Hey, you still take requests, right? What I want more than anything is old man RE9 Leon with a 30-40 year old reader who just... treats him right. I just imagine Leon trying to wrap his head around the fact that this lady would happily give him the world if he asked. He's a grumpy, scarred, and broken old man and this girl lets him lay across her lap like some old, tired dog. The guy has been forced to carry himself and others for so long, he'd probably break once someone gave him even the bare minimum of kindness.
please, give me all the requests you want, my inbox is empty at the moment LOL.
i love this idea, leon really deserves someone who will be there for him. i've been reading this book recently that keeps flicking from present and past memories seamlessly and my entire art project was on memory, so i got very inspired! (extremely carried away actually i got really drunk while writing this)
wife! reader x husband! RE9! leon: comfort, fluff and slight angst.
summary: you have been leon's partner for 15 years, and your love for him never grows old. after so many years of breaking down those stubborn walls around him, he still finds it hard to understand that someone wants to take care of him- instead of vice versa.
leon was finally coming home today after a couple of weeks of being cooped up at work. you hated his absence, you hated being unsure of when he was going to come home, hours becoming days, days becoming weeks, weeks becoming months. you knew that dating him came with these costs. in the first few months of dating leon, he almost broke it off so many times to avoid breaking your heart if something did happen to him. but frustratingly, you never left his side.
your mom said you were ridiculous. you were just a misery in the waiting and if you loved him so much you would have parted your ways. she yelled at you for being so selfish, especially when you told her that you weren't going to have her grandchildren. how dare you not have children who could possibly lose their dad.
you couldn't put them through that.
15 years later, you sat in the house you shared with leon, alongside the cat he gifted you to keep you company when he wasn't around. you weren't the same stubborn 23-year-old that was determined to make something of herself. he wasn't the same 34 year-old that was determined to save everyone. you were now 38, and your husband was now 49.
after deep-cleaning the entire house, you had dinner almost ready, releasing swirling steam into the air as you stirred the soup in the pot. leon never asked for much, in fact, he never asked for anything at all. luckily for him, you noticed the way color returned to his cheeks when you made your special soup. so, soup it was this evening. you prepared everything for his return: you had the radiator on; the fridge was stocked with his favourite snacks; movies ready for a movie night. everything was perfect for your perfect husband.
a tickling sensation rubbed against your leg. marie, your cat was purring- weaving herself in and out of your legs.
"excited for dad to come home, hm?" you hummed, crouching down to slip your hands under her belly and pick her up, "mum is excited too,"
you continued stirring the soup in the heart-shaped pan. claire bought that pan for you as a housewarming gift, when you and leon first moved in together. she warned you, like everyone else did when you got together with leon. however, when she saw leon's toothy grin as his eyes fell upon you after a tiring mission, it was probably too late for a warning.
loving leon was a puzzle at first- trying to break down the rigid walls that protected his heart. there used to be a restraint holding him down from loving you the way he wanted to, strings pulling him back to where he belonged: his job.
you subtly mentioned several times in the recent years that he should retire.
those nights you spent tangled in sheets, you pushed your luck. your bare breasts on his bare chest, his arm wrapped around you and your fingers slowly brushing up and down his arm. the loose airy duvet would pool around the two of you, providing just the small shield needed on a summer’s night.
"i think you should retire," you whispered, eyes focused on those silver threads of scars wrapped around his chest. his fingers squeezed firmly around your arm.
"you know they won't let me, hun," he whispered back, his chin pressing harder into your forehead, as if closeness could ensure that you wouldn't slip from his fingers.
you just wanted to weep right there and then, to be silly and to suggest running away, that all you needed was each other. but you were an adult, not some teenage girl.
the door clicked open. you dropped the wooden spoon in the pan and slowly crept to peek around the door. sometimes it wasn't leon, you never wanted to get your hopes up. usually, claire would pop around to make sure everything was okay, or mr boots from next-door would come for tea, as he loved marie ever so much.
your husband, in one piece, was standing in the hallway. in the short passing moment that he didn't see you, there was this possessed, hollow flicker in his face. the way his eyebrow crease was deeper than ever, his lips clamped together and his nose wrinkled, it was some sort of primal energy that was only seen in someone who had been running on adrenaline for days.
as soon as those familiar piercing eyes landed on you, his sweet wife who had never faced the horrors he had, the expression that had been etched into his face vanished. for a split second, you saw his younger self, the man you met when you were 23. the man who brought you home on drunken nights, the man who comforted you after deep arguments with your mom, the man who supported all your decisions in your career. now it was your turn, your turn to be the grown up and look after the scarred man that stood in front of you.
"leon," you said softly, a warm smile appearing on your face.
it was as if your voice just splintered his hardened exterior, because he too mirrored your smile. however, there was a wall. his composure was still tight, holding it all together as if he hadn't come back from the pits of hell.
it didn't take long for either of you to break the distance between you both. your palms slid up his back and a small exhale left his lips as your touch just grounded him. it took him a second to touch you back, like he needed a minute just to believe that you were real and you were breathing.
"you're home," you mumbled into his shirt, inhaling the odd metallic scent that was ridden on his shirt.
"yeah. i'm home," he nodded once.
you never asked how it was.
"something smells nice," he smiled, following you into the kitchen.
"soup," you paused, flashing a sweet grin, "your favorite soup."
he blinked. something in him crumbled.
"you didn't have to," he said, placing his keys on the table, cringing slightly at the loud thud they make.
"i wanted to,"
his fists were tightly knotted. his face turned, giving you a look that resembled an injured puppy. you knew that look, despite the rare times he gave it to you.
"let's sit on the couch, hm?" you suggested, turning off the heat of the soup before it burnt.
he followed you like a lost animal into the living room and you placed yourself on the blue couch, but leon stood rigidly at the door.
"come, sit, sweetheart," you ushered, patting the space next to you.
"the soup will get cold," he mumbled, his eye flickering back into the kitchen.
"it can be reheated,"
he mechanically moved himself to sit next to you. his face refused to turn to you. he still had the coldness of the evening air faintly clinging to him. you stared at his nose you loved kissing before you went to sleep and his lips that you loved rubbing your thumb against. your eyes traced along his jaw, his stubble raggedly dragged across it. he still had those soft eyelashes that framed what was left of the sweetness of his blue eyes.
"you're safe now," you said.
it was something in your voice, the patience, the firmness, the certainness of it all completely shattered him. his hand slithered to your leg, bundling up your long skirt, his knuckles turning white as if you would disappear if he let go.
your gentle fingers fell on top of his clenched ones.
"i've got you, sweetheart," you said quietly, like speaking too loudly would blow him all away.
his body betrayed him, shifting until his head fell on to your lap. he hadn't let himself do that in so many years. he felt heavy, but it was real.
your fingers then slipped into his salt and pepper hair, giving grounding, small rubs.
despite all those walls he formed to protect himself, you stubbornly found your way around his labyrinth. his breath hitched, sharp and heavy, before his pride could do anything to stop it.
"i'm so tired," he mumbled into your skirt, still clutching tightly. his voice was rough and he felt the stone in his throat. it was holding together the dam that was pushing back a bursting cry.
"i know," you whispered, letting him unravel in the safety of you.
"i don't understand why you're still here," he choked out.
you couldn’t understand why he thought this. it made you pause. this man had seen you naked, throwing up and overall, in some ugly states. yet he was still here. he cared for you when you couldn’t leave the bed. when your world had gone quiet and small and all you could offer him was your presence. he never questioned staying, so why would you?
so you wondered why he believed love was something only he was allowed to give - and never receive.
"because i love you,"
you said it with the nervous gaiety you had when you said it for the first time to him. you remembered how he stopped everything he was doing- he was unpacking after a gruelling mission- yes that was it. and he paused, and you panicked. you tried to take it back, because he was looking at you with terror. love to him wasn't sweet, it was a liability. something that got you hurt. but he realised in your absence, that the only thing that kept him going was the thought of you. so, he returned the words, not out of politeness, because he would never utter those words without meaning them. he said them because loving you wasn't the risk, losing you was.
he was your first boyfriend, first husband, first in everything. you knew you wouldn't have it any other way, he was essentially another part of you. if memories were the infrastructure of your identity, half of him was intimately woven within you.
"you deserve to be taken care of too," you comforted him like you would a child, stroking circles into his back.
"i love you too," he said, his fingers tracing the patterns on your skirt.
leon never cried. the only time he was close to crying was after the events in china. but only then did he just hold you tightly for hours- not responding to when you called out his name, just pushing his head closer into your neck.
his breathing went uneven and shallow at first, before soothing out like he was trying to remember what it was like to not hold together this hardened exterior. when he was at work, everyone was relying on him. if he broke, everyone else would too. but with you, it was different.
you kept stroking his hair, slow and steady.
"you don't have to stop," you continued, "just rest."
you knew he didn't like stopping, because he felt that everything would catch up with him if he did. he always blasted his music a little too loud, he always was working on something in the house, you even caught him fixing a shelf at 3 in the morning. constantly moving and drowning it all out. anything to take his mind off things.
"i don't know how," he pushed himself up, looking into your eyes. you tilted your forehead forward, pressing against his.
"that's okay, we can just take it slowly for now," you laughed a little, holding his hands.
"just stay here," he grumbled, his fingers tangling in your hair, "the soup can wait."
No bc you cannot convince me men aren't government issued ragebait machines and I genuinely don't know how much longer I can keep not taking the bait. SOMEBODY SEDATE ME
#7 and Roy sound like something i’d greatly enjoy reading,, lmao!! thank you for all the amazing writing you do for us <33
Ask The Question
Roy Harper/Reader, ≈ 600 words
Hi Bug!! I really hope you do greatly enjoy reading this, and that it lives up to what you'd hoped for. You're so welcome, I have so much fun writing, and if others find any sort of enjoyment in reading my nonsense, then I love it even more!
Warning: Non-graphic near-death experience, swearing
Tattooed arms wrap around you, cloaking you from the wreckage of the battle you’d nearly lost. Roy’s heartbeat hammers in your ear almost as rapidly, if not more so, than your own. His embrace is so fierce, it’s as if he fears you’ll disintegrate the moment he lets go. As if he might never have the chance to hold you again. For good reason, he very nearly didn’t.
“I almost lost you.” There’s a crack in his voice. You hadn’t thought it possible, but one hand grips you even tighter as he leans down, reaching up with the other hand to pull off his tinted visor, revealing wet lashes and red rimmed eyes.
The relationship between you and Roy has always been in a steady limbo. Never quite crossing the line to romance, but to flirty and intimate to be defined as merely platonic.
At this point, though, you were resigned to simply let things play out however the fates intended. That was at least, until you’d seen your life flash before your eyes as you'd stared down the barrel of a gun. It was in that moment that you’d realised nothing was guaranteed. You might die never knowing what could be, and the only way to find answers is to get off your ass and ask the questions.
His grip on you makes it hard to lift your arms, but as you shift beneath his muscles, he starts to relax, letting you return the affection. You rest a hand on the small of his back, and cup his cheek with the other, gently caressing the spot on his face where soft, freckled skin meets prickly, evening stubble, basking in the way his forest green eyes make the simmering chaos of the world stand still for a moment.
“Would you have missed me?” It’s not quite the question you’d wanted to ask, you’d just spat out the first one that crawled to the tip of your tongue, but you hope the longing in your eyes is enough for him to infer its deeper meaning.
From the way hesitates to answer, head cocking to the side as he looks your face up and down, you’re certain he's one your wavelength, yet again.
“Stupid fuckin’ question. Of course, I would have missed you, dumm-” The rest of his answer is cut off by the smack of your lips on his; they fit together so perfectly, like your lips were made for each other, meant to be together. Roy must agree, mirroring your own placement, he cradles your cheek in his hand, smiling into your kiss as he draws you into him.
Somebody whistles, probably Wally. Neither of you pulls back to check who. You just can’t believe it took you all this time and a brush with mortality to get here.
“Dummy.” He finally finishes when the need for air outweighs your visceral need to feel his lips on yours forever. His eyes are drier now, the concern that had been etched into his face replaced with an impish grin. “Who else is gonna laugh at my crappy innuendos?”
Reaching up, you tuck a stray strand of copper hair back under the rim of his cap. Slowly, and tentatively tracing what’s exposed of his hairline, then his brows, and his cheekbones. Making a dramatic show of examining the features you’ve already had memorised for years before you deliver your answer. “I dunno. I only laugh at them cause you’re hot.”
“I knew you only liked me for my looks.” He playfully narrows his eyes, faking an offended sneer as he leans back into you for another, ardent kiss. The second of many, many more to come.
Send me a pairing/character + prompt and I’ll write you a drabble/blurb.
harvest has almost ended for the wheat season, and so the dog star blazes unkindly as summer reaches its peak. you're exhausted, sweaty, and uncomfortably sticky despite wearing the lightest, shortest sundress you own, eager to relax after the main harvest. something something since your relationshipwith your jason (one-sodedly ranging from strictly professional to friendly to god i want to fuck him) has grown somewhat stronger you drag him along to the nearby river. jesus christ this is derailing i just want him barely able to hold back and think clearly and looking away everytime the wind ruffles the short sundress and have him all hot and sweaty for an entirely different reason. also river sex.
Took it in a slightly different direction because I've been into tease!Jason and horny out of their mind reader 🥰
farmhand!jason todd x afab!reader (no pronouns but afab biology). horny reader. you're a damn dog in this. brief public unconsented to masturbation, reader watching jason undress without him knowing, skinny dipping, blue...vulva? a loosely related part 2 to this.
****
"—And if you're still here with us and you haven't melted, just know that temperatures will climb to over one hundred degrees for the rest of the week. The governor has issued a heat advisory warning for all counties in—"
You turn off the TV and toss the remote aside. Heat advisory. As if you can't just go out into the world and get advised firsthand.
Today's heat has reached its peak, swelling thickly and suffocating everything. You turned on every fan you own since the ancient air conditioner broke down, giving up halfway through the summer. You're on your couch, two fans blowing hot, humid air. This sucks.
You hear the front porch door open and Jason's boots on the wood. You have no idea how he manages to wear boots in this heat, but he says he'd much rather muck those up than his sneakers.
He very generously did most of the chores today, despite the sun trying to scorch the earth. You did as much as you could until you started getting wobbly from exhaustion, and then, like the sheepdog he is, Jason corraled you into the house and told you to stay put.
Every day, the universe tests you and makes Jason not only incredibly biteable but also a total sweetheart. It's rough out here.
But it's so hot, you haven't tried to ogle him like you usually do, which is a crime, because you're pretty sure Jason went shirtless for most of the day. You missed it though, too lethargic and irritable from the heat.
The heavy knock of boots stop and then you hear soft, socked footsteps coming through the house to your place in the living room. How he manages to make so little noise for such a big man, you'll never know.
"Doin' okay?" he asks, and you can barely move your head to meet his gaze.
His face and hair are shiny with sweat, and he is unfortunately wearing a white t-shirt, which clings to him, showing off his broad shoulders and soft stomach. Earlier, he was hosing down the horses to cool them off, and you briefly lost your mind to lust, imagining shedding your tank top and shorts and letting Jason hose you down too. But now, the heat has cooked your brain too much for you to engage in your regularly scheduled programming of objectifying your farmhand. Perhaps next week.
"I am in hell," you say, and Jason smiles tiredly.
"Feeling's mutual. Drinkin' water?"
You hold up your water bottle. He gives a thumbs-up.
"Good. Gonna go get some for myself."
"I put bottles in the fridge," you call after him as he walks to the kitchen.
You look at your shorts, wishing you could take them off and go in your underwear, but you feel like heat or not, that might scare Jason away. He seems like he's seen a lot and done even more, but last week, Jason ran away from the market when Myra, the pretty fruit seller, gave him a discount to flirt with him. She'd given you a questioning look. You like Myra, so you'd shrugged it away, making up something about the heat.
You were certain that Jason could manage his way with an attractive person. He has the looks and the temperament for it. But you found him waiting by the horse that day, tucked into himself, and you didn't bring it up, not wanting to embarrass him.
It would be positively mortifying if your bare legs made Jason run for the hills. Still, the thought lingers... maybe the heat is making you insane.
"Don't you guys have a pool or something around here?" you ask as Jason returns, sitting against the couch on the floor with a bottle of water. You watch his throat constrict as he chugs the water.
He empties the bottle in ten seconds and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He shakes his head.
"No pool. But there's a lake a quarter of a mile from here. Apparently, it's safe to swim in."
"What?" You sit up, looking down at him. "Are you serious?"
"Yeah..."
"Why didn't you say so earlier? Jason!"
His eyes are half-lidded, the way he looks when he's scolding you mildly. "Haven't you been here longer than me? What am I, your orientation advisor?"
The heat makes Jason smart-mouthed, which has only worsened your crush. He almost never talks back, but once in a while you hear that sharp wit he hides so well. You want to maul him.
"Not a very good one. And you know I'm a city transplant. I barely know where to buy milk."
"Uh-huh. I take it y'want me to saddle up the horses, then?"
You bat your eyes, even though you're sure the heat has turned you into a mess and any seduction you attempt fizzles. "Please?"
He sighs and gets up, towering over you. You wonder how it would feel if he slotted himself between your legs, pushed back your thighs, and—
"Alright," he says. "Be back."
****
The ride over doesn't take long at all. You're still new at riding, so Jason ties your horse to his, and keeps you both walking at a slow pace so as not to scare you. The sun beats down on you. You wipe your neck with the back of your hand and it's wet with sweat.
You blink. "You're not just going to sit there, are you?"
Jason looks at you, tipping his hat up. "Well, somebody's gotta watch our stuff..."
"There’s no one around for miles. Besides, you're hotter than me. You've been working all day. You should cool off."
"No, 's not necessary, I'm working f' you, nothing more—"
"Jason," you say, dragging out his name. You take his hands and try to pull him up, to no avail. It's like pulling an anvil. His hands are warm and rough. You feel how strong they are even when he's at rest. "C'mon. You deserve a swim too."
"I don't have a swimsuit," he says.
You shrug. "Neither do I. I was just gonna keep my clothes on."
Jason makes a face. "And chafe when you're riding back with wet clothes? 'S how you get a rash."
"Oh." You sit back, thinking. Then you stand. "Okay. We can just skinny dip."
Jason's eyes widen. "'Scuse me?"
"What? The water's dark enough."
"That's—I mean, you're my boss," he says, like that should explain it all.
"I'm sorry," you say. "Does nudity offend you? It's not like we'd be close enough to see anything."
"No, that—not offended by it," Jason says, rubbing his neck. The tips of his ears are red. You bite the inside of your cheek. "Just thought maybe you'd feel some type of way, me bein' your employee."
"Oh no," you say, fighting to keep the lust out of your voice. "I don't feel any type of way."
He looks at you then, green eyes piercing. You smile. He hums.
"Alright," he says quietly. "If you're comfortable."
"Of course I am," you say brightly. "It's no big deal. I'll change and go in first, okay?"
Jason nods and turns around. You take off your clothes, eyes on Jason's back the whole time. You're not sure if it's better or worse that he doesn't even try to sneak a peek. Probably better, though it doesn't feel that way.
You put your clothes and shoes near the horses. "Okay. Gonna go in now," you say.
"'Kay," Jason calls back.
You sink into the water. It's cool but not freezing, and you splash your face, muscles relaxing as you finally cool down. You turn around and see Jason's back to you and the lake.
"Water's fine," you say. "Come in!"
You watch as he pulls off his t-shirt first, his back muscles rippling with effort. When he's at rest, his body isn't particularly defined. His body is meaty and deceptively soft. If you dug your fingernails into him, you'd feel a layer of fat before being met with hard muscle.
He undoes his belt next, then pulls off his jeans. You shiver in anticipation, suppressing a cheer when his briefs come down and show a very nice ass. He bends down to pull off his shoes and for a moment, you see the head of his cock on the other side, big enough to hang so far, and you dig your toes into the gritty bottom of the lake to ground yourself.
Oh, you're wet. Your nipples are hard, your pussy soft and drippy from the temperature change and seeing Jason's backside. You imagine feeling his belly on your ass as he pushes into you. All this time, Jason's been tending to the horses, when really it's him that needs tending to.
Before he can catch you, you turn around and listen as he wades into the lake. You slip your hand down, rubbing your clit a little to take the edge off. This is so wrong of you, so beyond the line of inappropriate. You're a fucking pervert, rubbing off to the sight of your handsome employee.
You'd like to hump your sticky cunt against his stomach until you come. It's like you're in heat. Jason's good with animals. Surely, he'd know what to do with you.
"Shit, 's cold," he says, and you steel yourself and pull away from what is sure to send you to hell and chase away your only farmhand.
You wrack your brain for a normal-sounding response. "Yeah, a little." Except I'm so wet, I wouldn't notice if the lake turned to ice.
"Y'okay?" Jason asks. "You're not moving. Did the cold shock ya?"
"No." You swallow and turn, having the good sense to bend your knees so you don't flash him. "Just, uh, adjusting. Isn't this nice?"
Jason's so tall that the water at this level only comes up to his waist. He smiles, eyes more relaxed. "Yeah, it is. You're a nice boss. Nobody I ever worked for would've organized this."
"Well, I don't really think of myself as your boss, to be honest. I mean, you're kind of my only friend," you say.
Jason clicks his tongue, like when he's telling the horses to slow down. You need him.
"That's ridiculous. 'Course you got friends. What about Myra?"
"I think Myra would rather be friends with you than with me, Jason," you say, doing your best to keep the jealousy out of your voice.
He shrugs, shoulders hunching inward. "I mean, maybe. She's nice and all, but 'm not interested."
"Not interested in having friends?" you ask.
"No."
You frown. "Not even me?"
Jason meets your gaze. "No, we can be friends."
"Good." You smile.
He nods and ducks his head underwater, then comes back up, flicking water behind him. The horses snort at the stray water drops. You grin as Jason wipes the water from his eyes. His lashes are dark and thick.
"Come here, you've got leaves in your hair, cowboy," you say, waving him over.
Jason gets closer. You straighten without thinking so you can reach, and he clears his throat, looking away.
You look down, your tits practically on display at this level, your nipples round peaks.
"Oops. Sorry," you say, not moving.
"Oh," Jason says, swallowing. "Didja get the leaf?"
You pick it out of his hair and drop it back in the water. You still don't move.
"Swimming gets me so relaxed," you say, daring him to look at you, look at how aroused you are. Your nipples are so hard, they hurt.
"Yeah?" he mumbles, and then he looks at you, zeroing in on your tits. His eyes flick to your face, and his gaze is so heavy, so unlike any look you've seen on him. You wonder if this is the first time he's looked at you like this, or if maybe Jason's not the clueless one of the two of you.
"Uh-huh," you say, the sound coming out breathless.
"Know what you're doing," he says, low and hot, almost too fast to miss. It sears you to your core and startles you at the same time. He knows?
You think that this is it, Jason's going to storm out and take off without you. Maybe lecture you about professionalism. Myra was your first warning and you didn't listen.
But he just turns and wades to shore.
"'M hungry," Jason says. "Sun's goin' down too. We should leave soon, yeah?"
You blink, smacked in the face by whiplash. You didn't hallucinate that look, those words. You know you didn't.
Dumbly, you watch as Jason goes behind the tree to dry off and change. Your heart plummets to your feet. He knows.
But Jason is perfectly normal as he comes back, pulling his shirt down. His hair drips onto his shirt, and he ruffles it.
"Ready?" he asks, and you can't recall Jason ever being so bold as to prompt you. He acts like he's offering you a ham sandwich. Like you're not in the water with your tits out after throwing yourself at him.
"Um. Okay," you say, and Jason turns around as you get out of the water and into your clothes.
You watch as he saddles the horses, movements easy. Your cunt aches, and you feel slightly humiliated by how your nipples poke through your tank top.
Maybe Jason running for the hills wasn't the worst thing that could happen.
omg yes like cowboy jason working around the ranch in a tank top or without it tbh, all sweaty, muscles flexing. what a sight for sore eyes😫😫 and the hat !!! he'd never take it off i bet
teehee 🤭
farmhand!jason todd x reader. reader owns a farm, jason helps. tw minor cut. lots of ogling 😋
****
"Horses need to be taken inside."
You look up from your seat on the porch swing. You've spent the better part of the hot afternoon in the shade, doing your taxes. Possibly the worst part of running a farm, besides all the excrement.
Jason's got a bridle over his shoulder and a pail of feed in the opposite hand. His neck gleams with sweat. His biceps bulge in his flexed arms. His hat sits low to block the unforgiving sun, so you can't see his eyes. You hope he can't see your wandering gaze.
"Oh, okay. Because of the heat?" This is your first summer on your farm. You're trying to learn everything you can for the future.
He nods. "Then I'll move the rest of the hay."
You make a mental note to watch when Jason starts tossing hay bales. Woof. "Okay. Thanks, Jason. I'm gonna make lunch soon."
He gives you a thumbs up and walks away. You do not (repeat, do not) stare at his broad backside as he walks away. That would be unprofessional and really, really stupid because Jason's the only good farmhand you've found in a sixty-mile radius, and it was sheer luck that brought him here. You can't afford to go searching for someone else because your little crush got out of hand.
It wasn't your dream to own a farm. Your uncle died suddenly in March, and no one else in the family wanted the land. You were convinced by a family friend that a farm was a great way to be self-sufficient. Start anew.
They weren't wrong; you just aren't much of a farmer. It's only because of Jason that you've made any profit at all, or you might've run the farm into the ground.
Jason Todd. You met him by accident in town when he was passing through one day. He told you he was looking for work in an accent that wasn't from anywhere around here. He refused to answer any further questions. That suited you fine in your desperation. You were too frazzled to think about the consequences of hiring a mysterious, handsome stranger. But it's been two months now, and you're regretting everything.
Oh, he's fantastic help. That's not the issue.
The issue is how gently Jason speaks to the cows and the horses, squeezing them affectionately when he thinks you're not watching. It's how he doesn't say much, ever, but he somehow knows when you need help with a chore or when you're daunted by the responsibility of a farm.
Wordlessly, he goes where you go, shouldering the majority of labor. Jason will let you do chores long enough so you learn how they're done, and then he'll take over, shooing you away in minimal words.
He's good at what he does; he's worked on plenty of farms and ranches before. It's entirely professional on his end. It's a little more than that for you.
It almost feels domestic some days: Jason tending to the livestock, you handling the business end of things. Jason offered to make deliveries for you, and you agreed, but he wouldn't accept extra payment for it. At first, you tried to pay him for everything, unsure of the proper etiquette. Jason had very firmly told you that that was a good way to be robbed blind.
Jesus, you're already housing me, feeding me, and paying me. This is my damn job, got it?
And did that deter you from developing a crush? No! If anything, it made it worse, working with a guy who insisted upon being honestly compensated. You overdo it now by making extra pies or chicken bakes for Jason to graze on throughout the day, especially if you're not home. He tells you it's too much, but he won't refuse the extra food.
Sometimes, it feels like he knows exactly what you're doing and why you're doing it. He looks at you with such a piercing gaze, you feel unraveled. He must know your feelings. You hope he doesn't. You hope he does.
You finish the last tax form, happy to be done. Then you stand and stretch before going inside to start lunch. On his days off, Jason cooks for both of you. But being that he takes on the chores and deliveries, you don't mind cooking most days. It's nice to cook for another person, especially one who appreciates your efforts.
Embarrassingly, you've fantasized about Jason coming into the kitchen and sipping kisses from your lips, squeezing your waist, telling you how good the food smells and how good you taste. Your spine goes straight when Jason passes by and gets close to you, so close that you can feel his earthy heat. But he never touches you. And he certainly doesn't tell you how you good you taste.
The curtains on the kitchen window are parted. You have a perfect view of Jason in his white undershirt and jeans and boots. He's stocky and taller than any man you've ever met, all muscle and fat, built like an ox. He told you once it's all he's good for, his strength. You don't know about that, but you can't deny that he's built for farm work.
He lifts the hay bales now, tossing them easily. You absently prepare chicken salad sandwiches while you watch Jason work. You feel like a pervert, gagging for a glimpse of your employee doing his job. You don't possess quite enough shame to stop, though.
Maybe you need to start dating again. Maybe this is just because you're lonely and Jason is the person you interact with the most. You should go to the events they host in town for single people. You're sure you'd at least find someone to occupy your time for a little while.
Then again, you need to focus on the farm. You can't let yourself get distracted by some nobody. Jason cares about your farm's success, so he's okay. But you can't invite anyone else into your life right now.
Cosmic forces deal you your payback then. You're chopping celery for the salad and the knife slips. It's not a serious cut, but it's deep enough for blood to gush from your finger.
The porch door swings open then. Jason hangs up his hat on the hook. His eyes immediately fall onto your bleeding finger.
"It's just a little cut," you begin, but Jason ignores you. He herds you like a sheepdog into a seat at the kitchen table, and you obey, dazed by his bulk and easy command. No wonder the horses listen easily to him and not to you.
Jason washes his hands, then gets the first aid kit from under the sink. He's the one who insisted on you getting it. It's been used quite a bit, you being accident-prone, especially with unfamiliar equipment. The first time you needed it, Jason looked at you with a little smugness, proud that his suggestion came in handy. Your crush blossomed.
"I can do it," you say when Jason sits down next to you with the kit, but he wordlessly tends to you and you watch, almost through an out-of-body experience, as Jason takes your wrist and gently cleans your cut. It stings, and you hiss. He squeezes you in apology, then continues, sealing your cut with a band-aid.
Jason's hair is spiked with sweat. He's got a smear of dirt on his cheek. God, what you'd give to see him in the bath. He only takes five minute showers for as long as you've known him: quick and efficent.
As soon as your cut is wrapped, Jason stands, the chair scraping back. He puts away the kit and continues where you left off with the celery, using a fresh knife and a fresh board. Luckily, no blood got on the food.
"I can keep cutting," you say. "Jason, you go wash up. I can do it."
Again, you're ignored, and it's not like you can muscle your way to the counter. So you huff and take the iced tea out of the fridge instead. It's not long before Jason's putting two plates down, yours with potato chips inside of the sandwich, just how you like it.
"You're so stubborn," you say, huffing without any heat.
"Takes one to know one," he says neutrally, filling the glasses with water first. He's always getting on you about staying hydrated. Caffeine is a diuretic, he reminds you.
You grumble. "Kicking me out of my own kitchen..."
But you can't shake the feeling of Jason's calloused hands on yours. His skin was sun-hot. How are you going to manage when he inevitably leaves for more work?
"Thank you for taking care of everything, though," you say, unable to stop your soft words. "And me."
"'S my job," he says, hunched over his sandwich, not looking at you.
"To take care of me?" you ask, face getting warmer.
reblogging this to add that I often think about the old man yaoi mangaka on bluesky who said "the phrase that finally convinced me that the English language is truly beautiful was 'this shit is so ass'"
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