#nurse!reader

[martyrlamb]

✶ when the clock strikes / leon kennedy

pairing: leon kennedy x gn!reader

summary: you’re starting to think a certain agent might be faking his injuries to see you.

tags: sfw, pure fluff, a bit of angst as a treat, love at first sight basically, silly workplace love story, nurse!reader, 1 year post re4r!leon, no use of y/n, extremely mildly passively suggestive, leon takes his shirt off twice (woohoo!), kissing, swearing, leon is awkward as hell, you are too though so it’s okay, description of bruises, cuts and a muscle knot (not detailed), medical talk, slight mention of gore and blood, reader has a backstory, reader has a mother.

note: i blinked and suddenly there were 8k words in my doc idek how that happened. im actually so nervous to post because this is my first one shot ever!! my cherry has been popped… but also apologies if things are kind of all over the place bc im still trying to get the swing of it all. trying to write in the present tense was like being beat over the head repeatedly so im sure theres many grammatical mistakes in that department

word count: 8.5k (got possessed sorry)

Everyone thought you were crazy when you accepted the offer. 

It is crazy—but you aren’t stupid. You knew what you were getting into a long time ago as a nurse; people get hurt, and then you save them. Clockwork.

Years ago, you started studying to be a nurse in some middle of nowhere midwestern school. You remembered the rolling hills and the ungodly heavy blankets of snow that fell during the winter months, the fallen leaves that the snow covered. It was all so peaceful for a while… until the outbreak.

You never saw it coming, no one did, really. At least, you hope no one predicted the atrocities that were about to be witnessed by thousands of innocents without warning.

Gnashing teeth and hands with dried blood that streaked down arms like veins plagued the memory of that point in your life. It was surreal to believe that you got up that morning and made your breakfast like any other day, you slid your shoes on and grabbed your keys, and then your foot hit the front porch and the trajectory of your life changed permanently. 

The virus started as a woman with red-ringed eyes and pallid skin that reflected off of the blinding overhead lights—she looked visibly ill. That’s all that mattered at the time. You were actually the one who situated her and her husband in their room, he smiled at you and thanked you for your time and you scribbled down notes before hanging the clipboard and leaving the room for the doctor. The screeching horror music plays when you get to this part of the memory.

A type of calm before the storm. You hold your breath every time.

A few hours later people started screaming, and someone—something ran out of that room and wrenched its grip on the first person it saw. Blue scrubs dyed a nasty crimson, like crushed raspberries on cloth. The next part is a blur of running, watching your coworkers die, and using your medical expertise to help anyone who needed it. People were hurt. You saved them.

Like you said, clockwork. You try not to think about it too hard.

By the time help came, you had cramped a large handful of survivors—albeit, injured survivors—into a small house that was a mile or two from the hospital. Your quick thinking protected many people that day, and your skills were recognized.

A week prior, you were a simple nursing student who was lucky enough to be placed in a hospital, and by the next Sunday, you were being offered a position as a medic with the Anti-Umbrella Pursuit and Investigation Team. You finished your schooling, you got your specialized training, and now you’re on your way to your first assignment out of the country.

So, granted, maybe you are a little crazy for accepting such a prestigious and dangerous position after your humble beginnings. Your mother never ceases to remind you of this, with what little information you were allowed to tell her.

Iceland? she said, pulling her lips into a line. Are you crazy?

You begin to think that you are now that you stand in front of the base, arms tucked around yourself and teeth chattering as a sergeant points you around like one of his troops. Between the hustle and bustle of agents hurrying around and the amount of civilians sitting beneath the large, brown medical tent, you understand why they needed all the help they could get.

Things in Iceland were bad apparently; Umbrella thought the remote location would protect what little was left of them, and their research, from being exposed. Unfortunately for them, (and fortunately for everyone else) the AUPIT caught wind of what was happening and vowed to put a stop to it. You, freshly out of training, were sent to help with the sudden influx of displaced non-combatants and wounded agents.

Within the hour of the helicopter landing, you settle in and pull your cold weather scrubs on. 

There aren’t many other nurses—only two—and neither of them seem to be very fond of you. The head nurse is older and straight-laced, following procedure, not mingling with you unless she has to. You don’t think you’re ever going to be put on a shift with the other nurse, but they spare you a few ireful glances. It’s  like they could smell the fresh blood, and the scent made them turn their noses.

Nonetheless, you weren’t there to socialize, so you rolled up your sleeves and did your job, trying to ignore the passive aggressive looks being thrown at you from left and right. This kind of mutual ignorance worked for about three days, until you were placed on the night shift… every single night. 

Before you came along, it was determined that the night shift could be manned by one person, as injured civilians were sent to the safehouses by nightfall and nearly all of the agents were either out on work or taking a much needed rest. There was no reason for both nurses to be awake when one could conserve their energy and rest while the other worked. So, most nights you spent alone, sitting by the fire in the back of the tent as you waited for the sun to come up.

One of those nights crept up on you again. You bounce your foot against the ground until your ankle aches, sitting in a lawn chair next to the fire with a wool blanket draped over your shoulders. Nothing chirps in the distance like the environment you’re used to, the only noises that float through the air are the wind rustling bare-armed bushes and your own breathing. There was a rip in the tent whistling, too, but you’d be damned if you let the incessant noise drive you insane. You were scared of the eerie silence for the first few days, but that quickly became replaced by the complete boredom that followed it.

You blow a raspberry as you spin a pen in your ungloved hand, fingers numb and stretched stiff with cold. I’ve ought to ask someone for a book, you thought to yourself, or a new job. You immediately push the second contemplation out of your head like it was something dirty and sat up a little straighter; your annoyance made sense, but this is what you wanted to do with your life. You want to help people in need.

Not that there were many people around.

In the distance, like divine intervention, you hear the crackle of wheels against snow, and a black mini-van rolls to a stop in front of the tent. A scuffle inside ensues for a moment, then the doors open and a man comes hobbling into the shelter with his arm over another man’s shoulder. 

You nearly fall out of your seat with how fast you stand up and stride over to the men, assisting the injured one onto a cot. 

“What happened?” you ask, pushing a cart of equipment to his bedside.

The uninjured one remarks from beside you, “Some snow gave way and he went down this hill with some pretty nasty bushes at the bottom.” His voice is quick and clicky. He looks young.

Clearly, they’re two agents, judging by the leather holsters strapped around their waists and shoulders. You purse your lips and place a lantern on the cart, gently inspecting the injured agent. There’s thorns lodged along the entirety of his left side, looking a bit like a child’s crude attempt at art with toothpicks and styrofoam.

He grunts when you gently lift his arm to check underneath, and you mutter an apology before you turn to the other agent. “I can take this from here.”

The agent nods and spins on his heel, disappearing into the darkness once he stepped out into the open air. 

You turn your attention towards the man in front of you and pull on a pair of gloves, the latex makes a sharp snapping noise when you let go. His intense gaze follows your movements with great intrigue—or suspicion… you couldn’t really tell. You pick up a pair of tweezers and set them on the cart. You also finally got a good look at the wounded agent.

Blue eyes that strike down what little defenses you have and brows that spend their time permanently creased, almost erasing the space between them while he inspects you. His ability to make you feel thoroughly grilled with a simple fixated stare would have made you squirm years prior, but now you merely stare back with your eyebrows lifted. The blonde—possibly light brown haired, the darkness didn’t give much way in the form of colour—man averts his eyes first, as if he is caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

You’d be lying if you said he wasn’t attractive, but that’s not your focus right now.

“How are you feeling?” you ask, flicking on a flashlight to check his pupils. Healthy, good. He squints at you through the beam.

“Like I fell into a thorn bush.”

Looks like someone feels funny. You deadpan at him, unamused with the sarcasm while you try to help. Your expression beckons a better answer and he backpedals.

The man’s head bobs subtly, like a scale in his mind is weighing his thoughts on either side, and then he says, “I’m just fine.”

“Are you dizzy? Nauseous?”

“Fine.”

“Okay,” you reply, blowing out a not-so-inconspicuous huff of annoyed air that swirls above you in the cold. The agent raises his brow at your reaction but doesn’t seem too keen on speaking on it. “I’ll try to be as gentle as I can, but it’s going to be a lot of poking and prodding.”

He lets out another grunt that could have possibly been an Mhm… but you aren’t sure. You hold the tweezers between your fingers and begin to pluck them out, placing them on the metal pan on your cart. Clink, clink, clink. They fall from the tweezers with tiny noises.

To your surprise, he doesn’t writhe or make much noise, only occasional grunts and sighs and Shit’s under his breath when you pull at particularly deep thorns lodged in his arm. 

Even for an agent, his arms are an impressive size, which means a lot more surface area to extract from. Not that you really mind, as you would have helped him either way, but surely you would feel differently if you were in his shoes.

However, the silence is… awkward; sitting there with your face inches from his huge arms—he could definitely feel your breath fan across the surface with how his skin dances with warmth and goosebumps and you do not want the attractive agent to focus on that. So, you break it with a question.

“You weren’t wearing a jacket?” A valid query, all things considered.

He blinks at you like it was obvious. “It came off.”

“Oh,” is all you say until you extract the last thorn from his arm and begin to slide the leather shoulder holster off of him. “I just need to take this off.”

He frowns slightly, and you realize his brows had been furrowed this whole time because that was all his face seemed to know how to do. When his expression changes, you stop.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Taking it off so I can look under your sleeve.”

“Why?”

“You could’ve pulled something and I need to bandage you,” you pause. “Is that okay?”

Maybe you wrongly assumed that he had done this a million times. Don’t get you wrong, you know how resilient agents had to be and how good they were at their jobs, so it isn’t like you thought he got hurt often… But with a short glance into his eyes, you could tell he’s a hardened delegate with years of experience under his belt. Wasn’t he bound to need help occasionally?

The man gives you a slight nod and shrugs off the holster; it falls to the bed with a soft thud from the weight of the knife tucked into the leather. 

His muscles tense under your fingers when you roll the black sleeve over his shoulder. The feathered, pale edge of a bullet scar peeks out from beneath the dark clothing and it makes you wonder how he managed to get it. A mission? Probably. It looks old. You’ve seen scars of all kinds at that point, and each of them held a story that ended in pierced flesh. 

They remind you that they will never not be where they came from—your own scars will never not be where they came from. You shake the thought out like a stubborn rock in your shoe.

“Lucky you, it doesn’t look like you pulled anything in your shoulder,” you comment under your breath.

“If this is luck, I’d like to see what happens when I get unlucky.” For the first time, there’s humor in his tone—so faint you nearly miss it, but it makes you chuckle. When he isn’t huffing out responses, his voice almost sounds kind.

You rotate his shoulder slowly and inspect the length of his side, finding fewer thorns than the amount anchored in his arm. Still, your lips press into a line, pitying the fact that his bare skin will be exposed to the frigid, below-freezing air so you could remove them.

“Well, you should’ve knocked on wood,” you reply, “I’ll need you to take your shirt off so I can get the rest of the thorns out and check your ribs.”

Silently, the man hikes his shirt up and over his ribs for you, snaking his arm out of his sleeve and then laying on his side. 

As he comes down, stretching, he groans. You see his muscles tense under his skin when he inhales, the dips and divots of his torso flex involuntarily when the squall of air nips at his newly exposed skin. The surface holds blossoms of red and deep purple that litter themselves across his ribs like splotches of messy watercolor dripped onto paper. Scarlet scratches bleed pebbles that drip onto the fabric of the cot. 

You suck in through your teeth as you inspect the area. Even without the damage from the thorns, it doesn’t look good.

“Not good?” the agent questions as if he could read your mind. From over his shoulder, he turna his head to look at you.

“Not good. You bruised your ribs, I’d be surprised if one of them wasn’t broken.”

“I didn’t hear a crack.”

“It should be monitored for a day or two, at the very least.”

“I have to get back to work.”

“Look, I understand—“

“I’ll be fine.”

You sigh softly and remove one of your gloves to rub your face in exasperation. Unfortunately, this wasn’t your first rodeo with stubborn patients, so you slide on another glove and begin to pluck at the thorns in his torso. “You won’t be doing much work if you permanently damage them.”

He twists his head away from you again and grunts softly, muttering a short, “Okay.”

How articulate. You guess he doesn’t get paid to talk to people.

“Okay? As in…?”

“As in, fine,” he replies, then pauses for a moment as if to prove a point. “But I’m sure you have better things to do.”

You laugh at this, then stifle it into your elbow so he didn’t think you were laughing at him. He still rolls over a little to look at you, confusion laces his eyes that dart around as they go from your face to the rows of empty cots behind you. Busy? You begin to laugh again.

He can’t be serious, you think as you fan your face. You let your laughter dissipate like it was being dissolved into water. “Sorry… no, you’re right,” you snort, “I was drowning in work before you arrived, agent.”

“I’m sure,” he chirps back, the ghost of a smile haunts his lips.

“I think I can squeeze you in, though. Might have to clear some of my schedule, but… I’ll make it work.”

The pleased look that graces your face is involuntary. You find it endearing how worried he is about becoming too much extra work for you and the other nurses, despite the fact that there isn’t any reason to gather that he would and—believe it or not—it’s your job. 

The agent lets out an amused breath through his nose. “Should I be flattered?”

“Oh, of course.”

You place the last of the thorns onto the metal pan and tend to his wounds with gauze and bandages and nimble fingers that have done this hundreds of times before. Sometime along the way his body relaxed—just a little—and you think he fell asleep until he sits up like a puppet that had his strings yanked and puts his shirt on properly.

The sudden movement makes you blink, and he stares at you for a long pause filled with dead air and an expectant look in his eyes. That damn rip in the tent whistles. 

Finally, his eyes flicker down to your badge, then back to your face. “I’ve never seen you before.”

“I started here not too long ago,” you inform him honestly, a little embarrassed to admit your newbie title to a seasoned employee of the organization.

He doesn’t say anything else, so you take the reins.

“Well, I think we’re set,” you say, rolling the latex gloves off of your hands. “Let me know if you need anything, Agent…”

You never asked him his name?

“Leon Kennedy,” the agent, now with the name Leon Kennedy pinned to his face, finishes for you. 

His name twirls around your head and makes you dizzy to think about. I should have known, you think to yourself once he bids you farewell to report to his superiors. 

From what little time you spent at the base prior to meeting Leon, you had heard whispers during dinner drift from mouth to ear of the elusive agent. That he was a man of few words (immense understatement, you consider it more socially awkward, but true); that he had half of the base swooning every time he walked by (you don’t want to comment on this); and that he was immensely attractive (that is also true). You have to admit… you see why he had such an air of intrigue around him. To be so quiet after such successes he’s accomplished—people were on the edge of their seats trying to figure him out.

You also had to admit that you weren’t immune to it either. 

During your meals and breaks you found yourself playing Where’s Waldo? with Leon, attempting to catch glimpses of him in his natural state to confirm or deny these claims. Which was impressively difficult for absolutely no reason other than that he did it for his own benefit… the motive for this was lost, and still is, on you.

The few times you did spot him, he had the same clenched jaw and furrowed eyebrows. He never stayed in the same place for very long and frequently you only spotted him—or rather, his broad shoulders and white-knuckled fists as they turned corners and disappeared to do whatever he did all day. Important agent things.

Regarding your coworkers… it hadn’t improved much, either. The head nurse, who you later learned was named Winona, loosened up on you a bit—which was practically nothing when both she and the other nurse had been so cold to begin with. However, your determination to help those around you seemed to impress her… most days.

(Peeks of Leon’s ashy blonde hair stolen from cracks in the tent. His fur-lined coat hangs off of his sizable frame, enveloping his arms in the thick fabric—it makes them look even bigger. Not that you care, per say, but—

“You aren’t getting paid to stalk agents,” Winona jeers, jolting you back to Earth from your subject of stolen attention. You swear she smiles at you wryly. “Should’ve tried for one of their jobs if you wanted to do that.”

She turns on her heel and goes over to a trio of injured civilians with her cart, the knot of hair tied taut at the base of her neck stares you in the face. You’re left hot faced and embarrassed for the entirety of the next check-up with your patient.)

The endless night shifts never seem to cease rolling in and you’re afraid it’s begun to catch up on you. By the end of breakfast, when you could finally drag your corpse-like body to your quarters and into your bed, your head drooped comically into your bowl of oatmeal and some of the newer agents had a blast laughing at you. Whatever, assholes.

(You were deeply embarrassed.)

So, you opted for allowing a short nap in here and there during your shift—ten minutes at most—whenever your eyelids began to feel itchy and weighted and you couldn’t help but close them. You really couldn’t. Being sat by the fire with a hot drink made you so warm and the sounds of blowing wind lulled you to sleep in the darkness under the moon.

Truly, a terrible work performance from you, but no one was around to see and surely you’d be awoken by even a hint of an emergency. 

Tonight, you count sheep with your wool blanket tucked up to your chin and your head lolls against your shoulder like it’s about to fall off its hinges. One, two, three. They mock you as they hop into their pasture and curl up into white, fluffy spheres, falling asleep within the warmth of their home. 

From a distance, your ears almost register the sound of footsteps that approach the tent, crushing the crunchy top layer of snow under their feet as they stop in the entrance. It isn’t enough to completely wake you until they clear their throat and say, “Hello?”

Your eyes snap open and you turn your head so fast you think it might go flying across the room. Really smooth of you, considering Leon is the one to get your attention. By the smug look on his face and slight chuckle that wracks his frame, you know he isn’t fooled with your act awake performance.

He stands there, towering and rigid, unlike the night you first met him, with his palm outstretched flat like he’s trying to show the world something. 

“Oh, hey, what do you need?” you reply quickly, standing from your chair as you let your blanket fall off of you.

Leon glances at his hand and then at you. “I, uh, got a papercut.”

“A paper cut,” you repeat, just to make sure you heard him right.

“Yeah.”

You stare at him for a moment, mouth agape as his words register as something he was actually saying to you.

“Well, get comfortable, then. I’ll patch you up.”

In reality, you’re terribly confused about a special forces agent needing first aid for a paper cut, but how could you complain? He needs help and you’re there to offer it. 

The blonde sits on a cot near the fire—not before picking up your blanket from the ground and placing it back on the chair, though—and you situate yourself on a stool facing him. 

You take Leon’s hand in yours gently and inspect the wound. It’s fairly shallow, but placed in the center of the webbed skin between his index finger and thumb. Tough spot. When your digits graze his rough knuckles he inhales sharply and you glance at him due to the sudden motion.

He doesn’t expect a reaction from you because he pauses for a second then asks, “You think I’ll live?”

“I dunno,” you answer, sucking your teeth. “Could be a close call.”

“Yeesh.”

“I know. My condolences.”

“For myself?”

“Uh-huh.” You turn his hand over so his palm faced the sky. “This’ll sting.”

When you disinfect the injury, Leon’s face twitches into itself but he keeps quiet, opting to focus his gaze on your face while you patch him up. You try not to shift under the intensity.

“What made you want to do this?” he queries, his voice cuts through the silence and startles you a bit. Leon looks pleased with himself and you roll your eyes.

“You’ll laugh.”

“Why would I do that?”

“It’s corny.”

Admittedly, it was—the original story as to why you wanted to be a nurse. You’ve had people laugh at it before and you mostly don’t want to repeat history with someone you find rather charming, but something in Leon’s face softens and he shakes his head briefly. 

“Try me,” he challenges.

“Oh, fine.” Like there was a fight put up when you relent, smoothing a bandaid over his cut. “You know those things you’d fill out as a kid? Where it’s like, what do you want to be when you grow up?”

Leon nods.

“Every single time, I would write superhero,” you laugh sourly because you got used to other people laughing when you said this, but he listens as if you’re the only sound he’s ever heard. “I’d draw myself with a little cape and all that. Then at a certain age the teachers start telling you, pick a real job, pick something that exists. And, I dunno, I thought: there are real superheroes. They save people every day because they want to.”

“I mean, I always knew I didn’t have all the right assets to be the one rescuing people from burning buildings and punching the bad guys. I wanted to help people when they couldn’t help themselves, you know? I can't carry the weight of the situation—it’s just not in my nature—but I can carry them. That’s why I started doing this, I guess.”

The look he gives you when you finish speaking is indescribable. He gazes deeply into your face like he’s trying to find a new feature he missed the first time. Something akin to pulling apart your mind with his eyes as if it’s clay made for the shaping and a load of a melancholy that’s too heavy for him; like he’s asking you, how do I carry it? Tell me how to carry something like that. 

Your hand still lingers in his, over the bandaid you placed on him; you slide yours so the curves of your thumbs interlock and you grip the hilt of his palm. A hidden embrace.

Leon’s eyes dart toward your hands and he makes no effort to remove you from his grasp, his fingers relax against your wrist. He feels your heartbeat. You feel his. When he looks up again, all he sees are your eyes. 

You don’t know why you went on that anecdote in the first place, not really. Only that you were finished patching him up and wanted—needed—him to linger for a bit longer.

“What about you?” you ask, voice hushed close to nothing.

“I wanted to help people, too.” He sounds uncharacteristic—sheepish? “That’s it… I can’t follow up with something as articulate as you.”

“It matters just as much even if you can’t express it,” you assure him, your head tilts. 

Leon clears his throat and nods, slipping his hand from yours and looking anywhere that isn’t you. You created a shadow in front of his face, back facing the fire, but you can see the subtle dark tinge of his cheeks when he avoids your eyes. He chooses to look at his feet. There he goes, being endearing again, you think.

The harsh edges of his face are lit up with an orange glow, darkness shoots somewhere in between in a soft gradient, and he looks positively ethereal. If you reached out and cupped his face, you know it would be warm to the touch like laundry right out of the dryer. It makes him look all the more delicate and this feels more natural than the pointed looks and pinched expressions he usually wears.

You look back down at his hands. You’re trying to memorize the way they felt against yours (coarse and hot to the touch) and you get the picture of how hopeless you are—even an idiot could see you have a crush on him. 

That doesn’t stop you from protecting your pride and you keep it to yourself. You stand up to put the disinfectant supplies and box of bandaids away without a word. 

Leon stares at his hand like it’s missing a piece.

You have your head buried too deep into the cabinet to think much about that. Screaming at yourself was an understatement for what you’re doing in your head… a better description would be begging the floor to swallow you entirely with one gulp.

Surely, Leon has someone at home. He’s an attractive, intelligent man with an arguably stable job that pays him oodles more than he would ever need; not to mention how well-built he is, but again, for what seems like the millionth time you push this thought to the back of your mind. You could not focus on that.

“Are you okay?” his voice carries from the cot.

You take a moment’s breather and shut the cabinet door. “I’m good. How are your ribs?”

“They’re good.” Leon pauses, then adds. “Thanks.”

The shake of your head comes faster than your words; muscle memory. “It’s what I’m here for.”

“You do a good job.”

“I’m just a medic.”

“A good one.”

As you utter your gratitude for his comment, you hope he couldn’t feel the heat radiating off of your face from so far away. You weren’t one to get shy from such simple words, but you find your eyes glued to your boots because of his gentle bonniness. Damn you, you curse at him in your head—it held no weight.

The blonde stands from the cot and walks over to you. He bends slightly to catch your eyes in his. “I have to go now, but... yeah. Thank you.”

“Of course, Agent Kennedy.”

“Don’t start using formalities now,” he half-laughs, half-breathes. His face contorts when he stretches back, and his hand came up to massage his right shoulder—you even go to comment on this movement, being a medic and all, but he beats you to it with a smirk. “Stick with Leon.”

And then, in a few strides, he’s gone as fast as he came. 

Your entire body deflates when you let out a guttural sigh. How come every time you watched his back, you were left reeling?

Unfortunately for you, that blasted man had ingrained himself into your head, sitting pretty in your thoughts as snug as a bug in a rug while you tried to do your job, or attempted to focus on anything other than your feelings for him. On the contrary, he returned to clearing out Umbrella facilities for the time being, which meant he was out of the base for days, or even weeks, considering he was one of, if not, the best agent they had. This saved you from the embarrassment of being caught trying to catch glances of him from inside the tent or during meals. 

This, however, did not stop you from daydreaming when work got slow. 

You wondered how someone like Leon behaved domestically, if he was completely different outside of the AUPIT, or if he was still just the sweet, reserved man who needed your aid often. Did he have any pets? What music did he listen to? You guess you’d have to ask him later, but you imagined that the pieces would fall into place and suit him. They’d be so perfectly Leon that when he told you, you would think to yourself, huh, why didn’t I think of that?

The amount of daydreaming you did was not lost on Winona, and occasionally she snapped her fingers in front of your face and grumbled under her breath, “I’ll kill that boy.” With no real threat to her tone. 

Please, you can’t help it. He has arms with the muscle definition of a god and he told you-you were a good medic; you were a goner before you even realized it.

On the other hand, your family never let up with their pleas for you to return home, despite the fact that it simply wasn’t possible unless you had a very good reason for it. Which you didn’t, and you didn’t want to—people just didn’t get it through their heads that, yes, your job was difficult, and yes, patients got on your nerves sometimes, but no, you wouldn’t trade it for the world. This meant more to you than anything else you could fathom. You knew the fear these people felt first-hand, and you knew they needed a saving grace; just like you had.

(“Just come home,” your mother coos into the phone, her voice static-y and chopped from the poor signal. You could imagine her face right now, all worried and exhausted like you’re a child balancing on a wet playground. “There’s a hospital not too far from here… I’m sure they’d take you.

You promptly spend the next hour explaining to her that it isn’t that simple, even if you wanted to, and you remind her every few minutes that you aren’t going to leave, either. You’re happy, all things considered; which is why you make the executive decision to leave out all of the bad parts of your work so far.)

As for the efforts against Umbrella, you hear whispers of successes during dinners and fewer agents appeared at the medical tent’s door in need of assistance than when you arrived. So, you think things are going rather well for your organization. Less tired eyes and solemn faces; the fight wasn’t over, but everyone could rest a little easier with every night that passed. 

And yet, those damned night shifts. You swear Winona and that other medic were scheming against you for no reason other than pure spite, on the basis of simply because they didn’t feel like doing it. It has to be funny to them by now, seeing you half-asleep at breakfast and looking all mussed at dinner because you woke up ten minutes prior. You let them laugh all they wanted because frankly, you began to enjoy the night shifts. The world went to sleep, and you enjoyed some peace and quiet.

You kick your feet up onto a stool and drape a blanket over your legs, book in hand. The soft sounds of Icelandic pop music crackles out of the radio and floats throughout the tent. You mouth the noises of the songs, unsure of the lyrics, but you’ve heard it so often by now, you could recognize the tune from the first few beats. You scat a few of the instruments, tapping your foot along. You don't notice the figure that stopped in the doorframe. 

“Enjoying yourself?” Leon. You shut your book and turn to look at him, embarrassed. “I always feel like I’m coming at a bad time.”

“Never,” you reply with a haste that humbles you further. Worried about his sudden appearance in the medical tent after being gone on agent duties for nearly two weeks, you ask, “Are you okay?”

The corners of his mouth upturn and you barely see a flash of uneven teeth between the slit it creates, cute. This distracts you from how smug his face is. “I think I have a fever.”

“A fever this time?”

“Yep.”

“Make yourself comfortable, Leon.” 

A paper cut, then a fever. You begin to think of his inability to soothe his minor maladies as an excuse to visit the tent. Your stomach flutters at the thought, but you have to make sure… just in case he’d fallen ill out there in the cold. 

You find the thermometer and placed it in his mouth gingerly. It hangs crooked from the corner and he watches you with a certain keenness that makes you smile. After a few minutes, you check his temperature: 98.7. An amused hum escapes your lips without meaning to.

“Dying?” 

“I don’t think you have a fever,” you answer, using the back of your hand to press against his forehead and cheeks. The first cheek is cold, then the left cheek warms under your skin—Leon’s expression falls bashful. “But if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were looking for reasons to come see me.”

It’s his turn to hum in thought. “Maybe.”

“You could just come talk to me.”

“You’re on the clock,” the blonde reminds you, grunting. In a swift movement, his hand presses into the curve of his neck and he rotates his right shoulder, face straining.

You see an opening. “That I am. What was that?”

“What?”

“Your shoulder.”

“I was stretching.”

“Does it hurt?”

Leon grumbles a response under his breath, unimpressed that you might have found something you could actually treat him for. You raise your brows. “I’ll take that as a yes. Let me see.”

“It’s fine.”

“Agent Kennedy.”

He pretends not to hear you.

“Leon.”

“Fine,” he gripes like a child being forced to get a shot and maneuvers to lay his stomach flat on the cot, his back faces toward the ceiling. He takes off his brown, fur-lined jacket and discards it onto the next cot over. You get a whiff of musk and cinnamon from the breeze it makes.

The shirt that clings to him left nothing to the imagination—a tight, black compression shirt stretches snugly over his muscles. You spread your fingers like fans to warm them up, then begin to run them over his shoulder and along the meat of his back. 

You tsk, full of knots. This man needs a masseuse. You make a mental note to refer him to a good one you knew. 

With the issue at hand, though, you find an impressive knot in his shoulder, which is likely the cause of his discomfort. 

You huff, your work cut out for you. “There’s a big knot in your shoulder, Leon. How are you living like this?”

“I wake up and roll out of bed.”

“I need to get this out.”

Leon turns his head, his cheek presses to the cot. He gives you a look that says nothing short of, are you serious?  You smile as sweetly as you can at him, an attempt to coax him. To your surprise, he averts his gaze fast and relents. The blonde agent sits up and shrugs his shirt off. It’s tossed next to his jacket.

Under the fire light and the dim glow of lanterns that hang in a line down the center of the tent, strings attached to the ceiling, you see the way chills prickle over the surface of his skin. Goosebumps, like rolled carpets being kicked open, unfurl down his arms rapidly and he lays down on his stomach once again. 

Your face burns in the dark—you’d be surprised if you aren’t glowing like one of those lanterns from the amount of heat it exudes.

You use a dollop of skin cream to keep the area relaxed and pliable as you work out the knot with your fingers. You push it in the right direction until you got it in a better spot, then you knead it firmly. It crackles within his body.

“Fuck…” he groans in relief, nestling his head into the fabric of the cot as he sighs. “They teach you massages in nursing school?”

“That might be just a learned from life thing,” you state in total honesty. You wipe the excess lotion from your hands on a rag. 

Curiously, he peers at you from the corner of his eye. “You have someone back home you do that to?”

A laugh falls from your lips, though your face feels even hotter than before (if that is even possible). “No—not at all.”

Leon lets out a pleasant hum and sit up from the cot. Good, he says without saying it. 

He snatches his shirt and tugs it over his head; you pretend to make yourself busy so you have somewhere other to look than at him. You hear him sigh with great reprieve as he rolls his shoulder back and forth, it must’ve felt like a freshly oiled hinge.

He comes up behind you, his shoulder skims the back of your neck when he peers down at what you were doing on the counter. Which is a whole lot of nothing; moving cotton swabs from one container to the other, counting how many rolls of gauze you had left for the hundredth time. Mindless hand ministrations to distract you from the heart that pounds in your chest.

“Is this what you do all night?” he questions, mildly amused.

“Sometimes.”

“Must be glad I showed up.”

“Something like that,” you tease, glancing up at him with a coy smile.

You watch his withstraint break a little inside of him. He inhales sharply, losing the words you said somewhere between your eyes and your lips—he couldn’t focus with your faces so close to each other and neither could you. Leon reaches for the hand that rested on the other side of you and drags you in between him and the counter, twirling you to face him. Then he pauses and appears lost, like he doesn’t know which way is left and right.

Maybe he doesn’t know what to do, you think. You don’t really know either, so you go on about what you do know.

“You should probably use kinesiology tape on your shoulder,” you comment, suddenly becoming hyper-aware of all of your limbs. His eyes don’t leave your lips. You’d be a liar if you say yours left his.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

The man’s body heat radiates off of him and it’s magnetic, pulling you closer, away from the bitter cold. Your breath hitches. His hand hovers over the curve of your neck, then it decides to rest on the side of your jaw, thumb pressed against your flushed cheek. You remember the texture of his warm palm, coarse and calloused from years of wear.

You try to memorize every fine line and crease that scuffs your face as he beckons you to close the gap with the slight tilt of his head. I’d make a terrible agent, my resilience is slim to none, you theorize when your body moves before your mind does. His mouth hovers over yours, his breath traces your cupid’s bow. You close the distance enough that your lips graze each other until someone clears their throat from a few feet away.

Winona stands like a judgmental statue, thin brows raise expectantly. You, and Leon, jump away from each other. It rocks the counter with a loud clatter that echoes. 

“Agent Kennedy,” she acknowledges him first as a sign of respect. He nods back awkwardly. “You two look like you’re  enjoying yourselves.”

Neither of you talk for a moment and you find  yourself desperate to create any word that could explain what that was. Leon’s eyes dart around the room.

Finally, something solid comes to your tongue. “I’m sorry.”

And then she laughs in both of your faces. Her hand waves like it’s fanning your words away from getting inhaled. You and Leon glance at each other, brows knit in honest confusion.

“Kids,” she exhales. “Stop distracting my medic, Kennedy.”

Then he speaks, but it sounds more like a nervous cough. “Yes, ma’am.”

Winona shoos him with a gesture of her wrinkled hand and he musters a sheepish, apologetic smile for you as he hurries away from the tent. You don’t make much of an effort to move as you prepare your ego for the chew out it’s about to receive.

“And you. Try to keep the fraternization out of the tent.” With that, she continues past you to search through some files, snickering to herself and shaking her head.

You aren’t about to push your luck. You get to keep your job and ego intact, and that’s enough for you. So, you whisper a quiet, “Yes, ma’am.” And go on with your day.

The encounter with Leon left you feverish and all tingly in every limb whenever it crossed your mind over the following days. You saw him out and about around the base, and during meals he offered you frail waves that faded in a breath. 

Truth was, you’re too afraid of rejection to ask him about that night—go figure. Maybe you’re a cliche. Maybe you’re both cliches. Who cares? Well, you do, and you thought the ruffled, pink-tinted expressions on Leon’s face whenever you crossed paths meant that he did, too, but neither of you made a move to approach the other. You questioned if you would rather be told that his only plans for you was a short work fling with no strings attached, or if he felt the connection that you did. A terrible predicament, really, and soon your desire for a straight answer outweighed the fear of hearing something you didn’t like. 

When you went to find him in the meal tent, sitting alone in one of the back corners, he wasn’t there. Okay. You waited, then decided to check the nooks and crannies of the base where you knew he hung around, and nothing. Leon vanished into thin air the moment you gathered enough courage to speak to him. Somehow you thought he read your mind and planned for this to happen, just to be able to tease you without being present. But that was simply ridiculous. He had to go to work, just like you had to do yours.

A week went by, then two; no sign of Leon’s reappearance cropped up and you began to worry you wouldn’t get the chance to speak to him at all. The only reminder that soothed you was the fact that you knew the organization was on the home stretch for completely wiping Umbrella’s power in Iceland. This reassured you for many reasons. Mainly, that you’d be able to sleep in your bed again at a proper time that didn’t leave you exhausted; but you also found comfort in the idea of finally getting a word with the blonde agent that clung to your brain like a disease once everything was over. 

Of course, you had fleeting thoughts that he died and you’d forever be left wondering about what could have been. But, that was just ridiculous—he’s Leon Kennedy, the agent that saved the president’s daughter from certain death. So, you chalked it up to your anxiety being built up as doubt about the succession of the mission began to be put to an end. That yes, you would all return home soon, and no nothing terrible and tragic would happen just as you were about to win.

Eventually, you all received the verdict of the mission. Success. The sun shone through the clouds brighter that day, in ribbons of gold that elevated all of your senses to something dreamlike. Another catastrophe prevented. More people saved—clockwork. To say you were pleased with the conclusion of your first ever out of country operation would be an understatement; you were ecstatic. 

Still, you find yourself fretting over that thing with Leon as you help pack up the equipment in the medical tent.

Winona, who has grown increasingly engrossed in your love life, gives you a knowing look when your lips tug downward and you send a pointed glance toward the entrance of the tent for the tenth time in the last hour. She tsks and shakes her head. It gains your attention. 

“Just talk to him,” she insists, shoving a couple boxes of bandaids into the case. She’s unimpressed with your antics and just wants you to get a move on. 

You sigh and preen your hair like he’ll walk in at any moment. “I haven’t seen him.”

“Hopeless,” she grumbles in response. “Hopeless. If you won’t do something about it, stop looking at the door like a kicked dog and help me.” Winona retreats further into the tent and you succumb enough to follow her.

You must glower the whole time because she won’t stop sending you dirty looks while she tapes the cardboard boxes with a tape gun. Her movements are threatening. You try to fix your expression when the line of spokes reflects off of the bright horizon outside the tent as it slices the tape.

After the innards of the tent are packed into a dozen or so boxes, you’re the person left to pick them up one by one and drop them off with the rest of the cargo that needs to be shipped. Your back is sore from the sorry excuses of beds you have and your arms ache from hours of cramming things. Kicking snow with each shuffled step, you heave out a lengthy sigh and pause to breathe. There’s a reason I’m not an agent.

“Need a hand?” Leon asks from behind you. You’re wondering how he’s always sneaking up on you.

Still, you nod and can’t help but be relieved. “Please.”

Like it’s filled with air, he takes the box from your hands and cocks a barely-there grin at your awed expression. Smug and content, he marches ahead with you in tow. You don’t really know what to say to him, if anything at all. 

You walk alongside him for the first time in the daylight, and you take in his features now that they aren’t muddled in the darkened firelight or blurred by distance. He’s chiseled, sunken cheeks and high cheekbones with that intense look on in his eyes—but there’s something else—boyish, is what you think. Soft jaw. Moles and freckles litter themselves across his face. 

Leon is beautiful and you would like to kiss him right now.

He stops at the drop off point, places the box next to the others and turns to you. Suddenly, he looks nervous and you feel some resolve escape your mind. He’s about to ask you something. He opens his mouth, rosy lips parting and you break—you pull him behind a tall stack of boxes and kiss him.

The collar of his jacket is clutched between your fingers in a moment and your lips are on his; the fur tickles your skin. His lips are chapped and cold but you create warmth within him, you could be a summer’s day in this frigid air. His hands come to your waist, then your hips and his fingertips make indents when he holds you tight like this was always supposed to happen. When you part, you’re both breathless.

He searches for his words again, the question he was going to ask. “Would you—dinner? On me.”

You hum in faux thought and peck him on the lips again, then again, and a third time for good measure. He smiles into the last one.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t start that by saying you stubbed your toe and needed my help.”

Leon chuckles. “I thought about it.”

He pulls you in again, tongue grazing your bottom lip. You lean in further, desperate for connection until you both go slipping like baby deer. The thin layer of snow on the ground left everything icy. He tumbles into some supplies and you land on top of him. You’re both laughing into each other’s mouths. You’re both happy.

You chime together, like clockwork.

[ghouljams]

Okay hear me out Gaz with a darling who's a nursing student, but they got their CNA(certified nursing assistant) certification in highschool through you're high school trade school program, got your LPN(license practical nurse), and is currently working on get your RN(registered nurse) with your final goal of getting their LNP(licensed nurse practitioner). You could meet in the ER because he worked himself too hard didn't sleep forgot to drink and eat and just thump Price and Soap rushed the poor man to the hospital. All he remembers is he hit the ground and he wakes up to quite the pretty nurse tending to him.

He finds out later that his nurse is still a student and is actually in a couple of his classes and starts seeing you everywhere in classes, at the library, student events, parties that Soap throws, finds out you're even in the band program. How the hell did he not notice such a pretty little thing for so long?

-Hot mess rambler

P.s. I'm sorry (not) for giving you an idea for price's darling

OK. OK OK OK OK I have a thought, and also multiple "people going to the hospital" stories from college. I do love love love Gaz fainting, but I also love this one story I have and I need you to tell me which one sounds more fun.

Gaz has noticed you. He sees you in band, sees you in the library, walking to classes, he spots you at student events. You're hard not to notice, you're gorgeous, radiant, you laugh a little too loud and he loves you for it. He's got no time to take you out though. That's the problem. He would've talked to you by now but his schedule is insane and he has no time to date, and you deserve to be wooed. You deserve to date someone who has time for you. He's working on it, working with Price to figure out his schedule for next semester so he can have time for you. GOD you don't even know he exists but he is making time for you.

He's out with Soap having a dart at some shitty college bar when he hears from someone inside that you're seeing someone. Maybe it's the alcohol, maybe it's the upset that he didn't get to you first, but Gaz punches a dumpster. No half measures, he hits the cool metal hard and he feels his knuckles crunch as much as he hears them. Soap stares at him and calls Price for a ride to the hospital while Gaz spits and swears. "Yeah, no, Gaz punched a dumpster," Soap crouching to inspect it, "There is a dent, aye good on ya Gaz."

And of course who should he see when he gets settled in the ER, who's bandaging his hand? You of course. Working an ER shift between classes and just as radiant as always even in scrubs. No, especially in scrubs. He thought you were a student, then again he doesn't really know anything about you except that you're gorgeous and taken. You ask Soap what happened because Gaz is too busy staring at you to be conversational. You laugh, just a little too loud, when he tells you that Gaz punched a dumpster. "Alcohol will do that," you smile at him, and Gaz feels like he's staring at the sun.

And maybe it's the alcohol, maybe it's the painkiller you gave him, maybe it's the way you smile at him like you could stop the world with a glance, but he can't stop his mouth from moving. "I'd be good to ya, break up wi' your boyfriend," he slurs. Soap wheezes, leans over to clutch his stomach he laughs so hard. You give him a look of utter confusion.

"I don't have a boyfriend," you tell him, "hardly have time to sleep between this and classes." You lean over Gaz and he sits up a bit to sniff you, just enough to smell hospital soap and the last dredge of your perfume. "Is he always like this?" You ask Soap.

"Nah 'e's fuckin' trollied," Soap manages between giggles, "sober 'im up an' he's class."

"Right," you smile again, God you should smile all the time Gaz never wants you to stop smiling. You look at him and he must look like a fool the way Soap sputters and laughs. "Why don't you ask me out when you sober up," You grin, like it's a private joke between the two of you. It is most certainly not a joke to Gaz.

"I will," He tells you, deathly serious. Your smile softens a little and you grab a pen from your pocket. You hold Gaz's arm still and carefully write down your name and phone number, making sure it's legible before you let him take a look at it. "Bet," He grins.

"This'll be a great story for your kids," Soap says, leaning to inspect your penmanship.

"Gotta get a ring now," Gaz agrees. You laugh and leave them to their plotting, sure you won't hear from your patient in the morning.

[vxntagedior]

sirius flirting with nurse!reader in the ER

"so you come here often?" his pickup line made you snort, rolling your eyes as you continued his sutures.

trying to move his face to get a better look at you, causing you to grab his jaw, moving it back to where it was.

"you have a very pretty face and i would not like to leave a scar, would you like one?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"no." he murmured. moving his eyes over to remus who was standing next to him watching, he whispered loudly, "she thinks i'm pretty."

"did i tell you he was still a little drunk." remus said.

"yes." you laughed, "don't worry he isn't the first one to come in with a drunk injury."

"if i get hurt again can you be my nurse." looking back at sirius, it looked his eyes were hearts by the way he looked at you.

"sure." you smiled.

[klausysworld]

hiii, hope you’re doing well :D

Would you be down to write a piece where Klaus is married to a human doctor or nurse and every time he comes back after a fight and is wounded, reader patches him up. And Klaus is like u know I heal. And she’s like shut up and sit. Klaus smirks and obeys as he secretly loves getting tended to by wifey.

Healing Hands

I worried for Klaus daily and nightly. Whether he was immortal or not, pain is pain.

Watching him stumble through the front door bloodied and bruised always made my heart drop. He was careless with himself, if they didn't have the white-oak stake then he didn't worry. He often reminded me that he wouldn't die even if they tore his heart out or burnt him alive.

To be honest that didn't help my fears at all.

I would always look after him after he was injured. Whether it was a couple scrapes here and there or if it was something much, much worse.

For instance, today was simply awful.

Klaus had been missing for nearly three full days when Elijah and Rebekah came in through the door, holding him up. I rushed down the stairs and helped him back up them. Once we got him onto his bed I got my bag out which was essentially a very big first aid kit with a couple extra items, like my surgical string and curved suture needles.

I looked up to find Klaus looked back at me with a small smile on his blood stained lips.

"I'm okay" he whispered raspily.

"No...you're not" I told him and he sighed softly as I opened his blood soaked shirt to expose the very slowly healing stab wounds that carved deep into his abdomen and chest.

"I just need some blood, I'll heal in seconds" he mumbled

"Then I'll put you on a blood drip" I remarked while gently running antiseptic wipes over his wounds, trying not to let his wincing bother me.

"Love-"

"Just be quiet Nik" I whispered "Just let me help"

"okay" he murmured softly, giving in rather quickly which was more and more common recently. I gave a small smile back to him before continuing to carefully stitch him up where he should need it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(switch to 3rd person)

He kept still, his eyes closing as he felt her healing hands caress him better.

Klaus would never admit how much he secretly enjoyed her tending to him. It always reminded him of how much she loved him. No matter what was wrong, she was right there with bandages and wipes to help sooth his hurt.

Usually it was accompanied by a warm bath afterwards, her bare body against his while she traced the places where wounds once were. She would proceed to kiss each spot and then, at last, his lips. Then he would thank her quietly to which she would simply dismiss and once more tell him to be quiet so she could 'treat' him in another way.

By the time they're out of the water, they're probably dirtier than when they got in but neither one of them could care once they were curled up together again.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(Back to 1st)

I had my head on his chest, tilted back to gaze up at him. My fingertips danced patterns across his broad chest while his brushes against my scalp.

The room was dark, the curtains closed and door locked. A comfortable silence had been around us for a good while now, our love for one-another always lingered in the air and both our eyes seemed to grow tired as we looked deep into each other.

His rough yet quiet voice broke the quiet but I didn't mind.

"I'm sorry I was gone for so long" he whispered and I smiled softly.

"It wasn't you fault...I'm sorry I wasn't much use in finding you" I always felt a little helpless when it came to saving people. Being a human my skills weren't ever helpful. I tried of course but I would never be as strong or intelligent as those who have lived for centuries.

"I never want you to spend restless nights looking for me. You must know by now that I will always come back to you alive, and you will always be here waiting I hope." His hand stroked the skin of my face making my lashes flutter as I nodded

"I'll always be here, I'll always look after you" I promised. I feel his forehead press to mine, the soft curls of top his head which have grown a little long tickle my face gently.

"And I you sweetheart" he smiled and so did I

"I love you Niklaus" I whispered quietly, kissing his cheek gently

"I love you more, my little nurse"

(Sorry this is so short)

[garbinge]

Earthquakes and Promotions

Tim Bradford x F!Nurse!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of bullets, war, shrapnel, earthquakes, injuries, blood, trauma, bruising. Light hurt/comfort. 

Word Count: 2k

A/N: Ask and you shall receive! More Tim and F!Nurse Reader!!! Altho... I think she might be changing careers soon...lol Hope y’all enjoy! 

The Rookie Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics​ @simrah1012 

“Thanks for buying me lunch.” You looked up to Tim who was in his full patrol uniform. 

“Next time you’re coming down to the food trucks by the station.” Tim said as he rested his arms on his work belt. 

You let out a humorous breath and bumped your shoulder against him as you walked through the hospital halls. “I told you not to get a hot meal, you gotta stick with sandwiches or simple sides.” 

Tim’s gaze moved over to you and his eyebrows raised and a small smirk grew on his face. 

“But yea, next time I’ll come to the trucks. Things were just really busy in the ER today, lucky I was able to step away for 20 minutes.” 

“What types of things you seein’?” Tim’s voice turned from normal to on edge. 

“Just accidents, nothing LAPD needs to be worried about, I think I got one drug OD but no GSWs.” You explained knowing exactly what was happening in Tim’s mind. 

Before he could answer there was a whooshing noise followed by the ground beneath them shaking. You both stumbled trying to find your footing as the land beneath you shifted and shook. A few non stationary items shifted places, carts rolling fast and slammed into walls. One managed to roll right into your abdomen, moving too quick for you to move out of its way. These hospital carts were easily 500 lbs with the computers and equipment on them, and the speed at which it came crashing into you, they could cause some real damage. 

You yelled out in pain and pushed the cart against the wall behind you as Tim moved towards you and pushed you both into a doorway and on the ground. 

While you were in pain, your torso throbbing from the cart, you called out to everyone who was in your vision. 

“Everyone down!” 

Tim looked up and did the same, “Cover your heads!” 

His body hovered over yours, shielding you from anything falling above, his grip on your arms tight as you both ducked your heads in the doorway. 

Shelves were falling over, dust and debris fell from the ceiling and everything was shifted and out of place, and when the shaking had finally stopped, that’s when the crisis kicked in. Voices and cries for help came from just about everywhere in the hospital once the ground settled. There was chance of an aftershock, but that was the last thing on people’s minds right now. 

“You okay?” Tim said standing up and bringing you up with him, his grip still firm on your arms. 

“Yea, just a bruise, nothing I can’t handle.” You turned around and gripped his arms just as tight back. It felt like minutes but you knew it was just a few milliseconds. 

Tim was a first responder and you thrived in tactical medicine. While Tim knew you were hurt he also knew you wouldn’t consider it a priority in comparison to everything else, and you knew Tim wasn’t going to push you to get checked out right now, you were both going to put the job first. 

All those thoughts happened within seconds, in the next second, you both looked at each other and nodded knowing you both had a job to do. 

“I need to assess the ER, it’s going to be a madhouse.” You game planned with Tim. 

“I can help here but depending on volume I’ll probably have to hit the streets, looting, accidents, all that.” You and him were now moving towards the trauma center bay. 

You opened the doors and you clocked it, a mad house. Easily two dozen people, all injured and the staff were moving around assisting who they could. Taking in the scene you stood up on the check in desk and brought your fingers to your lips and a loud whistle echoed. 

“Fractures, broken bones, dislocations to the left please!” A group of people shifted over to the side. 

“What if you don’t know if it’s broken!” Someone called out. 

“If you have any pain in your arms and legs move to the left please!” You answered them quickly and moved on to the next group. 

“Lacerations, cuts, bruises right please!” Another group moved over quickly. 

That left you with a group in the middle, this was probably the group with the worst injury, too out of it to understand or move, or internal issues. 

“Marsha, attend to the left, prioritize based on pain scale and your discretion. Allen, take the right, prioritize head lacerations and deep cuts and anything NEAR an artery. David and Natalia, you’re helping me with the middle where pretty much everyone is a priority. Everyone else fill in where you can, stay alert, stay liquid.” 

You moved down from the table and planted a quick kiss on Tim’s lips. “Love you, go be a hero.” And before he could respond you were moving to the  middle section and getting people in beds and ordering tests and just honestly really succeeding in conditions that were set up for failure. 

________

The day was long, it was pretty much never ending. You lost track of time, you were probably well over your normal shift time but this was what they saved that overtime for. Not that it would have mattered or made a difference, you would have stayed regardless. The people of LA needed your help. 

It was probably 2AM when things slowed down. You had attended to all the walk-ins, all the EMT emergencies, all the intake patients who were hurt and needed to be brought into the ER, all the trauma patients and even all the hurt employees. Which meant it was your turn. 

You ached your way up onto the gurney, lifting your scrub top up to show the large bruise that expanded from your abdomen and a little on your lower chest. 

“It’s a minor crush injury, probably a bruised rib and pelvis.” Marsha, the nurse on your team who also stayed overnight spoke as she assessed your wound. “We should do a CT scan and MRI to be safe, it’ll be covered under the hospital since you were injured on the job.” She explained knowing you were about to come up with excuses. 

“Covered or not, order the tests.” Tim’s voice alerted both of you. 

“I’ll go put the order in.” Marsha excused herself with a smile and nod, leaving you and Tim in the ER. 

“It looks worse than it feels.” You pulled your scrubs down and moved off the gurney as Tim walked closer to you. 

“Tell me that when we’re home and you can’t sleep because the pain is keeping you up.” He brought you into a hug, his hand cupping your head and his other hand rubbing up and down your back. 

“This is new.” You pulled your head out of the hug and looked up at Tim, using your right hand and thumb to slightly move over his forehead where a cut was dried up and bruised.

“Got punched by someone.” 

You frowned, shocked that Tim had let someone catch him with his guard down. 

“Looters, one of ‘em put up a fight, not a big deal.” He shrugged and nodded for you to jump back up on the gurney. “C’mon, take a beat.” 

“Must’ve been a hell of a fight. Let me clean it?” You asked him, looking up to his face. 

“Tell me what to grab.” He nodded and moved to the cabinets next to the gurney. 

“First and third shelf. Butterfly bandage, gauze, and saline.” You ordered him.

“No alcohol?” He looked over his shoulder at you. 

“Can’t scar that pretty face.” You smirked. “We aren’t overseas at war anymore, I can treat you properly now.” 

Tim brought up a chair so he was sitting in front of you. “No more ziplock bags filled with bottled water to clean cuts?” 

“Or taking my shirt off to wrap around your injuries as a makeshift bandage.” You poured a couple drops of saline over his cut and took the gauze to catch the leftover. 

With his eyes closed, he spoke up. “Hey, I wouldn’t be opposed to that.” 

You stayed silent, a small smile forming on your face but with Tim’s eyes closed he couldn’t tell. Which is why he opened the eye that wasn’t being treated to gauge your response.

“Easy, officer. Flirting with your RN can get you into some trouble.” You placed the butterfly bandage over his brow and leaned back when you were done. 

“And what about flirting with my wife?” He leaned back himself. 

“Different kind of trouble.” You teased him and he laughed. 

“You know, you handled this morning well. Gave good orders. Prioritized properly. Reminded me of when I met you.” Tim said as you waited for Marsha to come back. 

“When I yelled at you to stop standing there and get your hands dirty?” 

“And then took your shirt off to bandage my abdomen.” He teased. 

“And then yelled at you to stay with me.” You retorted back. 

“Yea, lot of yelling.” Tim nodded. 

“Hey, the bomb went off pretty close, most of it was noise-induced hearing loss.” 

“Technically that wasn’t the first time we met.” Tim stood up now and his head moved to indicate for you to move over a little so he could sit next to you. 

“We met at briefing.” You wrapped your arm around his and leaned your head on his shoulder. 

His head fell on yours, “Didn’t say anything to you but–” 

“You wouldn’t stop staring.” You chuckled. 

Tim laughed back, “No. I couldn’t.” 

There was a silence between you two for a while, your hand dancing around his as you waited. 

“I’ve been thinking.” Tim said, his head was still leaning on yours. “Maybe you should move back into tactical medicine.” 

“Like paramedics?” You frowned. 

“Yea or maybe a TEMS officer.” He shrugged, you felt it as your head lifted.

“Like SWAT?” You asked him, still confused. “I’m not LAPD, don’t think that’s possible.” 

“You have tactical training from being in the Marines, you’re a RN in the emergency and trauma department, and I could get Sergeant Grey to put in a word, two Sergeants recommendations plus your experience, and some training, you’d be golden.” Tim explained. 

“Two Sergeants?” You lifted your head up and turned to him. His smile grew and he looked down before looking back at you. “Apparently Grey was going to tell me this afternoon but everything happened so he told me on the way out. About 30 minutes ago.” 

Your jaw dropped and your grip on Tim’s hand tightened, a squeal left your mouth and you hugged him, despite the pain you were in. “So that means when I call you Sarge it’ll actually be true.” You beamed. 

“It will.” He nodded shyly, “It is.” His eyebrows raised and another shrug fell off his shoulders. 

“It’s well deserved.” You moved your hand up to his cheek. 

“I’m serious about you becoming a TEMS officer.” He looked into your eyes. But before you could respond Marsha’s voice caused both of you to turn towards her.

“We can take you to get the tests now, I rush ordered them, figured you’d want to get home sooner rather than later.” Masha said with a smile. 

You turned back to Tim, knowing this was a larger conversation to be had. 

“Go, I’ll be here waiting.” 

You got up from the gurney and stared at Marsha who had the wheelchair in her hands. 

“Hospital policy.” She knew exactly what you were thinking. 

With a sigh, your shoulders fell and you collapsed into the wheelchair and sunk into it fully relaxed with a smile and gave Tim a quick wink. 

 “I’ll see you soon, Sarge.”

[friendly-neighborhood-boricua]

Seeing Each Other Around Town

Summary: James discovers his favorite student and his mom are his across-the-street neighbors and now he can't stop seeing her everywhere.

Notes: Marauders modern elementary school AU, kindergarten teacher!James Potter x nurse!reader, mom!reader x son!OC (Liam), inspired by this post by @ravishinglavishingluvr. Tiny little bit of angst in this one but it's negligible. Y'all this is gonna be a slow burn but we'll get there. Also I'm updating sorta regularly now yay!!!

Poor James is completely infatuated with you after parent-teacher conferences

He just can’t get you out of his head

And Sirius and Remus are usually the ones who suffer the consequences

Their apartment is on the way to school from James’ house, so they almost always carpool

And lately, the entire car ride, James Cant. Shut. Up. about you

(“Boys, you should’ve seen her—she’s so sweet—of course she’s Liam’s mom—Pads, you don’t understand—they’re so similar—Remus, she’s gorgeous—did you see her????”)

By the end of the week, Sirius and Remus are very amused with James’ adoration for you

But it also gets kinda irritating after a while, so they’re pretty thankful when the weekend rolls around and they (hopefully) get a small break from his incessant enamored babbling

Saturday rolls around, and James is up at six thirty (hard to break out of the habit when he has to be at school at eight) and shuffling out in his pajamas, robe, and slippers to get the mail and the newspaper

But just because James’ body wakes up early doesn’t mean James’ brain wakes up at the same time so he’s out by his mailbox looking confusedly at the newspaper and wondering why he suddenly can’t read

And after like a solid thirty seconds of him just squinting really hard he finally realizes it’s because he left his glasses inside

He’s doing his best

So James is about to turn around and go back inside to get his glasses (and probably a cup of coffee) when he hears his own name— —just … well, kinda

“Mr. Potter?”

James just about jumps out of his skin because what teacher expects to see one of their students outside of school???? Like no thank you

But then James realizes it’s Liam and he’s lowkey relieved because like

If he has to see a student outside of school, he’d rather it be this one

And then it occurs to James that if Liam is outside his house at six thirty in the morning, then he probably lives around here

And if Liam lives around here, then …

“Liam?”

Poor James can’t help the full-body flush that rushes through him at your voice

His head snaps from Liam (or at least the blurry shape that sounds like Liam) to where your voice comes from, and it hits him that you’re shouting from the front door of the house across from his own

How the hell didn’t he notice you lived right across the street from him????????

(Not that he’s complaining ofc)

James realizes he hasn’t actually responded when Liam asks if he’s alright, and he’s just like “Yeah!!” and utterly beaming

And then you realize your son isn’t just talking to some rando, and you say good morning to him as well (from your front door) and James is pretty sure he’s about to melt

So you and him exchange pleasantries from across the street while Liam gets the mail from your own mailbox and walks it back to you

(he says “here you go, mama” in his sweet little voice as he hands the small stack to you and you say the gentlest “thank you, baby” back and James’ heart feels like goop in his chest)

James barely makes it back inside before he’s squealing and doing a goofy little dance out of overflowing joy

Over the next several weeks, James begins to notice you everywhere around town

He sees you and Liam at the grocery store (you’re there with Liam and give him the choice between dino nuggets and spring rolls; he decisively choses the later)

And on his way to work (on one of the few days where Remus and Sirius aren’t carpooling with him, James sees you in your own car on your way to work)

And when you and Liam go on walks on the weekends (James had taken to mowing the lawn shirtless every Saturday morning—for entirely unrelated reasons, of course …)

James still isn’t sure how he hadn’t noticed you before because how could he have missed you?? You’re gorgeous????

(Of course, poor Remus and Sirius get to hear about his fawning even more now)

(They both find it cute though, so it’s fine)

So eventually one Friday night, James can’t sleep and is done with his lesson plans

And he’s just bored, so what does he do?

Go to the grocery store, of course

So James ventures out, once again in his pajamas, to the grocery store to get some treats to eat while he watches Antiques Roadshow until he falls asleep

And of course—he should’ve predicted it honestly—there you are

(Also in your pajamas)

And James says hi before he can really stop himself, and you look a little spooked for a second (because who in the world would be talking to you in the grocery store at ten at night?) but then you realize it’s him and you say hi back

Apparently, Liam is at Alfie’s birthday sleepover and you don’t have a shift at the hospital tonight, so you decided to indulge in some celebratory ice cream

James ends up helping you choose which ice cream you want (chocolate chip cookie dough—a classic) and as thanks, you go with him to the candy aisle to help him pick out treats

James ends up getting a container of pretty much every candy, cookie, and chip the grocery store because he didn’t want to leave yet lmao

And when you’re in line to check out, James mentions that there’s a job fair at school in a month and he’s wondering if you’d maybe want to come and talk about being a nurse????

Pretty please??????

James doesn’t notice how your face falls ever so slightly. You kind of forgot for a second that he’s your son’s teacher and not just some pretty guy that you’ve sorta had a crush on for the past few weeks. Nothing could happen between the two of you—not if it mean hurting Liam’s education, or even impacting it at all. But it’s okay. You’ll just suck it up and stick to your job and your son. It’s fine. It’s okay.

You’re agreeing in an instant, and James promises to email you the details so you can plan around it

James leaves the grocery store with his bag of fifty dollars worth of treats feeling full to the bursting with warmth and his eyes are glowing the rest of the night

He sees this really pretty pearl and gold necklace on Antiques Roadshow and catches himself thinking about how pretty it would look on you, but he doesn’t bother trying to stop himself at this point; it wouldn’t be any help anyway

[itsgrimeytime]

The Nurse (Part Five) || Rick Grimes (TWD)

Part One, Two, Three, Four, Five

Taglist: @strnqer @1985bitch @curlycarley @imaginemyfavoritefics @t-uroboros @crazytxgradstudent @addisonnie @whos6claire @taylvvrr @quicksilversg1rl @catt-leya @1tsk1tty @pascalshearts @hopefulatrocity @xoyouronlyamorrxo @fuseburner @idkseraphine @all-for-kpop @carlgrimeskisser @emo-potato-virgil @timotheesrealgf

Summary: Before all this, you were a nurse. A nurse who had patients, one of which was a man in a coma. A sheriff, you think, it was all kinda fuzzy now. When it all went sideways, you set up what you could for the man - but had to leave. You'd always wondered where he'd ended up; until in your search of shelter, you run into a familiar face.

TWS: Blood, gore, mentions of death, gun violence (just violence in general), swearing, angst, angsty!Rick, hallucinations, and all things typical of TWD.

[[A/N: Much happier vibes this time around, but I figured a story like this one should be a little bittersweet. This one has got the good stuff. (Farmer Rick, patching up his wounds, TENSION, etc.) Also sorry if you're good at juggling, this is no longer realistic for you lol. Thank you for reading. ]]

"Alright," you hummed, bandaging up the hand, "-just try and keep the bandage clean, we're really only worried about infection."

Glenn nodded, simply just listening to you, "Right."

"Oh," you remembered, grabbing up just two bandages and antiseptic, "-and here's some replacements, just in case you get into something that can't wait."

"Got it," Glenn spoke, standing and kind of roaming towards the door, "-and how often should I check in with you?"

"Once a week," you answered, "-just to make sure the inflammation has gone down."

With confirmation and a smile that only Glenn could produce on prison grounds, your space was empty. You'd had a makeshift area down in one of the front offices of the prison because, well, the medbay was currently... off limits, so to speak. Your most important supplies, though, stayed on your person -certain medicine types and a few medical instruments in a fanny pack often hanging over your shoulder (unless you needed your hands).

You sighed, wiping your hands off with a spare rag, pushing your fingers into your temples for a bit of headache relief. It wasn't hurting in that moment, but you could feel the pressure building, keeping an eye on yourself was hard enough as is.

It was really not the time.

Muttering, you rifled through a few of your drawers -trying to keep track of the supplies was key to this working out in the long run. So, you were running through what you'd given out and what you still had. Eager to make lists for runners later on in the week.

Hershel still helped sometimes, so you couldn't always get the amount used down to a science, but you could get close enough. It worked.

"Hello?" a voice spoke, the drawl ever so familiar to you, "-Anybody in here?"

You, who were currently ducked behind a cabinet rifling through supplies, didn't even think about the fact you weren't visible, calling out, "Just a minute!"

"Alright," Rick hummed in response, seeming to trail off in his speech -looking at something else you assumed.

"Okay," you scribbled down some more numbers, before coming to eye level with Rick -focused and a touch playful, "-So, what can I do for you today, Mr. Grimes?"

Rick smiled, light and airy, "Mr. Grimes, huh? 'Been a long time since I heard that one."

You looked at him, donned in a plaid shirt and sweat dripping down his face -hands dusted in dirt, and pants even worse. But still, his blue eyes twinkled. Ever since he'd started to work on the farm, you'd seen that haze clear. He seemed to find it calming, easier to manage. You were happy for him.

"Too professional for you?" You hummed, trailing your fingers along some of the bandages -keeping count in your head.

Rick smiled before muttering off -tone soft and reminiscent, "Just feels like a different time."

The lull in conversation brought you back to the issue at hand, Rick was one to work as long as he could. Doing only a few checkups throughout the day, he'd found himself busy often. Or you guessed, you found him busy often; that was very much on purpose, though.

"Alright, enough of that, what do you need from me?" You questioned, fully focused on him now; the man had a tendency to under sell his injuries, so you'd need to see it.

"Hershel told me to come see you," he spoke, drawl slow and sure, "-I fell on one of the runs recently. Got a scratch on my chest. He patched it up a little, but-"

"He wanted me to take a look?"

"Yeah," Rick confirmed as you motioned to a chair -dousing your hands with some antibacterial.

He was sitting on a stool, one someone probably found in an old bar, the leather was worn, and the metal squeaked loud any time you so much as breathed. It would work.

You took your place beside him, pulling out some extra bandages, "Which side? And what exactly did Hershel do?"

"My right," he answered, and you moved to that side, "-and just cleaned it and bandaged it up tight."

"Okay," you noted, grabbing a few extra things (most likely looking like a chicken with your head cut off) before spinning around. Where he was sitting as still as a statue, "-Rick? You okay?"

He blinked, eyes cleared of the daze he'd apparent found himself in, "Oh, yeah, sorry. It's just... nice."

"Nice?" You questioned, furrowing your eyebrows together, and pulling up your own stool close to him.

"You," he paused, before stuttering through the rest -hand going to rub at the back of his neck, "-bein' in your element, I mean."

"Oh," you responded, softly -ignoring the soft blush rising to your ears, "-well, thank you."

He smiled at you, and the silent buzz was nice, warm even. You really couldn't dwell on it, though, not sitting this close to him.

"Alright, cowboy," you spoke, "-let's see."

Rolling his eyes at 'cowboy', you assumed anyway, his hands made quick work of the edge of the shirt, pulling it up in a swift movement. Just an edge.

You held your breath, watching as unblemished skin matched your eyes, and suddenly, you realized that it was much higher than you'd anticipated. So, that wasn't going to work.

"Rick, I'm not pressuring you into anything, but-" you spoke, kind and soft, this was a personal boundary, you'd treat it as such, "-I think the shirt's going to have to come off."

There was a moment there, where he just stared at you in silence -eyes focused and intent- and you were truly worried you'd just crossed a boundary.

"If you're not comfortable with that-"

"No, no," he shook the motion off, clearing his throat to himself -to clear the air maybe, "-it's alright. Just been a while."

You laughed, tilting your head a bit in curiousity, "Since what, exactly? Since you took your shirt off? Rick, you did that yesterday-"

"Oh?" he hummed, a smirk peeking at his lips, "-Didn't know I had an audience."

"Ha, ha-" you rolled your eyes, ignoring the buzz of warmth that hit your cheeks -he could not see that, "-you're just stalling."

Rick raised his hands in defeat, smiling at you in a way that you wish you could keep for yourself for later. His smiles had always been so bright, you supposed that was why you could notice when it was absent for a while.

Digging through your bag, you saw movement out of the corner of your eye, the fluid motion quick -so quick you'd hardly noticed it, really. He'd done it enough, you assumed.

Not the time, you chastised yourself, not letting your mind linger on that fact. Not now, you were professional.

"Okay," you pulled out some of the materials you may need, "Let's see what you've-"

Your eyes flew up to see his chest, which was bandaged, wrapped tightly around his sternum. They had gone over his right shoulder and under his left arm, the blood stain just a bit under his collar bone and down from there. It didn't seem too long, based solely on the pattern.

You were completely focused now, eyes drawn across the bandage and fingers dancing along the stain, "Did Hershel tell you how deep it was?"

"No," Rick answered, and it took you a bit out of you to hear him so close -drawl low and gravely, "-we didn't have much time. Needed to stop the blood, I'd guess."

Fingertips fluttering over the torn edges of the bandages, you could feel the heat of his skin a breath away. You pursed your lips, these bandages were quite worn, "And when was this?"

"About a week ago," Rick answered.

"Rick..."

"I know, I hear you," he started, explaining himself, "-it was the last run, ran over a bit. Had to camp out, remember?"

You hummed in confirmation -relaxing in the slightest, before continuing, "Did you have somebody check it then?"

"Couldn't chance it," he explained, tone soft and earnest, "-any fresh blood woulda been dangerous."

"Okay," you exhaled, "-okay. I understand, Rick, you shouldn't have to explain yourself to me."

Rick interrupted tone solid and unwavering, "I want to. You should- No, I want you to know."

"Okay," you whispered, softly, a bit speechless at the admitance, "-thank you."

There was a fizzling there, as you sat a breath away from him -fingers laid gently on his chest and barely a bandage between your fingertips and his skin. You could even feel the heat there, gentle gusts against your fingertips.

You took the biggest breath you could take without startling the man, deep and focused. Not the time to let your mind wonder.

"Okay, I just need-" you pulled back, the fizzle dissipating and began searching for one of your sharp edges... particularly one you could wipe down ahead of time, "-here it is."

Within seconds, you'd doused the instrument in whatever you could nearby, wiping it solidly with a cloth that has been safely sealed ahead of time.

"You're fast," Rick spoke up, eyes apparently watching you as your roamed around the room -gathering a few extra things in case of worst case scenario.

"You'll get used to it," you smiled, chuckling and making your way back to the chair -where he sat, his own little smile on his face, "-Alright, so, first order of business, Rick."

He blinked, and sat up a bit straighter in your gaze.

"If anything hurts, you tell me," you asserted, eyes connected to his directly, "-this will go as comfortably as it can."

"'Course," he answered, serious and eyes unwavering, before cracking a smile, "-plus, can't disobey doctor's orders, can I?"

You snorted, scooting in closer and trying to find a comfortable place to start, "Whatever you say, Grimes."

He laughed, small but still felt nice against your ears and on instinct, you smiled brightly. He was contagious. To you, anyway.

With a steady hand on the tool and the other gently holding his shoulder, you gently pressed it along the bandage. The threads unweaving themselves with the movement, almost like a seam breaking, it seemed quite fluid.

Gently peeling back the bandages, which were solidly tightened around his skin, your fingers drifted across the newly exposed skin. Even for just a second and your heart would jump out of your chest. You held the hitch in your breath without thought -you really needed to be focused right now.

And there it was.

The cut wasn't too much to look at. It was thin -the edges were a bit dirty from the worn bandage you assumed. No telltale symptoms of infection, you let out a hum of relief.

"Good," you spoke, mostly to yourself, leaning back from his space -sorting through your supplies.

Rick spoke, questioning, "Everything alright?"

"All good," you answered, hands preoccupied, "-just needs a bit of cleaning up. You're lucky, though. It's healing on its own."

"Lucky?" he hummed, watching you move across the space -eyes trailing behind you.

"Would've needed stitches, otherwise," you answered, dousing the cloth in your hands, "-although, I'm sure a scar would fit you well, cowboy."

Rick chuckled, motioning towards his other shoulder, "Already got one."

You paused, looking towards the shoulder; there it was. The wound you knew him from. It reminded you of so long ago, your coworkers, your friends, your boss-

"Right," you hummed, settling down back into your chair, "-I remember."

He shook his head, a little in disbelief, "Right, you were there."

"I was," with a distant hum, you pushed forward -warning before you started, "This might sting a bit. Feel free to keep talking if it helps. I'm told I'm a good listener."

"Oh, really?" his tone quirked in interest, and you could feel the familiar playfulness seep into his tone.

"What? You don't think so?" you questioned, gently dabbing at the cut -soft and gentle.

"No," he began, voice smooth and gravelly, "-just wonderin' what you aren't good at."

"Well, I could tell you that, cowboy," you smirked -the peek of a smile on your lips, "-if that's what you want."

He chuckled, slightly wincing as you cleaned the skin around the cut, "I'm all ears."

"Hmm, let's see," you hummed, pulling back and unraveling some bandages, "-I've never been good at juggling."

Rick laughed, his body leaning forward, his shoulder bumping into yours. There was a buzz there, between your skin and his - and your nose filled with the familiar smell of just... musk, strong wood tones, and a bit of dirt.

You blinked, bringing yourself back down from your head, where Rick was looking at you with a smile -the crinkling by his eyes sending warmth through your skin, "What?"

"Juggling?" He questioned, "That's all you got?"

"No," you laughed, pulling out the bandage and holding your hand in the beginning place of the wrap, "-you didn't let me finish."

"Go right ahead," he spoke, his tone lilting to a tease -you knew it well.

"Don't try me, Grimes," you tsked, before rearranging your hands, to hold the bandage in place, "-here, hold this."

Unflinchingly, he moved his hand where yours was -his fingertips (calloused) brushing against yours with a spark. You try to school your facial expression, cursing at the rising pink on your cheeks. Just because he was pretty and the low drawl of his voice was insanely attractive-

"Okay," you threaded the bandage around his shoulder, leveling to his eyes but not looking there -preoccupied with the placement, "-now. Something I'm not good at... You know, I used to think I wasn't good with kids."

"Really?" Rick asked, disbelieving, and you could feel his breath on your face -puffs of breath across the bridge of your nose.

"Yeah," you answered, humming as your hands completed the motion, "-why? You don't believe it?"

"I don't," He answered, simply and honestly, "-just... You with Judith and Carl... I'm surprised you ever thought you were bad at it."

"Well," you hummed, feeling oddly flattered, "-thank you."

"No, actually-" he began, tone a bit unresolved, "-I never... I never thanked you for taking care 'em. When I was..."

"Rick..." you interrupted, looking into his eyes -attentive and gentle, "-you don't have to."

"No, no, I do," his voice was thick with earnestness, "-I wasn't. I couldn't even think straight... And you- And everybody took care of 'em for me. You deserve a thanks."

You faltered, blue eyes so open and honest -it was so familiar, the same stare burned in your head so long ago. The one you couldn't shake as you watched over him when the world was falling apart, still stuck to your brain as you ran through the woods scared of every step you heard.

It would never leave, not now.

There was a cut along his cheekbone, thin, maybe from a tree branch snapping in his face. Your hand almost naturally went to it, to trace it with your fingertips. You held it back, fingers tightening on the bandage slightly.

"Rick," you hummed, holding your hand where it was -despite your instincts being elsewhere, "-it's really nothing. I'd do anything for them. For you, even. You needed your time, I'm not- You're a great father, you just couldn't be one then. So I helped, really."

He stared at you, eyes bright and warm -he looked like he was just analyzing you. Eyes skimming across your face in rapid succession, like he was trying to understand you, dissect you.

"Okay," he sighed, a hand laying on top of yours -soft, gentle, it sent a shiver down your spine, "-okay."

You exhaled, shaky and your head filled with a fuzz of intimacy, affection, that you hadn't felt in so... long. You felt safe, here with him. Seen amidst the darkest things you'd ever laid eyed on was Rick, and his open vulnerability that you could never shake.

Slow breathing, you had a thought. Just one thought and your eyes almost dipped to his lips. It felt so natural then, just lean a bit forward and-

Clearing your throat, you shook your head before scooting back just a touch -you couldn't think, not with him so close. The buzz under your skin was so strong, and you sat a breath away, it was easy to fall into it.

"Let's uh-" you stammered slightly, "Let's get you patched up, okay?"

Rick swallowed (you watched his Adam's apple bob for a second before dragging your eyes away), eyes darted to yours for a split second, and he nodded.

Without much more thought, you tightened the bandage around his chest -enough to allow it to heal without exposure. As the bandage ran thin, you carefully lifted his hand, which was heavily calloused from the days work against your own, and sorted out the ends.

Just like you'd done it often, rhythmically.

"Keep an eye on that," you spoke, pulling back and sorting through your supplies, "-if anything, and I mean anything feels wrong, come to me."

Rick hummed, eyes hazily focused on you -it kind of made you giddy, "'Course."

"You sure you listening?" You asked, smirking to yourself, "Everything alright?"

"Just... you too," he spoke, tone cautious and honest.

"What?" You tilted your head, turning around to view him in your curious.

"The headache," he hummed, not standing up yet -as he slipped on his flannel, hands working on the buttons.

"How-" you began, pursing your lips, "How did you-"

"Saw ya on the way in, with the temples," he added, fingers working their way up the shirt, nimble and practiced, "-high time you took a break, you know."

"I have," you spoke, stuttering a bit, "-I am."

Rick smirked, bright and boisterous, "Is that when you're lookin' at me shirtless?"

"Yeah, yeah," you hushed him, waving him off with a passive smile and a blush buzzing up your cheeks, "-get your laughs out now, cowboy."

He laughed, trailing towards the door but not stepping out of it -feet stayed solidly in your space, like he didn't really want to leave. It made you bite back a smile.

"But, seriously-" Rick continued, smile fading slightly and eyes leveling to yours as he put his hand on your shoulder, and leaned forward to brush his lips across your forehead -his words exhaling along your skin.

"There's people who care about you, ya know?"

"Okay," you whispered, placing your hand over his on your shoulder, "-okay."

[lunarw0rks]

i live laugh love medic reader. working in hospital/healthcare is crazy like one second im fighting a combative pt trying to bite my hand and spit at me when i try to draw some blood and then next im eating my stupid yogurt for lunch.

i feel like cod dudes would 100% listen to y/n's work gossip lmao ghost: wait so he did-- and then he--, and then he punched the CNA??? bloody hell... soap: he got MAGGOTS??? on his WHERE???? price: *gasp* so she was cheating with the new attending doc this whole time??

LMAO THEY WOULD <3 and i imagine soap is your most frequent flyer in the med bay. do i really need to explain? broken nose, bruises, random obscure injuries he doesn't remember,,, CHRIST JUST PUT HIM IN A BUBBLE !!

price and gaz kinda being problems :/ they "unintentionally" spread gossip around the med unit :///

and then simon, trying to avoid medical help or help in general. but still being on an exam table more often than not :( but he'd def listen to you ramble while you patch him up !!

(not directed at anon) I'm sick of sexy fetishized pornstar medic y/n !! GIVE ME REALISTIC NURSING SHIT !!

IT'S SO MUCH COOLER AND INTERESTING, AND FRANKLY, NURSING IS ALREADY A RESPECTABLE, ATTRACTIVE PROFESSION TO ME !!

[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,"

[mysicklove-main]

𝐌𝐘 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐍𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄

Parings: Dabi x Nurse! Reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: Stalker-ish elements, Injuries, Talk of violent acts, Heavily suggestive comments. NON-CANON. Gn! Reader

Summary: The villain patient that can't seem to get out of poor Y/Ns head.

“But Nurse Y/N, my hands are all chained up. How am I supposed to eat? C'mon be a doll, and help a guy out,” Dabi purrs, and you roll your eyes. Ever since the new, very much villain, patient has checked in; he has been determined to take up all of your time. 

Your time desperately needed being a sought-out nurse. You haven’t told Dabi yet, cautiously staying a distance away from him, but with your touch, you provide natural pain relief. Sort of like a drug would do but without the side effects. But it only lasts about twoish hours.

Dabi is one of the strongest villains of the League of Villians, and here is his, caught and acting like a child. He has two broken ribs, a punctured spleen, a concussion, and a sprained wrist. Other than the spleen that has been taken care of, the rest were not deadly. But he acted like he was on his deathbed. 

Day three of his antics, and you were already used to it. You were assigned to be his personal nurse because, for some reason or another, Dabi here has threatened to murder every single one of your coworkers. It actually surprised you, seeing how whiny and docile he was with you. But then again, he is a villain. They are full of surprises. “You already ate, and I am doing something right now. Do you want me to call in my assistant to help you?”

“The one with the big nose and dreary eyes?” You sigh but hum in agreement, knowing if you react to that, he will just fiend off the attention. “Pass. Why would I want him when you treat me so well, pretty?” You refuse to blush. He was just teasing you; you were just another toy to play with. “Awe, don’t ignore me. Cmon, I won’t bite.” 

You raise your eyebrow like this, and for the first time since you walked into his room, looked at him. “You tried biting the other nurse yesterday!” 

At your reaction, he tilts his head to the side and shows a lazy grin. “There’s that pretty face I have been waiting for.” You groan and begin to grab your tools and leave the room when he stops you. “Hey–Hey! Okay, yes, I did try bite her, but she deserved it! I called for you, not her. The bitch tried to touch me.”

You turn from the door and face him, a frown on your face. “And if I try to to touch you, will you bite me too?”

The smirk doesn’t fall. “You want to find out?” This time you do blush. You can’t help it. The man was just insufferably flirty. You sigh loudly and finally leave the room. He groans when the doctor passes you and walks into his room.

Dabi has been watching you for a couple of weeks now. The first time he saw you was when you helped Toga out, surprisingly. You must not have recognized her because when you saw the child-like villain covered in bruises and scratches (from a fight with a hero), you immediately stopped your walk from home to help her. Of course, the girl tried to kill you, but with one glare from the fire welder, she stopped. You didn’t see him at the time, but he was definitely there, just watching from the shadows.

He watched as you took away her pain, and he remembered his eyes widening and heart thumping. You could heal him, make all of his pain just slip through his fingers. No more of the nauseating pain of the staples in his skin and the nights where he stayed awake from the burns that sometimes would flare.

It was an infatuation at first. But as the days went on of him watching you walk home, he grew more and more attached. He would send wounded people and animals to you to see just how you react. Eventually, after the first week, he grew more bold. He sent wounded villains to see how you would react. 

As expected, you took some of their pain away and told them exactly what to do to keep their wounds clean and how exactly to heal them. Dabi, of course, watched and made sure non of them tried to touch you. But he knew you also had some sort of moral because when you left the injured villains, you called the police, who sent heroes that tried and failed to scout for the villains.

You were kind. Even if technically you weren’t interested in villains, you were interested in helping people. He burned, and you healed. The two of you would never work, but still, Dabi couldn’t stop the infatuation. The one stemming from your quirk and now onto just you as a whole.

So, he got himself arrested. He didn’t put up much of a fight and knew that the heroes would kick his ass and send him to the hospital. The blue-eyed man went out of his way to provoke them, but still, his injuries were minor compared to what he wanted. If he were in critical need of help, you would have your attention on him and solely on him.

And now, he waits daily for you to walk into that dreary room. He waits for you to finally take away some of his pain when he closes his eyes and pretends to be asleep. He has to keep his moans in as, finally, for the first time, all of the itching and burning pain just disappears for a short period of time.

He was assigned other nurses before, but it pissed him off so immensely he threatened to kill them and their families. He would do it if they didn’t have some sort of relationship with you. He didn’t want to provide you with pain you couldn’t take away. 

But finally, after two days of being in the hospital, you were assigned his nurse, and things couldn’t be better. Of course, if you talked to him more sweetly, of course, but he would take all that he could get. It has been four days since he has been under your care.

“Was that really necessary?” Your beautiful, perfect voice asks when you walk in for his morning assessment. Instantly his fowl mood from seeing the Doctor vanishes.

He grins at your furrowed eyebrows, “What, the fake screaming or the fake seizure?”

“Both!”

He chuckles lightly at your exasperated expression. “You were taking too long. Missed my pretty little nurse.”  

You roll your eyes and sigh, walking over to the man. You look over his chart as he continues to ramble, “I had some dreams about you last night. You were naked of course, and you were in front of me–down on your knees and–”

“Dabi!” Your furiously blush is back when you cut him off, and he grins. He loved it when your cheeks turned adorably pink and your eyes looked everywhere except him. He loves your flustered expression. You were just so easy to tease. “N-No more of that, okay. You are giving me a hard time, Y’know, the other nurses think I am…doing something with you.”

He tugs against the chains just to hear them rattle against the bed. Trapped. But with you, so he could take it. He looks up at you with amusement. “What, fucking me?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose and sigh. “Yeah. The others are beginning to gossip, and if corporate believes them, I could lose my job. So, cool it with the flirty remarks, yeah villain?”

His eyes narrow at your remark. Were the others bullying you? He looks at the dark circles beneath your eyes. Were you staying up because you were worried about losing your job? The sick bastards.

He leans forward, as far as the cuffs allow him to, and whispers near your ear, “Y’know my little nurse, I can just kill them all. Then you wouldn’t be afraid.”

As expected, you jump back, and your eyes widen. You look toward the police at the front of his door and gulp, hoping they didn’t hear anything. When you do, though, you do a double take on your actions. Why were you afraid of him being caught? You should be reporting what he said to the police, not hiding it.

Dabi could basically read your mind. He saw your eyes flash to the police and had to bite his lip to hold back a smile. This was progress. On the first day, you reported him immediately for saying something. But now, you were almost hiding him. “No need to scold me, I know, I know. I won’t kill your friends and I’ll try to behave myself.”

You sigh and nod. “Thanks, Dabi.” You hate that you are beginning to treat him like he was another one of your patients. Or even more, a friend. He is a villain.

“Try. No promises, pretty.” You lightly elbow him in his shoulder, something you never do to patients. When the both of you realize this is the first time you touched him (other than at night or earlier mornings when you use your quirk), the two of you stare at each other. Then, slowly that small, villainous smile creeps upon his face, and you gulp and turn around.

You grab his breakfast from the tray behind you and shakily place it in front of him. Once down, you nod and begin to scramble away. Then you hear the sound of metal on metal and pause. You turn around and see his eyes flash to the cuffs around both of his hands, and you gasp in embarrassment. You knew he was chained up and couldn’t eat, but for some reason, you didn’t process it. He was driving your brain haywire. “Right! Sorry, so sorry. Let me grab you a spoon.”

Then with shaky hands and a wobbly smile, you dip the spoon into the oatmeal and raise the spoon up to his mouth. His eyebrows raise as your usual confident and professional composure slowly begins to fade. 

He knew he was finally beginning to play an effect on you. So, he opens his mouth and lets you feed the disgusting hospital food into his mouth. Those crystal blue eyes stare at you as you drag the clean spoon away from his mouth. For the first time in a bit, he is silent, no flirtatious remark, no whining, no threatening. He just stares at you. The silence made it hard for you to focus.

But eventually, he gets tired of the food. So, after one last bite, he finally speaks. “Thats enough, Doll. Thank you. But I’m feeling rather tired, mind if I rest for a bit?” This was the first time that he was kicking you out. It was strange, so you quickly nod your head and scramble out of his room. 

The two policemen give you a questioning glance at your fast departure, but you just smile clumsily and walk to your next patient, completely distracted by those piercing blue eyes that you can’t seem to escape.

Day five of caring for Dabi went the same as the fourth. Dabi making you feel flustered while you just trying your best to ignore it. He was a villain, after all. But, no matter how hard you try, the past two nights, your mind always drifts back to the man.

Whether or not Dabi threatened the others or not, you don’t know. But now, the other nurses don’t seem to mention the two of you. In fact, they seem to tiptoe around the topic of the villain under your care. When you told your patient about this, he seemed to be rather happy to be flirting with you again. You don’t know why you told him about the nurse update. He shouldn’t be flirting with you at all; you basically encouraged it with the new knowledge!

Either way, time went on, and now, it was day six. His spleen is basically healed, and he shouldn’t be at risk with any of his other injuries. He was leaving tomorrow. Not just leaving; going to prison. The thought makes you feel uneasy. “What is my pretty nurse thinking about now?”

You blush, being caught, and quickly shake your head. “Nothing much.”

Dabi smiles, knowing by the tint in your cheeks what exactly you were thinking about. But he cuts you some slack and changes the subject. “So, Y/N..” You turn toward him with a lack of a nickname. He chuckles. “What is your quirk?”

Of course, he knew what it is, seeing you use it on him every morning and night, but he wants you to use it on him when he is supposedly awake. Plus, you may have happened to forget to do it this morning, so he is not feeling as fantastic and refreshed as usual. “Oh. Well, I can take away peoples pain.”

He smiles at you. “Yeah? How?”

“Through touch. It’s simple really, just a light touch and my patients feel completely fine. But of course this can be dangerous, because we need pain to show our body we need treatment. They still can die, but they wouldnt feel any pain and wouldnt know really other than the physical signs that they are dying,” You explain, your professionalism coming back to you. You don’t usually share the darker aspect of your quirk, afraid others would find it scary, but for some reason or another, you felt comfortable enough to share with him. 

Dabi nods, already have thought of ways your beautiful quirk could be deadly. That is another reason why he was drawn to you in the first place. Like a poisonous flower. Pretty but if needed to be, deadly. “Can you test it on me?”

This was it. This entire time you used your quirk on him when he was sleeping because he was a villain. Your quirk wasn’t necessary for a patient. It was only to help. He killed people. He should be suffering. But yet you couldn’t let the man wither in pain. So, you turned to helping him in his sleep. He shouldn’t know that you were making him feel better. He didn’t deserve it.

But now, everything was so strange. You wanted to show the man that you can help him; make him feel better. “Yeah. Alright.” He smiles at you, the smile that makes your heart do circles and causes you so much confusion. 

You close your eyes and press your hand to his forehead and activate your quirk. You can feel his gaze on you; you know that those crystal eyes are staring right through you. It is so much different than him being awake. 

He lets out a sigh. The pain disappears, and so do the uncomfortable pricks of the staples. Just like before, everything begins to feel alright. Your hand leaves his body once completed, and he wishes his hands weren’t bound so that he could grab them and keep them there. He hasn’t felt such gentle warmth in such a long time. But he can’t, so he just watches your eyes open, and your kind smile fills your face. 

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” He murmurs, and your smile falls.

You look toward the floor in thought. How things are going to be back to normal without the villain here? How boring it is compared to being with him. You lightly scold yourself for thinking that. You were grateful for the job. And how could you complain when he was going to prison? This seemed like a dream compared to that. “Yeah. I would say, I’ll see you around. But, you know…prison and everything.”

To your surprise, he laughs at this. His body shakes with a smile, and the metal clacks with the bedrest from the movement, and you can’t help it. You begin to laugh too. You laugh as you think about how crazy you were for falling for a villain and how much it is going to hurt when he is gone. How the hell did someone you met less than a week ago, make you feel like this?

But then, someone on your pager breaks the moment. It’s an emergency. You sigh and quickly stand alert while Dabi’s laughs die down. “I got to go. I’ll be back for your dinner, alright? Please don’t be too bad for the other nurses, I can’t help you all day. It’s an emergency.”

He looks at you with that smile again. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you tonight, my pretty little nurse.”

You nod and linger at the doorway for a second before finally turning and helping the next patient.

You didn’t see him for dinner. The new patient was in a critical car crash and needed high amounts of your quirk for them to feel alright during the surgeries. They ended up making it.

It was 11 pm. Dabi has bound to be asleep. He should be, considering he is leaving tomorrow at 7 am. 

You begin to put away your tools and sigh. You wonder if he had a hissy fit when one of the other nurses tried feeding him. If he threatened them or tried to bite them. You can’t help but laugh lightly at the thought. He was so different than anyone you have ever met. You craved it.

But he was leaving. Tomorrow he is leaving to spend his life in prison. As he should, he is a villain that killed, and you are the fool and almost as equally bad civilian who fell for him. 

His room was a couple of feet ahead of you. The lights were off, as expected. He has to be asleep. But maybe not. Maybe he is too restless with the thoughts of his future to be asleep. If you were in his shoes, you would be.

One peak couldn’t hurt. Just to check if he was asleep and maybe for the last time, use your quirk on him. As long as nobody saw you, it will be alright. So, you tiptoe to his door, and open it. 

The nightlight, which all rooms have, is on, and you can see his figure on the bed. You can barely tell that his chest is rising and falling. He is asleep. Still, you walk over to him and place your hand on his forehead, like earlier and activate your quirk.

Once finished, you sigh and lightly trace your finger along the scars and the staples that cover his face. You wonder how painful that ought to be, and your heartstrings tug when you think about how you can’t help him anymore.

But then you have this thought. One only a villain should have. Why don’t you help him escape? You breathe as your eyes widen in the dark. 

You gulp. Nobody will know its you, right? As long as he escapes, it’s not like he would tell anyone, right? He would owe you that.

So, you made up your mind. You’re going to free the villain. Metal pliers is what you need, but if you’re at a hospital, how the hell would get those? So you think of the next option. Or maybe something that can unlock them?

You scan the room, barely able to make out anything in the dark. A paperclip. You have seen one of the Youtube tutorials on how to break out of them using one of them. So, you quickly unbend the metal and get to work.

It’s dark. You cant see, and it isn’t working. Ten minutes have gone by, and you are next to the sleeping figure and struggling. You begin to cry and, out of anger, shake the cuffs and Dabi’s arm with it.

A quiet sob is let out. “God Damnit!” You whisper yell when suddenly the hand you are right next to you grabs your face. You let out a startled yelp into his hand, and he, in response, lets out a quiet “shh.”

When you finally realize that it is just Dabi, you pull away from the hand and take deep breaths. “What is my darling nurse trying to do? You tryna save me, Doll?” The hoarse voice whispers into the dark.

Tears continue to stream down your eyes. “I tried! I can’t do it. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Dabi. I wish-” You cover your mouth with another sob when you think about him spending the rest of his life in prison because of you.

“I know. I know. I was awake the entire time. You put up a bit of a fight, don’t ya, pretty? But hey, don’t worry. It’s alright.” You shake your head in the darkness, and Dabi smiles softly. “You know what I want you to do for me?”

“What?” You whimper quietly.

“Get in your car and drive home.” You begin to talk, but he cuts you off, “Don’t want you losing your job and sending you to prison for helping a nobody like me, hmm? I’ll be alright,” He reassures, which does absolutely nothing to you.

He uses the hand next to your face to brush away your tears. “B-But you’ll go to prison. For life.”

He hums in agreement. “Don’t worry your sweet little heart about it, alright? You trust me?” You shouldn’t, but you do. You trust in the villain you only met a week ago. You nod. “That’s it, good. Now get going, alright Doll? It’s late, and the roads can be dangerous.”

So, you stand as tears continue to fall down your face at your failure. You stuff the failed paperclip into your pocket. Then, you lean forward, and in the darkness, you find Dabi’s lips and press yours against them. 

He smiles at first and then kisses you back for a second before he pulls away. “Go. Now,” He commands. You nod, and scamper across the room, leaving the villain behind for the police to find tomorrow and take away forever.

The next morning is rough. You want to skip work so badly, but you don’t want the nurses to gossip. So, you sigh and drive yourself to the hospital.

When you arrive, you are surprised by the influx amount heroes and police inside the hospital. You turn to a doctor for questions, and she says, “You didn’t hear? Dabi escaped! Heroes everywhere are looking for him. I am so scared, what if he comes back and–” Her voice is drowned out after you heard the news.

He knew he was going to escape. He didn’t need your help at all. Now you looked like the crying mess who horribly failed to try to help him.

Without meaning to, you find yourself inside the room that heroes are crowded in front of. You drift over to the bed, with the missing handcuffs. Your hands trail along the now-empty pillow, and you can almost smell him.

Then, the nurse in you comes back, and almost like second nature, you begin to strip the bed. As the sheets come up, a paper falls down. 

You gulp, and your now trembling hands reach down and flip the small paper over. With messy handwriting and a burnt edge, you know this is Dabi’s work. Your heart thumps rapidly, and you can’t help but smile.

I’ll see you around, my pretty nurse.

[harveywritings92]

{König goes on a three day long mission, the last conversation he had with R/n was at 3am before he left and she promised him she’d go to sleep in five minutes... He comes back from his mission and finds R/n still at her desk surrounded by coffee cups and heavy bags under the eyes, König decides to take matters into his own hands.]

Horangi, as König passes him in the hall: Hey König. Heading to bed?

König: Ja, but first I need to grab something real quick.

[Horangi watches confused as König walks into the Medbay.]

R/n, from her office: Huh? hey... König! I’ll be done in five minutes, put me down!

König: Five minutes was three days ago...to bed!

[König comes out with a pouting and very tired looking R/n thrown over his shoulder.]

König, nods at Horangi: Gute Nacht.

Horangi, unfazed: Good night.

[lokidokieokie]

Healing Hearts

Summary: your typical enemies to lovers plot, except it’s only one-sided… and Y/n's Bucky's physical therapist/nurse.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Nurse!Reader

Warning(s): brooding Bucky, mentions of physical therapy, other than that nothing else I can think of...

Bucky Barnes had always been a solitary man. He preferred to keep to himself and avoid unnecessary interactions with others. So when he woke up in a hospital room, with a perky nurse named Y/n assigned to him, he knew that he was in for a long and frustrating recovery.

From the moment Y/n walked into his room, she was like a ray of sunshine. She was constantly talking, asking him how he was feeling, and offering him unsolicited advice on how to speed up his recovery. Bucky found her incessant chatter annoying and intrusive, and he made it clear that he wanted her to leave him alone.

"You don't have to talk so much, you know," Bucky grumbled as Y/n tried to engage him in conversation.

She smiled brightly. "I'm just trying to keep you company, Mr. Barnes. I know it can be lonely in here."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "I don't need company. I need to heal and get out of this hellhole."

Her smile faltered, and she looked hurt. But Bucky couldn't bring himself to care. He had more important things to worry about than hurting the feelings of a chatty nurse.

As the days went on, Bucky found himself becoming more and more irritated with Y/n. She was always there, hovering over him, and he couldn't escape her constant attention. He started to resent her presence, even though he knew that she was just doing her job.

One day, as she was helping him with his physical therapy exercises, she accidentally brushed against his metal arm. Bucky winced, and she immediately pulled back.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Barnes. Did that hurt?" she asked, her voice full of concern.

Bucky gritted his teeth. "Yeah, it hurt. What did you expect, with that clumsy move?"

Y/n looked at him with hurt in her eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm just trying to help you get better."

Bucky glared at her. "You're not helping. You're just getting in the way."

She sighed. "I know you don't like me very much, Mr. Barnes. But I'm just trying to do my job. I want to make sure you're getting the best possible care."

Bucky scoffed. "Yeah, right. You just want to make yourself feel better. You think that if you can fix me, you'll be some kind of hero."

Y/n looked hurt and shocked by his words. "That's not true, Mr. Barnes. I don't help people to make people think I'm the hero; that I'm some sort of saviour for humanity. All I want to do is help people, that's all."

Bucky shook his head. "Save it for someone who cares. I never needed or wanted your help."

As the days went on, Bucky's attitude towards Y/n didn't improve. But despite his constant complaints and snarky remarks, she never gave up on him. She was always there, by his side, offering him words of encouragement and support.

One day, as she was helping him with his physical therapy, Bucky felt a twinge of pain in his leg. He winced, and she immediately stopped what she was doing.

"Are you okay, Mr. Barnes?" she asked, her voice full of concern.

Bucky looked up at her, and for the first time, he saw her in a different light. He saw the kindness in her eyes, the determination in her voice, and the genuine care in her actions. He realised that he had been wrong about her all along. She wasn't annoying, she was kind and caring.

Bucky felt a strange feeling in his chest as he looked at her. He couldn't believe that he had been so blind to her kindness before. She had been nothing but patient and supportive towards him, even when he had been rude and ungrateful.

"I'm fine," he muttered, feeling embarrassed by his outburst. "Sorry for snapping at you."

She smiled warmly at him. "It's okay, Mr. Barnes. I understand that you're in pain, and it can be frustrating."

Bucky nodded, feeling grateful for her understanding. "I guess I've just been a bit of a jerk to you, haven't I?"

She shrugged. "It's okay. I know that you didn't mean it."

Bucky sighed, feeling a weight lifted off his shoulders. "Thanks for being patient with me, Y/n. I really appreciate it."

Y/n grinned at him. "Of course, Mr. Barnes. That's what I'm here for."

From that day on, Bucky's attitude towards her began to change. He found himself looking forward to her visits, and he even started to engage in conversations with her. They talked about everything from the latest movies to popular music trends, and Bucky found himself enjoying her company more and more.

One day, as she was helping him with his physical therapy, Bucky realised that he didn't want her to leave. He wanted her to stay with him, to keep talking to him, to keep being there for him.

"Y/n," he said suddenly, as she was packing up her supplies. "Do you want to grab a coffee or something after your shift ends?"

She looked surprised, but she smiled. "Sure, Mr. Barnes. I'd love that."

"Call me Bucky, doll."

Bucky grinned, feeling a strange warmth in his chest. He couldn't believe that he was actually looking forward to spending time with the woman he had once despised. But as he looked at her, he realised that she was more than just a nurse to him. She was a friend, a confidante, and maybe even something more.

As they walked out of the hospital together, Bucky felt a strange feeling of hope. Maybe, just maybe, he had finally found someone who could help him heal his damaged heart.

A/N who doesn't love the enemies to lovers trope? It's personally a favourite of mine 🥰

tagging the usual...please lemme know if you'd like to be added or removed.

🏷 @thewaithfuckingannoyme @evelyn-kingsley @moonlight-ee 

[rosepetalsinwinter]

Look At Me — Bucky Barnes

Pairing: 40s!bucky x nurse!reader

Word count: 11,951

Summary: She never expected to fall so deeply for Sergeant James "Bucky" Barnes, what with his skirt-chasing tendencies and cocky personality. Except how was she to know war would change everything she thought she wanted? Suddenly, she wanted him.

Warnings: angst, violence, WW2, slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers, friends to lovers, enemies to lovers, death, torture, whump, HYDRA, post-serum Steve Rodgers, kissing, angst with happy ending. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

Note: I got a little carried away... oops. Anyway, happy reading!

Ao3│Wattpad│Ko-fi

Main Masterlist

Enjoy!

"We'll set up camp here. The sun's getting low, and it's not safe to travel at night. We'll freeze to death if we try." James "Bucky" Barnes flung his pack to the ground and stretched his aching limbs over his head, sore from walking all day.

The infantry had left camp early that morning, just before dawn. They were to travel across the Eastern Italian border and meet the British battalion just south of Azzano. General McGinnis planned to march with a regiment of his own a week after news of the 107th's safe arrival reached camp.

"Should I start a fire, Sergeant?" Private Andrew Eaton asked, rubbing his hands together. The sun was setting, spreading a soft glow over the snow-ridden forest. "Warm us up?" His eyes flicked toward the girl, and she stiffened under his gaze.

She was a nurse, travelling with the soldiers because of her immaculate record. She had never lost a man before; one could be on the brink of death and would survive if she got her hands on them. Her expertise was unmatched and desperately needed on the Eastern Front, where the allies were losing men at an alarming rate.

Bucky shook his head. "We're too close to enemy lines. The smoke will draw attention, and we can't risk that."

Multiple eyes drifted to the nurse's shivering form, some filled with pity, others with concern. She had not once complained about the walk nor the temperature, but she was no soldier. Everyone knew her body was at risk of collapse; unaccustomed to the harsh terrain of the Dolomite Mountains, her back hunched with the weight of her pack, her eyes drooped with fatigue, cheeks crimson with cold and body trembling.

Mimicking Bucky, she, too, flung her bag on the frozen soil and dropped unceremoniously on it, finally giving in to her exhaustion.

"You sure about that, Sergeant Barnes?" Eaton questioned. The girl widened her eyes in alarm. It was one thing to hold the soldiers back with her slow pace and decreased stamina, another to put them all in danger. "Maybe we should risk it."

Typically, questioning a superior officer was inappropriate and inexcusable, but not one person reacted negatively to the Private's question. Murmurs of approval spread through the men.

Bucky turned toward the nurse, taking in her form. Like the rest of his soldiers, he also worried for the girl—more than he should have. She did not have any endurance training. She had not even left the relative safety of the camp until now, and it took everything in Bucky to stop himself from carrying her back to base camp, where she would be safe from the threat of gunfire and death.

He opened his mouth—to either agree with Eaton or disagree with him—no one could know. The girl chose that moment to let go of her hesitations. "I once spent an entire night out in the streets of France with just a pair of gloves and a tattered jacket," she rushed out. At the confused looks, she clarified, "in the middle of December." More looks. "In negative twenty-five-degree weather..." her voice was slowly tapering into shyness. "I am alive, am I not?"

"How much is that in Fahrenheit, Miss?" And the conversation moved forward.

The soldiers insisted on lighting at least a small fire for the girl's sake, igniting one under the cover of the dense coniferous trees. While the men began to set up camp for the night, Bucky stood there with a puckered brow and a frown marring his features, before shaking his head and helping them.

The nurse decided she would not be the one to risk them all. After another twenty minutes or so of bickering, she finally lost her temper. "You might as well know by now; I'm inherently stubborn, and nothing any of you say or do will change my mind."

After that, a perimeter was established, lookouts were posted, and tents were begrudgingly set up. Some soldiers retired to rest while others passed down alcohol, huddled against each other to conserve heat.

"It'll warm you up." Bucky sat down next to the shivering girl on a collapsed, decaying tree. He thrust a flask toward her mouth, urging her to drink from it. He took a sip when she made no move, clearing his throat and asking her again. "Will you drink some?"

His voice was sweet and kind, and she despised it. She pursed her lips in response and leaned away. "No, thank you," she replied while her teeth chattered.

Bucky frowned in annoyance. Her stubbornness, which he usually found amusing, was turning out to be somewhat of a hindrance.

"Sorry, doll, but it wasn't a question." He thrust the flask toward her once more, belligerent in his attempt.

She leaned farther away, and Bucky followed her, trapping her against the tree. "No, thank you. You know I don't drink alcohol—."

"Yes!" he suddenly grew frustrated and ran a trembling hand through his brown locks. Somehow the girl always managed to get on his nerve. "I know you don't drink, alright? And I know you hate cursing, that you're stubborn as hell, and that you talk funny because 'proper use of language is important.' I also know that you'll die of hypothermia if you don't warm yourself up, and I rather not have to explain to Colonel Phillips that we lost our only good nurse to stubbornness."

The girl inhaled sharply, her emotions in overdrive. She didn't realize how much he noticed her little quirks.

"I'd rather not have to explain to Colonel Phillips that we lost our only good nurse to stubbornness."

"Now, your whining might've worked in Brooklyn," Bucky continued. "Especially with Steve backing you up; but it won't work here. If you haven't noticed, we're not in New York anymore."

"I have eyes," the girl snapped, convinced she was nothing but a burden to him and the soldiers. She wondered again why Colonel Philips sent her, of all people, with the 107th. She didn't think she was that good. "You won't have to explain a thing. Don't worry. I won't die so easily."

Her words were laced with contempt and a hint of something else. Remorse, Bucky realized with a start, though before he could ponder on it any longer, she began to rise, seemingly done with their conversation.

"Damn it, woman!" Bucky's loud voice caught the entire camp's attention. He grabbed her forearm and yanked her back down. She winced when her bottom landed on the trunk a bit too hard. "I'll force this down your throat if I have to."

The girl blanched, shocked by Bucky's authoritative tone. "N-no, you will not!" She made an effort to appear commanding, but her stutter betrayed her. She was scared he would make good on his promise.

"You do not want to test me," he seethed. There was a look in Bucky's eyes she had not seen before. A crazed, almost feral glint in his pupils.

Her heartbeat quickened, and her insides warmed. She chalked it up to adrenaline. "I'm not that cold anymore."

Bucky said nothing, just continued to stare at her with the feral look still in his eyes.

Seconds passed—seconds that felt like minutes—before he spoke. "We're sleeping in one tent tonight." She didn't know why he was telling her that. "Together. To preserve body heat." She was still confused. "You either drink this, girl," he thrust the flask toward her lips once more. "or I'll make you sleep between my men. God knows they haven't touched a woman in months. So they won't have any complaints."

She argued with him, calling him petty names, and stuttering through excuses. "Y-you—you're."

"What?" he taunted. "Say it. Am I an asshole? A fucking idiot? Go on, don't be shy."

"You're an incompetent Sergeant. The most incompetent I've ever met!"

"I'm the only Sergeant you've ever met," Bucky deadpanned. "Seriously? That the best you can do?"

It was. "You're not that cruel! You're bluffing, like you bluffed about throwing me in the East River last year when I went out with that doctor."

"That doctor was a fucking creep with a criminal record," Bucky seethed. The girl's refusal went unheard. "And I wasn't bluffing. If Steve didn't stop me, you would have been swimming with the fish."

She muttered her annoyance under her breath, but Bucky caught it.

"God as my witness, I'll take you over my shoulder and lie on top of you if I have to!" One look into his eyes, and she could tell he was not lying.

When again he thrust the flask toward her mouth, she begrudgingly took it from him, bringing the cool metal to her lips. When the alcohol's bitter smell reached her, she almost gagged at the potent stench.

"I can't!" the girl choked on a sob, shoving the flask back into Bucky's hands.

A smirk adorned his pink lips, so unlike the anger she had been expecting. "Don't say I didn't warn ya." And before she could react, her world had been turned upside down.

Her legs went up, and her head went down. For a few moments, she froze, unable to understand what had happened. When a hand landed on her bottom, she gasped, realizing that Bucky had indeed made good on his promise—taken her over his shoulder.

When she screamed out of frustration, he shushed her. "Don't make me gag you."

The girl felt red, hot embarrassment at being treated like a child in front of all the soldiers. She scratched fruitlessly at Bucky's back, only to end up clutching his fatigues with numb fingers as he carried her across the clearing. At least the men had half a mind to keep their gaze averted when she was thrown unceremoniously inside one of the tents.

"You act like a caveman," she hissed, looking up at his scrunched brow.

Bucky's eyes softened, and all previous frustration and anger left him. Her insult amused him, and he plopped down next to her with a silent huff. "And you act like a brat."

The girl's answering words died on her tongue at Andrew Eaton's voice. "Lose the frown, Miss. There's not a single man here who wouldn't take a bullet for you, Barnes included."

A couple more soldiers entered the small tent, taking up the rest of the space. The girl ignored them, inhaling deeply. "I was perfectly fine outside, Andrew. Not cold at all."

A quick laugh from Bucky. "Is that why your lips are blue, and you're shaking like a leaf? 'Cause, you're not cold at all?"

"—He's just tryna keep you alive," Andrew interrupted before another argument could ensue.

A laugh bubbled up in the girl's throat before she could stop it. For some reason, the suggestion that Bucky Barnes was keeping her alive made her hysterical. Bucky Barnes, the man who couldn't keep a plant alive. She laughed until her stomach hurt, then she took a deep breath, clutched her middle while she fell backwards, and continued laughing.

"Fucking hell? She's crazy," the girl heard Bucky curse under his breath, but she was so far gone in delirium she could not be bothered to scold him for it.

"At least she's not frownin' anymore," Andrew offered.

The girl laughed harder, curling in on herself. Bucky stared at her with confused amusement, barely concealed, and chuckled softly. She was the most bizarre person he had ever met. So odd. Lately, he caught himself smiling more in her presence than ever before, finding it harder to resist her contagious delights. She was a constant amusement for the rest of the soldiers as well. Entertaining, though stressful.

She was still very clumsy, tripping on rocks and slipping down declines. A soldier needed to be watching her all the time, and that soldier, unbeknownst to her, was generally Bucky. He had grown eyes in the back of his head, trying to ensure she did not hurt herself. The girl had touched the hearts of all the men, his most of all, though he tried to conceal the fact by being curt and severe with her. Despite that, he did find pleasure in being able to tame her.

Ludovic Fournier, the Frenchman, muttered a phrase in his native tongue, and Andrew translated for him. "Women go a bit crazy before starting their courses. It's best to indulge them and not question it."

The entire tent went crazy, laughing and hollering almost as hard as the girl had been. Though she was not laughing anymore, and she was not amused. Her laughter died as quickly as it started—jarringly abrupt.

"I'm right here, you know!" She turned to the Frenchman. "Dis-moi, monsieur," the girl turned to him with a sarcastic and slightly intimidating curl of her lips. "Comment avez-vous appris tant de choses sur les femmes?"

The Frenchman swallowed thickly, and from behind him, Andrew translated his words to the small group. "She's asking how he got so damn smart."

"Ma femme."

"Ah! Idiote moi. Mais bien sûr. Ta femme doit être folle si elle tá épousé. Rien à voir avec se scours. Accune femme saine désprit ne portrait passer plus d'une journee avec toi sans avoir besoin d'être admis dans en établissement mental par la suite."

"She says, don't blame that time of the month, or your poor wife, when it's you're the reason she's like that." He guffawed out loud, drawing the girl's attention, before continuing. "Anyone would go crazy after spending more than a minute with you. Jesus Christ! Man, oh, man!"

The girl went warm all over. That was precisely why she tended to keep quiet. Her temper would rise if she did not keep her emotions in check. She had only ever lost it with Bucky before, never in front of a crowd. "Excuse me, gentlemen," she mustered what remaining dignity she had left, "but it's time for me to rest. I will see you all in the morning, bright and early. Good night."

Amidst all the hysterical laughing and the rampant rambling, the girl had forgotten Bucky's promise. He yanked her down before she could leave. He had indulged her long enough.

"I'm not letting you kill yourself—don't," he started, when he noticed her lips curl, "start laughing again. It was traumatizing enough the first time."

What he meant: "Please don't laugh again, because if you do, I wouldn't want you to stop. Ever." Except he did not know he felt such a thing. So, he annoyed her instead, undermining his affection for her.

The girl huffed loudly, voicing her frustration. The rest of the men settled inside the tent, pressed against each other for heat, hoping for at least a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. "I'm not cold anymore. I told you before."

"You're the worst liar I have ever met. Seriously! Worse than Steve." That was true. Steve was a horrible liar. "I can see you shivering. Hell! I can hear you!"

Bucky decided to give her a choice. A poor one, yes, but a choice, nonetheless. "Where do you wanna sleep? In between Fournier and Ward or next to Eaton?" He leaned in close, putting a hand next to his mouth as if indulging her with a secret. "I gotta warn you, though. He snores like a pig."

The girl simmered. She did not want to spend the night in the middle of men, and Bucky knew that. He was intimately aware of her reservation toward the opposite sex."Over here is fine." She was referring to the front of the tent where she was already seated.

"Perfect! This way, I'll be able to keep an eye on you."

"Excuse me?"

"You did choose the coldest spot, but I won't complain. Promise." He shrugged out of his jacket.

"What are you doing?"

"—as long as you wear this."

By now, it was a sort of ritual for Bucky to demand something of the girl and for her to deny him. No matter how helpful or minuscule the command, she could hardly help it anymore, even though it always ended with her compliance—sometimes forced.

"No, thank you." She was nothing if not stubborn.

Bucky scoffed. Grabbing her wrists, he pulled her down until she was in his lap. The girl stifled her scream and gasped instead.

The rest of the men were almost all asleep, exhausted from the long day. So was the girl, though she would not admit it. She was tired and cold—more than usual—and scared; of what was to come and of what was currently taking place. Her ancient promise of staying away from James Buchanan Barnes was becoming harder to uphold.

Bucky knew this—not of her promise, of course, but of her crumbling resolve—So he pushed. He flustered and confused her. "Only because it's amusing," he told himself—her reaction to his teasing. "Only because it's amusing,"

"You should stick with red. Purple is not a good colour on you, and that's what you'll become if you don't listen to me." He placed his jacket over her shoulders, and she was instantly warmed.

"What about you?" Her voice was meek and hesitant, words honeyed in their delivery. "Will you not get cold?" But he only smirked and raised his brows in answer. "Oh. Right." She had forgotten his natural affinity for all things warm, so unlike her own, for all things cold.

"I've got both you and Eaton keeping me warm. I wouldn't worry about it." Bucky smirked when the girl said nothing and only blinked in surprise.

She lowered herself, letting her head touch the soft ground. Tarps had been placed neatly all over, offering protection from the snow surrounding them. She turned away from Bucky, putting a foot of space between him and herself, holding her breath when she felt him lie next to her. However, the second she relaxed, his arm wrapped around her midsection and pulled her flush against his front, not an inch separating them.

"Bucky!" she warned in a hushed whisper, struggling against his hold. "This is inappropriate!"

"No!" he huffed in her ear, hot breath warming her neck. "This is survival!" She continued her futile attempts, trying harder to elude his grasp. "Besides, I gave you my only jacket, and I need to—Damn it, woman! Stop moving," he groaned in her ear.

"Why?" she asked, squirming harder.

"Because—Damn it!" he groaned again. "Just stop, will ya?" A deep breath. "Please."

The girl went still. Bucky Barnes never said please, never begged. She had not thought it possible. So, to hear him beg her... she decided she could never let Bucky Barnes use that word ever again. It was dangerous when uttered by his lips. An irresistible, compelling word that she could never deny, gladly giving in to any request.

"Please."

"Sorry," she muttered quietly, quickly settling down, unsure if he was listening. He was. "I'm sorry."

The girl let the tiredness of the day wash over her. She let Bucky's arms hold her, keep her safe and warm, and protect her. Her eyes closed, and she entered the state before sleep where the body was still aware and preparing for rest.

"You drive me crazy," Bucky's whispered in her ear, so quiet she convinced herself she imagined it.

"You drive me crazy too," was her last thought before she let deep slumber overtake her. Except the girl knew Bucky did not mean it with the same intention as hers. "So crazy."

At a steep decline, her foot swept away from under her on an icy patch of grass. From behind her, Bucky dropped his copy of "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn," extending his arm to grab her. He was not fast enough, and she fell on her back, sliding down until she hit a mountain of fresh snow.

"Jesus Christ, Darling!" Bucky reached under her arms to haul her up as if she weighed nothing. "You gotta watch where you're stepping."

"It's too dark," she sputtered, wiping snow off her face. "I couldn't see anything." From the east, the full moon was their only source of light, doing a poor job of illuminating the path through the dense forest around them.

"Fucking hell," Bucky swore, appraising the girl from head to toe. "You're soaked."

"I'm fine," she rasped, already beginning to shiver as the cold permeated her layers to settle in her skin. "I can keep going."

"Like hell you can," Bucky muttered, looking ahead to see everyone else's progress.

"There's no need to swear," the girl grumbled, pulling her hat farther down.

Bucky raised a brow at that. "At least the cold didn't get to your head."

She rolled her eyes, turning to leave, but Bucky grabbed her before she could take a single step, hauling her up in his arms. She shrieked, wrapping her hands around his neck for stability. "What are you doing?"

"You're going to trip again," he said by way of explanation. "It's just a little bit further. Then we'll set up camp."

Bucky ignored the girl's protests, quickly catching up with the rest of the battalion. They walked another mile in about half an hour, and Bucky ignored all of the girl's grumbling, only acknowledging her once they reached a small clearing and began setting up camp.

"Shut up," he grumbled, to which he received a smack on the back of his head.

"You shut up."

He lowered the girl next to the small smokeless fire Simon Ward lit, draping his jacket over her, "Dry up as much as you can. I'll be back."

Scooting closer to the small blaze, the girl pulled Bucky's jacket tighter around her shoulders, studying the flame with intensity as she recalled waking up the past few days.

The girl had gone to sleep slightly rigid and stiff, unused to resting next to another body, but she woke up in a tangle of limbs. Bucky's hands in her hair, her face tucked in the crook of his neck. Sometime in the middle of the night, she had turned over and gravitated closer to the heat his body was radiating. It was the best sleep either of them had ever had. Neither was willing to acknowledge it.

The night after was a repeat of the night before. Bucky threatened alcohol down the girl's throat, and she responded with a litany of insults which he laughed away. They wrestled while everyone watched—Bucky won, and the girl awoke the next day surrounded by a familiar warmth and a musky scent one could only describe as Bucky Barnes.

A week later, the moon was low in the sky, marking the beginning of winter. Neither the girl nor Bucky brought up their temporary sleeping arrangements, choosing to ignore the feelings festering inside them. The girl felt her resolve slowly crumbling. What was that promise she made to herself regarding Bucky Barnes? She couldn't quite recall.

The girl busied herself with unpleasant memories of his. She remembered when she first moved into the apartment across from Bucky. She was carrying a box full of books up the fifth floor of a six-story building. She had to take a break every few minutes to rest her arms, or they would've fallen off. Just outside her door, she collided with a brick wall. Her books went flying—so did she—and Bucky Barnes ran past her without so much as an "excuse me," muttering profanity under his breath. From then on, she started hating him.

That's how she met Steve. The slender young man popped a blonde head out of his friend's door and asked if he could help. She said, "no thanks," but he didn't listen, insisting on bringing the rest of her things up. That night, over a cup of hot tea, she learned about James Buchanan Barnes and his skirt-chasing tendencies. She began to hate him a bit more.

She recalled all his jabs of how she dressed, the way she looked, mocking her insecurities by sarcastically complimenting her. The ruined date with that doctor—never mind the potential criminal record. His threat to drown her.

He broke her friend's heart, told her he would call the next day and didn't. She was married now with a baby on the way, but it was the principle of the thing that irked her.

One by one, all of Bucky's wrongdoings came to the forefront of the girl's mind. When he argued with her, undermined her, and treated her like porcelain. When he called her "doll," "darling," and "sweetheart."

She hated that most of all.

Still, she could not ignore the tiny flutter in her heart whenever she thought of the blue-eyed sergeant. Despite all the bad, she now only remembered his warm smile and comforting embrace.

The girl brought her hand dangerously close to the fire, letting the flame irritate her skin before pulling away. She still felt cold.

Bucky returned a few moments later, rubbing his bare hands together in front of his face. "You tired?"

The girl ignored his question, asking one of her own. "Where are your gloves?"

Bucky's frosty breath momentarily covered his face. "Bradshaw lost his."

"Jeremy?"

Bucky nodded with a smile, unsurprised the girl knew most of the soldiers' names. "Wait, what are you doing?"

She fished her gloves from her coat, thrusting them toward him. "They're dry now. Here, take them."

"Don't be stupid," Bucky scoffed, "you'll get cold." Still, she persevered, leaving her hand dangling. "I'm not taking your gloves," Bucky said with finality.

"Alright," she nodded, dropping her hand and taking off his jacket instead.

Bucky seized her by the shoulders, stopping her and giving her a little shake. "What the fucking hell, woman! Keep your jacket on. It's freezing."

"Don't swear. It's yours, not mine. Take it." She tried prying his fingers off, but he wouldn't budge. "The gloves or the jacket, Bucky. Your choice."

"So goddamn stubborn. Every day you find something new to argue with me about, don't you?"

"Pick one," she warned, "or I'm giving both to Jeremy."

With a mumbled curse, Bucky snatched the gloves from her lap, putting them on like a petulant child.

"And say thank you," she snapped, slightly perturbed he hadn't taken back his jacket.

Bucky squinted his eyes, dropping down next to her. "You're acting like a real brat today."

"You're acting like a caveman! Now leave me alone so I can sleep in peace." She had turned away from Bucky, but when he offered no reply, she swallowed uneasily and looked back. His eyes glinted with mischief, hinting at his next step. "Bucky, no!"

She tried to stop him but was no match for his strength. Her world spun, and she found herself on his shoulder once again. Thankfully she stayed quiet this time, not bringing any extra attention toward them.

"I'll show you caveman." Bucky plopped her down in one of the smaller tents with space just enough for two, closing the flap behind him.

She steamed in forced fury, trying to take comfort in the fact that, pretty soon, she wouldn't have to put up with the infuriating soldier at all. She failed.

After a moment, when Bucky still hadn't moved from his hunched-over position at the front of the tent, the girl snapped at him. "What are you waiting for, Bucky? Come to bed!"

They both paused, processing the girl's words. "Come to bed." It was the first time she willingly called for him. She looked down, embarrassment creeping up her neck, unable to see the smile on Bucky's face.

Carefully, Bucky settled in behind her, embracing her with both arms, fitting her against him. When she began to squirm, he only had to issue a single warning before she relaxed. He sighed gratefully, not wanting a repeat of the past week where she slept oblivious while he tried to tamp down his arousal.

"This is nice," Bucky thought the girl muttered, though he couldn't be sure because she was already asleep.

"Yeah, this is really nice," Bucky whispered against her temple as blissful sleep overtook him.

From a distance, the Italian alps were quite breathtaking. She imagined a cabin in the forest, high on the Dolomite mountains; this would be her view. Maybe she would move here one day—once the war was over—and ask Steve to join her. Steve didn't have anyone stopping him from leaving other than Bucky. Maybe Bucky could join too? She shook that thought away.

The Dolomites were far behind them now, and as they passed town after town, destroyed and abandoned, an unsettling feeling grew vigorous in her gut. They were close to the Austrian border, hugging the small villages and settlements as they got closer to their destination: Azzano.

They made camp as the sun set, supplying the perfect backdrop to a most tiresome journey. The girl slung her pack to the ground and stretched her muscles while waiting for Bucky to finish ordering the men around.

He offered her water when he finished, which she took gratefully. "Lieutenant General Allan Montgomery should be here within the week. We'll travel the rest of the way to Azzano together." Then Bucky's eyes downturned. "We're only a few miles away from the front line. Do you remember your training?" he asked, looking for hesitation.

Of course, by training, he was referring to the hour-long lesson she was given on battlefield defence, not that any of it stuck. She tried schooling her features, failing miserably. "Yes, I do." Her voice was strong and confident, though she felt anything but. "If we spot the enemy, I'm supposed to set up a station at a safe spot and wait for the injured there. They will be sent back if they are fit to fight. If not..." she trailed off, unable to stomach the fact. "But I won't let that happen," she promised.

Bucky looked at her pityingly, as if he knew something she did not. "Let's hope so. The rest of the 107th should be here in a couple of days with General McGinnis. They were right behind us, so—"

Bucky paused, looking behind the girl at the soldiers setting up camp, before shaking his head and continuing. "Are you tired? The sun's beginning to set."

The girl wrapped her arms around her shoulders and shook her head.

"What's wrong?" Bucky asked, immediately picking up on the girl's discomfort.

"Bucky..." she began hesitantly. "How long will you make me sleep with you?"

Bucky frowned. "Do you feel uncomfortable? I know I came across as an asshole, but I didn't want you to freeze to death. Sorry, we can stop."

Unable to respond immediately, the girl looked at him with barely concealed bewilderment. Apologizing; is another thing Bucky Barnes did not do. "No, I don't want to stop. It's just..." she trailed off, looking for the right word. "inappropriate, especially with the General joining us soon."

"No, it's not," he said matter of factly. "We're friends."

"Friends don't sleep together," the girl responded, unsure of what she wanted to hear him say.

Bucky waited until she looked him in the eyes. "We're the exception. Hey, they've got bigger matters to worry about than us sharing body heat. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Well, good."

An awkward silence fell between the pair, and the girl cleared her throat before the feeling could consume her. "The men look ready to fight," she observed, watching her surroundings.

Bucky ran a hand through his hair. "Oh, uh... I mentioned we're near the front lines, right? So we need to set up a perimeter and plan the best line of attack. Make sure we have a solid line of defence in case something happens. Hey, don't worry. We've got this." Bucky gave her shoulder a tiny shove.

"Oh," she huffed, "I am not worried."

"Yeah?" a smile lit his eyes. "Your face is telling me a different story."

She pursed her lips in frustration. "I'm not worried about you, Bucky," she snapped, "I'm worried about Steve. He needs his friend to come back home—in one piece—and now, I know you normally have no regard for your safety, but you have to be careful if you don't want to leave our friend alone in Brooklyn."

Bucky saw red. He pulled at his hair in frustration. It was unbelievable how quickly she was able to rile him up. "Are you kidding me? I'm the one with no regard for safety? In the time I've known you, you've almost died over five times. You can't even cross the street without putting yourself in danger! Hell! I'm still confused about how they let you in this damn war in the first place." He rushed his words, voicing his anger and annoyance. He only registered the last part of the girl's sentence when he took a deep breath.

"Why would Steve be all alone in Brooklyn?" he asked in a more even tone. "You're going to be there, and a few months later, I'll join... he won't be alone. Why would you say that?"

He froze at the look on her face. Guilt—In her eyes, in the way she held herself, oozing from her pores. Bucky could smell it. Bucky could even taste it. "What did you do?"

"I'm so sorry. I wanted to tell you both sooner, but I only just decided and—"

"What. Did. You. Do?" Bucky grit out.

The girl took a deep breath. "I'm leaving. Moving to Canada. I already asked for a transfer—"

"Canada? Fucking Canada?"

"—Don't swear, please," she pleaded.

"This is some sick joke, right? Tell me you're joking." Bucky grabbed her forearms, forcing her to look him in the eyes.

"I'm sorry, Bucky, but I already applied for the transfer. I'm supposed to be moved to a different regiment when we get back to base."

There were many things the girl expected Bucky to say. She expected him to be happy that he was finally rid of her. Relieved she would be gone. She did not expect him to be hurt.

"Were you ever gonna say goodbye?"

"Bucky, I—"

"To Steve, to me. Were you ever going to tell me if I hadn't asked?"

No, she would not have. "Please, Bucky," she pleaded. "I don't want to leave you angry. For the sake of our past, let it go. We won't see each other again for a long time. Not until the war is over."

Bucky scoffed. "Phillips would never let that happen; he wouldn't let you leave. You're his favourite nurse."

She furrowed her brows in response. "I'm not Colonel Phillips' favourite nurse. He has no favourites."

"You're everyone's favourite nurse," he replied as if stating a fact.

"Liar!" she wanted to scream at him. She knew she was not his favourite.

"Not yours," she whispered, staring at him for a moment. "Lila Bellamy told me about the date you took her on. She said you turned a war zone into the most romantic place she'd ever seen. You brought her flowers, danced with her, and kissed her on the cheek once the night was over." She felt wetness gathering in her eyes. "You were the perfect gentleman."

When the first tear dropped, she didn't bother wiping it away. "When you return to base camp, please give Lila my regard. She was quite worried for me. Will you let her know I'm safe? She would be glad to hear from you, and I won't get to talk to her before I leave."

Bucky's grip on her shoulder tightened almost painfully, making her flinch. Through the hurt coursing in her body, she managed a feeble smile. "Try not to break her heart? You two look good together."

"No!" Bucky had had enough; he could hold his words in no longer. "There's nothing between Lila and me."

The girl shook her head. "You don't have to lie."

"Stop it!" Bucky exploded, shaking her. "Stop pushing me away. I don't want Lila; I never wanted her. I've only ever wanted you!"

"Bucky," the girl gasped.

"There's no way I'm letting you leave me, doll," he started, and there was that word she hated. "I'll take you over my shoulder if I have to, but you're not going to fucking Canada; because I love—"

Bucky never got to finish his sentence, never got to tell the girl how he felt because one of his worst nightmares was suddenly realized.

A bullet whizzed past them both—so close that the girl could smell the gunpowder in the wind, could feel its displacement through air against her cheek before it found a home in the soldier behind her. She screamed as she fell, Bucky's heavy weight shielding her body, keeping her down. Her world turned upside down, and she found herself on the cold ground with Bucky's grip on her arms tightened painfully.

To her right, the unfortunate soldier lay dead, with an 8-millimeter-sized hole in his head oozing a steady stream of thick blood. A wound meant for her.

The girl touched a hand to her cheek, which had suddenly warmed. It came back painted as red as the poppy fields back in Provence, France.

She began to tremble as shock overtook her.

Bucky swore under his breath, eyes wide as he took in their surroundings. Beneath him, the girl's eyes darkened in fear. She smeared the splatter of blood on her cheeks and stared at her fingers in horror.

"Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God." She kept muttering under her breath, eyes wide and lips quivering. "N-No. No. No. No."

All around Bucky, the soldiers ran, grabbing artillery and readying defences. "What the hell happened!?" he screamed. "We had a perimeter set up!" Underneath him, she shivered—out of shock or fear, he determined, rather than the cold.

"Those Nazi bastards were waiting to ambush us!" a voice shouted from amidst the chaos. "They knew we were coming!"

Another bullet whizzed past Bucky's head, embedding itself in the ground next to the girl's head. He jerked her away and swore. "Fuck!" She still trembled under him, muttering nonsense. He took her face in his hands, urging her to look at him. " Hey, darlin'? Doll, look at me."

Her eyes were glued to her shaky hands. "Oh God, no. No, I can't. I can't. I can't."

For a few seconds, Bucky froze above her—a few seconds too many—before his training kicked in. He needed to get her out of there. Bucky yanked her hands to the side and held her face in a bruising grip, forcing her to look at him.

"We're in a war zone right now." He said her name with fierce assurance. "The enemy isn't going to stop until we're all dead. I need you to remember the promise you made me this morning. You promised you wouldn't let anyone die—Hey!"

The girl tried peeking at the dead soldier beside her, but Bucky blocked her view.

"Don't look at him. Why are you looking at him? Look at me," he said. The girl whimpered, her eyes misting. "Look at me. That's not your fault."

She shook her head.

"—Hey! It's not. Those German bastards killed him, not you."

"That bullet was meant for me," she sobbed between breaths, "it should have hit me." The desperation in her voice cut him like a knife. He felt her fear as if it were his own.

"Don't you dare! Don't you fucking dare!" Under normal circumstances, Bucky would be concerned at the girl's lack of reaction to his cursing, but he had already spent too much time coddling her, and the men needed him. "I'm gonna go and avenge that soldier's death, darlin'," Buck shouted over the sound of battle. "I'm going to burn those Germans to the ground. I'm going to do my job, and you have to do yours."

She looked at him then, and Bucky exhaled gratefully at the clarity he saw in her eyes, hidden behind adrenaline and fear. She gave him a little nod and stifled her sobs. "I feel a little sick."

"Me too," said Bucky, hauling them both to their feet.

The second they were upright, Bucky yanked her behind a tree for cover against the onslaught of bullets raining down on them. "You have to run." He grabbed his rifle from behind his back and checked the ammunition.

"Bucky—"

"When I tell you to, I want you to run toward those trees over there," he pointed to a slight decline, where the trees were thicker and provided more cover, "and I want you to keep on running."

"Wait! No!"

"No matter what happens!" He would not look her in the eyes—Could not look her in the eyes. "You run until you reach the last marker—" Bucky took off his helmet and placed it on the girl's head, fastening it over her hat. "—about a mile and a half out—"

"Bucky, listen to me!"

But he would not listen to her. The girl kept calling him, but he ignored her. He knew his eyes would betray his fear if he did. And he knew that the terrified look that had most likely taken up residence on her face, would force him to lose the last of his sanity and carry her back to base. This war zone was the last place he wanted her.

"You stay there until someone comes for you, and you don't—"

"James!"

And there it was, that damned name. So absolutely dangerous when uttered by her lips. Time slowed for both of them as if the war had pressed pause. Sound faded, colours brightened, and for a few minuscule seconds Bucky and her existed in their own little world, where the blood on her hands was paint, and the look in his eyes was love and not fear.

Bucky looked down, expecting to see the girl hysterical and weeping. Instead, he saw something completely different. Her eyes were clear, the most they had been in weeks, terribly similar to the look she would get in camp when the life of a soldier was in her hands.

And when she spoke, there was determination in her voice. A promise. "You better come back in one piece for Steve." And he knew she meant, "be careful."

He blinked at her, once, then twice, ensuring there were no other hidden messages behind her words. "You better run fast." And she knew he meant, "I will."

The world around them came back into focus, and with a final tightening of her helmet, Bucky pushed her away, sending her running toward safety.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

How much time had passed? She couldn't be sure. Her boot-clad feet were numb from being buried in the snow, and her back was sore from chafing against the rough bark of a pine tree.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

How much time had passed? The sun had long since disappeared under the horizon. In its stead was the moon, still as big and beautiful as the night before. Was it privy to all the horrors the girl wasn't? Did it frown over the violence and brutality it witnessed, or did the inhumanity of the act make it shine brighter?

Thump. Thump. Thump.

How much time had passed? Above her, a bird chirped loudly, disturbed by the gunfire that seemed to grow closer as the moon rose higher in the sky. An hour? Two? It certainly felt like more.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The girl placed a hand over her rapidly beating heart, patting her chest as a means to settle it. "It's okay," she whispered, afraid to voice her thoughts any louder. "It's okay."

She twisted her body around the thick trunk, peeking at the darkness beyond her hiding spot. Another jarring explosion, fake sounding and unreal, before the world quieted. Eerily so.

The bird above her stopped its music. The leaves stopped their little dance. The girl twisted fully, staring intently at the spot she had come running from before finding a temporary home against her tree. All felt normal—well, as normal as could be.

What was it that prompted her forward and on her feet? Bucky's instructions rang clear in her head. "You stay there until someone comes for you." No one was there for her, yet her feet began to move of their own volition. Perhaps at the persuasion of a greater force. Fear; she could taste it on her tongue.

Fear that made her keep going despite the ache in her limbs. Fear that numbed her skin against the sharp tendrils of wind cutting her face. Fear of the quiet. Of being alone. Of being without him.

"Bucky," her whisper echoed against the draught. "James," her heart bled through the frozen ground.

The stench hit her first. Her nose picked up on what her eyes could not. Rotting flesh, putrid and burnt. Sweat and vomit mixed in with the minerally dirt. Her tongue flared up next as copper permeated the rest of her senses, overwhelmingly strong. And the fear; she caught herself against a tree as it engulfed her, making her lose the contents of her stomach.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The girl was at the edge of the clearing, with the gruesome scene of battle right in front of her. Her eyes moved fleetingly across everything, afraid of what she might find. What was once the site of a lively campsite was now demolished in a mess of guts and spoils.

The earth had turned over to create trenches and hiding spots. Dead bodies and dismembered limbs were scattered across the ground, decorating it with a gruesome excuse for peace.

It was quiet. Too quiet. The calm before the storm.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

She spotted movement from the corner of her eye, followed by a low groan of pain.

James. Her heart lurched.

A head of blonde curls bobbed from behind a mountain of dirt. The girl reached behind her for her pack, realizing it lay abandoned on the battlefield. She spotted it twenty-something meters away to her right.

Her eyes squeezed shut. The girl wasn't sure if it was safe to venture out, but it was so quiet, and still, she reasoned the worst of it had passed. She made up her mind; first, the pack, then the wounded soldier.

With her arms pumping rhythmically, she ran. Five, ten, fifteen meters out. The girl skid to a stop, bending to grab the pack. Instead, cold metal kissed her temple, and she stopped breathing.

Her terror-stricken eyes met dilated blue ones. Her pack perched on the edge of what resembled a small trench, hidden from the rest of the clearing. Several soldiers sat hunched over, brandishing various weapons. Bucky Barnes lowered his rifle as gut-wrenching fear overtook his face. He shook his head vigorously, reaching up to grab her, but she stumbled back on her arms, clutching the pack to her chest.

The girl swallowed the sob threatening to spill over. Bucky was alive and safe, though a bit roughed up. She looked to her left at the blonde soldier immobilized by his injury, and Bucky followed her gaze. She noticed the moment it clicked for him, and she made her decision on the spot. She only hoped her eyes accurately portrayed her feelings.

Bucky's mouth opened in a silent scream of her name, and he leapt from his spot, tossing his weapon to the side. Andrew Eaton grabbed Bucky by the shoulders and yanked him back to safety. The girl took that opportunity to scramble to her feet. Behind her, Bucky's muffled shout echoed in her ears.

"He's okay," she reassured herself. "Bucky's okay."

The wounded soldier was lying on his front, eyes closed and motionless. She fell to her knees, placing two fingers against his windpipe. There, faint and irregular, an indistinct pulse was striving to intensify.

The soldier was alive. Good, she thought, I can work with that. His dog tags peeked from under his coat: Matthew Miles Davidson. Frantic hands ran over his body, feeling for a wound. Her hand came away wet, and she discovered his pants soaked with blood. Bracing herself on her knees, the girl rolled Matthew over with a groan.

"Sorry," she whispered when he moaned in anguish. "I'm sorry." Producing a pocket knife, she cut the fabric away from his right thigh, displaying his injury. Puckered skin oozed a steady flow of red, painting her hands. She laced her fingers together and pressed against the opening, using her entire weight to stop the blood.

The girl's thoughts were in overdrive, swiftly taking in and storing information. No exit wound, meaning the bullet was still inside. Matthew was faintly moving, his chest rising and falling with every breath. The girl decided she would remove the bullet, bandaging the wound before dragging him past the trees for cover.

However, over the adrenaline rushing through her ears, she did not realize another fight had broken out. Someone shouted from a distance, and the girl pulled away, unbuckling Matthew's belt and folding it in half. She needed to clean his wound, and since the morphine was in a different pack, with the rest of the medicine, Matthew was going to feel everything.

He was slightly more lucid now, staring at her, so she grabbed his face and urged him to listen. "Bite down on this, Matthew." And he obediently followed her direction.

"Good, you're doing very good." She ran a hand over his hair, cooing with a sad smile. "Don't make any noise, okay?"

The girl retrieved a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a large roll of bandages. She had tweezers in her pack for removing the shell, needle and thread for the other gashes. Those she kept in the kit and moved out of the way. Uncapping the rubbing alcohol, she liberally poured some over her hands to sanitize them before positioning the bottle over the laceration.

"This is going to hurt," she warned Matthew before tipping the bottle over.

The second the ethanol breached his wound, Matthew let out an ear-splitting scream, despite the sound being muffled by his belt. He writhed on the ground, body spasming in pain.

His groans of agony cloaked the racket of the fight around her, making it so she couldn't hear the tank powering up.

"You're okay, Matthew!" she cried.

From her right, someone screamed, and a solid form collided with her, tackling her to the ground. The night sky turned a light blue, flashing white for a brief moment, and the girl raised her head. In her spot, where she sat just a second ago, tending to Matthew's wounds, was air. No supplies, no pack, and no Matthew. The only evidence that something, or someone, had been there was the roll of bandages in her hand and the blackened earth outlining the shape of a body.

Looking to her saviour, she didn't know if she should be grateful or ungrateful that her life was spared.

"You're okay!" Bucky cried, roaming his hands over her body, feeling if she was alive and well. "Fuck! I told you to fucking stay there!" He craned his neck to witness his men steadily losing ground, unmatched by the enemy and their technology.

When Bucky turned toward the girl, the fear in his eyes left her paralyzed. Panic-stricken hands ripped at her clothes, and at first, she was too shocked to react, but as the feeling returned to her limbs, she protested against him.

Bucky smeared a handful of dirt over her face, covering her eyes and lips. She clawed at his chest, trying to stop him, but he forced her back. They were still on the ground, him on top of her, leaving her immobilized.

Then he grabbed the bandages and lifted her undershirt to wrap her chest. "Stop," she whimpered. "Bucky, stop."

He didn't listen.

"James," she pleaded.

And there was that damned name again. Bucky stopped, looking into her eyes to see his terrified form reflected back. "We're losing," he rasped.

No further explanation was needed when Bucky looked at her like that. The girl heard all he wanted to say, saw all he wanted to do, and felt all he begged to show. She relaxed her body, giving him all her trust, and let him do what he did best.

That night the moon witnessed the girl surrendering to Bucky Barnes. That night, he saved her.

The air reeked of secretion. The girl didn't know why she found that detail so surprising. What else was a prison supposed to smell like if not human feces, fear and hopelessness?

She didn't remember the ride over. Shortly after surrendering, they were herded, like cattle, into armoured trucks. Masked men pulled her away from Bucky and tied her hands behind her back, shoving her into a separate truck.

The drive wasn't long, and in a few hours, they were stopping. When a guard pushed her and nine others into a dark cell, she fell to her knees and cried. Fortunately, Andrew Eaton was in the same cell as her, and he pulled the girl to him, muffling her sobs against his chest. Her high-pitched wailing was sure to catch someone's attention.

War was not kind to men, even less to young women. If they caught her, what would they do? She remembered the fear in Bucky's eyes as he frantically concealed the weight of her breasts, flattening them to resemble a man's. She decided she didn't want to find out.

The girl fell asleep in Andrew's arms wishing she was in Bucky's embrace instead. But Andrew was cold, and no matter how hard she tried, her imagination could not do Bucky justice.

In the morning, guards came for them. A burly-looking German soldier explained to her group in broken English that they were going to be put to work. Weapons manufacturing. "How does it feel?" he asked, "that we'll be killing your brothers with the weapons you make for us." They laughed amongst themselves, then pointed their guns at her and the prisoners, putting them to work.

Nights passed miserably. Andrew assured the girl Bucky was somewhere in the facility, in one of the cells scattered across the vast space, though that did little to calm her. She cried herself to sleep, body aching from the laborious work forced upon them.

By morning, the news spread. Men were being taken away.

A foul-faced officer was picking soldiers at random, plucking them away. "Hitler's right-hand man," someone sneered. "The devil incarnate," another cowered.

Andrew kept the girl tucked away against him, shielding her from wandering eyes. The dirt on her face had washed away, her hair loosened from her braid, bindings slack. She finally looked like a woman.

She saw the proof of it etched on Andrew's face when the guards came near. It was yet another night, and she was resting her head against the thick bars of the metal prison when she heard them. Andrew tried to hide her, but space was limited, and the devil's keen eye landed on her before she could move.

"What have we here?" A man with a drooping face and quizzical brow bent down to look at the girl. He grabbed her jaw in a rough grip through the bars when she attempted to crawl away. "Ah!" he exclaimed fervently, digging his nails into her skin until she whimpered. "A girl?"

His free hand went to her neck, dropping lower and lower until she protested, pushing him away. "No!"

The man raised a brow. "How did you manage to slip through, Mäuschen?" He gestured to the guards behind him, who marched forward to open the bars. "Let's find out, shall we?"

"Don't touch her, bastards!" Andrew shouted, pulling her back.

The girl wanted to stop him, but she became paralyzed with fear. The men had guns and long sticks—Andrew had nothing but his wits about him and a pair of worn fists.

The next few events happened in quick succession. A muscle in the devil's face twitched, his smile momentarily dropping, which he swiftly schooled. "Das Mäuschen has a protector? What a waste." He shrugged carelessly. "No matter. Always more where he came from."

A bang resounded, and Andrew fell backwards, eyes wide and unmoving. Someone screamed, loud and shrill. It wasn't until a guard whisked the girl away that she realized it was her screaming.

The prisoners shouted in protest as she passed by them. From amongst the hoard of fury, a pair of blue eyes met hers, two hands grasped cool metal, and two lips parted to call out her name. The girl craned her neck to look, but heavyset doors closed behind her before the voice could reach her ears.

She closed her eyes to block out her surroundings, and when she finally reopened them, it was the next day.

His name was Arnim Zola—Dr. Arnim Zola—and he was a scientist working for HYDRA. That's where they were held captive, the Doctor divulged, at one of the many facilities HYDRA owned across the continent.

The Doctor passionately described the importance of the work done at HYDRA while the girl was bound to an exam table. "How lucky that you will not only be alive to see HYDRA shine, but you will also take part in it." He checked the girl's pulse, jotting something down on a clipboard. "We lost many of the men. They all fight the effects. It will be interesting to see how a woman fares, don't you think?"

She was too tired to struggle, and when the Doctor injected a burning liquid in her veins, she found she was too tired to scream.

The world turned black.

When she came to, however long later, Dr. Zola was hunched over his desk, shuffling through papers while muttering under his breath. "How is this possible? I gave her a larger dose."

The burning had turned to ice in her veins, and she shook violently against her restraints as she shivered. "Please..."

"I don't understand. Are you sweating it off?" Then he hummed. "I will need more tests." And her world turned black once again.

How much time had passed? Days? Weeks? Months? The girl could not be sure of anything other than that the cold in her veins had found a home in her heart.

"Immune," she heard the Doctor repeat. "Nothing is working."

She was counting the marks on the wall of the tiny room she was locked in when Dr. Zola approached her one day. "Herr Schmidt wants me to dispose of you," he told her. "But I think you can serve us yet."

She turned away from him and closed her eyes, trying to ignore him.

"That prisoner. What was his name? The one who died protecting you?"

Andrew. The girl opened her eyes and looked at Dr. Zola with distrust.

"He made me wonder if the others would do the same."

"They won't," she told him, trying to hide her desperation. "I'm only a nurse."

Dr. Zola snickered mischievously, slowly backing out of the small room. "We will see about that."

That night they brought the first prisoner. Someone she did not recognize. "Do as I say, and the girl will remain unharmed."

He spat on Arnim Zola's face. "Go to hell, you son of a bitch!"

The Doctor wiped away the drool with a wry smile, gesturing to the soldiers holding the girl still. "No!" she managed to shout before they plunged her face into a bucket of ice water.

She held her breath at first, hoping to bide some time before they pulled her out, but as her heart raced and the grip on her arms tightened, she couldn't help it any longer. She began to thrash, shaking and sputtering as the water invaded her lungs.

After what felt like an eternity, she tasted fresh air, heaping lungfuls to ease the burn in her throat.

The prisoner thrashed against his restraints, screaming profanities into the air as Dr. Zola injected him with a blue substance.

"Stop resisting!" the Doctor demanded. "You'll ruin the transformation!" He turned toward the girl. "Do you want her to die?" he asked the prisoner. "They'll kill her."

The prisoner screamed louder.

"Again!" Dr. Zola ordered.

The girl managed to take a deep breath before they plunged her into the water again, not that it helped. The torture went on for the rest of the night. By the last hour, the prisoner had died, lying in a pool of vomit.

The next night they brought the second prisoner. Someone she did recognize. "Do as I say, and the girl will remain unharmed."

"Jeremy? No!" the girl began to cry. "No, not him!"

"Miss?" Jeremy looked at Dr. Zola with indignation. "Let her go."

"Do as I say," Zola repeated, "and I will."

"Go to hell."

And so it began.

Though, It did not last very long. When the girl screamed for the first time, Jeremy Bradshaw gave in. "I'll do it. I'll do anything. Just let the lady go."

Zola smiled victoriously. "Now, that wasn't so hard. Was it?"

A few hours later, Jeremey's heart gave out.

"He was weak," Zola proclaimed. "We need someone stronger."

The next night they brought the third prisoner. Someone she knew.

The girl had prepared herself this time. She wouldn't cry or scream out; she would fight! But none of it mattered when she saw the person standing before her.

War was not kind to men, and this one was proof of it. His hair was longer, touching the tips of his ears, and a light beard covered most of his face, making him almost unrecognizable. Almost. His piercing blue eyes stayed the same.

"James," she whispered. Tears gathered in her eyes, waiting for the moment he saw her.

"Do as I say, and the girl will remain unharmed."

Bucky screamed the moment he did, mouth open in rage. The girl wondered what he saw when he looked at her. Was she as haggard in appearance as him? She sure felt it.

Bucky threw the soldiers off him, shouting her name as he ran toward her. He came to a halt when someone put a gun to her head, and the soldiers took the opportunity to restrain him once again.

"Yes, you are strong, indeed. Now, will you do as I say?" Zola asked.

"Eat shit, cocksucker."

Bucky was being so strong. So could she.

When the soldiers grabbed the girl, she was ready. She kicked one of them between the legs, and when he loosened his hold, she bit the hand on her shoulder. She must have made it two steps before they restrained her again.

She heard the buzz before she could feel it, and an unbridled scream left her. Electricity travelled up her spine, burning a pathway through her nerves. Her muscles went lax, and she fell, convulsing on the cold floor.

"No," she whimpered as they administered another shock through a small black device. But they were unrelenting, kicking her half-conscious form while she was down.

Bucky roared in rage while they abused her, but he could do nothing but watch as they gave her another electric shock.

"I'll kill you sons of bitches! I'll fucking kill you!"

Zola injected Bucky with the blue liquid. "Relax your muscles! Let the transformation take over."

"Fuck. You!" Bucky seethed.

The girl crawled toward him from her position on the ground, dragging herself by her nails. The soldiers followed leisurely, laughing at her pathetic attempt. The next shock made her throw up. Bile and stomach acid; since she hadn't been able to keep anything else down.

"She'll die, Soldier," Zola warned Bucky. "There's only so much a person can take."

Bucky stopped thrashing, briefly looking at the girl before addressing the Doctor. "What will you do to her?" he asked, unconcerned for himself.

"Bucky, no."

"Will you hurt her?"

Zola smiled, knowing he had won. "As long as you do as I say, I promise she will remain unharmed."

The girl began to cry. "Don't give up, Bucky. I can take it."

"—No, she can't," Zola interrupted.

"James!"

Their eyes met, and the girl knew Bucky had made up his mind. "I'll do anything." He slumped against his restraints, giving over his control. Before the Soldiers dragged her away, Bucky mouthed three words that shattered her completely. "I love you."

The doors closed before she could mouth it back.

Bucky Barnes was in shock. He had to be. That was the only reason he was on his feet after a week of hell, feeling only slightly bruised and fatigued. Yes, it was the shock that kept him moving, and not whatever it was the Doctor injected in him.

"Did it hurt?" Bucky asked, only slightly stumbling.

"A little," replied Steve Rogers. The same Steve Rogers Bucky remembered being at least two heads shorter.

"Is this permanent?" Bucky took in the striped shield, the muscles hidden by leather.

"So far."

Bucky chuckled, pressing his chest to feel his heart beating wildly within.

"The exit's through here," Steve gestured.

Bucky pulled him back. "Wait. I have to find someone first."

"Who?"

Bucky stared at his friend for a moment, hesitating. Steve didn't know the girl was with him. She never told anyone where she was deployed. Bucky whispered her name before clearing his throat and saying it louder.

He saw the surprise on Steve's face slowly morph into determination. "What are we waiting for, then? Let's get her."

They found her quickly. She was in an unmarked room on the second floor, hiding underneath a small blanket. Steve stayed behind, and Bucky entered the dark space with careful steps.

He heard the girl whimper in protest and scurry closer to the wall. "Not again. Please!"

Bucky bent down, and what he saw made him pause. He almost didn't recognize the girl with her sunken face and pale skin. She had lost weight, and her clothes were hanging off of her, but her eyes were what broke him. Wide and distrustful. Lifeless.

Bucky wiped his tears away, determined to stay strong. "Come here. I've got you."

The girl crawled farther away as if trying to embed herself in the wall. Bucky grabbed her face with both hands. "Look at me. Hey! Look at me, doll. It's Bucky."

She finally met his eyes, and Bucky saw the moment she recognized him. "James?" she sobbed, clutching his shirt in a weak grip. "You're here!"

Bucky lifted the girl in his arms, keeping her close to his chest. The first thing he noticed was how cold she was; the second was that she weighed almost nothing. When Bucky stumbled out, unsteady on his feet, Steve grabbed her from him, exchanging the shield for her. "Reserve your energy. We've got a long way to go."

"Steven? Am I dreaming?"

Steve laughed sadly. "No."

"You're big now," she sighed. "What happened?"

Steve shrugged. "I joined the army."

"I always knew you would."

They all laughed, happy for a moment that they were reunited. But danger was near, Bucky could feel it, and his smile dropped. Around them, parts of the building exploded, making the ground shake.

"Quick! Through here!" Steve shouted, taking two steps at a time, and Bucky tried his best to keep up. They were so close. He could feel it.

"Captain America!" A voice shouted, stopping them. "How exciting!"

Steve lowered the girl to her feet, grabbing his shield from Bucky and taking a fighting stance.

When Bucky realized who the strange voice belonged to, he pulled the girl behind him, shielding her from view. It was him, the man who dragged her away all those days ago. Bucky couldn't tell then, but it was apparent now that he was a high-ranking officer. Perhaps the mastermind behind this whole operation. Zola stood next to him, cowering behind a large briefcase.

"I am a great fan of your films!" mocked Johann Schmidt. "So, Dr. Erskine managed it after all. Not exactly an improvement, but still, impressive."

Steve and Schmidt were at arm's length, and the Captain did not hesitate to swing at Schmidt. The man stumbled back, clutching his face in surprise.

"You've got no idea," Steve huffed.

"Haven't I?" And Schmidt took a swing of his own, putting a fist-sized dent in Captain America's shield.

"Steve!" The girl screamed from behind Bucky.

The two began to fight, and Bucky had to keep her from running toward their friend. "He's got it," he told her; and he did.

Steve kicked Schmidt, sending him back a few feet, and Zola stepped forward. He pressed a button that collapsed the bridge Steve was on.

"No matter what lies Erskine told you," Schmidt exclaimed. "You see, I was his greatest success!" He peeled the skin off his face, revealing red flesh underneath.

"You don't have one of those, do you?" Bucky found himself asking, a bit dizzy from the incident. He held the girl tighter against him when she started shaking like a leaf.

Schmidt made a closing remark that went over Bucky's head, and he and Zola left. An explosion caused the trio to stumble, forcing Steve into action. "Come on, let's go. Up."

Bucky pulled the girl along, and they went up a floor, stopping in front of a metal beam.

"Let's go. One at a time," Steve urged, helping Bucky over the railing.

"What are you doing?" the girl shouted over the loud explosions.

"There's no other way!" Bucky told her. "Stay behind me."

Steve helped her over the railing next, and Bucky grabbed her.

"I can't!" she shook. "I'll fall."

Bucky pulled her close. "Don't look down. Why are you looking down? Look at me."

"No!"

"Yes! One step at a time, alright? Steve's right behind you." The beam quaked with every step, but Bucky did not slow down. He tossed the girl over the railing and leaped the rest of the way; right before the beam fell from underneath him.

Bucky's stomach dropped. There was no way for Steve to cross. "There's gotta be a rope or something!"

"Just go!" Steve cried. "Get out of here!"

"No! Not without you!"

Steve hesitated before backing up as far as he could and making a run for it. Bucky's stomach dropped, thinking Steve wouldn't make it, but then he emerged from the smoke and landed safely on his feet. The trio ran.

The half-moon was low in the sky when they made camp after two day's journey. It was late, and the prisoners were tired. Bucky made his rounds, checking the perimeter and the tents for anything suspicious.

The Battle of Azzanno was still fresh in his mind, and despite Steve's reassurances, Bucky could not let down his guard.

"How is she?" Steve asked Bucky.

Bucky didn't know the answer. "She won't talk to me," he said frustratedly. "She says she's fine, but I can see she isn't."

Steve sighed, having expected that answer. "And how are you?"

"Me?"

"Yeah. You both went through something traumatic." Steve grabbed Bucky's shoulder. "Talk it out, why don't you?" and left with a reassuring smile.

Bucky found the girl in one of the smaller tents, huddled in the corner for warmth.

"I was waiting for you," she admitted.

Bucky let a small smile grace his lips. They had come a long way. "Not too long, I hope."

"Very long," she rebutted. "I'm all cold."

Something in the girl's expression hinted at something deeper, something permanent. A rawness that she couldn't hide. It made Bucky's eyes burn. "Let me warm you up then." He fell to his knees and embraced her, holding her trembling body as tightly as he could.

The girl craned her neck and looked at Bucky with teary eyes. "Are you okay?"

Bucky took a second because he didn't know. Was he okay? He adjusted his hold until the girl was in his lap, snug against his front. "No, I'm not," he decided. "But as long as you're here, I will be."

Her hair was open, so Bucky put his forehead against the soft strands and closed his eyes. "Are you okay?"

The girl took a shuddering breath. "I—I was scared, and I—" She sobbed once, then twice. "No, I'm not okay!" And she began to weep. Agonizing sobs shook her entire body.

Bucky held on tight, whispering reassurances until, however long later, she eventually settled. "But I will be," she hiccuped.

The two sat silently for a while before she shifted to face him. Bucky wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her steady and caressed her face. "I love you," he whispered, leaning in until their noses brushed.

Her eyes pierced his, conveying all she felt, and she softened in his arms. "James."

And there was that damned name again. Bucky pulled her toward him, closing the small distance between their lips.

Oh, she was soft, putty under his skilled mouth. He groaned, pressing closer until the only thing separating them were clothes. "Sweetheart." He tasted her lips with his tongue, asking for permission which she swiftly granted.

"James," she whimpered against him, clawing at his jacket for purchase. They kissed until she became breathless, reluctantly pulling away with a moan to fill her lungs.

Bucky felt his heart beating out of his chest. "I'm here," he vowed, "I'm right here. Never leaving you again."

Her pleasure-stricken face met his with an intensity that left him more breathless than her lips had. "James, I love you."

And Bucky knew in his soul that all would be well. He took her lips once again, sealing his promise with a kiss.

Ao3│Wattpad│Ko-fi

Main Masterlist

Comments and Reblogs are greatly appreciated!! 💜

@marvelatthetwilight @hallecarey1 @ria132love

[imaginedreamwrite]

I’ll Get By (As long As I Have You)

Summary: Following the death of Bucky on the train, Steve was stripped of everything that made him a hero—his shield, his rank and his heroics were gone. Determined to be an unfixable case, Steve is sealed away in a mental asylum to live out the rest of his days, by a government body that can’t make use of someone taken by grief. It’s during his stay in the asylum that he meets his angel, his darling sweetheart which makes him want the happy ending he was denied of. The war may have been over, but Steve still had a few fights in him.

[farfromharry]

Long live the hero | Eddie Munson fic

Eddie Munson x Nurse!Reader

Summary: After Eddie almost dies in the upside down, Steve and Dustin need to take him somewhere that he can get help, only a wanted criminal can’t go to a hospital; so they take him to you. They’re not completely unaware about your history together, but they, nor you, suspected that history would start to repeat itself and you would find yourself falling for Eddie Munson all over again. 

Word count - 8167

Warnings - language? injury, mentions of blood 

━━━━━━━━━♡♥♡━━━━━━━━━

Loud, frantic knocking on the front door of your home startled you. Never did you usually get visitors so late, at least not ones that were unannounced. You pushed yourself up from the couch, pulling your wooly cardigan tighter around your body as you headed for the front door. If it wasn’t for the force being used to pound on the door, you thought you maybe would have second guessed opening the door to a possible stranger right now. After everything you had witnessed on the news tonight, and all that had been happening over the past few days with the murders of Hawkins students, you didn’t think it was a brilliant idea to open the door. But it really seemed like the person on the other side needed your help in some kind of way. 

When you finally unlocked it and tugged it open, you were met with the sight of a curly-haired kid you hadn’t seen in a while. “Dustin? What’re you doing here?” you asked. It was much too late for him to be out on his own in this kind of catastrophe, a lot had happened to Hawkins over the night and to say you were scared out of your mind would only be fair. You thought if you were scared then surely he was terrified. He was only young, something like this had to be mind-blowing for kids his age. It was certainly shocking to grown adults. 

He seemed out of breath, at a loss for words as he tried to tell you. “I, uh, I need–” he trailed off, and that was when you really surveyed him. He was covered in dirt, and it seemed some blood too, which was enough to have alarm bells ringing in your head. You didn’t know if it was his, you couldn’t see any visible cuts or large wounds, but as your eyes fell you noticed he was unable to put weight on one of his legs. It seemed like he was purposely avoiding resting on it, which led you to believe he had done some damage to it. 

“Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?” He didn’t answer, instead his head turned to the side, looking down into the hall. Your eyes followed his, and the sound of hasty footsteps had you taking a step forward, letting you see into the hallway of your apartment building where a familiar man was practically dragging another, very, familiar man. Your voice wasn’t even above a whisper when you whispered the name of the metalhead. It wasn’t loud enough that it caught anyone’s attention, which gave you enough time to compose your thoughts and instead turn to the other individual. “Steve?” you asked, catching his eyes. He didn’t even attempt to force a smile, only exhaled heavily– like he was thankful that you were there. 

And thankfully for you, he seemed to be the intelligible one of the three. “We need your help. I-It’s Eddie, please.” He sounded desperate, painfully so, and just from looking at the older boy he was basically carrying, you didn’t think you could say no. He looked on the verge of death, and there wasn’t a chance in hell you were going to let him die on you. Not today. 

“Yeah, uh, come in. Put him on the couch,” you instructed. Your hands were already beginning to break in a sweat, needing to wipe them on your jeans a few times if you wanted to successfully help Eddie. 

The first aid kit from your bathroom was grabbed quickly by the kid, used to being stitched up in your apartment. Ever since that first day you met, when you helped tend to Will’s injuries and promised those boys if they ever needed help then you would be willing, he had shown up at your home more than a handful of times with scrapes and such that needed your attention. You might have only been a nurse for a short amount of time, but you were getting pretty good with all the practice you were getting. 

Never had you had to work on someone you had such affection for though. Your past with Eddie was long and complicated, but there was such a love for him held in your chest that had never gone away. It was exactly what was forcing all your nerves– the way your hands shook and your heart beat a little faster. “Okay, um–” You started barking out orders, as best as you could. They helped reveal the wounds to you, which finally let you assess the real damage. It was bad, so very bad that your nerves almost trebled. “God, how did this happen?”

The pair shared a look before their eyes landed on you again. They tried to each choke out a lie, but you figured that was only wasting more time– time that you weren’t sure you had. Eventually you just shook your head. “You know what, it doesn’t matter.” He was the priority, the injuries on him that weren’t going to help themselves, not the cause of said problems. 

“I can do this,” you whispered, reaching into your kit for a needle and a thread to stitch him up. The only issue was, the tremble in your hands was preventing you from threading the needle, and that only meant that Eddie’s condition was getting worse. Dustin and Steve were holding parts of his shirt up against the worst wounds, hoping to put pressure on them to halt the bleeding. It wouldn’t be a permanent solution though, you still needed to be quick. Or at least quicker. 

“Y/N, what are you doing? He’s bleeding out, we need you to hurry!” the kid insisted. It was obvious how stressed he was. You didn’t know he and Eddie even knew each other– though it made sense with both of them being huge nerds– but he made it clear he cared for the man. 

“Dustin, I’m trying.”

Steve’s eyes flickered between the two of you, noticing the tension. It was mainly the younger of the two of you’s fault, because he wasn’t sure how to regulate his feelings right now. “Dude, you need to calm down. She’s working on it.”

He scoffed. “Not fast enough! Look at him, Steve. He’s going to die!”

You didn’t have time to clean him or the wounds on his chest– all over his upper body in fact– that would have to come after. “I’m getting to it. I can’t do this if you’re yelling at me.” Your voice was shaky, understandably so, and it seemed like that was the one thing that had Dustin taking a step back to re-evaluate how he spoke to you. 

As the room delved into silence, you finally managed to thread the needle. With that you could let out a breath, getting to work how you did every single day during your shifts. You just had to picture Eddie was just another patient and everything should go smoothly. It took a while, you wanted to make sure you were really thorough, but eventually you thought he’d wind up stable from your help.

“I think I got all of them. He should be stable,” you told the pair. They had been watching you like hawks the whole time, making you more nervous than you probably should have been. Such a spontaneous ‘surgery’, paired with the fact it was Eddie and the fact you had a very suffocating audience– anyone would be stressed. The only relief you got was when you left the room to wash your hands, ridding them of his blood. When you came back though you were being hounded with questions once again, all while you tried to tidy up the mess you had created. 

You answered their queries as best you could, most of them half-hearted considering all the current distractions swimming in your head. You weren’t really paying all that much attention, not until a hand settled on your shoulder. As you turned your head you noticed it was a guilty looking Dustin, the boy flashing you a strained grin. 

“I’m sorry for yelling. I just– I was so worried,” he told you. You forced a smile, continuing to clean up the wrappers and other stuff you’d used lying around. He stopped you mid action, pulling you into a hug that you hadn’t been expecting. It took you a few seconds for it to register in your mind, but then you were happy to embrace him. It seemed as though he needed the affection, on the verge of tears the second his head was comfortably hidden in your neck. 

“He’ll be okay, kid. I’m a pretty good nurse after taking care of you kids all this time if I do say so myself.”

He chuckled, pulling away and wiping at his tears. This time around you offered him a warm smile, a real one that made him feel comforted. You really had that bedside manner of being a nurse down he had to say. “He should be fine, but it’s gonna take time for him to heal. He had a lot of deep wounds,” you told the two. “Can you seriously not tell me how this happened?”

“Well, it’s a long story,” Steve said. “A crazy story that– It’s better that you don’t know.”

You sighed, nodding your head. There was still the possibility that if he woke up soon maybe Eddie could tell you himself. Apparently while lost in that thought your eyes had trailed over to the unconscious man on your couch, and it must have been a pretty longing look on his face for Steve to speak up. 

“We, uh– Do you think he could maybe stay here for a little? The cops are still on his back and…” he trailed off, realizing what sort of thing he was asking you right now. Steve was aware of part of the history you and Eddie had, you were together when he was still in highschool. The metalhead had always been a known personality at Hawkins high, right since Steve’s freshman year, so it wasn’t like your relationship was secret. But he figured the two of you drifted apart after you graduated and Eddie didn’t. If there was any bad blood this was probably a large ask from him, but at the same time he felt you were the only person they could trust with this. 

Dustin wasn’t quite as clued in as his older friend, so he felt the need to defend the reputation of his other friend. “He didn’t kill those people. He didn’t,” he insisted. 

You shook your head. “No, I know.” He might look and try and act scary, but you knew better than anyone else that Eddie Munson was the biggest softie in the world. He couldn’t hurt nor scare a fly when you got to know him. Despite the tough exterior and the rough breakup you went through, you could still admit he was possibly the kindest man you had ever met. A little rough around the edges, or careless at times, but he had a heart of gold and you knew it. 

The mood felt like it had shifted, leaving a feeling Dustin didn’t understand settling over the three of you. For a few quiet minutes, all that filled the silence of the room was Eddie’s shaking breathing, the only thing that kept the three of you hopeful that he was going to be okay. “Um. Do either of you need me to check you out, or are you good?” You mainly asked because your concern for Dustin’s leg was still high, but he assured you he was fine. 

“No. We’re good,” the younger teen assured. “We should probably go update the others on how he’s doing.”

That was understandable. Though you were unsure if you were ready to be left alone with Eddie– unsure if that was even the right thing to do considering the bullseye on his back right now– you would still do anything for him. It didn’t matter how much time went by, it seemed like he would hold a special place in your heart for eternity, and in turn you would do the craziest of things for him. Plus, you didn’t exactly know how you would have denied Steve and Dustin’s polite ask anyway. 

“Yeah, no, of course.” You followed the pair to the door, sparing a single glance at the man on your couch, checking he was still sleeping. “Be careful?” you proposed.

“We will,” Steve assured. He let the kid leave first, then turned to you one final time before he followed him out. “Thank you, seriously. We couldn’t have taken him to the hospital, if we didn’t have you, I have no idea what we would have done.”

You had never really had any sort of close relationship with Steve, not in school or outside of it. You knew of him, of course, King Steve had quite the reputation even to those older than him, he didn’t tend to stay quiet around town, much like your own boyfriend at the time. But over the last few years, due to the bonding with the group of kids, in turn you became friendly with the older teen. It was nothing special, you wouldn’t call him more than an acquaintance, but he was still comforting. “No, it’s okay. I’m happy you came to me. I, um, I’m glad I could be the one to make sure he was okay.”

There was nothing else for either of you to really say. He had just wanted to express his gratitude but you sort of guessed already. “I’ll take care of him, Steve. I promise.”

He nodded, pursing his lips before he took off with a final goodbye. As you closed the door behind him, you exhaled heavily, finally left alone with your thoughts while Eddie slept. There were too many thoughts to just focus on the one, so you settled instead with busying yourself with other things. You had already cleaned up the mess you made while stitching Eddie up, so that didn’t need to be done. It seemed like the one time you needed something to do to clear your mind, there was nothing for you to do. 

“Guess I’m having dinner early,” you muttered to no one but yourself. 

Every now and then, even while in the kitchen, you found your eyes landing on Eddie. It was mainly his chest, your nerves telling you to check that he was still breathing out of fear that you could potentially lose him any second. In reality you knew better, but it didn’t mean there wasn’t still a lingering fear in your gut. 

He was out cold for a while. You hadn’t even realized he woke until you heard him. 

“Am I dead?” the voice rang out. The sound of it, maybe even just the knowledge of knowing he was awake and okay, made you smile to yourself. Your hands halted mid action, long forgetting about the food you were making. You hated how easy it was for him to make your heart flutter even now. His awkward flirting was something that just worked for you, though most people might find it uncomfortable. 

“Hey. How you feeling?” you asked. It hit you after the words tumbled out of your mouth that that was possibly the dumbest question you could have possibly asked him. Of course he wasn’t going to feel good, or even okay. You expected he probably felt terrible, and you didn’t need him to tell you that for you to know. “Sorry, that was a silly question. It’s been a stressful night.”

He chuckled, quickly followed by a wince as he realized laughing was a very bad idea right now. “My bad,” he joked. 

The two of you fell into a silence, where both of you were sort of unsure what to say. You supposed that was what happened with exes who hadn’t had to speak in years. The last time you saw Eddie had to have been at least three years ago, so you hadn’t had to force any uncomfortable conversations since then. You had to admit you did miss talking with him, the random, nonsensical talks you’d have at all hours. When he was high, when you both were high– sometimes you were sober and just wanted to talk but had nothing of substance to say. Not only had he been your boyfriend, but your best friend, and when you lost him your life altered massively. Nothing had been the same since. 

“So, do you always stitch up ex-boyfriends on your old couch, or just me?” 

You chuckled. “While you were taking senior year for the first through third time, I became a nurse,” you clarified. “But yes, I seemed to have made it a habit.”

He grinned, shaking his head. “Low blow,” he muttered. You watched as he attempted to readjust the position he was laid in, though painful, he was uncomfortable. You could have offered your help, probably should have, but it didn’t seem like he wanted it. “When I’m sick and dying too?” 

You rolled your eyes. “You’re not dying, Munson. Not anymore.” 

His eyes looked like they lit up at that last piece of information you added. You didn't know what was going on in that crazy head of his, but you assumed he was going to say something dumb like he usually did. “So I can tell people I was almost killed by killer bats? Metal.” 

His words made you do a double take. “I-I’m sorry. Killer bats?” The complete shock in your tone told him that you hadn’t been informed on anything at all and that had probably been a horrible thing to say. He didn’t feel like explaining all the logistics of everything to you, not now at least while he felt like he was still on his deathbed. There was just too much he would have to say, if he went right back to the beginning with Chrissy and all that. He barely had his own head wrapped around it all.

“Bats? Someone mentioned bats?” 

With a sigh, you headed back to the kitchen to finish cooking your meal, leaving him to rest there. “You’re unbearable. Y’know that?” you asked, pretty much rhetorically.

His laughter could be heard filtering through the various rooms in your home. It was a genuine one that you hadn’t heard in what felt like forever, you missed the sound of it if you were being honest. Not that you would ever let him know that. “You love it,” he teased, sounding much too smug for his own good. 

You huffed. “No, actually. I think you just love riling me up.”

You expected his answer to come back as quick and snappy as it usually would, he was always usually quick on his feet with his comebacks. But you waited, and waited, and nothing came. “Eddie?” you called. As the minutes passed by with nothing but silence, your heart began to sink more and more. This had been your fear earlier on after the two boys left, that something was going to happen to him while you were preoccupied. Once again your food was abandoned, you thought maybe for good this time, and your eyes darted to his figure on the couch, noticing his hands clutching a wound near his neck— one that was bleeding profusely again. “Oh my god, Eddie!” 

The next few minutes were a flash of blood, gauze and quick stitches that were not helped by the racing of your heart. Things probably would have gone better if you were calmer, but this was Eddie, how were you supposed to be calm when your first love was bleeding all over your hands. 

It seemed like you’d never get him to be okay, but as quickly as things went wrong, they started to go right again. The panic stopped, the blood stopped, and everything began to slow again, moving at a normal pace again. 

“Don’t ever do that again,” you demanded, chest heaving as you tried to calm down from the sudden panic he had just caused you. Unlike the first time he woke up, this time around he seemed equally as stressed as you did. It was clear this has been a scare for him, maybe one that shocked him into realizing just how serious his condition was right now. If he hadn't been so injured you might have swatted him, thinking he deserved it after the feelings he just made you experience.

He didn’t say anything this time, just nodded. The look on his face told you he was a little spooked. Before he might have thought this was all just a cool story to tell, but now it was hitting him that this was very real. Oftentimes he tried to pass things off as lighthearted and a joke, but deep down it was because he was absolutely terrified of the situation at hand. It was his way of coping with whatever tragedy had happened to him now. It started all the way back as a kid.

This time around you didn’t think you could go back to doing simple tasks, your heart beat was too unstable for that, instead you planned to just sit by his side for a little while. You wanted to reach out for him, to hold his hand, but you thought it might be overstepping a boundary. You hadn’t held Eddie Munson’s hand in so many years, you had almost forgotten what it felt like, the comfort of that weight in your palm. You wanted to curse yourself for even thinking that way. 

“I’m sorry,” he began, drawing your unfocused eyes to him. You didn’t know exactly what he was talking about, and it seemed he could tell. He was happy to clarify. “For them dragging you into this whole mess.”

You shook your head. “Don’t worry about it. Not like I had anything else to do. Hawkins pretty much went to shit tonight.” He didn’t like the sight of you walking away. Not when he didn’t know if you were going to come back. He couldn’t do anything though, just had to lay there and accept it– whether you came back to sit with him or not. He tried telling himself that he didn’t want you to go because he didn’t want to be lonely, but some part of his brain knew that he didn’t want you to go because he had been without you for so long.

Luckily for him, you weren’t gone long. He didn’t know what you were doing when you came back though. “For the pain,” you said, settling the glass of water beside the pills. He thanked you quietly, taking your help to sit up a little more so he could drink. It wasn’t easy, and it hurt him like hell, but you managed eventually. You didn’t want to just blatantly stare at him, but there wasn’t much else for you to do right now. If it made him uncomfortable– you watching him take the pills– he didn’t say anything about it. He didn’t say anything at all until you took the empty glass of water from him to set down. 

“How bad is it?” he asked. He was scared to look. If it hurt as bad as it did, then he could only imagine what it must look like under all the bandages. If it was enough to almost kill him, he had to admit he was terrified about what might come out of your mouth. 

You flashed him a strained smile, one that didn’t quite meet your eyes– he’d know a smile that met your eyes from miles away. “You’ll be okay. It’s gonna leave some nasty scars though,” you told him. You missed this way his eyes lit up at those words. It probably should have been obvious how much Eddie would love the knowledge of such a thing, he found the weirdest things metal. It was no shock he would find this the same way. 

“I’m gonna have scars?” 

You also missed the excitement in his tone. “Nasty ones I think. They would have been less noticeable if I could’ve gotten you to a hospital. But Dustin said—“

That one word immediately ruined any joy he had. “No, no hospitals,” he insisted. You didn’t have to look at him to notice his panic, but you did anyway. He looked entirely disturbed, face paling at the idea of being taken to a hospital while in the middle of the mess he was in. 

“I know. Wanted man and everything.” You brushed it off with ease. He liked to think you wouldn’t think he’d do such a thing. You of all people should know him better than that. But there was a part of him that was scared you might think he was this awful person now. He didn’t know how to deal with the knowledge you might think he did all these terrible things. He could withstand a lot of shit, but not if it was coming from you. 

“I-I didn’t do it, you know,” he said.

You didn’t need him to tell you, there was no way you ever would believe he would do such a thing, even if the entire world was telling you so. “I know. I know you, Eddie Munson,” you told him. A smile curled on your lips, your finger ever so lightly jabbing at his chest. “You have a heart of gold.”

He chuckled. “Don’t let anyone hear you say that, you’ll ruin my reputation.”

You huffed a laugh. “Okay, freak.” It was ironic considering there was possibly not a single way his reputation around Hawkins could get any worse. Freak turned cult leader, turned peer murderer didn’t have the best ring to it.

He laughed again, though quickly realized it was a mistake when it made every inch of his chest hurt. You grinned, rolling your eyes at his stupidity before pushing yourself to your feet. “Get some sleep, Ed.” You missed the flash of affection behind his eyes when you used the nickname. It was something you hadn’t called him in years, and it made his heart flutter so hear you say it again. He thought maybe with this re-found gentleness you had with him, you might have even stroked his hair a little. But that was just wishful thinking. “I’ll see you when you wake up.”

And you did. You were actually the reason he did wake up. You accidentally jostled him a little, though you hadn’t meant to. You were trying to be as careful as possible, but there were just some things that required a little more force than you would like. In result, his eyes fluttered open, a small groan leaving his throat as he came to for the first time in a few hours.

“I just need to check on a couple of cuts. See if I need to change any bandages,” you informed him, taking a seat beside him. He hummed quietly, letting you do what you needed.

As you tended to him, he was watching you, you could feel his eyes on you. As much as you could, you tried to ignore the urge to look up and lock eyes, but eventually it became too much. “Stop staring,” you hissed. 

“You’re so pretty,” he muttered, dreamily. If you didn’t know any better you would have gathered he was high on pain meds or something. But luckily for you— obvious sarcasm— this was just his natural personality. “Is this heaven?” 

“Shut up, Munson.” 

He surprisingly did as you said. For the rest of the time you were checking him over, he didn’t say a thing. It made it much easier to work, but you also couldn’t quite admit that you missed the sound of his voice again. Now that Eddie had wormed his way back into your life, you didn’t think you wanted him to sneak back out.

»»——⍟——««

Over the next few weeks, while Eddie was recovering in your home, the two of you fell into a routine. It began to be something you craved, the only consistent part of your life that you had come to love. Sure, you and him might not have worked out the first time around, but a little distance and a lot of time seemed to be all you needed to remember just how much love you had for him. But you weren’t quite prepared to admit that to him. While he was under your roof, you didn’t need him being even more unbearable with his ego than he already was.

You were still going out to work as normal, working painfully long shifts, only to come home and then take care of Eddie too. You were impressed with how he was healing, and though he wouldn’t need medical care for much longer, he did still need a place to hide out. For now, you were happy to provide him with that. 

“Honey, I’m home,” you called, hearing his chuckle from somewhere in the apartment as you pushed open the door. That awkward tension that came from your past breakup was gone now, the two of you had gotten a new sense of comfort for one another. 

“Kitchen!” he called back. That one word filled you with fright. Eddie had never been a good cook, not at any stage of his whole life. You had no faith that he wasn’t seconds away from burning down your kitchen at any moment. You felt yourself rushing to where he said he was, finding him rummaging through your refrigerator. Thankfully, he hadn’t yet gotten the chance to even begin cooking something. “I was gonna make dinner. Thought you’d be tired after your shift, but there’s not much in here to make anything.” 

You had to admit you were relieved at that. But also, you didn’t even think he should be on his feet yet slaving away like this. “That’s okay. I’ll order in. Pizza okay?”

He nodded. Maybe he had gotten a little too comfortable living at your place, but he had to admit he really was loving it. Things were so easy and light with you around, he didn’t think he wanted to ever leave you. He wanted to say that it was just past feelings talking, but he thought those past feelings might be making an appearance in the present. You weren’t much better. 

The two of you did your own things while you waited for the food, worried that spending so much time with each other would push you together in ways you weren’t sure you wanted. When the doorbell rang, he hid, as he’d had to do anytime someone came to the door recently. He couldn’t even be believed to be here if you wanted to protect him. You were as quick as possible when grabbing the food, hating to let him feel like some kind of convict. Within the walls of your apartment, he was just the same Eddie that you had always known, you didn’t think he needed reminding what the outside world felt about him right now.

“Okay. You grab the drinks, I’ve got this.”

He nodded, joining you within a short while. You had already set him a pizza slice on a plate, and had made the pillows on the couch more fluffed up to be more comfortable. “Steve dropped off a movie today. Thought we could watch it, maybe.” He motioned to the VHS sitting on the coffee table that you had somehow missed. Ferris Bueller’s day off. 

That was something Steve had been doing for the last couple weeks. He thought Eddie’s days would be long and boring, so he thought movies might help pass the time until he was a free man again. It was beginning to take longer than he originally planned. “Yeah, sure. I’ve been dying to watch this.”

It was a better bonding experience than you could have ever imagined it would be. For some added entertainment after the two of you grew a little bored– considering he’d been watching movies all day every day for weeks now– he decided to imitate what you were seeing acted out on screen. Which led to a very poor rendition of twist and shout from your couch. 

Your head was thrown back in laughter, eyes lingering on Eddie’s face as he tried to keep from giggling like you were. You weren’t sure when the atmosphere changed, but you’d guess it was when your laughter died down, leaving the two of you gazing at each other, knees knocking together on the couch. 

If anyone were to ask, you would insist that it was his eyes that put you into a trance. You couldn’t look away from the soft brown shade. At first you didn’t even notice the way you were edging closer to him, not until the tips of your noses brushed together. You could feel one another's breath, and it wasn’t until you saw his head tilt slightly to the right that you realized what was happening. 

You quickly pulled back, blinking your eyes rapidly. “I, uh–”

He shook his head. “We don’t have to do this,” he told you. 

You didn’t say anything, but you did put some space between you. It was only then that you had realized just how close you had ended up shuffling together on the couch. “I’m sorry. It’s just, it’s late, a-and we’ve been drinking. I don’t think we’re thinking straight.”

It was understandable, and Eddie would never expect you to roll out excuses. You could have just told him you didn’t want to and he would have happily taken that as an answer. “Hey, don’t worry,” he reassured you, stroking his thumb across your cheekbone sweetly. The smile on his face was real, genuine as he tucked some hair behind your ear. “We can just go to sleep. Move on. We don’t even have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

You would definitely want to revisit it once you got the courage, but for right now, you were so grateful that he’d said that. “Thank you.”

There were a few moments of awkward silence, where the two of you tried to go back to relaxing on the couch so you could continue your movie, but it wasn’t the same. It grew so uncomfortable that you decided to just head to bed, hoping everything was back to normal by the time you woke up tomorrow. “I think I’m gonna call it a night,” you told him, pursing your lips in an uncomfortable smile. 

He understood. “Goodnight Y/N.”

You pushed yourself to your feet quickly, to avoid the urge burning inside you to just kiss him. “Goodnight, Eddie,” you mumbled. You still couldn’t look at him, the nerves swirling in your stomach had yet to die down. You hadn’t felt like such a lovesick teen around him since you were actually a lovesick teen, flirting with him between classes, having him tug on your hair to get your attention. This was all before you started dating. It really made you think about where you and he were heading the longer he stayed in your home. 

He smiled at you softly. “Goodnight.”

You left him there on the couch to sleep, heading to your own room so he could have some peace. As soon as you were alone, you could finally gather your thoughts. You just almost kissed Eddie Munson. Eddie, your highschool boyfriend who you naively thought you would be with forever. You couldn’t help but wonder if it would be the worst thing in the world if the two of you rekindled things. He absolutely was a great boyfriend, and he knew that. You also didn’t think you could lie and say that you hadn’t missed him. Ending things on good or bad terms, you still missed being with him. 

When the thoughts got too much to handle, you decided to try and push them to one side and sleep. It was a struggle at first, your brain refusing to shut off for a while, but eventually you managed.

You must have been out for a couple hours at most when you were roughly awoken. Eddie had had a few nightmares since he started staying with you, but none were as bad as tonight. He had woken you up with loud yelling from the living room, where he was still sleeping on the couch. You had rushed to him instantly, worried that some of the angry mob from around town had found him or something, or maybe some of his stitches had pulled again and he was yelling for your help. But when you saw him, he was thrashing around, still seemingly asleep. 

“Eddie,” you called, panicking, shaking him slightly in hopes of waking him up. “You’re okay, Eddie. Come on, wake up!”

When his eyes finally snapped open, a gasp rippling through his chest, you let out a breath of relief. 

You were shocked you couldn’t hear his heart pounding, but you could definitely hear how he panted loudly. There was a thin sheen of sweat on his face that you could see when he moved into the light just right. Your heart ached for him, itching to guide him into your arms, but you didn’t know if that was what he wanted. His eyes were unfocused, looking up at the ceiling like there was something on there that was going to make all the bad stuff go away. 

He didn’t even look at you as he spoke. “C-Can you hold my hand?” he asked. The tone of his voice was so small, and quiet, that you almost didn’t hear it. He sounded like a scared child, and it made your heart clench. 

You didn’t verbally respond, just took his slightly clammy hand in yours. It didn’t bother you as much as it should have. Your priority at the moment was making sure he could relax, and maybe talk through what was bothering him. You could take a wild guess, that you assumed would be pretty accurate, but having him actually talk about it must be better than it staying holed up in his brain where he could worry. 

Neither of you spoke for a while. Instead you just sat there curled up beside him, your hand stroking through his damp hair. When he finally did open his mouth, it wasn’t what you expected to hear. “When I first woke up, I think you were the last face I expected to see.” 

Hearing that made your chest sting. You still greatly cared for him, and you didn’t like that he thought you felt so negatively towards him. “But I’m glad you were the first face I saw. You saved my life, Y/N.” He was speaking so highly of you that usually you would flush with heat. But this moment felt too tender for that, he was just thinking out loud and you happened to be there to hear it. 

“I did what anyone would have.”

“No,” he said. “Don’t sell yourself short, Y/N. Not a lot of people would have done that for me, right now. And you did an impressive thing– Like, it was incredible,” he gushed. The heat that rushed to your cheeks was scalding, and you wished you could have hid in that moment. He wouldn’t have let you do so, he loved seeing the way you grew all bashful at such a compliment. “I always knew you’d do something great.”

You sent a smile his way, your eyes lingering on his features much like they had earlier on. “When you finally graduate, maybe you will too,” you teased. 

He huffed a laugh, then rolled his eyes. “I think graduating is officially off the table now.” It had been on his mind a lot lately, how close he was to finally getting out of high school, then this all happened. It was like the universe's way of telling him he was gonna be stuck in that place forever. 

Your smile turned into a frown. “Eddie,” you muttered, your tone completely sympathetic. He hated that you were pitying him, he was not someone who enjoyed receiving pity from others if he could help it. “They’ll fix this. Dustin, a-and Steve, they’ll clear this whole thing up. I promise.”

“You can’t promise that,” he said. It was true, there was no realistic way that you could, you were just being optimistic, but one of you had to be. 

You knew you weren’t going to get anywhere from here. You couldn’t get through to him and provide him with good thoughts if he didn’t want you to, it would be impossible. So, although you wished you didn’t have to, you gave up on trying to convince him– at least for tonight. It was always plausible for you to try again tomorrow. “I should get back to bed, I have work in the morning.” 

He wanted to nod, give you the okay and let you go, but there was still a pit of fear in the bottom of his stomach. He didn’t know if he could stand letting you leave him right now. “I’m scared to go back to sleep,” he whispered. You could see the fear in his face, and it made your heart ache. Not only was the poor guy terrorized throughout the day, when he’s awake, but also when he’s asleep. He hadn’t been able to sleep for weeks without reminders of what put him in this situation in the first place. Almost daily he saw Chrissy or those bats in his dreams. 

There was only one solution you could think of. For as long as you’d known him, he had only ever had a couple nightmares, about superficial shit, but you would spend the rest of the night in his arms, giving him something he loved to hold onto to remind him that he was okay. “You want me to stay?” you asked, checking that that was what he was implying. For all you knew, clouded by your thoughts about him, he could have just been making a general statement that you were reading too much into, you wanted his confirmation. 

“I want you to stay.”

He shifted back on the couch as far as he could go, making some room for you so you could get comfortable. His arms opened, and his blanket was lifted up for you to climb under. There was only very brief hesitation before you made a move. 

It was familiar, being pressed against him like you were, head on his chest and arms around his torso. You had almost forgotten how it felt to be held so tightly by him, but you definitely hadn’t forgotten how much you loved it. You felt like you could melt completely into him. It was something you had missed without even realizing it, and now that you got to experience it again, you didn’t want it to ever stop. 

Neither of you said anything for a while, and you both thought the other might have fallen asleep. It was you that took the leap of faith to say something. “Do you worry that they’ll never prove you didn’t do it?” It was a risky question to ask, possibly overstepping, but it was something that was on your mind that you wanted an answer to. 

“It’s all I think about. It’s not like the people in this town have ever really liked me all that much, but I- The thought of not being able to just live my life, of ruining Wayne’s life o-or my friends because of some accusations that aren’t even true? It kills me.”

It had always bothered you how people treated Eddie, and his uncle who was an absolute sweetheart, but there was never anything you were able to do to help. All you could really do was treat them how you thought they should be treated. They deserved just as much, if not more love than others. That was one thing both Munsons always loved about you, how you never judged them how the majority of this town had. To you, they were better than all those snobs. 

“‘M so sorry, Ed. You deserve so much better than that.”

He shrugged. “Not your fault. S’okay.”

You tilted your head where it was resting so you could look at him. He felt the movement and in turn looked down at you as well. This had become an incredibly familiar position the past day. This time around though, you didn’t want to look away, you wanted to get closer. “Y/N?” he asked. His voice was so quiet that you almost didn’t hear him. 

“Yeah?”

He swallowed, loudly in the quiet room, then blinked a couple times. There was some hesitation for him to say whatever it was he planned to, but eventually he couldn’t keep it in. He needed to ask. “Can I kiss you?” 

If it shocked you, you didn’t let him see, keeping it to yourself. His breathing was heavy as he waited, the anticipation slowly killing him. He needed you to say yes, it had been years since the last time he kissed you, and he hadn’t kissed anyone since. In a way it was like he was waiting for you to come back to him. And although he hadn’t had a lot of faith that you would, the impossible happened, and you did. 

You didn’t verbally respond, just took the initiative to lurch forward and take his lips with yours. He made a quiet humming noise in the back of his throat, one that told you he was completely content. The kiss was slow, filled with all the unsaid things you had been creeping around for the past few weeks. In reality it was all the things that hadn’t been said in the years you had been broken up. This kiss was much like the ones you shared towards the end of your relationship, where the two of you sort of knew it was all coming to an end. 

Eddie found that he really didn’t want to pull away, so you did first. He tried to steal a few more kisses, in which he was successful, but eventually your grins forced you to stop. “I’ve missed you so much,” you said. You brushed your thumb over his cheekbone. “Breaking up with you is something I’ve regretted every single day since it happened. I love you, Eddie.”

It was as though you had put in the final piece of the puzzle in his heart. He hadn’t felt so complete in his whole life. “I’ve been wanting to hear you say that for years,” he admitted, breathing out a laugh of relief. 

“So say it back,” you prodded. There was a glint in your eyes, one he hadn’t seen these last few weeks. It was back. 

“I love you.”

»»——⍟——««

When Eddie’s eyes fluttered open the next morning, after one of the best sleeps he’d had in weeks (despite the nightmare at the start of the night), you were still curled up against his chest. The couch was much too crowded like this, barely any room for him to move or stretch, and his back definitely wouldn’t forgive him for this– but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

There was still time before your shift started, so he didn’t bother waking you just yet. Instead he let you sleep, and admired you as he did so. Some might have thought it was creepy, watching someone so intensely as they slept, but he just couldn’t get over the fact that you were back here in his arms again after all that time. 

With you there, comfortable and content on his chest, he thought that maybe everything would be okay after all. Even if the outside world never forgave him for the things he was wrongly accused of, he knew that you didn’t see him that way. “Thank you for believing in me,” he whispered, kissing the top of your head gently. He didn’t want to wake you, so he was trying to be as quiet as possible. He just didn’t think he currently had the guts to tell you these things while you were awake. “Never letting you go again.”

For a second he thought he might have woken you, when you shifted against him, but you just as quickly settled back down how you were afterwards. Or at least he thought so. “Love you,” you mumbled, pressing a faint kiss to the middle of his chest over his shirt. He beamed, brushing his nose against the top of your head, whispering the words back to you. 

Even if he was still a wanted criminal, and the whole town you lived in was after him, this was his heaven.

━━━━━━━━━♡♥♡━━━━━━━━━

eddie munson taglist - @pastel-abyss-x @lilylilyyyyyy @spideysbae @lexi-2004 @escape-in-time-x @liltimmyst @fandomxo00 @youcantseem3 @sharnnnnnn @dreashappyworld @audhd-dragonaut @liltimmyst​

[sunandflame]

Kyojuro being the serving domestic love trying to make breakfast for you before you wake up but he gets caught burning eggs? Or pancakes? Idk floofy idea popped to me brain

Burned Pancakes

Warnings: none, just pure fluff

Word Count: 565

Pairing: Kyojuro x Nurse!Reader

crossposted on AO3

The healthcare system was a disaster. The nursing staff was always underpaid and understaffed, the shifts were simply far too long and exhausting. There were times where you wondered why you were still in this industry until you remembered that you enjoyed helping people. That was also one of your qualities that Kyojuro loved so much about you. The sacrifice and dedication and passion you had for your job. He couldn't be prouder of you. Even if it means that there were days you would rather spend your day off sleeping in bed then going out with him.

And he wanted you to rest as much as possible, which is why he very carefully got up from your shared bed to prepare breakfast for you. To be more precise, he tried, because what he had done in the kitchen wasn't really close to cooking.

You scrunched up your face as a pungent smell hit your nose, very similar to burnt food. The alarm bells inside you were ringing. You opened your eyes and threw the blanket away, trying to locate the source of the smell as fast as possible only to be greeted by a broad back standing in front of the stove.

“My little flame! Unfortunately something went wrong here, but please don’t worry, I have everything under control!”

Control looked a little bit different, but all the panic from before left you when you saw his flour stained face. You sighed and went to him just to wipe away the traces with your fingers. “Good morning to you too.” You stood on your tiptoes to kiss him on the lips and then looked onto the stove. “What is this going to be when you are finished?”

"I wanted to make you some pancakes, but I don’t know where I went wrong." His big gold-red eyes looked at you while his black bushy eyebrows furrowed. He looked so incredibly cute that you wanted to kiss him again.

“Let me do that…” Your smile and your movements were gentle as you took the spatula from his hand and pushed your hip against the side of his to make room for yourself.

Kyojuro stepped behind you, his arms around your waist as he looked over your shoulder and watched you carefully as you mixed the dough again and then added it to the pan in dollops. The results were perfect golden brown pancakes at the end. “I wanted to surprise you because you were so exhausted after your shift and I messed it up.”

“The thought alone counts, my love.” You turned off the stove once you had stacked all the finished pancakes on a plate.

“Yes, but the shadows under your eyes say otherwise.” His gaze was now worried. He knew how hard you worked as a nurse. “How about this?” He suddenly grabbed you under your thighs and carried you in his arms, giving you a big smile. "I'll carry you to bed and you stay there. I'll bring the pancakes to you and we will have breakfast in bed. Then we'll cuddle and sleep for another round!”

Your arms wrapped automatically around his neck when he lifted you. You looked at him, wondering what you had done to deserve him. This wonderful man who was so strong and so caring. God you loved him so much. “This sounds like a date for me.”