#i will be crushed if it happens i will but ill be okay. my life will not end if a man i see once every 4 or so months led me on and then

[lordelmelloi2]

I wrote all that stuff yesterday about being lonely and coping and then proceeded to get into an argument with my father over text in which he said I didn’t deserve his or my stepmom’s love & attention bc of something I can’t even remember that happened when I was severely mentally ill like 8 years ago so I’m like. Well. Emotionally crushed. Happy birthday to Rose tomorrow I guess 

[radiotorn]

The perusing thru photo gallery strikes again. ! Bad

[paddooo]

Absolutely paralyzed with fear

[genekies]

[inkskinned]

so one of the things that's so horrifying about birth control is that you have to, like, navigate this incredibly personal choice about your body and yet also face the epitome of misogyny. like, someone in the comments will say it wasn't that bad for me, and you'll be utterly silenced. like, everyone treats birth control like something that's super dirty. like, you have no fucking information or control over this thing because certain powerful people find it icky.

first it was the oral contraceptives. you went on those young, mostly for reasons unrelated to birth control - even your dermatologist suggested them to control your acne. the list of side effects was longer than your arm, and you just stared at it, horrified.

it made you so mentally ill, but you just heard that this was adulthood. that, yes, there are of course side effects, what did you expect. one day you looked up yasmin makes me depressed because surely this was far too intense, and you discovered that over 12,000 lawsuits had been successfully filed against the brand. it remains commonly prescribed on the open market. you switched brands a few times before oral contraceptives stopped being in any way effective. your doctor just, like, shrugged and said you could try a different brand again.

and the thing is that you're a feminist. you know from your own experience that birth control can be lifesaving, and that even when used for birth control - it is necessary healthcare. you have seen it save so many people from such bad situations, yourself included. it is critical that any person has access to birth control, and you would never suggest that we just get rid of all of it.

you were a little skeeved out by the implant (heard too many bad stories about it) and figured - okay, iud. it was some of the worst pain you've ever fucking experienced, and you did it with a small number of tylenol in your system (3), like you were getting your bikini line waxed instead of something practically sewn into your body.

and what's wild is that because sometimes it isn't a painful insertion process, it is vanishingly rare to find a doctor that will actually numb the area. while your doctor was talking to you about which brand to choose, you were thinking about the other ways you've been injured in your life. you thought about how you had a suspicious mole frozen off - something so small and easy - and how they'd numbed a huge area. you thought about when you broke your wrist and didn't actually notice, because you'd thought it was a sprain.

your understanding of pain is that how the human body responds to injury doesn't always relate to the actual pain tolerance of the person - it's more about how lucky that person is physically. maybe they broke it in a perfect way. maybe they happened to get hurt in a place without a lot of nerve endings. some people can handle a broken femur but crumble under a sore tooth. there's no true way to predict how "much" something actually hurts.

in no other situation would it be appropriate for doctors to ignore pain. just because someone can break their wrist and not feel it doesn't mean no one should receive pain meds for a broken wrist. it just means that particular person was lucky about it. it should not define treatment.

in the comments of videos about IUDs, literally thousands of people report agony. blinding, nauseating, soul-crushing agony. they say things like i had 2 kids and this was the worst thing i ever experienced or i literally have a tattoo on my ribs and it felt like a tickle. this thing almost killed me or would rather run into traffic than ever feel that again.

so it's either true that every single person who reports severe pain is exaggerating. or it's true that it's far more likely you will experience pain, rather than "just a pinch." and yet - there's nothing fucking been done about it. it kind of feels like a shrug is layered on top of everything - since technically it's elective, isn't it kind of your fault for agreeing to select it? stop being fearmongering. stop being defensive.

you fucking needed yours. you are almost weirdly protective of it. yours was so important for your physical and mental health. it helped you off hormonal birth control and even started helping some of your symptoms. it still fucking hurt for no fucking reason.

once while recovering from surgery, they offered you like 15 days of vicodin. you only took 2 of them. you've been offered oxy for tonsillitis. you turned down opioids while recovering from your wisdom tooth extraction. everything else has the option. you fucking drove yourself home after it, shocked and quietly weeping, feeling like something very bad had just happened. the nurse that held your hand during the experience looked down at you, tears in her eyes, and said - i know. this is cruelty in action.

and it's fucked up because the conversation is never just "hey, so the way we are doing this is fucking barbaric and doctors should be required to offer serious pain meds" - it's usually something around the lines of "well, it didn't kill you, did it?"

you just found out that removing that little bitch will hurt just as bad. a little pinch like how oral contraceptives have "some" serious symptoms. like your life and pain are expendable or not really important. like maybe we are all hysterical about it?

hysteria comes from the latin word for uterus, which is great!

you stand here at a crossroads. like - this thing is so important. did they really have to make it so fucking dangerous. and why is it that if you make a complaint, you're told - i didn't even want you to have this in the first place. we're told be careful what you wish for. we're told that it's our fault for wanting something so illict; we could simply choose not to need medication. that maybe if we don't like the scraps, we should get ready to starve.

we have been saying for so long - "i'm not asking you to remove the option, i'm asking you to reconsider the risk." this entire time we hear: well, this is what you wanted, isn't it?

[alien-magnolia]

You Saved Me

Tw: logan howlett x fem!reader, domestics, description of childbirth/pregnancy, breeding knk, fem/mutant! reader, domestics, Logan being so caring <3 18+ MDNI

A/n: please support your creators and reblog if you love this content <3 xoxo, Liz

——-

You never believed in being absolutely crushed, enamored with someone just from one instance of meeting. Just from one glance. That never fell to be true. Until you met Logan.

He saved you from Striker’s Island, saved you from life in a cage, life as an experiment, carrying you off the grounds of the facility because you had a broken leg. He was so caring, so gentle, with you that day.

You sobbed as the bone in your leg bulged out, itching to relieve itself in the fresh air, away from the mess that was your thigh. “I know it hurts. Just hold on to me, yeah? Won’t let anything happen to you,” he consoles, his gruff voice and warm, heaving chest a comfort to you as the pain from your leg was asinine — slowly killing you.

He was gentle on the night you eloped, as well. The two of you fell enamored with each other in only a span of a few months. You needed each other to heal. The two of you spend some time away from the X-mansion, back in the outskirts of the Colorado mountains.

“Let me carry you over these rocks, bub. Don’t want you to strain yourself,” he chided at you, and once again, those strong, hairy arms you loved so much, picked you up as if you weighed nothing, and carried you to the edge of the cliff. “It’s beautiful here, Logan,” you exclaim in quiet awe. “It’s nice. Private,” he replies, a large hand coming to cup your face. “You saved me, bub. After losing my brother, having all these god-fuckin’ awful memories. Had so much pain,” he sighs. “I know. You’re safe now, Lo,” your hands cup his cheeks, pulling him into a slow and chaste kiss.

—-

“Can’t! Can’t take it anymore — Lo!!,” you squealed, as his broad chest pressed up against your back, all the chest hair leaving marks on your back. His large hands cradling your front, occasionally squeezing at your plush tits, his grunts animalistic. “Doing so well, sweetheart. Taking me so well. Give me one more squeeze bub, I know you can,” he reassures, as you feel like you’re about to explode from his thick, eight inch cock ramming into you, over and over.

You’re in complete bliss as you feel his seed seeping into you. You were fertile. You were his. His claws come out as he finishes, almost touching your neck. He pulled them back quickly, checking if you were okay. “Love you so much, sweetheart. You’re my moon, I’m your Wolverine,” he whispers, as he rolls you over onto your back, wiping you with a towel. He lays down next to you, cradling you on his big chest, in an almost paternal way.

You were safe, you were loved.

He continued being the softest, gentle, man that he could be, with you. Even when the both of you returned to the Mansion. He would constantly check in on you if you were teaching class, advising the students of how you gained control of your telepathy. He would always make sure you went to bed at a reasonable time, and that you wouldn’t over exert yourself while teaching.

His love and care for you was innately fierce, and it grew even more fervorous when you told him you were pregnant. You’ve never seen the man so happy.

He was insanely protective over you. He was your shadow, always around where you were. If another at the mansion even so simply looked at you, he would get defensive. “We got a problem here?,” he would ask, claws slowly inching out. They would shake their head quickly and walk away.

He would hold back your hair as you had morning sickness, constantly ill. He would tell you everything would be okay, as you gained a bit of weight, as your hormones raged out of control.

“What do you need, bub? Water? I can make you somethin’ to eat too, don’t hold out on me, now,” he asks, as he walks into your kitchen after a long day of working with Charles on a new project. You sniffle, “I never knew pregnancy would be this hard, Lo. I’m losing it.” “Hey. You’re still my moon, y’ know. You saved me, sweetheart. Still love ya just the same, even if you’re all heavy with my kid. It’s a new life we made,” he reassures, bringing you in to the safe haven of his chest again. You smile warmly, as he continues to hold you.

He was there with you for the birth. You were in so much pain, and he held you — every step of the way. When the infant was finally out, the three of you spent hours just laying together, having skin to skin contact. “My moon. Did so well f’me, sweetheart,” he tells you, as you have your infant laying on his chest, and your fingers gently touch his beard.

He saved you, after all.

A/n: I want this man in a very bad way, a very, very, very, very bad way. Screaming. References here are from original X men movie and X men origins: Wolverine.

[ninkikong]

:(

[martyrlamb]

✶ when the clock strikes / leon kennedy

pairing: leon kennedy x gn!reader

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

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

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

word count: 8.5k (got possessed sorry)

Everyone thought you were crazy when you accepted the offer. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not that there were many people around.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like I fell into a thorn bush.”

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

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

“Are you dizzy? Nauseous?”

“Fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing?” he asks.

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t hear a crack.”

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

“I have to get back to work.”

“Look, I understand—“

“I’ll be fine.”

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

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

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

“Okay? As in…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You never asked him his name?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(You were deeply embarrassed.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeesh.”

“I know. My condolences.”

“For myself?”

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

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

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

“You’ll laugh.”

“Why would I do that?”

“It’s corny.”

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

“Try me,” he challenges.

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

Leon nods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You do a good job.”

“I’m just a medic.”

“A good one.”

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

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

“Of course, Agent Kennedy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A fever this time?”

“Yep.”

“Make yourself comfortable, Leon.” 

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

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

“Dying?” 

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

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

“You could just come talk to me.”

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

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

“What?”

“Your shoulder.”

“I was stretching.”

“Does it hurt?”

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

“It’s fine.”

“Agent Kennedy.”

He pretends not to hear you.

“Leon.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I wake up and roll out of bed.”

“I need to get this out.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sometimes.”

“Must be glad I showed up.”

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

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

Leon chuckles. “I thought about it.”

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

You chime together, like clockwork.

[astralnymphh]

what if u get a scratch and vampire ellie smells u from a mile away and she’s so desperate to have your blood that she lures you into her house and begs you for just a little taste. she whines and apologizes over and over again for being so needy while drinking your blood.

no smut. but suggestive! doc version included

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ oohhhh.. literally loser!vampire!ellie. the layout would be reader who's ultimate best friends with her; long time childhood friends potentially? and, let's also exercise the chance that ellie was fortunate enough to keep her vampirism veiled from your knowledge all this time. (if edward cullen could, she can too.) so, on one superficially mundane day near the woods where you happen to break skin by means i will leave up to individual imagination, ellie just so happens to be a mile away - returning home after a hunt proved to be in vain (girl had to feed bad but was way too delirious to concentrate.) - so, what transpires when she picks up the familiar scent of her beloved friends blood, an aroma commonly encountered, but always ignored despite her bloodstained appetite? yield.

"hey, my cars' just by the curb there. can give you a ride back to my place, patch that scratch up. 'ts not a big deal."

strange for her to utter that - it's not a big deal, when your puny little scratch is incapable of even irritating you that bad, but ellie insists, softly. what she omitted, is exactly what will happen between plopping on her bed and actually plastering a band-aid on that scratch. blood was drawn, crimson had dripped, and nothing goes off without a hitch when a voracious vamp meets the nectar of life, nothing. "you don't have to look— just, let me, please? again, i'm so sorry for asking." her voice withered and apologetic, a breathy and sedated mess with her fingers twiddling and twining with yours, sat adjacent to you just looking so so guilty for even bringing the topic up; vex with herself that she couldn't ignore it, like all the other past instances. "ellie, i— ugh, okay. if it's only a little.." and— that reply of sanction should excite her, god forbid she doesn't have the biggest crush on you, and now she's doing this thing viewed as intimate by some of her peers? but she can't help but feel.. sorrowfully faulted at first.

she drags her lips over the nub of your wrist before she separates them and bares her pretty teeth, poking your skin in little dints. vampiric foreplay. "you do this with every girl?" and you say it earnestly, yet with a light heart. no ill will bending in your tone nor intention. yet vulnerability casts a pall over ellie right now, taking blood from the one she can't keep her damn desires off, "i don't— i don't, no, fuck.. never, you're the only one so far." she mumbles, withdrawing her teeth a moment to spew that recital of apologies "so fuckin' sorry, please don't watch me. i just need.. just need—" she's literally so ashamed of her vehement needs for your taste, she can't even complete her sentences, unsheathing her teeth once more and burying them into the flesh by your wrist bone, grunting simultaneously with your pretty little wince.

although it is strange— on the edge of daunting, you managed to muster a fondness for it after a minute or so; the adrenaline rush at first bite, the excess of blood smearing her pale rose lips in a blotchy pattern, sometimes trickling the rise of her chin, those cursedly cute noises she makes during the feed, the fumble of her fingers trying to pull your arm deeper into her mouth like your wrist alone wasn't suitable of quenching, suspending her sucks with a spluttered or breathless, "damn it, sorry, just a little longer." whispered unto the delicate massacre painting your lower forearm— you love it. too much, you love her sudden jump in energy, pinning you on the mattress with her whole body and lodging her knee between your thighs, all while pleasuring you with pain, you fucking adore it. she has to know.

"take all you need, ellie. i don't mind, you can have me all you want, hmm?"

who knows where her mouth ended up next.

MASTERLIST . DAILY CLICK . IMPORTANT TLOU POST . PALESTINE INFO . BIG TEXT VER

ignore why i wrote sm i did not plan to yap this much apologies if its rushed i am quite tired.

[cozage]

Hey hey hey! It's me again XD I'm here to send you another angst request and you can write it with any OP charaters that you like! The request is how they would react to their s/o dying unexpectedly from an illness but when they kissed them goodbye on the lips, their s/o came back to life and said 'your love is my cure' or other cheesy phrases cuz Idk what to write lol ?

A/N: RAINBOWSTAR HI IVE MISSED YOU I HOPE YOU ARE WELL

Characters: reader x Law, Luffy, Zoro

Cw: reader death, angst

Total word count: 800

True Love's Kiss

Law

He can’t figure out why your heart rate is dropping so fast. He’s done everything he could to try and help you, but nothing is working. 

Your heart stops, and he’s in a full panic now. Immediately starting CPR. Praying to anything and anyone to let you live somehow.

When he presses his lips to yours, he’s desperately hoping for a miracle.

He hesitates just a moment before breathing air into your lungs, and he’s startled to see your eyes fly open.

A gasp escapes your mouth, and he looks at you, unbelieving that you’re really still alive. 

He buries his face in your chest, taking a few uneasy breaths and trying not to cry from the relief of you being okay. 

You comb your fingers through his hair and steady yourself, trying to recall what happened or why he’s reacting this way, until he finally speaks. 

“You died,” he says. His voice is thick with tears, which you try your best to ignore. If Law is crying, then it must’ve been serious. 

“You saved me,” you reply. You don’t feel like you have just died. Just like you woke up from a really long nap. 

“No, I couldn’t. I couldn’t do any-“

“I’m alive now aren’t I?” You ask. “I guess your lips really can heal anything”.

He’s so thankful that you’re alive, he doesn’t even respond to your stupid joke 

Luffy

He’s shaking you, begging you to come back to him. He’s screaming and sobbing and impossible to console.

Zoro tries to pull him away so Chopper can treat you, but Luffy knows. He’s been here before. 

Chopper knows too. Everyone knows. So they just sit and watch their captain fall apart. 

He’s clutching you to his chest, he doesn’t want anyone else near you or touching you. He’s still sobbing, but it’s growing softer into whimpers.

He gives you soft kisses across your face, silent pleas for you to wake up. His lips finally meet yours, a final goodbye to you.

A soft gasp escapes your lips, and the entire crew takes back a step in shock. 

“Luffy?” You groan, still pressed against him so tightly it hurts. “You’re crushing me.”

He just holds you tighter, returning to hard sobbing again. “Stay with me,” he chokes out. “Please don’t die.”

“That’s impossible,” Chopper whispers. “Y/N was dead.”

You take a second to process. “I guess a true love's kiss brought me back.”

“If I give you more, you better live forever,” Luffy says, covering you in even more kisses. 

Zoro

He carries your limp body to Chopper, begging him to fix you. But he knows it’s too late. He doesn’t know what you were hit by, but he knew when he pressed his head against your chest, your heart was still. 

He lays you on the ground for Chopper to run an examination. Chopper confirms his worst fear. It was too late.

He holds you, running his hands through your hair, whispering words of apologies to you. He blames himself, of course. He wasn’t strong enough to keep you safe. 

He presses his lips into your forehead first, taking a deep inhale to try and remember your smell. He’s having trouble accepting the fact he’ll never smell your shampoo again, never see your smile. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

He moves his lips down to yours, giving you one last kiss as a goodbye. He pulls away to find your eyes staring at him, scared to see him so sad.

He drops you in shock, his face contorting into a weird mix of confusion and joy. He doesn’t know how to feel or what’s going on, and you're just as confused. 

“What the hell?” he yelled, prompting Chopper to look up and see you alive and well. The reindeer screams while you look at your boyfriend in confusion. 

“What?” you ask, irritated that was his reaction to kissing you.

Zoro just stares at you, mouth agape. You can see his eyes are still watery, and the two of you stare at each other for a few seconds until Chopper screams. “You were dead, Y/N! Really dead!”

“No I wasn’t,” you shoot back, trying to hide your panic. 

“You were,” Zoro whispered. He lunged at you, his lips pressing against yours for a long time. 

You finally push him off of you, gasping for air. “Damn, Zoro! Don’t kill me again!” you said, feigning a coughing fit. “Although, I guess you could, as long as you bring me back with another kiss, mmkay?”

Before he has the chance to say something snarky back, you lean in for another kiss, and he happily accepts it. 

[adoregojo]

↬ two paths 一 ⦁ nagi.s, reo.m

▶︎ sooooooooooooo... this is some rotting dabble i abandoned, and since Im kind of desperate for any glimpse of motivation, i finished it. and surprise, surprise! its a reo and nagi fic lmaolmao.

▶︎ summary: reo have had a crush on you for a good long two years, and when it's the time to word his love to you, but a obstruct of your part says otherwise. ▶︎ context: nagi is your childhood friend, jealousy, idk if this counts as a love triangle? it's more like your a brick head, some angst (ofc) kind of a plottwist !!gn reader!!

"i like you, I've liked you ever since you stepped into my world, i like everything about you, your smile, your eyes, your gentle hands, your laugh, and most of all your soul that kept me hostage. and i-"

the hang up sound cut him off.

silence fell upon the other side of the phone, only the stillness of the disconnected tone nudging him back to reality. his hold on the phone was a robust one, so stout to the point of a crack to echo. the compound of bitterness, remorse, frustration, all were hefty on the little pinning heart of his.

and with that, you rejected reo, without even saying a word.

and the next days were nothing but a grievous duration, to him the most. as much as reo didn't want to see you for a while, there was no escaping you when you were in the same school, classroom, 一hell, even club. you were in every corner and every ditch, and he'll be a dead lier if he said that your appearance alone wouldn't tiptoe on his heartstrings. reo can stay still ever so firmly and yet you'd still be able to prod him out of his ground as convenient.

reo wanted to be mad at you, to hate you even, but he couldn't, he sincerely couldn't. even when the strain was tense, unbearable, but somehow it also felt pitifully suffocated, graciously. it was you after all, where he felt like a fragile creature under your spell, gosh一 you had reo warped around your finger with cement.

nevertheless, what drove him to the edge was how you operated it. while reo handled it by immersing himself in two blankets and eat ice cream to pacified him to crying himself to sleep. however, you on the other hand was having the time of your life. greeting him good morning to saying goodbyes, even asking him how his day went, did his confession meant that little to you?

reo wondered if you bat an eye, you just denied him after all, but some acknowledgment would've been great. or at least have a talk about it. but instead you acted like it never even happened. the idea of you skipping over his feelings made him sick to his core, it sounded so ill-suited, you above all if not the most considerate, thoughtful person he'd ever met. that's how reo fell for you in the first place.

he wasn't gonna apologies for being selfish, he wanted you to himself. reo kept all his feelings for you bottled up for a good old two years, and he just cannot bare with the fear of someone else stealing you anymore 一something that kept him on trails of restless nights一

maybe that's what herd him away from you, the decedent between the two grew by each day. yet reo loved you too much to live with the consequences of his actions, he can't even look at you without screaming 'why don't you care as much as i do', your sudden unfamiliarity stings him slowly and most of all painfully.

for you to blow him away like a dust that burdens your clothes felt it was caused by a clone, or did he just never knew you like he thought he did?

it ached to see you asking him if he's okay, if you did something wrong to drive him away. and goddamn it hurts seeing you like this, he would rather bang his head to the wall repeatedly than see that anguished expression ever again, and worst of all, reo was the reason for it.

you were heavy on his mind 一as if you weren't already一 the recollection of you standing with your sweaty palms rubbing against each other, a bad habit you do when you get uneasy, he really fucked up to the point where you have became a nervous wreck in his presence. your utter was light, questioning if he even wanted to be your 'friend' anymore.

you weren't the one to blame, reo was the one who stopped talking to you, stopped sitting with you for lunch, he even withdrew the club you two shared 一he didn't even have a liking for it, just joined because you were there一 all that and you still tugged on the last tie of faith reo would walk back into your life with open arms.

but reo didn't want to be your 'friend', not anymore. he wanted to be the one to protect you, to understand you, he wanted to be your man, your other half more anything, for him to be your everything just like you are his. you can't just make heaven a living place on earth then walk away when he was on knees for you.

he left you at halt, saying that he needed some time. you never knew time for what because he walked away before letting you word anything out. so now, his hands buried deep in his pockets, he felt heavy, mind and heart on a race track. he felt awful, the image of you standing in confusion, lost on what to do will hunt him to his grave. he tried running his fingers throughout his violet lockes, he was petty, selfish, and reo knew he could've worded it better instead of this.

from the corner of his eye, he could spot a bunch of flowers fluttering under the rush of air, hit by the sunlight to outshine any other plants besides. he could've think of how beautiful they looked, but no, the first thing that popped out his mind was the image of how bliss you'll be seeing them flourish just the way you liked it.

reo contemplating his actions, the pure, straightforward out of his heart gates confession and how far it had driven him. how beyond it had tossed what you two had. something blended with bittersweetness squeezed within his chest, envisioning of your smile made it a challenge to breathe.

so he keeps on strolling, trying to straighten himself until a familiar tall white headed form comes to his view. ranking ahead of a vending machine, nagi was too busy searching for what it appears to be a coin to even notice reo.

nagi was your friend, the one who watched the two of you downfall in silence. he didn't say a thing about it, didn't get involved and much rather concentrate on his phone-games. but there was something else, nagi have been your friend for what reo have been told since childhood. it was something anyone can figure out in the first glance, nagi doesn't leave your side for what it seems like eternally, he remained as your sidekick for decades. he witnessed all your phases, your growth. and he wasn't planning on departure his spot. it was a rare sight to see nagi not glued to your side, did the sky spare him? did his desperation reaches the empyrean?

"hey," reo announced his presence, nagi's bored eyes soaring over him. so the purple head flipped a coin to his direction, nagi tamed it halfway, staring at the single coin then back at his friend. "need another one." he uttered flatly as ever, so reo push out a sigh as he tossed him another one. the snowy head mummers a low thanks.

"listen, i need to tell you something." reo enunciates after a moment of hesitation, caressing the back of his neck as his lilac hues kept on swirling around. his friend just humming in acknowledgment, supporting his chin with his hand while still examining over the endless optionals of drinks.

"it's about yn."

nagi rattled momentarily, your name was like a cold water on his senses.

well, that was easy. reo thought. "i did something a few weeks ago, and i think i fucked up everything." he says, undertone. as if he was admitting an unforgivable crime.

"what did you do?" there was something off about nagi's tone, his grip on the coins was merciless. but his face still seemed boarded, nonchalantly but oddly firmed for some reason.

"i kind of admitted my feelings to them..."

nagi's daze expression shattered in an instant, not anything crazy, but his eyes grew obscure, casing over reo like a giant blacked cloud.

for nagi to carry that kind of aura was eccentric, that face would only arise every time an unnamed got a little too close to you. at that time, reo convinced himself that he was imagining that, because nagi out of all people stood his ground when it comes to dating, he'd always say the same thing 'dating sounds like a hassle'. and sometimes something wild like 'don't need someone else around, I already have yn.' reo wasn't a backstabber, he only confessed to you because he lived under the roof that his friend wasn't even able to handle anything intrigued with romance.

"i just, been liking them for ages. and i found the strength to finally say it to them, they-"

"hung up on you." the snowy head finished his line, which made reo eyes widen a bit.

he shifted awkwardly, "haha, did they tell you? how embarrassing.." he tried laughing it off, trying to avoid nagi's gaze for his sake.

"they didn't." nagi spoke quickly, voice strained than usual.

"oh? so how did you?.."

"because i did it. i was the one who hanged up."

there was a moment of lull, where not even the waves of wind could sooth over the tension. reo stood still, waiting for nagi to stick out his tongue playfully and shout 'gotcha!', praying for whoever might've fell upon to this to be a sick prank.

"you what?" he doesn't even realize he spoke before the words had already slipped.

nagi sigh tiredly, his fingers still at halt to press the numbers of his wanted drink, he didn't like focusing on two thing at the same time. "i thought you'd figure it out already. man, do i have to explain myself now? what a hassle." he let out softly.

"nagi, you-"

reo doesn't get get the chance to speak, to think, before nagi cut him off swiftly handling the conversation, like he knew this was coming. "listen, reo. i like being your friend, but i can't let you have yn." his words kept hurtling reo, it all poured down at his like a sucker punch.

"i don't understand."

"it's not that hard, i liked them first, i found them first. so they're basically mine."

oh, oh.

it all made sense now. reo felt like an idiot, why is he seeing this now? this is why you were clueless, because you didn't answer it in the first place. why, why was he so rushed to say it and not letting what he thought was you speak first.

every time when nagi would drink from the same bottle of yours, when he would twirl around a piece of your hair randomly, when his head would rest on your shoulder in every ride home, when he would shut down every time reo rambled about you, he just got it. why was he just connecting the puzzle? was his feelings for you so blinding that he couldn't see this?

reo wanted to say something, in fact things. but the lump in his throat clogs his attempts to protests. leaving his mouth agape.

and it was like nagi couldn't get a hold of concern about this, in fact he found waiting for his drinks to make it way down more interesting. yet he sensed a blazing breeze from his friend's direction, it was hard not to when they were on the same burden as an elephant. so the snowy head swiftly retorted, "plus, you already are the standard, right? I'm pretty sure you can find someone else, it'll be better if you found one quicker."

after that, nagi bent over to grab what was supposed to be his lemon tea alongside your favourite one. boredom eyes doubled-dyed at the cans, mostly at yours before blowing out a vague breath一did he just scoff?

"why you.."

"sorry, don't like sharing."

and with that, nagi walked away. head empty with the only maintenance thing was a picture of you as he handed you your favourite flavour with the money that wasn't even his. leaving reo dumbfounding at his back, he didn't get a say on this, like this wasn't even meant for him.

this wasn't a stage he can purchase to himself, not even to earn a role. he felt like a third-wheel in you and nagi's love tale.

it loathes him, brings him to edge even. but most of all, reo now wanted you more than anything.

[amorek1m]

( 심재윤 ) ★ LATE NIGHT DRIVE

. 𝐫é𝐬umé ❀ you don't like him, you always told yourself. but what makes the walls you build between you and him to crack?

𝓟airing , 𝒥ake x ℱame reader .☘︎ ݁˖ ( 1.7k ) ' ' ' fluff oneshot friends to lovers sligt angst? ‼ kissing unnecessary plot °｡

(𝓚im's 𝓝otez ./. ) thanks for reading my niki fic! I truly appreciated it❤️

[ ( reblogs + feedback is appriciated ) . ୨୧ . 𝔠𝔞𝔱𝔞𝔩𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔢]

A wave of relief washed over you as the final class of the day comes to an end. You couldn't wait to head back home, curl up in your cozy bed and watch "The Princess Diaries" again. Just as you about to call a cab, a loud honk from your side snapped you out of your thoughts. Curious, you turned to see who had been honking at you, and to your surprise, it was none other than your friend, Jake.

"Y/N! get in." he exclaimed, gesturing for you to get in the car. With a lighthearted chuckle, you obliged his request and hopped into the car. "Thanks my money-saver hero." you joked, grateful for his offer to give you a ride home. He chuckled at your comment. "Don't wanna let you waste your money when you have me."

A warm smile spread across your face as you realized how much of a life saver he was. Without him, your life must be difficult. Relieved, you brushed away those thoughts and turned your attention to the scenery outside, watching the world pass by through the car window.

"Jake." you called out, catching his attention. He kept his focus on the road but turned his head slightly in your direction.

"Yes, princess?" he replied.

"Don't take me home yet." you asserted. Before he could asked you 'why so sudden?', you quickly replied. "I want to go to the beach."

It took him seconds to process what you had just said, his eyes widening in surprise "You want to go... to the beach?" he repeated, even though the answer was obvious. "Yes." you confirmed.

"Why so sudden?" finally, the sentence came out of his mouth.

"Nothing. Just craving for the sea breeze." you replied.

"At this hour?" he looked at you, still not fully convinced. You nodded, like what you had just said was no sort of jokes. "Okay then, can't argue with you. But don't come crying to me when you feel cold and ask me to take off my jacket for you," he teased, his charming smile engraved on his face. Despite the initial desire to wipe that smile off his face, you couldn't help but be captive by it.

You always adore Jake's smile. You swear no one has the most beautiful smile than his. That's why you developed a crush on him the very first day of college. He seems to have that charming smile on his face, no matter if he's greeting someone, helping out, or even when others speak ill of him. You use to tell yourself that it was just a mere slight crush, but your feelings kept growing stronger. However, nowadays, you consider him just a friend. You love him, but only as a dear friend.

"Sorry for the bad news princess, but we have to make a quick stop at a gas station. My car's run out of oil." Jake said, waking you from your thoughts.

"Your car is sucks. You should buy a new one." you replied.

"Hey! Don't you dare talk bad about Layla. Besides, I don't want to buy a new car. No car is better than my Layla." He protested, clearly defensive about his beloved car.

"You named your car?" You asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah. My lovely Layla." he exclaimed, placing a tender kiss on the steering wheel.

You glad your feelings for him have long faded. You couldn't imagine being stuck with such a weirdo. "Gross." you said as you mockingly pretended to vomit.

Minutes passed by without none of you spoke, until you two finally arrived at the gas station. After refueling the car, Jake started the engine, ready to hit the road once more when suddenly, he halted. Confused, you were about to question him 'what happened' but before you could utter a word, he cut you off. "I suddenly craving for some snacks." he said with a sheepish smile, something you rarely seen on him. You hated to admit it but did you just find him cute?

"Okay..." you replied, still somewhat baffled. With a blink of an eye, Jake darted into the store, his speed leaving you surprised. "I'll be quick, promise!" he called out before disappearing inside.

. . . 🌺

"You promised to be quick." you stated with your arm crossed, as he get into the car. "Sorry princess, the store has many kind of snacks!! They all looked so delicious so i..."

You sighed in frustration and said, "It's okay. Just... you broke your promised." As you spoke, a pout began to form on your lips. You couldn't stand it when people didn’t keep their promises, no matter how small they were.

"Don't...! Pout!" Jake stated. He just broke a promised and now he's yelling at you? Sensing the swift in your mood, he quickly apologized. "S-sorry. I don't mean to yell at you it just some sort of reflexed."

"You're weird." you chuckled, unable to stay mad at his foolishness. He soon joined in your laughter, relieved to see you smile again.

"I got you something," he said, handing you an ice cream.

"OMG! Thanks! I thought you only got some for yourself." you exclaimed, genuinely surprised that he had bought ice cream for you too. "But how did you know my favorite flavor? I don't remember telling you what it was." you asked curiously.

He answered with a slight shrug, "Umm..nothing just thought the flavor taste good."

You resisted the urge to question him further, not wanting to ruin the mood. However it looked kinda suspicious. How on Earth did he know about your favorite flavor?

. . .🌺

"Wake up princess, we've arrived at your choosen destination." Jake voice rings on your ear, reminding you why the hell you want to go to the beach at this hour when you could be enjoying the comfort of your soft, warm bed right now! Regrets are pointless now that you had already reached the beach.

The coolness of the night wakes you up from sleepiness. You slowly opened your eyes and when you fully opened it, you were shocked to see the scenery in front of you. Without hesitation, you quickly removed your shoes and stockings, eager to experience the feeling of the sand against your bare feet.

"Jake!!!" you cried out, excitement lacing your voice. "Come here! It's real sand!! Actual sand!!".

This side of you was making Jake's heart flutter. He wish he could capture this moment and frame it in his head, but he knew that doing so, would simply remind him of the day he realized you had feelings for him. At that time, he was prepared to return those feelings, but things were just not meant to be. He blame himself for not realizing it sooner. He was a stupid to let you go when he had the chances.

"Jake!!"you called him again, noticing that he was passing out.

"Coming!!" he replied, waving at you as a sign that he heard you.

Soon, Jake finally joined you. The two of you thoroughly enjoyed yourselves playing on the beach, but all good things come to an end and soon enough, it was time to bring this playful hour to an end.

As you took a break by the shoreline, gazing out at the vast sea, you started speaking up. "You know," you began, "I've always dreamed of visiting the beach when I was younger. There's something calming about watching the waves softly crash against the shore."

"Umm, so that's why you begging me to take you to the beach when I can just rest at home right now?" he queried, a hint of playfulness in his tone. You didn't reply, allowing the tranquility and stillness of the moment to envelope you, enjoying the simplicity of the silent atmosphere.

After spending hours of running and playing at the beach, the sudden drowsiness start to get into you. Without a second thought, you leaned your head against Jake's shoulder, seeking out a momentary place to rest. The unexpected contact made him flinch in surprise. It feels weird but he didn't push you away. In fact, he secretly relished the sudden intimacy between you two.

"Princess," he called, gently waking you up, "It's time to head home."

You murmured in agreement, still slightly groggy from sleep. However, before you could stand up, he spoke up again.

"But wait," he said, a solemn expression on his face. Your curiosity piqued as you looked at him, wondering what was on his mind.

He took a deep breath and confessed, "I need to confess something. I don't care if you rejected it but I want you to know, that I like you Y/N. I've liked you ever since the first day at college. My heart has been drawn to you from the start, and when I found out that you had feelings for me, I was prepared to return your feelings as well."

"That day was one of the worst days of my life, filled with regret and self-blame. I should have confessed sooner, I should have realized it sooner... I was stupid Y/N. I was stupid." His voice trembled, filled with both regret and remorse.

" Sorry if this is too sudden. Just... pretend like you don't hear anything. I don't want to ruin our friendship because of thi-"

Before he finish his sentences, you suddenly leaned in and kissed him. Jake was startled at first, but he quickly responded to the kiss, his arms instinctively encircling your waist and pulling you closer. This was unexpected, and against everything you had promised yourself as you found yourself giving into the moment, letting your guard down and surrendering to the desires.

You pull away, taking a moment to catch your breath as you confess, "I like you too Jake. I like you since the first day of college. Even though you're such a weirdo, I will always been drawn to you. I like you."

Jake was overcome with happiness, both because he had finally confessed his feelings and also receiving your own confession in return. He couldn't help but smile as he opened his arms, inviting you for an embrace. "Come here."

You happily accepted his invitations as you hugged him back, "So, now.. what are we?" you asked with a curious expression.

"Everything you wanted us to be Princess. It's up to you."

© 2024, amorek1m 💌 perm tl . ღ @icyy-hoon @luvvknowle

a/n . . . this is supposed to be a scenario but it become muuuchh longer than i expected it to be😔 but hey, it come out pretty well (i guess?) thanks to my honey lily for giving me ideas for this fic. love for you🤍. As always, taglist are open for my upcoming fic! :)

[lvcky-g1rl-syndr0me]

⋆୨♡୧⋆bitchless era ending soon⋆୨♡୧⋆

walking into the meeting room y/n couldn’t help but internally scream. what the hell was he doing here? why didn’t her manager tell her about this? especially since she was just in practice and didn’t have time to dress up and hopefully look not a hot mess. her mouth dropped open in shock, resisting the urge to yell “what the fuck” in front of everyone. after a moment of awkward silence her manager spoke up. “y/n meet riki, riki meet y/n. you guys will be working together from now on. we set up this time for you to meet and talk and get to know each other.” she gestured to riki’s manager, “we’ll be going so you two can talk freely. have fun!” the two left and left riki and y/n alone. while y/n was having her internal panic, little did she know, so was he. the moment he saw her he knew he was fucked. after heeseung gave him no help, he had no idea what to say to her. “soo…” he said “your debut was really good!”. y/n didn’t know what to do. her celebrity crush of 3 years, just complimented her music. all that she could muster was “uh- thanks you too”. thanks you too???? why the hell would she say that? he laughs slightly, not being able to help but think about how cute she was. “um are you excited to start mcing?” she asks, nervousness clear in her voice. he smiled, “yeah i am, what about you?” she tried her absolute hardest to not say something stupid again and said “yeah! just a little nervous though. i’ve never done anything like this before.” riki saw his opportunity, he knew he had to take it. even though he had absolutely no idea what he was doing. “we should hang out sometime. i’ve done it a couple times before, i could give you some tips to make it easier!” no. fucking. way. too many thoughts were running through y/ns head. did nishimura riki really just ask her to hang out? there’s no way this is real. never did she think that this would happen “uhhhh- yeah! yeah sure that would be fun!” whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck “okay nice! how about tomorrow?” whatshappeningwhatshappeningwhatshappening “yeah sure. that sounds perfect” holy. shit. cha y/n is hanging out with nishimura riki. “okay, ill see you then” riki had never been more nervous in his whole life. he couldn’t wait to shove this in all of his members faces. “im sure you have to get back to practice, right?” there was no shock as to why he knew that, she looked like a sweaty mess. “yeah, actually. i do. so i’ll see you then!” she overthought her every word, and move. how could she not when she’s around him. to her, he was perfect. “see you around!” riki left the room and practically ran back to his dorm. that couldn’t have gone better. y/n however, was freaking the ever living hell out. “did nishimura riki just ask me out? no that’s not possible we just met eachother! it’s friendly! that’s all!” after what felt like hours of contemplating she decided to go back to the dorm, tweet about it, and tell taesan and jaehyun. i mean, how was she supposed to go back to practice after something like this?

masterlist | next | previous

luckys note!: i’m sorry this took so long guys!! schools getting crazy since it’s almost the end of the year. but i hope you enjoyed the first written chapter! this is my first time like, actually writing so i hope it turned out good!

© lvcky-g1rl-syndr0me, 2024. do not copy, translate or upload any of my works without my permission.

(📍) PERM TAGLIST IS OPEN!

(🩷) MIDNIGHT FICTION TAGLIST! @nctislifue @akuspic @pkjay @siya-bean @eun-chaez @wavetosunoo @gweoriz @luminouskalopsia @soobiary @ivyannemarie @rikikiynikilcykiki @emma2black @enh4ht @wooziswife @jjunie-0 @yumilovesloona @wth121 @riksaes @isaxshin @allforhee @rikisgeef @chxrlvspp @sunghoonsarmpit @autumn583 @tzuyusluv

(dm me/comment under the midnight fiction masterlist to be added!)

[ed-recovery-affirmations]

I just made myself a cup of a new tea, one from a set that a friend sent me. I was super curious to try it with and without milk in it, so after I take a sip without, I'm going to add milk to my tea.

That may seem like such an inane little story to post on a blog, unless you have an eating disorder. I'm sure many of you know what a big deal milk in tea can be, and what an important act of self-love it is.

It was poured into many of our ears, approaching teenhood in the mid-2000's, not to "drink our calories." For those of us whose restriction was weight-based, many of us practiced filling ourselves with water, with our coffee black and unsweetened whether that was how we liked it or not, and with tea that never contained milk.

Like many people who've struggled with binge eating and with restriction, I struggle with creating anxiety-inducing rules about when is okay to eat, especially if I'm between meals and worrying if I should allow myself a snack, or if it's okay to quench my thirst with anything other than water. This is especially true between meals. For some reason my brain has accepted the "extra" caloric intake as part of a meal, but still balks at the idea of introducing these things independently into non-meal parts of the day. I would like to note that my chronic illness and my body's reaction to food has also influenced this weird relationship between me and my favorite treats, such as a piece of candy, or a beverage that might happen to contain a greater-than-zero calorie count.

But tonight, before bed, I want to try this tea. And it sounds like one that'd be super tasty with milk, as it has cocoa powder and vanilla in the blend. So I let my tea cool in the room with me as I type this, telling myself that I can get up and go back for milk after I taste it.

Now I have gone to the kitchen.

Now I have poured in a splash of milk and tasted. It's soy milk, as regular milk sometimes hurts my stomach and I don't want my sleep to be disrupted. Due to my chronic illness, this is still something I have to think about, and I'll be honest, I hate it. Things like this make it so hard to tell myself I can let go of my food fears, because my brain knows that some of my food fears will turn out to have validity, and so what if they all do?

Now I have poured in another splash. Tasted.

Now I have poured in a third, much larger splash. Tasted.

Oh, this is it. This tea tastes like a warm dessert. But now it's too cool, so I need to microwave it back to its best heat. I used to not want to microwave my food. As a teen I heard a hippie say that microwaves destroy the nutrients in your food because the radiation breaks down their molecular structure. This is absolutely false. In fact, it's been disproven that microwaves break down nutrients any more than other methods of heating food, but for a long time I believed it. And even after I learned the truth, I still found it hard to convince myself it was okay to use microwaves for a very long time.

I have just finished my tea in my room. I took the time to identify that I wanted it. I took the time to truly taste it in several different ways, consider how I felt I wanted it and bring it to those specifications. It wasn't planned for any specific time or day, but I agreed to give myself this the way I wanted it anyway. I've been drinking my coffee with milk every morning, too. I actually like black coffee, but I like it better with milk. And I give myself things throughout the day that I enjoy, to enhance my experience of my existence. Life is hard, and it's okay to allow yourself, to the fullest extent you can, the small joys that bring you through the day.

I wanted to share this with you. I hope you don't feel the crushing weight of morality when staring at a bottle of regular soda and the sugar-free, when you wake up with your morning coffee, when your self-care regimen includes a cup of tea. I hope you practice actively giving yourself the love you need this week. And I hope you give it to yourself exactly the way you need it.

[imagine-silk]

I hope you are doing okay. I would really like a rather simple Idea of the Yan Fallout 4 boys whose obsession confesses that they have a crush... on someone else. But that someone else has no Idea.

》Ah, I see you crave violence.

【Codsworth】 "You can do so much better."

As much as he has no desire to date you he sees how great you are and you deserve someone just as lovely, maybe even more than you if someone like that existed. Who you've picked is subpar. Oh, they can make you laugh? Do higher your standards, please. For his non-existent heart.

【Danse】 "What do they have that I don't?"

In his heart he gets it; he is a broken man who isn't even human. But this was the last bit of sanity he could take. You try to explain yourself, whether it be the other person never spat at a ghoul or simply has their life together. He knows he can't change the past and he doesn't want you to leave him. Against his better judgement he goes to that person and fights them. He wins too.

【Deacon】 "How could that happen?!"

Deacon would consider himself lucky man, and he was very lucky you told him while you were on an investigation. This person lived quite comfortably and had a very stable life. Imagine everyone's surprise when someone found a letter on him saying he was going to let the raiders into Diamond City because no one would suspect him to be up to no good. Who told the guard? Don't worry about it.

【Hancock】 "Here's how this is going to go."

The second they set foot in Good Neighbor they are dragged into his office. He talks to them with thinly veiled threats and tells them to back off. When they say 'no' and stand their ground he says, "Whoa, you see that Glory?" with his hands up. She then proceeds to say she did, that they had a gun pointed at him. When they still don't back down and try to deescalate he has her shoot him. Even though everyone in Good Neighbor knows what happens the official story is that they pulled a weapon on the mayor and Glory had to save him. No one betrays that story.

【MacCready】 "Who?"

He plays dumb and asks you to tell him who they are. And you had no reason to think he had any ill intentions. Afterwards he brushes it off with a, 'good luck with that' kind of dismissal. However, now that he knows their name, where they live, and where they work, he kills them from long distance. No one can point the finger his way because he never knew the person.

【Nick】

♤If Platonic "When do I get to meet them?"

He's gonna do an impromptu 'If you want to date my daughter' kind of dinner with them. The entire time he's watching them with great interest, making threats in just the right way to be completely permissible. If and when you excuse yourself for a moment he fully tells them they have one shot to play this out and if they get it wrong no one will find their body. Don't be surprised if they dump you the next day.

♡If Romantic "Stay away from them."

He didn't mean to say it but after he did he had to roll with it. His silver tongue got him in and out of a lot of places so it's not hard to craft a story about how the person in question exhibits strange behaviors, enough that he needed to look into it. Just to make sure his story goes unchecked he pays them a little 'visit' and tells them to never speak to you. Ever.

【Preston】 "Really? That's great!"

He immediately supports you in your endeavor but later when you go to sleep he finds that person. He takes them out of earshot of the town and kills them, throwing their body into the river after. In the morning they are nowhere to be found and you're heartbroken. It's okay, Preston will help you look for them. He'll be right next to you.

【X6-88】 "I see."

He wants to tell you you're too good for them but that would be a waste of time. No, he needs to be smarter than that. Excusing himself and then finding them dead would be too suspicious. He was by your side the entire day and they suddenly collapsed. They died in your arms. Say what you will about that strange tragedy, you can never say you suspected him.

[holostarz]

my problem is i think most of p5s ships are cute and thats why i almost always am down for some form of polythieves

usually i just lump all the guys together cause all those ships are just so good to me??? and i mean like, every combination of them, even without ren. ill ship ryuji and yusuke. and i also love goro with either of them. ryugoro and akekita are so rare but theyre so nice?? they all just. clenches fists. theyre so good ot4 pegoryugorokita

goroann besties is real in my heart. also goroharu being like the Cursed besties ever in the end like. my god they have such a wack and unhinged platonic soulmates/kindred spirits potential. goromako rivals forever my guy they are so fucking funny. and ryukoto is kinda cute...

i think shumako is nice but its just not my cuppa tea. they are dear friends and i do love the image of ren and makoto being a bit rivalcoded and butting heads over phantom thievery and how to lead the team best. and goro is weirdly the one who can actually somehow stop arguments before they happen and get them to compromise.

makoto is NOT the mom friend okay she is the bossy and protective older sister friend. and she is smart and sensible but not immune to her friends infecting her with Stupid. ren is the mom friend. and the dad friend. best of both things. :)

ren: its hard raising 8 kids when youre in high school and an 18 y/o whos like if a divorced widow was a boy 😔 sojiro: what happened to your husband??? ren: he was lost at sea goro: ren, look at this dog i saw on my way here ren: i can still hear his voice

meanwhile i love futago half siblings headcanon. so while goro and makoto are a little more sibling rivalry coded, futaba is still goros actual gremlin sibling who will bully him to death. meanwhile, futaba is actually adoptive siblings with ren. these two are WAY more sibling coded than goro and futaba ever.

and when futaba starts trying to do similar Sibling dynamic things with goro. goro is like ??? "ren, futaba just came in here. stared at me. burped. and then left. what does this mean." and ren is like. "oh is there food? theyre probably telling you theres food and to come out if you want some. or if this is your first time seeing them today they could just be greeting you." and goro is like ????? but louder this time

i love shujin trio poly... and i default to them being the OG Cule. shuann? v cute love them. ryuann? also cute and honestly v funny of how messy i imagine their hookups being. like they keep breaking up and eventually finding their way back to each other. sometimes i see them as sibling coded, too, more than anything else. overall i just love these three together they are the tomodachis of all time they are partners for life

i also love ryuharu. and harukita (yuharu?) theyre really cute.... then theres good ol makoharu and annmako (makoann?) and i love them too... honestly love hifumi and makoto too?? i think they would be huge fucking dorks together... perhaps.... rivals, even?

goro and hifumi being friends... good shit. hifumi and yusuke being close friends? plz... and ren and hifumi are just. wahh i love them theyre so good. even futaba and hifumi could be cute, honestly.... wtf

and we cannot forget ANNSHIHO,,, forever. my GORLS.... lesbiabs of my heart.

anntaba is a rare one but theyre also v cute to me... and if they arent girlfriends i love the idea of futaba having a crush on her and then realizing those feelings are actually just Admiration and Gender envy. i also love the idea of morgana finding out his crush on ann is ALSO GENDER ENVY RELATED.... we love nonbiney morgana. hope is genderless

ren: my CAT IS TRANS!? NOT CLICKBAIT?

and makoto is always being an older sister to futaba. yutaba is nice, too. i honestly see futaba and yusuke being aspec and theyre platonic soulmates and in a qpp. and ofc sumitaba my beloved... i love sumitaba a lot

i adore ryusumi too like oh myg od,,.. wahh.... the sweeties. sumikita is so rare but like. i think they could be kinda cute too?? sumigoro is V platonic soulmates to me like my god theyre so. clenches fist. honestly whole royal trio tbh is just. "they can make each other worse" and each of them thinking "thank god im the normal one here" thats it thats the whole dynamic. and its so funny.

shusumi is cute too but honestly i think i prefer both ren and goro have somethin of a platonic soulmates or older sibling dynamic with sumire. they have adopted her okay. sumiann isnt one i see a lot either but they.... THEM.....

any mishima ship is super funny imo but like, theyre cute. love yuuki having a crush on ren but like. the game makes it near impossible for you to actually be fucking nice to him so i always get the vibe that ren would rather keep him at a distance, even tho they appreciate him and care about him.

its okay tho cause i say hes good friends with the OG trio + shiho and they vibe. yuuki crushing on goro, to his own horror? hilarious. and weirdly enough shiho and ren?? idk what their acronym is. but. oh my god. theyre actually weirdly cute? but i see them having disaster twins energy. theyre absolute menaces.