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silverskyeline · 7 months ago

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ੈ♡˳ 'snow day' - logan x gn!reader

summary: logan hates the snow, hates that it reminds him of the past. but he soon finds that being with you gives it a whole new meaning. (1.1k) tags: fluffy, angsty cus he thinks about his past, established relationship, you play in the snow, logan realising he's in love with reader, kissing, gender neutral reader, blood mention (in reference to his memories), for the 'snow' prompt for logan promptober, + tagging @alsoprettyinpink - hope you enjoy!

snow. logan hated the snow.

it once held bittersweet memories of home, of those beloved mountains in canada, nestled away from the world. but those memories were tainted long ago. the snow greeted him that day he fled from alkali lake, droplets of crimson liquid dripping from his knuckles into the pure white flakes below, leaving a sickly trail of red behind him.

each winter, he'd wince at the sound of it beneath his boots, each grating crunch serving as a reminder of where he had come from, what had been done to him. reminded him of that frantic prey-like pitter-patter in his chest as he scrambled, alone in the woods.

yes, for years upon years, logan hated the snow.

that was, until you.

logan tries to suppress the blush rising in his cheeks as he observes you by the bedroom window, how you eye the falling flakes with such excitement. a smile tugs on his lips, betraying the signature steely mask he wears. but he can't help it, not when he's around you.

the snow fell overnight, a lot of it to his distaste. logan can't focus on the snow though, not now you're awake. and that smile, he loves it when you're animated like this, when you get that mischievous glint in your eye. he shouldn't be surprised when he sees you bolt for the door.

you're out there in a flash, coat half on, hat sitting precariously on your head, one glove in your hand as you hop in an attempt to pull your other shoe onto your foot. logan watches, mouth half open, yet he can't find himself to scold or call you back inside.

"look at it all!" you yell brightly, turning to face him with a smile that could bring a man to his knees. and it does, regularly.

logan steps towards the door with a sigh, folding his arms firmly and leaning against the doorframe. his eyes drift across the freshly fallen snow, eyeing it with indifference. but it's when he looks at you, the way you're practically glowing with almost contagious excitement, as though you'd never seen snow before in your life. . . logan can't help but smile fondly.

look at you, with your sweet grin and eyes full of wonder, kneeling down to oh-so gently cup a handful of snow in your delicate palms. he notes the careful nature of your actions, always able to admire your softness, how you're everything he's not.

because that's just how logan is, who he is. haunted, chasing ghosts or being chased. an act as simple as playing in the snow isn't so simple. those memories hurt, sure, but he can't let go of them, not again. he's so afraid of losing parts of himself that he holds on to any scrap he can remember, even the parts that make him feel like the animal he's told he is.

he's trying his best, he really is, for you. there's more to life than the past but what if that's all he has in the end? it's normally all he's left with. memories and -

thud.

a cold wet ball of snow hits his shoulder, tearing him from his thoughts as his eyes widen and land on you.

did you just. . . throw a snowball at him?

you're smirking, evilly, compacting another neat little ball into your hands.

"hey," he barks, eyes widening as he points his finger towards you scoldingly, "no, don't you even think about it-"

it's too late though, you're ready to throw before he even finishes his sentence. another ball hits his shoulder and he scoffs, feeling the coolness soak through his white t-shirt and settle against his heated skin.

"you little shit-" logan growls, but there's a clear smirk evident on his face as he barrels out the door after you.

squealing, you turn and begin to run though you know it's futile. but you already got what you wanted, he's having fun.

he's on you in a flash, snatching your hips as he grapples you to the ground with a grunt. you land, turning to face him as you both catch your breath. his hands find your wrists and pin them into the icy ground below as he hovers over you.

logan's panting, his breath puffing out in clouds against the cool air. but you're still smirking. "think that was funny, huh?" he challenges you with a smirk reflected at you.

you give a defiant nod and he chuckles, a low purr that has you smiling. not for long though. he releases one of your wrists to grab a fistful of snow and pushes it into your face. you scream playfully and attempt to escape his grip. "ah, not so tough now, eh?"

"enough enough!" you laugh, muffled by his large hand, "time-out! you win!"

he grins as he dusts the remaining flakes of snow from your features. it gives him time to admire you more closely, his eyes searching yours with a rare vulnerability. he commits this moment to memory - the gentle pink flush of your cheeks and nose as the cold works its way into your skin, the look in your eyes he feels he doesn't deserve, could never deserve.

you look at him like he's everything, like he's not all the things he's seen and done. you look at him, really look at him. and for the first time in a long time, he feels seen, he feels. . . at peace.

logan wants to say something, anything that expresses the depth of his affection for you. but talking has never been his strong suit, instead, he leans down to capture your cold lips against his, his heated presence a stark contrast to your freezing surroundings.

there's no words he could find that would fit the way he feels about you. those three little words echo at the back of his mind, aching to pour from his lips, to be spoken aloud to you, but logan tucks them away for later.

his lips move against yours in a fluid, languid motion, his fingers tilting your chin just slightly as his other hand squeezes around your wrist. pulling back slowly, his eyes flutter open, taking you in once more. gentle flakes of snow fall into his hair and along his shirt, coating him as he shields you from it above. his gaze remains steady, like he can see all those little parts of yourself you try to hide from the world. just like he does.

fuck, he loves you. like really loves you.

". . . you got some snow on you," you smile softly, pulling him from his thoughts with your mild teasing.

the fingers on your chin trace up to your cheek, the backs of his digits tracing a line down your soft skin almost reverently. a smile curls on his lips at your words, but he doesn't mind the snow. not anymore.

because the snow no longer reminds him of what he once had or once lost, it reminds him of what he has. . . right now, here, with you.

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mediaduplicationsystems · 2 years ago

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killerpancakeburger · 11 months ago

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KNIGHT IN SHINING KHAKI

Gif by @bastardcompany

SUMMARY: You've angered the wrong officer. You think you're a goner when Johnny sweeps in to save the day.

PAIRING: Soap x f!Reader ("her" is used to refer to reader once, that's it) (+ Reader's hair is long enough to grab)

TAGS: Civilian!Reader, Depressed!Reader, Insecure!Reader, Angry!Soap, Protective!Soap, GuardDog!Soap, canon violence, hurt/comfort, swearing, blood mention. Ghost makes an appearance as a matchmaker lol. The love is requited they're just insecure idiots. Making Shit Up for the Plot/military inaccuracies.

WORD COUNT: 2.7k

A/N: My original prompt for this was: civilian!reader sees Soap in action and gets Horny. No Scared Just Horny.

Then I found out that Soap canonically beat up an officer. I am also obsessed with this video.

Part 1. Part 3.

This is it, you thought to yourself.

This is how I die.

The day had unfolded like any other. Your shift was over and you were locking up your office, as usual. Your attention was focused on your hands’ motion, your guard dropped, your back exposed.

This explained why, when the stranger grabbed your hair and bashed your head against the door mercilessly, you didn’t see it coming in the slightest. The fact that you had zero combat experience while the person manhandling you was a decorated military officer obviously made matters worse, but at the moment of the assault, you didn’t know that.

The thud of the collision was eclipsed almost immediately by the pain exploding in your face. Half-stunned, all you could comprehend at the moment, every single signal sent by your brain was compacted in one word: suffering. Sharp, all-encompassing. You yelped, your hands vainly pushing against the cold, hard surface to get away.

“I've finally found you, you little snitch. Didn’t think you'd get away with it, now did you?”

Despite the blood thumping in your ears, and how groggy the hit on your head made you, his words reached you perfectly. They were seeping with fury and disdain. His voice didn’t ring a bell, so you tried to turn your head to glimpse him, if only at the corner of your eye, and he granted you some leeway to do so.

Perplexity filled you as you finally caught sight of your aggressor: you've never seen that man before.

“I don't even know who you are,” you winced.

Talking back in your situation would be judged stupid and reckless by a majority of people. Laying low assured more chances to avoid harm.

However most people hadn't been mugged at knifepoint like you had been, and most people valued their lives way more than you did.

Once the confusion and incredulity subsided, the pain still vivid but manageable, you were left with frustration and anger towards your interminable bad luck and the man behind you. His aversion was harder to take seriously when it seemed to have no foundation.

The grip on your hair tightened, making you grit your teeth.

“I'll refresh your memory, then.”

One part of you managed to be pleased to know that this mystery would be solved; the rest was ringing alarm bells when hearing the underlying threats in his tone.

“Weeks ago, you filed a report for embezzlement.”

You frowned, having no recollection of his claims, before a memory emerged. You saw them in flashes: the sudden, abnormally high spendings, the certificates full of anomalies, the incoherent dates; all this lead you to complete a reporting form, just as your job required you to. It was just a formality. You hadn't even even paid attention to the name attached to the expenses, therefore the officer was still anonymous.

Your aggressor scoffs menacingly, easily reading on your face that you remembered.

��They're gonna strip me of my rank and throw me in jail because of you. I'll make you pay even if it’s the last thing I do.”

That last sentence was finished in an almost shout, making you flinch, wishing you could pass through the door.

You quietly resigned yourself to your fate. No one was coming for you. You were no stranger to the inner workings of the military - no one would dare cross an officer that high-ranked for your sake.

I've lived a good li- well, no. A pretty shitty life, actually. But at least I can say I did the right thing.

Just as you closed your eyes and braced yourself, hoping this wouldn’t drag on, a Scottish-accentuated roar resonated in the empty hall.

“Get yer hands off her-”

You had never heard Soap sound so enraged, nor his pitch so gravelly. Relief flooded through you at the sound of his voice, blended with gratitude. Tears stinged the corners of your eyes.

All of a sudden the unyielding grip on your hair was gone, the sound of something violently hitting the wall punctuating your newfound freedom.

“-ye fucking bastard!”

You immediately turned around to see what was happening, leaning against the door behind you. Your legs were too shaky to be reliable. The harmed side of your face was throbbing in pain as you took in the scene with wide eyes.

Johnny had pinned the officer against the wall with one forearm across his chest. He dealt him a punch to the face powerful enough that the resulting thud made you grimace, despite not feeling any sympathy for his target.

He managed to administer a second blow before his adversary snapped out of his stupor, and the advantage he gained from taking him by surprise ran its course.

As your assailant defended himself with the strength of someone backed into a corner, you couldn't help but fear for Soap's safety for a moment. Despite knowing that one's rank didn’t reflect their fighting prowess, a rush of anxiety passed through you at the idea that he could lose that confrontation.

Nonetheless, he quickly put your mind at ease as his skills proved to be largely superior. The gap between the two was deep enough that it was obvious even to a neophyte like you.

Paralyzed, you couldn’t do anything but stare at the display of violence with a mix of morbid fascination and sadistic satisfaction. Honestly, if you could borrow Soap's body, you would without a doubt inflict the same treatment on that man. Maybe worse. Fair payback for the threats, the smashing of your face, the probable trauma you'd get from this. Maybe not that fair. But maybe for once you'd stop trying to act like a paragon of virtue.

You should have been scared, you realized. You had never been involved in a fight before. You had never witnessed firsthand the brutality Johnny was capable of, despite being aware of it, between his status as a soldier and the reports you read. The dog tags jingling from his neck and the khaki of his uniform were like so many visual reminders that he was a killing machine. His ferocious wrath, his yelling and his punches should have made you cower in fright.

However the only feeling inhabiting you was safety, as paradoxical as it sounded. Soap was safe, you were convinced of it, consciously or not.

This whole ordeal felt like it lasted an eternity and a minute at the same time. You blinked and out of nowhere, Johnny was straddling the officer on the floor. Blows kept pouring in but they were one-sided - the sergeant had gained the upper hand. The rhythm of his strikes seemed attuned to the beatings of your heart. Each resonated inside of your ears with your skull as their echo chamber. The noise was loud enough to cover your own thoughts.

As you focused on your breathing, you managed to slow down your heartbeats, and the blood-fueled pump between your ribs no longer felt like it could burst out of your chest at any moment. You failed however to contain the tremor in your hands.

You chose to focus on Soap's hands instead. They were soaked red from blood spilled, but not his. Specks of crimson sprinkled his hair, his face, his neck, his t-shirt.

There was a certain sort of lethal beauty to this brutal display that you couldn't help but contemplate in reverent silence: the way his bicep swole when he threw his arm back before hitting his target. The tightening of the muscles beneath the tanned skin of his arms. His icy stare. The harsh line of his jaw. His stern, inflexible expression, one he usually wore in meetings or after Price gave the order to leave.

The expression of someone who would stop at nothing, provided a bleak little voice in the back of your mind. The idea didn’t bother you nearly as much as it should have.

“Not gonna make him stop?”

The familiar grunt of Ghost's voice almost made you jump out of your skin. You pivoted and the behemoth of a lieutenant was there, in casual clothes, right by your side. You had no idea when he arrived or how long he's been standing there, quiet like a shadow.

Something dark flashed in his brown eyes as his gaze lingered on the hurt side of your face.

“Why would I show mercy to someone who would have granted me none?” you scoffed bitterly.

“Someone's bloodthirsty.”

“You're one to talk.”

“Didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

You turned your attention back to Soap and Ghost did the same.

“I doubt he would listen to me.”

“He would,” stated the masked man, with the assertiveness of someone announcing a conviction.

“But if ya don't believe me…”

A beat, then.

“Oï, Johnny!”

The shout was nonchalant, like it was something he did often, calling off his sergeant from some prey like the Scotsman was his personal attack dog.

The effect was immediate.

Soap abruptly froze, blinking a couple times as if awakening from a trance. Then he perked up, and turned around, eyes searching. The first sound that left his lips was a call of your name. His gaze latched onto you and didn’t let go as he stood up and rushed towards you. The naked vulnerability, the raw openness in his voice and on his face were so earnest that they felt like a Cupid's arrow shot straight between your lungs. It left you devoid of speech and motion, so as Johnny reached for you, all you could do was try to convey your reassurances through your eyes; that you were mostly fine, and so grateful, but worried for him, that he made everything better-

His arms closing around you made the outside disappear, and suddenly the whole world came down to Johnny, and only him. His embrace was enjoyable for a second before the pressure of his body against your face woke up your contusions. You let out a muffled cry of pain and he released you immediately, swearing and apologizing. However his hands didn’t leave you, grasping your shoulders.

“C'mere hen, lemme have a look at ye.”

“Oh, I'm fine, you should worry about-”

Your voice pathetically died in your throat as he cupped your face, leaning over, way too close for your heart to not start stammering uncontrollably.

The combined attention of his fingertips on your skin and the turquoise of his eyes roaming your visage turned your cheeks into a blazing inferno.

Unable to maintain eye contact, your gaze wandered over his own injuries, a split lip and a couple of bruises.

Suddenly he grabbed your chin between his thumb and index, tilting your face one way and the other. Your skin flared up at the contact, pleasant yet nervous tingles scattering all over your body.

“Ye sure he didn’t hit ye on that side? Yer a wee bit red.”

You bit back a whine of complaint at that comment. He couldn’t be that oblivious.

“Yer makin’ it worse, Johnny.” sneaked Ghost, the amusement manifest in his voice - at least to you.

Soap looked up to him, frowning in incomprehension, indignant.

“The hell ya on aboot L.T.? How am ah makin’ it worse?”

You panicked.

“Shut up Riley!” you hissed, in a desperate attempt to put a stop to his shenanigans, forgetting that you were supposed to be severely intimidated by the masked man.

That drew a gruff chuckle out of him. Your sudden outburst caused Johnny to release you.

“Not that I'm not glad to see you, but why are you two even here, anyway?”

You were kind of proud of your ability to change the subject.

“Was comin’ tae get ye fer a game,” smiled Soap, and it reminded you of a pet proudly presenting its owners with its findings.

“This one wasn’t coming back, and neither of you were answering your phones, so we figured somethin’ went wrong. And we were right. This poor fucker is wanted. Called in reinforcements to deal with him.”

Footsteps’ noises caught your attention. A group of soldiers in uniform seized your aggressor and brought him to his feet, before unceremoniously shoving him in the direction opposite of you.

“Gotta tell Gaz the game ain't happening tonight.”

By the time you took in what Ghost had said, and turned away from the procession, he had already disappeared.

“This isn’t over,” menaced the officer, passing by your spot as he was hauled away. “When I get out-”

“Shut the fuck up,” snarled Soap instantly, protectively positionning himself in front of you.

“Found yourself a faithful guard dog, uh?” the other man taunted.

One one hand, that last remark wasn’t so far from the truth - he had been acting a lot like that: barking threats, baring his teeths, standing between you and the menace, reducing a man to a bloody pulp for hitting you…

But on the other hand, letting that piece of shit talk to Johnny this way was simply out of the question.

Before thinking, you found yourself walking in front of the sergeant and retorting.

“What, jealous he's ten times the man you'll never be?”

Fortunately for you, he was dragged away before he could snap anything back. That didn’t prevent you from regretting your snarky comment immediately. It had been a purely impulsive urge, the kind that could make you feel heavy remorse for days, if not years. As if this seasoned combat expert needed your aid to defend himself. The idea was ludicrous.

You didn’t get a moment to mope around however, as Johnny proceeded to grab you by the hips and press you flush against him with a jubilant smirk. You couldn’t do much except prop yourself with both hands on his pectorals to avoid stumbling.

“My hero.” he praised like a smitten damsel in distress.

“Look who's talking.”

You lowered your gaze despite yourself, mumbling your reply, a half smile on your lips, embarrassed but amused.

“Going after bastards is mah job, not yours. You gutsy little thing.”

You refrained a sarcastic laughter at the nickname - gutsy and little were two things you have never been called, as far as you can remember. But you weren't about to argue with the man who just saved your sorry ass.

His fingers pressed into your flesh, sending tickles at the bottom of your spine.You were about to ask him to let you go, the position too incriminating for this public setting, when you noticed how dilated his pupils were. He had to be high on adrenaline from the fight.

You may have let yourself get lost in the blue pools of his eyes, until his expression turned grave.

“Ye sure yer good? Yer too calm about this. No need tae put oan a brave face fer me, aye?”

The genuine, serious concern in his eyes made the inside of your stomach twist.

“I'm good. You arrived just in time,” you assured.

How peculiar it felt to be the one to comfort Johnny, rather than the opposite; that the lionhearted, superhuman sergeant Mactavish might even need such a thing; that he might require it from you, of all people.

“He didn’t get to do much.”

His pretty features contorted into a scowl at the reminder of your attacker.

“That sonuvabitch… raising a hand on ye in broad fuckin’ daylight… if he ever touches ye again, I swear I’ll…”

As he kept fulminating against your assailant, you couldn’t stop an endeared smile from spreading on your lips. Listening to one of Soap's rants brightened your mood; it was familiar. The sincerity in his words and his tone was welcome. He wasn’t able to fake those emotions even if he wanted to; they spilled out of him like a waterfall. His honest worry and righteous ire towards someone who hurt you was… flattering, in a sense. It made you feel cared for, like you mattered.

Then red started dripping.

“Johnny… your nose is bleeding.”

He wiped it negligently with the back of his hand, only succeeding in smearing it over his face. You couldn’t hold back a snort.

“Bend over. It will stop faster.”

“Buy me dinner first.”

He punctuated his quip with a suggestive wriggle of his eyebrows. You rolled your eyes.

“Let's just go to medical already.” you grumbled, starting to walk decisively, albeit stiffly, in the right direction.

“Aye, aye,” acquiesced your savior, jogging a bit to catch up to you.

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sunshinedaisywrites777 · 4 months ago

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Shadows of the Past, Light of the Present (DI!Leon Kennedy x F!Reader)

Warnings- Bad experiences of the reader with her ex, age gap (Leon is in his 30's, reader is in her 20's)

A/N- Thank you everyone for all the likes and reblogs. All are much appreciated 💜

The mall was buzzing with life, filled with the chatter of families, the click of high heels on tiled floors, and the occasional excited squeal from children exploring toy stores. You and Leon wandered side by side, his hand comfortably resting at the small of your back.

“This place is huge,” Leon said, scanning the rows of electronics stores. “You sure we won’t get lost in here?”

You smirked. “We’ll be fine as long as you don’t run off.”

Leon chuckled. “Not a chance. I’m your bodyguard, remember?”

The two of you stepped into an electronics store, your eyes lighting up at the sight of sleek gadgets and shiny displays. Leon leaned against a shelf while you examined a set of wireless speakers.

“This one’s good,” you said, pointing to a compact model with excellent reviews.

Leon crossed his arms, tilting his head thoughtfully. “But does it work with that overkill TV you’re eyeing? Or are we gonna have to come back to upgrade the speakers next month?

You laughed, playfully nudging him. “Hey, quality matters! Plus, you’ll thank me when you’re watching movies with surround sound.”

His phone buzzed in his pocket, interrupting the banter. Leon frowned as he checked the screen. “Work,” he muttered, his expression briefly serious. “I’ll just take this real quick, okay?”

“Go ahead,” you said, giving him a reassuring smile.

Leon stepped outside the store, leaving you to continue browsing. You were engrossed in comparing two models of soundbars when a voice you hadn’t heard in a long time pulled you from your thoughts.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

Your heart sank as you turned to see your ex standing a few feet away, hands in their pockets, a smirk playing on their lips.

“What do you want?” you asked, keeping your tone neutral.

“Relax, I’m just being friendly,” they said, though the edge in their voice was far from kind. “Funny running into you like this. Guess you’re still into shopping for shiny toys instead of fixing what’s real.”

You stiffened. “This isn’t the time or place for this. Just leave.”

But your ex wasn’t done. “I still can’t believe how fast you moved on. Does he know how clingy you get? Or how you used to cry over the smallest things? Must be exhausting for him.”

Their words hit a nerve, memories of the toxic relationship flashing through your mind. You clenched your fists, determined not to let them see you falter.

Just then, a familiar voice cut through the tension.

“I think you’ve said enough.”

Leon’s calm yet commanding tone made your ex visibly flinch. He strode up to you, his expression cool but his eyes sharp as they locked onto your ex.

“And who are you?” your ex asked, their confidence wavering.

“I’m the person who’s lucky enough to be with them,” Leon replied, standing close to you. “And unlike you, I actually know how to treat them with respect.”

Your ex scoffed. “You don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

Leon stepped forward, his posture relaxed but intimidating. “Oh, I know plenty. I know they’re better off without someone who drags them down. And I know you’re wasting your time trying to get under their skin because nothing you say matters anymore.”

Your ex opened their mouth to retort, but Leon raised a hand.

“Save it. You’ve already said enough to prove why you’re in their past. So do yourself a favor and walk away before you embarrass yourself further.”

Your ex hesitated, then muttered something under their breath before slinking away into the crowd.

Leon turned to you, his expression softening immediately. “Hey, you okay?”

You nodded, though your voice trembled slightly. “Yeah. Thanks for that.”

He touched your arm gently. “You don’t have to thank me. Nobody gets to treat you like that—not while I’m around.”

You smiled, warmth spreading through your chest. “I mean it, Leon. You’re amazing.”

“Damn right I am,” he said with a small grin, pulling you into a comforting hug.

After a moment, he stepped back, his gaze playful. “Now, let’s get those speakers and grab some ice cream. I think we’ve earned it.”

The two of you continued shopping, his arm draped protectively around your shoulders. Later, over bowls of ice cream at the food court, you found yourself laughing at his jokes and forgetting all about the earlier encounter.

That evening, as you set up the new gadgets at home, Leon’s goofy commentary and occasional mishaps filled the room with laughter. The warmth of his presence reminded you that, no matter what the past held, the future was brighter with him by your side.

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forthefictionallesbians · 3 months ago

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Despite her own, very public advice against it, Yuna Rochester found herself walking home alone just a few nights afterwards. It had happened nearly before she'd registered what was going on; one moment she, Tim, and a small handful of her boyfriend's friends had been drinking at Oliviera's Speakeasy, laughing and chatting as they enjoyed the legal "illegal" ambiance and drinks, and the next she found herself stumbling down the darkened street, crowds nearly nonexistent at the late-- she checked her phone. 3:22 a.m. Fuuuuuck. She was getting wellness checked tomorrow-- today for sure. In the warm, floaty, hazily happy space her mind was in, worrying too much about that was impossible. Yuna had made it through those before, independence intact. Things were going to be fiiiine. She was fiiiiiiiine. Better than fine, even, with the amount of xeno-infused booze in her system.

She hiccupped, and her breath swam with jasmine and thyme. It was an intoxicating blend, custom made by Oliviera herself to ornament her subterranean bar. Had she really been drinking with Rod and the others for five hours? And why was she on her own? She racked her memory, but it was like trying to find puzzle-pieces in luminous amber, and her mind just seemed to slide right off of them. For her troubles, the curb veered towards her and she narrowly avoided tripping over it, cursing. How rude of it! Yuna gave it a kick. Dumb sidewalk. That made her giggle, but she had enough presence of mind to realize that she probably needed to get directions home.

Yuna reached for her phone, and had a momentary flash of panic to find that it wasn't in her pocket. Fuck. Had she left it at the Speakeasy? If so, Olive would probably deliver it by hand while being gently flirtatious, marvel of a bartender that she was. She was the only affini Yuna really respected, liked even, and her establishment had was one of the few places that never felt like it was designed to coax her into a collar. There was a reason Tim and his friends had taken to drinking there. Unlocking the phone in her hand, she navigated to telecom app and selected Olive's name before pausing. Sparks of anxiety and something more flashed through her gut. It was never a good idea to be too cute and helpless around an affini, even one you trusted, unless you were aiming for a wardship at the very least. But-- Olive was different. Her eyes that always seemed to contain the suspicion of a smile, the quips that felt almost subversive amidst Compact dogma, the perpetually smoldering incense-vines she had growing from herself. Stars. She was safe but exciting, comforting but still razor sharp. Yuna would be lying to herself if she'd never wondered what it would be like to--

Oh hey! Her phone was right there in her hand! She seized on the realization, the distraction, embarrassing as it was, to free her mind from the routes it HADN'T been going down. Her cheeks felt like they'd caught on fire. Sitting down on the sidewalk to steady herself, she firmly compartmentalized all those fantasies she HADN'T been having from her mind. She was drunk, and the mind wandered while drunk. Everybody knew that. The thoughts didn't mean anything, and besides, her boyfriend Tim would be furious with her for thinking them. She was just drunk. Nothing more.

And far from home. Frosts. She needed to get back quickly. Looking at her phone, the half-hour had already passed. She'd barely moved ten feet in the last eight minutes. With how inebriated she clearly was, it was incredibly fortunate that nobody else was around. Having an affini see her like this would be a nightmare, a disaster, a death-knell to the freedom she'd been learning to value so highly. Standing shakily, she pocketed her phone and stepped forwards.

Directly into a mass of vines. What? Yuna put her hands forward, feeling them. Her mind was struggling to process the input, and, accidentally pushing too hard, she stumbled backwards. A hand(?) shot out, lightning quick, and kept her from bruising her rear on the concrete. It was soft on her back, and she let herself just hang there for a moment, blinking up at the affini silhouetted against a streetlight.

The affini. Fuck. Panic cut through the intoxication in an icy slash, only to be re-consumed by the amber fugue as it closed back in. What remained was still fear, but distant, hazy, nearly incorporeal. She shied away from the figure anyways, turning her body in an attempt to fall from their hand. It merely shifted and retained its grasp.

"Yuna Rochester?" The voice was musical, melodious, laced with a firmness that brooked no defiance. However much amusement flowed from the delivery, it left no doubt that the figure knew exactly who they were.

Yuna blinked, frozen, mouth opening and closing wordlessly. Implications and anxieties tried to pile up, only to sink into the bubbling, drugged froth of her mind. The affini smiled down at the sight, a friendly mask cloaking its predatory intent.

"My name is Wisteria Salashi, Fourth Bloom, she/they. We've met once before."

The dots began connecting in Yuna's mind. It wasn't a quick process. Fuck. Wait. "You're the- the one who got Andy!" Her friend had been domesticated just over a month prior, ensnared by this very affini. Their personal connection suddenly made the interaction feel far more dangerous. She began squirming, thrashing, trying to break free. The affini just flashed her thorny teeth, mask dissolving as the grin extended entirely too far along her face.

"So she does recognize me. I was worried Oliviera had sent you to me with your mind fully gone." Wait. Wait wait wait wait wait. Olive had- "Which would have made things a tiny bit easier, but much less fun for me." Fuck. Wisteria drew closer, her face inches from Yuna's. Ginger assaulted her sinuses, and Yuna turned her head away from Wisteria's brilliant eyes. This was bad. This was really bad. "Awww, so adorable. You're still trying to resist." Her voice hissed through the rows and rows of teeth, fake breath cool across Yuna's cheek. "I thought you knew that 'If an affini decides that it wants you, it is already too late.'"

Yuna's own words. Her own post. She'd read them so many times over the past days as the responses and reposts had come in. People thanking her. People teasing and mocking her, or saying they'd follow it in reverse. The post being temporarily removed by the affini site admins, before being put back up as "an example." She should have expected something like this. She HAD expected something like this, before- before-

Olive had persuaded her to stay late, prepared her special drinks to help with the anxiety, convinced the others that she'd make sure Yuna got home safely. They had all trusted her. Helplessness and betrayal boiled through Yuna's chest, welling up in a tidal wave that threatened to drown her. It too was swallowed by the drugged ditzyness, but with it went every drop of resistance she might have once mustered. There was no hope. She had lost. Like Andy, and Molly, and so many others. The words of Rodrigo, one of Tim's friends, flitted through her mind. 'We're just wayward property to them,' he'd said. 'With no real rights or moral value.' At the time, she'd found it a little too... feralist for her tastes. Now she realized he'd been right.

At the shake of a vine, she would become property. Yuna whimpered at the thought, trembling. Her fight was gone. Wisteria looked almost disappointed. "You terrans break too quickly for my tastes," she spoke, almost confessionally. "I'd hoped that someone involved in a feralist pack would be able to take a little bit more. So much for the 'indominable human spirit,' or whatever it is you free terranists believe." Yuna whimpered again, shifting to try and bury her face against the hand holding her.

Wisteria sighed. "You are undeniably adorable, though." Her other hand gently lifted to stroke Yuna's head, vines and feathery tendrils flowing out through her hair, kneading her scalp. It felt incredible, especially with whatever Olive had put into her system. She felt to drugged and broken to not let herself enjoy it at least a little, even while shying away from the terrifying affini form. Wisteria hummed softly with a level of contentment.

"I'm not going to domesticate you, little acorn. Oliviera would scold me if I did, and the NFPO knows you just fell into a rough crowd. We're not after you." Wisteria's tone was conciliatory, if patronizing. For some reason, that comforted her.

"You're not?" Frosts, somehow she felt small again, like she'd been caught breaking some rule and been forgiven. Another vine snaked up and wiped away the tears she didn't realize she'd been crying.

Yuna's mind was still fuzzy and overwhelmed, but a spark of hope had reignited. Her fears weren't coming to pass. Looking up, she found that Wisteria had pulled back, softened her features once again. A glimmer of disappointment still remained in her eyes, but her visage was nearly apologetic. Maybe she would let her go? Maybe Yuna had a way out?

"Of course not, my fragile girl. Oliviera is. I'm just here to turn you into an unwitting double agent, because it'll be so much more fun to break your feralist friends slowly!"

She was too tired for the icy fear to make much of a dent this time, to be phased by the gleam that returned to Wisteria's eyes. The spark had been quenched. Her chest trembled once again, tears threatening the corners of her eyes. But Olive's xenodrugs helped take care of that too. They'd probably been designed to, Yuna realized idly, apathetically. How kind of her. At that thought, the apathy burst into a little giggle. Here she was, situation hopeless, about to be turned against her friends by alien invaders, irrevocably drawn into a tangled jungle of affini schemes, and there was nothing she could do about any of it. A golden bubble of despairing mirth began to grow in her abdomen, fueled by the carbonated surrender swirling through her system. At least it wouldn't be a mean affini like Wisteria who got her. That thought prompted another giggle, the absurdity of the thought compounding on itself.

Wisteria watched her with an expression of profound amusement. This didn't seem to be the reaction she had hoped for, but it wasn't an unpleasant one for the affini. She shook her head, a far nicer smile drawing across her face. "Seems like Oliviera has you well in hand, even without a collar on you yet. But it's getting late, and it would be irresponsible for me to keep you much longer." Yuna felt a quick pinching sensation in their side, and the last thing they knew was a glorious numbness and the gleam of Wisteria's eyes.

Yuna Rochester woke up in her bed the next day, head still hazy from sleep. Her alarm clock was blaring, and she stared at it blearily, far too tired. How late had she gotten home? On her desk she saw a handwritten note, pinned underneath a glass of something the colour of honey. She chugged it without thinking, and a wave of cool, refreshing alertness swept through her body, driving sleep away. Little sparking bubbles of pleasure blipped in and out of her muscles, an aftereffect of tingling joy. She sighed, stretching her back and reaching for the paper. It was from Olive. Her cheeks flushed.

Good morning, sleepy head! I couldn't leave the Speakeasy last night (you know how it is! always busy) so had a friend take care of you. Apologies for keeping you so late, but you seemed like you were enjoying yourself. Hope the drink helps. P.S. Feel free to come back any time! Even without your friends! It was great chatting with you ;)

Yuna clutched the letter to her chest, and committed to do just that.

#human domestication guide #affini #hdg #my posts #yuna reappears!#as does Wisteria!#with andy and mol mentioned!#not everything is gonna be tied together but theres quite a bit #havent even introduced most of the SFT yet

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mrs-kmikaelson · 2 years ago

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06| The Tribrid

Pairing: Klaus Mikaelson x daughter!reader Summary: While you busy yourself with making sure the deal with the witches runs smoothly, Klaus occupies himself by trying to figure you out. Warnings: none Words: 4.4K

Masterlist | Part 7

I walked into my house, throwing my keys on the side-table next to the door and shrugging off my jacket. I checked my watch: 2:01 PM, so Davina was still at school and wouldn't be back 'til she was done practicing with the witches.

I just got back from lunch with Elijah where we went over the Mikaelson's terms in more detail. Genevieve had sent a witch to the Abattoir earlier like a carrier pigeon with an outline of their requests.

Pretty dramatic, if you ask me, but she was like just resurrected. She probably doesn't know how to text yet, so whatever.

After Elijah and I talked over everything, I left, telling him I'd type up the contract myself. As an immortal with plenty of time on my hands, I've gone to law school and pursued numerous careers, as I'm sure Elijah probably had, too, so there was no need to hire (compel) someone else to write this contract for us.

I made my way to my room, passing Davina's on the way which was filled with boxes and a few things placed haphazardly on the ground. My room looked a little different: pretty plain, bed parallel to the door. Normal, basically.

I walked into my adjoining walk-in closet which was probably the most interesting thing about this room. At first glance, it looked mundane; there were some eye-catching statement pieces, but this closet otherwise just looked like a closet.

Unless you knew what to look for.

I closed the closet door for good measure and turned to the back wall, waving my hand and muttering, "Invisique saeclum." Instantly, the illusion of the wall disappear and another, smaller, more compact room was revealed.

It was lined with shelves, books stacked on top of each them. I walked closer, going to pick up the book closest to me. My grimoire. Like the rest of the books in this closet, it was dusty. I haven't needed to look for a spell in a long while.

I placed it down on the island in the middle of the room before turning to find the other book I needed. Under a few other books, I found what I was looking for: Amelia's grimoire.

I put it down next to mine, staring at both of them. Strong nostalgia came over me. I hadn't looked at her grimoire in long time, or even my own, for that matter. Both of them should have been worn down now after all these years, but a simple preservation spell kept them in pristine condition, looking just as they had when I was younger.

My lips quirked up as I ran my hand along their covers, memories flashing before my eyes of my childhood. But as quick as the happiness came, it disappeared with the thought of how that very childhood was stolen from me.

Enough with memory lane.

I switched my focus onto the purpose of even grabbing these books, opening my grimoire and flipping through it until I found the page I was looking for.

Illusion spells.

While I was very familiar with this type of spell, the one I wanted to perform was a little different. It was similar to the average cloaking spell, but I wanted a physical manifestation of an object: a decoy.

I wasn't stupid. I was never going to give Genevieve my aunt's grimoire. The only reason the witches wanted something so powerful was for leverage, and they weren't gonna get it. I knew all this last night, so instead of actually giving them Amelia's grimoire, I'd give them a copy.

But this copy had to feel real, tangible. Its energy needed to be able to be sensed in the same way it was with the real thing. They needed to feel like they could trust us, even if the Mikaelsons—or myself, for that matter—didn't trust them.

The thing with magic was that it worked through energy. Witches have their own special type of energy that enables them to perform spells. That's why you could practice magic without incantations; so long as the intent was there and it was strong enough, then your spell would work.

The reason why we often do use incantations is because words hold power. The history behind them holds enough energy to basically back the spell up. So, if you were using spells that weren't your own, then you would also want to use the chant because, without one, your own intent wouldn't be strong enough for the magic to pull through.

That's why I was going to change the incantations written down altogether.

At first, I was gonna exclude certain pages from Genevieve's copy completely, but then I realized that, without the powerful spells, she'd be less likely to trust us. So then I just change them so that they still made sense, but wouldn't work.

Without the written incantations that Bennetts had chanted in the past, these spells would be useless. If the words didn't hold any significance, then they were pointless.

Which was exactly my goal.

I hovered my left hand over Amelia's grimoire, hovering the other over blank space on the island. I closed my eyes and began, "Phantamogriphia decorum, appearatas veridical. Phantamogriphia decorum, appearatas veridical." After repeating this a few times, I felt the emergence of energy into the room and opened my eyes to see a book identical to Amelia's under my right hand.

I picked it up, flipping through it and stopping every once in a while to alter a spell, muttering incantations under my breath so the words on the page would appear as if they were Amelia's handwriting.

When I was done, I set it down on the island to compare it to Amelia's real grimoire. It was almost impossible to tell the difference unless you actually knew her. There was only a slight difference in the energy emitting from each book, but I knew this was fool-proof.

With a grin, I returned mine and Amelia's grimoires to their spots, bringing the cloak of the wall back. I grabbed the fake and stuffed it into my bag, tossing it onto a chair in my room. For now, I'd go type up the contract, then I'd walk over to the compound to give it to Elijah.

With that, I walked over to my office.

THIRD PERSON, THE NIGHT BEFORE

Klaus stood off to the side while his brother and his latest fixation spoke to the witches. He was silent; Elijah already warned him earlier not to cause a fuss, and the last thing he wanted was a fight with a Elijah. He had enough to deal with, this agreement included.

This evening, however, was not something he wanted.

Klaus couldn't care less if the factions tore each other apart in the streets. All of this was Elijah's doing, and so Klaus was only there to oversee it. Truth be told, he wasn't even going to show until Elijah told him Y/N was going to be there.

That caught his interest.

He couldn't figure it out, but there was something about this girl that pulled him to her. She looked familiar; he just couldn't pinpoint where he knew her from.

It seemed that others found her just as fascinating. For some reason, she had the trust of the Quarter's residents, but she wasn't going to get Klaus' trust so easily.

There was something off about her, something far greater than familiarity. And he was going to figure it out.

No matter what.

His attention was drawn away from Y/N when Genevieve cut her off. The words that came out of her mouth had stunned him.

"Esther Mikaelson's grimoire. We want Esther Mikaelson's grimoire."

Elijah's request for peace this evening suddenly went over his head. He scowled, "Are you out of your mind?"

"Niklaus-"

"I am not giving you my mother's grimoire. After what you tried to do to my family, you expect me to hand over-"

"Niklaus." Klaus stopped, turning to look at Elijah. His jaw clenched when he saw the look on his brother's face. He calmed down slightly, glancing at Y/N, wondering how she was going to talk her way out of this one.

Even as he glowered at Genevieve, he couldn't help but feel smug. There was no way out of this, and the oh so special Y/N would fail.

Or so he thought.

Y/N declined her request, as he predicted. Genevieve went to pull out of the deal, as he predicted. What he didn't predict was what Y/N said next.

"I currently have a Bennett grimoire in my possession." His head snapped in her direction. His eyes met Elijah's who looked just as surprised as him. He glanced over at the witches who luckily didn't notice their reactions, too engulfed in shock of their own. "It's yours, so long as you accept."

The rest of the conversation became muffled to Klaus, as if he were underwater. He could tell she wasn't bluffing—that, or she was a really good liar. He suspected that both were true. So many thoughts ran through his head at once.

While he thought she must have won Elijah over with that save, this only deepened his own distrust in her. A Bennett's grimoire was extremely hard to come by. They were guarded as if they were the holy grail. If he, the Original Hybrid, wasn't able to get his hands on one, then how did a mere vampire acquire one?

And why was she giving it up like it was pocket change?

He tuned back into the conversation when all parties stood up, Y/N and Genevieve shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries that he didn't care for. As Elijah walked the witches out, Klaus didn't glance at Genevieve once, even though he felt like glaring at her whenever he saw her. Instead, his glare was directed to Y/N.

Their eyes locked, and Y/N only continued to surprise him by staring right back. She was confident, and assertive, and unfazed with every comment he threw her way. He kept trying to shake her, but she appeared to be rooted to her spot every time. This only annoyed him.

He was so focused that he didn't even notice when his brother walked back into the room. Elijah thanked her, making Y/N look away to respond. Klaus had an inkling that Elijah wouldn't bring up what just happened, so he had no choice but to be the one to do it.

"How do you have a Bennett grimoire in your possession?" He interrogated, suspicion audible in his voice. Elijah gave him a look that was ignored.

He watched Y/N's body language as she responded, looking for any signs of a lie. "I met one a few hundred years ago. She died after she was in the wrong place, wrong time, but she left that book to me."

She must take me for a fool, he thought. The nerve of her to think he'd believe that. "A Bennett witch left her grimoire with you, a vampire? Not with her family?" He enunciated each word slowly as if to emphasize his point.

A Bennett witch leaving something as valuable as her grimoire to a member of the species they hated was unheard of.

Y/N gave an excuse, saying the witch wasn't close with her family at the time, as if that made it any more believable. "And I was human at the time so, yes, she left it to me because she knew it could come of use one day."

She showed no indication that she was lying, and if her story was real, then her excuses were reasonable. Perhaps if the story were coming from someone else, he would've rolled over and believed it. But this was coming from Marcel's supposed 'best friend,' the woman who so happened to be there the night Hayley was almost attacked, who had his brother so interested in her that he forced him to allow Marcel back into the Quarter all for the sake of a deal. This was coming from the woman who reminded him so much of a ghost from his past.

So, no, Klaus did not believe her.

Elijah, on the other hand, didn't look as vexed. He cleared his throat and changed the subject, thanking her again. Y/N turned around, making plans for another meeting. She didn't look back at Klaus once, but he was staring at her until even after she walked out the gate.

Elijah sighing broke him out of his trance. "Must you be so difficult, Niklaus?"

Klaus rolled his eyes. "If you want to turn a blind eye to all of this, then by all means. But this woman is so obviously hiding something." He reached for his scotch, downing the rest of it in one go.

"Niklaus, please-"

He cut him off, "No, Elijah—you can't honestly be telling me that you don't see what I'm seeing. She acts as if she's guilty of something-"

"Innocent until proven guilty."

Klaus scoffed. Elijah's immediate impulse to see the best in everyone could very well one day be his downfall. For some reason, he was defending Y/N, even though they both knew the only reason they really brought her in was because he saw the same things Klaus did.

Klaus shook his head. "She's not who she says she is." This time, Elijah's response didn't come as quick. He only silently maintained his stare. Little did Klaus know, his brother had doubts of his own.

Elijah's response never came. He closed the book on the conversation completely. "Good night, Niklaus." Elijah walked way, patting Klaus' shoulder as he passed him before going up the stairs. The hybrid cursed him in his head. How could he be so stupid, he thought.

He knew you were hiding something.

And he would make it his personal job to figure out what it was.

FIRST PERSON, PRESENT

I closed my laptop, having just printed out the contract. With Marcel, contracts were never necessary; you would just trust the other person's word. But, in this new society, trust could not be guaranteed.

I sighed, checking the time. Davina should be home any minute now.

Right on cue, I heard a knock at the door. I furrowed my brows. Didn't I give her a key?

She must have left it her by accident. Not thinking anything of it, I got up, walking to the door absentmindedly. "Hey, Dav-" my words died down in my throat once I opened the door. Standing in front of me wasn't Davina.

It was Klaus.

He coyly smiled. "Hello, Y/N. May I come in?" For a quick second, I was stunned. I wasn't expecting this at all. How did he even know I lived here? I wondered before dismissing the thought. He's Klaus Mikaelson; of course, he knows where I live.

I quickly composed myself, reciprocating his smile, only hoping that mine didn't look as fake as his. I held the door open wider. "Of course." The act of Klaus stepping over the threshold into my home almost made me sick, but I didn't dare show it on my face.

"Lovely home you have here," he said, looking around, but I doubted he was just looking out curiosity, and that compliment felt nothing like a compliment to me. What the fuck is he doing here?

I thanked him, resisting the urge to cross my arms. I learned in the few psych classes I attended that it was a sign of discomfort. I instead tried to make myself less stiff, asking myself how a normal person would act in this situation and then trying to behave that way.

"Would you like something to drink? Water, tea, Brandy....?"

Klaus shook his head, declining. He still wasn't looking at me, continuing to stare at my house. He seemed to be searching for something, and I had an idea what it was.

Well, he wouldn't find it.

I skipped over the like five other questions I had, asking, "What brings you here?" I kept my voice light, even though he probably knew that I knew what he was doing. I was already gonna be heading over to the compound later where he would've seen me. He had no reason to be here other than to look for some sort of flaw.

Finally, Klaus looked over at me. "Elijah's currently preoccupied, so I told him I'd just come here and get what you were supposed to give to him." Bullshit. But I'd play this game. I've won far harder ones.

I reminded myself of the pact I made to myself when I left the compound yesterday, of everything I've endured over the course of my life. If I went through what I went through, then I could go through speaking to my father.

I faked nonchalance. "Right, the contract. I'll go get that right now." I went to my room, grabbing the stapled pages and Amelia's grimoire out of my bag, ignoring the fact that the hybrid could've done anything in the less than thirty seconds I left him alone. However, when I got back, he seemed to be in exact same spot, waiting patiently for my return.

"Here," I said, handing them to both to him. He hummed, flipping through the pages—though, I doubt he was reading anything, even though the contents of the folder I just gave him were only drafted in attempts to save his city.

But I didn't have to have known Klaus long to know that this wasn't about saving anything for him. Men like him didn't save; they destroyed, and my mother raised me well enough to make sure I never forgot that.

When he closed the folder, he looked at the grimoire with a serious stare. I would've been worried that he was trying to see past my glamour had I not been as strong as I was. Nobody could see past my illusions other than myself; it's always been that way, and it'll always be that way.

Instead, I could bet he was questioning its authenticity or even my authenticity. The white lie I gave the other night was convincing enough to get me out of the compound, but since Klaus was looking for any reason to support his distrust in me, he obviously still had reservations.

Before I could continue with my train of thought, Klaus looked up at me and abruptly questioned, "Where are you from?" My brows went up. Out of all the things he could've said, that was on my list of least expected.

But I wasn't expecting any of the other things that'd happened in my life since I returned to New Orleans, either.

My first instinct was to respond, why do you ask? but that felt defensive and that was the last thing I wanted to come off as to my father. I told him what I told most people who asked. "A little bit of everywhere, I suppose." I shrugged for effect. "I was travelling at a young age due to conflicts around my family, so I was all over Europe as a child."

The suspicion Klaus so eagerly showed me the other night was tucked away. Instead, he only hummed again, but clearly he didn't believe me; otherwise, he would've left it alone, but I could never be so lucky.

"And how old are you? If you don't mind my asking," he added, as if he cared about whether not I minded.

I didn't hesitate. "About five hundred years old, give or take."

He hummed in response, adding to my irritation, but I was much better at hiding what I was thinking than he was. Not that he was trying. "Well, I suppose I should've assumed so since the Bennett witches had fled to America around that time period." He stared me dead in the eye, a smug smile on his face but a much more serious look in his eyes.

He was pretty close to me, close enough that I could see his eyes—and I mean really see them. They were blue with twinges of green and brown that I hadn't seen from far away before. And even though almost nothing scared the crap out of me more than the fact that his eyes looked like mine, I stared right back like I had no fears at all.

"Yeah, that's true," I agreed, but I didn't offer anything further. The only other things I could've added to this conversation to convince him I wasn't lying were facts from my personal life and that was information I wouldn't soon give up.

I didn't know how well Klaus knew my mother before they conceived me, if he knew her best friend's name or even her own, for that matter. So there were some details I just had to keep to myself; revealing certain things may have had the ability to help me, but they could also hurt me just as easily.

That was a risk I wasn't going to take.

Klaus just kept staring at me, and I almost thought he'd never look away until the door opened. We both turned to see Davina in the doorway, keys in her hand.

Her mouth fell open slightly, eyes darting between me and the Original in our living room. Said Original broke the silence. "Ah, if it isn't the little witch."

I watched Davina swallow but still manage to glare at him. "Klaus."

Klaus held his hands up in surrender, that same "friendly" smile on his face that was anything but. "Relax, love. I come in peace." He then looked back over at me. "I was just leaving." With that, he walked toward the door. Back still turned to me, he uttered a thank you for what I gave him and wished us a wonderful night, patting Davina on the shoulder on his way out.

The teenager barely waited until Klaus was out the door to close it, looking over at me with incredulous eyes. Just as her mouth was about to open, I brought my finger to my lips, silently shushing her and pointing to my ear.

She got the message, exasperatedly sighing and running a hand through her hair while I used my hearing to listen to Klaus walk away. Once I could no longer hear his footsteps, I let my finger fall. Davina instantly let her questions loose.

"What the hell was he doing here? Why'd you let him in- no, how did he get in? What was that stuff he walked out with and why did that book look like a grimoire? Oh my God, does he know that you're a-"

I cut her off, "Davina. Slow down and I'll explain." At my interruption she paused, taking a breath. I couldn't help but be amused at her worry, even though the Devil himself had just been standing in my living room.

Once she was calm, I elaborated, summarizing the deal I'd made with Elijah and then the deal we'd just made with the witches. Although I trusted Davina, I gave her the same story I gave Klaus when it came to the grimoire. There were some things just better kept secret and, for now, Amelia Bennett and my family fell under that category.

After I'd explained everything, Davina nodded to herself, soaking it all in, muttering under her breath, "That must've been what everyone was talking about today, a deal with the Mikaelsons." She pursed her lips. "Yeah, I heard Genevieve and some others whispering something about a Bennett witch, so it must've been that."

I nodded. "Yeah, and as for Klaus being here, I let him in myself. Don't worry; the protections are fine." She finally seemed to calm down after that.

"Okay, I guess I'll just go do my homework now or something. See you, Y/N/N." I ruffled her hair as she walked past me, getting a faux angry pout that didn't last long before a smile started to form on her lips. Like her happiness was contagious, the corners of my lips upturned, too.

It was good to see her happy, busying herself with things like homework. That's what teens should be doing, not hiding away in attics, isolated from humanity. Death shouldn't have even crossed her mind but I knew that, living in the world we lived in, that wasn't an option.

In spite of that, I would do my best to preserve her childhood for as long as I could. There was no one there to do that for me, and I'd be damned if I would just stand by and watch as hers was stolen from her.

Davina meant too much to me to allow that to happen, but even so, there were still things about me that she didn't know. There were things about me that no one knew, no matter how close to me they'd gotten.

No one knew I was Klaus' daughter, no one but Amelia, my mother, and the person who killed her.

At that thought, my mood became sour, but instead of drowning in my own self-pity, I blocked the thoughts completely. I couldn't afford to be in New Orleans with Klaus Mikaelson watching my every move and to also think about that part of my past.

So I pulled out my phone and dialled until Cellie's voice filled my ear, "Hey, what's up?"

"Hey, let's go out. We can hit up that new club downtown. And call Cami up, too; we can all go and just have fun."

"Not that I oppose this in anyway, but what brought up this spontaneousness?"

"Nothing," I lied. "I just want to have a night-out on the town. C'mon, Marcel; don't be boring."

He gave in, "Alright, alright, fine. I'll call Cami."

I grinned. "Great; meet at my place." Before he could say anything else, I hung up on him. This was just the sort of thing I needed, to go out like everything was normal.

I rushed to go get ready, pushing all thoughts of Klaus and my past to the back of my mind. For one night, just one, I wanted to feel like myself again.

Ever since I got back to New Orleans, I've felt like this shell of myself. Around the Originals, I felt like little-kid-me. All of these memories and thoughts that I've worked to repress have just been resurfacing, and so, for one night, I just want to feel like myself again. That'll help me get it all together.

I was gonna go out tonight, not as a Mikaelson, but as a Y/L/N.

And after that, I was gonna bury Y/N Mikaelson for good.

Taglist: @scrynexxtins @thisnameistaken1234 @honestlycasualarcade @xlittlestarling @thatgirljas13

#klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus x daughter!reader #klaus mikealson fanfiction #klaus mikaelson #the originals #the mikaelsons #tvd #tvd fandom #tvdu #angst #davina claire #marcel gerard #imagines #tvd fanfic #tvd fanfiction #klaus mikaelson imagine #klaus mikaelson fanfic

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breakfastteatime · 10 months ago

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Today's Fallen Order request is 'Washed Up' for @shape-of-your-body

A coughing fit from deep within his lungs tosses Cal into consciousness. He vomits a foul mixture of phlegm, bile and seawater, the force of which leaves him so oxygen deprived he promptly passes out again.

The rasping tide brings him around a second time. The cry of a seabird circles overhead. Cal gets his hands beneath him, feels them sink into the sand. He can do this. He can get up. He –

Why is he alone?

“BD?”

The little droid doesn’t respond.

Adrenaline launches Cal to his feet. He’s on an empty beach, the sky dull, the wind tepid. He’s surrounded by driftwood and has a vague memory of grabbing some when he and BD were out at sea.

He’d really like that to be the last time he ever has to fight anyone in a large body of water, but when the Empire decides an ocean world is actually their ocean world to plunder, someone has to stop them. And stop them they had, taking out their research vessel in such a way it looked like nature itself had fought back. But Cal had been thrown from the ship’s deck and pulled away by the tide before the Mantis could grab him, and now…

“BD!”

His salty skin pulls, lips cracking. He needs to calm down, center himself, reach for the Force and find the little spark of light that is his best friend. He reaches for his comm, only to find it gone. At least his lightsaber is still on his belt. Fishing that out of an ocean would not be fun.

What if BD’s lost in the ocean? What if Cal loses him too?

He takes a deep, slightly crackling breath, and reaches for the Force. It flushes him with warmth and strength, a soft blanket over his pulsing anxiety. Hush. Be still. Reach within.

Mind and body settling, Cal opens his eyes. Many piles of driftwood litter the beach. If Cal washed up here, there’s a good chance BD did too. Cal scrambles to his sea legs, the phantom weight of water pressing against him. He’s unsteady, the compacted sand solid enough but uneven. He wobbles his way across the beach, reaching and reaching with the Force, calling out.

BD doesn’t respond. Cal peers at the shoreline and catches a flash of red light blinking in a pile of driftwood at risk of being pulled back into the ocean. Body hollowed out with fear and exhaustion, Cal staggers onwards.

“I’m coming, BD,” he wheezes. “I’m coming, buddy.”

The water catches the driftwood, pulls it out into the tide. Cal wades out, the water waist deep, to catch the driftwood. He finds BD, lights shimmering in low power mode, caught up under jagged hunks of wood. Cal barely keeps himself from grabbing the wood – he can sense the dregs of the echo regardless (screams, howling winds, roaring water). Instead, he pulls BD free with the Force and has to swim back to shore with BD tucked tightly in one arm. Graceless, bedraggled, Cal rolls onto the beach once more, thoughts of keeping BD safely out of the water giving him the strength he needs to drag them both further up the beach, away from the encroaching tide. He’s over a hefty dune, seagrass surrounding them, before Cal notices he’s fallen over with no hope of getting up. Too tired. He’s too damn tired. How many hours were they at sea? He can’t remember. He holds BD close, the little pulse of lights telling him BD must have used up nearly all his power to reach the beach.

“I’ve got you,” Cal tells him, curling his body around BD. “You’re safe now.”

He’s not sure when he blacks out. All he knows is when he comes to, he and BD are safely tucked up on the Mantis, BD’s lights pulsing a soft blue again. He’s huddled as close to Cal as he possibly can, recharge cables trailing across the deck.

They’re home, and they’re safe.

#fic requests 2024 #star wars jedi: fallen order #jfo minfic #jfo headcanon #cal kestis #bd 1 #can't believe there are only two to go!

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babyvixen27 · 1 year ago

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Stranger Danger / PART 1 18+ minor DNI

IncelNeil! x BimboReader!

One too many drinks fill your pretty head, leaving no room for rational thought and Neil is there to pick up the slack .

Warnings: NONCON/DUBCON elements, DARK CONTENT! Misogynistic language and behaviour, predatory behaviour, just a whole lot of incel behaviour and reader has zero self preservation skills. Neil x reader.

You nearly broke your ankle teetering out of your front door, wobbling in your stilettos with a spacey giggle. You had spent the whole day preening and prepping yourself for a girls' night out, curves filling the soft fabric of your brand-new dress. It was a tiny thing, a mix of lace and leather to match the smoky kohl rimming your eyes and pink gloss on your lips. You looked perfect. Pattering over to your Uber, you felt giddy quickly checking the license plate and popping in, texting the group chat that you were on your way.

Neil had picked up Uber driving on weekend nights, liking the extra cash in his pocket and the easy schedule. Pulling up to his first ride of the night, he watched a young woman stumble out of the house, perfect body on display as she skipped over with a stupid little smile. 'Y/n?' he asked, wincing as you slammed the door behind you, immediately whipping out the flashiest phone case he's ever seen to hum and giggle at the screen, long nails clacking irritatingly.

After a drawn out silence, you vaguely notice the lack of movement, raising your eyes to meet his, meticulously plucked brows scrunching in confusion. 'Y/n?' Neil repeated, breathlessly as his mouth watered at the pretty little thing sitting in his back seat. He watched your eyes light up in understanding, nodding dumbly, cheeks flushed a baby pink as you flashed him an apologetic smile before turning back down to your phone. Taking a deep breath, he pushed away the urge to rip the object from your hands and teach you some fucking manners but your smile was dazzling and his heart was still struggling to find a regular pace so instead he turned back to the wheel and began the trip. Stealing glances at you through the mirror every couple of seconds.

'So what's the plan for tonight?' he quipped after a minute, trying to sound as innocuous as possible. He didn't want to scare you off, but he honestly doubted you were clever enough to pick up on anything that wasn’t explained to you like a toddler. You seemed sweet enough, real cute with your glossy lips and sweet perfume, making his head spin. It was just that you had that…look. That “I get what I want when I want it” look. That “I’ve never had to worry about anything other than good dick and repeating outfits” look. It made his stomach sick and dick throb.

“Just going out with the girls” you hum, setting your phone down to analyze your driver. He was….cute, in his own way. Pretty eyes on a pretty face, but there was a sort of awkwardness to him that was both endearing and off-putting. Definitely the type of guy your friends would pick on back in high-school, the unpleasant memories making your tummy ache. “Sounds fun” He mumbles, scrambling on what to say next to keep the conversation going. God you had a sexy voice. “gotta be safe out there…anyone could snatch you up”. Immediately, he wanted to crash the car in shame at how creepy it came out, but of course, like the angel you were, you just smiled brightly at his faux-concern, giving him a sweet thank you before pulling out a compact and reapplying your gloss. His own lips parted in awe as his eyes tracked every move, feeling like he was in a trance watching the wand move slowly making his throat dry up and his pants tight.

Pulling over in front of the bar, he turned to watch you hop out, committing every miniscule detail of your appearance to memory. Blowing him a kiss goodbye, he’s left stunned to gawk as you jogged over to a group of more barely-dressed women, rolling his eyes as they broke out into a burst of squeals and embraces. A flock of whores who wouldn't spare a guy like Neil a second glance but they all paled in comparison to you. Too sweet for your own good and Neil decided that it’d be worth a shot. Like the nice guy he was, he would stay in the area, keeping a close eye so that he could get you home safe and sound before anyone else got to you.

After mandatory 20 minute greetings, you and your girls trample in, taking a table by the bar. Heads turned, jaws dropped and it wasn't long before you were sipping on some sugary gifted cocktails. It’d become routine but you were always as grateful as the first time, smiling kindly and engaging with any attention that was directed at you. You lost track soon enough, like you always did, tummy sloshing with a mix of colorful drinks and shots, preening under the shower of compliments and touches. “Tell me doll, you taste as good as you look?” Someone purred in your ear, sending shivers up your spine. Grey peppered his temples and charming crows feets crinkled as he smirked down at you. Just your type. You shrugged coyly, looking up at him through long lashes as you chewed on your plush bottom lip.

He led you to the dance floor, pawing at your waist as you moved to the beat of the music. You shut your eyes, enjoying the thrum of the base and gentle sway of the room, unaware of the picking up of his breath. Oblivious to the grunts and gasp he would let out when he pulled your hips back against his. This was fun, but you were fleeting and a cheer from your table had you pulling from his arms and skipping over to what caught your attention next.

More drinks, more shots, more dancing and before long you were stumbling out of the bar on baby-doe legs, vision blurred and body heavy. You worked the next day and despite the slurred begging from your friends, you ushered your goodbyes and stepped out, trying to urge your sluggish fingers to find the uber app. A big hand on your shoulder had you whipping around, nearly tripping from the speed of it but a second held you before you hit the floor.

Neil had been waiting for hours for you to come out, accepting short trips but always coming back to park where he dropped you off. Just when he felt like giving up there you were, looking just as beautiful but not nearly as perfect as when he dropped you off. Not that it deterred him or anyone else for the matter. The smudged liner, flushed cheeks, and messy strands added a different element to your look and he practically drooled at how high the hem of your dress had ridden up.

Your eyes widened as you recognized him, head tilting curiously. “Uber driver?” You mumbled, making a vein at his temple twitch in irritation. “You okay? You need ta’ get home?” He was still holding on a little too tight, but it was steadying and you relaxed at the familiar face. “Mmhm, can’t seem to order though” You pouted, showing him your locked screen from too many password attempts. Fighting back a grinch-worthy grin, he mentally thanked whoever was listening for delivering him such a gift. “Let me take you home yeah? I think I remember the way.”

You thought about it, nose scrunching because it felt like someone had once told you it was something you shouldn't do but you were tired and cold and his car was warm and close by and so you just nodded excitedly, latching onto his arm as he led the way. Neil’s heart was pounding out of his chest, he couldn’t believe you said yes, giggling to himself at your stupidity and laughing out loud at the confused expression when he eagerly opened the car door to let you in.

He sped to your house, committing a million infractions all the while looking back every once in a while at your low eyes and bouncing tits. Fuck, you were a dream come true and it felt like an eternity before he screeched into the driveway and sprinted over to help you out.

The ride had made your head hurt and stomach lurch uncomfortably and a frown had begun to pull at the corners of your lips. Neil helped you up the steps, digging in your purse for your keys. You vaguely notice his shaky hands as he tries to unlock the door, missing the keyhole more times than necessary, more focused on whipping your heels off as soon as you stepped in. However a soft click behind you made you turn to see that he had stepped in as well, locking the door behind him. If you weren't so out of it you might have felt the appropriate sense of urgency, instead big eyes blinked slowly as he took slow steps towards you. The quickening of your pulse indicates your body knows what's happening before your brains caught up and you take a step back with his step forward.

“Shhh It’s alright baby” Neil laughed, “We’re just gonna have a little fun.”

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Part 2 is up! <3

#tw noncon #dubious consent #incel #bimboification #smut #neil lewis #watching the detectives #neil lewis smut #misogny #cillian murphy #cillian fic #cillian smut

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