#i will have a fresh fic to share tomorrow :))

[shadowtriovibes]

HONEYMOON IS OVER IM BACK BABYYYY

[girasollake]

Can you please write something for Mattheo Riddle with academic rivals and if we get caught I’m blaming you

Tyty <3

✧ mattheo riddle x fem!reader x academic rivals x "if we get caught I’m blaming you"✧

( this request is a part of my writing event, here is the link to the masterlist of the fics i'll be publishing from said event:) )

❁ i love all variations of enemies to lovers hihi, anyway this might have some mistakes which i’ll probably fix in the future

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

You stormed out of the class the moment it ended. You couldn’t stand his remarks and comments on every topic, often resulting in an argument where the teacher had to step in to end it. You huffed and went outside to get some fresh air, Pansy followed your steps and you both sat down on the cold pavement. She took a cigarette out of the box and placed it in between her soft lips. To her surprise, you looked at her and extended your hand flat so that she could share one with you. She saw you smoke like at best - three times, throughout all the years she’s known you. You hated that smell, because whenever you smelt it he was somewhere close.

‘You want-‘

‘Yes.’ You cut her off and she silently placed a cigarette in your hand. ‘Don’t question it.’ You muttered as put the thing between your lips as well.

‘I wont.’ She mumbled as she pulled out a lighter.

You inhaled deeply and exhaled the smoke, both the taste and the feeling of smoking made you cough a bit. Pansy kept her mouth shut, but her eyes never left your figure.

‘What?’ You turned to her, still clearly upset.

‘Nothing.’ She sighed and took a puff. “I just think you should pay less attention to him, he sees that this rivalry makes your blood boil and he uses that to get a rise out of you.’

You didn’t reply for a moment, thick smoke slowly escaping your lips.

‘But I can’t let him win.’

‘You have been fighting for the best grades since i can remember, why are you so obsessed about it anyway?’

‘I-.. I don’t know. I just dont want to give him the satisfaction of being better than me.’

She nodded slowly, ‘You comin’ to the party on tomorrow?’

You sighed, ‘Probably not. We have classes on Monday.’

‘And? You have the whole Sunday to study’ She replied. ‘Mattheo will be there, you both need to relax for one fucking night, right?’ She tilted her head and smirked.

‘I still won’t go.’ You replied and took another puff.

‘Ohh come on!’ Pansy whined and she grabbed your arm to shake it roughly. ‘Pleaseee… I dont remember the last time we went to a party together..’

You looked at her and sighed deeply while closing your eyes, ‘I’ll think about it.’

She chuckled, ‘Merlin, you are so easy to persuade.’

‘You want me to say no?’ You remarked and she raised her hands in defense, her lips in a thin line so that she wouldn’t say anything more.

During supper on Saturday the Slytherin party was everything anyone could talk about. The more things you heard about it the less you wanted to go, but the previous day you agreed to Pansy’s request, now regretting it fully. You moved your fork around your plate, sometimes taking a bite of the food but mostly playing with it. As soon as you could exit the Great Hall you hurried to your dorm. After what felt like four hours of looking through your closet, you finally found the most decent outfit for the party. It started at 9 p.m. but you arrived an hour and a half later. After all you said you’d come, not when. You spotted Pansy in the crowd easily, she was currently engaging in a possibly flirtatious conversation with Theo Nott. You liked him, unfortunately, because it meant wherever he was Mattheo fucking Riddle would be close by. This time wasn’t any different. You slowly squeezed your way through the crowd of drunk students and tapped Pansy on the shoulder after reaching her side.

‘Why are you so late?’

‘What do you mean? I thought the party started at 11?’ you replied sarcastically.

‘Yeah, sure you did.’ She jokingly rolled her eyes at you.

‘Hi Theo.’ You gave him a smile.

He gave you a nod and went back to slowly sipping his whiskey. A moment later you felt someone squeezing between you and Pansy to rest their arms on both your and her shoulders.

‘Hello ladies, can I get you anything?’ A chirpy voice asked.

You chuckled, ‘Hi Enzo, nice to see you too.’ You wanted to add you didn’t want anything but Pansy was quicker.

‘Yeah, we both want the strongest thing you have.’

‘Wha-‘ You tried to interfere.

‘Our friend here needs to take her busy mind off of things.’

And with that Enzo nodded in understanding and disappeared into the crowd with a smirk.

‘Pans, what the fuck?’ You raised your voice.

‘Relax, you need a night off.’

You scoffed.

‘If he is having fun then you should too.’ She replied and nodded towards something.

You turned around to see Mattheo on a couch, sloppily making out with some Ravenclaw girl.

‘I’m gonna puke.’ You turned to Pansy. ‘That is not my idea of fun.’

‘I’m not saying you have to hook up with anyone! All I want us to do today is to get completely plastered tonight!’ She pleaded. ‘Please?’

You wanted to reply but before you could Enzo had brought the drinks. Part of you knew this was gonna have consequences, but the other part of you was like fuck it. You sighed and with a smirk took the beverage from his hand, you listened to the second option.

The night was full of dancing and drinking, mostly the second one which led to you sitting in a circle at 1:45 am, playing truth or dare. You were laughing at Fred Weasley’s poor try to do a split when he suddenly gave up and drank his shot as punishment. Then the bottle landed on you.

“So, truth or dare?” He asked you with a cocky smirk.

“Dare.”

To be honest, you would have chosen truth if not the fact that you were already a bit drunk.

“I dare you to go in a closet for 7 minutes with Riddle.” He and George started sneering.

You locked eyes with Mattheo and without thinking replied.

“I’d rather take a shot than spend a second with him alone.”

He scoffed at you, “Glad we’re on the same page.”

You picked up your glass and the liquid soon started burning your throat.

On Sunday morning you woke up in your bed, how you got there though - you had no idea. You slowly sat up and felt like your head was going to explode in any moment. Then you remembered why you don’t get drunk, but it was too late to change that. You spent the rest of the day in your bed, away from any noise that would make this pain worse. You tried opening some books to study, but with this hazy mind and eyes not focusing on any sentence you quickly gave up and threw them to the side. After all, not studying for once wouldn’t bite you in the ass, right?

Monday morning was much better, you did your routine and the pain was gone. You quickly hurried to class and sat down next to Pansy just before the clock struck 9:00.

Professor Binns entered the classroom and everyone expected another boring lesson, where he hopefully falls asleep. Instead, he cleared his throat and told everyone to only leave their quills and a piece of paper on their desks. The students started looking at eachother in confusion, Binns had never done any sort of test without announcing it before.

“Today, I want to see how much you lot remember from the last few classes, there will be three questions, answer them briefly. You’ll have 10 minutes.”

Your eyes widened so much you thought they would pop out from the eye sockets. You were screwed, not only you hated this subject because you couldn’t remember much from what Binns was saying but you also haven’t studied because of this stupid party.

Everyone started groaning and trying to bargain with the professor but he was persistent. You scribbled the questions quickly as he was saying each one of them and you realised you don’t know anything.

“Shit.” You whispered to yourself.

You saw Mattheo giggling across the room and writing on the paper. If only you could read his mind and copy the answers, but you couldn’t. You started writing anything that came to your mind, none of it was probably right, but maybe you’d get some points for trying. Unlike Berkshire and Nott who didn’t even write the questions down.

When the time was up all the papers flew directly into the professor’s hand. The rest of the class went by much quicker and as soon as it ended you stormed out of the class.

At the end of the day you found yourself in your dorm, studying whatever you learned that day in class. You picked up your History Of Magic book and started flipping through it in order to write down the correct answers to the questions which you luckily remembered. They turned out to be way complicated than you thought, you were officially screwed. Before reading them you at least had hope Binns would give you some points, now the hope has vanished.

Then, out of nowhere, a crazy idea popped into your mind. You turned to the side to see your roomate sleeping soundly and slowly got up from your bed and went over to the door. Holding your hand over the knob, unsure of your choice, you sighed deeply.

“Fuck it.” You whispered to yourself and exited the dorm.

This was not a good idea and you knew it. But it was better than being worse than Riddle. At least that’s what you were telling yourself as you walked through the dark corridors of Hogwarts Castle. At night it was even harder to find the correct classroom where the professor would’ve kept the tests.

It felt like you have missed the correct room at least 10 times already, this was too hard. You were about to give up when you heard shuffling in the classroom a few metres away from where you stood. The door was slightly agape and there was a soft blue light coming out, someone was surely using lumos. You took a few small steps and remained as quiet as possible, peeking your head through the door you saw someone going through the desk drawers as quietly as they could. The person stood up and when your eyes landed on those messy curls, you instantly recognised him.

“Riddle?” You whispered as you entered the room. “The hell are you doing here?”

He looked up in horror, but immediately relaxed his stance when he saw it was you.

“I could ask you the same question.” He placed his hands on the desk and leaned forward. “Looks like we had the same idea. Didn’t think you were one to break the rules, though.”

“What do you mean?” You scoffed.

“You came here to replace your test with the correct answers, didn’t you?” He smirked at you and pointed to the piece of paper you were holding.

“Why are you here?” You avoided his question.

“For the exact same reason, love.” He waved his paper sheet.

“Don’t call me that.” You replied and came over to him. “I saw you giggling in class, surely you must’ve known the answers.”

He shrugged his arms, “I was giggling because I knew I was screwed.”

You rolled your eyes at him and took a look around the class.

“Have you found them, then?”

“I don’t think they are here.” He nodded towards the desk.

You went over to the cabinet on your right and opened the shelfs, finding your tests in the lowest one.

“You are so daft, Riddle.” You gave him a smirk and waved the papers in front of his face.

He scoffed at you and took them from your hand. He started looking for your names and you both successfully replaced your tests.

“I wanted to be better than you and now we are gonna be even.” You sighed.

“I’m always better than you, though.” He replied.

“No you are not.” You hissed.

“Mhm.”

“I’m going back to my dorm. I can’t stand another second with you.” You huffed and started walking away.

Mattheo didn’t respond, instead he smirked to himself, put the tests back in the drawer and started silently following after you.

“Fuck off Riddle.” You whisper-yelled at him when he caught up to you.

“Why do you want to be better than me so much?”

“Just because.”

You didn’t even know why, you just knew you couldn’t be worse than him. This unspoken rivalry had been going on for far too long and you never understood why it mattered to you so much. You stopped walking and looked up at him, even though it was dark you could see his soft features. You opened your mouth to say something when a soft meow echoed through the corridor. Mattheo instantly grabbed your hand and pulled you into the nearest room, which happened to be a small closet full of different jars containing various herbs. You felt his warm breath on your face.

“If we get caught, I’m blaming you.” You whispered.

“Can you shut up for one second?” He whispered back.

“I’m just-“ He stopped you by putting his hand over your mouth.

You heard someone walking next to the door behind which you were hiding. You closed your eyes and tried to calm down, but feeling Mattheo’s warm hand on your face made you even more nervous. You slowly reached up and took his hand away. Your eyes were flickering between the door and each other’s faces. The light from a lamp Filch was carrying shined through the bottom of the door. It lit up the room to the point that you saw your enemy almost clearly. He looked… pretty. Saying you didn’t find him attractive would be a complete lie. You realised how close you were to each other, his body heat making you get goosebumps. This is the closest you had ever been and for the first time you didn’t find him annoying. His eyes were glued to the bottom of the door, waiting for Filch to go past the room. Slowly the light started fading and so did his features you were studying, like the scar on his nose you never noticed. You wondered where it was from.

“I think he’s gone.” He whispered which got you out of the trance.

“Hm?”

“Filch.”

“Oh, yeah. Right.” You whispered and turned your attention to the door.

Mattheo kept his eyes on you, little did you know he also felt nervous with being this close to you. He noticed you were still holding his hand, you didn’t let him go after taking it off of your mouth. He changed the position of your hands, interlocking your fingers. It took you by surprise, but you didn’t show any reaction, visibly. He led you through the corridors as you slowly made your ways to your dorms. You were about to let go of his hand and head off to your room when he tightened the grip.

“Guess you fulfilled the dare after all.” He beamed.

“What do you mean?” You asked.

“The night of the party you said you’d not spend a second with me and now you’ve spent much more than that.” He smirked.

“Wow, you are so full of yourself.” You let out a breathy laugh and a soft smile grew on your face. “It wasn’t as bad as I thought.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t.” He reciprocated the smile.

You both looked down at your intertwined hands and slowly let go, your hand going back to hanging at your side.

“I still hate you, though.” You said with a smirk and started slowly walking away.

“Glad we’re on the same page.” He replied with the same sentence he did the night of the party and smirked at you as well.

“Night, Riddle.”

“Night, love.” He replied and you rolled your eyes at him, but smirked to yourself after you were out of his sight.

The next morning History of Magic was your last class, which meant Binns had probably already graded your tests. He shook his head and said he is disappointed, as only two students got a good grade. You and Mattheo looked at each other and he sent you a wink.

“Stupid bastard.” You whispered to yourself, hiding your smirk and trying to ignore the feeling in your stomach.

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

© girasollake 2023

i feel like this is bad .. sorry for the wait guys i am TRYING ..

[bookyeom]

pairing: woozi x reader word count: 3.4K warnings: a couple of swears, kissing, alcohol, sad!reader, sad!jihoon

Author’s Note: this fic is part of the Thirteen Valentines event, but can be read as a standalone! also, i would suggest listening to the song listed below to get a feel for the vibe of the fic, but it’s not necessary.

flatline by 5 seconds of summer

someone just like you, no one else i’m falling for the first time heart is gonna flatline now i can’t even look at you you’re like staring at the sunshine

You stand outside the crowded bar, grateful for the respite of fresh air after your time in the hazy, grimy dance club. There are only a few other patrons smoking or loitering outside as you wait for your ride to arrive, because it’s only midnight and inside, the party is just beginning.

Your head is buzzing pleasantly as you squint at your phone to check the time, the bright light from the screen making you wince. 12:07. If you were more sober, you would probably laugh at yourself. You’d gone out for a friend's birthday, but as soon as you had said the satisfactory hellos and gotten sufficiently drunk — which, arguably, didn’t take long — you’d been ready to go home. At midnight.

Your younger self is cringing.

As you gracefully get into your Uber and the driver begins to wind through the streets from the bar to your apartment, you pull up the last text thread on your phone. A smile is already on your lips just at the sight of the contact name.

Y/N [12:08am]: On my way hoooome. Hope u waited up for me!!

Your roommate shoots back a reply almost instantly, and you giggle at his response, your hand lifting to cover your mouth.

Jihoon-Ah [12:09am]: Ok. I’m still working, so keep your drunk ass quiet.

If you had it your way, he’d have come out with you. He knows all of your friends and you know all of his, but the club scene isn’t really his vibe. Plus, he has a music final due tomorrow – today? – and if there’s one thing he’s dead serious about, it’s his music.

Jihoon-Ah [12:13am]: Door’s unlocked. Be safe. 

You feel a flush spread across your cheeks as the second message comes through, and warmth floods all the way down to your toes.

Jihoon always manages to do that to you. Make you blush, make you feel warm and fuzzy, make you laugh. It’s funny, because to those who don’t know him, he seems quiet and private, and maybe even a little bit closed off. But with his friends, with those who get to know him, he’s brash and hilarious, and he cares a hell of a lot about those who care about him. He’s one of your best friends, your roommate, and quite possibly the love of your life. 

He doesn’t know about that last part, though, and you don’t plan on telling him anytime soon.

“Jihoon-ah,” you singsong as you finally make it into your shared apartment. He doesn’t turn to look at you from his spot on the couch, but you know he’s heard you come in by his grunt of acknowledgement. He remains where you left him, on the couch and hunched over his laptop, black hair mussed from where he’s probably been running his fingers through it as he agonises over his piece. You hastily take off your shoes before you cross the room, flopping down next to him unceremoniously. He glances at you briefly before turning back to his screen.

“Did you have fun?” He asks without looking at you. 

“Mhm,” you mumble back. It’s quiet for a few moments, the sound of his fingers clicking away lulling you into a daze until he speaks up once more.

“You should change,” he says, and you turn to stretch out your legs, pointing your toes. He glances at you again as you do so, eyebrows raised. “You took off the shoes, thank god, but you’re probably not comfortable in that dress anymore.”

You yawn, smiling at his thoughtful comment before replying, “It’s called fashion, Jihoon, look it up. Beauty is pain.”

“I already told you before you went out that you looked nice, don’t push it.”

You let out a laugh at that, and the quiet smile on his lips betrays any real irritation on his part. You watch him for a moment, your eyes lingering for far too long on the softness of his mouth as he focuses back on his work. 

You really hadn’t stood a single chance against falling in love with him, had you?

“I’m too tired to change,” comes your weak mumble. 

“Okay,” he responds easily, his attention back on his computer again. You take the opportunity to let your eyes trace over his profile one more time; his eyelashes, his nose, the curve of his lips. The quiet contentment remains on his face, and you’re suddenly overwhelmed knowing that you’re part of the reason for it.

Your eyes finally turn to wander across the laptop screen to see what he’s working on, your head falling onto his shoulder. You’d have done it sober too, but with a bit of alcohol in your system, you’re just slightly less nervous. You can feel him tense. Your eyes fall to where his hands have paused, and for a moment, you wonder if you’ve stressed him out with the physical contact, but then his shoulders relax. It takes only a few seconds before he begins clicking and typing again, and you can’t help but smile.

You’re looking at his computer and, subsequently, at his unfinished work. You can still recall when he’d been hesitant to let anyone see his music — let alone his drunk, touchy roommate. Yet somehow, you’ve managed to secure a coveted spot in the small group of people Jihoon trusts enough to share his work with. That doesn’t mean that he doesn’t still freak out every time he shares a piece he’s working on – he does, and you know that – but he insists that he wants to show you anyway. You often feel a strong sense of satisfaction in knowing what that means. It means that he trusts you — and that’s an incredible privilege. 

You stay on the couch like that for a few more minutes as he continues to work, until a yawn overtakes you and on instinct, your nose turns to burrow into the crook of his neck. You let out a sigh, falling into a false sense of security for just a moment — into a world where Jihoon is yours to be with like this. Your eyes fall shut. You hardly register your own movement until it hits you that Jihoon’s entire body has gone rigid, and your eyes shoot open in a panic. You don’t think you’ve ever done that before – nuzzled into his neck like you belong there. 

And now you’re terrified that you’ve finally crossed a line that you can’t come back from. 

Another thing that Jihoon allows you to do more than anyone else is initiate physical contact. You’d taken advantage, and lately you’ve been toeing the line of too much. It just feels so easy to do, because you’re so drawn to him, to who he is, to the way he makes you feel — but you know it’s not fair of you. Not when he hasn’t ever expressed feeling the same way, not when he hasn’t ever protested as you go on dates, not when he hasn’t ever initiated anything himself. Jihoon always tells you it’s okay when you’re touchy, that he doesn’t mind it every once in a while, but you can’t help but feel like a complete fool. 

He’s not yours, and he doesn’t want to be. 

You abruptly feel yourself sober up as you scramble to move away, putting as much distance between the two of you as possible.

“You didn’t have to move,” comes his blunt reassurance, his eyes not leaving the screen of his laptop.

“I know you hate being touchy. I should have asked first. Sorry.”

“You’re always like this, especially when you’re drunk,” he retorts, “I don’t know why you’re only apologizing today.” You can’t help but shrink back against the couch, defeated. 

“Sorry,” you say again, your voice small. 

Jihoon looks at you then, eyebrows raised in surprise, like he really had no clue you were actually upset. “Hey, it’s okay. I always let you do it,” he adds after a moment. 

“Yeah…” You trail off, and you hate the way you sound a bit like a child as you repeat, “but you hate it.”

Normally, Jihoon would ignore your tipsy pouting. He’s usually not the best at reading people – self-proclaimed – but this time, he seems to sense something’s wrong. He searches your face, and when you look away, he gently nudges your foot with his. “I don’t hate it when it’s you,” he says, quiet and serious, and you can feel his eyes still on you. 

“Soonyoung and Y/N privilege,” you try to joke as you meet his eyes again, and Jihoon nods slowly. His eyebrows knit together, like he’s trying to figure something out. Whatever it is, you don’t think you want him to. “I’m going to bed,” you say, and he nods again. Neither of you says anything else, but you can feel his eyes following you as you disappear into your bedroom.

It’s not unusual for Jihoon to emerge from his room around midday. What is unusual, however, is for him to be up any earlier than 10:00am. So when you leave your room at 9:30 a few days later only to find him hunched over your kitchen island, to say you’re surprised is an understatement. He’s got a near-full cup of tea in front of him, and he’s staring into the void. He doesn’t turn, even when you clear your throat, and you’re beginning to panic now. 

“Jihoon?” Your hand itches to reach for him as you approach, but you don’t. You feel distinctly as though you’re trying not to startle a deer. 

“Hm?” The sound of his name seems to finally jolt him out of it, and he turns to meet your eyes. Your heart breaks a little. He looks exhausted — more than usual. There’s something about his face that suggests it’s more of a mental than physical kind of tired, and you want nothing more than to give him a hug. 

You tread carefully. “Did you… Go to the gym already?”

Jihoon shakes his head. You didn’t think so, given that he’s still in the shorts and t-shirt he usually sleeps in, but it seemed like a safe enough topic. He says nothing more. Why else would he be up this early? Your brain is running a million miles a minute. Something is clearly wrong, but how can you help? 

You’re silent as you go about your morning, making breakfast as usual — except that this time, you make twice as much. When you place two boiled eggs and some cereal in front of him, it takes him a second to react. You try not to flush when you feel his eyes on you as you sit across from him, scrolling through your phone and taking a bite of your own food instead of acknowledging it.

“Thank you.”

You look at him when he speaks. The corner of his mouth is tilted up just so, in that quiet, wonderful Jihoon way, and you can’t help but smile back. “Of course.”

It’s quiet between the two of you as you eat. You try not to think too much about it, but lately, sitting in silence around your friend has been almost unbearable. There’s just so much you want to say, especially after the other night. 

“How do you always know?”

You look at him again, eyebrows knitting together as you process his question. “Know what?”

He gazes at you for a moment, and the intensity of it has your neck flushing. Then he looks down at his plate again, and you remind yourself to breathe.   

For a second you think that there's something there, something hovering between you. You just don’t know what. 

“You always know when something’s up with me.”

You shrug, trying desperately not to show just how flustered you are that he’s noticed. “I’m an empath,” you offer, and Jihoon lets out a soft breath of laughter. He looks like he wants to say something else, but he doesn’t, and it almost feels like you’re both holding your breath now.

Neither of you had mentioned that night the week before. Though a part of you knows that it’s best to just let it be, another part of you almost wishes he’d brought it up. You’re so in love with him that it makes you nauseous, and you’re so aware of it. He’s all you think about, and you worry that if you don’t say it out loud soon, you’re going to explode during one of these quiet moments. You’ve tried so hard to ignore it, to push it down, but the feelings just won’t quit. 

And you have no idea what to do about it.

Y/N [4:12pm]: what’s my favourite music man up to?

You sniffle from your spot on your couch, curled up in your favourite fuzzy blanket. You’re miserable, despite your sunny sounding text. That’s your job, though, isn’t it? To be the happy friend? To pretend everything’s fine when it’s not?

You’d just gotten home from a grueling day at work. You’d been hoping that your roommate was home – not because you’d actually have told him you were upset, but because seeing his face makes your day brighter. But he’s not, and you’re alone. 

Jihoon-ah [4:34pm]: working. I’ll be late today

Y/N [4:35pm]: classic jihoon. guess I’ll just eat alone :(

Usually, Jihoon’s short texts don’t bother you, because you know him and you know he means nothing by it. It gets to you tonight, though, because all you want right now is for him to hold you. 

You wouldn’t ever ask him for it.

You selfishly wish that he would just know that you need him, but he doesn’t. He’s busy, and he’s not very affectionate at the best of times. The worst part of it all, though, is that deep down, you know he would do anything for you if you asked. But you won’t. 

It’s not his fault, you remind yourself. If you don’t tell people what you want, you can’t expect them to know. 

You’re in your room a couple of hours later, curled up as you watch an episode of your newest binge. You’d let yourself cry, let yourself feel everything even though it hurt, and now it was on to phase two: distraction. 

You’re so enthralled in your show that you don’t even hear the front door open and close. When a knock sounds at your bedroom door, you jump and sit up straight. The knock comes again, and you freeze.

“It’s me.”

Your eyes fall to your phone to check the time. You hadn’t expected him for another hour at least. You get up slowly, grimacing as you pass your reflection in the mirror, and move to open the door. He looks out of breath, almost as if he ran home, his eyes wide and his jacket still on.

“Jihoon?” You blink. “Why are you here? I thought you were working.”

“Can I come in?” He asks instead of answering. You step aside, trying to figure out why he’s home early — and why he’s knocking at your bedroom door. It’s quiet for a minute before you sit back on your bed, gesturing for Jihoon to join you. He does, hesitantly, and the room is so quiet that your heart starts to race a little. 

“Is everything okay?”

He takes a deep breath. “Are you…” He winces as he trails off, a hand lifting to run through his hair. He tries again. “Are you having a bad day?”

You blink at him for a moment, surprised. “Huh?”

“Seungcheol told me that you were having a bad day.” He looks embarrassed as he says it, and you remember that you’d told your mutual friend about your shitty boss’s latest antics at lunch. 

“Oh,” you manage, reminding yourself to scold Seungcheol later. 

“Yeah.” He takes a deep breath, almost as if he’s trying to ground himself, and then he’s pushing forward again. “So… Are you? Having a bad day?”

You debate lying so as not to worry him, but he’s looking at you so intently that you just know you can’t. You look down at your hands. “Kind of.” Your voice is quieter now, and you can feel his eyes on you.

“Okay.”

“Yeah.” It’s quiet, and you kind of wish to be swallowed whole.

“I wish you’d told me,” he admits. 

“It’s okay. I didn’t want to interrupt your… stuff.” 

He shakes his head, almost like he’s frustrated, and you wish — not for the first time — that he was a bit easier to read. 

“Your stuff is important to me, too,” is what he finally says, and you can feel how warm your face is getting. 

“I know, but it’s okay. It’s nothing big,” you try to reassure him. “I’ll get over it.”

Jihoon hums, and when you look over at him again, you find him with his hands clasped together in his lap as he leans forward. He still seems frustrated, but you’re not sure why. “I came home as soon as he told me,” he tells you, and your stomach flips. 

“You didn’t have to—“

“I’m sorry I’m bad at reading between the lines.” His interruption surprises you, and you blink back at him.

“Huh?”

Jihoon sighs, turning his body towards yours. “Even when I don’t tell you, you always know if I’m upset about something. I wish I was better at that, but I just get so focused and I don’t notice things. You know how I am.” 

“It’s okay, Jihoon,” you say again. “I can’t expect you to just know how I’m feeling.”

“Yeah,” he says slowly. His gaze on you is intense, his eyes wandering across your face, and you suddenly feel self-conscious. “I guess I just wish that you, and everyone else, would be more straight up with me.” 

You bite your lip. “I’m sorry.” 

He shakes his head quickly. “No. Don’t be sorry, just…” He takes in another breath. You’re holding yours. “Can you please tell me next time?” 

“I will. I just… don’t want you to worry about me.”

“You don’t have to be ‘on’ all the time,” he says. “Not with me.”

Your heart is ready to beat out of your chest. All you can do is say, “Wow, Jihoon, it kind of sounds like you care about me.”

When he responds easily with, “I do,” your mouth falls open a little. 

The soft tone of his voice is so tender, so serious. What surprises you even more is the way he’s avoiding your eyes now, hand scratching at the back of his neck. Is he… blushing?

“I want to be there for you,” he adds a moment later, and you think you must be dreaming. He straightens, meeting your eyes again, and your breath is caught in your throat. He searches your face for a moment before he says, “I’m bad at knowing when people need me. I know that. But I’m telling you that I want you to tell me when you need me, because I want to be there for you.”

“Jihoon…”

“Please tell me you understand what I’m saying.”

The room falls silent. Your mind is running a mile a minute as you process, but you know you have to take the risk — so you do.

Your fingers find his, a slow brush of skin against skin as you wait for him to make the next move. Your heart nearly beats out of your chest when he closes the gap, lacing his fingers through yours, and squeezes. 

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I understand exactly what you’re saying.”

“And?”

“I care about you too, Lee Jihoon. So much.”

“Yeah?” It comes out as a whisper, and you’re rewarded with a smile when you nod. 

“Yeah.” You flush, opening your mouth to speak again, but nothing comes out. Jihoon tilts his head as you play with his fingers nervously.

“What?”

“Can you… Would you kiss me?”

Jihoon’s smile widens, even though you can see the tips of his ears turning red in the dim light of your room. “I can do that,” he murmurs, his free hand finding your face, and your nervous inhale is quieted by his mouth on yours. 

It’s gentle and slow. It’s Jihoon, and he’s kissing you, and it’s everything you’ve ever wanted. 

When you pull away, you’re blushing. You let your forehead fall forward against his shoulder, and you can feel him laugh as his hand lifts to your back. 

“Do you want to talk?“ He asks gently. “About your day?” 

You shake your head no, moving back to look up at him as you say, “Don’t worry. My day is much better now.”

A/N: thank you so much to everyone for all the love on pov and idk! Here’s the third of our Thirteen Valentines. Nana Tour!Woozi has ruined my life as much as he has ruined yours. xoxo

Please please please reblog if you can to spread the word, and check out the Thirteen Valentines masterlist! If you want to be added to the taglist, send me a message :) Your kind comments and reblogs don’t go unnoticed &lt;3

Taglist: @waldau @wqnwoos @tae-bebe @gyuminusone @savventeen @eoieopda @minisugakoobies @wheeboo @lvlystars @darkypooo @christinewithluv @bella-l (Strikethrough means it wouldn’t let me tag you, sorry!)

[uhohdad]

EXPERIMENTAL - Konig Fic Part 2

Summary: Konig helps Researcher!Reader with a new technology they’ve been developing.

Part one: X

AO3 Link: X

Warnings: Flirting, Sexual Content, NSFW, Reader x Konig, talk of standard war stuff, Reader is a bit of a pervert. Non-con Voyeurism. Reader has anxious thoughts/low-self esteem-ish? No use of y/n, abduction, bondage, blood and injury.

Word Count: 7.2k

Reader gender/sex is incomprehensible cause I do it for the girls, the gays, and the theys

NSFW under the cut

It probably didn’t mean anything, right?

How common is your name, really? He probably was just thinking about his girlfriend or wife at home who just happens to share the same name as you, the same wife he didn’t happen to mention during your introductions - even if it would have been a really good icebreaker.

Yeah, that’s it.

It couldn’t have been about you.

Could it?

Your thoughts are spiraling now, not giving yourself the room to dissect one detail before your brain throws another at you. You still haven’t moved, wide eyes watching warm light reflect on his skin as he basks in post-orgasm bliss.

He’s still for a while, and you’re wondering if the finish had tired him out enough to lull him into a nap.

After a few minutes of watching the rise and fall of his chest, you decide the show was over and closed out of the software. There was some part of you, some part you’d hoped wouldn’t ever come to light, that decided to keep his feed connected.

You’ve crossed so many lines already. In for a penny, in for a pound, right?

You feel like you’ve ruined whatever chance you’ve had with him, violating his privacy like this. This was a man that wasn’t even comfortable showing his face, how did you think he was going to feel knowing a stranger has not only seen him fully naked but watched him jerk his cock to completion?

He doesn’t have to know. No one has to know. It’ll be our little secret and we’ll just pretend it never happened.

Yeah, you acted real casual today when you hadn’t done a horrible, awful, perverted thing. I’m sure you’ll act real casual the next time you have to look him in the eyes.

Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!

You rest your head on your keyboard not-so-gently, accidentally booting up an ancient mail software that was sure to kick your laptop’s fans into overdrive. An audible groan leaves your mouth.

Who knew non-consensual voyeurism would leave such a horrific feeling of guilt in the pit of your stomach?

That and the arousal that sits right underneath. Your underwear now had a wet stain from watching the show, unconsciously rubbing your thighs together as you had.

There was no way you were going to be able to focus on work now. You had been planning on staying late, but there’s no way you can analyze today’s data. Review his feed. Replay your conversations. Hear his breathing…

No, you just can’t do it right now. It’s too much.

You do a quick round of the lab, performing a sloppy iteration of your closing procedures, pack up your things, and head out for the day.

Before you do, you decide you might as well round out the horrific deed by doing one last terrible thing.

You pair your personal cell phone to the software and send yourself the erotic recording of Konig.

You’ll start fresh tomorrow, you decide.

————————————————————-

You most certainly did not start fresh tomorrow.

The next few days are a vicious cycle.

Go to work. Review Konig’s simulation footage. Fantasize. Feel guilty. Review raw data. Think about Konig touching himself. Feel aroused. Feel guilty. Rewrite codes. Go home. Watch erotic recording. Feel aroused. Get off.

Feel guilty.

Feel guilty.

Feel guilty.

You can’t help it. You’re out of control, an addict desperate to get their fix, ashamed of their actions but lacking the willpower to quit.

How are you supposed to stop thinking about him when all day at work you’re watching him fight his way through the shoot house, strong hands gripping his gun, and hearing to that laugh?

How can you go home and ignore the recording of him finishing while moaning your name?

You must have replayed it a thousand times. He moaned it like he was begging you, pleading with you. Such a powerful man choking on your name. Even after a full week had passed, it still had the power to excite you in ways you haven’t felt in ages.

Your next meeting with Konig was scheduled for today and if you had to judge solely by the feeling in your gut, you would’ve guessed you had eaten rocks for breakfast. Your brain tells you to flee and fast but your body is promised to these four walls. Your leg bounces as you pick at the fingers that beg for something to do besides type code.

You wanted to call it off. Tell Konig you weren’t feeling well and you’d try again next week. Or maybe hit the bricks entirely. Just walk out of the building and never look back. Forget about everything.

You’re reconsidering your career choices as a steady knock on the lab’s swinging door rips you from your thoughts.

Your wince before you look up, quickly plastering what you hope is a convincing smile on your face.

He catches your eyes through the glass and you notice them crinkle, unable to place an emotion to it. You’d been dreading this moment all week. Even going so far as to avoid looking at his live feed after the incident, just in case you weren’t able to feign the natural responses of hearing his recounts for the ‘first’ time. That in addition to the intrapersonal understanding that you couldn’t handle carrying anymore guilt-rocks in your stomach.

Looking him in the eyes was as hard as you imagined it to be. He pushes open the door and steps in, standing hesitantly near the entrance like he did last week. You notice he has a notepad in one hand, and it looks so comically small compared to his size. Like a giant holding a sticky note. In the other he holds your earpiece in an open palm, as if hesitant to wrap his fingers around it.

It doesn’t help that the first word that left his mouth as he entered the lab was your name. Flashbacks to his sweaty body, shuddering in pleasure as he came all over his rippling muscles grab your attention.

He had followed it up with something, but you had been too distracted to catch it. You close your eyes, touching your hand to your forehead.

You were not doing a very good job hiding your fluster.

“I’m so sorry- what’d you say?” You give a small laugh, partly to ease the tension in your chest and partly at the situation itself. It’s not funny, you know that. It’s terrible. So terribly ridiculous that you can’t help but laugh at yourself for getting yourself into this mess. Your hand follows through the rest of your hair in an effort to soothe yourself before falling back down at your side.

“Good to see you.” He repeats, tilting his head, taking just a few careful steps closer to you. His eyes dart to the side briefly before returning to you, “Is everything okay?”

You give another weak laugh, “Yeah, sorry. Just still in the zone.” You gesture vaguely at scattered papers and devices on the table. You don’t give him a chance to pry further, “How was it?”

He takes a moment to eye you carefully, and you are sure he’s about to call your bluff before he responds, “Remarkable.”

You swallow, breaking eye contact with him again. It’s always been hard for you to accept a compliment. You're hoping he doesn’t notice the warmth creeping up your cheeks, but you know you have absolutely no right to such a request after what you’ve done.

He clears his throat before he continues, “I promised you I would have feedback. It wasn’t easy.” He holds his notepad up briefly as he steps up to the table to carefully set it down along with your earpiece. You can see from across the table he’s got a few scribbled sentences spaced out on the notepad. You take note of his sloppy handwriting from across the table, before realizing he didn’t write in English.

He looks down at his notes and you’re thankful you have something to stare at that’s not Konig’s eyes or intimidating frame. You’re trying hard not to think about the body filling out his gear. You’ve grown so accustomed to seeing him naked that it’s almost strange to see him with his uniform on.

You can tell he takes a deep breath before continuing and you wonder briefly if he’s nervous about sharing his feedback, worried he will hurt your feelings. “You mentioned before that it scans objects?” The end of his sentence lifts, almost like he’s asking you a question, “I think it would be good to make sure that the user is always made aware of landmines. I’m positive it will save lives.”

“Yes, absolutely. That’s a great idea.” You nod as you jot his ideas down on your laptop, a reminder to update your code.

You’re happy to be talking shop. Even happier to be talking about defensive designs instead of offensive ones.

The way he rubs his bicep with his opposing hand triggers a realization. You finally look at his eyes, his still staring down at his notes, and watch him for a moment.

The idea didn’t come from thin air.

You wonder what he saw, what traumatic memories are being replayed behind the downcast eyes to inspire such an idea.

You feel an ache in your chest for him, the desire to alienate his discomfort but unequipped to do so. Instead you look at him, your eyes swollen with sympathy and the corner of your mouth pinched in a frown.

He takes a moment before looking back up at you. He notices your warped expression but misinterprets it, “Am I overstepping?”

Your voice is low and you press a hand to your heart, “No, Konig, not at all. This is very helpful.” You’re not sure what else to say to him. What do you say to a man haunted by the violence he’s witnessed?

The only thing you can do is make sure it doesn’t happen again.

You’re not working for the government anymore, you decided. You’re going to work for Konig. To tailor your device with the purpose to save and protect him.

So you stick to the topic at hand. “Any other ideas?” You ask, voice still soft with empathy as you glance down at the notes written in German.

“Uh,” He clears his throat again and touches the back of his neck over his hood, the fabric pulling a bit on the front, “Sometimes when we’re in the heat of things, I can’t always get to my remote.” He gestured to the band on his wrist. “Do you think it would be possible to have voice command?”

Your brain’s mulling over the possibility. You’re surprised you haven’t thought of it yet. You could eliminate the remote entirely, you’re sure your supervisor will be elated with the big savings on material costs. The earpiece already has a microphone for the comm, it wouldn’t be hard for you to configure it to an additional feature.

“Absolutely, voice control. That’s clever.” Your brain is already running with alternatives to the wrist remote as you type his ideas, “Do you go on a lot of missions that require stealth?” It’s easier to make eye contact with him when you’re discussing work. He nods, and you continue, “In addition to voice command, I could also add hand controls, able to identify and respond to the signal you give it - totally silent.” You tap your fingers on the table twice, “The only draw I can think of is having to memorize control signals.”

He thinks it over for a moment and shifts in his spot, “That’s even better.”

“I think it’ll be best to have both.” Your keyboard clicks under your fingers as you enter the ideas coming to you faster than you can get them down.

This is great. I’m not even thinking about-

Stop it.

“These are great, Konig, really. Anything else?”

Your encouragement makes him look away. You follow his stare as it darts to the side and then down to his notes. He places one hand on the table next to the notepad as he leans his weight onto it.

You briefly picture yourself between him and the table, his arm pinning you in as he towers over you, hunched to watch you like you’re his prey, chests so close they’re almost touching.

You quickly push the thought to the side, moving your attention back to your laptop. The only way to survive this meeting is to repress.

Repress your memories of what he looks like with his cock in his hand, arching his hips into the thrusts. Repress the sound of his moans and your name echoing clearly in your brain. Repress the guilt from the breach of privacy to the highest degree.

Please, just until we get through this.

You close your eyes and take a breath to collect yourself while he’s not looking.

He’s got other things written on the notepad, you’re sure. Unless the two ideas he’d already pitched managed to take up the whole page. “No.”

Your brows furrow, the question leaving your mouth without thought, “You’re sure?”

He pauses. You can tell he’s sitting on a thought, but you don’t know what.

“It’s okay. Like I said, it’s just a prototype. You won’t hurt my feelings.”

He straightens his posture before he speaks, “No. That was all I could think of.” He swallows, “If you feel I didn’t make good on my promise, I can fix it.”

“No, no!” You say with urgency, a hand shaking in his direction, “Those ideas you gave me were perfect. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t holding back on me.” A weak laugh escapes you. “I can’t stress how helpful this has been. I’m glad we’re doing this.”

Konig looks at you, those intimidating eyes staring at you from across the table. You wish you could see his face, hoping it would give some insight on what was going through his head. Even if you could you don’t think you’d be able to maintain eye contact.

He knows.

No, he doesn’t, shut up.

“I’ll keep thinking.” He says definitively, like he’s trying to right a wrong.

“You’ve only had it for a week,” you reassure, “Besides, you’ve given me plenty to work with.” You force a smile at him, not even caring how it’s coming off because you’re just hoping not to choke on the tension suffocating the room. You wonder if he feels it too, or if it’s all in your head.

He nods, and you look to your laptop in a futile attempt to thwart the dread suddenly pooling in your stomach. You’re reminded of what you’ve done when he crosses his arms, and your eyes are drawn to the same bicep on the arm that he used to pleasure himself. You’re picturing how it looks under his uniform, comparing it to your filthy reference. Your heart quickens and you can’t help but take in his build, even from across the long lab table. You feel extra small sitting on your stool while he stands, arms still crossed, staring.

The air between you two is definitely weird. Him getting off to probably-not-you and you watching but him not knowing that you know will certainly fill the room with a tension unlike any other.

These drawn-out silences are smothering you, not knowing what goes on being his hood.

He looks disappointed in you.

He knows.

“How can I help you in the meantime?”

You can’t help but breathe a small sigh of relief. You were planning on taking him back out to shoot house, running a few more simulations, and having him give feedback on a few more overlays.

You scrap that plan, looking forward to expanding on his ideas while your synapses are still firing.

“Well, here’s my thoughts so far. Landmine identification, the coding for that will be easy. The device already has the scanning capability for obscured objects. All I have to do is enable the specific object for full-time recognition. The hard part will be testing. I’ll have to meet with weapons development to develop prop landmines for simulation.”

You glance at the notes on your laptop, “Voice control - easy. Mic’s already installed and all I would have to do is add speech-to-text recognition, repurpose the wrist control coding, and then…testing.” Your hand finds the side of your face as you think it over, “Well, I may need to sample voice lines from you and a couple of your friends…” You loosely gesture with the same hand as you continue, “But there may be workarounds to that. Put a pin in that.” You’re on a roll now, “Now the hand controls - that might be more complicated. I’m thinking I’ll have to start fresh with the hardware.” You look up, “Then again… it already has the scanning capacity. I could probably just teach the current model with software alone. But the coding will take some time to figure out.”

Your eyes find him again. He’s staring and as per usual you can’t decipher it.

“Y’know,” you continue with a smile, “You could help me come up with hand signals?”

He nods.

He doesn’t give you much to work with, does he?

“I’ll need references of your hands. To teach the AI, is that okay?”

He looks down in a way that makes you feel so, so ashamed. If he is hesitant about recordings of just his gloved hands, how would he feel if he found out about what you did? About the video living on your phone?

After a moment he looks back up at you, “I’ll do it.” His voice is stern as usual, always treating everything with importance, with determination.

You give him another shaky smile, “Might be awhile. Wanna sit?”

He pulls up a stool to his end of the table and you instruct him to put his earpiece on as you return to your software on the laptop, trying not to trigger the memory of the last time you watched his feed. You pretend to resync your devices, glad he can’t see your screen. A wave of shame washes over you.

You’re both collaborating for some time, you offering a prompt and him stiffly coming up with a corresponding hand command. You supervise his feed, having him tilt his hands so the AI has references from multiple angles.

The rest of the meeting is professional and you manage to steady your obsessive thoughts as best you can. It’s hard to observe his hands and not think about the video, about what you watched those same hands do.

About how those hands would feel mapping all of the curves of your body.

How they would feel gripping onto your hips as you rode him.

How they would feel sneaking up your thighs, teasing you.

Somehow, you make it.

Once you decide you’ve covered enough references, Konig heads out, and you hope to continue staving off your thoughts by wasting no time on incorporating his ideas into your design. You’re hoping to have a least one rough draft done before next week’s meeting, so you plan on hunkering down and forfeit your Friday night to work overtime.

—————————————————————-

It’s late in the evening, you can tell by how your eyes are burning, strained from staring at your bright screen. You don’t bother to check the actual time. It would just bum you out. Spending your Friday night working. Not that you would have been doing anything partially exciting if you hadn’t. You probably would have just spent your evening analyzing footage anyway, just of a more perverted genre.

When you finally call it quits, the base is barren. Everyone’s gone home or retired to their quarters by now. It’s quiet after the base door shuts behind you, automatic locks clicking into place.

You’re feeling better after today’s meeting with Konig. Somewhere in the previous week you’d convinced yourself that he knew, that at any moment he was going to report you, and at any moment security would bust in the lab to escort you out.

Seeing him again, even though you couldn’t always figure out what he was thinking, reassured you that he hadn’t somehow telepathically figured out your terrible deed. You don’t think he would have bothered to keep helping you, or even be able to look at you without disgust if he did know.

The meeting also re-sparked your feelings of arousal and excitement. The knot in your lower abdomen made its presence known again. So much more desirable than the spiraling guilt. You’ve come to lean into the highs, enjoying it while you can, knowing soon you’ll be feeling nauseous at the thought of yourself.

You don’t know how much longer you can take the rollercoaster. This week has been exhausting. You can’t believe you’ve allowed this man to root himself into your life, seeping into every facet.

Career, personal, sexual, and - well, you’re still in denial about the romantic feelings - but it’s incredibly impressive how this man was capable of fucking your entire life up for the small price of a couple of hours and a few exchanged words.

When you finally get to the privacy of your home, you let out an audible groan. Loud enough to carry but quiet enough to not disturb the neighbors. You just needed to let something out, it was getting frustrating.

You didn’t want to think anymore, you didn’t want to think!

“Long day at work?”

You freeze, and the sound of heavy footsteps fill your ears. Two armed soldiers with fully equipped gear stride from the depth of your home, meeting you at the entrance.

The sight of them alone is enough to intimidate you. You instinctively back against the locked door, your trunk obscuring a hand moving towards the doorknob.

“Tsk, tsk. I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”The taller of the two soldiers wears a black balaclava with a skull stitched in, his unimpressed stare drilling into you. You hear a click, and your wide eyes lock on to the gun in his hands, pointing right at your core.

You slowly release the doorknob, raising your shaking hands so they could see your palms.

“That’s good babe,” The other soldier speaks, but you’re too busy staring down the barrel of the gun to worry about it.

“I have to admit I’m a little upset with you,” Skull-face, as you appropriately nicknamed him, speaks as his eyes bore into you, “You kept us waiting a long time.”

He’s got some sort of thick accent laced into his grave voice, they both do, actually, but you’re too busy trying not to piss your pants to be able to place the region of origin.

A lump forms in your throat and you don’t think you‘ve taken a breath since you heard the unfamiliar voice in your home.

It’s violating. Them being here. Where you go after a long day of work to relax. Where you eat, sleep, shower, and just be.

How dare they defile and taint your safe place, where you hide away and pretend the exhausting world around you doesn’t exist?

You’re stuck, unsure of your next move and paralyzed with fear.

“We think you have something we want.”

You’re not sure what they mean, but you nod in compliance anyway. Not much you can say no to against two heavily armed men. You finally break your gaze away from the gun and take turns making frightful eye contact with them. You speak after a failed attempt of swallowing your fear, voice soft and broken, “Take it.”

They exchange a knowing glance with each other, the man with his face exposed bears an irritatingly smug grin.

Skull-face approaches you threateningly, sending fear down your spine and making your skin crawl as you push yourself further into the door. He leaves no room for pleas as he flips his gun around, the stock coming down on your forehead with enough force to knock you out cold.

————————————————————-

Your splitting headache was the first thing you registered when you came to. You can’t seem to concentrate, the fog in your brain so extreme your thoughts are incoherent. You let out a meek whimper as you attempt to open your eyes, the lights in the room stunning you and intensifying the throbbing pain in your skull. You wince, closing your eyes again to block it out.

A few moments pass - and the next thing you notice is the dryness in your mouth, unable to manage a swallow from the dehydration.

Water.

The only intelligible thought you’ve had after registering your discomfort, the instinctual desire stronger than the dizzy haze clouding your brain.

You lift your head, trying to move but your weakened muscles fail you.

Your muscles are weak, yes, but what’s really keeping you in place are the restraints.

You wince again, eyes scrunched to block out the brutal light as you tug to confirm you’re secured. Your wrists were bound behind you, your shoulders overextending around the back of the chair you were planted on. Your ankles bound to either leg of the chair. There’s another restraint wrapping under your arms and around the back of the chair, keeping your upper half upright. There’s a rashy burn underneath the coarse ropes that dug into your skin as your unconscious body leaned into it.

You let out another whimper from the back of your coarse throat. While you weren’t alert, every instinct within you notified you of the danger you were in.

Gotta move.

You try to squint one eye, but it still doesn’t save you from the flash intensity of your headache. Your eyes are stinging on top of it and you realize you’re partially blinded, vision blurred and doubled, stained red with your own blood.

You grit your teach, determined to figure out where you are. You try to concentrate your vision but to no avail.

Even so, you can tell you’re not at home, and you’re not on base.

Once you make your discovery, one that expended what little willpower you had, your eyes clench back shut, desperate to alleviate the migraine.

A secondary location, you thought to yourself through the pain, I’m fucked.

You can’t hear anything, the ringing in your ears deafening you.

You let out one more defeated whine before resting your chin on your chest, pinching your eyes closed.

You have no idea how long you drift in and out of consciousness for. During the brief moments you come to, you’re so disoriented you can’t make sense of your thoughts, and that coupled with the debilitating pain in your head is unnerving enough to make you cry tears of pure confusion.

It’s your neck snapping back to follow the hair yanking on your scalp that jolts you awake, and try to open your eyes to find the threat but they’re still not working as they should. Underneath the debilitating ringing, you can hear the sound of muffled male voices, unable to make out what they’re saying.

You gave up.

You were wounded & trapped, and in nature that meant a death sentence. You were in no shape to properly defend yourself. Couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t move, couldn’t think.

You were as done as the toast made from your own designs.

After wincing, your eyes screwed shut, you go limp and give in to the man physically controlling you like a sadistic puppeteer.

The muffled voices are louder, you still can’t make out their words but you can tell they’re having some sort of argument. They’re yelling at each other, and your scalp becomes collateral as the one tightens his grip on your hair to match his escalated volume

He’s right in your ear now and it’s not helping with the headache.

Just hurry it up, You manage through the haze, just hurry it up and put me out of my misery.

He throws your head forward to the position it was in before, slumped over as much as the ropes would allow with your chin pointed to the ground. The force rattles your skull in a way that makes you see a searing white behind your eyelids. What little water you had left in you was escaping through your swollen eyes lids and down tear-stained cheeks.

Just kill me, please.

——————————————————-

When you come to again, you’re no longer sitting. You’re flat on your back. Your neck secured so your head is in line with your spine. Your headache takes the front stage but the pain has noticeably subsided. You try to open your eyes again, but the lights above you are still excruciating.

You let out a low moan and shut your eyes again.

Your ears still ring, but a good portion of your hearing has returned to you. You hear your name, followed by, “are you awake?”

You grunt in response, unable to form sentences.

“Can you open your eyes for me?”

You wince, trying to shake your head but unable. Instead, you grunt again before parting your lips. You tried to say, “Lights,” but your voice is so hoarse it comes out broken and cracked.

“What is it?”

You try and clear your throat, putting all your power into your strained voice, “Lights.”

They understand, and while you still can’t hear the flick of the switch, you can tell from behind your eyelids they’ve been shut off.

You try to mutter a “Thank you,” but give up a quarter of the way through.

You slowly open your eyes, still burning but blood wiped away from them. Your vision is still blurry, but no longer doubled.

“Do you remember what happened?”

You try to shake your head, but can’t. So you force a weak, “No.”

“Do you know where you are?”

“No.”

“Do you know what today’s date is?”

You just grunt, closing your eyes again. You didn’t know the answer but you were too fed up with the questions to respond.

“Can you see?”

You grunt again.

“Okay, how ‘bout this? Can you wiggle your fingers for me?”

You try to lift your arm in the direction of the voice but your action is cut short, your arm jerked still by a restraint on your wrist. You open and close your fingers slowly at the maximum range the restraint will allow.

“How ‘bout your toes?”

Your toes move slightly, your calves aching at even such a mild movement.

“Good, thank you. How’s the hearing?”

Kill me or leave me alone, you think.

You eventually freeze the owner of voice out, finally leaving you alone to rest.

The next few days are a miserable, confusing blur. Somewhere along the way you’re informed you’re in medical, being treated for your extreme concussion. No skull fracture, thankfully, but they suspect the bruising is severe if it was enough to knock you unconscious.

The concussion had scrambled you good, and you were not nearly as sharp as you usually are.

It took you a whole five days, not that you could keep track of the passing time, before you realized that you were not at medical on your base.

You were in medical, restrained to a hospital bed-

in enemy care.

————————————————————

There was nothing you could do. Restrained to your bed, sedated with painkillers when they thought you were becoming too active.

“To help you rest.” They told you, but you couldn't trust a word that came out of their mouths.

Medics are supposed to be neutral, bound to an ethical code to heal the injured, enemy or not. That didn’t stop some medics from harboring grudges after years of patching up their own soldier’s brutal wounds of war.

The next time the medicine wears off for a long amount of time, with no medics in sight, you conveniently get visitors, the soldiers that had visited you in your home.

The events had been beaten out of you, but the traumatic event had seeped somewhere deeper into your psyche, and you knew deep down you were in trouble at the mere sight of them.

Skull-face especially, you don’t know how or why, but your intuition tells you he’s responsible for this. “Ready to answer some questions? Or do you need me to put you back to sleep?”

You can tell by the sharp edge in his voice he doesn’t mean the painkillers.

“Maybe I’d be able to answer your questions if you hadn’t given me brain damage.” Your patience is running thin, and an ember ignites a flame inside you, “Who knows what information you knocked out of me.” You stare directly into his eyes, brows furrowed, the tone of your voice inviting trouble in.

He already took everything away from you. At this point you don’t care if he puts you under. You’re begging him too. Every time you wake up you just want to go back to sleep. You don’t want to deal with it, any of it.

Skull-face makes a move to advance but the maskless soldier stops him by putting an arm out, laying it firmly across his to hold him back.

You don’t flinch, eyes now staring down the soldier with a stubbled jaw and a mohawk that ended in a widow's peak. It’s a haircut you find highly unusual for a soldier.

Your face doesn’t crack, but you squint at the pair, “What do you even want to know? I don’t even work on the field, I have no information.”

Skull-face looks down at you, “Oh, we know.” That stupid accent and that stupid mask. If you weren’t restrained you think you would have launched at him, risking it all to get a few good scratches in with your fingernails. He reaches into his pocket and your eyes widen and your brows retract at what he pulls out.

Not a weapon, no.

It’s your design, the AI-powered earpiece, and your wrist remote.

Skull-face notices the realization that sets across your face, “Awh, looks like your memory is working fine after all.”

The flame inside you laps at your skin, your features flushing with anger. A lot at Skull-face, for being such a cocky prick, but mostly at yourself.

You did this yourself. You figured your day of reckoning would come eventually. That karma would bite you in the ass, and those who are affected by your designs will stand by and laugh at your demise.

You should have just stuck with redesigning kitchen appliances.

“Why don’t you show us what you’ve been cooking up, huh? We know you’ve been busy.”

The pair share another knowing glance, Mohawk snickering at your expense.

“How did you get that?” You ask through gritted teeth, knowing there’s no way they could have gotten into the highly secured base.

“What is it?” Skull-face asks.

“It’s an intercom.” You grit, the ache in your head pulsing. You miss the painkillers.

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not.”

Mohawk steps in, “It’s okay, we all get embarrassed about our porn.”

You furrow your brows at him.

What the hell was he talking about?

Skull-face elbows him in the side, but it doesn’t keep his partner from smiling, “What is it?” He asks again.

“It’s an intercom.”

He’s getting sick of this game and he goes to step to you again but Mohawk cuts him short. “Ghost!” He says firmly.

Ghost, that was Skull-faces name. Or call sign, at least. You hated him, but you’d wished the other soldier would just let him at you. You didn’t care anymore.

Mohawk looks at you, “Look, there’s only so much I can do,” gesturing to Ghost, “Can’t we all just get along for a little bit, yeah?”

“How about you get along with deez nuts.” You laugh at your dumb joke, a laugh influenced by the daze of concussion and painkillers. You’re in hysteria, the laugh spills out and doesn’t let up. A release of built-up stress and frustration and anger that seeped out uncontrollably. Cackling at yourself for ending up in this situation. Only you would be capable of such hijinks. The laugh leaves you out of breath and with eyes full of tears. You don’t even care how it exacerbates the headache, or how you’re coming off as insane. It feels too good to let out the pent-up emotions, one way or another.

Your elation is cut short with a squeak as a gloved hand cuts harshly into your trachea. Ghost squeezes, roughly lifting you by the neck before shoving you back down on the hospital bed, his grip tighter than before. His voice is low and filled with caution, “I am getting sick of you.”

If you could breathe enough to talk, you’d tell him the feeling’s mutual. Instead you gag and sputter, which he takes as a sign that you are still getting air, and forces more of his weight onto your neck.

Your hands fail to defend yourself, the restraints holding you from fighting back. You’re getting close to blacking out, your laugh having already knock most of the wind out of you, but Mohawk pulls Ghost off of you, his hands firm on Ghost’s shoulders, “Stop! Stop.”

You involuntarily gasp, desperate for air, trying not to choke on your own spit. For a moment all you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears, flowing desperately to replace what Ghost restricted.

“Come on, last try.” He warns, and you can tell in your voice he means it.

You eye him carefully, still heaving for air. When you collect yourself, you speak, “I’ll show you.” You say, voice weak and breathy. You try to hold out your hand, but get stopped by the restraints.

Mohawk glances at Ghost, but Ghost keeps his stern eyes trained on you. He stays still for a moment, studying you with his arms crossed.

You roll your eyes, your chest still huffing as you reclaim your air, “Don’t trust me? Fine. I’ll walk you through it. Put the fucking bracelet on.”

He stares for another moment before taking the device from Mohawk. Must of handed it off so he could strangle you better.

He puts it on his wrist.

“Now tap the top.”

He follows your instructions, the wrist remote’s projection displaying above his wrist.

“Go ahead and open your settings.” You guide him through it, activating a few select overlays. “You got it. Now put the earpiece on.”

Ghost hesitates, looking over to his companion before he slowly reaches up underneath his balaclava, attaching the earpiece.

“Yep, and while you’re in there, go ahead and hit the button on the base.”

You watch as your design activates, displaying the transparent overlay over his eyes. He’s taken aback, unnerved by the unidentified design being so close to his vulnerable eyes.

“Ta-da!” You say sarcastically, showing off the full range of the restraints as you offer weak jazz hands. “So I’ve given you some information. Maybe you can give me a little information, yeah?”

He doesn’t say anything as he removes his hand from his mask.

“Where am I?” You ask.

“You know where you are.”

“How’d you find me?”

“We tracked your cell phone.”

You squint, “Why were you tracking my phone?” It doesn’t make any sense, there’s no way they would have been able to pin your cell phone information back to base. You don’t use it for work and there’s no way you had connected to the private Wi-Fi. It’s apples and oranges, you think.

Mohawk steps in front of Ghost and holds out his phone in your direction. It takes a moment for the image to come into view, your vision still impaired. When your eyes adjust, the screen shows you something that makes your blood turn cold.

It’s the video of Konig jerking off.

“Okay! Okay.” You wave your hands, “Just put that away, I get it.”

When you connected your phone to your software to transfer the recording of Konig, it briefly connected to your laptop.

Base internet has state-of-the-art firewalls and encryptions to prevent surveillance, hack-in, key logs.

Cell phones do not.

So they’ve been tracking you all week, and who knows what kind of information they were able to pull from your software? From your laptop, containing dozens of government secrets?

No, you think, they wouldn’t be going through the trouble of keeping me alive if they had the information on my laptop.

“What’s the matter? Embarrassed that gettin’ your rocks off caused a security breach in confidential information regarding warfare development?” Mohawk mocks.

Well, yes you were, now that he mentions it. You’re actually very worried your perverted little stunt will somehow end up forever immortalized in history books.

In the moment, though, your main concern was making sure that Konig wouldn’t find out, as you had started transmitting the device’s feed to him as soon as Ghost turned the earpiece on.

Part Three

[deliontower]

Wild flowers | s.p

pairing: Sejanus x gn!reader

summary: Sejanus finds you in the meadow

warnings: mainly fluff, small mentions of the games and some light spoilers for the movie and book

word count: 800

a/n: saw the movie a few nights ago and wow, I’m me fashion i did like the book better but the movie was still amazing and I have the old therebefore on repeat . I wrote this for my bestie because she couldn’t find Sejanus fics. This probably could be edited better

MAIN MASTERLIST | REQUEST OPEN

The summer air was sweet, the flowers of the meadow had bloomed overnight, as far as the eye could see. Lily of the valley, young primeroses , deep purple violets, and dozens more you couldn’t name.

Hidden behind a massive tree, its leaves shading you from the harsh sun. This time of year in district 12 was unbearable. Only the rich could afford to keep cool, and you certainly wasn’t that.

Six days out of the week you worked in the local doctor’s. It couldn’t quite be called a hospital but it was one of the only places people could go and get medical care.

You lent back against the tree, weaving your hands through the tall grass and flowers. Bees buzzed but gave no mind to you. The day was turning out well, you had brought some fresh bakers bread and a lump of cheese, and a jug of water. Simple and delicious.

The mockingjays song hit your ears, the tune was familiar but the name escaped you. Humming along, some words came to mind.

Here it's safe, here it's warm

Here the daisies guard you from every harm

Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true

Here is the place where I love you

Deep in the meadow, a song a local brand was known to play, you had only seen them a handful of times but the songs stuck. Like it had for the birds.

The sound of stones falling and fallen twigs snapping pulled you out of a dream and jumping to your feet, frowning in the sunlight you spotted, Sejanus Plinth.

Sejanus had been a peacekeeper once but shortly after he had found his way to the doctors, where he was training to be a medic. He rarely spoke about this life before 12 but from the times he had (and from what the doctors said) he came from a rich family in the capitol.

“You following me, Sejanus?” you asked. Your tone was serious, his whole body went still. Then you laughed. “Come sit with me then, might even share my food with you”.

In his hand he carried a brown paper bag, “then I guess you can have some of mine”. He dropped the bag in your lap, opening the bag you found cookies.

Now this was proof he was rich, the baker sold cookies but only the other merchants could afford them Sejanus went on to explain, his Ma had sent them, blushing the whole time.

The shy blushed look made you laugh, “that’s very sweet of her, she must miss you an awful lot”.

“Just as I miss her” he replied in a sad voice.

“You might see her again, learn enough and you could go back to her” you said, laying a hand over his. His hands were cold, cold hands warm heart you mama used to say.

“I don’t want to go back there” he said.

What you said next came as a surprise to even her, “I can teach you a few things, like what plants heal and where to find them”.

“You’d do that” he asked unsure.

“Of course. We don’t have many doctors here and if you’re planning on staying I’d teach you”. You stood, putting the cookies on your bag. “There’s a lake deeper in the woods, you’ll find all the best stuff there”.

He followed and stood up looking through the trees, maybe he didn’t trust you and thought you were leading him to his death.

“Hey” you touched his hand again, “keep north and you’ll find the lake then it’s south to get back, you can trust me”.

He smiled and suddenly the sun seemed dimmer, he took your hand and squeezed it ,“okay, I trust you”.

The hike took a few hours, but the sight of the lake proved it was worth it. You found a patch of herbs close by one of the old houses, it might have been someone’s garden once.

You showed him peppermint that helped with nausea, liquorice to reduce swelling, lemon balm for sleep and any others you could make without the book of herbs and flowers you had at home.

“Where did you learn all this?” He rubbed a peppermint leaf between his finger and thumb. You pick a lemon Balm inhaling the smell, smiling.

“My mama was an apothecary, always been my dream to follow in her footsteps. What about you? Do you have any dreams?”.

“To help people anyway I can”

It was so easy to talk to him, somewhere in your heart you knew he’d understand. Maybe it was his eyes, brown the colour of chocolate. Sejanus was sweet, too sweet for the world, you thought that if it rained he’d melt away like sugar.

“I have a feeling you’re gonna do wonderful things Sejanus” I smiled and he smiled back.

[sevcasejay1chicago]

Im with you- Matt Casey

Summary: When an ovarian cyst ruptures on the job, Matt and Firehouse 51 take care of you.

Warnings: vomiting, cursing, probably inaccurate medical stuff even though I do have PCOS and get ovarian cysts.

Authors note: You asked and I’m delivering. Here’s a fic I wrote a while back. I hope you enjoy!

——————————

You and Matt have been together for a couple years. You have been best friends since you both joined 51, straight from academy. You and Matt shared everything. Your feelings, thoughts, personal issues, a bed. Everything was out in the open. Though Matt was your lieutenant, you never let it effect your job or your relationship. You said it was one of the perks of starting off in the house together. He saw you and your strength. He knew you could take his spot any day, but you were content with just being part of the company.

You started feeling some major discomfort on a call. You were doing a sweep with Severide when you kicked open a door, causing the fire to blow back, sending you and Kelly flying through the air.

“Y/N!” You were sure you heard Kelly scream your name, but your ears rung as you laid against the wall. Kelly quickly shut the door and made his way toward you. “Look at me! Say something!” He yelled, grabbing you by your jacket and making you face him.

You were a little further toward the middle of the door than Kelly, which kept him from flying far. You just went through the air hitting the wall HARD. You were disoriented and had some major ringing in your ears.

When you couldn’t focus on him, Kelly called a mayday of sorts through the radio. “Emergency! Emergency! Fire fighter down. I need a medic to meet me out front.” Kelly yelled, not wasting another second before he pulled me up and into his arms. “I’ve gotcha. Your okay.”

“Who?” Chief Boden asked.

“Y/L/N.” Kelly said just before he broke into a sprint when he saw the exit.

Outside, Dawson and Brett were waiting with a stretcher. As soon as Kelly put you down, Dawson was ripping the mask off your face. The light assaulted your eyes, but the fresh air was like a kick in the butt, which was exactly what you needed.

“I’m fine.” You murmured, attempting to push yourself up.

“Y/N.” Dawson said, pushing you back down with a shake of her head. “You were unresponsive for almost two minutes. I need to check you out.”

I shook my head, regretting it as soon as I did it. I laid back, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I said I’m fine Dawson.” I growled out. Finding the strength to sit up, I swung my legs over the edge of the gurney and tried to stand. My legs failed me as I collapsed into Kelly with a pained gasp.

“Fine my ass Y/L/N.” Kelly said, picking you up and putting you back on the stretcher.

“What hurts hunny?” Brett hummed, allowing Kelly to rip your jacket off as Dawson ran to help a civilian.

“My right side. Like all of a sudden.” You gritted out, swatting Kelly’s hand away as he palpitated the area. “Ow Sev.”

“Sorry.” He said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “It’s not too hard like internal bleeding.” He informed Brett. “I’m going to go update Casey. He looks ready to abandon the company to come check on you. You ladies talk.” Kelly said, leaning over to place a kiss on your forehead. “I’ll be back.”

Once Kelly walked off, you snuck a glance in Casey’s direction. He was talking to the crew, giving orders, but his eyes stayed trained on you.

“When did this start? I don’t see any bruising or signs of a contusion.” Brett murmured, moving back to let the sunlight hit that area.

“I mean, it’s been a dull pain for a while now, but this is the first time it’s been bad enough to effect me.” I said, leaning my head back and breathing deeply. “I have an appointment set with my gyno tomorrow. I’m fine, really. Just extra sore.” I tried to reason, but I was fighting to keep back a sudden wave of nausea. “It’s uh.” I swallowed thickly before continuing. “It’s a normal woman thing I think. Matt knows. Just give me an anti-inflammatory and zofran and I’m good.”

“Zofran?” Brett asked, stopping as she was pushing me to the ambo, which I suddenly realized meant that Kelly was back and helping.

“Yeah. Kinda nauseous.” I said, shaking my head. Kelly hummed and placed a hand on my thigh.

Brett did a thorough head trauma exam before giving me the all clear once she was sure that I didn’t have a concussion. Kelly spent the entire time texting while I was being treated. He was listening and keeping Matt up to date as I waiting to be discharged from the rig.

“Casey said to ride back with Ambo and go straight to his office when we return.” Kelly said, leaning up to place another kiss on my forehead, jumping out of the rig before I could protest. He hit the doors and Dawson, whom I never noticed jumped back into the rig, drove back to the house.

“Well, looks like I’m off the rest of this shift.” I sighed, leaning back and trying to relax as Brett dimmed the lights to the rig.

“Might not be such a bad thing. He’s just looking out for you.” Brett said, sitting on the bench and buckling me around the waist to the stretcher before buckling herself in and propping her feet up to use as a makeshift desk. “Get some rest. We got 20 minutes till we get back.”

I gave her a confused look. “We shouldn’t be that far out.” I mumbled.

“Dawson has to pick up lunch.” Brett replied. “Just relax and enjoy the ride.”

——————————TimeSkip————————-

I woke up to someone softly pushing the hair away from my face.

“Hey Hunny. Come rest in my office.” Matt whispered, trying his best to coax me awake.

“I don’t feel good.” I whispered, leaning my head forward and into his hand.

“I know.” Matt soothed. “I’ll carry you.”

Matt unlocked my seatbelt and gently lifted me into his arms. Doors were opened for us as we made our way through the house. The common area went quiet as we passed through, shuffling could be heard as doors were opened until Matt got to his office.

“Hey Matt.” Kelly whispered, stepping in and closing the door. “Brett gave me these. How’s she doing?”

Kelly shook a sick bag out and put it on the side table and then stashed the rest on the desk. Matt laid me down slowly, pulling the covers over me gently and turning me onto my side into the recovery position. I kept my eyes closed, wondering why Brett never gave me the Zofran, making me focus on not throwing up.

“Doesn’t feel well.” Matt said, sitting next to me and pushing my hair back again. “Baby. Kelly has a sick bag here if you need it. I gotta talk to Boden and fill him in. I’ll be right back.” He said, leaning in to kiss my forehead. “Can you stay with her a minute?” Matt asked Kelly.

“Anything for you guys. You know that.” Kelly said, standing and switching spots with Matt. The door closed softly as Kelly sat next to me. He placed a hand on my back and rubbed soothingly. “Let’s be real. Need to go to med?” Kelly asked, knowing I wouldn’t fess up to Matt unless it was dire.

“No.” I gritted out, frustrated by the whole situation. The pain was subsiding, but the nausea was ramping. “It’s a girl thing.” I simplified.

“Your sure?” Kelly asked, leaning forward and grabbing the sick bag as he saw me pale.

“Mhmm.” I said, not daring to move.

We sat there in silence. I was trying to steady my breathing as Kelly continued to rub my back. He was at a loss. He knew I hated being sick, as he has dealt with a sick me before, but he knew it was gonna happen.

“Sit up. I know it’s gonna happen.” Kelly said, moving to stand and help gently guide me into a sitting position. “Hold this. I’m gonna call Matt.” He instructed, placing the bag in my hand. Kelly went to the door and opened it, yelling for Matt. He knew not to leave me.

The nausea was winning and I began to freak out as Kelly called out again. “Kel- hurlk” I tried to warn him, but got cut off with an unproductive heave.

The door slammed shut as Kelly raced toward me. “Fuck.” He muttered, helping me hold the bag under my chin. With his other hand, he used his radio to call for Matt. “Case. You’re needed in your office. Now.” He said into the radio. A quick “copy” from Matt was all that was heard before I started retching harshly. “Shhhhhhh. Breathe.” Kelly murmured. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

“What’s going on?” Matt exclaimed, running and sliding to a stop in front of me. “Baby? It’s okay. I’m here.” He soothed , taking my hand and pushing my hair back. “Dawson’s gonna check your vitals, okay?”

I nodded as I finally started throwing up all the breakfast that I forced down. Kelly kept holding the bag and rubbing my back, Matt held my hand and kept my hair out of the splash zone, and Dawson went about checking my vitals.

“Pulse is fast. Oxygen is mid 90s. Pressure is slightly low, but not worrisome.” She said. “Any other symptoms?” Gabbi asked Matt.

“Ovarian cysts. Think one ruptured on that call.” Matt muttered. “Never seen her this bad before.”

“Does it hurt, Y/N?” Gabbi asked. “Just squeeze once for no and twice for yes.” Gabbi took my hand and felt me squeeze once. “Good. No pain.”

“What does that mean?” Kelly asked, noting how much I was vomiting and the sweat building up on the back of my neck.

“So, sometimes a cyst can rupture and be infected. This is her body getting rid of it, which is probably why Brett didn’t give her anything for the nausea.” Gabbi explained, writing some stuff down. “If she starts running a fever, tell us and we will take her straight to Med. I’d suggest camping out here for a few hours to make sure she doesn’t spike one. Then you can go home and get her rested.” Gabbi said, patting Matt on the shoulder and walking out.

“Breathe sweetheart. Your gonna need to switch bags in a second if you need to.” Matt said, trying to see my face better. He reached over and grabbed a new one, making a quick switch with Kelly and holding the new bag under my chin as Kelly disposed of the old one.

Talking could be heard as he opened the door. Gabbi and Boden’s voices floating in.

Suddenly, a cool cloth was placed on the back of my neck. “Herrmann got you a rag Y/N.” Kelly said, resuming his post of rubbing my back. “Chief has Herrmann taking lead on truck for the remainder of shift and offered to let me hang around to help unless Squad is needed.”

“Thanks Kel.” Matt said, patting his friend on the knee. “You done baby?” Matt asked, noticing the few coughs I was letting out, but also the lack of vomit.

“Yeah.” I breathed, leaning forward and resting my head on Matt’s shoulder. “It’s awful.” I moaned, resting my forehead into the crook of his neck.

“I know.” Matt whispered, reaching up and wiping my face with the rag from my neck. “Wanna brush your teeth and shower before taking a nap?”

I nodded and tried to stand when Matt helped me up, but swayed dangerously as I suddenly became lightheaded.

“Woah.” Kelly said, bracing me from behind. “You okay?” He asked, keeping me steady with hands around my waist.

“Yeah.” I breathed. “Just lightheaded s’all.” I closed my eyes and leaned my head onto Matt’s shoulder again.

“I gotcha.” Matt said, picking me up and taking me toward the bathroom. “Can you grab her go bag Sev?” Matt called over his shoulder.

“On it.” Kelly replied, jogging toward the locker room.

Matt wasted no time in getting me to the bathroom. He sat me down on the counter and pulled my head back into his neck.

Herrmann came into the bathroom with a sprite in his hand. “Cindy used to have this problem. This outta help.” He said, placing the can on the other side of the sink. “I’ve got Mills running to get some popsicles too.”

“Thanks Chris.” Matt said. “You’re a good man.”

“Anything for her.” He said, rubbing my arm. “It’s gonna be okay. You just get to feeling better.” He then patted Matt on the shoulder. “Take care of my girl.”

“Always.” Matt said, turning and placing a kiss to my head as Herrmann walked out and Kelly walked in.

“Got your CFD hoodie.” Kelly said to Matt, “I got everything else out of her locker though. Toiletries and her clothes. Also grabbed your stuff too Case.” He said, putting everything on the counter. “Need anything else?”

“Nah.” Matt said, shaking his head as he looked around. “Just set some towels in here. I’m gonna shower with her. I don’t trust her balance.” He said, rubbing my back.

“Good man.” Kelly said, patting Matt on the back. “Holler if you need anything else.”

“Thanks Sev.” Matt said, watching the Squad lieutenant leave. Finally, he turned to face me. “Ready to get cleaned up?” He asked gently, pulling away to see my face.

“Then nap?” I murmured, pouting at my boyfriend.

“Nap and cuddles.” Matt confirmed, nodding his head.

With that confirmation, I was satisfied and found the strength to get cleaned up. After brushing my teeth and gargling twice, Matt helped me off the counter and to the showers. He sat me on the bench before striping and going in to turn on the water. With quick persuasion, Matt was able to talk me into the shower. He made promises to keep me steady and to sit me down if I needed it, seeing as Mills just finished scrubbing the showers.

Once under the water, which was a little cooler than I usually liked it, Matt kept a secure hold on my waist, leaned down and kissed my head, then adjusted me so that my back was getting the brunt of the shower.

“Mmmm.” I moaned, practically melting in Matt’s hold. “S’ nice.” I mumbled into Matt’s chest, pressing my forehead into it.

“I know baby.” Matt said. “We can stand here for a moment, but we need to get cleaned up and get you resting.” He said, reaching around me and engulfing me in a hug. “You just relax.” He whispered.

“Mkay.” I sighed, losing any fight I could have left.

When Matt noticed me getting heavier, he made quick work of washing my hair and body before calling Kelly.

Matt only trusted you with very few men, one of which was Kelly Severide. You all had made a quick bond when in the academy and Kelly picked you up off the floor more times than you could count, but that was before Matt. Matt didn’t like overstepping, but Kelly had no problems helping you out in a bind and was there for you in more ways at the beginning than Matt, but you knew it had to do with Haily and not because Matt didn’t like you, so you never let it affect your relationship now. Kelly knew his boundaries, even now, and was the one person you trust other than Matt.

Kelly walked into the bathroom and scooped you up in a towel. Once Kelly had the towel firmly secure, he took your microfiber head wrap towel and wrapped your hair up in it. Then, he helped guide you into Matt’s CFD hoodie and stayed with you leaning into his shoulder until Matt came out of the showers.

“Thanks Kelly.” Matt said. “One more favor.” Matt said, cringing slightly into himself. He hated asking for help, but you were pretty out of it at this point. “Mind getting more bags from Brett and Y/N’s fan from her bunk and taking it to my office?” He asked, pulling on his underwear and pants before trading with Kelly.

“Hey man.” Kelly said, taking Matt by the shoulder. “Don’t sweat it. You guys are family. I’ve already got it all taken care of.” He smirked.

“You’re a life saver.” Matt said, turning and hugging Kelly once he was sure you wouldn’t fall over.

“I get that a lot.” Kelly laughed, the sound echoing behind the man as he walked to the door and exited the bathroom.

Matt helped me into some pants and left our stuff, claiming he’d get it all later, but knowing that someone else was probably waiting to come in behind you both and get everything situated. Once in his office, Matt laid me down near the edge of the bed, closed the blinds, and turned off the lights. He left the blinds connected to Kelly’s office window cracked enough to give him some light to see you, but also give Kelly a way to see if you and Matt needed help.

Once the fan was turned on and he was sure the radio was turned off and I didn’t need anything else, Matt crawled into the bed behind me, spooning me with an arm around my waist. He carefully rubbed my stomach and placed little kisses on the back of my neck.

“Get some rest baby.” Matt whispered, peppering my shoulder with kisses before leaning up and kissing my cheek. “I’m with you. We will get through this.”

Tag list:

@treehouse-mouse

@shadowmeadowsworld

@sorry-i-spaced

@zephyrmonkey

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[margowritesthings]

The French Are Glad To Die For Love

A Bridgerton x Moulin Rouge crossover

pairing: Colin Bridgerton x ? word count: 2.1k words warnings: 18+ minors DNI, un-beta'd, mentions of sex, spitting, lots of debauchery authors note: surpriiise! i have been sitting on this since part 1, so to celebrate part 2 tomorrow here's my new mini-series! i have never written for Colin before, so i'm nervous, but i loved writing this.

i also need your help! i cannot decide if this mini series should be Colin x reader or a Polin fic, where Penelope is Satine. I have created a poll here for you to vote, so please let me know!

and as always, enjoy! it's been a hot minute since I last published, so thank you if you're still here.

Bridgerton Masterlist

The stars sparkle especially brightly tonight, the crimson lanterns guiding Parisians and tourists alike through the winding streets, and Colin Bridgerton stands in awe of it all. 

He’d read stories, heard tales of this place during long nights at Whites, but nothing could have quite prepared him for what lay ahead of him, a long string of lights hanging in the sky leading the way to his destination. 

The Moulin Rouge. 

A house of debauchery and sin, of freedom and truth, filled to the brim with bohemians and artists and beautiful women unlike anything or anyone he’s ever seen before. Even now, 30 feet away from the illuminated windmill, he can hear the music and the joy spilling out from the building. His senses are filled with the perfume of hundreds of women passing him by the minute, all with real, toothy grins he rarely has the pleasure of seeing back home. It is far too impolite to be so happy in London society. 

Colin steps forwards, his boots crunching against the gravel and his coattails flying in the breeze. His shoulders brush more wonderfully merry, positively inebriated partygoers on his way in, catching odd fragments of conversations that would have scandalised him and his whole family were he elsewhere. 

But he wasn’t elsewhere. He was here, in the city of love, away from anybody who had ever known the name Bridgerton. His clean slate clutched close to his chest, waiting to find out what will be written on it next, Colin feels the fresh air on his face for the last time before his life is changed forever.

The heat hits him first, a symptom he knew all too well of too many people packed into a small space. But unlike every ball he’s been to, this doesn’t feel claustrophobic or fusty. It feels alive. 

There is a feast for the eye wherever one looks. Burlesque dancers showing off stockings and garters by kicking their legs up, toes pointing towards the aerial hoops holding acrobats hanging from the ceiling. Gentlemen, if you can call them that in this state, wearing top hats, arm in arm with their glasses raised high, spilling their contents all over the wooden floor. 

The music blasts loud from each instrument the band masterfully pluck or blow or bang, but laughter and conversation buzzes amongst the melodies. It is a near overwhelming amount of joy, one Colin certainly could use a drink to wash it down with. 

If he could just find the bar…

Bodies fill his view, so entangled in each other it is difficult to tell where one starts and another ends. Frilly skirts flow over the knees of suits as ladies dangle from the necks of patrons, sharing cigars and passing around bottles of an unknown green liquid. Rosy cheeks as far as the eye can see, wether from too much of that green stuff or the exertion of all that dancing, Colin can’t be sure. Between them all, in tiny empty spaces, he can just about make out rows of bottles and glasses. 

Weaving through the crowd is like treading through water, but their energy and joy seems to rub off on him. There isn’t a dance card in sight, women choosing their partners themselves whenever they like with a freedom Colin isn’t sure he’s ever seen before. Is this truly what people are designed to be when they are free?

Eventually, his hands find the sticky wood of the bar, quickly lifting themselves back off it on instinct at the sensation. When Colin looks to his left, he sees a woman pouring a shot of liquor between her breasts, a man knelt below her waiting to lick it back up, and he quickly realises why the bar feels so tacky- every surface here seems to be host to someone’s revelry. 

“Welcome to the Moulin Rouge, monsieur. Can I get you a drink?”

Colin’s attention is quickly pulled by the welcome, his gaze snapping to a tall French woman dripping with red jewels that compliment her rich brown skin perfectly. She is captivating to be sure, deep hazel eyes commanding Colin’s attention, competing with the most incredible curls of hair he has ever seen. Ladies of the ton are welcome no matter their race back home, but Colin has never seen a lady allowed to wear her hair so beautifully natural before. The Afro framing her face has more tiny rubies that sparkle under the cabaret lights, and Colin is speechless. 

“I…uh, pardon me, Miss, I-“ he sighs, giving up entirely at his failed attempt at decorum, “Is it so obvious I have never been here before?” 

She laughs, gems twinkling as her head shakes with mirth. 

“Not at all, but most gentlemen who have been here before know to wear a top hat. And there’s that look in your eye…” 

As she speaks, she pours out one finger of the green liquor Colin has spotted a few times already, sliding it along the wood towards him. 

“Wonder. Drink this. It will help with the nerves.” 

Colin looks down, finding himself fascinated with a drink that seems to glow of its own volition. He has smoked blends and meditated with world weary travellers from across the globe, drank tea containing unknown substances that left him staring at blades of grass as if they held the worlds secrets, and yet this… whatever it is, seems to terrify him.

The barmaid laughs again, that melodic sound with the real joy Colin very much enjoys. 

“It’s only absinthe, monsieur. Loosens the inhibitions, relaxes the body…” she explains, pouring a second out for herself and lifting it to him as if to prove her credibility. 

“Santé.” He toasts to health.

“Amour.” She toasts to something far greater.

It leaves no room for argument, and all Colin can do is lift his own glass and tap it against hers. 

It burns his tongue, leaving a fiery trail down his throat as he swallows and tries not to cough and splutter. A bitter yet herby anise flavour fights with his taste buds and seems to seep straight into his mind, teasing at those tense knots that held him back from fully immersing himself here. 

When his eyes eventually reopen, he finds the barmaid beaming at him, unphased by her own potion. Rather used to it, if she shares a glass with every newcomer, he should think.

“Be careful, though, monsieur. Many a man has spent a night with the stuff and swears he fell in love with a fairy dressed all in green. Ruined him for any other woman for the rest of his life…” She speaks words that belong in fairytale, with a tone containing such severity Colin is inclined to take every single one of them as gospel. 

“I dare say I should be careful, then. I do not think this green fairy would want to join the rest of my travels when she can instead entice all of Paris’ men to sin…” 

The residue of the liquor smells just as strong as the full measure, which Colin tries to blink out of his senses when he puts the glass back on the bar.

Almost as if society itself had cleared its throat at him, Colin remembers himself, remembers just where he is. Undoubtedly the most unique establishment he had ever set foot in, but an establishment all the same. 

“I beg your pardon, miss, I seem to forget myself. How much do I owe you for the drink?”

She considers him.

“Hm,  the absinthe I think… for you, a kiss.” 

Colin, already pulling coins from his breast pocket, pauses, a little grin tugging at the corner of his lip. The francs clink together when they fall back to the bottom of his pocket, a long forgotten currency of the past. It’s a perfect reminder of just how different things are here, how easily walls crumble between strangers and connection is offered so freely. He has never kissed a woman he has not paid for back home, so afraid of getting too close to another in case they ruin each other. Here, a beautiful woman leans over the bar, offering her flushed cheek for him to softly press his lips against. 

And he does. 

And it is lovely. 

“If any more handsome men capture the eye of Mademoiselle Belle, I will surely be out of business!” A loud, hearty voice pulls Colin from one blissful moment back into the party.

He regards a rather large man, clad in a red tailcoat and stunning golden waistcoat. His top hat, near the same to all the other gentlemen in the room but somehow grander, tops wild orange curls that match a fantastic handlebar moustache. A true ring leader to this wonderful circus of debauchery Colin has found himself in. 

“Harold Zidler, at your service. Welcome to the Moulin Rouge.” 

“Colin Bridgerton.” He replies, offering a hand that Harold seems bemused at. Unsurprising, considering what passes for currency around here. Nonetheless, Harold shakes the offered hand. 

”I must say, your establishment is rather…” he hesitates, unable to find a word in any language he has picked up along his travels that quite captures the Moulin Rouge. Perhaps he could blame the absinthe, or the intoxicating hedonism he feels rooting its way through his mind, hidden in the brass notes from the band and thrown with each cancan kick of one of the dancers that surrounds him. 

Luckily, Harold seems well used to this phenomenon. 

“Isn’t it? And you have seen nothing yet! I assume you are not from around here?”

”It is rather obvious, I have been told.” Colin adds a glance to Miss Belle, who’s skirt frills bounce in the lights while she shakes up a cocktail. He adds, “London.” 

”Well, Monsieur Bridgerton, I promise you that what we have here in the Moulin Rouge is unlike anything you have back home in London.” 

Colin’s eye is caught again across the room, as a beautiful woman with blonde tumbling waves spits a drink into a man’s mouth. 

“I am inclined to agree with you there.” 

It truly is unlike anything back home. Colin has travelled across Europe and back again, seen incredible sights and met wonderful people. He has felt that ease that distance from London society and its unwritten laws and social rules that bind him back home can bring. He’s seen beauty and felt freedom and thought he might have found truth somewhere along the way, but it pales to whatever is contained within these four walls. 

In truth, it couldn’t be farther from London society.

”Just wait until you see my Diamond, Monsieur.”

… Perhaps not. 

Intrigue hits Colin as Harold pulls out a pocket watch on a brilliant gold chain. 

“Your diamond?”

”My Sparkling Diamond. The main attraction of the Moulin Rouge, my most sought after little chickee.” He speaks proudly, with a mist in his eye Colin normally finds on ambitious Mamas at grand balls, secretly trying to auction their daughters off to the highest rank. 

“I do not believe she is booked yet for tonight…” Harold adds, that mist darkening, disappearing, leaving a shiver stuck between Colin’s shoulder blades.

Not because this Diamond is a courtesan. Colin is hardly a stranger to the profession, and he bears no judgement. In truth, he admires the women he has been known to spend the night with, finding the courage of living outside society so freely quite brave indeed. No, that shiver came from Harold entirely, Colin just cannot figure out why. 

Harold excuses himself, though makes sure Colin knows to stay for the show, and Colin orders a whiskey on the rocks, insisting on paying in cash this time. Though singular in person, he has never felt less alone in his life. Looking around, there isn’t an empty chair in the house. If there were, there wouldn’t be room to put it down for all the dancers and patrons enjoying every ounce of the world they can. Music played straight from the soul ringing in his ears, Colin could make out every instrument. The lights dazzled in his eyes and the spot caught him every so often, lighting his drink up in his hand like golden ambrosia. 

And then, darkness. Silence. 

A single spot, though the mirrors scattered around catch the light and illuminate the faces of the people around him. Everybody is looking upwards, as if they all know she is coming. 

Even if he did know, Colin could never have prepared himself for what he saw when he looked up.

Who he saw.

The Sparkling Diamond, shimmering high on a swing hanging from the ceiling. 

The most beautiful, breathtaking, person he has ever seen. In any city, on any continent in the world. 

Crimson lips part as each and every person hangs on the breath she takes.

”The French are glad to die for love…”

don't forget to vote in the poll for your fmc!

[bitethehnd]

softbutch!julien x highfemme!reader hcs ♡

cw : sfw, afabfem!reader, petnames, butchfemme dynamics, disustingly cute fluff, musician!reader, curly hair!reader, pre-relationship and established relationship :) heavily inspired by this fic, go read it!

a/n : i realize this isn't for everyone, i love all my gnc / non-femme babies! if this dynamic doesn't apply to you, go ahead and skip! this is very self-indulgent and i didn't really think i'd every publish this, but you guys requested it in my poll! for all my butches and femmes, ily ♡

✧ from the moment julien's eyes locked with yours, she knew she had to meet you

˖ the day you two met was around four years ago. you were a small, nashville-born artist performing with your band in a local lesbian bar. the crowd wasn't huge, and the pay wasn't great, but you loved performing to people that shared that same connection with you. the feeling of growing up different and the alienation that came with it

˖ you were on the small stage in the back of the bar, singing your heart out to the small crowd. the people around were dancing and drinking, enjoying one of the only places they felt comfortable in. julien was amongst them, but she was alone. she had come to this small bar to get inspiration for her new album. she thanked the heavens above that she made that decision. she got to see you for the first time. you were the prettiest thing she had ever seen. she knew she would kick herself for the rest of her life if she didn't talk to you after your performance

˖ the deep red dress you wore was lacy and frilly, matching the pattern of your stockings. your hair was tied half back with a bow the same shade of crimson. you bounced around on stage like you had trained your whole life for it. the flawlessness and perfection of the way you sung pulled julien in, becoming mesmerized by your siren-like voice

˖ your eyes full of excitement scanned across the room curiously, observing everyone with interest as you sung into the microphone. as soon as your eyes connected with julien's, you felt a jitter in your lungs. she stood on the side of the stage, a glass of water in hand, just silently observing you with curiosity. she was beautiful. utterly handsome. she wore a white button down tucked into a pair of baggy blue jeans, black oxfords on her feet, and simple jewelry scarcely scattered around her body. you quickly took your eyes off her and to a random point around the room, feeling your face heat up. julien smiled at the sight and immediately knew she had to know you

˖ after your band finished the small show, you all headed into the back room of the bar. you all stored away your instruments to pick up later, as you all decided to mingle about the crowd and stay for a while. you grabbed your purse, put on a fresh coat of lip gloss and made your way back to the front. you stayed close to your guitarist, daisy, at the bar, feeling a bit overwhelmed in the presence of all the people there. you ordered a simple cherry coke, not feeling like being hungover tomorrow when you had to go back to your day job

˖ soon enough, daisy left you alone to go talk to a woman that caught her eye. you took small sips of your drink as you sat at the bar, doe eyes gazing around you. in that moment, you saw the handsome woman from before. she was engaged in a simple conversation with one of the other bartenders farther down from you. she turned her head, and you locked eyes again. she seemed to have a conflicting look on her face before excusing herself from the bartender and making her way over to where you sat. your eyes widened as she walked over, not expecting her to actually come and talk to you

˖ julien strolled over and stood next to you, setting her glass of water down on the bar top. she had a small smile on her face, almost a smirk, as she looked up at you. “hi, sweetheart. can i sit?” you quickly nodded your head in confirmation. you turned your body to the side to face her as she sat, a shy smile on your face. she was even prettier up close. “i’m y/n! it’s nice to meet you,” you said gently. “i’m julien, nice to meet you too, sweetheart. your performance was wonderful,” she said softly, her confidence slowly deteriorating. she could hardly think when all she smelled was your vanilla perfume. “oh god, thank you! i’m glad someone was listening. usually, my band only plays small shows so it’s hard to get people engaged.” god, you were adorable. “of course. it would be hard not to listen, your voice is so beautiful. i’m in a band myself, actually.”

˖ thus began the meaningful conversation about music and your own bands. julien told you she was a part of boygenius. you revealed that you knew of the band’s ep released two years prior and loved the music. you even knew a couple of her solo songs and told her your favorites. this made julien smile brightly and the connection deepened

˖ eventually, your other bands members came up to you and said they were leaving after about 30 minutes of conversing with julien. you were disappointed but bid her goodbye. before you could make an exit, she grabbed your bicep gently to hold you back. "could i... get your number?" she asked with hope. you immediately nodded your head with an excited smile, typing your number in her phone, putting a little heart by your name. she grinned at your cuteness. just before you left, you pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. she touched the spot absentmindedly as she walked to her car, a red print of lips stuck to the apple of her cheek

✧ julien courting you

˖ your meeting at the bar was the first, but definitely not the last time you saw julien. the next day, she quickly texted you as she woke up. she wanted to text you as soon as you left her sight the night before but didn't want to seem too eager. she shot you a message to let you know it was her before asking how you slept, ever the gentleman. you two quickly got caught in another conversation, both smiling on separate ends of the phone. she asked all about your hobbies. she learned that you didn't just have an affinity for music, but also for art and history. she decided then and there that she had to take you to an art museum

˖ your text conversations went on like this for a few days. all you could do when chatting with her was lay on your stomach on your bed, kicking your feet and feeling your face heat up. you felt like a high schooler all over again. you constantly felt yourself biting the inside of your cheeks to stop the grin from spreading on your face every time a message from her popped up on the screen

˖ thus begun the start of your dates. julien followed through with taking you to an art museum, loving the way your face lit up with joy at all the paintings and sculptures. some frequent spots for the two of you were homey coffee shops (julien's favorite, obviously), magical gardens, taking hikes among beautiful trees, and just sitting and talking. it didn't matter what you two did, it just mattered that you were together

˖ julien adored the way you wrapped your arm around her bicep, when you let her drape her coat over your shoulders, the sweet kisses you pressed to her cheek. the smirk never fell from her face for hours after you did anything affectionate. you felt giddy every time she called you 'sweetheart' or 'pretty,' when she protectivly wrapped her arm around your waist in crowded spaces, or when brought you small gifts. she never came to get you empty handed. she always came to pick you up from your apartment complex, open the car door for you, and always had a gift waiting for you on the seat. some common ones were records you had talked about, flowers, books, or a new one of your favorite foods that changed every week. julien never missed the little things you said, always storing them into her memory for a later use

˖ you loved getting to know her. nights spent sitting on the roof of your apartment, gazing at the stars were your favorites. every little single thing about her was interesting to you, and vice versa. you loved hearing about the bands that inspired her to make music, her favorite tattoos, or funny stories from her childhood. she loved when you talked about your favorite stuffed animal you religiously slept with as a little girl, your ramblings about the pros and cons of lipgloss brands, or just how pretty the sky looked at a particular moment

˖ after about three weeks of seeing each other almost every day, she asked you to be her girlfriend. a little slow compared to most lesbian relationships, but julien wanted to find the perfect time to ask. she didn't wat this to be a whirlwind romance, she wanted seriousness and commitment. you were both willing to give it to each other. she took you to that art museum she remembered you saying you liked. you looked utterly gorgeous strolling around and gazing at all the paintings, curly hair tied with a bow swinging behind you. you two walked around for about an hour, her arm wrapped firmly around your waist. every time you commented about how pretty an art piece was, she'd reply with "not as pretty as you." it never failed to leave you more infatuated with her

˖ after the museum date, she took you to a beautiful park filled with the blooming flowers of spring. you gazed around in wonder, eyes taking in the pretty sight. julien sat you down on a park bench, turning to face you, clasping your hands into her own. you were a bit confused and the anxiety of her telling you she didn't want to see you anymore crept up. before you could voice your thoughts, she asked the question, "can i be your girlfriend?" you answered immediately with a loving kiss to her lips, which she took as a yes. after the moment of passion was over, she pulled out a small box from the pocket of her leather jacket. she handed it to you with a small, nervous smile on her face, telling you to open it. inside the red velvet box was a heart shaped necklace with the letter 'j' on it. she pulled up the sleeve of her jacket to reveal a matching bracelet, the heart having your initial on it instead

✧ when you’re dating, julien never stops falling in love with you, and you fall right with her

˖ even after you two get together, the dates never come to a stop. at least once a week, either you or julien plan something together. whether it be a cooking class, sitting in a field and sketching, or playing each other your new music

˖ after about two months of dating, she asks you to move in with her. lucy warned her it might be “too quick,” but julien wasn’t hearing any of it. she wanted to be around you all the time, completely infatuated. you weren’t much better. you joke that if she could crawl inside your skin and live there, she would. she doesn’t disagree, but she wasn’t going to tell you that

˖ now, as a butch, moving in is julien’s thing. she’s anxious and over-prepared when she shows up to your house the day of the move. she refused to hire moving men because she insisted she could “do everything a man could do and better.” she’s not wrong there, so you don’t protest. she disassembles all your furniture that you’re taking with you to her house with ease. she wasn’t lying when she said she was handy. and she refuses to even let you carry the lightest box, smirking and saying, “don’t want you to chip a nail.” you smack her on the back of the head and plop down on the ground, just watching her. you do sneak a couple boxes though…

˖ after you got all of your belongings loaded into the u-haul truck (ironic, i know), you set off to her house. during the whole drive, she rambled about where to put all the new furniture and how exciting it was going to be to live together. you just stared at her with loving eyes and a soft smile, nodding alone to whatever random thought popped in her head

˖ when you got to her apartment, she got all of your essential things in and decided she'd get the rest in the morning. while she did that, you rummaged through her cabinets to find something to cook for dinner. you picked a simple meal of spaghetti and meatballs. as she placed the last box down, you served the pasta at the dining table. she wiped the sweat from her face with the bottom of her shirt while you tried so hard to not stare at her abs, you failed. she gave you a cocky smile when she caught you but said nothing. you two sat and ate your first dinner in your shared apartment, basking in the glow of love

˖ the longer you two lived together, the more accustomed you guys got to a routine. you'd be the one to get up first in the morning, julien still snoring like a middle-aged dad, while you made breakfast. you'd gently shake her awake and lead her to the kitchen, tempting her with the aroma of coffee and bacon. she always swore you made coffee "better than dunkin,'" but you knew that was a lie. never get in the way of that woman and her dunkin' donuts. after breakfast, julien would go on a jog. while she did that, you read a favorite book of yours or plan out some new songs

˖ the list of pet names she called you lengthened every day. there was a rang of sweet ones, like baby, babe, princess, angel, sweetheart, honey, doll, etc. but she also called you ones you figured she pulled out of her ass, no idea where she even got the idea from. you knew they were all a joke and it made you laugh with disgust ever time. some are pookie (phoebe's idea, of course), snookums, the wife (your favorite), boss, the missus, sugar tits and punk. you have some for her too, but she defiantly wins in the pet name category

˖ dancing in the kitchen in the middle of the night, illuminated by the refrigerator light ♡♡♡ she puts on some records from the 50's and you slow dance until the sun comes up. she keeps a firm hand on your waist and yours on the shoulders, her twirling and dipping you just to hear you giggle in delight

˖ let me tell you, this woman cannot keep her hands off of you, especially when in public. she always has a hand on the small of your back, leading you through crowds. or her fingers interlaced with your while doing mundane things, like getting groceries or walking through the park. it intensifies even more when at your apartment. her hand acts like its glued to your thigh during movie nights or her hands around your waist, standing behind you while you're doing the dishes

˖ she loves loves lovesss watching you do your hair or makeup, even offering to help sometimes. you look so focused applying your mascara or gliding on lip gloss. she even lets you give her makeovers sometimes, but only with the premise of no pictures (you do sneak a few though). she especially loves doing your hair. she's as careful as possible, understanding your hair is hard to deal with and can be knotty at times. she knows by heart to "only brush it when it's wet!!!" she has straight hair, so she does extensive research on what products and techniques are best for your hair type. she adores putting little bows all over your curls

˖ overall, the relationship is healthy and so full of love. you and julien fit so well together, it's almost like you were crafted to be each other's soulmate

© bitethehnd ୨ ♡ ୧ let me know if you guys want more parts to this! i also wanna do highfemme!gf reader for all munagenius members so give me some ideasss

[annievrse]

birthday scavenger hunt!

satoru x reader —ᡣ𐭩 fic summary: satoru loves to spoil you on your birthday <33 cw: quite self-indulgent, girl-coded a/n: just a girl who is turning 22 tomorrow and has a deep love for unattainable, stupidly expensive bags and jewellery <3 (p.s. i kinda hate this but i wanted to post :))

a bouquet of pink and white chrysanthemums sits on the stove. they're large and fresh and fill the kitchen with a sweet scent, but what makes your skin warm and tingle is that there are as many flowers as the age you turn today.

plucking the small note hidden between the petals, you flip it open, expecting to see a printed message from the florist. instead, it's your boyfriend's chicken scratch penmanship.

you’ll see your complexion in my reflection (and NO it's not my eyes hehe).

you roll your eyes and fight a smile from spreading across your lips before laying the note on the induction stove. this was the second note you received this morning.

the first was resting on satoru's side of the bed. you'd frowned at his empty spot but knew what he was up to when you read the paper.

good morning, my sweet! i never get angry, but i do get hot ;) i'm the perfect place to place a pan or a pot...

now you stand in front of the stove, where the flowers sit nicely in a glass vase. you're sure the bathroom holds the next clue. and as you pad through the penthouse, you pretend to ignore the crash of something in one of gojo's many rooms. you shake your head and stifle a giggle at a stray, muffled cry of pain.

swinging open the ensuite door, you see nothing out of the ordinary. furrowing your brows, you step inside and look around. you rifle through your skincare around your sink and gojo's hair products on his side before coming up empty-handed.

"other reflection!" satoru's voice carries from another room, making you jolt so hard you nearly drop his cologne. you hug the bottle to your chest and exhale, carefully placing it beside his sink.

you turn the light off and go to the powder room off the living room. and low and behold, a box lies on the granite vanity. it's so large that it covers most of the mirror, and you scrunch your nose at the sight of it. you told him not to go overboard.

lowering the surprisingly light box to the ground, you flick it open. you gasp before you fully process what you're seeing. being satoru's significant other, you've had your fair share of stupid, expensive gifts, but nothing could prepare you for the hermes box lying inside.

"satoru!" you exclaim, cradling the orange box. "shut up!"

an echo of a giggle sounds from down the hall, and you're sure you know where he's hiding. but you refrain from going straight for him — he seems to have spent so much time organising this for you.

with shaky hands, you lift off the top of the box. the gift wrapping is so intricate you don't want to risk ripping the paper, which is probably worth more than your car. so, delicately, you peel the sticker from the white tissue paper and flip the sides open.

a beige dust bag sits nestled inside and you pull the strings to open it. dipping your hand inside, you grab the handles of the handbag and pull out a black birkin. you could cry at how pretty it is.

“satoru i’m going to murder you,” you mumble.

quickly putting the bag back and closing the box, your eye catches on a small blue note. flicking it over, you giggle at the scribble.

roses are red, violets are blue, i hate poetry, but i’m into you! (p.s. i'm over rhyming: your next clue is in the gym. go!!)

standing, you leave the powder room and head downstairs to satoru’s indoor gym. when you get there, you see a flash of white hair dash around the corner to the sauna.

“satoru,” you laugh, hurrying after him.

“no!” he yells, his long legs carrying him faster. soon enough, he’s disappeared back upstairs, leaving you to search the space for your next clue.

a red bag grabs your attention from the shelf in the sauna. you shake your head when you see the gold cursive on the front.

plucking the bag from the shelf, you pull out a jewellery box. cartier.

you feel yourself becoming emotional at the gifts, wanting nothing more than to kiss satoru silly for spending this much money on you.

you click open the case to reveal a gold love bracelet, and your eyes widen in shock. a note drifts to the floor, and you can see the single word from where you're standing.

kitchen!!!!! (this is the last one hurry!!!)

after putting the bag in a safer place than the narrow shelf in the sauna, you stalk upstairs, hoping to find the last thing satoru left you.

despite the first gift being in the same spot, you struggle to find the final clue until you open the fridge. inside sits a single lilac dessert box — one from your favourite dessert store. the sight of it makes the butterflies in your stomach flutter. it was the first place you went together, one that has your names and orders memorised from countless anniversaries, birthdays, and when one needs a sweet treat (aka most days).

you already know what's inside before you open it and take it to find satoru.

“toru?” you call, walking into your bedroom.

said man lays on your bed, in an open white dress shirt and black slacks, his blindfold hung loosely around his neck.

“happy birthday, baby.”

you shake your head and rush toward him, placing the dessert box on the small table beside the door. he sits up to meet your lips halfway. satoru giggles against your lips when you pull him closer by his blindfold, his hands circling your waist.

“you are so annoying,” you mumble, threading your fingers through his hair. “thank you.”

satoru hums, pulling back a fraction. “you deserve so much more.”

“toru,” you whisper, pressing kisses on his cheek. “i don’t need all that.”

“but you do.”

shaking your head, you smile at him. his blue eyes brighten with tears and you’re quick to coo at him. “noooo.”

satoru laughs hoarsely. “i just wanna show you how much i love you.”

“you show me everyday by being you,” you kiss him and he grasps the fabric of your hoodie. you feel a lump forming in your throat at the force of his kiss.

“don’t cry,” satoru says, wiping a tear from your cheek. “i know how difficult your birthday can be so i wanted to make it as fun as possible. even though it’s only 10am.”

you smile at him and push his hair off of his forehead, holding his cheek in your other palm. “i adore you so much it hurts.”

satoru presses his forehead against yours before pressing his mouth against your lips. “we’ve got a whole day ahead of us.”

"but first," you declare, getting off the bed to retrieve the box. "we eat."

satoru shakes his head. "that's all yours, i already had my fair share when i bought it."

you tilt your head. "bite the stupid mochi, toru." you shove the small oval in his face.

"no! you first."

you bite the mochi quickly, savouring the rich flavours of matcha and chocolate before pressing it against his lips.

satoru smirks and takes a small piece between his teeth, leaving the rest for you. "it's your special day."

you twist your lips and shrug, lifting it toward your mouth.

"but i want one more bite," satoru blurts, grabbing your wrist and lowering it to his mouth. he bites the remaining half in half and smiles smugly.

you finish off the mochi and pull him into a hug. satoru flops onto his back, bringing you with him. he swears there's no sound more beautiful than your laugh.

and despite the materialistic presents satoru gifted you, there's nothing more you cherish than every moment with him, and him, you.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Second Best 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Lee Bodecker

Summary: The newly-single sheriff sets his eye on an unexpected match.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You stomp up the porch steps as your dad rocks in the wooden chair, in his usual meditation over a can of Molson. He grunts in his way, acknowledging your return and you shoot back a sharp, ‘hey’. Inside, your mother crochets in front of a soap opera, not looking over as she clacks her needles together. You know better than to try to start a conversation during her programs.

You go to your room behind the stairs and keep yourself from slamming the door. Greta always knows how to ruin your day. She might be right about being your only friend but maybe it’s time to make new ones. This town isn’t just the two of you.

You flop onto your bed sideways and stare at the ceiling. You can’t let her spoil the whole day off. That’s bullshit. What’s the point of spending hours caring about her nonsense. Tomorrow, you’ll be back to cleaning up hotel rooms and wishing you could just lay in bed and do nothing.

You sit up and shake off your agitation. A thorn sticks in your side but you try to ignore it. You could work on your embroidery. The Summer Solstice is coming and you might just talk yourself into sharing a booth with Hilde again. You sold quite a few patches last year.

You pull out your sewing kit and the box of half-finished patches and make a nest on the floor. You turn on the old CD player and listen to the same disc you always do. You set to work as you try to tune out the world.

You poke through the patch and jab into your fingertip. Shit. You growl as you wish you could stab Greta in her stupid little eyes. She’s such a bitch. You hope she has fun with that pig. She’ll be right back at The Horn scavenging for one night stands.

You’re not judging her, you’re judging this place. There really isn’t much to choose from. It’s the exact reason you have a vibrator hidden under your mattress. You’ve seen the men around here and you’ve talked to their girlfriends and wives.

You blow a raspberry and suck on your fingertip. There’s still a hint of vanilla on your skin. You drop your hand and lean back against the dresser.

Something’s gotta give. You’re so fucking bored of this town. There’s nothing to do. Greta just wants to drink and fuck around. If that’s what she enjoys, power to her, but you’re about to glaze over. You want something, anything to change.

🍦

You yawn as you walk up Thunder Lane towards the B&B. Another shift, another dollar. It’s minimum wage but better than nothing. You don’t have the education or the experience to demand more. Besides, the Odinsons aren’t bad employers. Usually you get a free meal or two.

You enter through the front door and greet Darcy as she droops over her coffee. She chirps as she sits up, startled by your sudden appearance. She relaxes as she realises you aren’t a guest or her employer.

You stop by the breakfast bar to grab a cup of your own before you head down to the laundry. You’ll try to catch up on the towels before check-out begins. There aren’t too many of those anyhow. Not yet. Midsommar usually draws in the tourists as a sort of novelty.

You load a washer and set it to spin as you restart a dryer left full from the day before. You give it ten minutes to fluff the towels and start folding. You sip your coffee between towels, drinking it away from the so you don’t stain the pure white.

You load up the cart with fresh towels in preparation for your daily route around the hotel. As you bend to grab some extra wash clothes, you’re started by a deep hum. You stand up straight and turn to face Thor as he looms in the doorway. Gods, he scared the piss out of you. How can a man that big sneak around like a cat?

“I heard there was a broken machine,” he drawls as he leans his elbow on the doorframe.

“Uh, yeah, that one again,” you point to the corner as you add the washcloths to the cart. You feel him watching you still.

“Ah,” he clucks, “and how are you today, lady?”

“Eh, just another day,” you shrug. “You?”

“Hm, as you said it. Another day,” he remarks, “we have a guest.”

“Oh?” You turn the cart around.

“In the Berkano suite,” he explains.

You nod, “right.” You mark the chart pinned to the handle of the cart.

“She is very demanding,” he muses, “from the city.”

“They usually are,” you give a tiny chuckle. You wish he wouldn’t stare at you like that, or that he’d at least move out of the way.

“Not like you village girls, eh?”

“I guess,” you furrow your brow.

“Mm, how’s Greta?” He winks.

“Fine, I don’t know,” you sniff and grab the handle of the cart, rolling it forward.

“My birthday’s coming up. Maybe she’d come?” He suggests.

“I don’t know,” you murmur as you stop, blocked from leaving by his burly form.

“You’re invited too, of course,” he grins and his eyes dip down for a moment, “is that a new apron?”

You have to hold back a scoff. You know better than to mess around with Thor Odinson. It’s more than just the Confucian philosophy of not shitting where you eat, it’s good sense. You’ve heard the stories. Aside from that, he’s a bit above your age range.

“Nope,” you answer flatly, “anyway, I should get started.”

“Well, are you coming? To my party?” He asks.

“I’ll see if I’m free,” you deflect.

“Bring Greta,” he slides out of the way, “and whoever you like. Any pretty girls you know.”

You bow your head to hide your disgust. You don’t think you’ll be feeding anyone to the wolves, especially not yourself. You pass through the door and feel a brush against your hip. You ignore it and roll down the hallway. You wouldn’t even hand over Greta to that beast, for more than the fact that she is excommunicated from your life.

[obihoebikenobi]

Poolverine Series: to gain true love, one must first lose their wolvirginity, i don't make the rules

By: obihoebikenobi, 23.6K as of September 13th, 2024

It's a love story baby just get fucked. Logan and Wade's love story, written in somewhat disconnected parts.

I descended into Poolverine hell and wrote a 20K and counting series about these two fuckers. Featuring: softness, migraines, love confessions, domesticity, and fucking. All that good shit.

See summaries, relevant tags, ratings, and links to all fics on ao3 below.

PART 1: i wanna hold your hand (and colossal dick, eventually), 3.5K

Rating: M

Tags: alcohol withdrawl, vomiting, literally sharing a bed, bathing/washing

“Fuck you, Wade.” “If only,” Wade said, trailing a finger over a seam on the quilt with feigned yearning, “I long for the day you allow me the pleasure of ravishing your raw skin-saber, maybe with a side of penetration–” “The only thing I’ll be penetrating is your eye sockets with these,” Logan flashed his claws, “If you so much as speak to me while we are still in this bed tomorrow morning.” “Joke's on you, I will gladly and enthusiastically take any form of penetration, in existing or fresh new holes, as long as it’s from you, Peanut.” Logan’s head pounded, but he wasn’t sure if it was from Wade’s persistent blabbering, or the fact that the last of the alcohol was wearing off. “Go the fuck to sleep.” Logan downed the last sip of vodka and willed his body to cooperate. Withdrawal was a bitch. (one pull-out couch, two bitches, vomiting, and the works, now with fucking in part two!)

PART 2: a little bit more than hand holding, 2.7K

Rating: E

Tags: wade is obsessed with dicks, bottom wade, little bit of praise kink, logan just wants a kissi

“Oh so that’s your horny face then? Watery eyes, clenched teeth? Nothing hotter than a tortured poet with a heart of gold who cries during sex.” “Wade–” “If that’s horny I’d love to see your O-face–” Wade threw an arm over his forehead, gasping. “Can you just shut the fuck up for one goddamn second, asshole?” Logan dared a sharp glance in Wade’s direction, finding him sitting perfectly still with a pleasant smile painted across his face. The smug piece of shit knew Logan wanted him. Logan cleared his throat, “Now that I have your attention,” he started, earning a snort from Wade, “So we’re clear, the more words that come out of your mouth, the more likely I’m going to sleep early and no one's getting fucked.”   (wade loses his wolvirginity)

PART 3: lesser of two evils, right?, 7.5K

Rating: E

Tags: sub logan (kinda), crying during sex, soft, rimming, angst, praise kink

“When you’re done being a bitter little bitch, I’m offering you a massage, of the non-dick variety. Because I am a nice person.” It was, indeed, surprisingly nice. Logan stared at him, hating himself for actually wanting the fucking massage, because he sure as shit shouldn’t have wanted it. “I’m going to take that blank, lifeless stare as a hell yeah. So take off your shirt and come with daddy,” Wade pointed toward the bedroom expectantly, lips drawn into a wide smile. “Don’t call yourself that again. Ever.” What a little shit. (logan gets migraines, but also gets a massage, and an orgasm. it's a lot.)

PART 4: holding hands (gone sexual), 5.3K

Rating: E

Tags: discussion of consent and logan's past issues, insecure logan, bottom logan, domestic fluff, love confessions, praise kink

“Oh my god. Oh my god.” Oh for fuck’s sake. Logan probably shouldn’t have stopped considering throwing himself in a meat grinder– “Have I died in my sleep? Is this yet another whimsical dream where I have a house husband to take care of my every need and whim whilst I labor away every fucking single day, with so little appreciation, just to feed our child–” “Shut the fuck up,” Logan muttered, feeling the stain of red warmth over his cheeks. “I don’t know what I have done to deserve this, Peanut, but I am so fucking turned on right now. I might come in my pants. That happens when people are nice to me.” “Wade, it’s waffles–” “Don’t be a kink-shamer, baby girl. Benevolence and breakfast foods get me going. Don’t even get me started on sausages.” (logan explores his feelings with wade, makes waffles for wade, gets fucked by wade, falls in love...with wade)

PART 5: and they were boyfriends (and roomates), 4.4K

Rating: E

Tags: love confessions, insecure logan, drinking to cope, angst and hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort

“I’m good.” For whatever reason, Wade apparently took that as an invitation to sit down next to him, and Logan growled, moving over so they weren’t touching. Wade shivered, scoffing at him, and kicking Logan’s foot. “Clearly not, Peanut. You’ve smoked a week’s wage of cigs in three hours and I’m fairly certain you’re still not unfucked up from all that cheap-ass donkey piss you call whiskey.” Logan was seconds, maybe milliseconds, from punching him in the fucking face–with claws–but he held back, knowing Wade only thrived on retaliation. “What’s it matter to you?” The words felt sour on his tongue and he practically spat them in Wade’s direction. “Well,” Wade took a deep breath, “I’m probably the reason–scratch that–I’m definitely the reason you’re clearly not good.” (wade takes a mid love-confession job, logan drinks about it. cue angst. subsequently, boyfriendship.)

[ciahasnolife]

I knoooow, I should post the second part of the loscar fic but... I might've or might not have been working on a lestappen omegaverse fic?

So here's a wip of it

So the problem with being an omega while everyone thinks you're an alpha is that they treat you like an alpha. It's not like Max wanted any special treatment, exactly the opposite of that. That's why he hid his secondary gender from the public who just then assumed he's an alpha. With his board shoulders, his careless reputation towards the media and with his bluntness it was logical. Since the FIA and pretty much everyone in the paddock already knew, he doesn't have to tell the world which he is grateful for.

He would hate being pictured as a fragile, weak person who needs someone to take care of him. He is a lot of things but weak is not one of them. But sometimes - just sometimes - when people boo at him for example on the podium at the Miami GP, he just wants to hide in his nest, curled around his boyfriend, who would then draw circles on his back with his other hand soothingly in his hair.

There are two problems with that. One is that he for obvious reasons can't do that and the other is that he doesn't have a boyfriend. He doesn't want to share with anyone that he's an omega because of the fear of them telling the whole world if something goes wrong between them, his father made sure he developed this fear very soon after he presented as an omega. His father was so angry and ashamed of him because of something he couldn't even change. So now, he doesn't really trust anyone except for the ones who already know, not that he would have the time for dating, he's too busy breaking records.

Besides, he wouldn't want anyone else but a certain man with the most charming style you've ever seen and his hot accent, a dream come true. Of course, with a personality and looks like that, the alpha has omegas after himself 24/7. Max couldn't even stand a chance.

The point is, that when people whistle or boo at him, he just wants to hide away. Under the covers or preferably behind the alpha but of course in those moments he can't do either.

So when he's about to do his interview, which he doesn't want either and if neither the fans are interested, they could all just leave it, but no, the fans have to boo at him and whistle and make him feel bad because neither of the Ferrari drivers could catch him, he couldn't be more grateful for Charles to shush them. And if he's being completely honest, it makes him fall for the monégasque even more.

He shoots a quick smile at the other and does his interview then goes on with his day like he always does on quali days. Team debrief, stay in with GP to find the perfect strategy for tomorrow's race, go back to the hotel, get the scent blockers off and go shower. What he doesn't expect is a message waiting for him as he gets out of the shower from someone who makes his heart flutter.

Hey, just wanted to check on you, if you're okay?

Charles:

I know that the Italian fans can be a bit harsh on everyone who isn't at Ferrari.

I'm sorry they're so mean to you :(

And Max can't believe his eyes. Because one, did Charles really waste even a minute on texting him instead of basking in the love of the Tifosi and two, was that a sad face?

He just shakes his head and replies.

Yeah, everything's alright.

Max:

Thanks for shushing them, means a lot

The last bit gets deleted before he sends it. Not like it doesn't mean a lot, he's just afraid that he's giving away too much and the younger will learn about his embarrassingly huge crush on him.

He doesn't think too much of it though just makes his way over to his suitcase to get a fresh pair of boxers out of it.

But as he goes back to the bed and picks his phone back up with his WhatsApp with the monégasque still open, he sees the three dots pop up and then disappear only to reappear seconds later.

It makes the omega curious because even if they’ve been on good terms, friends even with the other for a while now they don't really talk outside the track on race weekend so the first message was already unexpected just as it was also sweet of the alpha to check on him, Max can't even take a guess on what the other would want from him.

As he was thinking the text finally came in so he checks it with a bit too much enthusiasm. And Max once again can't believe his eyes.

Which hotel you're staying at?

Charles:

Just as he goes to reply, another bubble comes up.

Fuck, no, that sounded weird.

Charles:

I meant if I could come over to keep you company and I could also get away from the fans waiting for my every move under my window.

It is of course okay if you want to be alone I totally understand that too

Just thought we could hang out a for a bit play

With each mesaage his eyes open wider. Surely Charles finally lost his mind. I was only a matter of time anyway with the shitbox he has under him. He, however, doesn't want to be rude so he sends out a message that - hopefully - doesn't give away too much of how excited he is.

Sure, I have my FIFA on me if you're in the mood of losing

Max:

He can only hope that the other gets the joke because Max has been told that he's a dry texter several times. But today, luck decided to be on his side.

Ooh, it's on

Charles:

Send the address, Verstappen

If you dare;)

And with a grin that could blind the Tifosi camping outside the alpha's hotel, Max sends the address.

[emjiroki]

i would love to hear what country kirishima thoughts you’re having if ya wanted to share with lil ol me 🥰

YES I WILL SHARE ALL THOUGHTS WITH YOU AND YOUR LOVELY BRAIN this got soooo long omfg I could write a fic about him I might be going crazy insane

PSA: I'm literally married to a country boy who used to raise and ride horses and build fences and all that good stuff so I'm speaking from a place of loving a real country gentleman 🤭❤️

Country Kirishima! Who you meet at the Tractor supply while picking up top soil for your flower beds. He's grabbing feed for his chickens and notices you struggling to get the large bags off the high shelf. All 6'4" of him in his worn cowboy boots strides over and politely asks if you need any help before grabbing the bags easily and putting them in your cart

Country Kirishima! Who's all sun bronzed skin and smiles as he asks you what your plans are for your flower garden, giving suggests on which mulch and fertilizer to use, and the native flowers in the area that bees love. Who helps you out by loading the bags into your trunk for you with "It's no problem, who'd pass up the opportunity to help a pretty lady" when you thank him.

Country Kirishima! Who you run into again at the farmers market a few days later, smiling so big when you come up to say hi while he's buying honey. You both get into a conversation at first about how your garden is coming along and then it morphs into just talking about your lives. What he does for a living, what kinds of animals he has, him showing you funny pictures and videos of his six chickens who he calls "his ladies", the asshole goat he deals with but loves. After an hour of you two walking around the market and then finally heading to your cars you feel like you've known him your whole life.

Country Kirishima! Who as soon as you turn your car on after you bid your goodbyes is racing back to tap on your window, leaning down with a thick arm against the edge of your door to ask with red cheeks that almost match his hair if you might want to go out with him that night. Grinning so wide while you write your number on his honey receipt cause he left his phone in his truck across the lot. Sending you off with kiss to your knuckles and a "pick you up at five sweet cheeks".

Country Kirishima! Who's at your door at five on the dot, a heavy knock on your door and wild flowers gripped nervously in his hand, a soft "mama always said pretty ladies deserve pretty flowers". Who had raced home to wash his old truck and make sure there wasn't a stitch of dirt or dust anywhere after the market (he wouldn't tell you that though and also his stomach had been in nervous knots all day)

Country Kirishima! Takes you to the "best burger joint this side of the river" to quote his excitement and then to his buddy Denki's bar for beer and dancing. He's spinning you on the dance floor until your seeing double and buying beers until your face is flushed. Being the ever respectful gentleman even as you get a bit more bold, linking your arms around his neck and swaying just a bit closer to his toned body. "Easy there little lady" he murmurs in a rough tone just barely concealing the lusty feelings burning through his veins and only heightening yours, "let's get you home yeah?".

Country Kirishima! Who only had two beers and takes you home with a giant moonlit smile, helps you step from his truck and walks you to the front door, telling you he had the best time and that he wants to see you again. Tomorrow if you'd let him. You nod eagerly (maybe too eagerly once you think about it alone later) and tell him to come back for breakfast and fresh squeezed orange juice, even suggesting slyly that he stays the night with you. He just chuckles and shakes his head, "that wouldn't be very gentlemanly of me sweetheart, but I'll be back with the sunrise" tilts your head up with a calloused hand and asks if he can kiss you.

Country Kirishima! Who tastes like beer and sunshine and something that makes your heart flutter against your ribs. Oh no, you might be in love with him.

[draco-dormiens]

THE STRANGEST OF PLACES - Chapter Twenty Four / The Final Chapter

draco x fem!ravenclaw reader / postwar au series

a/n: so. here we are - final chapter! i really hope i’ve done this ending justice. even got a bit emosh myself. i'd just like to say a HUGE thank you to everyone that has supported this fic, whether that be reading, interacting, sharing, anything. it's been a pleasure to post this story for you ♡ now... onto my next series idea!!

warnings: nothing really, just a tad bit emotional

wc: 2944

masterlist

taglist is now closed - i’ve officially run out of tags! thank you all

The Seventh Years Graduation

As from a dream, Draco woke with an air of blissfulness. His first morning with the girl he loved was cut short, a few messy kisses and promises of tomorrow before he was faced with the dark gates of his home once more. He was ready, more now than ever, to face the music that was his parents and their wishes for his pureblood marriage.

After leaving them in a whirl of confusion the night before, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't slightly dreading the look on his mother's face once he sees her again. Draco could hear her now, scolding him for allowing his family to be shamed yet again, could picture the disapproving look his father would give him from the corner of his eye. He swallows thickly, but with the courage you had planted in him, he entered the foyer to be greeted with absolute silence. It wasn't as if being greeted by an empty home was unusual, it was just that at this moment, the silence was practically deafening.

He hesitated in calling out, but figured it would be worse if they knew he'd come home and not seeked them out first thing after yesterday's fiasco. "Mother? Father?" He called, only to be met with the slight echo of his voice in the quietness. Not even the house elf seemed to respond, and so, he wandered, cautiously, through to the drawing room they would usually reside in. When he entered, it appeared as if someone was there, a pot of tea and half drunk cup on the coffee table and the Daily Prophet sprawled out beside it.

"Hello?" He calls again, coming to a halt before the paper. The headline read "A Joyous Occasion: Returning Students to Graduate", and a rather lengthy article where Headmistress McGonagall had stated how 'utterly elated' she was for the returning seventh years after such a 'stressful and sorrowful time.' Draco flicks through a few more pages, various columns advertising products and, of course, Skeeter's addition. He huffs at her attempts, as the doorway suddenly darkens behind him.

"Draco." Lucius's voice comes at a shock against the silence of the room, Draco spinning on the spot to see his father, who, upon inspection, looked tireder than ever, "you have returned, I see."

"Father," Draco clears his throat, "is mother around?"

"I'm afraid she is not," Lucius said, gracefully crossing the room in an expensive looking gown, "She is collecting her dress for the graduation."

"Ah. Right." Draco breathes, questioning how his mother has simply continued with her graduation preparations.

With a flick of his wand, Lucius summons another tea cup, and steam begins to rise from the teapot. "Sit," he instructs his son, "there is something I wish to tell you."

Draco does as he's told, already aware that his actions had perhaps caused his mother to have a breakdown and leave his father looking like sleep had escaped him for at least a month. Lucius pours two fresh cups, and sips at the warm brew with a little satisfied hum. Draco, as if a guest in his own home, follows suit, sitting uncomfortably on the end of the couch.

"Not long after your mother and I graduated," Lucius begins, "there was an awful lot of talk about the Dark Lord and his success in becoming immortal. It was getting more and more apparent that this man was gaining an insurmountable amount of power."

Draco remained silent as his father took a pause.

"I, young and influenced, believed that following this Dark Lord was the right and just thing to do. My family held the same beliefs, as did your mother's. Swearing allegiance to him, in my inexperienced mind, made utter sense. The things I was doing... made sense. But what I've come to realise, in my doing so, I have caused undeniable pain to those dearest to me." Lucius stops, and looks Draco in the eyes, "and to you, most of all, it would seem."

"Father, I-"

"I often wondered what you may do now that the war was over and Voldemort is dead. I had pictured you following the same beliefs, marrying a pureblood and having children. Perhaps I was naive to think that those events hadn't changed you... that those around you hadn't changed you." Lucius said, ignoring Dracos interception. He could see a slight sheen over his father's eyes for the first time in his life, "what's her name, Draco?"

"Huh?" Draco sounds, a little dumbfounded, "oh, you mean Y/N? I-it's Y/N Y/L/N."

"Half blood?" Lucius asks, sipping his tea as Draco swallows another lump in this throat.

"Yeah," he nods, looking down at his cup, "her father is a muggle."

"I see." Lucius says simply, placing down his cup and saucer, "and do you love her?"

Draco almost chokes. Never did he think his father would ask him such a question, but here he was, looking at him with all seriousness. Even so, Draco's answer is strong and quick.

"Yes," he said without a beat, "more than anything."

Lucius nods yet again and rises.

"Then there is no more to be said," he announced, clearing the table with another flick of his wand, "we shall have to meet after the graduation. Perhaps over dinner."

As his father begins to leave, Draco stands from the couch, gaining his father’s attention. Confusion and elation courses through his veins.

"Is that it?" Draco challenges softly, "you're not going to scold me? Shout at me?"

"Would you still pursue this girl if I did?" Lucius asks calmly, "would you listen if I forbid you from seeing her? Even if I locked you in the highest room of this house, you would find a way to her, would you not?"

"Do I need to answer that?" Draco raises an eyebrow, and his father chuckles. The sound of it was so foreign to Draco's ears.

"Then I rest my case," Lucius holds his hands up, "your mother and I have spoken at great lengths, Draco. Your disappearance last night proved one thing - we have no right to hold you down any longer. I dare say, if someone had kept me from your mother, I may have gone insane."

"I love her," Draco finds himself saying, "and I'm going to marry her, father. No one else."

Lucius is quiet for a long moment, before cracking a slight smile.

"You seem to have found yourself," he says as he walks towards the door, and his small smile disappears from his face, "perhaps we were too blind to notice the young man before us."

Banners, flags and all manner of decorations were adorning Hogwarts the morning of the graduation ceremony. Families from all over the county had congregated to join in with the celebrations, and the grounds were practically teeming with people.

Draco had owled to request you meet him before the ceremony began, to tell you about his meeting with Lucius. It was safe to say you were surprised to hear a more positive story, since he'd ran away and left his parents and the Greengrass's in the lurch. But Draco had reassured you that his father is a serious man - he wouldn't have said those things if he didn't mean them, and especially if his mother disagreed. "I haven't seen her but," he began, looking dashing in his robes of emerald green, "something tells me father spoke for the both of them."

Outside in the courtyard, students were to be seated in their houses, with families and friends seated behind. Important individuals within the wizarding community as well as representatives from the Ministry were also present. The Daily Prophet had photographers and journalists out, capturing the eventual graduation of the returning seventh years. As the moment approached, students began walking in their respective houses to their seats, you amongst the Ravenclaws clad in striking blue robes. From the corner of your eye, you spot the emerald green of the Slytherins walking in the same direction across the entrance hall, one particular student catching your eye as she elegantly drifted across the space, brown hair cascading down her back and heels clicking along the tiled floor.

As if carried by your feet before you could think, you made a beeline across the space.

"Astoria," you call out, and the girl stops at the sound of her name, head snapping in the direction of your voice, "can I speak to you a moment?"

"Y/N," she blinks, "can I... help you?"

For a moment you weren't sure what to say. Do you thank her for letting Draco follow his heart? Do you apologise that her marriage didn't go to plan, and that she has faced just as much heartache as you in all of this? Or do you simply wish her well? Many things flitted through your mind in that moment, but one thing was abundantly clear. Despite everything that had transpired, there didn't seem to be even a glint of disdain in her eyes.

"Well, I just-"

"If it's about Draco, you should know he made his own decision," she cuts you off, smiling at the small crowd of Slytherins entering the courtyard, Draco surely among them, "I simply realised I was an accomplice in his misery. The rest was his own heart telling him what to do."

"From my understanding, you were pivotal in Draco finding his strength," you said kindly, Astoria's pretty eyes looking at you as if she was sure Draco wouldn't ever mention her name again, "and for that, I'm forever thankful, Astoria. As well as deeply sorry for the mess I caused."

She shakes her head with a smile on her face. A light chuckle escaped her lips.

"Love isn't a crime, Y/N," she says softly, "for too long, I've lived in my parent’s shadow, following their ideals and wishes. If anything, Draco, and you, have taught me a lot about thinking with your own mind. It's true I would've married happily," she pauses briefly, "but it's a long time to be miserable, don't you think? Draco deserves better than that."

You go to speak, but nothing comes out. Words fail you in this moment, and Astoria takes your hand as the band outside begin to play the entrance music for the graduating students.

"There is no need for more words," she said, and you hold her hand back tightly, "all I ask is that you take care of him. Merlin knows he needs it. Now, what do you say we walk out together, hm? As a Ravenclaw and a Slytherin, for the last time."

Arm in arm, you emerge from the large doors and into the courtyard, following the groups of other students. The two of you split ways once arriving at your designated spots, and part with a smile. You find your place beside Luna, and settle in, a buzz of excitement and fresh, new beginnings in the air. Headmistress McGonagall rises to the lectern, as students, staff and guests all stand. A round of applause is made, and the ever elegant professor quieted the crowd with a gentle wave of a hand, urging everyone back into their seats.

"Thank you," she begins, her voice magically amplified, "It is my greatest pleasure, as Headmistress of our school, to see such wonderfully gifted pupils embark on their next chapter, not only as high achieving students, but as young men and women." She scans the crowd, and with a wipe of her handkerchief under both eyes, continues, "and most of all, it is an honour to send off those returning seventh years whose final year at Hogwarts was tainted by sorrow and loss, into greener and brighter pastures, as free witches and wizards. The world is indeed your oyster, and I expect great things from each and every one of you."

Professor Flitwick hurries along the stage, wand levitating a large pile of scrolls, each tied with a coloured ribbon of the students respective house, closely followed by Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"Now," McGonagall announces, "as we call your name, house by house, please rise to collect your graduation certificate, prestigiously presented by our good Minister, Mr Shacklebolt."

Students from each house proudly took the stage and their graduation certificates, shaking hands with the Minister and posing for a photograph. Gryffindor first, then Slytherin, Hufflepuff, and eventually, Ravenclaw. As your name is called, with slight jelly legs and a nervous but exciting feeling in your stomach, you walk the aisle to the stage, passing the other houses. Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt hands a scroll to you, blue ribbon tied in the centre in a neat and perfect bow, and then shakes your hand in a firm but gentle way.

"Congratulations," he says quietly to you, as the camera takes a photograph your parents are no doubt planning on placing above the fireplace. You take the chance to look out over your fellow students and families, noticing your mother waving at you from the back rows. A small wave back and she's taking her own photos, and even from the stage you could see your father urging her to sit down so the others behind could see. Then, your eyes fall on the rows of emerald green, to a kind face, with white hair shining in the sun, and a smile that makes your knees a little weak.

He winks, and you can't help but feel flustered in front of the hundreds of faces looking up at you blushing like a schoolgirl. 

"Thank you," you mutter to the Minister, and share a smile with the Headmistress as you head back to your seat. After a few words from Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt about courage, strength and the 'formidable force that is the students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry', one final round of applause, and the chance to mingle begins. Your parents, mother crying and father trying to hide his emotion, are the first to find you. They chat with your professors, even the Minister, and mingle with other parents they know. Students you've known say their goodbyes and well wishes, as a little tap on your shoulder gains your attention.

"So, we've done it." Hermione says, clearly overtaken with emotion, "We've actually done it."

The two of you embrace, squealing with happiness. You hug one another tightly, evoking some tears in the process. It's been a long journey, but you've made it. From the war to your own trials and tribulations, you were both still standing. Together.

"I couldn't have made it through this year without you, 'Mione," you mumble through your tears, and you hear her giggle through hers, "I love you so much. Thank you. For everything."

She pulls back, resting her hands on your shoulders as she looks at you with adoration.

"You must stay in touch," she chokes up mid sentence, "promise me? Don't be stranger, for Merlin's sake. Tell Malfoy the same." You nod vigorously, "I love you too," she says sincerely, and then her eyes are fixed on someone behind you, "speak of the devil."

You turn on your heel to see Draco, handsome as ever in the green that so belongs on him, sheepishly waiting for you to notice his presence. Turning back to Hermione, she insists you go to him, and with one last hug, you cross the space between you. His smile grows wider the closer you get, and as soon as you're in touching distance, he takes your hand and presses a delicate kiss to your knuckles.

"You know," he begins, voice like silk, "blue really is your colour, my love."

A delightful chuckle escapes your lips, and within the next second, his other hand is cupping your jaw and bringing you in for a passionate kiss. He doesn't seem to care that hundreds of students and families surround you, including his own. All he cares about is this moment, and this declaration of his love for you. As you part, he remains close, kissing the corner of your mouth.

"I love you, darling," he whispers to you, only for you to hear, and wipes a stray tear from your cheek.

"I love you, Draco." Your voice is barely audible, but he catches it, and a toothy grin spreads across his face.

"Well then?" he then extends his arm to you, "it's time for the boats, my lady.”

With your arm laced in his, family and friends watching from the courtyard archways, the seventh years descend the stairs to the boat house for the last time, reminiscing about the first time they wandered up those same stairs to the sorting ceremony. Not many words are exchanged between you; emotions are high and his touch is enough, but as you collect on the docks of the boat house, Hermione comes to stand beside you. You take her hand, and the three of you look up towards the castle that's been your second home for eight years now. 

"Shall we?" you look between them both, and you share a silent agreement, stepping onto the boat together, symbolising the start of a new beginning, and the end of an era. As the boat is pushed from the shore, your hands are still intertwined, and your arm is still tightly around Draco's arm. If you had pictured your last trip across the Black Lake like this, you would've thought some very strange twist of fate was at play; in fact, it must be. Taking one last look back at the castle that becomes smaller and smaller the further away you get, you think how you've found many things during your time as a Ravenclaw. Friendships, courage, knowledge, and even love. Isn't it funny, you think to yourself. How life plays out, how the universe works.

How true happiness can be found…

In the strangest of places.

disclaimer: i do not own hp or any of the characters in this story

tags: @lovesanimals0000 @cappgyuccino @lightning1ce @onlygetaway @honeyyypeach @namelesslosers @ghostyv @mikadorbs @redactedhimbo @morganadpl @scarecrowscaresthomas @valkyrie418 @animeloverfreak310 @budugu @marplest @torresbarnes @bunny24sstuff @champagneesupernova @serafilms @siriusly-parker-main @lovely-maryj @i-bitch-you-bitch @astablacksword @sun-fiower-seed @tinafuentes @venusjustleft @omgitstatertot @aangsupremacy @ilovezy @leclerc16s @aslanvez @talesofadragon @3vasaur @the-skys-musical-echo @yeolsbubbles @idk-dolans @xx-kiraa-xx @sunbruized @vinkiesz @snickersmee @fandomrulesall-blog @astheraa @idkatee @marsanhwa @vintageoldfashion @63sucker @j-n-i-c-o-l-e @anarchistsons @newbooksmell777 @tangomangroves @neoteezrenyoung @l0v3lies @delusionally-loveless-by-choice @higanbanagirl @ace152435 @arcanebabe @slythermuf @hea-vin @zucchinimalfoy @carolineesnell

[musings-of-a-rose]

I Don't Want to See Tomorrow (Unless I See It With You) - Chapter 3

Pairing: Benny Miller x f!reader nicknamed "Juni"

Word Count: 5300+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Notes: I've had this idea in my head for well over a year and with the Fallout show being dropped (and absolutely AMAZING), I figured now was the time to post it! So this is a Triple Frontier/Fallout crossover au. Huge shoutout to @mermaidxatxheart for listening to probably hours of audio at this point of me talking myself through this fic. And to @deathbecomesnerds for listening to me prattle on about video game fics and giving me her own advice.

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**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Benny Miller Masterlist

I Don’t Want to See Tomorrow (Unless I See It With You) Masterlist

My body yanks me from my sorrow. Its need to eat and drink overpowering anything else I may be feeling. I blink awake, noticing the bottle of purified water and a snack are still sitting on the nightstand from when Hawthone brought them. I manage to sit up, my head spinning, vision blurry and reach for the can of water. I pop it open and bring it to my chapped lips, taking a few small sips before setting it back down. I want to chug the whole thing but I don't know where else there's clean water. I nibble on some of the stale Fancy Lads Cakes that Hawthorne had left, but I was never a big fan of them even when they were fresh. Still, it's something. I guess.

Hawthorne rounds the corner and enters my room, his large, round, metallic eye surveying me. "Are you alright, ma'am?"

I shrug. It's the best I can offer. "How long was I out?"

"A few days, ma'am. I was starting to get worried."

I can't even offer him a small smile, my insides still reeling from the loss of Benny. And also the stale cakes. "I'm sorry, Hawthorne."

"Can I bring you anything?"

I look down at the nightstand where the snack cakes and water still sit. "Do you know..I mean, have you talked to anyone in the last 200 years?"

"A few people, ma'am. The ones in Concord didn't shoot at me, at least. They did tell me to avoid a group called Raiders. Nasty people. I had thought to venture out further but the way they described them, I didn't want to chance ending up as parts."

"So...so I'm not the only one?"

"Oh no, ma'am. From what I hear, there are settlements, other groups trying to make the wasteland better."

It's not Benny, not by a long shot, but at least I'm not the only person left in the world. Or at least the area. Relief floods my system, but only for a moment as my body settles back on grief.

"Did they say anything about food or water?"

"They did mention something about a water purifier, but I don't know if they had it with them or they were looking to fix it. They did have food with them that looks like it was grown. Tatos, I think they called them. Small round things that look like tomatoes."

My brain perks up at the thought of studying this, unable to quell my curious scientific side. "Interesting." If there were other people, maybe one of them knows something about the vaults. It's possible I could find where Benny...wait. Vault Tech lied to us and froze us instead of decontaminating us. But if they did it to me...maybe the same thing happened to Benny? He was guarding some fancy to do person. Surely they would've had access to a vault? I stand up quickly, nearly falling over as the edges of my vision darken before normalzing, my head rushing. I need to eat more than stale snack cakes.

I reach out and place my hand on the wall to steady myself, shaking my head to clear the last of the haziness away. "I need to find other people."

"Oh. Yes of course, ma'am. I understand."

I look up at Hawthorne, his metal body seemingly deflating a little in disappointment. "I need to try and find out what happened to Benny. If I made it in a vault, maybe he did too."

"Yes, ma'am. I do hope that Lieutennant Miller made it."

I swallow hard. "Yeah. Me too. But whether or not he's....we'll still need a place to live. Do you think you can spruce up the whole neighborhood?"

His whole metallic body straightens. "Yes ma'am! I can do that! But can I make a small request?"

"Of course."

"There are a few parts and things that I could use to help. Could I give you a list and if you find them, could you bring them back?"

"I don't see why not."

He tells me what he needs and I record it in my Pip Boy. It's a simple list, really. I could find most of this at that Red Rocket Station. If it's still standing. If not, I could always head into Concord, the next closest town. Besides, Hawthorne mentioned meeting people in Concord. Maybe they're still there. And hopefully still friendly.

I re-pack my backpack with my meager supplies, swallowing down my earlier thoughts about Benny. I have to focus on the task at hand. And hope that it brings me some answers at least. I say my goodbyes to Hawthorne, who immediately begins to tidy, as much as he can anyway. As I step outside, I can hear him mumbling to himself about the "abysmal state of the begonias." Despite myself, I chuckle at the thought of a 200+ year old robot worrying about flowers in an apocalyptic wasteland.

I cross over the small bridge that connects our quaint, island neighborhood to the land proper, the waters of Misty Lake bubbling and quietly rushing below my steps. I pause for a moment, looking out over the water. It looks clean, but I know better. If the roach I encountered was that large, there's no way that water is as clean as it looks.

I continue walking about a quarter of a mile, grateful that I haven't encountered any new creatures when I see it - the giant, launching rocket on top of the Red Rocket fill station. Somehow, it had made it! I quicken my pace, rounding the corner, the building coming into full sight. But the commotion outside it's main door stops me in my tracks.

A dog, a German Shepherd if I'm seeing right, is fighting off..what the actual fuck is that thing? It's about the same length as the dog but fat, with no fur but wrinkled, white/tan skin, sort of like a naked mole rat. Wait. Is that a rat?? Before I can look again, it dives into a hole in the ground that it made impossibly fast. The dog stands at the edge of the hole, barking. But then the dog stops, his head turning to the side as he looks at the ground, moving away from the hole. Everything is quiet.

SCREECH!

The rat thing emerges from the ground in a flurry of dirt, catching the dog off guard. It lunges for the dog and manages to nip his back leg, the dog's yelp of pain followed by whimpers echoing off the building behind them. The rat turns on the limping dog, drool dripping from it's open mouth. Without thinking, I draw my gun and aim, firing without hesitating and surprising myself when I hit my mark.

The rat screeches in pain and then crumbles to the ground, motionless. The dog stares at the rat for a moment then, seeing it's no longer alive, slumps to the ground. I holster my weapon and head towards the dog, stopping when its head snaps up to me, eyes boring into mine in judgement. I hold my hands up, palms facing the dog.

"It's ok, buddy. I'm here to help you."

The dog, a boy, I realize, studies me for a moment longer and whines again, licking the wound on his leg a few times before looking back up at me, as if asking me to take a look. I walk up to him an kneel down, looking at his leg. It looks pretty deep, blood spilling from the open gash. I glance over at the rat, its mouth hanging open, its giant teeth protruding out. No wonder it looks this bad.

"Wait here a minute, bud. I'll see if they still have a med kit."

I stand back up, his eyes on me as I move towards the Red Rocket station. I pull my gun back out, just in case, but encounter nothing new inside. I did, however, find a first aid box, still completely intact. I open it and find 3 stimpaks, a sense of relief flooding my system. At least I have something to heal with if I need it. I really hope I don't need it.

I toss 2 of them in my backpack and head back outside with the third. I kneel down next to the dog again and he looks from me to the stimpack in my hand.

"I'm going to poke you with this but I promise you'll feel much better, ok?"

He barks once, like he agrees, and waits patiently. I take a deep breath and poke the needle from the stimpack into his side, a little whimper coming from him at the contact. But then the medicine is inside him and I can see the wound starting to heal already. Once it does, he licks at it to clear the blood and then jumps up, barking and hopping around me. I give his head a scratch and he nudges me for more.

"You almost became dogmeat, dude. You gotta be careful." He jumps up and tries to lick at my face. I laugh and back up. "Ok, ok! You're welcome, Dogmeat." He lets out huff and puts his head on my side. I pat him a few more times before heading back over towards the Red Rocket, bringing up the list that Hawthorne gave me on my Pip Boy. To my amazement, Dogmeat follows me, wagging his tail and staying by my side.

"You staying with me now, Dogmeat?" He barks, panting happily while his tail waggs quicker. What did we ever do to deserve dogs?

"Alright, then. But try not to get hurt, ok?" I scratch behind his ears once more before looking around the station. I was able to find pretty much everything Hawthorne had asked for, my backpack considerably heavier on my small trek back to my neighborhood, Sanctuary Hills.

I spend the next few weeks with Hawthorne and Dogmeat, sprucing up the neighborhood as best as we can. Several of the homes are beyond repair, roofs caved in and the insides all crumbled. Maybe if more people are ever around, we can clear them out and use the wood to build something new. Or fortify something. There's definitely holes in the outer barrier of Sanctuary Hills.

The plants, though. The adaptations to the radiation is more than anything I ever worked on in the lab! Granted that was all on a much smaller scale in a controlled environment. Some plants have merged with others and mutated to be something new, while others just became a more intense version of themselves. And still others seem virtually unphased by any of it, still looking the same as they did 200 years ago.

I was able to forage for some foods, Hawthorne and my Pip boy helping me to scan the foods to see what I should really avoid and what would be tolerable. Some of the other abandoned houses had pre-bomb foods still fully intact, but honestly sometimes, I'd rather take my chances on a radiated berry than a Salisbury Steak that's stayed the same over 2 centuries.

But I can't stay here like this forever. I need to find information about Benny. And now that I've got more food saved up, grateful for the basement full of purified water cans that one of our neighbors had squirreled away, it's time for me to venture out. Hawthorne continues to work on the neighborhood, but I can tell he thinks I won't be back. And maybe he's right. Dogmeat comes with me, not wanting to leave my side unless I tell him to. He's good at finding things and also catching small critters, which drastically improves meal times.

We head over the Old North Bridge and past the Red Rocket where Dogmeat and I first met, and continue down the road towards Concord. It's not too much farther, maybe another couple of miles, but about halfway there, Dogmeat suddenly stops, his ears perked up as he stares intensely ahead at the road.

"What is it, boy?" I speak quietly to him, kneeling by his side. He lets out a low "bufff". I see nothing, but the road does wind away a bit down the road. I don't hear anything right away, but then I decide to close my eyes, focus on hearing. And that's when I finally do hear it - voices. And not just any voices, human voices.

I make a clicking sound to Dogmeat and he follows me immediately into the tall brambles by the side of the road, crouching to avoid detection. We wait about 15 minutes before the people are finally in view. They must be injured for them to have taken this long.

"..all I'm saying, is that we've been wandering around looking for this Sanctuary place Mama Murphy has been claiming she sees in her "visions". And what do we have to show for it? More scars, more empty bellies, and less people."

"Marcy, you know Mama Murphy doesn't lie. She's trying to get us to a safe place."

A scoff. "Yeah, but how many of us will be alive by then? We just lost 3 more people back there to that fucking deathclaw."

What the hell is a deathclaw? I really don't want to find out. The group stops, almost in line with where we're hiding and I get a good look at them. They're all in pretty rough shape, their clothes ripped in a lot of places, bags under their eyes, some woulds still bleeding, and an overall sense of weariness. Their leader, a man with dark skin and a wide brimmed hat, carries some kind of gun type weapon with a crank. One I'm not really familiar with. But everyone else seems to have holstered their weapons. If they had them. They don't seem like a threat to me. In fact, they may have information on the Vaults. I look at Dogmeat and he looks at them, waiting for a few moments before looking at me, seemingly in agreement.

I stand from where I had been crouching, my hands raised in front of me. "Hey there! Is everyone ok?"

The man with the hat immediately turns to me, his weapon raised and aiming directly at my chest. "Stop right there!"

I don't move, my hands still held up in front of me. "I'm sorry. I haven't seen people in...a very long time. Is everyone ok?"

The man with the hat glances sideways at his group before back at me. "We can still fight."

"Oh no! I'm not..I want to help!"

"Yeah? Prove it!" The woman who had been complaining before, dark hair, lighter skin, eyes narrowing further at me, yells snarkily at me. Marcy, I think her name is.

"How do I prove that?"

"Wait." An older woman's voice spoke from inside the group of people and the mat with the hat turned to look at her. An older woman, maybe in her 60's, with a beanie hat and blue coat looks up at me. "Are you the vault dweller?"

I glance down at my bright blue jumpsuit with the yellow paneling. “Yeah.”

Marcy snorts, but the woman stares deep into my eyes. “The one lost to time?”

My eyes go wide, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “She’s the one who can take us to Sanctuary.”

Marcy scoffs. “We just see some random chick in a vault suit and we’re just supposed to-”

“Sanctuary?” I ask the woman, never having taken my eyes off hers. 

She nods. “A place we can make safe and call home.”

How did this woman know about me? A vault dweller “lost to time”? And then she says I can take them to Sanctuary. Like Sanctuary Hills? Where my home is? Sure, it needs some love, but it is on an island. There’s only a few holes in the perimeter, not a bad place to hold up. But still. I hardly know these people-

“Mama Murphy, we can’t just go asking citizens to take us to places and hope they know what we’re talking about.”

Her eyes are still on me, studying me. “She knows what I’m talking about.”

Several long moments pass before the man in the hat clears his throat, holding his hand out towards me. “I’m sorry for the introductions. My name is Preston and I’m with the Minutemen.” I shake his hand but my confusion must show on my face because he continues. “Oh, right. Vault dweller. The Minutemen are made up of civilian volunteers. We’re here to protect the people at a minute’s notice.”

Minutemen. Sounds like a good organization. I’m going to have to trust at some point if I want answers. 

“You can call me Juni.”

Marcy chuckles. “I think I’ll stick with Vault Dweller.”

Preston glances sideways at her before back at me. “It’s nice to meet you, Juni.”

No time like the present. “Do you know anything about any other vaults? Around Boston?”

Preston nods. “Only a bit. Met a couple of them a while back. 2 women. They had some…unique features-”

“If you think one eye and horns are just unique.”

I look at Marcy. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Marcy, we call them mutations. Apparently, they were uh..experimented on in their vault. Not just them but all the generations before them. So…mutations.”

So they were running experiments in all of the vaults. I guess that makes sense, considering they never told us about the cryo and even pretended it was decontamination. What else has Vault Tech done?

“What vault were they from?” I ask Preston. 

He shrugs. “They didn’t say. Got rid of their vault suits before we met too.”

Well, at least there are other vault dwellers out there. That means, I may be able to communicate with them from my vault, assuming the equipment works. It’s not much, but a tiny flutter of hope billows in my stomach at the thought of possibly finding out more information about Benny. 

“About Sanctuary-”

Marcy cuts me off with a wave of her hand. “Don’t listen to Mama Murphy. She’s high most of the time she comes up with these visions.”

“That may be, but I live in a place called Sanctuary Hills. It’s not to far from here actually. Would…would you all like to accompany me back? There’s work that needs to be done to refortify it. But with everyone pitching in, I don’t see that being an issue. There’s plenty of space for everyone.”

All of their eyes are fixed on me, wide and bewildered. Except for Mama Murphy, who simply smirks, taking my hand in hers and squeezing it. A man with spiked brown hair, coveralls, and goggles hanging around his neck speaks up from the back of the group.

“Did you say there were things to fix up?”

“I did.”

The man turns to Preston, his eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hairline as he waits for his answer.

“Can you give us a moment, Juni?” 

“Sure. Come on, Dogmeat.” I turn and head back in the Red Rocket station, gathering up the few parts and bits that I thought may be useful while the group discussed things outside. Only a minute later, Preston was calling for me to come back. I tossed the parts in my bag and headed back over, wiping my hands on my pants. 

“We accept your offer of refuge.” Preston sticks his hand out and I shake it.

“Great! Follow me.”

The group follows me back over the bridge to Sanctuary Hills, their murmurs growing quiet as they take in the setting. I can hear the man in the coveralls, Sturges, mumbling to himself, making a list of things to fix up and materials he’d need. Preston scans the area as does Marcy, albeit with a more skeptical look. We stop at the house across the street from mine, some chairs and benches already setup under the open garage. Hawthorne had done a great job of cleaning up and arranging what he could. Mama Murphy sat in the chair and groaned, leaning her foot across her opposite leg, sliding off her shoes to massage her foot. 

“Don’t get old, dear. It’s not kind to your body.”

“I’m older than you.”

She looks up at me and starts to laugh. “I guess you are!”

Marcy pauses her pacing and looks at me. “What? You’re not older than her.”

I shrug. “She was right about me. I uh…I was frozen in my vault. I’m-” I think a moment. “-I’m about 228 years old.”

Everyone’s jaw drops. “228 years old? So you were like..here? Before?”

I nod and toss my thumb over my shoulder, pointing at my home. “I grew up in that house. My parents still lived there when…”

My mind races back to that day, a vivid image of the mushroom cloud silently erupting over the city. I shake my head to rid it of the memory and give them a small smile. “Anyway…Hawthorne-” I nod towards the Mr. Handy robot that had floated up to us. “- has been trying his best to get things fixed up, but we really need extra hands.”

“I’m afraid I’m all thumbs. Rather, I’m no thumbs,” Hawthorne says matter-of-factly. Everyone chuckles lightly. 

Sturges looks around. “I’ve been making a list of things we can do to fortify this place. Things we’d need to get. Jung, you still got ahold of that water purifier?”

“You have a water purifier?” I ask him, shocked.

He nods. “Yup! Ah, thanks Jung.” The man that had been hanging primarily behind Marcy hands him a complicated looking device. Sturges looks it over and nods. “Still in good shape! I can put this in the water down there, but we’ll need to secure it. If someone sees this, that river won’t stop them from trying to get it.”

The rest of the night is spent around a campfire, eating some of the food I’d managed to grow, along with some of their rations, while we discussed what needs to be done to make this place like a fort. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little sad about changing the way Sanctuary Hills looks, but I’m not a fool. This world is not the one I came from, and I yield to their expertise in this new adventure. 

We spend the next several months putting up walls and scrounging for parts for a few turrets in nearby Concord. I learn more about this wasteland, or what they call The Commonwealth. Apparently, more than just roaches had mutated, and I listen in horror with all of the mutated creatures that they’ve encountered. While I’ve fought more than just the rad roach and mole rat, I haven’t run across a deathclaw or radscorpion yet. And while I’m still a little unclear about what a deathclaw is other than some sort of giant dinosaur lizard, I do know for sure that I don’t want to ever meet one. No matter how curious I am. 

They in turn ask me questions about life before. What it was like, the food, could we just drink any water, the food, was everything clean, what was the food like. I’m not surprised the food was what they’re interested in most, especially after having the food that is the new normal. I never would have guessed I’d be eating friend radroach or baked bloatfly, but after I threw up from not having enough protein, I had to cave. Hakuna matata. 

Once the wall was up, I started heading back into the vault a few times a week. At first, I brought Sturges and Marcy with me, all of us scavenging for parts and things we could use. The vault was fairly stripped by this point, a mere skeleton of its former glory. We did get everyone out of the cryo pods, digging a small cemetery above ground and giving them a proper burial. So much unnecessary loss. Part of me wonders how long I sat there, frozen, while my neighbors were long since dead.

Once they gathered everything they could, I continued to come down to fiddle with the computers, trying to contact any other vaults. I’m met mostly with static, which makes sense. A lot of vaults may just be empty, people having left them a long time ago. Or maybe they lay dormant. Or dead. 

I did get ahold of a couple vaults, but one spoke some weird made up language and another the reception was so spotty I could barely make them out. All I managed to figure out was they were on the west coast, so they couldn’t really help me out anyway. Still, I kept at it, holding onto that last spark of hope that he was still out there somewhere. Or I could at least find out what happened to him. I fiddle with the controls, turning knobs and repeating my vault number into the microphone, only static in return. I glance at the watch on my Pip Boy and sit up, stretching. I almost didn’t come today, but I wanted to give it one quick shot this morning before I had to harvest the crops we’d been growing: tatos, like a tomato, mutfruit, a small, purple fruit that tastes sweet, and corn. We were growing extra as we could use them to make useful tools, like adhesive or acid, which I was able to make extra potent with my background knowledge in bio-nuclear agriculture. 

I gather up my bag and Dogmeat stretches, standing up to accompany me out of the vault. As we ascend, I kneel down and scratch him behind the ear, patting his head as I stand back up, feeling him give my hand a quick lick. The sun crests over the edge of the metal tube, the gears groaning slightly as they settle into place. I shield my eyes as the light hits them, turning to head down the path back towards Sanctuary Hills. But as I near it, I can hear panicked voices, tools moving quicker than normal. It takes several knocks on the gate before it opens, Mama Murphy standing there, looking worried. 

“Hey, Mama Murphy. What’s going on?”

Her eyes are filled with fear, an emotion I had yet to see in her. 

“Nightshade.”

I cock my head, my eyebrows pulling together. “Like the plant?”

She shakes her head, leaning in close to whisper. “Like the person.”

I have no idea what she’s talking about. Or who. “I don’t understand.”

Preston walks up then, beckoning me to him. “Good, you’re back. We could use your help over at the crops.”

I look back at Mama Murphy, her eyes wide and worried before I follow Preston to the garden, jogging just to keep up with his large gait. Marcy and Jung are in the garden, hurriedly trying to gather up crops, tossing them into bags. 

“Preston, what’s going on?”

He looks back at me, the same worry in Mama Murphy’s eyes in his own. “Nightshade.”

“You keep saying that like I’m supposed to know what that means.”

“It means,” Marcy yells from her crouched position next to a tato plant. “That we better have a good choice of crap for him or he’ll kill us all. And that’s if he’s kind.”

I look at Preston for confirmation and he nods. “He’s a courier and a merc. He moves between settlements and Raiders, bartering deals and…contracts.”

“That doesn’t sound entirely terrible. I mean, aren’t the Raiders nasty? This way, less people die?”

Preston grimaces. “Not entirely. I mean, sure. Overall, there’s less mass deaths. Raiders were known to come in and destroy an entire area and then move on. Now, those areas are still getting to be used for farming and such.”

“So what’s the issue?”

“If you don’t comply and give him what he demands…well. It doesn’t end well.”

I look back over at Marcy and Jung, both of them scrutinizing each piece of fruit before deciding if it was good enough for this Nightshade before either leaving it or tossing it in a burlap sack. 

“Is this all for one person?”

Preston shrugs. “Sometimes. Other times, it’s for other groups. Unless he tells us, we don’t ask.”

“This is a lot of food.”

“It is.”

“We need these rations to give out to other settlements, the ones that you said need our help.”

He sighs. “I just don’t see a way we can keep everything here and our lives. We’ll just have to grow more.”

I’ll have to think on that. But… “You said he travels around?”

Preston nods. “Yeah. All around the Commonwealth. Some other areas too like Far Harbor up north and the old Nuka Cola World. Which is basically a giant raider settlement now.”

“When do you have to give him the supplies?”

“Tomorrow at noon. At the Red Rocket where we met you. Why?”

“I’d like to be the one to bring them.”

Preston shakes his head vehemently. “No. No way. I’m not going to let you face this man by yourself.”

“I won’t be alone. I have Dogmeat.”

Preston scoffs. “That won’t be enough.”

“If we have all the supplies he asked for, I don’t see the issue.”

“He’s the Nightshade, Juni.”

“And he could be the only one who has information about Benny.”

Preston opens his mouth to argue, but I cut him off with a wave of my hand. “I’m doing this, Preston. I’ll be ok. And if I’m not, then just..carry on. You already have Sanctuary Hills. You’ll be fine. The Commonwealth needs you more than me.”

He studies me for a few moments before nodding. “I can’t convince you otherwise?”

I shake my head. “Not when it comes to possibly finding out more information about Benny.”

“I understand. Please be careful.”

I leave the next morning, a few hours before I would need to be at the Red Rocket. It takes about 45 minutes to walk there, especially with the supplies this Nightshade requested, a random mix of provisions and scrap. Dogmeat scouts ahead of me, sniffing the ground, making sure we’re safe. The bright Red Rocket station gleams through the light fog, but as we approach, we see no one waiting there. Figures. 

I drop the bags outside, standing up and stretching my back. Dogmeat sniffs around and then stands in front of me, tail wagging and eyes watching me. Its been a while since we’ve been outside of the gates or the vault and I can tell he wants to explore. 

“Alright. Go get a squirrel or something. I’ll be ok.” He cocks his head at me and whines. I bend to scratch behind his ears. “Go on. I know you want to hunt.” A quick lick to my hand and he’s off, disappearing out into the bushes. 

I sigh, my hands on my hips as I look around. The fog has only lifted slightly and I’m unable to see past the perimeter of the station. It’s quiet, nothing really moving, not even a breeze. I start to pace, kicking the dirt outside a little with my toe. But after a while, I grow bored and decide to head inside the station to do another sweep for things. We’ve been here so many times, but anything to break up the boredom. I’ll count ceiling tiles if I have to. I pick up a box and set it on the counter inside, bending over it to look inside, poking around at the random things in it. Basically trash, but you never know. Suddenly, I feel a cold, metal cylinder push against the back of my neck and I realize with horror that it’s the barrel of a gun. It clicks, a round sliding into the chamber and my heart feels like it’s going to beat through my chest. Is this the Nightshade? I can’t believe I let my guard down.

“Where the fuck did you get this jumpsuit?”

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[thetriplets3]

maybe for the alphabet/head cannon thingy u could do like how they would help you celebrate your birthday :’) sincerely, a matt girl who’s bday is tomorrow 🫶🏻

❝𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥❞

i started doing the alphabet before realizing i’m not creative and was struggling to write it so i wrote you a fic instead i hope it’s okay. happy belated birthday to you anon i hope you had a wonderful day <3

i could feel the warmth of the morning sun that peaked through the curtains dancing their way onto my skin. slowly waking up i roll over with my eyes closed, not wanting to get up quite yet and subconsciously reach my hand towards matt’s side of the bed only to find it empty. pulling his pillow to my body i drift back into sleep.

that didn’t last long until i was abruptly awoken by the sound of a balloon popping. letting out a gasp looking around for the sudden unknown noise only to be met with an apologetic chris sputtering out sorry’s left right and center. “i’m sorry y/n i was trying so hard to not make any noise i’m sorry go back to sleep pretend you didn’t hear me i don’t want matt to know i ruined his surprise he’s so proud of himself” “it’s okay chris don’t worry you’re good i’ll ‘go back to sleep’”. after a while of pretending to sleep i actually drifted into nap.

the calming sensation of a hand being ran from my hair to my back brings me back to reality. “good morning happy birthday sweet girl” matt whispers placing gentle kisses to my cheek, shoulder, forehead, any bare skin showing. smiling up at him i take a look around the room plastering a look of shock on my face at the decorations that covered his room. looking back to him with a big smile and eyes full of adoration and love, i reach my arms out pulling him onto the bed to cuddle. “thank you baby this is so sweet of you. i love you so much” “i love you pretty girl, i’d do anything to make you happy and i love having an excuse to spoil you”. “i hate to ruin this sweet moment but is something burning?” i whispered after a few moments of comfortable silence. “shit” he exclaims as he pushes himself off me and bolts to the kitchen. “fuck! not the pancakes!” i hear him scream as he runs. i can’t help but laugh and just shake my head i expected nothing less to come of him trying to cook something, he gets too distracted. i listen to the muttered swears coming from the kitchen and lay onto my back, opting to not go down and get in his way.

eventually he peeks his head into his room with a mischievous smile. he walks into the room backwards slowly making his way to my side of the bed before turning around to face me. the plate in his hands holds a stack of funfetti pancakes with a layer of whip cream between each. atop laid 2 candles with my age on it places in the middle of a dollop of whip cream and heart shaped sprinkles surrounding it. he notices my little smirk as i glanced at the stack. he quickly turns his back to me before facing me again. this time with the numbers in the right order. “tada!! birthday pancakes for my birthday girl” he says with a playful smile, sitting next to me. “blow them out, make a wish love” he whispers. i blew the candles out before closing my eyes and scrunching my nose in concentration as i think of a wish.

he climbs into bed next to me placing the plate on my lap for me to eat as he rests his head against my shoulder. cutting a piece off and taking a bite i hum at how good they are. “thank you for the best homemade pancakes, my favorite kind too. the sprinkles were a cute touch” i say sharing a smirk with him knowing that they clearly were not homemade and that he ordered them from my favorite place. “i can’t believe you did this all for me this is so sweet of you”. “of course sweetheart i had to make sure your day was special to wake up to. it’s not everyday i get to wake you up to a room full of pink balloons and pink decorations and give you fresh homemade pancakes. plus i love doting on you, you deserve it, i love you baby” he says as he places a kiss to my lips.

as i go to take another bite of my pancakes i hear chris huff from the kitchen “oh come on” making me let out a soft giggle knowing he did all this and matt took credit for it.

taglist: @antisocialties @iluvmatt @dwntwn-strnlo @fake-coolbeans @opheliaofficial07 @angelcake-222 @oneirophobic @strniolo @lollibumblebee @ssturniolo @20nugs @strniolo @luvsturniolo