|Dead Heart| Reaper x Reader

Chapter One - Small Town Sally

Bars were filled with laughing, with joyuous rowdy people all a bit too drunk for the designated driver to handle. Just by your luck, you had found yourself in one of these aforementioned places. The patrons laughs and conversations bounced around the room before meeting your ears, doing nothing except for reminding you of how little you were actually in the bar, not by any conventional means at least.

Like all cruel cherades in life, you had never enjoyed the pleasure of being able to partake in that simple activity, and especially not with friends.  Though, you had stepped into a bar quite a few times in your life, of course that being for work, and nothing else.

Every single day, besides Tuesdays, you work at that very bar, having to resort to being overly flirtatious for tips, nothing else had made you anything meaningful otherwise. It's not like it bothered you all that much, you'd power through this to keep living in your small home for anything.  Your mother had owned your home and you were determined to keep paying it off, no way would you sell it to someone who would treat it like dirt.

Getting up from your place behind the bar you made your way over to a round table full of half drunken men and women, making sure to bend down for a few extra dollars that night. If getting twenty dollars instead of ten meant unbuttoning a few buttons and dropping a pen, you wouldn't blink twice.

The table had been waving you down for a while now, determined to get another drink, or maybe another peek under your shirt, honestly, you couldn't quite tell; you didn't quite care either.

You couldn't have been more than halfway across the floor when a cold chill snapped you out of your thoughts, which also managed to shut up most of the people in the bar.  The once lively place had turned sour and cool, people started to shift in their seats, eager to leave at the sudden appearance of something you could barely describe.

It was a man, a tall, brooding man.  He was dressed in a black hood, bone white mask and combat gear, a stench of blood and death following him into the building.  If someone had asked you to search up intimidating in the dictionary, it would show a big, candid photo of who stood in the doorway of your rundown jobsite.

Almost instinctively, you curled up your nose at him, the scent nearly making you revolt from the shock of it.  Though you quickly realized this action was a mistake.  He noticed within the second, his head turning to get a good look at you, nearly cementing you into place from anticpation and terror.  The pearly white mask covered with cuts from assumed battles couldn't have been more intimidating.

He had two, bleeding red eyes that lay behind his mask.  They swirled like a riptide, one that wouldn't hesitate to grab you by the leg and drown you, if only given the smallest chance.  You hadn't doubted that it had happened before, you didn't think it wouldn't happen again.

His large black combat boots had stains of blood etched into the leather that clinked when he walked, his light grey pants looked like tac-gear, and his hoodie hung off his broad shoudlers.  You could pass off some of it, but the owlish, scarred up mask that concealed his identity was all a bit too much.  More than anything, you felt a deep sense of dread fret across your skin, you needed him to leave if you wanted to hold anything together.

Taking long strides to the bar he sat down, the stool creaking slightly as he did, nothing about him seemed normal or comfortable as he leaned over the bar counter. Even then his index and middle finger waved you down, not bothering to look behind him to face you.

You held back a sigh of annoyance, your fear of this horribly intimidating man was too much for you to make any kind of rash descions, shutting up and looking pretty was your best bet.  Although it was hard to hold up when he wouldn't stop staring at you.

If you showed any sign of fear or weakness he'd eat you alive, and you've come to know that little fact well, it never turned out okay when people saw the real, scared, you.  Fingers tapping on the old wooden bar told you to hurry, if you knew him any better you would've gone faster than you did, even with a mask on you could tell he was losing the little patience he had.

"What would you like, sir" you piped up, eager to give the man what he wanted so you could leave as quickly as possible.  A chuckle escaped the mask, his voice was deep and hoarse, almost like a smokers, but his was much more otherworldly.

"Strongest rum you have," he glanced behind him, gazing at the now riled up regulars, "planning on having fun tonight."
Somehow the manner of speech he had calmed you down some, sure, he looked and sounded quite intimidating, but at least he didn't seem mad.  You could deal with someone that had a terrifying way about them, but not someone who was all of that, and mad.

"Of course, right away," you squeaked out, quickly finding a glass and the alcohol in question, putting it all together in the blink of an eye.

Handing the large man the drink you avoided eye contact, too terrified to look into the crimson eyes that found home behind the mask.
Chuckling at this he took a swig of the drink, not thrown off his feet at the knock back, but pleasantly surprised.

Intrigue splashed across your face when he drank, lifting up his mask would ordinarily show off a bit of his features, yet he made it a point to cover them well.

"This is good," he started, lifting up the drink slightly as stared at it, "how long have you worked here for?"

The question caught you off guard, yet nevertheless you replied, "For about a year or so."

He nodded at your response, finishing his drink and merely glancing at you for another. You made him a second drink with haste, a bit confused on the man's intentions. He had been treating you nicely so far, his appearance was a bit off putting, but he hasn't done anything untrustworthy. Pushing it in his direction you quickly headed off to another person who had just sat down at the bar, eager to help someone else who didn't twist a pit into your stomach.

It wasn't any time at all before you turned back around to service him, uninterested in keeping him waiting. Though just as quickly as he arrived he had left, leaving a generous tip under the empty glass. Truthfully you were glad he was gone, but it being near closing time meant it didn't matter much. So with a sigh you prepared to close, hoping you'd never see the eerie man again.

Word count: was 885, now 1176 (after editing)

California Dreamin' - The Mamas & The Papas