#been waiting to make this set since i saw the clip this morning

[ncutii-gatwa]

its all fun and games making a gifset until you have to do this thing called ‘eating’

[jjkamochoso]

Catching Fire, Catching Feelings, Catch These Hands

Fluff

Kyojuro Rengoku x f!reader

When Kyojuro finds a man bothering you, he's quick to take action.

Warnings: harassment from a stranger

As a high ranking demon slayer, you rarely had downtime so you decided to make the most of it by attending a market while you stayed in your hometown for a few days. You figured it would be wisest to leave your sword at home since they weren't welcome in open spaces and you'd rather not spend the next month in jail for brandishing a weapon in public. You felt bare without it but knew you'd be safe for the time being--it was daytime and you hadn't heard of any demon sightings in the area. Embracing the fact that you were actually able to wear something other than your uniform for once, you set out to get lost among the hordes of people, food, and material items. As you paid for pancakes from a food stall, you spotted bright orange and yellow hair in the distance. There was no way that was Kyojuro, right? He would've told you he was here!

But if he was here, you definitely shouldn't have left home without your sword.

You raced in between the crowd, eager to catch up to your dear friend. Though you weren't a Hashira, you still caught the group's attention as an accomplished Kinoe and found yourself working on missions with them from time to time. You got along with all of them but you were exceptionally close with Kyojuro. He was passionate, kind, and an absolute joy to be around. He was also extremely handsome, but he didn't need to know you'd been harboring a crush on him for a long time.

"Rengoku? Rengoku!"

Your yelling finally caught his attention as you ran up behind him and he turned around, a satisfied smile resting on his lips. When he saw it was you calling his name, the smile grew even wider.

"Y/n! It's always a pleasure to see a friendly face, especially if it's yours!" replied Kyojuro, bowing his head slightly in greeting.

"Same to you. I wasn't expecting to see you here," you said. "Is something the matter?"

"There's been a large increase in demon attacks in this area!" he shouted, earning a few wary glances from passersby. "I'm here to exterminate them!"

"To think I hadn't heard of that at all," you muttered, confusion apparent in the way you knit your brows. "If you need help later tonight, I'll gladly provide backup!"

"That would be fantastic! Thank you, dear friend!"

"Of course," you answered. "Were you exploring this market for work or for fun?"

"For fun! Care to join me in trying these... whatever these are?"

Kyojuro was pointing at a sign that read "Croquettes." Neither of you knew what they were but you were both foodies so you excitedly waited your turn to buy some. Food in hand, you found a place to sit and eat, happy to catch up with each other over snacks. He handed you a croquette as you passed a pancake his way.

"Tasty! You chose a wonderful dish to try," Kyojuro complimented, his mouth full.

"As did you, Rengoku. These are very yummy."

"Please, we're friends, are we not? Call me Kyojuro."

You stopped your chewing in surprise. "Oh! Well, alright then, Kyojuro."

You loved the way his name so easily rolled off your tongue, like it had always been yours to speak. You two fell into conversation about what you had been up to, what he and the other Hashira were up to, and how both of your families were. When your stomachs were full, you continued your jaunt around the market, Kyojuro being a superb shopping companion. You were currently stopped at a stall that sold ornamental hair clips and your attention was completely absorbed by the glittering jewels and vibrant flowers, so much so that when Kyojuro spoke up, you jumped.

"Excuse me for a moment. There's something at that previous stall I would like to buy for Senjuro," he explained, giving you a courteous nod as he left your side for the first time that morning. You smiled to yourself, resuming your browsing. He was always so sweet and considerate and you loved how he never stopped looking out for his adorable little brother. As your mind pondered all the things you admired about the handsome demon slayer, your eyes fell on the most gorgeous hair clip you'd ever seen and you picked it up, carefully inspecting it.

"That's a nice one, isn't it?"

You jumped for the second time in less than a minute, this time due to a stranger's voice in your ear. There was a man standing next to you, much too close for comfort, wearing a grin that made your skin crawl. You didn't want any trouble so you tried to keep the situation as relaxed as possible.

"Yes, it's very beautiful."

"It's not as beautiful as you."

Um, ew.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Who did this creep think he was?

"I'm flattered, sir," you said, placing the clip back on the table, ready to make your escape, "but I must be going now."

You turned around, eager to find Kyojuro, but before you could get too far, you were stopped by the rough clutching of your wrist by the stranger.

"Hey, where you going? I'm not finished talking with you. I don't even have a pretty name for the pretty face."

You were enraged and wanted to teach this guy a lesson for having such repulsive manners. You instinctively reached for your hip but your hand felt nothing--your sword was at home, discarded on the floor where you'd left it earlier that morning. You cringed internally at your stupidity. Why, of all days, did you decide to be an upstanding citizen and leave your weapon at home? The next thing that crossed your mind was breaking his hand, which you were about to do before Kyojuro was by your side once more.

"If you continue touching my friend, I will not hesitate to cut off your hand!" Kyojuro exclaimed, his voice never losing its trademark cheeriness as he stared the stranger down.

"Yeah, right," the man sneered, "with what weapon-oh."

He spied the sword sitting neatly on Kyojuro's hip, the Flame Hashira's fingers ghosting the top of the handle to show he wasn't messing around. The unwelcome intruder immediately dropped your wrist and backed away, sputtering apologies before practically running from the scene. Kyojuro was no longer smiling as he assessed the aftermath of the situation.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice lower than usual. You nodded, trying to calm the blood that was boiling in your veins.

"I'm glad I already ate or that would've ruined my appetite," you seethed. "I just wanted a hair clip. Had I known that man was going to bother me, I wouldn't have stayed over there."

You sucked in a breath as your anger left you, leaving behind a feeling of unease akin to being prey stalked by a predator. "I would like to go home now. Kyojuro, would you mind escorting me? I know I could easily beat that man in hand to hand combat but I'm afraid I just don't feel as safe without my sword."

Kyojuro looked upon you with sadness contorting his features. "Are you sure you want to leave without the hair clip you were so fond of? We can continue browsing the market, I promise not to leave your side again. I will not hesitate to protect you from all threats, human or otherwise, today and all other days."

He sounded so earnest in his endeavor to keep you safe that the idea of you leaving the market early became unfathomable. Also, hearing those words from the man you were falling for left your heart throbbing in your chest.

"Thank you," you said, looking deep into his red and yellow eyes that were practically glowing in the sunlight, "you're consistently there for me and I never know how to return the favor."

He let out a hearty laugh. "Nonsense! Having someone like you in my life is favor enough! Your unshakable character and kind demeanor are incredible. You're a great listener and you give valuable advice. Every day I am thankful that I know you!"

You felt warmth flood into your cheeks at his praise, feeling bashful from his compliments. He just beamed at you, not at all helping to rid you of the giddiness you were feeling.

"Come," he said, offering his arm for you to hold. "I would like for you to show me the hair decoration that has captured your attention."

You enthusiastically locked your wrist around his elbow and led him over to the stall.

"This is the one," you said, picking it up.

"May I?" Kyojuro asked softly, gesturing to the ornament.

"Of course," you accepted, and he plucked the piece from your hand. He tenderly brushed back the hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. He then placed the hair clip on the side of your head, his fingers gingerly pushing it into place so it wouldn't budge. When he was finished, he didn't take his eyes off you-- his expression held such soft fondness that it was impossible to look away from his magnetic gaze.

"You look beautiful," he murmured. It wasn't the first time you'd heard that today, but it was the only time it mattered. You were so entranced by him that you didn't notice him paying for the clip until it was too late, the money already taken by the vendor.

"Please, let me pay you back," you pleaded as you walked away from the crowded market, finding solace in a quiet garden not too far from there.

"No way!"

"Kyojuro Rengoku!"

"Never!"

"Why not? You must tell me," you demanded.

"Because I want to show you that I..." He hesitated and you noticed that he was starting to blush, his cheeks almost the same color as the tips of his hair. "I want to show you that I can take care of you. In matters of both finances and safety."

You cocked your head. "Wait, why would you..."

All of a sudden, it dawned on you. Was he trying to court you right now?

He noticed you attempting to put the pieces together so he explained further. "Seeing that man disrespect you... I would have helped any woman in that situation but at that moment I knew that I couldn't bear to see another man lay his hands on you."

The Flame Hashira inched forward to be slightly closer to you, his haori swishing in the breeze. "Y/n, I have fallen for you and I wish to be by your side as not just a friend, but as a lover. A husband. If you'll have me."

"Oh, Kyojuro!" You threw yourself into his arms. He stumbled back at the unexpected movement but quickly grounded himself, hugging you tightly.

"I would be honored to marry you," you said, unable to contain your wide smile and thrilled beyond belief that he felt the same way about you that you did for him all this time.

"Wonderful! I am the luckiest man to be able to call you my wife!" he exclaimed.

"So tonight will be our first mission as a couple, then?"

"That is correct!"

You snickered. "Maybe we can defeat the demons with the power of love."

"Hah! My darling y/n, you sound like Mitsuri!"

That was the best compliment you'd received all day.

[haee-elia]

spence-tober: day 8 - indie director

pairing: indie/small film director!spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: in which a director asks to capture your little piece of heaven on film

word count: 1420

warnings: fluff, unintentionally flirty spencer

spence-tober masterlist

It wasn’t often that you had the time to sneak off during the week and just relax on the end of the pier. It was small, but that’s what you liked about it. To be completely honest, it was one of the main selling points for your small cottage house. The ability to walk a small distance on a clean and tidy cobblestone path and make your way to the lakeside where your own private pier was waiting for you.

The waters were never too rough and although you didn’t fish or boat around, just having a small picnic or taking a chair out to sit and relax was enough for you.

And that was exactly what you were doing right now. Your foldable chair was setup, you had a small tote bag with some baggies of snacks and your kindle for some light reading. You had gone out early in the morning with having everything packed last night so all you had to do was drag yourself and your chair out to the small dock in the morning.

Judging by where the sun was, it was now early afternoon and you had been out on the pier for several hours now. It was incredibly peaceful.

“Hey, darlin’!” 

Until it wasn’t.

The sound of your neighbor, Leigh Anne Lockley, broke the silence of the calm waters hitting the wooden structure of the pier. You didn’t have anything against Leigh Anne, in fact, she had helped you get an in with the seller of your cottage to help lower the price for you. The older woman was your next door neighbor and often brought over her baked goods and vegetables from her garden. You, in turn, helped out with any problems including finding someone to vacate the bats in her attic, getting her set up on Tinder, and hooking her up with all the streaming services since the RedBox machine at the grocery store had gone away.

Despite your afternoon alone on the small quaint pier being disturbed, you turned your head around, still sitting in your folding chair, to look at her. However, she wasn’t alone.

A taller man was right behind her. He looked to be around your age if not a little older. With light brown hair gleaming in the noon sun and glasses on his chiseled face, you were suddenly glad it was so hot out because you were sure you must be blushing.

The man was wearing simple high waist dress pants coupled with a simple small striped button up, however, it was the set of headphones around his neck and a walkie talkie clipped onto his belt that confused you.

“Hey, Leigh Anne, who do you have here?” You responded back. You moved to take off your sunglasses from your face so you could see the two of them in a better light.

Leigh Anne gave you that hundred watt smile and gestured her hands over to the man, who moved his hand to wave at you, “This here is Spencer, sweetie.”

It definitely wasn’t one of her children or grandchildren, you thought to yourself. Leigh Anne had pictures of them posted all around her house and often talked about them enough for you to be familiar enough with their names. 

You waved back and exchanged your own name, “Is there something I can help you with, Spencer.” 

He went to speak, but it was Leigh Anne who opened her mouth first, “He’s a director.” She said, like it was some sort of big secret or god-like status, “He’s shooting a film just over the lake there in the woods.” She pointed out over the water and on the other side of the lake. 

At least you knew what the headphones and walkie talkie were for now.

Spencer spoke this time, eyes making contact with yours, “That’s right,” He confirmed, “I was over on the other side of the lake when I saw this pier. I was wondering if I could convince you to let us shoot a scene or two here another day this next week.”

Leigh Anne took a step back so Spencer couldn’t see her out of the corner of his eyes and gave you a not so subtle wink and a thumbs up. You blushed harder.

“I’ll leave you two to talk about all this.” She said, removing herself from the conversation, “I’ll be back over this weekend with some snickerdoodles, sweetie.” 

You watched for a moment as she departed through the pathway and then focused your attention on Spencer, still standing on land rather than the wooden dock.

“You’re filming a movie?” You ask to confirm.

He nods, “Yeah, just a small indie film.” Spencer brushed it off. “I wasn’t too sure how to find out if this land was owned or not, but I was knocking on a few doors and Ms. Lockley informed me that this pier is yours.”

This time you nodded, “Came with the property.”

“Is there a way I could convince you to let us film here sometime next week?” He asked again, “I could give you a small compensation or we could draft a permit with some rules. I promise we wouldn’t be a bother and it wouldn’t be a large setup. Just five or so people during sunset or sunrise.”

You stood from your chair and walked over to Spencer. “How long would you be using the pier for?” You asked curiously.

“We’d just need a day. Probably wouldn’t even take up the whole day.” Spencer answered you.

You nodded, thinking about it, “And you wouldn’t be doing anything damaging to the surroundings or the wildlife?”

He shook his head, “No, not at all. Just a few talking scenes on the pier with the lake and woods in the background.”

“Alright,” You agree, “I’ll give you permission. You don’t need to give any compensation either.”

He grins, “Thank you, I really appreciate your cooperation.” He shakes your hand. “It’s a really beautiful place.” Spencer looks out behind you, admiring the scenery.

You nod your head with a fond smile on your lips, “It is.” You turn back to Spencer. “So, you’re the director of the film? Is this your first or have you directed before?”

“I’ve directed before, mostly small stuff. I just really love having beautiful backgrounds to compliment beautiful moments.” He answers, looking down on you a little bit. 

Spencer stands taller than you, with his lanky but lithe figure, and as he’s staring down into your eyes, you feel your heart beat a little faster with his words.

You look away, bashfully, “That’s really nice.” You swallow down the nervous cough in your throat, “Would I be able to see the movie when it releases?”

He hesitates, “Unfortunately it probably wouldn’t get a theatrical release.” He responds. “But, I wouldn’t be averse to giving you a private showing.”

Your face is burning red now and you can’t imagine this man in front of you is staying oblivious to what his words are doing to you. 

His brows furrow and he inspects your face, “Are you okay? You look a little flushed.” Spencer comments, his hand almost moving to touch your cheeks, “Is it the sun?” 

You nod fervently, “Yeah, must be.” You deflect, “Forgot to pack sunscreen.”

My god, you think, he really doesn’t know the effect he has on you.

Spencer seems to accept the answer you gave him and retracks his hand from your face. He then glances down to the leather wrist watch he wears, checking the time. 

“I actually have to get going,” He sighs, as if he doesn’t want to leave you, you muse.

He pulls out a piece of paper and a pen from his back pocket and scribbles on it quickly, “Here’s my number, you can call if you have any other questions.” Spencer has the audacity to wait for a moment and look at you with a small grin before finishing writing down his information, “Or, for anything else.”

You think you might need to splash your face with some of the water in the lake.

He hands you the slip of paper and jogs back up the path, but not before he gives you a wave goodbye. 

As you stare down at the piece of paper in your hand (in which he’s included a derpy written smile next to his name), you can hardly hear anything over the rapid beating of your heart.

You definitely need to thank Leigh Anne later.

a/n: this is probably the flirtiest spencer i've written thus far and i love it. i want to write more flirty spencer and i have a few more prompts and aus that i think would work with that.

[kangshxrtie]

ch. 7 ⤍ calvin klein

you were laying in bed scrolling through twitter and posting on twitter. you had been laying there for almost three hours now when you got a facetime from kazuha.

"KAZUHA!" you greeted excitedly only showing your forehead on the camera.

"hey" unlike you kazuha was already up, dressed, and at her desk with her phone balancing on it. "did i wake you? sorry i thought you were up"

"no" you shook your head, "i need to get up now i've been on twitter the whole morning"

"i saw" she chuckled.

"oh you saw that..." you slowly set your phone down leaving it to look at the ceiling going to scream into your pillow.

kazuha just laughed in response and once you were done screaming you picked up your phone like nothing just happened, greeting her again. "so how's your morning so far?"

"it was great. woke up to some great compliments, really felt the love" she responded.

"that's great. glad i could make your morning great" you grinned sitting up in your bed.

"i would ask how yours was but i can already tell by this call"

"why are you even up so early? we had the same night last night"

"i have to edit and post some videos to my channel. you make an appearance by the way"

"oh, did you do me justice"

"you'll have to watch it and see" kazuha grinned.

"please spoil it" you begged.

"my reacting to seeing you for the first time is in there" she told you.

"wait there's a clip! why haven't i seen it?"

"sakura recorded it. it wasn't on live"

"now i'm scared" you said nervously.

"don't be it's a good reaction. i didn't know i was on camera so mine is more embarrassing than yours, trust" kazuha laughed.

"i get to see kazuha down bad" you exclaimed, "and for me, it's the best day of my life. i can die peacefully now"

"i can't wait to film this video with you" she said.

"already can't wait to see me again?" you raised your eyebrow at her.

"oh definitely i haven't stopped thinking about you since i first met you" she said sarcastically.

"i knew it, you're obsessed with me already" you joked.

"definitely" she joked back.

"i'm obsessed with you too kazuha if that makes you feel better" you said.

kazuha suddenly hid her face before saying, "glad the feelings mutual"

you looked at the time seeing it was almost 2:00 in the afternoon, "well i should probably get up now"

"yeah, and i have to finish editing this video, i'll talk to you later" kazuha waved goodbye.

"bye bye kazuha" you hung up the phone and screamed into your pillow once again after you were sure the call was over.

you took a couple of minutes to cool down before making your way out of your room into the kitchen to eat something.

"did you scream?" gaeul asked when you came into the kitchen.

"no, wasn't me" you denied.

"oh. it was really light and you have noise canceling so i assumed it was you"

"probably hyunseo. you know kids, plus her room is really far" you looked in the cabinet as you spoke.

just then hyunseo walked in.

"are you okay, i heard you scream?" gaeul asked.

"i didn't scream. it was y/n. i walked past her room when she did it" hyunseo told her.

"snitch" you mumbled under your breath.

"fine. i was on the phone with kazuha and i screamed after we talked. don't tell rei or yujin" you threatened them with a random straw you got off the counter.

hyunseo made a motion saying her lips were zipped and you nodded contentedly before pointing the straw at gaeul.

"i'm won't tell them as long as you keep me updated on what's going on with you and kazuha" gaeul said.

"nothings going on we're friends" you said.

"that scream says different" gaeul muttered.

"i'll agree though" you finally put the straw down.

"is this why rei calls you down bad?" hyunseo asked.

"don't listen to rei. she's a bad influence" you told the younger girl before making your way into the bathroom to get ready for the day. you would eat later.

ALL CHAPTERS !!! | NEXT CH !!!

i need friends to play games with

[cosmic-crybaby]

Blue Skies - Tommy Shelby

Chapter 6: ‘Stolen Moments’ 

Warnings in this chapter: mentions of abortion, light angst, Tommy meeting the kid's lmao

Masterlist

---

The drive home was long, so you offered for him to stay. 

It was the first time he had come inside of your home, and you were a bit strung out. Apprehensive on is thoughts of your home since it was nowhere near as grand and luxurious as his mansion. 

You had walked ahead first, finding Esme sitting in the kitchen table, waiting for your return. 

“Esme, hi,” You said hushed, getting her attention. She quickly stood, a bright smile n her face as she grabs her shawl. 

“(Y/n), how’d it go?” She asked, wrapping it around her shoulders with a silent yawn. You point towards the entryway with your eyes and a mischievous smile. You put your finger up to your lips as she gasps. 

“He’s here?” She whispered. You nod in excitement as you both quietly giggle, grinning eagerly as you held her hands. 

“Are the kids asleep?” You asked. She nodded once again. 

“Been out since nine,” She noted. 

“Thank you so much...” You paused to hug her. “Come see me tomorrow so I can repay you,”

Without giving her a chance to object, you were already sneaking back to where Thomas was. Leading him up the flight of stairs into your bedroom. Esme had left herself out not long after your conversation with her had ended, she grinned to herself as she caught a glimpse of the gangster that followed behind you. 

The morning sun had woken you up. The bright rays burned your still sleepy eyes, as the birds chirped and sang it made you feel thankful that you weren’t anywhere near the loud city. But, it slowly dawned on you that you had slept in. You quickly sit up and check the mahogany clock on your nightstand. Scolding yourself as you forgot to set your alarm to wake up early enough to get Thomas out of the house before your kids woke up. 

‘Shit,’ You mumbled to yourself as you threw the covers off of your half-naked body. “Thomas,” You hear a sleepy groan in response. 

“Thomas, wake up...” You tied your silk robe on and clipped your hair out of your face. 

“Hm?” He hummed, his eyes still heavy from sleep as he saw your blurry figure rushing around the room to gather his things. 

“My kids...they’ll be up soon,” You told him quietly, speaking too soon as you had already heard their footsteps on the wooden floors, followed by child-like banter. 

“Fuck,” He sighed as he sat himself up and started getting dressed, pulling on his shirt first. 

“Mum!” Elizabeth shouted in a sing-song tone as she banged on the door with her palm, angrily. 

“H-Hold on, I’m getting dressed!” You called back as you held the door shut. 

“We need to start doing this is a more methodical way, eh (Y/n)?” He whispered groggily in an annoyed tone as he buttoned up his shirt. 

“Okay, yes we will I just-” 

“I just think it would be better if I met them before the baby was born,” He inquired sarcastically, making direct eye-contact with you for a brief moment before turning to grab his jacket from the armchair. You close your mouth, not wanting to argue against him. A small part of you knew he was right. 

“Mum!” Henry joined in, pestering you with their constant banging on the door and needy shouting.

“Kids, please!” You shouted in frustration. “Go to your room, I will be there in a moment!” You pleaded. Sighing as you turned towards Thomas again.

“Thomas…You will meet them, just when the time is right,”

“There’s a deadline, (Y/n),”

His words caused you to cross your arms over your chest and give him a stern look.

“I am not comfortable introducing you to my children right now,” Putting your foot down since he was being so persistent. He slips his shoes on and dusts off his coat.

“And I don’t commit to anything unless they can commit to me as well, you have just sixteen weeks-”

“Jesus Christ, Thomas we will talk about this another time, I promise…Just not now,” You whispered the last part. He blinks at you before turning his back to you once more.

“I will go into their room to get them ready, once you hear the door close please let yourself out,”

“Of course,” He turned to you again, a pistol in his hand that he shoved into the holster. You curse under your breath and roll your eyes in disdain.

“I can’t believe you,” You mutter, mostly to yourself, as you leave the bedroom. Closing the door behind you and walking into the children's shared room, preparing to get ready for their trip to go back to London after a week with you.

"Where is dad meeting us this time?” Elizabeth asked, you thought for a moment. Rushing to grab their bags. 

“Train station I believe-”

Henry's voice then rang a set of words you wish you didn’t have to hear that morning.

“Mum…There’s a man in our house,”

You turned to see your son looking up at Thomas, who in turn, glances at the boy then back at you with wide-eyes, while your eyes were dawned with aggravation with a deadly stare.

The four of you sat at the kitchen table, your kids looking at Thomas in uncertainty. And for the first time, Thomas only felt the slightest bit nervous.

“Um…” You cleared your throat. “This is Thomas Shelby…Thomas this is Elizabeth and Henry,” You told him as you pet your children's heads as they stared blankly at him. His icy stare would often inflict intimidation and fear into whomever was at the opposing end, but the nonchalant stare of your children was somehow just as unsettling. They didn’t crack, not one bit, and Thomas quirked a brow at this.

“It’s nice to meet you both,” He nodded once with a grunt as he cleared his dry throat, itching for a cigarette. The silence caused you to speak up first.

“Um…Elizabeth loves to dance, isn’t that right?” You asked, she nodded looking at you then back to Thomas.

“Ballet, I assume?” Thomas asked. She acknowledged him with a slight smile.

“She’s at the top of her class and she’s got a role in Swan Lake this year,”

“Yeah…Our performance is coming up soon,” She spoke softly.

“I would love to be there, if that’s okay with you,” He asked formally. She thought for a moment then shrugged with a nod. You and Thomas share a slight smile, feeling accomplished.

“What about you, Henry? What do you like to do?” Thomas asked as he turned to look at the younger boy.

"I play the violin, but I reckon I'm not very good," He shyly said, looking off to the side.

"Yet...With enough practice I'm sure you'll perfect it one day," Thomas' words caused your heart to melt just a bit. You now knew he did have a soft spot for children, maybe this could work out in the end.

"Mum...We have to go," Elizabeth whispered.

"Oh...Oh right! Sorry, I have to take them to the train station, but thank you so much, Thomas," You stood up.

"Of course, I'll see you very soon," He ghosted a smile before he stood up as well as to let himself out, you refrained from giving him a goodbye kiss so as to not show too much affection in front of your children.

"...or never," Elizabeth mumbled under her breath, causing you to scold her.

"Enough of that, be nice," You handed her the small suitcase.

After you had dropped them off at the train station, you hurried to work. It was around noon by the time you had arrived thanks to Thomas' mishap this morning. You prepared the bread and pastries right away but it wasn’t until later in the day that the bakery was fully open. The flood of customers coming in and out overwhelmed you, but thankfully Esme eventually came in and convinced you to close early and have some time to talk alone and catch up with her on how your night with Thomas went. The two of you sat on one of the tables, pouring yourselves some hot tea as you scooted the chair in close.

"It seems like he's passed the first test, aye?" She asked, smiling. You only shrugged and plopped two cubes of sugar in your cup.

"Hardly, I mean, they were both fond of him to say the least, but you know how kids are when it comes to new people," You blew on your steaming tea before taking the first sip. It was bitter to you, causing you to grimace and add some more sugar. Esme gave you a strange glance, noticing the abnormal amounts of sugar you were adding, since you usually were usually quite fond of the bitterness of your black tea.

"(Y/N), can I ask the obvious question?" She hesitantly asked, her brows quivering a bit in a soft expression. 'Yes of course, Esme,' You told her.

"Why...why are you so opposed to gettin’ an-"

"Getting rid of it?...I'm not opposed, really," You corrected her.

"Then...why aren't you even considering it? Thomas has got tons of money, he can take you to a proper doctor," She reached a hand out on top of yours. You set your tea down.

"I am considering it,"

"It really doesn't seem like it, love," Her tone was more harsh this time, and you took notice of it almost immediately.

"I am, I want to make sure I am certain...before I go," You pressed your lips in a thin line as she looked at you, a tilt of her head and a quirk of her brow led you to believe that she did not believe you, not one bit. 'mh-hmm,' she hummed.

"Esme, you know where I stand on this, a woman's body is her own and she is allowed to make her own choice," Your voice was stern as you told her this.

"It really doesn't seem like you are..." She shook her head. You scoffed and sighed heavily before running a hand over your face.

"I've had one before...it was when I was young before I got married...It was with a boy from school that I was interested in but he didn't want any children so I went to a doctor...it was no big deal," That last part was a lie. You were only fifteen at the time and after you had it, in hopes of you and the boy staying together, he left. Convinced you to have it then broke your heart the second you were off of the local drugs they gave you.

"I just think it's different now that I have my kids...especially when I had them with someone that I loved as much as he loved me at the time...So, knowing what I know now, it's just more complicated," You spoke, taking another anxious sip of your tea as Esme watched you with judgment.

"What do you know now, (Y/n)?" She asked. You blinked at her before your lips turned up slightly.

"Elizabeth and Henry...My amazing children," You told her. It was quiet after that. Esme left the bakery shortly after, not liking the tension she had created between you two.

You on the other hand closed up the shop, cleaned, counted the money, and went back to your empty home.

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Tag List: 

@violet-19999 @micarinitodemiel @dilfsandtherapy @shelundeadxxxx @dragons-are-my-favorite

[your-divine-ribs]

I wrote a little blurb for white shirt anon, sorry if it’s shit, I wrote it super-quick!

1.1k words (I stopped short of the smut sorry!)

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

Teasing Van is your favourite thing to do. You've been doing it today, quite calculatingly. An innocent text to tell him that you’re about to take a bath when he'd enquired what you were up to, followed by a not so innocent video clip whilst you’re actually in the bath. The bubbles don’t quite cover your naked chest, nipples peeking pert and tempting through the suds as your free hand snakes down between your thighs whilst you whisper breathily into the camera, "wish you were here" before blowing him a kiss.

You strategically ignore the phone call that immediately follows, and the subsequent texts that Van places throughout the afternoon, each one getting filthier and filthier in nature until your cheeks are flushing deep scarlet and the throb pulsing between your thighs is getting harder and harder to ignore.

It's actually a relief when you hear the key turn in the lock later that afternoon, followed by the welcome sound of your husband's voice calling out your name.

"Y/N? Are ya home?"

You're close by, waiting for this very moment, leaning against the wall of the adjoining corridor, hidden just out of view. You consider staying quiet, maybe slipping silently away to another part of the house so Van has to come and find you, a seductive game of cat and mouse. It's a favourite of yours to play when you're in the mood to tease. You tuck yourself away secretively in a hiding spot, your heart hammering with exhilaration as you listen to him moving from room to room, his gruff whispered commentary telling you exactly what he's going to do you when he uncovers you fuelling your excitement.

Today however isn't one of those days. You're too eager to see him, too eager to feel his hands on you and feel his breath hot on your neck. The anticipation has been building all day since you saw him step out for his radio interview that morning looking delectable in your favourite white shirt of his that you love so much. And you don't want to wait another minute.

"Yeah, I'm home, I've been waiting all afternoon for you," you call out from your spot, your back pressed up against the wall.

"If you've been waiting, why've ya been ignoring me then huh?"

If you didn't know any better you'd think he was annoyed by your blatant ignorance, the fact that you've admitted to waiting for him but you've not bothered to return any of his calls or texts. He knows you too well though, he knows there's a reason for your silence, and if there's any doubt then he'll surely pick up the mischievous tone in your reply.

"Oh I'm sorry... am I in trouble?"

A pause. You can picture the smirk forming on his lips as he goes through the motions, toeing off his boots and shrugging out of his jacket.

"Hmm... I'm not sure about that... depends whether you've been misbehaving without me."

You hear his footsteps then as he quietly pads down the hall, pausing only for a second when he rounds the corner and sees you standing there, a vision in nothing but a pretty black lace lingerie set and a sultry smile.

"Oh babe," he mutters in appreciation, his gaze slipping down to rake over your scantily-clad frame. "I think you have been bad... and it looks like you might have a lot of making up to do."

You step away from the wall just as Van reaches for you, one hand tangling in your hair and the other wrapping around your shoulder. His lips are on yours in a second, a bruising passion that makes your head spin as he crowds you back against the wall, your back knocking against the framed wedding portrait that hangs there.

"Careful..." you try to warn him but your words are cut short by his tongue sliding into your mouth, his lips flush to yours once more, stealing your breath.

A spike of heat zips down your spine and your hands fist at the material of his shirt, pulling him closer. You're torn between enjoying the feel of the crisp cotton beneath your fingertips and the desire to rip it clean off his lithe body, but the dilemma's only fleeting.

"Need to take this off," you almost growl into his mouth, tugging insistently on the collar of his shirt, your hips pressing forwards as you feel the unmistakable stirring of his arousal with his body pushed tightly against yours.

"Shit... maybe I should have got one of those easy dressing shirts!" He chuckles, pulling away to glance down in amusement at your needy fingers which are already fumbling at the buttons, frustrated curses slipping from you as you find you can't open them fast enough.

"No, no... this is good," you reply, giggling at your predicament, voicing a small cheer of triumph as you manage to pop another button free. "You know me, I like a challenge!"

Bizarrely, despite your urgency to uncover his bare skin you're strangely grateful for your blundering efforts to undress him. You've been so turned on all afternoon by the salacious thoughts running through your mind that you'd imagined a hard and fast fuck as soon as he'd stepped over the threshold, both of you panting shamelessly into each others mouths, clothes half on as your hips clashed and you desperately chased your own highs. Instead you're being forced to take your time, your trembling fingers stilling their task for a moment as you pause, laying your palms against the smooth white cotton of his shirt as you look up at him.

"What's up love? Thought you were desperate to rip this off me?" He grins down on you, stunning pale blue eyes glinting with that playful light that you love so much.

"I was," you admit, returning his smile with one of your own as you run your hands up and down his torso, feeling the comforting warmth of his skin under the material and the thundering of his heartbeat under your fingertips. "But now you're here I don't wanna rush it after all, now all I wanna do is take my time with you."

"God, I love you so much babe," he murmurs, looking deep into your eyes in a way that makes your breath catch, your yearning for him increasing as your hands leave his chest to reach up and thread through the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Mmm.. I love you too, but just take me to bed will you?" You say, your wishes answered as he stoops down to curl his fingers around your thighs, his eyes never leaving yours as he picks you up effortlessly, your legs wrapping tightly around his waist.

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[phoenix18990]

Hey all, this sickfic has spoilers from Season 5 Episode 13... vomiting, concussions, and PTSD. Please enjoy! 

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Its one thing to hear someone throwing up through a closed door, its another thing entirely to witness someone throwing up in front of you. Especially if the entire time you have known them, they were depicted as a strong and steady person. At least that's what Buck thought, until he was in that very situation.

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Chris had called his best friend, when his dad locked him out of his dad's room and started destroying everything in sight.

Buck had stayed by Eddie's side until the tears had stopped flowing and the older man was able to breathe again.

He had told himself he would stay until both his boys were asleep, and yet here he was cleaning up Eddie's destroyed room at two o'clock in the morning, and he had work at eight in the morning. He had cleaned up and thrown away the debris, vacuumed the entire room from top to bottom, moved everything salvageable to the hallway, laid out plastic all over the floor, and was setting everything up to paint the room.

He looked around him, resolving to not sleep until the room was back in order, even if that meant it had been thirty-something hours of being awake, since the beginning of his last shift. Eddie was more important, Chris was more important, and he couldn't think of a better reason to not sleep. He was so deep in his own thoughts and sleep deprivation, that he didn't hear the door open or the soft footsteps on the plastic he'd carefully laid on the floor should his sleep-addled brain lead to spills of any kind.

"Whoa," was all that was said, making Buck jump back to the here and now.

"Oh hey, Eddie, you okay? I thought you were sleeping." Buck rambled a bit, he'd hoped to get it completely done before Eddie saw what he was doing.

"I was asleep, but I realized I didn't hear you leave. So I went looking for you," Eddie said thoughtfully, rubbing his stomach as he was talking.

"Oh, yeah. I figured I'd help you before heading home." Buck said in a nonchalant tone, as he looked at Eddie for a moment. He turned back to painting the walls, as he had already patched all the holes, and given them time to bond with the wall before starting to paint.

"Don't you have a shift in the am?" Eddie asked in a wounded voice, the same voice that had been there when he lost his carefully built composure, which scared Chris, Buck, and himself.

Buck shrugged. "Maybe, it's okay though." He said, smiling as he kept painting. "You can go back to sleep if you want to," he offered, as Eddie had gone too quiet for a time.

Eddie's face was completely blank, as if he were lost in his thoughts and didn't want anyone to know how big of a mess he was. He stood silent for a moment, before taking off running into the hallway, startling Buck again.

"Eddie? Is it Chris?!" Buck asked, jumping to his feet and moving to the doorway to try to figure out what was wrong.

Instead of responding, Eddie slammed and locked the bathroom door he ran through, moments later there was harsh gagging noises from behind the door.

"Oh Eddie," Buck said softly in a calm voice, even if every fiber of his body was now leaking worry. He walked to the bathroom door, knocking softly. "Eddie?" He asked, after the man inside had fallen silent.

"I'm fine, Buck," came a weary and clipped voice from beyond the bathroom door.

Buck sighed quietly, settling down by the bathroom, to keep vigil while waiting to see if his help was needed. He pulled out his phone and text Josh followed by Bobby, knowing Eddie might kill him.

'Hey, Eddie is sick. I don't think you want him coming in and puking everywhere.' He sent Josh.

'Hey Bobby, I know I'm supposed to have a shift at 8, but Eddie is sick. Can I stay with him?' He sent to Bobby, getting as comfortable as he could get on the hard floor.

Moments later, Josh text him back. 'Keep him home. Oh and yes, Sue is going to have someone else cover him.'

Buck sent Josh a thumbs up emoji, relieved he had Eddie covered to stay home. He looked at the clock with a frown, wondering if Eddie had fallen asleep by the toilet.

As he was about to knock on the bathroom door, he got a text from Bobby. 'Buck, do you have any idea what time it is?! Oh nevermind, yes, take as much time as you need.'

Buck sighed in relief, knowing Eddie might be pissed with him. "Eddie, you okay in there?" He asked, with a soft knock on the door. He waited patiently for a response of any kind, before starting to consider the wisest way to get in the bathroom if his best friend didn't answer him soon.

He heard Eddie sigh, before he heard movement and the door opened slowly. He blinked up at the older man, taking a really good look at him. His best friend didn't look so good, and it had nothing to do with the vomiting.

"I thought I said..." Eddie trailed off with another sigh, looking more tired than Buck had ever seen him.

"When do I ever listen to anything anyone tells me to do?" Buck asked, getting up off the floor quietly, knowing Chris needed his sleep too.

Eddie rolled his eyes, which he knew was a bad decision instantly, as the whole room spun out of control, causing him to stagger backwards.

Buck saw something was wrong as soon as it started assaulting the older man. He grabbed Eddie's arm, not wanting the man to fall or hit the wall, or risk waking the poor boy that asked for Buck's help. "What just happened?" he asked, a frown grazing his lips briefly.

"Rolled my eyes, made myself dizzy," Eddie mumbled, lifting his hand to cover his eyes for a moment, as he tried to regain his balance and composure. "I need to sit down," he admitted softly, with a hint of urgency in his tone.

Buck snapped to it, pulling his best friend to the chair he had removed from Eddie's room. One of the still whole and functional pieces of furniture that survived Eddie's onslaught.

Once Eddie had all but collapsed onto the chair, he doubled over with one arm wrapped tightly around his middle. "Ugh," he groaned softly, trying to not be too loud in his discomfort.

"Hey, what's wrong? Are you hungry?" Buck asked, not sure if Eddie had eaten after work.

Eddie swallowed hard, before shaking his head.

"Are you going to try to throw up again?" Buck asked, wracking his brain then remembered that he had extra plastic from his painting kit. He slipped past Eddie, darted around the furniture in the hall to spare the upholstery, and grabbed the tube of plastic right inside the room. He moved fast, putting plastic on the ground in front of Eddie's feet.

Eddie, who was so preoccupied watching Buck scurry about, that he forgot to pay attention to his body, was caught off guard by a surprising gag that rocked him forward over the plastic. With the first gag came only bitter saliva; the gag that followed produced a large rush of sour liquid and partially digested food.

Buck cringed, before disappearing into the bathroom, returning moments later with a clean wet washcloth and a Dixie cup full of water. His return was greeted with even more pouring from the older man's lips.

Once Eddie stopped trying to upchuck all the food he had eaten in the last year, he accepted the wet towel, which he used to clean up his face, then grabbed the Dixie cup and rinsed his mouth out, spitting the vomit flavored water onto the puddle on the plastic.

"Feeling any better?" Buck asked, as he put the back of his hand against Eddie's forehead. It didn't feel like he had a fever, at least not a high one.

Eddie looked up at Buck, feeling every last bit of color drain from his face, and he felt like he might pass out. "Mmm..." was all he could muster up.

Buck, who watched his best friend go unnaturally pale and start trembling, sprang into action. "Hey! Eddie?! Come on, man, talk to me." He urged, feeling something running down his cheek. He figured it was sweat, so ignored it.

"B...b...b...bloo...d..." Eddie gasped out, his eyes fluttering briefly, before he fought to open them again.

Buck frowned, clasping Eddie's neck gentle and firm, as he pushed it down until Eddie's head was between his knees. He kept one hand there, the other finding the older man's back to rub gentle circles. "There is no blood, you're okay, slow deep breaths." He encouraged over and over, as he could feel the older man was hyperventilating.

"You're bleeding," Eddie gasped, starting to get choked up all over again. "He shot you, didn't he?" He questioned in a broken voice.

Buck's eyebrows shot up so high, they met his hairline and disappeared. He wasn't bleeding, or was he? He reached up and touched where it felt wet, pulling his fingers back to see deep red staining his fingertips. "Crap!" He muttered more to himself than anyone else. He moved quickly, darting to the bathroom, flicked on the light, and looked in the mirror to find that he had a nice little gash, from the hairline to his eyebrow, right by his birthmark. He grabbed some toilet paper, wiping the blood away with a hiss of discomfort.

Once the majority of the blood was cleaned up, he could see he had cut himself when cleaning the room, and had been so preoccupied he hadn't even noticed it. He was fairly certain he didn't need stitches, and he wasn't on the blood thinner anymore, so he just finished cleaning it, until he heard a loud thump. Crap! Eddie!

He ran out of the bathroom, to see Eddie was in a heap near the wall, somehow managing to pass out without landing in the vomit that felt like it happened hours, even days, ago.

He knelt beside Eddie's unconscious form, putting his hands on the older man's shoulders. "Hey, hey, come on! Eddie! Come on, man! Come on, wake up!" he said over and over, trying to rouse the man. Finally after a couple very tense moments, the older man stirred with a groan.

"B'?" Eddie mumbled, wrinkling his nose when a whiff of the vomit assaulted his senses.

"Yeah, I'm here. I'm going to help you sit up." Buck said in a steady tone, as he braced his best friend, his hands sliding under the man's armpits and lifted him with ease. Once the man was leaning against the wall, the younger man could see that his best friend was struggling to stay awake and/or not throw up.

Eddie groaned as he was moved, too disoriented to help and too exhausted to aid in getting up. "M' tired," he mumbled out, his eyes closing for a brief moment before a light slap to his cheek roused him again. "M...?" he questioned, too worn out to be more articulate.

"You just lost consciousness, am I supposed to let you go back to sleep? Especially if I don't know if you gave yourself a concussion," Buck explained, hoping that him talking like a first responder would help trigger the instincts of the man in front of him.

A confused sense of understanding crossed the older man's face, as his tired brain started generating questions and facts. "The 'patient' needs to stay awake, use a small light to check for pupillary reactiveness or abnormalities, check the pulse for too weak or too strong a pace, and check for fever. If all comes back normal or only slightly elevated, administer water, or put in an IV to avoid dehydration that was triggered by the vomiting." Eddie mumbled, sounding more and more exhausted with each word that came out of his mouth.

Buck worked quickly to do everything the older man had listed off. "Awake, check." He said thoughtfully, as he grabbed his phone out of his pocket to use his phone's flashlight to test Eddie's pupillary response. "Pupils: left one is enlarged, the right is normal," he added, taking the man's wrist placing his pointer and middle finger along the wrist bone to count the pulse. "Pulse is faster than normal, about 115 beats per minute." He added, looking at the Army vet for instruction.

"Sounds like a grade 2 concussion..." the Army vet said softly, his voice trailing off after the few words slipped from his lips.

Buck nodded, as he realized he didn't know how to treat a concussion, not completely. "So how do I help the uh... 'patient' so he can rest and feel better?" He asked simply, worrying that Eddie would need further medical care.

Eddie shook his head, as if shaking it would clear the fog from his mind. "The 'patient' is fine, Buck. Just tired, dizzy, and nauseated." He said, making Buck chuckle at being caught in his elaborate ruse to help treat himself. "My biggest issue is that I want to sleep, and possibly puke at the same time." He added after a quiet moment of thought, feeling like he was literally grasping at straws to try to understand what was going on around him.

He could feel his head throb with each breath he took, he could hear the slight buzzing in his ears making it hard for him to concentrate on anything but his ears, he could smell the vomit close by which was only ramping up his already present and intensifying nausea, he could feel his heart racing instead of being at its usual even pace, he could feel his body so overdrawn and exhausted that all it wanted was for him to sleep, and he could feel Buck's hand on his knee offering a loving, caring, and safe feeling to pass over him.

"You okay, Eddie?" Buck asked, watching his every move carefully for signs of danger.

Eddie blinked a couple times, bringing himself out of his head and to a mental space that would allow him to talk to Buck more coherently, or so he hoped. "M... yeah, just uh... thinking." He stammered, realizing that his brain and mouth were not working very well together. Go figure.

"Alright, you gonna be okay while I get you more water?" Buck asked, concern thick in his voice.

"I know that mm... tone," Eddie managed to say, looking at Buck through blurry eyes. The older man knew that tone meant something was bothering the man beside him, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what was going on. If he was being honest, his head was starting to feel like his room had looked earlier that evening.

"It's nothing, Eddie. Let's get you hydrated, then I will help you to the couch to sleep this off." Buck said, beyond relieved he had asked for them both not to work in the morning.

Eddie didn't know exactly what was going on, but he did know something was off with his best friend, which kind of broke through the effects of the concussion enough to clear his thoughts for a moment.

"Wait," he said, a bit sharper than he meant to, and grabbed Buck's hand when the man stood up to walk back to the bathroom.

Buck stopped, turning to look at Eddie in surprise. "What's wrong, you okay?" He asked, immediately looking the man up and down in concern that something had changed.

"Fine, I just... don't want you to leave." Eddie admitted shyly, as he tried to think of how to ask the man before him to stay in eyesight range, since he wasn't entirely sure that he was even close to feeling okay, even if his vitals said he wasn't in any danger.

Buck's features softened, as he nodded, seeming to understand Eddie's request without the man having to utter another word. He offered a hand to help Eddie up, hoping to get him to the couch and resting, so he could finish the bedroom while his best friends slept the rest of the night away.

Eddie took Buck's hand, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet, increasingly grateful that Buck hadn't let go yet, as standing made him so dizzy he could have passed out all over again.

"M... Bu..." he mumbled, his eyes drifting shut of their volition.

Buck grabbed Eddie's other arm with his free arm, somehow jarring the man enough to distract him enough to not pass out then and there. "Hey, keep your eyes open until we reach the couch, then you can sleep." he explained, hoping to keep his lover, not lover, best friend awake until he could be settled on the couch.

Eddie nodded slowly, allowing Buck to all but drag him down the hall and to the couch. He collapsed onto the couch, his head falling back until it connected with the back board of the couch. "Mmm..." he groaned as his head connected.

"Oh Eddie. Think you can stomach some meds? You have a minor fever, on top of that Grade 2 concussion." Buck explained, wondering if he needed to take Eddie to the ER.

Eddie shrugged, allowing his eyes to close in pure exhaustion. He felt a light slap on his cheek again, but he didn't have the energy to open his eyes.

"M?" He asked, his tone and lack of articulation betraying just how exhausted he felt.

"Meds first, then you can sleep." Buck said in a gentle but insistent voice.

"K," was all Eddie could think to say. He was so tired that arguing would have been a useless use of his depleted energy reserves.

Buck got up from the couch, walked to the bathroom where the medicine cabinet was, found some acetaminophen and some meclizine that he was relived to find, before heading back to the living room with his prizes. "Here take these three pills, then you can go back to sleep." He said, putting another dixie cup of water in Eddie's hand, along with the three pills.

He watched Eddie do as he was told, before moving towards the hall again.

"Stay... please..." he heard Eddie say in a low voice, and turned to see the Army vet was looking at him intently.

"Can I finish your room first?" Buck asked, really wanting to finish it, so he could relax and get some sleep too.

Eddie shook his head no, before frowning in discomfort.

"Alright, scoot over." Buck said, moving back to the couch and sitting down beside his best friend. As soon as he was comfortable, Eddie laid down, with his head in Buck's lap.

Eddie smiled, as he heard Buck start humming a random tune, and drifted off to sleep with the sound of the man that had literally saved him humming.

No sooner was Eddie asleep, Buck joined him. Finally giving in to his exhausted body's request to rest. 

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I hope you all enjoyed this fic. Please let me know if you would like a sequel. I am currently working on multiple requests and a couple of sequels, so please bear with me. Thanks. As always: drop a note, comment, and request away. Love you all! <3

[keepsdeathhiscourt]

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x Original Female Character

Rating: Mature (18+ Only)

Story Summary: It's been ten years since Lucie LeMarche last set foot in New Orleans. But when she's forced to return to bury the woman who raised her, she finds herself pulled into the midst of rising supernatural tensions in the city. Entangled in a web of intrigue and seeking answers, Lucie must learn to navigate a powder keg of warring factions, family secrets, and old wounds if she hopes to survive.

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Language, Death, Mourning, Mental Health Issues, Family Drama, Gore, Depictions of Violence, Death

Series Masterlist

Read on AO3

Chapter 18: Ghosts

The streetlights pass in a blur of yellow and orange. All the while, the manila folder screams at her from the passenger seat. Cami resists the urge to reach across and inspect the contents. Maybe this time, she’ll find something she missed, some key element telling her she was wrong and her tired brain was playing a trick on her all the times before. But she knows to her core that there is no mistake, and if she were to run her hands over the soft black-and-white photo for the thousandth time, she would find the same thing:

The 1919 Picayune clipping of Marcel smiling in front of the New Orleans Opera House with none other than Klaus Mikaelson.

It should be impossible, but there’s no mistaking the high cheekbones, the smirking mouth, and even dressed in spats and a tailored jacket. His cocky swagger is the same.

The first time she saw it was rough. Her stomach bounced against her ribcage and her ears rang. She hadn’t wanted to believe it. Yet it made a strange sort of sense --absolutely bat shit insane-- but sense all the same. And for the first time in months, she felt relief buried beneath the confusion and fear. The missing chunks of time, her and Sean’s code on sheets of notebook paper that she never remembered drawing- she isn’t sure how, but it has to connect back to this.

Cami resists the urge to bounce her leg as she waits for the light to turn, fingers drumming against the wheel. Tired of obsessing over this alone, she’d left her Kenner apartment, throwing a coat on over her pajamas, and was on her way into the city before she could think things through. Now, adrenaline fading and making space for reason, she doubts.

What do you say in this kind of situation?

Hey, Lucie. I know it’s 3 am, but remember that British guy from the bar? Well, I’m pretty sure he’s over 100 years old.

She shakes her head, tapping the accelerator when the light turns green. There isn’t time for second thoughts. She isn’t about to spend the rest of the night on her couch in a paranoid stupor. Maybe Lucie will call her a basket-case then they can laugh it off and watch something mindless on TV.

Her breathing is mostly back to normal by the time she pulls up to the curb behind a red sports car she doesn’t recognize. She tucks the folder under her arm and heads for the porch. The air is humid. It makes her shirt cling to her stomach and the dew-damp grass tickles her ankles.

The rough planks of the porch groan when she reaches the top of the stairs. She can hear voices from inside, muffled by the door, and she hesitates. It never occurred to her that Lucie might not be alone. She was too much of an introvert for a party. A silhouette passes in front of the living room window, a blurry shape behind the curtains. It could be a man, but she’d never mentioned she was seeing anyone…

Maybe she should come back in the morning. Uncle Kieran might still be at the church--

A woman shouts, the sound almost drowned out by breaking glass and a thud hard enough to shake the windows.

Every true crime documentary she’s ever seen tells her she should call the police and let them handle it. Instead, she turns the knob and, finding the door unlocked, she throws her weight into it. The hinges groan as it opens wide. There’s no knife-wielding maniac on the other end, no robber in a ski mask, and no amount of crime drama could prepare her for what’s waiting beyond the threshold.

The first thing she sees is Lucie’s face, mouth slack, and eyes round with shock. She follows the curve of her tear-streaked cheeks, the bloody mess of her neck. With a little cry, Cami steps forward, halting when she catches movement behind her.

Broken glass and tattered wallpaper litter the hallway, like someone let a wild bear loose. Instead, she finds Klaus’ sister running faster than any living thing has any business moving. All she can do is stand there stunned as she grabs a man by the collar and slams him into a wall with enough force to break the drywall.

When shifts, Cami gets her first glimpse of Elijah. His eyes are frantic, hair disheveled, but her eyes lock on the bloody mess of his shirt, the red around his mouth, and the gleaming, monstrous fangs within. Something primal in the back of her head screams at her to run, but her knees are shaking and her feet won’t budge.

She staggers sideways, catching the door frame for balance, and chokes out, “What the hell is going on here?”

Three sets of eyes find her. Rebekah throws Elijah to the ground like he’s only a sack of flour, holding him in place with a foot to the chest. Her mussed hair is a ragged halo in the hallway's light.

She rolls her eyes, tossing her head. “Oh, for the love of--“

Elijah seizes her momentary distraction, hand wrapping around her ankle. Before he can pull her over, she plucks up a broken table leg and pierces through his chest in one fluid motion. He goes limp, dead on the floor. This time Cami does scream.

“Keep an eye on this one,” she tells Lucie, unbothered by her brother’s fresh corpse. “I’ll take care of this.”

Cami winces as Rebekah moves towards her, only to be stopped when Lucie grasps her wrist with a frantic, “No! Don’t.” It earns her a withering look. “She should know the truth.”

The house falls quiet as the two women exchange a look that Cami can’t even decipher. Then, Rebekah steps back with a gesture that can only mean ‘Fine, but this is on you,’ before dragging Elijah by the ankle into a back room.

Lucie turns to her and for a long while, neither of them says anything. Cami can’t seem to slow her racing thoughts enough to grasp a coherent thought, and Lucie seems focused on gnawing a hole through her bottom lip.

There’s a loud thump from somewhere toward the back of the house. It breaks the spell.

“Let’s talk in the living room,” Lucie says, tiptoeing around shards of glass to press the front door closed. Her hand trembles when she grasps one of Cami’s, who allows herself to be guided through an archway and onto a rich, patterned couch.

She pulls a pillow to her chest. Something about the warmth or the plush fabric smashes open the dam and she laughs, a breathy, choked noise from deep in her chest. Is this it? Is she about to snap?

The cushions dip as Lucie sits down beside her. She hadn’t even noticed her slip out of the room, but now she has a damp towel pressed to combat the gore on her neck. It does nothing to soothe Cami’s frayed nerves.

Her eyes fix on a landscape painting on the far wall, the oil strokes warping as her vision clouds over. She doesn’t realize she’s hyperventilating until Lucie says, “Take slow breaths like this.”

She demonstrates, sucking a lungful of air through her nose and then releasing it out of her mouth. Cami copies the motion, sloppy at first, and then more steady with each repetition until she feels less like passing out.

“What the fuck just happened? Why are you bleeding? Why is Elijah Mikaelson dead on your floor?—“The words, once free, stop coming, picking up velocity.

“Cami!” Lucie says, voice sharp, as she squeezes her hand. “Breathe.”

So she does.

“I’m going to tell you everything, alright? But I can’t do that if you faint on me.”

She shifts her hands into her lap, remembering the folder under her arm for the first time since she walked through the door. Setting it on the coffee table, she turns to Lucie with an exaggerated breath.

“First things first, Elijah is going to be fine—”

“—But I just watched Rebekah stab him in the chest—”

“—Because he’s a vampire.”

Cami loses her train of thought, jaw slack. Her mouth snaps shut, and she shakes her head. “Vampires? Whatever joke this is, it’s not funny.” But even as she says it, something falls into place, like the last stitch pulling the whole tapestry together. Her eyes dart towards the folder.

“Trust me, I wish I was joking,” Lucie says, playing with her fingers. She’s sitting cross-legged on the couch, body angled to face her. “There’s a lot you don’t know about New Orleans, Cami.”

----

She watches the servants set the dining table with fine silver and priceless china and all the while, Hayley resists an urge to be sick which has nothing to do with morning sickness. It’s been less than a week since Tyler Lockwood snatched her off the front porch and dragged her out into the bayou in some half-cooked scheme to get back at Klaus --as if he’d ever let any hybrids sired by someone other than himself live. After Klaus had run him off, staying at the manor was off the table.

She doesn’t dislike the Abattoir itself, even though it smells damp and you could hear a pin drop in the courtyard. It’s blessedly cooler here, the stucco walls built to keep out the heat, and she has to admit that the balconies are perfect for watching the sunset over the French Quarter. No, it’s not the compound, but its revolving door of inhabitants that set her teeth on edge.

She reaches for a glass of water, the other hand resting against her expanding belly. All the while, she keeps a sidelong look at the small army of vampires gathered around the table. Two chairs to her right is Marcel and beside him is his newest right-hand man, the one they call Diego. Her eyes narrow when he catches her staring, dark eyes full of calculation. She isn’t sure how much Klaus has told them about her and their miracle baby, but, then again, she doubts it matters.

Diego breaks the stand-off first when Klaus taps his fork against his wineglass. It’s not until she sees the back of his curly head that she turns to him as well. At the other end of the table, Klaus is on his feet with that smug ‘I have something important to say’ face that Hayley hopes their daughter doesn’t inherit.

“Let us begin with a toast to our shared gift: immortality,” he says, glass held high. “After a thousand years, one might expect life to be less keenly felt, for its beauties and its sorrows do diminish with time. But, as vampires, we feel more deeply than humans could possibly imagine.”

With a gesture, a handful of wait staff step forward, hovering just over the shoulders of the gathered guests. It only takes one look at their identical glassy expressions to know they’ve been compelled. He continues, “Insatiable need, exquisite pain…,” She holds back a wince when each cuts their wrists filling the empty glasses with blood. “Our victories, and our defeats.”

When all the glasses are filled, he lifts his higher. She doesn’t miss the way his eyes lock on Marcel as he says, “To my city, my home again. May the blood never cease to flow…”

Marcel raises his glass with a wide smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “…and the party never end!”

Her eyes drift to Diego. It’s no secret that he resents Klaus’ takeover of the vampire faction, only following orders out of some misguided loyalty to Marcel. She waits to see if he’ll make a scene. Maybe that would liven things up around here, only to be disappointed when he raises his glass and murmurs, “To New Orleans.”

“To New Orleans,” they all refrain, drinking deeply. Hayley sips at her water, wanting nothing more than to shut herself in her room away from all the male posturing. But she knows Klaus well enough to understand that whatever he’s building to, he expects her to be present. She just wishes he’d hurry it up.

“I understand that some of you may have questions regarding the recent change in leadership.” An interesting way to refer to a failed assassination attempt staged by Marcel that led them all under Klaus’ subjugation. “And I invited you here tonight to assure you that you are not defeated. No, my intentions moving forward are to celebrate what we have. What Marcel, in fact, took and built for this community of vampires--

“And what about her?” Diego interrupts, ignoring Klaus’ veiled irritation. “The wolf.”

It’s a fair question, one that Hayley has asked herself more than once. Her own place in Klaus’ best-laid plans is still a mystery, even to her. She turns her head, watching Klaus warily.

“Had you’d let me finish, Diego, you would know that there is, of course, one further matter I would like to address.” Then he’s moving around the table, her stomach doing a backflip as he heads right for her. “As many of you know, the girl is carrying my child. Consequently, I trust you will all pay her the appropriate respect.” Which, to a vampire, is none. “However, I understand that some of you are concerned by this vicious rumor that I intend to use the blood of our child to create hybrids. I assure you, I do not.”

She can’t help the bitter curl of her lips. “Father of the year.”

If he was expecting elation or even relief, he finds none. The vampires spare the odd glance at Marcel before fixing him with a dozen blank, unsettled expressions.

With a dull satisfaction, she notes the way his eyes tighten at the corners and some of the sheen disappears from his grin. “It appears that I will have to earn your trust,” he says with a finality that makes her uneasy. “Very well. We’ll eliminate the root of your anxiety. You see, how can I sire any hybrids if there are no more werewolves alive in the bayou to turn?”

And Hayley’s heart crashes through the floor. “What?” she chokes in horrified disbelief. “Klaus, no!”

She’s only just gotten used to the idea of having family out there and now, to soothe the fears of some motley group of vampires, it’s all slipping through her fingers.

“So eat, drink and be merry,” he commands over the ringing in her ears. “And tomorrow, I suggest you have yourselves a little wolf hunt. Go ahead, have fun. Kill them all!”

The chair screeches in protest as she rises to her feet. She’s heard more than enough. Without a backward glance, she storms out of the room. Not that Klaus notices, he’s far too wrapped up in Marcel and his own blood lust to care.

Her feet lead her up the stairs to the second level, ignoring the exultations coming from below. When she reaches her room, she slams the door behind her hard enough to make the lamp on the dresser shiver. She doesn’t notice, she already has her phone in hand.

If she wants to stop this, she needs someone on the outside. But Elijah doesn’t answer, and neither does Lucie. And so she tries her one last lifeline and almost cries with relief when she hears Rebekah’s voice on the other line.

___

“So let me get this straight, not only are the Mikaelsons vampires but they’re the first ones in existence,” Cami says, once Lucie finishes giving her the thousand-foot overview of all things supernatural in New Orleans.

She’s sitting with her legs crossed beneath her. Across from her, Lucie mirrors her position. “Right, the Originals.”

“And while Marcel and Klaus are playing tug of war with the city, the witches,” That’s going to take some getting used to, “are also angling for control. And the werewolves…?” she trails, pinching her nose to ease some of the pressure building behind her eyes.

“Were banished from the city by Marcel decades ago.”

She groans in frustration, leaning sideways against the couch.

“You’ll catch on. It just takes some time.”

“It would be a lot if I could just remember.” She is still foggy on the details, but she knows enough to understand that what she had been experiencing wasn’t a slow descent into madness, but the effects of mind compulsion--another fun vampire trick. “You’re a witch. Are you sure you can’t just…I don’t know…wiggle your fingers and fix me?”

“Not a very good one.” Lucie’s lips pull into a frown. “I wish it was that easy.”

“When is anything in this town ever simple?” she asks with a laugh, but even she can hear the bitterness creeping in at the edges.

“I’m sorry you got dragged into this. By the time I realized you were in the middle of it all, Klaus already had his hooks in you.”

Klaus. The arrogant son of a bitch that toyed with her for his own gain and made a smoothie of her brain. His name alone is enough to make her want to break something. “I’m more sorry that no one thought to tell me,” she snaps, regretting it the second she sees the pained look in Lucie’s eyes. She sighs. “I get it, but just tell me one thing; if you suspected what was going on, why didn’t you do something?”

“What makes you so sure I didn’t?” Lucie says, loaded with meaning.

“What are you—” She gasps when it clicks, fingers tracing the space around her wrist. “You mean the bracelet? How?”

“My great-great grandmother spelled it with vervain, to protect from compulsion.”

She’s quiet for a minute, taking in the new information as she swallows a fresh lump in her throat. “Well,” she starts with a shaky puff of laughter, “Now I really wish I hadn’t lost it.”

Lucie doesn’t respond, only gives her a long look before disappearing into one of the back rooms. She’s back in moments, dropping something cold into Cami’s palm as she sinks back down on the couch.

She uncurls her fingers and finds herself staring at the familiar sun and moon charms. “Where did you find this?”

“Let’s just say I stole it back from the person who stole it.”

“Stolen? But I thought I—fucking Klaus,” she swears. “I’m going to kill that asshole if I ever see him again.”

Lucie laughs, hands resting over her knees. “There might be a line.” It wrangles a chuck from Cami even as her expression turns serious. “I really am sorry you had to find out the way you did.”

She sighs before placing a hand over Lucie’s. “Help me with Klaus and we can call it even. Just keep me in the loop from now on. Deal?”

Her lips curve up in a small smile. “Deal.” Then her face falls once more. “Cami, there’s something else I need to tell you. It’s about Sean.”

---

The pounding in his head is the first thing Elijah is aware of, a persistent thrumming behind the eyes that beats in time with his pulse. His limbs are granite slabs as he raises shaking fingers to his temple. While he works up the courage to open his eyes, he notes the softness of the mattress beneath him, the familiar scent of wisteria, and the faint padding of footsteps somewhere beyond.

Steeling himself, he opens his eyelids. It’s just a crack, but enough for the pale moonlight to slip between the blinds and burn into his retinas with the full force of the sun. He groans, shielding them with the side of his hand. Forcing them wider, he blinks until it doesn’t hurt so much and the surrounding room takes shape. A gray coverlet frames him, and a pile of pillows behind his head props him up. Straight ahead, garments in various shades of black and gray hang from the open closest, the wall around the doors plastered with band posters.

Suddenly, the floral smell makes sense. And if this is the LeMarche home, then he must be in Lucie’s room.

Lucie.

He jolts upright, memories of last night flooding back to him in hazy flashes. Her wide, worried eyes when she found him in the alley. Her fingers had been cool against his burning skin. He remembers the tremor in her voice, the warmth of her presence at his bedside. The events warp and waver, take a darker turn as he recalls her heart pounding beneath her breastbone. The hot, heady elation as her blood pooled in his mouth and overwhelmed his senses.

Shame crashes over him in a tidal wave, remorse as sharp as the stake Rebekah drove through his chest before he could do something he couldn’t take back. He wants to sleep, maybe for a decade, until he’s ready to face her. Instead, he kicks off the covers, staggering to the side like a drunkard when his feet hit the floor. He grasps the edge of the dresser and pauses, glimpsing himself in the mirror.

The creature blinks back at him with red-rimmed eyes. Stubble is a dark shadow around his jaw while the hair at his head sticks up in every direction. He rakes a hand through the errant strands with an absent precision, unable to tear his eyes away from the damning rust-colored stain on his shirt.

He pulls away, following the sounds of life to the front entryway where he finds Lucie, sweeping glass into a dustpan. She does not notice his presence. It’s a chance to watch her undisturbed. As his eyes rake over her slight form, he notes the tired slump of her shoulders, the shadows beneath her eyes, and wonders if she’s been awake this whole time. But any worry over her exhaustion is eclipsed when he sees her neck. Identical bite marks taunt him, red and angry against her skin. His stomach lurches and guilt trickles in, hotter than the fever that had ravaged his system the last two days.

Before he can vanish from her life forever, before he can even begin to make amends, she turns. Whirling around in a flash of russet, she jumps when she spots him, free hand clutching her chest.

“Shit. I didn’t know you were awake,” she whispers. Then, before he can answer, she presses a lip to her finger and, with a glance down the hall, adds, “Cami is asleep in the other room. We can talk outside.”

She leads him back down the hallway and, abandoning the dustpan on the kitchen table, slips out into the backyard. The moon is only a day or two shy of full, so bright that even behind the clouds, its glow casts the withered garden in shades of silver and blue.

Neither of them speaks until they’re down the steps, hovering near the overgrown path that weaves around the garden, the spot where she’d once accepted his deal.

When she turns to him, the moonlight draws the bite mark into sharp relief again. Elijah’s shoulders tense and he shoves his hands into his pockets to curb any misguided attempt to brush his fingers against it. With an exhale, he opens his mouth to speak, but Lucretia beats him to it.

“Before you start whatever ‘I’m a monster speech’ you have on deck, it’s been a long night,” she says, arms folding over her chest. “Yes, you were a dick and scary and it also wasn’t your fault - don’t give me that look, it wasn’t. So can we just skip to the part where I forgive you and you agree to stop looking at me like a kicked puppy?”

For a moment, he says nothing, only watches her carefully. His guilt will not be so easy to abate, neither will the conviction that somehow his entrance into each other’s lives has only made things more complicated than they should be. But there’s no missing the resolve in her stare.

“Very well,” he says. “But in the spirit of negotiation, I’d like to make a counteroffer.” When she raises her eyebrows, he adds, “I will agree to your terms if you allow me to heal you with my blood.”

This time, it’s her turn to regard him silently. Her eyes scan his face and, not for the first time, he wonders what is going on behind those large, guileless eyes.

Her jaw sets in determination. “Alright, fine.”

It’s a quick thing, giving her his blood. He opts to give it to her in a mug retrieved from the kitchen. After his attack, anything more intimate than that seems a step too far. When he returns, it’s with his hand wrapped around the handle and a blanket draped over her arm. He hands her the former, ignoring the skeptical look his way when he tucks the latter over her shoulders.

Her nose wrinkles as she examines the macabre contents. And then, with a deep inhale, she chokes it down in a few quick gulps. To her credit, she doesn’t wince, only wipes at her mouth with her sleeve. And Elijah watches as the wound at her neck fades until it’s as if it never happened, almost. Though it dulls some of the sharper edges of his shame, the bulk of it remains.

“Lucretia, I know I do not have a right to ask any more of you,” he says, unable to endure any more silence. “But in my…state…last night, did I say alarming?”

Her hesitation gives him his answer, but, kind as she is, she does not make him ask for details. “There was a moment you thought I was someone else. You called me ‘Celeste’…” She must catch the way his cheeks heat because she adds, “Nothing too scandalous, I promise.”

He doesn’t miss the waver in her smile, the anxiety lurking in her dark eyes. So he gently prompts, “What else?”

“When I touched you, I saw one of your memories.”

With a catalog of ten centuries at her disposal, he doesn’t guess, only waits in growing apprehension for her to tell him which horrible act of brutality she’d witnessed firsthand.

“A ball at the governor’s mansion. Niklaus was there,” she says. “And Melodia.”

“I see.”

She shifts the knit fabric over her shoulders, pulling around herself and holding it closed with one hand. “I guess it only makes sense you knew each other.”

His head tips up to where the moon is still beaming down from a velvet field of stars. “She was a gifted witch, your progenitor. And good woman.” When he turns his attention earthward, he finds a strange expression on her face. “What’s on your mind?”

Though it’s dark, he swears he spots a flush on her cheeks. “I know it was a long time ago, but were you two…close?”

He furrows his brow, confused. And then, catching her meaning, he can’t help a small bark of laughter. “No, at least not in the way you’re thinking. …It was an alliance built on mutual respect and a common goal.”

She snorts. “Sounds familiar.”

“Perhaps,” he says with a wry smile. “With some notable differences.”

The breeze bats playfully at a loose curl. Elijah watches it flutter about her face as she bites her lip, deep in thought, and resists the urge to tuck it behind her ear. Soon, the impulse fades.

“Elijah,” she starts, so uncertain that he knows beyond a doubt what will follow. That does not stop his breath from hitching when she asks, “Who was he, the boy she mentioned?”

Silence ensues as Elijah debates over how much he wants to tell her. “His name was Cyrus,” he says, adjusting his cuffs. “A member of the Dupin family.”

Her lips pull into a frown, a line forming between her brows. “Dupin? I don’t know that name.”

“That is unsurprising. The Dupins were an ancient magical lineage from the Old World, powerful as they were proud. The boy was the last of their line,” he explains. “He was an orphan when we came to the city, with a vast inheritance and little sense.” Over his shoulder, he gives Lucie a half smile. “Of course, he took a shine to Niklaus.”

“Of course.”

“With his name and connections, he was vital to our integration into New Orleans society, and it was a fact he used to his advantage once he understood who we were. I believe Cyrus always veered toward ambition, but it was under my brother’s tutelage that the truth of his character began to take shape. From Niklaus, he learned to manipulate, to embrace his lust for power, and, in turn, my brother not only benefited from his status and deep pockets, but I believe the boy amused him.”

“Meanwhile, his powers grew with each passing year, until they were such that the elders of the nine covens feared his potential. I soon found myself equally troubled. You see, Cyrus had become obsessed with the immortality that my siblings and I possess, and I soon understood that he meant to obtain it by any means necessary.”

“But Klaus never meant to turn him.”

“No,” he concedes. “He did not. Niklaus strung the boy along with empty promises of siring him. After all, a powerful warlock beholden to no natural tenets or compunctions about morality was a valuable asset. And when the young Dupin heir finally realized that his master would not give him what he wanted, he endeavored to take it for himself. It was New Orleans that paid the price.”

“What happened?”

“I still do not understand the full extent of what he discovered or how he came upon it, only that it was an unnatural magic, the likes of which I’ve only experienced once, when my mother turned us into vampires. But a darkness fell upon the city as an eclipse blotted out the sun for days on end and it was then that Niklaus realized the true extent of his folly. Thankfully, we were not the only ones seeking a way to end his quest for power.”

“You mean…”

“Yes, for once in their storied history, my family and the witches of New Orleans worked together. Melodia LeMarche was the one to perform the rite that separated him from the Ancestral Well.”

“And Cyrus?”

“Severed from the font of his power, he was just as mortal as any human. Niklaus’ retribution was swift. And buried in unconsecrated ground, Melodia banished his spirit to isolation, in a place where he could never join the Ancestors.”

When Lucie shivers, he takes her hands in his. “There’s nothing to fear, Lucretia. Three centuries later, Cyrus is little more than a ghost story, even in my own mind. The ghosts of the past cannot harm anyone now.”

Seemingly placated, she only nods, her attention diverting upward. He follows her line of sight and watches a shadow pass over her features as a cloud covers the moon.

---

It had been an hour since she’d gotten off the phone with Rebekah. And though Hayley had solicited a promise from her she would come soon, she hadn’t specified when that meant. Waiting was an exposed nerve, one that flared up and gave her a nasty shock with each minute that passed.

Hayley Marshall is sick to death of waiting. Waiting for the end of her pregnancy, waiting to learn what fate Klaus has in store for her, and always, always waiting for someone else to come to her aid. It’s enough to drive a weaker person to insanity, but she’s made of steel and fangs and tougher things. And if it means saving the family she never knew she had, she’ll take on every vampire in Louisiana if she has to.

Besides the occasional peel of raucous laughter wafting up from the courtyard, the compound is quiet. Though bedecked with modern electricity, the light that bounces off the deep gray stucco is just enough to see by. A fact that she uses to her advantage as she slips down the stairs, hugging close to the shadows.

It’s a short walk to the side door, her heart hammering in her chest all the while. She doubts Klaus will inflict any serious punishment if she’s caught, at least not to her personally. And with a death sentence hanging over the wolves, there’s not much else he can do to her that matters.

She hazards a glance over her shoulder. When she finds the hallway empty, she steels herself, ready to bolt out the door and into the night. Before she can take a single step, a figure bars her path.

“Going somewhere?” Diego drawls, amused.

Her eyes narrow and her jaw clenches. Even as her hands ball into fists, she knows she’s no match for one of Marcel’s inner circle. Not for the first time since that fateful positive drugstore pregnancy test, she wishes she could shift into her stronger form. The one that would allow her to run away from this mess or at least maul the next person who tries to fuck with her or her baby.

Hayley doesn’t notice so much as a shadow before Diego’s head wrenches to the side at an unnatural angle and he goes limp.

She fights a smile when she glimpses a familiar form. “Took you long enough,” she says as Rebekah Mikaelson throws her victim into a nearby wall.

“Yeah, well, you might have warned me about the guard.”

She manages a huff before spinning around to strike down two more vampires lurking nearby.

“Alright,” she says, circling back over to Hayley. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

When she reaches out for her, Hayley steps back, ignoring Rebekah’s exasperated look. “About that,” she starts, feeling a bit guilty about her lack of transparency on the phone. “That’s not actually the help I had in mind. I’ve been deemed under protection by the almighty Klaus. It’s the werewolves who need help,” she powers through before Rebekah can so much as groan, “He ordered a wolf hunt as some jacked-up peace offering to Marcel’s crew. You have to help them.”

“Out in the Bayou?” Rebekah balks, looking at her like she has two heads. “Do I look like a bloody vampire rescue squad? I think you should be grateful I came to save you.”

And she is grateful, more than she expected. But she needs this and her people need her.

“Listen, Rebekah. All my life, I’ve wanted to know who my real family was, and just as I find out they’re out there in the Bayou, Klaus orders them killed. You want to help me? Help my people. Please.”

And maybe it’s the quaver of earnestness in her voice or maybe just Rebekah’s vulnerabilities where family is concerned, but somehow it works. She spots the moment her words break through, the way Rebekah sighs when she’s about to fold.

“Fine, but you owe me a new pair of boots this time.”

___

Only when Rebekah leaves, the fate of Hayley’s pack in her hands, does Hayley return to the calm oppression of the compound. She travels the winding halls with purpose, unsure of what she’s moving toward until she finds Klaus in the study. Pouring over a book from his spot in an armchair, he doesn’t acknowledge her presence, though she knows he heard her enter. His obvious dismissal stokes the embers of rage that have been roiling all evening, threatening to ignite.

She takes a step forward, fists clenched. “Those werewolves you ordered killed, that’s my family.”

Slowly, he turns his head to look at her. The directness of his gaze is unnerving, as if he’s not just immortal by omniscient. “Not for long, love. I mean, this so-called family of yours, they haven’t done you much good, have they?” She turns away from his stare and the sharp daggers of truth behind his intent to hurt her. “You said it yourself — they abandoned you and left you on your own. Now it’s simply your turn to do the same.”

“Maybe they had their reasons,” she fires back, hearing the undercurrent of doubt.

The book slams closed, punctuating his attempts at nonchalance as he rises to his feet. “Yes, well, I have reasons too, little wolf. If the werewolves are dead, then the vampires have less desire to kill you. I am trying to keep you safe.” And she hears it, the force of conviction in his words. “Not that you appreciate the effort.”

A thought returns to her then, like a bucket of ice water dropped over her head. “And as soon as I have this baby, what happens to me then?”

His silence is damning, amplified only by the flicker of guilt that flashes behind his eyes. She swallows hard, rage tempered only by her growing fear.

“Right... Well, lucky for me, I have a little while before I find out,” she says with a bitter smile. “And in the meantime, I will find a way to pay you back for this. As long as I’m in the family, you can’t do a damn thing about it.”

She doesn’t turn around to watch her words land, but she feels the heat of his eyes on her back until she rounds the corner and disappears from his view.

___

Cami sleeps through the morning and halfway into the afternoon. More than once, Lucie toys with the idea of waking her, but when she remembers breaking the news about Sean’s hex and holding her, helpless as she sobbed in her arms, she can’t bring herself to do it.

Instead, Lucie occupies herself with cleaning up the rest of the evidence of last night’s disaster. And when that’s finished, she plants roots in the kitchen and turns her hand to dinner, hoping that maybe a home-cooked meal with bring some semblance of normalcy back to her life.

She attacks the potato in her hand with short flicks of the wrist that send little chips of peel fluttering, collecting in a pile on the cutting board. All the while, she taps her toes, hums, tries to remember the words to a poem she recited in fourth-grade English. Anything to keep her mind distracted. But try as she might, the events of last evening creep back in, present as a hand on her shoulder - or wrapped around her fingers.

It’s both astounding and irritating how long after he’s gone, Elijah’s presence always seems to linger. Like fragments of his aura make their home in the walls and burrow deep into the floorboards. She’d watched him leave just as dawn was cresting over the neat rows of shingled roofs. And as his retreating form disappeared from view, she felt the same strange desolation that came with his departure. Was this how it would always be between them; one always left behind while the other chased down their demons?

The shuffling of feet against the tile breaks her out of her thoughts. She sets the vegetable down while there’s still something left of it, the little pile of shreddings has doubled in size, and finds Cami standing bleary-eyed in the doorway.

She groans, stretching her arms over her head. “Smells amazing in here.”

Picking up a knife, she dices the potato with deft precision before adding it to the stockpot. “Thought a stew seemed fitting with the chill. Should be ready in a half hour.”

Cami nods, raking a hand through her hair and stifling a yawn. “What time is it?”

Lucie glances towards the green numbers on the microwave. “Just a few minutes before four.”

The information must kick-start some life into her because her eyes go wide with panic. “Shit,” Cami exclaims, casting around for her phone. “I had a lunch shift today. Paulette is going to kill me—”

“It’s all good,” Lucie interjects, stirring the broth with a wooden spoon. “I called and let them know you weren’t feeling well. If your boss asks, you had a migraine. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Oh.” She seems to relax a little. “No, no. Thanks for doing that.”

Lucie nods as Cami settles in at the kitchen table, occasionally helping with chopping or peeling, but mostly content to pass the time in friendly conversation. Every now and then, she manages a smile and it's a tight, fragile thing as she makes sense of all she's learned. They’ve settled into a comfortable lull when the doorbell rings.

She sets down the knife with a frown, her eyes meeting Cami’s over her shoulder who shrugs. “Keep an eye on this, will you? I should go see who that is.”

It isn’t that strange for someone to be at the door in the middle of the day. In all honesty, it’s likely a solicitor or maybe a neighbor kid looking to make a quick buck moving lawns. Maybe it’s the lingering memory of vampires outside her door, but she feels a flicker of trepidation when she turns the knob.

But as the door pulls free, it isn’t Rebekah’s haughty expression or Elijah’s steady demeanor that greets her but a pair of big blue eyes.

“Davina?”

“I’m sorry to turn up here unannounced but I need your help.” She doesn’t wait for an invitation, brushing past Lucie and into the living room. “Marcel’s been lying to me. I can’t trust him anymore.”

There’s nothing to do but follow. Davina drops her back onto the floor near the couch, craning her head to peek around the doorway that leads into the kitchen.

“Oh, hi Cami,” she says with a wave before turning back to Lucie. “I didn’t know you knew each other.”

Lucie blinks owlishly, her brain trying to catch up with the teenage witch in her living room. Meanwhile, Cami sets down the spoon and wiping her hand on a dish towel, pads into the living room with a confused expression. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

Davina’s brows scrunch together, and then, all at once, understanding seems to dawn. “Oh, you’ve been compelled.”

She closes the distance, and as she leans forward to inspect Cami, Cami leans away. “What are you doing?”

All at once, Lucie’s sluggish thoughts catch up and she feels a surge of apprehension at the look on the girl’s face. “Davina, wait—”

“It’s okay,” she says to Lucie, and then to Cami, she adds with a reassuring smile, “I can fix you. I’m really sorry, but this is gonna hurt.”

[fancoloredglasses]

[RERUN] SHAZAM! (the other Captain Marvel)

[All images are owned by DC Comics and Filmation. I promise I’m too poor to sue]

[NOTE: If you wish to see the original review, you may do so here]

(All video clips are thanks to Warner Bros. Classics)

In the 70s through the 90s, it was kind of confusing that both Marvel and DC (or National Publications, depending on the year) both had a character named Captain Marvel. Therefore, before we get into the subject of this review (on the DC side of things), I’ll give the convoluted story of how this happened…

(Thanks to wikipedia)

Captain Marvel was created in 1939 by Fawcett Comics as part of their WHIZ Comics title. In the comics, 10 year-old Billy Batson was granted awesome powers by the wizard Shazam…

(Thanks to iFanboy)

Shortly thereafter, National Publications (the company that would eventually be known as DC Comics) sued Fawcett because Captain Marvel was more popular than too similar to Superman.  National eventually won the suit (after a few appeals) and Fawcett was forced to stop publishing Captain Marvel.  National/DC eventually licensed the character from Fawcett beginning in the 70s before acquiring the character outright in 1991.

Now, Marvel saw the Captain Marvel name not being used and wasn’t about to let an opportunity go to waste!

(Thanks to Marvel Database)

So in 1967, they published Captain Marvel, the adventures of an alien named Mar-Vell who would be the first of three heroes to carry the name (and trademarked title, since Fawcett’s Captain was published in WHIZ Comics).

(Thanks to Marvel)

The second would be Monica Rambeau,

(Thanks again to Marvel)

and the third (and current) being Carol Danvers.

So DC and Marvel both had legal rights to a character named Captain Marvel (though Marvel had the rights to the title) once they licensed the character, DC started using the Captain under the title SHAZAM! (Since Marvel had the title Captain Marvel trademarked) Eventually, DC gave up any ties to the name Captain Marvel and just called the hero Shazam (which must make introductions hard, since uttering his name would transform him between the hero and Billy Batson)

In the 70s, Filmation licensed the use of National’s version in the SHAZAM! Saturday morning television series. True to Filmation form, the show had a moral that permeated the show with a mini-PSA at the end just to hammer the point home.

Captain Marvel was the first DC hero I knew about (but not the first super hero, thanks to Marvel teaming up with the Children’s Television Workshop to put Spider-Man on The Electric Company) so you can imagine my frustration that there were no comic books out featuring the good Captain, save the occasional appearance when the Captain visited Earth-1 from Earth-S (If this confuses you, check out my review of Crisis on Infinite Earths; this will be given RERUN treatment soon, so watch for it!)

Now, if you saw the opening credits I posted above (and if you didn’t, please do so.  I’ll wait right here. All set? Good), you will note that the Wizard Shazam is nowhere to be seen.  Instead, we have the Six Elders, who grant Billy their abilities. (and it should be noted that they are the inspiration of Billy’s powers in the comics, just not personified) They are…

The wisdom of Solomon

The strength of Hercules

The stamina of Atlas

The power of Zeus

The courage of Achilles

The speed of Mercury

Now one would think that, given this is a super hero show, we would see Captain Marvel fight super villains, or at least the occasional bank robber. However, we never see a trace of Black Adam, Dr. Sivana, or even Mr. Mind. (check out the DC Comics Database if you’re unfamiliar with these characters) Instead, we’re treated to an After School Special with super powers.

We start with Billy Batson (who has obviously been Captain Marvel for a few years, as he looks like he’s at least 16) and his mentor (whose name is apparently “Mentor”)

…driving through what looks like southern California in a Winnebago with the Captain’s lightning bolt emblem on the front (you would think that would make it easier for the likes of the Captain’s rogues gallery to find them…)

…when Billy is summoned by what looks like a cross between a disco ball and the gaudiest Christmas decoration ever.

We are then treated to a conversation between Billy and a badly-animated representation of the Elders, who inform Billy he’s about to encounter the subject of this week’s moral and advice on how to help them (you’d think if they knew all this they could directly intervene, but I guess Billy and Mentor are the only ones who believe in the Greek gods any more, so they can’t manifest on Earth)

Sure enough, not five minutes later Billy and Mentor encounter the subject of the week’s moral.  Billy tries to help, but then the stakes get raised that there is real danger involved (usually self-inflicted), so…

…Captain Marvel flies in to Save The Day.

Then Captain Marvel shows up in a typical Filmation mini-PSA to hammer the moral into the kids’ brains one final time.

OK, given Filmation did this on a Saturday Morning budget with a bunch of kids who no doubt never acted before in their lives, they tried really hard, but given what Filmation animation released 10 years later, (such as He-Man and She-Ra) not to mention what it was doing at the time (such as Star Trek and Fat Albert and the [REDACTED] Kids), SHAZAM! did not age well.  However, it was popular enough to last three seasons…

…and get a second actor to play Captain Marvel after the first left due to a contract dispute.

(Thanks to SATURDAY MORNINGS FOREVER)

A few years later, Captain Marvel would get a second shot on TV, this time animated with the entire “Marvel Family”, although they had to share the spotlight with a live-action “comedy” show.

As always, if there are any episodes you would like to see (apparently there is an anti-drug episode that features cocaine (on a 70s kids’ show? What the hell did they think kids were doing?!)), let me know. If you would like to watch the series, it's available behind your favorite paywall.

[goldnn-harry]

loving family [h.s]

i've recently been obsessed with dad!harry fics so here you go <3

warnings: none, just plenty of fluff😁

tags: dad!harry 

“dada?” 

harry groaned softly as his daughter lightly touched his arm. not in a bad way of course, just due to the fact of being woken up.

“yes bub?” he turned over to the side of the bed and picked lily up unto the bed. she was still too short to climb up, so she always waited patiently for her dad to help her.

she grinned, “good morning daddy.”

harry smiled and kissed her nose. “good morning princess. how’d you sleep?”

“good, pascal gave me company!” little lily smiled even wider as she showed harry her favorite stuffie, one of pascal from tangled.

“that’s amazing baby. i’m glad you like your stuffie. how about we go brush our teeth, hm?”

lily whined, but still complied and got out of bed with harry. hand in hand, they walked to the bathroom. harry picked her up and set her on the counter, brushing her teeth first and then his own.

“alright bub, clothes or food first?”

lily rested a finger on her chin and hummed, “food!”

harry chuckled, “alright pumpkin, lets go.”

harry helped lily off the counter and carried her to the kitchen. 

he peered down at his daughter as he walked and lightly pulled her thumb out of her mouth, “hey, remember what nanna told you about that? don't suck your thumb baby.” he lightly kissed her forehead to show that he wasn't mad at her, and then set her in her high chair so he could make her breakfast.

“what do you wanna have for breakfast, hm?”

“cinnamon rolls? pleaseeee daddy?” she pouted adorably, earning a chuckle from harry.

“alright bub. but remember that's not an everyday thing mkay?”

she nodded, “yes dada i know. can you eat them too?” she asked him hopefully. most of the time, when he made cinnamon rolls, he didn't eat them. he usually had eggs or toast instead, since he wasn't a big fan of the sugary treat so early in the morning.

but of course, he'd do anything to see lily happy. so, he nodded and started to cook their cinnamon rolls along with scrambled eggs and a couple of cut up strawberries as he listened to his daughter ramble to him (and to pascal of course) about the movie gemma and her had watched a couple nights ago.

a couple minutes later, he served her food in her favorite plate, which featured some of her favorite disney princesses. (***)

after giving lily her food he served his own, and stored the left overs in a tupperware container.

“is it good baby?” he asked, after giving her juice and sitting by her to eat aswell.

she nodded eagerly, “very!”

harry smiled, happy to see his daughter happy. “i'm glad you like it.”

“dada are we gonna go see y/n today?”

harry absolutely loved how much lily loved y/n. she was always so excited to see her, or even to talk about her, anything that involved y/n made her happy. and that was one of harry's biggest concerns, his daughter not liking the person he dated. so when he saw how much lily loved y/n, and not only that, but also how much y/n loved and adored lily, he was more than relieved.

with being a single parent, there's always going to be people that don't want a kid that's not theirs, or just dont want a kid in general, and even though it sucked, harry had to understand that.

but that didn't mean that he didn't worry whenever he had to break the news to someone he's talking to that he had a kid. he'd only dated four people after lily's mom left him (and lily).

the first girl was called ellie, and she was so complicated. she didn't trust harry at all, always accusing him of cheating or whatever she could come up with. she also didn't love lily, but she didn't hate her, and she told harry that she was trying and would eventually love her as her own. and although she was nice and loving at times, harry ended it after 6 months.

the second girl was noelle. she was gorgeous, such an amazing person. but that ended at 10 months, when she broke up with him and harry found out she was never over her ex.

then he dated bella, who was a not affectionate person, and didn't care for lily at all. she always pushed her away and asked harry to hang out, without her. that ended super quickly, just after a month. harry was never going to tolerate or date someone who didn't want his kid.

but then he met y/n. he met y/n at his job. y/n was a clothes designer, and she designed and made most of the outfits harry wore to his last tour.

she had walked into his trailer, hands full of folders and papers which harry immediately offered to help with. after getting situated, they went over all of her designs and harry picked the ones he liked and wanted to wear. their first interaction went smoothly and friendly, just how both of them had hoped for. after that they had to meet each other countless of times for measurements and just overall discussing how harry wanted his outfits to look, fit and even feel.

when tour ended, harry asked her out on a date, which went amazingly. and here they are, a year later, completely in love.

“yes baby, we'll go bring y/n breakfast before i take you to school.” he smiled. somedays, before taking lily to preschool harry brought y/n some breakfast if she wasn't too busy. those were lily's favorite days.

she giggled in excitement and finished her food quickly. “hurry daddy!” she pointed to his still half full plate of food.

“alright, alright pumpkin give me a second.” he grinned and ate his food a bit quicker. he washed the plates and cups and everything they used and carried lily to her bedroom.

he walked to her closet and picked out two outfits so lily could choose. he layed both of them on the floor and set her down. “go ahead baby, pick one.”

lily looked at them for a couple seconds, and then walked to the one on the left. she picked it up and held it up for harry. (***)

he smiled, that had been his favorite outfit too.

he helped lily get dressed and then moved on to her hair. he lightly brushed it, her small curls usually got tangled at night. her hair was exactly like harry's, brown with soft, light curls. he put two butterfly clips on the front and kissed her on the forehead.

“all done.”

“okay now your turn!” lily smiled and pushed harry out of her room and into his as he laughed.

“okay okay i'm coming!” he walked into his room with her, and picked out an outfit to wear. (***)

he also added his pearl necklace, knowing that basically everyone loved it.

after he finished getting ready, him and lily left the house and headed over to y/n's work place with the extra breakfast he had stored in the tupperware.

lily held his hand as they walked inside, eager to see y/n but a bit nervous to be around so many other people.

harry knocked lightly on y/n's door, gently opening it when he heard the soft “come in,” from inside.

“y/n!” lily grinned as she ran over to her, jumping in her arms.

she laughed, "hi lily." she pressed a soft kiss to her head and set her back down.

“we brought you breakfast! show her dada!"

y/n smiled as she looked at harry, who was smiling too, holding the container and waiting for y/n and lily to finish their moment so he could go say hi.

“thank you lily! i bet the yummy treat was your idea, hm?”

lily giggled, “yes! dada made cinnamon rolls.”

“just my favorite.” y/n smiled. lily sat down on the small couch in y/n's office, paying more attention to her toy now.

harry took the opportunity to walk over to y/n and give her a big kiss on the lips. “hi my love. i brought you breakfast, but you already knew that.” he grinned.

y/n kissed him one more time and set the container on her desk. “thank you. i missed you.”

“i missed you too. we've been so busy," he said as he tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.

“i know. is it okay if i stay with you for a couple days?”

harry smiled, “that's more than okay.”

she grinned, “good. i suppose you have to take lily to school now right?” the dissapointment in her voice was evident, as she didn't want to say bye to her so soon.

“yes i do, but i'll take you with me to pick her up. deal?” y/n grinned and nodded, “deal.”

harry kissed her once more. “i love you.”

“i love you too harry.”

[fleet-admiral-hiba]

AN: While Ohana is in quarantine.... I'd like to introduce you to a new One piece yandere series. Of course the Charlotte came back,and with them....a new adventure.

The main characters are Raisins, his dear husband and of course,the rest of the family.

Tw: toxic relationship, mention of abuse,yandere themes

A SWEET BLOODY LIFE

You were a simple man in a simple town. Your family was one of the most famous bakers around the world. You had this special power that made you change things into sweets and food of every kind. But it was not a devil fruit, you were just that special,and so was your family.

You were 20, and you were a simple guy. Or so you thought. But today would mark the day of your descent to hell.

You had to deliver a huge shipment to Cacao Island,and you had to be there to be sure of the client's approval. It was an important patron of the family and losing them now would spell disaster.

So, with your ship you set sail. And that would be the last time you would see your family. Your life was going to be flipped upside down.

You waved at your mother from the railings, your smile slowly fading away as the ship went far. You could not go on like this for much longer. Every fake smile,every clipped cheeriness you expressed, every damn stalling whenever someone asked about your future wife.

It was poison,and it was slowly killing you. To the outside world, you were the son of a model family. No one knew what was hidden behind the mask. It was all a smokescreen, just there to protect the integrity of their honor.

They didn't have a gay son, you were a completely normal child. But that wasn't you. You weren't the puppet they wanted. But you had to be, until you could find someone else to marry, you had to gain time until that fateful day.

Anyway, you shook your head to get rid of those thoughts, you had a job to complete and if everything went well, in two weeks at most.

After arriving, you marveled at the beauty of Cacao Island. Its buildings, the people, everything was like a dream. You waited at the dock for the buyer, when suddenly you saw someone approaching.

It looked a lot different from the usual man you met. Taller, with white hair, piercing blue eyes. His aura was what you felt first. He commanded respect,his presence could be felt all around.

"Mr. Y/L/N I presume". You could only nod. Something caught your eyes, and you weren't able to shake it from you. You were attracted to that stranger, bit there was something.... something that told you that he was far more dangerous than he let on.

You went on with your business as usual, and you were ready for your trip back, when you felt a cloth being placed in front of your mouth.

Consciousness evaded you slowly...until everything faded to black. "I'm sorry beloved, but it is for the best". Truth be told, Raisin had been looking for you since the first time he saw you on the island,when you were just a boy.

Since that day he hoped for your return, every day. Soon his crush became a full obsession, and to say that his family backed him up was saying nothing. Finally he managed to get you here, and he was going to make sure that you would stay there. Forever.

You woke up later, in an enormous room. Your head hurt, and your vision was a bit fuzzy. You remembered almost nothing of that morning. Just bits and pieces. You tested your mobility,but your nausea prevented you from going up and about.

A deep voice then called out to you. Who was this man, and why was he here? " How do you feel, Y/n?". You just whimpered,your head was about to explode. What the hell happened?

"I'm sorry for these inconvenience, beloved. I might have overdosed a little,but you will be fine soon. After we will talk more. Sleep now". Why you put your trust in this man was unknown, but there was this feeling....this voice telling you to do as he said, to just let him take care of you.

In the end, you succumbed to your peaceful sleep. Unaware of the meeting that was to happen. Soon your fate would be tied to this specific Charlotte. Soon even you would be the new addition to the family.

Meanwhile, Big Mama was having a meeting with his sons and daughters. After all,there was a marriage to be held. "Mamamama, Raisin I saw you got the man of your dreams"- " yes mama" - "Good,good, then I'll give you my blessing. You did bring in a fine young man, and he will be useful for us too".

They knew of your gift,and admittedly they were a bit jealous that Raisin was the one that was going to marry you, but that soon changed when you came at the Chateau. He would live there with you, so hopefully they would all be in your good graces. After all, you were quite the man.

Everyone was possessive of each other, but you were on another level. You quickly became their most prized jewel, and they would ANYTHING to protect you.

[watchmegetobsessed]

Never Have I Ever - Harry Styles (part 4)

i hope yall enjoyed the last part, we took a sudden and quite dirty turn ther,e but we are heading down romantic street and its all sweet and cute with a little hotness. let me know what you thought about the part!

pairing: Harry x actress!reader

word count: 4.7k

SERIES MASTERPOST

masterlist

Harry Styles managed to leave quite the impression in you following his late night visit after the Emmys. He surely surprised you with not only the unbelievable orgasm he gave you with his talented fingers, but also with how big of a gentleman he really was, so keen on taking you out on a date first before he would kiss you. The timeline got a little messed up and he did apologize before he left at two in the morning for getting too carried away, but you assured him he didn’t do anything you didn’t want him to. To be honest, you wouldn’t have had a word against him kissing you right away, but you liked the respect he had for you, not something you’ve had plenty of lately. The men you dealt with in the past year were eager to get into your pants without the respect part, only hungry to earn fame through you, trying to blind you with sex so you wouldn’t realize their ugly motives.

This was not a threat when it came to Harry, he was just as famous as you, maybe even more. He had his own career, his own money, his own life apart from yours and he clearly wasn’t trying to use you and it was quite a refreshing change for you.

He stayed and the two of you talked so much, just sharing crazy stories from your life before and after fame, enjoying that you had someone who shared more or less the same background as you. Apart from Florence, you pretty much kept your old friends when your career took off, afraid to make new ones, always feeling a little paranoid that new people would have unholy motives when they try to befriend you.

Though you truly love your friends, they don’t really see behind the life you are living, while Harry completely does. His company is the best you’ve had in a long time, he is able to make you completely forget about everything outside the room you two are in.

You tried your best to hide your disappointment when he left that night. After offering him to stay in one of your guest bedrooms, he politely turned it down, and even though you could tell he wanted to stay, the urge to be a gentleman was greater in him, something you admire him for.

He left with the promise to see you soon on a real date and he got you as excited as a little school girl on the day of a fieldtrip.

However, given the lifestyles you two were living, finding a suitable evening for the both of you turns out to be a bigger struggle than you expected. Harry reaches out right the next day after his little visit. A good morning text waits for you by the time you open your eyes in the noon and by the evening he asks you out, however you have to realize the date has to wait a little.

You have two trip outside the city upcoming in the next two weeks and he is also planning to fly back to London for a while, the trips totally crashing in the timeline, not even having just the smallest window that would fit the both of you.

Accepting the fact that it would have to wait a little longer, you keep in close touch, eager to find the date that would finally be suitable for you and him as well. Endless texts, sweet calls and sneaky FaceTimes scatter through the days you spend apart and you find it hard to think of a time when he wasn’t hitting you up all the time.

On a Thursday evening, after a long day of fittings for upcoming events, you find yourself sitting on your couch with a sweet glass of wine, scrolling through your social media feeds when something catches your eyes.

Harry has been away in Los Angeles in the past few days and he mentioned having an interview the other day, but you didn’t think it would be out so soon, but here it was, a short video clip cut out by some random page that had a rather interesting title.

“Harry Styles talks about next album and mystery girl in his life.”

Your curiosity is way too strong not to click on it and have a look at it, so taking a sip from your wine you tap on the link and let the video load.

“It’s been some time since your last album came out, have you been working on new music lately?” the interviewer asked from behind the camera as Harry sat on a lilac sofa, wearing black high-waisted pants with a pink and white floral printed shirt tugged into it, his suspenders topping the look perfectly. His green eyes are fixed on the person asking him as he nods.

“Yeah, I think I never really stop making new music. I do have sessions when I’m trying to put a new album together, but I also write in the meantime as well, whenever I have an idea or inspiration. I don’t hold back,” he adds with a cheeky smile.

“Have you found any inspiration lately?” the question is heard and Harry nods once again.

“I have, actually,” he answers shortly, but his smirk gives it away that there’s a lot more behind his words and you feel your heart flutter in your chest. Is he talking about you?

“Has it been a person?” the reporter inquires, making Harry’s smile grow wider.

“A lot of things and people inspire me.”

“Alright, and is your latest inspiration something or someone new in your life?” the guy tries again, even though it’s well known that Harry likes to give vague answers instead of straight yeses and nos.

“Kind of new,” he simply answers and the reporter realizes he won’t be sharing more about the topic so he moves on with the next question and the video cuts out right there.

Though it wasn’t mentioned that he was talking about someone in particular, his fans drew the assumption that he is definitely seeing someone who has been his inspiration behind his new music. Feeling bold and a little flirty, you open up your messages and send him a quick text.

“A kind of new inspiration, huh?”

His reply comes almost right away, as always.

“Have you been stalking fanpages about me?”

“Would it be weird?”

“From you? It’s flattering. Little scary, but in a good way.”

You can’t help but chuckle reading his words. He never fails to make you laugh, you find his humor your favorite kind, never hurtful, but a little spicy, if you could say that, a lot of irony laced into it.

“Back to the topic: what’s your inspiration? Or should I ask… who is your inspiration?”

“Not gonna beat around the bush and just admit it…”

You wait and wait… and wait, but nothing comes afterwards and you are dying to have him admit that it’s been you, but not even the three dots appear at the bottom, so you take the lead again.

“Well, do it. Admit it, Styles!”

The fucker likes your message right away, meaning he has been in the thread all along, waiting for you to write something.

“Alright, but don’t tell anyone, because she is kinda famous and I don’t want the media to find out about it.”

“You have my silence.”

You watch the three dots dance at the bottom, holding your breath while you sink your teeth into your bottom lip, trying to contain your wide grin that’s been plastered across your face this whole time.

When the text finally arrives you snort loudly, almost spilling your wine, laughing so hard you are happy you don’t like in a tiny apartment anymore with paper walls, because your neighbor would have definitely heard your laughter all the way down the hallway.

“It’s Betty White. Fuck, she is all I can think about.”

You need a minute to stop the laughter and type your reply.

“She is hot, gotta give you that.”

“Right?? I hope she is not afraid to date younger guys though.”

“I’m sure she would make an exception for you.”

“I hope so too.”

There’s a short pause, where you just read back his lines, chuckling to yourself some more. He always has a witty comment or comeback, no matter what you’re talking about and not once has he made you laugh madly on a set, at a meeting or just lying in bed before going to sleep.

“Joke aside, would it scare you away if I said I have definitely written about you?”

“Is this another theoretical question? Like the one you asked me on Ellen?”

You smile to yourself thinking back at the conversation the two of you had on the show when he was trying to figure out if you’d be up to give him your number.

“Maybe. So theoretically, would that be weird to you?”

“No,” you write, but quickly send another text. “But you know, it’s just theory. You’d have to tell me for real to find out.”

“Should have saw that coming…”

“Yeah, you really should have,” you muse to yourself, finishing up your glass and you carefully put it to your coffee table before sliding further down on the couch to get back to the conversation with Harry. You see that he hasn’t sent anything after his last one, so you decide to actually answer his question.

“Joke aside from my part, I wouldn’t find it weird. I think it’s flattering.”

“Okay, because I was ready to burn all my notes if you said it would be too much.”

“What if you’d be burning a Grammy worthy song though?”

“Would be a shame. But I would still burn it for you.”

“You are such a flirt…”

“Can’t help it! Or should I not be?”

“I like it. So don’t change.”

“Noted.”

Your little conversation has to come to an end since he is about to go into a meeting, but when you say your goodbyes and decide it’s time to head to bed, you already know a text will be waiting for you when you wake up in the morning.

Days and even weeks go by and you start to have a little too much on your plate. No matter how much you love your job and that it has always been your dream, sometimes you just need a breather. In the past week you’ve been in and out of auditions for a movie they keep top secret, you didn’t even get a script, just a few pages you had to memorize and they’ve been asking for more and more tapes from you with kind of absurd requests, but your agent told you it’s something major, that’s why they are so secretive. However, when they ask you to come in for another reading for the fifth time in seven days and you still don’t know what you are really auditioning for, you are kind of starting to have enough with all your other projects running at the same time. Your days start at six in the morning and rarely end before eleven in the night.

An entire month after the night Harry came over to your place, you kind of lose patience. The frustration that’s been building up inside you just simply bursts when your agent texts you on your way home that you’d have to go in for another casting in the morning for the same mystery movie.

“Have they not seen my face enough?” you snap, hands meeting the wheel as you keep your eyes on the road ahead of you.

“I’m sorry, Hun. I know it’s annoying, but they requested you, that means you are still an option for them.” Mona’s voice comes through the speakers of the car since your phone is connected to it.

“Do they need me to read the whole fucking Bible in front of a camera or what?” you growl.

“I have a good feeling about this last one, alright? And if they still can’t decide after that, we can always just say that we want out.”

“Then I would be labelled as the problematic little princess,” you sigh, knowing well how this industry works. Just one mistake and you can easily end up in a theoretical ditch.

“Just hold on a little longer, okay? I’ll send you the details in email and we’ll talk more tomorrow.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Bye, girl.”

Mona is an angel. She’s been your agent for about five years now, she is the one who gets you into castings, well, at least that’s what she was doing before you managed to reach your breakthrough. She got your name on lists you couldn’t even dare to dream of and she is the reason why you are here today. Now she mostly handles requests for you to go in for castings, creators started to reach out to you a while ago, though Mona still works her magic sometimes to get you into castings that are still out of your league.

By the time you get home, you are desperate to do something. Anything. You’ve been nonstop working these past weeks and you just need to get out of this loop that sucked you in. Before you could even think through what you’re doing, you dial Harry’s number.

He is back in the city, that you know of because he texted even before he got home. You both ditched the idea of having your date today, because you just knew it would be a long day for you, and it’s the truth, it’s past ten, so not quite ideal for a date, but you ran out of fucks to give.

“Y/N? Everything alright?” he asks, noticing that you called, which is not what you usually do, or at least not without checking in if he is free to talk.

“Yeah, sorry I called so randomly. Are you busy?” you ask, feeling a little out of breath, even though you definitely didn’t do anything physically hard. You just can’t help but feel anxious since you are about to ask him out on a spontaneous date.

“No, just… packing and all that. What’s up?”

“So you don’t have anything to do right now?” you clear up.

“No,” he chuckles.

“Alright, so then… what do you say we have that date now?”

Even with him always being so blunt and open about how interested he is in you, it still makes you perfect to ask him out. The silence that comes from his side doesn’t necessarily help either and you are already preparing yourself to get rejected.

“You know it’s ten pm, right?” he then asks, a little unsure if you really thought it through.

“I am aware, yes.”

“Don’t you have work in the morning? I know you always start your days so early, I don’t want to be the reason why yo—“

“Harry,” you stop him midsentence. “I do not give a fuck about what I’m doing in the morning,” you bluntly tell him and you can tell he is smiling on the other end of the call. “So the question is still the same. Do you want to have that date now?”

He doesn’t ask anything else, just simply say the following: “I’ll pick you up in thirty.”

“Make it twenty,” you tell him and end the call before he could protest.

Ignoring the adrenaline rush you that just washed over your body you quickly make your way to the bathroom to take the quickest cold shower before putting on some clean clothes. You really don’t want to overdo it, knowing well since it’s so abrupt he wouldn’t be taking you anywhere that would require you look spotless. You choose not to put on any makeup, not just because you don’t have the time, but also because you feel a weird urge to just be bare, be yourself around him. The same goes for your outfit. You put aside all designer clothes and opt for a simple pair of jeans, a black tank top and a bright yellow knitted jumper over it, looking awfully casual, but feeling rather comfortable.

It takes Harry 22 minutes to get to your place, but you choose not to comment on those two extra minutes when you get into his car. Luckily, he isn’t dressed to impress either, wearing a simple pair of jeans with some kind of washed out, vintage printed tee shirt with his Bode Jacket he has worn in his famous SNL episode. His hair looks a little mess and even wet, making you wonder if your call caught him in the middle of a shower or he showered after you agreed to meet up.

“Long time no see,” he smiles at you, his boyish smirk making your heart flutter so easily as he eyes you while you buckle yourself up.

“You had plenty of paparazzi photos to look at in the meantime, Mr. Styles,” you smirk at him teasingly as he starts the car and leaves from in front of your complex.

“My favorite was the ones of you where you were walking out of a restaurant wearing that silk dress and the coat.”

“So you did see pap pictures?” you ask chuckling, you didn’t mean it entirely, but you find it funny that he actually saw pictures of you.

“You know, it’s been hard to avoid you online, especially because I keep liking all your posts so my phone thinks I’m interested in you. Which is true, and I’m not complaining about the content I’ve been seeing about you lately,” he admits chuckling and your eyes wander down to his ring clad fingers on the wheel. Your thoughts take you back to when they were touching you at places you haven’t been touched in a while. How they felt inside you and how desperate he could make you with just his hands.

You force yourself to look away from his hands and focus on the present time before your arousal becomes way too evident.

“Sorry I’m everywhere,” you smirk at him, enjoying the situation maybe a little too much.

“Don’t be,” he chuckles, glancing in your way for a moment, his green eyes meeting your gaze. “I don’t mind it,” he adds and those damn butterflies as quick to act up again in your stomach.

You don’t try to get him to tell where you are headed, wanting it to be a surprise yourself, so you just stare out at the night city as it runs past you, still quite a lot of people walking on the streets even though it’s now nearing eleven.

What you know is that you’re still in Manhattan and it seems like you won’t leave it either. Harry navigates his way through the city easily, he is not even using GPS, something you could never do. No matter how long you’ve been living here, you’ll always get lost in this jungle some call New York City. About fifteen minutes after leaving your complex, Harry parks the car down in a spot he found along the road, and looking out the window you’re trying to figure out where you are, but it doesn’t ring a bell. Seems just like a usual part of the Upper West Side, so now he has you curious about his plans.

“Where did you bring me, Mr. Styles?” you ask him as the two of you meet on the sidewalk and he glances at your with a sly smirk.

“Since you gave me such a short notice about our date, I thought I would show you one of my favorite places in the city and I hope you haven’t it.” “Well, I can assure you I don’t know it, because I have no idea what could be here,” you admit.

Harry nods at you to follow him and you walk side by side until the next corner.

“I think you already know that I’m English,” he starts off, making you chuckle.

“Yeah, it’s pretty evident,” you nod.

“So, in the past decade I haven’t spent as much time in the UK as I wanted, and a few years ago I discovered a little piece of my home in the city.”

Trying to figure out what he meant by that you don’t even realize where you just took a turn to. Harry stops and you snap out of your thoughts, looking up and seeing a charming little street ahead you, looking totally out of place in the city’s fashion. The townhouses all the way down look like they’ve been placed here straight from England, the Tudor style complex is a refreshing change in the fast paced, busy streets of Manhattan.

You can’t help but gasp at the sight in front of you, taking in every tiny detail with your eager eyes as the feeling of being in a fairytale takes over your mind. If only it weren’t for the busy noises of the streets around the micro-neighborhood, you would completely believe that you’ve been magically teleported to England.

“It’s called the Pomander Walk. Always makes me feel like I’m home away from home whenever I miss my family and my hometown.”

Harry starts walking down the narrow pavement that runs between the houses, lined with quite some greenery, something you noticed right away. There are just so many plants and flowers down the street, it’s pretty clear the residents keep them in good care.

You catch up with Harry, eyes still taking in the pleasant contrast Pomander Walk has to offer for any visitors.

“I feel like we are invaders,” you tell him. It looks so secluded, makes you feel like you weren’t even supposed to be here.

“Don’t worry, it’s totally public. The people who live here are pretty nice too. Love it when someone comes around.”

“How did you find this place?”

“A friend told me about it and just came to see it for myself one day,” he tells you as the two of you slowly make your way down the street, slow enough so you could see everything. “There are 61 units and they were built in 1921 by Thomas J. Healy. He originally wanted to build a hotel here, but didn’t have the money to just yet, so he built these instead to make some cash for the hotel. He never got to do that though, died a few years later, so Pomander Walk stayed.” You listen to him, soaking in every word that leaves his lips, finding his oddly specific knowledge about this place quite exciting and… kinda hot. You could listen to him talk about historical facts for days without getting bored.

“The whole complex was renovated in 2009, they restored a bunch of architectural details that lost through the years.”

“Looks fantastic. I wonder what they look like on the inside,” you muse, your eyes wandering over the colorfully painted old school window blinds on most of the townhouses.

Walking down the pavement you realize there’s not a single soul around here, something you don’t get to experience too often in the city.

“It’s not too well-known, right? I don’t see any tourists and all that.”

Harry shakes his head, eyes ahead of him as he hides his hands in his pockets.

“No, ‘s quite hidden, not often listed in sights to be seen in the city. That’s why I like to come here so much.”

“Easy to stay unnoticed,” you add with a smile as your eyes meet his gaze and he nods, returning the smile.

You walk back and forth on the street at least five times, just talking and sharing and laughing, finally falling out of the misery of your everydays. He still amazes you with how good of a company he is, with his broad view of life and many experiences, you can truly connect with him on a level you haven’t been able to reach with anyone in a long time.

It’s way over midnight when you head back to his car, holding hands that happened at a point earlier, but you can’t tell who reached for who. It was kind of mutual, but now you didn’t want to let go of him… ever. You let your fingers play with his S ring on his pinky while he keeps running his thumb over the back of your hand whenever he has the chance. It’s a little disappointing when you have to let go of each other when you climb back into his car and head back home.

“I know this date wasn’t much, but I hope you liked it,” he smiles at you shyly before his eyes snap back at the road ahead of him.

“Shut up, this was literally the best date I’ve had,” you tell him making him chuckle. “Thank you for showing it to me.”

“Now it’s your secret place too. Maybe we’ll run into each other here one day.”

“I’ll definitely come back,” you admit smirking.

The city lights pass by you faster than you want them to, and you arrive to your complex way too early. Well, not according to the time, because it’s way past half past midnight now, but you just don’t want the night to end. However, you know Harry would not come up if you asked. He is way too big of a gentleman and he wouldn’t want to make you miss your appointment in the morning, but you are definitely collecting that kiss he promised a month or so ago.

“Walk me up, will you?” you ask him softly when he parks down in front of your building. He nods and follows you inside without a second thought.

You both know it’s about to happen, the air thickens between you two in the elevator and neither of you can hold back the small smiles on your lips. Harry walks next to you until you reach your front door and you turn to face him, his green eyes already examining your every move.

“I’m happy we finally got to do this,” you tell him, feeling a blush warming your cheeks from the way he looks at you now.

“I’m glad you called. Was starting to think we would never meet again,” he chuckles making you laugh as well. It really did feel like the universe was plotting against you, but you bet it didn’t expect your sudden move tonight.

There’s a longer pause where neither of you knows what to say or do next and your patience is running low, especially when you see him run his tongue over his pink lips. You just can’t wait any longer to taste them.

“Harry,” you breathe out, the frustration and desire at an all-time high now in your system. Never in your life did it take this long for you to get to a kiss with a guy you were clearly interested in and who returned the feeling as well.

“Yeah?”

“Swear to my lost Emmy Award if you don’t kiss me right now I’ll—“

You don’t get to finish, you don’t even know what you’d have said, but it’s all forgotten when Harry kisses you hard, hands cupping your jaw on both sides, angling your head to grant him the best access to your lips. You return the kiss without a second thought, hungrily tugging and pulling on his lips, your tongues meeting in the middle and fuck! He really knows how to make your toes curl with just a kiss. You grab a fistful of his t-shirt at his stomach, pulling him close and the cold touch of his rings on your skin makes you shudder. Everything about him makes your legs turn into jelly and you are willingly offering yourself to him without a doubt.

He pushes you against your front door, one of his hands wanders down to your waist and he gives it a gentle squeeze that makes you open your mouth more for him. You are a mess and so is he. You have no idea how long you make out, but when you eventually pull back, your chest is heaving and your lips feel swollen. Harry pecks your lips two more times before forcing himself to let go of you.

“Good night, Y/N,” he murmurs in a low voice as he starts to back towards the elevator.

“Good night, Harry,” you say a little out of breath. He smirks at you one last time before walking into the elevator and the doors close, officially ending your first date.

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[tea-stained-notes]

Steve Rogers x OFC - Waiting On a Miracle, Chapter 3

After catching an infamous serial killer in the act, Julie Castillo is in line for the witness protection program. She is sent to a temporary safe house with U.S. Marshal Steve Rogers to protect her. Both of them scarred by trauma and tragedy, they find solace in each other. But how far will they dare to go?

Sorry it's been a hot minute, friends, but since I last posted I have become an aunt, my boss was fired, my grandpa was in the hospital twice, I had a nasty eye infection, I attended three weddings, my work bestie quit and Putin invaded Ukraine - so writing self-indulgent fanfic just wasn't at the top of my list lol

Hope you enjoy this though! Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in the future :)

CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 2

Series warnings: violence, death, angst, trauma, smut

Chapter warnings: anxiety

Chapter word count: ~2100

Song(s) referenced: Waiting In the Wings (Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure)

The next morning I awoke with the sun on my face. Just as a smile started forming on my lips, reality slammed into me, making me shoot up with a gasp. A night of blissfully dreamless sleep lay behind me but now my brain was flooded with all the images I was so desperate to forget. I buried my face in my hands, taking deep breaths and forcing the carousel in my head to a stop. No use in obsessing over things that had been and might be. Right now I was okay. I was safe. I was with Steve. Steve. I could faintly hear him potter around in the kitchen and it filled me with some sort of solace. As insane as the past 36 hours had been, I was infinitely grateful that he was the one I would be stuck with for the foreseeable future.

Dinner had been quiet as I had been worn out and preoccupied. But he hadn’t seemed to mind in the slightest and just thinking of the way he had blushed at my heartfelt compliments for the pasta still warmed my chest. He also hadn’t hesitated for a moment at my request to keep on the hall light during the night despite sounding like a frightened five-year-old. Apparently it had done enough to keep the nightmares at bay, so at least it had been worth the embarrassment.

I made a my way to the bathroom for a quick shower. Once more I found myself marveling at my newly dark hair. I let my curls down today, only manoeuvering the front bits into a clip in the back. I didn’t bother with make-up. Steve had already seen me at my worst and I never did more than mascara and blush anyway.

I padded into the kitchen, relishing the feel of wooden floorboards and woven rugs beneath my feet. The scent of pine, wood smoke and coffee lingered in the air. It was almost frightening how comfortable the place already seemed. Despite the circumstances it eluded pure calm. Steve was leaning against the kitchen counter, staring absent-mindedly out the window, his fingers wrapped around a steaming mug. He had swapped his city outfit for faded jeans and a checkered flannel. Wax-free strands of golden hair fell across his forehead. He looked so different. So much softer. The spell broke when he noticed me in his periphery and cleared his throat, the professional demeanour sliding back into place. “Good morning, Julie.” “Hey.” “Did you sleep well?” “Surprisingly, yes.” “Good. I’ve made coffee.” “Thanks. But I’m more of a tea person.” Steve started rummaging through the cupboards. “I think I saw some tea bags in here.” I joined him at the counter to grab the kettle and fill it. We both flinched at his arm brushing mine when he produced a box of tea from the shelf. He quickly stepped back with an apologetic look. “Chamomile okay?” “That’s great, thank you.” He dropped a bag into the mug already set out while I put the kettle back on the stove. There was a palpable tension in the air, the setting so cozy yet so bizarre. Somehow this felt like a couple’s weekend trip, except that the couple were actually strangers and running from a psychotic killer. “So, what’s for breakfast?” I asked, my eyes trained on the gas flames licking at the kettle. “Natasha practically raided the store for us,” Steve said with a smile in his voice. “We could make waffles, porridge, bacon and eggs, green smoothies — whatever floats your boat.” “Porridge sounds great.” He nodded and reached into a cabinet to pull out a pack of oats. “Would you mind getting that going? I'll chop up some fruit we can put in.” “Sure.” We worked in silence, but it slowly shifted into something almost companionable. Despite Steve meticulously keeping his distance, there was something warm and solid about him. Something that fit surprisingly well into this cabin.

I pushed my bowl away and leaned back in my chair with a contented sigh. “I can’t believe how quiet it is out here.” “You don’t miss the sirens and jackhammers?” Steve said, a smile playing on his lips. “God no. There’s a lot to love about New York but the noise sure ain’t it.” “What is there to love then?” I pondered for a moment. “The history. The abundance of cultures. The freedom to be as weird as you want to be.” We both chuckled. “Oh, and Broadway course. Always Broadway.” “Right, you’re a stage manager there.” “Assistant stage manager.” “What’s the difference?” He asked it with genuine interest and a wave of warmth washed over me. “Well, the SM coordinates schedules and information for the creative team all the way from the first rehearsal to the actual production. They assist the director during rehearsals and are responsible for pretty much anything going on backstage once the show opens. They also ‘call’ the show, so they coordinate lighting and sound operators, the conductor and the actors — all communication basically.” “Sounds stressful.” “Cause it is.” “So how stressed are you as an assistant?” I felt my jaw tense up. “I take care of the rehearsal space and help with administrative stuff. Read cue lines. Run lines with the actors, review blocking and choreography. Take notes and update the prompt book when Samira’s not available. Just sort of stand in for her in general, whenever needed. Sometimes I even call the show when she wants to sit in the audience for the night to get a fresh look at everything.” Steve was still listening intently. “God, that sounds so trivial and boring compared to what you do.” “Not at all. I did some theatre in high school. And I always loved rehearsal and the bustle behind the stage. Actually performing though? Not so much.” I hoped my smile wasn’t too tight as I returned his. “Yeah. I get that.” “So what show are you working at?” “Legally Blonde. Have you seen it?” “I think I saw the movie years ago.” “You better have, it’s a deserved classic.” I grinned. “You should try to catch the stage show one day though, it’s really fun and the songs are great.” My grin faded as I ran a finger along the rim of my mug. “And yet you don’t seem particularly passionate about the job.” His intense gaze caught mine and my pulse quickened slightly before I cast my eyes down onto the table. “Ah, you know. Watching Elle Woods set her mind on something and then actually achieve it? The way she realizes her self-worth and finds her place? It used to be inspiring but now…” Steve’s chair creaked as he leaned back and I looked up to find him eyeing me thoughtfully. I forced a quick smile, then abruptly began clearing the dishes. “I’ll take care of these.” “I’ll help, the stuff from last night is sitting in the sink as well.” “It’s fine, I like doing dishes. And I still owe you for dinner.” “Don’t be silly, you owe me nothing.” “Honestly, it’s fine.” He examined my face for a moment, then nodded. “Alright, guess I’m gonna do another check of the premises in daylight then.” “Okay.” “I’ll stay close. Call out if you need anything.”

I was humming to myself as I cleaned plates and cutlery, trying to focus on the vibrations in my throat rather than the thoughts whirling around in my brain. I had definitely revealed too much. And Steve was very perceptive. He must have already figured out that I was a loser who had made drowning in self-pity her favorite hobby. I felt frustration and dread rise in my stomach but forced it back down. Get a grip. I drained the water and dried my hands before turning to take in the living room. Built-in bookshelves lining the fire place, bursting with enough reading material to fill my time for weeks on end. An inviting arm chair and matching sofa. An old piano tucked into the corner. My heart skipped a beat. How had I not noticed this yet? Drawn to it like a magnet I walked over and opened the lid. My fingers ran over the worn keys, then played a couple of notes. Slightly out of tune but wonderfully rich in sound. I settled down on the stool and started playing a few scales to get a feel for the instrument. It reminded me of the second-hand piano we’d had at home growing up. Where I had learned my first Mozart and Beethoven pieces. Where my mother had looked at me with more pride than ever before. Suddenly my hand produced a chord, more on instinct than will, and just as instinctively I began to sing. “Guess we all are born with parts to play. Some of us are stars, and some are just in the way. I know I was meant for glory, but that's never what my story brings. And yet I keep on waiting. When you have the passion and the drive you expect your moment center stage to arrive. I show up with heart a-blazing, ready to achieve amazing things, but I'm left waiting in the wings.” My voice cracked slightly as my eyes started burning. “I hear my cue and yet I'm kept there waiting, know what to do and still I stand there waiting. It's always someone else who sings while I'm left waiting in the wings. And so I keep on keeping on, my chances come and then I blink and they're gone. Always overlooked unfairly, while pretending that it barely stings. But it stings, yes it stings—“ I snapped the lid shut and pressed a hand to my mouth, trying to keep the tears from falling. My breath came heavy and uneven as my fingers gripped the polished wood. “You’re very talented.” The stool crashed to the floor as I jumped up and whirled around to face Steve. He stood by the door, his features unreadable. “There’s no such thing as talent,” I pressed through gritted teeth while leaning down to pick up the chair and furiously wipe at my eyes. “There’s only hard work and dedication and not fucking up at every opportunity.” “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—“ “I don’t want to talk about it.” The words came out sharply, but my anger crumbled when I caught his rueful gaze. “Please.” I rushed over to the shelves to pick out a random book, then curled up in the arm chair, glad to turn my back on Steve. He didn’t move for a long moment. I pretended to focus on the page as he finally made his way over, soft-footed as always. He sank down onto the couch. “I’m sorry to have upset you,” he said quietly. “But for what it’s worth, I believe in talent. And you’re certainly blessed with it.” “Blessed, huh?” I sneered. “You barely know me.” “Tell me about you then.” “We’ve talked plenty about me. I doubt you need any more personal info to protect me.” “No, I just think you’re an interesting person.” Heat bloomed on my cheeks. I cleared my throat as I let my eyes drop back to the book in my lap. “Well, like I said, I don’t want to do this right now. My life is… complicated.” “Okay.” I chewed on my lip for a moment, my stomach in knots at the tension in the room. Eventually I closed the book and snuggled deeper into the cushions, pretending to relax as I took in Steve’s face. “What about you? How long have you been a marshal?” “About three years. I used to be a cop, then got a degree in law enforcement and went through the program right after.” “Are you mostly in witness protection?” “We have various duties. Transporting prisoners, arresting fugitives… But yes, I prefer to work in protection.” “Why?” His gaze fell to the ground. “It’s complicated.” “Okay.” We smiled carefully at each other. Then he rose from the couch. “Come on, I’ll show you how to contact Natasha. You can tell her what kinds of tea you like.” My heart clenched briefly at his thoughtfulness. I wondered how these little details we learned about each other would add up. Whether I would ever really know him. And whether I wanted him to really know me.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Taglist:  @before-we-get-started​

MASTERLIST

[princecharmingwinks]

Sterek Fic Rec - May 2021. New rec list for you. Hope you enjoy these delightful reads featuring our favourite werewolf and human dorks <3

May I Interest You in an Apology Muffin? by Leslie_Knope (1/1 | 1,478 | Teen)

“Wait, seriously? Who is it? C’mon, just tell me.”

“Uh…,” Stiles said, buying for time while he looked around as surreptitiously as possible. “That guy over there,” he whispered finally, jerking his chin toward the dark-haired guy three tables over, a guy so hot that Stiles’ only chance with him would most definitely be in an imaginary scenario.

Scott looked over his shoulder at the guy and got that determined glint in his eye that Stiles recognized, just about three seconds too late. Scott was gonna do something that he thought was heroic but was actually dumb.

“Scott!” he hissed, grabbing for his backpack and nearly knocking over their coffee cups in his haste to follow him. “Oh, holy shit.”

you all over me by Poe (1/1 | 3,705 | Explicit)

The thing about Stiles is, Derek thinks, is that he has no idea how enthralling he truly is. He’s easy to overlook, right up until the point he isn’t, and at some stage, Derek started looking, and now, it’s all he can do.

(or: the one where the pack is happy, healthy and alive, and Stiles and Derek are sort of inevitable)

a bad case of the wilds by kaistrex (weishen) (1/1 | 6,446 | Explicit)

“I could smell you all over town,” Derek growls.

Stiles squints back at him, trying to parse what Derek wants from him with that statement. An apology?

“Okay?” he says instead, which, as with everything else he says around Derek, seems to be the entirely wrong thing to come out of his mouth.

Derek’s eyes go red and Stiles bolts upright in his chair, trying to scoot backwards, banging into his desk.

“Dude, what the fuck?”

“Get away from me, Stiles,” Derek bites out, hands clenched into fists.

Stiles rolls his head on his shoulders. “Dude, this is my room. You get away from me.”

–

Basically, I wanted Derek fucking Stiles up against his bedroom window on a full moon with the blind up, so I wrote it. Happy Valentine's Day!

Cabins, Confessions, and Cockroaches by Nutellargh (1/1 | 4,009 | Teen)

That's how Stiles found himself in the middle of a forest, trying to grab the one bag of clothes and a bajilion bags of mystical powders, liquids, books and weapons, and instantly dropping them as he spotted the cabin dude.

Derek Hale chopping wood with an axe while shirtless was not a sight Stiles was prepared for.

the rescue by EvanesDust (1/1 | 860 | Teen)

Stiles has spent every moment of the last four months tracking the hunters who took his mate. Now that he’s found them, nothing will stop Stiles from taking back what’s his.

A Crooked Way to Fly by andavs (1/1 | 14,980 | General)

“We can’t just leave him here to die.”

“He’s an emissary, Scott.” Derek tried to make his tone empathetic, but Scott’s tendency to fight back on everything always grated on his nerves. “His pack is gone, he won’t survive more than a day or two either way.”

“Then we should stay with him.”

Derek sighed as he studied the man for a moment; he was too pale against the fur rim of his hood, almost grey from lying out in the snow, and his cloak was stained with dark dried blood around a protruding arrow shaft. It was unlikely he would even last the night. They would probably be able to carry on in the morning with little time lost, if any.

It wasn’t a horrible idea, Derek decided reluctantly. They hadn’t been able to set up a real camp for a few weeks in the open foothills, and they were all on edge from sleeping in exposed areas. A defensible place to sleep would be good for them, even if they were surrounded by death. They would be able to give the pack proper burials, at the very least.

“Fine. One night,” Derek relented, already moving away to check on Isaac. “He’s your responsibility.”

Big Bad Wolves by NotThatIWillEverWriteIt (1/1 | 1,144 | General)

"What's one more canine?"

But it's better when it's you by Tails89 (1/1 | 9,707 | Mature)

Shuffling slowly towards the front door, Stiles throws it open.

“What?”

Stiles’ brain short circuits - just a little - because standing in front of him is Derek Hale.

He hasn’t seen Derek in almost four years and now he’s standing on his doorstep, in shorts and a tank top with a canvas bag clutched in one hand.

Teen Wolf Fic Fest Prompt: Someone breaks a bone and someone unexpected winds up on their doorstep with a bag full of groceries

My Soul to Keep by jacyevans, Jmeelee (7/7 | 18,660 | Teen)

Stiles came with a whiteboard, and blue dry erase marker, flapping it over his head like a white flag on a battlefield.

"Come on," he coaxed. "You must want to say something. You've never gone this long without telling me to shut up." He waggled the marker in Derek's face. Stinging alcohol and pungent polymer singed Derek's nose hairs.

His fingers itched to pick up the board, and not because he wanted to tell Stiles to be quiet. He enjoyed the babble that filled the apartment every few days, the hearty food, Stiles' particular, reassuring smell: maple sugar buzz, spicy-sweet deodorant, milk-sour frustration, floral shampoo, and spring grass at night. It soaked into Derek's couch, his bed, his skull.

If any of it were real, Derek would take the board and write: thank you.

Lost Without You by ash_mcj (1/1 | 7,799 | General

Derek made a deal. A very stupid, no-good, mortifying deal because he couldn’t bear to tell his idiotic (secret) mate no. -- “You guys didn’t know that Derek plays piano?” Cora asked, her eyebrows furrowed. “He’s played since before I was born.” “He was good,” Peter recalled. “He used to sing, too. Put on little concerts for the pups.” “That was a long time ago,” Derek clipped. “Doesn’t matter now - I don’t play anymore.” "Derek," Stiles whined childishly. He scooted closer to him and grabbed onto his arm to gently shake him. “C'mon, Sourwolf, my life will never be complete until I hear you sing. I’ll do anything. I’ll streak across the lacrosse field during our final match, if you perform for us right now.” "When you graduate," Derek relented. --- And then Stiles graduated. And Derek had to perform for him. And then the fact that Derek saw Stiles as his mate wasn’t a secret anymore. ---

(For~ Sterek Valentine Week 2021; Day 3 and 4: Secret Crush and Love Song)

**Songfic to "Lost Without You" by Freya Ridings

princecharmingwinks special mention (i have never read a merman AU for sterek and this was a delighful introduction to the trope! Also it has meddling erica which we all know any mention of her is my weakness!)

Beacon Gills by kitsunequeen (1/1 | 4,226 | Teen)

“Derek,” Erica singsongs loudly. Rather than knocking on the rather flimsy-looking piece of driftwood, she grabs a coconut filled with seashells and shakes it violently. “We’ve got a surprise for you!”

“I hate surprises,” Derek answers, voice slightly muffled through the door. “Aren’t you supposed to be out exploring the caves with Isaac?”

“He has some special guests tonight,” Boyd says. “And so do you.”

Derek doesn’t answer right away, and Stiles can almost imagine him sighing.

“Come in,” he yields finally. “You know it’s unlocked.”

Erica flings the door open, nudges Stiles inside, and slams it behind him.

“Surprise!” she yells, and then Stiles can hear her and Boyd’s footsteps quickly retreating.

Oh, shit.

---

When Stiles accompanies Scott on a trip to his uncle's beach house, he gets more than he bargained for after running into a pack of mermaids with a particularly attractive leader...

And that’s it for the month folks! Thank you to the amazing fandom always giving me so much content to enjoy, sterek fandom is the best fandom ;) 

[shemarmooresfedora]

Rebuilding Family

Summary: Y/N and Spencer were college sweethearts at Cal-Tech but once Spencer got accepted to the FBI Academy, he ended things deciding it was not fair to make Y/N wait for him. When they meet again years later, he discovers something unexpected.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Warnings: swearing

Masterlist

Chapter 8

Spencer checked his phone one last time as he brushed his teeth before bed. He saw one notification from you.

Hey, could you watch Jo Friday night by any chance? If not, I can ask my sitter.

The BAU had just wrapped a long case and Hotch sent everyone home Thursday night saying paperwork could wait until Monday morning so Spencer was free.

Of course.

Great! You could just stay at the house if you would like because I don’t know if I’ll be back before her bedtime. Is 6 okay?

Perfect. See you then.

Spencer plugged his phone into its charger and set it down on his night side, turning off the lamp and letting the exhaustion take over.

-

Spencer headed over to Y/N’s at around 5:30, picking up some strawberry ice cream and rainbow sprinkles on the way for Jo.

When you opened the front door, Spencer’s jaw went slack. You were in a tight dark purple dress that showed off your figure beautifully. Most of the time, you had your hair pulled back but tonight you wore it down. Spencer was gawking at you for so long that you cleared your throat to snap him out of his trance.

“Jo’s already had dinner and all the emergency numbers are on the fridge,” you said, walking back into the kitchen, clipping your earrings in.

“I brought dessert,” Spencer lifted the bag up slightly.

“Bribing Jo to be the favorite parent already, I see,” you joked.

Spencer chuckled, still not taking his eyes off you.

“Big plans?” he asked tentatively.

“Um yeah sorta. Do you know Professor Stevens from the math department? He asked me on a date and I agreed. I’m kind of nervous though, I haven’t been on a date in a while,” you fidgeted nervously with your hands, biting the inside of your cheek.

“You look beautiful,” Spencer spoke softly.

“Daddy!” Jo came running into the kitchen.

“Hey Jo!” he lifted her up, “Are you ready to have some fun?”

Jo nodded enthusiastically, “I want to play Twister!”

“Is that a board game?” he questioned.

You laughed, patting him on the shoulder, “Have fun with that one. I’m afraid I will not be able to join because I’ve got to go.”

“Bye, Jo. Love you,” you kissed her forehead while she was still being held in Spencer’s arms.

“Love you too, Mommy,” she replied.

You grabbed your purse and keys and gave Spencer a quick wave.

“Alright, you’re going to need to explain to me how Twister works, Jo,” he said after the front door closed.

-

“Right hand, green,” Spence spoke after spinning.

Jo easily placed her right hand on the green dot closest to her. Spencer, however, was already all tangled up. His left foot and hand were on yellow and his right foot was on red, meaning he had to stick his right hand under his legs to get to the green dot. He was barely keeping his balance. This game was not made for the uncoordinated.

“Left hand, also green,” Jo giggled, knowing there was no way Spencer could make this move without falling.

Spencer attempted to move his left hand but soon toppled over on to the white mat. Jo burst out laughing.

“Alright, alright, Jo is clearly the big winner of the night and to celebrate, she gets two whole scoops of ice cream and Daddy only gets one,” he smiled.

“Daddy, you can have two too!” she said.

“That is very generous of you, Jo,” Spencer scooped their ice cream into bowls.

After the dessert was gone, Jo’s eyes fought to remain open.

Spencer noticed this and let out a fake yawn, stretching his arms wide in the air.

“I’m so tired. How about we brush our teeth, get into our pjs, and go to bed?” he suggested.

Jo replicated his yawn in response.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he chuckled, picking Jo up.

Spencer helped Jo get all ready for bed before finally tucking her in.

“Caltechia,” she mumbled.

Spencer nodded, surprised she remembered that story.

“One day, the clumsy knight was asked to guard the pretty princess of Caltechia. It was an offer he couldn’t refuse, she was so much fun and a delight to be around. They played for hours and hours. The Queen of Caltechia was busy with other important matters that day. She was visiting the prince of another kingdom nearby. The knight did not like the prince very much and was very jealous that he got to be graced with the Queen’s presence for the evening. The prince seemed very full of himself and the knight also had a PhD in mathematics and it was his easiest one to get so it’s not that hard-” Spencer’s eyes widened when he realized his story was turning into a jealous rant.

Luckily, Jo was already asleep. He kissed her forehead and whispered, “I love you, my princess,” before slowly exiting the room.

-

Spencer was reading his second novel of the night on the couch when he heard the door unlock.

You didn’t turn to face him.

“H-Hey, how’d it go?” Spencer cringed at his awkwardness.

“Good!” you tried to say cheerfully but your voice cracked and you sniffled a little.

As you made your way up the stairs without another word, Spencer noticed your puffy red eyes and streaks of smudged mascara dripping down your face.

He heard Jo’s bedroom door open quietly and then close again seconds later and then your bedroom door opened and was immediately shut.

Spencer sat on the couch for ten more minutes, debating his options. He didn’t know whether it was best to leave you alone or try to comfort you.

He slowly walked up the staircase and knocked softly on your door.

“Y/N? Do you want to talk about it?” he spoke softly.

Moments later, Spencer heard a meek “come in”.

You were lying face flat on your pillow with your dress still on, your heels had been discarded at the foot of the bed.

“What did he do?” Spencer asked, looking at you sympathetically and taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

You sat up, “I thought he already knew about Jo but apparently he just wasn’t listening. When he saw my phone wallpaper of her, he freaked out and said he ‘didn’t want to be a step-dad’. We were on a first date getting dinner, it wasn’t like I was proposing marriage to him,” you sniffled.

“He’s an asshole, I’m sorry,” Spencer pulled you in for a hug, “he doesn’t deserve you, Y/N”.

You pulled back slightly after a few seconds, looking Spencer in the eyes. You both started leaning forward ever so slowly until your lips were on his. You allowed yourself to enjoy it for a brief moment before pulling away completely.

“See you Monday” is all you said, getting off the bed and walking to the bathroom and closing the door behind you.

Spencer was left on your bed in utter shock. His lips still tingling and his heart still fluttering. He cleared his throat to compose himself and left your room, checking on Jo one more time before heading back to his apartment.

-

Spencer had only seen you for a brief amount of time since your kiss. He wanted to talk about it but it seemed like you were always purposely near Jo when he came over in the morning to pick her up for school, using her as a buffer to avoid the conversation with him.

Spencer was in the Georgetown faculty lounge, refilling his coffee mug when he heard the obnoxious voice of Professor Stevens. His festering anger began to boil.

“I was just looking to get laid. She’s hot but I didn’t know she came with all this extra baggage. I don’t want to be stuck raising some other dude’s kid,” Professor Stevens said to a group of men.

Spencer calmly set his mug down and walked over to Professor Stevens, tapping him on the shoulder. As soon as he turned around, Spencer punched him square in the jaw.

-

Spencer had asked you to pick up Jo from school for him which was weird because he hardly missed his days unless a case came up. He didn’t give a reason this time though, just saying he would explain later.

There was a knock on the door after dinner and you answered it with Jo right behind you.

“Daddy!” she lifted her arms upwards towards Spencer but he didn’t immediately pick her up like usual.

He looked at the hand shoved in his pocket before pulling it out, revealing bandaged knuckles, and picking Jo up.

“Daddy got a boo-boo,” Jo pointed to the injured hand, kissing it three times.

“Thank you, princess,” Spencer kissed the top of her head, “That helped.”

“Jo, want to watch TV for a little? Daddy is going to help Mommy in the kitchen,” you eyed Spencer suspiciously.

Jo nodded and Spencer set her down on the couch, turning on Looney Tunes before following you into the kitchen.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Okay, follow-up question, who deserved to be punched that bad at nine in the morning?” you asked.

“Professor Stevens,” Spencer mumbled.

“I see,” your lips turned up slightly at the corners as you took out a pack of frozen peas from the freezer, placing them over Spencer’s bruised knuckles.

[starlessea]

𝙎𝙩𝙚𝙥 𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙂𝙖𝙨 - Prologue 0. Closing Time

Series Masterlist: Step on the Gas

Summary: A dishonourable discharge from the military results in you being hauled off to live with your grandparents in the boonies, otherwise known as the middle of nowhere Georgia. After running over a nail on the road, and pushing your grandpa's vintage Camaro to the nearest auto-shop, you meet Daryl Dixon - the local mechanic. At some point, the world ends, but that stubborn man never gives you a chance to slow down. His smile gives you whiplash, but he still insists that you to step on the gas.

Words: 6286

Chapter Warnings: Language, Injury

The sky was empty — save for one bird.

Daryl watched it fly above him, so close to the ground that he could make out the beating of its wings and swore he saw individual feathers flutter in the breeze.

His fingers itched over his crossbow, as he contemplated shooting it down from the sky and plucking it clean. He'd have something to eat then, at least. Though, for some reason, Daryl Dixon couldn't bring himself to let loose his arrow, watching as the bird soared overhead — and disappeared beyond the trees.

The man sighed as he kicked up some loose stones with the toe of his boot. What a waste, he thought, before trudging through the field once again.

The sky remained cloudless for the rest of the day, existing as a pale, washed-out grey that made Daryl feel uncomfortable as he hunted. The game must have felt the same, since the deer he'd been tracking made itself scarce, and the string of squirrels hanging from his belt seemed no heavier than it had done when the sun rose that morning.

Still, he trekked onwards over the thick, winding grass and through damp forest overgrowth. He was nearly back at the quarry already, but he hardly had anything to show for it. A few measly rodents and a sprained ankle were barely worth his trip in the first place; they sure as hell wouldn't be enough for all of the mouths he now had to feed.

Daryl cursed at himself for hesitating to shoot that bird straight out of the sky, and clip its wings. It wasn't much, but maybe it would have lasted a day if he was lucky. Still, there was no use wondering now, since it had swooped so close to him that he almost felt the downward draft on his cheek — and then he let it fly away.

He thought that it had been a jaeger; it definitely looked like a seabird that had veered too far from the shore. It was a gull with a white breast and dark, blackish feathers — and a wingspan that made sure you couldn't miss it.

He remembered you pointing one out to him, at 3am, parked up on that deserted beach as the two of you stared out into the rocking ocean.

"Ya thinkin' 'bout 'er again, baby brother?"

Daryl could hear Merle's voice taunt, in the deepest, darkest corners of his thoughts.

"Tha' lil' birdie of yours?"

He quickly shook his head — even though it was the truth.

It had been Daryl's own mind that conjured up those words, after all. Merle wasn't actually here. He was probably back at the campsite, lazing about and leering after women far too good for a beaten-up redneck like him.

Though, funnily enough, Merle had said the exact same thing to Daryl when he noticed his gaze settling over the new bar server, who swiped away the froth spilling over from their draught beers. Merle had given him even more of an earful when he realised that his younger brother was waiting for her shift to end.

Daryl took a deep breath, before rolling his neck to try and relieve the tension that had built up there. Once his mind drifted into thoughts of you — even if only for a split second — it often sank to the point of no return.

You were all consuming; you had been from the first time he laid eyes on you in that old, country auto-repair shop.

He remembered the way your voice chirped like a bird's, despite the curses that often fell from your lips.

You even made those sound sweet.

And he could also recall the way you yelled over the rumble of his bike engine, and competed with the screeching that came from his tyres losing their grip on the worn-out tarmac.

You'd told him that it felt like you were flying — and that was probably the reason why Daryl Dixon couldn't shoot that jaeger.

Then, the man heard something louder than he had done since the world ended — and suddenly, the sky was no longer empty.

There was an explosion, and that dull greyness was set alight with brilliant hues of red and orange. It made fire start to rain down upon Daryl, who could only stand and watch below. Debris fell out of the sky like a meteor shower, landing beyond the trees in the distance — to a place that Daryl couldn't quite make out, no matter how much he squinted.

The air became full with the sounds of scraping metal and flickering flames that caught the leaves and made them burn up like the end of a cigarette. Daryl felt his heart race as the adrenaline pumped its way through his veins, and made him flinch each time something crashed heavily to the ground.

There was often a moment in a person's life where their brain got kick-started into gear — and they awoke from whatever auto-pilot they'd been functioning on until that point.

For most, it was probably a mundane milestone like marriage or parenthood.

For others, it might have been a life or death situation that made them re-evaluate their perspective.

For some, it had only happened when the world actually ended, and the apocalypse began.

And perhaps, if Daryl had been a smarter man, it would have been this instant — as he gazed up at the sky and watched it burn above him. Maybe this was his second life-changing realisation; maybe he was lucky enough to get two.

But, for Daryl, the first had just been a regular Tuesday.

The garage was sticky hot that day. It was the kind of heat that made you sweat no matter how many fans you had blowing — since Old man Dean was too cheap to install air conditioning. His boss was a bit of a stickler for paying his bills, and nit picky with his nickles, but he'd always been kind to Daryl.

That being said, working as a mechanic wasn't exactly where Daryl had pictured himself at his age; but then again, he couldn't really picture himself anywhere at all. He felt like that last piece of the jigsaw puzzle, which didn't quite fit in with the others — the one that you had to bend into shape just to make it work.

Sure, he enjoyed seeing the different bikes roll in and out of the shop — those models he would never be able to afford — and Daryl appreciated having a few extra dollars in his pocket for when Merle raided his savings to score some pot.

Besides, there wasn't much else to do in the boonies. Daryl's old man once told him that the only interesting thing to rear its ugly head out of Georgia's backyard in the last fifty years was Dean's Auto Shop. That's probably why Daryl started working there in the first place, as a summer job when he was teenager — and had never really left since.

As much as he didn't want to admit it, his old man had been right about one thing — despite the bastard never catching on to the role of father. He'd been right about the shop being the only interesting thing around.

Because it was the place where he met her.

And then she became the only thing in that small town even worth being interested in.

Daryl didn't hear a car pull up into the shop, but he heard the mumbling outside from where he sat in the breakroom — chewing on some of Dean's leftover pizza that was bordering on stale.

"Dixon, get your ass out here for a second, would you?" the old man yelled, banging on the thin wall that separated them with his fist.

Daryl cursed below his breath, throwing the rest of his food into the trash and dusting off his hands over his jeans. He stepped out into the shop, and was met by an unfamiliar face — looking over at him curiously.

He suddenly felt unexplainably nervous, and dropped his head down to his feet as though it were a reflex he didn't know he had.

"This is your guy," he heard Dean say, before letting out one of his usual chesty coughs.

The man smoked a pack a day too much — and that was coming from Daryl.

"Owner of that bike you've been eyeing, too," he went on.

That caught Daryl's attention, and he instantly glanced up at the woman in question. She was breath-taking, but she also looked very much out of breath. She seemed as though she had run here, despite the Georgia heat.

"You ride?" he asked, but his gruff voice made it sound like more of a demand.

He grimaced at his own tone, but the woman didn't seem bothered by it in the slightest.

She laughed, and it sounded like nothing he'd ever heard before. "I wish," she said, running her palm along the polished metal and tracing her finger over that shiny logo.

Usually, Daryl would bark at anyone who touched his bike, and Dean seemed as though he expected him to do just that — from the way he raised an eyebrow at the daring woman, too oblivious for her own good.

Except, Daryl stayed quiet.

"Was never allowed within a mile radius of one," she went on, before turning back around to grin at Daryl like it was easy. "My folks were scared I'd take off into the sunset, never to be seen again."

He could relate to that. After all, it was exactly what he and Merle had done as soon as they'd gotten the chance.

"Mhm," he hummed back, before glancing over at the car parked in the middle of the shop. "She's pretty."

It was a steel blue colour — would definitely benefit from a lick of paint, but still pretty nonetheless. The tread looked good on the tyres, and Daryl couldn't see any signs of the rusting those models were prone to. Someone had taken good care of it.

"Excuse me?" the woman asked, and suddenly Daryl was reminded of just how bad he was with words.

He cleared his throat, and ran his hand over the hood.

"Yer car," he explained, "'69 Chevy Camaro?"

Daryl asked, but he already knew the answer.

"Oh yeah, that," she replied, sending him an apologetic look. "It's my grandpa's, so we're going to have to be real discreet about this situation over here."

Daryl raised an eyebrow as she beckoned him to the other side of the car, crouching down near the wheel arch.

"Some bastard left a nail in the road, and I ran straight through the thing like it was a stop sign," she grumbled, pointing out the puncture.

Daryl almost laughed at that — but he was still much too jaded from being caught in the middle of his break.

The woman stood back up and toed the deflated tyre with her boot, scowling at the sight of it.

"I know you're closing soon, but I had to push it half a mile just to get here," she said, and wiped her brow with the back of her hand.

Suddenly, her appearance made sense. Since he'd first laid eyes on her, all she'd done was tug at the collar of her vest, and try to stand in front of one of those poor excuses for a fan. But even then, Daryl couldn't quite believe her story.

"Ain't no way ya pushed that thing 'ere by yerself." The words left his mouth before he could consider them twice.

And the look she shot Daryl in return made him want to take them straight back.

But then, she smiled.

"I'm stronger than I look," she protested, leaning against the hot car. "You can ask the dozen assholes who catcalled me on the way but never offered their help."

This time, Daryl did let out a chuckle.

"Damn lucky y'ain't pass out," he quipped back, "heat's no joke."

She grinned again, and Daryl wondered whether she had an endless supply — or if she'd saved them just for him.

"Tell me about it," the woman teased. "Never liked visiting Georgia because of it."

Then, it all made sense to Daryl — the reason why she intrigued him so much.

"Y'ain't from 'round here, are ya?" he asked, surprising himself.

Usually, he couldn't give a 'rat's ass', as Dean called it, about anyone who stumbled into their shop. Never did they get more than a half-hearted greeting from Daryl, or a grunt as he told them to mind their head on that low door frame (she didn't have that problem). Though today, he seemed oddly talkative.

"Haven't seen ya before," he added.

The woman folded her arms over her chest.

"Would you recognise me if you had?" she asked.

"E'erybody knows e'erybody in this place," he answered. "I'd remember if I saw ya cross the street."

It was partially the truth. Daryl knew most people — but he only bothered to remember a select few.

"Moved here last week," she caved, proving him right. "I'm keeping my grandparents company watching daytime cable and doing grocery runs."

Daryl smirked. "An' runnin' over nails with their car, apparently."

"That, too," she confessed.

It was silent for a few seconds, and Daryl realised that he should probably give her a quote for the job. Though, she interrupted him before he could.

"Listen, your new neighbour would be really grateful if you could cut her a break," she said, eyeing the Camaro like she was considering whether it was even worth the hassle. "The old man's going to kill me if I come home on foot tonight."

Daryl knew what she was asking. The notice in the shop window made it clear that they'd be closing in half an hour; Daryl had been all but ready to flip the sign himself. Before she'd arrived, he'd even dared to think that he could shut early — and possibly get to crack open a cold beer and enjoy the breeze of his porch.

He sighed.

"I'll see what I can do," Daryl mumbled, "but I ain't makin' no promises," he warned — as he caught the way her eyes lit up at his words.

But that was a lie. Daryl knew he wouldn't let himself go home until it was finished.

The woman was utterly gleeful. He watched her smile much too widely for her face, and for a moment Daryl thought that she might even jump at him. But she seemed to catch herself at the last second, and abruptly stopped.

She didn't falter long, though. "Thank you, thank you so much!" she said, excitedly, before pausing to tap at her jean pockets. "I don't have any cash on me for a deposit, but I'm heading to work now."

She looked sheepish as she explained herself.

"I'll come straight back and pay in full," she added, trying her best to convince him.

Daryl narrowed his eyes like he didn't quite understand. Then he did, and he laughed properly.

"Deposit?" he asked, shaking his head. "City girl, here we jus' keep yer vehicle if ya can't pay."

The woman's expression was priceless. She looked as though she couldn't figure out whether he was joking or not, and stared at Daryl with her mouth slightly agape as she debated which it was.

He couldn't watch any longer.

"Where ya workin'?" he asked.

Then, he cursed himself for doing so. Time was ticking on, and he already had to stay overtime because of his inability to say no. Well, usually he had no problem with the word; it just seemed like it was stuck in his throat today.

"Joe's bar," she replied. "It's a few blocks over and-"

"I know Joe's bar," Daryl interrupted.

Everybody knew Joe's. It was the only place around that sold a decent draught beer. He'd been going there since he was a teenager — younger than he should have been, but old enough to know better.

"Me an' my brother go there a lot, but I ain't seen you 'round."

She nodded.

"Only started a few days ago. Hopefully they don't fire me for being late."

Daryl glanced at the clock. It was approaching his closing time and her opening one.

"Ya better get runnin', Camaro," he noted, tapping at his watch that didn't even work. "Rush hour soon."

The woman narrowed her eyes at the nickname. Daryl didn't know her real one yet, and felt like it was too late to ask for it. He'd have to catch a glimpse of Dean's log book later to find out.

"Will do," she replied with a smile. "Thanks again, Dixon."

Though Daryl couldn't quite work out how she knew his name, either.

He watched her scurry about collecting her things, and walked her to the entrance. The sun was starting to set — leaving the sky a pinkish orange that only made him squint the more he looked at it. He held the door open for the woman, and heard Dean snort from the back of the shop. But the way she thanked him made it worth the teasing.

"Take care of that sixties Honda," she winked, "she's a real beauty."

Daryl was surprised that she knew the model of his bike, considering she'd never even ridden one.

"If only ya knew," he mumbled back as he saw her off. "Will take ya for a ride one time if yer willin'."

She stopped in place. Daryl didn't know why he said that. It had just slipped from his mouth like oil from a can.

The woman laughed and rolled her eyes like she didn't believe him.

"That's what they all say."

Then, she started to jog down the street — just like she said she would — and Daryl thought her crazy for even attempting it in this midsummer Georgia weather. That woman had entered the shop like a whirlwind, and when she left Daryl couldn't remember what he'd even been doing before.

Dean cleared his throat and threw a rag at him that he barely managed to catch.

"Keep it in your pants, boy."

Daryl scowled at the man; he knew him better than that. So, he didn't give him the satisfaction of a reply, and instead got started on setting the Camaro up on a jack.

"She's a beauty, I get it," Dean went on, despite his silence. "Her type don't belong in a place like this, that's for damn sure."

Daryl had to agree with him there. He'd gotten a glimpse of his reflection in the wing mirror of her car and grimaced. He had grease on his face, and part of him cursed Dean for not telling him before he'd left the breakroom.

"But you know Mike and Doreen?" the old man asked, and Daryl nodded. "That's their granddaughter."

Daryl furrowed his brow — not realising he'd done it until he caught himself in the glass once again. Mike was a hard man, the type to straighten out any kinks in a person with brute force and that baby boomer spite.

"She may be real pretty, kid, but that one's trouble," Dean noted, confirming his suspicions.

He ignored the way he called him 'kid'. The old man still hadn't grown out of the habit — despite Daryl being well beyond his teenage years now.

"Trouble?" he repeated, like he couldn't quite comprehend the word being associated with someone like that.

Dean chuckled — but it turned into one of those coughs that made Daryl wince.

"Maybe more so than you," he said. "Got kicked out of the military, I heard."

Daryl spat at the floor, and Dean laughed again. They both hated those military dogs who often paraded through their town, looking at them as though they were trash beneath their government-issued boots.

But, if she'd been kicked out then maybe they could find some common ground.

Old man Dean wagged his finger at him, recognising Daryl's no-good expression; he'd become familiar with it by now, from all the times he'd worn it throughout the years.

"So don't go losing your head over her, Dixon," he cautioned, pretending not to know how good Daryl was at throwing caution to the wind.

"And remember to close up before you leave."

But it was too late.

Daryl had already lost his head, and his heart — but he wouldn't know that the latter was missing for a very long time.

You ran the cloth along the oak bar surface, wiping away any sticky beer rings that had been left there.

This is why we have coasters, you sighed.

It had been a slow Tuesday night, but you'd somehow still been roped into working the close. You tried to tell your boss that you were having car troubles, and had plans to stop by the garage on your way home — but he seemed to prioritise his own date over yours.

Well, you wouldn't exactly call giving the local mechanic his cheque a date; usually, you didn't have to pay for those. But you couldn't deny how it had made you feel when he smiled that smile your way — so small that you'd almost missed it — before you took off running out the door.

It gave you whiplash.

Perhaps he was just being friendly. But, then again, he didn't seem like the naturally friendly type. You shook your head, throwing the beer-soaked rag into the sink. You didn't trust that man in the slightest.

That wasn't a new development, really; you didn't trust most men. And, you often found that the ones who made your heart race like that were the worst of them all. He was trouble, that one, and you'd had enough of that to last a lifetime.

You untied the double knot of your apron, and folded it up neatly. There were a few whiskey stains on it — you'd caught a whiff of that top-shelf scent a few times now — but you were already too late to even consider putting it in the wash. Instead, you left it at the end of the bar, and swapped it out for the ring of keys lying there.

It was closing time, and you prepared yourself to run three blocks in the dark. You stepped out into the night, feeling the cool breeze on your cheek as opposed to the midday heat that had been there when your shift started. You flipped the latch and turned the key in the lock until you heard it click.

Then, you held them between your knuckles so that the jagged edge poked out.

"Ya done for the night?" a voice came from the shadows, and your heart dropped.

That brief second lasted a lifetime as the blood rushed to your ears like a strong current through running water, and your grip tightened over those keys. But then, you noticed the reflection in the glass panels of the door — and relaxed.

"Jesus, you scared the shit out of me," you scolded the man, "thought you were a dejected patron tryna jump me or something."

Perhaps he was; you still didn't know any better.

Dixon was leaning against that dingy brick wall, opposite the back door of Joe's Bar. You didn't even know what that other building was — but some sketchy figures usually loomed about it, so you tried to stay clear.

Maybe he didn't get the memo, you thought.

"Tha' happen before?" the man asked back, casually.

Though, the dim street lights overhead illuminated his face, and you caught a glimpse of his serious expression before he let it drop. He held a lit cigarette between his fingers — almost smoked down to the butt already — and it made you wonder just how long he'd been waiting for you.

"Maybe once or twice," you laughed, but it didn't sound as natural as you had intended.

You noticed the man's eyes flicker down towards the keys held between your knuckles, and you quickly slipped them into your jean pocket — hoping that he wouldn't pry. Luckily, he didn't seem like the type to unnecessarily butt into other people's business.

The smoke trailed from his lips and caught the stark light of the street lamp. He almost looked cold — bathed in that bluish tint which made those cigarette fumes seem nearly luminescent.

"You here to make sure I don't run off with your paycheck?" you teased, fishing out the wad of bills from your back pocket.

You waved them at him, and considered how precarious the situation may seem to an onlooker if they happened to pass by. The man looked as though he felt the same, since he quickly glanced over his shoulder down the alleyway — checking to make sure you were alone.

"Don't worry, Dixon, I busted my ass tonight just so I could leave you a nice tip," you said with a smile, handing the money to him.

He took it, slowly, as though he had to remind himself what it was even for.

Then, he let that cigarette butt fall to the floor, and stamped it out with his boot — before dragging it along the concrete until it was nothing but embers.

The man shook his head at you. "'M here on behalf of the welcome committee."

You snorted as you processed his words, and followed him out of that narrow alleyway into the main street.

"Bullshit," you called, "as if-"

You rounded the corner after him, and stopped. He was there, leaning against that pristine sixties Honda bike — spare helmet in hand.

It was parked up on the sidewalk, polished metal glinting in all its glory under those neon lamps. Dixon was almost camouflaged against it — his black leather jacket also speckled with white light. He held out that helmet, as if it were an invitation he was waiting for you to accept.

But he seemed shy — as though acutely aware that it was only an invite, and nothing more. So, you took it, and shook your head as you realised that it wasn't his spare helmet he had offered you; it was his only helmet.

"Said I'd take ya," he murmured, fastening the strap gently under your chin.

It was too big, so the man compensated by tying it tighter until you felt like your jaw was wired shut. But, you just smiled.

"An' I ain't no liar," he said when he was done, and kicked his leg over the bike.

Then, you sped off into the night.

You yelled over the sound of the engine for him to go faster, and laughed as you had to spit out the stray hairs that had blown into your mouth. Your clothes whipped in the wind, too, and you clung to the man in front of you as though you were afraid they might catch the draft, and make you fly away. It was electrifying; your whole body felt like pure static as you rode past shop displays and windows that made your reflections look like hazed blurs.

That whole trip felt like a hazed blur, really, because suddenly you were there.

"Where are we?" you asked, unsure of where 'there' even was. "Why'd we stop?"

You pulled the helmet from your head and cocked your leg over the bike. The man let out a chuckle at the sight of your hair, sticking up from the static — as though lightning might strike at any moment.

"Smoke break," Dixon grumbled, before coaxing out the squashed cardboard packet from his jeans. "You want one?" he asked, offering it to you.

You shook your head; you didn't smoke.

He shrugged in response, cupping his hands to his face to get a flame from his lighter. You left him to it, and turned away from the bike to catch the view.

And what a view it was, indeed.

You hadn't even noticed the sounds of the lapping ocean waves before you saw them. The cliff overlooked the beach below, desolate, with a high tide that drew the shore into you. Your grandmother had told you about this place once, on the phone a few months back as she tried to sell rural Georgia to you.

It wasn't like you were given much of a choice, anyway.

But now that you'd been shipped out here — against your will, no doubt — you had to admit that she'd been partly right. It was breath-taking. Back in the city, a place like this would be littered with beer cans and tacky, disposable barbeques within a week of someone posting about it online. Here, however, it looked untouched.

It was as though the two of you were the first to ever set foot here, on this particular crag that overlooked the waves — leaving your footprints alongside tyre treads for the next pioneers to discover.

You glanced back at Dixon over your shoulder — who was busy trying to look as though he wasn't already looking at you — and smiled.

He was one hell of a welcome committee.

Daryl almost choked on the fumes of his cigarette — letting out a cough that reminded him of the way old man Dean spluttered in the mornings. He really needed to kick that habit, he thought, and snubbed out his cigarette on the ground.

Then, you scowled at him, so he picked the butt back up and stuffed it into his pocket, grimacing at the thought of having to clean it up later.

He had been lying about the smoke break, really, but then he needed to carry out his excuse. Initially, he'd only thought about picking you up from the bar and offering you a ride back to the shop. He hadn't the slightest clue of how that plan had become this.

Somewhere along the way, Daryl might have accidentally taken a wrong turn, and ended up in the most scenic place he would think of. Stupid damn street signs, he cursed, as though he hadn't driven those roads a hundred times before.

Camaro seemed to call him out on his bluff, too, since she turned to face him and immediately shook her head.

"You're lying," she said, as though she were certain, "but the view is extraordinary, so I'll forgive you just this once."

Daryl swallowed thickly, tasting the tobacco that had made his throat so dry. For someone who claimed himself not to be a liar, that was all he seemed to be doing today.

Then, he watched you make your way towards the edge of that cliff, like you couldn't even hear him warning you to be careful. It was like you weren't paying him the slightest attention. Daryl was used to that from women — but somehow, this was different.

You didn't look down on him, nor at him with any hint of prejudice for wearing jeans still coated in oil, and boots he'd had to tape the soles of just to keep them together. In fact, you weren't looking at him at all. You seemed far more concerned with the stars that flickered in the night sky above you, but at the same time grateful towards the man for having brought you to them.

"You treat all your customers like this, Dixon?" you asked him.

He watched you turn around and look at him like you'd only just remembered that he was there. But, then you beamed a smile at him so bright that it put the stars to shame — and made all of your other ones look dim in comparison.

"Y'ain't special," he grumbled, shaking his head. "Jus' given' ya a lift home 'cos Dean told me to."

Though, Dean had left the shop hours ago.

Daryl watched you laugh like you'd caught him out one more time.

"There you go again," you said, teasingly. "Do you ever tell the truth?"

No, he didn't. He always tried to, but oftentimes it never did him any good. The people of this town had already made the assumption that he was a natural born liar. You were the first person to ever make the distinction between his white lies and those other types.

All his life, Daryl had been pigeon-holed into the role of good for nothing redneck, and had only recently graduated to the slightly less stereotyped town mechanic. But that night it was as if someone, for the first time, tried to get a peek at whatever was underneath.

Old man Dean was right. You were trouble — but not for the reason he had said. You were trouble because you seemed entirely unaware of your place in the world, and it made Daryl start to question his own. You seemed nice — perhaps even lovely — but Daryl never trusted those types. He knew you were far too good to be wasting away the early hours of the morning with the likes of him — and it left him wondering what exactly you wanted.

You'd already paid for his services, after all.

"Thank you for letting me see the stars again," you breathed, stretching your neck which ached from staring at the sky. "It's been a while."

Back then, Daryl didn't quite understand what that meant. He'd thought perhaps that you'd been talking about city pollution.

On the way back, Daryl felt you cling onto him tightly as he drove through empty roads, and passed the old, flickering street lights that blinked like camera flashes. But, when his fingers accidentally brushed up against yours, as you both reached for the shop door, you pulled your hand away.

It had only been a random Tuesday — that had eventually rolled into a Wednesday by the time he'd gotten you back into your repaired Camaro — but that was the moment in his life where Daryl felt like he had finally woken up.

But even awake, he often found himself lost in daydreams of the woman who crash landed into his life, and disappeared from it just as quickly as she came.

Daryl followed the trail of debris that had fallen from the sky, as though he were tracking some giant, metal bird. He didn't want to stick around too long, given that the noise had probably attracted every damn walker in the area; he just hoped that he was still far enough away from camp that they wouldn't be drawn there.

He stepped over the hunks of hot wreckage, some of it still ablaze, until he eventually came across something soft and not made of metal.

It was that jaeger. It was dead.

It looked as though it had been struck straight out of the sky. Its feathers lay scattered around it — the white breast now red with blood — and its wing was bent at a crooked angle, broken.

Daryl scowled. If he'd known that it was going to have such a meaningless death, then he would have shot it himself. Though, he still didn't add the bird to his string of dead animals; he thought that it had suffered enough.

He continued onwards through the brush until he stumbled across what he'd been looking for. But even as he saw it with his own eyes, Daryl couldn't quite believe it. Before him was the husk of a downed helicopter, burning in the middle of the forest.

Immediately, he ran to it, tripping over the wreckage as it got thicker and harder to navigate.

Though, there was no pilot inside — only radios and machinery parts that Daryl didn't know the names of. They screeched high frequency sounds as they caught on fire, and it made his ears ring the longer he listened.

So, he turned back.

That was when he saw it — them — a few meters away. His stomach dropped. Guess that's the pilot, he thought, looking up at the body tangled in the trees.

He'd never seen a parachute in real life before — only ever in the movies. He'd also never understood how that flimsy material could stop someone from plummeting to their death.

Well, in this case it hadn't.

The pilot was dangling from one of the branches, all caught up in those wire cables like a fish on a line. The limbs were contorted awkwardly, and Daryl swallowed thickly at the sight of their arm which had definitely been broken — reminding him of that miserable jaeger's wing.

He'd been all but ready to turn around and leave. The smell of burning rubber and the white noise from those radios would probably keep him up for the next few nights, but there was nothing he could do about that.

He'd been all but ready to turn around and leave, but then the body spoke to him.

"Dixon?" he heard it gasp.

And Daryl wondered just how many impossible things he might encounter today.

The voice startled him, and he almost stumbled over his own foot in return. Walkers couldn't speak, and they surely wouldn't know his name, either. Then, he caught the slightest movement, and recognised a jacket much too familiar. It had been his, after all, before he'd given it to you.

The pilot groaned, and Daryl recognised that tone of voice, too. He quickly fumbled about for his pocket knife, not even stopping to consider how the hell he'd be able to cut you down.

He couldn't even comprehend how you were alive-

"How's it hanging?" the voice spluttered.

-and how you'd kept that same god awful sense of humour.

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A/N I’ve tried so hard to post this, sorry for all the technical difficulties...