#i wish i could just spend hours and hours taking care of his injuries

[wildsaltair]

not a day goes by that I don’t think about the fact that on top of everything else, Maximus slices his hands up grabbing the sword from the praetorian who was supposed to execute him. DOES HE NOT SUFFER ENOUGH FOR YOU PEOLE

[corroded-hellfire]

Forever Young - Eddie Munson x Reader

An As You Wish story

Summary: It’s Eddie’s 40th birthday and when everything else is making him feel old, you aim to show him that he’s still young.

Note: in honor of our birthday boy

Warnings: smut, p in v, unprotected (wrap it up), oral, m! receiving, older!eddie, Eddie still has his breeding kink of course

Words: 2.7k

[As You Wish masterlist]

To say Eddie wasn’t excited about his 40th birthday would be an understatement. The closer it came to the day, the grumpier your husband became. He’d grumble under his breath, the words obviously not meant to be heard by you or the kids; but the sentiment was still conveyed.

Months before his birthday, Eddie made it clear to you that he did not want a party. Although he loved spending time with his friends and loved ones, he had decided that he only wanted to spend this particular day with his family. But just because he would be getting through the day unscathed by in-person jokes and ribbing from the likes of Steve Harrington and Dustin Henderson didn’t mean his own family wasn’t going to tease the patriarch.

“Happy birthday, Dad!” Luke holds a card out to his father. His grin isn’t necessarily mischievous, but it’s smart to always be on guard when it comes to the teenager.

“Thank you.” Eddie takes the indigo envelope from his son and slips the card out. Before his eyes can even take in the bold bubble letters on the front, a pamphlet slips out. Eddie catches it before it can fall to the floor and holds it up to take a proper look.

Hawkins Comfort: The Exceptional Home for Senior Living

The clenching of Eddie’s jaw causes Luke to snicker. Your husband tosses the pamphlet at your son’s face before reading the card itself. Luckily for Luke, the card itself was sweet and didn’t add further insult to injury.

With a heavy sigh, Eddie nods his head and closes the card.

“Thanks,” he reiterates.

“Aw come on, Dad,” Luke says, stepping forward and patting his father on the back. “I’m just messing with you.”

Freshly dressed for the evening out, Eliza zooms into the room, the three-year-old already tickled pink at the thought of having some cake after dinner. She runs into her dad’s legs and wraps her little arms around them.

“Happy birthday!” It’s the fourth time she’s told him this today and he knows it won’t be the last.

“Thank you, baby girl.”

“See?” Luke says, nudging his dad. “You have a baby. You’re not old.”

Eliza’s face goes from gleeful to rueful.

“‘M not a baby!”

“Excuse me, miss.” Luke bows to her before snatching the toddler up into his arms. “I meant to say that Daddy has a young lady for a daughter.”

Placated by that explanation, Eliza nods her head once. “Better.”

As you walk into the living room, a minute later than Eliza due to her rapid speed, Luke gestures to you with one hand while the other one supports his little sister.

“And look! You have a wife who is in her twenties.”

Eddie’s tongue pokes out of the side of his lips, internally trying to decide if that fact makes him feel better or worse. He does have a young, hot wife. But does that make him feel young as well or does he just feel each and every day of those eleven years between the two of you?

“See! Mama is young!” Eliza says.

“Are they ganging up on you, honey?” You playfully pout as you approach your husband’s side.

“Luke’s ready to check me into a nursing home,” he gripes.

“Why you need a nurse?” Eliza asks.

“He doesn’t,” you say before Luke gets a chance to be a wiseass. “Daddy takes care of himself and all of us. Right, Lize?”

“Yeah!”

“Are we ready to go?” Ryan asks, waltzing into the room as he pats his flat stomach. “I’m starving.”

“Didn’t you have a bowl of cereal an hour ago?” you ask.

“Yeah,” Ryan replies. “An hour ago.”

Eddie sighs, remembering the days when he too was a teenager and could inhale food all day and keep that small waist of his. As if able to read his mind, you slip your arm around your husband’s middle and give it a small squeeze.

“Alright gang,” Eddie says, “let’s head out.”

After you all return home, Eliza isn’t nearly as excited about cake as she was before. Her head rests on your shoulder, soft whines coming out of her mouth as you carry her into the house.

“We told you not to eat too much ice cream,” you say.

“Daddy said I could,” she groans.

The restaurant gave Eddie a free ice cream sundae for his birthday and he invited all of you to share it with him. The boys, of course, had room even after finishing off their dinner plates completely. But Eliza’s tiny tummy was already decently full of her noodles before she picked up a giant spoon and started scooping the vanilla dessert into her mouth.

“But you had too much.” You press a kiss to her curls before setting her down on the couch.

Eddie hangs his keys on the hook by the door before coming over and wrapping his arms around you.

“Thank you for a nice dinner, princess.”

You smile up at him and press a kiss to the underside of his jaw.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“Daddy?” Eliza asks.

“What’s up?”

She pushes herself to sit up straighter and tucks her legs beneath her.

“How old you now?”

He gives her a small smile as he drapes his arm across your shoulders.

“40.”

“Whoa.” Eliza’s eyes widen comically. It’s hard for you to keep your laugh in. “That’s big number. I don’t think we got enough candles for the cake me and Ryan made.”

This time you have to turn your head to the side and hide your smile in Eddie’s armpit.

Thankfully, Ryan is able to assure Eliza that they don’t need to put the whole 40 candles on the cake. With a gaggle of offbeat singing surrounding him, Eddie smiles and closes his eyes to think of a wish. Apparently, he takes too long for his daughter’s liking. She sighs, naturally dramatic as always, and everyone else laughs.

Eddie is able to blow out all the candles in one go and you cut the cake, giving pieces to your two sons who are eyeing the confection with glee. You’re unable to keep from snorting in amusement at their never-ending hunger and you take a seat next to Eddie to eat your own piece. Deciding to power through it, Eliza manages to eat half off a slice before she lays across her dad’s lap, hands holding her once again full belly.

The perk to her being so full is that it’s easier to wrangle her into her pajamas and under her covers. With one last wish of a happy birthday to Eddie, he presses a kiss to her forehead and her eyes begin to flutter closed.

The boys aren’t far behind. Whether or not they’re going to sleep, you’re not sure. But as long as they’re in their rooms you’re happy. Because you have one last surprise for Eddie today.

You come up behind him as he unbuckles his belt and yanks it out of the denim loops on his black jeans. His shirt raises up slightly and you take advantage, slipping your hands beneath the fabric, letting your nails gently scratch over his pale skin. Eddie starts to unzip his pants and you press trailing kisses across his shoulder blade.

“Baby?” Eddie steps forward out of your grasp and turns around to face you. “I’m pretty tired.”

A frown creases your brow. Eddie has every right in the world to be too exhausted to fool around and just want to climb into bed, but you’re not buying that’s really the case right now.

“Okay,” you say softly, stepping forward and gently cupping his face in your hands. “We can just lay down and cuddle if you want. But something tells me you’ve got something on your mind.”

There’s silence for a moment. Then, Eddie sighs and steps backward out of your hands, and takes a seat on the foot of your bed. You move to stand in front of him and gently card your fingers through his bangs resting against his forehead. He rests one hand on your hip and appears deep in thought for a few minutes.

“I just…” he finally says. “I just feel like the older I get the more pronounced our age difference is.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, not expecting that to be what’s on his mind.

“Hey.” Gently, you take his chin between your thumb and forefinger and lift his head so he’s looking you in the eye. “So what?”

Eddie’s brow furrows and he looks at you, skepticism dancing across his face.

“What do you mean ‘so what?’”

“That exactly. So what if you look like you’re forty and I look like I’m twenty-eight? Those are our ages. Just like you looked thirty-two when we got together and I looked twenty. And how in thirty years you’ll look seventy and I’ll look fifty-eight. What does it matter? Do you really think I give a shit what anyone else thinks? The only two people in this marriage are you and me, buddy.” You grab his shoulder and gently shake him back and forth. “I knew how many years apart we were when we got together. When I married you. When I had a baby with you. You think I would’ve stuck around all this time if I had doubts about our age difference? No way, baby. You’re stuck with me. Even when I get gray hair and all.”

A finger absentmindedly brushes against Eddie’s temple as you speak. Your husband stiffens, connecting the dots between your words and where you touched him.

“I have gray hair?” He jumps up and scurries to the full-length mirror in the corner of your room.

“What?” A heavy sigh deflates your body as you realize the conclusion he jumped to. “No, Eddie. You don’t have any gray hair.” His inspection in the mirror bothers you, so you walk forward and manage to squeeze between him and the mirror. “But even if you did, you’d still be the sexiest man I’ve ever met.”

Eddie sighs and rests his forehead against yours.

“I don’t feel forty,” he whispers to you. “I feel like a kid still.”

“Well, you are a big kid,” you tease, managing to pull a small smile out of him. Relieved to see him feeling a bit lighter, you reach up and wrap your arms around his neck. “And besides, I think I’m the last person in the world you have to convince that you’re still young.”

“And why’s that?” he asks.

Giving him a suggestive smirk, you lean in until your lips ghost against his.

“Because,” you whisper, “of how nice and good you fuck me.”

A low groan reverberates from your husband’s chest and he pulls you flush up against his body.

“Yeah?” His voice is dripping in lust. “You like how I make you feel, princess? How hard I pound that tight little pussy of yours?”

“Uh huh,” you whimper before pressing your lips against his.

Eddie’s fingers dig into your hips as you walk him backward towards the bed. When the back of his knees hit the mattress, all it takes is a small push from you to have him falling onto his back. His eyes are dark with need as he watches you tug his open jeans down his legs. The two of you work together as he yanks his shirt off over his head and you tear his boxers off.

As you fall to your knees between Eddie’s thighs, he sits up enough to pull your top off as well. Once you’re free of the offending fabric, you take Eddie’s cock in your hand. You move it up and down slowly, feeling him harden in your grip.

“Fuck,” Eddie growls.

On a swipe down you lean in and press a kiss to the tip. The resulting moan from your husband sends a pleasant shiver down your spine. You pump his cock a few more times before you can’t hold off any longer and have to take him into your mouth.

“Yes,” Eddie hisses.

You run your tongue along the underside of his length, making sure to keep eye contact with him the entire time. The way he watches you with lust-blown eyes and his chest rises and falls in rapid succession with his shallow breaths has you squeezing your thighs together.

You start to bob your head up and down, taking him a little deeper each time. He becomes impossibly harder in your mouth. A large hand gently cups the side of your head and pulls you off of him. The way you whine in protest makes Eddie chuckle darkly.

“Sorry, baby,” he says. “Feels too damn good, though. Need you up here.”

He helps you to your feet and shed the rest of your clothes. Eddie shuffles back towards the pillows, eyes taking in your every movement as you crawl up towards him. When he moves to sit up, you put your hand on his shoulder and push him back down.

“You just lay there,” you coo, lifting one leg to straddle across his thighs. “Rest those old bones and let me take care of you.”

Eddie narrows his eyes, playfully glaring at you and the shit-eating grin on your face.

“Fine,” he challenges. Eddie raises his arms and laces his fingers together behind his head. “Get going.”

He doesn’t need to tell you twice. You line him up with your entrance and slowly lower yourself onto him. The two of you moan in tandem, the feeling of being united insanely pleasurable.

Once you’re fully seated on him, you start to rock your hips back and forth. Eddie squeezes his eyes shut and bites at his bottom lip. His fingers dig at the back of his head, digging into his scalp to keep from caving and grabbing ahold of your body.

Sensing his resolve breaking, you rest your hands on his chest and lean in to speak softly.

“What do you think, Eddie?” you croon. “Want to get me nice and knocked up on your birthday?”

“Shit.”

Your words snap the last bit of restraint he was holding onto and his hands fly to your hips, helping your body move against his.

“Come on, handsome,” you continue through labored breaths, “fill me up with your cum.”

“Jesus Christ.” Eddie huffs a laugh and tilts his head up, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m fucking forty now, I should be able to last longer than this.”

“You forget I know how to push your buttons.”

“Mm?” Eddie looks back down at you, raising an eyebrow as you bounce on his cock. “You mean like this?”

A ringed hand slides between your body and rubs quick circles over your clit.

“Fuck!” You bite down on your lip, attempting to keep your voice low.

“Let’s go, princess. Want you to come with me.”

Unable to respond in any articulate way, you nod your head and hum incoherently. With one hard flick against your clit, the coil in you snaps. Your head falls forward, your jaw hanging open as your high washes over you. The way you clench around Eddie has him following right behind you, the two of you rutting against one another as you ride out your orgasms.

“Holy shit,” Eddie groans as both of your bodies begin to come down.

Suddenly boneless, you flop down against Eddie’s chest and he instinctively wraps an arm around you. He presses a kiss to the top of your head and lets his heavy eyes close.

“I love you so fucking much,” you mumble against his chest, slightly sticky with sweat.

Eddie breathes a chuckle and rubs his hand up and down your back.

“How are you so perfect?” he asks.

Now it’s your turn to laugh.

“I’m going to remind you that you said that next time you get all grumpy over me making fun of your age.”

Before you have time to process his movements, Eddie grips your waist and flips the two of you, smirking down at you as he settles his weight against your body.

“I’ll just have to keep proving how well I can fuck you then,” he says.

You raise your eyebrows at him.

“Is that supposed to discourage me?”

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Hi! I would love to request something for Aemond x fem or gn reader. I was thinking reader saying prompt. 15 from your general list “I fell in love with you. Not for how you look, just for who you are. Although you look pretty great too."

Maybe one day he wakes up with bad pain in the eye and he doesn’t feel like calling the maester so they help him, they remove his eyepatch and apply his ointment for him. And he feels extremely insecure because it’s the first they saw him without the eyepatch but they reassure him. I need that man to cry in my arms as I tell him he’s beautiful (I know it may sound ooc but he’s my babygirl)

15. ''I fell in love with you. Not for how you look, just for who you are. Although you look pretty great too.''

The gif from the trailer fits perfectly this request

Warnings: mention of past injuries (eye)

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

You returned to your chambers after spending the morning embroidering with Helaena to find Aemond still in bed. A frown drew between your eyebrows. At this hour, he was either training with Ser Criston or attending the small council meeting.

‘’Aemond?’’ Your soft voice cut through the silence of the room, waking your husband’s attention.

He shifted under the covers, his single eye fluttering open. ‘’Could you tell Cole I will not be training with him today?’’

You walked over to the bed, taking a closer look at him. ‘’Are you well?’’ You touched his forehead with the back of your hand, checking for a fever.

‘’It’s just…my eye. It gets irritated sometimes.’’ Aemond avoided your gaze, not wanting to see the familiar look of pity that he had grown all too used to seeing in the eyes of others. ‘’Would you want me to fetch the maester? He should have something to sooth your pain,’’ you offered, concern etched on your face.

‘’No need for the maester.’’ He gently caught your hand in his own, stopping you from rising. ‘’I already have a salve Maester Orwyle gave to me. It’s on the table, over there.’’

Aemond let go of your hand, allowing you to stand and retrieve the salve for his eye. You returned to the bed. ‘’I’ll do it for you.’’

You had offered your help out of pure kindness, but Aemond did not want it.

‘’No! I do not wish that.’’ His voice was firm, causing your hands to crisp around the jar. ‘’You won’t like what you see under,’’ he added with a gentler tone.

He knew what lay beneath the eyepatch — the grotesque, scarred skin that he had lived with for years now. It was a sight he preferred to keep hidden from everyone, even you. Especially you. Since you’ve known each other, you’ve only seen his good looks, and Aemond wanted to keep it that way.

Aemond let out a soft hiss of pain as he sat up, his body tense with discomfort. It had not been this bad in a long time.

Seeing him in pain made your heart ache, but you tried to hide it.

You sat down close to him and guided him back against the pillows. He clenched his jaw, trying to bear the pain.

‘’Let me,’’ you insisted, only wanting to help him, to relieve his pain.

His good eye was fixed on yours with a mixture of resignation and reluctance. He knew there was no arguing with you when you were like this.

With a resigned sigh, he slowly removed the eyepatch, revealing the scarred skin beneath. The sight was a stark contrast to his usual handsome features, with its puckered and uneven texture. He averted his gaze, unable to look at you directly.

Aemond waited for your response, his body tense, and braced for your reaction. He expected disgust, pity, perhaps even revulsion. After all, his scarred eye had left other people speechless in the past. He glanced up at you under his lashes, searching your face for any hint of how you were feeling.

You remained silent as you applied the salve on the reddish-pink skin with the more careful and gentle touch. Causing him more pain was the last thing you wanted.

Aemond couldn't help but watch you intently, studying the focused expression on your face. Your eyes were fixed on his scar, but there was no repugnance in your gaze, just a mixture of concern and tenderness.

Once you were finished, you put the lid back on the jar and cupped your husband’s face with one hand. ‘’Aemond,’’ you began, looking at him with the most loving eyes. ‘’I fell in love with you. Not for how you look, just for who you are.’’ You glanced down at his naked chest, seeing the softly defined muscles he acquired from training, and back to his face. ‘’Although you look pretty great too.’’

Aemond's heart squeezed at your words and the tenderness in your gaze. He had expected a lot of things from you, but not this. Not such unconditional acceptance and love.

"You're the only person who's ever looked at me like this," he murmured, his voice hoarse with emotion.

‘’Come here.’’ You shifted back on the bed and guided him to your lap.

Aemond didn’t protest, curling up to you, seeking comfort and closeness. You began to stroke his hair gently, running your fingers through the soft silver strands. The sensation was soothing and intimate, making him feel safe and entirely loved for the first time.

—

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[loves0phelia]

Please write about Rafe who believes in love and a reader who doesn't! I love your first fic btw

Love

Summery: the request

Words: 1k

Warnings: small injury, grammar mistakes (feel free to correct me)

A/N: thank you so much for this request! xxx

Ever since you and Rafe met, he has been head over heels for you. He would follow you around like a lost puppy, he would get you anything you could possibly want, and always make sure you were okay.

In a way you loved how much he cared, but sometimes the feelings he left you with, made you confused.

In your head love was nothing but a useless feeling. The lovey dovey movies were fake and unrealistic, the people holding hands or kissing in the streets were disgusting and anyone who tried to prove you wrong was definitely not sane.

So why was Rafe Cameron making you feel this way? 

“Good morning pretty, got you your favorite like always” He says the second you open the door to his black pick up truck, and hand you the chocolate chips cookie from that bakery you adore.

“How many times do I have to tell you that you don't have to get me something every time?” Even though you wish you kept your lips in a straight line, a small smile took place on your lips.

“But if i stop bringing you snacks how else will i see this pretty smile of yours?” immediately your cheeks became red, so you turned your head to look out the passenger window as he finally started driving away.

After what felt like hours, you got the courage to speak up and asked him where he was taking you.

“Well I figured you wouldn't like the movies because you claim its “too romantic” so I decided on going up to the hill with some food and a book, we could spend the afternoon together until sunset. Also I brought my laptop in case you changed your mind about rom coms…” he uttered the last words anticipating your reaction to them.

“Are you serious? that's like the most rom com thing ever!” you threw your hands above your head and looked at him in disbelief.

“Come on Y/n just give it a shot please” you looked at him with a glare not breaking against his attempt at begging.

“for me?” your fake anger vanished the second the words left his mouth. His soft blue eyes and pouty lips had you in a choke hold. You could never refuse him even if you tried.

“fine” Rafe shouts in victory before grabbing your hand and shaking it while still holding the steering wheel.

“You're not going to regret it baby, i swear” his happiness calmed and now you could only hear the soft music playing on the radio and the harsh sound of his engine. 

What you hadn't noticed though was how his hand was still holding yours on top of your thigh for the rest of the ride. 

When the car finally came to a stop, Rafe jumped out and rushed to your side to open your door. While holding the small bag with the cookie you haven't eaten yet in your left hand your right one grabbed his so he could help you climb out. This gesture was almost too familiar now.

You stood a few feet away as he grabbed the cooler filled to the brim with various beverages and snacks. Your breath hitch when you noticed his arms flex beneath his gray shirt. 

“You ready?” you snapped your eyes away from his muscles as fast as light and quickly nodded, unable to speak any word.

In silence you both climbed the small trail up to the hill. While you could've been watching the blooming flowers, your mind was on rafe, you were daydreaming not paying attention to anything.

“shit” were your last words before tripping over a small branch on your path. your exclamation immediately made Rafe turn on his heels, he dropped the cooler to the ground and ran to you, examining the damage.

“im fine Rafe i just wasn't paying attention” you tried to comfort him but his gaze was fixated on the small cuts over one of your knees.

“Do you want to go back? we can do this another day” he asked concerned and almost already getting ready to turn back the way you came from.

“No rafe. Really I'm ok it's just a small scrap and I don't want our day to be ruined because of me” you almost pleaded.

“Are you sure you can walk? cause i can carry you” he suggested.

“don't be ridiculous, you're already carrying all that” you laughed and optimistically went back on the way.

the entire pathRafe and a small furrow in his brown and he stayed close to you in case of another accident, he was ready to catch you,

When you two were finally settled on a blanket led on top of the grass he began unpacking.

“So a movie or a book? also I'm warning you, if you choose a book you need to read to me.” he smiled innocently.

“book please” you answered shyly before taking the book from his hand. instantly rafe led his head on top of your lap and snuggled while grinning, knowing what he was doing,

but surprisingly you did not comment, nor move away, you stayed like that even when you began to read the words out loud.

he was so peaceful he almost looked asleep but the soft and smooth movement of his thumb over your small injury proved you he was definitely awake.

“Whats up” your brows furrowed wondering why he was asking. 

“you stopped reading.” You hadn't even realized you had stopped and you definitely didn't realize he was looking up at you, admiring you for almost 2 minutes before saying something.

“i was just thinking how much i appreciate this,i never realized before now how much i enjoyed it” 

“yea?” He sat up with the brightest smile.

“mhm” you hummed and you felt like a magnet was pulling you to him so without a thought you crashed your lips on his.

he made a noise of surprise before rapidly returning the gesture while sliding his fingers in your hair and holding you to him.

passionately you and Rafe kissed until you couldn't breath and that's how you realized love was actually the best thing to ever feel.

[starlightkun]

➺ teaser word count: 1421 | full fic: 9.4k ➺ genre & warnings: sci-fi, near future, fluff, falling in love without seeing each other, minor hurt/comfort, coworkers au (but in space), space traffic controllers; brief blood/injury mention ➺ synopsis: in which you go to your job as a space traffic controller every day looking forward to your shifts with one specific coworker who you might be falling head over heels for. and sure, you don't know quebec's real name, nor what he looks like, but you two talk for hours a day between guiding landings and take-offs, and you know him better than anyone else. you’re perfectly happy, until his end of the comms falls silent one day and won’t reconnect ➺ extra info: i highly recommend being aware of the existence of the icao alphabet so ur not thrown for a complete loop by ppl’s nicknames in here lol. u don’t need it memorized but i swear i didn’t pull these words out of thin air ok. also, in american aviation, the number 9 is pronounced niner, ur not going crazy and neither am i ➺ estimated release: saturday, february 1, 2025 3:00 p.m. eastern time

The days all tended to blur together on the space station if you weren’t careful. Time was pretty meaningless in the middle of nowhere with no seasons or daylight to give your body cues. STCs mostly relied on shifts and tower cycles as units of time—the duration of a shift, and how long you were assigned to one tower before you moved to the opposite side of the station.

You were back on shift with Quebec, and so far, it had been a busy one. You’d barely had time to breathe between arrivals and departures, much less chitchat. Finally, during what seemed to be a lull, you pulled out your bag of food from your bag.

“Alright, that’s it,” you huffed. “I’m eating dinner.”

“What do you have tonight?” He asked.

“Didn’t have time to run to the convenience store today so it’s just some snacks and stuff I had in my room. Might have to make a vending machine run, sorry.”

“Look in the minifridge.”

“What? Did you rig it to explode?” You pushed your rolling chair back to grab the edge of the fridge, pulling the door open to peer inside.

“You’ll just have to find out.”

A plastic container greeted you, and you grabbed it, already spotting something green inside. Setting it and your mic back down on your desk, you took the lid off with a pop, eyes bugging out of your head as you looked at the green and white cubes. The color and shine alone told you that these weren’t grown in an ag-bubble, these were imported straight from Earth.

“Quebec…” You breathed out in awe. “You did not.”

“You can’t justify spending that much on something you’re going to digest, but I can,” he replied kindly. “Go ahead, eat. Happy one year at the station.”

“I didn’t even remember that was today,” you admitted.

You grabbed a cube between your fingers, not bothering to find utensils. The best part was licking your fingers after, in your opinion. The fruit was juicy and sweet, no bitterness from the rind at all, and so much more flavor than ag-bubble fruit could ever develop. You felt tears well up in your eyes, embarrassingly.

“God, it’s so good. Thank you,” you mumbled through your half-eaten honeydew. “I wish I could share it with you right now.”

“No, don’t worry about me,” he said, and you heard a faint pop of another plastic lid opening on his end of the line. “They were selling it by weight. I had them send some to your tower and some to mine.”

You smiled at the tower across the landing dock. “We are sharing it right now.”

“Yeah, we are.”

“Have you ever been on a picnic, Bec? Like, a real one, outside on a blanket with a picnic basket on the grass with fresh air and food and your friends and family?”

“Once, when I was really little. I don’t remember much about it. My mom showed me a picture,” he mused. “Have you, Zu?”

“No, never. I was born on a mining colony. Never breathed fresh air in my life, or been to Earth. Always been in ships, stations like this, or firmaments.” Firmaments—man-made structures on the surface of planets whose conditions were not naturally habitable for humans. Within the firmaments, the air quality, pressure, temperature, and planet’s surface could be regulated in order to allow for human survival. The actual mining typically happening outside of the firmaments, however, and that was only one reason that it was so dangerous—and lucrative.

“What about your parents?”

“They weren’t born on Earth either, never saw the big deal about going to visit.” You shrugged, popping another piece of melon in your mouth. “What about you?”

“My parents were born on Earth. They wanted me to be born there too, but I came a little early while they were on a trip to a nearby resort planet. The closest hospital was on its moon…”

“Did you grow up on Earth then?”

“Visited after I was born, went back and forth for a good bit of my childhood, but my parents just liked traveling too much to stay in one place.”

“My family moved around a lot too. Mining pays good, but you have to move with the materials. There’s always some hot new mineral in vogue that’s paying more than the last thing everyone wanted. You never want to stick around until a mine dries up.”

“How long does that take? Like, how much did you move around?”

“Depends. Sometimes we were there for a few weeks or months, sometimes years.”

Quebec was quiet for a moment, and you took the opportunity to eat two more pieces of honeydew. Then, he said, “Zulu?”

“Yeah?”

“Why did you take this job? All the way out here?”

“I didn’t want to work in the mines with my parents my whole life. Saw the opening and figured I might as well give it a go,” you answered simply. “What about you?”

“Kind of similar. More desperate, I think,” he admitted. “I was in med school, actually, and I was absolutely miserable. Just at rock fucking bottom. I told my parents I was going to quit and they said I couldn’t unless I either enrolled in law school, or got a job. This was the first one I found.”

You blinked, watching the dark dot in the window across from you. “Wow. I don’t think you’ve ever told me that.”

“Haven’t talked to anybody about it since coming here.”

“Why’d you ask me that then? You had to have figured I would’ve turned the question back on you.”

“I… don’t think I knew I was going to tell you that until I said it.”

“You know you can always talk about whatever with me, Bec.”

“I know,” he replied warmly. “Same for you. I’m all ears.”

“So you quit med school, took the first job you could find and just happened to find something you liked doing?”

“No,” he chuckled. “I did not take to being an STC at all initially. I wanted to quit after my first week. I was on this stupid station in the middle of nowhere starting all over again at a job that paid considerably less than the surgeon I was supposed to be. I was miserable, and lost, and kept thinking that they were right and I should just put my head down and be a doctor or a lawyer or whatever. It felt like I could’ve disappeared from the universe and nobody would notice.” He sighed, and you felt your heart twist in your chest. “Then during my second week, another new STC started, and we ended up on a shift together. And you said—there’s no way you remember this, Zulu, it’s so… but—What do you remember about that shift?”

You rifled through your memories desperately for something, anything specific, but came up empty. “Not much, I mean, it was like my second one, I think. So I was still pretty nervous about doing everything right, and I remember meeting you, but I don’t think we even talked much outside of small talk, right?”

“That’s great. I mean it, I love that you’re just like this, that you weren’t trying to do it,” he laughed with his whole chest, and you smiled fondly, not feeling like he was laughing at you at all. “Anyway, it was pretty dead that shift, and in one of the quiet times, you got on the mic and you told me to look outside. I thought there was a ship or something going on. But then you said, ‘I’ve never seen these stars before.’ Which made me realize I hadn’t even looked at the stars since arriving at the station. At the end of the shift, you said, ‘Talk to you next time, Quebec.’ And I decided ‘sure, I’ll stick around until next time, see what else she’ll say.’” His words made you snicker softly, and he continued, “And then you just kept saying these little, interesting things, or things that made me smile for the first time in years, or you’d ask questions and let me talk about whatever I wanted… I kept putting off quitting until I wasn’t half-bad at being an STC and didn’t hate living at the station anymore.”

“Bec…” You murmured, fidgeting with the wire of your headset. “Do—”

A dot popped up on your monitor then, and Quebec said, “Ah, there’s the ambassador.”

⤷ masterlist

TEASER TAGLIST

@annenakamura @bee-the-loser @lotties-readings @ppddpjdr @reiofsuns2001 @snowyseungs @tearinka @yoursyuno @yutasputa69 @winkeuu

[bucky-fricking-barnes]

Someplace Like Home

Title: Someplace Like Home

Pairing: Nomad!Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 8.3k

Warnings: Canonical violence, minor injuries, minor blood, non-descriptive mentions of hospitals, mild language

Summary: Y/N owns a hostel in Croatia. When the very handsome Grant comes to work for her, she falls hard and fast for the new handyman.

A/N: This story takes place between Civil War and Infinity War, when Steve is on the run. There are a handful Croatian phrases/words used, which are translated at the end of this fic. Don’t ask me why all my Steve stories suddenly have foreign languages in them. As always, thanks for reading and supporting my writing in all the ways you do. Enjoy!

Dividers are by @firefly-graphics

Your morning starts off slow, like it always does, and after the handful of guests have finished breakfast and left to spend the rest of the day at the beach or in the mountains, you settle yourself behind the front counter and pull out your laptop. The dirty dishes can wait until later—Ana will be here in an hour, and she prefers doing the dishes over going over the books, so you have an unspoken deal that you’ll do the bookkeeping if she cleans up after meals.

You’re just opening up the software on your laptop when the front door opens. The bell above it jingles as a man steps in, bringing with him a warm gust of air. June has been unseasonably cool, but today is the warmest it’s been in weeks. You’ve kept most of the windows open all morning, even though it was still a bit chilly.

“Dobro jutro,” you greet. You carefully shift the laptop off to the side a few inches, being careful not to mess up the carefully arranged papers you’ve sorted out on the counter.

“Kako vam mogu pomoći?”

The man has a gray hiking backpack slung over his shoulder. He’s tall and blond, a dark blond that looks golden in the light from the outside but brown in the shadows. His thick beard and mustache are well-trimmed. You automatically open up the leatherbound reservation book and reach underneath the counter for a key. 

“Dobro jutro. Uh, govorite li engleski?” asks the man. He smiles politely, and you smile back, nodding.

“Of course,” you answer. “How can I help you?”

His eyes move to the pen in your hand, already poised over the next open spot in the reservation book. “I’m not here for a room. I’m here about the opening for a handyman.”

Surprised, you close the book again and tuck it back under the counter where it belongs, along with the key you’d grabbed. No one has come about the open position since you’d posted it months ago in the local cafe. Not even a sign outside the hostel has helped.

“In that case, my name’s Y/N. I’m the owner here.”

“Grant,” he replies, his hand already held out for you to shake.

You oblige with another smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Grant. Can I ask how you found out about the position? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around town.”

He nods once. “I just moved here from Italy, and from Switzerland before that.”

“So you’re making your way through Europe, then?” you ask. You’re not entirely surprised—he looks rugged enough that he could handle a long backpacking trip or several months of solo travel, unlike some of the college students you normally have traipsing through your village.

“In a way,” he answers. “Truthfully, I’d like to settle down someplace, but it’s been a rough few years. I haven’t quite found the place that feels like home yet.”

Secretly, as you listen to him explain the various European cities in which he’s lived, you wish that he’ll come to feel at home here. Brdonik isn’t large enough to be on any maps, but it’s been your home for almost a decade now, and you can’t imagine a better place. The whole community bands together, and people look out for each other. There’s enough tourism from backpackers and small cruises that you’re not totally isolated, but you’re still far enough removed that your daily life isn’t saturated with commercialism and the big city nonsense you often hear about through your guests. You’d experienced it enough before coming to Croatia, and you don’t ever plan on going back to the life you’d had before you moved.

“To answer your question,”—Grant’s gentle continuation pulls you from your thoughts—“I saw a flier posted in the cafe down the street. I stopped there for lunch.”

“What did you order?” you ask. You prop an elbow up on the counter and level him with your gaze.

“Is that important?

“If you want this job it is. You can tell a lot about a person based on what they order at a restaurant.”

He smiles a little. “I got the turkey sandwich.”

You consider his choice for a moment before giving him a nod. “Simple, but respectable. A clear tourist choice, but I like it.”

“You can’t go wrong with a turkey sandwich,” he adds.

“It’s a classic!” You smile back at him and then come around the counter into the main part of the lobby. You grab your clipboard from its hook on the wall.

“Let me give you a tour,” you tell him. “I’ll point out some of the things that need fixing, and then you can tell me if you still think you’re a good fit.”

Grant agrees, and he walks beside you as you lead him through the hostel. You show him the currently unoccupied rooms, as well as the common areas, and you give him plenty of time to inspect the stalled projects and major fixes that he’d been in charge of. While he looks around, you watch him carefully. There’s something familiar about him, something you can’t quite put your finger on, but he doesn’t set off any alarm bells in your head like some of the previous candidates had. He’s respectful of the property and the few lingering guests you come across, and Grant is polite enough to open doors for you as you approach them. He speaks softly and clearly, and his sense of humor is well-timed. Somehow, despite his hulking frame and obvious strength, you feel safe around him.

Eventually, you lead him to your office. Grant takes the seat in front of your desk and you close the door behind him, then sit behind your desk and pull a pad of paper from the drawer. He’s almost too big for the chair you normally reserve for college-age backpackers looking for a few days of housekeeping work. He’s relaxed, though, and he rests both arms on the thin wooden armrests as you get out what you need. You sneak a glance at him as you sit upright again. His eyes move slowly and carefully over the framed photos and documents on the wall, taking in each one of them individually before he moves onto the next—your college diploma from NYU, a photo of you with your family the last time they came to visit, a certificate of operation from the local government. His backpack is leaning up against the front leg of the chair and his left leg, and you briefly wonder how he’s afforded to travel so much. The bag looks brand new, and high-tech, too. Is he a tech mogul of some kind? A grown-up trust fund kid? Did he steal it, or is he just really good with money?

“You’ll have to excuse me, I don’t have any questions prepared for you,” you tell him as you reach for a pen.

He nods and looks back at you. “You weren’t expecting me to walk in today, I understand.”

“Either way, I have to say that so far, I’m very impressed with you.” You glance up again and give him a polite smile, then look back down as you write his name and the date at the top of the page. “What did you say your last name was again?”

“Carter,” he says.

Nodding, you add that at the top and make your first bullet point.

“Grant Carter. Are you named after someone? That seems a pretty traditional name for a guy your age.” You immediately cringe at the question. “I’m sorry, that was inappropriate. You don’t have to answer that.”

Chuckling, Grant shakes his head. “No, it’s alright. My mother was a big fan of Ulysses S. Grant.”

“The 18th president?” you ask, grinning wide.

He nods and lets out another small laugh. “That’s the one.”

“He’s not normally up there on peoples’ lists of favorite presidents.”

“She had her reasons, I guess,” Grant shrugs.

You hum a little with a smile and look back down at your almost empty legal pad. You have a million questions that you want to ask, and more that you know you should, but you allow yourself to think for a moment before you look up again. Whatever you ask has to be the right mix of the two.

“You’ve lived in a lot of really impressive places,” you begin, and Grant nods in confirmation. “Why come here? There are plenty of larger cities with more job openings. Better paying job openings,” you add.

“You sell yourself short,” Grant easily replies. He sits forward a little, his elbows sliding closer to the ends of the armrests. “Your town is beautiful. It’s comfortable, and a bit secluded. I’m looking for something quieter.”

“A lot of people are, but we’re not often what they want in the long run. How long are you planning on staying?”

Grant stares at you for a long moment before he replies, “Until I’m needed elsewhere.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s a bit cryptic, so I hope you don’t mind if I ask for a clearer answer.”

“I plan on staying indefinitely, but if it changes, I promise you’ll be the first to know.”

Not quite satisfied with his answer, you still scribble down the response and make a second point on the next line down.

“Do you have handyman experience?”

Grant shakes his head. “But I’m a quick learner and I’m stronger than I look. Whatever I don’t already know how to do, I’ll pick it up quickly if I can get the information from someone or somewhere.”

I highly doubt you’re stronger than you look, you think, forcing yourself to look down at the paper and write, rather than at him. You already look pretty damn strong.

“Do you have a previous employer I can contact? Or references?”

“I can have that information to you by the end of the day.”

You nod and keep writing, and you don’t look up as you say, “We don’t typically provide housing for employees, as we’re a small enough village that commute isn’t an issue, but given that you’re new to town, I’m going to assume that you don’t have a place to stay yet.”

“No ma’am, I don’t.”

“I can get you set up in a room here, if that’s alright with you. I won’t expect you to work outside of normal business hours, except in an emergency, but that’s the same even if you lived off-property,” you tell him, looking up. You don’t lift your pen, and it’s a little satisfying to see that Grant looks mildly surprised. He doesn’t seem like the kind of person who could be surprised by anything.

“You’re hiring me?” he asks.

“Should I not?”

He quickly recovers and shakes his head, giving you a small smile. “I was just surprised that you’re not waiting until after you’ve seen my references.”

“Are you a horrible person?”

“I don’t think so, no.

“Are you a terrible employee?” you ask, putting your pen down on the desk.

“I’m loyal to a fault.”

“Should I be concerned about criminal activity?”

Grant laughs. “I’m a model citizen, though I did steal a piece of cake when I was a kid.”

“I’ll be sure to inform the local authorities,” you tease, grinning. You slide the notepad onto your desk and stand, holding out your hand for him to shake. Grant obliges. “You’re hired, Mr. Carter. If you’re ready, I’ll show you to your room so you can get settled in before your first day tomorrow.”

“I’d like that, thank you,” he replies.

“I won’t take the room out of your salary unless it prevents us from taking guests, but I don’t see that becoming an issue, except maybe in mid-July,” you tell him as you move around the desk to the door. “The handyman position pays 800 euros a month. You’ll be paid bi-weekly in check or cash, whichever your preference. We don’t have direct deposit here. If you need an account in town, there’s a bank down the road.”

“Cash is fine,” he says. He picks up his bag and swings it over his shoulder before following you back out into the hallway, then out to the lobby. You make a pit stop at the front desk to grab a key before heading up the main staircase.

The private, single person rooms on the third floor are a little older, and you briefly worry as you climb the stairs if the beds will be able to hold Grant’s weight. You don’t use them as often now that you’ve finished transforming the old hotel into a hostel. There’s a thin coating of dust on the handrail and you make a mental note to give this floor a thorough cleaning tomorrow while he’s occupied, that way you won’t be intruding. 

You lead Grant to the end of the hall, where the rooms are slightly larger and the windows overlook the ocean. While the view is great, most of your summer guests only fill the dorm-style rooms, so you’re fairly certain you won’t be missing out on any profit by giving him this room.

“Here we are,” you say, and you open the door before stepping aside so he can enter first.

Grant ducks through the doorway and flips the light switch, then looks around in silence. You wait in the hallway, holding your breath as he makes his inspection.

“This is nice,” he finally says, looking back at you. He drops his bag at the foot of the bed. “You’re sure it’s alright if I stay here?”

You wave one hand dismissively. “It’s fine.”

Your phone chimes in your back pocket and you pull it out, quickly reading the notification. It’s only mildly urgent, but you can feel Grant trying to look occupied as he waits for you to leave, so you look up and gesture back towards the stairs with your phone. 

“I’ve gotta take care of something, but you’re in luck. Every Thursday night we host a group dinner for the guests. The food is all cooked by a chef from a local restaurant in an attempt to promote the local cuisine, so you’re welcome to join us, or I can recommend some other restaurants in the area, if you want to explore a little bit more. We eat at seven.”

Nodding, Grant smiles and crosses the room to pull the key from where you’d left it in the lock. “I’ll see you at seven. It was nice to meet you, Y/N.”

“You too, Grant. Welcome aboard!” You smile once more, then turn and head back down the hall. His door closes as you reach the top of the stairs, and suddenly, you can’t wait for dinnertime.

You occupy yourself for the majority of the day by compiling a list of projects for Grant, as well as contacting the references he sends you using the email address on the hostel’s website. He gets glowing reviews from each and every person on the list, though they all seem a little confused when you first ask about him. 

Grant comes down to the first floor at five minutes to seven, and you’re just greeting the first small group of guests to arrive back from their excursions when he steps down from the bottom step. You glance over and give him a quick, acknowledging smile before turning back to the guests.

“Dobor dan! How was your time at the beach?” you ask. They reply politely in a mix of English and their own native language. You vaguely recognize it as French. You’re about to tell them in English about the dinner schedule, hoping that they’ll understand at least partially, but Grant begins talking in rapid-fire French before you even open your mouth.

It takes everything in you to keep your jaw from dropping straight through the floor. None of Grant’s references had mentioned he was bilingual, and neither did he. It feels like it should’ve been obvious, however, given that every single person he’d talked to had mentioned his incredible intelligence and ability to pick up skills quicker than anybody they knew.

Still, you watch in stunned silence from behind the front desk and Grant chatters with the guests. He leads them from the lobby and into the adjoining sitting area, where you hear them sit down and continue to talk. Someone laughs, and then Grant does, too. It’s a deep, mellow baritone, and you catch yourself grinning before you manage to stifle it.

When the next group of guests walk in, you guide them into the sitting room with the others. Grant catches your eye as you turn the corner, and when he smiles, you swear that your heart stutters in your chest.

He’s your employee, you chide yourself, and you turn your back on the group on the premise of prepping a plate of cookies for the coffee table.

“Dinner should be ready soon,” you say as you set the plate in the center of the group. Grant translates for you, first in French, and then in a language that sounds almost Spanish, but you know enough of that to know that it’s something different. All the guests nod in agreement.

You settle against one of the heavy wood bookshelves and watch quietly as Grant chats with the guests, switching fluidly between languages whenever he turns to a new person. It’s amazing, so you simply stay silent as you listen to the flurry of foreign words in the sitting room. You’ve never heard the pre-dinner conversation so lively. It brings a new warmth to the hostel, and you can’t help but smile as you watch the guests come alive, even though they’re exhausted.

“Dinner is ready!” Ana calls. She pokes her head in the door, and she smiles wide when she sees the guests talking excitedly. Every seat is taken. When she turns to look at you, you only grin.

“What’s going on?” she asks, stepping closer so she can lower her voice. “Who is that?”

You lean in, whispering, “His name is Grant. He’s the new handyman, and apparently, he speaks multiple languages.”

“Apparently?”

“I didn’t know when I hired him! This,” you gesture with one hand towards the circle of guests, who have started to rise now that Grant has passed along the message about dinner, “was a surprise to me, too. He just started talking to them on his own. I didn’t ask him to do anything.”

Ana raises her eyebrows, giving you a meaningful look. Before you can scold her for trying to meddle in your love life, she slips away and Grant appears at your side.

“Who is that?” he asks.

Goosebumps erupt on your arms at the sound of his deep voice so close to your ear. He’s leaned down so you can hear him clearly, and though he’s not quite in your space, he’s still close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him. It should feel stifling in the early summer heat, but it’s comforting, and you turn towards him with a bright smile.

“Ana. She’s the manager when I’m not here. I’ll introduce you later. How come you never told me you spoke all those languages?” you ask.

Grant just smiles back at you. “You never asked.”

“I’ll make sure to add that to my list of questions for the next time I have to hire someone.” You gesture at the line of guests filtering through the doorway to the hostel’s dining room. “We should eat. Most of the guests have spent all day hiking or at the beach, and they’ll be hungry. Our local chefs are all amazing, so the food always goes quickly.”

“What’s on the menu?” Grant asks. He starts to walk and you fall into step beside him, noting how he angles himself sideways and stoops through the doorway so that you’re not squashed into the doorframe. It’s a miracle he doesn’t hit his head on any of the lowered ceilings or hanging decor in the building.

I’ll have to warn him about the lights in the rooms on the second floor, you note.

“Punjene paprike. Stuffed peppers,” you translate. You pause and watch as the guests choose their seats, silently making sure there are enough chairs. When it’s clear you’ve done the math correctly, you look over at Grant. “How many languages do you speak?”

He shrugs and surveys the long table filled with food. People are already piling their plates high and chattering with their friends and family, and the room is filled with amicable noise. The sun coming in from the windows is golden. The windows face south, which is one of the many reasons why you’d first purchased the building. It needs a lot of work, and it always has, but the view of the ocean from the dining room windows, along with the way the sun illuminates the whole room, helps make all the work worth it.

“This place is beautiful,” says Grant, quietly. “You’ve done well.”

You look over at him, surprised at the praise. It warms you from the inside out, and you smile when he meets your eyes. “Thank you. I’ve worked hard.”

He nods, and after a moment, he gestures towards the table. There are two empty seats beside each other, near the far end of the room. Ana has taken the seat across from them and she’s already begun to eat.

You follow Grant across the dining room, and you try not to act surprised when he pulls out the chair and helps you sit before taking the spot beside yours. Ana catches your eye as you reach for a dish, but you look away. You can’t risk having her embarrass you in front of the guests.

Or Grant, the cheeky little voice in your brain adds, but you quickly push the thought to the far reaches of your brain. Showing your hand—and your burgeoning feelings for Grant—right now is something you need even less.

“So, you’re from New York?” he asks.

You look up from where you’re pulling a napkin into your lap. “What?”

“Your degree. It’s from NYU, so I’m assuming that you’re from the States.”

Nodding, you allow him to serve one of the peppers onto your plate, and you heap an extra serving of rice onto the side of your plate before handing him the bowl. You don’t want to assume he likes anything, especially since he ordered one of the most American things on the menu at the cafe.

“I am. I grew up in Manhattan, and I decided to stay there for college. Once I got my degree in hospitality, I decided it was time I see more of the world,” you tell him. 

“Why Croatia?” Grant asks.

You shrug and pick up your fork. “Honestly? I don’t know why. I didn’t even mean to come here. I ended up on the wrong train and decided to stick it out. I figured it would be a fun experience either way, but I fell in love with it here. On my second day here, I saw that this building was up for sale and I had just enough money in my savings to buy it. It was a big risk, but I think that it was worth it.”

He looks around the room, listening to the conversations for a few moments before he smiles. “I think so, too.”

“Where are you from?” you ask. “You’re clearly American.”

Grant laughs at that, nodding. “I grew up in Brooklyn. When I was old enough, I served in the army for a few years, and since then I’ve just been… traveling.”

The army thing makes sense, and you file that information away for later. The two of you start to eat, exchanging a few more words throughout the meal. Grant offers to help Ana with the dishes. She’s giddy at the proposal, so you let them head into the kitchen as you help guests arrange their plans for the next day. You find yourself straining to listen for the sound of his voice during the quiet moments, however, but by the time the dishes are finished, Grant tells you that he’s exhausted and he wants to get a good night’s rest before his first day on the job. You wish him goodnight from the front desk, then wait for Ana to appear and barrage you with a million questions about the new handyman.

You learn quickly that there’s even more to Grant than meets the eye. He’d been telling the truth in his interview—he’s deceptively strong, and he really does learn quicker than anyone you’ve ever met. His Croatian improves leaps and bounds in the first few months at the hostel. By the end of the summer, he’s practically fluent, even if he does bumble through some of the more complicated phrases with a faint blush on his cheeks.

The longstanding projects for the hostel are all completed by the end of August, leaving you scrambling to keep Grant busy. When you can’t find anything to do, however, he busies himself by exploring the far reaches of the island, speaking with the guests in a myriad of languages, and keeping you company in the lobby or in your office. His presence, which had once seemed much too large for the old brick building, has settled. He seems at home in the armchair you buy for the corner of your office, and he’s become a fixture in the doorway of the lobby, where he likes to stand and watch traffic pass by.

It’s on one of the hottest days of the year that you first get a glimpse behind Grant’s ever-friendly facade. You’re behind the desk, going through the reservations for the upcoming week, when there’s a shout from outside. The front door to the hostel is propped open in an attempt to let in a breeze, and Grant has taken up residence in his normal spot. You’ve only just processed the shout when there’s an explosion. The floor beneath you shakes and shudders, and you grip the edge of the desk in an attempt to keep upright.

Grant whirls around and fixes his eyes on you. He’s scanning you, up and down, searching for any sign of injury.

“Are you okay?” he asks. You nod, swallowing thickly, and peer over his shoulder. There’s no sign of what’s happened outside, but you can hear screaming and shouting. There’s a gunshot and you flinch.

“Stay here, and stay hidden,” says Grant, and you know in an instant that it’s an order. “Stay quiet and don’t let anyone in. Okay?”

Nodding again, you drop to a crouch, then curl up on the floor with your back against the desk. You clutch your phone in one hand and listen as Grant closes, then locks the door. When he doesn’t appear behind the desk, you crawl over to the side and look out into the small lobby. He’s gone.

Your arms shake beneath you and you have to fall back against the desk for support before you fall flat on your face. Squeezing your eyes shut, you listen to the commotion outside. There are no more explosions, but you hear more screams and shouts, followed by a crash and gunshots. Your heart pounds in your chest as the noise gets closer and closer. You know that Grant was in the army, so he must have military training, but the thought of him outside—the thought of him in danger—makes you want to puke.

There’s a thud against the front door and you flinch. Your body tenses and you curl up in the fetal position, trying to maintain your breathing. It doesn’t work, however, and when there’s another bang, you scream.

“Molim! Molim, let me in!”

You look around the edge of the desk again. It’s a woman on the other side, and the desperation in her voice propels you to your feet and into the lobby without a second thought. You twist the lock and yank open the door.

A slim woman dressed entirely in black grins at you. Her eyes are a shocking shade of electric blue and her teeth are bright white—a stark contrast against the mask that hides the rest of her features.

“Sorry, dragi,” she says, and you gasp when she reveals the gun in her left hand. With the other, she reaches out and grabs you. “You’re coming with me.”

“No!” You fight against the woman’s grip, and when you lift your eyes to search for help from someone else, you can’t believe what you’re seeing.

Grant is lifting a car off someone. He lifts the car and tosses it aside with a heave and a grunt, and then he’s fighting someone hand-to-hand. The man in black is clearly trained because he gets in a few hits, but Grant never stays down for long. He’s slowly forcing the man back down the street, towards the beach, instead of towards the line of shops that’s on the other side of the hostel.

There’s a blast as another explosive goes off, this time in a restaurant diagonal from your front door. Stone and rubble flies in every direction. The street is empty of people, thankfully, except for the people Grant is fighting. Somewhere down the street, a car alarm is going off, and the light from the harsh midday sun is almost blinding. Your ears are ringing from the blast and the alarm. You think you scream at some point, but you’re not sure.

The man that Grant has been fighting has been thrown back by the blast, but Grant is still standing, as if he’s anchored onto the pavement. There’s a metal car door in his hand. He’s gripping onto a piece of the leather interior, and the red painted finish on the outside has been battered by the flying debris. His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath.

The woman drags you out of the hostel and onto the street. She wraps her arm around your shoulders and places the gun against the side of your head. You stop struggling then, and your breath catches in your throat as your heart begins to pound even harder. Your vision is going blurry along the edges, but not enough to miss the way Grant’s jaw clenches when he catches sight of you.

“Captain Rogers!” the woman shouts.

He throws a second man off of him and turns fully towards you and the woman. “Let her go!”

In your ear, the woman chuckles. It’s low and dark, and full of malice, and you shiver. You close your eyes and pray that it’s all just a bad dream.

“Not until you come with us,” the woman replies.

“Leave her and the others out of this.”

When you open your eyes, Grant is looking past you at the woman. The light reflects in his deep blue eyes, and it’s then that you realize what he’s been hiding from you.

How did I miss it before?

“Steve Rogers,” you choke.

He looks at you again. “Y/N…”

“You’re Steve Rogers.”

There’s a pause as he watches you with clear regret, and then the woman laughs, shocking you out of your revelation.

“How precious!” she exclaims. “Your little boss had no clue who you were?”

“Let. Her. Go.” Steve takes a step forward and the woman’s grip on you tightens. You can’t stop the whimper that escapes you when she pushes the gun harder against your head, making you crane your neck to one side.

Two new men in black come up behind Steve. He turns his head slightly, listening to their approach, but he doesn’t move. You can tell that he’s calculating what to do next.

There’s a moment of clarity as you watch them launch themselves at him. Steve fights like he was born for it—and maybe he was, you rationalize—and as he easily overcomes them both, you have a revelation that’s nothing short of a rock at the pit of your stomach.

Steve has to get out of this alive. So many people count on him, and they always have. Though you know that there are a lot of people all over the world who consider him a criminal, you also know that there are a lot of people just like you that think Steve deserves a place of honor for all that he’s done and all the sacrifices he’s made.

The safety on the woman’s gun clicks off and Steve freezes. The two men take advantage of that, and they grab his arms, pulling them tightly behind his back and pushing him to his knees. He falls with a grunt. One of the men grabs a fistful of his hair and yanks his head back until he’s looking at you and the woman from his place on the ground. He doesn’t fight back.

“Steve,” you plead. “You have to fight. You can’t let them take you.”

“I’m not leaving you,” he replies. He shifts his gaze to the woman without moving his head. “If I go with you, you’ll let her go?”

“You have my word.”

Heat swells in your eyes and you know that you’re about to cry. “No! Don’t trust her, Steve! You can’t believe her!”

The woman jostles you and you close your eyes on instinct. A tear slips down your cheek.

“Shut up,” she growls. 

You swallow thickly. At your sides, your hands and fingers have gone numb, and your legs are barely holding you upright. 

“Alright,” Steve agrees. “I’ll go with you.”

A sob bursts through and the woman releases you. She practically throws you to the ground, and you have just enough time to get your arms out in front of you before you hit the road. Pain shoots up both limbs and the pavement digs into your forearms. From where you lay, you watch the men pull Steve to his feet. He moves with them and doesn’t fight back as they drag him to a black cargo van on the perimeter of the blast zone.

“Steve!” you scream. Your voice breaks and your throat feels raw as you push yourself up and stumble in their direction. The movement sends pins and needles into your hands and feet, but you do it anyway. Your limbs feel completely out of your control as you attempt to go after them.

Steve looks back at you. He’s too far now for you to make out his expression, but you can see that he’s trying to tell you something. The man on his right shoves his shoulder and he’s forced into the van. 

“Let him go! Steve!” You start to sprint, running after the van as the back door slides shut and the woman, who climbed into the driver’s seat while you were getting to your feet, begins to navigate it through the rubble from the explosions. The tinted windows keep you from seeing Steve inside and your mind immediately goes to the worst.

“Someone help me! Stop that van!”

You run until you physically can’t. The van is long gone, and when you collapse onto the street, a crowd gathers around you. People are murmuring and asking you questions. There are too many hands, too many faces, even if many of them are familiar. Your vision swims as you’re rolled onto your back. The summer sun beats down on you harder, and you try to focus, but all you can manage is a mumble of Steve’s name before you lose consciousness on the pavement.

When you wake, the soft beeping noise is enough to tell you that you’re in a hospital. You open your eyes, expecting to be greeted by white walls and bedding, and maybe a wall of cabinets with a sink. Instead, there’s a slanted wall of glass windows, each separated by a pillar of concrete. Thin, almost invisible computer screens with golden text are scattered around your room, each displaying charts, figures, and data in a language you can’t read. Some are embedded into the walls on either side of the bed, while others float above white counters that look more like control panels for a spaceship. There are scans of someone’s body and brain—your brain, you realize after a long moment—that spin in circles on the floating screens.

A hiss makes you flinch, and you quickly look away from the brain scan to where a young, dark-skinned girl is walking in through a set of sliding glass doors you hadn’t seen before. Her white, high-necked sheath dress looks nothing like hospital attire, especially since it’s sleeveless and only has mesh to cover her shoulders and a few inches below her knees, but she’s holding a tablet and looks so serious that you wonder if maybe she’s not a regular doctor. After all, this doesn’t seem like a normal hospital. Where are you? Did the men in black come back to get you, too?

“Y/N, it’s good to see you awake. How are you feeling?” she asks.

Her accent is jarring, and you blink. When you go to speak, you have to lick your lips a few times. They’re dry, and your mouth feels so much like sandpaper that for a moment you don’t think you’ll actually be able to say anything at all.

“Where am I?” you finally ask in return. “Who are you?”

She smiles briefly and checks something on her tablet, then glances over at one of the floating screens off to the side. Seemingly satisfied, she locks the device and sets it aside.

“My name is Shuri. You’re in Wakanda. You will be safe here.”

You frown. “Wakanda?” None of the hospitals even remotely close to the hostel hold that name, not even in passing, but it sounds familiar.

“Yes. We’re friends of Captain Rogers. When we heard about his capture, and how you were involved, we brought you here.”

Tears burn hot in your eyes as the memories from the street outside the hostel come flooding back all at once. How long have you been in the hospital? Who’s looking for Steve?

“We have located him already,” she continues, and you inhale sharply, shifting in the bed as you reach up to wipe your face. “And the Dora Milaje has been sent to retrieve him.”

“The what?” you ask. Your voice shakes and you swallow hard in an attempt to steady yourself.

Shuri smiles again. “The Dora Milaje. They are our special forces here in Wakanda. Let me ask again, how are you feeling?”

You move in the bed a little bit more, testing your limbs for stiffness or pain. Surprisingly, there’s very little. “I’m… I’m okay, I think. Confused, mostly. Thirsty.” Your stomach growls, so you quickly add, “Hungry.”

She laughs and nods, then picks up her tablet. Shuri taps a few times before glancing down at something through the slanted windows. 

“Someone will bring you food shortly. I’ll also have someone come change the bandages on your hands and wrists. Your injuries are healing nicely. You should still rest a while longer, but I will make sure you’re notified when Captain Rogers has been safely returned.”

Nodding, you sit back against the pillows, but you quickly sit up again with a gasp. “The hostel! Ana!”

“We’ve sent someone to assist Miss Mitrovich in your absence,” Shuri soothes. She steps closer to the bed and you lie back as she approaches. “There were very few repairs that needed to be done to your building, but they are taken care of, and all your guests are safe. I have already dispatched a team of Wakandan specialists to help with the rebuild of Brdonik. We are also installing a security system in your building.”

You sigh in relief and close your eyes, swallowing against the dryness again. You lay in silence, listening to Shuri as she moves around the room and mutters to herself. When you finally open your eyes again, it’s because she’s greeting someone as the sliding glass doors hiss open for a second time.

“Grant,” you murmur, and he gives you a weak smile from just inside the doorway. You correct yourself, shaking your head. “Steve.”

“Grant is my middle name,” he quietly explains. “And Carter…”

“Agent Carter,” you finish. “I see the connection now.”

While waiting for your food, you’ve slowly been piecing together the different parts of Steve’s life that you knew, trying to get the full picture. You’ve known him personally as Grant, the quiet man from Brooklyn that is good with his hands, always knows exactly what to say when you’re in a bad mood, and is a hit with every guest that crosses your threshold. On the other hand, you also know him as Steve, the All-American super-soldier that’s plastered across every history textbook you’ve ever been given. He’s also the super-soldier that you’ve watched on the news, listening to reporter after reporter praise him like he’s a god, then publicly curse and shame him on their next breath.

Shuri quietly excuses herself. You stare at Steve as she leaves through the sliding doors behind him. There’s a cut above his right eyebrow, and blood caked in his beard, right below a nasty split in his lower lip. He’s standing lopsided, like he’s keeping the weight off his right foot, and he looks like he could use a shower and a long nap.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

He nods again. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For dragging you into this,” Steve answers. He sighs. “For getting you hurt. For putting you in danger.”

You shake your head and sit up a little more in the bed, allowing the pillows to prop you upright. “None of this is your fault.”

“It is, and—”

“And nothing,” you interrupt. You give him a stern look and he presses his lips together with a wince. “You didn’t know that there was any danger. If you had, wouldn’t you have left?”

After a second, Steve nods, and you continue,

“And if you’d been able to stop it from happening, you would’ve, right?”

Another nod and you smooth the surprisingly soft hospital blanket over your legs.

“Then it’s not really your fault, Grant. Steve,” you correct again, more firmly this time. You’re still coming to terms with the fact that he’s not 100% who he said he was.

“But you still got hurt. I still put you in danger just by being there. I shouldn’t have stayed as long as I did. I got too comfortable, and too close, and I was careless.”

You purse your lips and watch him for several moments. Steve stays still under your inspection, waiting for you to say something.

Finally, you tell him, “I don’t regret what happened, and if I had the chance to go back in time and change things, I wouldn’t. I’m not in mortal danger, and you’re safe again. The hostel is being taken care of. None of the guests got hurt. Tourism might be down for a couple months but…” You shrug. “It’s the end of the busiest season anyway, and I have enough savings that I’m not going to worry.”

Steve shakes his head at you, then turns to look at the screens. He doesn’t seem to be actually reading them, but he puts his hands on his hips as he stares at a spinning scan of your hand and wrist.

“Do you regret it?” you ask.

He turns back. He’s silent for a few seconds as he watches you fidget with the hem of the blanket in your lap. “No,” Steve finally replies. “I don’t.”

“Me neither.”

When he doesn’t move, you swing your legs over the edge of the bed. You’re not dressed in a normal hospital gown—someone has put you in leggings and a tunic of some kind—but you still shiver when your bare feet touch the floor.

“Y/N—” Steve limps towards you, holding both hands out to steady you if you lose your balance. You don’t, and he stops a few feet away.

“I don’t regret any of it, Steve,” you say. You start to close the distance between the two of you even more. “Not a single minute.”

“Volim te,” Steve murmurs.

You freeze, now within arm’s reach. “What?”

“Volim te.”

Your brain is working a mile a minute to catch up with what he’s said. Steve shifts in place, wincing as he transfers the weight to his injured leg. 

“You should get that checked out,” you quietly tell him, glancing down at his leg.

He stares at you, as if he was expecting a different response. You know he was, but you’re suddenly so overwhelmed by everything that it’s the first thing out of your mouth. 

“I—” You close your eyes and shake your head, letting out a small self-conscious chuckle. “I’m sorry. I love you too, Steve. I do. I love you. I don’t— I don’t know why I said that. I guess I’m just worried—”

He cuts you off by stepping into your space and cupping your face with one hand. His fingers thread up into your hair and he tilts your head back so he can press his lips to yours. Your arms fall limp at your sides for a second, but then your brain catches up. You close your eyes and reach up to put one hand on the back of his neck. The other slides around his waist, pulling him closer as he kisses you.

Steve’s body is warm and though he winces with pain, then pulls away slightly to touch his fingers to his busted lip, neither one of you actually moves away from the other. You stay close enough to feel the heat from his breath on your skin.

“You need to eat,” he murmurs.

“And you need a doctor,” you reply.

He smiles a little, more just pressing his lips together than anything, and kisses your forehead. You close your eyes again when he lingers.

“Don’t go,” he says as you step away. 

You frown and crowd close again, and you place both hands on his chest. “Steve?”

“No. I mean, you should go now, but…” He struggles for a second, trying to find the words he wants to say, and you wait patiently. “What I meant was: Don’t go back to Croatia. Stay with me.”

“What about the hostel? What about Ana and the guests?”

“I’ve heard you say a thousand times that she could probably run the place on her own. Plus, it’s the end of the busiest season, and after everything that’s happened, tourism will probably be low. You said it yourself.” 

Steve reaches up to pull your hands off of him, but he holds them and rubs little circles over your knuckles with his thumbs. He watches you carefully, giving you his full attention. His eyes are deep and blue, and the crinkle between his eyebrows has disappeared completely now that he’s sure you’re okay.

“So, what? I’d stay here in Wakanda? What would I do?” you ask, frowning. “They don’t really have tourists here, do they? It’s not like they need a hostel.”

“No, but I need a partner.”

“Don’t you already have partners, Steve? What about the Falcon? Or Black Widow? Or even your friend that you told me about—James? Isn’t he a superhero, too?” 

Shaking his head, he answers, “That’s not the kind of partner I need, Y/N. I don’t need a partner to fight with. I need a partner that I can live with. Someone to make a home with.”

You stare at him for a second, allowing your brain to process what he’s just said, and then you give him a slow, sly smile. Inside, you’re giddy and jumping up and down, but all you do is pull your hands in a little more so he has to step closer to you.

“Steven Grant Rogers, are you asking me to move in with you?”

“I guess I am.” His ears are starting to turn a bright shade of pink, and it’s beginning to creep along his cheekbones as well, just above his beard. 

Steve’s still holding your hands captive, so you simply raise an eyebrow. “Do you have a place to live here in Wakanda? Or are we going to be staying here in my hospital room until you find one?”

He shrugs and grins back at you. “King T’Challa gave me an apartment.”

“The king gave you an apartment?” You pull your hands away and step back. You can’t hide your disbelief, though deep down, you figure it’s very likely that the king tried to give Steve more. He’s a hero, even if most of the world doesn’t believe it.

“The princess was just in here going over your medical information, and you’re shocked that he gave me an apartment?” Steve asks, a smirk on his face.

You gape at him even more. “You’re kidding. Steve, that was not—”

“Princess Shuri. She’s made most of the technology around here, and she oversees the recovery of important patients. Like you,” he adds.

“If I’d known—”

He leans in and kisses your forehead again. “You don’t need to bow or anything. They don’t do that here, though I’m sure she’d appreciate a thank you the next time you see her. Maybe compliment one of her inventions. T’Challa says she likes that.”

“The next time?” you hiss. “Steve—”

This time, he laughs at you. It’s a full-bodied laugh, unlike the sparse chuckles you’ve gotten out of him since his return, and you relax. You smile, too, a real smile that makes your cheeks ache as you press your burning face against his chest. Steve wraps his arms around you. His body shakes as he laughs, but he quickly settles down and kisses the top of your head.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” you tell him, not letting go. In fact, you hug him tighter around the waist with both arms.

“Me too. Come on, ljubavi. Let’s go home.”

Dobro jutro = Good morning

Kako vam mogu pomoći? = How can I help you?

Govorite li engleski? = Do you speak English?

Dobor dan = Good afternoon

Molim = Please

Dragi = Darling

Volim te = I love you

Ljubavi = Love/my love

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Forever: @aya-fay

Steve Rogers: @lipstickandvibranium​ @delicatecapnerd

[luveline]

Would you be willing to write a little blurb of Steve comforting reader who is in recovery from self harm? I know this is a very no no subject for some writers so I understand if this is a no!

fem!reader !! cw self harm (mention of the self injury, no active graphic imagery, but some details that could be evocative)

You’ve taken to curling up in whatever space he leaves. In bed, you sidle close to his side with your ear to his stomach. On the couch, you’re laying on his lap, every breath a press of ribs against his thighs. If Steve’s on a sun lounger in the backyard, you’re sitting on the ground next to him with an arm hooked over his leg and your cheek bitten by metal.  

It’s sort of odd to see your arms without red cuts and welts. Curled again, you and Steve are sitting on the porch watching the sun dropping lazily to the horizon, the sky a funny shade of blue. You’re actually turned away from the sun and toward the house, Steve to the sun, like inverted commas interlinked. Your hand is on his leg, and your arm is bare and starkly uninjured. 

That’s too generous, maybe. Evidence of a bad habit long to kick tracks the length of you, white and purple and red scars criss-crossed through your skin. 

He’s seen them thick with dried blood and sore to the touch. Your skin aflame. Not because you’ve ever showed him of your own volition, you wouldn’t. You’ve always likened your self-injury to a contagion. “I don’t wanna put thoughts in your head,” you whispered. 

It was a nice concern for you to have, but Steve isn’t at any risk of hurting himself (purposefully, at least). He has no urges. He didn’t even know people did stuff like that until he met you. Maybe that’s why it breaks his heart so much. You hurt so much. You feel terrible and you take it out on yourself and Steve just doesn’t get it, ‘cos you’re aces. 

He never shied away from it, even if he didn’t like that you were doing it. He still remembers the first time he realised what you were doing, his confusion, the immediate internal recoil. How could you do that to yourself? Why would you? You’ve always been prone to that awful persisting sadness under the skin, but Steve knows a lot of sad people. He knows what it’s like to wish vehemently that you were a better version of yourself, or somebody else, or just gone. 

But you’re doing better now. He resists the urge to kiss your hands whenever he sees you and you act like you aren’t doing a brave thing. 

Steve’s stupid but he’s not stupid. (Or, at least he feels that way.) He knows you’re finding it hard to stop, like an addict. It’s a habit. A behaviour that takes conscious effort to break until it doesn’t. The worst bit is that you never even asked for help. 

Your hand twitches on his leg. 

Steve curls a hand behind your neck, kissing you softly, the silky press of your lips to his. You inhale and cut the quiet buzz of cicadas, your breath surprised but not tight. 

“Sorry,” he says, “was that okay? I was just thinking about you.” 

“It’s fine.” You laugh against his lips and take a kiss, evening the score. “It’s always okay. Kiss me whenever you want.” 

“You looked mopey,” he says. Foot in mouth disease forever. 

“I’m not mopey, just distracted.” 

“I know, it’s offensive. You come over here to hang out and spend the last hour in deep thought.” He makes it clear he’s joking through his light tone and his smile, your eyes met, his hand sliding down your shoulder and your arm. He’s especially careful as his fingers run down your forearm. You watch the path of his hand as it falls, twining your fingers weakly with his. “You can tell me anything.” 

“I do tell you anything.” 

“Well, just telling you again.” He kisses your cheek, then, less gentle, your lips. 

You have this aversion to saying the worst part out loud. There’s always a metaphor or an omission. You can’t say cut, it’s too much, but you’ve said hurt. You’ll admit to self injury but not the action. “It’s fine,” you say now. 

“I think you’re doing a good job.” 

You laugh softly through your nose. “Thank you.” 

“I’m not kidding.” He blows a breath up his face. “Look, can I just be honest with you?” 

Your smile turns uneasy at his bluntness. “Um. Are you breaking up with me?” 

Steve shakes his head. “Never,” he says, pushing your sleeve up your arm slowly, and then faster when you don’t resist. “I can’t remember the last time I saw you without them.” He doesn’t say cuts either, mostly for your sake. 

“Sorry.” 

He shakes his head again. “For what? I’m just saying. You’ve had them this whole time and I’ve never– they’ve never stopped me from wanting to kiss your face off.” He probably shouldn’t make jokes. He backtracks. “I mean, they don’t make a difference to me, I like you even if you can’t, uh… Even if the impulse is too much. But I’m thrilled you’re, you know, not doing it.” 

“I know,” you murmur. 

“I love you.” 

“I know.” Your voice is nearly inaudible, “That’s why it’s easier now.” 

His heart swells with pride and love and an unfightable want to hug you. He slides his arms around you from under your armpits, forcing you to hug his neck, stealing a kiss to the cheek as he squeezes you forward. “I just want you to know that I get it. Like, how hard you’re working to not do it.”

“Steve,” you admonish quietly. 

“Sorry, I’ll stop talking about it if you want.” 

“I mean… It's kinda nice to talk about it. It’s not in my head.” 

“It’s not in your head.” 

“But it feels weird ‘cos it’s like, something I should be doing anyways. It’s like getting praise for washing your hands.” 

Steve thinks there’s a pretty big difference between wanting to hurt yourself but resisting it and washing your hands, but he knows what you’re saying. Doesn’t agree, but doesn’t want to invalidate you either. However you need to think about it to get through it is up to you. “I can praise you for washing your hands. I want to.” 

Steve encourages you to turn into the sunshine. You lay your cheek against his shoulder. “Love you,” you say, your hand on his leg. 

He stares right at the sun and blinks hurriedly. “I love you too.” 

[simonsomeriley]

please would you write for Ellie x doctor!reader in Jackson who looks after everyone and helps Ellie out after a patrol one day!

your wish is my command <3

1.3k words | gn!reader

You're walking on the slippery ice on the road of Jackson, you hear the sounds of children giggling through the streets, everything here just feels like home.

Even with the worries of whats going on outside, the little community you've all built together makes it at least a little bit better. Being able to help the people of your community, the children. Makes it all better, day by day.

In the morning, the elders go outside for their chit-chats and their coffee, watching the kids run outside. Playing football, drawing with chalk, finally being able to let kids be kids again.

The evenings are spent doing your jobs and your tasks, gathering supplies like wood, water refills, & food, the chefs are in the kitchen cooking up what they can make of what they have.

You, on the other hand, spend your evenings in the medical supply tent. Putting cartoon bandaids on kids' knees after they fall, stitching up some people who have fallen on the ice. And what you do best, take care of your self-proclaimed "hunters" after they've been out on patrol.

And the night time is spent with dim lights, cleaning up, & getting children ready for bed.

Your medical tent is usually up 24/7, just in case an emergency happens past usual work hours. If there has been a lot of cases in one day, usually the nice older lady that runs the bakery will get you a sweet treat as a reward.

You're just cleaning up the tent per usual in the afternoon, mopping the floor and sanitizing what tools you have. There had been Ellie's turn to go on patrol today, Ellie and Jessie together. They'd left a couple of hours ago, nothing seemingly out of order. Usually they'd stay out until it got dark, or in Joel's words "Testing God's patience."

You hear the sound of hooves, galloping, humans running to open the gates & lots of loud talking. It dies down after a while, you decide that it wasn't anything urgent. Assuming that if it was, you'd probably be called over for some look-overs for serious injuries.

You hear someone enter your tent, you look up from where you're sterilizing some needles. It's Jesse. He's alone. You'd just assumed Ellie came hand-in-hand with Jesse, realizing now that it wasn't the case.

"Anything happen, Jesse? Anything I need to get my emergency kit out for?" Jesse looks around, like he's familiarizing his surroundings, "Nah. To me? No. Ellie could use some help, though. Hopefully nothing too serious. She got some infected hangin' off of Shimmer,"

You stand up, gathering some items off of your desk and putting them in an over the shoulder bag, "She's fine though, right? No injuries, just some bruising I'm assuming?"

"If you're talking about the horse, Shimmer's fine. If you're talking about the human, Ellie's not lookin' too hot. Luckily the infected got off by the time we neared the gates. Think she hit her head pretty hard, though."

You walk over to the opening of the tent, where Jesse's standing in the makeshift "doorway", "I'll have a look at 'er. Make sure you get the horses in the stables, okay?"

Jesse backs up, walking out of the tent, "Sure, mom. Good thing there wasn't any major weather. The infected were hiding under the already fallen snow. No way to figure out whether there'd be infected under there or not. I'd say we made it out pretty good for how many of those monsters were out there,"

You're walking towards the gate now, some people are gathered there & discussing patrol curfew, horses & partners. You spot Joel by Ellie's side though, seemingly she looked fine a tad bit, bruised, with some minor cuts, you spotted no extreme injuries or anything major.

Jesse's walked over to the stables now, you approach Ellie with your bag over your shoulder, "How're you holding up, Ells? You aren't looking so hot,"

She whips her head around at the sound of your voice, from where she's standing talking to Joel. "I'm fine," of course. The default, tiring, awkward response. I'm fine.

"Really, I could take you to the tent and just get you checked over. Make sure you don't have any deeper-than-skin injuries that'll affect you later,"

She seems to nod and sigh in defeat, the all stubborn girl she is, and she walks with you by your side back to the medical tent.

"Jesse told me about the infected. Seemed pretty intense out there, huh? Glad Shimmer's alright and you aren't missing any limbs,"

She holds eye contact as you speak, looking away at the end of your sentence and widening her eyes, "Yet. Never know how many of those guys are out there, y'know? It's hard to tell in the winter time. S'like they run on freezing weather or something,"

You lift up the entrance of the tent for her as she leans down to get under it, "You're reckless, you know that? You should be more careful. Like Joel says, you only live once, at least make it worth the while," she winces as she bends down, and she tries to cover it up. You notice.

You sit her down at a chair with a pillow on the seat, "You're not very good at pretending, do you know that?"

The smug grin on her face tells you enough.

You dampen a washcloth in the sink, bringing it over to her and wiping at the dried blood stains on her face. Most of it disappears without trace. That's good, that means it's mostly coming from one place. Not many wounds.

She has an indent in her upper lip. You take note of it.

You ask her to take off her jacket, leaving her in just her band t-shirt and her jeans. You check her arms for any wounds, and once you reckon you've found every injury, you get out your needle and thread.

You figure the cut in her upper lip would heal on its own, recommending her some cleaning solution to keep on her bedside table.

You sew the cut in her arm together, from what looks like could broken glass or a hard slam against the ground.

You put a band-aid over the stitching, and you're now instructing her on how to keep the cut on her upper lip clean. She's completely out of focus with what you're saying.

You keep rustling in your stash, finding the cleaning solution and q-tips at last, demonstrating how to take care of it.

Her eyes are only focused on you. She watches you like you hung the moon and the stars up in the sky.

You come back to your senses after ranting about cleaning wounds & how to do it at home, and you realize that she's closer to your face than what you remembered. You could almost feel her cold-minty breath on your face if you focused hard enough. Her pupils are dilated.

It's been quiet for a while. Neither of you notice or bring it up. It's a comfortable quiet. A shared silence.

You feel her lip graze yours. You want to stop her. You want to tell her off for this so bad, you'd say, "Ellie, you have a fresh cut on your lip. This isn't a good idea," but still. You can't bring yourself to say it. Not when her closeness feels this good. This right.

She asks permission. After sitting in silence for the past couple of minutes, she asks permission, "Can I?" you freeze. You don't know what to say.

Her eyes are on you. You feel her heart rhythm. Her breathing. You nod your head to the best of your abilities when your head feels this clouded from her attention.

She leans in close, and the gap between your lips closes. You feel her lips on yours for long, a sweet, heart-warming kiss. You can practically feel her smirk against your face before you pull away.

"Might have to be reckless more often if this is what I get out of it,"

[its-all-papaya]

wait i have to add: "I'll write that injury landoscar for you down the road as an apology" NO IT WAS PERFECT THANK YOU !!! but i won't say no to injury landoscar so if you want to write it 👀 (i would be happy!) that's an ask i'd like for the I wish you would write a fic where... ask game tbh!

maybe like. one of them hears that the other crashed or sees it happen and finishes the race on autopilot, frantically asking if the other is okay over the radio and not getting a straight answer (like ferrari: we are checking) and after the race not giving a SHIT, running directly to where he's told by someone the other is although maybe having a podium finish? or media duties?, ignoring everyone on the way there and then seeing they're alright and just. taking the biggest breath ever known. and being overwhelmed? and then just. kissing him in front of the medics? idk. but! it could also be soft, finding the other after all the media duties and after the other was cleared for visitors and they're sitting there under shitty hospital lighting, one of them cracking jokes about being not life-threateningly injured and the other just shaking because he could've LOST him and it all suddenly shifts and makes sense in his head and there's never been a world in which losing the other wouldn't break him. and then it's the most important thing in the world to be able to taste the breath in the other person's lungs and feel his heartbeat quicken and have PROOF that he's alive and warm and not dead. is this too much? probably. but i'm DYING to hear your thoughts on how YOU would write it PLEASE!!

Okay, yeah, Landoscar injury fic lfg, let's do this. Here's how I'd do it:

The thing about me is I always have to have An Angle. I can't write straight-up fluffy comfort, I've gotta make the characters THINK first. So this is kind of not the exact same as your description, but I think I'd write it from the POV of injured Oscar. Hear me out, hang on.

tell me what you wish I'd write

So Oscar gets hurts in a crash and he's sent to the hospital, obviously. The whole way out of the car and on the way, he's like... not panicking, but not feeling well at all. Nothing makes rational sense in an ambulance, everything feels high-stakes and scary and serious and the shock is still setting in, so he can't process that well. Oscar obviously isn't very open about how he's feeling, usually, either, so being noticeably affected by things is just more stress on top as he fights to keep the cool, calm demeanor people expect out of him.

See, generally, Oscar tries not to need too much from anybody. But he's hurt and a little scared and lonely and the lingering shock combined with whatever's in his IV drip is making his emotions stronger and closer and not anywhere near as manageable as normal. Kim is there, but Oscar wants Lando telling him jokes and giving him soft eyes and holding his hand and telling him it's going to be okay, because Lando always knows how to handle new situations Oscar hasn't been in yet. And Oscar's trying so so hard to be normal about it all, but he's actually Not Okay.

I wasn't around for Vegas '23 (ironic because I was accidentally in Vegas hours after the GP, but I didn't follow F1 yet, so) but I've read a lot of post-vegas fic and it's all cute and needy Lando, which is a great genre. But I think I'd set that as Oscar's mental backdrop for this. Because they weren't even them yet in Vegas, weren't like they are now, and even still Lando asked for Oscar in the hospital and had no problem reeling him in by the hand and taking comfort from him when he needed it. And they're much closer now! Lando definitely cares a lot about him! Oscar knows that! So why is he so nervous to just ask for him?

Oscar would spend a decent amount of time trying to figure out how to ask Kim to get Lando there: thinking up excuses for why he needs Lando for something specific, reasons it makes sense, or why it might benefit everyone, but when he finally gets up the nerve to just ask, Kim is like "?? yes? Lol. Obviously Lando is coming. He's been asking about you nonstop, drove both Will and his press officer up a wall asking for updates every five seconds. He's texted me 400 times in the last 20 minutes. Lando is for sure coming, you actually don't really get a say in that one. Silly goose."

Oscar is usually so unbothered, but as soon as Lando shows up, he knows it's going to be a struggle not to lose it, because like... Lando's in the door looking adorable and concerned and Oscar NEEDS Lando so much closer. Immediately. He needs Lando holding his hand and petting his hair and whispering to him even though they don't even really do those things normally.

And Lando's worried, so he gets to Oscar's bedside and is restless. Hand on the covers, eyebrows pulled together, trying to straighten things and fluff pillows and asking about Oscar's pain levels and where he's hurt and eventually he just goes "Fuck, Oscar, can I just- I need to hug you. Please. Is that okay?"

Lando's so gentle with it, trying not to hurt his boy, but Oscar like... cannot hold it together. And so he starts breathing a little funny in his effort not to cry or do anything to show how everything is hitting at once, how he wants Lando, but Lando of course notices that something is wrong. Probably assumes he's hurting Oscar, so he pulls back, but that's the opposite of what Oscar wants. So suddenly, horrifyingly, he's tearing up, and that makes Lando panic more because he's probably never seen Oscar cry. Didn't think that was a thing Oscar did. And Oscar's shaking his head, and his heart rate monitor does not sound normal, and Lando's like "...shit. Fuck. Do you need me to call the nurse?" and Oscar is like "no, just come back. please, lando."

Lando goes, obviously, sits on the side of Oscar's bed and picks up Oscar's hand in both of his own and starts rubbing his wrist a little and saying "hey, it's okay, buddy, I've got you, I'm right here. Deep breaths, you're gonna be okay, I'm not going anywhere."

It should feel patronizing, being talked to like that, but instead it takes the anxiety back down a few notches, outside the range of imminent panic. Oscar feels like a little child again, needing to be held after scraping his knee, but he does. Need to be held, that is. So he's fighting this internal battle between needing comfort and wanting to be good and normal about the situation, and his control is softened by his pain meds so he can't school his expressions as well as normal, and soon Lando’s asking “What is it? You need more pain meds? Kim? What do you need, Osc?”

SNIPPET TIME CONGRATS !

Oscar can’t look at Lando when he says it, but he finally manages to mumble “can you come lay with me?” at the ceiling. Lando doesn't spare him a moment to second-guess before he's kicking off his shoes and climbing up, arranging Oscar's limbs a little so they’ll both fit. His arm’s around Oscar’s shoulders in a blink, and everything’s a little less overwhelming when Oscar can turn his chin just a little and smell Lando’s body wash, can twitch his fingers and touch the soft hem of Lando’s sweatshirt. Reality gets a little more tangible again, and Oscar thinks it's funny, how he feels a fraction more himself when he's pressed to Lando's side.

The beep of the heart-rate monitor fades back into ambient noise as it settles towards normal. Or normal for them, Oscar supposes. In the middle of his contemplating, Lando starts tracing the vein on the soft side of Oscar's arm, wrist to the crook of his elbow. Two fingers, one on either side, raising goosebumps across the exposed skin. The disconnect the crash had rattled into Oscar's brain shifts a little under Lando's attention, gets a little floatier and a little less disorienting. He's getting sleepier, and it's probably the last of the IV bag dripping steadily through the back of his hand, but it's nicer to believe it's Lando, chasing the drugs up towards his heart with those same two fingers. Oscar gives up one more piece, a little more control, as he snuggles a little deeper into Lando's side. He's allowed to, he thinks. Here. Like this. Lando must agree, because he hums happily at the movement and hugs Oscar even closer. Through the fog in his brain, Oscar thinks he feels lips at his temple.

"Thank you," he mumbles into the collar of Lando's t-shirt.

"Of course," Lando says, and "thank you. It's nice. To lay like this. Was worried about you."

And then, after a long moment of silence, "It's okay to need things, Osc. From anybody, but especially from me. There's not a lot I wouldn't do for you. Okay? You can always ask."

Oscar frowns, because "I don't need anything, it's not like that." His forehead wrinkles as he bats the exhaustion back. The excuse is sitting at the tip of his tongue, but he can't quite feel it out.

Lando gives him a second, then takes over again. It's a reversal, Lando finding Oscar's words for him, thumbing worries away like sweaty hair from his temple.

"It's also okay to want things, Oscar."

Oscuh.

Oscar, feeling a little braver or maybe just a little less afraid, palms his way across Lando's stomach, curls his hand around Lando's side, taps his fingers against the warm space below Lando's ribs.

"What do you want, baby?" Lando asks into the skin above his ear.

Oscar lifts his head a little, blinks through his lashes up at his teammate. He's hallucinating, or the concussion is worse than they thought, because there's no way that those words are coming out of Lando's mouth in that tone with nobody to hear them but Oscar himself. Lando's fingers drag a bit firmer against his wrist, the catch of nails sending little shivers through Oscar's limbs.

Oscar remembers Las Vegas, remembers how the same fingernails had left little white half-moons in the back of his hand, how they had taken hours to fade, and he gets it, finally.

Lando's fingers come to rest in the middle of Oscar's wrist, right over his pulse.

"Stay? Please?" Oscar says. The lips on his temple are firmer this time, impossible to explain away. "Until I can go," he adds. Lando's still pressing little kisses down the side of his face, so Oscar sums up the rest of his courage and finishes with, "And tonight." He doesn't say forever, but it's only a breath away.

And then Lando takes him home and takes care of him and it's soft and cute and Lando falls asleep listening to Oscar's heartbeat and kisses him awake in the morning and makes sure he takes his pills and he heals up and they become boyfriends the end <3

Thank you for the ask !! And for the compliments in general !! Hope this was nice for you even though it was STILL not desperate. I'm too Soft (TM).

[janesociety]

can you please do a james potter x reader where reader is always patching james up from quidditch injuries and comforting him in the hospital wing and stuff but roles are reversed when he's trying to teach you quidditch and reader gets a minor injury (sprained ankle or something). cue overprotective jamie & platonic marauders fluff<3

oh! darling

james potter x reader

type: fluff

word count: 2.4k

summary: after years of you taking care of james, it was finally his turn.

warnings: reader has sprained ankle, references to slightly worse injuries

notes: i am so incredibly sorry this took so long i don’t even have an excuse

masterlist

𝜗𝜚

You were never all that big a fan of flying. Being on a broom just never felt sturdy to you and you weren’t all that crazy about heights either. It wasn’t exactly that you were afraid per say, you just chose to avoid them when possible.

With a boyfriend like James Potter, you knew it would one day no longer be avoidable.

James, while on one hand being the most responsible, smart, and caring person you knew, was also the clumsiest.

You lost count on the number of times you’d had to walk him from the Quidditch Pitch to the infirmary for an injury. Sometimes he sustained them at a practice, a game- hell, sometimes he would just be flying around for fun and manage to throw himself from his broom. It became such a common occurrence, you now had your own little pharmacy under the sink in your dorm so you could fix some of his minor injuries up there. Then of course there were his more major injuries- like the time he broke his foot when it was smashed between the stadium wall and a bludger or when he got a concussion when he and Sirius slammed into each other when messing around. During those times, you’d sit with him in the hospital wing and keep him company. You were always sure to spend your free periods with him, catch him up on school work, bring him food- anything he needed.

To be honest, as much as you hated him getting hurt, you treasured some of those moments in the hospital wing when it was just the two of you being together.

When you woke up on that Saturday morning to James no longer next to you in his bed, you were confused. You’d both agreed the day before that neither of you wanted to go to Hogsmeade that weekend and you knew James didn’t have any Quidditch practice. You rolled out of his bed, finding one of his sweaters in his trunk and throwing it on. You made your way to the mostly empty common room- most people were already at breakfast so they could eat before leaving for Hogsmeade- and found Lily buried in her books at a corner table.

“Hey, Lils,” you said, sliding into a seat across from her.

“Hey,” she said, her eyes not looking up from the page of the herbology textbook she was reading. You leaned awkwardly back in your seat, not exactly wanting to disturb her, but not knowing what to do with yourself when you didn’t know where any of your other friends were and you were feeling just a bit too lazy to look.

“Sorry,” she said, finally looking up at you and sitting back. “I haven’t had time to study recently- I’m hoping to catch up today while everyone’s at Hogsmeade.”

“No- no, you’re fine, I can leave if you want,” you said quickly. “Have you seen James?”

“Him and Sirius walked out of here an hour ago looking for Marlene and Dorcas and I haven’t seen them sense,” she said, rolling her eyes. “They seemed overly excited, per usual. I think they were up to something.”

“God, maybe I don’t want to look for him anymore,” you said, laughing through a yawn.

Your wish was granted- not exactly in the way you wanted- as the porthole swung open as James and Sirius marched in with their hands full. It took you a minute to see what they were holding- Sirius was holding a large box that you quickly recognized as a chest that held all the different Quidditch balls and James was holding three brooms. Three.

“Oh, darling, you’re up,” he said, gently setting down the brooms next to you and kissing your head. “We were gonna come up and get you.” He wrapped his arms around your neck from behind you and rested his head on your shoulder. You made weary eye contact with Lily at the sight of the brooms. You hummed.

“What’re the brooms for?” you asked, recognizing only one of them as his. He chuckled in your ear, his breath tickling your skin.

“Quidditch, darling, what else?” he said, pecking your cheek after. He was always affectionate, but you could tell he was getting ready to question you about something.

“Oh,” you said, turning your head to see Sirius running up the stairs to the dorm.

“Me and Pads were thinking-“ well that’s never good- “that maybe you would come out to the pitch with us today and fly around a bit?” Your eyes went wide.

“James, I- you know I hate flying,” you said, turning to look at him. He loosened his arms to allow you to move.

“I know! I know, but I was thinking if me and Pads were there to help you out, you might feel better,” he said, massaging your shoulder. “I thought it could be fun.” You looked to Lily for help but she gave you a good luck look and quickly buried herself back into her books. “Please, love?”

“Fine.”

“Come on, darling!” James yelled from above you. “You’re gonna do great!” You resisted the urge to flip him off at his well-meaning encouragement.

You’d flown before, of course- it was a class after all. So you knew what you were doing, you just didn’t want to be doing it.

“Oh, the things I do for you,” you muttered under your breath as you began levitating off the ground. It took you a moment to get used to the sensation before you floated up to the level James and Sirius were at. Your hands were gripping the broom so hard your knuckles were white. It was less of you being scared of the broom and more not trusting yourself to be able to adequately operate it.

“You’re doing great,” James said, flying up next to you with a quaffle tucked under his arm. He reached out his free hand to take yours but you shook your head.

“I’m sorry, but no,” you said, cracking a smile and staring at his hand. He chuckled, reaching over and patting your shoulder- the act making you squeak at the feeling of being slightly unbalanced.

“Sorry!” he said quickly, laughing at how the blood had rushed to your face. “You’re alright, darling, you’re not gonna fall.” You let out a huff. “I won’t let you fall, how about that?” You smiled at him. “Alright, c’mon.” He motioned for you to follow him and you did, heading over to where Sirius was flying in circles.

“Finally!” he groaned, stopping as you two approached. “I don’t know why you’re so worried, Y/N. You were good at it in first year when we had to take the class.”

“I never liked it,” you said, pointing and flexing your feet to get used to the feeling of them not touching the ground. “But I can do it.”

“Okay, okay, finally ready to play?” Sirius asked, motioning for James to throw him the quaffle.

They explained the game. It was basically modified Quidditch so that it could be played with one ball and three people. It was decided that you would be goalkeeper first- which you were grateful for. The rules were James and Sirius were both trying to score on you, but when they intercepted the ball, they had to go back to the center. James used a charm to create foggy lines of smoke in the air where the centerline was because “Sirius is a big cheater so we need to be able to see.”

It was fun, actually. You surprised yourself with how quickly you picked up the skills you’d thought you’d forgotten. You were able to hold your own in the goal, blocking almost all their shots- even after they stopped going easy on you.

“You’re letting him win!” Sirius groaned after James scored for the third time. “This isn’t fair! You’re biased.” You rolled your eyes.

“You should know me well enough to know I’d help James lose before I’d help him win,” you said.

“Hey! I can hear you!” James yelled from farther back, tossing the ball to Sirius.

“Yeah, yeah, just get going,” you said, flying lazily around one of the goal posts. You were still moving pretty slow, the fear of falling still not totally dissipating, but you could keep up with them so far.

The games soon started again, Sirius being extra as ever and doing small spins around the stadium as James tried to chase him around. When Sirius took a shot, James raced in before you could catch it and dashed back to the centerline.

“Show off,” you muttered sarcastically as he whipped past you and sent you a goofy grin. You couldn’t help but smile at him.

You got somewhat bored when their back and forth went on just a little too long, and found yourself staring mindlessly around you. The wind was whipping your hair around your head and you were somewhat dreading what it would look like when you-

“Y/N!”

You didn’t have time to react before something hard collided with your head. You were exactly sure what was happening, but you felt everything spin and the wind picked up. You couldn’t figure out if you were dizzy or falling. When you felt your broom slip out from under you, you decided it was probably both. The simple realization you were falling from so high was enough to make your stomach start doing somersaults faster than the rest of your body was.

James immediately went into a nose dive the second he saw you slip. He was already dashing over to you before you fell- seeing the path of the ball that had left his hands seconds before. Sirius was behind him, shouting an incantation you couldn’t hear between the blood rushing to your ears and the air passing you. You slowed suddenly, the spell Sirius had cast finally taking effect, but not soon enough.

You crumpled to the ground, letting out a gasp.

“Y/N!” James yelled, stumbling off his broom and rushing towards you. “Y/N, hey, hey,” he said, brushing your hair out of your face. Your eyes were squeezed shut and your face was pinched with pain as you gripped your ankle.

“I’m- I’m alright,” you said, shakily, your eyes still closed. You tried to move but let out a pained gasp when you moved your leg.

“Oh, Y/N,” he said, cupping your face. You opened your eyes to see the fear and worry contorting his face as he looked at you. Seeing him fuss over you almost felt worse than your foot. “Don’t move,” he said, carefully tucking his arms under you and pulling you up so he could carry you. You tried not to grimace as your ankle flopped around from the jerkiness of the lift.

“I’m fine, James,” you said, the grip you had on his shoulder betraying your words.

“Just hold still, yeah?” he said, his worry for you evident on the crease between his brows. “I’ll get you up to the infirmary.”

Sirius was quick to run after the two of you, holding all three brooms under his arm.

“Alright, Y/N?” he asked as he walked in step with James.

“Yep,” you said, grimacing as James bounced you around a little too hard.

“Sorry- sorry,” he said, doing his best to hold you as still as possible as he started walking up the hill towards the castle. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright, James, it’s not your fault,” you said, leaning your head on his shoulder.

There was silence

“So, you reckon I’ll get an offer from Puddlemore next year?”

Sirius snorted.

“Oh, definitely, but they’ll be fighting offers from the Cannons and Harpies, too,” Sirius said. “But Puddlemore will give you the best offer, so you should play for them.”

“Maybe I'll just go wherever James gets an offer for,” you said as you all stepped inside the castle.

“Poor lad won’t get nearly as many as you,” Sirius said, shaking his head.

James chuckled hesitantly as you arrived at the infirmary, clearly trying to avoid the guilt gnawing at his stomach.

Madam Pomfrey was quick to usher you to a bed with a quick “Why is it always you lot?” and a wave of her wand.

James sat you down and was quick to grab your hand as you adjusted yourself on the bed. He sat on the edge of the hard wooden chair next to your bed. His hands cupped yours as his eyes glared daggers into your ankle.

“I should… I'll go put the brooms away,” Sirius said awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot. You nodded and he was out of there in the next moment.

“Jamie,” you said. He wasn’t looking at you. “James,” you said again, squeezing his hand. His eyes finally met yours, and you couldn’t find the words to describe the look of hurt on his face. “I’m alright.”

“I know,” he said shakily, a breathy chuckle coming from his mouth. “I know.”

“And it’s not your fault,” you said. He looks away from you again.

“I’m really sorry,” he said, the pain clear on his face even as he faced away from you. If there’s one thing that hurts James Potter more than seeing his loved ones in pain, it’s being the one that caused the pain.

“If I accept your apology will you stop moping?”

James laughed, his head ducking down and eyes crinkling at the sides. He brought your hand up to his lips, resting them on your knuckles before peppering kisses all over your hand.

“I truly don’t deserve you,” he said, smiling softly at you.

“Don’t go all soft on me now just because I’m injured,” you groaned as he moved to peck your cheek a few times.

[quigonswife8]

Injury: Chris Redfield x reader

You injure yourself, and Chris is more than helpful.

Warnings: Injury, blood, swearing.

A/N: Chris lives in a house for this || gif creds: @rasputinaillyanna look at himmmmm. His eyes omg, they're just...like I can't even describe it.

Italics is Chris talking.

-

"Ouch!"

The rest of the glass falls to the ground, and you look down at your hand. A large cut now runs from your palm, and ends above your wrist. The blood runs, staining the sleeve of the shirt you wear, though you could care less about that. The pain is horrible, worse than a paper cut, that's for sure.

Standing up, you rush over to the tea-towel that hangs off the oven door. As you press it to your injury, you shut your eyes.

"...just what I need."

-

It's quiet when Chris returns, which comes across as strange, as it's only 7 pm. "I'm back." Chris locks the door, before proceeding to slip off his coat and take off his shoes, "...finished early." as captain of the hound squad, or just captain in general, he has to work longer hours than one normally would.

It's not that he can change that, but that means less time with you, when he wishes he could spend more time with you.

"In here."

The first thing Chris notices is how you sound tired, and how you don't say anything after that.

"Okay."

Chris heads into the lounge, which is where you are. He notices when he enters is how only two lights are on, the rest are off. Then he notices how you're sitting with your head back, and how you look up at the ceiling. However he doesn't notice the bandage around your right hand, not until he gets closer.

"Sweetheart.." Chris's voice fades into nothing, a look of worry on his face, though you don't seem to notice.

"Hey." you mutter, pulling your eyes away to look at him. "...how was work?"

The pain has eased up a bit, but you still need to be careful. You slowly sit up, and when Chris sits down in front of you, he doesn't say anything yet. He just keeps his eyes on your hand, and then looks at you.

"Your hand..." It had been fine when he left, so why do you have a bandage on it? "...What happened?"

"I cut it on a glass." you answer, honestly. "...and I hurt myself pretty badly so I attempted to try and wrap it as best as I could." and you chuckle softly, trying to make light of this situation, though Chris doesn't chuckle or anything.

"I'm sorry." he replies, his gaze softening. "...did you need me to re-bandage your hand for you?" He’s so sweet and you love him so much.

"...I don't want to be a burden...besides, you just got off work."

"You could never be a burden sweetheart..." making sure to emphasize the 'never' part. "... and I would much rather make sure you don't get an infection from your cut." Which he's very familiar with. He's right you sigh of course he is.

Chris is very smart, though not a lot of people appreciate that about him. They should, and they should appreciate Chris in general. He's lost a lot, he's been through a lot, yet he's still standing and you're really proud of him. You just hope he knows that.

"Okay." you nod so Chris stands to leave and get what he needs. When he returns he kneels down in front of you, using one of his hands to squeeze your left one. He's so gentle, so soft with you, that sometimes you forget that he's not like this with anyone else really. Chris isn't rude or anything, he just doesn't act like this with anyone else.

"I'll try not to hurt you."

"You could never hurt me." you smile. "...and thank you again for doing this." you could spend hours being appreciative, but for now, you'll just sit there while he treats and bandages your hand.

Chris gives you a quick nod, "You're welcome." and after pressing a soft kiss to your temple, he starts on what he had planned to do.

[adrift-in-thyme]

Febuwhump Day 9: Bees (Wind & Legend)

Ao3

CW for blood and injury and torture

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“Well, isn’t this just so pleasant? When I woke up this morning, I said, ‘You know what I wish? I wish I could spend my day in a cell that smells like sweaty men and thousand-year-old bananas.’”

Wind can’t help but roll his eyes at Legend’s sarcastic drawl. He doesn’t like it either, of course. Being cooped up in the Yiga hideout isn’t how he wants to spend his afternoon either. Time had promised to spar with him and he had been really, really looking forward to it. But there isn’t much they can do about it now.

If the assasins had tied them up with ropes, then they would have escaped hours ago. Wind is no novice when it comes to undoing knots. But chains? Their smithy would be better equipped to handle that sort of thing. And, unfortunately, the Yiga had only gotten the jump on him and Legend.

“What do you think they want anyway?” he asks if only to distract his brother from continuing his lament about his spoiled afternoon.

Legend lets his head fall back against the wall with a pouty clunk.

“The champion, probably. These guys hate his guts.”

Wind cocks his head. From this angle, the pile against the far wall suspiciously resembles human bones.

“Because he’s a hero, right?”

“Yeah. Because he’s a hero.”

“I wonder if they hate all heroes then,” Wind says, thoughtfully. He doesn’t really care, to be honest. But anything to keep from pondering the mysterious objects and substances strewn about the place. “Or if it’s more of a one-person thing. Like they only hate Wild, cause he foiled their evil plans.”

“The first one, to tell you the truth,” comes a voice from the space right in front of them.

Wind jumps, red hot pin pricks traveling down to encase his scalp, neck, and arms. Beside him, Legend goes rigid.

A Yiga assassin bursts into existence in a cloud of red papers. He raises his hands the way Wind and Aryll used to when they were presenting one of their plays to Grandma.

“You know one hero, you know them all,” he drawls. “That’s just the way of things. Which works to our benefit, actually.”

“Oh good,” Legend snaps. “Since you’ve figured out the inner workings of us heroes, you must know that we’d never give anyone up to you. Especially, a brother. So, if you’ll just take these chains off, we’ll be on our way.”

The Yiga chuckles. He squats down in front of Legend, leaning forward so that his face is inches from the veteran’s.

“I like you,” he hisses. “You have spirit. It’ll be fun to make you scream.”

Legend pales, though he manages to keep a scowl on his face. The Yiga digs his fingers into the hero’s shoulder and hauls him to his feet. Wind’s stomach lurches.

“Don’t hurt him!” He shouts, scrambling up. He wishes he had his sword and shield, his boomerang — something to get them free. “He doesn’t know anything!”

It’s a hopeless attempt and he knows it. But it still feels like a punch in the gut when the Yiga throws back his head and laughs.

“Oh, he knows things, I’m certain of it. You both do.”

He shoves Legend toward the door, then grabs Wind by the ear and pushes him in the same direction. Wind sends him a blistering scowl, which he pointedly ignores.

“Walk, you two,” he growls, shoving his sickle into Legend’s back. Exchanging an exasperated glance, the heroes stumble forward.

The assassin forces them down a set of stairs and into the main room. A small group of other Yiga awaits, formed in a semi-circle towards the middle of the floor. They spread out as their companion nears, allowing them room to enter their little huddle. Wind can practically see their sadistic grins shining from beneath their masks.

For all their comic obsession with bananas, these guys give him the creeps.

One of them grasps him by the shoulders as he walks forward and yanks him to a standstill. He stumbles, lifting his head just in time to see the original assassin practically drag Legend into the center his Yiga companions have made.

The veteran trips over a bump in the floor and tries to catch himself. But the assassin delivers a swift kick to his shins that sends him sprawling.

“Vet!”

Wind lurches forward, fighting to reach him. His captor holds him fast, however. And he can do nothing but watch as Legend picks himself up, face pale and eyes glinting.

No sooner has he gotten to his feet than he is back on his knees, gloved fingers holding him down and in place.

“I will now ask you a question,” one of the Yiga purrs, stepping forward on cat’s feet. “And I hope, for your friend’s sake, to only have to ask it once. Where is the Hero of the Wilds?”

Wind catches Legend’s gaze from across the room and holds it.

I’m sorry.

Amethyst irises darken in determined resolve. Pale lips press tighter as he nods once, short and quick.

“You know what to do, sailor,” he calls.

He does. Wind takes a deep breath. He does know what to do. But it’s gonna take everything he’s got to do it.

“I don’t know,” he says. “And if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”

He can tell even through his mask that the assassin holding Legend has narrowed his eyes. In the next second, a sickle gleams. It swoops down like a graceful gull, heading straight for Legend’s middle. Wind doesn’t even have time to scream out a warning.

It slices through tunic and flesh and keeps going, ravenous for more. But the Yiga won’t allow it to satiate its appetite. He yanks it out. Blood splatters the floor. Beneath the overhead lights, it looks similar to the rubies Wild likes to collect.

Legend’s eyes go wide. He chokes, a cry begging to break from between bloodied lips.

“No!” Wind screams, jerking to get free. But a dagger finds his neck and abruptly, he stills.

Cackles echo around the room as Legend sags in his captor’s grip. His face is deathly pale now. When he raises his eyes to Wind’s, however, that fierceness is still within them.

“You see the pain that your friend is enduring,” the assassin hisses, tilting his head. His grip on Legend tightens and a low whine emanates from the veteran. “So, spill it, boy, before it gets much worse for him. We know that you know the answer. Where is Link?”

“Maybe you weren’t listening before, because I told you I don’t know where he is!” Wind retorts. It’s a battle to keep his voice steady, but he manages. Contrary to what some of the heroes think, this isn’t his first time facing the enemy.

…though it is his first time watching a brother be tortured. That’s an experience he could have done without, thanks very much.

The assassin motions. One of the Yiga moves. Quick as a flash, he zips forward, and brings his weapon screaming across Legend’s cheek. His skin splits open, a gleeful crimson smile beneath his left eye.

Something between a growl and a half-scream bursts out of Legend. He curls in on himself, bound hands clasped into fists. His breath comes in tight little gasps that make Wind’s chest tight.

“Every time you refuse to cooperate, we will create a new mark on him,” the assassin snaps. “So, I suggest you start talking. Unless, of course, you’re enjoying this as much as I am.”

“You bunch of sadistic idiots,” Legend croaks. “Did you not hear him? He doesn’t know anything.”

Another Yiga rushes forward. And this time Legend screams. A large gash runs across his arms and chest, cleaning separating the collar of his tunic from the rest. Blood oozes from it, only worsened from his weak attempts to pull away.

Wind feels his breakfast rise into his throat. Desperately, he drags his attention from his brother, even as blood runs down Legend’s body and drips onto the floor, even as he drags in wheezing breaths between clenched teeth, scream tapering off into a whine.

He has to find them a way out of here before it’s too late. And there must be one, there must be…

A small disk of gold glitters not far from where he kneels. In the rush of fear and fight for bravery, Wind hadn’t noticed it. But now it holds his gaze.

Legend has used something like this before, he realizes with a spark of hope.

“Tell us where he is!”

It is another assassin now, pushing forward and shoving the previous one aside. He reaches out and clamps his hand around Legend’s throat. The veteran chokes, face flushing and breaths gurgling.

“Tell us or we break his skinny, little neck!”

“Not yet! We still need him!”

“Well, the kid isn’t talking. This’ll make him real chatty.”

Slowly, carefully, Wind stretches out his leg. His foot connects with the hard object and he begins dragging it towards him.

Little by little it comes. And still Legend gasps. Still, he struggles, trying to tear at his captor’s skin, to kick at them, to escape. Still, his blood drifts away to pool beneath him.

“I can’t tell you!” Wind shouts, even as the hope within him grows and blossoms into something larger. Almost. He almost has it.

“I don’t know!”

Two more agonizing seconds tick past. Legend’s face is completely red now, eyes bulging as he tries and fails to fill his lungs with air.

Panic whirs in Wind’s ears, making him lightheaded. But the disk is within his reach. Gnawing his lip, Wind nudges it into his palm.

He doesn’t spare a moment to look down at the designs etched upon it, doesn’t give their attackers even that long to realize that he has found a way out. He takes a deep breath and feeds some magic into it.

It heats in his grasp, hungrily taking the power he offers and turning it into something useful. Something mighty and fierce and…

Wind’s eyes widen as a hoard of small flying things catapult out of his palm. The room fills with a deafening buzz as their wings beat together, propelling them towards their targets. Screams and shouts of terror quickly follow.

The Yiga scramble back, desperate to evade the stingers outstretched to pierce their skin. But they are not even close to as fast as the bees.

For that is what they are. A swarm of furious, yet very courageous bees.

The Yiga’s hand leaves his shoulder, the dagger falls to the floor. Seconds later, his chains fall with it, unlocked by the crafty bees. They buzz happily at him as Wind leaps to his feet, a triumphant shout on his lips and a thankful grin on his face.

The room is chaos. The Yiga try to fend off the vicious insects, swiping at them with windcleavers and sickles and daggers. But their weapons are useless against them. Even when they manage to strike down one, one hundred more appear, each angrier than the last. But never once do they harm Wind.

They part as he rushes to Legend and the only thing he feels is the wind of their wings.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a bee medallion?” He cries, grinning. “This is the coolest thing ever, vet!”

Legend looks up at him as the sailor drops down beside him. He lies in a pool of his own blood, eyes half-lidded and skin as pale as a redead. But he manages a small smirk.

“Never needed to,” he croaks. “Never thought I’d use i-it again. ‘Sides one of you would wanna borrow it.”

Wind reaches out to rest a hand on Legend’s arm. All his joviality is gone now at the sight of him, replaced instead by horror and sorrow.

“‘M sorry, Legend,” he says, sudden tears flooding his eyes. Roughly, he brushes them away. “I’m sorry they hurt you.”

Legend’s hand encloses his. He tries not to focus on the dampness of his fingers, or the crimson that smudges against his skin.

“You did good, sailor,” the veteran whispers, breath hitching on the last word. “You did real-really good.”

Wind smiles through his tears. “Well, I’m gonna do even better.”

He squeezes Legend’s hand and gets to his feet. Their pouches and weapons are propped against the far wall. Squaring his shoulders, he breaks into a run, headed toward them. With luck, one of them will have a fairy or potion remaining.

“I’m gonna get us both out of here.”

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

If I Love You Too (Part 2)

Summary: As Jensen struggles to juggle solo parenting, Y/N becomes a safe place for him so he can be more present for his children. The more time he spends with her though, the more he has to deal with if he can or even should love again...

Masterlist

Pairing: Jenssen x nanny!reader

Word Count: 7,200ish

Warnings: language, angst, death of a spouse, lying, mentions of injury/death of a spouse/death of a parent, internal turmoil

A/N: Please enjoy all the torture I put poor Jensen through in this one!

______

“Hey, Jensen,” said Y/N the next day when she came back with her things to move in. I popped my head up from waxing Baby in the garage, Y/N giving me a smile.

“Hey. I got your house keys, credit card, garage door opener and sensor for the gate all set in your room,” I said.

“Thanks,” she said, opening the backseat of her car and pulling out a duffel. “Cool car.”

“Yes she is. Do you need help moving anything?” I asked. She shook her head and put the duffel over her shoulder, taking out a large suitcase and backpack before shutting the door. “If you need to make more trips you’re more than welcome to borrow the SUV.”

“Oh this is it,” she said with a smile, walking past and for the the garage door. She must have caught my face before I could make it blank, a little smirk appearing on hers. “I travel light.”

“Alright. If you need help with anything-”

“I got it Jensen,” she said. “But thanks. I’m just going to try and familiarize myself with everything today so I’m ready to go in the morning.”

“But you don’t-”

“You said you’re an actor?” she asked. I nodded and she adjusted the bag on her shoulder. “Do you wait until you show up on set to read a script or do you do that before hand?”

“Fair point,” I said. She headed inside and I went back to Baby, JJ coming a short while later looking for her chalk bucket. 

“Dad,” she said, bucket in hand as I finished up on the hood. “Will you play with us?”

“As soon as I’m done with chores,” I said, tossing the rag in the bucket and placing the bottle back in the cupboard on the top shelf. She picked up the half full jug of wiper fluid and I quickly snatched it out of her hand. “JJ. You are not supposed to touch anything in this cabinet and you know that. It’s dangerous.”

“I just wanna help you,” she said.

“I don’t need any help.”

“I wish you died instead of mom,” she said. She took off out to the driveway, Y/N walking back out to the garage at that exact moment.

“Jensen she didn’t mean that,” said Y/N as I put the jug away and grabbed a pair of work gloves from the bench. “You know how kids are.”

“They’d be better off with her than me. I know that’s true,” I said. I put on the gloves, Y/N walking around the car over to me. “Do you need something?”

“Why don’t I take the kids to the park for an hour? I’ll watch them. You take care of you, okay?”

“She’s seven. I know she didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yeah but dad needs to get his shit together after a comment like that. I’ve been in her shoes and believe me, all she wants is the parent she has left to be there. That’s all she wants.”

“I thought your dad…” I trailed off. She looked away and I nodded. “I’ll take the kids. I can ask the lawn service people to add a few things to their list.”

“What chores did you have left?” she asked. 

“Y/N, you start work tomorrow.”

“Jensen. What’s my job?”

“Take care of the kids.”

“Exactly. Me helping you going to play with your children, especially when one of them is upset right now, is my job. That takes care of them. Now what chores did you need to get done?”

“Water the outside bushes and plants. Prep lunches for school and daycare, snacks for the week.”

“Well I will handle the meal prep tomorrow morning. Point me in the direction of the hose and then I want to see your four tushes out of this house and coming back in a little while with smiles. Okay?”

“I’m gonna pay you for today,” I said. 

“Alright. Now go,” she said. 

“I owe you one.”

“Shoo Jensen,” she said. I took off the gloves and held up my hands. Fifteen minutes later the twins were rushing over to the playground to play with a friend from daycare that just so happened to be there and I was unfolding the blanket on the grass. “Do you want to play with me honey?” I asked. JJ stood there grumpily, shaking her head. “Why not?”

“You don’t want to play with me,” she said. She sat down and put her back to me, staring at the playground. I leaned over and picked her up, falling back on the ground and holding her up above me. 

“We can play-” I said before she squirmed and I dropped her. Straight onto my hip. I bit back every word threatening to slip out, JJ kneeling beside me as my face scrunched up.

“Dad?” she asked.

“I’m okay,” I breathed out. I forced myself to sit up, JJ hugging me tightly. 

“I’m sorry. I hurt your hip.”

“It’s alright. We have to be careful of it still is all,” I said, the pain fading away quickly. She still clung to me and I pulled her into my lap, kissing her temple. A woman walking by gave me a weird look and paused. “What’s your problem?”

She scoffed and took off, JJ quiet for a few minutes.

“Dad. There’s a police officer with that lady,” she said. I looked back over my shoulder, spotting a cop walk over to us. 

“Afternoon,” he said. 

“Hello,” I said, standing up, JJ tucking in close to my side. “Is there a problem?”

“Is this your daughter?” he asked. I glanced at the woman back on the path and gave her a glare. “Sir.”

“Yes I’m her father,” I sighed. “Those two twins over on the playground are mine too.”

“Do you have a photo sir?” he asked. I reached behind myself and got out my wallet, pulling out a picture and holding it out. “Is this the children’s mother?”

“Yes.” 

“Dad what’s going on?” asked JJ.

“A misunderstanding, honey,” I said. “Go play on the swings. I’ll be over in just a second.”

“Is this your father?” he asked her. She scowled and stepped in front of me. He knelt down and smiled. “What’s your name sweetie?”

“JJ. I want to go play with my dad.”

“I know. I just have to make sure kids like you are safe. It’s part of my job.”

“You suck at your job,” she said.

“JJ. Apologize,” I said.

“He’s being mean!”

“He’s doing his job. Apologize,” I said. She mumbled a sorry, the officer nodding as he stood up. 

“You can go play now JJ,” said the officer. She grumbled and went over to the swings when I waved her, the officer nodding. “You were seen hugging a small child. This was a welfare check on the child is all.”

“Am I free to go?” I sighed.

“Sorry for the inconvenience sir,” he said. 

“You know single fathers exist,” I said to the woman. The cop spun around and narrowed his eyes.

“You said the children’s mother was in the photo.”

“Yes she is. That photo is the last one I have of us all before she was killed in a car accident last year. Ackles. I’m sure you can look up the accident report,” I said.

“Have a good day sir,” he said. I turned around and ran my hands over my face, JJ suddenly at my side and hugging me again, two smaller pairs of arms joining her. I looked down, all three of them there and hugging my legs.

I took a deep breath. I was okay. I was okay.

“Come on. Let’s go have some fun on the swings.”

“Jesus,” I said, jumping up from my chair on the balcony that night. I walked over to the edge and looked down, Jared mid swing of another bean bag being tossed up there. “Calm down. I surrender.”

“Answer your fucking phone,” he said. I rolled my eyes and I got smacked in the face with a bag. 

“Jared! I’ll call your mom!” I shouted.

“You deserved that. I heard you had a run in with a cop earlier.”

“TMZ tell you that?”

“No. Our friend. Our friend who found out someone in his department was looking up Dee’s accident report. He found out what happened at the park and now I know and you’re being an asshole hiding away up there ignoring my texts.”

“How am I an asshole? It was no big deal. You’re the one breaking into people’s garages and smacking them in the face with their kid’s toys.”

“Because you promised me yesterday, asshole, you weren’t going to lie to me again. It wasn’t no big deal. You’re upset. I’m upset for you! Worst thing is it’ll probably happen again. I just…”

“The cop was doing his job. I just need to spend more time with the kids. Not doing chores or crap for them but being with them. Playing with them. It’s fucking getting to JJ and that kid tears my heart apart more and more every time I see her hurting like that. She grew up too fucking fast and the twins...they might not even remember their mom.”

“Jensen.”

“The things I say and do…they are children. They should never have to hear me say I don’t need help or think I’m too busy to play with them.”

“But you have been too busy and you do play with them. And you got help. She’s inside right now. Tomorrow you start fresh. You have help. You can be more of dad again instead of mom and dad. They’re tough kids. Don’t worry so much.”

“I know,” I said. I leaned against the railing and sighed. 

“Want me to come up?” he asked.

“I need to try and sleep. Y/N’s probably going to get an early start and have questions in the morning.”

“Okay. Call if you need something.”

“Night,” I said.

“Night,” he waved and I headed back inside. It was close to midnight as I locked up, checking the doors and alarm system one more time. The lights looked to be off in Y/N’s room but that was expected. I skirted upstairs quietly, checking everyone’s room, pausing at Arrow’s when she made a whimper. It was probably a nightmare. Thankfully they didn’t seem to bother her as much as Zeppelin and JJ. 

I pulled her door shut and went down to my room, closing the door softly, grabbing Danneel’s hoodie and putting it on before crawling under the covers in a pair of boxer briefs. I tugged up the hood and pulled the covers up, rolling into the middle of the bed. 

“Please let tomorrow be better. Please.”

“Good morning,” said Y/N, already drinking a cup of coffee and dressed in a pair of jeans and a plain maroon v neck when I walked downstairs. I yawned, no idea how she was already so together at six in the morning.

“Morning,” I mumbled. She had her hair up in a cute messy bun and I looked down at myself. Hair a hot mess and only in a pair of black boxer briefs. “I should probably put on some clothes.”

“This is your house. Wear whatever you normally would. Pretend I’m invisible,” she said. She poured me a cup of coffee into a mug, handing it over with a smile.

“Sounds like you worked for some real assholes,” I said, taking the cup. “As long as it doesn’t bother you, me walking around in my undies.”

“No, not at all,” she said with a little smile. I could have sworn for a second she looked me up and down but that was wishful thinking on my part. I wasn’t in shape like Jared and never would be was but I was fairly decent for being almost 43 years old I liked to think. Still, a very recently thirty year old was probably not thinking someone in their forties was the epitome of hotness. 

Epitome of hotness. Fucking hell. This is fucking worse than when I started falling in love with Dee and that was at least mutual.

“Would you like me to drop the kids off at school and daycare this morning?”

“Sure,” I said, popping my head up and away from what constituted as attractive to thirty year old women these days. “Car keys are on the table by the garage.”

“Okay great. I’m used to driving that kind of SUV,” she said. She seemed busy with making up food so I slipped past her quietly and got out the eggs and tossed a few into a pan. I washed up quickly and got out two pieces of bread, buttering each side and setting it down to wait for the eggs to finish. I yawned and stretched out, Y/N spinning around, staring smack dab at me. I quickly wrapped my arms around myself, shaking my head as I went back to the pan. “Would you like me to make lunch for you as well?”

“No thank you. I’m getting lunch with my manager today. You don’t have to make me coffee in the morning either, Y/N. Your job is to take care of the kids, not me,” I said. She rolled her eyes and I cocked my head.

“A cup of coffee is not difficult, Jensen. My job is to help you so if I can make dad’s life a smidge easier it’ll make theirs better too,” she said with a smile.

“You’re not like, a morning person are you,” I said, chuckling as she shook her head. “I don’t do peppy in the morning.”

“Oh no. I’m always a little nervous when I start a new job. I’ll get a rhythm down soon,” she said as I saw the eggs set.

“So what do you normally do once the kids are dropped off?” I asked, pulling a spatula out of the container on the counter.

“On a weekday I’ll review their schedule, see if anything different is going on. An average day like today I will clean their rooms, their bathroom, do some laundry while they’re at school, maybe some shopping. I’ll pick up the twins, bring them home for lunch, a little playtime, a nap. We’ll have some quiet time and maybe a craft or coloring before we get JJ from school. Then I’ll give them all a snack, we can get outside and play to get some energy out. I’ll help JJ with any schoolwork she has while the twins play and then I will start on dinner about the time you’ll be getting home. Since you have no plans currently tonight I’ll leave you guys be at that point until tomorrow unless you ask me for help.”

I blinked, opening my mouth and staring for a solid five seconds while she kept working on making baggies of snacks.

“So when do you take a break?” I asked.

“Naptime. I’ll have lunch with the twins. Don’t worry about me Jensen. That’s my normal plan but if you would like me to run some errands in the morning I can.”

“No, no. Just…” I trailed off. She really didn’t get why she was here, did she? “I still want to make them breakfast and dinner and play with them too is all.”

“We’ll figure out the right mix of things,” she said. “You just gotta tell me is all, okay? It can vary day to day too.”

“Yeah,” I said, taking the fried egg out of the pan and placing it on one piece of bread. I put the other piece on top and made a sandwich, taking a big bite. I let out a quiet sigh. I didn’t want her to do everything. Just help. But where was that fucking line? I was either going to do too much or too little and fuck everything up again. I felt her staring as I looked out the back window, taking another bite of food. “I never asked. How was your birthday?”

“Hm?” she hummed, a glance over my shoulder catching her dropping some carrots into a reusable bag.

“On Saturday you said it was your 30th. You do anything fun that night?” I asked with a soft smile. I dared to spin back around, her back to me while she worked. She probably went out with friends, got drinks. 

Maybe picked up a guy.

I looked down, squeezing my eyes shut. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Stop fucking thinking about her like that.

“I got a new job. That was the highlight of my day,” she said as she spun around, my head quickly snapping up before she noticed. I couldn’t help but cock it though. It was her birthday. Her thirtieth. She was beautiful. How was getting another nanny job the highlight of it? Maybe she felt self-conscious about it. No idea why, she looked amazing. “I ordered pizza, binged netflix. My normal Saturday routine.”

“I know everybody jokes about 30 but it’s really just jokes. Wait until you’re 42,” I chuckled, Y/N smiling. “Then you really feel old.”

“Most 42 year olds would kill to look like you,” she said. She shut your eyes and shook her head but I smiled when she looked away. Maybe I wasn’t so bad after all. “I’m so sorry. That was so inappropriate.”

“It’s alright. I took it as a compliment,” I said. She looked embarrassed and I cleared my throat, taking a bite of food. “So you did nothing for your birthday, huh?”

“Uh, no,” she said, mixing in some grapes into each of the snack bags. I frowned and popped the last piece of food into my mouth. Why didn’t she celebrate? Not even a slice of cake? A little lightbulb went off in my head and I started to smile, Y/N giving me a strange look.

“I’m gonna get you a birthday cake,” I said. She looked mortified and started to shake her head but I held up a hand.

“Mr. Ackles-”

“I thought I said it’s Jensen. I’m the boss so what I say goes. We’re gonna have a birthday cake for you tonight. So. What’s your favorite flavor?”

“Whatever you want is perfectly fine.” I rolled my eyes and groaned, swearing I caught a quick smile on her face.

“Y/N.”

“…I like red velvet,” she said. I broke out into a huge smile and laughed. Of course. Of fucking course she said red velvet.

“That was my wife’s favorite,” I said. “Haven’t had that since her birthday. She would have liked you.”

“You think so?” she asked. I took a deep breath and felt calm for a moment, nodding back at her.

“Yeah. You’re quite kind to me. She was always protective of me, even if she was the scaredy cat most of the time.”

“Can I ask how…” she said. The calm quickly left and I swallowed. I told her died unexpectedly in a car accident right? Or just died unexpectedly? No, I said car. Right. Car accident. Fuck, why’d I have to start saying she died in her sleep too. Because that made more sense than the fucking brain aneurysm while driving but that was our shitty luck...she’s staring idiot. Talk. Now.

“Accident. Tractor trailer versus her car. He tried to miss her but it was too late. I wanted to hate the guy too but it was an accident and I couldn’t blame him for that.”

“My father died in a car crash when I was six. It does get better with time,” she said.

“That’s why you didn’t know if he had a picture of you in his wallet or not,” I said as she nodded. She looked away and I shuddered at the thought the kids wouldn’t know things about their mother. “You’re too young to have that much tragedy in life.”

“So are you.”

“I’m not young anymore.”

“You’re young and overly generous,” she said with a smile. She was being polite. Or maybe not. Either way I’d take it.

“Misery loves company,” I said as we both heard a few feet above us running around. “Munchkins are up.”

“You want to make breakfast or should I?” she asked.

“Give me five minutes to get them in some clean clothes. Then I can show you how they like their eggs.”

“Sounds like a plan, Jensen.”

I headed upstairs, catching Zeppelin chasing Arrow up and down the hall, both of them giggling before stopping at my feet.

“Daddy you’re all smiley,” said Arrow. I looked down and shook my head, her eyes lighting up. “Yes you are!”

“It must be because you two are going to run off and get dressed this morning all by yourselves,” I said. They shared a look, that twin look, and both took off running with slightly evil laughs. “I fear the day you two are teenagers.”

“Good morning,” yawned JJ, walking out of her room dressed and giving me a hug. 

“Good morning,” I said, bending down and picking her up, giving her a squeezing hug.

“Okay?” she asked.

“Yeah. Daddy’s okay today,” I said, a thud and Zeppelin running back crying. “What hurts buddy?”

“I don’t know,” he said as I squatted down with JJ on my good hip, picking him up and settling him on the other.

“Well, that’s okay. Sometimes you just gotta cry it out,” I said. He made a face but I smiled, his confusion getting him to calm down by the time Arrow was running down the hall. 

“Daddy,” she groaned. I chuckled and spun around, Arrow climbing up on my back. 

“Who needs a workout when you got a hundred pounds on your back,” I said. “Alright, alright. We can have breakfast in pajamas today. I want you guys on your best behavior for Y/N okay? She’s new and has a lot to learn still, like your favorite eggs.”

“Hot sauce,” said JJ.

“That’s my girl,” I chuckled, feeling her hug me hard for a split second. I kissed the top of her head and went back towards the stairs. “Alright. Who’s hungry?”

“Hey handsome,” I heard as I was walking through the parking lot. I spun around, sighing as Jared walked over with a laugh. 

“Why must you do that?” I sighed.

“Cause seeing that look on your face is funny,” he said, looking me up and down. “Heading in?”

“Finished up for the day. More Batman, some video game and my manager wanted me to record an audition for some animated movie. You?”

“Walker dubbing. Again,” he said. “You’re not going strictly voice acting on me are you?”

“No. Just was kinda easy to do that while I was recovering. Drive downtown, record, drive home.”

“Excited for The Boys?”

“Yeah. Nervous. I never really made a final decision on what to do with the kids. My parents offered to stay at the house and watch them.” Jared cleared his throat and I smiled. “I know you offered too. But I just…”

“I know. You thought things were different when you took the job,” said Jared. “When The Boys is over you know I could get you a recurring guest start spot on Walker. Like anytime.”

“I know,” I shrugged, rubbing my arm. “It’s your show though. I mean we literally ended Supernatural last year. I don’t want to butt in.”

“Why would you think that?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. I rolled mine, Jared grabbing my arm, walking between the cars with me. “You are really starting to scare me.”

“Because I want to give you space and let your show be your show? Dude, relax. I didn’t say I don’t want to. I can’t wait to work with you again. But the show is new and it’s your baby right now. I’ll be on someday, I promise.”

“I just-”

“I know. But I have ideas and projects and losing Dee changed things. Maybe I do want to be able to work at home in Austin more. But let me figure that out first?”

“Fine,” grumbled Jared.

“Hey. I’ll make you a deal. I will absolutely direct in season 2 and maybe I can do a guest spot or two if you and me sit down sometime this year and brainstorm that reboot mini-series for like five years from now. Deal?”

“I was gonna do that anyways,” said Jared with a big smile, holding out his hand. I shook it, getting a quick hug. “How’s the hot nanny?”

“Shut up,” I said, pushing him away but smiling. 

“You still like her?”

“Honestly? I think I’m in deep shit.”

“Good,” he said. “I like that dumb fucking smile on your face.”

“I bought her a birthday cake. Is that weird?”

“Not unless it’s not here birthday.”

“It was on Saturday but she didn’t celebrate for some reason.”

“No, not weird then,” he said. “Find out if she’s single yet?”

“Not a clue.”

“Find out tonight buddy.”

“I’ll try. I gotta run. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Later Jackles.”

“Thanks for giving up your night with them. I didn’t mean to have that happen,” I said after Y/N finished reading the kids a bedtime story. 

“It’s no problem. It’s good bonding for us,” she said as we headed back downstairs to the kitchen. She helped pick up the plates at the table and wash them off before sticking them in the dishwasher. She looked a little tired but for some reason that made her look even prettier. I swallowed and went over to the tall cabinet and reach up top, grabbing a bottle of whiskey as Y/N covered up what was left of the cake. 

“Drink?” I asked. She smiled and pinched her fingers close to each other.

“A small one,” she said. I poured a single into a whiskey glass for her, smirking when she took a sip and made a face. “Oh that’s smooth.”

“Very,” I said, pouring my own glass. “Thank you for tonight. JJ’s been…”

“She’s the oldest. She’s gonna have a harder time with it.”

“You were about her age when your dad died you said?” I asked. She nodded and took a deep breath.

“She’ll be okay. She’ll miss her but it won’t be a deep pain. She’ll have nice memories of her mom. She’s doing pretty good, trust me.”

“Can I ask another personal question?”

“I’m off the clock. Shoot,” she said.

“Your mom ever…try again with someone else?” She waited a beat but smiled, nodding a few times.

“Yes. Years later she found a good guy. He actually is who I stayed with after she passed. He’s married now, has some kids of his own but I know if I call him up he’d drop everything for me.”

“Good. I was getting afraid you were a complete Shakespeare tragedy,” I chuckled. Whew. At least she had somebody out there to watch her back if she needed it.

“Nah. I’m not at that level of crazy in my life,” she said. “As long as we’re off the clock, can I ask if you’re asking because you’re thinking of getting back out there?”

I took a drink and smiled. Still perceptive. Still adorable. But her face looked gentler almost, like she’d drop it in a second if I asked.

“I am. My wife kind of insisted on it. When we first got serious we had this deal that we’d go try again if something happened. I mean, I don’t cry everytime I think about her now. I can smile and be happy and that ache doesn’t try to swallow me up everyday anymore. I think it’s time I could get back out there.”

“I’d say it is. The kids are ready. They’ll understand.”

“You think your mom loved the second guy as much as your dad?”

“For sure. She was a bit of a free spirit but she didn’t think you had to have just one soulmate. She told me that after she’d met Ray. She said she got two so maybe I had two out there. I haven’t found either one of them yet so I’ll take increasing my odds as best I can.”

Oh. Oh God she’s single.

Yes!

Fucking yes! I swallowed, thinking what she’d just said and grinned. Two soulmates. I kind of liked the sound of that.

“Well you’re not gonna meet your soulmate sitting at home on Saturday nights, Y/N.” I said, clearing my throat.

“Just a lot of douchey guys,” she said.

“Ah. You need to meet a better kind of guy is all.”

“Yeah see I’m thirty. All the good guys are married by now.”

“Oh all of them are taken. I didn’t realize that,” I said with a chuckle. “What am I then? Another douchebag?”

“You don’t count. You’re…”

“Too old for you?” I laughed nervously. Oh how the hell any woman had ever gone out with me was a miracle. I was a fucking wreck at this.

“My boss. Plus you’re like famous. You can go get like a victoria secret model or something.”

“Looks ain’t everything.” 

“Maybe I ought to try older guys now that you say that,” she said. I took another sip and let it burn in the back of my throat. Go slow idiot. Test the waters a bit.

“Y/N, you gotta be careful with that. I don’t want to see you get taken advantage of.”

“And this is why I watch netflix on Saturday nights,” you said.

“You serious about the older guy crack?” I asked.

“I do find them more…attractive sometimes. I guess it depends on how old. Why?”

Maybe she was looking me up and down that morning...maybe.

“I got a friend my age, might be interested?” I asked, hiding behind a smile. Why the fuck did I say that? All I wanted to know was if she’d consider someone older, not that.

“I don’t know,” she said. “No offense to your friend but…I mean if he’s 42…I want kids and stuff you know? Although a dude it doesn’t really matter how old…I don’t know.”

“It was just a thought,” I said. I took another sip but she was smiling. Okay. Maybe that wasn’t two old for her.

“I’ll think about it,” she said. “He’s not a weirdo, right.”

“No. He’s an actor. Something to think about.”

“I will,” she said, sounding like she meant it. “Thank you for the birthday cake, Jensen. You’re a good person.”

“I bought a cake.” She looked down and finished off her drink, the air heavy for a few seconds, her body tense before it relaxed. 

“Yeah but I haven’t really had one of those in years. You’re a good person.”

“You’re very welcome,” I said as she slid off her seat. “You’re free to hang out if you like.”

“I’m kinda tired. I won’t be getting up that early from now on I don’t think.”

“I completely understand. Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight Jensen.” She headed down the hall to her room and I put the liquor away, checking the hallway after a beat, her door shut. I wanted to give her a hug but that was crossing a line. 

“Daddy,” said Arrow, walking down into the kitchen. I turned and smiled, walking back over. “Can I have a little milk?”

“Okay but just a little. Want it warmed up?” I asked. She hummed and I poured her a small glass in one of her sippie cups, heating it up before popping on the lid and handing it over. “Back to bed now.”

“Why didn’t Y/N’s mommy and daddy get her a birthday cake?” she asked.

“Y/N’s parents aren’t around anymore munchkin. She lost her mommy and daddy when she was a kid too.”

“Oh,” she said softly, pausing by the bottom of the stairs. She stared, the gears grinding in her head. She’d only been three at the time but she actually understand strangely enough what it meant that mom was gone. Zeppelin was the hard case to crack but she somehow explained it to him and one day it clicked for him too. 

“Honey?” I asked, squatting down beside her. 

“Does mommy know Y/N’s parents now?” she asked.

“Maybe,” I said with a smile, tucking her hair behind her ear. 

“I hope so.”

“Me too. Go on up to bed now. I’ll race you.” She took off with her cup and I smirked when she got to the top of the stairs. “That one never fails.”

“You think I’m hot,” I said to myself the next day. I hummed as I walked into the bathroom, sweating after working out. Y/N was hopefully enjoying her break. I grinned, looking at myself in the mirror and ripping my shirt off. “She was so staring. She was so staring.”

I started to undress, whistling before I turned on the water, catching myself in the mirror again. My eyes landed on the scar and I quickly looked away, getting under the stream.

“Stop acting like a fucking idiot. She doesn’t even...of course she’d stare. I stare at good looking sweaty men of course she would too.” I sighed and sat down on the shower bench, putting my head in my hands. “Dee tell me what to do. Please. Make me forget this girl exists.”

“Jensen! I’m going to the store!” called Y/N through the closed bedroom door.

“Drive safe!” I shouted back. I lifted my head and stood up, pursing my lips. “Gonna make me figure this out on my own, aren’t you.”

I tilted my head back under the water, swallowing thickly. 

“Jensen! I just took a shower!” said Dee, smiling when I pulled her flush to me. 

“Take another one,” I said, kissing her soft lips, her hands resting on my hips and squeezing them. “Bed.”

“The kids have to go to camp in less than-”

“Fine,” I groaned, throwing my head back. I jumped when she slapped my ass, slipping out of the shower.

“I’ll play with you later,” she teased. She grinned as she used my towel to dry off before she went back to her vanity to do her makeup quickly. 

“Dee?”

“Because I’m over forty and you know how some of the moms are. Fucking little vultures,” she said, putting on some mascara. 

“I didn’t say anything,” I hummed.

“You were thinking it.”

“That you’re hot without makeup? Oh no. I wasn’t thinking that at all,” I said, giving her a bitchface. “Are you ever going to stop giving a fuck what other people think?”

“No,” she sighed. “But I am better.”

“I know. You sure you don’t want to shower with me?” I asked, jutting out my lip. She smiled and winked. “Dee.”

“Later sweetie. I promise.”

I looked over to the empty vanity. That was the last morning she stood there. Fucking worried about looking put together enough for the carpool line. I breathed deeply, looking at the pile of sweaty clothes on the floor, Y/N popping into my head.

“I like her Dee. I really fucking like her. I don’t know what to do.”

Three Days Later

“Hey,” said Jared, already out front of his when I got there. “Everything cool?”

“No,” I said. “Drink?”

He waved and I followed him around to the back table, Jared leaving and returning after a moment with a bottle and two glasses.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. I took a long sip and sighed.

“Y/N got hurt tonight.”

“Is she okay?”

“Yeah she’s fine. A scrape. But Jared...this is not a crush. I’m positive of it.”

“Didn’t we already establish that?” I turned my head and glared, Jared giving it right back. “Dude. What are you asking? Permission?”

“No. I don’t need anyone’s permission to date someone.”

“So I take it Y/N is in fact single.” I nodded, Jared leaning back in his chair. “Jensen. Dee can’t tell you that it’s okay. You have to trust that she’d want you to be happy again.”

“I know she does but...it feels wrong. I feel like I’m cheating on her with another woman.”

“Have you told Y/N-”

“No. As far as she’s concerned I’m just her nice boss. Jesus Jare, this poor girl has had a more fucked up life than me easily and she’s so nice and kind and I can’t throw my shit on top of her.”

“Jensen. How old were you when you started to date Dee?” he asked.

“Twenty nine ish. Why?”

“So for twenty nine years before that you were on your own. You dated other people but no one that you loved like that. Do you really want to go another twenty nine years, more than that, on your own?”

“I want my wife back.”

“Spit out what you’re spiraling over. What, you think Dee will love you less if you love another woman?”

“I’m not having this discussion with you.” I stood up, Jared catching my wrist. I tugged on it, Jared getting to his feet and staring me down. “Move.”

“I know you’re not used to being the one with the problems. I know I’m the one always screwing up and always needing you to take care of me but I’m the one in charge this time. Now sit your ass down and talk or I swear to God I will call up every member of your family right now and tell them you haven’t seen a damn therapist at all.”

“Don’t threaten me,” I growled.

“I say we call them anyways. You’re the one that to this day continues to check that Jared doesn’t miss therapy,” said Gen, shoving a bowl of chips on the table when she stepped out there. “Always have to be the tough one don’t you Ackles. Go to fucking therapy and let them deal with you because obviously we’re not getting through that head of yours.”

“You told her?” I snapped.

“He didn’t tell me shit. I’ve always known you weren’t going.” I stared at her and she crossed her arms. “I live with Jared. I know when someone is actually going and when someone is pretending to. I’ve kept my mouth shut because I thought he knew the whole time. Jensen, you need help. Real help.”

“Well I’m sorry. Obviously I didn’t realize how much I was bothering you two,” I said. I took a step, Jared squeezing my wrist. 

“Tell her,” said Jared. “Tell her about Y/N.”

“What happened to your nanny?”

“Jens?” said Gen, sliding a plate of leftovers in front of me a short while later. I looked up, a soft smile on her face. “I’m sorry for snapping. I thought…”

“I’m sorry for being so defensive. Honestly I’ve been hiding a lot from everyone lately, including Jared.”

“She would not love you less if you fell in love again. I can guarantee it,” she said.

“Part of me knows that. The other part of me feels so damn guilty for even entertaining the thought of another woman.”

“But why? Because you think Dee would be upset?”

“Because how is that far to her and the other woman? How can I love two woman completely like that at the same time? It’s not fair to either one of them.”

“You love JJ?” asked Jared, leaning back against the counter.

“Of course.”

“Zeppy? Arrow?”

“Obviously.”

“How can you possibly love three children completely at the same time? It’s not fair right?” said Jared. I blinked, a smirk on his face. 

“That’s…” I started, poking at my food. “Okay that actually kinda makes sense. You couldn’t have said that to me like a week ago?”

“You weren’t being this much of a dumbass a week ago,” said Jared. I pouted, getting a side hug from Gen. 

“You gonna ask her out?” she asked. I shrugged, Gen ruffling my hair. “Well maybe you can hang out like friends at least.”

“Yeah. I can handle that,” I said. 

“Gen,” said Jared, Gen leaving the room, Jared coming over to my side. 

“You’re gonna say I should go see someone.”

“I’m gonna say, try cutting yourself a break. You’re the nicest guy I know. Try being nice to yourself for a change. Deal?” I nodded and took a few bites of food before standing. 

“Jare. Sorry for...it’s just scary you know? I don’t know if I said goodbye for the last time or not to Dee and…it’s just hard.”

“I think life is too complicated for the two of us to figure out the actual answer to that. But I think she’s up there too pulling her damn hair out watching you freak out over all this. She’d be wingmanning you so hard right now. You know, forget how you feel for a second. Just be Y/N’s friend.”

“I will,” I said. “Thanks. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Goodnight lover boy,” he said as I headed for the front door.

“Gen! Jared wants you to do that thing with the little black-“

“Shut up!” said Jared, Gen smiling as I slipped into the sitting room.

“Don’t take it easy on him,” I winked at her.

“I never do,” she said. “Night Jay.”

“Night guys. Thanks for putting up with me.”

“Always.”

One Week Later

“Y/N,” I said, catching her washing her car in the driveway on a Saturday morning. “Got plans today?”

“Uh, I was gonna run to the grocery store in a minute but other than that, no. Need me to watch the kids?”

“No. We were going out to lunch and then going to a little car show was all and we were wondering if you’d like to join us. Totally up to you. My treat.”

“You don’t want me to watch the kids?” she asked. I laughed and crossed my arms. “I’m confused.”

“Do you want to hang out with us today? For fun?” I asked. Come on. Just say yes and have some fun. All you ever do on the weekend is chores and stayed holed away on your side of the house anyways.

“Oh,” she said. “That’s okay. You enjoy your time with the kids.”

“How do I make this clearer,” I said, walking over to her and looking down. “I want you to come with us, as a friend, to do something fun, like friends do. This is not work. Come if you want to.”

“You sure you want me to come?” she asked. I rolled my eyes and plopped my baseball cap off my head and onto hers as I walked away. She tilted the brim up, looking up through her lashes, a soft smile on her face.

“Yes. And wear sunscreen,” I said. “We’re leaving at eleven thirty.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll see you guys then.”

_________

A/N: Part 3 coming TBD!

[abitofboth]

even more owen carvour hcs because I’ve got brain worms or something

he got his ears pierced when he was younger, and even though he rarely wears them now, he’ll put studs in every now and then just so the holes won’t close up.

he’s a bit of an insomniac. sleep doesn’t come easy to him and he can spend hours just tossing and turning. half the time he’ll just give up and find something else to do- read a book, go over mission plans, sit at the window with a cigarette and watch the world go by.

a shakespeare snob through and through. he has a quote ready to go for every single situation possible and he doesn’t care how many eyes roll every time he whips one out.

he’s semi-decent at drawing. not the best, but he does have a sketchbook he uses in his downtime that he’ll draw whatever’s in front of him in.

he learnt how to hot wire cars when he was bumming around as a kid. every time he gets the chance to steal a car on a mission it’s like he’s 13 all over again, filled with the thrill of not getting caught.

he thinks mrs mega is maybe the best woman alive. her and her antics entertain him endlessly and he adores how much she loves curt. he hasn’t met her many times, but every time he gets the pleasure of staying at the safe house he finds himself wishing he had a mum like her.

he has a soft spot for barb. every time curt makes a mean passing remark about her he’ll smack him across the arm.

he’s thought about (more often than he’d like to admit) running away with curt. taking them both far from the danger and secrets and living life quietly as just the two of them. (and a cat. his fantasy definitely involves him being with curt and owning a cat. he has two hands for a reason!!)

he never got to meet tatiana before he was in his cunty villain era, but if curt and owen would have found her before the fall in their prime time I just KNOW that they would have been the ultimate team (I literally drew it hehe). owen and tati would have been bitchy best friends and I don’t even doubt it for a second.

he and curt have had so many “romantic” patching up sessions after missions. before they were officially together, there were so many uncertain gentle touches and lingering caresses where they both wish they could say and do more. the moments when there’s been some serious blood loss and things that would normally remain unsaid start slipping out are the moments when the two start realising that they might just feel the same way about each other. (I also literally wrote this hehe :P)

in a similarly trope-y way, there have been so many ‘Whoops! Only One Bed!’ situations. before they got together owen loved being able to sleep curled up right next to his crush (he hates the term ‘crush’ btw), and then after they got together it just gave him an excuse to spoon him all night long.

curt snores. owen hates it.

he can ride motorbikes and he can do it well. he loves when curt rides behind him and clings onto him with his arms around his waist. he drives extra fast to sate curt’s adrenaline junkie tendencies (and he loves the way curt laughs out of pure joy right next to his ear).

if he finds himself being tortured, as spies do, his go to is pretty much get so cocky and smarmy until it pisses off the torturer so much that owen can find an opportunity to overpower them and fight back. works like a charm.

once, he was captured and had his head forced underwater and was threatened with being drowned to death. the whole experience fucked him up for a good while.

regularly gets curt to light his cigarette for him while he’s holding it in his mouth.

every injury the fall gave him is a painful reminder of curt. even years down the line, every time a scar smarts or his knee plays up he’s filled with too many emotions to name.

he doesn’t actually remember a whole lot of the actual fall happening, it’s all very patchy, but he has vivid memories of curt’s horrified face getting further and further away from him as he got closer to the floor.

he learnt how to play an old family violin when he was a kid, and he’s gotten a little rusty over the years but he can still play a pretty tune on one.

he loves late night walks through cities. he thinks it’s the best way to really get to know a place. plus, it’s like he can hide in the shadows for a few hours and be someone other than owen carvour.

he’s a bit of a lightweight when it comes to booze. it doesn’t take many drinks to get him tipsy, and he’ll be full on drunk before you know it. curt can handle alcohol much better than him and has had to drag him away from bars more times than he can count.

he’ll frequently stop to fix curt’s tie and collar if they’re in disguise. everything needs to be perfectly in place or he thinks curt’ll look sloppy and give them away.

when they’re more into their relationship, owen starts buying in coffee to keep in his flat, and curt starts taking tea bags back to america with him every time he visits the uk.

spicy, be warned

post fall he tried sleeping with someone else but he could literally think of nothing but curt the entire time. he was never eager to try again.

if he’s in a submissive mood, he will go nuts if you call him a ‘good boy’. ‘my good boy’ is even better.

if he’s pent up he’ll just unashamedly jerk off in the shower whether he’s alone in there or not.

if he’s feeling particularly decadent and has the time, he’ll touch himself with a cigarette in his mouth and a bottle of wine in his hand.

shotgunning. he’ll take a drag and kiss it into curt’s mouth. they both think it’s hot as fuck.

if truth serum is something at their disposal, he's definitely used it during sex.

[ikemenfanfiction]

Dazai: The First Taste of You Ikemen Vampire (April 2020) Masterlist

Featuring: Osama Dazai x Female Reader Word Count: 1700 Warnings: Angst/Fluff (Mention of injury and blood) Disclaimer: Ikemen Vampire characters are not mine. They are the rightful property of Cybird.

Premise:

You didn’t mean to break the hour glass.

Usually you were so careful. You lived in a house full of vampires after all. You’d accidentally cut yourself in the kitchen once while helping with dinner and Sebastian gave you the scolding of your life!

While the residents made great efforts to be civil there were still precautions to be taken.

Plus, causing any of the other residents discomfort when they had all—in their own way—welcomed you and made a place for you in the mansion? That was the last thing you wanted to do!

Yet, despite your efforts, there was another time Isaac had to leave the room after you had a mishap in the Library. Leonardo was there too and he simply laughed as he helped you bandage your hand. “You need to be more careful Cara Mia.” He had teased.

“Please don’t tell Sebastian!” You sighed. “He really let me have it last time. I promise to be more cautious!!”

Leonardo had laughed and agreed to keep your secret. You were indeed very careful the next week or so afterwards. Wearing gloves when it was appropriate and taking extra precautions when you could not.

Yet this time… you were not so fortunate.

Dazai

You cleaned up the wound as best as you could. It was very deep and it took some time to stop the bleeding.

The cut ran along your left forearm. You had nearly toppled onto the hourglass when it fell over.

It was very fortunate you had managed not to sustain more damage.

You’d cleaned up the mess as well as you could after tending to the injury, all the while feeling very downcast. You knew Le Comte’s collection was precious to him. You only hoped you could find some way to make it up to him for your blunder.

After that fiasco you decided to don your elbow length gardening gloves, (Yes, they were Sebastian’s suggestion.) and head outside to get some fresh air. You were weeding one of your favorite flower beds near the gazebo when someone called to you.

“Yumeko-san? Are you hurt?”

“Oh! Dazai! You startled me!” You gasp. In the shade of the trees he appeared even more surreal than usual with his flowing traditional kimono and cape. Added to those fascinating golden eyes,

you could swear he was some personage from a fairytale approaching you with a task or riddle.

If you blundered the task or answered wrong you would spend the rest of your life as his servant. Yet, if you found success he would grant you a wish.

“Yes, I’m sorry. I was cleaning and cut my arm. I thought the scent of blood might be a little less potent out here.”

“Is it still bleeding?”

You shrug holding your arm protectively against you.

He chuckled and settled down next to you. “Now now, Yuri-san let me see it. I cannot leave a fair creature, like yourself, alone and distressed beneath a shade tree.”

His teasing summoned a smile as it always seemed to. His light airy attitude always seemed to brighten a room. Since arriving at the mansion you’d often found yourself grateful for his company and advice.

“I was just thinking you seemed like something out of a fairy tale… some creature approaching me with a riddle or a task.” You laugh a little and allow him to take your arm and remove the glove. The bandage was indeed soaked with blood.  You sighed in disappointment. Perhaps you had done a poor job of bandaging it after all.

“It must be very deep to bleed so much. How did you do this, Minako-san?” Dazai’s gentle eyes were so full of concern you decided to brush off the fact that he had just called you a third

incorrect name in less than five minutes. After all no matter how many times you corrected him he always called you something else.

“I was quite clumsy and knocked over one of Le Comte’s hourglasses. It fell and broke, then I managed to cut myself on the shards of glass. Now it appears I also did a poor job treating the

injury.”

“Let me get you a fresh bandage and I will see if we cannot manage better between the two of us.” Dazai smiled at you reassuringly before disappearing into the mansion in search of the first

aid supplies. Meanwhile you tried to calm your heart.

Holy France, he was so charming! There were times you wanted to reach out and touch his handsome face just to be sure he was real. His gentle smile had comforted you several times since your arrival. You found the oddities the other residents tended to tease him about unique and even endearing. He was always so kind and quick to offer you a bit of cheer. 

“Thank you, Dazai-san.” You said with a smile when he returned with a box of bandages. He settled down beside you and took your wrist gently in his hand angling it so he could see the wound clearly.

“Is this… difficult for you?” You ask in a pained voice as you noted your arm had begun to bleed again.

“I believe the Greek Labyrinth would have been an afternoon stroll compared to this.” He replied.

When you gasp he chuckles, however, earning a glare from you.

“Awe, don’t be like that Yuki-san. I jest to earn your smile not your anger.” He teased, those gold eyes glittering. You hissed as he began to disinfect the wound again.

“So, since this seems in many aspects a fairytale encounter… what should I claim as payment for my assistance?” He asked concentrating on his work.

“Payment?” You ask in surprise as you watch him wrap your arm tightly putting pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding. He then held it firmly for a few moments waiting for the flow of blood to slow.

“Yes. If this were a story I would certainly demand payment after helping a beautiful lady.”

You summon another laugh from him with the glare you cast his way.

“Do not make these faces. Even when you’re angry you are quite beautiful here in the garden. It is hardly fair.” He replaced the disinfectant in the box he brought out before extracting

the bandages. Meanwhile he kept pressure on the wound with his other hand. “So, if you were telling the story what would you offer?”

“I don’t know…” You flush just thinking about it. Here this beautiful man is holding your arm and it strikes you as quite an intimate position. Then he asks you for a reward?

“U-usually the lady would ask for a kiss but that’s hardly—”

You break off as his gentle smile changes to a teasing smirk.

You open your mouth to scold him for teasing you again when he suddenly moves much closer. So close you can feel his breath brush your cheek and count every lash surrounding those enchanting golden eyes. You gulp.

“So you would offer me a sweet taste of you… that’s quite a reward. Are you certain?” He seemed to be searching for an answer.

For just a moment you imagine it. The feel of his lips colliding with your own. What would his kiss taste like? Would it be sweet or passionate?

You were almost startled when he looked away from you and slowly unwrapped your arm to check the bleeding.

“Awe much better, Songo-san.” He smiled, bending your elbow to inspect the wound more closely.

A mixture of relief and disappointment flooded your heart. He was just playing with you.

“Dazai-sa—”

You broke off as he leaned forward and in and extremely erotic manor ran his tongue slowly—God so slowly—along your forearm. As he moved languidly across the opening of the wound it felt somehow both like a kiss and a caress at the same time.

The feeling of the tender warmth of his tongue tracing against your skin sent chills down your spine and halted your breathe in your lungs. When he drew back his gaze, that tender gaze, remained on your arm tracing the burning path his tongue had taken. You stared at him—speechless—as his expression grew pained. Pained as though your injury were his own. At last he sighed and rewrapped the

wound without meeting your gaze.

As your shock at his actions faded an embarrassing fire burned across your skin. Everywhere he touched seemed especially hot. Yet nothing burned hotter than your face as he finished wrapping

your arm and met your gaze.

“I fear I am unworthy of such a reward my sweet enchantress. Forgive me for taking some small pleasure while caring for you?”

There was a sadness in his eyes. A heartbreaking sadness. You

had sensed such sorrow from him before-catching rare glimpses of it when he sat alone and unguarded-yet he had never showed it so openly as he did now.

You doubted you would have been more shocked if he had kissed you full on the mouth.

“It was too much to claim I see. Forgive me then? I shall not make such a trespass again.”

He moved to go but you reached out to grab his arm.

“Wait!” You objected and he paused but shook his head.

“I have upset you.” He apologized again.

“It is not enough.” You say firmly.

“Enough?” He asks looking confused.

That sadness. His sadness. You could not allow him to leave like this. Not when you owed him for so many small moments where he managed to put you at ease or summoned your smile. How

could you abandon him to sadness when he’d been a light for your own lonely heart here in this mansion?

You gulp and push yourself forward before you can second guess your actions.

“Worthy or not you earned your reward, Dazai-san. I owe you a kiss.”

Surprise flashed in those golden eyes for just a moment. He hesitated and you feared he would indeed pull away. Or laugh and claim this was all but another joke. You weren’t certain you

could handle either reaction.

You barely had the chance to blink and he was there. His hot mouth brushing over yours with surprising zeal. His hands moved smoothly to touch you, bracing the back or your head with the warmth of his hands. His fingers tangling in your hair and thumbs urging your chin to tilt upward. Angling your mouth just right for him completely invade you.

Damn, how could he kiss like this? With the fury of a storm and the fervor of the tide crashing against the shore. Wave after wave of passion attempted to drown you as his tongue thrust deeper and deeper as though intending to consume you completely.

When he pulled back at last regret flooded his gaze. He was no longer sad. Instead he was consumed by pain as he panted for air.

No! You couldn’t let those feelings consume him. You couldn’t allow him to rebuild the walls around his heart that he used to shield others from this pain.

“Don’t please! Dazai—” Your hands gripped the cloth of his Kimono tangling into it desperately as your emotions tangled together inside you.

“Just one taste and we are already cast out of paradise?” He breathed unsteadily. “As you wish then, __.” No sooner had your name-not some other name but yours-left his lips than they

collided with yours again.

Whatever regret—whatever fate—lay before you, neither of you could know. Yet, after this you knew, despite whatever was to come, you could never take back this moment. Never again bury

these feelings which were now burning inside you. Whatever the future held… this moment would remain. Living and breathing inside your heart, until your heart itself grew still forever.

[imprettytired]

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

----

Chapter 6

Cw: drugs, hallucinations, injury, blood, arguing, references to self harm.

----

An alarm remind Mammon to get out of bed a few hours later. He didn't sleep. Actually he's forgotten what he's been doing, though he vaguely remembers spending money on something.

He didn't want to get up. He had to get up. His pills were wearing off.

He went straight to the bathroom and grabbed the bag of pills. They looked different. They now had a light blue tint, but to Mammon they were the only things that would get him through the day, so they didn't look too different to him.

He popped two in his mouth and began to get ready for school, waiting for the pills to kick in.

He stared into the mirror.

He looks great! Or at least he thought he looked great. Maybe the lack of sleep made him appear sick to others, but he couldn't tell.

"Everyone finds you repulsive."

Strangely Mammon has begun to get used to the voice, although he does still wish that it was just a thought or, at the very least, said something nice.

Before Mammon put the pills back into it's place he had a realization. The bathroom wasn't the best place for his pills. He looked around the room for a bit before deciding that under the couch was the best option.

"I'll find a better place later." He thought, slipping the bag under the cushions.

He decided to only take a shower, and hoped that he could get home soon.

----

In the middle of a shower the pills finally kicked in. He hated the feeling he got. He was happy but these pills didn't give him the same burst of energy he was used to. They made him exhausted to the point where he could barely open his eyes.

The next thing he knew he was laying in his shower as someone was banging on his bedroom door.

As he got up and saw as blood trickled from his face. He touched his nose. It didn't hurt but he knew he did something to it as he saw the blood on his fingers.

He still heard the banging as he turned off the shower and started drying off.

"Come on Mammon you're gonna be late."

"How is that possible?" He thought. "I had at least an hour. They shouldn't have even had breakfast yet."

Mammon put on his clothes and went to the door, quickly putting his hand over his nose

"Everyone already left but Lucifer wanted to make sure you were up." Beelzebub said then took a good look at Mammon.

"Mammon are you sure you're feeling better? You still look really sick."

He was so tired.

"I'm fine."

Mammon's nose bled hard, so hard that wiping it only seemed to make it worse and draw attention to it.

"What happened?" Beelzebub said, panicked.

"I slipped in the shower but I'll be fine."

Mammon watched as Beelzebub quickly grabbed something from out of his pocket before handing it to him.

It was a small bandage.

Mammon knew enough to know that bandage was going to do nothing for him, he would be quiet literally putting a bandage on a broken bone.

He looked up at Beelzebub. Getting ready to tell him just that. Then he saw the small smile plastered on his face, almost like he knew it was useless in this situation, but he still wanted to help.

Mammon put the useless bandage on his nose and grabbed a handkerchief for the blood.

----

Mammon dragged himself into school and watched as everyone began leaving for their classes. Scanning the walls he could tell that more flyers had appeared. He didn't even need to read them to know what they're about.

"I just have to get through this." He thought. But he was so tired that he considers finding a secluded place to sleep.

Mammon entered the student council room. Nothing has changed over the few weeks he's been gone, but something felt different. He hadn't noticed how truly empty the room was. He never cared too much before then but the lack of people only elevated his worry.

He looked up at Diavolo. He seemed to be in deep thought, scribbling something on a piece of paper. Mammon wanted to get this meeting out of the way. He was exhausted.

"Ya' want somethin'?"

Diavolo looked at him.

"Oh Mammon! Ar- What happened to your nose?"

"I fell."

"Are you feeling better?"

Mammon nodded.

Diavolo gave Mammon a small smile then calmly walked over to him.

"How are you Mammon?"

"I'm fine, just really tired."

He stopped smiling.

"Mammon about the other day. Did you only said those things because you were tired."

"What did I say?"

"Well" Diavolo began.

----

"It's just. I um-" Mammon then stopped suddenly almost as if something caught you off guard.

"Why can't you just stop" Mammon said, his voice cracking a little as he tried to stop himself from crying.

"I want to hurt myself so badly and it's all your fault." Mammon's eyes rapidly looked around the school desperately trying to find who he was talking to.

But it there was no one except Diavolo and the few students still lingering in the hallway

"I'm going to kill you."

"Why would you want to do that?"

Mammon only glanced at Diavolo before going back to looking around.

"I don't know."

"Try to calm down, okay?"

Diavolo took a step, reaching his arm out in an attempt to consol him.

"STOP" Mammon yelled backing away.

"Do you want me to back up?"

"Not you."

"Then who?"

Mammon went back to looking around and stayed that way until he eventually snapped out of it.

----

Mammon was horrified, embarrassed, he couldn't believe that he was stupid enough to say that out loud and to Diavolo off all people.

At least it wasn't Lucifer.

"I'm so sorry I don't know why I said that."

"But you meant it didn't you?"

He couldn't lie. He hated that he couldn't just lie his way out.

He just looked down at Diavolo's shoes.

"Look Mammon I can't force you to talk about anything but you can always talk to me."

He said the only thing he thought was true.

"I don't know why I said that. I don't know what's wrong with me. To be honest something hasn't been right for awhile now."

He felt great finally getting that out.

"I've noticed. Even if you haven't shown up often. You look worse everytime I see you."

Mammon looked up at Diavolo, and then remembered.

"Is there anything you can do about this?" Mammon said, gesturing to his hand and nose.

"How'd you break your hand?"

"I fell."

Mammon could tell that he didn't believe it, but Mammon continued.

"It's been like this for a few days now."

"And it hasn't healed?"

Mammon held out his bandaged hand. Lucky for him, he didn't need to remove the bandage to see that it was broken.

Diavolo seemed to be deep in thought as a concerned look was plastered on his face.

"Yeah follow me."

Diavolo turned around but Mammon didn't feel like following. He was far too tired so he closed his eyes hoping that he'll give himself a few seconds to relax.

There was a thud as though something had hit the floor.

----

Mammon woke up confused. He looked around at could make out three people from the corner of his eye. He waited for the ringing in his ears to dissipate.

"Did he pass out before he fell or after?"

"I have no clue. I was turned around, but he said he fell and broke his nose and hand earlier."

"Is he on any drugs?"

"No"

"Has he been drinking?"

"His speech was a little slurred but I thought it was because of his nose. He doesn't seem drunk."

"He was really upset earlier so I don't know if that stressed him out or not. He was also sick."

"Do you know what upset him?"

"He's just been really depressed lately."

Mammon started to laugh. He knew that they were looking at him, so he sat up his vision going black for a split second.

"Why are y'all so worried I was just trying to sleep."

"Mammon no one save for Belphegor falls asleep standing."

"Well I'm tired."

"Mammon, he's a doctor and he's going to help you." Diavolo said.

The man that had been talking to them went up to Mammon.

"I need to check your nose."

"No it's fine."

"Mammon let him help you." Diavolo said

"I don't want help anymore." He snapped.

"Do you know if he normally acts like this?"

"No, he's usually more annoying." Lucifer said.

"STOP IT." Mammon yelled, pushing the doctor off of him. It took him a second for him to realize what he's done.

"I'm sorry I-I didn't mean to."

"It's okay, will you let me help you now?"

"No."

The man sighed, turning to look at Diavolo and Lucifer.

"Is there any way he could relax enough to let me check him?"

"No. Let me go home." Mammon answered.

"Mammon you're not leaving until you do what he says."

----

"Okay so this hand has been bothering you?" The man says, pointing at Mammon's broken hand.

"Yeah."

"Okay" the man starts to remove Mammon's bandages

"Do you have to remove the bandages?" Mammon said, trying his hardest not to panic

"Well yes your wounds need to be healed too."

"Wounds?"

"Yeah you're brother said the you had cut your hand on some glass when you fell."

Mammon quickly pulled his hand back.

"I just want you to work on my hand and nothing else. You're not taking off the bandages."

"But Mammon I have to."

"I don't want you too."

Mammon was lucky in that the man could since his panic. He turned to look at Diavolo and Lucifer.

"Do you guys ming leaving the room for a bit?"

Although confused, they did agree and left the room.

the doctor looked at Mammon

"Mammon just remember that no matter what I'm not required to tell anyone you're business."

Mammon sighed pulling his arm back out

The man took off the bandages. Showing the scars covering his arm and hand.

After a few minutes of some sort of magic, he wrapped Mammon's arm and hand in new bandages and put casts on his hand and nose.

"You're injuries should heal by tomorrow, though it may scar."

"It's fine thanks."

----

After finally convincing him that he fell because he was tired, Mammon follow the doctor out of the room. Whatever magic the doctor used was helping, he was glad that they were able to force him to get them.

What he wasn't glad about was that Diavolo and Lucifer seem to be discussing him.

"So he can't come back for a bit until he's does this.," Diavolo said, pointing to the paper in his hand. Lucifer seemed to have a copy of the papers.

Rage boiled inside of him. He couldn't believe that Diavolo would tell Lucifer.

Never. He would never tell anyone again. It wasn't worth the help.

"So you have to se-"

Before Diavolo could continue Mammon snatched the paper from his hands and ripped it into pieces.

"Fuck you."

"What's wrong?" Diavolo asked.

"Why would you say that?"

"Because I want you to get help."

"You don't give a fuck about how I feel you piece of shit."

Mammon stormed off not listening to the calls for him to return.

----

Mammon was sent home which he had no issue with. To his dismay Lucifer followed him home.

But the outburst from earlier seemed to be the last thing on Lucifer's mind.

"Mammon how has your debt doubled in such a short amount of time?"

Mammon has been spending a lot more lately, he assumes at casinos but he honestly can't remember.

"Because I wanted it to."

Lucifer started to talk but Mammon simply laid on the couch and went to sleep. He was too tired to force himself through another scolding, he didn't even have the energy to go to his room.

----

Mammon awoke to a bit later, groggy, he pulled the blanket off him then paused.

"When did I grab a blanket?" he thought.

Mammon then remembered the events from earlier. He doesn't know what happened after he left. What if the doctor told them?

"What if he looked through my room?"

Panicked, Mammon ran to his room heading straight to the bathroom. He couldn't find his pills. He tossed things around, desperately looking for them.

"No no no he couldn't have taken them."

Then it finally clicked.

The couch.

Throwing the cushions off he found the pills where he had left him.

Mammon fell to the floor in relief.

"He didn't look." Mammon said with a smile

He was so relieved that he didn't bother to see that the kitchen knife was now gone.

----

It's took Mammon a few hours to want to leave his room again. By then it was almost time for dinner.

While Mammon was trying to make his way back to the living room, he heard his brothers talking.

Mammon wanted to hear what they were saying. So he leaned against the wall, out of sight.

"Mammon won't be coming back to school for a while." Lucifer said.

Fuck. Well Mammon wasn't surprised that Lucifer would bring that up.

"Did he get suspended?" Satan asked.

"He's on a leave of absence."

"So he got suspended?"

"No. Lord Diavolo just needs him to do something before he gets back."

"Like stay home? Like a suspension." Satan said. Obviously trying to irritate Lucifer.

"No he needs him to see a therapist."

"Oh is it because he started screaming at Diavolo today." Leviathan said.

"What?" Belphegor said. Trying his hardest to hold in laughter.

"Yeah he was like 'you don't give a fuck about how I feel.'" Leviathan said, mocking

He heard as some of his brothers busted out laughing.

"It's our responsibility to take care of his student council work while he's gone." Lucifer paused "But we really won't be doing much."

His brothers then changed the subject to something about a party Diavolo's hosting that Mammon could vaguely remember. But it didn't matter.

Mammon banged his head against the wall. The soft thuds it made was the only thing keeping him grounded enough to not jump off the roof.

He had lost his appetite and went back to his room. Just then he received a message.

----

I'm alive! Just lost all of my writing, and it was a bit annoying having to rewrite all of the newer chapters + all of the other stories I'm planning. Also life hasn't been the best for me.