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reiderwriter · 27 days

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So obviously Spencer is iconic for his wide range of haircuts over the show, and I have this vision of a Spencer x hairdresser fic where he goes to the same hairdresser all the time because he likes the routine and it’s what he’s used to. So like they’re low-key friends bc he’s been her client so long, but then she notices he can’t come as usual and he tells her it’s because he’s always away or working late. So because they’re close she gives him private late appointments after she closes bc they’re more accessible for him, and then they’re always together late at night, and eventually they fall for each other!! And like she loves his curls and cringed when he wanted it cut short but loves it regardless AHH I JUST LOVE IT. Bonus points if Spencer gets to recommend his hairdresser girlfriend to his teammates just to brag about the fact he has a hot girlfriend lmao. I get it’s kinda long lol, if it’s too long a premise then no worries, just sharing it is nice :)

A/N: Hi! I love the idea of hair stylist reader, so I had a lot of fun writing this~♡ Thank you for your request, I hope you enjoy it!

W/C: 2.1k

Warnings: implied Autistic Reid, brief mentions of sensory issues, writer does not care for the shows Canon hair continuity and does basically whatever she wants.

Masterlist

The first time you'd met Spencer Reid, you hadn't been able to cut his hair. Which was a damn shame because it really did need cutting.

Sweeping up the floors of the hair salon you worked at, you had noticed the man lingering outside, wringing his hands together and pushing them awkwardly through his hair, approaching and retreating every few seconds.

You watched him through the mirrors, and let him dance around like that for five minutes before deciding that the evening breeze would be a boon during the hot summer night that was about to set in on you.

Opening the salon door, you stepped outside and soaked in the fresh air before turning to the now frozen, slightly awkward man.

“Can I help you?” You tried to put a welcoming smile on your face, but the salon was past closing and empty beside you. You should've been heading home by now, but something in the man's posture had you dawdling.

“The barber shop down the road closed down,” he said quickly, as if the words were practised on his to guess moments before.

“Yes, that's true. It's been six months now.”

“Six months?” he squeaked out, running a hand through his hair as he turned inwards.

“Do you… need a haircut?”

“Yes. Yes, are there any other barber shops in the area?”

You rolled your eyes and walked back into the salon, picking up a robe and a shoulder cover and spinning around the closest chair to welcome him.

“Well, are you coming in?”

“But you're closed. Your sign says you're closed.”

“And I'm still here, aren't I?”

He didn't argue any further and hesitantly stepped into the salon.

You helped him out of his bag and put it away before helping him into the robe and shoulder pad.

He awkwardly stood around as you prepared your scissors and station again, switching on the mirror light so you could fully see his face and hair.

And damn was he attractive. As you smoothed his hair out of his face, you were met with warm brown eyes, open and anxious, like a deer caught in headlights. Or, more accurately, a dear caught in a hair salon.

You had to blink and look away as you remembered what you were about, standing up and leading him over to the sink.

“I'm… I'm a little bit sensitive about my hair,” he admitted quite meekly as you tested the temperature of the water.

“Okay. Is there anything specific?”

He sat himself in the chair but didn't lower his head to the bowl, so you waited.

After a minute or two, he gently lowered his head to the bowl, and you helped his progress, making sure he was comfortably settled. He didn't speak, just let his shoulders relax and closed his eyes as you turned the water on his locks.

You enjoyed the simple repetitions of your job. Everyone's hair was different, that was true, but there were really only so many ways to wash hair.

You rinsed his hair thoroughly, keeping the water away from his face and ears with a face guard before beginning to lather it up.

For a man who hadn't seen the inside of a salon in six months and likely a hairbrush in the same length of time, his hair was healthy.

De-tangling as you went, you ran your hands through the lengths of his hair, taking note of how it fell, which parts were healthy, and which had developed split ends. Then you began massaging his head, working the shampoo into his roots, making sure his scalp was free from any possible dirt or dry skin.

This was the best part of the haircut for you, and you knew your regular clients enjoyed it greatly as well. Which is why you probably shouldn't have been too surprised when the man fell asleep.

It took you a few minutes to realize that was what happened, the face guard obscuring his face from your vision. When you squeezed the water from his hair, patted it dry, and twisted it into a towel so the water wouldn't run down his back, you had no clue that he was away with the fairies.

It wasn't until you asked him to stand, and he didn't even move that you moved around the sink and lifted the face guard.

If he seemed anxious awake, it had melted away now. He looked younger asleep, more calm and confident somehow. His eyelashes were long, a fact you only noticed when you leaned in to get a better look at him.

It was your hand unconsciously tracing a hand along his jaw that woke him back up, and for a second, you just stared at each other, faces inches apart.

“I'm.. I'm so sorry, I should go. Thank you for… I should go,” he said hurriedly, pulling the robes and towels off and snatching his bag up, running out the door.

“Wait, your hair,” you called after him, but he was gone.

And he hadn't paid.

It took a week for you to collect the payment, though you couldn't care less about the money anyway.

But a week thinking about the man's delicate features, his shy smile and stutter, and you were very distracted.

Thinking about him had become your full-time job, as much as cutting hair had, and you'd had a few close encounters with the scissors when you were lost in thought.

You'd been thinking up back stories for the man ranging from the romantic to the obscure to the downright realistic. So, a week later, you found yourself behind on work and needing to stay late, just as he stepped into the shop a second time.

“Hello?” You shouted from the backroom, hearing the doorbell jingle as it opened. “We're actually closed right now, so- oh.”

He stood awkwardly in the door, his face already flushed slightly.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” you said, trying to stop the grin spreading across your face. You didn't want to scare him off a second time.

“Last time, I… kinda ran away. I was… I'm not the best with-”

“With haircuts?”

“With change.” You both nodded at that, awkwardly staring at each other.

“So…?” You lead, trying to encourage him to introduce himself, hoping he would reveal something you didn't already know.

“You're closed again, but could you cut my hair?” He asked, pushing the long locks back on his head as he stood a little taller.

“It would be my pleasure…” you trailed off as a question, needing to know his name.

“Spencer. Spencer Reid. Doctor… just Spencer is fine if you'd prefer.”

“I'm Y/N. Come and take a seat.”

You slid him into the robes once again and got through a hair wash without any accidental naps this time. Though you did notice that he seemed to be enjoying it just as much.

His sighs left you feeling hot, your heart beating as you focused on his hair to draw your gaze from his lips.

When he was back I'm front of the mirror, he again looked like a scared cat that had been backed into the corner.

“So, what'll it be, Spencer?” You asked cheerily, combing your hand through his locks to detangle them.

“Hmm? Oh, a water would be nice.”

“For your hair, Spencer. What haircut do you want?”

“Oh! Oh, um, just a…just a haircut.”

Your face scrunched up in confusion as he doubled down.

“But what kind of haircut?”

“What kind?”

You pulled away from his chair for a minute and went to grab a cut reference book.

“Okay, so we've got undercuts, or trims, I can do pompadour or bowl cut or-”

You looked at Spencer's face again and saw that he looked more than confused.

“How about I just cut your hair and after you tell me if you like it or not?”

He nodded and gave you a weak smile as you grabbed your scissors.

Twenty minutes of silence later, and you felt Spencer exhale in relief as you dusted off the back of his neck and pulled the robes off of his clothes.

You'd gone for a shorter cut, but his curly hair had such a nice natural texture that you left it a bit longer on top. Without his hair in his face, his jawline was sharper, his eyes brighter, and you were somehow more infatuated.

He stood up shyly and you smiled at how good he looked.

“Okay, perfect! Let me just-” You lifted your hand and smoothed out some of his hair, picking up some strands and pushing them back and forth until it was just right.

He caught your hand just as you were about to pull away, and you suddenly realized how close he was. Or more accurately how close you had gotten. It was like you were breathing the same air.

“D-Do you like it?” You asked, voice small and high as it battled your heartbeat to be heard.

“Yeah. I like it. It looks… it looks like a haircut.”

You giggled as his grip became gentler, and your hand fell down to your side, brushing his chest gently as it descended.

“How much do I owe you?” He asked, and you led him over to the register to complete the payment.

“Thank you,” he said as he grabbed his bags to head out the door.

“Just doing my job. I'll see you in six weeks,” you said, waving him off.

“What for?” He asked, voice confused but bright. He sounded almost hopeful.

“For your next haircut, Spencer.”

He smiled and waved back as he walked back into the dark and disappeared down the street.

No one could ever accuse Spencer Reid of being forgetful, and six weeks later, he was back in your chair.

Except he didn't arrive at 11pm this time, but instead 11am.

The other customers and stylists gawked at the man as he walked in, and you thanked the gods that your seat was free as he met your eyes.

“Hi.”

“Spencer! You're back.”

He nodded shyly, head hanging a little as he ignored the many looks from the women in the room and the eruption of whispers and loud glances in his direction.

“It's been six weeks. You said that's when I'd need another haircut.”

You laughed a little as you pulled the robe around him.

“You know, I say that every time, but most people ignore me. I love a man who can follow directions.”

The eruption of red on his cheeks left you feeling suddenly tongue tied, and you carefully redirected the conversation back to the task at hand.

“Same again, Doc?” You asked, readying your spray bottle and supplies.

“Actually, could we, ah, go shorter this time?” Hesmiled sheepishly and watched as you ran your fingers through his tangled hair.

“My boss, last time, said I looked like I joined a boyband, so…”

“Your boss at the hospital?” You asked, clinging to every detail you could get from him.

“The hospital?”

“You said you were a Doctor, do you work in a lab instead or-”

“Oh. No, I work at the FBI. I'm not a medical doctor, I have a PhD. I have three, Chemistry, Engineering, and Mathematics.”

You whistled. “Impressive. You can't be older than 30.”

“I'm 29.” He said, smiling at you in the mirror, and you smiled back, hands still running through his hair.

“So, no boy band haircuts, okay. For what it's worth, though, you look totally hot.”

The words cut the conversation short, and you tried your best to take the words back as you went off to the sides to grab your sheers.

Half an hour later, and you could swear that half the salon had given up pretending to be doing their jobs and were just awkwardly ogling the man. If the shorter “boyband” hair was good, the undercut you'd done for him was even better.

You turned him around to get a closer look, using the excuse of making sure his hair was symmetrical enough to stare at him some more as you got closer to finishing.

“Okay,” you said with a sad sigh. “You're all finished, Spencer. Let's get you rung up.”

He nodded and followed you quickly, pulling out his wallet as he paid quietly.

“Okay. And I'll see you tomorrow,” you said, as he picked up his bags to leave.

“Tomorrow? I thought you said it was six weeks between haircuts.”

“It is. But it's also my day off tomorrow, so I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner. With me.”

He blinked at you once. Then twice, and another time before smiling and looking away.

“Okay. See you tomorrow, Y/N.”

He ran a hand through his hair and nearly walked into the door he was trying to walk through, but your heart still fluttered as you waved him out.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n

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emmafrostyyy · 8 months

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y'all sleeping on Astarion/Lae'zel bc this moment is so...the way the flippant demeanor drops and he doesn't hesitate to call her out for sticking with her version of Cazador like their relationship is so underrated fr...

sitting down writing this bullshit like let me peel it like an onion a bit and elaborate why this pairing is fascinating to me

It's really interesting how during the most cathartic, life-altering moment in Astarion's questline, the reactions of the other companions are more about the moral wrongness/guilt of sacrificing innocent lives. Lae'zel doesn't do that and instead relates to his hurt.

She knows what's he's feeling, the lack of control, the unfairness of being powerless for too long. This is a woman who just found out her entire life purpose was built on lies, discarded and hunted by her own people after outliving her usefulness, and groomed to basically die for an insane power-hungry lich queen. She knows all too well that power isn't always real freedom. Her first instinct is to empathize with Astarion to steer him away from his hate and resentment.

Astarion/Lae'zel is so interesting to me because they're such a classic "can we make each other worse or make a better person out of the other?".

They both have genuine appreciation for violence and respect each other's ruthlessness. Astarion was used as a weapon of seduction while Lae'zel was of warfare. Sex with people is meaningless and not real intimacy for them, and while both have little understanding/experience of interpersonal relationships beyond the physical, they still feel and love very deeply. They have no frame of reference for things like friendship and warmth, but they badly want all of that and more, even if they don't know it yet.

In-game they can sleep with each other, which is basically the foundation of the normal Tav/Astarion romance. Lae'zel saw him during combat and got horny, who knows. Astarion who's used to luring people with his charms, takes up Lae'zel's blunt offer because she's a strong hardened warrior that can provide protection and be a worthy ally, and he doesn't know how to say no. Navigating the complications between one who wants to be seen beyond as a sex object, and one who comes from a totally alien culture with no concept of love/family/connections and only sex is honestly really compelling to me. It's a transactional, mutually beneficial thing with no emotional expectations. Once you get past the skeevy rockiness of their early relationship, I really like the idea of them slowly seeing something past the exterior and realizing they may have harshly misjudged the other, an unspoken friendship blooms, and in comes the realization that they are essentially loners longing for kindness and a comforting touch in the most desperate of situations.

Lae'zel is prideful, direct, has no sense of courtship talk, and doesn't hold back her thoughts the slightest--she's not sweet/agreeable and what you see is really what you get, which I imagine would be disarming for Astarion who's used to vacuous flattery and has difficulty trusting others. But she's also insanely protective, passionate, loyal, and an initiator-- every romance scene is triggered by her first and she's always showing effort towards her relationships, which would mesh well with Astarion who does need someone to nudge him.

She doesn't purposely suppress her feelings, she's just simply at loss at how to express them sometimes due to her wildly different upbringing. She stops the sparring match you agree to and an easy vulnerability slips instantly out of her: "I don't want to hurt you. I want to protect you, and for you to protect me." and "Thus far I've taunted you, devoured you, battled you. Now I want more than anything to soothe you." are romantic as fuck and Astarion of all people really needs to hear that tbh.

Astarion is also someone who struggles with reinforcing his boundaries, and a key theme in Lae'zel's romance is that she encourages and wants you to challenge her and learn to stand your ground. It's not gentlest method, but hey, relationships are about having to make an effort to learn each other's language.

I think he also would take pleasure "educating her on the matters of Fay-run" (I believe there's a whole banter with him teasing her and teaching her pet names) and would get a kick out of coaxing Lae'zel out of her shell with her shyness at showing public affection, and making her blush. Also it simply would be fucking funny to see Astarion who's used to easy seduction, trying to pass a persuasion check just to get a smooch and generally having to work to earn regular kisses from Lae'zel lmfaooo

Lae'zel also initially struggles to see her chains as chains. When she learns about Vlaakith's betrayal, she copes instantly through denial and shuts it down. Astarion is NOT having it and calls her out, he knows her well enough to recognize that she would value blunt honesty above all.

I imagine he also despises her lack of self-preservation, the way her entire identity is tied to duty and being in service of others, and doesn't understand her desire to still help/liberate the people that want her dead and are hunting her down. He wants to make this duty-bound soldier realize that looking out for herself, and putting herself first may not be the worst thing in the world.

They're so similar to each other but are also polar opposites in some ways that make a more equal, balanced romance I think. It's not a simple, one-sided, feel-good "she/he can fix her/him" fantasy because both of them have to earn each other's love, actually cut through the other's flaws, and actively motivate each other to be better versions of themselves.

They're not at all the other's ideal guiding hand. It's rough, jagged, and imperfect, but that's how healing goes. It's so far from being the healthiest relationship -- but even if their belief systems differ, their moral compass does often align. I imagine it's a slight relief for them to have a partner where there would be less shame and judgment when they expectedly, occasionally slip up and fall into their bad habits.

Also, man, the "You showed me the betweens and beyonds. Beyond war and peace, beyond passion and obsession, most importantly, you showed me freedom.", "First you were my wound, now you were my cure.", "But you saw something else in me - someone else I could be. Someone who could break the cycle of power and terror that started centuries ago.." lines really hit hard when applied to them.

Of course, they can also make each other worse, feed into the other's negative traits that will bring out the worst part of themselves. It's this duality of their pairing that is very interesting to explore, the way it can steer in either direction because it's an intense, fraught relationship at its core.

#when he gets called by omeluum “child of the dark” and her “child of the stars” like yeah..the squid man is being literal but he Gets It fr.#lae'zel #astarion #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 meta #astarion ancunin #astarion x lae'zel #lae'zel x astarion #the rarest of rarepairs they dont even got a ship name...this is so tragique we need to discuss the pathos and potential of this pairing #bg3 lae'zel #bg3 astarion #also im a sucker for stoic knight/court darling trope and whatever variations of it yeah #bloodbruise

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martyrlamb · 8 months

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✶ when the clock strikes / leon kennedy

pairing: leon kennedy x gn!reader

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

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

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

word count: 8.5k (got possessed sorry)

Everyone thought you were crazy when you accepted the offer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not that there were many people around.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like I fell into a thorn bush.”

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

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

“Are you dizzy? Nauseous?”

“Fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing?” he asks.

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t hear a crack.”

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

“I have to get back to work.”

“Look, I understand—“

“I’ll be fine.”

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

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

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

“Okay? As in…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You never asked him his name?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(You were deeply embarrassed.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeesh.”

“I know. My condolences.”

“For myself?”

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

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

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

“You’ll laugh.”

“Why would I do that?”

“It’s corny.”

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

“Try me,” he challenges.

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

Leon nods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You do a good job.”

“I’m just a medic.”

“A good one.”

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

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

“Of course, Agent Kennedy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A fever this time?”

“Yep.”

“Make yourself comfortable, Leon.”

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

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

“Dying?”

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

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

“You could just come talk to me.”

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

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

“What?”

“Your shoulder.”

“I was stretching.”

“Does it hurt?”

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

“It’s fine.”

“Agent Kennedy.”

He pretends not to hear you.

“Leon.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I wake up and roll out of bed.”

“I need to get this out.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sometimes.”

“Must be glad I showed up.”

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

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

Leon chuckles. “I thought about it.”

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

You chime together, like clockwork.

#leon kennedy #resident evil 4 #resident evil #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fluff #leon s kennedy #leon scott kennedy #re4r leon #re4 remake #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy oneshot #fluff #oneshot #resident evil fluff #nurse!reader #nurse!reader x leon kennedy #post re4r

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tayytayy12 · 1 month

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I hate it here (a lot less when I’m with you) | OP81 x Reader

Summary - Reader just got out of a mildly toxic relationship and released a song about what her coping mechanism was during that time, but when her new relationship gets leaked by the paparazzi, she decides to show off her new favourite person.

Warnings | Mentions of a past toxic relationship/ breakup, swearing

FaceClaim | Gracie Abrams

Requested | Yes - No

Type | SMAU

Yourusername

Liked by | AaronDessner, PheobeBridgers and 2,987,425 others

Tagged | @/AaronDessner

Yourusername | Long Pond Studios has always been a place where I’ve let my emotions and feelings guide my songwriting completely, every song that I’ve written and recorded in this place has been a complete raw reflection of my feelings, and I’m forever grateful that I can trust you enough to share them all with you without the slightest moment of hesitation. That’s why, I’m surprise releasing my brand new song, ‘I hate it here’ now. This song is about a method I’ve used to cope for the past few years of my life when I wasn’t in the best situation, and I hope that it will help any of you who are or were in the same situation I was. This song was made with my soulmate of a collaborator, chosen friend, found family of mine, Aaron and were so incredibly proud of it and we can’t wait for you to hear it. Sorry for being away for so long, I love you 🤍

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User1 - OMFG SHES ALIVE !!!

User2 - ONLY TOOK FIVE MONTHS TO CONFIRM YOU’RE ALIVE AND BREATHING

AaronDessner - My favourite one together so far 🤍

Yourusername - Love you forever 🤍

User3 - WTFDYM ‘I HATE IT HERE’ EXPLAIN?

User4 - GO LISTEN TO IT ITS SOOOOOOOOOO GOOD

User5 - A SURPRISE DROP? WE’RE SPOILED

User6 - When Aarons a co-writer AND the producer, you know for a fact the song will change your life (and make the therapy bill triple)

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User7 - Girl don’t apologise

User8 - FR like she gets cheated on, takes a brake and then apologises to us 😭 like girl it’s okay

JackAntanoff - *Alexa play Traitor by Olivia Rodrigo*

Yourusername- Your times coming synth man 🤫 LOVE YOU STILL

User9 - WDYM HIS TIME IS COMING YOU CRYPTIC WOMAN

User10 - “I hate it here so I will go to secret gardens in my mind.” That’s all I have to say.

User11 - Y/n could write Romeo and Juliet but Shakespeare couldn’t write I hate it here

User11 - “I place you need a key to get to, the only one is mine” girly I hope someone makes you want to make a copy one day

Yourusername - God I love you lmao

User11 - OMFG Y/n loves me I can die happy

User12 - “tell me something awful, like you are a poet.” BC HE ALWAYS PAINTED HER BLUE SKYS THE DARKEST GREY, RUINING HER DAY BY TELLING HER AWFUL SHIT LIKE HES A TORTURED POET !!!!!! (I knew Coney Island wasn’t fictional you fucking delusional people, no one in a happy relationship writes that shit 💕💕💕)

User13 - “This man made me feel worthless.” Y/EX/N ISTG WHEN I FIND YOU. COUNT UR MINUTES

User14 - “I'm lonely but I'm good, I'm bitter but I swear I'm fine” bitch where did you find my diary

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Yourusername

Liked by, SabrinaCarpenter, OscarPiastri and 2,191,910 others

Tagged | @/SabrinaCarpenter

Yourusername - I’m sorry who’s this woman debuting at no.1 on the billboard hot one hundred? My god it is me, I can’t believe this, I love you I love you I love you thank you so so much from the bottom of my heart, I mean it, I really do. MY GOD I LOVE EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU. (And my baby with her first top ten entry, I love you Sabby, Go stream espresso, it is that sweet 🤍💕) OKAY ONE LAST THANK YOU. 💕🤍💕🤍💕

Okay I lied but being among names like Beyoncé, Ariana Grande, SZA and Kendrick Lamar is one of the biggest honours ever, I’m huge fans of them all and to be in the same space as them is an honour no words can express, I love you all, the most caring sweet fans on the whole planet 💕💕💕💕

(And yes, it was a reference to a physical key, this is it)

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User14 - We made the right one famous guys

User15 - I’m actually crying, when did she stop being our little secret

SabrinaCarpenter - My biggest fan 🩷

Yourusername - Your biggest fan 🩷

User16 - Oscar in the likes for what?

User17 - Who?

User18 - Oscar Piastri, he’s a 23 yr old f1 driver

User19 - What is vroom vroom boy doing here

AaronDessner - Truly blessed to work with you

Yourusername - I’m the blessed one don’t even

User20 - Only y/n could send a five minute long, slow, alt pop song with a main piano background, basically a depressing lullaby bop, to number one above all these TikTok songs

User21 - She’s actually adorable

OscarPiastri - Been on repeat!

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User22 - UM HELLO WHAT ARE U DOING HERE LITTLE ORANGE MAN?

User23 - This is all bc of me btw

Celebrity.updates

Liked by, user24, and 82,828 others

Tagged | @/Yourusername @/OscarPiastri

Celebrity.updates - NEW COUPLE!!! Fast upcoming pop star, Y/n Y/l/n (21) seen out late at night on the streets of London with Formula one driver, Oscar Piastri (23), according to the source of these pictures the two were laughing and running around the streets together, when Oscar caught up to her and hugged her to him and kissed her. Rumours say that Y/n met Piastri through her ex partner who’s an engineer for f1 team Alpine, the pair seem to be quite smitten and loving with each other. What’s your thoughts on this?

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User25 - WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN

User26 - Posting these photos is bad enough, but tagging them in it is crazy

User28 - Neither of them have even been hinting at a relationship at all, they clearly didn’t want anyone to know yet

User29 - Can’t these sickos just let them live, they’re people too

User30 - Whoever took these is messed up

User31 - They do look rlly happy together though

User32 - The fact that her ex is an alpine engineer makes this situation so much more funny and interesting

SabrinaCarpenter - You’re actually disgusting

User33 - TELL THEM SAB

User34 - The fact that she’s not even wrong

User35 - the fact that she defends Y/n with no hesitation

User36 - The friendship we all need in our lives

Yourusername

Liked by, OscarPiastri, SabrinaCarpenter and 2,928,198 others

Tagged | @/OscarPiastri

Yourusername - I hate it here a lot less when I’m with you 🤍 my favourite polite cat xxxx

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LandoNorris- Finally. The pair of you at the paddock hiding in MY divers room bc you were scared someone would see you in Oscar’s. Sigh.

Yourusername - You love me

User37 - OH MY GOD

User38 - I need to know the bears name

OscarPiastri- She named him Gerald

Yourusername - Don’t sound so disgusted, that’s our son

OscarPiastri - Sorry baby

User39 - Hysterical

OscarPiastri - My favourite smiling dog 🤍

Yourusername- Excuse me did you just call me a bitch

OscarPiastri- NO I DIDNT MEAN IT LIKE THAT

User40 - The dynamic is already everything to me

User41 - Even his GF knows he’s a polite cat

Yourusername - He so is (he’s in denial)

User42 -“ I hate it here a lot less with you” Shut the fuck up

OscarPiastri

Liked by, Yourusername, LoganSargeant and 1,872,001 others

Tagged | @/Yourusername

OscarPiastri - She made me a copy 🗝️🤍

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User43 - Someone sedate me

User44 - SHE. MADE. HIM. A. COPY.

User45 - WTFFFTTFTFTD

User46 - Literally the ultimate Oscar on Alpine revenge

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Yourusername - I don’t need my secret gardens, or my lunar valleys anymore, because I have you 🤍

OscarPiastri- My favourite and only girl 🤍

User47 - I’m taking a nap on the highway

///////

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sidsinning · 2 months

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#1 thing I am the most curious about/eager for the series to explore is 1000% the Morningstar family, especially Lilith

Bc who even is Lilith in reality besides what we have seen her as in the eyes of the other characters

Clearest image we get of her is in their family portraits

We usually see her as the menacing mystery figure working in the background, but in these photos she's clearly a normal happy mom who genuinely loves her family as any mother/wife would. She's not just a smirking dominant figure with a hidden agenda. All she's doing is having fun with her family and has no qualms about showing a range of emotion.

Charlie sees her as the role model she takes after and wants to make her proud. It turns out she sees Lucifer in pretty much the same light, but with the addition of having an awkward relationship bc of the distance they've had. With Lilith she never speaks about her with any lingering awkwardness, so we can assume she's been a good mom raising Charlie this whole time.

(For those who are saying "Lilith is a bad mom bc who leaves their kid alone for 7 years???"- she is literally thousands of years old while Charlie is well into adulthood before those 7 years. It's like a business trip to them. She wasn't an absentee parent for leaving for 7 years out of Charlie's 200+. The thing that's weird is that she's not communicating with Charlie. Our girl deadass owns property with a job and employees. Just bc she's not great at it and is having Lucifer step in to help recently, doesn't make Lucifer the superior parent suddenly. He's confirmed to be a kind of shitty dad despite how much he cares for her by the creators themselves. Kind of the point of his introduction ep guys. The 7 years are a mystery to unpack. Chill tf out.)

In this flashback people are blaming Lilith for separating Lucifer and Charlie on purpose, seemingly as the cause of their distant relationship. But it feels more complicated than that, based off Lucifer's reaction.

He's sad reaching out to Charlie by the end of the flashback, but when Lilith first appears he's smiling all the same and not deterred in giving Charlie to Lilith to carry away for what reason we don't know. A normal, standard occurrence he's used to. It seems both parents have agreed it's best for Lilith to take Charlie at this age now, for whatever reason.

Was his mental health affecting his parenting too much so they decided Lilith would shoulder the bulk of the task? Maybe Lilith really did separate the two somehow for her own reasons and convinced Lucifer with it? Another mystery reason each parent agree on?

When exactly did both of them separate? When Charlie was already an adult or around the time of the flashback when Lilith was her primary caretaker as a kid? (I'm assuming adulthood since Lucifer and Lilith seemed to still be getting along in the flashback despite her emotionless face.) Why did they separate when Lucifer seems to clearly love and yearn for her all the same, still wearing his wedding ring? 😭😭😭

And ofc what is this deal she made with Adam to stay chillin on a beach in heaven, and why did Adam, a reckless narcissist who likes yappin to whoever is gonna listen, not ever reveal this fact to her family to the very end?

There is just so much to unpack with their family and Lilith is the key ingredient rn to unlocking it

Like ofc I'm looking forward to Sir Pentious in heaven, Alastor's deal, the future of the rebuilt hotel, Lucifer now being a seemingly main character in season 2, etc.

But the Morningstars,,,different level

#hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #lilith morningstar #charlie morningstar #sidrabbles

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robinmage · 3 months

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personally i think a super important part of jinshi and maoamos relationship (esp at the beginning of the series, though still true) is how they both have had really negative experiences regarding sexually/romantically-natured exchanges. maomao grew up in a brothel, shes seen probably every situation possible under the sun of women being abused, manipulated, lied to, and used for a mans personal benefit. and as such, the typical "sweep her off her feet with honeyed words and false promises" approach doesnt work on her at all, because shes already seen 101 different ways that can go wrong. subconsciously or not, she just instinctively knows that those 'fake'-like people cant be trusted.

jinshi, due to his characteristically beautiful face, has had no shortage of admirers during his time at the rear palace. women that invite him to their room in the evening, give him food with blood or hair or whatever in it, gifts him literal aphrodisiacs. hes willing to use his beauty to get what he wants (never unreasonably, though) but it becomes evident later that he certainly has some kind of complex about it. hes only 19(?) at the beginning of the series, and hes already been working in the rear palace for long enough to garner a strong reputation. the only people hes close to is gaoshun and MAYBE gyokuyou. to him, it probably seems like everyone else only cares about how pretty he is, and ignoring anything beyond that.

and so he meets maomao, who reacts to his advances not just coldly, but with obvious disdain. she sees RIGHT through his false flirty demeanour, and seems to be one of the only few people to do so. he doesnt expect that, and that interests him. not being attracted to his face is, in jinshis eyes, a key trait to have in order to work with him. he seeks maomaos counsel time and time again (bc he likes his new toy but also) because he trusts her to work WITH him, not FOR him; actually using her head to figure out what the best conclusion is, instead of just blindly following him and giving him whatever she thinks would make him happy with her.

after it becomes obvious to him that absolutely none of his advances will work on maomao, he really tones it down and they enter what i call their "bonding stage", which is mostly just dealing with situations around the inner and outer court together. thats where the foundation of their relationship really starts to grow; jinshi values maomao for her intellect and straightforward attitude, and maomao values jinshi for being a genuinely kind and hardworking person. they start to hold each other in higher esteem because they actually see each others real selves, and likewise appreciate that finally someone can see them beyond that metaphorical impersonal veil.

#i have to stop here i have to make another post.#sorry this turned out longer than i thought #i have SO much to say about these two #and also i want them to make out #sloppy style. with tongue #the apothecary diaries

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nereidprinc3ss · 3 months

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okay i know this is kind of a specific request but can you do something with professor Spence and uni reader where they get into a spat and argue bc she did something stupid and he gets mad and she’s like “noooo pls don’t be mad i hate when you’re mad at me I’m sorry🥺” bc she literally cannot function knowing she let him down (me with everybody) but he’s like super stubborn and goes all closed up and quiet so that he doesn’t like blow up on her until she finally says like “pls talk to me” and he’s all pissed and like “hell na bitch u crazy!🗣️‼️” but then later he’s like “it’s ok i love u but neva do that shit again ho” then they make up and it’s good again 🎀 ok i explained that so poorly (and comedically if i may) but i hope u get it and pls make it SO DRAMATIC bc I live for drama! like she steals test answers or something or does something that could like get her kicked out of school OR him lose his job 🤔 sigh … idk I’m leaving now. Also i LOOPOOOCE ORRKGOOVI love your fics. Luv em

hey girl (gender neutral) this made me laugh bc genuinely sometimes i write spencer so ooc that is what he sounds like. and i'm not sorry! anyway this is potentially a vyvanse fueled nightmare but i wrote it and i'm posting it MY BLOG MY RULES BITCHESSSS!!!! but genuinely read the content warning LMAO this one got a lil kick to it

warnings/tags: ANGST, HURT/COMFORT, fem!reader, spencer and r get into a for real argument like they're mean to each other, spencer is a lil toxic but its resolved, emotionally neglects reader just for a teeensy second but then he's really nice and sweet again, discussion of his past addic+ion, gets fluffy because i'm not EVIL, gets suggestive at the end bc i am secretly evil.......

a/n: i don't know whats happening. this confuses me just as much as it confuses you. its 3 am in the morning. im gonna post nice happy things soon. Gootbye

“I cannot believe you right now. I don’t even—I don’t even know what to say.”

“Spencer, you don’t have to say anything. It has nothing to do with you, and I’m not looking for your approval.”

He looks up from where he’d been rubbing his temples, like you’re a headache, eyebrows raised and lips parted in indignant disbelief.

“Oh! You’re not looking for my approval? Well thank god for that, because if you were one of my students I would recommend expulsion to the board.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? I just said I don’t care about your opinion on this, much less your hypothetical opinion from some alternate universe where you have any authority over my education whatsoever.”

“You distributed an answer key to half of your class! Objectively this is the kind of thing that gets people expelled. I don’t understand how someone so smart could do something so fucking stupid.”

The words bite more than you were prepared for—but what hurts even more is how much he seems to mean them. In arguments past you’d both said things you didn’t mean, and then would immediately melt into I’m so sorry’s and the fight would resolve itself. Spencer’s clenched jaw and inability to make eye contact with you do not lend themselves to tender apologies. They cannot be attributed to miscommunication.

You take a step closer to where he’s bracing himself against the countertop, arms crossed defensively in front of your chest.

“Spencer, I’m sorry. I didn’t think it was such a big deal. People cheat in college all the time.”

Still no reply. His head shakes so minutely you wonder if you’re imagining it. Panic wells in your chest.

“Please talk to me. I really hate when you ice me out. I’m sorry, okay? Just... please say something.”

Finally, his eyes slide to you. They lack the fiery anger of moments ago but there’s not much softness there either. His normally warm gaze now feels too abrasive, too cold and sharp on your bare skin. You're exposed, much too soft for that grating look, and it feels like he can see everything that’s wrong with you.

“Believe me when I tell you this. I am doing us both a favor by not speaking to you right now.”

And then he’s leaving the kitchen—nothing but a breeze against your cheek and the sound of a door slamming to prove he was ever there.

The apartment is silent. You stand in the middle of the kitchen, unsure of what to do next. Spencer very, very rarely gets angry at you to the point of neglect, and you know he’s doing his best with what was modelled for him as a child and his tendency to feel things so deeply it’s nearly disabling; but that doesn’t make it hurt much less. It doesn’t make you feel less abandoned or alone. ��

You’re sad, and you’re still pissed, and maybe you’re in just a bit of shock as you robotically move back to your nest of blankets on the couch and resume your schoolwork. What else is there to do? Unless Spencer is right—unless you really are about to get expelled after getting the answer key for an upcoming test from a friend, who then gave it to another friend, and so on. But is that really your fault?

It’s a struggle to stay focused as your mind keeps drifting back to Spencer in the other room, those cruel words and that cold steely look in his eye that isn’t supposed to ever be aimed at you. It’s not a secret that side of him exists, but it doesn’t belong in this apartment. It’s not something he needs to use against you. He’s supposed to be on your side. But instead, he’d said you should be expelled and essentially called you stupid. And now you’re doing homework for a class at a school you may not even be a student of come Monday.

---------------------------------------------------

The sound of the office door opening forty-five minutes later spikes your blood pressure and simultaneously makes your heart flutter, because no matter how mad at him you might be, Spencer is still Spencer.

He comes to stand behind the couch quietly, but you don’t acknowledge him. Maybe your typing gets a bit more aggressive, but aside from that you flat out reject his presence.

“Can we talk?”

You let him sweat for a minute as you finish your paragraph.

“I don’t know, Spencer. Can we? Or are you not done with your temper tantrum?”

“That is... well deserved,” he sighs, rounding the couch and tapping the bottom of your foot, signaling that he wants you to move your legs. You despise how automatically you comply, pulling your knees to your chest to avoid touching him as he sits next to you. There’s a long moment of silence, in which you resume typing. Spencer scoffs, leaning in slightly to peer at your screen. “Are you doing homework right now? I’m a complete asshole to you and you just... do your homework?"

“What the fuck else was I supposed to do?” you almost-yell, slamming your laptop shut and blinking away potential tears. “The only person I wanted to talk to called me stupid and fucking left!”

The tears realize their potential once you admit the blunt truth.

Spencer carefully moves your laptop and pulls you into his arms—and you just let him. There’s not much fight left in you. There wasn’t a lot to begin with.

“I am so sorry, angel. You’re right, I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have yelled, I shouldn’t have said what I said, I shouldn’t have walked away. I overreacted.”

“Yeah, you really did,” you cry, allowing him to run his hand over your hair. “Why did you do that? Why were you so fucking mean?”

His voice shakes slightly as he responds, betraying his own anxieties, and a new, unwelcome sense of trepidation slithers through your veins.

“I was wondering that, too. Even as I was saying it, I knew—I knew it wasn’t what I wanted to be saying. And then I was in the other room and I wanted to be out here, and I couldn’t figure out why I wasn’t. But I think I was just scared. Which—I know, doesn’t really make sense, but... I think about when Ethan dropped out of the academy, and ended up doing heroin in New Orleans for three years, and I think about when I almost left the BAU because I was so convinced I’d never get clean that I didn’t even want to anymore, and—and the idea of you losing your education and your direction like that terrified me, probably unreasonably, and I took it out on you. And I’m sorry.”

“But I’m not like you or Ethan. You don’t have to worry about that. Even if I... even I do get in some sort of disciplinary trouble. That’s a road you don’t have to worry about me going down, ever.”

He fixes some unseen wrinkle on your shirt.

“Yeah, but, remember... I used to not be like me or Ethan either. Do you think twelve-year-old Spencer would have ever even considered that of the infinite realities and universes which exist, he was living in one where someday he’d be shooting up in the bathroom at work?”

“Mm-mm,” you hum, shaking your head and burying your face in Spencer’s shoulder. The sound is more of a plea for him to be less descriptive than an answer to his rhetorical question. It’s still much easier for him to talk about that part of his life than it is for you to have to actually imagine it. You didn’t know him then, but you’ve seen pictures, and you know Spencer now, and it’s... it’s just too much. Too sad.

“Okay,” he agrees soothingly, still playing with your hair. “I digress. My point is that literally anything is possible, and while it’s not necessarily likely, I more than anyone know that anxiety even over the most improbable of things is never completely unfounded.”

You sniffle in response, too emotionally and physically exhausted to contribute much to the conversation by this point. Thankfully, Spencer can talk for two. An idiosyncrasy which you love and comes in handy every once in a while. He can play his own devil’s advocate; in this case, you.

“But that doesn’t mean I get to take it out on you. Ever. I truly, truly, sincerely apologize for that. I never want to hurt you.”

You let the apology sink into your skin like a salve, soothing every abrasion those earlier words had left in their violent wake.

After a few minutes, you find the energy to ask a question that might best remain unanswered.

“Are you still mad at me?”

He’s quiet for a beat, seemingly contemplative as his fingers trace abstract patterns in a language all his own on your arm.

“I’m not thrilled. But you were right earlier. It’s not my place to be mad at you for something like that.”

“Mm... it’s a little bit your place. You’re an actual professor.”

He chuckles.

“At an entirely different university.”

“Thank god,” you laugh. “You and me at the same school would be such an HR clusterfuck.”

While it’s almost a serious matter, the smile in his voice is evident.

“Yeah... I, uh... try not to think about it.”

“Okay, but seriously. In your professional opinion. Am I fucked? Like, do I need to prepare an appeal and character witnesses or whatever?”

Spencer sighs.

“It was incredibly reckless and irresponsible. You should be ready for disciplinary pushback from the schoolboard if you get caught. That being said... because over sixty of you got a hold of the answer key, I doubt anyone is getting expelled, and even if they did, it would likely only be the TA and the student he gave the key to. It’s my tentative, professional opinion that you’ll probably be fine.”

You relax slightly, allowing a tension you didn’t realize was there to shed like an old skin.

“I’m not gonna cheat again,” you promise on an exhale. It’s simply too much risk for too little reward.

Spencer’s response is quiet, and comes much faster than you’d expected.

“Oh, I know you aren’t. Because if you do, you’re going to have to worry about disciplinary action from me. And I’m not nearly as nice as the dean of your school, darling girl.”

But something about the way he says it—a thinly veiled threat/promise contrasted by a sweet kiss to your forehead—doesn’t exactly make academic honesty look all that exciting.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you

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softlysunrays · 4 months

Text

━━ my pov of ellie

a/n : hii this would be the way i see ellie or what i think she would be (obv hcs i think). so if you don't agree with me it is totally okay! just dont give hate comments and stuff like that.

cr : @idontgetanysleep & pinterest for all the pics

up next ⟶ part ii

DAILY CLICK

DONT BUY TLOU

WAYS TO HELP PALESTINE

what i think she would wear

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ i feel like she would own a lot of flannels, sweaters and baggy shirt.

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ also, she would definitely like wearing pants that don't fit her perfectly so she can show off her boxer or boyshort thingy (and she makes them look good too!) ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ I JUST KNOW SHE HAS THE KEY HOLDER THING CAUSE SHE DOESN'T CARRY ANY BAG OR PURSE WITH HER (she only uses them if needed lol). ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ sometimes, she would love to just wear her hoodie/sweater instead of making an effort to dress up. i mean she would look good either way ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ she actually has lots types of shoes but will always wear converse bc "it's comfy" (her words). ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ i also like to think that she would love / enjoy overall especially if it's short and wear it in summer cause SUMMER IS HOT!!! ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ oh pretty sure she own caps and denim jackets in different colors ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ damn leather jacket (esp black one) would look so good on her

what dates you guys are going

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ in my head, ellie doesn't like or drink coffee but you two would go for cafe hunting or food hunting together, depending on what mood you two feel that day!

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ ellie is definitely a soda or juice kinda girl

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ baking or cooking together

sometimes, she's begging you to bake/cook with her dinosaur-themed food saying it won't fuck up but well… it does taste good but the presentation looks off… you guys still eat it though.

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ ughh, listening to music together shared WITH ONE EARPHONE !!!!!!!!!!!

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ okay, imagine running away from work or school for a moment and you two decided to go to the lake or beach just to wind down and have quality time together and catch up with each other's week.

also, imagine looking for rocks that look like both you and ellie's eyes colors !!!!!!! SO CUTE AND YOU DID THE TIKTOK TREND and it blew up !!!!

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ thrifting shopping, both of you help each other look for gems.

"how does this look on me?" "like i want to go down on you" "ellie!" you exclaimed clearly flustered while hitting her arm. "kidding! you should get it, baby, it looks great on you" ellie kissed your cheek.

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ picnic and stargazing. ellie, would tell you any facts that she knows to you while showing you what's up in the sky.

"oh oh! look at that one! did you know that-" and she continued telling you her facts and you would listen carefully. but there are times that you just want to look at her like the pretty view she is. "wow, that's so cool els! tell me more" you responded to her and she will gladly tell you more about it!

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ art dates! i do see ellie as an artsy girl and let me tell you she knows what she's doing with her hands and is so talented too.

sometimes you like to call her a tease just because of how her hands are doing wonders for you LOL definitely, do the 10-minute challenge thingy, making a friendship bracelet just because and of course you two had to do the hand trend things to put it at your home or offices.

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ museum date or aquarium date.

ellie could go on and on and on about dinosaurs or planets even sharks! girly has so many interests that she just has so many fun facts to tell you about! "woah, baby look how big this thing is!" ellie excitedly said. "that's what she said" you joke and of course ellie snickers at your bad jokes but deep down she does find it funny.

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ late-night walks or drives are for sure your two favourite things to do besides cuddling.

late night walks when the two of you couldn't fall asleep and ending up at the park playing swings and just talking about the randomest thing ever and would probably go to the convenience store to buy strawberry and blueberry slushies. the two of you end up having purple tongues

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ mannnn, i know ellie loves hiking (that doesn't take a long time to reach up the hill). i feel like she would be a sporty girl (kinda?), i mean i know she would go to the gym and all that.

ellie is a curious girl and just loves to explore new things and be adventurous and she likes it when you tag along with her. you, ellie and her cameras !! her taking pictures of her pretty girl (you!!)

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ weeds and drinks combo and both of you laughing like an idiots while the soft wind brushes your skin

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ to be fair, whatever the two of you are doing together called dates! she just loves being around you and so do you!!

REMINDER !!

that neil is a zionist and therefore dont buy his games, doesnt matter remastered or not !!!

before you leave, have you DONATE TO PALESTINE today? ITS FREE TOO !!

#written by dayana ❦#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams headcanons #ellie williams x female reader #ellie x reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams x you

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ashwhowrites · 5 months

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okay so this has been in my head forever but imagine cheerleader/rich popular reader and eddie are dating. reader is the daughter of a company ceo and wayne works at the company. wayne absolutely hates his boss because he’s rich and spoiled and his boss hates him because he doesn’t understand where he came from since he never grew up poor or whatever. let’s say one day reader and eddie decide to tell their parents about each other and reader invites eddie and wayne to come to her house for dinner and wayne and her dad are pissed bc they don’t want their kid/nephew associated with each other and like forbid them from being together but they eventually realize how much they mean to each other and like give them permission to date again. i feel like this would be so chaotic and funny but cute and wholesome at the same time

I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it. Thank you for requesting 🫶🏻

Rich girl, poor boy

Wayne Munson was a hard-working man who didn't get credit where it was due. He started at the bottom and worked his way through every promotion. But his boss made Wayne's life hell. He kept Wayne at work later and later, giving him random tasks that weren't needed and treating him like scum. His boss was a rich old man, he was bitter and looked down on the people beneath him. Wayne was used to being the poorest man compared to others, but to be targeted because of it by his boss was his last straw. He hated that man and he hated whoever was related to him.

Wayne worked hard for himself but he also worked hard for Eddie. To provide as much as he could for his nephew. That's why he sucked it up and kept working for that twat of a boss.

~~~

"You're home very late," Eddie announced as Wayne walked through the door. The small clock above the couch read midnight as Eddie picked at the cold plate of dinner.

"Tried to wait but I was starved," Eddie said, Wayne brushed it off, heating his plate in the microwave. He waited a few seconds as it heated, grabbing a beer and taking a swig. He grabbed the warm plate and set it on the table.

"It's fine. The boss decided every car on the lot needed a tire cleaning." Wayne grumbled, stuffing his face with semi-warm food, Eddie frowned as he sat across from his uncle.

"Again? You did that last week." Eddie said he could see Wayne's body language was annoyed and exhausted.

"Didn't do good enough last time," Wayne said, rolling his eyes as he ate his first meal of the deal. Eddie watched with a heavy heart as Wayne's tired body ate as fast as he could. He knew once he finished, Wayne would go to bed and do it all over again.

"How was your day, though?" Wayne asked, he tried to keep up with Eddie's life. His parents were deadbeats and never checked up on him. Wayne wanted Eddie to have at least one parent who cared.

"Good! I took Y/N to get ice cream and we listened to new records." Eddie smiled as he recalled his day. Wayne couldn't help but smile along. Eddie had this girlfriend that he was obsessed with. She was popular and a cheerleader. Wayne almost choked on his dinner when Eddie first told him about her. He was nervous that such a popular girl was interested in Eddie, but from every story, she sounded sweet and genuine.

"When do I get to meet the unlucky girl?" Wayne joked, placing his fork on the empty plate.

"Haha," Eddie faked laughed, flipping Wayne off. "She's been asking for our families to meet, and invited us over for dinner on Friday. Think your boss will let you off at a normal time? She wants to do it around seven."

"I'll make him," Wayne promised, a pat on Eddie's head as he made his way to bed.

~~~

"I haven't worn nice clothes since you got baptized." Wayne chuckled, buttoning up his last button, then tucking his shirt into his jeans.

"I'm baptized?" Eddie laughed, also tucking his button-up into his jeans.

"Oh yeah, your mom did it for your grandma before she died. Are you ready?" Wayne asked, grabbing the keys.

~~~

"Eddie!" Y/N cheered, her arms wrapped around him as she snuggled into his neck. She soaked in his warmth for a second before she pulled away. Her eyes were on the older man next to Eddie. She smiled and brought him into a hug as well.

"Oh!" Wayne chuckled, hugging her back softly.

"Eddie talks about you all the time. Nice to see the man that inspires him." Y/N said as she pulled away. Wayne smiled back at her kindness. She had a sweet voice and a bright smile. He could easily see why Eddie fell so fast.

"Nice to meet the girl Eddie constantly talks about. I see he was right about how beautiful you are." Wayne smiled, and Y/N felt herself blush as she looked at Eddie. Her was art warm when he talked about her and believed she was beautiful.

"Well, I'll lead you to the dining room!" She said. Her black dress swayed at the bottom as she turned around. Her heels clicked on the marble floor as the boys followed behind her. Wayne tried to not let his jaw drop as he took in the huge house. The chandelier on the ceiling, the velvet furniture, the plants, and wall art. She came from money, and she came from lots of money.

Eddie was in awe of her house. He didn't think these houses were real. It looked like a scene from a movie. He knew she was rich, but he didn't know she was that rich. She didn't act spoiled, she was humble and even had a part-time job. She wasn't a snob, Eddie wouldn't have guessed she came from this much money based on how she acted.

"Daddy, this is Eddie! My boyfriend, and his uncle, Wayne!" Y/N held Eddie's hand as she introduced them to her dad. Her dad stood up from the table, his eyes settled on the younger man next to his daughter. Then they moved to the older man next to him.

"Son of a bitch." Wayne muttered to himself. Eddie quickly looked at him with confusion. Y/N looked between her dad and Wayne. Not understand why the air got so thick.

"You didn't tell me you were dating a Munson boy." Her dad sneered. Y/N didn't like the way he said Munson like it was a curse.

"Well he didn't mention he was dating a Y/L/N" Wayne growled back. Both men racing their chins higher and higher.

"Away from that boy now!" Her dad said, walking over to yank her arm. Y/N gasped as her grip lost Eddie's.

"Daddy!" She hissed, she couldn't believe his behavior. "What is the problem?"

"That man is a shame excuse of a man. He is scum at the bottom of the earth and you will not be dating no family member of his." He demanded, Y/N felt panic in her chest. Worriedly looking at Eddie.

"Sir, please just give us a chance. I'm not sure how you know Wayne, but he isn't scum! And neither am I. I love your daughter and I know I can take care of her." Eddie tried.

"Not. He works for me! I know exactly how much of a pathetic man he is. How can you take care of her when you are poor, Eddie? My baby girl doesn't belong in a tiny trailer."

"Stop it! You are being so rude." Y/N said, yanking her arm from her dad's grip. She stood productively in front of Eddie. "Eddie is a very nice boy and I love him. How much money he's got has nothing to do with anything."

"You are not dating him. That's an order."

"You can't tell me what to do! We don't need your support." Y/N snapped, her eyes angry as she stared down her dad.

"We have Wayne's and that's all we need," Eddie said, his hand reaching out to grasp hers softly.

"Eddie, you break up this relationship right now," Wayne said Eddie's eyes were huge as he turned around to look at his uncle. Shock is written all over his face.

Y/N's dad smiled as Wayne agreed. Maybe they could have this one small thing in common.

"Wayne!" Eddie exclaimed. He couldn't believe Wayne would suggest that. Y/N felt her heart crack as she turned to look at Wayne.

"Eddie, that man is evil. He is a snob, rude, and will forever look down on the people below him. I'm sure the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. You are getting out while you still can. You are not dating a spoiled brat." Wayne spat out.

"Wayne!" Eddie scolded, he couldn't believe Wayne would speak so poorly of Y/N, he barely gave her a chance. In the same way, Dad barely gave Eddie the chance.

"Wayne, please. I know my dad is a boss man but I would never look down on you or Eddie. I'm so sorry for his behavior, but please I love Eddie. Don't do this." Y/N begged. She knew her dad was a loss cause, she needed Wayne to be on their side.

"It's Mr. Munson, Eddie we are leaving. Say goodbye and meet me in the car." Wayne spat, he turned around and walked out the door.

"Break up with the boy or Wayne is fired. You will not be talked about like that. He disrespected my daughter in my house!" Her dad threatened, his arms crossed as he looked down at the couple. He ignored the pain in his daughter's eyes but enjoyed the fear in Eddie's.

"Eds." Y/N whimpered, her eyes watery as the world crashed at their feet. She didn't want to lose him.

"Y/N, I gave an order. I want him out of my house and out of your life." Her dad said before he left the room.

"What do we do?" Eddie asked

"We have to break up." Y/N choked out, her eyes watered and her throat burned.

"Baby no! We'll make your dad change his mind! I'll make him, I promise!" Eddie panicked.

"I'm sorry. That job is all you guys have. I can't be the reason he gets fired, he'll hate me even more." Y/N couldn't live with that guilt. "I'm sorry." Y/N whimpered, sobs making its way out of her mouth. She covered her cries with her hands.

"He doesn't hate you! I'll make him change his mind and give you a chance!"

"Eddie, it's me or the job. Wayne would never accept us if it cost him his job, his income, and his source to support you. But soon I'll have money saved to move out, we will graduate and we can be together. Just wait for me?" She cried.

"Yes," Eddie said with no hesitation. He'd wait years for her.

"I love you," Eddie whispered, leaning down to softly kiss her goodbye. He felt his heart sink as he tasted her salty tears.

"I love you." She whispered. She watched as he walked out the door.

Eddie tried to hold back his sobs as he got in the car. He didn't look at Wayne the whole drive. The betrayal in Eddie's heart was the worst pain he'd ever felt. Out of everyone in the world, he thought Wayne would always have his back.

The car ride was silent, a few blocks away from home when Wayne finally spoke up.

"Look, I know you-" Wayne tried

"No! You don't know. I can't believe you would talk to her that way. You disrespected my girlfriend right to her face. She has done nothing to you. It's her fucking dad! Yeah, I get that. But you did not need to treat her like that." Eddie snapped.

"Eddie, you are too young to understand. But she will turn out just like him. She'll be selfish and think she's above you. You'll thank me in the end." Wayne said.

"You don't know her. You don't know anything about her." Eddie argued. "She's nothing like him. She is sweet, kind, and would do anything for the people she loves."

Wayne laughed and shook his head. "She has you fooled." The car came to a stop as they pulled up to their trailer.

"Make sure you send her a thank you card for saving your ass from being fired." Eddie snapped as he slammed the car door. He raced into the trailer and locked himself in his room.

~~~

Y/N knew she'd never forgive her dad for what he did. She'd never forgive him for making her break it off with Eddie. She'd never forgive him for not letting her be happy. Her mom tried to make everyone civil, but dinners were silent. Y/N refused to speak or look at her dad.

"How was school?" Her mom asked, slicing her steak.

"Fine," Y/N muttered. She picked at her plate, not much of an appetite. The breakup with Eddie was the most painful thing she's ever experienced. It's been days of silence. Days of longing look from across the classroom. Days of crying in her room when all she wanted to do was be in Eddie's arms.

"Did you talk to that boy?" Her dad asked, his eyes squinting at her over his newspaper.

"No."

"Good girl."

~~~

Wayne sighed as he walked into the trailer, complete silence. It's been days of Eddie locked up in his room. He only left for school, then right back into his bedroom.

"Did you eat?" Wayne asked as he knocked on the door.

"No," Eddie said through the door.

Wayne ordered pizza, sitting on the couch as his nephew stayed locked in his room. Wayne was conflicted, he knew Eddie liked Y/N and that the breakup was hard. But Wayne couldn't help but like the relief of his boss' attitude towards him. It was like banning Eddie from seeing his daughter was a win. He let Wayne go home at normal times and didn't give random tasks.

In the end, it worked out for Wayne, but was it worth it if his nephew had to suffer?

Eddie came out when the pizza arrived. He stacked up a paper plate and went to walk back into his room.

"Can we talk for a second?" Wayne asked, Eddie sighed but sat down.

"I know you're hurting. I know these past few weeks have been hard for you. I can see my actions have hurt you. It's hard for me to admit, but I was wrong. I spent years trying to get you to smile and enjoy life. Ever since I took you in, there was this light missing in your eyes. I took you to parks, bowling, and arcades, and yet you never smiled. You grew up and still, that light wasn't there. You never enjoyed living. Then you met her. And one day, I saw that light in your eyes. I see that smile when you talk about her. I'm sorry I took that away from you, Eds." Wayne said, choking slightly as he felt tears falling down his face. "I'm so sorry. I want that light back in your eyes. I want you to have something to live for."

Eddie choked back his cries as he watched Wayne break down.

"She makes me happy, Uncle Wayne," Eddie whispered, biting his lip harshly as he felt sobs making their way into his throat.

"You have my blessing. Get her back." Wayne said, he reached out and rubbed Eddie's hand softly.

"It means a lot. But she broke it off so you could keep your job. Her dad threatened to fire you. She'll never do that to you." Eddie said, "But thank you."

Wayne watched as he got up and went back into his room.

He knew what he had to do to make it up to his nephew.

~~~

"Sir, can I come in?" Wayne asked as he knocked on his boss's door.

"Yes." His boss sat at his big desk, his hands under his chin as he waited for Wayne to speak.

"I quit," Wayne said, folding his uniform and placing it on the desk.

"Excuse me?" His boss scoffed.

"Eddie or the job, right? Your daughter and I have something in common. We both love that boy and it's time he gets picked. I pick Eddie. I'm accepting your daughter, because of the way she brightens up my boy's world. If you can't see he does the same for her, then maybe you don't love her the way you should." Wayne said, not waiting for a response as he left the office.

~~~

Eddie was doing homework in the kitchen when Wayne walked in.

"It's like three? How did you get off that early?" Eddie chuckled.

"I quit."

"WHAT?" Eddie yelled, standing up from his chair.

"He can't fire me if I don't work for him," Wayne smirked.

"But Wayne! We need the money."

"I'll get a job somewhere else. You are more important than any job. I'm sorry I stood in the way of your relationship, but now there won't be any consequences."

"Thank you." Eddie smiled, tears in his eyes as he pulled Wayne into a tight hug. Wayne smiled as a few tears left his eyes. That smile was back.

And so was she

~~~

"CHEATER!" Y/N screamed, her accusing fingers pointed to Eddie as he tried to tuck cards under his plate.

"AM NOT!" he yelled back. His hand crumbled up another card he tried to hide. His girlfriend's eyes were watching his every move.

"WAYNE!" she yelled, the older man got off the couch and walked to the table. The board game is on the table, dice everywhere, and a mess of cards.

"Check his hand." She said a smile on her face. She knew Eddie was about to be caught.

"Wayne! Who are you gonna believe? Me or her?" Eddie gasped

"Your girlfriend." Wayne laughed, easily tackling Eddie to the floor as he tried to get the card out of his hand.

"GOT IT!" Wayne cheered, snatching the crumbled card. He held out his hand and yanked Eddie to his feet. Then placed the card in Y/N's hand.

"I knew it!" She said, slamming down the card she needed to win.

"Thank you, Uncle Wayne." She laughed as she high-fived him.

"He always cheats," Wayne whispered, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. "Now I'm off to bed. Try not to be too loud. Big day tomorrow!"

"Good luck at the job interview," Y/N said, Wayne thanked her as he shut his bedroom door.

He smiled as he crawled into bed, the sound of Eddie's laughter and Y/N's screams filled the trailer.

Now the sound of that was worth quitting a job for.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson request #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff x reader #eddie munson angst x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x cheerleader #eddie munson x cheerleader! reader #ashwhowrites

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