At first you thought it could just be an animal sniffing about your porch, perhaps a young fox that might've curled up for the night under your chair. But no, this sounded...bigger. Certainly heavier, with loud, laboured breaths that you could hear through the thick wood.
Only, when you opened the door expecting an injured animal, you find anything but.
Its a man. A big man. And he seems to be missing an arm.
You stand staring at him for a while, your form in the doorway blocking out the warm lamplight in your home behind you. Hesitating for just a minute, you finally creep closer once you realise that his eyes are closed, his brows knit deep in focus, even in sleep.
You get a better look at him like this. Some sort of huge mechanical arm seemed to have been sliced clean from him, and his suit was torn and dirty. He must have dragged himself all the way to your doorstep, as evidenced by the sore looking wounds on his skin.
In any other scenario, you imagined he was rather handsome.
"What happened to you?" You murmur softly, reaching out to trace a cut above his brow before he suddenly stirs, an instinctual jolt that you can barely register until he has your wrist in a vice grip with his only remaining hand.
His eyes are wild. Flashing with an animosity that reminded you of a wolf in a snare. You fear for your life for all of two seconds before his arm drops and his head lolls, passing out from exhaustion once more.
You place a hand over your heart. Calming the rabbiting of it as you pace your porch and mull over your options. You didn't know him. But he looked dangerous. The bruising on your wrist doubly confirmed that. But who on Earth were you to leave a man to die on your doorstep?
And as you hook your fingers into the front of his suit jacket, dragging him into your home with the most effort you could possibly muster, you couldn't help but wonder if you'd seen his face before.
this isn't super nsfw but curious about how the Talon agents wld react if the assistant is sick..
cute idea anon :D once again soft akande has me weak in the knees (apologies that some are shorter than others)
Akande spots it right away. You're not as chipper to see him and practically drooping in your seat from exhaustion, so he fixes you with an unimpressed look that has you shifting guiltily a little under his intense gaze. He's not upset at you, per say, more so the fact that you're not in bed and resting when you're clearly unwell. Any attempts to push yourself to work and you'll be dealing with Akande, who brooks absolutely no argument by simply hoisting you up and carrying you back to his room. (It's bigger, comfier, you should stay there most days, he thinks)
He manages his own itinerary for the next few days, a feat without you that slows him down much more than he'd like to admit. But after his work is said and done, Akande is content to find you snoring softly in his extravagant bed, a box of tissues long discarded on the side. And he presses a chaste kiss to your temple before climbing in beside you, his weight dipping the soft memory foam and causing you to shift instinctively into his arms with a soft grumble.
(He wouldn't really care if he caught your sickness, but he won't because he's just built different.)
Moira catches you sniffling and hones in on you like a fucking hawk. She places the cold back of her hand to your forehead and tuts as soon as she feels a temperature, in which she then herds you into her lab so she can get a better look at you. Of course, she's a lot more tender to you in her examinations than she is with any of her other patients, keeping you comfortable as she takes your observations. She's displeased that you're unwell to begin with, but she knows she's also the best equipped to take care of you and that fills her with a satisfaction of some sorts.
She then condemns you to her office, a small, quiet space attached to her lab. Letting you sleep off the pain meds she administered to you on her couch. Moira pops in every now and then, just to check in on you or to take your observations and keep your water topped up. You weren't seriously ill, just feeling a little shitty, but Moira will take whatever she can get in terms of your company, taking care of you is just a bonus. Excuses, excuses - she has many for when you inevitably ask about how tender she was being whilst you were hopped up on cough syrup.
Mauga at first practically breaks into your room while you’re on ‘sick leave’ - poking and prodding at you like a sleeping bear until you wake up and turn to face him, nose all sniffly and hair askew. He bothers you for a little bit to see if you’re well enough to entertain his antics, but when it’s obvious that you can’t keep your head up longer than a few seconds, his approach softens considerably.
He leaves and returns with food, lots and lots of it. Hot, fresh and traditionally Samoan, it’s enough to have you perking up from under the covers. Mauga knows you might not want to eat it all, but he stills encourages you to nourish yourself, lounging in bed next to you and trailing off countless tales of his recklessness to keep you entertained as you pick at your plate.
Only when you’re full-bellied and warm is he content to let you doze off, settling in beside you until you feel all better.
Amelie would usually let you recover in her mansion. She herself doesn’t like to feel vulnerable, and so she wouldn’t want you to feel the same way, so she lets you have the place to yourself while she’s away at Talon. Her hounds will keep you company, and what sweet boys they are.
On the off chance that she is with you, she’ll make you as comfortable as possible - which isn’t really that hard considering the plushness of her mansion. And on the off off chance that you refuse to stay home, she’ll shoot a wickedly mean glare at anyone who dare comment on your illness. Personal guard mode activated.
Sombra shows her compassion from afar. She’s slightly more concerned about getting sick herself, but the need to check up on you overrules that most of the time. She’ll send get well hampers to your room and sweet messages to your phone - little things to brighten you up when you’re feeling so shitty.
She swings by when she can, just to pop in and say hi to her favourite girl, pouting pitifully when you cough into your hand. She cannot wait until you’re better, having ordered some more treats for you and her to try together - and to make up for lost time ;)
Reaper appears apathetic, but he’s the one doing the most out of the corner of your eye. Leaving steaming cups of herbal tea where you can find them, somehow still hot as if he were watching you the whole time. He scares away people from your door, people who were too incapable to deal with their own work for a few days while you recovered. Ungrateful, pathetic grunts to which he could direct his anger to.
Most of all he misses his routine. Unfortunately you’d been ingrained as apart of it now, and Talon’s resident wraith is a little spun out now that you’re unwell and unavailable. He’ll suck it up for a little while, just because you’re so cute when you’re all sniffly like that.
Sigma is happy for you to idle with him while you’re unwell. He has a couch in his room for that very reason! He’ll rattle off about formulas and equations while you rest nearby, the softness of his voice a pleasant melody in the background as you dip in an out of consciousness. Once he hears your quiet snores is when he finally puts the marker down, draping a woollen blanket over you and switching on his records, taking the armchair next to you for a nice, quiet evening in.
A culmination of meat and herbs, hearty and mouth-watering. The type of smell that cartoon characters would float towards in a dizzying trance. It all but startles him, nose quirking and stomach rumbling with a sensation of hunger he hadn't felt in a long time as he lurches upright.
The first thing he does is reach blindly for his arm. It's still gone, of course, but so is the gauntlet. A bitter snarl curls his lips, memories of defeat flooding back like a sour taste in his mouth. He recalls dragging himself for quite a while, the soft glow of lamplight being the final thing he saw before exhaustion overtook him.
It looked a lot like the lamp across from him, actually.
It reflected the light onto the ceiling with the same pattern. Like ripples of sunlight on water, and it dawns on him that someone had taken him in. Draped him haphazardly over their old sofa and chucked a crocheted blanket over his waist, as it was much too small to cover the expanse of his hulking form. Someone had saved his life, and he hadn't expected it to be you.
Sweet, little, blissfully unaware you.
Akande's footsteps were silent as he stood, your blanket sliding from where it was caught on his hip and onto the floor. You don't hear him coming. Not over your humming, nor over the clang of pots and pans as you begin to dish up. It makes him wonder if you knew exactly who you'd just welcomed into your home. If you were plain stupid or frighteningly brave.
He watches you from the window of your kitchenette for a while, memorising your patterns and observing details about your life. You have no photos on your ancient fridge, just a simple sunflower magnet, the colour faded from age. No dog. No ring on your finger. Not even a boyfriend, by the looks of your décor.
How very brave of you indeed, Akande thinks.
Or rather he did, until you turned around with a gasp and caught him staring. Dropping the steaming bowl of stew you were holding all down yourself at the mere sight of him up and moving.
Snare AU request because we need to celebrate your love being alive! It's only natural people feel inclined to help people they consider in need so when there's a towerblock of a man missing an arm and beaten up, assuming there's stew left over that's not spilt down reader, I think a sweet thought is that there'd be some compassion leading to having to demand to help him and uncomfortably intimate spoon feeding!
After having gotten over the initial shock of seeing him awake, you quickly usher the stranger back over to your old sofa. He doesn't fight you on it other than a simple raise of his brow, but you're sure that if that mountain of a man didn't want to move - he wouldn't. You pull back once he's seated, nose wrinkling when your hands return covered in chalky debris. He was filthy.
"Stay there." You wiggle a finger at him and grumble sternly, rushing off into your closet to find some fresh towels and an old baggy t-shirt that you used to sleep in.
When you return, he's once again standing up. This time busying himself by looking at the trinkets on your mantlepiece. You drop the towels onto your sofa and cross your arms.
"You shouldn't be standing." You huff, but your voice softens to a gentle whisper just as quickly. "You were in a really bad way when I found you."
His lip quirks, a handsome smile on his face that puzzles you immensely. You wonder if it was a good idea to let this man into your home.
"Forgive me." He speaks, eyes dragging up your body until they meet your eyes. His voice an accented, low timbre that makes your spine straighten in surprise. "This is your home, and I am a guest."
Your couch cushions sink in on themselves and the wooden frame of the sofa creaks like a haunted house when he finally sits back down, but you're satisfied enough to uncross your arms and relax a small bit around him.
"There's...some fresh towels here for you. You can take a shower when you're ready." You pause, eyes lighting up when you thumb the drying stain of stew on your sweater. "But not before you eat. You must be starving."
Akande doesn't get a chance to speak before you're scurrying back off into your kitchenette. He watches in quiet amusement as you flip through your cupboards to find a clean dish, you mustn't have guests around much. Then again, he managed to crawl to your home after falling a great distance, so you must like the privacy.
You intrigue him.
It was a great effort to save him. An even greater effort to provide, whether you knew who he was or not. Would you have still opened your home should you have known who he was, what he'd done?
A lot of people would have left him in the dirt. Let the dust settle over him and get on with their pitiful little lives. But then there's you, returning to his side with a hastily filled bowl of stew.
You, who watches him struggle to eat with one arm. You who catches the bowl just as it fell from its precariously balanced spot on his knee. You who takes the bowl from Akande gently, offering the filled spoon to his mouth with not a hint of pity in your eyes.
He purses his lips, a bitter sense of weakness welling up in his chest. A man once on top, now on rock bottom. He glances to you, your eyes tired and waiting and the smell of homemade food making his stomach lurch. Akande hadn't needed help in such a long, long time. But god, did your cooking smell like heaven.
You bump your knee impatiently against his, dwarfed in comparison to his own, and he wonders if you knew that he could crush your head in one hand. But the gesture is kind, reassuring. A small smile on your face that read deceptively innocent as you raise the spoon again, silently asking him to eat. For you.
And then finally, for once in his life, Akande Ogundimu decides to obey someone else.
This isn’t an actual post or anything (just a sickeningly indulgent thought I had) but I like to think that Doomfist in my snare au develops a little sweet tooth after living with reader for a while.
He still sticks to his training of course, works out in whatever room is free and does most of the heavy lifting or labouring chores around the house. (Like chopping firewood in tight shirts because he knows you like to watch when you think he can’t see you.)
But you’re an avid baker, cooker too. You’re often flipping through new recipes to try and rotate between them weekly. And you used to get a bit sick of all the sweets before Akande started living with you, because you always ended up making portions too large for you to finish before they needed to be thrown out.
Luckily for you, a man that big needs a lot of fuel in the furnace to keep him up and running.
He becomes a taste tester of sorts, but also just an easy fix for when you’ve made one too many brownies. Not that he really minds, or anything. As observant as he is, he makes it a point not to shoot himself in the foot by telling you when he notices that you no longer make large batches out of mere mistake.
You like feeling wanted. As evidenced by the wobble in your legs when you take his empty plate back to the kitchen after he compliments your cooking. You truly are a godsend in that kitchen, better than any professional chef he could have hired with Talon’s money.
And well, Akande would be lying if he said he hadn't thought about taking you back with him when he finally usurped Vendetta. Having you by his side when he reclaims his spot on top, bending you over his desk when he gets his office back. He could always use a personal chef, or even a personal assistant.
Whatever you wanted to be, whatever you wanted, as long as it was by his side, you could very well have it. He’d make sure of that.
cw: pregnancy, mention of lactation, fluff, no real nsfw sorry peeps, afab reader, bad writing, i lowkey just wanted to write soft doom oh how i love him so
Akande is a good husband.
When you'd first fallen pregnant you'd received a new bouquet of flowers on your bedside every morning. Each one adorned with neatly decorated cards, explaining the meaning of each and every flower, signed off with his signature.
Red roses, for love. Dark pink carnations to express his gratitude. Even lavender at some point, to show his devotion to you. Your head swimming with fuzzy endorphins, because he knew just what to do to get you smiling.
During your second trimester, where you'd began to show, he bought you a whole new maternity wardrobe. Spoilt rotten for choice because he'd thought of everything. Every style, colour and pattern for you to choose from, because nothing as menial as clothing would stress out his pregnant and hormonal wife.
Akande had even helped you when the weight of your belly became too much, standing behind you to gently lift it with his hand. He made big babies, so it was only fair. The perfect gentleman through and through, massaging your ankles, back, even your breasts when they got too sore. Thumbing your nipples just to see if you'd produce for him.
Which is why he couldn't stand to see you suffering when the baby was overdue. You'd tried squats, spicy food, any old wives tale you could think of. Nothing was working, and so Moira had very blankly recommended sex. It apparently had the possibility to induce you past-term, and for a while at first Akande was hesitant around the idea.
He had always been much bigger than you, stronger, too. You were never delicate to him before, but now? He wasn't so sure.
But the days went on and you were getting moody and desperate, aching for reprieve with doctors hesitant to induce you so quickly. His poor wife, needy and alone.
Modern-ish(?)AU! Doomfist who spots a fresh new face in the extravagant lobby of the penthouse apartments he owns. (And just so happens to live in.)
Unlike every other woman in this building you weren’t trussed up in expensive dresses and tacky jewellery, gifted by husbands who couldn’t care less as long as their wives were happy and quiet. You seemed…simple. Plain. Unbelonging. So boring in his world filled with riches he couldn’t help but have his interest snagged.
Important as he may be - CEO of the biggest company in town - he could surely spare a few minutes to observe his new tenant. As average as she may be.
Akande watches you interact with the concierge, an older gentleman with a dull and withdrawn demeanour, brought on by years of detailing with snobby residents and their prissy mistresses. Yet, the old man’s eyes soon crinkle with soft joy at the brief conversation you hold with him. Years of pressure lessened by some genuine, real humanity. Spoon fed with love like hot oatmeal.
“Thank you!”
Akande was sure that his concierge hadn’t heard that in years with the way he’d sagged in his seat, and you even wave him goodbye until your niceness accidentally sends you face first into your landlords gigantic chest. Not that you knew that, but the receptionist lets out a gasp behind you rivalling an on-set audience’s and…
Nothing happens.
Akande quirks an expectant eyebrow. Everyone knew who he was. Usually either cowering at his feet or trying to weasel their way into his fortune. Or his bed, so says the unsatisfied housewife in apartment 1B.
Yet…you’re not immediately bowled over by the sight of him, simply giving him a bright, genuine smile as you walk past with hands full of heavy moving boxes. Sliding into the elevator and fumbling for the buttons as your boxes slip from under your arms. You even give him another big, goofy smile as the doors close shut in front of him.
He’s baffled, and delightfully intrigued. It wouldn’t be too long before the bored housewives would start a string of stories about you, how you don’t belong in a place like this and other tales of your ‘insufferable’ neighbouring, undoubtedly loose lipped after a few glasses of pricy, gross wine.
Hm. Speaking of, he didn’t see a ring on that finger of yours.
Doomfist who only truly realises he’s fallen in love with you once he sees that face.
Your lips curled and shaky - fat, unspilt tears bubbling in your pretty eyes. Your hands twitching to wipe them away, but resisting in favour of keeping a strong appearance in front of him.
You’re upset. You’re sad. Mad, even.
You’re hurt.
And because of him, no less. It has something thick and foreign curling up and settling heavy in his gut. Something Akande soon comes to recognise as bitter, stinging guilt. Something he hadn’t felt since he was a mere boy.
He didn’t like it. Or rather, he didn’t quite like what it did to you.
He chases after you, of course, his instinct ever strong to run after prey. Catching you sniffling rather pitifully, and you really hate to see how he thinks of you now. Weak, pathetic - unworthy.
Akande pulls your hands away from your face, gathering them into his own and gripping them tight enough that you could’ve sworn he’d have thought you were going to fly off. His skin is warm, welcoming, his heat bleeding into your skin - you want him to hold on and never let go.
He was never above the feelings of man. The one thing he could never truly beat. The one thing he wasn’t sure if he wanted to.
A rarity he’d kept close to his heart and yet one he’d been taking for granted, you were once a constant reminder of his vulnerability. His weak spot. But now you serve to remind him that his vulnerability is also his strength, there is no weakness in what you bring him.
