#they never come out greasy they cook through perfectly

[jockpoetry]

i really did perfect my little fritter batter recipe. it works for any kind of fritter, perfectly, every time.

tonight? i used it as a corndog batter. i made little mini corndogs bc we HAVE to stay silly and they came out so good.

[lilac-5ky]

Roommates from Hell, pt.3 (Toji x Fem!Reader)

Chapter 3: Eat ✓ Pray ✕ Love ?

Chapter 2 | Chapter 4 | Story Masterlist | Masterlist | Requests

A/N: TOJI POV TOJI POV TOJI POV last chapter dedicated to the same day, I promise!

Warning: Sexual imagery and slight angst.

If Toji knew that the tradeoff for forfeiting his hold on you involved wearing an apron three sizes too small and one shade too pink, he could and certainly would have refused.

But Toji was never good at placing bets, let alone winning them, and when you handed him a bouquet of bushy carrots demanding they be diced-not sliced, he found himself wielding a knife of a different kind than the ones he’d been used to carrying.

Carrot peels, he came to realize, cling to fingers with more persistence than blood. His frequent visitations to the sink were timed with fleeting glances at the chirpy whirlwind that zoomed by him, your stare and grip too focused on beating a bowl of eggs into submission to pay heed to the butchered vegetables on his side of the counter or the enamored gleam that sparked in his eyes. Intentional and raw.

Before meeting you, he could count the times he’d eaten a homemade meal actually meant for him on the fingers of one hand. At the Zen’in household, whatever chewed up and spat out leftover remained of his parents or brother’s meals ended up on his plate. On a good day, there’d be a chunk of meat to sate his hunger, but on the bad days… Well, those definitely outnumbered the good ones.

Even the pesky whining guard dogs his uncle kept around had the privilege of stuffing their bellies with specially imported Scandinavian canned food. Not him. He didn’t know the taste of real food until you forced your way into his unordinary worthless life, making all the soggy french fries his intestine had suffered through in the name of waiting out your shift’s end worth it.

Without you, he would have starved a long time ago, both literally and figuratively, as the sight of you doing what you loved the most fed into his hungry eyes. You loved cooking and he loved watching you cook, and he couldn’t wait until the two of you cut down on excess subjects coming in between. He wanted the reason for your smile to be him, not some stupid free-range egg deal you’d gotten from the farmer’s market.

“You done with the carrots?”

Your question faded into a sour statement after facing the carnage of snipped carrot greens and what was left of their orange counterparts, closer to a pulp than a usable ingredient. You probably expected to hear an “I’m sorry,” or at least an “Oops,” but that was far from what he had in mind.

You look like a fucking housewife.

With your little apron -snatched straight from your workplace’s greasy kitchen- hugging your perfect waist perfectly. With your messy hair pulled in a meatball-shaped bun, a wooden chopstick piecing it together. With your feet defying their weary state from working overtime, just so he could enjoy himself a plate of warm food—

All those little things filled his scattered brain with all sorts of ideas. He could hoist you up so easily. Loop his arms around your hips and spin you round and round the tiny space, not a single complaint escaping your lips before they are made his. You’d be pressed flush between his body and the cabinets with nowhere to go, your thighs welcoming him with the spot he longed to call home, and only then would he let his mouth run off to describe the tantalizing details of all the fantasies he’d ever had watching you in that apron, the vilest of all that you one day wore it as his wife.

“Toji…?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you listening?”

“Yeah.”

Your fingers tapped at your sides, elbows angled into triangles, and nose scrunching up. Shit. He remembered your lips moving, though he had no real recollection of what you’d just said to him. More like asked of him, judging by your irritable tone.

He shook his head unceremoniously and tossed whatever edible of the carrots inside a bowl, scrapping the peels and leaves into the trash and then he gave it up for inspection. Had you scolded him, he might’ve pretended to care, but you didn’t. Instead, you juggled a handful of onions that he caught mid-air, and he prepped his knife for the second round of calamity.

This time he’d do good, Toji inaudibly promised. He’d show you just how good he was with his hands, even if the task was so menial a fourth grader could pull it off.

Soon enough, a mountain of flawlessly chopped onions, sliced mushrooms, and cubed ham stacked up on his cutting board, their executioner impatient to receive your seal of approval. You worked with your back against him, cold air tingling the short hair at the base of his neck whenever the refrigerator opened to reveal the next ingredient. Namely something in a bowl, something in a bottle, and something in a Tupperware container. That’s as far as he could tell, his view of you narrowed down to your skirt flowing in and out of his eye’s range.

But what his eyes failed to discern, his ears made out just fine, the somewhat familiar tune you hummed gaining lyrics in his brain. It wasn’t the worst song, and as far as Toji was concerned, he wasn’t the world’s worst singer either. He could pitch in right where the chorus began, though decided against it at the very last minute. His rougher voice would stifle rather than compliment your own.

And so, he let his chance at a duet be snatched, first by the oil sizzling in the pan, and then twice again by the exhaust hood’s mortifying buzz. The song changed to one he didn’t recognize, and he was left in the awkward spot of having absolutely nothing to do other than stare at your profile and scowl at the lack of acknowledgment.

You didn’t bat an eye when you reaped the seeds of his hard work— didn’t pay a single compliment before tossing them into the fire.

Stingy ass bitch. Words cost nothing to spare.

He decided to hold onto his childish grudge for a while longer and retired against the wall nearest to the stove, a light thud echoing from where his head hit the cabinet.

Toji did love watching you in your element, but at the same time, he was so terribly… bored. You bossed him around like a dog and lacked the common decency to throw him a damn bone. Worst of all? You ignored him. His little huffs and frowns and carrots— okay, maybe he did fuck up when it came to the carrots, but what was your excuse for giving him less attention than you gave that stupid pan?

Luckily, there were plenty of ways to turn this around, especially with how unguarded the curves of your waist and shoulder were, both perfect fits for his arms to wrap and chin to nuzzle. The rest would be history. You could call him a bastard and flip his dinner over his head (oh, what a terrible waste of ingredients) after he scratched that itch.

“Are you plotting my demise?” Your voice nipped a string of indecent thoughts right in the bud. “You’ve barely said two words since we started. Makes me think either there’s a cut-off tongue in here,” you pointed at the rice, giving it a thorough stir “or that you’re scheming my assassination.”

If only you knew, he smirked, drawing away from the wall.

“Who’d ever pay to assassinate ya?” rephrased to “Who’d ever wanna assassinate a B-tier waitress,” as if to mellow the sting of his first statement, both sounding equally hideous to your ears.

“Didn’t know waitresses have tiers,” your grip on the ladle tightened, voice gaining a sudden edge.

“Course they do, dummy. Waitresses who toss in extra ketchup packets automatically rise to C-tier. Then,” Toji grinned, “there are those who wear nothin’ under their little skirts and flaunt their asses over your face for extra tips— now, those are A-tier.”

He could tell you were holding back more than the groan you let out, two of your fingers hiking up your nose and pinching at the bridge.

“What about B-tier, mister diner-expert?” you faked a smile, teeth trembling beneath pursed lips.

It was so easy to get under your skin. Shame he couldn’t say the same about your panties.

“A mix of A and C. They give ya bonus ketchup and let their ‘assets’ dangle for free, but—”

The savory aroma of oyster sauce flooded his senses, distracting his thoughts and diverting his attention from the threat your ladle posed until it batted his hand away from the pan with a vicious swing.

“—Slap ya before you can whip out your wallet,” he growled.

“As if your wallet contains anything other than soapland cards and betting slips from ‘98.”

Green eyes darted to the ceiling, a soundless whistle between his puckered lips.

“You don’t have a wallet, do you?” you said as if it was the greatest revelation of the century.

“Don’t need one,” he glared.

You sighed. “There seem to be a lot of things you don’t need.” The ladle tapped against the pan’s side for the excess grains to drop. “Or at least things you claim you don’t.”

“Need? Nah. Want, though?” Toji quickly bounced back, mischief beaming in every aspect of his expression while he rubbed his palms together like some pesky housefly.

“I can think of a few, roomie.”

“Gonna keep it up with that nickname?” you tutted.

“Don’t like it?” You shook your head. “Alright, pitch in some ideas, ‘m all ears.”

“What kind of pretentious asswipe picks their own nickname?” You shoved past him to fetch another container from the fridge, a hint of green glinting underneath the transparent lid. Uh-oh.

“The kind who refuses what others call ‘em.” His neck craned forward as he propped himself against the counter.

The view was much better from that angle. He was able to notice details he previously missed, such as the drops that’d gathered on your forehead from working over heat for so long, how your lips twitched to find the perfect comeback, or the loose strand of hair that dangled dangerously close to his eyes, inspiring him to play with it like a cat mindlessly yanked on a ball of unraveled yarn.

“I have a name, you know.” You caught onto his staring and tucked the hair behind your ear. Tsk.

“Boring,” he yawned.

“Did you just call my name boring?”

“Nah, called you boring, smarty pants.” Toji cocked his head. “Oops. Couldn’t help it.”

It was your turn to scowl, and he’d be damned if the way your fingers clutched onto the counter didn’t bring a stretch to his lips. More so than aspiring to be the one who made you smile, he took pride in being the only one who could annoy you to such great extents.

“Won’t be able to help if your tongue ends in your plate either,” you snarled.

The Tupperware opened to reveal a sea of disgusting green beads, confirming Toji’s worst fears as you stuffed your hand inside and began pouring them into the pan. Although he was nothing short of an omnivore, he never hid his distaste for the healthier nutrients of vegetables and legumes— peas included. You always tried to sneak them here and there, typically in his fried rice or curry, and every single time he’d leave the plate with enough pearls to string a necklace.

You were about to add in a second handful when the way his far more menacing green orbs drilled holes into your skull became apparent.

“Right—”

Your closed fist emptied the peas back into their container— or so would have happened, if it weren’t for the unforeseen snare around your wrist.

“What are you doin’ ?” Toji snapped.

“S-sorry,” you stuttered. “Forgot how much you hate that ‘stinky green shit’.”

“Well, they are stinky and green and taste like absolute horseshit,” he affirmed. “But you still like that shit, don’tcha?”

“I do, but-”

He dragged your hand above the fire, ushering your fingers open, while you stared at him in utter disbelief. “I’ll just spit ‘em out.”

A short breath hitched up your throat and you peeled your eyes off him, the words “How convenient” washed away once you escaped his grip and neared the sink, scrubbing your hands with soap and water.

Toji lingered around the stove a bit longer, sprinkling some more peas and a lot more ham into the pan to even things out. After all, ham was better than peas.

“And by the way,” he rubbed the greasiness against his apron. “There are better ways to shut me up.”

“Hmm?” you missed his voice under the running faucet. “What was that?”

“Said,” he moved closer, plucking the towel from the handle where it hang, and offering it to you with his most charming (read: sleazy) smile. “Could always shut me up yourself if ya wanted to.”

Reluctantly, you accepted the towel, your eyes narrowing in suspicion. He awaited your next outburst of “creative cursing” in about three seconds, but the longer you maintained eye contact, the thinner his patience wore. A million great things about you, but none of them made you any less of a pussy.

And he would have called you out on your one fatal flaw if a sequence of scenes in slow motion didn’t begin to unfold before his awestruck eyes: You beckoning him to come closer; Your slippers tipping forward and your fingers reaching out; A delicate stroke against the crown of his head, followed by another, and then another; Languid circles that didn’t comb so much as ruffled his hair; A tinge of oblivious red on his cheeks, and a conscious pink on yours; The affectionate warmth your voice basked in as you praised him, telling him he’d done well— and heavens, if he was asked what noble deed deserves such praise, he’d have no real answer to give.

And lastly, the shit-eating grin that plagued your lips as you seized victory. “See? Shut you up so easily.”

The part of him that urged to bite your hand in return for treating him like a damn puppy must have been neutered, considering the only conceivable thought that was left in his brain was to give you a reward befitting of a winner. An action more than a thought, and a reality more than imagery.

Without warning, his lips brushed over your skin, landing on your cheek in the gentlest way imaginable. Fleeting enough to convince him it didn’t register until he pulled away and saw your expression shift to that of a sore loser.

“W-what the h-hell was that?” you fumbled with your own words as if they were shoelaces bound together by some despicable bully— in that case, him.

And like every self-respecting bully, Toji enjoyed nothing more than watching his victims shudder. Your brows knitted and knees trembled at the slightest touch, making him wonder just what kind of reaction a kiss on the lips would elicit. Smirking at the notion, he knelt before you to lift the towel you’d dropped, and with a rapid flinch, he settled it on his shoulder.

“Warned ya.” He ignored your attempts at extracting further information as he walked over to the stove and pinched a pea straight from the pot, cringing as soon as it grazed his tongue.

“Stinky green shit.”

The next frame in your newly-assembled album of domestic bliss depicted a trope far too common for those familiar with 1950s movies. The spent husband who’d returned home after a tiresome day at work sprawling his limbs on the nearest kitchen chair available, fingers laced behind his head and biceps flexing in accordance, while the dutiful wife served him dinner with an extraordinarily loving smile carved on her dolled-up face. They’d sit together, laugh at how fortunate their one-dimensional lives were, and name each other “Honey”, if not “Dearest”. And of course, there would be pie for dessert!

But after the film had dried and all the smoke and mirrors were dispelled, what was left were the remnants of a reverie.

The only truth about the husband lay in how he’d spilled over your kitchen’s sole chair -the second of the set standing limp somewhere in the corner- and as for the wife, one could claim it was a honed habit, rather than blinded subservience that’d led her to the table with a most splendid dish in hand. This was as far as similarities went, for you were no husband and wife, and had no intention to break into chortles over your shared misfortunes. Besides, there was no cherry pie to justify such a crude act.

“About time.”

The last traces of pseudo-romanticism dispersed at the sight of Toji’s feet weighing down the table, the audacity in his tone tempting you to ask for a tip. This was no different than working overtime at Sakurai’s, except that old geezer, rotten as he were, always paid your extra hours. Toji, in all his unpredictability, wouldn’t waste the chance to suggest a tip of a different kind.

Casting his feet on the floor, Toji made room for you to drop his plate, and when you finally presented the finished product in all its glory —tomato-flavored fried rice tucked below a blanket of sheer gold and garnished with fine strings of ketchup— the small appreciative dimple etched on the left side of his lip felt like a privilege.

“Gonna keep loomin’ over my head like a vulture?” he gestured with his spoon.

You glanced at your own plate, and then at the broken down chair whose prayers to be fixed were never answered, and decided to dine alone in the living room. Some drama was bound to have its rerun on NHK, but before you could so much as round the table, an arm raised forward like a traffic barrier.

“There’s nowhere—”

“Here.” His other hand patted a seat on his thigh. “Don’t wanna kick ya out your own kitchen.”

“Are you serious?” You were doubtful of his invitation even as he dragged you onto his lap, your omurice all but growing wings and flying in the air.

“Dead serious,” he smirked, his knee parting your thighs while his non-dominant hand wrapped around your hip. “All nice and comfy, aren’t we?”

This is the opposite of nice and comfy, you meant to object.

You could feel everything. Every peak, every crevice, every bulging muscle of a body that was trained against its will to be hardened and rough, impenetrable to any weakness. And when you squirmed around to meet his gaze, they were the unreadable eyes of someone who’d played this game far too many times to keep count of his winnings— the bored eyes of someone who knew scoring another victory was merely a matter of minutes.

“You better not try anything weird, or I’m out,” you mumbled with less conviction than intended.

His thumb rubbed a languid circle against your hip bone as if to remind you of its presence. A battle of wits could go either way, but when it came down to raw physical strength, there was no slinking away unless he decided to let go first.

“Relax,” Toji assured with voice smooth as silk. “Just want us to eat together, that’s all.”

You had a hard time believing that was indeed all, and you were right not to, because no more than five bites into your ham-laden omurice, his knee bounced, and your legs were slung over his lap so effortlessly as though you’d moved them on your own. And in this new position, where his arm engulfed your waist from one end to the other and his fingers slyly cascaded down your skirt’s seams to brush against your bare skin— that was really all he did.

“We need new furniture,” you quavered.

“Nonsense,” he shrugged undisturbed, stuffing a spoonful in his mouth. “What did ya do with the money I gave ya?” he asked once he’d swallowed.

But you hadn’t.

“Hmph, Hmphight!” you grunted, quickly downing your bite with a chug of water. “Oh, right!” you rephrased. “Was gonna return what was left at lunch, but then you dropped the bomb on me and I forgot.”

“No need. Gave it so the kid spends it however he wants.”

“Kenzo is only eight, Toji. If I gave him the money, he’d spend it all on a mountain of cotton candy and umaibo. Got him a nice car-racing set and that was it.”

“Lame,” he sneered, your body involuntarily bending forward as he reached for his glass.

You were compelled to watch the rise and fall in his throat, lips glistening with clear droplets that dribbled to his chin. Some, he wiped with the back of his palm, while others, his tongue licked clean, and you silently wondered if there was a right and wrong way to do something this trivial, because if that was the case, then Toji’s way could only be right.

He made drinking water seem entrancing.

The next dive was imminent, but this time you were prepared. You curled closer to his chest and trusted in his arms that deliberately dipped lower than needed, cradling you even after he’d let go of his plate. You were pleased to find a single-digit number of peas remaining.

You are growing as a person, Zen’in Toji.

His gravelly voice snapped you from your thoughts. “Then, you keep the rest.”

“Well, we could use the rest to buy some extra furniture, such as a bed, a sofa, or… a chair,” you emphasized the last beat.

“Aren’t ya the sensible one?”

His fingers crept under your skirt to bestow a light squeeze on your thigh, a haughty smile spreading to his lips. It baffled you how he acted on every single impulse without hesitance. Just pure action and reaction. Zero contemplation whatsoever.

You interjected before he could get any funnier ideas and peeled his hand off— or at least dragged it to a less risque area of your body.

“And as the sensible one, I get to call the shots,” you declared. “We are goin’ tomorrow.”

A few murmurs of protest buzzed in your ears though none significant enough to defy you. He agreed to drive you wherever as long as you paid for gas, and it was fair, considering he was paying for everything else. And when you recited the list of chores around the house that were postponed due to either lack of height, strength, or sheer laziness, and he inaudibly acquiesced, you thought that this just might work.

“So, you’re crashing the couch tonight?”

No answer.

“Toji?”

“You smell nice,” he blurted seemingly out of the blue, with a strand of your hair wrapped around his forefinger and held near his nose.

“Not letting you use my shampoo,” you scoffed.

“That’s not what I meant, idiot.”

He released your hair with a not-so-gentle yank, coaxing a high-pitched squeal.

What an asshole.

“You’d smell nice too if you ever used something with fragrance,” you said.

“Suggestin’ I reek?” Toji glared.

Much to his dismay, a snort preceded your answer. “That’s not what I meant either, idiot. All I’m saying is you have no real smell. Every self-respecting playboy oughta ‘t least smell like cheap hotel and drugstore cologne, or smoke, or you know. Something sleazy that screams ‘I’ll hump and dump you.’”

His expression remained sour, almost defensive. You should’ve just taken the compliment. A grumpy Toji could turn insufferable in minutes.

“Hey, I-”

“Work calls for it,” He cocked his head. “Can’t be invisible if I leave a trail of peaches and jasmine back.”

“It’s gardenia, actually,” you smiled.

“Whatever,” he muttered.

Even as he faced away from you, his fingers refused to unlatch from your waist—and truthfully, you wouldn’t mind staying like this a while longer. On a typical Friday night, you’d be stuck in front of the TV with a cup of Nissin Noodles, too tired from your shift to consider going through your contacts for some cheap company, and too prideful to hit him up only to have some bimbo answer his phone instead. But he was there now and you felt relieved you didn’t have to stay awake in a cold bed, wondering what color handbag his newest conquest carried and whether it matched her five-inch heels— but most of all, you were relieved that bickering in his arms felt like the most natural thing in the world.

“You like your job, Toji?”

You brushed up a question you’d asked far too many times throughout the years and whose answer remained quizzically the same; “Dunno.”

“Don’t you ever want to quit?” you pressed on. “Shower yourself with an absurd amount of perfume, or go ‘round stomping your feet really loudly?”

“Are those supposed to be your arguments for me to quit?” His eyes rolled to the back of his skull while he leaned against his chair. “I’ll raise ya this. Easy cash and double-digit annual workload, versus however many hours you work at that rathole for breadcrumbs. That settles it?”

“Money has nothing to do with enjoyment,” you said.

His tongue clicked into a sharp sigh. “It’s the one thing I can do.”

“That’s not true. There’s plenty you can do!”

You punched his shoulder playfully, and he couldn’t be less thrilled to find what you’d come up with.

“You really showed those carrots who’s the boss," you chuckled. "And, you’re not half as bad as a human chair. Got a bright future ahead of you.”

“You want me to quit?”

His sudden question threw away whatever light-hearted atmosphere and tossed it in the trash, voice cutting with the sharpness of a hundred razors.

“It’s not my place to tell you whether you should or shouldn't quit, Toji.”

“I’ll quit if you ask me to.”

The silence felt… weird. Like a forced cliffhanger in the middle of an episode, your answer gaining more weight than it ought to. However long you postponed, the commercial break never came, and you were left staring into a pair of eyes that flickered back and forth between a state of narrowness and wideness. Of patience and demand. Of sincerity and uncertainty. Of trust and distrust.

Even for a second, he’d put his fate in your hands, and you held onto it so scarcely as if the wrong kind of shake would break it— would break him.

“I just don’t want you getting hurt,” you confessed, warmth spreading from your voice to where your fingers found purchase on his cheeks, soft thumbs rolling unhurriedly against flushed skin. Because you are precious to me.

“If you got another scar,” you continued “it’d be as if you are permanently frowning. Or,” You nudged the left corner of his mouth upward, “smiling.”

And what was about to come next, you should’ve been able to predict because all the signs were there— His absolute compliance and relish for the slow, kneading motions of your fingers; The intensity in his stare waning past heavy eyelids; The hand that moved higher up your back and the one that wrapped behind your neck to reel you in; His lips eagerly parting before they even had the chance to meet with yours.

The incoming storm gathered one dark cloud at a time, though it took the first drop of rain for you to heed the warnings of your bleary conscience.

“Don’t,” you whispered one breath away from sharing his.

Toji was all but disheartened, his eyes focusing solely on your mouth and ignoring what came out of it. “Let me kiss you.”

The softness in his tone kept you from turning around until the last minute, your aversion rousing spite in him. “I said, let me fucking kiss you.”

And while his hand moved patiently the first two times, it forcefully pushed you onto him the third, your last line of defense being your fingers as they were caught in the crossfire of his lips.

“We shouldn’t.”

“Why the hell not?” he hissed.

“Because…”

Because we can’t— an all-time classic.

Because we are friends— an excuse.

Because I don’t want to— a lie.

Because it won’t end at just a kiss— a truth.

And finally, the real reason; Because I love you.

Tears threaded your eyelashes, your vision of Toji turning watery, yet not blurry enough to drown the cadence of emotions in his eyes. Confusion, hurt, and anger. So much anger that it stifled all potential answers and seared your fingertips which were still attached to his lips, and as shallow as it sounds, you were ecstatic to find the one spot that was utterly soft in his slanted scar.

If a scar is evidence of pain, what is evidence of heartbreak? If scars are healed pain, what becomes of a pain that never heals?

Your thumbs slid across his jaw and returned to your sides, the lump in your throat dissolving into a broken sigh as you attempted to dismount from his lap.

“Because new rule: no kissing your roommate unless their life depends on it.”

“Like hell, I agreed to this,” Toji grunted, his grip -desperate now- bruising your waist.

Just when you thought your self-hatred reached its peak, you shoved his hands off your body and jolted up, legs slightly numb from balancing on his for so long.

“Agreed or not, my house, my rules. If you can’t respect that, there’s the door” you snapped, sending whatever desire might have sparked straight to the guillotine.

“So what’s it gonna be?”

His fingers wove through raven hair, his palm concealing the blown pupils as they reached their crescendo; fury.

A pang echoed against the hollow table, followed by the slight reverberation of the cutlery in the plates, his fist the sole culprit. He scoffed, muttering to himself something about blue balls and rules that were meant to be broken, profanities that could make even a sailor’s ears turn red spilling left and right until he gritted his teeth and locked in his final answer.

“Better brace yourself then, because I’m getting that kiss, be it in life, or in death.”

tags: @absoluteindulgence , @evansuvamp , @sarwhorius , @liluvtojineteyam

Anyone else, comment so I can tag your @.

[strayrockette]

Echos of an Empty Chair

Summary: Reader makes Benny’s favorite

Warning: Angst (I made myself cry), grief, loss,

A/N: I wrote a quick angst one shot because I couldn’t stop thinking about this scene. I don’t think I’m going to recover from this one 😭😭😭I broke my own dang heart 😭😭💔💔💔

Masterlist

The room felt hollow, the kind of empty that echoed, amplifying the silence that followed each of my words. I stood in the dim kitchen, where the soft, warm light barely pushed back the shadows creeping in from the corners. The clock ticked rhythmically, each second a cruel reminder of the time that passed without him. I stared at the perfectly set dinner table, two plates arranged just as he liked—one for me, one for him. It was a ritual I couldn’t seem to break, even though I knew he wouldn’t be coming through the door.

“I made your favorite, roasted steak, mashed potatoes, and baked veggies,” I said, my voice wavering in the quiet. My hand instinctively moved to my growing belly, cradling it like I was trying to comfort myself more than the life growing inside. The tightness in my chest grew, but I forced a small smile, the kind I used to give him when he’d tease me about my cooking. “I could barely eat without this,” I tapped my belly lightly, “little one fighting me every step of the way.”

My gaze drifted to the window, drawn by the sight of his bike sitting neatly in the driveway. Its familiar shape was a jarring contradiction, looking pristine and ready to roar back to life, like nothing had changed. Johnny and the boys had worked tirelessly to fix it, each screw and bolt a labor of love and grief, their way of honoring him. I had watched them from the porch, pretending not to notice the tears they thought they hid behind greasy hands and tired smiles. “Johnny and the boys worked together to fix your bike,” I murmured, the sight of it wrenching something inside me. “I didn’t think they’d ever manage to put it back together.”

My mind wandered to that night, the one that shattered everything. I could hear the screech of tires, the sickening crunch of metal, and the deafening silence that followed. The phone call, the one that made my knees buckle, replayed in my head over and over like a broken record. I had been folding laundry, something so mundane, when the world caved in. The officer’s voice on the other end was stiff and rehearsed, like he’d given this kind of news a hundred times before. But it was the words that echoed: “There’s been an accident. Benny didn’t make it.”

I stared at the empty chair across from me, the one he used to occupy, where he’d lean back with that lazy grin, teasing me about overcooking the steak or forgetting the salt in the potatoes. I could almost see him there now, legs crossed, fingers drumming on the table, waiting for me to sit down and share a meal, to share a moment. It was like his presence lingered in every corner of this house, in the faint scent of his cologne that still clung to his leather jacket by the door, in the scattered tools he always forgot to put away, in the faint hum of his favorite song that haunted the back of my mind.

Tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them back, refusing to let them fall. I had cried enough, and yet it never felt like enough. Every day without him was a fresh wound, reopening at the slightest trigger—a song on the radio, the rumble of a bike passing by, the sight of his old baseball cap still hanging on the hook by the door. I reached out, fingers brushing the edge of his plate as if touching it would somehow bridge the impossible distance between us.

“I… miss you,” I whispered, my voice breaking. The words were too small for the vast emptiness inside me, too weak to capture the weight of what I’d lost. It wasn’t just Benny I missed; it was the future we’d planned, the family we were building, the little moments of everyday life that were now just memories tainted with pain. I missed his laugh, his ridiculous jokes, the way he’d hold me close when the world felt too heavy.

I looked down at my belly again, the only piece of him left that I could still hold onto. This little life, growing and kicking, was my only anchor, my reason to keep moving forward. But every kick felt bittersweet, a reminder of the love we’d shared and the life we’d never get to have together. I wrapped my arms around myself, wishing, hoping, praying that somehow, somewhere, Benny could hear me, that he knew how much I still loved him, how much I needed him, how his absence was a wound that would never fully heal.

I closed my eyes, letting the silence wrap around me like a suffocating blanket. The food on the table grew cold, untouched, just like every other night since he’d been gone. The house, once filled with laughter and love, now felt like a tomb, holding the echoes of a life that had been ripped away too soon. I stayed there, lost in the memories, clutching the fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, he was still here with me in some small, intangible way.

Taglist: @storiesfromafan

[callsignrascal]

French Toast

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw/Reader

Summary: In which French toast is the best cure to a hangover. Who knew Rooster could cook? 

A/N: just some cute fluffy domestic established relationship shit bc i want to wake up to someone making me breakfast 😐😐 very short but sweet

-

You woke up to your head absolutely pounding. Fuck, this wasn’t your room. You sat up slowly and your head spun. It took you a moment to recognize that you were in your boyfriend Bradley’s apartment. How the hell did you get here?

“Roo?” You called out, regretting the volume of your voice.

“One sec, darling!” He called back. You didn’t have the energy to get up and look for him, so you lay back on the pillows with a groan and tried to think about what happened last night. 

You closed your eyes and it was just a blur. A party? Yes. You had gone to a party with Rooster. You and the rest of the Dagger squad got together to celebrate the one year anniversary of the suicide mission. It was a good party, with good music, friendly faces. Lots of beer. LOTS of beer. I mean, it was the the Hard Deck. 

Your mouth tasted awful, you had probably puked at some point. You vaguely remembered Bradley’s blue Bronco, and being carried to bed.

The door opened, and there was Bradley. “Good morning, sleepy head!” He said loudly. You groaned and put a pillow over your head.

“Too loud. So hungover.” You grumbled through the pillow. Bradley laughed, and sat on the edge of the bed. He ran a hand along your exposed thigh that peeked out from under the covers.

“Yeah, you were quite the party animal last night. I bet your head hurts pretty bad, huh?” 

You nodded under the pillow. “I’m sorry Roo. I don’t remember much but I think I puked and you carried me and let me take the bed. I’m sorry, you shouldn’t have had to do that for me.” You opened your eyes a smidge to look at him. He had a soft smile on his face.

“Don’t worry about it, we’ve all been there. Plus, you’re a very clingy, cute drunk. I don’t mind taking care of you.” You blushed, which made him grin. “You are adorable when you’re embarrassed. Come on, I made breakfast and it’s getting cold.”

“Sorry, what?”

“Breakfast. I made some.” You sat up slowly and stared at him.

“Rooster, I’ve been dating you for six months and I’ve never seen you in a kitchen. When did you learn to cook?” 

He gave you a mischievous smile. “I have my secrets.“

“You are full of surprises, Bradley Bradshaw. What did you make?” You stretched your arms up over your head and Bradley stood up from the bed and held out his hand.

“Come and see.” 

You took his outstretched hand, and slowly got up from the bed. He led you out of the bedroom and over to the small kitchen table where there were two plates laden with bacon, eggs, and french toast with whipped cream and strawberries. There were two glasses of orange juice as well. 

“See? I can make more than toast and cereal and spaghettios.”

“Aw Roo…” you were almost lost for words. “This all looks so amazing, thank you!” 

You turned to him and wrapped your arms around him in a big hug. You looked up at him and he had an almost smug smile on his face.

“Amazing enough for me to get a good morning kiss?” He held your head in his hands and softly massaged your temples which felt amazing for your headache.

“Hm. I think I’ll have to taste it all first before I deliver that verdict.” You smiled, and pulled away to sit down in your chair.

“You wound me, Princess.” Bradley rolled his eyes, went around the table,and sat in the other chair. You popped a piece of perfectly greasy crispy bacon in your mouth and hummed happily. You swallowed and took a bite of the french toast. Your eyes almost rolled back in your head save for your incredible self control.

“Oh, my god. This is some next level french toast.” You took another huge bite and Bradley laughed at your chipmunk cheeks as he stabbed his fork into his eggs. 

The food was gone all too soon, but you were so happy and full all you wanted to do was lay on the couch and do nothing. You plopped down on the plush cushions with a groan. You were still a little hungover, but the magic of Bradley’s cooking had healed you for the most part. He stood over you with a grin on his face.

“So. What’s the verdict?”

“Huh?” You furrowed your eyebrows.

“You said you would give me a good morning kiss if breakfast was good. Here to cash in.” He leaned over you, his lips centimeters from yours. You giggle and lifted up to give him a soft kiss.

“Best breakfast I’ve had in a while. Might have to make you my live in chef.” You carded your fingers through his hair. He kissed you again, hungrier this time.

“Oh yeah? What is the starting salary for that position?”

“Hmmm.” You pulled away for a minute and tapped a finger to your lips. “Starting at five kisses an hour, plus tips. And if this morning is any indicator I’m sure there will be a lot of tips.” You both laughed and Bradley pulled you into another kiss.

“Sure beats the hell out of the Navy, count me in. Chef Rooster at your service, my dear.”

[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.”

[ihatebnha]

dawg i am BEGGING YOU to consider doing a pt 2 of Icks with todo, deku , & bakugou. It was literally so fuckin funny man 😭😭😭 i fr have re read it so many times i’ve lost track at this point. It never fails to make me smile or laugh. And everything is so specific too & fits each one of them so perfectly that Horikoshi might as well just come out and say everything u wrote is canon. But i love ur blog wishing u the best <333

(icks pt. i here!)

you know..... just for this message specifically i will write you icks ANYTIME you want them. call me up when im 85 years old and dying and i will give icks. call me at my wedding and you're getting ICKS.

thank you so much for enjoying them tho... and for understanding my vision and being so sweet about it adjadsxfaklsd... i love them you a lot too!!!

hopefully, these compare:

-

Bakugo

Thinks it's cute to put his arm around your neck

Says stuff like, “you know that’s bad for you, right?”

Thinks he doesn’t need to brush his hair

Thinks it's funny to ignore you, but gets mad when you ignore him

Toenails are uneven

Ruins your outfits by making you bring a jacket everywhere

If you leave anything around that he's interested in (see: candy), he’s “confiscating” it

Calls self care “unnecessary…" and says shit like, “that’s terrible for battle” if you try to show him your nails or soft skin or something

Yells at the TV…

His mouth gets greasy when he eats... and he will try to wipe it off or clean his teeth with the bottom of his shirt

Watches you play phone or video games and gets mad if you make a wrong move

Walks (stomps) super fast for no reason??????

And has heavy ass footsteps that will wake you up in the morning

Mouth breathes

Likes back scratches but won’t scratch yours back (he’s bad at it, anyway)

And will not let you drop an argument for the life of you… political debate vibes except about stuff like how to clean the shower

His phone is super greasy, too... and he has one of those really old and bulky protective cases that doesn't even work

Grumpily says "what?" when he picks up the phone at work or in front of his friends

Snores

Deku

Sheds like an animal… you run your hands through his hair and at least five strands are getting caught in your fingers every single time

You clean the drain too, and it’s literally all his hair

Always forgets to put the toilet seat back down

Leaves half-full water bottles everywhere

And everybody says this, but… will eat your leftovers. And the last bit of ice cream you were saving for yourself

Stinky because he's always sweating... and literally smells like pure testosterone. You can always tell when he’s been somewhere because the room just always smells like Man

Tbh his shoes probably smell bad, too

“Oh wait, my mom gave me a coupon for this... hold on, let me find it...”

Khakis or dad jeans on his days off

And just look at a picture of this boy and tell me he doesn’t overpluck his eyebrows

Will walk in on you using the bathroom or showering because "he needed something"

And leaves all his shaving stubble in the sink if he's late to work

Thinks his puppy-dog eyes work

If you asked him to choose between you and All Might... he would hesitate

Listens to ASMR made by and for men

"Can't you just use a makeup wipe?"

Except he will (or try to, at least) use your skincare products without asking... and you can always tell when he has

Earwaxy

And yeah... you do have an All Might shrine somewhere in your house

Todoroki

“Can we have sex tonight?”

Thinks you can cook + make meals in the toaster oven

Reminds you to do your skincare routine… or some other basic task you probably already knew about

On chore day, he’s hard to get moving and “tires” easily… you find him on the couch 20 minutes into any task just… looking at his phone

Doesn't take you seriously when you're mad at him, either... and thinks you probably don't mean it or that he can fix it, anyway

“Hey, can I have some?” except he never waits for your answer

Also likes sharing silverware with you… which is really cute right up until he’s shoving a spoon he just put in his mouth right in front of your face

Very adamant about… touching you. If you let go of his hand, he’s literally waiting to grab it back. You scoot away from cuddles and he’s going after you… even if you just want some water or to check your phone or something

If you tell a white lie about something, he’s correcting you...

“Oh, sorry Momo... I’m busy Tuesday!”

“No, you’re not?”

Lowkey gets upset when you talk about hanging out with other boys… even if you just work or have class with them

Doesn't know any slang, either... comes home from hanging out with Deku and Bakugo only to ask you stuff like, "what's a chode?" or "what's sloppy toppy?"

“I liked *insert terrible movie here*”

Asks why you didn't finish eating something

Has thee worst taste in Tik Toks and memes... and sends you videos he thinks you'd like that really just aren't funny

Unironically wants to match outfits with you

And thinks you're getting married one week into the relationship... which is sweet, but also kinda freaky...

[imerdwarf]

Love At First Crash

Summary: your car gets taken to the repair shop where you meet the man who will repair it for you.

Prompt:

Pairing: Mechanic!Bucky x Reader

Warnings: flirting, mild angst, idiots in love, happy ending 🥰

Word Count: 2,128 (I AM SO SORRY)

Author's Notes: This is for @the-ss-horniest-book-club's Drunk Drabbles 💜 my first time writing for mechanic!Bucky, thank you so much @jobean12-blog for checking it and giving me your thoughts 💜

It's been just a few days since you've visited the repair shop and met the owner Bucky Barnes. His charming smile made your tummy feel like you had a swarm of butterflies fluttering around inside.

His tight white tank top was pulled so tightly across his chest that his pecs could be seen. His black jeans that sculptured around his thick thighs to show off those thigh muscles, his mechanical outfit was matched perfectly with his black boots.

Your footsteps echoed off the bare concrete walls and floors as you entered the repair shop back from the back entrance. The metal shutters with a dangling chain link was rolled halfway up and a dozen of motorcycles parked next to the doors.

The distant quiet music from the digital radio did very little to quieten your footsteps. Bucky had heard you and rolled himself out from underneath your car. He smirked up when he saw you approach him.

"Hey there doll." Bucky showed off his perfect pearly whites and that was the same smile that gave you the butterfly feeling.

"Hey Bucky," you smiled back and sheepishly shoved your hands in the front of your pockets. You had originally opted to call him James, but he beefy man insisted on Bucky since his close friends and family called him by that name and James had sounded so foreign to his ears.

Bucky stood up, his biceps flexing under his movements and you couldn't stop the creeping flush. You cleared your throat and looked at your car.

"She's looking good!" Bucky's smile grew wider by how excited and happy you were.

"Yes you are," he muttered under his breath but you heard him say something. Your head snaps towards him and grin.

"What did you just say?" Bucky blushed and now it was his turn to clear his throat and rub the back of his neck, unknowingly with his greasy padded fingertips which left a black streak.

"I said she is, she won't be too long in here actually, a few more days." He wanted to exhale his sigh of relief when you nodded your head and looked back at your car.

"Great, you're the best Bucky!"

Bucky was absolutely beaming from the praise but it wasn't a lie, Bucky really was the best. He was so the best in fact that you found yourself daydreaming about the beefy mechanic days after you visited him at the shop.

You were laying on your couch listening to the birds singing outside and staring up at the white ceiling with your hands resting on your stomach thinking about that gorgeous smile of his. You loved the way his hair was always slicked back into a bun and how his shirt was always grease stained, a sign of a hard working man. You knew he was working hard to get your car back on the road as soon as possible, he kept in touch to let you know how everything was going.

You were falling for him, fast and hard. He was all you could ever think about, he was all you dreamed about and he lived rent free in your head.

Your gut clenches from the thought that realistically, he is probably in a serious long-term relationship with a much more beautiful woman, one that must make him happy because he was always in a good mood and always smiling.

Your chances of ever being with him were really slim, and it was such a bitter pill to swallow. He was just a crush and that is all he would ever be. But it didn't stop you from creating scenarios in your head with him. What your evenings would look like cuddled on the couch watching movies, listening to music or just talking to each other. What kind of food you'd cook him, would he kiss you as a compliment? In your head he does.

You wonder what it would be like to have him underne—

"Y/N!" Wanda's voice suddenly breaks through your thoughts and you blink back to reality. You mumble a response and Wanda finds you laying on the couch staring up to nothing, again, "still daydreaming about your hot boyfriend?" She teases and you scoff, sitting up to glare at her.

"He is not my boyfriend. Never was, never will be." Your face drops when you said it out loud, as though it suddenly dawned on you.

"But you have a crush on him right?" Wanda pushes and you regret ever spilling the beans to her in the first place, of course she is never going to let this go.

"No." You lied.

"Then why does he make you look so sad?" Damn it Wanda, "look, I'm not here to pressure you but my brother is back in town and we are meeting at the bar tonight! He misses you and wants to see you!"

"Bucky misses me?!" You may have zoned out again thinking about Bucky. Wanda rolls her eyes and laughs lightly.

"No! Pietro! But I'm sure Bucky does kiss you... I mean miss you!"

You smiled, great now another thing to add to your scenarios.

"What time?"

"8pm sharp! Don't be late!" She kisses your cheek in a friendly manner before skipping out of your door and leaving you alone with your thoughts. You had a few more hours to lay here and do nothing but think about him.

***

The bar was crowded when you arrived and you headed towards the bar to order a drink when Pietro came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. You screeched out when you turned around and saw it was him, pulling him into a tight hug and keeping your hands on his forearms as he kissed your cheeks.

It might have been innocent, but from where Bucky was stood, it seemed like the two of you were an item and his heart dropped into his stomach and his mood turned sour.

He had no idea you were with Pietro, he knew him because he's a well known lawyer with a lot of successful cases under his belt so he couldn't blame you for being with someone with a clean job while he went to work everyday in a greasy repair shop.

He's only met you a dozen times but he doesn't remember you ever smiling that brightly at him when you were in his repair shop.

"You're brooding." Natasha, one of Bucky's oldest friends told him as she sipped her dry red wine. Bucky rolled his eyes and swished his beer around in his hand.

"I'm fine." Bucky scoffed and turned his angle away from Natasha.

"You're in love." Bucky again rolls his eyes and tries to ignore her. He tries to ignore you both, he tries to contain the jealousy that desperately wants to come out and say something about the way you're not even pulling away from Pietro.

"I'm leaving," Bucky tells Natasha, chugging the rest of his beer before slamming the bottle down on a nearby table, he turns to Nat and points a finger in her face, "and don't follow me."

The catch-up with Pietro was nice, it's been a few years since you've seen each other and he was telling you about his new wife when you saw Bucky storm out of the bar over his shoulder. Your eyes widened, never even noticing he was here and oh god, how this must have looked. Your heart sunk when you saw a redhead follow in his direction, that must have been his girlfriend.

Your mood to stay in the bar any longer was diminished and now all you wanted to do was go home and be by yourself.

You excused yourself from Pietro's grip and bid Wanda a quick goodnight before making a quick exit out of the bar and heading straight home.

Your thoughts kept you up the whole night. You couldn't sleep and tossed and turned throughout the cold night. You kept thinking back to the way he stormed out of the bar, if only you had seen him sooner.

Wanda entered your home early the next morning to find you already sitting up at the kitchen table nursing a hot cup of coffee. You looked exhausted and she could tell you haven't slept.

"Hey." She whispers, putting her hand on your shoulder, "are you okay?" You nod your head and sigh, not being in the mood to talk about things right now.

"I'm fine, just tired from last night." It's a lie that Wanda seems to accept for now.

"Barnes called." Wanda sighs and your head snaps up, "your car is ready to be picked up. I'll go and get it for you so you can rest." You feel upset that he couldn't or didn't want to call you but called your emergency contact instead.

"O-kay."

"I'll be back in a bit!" Wanda leaves quickly, jumping into Pietro's car and rehearsing the conversation in her head before she confronted Bucky.

Bucky was wiping his dirty greased up fingertips on the rag he had stuffed in his back pocket when Wanda arrived with Pietro. He saw him drive off shortly after she got out and Bucky refrained from rolling his eyes.

He was probably going home to you. He thought selfishly to himself. He mustered the biggest smile he could but it didn't fool Wanda.

"Wanda."

"Barnes, you called?"

"Yeah, Y/N's car is ready."

"And you couldn't inform her why?" Wanda queried, noting the disappointing look that swam in his eyes.

"I didn't think Pietro would like that."

Wanda bent over and held her stomach as she laughed. Bucky's eyebrows pinched together in confusion, "What's so funny?" He snapped, angry at how this whole thing was completely unfair.

"I'm sorry- it's just- it's just- oh god- Pietro is my brother and he's married." Wanda said between breaths.

This only infuriated Bucky even further, "good for him but I don't need to know how happy they are together!" He needed to chill and calm down. Jealousy was not a good look.

"He isn't married to Y/N. She's single, has a crush on you, maybe even hopelessly in love with you but that's fine if you want to-"

"She's what?" Bucky asks shocked, there's no way a pretty dame like yourself could love him. He's too basic, too plain.

"Why don't you drop me home in Y/N's car and take her car back to her yourself and you'll see what I mean." It was an offer he couldn't refuse. If Wanda wasn't pulling his leg, and you really were single, he needed to get to you before someone else did.

***

It's been well over an hour since Wanda left to pick up your car. In that time, you managed to take a shower to release your tense muscles, take something for the pounding headache and change into an outfit.

You were really excited to get your car back, making a promise with yourself that you'll be a lot more careful this time and try not to get into more car crashes.

You heard the engine in your driveway and you leapt towards the front door with a smile on your face, your smile growing even wider when you saw it wasn't Wanda behind the wheel, but Bucky. You couldn't put your finger on why you were so happy to see him, maybe it was a little hope he didn't hate you after all.

He got out of the car and strolled up towards you with a matching smile on his own face. His hands were in his front pockets and he looked amazing dressed in all black with a black leather jacket.

"Hi!" Your dam almost breaks, you were awake the whole night worrying about what would happen and then he didn't call you himself this morning about your car, it was easy to jump to conclusions, "I'm so happy to see you."

"Doll, I'm sorry I didn't call- my thoughts- well, I mean my feelings got in the way and I let my jealousy shine brighter than the sun." He chuckled shyly.

"Please you don't need to explain, it's me who owes you an explanation. You see, Pietro and I are—"

"No need doll. Wanda told me everything. It's a pretty warm day, Steve is covering for me back at the shop and I wondered if you'd like to head down to the beach with me?"

You grinned and looked down to your feet before looking into his eyes again, "I can make a picnic?"

"Sounds like a date!"

"A date it is."

Taglist: @smokeybluebrooke-lyn @pinkdiamond1016 @whatrambles @bestofbucky

[slippinmickeys]

A Sequel: Amazon Archeologist/Scientist AU, Part 2:

You can read on AO3 here.

1. “How does it feel to have cured cancer?” asked Kathy Lee. Scully couldn’t take her eyes off the rim of the host’s wine glass; it was smeared with lipstick, and the wine contained therein had legs, running down the bell curve of the glass in thin amber stripes.

It was oddly, surreally quiet on the unnaturally blazing stage -- multiple cameras pointing at them, a team of professionals sitting in dead silence in the dark spread out below.

“I only wish I’d done it sooner,” Scully said, going off script a bit. “I think of the people that died while we were still searching, still researching, while the studies were being checked and… I just wish I’d found it sooner.”

The host’s face softened, and she reached forward and put her hand over Scully’s on the arm of the chair where it was resting. She gave it a squeeze and Hoda took over, “Up next, the group BTS is going to sing us their latest single!”

There was a dull bell that rang off to Scully’s right and the stage manager stepped forward, headphones clomped over his ears, his mic slung low around his jaw.

“We’re clear!” he called, “Sixty seconds!”

The show would be cutting to a co-host standing at a stage set-up outside 30 Rockefeller Center. Scully reached up to unhook the mic attached to her lapel, and a trio of sound technicians descended on her. In ten seconds, she was relieved of all equipment, and she was left swaying in the funnel of the Fresnels on the too bright stage.

“You did great,” she heard from her left, and the show’s host winked at her, and retook her hand, leading her to the dim cool just off stage.

She found Mulder standing before her once her eyes adjusted, just outside the reach of the stage lights, looking nervous and out of place, his hands clasped behind his back. He was wearing a turtleneck and a suit coat, looking every inch the tenured professor.

“And who’s this?” Kathie Lee asked, looking at Mulder brightly.

Scully shook herself, trying to remember her manners. It wasn’t always easy, having spent so much time in the field.

“Uh, this is Mulder,” she said, “Dr. Fox Mulder. My, um… my fiancé.”

The television host smiled warmly at Mulder and clasped his hand.

“I’ve heard the story of your meeting,” Kathie Lee said, “It’s a real pleasure.”

“I’m a big Giants fan,” Mulder said, giving her hand a firm shake, “the pleasure’s all mine.”

The host winked at him and then stalked off, and Scully exhaled, falling a little into Mulder’s side.

“I’m glad that’s over,” she said.

“The price you pay for changing the course of human history,” Mulder mumbled, squeezing her into his side and kissing her hairline. He led her off the soundstage and into a waiting limo.

2. It had been a whirlwind since the Nobel Prize Award ceremony in Stockholm. It was cold in Sweden in December — especially to a person who’d spent years in the humid jungles off the beaten paths of the world, and she and Mulder both felt out of place and perpetually in the clasp of a bone-clutching chill.

“I just want to be back in the field,” she’d whisper to him, and he would kiss her hand. With the prize money, they could buy a house, start a family — but they both would rather be in a jungle somewhere, sweating into the other’s skin on a too-narrow cot, in a too-hot clime. There was no science when they were in the cradle of the other’s hips, there was just each other. Sex made life more simple. Sex made life more fun. But sex didn’t cure cancer. Pleurotus Mulderatus did that, and the world wanted to hear about it.

3.She had a free ticket. Any university, any assignment.

“I feel pressure,” she told him, her nose pressed into his ear. “What do you do after you’ve cured cancer?” she asked, earnestly, “there’s nowhere to go but down.”

He’d taken her to Rhode Island, to his family’s cottage in Quonochontaug, creaky and drafty and smelling of mildew and old pine. No one had visited in decades and everything needed to be cleaned and aired out.

They kayaked and frolicked in the waves, drank coffee in adirondack chairs and listened to the pinched squawks of hovering sea birds. They’d find a place in the dune grass, down low where the wind wouldn’t catch them. They’d soak up the sun and then go into the cottage and make love between the knotty pine walls, their moans absorbed by the thick shag carpet laced with the grit of sand, faded drunkards path quilts nailed to the walls.

“Down is a state of mind,” Mulder would murmur into her ear, “Up is fighting gravity. You have nowhere to be but here. You have no one to impress but me.”

He would catch her lips with his own and they would sink into each other gratefully.

4.Mulder was burning pancakes in the kitchen when there was a dull knock on the screen door.

Scully was laughing at Mulder’s culinary ineptitudes when she turned toward the sound, her laugh fading when a well-done-up woman appeared on the stoop, holding her hand up to shield her eyes from the sun’s glare, trying to see into the murky depths of the house.

“Are you press?” Scully asked through the screen door glumly, her mood taking a nose dive.

“I’m Samantha,” the woman said, and it took Scully a full five seconds for her synapses to fire, to figure out the identity of the visitor.

“Oh my god,” Scully said, swinging the door open to admit the polished woman waiting on the other side. The door itself was swollen with humidity and didn’t shut all the way -- it caught like there was a second latch. “Come in, come in!”

Samantha had a full head of thick hair just like her brother, but it was curled and tawny, streaks of not-quite-blonde highlights running from the roots. She was wearing Lily Pulitzer pastels, and would have looked at home in a sun hat or on the pages of Coastal Living.

“You must be Dana,” she breathed, smiling widely. Scully nodded and looked around self-consciously. “God, this place hasn’t changed in thirty years,” Samantha finished, shaking her head ruefully. “Where’s Fox?”

“Kitchen,” Scully said, inclining her head toward the cooking space, though she knew Samantha knew right where to go.

“You’re using the cast iron?” Samantha said boldly and apropos of nothing, stepping into the sunny kitchen, “God, I hope you seasoned that thing.”

Mulder’s face brightened at seeing his sister, and he turned to her fully, enveloping her in a hug, a greasy spatula in one hand, held out so as not to soil her clothes.

“Like you can cook,” he drawled, turning back to the smoking pan.

“I know enough to hire a caterer,” she said, plunking down in an olive green vinyl kitchen chair, looking at ease but totally out of place in the dated decor of the cottage. “So. Who do I have to fuck to get a mimosa around here?”

“Me,” said a voice from the entryway. The screen door slammed ineffectually shut and Scully’s own sister Melissa stood awkwardly in the slant of sun showing through it, holding several plastic bags laden with glass bottles and juices, a hopeful, nervous smile on her face.

“Missy?!” Scully squeaked, and Mulder looked to the door, his face chagrined and pleased as Scully launched herself at her sister, wrapping herself in the earthy patchouli smell of the woman, the plastic bags clunking to the floor at their feet.

XxXxXxXxXxX

“I got ordained online,” Melissa said, drinking a Bellini from a yellow smiley-face mug, her feet tucked under her on a rough-hewn dining chair. “It’s perfectly legal.”

“But it’s--” Scully started, then abandoned her argument. She looked to Mulder desperately, who smiled and plunked a cup of hot coffee in front of her.

“It was only an idea,” he said, squeezing her hand and sliding an ancient sugar dish in front of her. The crinkles around his eyes had hardened in the ocean-reflected sun, lending him an air of easy humor she hadn’t witnessed much of in the jungle.

“Don’t you need two witnesses?” she asked, realizing how lame it sounded the second the words were out of her mouth.

Samantha leaned over and grabbed her hand, squeezing her fingers in such a way that made her feel bolstered and secure. “Not in Rhode Island,” Mulder’s sister told her, looking her square in the eye.

“We don’t have to do it,” Mulder said, still standing at her side, “but I thought…”

She felt overwhelmed with emotion, thinking of her father, who hadn’t lived long enough to witness her greatest achievement, which would have saved his life.

“Mom sent her wedding dress,” Melissa said, holding up a garment bag -- it was a yellowed ivory in the kitchen sun, the zipper up its middle aged and brittle.

XxXxXxXxXxX

They exchanged vows on the beach in front of the old cottage in a whipping Atlantic wind. Gulls hovered overhead and the sun was as bright as a brass doorknob, the air clearer than glass.

Samantha had read a poem by an amateur poet named Tim Pratt called Scientific Romance (Mulder having confessed to her later that night that it only seemed right to have had a reading replete with scientific notation for a wedding between two people such as themselves). Melissa had read words as old as the institution of marriage itself and they exchanged simple rings and had eyes only for each other. Scully handed her bouquet -- a small posy of wild swamp azalea and yellow flag that Melissa had picked the hour before -- to her new sister in law as she strode up the peeling wooden steps of the house. Mulder had insisted upon carrying her over the threshold and Melissa and Samantha had stood back thoughtfully, and were now sitting closely on the beach, heads bent together, talking in hushed tones.

Scully didn’t know quite what to do with herself, dressed in old lace in the heavy salt air, her left ring finger feeling as heavy and pendulous as an old bell. Mulder wrapped his arms around her from behind and told her they never had to leave.

“Nobel Laureates live in Rhode Island, too, you know,” he whispered into the hair behind her ear.

“Mmm,” she said happily, watching her sister and his dig their feet in the gritty sand.

He kissed the skin where her shoulder met her neck. “Life can be as simple as the state motto.”

“Which is?” she asked.

“Hope.”

5. She stood above the riverbank, the grass a trampled, muddy squelch. A monkey called from overhead, a high primate shriek that echoed through the canopy. Its compatriots soon joined in, the welcoming committee announcing the rare arrival of a visitor.

He sat in the back of the approaching hollowed-out canoe, his knees practically to his neck, the lanky bones of him jutting out at all angles. He wore jeans and chambray, all wrong for the climate, but the blue set off the dark mink of his hair, and his eyes -- as green as the river upon which his boat perched -- caught hers from twenty yards away -- they held her gaze as the craft glided to shore, and he leapt off with the galumphing grace of a power forward.

“Dr. Scully I presume,” he said, finding his balance on the slippery shore and reaching a hand forward. She clasped it gratefully, then brought it to her belly, which was protruding out like a carved fertility statue, a life-sized goddess, gravid and full. “I thank God, doctor, that I have been permitted to see you,” he finished, and they embraced on the shores of the jungle river, perspiring and damp and finally, finally feeling at home.

[iamdeku]

Peace: Prohero!Bakugou x Reader

This one is basically the same as Positions, except it’s Bakugou x reader. Just another very soft domestic fic. As always, all characters are 18+ unless stated otherwise.

Warnings: Nonsexual nudity. Mentions of kids/pregnancy.

You kicked off your heels the moment you walked in the door, feet aching. A rush of dead air thumped out of you as your back hit the doorframe, the impact ricocheting through your chest. You were too tired to care about that though, too tired to stand properly or do anything but crawl over towards the couch.

You were working as a secretary for Endeavor right now, and you hated it. He was the most unpleasant man to work with, and some days you came home feeling like crying. Today wasn’t one of those days, but it could become one at any moment. You lugged your sore bones over to the couch, throwing yourself over the armrest and coming to rest only halfway onto the couch.

It was there that Katsuki found you 5 minutes later after getting back from patrol.

He had a good night tonight, The streets hadn’t been too busy, and he had crushed every nasty villain that had dared to show their face. All day he had been looking forward to coming home to you, so much so that he had already packed a change of clothes, ready to cuddle in dark gray sweats and a black tank top.

He stopped dead after walking through the door of your apartment though, frowning. He could see your legs dangling over the arm of the couch, and, walking closer, he got a better view of you. It was just as he had expected. They had overworked you again, and now you looked exhausted.

You turned your face up when you heard him open the door, but you couldn’t be bothered to greet him like you normally would. Everything hurt from all the running around you had done today. You weren’t sure how Katsuki worked so hard every day and still kept going, though it might have something to do with the fact that his workout regime was considerably more difficult than yours.

“Hi baby,” you muttered, seeing his face over the edge of the couch.

“Those bastards are still working you too hard, aren’t they?”

Katsuki never beat around the bush. It was part of what you liked about him. You always knew when something was bothering him. You never had to wonder or get self-critical. If he didn’t like something, he would just say it.

“It’s okay. It’s not so bad.”

“I keep telling you, you should just quit. I make more than enough money for the both of us.” He huffed, sitting down beside you on the couch.

His clothes nearly blended into the black material as he tugged you into his lap, settling his chin on your shoulder. You breathed a sigh of relief at his touch, leaning back into him and letting the weight of the day slide off your shoulders. Katsuki’s warm, dependable strength at your back eased your stress.

“Just a little bit longer. I’ll find something better soon, and then I’ll quit.”

You could practically hear Katsuki rolling his eyes.

“Gonna make me start a hero agency just to get you a better job.”

“Pretty sure there are some kind of rules against your girlfriend working for you. Feels like a potential ethical vulnerability, especially for such a high visibility hero. They’d never get off your back about it.” You stretched out against him, toes curling. “I’ll just go work for Izuku when he starts his agency.”

Instantly, Katsuki was up in arms. “Stupid Deku? You’d rather work for him than me?”

You laughed softly, turning to face him better and cup his cheek in your hand. “No baby, of course not. We’ll work something out. It’s a while off anyway, and I can promise you I won’t be working for Endeavor by that time. “

“Better not be. I’m about to show up on his doorstep just to yell at him.”

You smiled indulgently. “You’re so overprotective.”

You felt him soften, even as his arms brought you in tighter, nose pressing into your hair. “Only for you. My best girl.”

You hummed softly as he started pressing kisses into your hair, moving down to your temple and slowly working his way across the expanse of your face. You caught your breath as his lips ghosted over your eyelids, tracing the bridge of your nose. 

“You’re so pretty,” he whispered, eyes unfocused and dazed.

You had nothing to say to that, mouth hanging half open as you stared at him in awe. As much as it was normal for Katsuki to get like this with you, it never failed to surprise you, perhaps because of the contrast of how he was with everybody else. While he so obviously adored you, he could be a little rough around the edges with his friends and family, so when he got sensitive like this it always left you speechless.

“You missed a spot,” you whispered, leaning in and waiting for him to close the gap.

His kiss was slow and languid, taking his time with you as he laced his fingers through your hair. His thumb brushed up your waist, skimming the bare skin under the hem of your shirt and melting you. You turned to putty under his touch, collapsing into him as you breathed him in with a lazy hint of urgency.

He pulled away from you slowly, a string of saliva connecting your lips before you snapped it.

“Have you eaten yet today?” he asked, voice low, the rumble of his chest echoing in yours.

“I had a lunch break, yeah,” you said, ready to go back to kissing him.

“Come on baby, you know you need more than that,” he said, scooping you up.

You wrapped your arms around his neck with a yelp, holding on for dear life.

“Katsuki, what are you doing?” you whined.

“I’m taking you to the kitchen,” he said. “You need to eat dinner.”

“I’m too tired for dinner,” you groaned.

He scoffed. “You weren’t too tired to make out with me, brat.”

It only took him a few long strides to get to your small kitchen, opting to set you down on the counter instead of one of your perfectly good chairs. You didn’t mind though, since it gave you a better vantage point to watch him work. You loved watching Katsuki cook, and you especially loved when he cooked for you, as you knew it was his way of showing affection, amongst...other activities.

“What are you making?” you asked, leaning your head back against the cabinet.

“Your favorite,” he grunted, putting the ingredients together.

“Mmmm, yummy,” you said.

“Of course you think it’s yummy, it’s your favorite.”

Katsuki rolled his eyes and you watched the muscles of his back roll under his tank top as he moved a few pots and pans around in your kitchen. If you were being honest with yourself, you wouldn’t mind just eating him. The man put the term ‘snack’ to shame. You were trying not to drool over him, but there was just something about Katsuki in tank tops, all that muscle on open display like that for you.

You hopped off the counter, standing on unsteady, protesting legs to stand behind him and begin tracing patterns into his back. You rested your forehead just below his neck, your soft, open-mouthed breaths fluttering down the thin black material he wore. You closed your eyes, soaking up his presence greedily.

“You’re making it harder to cook.”

You huffed, pressing your smile into the ridges of his spine.

“You always do this. Pretend to hate me hovering while you work in the kitchen. Pretend not to love me.”

Katsuki stiffened, and you knew immediately you had said something wrong. He set everything down, turning to face you for a minute and cupping your face between his hands. Bright, searing red eyes met yours in a way that told you this was important.

“I never pretend not to love you. I always love you, and I’m not the kind of bastard who would lie about that.”

You reached a gentle hand up to wrap around his wrist.

“I know, Katsuki. I know you love me. Always. I was just teasing you. M’sorry.”

He bumped his forehead against yours, the gesture more lighthearted as he intertwined your hands.

“Stupid.”

“Still smarter than you,” you snarked, scrunching up your nose.

He just rolled his eyes at you again, letting go of you to turn back to his cooking. He grabbed his apron off its hook, starting to cook in earnest. Before you knew it, your kitchen was full of the smell of your favorite food, and your stomach was rumbling quite loudly.

Katsuki raised an eyebrow at you as he plated the food.

“You want to tell that thing to shut up?”

You folded your arms over your stomach. “It doesn’t work like that, idiot.”

“Sure it doesn’t.” He smirked.

You almost picked a fight, but when you saw the finished food you couldn’t bring yourself to. You ate so fast you practically inhaled the food, hungrier than you had known after your long day. When you finished you were full and happy, a warm exhaustion chasing through your veins.

You let out a long sigh, leaning back against the stiff wood of your kitchen chairs.

“I’ve decided to never move again. I’m just going to die here, with my greasy hair and achy bones and full of amazing food. This is as good as life gets, I think.”

Katsuki turned from where he was busy putting your dishes in the sink. Walking over to you, he picked you up for the second time that night. Pressing you tight to his body, he began to head towards your bedroom.

“This is not as good as life gets, and I’m going to make sure you know that,” he said, voice low and soft.

You were practically falling asleep now, face pressing into his shoulder. 

“Tsuki,” you breathed dreamily, “I love you.”

“I love you too dummy.” He kissed the side of your head to punctuate the comment.

Opening the door to your bedroom, he headed to the attached bathroom, kicking the door open with his foot. He didn’t even set you down on the floor, just positioning you on his lap as he sat on the edge of your bath and started the water. He added your favorite bubble bath, and you smiled, thinking about how good he was with the little details of your life, things like your favorite foods and your favorite bubble bath. You were in so deep, and you never wanted to remember what it was like not to be in love with Katsuki Bakugou.

“You need a bath,” he said. “You stink.”

“Awww, what a sweet way of telling me you listen when I complain about my greasy hair, Tsuki,” you teased.

“I listen to everything you say. I have ears, don’t I?”

You giggled, taking off your uncomfortable work clothes. Katsuki watched as you did, helping out here and there when you got caught on a button or when you nearly tripped trying to get out of your ‘professional businesswoman’ pantyhose. Eventually you dipped into the bath, Katsuki kneeling beside the tub.

With gentle motions, he washed your hair, the hands that could be so violent never softer or more careful than when he was touching you. His fingers skimmed across your skin, tracing the contours of your shoulders with greater dedication than the most devout anatomist. He mapped out the shape of your body with soap and tough hands, up to his elbows in water as he helped every weary inch get cleaned up.

You looked up at him, suds framing the shape of his biceps, doing all of this work for you, and felt a surge of love and affection for this man. You wanted to marry him, wanted to have his children and live a long happy life with him.

“How did I get so lucky?” you wondered.

“It’s not luck. You ended up with me because you have great taste,” Katsuki said.

You laughed. “Maybe so. Even still, it isn’t every day you meet someone you want to spend the rest of your life with.”

He paused in his motions.

“You would want that? To be with me? Forever?”

You reached a hand out for his, holding it and giving it a brief squeeze.

“Yeah. Is that...” you faltered. “Is that something you want?”

He shifted forward, leaning over the side of the tub.

“Yes, of course. I’ve wanted to put a ring on your finger so long, you have no idea.” He laughed at himself a little. “Want the whole thing. Want to buy you a big pretty house and take care of you and make it so you never have to spend another second at that stupid job. Want to cook you weird food when you’re pregnant and craving something disgusting, want to cover your baby belly in kisses every day. Want to have kids with you, a family, everything. I want everything.”

Katsuki was unexpectedly wide-eyed and breathless, so earnest in his simple desires. You wanted to give it all to him, have it all with him, live out the whole dream.

“I want that so bad, you have no idea,” you told him.

“You’re going to have it. We’re going to have it. Going to give all of it to you.”

You smiled, and your happiness would have been perfect except the soap bubble that slipped from your hair down your face. You laughed, wiping it away.

“Maybe we should finish with this bath first.”

When you were ready to get out, he wrapped you up in your towel, reminding you of when you were a little kid. Your towel no longer reached to your knees, but there was something comforting about it all the same, like being wrapped in a blanket. He laid you out on your bed, wordlessly reaching for one of his own shirts for you to wriggle over your head and down your body.

When you were done, you pulled him down on top of you where you lay, wet hair carelessly soaking into the sheets. Tilting his chin up with one hand, you pressed your lips to his again and again, like a conversation, an exchanging of words. Each kiss had something different to say, something important, and something the same.

You are so good and kind and I love you. Thank you for taking care of me and I love you. I’m so happy I know you and I love you. You are the best man I have ever met and I love you.

He switched your positions, pulling you on top of him so that you lay more on him than the bed. He kissed you back, loving you with chapped lips and intertwined fingers and something deeper that fluttered through you in the deepness of the night and buzzed through your body at his touch. 

He pulled away to, in a moment of redundancy, say what you had already been saying.

“I love you.”

“I love you too. So much,” you whispered.

He rubbed a hand up and down your back, the other cradling the back of your head and easing it down onto his shoulder.

“Rest now.” He kissed your shoulder. “I’ll still love you in the morning.”

[amayawolfe]

Itsy Bitsy Spider (Chrollo x Fem.Reader)

A/N: fluff, spiders, angst, some harsh language

Word Count: 5262

Summary: Having been born in Meteor City, the majority of your life has been nothing but hardships. Looking back on it, you often wondered how you even made it to adulthood let alone become the treasured partner and wife of eight years to the head of the Phantom Troupe and mother to yours and Chrollo's son.

In the middle of prepping dinner, Chrollo and some of the troupe return from a successful mission. Your husband fills you in on the details as he and a couple of the members begin to help in the kitchen. The peace is suddenly shattered when your six year old comes running into the kitchen terrified, screaming, and claiming there is a monster in his room!

taglist: @to-move-on-means-to-grow @daisies-write

   The menu music to the DVD you were watching gently woke you from your unintentional nap. You blinked your eyes a few times to bring them into focus and stretched your curled up body along the large, overstuffed couch. This particular spot on the couch was often your place of rest unless your husband was home; in which case the couch was hardly ever used.

   Using the remote you turned off the tv and player then pushed yourself up into a sitting position. You snatched up your phone from it's place on the coffee table and checked the time. It was nearly early evening.

   "Guess I should start thinking about what to make for dinner," you said to yourself as you swipe through your phone to check for messages.

   Down in this underground hideout beneath Meteor City, phone signal alone was nearly impossible to receive. Thankfully, one of the family was able to figure out how to set up a computer that would broadcast Wi-Fi into the hideout from a line that went to the surface where a receiver was carefully hidden. This way, you could at least send and receive messages between the family and yourself.

   Your eyebrows rose and a smile touched your lips when you saw that you had a message from your husband, Chrollo.

Luci: Shopping run was successful, we should be home in the evening.

   You smirked a little at the cryptic message. The "shopping run" Chrollo was talking about was actually a heist during a gem and jewelry show. A heist in which you had helped plan out with your husband and three other family members.

   You glowered down at your phone when you realized the message had been sent a little over an hour ago while you were asleep.

   "I really need to get a louder phone," you muttered to yourself as you began to type a response.

You: I just woke up...

You: I haven't started dinner yet, is there anything you or the others would like?

   Phone still in hand you got to your feet and head in the direction of your son's room. As you walk through the hideout your sock covered foot falls are silent from a lifetime of practice. You pass a collection of pictures hanging along the walls. There are photos of you, Chrollo, your son, as well as the rest of the family doing random things a family would do.

 There were a couple from around the holidays and you and Chrollo are watching your son open gifts. Another was on Chrollo's birthday and two of the members had sandwiched his face between two pieces of vanilla cake with strawberry frosting. The look of shock and horror on Chrollo's face had been perfectly captured. While it was one of your favorite photos, he despised it. Chrollo's favorite picture on the wall was of you and him stretched out on the day bed in the library reading a book together while his head was resting on your nearly full term pregnant belly. You had to admit, it was a very cute picture.

   The home was enormous, consisting of s/n's room and his own bathroom, yours and Chrollo's large master bedroom with a large bathroom, a gourmet kitchen, library, study, massive living room, dining hall, training area along with a gym and a pool, a giant vault for looted treasures, multiple guests rooms with their own bathrooms, there was even a "war room" where missions and strategies were discussed.

   All the rooms in the place were lavishly decorated and furnished for maximal comfort. Any electronics and appliances were always top of line. Your husband always insisted on the best of the best for you and the family.

   Upon reaching your son's open door way you peeked in on him and found him laying on his belly on the floor reading a book aloud softly. He had his collection of stuffed animals surrounding him as though they were an audience listening to the story he was telling. A majority of them were a variety of teddy bears of all shapes, colors, and sizes. Ever since he saw a picture of a tiny teddy bear defending a sleeping child from a large monster he had taken a great liking to them.

   S/n's favorite teddy bear was one that Chrollo had asked Machi to make for him during a difficult time for s/n where he was greatly missing his father whenever he went on missions. It was of average size for a teddy bear and had medium brown fur. The button eyes were the same shade of grey blue as Chrollo's and it even had a dark long coat with white fur lining. But how Machi really outdid herself were the little details of a tiny book with a felt cover sewn to the teddy bears paw, the same mark on it's forehead as Chrollo's, and giving the bear little blue green glass bead earrings.

   Your son had been so happy to the point of joyous tears when his father gave him the bear made especially for him. He decided right there and then to name the bear "Sir Brollo." Upon s/n announcing this, you had to bite your tongue so hard it bled to keep yourself from laughing at the bright red look that came over your husband's face.    Sir Brollo had a front row seat sitting right beside s/n as he read. That bear rarely ever left your son's side.

   You rest your head against the door frame as you leaned against it and listened to your son read to his "friends." It saddened you knowing your son had no one to play with except for you and the family when ever they were home. But being the son of the head of the heavily feared and all powerful Phantom Troupe, precautions had to be taken.    There had been a few dangerously close calls of s/n being taken away to be used as revenge or leverage against the Phantom Troupe. Close calls that resulted in a sense of dread and anxiety that never fully went away. Even after Chrollo had gathered the nen techniques needed to build you, your son, and the family this safe place, the possible threat of invasion always weighed heavy in the back of your mind. And poor s/n was never allowed out of the hide out unless he had you or Chrollo and at least three other members of the family with him.

   These constant negative feelings that lingered in the air had taken a toll on your son causing him to become a very nervous and skittish child with a fear of nearly everything. You and the others hoped that, over time, he would be able to shake these fears and stand up to them.

   When your son finished the chapter he was on you lifted your head and gently called his name.    "s/n"

   The child jumped and looked up at you with wide blue grey eyes. His father's eyes. You could feel the sadness in your own eyes form at his frightened expression.

   "I'm sorry kiddo," you said softly and entered his room to kneel down close to him. "I didn't mean to startle you, I just wanted to let you know that your father and some of the family will be home soon."

   "Oh, okay, thank you mommy," s/n replied softly.

   "Is there something special you want for dinner tonight?" you asked.

   "Hmmm, not really. Just, no fish, please," your son wrinkled his nose, "I really don't like fish."

   You couldn't help but laugh aloud at his response. Stroking his soft hair you leaned forward, and kissed him on the forehead.

   "I know, baby, I know. I promise, no fish."

   s/n smiled at your  words and he began to kick his feet in the air just above him.    "Who else will be home?"    "I think your uncles Fei, Phinks, and Shal will be coming in with your dad."

   Right then your phone pinged and vibrated alerting you to a message response. Glancing down at it you saw Chrollo had responded to your previous question.

   "Oh," you said, "speak of the devil."

Luci: I have been asked to put in a request for your famous stew.

   You looked down at s/n, "How does stew sound for dinner?"

   His eyes grew wide and he smiled happily.

   "Yeah!" he cheered as he rolled to one side and pumped a tiny fist into the air. You couldn't help but laugh again and ruffled your son's hair.

   "Alright my silly boy, would you like to help me in the kitchen?"

   "No, I want to keep reading to Sir Brollo and the others," he answered honestly. "I want to finish a few more chapters before time to eat."

   "Okay, I'll come get you when it's time to eat then." You rose to your feet and started to leave the room. At the door way you turned and added, "I love you, sweetie."

   "I love you too, mommy," s/n beamed then returned to his book.

   As you made your way to the kitchen you messaged your husband a reply.

You: I can do that, I'll go ahead and get started. See you soon?

Luci: See you soon, princess.

   You felt the warmth of a blush touch your cheeks. A reaction that always occurred when Chrollo called you by his favorite pet name for you.

   When you entered the massive kitchen you set some upbeat classical music to play from your phone. You loved listening to music while you cooked and baked. You then brought down a large stock pot as well as collected a peeler, knife, mixing bowl, and cutting bored. From the fridge you set out a large chunk of beef, bacon, carrots, and celery. The pantry had the potatoes, flour, beef stock, onions, a bottle of red wine and garlic you needed.

   You really felt like you were getting into the grove as you gave your hands a good scrub. You diced up a few slices of bacon and tossed them into the stock put and turned the stove flame on to a medium high heat. While the bacon started to cook and release the greasy fat you were going to brown the beef cubes in, you cut the beef chunk into bite size pieces with impressive speed and accuracy. Chrollo wasn't the only one good with a knife.

   Once the meat was all cubed you tossed it into the mixing bowl along with some olive oil. Tossing the meat and oil in the bowl until the meat was evenly coated you then added flour, garlic powder, onion powder, season salt, and pepper; stirring it until it the meat was all evenly coated.

   Checking on the bacon and giving it a stir, you decided to let the bacon bits crisp a bit more and started working on dicing up a large yellow onion. Humming along with a playful piece of classical music known as "Thunder and Lightning polka" by Johann Strauss II, you really felt like you had a good rhythm going and was very much engrossed in your work.

   So much so you didn't even notice someone quietly enter the kitchen and walk up behind you. You didn't notice them watching while you worked, waiting for a pause in your actions before placing their hands on your waist.

   You let out a small yelp of surprise as you knocked the persons hands aside and spun around quickly, bringing the sharp edge of the kitchen knife up to your would be assailant's throat. You had expected to see the face of a dangerous stranger. But instead, you where greeted by the warm, familiar face of your husband. There was a small playful smile on his lips and an extra little gleam in his eyes. Chrollo normally wasn't one to sneak up on you like he just did, but he did tend to become mischievously playful after a successful mission. You figured it was most likely from the adrenaline high.

   "Damnit, Chrollo," you hissed as you removed the knife from his neck and leaned back against the counter, "You know better than that. What if I had cut your neck wide open?"    "Mmm, but you didn't," he replied softly.

   You sighed and rolled your eyes, Chrollo was never one to dwell on the "what ifs" of life.

   "I got you a little something, my dear," he stated as he reached into the pocket of his favorite long coat. Your husband was always bringing you little gifts when ever he went on a mission without you.

   From his pocket he with drew a small, dark navy blue velvet box and held it before you. You quickly washed and dried your hands so as to not to get the box all dirty, carefully took the box from his hand and let out a small gasp upon opening it.

   Inside the dainty box was a small rose charm necklace. The piece was masterfully crafted as the delicate petals of the rose were made from chips of rubies while the petals were made of dark green chrome tourmaline chips. Both gems were set in fine gold which also made up the delicate stem of the rose. The chain was made of fine delicate links also in gold.

    "Oh Chrollo," you breathed in awe, "it's absolutely gorgeous."

   Your husband smiled at your reaction, pleased to see you so happy with the piece he had picked out for you. He held up his hand to take back the box.

   "May I?"

   Without a need for question you handed the box back to him. You watched him take the necklace out of the box and he returned the box back to his pocket. You turned around as he held up the necklace and you moved your hair at the way so Chrollo could have unobstructed access to your neck. He stepped closer as undid the delicate little clasp and carefully hung the necklace around your neck.

   After he redid the clasp behind your neck he slid his hands to your shoulders and placed a soft, warm kiss on your neck. Chrollo's breath tickled the fine hairs on the delicate skin causing goosebumps to erupt down your arms.

   "A piece fit for a princess," he whispered against your ear in a low, sultry voice.

   His hands moved down your sides to your waist and pulled you closer to him. Your back flush against his chest, you tilted your head to one side allowing him easy access as his he ran a trail of soft kisses from just below where you neck and shoulder connect to your ear. Chrollo's arms came around your waist and he hugged you tightly as he nuzzled his nose against your ear and breathed against the sensitive flesh. You braced your hands against the counter as your knees started to feel weak.

   Mischievous and playful were not the only moods that overcame Chrollo after a successful job. You looked forward to the private activities that were most likely to take place between you and your husband behind the closed bedroom door later that night.

   "Hey boss, we finished placing all the merchandise into the vault," called a familiar voice, ending the tender moment between you and your husband. As romantic as he could be, Chrollo was never really comfortable showing physical affection in front of the others. Something that both amused and annoyed you the entire eight plus years the two of you had been together.    Your husband gave you one last chaste kiss just below the earlobe before turning to Shalnark walking through the kitchen doorway.

   "Thank you, Shalnark. And what are the others up to?"

   "Oh, they're arguing over what to watch until dinner is done," Shal laughed.

   "Why am I not surprised," you said over your shoulder as you started to scoop the crispy bacon bits out of the stock pot with a slotted spoon. "Say, since you two are here why don't you help me out with peeling and cutting the vegetables? The sooner everything gets into the pot the sooner it'll be done and we can eat."

   "Sure thing!" Shal beamed, causing you to smile. He always seemed so happy to you and reminded you of a little ball of sunshine.

   "I'll go put my coat up and then I'll come back and help," Chrollo replied and strode from the kitchen. Shalnark came over and washed his hands.

   "If you don't mind, could you go ahead and peel and chop up the carrots first?" you asked as you started to add the coated beef cubes to the bacon fat.

   "Yea, I can do that," Shal chirped. He dried his hands and set to work peeling the carrots. "How's everything been here the last few weeks?"

   "Dull and quiet," you said with a sigh as you turned the meat cubes, "it's pretty much the same routine when everyone else is away. Not that I am complaining, really."    "I would hope not," Chrollo entered back into the kitchen without his coat. He was wearing a dark sleeveless shirt with a high collar and some white bands creating a pattern down the front, a dark pair of jeans and white socks. The shirt showed off his toned arms, chest, and shoulders and it enticed you to take a nice, long looks at your beloved.

   "'Dull and quiet' means 'safe' for my two greatest treasures." Chrollo took his turn at washing his hands before asking, "Now, what shall you have me do, dearest?"

   Deciding against speaking aloud the first thing that came to your mind and causing your husband to blush in front of a family member, you set him to work on peeling and cutting potatoes.

   You had removed the meat from the stock pot and added some red whine to deglaze the bottom of the pot when Feitan came in mumbling.

   "Did you lose the coin toss, Feitan?" Shal asked while he was chopping the carrots.

   "Yes," he sighed, then added bitterly" and I would much rather help here than watch another sports game."

   Chrollo smirked and Shalnark chuckled while you bit back a laugh. The three of you knew that Feitan would have greatly prefered watch some documentaries on famous criminals; yet somehow Phinks normally won the coin toss on what they would watch when it came to what those two would watch.

   "Well, Fei, in that case you can get the dinner roll dough out of the fridge, space them out in a greased baking then cover them with a towel so they can start rising."

   You felt the look Feitan shot at you more so than saw it. He had obviously been kidding about wanting to help out on the kitchen. Or, at the very least, he was putting on a show pretending that he actually didn't want to help out when in truth he did.

   When you didn't look back over your shoulder at him after a bit he sighed and went to go do as you had asked. You had made sure to give Feitan an easy enough task where he didn't have to ask someone to help get something down or where he would have to get a chair. You knew he could sometimes be a sensitive and prideful when it came to matters of his height.

   "So tell me, love, how did the mis-" your question to your husband was suddenly interrupted by the terrified screams of your son coming from his bedroom.

   "MONSTER!! MOMMY THERE'S A MONSTER!!!"

   Your heart nearly stopped as you dropped what you were doing and started to turn to run out of the kitchen along with Chrollo and the other two.

   Chrollo was the first to the door but came to an abrupt stop as s/n came around the corner and ran into his father. Your husband grabbed hold of him to keep him from falling backwards then maneuvered your son away from the door towards you so Feitan and Shalnark could pass to go investigate s/n's room.

   Keeping himself between the doorway and you and your son, Chrollo knelt down beside s/n who was now clinging to you and shaking with tears forming in his eyes. He placed a gentle hand on his son's upper back while you stroked his head.

   "Tell me what happened, son," he calmly ordered.

   "I was r-reading my book and a big monster c-came out of the corner of m-my room." s/n stammered.

   "What kind of monster, sweetie?" you asked.

   "We couldn't find anything, boss," Shalnark reported as he and Feitan returned.

   "It looked like a b-big spider!" s/n added.

   Chrollo's eyebrows started to creep up his forehead, "Spider?"

   Your son nodded.

   "PHINKS!" you nearly roared. Phinks had been known to play pranks on s/n in the past. Pranks that didn't go as he had planned and usually scared the poor kid senseless. The Troupe member claimed he was just trying to help s/n get over his fears, you usually ended up beating the crap out of him regardless.

   "It wasn't me!" came Phinks's response as he quickly joined Shalnark and Feitan. "I swear!"

   He shied away and stood behind the other two when you locked a deadly glare onto him.

   "No, mommy, it wasn't Uncle Phinks," s/n sniffled, "I was reading in my book and it got to a part with monster spiders then a huge spider appeared in my room!"

   There was a silent pause before nearly all the adults let out a collective sigh and their guards dropped.

   "See, I told you it wasn't me," Phinks muttered as he went back to watch the game.

   "Another false alarm," Feitan sighed while walking back into the kitchen.    "That's some imagination," Shalnark stated and gave s/n a pat head, "you must have thought the spider was one of those creature right out of your book, huh?"

   S/n nodded his head. His face was starting to turn red as he began to realize he had most likely been afraid of nothing once again.

   "But," he whispered sadly, "there really was a big spider in my room. And, I'm afraid it's going to hurt Sir Brollo."

   "Sir Brollo will be fine, love," you assured gently. "Give me a minute and daddy and I will come help look for the spider, okay?"

   s/n nodded and released his grip from you to stand a little closer to his father who rested a hand atop his sons head in means of comfort.

   You went to the stove, reduced it to medium low heat, added in the beef stock and spices then turned to Feitan and Shalnark.

   "Could you two please finish cutting up the vegetables and add them to the pot? Once that's done add in the meat last, give it a good stir then put the lid on. It should be good on it's own after that."

   "Can do, boss lady," Shalnark beamed.

   You thank them both and join your son and husband and the three of you head towards s/n's room with Chrollo in the lead. Upon entering the room everything seemed normal. S/n held onto you at the doorway and Chrollo walked a few steps further in while looking around carefully.  As he rounded the end of s/n's bed, looking down at a part of the floor you and s/n couldn't see, Chrollo actually jumped a little and a look of surprise appeared on his face.

   "Well, I was not expecting that." He blinked a couple times then began to look around the room for something.

   "What is it?" you asked. Chrollo smiled a little as he took a large clear plastic container and dumped out the contents to one side. He then went back over to the part of the floor you could not see, turned the container sideways and slowly knelt down.

   "An understandably good reason for our son to be scared," he replied softly, "at least at first."

   All you could see your husband do was make some slow, careful arm movements. He was speaking softly, to softly for you to here. You wanted to move forward to see what he was messing with but your son didn't want you to leave nor did he want to go farther into the room.

   You didn't have to wait long though, as Chrollo began to stand you could now see what he had corralled into the plastic container. It was indeed a spider, but not just any spider, this sider was enormous. With it's legs fanned out it was easily larger than your husbands face.

   "It's a snowy tarantula," Chrollo explained as he slowly walked over to the two of you, "it's sort of an ironic name considering it usually lives in hot, arid climates like the desserts around Meteor City."

   Once he was within a couple meters of you and s/n he knelt down and gently set the container on the floor. The creature inside barely moved as it seemed to turn and look up at Chrollo.

   "It's called a 'snowy' tarantula due to the white hairs all over it's body. The hairs actually shimmer and reflect the light just like fresh fallen snow. An evolutionary trait that developed to help reflect the dessert heat away from it's body and keep it cooler. A magnificent specimen to behold when the light hits it just right. Come see, s/n. She's actually quite docile."

   S/n looked up at you and you gave him a warm smile and a nod. He slowly let go of you and took one slow, cautious step after another towards his father and the spider that had frightened him so. You carefully followed behind your son wanting to get a look at the tarantula as well.

   As the two of you came closer, the tarantula daintily turned and looked up at you. You gasped slightly at the beautiful deep blue eyes that now stared up at you.

   "Now watch," your husband instructed and he began to carefully rotate the container in a circular side to side motion causing the light to dance across the hairs of the tarantula.

   "Whhoooaaaa." Your son's eyes grew wide in awe as a rainbow of prismed light moved over the hairs of the tarantula, giving her the effect of a living gem. "She's so pretty. I've never seen anything like it, daddy."

   Chrollo stopped the rotation of the container and carefully set it on the floor. He then reached over, placed his hand on the back of his son's head and gently pulled s/n's head towards his own as he too began to lean forward. The two touched foreheads over the tarantula and looked into each others eyes.

   "There is no shame in having fear, s/n, but do not let that fear keep you from learning and understanding the unknown. What once was scary and ugly could turn out to be something wonderful and beautiful once you find the courage to face it. Do you understand?"

   Your son smiled and nodded slightly, "Yes, daddy, I understand. I'll try harder to be brave, just like you, mommy, and the rest of the family."

   Your husband returned the smiled and closed his eyes, "Very good, my son."

   S/n closed his eyes as well and the two shared an unspoken bonding moment over the snowy tarantula who just looked up at them. You smiled down at the two you held most dear and felt your heart swell with love and emotion.  

   Your son was the first to break the silence.

   "Do you think we could keep her?" he asked as he gently pulled away from his father. "She could be our mascot!"

   "Ah-ha, I don't think so, sweetie," you said firmly. "I'm sure she would be a lot happier on the surface where she has room to find food and make a home."    "Awwww," s/o whined in disappointment, "when is she going back then?"

   "Probably the sooner the better." Chrollo added, backing you up before s/n had a chance to ask him as well.

   "Can I show her to the others before she goes back outside?"

   Chrollo chuckled, "I don't see why not. Just be sure to carry her gently and don't shake her. You don't want to hurt her before we let her back outside."

   "Okay!" s/n said with excitement. He carefully picked up the plastic container and walked with precise hurried steps out of the room, eager to show his uncles that he hadn't been afraid of just nothing.

   As soon as s/n was out of ear shot you turned to your husband who was now standing beside you.

   "I'm not going to lie, had that thing snuck up on me while I was reading I probably would have screamed, too," you admitted with light laughter sounding in your words. Chrollo smiled and wrapped his arms around your waist bringing the two of you close.

   "How did something like that even get in here? The airducts, maybe?"

   "It's possible," Chrollo agreed, "I'll ask Shalnark to run a check on the ventilation system just in case."

   You stood on your tip toes and kissed his nose, "I'd appreciate that. Also, you might want to ask Shal and Fei how the hell they missed such a big spider when they came in here to check for intruders."  

   "When s/n jumped up and ran out of here screaming it probably startled her and she hid among all the stuffed toys," your husband made a gesture with his head to your son's mass collection. You looked down and realized that, even though the spider had been huge, she could have easily hid between some of the bigger plushies blocking her from view.

   "Good point," you chuckled, "Okay, one more question, 'Who's taking the spider top side?'"

   "Once s/n is done showing the others I'll take them all top side to let her go," your husband volunteered, "we won't go far just to release her."

   "He's getting better at recovering from scares like this," you observed. "But still... I worry about him..."

   "Of course you worry about him," Chrollo said softly, bringing his head down to now touch his marked forehead to yours, "you're his mother. I suspect you will worry for him one way or another for the rest of your life."

   "And what about you? Don't you worry about our son?" you asked in the same softness Chrollo was expressing.

   "Of course I do, y/n, he's my son. But, seeing how the two of us are, and what we survived to get here, I feel s/n is going to -"    "AAAHHHH!!! WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT!?" Phinks screamed, "WAS THAT IN YOUR ROOM!?!?! NO!! I DO NOT WANT A CLOSER LOOK!"

   Chrollo threw back his head and let out a genuine laugh. A laugh that made you smile and laugh along with him.

   "Hey! I can hear you two! Shut the hell up!" Phinks yelled, his voice cracking in embarrassment.

   His words made the two of you laugh even harder for several minutes.

   By the time you two had settled down and caught your breath there were tears in your eyes from laughing so hard. Chrollo looked down at you with a smile still on his face and gave you a long, warm, soft kiss right on the lips. It gave the moment an almost surreal feel to it.

   He was the first to break away from the kiss. Your husband chuckled as he swept some hair behind you ear with his finger tips.    "As I was saying, I think our son is going to be just fine."

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH61

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

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Chapter 61: Purgatory Reunion (XIII)

It was dawn.

There was no sun in the Underground Ant City, but Qi Leren still knew by intuition that it was dawn.

Looking at the time again, it was 7:20 in the morning. If he was training with Chen Baiqi, it would be too late. If he left for her place at this time, he would definitely receive the "loving care" of the three-headed hellhound. But for a person who was on a rare vacation, this hour was still too early.

Actually, he could sleep for a while, but... Qi Leren sat up from the bed. Now that he was awake, it was better to make some breakfast for Ning Zhou. The living room here was connected to the kitchen.

Thinking this, Qi Leren jumped out of bed, put on clothes in a hurry, and came to the bedroom door. After a pause, he rubbed his hands and gently turned the door handle, ready to tiptoe out.

As soon as the door opened, the smell of fried eggs filled Qi Leren's nose. He paused and looked straight into the kitchen.

Freshly brewed hot coffee sat on the table, as well as hot sausages and slices of bread. When Ning Zhou heard the sound of the door opening from where he was frying eggs, he looked back at him, smiled, and said, "Good morning."

"Morning." Qi Leren felt that he was still dreaming.

Dreaming... Speaking of which, he seemed to have had a dream last night, but when he thought about it now, he can't remember anything, except that it was a beautiful dream.

Ning Zhou skillfully put the fried eggs on the plate with a spatula, and Qi Leren quickly walked past and picked up the plate to give him a hand.

It wasn’t the first time that Qi Leren saw Ning Zhou cooking. Before the end of the undercover mission with the Slaughter Secret Society and the start of the Holy Nun’s task, he and Ning Zhou had briefly lived together for a while, as it was for the convenience of Ning Zhou training him. At that time, the two people who had had a crush on each other but sought only to endure it tacitly avoided many topics, and even deliberately avoided each other in many cases. The scene of eating together in silence at dusk was still filled with a different kind of warmth.

Restraint ran through this relationship. Even if they had confessed their feelings, they were still restrained.

When you like someone, you can be presumptuous, because the impulse comes so warmly that people get carried away and act rashly. You may even forget to think, and let your instincts dominate you to express your feelings freely, but you don't think whether it will hurt the person you like. Because at that time, you just want it.

However, when you fall in love with someone and want to spend your whole life with him, you lose your courage, become timid, and be swayed by considerations of gain and loss. You start to restrain yourself, learn to pull out the spikes one by one, express your love gently, and don't use the excuse of "love" to hurt your loved one. Because at this time, you want forever.

"I'll brush my teeth first!" Qi Leren put the plate on the table and rushed into the bathroom. He spent one third of the usual time brushing his teeth and didn't wash his face, because he didn't want Ning Zhou to wait too long, but he carefully observed himself in the mirror and combed his messy hair with a wet comb.

After several tens of seconds, Qi Leren sat upright at the dining table with a knife and a fork in hand, and ate breakfast happily.

Qi Leren was not used to this kind of western breakfast. When he was young, his mother often went out to film, and his father threw him a few dollars irresponsibly to buy breakfast for himself. He usually bought youtiao when he was sent away. When his mother was at home, his father would use 18 kinds of cooking skills, from Cantonese-style refreshments to northern noodles, never making the same thing in the same month. The only thing he never made was Western-style breakfast. Qi Leren, who depend on their mother to eat and drink, had no opinion on breakfast at all, and had been used to this for more than 20 years.

The western-style breakfast was a bit too greasy for him, which made his stomach accustomed to youtiao uncomfortable. However, this was made by Ning Zhou, and Qi Leren not only ate it all, but also praised it with a smile. Because of his outstanding acting skills, Ning Zhou didn't see that he was reluctant.

Looking at Ning Zhou's happy appearance, Qi Leren felt willing to act all his life.

After breakfast, they went to the Trial’s Ant City headquarters, which was disguised as a small auction house, where people were busy and didn’t pay much attention to others. Celia, the contact person in charge of the whole branch’s affairs, had stayed up all night. The smell of black coffee was all over the office. She added sugar to it and smiled bitterly: "I sent someone to interrogate Kathleen overnight. I dug up a lot of news."

"What news?" Qi Leren’s spirits rose as soon as he heard it, and he took Ning Zhou and sat down.

"After Kathleen escaped from the Village of Dusk, considering her demon identity, she chose the Underground Ant City where humans and demons live together as her foothold. As luck would have it, an old lover from her early years happened to run an industry for Witches of Greed in the Underground Ant City, so she settled down there. After the Illusionist disappeared, we investigated his whereabouts. He had been to this casino before going to the Dragon Ant Queen’s royal palace. A gambler saw him and was very impressed with him. Later, our informant reported this matter and went to the gambler to verify it, and then disappeared in the underground casino. Kathleen admitted that the informant was in her hands. After torturing the informant who was looking for the Illusionist, she put the underground casino on watch, and then met you while you were investigating while in disguise."

"So, there’s still no news on the Illusionist?" Qi Leren frowned.

"Yes, we still don't know why he went to that underground casino." Celia was also very troubled. "But it’s certain that he eventually disappeared in the Queen Dragon Ant’s palace."

"Last time, you said that entering the palace required the Prophet's decree?" Qi Leren asked.

Celia nodded. "I also wrote about you in the second request, and I will have an answer next week. Until then... I don't have the power to make such a big decision."

Although Celia was in charge of all the Village of Dusk’s affairs in the Underground Ant City, after all, she only acted on the orders of the Prophet. When it came to the Dragon Ant Queen, who was also a field-level master, she had no right to make decisions.

Qi Leren didn't know about the delicate relationship between field-level masters. He didn't even know how many field-level masters there were in the whole Nightmare World—he vaguely remembered that had Su He mentioned it in those days, but now he wouldn't even believe even Su He’s punctuation marks.

"The Dragon Ant Queen, what news is there?" Ning Zhou suddenly asked.

Celia hesitated and shook her head gently. "There is no news... I'm afraid this is the best news. She’s now in the stage of rebirth, and after this... "

It meant that the queen who had dominated the Underground Ant City for more than 20 years would die and give her authority to the new queen.

What kind of attitude would the new queen hold towards humans and demons? Was it closer to the side of humans or demons? Would she expand the Underground Ant City’s sphere of influence, or would she pay more attention to stability and peace in her own field? Which Devil King would she follow? All these were related to the existence of the Underground Ant City in the next ten or twenty years, and people living here were greatly concerned about this problem.

Among the successive Dragon Ant Queens, a few were friendly to human beings. During those times, human beings gained a high status, but most of the time, the Dragon Ant Queens were not friendly to human beings—she would tolerate human beings living in her sphere of influence, but that's all.

"What method is the Dragon Ant Queen’s field passed down through? Is there any idea?" Qi Leren asked curiously. He had learned some things from the intelligence materials, but the method of inheritance was a complete secret.

Celia shook her head. "Most fields decline with the death of their owners, and they will die out in a few decades. There’s a special inheritance method in the Holy See, where the Pope’s field has been perfectly passed down through the ages."

Was the Pope's field Neverland? Qi Leren secretly took a look at Ning Zhou and was caught red-handed.

"The method of condensation is different," Ning Zhou said.

Qi Leren seemed to understand. He knew that Ning Zhou once condensed more than a half-field with the Holy See’s method, but the half-field had been very fragile, and it was broken before it condensed into a field. But now...

He should have condensed the field again, as evidenced by what had happened in the underground casino yesterday.

He would look for an opportunity to talk about this problem in depth with Ning Zhou. He really cared too much about his own force. This evil force brewing destruction meant endless pain for him.

"Oh, as well, I’ve investigated the things that you asked me to, but there are some questions..." Celia took a sip of coffee and explained the matter.

Ashley, Mrs Kathleen's subordinate, had been missing for a month. She could still feel that her subordinate existed, but she couldn't feel where he was. A surprisingly evil force cut off her connection to him.

"She also said that she had once met someone who looked like Ashley. At that time, he was fighting fiercely with a man wielding a tangdao, but she couldn't see clearly because they were too far away. After they left, she took a look at the scene, and there were broken walls. Therefore, Kathleen thinks that she must have seen wrong. Although her subordinate is clever and considerate, his strength is average and it would be impossible for him to fight with such a powerful master," Celia said.

Qi Leren didn't quite agree: "Didn't she say that her subordinate was controlled by an evil force? Maybe it's something like a seed of slaughter?"

"This is also possible, but according to Kathleen's tone, the level of those two people was more than that of someone who’s been parasitized. Moreover, so many days have passed, and there probably aren’t many valuable clues left there, " said Celia.

"Is there anything we can do for you now?" Qi Leren asked.

"With the matters of the Illusionist, we can only wait for the Court’s reply. Other affairs are handled by special personnel. If you have time, you may wish to help us go to the place where Mrs. Kathleen mentioned that she thought she saw Ashley." Celia smiled and looked at them expectantly.

Qi Leren and Ning Zhou exchanged a look, silently reaching an agreement.

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[redpandaramblings]

A Taste so Tempting- Yandere Fatgum x Reader

🔞DEAD DOVE; DO NOT EAT🔞

Content Warnings- Dark Fic, Cannibalism, Forced Cannibalism, Yandere themes, Mutilation, Body Horror, Amputation, Medical horror, Mind Break, Not SFW, Dub Con/ Non Con

18+ MINORS DNI

This was written for the Spud Corner collab, Blood. So sorry it's extremely extremely late. It's a little sick, a little twisted, but it this kind of thing is your cup of tea, hope you enjoy.

You knew he was there. It was easy to tell as the sounds of slurping and chewing filtered into your ears. You shuddered, biting your lip to keep from whimpering at the noise of him licking and sucking grease from his thick, meaty fingers. You hadn’t paid much attention to noises like that until a few months ago when a man you had thought was a hero had kidnapped you and brought you to this remote cottage. Now you dreaded them, feeling nausea and anxiety with every crunch and every smack of the towering man's lips.

“I know you’re awake, Poppet.” Taishiro rumbled from his seat close to you. “You’ve been asleep for so long, you naughty thing.”

You blinked slowly awake, knowing he’d anger if you tried to feign sleep. Your head felt like it was full of wool. What had you been doing before? You couldn’t quite remember. You turned your head to face your captor.

The wide smile that greeted you was unsettling. How had you ever found comfort in that wide display of gleaming teeth? A mammoth hand reached out and stroked your cheek, leaving uncomfortable greasy trails in its wake. “There’s my pretty girl. I love seeing your eyes on me.”

He reached out of your view, grabbing something and then bringing it to your lips. You opened your mouth dutifully, letting the chunk of meat be placed inside. You knew the danger in refusing.

“How long was I asleep?” You mumbled as you chewed.

The food was good, like it always was. Perfectly cooked, richly seasoned. You couldn’t place exactly what the flavor was at the moment. You couldn’t bring yourself to care much, usually. You wished you could say it tasted like ash, but it never did. You could never accuse Fatgum of not knowing how to create delicious food.

“Been a couple days.” He hummed, pressing another piece to your lips. “You gave me a bit of a scare, Dumpling. But everything is going to be alright from now on.”

You nodded as you opened your mouth again, letting him feed you. You closed your eyes as you tried to sort through your confused thoughts. A couple of days? Had you been sick? No… You didn't think so, anyway. Could have been an accident? But you were barely allowed anything that wasn’t absolutely safe. Something must have happened. He only kept you asleep like that as punishment. What was the last thing you remembered?

Oh.

Of course.

You had tried to escape.

You swallowed quickly, and choked on your food. You tried to gasp for air, coughing. Fatgum sat you up and began thumping you on the back until your coughing subsided. When the coughing stopped, he laid you back down with a concerned look.

“Hey, now, you need to be careful, Sugarpop! Chew carefully. Can’t have you hurting yourself. And shouldn’t waste such precious food, either. It’s really special today, after all.”

“Yes, sir.” You whispered.

He was in a good mood. That was strange. Usually after you misbehaved, the large man would growl and rage. You’d be locked in the cold, damp cellar to think about what you had done; until you got so desperate that you begged him to let you out. He loved it when you begged, after all. So why was he in such a good mood? You had done the worst thing you could have done. You had run. You had tried to leave him.

So why was he happy?

Why was he smiling down at you?

What had happened those days you had been asleep?

You looked at your captor, trying to assess. He popped a piece of meat into his mouth, moaning obscenely in enjoyment as he began to chew. There was an easy way to find out what was going on. Risky, but certainly would be the clearest answer. After all, despite all his sins, Taishiro had never lied to you. Taking a deep breath, you murmured quietly. “Tai?”

He perked up immediately, grinning brightly. He loved when you called him Tai, loved anything that made it seem like you two were domestic. “Yes, Sweetpea?”

“I… I was a bad girl. Why aren’t you angry with me?”

His gaze was soft as he cupped your cheek with a large, greasy hand.

“I was at first. But then I realized. I finally understood why you fought and tried to run. You didn’t trust me to take care of you, that I’d keep you safe. Now yeah, that made me upset, but then I figured it out. I realized how to prove I’d always take care of you, to show how good we can be together. And well…” He giggled, high pitch and off putting. “You certainly can’t run away anymore.”

Chills ran down your spine and bile tickled your throat. A chilling realization was coming to you. You slowly tried to sit up more to look down at yourself.

“Tai?” You whispered, praying to whatever gods who were listening that you might be wrong. “Tai, why can’t I feel my legs? What happened while I was asleep?”

“Well, sweetness. Hard to feel what isn’t there anymore.”

Numbly, you tugged off the blankets covering you. Your legs were gone. Mostly gone, your mind supplied morbidly. You still had cloth wrapped stumps that seem to have been cut off above the knee. You could barely process it. It felt like they belonged to someone else, like this couldn’t possibly be you. This couldn’t be your body. But the stumps wiggled when you tried to move them. Fatgum’s hand engulfing your thigh stilled your movements.

“Isn’t it perfect, Dumpling? I have a friend who was able to help me and get you fixed up right away. Now there’s no more temptation to run. No more worrying about being bad. You don’t have to worry about being a bad girl for me, because you won’t be able to get into trouble this way. I’ll be here as much as I can to help you. Sure, I’ll have to carry ya around a little more, but that was no trouble before, and you’re even lighter now. Besides. Doing this came with a few perks. I got to experience your sweetness in a whole new way!”

You could barely keep up with what he was saying. His voice seemed muffled and far away, as if you were hearing him from underwater. You kept trying to wiggle your toes. Like, maybe if you could just wiggle your toes, they’d appear again. You could almost feel them. If you closed your eyes, it was like nothing was wrong. Nothing was wrong. Nothing except the hand on your thigh and the voice of your ear murmuring to you about how sweet you taste. What?

“I taste sweet?” You asked, managing to keep the hysteria out of your voice.

Fatgum moaned lewdly, giving your thigh a squeeze. “Darling, you’re the best thing I’ve ever tasted. Juicy, tender, so incredibly succulent. It was all I could do to pace myself. I needed it to last. Don’t plan on ever getting any more, since you’re going to be a good girl now, aren’t you? But it’s so good to taste you like this, experience you like this.”

He reached down to the plate he had been feeding you from, popped a piece of meat in his mouth, and moaned again,his hips bucking inadvertently. He continued in a rough, breathy voice.

“You nourishing me like you? God, Sugar, it’s so amazing. You’ll be a part of me forever. We’re part of each other now. Oh, y/n, don’t you think you taste so good?”

He grabbed a piece of your flesh from the plate, warm, fresh, smelling wonderful and shoved it into your mouth. You chewed out of habit. The flavor was as good as it had been the first time you had tasted it. You tried not to think about what it was you were eating. Who it was you were eating. You managed to swallow. Your stomach roiled. You couldn’t vomit. He’d kill you if you did. You’d put your head between your knees but… You begin to giggle hysterically. You have no knees. Your laughter starts soft but quickly raises in pitch and volume. No knees!

Taishiro kissed the top of your head, nuzzling you.

“See?” He rumbled and stroked your hair. “There’s my happy girl. You’re so good in every way.”

He tilted your chin up and smothered your laughter by covering your mouth with his. He picked you up, placing you in his lap, even as his meaty tongue forced his way past your lips. He tasted like you. You tasted like you. You whimpered into his mouth, overwhelmed. Encouraged, he placed his hands on your waist. It was easier than ever before for him to manhandle you, moving you so that your panty covered fold rubbed over the obnoxiously large bulge in his pants. You didn’t fight it. What could you do, press your stubby thighs together? As if that would work. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling away from his kiss so that you could bury your face in his neck. If your eyes were closed, you could pretend this wasn’t real. This couldn’t be real. This sick fuck wasn’t rutting against you. It didn’t feel good. You didn’t enjoy him treating you like you were his greatest desire.

Fatgum reached down again grabbing another chunk of warm, tasty meat. He popped it in his mouth, chewing a few times. He gripped your hair, pulling your head back just enough for him to slam his lips against yours, forcing his tongue and the warm, chewed, succulent piece of your own flesh into your mouth. Startled, near panicked, you tried to use your own tongue to push the meat back. All you did however was encourage the large man. Though it had never been your intention, soon the kiss intensified as the two of you passed the meat back and forth. The world narrowed. There was only you, and him, the movement, the taste. The fucking taste. Why did it taste good? Feel good? Why the fuck was it good?

Fatgum pulled away, leaving the piece of you in your mouth, and you swallowed unthinking. Dazed, you looked up at him, eyes half lidded. Your hips continued to rock against each other. His eyes were tender, but hungry as he smiled down at you. His thumb whipped over your lips, and you opened your mouth obediently. His grin grew. “Good girl” he murmured as he placed another piece of meat in your mouth. You moaned softly. You hated him. You hated what he had done, what he was doing. You hated his fucking smile, this fucking taste, the way your cunt was getting soaked from the steady grinding against his stupid huge cock. You hated how amazing it felt. With a groan, you leaned up, pressing your lips to his. He held you close with one arm, using his other hand to shove your panties off. They fell to the floor and you were pressed against him again. You tried to rut against him but it was hard to gain traction. Your stumps wiggled in frustration as you tried to gain more friction. Tai chuckled softly, reaching down. His greasy fingers found your clit with expert precision and your whole body jolted. He nipped at your bottom lip, teasing you. After months of being able to have you in his arms, he knew how to play your body like a fiddle. He teased you, gently rubbing the sensitive area around the clit before flicking it directly. The calluses on his fingertips added the perfect friction. He rapidly brought you close to the edge before slowly bringing you down again. You focused on the feeling. Whining, desperate. You didn’t want to think. Couldn’t think. You only could concentrate on the feel, the taste, the need between your legs. You trembled, wet and whimpering. This could continue for hours. But today… Today you needed the comfort of his cock rubbing your insides. The rumbling praise of being his good girl.

“Tai,” you panted. “Tai please, Darling.”

No name got him riled up more. It was easy enough for Taishiro to lift you up enough to unzip his pants and tug them and his boxers down. His cock sprang free. Long, and so terribly, wonderfully, deliciously thick. He didn’t bother to prep your sopping cunt before he started to push in.

Pain. Sharp, focused, burning pain where you were being forced open. This was what you wanted. No other thoughts could exist in this moment. Only this pleasure and pain and dred and acceptance. This was your life now. What else was out there for you? It was best to give in. Just give in. You rocked your hips, taking him in deeper, hissing at the burning stretch. His hands stilled you, petting your back and forcing you to slow down.

“There, now, don’t hurt yourself, Gumdrop. Let me take care of you. Be my good girl.”

You nodded, though you still lightly rocked your hips. Yes. Maybe… Maybe you should. Give in. He’d take care of you. Tai could be gentle. Could feel good. Did feel so good. You moaned when he bottomed out. It felt like he was deeper than ever before and you clung to him for comfort. Your grip tightened as he began to thrust. This could be so good sometimes. And… you liked when he called you good girl. And his. And you were his. You shuddered, arousal spiking at the thought. You were his in a way no one else had ever been, would never be. Tai groaned, picking up the pace when you tighten around him. “Like that, don’t you, good girl?” he panted. “Like when I fill you up, like when I call you my good girl. Gonna be my good girl from now on, won’t you? Only mine.”

You nodded as you were bounced on his cock. Every time he called you by that name, your pussy tightened and squeezed around him. He knew exactly how much he was affecting you. And you were so tired of fighting him. You wondered why you ever had.

“How about you cum for me, Dumpling? Come for me like a good girl, and I’ll fill you right up.”

You moaned and whimpered, beyond words and you fruitlessly tried to rut your hips. You were so close! Fatgum understood, kissing your neck as his fingers once again found your clit. A few firm strokes was all it took before your orgasm hit you. You clung to Tai, half sobbing as you came. It only took him a few more thrusts to follow you, keening and biting your neck hand enough to bruise as he came, pumping his large, thick load into your waiting womb. You both held each other, panting and quiet in the aftermath.

This is where you usually would fight. You’d scream and yell, hitting and kicking to let out your rage. But this time, the rage didn’t come. You were so tired of fighting. Fighting had gotten you nothing. You collapsed forwards, snuggling into Taishiro’s ample chest. He just wanted to take care of you, after all. Everything he’d done was for your relationship. He just wanted to take care of you. You should just give in.

Yes, you thought as he held you close, and lazily began to feed you once again.

Just give in.

[daydreamingintheimpalax]

Little Beginnings

Dean X Reader

Warnings: Mentions of cheating, mentions of pregnancy, possible swearing. 

A/N: Just a little something i wanted to write. Dean’s 40, Reader is 28. 

                                           ************************

You were fucking late, again. Dean was an amazing boss, and an even better friend, but just because he was a super sweet guy, didn’t mean he was going to keep letting you get away with being late. To be fair, you were about 6 months pregnant, and it did cause for a lot of doctors appointments, which Dean had driven you to a few times when Andy was too busy at work. 

Your fiance Andy and you had been engaged for the last year, deciding you were going to wait a while before getting married, Andy was up for a possible big promotion at his design company and he wanted to focus on his work, which you more than understood, so the couple times he’d failed to be there for some of the milestone appointments, you relied on the bus, making you late, opting Dean to offer to drive you so the other staff members would stop harrassing him about special treatment. I mean, you were pregnant, and it wasn’t your fault the appointments ran longer than usual and you’d missed the bus one too many times. 

The bell above the auto shop jingled, signaling that you were finally at work, you were out of breath, stopping slightly to hold your belly. “I’m here, i’m here, i’m so sorry, it was suppsed to be a simple scan and then she thought she saw something and wanted to do a more extensive exam, and i promise next time i’ll just have her reschedule for my day off.” You gasped, out of breath from running all the way from the bus stop, all the extra weight making it harder to move fast. 

Dean waved his hand dismissively, you could see he was sort of lost, trying to work the register, Dean wasn’t good at the front end work, he was however the best mechanic in town, so he handled the cars and you handled the cash. 

“Hey, don’t worry about it, not your fault, if the doctor said you needed it then she must have been worried,” he finally stops and looks at you concerned, “Everything okay? are you and the baby okay?” He asks and you smile widely. 

“SHE and i are just fine, she was just being squirmy.” You jump a little in place, finally having found out the sex. Dean’s eyes widen and a pure look of excitement and joy crosses his face.

“No way? It’s a girl?” He asks and you nod, squealing. Dean lets out a laugh and makes his way over, pulling you into him, not caring that he’s in his greasy work coveralls. “Congratulations, sweetheart!!” He speaks, placing a small kiss to your head. 

He smells like car oil, a little musk from all the sweating from working in the extreme heat and the lingering scent of his aftershave and bodywash. It comforts you, you take a breath, taking in the smell, the familiar smell, Dean has always welcomed you with open arms, making you feel perfectly at home in his auto shop for the last 4 years. He had made you feel loved and valued when your own parents basically banished you for being pregnant before being married. If they had their way, you would’ve been married years ago, they had their opinions and beleifs and you didn’t follow them, and because of it, they hadn’t spoken to you since you told them the news. 

“Have you told Andy yet?” He smiles, you shake your head, moving around him to show him how to open the cash. “Not yet, we’re suppsed to have dinner tonight, i was going to tell him then.” You smile, hardly containing your excitement. You open the register and Dean let’s out a small ‘yes’ before squishing your face, “What am i going to do without you while you’re gone.” He speaks and pinches your nose. You shove his hand away.

“You’ll be fine, plus if you need anything, call. No questions asked, just call.” You smile widely and he returns it. 

The rest of your shift goes smoothly, you count the register at the end of the day, Dean cleans up and changes, grease still on him but for the most part he got it off, he waits for you and like a true well raised gentleman, he drives you home, not wanting you to walk or take the bus alone at night. 

                                  ************************************

When you walk into your apartment, you don’t see Andy on the couch watching tv like he usually is, you assume maybe hes making dinner, since you are home much earlier than expected, the shop hadn’t been overly busy and Dean was so good with cars he had finished all his jobs for the day early.

You hang your coat up and walk into the kitchen, expecting to see Andy cooking, instead, your greeted with silence, with two almost empty plates on your kitchen table, but the part that makes your heart sink into your stomach is the two wine glasses, one, which has a very clear lipstick mark on it. 

A bang comes from your bedroom upstairs, the fire in you already ready to explode. You make your way upstairs, and before you realize it, your swinging your bedroom door open, a woman is sprawled on your bed, her ass in the air as your fiance drills her from behind, his one hand gripping her hair as the other rests on the headboard, she lets out a scream and he swears under his breath. Finally able to speak you clear your throat. 

“Are you fucking kidding me!” You yell and Andy freezes, the girl letting out a whine before she finally peels her head from your pillow. Your fucking god damn pillow. 

“Oh my god, who is that.” She squeals before yaking herself off the bed and away from him, holding your blanket to cover herself up. 

“I’m his fiance, his pregnant fiance. Who the fuck are you!” you scream, livid. 

Andy is up, blanket around his waist before he’s walking towards you. “Baby, this isn’t- i uh- i can explain.” He stumbles over his words, not knowing what to do or say.

You glare at him, “How long?” you ask, he shakes his head confused. “How long have you been fucking her? and don’t you dare fucking lie to me right now Andy!” You scream and he flinches, not used to your high vocals right now. 

He sighs, “Since you told me about the pregnancy.” He admits, running a hand through his hair, “Listen, i need to explain, i just, i needed a break, everything with the pregnancy has been too much to handle and im stressed with work, now the pregnany, i just, i needed to get away from it all.” He speaks and soon enough you’re in his face. 

“What are you sick of Andy? The fact you have barely been home since i told you about it? or the fact you haven’t been to one single appointment? Not the first time we got to see it, not the first time we got to hear the heartbeat, and now, you couldn’t be bothered to come find out the sex with me, it’s a girl, FYI, you havent been around for any of it. So what exactly are you sick of? you’re a worthless piece of shit, and i never want to see you again. Go fuck yourself.” You finish it off with a slap to his face, the contact is so loud, even the girl behind him flinches. 

She gives you a small smile when you make eye contact. “I’m really sorry, i didn’t know, he never mentioned you or the baby, if i had known...” she pauses, obvious guilt in her face. You shrug, “I know, do yourself a favour, find a better man to give yourself to, trust me, this one isn’t worth it.” You tell her, she swallows before grabbing her clothes and leaving the room, but not before glaring at Andy herself, “Don’t ever call me again.” She spits at him and he flinches, he tries to get close to you and you back away, skaking your head. 

“No, i’m leaving.” You spit out and he frowns, a little angry. “Where are you going? You’re pregnant and you know damn well your parents won’t take you back in.” He says it with a tone, almost like he’s proud to know that’s true, without them, you have nowhere to go. 

“I’ll figure something out, i haven’t needed you for the last 6 months, and obviously i still don’t.” You state, grabbing the prepared hospital bag you had done two months ago, for the most part it had enough stuff in it to get you by for a few days and you’d eventually come back for the rest of your stuff, preferably when Andy was away at work.

You storm out, getting into the car you had spent years saving to get, you had bought it on your own, but had decided since Andy made more money that he needed it more. As you drive away, you can hear Andy shouting, you roll down your window and catch the ending. 

“You stupid bitch, how the fuck am i supposed to get to work!” He shouts, you laugh, “Take a bus, asshole. I paid for the car!” Before you’re peeling out of what is no longer your drive way.

                                               ****************************

Dean’s surprised when he hears his phone ring, he isn’t expecting any calls, usually Sam is the only one who calls him, to be honest, he’s pretty much lonely most of the time. 

 Sammy tries to call each week, but he’s usually busy with work or the kids so usually Dean’s alone. Some days he wishes he had done what Sam did, settle down with a nice girl, have some babies, but most of the women he had dated just wanted the idea of a hardworking attractive man by their side, when it came down to it, they backed off when they realized he’d wanted more. it worked out for the best, none of the women in his life had ever truly been longterm material, sometimes he regretted having too much fun and not enough substance, airheads only stayed interesting for so long. 

It’s 8:30 pm and he had just finished making one of his best pasta dishes if he does say so himself. He was about to dig in and turn on some criminal minds when his phone had gone off, he stares at it, not recognizing the number. 

“Hello?” He speaks and a feminine voice is heard, “Hi, may i please speak to Mr. Dean Winchester?” She asks and he clears his throat, “Uh, speaking, who is this?” he raises a brow and his heart sinks slightly when he hears her speak. 

“Hi Mr. Winchester, my name is Sadie and i am calling on behalf of Miss Y/N Y/L/N, i’m a nurse at memorial hospital and Y/N was in a small car accident earlier and she had you listed as her second  emergency contact, she refused to allow me to call her first contact.” She speaks, Dean’s barely listened, he interupts her, completely worried why he’s being called.

“What? Where is Y/n, is she okay? is the baby okay? what happened?” He talks a mile a minute before the nurse calms him down. 

“She and the baby are fine, she is however a little shaken up, can we ask that you come down here, maybe take her home, she refuses anymore help insisting she’s fine and she wont let us call her fiance.” The nurse sighs and Dean agrees. 

He reaches the hospital in 15 minutes, rushing through the place to find y/n. Eventually he finds the nurse that called and he’s led straight to the room you’re in, you’re sitting in the bed, hands on your belly, moving them around and smiling when you feel your baby move. He let’s out a relieved sigh to see you’re okay, and thankfully, still pregnant. 

“Y/N?” He speaks and your head shoots up, you let out a soft smile, he can tell you’ve been crying. “Hey Dee, glad to see you own something other than flannel and ripped jeans.” You smirk, he looks down at his sweat pants and hoddie, smiling to himself before letting out a small chuckle. 

“Theyre my comfy clothes, shut up.” He teases and you giggle. He moves closer, sitting on your bed near you. “You wanna tell me what the hell happened, sweetheart?” He asks and you look down, focused on your hands on your belly, biting the inside of your cheek. 

“After you drove me home, i walked in on Andy fucking some girl in doggy on our bed, i was furious and yelled at him before slapping him and leaving, i grabbed my to go bag and didn’t even care if it wasn’t enough and left, i took my car and just drove off, i didn’t really know where to go and i started crying because Andy was right about my parents probably not wanting me back, so i cried harder and i guess i couldn’t see clearly and went off road. It wasn’t bad, but i sorta put some dents and bumps in it, a jogger found me and insisted i go to a hospital and called the abulance.” You shrugged. 

Dean scoffed, “Are you fucking serious, the nerve of that jackass, i swear if i ever see him i’m gonn-” You cut him off. “Dee, it’s not worth it, i’m mostly just mad at myself for not seeing it, the missed appointments, the constant late nights, he didn’t want this, the marriage, the pregnancy, he wasn’t ready, i should’ve figured it out, i should’ve seen it.” You shrug softly, wiping a tear from your eye.

Dean sighs, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Hey, listen to me, this isn’t your fault, you didn’t force him to have sex with you, and you sure as hell didn’t get pregnant on purpose, if he didn’t want a kid, he should’ve kept his shit wrapped. He’s the asshole in this situation, not you. As for where to go, you should’ve called me, you know i always have your back. You’re staying with me,” you’re about to interupt him but he shuts you up with a hand, “No, no talking, and i’m not leaving you alone, you’re moving in with me and that’s final.” You huff and pout, making him roll his eyes. 

“Don’t try to cute your way outta this, and don’t be stubborn, i got plenty of space not being used, i could use the company.” You huff, “Fine, but at least let me pitch in for rent..” He cuts you off, “No. I’m not charging you, save your money for the baby stuff your gonna need, just help me keep my fridge stocked and we’ll call it even, i’m a bad grocery shopper.” He smiles, you roll your eyes but agree. 

                                        *****************************

“Hey dee?” You speak as he drives you back to his place, “Yeah?” he hums as he fiddles with the radio before landing on a station. You look over at him and smile. 

“Why can’t all the guys in the world be more like you?” You smile softly and he chuckles, “That wouldn’t make me one of a kind now would it darlin,” he shoots you a wink and you laugh, shaking your head. 

“No seriously though, thank you, for everything, the job, the constant rides, always making sure im eating, getting my vitamins and water intake, always keeping your mini fridge in your office stocked with snacks, you’re literally amazing, and i don’t think i could’ve handled this whole siatuation well if it wasn’t for you. At this point, you’ve done more for me and this little girl than her father has, i need you to know how much i appreciate you.” You reach over, grabbing his hand and he looks over and smiles.

“I know y/n, don’t you worry about it. Besides, one of you already has me wrapped around her finger, what’s one more? Hmm?” He smirks, laughing at your shocked face. You shake your head at him, smiling as parks the car in his driveway. You both get out of the car, but before Dean can walk to his door, you pull him back towards you.

He’s surprised at first then melts into the kiss, wrapping his arms around your slightly big middle, he chuckles and pulls away when he feels movement in your belly. You laugh softly, “I think she likes you, she’s all excited.” You smile, letting him place his hand on your belly, feeling all the movement going on. 

He smiles gently, “yeah well, i like her too, i really REALLY like her mom though.” He states, leaning in to kiss you yet again. 

                                     ********************************

Tags: @akshi8278

[lemonpeter]

Thanksgiving for Dummies

I wrote this all today in between cooking my own meal, so I’m sorry if there are any weird grammar or spelling errors lol but I don’t think there are any. I hope everyone enjoys and (those who celebrate) have a happy thanksgiving 💕

Warnings: none! Just a little slice of life thanksgiving fic, all fluff and domesticity

Tagging those who commented and encouraged me to write this: @thethaliastxrk @starkerscoop @thatrandomsomnia @the-mad-starker @unsettledink @bongbubbles

————

“Peter, where did the-“

“Have you seen where-“

They both stopped, laughing to themselves. It hasn’t been the first time that afternoon that they’d started talking over each other.

“You first,” Tony offered, leaning against the counter and smiling at his husband.

Peter laughed, glancing over the counter and seemingly endless rows of ingredients. “I can’t find the chicken stock. I swear I just had it.”

The older man glanced around, humming softly to himself. He grabbed a carton and dangled it in front of Peter. “Here you go, honey. Working on the gravy?”

Nodding, Peter started measuring out the stock after taking it from Tony and adding it into a bowl. “Yep. Wanted to use some of the turkey drippings but someone threw them out,” he commented dryly.

Tony made an offended noise, bumping him with his hip. “I didn’t know I was supposed to keep the greasy pan! I was trying to be helpful by washing up!”

Obviously not really mad, Peter smiled at him fondly. “You are being helpful. But if you want to be more helpful you’ll get started on shredding the cheese.”

“I was about to! That was what I needed to ask, I cant find the cheese grater.”

Peter glanced around, pointing to the edge of the other counter as he continued making his gravy. “Right there, Tones. You might need to put your glasses on,” he told him teasingly.

Tony grabbed the grater, glaring playfully at the younger man. “Not happening. I can see just fine. Those are just...for precaution.”

“Whatever you say, baby.”

Tony stuck his tongue out at him before grabbing the blocks of extra sharp cheddar and gruyere he was supposed to grate. It was an annoying job, but at least it didn’t take too long.

Before long he had a bowl piled high with shredded cheese and then went ahead and got some water on to boil for the pasta.

Peter had finished his gravy and set it to the side since it was complete. He’d started on the sweet potato casserole and the pumpkin pie simultaneously, expression focused and scrunched up.

Tony couldn’t help but smile as he looked to his husband. Peter was always so precious when he got focused on something, completely sucked in until it was done. It was just cute. But as far as Tony was concerned, everything that Peter did was cute.

A couple minutes passed and he was snapped out of his gazing when the other man turned to look at him.

“You told Steve to bring the rolls, right? Because it’s too late to start anything from scratch and we’re both occupied here so we can’t go buy anything.”

Tony watched the worried crease form between his partner’s brows as the younger man stressed. Even though everything was going to go perfectly. “I did. He and Barnes are covering bread, Nat has green beans, Thor is bringing something I’ve never heard of, Sam said something about cookies....” he listed off people who were supposed to be bringing things, trying to soothe Peter.

“What about Rhodey? Don’t tell me you forgot to invite him.”

“Calm down, honey. Sourpuss told me that he’s bringing a pie.”

Peter nodded slowly, relaxing and he took in and mentally sorted through all that Tony told him. “Okay. What about Clint?”

“With his own family tonight.”

“And Bruce?”

“He’s on that trip I mentioned the other day. It’s like you don’t even listen to me.”

Peter chose to ignore that comment, trying to see if they missed anyone else. “Wanda? Is she coming with-“

“She’s with the Barton’s. And Scott is with his family. Seriously, it’s okay. Everyone was invited. And all the food will be here. You have nothing to worry about,” he assured him.

The younger man nodded slowly, hands nervously brushing down the front of his apron. It was dusted with flour that had come off of his hands in the other times he’d done the exact motion.

Tony went to him, pulling him close and gently kissing his forehead. “Everything is going to be perfect. I promise. You’re so amazing, handling so much of this. It’s going to go well. You don’t need to worry, honey.”

Peter nodded again, trying to believe what he was hearing. But the soft kiss definitely helped him calm down a bit. “Thank you, Tony. Thank you. I love you. I just worry....this is our first thanksgiving that we’re, yknow-“ he held up his left hand, ring glinting under the bright lights of their kitchen. “So I need it to be perfect for that. But we’re also hosting everyone.”

His husband smiled affectionately, nodding as he talked. “I know. I know. But I promise you that everything will be perfect. Everyone is going to love it. And I’ve already loved preparing it with you. I love you too.”

That seemed to calm the younger man slightly, a smile on his face. “Okay. Thank you, Tones. Now- help me get the sauce for the mac and cheese finished, please. We have three pans of it to make.”

———

Just over an hour later, everything was done.

The rest of the team started filing in, handing their side dish offerings to Peter.

Team. Well, they were more than that. Especially considering the day. They were family.

Steve was up to help set the table while everyone else settled in. He raised an eyebrow at the sheer number of dishes he saw in the kitchen when he went in to get the plates an silverware, but he didn’t comment. He knew it would all get eaten. A group of super soldiers and powered people in general, a huge meal would be needed and definitely appreciated.

So he set the table for everyone, rolling his eyes when Tony sarcastically remarked about having to do everything after he accidentally put the knives on the wrong side. “So sorry, I’ve never had to set the table for someone so finicky about their manners.”

Tony pursed his lips, shaking his head. “It’s not for me. It’s for Peter. I’m just making sure everything is precise, down to the utensils.”

Steve glanced to the kitchen where Peter was still frantically perfecting everything. Then he nodded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“No problem. Just making sure absolutely everything is right.”

Natasha watched them from her seat, expression amused. She was really excited and happy that she had been invited, but wasn’t going to show everything. “Peter, come on,” she called. “Everything is amazing. Come sit your ass down so we can eat and bother you with questions about holiday plans.”

A laugh was heard from the kitchen as Peter emerged with the turkey. Well, the first one. Tony had to grab the other. “Just trying to get everything on the table, ‘Tasha. Give me a moment. I thought you were the patient one.”

“I’m eyeing that bird, all patience is gone. I’m starving and everything here smells incredible. Hurry up,” she joked.

Peter set down the turkey he was carrying, Tony following suit soon after.

Then everyone was seated.

Tony hummed, grabbing Peter’s hand quickly. “Thank you for joining us tonight. You know you guys are so much more than a team to us. You’re our family.”

Everyone murmured in agreement, except Natasha who glanced up. She was holding back tears, because the great black widow never cried.

Everyone noticed. But they wouldn’t mention it.

Instead the dug in, each of them taking heaping plates and complimenting Peter and Tony on their successful gathering.

Peter was grinning ear to ear, cheeks flushed. He was proud. And so incredibly happy.

He had been so worried about everything being perfect. But all he needed for perfection was his family. And his wonderful husband.

“Happy thanksgiving,” he murmured, meeting Tony’s eyes.

“Happy thanksgiving, honey. You did good.”

“I know,” Peter said cheekily, looking around the table.

[kookie-doughs]

Y/N L/N AND THE HALFBLOODS

Percy Jackson X Reader -Y/N L/N met Percy Jackson and everything was now ruined.

CHAPTER 11: Prepare For Trouble And Make It Double

In a way, it's nice to know there are Greek gods out there, because you have somebody to blame when things go wrong. For instance, when you're walking away from a bus that's just been attacked by monster hags and blown up by lightning, and it's raining on top of everything else, most people might think that's just really bad luck; when you're a half-blood, you understand that some divine force really is trying to mess up your day. Which was actually what's happening. So there we were, Annabeth, Percy, Grover and I, walking through the woods along the New Jersey riverbank, the glow of New York City making the night sky yellow behind us, and the smell of the Hudson reeking in our noses. Percy and I walked side by side with our hand still connected. Grover was shivering and braying, his big goat eyes turned slit-pupiled and full of terror. "Three Kindly Ones. All three at once. I was pretty much in shock myself. The explosion of bus windows still rang in my ears. But Annabeth kept pulling us along, saying: "Come on! The farther away we get, the better. "All our money was back there," Percy reminded her. "Our food and clothes. Everything." "Well, maybe if you hadn't decided to jump into the fight—" "What did you want me to do? Let you guys get killed? I was not going to leave Y/N." "You didn't need to protect me, Percy. I would've been fine." "Sliced like sandwich bread," Grover put in, "but fine." "Shut up, goat boy," I said. Grover brayed mournfully. "Tin cans... a perfectly good bag of tin cans." We sloshed across mushy ground, through nasty twisted trees that smelled like sour laundry. After a few minutes, Annabeth fell into line next to Percy. "Look, I..." Her voice faltered. "I appreciate your coming back for us, okay? That was really brave." "We're a team, right?" She was silent for a few more steps. "It's just that if you died... aside from the fact that it would really suck for you, it would mean the quest was over. This may be my only chance to see the real world." The thunderstorm had finally let up. The city glow faded behind us, leaving us in almost total darkness. Do you want to see?

Yeah that would be nice.

It was as if it was morning, I could see everything clearly. I wandered my head to make sure I could see everything. This is cool. "You okay?" Percy asked. "Yeah," Not really a fan of the current silence I turned to Annabeth. "You haven't left Camp Half-Blood since you were seven?" I asked her. "No... only short field trips. My dad—" "The history professor." "Yeah. It didn't work out for me living at home. I mean, Camp Half-Blood is my home." She was rushing her words out now, as if she were afraid somebody might try to stop her. "At camp you train and train. And that's all cool and everything, but the real world is where the monsters are. That's where you learn whether you're any good or not." If I didn't know better, I could've sworn I heard doubt in her voice. "You're pretty good with that knife," I said. "You think so?" "Yeah maybe you can teach me some tricks. "Anybody who can piggyback-ride a Fury is okay by me." Percy smiled. I couldn't really see, but I thought she might've smiled. "You know," she said, "maybe I should tell you... Something funny back on the but..." Whatever she wanted to say was interrupted by a shrill toot-toot-toot, like the sound of an owl being tortured. "Hey, my reed pipes still work!" Grover cried. "If I could just remember a 'find path' song, we could get out of these woods!" He puffed out a few notes, but the tune still sounded suspiciously like Hilary Duff. Seeing a tree coming up I tried to pull Percy to avoid it but Percy immediately slammed into a tree and got a nice-size knot on his head. I suppressed my laugh by covering my mouth which made Percy glare at me. After tripping and cursing and generally feeling miserable for another mile or so, I started to see light up ahead: the colors of a neon sign. I could smell food. Fried, greasy, excellent food. I realized I hadn't eaten anything unhealthy since I'd arrived at Half-Blood Hill, where we lived on grapes, bread, cheese, and extra-lean-cut nymph-prepared barbecue. This kid needed a double cheeseburger. >We kept walking until I saw a deserted two-lane road through the trees. On the other side was a closed-down gas station, a tattered billboard for a 1990s movie, and one open business, which was the source of the neon light and the good smell. It wasn't a fast-food restaurant like I'd hoped. It was one of those weird roadside curio shops that sell lawn flamingos and wooden Indians and cement grizzly bears and stuff like that. The main building was a long, low warehouse, surrounded by acres of statuary. The neon sign above the gate was impossible for me to read, because if there's anything worse for my dyslexia than regular English, it's red cursive neon English. To me, it looked like: ATNYU MES GDERAN GOMEN MEPROUIM. "What the heck does that say?" I asked. "I don't know," Annabeth said. She loved reading so much, I'd forgotten she was dyslexic, too. Grover translated: "Aunty Em's Garden Gnome Emporium." Flanking the entrance, as advertised, were two cement garden gnomes, ugly bearded little runts, smiling and waving, as if they were about to get their picture taken. I crossed the street, following the smell of the hamburgers. "Hey..." Grover warned. "The lights are on inside," Annabeth said. "Maybe it's open." "Snack bar," I said wistfully. "Snack bar," Percy agreed. "Snack bar," Annabeth joined. "Are you three crazy?" Grover said. "This place is weird." We ignored him. The front lot was a forest of statues: cement animals, cement children, even a cement satyr playing the pipes, which gave Grover the creeps. "Bla-ha-ha!" he bleated. "Looks like my Uncle Ferdinand!" We stopped at the warehouse door. "Don't knock," Grover pleaded. "I smell monsters." I turned to look at my knife. It had a light glow emitting from it. Probably because it was sheathed. "I think there's monsters." I was now reluctant and sided with Grover. "Grover's nose is clogged up from the Furies," Annabeth told him. "All I smell is burgers. Aren't you hungry?" "Meat!" he said scornfully. "I'm a vegetarian." "You eat cheese enchiladas and aluminum cans," Percy reminded him.. "Those are vegetables. Come on. Let's leave. These statues are... looking at me."

"Percy, I don't think---"

"It'll be fine." Percy took my hand and went in. Be careful and don't look. Then the door creaked open, and standing in front of us was a tall Middle Eastern woman—at least, I assumed she was Middle Eastern, because she wore a long black gown that covered everything but her hands, and her head was completely veiled. Her eyes glinted behind a curtain of black gauze, but that was about all I could make out. Her coffee-colored hands looked old, but well-manicured and elegant, so I imagined she was a grandmother who had once been a beautiful lady. >Her accent sounded vaguely Middle Eastern, too. She said, "Children, it is too late to be out all alone. Where are your parents?" "They're... um..." Annabeth started to say. "We're orphans," I said. "Orphans?" the woman said. The word sounded alien in her mouth. "But, my dears! Surely not!" "We got separated from our caravan," Percy said. "Our circus caravan. The ringmaster told us to meet him at the gas station if we got lost, but he may have forgotten, or maybe he meant a different gas station. Anyway, we're lost. Is that food I smell?" "Oh, my dears," the woman said. "You must come in, poor children. I am Aunty Em. Go straight through to the back of the warehouse, please. There is a dining area. We thanked her and went inside. Annabeth muttered to Percy, "Circus caravan?" "Always have a strategy, right?" "Your head is full of kelp." The warehouse was filled with more statues—people in all different poses, wearing all different outfits and with different expressions on their faces. I was thinking you'd have to have a pretty huge garden to fit even one of these statues, because they were all life-size. I was anxious so I tighten my grip on Percy.  It's stupid for walking into a strange lady's shop like that just because we were hungry. For a child of Athena, Annabeth sure isn't making wise decisions. I mean yeah I agree, you've never smelled Aunty Em's burgers. The aroma was like laughing gas in the dentist's chair—it made everything else go away.  But Grover's nervous whimpers, and the way the statues' eyes seemed to follow me, to add the fact that Aunty Em had locked the door behind us. Made me more cautious. Sure enough, there it was at the back of the warehouse, a fast-food counter with a grill, a soda fountain, a pretzel heater, and a nacho cheese dispenser. Everything you could want, plus a few steel picnic tables out front. "Please, sit down," Aunty Em said "Awesome," Percy said. "Um," Grover said reluctantly, "we don't have any money, ma'am." Aunty Em said, "No, no, children. No money. This is a special case, yes? It is my treat, for such nice orphans." "Thank you, ma'am," Annabeth said. Aunty Em stiffened, as if Annabeth had done something wrong, but then the old woman relaxed just as quickly, I had to turn to Annabeth to check if there was something wrong with her.. Quite all right, Annabeth," she said. "You have such beautiful gray eyes, child."  I wonder how she knew Annabeth's name, even though we had never introduced ourselves. "Percy, I want to leave..." I whispered. "Just a few bites Y/N. Don't worry." He gave me a reassuring pat. Our hostess disappeared behind the snack counter and started cooking. Before we knew it, she'd brought us plastic trays heaped with double cheeseburgers, vanilla shakes, and XXL servings of French fries. I wasn't gulfing down my food like Percy was.  Grover picked at the fries, and eyed the tray's waxed paper liner as if he might go for that, but he still looked too nervous to eat. Annabeth slurped her shake. "What's that hissing noise?" he asked. I listened, but didn't hear anything. Annabeth shook her head. "Hissing?" Aunty Em asked. "Perhaps you hear the deep-fryer oil. You have keen ears, Grover." "I take vitamins. For my ears." "That's admirable," she said. "But please, relax." I don't like it here. I'm scared. Be wary of all things. Aunty Em ate nothing. She hadn't taken off her headdress, even to cook, and now she sat forward and interlaced her fingers and watched us eat. It was a little unsettling, having someone stare at me when I couldn't see her face, and I figured the least I could do was try to make small talk with our hostess. "So, you sell gnomes," I said, trying to sound interested. "Oh, yes," Aunty Em said. "And animals. And people. Anything for the garden. Custom orders. Statuary is very popular, you know." "A lot of business on this road?" "Not so much, no. Since the highway was built... most cars, they do not go this way now. I must cherish every customer I get. My neck tingled, as if somebody else was looking at me. I turned, but it was just a statue of a young girl holding an Easter basket. The detail was incredible, much better than you see in most garden statues. But something was wrong with her face. It looked as if she were startled, or even terrified."Ah," Aunty Em said sadly. "You notice some of my creations do not turn out well. They are marred. They do not sell. The face is the hardest to get right. Always the face." "You make these statues yourself?" Percy asked. "Oh, yes. Once upon a time, I had two sisters to help me in the business, but they have passed on, and Aunty Em is alone. I have only my statues. This is why I make them, you see. They are my company." The sadness in her voice sounded so deep and so real that I couldn't help feeling sorry for her. Annabeth had stopped eating. She sat forward and said, "Two sisters?" "It's a terrible story," Aunty Em said. "Not one for children, really. You see, Annabeth, a bad woman was jealous of me, long ago, when I was young. I had a... a boyfriend, you know, and this bad woman was determined to break us apart. She caused a terrible accident. My sisters stayed by me. They shared my bad fortune as long as they could, but eventually they passed on. They faded away. I alone have survived, but at a price. Such a price." Annabeth gave me a look of worry. I knew she realized something. "Percy?" I shook him to get his attention. "Maybe we should go. I mean, the ringmaster will be waiting." Grover was eating the waxed paper off the tray now, but if Aunty Em found that strange, she didn't say anything. "Such beautiful gray eyes," Aunty Em told Annabeth again. "My, yes, it has been a long time since I've seen gray eyes like those." She reached out as if to stroke Annabeth's cheek, but Annabeth stood up abruptly. "We really should go." "Yes!" Grover swallowed his waxed paper and stood up. "The ringmaster is waiting! Right!" "Please, dears," Aunty Em pleaded. "I so rarely get to be with children. Before you go, won't you at least sit for a pose?" "A pose?" Annabeth asked warily. "A photograph. I will use it to model a new statue set. Children are so popular, you see. Everyone loves children." Annabeth shifted her weight from foot to foot. "I don't think we can, ma'am. Come on, Percy—" "Sure we can," Percy said. "It's just a photo, Annabeth. What's the harm?" "Percy, I don't want to..."  "It's just a photo guys." "Indeed it is just a photo Y/N," the woman purred. "No harm." I could tell Annabeth didn't like it as well, but she allowed Aunty Em to lead us back out the front door, into the garden of statues. Aunty Em directed us to a park bench next to the stone satyr. "Now," she said, "I'll just position you correctly. The young girls in the middle, I think, and the two young gentlemen on either side." "Not much light for a photo," I remarked. But joke's on her I could see quite clearly. Don't look. "Oh, enough," Aunty Em said. "Enough for us to see each other, yes?" "Where's your camera?" Grover asked. Aunty Em stepped back, as if to admire the shot. "Now, the face is the most difficult. Can you smile for me please, everyone? A large smile?" Grover glanced at the cement satyr next to him, and mumbled, "That sure does look like Uncle Ferdinand." "Grover," Aunty Em chastised, "look this way, dear." She still had no camera in her hands. "Percy—" Annabeth said. "I will just be a moment," Aunty Em said. "You know, I can't see you very well in this cursed veil...." "Percy, something's wrong," I insisted. "Wrong?" Aunty Em said, reaching up to undo the wrap around her head. "Not at all, dear. I have such noble company tonight. What could be wrong?" "That is Uncle Ferdinand!" Grover gasped. DON'T LOOK. Annabeth turned to my direction, "Look away from her!" she then shouted. She whipped her Yankees cap onto her head and vanished. Her invisible hands pushed Grover and and I pulled Percy with me. We were on the ground, looking at Aunt Em's sandaled feet. I could hear Grover scrambling off in one direction, Annabeth in another. "Percy, we have to move!" I shook him. But he was too dazed to move. Then I heard a strange, rasping sound above me. My eyes rose to Aunty Em's hands, which had turned gnarled and warty, with sharp bronze talons for fingernails. Percy was about to look higher then her hands and I instinctively covered his eyes. "Don't look!" More rasping—the sound of tiny snakes, right above me, from... from about where Aunty Em's head would be. "Run!" Grover bleated. I heard him racing across the gravel, yelling, "Maia!" to kick-start his flying sneakers. "Percy we have to move please!" "Such a pity to destroy a handsome young face," she said soothingly. "Stay with me, Percy. All you have to do is look up." "Percy please!" Percy pushed my hand away and looked to one side. I turned to look as well and saw one of those glass spheres people put in gardens— a gazing ball. I could see Aunty Em's dark reflection in the orange glass; her headdress was gone, revealing her face as a shimmering pale circle. Her hair was moving, writhing like serpents. Aunty Em. Aunty "M." How did Medusa die in the myth? But I couldn't think. Something told me that in the myth Medusa had been asleep when she was attacked by my namesake, Perseus. She wasn't anywhere near asleep now. If she wanted, she could take those talons right now and rake open my face. "The Gray-Eyed One did this to me," Medusa said, and she didn't sound anything like a monster. Her voice invited me to look up, to sympathize with a poor old grandmother. "Annabeth's mother, the cursed Athena, turned me from a beautiful woman into this." "Don't listen to her!" Annabeth's voice shouted, somewhere in the statuary. "Y/N carry Percy!" "Silence!" Medusa snarled. Then her voice modulated back to a comforting purr. "You see why I must destroy the girl, Percy. She is my enemy's daughter. I shall crush her statue to dust. But you, dear Percy, you need not suffer. We won't even hurt, Y/N." I swung Percy's arm around my shoulder. But he was too heavy.  "No," he muttered trying to make his legs move... "Do you really want to help the gods?" Medusa asked. "Do you understand what awaits you on this foolish quest? What will happen if you reach the Underworld? Do not be a pawn of the Olympians, my dear. You would be better off as a statue. Less pain. Less pain." "Y/N!" Behind me, I heard a buzzing sound, like a two-hundred-pound hummingbird in a nosedive. Grover yelled, "Duck!" I turned, and there he was in the night sky, flying in from twelve o'clock with his winged shoes fluttering, Grover, holding a tree branch the size of a baseball bat. His eyes were shut tight, his head twitched from side to side. He was navigating by ears and nose alone. "Duck!" he yelled again. "I'll get her!" I tackled Percy to the other side. Thwack! Then Medusa roared with rage. "You miserable satyr," she snarled. "I'll add you to my collection!" "That was for Uncle Ferdinand!" Grover yelled back. Pulling along an out of a dazed Percy we scrambled away and hid in the statuary while Grover swooped down for another pass. Ker-whack! "Arrgh!" Medusa yelled, her snake-hair hissing and spitting. Right next to me, Annabeth's voice said, "Y/N! Percy!" Percy jumped so high his feet nearly cleared a garden gnome. "Jeez! Don't do that!" Annabeth took off her Yankees cap and became visible. 'You have to cut her head off." "What? Are you crazy? Let's get out of here." "Medusa is a menace. She's evil. I'd kill her myself, but..." Annabeth swallowed, as if she were about to make a difficult admission. "But you've got the better weapon. Besides, I'd never get close to her. She'd slice me to bits because of my mother. You—you've got a chance." "What? I can't—" "Look, do you want her turning more innocent people into statues?" She pointed to a pair of statue lovers, a man and a woman with their arms around each other, turned to stone by the monster. Annabeth grabbed a green gazing ball from a nearby pedestal. "A polished shield would be better." She studied the sphere critically. "The convexity will cause some distortion. The reflection's size should be off by a factor of—" "Would you speak English?" "I am!" She tossed him the glass ball. "Just look at her in the glass. Never look at her directly." "Hey, guys!" Grover yelled somewhere above us. "I think she's unconscious!" "Roooaaarrr!" "Maybe not," Grover corrected. He went in for another pass with the tree branch. "Hurry," Annabeth told him. "Grover's got a great nose, but he'll eventually crash." Percy took out his pen and uncapped it. The bronze blade of Riptide showed. He turned to me and gave the glass then offered a hand. "Percy you can't be seriously bring her along!?" "I'll go with him." Taking his hand, we followed the hissing and spitting sounds of Medusa's hair. I raised the glass so I could guide us. I kept my eyes locked on the gazing ball so I would only glimpse Medusa's reflection, not the real thing. Then, in the green tinted glass, I saw her. Grover was coming in for another turn at bat, but this time he flew a little too low. Medusa grabbed the stick and pulled him off course. He tumbled through the air and crashed into the arms of a stone grizzly bear with a painful "Ummphh!" Medusa was about to lunge at him when I yelled, "Hey!" We advanced on her. I had let go of Percy's hand to bring out my knife. So if she charged, I could help Percy. But she let us approach—twenty feet, ten feet. I could see the reflection of her face now. Surely it wasn't really that ugly. The green swirls of the gazing ball must be distorting it, making it look worse. "You wouldn't harm an old woman, Percy," she crooned. "I know you wouldn't." I could tell he hesitated. From the cement grizzly, Grover moaned, "Percy, don't listen to her!" Medusa cackled. "Too late." She lunged at him with her talons. I ran and raised my knife to block her talons, Percy then swung his sword, then we heard a sickening shlock!, then a hiss like wind rushing out of a cavern—the sound of a monster disintegrating. Something fell to the ground next to my foot. It took all my willpower not to look. I could feel warm ooze soaking into my sock, little dying snake heads tugging at my shoelaces. "Oh, yuck," Percy said. His eyes were still tightly closed, but I guess he could hear the thing gurgling and steaming. "Mega-yuck." Annabeth came up next to us, her eyes fixed on the sky. She was holding Medusa's black veil. She said, "Don't move." >Very, very carefully, without looking down, she knelt and draped the monster's head in black cloth, then picked it up. It was still dripping green juice. "Are you okay?" Percy asked me, his voice trembling. "Yeah," I decided. "Why didn't... why didn't the head evaporate?" "Once you sever it, it becomes a spoil of war," she said. "Same as your minotaur horn. But don't unwrap the head. It can still petrify you." Grover moaned as he climbed down from the grizzly statue. He had a big welt on his forehead. His green rasta cap hung from one of his little goat horns, and his fake feet had been knocked off his hooves. The magic sneakers were flying aimlessly around his head. "The Red Baron," Percy said. "Good job, man." He managed a bashful grin. "That really was not fun, though. Well, the hitting-her-with-a-stick part, that was fun. But crashing into a concrete bear? Not fun." He snatched his shoes out of the air. "I didn't know Grover got Luke's shoes."  Percy recapped his sword. "I can't fly." He shrugged.  Together, the four of us stumbled back to the warehouse We found some old plastic grocery bags behind the snack counter and double-wrapped Medusa's head. We plopped it on the table where we'd eaten dinner and sat around it, too exhausted to speak. Finally Percy said, "So we have Athena to thank for this monster?" Annabeth flashed me an irritated look. "Your dad, actually. Don't you remember? Medusa was Poseidon's girlfriend. They decided to meet in my mother's temple. That's why Athena turned her into a monster. Medusa and her two sisters who had helped her get into the temple, they became the three gorgons. That's why Medusa wanted to slice me up, but she wanted to preserve you as a nice statue. She's still sweet on your dad. You probably reminded her of him." "Oh, so now it's my fault we met Medusa." Annabeth straightened. In a bad imitation of my voice, she said: "'It's just a photo, Annabeth. What's the harm?'" "Forget it," I said. "You're impossible." "You're insufferable." "You're—" "You're both loud and stupid." I growled. "Yeah!" Grover interrupted. "You two are giving me a migraine, and satyrs don't even get migraines. What are we going to do with the head?" I stared at the thing. One little snake was hanging out of a hole in the plastic. The words printed on the side of the bag said: WE APPRECIATE YOUR BUSINESS! I was angry, not just with Annabeth or her mom, but with all the gods for this whole quest, for getting us blown off the road and in two major fights the very first day out from camp. At this rate, we'd never make it to L.A. alive, much less before the summer solstice. What had Medusa said? Do not be a pawn of the Olympians, my dear. You would be better off as a statue. Percy and I shared a look. We got up. "I'll be back." "Percy, Y/N," Annabeth called after me. "What are you—" We searched the back of the warehouse until I found Medusa's office. Her account book showed her six most recent sales, all shipments to the Underworld to decorate Hades and Persephone's garden. According to one freight bill, the Underworld's billing address was DOA Recording Studios, West Hollywood, California. I folded up the bill and stuffed it in my pocket. In the cash register I found twenty dollars, a few golden drachmas, and some packing slips for Hermes Overnight Express, each with a little leather bag attached for coins.  "Found one." Percy called. We went back to the picnic table, packed up Medusa's head, and filled out a delivery slip: The Gods >Mount Olympus 600th Floor, >Empire State Building New York, NY With best wishes, PERCY JACKSON <3 Y/N L/N "They're not going to like that," Grover warned. "They'll think you're impertinent." I poured some golden drachmas in the pouch. As soon as I closed it, there was a sound like a cash register. The package floated off the table and disappeared with a pop! "I am impertinent," Percy said. I looked at Annabeth, daring her to criticize. She didn't. She seemed resigned to the fact that we had a major talent for ticking off the gods. "Great, well Fred and George," she muttered. "We need a new plan."

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UwU bb I'm just licherali rippin off now srry -kookie-doughs

Taglist?

@gayer-than-the-gayest-gay @the-natureofme @booknerd-3000

[sailtoafarawayland]

The Things We Don’t Say (modern AU - Actors)

Summary:  No one is perfect, and sometimes, two people are just so perfectly flawed that those pieces fit together and make something beautiful. When sparks fly between two leads of a new hit show, is there a happy ending in sight, or will their own mistakes overshadow any chance they had at something worth fighting for.

Rated: Explicit    

Warnings:   This is a joyfully Captain Swan story, but there are a few warnings. It does start with Emma/Neal and Killian/Milah. I don't write non-CS, so there won't be any sexual anything happening 'on screen', so to speak, between those couples, but I won't guarantee there may not be a mention. This story contains numerous episodes of cheating. If any of these things make you squick or are not your bag, carry on.

AO3 - FF 

- or read below the cut - 

As always, let me know if you’d like to be tagged for further updates. 

Tag list: @xarandomdreamx @jrob64 @wefoundloveunderthelight @teamhook @tiganasummertree @pirateprincessofpizza @lfh1226-linda @kmomof4 

Chapter One

Emma scrolled through the email her manager had sent detailing the new role she was being offered. It was something fresh, something different from what she normally focused on—no hint of a police procedural in sight—and based on the tone, it sounded like they were very interested in getting her signed for one of the leads. She stretched her legs out along the couch, digging her cold toes underneath the pillows in search of some warmth, only to yank them back when she encountered something both crinkly and wet.

“Dammit, Neal! What the hell is this?” she growled, glaring at the brown sludge coating her foot.

She leaned forward, careful to angle her toes away from any other surface, and peeled the throw pillow from the couch. Smeared across the white fabric and the expensive leather was what looked like the remainder of a milky way bar, the wrapper still clinging to the puddle of caramel and chocolate.

“You have got to be kidding me. Neal!”

The only response she got was the sound of something hitting a pan full of oil in the kitchen, the apartment filled with the sizzling hiss of something frying. Dropping her phone and forgetting all about the email she’d just been reading, she hobbled down the hall into the bathroom to clean up, wondering how in the hell to get out a chocolate and caramel stain. Why he couldn’t just learn to clean up after himself was beyond understanding. Sometimes it felt like she was living with a teenager who never wanted to grow up, and she couldn’t help but long for the days when her apartment was clean and didn’t smell like whatever weird odor it was that Neal always brought home—grease and cigarette smoke, maybe.

Her foot finally clean enough to be walked on, she headed into the kitchen to get some paper towels only to be greeted by what looked like every dish she owned spread out on the counters and island. Every surface was dusted in flour and drips of batter, measuring spoons leaving trails of oil and sugar across the floor and counters alike.

“Oh my god,” she cringed, knowing the mess would be left for her. “What are you doing?”

“I was wondering when you’d get off the phone,” Neal poked, giving her a quick glance over his shoulder before motioning proudly over the mess that just seemed to get worse each time she looked at it. “I’m cooking.”

The casual way he always stabbed at her phone use was exactly what she didn’t want to hear right now. Maybe she wouldn’t have to spend so much time working if he bothered looking for something himself. He’d had a recurring role on a family comedy when they met, but he’d been fired not long after, and for the last six months, Emma was pretty sure he hadn’t even gone to any of the auditions she’d mentioned. In fact, she wasn’t even sure if he had an agent anymore. 

“When was the last time you had a Milky Way?” she asked, choosing to ignore his snide comment. She just wasn’t in the mood.

“That’s a weird question. I don’t know, maybe last week? You didn’t pick any up the last time you ran to the store.”

Emma nodded, her lips drawn tight as she tore paper towels from the rack and returned to the living room, pulling what she could of the melted mass from the couch and thinking she’d need to resort to Google to get the rest out. Her anger bubbled with every sticky string of caramel that wrapped around her fingers. Why couldn’t he go to the store on his day off? He only had seven of them. She stomped back into the kitchen, hitting the garbage can a little harder than necessary and tossing the mess of chocolate and paper inside.

There was just enough room in the overload sink—what had he used the colander for—that she could wash her hands.

“There’s leftovers in the fridge. What was so important that you had to turn the entire kitchen into a complete disaster?” she questioned, already adding up how much time it would take her to wash and wipe everything down.

She’d be lucky if she was able to get back to her manager before tomorrow as requested.

“You remember that travel show we watched the other night?” he prodded, his eyes glued to the pan as it hissed on the stovetop, a spatula held ready in his hand. “You mentioned you hadn’t had good churros since that trip to Mexico, so I thought maybe I’d make you some.”

The anger that had been just about to boil over slipped away to that place far enough below everything else that she could just go back to ignoring it.  

“Neal,” she sighed, suddenly more exhausted than anything else. “Thanks.”

“Of course, Ems—anything for you.”

In the living room her phone blared to life, the dark tones of The Imperial March echoing as it vibrated across the coffee table.

“Work calls,” Neal sniped, a trace of resentment running beneath the pleasant smile he fixed in her direction. “Wouldn’t want to keep Regina waiting.”

It was amazing how quickly that anger came right back to the top of everything, and she found her feet pushing her as far away from Neal as possible, snatching her phone from the table and forgetting entirely about the couch as she stormed into the bedroom.

“What?” she hissed, slamming the door behind her and clenching the cell like it was something she wanted to crush. “What is so important that you couldn’t give me a few more hours, Regina?”

The other end of the line was silent, as if Regina had either hung up, or was waiting for an apology. Well, she wasn’t getting one—not today.

“Is there something you needed, Regina?”

“Are you okay?” Regina asked, not as a friend, but as an employee that was curious to know how soon she would have to contact Emma’s PR team and inform them a mental breakdown was imminent.

“I’m fine. It’s just a bad time. I got the details you sent. I just haven’t read through everything yet.”

“Well, that explains why I haven’t heard from you. Honestly, I thought you cared more about your career than that. I was quite clear this was urgent. Don’t take your time with this one, Miss Swan—they want you, but they can’t wait much longer.”

The line went dead after Regina had delivered her scolding and Emma sighed, dropping to the bed and rolling onto her back as she flicked back into her email and started again from the top. It was an interesting premise with even more depth than she’d originally thought—a new series that centered on the mental health of a man who had developed delusions after a car accident that took his brother, leading him to believe everyone in the hospital was a character from a fairy tale world—but then she got the part that Regina really focused on, the money.

“Holy shit!” Emma gasped, double checking the figures and thinking how she’d never seen such a good offer—not for someone in her bracket. It was unheard of. “I guess they really do want me.”

It wasn’t until she read through the rest of the itinerary and details that she wondered if the big paycheck wasn’t recompense for the filming location and duration—the middle of Nowhere, Maine, as if Maine wasn’t already considered the middle of nowhere.

She read everything twice before she shot Regina a quick text.  

E: I’ll take it

The message had only just sent and there were already three ellipses following. Emma could practically hear her manager’s smug response.

R: I knew you would. I’ll be in touch.

There should have been nerves fluttering in her stomach, or at least a solid pit of dread at the prospect of having to walk into the kitchen and tell Neal, but there was nothing. It was a big decision to move across the country for what could be a long-term role, but it was still her decision to make.

Hopefully, he would be happy for her, he would understand that this had the potential of lifting her out of her rut and providing great income for the foreseeable future. There were some great names attached, veterans of the industry that were looking to branch out into a new genre.

She was excited for the first time in a long time.  

She didn’t need to feel guilty, at least that was what she told herself as a niggling pang of guilt worked its way into her chest.

It would be good to break it to him gently though, to put a good spin on it.

The minutes ticked by and she finally realizing she couldn’t put it off any longer, she wandered into the kitchen, her arms crossed in front of her as she looked for him, but the apartment was empty. The stove was turned off and a plate, probably the last clean one, was waiting on the counter with a pile of golden churros perched on top of a greasy paper towel.

Next to it was another torn paper towel with a note scratched onto it in sharpie.

The boys called and I’m heading out for a few beers. Don’t wait up. Enjoy the churros.

She waited for the anger to bubble back to the top, but there was nothing—no anger, no guilt, just a deep, hollow nothingness that grew and yawned as she fingered the scrap of a note transparent with oily fingerprints. Feeling like maybe this job had come at the best possible time, she picked up the plate of churros and walked over to the trash, watching them slide in with the rest of the garbage.