Going From 2 Character Writing To Reader Insert Writing Has More Of A Learning Curve Than I Expected

Going from 2 character writing to reader insert writing has more of a learning curve than I expected

FETISH — RUSTY SABICH

summary: something something you needed a job and raymond offered you to work at the office. something something there is a misunderstanding and you pique rusty's curiosity.

warnings: this story happens before the events of presumed innocent so rusty is still a prosecutor, includes tommy molto (with mentions of barbara, carolyn, nico & raymond), sexual harassment, cheating, smut (masturbation, underwear smelling). 18+ NO MINORS.

word count: 3360

gif credits: me @/gyllenhaalstories / divider credits: @/firefly-graphics

notes: raymond is the star of this fic and so is @sizzlingcloudmentality's idea that saved this story 📂 thank you for reading & REMEMBER TO REBLOG!

You were thankful for Raymond Horgan. He considered you as his niece, he had helped you more times than you could remember. He bought you the biggest dollhouse you could dream of when you were a child, he set an absurd amount of money aside for your education and now he had offered you a job most law students of Chicago could never even dream of. Most of the time, you were thankful for Raymond.

"So, let met get this right... You found the file in a recycling bin?" Tommy's voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard. The twisted grin glued to his face sent a shiver down your spine.

You were not thankful for Raymond at this precise moment. He left you all alone to answer his phone calls while everyone in the office had left to enjoy their weekend. You assumed that no one would care to call the district attorneys on a Friday afternoon. No. Evening. The sun had started setting, you did not even see the day go by. You assumed that no one would bother, but Raymond had never been more popular. "For the third time, yes, I found the documents in the bin and I thought it was important material so I grabbed it before the janitors did. If I had known, I would not have touched it. I can assure you of that, Tommy."

"Mister Molto," he rectified, he pursed his lips. "It's Mister Molto for you."

"Since when are you so passionate about recycling, Mister Molto?" You spat out his name with disgust. There was just something about Tommy. Everyone in the office had been pleasant, you had no trouble believing that Raymond knocked on each door and instructed them to treat you with the upmost respect. Everyone listened, except Tommy.

Tommy's gaze fell on your hand, he watched you tap your fountain pen on the notepad nervously. You were always so nervous in his presence, surely this must mean you liked him. You liked him but you were too shy to admit it. "What did you do with the documents?"

You grabbed your notepad, imitating your every action. Maybe, you thought, the man would understand better if you gave him the visuals. You explained how you pulled the file out of the bin and set it down exactly where Tommy had found it: on Nico Della Guardia's desk. You assumed he would know better than you what to do with it, but Tommy had the reflexes of a cat and snitched the papers before anyone else could see them. "Is it more clear now? Do you want me to tell you the whole story again for the fourth time?"

You were making an excuse to talk to him longer. He found it endearing. His thin lips curled into a smile, he shook his head. He looked down at the file he gripped on tightly, so tightly that the sweat of his palm began to warp the material. "In this office, we value being thorough..." The phone rang, cutting his lecture off. Tommy looked down again. He recognized the code written on the file, he even recognized the handwriting. It was from a case Carolyn Polhemus had worked on with Rusty Sabich.

You exhaled dramatically and let the phone ring three times before picking it up. You repeated your greeting like a robot, expecting the caller to insist you made Raymond magically appear so they could talk to him.

"It's you." A familiar voice resonated through the phone. Rusty was calling. "Hi." You could practically hear him smile. "I was just wondering if you saw my stapler anywhere. Ray always steals it, and..."

"We also value respect around here." Tommy pulled your attention back to you, annoyed that you picked up the phone without excusing yourself. "Anyway." Another grin, another wave of shivers. He rambled about how you should stick to your tasks, how you would be a better secretary if you did not go snooping around people's trash. Apparently, he could not even begin to comprehend the concept of a simple mistake.

You narrowed your eyes while he continued his monologue. You could not believe what your left ear heard, as your right ear burned against the phone while it perceived words about Raymond's kleptomaniac's tendencies regarding office supplies. You tried to breathe through your nose to calm down. Overwhelmed. Overstimulated. You wanted this day to be over.

"Am I disturbing something? I'm sorry, I didn't want to bother..." Rusty frowned, trying to recognize the other voice he heard. He could not see the scene, but he started to imagine the agitation. "Who's with you?"

Tommy's expression faded into a dark one. Annoyance, perhaps. You could not read him well and you certainly did not want to. He gave you... Ick. There was something else, a spark in his eyes that made you swallow a knot of nerves stuck in your throat. "Evidence from a trial is not to be messed with. I hope you learned your lesson. Or maybe... You wanted to see me. So we could have a little talk just the two of us. And the problem is that you can't keep your hands to yourself, can you?"

You scoffed. "That's inappropriate." Tommy was not annoyed. He was aroused. There was a double meaning to his words that made you sick to your stomach. He lost no time defending himself, hiding behind his inflated ego to justify how his comment was perfectly normal.

Rusty had trouble discerning a single thing from the word vomit that fell out of his colleague's mouth. He tried to inquire about what was happening in vain. He had to pull the handset away from his ear, Tommy and you argued in full volume. However, Rusty heard one thing before you violently hung up the phone, forcing it back into the receptacle. He remained unsure of who you directed your rage-filled words to.

"Go fuck yourself!"

*~*~*

"Go fuck yourself! Go fuck yourself! Go fuck yourself!"

The sound of your voice echoed in Rusty's mind. It had been all he could think about. He was fixated. Obsessed.

He replayed the scene over and over again. By now, he understood you spat these words out at Tommy.

Rusty spat on his hand, squeezing it around his cock that he pumped to full hardness.

You sounded like a broken record in his head. By now, he still did not understand why these words had such an effect on him.

His left hand dived into the teal laundry basket, feeling around. He pulled out the towel he used after his session on the treadmill earlier. He also pulled out a bunched up piece of black fabric. The plastic basket was roughly pushed to the side before Rusty flattened the towel on the counter. His right hand moved up and down on his cock, he was desperate for some relief.

You spent so much time with Tommy. Too much time. Why? Why did you spend time with Tommy? All the small talk by the coffee machine or the elevator. Why was Tommy going down in the elevator with you? Why was it always him?

Rusty pulled his hand away from his cock that twitched. He looked down at the counter, grabbing a clothespin to fidget with. He was thankful there was a window before him and not a mirror.

A pathetic sight.

He pulled his sweatpants down below his ass, a drop of precum even left a wet stain on the front. His cock throbbed with the desire to be touched again. His thoughts fought an unfair race.

He wanted to think of you.

But he was thinking of Tommy. Of his jealousy towards Tommy. He could not see straight. Rusty was too blinded by his insatiable lust to remember all of the times he caught you grimacing after Tommy walked away, flinching when Tommy initiated physical contact with a squeeze of your shoulder or a pat on your lower back. You hated Tommy. Rusty hated Tommy.

"Go fuck yourself!"

You resisted Tommy. Why were you not resisting him? Why were you always so pleasant and nice with him? Rusty remained charming and resourceful. When it came to working his way through a case or helping you with a task Raymond gave you that seemed way above your skill set, he was the smartest guy in the room.

Rusty was stupid for wanting to think of you.

He dropped the wooden clothespin on the counter and proceeded to continue. His dominant hand wrapped around the base of his cock, his long fingers grazed over his balls. His left hand brushed over the bunched up fabric. Clumsily, he unfolded it and it revealed to be a pair of panties.

He should think of Barbara.

He brought the panties up to his nose. He brought his hand up to his tip. That would work. That usually worked. It had not worked for a long time, but... But it had to work right now.

He inhaled her scent and he moaned. "Good. Keep going." He traced his fingertip over his slit, smearing the precum over it while he relaxed. He closed his eyes, images of Barbara flashed. His face buried in the crook of her neck, his eyes blinded by the black curls of her hair, his hands squeezing on the soft flesh of her ass. He kept going. He kept thinking of Barbara.

Barbara's features started to morph with yours. He imagined your smile. He imagined your curves. He imagined the sound of your voice moaning his name.

"Fuck!" Rusty shouted. His thin upper lip curled in frustration. His face twisted with anger towards himself while his mind became a mosaic crafted with the memories he had of you.

He barely had anything. It was all office related. It was all Raymond related. It was all Tommy related. He barely had any memory alone with you. You should tell him to go fuck himself. You should push him away. You should resist him. Resist. Resist. Resist.

He needed to resist you.

He wrapped Barbara's panties around his cock and he used them to jerk off. His shoulders loosened up. The fabric dragged over his cock, a familiar sensation that used to make him climax effortlessly. Just the thought of it would make him hard.

Like a fetish. His wife's panties used to work like magic. It could work again. He needed it to work again.

He threw his head back, his eyes fluttered close. "That's it, that's it. Feels so fucking good..." He mumbled. His hand and the panties blurred together while he stroked himself hard and fast. He fought the frustration with pathetic desperation. You appeared in his mind again.

Like a fetish. He could not get rid of his thoughts of you. A fixation. An obsession.

Rusty tightened the grip on his cock. The panties got bunched up at the base, caressing his sack deliciously while he focused on his leaking tip. His breath came in short gasps. He felt so close.

His balls tightened, his orgasm imminent. He propped himself up a bit on the tip of his toes. Just high enough. Quick strokes. Tight quick strokes.

Would you jerk him off this way if he begged you to? Did you even think about jerking him off? Or would you tell him to go fuck himself?

He groaned, he fought the urge to close his eyes so he could aim at the towel.

Did you ever think about the two of you fucking? On his desk. Against the wall. On the floor. He did. He thought about it many times. A fixation. An obsession.

"Fuck yes!" He cried out when he spilled all over the towel. His entire body tensed up. Ropes of white cum painted the navy blue towel. It felt so good to cum for you. It would feel even better to cum inside of you.

He slowed the movements of his hand and squeezed the remaining of his release on the cumrag. He set his feet flat again, his chest heaved while he panted.

For a moment, a moment that did not last long enough, his mind seemed blank. No imagery, no thought. A void. It was peaceful, but volatile.

He opened the door of the washing machine and threw in his cumrag and Barbara's underwear after he wiped his cock clean with them. He added the rest of the dirty laundry and poured a generous amount of detergent with the hope it would wash away what happened.

Rusty noticed a spurt of his cum squirted on the counter top. He grabbed the small tissue box and wiped it clean. He shook his head, unsatisfied. He rummaged through the cabinet and found cleaning wipes. He dragged the wipe over the counter with force until it started to tear up.

He looked out at the window. Rained poured outside, the clouds looked menacing. A bad omen.

Later, he would tell himself this was inoffensive. He could be very convincing, very persuasive. He would make himself believe this was not harmful. He used Barbara's panties. He finished on a cumrag. How could it be harmful if he did not even touch you?

He never touched you. He needed to touch you.

He would fixate on you. He would obsess over you until you granted him the privilege to touch you.

*~*~*

Exactly a week after the incident, you returned to the office with Raymond. He handed you a box, the type of boxes they used to store files. He had already found you another place to work in a less anxiety inducing setting. He reassured you that your departure would not inconvenient you in the future. He also mumbled something about how he would like to have a word with Fuck-Thing One and Fuck-Thing Two. You figured who carried these endearing pet names.

Rusty came into work every morning this week with the hope of bumping into you. Nobody had warned him about how you had been strongly advised to quit. He could tell Raymond was grumpy and Tommy was annoyed. Nothing out of the ordinary.

You leaned the box on your hip and put in the few belongings you had brought to Raymond's office. A set of highlighters with two missing colours, a box of cookies that only had a sleeve left in it, a pad of sticky notes with a smiley face scribbled on it. It felt as though you had never even walked up those infamous stairs in front of the building. You assumed everyone would forget about your short employment, like you had never worked here at all. You gave the stuffy room one last look before you closed the door behind you.

There was nothing out of the ordinary except for the knock on his door during lunch break despite it being wide open. "Come in." He invited you after you waited patiently outside. A patience he could not reciprocate. Not around you.

"Hi, Sir." You took a couple of steps in his office while the man leaned back on his chair, spinning slowly from left to right.

"Screw that." He brushed the formalities away with his hand. "No Sir or Mister with me. Didn't I tell you this on your first day?"

And on your last day too.

His eyes glanced from your beautiful face to what you carried in your arms. "Box full of stuff. That's bad news." Rusty's enthusiastic smile faded. He had waited so long to see you and now you were going away. Bad news indeed.

"Bad? Depends for who." You chuckled dryly. "I'm happy to get away from him."

Rusty nodded, acknowledging what you referred to. "Office gossip. It goes around." You arched a curious brow. "Rumour has it he's not happy."

You laughed, this time more genuinely. You looked at the content of the box, remembering what you came here for. You set the box down on a chair across Rusty's desk and you pulled out the stapler he asked for the other day. "Better late than never."

He stretched an arm across his desk to grab it, his fingers brushed against yours. He wondered if you felt the shock that went through his hand when your skin touched his. Sparks? Probably just static electricity. Rusty tilted his head back to look at you.

"I didn't come here for the stapler... Ray definitely stole it. He always steals things. He says it's endearing, it means he loves you. In my opinion, he probably thinks everything is free real estate." You reacted to your own amusing comment.

Oh how Rusty loved the sound of your laughter. Tommy would be jealous of him if he knew how many times he heard it, how many times he made you laugh.

"You've been working with Ray for how long?" Rusty opened his mouth to tell you the number of years, but you cut him off. "A hundred years or something? And you didn't know that! Wow." You clicked your tongue, mocking him like you truly disapproved of his ignorance.

His smirk turned into a frown of confusion when you quickly switched the topic.

"I came here to apologize for lashing out at you the other day. I was yelling at Tommy, not you. But yeah, I just wanted to say sorry. And goodbye."

"Don't even worry about it." He held his hands on his thighs. "I figured you weren't talk to me. One way or another... You would have ended up telling me to fuck off anyway."

You reacted to his words, squinting your eyes while trying to figure out what he meant. While Tommy had been nothing but a pain in the ass, Rusty revealed himself as one of the nicest people you met in the office. He brought you a cup of coffee, remembered how you preferred it. He paid for yours and Raymond's lunches so he could tag along. You smiled to yourself, remembering your stressful first day and the way it took the two of you to fix the printer by getting a scrunched sheet of paper unstuck.

Rusty caught that small smile of yours and he mirrored your expression. Silence lingered in the office one moment too long. His gaze lingered on you one moment too long as well. He swallowed thickly and fixed his tie back in his vest.

"Well..." You put the lid on the almost empty box and picked it up. You turned on your heels and headed in direction of the glass door.

Rusty was not ready to watch you leave just yet. "Got anything lined up? I can write you good references if you need. Whatever you need." His voice dropped to a whisper with the last three words.

"Uh, yeah. I'm fine, but I appreciate the offer." You explained what Raymond did, The old man called up a few connections, offering a round of beers at the bar as a thank you for the special treatment. "Although I'll have to work on my language, or so I've been told." You rolled your eyes playfully.

Rusty did not understand why it had been such an issue. He would have lost his job a long time ago on the basis of telling people to fuck off one too many times.

"Whatever that new place is, I'm just happy that it's Tommy Molto-free."

"I'll... We. I mean we'll miss having you around!" Rusty slipped up, his nostrils flaring while he inhaled deeply to try and dissipate the potential awkwardness.

You answered that you had a good time, that you appreciated his help. It felt so good to hear these words of praise from you.

"You know, after a while... I'm sure you'll end up missing Tommy too."

You basically cackled at his words, now stepping out of the glass door. "Oh, fuck you, Rusty."

"Fuck me?" He raised his voice so you could hear him loud and clear.

You remained immobile to let him finish.

"Is that a threat?" He pulled his glasses off in one swift motion and let them fall on his desk covered in scattered papers. "Or a promise?"

Saw this thing about seeing how pinterest sees you by searching fashion, pantone, mood, food.

Im so happy you like it! It really is the dream to be wrapped up in a Dalton hug after a bad day so devastating that he's fictional 😞

I'll be your Shield and your Salve

Summary: When a rowdy crowd shows up to the Roadhouse Dalton's annoyed, when one grabs his girls ass he's a little more than annoyed

Pairing: Elwood Dalton x Reader (imagined as female but could be gn, mentions reader wearing a skirt)

Warnings: Non-consensual groping, non-graphic violence, panic attacks, over all descriptions of sexual harassment, reader feeling dirty afterwards.

Words: 1,223

Notes: hooo this was supposed to be a lot more campy and a lot less angsty. Special thanks to @charliehoennam for helping me with a writing slump and to @aaronhotchnersswifee for the idea! This is my first time posting a fic, I hope everyone enjoys it ❤️

You were standing at the bar, pouring drinks, charming customers and cleaning glasses. The band, a group of middle aged men, two of which were probably named Darryl, played energetically, filling the bar with lively music. A man with a bushy gray beard played the washboard, thumping and scraping the beat. Everything was perfect. Dalton sat at the end of the bar, looking perfectly relaxed and tapping his foot with the music. He caught your eye and tapped the bar with his knuckles for a refill.

"What's a pretty girl like you doing in a dive like this?" He asked, with a twinkle in his blue eyes. His voice was low and smooth, like melted chocolate in those Lindor commercials.

"Oh you know," you sighed dramatically, putting on a forlorn face as you opened another beer for him, "got dragged down here by my dumbass boyfriend, can you believe he decided to be a bouncer in Hicksville, Florida?" You teased. Dalton laughed sarcastically

"You always wanted to live on the beach, princess" He laughed, giving you that dopey grin that made your belly flip. As he turned back to watch the bar a roaring came from the parking lot. Loud voices and boots crunching on gravel drifted in through the windows. Dalton bristled, on alert.

Three men in tattered vests and leathers swaggered into the bar, shouting at customers and each other and reeking of booze. A tall man with dirty white hair and yellowed teeth slumped on the bar, leering at you

"Heyyy cupcake, pour me a drink will you? Needa..wet my whistle." His eyes drifted over your shirt, his gaze felt slimy, dirty. You gritted your teeth, trying to push off the shivering feeling of disgust. You poured him a beer, sliding it towards him with a forced smile.

The guys were unpleasant but so far they hadn't actually done anything wrong. They just sat at a table in the middle yelling and drinking. You were walking over with a tray of drinks they had ordered and setting them on the table when you felt one of them grab your thigh and squeeze. You froze, your blood ran hot and cold at the same time. Just as you turned to slap the guy in the face you felt a tall shadow over you.

"Alright buddy time to leave" Dalton's voice was scarily calm and friendly sounding. His smile didn't melt the frost in his eyes as he looked down at the man who had groped you. You hadn't seen him this mad since the biker gang had burned down the bookstore.

The men all ooo'ed mockingly, swaying as they got up. The same man who had looked you up and down earlier got up in Dalton's face, yellow teeth bared in a derisive grin.

"What's the big deal? Just having a night out with my boys" he slurred. The man was foul, reeking of booze, sweat and stale tobacco. Dalton made no reaction except wrinkling his nose slightly

"We don't allow harassment here" Daltons smile was looking more and more like a dog's bared fangs. The man snorted, looking around at his friends in disbelief.

"You gon' let yer waltz 'round in that leather skirt.." he paused looking at you in a way that made you want to throw up, "N' get mad when I wanna feel what she's got on show?"

Dalton's fist swung into his jaw with a sound crack. Angry shouts and protests rose from his gang, some starting towards Dalton. You scrambled back against the bar as Dalton set to work. The anger didn't affect him the way you thought it would. He wasn't erratic or emotional, he was coldly efficient, knocking each of them to the floor quickly and cleanly. Less than 5 minutes and each of the men were dumbstruck and the security was dragging them out by their shirt collars. Your heart hammered as you watched, still feeling the place on your leg where the man had groped you, it felt grimy and wrong.

You worked the cleanup shift in a daze. Dalton and you drove home in silence, Dalton's knuckles were white and red on the steering wheel. When you were home you got in the shower, scrubbing your body with a rag and holding back the rising panic in your chest. You were so absorbed in the action you didn't notice Dalton come into the bathroom and step into the shower behind you. He didn't speak, he just pulled you to his chest as you dropped the rag and began to cry. He rocked side to side lightly, holding you tightly.

"I'm so sorry" he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. You didn't know how long you were in the shower, crying into his chest as he whispered comfort to you. At some point he began moving, lathering up a rag and gently running it over your body. The contrast between the pillow soft lathered rag and your frantic rough scrubbing was night and day. Dalton carefully rubbed the rag over your entire body then helped you step under the water. He kissed each part of your body as the bubbles washed down the drain. It wasn't sexual, there was no heat in his touches or his lips, only love and reassurance. Every caress and kiss seemed to say, 'I love you, you aren't dirty, it wasn't your fault'. The tears flowed down your face like poison sucked from a wound and you hugged Dalton when he stood again, he kissed you and turned off the water. As you stood in the shower he wrapped a towel around his waist before taking a soft towel and drying you off. The insecure part of you squirmed at letting him do everything for you, anxious about being a burden, but the larger part let Dalton guide you through the exhausted haze.

When you were dry Dalton pulled one of his t-shirts over your head and picked you up, holding you to his chest like one might carry a sleepy child inside from the car. You closed your eyes and rested your head on his shoulder, half asleep. You felt him walking around, hearing things clinking and the click of the electric kettle. At first you tried to track his steps to see where he was without opening your eyes but eventually you let his soft humming lull you to calmness.

You must have dozed off because soon Dalton was setting you on your bed and placing a cup of tea on the nightstand. He sat behind you and pulled you to his chest, resting his chin on your shoulder.

"Made you some tea and toast with peanut butter and bananas. There some milk to, in case the peanut butter gums up your mouth" he murmured, voice rumbling through his chest and into your back. Your heart could have burst with affection for him. Even though you would do all this for him in a heartbeat, it was still amazing the lengths he went to just to make you happy and safe. The scene at the bar felt more distant now, like a nightmare gone hazy with age. Right now you were safe and warm in Dalton arms, with food, tea, and all the love you could ever dream of.

slit ur wrists

oh hey, welcome back. you first though. ✌🏼🤠

I'll be your Shield and your Salve

Summary: When a rowdy crowd shows up to the Roadhouse Dalton's annoyed, when one grabs his girls ass he's a little more than annoyed

Pairing: Elwood Dalton x Reader (imagined as female but could be gn, mentions reader wearing a skirt)

Warnings: Non-consensual groping, non-graphic violence, panic attacks, over all descriptions of sexual harassment, reader feeling dirty afterwards.

Words: 1,223

Notes: hooo this was supposed to be a lot more campy and a lot less angsty. Special thanks to @charliehoennam for helping me with a writing slump and to @aaronhotchnersswifee for the idea! This is my first time posting a fic, I hope everyone enjoys it ❤️

You were standing at the bar, pouring drinks, charming customers and cleaning glasses. The band, a group of middle aged men, two of which were probably named Darryl, played energetically, filling the bar with lively music. A man with a bushy gray beard played the washboard, thumping and scraping the beat. Everything was perfect. Dalton sat at the end of the bar, looking perfectly relaxed and tapping his foot with the music. He caught your eye and tapped the bar with his knuckles for a refill.

"What's a pretty girl like you doing in a dive like this?" He asked, with a twinkle in his blue eyes. His voice was low and smooth, like melted chocolate in those Lindor commercials.

"Oh you know," you sighed dramatically, putting on a forlorn face as you opened another beer for him, "got dragged down here by my dumbass boyfriend, can you believe he decided to be a bouncer in Hicksville, Florida?" You teased. Dalton laughed sarcastically

"You always wanted to live on the beach, princess" He laughed, giving you that dopey grin that made your belly flip. As he turned back to watch the bar a roaring came from the parking lot. Loud voices and boots crunching on gravel drifted in through the windows. Dalton bristled, on alert.

Three men in tattered vests and leathers swaggered into the bar, shouting at customers and each other and reeking of booze. A tall man with dirty white hair and yellowed teeth slumped on the bar, leering at you

"Heyyy cupcake, pour me a drink will you? Needa..wet my whistle." His eyes drifted over your shirt, his gaze felt slimy, dirty. You gritted your teeth, trying to push off the shivering feeling of disgust. You poured him a beer, sliding it towards him with a forced smile.

The guys were unpleasant but so far they hadn't actually done anything wrong. They just sat at a table in the middle yelling and drinking. You were walking over with a tray of drinks they had ordered and setting them on the table when you felt one of them grab your thigh and squeeze. You froze, your blood ran hot and cold at the same time. Just as you turned to slap the guy in the face you felt a tall shadow over you.

"Alright buddy time to leave" Dalton's voice was scarily calm and friendly sounding. His smile didn't melt the frost in his eyes as he looked down at the man who had groped you. You hadn't seen him this mad since the biker gang had burned down the bookstore.

The men all ooo'ed mockingly, swaying as they got up. The same man who had looked you up and down earlier got up in Dalton's face, yellow teeth bared in a derisive grin.

"What's the big deal? Just having a night out with my boys" he slurred. The man was foul, reeking of booze, sweat and stale tobacco. Dalton made no reaction except wrinkling his nose slightly

"We don't allow harassment here" Daltons smile was looking more and more like a dog's bared fangs. The man snorted, looking around at his friends in disbelief.

"You gon' let yer waltz 'round in that leather skirt.." he paused looking at you in a way that made you want to throw up, "N' get mad when I wanna feel what she's got on show?"

Dalton's fist swung into his jaw with a sound crack. Angry shouts and protests rose from his gang, some starting towards Dalton. You scrambled back against the bar as Dalton set to work. The anger didn't affect him the way you thought it would. He wasn't erratic or emotional, he was coldly efficient, knocking each of them to the floor quickly and cleanly. Less than 5 minutes and each of the men were dumbstruck and the security was dragging them out by their shirt collars. Your heart hammered as you watched, still feeling the place on your leg where the man had groped you, it felt grimy and wrong.

You worked the cleanup shift in a daze. Dalton and you drove home in silence, Dalton's knuckles were white and red on the steering wheel. When you were home you got in the shower, scrubbing your body with a rag and holding back the rising panic in your chest. You were so absorbed in the action you didn't notice Dalton come into the bathroom and step into the shower behind you. He didn't speak, he just pulled you to his chest as you dropped the rag and began to cry. He rocked side to side lightly, holding you tightly.

"I'm so sorry" he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. You didn't know how long you were in the shower, crying into his chest as he whispered comfort to you. At some point he began moving, lathering up a rag and gently running it over your body. The contrast between the pillow soft lathered rag and your frantic rough scrubbing was night and day. Dalton carefully rubbed the rag over your entire body then helped you step under the water. He kissed each part of your body as the bubbles washed down the drain. It wasn't sexual, there was no heat in his touches or his lips, only love and reassurance. Every caress and kiss seemed to say, 'I love you, you aren't dirty, it wasn't your fault'. The tears flowed down your face like poison sucked from a wound and you hugged Dalton when he stood again, he kissed you and turned off the water. As you stood in the shower he wrapped a towel around his waist before taking a soft towel and drying you off. The insecure part of you squirmed at letting him do everything for you, anxious about being a burden, but the larger part let Dalton guide you through the exhausted haze.

When you were dry Dalton pulled one of his t-shirts over your head and picked you up, holding you to his chest like one might carry a sleepy child inside from the car. You closed your eyes and rested your head on his shoulder, half asleep. You felt him walking around, hearing things clinking and the click of the electric kettle. At first you tried to track his steps to see where he was without opening your eyes but eventually you let his soft humming lull you to calmness.

You must have dozed off because soon Dalton was setting you on your bed and placing a cup of tea on the nightstand. He sat behind you and pulled you to his chest, resting his chin on your shoulder.

"Made you some tea and toast with peanut butter and bananas. There some milk to, in case the peanut butter gums up your mouth" he murmured, voice rumbling through his chest and into your back. Your heart could have burst with affection for him. Even though you would do all this for him in a heartbeat, it was still amazing the lengths he went to just to make you happy and safe. The scene at the bar felt more distant now, like a nightmare gone hazy with age. Right now you were safe and warm in Dalton arms, with food, tea, and all the love you could ever dream of.