#the money i would pay for a one shot of just their domestic life

[dxliriumoftheendless]

started thinking about them again…. my goth lesbian queens my heart breaks….

[joelsgoldrush]

“guilty pleasure” | 8.6k

worst!logan howlett x f!reader

SUMMARY: After saving Earth-10005 from impending disaster, Wade convinces Logan, the alcoholic and easily irritated mutant, to stick around for a while. He’s convinced that nothing good can come out of this experience, until he meets you: the charming bartender with a soft spot for swearing that matches his own. Suddenly, sticking around doesn’t seem so bad after all.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni - smut 18+ fluff. drinking. dirty talk. slow-burnish. grumpy!logan x sunshine!reader. reader is really kind but cracks a lot of jokes. age gap (25 vs 200 - they’re basically the same age). oral sex (f receiving). fingering. finger sucking. soft dom!logan. wade being the funniest asshole. logan calls reader "kiddo/kid”.

A/N: HI! first of all, i'd like to thank you for all the support you showed me on my recent post. let me just tell you that i’m LOVING writing for logan. but none of this would be possible without YOU, so yeah, i fucking love y’all.

** regarding this story, i was planning on making it even longer, but writing these two has been so much fun, and i didn’t want it to end just like that (i have attachment issues as you may infer from this note). therefore, i’ve made the decision to write a second part to this fic, which will contain fluff and other stuff (you already know the drill). i don’t know when i’ll be posting it, but i’m sure it won’t take me that long.

*** i’m also working on other one shots (purely fluff/domesticity because i want this man to cradle me in his arms). anyway, i don’t know if anyone’s going to read this, but still, all I have to say is THANK YOU FOR READING MY WORKS! i hope you really like this silly story i made up :)

**** english is not my first language so if you come across any mistakes don’t hesitate to tell me :)

special recognition to @zloshy who allowed me to rant about my own fic 😭 the sweetest human ever

The bar is far from packed, but then again, it never truly is.

Studying your regulars has become your favorite hobby. Soon you end up knowing their names, the drinks they like, and what time they come through the door. It’s what happens when standing on your own two feet and refilling glasses lose all their charm. A part of you thinks you also do it to make them feel safe. No matter how much you try to deny it, you truly care about their well-being.

Is this your dream job? Nope. Definitely not. You’re pretty sure that holding some stranger’s hair while they empty their insides wasn’t on your bingo card for this year. But sadly money doesn’t grow on trees, and university isn’t going to pay itself. Plus, this was the only job in which your resume was not immediately rejected. It should also be stressed that the drunks happen to love you. 

Perhaps this isn’t the life you had always imagined for yourself, but you were getting closer to it. You’d often talk to Adam, a retired psychologist in his seventies. He was without a doubt one of the most loyal clients you’d ever encountered. In the past, he’d even given you free advice on some of your failed hookups. You once told him that in less than two years, you’d be just like him when you got your degree in Psychology. To your surprise, he replied: “You’ll be much better than me, doll. I’m a mess, can’t you see it? You don’t wanna be like me,” his voice was hardly above a whisper as he continued. “I should be at my daughter’s birthday right now, but I didn’t get an invitation this year. Believe me, you don’t want to end up like this old man.” 

Like Adam, most of the men who frequented the bar day-to-day saw it as an opportunity to hide within the shadows. In comparison to the other pubs in the area, the one you work at doesn’t receive that much attention from the general public. A dimly lit place where only music from the 80s is allowed. You’re certain that if a health inspector ever came down here, you’d be in serious problems. But hey, you know what they say: do not worry about tomorrow; instead, live in the now.

The atmosphere of the bar shifts dramatically as the main door slams shut with a resounding thud, pulling you abruptly out of your daydreaming. You turn to see who’s arrived, but as soon as your eyes meet his, you’re compelled to look away. Nevertheless, the brief glance you catch of the stranger’s features is enough for you to unlock your phone and send a quick text to your best friend. 

You:

cutie patootie alert

there’s this really handsome guy at the bar

i don’t think i’ve ever seen him before

i think i’m in love with him

my night just got a 100% better

Allison:

age

what does he look like

is he bald?

You:

he looks like he could be in his early fifties??? it’s hard to tell UGH i wish you were here

brown hair, beard, 6’2 if i’m not wrong 

i didn’t stare at him for too long

otherwise that would’ve been very weird

and no he’s not fucking bald

that happened only once and i was not aware of that gentleman’s lack of hair 

Allison:

so you’re dating retired now

get it grandma!

You:

oh fuck you allison 

Allison: 

it’s okay girl we all have our flaws

just make sure it’s nobody’s father

wait it’s not mine right?

You:

nah your dad’s way hotter don’t you worry about it

Allison:

bitch 

Even with the music blasting through the speakers that are attached to the ceiling, you can still hear the low murmur and the whispers. The mysterious stranger seems to have attracted the attention of the other patrons, some of whom have even raised their phones to take photos. Your eyebrows draw together. Why would they do something like this, approaching the man as if he were a celebrity? Since curiosity never fails to kill the cat, you decide to get involved.

“Do I have somethin’ on my face?” you hear him ask the crowd, his raspy voice making your knees wobbly. He sounds enraged. You step on your tiptoes, trying to see what all the fuss is about, albeit it’s pretty hard considering how these men are caging him with their bodies.

The glow of a phone’s flashlight catches your attention, and suddenly, a chair is dragged without much elegance. “Enough of that, y’hear me?”

Enter you now. “Okay, gentlemen, I’m sorry. I’m gonna need you to make some space for me, alright?” you mumble as you gently push them aside. “Thank you, thank you. Y’all can be real sweethearts when you put your minds to it.”

Then you spot him, and it becomes clear why everyone is making such a fuss. 

Gary, your worst client ever, steps forward. His nasty breath clouds your senses as he rests one of his sweaty hands on your shoulder. “Doll, it’s the fucking Wolverine. Don’t ask him for a picture, though. He doesn’t seem to be in the mood for that.”

The last thing you needed to see today was a fight (despite your knowledge of who would be the winner). You locate yourself amidst them, shaking your head like a disappointed mother, so as to add a tiny bit of drama to the situation.

“Guys, what you’re doing here is completely inappropriate. I thought I’d taught you better. Imagine if I were to pull this crap on you. You wouldn’t have it.”

Adam presses his lips together, flushing a bit. “She does have a point.” 

“Thank you, peanut. You’re still my favorite,” you flash him an honest smile. Scrutinizing the rest of the men, you continue with your speech. “You can still make up for it and fill my tip jar all the way to the top. Deal?” they all scoff, barking their disagreement. “Oh, you don’t like the sound of that? Then leave him alone, okay? Class dismissed! Back to your places,” you clap your hands repeatedly, signaling them to go away. “Chop chop. All this alcohol won’t be drinking itself.”

Just like that, everything goes back to normal in the blink of an eye. Wolverine sits back down in his chair, leaning closer to the table and resting both elbows on it. He examines you, lifting his chin while his brown eyes take in every inch of you.

“Thank you,” he utters, his eyes still trained on your features. 

“No need to. It’s what I’m here for,” you point to your work clothes, which consist of an antiqued apron and a silly sticker that has your name written on it. “Can I get you anything to drink? It’s also Burger Night. You can get one for half the usual price.”

(No. It’s not fucking Burger Night. You just happen to find yourself deeply attracted to him.)

He doesn’t seem too eager to hear you talk. “Not hungry at the moment. But I could use some whiskey.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, kid. Very sure.” Well, now he does look annoyed.

“Great. I’ll be back in a minute,” you move as if you were in a race, returning to him after a hot minute. Setting his glass down on the table, you fill it with some old whiskey you don’t even know the name of. Still, he omits that detail, gulping down two-fingers of whiskey as if it were water. “I see you’re thirsty.”

“Could you leave the bottle here?” those brown puppy eyes are begging you to do as he says, and although you’d be happy to oblige, rules are rules. 

“Actually, I can’t. The bottle stays on the counter. But you can always join me at the front,” your proposal doesn’t appear to have the desired effect on him. “I won’t talk to you if that’s what you want.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he rubs his neck, drawing a long breath as he stands up. 

You can feel many pairs of eyes searing into your soul. The others ask you for more drinks and you pour them, pricking up your ears when you hear them talking about him.

“What a weirdo. Didn’t you see it on TV? He’s not even from this universe,” Gary explains, looking for accomplices to hate on Wolverine. “Let me tell y’all something: he shouldn’t even be here. He’s fucking dead on this earth.”

Yeah… that you knew.

It had been all over the news for weeks. Some would even swear that he was back from the dead, but that was until the representatives from the TVA spoke their truth. If someone would’ve told you a month ago that multiple universes were a thing, you would’ve laughed in their face.

As if that weren’t already difficult to process, your mind does the job of reminding you that there’s a man with metal claws sitting a few meters away from you. Despite that, you can’t seem to be scared of him. There’s something magnetic about his personality and that don’t-come-near-me-or-there-will-be-consequences expression that he has. Why had you promised not to speak to him? Dammit.

“I can hear your thoughts,” a muscle in his jaw twitches after knocking back another glass of whiskey. He squeezes his eyes shut before tapping the table with two fingers, silently asking for a refill.

“I thought you didn’t want me to talk,” you raise one of your eyebrows, and you behold how the corners of his mouth turn up for an instant. “I can assure you your liver hates you.”

“Alcohol won’t kill me, so don’t be afraid. Keep ‘em coming.”

For nearly twenty minutes, he does nothing but drink. He attempts to light a cigar at some point, and you stop him. “You can’t smoke in here.”

“No special treatment?” he inquires, placing the cigar between his parted lips and tilting his head back. He’s so… dreamy. He has to know it.

“I saved your ass today. The least you can do is not cause me any trouble.”

His eyes widen at your words, blinking owlishly. “You saved my what?”

“Your goddamn ass. You were about to start a fight.”

“Blame the idiots you have for clients,” he says, jerking his thumb toward your direction. “I was just mindin’ my own business. They came for me, not the other way around.”

“Look, Wolvie. I–”

“Wolvie?” giving a bitter laugh, he rams a hand through his hair. “That’s the worst nickname I’ve heard in a long time,” he looks at you through his lashes, getting rid of his leather jacket. “It’s Logan.”

“Wow. Your name is very boybandish.”

You succeed in making him laugh once again. It’s the perfect opportunity for you to observe his face without feeling like you were just about to get caught. He has deep creases and worry lines etched between his eyebrows, a brown beard that perfectly frames his jaw, and a few white hairs scattered in his sideburns. Pearly teeth that go hand in hand with one of the most impeccable smiles you’ve ever seen, and a pair of brown eyes that make you feel weak in the knees. You know for a fact that he’s a lot older than you; his exact age remains a mystery, but his appearance is enough for you to start fantasizing.

Shit, you want him. You should feel sickened by the mere thought of being with him. He was born God knows when, has lived hundreds of years. Still, the idea of tracing his cheekbones with your fingers while lying on his chest doesn’t leave you. This is fucked up. You are fucked up. A fucked up Psychology student. The joke is pretty much self-explanatory.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding, you preening slut. Can’t even bother to answer my calls now?”

The tension between you shatters like a glass dropped onto the floor. He doesn’t dare to look in the direction of the owner of that voice, not even as the seat next to him gets taken. He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Wade, what the hell are you doin’ here?”

“It hasn’t been exactly easy, raising our kid on my own. I don’t even have money to hire a babysitter, Lo. I spent nine months carrying your child, and for what? You end up going after a bartender,” the masked man turns to you, giving a sly wink. “No offense, baby. You must be a real sweetheart. In fact, do you want my number? The name’s Wade, but you can call me whatever you like.”

“You dumb fuck. Are you flirtin’ with her?”

“No shit, smartass. You’re the future of this country.”

A soft giggle escapes you despite your attempt to hold it back. You take a step back, admiring the two men. “Well, aren’t you two a beautiful couple?”

“You should see our little munchkin. He’s got my eyes and Logan’s hair. His first word was gubernatorial.”

“Would you like to have a drink while you’re here?”

“A beer would be great. Thank you, sugarbear. You’re the cutest,” Wade sinks back into his chair, resting his chin on his palm. He jerks his head in Logan’s direction, bumping his shoulder. “She’s the cutest. Are you two together?”

Logan rubs his forehead, speaking through gritted teeth. “How did you find me?”

“It's the power of love, baby. I had It’s All Coming Back To Me Now on repeat for hours. Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Handing Wade a cold beer, your eyes scan Logan’s face. “I didn’t know patience was your strongest suit.”

“Me neither.”

“Enough of that! I can’t stand not being included in a conversation,” Wade throws his hands in the air, and you look at him. “There you are. So, what about you? Are you even allowed to be here? Did bars change their policies?”

You can’t help but snort. “I’m 25.”

Wade looms closer, lowering his voice. “Now that I think about it, you could totally be Logan’s caretaker. He’s been having some issues recently, given his age. Do you… know anything about adult diapers?”

But then Logan’s face contorts, turning crimson. He rises from his seat, grabbing Wade’s arm. “That’s it. We’re leavin’,” his eyes lock on you for a moment. “How much do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house.”

The things you’re willing to do for a man, right? You should be ashamed of yourself.

(But you aren’t.)

His mouth hangs open in disbelief. “Kiddo, are you–”

“Completely sure,” you finish his sentence for him, bowing your head and clasping your arms behind your body. A tight-lipped smile takes over you. “Just don’t tell my boss.”

Wade shifts his gaze back and forth between Logan and you. “I usually don’t mind third-wheeling, but I sort of feel left out.”

“I’m gonna sew your mouth shut, Wade.”

“Oh, come on! I was just making small talk,” the masked man tries to excuse himself while Logan pushes him towards the door. “It was a pleasure meeting you, sunshine. I’m free on Thursdays. Hit me up if his whiskey dick fails to impress you! Mine’s way more agile and young!”

As you watch them leave the bar, you remain frozen in your place amidst the clamor of ongoing chatter and clinking glasses.

What the fuck had just happened?

“Patrick’s normally the first one to get wasted during weekends,” you explain to the blonde woman sitting in front of you, and she writes that information down in her notebook. “He can usually handle himself, but at some point, he’ll try to call his ex-wife, and that’s when you know you need to stop serving him.”

She clicks her tongue, the color draining out of her face. “This is… definitely a lot to remember. I think I already forgot half of what you said.”

You shake your head, shoving your hands in your pockets. “You’ll get used to it, believe me. I’ll be with you at all times, so if you have any doubts, just ask me.”

After a whole year of working solo at the bar, you finally get to have a coworker: Gwen, a mother of two teenagers in her forties. You had met her at the grocery store, and in the process of helping her find a specific brand of cookies, you found out that she had recently lost her job. One thing led to another, and now she’s your trainee.

Your savior complex strikes again!

It has been four days since your first encounter with Logan. The thought that he could show up at any moment makes your heart race and your hands sweat. Allison had received countless voice messages where you narrated the entire experience in full detail. 

Touching your arm softly, Gwen’s face lights up. “Another man came in. Is he a regular? I don’t think you told me about him.”

Fuck, it’s him. Manifesting does work wonders. He locks eyes with you and raises a hand in greeting.

“Leave this one to me,” you tell her as your feet take you to where Logan’s sitting, contemplating the way in which his leather jacket hugs his wide frame. “Long time no see.”

“Hey, kid,” he grins. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much. Nobody has puked yet, so that’s a good thing,” you crinkle your nose, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Whiskey?”

“You know me so well,” a smirk takes place in his lips, and he smiles cockily. “Though this time, I won’t be leavin’ without payin’.”

“We’ll see about that,” you go back to your usual spot behind the counter, looking for a glass. Your cheeks kind of hurt from smiling so hard. Next to you, Gwen studies your reaction to seeing Logan. “Is that your boyfriend?”

You almost drop the whiskey bottle. “God, no. He’s not my boyfriend. Barely know the guy.”

“It’s funny,” she says, raising her eyebrows with a knowing look, as if she knows something you don’t. “He hasn’t stopped looking at you since he arrived.”

“It’s probably because of this,” you reply, lifting the bottle in her direction before pouring a small amount into a glass. Just as you’re about to walk over to him, a girl slides into the sit beside him, her long blonde hair swept up in a ponytail. She’s wearing a stunning red dress and black heels. You wonder if she’s a model, because she certainly looks like one.

Her hand creeps up his arm, fingernails scraping against the worn leather. Although Logan’s expression is hard to read, he doesn’t even flinch.

“You know what? Here’s his drink– You take care of it. I’ll stay here,” you don’t give Gwen a chance to talk back, instead staying behind the bar, engaging in small talk with other clients. 

“Doll, are you okay?” Adam asks you after noticing you struggling to open a beer bottle. He takes it from your hands and opens it with ease. “There you go.”

“Thank you, Adam. I’m fine, never been better. Why you ask?

“You sure?”

“Affirmative.”

“You mixed up our drinks,” he explains in his most psychologist-like voice. “This never happens to you. Michael has my wine, and I’ve got his martini.”

“Fuck! I’m so sorry. I just— I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you chew on your bottom lip, rubbing your temples. “I feel stupid.”

“Oh, please. Don’t say that. You’re far from being stupid,” he sits up straight, reaching for your fingers and giving them an apologetic squeeze. “If you ask me, I think you’ve got your mind on someone else,” he must notice how you visibly get tense because he adds: “Remember: I know when you’re lying. You didn’t charge him the other day, which means that you must really like him,” taking a tentative sip of the martini he didn’t even ordered, Adam shrugs. “I’m a great observer. That’s all.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the blonde girl from before returning to where her friends are chatting. Logan is left alone, and you watch him grab his glass and head towards the counter.

“As I said, your mind’s somewhere else,” Adam sighs, a tiny smirk tugging at his lips. “Go get your man. I’ll survive.”

“Not my man. But thanks, older-and-wiser-version-of-cupid.”

Pretending not to have seen Logan, you continue with your work. He remains silent for some minutes before finally saying: “Hi.”

Hi? It sounds so out of character for him.

“Hey, claws,” you force a smile, still avoiding to meet his gaze. “Do you need anything?”

Logan points to his empty glass, like a toddler asking for more cereal. “I also wanted to talk to you.”

“I thought you were busy over there,” you say, surprisingly managing to sound nonchalant, despite the jealousy bubbling underneath your friendly tone. “Did you get her number?”

“What? No.”

“Why not? She’s cute.”

Yeah, maybe you don’t sound as collected as you think.

Whether Logan notices it or not, he chooses not to mention it. He folds his arms over his chest, fixing his brown eyes on you. “I’m not interested.”

“And what is it that interests you, champ?” your question elicits a low chuckle from him. Just as he opens his mouth to seemingly reply, Gwen appears out of nowhere to ask you about the price of a certain drink. Your gaze shifts between her and Logan, who remains focused on you while sipping his drink.

After that, Gwen leaves. The man in front of you goes poker-faced, pursing his lips, and his abrupt change in demeanor alarms you. “Wade wants to have dinner tomorrow at his apartment– well, our apartment. I live with him now. It’s complicated,” he adds with a dismissive wave of his hand, and you laugh. “Anyway, he asked me to tell you that you’re invited. I know we don’t know each other that much, but… he said you seem like someone worth havin’ around,” he mumbles awkwardly, eyes downcast. “I think the same as well.”

You could die at peace.

“You’re a lucky fucker because I don’t work on Sundays,” you quip, smiling. “I’d be more than happy to attend your feast.”

“Great. I thought you would turn down the invitation.”

“Now why would you think that?”

“‘Cause you barely know me– us,” he corrects himself rapidly. “Plus, Wade’s annoying as hell when he puts his mind to it. You’ll see.”

“Marital problems?” he actually in response. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Oh, I’ll bring the dessert.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But I do want to,” you tilt your head in an effort to hide your longing for him.

“Just want to get under my skin, huh? I can see why Wade likes you,” Logan beams, reaching out to tuck a $100 bill into the pocket of your apron. “The tip’s included.”

“I don’t know how things work in your universe, but you’re giving me way more money than you’re supposed to. I can't accept this.”

“Oh, but you will,” his gravelly voice fucks your system up, and you’re glad he can’t see how you squeeze your legs together behind the bar.

He writes down Wade’s address on a random napkin, holding his breath as he stands up. “I should get goin’. See you tomorrow then.”

Before he walks out the door, you stop him. “Logan? You didn’t answer my other question.”

His back shakes momentarily with laughter. Turning around to face you, his stare leaves you even more confused. “Good night, doll.”

This is becoming a habit: every time he goes away, you feel as though you’ve just run a marathon with no water available. Your mouth is completely dry, your fingers are numb and there’s a knot in your stomach that’s becoming all too familiar.

“Would you mind telling me where you got him?” Gwen’s voice makes you almost jump out of your skin.

“He’s not from around here. I think he’s Canadian.”

You’ve got this. You’ve got this. You’ve got this.

Knocking softly on Wade’s door, you step back, the container holding the tiramisu cold to your touch. It’s your first time trying out this recipe, so you’re expecting it to at least not taste like shit.

Wade answers the apartment door, acting surprised when you remain silent. “Well, look what the wind blew in: if it isn’t my husband’s lover. How dare you? We’re still going to couples therapy.”

You show him the container, and he squints at it. “Tiramisu. You want it or not?”

“I hate twenty-somethings,” he says with a defeated sigh, stepping aside to let you into the apartment. 

Leaving your purse on the nearest surface, you scan the living room, wondering where Logan might be. There’s a small mirror beneath the couch, and you check yourself for the hundredth time tonight. “Don’t get too excited. He’s still showering,” Wade’s voice rings in your ears, and you turn to look at him, your eyebrows knitted. “Yeah. I noticed. You’re already drooling over that big piece of metal between his legs.”

“Keep quiet!” you cover his mouth with your palm, noticing the scarred state of his skin up close. “Wade, you fucking dog. Are you licking my hand?”

“Couldn’t help it. You taste like mascarpone cheese and espresso.”

Then Logan emerges from the bathroom, with only a white towel draped around his waist. Droplets of water fall from his wet hair, tracing the muscle of his abs, ending somewhere beneath his happy trail. Your eyes keep flickering between him and his torso until he clears his throat. “I thought you were comin’ later.”

“Me too, but I…,” you trail off, your brain struggling to catch up, “I didn’t know what else to do at my place.”

“It’s fine. Just– let me put on some clothes.”

“Please don’t,” Wade murmurs next to you, but Logan only scoffs. “I was just being honest. Communication is key.”

When Wade and you are alone again, he lets out a harsh breath. “That was probably the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. My pants are really tight right now.”

“Thin walls, buddy!” Logan shouts from his bedroom, earning a laugh from you. 

Like A Prayer starts playing. Wade moves his hips to the beat, getting lost in the melody. “Is that your phone?”

“Yeah, but I always take a few seconds to dance to it. Such a banger!” he says, then picks up his phone, accepting the call. “Hey, Ness! What´s up?” Wade covers the speaker before telling you: “It’s Vanessa. My ex-girlfriend. We fuck once a week, sometimes even twice.”

From behind, Logan nudges your arm with his, looking at you. ”Hey, kid.”

“No, I’m not busy at all,” Wade exclaims, grabbing his crotch and thrusting into the air. “I’ll be there in ten, cupcake. See you,” he spreads his arms wide and whistles. “Someone’s getting laid tonight!”

“You made me come all the way here… and now you’re leaving?”

“What? My friend Wolverine wanted to invite you over. I just had to provide the apartment,” in one quick movement, he presses a kiss to your cheek, then does the same to Logan. “Shave yourself, will you?”

“Go fuck yourself, will you?”

“Love you too, honey. Hope you two lovebirds have a good night, because I know I will!”

Wade throws a wink over his shoulder before heading out, the apartment going dead silent. Logan and you stand frozen, staring at each other, although he quickly drops his gaze, unable to maintain eye contact. A giggle threatens to escape you: he wanted to see you. Could he possibly enjoy your company as much as you enjoy his?

Logan watches the spot where Wave had just been. The absence of his chaotic energy makes the room feel strangely empty now. He coughs lightly, the sound awkwardly loud in the quiet room.

“So... I, uh, bought pizza,” he says, his voice a little too casual, as if trying to cover up his nervousness. Averting his eyes, he focuses on the pizza boxes on the table.

You catch the hesitation in his tone, your curiosity piqued by his discomfort. Tilting your head, a teasing smile forms on your lips. “Pizza, huh? You sure know how to impress a girl.”

Logan chuckles, the sound strained, as he scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, I figured it was a safe choice. Didn’t want to ruin it, y’know?”

You move closer to the table, the warmth from the pizza boxes radiating against your hands as you open one of them. The rich smell of melted cheese and pepperoni fills the air, a comforting scent that makes your stomach growl softly. “Thank you. I’m a big fan of pizza.”

He sits in the chair across from you, taking a bite of his slice. You watch him quietly, your own thoughts churning. The truth of his origins had been a shock at first, but now, it just made you want to know more about the man. What was his life like in the other universe? Did he miss it? Was he happier here, or was he longing to return?

“Logan…,” you begin, your tone gentle but probing, “Can I ask you something?”

He glances up at you, eyes widening. There’s something in your eyes –an understanding, maybe– that makes him feel like you could see right through him. 

“Sure,” he replies, trying to sound more at ease than he really feels. “Ask away.”

You hesitate for a moment, not wanting to push too hard. “I was wondering... would it be okay if I asked you some questions? About, you know, your life. Where you're from.”

The bite of pizza suddenly feels heavy in his mouth. He hadn’t talked much about his world, not even with Wade. Partly because it was too painful, and partly because he wasn’t sure how to explain how things turned out for him. He nods slowly, setting his slice down. “Yeah, it's okay. I’ll answer what I can.”

“I just... I want to understand you better.”

“Well, first and foremost, I’m no hero. You should know that by now.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Kid, I’m the worst Logan. A complete failure. Of all the variants out there, Wade just had to pick the one despised by every living soul on his earth,” Logan looks away, his voice low and heavy. You’re wondering if doing this was a good idea. “I need a drink.”

He gets up and you follow him into the kitchen. He rummages through the fridge, in search of a cold beer. Meanwhile, you attempt to find the right words. “I don’t think–”

With a sharp flick of his wrist, three metal claws sprout from between his knuckles. A gasp catches in your throat as he uses his claws to pierce the beer can, drinking from the punctured holes. Once he’s done, he goes back to staring at you. Your gaze, on the other hand, is still glued to the now-empty beer can. “What?” he asks, exhaling slowly.

“That was completely unnecessary,” you mutter, and he lets out a bitter chuckle, tossing the can into the trash. “But, back to what you said before– I don’t think you’re the worst Logan.”

“You didn’t know me back then, darlin’. I fucked it up,” he leans against the counter, arms crossed defensively over his chest. “Like the Logan from this universe, I once belonged to the X-Men too. I remember that Scott used to beg me to wear my suit. So did Jean, Storm, Beast– All of them,” his gaze grows more distant, and you can tell that memories are flooding his mind. “Wanted me to be part of the team, but I wouldn’t do it. Told them they looked fucking ridiculous.”

The pizza’s long forgotten. You take the risk and get a bit closer to him, your eyes never leaving his. 

Logan’s silence stretches for a moment before he speaks again. “One day, while I was off on my own, the humans came. They went mutant hunting.”

Your heart clenches at the pain in his voice. He still remembers everything as if it had happened yesterday. “I can guess the rest. You don’t have to–”

But he cuts you off. “No, let me say it. I need to say it,” he takes a deep breath, lowering his head. “By the time I stumbled home, shit-faced from the bar, it was too late. They were dead. They called after me and I walked away.”

Reaching out, your hand gently brushes against his. He doesn’t pull away, but instead searches for your eyes. “My suit's all I've got to remind me of who they were. What I did. I found them and they were… dead. I started killing, and I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. I turned the whole world against the X-Men.”

You tighten your grip on his hand, knowing there’s nothing you can do to change how he feels. “You’re not a bad person, Logan,” he shakes his head, mumbling something you can’t quite catch. “I mean it. What happened back then doesn’t define you. You took the blame for their deaths upon yourself. I can tell you loved them deeply, and I’ll never fully understand the pain you feel. I wish I could. I wish I could take it away, make you forget somehow, but I can’t. That’s not how life works. But you got your second chance: you saved this world. My world,” gently cupping his face in your hands, you allow your fingers to caress his cheeks. He leans into your touch, watching you with half-lidded eyes. “You’re my hero. I’m your biggest fan– after Wade, obviously, which is a lot to say.”

He grins, letting out a laugh. “Easy there, bub.”

“Should I give you some space?”

That’s the last thing he wants from you right now. You already know that as he looks you up and down, placing his hands on the small of your back, his thumbs drawing small circles on your skin. There’s no turning back– The warmth between you feels almost like a fever dream. “For a long time, all I wanted was to disappear. I couldn’t stand waking up every morning, knowing that another day awaited me.”

“And what happened?” your breath mingles with his, his closeness becoming nearly intoxicating. “What changed?”

“I met a pretty girl at a pub, that’s what happened,” he murmurs, his dilated pupils flicking up to meet your gaze. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”

“Do all your kisses come with a warning?”

“God, do you ever shut up?”

You don’t have time to respond because he kisses you there and then. His stubble scrapes your skin as your mouths meet again and again, needy hands that hold you as if you were prone to breaking. Logan licks into your mouth, sliding his tongue against yours and swallowing every one of your whimpers.

“So this is what it takes to shut you up, huh?” he murmurs against your lips. You can feel him smiling, and it makes your heart skip a beat. 

“Keep talking and you won’t get a single bite of my tiramisu,” you tease him, kissing him again, the taste of beer numbing your senses. “I really like kissing you.”

“The feeling’s mutual, but now that you’ve mentioned that tiramisu…”

“Am I that easily replaced?”

“No. You’re just a pain in the ass.”

Jokes aside, you’re as happy as a clam.

Since that night you and Logan kissed, you’ve been living your best life. Like a freaking schoolgirl with a crush. Some things never seem to change.

He hasn’t been to the bar in three days. Yes, you’re counting them. No, you haven’t lost your mind. You want to see him, but there’s something about making the first move that gives you the chills. What would his reaction be if you showed outside of apartment?

It’s been a long time since you’ve been with anybody. On top of that, all the guys you’ve dated were your age. Being with someone that older than you certainly wasn’t no your plans. You’d be lying if you said that the mere idea of being with him in that way didn’t excite you.

Oh boy, you miss him. You miss his scruffy voice, his gorgeous hair. And you two aren’t even official yet. To be honest, you don’t even know what he wants from you. Is he even the type to be in a relationship?

“Nighty night, gentlemen,” you say to Gary and his friends as you find yourself in front of them, smoothing your apron. Gwen had called in sick tonight, so it’s just you at the bar babysitting a bunch of grown-men.

“What’s up, doll? You’ve forgotten about us. We miss you coming in here to chat,” Gary’s eating his burger at the same time he speaks, something you find repulsive, but you’ve seen worse. “Y’know, I’d love to take you out someday. I have a place you’d like.”

The other men laugh and punch him in the back, just boosting his ego. Pathetic. 

“I’ll let you know when I’m free,” you reply with the most polite smile you can offer, intending to go on. “What are you having tonight?”

“You always pull that shit, baby. I don’t think you’re so busy that you can’t accept a date.”

You hate the way he’s looking at you, as if you were wrong for not being interested. As if you didn’t know any better.

“You’re reading minds now? Shocking, Gary.”

“Oh, doll. That attitude of yours shows you’ve never been with a real man like me, that’s all,” he leans back in his chair, resting one of his arms on the table and the other one near his crotch, manspreading. “It’s alright. I like you bratty.”

“I’ll be back when you finally have something to order,” you attempt to turn around but he grabs your wrist, pulling you closer. Your eyes lock, and he seems to enjoy this: being in control. Like a predator hunting his prey. “Come on, Gary. I don’t want to have to kick you out.”

“It’s not that you don't like me, right? You’ve already got your mouth full.”

“Careful.”

“What? Don’t tell me you’re not fucking that useless mutant. I see you like ‘em older. Pretty little things like you drive me wild.”

You laugh in his face, showing him your teeth. “It was never about your age, Gary. You’re right: I do like them older. I’m just not into bald, vertically-challenged pricks.”

His entourage of idiots goes silent after that. He looks up at you, eyes burning with hatred. His grip on your wrist tightens, probably leaving a mark. “Fucking bitch.”

“Get your hands off her.”

Logan’s voice forces the two of you to look in his direction. It seems that he’s just arrived at the pub, his jacket still on. 

“You joining us? We’re just getting started here, big boy.”

“Did you not hear me?” Logan lunges forward, his nose almost touching Gary’s. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

“Easy there, cowboy. I’m just having a chat with your girl. She’s one of the good ones, I’ll give you that,” arching a sly brow, his forehead puckers. “You don’t like sharing? We can even take turns.”

Logan clenches his jaw, lips set in a grim line. “Say one more word, and I’ll fucking kill you.”

“I’ll give you a full sentence instead: can you even get it up?” 

The tension in the air is thick, every second stretching out as Logan's anger simmers dangerously close to the surface. Gary’s smug grin only makes it worse, pushing him to the edge. Before you can react, Logan’s fist swings forward, connecting with Gary’s jaw with a sickening crack. Gary staggers back, realising your wrist. Blood seeps from his nose, his white shirt becoming stained with it. “You fucker! You broke my nose!”

“We’re just getting started here, big boy,” Logan mocks him, repeating his previous words.

“Stop!” you shout, moving quickly to grab his arm, trying to pull him back. But he’s beyond hearing, his rage blinding him to everything else. He shakes you off, and with a fierce growl, drives another punch into Gary’s stomach. The latter doubles over, gasping for air, the wind knocked out of him. He then falls to the floor, curling into a ball. People start to gather around you, and soon your beloved bar becomes a box ring.

“That’s enough, Logan! He’s barely conscious,” you murmur under your breath, stepping between them, hands up in a desperate attempt to create some space. Logan pauses, chest heaving, fists still clenched, as he finally looks at you. The wildness in his eyes starts to fade, replaced by a dawning realization of what he’s done.

“He deserved it,” he nods vigorously to himself, as if trying to explain his point. “He was hurting you.”

“If you keep that up, you’re going to kill him. My bar is not a fucking cemetery,” your voice trembles a little bit, expecting to talk some sense into him. “I won’t let you do this.”

The room is quiet now, the only sound being Logan’s heavy breathing as he stands there, still tense, still processing. You turn to Gary’s friends, cold fury in your eyes. “Get him out of here,” you watch as they haul him up, practically dragging him to the door. The other clients continue to stare at Logan, their mouths hanging open. “Everybody out, right now! Go home. We’re closing earlier tonight.”

Adam is the last person to leave, slamming the door behind him. You rush to the counter, searching for a mop to clean the fresh blood off the floor. Still agitated, the images of Logan hitting Gary flash in your mind. He approaches you from behind, his fingers circling your forearm. “Bub–”

“Don’t. Now is not the time.”

“I was protecting you.”

“I told you to stop, and you didn’t. You just shook me off,” you snap, glancing at his knuckles which are not even bruised. Slamming your eyes shut, you get to your feet and wash your hands in the sink, the remaining water becoming reddish for a moment.

Logan moves closer, resting his chin on your shoulder. He wraps his arms lazily around your middle section. ”I’m sorry.”

You turn in his arms, your back flushed against the sink and your nose in the air. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I don’t have a phone.”

“But– Jesus, Logan. You could’ve come sooner. I thought you regretted what happened the other day,” you say and the muscles in his face twitch, his body stiffening at your words. “Thought you no longer wanted me.”

“No, bub. I– I still want you. I want all of you, trust me,” he murmurs, and you allow him to press his body against yours, the scent of the cigar he must have smoked recently enveloping your senses. “I just… don’t know how to do this. I have a habit of ruining things, and I’m trying to figure out the best way to be with you without hurting you.”

“Pushing me away also hurts,” your eyes flick up to meet his gaze again, and he whispers under his breath. “I can’t read your mind. You need to tell me what’s going on in that ancient skull of yours.”

His face falters, flashing you a mischievous look. His hand creeps under the fabric of your shirt, fingernails scrapping against your spine. “I’m sorry, princess. I truly am.”

“You can’t just say ‘sorry’ with that voice and expect me to–”

You’re cut off by his lips crashing down onto yours. You melt into the kiss, unable to deny what your body has been craving for the past days. 

“I thought your kisses came with a warning,” you say, detaching your mouth from his, a smile spreading uncontrollably in your face as you see his toothy grin.

“Shut up and kiss me, will you?”

In a clash of tongues and teeth, your mouths meet once again. Tugging the hair at his nape, you feel him growl against your lips. His strong hands trace every curve of your body, kneading the flesh of your hips and undoing the knot at the back of your apron. You’re becoming one with the sink, but in a moment like this, you couldn’t care less. Logan’s hard on nudges your lower stomach, and he ruts against you like an animal.

“You said you wanted to know what’s on my mind, right?” his teeth nibble on the skin of your neck, syrupy voice going straight to your core. “Well, I’d love nothing more than to touch you right now.”

“Right here? On the counter?”

“Yeah, on the fucking counter,” he grabs you by your thighs, hosting you up and placing your body on top of the cold bar. He nudges your knees apart, his bulge meeting your clothed cunt deliciously. “Will you let me, baby? Can I make you come in here?”

“Please. I’m glad we have such a low budget. Camera installment is t–too expensive these days.”

“Do you always talk this much?” he slowly unbuttons your pants, and you help him to remove them.

“Yes. Next question,” your breath hitches in your throat as you feel the pad of his thumb circling your clit through your panties. Your eyelids drop, your head lolling back. “Fuck, that feels good.”

Logan hums, mesmerized with the way your hips roll into his hand, your whimpers sounding like music to his ears. “You have any idea how I felt when I saw him touching you? Wanted to rip his hands off you,” his eyes drift to your chest, how it rises and falls with impatience. “But it’s me who gets to have you like this. He can fantasize about you all he wants: I’m the only one who touches you, ain’t I right?” you sigh with content as his fingers graze your slit, aimlessly bucking your hips. He doesn’t go any further, and you tug at the collar of his flannel, needing more of his callousand hands on you. “Nuh-uh. You want something, you gotta use your words. Got it?”

“I w–want your fingers inside me,” you don’t even recognize your own voice at this point. The few guys you had slept with had never been very talkative during sex. But Logan isn’t like them. This is just the beginning and you’re already starting to realize that he has a dirty mouth, that expectant look on his face as he waits to see your reaction to his words. “Please, Logan. I want you so bad.”

“Oh, I know, bub. There’s something about me I don’t think you know,” he inserts one of his fingers in your cunt, your slick coating the palm of his hand. “These claws I have… they didn’t come on their own. Let’s just say my sense of smell is… pretty good,” Logan can almost see the gears turning in your head as you try to think coherently. He moves his middle finger in and out of you, stretching your walls. “And you… have been wet ever since the first time you saw me. Always nice to everybody, making sure they feel at ease,” you feel like you’re being stretched even further, another one of his fingers sinking into your warm pussy. “But you’re so needy, too. How long has it been since someone touched you like this?”

“Too long, f–fuck. Too long,” you’re squirming, a totally whiny mess. He retratcs his wet fingers and instead goes back to flicking your clit, this time with much less delicacy. His left hand squeezes your tits, and you hate the fact that you’re still wearing clothes. “Shit, Logan. I need you to fuck me. Please. Need your cock.”

His face comes to rest at your neck, and you feel lingering kisses and bites that keep you grounded to earth. “Not here. I need a bed to fuck you properly. You’re only getting my fingers now,” he positions them inches away from your entrance, testing your patience. “Tell me who owns this pussy.”

“L-logan–”

“Tell me and I’ll make you come,” his husky voice is making you dizzy, tears shimmering in your eyes. “Come on. Know you want it as much as I do.”

You succumb to the tentation, like divinity turned to sin. He kisses you roughly, and you struggle to find the correct words. “It’s you, Logan. You own my pussy. It’s f-fucking yours.”

With that, he goes back to nudging that spot that makes you see starts, that filthy squelching sound getting mixed up with your moans. The knot in your belly keeps growing tighter the more he pumps his fingers in and out of you. 

“I said you were only getting my fingers for now, but fuck… I need to gest a taste of this sweet cunt.”

He’s on his knees in an instant, urging your legs apart to make room for his body. Your thighs tighten around his face as he licks a hot stripe up your folds, tracing a heated path on your cunt, not wishing to waste a single second. Pleasure builds quickly, your breath hitching as your hands find their way into his hair, pulling him closer when your body begins to tremble. 

“I’m close,” you pant, breathing hard, grinding your hips against his face. “I’m so close.”

“That’s it. Come in my mouth like the good girl you are.”

Who had given him a damn script for this?

The release is explosive. Like the peak of a roller coaster: you go up up up, ascending higher. You think you almost see Jesus, but at some point, you also have to crash down with force. Your shoulders slump, your entire body cramping up; yet he doesn’t let you go that easily, his fingers still working, scissoring within you while you ride out the final waves of your high, drawing out every last moment of ecstasy.

Once you finally manage to open your eyes, there he is, staring down at you. He taps your lower lip with his fingers, and then mutters: “Open.”

And you do, because you’re just as messed up as he is. Your mouth parts, and he slides his fingers between your lips, dragging them smoothly across your tongue. His knuckles brush the back of your throat, and you gag around the intrusion, tasting yourself. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, clearly satisfied with the way you’ve cleaned them off.

“I think we should really pay a visit to your apartment,” he suggests, groaning in defeat, and you feel his bulge poking your hip. He must be painfully hard. “I meant what I said earlier. I need a bed if we’re going to fuck. My back’s hurting.”

You raise an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth curving into a smirk. “Why not go to yours?”

“Wade’s in there. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate.”

You can’t help but laugh, pausing a moment to collect your thoughts, heat rising to your cheeks. “So we’re going rodeo?”

Aiming to silence up, Logan kisses you, pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Only if you can handle it.”

part 2: “GIVE ME THE FIRST TASTE”

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

[a-mint-bear]

Boss Lady Has a House Spouse

Female Yandere x Reader

You've been a stay-at-home partner for about six months. Your long-time girlfriend is a CEO at a big corporation. A quick trip to her office, and you find out she acts A LOT differently in front of her employees.

• After your job suddenly fell through and a long, unfruitful job hunt later, your girlfriend suggested that (if you wanted to and it was okay with you, of course) you could stay home and look after things since she worked such long hours.

● She makes more than enough money for the two of you to live comfortably and you have a really nice place together. You've started cooking more and learning new recipes, and your place isn't so big that cleaning takes forever. You have lots of time to pursue your hobbies and be creative. It's a nice life and the two of you are really happy together.

• You and your girlfriend had been together for a long time, and had known each other even longer. She was super affectionate and she loved to spoil you. When she came home, the first thing she always did was bury her face in the crook of your neck, telling you through so many kisses how much she missed you. She was always loving on you and hanging all over you whenever she got the chance.

• She would lay her head on your lap when you watched movies together, and more than a few times you dozed off with your head on her chest as she ran her fingers through your hair. She loved sitting in your lap and pulling you into hers, and kissing you no matter the time or place. She was not shy about PDA either. Sometimes, it felt like a lot, but it was all so... genuine. She really loves you so much and you think of her as the love of your life, even if you can get a little shy about things from time to time.

• One day, you realized after she'd gone to work that she'd left the lunch you'd made her on the counter. You wondered if she would mind it if you just showed up as a surprise, and laughed to yourself at the sheer domesticity of the situation. You hoped you wouldn't embarrass her in front of her employees. You made sure you looked nice before leaving the house.

• There were some office workers going through the lobby when you came in. They must've been going out to lunch themselves. They approached you, curious about who you were there for or if they could help you find your way around. When you told them, they seemed... surprised? A few of them chatted amongst themselves while you shot her a text that you were there. They were talking pretty softly, but you still heard every word.

"Wait, I recognize them from the picture on Boss's desk. They're kinda cute. Poor thing. I can't imagine living with the Ice Queen."

"You're right! I mean, at least she's hot. Otherwise, it'd be a nightmare working for that sadist."

"Oh shit, man. If she heard you, you know you'd be working overtime. Again."

• They laughed to themselves, and it pissed you off a little. One of the other employees was trying to strike up a friendly conversation with you, but you just couldn't pay attention. You supposed it was normal to have a crap relationship with your boss, but to say that stuff in earshot of you, they had some serious balls. Before you could say anything, she was there.

• You heard her heels before you saw her. She popped out of the elevator, glancing around the lobby until she spotted you. She looked amazing in her work clothes, as usual. Well-fitting with a pencil skirt that hugged her curves just right. Every time you saw her you felt like the luckiest person in the whole damn world.

• "Hi sweetie." She smiled, so warm and dazzling it made your heart race just seeing her. She didn't pay any mind to her employees and made a beeline for you. "I'm so sorry you had to come all this way..."

• You told her it was fine, that you didn't mind at all. And that you both know she'd work through lunch if you didn't pack it for her. She laughed (a sweet and giddy giggle she often did when you teased her), and you could see all her employees' eyes go wide.

• She held your face, kissing you so soft and tenderly that you literally felt weak in the damn knees. "I'll see you tonight, love. I want to take you out as a nice thank you. Do you want my card? You can go get yourself a new date night outfit if you want. You know I'll love anything you wear..."

• You knew she'd pout if you said you'd just wear something of yours, so you said that was nice of her and you were looking forward to it. She kissed you again, and you could see her employees looking a bit flustered. She leaned and whispered (but not really) in your ear...

"Why don't you pick out something for me too?" Her low, sultry voice gave you goosebumps. "Something you'd love to see me in... for a little bit, at least."

• You laughed, your face on fire at that point. You were used to her PDA but she still found ways to fluster you every now and then. You might've been mistaken, but you swore she glared at her employees when she finally looked away, still holding you close. Maybe she was just annoyed the little "private" moment had such an audience. But nonetheless, they were whispering amongst themselves as they scattered, seeming unnerved. She looked satisfied and planted one more kiss (on the cheek this time) and told you to have a nice rest of your day.

• The employees you'd met in the lobby did end up working some mandatory overtime for the next few nights. The one she'd seen chatting you up got a week of it. Gossip traveled fast about how the Boss' partner made her a lovesick, flirty mess (with everyone who wasnt there VERY skeptical about that), and that they were strictly off-limits if you didn't want her coming down on you.

● There were a few brave idiots who tried to joke about it with the Boss to razz her a little, to try and make her seem more human and relatable. One poor soul even snickered when they saw her smile when you texted her. One of the lobby witnesses talked crap to a horrified group, saying that they found your number and wondered if they should text you, bragging that they could steal you away. He seemed spooked the next day but wouldn't talk about it.

‐-----------------------------------------------

more of just a straight-up posessive yandere than a "scary" one, but im not sure if she made you lose your job and/or sabotaged your job hunt, or if she's just secretly happy you're all hers now but would never tell you. maybe for another story 🤔

this header isn't quite what i had in my brain, i imagine her as chubbier but when you look up "anime curvy business woman" the only results you get are huge chests lol. not even hips to match

but it kind of looks like the other boss lady pic from the Yandere Girls post so i went with it (like the hair maybe?)

there's two boss ladies in my brain: one that flirts with her employee and loves to fluster them because she's obsessed with them, and this one where they're domestic as hell and super soft. i don't think they can be one person, realistically

unless you used to work for her after her starting to obsess over you and now you're domestic as hell. could be *shrugs*

its really hard to find art of professional anime ladies in business clothes w/o their cleavage just being out there and making me feel like a weird perv editing it for the header. like SO damn difficult lol too ace for that shit

Boss Lady might get a name if people like her/if she gets a longer story

[staytheword]

make it a home

make it a home — one shot request by @allypasta 💚 [ general masterlist ]

• changbin x gn reader.

• non idol au. established relationship. fluff. domestic stuff. cuddling. no smut. a little suggestive. use of "babe" and "baby".

• word count: 3k

Your boyfriends wants to travel with you. But first, he wants to make your place a real home.

• note: the request was "an absurd amount of fluff", that is, "so much fluff it hurts". I don't know if it does, but I've definitely hurt myself with the fluff. GAH. I hope you like it and thank you for the sweet request <3

You ease yourself in Changbin’s arms, your nose grazing his skin. Your head is nestled in the crook of his neck, his body enveloping yours. On the television is a random travel show that you’ve put on to fill the room with noise. You are too busy cuddling to really pay attention to it, appreciating your boyfriend’s warmth and the steady movement of his chest as he breathes. He’s just come out of the shower, so his skin smells of soap and body wash, and his hair is damp, curling messily on his head. He’s wearing a hoodie and sweatpants, as well as the wool socks you’ve given him recently because he kept complaining his feet were always cold. You’re wearing a hoodie as well, one of his, that smells of his aftershave, the black material soft against your skin. 

When Changbin’s voice erupts from the quiet, you realize you’ve been dozing off on his shoulder. 

“We should go there,” he says. His eyes are fixed on the television so you figure that unlike you, he’s been paying attention to the show. 

You glance at the screen, watching the host wander around the streets of a European city, and smile softly. “You think?” 

Changbin nods. “Looks beautiful. And I’ve never been to that part of the world.” 

“Me neither,” you admit. “I’ve never been anywhere, actually.” 

Your life has never really allowed you to travel - but you’ve been able to save some money recently, and the dream actually feels like a possibility. 

You shiver as Changbin places a kiss on the top of your head. “I want to go there with you,” he whispers, his voice low, like he wants the words to only belong to you. “You can wear your yellow sunglasses… We can eat ice cream all day.” 

“I think our bellies would hurt, baby,” you chuckle, cupping his cheek in your hand, caressing his face. 

He pouts, but his smile isn’t far, and he leans it to steal a tender kiss from your lips. You hum as his hand slides around your neck to settle on the back of your head, holding it gently. His other hand is still settled on the small of your back, sneaked under your hoodie to touch your skin.

“Your hands are warm,” you whisper to him. 

“Yours aren’t,” he chuckles. 

You exchange a few kisses, Changbin playing with your hair, your body relaxing even further against his, and you swear you could fall asleep right there. Changbin leans back after a while, tightening his arms around you, pulling you closer. Your limbs are intertwined on the couch, the lights are dim, and the curtains are drawn to shield you from the outside. Safe. Warm.

“But before we go away, there’s something we have to do,” Changbin says decidedly, twirling a strand of your hair around his finger. 

“Hmm, what?” 

“We need to make this place our own,” he answers, one of his hands gesturing to the apartment surrounding you. “We’ve barely settled in since we moved.” 

You take a long look around. You have to admit he’s right - you might have unpacked all of your boxes, but your things look like they were just thrown here and there without any real thought. You know there are paintings you have to hang up, small renovations you’ve wanted to take care of for a while. But you moved in the middle of a hectic period and everything seemed like it could wait - except months have gone by and you haven’t made it a home yet. 

“I know I was supposed to take care of the bookshelves weeks ago…” you admit sheepishly. 

Changbin sits up a little to take a better look at you, shaking his head. “It’s just not on you, babe. How about we do this together? We’ll move the furniture around, maybe paint… Get some house plants.”

You laugh, nodding your head. “Hm… I like it. Although I’m sure our house plants would die very quickly.” 

Changbin shrugs. “Then let’s kill house plants together.” 

You snort. “How romantic you are, Seo Changbin.” 

“You know me,” he smirks, pulling you back into his arms. 

He covers one of your cheeks with kisses and it quickly starts tickling, so you cry out, struggling to get out of his grasp, but he’s stronger than you. You giggle hysterically as you beg him to stop - and of course, he doesn’t.

The next weekend, you wake up early and spend more than an hour at the local hardware store choosing a new color for your bedroom walls. Changbin wants yellow, you want blue, so you eventually settle on a mint green. When you get home, you move most of the furniture of your bedroom, leaving the bed and covering it with plastic. You slip on old t-shirts, put on your favorite playlist on the bluetooth speaker, and you spend the afternoon singing along and painting the walls. It takes much longer than it should, of course, because Changbin and you keep teasing each other, painting hearts and messages instead of doing it appropriately. 

By the end of the afternoon only the first layer is done, your sides and cheeks hurt from laughing, and you’re starving. You prepare two bowls of fried rice as Changbin folds the laundry, and you eat as you brainstorm a possible new disposition for your living room. Caught up in your project, you almost forget to finish your bowls. 

Hours later you fall back on the couch, appreciating your hard work. The room feels much more cozy this way. You are exhausted, and after cuddling in front of the television for a while, you decide to head to bed. 

“Oh…” you let out, stopping in front of your bedroom. 

The bed is still covered in plastic, the room smelling of fresh paint. You peck your lips, turning to Changbin. 

“We can’t sleep in there,” you moan, putting a hand against your forehead. “What are we going to do?” 

Changbin is frowning, nibbling at his lips. Then, he gives you a smirk and lifts an index. 

“I have an idea. Go get ready, I’ll prepare everything.” 

He gives you a quick kiss, and you watch him walk away excitedly. You decide to let him surprise you like he wants - he loves to do such things - and you head to the bathroom. After your daily routine of skincare, you brush your teeth. Your dresser is in the hallway, and you change into your pajamas before heading over to the living room. 

“Can I come in?” you ask, smiling. 

“Yeah!” 

You enter the living room, gasping slightly. Changbin has removed the couch cushions to put them down on the floor and has covered them with what seems like all the blankets you own. The lamp is off, and only the string lights illuminate the room. With all the pillows and cushions, the setting looks incredibly cozy. You grin, meeting Changbin’s expecting gaze. 

“That’s so perfect, Bin,” you say to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. You press your nose against his firm chest - if there’s one thing you’ll never get tired of, it’s the way Changbin hugs you.

He hugs you back, his cheek squished against your head. “I’m glad you like it, babe.” 

You ask yourself how you got so lucky. Ever since your first date, Changbin has been the romantic type. You expected it to sizzle out at some point, but even after more than a year together, it still hasn’t. He keeps surprising you, being attentive, imaginative, and thoughtful. 

Changbin moves a little, unwrapping his arms from around you, but you grab his shirt, letting out a soft groan. 

“Nope,” you whisper. “You’re not going anywhere.” 

He laughs, and his body vibrates against yours. “I just need to get changed, babe, okay? Then we can cuddle.” 

You pout. “Promise?” 

“Only if you promise not to fall asleep without me,” he warns you amusingly, pulling himself out of your grasp with a broad grin on his face. He kisses your hand. “My little koala.”

“Come back quickly,” you cry out dramatically as he walks away.  

You smile as you hear his laugh echo against the walls, and slide under the covers. The couch cushions are soft and comfortable, but you’ve taken more than enough naps on it not to be surprised. With your head on the pillow, and the dim lights, you feel yourself drift off too quickly - but you made a promise to Changbin and you are determined to enjoy his warmth next to yours before you fall asleep. 

You won’t fall asleep.

You won’t. 

“Babe?” 

The voice startles you awake, and you blink furiously to see Changbin’s amused face next to yours. 

“Did you fall asleep without me?” he scowls at you, although he has a playful smile on his face. 

You frown, clearing your throat. “No, I didn’t.” 

But you both know that you did, and Changbin chuckles, wrapping your body around his, keeping you close.

“Traitor,” he whispers in your ear. He tickles your side a little and you squirm. 

“I didn’t! I swear I didn’t!” 

“Oh, so you’re a traitor and a liar?” he teases you, his fingers digging into the skin of your waist, making you a little dizzy. 

You quickly kiss him, dancing with his plump lips. Changbin laughs, but he doesn’t pull away, answering to your kisses with the same energy. 

“Trying to bribe me too?” he adds in between two kisses, his breath hot against your skin as he grazes your earlobe with his lips. 

You arch against him and you nod mischievously. Neither of you can stop smiling, and you take a second to admire him in the soft orange glow of the room. His curly hair, his dark eyes, the scar on his chin. Your hands explore his naked chest. You love to do it although you’re used to seeing it, as Changbin rarely sleeps with a shirt on. 

“What should I do with you?” he breathes softly, his thumb caressing the bare skin of your shoulder next to the straps of your tank top. 

“I think you should kiss me again,” you answer, tracing his lips with the tips of your fingers. 

Changbin bites his lips, eyes sparkling. “I think you should be on dishes duty for the next week.” 

“What!” you say, erupting into laughter. “And here I was, trying to be romantic.”

He shrugs. “Who says doing dishes isn’t romantic?” 

“Hm, everyone.” 

Changbin smiles, never looking away from you. You could get drunk on the feeling alone - he just has this way of looking at you like you’re the only person in the world. Like he has never seen anything more precious. It tugs at your heartstrings, making you fall in love with him more and more each second. 

“I just love looking at you,” he adds. “Whatever you do, whether it’s doing the dishes, getting dressed, drinking your coffee… That little frown you get when you scroll your phone. Whatever it is, I just like to look at you.” 

You don’t know what to say - the butterflies in your stomach are in a fury, and you have stopped breathing. 

“Changbin…” you whisper.

“I guess I’m weird,” he states.

You nod, although your heart is beating so fast it almost hurts. “Definitely.” 

As you kiss him again, and as he rolls you on your back, his hands exploring your body, you let out the words that make the most sense to you.

“I love you, Bin. You’re everything to me,” you breathe.

He kisses you deeper.

You sit up in bed, lazily stretching your arms. A yawn escapes your lips as you glance beside you. Changbin’s spot is empty, and the sheets do not feel warm under your palm, so he has been up for a while. You rub your eyes, feeling in absolutely no hurry to get up - it’s the weekend and you have nothing planned for the rest of the day. Your boyfriend is probably gaming, or maybe he’s continuing the reorganization of his vinyl collection he started the night before. 

You glance at the mint green walls around you with a smile. It’s taken you a little time to get used to the color, but you adore it. You especially like the huge framed photo that you’ve hung on the wall facing the bed - it’s the picture of a sunny forest Changbin sent you when you had just started dating. He had been away on a camping trip with a friend and had thought of you - that’s what he had said. When you saw him next you had kissed him for the first time. 

The floor feels cold under your feet as you head to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee, Changbin’s hoodie on your shoulders. The apartment feels strangely silent, and you realize that Changbin is not here. You don’t remember him having plans, though. 

“Bin?” you call with a frown. No answer.

You go around the apartment, but it quickly becomes clear that Changbin is not in. You’re not necessarily worried, he might have just stepped out for a quick errand, but usually he leaves a note or a text. You try not to get worried as you watch the coffee drip in your favorite mug, wondering if you should give him a call. 

As you decide to do so, the front door of the apartment opens and closes. You meet Changbin at the door, letting out a relieved sigh. 

“There you are,” you say.

He smiles at you, looking adorable with his cheeks red from the morning cold. “Sorry, koala. I thought I’d make it back before you woke up.” 

“It’s ok. Where have you been?” You ask.

“Just getting something.” 

He removes his black hat, leaving his hair in disarray, and shrugs off his jacket. You realize there’s a brown bag on the floor next to his feet, but when you try to glimpse into it, Changbin blocks your path. 

“Hey, hey,” he chuckles. “Let me prepare my surprise.” 

You squint your eyes, taking a sip of your coffee. “What are you planning?” 

“Absolutely nothing,” he chants, giving your forehead a kiss. “Can I have one, too?” He points to your mug. 

You know it’s just a way of making you leave so he can prepare whatever he is planning, but you’re still curious and you don’t mind playing the game. You push your index against his chest playfully. 

“I know you’re planning something,” you warn, but Changbin only smirks. 

You go back to the kitchen and prepare him a cup of coffee, trying to hear what he is doing in the living room. He’s being silent, however. You are nervous, but you can’t help but smile. When he steps into the room, he’s holding something behind his back and you bite your lip in excitement. 

“We were missing something important,” he says. “Something very important.” 

“What are you talking about?” you ask, chuckling. 

Changbin smirks. “Well, we bought the watering can the other day, but…” He reveals what he is hiding - it’s a small house plant in a clay pot, with dark green leaves, the earth looking a little dry. You gasp and grin. 

“The house plant!” you laugh. “Is this the one we are going to kill?” 

Changbin puts it down on the kitchen island, sliding a hand around your waist. “Don’t say it too loud. She doesn’t know what’s coming for her.” 

“She?” 

“Her name is Mrs. Plant,” Changbin replies very seriously.

“Oh,” you say, trying to hold back your laughter. You turn to the plant, bending slightly forward. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Plant. We are going to take very good care of you.” 

You take a slightly creepy tone with your last words and Changbin snickers, muffling his laugh in your neck. You laugh, turning to him, sliding your arms around his neck. 

“Thank you, Binnie,” you tell him. “I love it.” 

His lips feel a little cold against yours, so you kiss him until they are warm again. Changbin holds you throughout, sighing softly. 

“Mrs. Plant is a little thirsty,” he says. “We should give her some water.” 

“Of course,” you nod. “Hold on.” 

You open the cupboard to grab the cute watering can you found at a yard sale. Bringing it towards the sink, you realize there is something in it. Frowning, you take out the piece of paper and read what is written on it.

Your heart sinks and you turn towards Changbin. 

“Bin, what - what is that?” 

He is smiling fondly at you. With a little shrug, he steps closer, pushing a strand of hair away from your face. “I said we should make this place a home before we left, didn’t I?” 

You stare up at him, your eyes filling with tears. 

“Now that we’re done, I thought it was time for our little trip.” 

It feels like your heart wants to burst out from your chest as you glance back at the piece of paper. The words almost do not make sense. 

Printed plane tickets for two. 

“Changbin!” you cry out, jumping in his arms, hugging him tightly. “That’s too much!” 

He hugs you back, burying his nose in your neck. “It’s not. I love you, baby. I want to go on an adventure with you. Walk those paved streets. See you smile in the warm sunshine.” 

You let out what is a mix of a laugh and a sob, unable to move from his arms. You stay like that for a long time. Tears of joy roll down your cheeks when you finally take a step back to look at Changbin. You kiss him, and it tastes a little salty, but you don’t mind. 

“I can’t wait,” he says, his smile wide and bright. 

“Me neither, I can’t believe it!” 

He pushes his index to your nose, making you laugh. “All I did was book the tickets, though. We’ll have to figure out what we want to do.” 

“Okay,” you nod, feeling excited at the prospect. 

“But first,” he says, “let’s not forget to get Mrs. Plant her water.” 

 You burst out laughing and kiss him again.

I debated posting this today, wondering, would that be too much Changbin? But then again, there's never too much Changbin. I hope you guys enjoy this ♡ It's been so so cold around here and writing this brought me a lot of warmth so I hope it can do the same for some of you.

permanent taglist: @ughbehavior ; @upallnight-s ; @changbinluvr ; @rosexjimin ; @nasiaisan ; @lotus-dly ; @cb97percent ; @j-0ne25 ; @hwan-g ; @jhopesucker ; @leedunno ; @septicrebel ; @imtoooyoungforthisshit ; @sikebishes ; @sai-kida134 ; @sstarryoong ; @alexis-reads-fics ; @luvsskz ; @beautifulcolorgarden (please let me know if you want to be added or removed <3!)

[its-vannah]

Favorite Crime | Eddie Roundtree x Reader

A/N: Guys, this is a really tough story to read. It has darker elements but my main goal of writing it was to raise awareness for situations like domestic violence. I know it has a happy ending, but so many people don't have that. If you or someone you know is going through this or something similar, please get help.

My apologies for being gone for so long—school has been killing me.

Warnings: Minors dni, affairs, alcohol, domestic violence, minor allusions to sex, bruises (READ AT YOUR OWN RISK)

Daisy Jones and The Six Masterlist

Taglist: @celestialstar111 @stokzr @scenesofobx

You hadn't meant for it to happen. Not really, anyway. I mean, it's not like you went out with the mindset that you were going to have an affair with the bassist from the biggest band in the world. But then again, sometimes the best things in life are unexoected.

The day you married Ernest Malcom was the day your happiness ended. He was an up and coming actor who had promised you the world. He said you'd never have to work a day in your life—that he would take care of it. He'd say "money won't be an issue."

But it was. So, as he was out going to countless auditions, you were back home working as a secretary in a sound studio. It didn't pay much, but it was enough to float the two of you.

The more failed auditions he came home from, the more alcohol he poured into his glass. He'd claim it was just to "ease the nerves", but he'd be drunk on his ass morning, noon, and night. Eventually, he stopped going to auditions all together. He became a staple at the local bar, throwing back shots and finding his way between women's legs in the bathroom stalls while you worked.

Sitting at your desk at the sound studio, you eyes the divorce papers you had hired someone to draft up. You couldn't do it anymore. The constant feeling of being cheated on, the promises that were broken, the late nights watching him spiral—it was all too much.

Tears pricked your eyes, but you quickly wiped them away when you heard the door open.

When you saw the man you had come to know as a regular enter, you felt your heartbeat start to pick up.

Eddie Roundtree looked you up and down through the top of his sunglasses, a smirk appearing on his face.

You bit your lip, heat rising to your cheeks as your mouth melted into a smile. You couldn't help it—his grin was infectious and made you feel like a teenage girl all over again. To be fair, you were only twenty one—so your teenage years weren't too far behind you.

He nodded at you before making his way to the studio to wait for the rest of his bandmates.

You knew it was wrong—the feeling in the pit of your stomach, the fluttering in your heart, the visions of his lips against your neck. But was it so wrong if Ernest was doing the same thing?

Over the next few weeks, as you secretly worked on dividing your assets from your husband's, you and Eddie slipped into a routine.

He'd waltz into the studio, a guitar slung on his back, sunglasses tilted down so he could get a good view of you before practicing with the band. And on the way out, he'd lean against your desk, twisting a wooden toothpick in his teeth as he asked you questions, ranging from "How's your day?" to "You ever been with a bassist?"

Sure, he was a bit cocky—but it was thrilling to you. But the more he stopped by the desk, the more your need for him worsened.

After coming home one night to find Ernest on the couch with a random woman he had dragged home from the bar, you had enough. You grabbed him by the shirt as his hookup scrambled to get dressed.

Using all of your strength to push him against a wall—mainly to support him in his drunken state—you started crying.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" You hissed, your fingers gripping his lipstick stained collar, "Fucking that girl behind my back? You brought her into our home!"

"Baby," He slurred, his hands finding your hips, "There's still plenty to go around."

You pulled away, "You're fucking disgusting."

Turning to walk away, he grabbed you by the arm, slamming your body into the wall. You could practically taste the liquor on his breath as he got in your face, gritting his teeth, "And you're a bitch. But here we are and there's not a damn thing you can do about it."

"I want a divorce—no, I'm getting a divorce."

Ernest pressed you harder into the wall, "Think twice before you mess with me."

"Get off of me, Ernest," You said, trying to push him off of you.

"You're not strong enough to do it yourself?" He taunted, "C'mon, baby, go ahead. Hit me. See where that gets you."

You choked back your tears, "You're hurting me. Please."

His arm was crushing into your ribs. The pain was nearly unbearable.

Clenching your fists, you beat against his chest in an effort to get him off. When that didn't work, you lifted your leg and pushed his knee in, startling him just enough for you to get away.

That was your first mistake.

He came at you with full force, stopping you from getting out the door at the last moment. Throwing you onto the ground below him, he moved your hands out of your face as you screamed for him to stop.

A strong slap to the right side of your face stopped your pleas. Your cheek was throbbing—your skin on fire. There'd be a bruise there soon enough—a constant reminder of what he had done to you.

He held onto your shoulders, stopping you from moving, "I can bring home whoever I damn please, baby, and you won't say shit about it. You understand?"

You nodded, desperate for this to be over.

"Find somewhere else to stay tonight," He said, leaning into your ear, "If you're a good girl, maybe I'll have you over another night. Sound good, baby?"

He stalked back over to the couch, refilling his beer glass before sitting down. While his back was turned, you grabbed the bag you had hidden in the closet inacse you ever needed to make a quick escape. You had hoped you'd never reached that point—but here you were.

Your first thought was to go to a friend's—but you really didn't want to have to see the look on their face when they saw the bruise forming on your cheek. So you went to what had become your second home—the studio.

It took you a while to get there—then again, what normally would've been a fifteen minutes drive had taken you an hour and a half. It was nearly ten by the time you arrived.

You had expected everyone to be gone for the day—but there was still a car in the parking lot. Before unlocking the door, you said a silent prayer it would be Eddie.

To your surprise, you didn't even have to open the door. Eddie, on the other side of the glass, waved to you with a smile, pushing the door open.

He held it for you as you walked in, fixing your hair so it would cover the bruise on your right side.

"Didn't expect to see you here at this time of night," Eddie commented, "I was just heading out."

You forced a smile on your face, "Got locked out of my house on accident."

"So, where are you staying tonight?"

Nodding, you lifted your bag, "Here, I guess."

He frowned, shaking his head, "I can't let you do that. How about you come home with me? I'm not trying to make a move on you—I mean, I was until you said you didn't have a place tonight—I just want you to be comfortable."

"I don't want to impose or anything, but thank you."

"You wouldn't be, Y/N," He said, and you had to hide the thrill that went through you at the thought of him remembering your name, "You can stay in the couch or with Karen, if that's makes you more comfortable."

"I mean, I wouldn't have any complaints sharing my bed with you, but it's your choice," He teased, flashing you the smile you had grown to love.

You hesitated, "You're sure I wouldn't intrude?"

"Positive," He said, reaching for your bag, "Here, I'll carry it out for you."

You let him take the bag from your hands and he slung it over his shoulder, leading you out to his car.

Once the two of you were in the car, heading towards the home he shared with half of his bandmates, you began fiddling with the ring in your finger.

"So, you're married?"

You looked up at him, "You didn't know?"

"Would you think I was shitty if I said I knew, I just didn't care?"

You shrugged, giving him a small smile, "Maybe a little."

"So, what's he like?"

"You really want to know?"

Eddie nodded, his fingers beating against the wheel as he waited for the light to change, "Gotta see how I measure up to the competition."

"If it's a competition, Eddie, the you've already won."

You played right into his ego—something he worked so hard to build that could so easily be shattered.

"Well, if you really want to know, he's a piece of shit. I married him when I was nineteen. I was too young for it, really. But he promised me the world and I loved him," You explained, "It didn't take long for me to see who he really was. Who he is."

Eddie pulled into a parking lot by the beach, locking his eyes on yours. The wind had been in your hair while he was driving, and he couldn't help but notice the purple to the right of your nose.

Brushing the hair out of your face, he gently stroked the bruise, "He did this?"

That's what broke you. The idea that somebody, for once, cared. Tears started streaming down your face as his fingers lingered on the spot.

He grit his teeth, "I'm gonna fucking kill him."

"You don't even know him, Eddie," You choked, "You barely know me."

"I know enough to know I want to learn everything about you," He said, pressing a kiss to your forehead, "Let's get you home, okay? You stay with me as long as you need. You just have to make me a promise."

"What?"

He looked over at you as he began pulling out of the parking spot, "That you won't go back to him."

"I promise."

Eddie placed his hand on your lower thigh, his thumb stroking the skin that peeked through beneath your skirt. It was nothing sexual—surprisingly—it was something meant to calm you down. Men rarely had zero alterior motives—but Eddie, in that moment, had none other than keeping you safe.

It was eleven by the time you made it to his house, and his bandmates were either out at a party or passed out drunk on the back porch.

He led you through the house, your bag still slung over his shoulder, "Any thoughts on where you want to stay?"

Steadying your shaky breath, you gazed up at him, "Does your offer still stand?"

You took a step towards him and his breath nearly hitched in his throat, "Always."

Eddie gave you privacy to shower, setting you up with everything you needed. But once the water stopped and you dried yourself off, you realized you had forgotten your bag in his room.

After you brushed your teeth and rubbed lotion on your skin, you made you way back to his room, leaving a slight trail of wet footprints behind you.

You knocked on the door, pushing it open.

His eyes widened upon seeing you in a towel and he, in a turn of events, became the giddy teenager.

"Y/N—you—you—"

"Forgot my clothes."

He nodded, "Oh. Okay. Do you—you—here's your bag."

You took it from the bassist, rummaging through it's contents to find that you had forgotten to pack yourself clothes to sleep in.

Turning towards Eddie, you bit down on your lip, "Do you have some clothes I could borrow?"

He nodded, unable to think of any words to say as he scrambled to his dresser, pulling out a random band shirt. He even offered you boxers, but you told him you had it covered, causing him to blush wildly as he placed it back in his drawer.

"Do you need pajama pants?"

"I don't wear them to bed. Not as comfortable," You said, correcting yourself, "If that's okay...?"

He shook his head, flashing you a smile, "Yeah, sure, that's—that's great."

Although he tried his best to be slick, you couldn't help but notice him trying to cover up the rising fabric of his pants.

Taking it as a hint, you tilt your head, "Can I just change in here? It's easier than going back down the hallway."

He smiled, standing there awkwardly, "Yeah, yeah that's okay."

You started to pull at the corners of your towel, "You don't care, right? I mean, we're both adults here. Nothing you haven't seen before, right?"

Eddie swallowed, "Yeah..."

He watched as the towel fell into a pile around your feet, revealing yourself to him.

You had waited for this moment since the day you met him—and it felt good.

It didn't take long before his lips were on yours, his hands running through your hair, careful not to touch your swollen cheek. You had never felt this way before.

And you certainly had never been railed on top of a dresser before—but there you were.

You said a silent prayer that no one was in the house—the two of you weren't exactly being quiet.

After the two of you finished on the dresser, you wound up on the bed, your hips rocking against each other as if you couldn't get close enough.

Eddie gripped the bedframe, shaking it back and forth as he pressed into you. It felt like the whole room was shaking. But your worries had never been so at ease.

When you both finished again, he collapsed next to you, chest heaving, "There's few things I enjoy more than playing with the band—but that—that was one of them."

Your chest heaved as you curled up beside him, resting your head on his bare chest, "I've never felt that way before."

"In a good way?"

Pressing a sloppy kiss to his mouth, he hummed in response, "I'd say it was a good way."

After a few minutes of silence, the only sounds filling the air being your panting, he turned towards you, "So..."

"So..."

He smiled down at you, pressing a soft kiss to your bruise, "I'm never going to let anyone hurt you again—If you'll have me. I know it's... complicated."

"Eddie," You sighed, "I've had the divorce papers at my desk for the past month—and the ring you saw? I threw it onto the highway on our way here."

"So it's over?"

"It's been over for a long time," You pressed a kiss to his jaw, "I just need to make it official."

"The offer is still on the table, you know."

"What offer?"

He sighed, "I'll beat the shit out of him for what he did to you."

"Two wrong don't make a right."

"No, but it feels good sometimes."

You couldn't help but laugh, "What am I gonna do with you?"

"I have a few ideas."

Eddie Roundtree: She did, eventually, figure out what she was going to do with me.

Y/N Roundtree: We took it slow. Well, as slow as we could.

Eddie: She married me.

Y/N: The day we got married was the happiest day of my life.

[eddieheart]

Take Me To Texas

(Part one)

Fandom: 911: Lone Star

Pairings: Past TK Strand X Alex

Words: 2089

Description: How TK found himself and his father.

Warning: talk of triggering topics, overdose, implied prostitution, implied sexual assault, domestic abuse, implied domestic abuse, implied homelessness

Author’s note: So this is the first story I’ve written/published in months, I’ve had terrible writer block paired with a mixture of no motivation and executive distinction, so I really hope you enjoy! That’s again to @buggylad for editing.

——

TK guessed it started when he was a kid. Playing around the house with his trucks and firefighters. Refusing to wear dresses, only 'boys' clothes.

They were all obvious signs, if not that maybe running around the house at full speed insisting his new name was Tyler. Anything else was too 'girly'.

He always has been and always will be, Tyler Kennedy (He didn't choose the middle name but what could he do, he was stuck with it) Strand. And boy, he made sure everyone knew.

TK was grateful enough to have grown up in New York City. A place where he could be himself with less... backlash. There were always gender neutral bathrooms and single stall change rooms.

It had been rough, being gay and trans, even in a place like New York. Bigots are bigot regardless of where you live.

But with the support of both his parents and a firehouse full of people (willing to do anything to protect him) TK was able to transition safely.

TK has spent every day since his unofficial name change as Tyler and he loved every damn second of being him. Well, maybe that was a bit of a broad statement. Life, like always, has its ups and downs, he's just happy he gets to go through them as Tyler.

Just before puberty he started hormone blockers, as a teen he took hormones and as soon as he was eighteen TK got top surgery. His parents had helped pay for it as a birthday gift.

It was a saving grace, being able to get the treatment he needed, but it wasn't all sunshine and roses. His doctor had prescribed him an opioid for the pain and unfortunately TK had gotten addicted.

Because he was out of the house, living alone, no one saw the signs and because he was in school, his parents had just assumed that he had been overly focused in his work, forgetting to reach out.

What his parents didn't know was that their only son was spirally. Something that people don't realize is that the more you use drugs, any drugs, the more you get accustomed to that dose, and soon enough you need a higher and higher dosage to get the same effects.

It's because of that, that TK eventually turned to heroine. He'd always hated t-shots as a kid but because he needed it so often he became very good with needles. It's not like he was sharing them, he always got clean ones. Either from the store or the shelter and he was as safe as he could've been given the circumstances.

It all went by so fast, his past life slipping away before his eyes. He got in too deep, ran out of money and had to find different ways to pay for what he needed.

Though in the end it hadn't mattered how safe he'd been, he overdosed. Though it was this final hit to rock bottom that brought TK, at that point, to the most difficult part of his adult life, pregnancy.

//

"That's impossible, I've been taking T since I was a kid, I was on hormone blockers!"

"It's unlikely yes, but not impossible. Tyler, TK, you are pregnant. I have some information here that you can look at and when you're ready to talk we can discuss your options. Wether that be keeping your baby or, possibly, having an abortion."

//

Tyler had been more than terrified, how could he make a decision this important alone? He couldn't go to Alex, surely not his parents and by now he'd lost all his friends. He was not ready to be a parent, that he knew.  

After weeks of deliberation TK decided he would keep his baby and hopefully adopt her out to family who could take care of her. But when she had opened her eyes for the very first time, staring up at him with wonder and adoration, he knew he couldn't let her go.

He didn't know it then, but keeping Charlie had been the best decision of his life and since then he's never looked back.

                                 ——

"Hey, Greene?," TK asked casually, glancing up from the floor. Broom griped tightly in his hands. "Do you know anything about new positions in other districts?"

"Thinking of moving you and little miss mazel?" The other replied in a playful tone.

Eric had turned away from the fire engine, rag still held tightly in hand, glancing up at TK. Greene had a jovial smile so bright that TK could already feel the corners of his lips twitching up.

"Oh, I don't know.. Just thinking that maybe a change might be good." His eyes darting nervously between his senior and the stations floor.

Green seemed to ponder for a moment before turning back to him.

"Well you got dual certified right? Last I heard there was an ambo opening in Austin." Tyler's eyes widened, that far away.

"Texas?"

"Yeah. You interested?"

Thought started to flash by, he knew it'd be all well and good until the neighbourhood found out he wasn't at all like the white, cishet, Christian he appeared to be. What would a bunch of conservative Texans do to a trans, gay Jewish man, who'd given birth to a baby girl?

"In Texas? I don't know man, probably not." He replied sullenly.

"I'll keep your hat in the ring just in case."

                                ——

A pounding interrupted the peaceful silence of both TK and Charlie's apartment. The door chain rattled as someone roughly hit the hard wood, over and over.

"Let me in TK!" Alex's voice screamed out.

A chill went up his spine, like ice water being thrown down his back. TK stood up straighter and made his way over to the entrance of his home.

"Let me in!" Alex yelled out again, voice carrying through the entire apartment.

Thank god Charlie was still in bed, that kid slept like a rock. As soon as her head hit the pillow she was out, o she'd slept through an entire thunderstorm. It was incredibly hard to wake her once she was down, which TK was very thankful for right now.

"Leave Alex! I have to take Charlie to school." He yelled back at man behind the door.

TK realized his mistake as soon as he spoke, the other man quickly yelling back through the door.

"I can help with that baby! C'mon!" If TK didn't know better, Alex could have almost sounded sincere.

But he wasn't an idiot, he knew what this was really about. He also knew that as soon as his 'sorry' phase was done Alex would go right back to how things were before.

"If you don't leave now I'm calling the cops for violating your restraining order! Go now!" Fear swam through TK's stomach, internally begging for Alex to just leave.

"Fine! I'll be back!" Alex had never truly cared about him, he knew that now. After what happened how could he not.

//

TK was in pain, he hadn't realized it until now, but he was hurting. This was going to be the death of him if he didn't change and he couldn't leave his baby girl all alone. It had hurt more that coming down from drugs the first time and all the times after that too.

It was just a slap to the face, but it wasn't just a slap. Certainly he'd sustained worse injuries, but this had been the last straw. Alex had hit him before, belittled him, neglected him, forced him to do unsavoury things, things that left a bad taste in his mouth.

But he'd never done it in front of Charlie before, never. TK had heard he scream, seen the tears roll down her eyes and watched as Alex stormed out the apartment in a rage. So no, it wasn't just a slap in the face, it was a revelation.

So that's how they ended up here, all their belongings quickly packed up into TK's car driving to his dads house. They hadn't see each other in way too long, but right now he needed his dad.

Charlie had stirred awake as TK pulled into the driveway of his childhood home. TK unclasoed his seatbelt as the little girl rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

"Daddy, we d'er 'et?" She asked in a soft, tired voice.

"Not yet sweetie, I'm gonna go check to see if everything is ready and if it is I'll come get you. You just go back to sleep okay?"

"M'kay."

//

Things had sort of worked out in the end, even though Alex finding their new apartment was more than a setback in both he and Charlie's lives.

"Charlie? Charlie barley, Charlie barley bee? Where's my bumble bee?" TK called out.

He wandered through their apartment halls, peaking around corners, trying to find his little baby. Rounding a final corner he came face to face with his baby girl, a blanket draped around her shoulders covering her head slightly.

TK scooped her up into his arms and spun her around, only stopping to gently tickle her tummy.

"There you are!" He cried out in mock outrage and surprise.

"Ahhhh!" Charlie yelled in a mess of playful, glee filled screams.

TK fell backwards onto the couch the young girl held softly, yet firmly in his arms. She leaned back into her dads chest hands making a grabbing motion, trying to play with his hair.

"Bababa! I caught-ed you! I did you've been catch-ed-id!"

He smiled into the little girl's hair, she squirmed in his hold, joyfully kicking her feet. Charlie threw herself backwards into his arms over and over, causing TK to let out whatever was left in his lungs as she swung about.

"Daddy!" She cried out again.

TK chuckled at her antics, pressing his cheek to hers, faces side by side, holding her tiny little hands in his much larger ones.

"What do I win for catching you bubba?" He asked jokingly, rocking her side to side.

Her feet swung back and forth, eventually she became too wiggly to hold in his arms and she began to push away again.

"Daddy!"

"Charlie!" TK called back in the same tone.

Charlie slid off his lap and grabbed the tv remote off of the coffee table. She slowly threw herself back onto the couch, trying to get back up. TK chuckled to himself, she was too small to just sit down so she had to use one leg on top of the couch to pull herself up.

When her mission was finally accomplished, Charlie pressed the hunk of plastic into her dad's chest and sat down next to him. She pushed her face into his side playfully.

"Wanna watch the TV with me Charlie bee?"

Her response what immediate, head shooting yo from where her forehead had been resting on his shirt.

"Ews!" She yelled out excitedly, arms flapping up and down beside her.

"The news? What is with you kid, I've never met another two year old who likes the news." TK asked, a playful smile on his face.

"Ewws! Ews!" She cried out again at the seemingly arborant lack of outdated musak and weather reports.

"Okay, okay, I'll put on the news." As soon as the tv was turned on Charlie jumped up from her sitting position on the couch cushion and threw herself back into TK's lap.

An older grey haired man came into frame.

"Uncle Bob!"

"Yeah! Uncle bob? Since when is he your uncle?"

"F'ever." She mumbled out, eyes glued to the television in front of her.

"Since forever? I don't know about that."

"Mmmhmm." She replied forcefully.

"Okay then."

The noise of the tv filled the apartment Charlie enthralled with local news stories and TK enamoured by his little girls reactions to what was being said.

Suddenly, a new segment cut through his daze and seemed to finally bring Tyler's attention back up to the screen.

"And now a story all the way from Austin, Texas. A fire crew lead by New York's own Owen Strand a former NYFD fire captain and now..." the sound drowned out, he barely heard anything after the name.

Owen Strand, His dad.

"Hey baby, how would you feel about moving to Texas?"

Thanks again for reading, let me know if you want/what you want to see in chapter two!

[theestervashti]

"The Neck." From Esther 4: 6-8.

A crisis in the Court of Persia, "the science lab" of government, results in an edict by the King calling for the destruction of the Jews. An honorarium of ten thousand talents has been promised by the King's head Eunuch to anyone who will do it. The Babylonian god Marduk, "bitterly opposed to oppression" tries to stop all of this from happening, and sends Esther "unity in the law" to go and plead with the Court for mercy.

Mercy is the center or "fifth direction" that results from the Four. Mercy is the insctinct we lack as a human race. We are times "western" or enlightened enough, but centric, no, not really.

The ideal circumstances would be an edict for publication in Susa of a different sort. First what is Susa? Susa is 381, gaha:

"This word in singular form may also be used for Israel (Exodus 19:6) or even tribes (Genesis 48:19). The plural of this word, גוים (goyim, or גוי, meaning goyim of, which is spelled the same as the singular) denotes "the nations," that is, all peoples other than Israel. Once or twice in the Bible, this word denotes non-human "nations": beasts (Zephaniah 2:14) and perhaps locusts, although that's debatable (Joel 1:6).

Note the highly significant usage of the latter noun in Genesis 17:5, where YHWH renames Abram into Abraham, and says: "For I will make you the father of many nations [גוים, goyim]". This seems to urge the reader to understand that Hebrew theology concentrates on universal Truth rather than on tribal domination, while at the same time purposes to maintain social diversity instead of turning the whole earth into one big gray mass of identical citizens."

The only edict that separates the merciful from the rest of the world and allows for social diversity and human equity is the Prime Commandment, which Jesus quoted from the Book of Leviticus:

"Leviticus 19:18 states, “You shall not take vengeance or bear a grudge against any of your people, but you shall love your neighbor as yourself: I am the LORD.”

We cannot now easily turn back from retribution against the Mormons, Evangelicals, Pro-Lifers, Scientologists, Russians, Iranians or the Republicans, not a chance. But we can keep our hearts set on what life will be like once they are no longer a lethal threat to the rest of mankind.

The Book of Esther continues:

6 So Hathak went out to Mordecai in the open square of the city in front of the king’s gate. 

7 Mordecai told him everything that had happened to him, including the exact amount of money Haman had promised to pay into the royal treasury for the destruction of the Jews. 

8 He also gave him a copy of the text of the edict for their annihilation, which had been published in Susa, to show to Esther and explain it to her, and he told him to instruct her to go into the king’s presence to beg for mercy and plead with him for her people.

The Values in Gematria are:

v. 6: So Hathak went out to Mordecai in the open square of the city in front of the king’s gate. Hathak means, "to neck, to make out."

To get all sexy in the village square just before a genocide is a peculiar choice. The Number is 4202, דבאֶפֶסב‎‎ ‎, debafesb, "the passive dove."

=

"Go to your dear."

v. 7: He told him everything. The Number is 9760, טז‎ואֶפֶס, tezoeps, "the compartment where life comes to life."

The adjective ζωος (zoos), meaning alive or living (and substantially used: a living thing), doesn't occur in the New Testament, but from it derive:

Together with the verb αγρευω (agreuo), to catch: the verb ζωγρεω (zogreo), meaning to catch alive (Luke 5:10 and 2 Timothy 2:26 only). In Biblical times, animals were mostly hunted for food and thus conveniently shot dead from a distance, but occasionally animals were caught to be domesticated to some degree. Domestication may have a bit of an unromantic ring in our modern society, but that's because all modern people are domesticated and may confuse a camping trip supported by the latest tech and weatherproof gear for actually roughing it.

Animals that were frequently forced to run for their lives from predators would have been very happy to live in human pens, and domestication probably started when the most agreeable among animals gravitated toward the security of human settlements. Dogs may be man's best friend but man is also dog's best friend. The dog is arguably the happiest animal alive but without man, dog would not have existed. Diversification comes from cultivation, which starts with domestication (Luke 5:10). Unfortunately, slavery too begins with being caught alive (2 Timothy 2:26).

Together with the adjective γονος (gonos), begotten, from the verb γινομαι (ginomai), meaning to be, begin to be: the adjective ζωογονος (zoogonos), meaning living-thing-forth-bringing. This adjective isn't used in the New Testament, but in the classics it served as an epithet of Apollo. From this adjective in turn comes:

The verb ζωογονεω (zoogoneo) meaning to bring forth living things (Luke 17:33 and Acts 7:19 only). Note that this verb does not speak of preserving one's individual life but rather of bringing forth a new generation and thus preserving the life of the family or tribe or name (or species, etcetera).

The noun ζωον (zoon), meaning a living entity. Although this word is mostly used to describe animals, it's certainly not so restricted and may denote any kind of being that lives. The "four beasts" that are mentioned all throughout the book of Revelation probably denote social beings, that is to say: the various different social modalities or ways of living together (not to be confused with governments; these four beasts have only God as their king; 1 Samuel 8:7, Matthew 23:9). Their number, four, probably describes not an arithmetically accurate amount but rather the full spectrum of human sodality (associated to the four angels, four winds and four corners of the world, Revelation 7:1, or the four horns of the world-wide altar, Exodus 20:24, Ezekiel 43:15, Daniel 8:8). This noun is used 23 times; see full concordance.

Together with the verb ποιεω (poieo) meaning to do, make or bring about: the verb ζωοποιεω (zoopoieo), meaning to make alive. This verb usually refers to the resurrection and occurs 12 times in the New Testament; see full concordance. From it in turn derives:

Again together with the preposition συν (sun), meaning together or with: the verb συζοοποιεω (suzoopoieo), meaning to make alive with (Ephesians 2:5 and Colossians 2:13 only).

v. 8: He gave a copy of the text. A copy of the text is "man made in God's image." How all of this necking and snogging and hugging in front of the King's house with a new god constitutes a valid argument against genocide is something we do need to figure out.

The Number is 9095, טיט‎‎ה‎, tita, "clay, mire, loam."

Esther's job is to explain to the king, her future husband how everything he values and loves will become a thing of the past if he does not recognize the wisdom of the Torah which states there are phases of transition between religion, the state, math, science, theory, and fact, and how all of this comes together in the experience of Shabbos and Shabbat.

The big sexy makeout scene in front of his eyes along with a detailed explanation of how diversity within a population makes it strong, it brings life, culture, wealth, and dignity to a king, especially an emperor like Xerxes who conquered most of the known world. All of this is found in the character of the goddess Israel, called Esther who is the embodiment of mercy, called a Zohar, or "incandescence" of the Torah.

[little-fairy-forest]

Co-parenting headcanons

Bakugou, Kirishima, Todoroki

Fluff, domestic, drama‐ish? not really

Bakugou

Great, just what Bakugou needed as he's trying to become number one – a child

Now personally he would've wanted to wait until he is atleast married or in a long term relationship with someone before even thinking about kids,, let alone have them in his early twenties

But it is what it is

Anyway, He either has a kid from a one night stand or in the ends of a relationship by accident. Either way he knows a kid won't keep a relationship together so he makes some boundaries and rules before the kid gets here.

He wants to make sure your financially ok to raise a child, even if you turn down his payments, he will always find a way to make sure your okay. For example he'll pay your rent for the next month before you can, he pays for your food of you go out somewhere, very subtle.

Communication is key– zero room for error and arguments here. He won't have his kid (s) being stuck in the middle of your problems due to bad communication

He likes to do things together when it's for your kids, he wants to be involved despite being a rising hero. Going places like to zoo, aquarium, movies, he wants an invite. But please tell him a bit before hand so he can book time off work,, poor thing has a tight schedule

He won't spoil your kids– well not overly

He sees no problem in the having the lastest gadgets and toys once their gonna be played with and taken care of. He doesn't waste money of silly shit

If something in your house is broken, he will fix it without a question. He writes it off as "a hazard for your kids" but really he just wants to help :(

Unfortunately, as the years go buy it doesn't get easier for Katsuki to refer to you as his ex, because in the back of his head he keeps track of howany years you could've been dating / married....

Will he ever chance his luck again? Maybe, if your still single when your youngest is graduating,, but if your in a relationship?

He'll hold off because your happy :)

Kirishima

Ah this poor boy

Last thing he wants is a split family, this guy always invasioned you both in a nice house with your kids loving life,, but unfortunately the circumstances have changed

I feel like it would also be a mutual thing that happened– definitely not from cheating or falling out of love.

This boy would happily drop everything for you and your kids, no matter the issue. Kid sick in school? Don't worry he's on his way, your car broke down? He is sending someone there now as he finishes up his shift.

No pettiness or harsh feeling on his side, but he will always have his heart strings pulled whenever the kids waved goodbye when it's your turn with them...have tears been shed? Absolutely– but their fatherly manly tears!!

Tries to make small traditions if your comfortable with it, e.g. bringing your kids out to eat on their birthday, "family photos" every few years, decorating the christmas tree (or whatever else your decorate in your religion/culture) ,little things that give them memories.

He hates when your kids ask questions referring as to why you don't live together. Even if its only a small clueless question like "can you tuck me into bed tonight?" Knowing you have the kids for the weekend...damn this guy will need a heart transplant before he's 40 at this rate.

Loves hearing about what the kids got up to at your house, if something new was added to the routine he will try and incorporate it into his, something like milkshakes on fridays or three lucky kisses before a big test.

Does he place red riot merch in your home? Pfft no– that was the kid! He swears...maybe

Does get a bit snoopy if your kids mention a new "friend" of yours, not in a bossy way like "you can't be in a happy relationship!!" 😡 , More of a "soo....who's the new friend?.." 😗👉🏻👈🏻

Will he ever chance a shot of love with you again? Depends, if your happy being single in a relationship, absolutely not because it's not manly to get in the way of your romance life,, but at the same time

You have his number *wink* *wink*

Todoroki

Oh no

The last thing this man would want is a broken family....like even if your on good terms it doesn't help his situation.

Now, he's an educated young man, so he knows about safe sex so "oopsie" babies from stangers won't happen. So I imagine you already had kids before you split up.

Will this man try everything for you not to leave? Absolutely, but if your reasons are justifiable in his eyes then sure, if it makes you happy

He will always be on time for pick up and drop off. Even to the minute to make sure the time is even and fair.

Always has your number incase you need to call him incase of emergencies. He would hate if you or your child got into an accident and he couldn't be there.

He wouldn't intentionally spoil your kids for attention...he just wants to be a good dad! But when you mention how your kids are always wanted to go over to Shouto's because he has the lastest video game and you can't afford it, he will buy your kids a copy for your house, no don't pay him back, he insists

His heart does flips and knots when its mothers / fathers day and he can't watch you with the kids enjoy your day. Seriously it's the little things that eats this boy up

Like how he can't lay next to you on christmas morning waiting for your kids to wake up to go open presents, how he can no longer hold you as you watch your kids play, how he–

This boy will forever be inlove with you and I refuse to believe otherwise. Shouto is the type of person to deeply fall for one person and one person only for life.. :/

Overall, Shouto would try his best to be the best co-parent he can be,, but also he won't stand for any pettiness on your end...don't even try it with this man

-> masterlist

General tags : @aomi04 @justheretoaskandread @rebekah-trader @veenxys

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 12,601 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: pre-apocalypse Warnings: language (duh, it's me), violence, domestic violence A/N: This one got LONGGGGG woo! Protective, badass Daryl is just so. damn. good. Summary: Daryl has long had a crush on Y/N, a waitress at the local dive bar. When things start to go bad with her boyfriend, he suddenly finds himself solving problems for her.

Your name: submit What is this?

Your friend nudged you gently with her elbow as you started to move past her with your tray. “Hey. Who’s that?” she asked, nudging her head in the direction of the door. Two men had just walked in. They were regulars at the bar where you’d been a waitress for a long time. Your friend, however, had just started working there a couple days earlier.

“Oh, the Dixon brothers,” you said, skirting past her to load your tray up with the next round of drinks.

“Are they trouble?” she asked, giving you a sideways glance. You had to laugh at that question. The bar you worked at was a total dive and most of the clientele were unsavory characters. It was frequented by a lot of the biker gangs that road the highway causing trouble.

“Everyone in here pretty much is trouble,” you said, loading the row of beers on the bar top onto your tray.

“Even Mark,” she said, her tone dripping sweet because she knew it would annoy you. You rolled your eyes.

“Even Mark,” you agreed. You’d met your boyfriend at the bar while you were working. You hadn’t been dating that long, only about 3 months. He was a member of one of the biker gangs, but you’d grown up around people like him and the rest of the bar patrons your whole life. You were used to the whistles and catcalling and even the occasional ass-grabbery. Most of the time you felt perfectly safe at work with Charlie, the bartender, watching over things and quite frankly, most of the men tipped you generously. You just chose not to think about where they got the money. You didn’t come from any money at all, and you’d gotten a job as soon as you legally could to help your mom pay the bills. She had already been working two full-time jobs trying to keep your family afloat. Even before you’d been able to work officially you took every babysitting or lawn mowing gig you could find. Your dad was a good man, kind and loving, but an alcoholic. He’d had a work accident when you were just a baby and had chronic back pain from it. He was still young when he finally succumbed to his alcoholism.

And you’d just kept working.

“Well, that younger brother is cute,” your friend said, drawing your attention back to the two men who’d just walked in. “What’re their names?”

“Gimme a minute and I’ll introduce you,” you said. You rounded the bar and took the beers on your loaded tray over to a table of boisterous bikers and handed them out. By the time you got back up to the bar, the Dixon brothers had wandered over.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite girl,” Merle grinned at you, leaning his forearms on the bar. “Whatchu doin’ lookin’ that good up in here? You lookin’ to start a fight?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling at him. “Merle, you can knock off the sweet talkin’. It’s not gonna get you free booze.”

“Who said I even come in here for the booze?” he flirted shamelessly, shooting a wink at you. This time you did laugh appreciatively.

“Uh huh. Well, since you’re at the bar and not in my section, I can get away with ignoring you all night,” you joked. “Charlie will be glad to take your order.” You glanced at the younger Dixon brother who seemed to be quite purposefully keeping his eyes on his hands as he fiddled with a discarded beer top. “How are you, Daryl?” His blue eyes shot up to meet yours. “Doin’ alright?”

Daryl nervously licked his lips and nudged his nose up in a single nod. His heart was hammering away in his chest.

“Good. That’s good,” you said, giving him a wide smile. Daryl’s heart jumped. Fuck. He always felt completely out of control when you smiled at him like that. Half the time it shut down his ability to engage in any sort of conversation and seemed to make his body start malfunctioning. “Well, listen boys. This is my friend Rachel. She just started workin’ here a couple days ago so I expect you to go easy on her.” Rachel smiled at them and said hello. “This is Merle Dixon and his brother Daryl.” You caught sight of one of your tables trying to flag you down. “Merle is the one you need to watch out for. He’ll try his hardest to charm you right out of your skirt, even if it never works,” you joked. “Right, Daryl?”

The younger Dixon brother hardly responded, except that his blue eyes flickered up to your face again for a moment before you breezed away. He looked up again as Charlie wandered over and asked what the Dixons wanted to drink. But Rachel cut in with a smile.

“You’re busy, Charlie. I’ll get it,” she said. She was eyeing Daryl and he felt it, glancing up at her. She was definitely attractive and definitely interested in him from what he could tell, but Daryl was so hung up on you he couldn’t have cared less. “What can I get you?” Rachel asked, leaning on the bar top, giving him a small smile.

“Gimme a bourbon, honey,” Merle said. Daryl hadn’t responded. His eyes had wandered back over to you where you were chatting with a couple regulars in a booth nearby. Merle hit him on the arm.

“Just gimme a beer,” Daryl drawled, pulling his eyes off you.

The way the younger Dixon brother’s gaze was fixed on you wasn’t lost on Rachel. “Sure thing,” she said, setting about grabbing the drinks. She handed them out. “So, what kind of trouble do the two of you get up to?” Rachel asked. The question was directed at Daryl but he was staring down into his beer, apparently in deep thought about something, so Merle answered instead.

“Any and every kind,” Merle laughed.

Daryl’s eyes were on you again, flickering between glancing your way, watching you smiling and laughing, and staring back down into his beer. Rachel gave the two one final smile and parting look and rushed back over to her section where someone was flagging her down. Scribbling a few notes on her pad about the order, she happened to fall back into stride with you as you both headed up toward the bar area again. You had a break for a couple minutes and hung out by the window where the cooks sent the food out.

Rachel leaned up against the counter. “I think Daryl is taken,” she said.

You gave her a questioning look. “Really? Why? I’ve never seen him in here with anyone but his brother.”

Rachel laughed. “That’s not exactly what I meant.” You stared at her, puzzled, and she rolled her eyes at you. “Y/N, he can’t keep his eyes off you. I was trying to flirt with him and he barely looked at me.”

“What? No, come on,” you laughed. “They’ve hung around here for years and he’s never said anything. I mean, I was single for a long time.”

“That doesn’t mean anything! I saw the way he was looking at you,” Rachel said. “He seems a bit shy or something. It’s not a surprise he hasn’t said anything to you about it. And besides, now you’re dating someone.”

You shrugged. “Well, he’s—he’s just a bit quiet. I don’t think—”

Rachel turned as the cook slid out the food for one of her orders. “I’m telling you he’s got it for you. Bad.” She lifted her tray. “You’re in denial. Like you usually are when someone likes you,” she laughed. “Just trust me on this.”

As Rachel breezed away, you glanced back at the two Dixon brothers at the bar. Daryl was aimlessly spinning his beer glass in his hands, staring down at it, but a moment later he glanced up and his blue eyes caught yours. He seemed a bit startled that you were looking his way, and you offered up a small smile. Daryl gulped and ducked his head. A jolt of electricity ran through him again. Fuck. Now she’s dating someone, dumbass. Give it up. She doesn’t want you.

The rest of your shift was busy and there wasn’t much time to sit around and chat. Around dinnertime was usually when the most customers rolled in for a greasy pub meal and some alcohol to lubricate their boasting. Then the dinner crowd hung around and became increasingly more intoxicated. It was about nine when your shift was up and you pulled your apron off and stowed it behind the bar. Merle was playing pool but Daryl was still just leaned up to the counter, keeping to himself. You were about to engage him in some small talk when the door pushed open and your boyfriend walked in. He immediately spotted you and gave you a nod and a smile. You grinned back at him, grabbing your purse from underneath the bar. “Hey, I’ll see you later, Daryl!” you said brightly.

He nodded and managed to give you a small smile, really just one twitch up of one corner of his mouth. His eyes followed you through the bar and he watched over his shoulder as your boyfriend’s hands landed on your lower back and you arched up onto your toes to kiss him. Daryl felt a swell of jealousy in his chest and a hard pit form in his stomach. But he simply turned away and raised a finger to Charlie and asked for another beer.

Your boyfriend Mark walked you out into the parking lot and you stopped next to his bike. “Hop on. Let’s go home,” he said.

“I’m starving. I thought we were going to grab something to eat?” you asked.

“No, come on. Let’s go home,” he said.

You thought there was something a bit different in his tone but you brushed it off. He’d been riding all day. He was probably just ready to be done and wanted to relax. But a couple minutes later, you could tell something was definitely wrong. He was speeding far faster than he should be through town, especially with you behind him. You held tighter to him and leaned forward. “Babe, slow down a bit,” you said.

He didn’t. He took a turn fast and your stomach flipped at the feeling. “Seriously! What the hell are you doing? Slow down!” you yelled over the rumbling of his bike’s engine.

He still didn’t. It was like he was getting a kick out of your fear. If anything, his speed increased. Every turn he took you felt like the bike was about to skid out. You were getting pissed. “Slow the fuck down!” you demanded.

This time he did. But soon he turned into a parking lot and stopped completely. You released your hold on him and he climbed off. A second later he had a hold of your upper arm with a grip like a vice. “Ow!” you protested as he hauled you off his bike. You almost fell as he tugged, losing your balance as you lifted your leg over the bike. “What the fuck?!” you snapped at him, ripping your arm away and staring at him in disbelief.

“If you don’t like how I drive my own goddamn bike, you can fuckin’ walk home,” he growled angrily at you. He was glaring at you with some serious rage in his eyes.

Who the hell was this person? And where was the boyfriend you knew? That’s when you realized. You stared at him, your jaw dropping partially open. “Mark… are you—did you start using again?”

He stared defiantly back at you. “I don’t see how that’s any of your fucking business.”

That was a confirmation if anything. You felt another swell of anger. He’d had substance abuse problems before you’d met but he’d assured you he was clean and was planning on staying that way. “Actually, I think it is my business,” you retorted.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. He marched over to his bike and opened the saddle bag, grabbing your purse out and tossing it to the asphalt carelessly. The contents spilled out and rolled on the ground. “Fuckin’ walk it off,” he said, hopping back on his bike and starting it again. You stared in disbelief as he roared away from you.

“Shit! What the hell?!” you yelled as the sound of his bike roared away. You sighed heavily and stared down at the items that had spilled out of your bag, crouching to collect them and stuff them back where they belonged. You straightened up and glanced around at the secluded and dark lot and deserted street. You could walk home, but it would take you a while and you didn’t particularly like the thought of being out where you were alone. You felt vulnerable, like you’d be the perfect prey for some passing scumbag. You hugged your arms across yourself and decided to walk to the nearest gas station and see if you could call someone to give you a ride. Your mind was spinning over what had just happened. He’s using again. Fucking great. You’d have to end it. That was that. After your dad, you steered clear of anyone with a substance abuse problem, and the personality change in Mark was already so apparent and immediate you knew things would, in all likelihood, just get worse.

You walked along the dark sidewalk, just hoping no one would come along and mess with you. It was only a few blocks to the nearest gas station and you fixed your mind on just getting there. You looked over your shoulder as you heard engines approaching and groaned internally. Please just let them ride past. But you could tell immediately that they were slowing. You kept your head down and just kept walking until you heard voices yelling back and forth over the rumble. Glancing over again you saw that it was Merle and Daryl Dixon.

Merle gave you one final parting glance and roared off but Daryl pulled alongside you at the curb and shut off his bike.

“Hey. Are ya okay?” he asked in that sweet southern drawl of his.

You glanced at the earnest expression on his face. His blue eyes were slightly narrowed as he peered at you and his brow was drawn down. You nodded. “I’m fine,” you said. But your tone didn’t even convince you.

“Ya shouldn’t be out here at night on your own. Thought ya were with yer guy,” he said, a slight question in his tone.

You shuffled your feet a little anxiously. “I was but—” you shook your head. “I’m fine. I’m just gonna walk to the gas station and see if I can call someone for a ride,” you said. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Mmm.” Daryl pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth for a moment. “I can give ya a ride. I ain’t got anywhere to be.”

You considered him thoughtfully for a moment. You had the overwhelming sense that you could trust him, and maybe it was the openness of his expression or the genuine tone of his voice. Normally you would have bucked at the idea of someone you didn’t know very well learning where you lived, but you’d known Daryl for years. At least, known him on some level. He never started trouble in the bar, although he often got sucked into it because of Merle. A lot of times Daryl was one of the few trying to break it up when it happened. Mostly it just seemed like he hung around with Merle for lack of something else to do. And, sure, sometimes he drank too much and he could be a little hotheaded, but you always had the sense from his rugged but quiet exterior that underneath he was sweet. He chatted with you shyly, asking questions about how you were and your life, but he never pried and he never acted inappropriately toward you or any of the other staff. Daryl Dixon had never once grabbed your ass and that was more than you could say for most of the regulars… Finally, after some consideration, you nodded. “Okay. That’d be great. Thanks,” you said.

He nodded, nudging his nose up. “Hop on.” His heart jumped as you accepted his offered hand for assistance and slid in behind him. It jumped again when he felt your arms lightly loop around him. “Where to?” You explained the route to your house and the bike roared to life underneath you. You held on a little more tightly as he pulled away from the curb.

Your mind was whirring over what you needed to do about Mark. You knew you wanted to end it but you had just witnessed how unstable he was at the moment. Lost in your head, it seemed like mere seconds when Daryl started to slow and you looked up and realized you were already home. The lights were on inside and Mark’s motorcycle was parked in the driveway. Daryl shut his bike off and you climbed off, straightening up at the curb and glancing at him. “Thank you. Really,” you said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I can’t even tell you how much I appreciate it.”

His blue eyes were soft on your face and one corner of his mouth twitched up as he nodded again. “S’nothin’. Anytime.” His eyes drifted over to the motorcycle in the driveway and that little smile faded. His brow furrowed as he glanced back at you. “Ya sure you’re alright?” He sensed there was something going on. Afterall, he’d seen you leave with Mark and yet there you’d been, abandoned on the side of the road…

You gulped. Your heart started racing. You hesitated for a moment. “Um… Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks again, Daryl.”

He had an uneasy feeling but what could he do? It’s not like he could invite himself to hang around. He chewed his bottom lip anxiously for a moment and then nodded. “Alright. I’ll see ya around,” he said, starting his bike up again. He watched you turn and walk up the drive and front walkway. At the top step you glanced back at him and waved. He nodded and revved the engine as you slipped inside.

_ _ _ _ _ _

When Daryl made it back to the shitty motel he and Merle were calling home at the moment, paid for with stolen credit cards and hustled pool money, Merle was kicked back on his bed getting high. Marijuana smoke was thick in the air.

“Oh, you’re back quick, baby brother,” he smirked. “You must be a two thrust and done kind of guy,” he said with a laugh and a goading smile.

Daryl rolled his eyes. “Shut the fuck up, Merle,” he growled, not in the mood for his brother’s bullshit. He pulled his leather jacket off and tossed it down on the chair in the corner before flopping down on his own bed.

“You tellin’ me you didn’t bed that girl?” Merle said, sitting up. “You’ve been pining after that pretty little ass of hers for years. Why the hell did you offer to drive her home if you weren’t gonna fuck her? What the hell was in it for you?” Daryl’s jaw clenched and he glared at his older brother.

“You’re a worthless piece of shit, sometimes, ya know that? Why don’t you just shut the fuck up?” Daryl spat back at him. He flopped down on his pillow and turned his back on his brother. He could hear Merle laughing to himself again and then the volume on the TV clicked up. Daryl was glad to fall asleep, admittedly thinking about how you smelled a little like lavender and vanilla and remembering the feeling of your arms around his waist.

_ _ _ _ _ _

The next day, Daryl and Merle were back in the bar at the usual time. Your friend Rachel was behind the counter loading her tray with drinks, but as Daryl scanned the room for you there was no sign of you. Maybe you were on a break. He grabbed his usual spot at the bar and Merle was already sweet-talking Rachel again.

Daryl flagged down Charlie and ordered a bourbon. “Hey. Y/N on break?” he asked, hoping it sounded casual.

Charlie shook his head, grabbing a bottle and pouring Daryl’s drink. “No. She called in sick today,” he said with surprise. Daryl’s brow immediately furrowed.

“Sick?” he repeated. Charlie nodded and let out a laugh.

“I know. I think it’s the first time since she’s worked here,” he said. “Except the food poisoning incident a few years back,” he added with a laugh. “But, hell, we were all sick after that.”

Daryl nodded and mumbled a thanks accepting the drink from him. He couldn’t remember ever coming in and you not being there on a day you usually worked. He felt that hard pit form in his stomach again. The night before had seemed off to him in the first place. Seeing you walking alone along the road in the dark like that… What the hell? He knew the kind of people who moved through this little shit town. That wasn’t fucking safe. Your fucking boyfriend had been with you. Why had you been alone? And the way you’d answered him when he’d pressed you to make sure you were alright… you’d hesitated. Daryl downed his bourbon in one big gulp and flagged the bartender down again.

And now you weren’t in today. Your boyfriend’s bike had been in the driveway. He anxiously chewed on the side of his thumbnail. Maybe you really were just sick. But he had a feeling you weren’t. What the hell are you gonna do? Show up at her damn house like a fuckin’ stalker?. Daryl knew there wasn’t anything he could do and he hated that.

_ _ _ _ _ _

The next day Merle was sleeping off a bender so Daryl rode over to the bar alone. He didn’t even want a damn drink. He just wanted to know that you were okay. That annoying pit was still in his stomach. It was still early when he came in so things were slow and there were only a couple townies nursing beers in the corner. He sidled up to his usual spot at the bar. First glance around the room revealed you were conspicuously absent.

“Daryl. What can I get you?” Charlie asked, wiping down the bar top purely out of boredom.

“Just gimme a beer,” Daryl said, tossing a few bucks down. “Shit. Hold that for a minute. I gotta take a leak,” he drawled. He headed down the hallway that led to the restrooms and took a piss, deciding he needed a fucking smoke before he went back for his drink. He was trying to ignore the anxiety swirling in his stomach that you weren’t at work again. He pushed through the back door, digging in his pocket for his lighter, but he glanced up when he sensed someone standing nearby. “Hey,” he said, realizing it was you. You were leaned up against the wall, a lit cigarette dangling between your fingers. You seemed almost to shrink away when he noticed you. “I didn’t know ya smoked,” he said surprised.

You exhaled, your knee bouncing a little anxiously. “I don’t. Usually.” Your body language was closed off, entirely unlike you.

As Daryl looked at you his unease grew and was quickly replaced with the seeds of anger. You had sunglasses on and it seemed like you were purposely trying to keep your face turned slightly away from him. His eyes landed on a bruise on your upper arm and he stepped toward you, eyes narrowed. “Ya weren’t sick yesterday,” he said. He could clearly see individual finger marks bruised into your arm.

You kept your eyes turned down toward the pavement and took another drag on your cigarette. You could feel Daryl’s strikingly blue eyes scrutinizing you now. What the hell could you say?

He moved slowly, like he was worried he would startle you, but soon he was in front of you and you couldn’t avoid his eyes any longer. There was a split in your lip and it was a bit bruised and puffy. That seed of anger in Daryl’s chest burst into a flame. “What happened?”

You pulled your eyes away from his, grateful that they were still hidden behind your sunglasses because you could feel humiliated tears burning in them. “I’m fine.”

Daryl wanted nothing more at that moment than to lift your chin and look you over, put his hands on you gently the only way someone should. But he stopped himself and sighed and shook his head, leaning back against the wall beside you and finally lighting his cigarette, casting sideways glances in your direction. “He put his fuckin’ hands on ya,” he said softly. There was a growl in his voice.

You gulped.

“What the hell happened?” he pressed again. “I knew somethin’ was off when I dropped ya off. I could fuckin’ feel it. I shoulda—”

“No, you did plenty,” you said, straightening up. “It’s not your problem.” You finally lifted your sunglasses and put them up on your head, turning to look at Daryl. Now he could see the swollen puffiness and bruising around your eye and cheekbone. He thought there was a shadow of a bruise over the bridge of your nose too. You’d clearly tried to lessen the appearance with makeup but it was still very obvious in the bright sunlight.

Daryl felt another burning wave of rage. “He done this to ya before?” he asked. Now he was wondering how many days you’d been at work with fresh bruises hidden beneath your clothes. If he had known—

You shook your head. “No. No… He—he started using again.” You sighed and leaned your back against the wall. “He was driving all crazy when we left the other night and we had a fight about it and he threw me off his bike and left me there. That’s why I was walking out there alone when you spotted me. I knew he’d started using immediately. I’d never seen him like. He was like a different person.” You ground the butt of your cigarette out against the brick wall and tossed the it into the dumpster a few paces away. “After you dropped me off I confronted him about it. I told him I didn’t want him around me or in my house. He denied it and then got angry… I—I just got out of there and ran to my neighbor’s and she called the cops.” You couldn’t find it in yourself to look at Daryl. You felt humiliated and ashamed of the whole thing. “They arrested him,” you said, scuffing a shoe on the ground. “So, that’s that.”

“Shit, ‘m sorry,” Daryl drawled. “I wouldn’ta left ya there if I’d known—”

You let out a wry laugh and caught his blue eyes. “Yeah, well… I wouldn’t have had you leave me there if I’d known. But there was no way to know he was going to hit me and—” The sight of the bruises on your face sent a jolt of anger through Daryl every time he looked at them.

“Ya don’t deserve that. ‘M real sorry ya went through it,” he said again.

There was a softness and heavy regret in his voice and it caused your eyes to flicker up to meet his again. You nodded. “Thanks.”

“So, the prick is in jail?” Daryl asked. You nodded. “Good,” he said, tossing his cigarette down and grinding it under his boot. “And he best be glad for it ‘cuz if I see him around here I’mma kick his ass.”

You shook your head at him, a questioning look on your face.

“What?” he prompted.

Maybe Rachel was right. Maybe Daryl Dixon was taken. “Nothing,” you said, shaking your head. “Probably should get back,” you said. Daryl pulled the door open for you and you both breezed back inside.

Things returned to normal for a few days after that. Same old regulars, same old drinks, life went on. But since Daryl’s obvious care and concern for you and Rachel’s comments you were suddenly noticing how you seemed to blush so easily around him… And every time you caught his blue eyes your heart jumped a little in your chest. Maybe it had always been that way and you were just allowing yourself to notice it. You’d always thought he was sweet and handsome, but nothing beyond that had been on your radar. Now that you were tuned in you seemed to be picking up on frequencies you hadn’t registered before.

One day you rushed into the bar, running late and obviously a bit harried. Charlie shot you a look as you tied your apron on. “I know! I know… I’m sorry,” you told him. “My car is on the fritz. It keeps overheating and—anyway, I’m sorry. I’m here,” you finished, grabbing your order pad and a pen.

Merle and Daryl were sitting in their usual places at the bar and you could feel the younger Dixon’s bright blue eyes on you. “Hey—I—I can take a look at it if ya want,” Daryl drawled, looking a little abashed that he was offering.

“Really?” you asked, perking up immediately. “That would be—amazing. Honestly, I can’t spare the cash at the moment to take it to a shop and—”

“‘S’no problem,” Daryl said, spinning his beer glass in his hand and ducking his head again. “Ya just say when.” You grinned widely at him and his heart fluttered.

“Thank you so much. Um, do you have any time tomorrow afternoon? I’m off work.”

Daryl nudged his nose up in a nod. “Ya. Sure.”

“Great. Thank you, Daryl,” you said.

Merle watched the exchange with some interest and then got that usual cocky smirk on his face. “Well, why don’t I come by too? While my baby brother services your car, I can help service somethin’ else,” he said, his tongue darting out to lick over his bottom lip. He chuckled at the sassy and disapproving look on your face in response.

“Keep dreaming, Merle,” you retorted, rolling your eyes at him.

“Oh, I will, darlin’.”

The bar was busy that night, but you still found yourself talking with Daryl whenever you had a spare moment. He seemed to be a little less shy the more you spoke, and you found yourself smiling and laughing more than you could remember in a long time. And it was becoming very difficult to ignore those pesky butterflies in your stomach and that warmth in the apples of your cheeks as you talked with the handsome biker and caught his blue eyes.

That night you had trouble sleeping, and as you tossed and turned you couldn’t stop thinking about Daryl and were finding yourself anxious with anticipation for the next afternoon when he said he’d come by. He’s just being nice. Don’t read into it. You had this nasty habit of talking yourself out of thinking anyone was interested in you. Rachel was good at calling you out on it. You subconsciously bit your bottom lip and rolled to your other side. But maybe he really was interested in you… You were realizing you were definitely interested in him.

_ _ _ _ _ _

The sound of a motorcycle rumbling up in front of your house and then going quiet brought you to the front window. You peeked out and saw Daryl climbing off his bike. Your heart jumped.

He watched you breeze out onto the front walk and the smile you were giving him was intoxicating. You shoved your hands into your back pockets a little nervously and met him on the driveway. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he said, shifting his weight anxiously from one hip to the other. You were just in jeans and a t-shirt but Daryl still thought you were the most beautiful goddamn thing he’d ever seen. “This the problem car?” he asked, jutting a finger the direction of your car.

You nodded. “Yep. I swear I can’t go two blocks without the damn thing overheating,” you explained.

“Hmm,” he hummed, walking around to the front end. “Pop the hood,” he murmured. You walked around and opened the driver’s side door and pulled the hood latch. Daryl lifted it and was immediately bent over the engine, already peering at this part and wiggling that. You came around to stand beside him and Daryl was finding it hard not to glance over at you.

“Thanks again for doing this,” you said. “You really didn’t need to offer.”

Daryl shrugged. “‘S’nothin. Can’t have ya breakin’ down. That ain’t safe,” he said.

You felt a rush of heat in your chest at his protectiveness. “Well, can I at least get you a beer or something while I totally take advantage of your free labor?”

Daryl turned and one corner of his mouth twitched up. Ugh. Your heart jumped at that boyish smile. “It’s yer day off. Don’t ya think ya’ve brought me enough drinks over the years? We ain’t at the bar.”

You laughed lightly and shrugged. “I don’t mind. It’s literally the least I can do.”

“Ya gonna have one? I ain’t a fan of drinkin’ alone,” he drawled. You nodded. “Alright. Sure.”

“Great,” you smiled. “I’ll be right back.” When you came back with two cold beers in hand, Daryl was leaning over the engine compartment in deep concentration. You allowed yourself to notice his broad shoulders and strong, toned arms and found yourself subconsciously biting your bottom lip again… Your face flushed. You practically needed to shake yourself out of it. “Here,” you said, offering him one of the beers.

He straightened up and accepted it with a nod. “Thanks.”

You leaned over the engine and peered down at what looked to you like an unknowable mass of metal. “Any luck yet?”

He took a swig of his beer and shrugged. “Well, your radiator seems fine. Coolant level is good, no signs of a leak. Might be a bad water pump. Or could be a few other things I’ll check.”

“I’m just hoping for something cheap and easy to fix,” you said with a laugh.

One corner of Daryl’s mouth twitched up again. He loved your laugh. He never got tired of hearing it. “Ya, I got my fingers crossed for ya too.”

“So, how’d you learn all this stuff? Your dad teach you or something?” you asked curiously.

“Nah. My old man pretty much only ever taught me what not to do,” he muttered, leaning on the edge of the engine compartment and ducking his head a bit.

You felt your heart sink. You sensed something vulnerable there, something painful. “Mmm. I see. Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. I—”

Daryl’s eyes immediately shot up to your face. “Nah, ya didn’t pry. S’alright.” His blue eyes were still fixed on your face and Daryl let himself drink in the sight of you in this new context. It felt so comfortable, so natural just talking with you, even when he neared things he never revealed to anyone. He wasn’t used to that, but he could get used to it. “Nah, I taught myself. Mostly trial and error. There’ve been times I’ve had a whole lotta nothin’ to do so,” he shrugged.

You nodded, your eyebrows lifting. “I’m impressed,” you said.

He shyly ducked his head again, hoping you wouldn’t see a red flush in his ears and cheeks as he felt them grow warm. “Pfft. It takes that little to impress ya?” he joked.

“No! Come on! Give yourself some credit! I mean it! I have absolutely no mechanical mind at all. As far as I’m concerned, an engine is a magic device that runs on belief,” you laughed shaking your head.

“Nah, c’mon. It ain’t that complicated. The engine just converts energy from the burning gasoline into work. That’s what turns the wheels. You’ve got the cylinders, right? See, your car here is a 4 cylinder. There’s a piston inside each of those cylinders that moves up and down and it’s connected with a rod to the crankshaft and that’s what turns the driveshaft which makes the wheels go. The pistons move down when oxygen and fuel are mixed and ignited. Cuz the gases expand, right?”

You stared at him blankly for a moment before a wide smile grew on your face and you laughed. “Listen, I understood everything you just said in principal but—” you shrugged vaguely, “if you asked me to explain it back in two minutes it’d already be out of my brain. Just let me be impressed with you,” you said.

Daryl nudged his nose up in a nod, an amused look on his face. You thought maybe his cheeks were even a little pink as he took a swig out of his beer and turned back toward your car. “Alrigh’. I’ll try,” he said. “Ain’t used to nobody being impressed with my dumb ass.”

“Hey! Dumb ass should never be applied to you!” you argued, giving him a stern look.

“Mmm.” He ducked his head again and tried to ignore the way his heart skipped a beat at your words. “Your house, your rules, I guess,” he drawled.

You leaned over the engine next to him again. “That’s right. Now please fix my damn car,” you said with a laugh.

And Daryl did just that. By the time he was wiping his hands on a red rag that had been dangling out of his back pocket and putting the tools away, you were shocked to see that the afternoon was gone and it was now officially evening. You’d stayed on the driveway with him the whole time, talking easily about everything and nothing at all, not noticing how the hours slid by. “I don’t even know how to thank you for this,” you said as he shut the hood. The handsome biker shrugged.

“Ya don’t need to. S’nothin’.”

You sighed and gave him a look, shaking your head. “You really are way too modest.” Daryl ducked his head shyly and shrugged again. “Well, it’s getting late. Um, did you want to stay for dinner? I was gonna cook something.”

He pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth and chewed it anxiously for a minute, hardly believing you’d just offered that. He wanted to say yes, but part of him talked back. She’s just bein’ nice. She feels obligated… “Nah, thas alright. Ya probably are sick of me by now,” he said finally.

You shook your head again. “Except I’m really not, Daryl.”

His eyes snapped over to your face and he hesitated again but his nerves got the best of him. “Nah, thanks but—I should go. Gotta check up on Merle, ya know?”

You nodded but couldn’t help feeling disappointed. “Sure. Okay. Well, hey, raincheck then. You can come over some other time. I’m a good cook,” you said. “I mean, when is the last time you had a homecooked meal?”

“Uhh—” He tried to remember if he’d ever had one…

“That’s too long,” you said. “You just say when and we’ll make it happen.” You gulped and touched him lightly on the arm. His blue eyes left your face and flickered down to the point of contact between the two of you. It was electrifying and when your fingers slipped from him, he really wished they wouldn’t. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Daryl, thanks again. I really mean it. Now I won’t piss Charlie off tomorrow. I’ll actually be on time again.”

“Yeah. No problem. I’ll see ya,” he said, gathering the small bag of tools he’d brought over.

You grinned at him and felt your cheeks color. “I hope so,” you said. He gave you a somewhat baffled look and shyly murmured another goodbye. You watched as he climbed on his bike and sped away. The last thing you caught sight of were the angel wings on the back of his jacket and you thought of how wonderfully fitting that was. Even if Rachel was wrong and Daryl wasn’t taken with you, you were starting to realize you were now completely taken with him. And you didn’t know how you hadn’t seen it before.

_ _ _ _ _ _

The next day at work started off insanely busy. Customers seemed to be coming in earlier than usual and you were slammed far sooner than you expected with food and drink orders. But after an initial rush, things slowed way down, and that was about the time that the Dixon brothers wandered in and took their usual seats at the bar.

Daryl looked for you immediately out of habit as he walked in and was surprised to meet your eyes which were already on him. You broke into a small smile and Daryl’s heart jumped. As soon as you could, you came over to say hello.

“Hi,” you said with an even wider grin, leaning on the bar top.

“Hey,” Daryl returned.

Merle was looking between the two of you, noting the smiles and intense eye contact. He laughed. “You two do more than fixin’ a car yesterday or what? Huh?” He nudged his elbow into Daryl hard, whose jaw clenched. The younger Dixon gave his older brother a look which could properly be described as a death glare.

“Shut the fuck up, Merle,” Daryl growled.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” you said to Merle, straightening up, shooting him a smirk.

“Ahh, come on. I’m just teasing you. I know my baby brother ain’t really man enough to—”

“You know, I think I know what you were about to say and I’m gonna tell you I have a very hard time believing that to be true,” you interrupted, leaning toward Merle over the counter, your voice taking on a tone that was soft but dangerous. “I think you might need to reevaluate who the real man is between the two of you.” You straightened up and shot Daryl a warm look that made his throat constrict. “Be nice,” you scolded Merle, “or I’ll ignore you for good. You’ll be stuck listening to nothing but Charlie’s same stupid jokes.”

Daryl watched in disbelief as you breezed away across the bar and he tried to gulp at the tightness in his throat.

Merle was staring after you too, obviously looking you up and down, and he let out a low whistle. “She’s way too good for you, little brother.”

Daryl nervously ran his tongue over his bottom lip and simply let out a hum of acknowledgement. Don’t I fucking know it.

Since things were so slow, you had plenty of time to chat with Daryl at the bar. Merle eventually wandered away to play some noisy rounds of pool with some fellow bikers and you were glad for his absence. Daryl was so much more relaxed without his brother sitting beside him and making snide or sarcastic comments…

“How are ya doin’?” Daryl asked pointedly. “I mean since… ya know, that night. Ya gotta go to court?”

You avoided his eyes now, feeling that same wave of shame cresting again as you thought about your asshole of an ex-boyfriend and what he’d done to you. “Not sure yet,” you said. “I think the lawyers are still doing their legal maneuvering. Depends on if he pleads guilty or not.”

Daryl felt suddenly anxious about broaching such a sensitive topic with you. Yeah, that’s what she wants to think about, dumbass. “‘M sorry. I shouldn’ta asked. Ain’t none of my business,” he said urgently.

“No! No, it’s okay! I, umm, I appreciate it actually… It’s—I’m okay,” you said. “I feel safe knowing he’s in jail.”

“Mm,” Daryl agreed with a nod. “They get… evidence? He gonna stay there ya think?” He was seized by a sudden and unexplainable intense worry. He knew plenty of asshole men like your ex and most of them didn’t give up easily and they didn’t take any perceived slight lying down.

“Well, I had to go to the police station afterwards and give a statement. They took pictures of everything. And I went to the hospital, so they have the reports…” You trailed off for a moment. “They got statements from my neighbor who called 9-1-1.”

Daryl nodded. “If ya ever need anything, ya just gotta ask,” he said seriously.

He watched the worry on your face soften as you nodded. “Thanks, Daryl.” God, he loved the sound of his name leaving your lips.

Your shift was over and you gathered up your purse from the back and dropped off your apron and order pad behind the bar, saying goodbye to Charlie. Daryl was still sitting up at the bar and Merle was playing pool, so you were glad to have a brief exchange with the handsome biker again without his obnoxious older brother around. “Well, I’m exhausted,” you said. “At least I can go out to my car and know it’ll get me home without a problem now.”

Daryl nodded. “Can’t have ya broken down somewhere this time of night. ‘Specially by yourself.”

“Right. Well, I’ll see ya, Daryl. And I mean it about that homecooked meal!” you said with a smile.

He nudged his nose up in a nod and watched you disappear through the door into the parking lot. He raised a finger to the bartender. “Gimme a double whiskey.”

Charlie was just sliding the drink over when Daryl thought he heard something from the direction of the door and he spun on his stool. It looked like someone had partially opened it, but nobody came in and nobody had gone out and the door slammed closed. He stared at it intensely for a moment, unsure why the hairs on the back of his neck were suddenly standing on end. Probably just the wind or something…

It was just then that he heard a scream from outside in the parking lot and Daryl was immediately on his feet and out the door. He saw red as he took in the scene. Your fucking douchebag, abusive ex was trying to force you into a car and you were struggling with him, fighting as hard as you could. Your purse was on the ground beside your vehicle a distance away and Daryl could see drag marks in the gravel where he’d obviously surprised you and dragged you away. He had a firm grip on your upper arm and with the other hand had a fistful of your hair. You were struggling with everything you had, yelling and fighting, but he was a lot bigger than you. It was a battle you would have lost, despite your tenacity.

But Daryl was a blur of action. Rushing him, he swung a fist and punched him hard across the face. You fell hard to the ground as his grip on you disappeared completely. You scrambled up and out of the way as best you could, but you were dazed and having trouble breathing through your panic. You suddenly realized that there were terrified tears pouring down your face. You were trembling.

Daryl was pulling Mark up by the front of his jacket and slammed his fist into his face again. Your ex dropped to the ground hard. He was still on the ground when he kicked Daryl in the shin, knocking him off balance. Daryl landed on his back in the dirt. “Mark, stop!” you screamed. You watched in horror as Mark pulled out a knife, the same one he’d told you he had when he jumped you, the same one you had briefly felt in the small of your back as he demanded compliance. Mark started moving toward Daryl’s prone figure. You felt your face blanche completely. But Daryl was faster and a better fighter and he was back on his feet in no time, keeping clear of the knife as Mark swiped toward him with it. Charlie and the other bar patrons had come out to see what was happening and the bartender had rushed back inside and was now on the phone with 9-1-1. You were screaming at Mark, trying desperately to reason with him, but he might as well have been totally deaf for all the attention he paid you.

Daryl took an opportunity and knocked him back on his ass again with a good punch and then kicked the knife out of his hand. It skidded away on the gravel and you breathed some small sigh of relief. Daryl landed over him and was punching him repeatedly in the face as police lights flashed brighter and sirens droned louder. The cops had arrived. “Daryl!” You rushed forward. “Daryl, stop! It’s okay!” You grabbed his shoulder and he immediately froze, fist cocked back, knuckles bloodied, chest heaving. Another moment and there were cops rushing over and pulling him away. One officer immediately led you a short distance away and you watched helplessly as both Daryl and Mark were put in handcuffs and then taken away in squad cars practically before you registered what was happening. “Wait—he didn’t—No, it was Mark. He—Daryl was protecting me! He—he tried to take me and—" You were trying to explain, trying to get the words out but it was all jumbled and rushed.

“Ma’am, slow down. Take a breath! Slow down! Okay. It’s okay,” the officer coached you.

“It wasn’t his fault!” you said urgently. Just then an ambulance pulled up and the EMTs jumped out. They raced over to you and you could tell by the looks on their faces that you must be a mess, red-faced and crying. You had no idea that you were bleeding from a laceration in your forehead where Mark had bashed your head into the car as he tried to force you inside. You had no idea that your neck looked raw and red, already revealing broken blood vessels and the obvious start of bruising from his hands around your throat. There was almost a visible hand impression on your upper arm where he’d grabbed you. “You—you took both of them but Daryl didn’t—”

The officer and the EMTs continued trying to calm you down. You glanced over your shoulder and noticed that most of the patrons had skipped out as soon as they’d heard the sirens, or perhaps as soon as Charlie had run for the phone. There were only a couple left and of course Charlie as well being questioned. You rounded on the cop again. “Just take me down to the station! I’ll give you a statement and then—then you have to let Daryl go! He didn’t do anything wrong. He saved me,” you gasped, the full weight of what had happened still not hitting you.

“Ma’am, you need stitches,” one of the EMTs told you gently. “Come on. We need to go to the hospital.” His partner pushed the cop back who was intent only on questioning you.

It was like all of a sudden, the adrenaline in your bloodstream vanished and you were exhausted and the pain started to set in. You glanced back over your shoulder and met Charlie’s eyes, he nodded and gave you a worried look before you turned back to the cop and the EMTs. “My—my purse is—” you gestured to where it was lying beside your car.

“We’ll have someone bring it to you after we get photographs, okay?” the cop said. You allowed yourself to be guided into the ambulance, shock starting to set in.

The doctors in the ER wouldn’t let the police question you while they patched you up and you were grateful for that. Besides, there was no chance of what had happened fading in your memory. To the contrary, every bit of it was burned in your mind despite how fast it had all happened. But you needed a goddamn minute to process it. He was out. How the fuck was he out of jail? And why the fuck hadn’t anyone warned you? You’d just stopped beside your car, ready to put the key in the lock when something hit you hard in the head from behind and you remembered dropping to your knees, stunned and with black vision. You’d heard his voice and made a break for the door into the bar. You’d actually gotten your hand on the handle and pushed but you were grabbed and pulled back violently. And then you’d just fought as hard as you could, tooth and nail. You knew if you got into that car, there was a good chance you were going to end up dead. He wasn’t in his right mind.

It was hard to believe this was the same Mark you’d been in a relationship with. He’d never been the least bit violent toward you, but the drugs… as soon as he started using again, he was a different person. But even then, even after he’d beat you up, you never would have expected this.

Once you’d been treated and released at the hospital, you found yourself sitting in the police station with a little Styrofoam cup of tea clutched between your hands, and some cop’s coat draped around your shoulders. The interview room was uncomfortably cold, but the numbness of shock and disbelief superseded the sensation of the chill air, though you were vaguely aware that you were shivering.

A detective came in and sat across from you at the little table and you looked up at him as he settled into his chair. He sighed heavily and leaned forward, readying his pen over his notepad. “I’m Detective Peters,” he said, checking his watch. “It is Thursday, April 28th, and 10 minutes past 11.” You’d given a statement just days earlier. You knew how this worked. You knew he was marking the date and time for the recording that the little, inconspicuous camera up in the corner was taking. “Alright, Y/N. I’m really sorry to see you again so soon under these circumstances.” He was the detective who was handling your domestic violence case too.

“Yeah, well, so am I,” you said, gritting your teeth a little. The numbness receded a little and was replaced by anger. “How the fuck is it that he was out of jail? He tried to kill me. How was he out? And why didn’t anyone contact me?” you demanded.

“He bonded out. And, yes, I’m sorry… we should have notified you. But we never considered him to be this much of a danger.”

“You never considered him to be this much of a danger?” you repeated incredulously. “We discussed a protection order. I don’t think that implies that everything is peachy.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” He paused. “But we need to go over everything that happened tonight and get a statement from you.”

“I’ve already been questioned three times,” you said, exhausted and exasperated. “Why did you arrest Daryl? He saved me. He’s the reason I’m sitting here right now instead of being… I don’t know, maybe dead in a ditch somewhere. Are you still holding him? Is he still here?”

“It was chaos when the officers got there. We need to get everyone’s statements to sort this all out, okay? We didn’t know who was the aggressor or—”

You sighed heavily and shook your head. “Fine. Let’s just do the statement.” You walked him through everything that had happened and consented to have more pictures taken of your injuries; the laceration on your scalp, the bruises around your neck, the handprint on your arm, the scrapes and bruises and cuts on your knees. By the end of it you were so tired you weren’t seeing straight, but the detective stood up and you glanced up when you sensed he was looking down at you.

“Wait here just a few more minutes. I’ll be back,” he said. He left you alone in that little room again and you slumped forward, resting your head on your arms at the little table, completely spent and hurting all over. You weren’t sure how much time had passed when Detective Peters came back in.

“Y/N? Follow me,” he said. You obeyed and walked blindly after him through the station until he unlocked a heavy metal door and pushed through into a room lined with a couple holding cells.

You perked up and breezed past him, scanning the room for Daryl immediately. He jumped up from where he’d been slumped on a metal bench in one of the cells as you rushed over to him. He met you at the bars. “Are you okay?” you asked him urgently. You ignored the twinge in your forehead from your stitches as you furrowed your brow.

“Me? Are ya kiddin’?” he drawled, peering down at you with nothing but concern. “Are you?” His stomach twisted at the sight of your injuries.

You knew you couldn’t get any words out through the bubble of emotion caught in your throat so you only nodded. The clinking of keys behind you drew your attention and you stepped back as Detective Peters moved forward. He slid a key into the heavy lock and turned it, sliding the cell open and gesturing to Daryl that he could exit.

“I’m sorry about throwing you in here,” the detective said. “Everything in your statements matches up, so you’re free to go, with my thanks.” He extended a hand toward Daryl who eyed it with distaste for a moment.

“I don’t want yer thanks. I want ya to do a goddamn better job. This was too fuckin’ close. Never shoulda happened,” he spat. The detective looked regretful and nodded, dropping his hand back to his side.

“Daryl,” you said softly, gently grabbing his arm, trying to reroute the conversation. You were just grateful that he was no longer in a cell. Daryl’s eyes met yours and his expression softened immediately.

Detective Peters sighed. “I’ve got one of my guys waiting to drive you both home. Y/N, they have your items for you up front too. Again… I’m really sorry. But I can assure you that Mark won’t be getting out anytime soon after this.”

“The fuck is wrong with the damn laws? Girl almost had to die before ya’ll got up off your asses,” Daryl spat angrily again. You gently touched his arm again and he relaxed some, glancing down at you and sighing.

As you were settling into the squad car to be driven home, Daryl felt your eyes on his face and he glanced over and took in the wide-eyed expression underneath the fresh stitches and bruises. “Hmm?” he prompted you.

Your heart pounded in your chest. “Could I—I’ve got no right to ask you for anything after what you’ve already done but… could I ask you for another favor?” you said quietly.

Daryl stared back at you intently, feeling suddenly nervous under your eyes. If you’d asked him for the moon at that moment, he would have fucking figured out how to give it to you. He nodded. “Course.”

You wrung your hands nervously. “I’d feel better if—if you’d stay at my place tonight. I know it isn’t rational and that he’s—he’s locked up but I’d feel safer. But if that’s too much to ask I completely understand. You’ve already done more than enough and I—”

“Ain’t no problem. I’ll stay,” he said simply. You thought of him as safety. He didn’t think anyone in his life had ever seen him that way.

You felt a wave of relief and it was visible on your face. You shut your eyes briefly, again feeling beyond exhausted and hurting almost head to toe. “Thank you,” you breathed. “Thank you.”

Daryl nodded and ripped his eyes away from you. You leaned forward and gave your address to the cop and in no time you were both climbing out at the end of your driveway.

You stood at the front door and dug your keys out of your purse. Daryl noticed how much you were shaking as you tried to fit the key into the lock and his face contorted with concern. “Here,” he said gently, his hand enclosing over yours and taking the key from you before slotting it into the lock. His heart jumped at the contact and he did his best to ignore it. Now wasn’t the damn time.

“Thanks,” you murmured, accepting the keys from him again and pushing inside ahead of him.

Daryl softly shut and locked the door behind the two of you and stood a little awkwardly on the front mat. You moved stiffly across the front room and into the kitchen, clicking on the light. Daryl heard you shifting some things around before you returned with a cloth in one hand and a small bag of ice in the other.

You nudged your head toward the couch and he anxiously chewed on his bottom lip but obeyed and took a seat. You sank down beside him, your eyelids heavy with exhaustion, but he knew better than to argue as you pulled his hand over toward you and dabbed at the dried blood across his knuckles. They were split and puffy from their repeated connection with that prick’s face. Worth it. When you were satisfied that they were cleaned up enough, you laid the cloth and then the ice across them and glanced up at his face.

There seemed to be something you wanted to say, something in your expression that took Daryl aback, but before he could decode it, it vanished and you just looked defeated and weary. Daryl swallowed his nerves and nodded at you. “Go on to bed. I’ll be right here all night,” he said.

You gave him another long look before nodding and climbing to your feet with no small amount of effort. “Thank you,” you said, and you hadn’t meant for it to come out in a whisper, but it did. He only nodded back before ducking his head and avoiding your gaze, feeling a little overwhelmed. You managed to trudge to your bedroom and practically poured yourself into bed, still in all your clothes. Feeling safe, knowing Daryl was out on the couch, you sank into a heavy sleep almost immediately.

The next morning you awoke early with the birds, stiff and aching. You clutched a hand to your head, wincing when it landed flush onto the stitches in your forehead. “Fuck,” you muttered, climbing out of bed. You went straight for the bathroom and took some painkillers, pausing to run a comb through your hair and wash your face. You tenderly touched the bruises on your neck and your arm and frowned. You looked a proper mess… You felt a wave of shame and embarrassment before struggling to shove those feelings down. You changed, feeling a little better, and quietly moving through the house, heading for the kitchen and the coffee pot.

Daryl was laid out on the couch, still fast asleep and your heart jumped at the sight of him there. He had his head resting on one of the throw pillows and was stretched out, legs crossed at the ankles, hands resting on his stomach. You couldn’t help but smile at how boyish he looked asleep and there was a wash of heat running through you as you finally tore your eyes away and padded softly into the kitchen.

Coffee brewing, you pulled ingredients out of the fridge and went about making some breakfast. In the other room, Daryl woke up to the sound of you cooking and the smell of bacon. He sat up and shifted on the couch, stretching and feeling a little self-conscious that you had obviously walked through and seen him asleep. He hastily ran his fingers through his hair, trying to smooth down any craziness that might be going on.

Your voice from the doorway into the kitchen drew his eyes. “Hey. Morning.”

You had a goddamn smile for him. Despite what you’d gone through the previous night, you were smiling. At him.

“Hey,” he returned. “Ya get some sleep?”

You nodded and stepped out into the living room, a mug in your hand. “I did.” You were sure your face was coloring pink. “Thanks for staying. Um, do you drink coffee?” you asked, gesturing with the cup in your hands.

He nodded. “Sure,” he said, climbing to his feet. You met him halfway and pushed the mug into his hands. The ceramic was warm and Daryl looked down at the spirals of steam curling away from the surface.

You disappeared for a moment and returned with your own mug. “I’ve got breakfast cooking if you’re hungry,” you said, sinking down onto the now empty couch. Daryl gulped and took a spot at the other end from you.

You took a sip, annoyed at how fast your heart was racing as you looked at the handsome biker on the other end of your couch. “How’s your hand?” you asked him.

He pulled it off the mug and flexed and curled his fingers a few times. It was deeply bruised and the knuckles were definitely still swollen. “S’fine,” he drawled. In truth it hurt, but far less than looking at what was left on your skin from what you’d endured. “How are ya?” A shadow darkened his face for a moment with worry.

You nodded a little hesitantly. “I’ll be okay. Took some painkillers so…”

Daryl pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth and chewed on it anxiously for a moment. “‘M real sorry any of this happened to ya. Ya don’t deserve that.”

You gulped nervously. “Thanks…” You gave him another little smile, this one a little sad, but it seemed like your face brightened quickly again as you looked at him. He ducked his head.

In truth, Daryl couldn’t believe this was real. He’d pined after you for years, subsisting purely on a quick smile here and a word there as you simply did your job. If someone had told him a month earlier that he’d be sitting your house with you sipping coffee he would have thought they were batshit crazy. This was a long way from waking up in that dingy, smoky motel room with Merle bitching about needing another fix even before he could throw the blankets off. He’d never dared to think he would have anything like this, anything nice and normal. Not that he really had it… But even if this was a temporary, singular event it was doing something like filling him up and showing him that life wasn’t all just shit.

You were studying him as he seemed lost in thought, occasionally taking a sip of coffee, and you watched some anxiety cross his face. “C’mon and eat something with me. It’s the least I can do,” you said, nudging your head in the direction of the kitchen. Daryl glanced up and nudged his nose up in a nod before following you in.

You grinned a few minutes later as you sat across from each other at your little kitchen table and Daryl ate ravenously. He was suddenly self-conscious as he realized you were staring at him and he hastily wiped his mouth on his sleeve, but you only leaned your chin on your hand and continued looking at him with that little smile on your lips. It didn’t seem to belong there when you had fresh stitches and bruises. “Hmm?” he prompted, sensing there was something on your mind.

You shrugged and finally looked back down at your own plate. “Nothing. This is—this is nice,” you said.

Daryl gulped. “What is?”

“I don’t know. Just… this. Breakfast with you.”

Daryl’s heart jumped but he nodded in agreement, trying his hardest not to give in to the thoughts of self-doubt and inadequacy. It was nice. It was more than nice. He felt like he had fallen through a wormhole into an alternate reality.

You set your mug down and gave him a long look. “I’m a little surprised you weren’t scared away,” you admitted. “I wouldn’t blame you if you had wanted to just distance yourself from the girl with the psycho ex… Go back to me just being your waitress at the bar.” You twirled your mug in your hands, looking anywhere but at him.

Daryl’s brow furrowed and he studied your somewhat ashamed expression. “Nah. None of this is your fault. And—anything I can do to help, I’ll do it.”

Your eyes shot up to his face and this time his blue eyes held yours steadily. You didn’t know inside he was reeling. The atmosphere between the two of you felt suddenly thick and heavy, charged with electricity and hopeful expectations. Right when you were about to say something, or maybe do something the phone rang and you were startled out of that bubble of tension. You jumped a little and laughed abashedly before going to answer it.

Daryl let out a breath he hadn’t been holding and climbed to his feet, grabbing the dishes and piling them into the sink simply for something to do while you were on the phone. It was a quick call and when you turned around Daryl was rubbing a hand a bit nervously over the back of his neck. “Well, thanks for breakfast. I should probably get goin. Get outta yer hair’,” he drawled. He was sure you’d had enough of him by now.

“Oh,” you said. Wait, did that sound like disappointment?

Daryl gulped. “Ya should rest today. Take it easy,” he said. You nodded and wrung your hands a little nervously.

“I’ll try,” you said. You followed him out into the front room and watched as he pulled the door open and stepped outside, glancing back at you over his shoulder. “Thanks again. For… saving my life and staying and…” you trailed off.

Daryl was very aware that his heart was racing and that there suddenly seemed to be an expanding empty space between his lungs as he got ready to walk down your steps. “Yeah, uhh… don’t mention it. I’ll see ya.”

You gave him one final small smile and he turned away, giving you a clear view of the wings on the back of his vest. Something about the sight of those jolted you out of your hesitation and into action. You squeezed your eyes shut and swore under your breath, stepping out onto the stairs and touching his shoulder.

Daryl turned back in surprise and saw you looking a little wide-eyed and breathless. “Ya alright?”

You gulped down your nerves and looped your arms around his neck, your eyes closing as you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, one of your hands moving to clasp his face, feeling the angles of his jaw and the stubble on his skin. It was soft and sweet, but your nerves got the better of you and you pulled back, anxious to take in his expression. He was on the step below you so his blue eyes were even with yours and you thought they were a little searching or maybe a little stunned.

His hands were suddenly on your waist, and it made him flush with heat, his eyes flickering between yours. His heart was pounding so hard and so fast he was worried you’d hear it. “Uhh… are ya sure this is a good idea right now?” he asked in that sweet southern drawl of his.

He watched a faint smile cross your lips and you nodded, your arms around his neck still. “Yeah. Best idea I’ve had in a long time.”

Daryl didn’t need any more encouragement. One of his hands pressed into the small of your back and pulled you into him while the other floated to clasp your face and tangle into your hair. Your lips crashed together, needy and sweet at first but building in heat as you both realized how long you had wanted this and how much better it was than you had even hoped. You smiled into his lips and pulled him more tightly into you, pressing your body against his. Daryl’s lips softened against yours and his hand smoothed through your hair to the nape of your neck as you pulled back just enough to look into each other’s eyes.

“Come back inside,” you breathed, running your fingers through his hair.

His eyes closed at the sensation and he nervously licked his lips. “If ya want me to.” He needed to hear it for it to be true, for this to be real.

You grinned at him, biting your bottom lip. “I want you to. Daryl, I—I wanted to kiss you last night. As soon as you were out of that stupid jail cell, but… I didn’t want you to think I was only doing it because I was—scared or concussed or something… So, come back inside and spend the day with me... Please?”

His expression softened and his lips curved in a small smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He nudged his nose up in a nod. “Alright,” he said, understated for the wild happiness and disbelief he was truly feeling. You were solid underneath his hands. His palm was flush to your lower back and you were leaning into him. “Anythin’ ya want.”

You shook your head at him and gave him a fond look. “Just you.”

[luxaofhesperides]

traditions.

domestic fluff drabble for joongdok. also on ao3 as part of my drabbles collection.

. .

.

After living together for so long, it’s inevitable that little habits would turn into traditions for them, repeated every day without much thought but plenty of affection.

Kim Dokja is a blanket hog. He pulls them tighter around himself in sleep until they’re yanked away from Yoo Joonghyuk. He used to just pull the blanket back, putting them into a late night tug-of-war until he rolled over and pulled the covers over both of them. Now, Yoo Joonghyuk keeps multiple blankets on the bed, mostly on Kim Dokja’s side so his companion can buddle up when he gets a little cold. 

He’ll still hold Kim Dokja, even in the dead of winter when he’s wrapped in three blankets so tightly he needs help getting out of bed in the mornings. It’s such a small thing, but the sight of Kim Dokja buried beneath his blankets makes something in his chest go soft and tender, warming him from the inside out. 

Their pile of blankets grows each year.

Yoo Joonghyuk is an early riser while Kim Dokja very much is not. He likes to stay up late reading, the lamp on the bedside table kept on and dimmed so he doesn’t read in the dark. Yoo Joonghyuk went looking specifically for an adjustable light lamp for Kim Dokja when they first moved in together. Kim Dokja is still ridiculously touched by it. 

When Yoo Joonghyuk leaves the bed, the sudden loss of warmth always wakes Kim Dokja up. He’ll blink his bleary eyes and reach for Yoo Joonghyuk, who is always ready to reach back. He’ll mumble something close to “Come back to bed,” and Yoo Joonghyuk will smile, that soft one he doesn’t show anyone else, and kiss Kim Dokja’s palm.

“I’m going to make breakfast. Go back to sleep.”

And Kim Dokja will close his eyes again and nuzzle his pillow, but ultimately will not be able to sleep. He’ll doze for another hour or so, then he’ll get up because being in bed without Yoo Joonghyuk is a feeling he doesn’t want to get used to.

After a long day, when Kim Dokja returns home an hour later than he usually does, he kicks off his shoes at the door with a sigh of relief. He won’t call out for Yoo Joonghyuk as he usually does. Instead, he’ll go to where Yoo Joonghyuk is in the living room, doing a quick gaming stream to pass the time, and drop his head onto Yoo Joonghyuk’s shoulder. 

This is when Yoo Joonghyuk types out a goodbye message and ends the stream. Then he maneuvers Kim Dokja around him to pull him into his lap and brush a soothing hand through his hair. 

“Need me to go after anyone for you?” he asks, because it always makes Kim Dokja laugh.

Sure enough, he huffs out a laugh, gently knocking his head against Yoo Joonghyuk’s. “No, no, it’s fine. Just stupid people not doing their jobs right.”

“I could burn down your workplace.”

“Then who would be paying rent, huh?” Kim Dokja playfully tugs Yoo Joonghyuk’s ear, his stress disappearing quickly under Yoo Joonghyuk’s attention.

“I could make plenty of money from streaming. Actually, let’s do that. Quit your job and I’ll provide for us both.”

“And what would I do at home all day?”

Yoo Joonghyuk turns his head to press his lips against the corner of Kim Dokja’s lips. He doesn’t move away when he says, “Spend more time with me,” as though he’s pressing the words into Kim Dokja’s skin.

And Kim Dokja will smile and completely relax in his arms. He wants to quit his job and spend all day with Yoo Joonghyuk, but unfortunately, capitalism. So he sticks to being viscous with his vacation days and the occasional overtime he can hold over his coworkers’ heads so he can go home early.

They wash the dishes together. Kim Dokja insists on doing it by himself because Yoo Joonghyuk does all the cooking, but Yoo Joonghyuk insists on joining him because he doesn’t trust Kim Dokja to wash anything without breaking something. They have this little back-and-forth every day, because they are both creatures of habit before they are anything else.

And Kim Dokja will blow soap bubbles at Yoo Joonghyuk, who just ignores them until Kim Dokja pouts and stops, having given up on getting Yoo Joonghyuk to react, and then he uses a wet, soapy hand to pinch Kim Dokja’s butt. 

The startled shriek it gets him makes him bite back laughter every time.

They have a movie night once a week. Nothing else can ever be scheduled that day. Most people don’t even bother trying to make plans with them for the weekend, because it’ll always be shot down in favor of movie night. 

Kim Dokja chooses action movies or psychological thrillers. Yoo Joonghyuk prefers comedy and slice-of-life films, often paired with romance. He gets teased about it until he pulls a move the love interest does to the protagonist in the film and flusters Kim Dokja so much he can’t speak. 

And then movie night is forgotten in favor of more distracting activities that keep them busy long after the rest of the city quiet down for the night.

They’re not big on PDA. They’ll hold hands and keep close to each other, but other than that, they keep their affection away from the public. 

But sometimes Yoo Joonghyuk gets overwhelmed by how much he feels for Kim Dokja, and he’ll reach out and tap his finger three times against Kim Dokja’s wrist; I love you, in his quiet language of touch. 

Kim Dokja always taps back, even when he’s not paying attention, even when he’s asleep. 

They don’t say goodbye either; it’s always See you at home or Buy more milk before you come back. Sometimes they don’t say anything at all, just press their palms together discreetly before going on with their day. 

A lingering touch, a quiet laugh; habits made tradition, formed from the impossible love they created between themselves in a world that was so quick to tear them apart time and time again. 

How did I get to keep him, Yoo Joonghyuk wonders sometimes, holding Kim Dokja close. It’s always a prayer, a disbelief that someone so good would force his way into his life and stay. Someone who made a home with him, pulled him into the world of domestic bliss, and gave him everything he’s ever wanted without ever asking for something in return.

He’ll give Kim Dokja the world, if he ever asked for it. For now, he’ll settle for a ring on his finger. 

[nodominion]

DV and Sunday night (10/23/22)

Even though I’ve been an active member of this fandom since 2014, I often feel like I can’t speak on meta or fandom issues. I have half of a Dune comparison to IWTV (2022) in my drafts that I can’t quite finish. But this is far too big for me to just like posts on.

This Sunday, we saw two episodes released that portray DV on screen. HOTD shows Daemon choking his wife, Rhaenyra. IWTV shows Lestat beating up, smashing through walls, forcibly drinking from, and dropping from an ungodly height his husband, Louis. One of these things is not like the other.

I’ve seen takes on Daemon both ways, but in the end, while I did not enjoy seeing DV portrayed on screen in HOTD, I understand where the character was coming from. He’d been told that his brother kept a secret from him and told Rhaenyra instead. He’s feeling grief from losing that brother, and his stillborn daughter, and trying to plan a war that Rhaenyra doesn’t seem to want yet. He also benefits from the patriarchal system of the ASOIAF universe, and sees no problem hurting his wife to get his way. He does not choke her hard enough to leave a mark, but enough to show her that even though she may be Queen, she should still be subservient to him as his wife. Is that right? No. Is that the point? Yes.

Lestat takes an entirely different approach. Sure, he feels like he isn’t loved. And someone can argue with me that what we saw on screen was an exaggeration, or unreliable narrator, or even a dream. But we as viewers were subjected to see abuse that was nauseating on our screens. The amount of blood and gore was not in service of the plot. Horror should shock, should scare, but not when it is done in a way that mirrors real life abuse. Not when it leaves the audience unprepared for what is coming. I’m glad I was vaguely warned by others that some form of domestic violence was coming, but AMC didn’t give us the ability to brace ourselves. AMC thought this would be received well, I have to assume. 

I’m not saying that DV should never be portrayed in media. And I think the HOTD example on the same night as IWTV proves that. I can see why Daemon lashes out. I don’t see why Lestat does. Nothing that happens to Lestat justifies the level of abuse shown on screen, and nothing in the episode prepares us for the outrageous violence we are shown between lovers. 

AMC has been trying to mollify the fandom for months by saying this is meant to be a more faithful adaptation than the movie. I gave them the benefit of the doubt for three episodes. Episode four I hated, but I gave them one more shot. I am paying money for the godforsaken streaming service that I watch nothing else on because I love this fandom more than any other. No more. I will pirate my episodes from now on, because AMC and Rolin Jones do not respect the work of Anne Rice. 

[birdsandspades]

Bedtime Routine (A Bakugou Katsuki Oneshot)

-Bakugou drags home his drunk girlfriend after his friend Kirishima's wedding, how much babying will she need as the night goes by? Only the sake will tell!

Word Count - 4,516

- I honestly didn't know how to feel about this oneshot, but I wanted to write one for Bakugou and I felt like some of the parts were cute. So with that, enjoy some soft domestic Bakugou.

----

The keys once again slipped out of your hand, clinking together as they hit the ground. Leaning over, you grabbed the hand next to you as you reached down to pick them up again. 

“Just give me those, i’m tired of watching you miss the keyhole.” Bakugou pulled the pile of keys from your hand, annoyance evident in his eyes. He fiddled with the lock for a moment before shoving the door open for you to walk inside.

“Katsuki, I'm drunk.” You giggled, the dissipating warmth still present in the apples of your cheeks. You have him a spacy smile before turning your attention back to the door. It was a small gap between the level of your front porch and the door frame, nothing menacing to the normal person. But the longer you looked at the door, the higher up it seemed. The ground spinning at a dizzying speed as you gathered the mental aptitude to move your already wobbly feet over it. 

A soft hand on your back gave you the last boost of courage you needed to attempt the monumental feet of getting your damned foot inside of your apartment. You lifted your foot, placing it over the door frame. Mission accomplished, now you just needed to get the last foot over. You lifted it, trying to follow the same path you had taken with your other appendage. Your heel barely nicked the doors threshold, the movement stopping as you jolted forward.  You attempted to grab the wall next to you, hand grasping at air as the floor came rushing towards you. 

Bakugou grabbed the back of your arm, pulling you upright and back onto your wobbly legs.  “I know that dumbass, now move so I can come inside.” He pushed you gently once you had your footing again, squeezing past you before closing the door. He reached a hand around you, flipping the switch next to the door. 

You squinted, scrunching your nose at the bright lights. A hand tugged at the end of your coat sleeve, pulling each one off of you. You watched as Bakugou took it to the nearby hallways closet with his own, hanging them up neatly. 

He gave you a confused glance, the corner of his mouth turning up in an awkward smile as you continued to stare at him. “You good space cadet? Did all that sake finally get to you?” 

Your face soured as the ghost of alcohol's past hit your tongue. You shook your head, trying to rid yourself of the bad taste mentally and physically. 

----

Bakugou couldn’t help but laugh at his light weight of a girlfriend, absolutely wasted after four shots and two beers. He had warned you not to drink with him and his friend at the ceremony, he knew this was bound to happen. He had suggested staying with the girls instead, “You won’t be able to keep up princess, go giggle and gossip with the other girls.” He had ment it in a loving way, only wanting you to enjoy your night. But he knew you had taken it a bit too serious when you shoved your way in between Denki and Sero at the table, hands folded over your chest like a disobedient child. 

By the time the reception had ended and everyone was ready to head home you were way past your limit. Bakugou had found you sitting in the middle of the dance floor with an equally drunk Mirio trying to play a card game neither of you knew the rules too.

Bakugou had to resort to carrying you out of the reception hall over his shoulder, you frantically waving goodbye to his drunken friends as he threw you in the rideshare home. But your drunken shenanigans hadn’t ended there. 

He loved how social you were, making friends just came easy to you. He would bring you to his hero event, relying on your bright and bubbly nature to mask his social lackings, happy that he could just leave all the questions to his likeable side kick and lover. But it was that same loveable attitude that was killing him in the car. 

You had started the conversation off light with the driver, reminiscing on the beautiful wedding you had just attended with your very handsome boyfriend (you made sure to tell her that as well). But once she asked about music for the car trip home Bakugou knew he was in for a long ride. If he had to pick one thing to change about you (and he would have to be held at gunpoint to say this) it would be your music taste. It was his (un)lucky night that the drive and you just happened to share the same love for 2000’s club hits, and that's just what he got to listen to the entire ride home. 

----

Now you were home, safe and sound. With the perfect night coming to a close he recalled the beautiful wedding he had attended for his best friend, and the wonderful night he had shared with the one he loved most. Bakugou smiled to himself as he slipped off his shoes, he hoped he could spend the rest of his life like this with you. You made him feel loved every second he was with you. Whether it be random flowers on his desk after a long patrol, your soft fingers tangled with his under the table at meetings, or that stupidly cute grin on your face as you stared at him for no apparent reason, he was absolutely smitten with you. 

You reached a hand out, placing it on the wall next to you. Holding on for what felt like dear life you leaned down, slipping off your heels before attempting to neatly place them next to the door. A familiar hand wrapped around your middle, holding you steady as you stood back up. Your eyes trailed up the man in front of you, taking in all the ways his black dress shirt strained against his muscles. You ran a hand down the length of his arm, feeling the way it flexed against your fingers as he pulled you closer. 

Your eyes finally met his, the auburn hues starting to match the color creeping across your cheeks. You tangled your fingers in the soft fabric of his shirt, pulling yourself to your toes. He wrapped another arm around your middle, giving you the last boost you needed to finally meet his lips. You melted into the warmth he emitted as your lips lazily danced along his own. 

Smirking, he pulled away from your drunken grip. “Go get undressed, i’ll be there in a minute.” He turned you towards the bedroom before giving your ass a light pat. He shook his head, chuckling as he watched you walk down the hallway, skipping slightly as you rounded the corner to your shared bedroom.

Walking into the kitchen he peaked down the hallway one more time, smiling to himself once he saw the bedroom light turn on. He reached up, opening the cabinet and pulling out a glass. Turning it over in his hand, he ran his thumb over the upraised lettering branded on the glass. 

----

You had brought it back for him when you returned from your year in America. It was one of the worst years of his life, the distance between you and him only reassuring him that he would never let you be that far away ever again. When he had seen you running down the stairs at the airport the day you came home, this glass in hand he knew he was keeping your forever. “You're gone for a year and you bring me back a shitty pint glass from MY american fanclub?” He couldn’t believe you had wasted money on his fan merchandise, let alone bought it for him. 

“I saw it in one of the store windows when I was on patrol and I thought it was cute. They made you look so much nicer than you really are, look you're smiling!” You beamed, pointing out the happy look on his artificial face.

He chased you out of the airport, ready to ship you back to America with your shit present. You could only laugh, paying no attention to the string of curses that echoed behind you as you ran for the car. You instead focused on the slight blush your words brought to the apples of his cheeks, happy to know he liked the gift. 

----

Turning on the sink he filled up the glass before making his way down the hallway towards the bedroom. “You better be on your side of the bed. It’s not my fault you bought a shitty pillow, and i’m not fucking sharing again.” He opened the door to your body lazily laid out across the entirety of the bed, still fully dressed and already snoring. “Hey, no! Get the fuck up, your not falling asleep with all your fucking makeup on!” He kicked the side of the bed, trying to wake you up. 

You peeled open your eyes, sitting up on to look at your very aggravated boyfriend standing above you. “Katsuki i’m so tired…” You whined, attempting to lay back down.

A firm hand grabbed your forearm, forcing you to stay upright. “Drink this, don’t fall back asleep.” Bakugou forcefully handed you the glass of water, glaring down at you before walking to the connected bathroom. 

You listened to him rummage around for a moment, drawers opening and closing while you drank your water. Your eyes drifted to the large picture that hung on the wall above your bed. It was of you and him on your last day of school at UA, smiling at one another, diplomas in hand. His mother had taken it after the graduation ceremony before you went to your rooms to pack up your belongings. What no one knew was right after that picture was when he had asked you to move in with him. He had already picked out an apartment located in between both of your agencies months before, keys in hand when you walked into the dorm building. 

“Come here.” Bakugou yelled from the bathroom, pulling you out of your reminiscing. 

The shower started as you stood up, the warm steam already seeping out from underneath the door. You pushed open the bathroom door, tired eyes roaming over the man waiting for you. You walked over to him, a soft smile adorning your face as you looked over his own. “Hi Kacchan.”

“Hi princess.” He droned, reached for the empty glass in your hands. Setting it down he swapped it for the makeup wipes on the bathroom counter. He peeled open the package, pulling one out before throwing the rest back on the counter top. 

He placed his hands on your waist, lifting you up to sit on the counter in front of him. “You yelled at me last time I let you fall asleep with all this shit on. I don’t want to deal with it tomorrow.” Reaching up, he drew your chin between his finger and thumb. He held you still as he started to wipe off the nights makeup, tilting your head back and forth gently as he ran the cold cloth over your skin. 

Your eyes scanned over the hardened lines of his face, taking in the small details as he concentrated on getting the glittery eyeshadow off your eyelids. You reached your hand up, tracing over his bottom lip. “Don’t you think the wedding was beautiful Katsuki, Kiri looked so happy today.” You hummed, looking back on the night you had just shared with him. 

Bakugou remained silent as he pulled out another wipe, his focus firm on getting every bit of makeup off your face. 

“I hope if we ever get married our wedding is that beautiful. I would say yes if you asked me, because I love you.” You flashed your boyfriend a cheesy smile, your hand resting on his waist as you scooted yourself closer to him. 

“I love you too, now shut up.” He readjusted your head in his hand as he started on your red adorned lips. The long lasting lipstick doing just as it promised as he struggled to wipe it off. 

“I think Tsu-chan would be my maid of honor because she’s my…” You wrinkle your brow, pulling away from the red stained makeup wipe. “Katsuki, you got it in my mouth.” You shook your head, the taste still lingering on the tip of your tongue.

“Then stop talking.” He pulled you closer again, holding your head still as he attempted to wipe off the residual color.

You stuck your tongue out at the frustrated man, taunting him. He responded with another wipe across your tastebuds, laughing as you recoiled from the taste.

Once he was satisfied with your now cleaner face he gathered the dirty wipes, throwing them in the bathroom trash can. He reached a hand down, tugging at the hem of your dress. 

You lifted your arms above your head, letting him pull the dress off of you. It hit the floor, a soft plop sounding as Bakugou pulled you down from the counter. Turning you around to face the mirror, he ran a hand over the gathered condensation. You watched through the foggy glass as his hands found the mess of curls pinned together on the top of your head. 

He took his time finding all the bobby pins hidden inside your hair, fingers grazing your scalp as he slowly uncovered all their hiding places. Each one he would find was placed on the countertop next to you, the pile slowly growing as each curl fell out of it's restrictions. Once he had found them all, he pulled the unraveled ponytail gingerly, freeing your messy hair. 

You handed him the brush, causing him to scoff. You could have brushed your hair yourself, but you were enjoying the feeling of your boyfriend's loving touch as he ran his fingers through your hair checking for any tangles. You watched him through the mirror, your loving gaze falling on his attentive hands as they smoothed over your hair as he brushed it out. The curls on your head increasing in volume as they separated. You hummed, enjoying the feeling of his warm touch.

Once he was done he set the brush down, pushing it back into it's respective place. “Now take a shower.” Bakugou looped a finger around the side of your panites, pulling them down around your ankles. His other hand pinched your bra clasp, undoing it for your convenience. Turning around, he walked back into the bedroom.

You kicked your underwear to the side, the pile of clothing growing in the corner of the room. Stepping over the side of the tub you let the water run over your back as you pulled the curtain closed.  After a moment you leaned back on the side of the shower, sliding down the wet wall until you were seated under the stream of running water. The warmth sank into your skin, relaxing you as you let the water run over your head.

Bakugou returned after a few minutes comfortably dressed in his pajamas. He pulled open the shower curtain slightly, chuckling as you turned around, still seated on the tub floor. “Are you not going to wash yourself, you’ve been dancing all night.” He rolled his eyes, as you shook your head. “Come here.” He sat down near the side of the bathtub, motioning for you to scoot over. 

He pressed down the pump of the shampoo, gathering a bit in his hand as you moved to sit next to him. He smoothed it down the back of your head, fingers digging into your wet hair as he lathered it. He tilted his head, looking around your shoulder as you pushed into his fingers. Your eyes closed in enjoyment as he scrubbed the hair spray from your wet locks. 

Standing up, he pulled the shower head off the stand, giving you a playful spray before sitting back down. He titled your head back, careful not to get any runoff in your eyes as he rinsed the shampoo from your hair. The bubbles building up around the drain as he pumped some conditioner into his free hand. He handed you the shower head, caulking his eyebrow when he saw the amusement dancing in your eyes. “You better not spray me F/N.”

You could see the line in front of you, and if it had been any other day you would have crossed it. But you were tired and so was Bakugou, now wasn’t the time to start another bathroom war. But you would put it on your to do list. You leaned over the side of the tub, pressing a wet kiss against his cheek. You giggled when he recoiled, wiping the wet mark dramatically before picking up the shower head to spray you again. 

He turned you around, shaking his head as you continued to giggle. He smoothed the conditioner into the ends of your hair, massaging it in. He took his time washing it out of your hair, taking in your peaceful presence. He rarely got moments like this with you, your hero work had kept the both of you busy. He would be lying if he said he didn’t wish for a normal domestic life with you from time to time. But he loved hero work, and he knew you would never ask for anything different. 

He reached for the blue bottle of face wash, popping the cap open and squeezing a small amount into the palm of his hand. He rubbed them together, forming a layer of bubbles as you turned around to face him. The same spacey smile lingering on your lips. He transferred the foam onto your wet cheeks, the pads of his fingers worked it into a lather on your face as he washed away the remaining makeup.

You once again fixed your eyes on the man before you, your heart swelling as he carefully rinsed the residual bubbled off your skin. Your mind repeating over and over the adorations you had for the love of your life. “Thank you Katsuki.” You whispered, tilting your head to meet his crimson gaze.  

“Come on princess.” He stood up, reaching over to shut off the shower. His fingers laced with yours as he helped you to stand, his other hand reaching for the towel that hung neatly on the rack. Draping it over your head, a soft smile flashed across his face before the towel dropped over your eyes. His hands gingerly held the sides of your head before roughly shaking it back and forth in an attempt to dry your dripping hair. 

Your hand shot up, pushing him off of you. You pulled the towel off your head, blinking a few times. You were sure the sudden whiplash had sobered you up a bit. “Jesus Kacchan, you’ll rip off my head doing it like that.” You complained, glaring at your boyfriend. 

“Do you want to do it yourself?” He threatened, meeting your glare.

You stuck out your bottom lip, shaking your head slightly. Your boyfriend hardly pampered you and you weren't ready to give up the sweet treatment just yet. You handed him back the towel, blushing as a deep chuckled bubbled up from his chest.

He wiped at the ends of your hair, collecting the dripping water. His hand reached around you grabbing at the loose end of the towel before tightly wrapping it around your frame. You took his open hand as he helped you step over the tub, the pad of his thumb rubbing over the back of your hand as he guided you out of the bathroom. 

He sat you down on your side of the bed as he let go of your hand. “Stay put.” Bakugou pulled the towel tighter around you as you settled into the bed in an attempt to keep you warm. He made his way towards your shared closet, turning on the light. His fingers grazed over your clothing feeling the different textures of the fabric that peaked out. He turned to his side, flipping to his night time shirts as he searched for your favorite UA shirt.

----

The shirt had a long history between you two, it had been with his as long as you had. It all started with your first day at UA together, you were standing next to him as they handed out the shirts for gym. You had been a last minute addition to the class transfering from a different school earlier in the year. They had to guess on your size when they ordered the shirts, and sadly they had guessed wrong. The shirt you got was far too small for you, or really anyone in the class. You had looked so disheartened telling your teacher it was ok, but you had really looked forward to finally having a piece of the school you dreamed of attending. 

It wasn’t until the year after that you and Bakugou had gotten together. Late after class you and him were walking back from the gym after a sparring session. You had sprung the question on him, “Bakugou, do you want to go out?” He tried to play it off like he didn’t care, but he could have thrown up from the nerves. When he got back to his dorm he unzipped his practice jacket and that was the shirt he was wearing. 

It was also the shirt he was wearing when he kissed you for the first time, the first time you spent the night, and the day he told you he loved you. It had been through it all and so had you. He retired the shirt years ago, throwing it to the back of the closet with his other mementos. But when you had moved in, it took you no time to find the heathered grey ball stuffed in the far corner of his belongings. He had come home from work one day to find you sitting on the bed with it in your arms. “I didn’t know you still had this.” You smiled up at him, hugging the old shirt.

He again played it off like he didn’t care, it was his usual approach to life. But he was pleasantly surprised to see you remembered it as fondly as he did. It quickly turned into your favorite item of clothing, finally having the shirt of your dreams in your grasp. He didn’t mind seeing you in it after a long day either. 

----

He thumbed over the cracked school lettering, a smile tugging at his lips as he remembered all the times you had forced him to keep the ratty thing. Finally he had just given it to you, it wasn’t his problem anymore. Or so he thought, you still hung it up on his side of the closet. 

“Put this on and let's go to…” He trailed off as he caught sight of you fast asleep on his side of the bed. Your soft snores barely audible as he set the shirt on the nightstand. “You were wide awake not even five minutes ago…” He groaned. He looked between the shirt and the towel loosely wrapped around your body. After a moment of debate he decided to let you sleep in the towel, the thought of wrestling you into some actual clothing giving him a headache. 

He was ready to crawl into bed when he realized you had yet to do your skincare routine for the night. You had an extensive routine, the products taking up much of the bathroom counter space. You swore by them, stating that image was an important part of being a hero. He reached over to wake you up, hand stopping a few inches from your shoulder. “Tch, idiot.”

He now found himself looking over the stack of products shoved in the corner of the counter top, trying to remember all the items you used for this process. “Why do you have so much shit Y/N?” He grumbled, pulling out everything he faintly remembered ,carrying it to the bedroom.

He sat down on the bed next to you, the mattress dipping as he let the products rest in his lap. He hated the fact that he would do anything for you, this included. You were definitely going to hear about it in the morning. He picked up the pink spray bottle first, recalling it as the first item in your multistep night time routine. He gave your face a few spaced out sprays, retracting the bottle when you stirred.

“Uh, next is this green shit I think…” He mumbled, mentally recalling all the nights you had tried to force this on his face. Picked up the small green glass bottle, he looked over the bright pink lettering on the front. He unscrewed the top, resting his finger over the entrance as he turned it over. He dabbed the liquid left on his finger over your face, smoothing it into your skin. 

He set down the green bottle, his fingers still lingering on the underside of your jaw as he reached for the next product. He fumbled with a tall blue pump serum, his hands slick from the remaining skin product. He had bought this last bottle for you when he went in for hair gel, the price almost sending him into cardiac arrest. He never understood the price differences and why you couldn’t just buy the “knock off”, but it was your money. He repeated the process with the milky liquid, making sure to spread it evenly over your now dewy skin. He traced over your freckles that dotted your nose, his finger trailing down the bridge lightly. They had become more vivid since the beginning of summer, he loved the fact that he was lucky enough to be close enough to you day after day to notice something like that. 

“Almost done with this stupid shit…” Bakugou grumbled, unscrewed the lid of your moisturizer before dipping his fingers in the thick mixture. He dotted it around your soft skin, rubbing it in as he counted his blessings that you didn’t have more to do. 

He stood up again, holding the products against his chest. He gave you one last look over, smiling to himself. “Dumbass.” He softly chuckled, making his way towards the bathroom.

Once everything was put away he made his way back into the room. Shutting off the lights as he made his way towards the bed. Crawling in beside you he pushed you over to your side of the bed. As he sank into the sheets he thought of the black velvet box tucked inside of his coat pocket in the hallway closet. His fingers grazed your own under the comforter, tangling together. “You're gonna say yes huh?” He let his eyelids close as he chuckled to himself, thinking of the weekend ahead. 

[ladykissingfish]

drunk Akatsuki hc? 🥺

Ask and ye shall receive! ((Sorry it took so long to get to/finish this. Also get the nagging feeling I did a post very similar to this before but 🤷🏽‍♀️ piss poor memory so))

Drinking with the Akatsuki

Kakuzu

Takes a lot to get him drunk; his alcohol tolerance is pretty damn high. And when he does reach that point, he becomes … very unlike himself. Friendly, smiling, and extremely loose with his precious money. Kakuzu being drunk is the best time to ask him for an advance on your pay, or a personal loan. Another bonus: drunk Kakuzu is storytime Kakuzu. When he’s sober, the others don’t really like listening to his stories because they’re all boring as hell, and are usually centered around some point that he’s trying to nag everyone on. But drunk Kakuzu, well, he’ll tell you about brawls, dangerous stunts he pulled when he was a kid, sometimes even old lovers. He can keep the rest of the Akatsuki enraptured for hours with his intoxicated tales. The morning after a night of drinking is a different tale, though. He’ll remember loaning money to people and hunt them down to make sure that know they have to pay him back, and he’ll deny like crazy any story tidbits that the others bring up to him. Will also go through several pots of pure black coffee in an effort to de-hangover himself more quickly.

Pein

The Pein bodies don’t drink, but Nagato will, very rarely. Beer is his drink of choice, and he’ll opt for foreign rather than domestic. He’s not really the type to get full-on drunk (no matter what he’s the Leader and he carries himself as such), rather he’ll just get slightly tipsy. If he gets tipsy enough he’ll rant a bit to whoever’s closest about pain, and the unfairness of life, and anything else that would put a downer on happy drinkers’ moods. He always hopes that the alcohol will help him to sleep (he’s a horrible insomniac) but most times it just gives him a slight headache while leaving him wide-wake and dry-mouthed.

Hidan

Nobody wants to be around this guy when he’s had too much to drink, because the normally violent Hidan becomes even more so after hitting the booze. He’ll be willing to take on any and everyone, from teenagers to old men. And being immortal doesn’t help matters any; he could literally get torn limb from limb and his mouth would still be taunting his opponents with “Is that the best ya got, bastard??” Drinking also brings out his creative side when it comes to his human sacrifices and Jashin rituals; he’ll think up new (and horrible) ways to torment and kill his victims. Is the type to finally, FINALLY just completely pass out after reaching his final tolerance point, and the others will (reluctantly) drag him to his room and put him in his bed. Not many are willing to do this, however, as most times before he passes out he’ll have stripped himself completely naked.

Tobi

An emotional drunk. Gets sad and cries over practically anything. And it doesn’t take much to get him tanked, either; his tolerance level is embarrassingly low and he’ll be ready to sob after just a couple of glasses of wine. Tobi tries to avoid drinking when he can because he knows there’s a good chance of him dropping his persona and letting the others see Obito Uchiha. In fact this HAS happened a few times, where he’a taken off his mask and everything; fortunately for him the others were so gone that the next day they either didn’t remember, or believed that had just imagined the whole thing. Likes to soothe himself by slurring sad love songs at the top of lungs, joined most frequently by Deidara and Hidan. Will also drunkenly stuff his face with meats, which is a complete opposite from his sweet-loving sober self. He can throw down a dozen burgers when boozed up, the results of which will likely be in puddles all over the floor the next day. Will go to his bed and turn around in circles a bunch of times, like a dog, before finally going to sleep. “Tobi” will be the quietest he’s ever been the next day, as he fights a massive headachy hangover.

Konan

For being such a thin, delicate girl, Konan can hold her liquor right up there with the likes of Kakuzu and Kisame. One might never even know that she’s drunk to begin with; she walks perfectly straight, doesn’t slur her words, has almost perfect reflexes and normal mannerisms. One thing always gives her away, however; drunk Konan is hungry Konan. Under normal circumstances the little lady sticks to a healthy diet and isn’t one for over-indulging in anything. One shot or beer too many, and suddenly the gloves are off. Konan will make pizza, hotdogs, gigantic sundaes, cakes and pies … and devour almost all of it. She’ll share with the others if asked … but most times she’s eaten so much that there’s not much left to share. When she’s finally had her fill, she’ll go to bed … and wake up feeling sick as a dog the next morning. After the nausea passes, she’ll force herself to go for a long run or walk, no matter how much her head may be aching, in order to work off her excessive calorie intake.

Zetsu

Zetsu doesn’t drink, because alcohol interferes with his plant genetics, acting as literal poison to his system. But he enjoys being around the others when they’re drunk, to see the different types of personalities that emerge. Likes to hang around Hidan in particular, as the man’s sacrifices pick up significantly when he’s drunk, meaning Zetsu has more of a smorgasbord of leftovers to pick from

Sasori

As a puppet, Sasori doesn’t drink. But when he was a human, it was a different story. He turned himself into a non-human at a very young age, much younger, of course, than would have been the legal drinking age. But his grandmother kept a variety of wines in their home, and when she was away, he liked to pour himself a glass. Always only a single glass; he was intelligent enough both to know that his grandmother would notice if any larger of a quantity was missing, and, already dabbling in making poisons at this point, he understood the concept of “tolerance” better than most. But the single glass was enough; it seemed to comfort him during those nights when he was missing his mother and father. The wine also served as a brain-opener for him, of sorts: it was over wine that he first got the idea of turning himself into a puppet.

Deidara

Being young and so slender, and not having much experience with alcohol before joining the Akatsuki, the blonde is a bit of a light-weight when it comes to the hooch. He doesn’t really care for beers or ales (he compares the taste to “cat-piss”) and instead goes for the fruity mixed drinks that don’t SEEM that strong … until you’ve had about three or four, and they put you on your ass. Deidara becomes very lovey-dovey when drunk, and not just in a romantic sense. Alcohol makes everyone in the world his friend, and he’s suddenly interested in what others have to say about life and art. He’s even nice to Itachi, going so far as to hug him and tell him that he smells good, something that he will vehemently deny the next day. He’ll go to Sasori and cling to him and gush about how he appreciates his friendship and his guidance, until Sasori gets tired of him and tells him to go to sleep. Deidara can get to his room on his own, but once the door closes, he’s more likely to pass out on the floor than in his own bed. Also, if he didn’t think to tie up his long hair beforehand, he’ll be in for a nasty, messy surprise when he inevitably wakes up to vomit at some point.

Itachi

Itachi isn’t one to ever let himself lose control of his senses, no matter the situation. Therefore, if he’s drinking with the others, he’ll stick to one or two beers or a single shot before cutting himself off for the evening. He plays much of a “mom” role in the group, making sure the others are okay, lending a shoulder to cry on for the emotional drunks, and, if they’re out somewhere, making sure everyone gets home safe and sound. On the rare, RARE occasions he drinks by himself, and lets go of his hesitation, he’s just as emotional a drinker as Tobi (which is quite possibly an Uchiha trait). He’ll cry into his pillow, he’ll sit and lament over the choices he’s made in life. Sometimes he’ll find and put on the saddest song or movie he can think of, just so he has something to get emotional over. Although this sounds bad, this is actually a helpful bit of therapy for him, as it allows him to release emotions that he normally keeps bottled up. He’ll end a night of solo drinking with a cup of tea, then go quietly to bed, sleeping like a rock until the sun comes up and things go back to normal.

Kisame

Right up there with Kakuzu as being a guy that can hold his liquor like a champ. In fact his ability to do so has won him many drinking challenges at bars, as well as a formidable reputation as “one bad ass son of a bitch”. It also helps him confidence-wise; normally the half-shark is very reserved and keeps to himself, as he feels that his appearance is off-putting and scary to “normal” people. But alcohol loosens him up and gets him talking, and being bold, and many people find this switch in personality to be highly attractive. Ladies especially take notice of his smile, his eyes … and his muscles. He even scores several phone numbers from interested parties … but by the time he’s sober again, he never follows through with calling anyone. Also helps Itachi in that he keeps an eye on the others when they drink, to make sure that they’re safe.

[annie-blackhill]

Aight, I know that I've been away for awhile but now I'm back and I have ideas babes!

____________________________________

Warnings:

Depression

Anxiety

Past panic attacks

Mentions of past domestic violence

Abusive childhood

Post traumatic events unconscious coping mechanisms

Unconscious flinching out of instinct

Sudden panic when hearing fighting between a man and a woman screaming very near

Loss of breath

Domestic violence

Blood

Panic attack

____________________________________

Dazai Osamu

________________

Safe and Sound

________________

Dazai and (Y/N) have been in a relationship for two years now. They're so in love with each other that everyone at the ADA are questioning the fact as to why they weren't married yet.

Dazai really loves (Y/N) and she loves him just as much back. They both really love each other and they both understand each other the most too.

But there were still some things that Dazai didn't know.

The main reason why (Y/N) and Dazai weren't married yet was because Dazai wanted to get her parents' blessings first. He was so excited to get their blessings, to meet the people who brought his perfectly imperfect lover into this cruel, tainted world.

He was eternally grateful to them for bringing her into this world, although the cruel world had tainted her and made her the broken person she is now, he still loves her for her. She's the only reason he has to live now. And he loves her for that.

Whenever Dazai asked (Y/N) about her family, she would tell him stories about when she was a child and how her dad would bring them to the beach every weekend because they lived near to the beach or when they went back to school shopping together.

But that was it. Her dad never really appeared in her other stories much. He would pop in at some point of the tale and then disappear. Her mum, was mostly the one to witness her achievements.

But (Y/N) has never described her parents' proud expressions whenever she achieved something.

At times, when Dazai did pry lightly, she would turn the story somewhere else, mostly to her friends.

He knew that she didn't really have a good primary school life, seeing as she's told him before that she's been bullied at that time. She's described them as the loneliest years of her life and how much she's hated herself those times.

Whenever (Y/N) talked about friends, it would be about her friends from her high school life. Her high school was much more on the better side.

She had been a prefect in her high school years, since her first year to her last year.

The only bad memories she had was when she realized that being in the first class and being the top of the class meant the other students would sabotage her and the two times in her senior years where she had to fight back as self-defense when she tried to break up a fight and they started to hit her too.

Dazai wasn't daft. Of course, he picked up on all the signs she showed that she wasn't really fond of her parents.

At first, he thought that it was just because of a small fight they had. But two years have passed in their relationship and (Y/N) hasn't cracked even the least to tell him why her childhood stories are only until a certain age or why she's never told him how proud her parents were of her.

Dazai was worried. In the end, he decided that maybe her parents just have a slightly tight relationship with each other.

Dazai decided to not ask. He let it slide and slip past them. He never touched the subject of her parents for the half of the second year of their relationship.

As the other half year of their relationship rolled in, Dazai and (Y/N) had saved enough money to buy a cozy little apartment near the ADA and move out of the ADA's hostel.

The day they were moving in, the couple were greeted by the middle aged woman who lived next door with her husband and 4 year old daughter.

She had been a very sweet auntie that welcome the sweet couple to the apartment complex with open arms and a sweet smile.

More than once had she cooked good food for the duo since they always returned late from work.

"You two kinda remind me of how my husband and I used to be when we were younger and so in love," the auntie would say to the duo all the time.

The little 4 year old would also come by and play around with the loving couple whenever they were on leave.

Auntie would always try persuade her daughter from "disturbing the lovely young couple" as she would always say to her daughter.

"It's alright, auntie! I love kids! (N/N)-chan and I are planning to have a few little munchkins like this when we're married too!" Dazai would assure her, while playing with the little girl.

But there was always something about how (Y/N) would send the auntie knowing looks as though she knew something that he didn't all the time, so he decided to pay more attention too.

When Dazai did start to notice more, he noticed the dark bags under the auntie's eyes and he noticed how tired she always was.

The more he noticed the more concerning she looked to him day by day.

"Auntie, would you like to join us for tea, today? Osamu and I wanted to play with that sweet little angel," (Y/N) invited the auntie.

"WHO'S THAT AT THE DOOR???!!!" the booming voice of the male from inside the auntie's house shook (Y/N) to the core and it ignited old memories that she didn't have to remember.

"Auntie, you really should come. Osamu insists! You know how he gets when he doesn't get what he wants! He'll be whining all day long like a little baby!" (Y/N) tried to convince the auntie discreetly.

"I ASKED 'WHO'S THAT AT THE DOOR'! ANSWER ME YOU USELESS WOMAN!!!" the man shouted from the bedroom again.

(Y/N) flinched. She was regretting sending Dazai to the store now. They had been running low on groceries and she had sent Dazai to the store, as she would say "please contribute you're lazy arse to do something in this household, my love" and he had carried his lazy arse to the store near the apartment complex.

After Dazai had left was when she started to hear the shouts and yells from the next door auntie's house.

Even as the bad memories plunged her being, she had forced herself to go and at least try to save the auntie before anything bad happened to either her or her daughter.

But even then, if you looked closely at (Y/N) you could see that she was trembling badly and that she could barely stand on her two feet.

"Auntie, come on please!" (Y/N) begged in a mutter exclamation.

"I'm sorry," the auntie murmured before closing the door on her with an apologetic smile.

"Auntie, no!" (Y/N) exclaimed.

And that was when she heard the terrible screams and the yell. The cries of the little 4 year old teared her soul apart into the smallest of pieces.

"NO, NO, NO!!!!" (Y/N) yelled as her mind turned blank and the memories flooded her brain.

Her mind turned so blank that she forgot that she was slamming her fists onto the door and that she had an ability.

The memories of how her father would come home drunk and lay on the sofa. Of how her mother had found out that he was having an affair. Of how, he would beat the living daylights out of her mother.

(Y/N) never told Dazai any of that. She felt ashamed to tell him that her childhood was the most terrible thing to ever happen to her.

A blood curdling screamed pierced the air along with a loud cry and that was enough for (Y/N) to snap out of her traumas and remember that there were lives on the stake right now.

She finally regained her senses fully and remembered that she has an ability.

Using her elemental abilities, she bent the wooden front door so much that it broke it half and broke off of it's hinges. The lower half flew to the side of the corridor almost hitting her while the other half flew into the house and hit the middle aged aggressive man that was about to beat his wife over the head with a glass flower vase.

The auntie stood in shock as the younger woman ran to her and hugged her.

"Auntie! Are you alright?! Are you bleeding anywhere?! Do you have any fatal injuries?!" (Y/N) questioned quickly as she held the shorter's woman's face in her hands and looked her over, making sure that she wasn bleeding anywhere majorly.

"Why you little freak show! You must one of those freak shows that are born with those little abilities! How dare you interfere with someone else's family problems?! Youngsters these days don't know how to respect their elders! Let me teach you then!" the man yelled at (Y/N) as she stood in front of the trembling woman, making sure that the older woman was perfectly hidden behind her.

(Y/N) slipped a hand into the back pocket of her jeans. She clutched the holster of her gun.

"Step away, right now before I seriously hurt you," (Y/N) warned as she held her left hand out to stop him from coming any nearer to them.

The man took off his belt and folded it into two, straightening it out with a snap, which caused both women to flinch as more dark memories flooded into (Y/N)'s mind.

"I said STOP RIGHT THERE!" (Y/N) warned yet again. It was against the law for her to shoot him and she couldn't even use her abilities against him as he was a normal civilian.

She was trying her best to not hurt anyone here and let the civilian authorities handle the ruthless man.

The moment the man raised his arm was the same time (Y/N) slipped her gun out of her back pocket and shot his arm.

The man let out a cry of pain and fell back from the sudden pain. He looked at the younger woman, wide eyed as she held the gun tight and pointed the barrel to his forehead.

"Armed Detective Agency member, (L/N) (Y/N)," (Y/N) announced as she showed him her ADA card.

The man backed away more at that. His eyes wide as he realized that she was a member of the authorities.

"(Y/N)?!" Dazai shouted as he entered only to see the bloodied situation of the man and the two trembling women.

"Where's the child?!" Dazai asked immediately.

"Sh-she's in her room," the auntie answered meekly.

Dazai nodded. He looked down at the man, disgust, venom and a desire to kill clear on his face.

The man even then, still tried to gain Dazai's pity as Dazai was a fellow man too.

"S-sir! All I was trying to do was educate my wife to be more better and obedient! I wasn't trying to do anything other than that! I swear!" the man said.

That only made Dazai even more disgusted as he spat on the man's face in disgust. He stomped his foot harshly on the man's hand that was holding the belt.

"You disgust me you old fool! You're an utter disgrace of a human being! I'm disgusted to see people like you are still alive! Terrorizing women's lives! Making them only feel like obedient dolls that should only do whatever you say!

I'd rather kill you then let you go to jail and then get back out after a few months! People like you shouldn't exist at all in the first place!

Your wife is supposed to be your life partner! Not some maid or toy that would do everything you say! You're supposed to live life and do everything together!

I can't believe you even had a child with her only to state your dominance over her and make her unable to run away from you!

You disgust me!" Dazai yelled at the man as he twisted his foot on the man's hand more and stomped it over and over and over again, intent on breaking it.

(Y/N) shielded the auntie's sight form her lover's rage as he broke the man's hand and rendered it completely shattered under his shoe.

"Osamu..." (Y/N) called out for him.

Dazai raised his head to look at his lover, tears streaming from his eyes from utter pure white hot rage.

"Are you alright? Are the two of you alright? Is that little angel injured?" Dazai's voice turned so soft that (Y/N)'s heart broke at the mere sound of it. He sounded as scared as she was feeling.

Dazai went over to the two women and squeezed them into a light hug, he buried his face into the crook of (Y/N)'s neck. (Y/N) hugged his waist, her arm practically limp, but her hand still clutching the gun tight just in case the man tried anything, her ear was placed against his frantically beating heart.

The older woman had wrapped her arm over his back and was hugging him tight, scared out of her life and grateful for the presence of the two youngsters at the moment.

"Osamu... We need to call the police and the ADA, specifically Kunikida-san. We need to explain a hell load to them all," (Y/N) murmured lightly to the shaken man.

Dazai nodded lightly at her statement before pressing a light kiss to the crook of her neck and removing himself from the hold of the two women.

"Auntie, do get your little girl and wait outside of the house. (Y/N) and I will call the police and our co-worker to handle the mess here," Dazai informed the older woman.

She merely nodded, not trusting her voice to be strong enough to answer him as she went to the little girl's bedroom to get her out of the house.

Once the child and woman were safely out of the house, Dazai dialed Kunikida while (Y/N) dialed the police station.

Both at had arrived at the house. The man was brought away on a stretcher by the paramedics as (Y/N) was explaining to the police as to why she had used her gun.

Kunikida and Dazai, both standing on either side of her, trying to justify the reason as to why she did so and the police accepted the reasons in the end.

Dazai said his end of the story and then they moved on to ask the wife and the child about their ends of the story.

"(Y/N), you know you shouldn't have used your gun. I'll have to confiscate it for now. You'll only be allowed to use it on missions. I'm sorry but those are the rules that you need to follow after that little act of 'misusage' as the police says," Kunikida sighed as he took the gun lightly from her slightly slackened grasp on it now.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. I was scared and he raised the belt above me, ready to hit at any moment---" her voice cracked and she couldn't continue the sentence anymore.

Kunikida held her hand softly as Dazai brought (Y/N) into a soft side hug, holding her softly and rubbing her shoulders.

"I know and that's why I'm the one that's supposed to be saying sorry for taking away your gun, (Y/N)," Kunikida said.

"Hey, hey. It's alright, the both of you. I'll pull some strings here and there and make sure, (Y/N) gets her gun back, alright? Easy peasy!" Dazai lightened the mood up a little.

"Sigh, thank you, Dazai. For making this easier for all of us," Kunikida said before excusing himself, saying that he needs to fill out a few more forms at the police station and make sure that neither Dazai or (Y/N) get accused for anything that they didn't do.

Dazai proceeded to lead (Y/N) back to their little home as the auntie and her daughter were led to the second ambulance by the new paramedics.

(Y/N) leaned into Dazai as she curled up onto him. He held her close and tight, knowing full well that she was shaken up from the encounter.

"Osamu... Remember how you always asked for the truth about my childhood... What you witnessed today that was happening to that auntie and her daughter? That's the real truth to my childhood.

But no one saved us. And as I grew and my dad lived his other life with his little affair, he would come and go to let off steam on my mother and my mother started to blame me for how miserable our lives were.

That's why I never had a past occupation like everyone else. I had been working with the ADA ever since I was 18 and I ran away from her.

The president helped me. He helped my mother by providing her safety and a new home.

My father is still out there, somewhere with that other woman.

And I... I've never seen my mother since the day I ran away. She must be happier now," (Y/N) said, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Dazai hugged her closer and kissed her forehead.

"It's alright, love. You have me and the other ADA members for you as well now. Hell, even the Port Mafia is with you right now after how much you helped them out when we were all having trouble with The Guild and Fyodor. You have all of us here for you.

Most importantly, my love, you have me. I won't let anyone so much as hurt you even a little bit and go off the hook.

I swear," Dazai murmured softly into her ear and she snuggled closer to him, their feets touching and their hands interwined with each other's.

____________________________________

"Port Mafia strikes again as a man who was arrested yesterday due to commiting domestic violence was murdered by them brutally in his own jail cell much to the surprise of all the police officers present.

Police officers were considering requesting the Armed Detective Agency to further an investigation at first, but has now decided against it as the chief of the police station has deemed it as a waste since the man was a criminal," the news reporter announced on the morning news as (Y/N) sipped her (bitter/sweet/neutral) (coffee/tea) and Dazai adorable chewed his crab sandwich.

"Who did you ask to do it?" (Y/N) asked immediately as soon as Dazai swallowed.

"Chuuya was more than willing after I told him the story. I didn't even have to tell him which police station and cell that scum was in, he ran off and figured it all out himself and finished the job," Dazai answered before continuing to adorably eat his crab sandwich.

"That scum deserved it," (Y/N) agreed as she continue sipping her (coffee/tea).

____________________________________

Awareness Note:

Stop domestic violence. The pain lingers on even after the relationship has ended. No one should have to be bounded to a spouse that only views them as an object and an inferior instead of a human being and an equal. No one has to go through physical and mental pain with a monster that prefers to take control of everything. No one has to go through such pain.

Marriage isn't pain! Marriage is a bond of two people who love each other!

If it hurts both physically and mentally, then it's not love.

Know the difference.

[fridayfirefly]

A New Start

Read A New Start on AO3

Masterlist

Written for Maribat March Day 15 - New Start

At the age of twenty-three, Dick Grayson was used to being called names. Playboy, asshole, womanizer - people liked to make assumptions about him. The press only ever saw him as a reflection of his Bruce's public persona, another rich airhead who thought of nothing except sex and alcohol.

Dick tried to rise above it all. He graduated from Gotham University School of Business with a 4.0 GPA. He earned his job at Wayne Enterprises instead of letting it simply be given to him. He never went to parties, never went to nightclubs, never got caught doing anything unsavory by the press. Despite every reason that made him entirely unsuitable gossip material, Dick Grayson was still splashed across the front page of every Gotham Gossip Magazine. They created speculation over every little aspect of Dick's life. When he took a week off of school due to the flu, he was actually partying his way through Europe. When he ran to the campus convenience store at 2 am to buy a new phone charger, he was actually buying a pregnancy test for his one-night stand. When he went to his Bruce's Spring Gala alone, it was actually because he was having a secret affair with one of the married models. Dick knew that nothing he did would change the way the press viewed him.

Dick hated the press. He hated being seen as a rich, air-headed playboy who earned none of his success. He hated how so few people saw past the headlines to get to know the real him. It seemed like no one could see the Dick Grayson who made dumb jokes and loved his slightly dysfunctional family and fell in love with his whole heart unguarded. No one could see the Dick Grayson who just wanted to be loved back.

------

Dick was running late. Any other day, he would be perfectly prompt, but that morning, everything went wrong. The subway got delayed. The uber driver tried to take a shortcut down the wrong way of a one-way street, adding another twenty minutes to Dick’s commute. The barista at Starbucks messed up Dick’s americano not once but twice (Dick still tipped her, but he was still resentful about it). When Dick finally got to the office thirty minutes late, he found out that he had a meeting in twenty minutes all the way across town.

Overall, the whole morning seemed to be fated for disaster. Dick caught a taxi outside of Wayne Enterprises, chugging the last of his americano before he got in. On the drive to the Gabriel Fashion building, Dick got himself up to speed on the topic of his upcoming meeting. Ever since the arrest of Gabriel Agreste two years prior on charges of domestic terrorism, Gabriel Fashion had lost more and more money until it was simply impossible for the company to remain afloat. However, despite the catastrophic failure of the parent company, one branch of Gabriel Fashion was still doing incredibly well. Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s line of sustainable, environmentally friendly fashion, named Miraculous Fashion, was widely regarded as the best thing to come out of Gabriel Fashion in the last fifteen years. Wayne Enterprises wanted to use Miraculous Fashion to get into the fashion business. Bruce was willing to offer Adrien Agreste, CEO of Agreste Fashion (though not for much longer, as the company was on the verge of declaring bankruptcy), just about any amount of money Agreste could ask for in order to acquire Miraculous Fashion. However, that meant getting the approval of Ms. Dupain-Cheng first, which was the reason that Dick was meeting with Ms. Dupain-Cheng that morning.

Dick's horrible luck wasn't through with him yet, though. As his taxi pulled up in front of Gabriel Fashion, the vehicle drove through a huge puddle, splashing street water all of a young woman walking past. Dick could hear her surprised shriek even from inside the taxi.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Dick muttered as he shot out of the taxi. "I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

The woman blinked up at him, wiping the icy water off of her face. "I'm fine. It was an accident."

"It's not fine." Dick's already foul mood even worse after seeing the state of the woman. Her coat (originally cream-colored, as Dick could tell from the dry spots) was now covered in wet, gray stains.  "I can pay any dry cleaning expenses."

The woman shook her head. "It's not a big deal."

"I'll pay for your cab ride if you'd like to go home and get changed," Dick offered. He knew better than to throw money at a problem, but he wanted the guilt he felt about ruining the woman's morning to go away.

She shook her head, wet strands of hair sticking to her face. "No, it's fine. I have a change of clothes in my office, and I can get cleaned up in the bathroom."

"Okay. Sorry again Miss..."

"Dupain-Cheng. Marinette Dupain-Cheng."

Dick winced. Of all the disastrous coincidences... "I'm Dick Grayson, your 9:30 meeting."

Marinette stared at him for a moment, before starting to laugh. "What a terrible first encounter we had. Why don't I walk you up to my office? My secretary can show you around while I get changed."

"Sounds great, Ms. Dupain-Cheng."

"Call me Marinette."

"Only if you call me Dick."

Marinette tried and failed to hold back a giggle. "Right this way then, Dick."

------

Dick had the sneaking suspicion that despite the fact that Marinette had lived in Gotham for the past six months, she had yet to encounter any of Gotham's many gossip magazines. When she looked at Dick, there was no judgment in her eyes. Dick was used to the underhanded insults, the subtle ways that people tried to undermine him because they didn't think he was qualified for his job. Marinette never acted like that. She was interested in everything he said, offering both praise and criticism to his ideas as they negotiated the terms for a potential merger.

"I want Miraculous Fashion to continue past the end of Gabriel Fashion, but to be honest I was hoping to be picked up by a company more experienced in the fashion world. Miraculous Fashion has a lot of potential, and I don't want to let that go to waste with a company that - no offense - might not know how to operate a clothing company."

"I understand your concern, but Wayne Enterprises is dedicated to expanding into the fashion world. I swear to you that Wayne Enterprises will do whatever it takes to ensure that Miraculous Fashion prospers. I can't promise that we won't make any mistakes or screw-ups, but I can promise that Miraculous Fashion won't be abandoned when times get tough."

Marinette nodded thoughtfully. "I'll think about it, but there's a pretty good chance that I'll agree to this. I've gotten a few other offers from different fashion companies, but none quite as enthusiastic as Wayne Enterprises."

"I hope to see you again soon," said Dick as he left her office.

Even though it was riddled with disaster, Dick couldn't help but feel good about his morning. His meeting with Marinette felt special. It felt like a new start.

@maribatmarch-2k21

[monstersfear]

slay anything // crow & emilio

TIMING: current PARTIES: @corvidaecrow & @monstersfear SUMMARY: crow follows a rumor to someone who may know a thing or two about demons. emilio is tired. CONTENT: vague implications of domestic abuse

Crow had been patching up a roof when he heard rumors about a private investigator who solved weird cases. Or tried to. No one in the group seemed overly fond of the fellow and there were whispers that he attracted demons. Crow hadn’t been particularly interested till he heard that part.  If this man had had to deal with demons he might be what the young man needed. If he could tell him how to kill Sigas then that’d be a big burden off his back. He decided to go visit this man after work that day.

Unfortunately work didn’t let off till the sun was gone from the sky. Crow almost didn’t go, thinking the place would be closed at 9pm but whatever he was here now, might as well knock. He knocked hard enough on the door to be heard but not loud enough to be rude, just in case the people next door got curious. Really the less eyes he had on him the better. “Are you Emilio?” He asked as soon as the door opened. 

It wasn’t rare for clients to come by after dark. Even without taking White Crest’s less human population into consideration, there were always going to be people whose jobs kept them out long after the sun left the sky, people whose lives didn’t operate on a regular schedule. More often than not, late-night knocking on the door was accompanied by that familiar feeling of the hair on the back of his neck standing on end, a sure sign that whoever was waiting on the other end of it was undead. This time, Emilio’s senses were silent. He told himself this was a good thing.

Moving to the door, the hunter yanked it open and squinted his eyes suspiciously at the kid who stood there. Definitely not undead; not visibly inhuman in any way. He didn’t look like Frankie had, stitched together with borrowed parts, though it was hard to tell if this completely eliminated the possibility that he was a part of the cult that had been giving Teddy shit. Emilio studied him with a critical eye, looking him up and down. “Who’s asking?”

“Crow. You can deal with demons?” Crow was never one to beat around the bush. He preferred to get things done as fast as possible. Even if he did sound a little blunt. “Need help with one.” Crow was still covered in the dirt from work and would probably stay that way till he had enough time to get water to clean off properly. He shuffled past the other into his apartment and took it in. He wasn’t impressed but the other was doing better than he was, he guessed. He at least had a roof. 

Crow shuffled around in his pockets and pulled out the cash from today's work, “I can pay.” There wasn’t a lot and Crow had planned to use it for a new shirt, his was getting a little worn down but getting Sigas off his back permanently was more important in his mind. 

Emilio always preferred it when people were upfront, especially clients. But… The kid’s question sent a chill down his sprint, and he stepped aside in a daze as he came into the dingy apartment. The kid was probably younger than Ari. Certainly too young to be dealing with fucking demons. Emilio thought of Teddy, sixteen and desperate, making a deal with the damn Leviathan in a desperate attempt at some form of security. Christ. 

“No. Keep your fucking money. The hell are you getting involved with demons for, kid?” He grit his teeth, nostrils flaring in frustration. He should say no. He really should. He didn’t need another demon in his life, wasn’t even sure he was going to survive the ones he’d been having run-ins with already. But… fuck. It was a kid. It was a fucking kid, and how could Emilio turn that away? It was Silas all over again, begging for his help with Andreas. Sighing, Emilio pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tell me everything you know.”

Crow kept his face neutral, really if the other said no he’d be fine with it. This was a long shot in the first place, so when the other man asked him for information Crow had to pause for a moment. He shoved his cash back into his pockets and pulled his jacket off. “I was six. Parents made me.” He tossed it onto the couch and now the tattoos on his arms were in full view. He pointed at the feathers, “Its name is Sigas. Likes Crows. Has a crow skull for a head. Promises immortality. Likes fire too.” 

Crow then turned around to pull his shirt far enough up his back to show off the mark between his shoulder blades, “This is its sigil.” The sigil itself was a circle of small symbols, in the center of the circle was a four winged crow that looked like it was in flight. The crow's head was replaced with black flames. It had four legs; two were holding a spear, the other two were holding a crow’s skull. Its tail was spread with two chains dangling from it. Crow let the other get a good look before lowering his shirt again. “Says it's going to rule. Wants an army. And A Body.” 

Jesus. Six years old, and his parents had decided to give up his life. It was hard not to think of Jaime, who’d died at six, who Emilio would have given anything to save. He clenched his fists at his side, fingernails digging into his palms with enough force that he knew there’d be marks there later, and he listened as the kid went on. Sigas wasn’t a demon he’d heard of before, and he tried to decide whether this was a good thing or a bad one. Emilio wasn’t familiar with demons on purpose; they just kept on showing up. The addition to the spiel, the fact that this Sigas was apparently a big fan of fire, was a thing that could cause problems later on, too. Emilio had struggled with it since the chimera in the cave, and it had gotten worse since the warehouse fire. Taking on something like that meant risking the flashbacks he’d been warring with lately.

But at the same time… There was no way he could say no. Not when there was a kid involved. A kid who’d gotten no fucking say in the matter, a kid whose parents had chosen this shit for him long before he’d been old enough to argue. “Let me guess,” he sighed, worrying his lip between his teeth, “the body he’s planning on using is yours?” Like Hekakleidi all over again, right down to some kid knocking on his door. This time, at least, the kid wasn’t already possessed. “Okay. So your parents, then, they’re… Followers of Sigas? There a lot of those? Just in White Crest, or all over?”

Crow shook his head a little, “No. Just my heart. I’ll be dead.” That was one of the reasons he fought to escape. The cult had been out to kill him that night knowing full well they didn’t need him alive. As long as the heart made it back intact, Sigas didn’t care what happened to the flesh around it. “Yes. A whole town in Damariscotta. Few hours from here. Don’t know about White Crest.” He hadn’t heard of any other factions then again his sect believed themselves to be the righteous chosen anyway. They probably didn’t care if there were others out there because they were the ones who gave Sigas what it wanted. A battery. A spellcaster strong enough to grow its powers over the years so it could create its own body, one that would let it live in the human realm no problem but keep its beautiful visage. 

“Can you help?” Crow didn’t have any other leads in town so he was hoping Emilio had a way to deal with demons. The only thing the cult kept saying about Sigas was how powerful it was and how it would bring about righteous glory and just a lot of bullshit he didn’t believe anymore. So his knowledge on demons was about as much as anyone else’s really. 

Just his heart. It was almost worse, in a way. At least in the case of possession, some part of the person still existed, even if only in a physical sense. But this? This was something uniquely fucked up. “Well, if there are any in White Crest, they haven’t popped up on my radar yet, either. Doesn’t mean they’re not here, but it probably means they’re not too active.” Which was a good thing. Emilio had had just about enough cult bullshit to last him a fucking lifetime in this town, and he wasn’t even finished dealing with the last one yet. He wasn’t looking to add another homegrown cult to the mix just yet. 

The question was a loaded one, and Emilio swallowed. Inevitably, he thought of Silas. This was a lot different than that had been. Silas didn’t seek Emilio out specifically when he’d needed help getting away from Andreas’s cult. Emilio was just… there. He couldn’t decide if that was better or worse, but… He knew he couldn’t say no. He never could when it came to a kid knocking on his damn door asking for his help. “I don’t know how much help I’ll be,” he admitted, “but I’ll damn sure try. These people, do they know you’re in White Crest? They gonna come looking? Gonna need to make sure you’re safe, first thing.”

“Could be scouting.” He had seen a few crows flying about and Sigas could have been hiding among any of the flocks. Crow wasn’t sure if the demon would send other people to track him given that he slaughtered most of the people who tried to stop him already. But the cult wasn’t the quiet sort. They took in anyone who visited the village, granted if you wanted to leave they either made you disappear or just outright forced you to stay. He was sure if that was happening in White Crest the other would have heard about it. 

“They might. Been a year. Haven’t seen any.” Didn’t mean they weren’t looking. It was part of the reason he stayed out of town during the day if he could help it. Was harder to notice his tattoos in the dark, which made it harder to distinguish him from other people. “Am being careful.” He felt the need to say it given how many times he had to tell Rhett the same thing. He liked the old man and the fact the old man cared. It was a strange feeling but not a bad one. 

“Could be,” Emilio agreed. If they so much as suspected the kid was here, they were bound to come after him. Cults didn’t typically enjoy letting people go. Emilio had seen that plainly enough with Silas, experienced it himself with Hekakleidi. He was pretty sure he was tied up in it now with the damn garbage cult, too, even if they’d slipped into the background for the time being. “Anything I should look out for, far as scouts are concerned?” 

Nodding, Emilio pushed a hand through his hair. A year. That meant the kid knew how to keep off the radar, though Emilio knew it didn’t mean the cult had given up. “I’m sure you can take care of yourself,” he said, though he wasn’t sure he believed it because the kid was a damn kid and Emilio felt nervous just thinking about him out on his own. “But that doesn’t mean you have to. You don’t know me, so I’m not asking you to trust me. But… I’m telling you you can come here, if you run into trouble. Any of the people in this office, they’ll help you with whatever you need. Okay?”

“Crows. Symbols and the birds.” The cult was obnoxious that way. Crows and flames it was always Crows and flames, if he could think of another name to call himself he would, but his brain wasn’t really geared towards that. So for now Crow would have to stick. “The sigil too.” That would also be plastered on their jackets, like some biker gang. “Crows harder to spot. Have to look at heads. Look for skull. Black flames.” 

“Woods are safe. For me. And you.” Crow felt better in there, it was hard to find him when he was up in his shelter. Most people didn’t spend a lot of time looking up, plus all the ‘bears’ in the woods would surely pick off any cultists that were just fumbling through the trees. Plus he didn’t have to put anyone helping him at risk, which was better in the long run. They couldn’t help him if they were dead. 

“Crows and the sigil. I’ll keep an eye out.” It was one situation where the rampant paranoia that plagued Emilio might actually do someone some kind of good. He could keep an eye out for crows and for the sigil that the kid had described, and he could at least make sure the kid had a head start if the cult turned up here. It might make him feel like he was making some kind of a difference. He needed that, sometimes. It was why he kept Axis going, even when everything else felt like it was going to shit.

Sighing, Emilio nodded. He’d expected as much in terms of an answer here, though he wanted to argue that the only person he really ought to be worrying about was himself. Emilio would be in danger either way, because he always was. Because he sought it out, because he wanted it. Because he deserved it, maybe. But arguing with the kid wouldn’t get him anywhere, and he knew it. “All right,” he agreed. “You stay in the woods. But you remember what I said, okay? This apartment, it’s a safe place. If you need somewhere to lay low or you need someone to protect you, you come here.” He wondered, belatedly, if this was the same kid in the woods Rhett had been talking about or if the forests of White Crest were just filled with lost kids with no place else to go. He couldn’t decide which answer was worse. “How about food? Water? Clothes? If I find shit like that for you, where can I leave it?”

Crow nodded when the older man repeated the important bits of information back to him. He paused at the next question. The less people that knew about his home the better, less chance of someone following them or finding out accidentally through loose lips. “Rhett. Old guy. Big beard. Long hair. Weird smell. He can bring it.” Rhett he trusted more than anyone else, well almost more than anyone else. Correy was another with a high level of his trust but something about him made Jonas think it was better Rhett interacted with Emilio. Rhett and Emilio seemed to give off the same air though they had very different smells and attitudes. Crow wasn’t used to being exposed to so many new things even after a year of living in the woods. 

Cult members all smelled the same, he wasn’t sure why the elders had demanded everyone use the same soap and shampoo, he didn’t think Sigas was that much a stickler, still everyone obeyed. Though he didn’t remember his mother got away with smelling a little like cinnamon, she was afforded breaks in the rules given that she sired Sigas’ conduit. “Would like clothes.” He spent most of his money on food and clothes that had to be saved up for. The shirt he was wearing now already had holes forming at the bottom. He shouldn’t have bought that guitar but  it gave him something to do at camp. He didn’t want to be on his phone too much to save on having to find a cafe to charge it. 

His suspicions regarding just how many kids might be living in White Crest’s woods were confirmed with Rhett’s name, and it brought some relief with it. There were very few people Emilio trusted more than Rhett; if he was taking care of the kid, it probably meant the kid would be all right. “I know him. Rhett’s my brother,” he offered, hoping it’d go a little ways to build some trust. It was clear that the kid was a little squirrely, and it’d be easier to help him if he didn’t have to wonder if he was going to take off at the first sign of trouble. “You go into the bathroom, you’ll find his clothes all over the floor. Guy’s got no idea how to clean up after himself.” He let a playful lilt carry the words, trying to get the kid to loosen up just a little. 

He nodded, looking the kid over again. His clothes were pretty ratty, undoubtedly a side effect of living in the woods. “I’ve got some that might fit you,” he said, voice coming out a little softer than he’d meant for it to. Silas’s things were still piled in the corner. Some of it might be a little big on the kid — Silas had been tall, after all — but Emilio didn’t think it’d fall off or anything. “Stay here a second.” He disappeared behind the wall that separated the ‘office’ portion of Axis from the rest of the apartment, shuffling through the box of Silas’s shit until he found a few items of clothing that didn’t hurt to give away. He brought them back, holding them out with a nod. “That should do you okay for now. I’ll have Rhett bring you more later.”

Crow tilted his head at the admission. They didn’t look all that alike to be siblings then again Rhett had that beard covering his face, they could very well share similar features that were just hidden under the bush on the other man’s face. Crow didn’t seem to pick up on the joke, still staring blankly at the older man. “Tell him to clean.” Leaving a mess was one way to accidentally get hurt if something happened in the bathroom. Though Crow wasn’t sure what dangers would come from the bathroom, still was better to have a clean floor to fight on. Clothes could get wrapped around your feet otherwise. 

Crow offered a nod and stood waiting for the clothes. The tone in the other man’s voice wasn’t hard to miss. These clothes meant something to him. Normally Crow wouldn’t care and would take the clothes without any issue but this guy was Rhett’s brother. He’d make sure to keep the clothes in a separate pile and treat them better than the rest. Crow himself wasn’t all that short standing at 6’1” the boy was rather tall. The growing pains had been bothersome to train with, but everyone seemed excited to watch him get so big. He looked at Emilio noticing the other was shorter than he was as he took the clothes. Rhett had said not to say thank you so Crow awkwardly mumbled out an, “Okay.” He hadn’t brought his bag with him, so he draped them over one arm to keep his hands free. 

There was a childlike confusion behind the kid’s eyes, and Emilio started to explain the familial situation between himself and Rhett before thinking better of it. If the kid had been raised in a cult, things like surrogate siblings might be a little too much to hit him with all at once. “Trust me, kid, I’ve tried. Telling Rhett to do something never works out the way you want it to.” Maybe the kid knew the warden well enough to understand the truth behind that, or maybe he didn’t. Either way, Emilio hoped it might help him relax just a little bit more.

Though not quite as tall as Silas had been, the kid had enough height to ensure that the clothing Emilio offered wouldn’t swallow him completely. He took the clothes without argument, and Emilio’s arms felt heavier, somehow, with the absence of them. He tried not to ache too badly with it, tried to remind himself that Silas probably would have wanted it this way, anyways. Emilio could practically hear the zombie’s voice in his head now — It’s not like I’m wearin’ ‘em anymore, Bean. Might as well give ‘em to somebody who can actually use ‘em, right? He nodded, unsurprised but relieved that the kid seemed to know the ‘no thank yous’ rule. Rhett probably would have taught him first thing. “Okay,” he repeated. “Do you, uh… You got a name? Something I can call you?”

“Will tell him. See what happens.” The Cult had made family dynamics very clear. There were your blood relatives then there were friends. Calling someone you were close to, but weren’t related to, brother would earn you strange looks from those around you. It was important to keep everything detailed so they knew which people in the cult weren’t related, that way when you were paired off you didn’t end up with someone you shared blood with on accident. It also let them see which bloodline produced the strongest offspring. Those who did well to bear smart and strong children were rewarded with special privileges in the cult. His family bloodline was elevated to the top of the clan from the bottom once Crow had been chosen as the conduit. They were rewarded with the best food and living spaces. 

“...Crow.” Crow was beginning to wish he had been named something else. Crows were too tightly linked with Sigas. It was annoying. 

Snorting, Emilio shrugged. “Shit, if he listens to you, I’ll give you a job here. Professional Rhett handler.” He was only half joking. Having someone around who Rhett might actually listen to wasn’t the worst idea; it was, he suspected, something Rhett would probably like to have for Emilio, too. Neither hunter was particularly good at doing what they were told. Emilio had never been sure if that was a thing that applied to all hunters in general, or if the two of them had invented their own brand of stubbornness to be shared between them. 

“Crow,” he repeated with a firm nod. “All right, Crow. Good to meet you.”