanted to confess to her, but almost immediately his stoic expression returned.

“You should go back to bed,” he urged.

She glanced at the TV screen, some late night infomercial was playing, advertising some sort of CD compilation, the thought of him sitting alone like this bothered her.

“You should go back to bed too,” she retorted.

“Don’t think I can,” he murmured.

“Why don’t you try,” she suggested softly. “Or at least come lay down with me so I know you aren’t alone out here.”

Walter’s forehead creased as he looked up at her face, then at her extended hand, the same hand that had gently caressed him just a couple of seconds ago. From what he’s learned of y/n, she was typically easy going, flexible and willing to roll with the punches, but he could tell this was one of those things where she’d be willing to put up a fight.

Accepting her hand, he rose from the couch and followed her upstairs. She pulled him into the guest room and climbed into bed. He stood there for a moment, awkwardly, until she patted the space next to her expectantly.

“This really isn’t necessary-“ he started and then sighed, y/n appeared exhausted, her eyes slowly closing and snapping back open as she tried to stay awake. “Fine,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

Sliding under the covers beside her, he pulled the tired woman close, her head resting against his chest. Her fingers absentmindedly drew slow circles over his skin until she finally fell back to sleep.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his own hand now tracing up and down her upper arm as he listened to her breath. The weight of her arm and head draped over his chest made him feel grounded, stable. …

Walter’s eyes were still closed when he could hear his alarm clock faintly beeping. He didn’t question why it sounded so far away, and instead he reached out and felt around on the nightstand, trying to hit the snooze button.

He cracked an eye open after several failed attempts, peeking at the nightstand he didn’t see his alarm clock… or his glasses.

Suddenly he was very aware of the weight on his chest and beside him. He must’ve fallen asleep, he half smiled at the realization. Maybe y/n had the right idea.

With a steady hand, he eased her arm off his chest and slipped out of bed. Before quietly exiting the room, he leaned over y/n and pulled the blanket back over her shoulders, his thumb gently caressed her cheek as he admired her for a moment longer.

…

The assistant director reviewed the case files multiple times now, the serial killer had been arrested and was currently locked away while awaiting trial. All the evidence seemed to be in correct order, the man they had taken into custody had access to all the victims, and he fit the profile.

Of course, the suspect was claiming he had nothing to do with the murders, but he was unable to provide any sort of alibi for his whereabouts either.

Walter knew this was going to happen sooner or later, logically he was aware that this was a good thing, they caught the bad guy and y/n was now safe, but he was struggling with the fact that things were going to go back to how they were. His apartment was going to feel quieter, darker, emptier without y/n being around.

He could ask her to move in with him, he snorted as the idea crossed his mind. He’d probably come off looking like a nut asking her to keep living with him.

Taking off his glasses, he sat them gently on his desk as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He should probably tell her how he feels first before even considering asking a question like that anyways.

Grabbing the telephone receiver he quickly dialed his home phone.

“Skinner residence,” y/n answered in a cheerful tone.

“Hey,” he greeted in return, slightly swaying in his office chair, eyes returning to the files on his desk. “What do you think about going out for dinner tonight?” He suggested.

“Oh? What’s the occasion?”

“I’ve got some… good news,” he explained.

“Must be some really good news,” she pointed out.

“Yeah, I think you’ll be happy to hear it,” he stated, though from the tone of his voice, he didn’t seem too thrilled.

Hanging up the phone, Walter proceeded to dial the number of a restaurant he was familiar with, one that was quiet and intimate. When the hostess answered, he made a reservation for two at 7.

Now he was left to decide what news he wanted to share with her first.

…

Y/n scrambled around the apartment, digging through the bags she packed, hoping she had something nice, like a dress to wear. She gave a relieved sigh, when she found her favorite dress at the bottom, hopefully not too wrinkled.

She shimmied out of her outfit and slipped into the dress. Then rushed into the bathroom to fix her hair and make up.

She twisted and turned in front of the full length mirror in the guest room when Walter arrived.

“Are you ready?” He called from the living room.

Grabbing a pair of heels, she slid them on before skipping downstairs.

Walter was waiting at the landing, hands tucked in his pockets. “You look,” he paused, trying to pick the right word. “Stunning.”

Y/n gave him a dazzling smile, “And you look incredibly handsome, as usual.” She gently smoothed the lapels of his blazer.

Walter rolled his eyes and she playfully pushed him. “It’s true though! You always look good.”

“We better get going,” he said, opening the door to the apartment. “Our reservation is at 7.”

After locking up, they headed towards the car. Walter got the passenger side door for her, before getting into the driver's seat and departed for the restaurant.

Walking toward the entrance, he held her hand. This was different compared to their other outings, more official, a real proper date. Despite having gone out to bars and essentially living together, he was still feeling those first date jitters.

There were two things he was hoping to accomplish tonight, one was letting y/n know that she was safe and the other was establishing where they were at with this relationship.

Walter held the door open for her and then followed her in. The restaurant was like how he remembered, dark tile floors, ambient lighting, candles on each of the tables. The food, if he recalled correctly, was good, fresh, portions were on the small end but that was usually the expectation for a place like this.

The hostess led them to a nice table by a window. Walter pulled a chair out for y/n, waited for her to sit down before taking his own seat.

“How was your day?” He asked, giving the menu a once over before directing his attention to her.

“Exhausting,” she replied, sighing heavily for exaggeration. “The end of the school year is always rough… there are so many things that need to get done before break.”

“Anything I can help with?”

“Well, I could use someone big and strong to move some furniture around for me,” she smirked.

“I believe I qualify as big and strong,” he pointed out. “What do you need moved?”

“Student desks, my desk, things like that,” y/n shrugged.

“I’ll see if I can clear part of my schedule,” Walter stated offhandedly.

“Oh, you really don’t have to,” she said quickly, slightly panicked, leaning closer to him. “I was mostly kidding.”

He placed his hand over hers, his thumb tenderly stroking over the top of her hand, “I wouldn’t volunteer to help if I didn’t want to help.”

When the waiter came by, Walter released y/n’s hand. The waiter filled their glasses with water and took their drink order.

“So what about you, how was your day?” She asked, changing the subject.

“Productive,” he answered vaguely, he still was hesitant on sharing the information of the arrest with her, but it also wasn’t right of him to keep it from her. “Actually,” he added. “It’s part of why I wanted to go out tonight, to celebrate.”

“Oh?” Her eyes lit up. “Let me guess… Are you getting promoted? Receiving a plaque that says best FBI Assistant director? A new copier in the office?”

Walter chuckled dryly, eyes flickering to his hand that was fidgeting with the table cloth, “We’ve apprehended someone who fits the profile of the serial killer.”

Y/n blinked, processing what he said slowly. She should be happy, right? They caught the guy, that’s a good thing. Now her and a lot of other women were a little safer.

She mustered up a smile, “That is good news.”

Walter nodded, tearing his gaze from the tablecloth to the beautiful woman sitting across from him. “I bet you’re excited to be going back to your own place.”

She bit her lip, holding back on saying all the things she really wanted to say, like how much fun she’s had living with him, how nice it’s been to have his company, and how she didn’t want to leave.

“Yeah, I guess everything will go back to normal,” y/n finally said, her voice wavering just slightly.

“Is everything alright-“ Walter began to ask until the waiter reappeared ready to take their orders.

Y/n seemed to have recovered from whatever was making her upset, so he dropped the subject. They talked about their work day, shared stories, and asked each other questions about their lives and childhoods.

The waiter came to clear the table after they were done with their entrees, and left behind a dessert menu for them to review.

Walter shifted in his seat a little and cleared his throat, their little date night was coming to a close quicker than he’d like, “There’s something else I’ve been wanting to discuss with you tonight.”

She laid the dessert menu down and tilted her head looking at him intently as he continued.

“I’ve been thinking about us, and how I’d like to continue seeing you, preferably under more official terms,” he proposed, sounding so formal that y/n couldn’t help but smile widely.

“So, what you’re saying is that the assistant director of the FBI is officially my boyfriend?” She teased.

Walter made a face at the word ‘boyfriend’, it seemed so juvenile especially for someone his age, “I suppose that’s one way to put it.”

She laughed, “Can’t wait to brag about you to all my friends and coworkers.” Her hand reached out across the table, fingers twining with his. “How about we share dessert,” she said, lifting the menu again.

…

They stumbled through the doors of Walter’s apartment. He had barely closed the door before y/n’s fingers curled around his tie, urging him closer as their lips desperately collided.

Walter planted one of his hands firmly on the wall next to her, his palm completely flat, supporting his weight as he leaned forward. His other hand ran up her arm, shoulder, and then snaked around her neck pulling her closer to him.

His tongue swept across her lip, in response she parted her mouth.

With her eyes closed, she loosened his tie before fumbling with the buttons of his dress shirt. After so many mornings admiring his bare chest, she couldn’t wait to feel him under her own hands.

She was going to miss those moments, watching him prepare breakfast in just his pajama bottoms, or seeing him reclining in his chair wearing a tight white t-shirt.

God, why did it hurt? Why did it feel like he was kicking her out? She was aware that it was all temporary.

She was still going to see him, they were still going to go out, but it no longer seemed like enough. None of it would be enough to satisfy her, especially now knowing what it was like to see him practically every night and every morning.

Walter pulled away when he felt something wet on y/n’s cheek. His brow furrowed with concern.

“What’s wrong?” He whispered breathlessly.

“It’s nothing,” she lied, a few tears trickling down her face.

“Are you sure?” He pressed, taking off his glasses and tucking them into his shirt pocket. He tried to look into her eyes but she turned her head away.

She was so upset with herself for ruining the moment. Stupid thoughts. Stupid brain having to think those things instead of just letting her enjoy what was happening.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” she sniffed, straightening herself out. “I- I should probably start packing anyways.”

“It’s pretty late already,” Walter reminded her. “You should get some rest instead, your apartment will be there tomorrow night.”

Y/n nodded, “Yeah, you’re right.”

Walter watched as she retreated upstairs back to the guest room. Sighing heavily, he removed his tie and finished unbuttoning his shirt and headed for his bedroom. He placed his glasses on the nightstand, then removed his shirt and tie resting them on the back of the chair.

He collapsed onto his bed, rubbing his face with both of his hands as he wondered about what went wrong.

…

Y/n stood in the middle of her apartment, something was off, she couldn’t put a finger on it, but it was like things weren’t exactly where she had left them while she was gone. It had been bugging her since last night, she kept tossing and turning, mind racing wondering what it was that was giving her the creeps.

It had to be her imagination, right?

She cautiously paced around, studying every little inch of her home. Nothing seemed to be missing, so it’s not like she had been robbed, and it’s not like the place had been trashed either.

She tried to rationalize it, explaining to herself that being back just felt odd because of how much she enjoyed staying with Walter, almost as if her subconscious was making up excuses.

But as she looked closer at the framed pictures displayed on her bookshelf, she could see that they had all been slightly moved. There were faint lines she could see through the thin layer of surrounding dust.

God, she had to be going crazy, rubbing her head she tried to recall if she had moved them recently, because that would make sense, it had to be that. It would be completely insane to believe that someone snuck into her apartment just to move around her photographs.

Y/n took a few deep breaths and tried to ignore the violating feeling, and go on with her evening. She did admit to herself that she was tempted to call Walter, but he was still at work. She knew that just speaking with him would make her feel safer, but she’d feel like such an idiot if nothing was actually wrong.

She bit her nail, now examining her bedroom. Her eyes darted from wall to wall, searching for anything out of place. But nothing was jumping out at her. Maybe she really was just being paranoid.

Walking around her bed, she paused feeling something unfamiliar under her barefoot. Stepping back, she crouched down, fingers feeling around the plush carpet until she found whatever she had stepped on, a cigarette butt.

Where did it come from? Her skin crawled, staring at it in the palm of her hand.

Despite the fact that her suspicions were confirmed about a stranger having recently been in her home, the evidence only made her more upset. Breathing fast, she stumbled back into her living room grabbing her phone and dialing Walter’s number.

…

Walter was sitting at a long wooden table, half listening to his colleagues as he looked over the paperwork relating to their meeting. The voices around him seemed to drone on and on, becoming white noise in the background.

Suddenly, his cellphone rang, breaking the monotony. He gave the people around him a quick look of apology as he pulled his phone out from his pocket to ignore the call, only to change his mind when he recognized the number.

“Excuse me,” Walter cleared his throat and rose to his feet. “But I need to take this.”

Stepping into the hall, he finally answered. “Hey, is everything alright?”

“I-I’m not sure,” y/n said uneasily. “But I think someone has been in my apartment, at first I thought it was just my mind playing tricks on me but I found a cigarette butt… I don’t smoke… I don’t know anyone who does, I don’t know how it got here. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“It’s going to be alright,” Walter said in a calm voice, listening to her sniffling on the other end. “Do you still have the spare key to my apartment?”

“Um, yeah, I do.”

“Good, why don’t you go to my place? When I get home we can both go to your apartment and figure out what’s going on.”

“Okay,” y/n sniffed. “I can do that.”

“Alright, I’m going to see if I can get out of this meeting, I’ll see you soon.”

…

When Walter arrived home and found the door to his apartment still locked, he knew something wasn’t right. Opening the door only confirmed his suspicions, instead of being greeted by y/n, he walked into a dark empty apartment.

He could hear his heartbeat, hammering in his ears as his mind went straight to the worst case scenario… Did they get the wrong guy?

Immediately, he raced back to his car. In a reckless fashion, he backed up and sped out of the parking garage.

Swerving through traffic, he called her phone only to toss it on the passenger side seat when all he got was her answering machine. He inhaled deeply through his nose, his jaw clenched tightly as he tried to figure out what the hell was going on.

“There’s still time,” he muttered to himself, he had to stay somewhat level headed if he was going to be of any help to y/n.

Going over the details of the crimes in his head, he knew the killer usually kept his victims alive for roughly 24 hours. He had just spoken to y/n an hour ago.

In all the cases there were no signs of a break in, suggesting that the killer either had access to their homes or was someone people trusted.

“She’s fine, she’s going to be okay.”

The victims were killed in their own homes, which meant that y/n should still be in her apartment. He just needed to get there. His foot pressed the gas pedal harder, not caring at all about how fast he was going.

The wheels of the car screeched as Walter took a sharp turn right.

Finally reaching her apartment building, he put his car in park. He didn’t bother with the elevator, running past it towards the stairwell.

As he climbed the stairs, Walter had an inner monologue, convincing himself that he wasn’t going to hold back any longer, that life was too short for him to take this relationship so slow.

He promised himself that he would ask y/n to move in, who cares if they’ve only known each other for a few months, if it makes them both happy, then why not? And they were going to go on that trip, any trip to anywhere, a road-trip, a cruise, it didn’t matter. He would take a whole week off and spend each day with her.

He was going to take advantage of this opportunity, this possibility to have a life with someone he cares about, to have a life outside of his work. He figured this was a lesson worth learning twice, to not pass up or wait too long on the things he wants.

It didn’t matter if their relationship lasted for the rest of his life or just a few years, it would simply be worth it in the end.

Walter unlatched his holster when he reached her floor, his fingers curling around the grip as he removed his gun. His hands were steady as he approached her door at the end of the hall.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, side pressed against the wall as he listened near the door. It was quiet on the other side, which could be a good thing or bad.

Cautiously, he tested the knob, and just like he assumed, it was locked. Without wasting more time, he kicked the door open. Doors and locks could be fixed after all.

Creeping into the living room, he immediately noticed the scattered items and broken trinkets. His eyes scanned the room, hoping his loud entrance hadn’t forced the attacker’s hand into doing something rash.

The door to her bedroom was ajar, pushing the door open further, he saw y/n with her hands and feet bound and tape over her mouth. Seeing him in the doorway reignited her efforts as she struggled against the restraints.

As he attempted to crouch down beside her to help, he was blindsided, his back hitting the floor as he was tackled by the assailant. Walter’s gun fell from his hand, landing beside him on the carpet.

His attacker took advantage of his disoriented state, landing several blows before Walter recovered.

Grabbing the man by the collar of his shirt as he swung his fist, hitting him square in the jaw. Quickly, Walter reached out for his gun, his index finger curling around the trigger as he fired.

The killer fell over unceremoniously, dying from a single bullet wound to the head.

Walter stepped over him, immediately returning to y/n’s side as he untied her wrists and ankles. He held her, her body trembling as she sobbed, soon sirens could be heard as emergency vehicles arrived.

The street outside of y/n’s apartment was glowing now with red and blue lights. She was sitting in the back of an ambulance with a fleece blanket wrapped around her frame. Her eyes closely followed Walter as he discussed the situation with the officers who arrived at the scene.

Several concerned and nosy neighbors had made their way out of their homes to figure out what was going on. Calm and authoritative, Walter took control, quickly shutting down the prying questions being asked by civilians and directing the officers and agents on what to do before approaching the paramedics.

His stern expression softened when he saw y/n. He leaned against the vehicle beside her. “The paramedics say you are free to go.”

Fear crossed her face at the thought of returning home, there’s no way in hell she was ready to set foot back into that apartment, especially not alone.

Walter looked at his feet and rubbed his head, “I was thinking, it would be best if you came home with me, unless there’s another place you’d like to stay.”

Her eyes went wide at the offer, but she rapidly nodded her head.

“I think they’ve got it from here,” he commented, watching for a moment. “Let’s get going.”

Carefully getting back on her feet, Walter wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her towards his car.

The drive was quiet, his eyes focused on the road making sure to get them home in one piece, while y/n buried her head against his shoulder, hand clutching the front of his shirt.

Without turning his head, he placed his hand over hers, trying his best to console her. His thumb stroked over the back of her hand for the remainder of the drive.

She clung to him as they walked from the parking garage to his home.

“Not that I mind being close with you, but walking up the stairs might be a challenge,” he said trying to lighten up the mood.

She smiled, her first smile since all this went down.

They opted for the elevator as they were both physically exhausted. When the doors opened and they entered, Walter pulled her into an embrace.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he reassured her, kissing her forehead. She whimpered a little as he cradled her against him, but she soon composed herself when the elevator dinged.

Stepping into his apartment, she felt relieved, her shoulders visibly relaxing as she went into the familiar space.

Walter’s fingers reached out and hooked around hers. Y/n didn’t question him as he led her upstairs to his bedroom.

He released her hand and headed directly toward the attached bathroom, leaving her to stand awkwardly in the middle of his bedroom. His room, similar to the rest of the house, was sleek and minimal. He had a desk in the corner, a large bed with matching nightstands, and opposite of the bed was a TV stand.

She jumped as she heard the shower being turned on, full blast.

“You should take a shower, it’ll help,” Walter said, emerging from the bathroom. “The water should be warm enough now.”

He retrieved his bathrobe from the hook on the back of the door and handed it to her. She slowly walked towards the bathroom, but hesitated, turning back around and looking at him.

“I’ll be right here,” he promised.

Y/n closed the door, leaving it unlocked. The small room was already steamy thanks to the hot water. She placed the bathrobe on the sink counter, before taking off her clothes.

Alone, she noted that everything she did seemed slower, like she was moving in slow motion. Everything that happened earlier seemed like a blur, it all happened so fast.

She recalled getting off the phone with Walter, and how valid she had felt after the call knowing that he believed her. Before she even had a chance to grab her purse she was attacked. She remembers trying to fight back, grabbing whatever was in reach but it wasn’t enough.

Y/n closed her eyes tightly fighting back tears as she stood underneath the hot water.

…

Walter stretched his arms above his head, but then drew them back down, wincing as he realized how sore he was. As he removed his suit, he saw bruises along his back and ribs beginning to form. He didn’t remember getting hit so hard, but he was probably running on adrenaline for most of that fight.

Pulling on a pair of pajama bottoms, he sat on the edge of his bed and placed his glasses on the nightstand. He stared at the closed door, resting his elbows on his knees.

He considered going downstairs just long enough to make y/n a warm cup of tea or hot chocolate, but remembered that he promised he’d be right outside the bathroom waiting for her.

The minutes ticked by slowly as he waited. His mind returned to all those thoughts that had gone through his head when he rushed up to y/n’s apartment. He was still determined to act upon them, but probably not tonight. Today was already overwhelming enough for her.

He raised his eyes as he heard the door open. Y/n’s hair was still wet, her arms wrapped around herself while dressed in his bathrobe.

Even with the remaining drops of water from the shower, Walter could tell y/n had been crying. He figured that she would be a walking bundle of nerves and would need to be treated gently as she recovered, despite whatever brave face she was putting on.

Thanks to his position and military experience, surviving life threatening scenarios had become somewhat routine, but he could still recall how it was after the first time, the jitteriness, the feeling of being on the brink of spiraling, but most of all he knew how important it was to stay with her. It was too easy to get caught in the web of that moment, reliving it, and cycling through every moment.

“Need anything?” He asked.

She shook her head.

“You sure? I was thinking about making myself a cup of hot chocolate.”

She smiled, “That does sound nice.”

Even though he told her that she could wait in the room, she still followed him into the kitchen. She watched him gather the ingredients and mugs from the cabinets.

Her eyes widened as she noticed the red splotches on his back under the bright kitchen lights.

“You’re hurt,” she mumbled.

“I’m fine,” he replied. “Nothing broken, just a little sore.”

She frowned and almost as if he could read her thoughts, Walter continued. “This isn’t your fault, none of what happened today is your fault.”

He handed her a mug, holding it with both hands, y/n felt the warmth permeating her cool skin.

“Thank you.”

“C’mon let’s get to bed,” he nodded towards the stairs.

“Together?” She asked, her heart skipping a beat.

“If that’s alright with you,” Walter added, shrugging his shoulders. “I just assumed you wouldn’t want to be alone right now.”

“Yeah,” she confirmed quietly, not at all surprised by his thoughtfulness this entire evening. “You’re right.”

Sitting on his bed, they idly sipped on hot chocolate while flipping through TV channels before settling on Seinfeld reruns.

This was nice, an unexpected ending to such a horrible day. Y/n looked at Walter from the corner of her eye, his legs were crossed, arms resting over his stomach, chuckling dryly over some joke, his half-full cup sitting on the nightstand forgotten. It was strange how these mundane and simple moments with him brought her so much joy.

If only all days could end with hot chocolate, late night television, and Walter by her side.

Setting her empty cup on the nightstand next to her, y/n laid back on the bed, her head resting against Walter’s shoulder. Reaching over, he turned off the lamp, but left the TV on.

Having her near like this felt right, like that empty space in his bed for the last couple of years was waiting for her to fill it. It was the same with his life, it was fuller with her around. He probably laughed and smiled more these past few months than he had the entire year.

“What do you think about making this arrangement permanent?” Walter asked suddenly, even surprising himself.

Y/n lifted her head, looking him in the eye, “You mean like us living together?”

“We can bring your stuff over from your apartment here,” he elaborated. “I’m willing to part with some things to make room for yours, you can even redecorate the place, I don’t really have an eye for that sort of thing anyways.”

She stared at him in disbelief.

“I know that we’re still in the early stages of our relationship but I honestly think that this could work-“

“Yes,” Y/n practically shrieked, some of her liveliness returning to her. She bounced practically on top of him, her hands on his shoulders. “Yes, I’d love that,” she repeated more calmly.

Walter smiled, “Then it’s settled, we’re roommates.”

Her hands moved to his face, cupping his cheeks as leaned forward and kissed him. The kiss was sweet and slow, it wasn’t motivated by lust like the kisses they had shared a couple of days ago, but instead was an expression of her pure affection.

She lowered her head onto his chest, his hand lazily drawing circles on her back.

Deciding to go all in, Walter asked another question. “How about we go on a trip next month? Somewhere quiet and relaxing.”

She nuzzled against his chest, he could feel her smiling on his skin. “Or we could just stay here… not leave the apartment or your bedroom at all for a whole week.”

“We can do that too, if I recall you’re starting your break soon and I’ve got plenty of vacation time saved up… we could do both.”

They discussed plans for the near future into the early morning, until y/n finally fell asleep, her head tucked under his chin, both of her hands pressed against his chest with his arms securely wrapped around her.

…

It was quiet, so quiet compared to the usual city noises that y/n was so accustomed to, no horns honking or constant traffic outside, here there was only the occasional bird or rustling from the wind.

Pushing the curtain open she looked out onto the lake, the morning sun reflecting on the calm waves. She couldn’t be happier with her and Walter’s choice. The cabin was reclusive and cozy, surrounded by tall evergreens. It provided lots of privacy, giving the illusion that it was just her and him all the way out here.

She closed her eyes, leaning back against Walter as he peppered kisses along her bare shoulder. His lips moved up towards her ear, giving her lobe a gentle tug with his teeth, before he whispered in her ear.

“Come back to bed,” he breathed, his voice low and deep.

Y/n laughed, twisting around to face him, they had already spent the day before in bed and it seemed as though he had the same plans for today.

“What about all those things you wanted to do, the fishing and the hiking and all of that?”

“We’ve got plenty of time,” he murmured, gripping her chin and leaning forward, capturing her lips in a kiss.

She wrapped her arms around the back of his neck as she reciprocated, her soft lips pressing against his just as eagerly. The sheet she was using for modesty’s sake, slipped off her form, pooling around her feet.

Without breaking the kiss, he took a few steps back, successfully leading her back to the bed. When his legs hit the mattress, he sat down pulling her along with him.

Y/n smiled against his lips, now straddling his thighs with her knees on both sides of him, resting on the edge of the bed. His large hands were on her hips, helping to hold her up.

Her breath hitched as he sucked on the nape of her neck. Over the last few weeks he had become somewhat of an expert on her body, catching on quickly to what she liked and how to make her squirm.

Her hips rocked against him, causing him to hiss, his cock hardening underneath her. His fingertips pressed down firmly on her skin as she continued. Her body was so warm, soft, he loved the feeling of her skin under his hands.

With ease Walter flipped her over onto her back and climbed on top of her. His hands caressed her sides leaving a trail of goosebumps as they traveled lower.

Her back arched when his fingers delved between her folds, stroking and circling over her clit. She moaned, desperate to be filled after his teasing.

His hand moved to his crotch, slowly stroking his cock. He teased her slit with the head before easing it into her needy cunt. Leisurely, he began moving his hips, rocking in and out of her.

Looking down at her, chest rising and falling, he was reminded how crazy he is over her.

Cupping her cheek, he kissed her again, his tongue sliding over her bottom lip, urging her lips to part. Her mouth parted and her tongue met his. He hummed, leaning further down as the kiss became more passionate.

Her legs wrapped around his waist, encouraging him to fuck her deeper. She was so hot, wet, and felt so good. He furrowed his brow, focusing on how pleasurable it was being inside of her, but he was determined to make her cum first.

Y/n gripped his back, nails digging into his skin, writhing as she got closer to her own release.

He increased his pace, thrusting harder and faster. Soon Walter was panting, his warm breath fanning over her sweaty skin. His arms firmly placed by her head as he held himself up.

She gasped, squeezing her eyes shut as she came. Her legs around him tightened, holding him in place as her walls spasmed around his cock.

Y/n continued to writhe while Walter resumed moving his hips. His thrust became erratic as he neared his own climax. His fingers curled around the sheet as he finally came.

He hovered in place, catching his breath before falling onto his back beside her. The only sounds in the entire cabin were them breathing as they basked in the afterglow.

“Better than fishing?” Y/n asked playfully, rolling over onto her side, one of her legs draping over his.

Walter hummed in agreement, while placing his hand over hers and bringing it to his chest.

She giggled, “We could’ve just stayed home, y’know, to do this?”

He peeked an eye open, “And miss out on all this peace and quiet? We still have 5 more days, we’ll get around to other stuff eventually, and who cares if we don’t…. It’s our vacation.”

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