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soo I am a multi-fandom writer and this was supposedddd to be my first post.. but I had it sitting cause i wanted it to be perfect for yall... (╥﹏╥)
This was inspired by me and my love for fun facts!! And I just know Daryl would've gathered them throughout the years. Anyways enjoy, mwah ( ˶˘ ³˘)♡
Carolina Wren
DarylDixon x fem!reader
Summary: A routine hunt in the woods turns into something familiar between two people—where you love sharing fun facts and he’s the one who quietly ends up providing the answers without thinking much of it. But back at the prison, those moments start to stick with more weight than they should, especially to someone who notices the pattern forming before you do.
The woods were alive with sound, even if most people no longer bothered to hear it. Leaves shifted softly in the wind, insects hummed somewhere low in the underbrush, and distant birds called to each other through the canopy like nothing in the world had changed at all.
Most people walked through forests now listening for danger. Walkers. Broken branches. The rustle of something larger than a rabbit. Anything that didn’t belong.
You listened too. But you also listened for everything else.
Birdsong, crickets, frogs, the knock of a woodpecker against a tree.
Daryl had noticed that a long time ago, though he’d never said it out loud. You always seemed to be paying attention to things other people missed—tracks in the mud, the movement of small animals, the way birds shifted before the sky changed.
It made you slower sometimes, but never careless. Just aware.
And somehow, it made the silence between you and him feel less empty.
Silence wasn’t something people really got anymore at the prison. Still, you had a habit of breaking it with your little facts.
“D’you know otters hold hands when they sleep?”
Or—
“Horses can recognize faces.”
Or—
“Crows hold grudges.”
Most people just nodded and moved on. The kids loved it. Carl pretended he didn’t. Beth actually listened. Judith stared at you like every word you said was the most fascinating thing she’d ever heard.
Daryl listened too.
Even if he never said much about it.
Today was one of those quieter days. The prison fences stood strong, the weather held steady, and hunting gave him an excuse to disappear into the woods for a few hours.
Somehow you always ended up tagging along. Not because you were particularly useful at tracking. Not because he asked.
You just… did.
Like the two of you had fallen into some strange orbit around one another. Never quite attached. Never far apart.
The forest stretched around you in soft shades of green as you followed several steps behind him.
No pressure to talk. No need to fill the silence. Just the soft crunch of leaves beneath your boots, easy and familiar.
The prison was already far behind you, swallowed by trees and distance, when a sharp bird call cut through the quiet. You lifted your head almost instantly, eyes scanning the branches above like you expected to find the answer hidden there.
Daryl noticed before you even spoke.
“What’s that one?” you asked.
He didn’t stop walking, just tilted his head slightly as he listened. “Carolina wren.”
The answer came so easily it made you smile without thinking. “How can you tell?”
“Sound.”
That was all he gave you, like it should’ve been obvious.
Another call rang out, a little louder this time, and you squinted upward again as if that might help. After a moment, curiosity got the better of you.
“What’s it saying?”
For the briefest second, something shifted in his expression—barely there, just the corner of his mouth twitching before he answered.
“Tryin’ t’ get lucky.”
You blinked at him, then laughed before you could stop yourself. “What?”
“It’s a mate call,” he added, like that explained everything. “Male’s tellin’ every female bird in the county he’s available.”
That only made you grin harder. “That’s amazing.”
“Hm,” he muttered, already looking away like the conversation meant nothing, even though he’d clearly started it.
You kept walking.
A few minutes later he slowed without warning, not because anything was wrong, but because something above had caught his attention. You followed his gaze instinctively until you saw a flash of yellow bouncing between branches.
“Goldfinch,” he said.
Your eyes lit up immediately. “Oh!”
“The yellow means it’s male,” he added, still watching it like it wasn’t anything special.
“Really?” you asked.
“Females ain’t as colorful.”
“Why?”
“Gotta stand out somehow.”
You laughed softly, watching the bird hop higher into the trees until it disappeared into leaves and sunlight. “So birds are just showing off all the time?”
“Pretty much.”
That earned a quiet sound from him—almost a laugh, but not quite.
You watched the empty branches for a moment longer than necessary, like you were storing it away.
Daryl noticed that too.
Another bird called out deeper in the woods, and he shifted his attention immediately, pointing slightly ahead. “Red-winged blackbird.”
You stepped closer, watching the dark shape perched near the marsh edge as a flash of red appeared on its wing when it moved.
“See the red?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“Male.”
You smiled. “Showing off again?”
“Showin’ off again.”
This time you laughed first.
The walk continued like that. Birds appearing and disappearing. Daryl pointing them out like it was nothing, like he hadn’t been waiting for the chance without realizing it.
And you listened like every detail mattered.
Not because you needed the information.
Because it was him giving it.
Daryl didn’t give things away easily. So every small fact felt like something chosen.
Something offered.
Somewhere along the way a squirrel darted across the path, and Daryl’s body moved on instinct, crossbow rising and firing in one clean motion. The animal dropped, and just like that, the moment passed.
“Got ’em,” he said flatly.
“Poor guy,” you replied.
He scoffed faintly. “You feel bad for every animal.”
“I do.”
“It’s a squirrel.”
“It had dreams.”
That got him—an actual laugh, short and rough, like it caught him off guard.
“Shut up,” he said, but there was no bite in it.
You smiled to yourself.
Later, when the sun dipped lower and the forest turned gold at the edges, you tried mimicking a bird call you’d just heard. The result was… questionable.
Daryl stopped walking, then let out a quiet sound that turned into a laugh before he could stop it.
“What?” you demanded immediately.
“Nothin’.”
“No. What?”
“It sounded like somethin’ dyin’.”
Your mouth dropped open. “It did not.”
“It did.”
“I was close.”
“You weren’t.”
That made him laugh again, properly this time, and you looked entirely too proud of yourself anyway.
You tried again. Better this time.
His eyebrows lifted slightly. “There y’go.”
You straightened instantly, grin making way on your face. “Praise from the Daryl Dixon.”
“There it is,” he muttered, looking away like he regretted everything.
By the time the prison came back into view, you were quietly repeating things under your breath as you walked.
“Male goldfinch…”
“Carolina wren…”
“Red-winged blackbird…”
Daryl caught fragments of it, and something in him shifted—small, quiet, unspoken—but it stayed.
You were actually remembering.
The gates opened, and just like that, you were gone, heading straight for Beth, Carl, and Judith.
Daryl watched as you dropped into their space like you belonged there. Judith reached for you immediately. Carl pretended not to care while clearly listening. Beth smiled like she already knew what was coming.
“Okay, listen to this,” you said, taking a moment to grab Judith into your arms and then you were off—talking, gesturing, alive with it.
Daryl sat down at a nearby table and pulled out his knife. The squirrels needed skinning.
But somewhere between cuts, his attention drifted.
“And male goldfinches are brighter because they’re trying to attract mates,” you were saying.
“No way,” Beth said.
“It's true!”
Carl asked something. You answered immediately. Another fact followed. Then another.
You never once said where you got any of it.
You just shared it.
Like the world was still worth noticing.
Daryl kept watching anyway, longer than he meant to.
It wasn't intentional at first. Just a glance that didn’t quite move away when it should’ve. Then another. Then suddenly he was aware of the fact that he hadn’t touched the squirrel in front of him in a while.
The knife sat idle in his hand, pressed lightly against the animal’s fur, completely forgotten.
Across the yard, your voice carried easily over the noise of the prison settling into evening. You were still talking, hands moving as you explained something to Carl and Beth, Judith tucked safely in your arms like she belonged there.
Carl looked half-annoyed, half-invested. Beth was smiling like she always did when you got going. Judith was clapping for no reason anyone else understood.
Daryl didn’t realize he’d stopped listening to anything else.
“Daryl.”
Carol’s voice cut in somewhere beside him.
Nothing. His eyes still stayed on you.
“Daryl.”
Still nothing.
A longer pause this time. Then Carol leaned slightly forward, closer to his line of sight, voice sharper just to break through whatever hold you had on him.
“Daryl Dixon.”
That finally got him.
He blinked once, slow, like surfacing from somewhere else entirely. “Huh?”
Carol didn’t even look surprised anymore. She just tilted her head toward the table in front of him, pointing at the untouched squirrel. “You planning on skinning that thing today?”
Only then did his eyes drop. He frowned slightly, like he’d forgotten it was there.
“Oh.”
That one word was enough for Carol.
She followed his gaze across the yard almost immediately. Saw you. Saw the way he’d been looking. Saw the entire situation in about half a second flat.
She leaned back slightly in her chair now, completely entertained. “You’ve been staring at her for five straight minutes.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
A beat.
“I wasn’t.”
“You absolutely were.”
Daryl let out a quiet, frustrated breath through his nose and looked away like the conversation itself was the problem.
Across the yard, your laughter rang out again.
Daryl looked before he could stop himself.
Carol noticed immediately.
“There it is,” she said, almost amused.
“Jesus Christ,” Daryl muttered under his breath, like he regretted having eyes.
Carol rested her elbows on the table now, watching him instead of the yard. “You got it bad.”
Daryl finally dragged his attention away from you just long enough to glare at her. “I don’t.”
Carol exhaled through a smile, like she was trying not to laugh outright at him. “You spent the entire hunting trip collecting bird facts for her.”
That made him stop.
Not dramatically.
Just… still.
The knife in his hand pressed a little too hard into the table for a second before he eased off.
His jaw worked slightly like he was considering arguing it.
But nothing came out.
Carol didn’t push. She just watched him sit there for a moment, quiet in a way that wasn’t defensive anymore.
Finally, she spoke again—but softer this time, less teasing and more certain.
"It's not the bird facts she's listening for" she said, glancing briefly toward the yard where you were still talking. “You’re the part she’s tuned into.”
Daryl didn’t answer.
But his eyes went back anyway.
And stayed there longer than before.
Across the yard, you were still smiling. Still explaining. Still lighting up like the world hadn’t ended and somehow still had room for things like bird calls and facts and wonder.
Something in his expression shifted—a fondness too soft to name making way to the surface.
Carol noticed that too.
Her grin came back, smaller this time.
“Thought so,” she murmured.
Daryl finally picked up the knife again, but it didn’t move right away. His hand hovered for a second too long, like his attention was split between the work in front of him and the sound of your voice carrying across the yard.
He exhaled quietly through his nose.
“Shut up,” he said again.
But this time it didn’t carry any weight at all.
Just habit.
Carol only hummed in response, satisfied, and left him to it.
And when Daryl finally did look back down at the squirrel, his focus returned in pieces—fractured, incomplete—because part of him was still across the yard where you were, laughing like the world still made sense.
Somewhere beyond the fences, a Carolina wren called into the evening like it had all the time in the world.
Daryl rolled his eyes.
Then smiled anyway.
I just love daryl sm (◞‸ ◟) Please let me know if you enjoyed it !
soo I am a multi-fandom writer and this was supposedddd to be my first post.. but I had it sitting cause i wanted it to be perfect for yall... (╥﹏╥)
This was inspired by me and my love for fun facts!! And I just know Daryl would've gathered them throughout the years. Anyways enjoy, mwah ( ˶˘ ³˘)♡
Carolina Wren
DarylDixon x fem!reader
Summary: A routine hunt in the woods turns into something familiar between two people—where you love sharing fun facts and he’s the one who quietly ends up providing the answers without thinking much of it. But back at the prison, those moments start to stick with more weight than they should, especially to someone who notices the pattern forming before you do.
The woods were alive with sound, even if most people no longer bothered to hear it. Leaves shifted softly in the wind, insects hummed somewhere low in the underbrush, and distant birds called to each other through the canopy like nothing in the world had changed at all.
Most people walked through forests now listening for danger. Walkers. Broken branches. The rustle of something larger than a rabbit. Anything that didn’t belong.
You listened too. But you also listened for everything else.
Birdsong, crickets, frogs, the knock of a woodpecker against a tree.
Daryl had noticed that a long time ago, though he’d never said it out loud. You always seemed to be paying attention to things other people missed—tracks in the mud, the movement of small animals, the way birds shifted before the sky changed.
It made you slower sometimes, but never careless. Just aware.
And somehow, it made the silence between you and him feel less empty.
Silence wasn’t something people really got anymore at the prison. Still, you had a habit of breaking it with your little facts.
“D’you know otters hold hands when they sleep?”
Or—
“Horses can recognize faces.”
Or—
“Crows hold grudges.”
Most people just nodded and moved on. The kids loved it. Carl pretended he didn’t. Beth actually listened. Judith stared at you like every word you said was the most fascinating thing she’d ever heard.
Daryl listened too.
Even if he never said much about it.
Today was one of those quieter days. The prison fences stood strong, the weather held steady, and hunting gave him an excuse to disappear into the woods for a few hours.
Somehow you always ended up tagging along. Not because you were particularly useful at tracking. Not because he asked.
You just… did.
Like the two of you had fallen into some strange orbit around one another. Never quite attached. Never far apart.
The forest stretched around you in soft shades of green as you followed several steps behind him.
No pressure to talk. No need to fill the silence. Just the soft crunch of leaves beneath your boots, easy and familiar.
The prison was already far behind you, swallowed by trees and distance, when a sharp bird call cut through the quiet. You lifted your head almost instantly, eyes scanning the branches above like you expected to find the answer hidden there.
Daryl noticed before you even spoke.
“What’s that one?” you asked.
He didn’t stop walking, just tilted his head slightly as he listened. “Carolina wren.”
The answer came so easily it made you smile without thinking. “How can you tell?”
“Sound.”
That was all he gave you, like it should’ve been obvious.
Another call rang out, a little louder this time, and you squinted upward again as if that might help. After a moment, curiosity got the better of you.
“What’s it saying?”
For the briefest second, something shifted in his expression—barely there, just the corner of his mouth twitching before he answered.
“Tryin’ t’ get lucky.”
You blinked at him, then laughed before you could stop yourself. “What?”
“It’s a mate call,” he added, like that explained everything. “Male’s tellin’ every female bird in the county he’s available.”
That only made you grin harder. “That’s amazing.”
“Hm,” he muttered, already looking away like the conversation meant nothing, even though he’d clearly started it.
You kept walking.
A few minutes later he slowed without warning, not because anything was wrong, but because something above had caught his attention. You followed his gaze instinctively until you saw a flash of yellow bouncing between branches.
“Goldfinch,” he said.
Your eyes lit up immediately. “Oh!”
“The yellow means it’s male,” he added, still watching it like it wasn’t anything special.
“Really?” you asked.
“Females ain’t as colorful.”
“Why?”
“Gotta stand out somehow.”
You laughed softly, watching the bird hop higher into the trees until it disappeared into leaves and sunlight. “So birds are just showing off all the time?”
“Pretty much.”
That earned a quiet sound from him—almost a laugh, but not quite.
You watched the empty branches for a moment longer than necessary, like you were storing it away.
Daryl noticed that too.
Another bird called out deeper in the woods, and he shifted his attention immediately, pointing slightly ahead. “Red-winged blackbird.”
You stepped closer, watching the dark shape perched near the marsh edge as a flash of red appeared on its wing when it moved.
“See the red?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“Male.”
You smiled. “Showing off again?”
“Showin’ off again.”
This time you laughed first.
The walk continued like that. Birds appearing and disappearing. Daryl pointing them out like it was nothing, like he hadn’t been waiting for the chance without realizing it.
And you listened like every detail mattered.
Not because you needed the information.
Because it was him giving it.
Daryl didn’t give things away easily. So every small fact felt like something chosen.
Something offered.
Somewhere along the way a squirrel darted across the path, and Daryl’s body moved on instinct, crossbow rising and firing in one clean motion. The animal dropped, and just like that, the moment passed.
“Got ’em,” he said flatly.
“Poor guy,” you replied.
He scoffed faintly. “You feel bad for every animal.”
“I do.”
“It’s a squirrel.”
“It had dreams.”
That got him—an actual laugh, short and rough, like it caught him off guard.
“Shut up,” he said, but there was no bite in it.
You smiled to yourself.
Later, when the sun dipped lower and the forest turned gold at the edges, you tried mimicking a bird call you’d just heard. The result was… questionable.
Daryl stopped walking, then let out a quiet sound that turned into a laugh before he could stop it.
“What?” you demanded immediately.
“Nothin’.”
“No. What?”
“It sounded like somethin’ dyin’.”
Your mouth dropped open. “It did not.”
“It did.”
“I was close.”
“You weren’t.”
That made him laugh again, properly this time, and you looked entirely too proud of yourself anyway.
You tried again. Better this time.
His eyebrows lifted slightly. “There y’go.”
You straightened instantly, grin making way on your face. “Praise from the Daryl Dixon.”
“There it is,” he muttered, looking away like he regretted everything.
By the time the prison came back into view, you were quietly repeating things under your breath as you walked.
“Male goldfinch…”
“Carolina wren…”
“Red-winged blackbird…”
Daryl caught fragments of it, and something in him shifted—small, quiet, unspoken—but it stayed.
You were actually remembering.
The gates opened, and just like that, you were gone, heading straight for Beth, Carl, and Judith.
Daryl watched as you dropped into their space like you belonged there. Judith reached for you immediately. Carl pretended not to care while clearly listening. Beth smiled like she already knew what was coming.
“Okay, listen to this,” you said, taking a moment to grab Judith into your arms and then you were off—talking, gesturing, alive with it.
Daryl sat down at a nearby table and pulled out his knife. The squirrels needed skinning.
But somewhere between cuts, his attention drifted.
“And male goldfinches are brighter because they’re trying to attract mates,” you were saying.
“No way,” Beth said.
“It's true!”
Carl asked something. You answered immediately. Another fact followed. Then another.
You never once said where you got any of it.
You just shared it.
Like the world was still worth noticing.
Daryl kept watching anyway, longer than he meant to.
It wasn't intentional at first. Just a glance that didn’t quite move away when it should’ve. Then another. Then suddenly he was aware of the fact that he hadn’t touched the squirrel in front of him in a while.
The knife sat idle in his hand, pressed lightly against the animal’s fur, completely forgotten.
Across the yard, your voice carried easily over the noise of the prison settling into evening. You were still talking, hands moving as you explained something to Carl and Beth, Judith tucked safely in your arms like she belonged there.
Carl looked half-annoyed, half-invested. Beth was smiling like she always did when you got going. Judith was clapping for no reason anyone else understood.
Daryl didn’t realize he’d stopped listening to anything else.
“Daryl.”
Carol’s voice cut in somewhere beside him.
Nothing. His eyes still stayed on you.
“Daryl.”
Still nothing.
A longer pause this time. Then Carol leaned slightly forward, closer to his line of sight, voice sharper just to break through whatever hold you had on him.
“Daryl Dixon.”
That finally got him.
He blinked once, slow, like surfacing from somewhere else entirely. “Huh?”
Carol didn’t even look surprised anymore. She just tilted her head toward the table in front of him, pointing at the untouched squirrel. “You planning on skinning that thing today?”
Only then did his eyes drop. He frowned slightly, like he’d forgotten it was there.
“Oh.”
That one word was enough for Carol.
She followed his gaze across the yard almost immediately. Saw you. Saw the way he’d been looking. Saw the entire situation in about half a second flat.
She leaned back slightly in her chair now, completely entertained. “You’ve been staring at her for five straight minutes.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
A beat.
“I wasn’t.”
“You absolutely were.”
Daryl let out a quiet, frustrated breath through his nose and looked away like the conversation itself was the problem.
Across the yard, your laughter rang out again.
Daryl looked before he could stop himself.
Carol noticed immediately.
“There it is,” she said, almost amused.
“Jesus Christ,” Daryl muttered under his breath, like he regretted having eyes.
Carol rested her elbows on the table now, watching him instead of the yard. “You got it bad.”
Daryl finally dragged his attention away from you just long enough to glare at her. “I don’t.”
Carol exhaled through a smile, like she was trying not to laugh outright at him. “You spent the entire hunting trip collecting bird facts for her.”
That made him stop.
Not dramatically.
Just… still.
The knife in his hand pressed a little too hard into the table for a second before he eased off.
His jaw worked slightly like he was considering arguing it.
But nothing came out.
Carol didn’t push. She just watched him sit there for a moment, quiet in a way that wasn’t defensive anymore.
Finally, she spoke again—but softer this time, less teasing and more certain.
"It's not the bird facts she's listening for" she said, glancing briefly toward the yard where you were still talking. “You’re the part she’s tuned into.”
Daryl didn’t answer.
But his eyes went back anyway.
And stayed there longer than before.
Across the yard, you were still smiling. Still explaining. Still lighting up like the world hadn’t ended and somehow still had room for things like bird calls and facts and wonder.
Something in his expression shifted—a fondness too soft to name making way to the surface.
Carol noticed that too.
Her grin came back, smaller this time.
“Thought so,” she murmured.
Daryl finally picked up the knife again, but it didn’t move right away. His hand hovered for a second too long, like his attention was split between the work in front of him and the sound of your voice carrying across the yard.
He exhaled quietly through his nose.
“Shut up,” he said again.
But this time it didn’t carry any weight at all.
Just habit.
Carol only hummed in response, satisfied, and left him to it.
And when Daryl finally did look back down at the squirrel, his focus returned in pieces—fractured, incomplete—because part of him was still across the yard where you were, laughing like the world still made sense.
Somewhere beyond the fences, a Carolina wren called into the evening like it had all the time in the world.
Daryl rolled his eyes.
Then smiled anyway.
I just love daryl sm (◞‸ ◟) Please let me know if you enjoyed it !
To make up for the angst yesterday your barista came up with a quick little comfort to make up for it :) Now that I've caught up on schoolwork, I'll be more attentive to my orders for the next week! yay◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜
Where Feathers Return
KeigoTakami x fem!reader
Summary: Little things keep finding their way to you. Quiet gestures, fleeting attention, and a familiar presence that never quite feels distant. Nothing is clearly defined between you and Hawks, but somehow, it already feels like something that knows where it belongs.
Tags: workplace au, feathers have a mind of their own, acts of service, unspoken feelings, undefined relationship, attentive!hawks
Wc: ~500
You noticed Hawks before you noticed him.
Not physically, anyway.
It started with little things around the agency. A red feather nudging a coffee toward your hand after a particularly long meeting, slipping a pastry onto your desk when you'd skipped lunch, sometimes brushing against your arm before drifting away the second you looked up.
At first, you assumed it was intentional. It was hard not to.
So when you caught him in the hallway, you decided to say something.
“Hawks.”
He turned, easy grin already in place. “Yeah?”
You held up your half-finished drink. “Thanks.”
That made him pause, just a fraction, before he blinked. “For what?”
You tilted your head slightly, amused. “The food. The coffee. The little friend.”
The feather in question hovered near your shoulder like it had always belonged there—quiet, patient, simply keeping you company. Hawks’ gaze followed it.
“Oh.” His voice softened into something lighter. “That one.”
You smiled. “It keeps showing up.”
“Mm.” He stepped closer, casual as ever, but his attention lingered just a moment too long. The feather stilled, then drifted back toward him—not hurried, not forced, just a quiet return as it left your space and settled into place on his wing.
You didn’t think much of it. He did.
“Anyway,” he said smoothly, the grin settling back into place, “Sorry if it bothered you.”
“It doesn’t,” you said easily. “I actually like it.”
That earned a low hum of amusement from him. “Yeah?” he replied, tone light again.
A small smile tugged at your mouth. “Yeah.”
You lingered for a moment, your eyes following him a little longer than they meant to before you spoke again. “Thanks, Hawks.”
“No problem.”
He turned to leave, hands slipping into his pockets, posture relaxed like nothing had shifted at all.
You watched him go, and only after a moment did you realize you hadn’t immediately looked away. It wasn’t anything sharp or sudden—just a quiet awareness of him, the way he moved through space like it naturally adjusted around him, like taking care of things without ever making it feel like effort.
Somewhere between the feather, the coffee, and the way he always seemed to notice before you said anything out loud, the thought settled in softly.
You became used to being looked after without asking.
And somehow, it had become something you were quietly grateful for.
He didn’t look back.
But halfway down the hall, his attention drifted elsewhere—another task catching hold of him, his focus loosening just slightly.
And the feather detached again. It hovered for a moment in the air like it was waiting out a habit, then drifted back.
Slow. Familiar.
Returning to your space like it had never really left it, settling near your shoulder as if it belonged there more than anywhere else.
Hawks didn’t look back. But his smile stayed with him.
I hope you liked it as much as I loved writing it! Leave a kind word or message for your barista's motivation. Don't be shy to send in some requests either! I'd love working with my patrons („• ֊ •„)
To make up for the angst yesterday your barista came up with a quick little comfort to make up for it :) Now that I've caught up on schoolwork, I'll be more attentive to my orders for the next week! yay◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜
Where Feathers Return
KeigoTakami x fem!reader
Summary: Little things keep finding their way to you. Quiet gestures, fleeting attention, and a familiar presence that never quite feels distant. Nothing is clearly defined between you and Hawks, but somehow, it already feels like something that knows where it belongs.
Tags: workplace au, feathers have a mind of their own, acts of service, unspoken feelings, undefined relationship, attentive!hawks
Wc: ~500
You noticed Hawks before you noticed him.
Not physically, anyway.
It started with little things around the agency. A red feather nudging a coffee toward your hand after a particularly long meeting, slipping a pastry onto your desk when you'd skipped lunch, sometimes brushing against your arm before drifting away the second you looked up.
At first, you assumed it was intentional. It was hard not to.
So when you caught him in the hallway, you decided to say something.
“Hawks.”
He turned, an easy grin already in place. “Yeah?”
You held up your half-finished drink. “Thanks.”
That made him pause, just a fraction, before he blinked, his head tilting in that bird-like way he couldn't help but succumb to.
“For what?”
You tilted your head slightly, amused. “The food. The coffee. The little friend.” Your head tipped toward the feather that just couldn't seem to leave your side.
The feather in question hovered near your shoulder as though it had always belonged there—quiet, patient, simply keeping you company. Hawks' gaze followed it.
“Oh.” His voice softened into something lighter. You couldn't help but notice his shoulders relax, no longer quite as poised as he always seemed to be. “That one.”
You smiled. “It keeps showing up.”
“Mm.” He stepped closer, casual as ever, but his attention lingered a moment too long. The feather stilled, then drifted back toward him—not hurried, not forced, just a quiet return as it left your space and settled back into place on his wing.
You didn't think much of it.
He did.
“Anyway,” he said smoothly, his grin slipping back into place as his shoulders rolled back, seemingly returning to the persona he'd worn before this conversation, “I'm sorry if it bothered you.”
“It doesn't,” you replied easily.
A little too quickly, you realized, but the words were already out there. With a soft sigh, you stared into your coffee with a little too much focus before continuing your admission.
“I actually like it.”
That earned a low hum of amusement from him.
“Yeah?” he replied, his tone light again.
With your eyes lowered, you didn't notice the way he watched you. With a familiarity that struck a little too close to home, he took the moment to admire the way your hair framed your face, the way you held the cup his feather had delivered to you.
He could give you more.
He wanted to.
He was simply waiting for the right moment.
A man who supposedly moved too fast for his own good wasn't about to let this slip away.
A small smile tugged at your lips as you finally looked up. Catching his gaze, you couldn't help but offer the reassurance he seemed to be searching for.
“Yeah.”
You lingered for a moment, your eyes following him a little longer than intended before you spoke again. Deciding you shouldn't keep him any longer than necessary, you finally sent him on his way.
“Thanks, Hawks.”
“It's no problem.”
He turned to leave, hands slipping into his pockets, posture relaxed as though nothing had shifted at all.
You watched him go, and only after a moment did you realize you hadn't immediately looked away. It wasn't anything sharp or sudden—just a quiet awareness of him, the way he moved through space as though it naturally adjusted around him, the way he took care of things without ever making it seem like effort.
Somewhere between the feather, the coffee, and the way he always seemed to notice before you said anything aloud, a thought settled softly in your mind.
You had become used to being looked after without asking.
And somehow, it had become something you were quietly grateful for.
He didn't look back.
But halfway down the hall, his attention drifted elsewhere—another task catching hold of him, his focus loosening just slightly.
And the feather detached again.
It hovered in the air for a moment, as though waiting out a habit, before drifting back.
Slow. Familiar.
Returning to your space like it had never really left, settling near your shoulder as if it belonged there more than anywhere else.
Hawks didn't look back.
But his smile stayed with him.
I hope you liked it as much as I loved writing it! Leave a kind word or message for your barista's motivation. Don't be shy to send in some requests either! I'd love working with my patrons („• ֊ •„)
I reworked it: 6/9/2026!
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Hii love, as my first write, I feel like starting off with a lil bit of angst.. rmb I love you <3 Based on your barista's real life events, but I had a happy ending :)
Love Isnt the Problem
Prohero!KatsukiBakugou x fem!reader
Summary: 2:40 a.m. Another night spent waiting for Katsuki to come home. What starts as a familiar argument quickly unravels into a conversation neither of you is prepared to have.
Tags: Angst no comfort, Established Relationship, Prohero!KatsukiBakugou, Open ending
Wc: ~1200
The clock on the wall reads 2:40 a.m.
You stare at the glowing numbers from your spot on the couch, a blanket draped over your legs and a cold mug of coffee forgotten on the end table. The television drones on in the background, some late-night rerun you haven't paid attention to in hours. Too focused on one thing and one thing only.
You should've gone to bed.
Hours ago, probably.
But if you went to bed, then you'd miss him. So you spend your night facing the door staring at your blank phone screen.
And lately, it feels like that's all your relationship has become—waiting.
Waiting for a text.
Waiting for a call.
Waiting for the sound of the front door unlocking.
Waiting for Katsuki.
The lock finally clicks. And your heart betrays you immediately.
Because despite everything, despite the frustration and disappointment and loneliness, you're still relieved.
He's safe.
The front door swings open.
Katsuki steps inside. The smell of smoke, sweat, and the city fill the air. Shoulders tense beneath his hero gear. Dirt streaks the side of his face. His gauntlets are gone, but exhaustion hangs off him like a second costume.
For a second, neither of you says anything.
His eyes find yours. Then flick toward the clock.
2:48 a.m.
Again.
"You're still awake?"
You let out a quiet laugh. It's not funny.
"Sadly."
He sighs, already sounding tired of a conversation that hasn't even started.
You hate that.
You hate that every discussion lately feels rehearsed.
Like you're both reading from a script you've memorized, rehearsed many times before.
Katsuki kicks off his boots and moves toward the kitchen. "I'm gonna shower."
"Did you remember?"
The question stops him. His shoulders stiffen. You already know the answer.
Still, you ask. And you're met with nothing but silence. The laugh that leaves you this time is sharper. "Seriously?"
Katsuki closes his eyes. And that's all the confirmation you need.
The dinner reservation.
The one you'd made three weeks ago.
The one you'd gotten dressed for.
The one you sat through alone.
The one you'd finally given up on after an hour of staring at the empty chair across from you.
The one he'd promised he'd be there for.
The one you'd spent hours looking forward to because maybe—just maybe—you'd get one normal evening together.
Gone.
Forgotten.
Just like everything else.
"Damn it," he mutters.
You nod slowly. "Yeah."
"I got called into an operation."
"I know."
"There was a villain attack across—"
"I know, Katsuki."
The apartment falls silent.
You know. That's the problem. You always know. You know people need him. You know emergencies happen. You know he's trying to become the best hero he can be.
You know all of it.
And somehow that makes it worse.
Because if he were just being careless, you could be angry.
Instead, you're left feeling selfish. Lonely. And selfish for being lonely. "You forgot."
His jaw tightens. "I didn't do it on purpose."
You laugh again. A bitter sound. "Do you think I care whether it was on purpose anymore?"
The words come out harsher than you intended.
But once they start, you can't stop them.
"It's always something. And somehow I'm always expected to be okay with it." There's a silence there that Katsuki can't fill, can't argue against. "No call, no text. Nothing."
Katsuki looks away. Bad sign.
"There's always another patrol. Another operation. Another meeting."
You stand from the couch.
"You miss dinners. Dates. Birthdays."
"I was there for your birthday."
"You showed up two hours late."
His expression hardens.
You immediately regret saying it. Not because it's untrue. Because you know he's keeping score too.
Every sacrifice.
Every sleepless night.
Every injury.
Every person he's saved.
And yet—you're exhausted too.
"I'm trying," he says.
The frustration in his voice is immediate. Sharp. Dangerous. "I am trying."
"Then why does it feel like I'm doing this alone?" The words hang between you. For a moment, neither of you moves.
Then Katsuki laughs.
And somehow that's worse. Because there's no humor in it. Just exhaustion. "What the hell am I supposed to do?"
You stare at him.
"Be here."
"I'm out there saving lives."
"And I'm here waiting for you!"
The shout surprises both of you. Silence crashes into the room. You swallow hard.
Katsuki drags a hand down his face. His eyes are bloodshot. His posture is slumped.
God, he looks tired.
And for a split second, guilt creeps in.
Until you remember sitting alone at a restaurant tonight. Checking your phone every five minutes. Making excuses to the waiter.
Pretending you weren't embarrassed.
Pretending you weren't hurt.
"I'm tired," you whisper. The confession leaves your lips before you can stop it. "I'm tired of eating dinner alone."
Katsuki doesn't answer.
"I'm tired of waking up alone."
Nothing.
"I'm tired of feeling like I come second to everything."
The second the words leave your mouth, you know you've hit something.
His expression changes instantly. Something raw flashes across his face. Anger, not at you. At the situation. At himself. At everything.
Then it explodes.
"Then what the hell do you want from me?"
The volume makes you flinch.
"I can't be everywhere at once!"
"I never asked you to be!"
"That's exactly what you're asking!"
His voice echoes through the apartment. Months of frustration finally spilling out.
"You think I don't know I'm never home?"
"Katsuki—"
"You think I don't know what I miss?"
His chest rises and falls heavily.
"I know every damn thing I've missed."
The room suddenly feels too small.
Too hot.
Too full of things neither of you has said.
Then Katsuki says the one thing neither of you can take back.
"Sometimes I wish I hated you!"
The words hit like a physical blow.
Silence.
Instant.
Complete.
You watch the realization cross his face. Watch the regret follow immediately after. But it's too late.
The damage is done.
His mouth opens yet nothing comes out. Because what explanation is there?
You stare at him.
Waiting.
Hoping.
For something, anything.
Instead, he laughs bitterly and looks away.
"Maybe then I wouldn't have to feel torn every time I leave this apartment."
Your chest tightens.
"Maybe then I could focus on my damn job."
You don't realize you're crying until your vision blurs. Not because you're shocked. Not because you're angry. Because you're tired.
So unbelievably tired.
A hollow laugh escapes you. And when you speak, your voice is barely above a whisper.
"I wish I hated you too."
Katsuki freezes. Completely. Like you've knocked the air from his lungs.
You wipe angrily at your eyes. "Maybe then I wouldn't spend every night wondering if you're alive."
His expression crumbles.
"Maybe then I wouldn't stare at my phone waiting for a text."
You laugh again. Broken this time.
"Maybe then I wouldn't feel stupid for missing someone who's never here."
Katsuki doesn't say a word. Because there isn't one. Nothing that can fix this. Nothing that can undo months of hurt. Nothing that can erase the look on your face.
You shake your head. Suddenly exhausted. The argument has burned through everything you had left. "I'm going to bed."
Your voice sounds distant. Even to you. You walk past him.
Past the man you love.
Past the man who loves you.
And somehow, that's what hurts most. Because neither of you stopped loving each other.
That was never the problem.
The bedroom door closes behind you.
And for the first time in a very long time—
you don't wait for him to follow.
Anddd scene, I know some phrases it feels repetitive but I love that with this story because the argument is repetitive yk?... Hopefully I fed you well :) Let me know if your barista did a good job! Bye Love! <3
Hii love, as my first write, I feel like starting off with a lil bit of angst.. rmb I love you <3 Based on your barista's real life events, but I had a happy ending :)
Love Isnt the Problem
Prohero!KatsukiBakugou x fem!reader
Summary: 2:40 a.m. Another night spent waiting for Katsuki to come home. What starts as a familiar argument quickly unravels into a conversation neither of you is prepared to have.
Tags: angst no comfort, established relationship, open ending
Wc: ~1200
The clock on the wall reads 2:40 a.m.
You stare at the glowing numbers from your spot on the couch, a blanket draped over your legs and a cold mug of coffee forgotten on the end table. The television drones on in the background, some late-night rerun you haven't paid attention to in hours. Too focused on one thing and one thing only.
You should've gone to bed.
Hours ago, probably.
But if you went to bed, then you'd miss him. So you spend your night facing the door staring at your blank phone screen.
And lately, it feels like that's all your relationship has become—waiting.
Waiting for a text.
Waiting for a call.
Waiting for the sound of the front door unlocking.
Waiting for Katsuki.
The lock finally clicks. And your heart betrays you immediately.
Because despite everything, despite the frustration and disappointment and loneliness, you're still relieved.
He's safe.
The front door swings open.
Katsuki steps inside. The smell of smoke, sweat, and the city fill the air. Shoulders tense beneath his hero gear. Dirt streaks the side of his face. His gauntlets are gone, but exhaustion hangs off him like a second costume.
For a second, neither of you says anything.
His eyes find yours. Then flick toward the clock.
2:48 a.m.
Again.
"You're still awake?"
You let out a quiet laugh. It's not funny.
"Sadly."
He sighs, already sounding tired of a conversation that hasn't even started.
You hate that.
You hate that every discussion lately feels rehearsed.
Like you're both reading from a script you've memorized, played through many times before.
Katsuki kicks off his boots and moves toward the kitchen. "I'm gonna shower."
"Did you remember?"
The question stops him. His shoulders stiffen. You already know the answer.
Still, you ask. And you're met with nothing but silence. The laugh that leaves you this time is sharper. "Seriously?"
Katsuki closes his eyes. And that's all the confirmation you need.
The dinner reservation.
The one you'd made three weeks ago.
The one you'd gotten dressed for.
The one you sat through alone.
The one you'd finally given up on after an hour of staring at the empty chair across from you.
The one he'd promised he'd be there for.
The one you'd spent hours looking forward to because maybe—just maybe—you'd get one normal evening together.
Gone.
Forgotten.
Just like everything else.
"Damn it," he mutters.
You nod slowly. "Yeah."
"I got called into an operation."
"I know."
"There was a villain attack across—"
"I know, Katsuki."
The apartment falls silent.
You know. That's the problem. You always know. You know people need him. You know emergencies happen. You know he's trying to become the best hero he can be.
You know all of it.
And somehow that makes it worse.
Because if he were just being careless, you could be angry.
Instead, you're left feeling selfish. Lonely. And selfish for being lonely. "You forgot."
His jaw tightens. "I didn't do it on purpose."
You laugh again. A bitter sound. "Do you think I care whether it was on purpose anymore?"
The words come out harsher than you intended.
But once they start, you can't stop them.
"It's always something. And somehow I'm always expected to be okay with it." There's a silence there that Katsuki can't fill, can't argue against. "No call, no text. Nothing."
Katsuki looks away. Bad sign.
"There's always another patrol. Another operation. Another meeting."
You stand from the couch.
"You miss dinners. Dates. Birthdays."
"I was there for your birthday."
"You showed up two hours late."
His expression hardens.
You immediately regret saying it. Not because it's untrue. Because you know he's keeping score too.
Every sacrifice.
Every sleepless night.
Every injury.
Every person he's saved.
And yet—you're exhausted too.
"I'm trying," he says.
The frustration in his voice is immediate. Sharp. Dangerous. "I am trying."
"Then why does it feel like I'm doing this alone?" The words hang between you. For a moment, neither of you moves.
Then Katsuki laughs.
And somehow that's worse. Because there's no humor in it. Just exhaustion. "What the hell am I supposed to do?"
You stare at him.
"Be here."
"I'm out there saving lives."
"And I'm here waiting for you!"
The shout surprises both of you. Silence crashes into the room. You swallow hard.
Katsuki drags a hand down his face. His eyes are bloodshot. His posture is slumped.
God, he looks tired.
And for a split second, guilt creeps in.
Until you remember sitting alone at a restaurant tonight. Checking your phone every five minutes. Making excuses to the waiter.
Pretending you weren't embarrassed.
Pretending you weren't hurt.
"I'm tired," you whisper. The confession leaves your lips before you can stop it. "I'm tired of eating dinner alone."
Katsuki doesn't answer.
"I'm tired of waking up alone."
Nothing.
"I'm tired of feeling like I come second to everything."
The second the words leave your mouth, you know you've hit something.
His expression changes instantly. Something raw flashes across his face. Anger, not at you. At the situation. At himself. At everything.
Then it explodes.
"Then what the hell do you want from me?"
The volume makes you flinch.
"I can't be everywhere at once!"
"I never asked you to be!"
"That's exactly what you're asking!"
His voice echoes through the apartment. Months of frustration finally spilling out.
"You think I don't know I'm never home?"
"Katsuki—"
"You think I don't know what I miss?"
His chest rises and falls heavily.
"I know every damn thing I've missed."
The room suddenly feels too small.
Too hot.
Too full of things neither of you has said.
Then Katsuki says the one thing neither of you can take back.
"Sometimes I wish I hated you!"
The words hit like a physical blow.
Silence.
Instant.
Complete.
You watch the realization cross his face. Watch the regret follow immediately after. But it's too late.
The damage is done.
His mouth opens yet nothing comes out. Because what explanation is there?
You stare at him.
Waiting.
Hoping.
For something, anything.
Instead, he laughs bitterly and looks away.
"Maybe then I wouldn't have to feel torn every time I leave this apartment."
Your chest tightens.
"Maybe then I could focus on my damn job."
You don't realize you're crying until your vision blurs. Not because you're shocked. Not because you're angry. Because you're tired.
So unbelievably tired.
A hollow laugh escapes you. And when you speak, your voice is barely above a whisper.
"I wish I hated you too."
Katsuki freezes. Completely. Like you've knocked the air from his lungs.
You wipe angrily at your eyes. "Maybe then I wouldn't spend every night wondering if you're alive."
His expression crumbles.
"Maybe then I wouldn't stare at my phone waiting for a text."
You laugh again. Broken this time.
"Maybe then I wouldn't feel stupid for missing someone who's never here."
Katsuki doesn't say a word. Because there isn't one. Nothing that can fix this. Nothing that can undo months of hurt. Nothing that can erase the look on your face.
You shake your head. Suddenly exhausted. The argument has burned through everything you had left. "I'm going to bed."
Your voice sounds distant. Even to you. You walk past him.
Past the man you love.
Past the man who loves you.
And somehow, that's what hurts most. Because neither of you stopped loving each other.
That was never the problem.
The bedroom door closes behind you.
And for the first time in a very long time—
you don't wait for him to follow.
Anddd scene, I know some phrases it feels repetitive but I love that with this story because the argument is repetitive yk?... Hopefully I fed you well :) Let me know if your barista did a good job! Bye Love! <3
~ Keep in mind although im open to recieving your special orders I have the right to pick whether or not I want to make them. special orders are a privilege not a right.
~ I am starting out; The cafe is a new environment for me. Be patient, understanding, and kind or you will be banned.
I will be respectful with everyone
I'm open to customers questions and concerns
I've made my boundaries clear anyone who chooses to cross said boundaries will be banned as serving is something I do because I enjoy it meaning I'd like for it to stay stress-free and peaceful.
Don't be shy to become familiar with me, I'd like to see regulars :)
