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#iceland x reader
thebirdybrigade · 2 years
Note
Hi! I'm so happy there's another hetalia imagines blog, I'm always looking for more to add to my hoard. Would I be able to request some headcanons for the nordics with a sick s/o , please and thank you?
This is totally off base with what you said but it made me think of a bunch of Hetalia blogs as a pokemon team. It's my personal goal to become the personification of Mr. Mime. Also, much like every other character on my page, I have never actually written for the Nordics before this and I don't know what I'm doing c':
I know Denmarks is a little less detailed than the rest, that's because I got three more asks during the time this took and was physically forcing myself to not ramble TT Someone please remind me to revisit him at some point
warnings: mentions of getting sick in a not cute way? And smoochin' whilst contagious
Sweden
Captain Cold Compress™️
He doesn't freak out or panic when his s/o falls ill, he simply accepts his new position as Nurse and stands guard over them until they're feeling better.
Berwald is one of the few who you could trust to have a good grasp on what medications will alleviate the most symptoms without any mix-ups or scares. And he will make you take them on time, every time, with few exceptions.
He'd set you up in your room and make sure you're set up as comfortably as possible before going to make something light enough to stay in your stomach.
He has the technical part of caring for you down, it's the comfort part he struggles with.
Berwald is one of those people who don't like sleeping with a TV in their rooms because of the blue light and he won't say anything past, "I thought you would like it" if you ask him why he's dropping his television set, stand and all, on the floor in front of his bed.
In actuality, he messaged Tino as soon as he found out you were sick asking about the best methods for making sick people comfortable.
Eventually, you'll wake up from a nap and see that your favorite movie is playing, your arm is wrapped around a cute new stuffed animal, and Berwald is sitting in a chair at your bedside, slumped down as he sleeps.
You didn't ask for this but it made me laugh Likelihood of smooching their sick s/o: 1/10
Finland
A serial Mother Hen. Tino knows he's high strung but it gets way worse when his s/o is sick. He finds himself flitting around the whole house, constantly on the move, and staying on top of both his responsibilities and yours.
He really focuses on making sure you have as little stress as possible while you’re out of commission. This means he's gonna try to do everything for as long as you're under the weather. The chores you normally divvy out equally, cooking, and any other important errands that need to be done, will get done, even if Tino goes a little manic in his frenzy.
He doesn’t have the same grasp on medication as Berwald does, but he makes up for it with home remedies that work just as well.
This is out of pocket and might be a niche pull, but he kinda reminds me of an 80's Jazzercise mom. You know, fretting, working up a sweat, and repressing his feelings?
I feel like you would be the one to have to grab ahold of his arm and ask him to slow down and stay with you. He would be hesitant, worried about the bigger picture, but if you look him in the eyes and ask again he will crumble like a shortbread cookie.
Regardless of how talented you are at keeping him from running himself ragged, you will come out of your sickness with a dishless sink and 0 laundries.
Everyone say "Thank you, Tino!"
Likelihood of smoochin': 4/10 Would go for a forehead kiss, maybe a cheek if you really need it
Norway
Lukas.exe has stopped responding.
He acts like he's never seen a sick person before every time it happens but he really does try his best, you guys. It's like his brain just stops and every bit of information on basic care is tossed in the trash bin and set ablaze.
He tries to look unfazed the whole time, but he actually looks like a scared kitten any time he's faced with a new task. Like, picture the most aloof and flippant cat being approached by animal control and now give it anxiety. That's his face
PanicPanicPanicPanic.
He can't even muster his usual deadpan humor.
You will have to remind him which medications do what and you may want to double-check that he got it right before you take it. He'll remember to set a timer for your next dose though, he's got that one for sure.
He really does want to help but he gets caught up in his own fears easily. He acts like you're running on borrowed time when you're sick, no matter the severity. It's an involuntary response for him.
please hug him, he's scared.
In spite of all that, he's actually very nice company while sick, if not a slight menace. You never have to look far for him, he's gonna make himself look available at all times.
He also watches you like a hawk. If you look like your pillow needs adjusted or your water glass empties, he's already on his way.
You will find his arms around you when you wake up regardless of contagion level.
Likelihood of smoochin': 3/10 Rests his cheek on your head when he thinks you're sleeping
Iceland
Surprisingly, Emil would handle you being sick pretty well.
It's all very basic care but he manages to keep you comfortable. He's fairly level-headed about it all, if not on the stubborn side when it comes to you eating and taking medications and the likes.
He knows he doesn't know enough to play Pharmacist like Berwald or Tino, and that alone puts him ahead of the curve.
Canned soup, cold compress, and Tylenol/NyQuil are his holy trinity and he will not deviate.
He gets squeamish around messes, but if you ignore his soul leaving his body, he sucks it up well enough.
He gets worried easily, but it isn't pure anxiety-like Lukas'. He knows that if he stays the course then you'll likely recover in the next few days or so. If it lasts longer than that, he'll panic enough to call up Berwald.
He stays with you the entire time, but in the same way that cats do, where they act like they just happen to wander into your space 10 times and only go to the kitchen.
I don't think I have a lot to say on him. Mans keeps it simple and it works for him.
He probably sleeps at the end of your bed so he's as close to you as possible without being in the danger zone of any possible messes.
This is off-topic and entirely baseless, but Emil has this unmistakable energy of someone who got puked on as a kid and has an everlasting phobia. Don't ask me why I couldn't tell you.
Likelihood of smoochin': 1/10 he will hold your hand and that is it.
Denmark
Has no clue what he's doing, but he's doing it, and no one has been hurt. He calls that a win.
Mathias is the dictionary definition of failing upwards.
Other than the basics of DayQuil, water, and soup, mans would be lost. Anything beyond those three things is Berwald's problem, and that's entirely for the best.
He tries to focus on keeping you comfortable and happy and shifts his demeanor just a little to become your own personal sun.
On the inside, he feels terrible that he can't help you more and feels like this is the only way he can make himself of use to you.
He pretty much just hangs out with you and plays fetch for whatever you tell him to.
No regard for personal space and willfully ignores the definition of contagious.
Not to mention he takes any accidents like a champ. If you toss your cookies on this man, he will laugh it off while he cries inside, what a gentleman.
Can do your laundry, but there's no way this man cares about dark vs lights so if you like your shit crisp you may consider taking the L on that one.
Likelihood of smoochin': 10/10, you gotta be the one to remind him that germs exist.
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Hetalia: Nordic Europe Masterlist
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Hello Everyone, This is the Masterlist of my planned post and the link to the post of the scenarios. You also can see some of the symbols below. Also, starting now. I also accept headcanons and scenarios for 2p Hetalia other than just 1p Hetalia.
🌹: Smut
🥀: Angst
🍭: Fluff
😂: Comedy
🧐: Random
🧸: Domestic
😐: Non-Specified
🗡️: Gore/Yandere
❤️: Romantic
➽───────────────❥➽───────────────❥
Denmark
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With a Scenekid S/O 🧐
With a S/O who have Phalloplasty and Top surgery scars🥀🍭
Sweden
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With a S/O who have Phalloplasty and Top surgery scars🥀🍭
Norway
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With a S/O who have Phalloplasty and Top surgery scars🥀🍭
Iceland
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With a Scenekid S/O 🧐
Finland
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- Empty -
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milaisreading · 3 months
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Scenario where Denmark introduces (C/n) to other nations after forcing her out of isolation
Finland: So, you two are close now?
Sweden: Like friends or something?
Norway: Hmm?
Denmark: Of course! We are best friends now! Right, (C/n)?! *asks while patting her on the back*
C/n:....
*1 minute later*
C/n: Right. We are.
Denmark: WHAT THE HELL TOOK YOU SO LONG?!
Iceland: So... she is held here against her will?
Denmark: No, she is not!!
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atom-writings · 4 months
Note
helloooo can i humbly request the s/o liking their accent + voice but with romano and iceland? :) loved your other post with it!! good luck with exams by the way
hetalia romano and iceland with a s/o who loves their voice
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0.3k words ~ gender neutral headcanons
tw: none!
a/n: this is a short one BCS I didn't have that much to say and I'm about t o pass out hi I love u guys
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Romano
It's a good thing you're a sucker for Italian accents because Romano loves when girls swoon over his voice (Whenever a pretty tourist is around, he sounds like it's his first time speaking his English.) So, if he has the same effect on you, he abuses that privilege greatly.
“Qualcuno ti ha mai detto che hai un sorriso meraviglioso?”
“What?”
“Nothing, Bella~”
Anything he says to you is followed immediately by some random off-handed phrase in Italian, just because he knows how hot you find his voice. That habit keeps your attention, as well as his patience with the English language.
Plus, he's Italian, so he loves the sound of his own voice. Give him a good enough topic and he can rant for hours without you saying even a single word to encourage him.
He prefers S/Os that are a lot quieter than he is, so it's not uncommon for him to have a whole conversation with himself while you just listen. And when he knows he has an audience, even if it's you, his voice becomes painfully smooth and attractive. So, win-win, right?
Iceland
Wait, really? He... never expected anyone to tell him that. It seems like only yesterday that he sounded completely different, and he hasn't gotten used to having a more mature voice yet. That's partly why he's so quiet, he still finds his voice awkward and childish.
But really, his voice is perfectly soft. He's accidentally sent you to sleep more than once, but he assumed that was actually just an indication that he bored you.
“If me speaking bothers you that much... I will be quiet.”
“It doesn't bother me!”
“... I will be quiet anyway.”
He doesn't like talking. It's hard to get a more than 3-word text out of him, much less ramble; even if you beg. He doesn't really believe you when you say you like his voice.
Though, like with every compliment you give him, it makes him blush every time you bring it up. Plus, it does stay in the back of his mind... even if he won't indulge you.
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sonder-paradise · 11 months
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𝐈 𝐊𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞 — 𝐂𝐡𝐮𝐮𝐲𝐚 𝐍𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚
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◊ ft. chuuya nakahara, gn!reader
◊ genre. comfort, birthday fic for the bday boy
◊ synopsis. just a night with chuuya, a couple minutes before and after his birthday. based off the song, Ég veit þú kemur.
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I know you’ll come to me tonight, 
though we only met briefly yesterday. 
“We’re here again.”
Chuuya chuckles, sipping from the glass in his hands. He relaxes in your words, allowing himself to soak in the sweet tune of the jukebox in the back of the bar. It plays a lively tune with a young singer’s foreign tongue echoing out a pretty song. 
“We’re always here,” he comments, flashing an amused smirk at you. 
“Well, this particular bar is sort of…” you pause, leaning back in your barstool to ponder over the next words, “It’s sort of like our thing, you know?”
Chuuya seems to approve of your words, humming a sort of soft acceptance to them. 
“What? Do you disagree? I couldn’t think of a better way to spend your birthday.”
He clicks his tongue, raising his glass to summon yours. In an instant, you raise it, clinking it against his. He seems to find you amusing tonight. You want to say the same. But you find yourself lost in the subtle way he captures your attention. 
I won’t believe a word you say,
if the stars tell me otherwise
“No, you’re right. It’s perfect.”
You wonder how something like this could have occurred so quickly. You don’t remember what it was like not having Chuuya in your life. He fit into place so naturally. The words he said and the things he did moved so cosmically and even now, you lean against the bar counter, questioning how such a man came to be in your life. 
“Happy Birthday.”
Chuuya smiles, wrapping an arm around your waist. He smells briefly of sandalwood and something… familiar. You can’t quite place your finger on it, but you find it enchanting regardless. 
“It’s not yet my birthday though.” 
You glance up at the clock above the bar. “Ten more minutes.” 
“See?”
Laughter escapes your lips as you realize he’s technically correct. 
“Sorry. I’m just excited I suppose.” You pause, taking a moment to admire his features while he’s still here. Time is such a funny thing. Luckily for you, time has yet to change Chuuya’s features just yet. Your hand reaches towards him to cusp his cheek and he captures your hand in his own gloved one, kissing your palm gently. 
“Something on your mind, Darling?”
You blink at him, the feeling of his rough lips against your fingertips has the butterflies in your stomach fluttering madly. He’s too much sometimes, honestly. 
“Nothing. Just wondering if you’ll like my present.”
“You got me something?” 
And then everything will be as it was,
before you know it, you’ll know.
A childish sort of look seeps into his pretty eyes and you laugh, pressing your forehead to his. He chuckles, the sound is rough and somehow still smooth. It reminds you of wine and music. 
“Yes, I got you something. But it’s at home.”
He frowns slightly, clearly making a mockery of himself and the fact he’s being a bit of a child. But the sight has you shaking your head at him. 
“Do you want to guess what it is?”
Chuuya raises an eyebrow. You notice now that his cheeks are starting to flush a pale pink. As per usual, he’s never been good at holding his liquor, even if it is just a couple sips of his favorite wine.
“A new hat chain?”
“Nope.”
“Another bottle of Petrus?”
“Too expensive!”
Chuuya squints, now leaning his head against your shoulder whilst he contemplates the various objects you may have given him. His breath tickles your skin, sending shivers up your spine. 
“A dog…?!”
He sits up this time, clearly excited at this particular prospect. So much so, you sort of regret the fact that that’s not exactly what his present is. Then again, there’s time to change that. 
And this thing because of the bar
between us was left in peace.
At your contemplating silence, he seems to take that as his answer. His eyes widen then light up as he pulls away from you to stare in surprise. His mouth agape as if he can’t believe it himself. 
“Did I guess correctly?”
You shift uncomfortably in your seat. Well, it would be a shame to say no now… Staring at his expression, it pains you to potentially say no to this excited reaction. 
“Yup..!”
Chuuya sighs, flicking you on the side of the head and turning back to his drinks. His expression flattens as he clicks his tongue. 
“You can just say no, you know? I’m not gonna be upset.”
You shrink in your seat. You should have known he would read through you so easily. But seeing as he seems rather alright with this answer, you don’t press on it. Otherwise, you may have to take a quick trip to the pound later… 
And later, when the moon has 
wandered a long way,
As the night wanes on, laughter and drinks spill in between the two of you. Fragrant kisses escape through your lips and find sanctuary in his own. The clock’s hands have long since passed midnight and it finds the two of you stumbling through the empty streets of Yokohama, hand in hand. 
Your sole watcher is the moon and it shines down on you in an eloquent delight. Chuuya’s hand is warm in yours. His skin is flushed pink and oddly enough, tonight he’s simply tipsy. He remarks on your curious expression before pressing a kiss to your temple. 
“You’re warm,” he murmurs, leaning closer to you. 
“So are you.”
He smiles, and it’s the type of smile that’s eternal and utterly, desperately made just for you. And then comes the soft sprinkle of twilight rain. It tickles your cheek, tracing soft sensations on your skin. Chuuya takes note of it as well, briefly looking up at the sky. 
then we’ll walk about the dream
that we love, you and I.
The sprinkle becomes a gentle shower and the two of you take shelter under a striped awning. Chuuya drapes his coat over your shoulders without a second thought and you find yourself wrapped all the way back up in that sandalwood and familiar scent. 
“Didn’t think it would rain tonight.”
He looks up at the tearful skies before his eyes appear to light up with an idea. He offers a hand towards you and without question you take it. Your hand slots perfectly in his and a light feeling overwhelms your body. A gentle red aura surrounds the two of you and just like that, the rain slides right off you and down to the graying pavement. 
“How convenient.” 
Chuuya chuckles, squeezing your hand just a bit tighter. “I find it pretty convenient, yeah.”
Silence trickles between the two of you. Despite the chilly rainy atmosphere, there's a peculiar warmth in your chest. It radiates from the hand in your own as you continue your journey home.
Ég veit þú kemur í kvöld til mín
þótt kveðjan væri stutt í gær.
"Chuuya? Is there anything else you really want for your birthday?"
He takes a moment. It's a little adorable to see how seriously he takes the question. And even then, you can't help but admire just how he scrunches up his expression to think.
Then, his eyes soften and he seems to have a little 'eureka' moment. But he doesn't say it out loud just yet. Instead, he stops his steps, leaning over to you to steal a kiss from your lips.
Once again, all you can feel is this radiant warmth.
He tastes like red wine and rain and it's somehow so addicting. His hands find purchase around your waist and now it's just the sound of the rain pitter-pattering against the streets.
As you pull away, finding the moment to catch your breath and stare at him in mild confusion, he looks rather proud of himself.
"What was that for?"
A chuckle escapes his lips and your heart leaps and bounds as his answer tumbles out after.
"That was what I wanted."
Ég trúi ekki á orðin þín,
ef annað segja stjörnur tvær. 
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Taglist: @todorokichills @alittlesimp @greenshirtimagines @darlinqserenity @nameless-shrimp @whorefordazai @requiem626k @kruven @nonsense-corner @kiyokoxd @jessbeinme15 @starglow-xx @shadyteacup @scul-pted @kuraxmasha @yochicoz @pompompurin1028 @trashykawahq @swrdemon @life-sus @foolishestchildofchilds @fyodorscello @planetxiao @dazaiaiko @chuuyasboots @allisonlol @questioningmyownexistence @sebtomm @nullified-kiss @nathansside @cuteflowers-101 @sigmafied @boombboi @scarletta-ruan @skgch @daz8i @httpsobi @dazaiscum @thekaylahub @luciferspen @dazaisfavgf @alice0blog @irethepotato @monastary @kageyama-i-want-tobiors @disa-ster @mastering-procrastinating @wonpielle @ay-chuu @killmewithafic @aestellia @goldenglow149
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Hello! I was hoping if you would be willing to do the 2p Nordics with a very short s/o? NSFW if possible!
Of course! I hope you enjoy this :D fair warning tho I'm tall so I naturally don't have a lot of experience with being short ^^;;;
2p Denmark/Markell Køhler
He likes it a little too much in the wrong way (cough pervert cough)
He thinks that you being tinier than him is cute, and he will make you wear cute stuff and then fuck you in it, the size difference turns him on
2p Finland/Thurston Väinämöinen
He's already short enough as it is and he hates it, thinks it makes him look weak. That also applies to a possible SO, you would ideally be tall and lean so you can defend yourself and fight of course
He likes it in the bedroom kinda, he prefers having power over you, but that's about it, he'd still fuck you regardless of height, he just finds taller people to be better mates
2p Iceland/Erikur Steillson
Also prefers an SO who is shorter than him, so you're in luck, because he definitely enjoys the power trip of having a shorter SO both inside and outside the bedroom
It also makes it much easier to kidnap you and tie you to the bed until you agree to be his. His communication skills are shit, blame Loki for that one. Actually none of them really taught him any of that
2p Norway/Loki Thomassen
He doesn't have a preference for height other than it being close to his own. You can be as short as you like and he'll still kidnap you, force a love potion on you and then treat you like his most precious play thing
A short SO definitely also gets the short end of the stick, as he overpowers them more easily that way, size matters in this case
2p Sweden/Bernard Oxenstierna
His preferences lean towards a shorter SO but it's not really as outspoken as some of the others preferences. Mostly he likes picking up a short SO and swinging you around like in a dance and also because it's easier to move you around during sex if you're small
His yandere tendencies also have him leaning towards shorter people, they are easier to control physically. It's gonna be fun that day a short person absolutely wrecks him because he thinks them a weakling
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sunny-mercya · 4 months
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The Cruel King
01. Trigger
Nordic 5 x Male Reader
Fandom -> Hetalia
Masterlist | Next
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»Älskling,«
Berwalds voice was gruff as always—deep and rough like old firewood—throughout the years it had become to age like this.
Normally Berwald didn't need to wake you up and if they had to, Tino would be the one who does it—though Tino was currently busy downstairs, trying to tame the Dane and having everything in a civil matter—and if Berwald had reasons to wake you, it would be during the times you would get sick.
»Älskling,« Berwald tried again, shaking your shoulder slightly—trying to get a reaction of stirring from you. No avail, you wouldn't bug. You probably were already awake, just opted to make it seem as if you were still sleeping.
Berwald heaved out a sigh, sitting down on the edge of your—their—bed. Running his calloused hand over your shoulder, arm and back. Hoping if he could easy you a bit, you were more willing to get up.
»Älskling, he isn't gonna hurt you anymore. I promise and if he might try, the others and I will be here to keep you safe.« he had leaned down, sure that he will get some minimal backache from it, whispering the promise into your ear.
It had been only the second day since the Dane—Matthias—had been stayed over in their home—the whole family does during Christmas, which is a absolute first after all these years of not—and it already had started a downhill in your mood.
You turned only slightly towards Berwald, looking at him with bleary puffy red eyes. With a slight intake of motion you gestured to Berwald to lay down next to you, which he—with slight hesitation of not wanting to get too cozy when work had to be done—does as you asked.
For a long time of by passing seconds which turns into minutes—and then perhaps into a hour or two—you starred at Berwald, playing with his fingers, leaving a silence between you two.
»It's only till after Silvester«
»I–I can't–can't go down there, where—where Mat–mat–mat–where he is. I just can't Ber, it's too much–too much to bear.«
You clenched your eyes shut, memories of the past flooding your mind, bringing another wave of trembling havoc.
Berwald fingers wandering towards your cheek, caressing over them.
»I know älskling, I know. But you have to get up at one point or you will make Tino into a worried mother-hen.«
With that being said, Berwald got off the bed and in one swift motion scooped you up in his arms and carry you downstairs into the livingroom.
~~~
Tino, while cooking todays lunch, cast every so often—when he could leave the stove and the dish preparing alone for every two minutes— a worried glance into the livingroom towards you.
You, who sats apathetic on the Sofa—watching with no interest some show on the tv and listen to Peters—who plays with his Legos—happily chatter. Emil, who sat next to you, occasionally shows you something in the book he reads.
It was good that it was just them in the house for now. Because if Matthias would be here—which he is not as Berwald took him out to get more firewood—the entire mood would drop into a 360° degree angle of downhill.
Still Tino felt like as if it had been a bad idea to celebrate Christmas, after all these decades of years and centuries—after their separations of independence—together as a family.
Too soon it was perhaps as the mental scars of abuse, neglect and tyranny you had endured hadn't healed.
»Tino, relax. If you run like a worried mother-hen you will make yourself stressed out.« said Lukas, sipping his fifth cup of coffee.
»I know I know, just, have you seen [Name]? I'm worried it will end into another decaying episode of lasting Depression. It took us years to have him as of now, happy, lively.«
»Tino, I know. I was there too. Still, getting yourself worked up, will cause him just as much stress as yourself.«
Tino sighed in defeat, nodding at Lukas and returning his attention fully back to the cooking. Lukas was right, worrying would just make it worse, he needs to stay calm—having a level headed mind.
Lukas downed the rest of his coffee, standing up from the chair and going towards the counters—about to prepare his next and last cup for the next few hours.
»We all know how Matthias was back then and we also know that he has changed to someone better. It just, [Name] has stayed too long, too loyal with him during his wrath time that it will take more than just a few hundred years to grant him a forgiveness.«
Tino hummed, giving no reply to what Lukas had said as he was right. Though his mind wanders back to the rough times in the past and when [Name] came to them and asked for sanctuary.
~~~
Lunch had been uneventful, embossed with unnerving silence and still apathetic behaviour—you barely touched the food, only having about three bite before pushing the plate away and toying with the napkin—from your side and excitedly loud chatter from Matthias.
It had been afterwards that you started, in a way they didn't thought would happen again, react again.
Matthias had said something in Danish to you, something innocently mundane with a cheeky smile of his—thought he could bring you to talk, wanting to hear your voice—your cheerful chatter—after so long again.
In a flash you turned around to him. Body going rigid into a lock. Wide eyed you starred at him—at Matthias—and then as if you were in a sort of trance, on autopilot, you bowed down and replying in old danish back to him.
They all, especially Matthias, were perplexed at your action. Watching how you took Emil by his hands and taking him upstairs—coming back down seconds after, walking into the livingroom and taking a whole box of Peters toy with you to whichever room you had taken Emil.
Lukas pursed his lips, crossing his arms and tilting his head a bit as he glanced with narrowed eyes at Matthias. Scoffing just slightly under his breath. He had a hunch to what just happen—why you begun to act like this—so out of character and at the same time it wasn't—and it wasn't even Matthias fault, but it was—not with what he had said today, but with his actions he had done in the past.
»Huh, I've never seen my Skat act like this.« mused Matthias out, genuinely confused. He shrugged it off albeit, grin returning to his lips and saying something along the lines of; c'mon Peter let's go and build some snowmans
Whilst Lukas begun to walk upstairs, it was now Berwalds turn to glare with a narrowing gaze at the Dane.
»Ber, don't.« whispered Tino to his Husband, placing a hand on his arm. Starting now a fight, wouldn't be a great idea.
~~~
»What you're doing there [Nickname]?« Lukas leaned against the doorframe, having found you and Emil rather quickly.
»Keeping watch over our little Emil like the good Servant I am. The great King is not supposed to be distributed during the time of after lunch.« as you told Lukas, you had switched from old danish to norwegian and into your own native tongue—Schurlisch—in a spawn of seconds.
Lukas was rather glad that they all had decided to learn each other's language.
You started to whisper reassuring words to Emil. Giving him a comforting smile—of the kind he remembers when Emil had been little and when Matthias had one after another, too many, drunken nights which were more than often filled with manic, anger and bloodshed—taking another Wooden toy and showed it to him.
Unfortunately his guess had been right. Matthias causal use of „Skat“ had triggered your mind back into the old past. You had lost your grip on reality—thinking you are Matthias spouse, but also Servant and assistant, again.
A sad sight to witness, though who could and would blame you? It wasn't your fault that you were scarred, brand-marked even, by the past and actions of someone you once loved.
Lukas debated with himself, weighing out the pros and cons, if he was about to play along or trying to pull you out of this reality stupor.
»You want me to join in?«
»Are you finish with your today's duties?«
»Indeed I am, Vennen«
«Then suit yourself, mei freunor«
For now, just for today, Lukas mused in thoughts as he sits down across from you and Emil, he would play along.
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newbienovelist · 2 years
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Hetalia Scenarios
Allies, Axis + road trips
Shout out to @thebirdybrigade for the help!
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America:
Alfred goes out and buys snacks, drinks, and fast food whenever he or his passengers are hungry or thirsty. He stops frequently to stretch, eat, use the bathroom – anything more entertaining than driving – because he can always make up that lost time later (he speeds).
Allen, on the other hand, is more of a prepper. He uses his own recipes to make snacks and drinks because vegan fast food tastes like ass. There are 10 different containers of dip he made and ziploc baggies full of chopped veggies to munch on. Allen keeps everything close by so he can eat or drink while driving. Don't stain his seats with anything though. He won't stop for fast food, but he will pull over to furiously scrub the seat before it stains.
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Canada:
Matthew is secretly a grandma, and he packs the entire fridge into a cooler and the kitchen cabinets goes into a tote bag. He brings the ingredients for sandwiches, a meat-n-cheese tray with crackers, fruit, drinks, etc etc. One of his passengers is the designated snack distributor and they have to dive into the backseat to get the food. If he's traveling on his own, then he has Kuma do it. Otherwise, Kuma just sleeps through the trip. Matthew probably offers at least three times to drive most of the trip.
James, the secret softy, is also the prepper type, but it's because he doesn't want to stop several times on the trip. He can make up a few minutes of lost time, but ten, fifteen, twenty minutes to make something and eat? Nah, he'll pass. He forgets he has passengers sometimes so if you need to use the bathroom say something. Preferably before you're about to piss yourself or else James will either hand you an empty water bottle or pull over somewhere secluded. Glare at him and then he will take you to a bathroom.
Both Matthew and James will avoid pot holes so that their passengers and/or SO can sleep soundly. They'll keep the radio turned down too.
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England:
Arthur brown bags it. He packs his own meal, but eats it about thirty minutes into the trip and complains about having to sit on a train or bus for an hour and a half. Grumbly man. The sun is in his eyes, but no matter how he sits, the light seems to find him again. So Arthur gets up, stretches, and grumbles about the seats being uncomfortable and his back hurts from sitting for so long. Give the prickly ass a book to read so at least he can be distracted for most of the trip.
Oliver also packs his own lunch. He brings sweets – what a surprise! He sits and read from the start of the trip to the end. Oliver isn't very chatty on the trip, which is different from his usual talkative self, but he isn't opposed to conversation. It's a free hour to do whatever he pleases without interruption, work, or errands.
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France:
Francis is an eternal passenger in Birdy's words. No license. At least he's a fun, cooperative passenger. Francis doesn't cause any trouble. Unless you count shameless flirting, then he causes lots of trouble. He keeps a few snacks on him if he's feeling peckish. Francis might share. He won't stop for fast food, but he will promise his SO a nice meal as soon as they get off the train. Francis seems like the type to bring an eye mask and a small pillow with him on longer trips.
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Russia:
Ivan prefers night driving for a few reasons: the roads are quiet, he doesn't need to make many stops, and in the case that he has passengers, he likes seeing their surprised looks when they wake up at their destination. Ivan isn't attentive of his passengers' needs though. If you need to use the bathroom he will hand you an empty bottle or he'll pull over and hand you a roll of toilet paper. Ivan will wait in the car until you're done. Lol sorry 😂
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Germany:
Ludwig keeps a cliff bar or some other protein bar on him during drives and train rides. Otherwise, he just waits until he gets to his destination.
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Italy:
Feli meant to bring food with him, but he forgot so be prepared for lots of complaints and a grumbly stomach. Please don't let him drive. The only thing I remembered about his driving is the scene with him driving Japan around, and Kiku looked like he was ready to puke. But the second Feli and his passengers get to their destination, he scouts for food, hauling his friends and/or SO around until he finds something that smells good. Then he takes off like a bullet.
Luciano won't want to stop for food/drinks a dozen times. He will stop the driver once and have you tell him what you want so Luci can give the driver a list. Speak now or forever hold your peace because he isn't stopping for food again. Bathroom breaks are fine if they're not too frequent. If, on the occasion, the trip is longer than a few hours, like an international flight, then he and his passengers will likely be on a private jet or something. If you need anything, then flag down a flight attendant.
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Japan:
He stops at the vending machines before or after train rides. Kiku offers his friends and/or SO something to eat or drink. (The georgia coffee from Japan is soooo good!)
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Bonus! Nordic 5:
A group trip in the car sounds like a nightmare and a hilarious one at that. They drive a mini van or a large SUV. Tino and Berwald likely do most of the driving. If Tino is driving, then Berwald is navigating, and vice versa. Lukas insists on sitting next to Emil, much to the latter's dismay. Either one of them are volunteered to be the snack distributor. Matthias is usually shoved to the back seat. Don't put the snacks anywhere near him or he will devour all of them out of sheer boredom. Matthias has a long ass aux cord running from the radio to the backseat and blasts music. Lukas "accidentally" yanks the cord out while stretching his legs because the music is "trash." Emil puts in his earbuds and ignores everybody until Mr. Puffin reads over his shoulder and loudly judges Iceland's Twitter usage. It's almost always something innocent, but Mr. Puffin words it in the worst way possible and now Lukas is reassuring Emil, saying "You can tell your brother anything." Matthias is laughing his ass off and prying into Emil's business while Berwald groans, and then there's Tino, glaring into the rear view mirror. His piercing glare is up there with Berwald's hardcore resting bitch face, and it inflicts psychic damage. Tino's pup, Hanatamago, is one spoiled dog. She gets her own dog bed in the backseat with Matthias.
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writeshite · 1 year
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Thor walking around in a thong or loincloth 😮‍💨😮‍💨
Among the many great traditions and festivities of the Aesir, your favorite was probably afklæðast, not a festivity per se, more so an excuse to see Thor in very little or nothing at all. The loincloth he donned was red, with minor detail along the fabric; it moved as he walked, occasionally lifted by the light breeze that drifted into your shared room.
"You should get more loincloths," you commented, "it suits you."
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Yandere Werewolf Nordics or Allies that's in love with a quiet fox darling. Their territories are close and they have somewhat of an unspoken agreement. Other than that the darling doesn't pay them any mind and is worried about finding a suitable mate ( that isn't them )
Nordics becuase yeah! >:D
Here's the thing is because i can I am gonna make the nordics a group that lives together (I am excluding iceland since he is a minor) the nordic 4 as a group knowing where you live and thrive will stalk you as a pack and will drive you. Knowing you are trying to find a suitable mate that isn't them infuriates them and drives them to wanting you more. They start off slowly and they begin their drive putting their hunting territories where you live, they begin to make you aware you're in their territory and once they catch you they will use the territory terms to their advantage. They just take you and they have to decide as a group what to do, since they are gonna have to share you (the best they possibly can without murdering eachother). Hope you like to be shared.
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evereinefaust · 9 months
Text
. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐢𝐜 𝐅𝐮𝐧 ࿐ྂ
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Pairing: Nordic 5 X afab!Reader
Sypnosis: Returning home from a regular day at school, MC spends the evening bonding with her precious family.
Word Count: 3,130
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"I'm home!" You shouted as you arrive back from school. Weird, Matthias usually hugs me to death when I arrive. "[Name]!!!" The Dane's voice rang inside the large house. Your body freezes as you stood there without any movements. You regret shouting about your arrival, but you needed to because your older brothers would know that you're home. Suddenly, Matthias came running to you and then tackled you to a hug. "Ack!" You spluttered out as you accidentally throw your bag away. "Oh [Name], I miss you so much" Matthias cooed as he rubbed his face on your back, you closed your eyes as your body came into contact with the cold floor. Ouch!
Then, you sensed the murderous aura of your older brother, Lukas. He appeared behind the two of you then you sweat-dropped. Uh oh... Lukas didn't hesitate to pull the Dane's tie tightly, pulling him off you as he chokes. You stood up then dusted your uniform and grab your bag. "C-can-'t b-b-b-br-brea-the N-N-N-Norge!!"  Matthias choke out, but the Norwegian didn't stop. "A note for you. Don't you dare touch either [Name] or Cathrine. Ever" He said as he released his tie. "I... understand..." The Dane panted.
Cathrine, she was your younger sister. The two of you were being adopted by the Nordics, but you were in the household before she is. You found her wandering around town when you went out to buy food, then you decided to adopt her too. She is 13 years old while you're 17, you had the same age as the youngest Nordic in the family, Emil. Even though the two of you had the same age, the two of you weren't close because you always tease him like what Lukas and others would do. But he is close to Cathrine, and you sometimes spotted him blushing because of her. Cathrine is innocent and very smart for a child. Yes, all in the Nordic household cared for the youngest in the family, and all of you call her a child even though she denies it. She is excellent at violin and piano while you're excellent at [favorite instrument]. She had black long hair and was always tied into twin tails, her bangs is long and covered the right side of her face, as well as two short hair on either side of her head.
"Okaeri, Onee-sama" Cathrine greeted you as she appeared out of nowhere. "Gah! Oh... Cathrine, please don't scare me like that" You gasped as you heard your younger sister's voice. Well, she is not Japanese, she's just excellent at foreign languages. And yeah, she knows how to use magic, the Norwegian taught her so. While you're not, you don't have time to practice magic. "Jeg beklager..." She muttered sadly. "Ei se mitään" You smiled. "I'm going to prepare your favorite snacks" She smiled and then skipped off. "Well, the two of them are cute together that I wanted to squish them to death," Matthias said, you turned to him exactly when Lukas started to choke him again. He never learns...
You went to your room upstairs and then changed your clothes. You wore a [favorite color]-colored T-shirt and black denim. You tied your hair into [favorite hairstyle] and then exited the room. Once you went down, you were welcomed by the scent of your favorite snack. The plate was sitting on the table with your favorite snack on, besides that was a cup of earl grey tea. You sat on the chair and then started to munch on your snack. Wait a sec! I haven't noticed either Lukas or Matthias when I went down. Where could they be? 
"Hi [Name]" Emil greeted with his usual bored tone as he went inside the dining room to grab some licorice hidden under the tablecloth. "Why do you put it there? It is a very obvious place to hide your licorice" You asked as you watched him. "Shut up. I don't hide my licorice here, Cathrine needed some help in searching for her missing licorice" Emil said as he grabbed the candy from under the tablecloth. "Why? What happened?" You asked as you took a bite of your snack. "Cathrine was practicing magic but accidentally made the licorice disappear. Lukas said that the magic would make one object disappear and reappear at some place" Emil explained as he headed back to the living room. "Oh, okay. By the way, it was big brother" You said as you drank your tea. "Shut up! I would never call him that!" Emil shouted.
After you finished with your snack, you placed the dishes in the sink and washed them. After that, you wiped your hands using a towel then went upstairs to do your homework. You opened the door of your room then entered inside and locked it. You got your Home Economics notebook from your bag and opened the page. "Hm... Let's see... What are the procedures to make a wooden cabinet?" You said as you played with your pen. Darn! I forgot my book at school! It's inside the locker! Wait! There isn't any answer to the question here, damn!
"Argh!" You groaned as you tugged your hair in frustration. Then you saw your other older brother, Berwald, making some furniture outside the house. Maybe Berwald can help me with this. You got your things and headed downstairs and outside. You saw the Swede busy hammering some nails. He saw you and you stood straight. "What do you need, [Name]?" He asked as he stopped what he was doing. "I... Um... Well... I need your help with my homework" You said nervously as you looked away.
"Is it about furniture?" He asked, you nodded. He motioned you to sit on one chair he had outside, and you obeyed as he sat too. "What is it about?" He asked you. "Well... It was all about how to make a cabinet. You know that I don't know much about furniture" You told him, and he nodded. After that, you told him about your other homework and he would answer it for you. After that, you thanked him as you entered the house and he continue with his work.
You went back to your room as you returned your things to your bag, and headed downstairs afterward. You saw your Finnish brother, Tino, cooking food cause it is nearly evening. "Hi Tino, may I help you with something?" You asked him. "Oh hi there [Name], of course, you may. Please chop these vegetables" He told you as he chopped the meat. "Okay!" You smiled as you chopped the vegetables.
"Jeg hader dig!" Cathrine's voice echoed inside the house, Tino and you stopped what you were doing and took a peek upstairs. There you saw Matthias face-planted on the floor as the bathroom door was opened. That stupid Dane, he opened the door of the bathroom again with Cathrine inside, poor Cathrine. "Oh my gosh! I need to help Cathrine!" Tino said as he went to Cathrine inside the bathroom.
You went upstairs then saw Matthias still on the floor, you ignored him and then went inside the bathroom. Tino was washing Cathrine's hair while her body was covered in a towel as she sat on the chair in the bathroom. "What happened here, Cathrine?" You asked her, her face seems to turn red as you looked at her. "Det är inget" She muttered.
"Come on Cathrine, you should tell us," Tino told her, she sighed. "Well... After my magic practice with storebror Lukas, the potions inside were scattered and my whole body was covered in potions. Storebror told me to clean myself and he would clean the room. I went to the bathroom and cleaned myself, after that, when I was about to open the door, dumme bror Matthias broke the door as he opened it and hurriedly went inside. He stumbled on me as my towel was removed. I kicked him out of the bathroom, that's what happened" Cathrine told you as her face turned bright red.
The two of you went poker-faced after Cathrine's explanation, Tino finished drying Cathrine's hair as he stood up. "Don't worry about it sweetie, it will never, ever happen again" Tino told her as he smiled, she smiled too. "Kiitos, isoveli" She thanked him. After that, you and Tino exited the bathroom and you guarded Cathrine outside, since the door lock was broken, Matthias might enter inside again. Matthias stood up on his feet as he complained about how his face hurt, you sighed. "Please don't open the door of the bathroom whenever there was a person inside, especially Cathrine" Tino grabbed his collar as he said, giving emphasis on Cathrine. He smiled an evil smile as Matthias gulped. "Good, now I will return to my cooking"
"That was harsh..." Matthias scratched his head as he looked down the stairs, you sighed. "It was your fault, after all. Who said that you should enter the bathroom without knocking first or checking if there is a person inside, you even broke the lock" You told him as you crossed your arms. "Sorry about it [Name], but I thought that it was my room. I was in a hurry so I didn't even check if it was really my room or not" He told you. "What did you do?" You asked him as your eyebrow raised. "Well... I just visited Norge in his magic room, but then I drank one of his potions and had the urge to do something in my room" He explained as he looked at you. 
You sighed then the door of the bathroom opened, revealing a young girl in a light orange sundress. "I'm finished..." Cathrine muttered as she tugged her dress down. You step away from the door and next to Matthias. "Sorry about earlier Lyse, it was an accident" Matthias apologized to her as they looked at each other. "I will only forgive you if you promised not to do that again" Cathrine set a condition as she crossed her arms,  Matthias grinned widely as he nodded. "And you need to do what I order for a year" She added, the Dane almost drop his jaw. "What?" He asked in disbelief. "I will only forgive you if you adhere to my rules, take it or leave it, because I will let storebror know about this, and you know what he will do to you" Cathrine glared at him as she placed her hand on her hips, Matthias gulped. "Fine... I'll do it" He let his arms hang down.
You grabbed Cathrine's hands then the two of you headed downstairs, leaving the Dane behind. He catch up with the two of you as you headed inside the kitchen. You helped Tino set the table as Cathrine was sitting on the couch in the living room with Matthias. After a while, Emil and Lukas came down and then headed inside the dining room. They took a seat next to each other. Berwald also entered inside and took a seat next to Emil. You took a seat next to Lukas and Tino next to Berwald. The last one to enter is Cathrine and Matthias, the Dane sat next to you, and Cathrine next to Tino.
All of you had dinner in a little chitchat. "Say Lukas, when will the next contest be held?" You asked the Norwegian who just focus on eating his dinner. "In a week, maybe on Thursday" He replied as he looked at you. You sighed then continue eating your meal. "Stóri bróðir, can I have licorice after this?" You heard Cathrine ask the Icelander. You looked at him as he looked at Cathrine, his face turning bright pink. "Sure thing, litla systir" He replied as he smiled, you smirked. "Oh well, if only someone could call his brother, big brother. Maybe the youngest will like him more" You said loudly to yourself while looking down at your food, you notice Emil flinched.
"Shut up!" He quietly said as he looked down at his food. The others stopped talking and looked at him, his face turned redder. "Stóri bróðir? Are you okay?" Cathrine asked politely as she tilted her head cutely to the side, you can't help yourself to squeal inside. "Yeah, I'm alright. Don't worry about me" Emil replied as he hang his head even lower. The Swede, Fin, Norwegian, and the Dane noticed this. Tino just smiled, Matthias grinned while Berwald and Lukas just stared at the Icelander, although Lukas smiled slightly, only visible to Cathrine.
"Storebror, you smiled" Cathrine muttered as you heard her. "S...miled?" You asked yourself in shock. "It looks like Emil is blushing madly!" Matthias said loudly as he laughed. "Shut up, you're ruining it," Lukas said as he grabbed Matthias' tie behind you, he choked, yet again. You just sighed but smirked when you observed Emil's behavior. After dinner, you helped Tino clean the place. Cathrine went to the bathroom to bathe early.
After cleaning, you decided to change your clothes into pajamas, but you didn't sleep because you will be having a movie with the Nordics. You wore a [f/c] t-shirt with matching pajamas, and you untied your hair and brushed it. You placed the brush on your bed and then exited the room, you saw Cathrine exited her room then the two of you went downstairs. She wore her favorite Norway flag t-shirt and orange pajamas.
Tino was setting the television as the two of you sat on the couch. Cathrine went to Emil and grabbed some licorice which the Icelander doesn't care about her taking some of his candy and she went back to your side. "Want some, onee-sama?" She asked and extended her hand with some licorice in it. You took one and thanked her, you don't like sweets that much. After a while, Matthias came down wearing his plain white t-shirt and white pajamas.
"What's the movie for today?" He asked and sat next to Cathrine, she gave one licorice to the Dane and he thanked her. "I guess it was horror" Emil replied while chewing on his licorice. "Horror, huh?" Matthias muttered, after a while, he grinned widely. "Hey [Name]" He called you and tapped your back. "What?" You dead-panned. "I heard that you are afraid of horror movies," He said, you glared at him. "No, I'm not" You replied. "Oh? Really? Cathrine told me that one time, when you were with Alfred and Gilbert, the three of you watched a horror movie and you kept screaming from the beginning until the end of the movie" He grinned.
You blushed slightly at this then looked at Cathrine, she sweat-dropped. "Oh, look! Storebror already came down" She stated as an excuse then got off the couch and went to the Norwegian and hugged his arm as he went down the stairs and entered the kitchen. You sighed while Matthias continued to grin. "Oh, stop that!" You punched his cheeks hardly that it became swollen, now you're pissed. Well, it's true that I'm scared of horrors. What the hell is wrong with that Dane?!
After everyone gathered inside the living room, the lights were turned off and the movie was starting. You can't stop shaking because of nervousness and Matthias, who was sitting beside you, kept on grinning which made you pissed. Cathrine switched her place and sat in between Lukas and Emil. The movie was called Poltergeist, the newly released horror movie made in America. And Alfred lent the movie to Matthias for the whole Nordic household to watch.
You hate horror and supernatural stuff, such as exorcism and supernatural activity. You hate blood, ghost, darkness, and some more. As the movie was playing, you kept the blanket that you brought down with you, on your head while your body was slightly shaking. You noticed that others were focused on watching the movie, but little Cathrine burrowed her head in Lukas' chest as the said Norwegian placed his arms around the girl protectively.
As the movie kept on playing, you kept shrieking in fear as the Dane kept on annoying you. Now you can't handle it, you put the blanket all over your body as you rolled yourself into a ball and sobbed. Cathrine already gave up 30 minutes earlier and Lukas escorted her inside her room and watched her sleep, that is his routine when Cathrine can't handle the horror, and he will be by her side when she wakes up, which means that Lukas will not continue watching the movie anymore.
"Hey, are you alright?" Matthias tapped your shoulder as he asked, concern filling his tone. "I don't want to watch anymore..." You replied but your tone was shaky and your body kept on shaking. You heard him sigh then removed the blanket from your body. "Hey!" You shouted and were about to retrieve your stolen blanket but stopped when you realized that the movie was still playing. You closed your eyes and rolled yourself into a ball again. "You know [Name], don't place a blanket all over your body, you can die because of it" He lecture you which you ignored, and he sighed.
After a while, he carried you bridal style and you blush slightly at this, but he can't see it because of the darkness. He opened the door of your room and placed you on the bed and opened the lights. "Be sure to sleep peacefully, [Name]" He said then placed a kiss on your forehead. "Yeah, sure..." You replied and watched him smile and closed the lights and the door. You sighed then placed the blanket on your body as you started to drift to sleep. I know it wasn't that much, but I still have a fun time with my family.
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toastedkiwi · 1 year
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Did anybody else watch Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga? Imagine Chris being with the voice behind Rachel McAdams.
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milaisreading · 2 months
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Can I request a part two to isolation? I really wanna see c/n meet Norway and Iceland. Maybe Mr Puffin decides to make a few loud comments or something.
🌱🩷: Hope u are fine with what I came up for this request!
Warnings: Reader uses she/her. Requests are open
🌍Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya🌍
"(C/N)!!! HURRY UP! YOU NEED TO HURRY UP AND MEET MY FRIENDS!" The girl cringed from the spot she was standing on, looking at the approaching boat of her friend and ally, Denmark. It had been roughly 6 months since she agreed to open up her country. So far it was good, she established some trade deals with Russia, Belgium, and Netherlands, who she even met 2 months ago. Currently, her boss was negotiating trading offers with Britain, France, Spain, and Prussia, who she really wasn't keen on meeting, so her boss went without her.
'They all sound so intimidating from what I could read.' She thought, thinking of all the things she read about them. And right now she was waiting for Denmark to pick her up so she could meet 2 other nations. The Dane already established a strong relationship with her, so naturally he thought it would be a good idea for her to become close with 2 other nations he knew, Norway and Iceland. (Y/n) was pretty familiar with the two, well not familiar, but she heard a lot about them in the six months and prior to isolating herself. Denmark loved talking about his friends... a lot.
'I wonder if he talked about me.' She thought while nervously playing with her fingers. Too lost in her thoughts, she didn't notice the ship dock on the port and the blonde nation running to her.
"What's with the long face?! The king is here to cheer you up!!" Denmark yelled, pulling the girl into a tight hug.
"D-Denmark?! Don't hug me so out of a sudden! And I was just thinking!" (Y/n) said, trying to get out of the hug as the people sent them weird glances or giggled at the exchange.
"But I missed you!"
She rolled her eyes at his words, but stopped the struggle, anyway.
"Are you ready? Did you pack what you need? Jeez, did it get colder since I last visited you?" Denmark kept asking as he let go of the smaller nation, shuddering as a gust of wind hit them.
"Well, you did visit me in June, now it's September, of course it will be colder now. Besides, you shouldn't have come to pick me up, I could have come with a ship." (Y/n) said to the taller, who shook his head.
"No way! I doubt that you remember how bad the North sea can be, it would be better if you don't go alone." Denmark argued as (Y/n) raised an eyebrow at her comment.
"I have well-equipped sailors, you know."
"I know you do, but better safe than sorry." Denmark added in and patted her head.
"Ok, ok. Anyway, want something to eat? We prepared some food for you and your men."
"Sure! Do you have any alcohol?"
"Yep. We made sure to get beer for you all." The girl said as she led Denmark into the city.
Two days later, Denmark and (C/n) left the port and ship set sails towards Denmark's place. Aside from (C/n) joining Denmark on the ship, she had brought some material goods as a gift to him and the 2 friends that were waiting for them to come back.
"I already prepared a whole plan for us! Since you are staying at my place for the next 2 weeks I made sure to write down all the important places for you to see." Denmark said excitedly as (Y/n) went over the list he gave her. She was really impressed with how detailed the list was.
"Thank you, but you didn't need to plan out so much. I would have been fine with anything. This was probably a chore to do." The girl looked up at the blonde as they sat in a cabin, the Dane only looked at her in confusion.
"It's not a chore, you are my friend so I want you to be comfortable while visiting. I didn't get to hang out with you in a long while."
"Still, I don't want to burden you-"
"You are not burdening me." Denmark interrupted her, sighing in annoyance as he poked her forehead a few times.
"Norge!! I brought my friend with me! Where are you and Iceland?" The Dane announced as he walked into his house, (Y/n) kept quiet as she looked around. It was a lot different than hers, not to mention that the weather was a lot warmer.
"I shouldn't have brought so many clothes along, now that I think about it." She mumbled to herself, jumping a little as she heard an unfamiliar voice.
"Must you be so loud? You don't know how silent the past days were without you." (Y/n) peeked a little behind Denmark to find a blonde boy with indigo eyes staring at Denmark in annoyance. He was a lot shorter than the Dane, but still a little taller than her.
'The descendants of Vikings are giants! The rumors were true!' She thought as the blonde turned his attention to her.
"I must apologize for him, he is a loud mouth most of the time." The boy said in a monotone manner, earning a loud protest from Denmark.
"I am Norway, by the way. You must be (C/n), the Dane talked a lot about you."
"He did?" She wondered in confusion as Denmark pushed her in front of Norway.
"I-I mean, he talked a lot about you and another country as well. It's nice to meet you."
Norway nodded his head and shook her hand.
"Well, it's nice that someone else in this house knows about manners as well." Notway off-handedly commented.
"You want something to drink? I made tea."
"Would be nice, thanks." She nodded her head, still a little awkward with the new nation.
'But, he seems nice. It's worth giving him a shot, I think.' (Y/n) thought as Norway led her to the kitchen.
"Hey! Don't forget about me like that." Denmark pouted, walking after the duo.
"The tea tastes amazing, Norway! Thank you  I really needed it after that trip we had." (Y/n) said as the blonde nodded his head.
"The North sea made issues again?" Norway wondered, glancing at Denmark.
"Just the usual. Though, (C/n) didn't sail on it for a while, so she was more shaken up."
"True, it was a terrifying experience." She admitted as Norway glanced at her.
"Understandable, I still remember the first time I sailed on it, but you get used after a while." The Norwegian shrugged as Denmark let out a loud sigh.
"Enough with the small talk, (C/n) didn't come all the way here for that." The two looked at each other and then at the blonde.
"We should go look for Icey and go around the city. Copenhagen changed a lot since she visited me the last time.."
"I am fine with it." Norway shrugged his shoulders, looking back at (Y/n).
"You fine with it as well?"
"O-oh! Sure, sounds great!" The other nation answered, still not used to his monotone voice.
'But he is very nice. Tho, I wonder why they don't have much food around. Denmark never told me he had any issues.' She thought, glancing at the kitchen suspiciously.
"Alright, I will go and get that rascal-"
"No need! He is hiding here!"
(Y/n) gasped in surprise as she heard a rough voice and turned to where the entrance to the kitchen was, only to find a black bird.
"Isn't that a Puffin? I read a lot about them. I didn't know that they could talk." She commented, looking back at Norway as Denmark walked over to where the bird was.
"Should have read more then, Missy!" Norway sent the bird a warning glare before looking back at (Y/n).
"Nr. Puffin is a special case, I guess. He can be a little rude, but please don't take it to heart." The blonde said as (Y/n) nodded her head.
"Don't worry, I can handle it." She said back.
"But, can you tell me why you have such a lack of f-"
"Let me go! I can walk on my own, I am not a kid." A new voice interrupted (Y/n)'s questioning and she turned to where Denmark was holding a much shorter boy with silver hair and purple eyes.
'Adorable!! Such a cute child!" She internally squealed as she looked a the boy, who was holding Mr. Puffin now.
"You sure are acting like one now, Iceland." Norway commented as both him and (Y/n) got up to where the trio were.
"You are Iceland?! It's nice to meet you, my name is (C/n). I am a new friend now, I guess." She said, fighting back the urge to hug the smaller.
"It's nice to meet you." The silver-haired boy blushed and looked away, embarrassed by the attention he was getting.
'So cute!' (Y/n) thought as Denmark put him down.
"By the way, did you bring us any food?" Iceland asked bluntly, looking at the nervous Dane.
"Ehm, well.... Boss said we will get new shipments next week."
"You said that last time." Mr. Puffin announced loudly as Iceland nodded his head.
"Uhm, are you guys struggling with food or something?" (Y/n) whispered in worry to Norway as Denmark tried to explain to the other two.
"A little. We had a small crisis after a conflict with Sweden. Denmark is trying his best to hold everything up, tho." Norway nodded, going back to calming down the two as (Y/n) thought everything over for a moment. She didn't want her new companions to suffer, especially when a little kid was involved. And besides, her boss did say she could do whatever as long as she made allies.
"Uhm, if you are having a hard time with food..." The four looked back at the girl, who became nervous from the attention she was getting.
"We... My people have a lot of food that we can give you."
"Food?! A lot of food?!" Iceland's eyes lightened up at those words.
"Huh? That's very generous of you. Will your boss be fine with that?" Norway asked, surprised by the offer.
"Don't worry, he won't mind. Are you fine with it, Denmark?"
The Dane was taken aback by the offer. Sure, she was always nice to him, but the help she would send was always well-thought of, and not so impulsive.
"T-that would be great, if your people are fine with it as well."
"Don't worry, they will be."
(Y/n) assured them as the Puffin landed on her head.
"I might need to change owners. Missy, do you want a bird?"
"Uhm..." The girl muttered as Iceland stomped over to get the bird while Denmark and Norway started scolding him.
'Quite an interesting bunch.' She thought in amusement.
37 notes · View notes
atom-writings · 11 months
Note
hiii! i loved your "what they would look for in a partner" post so do u think u could do that with the nordic characters?? thank you<3
(Hetalia Nordics x Reader) What they look for in a partner!
(Gender Neutral) Headcanons ~ A/N ty!! omg first nordics request! Be warned. I do not know these guys that in depth. So. theres that/. Also noirmally i wouldnt write minors but considering iceland is hundreds of years old and only physically 17 im making an exception
Trigger Warning: None, just Fluff!
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Berwald is a man of few words, so he’d adore a S/O that can ramble on for hours and hours. It’s awkward when it’s quiet… and he’s not going to be the one breaking the silence.
Anyone who doesn’t find him intimidating would make him so happy! Even when he’s being arguably very scary… it’d break his heart to know his S/O was afraid of him.
If you value family as much as he does (which is a LOT,) he’d love that! He spends a lot of time with his family and would like to start one with you, so if you didn’t like family, that’d be a problem.
Weirdly enough, he prefers people that are more plain and average. At least on the outside. He’s quite bland himself (or at least, that’s how he sees himself) so he doesn’t want to have to match your energy.
Someone who’ll indulge him in his fixations. Who won’t ask too many questions when he goes on a week-long chair-making binge, barely coming out of his woodshop.
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Tino is a surprisingly particular man when it comes to dedicating himself to a romantic partner. He’d want someone chill, not too talkative, but not too awkward. Someone whose soft and cuddly, but not afraid to stand up for themself.
He often misspeaks, so if his S/O was not forgiving and understanding of those kinds of things, that would make things difficult.
Like Sweden, family is very important to him! He visits with his own a lot, so he would love to do the same with his S/Os! If they have a difficult relationship with their family, he’ll understand, but it’ll still be hard for him to keep it out of his mind.
Someone who is positive! Constant sarcastic comments and debilitating remarks towards others just make him feel sad… 
He doesn’t like doing very exciting things often, so a partner who is very comfortable with nothing more than domesticity would be perfect! What else would you need besides a nice home and a cute garden to tend to with him?
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Lukas… is not a skilled communicator. Whether he likes you or not is often unclear, and it’s difficult for him to think through what he’s going to say. So, all he needs is something that can put up with his anti-social behaviour, basically.
He often is at a loss for how to properly express his true feelings, so his S/O has to be comfortable with him randomly coming up to them and smothering them with physical affection. 
Someone who isn’t uncomfortable speaking up for the both of them. He’d adore an extroverted partner!
He prefers people that don’t require him to adjust himself too much… he has no aversion to changing for you, but he’d prefer a partner who isn’t… abject to his normal behaviour. He’s a thousand years old, you know? It’s hard to teach an old dog new tricks…
Anyone who enjoys impulsive decisions. Be prepared to be unprepared when he wakes you up at 2 am to get pancakes and drive across the country to see his family. But don’t worry, his impulsive decisions are always the more fun ones.
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Emil would love someone who's a lot like him! A little immature, a little hot-headed, sarcastic, and absolutely awkward. He’s a very specific type of person, and he’d like a partner to be that type as well.
Someone whose sensitive and emotional would work well with him too. He finds it cute, plus he can relate. You’re just a little better at actually expressing his emotions, rather than bottling them all up.
Speaking of which, he’d prefer someone who isn’t too afraid to speak their mind. Someone who refuses to talk things through, preferring to just be passive-aggressive and non-confrontational, would just stress him out.
Anyone whose unique! He finds himself quite plain, so he would love getting into your interests. You’re both young, why not do fun impulsive things? He wouldn’t have the courage to do it without you anyway…
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Oh boy. Mathias is not particular in the slightest way when it comes to partners. He would date anything or anything that can consent. Basically, if they haven’t killed anyone and you aren’t a complete asshole, he’ll love them.
Despite that, he still has a few preferences. He’d find someone who’s awkward and needy just absolutely adorable. Like he is absolutely ecstatic to be a “they asked for no pickles” boyfriend.
But getting along with someone super sensitive would also… not be easy. He can accidentally be a bit brash in his humour, so he’d love someone who just laughs along instead of taking it personally. If they’re bothered by his loud, sometimes crude, behaviour, it’d just break his heart!
He’d prefer a partner that trusts his judgment… more than they probably should. He can get stubborn, so if they aren’t also too stuck in their ways, that’d be for the best. 
Most importantly, he’d prefer a S/O that loves his family just as much as he does! They’re gonna have to spend a lot of time around them, after all.
118 notes · View notes
martyrlamb · 5 months
Text
✶ when the clock strikes / leon kennedy
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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)
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Everyone thought you were crazy when you accepted the offer. 
It is crazy—but you aren’t stupid. You knew what you were getting into a long time ago as a nurse; people get hurt, and then you save them. Clockwork.
Years ago, you started studying to be a nurse in some middle of nowhere midwestern school. You remembered the rolling hills and the ungodly heavy blankets of snow that fell during the winter months, the fallen leaves that the snow covered. It was all so peaceful for a while… until the outbreak.
You never saw it coming, no one did, really. At least, you hope no one predicted the atrocities that were about to be witnessed by thousands of innocents without warning.
Gnashing teeth and hands with dried blood that streaked down arms like veins plagued the memory of that point in your life. It was surreal to believe that you got up that morning and made your breakfast like any other day, you slid your shoes on and grabbed your keys, and then your foot hit the front porch and the trajectory of your life changed permanently. 
The virus started as a woman with red-ringed eyes and pallid skin that reflected off of the blinding overhead lights—she looked visibly ill. That’s all that mattered at the time. You were actually the one who situated her and her husband in their room, he smiled at you and thanked you for your time and you scribbled down notes before hanging the clipboard and leaving the room for the doctor. The screeching horror music plays when you get to this part of the memory.
A type of calm before the storm. You hold your breath every time.
A few hours later people started screaming, and someone—something ran out of that room and wrenched its grip on the first person it saw. Blue scrubs dyed a nasty crimson, like crushed raspberries on cloth. The next part is a blur of running, watching your coworkers die, and using your medical expertise to help anyone who needed it. People were hurt. You saved them.
Like you said, clockwork. You try not to think about it too hard.
By the time help came, you had cramped a large handful of survivors—albeit, injured survivors—into a small house that was a mile or two from the hospital. Your quick thinking protected many people that day, and your skills were recognized.
A week prior, you were a simple nursing student who was lucky enough to be placed in a hospital, and by the next Sunday, you were being offered a position as a medic with the Anti-Umbrella Pursuit and Investigation Team. You finished your schooling, you got your specialized training, and now you’re on your way to your first assignment out of the country.
So, granted, maybe you are a little crazy for accepting such a prestigious and dangerous position after your humble beginnings. Your mother never ceases to remind you of this, with what little information you were allowed to tell her.
Iceland? she said, pulling her lips into a line. Are you crazy?
You begin to think that you are now that you stand in front of the base, arms tucked around yourself and teeth chattering as a sergeant points you around like one of his troops. Between the hustle and bustle of agents hurrying around and the amount of civilians sitting beneath the large, brown medical tent, you understand why they needed all the help they could get.
Things in Iceland were bad apparently; Umbrella thought the remote location would protect what little was left of them, and their research, from being exposed. Unfortunately for them, (and fortunately for everyone else) the AUPIT caught wind of what was happening and vowed to put a stop to it. You, freshly out of training, were sent to help with the sudden influx of displaced non-combatants and wounded agents.
Within the hour of the helicopter landing, you settle in and pull your cold weather scrubs on. 
There aren’t many other nurses—only two—and neither of them seem to be very fond of you. The head nurse is older and straight-laced, following procedure, not mingling with you unless she has to. You don’t think you’re ever going to be put on a shift with the other nurse, but they spare you a few ireful glances. It’s  like they could smell the fresh blood, and the scent made them turn their noses.
Nonetheless, you weren’t there to socialize, so you rolled up your sleeves and did your job, trying to ignore the passive aggressive looks being thrown at you from left and right. This kind of mutual ignorance worked for about three days, until you were placed on the night shift… every single night. 
Before you came along, it was determined that the night shift could be manned by one person, as injured civilians were sent to the safehouses by nightfall and nearly all of the agents were either out on work or taking a much needed rest. There was no reason for both nurses to be awake when one could conserve their energy and rest while the other worked. So, most nights you spent alone, sitting by the fire in the back of the tent as you waited for the sun to come up.
One of those nights crept up on you again. You bounce your foot against the ground until your ankle aches, sitting in a lawn chair next to the fire with a wool blanket draped over your shoulders. Nothing chirps in the distance like the environment you’re used to, the only noises that float through the air are the wind rustling bare-armed bushes and your own breathing. There was a rip in the tent whistling, too, but you’d be damned if you let the incessant noise drive you insane. You were scared of the eerie silence for the first few days, but that quickly became replaced by the complete boredom that followed it.
You blow a raspberry as you spin a pen in your ungloved hand, fingers numb and stretched stiff with cold. I’ve ought to ask someone for a book, you thought to yourself, or a new job. You immediately push the second contemplation out of your head like it was something dirty and sat up a little straighter; your annoyance made sense, but this is what you wanted to do with your life. You want to help people in need.
Not that there were many people around.
In the distance, like divine intervention, you hear the crackle of wheels against snow, and a black mini-van rolls to a stop in front of the tent. A scuffle inside ensues for a moment, then the doors open and a man comes hobbling into the shelter with his arm over another man’s shoulder. 
You nearly fall out of your seat with how fast you stand up and stride over to the men, assisting the injured one onto a cot. 
“What happened?” you ask, pushing a cart of equipment to his bedside.
The uninjured one remarks from beside you, “Some snow gave way and he went down this hill with some pretty nasty bushes at the bottom.” His voice is quick and clicky. He looks young.
Clearly, they’re two agents, judging by the leather holsters strapped around their waists and shoulders. You purse your lips and place a lantern on the cart, gently inspecting the injured agent. There’s thorns lodged along the entirety of his left side, looking a bit like a child’s crude attempt at art with toothpicks and styrofoam.
He grunts when you gently lift his arm to check underneath, and you mutter an apology before you turn to the other agent. “I can take this from here.”
The agent nods and spins on his heel, disappearing into the darkness once he stepped out into the open air. 
You turn your attention towards the man in front of you and pull on a pair of gloves, the latex makes a sharp snapping noise when you let go. His intense gaze follows your movements with great intrigue—or suspicion… you couldn’t really tell. You pick up a pair of tweezers and set them on the cart. You also finally got a good look at the wounded agent.
Blue eyes that strike down what little defenses you have and brows that spend their time permanently creased, almost erasing the space between them while he inspects you. His ability to make you feel thoroughly grilled with a simple fixated stare would have made you squirm years prior, but now you merely stare back with your eyebrows lifted. The blonde—possibly light brown haired, the darkness didn’t give much way in the form of colour—man averts his eyes first, as if he is caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
You’d be lying if you said he wasn’t attractive, but that’s not your focus right now.
“How are you feeling?” you ask, flicking on a flashlight to check his pupils. Healthy, good. He squints at you through the beam.
“Like I fell into a thorn bush.”
Looks like someone feels funny. You deadpan at him, unamused with the sarcasm while you try to help. Your expression beckons a better answer and he backpedals.
The man’s head bobs subtly, like a scale in his mind is weighing his thoughts on either side, and then he says, “I’m just fine.”
“Are you dizzy? Nauseous?”
“Fine.”
“Okay,” you reply, blowing out a not-so-inconspicuous huff of annoyed air that swirls above you in the cold. The agent raises his brow at your reaction but doesn’t seem too keen on speaking on it. “I’ll try to be as gentle as I can, but it’s going to be a lot of poking and prodding.”
He lets out another grunt that could have possibly been an Mhm… but you aren’t sure. You hold the tweezers between your fingers and begin to pluck them out, placing them on the metal pan on your cart. Clink, clink, clink. They fall from the tweezers with tiny noises.
To your surprise, he doesn’t writhe or make much noise, only occasional grunts and sighs and Shit’s under his breath when you pull at particularly deep thorns lodged in his arm. 
Even for an agent, his arms are an impressive size, which means a lot more surface area to extract from. Not that you really mind, as you would have helped him either way, but surely you would feel differently if you were in his shoes.
However, the silence is… awkward; sitting there with your face inches from his huge arms—he could definitely feel your breath fan across the surface with how his skin dances with warmth and goosebumps and you do not want the attractive agent to focus on that. So, you break it with a question.
“You weren’t wearing a jacket?” A valid query, all things considered.
He blinks at you like it was obvious. “It came off.”
“Oh,” is all you say until you extract the last thorn from his arm and begin to slide the leather shoulder holster off of him. “I just need to take this off.”
He frowns slightly, and you realize his brows had been furrowed this whole time because that was all his face seemed to know how to do. When his expression changes, you stop.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Taking it off so I can look under your sleeve.”
“Why?”
“You could’ve pulled something and I need to bandage you,” you pause. “Is that okay?”
Maybe you wrongly assumed that he had done this a million times. Don’t get you wrong, you know how resilient agents had to be and how good they were at their jobs, so it isn’t like you thought he got hurt often… But with a short glance into his eyes, you could tell he’s a hardened delegate with years of experience under his belt. Wasn’t he bound to need help occasionally?
The man gives you a slight nod and shrugs off the holster; it falls to the bed with a soft thud from the weight of the knife tucked into the leather. 
His muscles tense under your fingers when you roll the black sleeve over his shoulder. The feathered, pale edge of a bullet scar peeks out from beneath the dark clothing and it makes you wonder how he managed to get it. A mission? Probably. It looks old. You’ve seen scars of all kinds at that point, and each of them held a story that ended in pierced flesh. 
They remind you that they will never not be where they came from—your own scars will never not be where they came from. You shake the thought out like a stubborn rock in your shoe.
“Lucky you, it doesn’t look like you pulled anything in your shoulder,” you comment under your breath.
“If this is luck, I’d like to see what happens when I get unlucky.” For the first time, there’s humor in his tone—so faint you nearly miss it, but it makes you chuckle. When he isn’t huffing out responses, his voice almost sounds kind.
You rotate his shoulder slowly and inspect the length of his side, finding fewer thorns than the amount anchored in his arm. Still, your lips press into a line, pitying the fact that his bare skin will be exposed to the frigid, below-freezing air so you could remove them.
“Well, you should’ve knocked on wood,” you reply, “I’ll need you to take your shirt off so I can get the rest of the thorns out and check your ribs.”
Silently, the man hikes his shirt up and over his ribs for you, snaking his arm out of his sleeve and then laying on his side. 
As he comes down, stretching, he groans. You see his muscles tense under his skin when he inhales, the dips and divots of his torso flex involuntarily when the squall of air nips at his newly exposed skin. The surface holds blossoms of red and deep purple that litter themselves across his ribs like splotches of messy watercolor dripped onto paper. Scarlet scratches bleed pebbles that drip onto the fabric of the cot. 
You suck in through your teeth as you inspect the area. Even without the damage from the thorns, it doesn’t look good.
“Not good?” the agent questions as if he could read your mind. From over his shoulder, he turna his head to look at you.
“Not good. You bruised your ribs, I’d be surprised if one of them wasn’t broken.”
“I didn’t hear a crack.”
“It should be monitored for a day or two, at the very least.”
“I have to get back to work.”
“Look, I understand—“
“I’ll be fine.”
You sigh softly and remove one of your gloves to rub your face in exasperation. Unfortunately, this wasn’t your first rodeo with stubborn patients, so you slide on another glove and begin to pluck at the thorns in his torso. “You won’t be doing much work if you permanently damage them.”
He twists his head away from you again and grunts softly, muttering a short, “Okay.”
How articulate. You guess he doesn’t get paid to talk to people.
“Okay? As in…?”
“As in, fine,” he replies, then pauses for a moment as if to prove a point. “But I’m sure you have better things to do.”
You laugh at this, then stifle it into your elbow so he didn’t think you were laughing at him. He still rolls over a little to look at you, confusion laces his eyes that dart around as they go from your face to the rows of empty cots behind you. Busy? You begin to laugh again.
He can’t be serious, you think as you fan your face. You let your laughter dissipate like it was being dissolved into water. “Sorry… no, you’re right,” you snort, “I was drowning in work before you arrived, agent.”
“I’m sure,” he chirps back, the ghost of a smile haunts his lips.
“I think I can squeeze you in, though. Might have to clear some of my schedule, but… I’ll make it work.”
The pleased look that graces your face is involuntary. You find it endearing how worried he is about becoming too much extra work for you and the other nurses, despite the fact that there isn’t any reason to gather that he would and—believe it or not—it’s your job. 
The agent lets out an amused breath through his nose. “Should I be flattered?”
“Oh, of course.”
You place the last of the thorns onto the metal pan and tend to his wounds with gauze and bandages and nimble fingers that have done this hundreds of times before. Sometime along the way his body relaxed—just a little—and you think he fell asleep until he sits up like a puppet that had his strings yanked and puts his shirt on properly.
The sudden movement makes you blink, and he stares at you for a long pause filled with dead air and an expectant look in his eyes. That damn rip in the tent whistles. 
Finally, his eyes flicker down to your badge, then back to your face. “I’ve never seen you before.”
“I started here not too long ago,” you inform him honestly, a little embarrassed to admit your newbie title to a seasoned employee of the organization.
He doesn’t say anything else, so you take the reins.
“Well, I think we’re set,” you say, rolling the latex gloves off of your hands. “Let me know if you need anything, Agent…”
You never asked him his name?
“Leon Kennedy,” the agent, now with the name Leon Kennedy pinned to his face, finishes for you. 
His name twirls around your head and makes you dizzy to think about. I should have known, you think to yourself once he bids you farewell to report to his superiors. 
From what little time you spent at the base prior to meeting Leon, you had heard whispers during dinner drift from mouth to ear of the elusive agent. That he was a man of few words (immense understatement, you consider it more socially awkward, but true); that he had half of the base swooning every time he walked by (you don’t want to comment on this); and that he was immensely attractive (that is also true). You have to admit… you see why he had such an air of intrigue around him. To be so quiet after such successes he’s accomplished—people were on the edge of their seats trying to figure him out.
You also had to admit that you weren’t immune to it either. 
During your meals and breaks you found yourself playing Where’s Waldo? with Leon, attempting to catch glimpses of him in his natural state to confirm or deny these claims. Which was impressively difficult for absolutely no reason other than that he did it for his own benefit… the motive for this was lost, and still is, on you.
The few times you did spot him, he had the same clenched jaw and furrowed eyebrows. He never stayed in the same place for very long and frequently you only spotted him—or rather, his broad shoulders and white-knuckled fists as they turned corners and disappeared to do whatever he did all day. Important agent things.
Regarding your coworkers… it hadn’t improved much, either. The head nurse, who you later learned was named Winona, loosened up on you a bit—which was practically nothing when both she and the other nurse had been so cold to begin with. However, your determination to help those around you seemed to impress her… most days.
(Peeks of Leon’s ashy blonde hair stolen from cracks in the tent. His fur-lined coat hangs off of his sizable frame, enveloping his arms in the thick fabric—it makes them look even bigger. Not that you care, per say, but—
“You aren’t getting paid to stalk agents,” Winona jeers, jolting you back to Earth from your subject of stolen attention. You swear she smiles at you wryly. “Should’ve tried for one of their jobs if you wanted to do that.”
She turns on her heel and goes over to a trio of injured civilians with her cart, the knot of hair tied taut at the base of her neck stares you in the face. You’re left hot faced and embarrassed for the entirety of the next check-up with your patient.)
The endless night shifts never seem to cease rolling in and you’re afraid it’s begun to catch up on you. By the end of breakfast, when you could finally drag your corpse-like body to your quarters and into your bed, your head drooped comically into your bowl of oatmeal and some of the newer agents had a blast laughing at you. Whatever, assholes.
(You were deeply embarrassed.)
So, you opted for allowing a short nap in here and there during your shift—ten minutes at most—whenever your eyelids began to feel itchy and weighted and you couldn’t help but close them. You really couldn’t. Being sat by the fire with a hot drink made you so warm and the sounds of blowing wind lulled you to sleep in the darkness under the moon.
Truly, a terrible work performance from you, but no one was around to see and surely you’d be awoken by even a hint of an emergency. 
Tonight, you count sheep with your wool blanket tucked up to your chin and your head lolls against your shoulder like it’s about to fall off its hinges. One, two, three. They mock you as they hop into their pasture and curl up into white, fluffy spheres, falling asleep within the warmth of their home. 
From a distance, your ears almost register the sound of footsteps that approach the tent, crushing the crunchy top layer of snow under their feet as they stop in the entrance. It isn’t enough to completely wake you until they clear their throat and say, “Hello?”
Your eyes snap open and you turn your head so fast you think it might go flying across the room. Really smooth of you, considering Leon is the one to get your attention. By the smug look on his face and slight chuckle that wracks his frame, you know he isn’t fooled with your act awake performance.
He stands there, towering and rigid, unlike the night you first met him, with his palm outstretched flat like he’s trying to show the world something. 
“Oh, hey, what do you need?” you reply quickly, standing from your chair as you let your blanket fall off of you.
Leon glances at his hand and then at you. “I, uh, got a papercut.”
“A paper cut,” you repeat, just to make sure you heard him right.
“Yeah.”
You stare at him for a moment, mouth agape as his words register as something he was actually saying to you.
“Well, get comfortable, then. I’ll patch you up.”
In reality, you’re terribly confused about a special forces agent needing first aid for a paper cut, but how could you complain? He needs help and you’re there to offer it. 
The blonde sits on a cot near the fire—not before picking up your blanket from the ground and placing it back on the chair, though—and you situate yourself on a stool facing him. 
You take Leon’s hand in yours gently and inspect the wound. It’s fairly shallow, but placed in the center of the webbed skin between his index finger and thumb. Tough spot. When your digits graze his rough knuckles he inhales sharply and you glance at him due to the sudden motion.
He doesn’t expect a reaction from you because he pauses for a second then asks, “You think I’ll live?”
“I dunno,” you answer, sucking your teeth. “Could be a close call.”
“Yeesh.”
“I know. My condolences.”
“For myself?”
“Uh-huh.” You turn his hand over so his palm faced the sky. “This’ll sting.”
When you disinfect the injury, Leon’s face twitches into itself but he keeps quiet, opting to focus his gaze on your face while you patch him up. You try not to shift under the intensity.
“What made you want to do this?” he queries, his voice cuts through the silence and startles you a bit. Leon looks pleased with himself and you roll your eyes.
“You’ll laugh.”
“Why would I do that?”
“It’s corny.”
Admittedly, it was—the original story as to why you wanted to be a nurse. You’ve had people laugh at it before and you mostly don’t want to repeat history with someone you find rather charming, but something in Leon’s face softens and he shakes his head briefly. 
“Try me,” he challenges.
“Oh, fine.” Like there was a fight put up when you relent, smoothing a bandaid over his cut. “You know those things you’d fill out as a kid? Where it’s like, what do you want to be when you grow up?”
Leon nods.
“Every single time, I would write superhero,” you laugh sourly because you got used to other people laughing when you said this, but he listens as if you’re the only sound he’s ever heard. “I’d draw myself with a little cape and all that. Then at a certain age the teachers start telling you, pick a real job, pick something that exists. And, I dunno, I thought: there are real superheroes. They save people every day because they want to.”
“I mean, I always knew I didn’t have all the right assets to be the one rescuing people from burning buildings and punching the bad guys. I wanted to help people when they couldn’t help themselves, you know? I can't carry the weight of the situation—it’s just not in my nature—but I can carry them. That’s why I started doing this, I guess.”
The look he gives you when you finish speaking is indescribable. He gazes deeply into your face like he’s trying to find a new feature he missed the first time. Something akin to pulling apart your mind with his eyes as if it’s clay made for the shaping and a load of a melancholy that’s too heavy for him; like he’s asking you, how do I carry it? Tell me how to carry something like that. 
Your hand still lingers in his, over the bandaid you placed on him; you slide yours so the curves of your thumbs interlock and you grip the hilt of his palm. A hidden embrace.
Leon’s eyes dart toward your hands and he makes no effort to remove you from his grasp, his fingers relax against your wrist. He feels your heartbeat. You feel his. When he looks up again, all he sees are your eyes. 
You don’t know why you went on that anecdote in the first place, not really. Only that you were finished patching him up and wanted—needed—him to linger for a bit longer.
“What about you?” you ask, voice hushed close to nothing.
“I wanted to help people, too.” He sounds uncharacteristic—sheepish? “That’s it… I can’t follow up with something as articulate as you.”
“It matters just as much even if you can’t express it,” you assure him, your head tilts. 
Leon clears his throat and nods, slipping his hand from yours and looking anywhere that isn’t you. You created a shadow in front of his face, back facing the fire, but you can see the subtle dark tinge of his cheeks when he avoids your eyes. He chooses to look at his feet. There he goes, being endearing again, you think.
The harsh edges of his face are lit up with an orange glow, darkness shoots somewhere in between in a soft gradient, and he looks positively ethereal. If you reached out and cupped his face, you know it would be warm to the touch like laundry right out of the dryer. It makes him look all the more delicate and this feels more natural than the pointed looks and pinched expressions he usually wears.
You look back down at his hands. You’re trying to memorize the way they felt against yours (coarse and hot to the touch) and you get the picture of how hopeless you are���even an idiot could see you have a crush on him. 
That doesn’t stop you from protecting your pride and you keep it to yourself. You stand up to put the disinfectant supplies and box of bandaids away without a word. 
Leon stares at his hand like it’s missing a piece.
You have your head buried too deep into the cabinet to think much about that. Screaming at yourself was an understatement for what you’re doing in your head… a better description would be begging the floor to swallow you entirely with one gulp.
Surely, Leon has someone at home. He’s an attractive, intelligent man with an arguably stable job that pays him oodles more than he would ever need; not to mention how well-built he is, but again, for what seems like the millionth time you push this thought to the back of your mind. You could not focus on that.
“Are you okay?” his voice carries from the cot.
You take a moment’s breather and shut the cabinet door. “I’m good. How are your ribs?”
“They’re good.” Leon pauses, then adds. “Thanks.”
The shake of your head comes faster than your words; muscle memory. “It’s what I’m here for.”
“You do a good job.”
“I’m just a medic.”
“A good one.”
As you utter your gratitude for his comment, you hope he couldn’t feel the heat radiating off of your face from so far away. You weren’t one to get shy from such simple words, but you find your eyes glued to your boots because of his gentle bonniness. Damn you, you curse at him in your head—it held no weight.
The blonde stands from the cot and walks over to you. He bends slightly to catch your eyes in his. “I have to go now, but... yeah. Thank you.”
“Of course, Agent Kennedy.”
“Don’t start using formalities now,” he half-laughs, half-breathes. His face contorts when he stretches back, and his hand came up to massage his right shoulder—you even go to comment on this movement, being a medic and all, but he beats you to it with a smirk. “Stick with Leon.”
And then, in a few strides, he’s gone as fast as he came. 
Your entire body deflates when you let out a guttural sigh. How come every time you watched his back, you were left reeling?
Unfortunately for you, that blasted man had ingrained himself into your head, sitting pretty in your thoughts as snug as a bug in a rug while you tried to do your job, or attempted to focus on anything other than your feelings for him. On the contrary, he returned to clearing out Umbrella facilities for the time being, which meant he was out of the base for days, or even weeks, considering he was one of, if not, the best agent they had. This saved you from the embarrassment of being caught trying to catch glances of him from inside the tent or during meals. 
This, however, did not stop you from daydreaming when work got slow. 
You wondered how someone like Leon behaved domestically, if he was completely different outside of the AUPIT, or if he was still just the sweet, reserved man who needed your aid often. Did he have any pets? What music did he listen to? You guess you’d have to ask him later, but you imagined that the pieces would fall into place and suit him. They’d be so perfectly Leon that when he told you, you would think to yourself, huh, why didn’t I think of that?
The amount of daydreaming you did was not lost on Winona, and occasionally she snapped her fingers in front of your face and grumbled under her breath, “I’ll kill that boy.” With no real threat to her tone. 
Please, you can’t help it. He has arms with the muscle definition of a god and he told you-you were a good medic; you were a goner before you even realized it.
On the other hand, your family never let up with their pleas for you to return home, despite the fact that it simply wasn’t possible unless you had a very good reason for it. Which you didn’t, and you didn’t want to—people just didn’t get it through their heads that, yes, your job was difficult, and yes, patients got on your nerves sometimes, but no, you wouldn’t trade it for the world. This meant more to you than anything else you could fathom. You knew the fear these people felt first-hand, and you knew they needed a saving grace; just like you had.
(“Just come home,” your mother coos into the phone, her voice static-y and chopped from the poor signal. You could imagine her face right now, all worried and exhausted like you’re a child balancing on a wet playground. “There’s a hospital not too far from here… I’m sure they’d take you.
You promptly spend the next hour explaining to her that it isn’t that simple, even if you wanted to, and you remind her every few minutes that you aren’t going to leave, either. You’re happy, all things considered; which is why you make the executive decision to leave out all of the bad parts of your work so far.)
As for the efforts against Umbrella, you hear whispers of successes during dinners and fewer agents appeared at the medical tent’s door in need of assistance than when you arrived. So, you think things are going rather well for your organization. Less tired eyes and solemn faces; the fight wasn’t over, but everyone could rest a little easier with every night that passed. 
And yet, those damned night shifts. You swear Winona and that other medic were scheming against you for no reason other than pure spite, on the basis of simply because they didn’t feel like doing it. It has to be funny to them by now, seeing you half-asleep at breakfast and looking all mussed at dinner because you woke up ten minutes prior. You let them laugh all they wanted because frankly, you began to enjoy the night shifts. The world went to sleep, and you enjoyed some peace and quiet.
You kick your feet up onto a stool and drape a blanket over your legs, book in hand. The soft sounds of Icelandic pop music crackles out of the radio and floats throughout the tent. You mouth the noises of the songs, unsure of the lyrics, but you’ve heard it so often by now, you could recognize the tune from the first few beats. You scat a few of the instruments, tapping your foot along. You don't notice the figure that stopped in the doorframe. 
“Enjoying yourself?” Leon. You shut your book and turn to look at him, embarrassed. “I always feel like I’m coming at a bad time.”
“Never,” you reply with a haste that humbles you further. Worried about his sudden appearance in the medical tent after being gone on agent duties for nearly two weeks, you ask, “Are you okay?”
The corners of his mouth upturn and you barely see a flash of uneven teeth between the slit it creates, cute. This distracts you from how smug his face is. “I think I have a fever.”
“A fever this time?”
“Yep.”
“Make yourself comfortable, Leon.” 
A paper cut, then a fever. You begin to think of his inability to soothe his minor maladies as an excuse to visit the tent. Your stomach flutters at the thought, but you have to make sure… just in case he’d fallen ill out there in the cold. 
You find the thermometer and placed it in his mouth gingerly. It hangs crooked from the corner and he watches you with a certain keenness that makes you smile. After a few minutes, you check his temperature: 98.7. An amused hum escapes your lips without meaning to.
“Dying?” 
“I don’t think you have a fever,” you answer, using the back of your hand to press against his forehead and cheeks. The first cheek is cold, then the left cheek warms under your skin—Leon’s expression falls bashful. “But if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were looking for reasons to come see me.”
It’s his turn to hum in thought. “Maybe.”
“You could just come talk to me.”
“You’re on the clock,” the blonde reminds you, grunting. In a swift movement, his hand presses into the curve of his neck and he rotates his right shoulder, face straining.
You see an opening. “That I am. What was that?”
“What?”
“Your shoulder.”
“I was stretching.”
“Does it hurt?”
Leon grumbles a response under his breath, unimpressed that you might have found something you could actually treat him for. You raise your brows. “I’ll take that as a yes. Let me see.”
“It’s fine.”
“Agent Kennedy.”
He pretends not to hear you.
“Leon.”
“Fine,” he gripes like a child being forced to get a shot and maneuvers to lay his stomach flat on the cot, his back faces toward the ceiling. He takes off his brown, fur-lined jacket and discards it onto the next cot over. You get a whiff of musk and cinnamon from the breeze it makes.
The shirt that clings to him left nothing to the imagination—a tight, black compression shirt stretches snugly over his muscles. You spread your fingers like fans to warm them up, then begin to run them over his shoulder and along the meat of his back. 
You tsk, full of knots. This man needs a masseuse. You make a mental note to refer him to a good one you knew. 
With the issue at hand, though, you find an impressive knot in his shoulder, which is likely the cause of his discomfort. 
You huff, your work cut out for you. “There’s a big knot in your shoulder, Leon. How are you living like this?”
“I wake up and roll out of bed.”
“I need to get this out.”
Leon turns his head, his cheek presses to the cot. He gives you a look that says nothing short of, are you serious?  You smile as sweetly as you can at him, an attempt to coax him. To your surprise, he averts his gaze fast and relents. The blonde agent sits up and shrugs his shirt off. It’s tossed next to his jacket.
Under the fire light and the dim glow of lanterns that hang in a line down the center of the tent, strings attached to the ceiling, you see the way chills prickle over the surface of his skin. Goosebumps, like rolled carpets being kicked open, unfurl down his arms rapidly and he lays down on his stomach once again. 
Your face burns in the dark—you’d be surprised if you aren’t glowing like one of those lanterns from the amount of heat it exudes.
You use a dollop of skin cream to keep the area relaxed and pliable as you work out the knot with your fingers. You push it in the right direction until you got it in a better spot, then you knead it firmly. It crackles within his body.
“Fuck…” he groans in relief, nestling his head into the fabric of the cot as he sighs. “They teach you massages in nursing school?”
“That might be just a learned from life thing,” you state in total honesty. You wipe the excess lotion from your hands on a rag. 
Curiously, he peers at you from the corner of his eye. “You have someone back home you do that to?”
A laugh falls from your lips, though your face feels even hotter than before (if that is even possible). “No—not at all.”
Leon lets out a pleasant hum and sit up from the cot. Good, he says without saying it. 
He snatches his shirt and tugs it over his head; you pretend to make yourself busy so you have somewhere other to look than at him. You hear him sigh with great reprieve as he rolls his shoulder back and forth, it must’ve felt like a freshly oiled hinge.
He comes up behind you, his shoulder skims the back of your neck when he peers down at what you were doing on the counter. Which is a whole lot of nothing; moving cotton swabs from one container to the other, counting how many rolls of gauze you had left for the hundredth time. Mindless hand ministrations to distract you from the heart that pounds in your chest.
“Is this what you do all night?” he questions, mildly amused.
“Sometimes.”
“Must be glad I showed up.”
“Something like that,” you tease, glancing up at him with a coy smile.
You watch his withstraint break a little inside of him. He inhales sharply, losing the words you said somewhere between your eyes and your lips—he couldn’t focus with your faces so close to each other and neither could you. Leon reaches for the hand that rested on the other side of you and drags you in between him and the counter, twirling you to face him. Then he pauses and appears lost, like he doesn’t know which way is left and right.
Maybe he doesn’t know what to do, you think. You don’t really know either, so you go on about what you do know.
“You should probably use kinesiology tape on your shoulder,” you comment, suddenly becoming hyper-aware of all of your limbs. His eyes don’t leave your lips. You’d be a liar if you say yours left his.
“Yeah?” 
“Yeah.”
The man’s body heat radiates off of him and it’s magnetic, pulling you closer, away from the bitter cold. Your breath hitches. His hand hovers over the curve of your neck, then it decides to rest on the side of your jaw, thumb pressed against your flushed cheek. You remember the texture of his warm palm, coarse and calloused from years of wear.
You try to memorize every fine line and crease that scuffs your face as he beckons you to close the gap with the slight tilt of his head. I’d make a terrible agent, my resilience is slim to none, you theorize when your body moves before your mind does. His mouth hovers over yours, his breath traces your cupid’s bow. You close the distance enough that your lips graze each other until someone clears their throat from a few feet away.
Winona stands like a judgmental statue, thin brows raise expectantly. You, and Leon, jump away from each other. It rocks the counter with a loud clatter that echoes. 
“Agent Kennedy,” she acknowledges him first as a sign of respect. He nods back awkwardly. “You two look like you’re  enjoying yourselves.”
Neither of you talk for a moment and you find  yourself desperate to create any word that could explain what that was. Leon’s eyes dart around the room.
Finally, something solid comes to your tongue. “I’m sorry.”
And then she laughs in both of your faces. Her hand waves like it’s fanning your words away from getting inhaled. You and Leon glance at each other, brows knit in honest confusion.
“Kids,” she exhales. “Stop distracting my medic, Kennedy.”
Then he speaks, but it sounds more like a nervous cough. “Yes, ma’am.”
Winona shoos him with a gesture of her wrinkled hand and he musters a sheepish, apologetic smile for you as he hurries away from the tent. You don’t make much of an effort to move as you prepare your ego for the chew out it’s about to receive.
“And you. Try to keep the fraternization out of the tent.” With that, she continues past you to search through some files, snickering to herself and shaking her head.
You aren’t about to push your luck. You get to keep your job and ego intact, and that’s enough for you. So, you whisper a quiet, “Yes, ma’am.” And go on with your day.
The encounter with Leon left you feverish and all tingly in every limb whenever it crossed your mind over the following days. You saw him out and about around the base, and during meals he offered you frail waves that faded in a breath. 
Truth was, you’re too afraid of rejection to ask him about that night—go figure. Maybe you’re a cliche. Maybe you’re both cliches. Who cares? Well, you do, and you thought the ruffled, pink-tinted expressions on Leon’s face whenever you crossed paths meant that he did, too, but neither of you made a move to approach the other. You questioned if you would rather be told that his only plans for you was a short work fling with no strings attached, or if he felt the connection that you did. A terrible predicament, really, and soon your desire for a straight answer outweighed the fear of hearing something you didn’t like. 
When you went to find him in the meal tent, sitting alone in one of the back corners, he wasn’t there. Okay. You waited, then decided to check the nooks and crannies of the base where you knew he hung around, and nothing. Leon vanished into thin air the moment you gathered enough courage to speak to him. Somehow you thought he read your mind and planned for this to happen, just to be able to tease you without being present. But that was simply ridiculous. He had to go to work, just like you had to do yours.
A week went by, then two; no sign of Leon’s reappearance cropped up and you began to worry you wouldn’t get the chance to speak to him at all. The only reminder that soothed you was the fact that you knew the organization was on the home stretch for completely wiping Umbrella’s power in Iceland. This reassured you for many reasons. Mainly, that you’d be able to sleep in your bed again at a proper time that didn’t leave you exhausted; but you also found comfort in the idea of finally getting a word with the blonde agent that clung to your brain like a disease once everything was over. 
Of course, you had fleeting thoughts that he died and you’d forever be left wondering about what could have been. But, that was just ridiculous—he’s Leon Kennedy, the agent that saved the president’s daughter from certain death. So, you chalked it up to your anxiety being built up as doubt about the succession of the mission began to be put to an end. That yes, you would all return home soon, and no nothing terrible and tragic would happen just as you were about to win.
Eventually, you all received the verdict of the mission. Success. The sun shone through the clouds brighter that day, in ribbons of gold that elevated all of your senses to something dreamlike. Another catastrophe prevented. More people saved—clockwork. To say you were pleased with the conclusion of your first ever out of country operation would be an understatement; you were ecstatic. 
Still, you find yourself fretting over that thing with Leon as you help pack up the equipment in the medical tent.
Winona, who has grown increasingly engrossed in your love life, gives you a knowing look when your lips tug downward and you send a pointed glance toward the entrance of the tent for the tenth time in the last hour. She tsks and shakes her head. It gains your attention. 
“Just talk to him,” she insists, shoving a couple boxes of bandaids into the case. She’s unimpressed with your antics and just wants you to get a move on. 
You sigh and preen your hair like he’ll walk in at any moment. “I haven’t seen him.”
“Hopeless,” she grumbles in response. “Hopeless. If you won’t do something about it, stop looking at the door like a kicked dog and help me.” Winona retreats further into the tent and you succumb enough to follow her.
You must glower the whole time because she won’t stop sending you dirty looks while she tapes the cardboard boxes with a tape gun. Her movements are threatening. You try to fix your expression when the line of spokes reflects off of the bright horizon outside the tent as it slices the tape.
After the innards of the tent are packed into a dozen or so boxes, you’re the person left to pick them up one by one and drop them off with the rest of the cargo that needs to be shipped. Your back is sore from the sorry excuses of beds you have and your arms ache from hours of cramming things. Kicking snow with each shuffled step, you heave out a lengthy sigh and pause to breathe. There’s a reason I’m not an agent.
“Need a hand?” Leon asks from behind you. You’re wondering how he’s always sneaking up on you.
Still, you nod and can’t help but be relieved. “Please.”
Like it’s filled with air, he takes the box from your hands and cocks a barely-there grin at your awed expression. Smug and content, he marches ahead with you in tow. You don’t really know what to say to him, if anything at all. 
You walk alongside him for the first time in the daylight, and you take in his features now that they aren’t muddled in the darkened firelight or blurred by distance. He’s chiseled, sunken cheeks and high cheekbones with that intense look on in his eyes—but there’s something else—boyish, is what you think. Soft jaw. Moles and freckles litter themselves across his face. 
Leon is beautiful and you would like to kiss him right now.
He stops at the drop off point, places the box next to the others and turns to you. Suddenly, he looks nervous and you feel some resolve escape your mind. He’s about to ask you something. He opens his mouth, rosy lips parting and you break—you pull him behind a tall stack of boxes and kiss him.
The collar of his jacket is clutched between your fingers in a moment and your lips are on his; the fur tickles your skin. His lips are chapped and cold but you create warmth within him, you could be a summer’s day in this frigid air. His hands come to your waist, then your hips and his fingertips make indents when he holds you tight like this was always supposed to happen. When you part, you’re both breathless.
He searches for his words again, the question he was going to ask. “Would you—dinner? On me.”
You hum in faux thought and peck him on the lips again, then again, and a third time for good measure. He smiles into the last one.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t start that by saying you stubbed your toe and needed my help.”
Leon chuckles. “I thought about it.”
He pulls you in again, tongue grazing your bottom lip. You lean in further, desperate for connection until you both go slipping like baby deer. The thin layer of snow on the ground left everything icy. He tumbles into some supplies and you land on top of him. You’re both laughing into each other’s mouths. You’re both happy.
You chime together, like clockwork.
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morallyinept · 15 days
Text
Northern Lights - A Joel Miller One Shot
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Summary: You and Joel watch the Northern Lights together whilst cold camping.
Pairing: Post Outbreak Joel Miller x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub.)
Word Count: 2.3k
Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️ “It's the emergence, of.”
Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.
Warnings/Triggers: Established relationship/fingering/hand job/kissing/lots of snuggles/Joel being a grump - mostly fluff, but you get the spicy too.
NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.
I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.
Author’s Note: I was watching The Last Of Us (again), and this idea came to me. Have you ever seen the Northern Lights? I've been fortunate enough to see them in Iceland, which was incredible. Would have been better if Joel was there, mind... 😍
MAIN MASTERLIST | JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST
Enjoy! 🖤
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A cold-tipped nose brushes against your cheek, rousing you from sleep.
The shadows of his face blur into clarity in the dim natural light of the camp. Your back, hard and cold on the ground, aches. The layers help, but it still seeps into your bones when you camp out so exposed like this, in the middle of a trying winter.
The steep, shadowy jags of the snow-capped mountains cut into the horizon; a deep midnight sky spackled with the twinkle of stars. A clear night, which means it’ll only get colder.
You rub your eyes, yawning. “What time is it?”
“Hell do I know.” Joel mutters as he reaches for the tin mug and pushes it into your hands. Your eyes fall on the broken watch he still wears around his wrist.
The scent of burnt, bitter coffee mists into your nostrils as it sloshes around the inside like a muddy puddle.
Your mouth becomes a vortex as you yawn, eyes dry and heavy.
A dense canopy of towering trees stretch skyward as you sit upright in the little clearing; their branches reaching out like gnarled fingers to brush against the star-studded awning above.
Despite the desolation that grips the world beyond, the forest offers a sense of tranquillity - a reminder that life, in all its beauty and complexity, still thrives in the most unlikely of places.
It’s a good place to pause; two survivors, traversing the decaying landscape of a once-thriving world, seeking refuge to rest your tired bones wherever you can.
Striking a balance between coasting in the woodlands out of sight and only daring to penetrate fallen cities or urban landscapes when you’re in dire need of supplies. It’s what's kept you both going for so long.
“Did you sleep?” You ask him as he gulps back his own coffee with fervour.
He shakes his head under a furrowed brow, greying curls billowing. You frown at him and he rolls his eyes.
“You’re going to keel over one day.” You blow on your coffee, fingers heated as you grip round the mug.
“M’not dead yet-”
Suddenly, a distant howl pierces the stillness, sending shivers down your spine. The infected are never far away, a constant reminder of the dangers lurking in the shadows.
Joel stiffens, reaching for the rifle.
“That’s not infected.” You say, listening to the shrill, barking moans emanating from deep in the forest surrounding you, and he nods, eyes darting about.
“Maybe a coyote.” He keeps hold of the rifle anyway.
The air is bitterly cool and heavy with the scent of damp earth and pine resin, creating an atmosphere of eerie stillness, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant screech of a hungry mammal.
Sipping your coffee, feeling it warm down the centre of your chest despite its acrid taste, you close your eyes again.
“Ya gon’ miss it.” Joel murmurs.
“How do you know it’s gonna happen tonight?”
“I can feel it.” He says, pottering about and with the gas stove. He pauses to glance up momentarily at the glittery sky.
“Right. The same as you can always feel it’s going to snow.”
“It snowed, didn’t it?”
“Yeah, two weeks after you said it would.” You scoff with a wry smirk.
“Just be grateful it ain’t snowing now.” He bites back.
“If it snows now I’m sleeping in the cab. You missed your calling as a weatherman, clearly.” You chortle.
“Drink ya damn coffee.” Joel grumbles, dumping the stove in the back of the truck.
“It’s really gross.” You say, offering it to him.
You smirk as he comes and sits beside you.
“You’re a coffee snob.” He remarks as he gulps it back.
“Yes I am.” You concur with a grin.
Tucking his body into the sleeping bag with you and rubbing his hands, Joel opens his arm out. You shuffle into it as you wrap your fallen scarf over your shoulder.
“Any minute now.” He gruffs, looking up at the sky with stretched eyebrows when he’s eventually settled.
“Mmhm.” You retort sceptically. “If you woke me up for nothing, expect a black eye.”
Joel snorts. “That’s some mighty big smack talk for a lil’ lady.”
You put your fists up and he kisses your knuckles with deep, big browns peering at you over the ridges.
“C’mere,” he lays right down with you horizontal, and sighs out.
Within moments, small ghostly wisps of green fleck across the sky; a gentle birth of colour that seems shy in its solo performance.
“Told ya.” He mutters, trying not to smirk.
“No-one likes a smartass, Joel.” You quip, nudging him gently.
“Yeah they do. Are ya warm enough?” He wraps the mottled scarf around you further with soft eyes lancing at you as you shiver.
As you gaze back at him, you can't help but notice the delicate web of lines that radiate outward from their corners, framing his stare with a quiet wisdom and warmth. With each smile, the crinkles deepen, forming gentle crow's feet that cradle the corners of his eyes like little parentheses of joy.
Despite the hardships you’ve faced, swinging on the precarious, fraying threads between life and death at times, there’s a lightness in the way Joel's eyes crinkle when he smiles, even if it’s a rare occurrence; a resilience that refuses to be dimmed by the darkness of this world.
And as you trace the contours of his face with your fingertips, you feel a sense of gratitude wash over your skin, warming you.
Despite the ruggedness of his facial hair, there’s a surprising silkiness to the touch, a reflection of the affection and intimacy shared between you. An unspoken tag-team who keep each other alive and well without having to utter the words out loud.
His moustache, once meticulously groomed in another life, now boasts a craggy charm, with patches of grey peeking through the remnants of its original dark colour as his youth stubbornly tries to hold on that bit longer. Each strand curls softly at the edges, adding a touch of character to his weather-beaten features.
As your hand cups his cheek, you can feel the gentle pressure of his fuzzed beard against your palm, thumb stroking at the edge of his lips where the hairs riot in a cluster of different directions as you smooth them down. You’ll probably need to help him trim them again soon and the thought makes you smile.
Despite the weariness etched into his face, there’s a quiet dignity in the way Joel carries himself, a sense of pride born of the challenges you’ve overcome together. He’s more than just a man who’s dragged you through this world with bloodied knuckles and kept you alive - he’s your confidant, your ally. Dare you even admit, a soulmate.
A shared story of love and loss, of hope and despair, woven into the fabric of your mutual beings, Joel’s gentleness in moments like this offer a sanctuary - a place where you can be yourself without reservation, without the tough bravado where your fears and doubts melt away in the pull of his hypnotic eyes.
“Lookit.” He breaks the spell and pushes your chin gently with a thick finger toward the direction of the sky.
Above you, the Northern Lights paint the firmament alive with their mesmerising hues, casting an otherworldly glow upon the world below. Soft tendrils of pink and violet unfurl like delicate petals around the spectacular emerald green.
They pulse and flicker with a rhythmic cadence, casting a soft, iridescent glow that bathes the landscape in a surreal, spooky light.
Joel wraps his arm around you, pulling you in closer as you share the warmth of the sleeping bag and your layered up bodies crushed tight against one another.
"Look at that," you whisper, your voice barely audible above the gentle rustle of the leaves carrying with it the faint scent of pine and earth. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of seeing this.”
Joel nods in silent agreement, his gaze fixed on the swirling display of colours overhead.
In that moment, it feels as though you’re the only two people left in the world, cocooned in your own little bubble of warmth and intimacy from the brackens of an oncoming harsh winter that’ll test both your resilience over again.
You both watch in silent wonder, lost in the beauty of the moment, for moments like these are hard to come by. A respite in the doom-filled survival that snaps at you daily, for a moment of shared awe.
Joel pulls the sleeping bag further up as you nestle into his arms. As you huddle inside, you can feel the plush, ragged interior cushioning your bodies, moulding to your contours like a second skin.
The sleeping bag is large enough to accommodate you both, yet intimate enough to foster a sense of closeness as you lay side-by-side.
“So beautiful,” you say.
“Yeah, you are.” Joel remarks and you turn to see his eyes watching you and not the sky. Face illuminated in a green glow, lost in how your curious orbs reflect the ethereal beauty above.
The pull of need floods your body, tingles pitching down your spine as he loses himself inside your eyes.
“Kiss me, Joel,” you murmur to him, nose pressed against his as you pull him by his collar to your face. His lips pursed, they find yours - cold and chapped as they graze.
A warm tongue slips inside, sucking gently as he explores; tiny, soft nips felt peppered across your lip.
You already feel warmer, the prickles of the heat blooming under your armpits and on the back of your neck. His cool fingers stroke you there, engulfing your mouth with a growing need of his own as he crushes you closer to him.
You find his skin under the layers; stroking at the softness of his belly that overhangs his jeans a little more now, as he gasps into your mouth at the intrusion of cold fingers. Traversing gently over the welts of scars where the texture changes underneath your tips.
You can feel his fingers within the depths of the sleeping bag fumbling at your button, tugging at your jeans clumsily with deep pants before he gives up and just slides his hand in when the zipper won’t give.
You whine into his mouth as he finds your clit, rubbing with the thick pad of his middle finger against it.
Your hands do the same, releasing him from his scuffed denim, warm and heavy. Breaking your kiss to spit into your palm, he hisses into your mouth as you stroke him; succulently wet around his thick cock, weeping as you pump.
You fist at his collar, face buried into the plush heat of the crook of his neck. He grunts as your teeth dig into golden, weathered skin, muting your gasps from the pulsing between your legs as he strokes and taps; the heat begins to engulf you inside the sleeping bag.
He growls as you bite harder, nudging your face with his so he can kiss you again, his own teeth gnawing at your lips as he pants harder now.
Hard and pulsing in your palm, his whines upping their tempo as he closes in on that moment when he’ll dissipate.
“Come-” he wheezes, words barely audible as he breathes. “-M’gonna come,” choking breaths get tangled in his throat.
Eyelashes fluttering agasint your skin, breathes seeping into your mouth, his grip on you tightens as his back stiffens and hips thrusts his cock further into your hand.
“Fu-fuck,” he jolts, spilling into your palm, warm and thick.
Joel trembles, body shaking as he empties, face pushing against yours as he breathes out in satisfaction, a small bewildered snicker in confoundment as you nuzzle against him.
“You kill me, darlin’.” He whispers, breath warm on your lips and chin as you wipe him away on your scarf.
He moves his fingers still inside your jeans, stroking over the swell of nerves. Your grip around his wrist keeps him there, feeling him dip his middle just inside your hole as you contract, thumb smoothing over the oil-slick bead of your clit.
“Joel!” You gasp, tonguing the sparse tracks of sweat-salt hairs grazing down the side of his throat.
His finger slides right into the hilt, palm up and stroking deeply; thumb still pushing on your clit. Your nails cut into his wrist, pulling him against you as you subtly grind.
The hooked end of his nose notches against yours as you whimper.
Gentle, broken commands lose their endings as he loses his breath. “Give it,” and “want,” snuffling out of him as he strokes faster on your wet, fleshy spot.
Your body shakes as you come; his finger sopping as you clench and rib around it, knees jerking against his as you float in the lights, bathed in fuschia and jade strobes.
He stops stroking as you kiss him. Tiny, soft pinpricks of his moustache tickle your lip, making the insides of your cheeks tingle. Coarser, wiry greys prominent in the fading roots, mingling with the softer ones that still reside.
You run your fingers through patchy, bare spaces, smooth and free of any growth. You make patterns in them, trace their random shapes with your tips; an oval here, a heart there.
You both turn and look up at the sky together. The display falling into your eyes in that glow of emerald and pink as the Aurora shows off for an entrancing encore.
The heat envelops you both as you snuggle in together, his arm draped around you and your head resting on the muscled pillow of his shoulder.
You press a soft kiss under his jaw, of which he grunts with throaty appreciation. Your eyes continue to roam the falling curtains of colour in sky.
“Is it everything ya ever hoped for?” Joel questions gently, voice rolling around that familiar grizzle as he tucks you in closer to his side.
“Freezing my ass off in the middle of the forest with you?”
He chuckles with a wheeze. “Yeah.”
“It’s everything.” You smile.
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I hope you enjoyed watching the Northern Lights with Joel. He gives the best snuggles, right? Would love to know your thoughts and if you enjoyed it, I'd appreciate a re-blog so others can enjoy it too. Thankies 🖤
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