#ill talk about them later I SWEAR
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thinking about solar and how absolutely fucking pathetic of a man he was
constantly nervous and trying to not offend ppl while also just trying to have ppl like him
while i COULD talk about solar/lunar bc thats a very obvious ship (like. theyre right there lmao) but i came here to talk about solar/sun bc i was looking through some of my old oneshots i made when solar first showed up (like- literally on ao3 there were FIVE fics about him. I WAS EARLY) bc i wanted to kiss his flat fucking face so badly
BUUTTTT one of the oneshots was of solar and wutever fuckin insert i used interacting and like. trying to get solar used to gentle touches since im a FIRM believer that that man had NEVER felt a gentle hand on him once he existed (except for maybe when he interacted with his sun in the headspace but thats not actually physical) and it was like "okay lets see how u react to certain things and get u used to it"
and i was like... wut if it was sun doing it with him? i feel like in the beginning he would try and avoid sun as much as he could while also DEEPLY yearning to be around him. bc he just misses his brother so much and he wants him back but he knows this isnt his sun but it hurts to see him and not be able to even touch him. not bc hes not allowed to, hes just too scared to make any moves to get closer.
IM GETTING A BIT OFF TRACK BUTBUTBUT- ill discuss sun and solars early relationship LATER in another post so imma talk about wut im REALLY here for
sun is just hanging out with solar and tries to help him figure out his feelings cuz hes like "i have no fucking clue wut im feeling or wut to do with myself" and sun is like"fuck it i can help" (pretend this is in character LMAO im just being silly and over simplifying :]) and they like- "practice" with solar being used to more gentle touches. like just holding hands and hugs and petting and all that stuff. bc even tho solar trusts sun he still has a deep burning feeling that he will be hurt at some point and sun makes it his personal goal to at least help him not feel like that as much
and ofc they end up kissing. y do u think im here??
solar is an EMOTIONAL MESS. bro does not know wut to do with himself but it doesnt matter bc he feels happy and safe and DAMNIT is he gonna enjoy it
#void whispers#celestialcest#celestial proship#anxietymechanic#sun/solar#proship safe#comship safe#can u tell i love shipping these 2 together?#i like shipping all the solar bots together imma be honest LMAO#i just. *holds them gently* theyre so fucked up#theyre so fucking pathetic and wet#so i make them kiss so they can be soggy together#ANYWAY#ill talk about them later I SWEAR#im just. i need to scream for a bit gimme a sec LMAO#also no im not gonna show that oneshot to anyone ever again#its good and its cute but i reread it and im like ''god i feel like im reading wut i made as a child''#made it a year ago but it feels like i was such a child during that#like I COULD DO BETTER#patting myself on the back tho bc my obsession with solar is wut caused me to even get into writing again#but man. some of my old work is a bit embarrassing to read through LMAO
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Timeswap!Vettonso(I blame @ayceeofspades for this)
Thoughts:
References HEHEHEHE:
So the dynamics would be: STR!Seb x Aston!Fernando and Post-Retirement!Seb x Ferarri!Fernando(~2011-2012)
The former would be a Seb who is very hungry for Fernando's attention, but now he's with a Fernando is actually now very willing to give him that attention. Fernando is constantly repeating in his head: "Don't fuck the twink don't fuck the twink don't fuck the twink", but every time they end up on the podium together, Seb always ends up being all over him and "accidentally" groping him. So Seb is still a brat but is with a Fernando who's not gonna just be cold to him but will indulge him instead 🤭
The latter is more angsty AAAHHH!! Cause its a Fernando who is in Ferrari hell and Seb who is post-catharsis. And to quote C, Fernando is like "why are you so happy??? Did you win!?" and Seb responds: "no :)" But also I am not immune to Seb being coy and playing with Fernando. He now understands why Fernando was the way he was back then because he's now gone through the same thing with Ferrari, but also wants him to stop being so gloomy and angsty about it.
Don't ask about how these AUs work, just know that they have knowledge of what their original counterparts were like so it's weird for the younger versions to get to see what ends up happening to the other, and then allows the olders to gain a new perspective instead of their biased memories(i.e.: "you're not who I was villainizing you as in my head" = both of them realize that they were building the other up as such an antagonist in their head but then, oh, he's just like me fr)(but for younger Seb, Fernando realizes Seb just wanted to be friends :( and so now he's trying to be more of a mentor.)
#i also blame claire for making me think of str/rbr seb with current fernando AAAAAHHHHH#theres just something to me about him interacting with a fernando who is less volatile and more giving#you guys are really getting the full scope of vettonso AUs from me LOL#i am feeding every possible avenue djfjkgkg#timeswap au. historical au. canon art. etc etc.#also wow did you see that i overcame my fear of drawing racesuits? LMAO#ive been avoiding them until now but was like oh uh not that bad actually#also i swear to you i have a full art style LMAO i just feel weird posting chibis so much when i never really drew them before#also these didnt come to me easily so i spent like....way too much time#and now its way later than i intended#and like im the type to not really feel bodily tired but rn i actually just feel like loopy LOL#but i cannot start chibis without finishing them. bcs ill just never finish them#for c <3 thank you for always talking w me abt vettonso and entertaining all my random AUs hehehe#and also thank you cofi for your insights as well 🙏🙏🙏#vettonso#f1#formula 1#formula 1 fanart#f1 fanart#sebastian vettel#fernando alonso#catie.art.#catie.rambling.txt
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anyway as soon as i pry myself off this couch im gonna share some screenshots of bg3 protags on my sideblog. just gotta like. reach the desk first.
#all i can think about is the shelves im gonna get installed here over the next little bit fdghj#yall dont understand its so hard to keep things clean and brain friendly when you just dont have anywhere to put stuff.#hellish#& then i get overwhelmed and turn into a massive bitch when i try to get it under control fdgh#instead its been like. 2 straight days of dopamine i fucking swear?? my body probably definitely wouldnt let me do this for a living#(my hip is screamingggg dfghgjj) but actually if i could & if i could work in a team then yeah. ykw i enjoy it.#organization go brrrrrrr#i dont think she was expecting me to work that fast either but ive been like a feral animal. skittering over clutter.#finding Spots for Things#okay i lied the flood was actually beneficial in one way to me specifically.#estranged father just forgot a Bunch of tool sets here & ive claimed them now fdghjk#that nail gun is MINE#she suggested i look out for an actual tool chest/bench thing (ykw the ones with wheels and stuff) for everything and i havent been that#excited for anything in months fdgh tools are expensive alright. too bad he took the table saw.#i dont talk much abt my Masc Hobbies as i call them lmao no real reason to but hoooboy i love to Build Things#give me that ikea desk ill have it done in an hour or less every time#maybe trade school is still on the horizon for me gfhj always wanted to Weld Stuff i think id be good at it#as much as i fuckin loathe yard maintenance i was a real garage sooooo bad its not even funny#shame i wasnt just inherently expected to know car stuff tm i feel like i would have loved it too#scarrier to learn on your own later in life especially with a lease vehicle but ill get there eventually#anyway yeah bg3! new mods. new ocs#have not done much with them yet but they Exist and theyre pretty
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i love you and its all gonna work out . it might not be great for a little bit but it'll still be okay, we'll make it through and eventually move into our own place with proper jobs and lots of pets and we'll get married and it'll rock and you'll look stunning and we'll kiss so much it makes the guests a little uncomfortable but we won't care, and i think josh will catch the boukay because there's an irony to that. i lost track of my original point bc i started thinking abt marrying you um. point is we'll live and we'll be okay and we'll still be us
#i could swear her parents into an early grave with the way they speak to her#i would as well if i didnt want them to grow and become better people to give her a decent support system later in life#also . as much as they are dicks to her sometimes#they do care and they are trying#and i dont want for my girlfriend what i had with my mother#ill never trust my mother again i dont want that for her#and they're lovely sometimes#i want to have a Talk with them#but they need to take our relationship more seriously first#they need to know how serious we both are about the each other
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Unfortunately relatable. I grew up in the church and have a lot of Christian trauma from that. I show up for special occasions for my parents… sometimes. But it’s uncomfortable from the moment I step through the door. Bigoted pastor, the self-righteousness disguising the prejudice, the political comments from the altar. Shots at young people left right and center as if the hell on earth wasn’t caused by the same older generation 90% of the congregation belongs to..
I miss being young in the choir and the youth groups and not struggling with it. It’s wild to look back at the younger version of me who was unshakeable in his faith and honestly just saddening.
I was texting my sister today about it and she said
“I 100% think ALL of us have a ton of religious trauma and everyone else in the family just doesn’t realize it cause they’re still drinking the kool-aid.”
I ran out of tag room and didn’t want to delete any 😭 seriously not lying I could write a book about all my thoughts and experiences
#I relate to all of this so much#and it’s so sad how many people truly have religious trauma#I still find myself lucky and privileged cause I know there are stories MUCH worse than mine#it’s really hard cause my parents still think I’m a Christian#honestly at this point I have no clue what i am#even if I end up still being a Christian that doesn’t help or heal all of the years of church trauma#but the hard part is still acting the part for my parents#growing up I always tried to fit into the good Christian girl mold#cause I know that’s what my parents wanted and I didn’t want to disappoint them#but once I started smoking weed and they found out? it went all downhill from there#their perfect angel fell from heaven#and I feel like ever since I haven’t been really their daughter…. I’ve just been living on the outside looking in to everything#it hurts looking back at all the years I spent brainwashed into believing that was the ONLY faith#it genuinely makes me sick to my stomach thinking about the fact that I went to a pro life rally#the thing I was talking to my sister about was how mental health was never talked about in the church#when I started dealing with it and went to my parents or the pastors or any adult really and told them what I was dealing with#wanna know what the first thing they would ALWAYS say? well have you prayed about it? the way they treated mental illness was that it was#YOUR fault cause God is punishing you for something…. that you need to pray or go to church so then God will eventually take it away#and the thing is I don’t necessarily blame my parents (which kinda sucks cause I want to blame someone)#but honestly it’s just the environment they grew up in too… like I’m 99% sure my dad has dealt with depression his entire life#but won’t get diagnosed or anything cause they always believe faith has something to do with it#which makes me incredibly sad cause I just think about how much my dad has suffered and how he didn’t need to#^^ I was typing this out when I was late to my family gathering hahaha but then I think my sister called or something so I had to stop#sorry this post is all over the place - I swear I could write a book about religious trauma#yesterday went ok surprisingly but today? TODAY is going to be so much worse#sure I’ll make a post about it later but I guessssss I should go to bed now? it’s 2am and I have to get up at 5:45 🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃#and I have a fuuuuull day of fun Christian festivities while I’m dealing with all of this bottled up and unresolved crap from my past#please don’t get me wrong I love my parents and like I said I don’t blame them - they did their best#it just really sucks wondering what my life would have been like if I didn’t grow up in the church or in a super religious family#I wonder if when I told my parents I was depressed if they would have instantly brought me in to get help
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The day Cecil and Bartz actually have a proper conversation and go on an adventure together is the day I die
#final fantasy#dissidia nt sucks because they don't have them talk#jk i actually never played dissidia nt#but i heard bad things about it#how did materia and spiritus somehow replace cosmos and chaos#eh idk ill figure it out later#but i swear i saw a ss of them talking in opera omnia#but i can't find them#AHHHH was going through mental anguish trying to find it
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.
#im going to watch bouncy later i swear#im just not ready yet 😭#ive been avoiding all spoilers since the first trailer dropped and i havent seen anything else#its been hell avoiding them when it seems like thats all people wanna gif and talk about 🙃#ill get to it. ive just had a lot of projects i needed to finish first#{booki rambles}
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I actually really love Mel/Jayce/Viktor as well as Jayce//Viktor and I actually think the show has a couple scenes that lend to a poly interpretation of the three of them (Mel and Jayce both literally handling Viktor’s crutch between them while talking about how much they care for him, hello?? The subtext writes itself) but I found myself staying focused on just Jayce/Viktor at first because it’s a bit simpler to write and because as much as I LOVE the implied moments of their intellectual, ambiguously romantic threesome, I’d need more of Mel and Viktor interacting to really close the loop for shipping it in my mind. As it is, it feels a bit more “This is Mel’s boyfriend, Jayce, and Jayce’s boyfriend Viktor” that Mel still cares about and respects mostly from afar.
I also think that Viktor and Jayce kind of left their relationship at “we’re partners in every sense of the word, why define it further?” And that definition maybe included romantic and sexual moments (at least for fic writer purposes lol) but the fear of losing the amazing working relationship they had, which is so rare in the academic world, kept them from seriously “defining” it as anything official on the person front, which allowed Jayce to take up with Mel without it being “cheating”.
Throw into that the rapid advancement of Viktor’s illness and I can easily see a scenario where Viktor didn’t force the issue and indeed, was happy to see that Jayce had someone else who loved him in his life, knowing he didn’t have much time left and it would take a miracle to save his own life. Basically, I don’t see Viktor as jealous of Mel as a person, even if he was wary / resigned towards Jayce’s political career and would have rather have had him in the lab more often.
There was a happy medium there, I think, where Jayce was happily balanced between the two of them without jealousy from either that the accelerating events of S1 basically prohibited as the crises began to unfold, forcing Jayce into the conflict with Zaun, and Zaun had always been a point of miscommunication and later tension between Viktor and Jayce. An inevitable one I think, since Jayce couldn’t possibly know what it was like to grow up there, and in the course of their work it probably only rarely came up and so wasn’t daily addressed until the crisis made it an ugly conflict between them.
Anyway, I’m mostly just rambling as I think my way through how I write Jayce and Viktor in the fic I’m finishing up. But mostly I wanted to make the point that I see Jayce’s relationship with Mel as real and important and not “getting in the way” of his relationship with Viktor indeed, Viktor and Mel at least seem mature enough to navigate a poly relationship and Jayce has a lot of love to give (he loves SO MUCH guys I’m emotional about it, he’s just a good kid who ended up in a shitty complex situation that went way over his head. Bro didn’t even know if his school OFFERED military history, he was such an easy target and this is why STEM kids need an introduction to liberal arts I swear).
I don’t think S2 is headed towards any sort of unambiguous happy ending for the three of them but there’s definitely a happy AU in my heart where the three of them make it work and are better together than just two out of the pair.
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the biggest problem with tos’ episodic format is that the episode usually ends pretty quickly after the conflict resolves and then they never really talk about it again - no matter how intense or harrowing it was
which means that we don’t get to actually *see* the interpersonal fallout of bones being diagnosed with and cured from a previously-incurable terminal illness (that he didn’t even want to tell jim and spock he had), and then just four episodes later drugging them so that he can go be tortured (and likely die) instead of spock, and so jim doesn’t have to make the choice between them.
did they talk about it? beyond just a standard debrief and a “never fucking do that again bones i swear to god i mean it this time”? did they make it the captains’ quarters for the debrief, only for mccoy to be pulled into a crushing, trembling hug as soon as the door shut while jim tried to assure himself that bones was still here, was still breathing? spock hovering nearby - a hand gently coming to rest on his shoulder?
why didn’t mccoy want to tell them about the xenopolycythemia, anyways? to try and hold onto a few more normal-ish months before every time they looked at him their eyes would be filled with grief - mourning a man they hadn’t yet lost? the same reason he ran away; to spare them what he went through with his father?
only for him to immediately turn around and throw himself back to the wolves to (almost) die right in front of them anyways
i don’t really know how they handled it. whether they talked about it and attempted to soothe the hurt, or just resolutely tried to bottle it up.
but i do know this: spock eventually came back from gol because jim simply (though accidentally) called out for him in a moment of need. bones only came back because jim personally drafted him back into starfleet
#comet posting#they love eachother i promise but my god these boys need to learn to talk about their feelings#star trek#star trek tos#dr mccoy#spock#jim kirk#leonard mccoy#mcspirk#i’m sorry i don’t know why ive been so angsty the past few days#i think it’s the pms#the empath#for the world is hollow and i have touched the sky#star trek tmp#angst#star trek the original series
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— HONEYMOON BLISS
pairings: luke castellan x daughter of poseidon!reader, percy jackson x sister!reader
summary: your relationship with luke was pure joy, but it seems your happiness and love leads to the two of you slipping up.
warnings: none really, fluffy, giggly reader, suspicious percy, flirty luke and annoyed reader, clarisse and chris r detectives, bickering luke and y/n, percabeth crumbs
a/n: it’s coming close to the end, very scary i swear 😭😭 i thought it would take me ages to write this story but i’ve uploaded all chapters in one day and written them lmao
wordcount: 1.2k
taglist: @songofthesuns @gayforyelena @taloulalila @honeydanny @7s3ven @sssi-nr @percabethtears @gr1mes-cc @2hiigh2cry @10ava01 @ahh-chickens @fangirl-swagg @anotherblackreader @midmourn @lovelyforesst @urfavpogue @lilacspider @mysteris-things @whoreyzontal @lunalixya @dangelnleif @wordsarelife
part i, part ii, part iii, part iv - finale out now!!
iii. honeymoon bliss
the smile on your face was very wide. in your hand was a red lipstick you’d long forgotten. “what’s that?” luke hovered over you as you jumped back, “announce your comings and goings castellan, you scared the shit out of me.” luke grinned as he leaned against the wall, your eyes couldn’t help but trail over his arms.
his sleeves were rolled, specks of paint all over.
“take a picture, it’ll last longer.”
“kill yourself, my peace will last longer.”
“ouch, who hurt you?” luke came closer as you placed the cap on the lipstick, “everybody on earth, how do i look?” it wasn’t too bold, a nice color nonetheless , one of your favourites. “perfect, as always.” you smiled before pressing a kiss to his lips, than his cheek, than his jaw. “okay now run along, peeta.” luke’s face contorted, “hate to break it to you, but i’m luke.”
you slapped your palm against your forehead, “i know, i’m calling you peeta, like from hunger games? he paints and bakes?” luke crossed his arms as he stared at you wondering, “there’s a game for hunger? that’s horrible.” you smiled as you kissed him again, “ill explain later, now go before clarisse murders you for being late.” he pressed a kiss to your forehead before heading out, a salute sent your way as he approached the door, “yes ma’am!”
it wasn’t until it was too late that you’d realised, his face was covered in lipstick. but clarisse and chris noticed straight away. “so, you wanna tell us what you’ve been up to?” chris asked as he continued directing the paint roller up and down. “what are you talking about?” clarisses laugh rung out through the air, “i’m talking about the fact that you’re face is covered in lipstick.”
shit. luke clamoured to the nearest window to view your work, he looked pretty nice, he thought. but the stares from chris and clarisse brought him back, “it’s nothing, get back to painting.” and as much as luke would love to wear the marks, he raised his sleeves to wipe them off.
clarisse would not stop staring at your lips, “yknow, if you wanna kiss me, you could’ve said so.” you said as she shoved your arm, “as gorgeous as you are, no.” you leaned against the palm of your hand, “got your eye on someone? starts with an a? b?” her foot collided with your shin before you could continue you any further.
as you rubbed it up and down you smiled, “duly noted.” clarisse picked at her food, “as much as i love having you here, why are you at our table?” you sighed, “percy takes forever apparently. usually at the idea of food he comes running.” you laughed as percy flicked your ear, “ow! where have you been?” you stood up and walked to your table, not without a wave towards the ares cabin.
“i barely got away from annabeth, she was working me to the bone.” percy’s eyes immediately flicked to the food infront of him. “oh please you’re as skinny as a twig kelpie.” percy tilted his head, “you’re my sister, which means you’re connected to the sea. yet you’re still calling me kelpie? what even is that?” the goblet in your hands currently held liquid gold, otherwise known as mountain dew, “i don’t know kelpie.” you took a sip from your goblet whilst percy inhaled his food.
“hey percy, y/n.” luke’s voice called out as he walked over to the two of you, you practically froze up. you hadn’t seen him all day since he was currently repainting the hermes cabin after someone, (kids from the ares cabin who’d then blamed their siblings for putting them up to it. which caused them to end up at the infirmary and clarisse painting as a punishment) took their masterful artistry from off their page and onto the walls.
“i hate to ask, but i need more people to help me out, percy?” his mouth was currently stuffed full and you couldn’t help but laugh, “the foods not going anywhere perce, and yes he will help, won’t you percy?” your tone wasn’t exactly asking him, but he didn’t want to paint. you could tell by his lack of response that he wasn’t exactly elated. “i’ll talk to him, he’ll come soon enough. you heading up?”
and so percy watched as the two of you walk away, laughing at you tripping over. “shit, you okay bab—,” your head snapped up at the slip, “i’m fine. it’s just my lace.” you interrupted as luke handed you his tray.
luke bent down as you clutched onto his plate and your own, he patted his knee as you rested your foot. he made quick work of your laces, double knotted and all. “what’s that? world record time?” you scoffed, “you wish.” luke feigned shock, “no faith jackson, no faith.” it was a running joke, your last name being jackson. even if it wasn’t, percy was your brother. and you didn’t really mind it, your parents weren’t exactly heartwarming.
“i have faith, in your failure.” he clutched his chest, “you’re killing me here.” you smiled, “good.” chris’s jaw was quite literally hung open, before clarisse shut it and chris mentally ran laps at the fact that she’d touched him. “they’re so together.”
“undeniably.”
“what’s undeniable?”
chris jumped back at percy’s sudden intrusion into the conversation, “cmon man.” percy shrugged, “what’re you guys talking about?” clarisse rolled her eyes, “none of your business, learn some manners and stop butting into conversations.” it was percy’s turn to roll his eyes, before they focused on the two of you.
“her laces are double knotted, they were untied two seconds ago, she never double knots.” chris rose his eyebrows at percy’s observant eyes, “luke tied them.” he turned back to the picnic table as clarisse turned to her siblings. leaving percy to sigh, “guess i’m painting after all.”
i mean, he had to keep an eye on you. right?
percy had been painting for a record time of ten minutes, before you’d managed to get annabeth to take him away so you could be with luke. she’d unsurprisingly caught on pretty quickly, especially when the two of you had accidentally worn eachothers shirts to the bonfire.
“what’re you doing here seaweed brain?”
percy visibly jumped at annabeths voice, to luke’s amusement. “you alright there?” percy’s thumbs up was a quick response as the boy turned to annabeth, his face was beat red. “hey, annabeth. what’s up?” his voice crack caused luke to laugh, and for percy to roll his eyes.
“i need someone to train with.”
“that’s nice.”
“i’m choosing you.”
“that’s not nice.”
annabeth crossed her arms, her foot tapping impatiently against the floor. she was waiting for him to give in, and her harsh stare was more than enough for him to run after her. you walked to luke with a smile, he was currently bent over as he dabbed his brush in the paint. “nice ass castellan.” luke grinned at your voice, “thanks, yours is… nice i guess.” you punched his arm.
“i think we should go swimming tomorrow.”
“you think?” your eyes flitted back up to his, before returning to painting.
“yes! thank you. i’ll pack everything don’t worry. we should bring the camera.”
“who said i agreed?”
“you didn’t say no, you didn’t shake your head, nothing indicating towards a no. you said, ‘you think?’ you’re asking me if i really want to go, and i do.”
you couldn’t help the smile that came over your face, dam, luke castellan knew you like the back of his hand. “if you feel like skinny dipping, i’m not against it.”
“castellan!” your voice was shrill as you chastised the man, accidentally flicking paint up at him as your hand waved around, his smirk was undeniably devious.
“oh it’s on.” he took his roller and ran it across your face as you shrieked, “i’m going to murder you!”
#percy jackson x fem!reader#luke castellan x reader#percy jackson x reader#luke castellan x y/n#luke castellan x you#luke castellan fluff#luke castellan imagine#luke castellan x fem!reader#percy jackson and the olympians x reader#percy jackson imagine#percy jackson fic
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“what the fuck do you two think youre doing?”
shit, you think, you didnt notice the balcony door had been slid open until you heard the voice of one of your brothers. you start to pull away from suna’s lips which earns you a small whine from his end, his grip tightens around you and honestly it its quite cute the way he is trying so hard to savour the moment. “come back later, we’re kinda busy.” the boy mutters before trying to move your face away from the distraction so that he can kiss you once more.
“suna you get your hands off of her right now, i dont give a fuck that its your birthday.” osamu pipes up, he looks furious and a little bit disgusted, if it hadnt been for the situation youre in right now you would think its kind of funny.
“samu lay off him, it was a mutual agreement, im just as guilty as he is ok?” that does not seem to help the boys understand, if anything they seem even more angry with you both.
“what the fuck do you mean it was a mutual agreement? are you two hooking up or something? yn he just turned 18 a few hours ago are you forgetting that?” atsumu says, he is rambling on with every excuse he can think of as to why this is “so wrong”, from the corner of your eye you can see suna trying so very hard to hide the grin that is creeping its way onto his face, his hands still all over you despite the fact that you arent alone anymore.
“listen, it was his birthday wish ok? i swear it didn’t mean anything,” sunas grip begins to loosen ever so slightly, “i just though it would get him off my back and get him over his little crush on me.” suna’s facial expression shifts but you choose to ignore it, you have bigger problems to deal with at the moment.
“no this is not ok, how would you feel if me or samu kissed one of your friends because it was their birthday wish?”
“that’s different, why would my friends want to kiss either of you?”
“excuse me? ill have you know that many women want to kiss me! and dont think youre getting off the hook either suna, ill make sure you never-“ you dont even want to hear the threat that is about to come out of his mouth, you just want to get out of this shitty situation.
“boys please, just give us five minutes to talk and then we will be back inside ok? i promise.” your efforts to plead with your brothers finally work.
“…fine,” atsumu mumbles, “but this better be a one time thing. im not gonna deal with you two being all lovey dovey around me.” and with that he lightly tugs on osamu’s sleeve, signalling him to walk back inside and continue the party. he closes the balcony door but not before bringing two fingers up to his eyes and then pointing them at the two of you. its a warning.
you turn back to suna and notice the sad look on his face - he looks kinda cute like this, “so, what do-“.
“did you really mean what you just said to them?” the poor boy looks heartbroken, after waiting three years to finally have a chance with the girl he loves wants the moment is ruined like that? “did you actually just do that so i would leave you alone?” his hands fully leave your body now and he takes a step back to put some distance between you two.
“well i mean sort of yeah… ive never looked at you in any way other than my brothers best friend if im going to be honest, i dont know if thats because of the age difference or what but ive never thought we could be anything.” the look of hurt is prominent on his face no matter how hard he tries to hide it, normally playful banter would have been thrown back and forth between the two of you but rintarou just stays silent, an indication that youve fucked up.
“listen suna i dont know what you want me to say, i wasnt really thinking when i said that to atsumu it just came out. i am 4 years older than you and many people would not approve of us if i decided to give you a chance.”
“who cares? i could treat you so right if you would just let me. i have waited entirely too long for this moment, all im asking for is one date.”
“you said that about the kiss too, one thing is never enough with you is it? you always need more.” a playful smile creeps onto your face which is outshined by the one on sunas, he knows that your smile means that you agree to go on a date with him.
“i really hope you arent fucking with me right now, that would be so cruel, especially on my birthday.”
“oh give the birthday excuse a rest now will you? you dont need to keep on at me you have already got what you want.”
“mhm i absolutely have,” he walks closer and once again wraps his arms around you, placing a hand under your jawbone to make you look up at him, “and i couldnt be happier.” he states as he pulls you in for a passionate kiss once more <3
#ignore it took me over a year to post part two please and thanks#haikyuu#hq x you#haikyuu!!#hq imagines#lav.posts♡#haikyuu suna#suna x reader#suna rintaro#haikyuu x reader#hq suna#suna rintarō#suna rintaro x you#haikyuu imagines#suna x you#haikyuu fluff#suna rintaro haikyuu#suna rintaro imagine#suna rintaro x reader#suna fluff#suna rintarou#suna x y/n#suna rintarou fluff#suna rintaro x y/n#suna rintaro fluff#suna rinatro#suna headcanons#suna hcs#suna rintaro fic#haikyuu drabbles
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— defending you ; remus lupin x black!reader 𐙚
☆
summary: remus lupin knows when to keep his mouth shut, and as do you. until it comes to each other.
warnings: swearing, violence, bullying directed at both remus and reader & slut shaming directed at the reader.
a/n: in love with my protective!marauders so here's this !!! also, snape has his suspicions of remus in this, just to be clear.
check out my masterlist & send in any requests <3
remus lupin knew when to keep his mouth shut. he knew when not to react and how to stay under the radar, but that didn't stop you from not keeping your mouth shut for him.
you knew it was going to be a rough day when your defence against the dark arts professor unexpectedly changed the lesson plan from banshees to lycanthropes.
remus, if he had known prior, would've faked an illness and skipped out, too uncomfortable with the wandering eyes and the permanent fear that someone would find him out.
instead, he sat beside you at your shared desk, having been there for too long now to get up and leave and ultimately cause a scene. more eyes on him was the last thing he needed.
you had kept his hand in yours, feeling it squeeze and tense and shake throughout the entirety of the class, and you were sure all the skin of his bottom lip was bitten clean off from his nerves.
everything was okay for the majority of it. the professor was surprisingly respectful in his delivery and you, james and sirius spent the whole time calling out immediate answers to his questions. the three of you, for obvious reasons, knew everything like the backs of your hands and tried your hardest to avoid any snarky comments from other students for the sake of poor moony, who remained dead silent.
everything was okay until the group of slytherins opened their mouths.
you'd left the classroom with the three boys, grip still tight on remus' hand as he let out a relieved breath, glad to be out of there. you didn't, however, make it that far down the corridor before you heard snape's voice.
"those freaks need to be studied in mental hospitals. that professor had no idea what he was talking about, still calling them humans. they're monsters, that's what they are-"
remus tensed beside you at his words and sighed as he felt the inevitable coming on. the four of you stopped in your tracks, and in no less than a few seconds you'd whipped around and had your wand pointed directly at snape.
"i think it's you that has no idea what you're talking about, right severus?" you challenged.
james stood protectively beside you, ready to jump in if you needed him and sirius stood just behind, arms folded and a proud smirk on his face.
"i think the lady asked you a question, snivellus," james piped up, sporting a similar smirk to your brother as he raised his hands in mock defence. "i'd answer her if i were you."
malfoy snickered behind snape, not knowing the true intent behind his words as the latter stared back at you, head tilted with a gross sort of grin as he looked between you and remus. "did my words hit a little close to home, black?"
remus just sighed again, head bowed in slight humiliation as the rest of you tensed up.
"fuck you, snape, i swear to merlin-" you seethed, grip on your wand incredibly tight as you started towards him before you felt a gentle hand on your forearm pulling you back.
"it's not worth it," remus spoke softly into your ear, his voice conveying more hurt than he would've liked.
you didn't lower your wand, still breathing heavily as you remained in place. snape was still grinning at you and it took everything in you not to hex him into oblivion.
james moved to stand in front of you to get your attention and also put some distance between you and snape. "we'll get him later, yeah? i swear."
"trust us, we have a plan," sirius clamped a hand down on your shoulder, his signature smirk returning as the three of them pulled you away.
true to their word, the marauders had pulled of a series of pranks on snape that left him too terrified and humiliated to even leave his dorm, the last two turning his hair semi-permanently pink and breaking him out head to toe in bubbling warts.
remus had seemingly gotten over what was said by the end of week (after two or three vulnerable moments in the safety of your arms), and snape hadn't left the slytherin common room in days.
it was the following saturday afternoon, and the five of you were scattered about by the fountain in the courtyard. you, remus and peter were studying for the upcoming charms exam whilst james and sirius... pretended to.
remus was just about to test you on your recently read chapter when a shout from across the courtyard rudely interrupted.
"oi, gryffindors!"
"here we go," james spoke proudly, smirking to himself as he pushed himself up off the ground. "and what is it you want on this fine afternoon, mulciber?"
the slytherin boy in question stalked over to your group, malfoy and avery in tow. "did a fine number on our snape there, didn't you?" he spat in james' face, sizing him up.
the rest of you stood up at that, sirius particularly fast as he threw an arm around james and flashed mulciber an innocent grin before scrunching up his face in disgust. "oh mate, you might wanna get your mouth cleaned out before getting too close to my james here."
you snorted out a laugh at your brother and mulciber sneered, shoving him away by the shoulders. "you keep quiet, black. you think you have any right talking to me?"
"snape got what he deserved," you spoke up, narrowing your eyes at the group of boys as you got between him and sirius. "you should teach your friend to keep his big nose out of where it doesn't belong."
avery barked out a laugh, your attention turning to him as he joined mulciber's side. "you're funny, little black. all bark and no bite, aren't you?"
peter stood back, eyes wide in fear. remus, remaining his usually calm self, tensed up and took a step closer to you when avery jabbed his finger into your chest, only for it to be slapped away by sirius with an angry "don't fucking touch her".
"alright, avery. that's enough," remus spoke up, his voice firm as he rested his hand on your lower back.
avery did nothing but laugh again, not taking his eyes off of you. "you're nothing but the gryffindors' little slut, aren't you?"
sirius suddenly shoved him back with an angry force just as remus stepped in front of you, his voice scarily calm as he spoke. "the fuck did you just say?"
"you heard me," avery shrugged, clearly unfazed by sirius' actions as his smirk grew even more. "i bet she gets passed around you all like the little whore she is. is she good?"
you stumbled back into peter in shock, his words ringing through your ears as the blonde boy wrapped an arm around you protectively.
"if you know what's good for you, avery, you'll shut your fucking mouth," remus seethed, his eyes never leaving avery's face as he slowly moved closer towards him.
the boy didn't answer him and instead turned his attention back to sirius as he lowered his voice, sneering at him evilly. "i bet you join in on the action too, don't you? some sick fantasy you blood traitors like to indulge in, huh? regulus is the only worthy one out of you three, you ever invite him to join?"
sirius exploded in a fit of rage and james grabbed him as he lunged towards the slytherin, holding him back before he'd kill the guy. "who the fuck do you think you are, avery?! i swear, you're so fucking dead!"
"you'll be done with her soon enough," malfoy joined, shrugging his shoulders casually as he sneered at remus, stalking towards him. "maybe then you'll let us have a go, yeah? she was meant to be one of us, after all. she may be a blood traitor but she's hot as-"
a sickening crunch interrupted him as remus sent his fist reeling directly at his nose, nothing but pure rage seeping through his veins as he sent punch after punch to avery's face.
"remus!"
james and sirius watched in shock for a moment (both quite frankly more than happy to let remus beat him to a pulp, and in fact cheered him on for the first two or three hits) before your pleading voice snapped them out of it. they each grabbed one of remus' arms and narrowly avoided getting an elbow to the face as they dragged him off of the half-unconscious boy.
"you even look at her again and i swear to godric you'll be spending the rest of your lives in the hospital wing."
the two other boys scrambled to grab avery and ran off towards the castle, terrified of remus' sudden outburst.
"alright, show's over you fuckers!" sirius called out to the relatively big crowd that had formed around you all, who reluctantly dispersed out in different directions. "give us some bloody space!"
"well that felt good," remus chuckled quietly as he shook his hand a few times.
you just stared at him with wide eyes and your mouth dropped open slightly. "you.. you just-"
"fuckin' hell, moony that was bloody brilliant!" james broke out into a cheer, him and sirius praising him and re-enacting just how brilliant it was as remus laughed quietly again before turning to you.
he gently took you from peter's grip and raised his eyebrows as he looked down at you, going back to his usual gentleness as he scanned your features worriedly. "are you alright, darling?"
you didn't quite know what to say, looking up at him slightly starstruck as you just nodded your head and stumbled over your words. "yeah, i- yeah."
he gave you a gentle smile and cupped your face with his non-bloody hand before leaning down for a kiss, conveying all his usual love and softness into it as if he didn't just completely wreck avery's face.
the sounds of gagging filled your ears and you broke away from remus with a soft laugh at james and sirius' antics.
"don't forget that's my sister, moony! merlin, what that fucker said about us is going to haunt me forever."
#imagine#fluff#hurt/comfort#marauders x reader#james potter x reader#sirius black x reader#remus lupin x reader#marauders imagines#platonic!marauders#marauders era#one shot#sirius black x sister!reader
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✶ 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.
#leon kennedy#resident evil 4#resident evil#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy x you#leon kennedy fluff#leon s kennedy#leon scott kennedy#re4r leon#re4 remake#leon kennedy x y/n#leon kennedy oneshot#fluff#oneshot#resident evil fluff#nurse!reader#nurse!reader x leon kennedy#post re4r
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(🎞️) ... hit the road docu.<> catch your breath for a moment, and...
masterlist | cyana's masterlist
word count: 1k tw: sick symptoms, fever italics are interviews cut between scenes + english a/n: i CANNOT stand watching chan being sick guys. the whole ep was so hard to watch i just wanted to wrap him up and get him better ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎
Every time Dino coughed, Cyana could feel her heart clench, crumble and tear. Her twin maknae resided somewhere deep inside her soul, making it almost unbearable to see him ill. Filled with the overwhelming sense of love and anguish, she stood up slightly from her seat to face him.
“Chan.” She pushed back his hair, pressing the back of her hand against his feverish forehead. “I love you.”
He blinked up at her from where he sat, a hand reaching up to steady her by her waist. The tour bus rolled on, bumping slightly across the uneven roads of Mexico. “So suddenly?” He asked, mouth parted at the surprise confession.
She sat back down, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Let’s not talk about it.”
He hummed, turning his head away from her to let out another violent cough, his body shaking like a leaf in the process. “I love you too.”
Cyana hated how feeble and weightless he felt, feeling him shiver against her cheek. She knew how excited he had been to visit Mexico, they had stayed up late scouring the city for things to visit, take pictures of, to eat. Those plans were long gone now, as Cyana knew Dino could barely walk, let alone go out for a day trip.
Pulling out her phone and swiping to her chats with Joshua, she typed out a message, moving as little as possible as to not disturb the boy - who was now laying his head on her shoulder, slumped in his seat.
🐰: can we grab soup at the restaurant near our hotel tgt later for chan 🦌: sure! I need to stretch my legs 😀 🦌: is chan feeling better?
She glanced at the sleeping boy, each breath coming from his clogged nose tickling the side of her neck. Moving his hair gently out of his eyes, she pressed her fingertips against his forehead once again, pouting when they came back scalding.
🐰: no 😢 🐰: he’s got a fever 🐰: someone tell him he can’t perform ❗
Shutting her phone off, she let out a deep sigh. She loved touring, getting to travel the world with her best friends while spending their nights performing for fans - except for when it came at the consequence of seeing her friends sick and in pain.
“If you pass out right now I’m not catching you!”
Cyana chased after Dino, running across the stage and jumping over the puddles of streamers and confetti.
Raising her mic to her lips, she yelled out after him. “If you fall I swear I won’t protect you from Coups!”
The crowd around them roared at the interaction.
The boy only turned, flashing a bright grin in her direction as he continued sprinting, waving at fans along the barricade.
Cyana paused to catch her breath, shaking her head at his antics. It was a sheer miracle he was older than her, even if it was for less than a year. Feeling a presence from next to her, she smiled when she turned and saw Vernon, an amused expression across his face.
“He’s sick and he’s still running like a lunatic.” She complained, pointing at Dino, who had somehow found himself in a whole nother section already.
“He’s just trying to make up for his lack of stage presence.” Vernon told her, reaching a hand out to remove pieces of confetti that had found its way into her hair. “Even though we all tell him he does well every time.”
“It’s a mental thing.” She added, remembering the amount of late night conversations the two had shared about Dino’s self-criticizing problem. Eyes roaming the stage for him, she sighed upon seeing him climb onto the scooter, knowing he was going to hurt himself sooner or later - with the terrible balance he had while sick - “I should probably go-” She gestured at the catastrophe about to happen.
Vernon hummed, hooking her arm with his. “I’ll come with you.”
“Dino has a problem with giving too much onstage and then believing he didn’t give enough.” Cyana sighed as she glanced to the side, eyes locking with Dino's, who was listening from behind the camera. She paled. “Why didn’t you tell me he’d be here for my interview?” She whined, sending accusatory glances at the interviewer. “I’m going to have to tone it down now.”
It was nearing 2am and Cyana was sure she wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight. Taking care of a sick Dino was like taking care of a sick toddler, as she watched him roll around in bed, restless from not going out all day. She had just got him to choke down his meds, explaining to deaf ears that he needed the pills to get better.
“You need to sleep, Dino-yah.” She chided, getting up from her own bed to gently push him down.
He let out a huff. “I’ll just wake up suffocating in the middle of the night either way.” He complained, having had that experience for the past few nights, his stuffy nose waking both him and Cyana up during ungodly hours of the night.
“Maybe you should go to the hospital.” She reached over for her phone, unplugging it from the charger. “Let me text manager-oppa.”
“No!” His reply was instant, tackling her down to grab the phone from her hand. “I’ll sleep. Don’t want to go to the hospital again.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s like the sickness takes away ten years of your age. If you told me this was a giant 11 year old, I’d believe you.”
Dino frowned, offended. “I’m sick. You’re really not supposed to be mean to sick people.”
“I’m calling Mingyu over.” She declared, pushing him off her and getting up.
“No!” He cried out, eyes wide at the threat. The last time Mingyu had 'taken care' of Dino, he had swaddled the boy in blankets and force-fed him some kind of Chinese herbal medicine from Minghao's mother. Dino shuddered at the memory. “I swear I’ll leak your ugly photos on Weverse if you do that.”
Mouth agape, Cyana whirled back around to face him, Mingyu forgotten. “Lee Chan! You wouldn’t dare-”
“I would!” His eyes shone with mischief, and Cyana felt a wave of relief upon seeing his happy glow. He had spent the better half of this week sulking, face gloomy and body wracked with pain.
“Okay, okay.” She relented, sitting back down on her bed. “I won’t call Mingyu. Delete the photos you have of me.”
“But what would I giggle at whenever I’m sad?” He complained, smiling wide at her disgusted expression.
“Perv.”
“Excuse me?”
Their loud voices bickering echoed past their walls, flowing into the nearby rooms as the other members listened in, thoroughly entertained and happy Dino was feeling better enough to spar with Cyana.
#seventeen imagines#svt#seventeen ot13#svt imagines#seventeen#svt fluff#idol oc#seventeen 14th member#seventeen scenarios#seventeen fic#seventeen documentary#svt reactions#svt fanfic#svt fic#svt scenarios#idolverse#idol fic#female idol#cyanawritings#seventeen hit the road#hit the road#dino x oc
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like a phoenix. (2.7k words)
what if phoenix- instead of being virtually indestructible, actually wasnt? what if he was actually incredibly prone to death, but he just… never stayed dead?
(trigger warning for a multitude of causes of deaths!! some in detail and some not. other tw’s include implied suicide attempts, implied child neglect, derealisation and thinking one is already dead. be warned! take care of yourself!)
at 9, he wakes in his bed after having a high fever and his mom ships him off to school hours after it began. he finds it odd, because last he’d checked his temperature (that morning, when he told his mom he felt like he was going to die and his mom had left to go run errands, barely sparing him a glance), his temperature had been at 107 degrees farenheit. that was definitely high, but after he slipped into unconsciousness, writhing and restless and in a lot of pain, he woke up to his mother checking his temperature and saying he was fine to head off to school. he didnt feel fine, but his temperature had gone down significantly enough that his mother felt like he had no excuse not to go. hes glad he went to school though, even as he shivered, sneezed and sniffled, because there he found a friend in a boy with a funny bowtie and a heart made of gold.
he crunches and chokes on glass shards and poison but doesnt die. the doctors dont find anything wrong with him, aside from feeling a bit ill, so he goes back into the courtroom and dollie is convicted of murder. hes happy his roommate is away for some theatre troupe thing, because the sickness eventually catches up to him and he throws up shards of glass, acid and blood. it cuts into his throat and burns his eyes and he swears, he swears he dies right then and there, freezing and shaking and everything hurts. but when he wakes up hours later, the sun having set and the only light source in his dingy dormroom the moon outside, hes amazed to not feel sick anymore. but the puddle of sludge is drying beside his face and he considers himself lucky, or maybe unlucky, because unlike dahlia’s other victims, he actually lives to tell the tale.
phoenix arrives early to the office, having been in the public library nearby reading a book on reincarnation. he enters the office and promptly has his skull caved into his brain. he does not see his assailant, but when he wakes, theres an oddly dressed girl crying, crouched over his boss’ cold body. he doesn’t think about the drying blood in the back of his head, or how cold mia’s body is (and why he can even tell, considering the fact he has not touched her corpse) or the chapter in the book he’d been reading that talked about quantum immortality— all he thinks of is proving maya fey’s innocence.
as it turns out, being constantly anxious and terrified of mortal peril actually has its perks. maybe the fact he’s a lawyer whose only ever dealt with homicide cases definitely wasn’t benefiting his mental wellbeing either. in any case, its that fear of literally everything and constant feeling of impending doom that makes his body react before his mind does. taser! danger! maya! so, he gets tasered. and it fucking HURTS, but he feels more relieved than frightened as the searing pain shoots through him, because he’d been able to push maya away before von karma got to them both. wasnt a symptom of death by electrocution an overwhelming feeling of helplessness and imminent death? maybe he was going crazy. when he comes back though, its to his head in the lap of a crying spirit medium, so maybe a psychotic break isnt too bad if it means everyone else gets to escape with no damage to their own psyche.
its only after she stops screaming in terror- oh my god, nicks a zombie!! kyahh!!!- and nearly beating him with her bulky magatama necklace, that she tells him what she saw. (“like, there was a sudden bright light and then i realised it was coming from you! but when i tried to touch your glowing skin,” she says it like its the most absurd thing she’d ever seen, which really said something considering the fact she was from a family of people who could channelthe dead “it was HOT! like, japanifornia summer hot! blazing! i was only able to check your pulse after you cooled down a bit…”). maybe its this that makes him less alarmed by the way his skin glowed in the dark of his trashed bedroom, after drinking himself to death following a certain phone call from a terribly sad, newly bossless detective. he doesnt think he can bear the taste alcohol ever again, after that.
maybe the number of times he’s died of blunt force trauma to the head should be a cause for concern, even more so when he wakes up without any of his memories. he’s terrified, and doesnt even knows who he is, until he does, and is able to prove maggey byrde innocent. fun times! he should probably watch out to make sure his next death wasn’t to the head, lest he be as mentally impaired as a number of people liked to say he was… (and he should probably also be concerned by the fact he was already thinking of the next time he’d die, but ah well, blame it on the concussion).
as it turns out, getting whipped to death was not on his list of ways he thought he’d die next, but life liked to mess with him like that, it seemed. still, dragging his delirious self to the bathroom of his office to try and save the infected wounds from killing him wasn’t all that fun, and he’s immediately reminded of his first death, slow and painful, alone and scared of what came next. he feels bad for feeling relieved when maya shows up and screams upon seeing the state he and the bathroom (that’d he’d accidentally trashed when his legs gave out after he opened the door, a number of bottles fallen to the floor beside him) were in. he stops her from calling the police- there was no point, he didn’t have much time left. but when she asks what she could do, he goes quiet. (…just… stay here? i dont- he coughs up a distinctly red shade of spit. maya makes a noise between a choked cry and a whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck. but phoenix was shivering worse now, and hugs himself tigher. i dont want to die alone.) so she stays with him, on the cold bathroom floor, as his labored breathing eventually slows. when he awakens, he finds maya asleep leaning against him, and promises to get her burgers as a thank you.
who knew death by a monkey throwing a giant bronze bust of max galactica at you could happen? at this point, he’s almost glad he was basically immortal, because there was no way in hell he’d allow his autopsy report to say ‘cause of death: monkey manslaughter’! edgeworth would laugh himself to tears if he saw! not that he could see. or cry, because he was dead. and not coming back. damn.
so edgeworth isnt dead! yippee? he thought it was his thing to get reanimated after death, not edgeworths. when he saw him, standing in the middle of the police department, alive and breathing and very much not dead, he nearly started laughing. he must’ve finally gone insane! curse the amount of times he’d died of brain related injuries, not that he knew how many of them there were at this point. he might actually have laughed a bit, because pearls was looking at him like he was losing it (he was) but he couldnt really bring himself to care as he had more pressing issues at hand, like saving his best friend from a crazy serial killer holding her hostage, and punching his other best friend in the face for faking his own death (because really, dying was his thing! not edgeworths!). and if he pulls edgeworth into a hug immediately after, throwing caution in the wind (you only live once, right?), the warmth- a normal, human temperature, unlike his burning hot when he came back from death- is enough to stabilise his harried mind for just a moment, before he has to return to his guilty client and his hopeless situation.
by some crazy turn of events, he actually doesnt die from having boiling hot coffee thrown at his face. it burns, and maya screams when she sees the boils on his face after that first trial with godot, but after throwing a wet towel over his face and putting him in timeout on the sofa for 12-hours, the burns go away as if they were never there. he fell asleep at some point, and after alot of back and forth debate, they eventually came to the conclusion that 1. his body heat rising to burning levels when he dies must have caused his body has to grow immune to heat and 2. since sleep was like a ‘temporary death’, a ‘temporary wound’ would just heal like it did when he died of normal wounds, right? he didn’t want to dwell on it too much, because maya was looking at him like she wanted to test that theory for real, so he quickly changes topics before things got out of hand.
so their theory on the immunity to heat thing was correct! …almost. larry had tried to stop him, but it was fire and he was basically immune to heat, right? nope! his skin burned and boiled but he didn’t die as he tried to run across the burning bridge. even so, nothing hurt more than falling through one of the burnt planks and slamming onto the surface of the freezing cold rushing stream below. luckily the death was near immediate, but unfortunately he came to while in the water still, so he swallowed a sizeable amount of water before paramedics arrived. he hears the doctors find his survival miraculous, despite the scorching hot fever he was now under. he blacks out again, and comes to in the hospital, feeling absolutely terrible.
the horribleness feels familiar though, and when edgeworth walks in, he realises what it must be, when the man presses the back of his hand to his temple and quickly pulls his hand away as if burned. (oh. he thinks, tearing up despite himself. it must be the fever. i’m going to die like this again.) his internal monologue must’ve been external though, because edgeworth balks (‘again?!’). but phoenix was crying in hiccups and sobs, feeling terrible and like he was nine years old again, wishing his mother were there to nurse him back to health like she’d never done before. he faintly hears edgeworth sitting down on his bed and reaches out, gripping the mans waist like it was a lifeline. in a sense, it was. “don’t go.” he whispers, gripping the man tighter like he’d disappear into thin air (again). “please, please don’t go.” in his delirium, he nearly wails in despair when he feels edgeworth move, but he was only moving to readjust himself so he’s lying next to him, their bodies so close that it must burn, but the only sign edgeworth shows that he’s in pain is a wince and the crease of his brow. he allows himself to be cried on, curling a protective arm over phoenix’s burning body. “i- i dont know what’s going on, wright, but i’m not, i’m not going anywhere, okay?” he seems to be attempting exasperation, but it comes out terrified and concerned, but phoenix is fading quickly, so it might just be his waning mind making up things that don’t exist. “i am terrified. your body is life threateningly hot and— wright? wright!”
he comes to with nurses surrounding him, and a distressed edgeworth swearing on his life that that man was dead, his body was seizing and on fire and- and his heart stopped beating! but phoenix couldn’t dwell on it, because the mention of fire immediately brought him back to why he was in the hospital at all. and plus, it gave him the chance to use his best friends sensitive treatment of him afterwards to convince him to play defense attorney, so that was nice. still, he feels like he dies when he finds out dahlia had actually been iris and that godot was actually his dead mentors apparently not dead boyfriend. oh, and he was also a murderer. he also feels like he dies when dahlia- actual, serial killer and dead by execution dahlia, was exorcised from maya’s body. but that had more to do with his soul leaving his body in terror rather than actually dying, so that was a nice change of pace… probably.
later, he’d had to have a conversation with edgeworth to give him an explanation on just what the hell he’d witnessed in that hospital room. although, apparently his re-aliving symptoms must’ve started becoming more dramatic, because miles describes it as his whole body glowing as bright as the sun, and then his eyes opening for a moment to reveal nothing but white, glowing eyeballs with no irises. phoenix has to convince him to still board his flight the day after, that he was okay… probably. maybe not safe, but definitely okay. (still, edgeworth stays the night at his, and they hold eachother close, basking in the shared warmth of two alive bodies in heat equilibrium, listening to eachothers breathing and rhythmic heartbeats, no signs of impending mortality in sight, save for, what did the french call it? la petite morte? most of all, phoenix basks in the promise miles makes to him. “i’m not going anywhere,” he repeats, over and over like he was trying to convince himself as much as he was phoenix. “i’m not going anywhere, i promise.”)
and when he loses his badge, he thinks he really does die, permanent and definitively. he feels far away from his body when the forger is called to the witness stand. feels like a ghost when the council walks out the room and past him, making no eye contact and answering the unanswered question on the tip of his tongue. feels his life crumble to pieces when a blonde man with a pleasent, almost saintly smile gives him the most maddeningly sympathetic look and tells him he is sorry for his loss, as if there really was someone dead. only, the only one dead must’ve been him, because there was no one else there who had just lost their life. he couldn’t even hear himself as he laughed, which turned into sobs, as he excused himself and fleed to his bicycle. not one pedestrian bats an eye at the state he is in, so he must really be a ghost, cycling past speeding cars and large trucks and buses as if it couldn’t kill him, because he wasn’t there, he was already dead. when he reaches his office, freezing and quiet and dreadfully void of any human life, he passes by the window his boss had died at and sees his reflection, unkempt and red faced and badgeless. he wants to scream, but he couldn’t because no one would hear a ghost scream, so instead he just sits down in the spot his mentor had lost her life in, and mourns.
when two weeks later a warm, incredible alive life falls into his hands in the shape of a little girl with a too big tophat and a joy for being alive that he’d lost years ago, well, maybe he is glad that he couldn’t die for real, if only to be able to wake up to that beaming grin as his little girl tries to pull her daddy out of bed because she’d made breakfast, and it only smells burnt because of the magic something she’d added as a special ingredient. he eats it, char and all, because he can’t taste the burnt-ness of it anyway, but he could taste the love and care put into it, and that was more than enough to take his mind away readying himself for his next death. instead, he thinks of his daughter’s next performance at the wonder bar, and their next trip to kurain, and miles’ next visit. for once, he thinks of living.
#this was supposed to be an idea in bullet point form but it morphed into a fic#maybe i’ll repost this on ao3 with more detail#i dunno how i didnt realise how quickly this’d become angsty. tbh i thought itd be really funny if maya was like ‘NICK dont die on the SOFA#THE NEXT EPISODE OF NICKEL SAMURAI IS ABOUT TO COME ON AND YOUR BODY IS TOO WARM FOR ME TO ENJOY IT’#narumitsu#ace attorney#aa#phoenix wright#miles edgeworth#maya fey#mia fey#godot#dahlia hawthorne#diego armando#angst#fanfiction#fanfic prompt#actual phoenix phoenix wright#wrightworth#mitsunaru#headcanon#naruhodo ryuichi#mitsurugi reiji#ayasato mayoi#gyakuten saiban#ace attorney trials and tribulations#ace attorney justice for all#trucy wright#pearl fey#my post
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Lia wälti x sick reader , reader comes down with a stomach bug on the coach home from an away game. Wally looks after her on the journey home and then the weekend off they have together
Thank you for this request! Hope this is what you wanted.
Warnings: swearing.
Lia Walti x sick reader!:
An unwell afternoon.
Sunday, 3rd November, 13:45pm.
The team was sorrowful and content with the draw against Manchester United. They didn’t win but they didn’t lose. The locker room bounced with talks on how the team played so good.
Y/n was sat down at the bench that is infront of her cubby. Her head in her hands, leaning towards. Her hands covering her ears as an slight ringing noise echoed through each ear.
Y/n came off the bench at the 76th minute. She told Renee she couldn’t play much but didn’t tell anyone else. In the morning, Y/n felt ill, ill like an headache and a slight fever. She didn’t want anyone to worry and still wanted to play today, but she knew she couldn’t play the full 90 minutes. Didn’t want to push herself too much to make it worse.
The girls knew something was wrong, especially her girlfriend, Lia. When Y/n came onto the pitch her normal behaviour that she has on the pitch seemed to fade a lot during game. You can say Lia is definitely concerned. Lia hasn’t took her eyes off Y/n ever since the full time whistle blew.
Her cubby in across from her girlfriend’s. Steph Catley, trying to strike up a conversation with her but Lia paying no attention to it. Her eyes strongly on Y/n.
“Lia…Lia?” Steph says, shaking Lia’s shoulder breaking Lia out of her trance.
“You okay?”
“Yeah… fine it’s just- didn’t Y/n seem a little out of it today?” Lia asks, her eyes finally ripping away from her girlfriend to the Australian captain.
“Yeah, but every player has an off game, Wally.” Steph tells her, her hand resting on Lia’s shoulder in a comfort way.
“Yeah, I guess. Though, look at her. She’s not herself at all!” Lia whispers, her hand motioning to Y/n who still has her head in her hands.
“I guess.” Steph says, shrugging her shoulders. “Go and talk to her, then.”
Lia immediately jumped up from her seat. Carefully waking to Y/n, sitting down next to her. Y/n hearing someone sit down next to her, her head pops up turning to meet a worried but steady smile from her girlfriend.
Lia immediately sees discomfort in Y/n’s eyes. “Babe, what’s wrong. And before you say nothing, I know it’s nothing.”
Y/n chuckles, knowing straight well that Lia can see right through her. “Just a little poorly, that’s all.”
Lia immediately puts the back of her hand on Y/n forehead. “Jesus, Y/n your burning up.”
“I did just play 15 minutes of football-“ Y/n says, shrugging her shoulders.
“No, no, you have a fever.” Lia states quite loudly then Y/n wanted her too.
Kim, the captain hears this. “Wait, you do? And you played football? Y/n, you can’t do that-“
“Shut up! You’re making my fucking head worse!” Y/n shouts, but then immediately regrets it. “Sorry, sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled.”
Lia rubs her girlfriend’s shoulder whispers softly in her ear. “It’s okay. Let’s head home now, okay?”
Y/n nods her head, cuddling into Lia. Renee comes over after hearing this commotion. “Hey, Y/n my best bet for you is to rest up, okay? Don’t worry about next training session.”
Y/n nods her head, mumbling an thank you. Renee calls everyone that the bus back will be leaving soon and that they all should get ready.
Lia grabs all of Y/n’s stuff. Y/n tried to help pick things off but was immediately turned away from Lia.
Everyone walks onto the bus. Lia immediately gives Y/n the window seat. Seating down. Caitlin and Katie the opposite to them, talking away to each other.
Y/n rests her head against the window. Lia kisses her on the head. “Go to sleep, darling.”
“Mkay.” Y/n mumbles, now resting her head on her girlfriend shoulder, who lets her do so.
Soon Y/n and Lia arrived back to there house after an hour later. Going to the emirates then to home.
Lia was in the shower while Y/n was cuddled up in bed on her phone just scrolling through. The door to the bathroom opens, Lia comes out in just a towel. In which Y/n would whistle too but her energy being drained from the match and being sick.
Lia dresses into her pyjamas, carefully entering the bed next to Y/n. Then softly grabbing her phone out of her hands.
“Hey-?”
“You will get an even more headache.”
Y/n pouts, before sighing knowing Lia will easily win she gets comfortable in bed.
Lia shakes her head, smiling. She kisses her girlfriend on her head turning off their lamp. “You wanna chill and watch movies together tomorrow?”
“That sounds nice.”
“It’s a plan.”
#arsenal women#arsenal#lia wälti#lia walti#steph catley#kim little#woso x reader#woso community#woso fanfics#woso soccer#woso#woso imagine#woso one shot#lia wälti x reader
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