#CRAMPING EVERY LITTLE DETAILS | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fandoms-x-reader · 3 days

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Period Cramps

Requested By: @olivia-willo-w

Summary: The brothers find out (thanks to Satan) what a period is and try to help you through yours. The Seven Demon Brothers x Reader Word Count: 2,257

Periods are something that has become so normalized in the human world.

It's a natural thing that happens to women and it shouldn’t be something to be embarrassed about.

But, in the Devildom, the only other human you had was a male.

There was no one down there who would understand the process your body goes through once a month.

And that made it hard to talk about it.

You figured it would just be easier to keep them in the dark rather than try and explain it.

But, sometimes when you're on your period, it had a mind of its own.

You were having a bad cramp while at dinner with the brothers and you did your best to hide your pain.

But, Satan could tell you were in pain and he was worried about you. Not to mention, he couldn’t pass up an opportunity to show his brothers how smart he was.

See, Satan was your resident human expert.

When he found out that a human was coming to live with him and his brothers, he read every book he could find about humans and when he was done with those, he grabbed all of the specific books about females.

He wanted to know everything he could before you got down there.

So, when you were having your period in the Devildom, Satan immediately knew what was happening and was well-versed in the subject.

You had all of the tell-tale signs - mood swings, food cravings, headaches, bloating.

Whatever symptom you had, it pointed to it being your time of the month.

There was a conversation already going on amongst his brothers, but Satan ignored it in favor of asking you, “Are you on your period?”

Everyone froze in place at Satan’s question and your face burned a bright red as all of the attention was on you. Who just asks a personal question like that?!

Satan didn’t mean any disrespect. The way it was presented to him in the books was as a natural, common thing that all women go through. So he didn’t you would have any reason to be embarrassed about it.

And maybe if he had approached you about it on his own, things would have been different. But he just blurted the question out…in front of everyone…in the middle of dinner.

Before you could even respond, Mammon asked, “What’s a period?” And your cheeks felt even hotter as you began to slowly sink down in your chair, wishing you could disappear from this conversation.

“You don’t know?” Asmo asked with a glint in his eyes. Of course, the Avatar of Lust would know what a period is. Considering the amount of human women he had probably met you were sure he was as knowledgeable as Satan was about it.

But there was no way the fourth-born would allow his little brother to take his thunder. “Allow me to explain,” Satan stated.

And for the next few torturous minutes, you had to uncomfortably sit there as Satan explained what a period was in vivid detail.

You watched the brothers’ faces go through a whirlwind of reactions until they were all left sitting there speechless and somewhat bothered.

“Well?” Lucifer’s question broke the silence and you turned to face the eldest. He was making eye contact with you and he continued to ask, “Are you?”

“Is that why you look like you’re in pain?” Belphie asked. “Wait, do periods hurt?” Beel questioned in response.

“Do all female normies go through that?” Levi questioned, his cheeks threatening to burn as bright as yours at the question.

Your cramps weren’t backing down and you were feeling more than overwhelmed at the sudden bombardment and soon everything felt like it was too much.

“I think I’ll skip dinner tonight,” you stated plainly before abruptly getting up from the table and making your way to the bedroom.

The brothers watched you leave, confused and worried about you. Was it something they said? Or was it because you weren’t feeling well?

Lucifer was in a state of surprise when you left the dining room table.

He knew about periods, and he knew it was something female humans experienced.

But, it wasn’t something he had prepared for.

In all of the things that he had done and gathered to ensure you would have everything you need for your stay in the Devildom, that had somehow slipped his mind.

It took him a moment to gather his bearings before going to check on you.

He showed up to your room with a glass of water and medicine to help with your cramps.

He gave you a small smile when you gratefully took the medicine and allowed him in your room.

He looked a little lost, unsure of how exactly to help you. But, if you tell him what you need, he will move heaven and earth to make sure you get it.

You were his responsibility after all. He couldn’t disappoint Diavolo by allowing you to be in pain. And he couldn’t trust his brothers to do a good enough job.

Or maybe - just maybe - he wanted to be the one who took care of you.

Either way, he won’t leave your side for the rest of the night, and if you show any sign of discomfort, he’ll find a way to soothe you.

Mammon was still freaking out about all of the information he had obtained that night.

Periods sounded awful and he couldn’t believe that it was something that happened to female humans - every month.

Mammon was trying to process everything when you left the table and that’s when his mind went from his own train of thought to you.

From all of the facts he was told, one stood out more than the others - you were in pain.

And Mammon was supposed to protect you, so he couldn’t have that.

He excused himself from the dinner table as well before quickly doing a search on his D.D.D. to find out ways to help you.

About a half an hour later, Mammon showed up at your bedroom door, his arms full of miscellaneous objects.

He had everything he could think of - a heating pad, pain medicine, chocolate, and your favorite snacks.

He wasn’t sure what out of those items would help, but he hoped at least one of them would.

He also offered to stay in your room that night and watch a movie with you, which inevitably ended in you falling asleep in his arms, while he held you close.

Mammon is just happy that you felt safe enough with him to let him help you when you’re in this vulnerable stage.

It is a known fact that Levi panics in intense situations.

And you abruptly leaving the dinner table was something he would classify as an intense situation.

He didn't necessarily understand all of the intricacies of your period, but he did know that he wanted to help.

Levi didn't have any idea where to start, so he went to his default of bringing videogames and DVDs to your room.

You bit back a chuckle as you opened the door and saw Levi struggling to hold everything he brought.

You let him inside, grateful of the fact that he was trying and Levi quickly got to work setting up yours and his favorite game.

The fun that you were having with Levi was enough to distract you from the pain of your period cramps.

But that didn't stop him from checking in - quite often - and asking if you were alright.

Levi offered to get you food, something to drink, medicine - anything you would need.

And if you did ask him for something, he moved faster than you'd ever seen to get it back to you promptly.

He may not be an expert in what was going on with you, but he would do just as good of a job as any of the others when it came to comforting you.

As stated, Satan was an expert on everything to do with your period before you even got it.

He didn't need to search anything up or refer to his books.

He figured this would happen sooner rather than later and he was prepared for it.

Like Mammon, Satan gets everything you need. But, unlike Mammon, it’s all already prepared in an emergency kit that he’s kept in his room.

Satan grabbed the bag and went to your room in a matter of moments.

When you opened the door, Satan offered you a brief apology about the events that occurred at dinner. He felt guilty about putting you on the spot like that.

But, he offered to make it up to you by helping relieve your pain.

When you allowed him in, Satan was as strict as a doctor, almost in an overbearing way.

He gave you the medicine to take and instructed you to lay in a way that allowed for the ideal positioning of the heating pad.

And even if it wasn’t the way you wanted to lay, when the heating pad started working, you were thankful for Satan’s expertise.

He stayed with you for the rest of the night, sitting next to you and gently running his fingers through your hair as he read one of your favorite books to you.

It ends up being much more comforting than you would have expected from the Avatar of Wrath.

Asmo may not be like Satan or Lucifer in knowing all about a human period.

But he has had his fair share of experience with it.

And he’s a pro at rest and relaxation.

Asmo let you calm down in your room for a little bit while he set things up in own room.

He was sure you were upset at all of them for bombarding you at dinner like that.

But, he was hoping that you would let him help you anyway.

When he was ready, he asked you to join him in his room, and after promising he wouldn’t try anything risque, you agreed to go.

When you got to his room, you were met with an overwhelming aroma of essential oils and the sound of soft music playing.

The lights were dimmed so that the room was bright enough to see, but dark enough to relax.

Under normal circumstances, you would have assumed that Asmo was trying to come on to you, but he had promised he just wanted to help.

He led you to his bed and asked for permission to give you a massage.

Being the Avatar of Lust, Asmo’s knows the human body very well, and he knew every technique and every spot that needed to relax, and you felt all of your tension release and your cramps subside.

Asmo had a small smile on his face as you slowly drifted off after feeling relaxed enough.

He would always be there to help pamper you whenever you needed it.

Beel was a bit confused when you left the table.

He didn’t really understand the gravity of the situation.

And so, playing to his kind and innocent nature, Beel thought something was wrong with the dinner.

He quietly finished the food on his plate before disappearing from the House of Lamentation.

When he came back, he went directly to your room with bags full of all of your favorite food. No one should skip dinner.

You had to keep yourself from laughing as Beel explained why he brought all of your favorite food and you invited him in to share the food with you.

Beel noticed the pained expression you flashed every so often and when you told him about your period cramps and how that was the reason you left dinner early, Beel wanted to do everything he could to help.

He immediately engulfed you into his arms, holding you tightly into him as his hands rubbed soothing circles onto your back.

You felt your pain slowly going away as Beel’s body warmth underneath you acted as a heating pad and his hands relieved any tension you were holding.

He might not know exactly how to help you, but he’s just as effective in soothing your cramps nonetheless.

Belphie's help almost always came with a witty remark or some teasing no matter who you were or what the situation was.

But, for this particular situation, Belphie tried to be on his best behavior.

From what he heard, this was a hard time for you and he was certain the wrong remark would set you off.

So, he played especially nice.

He came to your room and asked you if there was anything he could do to help.

When you let him in, he asked a few questions about your period and got you a few things.

But, if that doesn't help, Belphie will escalate things.

When most people think of the Avatar of Sloth, they only think about him sleeping a lot.

They don't often recognize the power he had over other people's sleep.

And if you continue to be in pain throughout the night, Belphie will reach a point where he believes sleep is the only way to help you.

And it will be the best sleep of your life, full of amazing dreams to keep any pain of your cramps far away from you.

Naturally, Belphie will spend the night in your room, cuddling you.

But it's just to make sure you get a restful sleep the whole night!

457 notes · View notes

some-bunniii · 8 months

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Lucifer meeting an artist reader

・❥ The King of Hell admires your paintings

x: reader is g/n :) no use of pronouns or y/n

warnings: some raunchy details of your painting & mild swearing

When you arrived in Hell, the first thing you did was scream.

Where were you? Why was it so hot? What happened to your bed?!

“You’re in Hell, kid.” A blue bat-faced man had broke the news, as you stood helpless and confused on the street.

Hell? Like, demons and dark satanic magic kind of Hell?

That couldn’t be right. Were you that bad of a person to deserve such a fate? Did the few times you passed the Salvation Army donation bucket without dropping a coin damn you to this place?

Your death was fuzzy, a trail of shattered memories that could only give you bits and pieces of your final days. Did you go quickly in your sleep? Maybe, you hit your head so hard it caused you some kind of post-death amnesia?

Whatever had happened, you were here now with no way out.

During your first few days scouring for answers, you began to notice that Hell had an eerie similarity to life above ground. There were clubs, casinos, concerts. Heck, even TV! Sure, the things broadcasted were dark and sometimes disgusting.. but at least you had something to watch.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad after all? At least, compared to being thrown into dark, fiery pits for all of eternity like some cruel game of sink or swim.

Minus the people, of course. Most of them were pretty bad. Your first day watching a man get shot in the chest and lines of cocaine across tables in a diner made you decide to stay away from the streets of the city.

Which meant you had to get busy making a life for yourself. It started with working odd jobs as a bartender or a bell-hopper. You’d scrap together enough money to head to the nearest art supply store, and fill your bag with paints and charcoal pencils.

“You an artist or something?” The clerk had asked you as she scanned your items, taking note of your vast amount of diverse tools you were slowly collecting every time you stopped by.

“I usually paint, but yes, I used to do all kinds of mediums professionally when I was.. alive,” You had whispered that last part out with a pang of sadness, the reality of your situation still a fresh wound in your mind.

You had found an ad for an art studio, ran by a demon named Alexandre. You had showed him a few of your pieces, some pretty landscapes, a rendition of the Starry Night Sky which you had replaced the backdrop to be Pentagram city instead of whatever little village it was originally, and a self portrait.

“You got talent, i’ll give you that,” He had hummed, as his eyes scanned your paintings with intrigue, “But the subject? Not really what we’re looking for.”

“What do you mean?” You had asked, confusion evident in your voice.

“We’re in Hell, demons ain’t into pretty ponies and happy, little trees. They want more— eh how do i put this — sinful behavior?”

“Like…?”

“Like tits or anything that can be turned into a kink. They like blood and guts, and dead people splayed around. Dead angels too. Stuff like that.”

Tits? Dead people? You didn’t have much practice with that! At least not enough to make a career out of it.

But you had agreed anyway, this was your only shot. You stayed up late into the night, sometimes even into the early mornings, perfecting your skill when it came to much more risqué visuals. You would buy stacks of pornograohic magazines, flipping through for poses to memorize.

Slowly, you began to master the craft, and your time at the studio increased as you finally settled into life in Hell.

All you had to do was churn out painting after pastel after acrylic in the little cramped room you now called home. Alexandre would then take your pieces and sell them to the highest bidder. You’d get a percentage of the commission, using the money for whatever necessary.

Seeing as you could be mugged at literally any point in time, or anywhere for that matter, you made sure to keep a large sum of cash locked away in a double-bolted safe.

“You know Ozzie’s, that club down in the Lust Ring?” Alexandre had approached you one day, excitement in his eyes.

You shook your head as you sat behind the easel, your brush an inch from the canvas.

“Run by Asmodeus, one of the literal seven deadly sins?”

You shook your head once more.

“Fuck, you still have a lot to learn. Well, he really likes your art. He wants to buy a bunch of paintings for his club, and he’ll drop a shit ton of cash too. Ya think you can handle it?”

Your eyes had widened when he told you the exact price this sin guy was willing to pay. You had jumped from your seat, shaking his hand in profuse thanks, before scurrying off to gather more supplies.

And for a time, that’s how it went. You’d sell your steamiest paintings to Asmodeus, and other private commissions you took one after the other.

Apparently, your painting hung up in Ozzie’s was getting a lot of attention. Especially from a certain spider demon named Angel Dust.

After hearing Charlie’s decision to look for another member of their staff— someone who’d be in charge of decorating the premise with promises of love and tranquility up in Heaven— Angel Dust had taken a few snaps of your work with his phone, before showing it to Vaggie and Charlie. He had complimented your work, claiming it was ‘the best’ oil paintings he’d ever seen.

Although, in his line of work, he probably hadn’t seen many to compare yours so.

“ls this what we want in our hotel?" Vaggie had asked, motioning to a woman on the canvas that was drenched in sweat and white fluid, her private parts exposed to the audience as she posed suggestively on a stripper pole.

To which Charlie has responded, "I think it's... unique! You can definitely see she knows how to, um, really bring the scene to life! l'm sure she'll be open to creating our vision!"

Your phone had rung one night, with a voice on the other end begging you to come to her hotel and at least hear her offer for a new job.

Which lead you to the Hazbin Hotel, a slightly run down building that obviously needed more work. Inside and out.

“Oh my gosh! Hi there! My name is Charlie, and this is my hotel! it’s such a pleasure to meet you!”

“Thanks.. but I don’t see many guests around.” You had told her, your eyes darting around the lobby as you absorbed your surroundings.

“Well, we’re still trying to get our name out there. We’re not just any hotel, we’re a hotel set on redeeming sinners!” She exclaimed with pride.

“Redeem?” You had asked her, an eyebrow raised in disbelief.

She shook her head vigorously, “This hotel.. it’s going to be amazing! We’re going to turn Sinners into well.. non-sinners! They’ll be rehabilitated, and have morals! And honor! Heaven won’t be able to do anything but welcome them as angels!”

This idea had sounded a little far-fetched when you first heard it.

“You’ll be in charge of making art that reflects such views! Something that will make Sinners go, ‘Wow! Now that’s where I want to go!’”

“What’s in it for me?” You had asked.

“Well you’ll have your own room, and your own little studio too! I’m sure it’s much bigger than the one you already have. Plus we have a bar, and good company!”

You turned your head to the small crowd of demons a few feet away. A pornstar, a gambler, a snake guy with weird little walking eggs, and a really creepy man in a red coat that shot you a wide smile with eyes that seemed to stare right through your soul.

This was good company?

You contemplated her words, thinking deeply. Did you really need to leave the studio you were already a part of? You already had a room and place to paint, anyway.

Charlie must have noticed your hesitation to accept before quickly adding,

“Anddd you can sell your pieces here too! Plus, you can keep a hundred percent of the earnings.”

You perked up at that, the money made from your art would be... all yours? And, you’d get a breather from the drawing people having sex? That didn’t sound so bad after all!

“Deal!” You had reached out a hand, shaking hers with delight.

It had taken you a day or two to map out the interior of the hotel and figure out what could go where. You began to slowly brainstorm, what could make a sinner stare at a canvas and want to redeem themselves?

During your time on earth, you studied many artists through history. Most notably however, were those from the Renaissance. You remembered walking through the Sistine Chapel when you were younger,

staring at awe of the paintings of winged angels and heavenly skies.

You perked at that thought. That was it! The inspiration for your paintings, an ethereal perspective on what one would find in heaven. The feelings of bliss and care-free joy.

You spent your first few days in an undisturbed area of the hotel, it was a large room on the farthest side of the lobby. It must’ve been a guest room at one point, but other than a bed and few cushions that the ‘Radio Demon’ had placed for you, it was empty.

It was quiet enough that you could sit there, undisturbed, as you drew upon your memories and vast knowledge of histories in art as you slowly began to bring your ideas to life. Slowly, the room also took form into being yours, personal knick-knacks and stacks upon stacks of blank canvases waiting to bring your visions to life.

At the end of every day, you'd come out with your hands covered in charcoal and paint, your hard work on full display.

You had even grown closer to the other residents in the hotel, beginning to see them as more than their initial appearance. Even Alastor, who still kind of gave you the creeps, you had regarded as someone you could speak to without hesitation.

You’d sit on the couches with Angel Dust, drowning in popcorn as you watched whatever was on TV for the night. Sometimes, you’d sit with Husk at the bar as you listened to his stories from his days at the casino and as an Overlord.

It was there, when Charlie had summoned the courage to call her father, Lucifer, the King of Hell, to come visit the hotel and decide on getting her that meeting with the higher powers in Heaven.

Upon hearing about Lucifer's impending visit, you felta mixture of nerves and excitement. You've heardstories about him-his charisma, his power--but you never expected to meet him, let alone showcase your art to him. Would he even like them? He's no doubt seen much more beautiful sights.

As preparations for Lucifer's visit got more chaotic by the minute, you found yourself back in your Atelier, quickly cleaning up your room and berating yourself for any little mistakes you found in your paintings. Each stroke of the brush carried with it a sense of urgency, a desire to impress not just your friends at the hotel, but also the King of Hell himself.

The current piece you were working on was your most intense one yet. It depicted that of an almost nude man, flying high in the skies. His back was faced towards you, his face hidden from view. He was faced towards the sun, which bathed him in a warm glow. Arms outstretched, knees curled in, it seemed as if the angel was going to give the sun a large bear-hug.

It wasn’t until you heard loud commotion in the lobby did you realize Lucifer had arrived. Quickly dropping the brush you were holding, you sneaked down the stairs and quickly neared the archway of the lobby.

Peaking your head out, you canned the large room. Until your eyes locked in a pale figure. Lucifer.

He was beautiful, definitely held the looks of an angel that fell from heaven. His light blonde hair curled elegantly around his face. The candles from the chandelier above basked him in an ethereal glow, as though he could replace the sun itself. Just like the angel from your painting.

His eyes reminded you mostly of a snake. Calculating and cold, but holding so much wisdom and depth. There was a slight sadness there as well, as though itate at him slowly, consuming his soul. It was masked incredibly well though, and you only caught a glimpse before it disappeared.

His attitude toward his daughter made your heartmelt, it was obvious he cared about her in the way heacted and spoke to Charlie, even if his absence didn't speak so fondly of him.

As Lucifer and Alastor butted heads, you quickly scurried back to your room. You had hoped to finish your work-in-progress by the time he arrived, but the struggle to get those damn angel wings to be anatomically correct was a pain.

You hurriedly continued your work, trying to calm your nerves by busying yourself with the painting in front of you.

Charlie's voice broke you out of your concentration soon after, multiple footsteps closing in on where your room lay. You shot up from your seat, and stood up straight, ready to meet the man of the hour.

You couldn't help but feel a flutter of anticipation mixed with apprehension as they approached your make-shift gallery.

Charlie, Vaggie, and— wow, he looked so much better up close— Lucifer stepped through the doorway.

“Dad, this is the newest addition to our staff! They are in charge of helping to inspire our future guests through the power of art!" Charlie proclaimed with glee, pulling you by the arm towards her father.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, your majesty. I apologize for being so messy, I was just finishing up another painting." You had greeted him softly.

"Don't worry, you look great," He assured, a gleam in his eyes, "and the pleasure is all mine, anyone who is willing to help my little girl is someone worth meeting,"

You stood there for a moment. Unsure of where to go next, before you felt a slight nudge from Charlie that pulled you back to reality, "Why don't we take a look at your paintings? I promise you, Dad, they are amazing!" She squealed softly.

Beckoning Lucifer forward, you took him through each painting. You described your feelings for each piece, and what made you choose them for the hotel.

You rambled on and on, and Lucifer never said anything, he just listened as you spoke.

Which made you nervous, what was he thinking? Did he like them, or was he just waiting for you to stop talking so he could quickly escape to something of more interest to him? The thought made sweat dribble down your forehead.

To your surprise, Lucifer's reaction to your art was not what you expected. Instead of dismissing it as mere frivolity, he studied each piece with genuine interest, his expression thoughtful and contemplative.

He mostly stayed quiet, but once in awhile would throw in a joke here and there if he noticed anything of interest in the paintings.

His goofy nature that you caught onto watching him earlier was barely evident though, unlike when he was trying to impress his daughter.

After finishing the small tour, you turned to him in anticipation. Your hands nervously rubbing together, as you shot a glance to Charlie, and she gave you an uncertain look. You both held the same question in your gaze: What is he thinking?

"These paintings.." Lucifer began, his voice low and melodic, "Are different than most i've seen down here, not just some scandalous display, but with real meaning. They evoke emotions long buried, memories of a time before.. all this."

His words caught you off guard, and you found yourself nodding in agreement, unable to tear your gaze away from his intense eyes.

The one he was staring at in particular was a recreation of The Garden of Eden by Jan Breghal, a painting that depicted the place where humanity was birthed, and where it fell.

“Does it look like.. how you remembered?" You had asked slowly, if anyone could validate the truth in your work, it would be him.

"Actually, this is much prettier. The real deal doesn't do your painting justice," He replied, "It was so boring, just green on green."

Also," He added, "An unfortunate lack of ducks. Humanity should be grateful that I got them out of that forest, so they could see something actually worthwhile.. and with ducks."

You giggled softly at his words, have you ever met someone that seemed to love ducks as much as him?

As Lucifer continued to explore the room, you couldn’t help but notice the way he lingered on certain paintings, his fingers tracing the delicate lines with reverence. It was as if he saw something in your art that no one else did, something profound and personal.

Perhaps your choice of baby-faced angels, and ethereal landscapes brought back memories of his time in Heaven. Hopefully, that wasn't a bad thing.

When Lucifer finally turned to you, his gaze softened, a hint of something unreadable lurking beneath the surface. "You have a rare gift," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "To create beauty in a place like this... it's truly remarkable."

He looked at you for a moment, before a smile crept onto his lips. He was Lucifer, he knew exactly what you meant. It's what drove him to manipulate Eve to eat from the Tree of Life in the first place.

Was he finally getting a glimpse of the good free will brought to humanity? Was there actually meaning in his past actions that sent him to the depths of Hell?

His gaze narrowed in on the canvas behind you, and he slipped past you. "What is this?" He asked with intrigue, pointing towards your unfinished painting.

“My final piece. I've been working on it for days, but I just can't get the wings right.. believe it or not, i've never actually seen angel wings in person." You said that last bit as a joke.

His smile sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach. For the King of Hell, it was surprisingly warm, and kind.

Then an idea struck you, but you tried to desperately to push it down. Except it seemed like the only time you could ask someone with angel wings to let you use them as a reference. How many fallen angels were in Hell, anyway?

"I'm so sorry if this is out of line, but. could I, um, borrow you for a little bit? I've just been having trouble drawing the wings correctly and you, well, have them?”

His eyes widened, and his chest puffed slightly at your question. He shot you a toothy grin, “Paint me? Why didn't you mention that earlier?! I have the perfect figure for such a thing.”

Behind him, Charlie rolled her eyes, a hint of a smile on her lips. You smiled too, you should've known he'd have no problem with it, he was the embodiment of pride after all.

He plopped down on a stool before you, and removed his overcoat. Beneath what seemed to be a red and white gatsby vest that hugged his frame perfectly. Jeez, he was almost too good looking.

He stretched out his large wings, folding the otherfour behind him, only revealing the two much largerones. They were breathtaking, truly. They looked so fluffy too!

You guided him on the exact position you needed them to be in, before making your way to the canvas and getting to work.

Assuring the group you only needed to get a visual on the canvas, the actual work you would do on your own. Slowly, you traced the frame of his wings, etching out the soft lines of his feathers and the curvatures of its form.

You could only imagine how soft those feathers were and what it would be like to curl around them like a pillo-

You shook your head to rid those thoughts. Why were you thinking such things about Lucifer like that? It's not like he would even want to let you go anywhere near him or his wings.

Would he?

You continued your painting, trying not to meet his gaze as you would occasionally peak your head from behind the large canvas to get another good look at his wings.

There was a moment when you two did lock eyes, and he sent a half-lidded smirk in your direction. Thankfully the large object between you two helped hide your growing blush. He was obviously just trying to get you worked up, you assured yourself. Just like he did with Alastor. In a different way, of course.

"This reminds me of when Charlie was younger" Lucifer began, filling the silence, "We sat for a good few hours trying to get a family portrait painted and she would just not sit still!”

“Dad.. please, not right now." Charlie growled out in embarrassment, her cheeks flushed. Vaggie only smiled beside her, listening intently as Lucifer filled everyone in on her younger years.

“lt got to the point where I had to summon her favorite toy to get her to stop squirming, everything was smooth sailing after that.

"And what was her favorite toy?" You inquired softly behind the canvas

“A rubber duck! Like the ones you play with in the bath? She could not get enough of it whenever it squeaked. One time the squeaker broke, and I went to my workshop and crafted her a magical one that meowed instead! Haha!"

Okay, this family really has a thing for ducks!

“She hated it, but that only inspired me to keep making more. Sometimes, we'd sit together on the work bench, and I would just come up with ideas like confetti-spitting, or color changing ducks. She wasn't too good at speaking at that time, so every time she'd laugh that was my clue that she liked it!"

It was sweet, the way he rambled about his daughter. He never spoke of himself or his accomplishments, despite embodying the sin of pride. It was almost like his only pride was his best creation, Charlie.

He continued, the room full of jokes and laughter, even from Vaggie, regarding Charlie's life as a youngling. You listened intently to his stories, his voice dripping with amusement as he recounted story after story.

lt was so sappy and you loved it. Which made you grumble quietly to yourself, why did you have to have a thing for DILFS?! Concentrate on the painting!

After a moment, Lucifer's eyes turned back to the paintings around him, his gaze scanning each painting once more. "I've noticed that you seem to have a repetition in your work.. not that that's a bad thing!" He quickly corrected.

“But in all of your paintings featuring angels, there's always a swan swimming or resting nearby. Do they hold any significance, or are they just a passion for you?"

You looked up from the canvas, and also traced the angelic figures across the room. He was right, with the images of the divine beings also came the appearance of the large, white water fowl. Lying lazily beside the angels, or swimming across pools of water as the care-free beings danced and frolicked.

You contemplated for a moment, before speaking truthfully.

“I just think Swans are elegant and ethereal creatures. They embody the purest of souls, untouched by the taint of sin that consumes the world, just like how their feathers remain untouched from the waters they glide on"

Lucifer's eyes lit up slightly, drinking up your words.

“Plus," You continue, "they mate for life, and allow themselves to just.. decay once their significant other departs from the world. It's very romantic, and love is one of the purest emotions in the world."

Lucifer wasn't looking at you when your eyes met his again, his stare was far off. Past the room entirely, as your words echoed through him. There it was again, the glimpse of sadness that he tried to hide so painfully well.

“Does such love like that exist?," he murmured so softly you had to strain your ears.

There was a few moments of deathly silence before Charlie piped up, asking her father something about heaven. You tried to listen, but your mind was stuck on his words. Lucifer was in heaven once, and he still didn't fully believe in such things?

If there weren't others in the room, perhaps you would’ve asked him.

It took a few more minutes before you were able to wrap up fully, but you had no regrets of asking this man for help, the angel on the canvas actually looked like he had wings, not just stumps of white tuft.

You got up from your seat and walked towards him, noticing that Charlie and her girlfriend were not present anymore. It was just you and Lucifer in theroom now.

“Well, thank you, Your Majesty. You really helped me out here, and it'll go a long way to make the hotel look even better"

“Please, call me Lucifer. The formalities are only for subjects, not friends," he replied, "l did really enjoy getting to see your paintings, you are quite a phenomenal artist. I wasn't lying when I said your work was different from the rest. If only you were around for those family portraits."

You were so taken aback by his praise that you only shrugged it off, like it was no big deal. Even though, coming from the King of Hell, it was.

Glancing behind him, you saw Charlie and Vaggie whispering to each other in the hallway outside of the door. You assumed they probably wanted to finish up so they could get him to agree to the meeting with Heaven.

lgnoring his previous statement of formalities— he was the king, you thought, you weren't going to just pat him on the back and say 'see ya! —you lowered your head and bent down to curtsy, just like you were taught when you were younger, placing your hand slightly in front of you.

Usually, you'd use that hand to shake or grasp the other person's, but it felt wrong to treat this powerful angel like any other man.

Suddenly, you felt the soft touch of fingers gliding across your hand. In confusion, you looked up at those golden eyes and that charming smile. Trying to get a glimpse of what he was thinking.

His hand gripped yours gently, and with a bow of his own, lowered his lips, and pressed a soft kiss your knuckles.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you feared to blink, soaking in his beauty for as long as you could before he had the chance to pull away. You wanted to say something, but your tongue was refusing to work as your mouth opened and closed silently.

When he finally released your hand, he adjusted his hat and turned towards the door. Leaving you standing there, your face burning hot

He cleared his throat, and turned his head slightly, his eye catching yours. A playful smile dancing on his lips.

“l look forward to our next portrait together, hopefully where I am the motivation behind your strokes. Not just these dull wings."

And with his words hanging in the air, you were left alone, with the growing itch to press your face into a pillow and squeal.

——————

awww man, my first fic! I was trying to make this more dating-centric, but i couldn’t stop writing for their first meeting and it got too long haha! If y’all like this one enough, i’ll make a dating version!

let me know what you think 🙏 i reallyyyy appreciate all comments and criticisms!!

wonderful art i commissioned by DawnDrawnS on twitter! <3

#Hazbin hotel #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #hellverse #OOC Lucifer?#He just ain’t as goofy #But I HC he’s only like that around Charlie :)#fanfiction #writing

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ellecdc · 2 months

Note

okay then consider this a request!! for poly!marauders or just remus/james/sirius, whatever you prefer, for a reader with excruciating period cramps (self-indulgent because mine are horrible, but whatever!!) if you could do it that would be awesome ily!

ok I'm sorry I really made this very much self indulgent in maybe the worst way ever lol. I've been having a lot of fun with chef!Sirius lately, and had briefly discussed this idea with @maladaptiveescapism a while back so it felt fitting. I've also gotten a lot of period fic requests before and have never been all that interested in them which is so strange seeing as I'm a person who experiences period's and they're really popular? WOW sorry, what a tangent. TL;DR, thanks for your request, sorry if I ruined it a little, I probably won't ever write a period fic again lol

chef!sirius x mixologist!reader who calls in sick to work because of her period [2.9k words]

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5

CW: period fic, reader has PCOS, brief allusion to Sirius' shitty childhood, trans!Reggie agenda 'cause I can, Sirius worried reader won't be accepting of his trans brother (spoiler alert, we are because we love our trans homies), Sirius being the worst (positive & affectionate)

Sirius was on his best behaviour today.

Honest to god, hand to his heart, best behaviour.

But there was truly only so much one bloke could do when they had a Jeffery to deal with.

“I’m going to need one of your staff for the evening.” Jeffery said without preamble; standing half-in the kitchen with the swinging door to the floor propped open as if he wanted to ensure there were witnesses to this conversation should it go sideways.

“Jeffery, do you wake up every morning and smoke a bunch of crack before you come to work, or are you really just this dense?” Sirius spat as he dropped his pan in front of him and fought the urge to turn and give the floor manager a withering glare.

Jeffery, well seasoned to Sirius’ theatrics, bit back an eye roll as he carried on. “We need someone to cover the bar.”

Sirius did turn at that, but his withering glare fell somewhere between aghast and bemused. “The bar?”

“The bar.”

“Why?”

“I need coverage for Y/N.” Jeffery explained with a sigh, clearly growing tired of Sirius’ line of questioning.

“Where is she?”

“She has called in sick, chef.”

“Sick with what?” Sirius continued, causing Jeffery’s brows to furrow as he stared at Sirius bemusedly.

“I’m not exactly privy to those details, chef.” He explained slowly as if Sirius were some fussy toddler.

“I just find it hard to believe that the same woman who left the hospital after getting her shoulder reset to come work a full eight hour shift would call in sick.”

Jeffery offered him a shoulder shrug (and a concerned look up and down that Sirius pretended he didn’t notice) before pilfering one of the kitchen staff for the evening.

Sirius would worry about hating Jeffery later; he was more focused on figuring out what the hell was wrong with you and why you weren’t coming to see him to work.

Sirius had his phone wedged between the side of his face and his shoulder whilst he juggled the many go-bags he had in his hands as he stood awkwardly outside of the door to your flat.

He admittedly knew where you lived only because he had driven you home after numerous closing shifts.

Fortunately, the intercom system in the anteroom of your building gave away your unit number.

Unfortunately, Sirius still had his hands full with the various go-bags.

Fortunately, an elderly lady was coming in at the same time and let Sirius into the building.

Unfortunately, she insisted on chatting his ear off the whole lift ride up and actually held the door open to continue conversing even after they had arrived at her floor.

Sirius’ saving grace came in the form of the lift alarm buzzing for having kept the door ajar too long, and she was forced to bid him farewell.

Which brought him here; standing outside of your flat like some kind of stalker as he waited for you to pick up your phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey, open your door.”

“Well hello to you too, chef.” You snarked at him again.

“Yes, yes. I said hey, didn’t I? Open your door.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m standing on the other side of it.”

There was the sound of a quick exhale and rummaging. “Why?”

“Listen, I’d love to play 20 questions, but do you think you could let me in first?”

You muttered something that sounded an awful lot like a swear before the line ended.

He allowed his phone to slip out of its place and into his awaiting hand when you flung the door open unceremoniously.

Now, Sirius could tell you’d not been expecting any company today; you were in the same clothes you’d likely slept in, your hair was perfectly rumpled from whatever position Sirius had just disturbed you from, and you looked more than a tad embarrassed to see him standing here.

He had sort of hoped you would look like a troll; make this raging flame he carried for you burn a little softer.

But no.

You just had to look ethereal and perfect and lovely and kissable.

Damn woman.

“What are you doing here?” You finally asked, interrupting the both of you from staring at one another.

“Helping?”

You made a breathy W sound - as if you were going to ask “what” or “why” but the words died on your lips as you took in Sirius’ many bags.

“What did you bring?”

“I’ll show you everything if you just let me in.” He muttered as he motioned towards one of your nosey neighbours who had shoved her head out of her door when she first heard Sirius in the hall.

You peered around your doorframe and narrowed your eyes at her before allowing Sirius entry.

“Finally.” Sirius teased as he moved to place his bags on your kitchen island.

Sirius had never seen the inside of your flat, but if he had simply stumbled into your space by accident he would have known it was yours immediately.

There was something so intrinsically you about your space that Sirius immediately felt at home too, even just for having stepped inside.

“Sorry.” You chuckled somewhat awkwardly; bringing one of your hands to the back of your neck as you considered Sirius and all of his bags. “We’d just been watching some shows.”

Sirius immediately felt his heart fall out of his arse.

We?

Had he read this completely wrong? Were you seeing someone? Was your home not simply yours, but one that you shared?

He found himself suddenly feeling quite defensive over your flat; it was too lovely, too wonderful, too comfortable for simply just anyone to enjoy.

“We?” He asked suddenly; tone taking on a bit of an edge he didn’t intend or consent to.

You cocked an eyebrow at him and pointed behind you with your thumb; Sirius followed your gesture to a little tabby cat perched on the back of your sofa, tilting its head at the two of you as if it, too, was confused by Sirius’ sudden intonation.

“You were watching shows with your cat?” He clarified; his voice now breathy in relief.

“Birdie loves shows.” You countered defensively.

“You named a cat bird?”

“No.” You argued. “I named my kitten Birdie. Do you not like cats?” You asked then, a teasing smirk growing on your face.

“I like cats fine; where can I put this?” He asked instead; hoping to god you didn’t notice the blush heating up his face.

He started unloading the many take-away boxes he’d prepared for you at the restaurant before skiving off the rest of his shift.

“What is this?”

“Food.”

“Sirius, why did you-”

“I asked what helped.” Sirius explained. “You said food; I brought food. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed yet dollface, but food is kind of my thing.”

“Smartass.”

“That too.” He replied with a wink, moving to put the desserts in your fridge.

“Did you seriously come all the way over here just to bring me food?” You asked disbelievingly as you joined Sirius at the counter and peered into the bags.

Sirius had to tamp down the giddiness that threatened to consume him at how sweet and domestic this felt; you clad in your comfies as you helped him unload groceries.

“I didn’t come all the way over here just to bring you food…I brought other stuff too.”

“‘Course you did.” You muttered quietly, looking at Sirius with a look in your eyes that he couldn’t quite decipher.

“Go lay down.” He ordered instead as he went about plating your food - opening cabinets at random until he found what he was looking for. “I don’t hear laying down!” He sing-songed when he saw you still standing in his periphery.

You harrumphed before acquiescing; picking up your cat who made a little brrp sound as if to second Sirius’ directions.

Finally content with his efforts, he moved to stand in front of you with a glass of water and some pasta he brought from work.

You made an appreciative hum and sat up, which seemed to displease Birdie greatly. “God, maybe I need to find myself a personal chef.”

“Oi! Don’t go replacing me now.” Sirius scolded as he perched himself on your coffee table - perhaps a little casual for being a first time (uninvited) guest in someone’s home - but you didn’t seem to mind.

“Oh the job is so yours chef; you’re welcome here anytime.” You said around a mouthful of food. And even though Sirius knew you were joking, he couldn’t help the giddy fluttering of his heart at the sentiment.

“This is really good, Sirius, and super thoughtful; thank you.” You offered earnestly.

“So I guess you don’t have any room for dessert, then?” He asked teasingly; his taunting smirk melting away immediately at the excitement that took over your face before he ran to retrieve it for you.

“Why is she doing that?” Sirius asked after a while, gesturing towards Birdie with his chin who was rubbing her head against the leg of his pants.

“Why’s she doing what?” You asked bemusedly as Sirius fought every urge to wipe the little bit of chocolate from your upper lip. Unfortunately thankfully for him, you licked it out of his sight.

“Head butting me; seems quite rude.” Sirius murmured as he watched the cat in bemusement.

“That’s basically a cat hug, Sirius; she’s hugging you, or saying hello.” You chuckled at him.

“Get out.” He scoffed in disbelief.

“Cats have little scent markers in their cheeks; when they rub against something, they’re affectionately claiming it as their own.”

“So like a dog pissing on trees?” He deadpanned.

“Affectionately claiming you as their own; offer her your hand, Sirius.”

“But what if she-”

“Chef, offer her your hand.” You barked at him with no heat.

Sirius narrowed his eyes challengingly at you but did as he was told; pleasantly surprised when the cat moved the rubbing from his trousers to his hand.

“Have you never met a cat before?” You asked as you considered him.

“No…I have.” Sirius offered slowly, admittedly enjoying the velvety soft fur of your little companion.

“Could’ve fooled me.” You teased as you placed your now empty dish on the side table.

“My family had a cat growing up; a horrid thing. I swear to god my mum taught him how to attack me. Loved my brother though, but was nasty as all get out to anyone else.”

“Really? Was he a stray before he lived with you?”

“Nope.” Sirius offered with a pop of the p. “Raised that fucker from kittenhood. Lived a god awful long time too, just to spite me; I wished every year on my birthday that it would die.”

“Sirius!”

“I’m not joking! My brother and I would sneak cupcakes up to my room and he’d light a candle for me and tell me to make a wish. One of them was always ‘please for the love of god let Kreacher die before me’.” He didn’t think now was the time to admit that his other wish was always ‘please for the love of god let us make it out of here alive’.

“That’s awful; you’re awful.” You laughed.

“No, Kreacher was awful; I was but a boy.”

“I can’t believe you got after me for naming my cat Birdie when you had a cat named Kreacher.”

“I didn’t have a cat named Kreacher, my brother did.” He responded haughtily.

“Who named him?”

“I did.”

“Why?” You laughed again.

“‘Cause he was a tiny, awful, hateful little gremlin and needed a name that said as much!”

The two of you laughed until your hands migrated to your abdomen and you began massaging into your skin; a small divot appearing between your brows.

“What is it?” Sirius asked quietly then.

You tried to shake your head and offered him a tight smile. “S’okay.”

“Is it cramps?”

“Yeah.”

“Lie back.” He instructed as he stood from his seat on the coffee table - his mother would be rolling in her grave if she’d seen him with such a lack of manners.

Good.

“Sirius, really, you’ve-”

“Lie back.” He whispered again, one hand on your shoulder as he gently guided you so that you were lying along your sofa with your head propped up on the armrest.

Stealing himself for perhaps embarrassing himself completely and making this whole precarious situation between the two of you go tits up, he finally shucked off his jacket and boots before rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and lowering himself onto the bottom half of your couch.

You watched silently as Sirius situated himself between your legs so that his shoulders and head rested on your abdomen as he weaselled his arms under your back, placing both of his palms up against your lower back.

“Relax.”

“What?”

“You’re tense as shit, doll; relax.” He murmured as he rested his cheek against your stomach.

You let out a breath and sank further into the couch as the two of you fell into comfortable silence.

“Thank you.” You whispered after a few moments.

“You already thanked me.” He whispered back.

“No, I-” You cut yourself off as you gathered your thoughts; a tentative hand absentmindedly making itself at home in his hair as you found your words. “Thank you.” You settled on.

“You’re welcome.” Sirius offered.

“Where’d you learn this?”

Sirius propped his chin up so he could at you; your hand pausing as your eyes flit to it as if you were only now realising what you’d been doing. “Learn what?”

“The pressure? The body heat. The…helping, with cramps?” You asked tentatively, and if Sirius didn’t know better, he’d think you perhaps looked a touch bashful at your questions - your eyes seemingly incapable of meeting his.

And once again, Sirius found himself taking another jump, or rather, a complete leap of faith that could very well have this thing the two of you had been building crumble and fall before it even had a chance to start.

“Uhm, it was my brother, actually.” He admitted quietly.

Your eyes did finally meet his at that, where they narrowed a touch in confusion.

“You learned this….from your brother?”

Sirius nodded as he swallowed nervously. “Right. He uhm, well, it often helped him with his cramps and such, so…yeah.”

It was apparently his turn to be incapable of meeting your eyes as he moved his head so that it was resting against your stomach again.

“You’re a good brother.” You finally offered.

“Well of course I am.” Sirius offered through a breath of relief. “I’m good at everything I do.”

“You’re a git.”

“I’m good at that too.”

You gave a disciplinary tug at Sirius’ hair which made him think of several sinful things he’d like to be doing with you whilst you did that next time, but he simply chuckled and sank further into you.

“I didn’t exactly sit like this with him, mind you.”

“No? What does that make me, then?”

“Special.”

“I guess so.” You breathed out through a chuckle. “Coming over on your day off just to spoil me.”

“It wasn’t my day off.” He responded without thinking, tensing when he felt you suck in a breath.

“Sirius.”

“Mhm?” He offered in faux nonchalance.

“You left work for this!?”

“For you?” He asked as he considered you. “Absolutely.”

“For gods sake, Sirius. I bet Jeffery-”

But he never got to hear what you thought of Jeffery as he let out a very petulant and dramatic groan and lowered his forehead to your stomach.

“Babe, I know this isn’t exactly the same thing, but generally a man does not want to hear the name of another bloke when he’s in between your legs, yeah?”

You barked out a laugh and swatted at his shoulder. “You’re awful.”

“Terrible.”

“The worst.”

“Absolutely horrid.”

“Giving Kreacher a run for his money.”

Sirius’ head shot up at that as he levelled you with a warning glare. “Too far.”

“I’m sorry.” You laughed, not sounding particularly sorry at all.

“You better be.” Sirius grumbled as he lowered himself back down. “Now be a doll and play with my hair again; it’s nap time.”

And there was an equal chance that you were going to laugh, swat at him, or downright tell him to get his arse back to work.

But Sirius was admittedly overjoyed when you simply placed your fingers back into his hair and began to massage until you fell asleep; him not much longer after you.

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sweetpascal · 8 months

Text

i am just so in love with husband!simon, i cannot stop these thoughts !!

.・゜゜'just because flowers'. there was a video i saw where this guy would take one flower from the bouquet he would give his partner so that he knows when the flowers start to die so he can get a new batch. simon is the husband to definitely do that. and even when they do dry up and become discolored, he makes sure to get a much larger vase so you can keep all of the dried flowers he would get you.

.・゜゜simon's attentiveness and his ability to react with quick thinking. he pays attention to everything. every singular detail, as little or as big. you mentioned you're running low of your favorite lotion. he'll go out the next day to buy you a jumbo sized bottle. you mention that you're starting to feel your cramps three days before your period starts. the next day, you see the pantry and fridge stocked with your favorite cravings. knowing that something as simple as mentioning something and him making the effort to do that without even being asked to is a GREEN FLAG.

.・゜゜he's a competence king. and when you want to learn, he teaches you without making you feel stupid. the car is making a funny squeaking noise? he figures it out in two minutes. the kitchen sink has a leaky faucet? he whips out his toolbox and goes to work under the cabinet. you want to learn how to shoot a gun for your protection? he teaches you of different types of guns, the bullets, the kickback, your stance, and more. this man was born to be a teacher ;)

.・゜゜simon takes date nights VERY SERIOUSLY. he understand that you are your own person, you have your own time to do your own things and have fun with friends. but he thinks it's extremely important as a married couple to set a specific time aside so you two can go out and have a date night. you obviously love how involved he is in your relationship and it's definitely a breath of fresh air.

.・゜゜husband!simon has for sure softened up after marrying you and has changed his views on children. you two don't have any of your own, but you would see how he is with your nieces and nephews. he treats them so gently and lets them climb all over him like a jungle gym. he'll do this thing where he'll have three kids on each arm and he'll spin around in the yard as the kids squeal and giggle. seeing him with his guard down when it came to the children made your heart grow in size.

#this man has my heart in a chokehold i swear #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon hc's <3 #husband!simon

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highvern · 4 months

Text

Houdini

Pairing: Kwon Soonyoung x f!reader

Genre: smut, hint of fluff at the end

warnings: drinking, allusion to drug use, sub hoshi likes when reader is mean to him, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, protected sex, reader calls hoshi a furry more than once, cumshot, hair pulling, reader wears bunny ears

Length: ~5.3k

Note: this started as a prologue to a different fic but i wanted it to become its own fic. danke @gyuswhore for being my torture subject as always as well as @onlyhuis @temptaetions @cheolism

Summary: The guy wearing a tiger onesie and ripping a bong in the corner might not be the most promising prospect of the night. But you've got a point to prove and a bet to win. series m.list: Green Light [s], Yuck [f], Talk [a, s, f], Casual [a, s, f], Mine [s], espresso [f, s]

m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

The cramped living room is hazy with the smell of pot, cut by cheap led strip lights painting everything in violets and blues. Butt numb from the stiff armrest of the couch, you adjust the bunny ears on your head for the fifth time in the twenty minutes you’ve sat there.

Everyone else skitters around, dressed as different animals. More bunnies, a few cats, a guy dressed like a dinosaur hogging a joint. It’s someone’s birthday; a friend of a friend you’ve never met, but the promise of free alcohol before heading downtown isn’t even close to the worst way to spend your time. It’s why you fished out the dumb satin bunny ears from your closet; a relic from Halloweens past when you needed a cheap excuse to wear something scandalous in public with little judgment.

June disappeared thirty minutes ago to find the birthday boy, leaving your entire group to mingle until she returns.

You intently listen as Lily vents about her work crush for the nth time. His name is of no relevance, but she’s convinced herself it's love despite the fact he possesses fewer brain cells than a rock. A proven fact since he didn’t know the difference between consonants and vowels despite being well into his twenties.

“Why all the talk about relationships?” you interrupt. “Can we please have one night where we don’t talk about guys.”

“Some of us want boyfriends.” Anna rolls her eyes.

“And yet, you can find one hundred percent of the benefits of one with zero effort. At least without all the mind games you two go through every week.”

“Easy for you to say.” Anna argues. “You’re like the poster girl for no-commitment sex.”

“I like what I like,” you shrug. “Not guys that say they want a relationship and then claim you're moving too fast when you ask him to treat you like a person.”

Lily gives an exasperated groan to the ceiling. “We get it. You hate romance.”

“I don’t hate it. I just like to be realistic. Most guys are good for one thing and I happen to admire them for that.”

“Do you realistically think you can get any guy here to sleep with you?” Anna asks.

Any guy is a stretch. You’re easy but not without standards. Taken men are strictly off the menu. Along with weirdos or guys that look like they’ve never seen the inside of a shower. Anyone looking for a relationship typically removes themself from the running after figuring out you aren’t looking to be saved or changed, just a warm body that’s easy on the eyes.

“Pick anyone and if I pull him you owe me breakfast tomorrow.” You challenge them with a smirk. It’s slim pickings so early in the night, but nothing you can’t work with.

“Okay, then.” Lily agrees. “What about him?”

It takes you a moment to decipher who her manicured finger is pointing at. There's a small crowd in the corner of the room, guys too scared to mingle or uninterested in anything beyond their circle jerk. But he’s easy to spot; a tiger onesie and a dark crop of hair are all the details you get from this far away.

He seems to be the main entertainer of the bubble. Hands fly in different directions, chaotic but graceful. Now that you’re locked onto him, the boom of his voice floats under the heavy music. Tiger guy isn't your usual type. He’s lithe and lean; maybe a dancer or something athletic. You like them tall and domineering. It makes it that much sweeter when they try to dominate you, only to be beaten at their own game. Mingyu wasn’t your A-list fuck buddy for no reason. A damn shame he moved away at the end of last year.

But the man Lily’s picked will do what you need him to; prove a point and grant you a free meal. If you get at least one orgasm out of it then that’ll be a bonus. Chugging the last of your drink (which smells like nail polish remover and paint thinner had a very toxic baby), you drop the empty cup into Anna’s hand.

“And we want proof!” Anna calls as you stalk toward the far wall.

One of the other guys he’s talking to sees you approach, and you watch the way his eyes convey your presence, nearly bugging out of his skull. A gentle tap on tiger guy’s shoulder has him turning to greet you.

Confusion clouds his face. He’s cuter than you expected, with furrowed eyebrows and a pout that draws your eyes to his mouth with curiosity. You’ll find out their talents soon enough.

“Hi,” you smile.

“Hi?” he parrots.

“I’m Y/N.” Eyes round with faux innocence, you make a point to take a few seconds staring at his mouth before meeting his curious gaze.

“Soonyoung.”

Soonyoung. The name rolls along your tongue easily. You light up at the way his eyes follow the curve of your mouth around the sound. It’s too easy.

Pushing forward, chest to chest; raising on your toes. You relish in another shiver at the brush of your mouth against his ear. “Is this your party?”

“Yeah, it’s my roommate’s birthday,” he says.

So that’s who June knows.

“Cool. Wanna show me your room?”

“What?” You can hear the record scratch in Soonyoung’s brain; see the disbelief in his eyes.

Stepping into his space, your gaze burns a path from his lips to his eyes before you repeat, “your room?”

“Yeah, yeah. I can…definitely do that. This way!”

His own friends, still circled in the corner, gape in their own disbelief. Soonyoung has you charging through the crowded living room and down the hallway. Good. Even more bodies fill the narrow space but he nearly pushes them aside, waving off any grunts of discontent at his roughness.

You pass several doors on each side, all closed from prying eyes but you don’t have an interest anyway. His room is at the end of the long passage. A whiteboard with a crude image of a tiger and a rainbow hangs at eye level, coupled with ‘TamTam + Hoshi 5ever’ but you don’t have time to admire the art before you’re inside.

“So, this is it,” Soonyoung announces, hands wringing in front of his chest nervously.

The tiger thing isn’t so much a coincidence and more of a theme. A poster of a tiger hangs on the wall above the dresser. But it’s not the worst of it. His bed hosts several plushies, all different sizes and shapes but certainly tigers.

Whipping around, you eye him with incredulity. “Are you a fucking furry?”

“No!” He shakes like a bobblehead. Like he’s had to explain it dozens of times before. “It’s a joke! From college, with my friends.”

“A joke where you collect tiger memorabilia as a grown man?” You shoot back.

“It’s not that bad.”

Eyebrows flying to your hair line, you make a sweep of the room. “You have a framed picture of a tiger, are wearing a tiger suit, and have a miniature army of stuffed animals.”

“Okay, maybe it is that bad, but I’m not a furry.”

If he was hiding more of the garish pattern out of sight you wouldn’t be surprised. For good measure, you fold over the blanket of his bed and sigh relief to find navy sheets instead of orange. You’ve slept with weirder guys for less but it’s nice to know he isn’t that weird.

“Whatever you say. But if you ask me to wear a tail, I’ll walk back out there and tell everyone.”

You peel your shirt off without another word. Once your vision is free of the fabric, you’re met with a starstruck man — mouth open, eyes skimming your chest, and what seems to be a half-chub tenting his pants. You revel in the silent awe rolling off him, preening at the attention. So easy.

But Soonyoung seems to come to his senses when you start working on the zipper holding together the back of your skirt shut.

“Woah, okay. We don’t have to go so fast,” he says, taking a step in your direction.

“So I should put my shirt back on?” You make for it like the threat is real.

“Let’s not be too hasty! I’m just saying, maybe we should, like, talk a bit first?”

Your feet carry you until there’s barely a breath between his body and your own. Soonyoung’s shirt brushes against your naked stomach with each stuttered breath as you eye his lips. “Well, do you wanna talk or do you want your dick sucked? Because I can only do one at a time.”

“Definitely the second one,” Soonyoung starts, dipping his hands to your ass for a harsh squeeze while shepherding you to his bed.

His mouth tastes like smoke and need. A disgusting combination if not for your tipsy brain easily ignoring it in favor of focusing on the roughness of his touch.

Soonyoung is eager, to say the least. He can’t touch you fast enough; hands darting from your ass, to your sides, to your breasts, and back down again. If this was happening at your apartment you’d tie him down and refuse to let him feel anything at all just to watch him squirm.

You manage to flip him under you, pinning him in place with your thighs to rest across his lap like a throne. Taking the change in stride, he uses the new angle to mouth over your bra; sucking harshly at your covered nipples till they stiffen for his fingers to pinch at.

“Condoms?”

Soonyoung shakes his head.

Digging the heel of your hand into his forehead successfully unlatches the suction around your nipple. He pouts at the interruption.

“You don’t have condoms?”

“I do, but I’m not about to fuck you after two seconds of making out,” Soonyoung argues. “I‘m not even hard yet.”

Shocked by the sudden attitude, you huff before rolling your hips down. You're met with a familiar lump pressing into the crotch of your pants, and Soonyoung has the nerve to simply return to his previous task as you rock against him again.

“Liar,” you pant after a delicious drag of his teeth on your collarbone and his cock against your ass.

You stay locked like that for a while, writhing against one another as clothes come off without abandon. Your bra first, then the damn tiger onesie. Soonyoung gets you on your back before flipping up your skirt and pulling your panties to the side, revealing your drenched center.

He sucks a bruise on your nipple, tongue messy as he explores what’s between your legs with a gentle stroke of his fingers.

“Can I go down on you? Please say yes.” Soonyoung traces the request across your chest with more nips of his teeth.

“You have to ask?”

“Consent is sexy.”

“You sound like a PSA,” you comment. “But, yeah go ahead.”

Your hips lift to aid in removing the last scraps of clothing. There’s no shyness as you spread your legs wide, flashing the aftermath of a good make-out session for Soonyoung eyes only.

“Oh my god,” he moans.

The heat of his breath fans across your folds, sending a shiver down your spine. He doesn’t even blink as you clench from the aching need to be filled with whatever he’s ready to offer,

“What?”

“This is gonna make me sound weird again, but you have a really pretty pussy.”

Not something any previous partners have chosen to comment on, but you preen under the compliment. “Thanks.”

“No. Thank you,” Soonyoung says before looking at the ceiling. “God, thank you so much for blessing me like this.”

“Stop being lame or I'll leave.”

“Sorry, you’re hot.” He says it like an accusation. “Just wanted to let the universe know I recognize that and appreciate it.”

“How about you recognize the fact I’m drying up as we speak?”

“No you aren’t,” Soonyoung argues. “You’re dripping on my sheets.”

Your hand skates across your front, falling between your thighs. Like hypnosis, he watches with rapt attention as you frame your clit between two fingers, giving a clear target for his attention.

“Then do something about it.”

With a hand fisted in his hair, he does. An aggressive suck against your clit without warm-up sends a tremor through your core. Your fingers knot in his hair, twisting until he’s forced away from your cunt with a petulant frown.

“If you keep licking my clit like a scratch off I will make you cry.” A jostle of the bed tells how effective your words are. “Oh my god. Did you just?”

“I’ve never been threatened in bed before, okay? I'm just as shocked as you.”

He hides the embarrassment by wedging back between your thighs, gentler than before, lapping away the new flood of arousal from his responsiveness. A thrill hums down your spine and settles where Soonyoung’s mouth returns to work. His shoulders burn hot against the underside of your thighs, every surge of muscle rocking you back into the slick of his tongue.

“Fuck.”

“Better?” he asks around a mouth full of pussy.

There might very well be a crowd at the door listening to every lewd squelch and pathetic whine, but you don’t care. A little direction, a grind of your hips when he does well and the sting of your nails when he gets ahead of himself does wonders. Soonyoung is eager to please and impress. You could probably lay here for an hour without a complaint for him; if anything, he’d actively encourage such indulgence if it meant your approval.

It makes the temptation to overwhelm him too sweet to ignore.

One of the hands flat against your stomach falls away easily, knotting his fingers through yours because of course he’d be the type to hold hands during sex. It’s cute, but that fondness is stomped down for something safer.

Like sucking two fingers between your lips like it's his cock.

Soonyoung grunts frustration straight into your core, refusing to watch you wet his hand even when you moan at the prod against the back of your throat. Another hump against the mattress as an edge of teeth drags over his knuckles.

You can’t help but laugh as he scrambles to stretch you across them. He curls one slowly, like you’ll object. When you don't, Soonyoung adds the other and resettles your thigh so he can watch them disappear inside. His knuckles return even more soaked and even you can’t pretend it isn’t a turn-on.

“Fuck, you’re so hot.”

Before you can respond, he’s licking away the fresh wave of wetness from his praise. It isn’t new information, but Soonyoung is impossibly earnest and you’re pretty sure if he came from eating you out he’d be just as satisfied as if you fucked him.

“Gimme a third.”

Soonyoung moans like he’s the one getting off as he does what you ask.

Your legs lock, sore at the hips from being dragged to the edge so quickly. It bubbles just under the surface. Too far away where you can’t reach it but know Soonyoung can. He knows it too by the way you whisper his name.

“If you touch yourself right now will you cum?”

“Probably.”

“Good.” You're overeager, just like the man between your legs, but the idea he can get off from eating you out can’t be ignored. “Show me.”

“If you make me cum twice tonight I will talk to my therapist about you, so no.”

You whine a protest. Something that would sound far more responsible falling from his lips in the established dynamic, but you don’t care. One of your feet wedges between the bed and his crotch, toeing along the bulge still hidden behind a pair of thin boxers.

“Is it not enough that I might cum from you insulting me, you have to see it happen?” He asks.

The picture behind your eyelids is nothing short of demonic; pulling Soonyoung’s boxers down and the inside sticky with cum, but his cock still hard because once is definitely not enough. Or streaks of white coating his chest and thighs, the perfect trail to trace your tongue over.

You don’t even have a chance to share the fantasy before he splits you on his tongue again. Firmer this time, with a hard press to your knees that has you vulnerable and exposed. He keeps his tongue flat and heavy on your clit. Perfect to grind up against until you shudder.

Since you can’t get Soonyoung to give in, you settle for ruining any future encounter he might have by making a show.

Your fingers tickle up your stomach, nails raising goosebumps at the soft touch. Back and forth and back and forth, a little higher each time until you catch the hill of your chests and circle the hard peaks. There's no reason to ease into it, not when you sneak a glance down and find a pair of brown eyes framed between your legs.

The way he watches makes you feel dirty. Nipples pebbled between your fingers, you arch into his next move. His tongue stays flat for you to use. You curl into it, humping Soonyoung’s face like he’s nothing more than a toy to get off on.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

He’s definitely slipped a fourth finger inside. The stretch borders just on the edge of pain but you take it in stride. Soonyoung looks like he might cum before you do.

“I’m – oh. Just like that.” You groan deep from your core.

Your clit is throbbing with sensitivity as he continues to coax pleased sounds from your tongue. Heating from the inside out, your hands abandoned the torture on your chest in favor of keeping Soonyoung in place so you can rut against him.

A switch flips with your next moan. Hands on your stomach, your breasts, shoving your thighs out of the way as he digs into your cunt like the best meal the world will know.

“Cum for me. Please let me see you come,” Soonyoung begs.

Fizzling out, you do what he asks. Your stomach tenses for a second and then you fly off the mattress from locked muscles.

Soonyoung doesn’t stop as you twitch, nor when you kick an ankle into his side. Maybe you go a little wet at the eyes as he forces you straight into a second orgasm without an ounce of reprieve but it's probably coincidence.

Soonyoung finally moves away at an inhuman whine. His mouth is stained with the taste of you, but he wears it well. It almost makes you want to push him back down and see if you can survive a third orgasm.

To stop from blindly following temptation, you roll until you’re sat in his lap. You must look as disheveled as you feel; sweaty and strung out. Ready for more.

“Wait,” he sighs with the pain of a man delaying his own gratification. “Wear these.”

The wrinkled satin bunny ears knocked from your head earlier come back into view. Soonyoung doesn’t even pretend to be ashamed as he plants them back on your head before finding the dip of your waist again.

You hate the idea of giving in so easily, but Soonyoung’s need rolls off him in thick waves feeding straight to your ego. “Oh, but you’re not a furry?”

His cock fits well against the curl of your fingers as you stroke him, standing tall and proud from his lap. Oddly enough, you get his earlier sentiment. You’ve never thought of a dick as pretty but Soonyoung’s is nice. Red and leaking at the tip, you’re tempted to duck your chin and get a taste, but Soonyoung drags you up to his mouth before you can even make a good faith try.

“Stop being mean to me or I’ll bust a nut,” he whines.

“Can’t have that,” you snicker. “Condoms?”

“Drawer.”

The door slams open in your haste. It’s a mess of lube, sex toys, and random chargers. Who keeps a phone charger where their lube is? Too eager for the promise of such a pliable partner doesn’t leave with an interest in asking, and the way he continues to suck at your throat isn’t helping. Until you find something that stokes your curiosity even more.

“Soonyoung. What are these?”

A set of fuzzy tiger print cuffs dangle from your fingers. The jokes write themselves. But you ignore the re-occurrence of orange and black because you really want to know if he likes bondage. (Hopefully it’s a yes. Even more hopeful is he likes to be on the receiving end.)

“Birthday present.”

“Your friends are weird,” you say. “Have you used them?”

He looks shy, like he hasn’t just asked you to don animal ears and ride him into the mattress. Handcuffs are nothing in comparison but you wait out the nerves flashing on his face. “Maybe.”

“On who?”

“Umm…”

“Have you been handcuffed?”

Do you want to be? The idea is just another fantasy you’ll think about later in the dark of your room when you need a quick way to get off.

“No.”

“Lame,” you tease before tossing them to the floor and shoving a foil packet into his chest.

Soonyoung’s ability to multitask is nonexistent. Not when your nipping his ear lobe and whispering how bad you want him to fuck you; how you can’t wait to feel him inside you; how big his dick is. Perfect flattery that makes him whine and fumble the condom over and over again until you grant clemency and do it yourself.

His hands are rough against your ass as you slip him inside, slow because you want him to suffer just a little bit. Your thighs scream in protest at the angle but Soonyoung looks at you like he’s watching a miracle unfold and the discomfort is more than worth it.

If there was time, you’d let him fuck you from behind just to see how he’d fair with such a visual, but this is already dragging out too long. Soonyoung looks like he needs more time to adjust to the way he’s digging in your walls than you do. So you keep theme and start bouncing on his cock just to watch him go insane.

“God,” he grunts, neck strained and a vein rising on his forehead. “You’re fucking tight. Shit.”

Your eyelids flutter shut in focus. “Keep talking. Tell me how it feels.”

“Feels amazing, oh my god. You’re so wet.”

Your pelvis tilts so he can meet each stroke from below. The slap of skin on skin drowns out any other noise; the music, the screaming partygoers just outside. If someone walks by his door they’ll figure out what's happening in a second. Makes you want Soonyoung to be louder.

“You’re so hard for me.”

You sink flat until your ass is cradled against the firmness of his thighs. You use the leverage to sit up and give an uninterrupted view of your front; how your breasts bounce with each movement, where his cock sinks deep into your guts without any resistance.

“All for you,” he nods, eyes wild and unfocused. There’s sweat on his neck and you can’t fight the sick urge to suck against the muscle laying underneath. “Fuck you make me so hard.”

“Should’ve let me suck your dick.”

“I know,” he whines. An arm loops around your waist, crowding you into the sheets from a smooth flip. An open mouth kiss, really just panted breath and tongue, distracts you further. A thumb at your chin keeps you pliant to whatever he wants.

He rocks deeper, as if it's possible. Surges right into that spot that curls your chest tight with rough fluidity. Your thighs fold wide to give him room.

One of your hands rubs at your clit to catch up.

“God, yeah, touch yourself for me.” Soonyoung whines. “Can you come again?”

He’s not just a sub, he’s a sadist.

“I—”

“Please,” he begs with a hard rush.

“Yeah, okay,” you mumble. “Fuck me harder. Make me cum on your cock.”

You dig your free hand in his hair, tugging until it stings at the roots just the way he likes. The reward is another harsh rut of his hips that leaves you gasping for air.

“Fuck. Right there, baby,” you moan along with the sloppy noise echoing between your thighs. “Don’t stop.”

You scramble to grab his ass, pulling him flush against you for the perfect angle to batter your insides. Your skins on fire as you tumble closer and closer to that point of no return.

“Soonyoung!” you gasp. It’s right there. That blissful ending is just a hairwidth away.

“God, you’re so hot,” he folds in half as he says it, crushing you underneath his body until you're bent in half in his lap with the wet of his tongue at your jaw. “Cum for me, cum on my cock.”

You twist tighter under his insistence, shrinking and shrinking, and then — finally — it splinters. The waves rock through you, head forced back into the pillows from the force of moans wrecking your throat. “Oh— fuck, that—god. Oh.”

Vision black against the inside of your eyelids, you melt into nothing. Only Soonyoung’s grip keeps you from shaking apart into a million pieces as you whine into his mouth.

“Holy shit, that was so hot,” he’s rambling the way to his own end, hips shaky from the way you’ve wetted his cock. “You’re so hot. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

You want to watch him cum. Even if the temptation to lay there and take it is sweet you won’t give in.

Bangs sticking to his forehead with sweat, Soonyoung is a mess in his own right. Pink at the ears, lips bruised. You can’t get enough. His eyes darken as you suck along his thumb, tongue lashing against the sensitive pad. Soonyoung isn’t the only one that wishes you got to suck his dick.

“Cum on me,” you whine.

He pulls out, quickly tossing the condom aside. Your hand is already waiting to jerk him off over your body, the grease of the latex making the strokes smooth as Soonyoung fucks your fist with the same desperation as your pussy. It takes only a few thrusts before you feel the heat of his spend drip across your chest and stomach. You’re careful to stay still, body spread flat as he coats you in pale streaks.

“Fuck,” he gasps. He twitches when you don’t stop, biting his tongue through the sting of overstimulation until he has to pull away.

Soonyoung collapses to the side. Shoulder to shoulder, you catch your breaths in the dull thump of music.

“That was fun.” You pat his stomach before standing. The floor is a mess of clothes needing to be plucked through. His shirt becomes a cum rag as you wipe away the mess staining your body.

“You aren’t gonna stay?” He calls from the bed.

“No?”

Why would I? you think while pulling on your underwear.

Soonyoung watches, splayed across the bed with his dick still wet in his lap. “Then, can I, like, call you sometime?”

“No thanks.”

“If you keep being mean to me I’m going to fall in love with you.”

“Quoting New Girl isn’t giving me much incentive to be nicer,” you snort, untangling your bra.

“It’s a great fucking show.”

“Here’s a tip: if you want to fuck me again, stop being such a loser.”

“You still let me hit so I think you like losers.”

He’s smiling. You really need to find your underwear so you can get away from it.

“I like hot guys with big dicks,” you shrug. “You happen to be that.”

“I know you want me,” he sings

“Dead, maybe.”

“You’d miss my stroke game.”

“I’d love to stroke you.” You coo. “With a bat. To the head.”

“I love when you talk dirty to me, baby.” He groans with dramatic flair. “By the way, you have cum on your skirt.”

You do, on the hem somehow. A mystery to be solved when you’re safely back in the crowded expanse of a party and not alone with the guy with a tiger fetish you might want to fuck again. “Not the first time.”

“God…. Please give me your number.”

You can’t swallow the smile blooming at his request. Instead, you turn to leer over him. He’s watching your mouth, licking his lips like he wants to drag you down for another tumble. “Keep begging.”

He’s got enough humor to get on his knees and clutch his hands to his chest pathetically. You’re still close, watching him down the slope of your nose while hiding a smirk.

“Queen of my dick, please bestow a crumb of kindness and allow me the pleasure of hitting you up at 3 AM.”

“That time I almost caved.” You back away just in time for him to stumble over himself. “Too bad I don’t fuck guys into furry shit at 3 AM.”

“One, not a furry. Two, who do you fuck then?”

“One, you're not fooling anybody.” You take extra time straightening out your hair in the mirror just so he can stare at your ass. You feel him do it. “Two, myself.”

“I will pay real money to see that.”

“I know you would. So you’re never gonna.”

He’s watching you like some lovesick fool, glowing in the light with ignorance of what comes next. Part of you doesn’t want to crush someone as earnest as he is but staying the night is out of the question when you can still hear the party rattling through the walls.

“If I give you my number,” you start. “You have to give me this.”

It’s one of the smaller plushies. Soft to the touch and attached to his keys hanging by the door. It’s cute and perfect enough to satisfy your friends’ demands. Also, an excuse to see him again if you really want.

Maybe you do.

“TamTam?” Soonyoung asks from your side. You didn’t even hear him approach but he’s got boxers on so it took him a minute.

“You name your stuffed animals?”

“TamTam is special.”

“Oh, he is?” you ask. “Well, how bad do you want my number?”

“I don’t know…” Soonyoung starts.

Your face stings at the rejection but you bury it before giving it a chance to fester into something that needs thinking about. Looking back in the mirror to correct the smudges in your make is the only cover you’ve got.

“Okay,” he nods. “But if you do anything to him I will actually cry.”

TamTam is thrust into your hands and you can’t help but smile. It’s cute. Soonyoung is cute. And it actually might make you explode.

You hate it.

“I pinky promise I will throw myself in front of a bullet for TamTam.”

He locks his pinky around your extended one, “Good.”

And then he’s kissing you again. Every thought melts away under his lips, soft against your own with a new sweetness. The edge of the dresser digs into your spine as he crowds you against it for more leverage but it’s merely an afterthought.

Soonyoung (not a furry): btw i lied [12:15 AM] Soonyoung (not a furry): im not hitting you up at 3am [12:15 AM] Soonyoung (not a furry): what are you doing tomorrow night (pls say me) [12:16 AM] You: tamtam and i are busy [12:33 AM]

Maybe you smile at the string of intelligible letters you receive after sending the picture of you kissing TamTam’s cheek. It’s no one's business if you do anyway.

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie

@gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire

@missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @sliceofwoozi @writingbarnes

@dokyeomkyeom @christinewithluv @minwonfairy @idkjustlovingbts @wobblewobble822 @futuristicenemychaos

#svthub #ksmutsociety #kvanity #kwon soonyoung #hoshi #kwon soonyoung smut #hoshi smut #seventeen smut #seventeen fanfic #svt x reader #soonyoung x reader #hoshi x reader #svt #svt smut #seventeen #seventeen hoshi #🫡 highvern

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sweetkpopmusings · 2 months

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mingyu best friend headcanons <3

a/n: posting his bestie headcanons next as requested !! mingyu is my babygirl and whenever i think about him i just want to gently hold him and give him a lil kiss on the forehead <3 he is absolutely the best of friends to the people he loves :,-) what a precious boy ! pics not mine~

content: fluff | wc: 0.8k | warnings: none! | pairing: bestfriend!mingyu x gn!reader | requests: open

mingyu’s the kind of friend you can’t remember your life without

not only because he has become so embedded into your support system, but also because you immediately went from not knowing each other to being the best of friends

your first impression was “how does this man look like a greek god” and, after having a brief conversation with him, you realized “this is my golden retriever and i will protect him at all costs”

mingyu is the silliest, most precious, dorkiest, loving guy

obviously you can’t be around him without him breaking something and/or endangering his life

so you watch out for when he drops things, runs into things, trips over himself, etc

for his birthday, you bought him a first aid kit that you decorated so it matched his style

it’s 100% his favorite thing in the world, so naturally, he has to have someone else carry it for him whenever he leaves his place so it doesn’t get lost <3333

he refuses to use supplies from any other first aid kit because “it would be disrespectful to y/n” :,-)

somehow, when it comes to you being clumsy, he's got cat-like reflexes ???

if you stumble a little bit, his hand automatically balances you before you realize you could've fallen

whenever your phone slips out of your hand, he catches it and then laughs at you for having butterfingers

if seventeen sees this happen they will be completely dumbfounded because how is MINGYU not the klutz in this situation

you assure them he is still the clumsiest person alive and recount, in detail, how he bumped his head on a wall while laughing, dropped his phone while holding his head, and spilled his drink while reaching for his phone...all within 45 seconds

cut to the members crying from laughter and mingyu whining because “y/n is exaggerating!!!!!!!”

like this is just a classic situation of mingyu trying to roast you but ending up roasting himself lmao

laughing with mingyu is the best thing in the entire world !!!

sometimes you two just make eye contact and he starts giggling which makes you laugh which makes him laugh harder which turns into both of you silently cracking up with tears streaming down your faces

and the rest of the people hanging out with you are like ???? neither of you said a single word ??? nothing funny happened ??? are you two okay ???

the answer to that is no we’re clearly losing our minds but also yeah we’re totally fine LOL

he loves to annoy you

very big fan of the whole “i’m not touching you” bit while pointing his finger alarmingly close to you

if you try to ignore him, he’s going to do everything in his power to get you to notice him

he’s sighing, clearing his throat, calling your name, exclaiming “OH MY GOD WHAT WAS THAT?!” just to get you to turn your head

every time, it ends one of two ways

you turn your head and he smiles victoriously, no longer annoying you because he got your attention and can now talk your ear off about whatever silly thought was in his head

you ignore him for so long his finger/arm starts cramping and he whines about being in pain and won’t stop whining until you acknowledge his pain

even if you just say “gyu, put your arm down so the cramping stops”

he’s over! the! moon! because “awwwwwww so you DO care about me???”

mingyu’s such a big baby but he's YOUR big baby i love him so much

despite his puppy-like nature, he is also your #1 protector

if anyone hurts your feelings, he is on attack dog mode as soon as all of your tears have been wiped <33

he will NOT let ANYONE make fun of you. like you’re HIS bestie and only HE can do that >:-(

one time hoshi took an impression of you a little too far and BOY did mingyu give him an earful

poor hoshi was apologizing to you for WEEKS after

mingyu would’ve had hoshi doing your laundry for months as reparations but you promised him it actually wasn’t even that bad like you just didn’t like how hoshi imitated your voice but according to mingyu “it’s the principle of it all >:-(“

he will do anything and everything in his power to reduce your stress and take care of you when you’re feeling less than your best <333

low on energy? mingyu’s coming over to clean your place for you!

have a massive to-do list before you go on a trip? mingyu has divided the tasks between you two so you can finish everything in enough time to get some rest before you leave!

truly he’ll put everything aside to make sure you’re okay :-(((

overall, mingyu is the most dependable, heartfelt, and hilarious best friend to have :,,,,-)

if you tell him this, it will feed his ego and he will bring it up constantly LOL

don’t worry though–he tells you all the time how you are a rock for him and that he loves you so so much and that his life has become a million, billion, trillion times better since you entered it <3

he’s just so endearing please give me a mingyu to protect and be protected by PLEASE!!!

#seventeen #seventeen headcanons #bestfriend!seventeen #seventeen imagines #svt #mingyu #seventeen mingyu #seventeen fluff #seventeen x reader #mingyu x reader #mingyu fluff #svt mingyu #svt headcanons #seventeen au #svt au #kim mingyu #sweetkpopmusings

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martyrlamb · 11 months

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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.

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