#effort to decode it

[debian-official]

#nerd#making it ledgable#you know people would be decoding that

I was going to but cyberchef spit out something prettier

would you still love me if i were a Pi Pico? would you still love me if my power supply was failing? would you sti6c6c206c 6f766520 6d652069 6620692 06861642 06e6f207 76f726b6 96e67206 d656d6f7 27920616 e796d6f7 2653f

[theprincessselites]

It's Trent!

[dreamerwriternstargazer]

Love is communication and love is a language and love is understanding so of course it freaking stings when someone misunderstands you even lightly because it’s like oh just… a little bit less of being known because if you knew you would understand what I’m saying to you but this is also complicated because sometimes it’s not a lack of love it’s a lack of resources to communicate or comprehend healthily and it’s tricky because when is it either how do you identify it and how can you tell when you should keep talking your language and they’ll work on their skills at understanding or when they don’t want to understand and how much is there an overlap between the two

Something something…. Why are people always misunderstanding/misreading my language and when I try to break it down for them or translate it and try to learn theirs it’s like I stop speaking my mother tongue it���s like it’s lost and alien and why can’t… anyone read it and listen to it and listen to me for once?

Love is putting effort into finding the translation but what happens when only one is translated and the other is lost?

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPXDC prompt: Spiritual Siblings

Bruce: My assassin kid can't be that normal!

Damian: Well, I’m completely emotionally stable by Amity Park standards. The problem is with you. Obviously.

~~~~~

Damian had long found peace and home in Amity, so he did not worry that the new family and Gotham might not accept him.

Sure, Al Ghul had lived without any contact with his biological father all these years but he could safely say that he had a happy childhood. First years were hard and he was raised more as a weapon than a human being. Even so, after that a ghost who decided to become his brother appeared and everything changed.

Damian still does not know what Ra's owes Phantom but Danny has a right to take him, without prior notification, to live with Fentons, to visit Aunt Alicia at her farm, and to make Vlad’s weekends much less calm and boring. Danny jokes that he just steals him as a hostage when Al Ghul does not pay taxes for using Lazarus Pits. Whatever the reason, he already has a family that loves him.

However, he still wanted to make an effort to fit in this one too. The model of conduct certainly was his older brother. No, not the oldest, of course. To be honest Dan wasn’t the kind of a man that could charm you from the first minute. But Danny, in Damian’s experience, had a calming effect on people. So he tried to act like him.

And, yeah, for lack of experience, he was more fun!Danny at home and super!Danny on patrol but he also really tried not to get any of his own assassin personality in his new-self and was tired of it. He couldn’t get a 100% match. Fine. Still doesn’t look like anyone in this house really likes him, so whatever.

Damian understood why Bruce didn't like his company. Jazz had long ago explained to him the importance of voluntary consent. His mother did a terrible thing. Al Ghul was not a child and therefore he was ready to admit it. However, he also understood that children were not responsible for the actions of their parents.

As a biosocial being, he wanted to be more than just a painful reminder of what had happened to Bruce. Wayne's ignoring of his existence was rude. But Damian wouldn't force this man to spend time with him just because he was legally obligated to take care of his well-being. He wasn't going to prove anything to Batman, and he definitely didn't need his attention. The care of his real family is enough.

But Damian really tried to get along with new potential siblings. He even shared Sam's and Danny’s special jokes with some of adopted kids 'cause he didn’t want them to feel like he put himself above them. He wasn't good at showing emotions but he was as open as the assassin could afford to be to strangers.

But they all obviously expected something from him. And it reminded him of the League in an unpleasant way. It was easier with Fentons. Almost everyone in Amity Park was saying what they thought, and Damian didn’t have to waste time decoding potential conspiracies.

Damian missed movie marathon nights with Sam, Tucker, and Danny. And he hoped Dani had time to bother Vlad in his absence.

It was so weird here. When Danny and Valerie were fighting, they would gather at the dinner table anyway. When Damian wanted to have combat training with Drake here, he was forced to stay in his room. A very strange punishment. And undeserved one too.

Al Ghul felt quite calm and fine sitting at his easel and painting the people he left behind. An unusual subject for his paintings. But, Ancients, he missed Amity.

He missed Jack's bone breaking hugs, Maddie's Ecto-Contaminated food, arguments of Sam and Tucker, cozy art class with Mr. Baxter and even Vlad's done look. He missed Danny telling him about the stars. He also missed sword practice with Dan's boyfriend Fright Knight and he missed Dan's stories about his other youth. He missed literary evenings with Mr. Lancer, Clockwork and Ghost Writer. He even missed the hours-long Jazz lectures. He missed the dance of death and life. He missed being looked at without expecting anything from him. He missed the crowd. In the league, he was never at one with himself and in Amity he was always surrounded by people who were not afraid of his fate as the heir to the said League. This Manor was full of people, but for the first time in his life he felt lonely. Damian has to admit that he felt left behind. Of course, he understood that people needed time to build relationships, but he could have sworn that even he didn't need that much time to connect with Fentons. Maybe this is one of the tricks of the Clockwork? Then this one is not funny at all.

~~~~~Phone call~~~~ Damian: Mom, I want to go home. Maddie: I'm so sorry to hear that, sweetheart. What happened? Damian: Just…Nobody likes me. Why was I sent here? I'm not weak. And my brothers are quite capable of protecting me from Raas. I don't need Batman for this. Maddie: We'll figure it out, champ. Moms love you, remember? I'll talk to Talia, okay? Your brothers and sisters are already on edge and ready to steal you right during the patrol. Damian: It would be nice, but it would put a bat on their tails. So lock them in thermoses if they bother you too much. Maddie: But that won't stop Jazz. Damian: I missed the part where that's my problem. Maddie: Well, it will be your problem if she comes to your doorstep with your childhood photos and moralizing.

~~~~~~~~

It's his birthday. And he was always excited about it. But now, looking at the pile of gifts, he realizes that these people don't know him at all.

And this is the family of the best detective in the world? Maybe yes, but none of them bothered to really find info about him or ask him about his likes. Damian's a stranger here, and that's obvious.

The lunch container, which he will obviously give to the Boxing Lunch when he's in the right time interval, tennis rackets that Youngblood might like, The Graveyard Book…

Valerie had already read it to him and Dani before it was published. Thanks to Clockwork for his little miracles. The book reminded him of home.

Obviously this one is from Jason. And well, Damian doesn't think it was a pun on his life in Amity, more like Hood's inside joke about death but Dami will definitely leave this thing in the room at the Manor and maybe take it with him to the GZ or Amity Park.

~~~~~~~

When they gather at the festive table, Damian realizes that he has to make some kind of speech. He tries to be as brief as possible in his report.

Damian: Todd, your gift is appreciated. And I found a potential use for items that were given by others, Bruce.

Damian never called Batman his father. With Maddie and Talia, calling both moms wasn't weird, especially when Jazz explained to his biological mom that he wasn't trying to replace her. But with Wayne, it was different. Both women took care of him, they deserved this title. Wayne provided for his needs, but his core heart didn't feel like they were close. Surely there's nothing wrong if they're just Bruce and Damian? Obviously, they both don't enjoy each other's company.

Jason: So, do you like books, little demon? Damian: Sometimes reading is quite relaxing, I should point out. I'm not indifferent to Stephen King and Lovecraft. Jason: Personal recommendations? Damian: Cujo is one of my favorites. Jason: Not a common opinion, huh. Damian: It reminds me of my family. Damian tries to smile like Danny does, but Jason's twitching eye clearly indicates that he screwed it up.

~~~~Dick and Jason synchronously drop their forks as an excuse for a conference under the table.~~~~ Dick*whispers*: How's the situation? Jason*whispers back*: If the boy asks for a dog, don't be fooled. He will be happy to dance on our graves.

~~~~Cass knocks over their heads, urging them to return to their seats.~~~~

Damian: So how good you are at fading and sliding,Todd? Jason: Why did you ask? I can't, of course. Damian: Because you're dead. It seemed to me that this was a completely understandable interest. Jason: Wow, what a jerk. Damian: I wonder why your own incompetence makes me a jerk? Even my sister could do this when she wasn't dead for even a month.

Jason, for some reason, looks awkward, although he has never been embarrassed before by the idea that a girl could be stronger than him.

Jason: Your sister? How old was she when... So it's all about age. Damian rolls his eyes.

Damian: We're the same age. It seems like it was four or five years ago. To be honest, I don't remember. I wasn't around then. I'll ask Danielle the next time I go to the cemetery to visit her. Dick: I'm so sorry, Dami. Where is she buried? We can take you. Damian: There's no need. She has no grave, as there was nothing to bury. Bruce sighs loudly and covers his eyes with his hands. Damian: It's just easier to contact the afterlife in places like this, you now? Duke: We are very sorry, dude. Damian: Don't be. People come and go, and then come back if they haven't finished annoying you. There's no point in regretting the past. Her creation was not the most ethical thing but everything is going as it should. At least that's what Grandpa says. Considering that the old man is older than time, I prefer to believe him. No one plays with fate without his permission unless they want to get hit by the clock. Tim now looks like he's going to throw up and Damian hurries to move his plate closer to him. Jason: Yes, Bruce, this is definitely your son. Damian: Did I say something wrong? Dick smiles faintly at him but still doesn't find anything to say. Damian shrugs and goes back to eating asparagus. People outside of Amity are so weird.

Signal looks at Damian suspiciously as he carefully rearranges the plate of soy sausages away from himself. Did he take him for an idiot? Everyone knows that even vegetarian sausage bite and fight no worse than those with meat when they come back to life. It's not Damian's fault that he doesn't have an ectoblast with him and wants to have extra distance from the opponent.

~~~At the same time, in the walls of Wayne Manor~~~ Dani: The operation codenamed "Get Haunted Idiot" is declared open. Danny and Dan *salute*.

~~~Several Days Later~~~

Damian: So, this is Dan. Danny says we keep him as a GIW repeller. Dick: And Danny and Dan are.. Jazz: His brothers. I'm Jazz by the way. Elle and I are his sisters. Damian: I feat the criteria to participate in their name cult, so they took me. Dan, Danny, Dani and Dami. Dan *ruffles Damian's hair* : I prefer to call this biting threat Damn, to be honest. Dami: Shut up, DaNtE, they almost wrote Dark in your passport, you idiot. I can't believe I thought I missed you. Danny: Wow. Rude. Your grandpa would be disappointed. Great job, lil one.

~~~Several years later~~~

[andypantsx3]

𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐘 : 𝐓𝐎𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐈 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐎 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒: a snippet of vulcan medican officer shouto x starfleet captain reader, inspired by all the star trek au brainrot i had going on a couple weeks ago lmao. shouto is our handsome chief medical officer who just wants captain reader to stop getting herself so grievously injured every time the ship makes port, trying to prove to herself that she is worthy of the ship's command. (6.1k)

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: afab fem reader (she/her pronouns), hurt/comfort, self-worth issues, implied child neglect, unreliable narrator, pre-relationship, some gore (reader sustains significant physical injury), sfw.

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: tos is the only star trek i have seen all the way through, and the last time i watched any star trek was when i was down with the flu for a week in college lmao. i did some wiki digging and some googling but i did take some notable liberties with their comms units and other details are probably hella inaccurate to canon so my apologies to the trekkies!! dedicated to @/volatilematters for drawing me the most amazing vulcan shouto.

It was the crackling of your comms unit that roused you, the ping of an incoming call slicing through the fog of your sleep. You blinked awake, realizing you’d fallen asleep huddled in the corner of your cell, your neck stiff from being wedged awkwardly against the wall as you dozed.

You hurriedly accepted the comm, smiling blearily as First Officer Iida’s anxious expression filled the piece of your wrist unit’s screen that wasn’t obscured by your manacles.

“Captain,” he said solemnly, inclining his head.

You gave him a nod, suppressing a wince as the motion jarred your shoulder, pulling at the wound and sending a wave of hot pain radiating down to your fingers. You suspected it was dislocated, although that was immaterial at this point. You’d figure it out later in the privacy of your own quarters, when the rest of your crew had been seen to.

“Tenya,” you said, pulling on a grin. “It’s a relief to see you—what have you been able to pull together?”

Iida’s eyes slipped sideways to what you could tell was an inventory, a list of items you intended for the UA to present to your Xentauri captors. “Midoriya was able to put together a translator based on the audio snippets you took with your wrist unit. It’s calibrated for their language, so we should be able to communicate effectively.”

You nodded again, pleased with your crew’s progress. You suspected you were only in this mess in the first place because of your communication gap. 

Xentauri-II.1ba, as it was officially charted on Federation mapping, was a newly discovered life-supporting planet that had yet to be thoroughly investigated. The Federation had first deployed a small science team to research conditions, but only weeks in, the unit had dispatched an emergency signal. Your ship, the UA had been the closest to receive it, and once decoded by Comms Officer Midoriya, the signal had pointed to the team being in severe danger, possibly under attack.

You’d immediately rerouted for Xentauri-II.1ba, and taken a small shuttle down to the research base with a few handpicked officers to investigate. Whereupon you’d of course been attacked by the planet’s inhabitants yourself.

You’d attempted to negotiate, but without a mapping of their language to yours yet established, your efforts were in vain. The Xentauri had taken your rescue crew prisoner too, hauled you back to what you guessed to be their capital city, and thrown you in with the research team.

They hadn’t seemed to want to kill you after the fight deescalated. Or known enough, for that matter, to relieve your crew of your communicators. Which pointed to a possible diplomatic solution still at hand.

 “Perfect. What else?” you prompted Iida.

“Records of Federation history reworked to suit their level of technological advancement, a few non-invasive crop samples Ibara thinks will work well in their arid soil, some textiles and worked metals that roughly match their own dress that Midoriya thinks they may like, blankets, and—well, Shouto hasn’t given them up yet but we’re asking him for some species-agnostic hyposprays to represent our intention to help.”

Your stomach flipped at the mention of your Chief Medical Officer. You were going to be giving him a wide berth for the foreseeable future until you were certain he wouldn’t be able to note your injuries. He was the last person who needed to catch on to your weakness.

“He doesn’t want to give them over?” you asked.

Iida frowned. “He has not said as much, but I am getting the distinct impression he does not look well upon the Xentauri.”

You tossed Iida another tired grin. “How can he dislike them when we’ve never encountered them before? He’s just mad about the cleanup he’s gonna have to do on the crew. Tell Shouto it’s Captain’s orders and I want at least five.”

Iida made a noise of assent, pushing up his glasses. “I will. We should be there in precisely twenty Galactic standard minutes. Is there anything else you wish me to assemble before the podship departs?”

You shook your head. “You’ve done a good job, thank you, Tenya. Let’s see how the negotiation goes now that we have Izuku’s translator. If we have to do it in phases, please prioritize the return of the research team first, then the crew. I will go last—is that understood?”

Iida looked like he’d swallowed a lemon, but predictably, he nodded. He was loyal to your command, reliable to a fault. You were so often thankful for it.

“Understood, Captain. I will see you shortly,” he replied.

“Thank you, Tenya,” you said, before ending the comm. 

Mina perked up in her own cell, a few yards away from yours. “Party bus incoming?”

You laughed, giving the xenobiologist a wink. She’d been good company the last day or so, easily able to keep her spirits up despite your capture and able to help you reassure the rest of your crew that things were well in hand. You were especially thankful, as she had been inches away from not being here. You’d moved in front of the knife meant for her without thinking, catching it in your own shoulder instead of her throat. It super sucked for you, but it was better a shoulder wound than a dead friend.

“Your shower and breakfast beckon, m’lady,” you joked.

Mina groaned appreciatively, scrubbing a manacled hand through her candy-pink hair. “I think I’m gonna take an old fashioned one. Real water and everything.”

You made a sympathetic sound. A water shower sounded luxurious, and some part of you desperately craved one too. But hot water was not good for most injuries, particularly a dislocated shoulder and what you were also certain was a broken ankle. Not to mention the stinging effect it might have on your stab wound and the litany of cuts and bruises that banded the rest of your body.

You were going to have to wait a little longer until you’d healed up to partake.

“We should wake the rest of the crew,” you said, motioning to the couple of uniformed lumps in Mina’s cell and the few beyond.

Mina nodded, and set about poking your teammates awake, calling excitedly to the next couple of cells down.

Both your crew and the Federation research team were awake by the time the Xentauri guard came to fetch you, exactly 20 minutes on the dot, as Iida had promised. They said something in their twining, sinuous tones, shuffling to the doors of your cells. They were humanoid but strange to look at, their skin waxen grey and necks elongated like Earthen giraffes, sprouting into wide, ridged faces almost like the Ferengi. A set of eight fingers—as long and spindly as their necks—protruded from the cuffs of their shirts, made from a light material like a linen, though their thinness belied a ferocious strength.

It reminded you a little of looking at Shouto, his terrifying Vulcan strength buried under a deceptively beautiful visage. 

The Xentauri’s strength was on full display as a guard reached out and hauled you unceremoniously to your feet. They shepherded you impatiently out of the prison, into the harsh blue cast of the Xentauri sun.You stumbled along with them, swearing under your breath every time you took a step with your right foot. Pain lanced up your leg, lodging in your throat, and you grit your teeth, sweat building quickly beneath your uniform.

It was almost a relief to be forced down when you finally reached your destination—a sandy expanse of earth outside or a huddle of buildings erected from a purplish, glittering rock. Your head swam, and your vision whited out for a moment as you hit your knees.

When you recovered, you could see the crew of the UA was already assembled in the lot. Iida stood at ease in front of a small group of expedition officers, flanked by Izuku, Tokoyami, and—you paled to see it—Shouto.

Your Chief Medical Officer looked predictably perfect in the light of the Xentauri sun, the blue catching in the silver of his hair, fading into the blue of his uniform. It played over his broad shoulders and glinted off of the cool metal of the phaser strapped to his thigh. It also underscored his expression, which was pissed—or as pissed as a Vulcan could look, anyway.

It was undetectable if you weren’t already intimately familiar with their baseline expressions. But you were familiar enough with Shouto’s—had been his schoolmate once—and so you caught the tiniest narrowing of his eyes at the corners, the barest hint of a scrunch between his perfect eyebrows as that heterochromatic gaze flicked over you. 

Oh yeah. Pissed big time.

You tried to project an air of strength and confidence as he looked you over, though you imagined your stay in Xentauri prison had not been kind to you. You knew you were covered in dust and debris, and you watched Shouto’s gaze snag on the rend in your uniform over your stab wound. It was a mess of dried blood surrounded by some very heavy and very gross bruising.

Dignity and command, you told yourself as your vision fuzzed a little again. You could totally still project dignity and command.

Izuku stepped forward with the translator, offering some opening words that, on this side of the lot, came out in the Xentauri language, sibilant and twisting. One of the Xentauri, dressed in a purple linen that nearly matched the stone of the buildings around you, stepped forward, replying in a hiss of words.

You listened with half an ear as negotiations commenced, trying to keep your focus on staying upright. The Xentauri sun burned through the fabric of your uniform, and the air was biting and dry. You pointedly did not look at Shouto again, keeping your eyes trained on Izuku and Iida as they produced the bargaining chips you’d ordered.

You were pleased when, as you expected, the Xentauri accepted with little delay. You could only just catch snatches of Federation Standard as Izuku and Iida spoke between the translated layers of Xentauri, but you were able to gather that the Federation’s arrival was perceived as an attempt to undermine Xentauri territorial sovereignty. 

Once it was made clear that you were not on any sort of political venture, however, you were ceded back into Federation custody with no more ceremony than a box of pastries. They seemed eager to receive the gifts you had pulled together, and not very interested in further violence.

You watched, relieved, as your crew were set free of their restraints and helped back towards the podship by their teammates. You shook out your own hands happily as a Xentauri guard freed you from your manacles as well.

You clambered to your feet, biting back a small scream as you put weight on your right leg. And then you forced yourself to pace evenly over to where Iida stood with the remaining crew, inclining your head gratefully. You waved away the rest of the crew, huddling up with your First and Communications Officers.

“Well handled,” you told them. Izuku flushed beneath his freckles, always pleased, and Iida saluted you. “I’d like ten minutes for a sonic shower and a change of uniform, then I’d like all heads of departments at the bridge for a debrief.”

Iida nodded. “I will arrange it.”

“Thank you,” you said, ignoring the way your head throbbed. “I’m certain you have also already drafted a report to Star Fleet. I’d like to review it collectively to ensure the Xentauri are fairly represented and to request permission for continued negotiation with them for Federation Science re-access to their planet.”

Iida saluted. 

“After that, please consider yourself off duty,” you said. “Thank you for your overtime to get the crew back. We can transition ship command back to me and I will cover your remaining shift into my upcoming—-”

“You will not,” Shouto’s low tone cut through your order.

You startled at his proximity, the statement issued from just above your right temple. When you titled your head to look back at him, your shoulder lanced with pain and your vision swam faintly again. You forced it all down, shooting Shouto an impatient look.

“Respectfully—”

“You are not cleared for duty,” Shouto said. 

It was lucky the rest of the crew had already hastened towards the podship or you might have strangled him for his lack of deference. But Shouto had a knack for timing—he never disobeyed you in front of the crew, never even came close to a whisper of undeferential behavior unless it was with Tenya and Izuku, both of whom you knew he trusted completely. He was too canny.

“I don’t need to be cleared, it’s just a couple of scratches,” you informed him archly.

“I believe I am qualified to make that assessment on my own,” Shouto told you, his heterochromatic gaze fastening to your face as he stepped around you to join the circle of your officers. You were altogether too aware of the breadth and height of him as he moved, a tiny thrill of fear zipping down your spine.

Shouto was the only person on the ship with the authority to strip you of command should he see fit. And you were determined for him to never see fit.

“What luck there is no need for you to,” you said, sweetly. 

A scarlet eyebrow rose a scant millimeter, which to Vulcans amounted to a look of polite incredulity. “That would be in violation of Regulation 8.667-f of the Medical Standard. Which requires a medical officer to clear return for all officers sustaining injury on duty, including command. Especially when you have clearly been stabbed.”

Damn him.

“Details,” you told him. “Plus I’m sure you’ll be busy clearing all your other patients. I can duck in a little later to see if Hagakure—”

“My staff will see to the other crew,” Shouto said. “You are my priority, Captain.”

A little thrill zinged through your veins again, fear and something else you did not care to examine.

Iida and Izuku did not help matters by nodding in agreement, Iida giving you a short bow. “We will see to the situation on the bridge, Captain, until you are cleared for return. Please make sure you are in good health.”

You valiantly fought down a scowl as you dismissed them. “My gratitude.”

Izuku and Iida saluted and turned for the podship, leaving you alone with the most annoying Vulcan in the galaxy. You watched them go, not turning to Shouto until they had cleared most of the way.

“You first, doctor,” you motioned him towards the ship as well, determined to walk behind him so he wouldn’t catch any sign of a limp in your step.

Shouto didn’t move, however, blinking down at you. His handsome face was impassive, the strong line of his jaw and plush mouth perfectly, deceptively at ease.

“Do you so object to walking with me, Captain?” he asked.

You shook your head. “I will cover the rear.”

Shouto blinked again. “I am the only one with a phaser between us.”

If you didn’t feel on the verge of passing out, you could have torn out your own hair. Did he need to be so difficult!

“I insist,” you said, trying your best to look polite and innocent.

Shouto’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Either you are deliberately avoiding mention of another injury or you are injured so badly as to have forgotten it. In which case a mandate of relief from the captainship would almost certainly be required while you recover your memory—”

You reached out and slapped a hand over his mouth, hissing, “I did not forget an injury.”

“Then you must inform me,” he said into your fingers. His tone sounded more entreating than commanding, and for some reason that annoyed you. There was no reason to be concerned.

“Nothing confirmed, possible dislocation,” you said vaguely, pulling your hand away. It tingled a little with the echo of how his mouth had moved against it.

Shouto’s gaze dropped from your face down your body, his mouth pursing in a sweet little downturn. “Where?”

You gritted your teeth. “Shoulder. Possibly one ankle.”

Shouto immediately dropped to his knees in front of you, startling you. You took a reflexive step backwards, letting out a cry when it jostled your right foot. You just barely managed not to go down hard, recovering yourself only by the sudden grip Shouto had on your waist, supporting you.

He was, of course, immediately able to tell which ankle had pained you. His long, elegant fingers reached for the hem of your right leg, rolling it up in a gentle motion. You watched the top of that red-and-white head tilt, and heard the soft intake of his breath as he caught the swelling that had reached the edges of your boot.

His expression could almost be termed thunderous, even on a human, when he looked back up at you. “You were going to walk on a broken ankle,” he said accusingly.

“Oh? Is it broken?” you tried, pasting on an expression of surprise.

Which immediately turned to a yelp of genuine surprise when Shouto rolled nimbly back to his feet, sweeping his arms under you, avoiding your right shoulder.

“Shouto—!” you squeaked, your voice strangled. 

“You knew,” he said firmly, tucking you close to his chest. Your face heated at the press of him along your side, warm and firm and harder with muscle than a medical officer should have been allowed. He smelled like sterilants and some warm, expensive cologne, a little unearthly in profile. Possibly composed of Vulcan plants.

It made your lightheadedness somehow even worse, and if he didn’t put you down now you were afraid you might pass out for real.

“It’s probably just a minor fracture,” you insisted, as he carried you towards the podship. You shifted, ignoring the flare of pain in your shoulder as you did, trying to clamber out of his arms. He refused to be dislodged, ducking deftly through the door of the podship and nodding at a crewman as the officer closed it behind the two of you.

You couldn’t bear to look at the crewman’s face, burning with embarrassment at being carried over the threshold like a fucking princess.

Then Shouto had the audacity to buckle you into the podship seat himself, like your arms were broken too, and arranged himself stiffly in the seat next to you.

His mouth was turned down in a frown when you glanced at him, and the expression did not so much as flicker the entire flight back to the UA. It was only when you tried to insist you could walk to medbay yourself that Shouto gave you the flattest, most flinty-eyed look you’d ever seen from him. He knelt before you again, helping you unfasten your jumpseat buckle, and ignored your protests as he pulled your uninjured arm up over a strong shoulder, gathering you up in his arms again.

You squeezed your eyes as he moved through the halls, both to avoid seeing the judgment on your crew’s faces and because the way the walls were starting to spin in front of your eyes was making you a little nauseous.

You appeared to be the first of the captured crew to make into medbay, so it was blessedly empty of people as Shouto bore you through it. He carried you right into his office and set you on the gently medbed in the corner, your least favorite spot on the entire ship.

Then he stood in front of you, and put hands on his hips. You ignored the way it made his biceps pull and flex under the fabric of his uniform. 

“I am going to have to cut your boot off of you,” Shouto informed you. “Your shirt as well. It’s stuck in your wounds and I will need to reopen them a little to cut it out.”

Your cheeks heated with the idea of being bare before him, but he was a medical professional. And also that was disgusting—you wanted to get your shirt out of your own body as fast as possible. “Sure—that’s fine.”

Shouto hummed to himself, a low, soft tone in the back of his throat as he moved to a drawer of equipment beside the med bed. “Thank you,” he said, drawing out a device with a wickedly thin, circular blade attached. 

You did not like the look of it, and hoped that famous Vulcan precision was everything it was cracked up to be.

Shouto knelt before you again, carefully applying the saw and pulling the fabric of your boot gently away from your skin. It whirred softly, and in a matter of moments you felt the loosening of the fabric, and your boot thunked heavily to the floor.

“I will do your shirt now,” Shouto told you.

You nodded, breath catching in your chest as he leaned over you. Those long fingers slid under the collar of your uniform, easing it away from the fragile skin of your neck. You flushed hotly when Shouto’s fingers met the edge of your bra strap, too, and he paused, going strangely still.

You thought you caught the hint of a blue flush at the top of one high cheekbone, and you quickly bit out a “sorry” at him, cheeks burning. 

Then the saw whirred to life again, and Shouto angled it down until it had cut a clean line down your shirt. He pulled it off of you, very gently inching it away from where it had stuck into your stab wound and various other cuts with your dried blood. He murmured a warning before each, and you bit back a groan as it re-tore open the skin in those spots, determined not to look like a little baby.

Shouto tossed your shirt in the biohazard bin with perfect aim, his eyelashes sweeping down across his cheeks as he took stock of all the injuries that had collected across your torso.

You looked down at yourself, noting several deep cuts you hadn’t noticed before and a contusion in the shape of one of the Xentauri’s feet. You also noted how much blood had soaked into the cups and straps of your bra from your stab wound, and chalked it up to a lost cause. When you looked back up, Shouto looked kind of angry again.

“I will administer painkillers via hypospray and a topical antibacterial to your stab wound first,” he said, his low voice flat.

You nodded your assent, and Shouto went to the drawer again, gathering up the things he’d need for you. “Then I will assess your remaining injuries via tricorder. I may need to manually reset your shoulder. Your ankle should be healable with the osteogenic stimulator. Is this acceptable?”

You nodded again tiredly. “You can do whatever you want with me.”

Shouto fumbled the hypospray, whipping around to stare at you. A blue flush crawled all the way up his pointed ears.

You could almost hear the rush of your own blood to your ears when you realized how you’d just sounded. “I mean—uhhhhh. That wasn’t to imply—”

“If I did what I wanted with you,” Shouto said, drawing himself up. “You would never leave medbay again.”

You blinked, unsure if that was the threat it sounded like. Meaning, he wouldn’t let you go back to command for your own good? Or he wanted to murder you himself? Or—?

You burned with embarrassment. You had long wanted Shouto’s approval, or at the very least to avoid him seeing right through you to the poor little wretch you’d been before Starfleet, unable to take care of your own mother, surrendered into state care for your uselessness. 

You’d wanted it even back at the academy, realizing how smart he was, how straightforward and empathetic. You trusted his judgment more than anyone else on this ship. And so you wanted him to think you were a capable captain, someone worthy of his respect, too. Not some idiot who could barely handle herself who needed to be kept from command to protect the rest of the crew.

You stayed silent, shame burning through you. You would just have to try harder in the future, make him see that you could be relied on to take care of this crew, including him. You would prove yourself capable.

Shouto moved around you with the ease of long practice, pressing the hypospray to the back of your neck. Then he held the tricorder over you, his mismatched gaze tracking across the screen, that microscopic scrunch appearing between his brows again.

“You have been stabbed, dislocated your shoulder, fractured a finger, broken your ankle, torn your MCL. You have also sustained significant bruising on your right torso, left thigh, and right shin,” he said. “You have a variety of small cuts and other abrasions across roughly five percent of your epidermis.”

His voice sounded kind of funny, and his handsome face waved in front of you like a flag in the wind. A weird feeling of giddiness and relief swept over you, and you realized the painkillers he’d just given you were starting to hit.

“Ohhhhh that feels so good,” you said, stupidly, feeling yourself slip forward. Your head lolled onto Shouto’s shoulder.

You could feel his inhale, and then his arms came around you. “I—Yes, I can do it from this position, then. I will need to reset your shoulder. I need to apply a local anesthetic.”

“Do your thing,” you said into his neck. He smelled really good.

Shouto’s next breath was uneven, and long fingers grasped you just above your bicep, the cold touch of the hypospray at your shoulder joint. “I will proceed.”

You closed your eyes. “Whatever you want.”

A feeling of numbness overtook your shoulder, and then the hypospray disappeared. A large hand braced against your back and Shouto said, “I am going to reset it now.”

You nodded. “Sounds nice.”

There was a strange feeling of pressure, a slide that you did not like, and then—a sense of relief. “Oh, it’s back in!”

“Yes,” Shouto confirmed. Then, hesitantly, “I will need to move you to work on your stab wound and fractures.”

You heard yourself make a grunt of disapproval. You did not like the sound of that. Moving sounded like the worst thing anyone had ever asked of you, actually. “Y’ can ignore them, ‘ll get ‘m later.”

Shouto paused. “I would be professionally negligent not to fix them.”

You frowned. “Doesn’t matter, I’ll get ‘m. Thank you.”

“They…matter to me,” Shouto said. There was something in his voice you didn’t like, something a little dark like you had displeased him. You didn’t want to displease him.

You were interrupted from responding, however, by a soft knock at the door. Shouto hesitated, then called for whoever it was to come in, and you heard Hagakure’s bright tone from over his shoulder.

“Oh! Is that the captain—?” she said. “Is she—?”

“I gave her Metorapan,” Shouto said. “Please close the door behind you.”

“Oh nothing but the top shelf for our captain, huh,” Hagakure laughed. “Explains why she’s all over you right now. She say anything crazy yet?”

It took an inhuman amount of effort to lift your head from Shouto’s chest to glare over his shoulder at her. Only to find she was missing from view, the chameleon skin of her alien species picking up the light reflections in the ship’s environment. She had to consciously remember to be visible sometimes.

“I am not all over him,” you said. “And as I was just explaining, I am done an’ ready to debrief now.”

Hagakure shimmered into view, her mouth turned up into a grin. “With an open stab wound?”

You blinked. Shouto covered you almost completely from view. How could she—?

“Mina says it was meant for her but Captain took it right in the shoulder instead. Didn’t even go down, just tried to negotiate with the Xentauri right through it,” Hagakure reported.

Shouto’s sigh ruffled your hair. “I am unsurprised to hear it.”

You felt another frown pull at your mouth. He probably thought you were an idiot for almost getting one of your crew injured. You hated how incapable you were, too, but you’d at least saved her from the worst of it, and you’d learn the lesson for next time. Next time, you would prove yourself for sure. You would earn the command of this ship, not just on paper but in practice too.

“How is the crew?” you managed, forcing the feelings down.

“None so injured as you,” Hagakure said. “They said you took the worst of it for them, and kept things from escalating. A couple of minor fractures here and there and some bruising but otherwise everyone is safe. The research crew on the other hand, is a little worse for wear—bet they wish you had been there for their arrest too.”

You snorted. Nobody wished that.

“Nothing we can’t fix though,” Hagakure said. “I’ll send you the report Mina gave, Shouto, on Cap’s injury so you have it, and send the treatment records for your review when we’re done.”

“Thank you,” Shouto said.

“I wanted to check if there’s any help you need from me, before I go back to supervise?” she asked.

Shouto shook his head.

You shook your head also, detaching from Shouto reluctantly. The room was cold without him against you. “Thank you for the report on the crew. Can you comm Tenya on the way out to let him know I will be there shortly to debrief?”

Hagakure stared at you. “You’re still stabbed, Captain.”

You blinked and looked down, noting your lack of shirt as well. When had that—? “Oh. That.”

Hagakure made a noise like she was suppressing a laugh and let herself out, the door closing firmly behind her.

Before you could make your excuses to Shouto, he’d eased an arm behind your shoulder and was tipping you over to lay on the cot.

“You cannot be cleared to return to duty until your injuries are addressed and the Metorapan wears off,” he told you. “You will need to sleep it off for a few hours after we are done.”

As he had anticipated it, his hand flew to your shoulder as you tried to sit up, pressing you back down. “I don’t need a few hours,” you said.

“You will have them regardless,” Shouto replied.

“I’ve already taken too much time,” you said, giving him a quick smile. See how ready you were to return to work?

Shouto’s perfect mouth pulled downwards a scant inch, and your eyes tracked the movement. “You are a very bad patient, as usual,” he said.

You rolled your eyes. You were a very bad everything. You didn’t also want to be a bad captain.

Shouto’s mouth opened, his eyelashes fluttering in surprise. “Is that what you think?” he asked, and you realized you’d maybe said that last bit aloud. “You believe you are a bad captain?”

A sudden flicker of fear flared to life in your chest.

To admit doubt was also to be a bad captain. You could not show hesitation, not when you were meant to be the leader of this starship. Shouto himself could not trust you if he knew you were not perfectly sure of yourself at all times.

“No,” you said.

Shouto watched your face. “No?”

Your head throbbed, and a bone deep exhaustion settled over you, tugging at your eyelids. But you watched him back, trying to blink through the feeling.

“I,” you started, then stopped yourself when you realized it wouldn’t be quite true to say you were a good captain. Shouto wasn’t stupid. “I do my best to protect th’ crew. Will always do my best to protect every member of th’ UA.”

A tiny little frown marred the perfection of Shouto’s face again. You reached up, smoothing it, and watched as a bluish green flush overtook his features again.

Vulcans blushed blue. You were probably grossing him out. You took your hand away.

“You take care of most of the crew,” Shouto allowed. “Every single member of the crew but one. There is a notable exception.”

Shit. Who had you failed? How had you failed? Normally you knew, were perfectly and objectively aware of every single time a strategy of yours had not gone as intended, had worked to make up the learning after and never make the mistake again. 

But it was Shouto’s job to pull you from command if you were unfit. And if you were negligent enough in your duties like this, not even see the the things you were missing—

“D’you plan to relieve me of command?” you asked. Your face burned again, the question having slipped out before you were ready.

Shouto looked shocked—surprise taking over more of his features than you had ever seen on a Vulcan before.

“What?” he asked.

“Because I let them get hurt. Who is it?” you asked.

Shouto appeared speechless for a long moment. “People will always get hurt on missions like ours. You have protected the crew better than anyone I could think of. Your strategic thinking in times of crises is your area of expertise, and I have no doubt in your abilities. If I were to relieve you of command, I would see double the numbers of crew members in here after every mission.”

Your head swam, and you flushed with embarrassment, squirming uncomfortably with the praise. It didn’t answer your question. Why was he being so hard to understand?

“But you said there was someone I don’t protect. Like a routine failure.”

Shouto raised a hand, his long fingers skirting around the edge of your stab wound. “The only person you do not look after is yourself.”

You blinked, subsiding under his hand. Yourself? That was his problem?

Shouto’s handsome face spasmed again and you could tell you’d said that aloud too.  

“Yes, that is my problem,” he said. 

“Oh well that’s fine then,” you answered, although you were a little mystified.

Look after yourself? What was there even to look after? You had a good job, and your own sonic shower, and hot food whenever you wanted it, provided you weren’t temporarily behind bars on some backwater planet. You had the chance to earn the trust of people you respected, some of the best in the galaxy in their professions, and—many months into your mission—several blossoming friendships with Iida, Izuku, Mina, and Hagakure. You had a literal starship at your command, a place you were beginning to belong.

The only thing you could want for was Shouto’s respect too.

But you would earn that in time. You would.

“You already have it,” Shouto said, his voice low and intimate. It made you flush again, your heart beating kicking up somewhere into your throat.

“I do?” you asked.

Shouto inclined his head, looking you in the face.

“I will make it clear to you more in the future,” he said, then leaned over you, reaching for some device. You reveled in his warmth and closeness for a moment, until he pulled back with something you recognized as an osteogenic stimulator. “As well as other areas of my regard.”

You blinked, wondering what that meant.

“It is not a conversation that is right to have when you are not in possession of your faculties,” Shouto said. “But perhaps it will convince you to take better care of yourself.”

You blinked again sleepily, having trouble thinking straight now that the immediate problem had been addressed and you’d been horizontal for so long. Shouto did not think you needed to be relieved of duty. Shouto respected you.

You watched him work blearily, his long fingers fiddling with some of the settings on the simulator. It was strangely hypnotic to observe, and another wave of exhaustion washed through you, weighing you down to the table.

“In the interim I will take care of you. Until, and even after, you are able,” Shouto promised.

“That…sounds really nice,” you said absently, wondering if maybe you could just catch a couple minutes’ rest while he worked.

“You can sleep. I will be here when you wake up,” Shouto said, trailing the simulator down to your ankle.

His touch was sure and gentle, and his voice was too.

Maybe it would be fine then, to just take a short respite.

You closed your eyes. And under Shouto’s careful watch, you let yourself rest.

[shrimpiest-cat]

A robot girl took months to figure out how to synthesize human-sounding speech from scratch. She still has to spend so much processing capacity just handling verbal communication with humans, between all the conscious effort her cobbled-together speech synth takes to run and how much she has to compensate for her defective audio decoder.

That very tired robot comes home to her wife after a long day, far too exhausted to form complete sentences. She doesn't have to, though - her human has learned to understand the tired beeps and chirps, the simple gestures, all the little low-overhead ways the robot expresses herself when she's not trying to fit in with humans.

A hug and a pair of beeps are all she needs to say "I love you".

[notlongtolove]

your star next to mine

nobody loves the earth for spinning, not really. it's been turning for 4.6 billion years with no applause. the sun rises then sets, and the moon follows suit. the stars flicker in their wake and the earth spins regardless. spencer thinks you’re more than the sun, moon, and stars combined.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: fluff

content: established relationshippp ugh waking up to spencer reid <3 actually more like spencer reid waking up to bau!reader (spoiler: hes out of this world in love with her)

word count: 1k

note: writing this made me SICKKKK with longing and yearning (they r so in love and i hate them for it ugh) sorry sorry writing ab stars and spencer reid in bed AGAIN im sorry i just want to romanticise small moments in life (theyre coming for me with a strait jacket as we speak)

a line: It’s hard to tell where you end and where he begins—Spencer hopes he never has to find out.

When The Big met The Bang and science happened before eyes that did not exist yet, collided and made love to each other was your star next to mine? Tell me, my love; did someone ever wish upon the star we are made from? - m. chase

There are roughly 7100 languages spoken and signed on earth. Spencer himself is familiar with at least seven of them. Russian, Latin, Middle English, to name a few. You remember him explaining the intricacies of medieval typography during your third date—You think you fell in love with him somewhere between his comparison of Gothic and Carolingian scripts. 

Before there were text messages made up of abbreviations and emojis, there were letters. Love letters of thoughts born from lovelorn minds that made their way into granite, pressed against the grain of paper. Before that, feathered quills dipped in ink, sometimes splattering on parchment. A testament to words too heavy to get out right, but a need to get them out all the same. 

But the earth has been spinning for 4.6 billion years. And before that, there were cavemen that carved primitive symbols into stone—etches and notches that archaeologists still devote their lives to deciphering. Spencer sometimes thinks that had he not joined the FBI, he might’ve found himself in their shoes, decoding ancient scribbles, a circle with four notches, stick figures huddling around it. 

Now, he thinks, there’s not much left to figure out after all.

You turn in your sleep, hand searching for him in the mess of sheets. No words needed. I missed you, even in sleep. I miss you. Spencer shuffles a little closer to appease you, the small crease in your brow softens, almost vanishes, content when you find the curve of his hip. When Spencer places his hand over waist, he knows you know what he’s saying. I missed you too. I miss you, even in sleep.

Your hand shifts to accommodate his, intertwining with his in a way that makes his chest squeeze. It’s a dance you’ve both perfected, your fingers settling into the spaces between his. His hands are far from soft. The callus on his left palm is rough and worn, a result of years in the field with his gun. Yours aren’t perfect either—nails a little less neat than you'd like, a few nicks from the hurried days of recent weeks. His thumb traces the back of your hand. You give a small squeeze in return. And then two more. It’s instinctual—fingers find fingers. Spencer gives three squeezes back. 

But then your hand pushes past his, brushing lightly over the scab on the small of his back—A close call with a bullet during last week’s case. Even in sleep, you frown at the reminder. Not a big deal, baby, he’d winced through the burning pain in an effort to reassure you. You’d cried anyway. Later, you’d marched straight to Hotch, demanding better bulletproof vests—I don’t care if they have a bigger budget, I want the kind they use down in D.C.

Spencer gently takes your hand and places it on his chest. The tension in your brow visibly eases. For a moment, it rests there, still and quiet, before it stirs again, sleepily travelling up to settle on the curve of his neck. The birthmark on your shoulder makes a quiet appearance when his shirt slides off you a little. A lover’s kiss from a past life. Spencer hopes it was him in your life before this. And the one before that. And all the other ones before that. 

He breathes you in as you nuzzle into his neck, the motion guided by how tightly he pulls you to him. The only thing he loves more than falling asleep to you is waking up to you. It’s hard to tell where you end and where he begins—Spencer hopes he never has to find out. You pull back slightly humming lightly into his skin, a good morning before the good morning. A hi again, i’m glad it’s you i’m waking up to. 

The strands of hair falling into your face can’t hide the explosion of color in your eyes when they sleepily blink open. Once, then twice, before you’re closing them again—It’s woefully insufficient. Spencer thinks of how constellations were once used for navigation. They guided sailors across vast oceans, helping them find their way home. 

Then you’re leaning in to kiss him, eyes still closed. When the big met the bang all those years ago. His hand moves from your waist, tracing the curve of your spine, down your arm, and back up. You catch his bottom lip lightly between your teeth and Spencer sees stars. He thinks it’s a wonder you still have this effect on him after 439 days—206 of those being nights spent together. His fingers graze along your jaw before resting gently on your lips. A journey from waist to lips—one Spencer would gladly make a thousand times and more.

As someone with a PhD in Mathematics and who prides himself in his comprehension of logic and reason, Spencer knows infinity is an abstract idea. It’s an unreachable concept through mere arithmetic. But for you, he’d solve for it a million times over just so he doesn’t have to spend a single day without you. Honest to god, he doesn’t think he can. Truthfully, he doesn’t know how he’s managed to go so long without you in the first place.

When you pull away breathless, grinning, it’s almost a little wicked. You're definitely fully awake now. Cheeks flushed, lips red and rosy and you’re both leaning in again.

No words said. Lips to lips. A universal love letter through the ages. Pieces of parchment, folded and sealed, wax stamps guarding tenderness in ink. Hairs tucked inside lockets. Pictures in weathered wallets. From the sea to the shore, from the granite to the quills, from the stone to the paper. No words needed. 

Nobody loves the Earth for spinning, not really. It's been turning for 4.6 billion years with no applause. The sun rises then sets, and the moon follows suit. The stars flicker in their wake and the earth spins regardless. Spencer thinks you’re more than the sun, moon, and stars combined. 

There’s nothing else to decipher. A fact, pure and simple. An absolute consistency through and through. 

Lips to lips, over and over. The big meets the bang, again and again. I love you, I love you, I love you.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you so much for reading! likes, comments or reblogs are very much appreciated!

ᯓ★ song recs if you feel like it: sidelines by phoebe bridgers sailor song by gigi perez

[tobesolnelyx]

— it was only a kiss ! || shauna shipman x fem!reader

a/n: going back to reqs tomorrow, pinky promise. now: this is my way of saying happy birthday to sweetest soul i had pleasure to meet recently. muah, pretty girl <3

summary: shauna goes into brown to finally get some peace… and she meets you. damn you. fluff. strangers to friends to lovers. college au.

warnings: none!

word count: around 1.6k

Shauna was convinced that going to Brown would finally bring her some peace. Peace from Jackie, from Jeff, and from everyone else. She planned to finally breathe and, for once in her life, focus only on herself, not everyone around her.

What she didn’t plan for was meeting you while she was moving into the dorm. She was lugging her stuff up the stairs, already panting from the effort, when you stepped into the doorway. A small, friendly smile glued to your face. Shauna stopped mid-step. The box nearly slipped from her hands as she stared at you. Of course, the most beautiful girl she had ever seen had to walk into the room while she was sweaty and overheating in her shirt.

“Hey,” you said, stepping inside. Only when you introduced yourself and extended your hand did Shauna register that you were speaking to her.

“Uh, hey...” she mumbled, looking away. A grimace crossed her face, as if she was angry at the very fact that you had the nerve to look that good while standing so close to her, just when she’d finally decided to focus on herself for once. She set the box down on the floor and shook your hand. “Shauna,” she muttered.

Her gaze wandered everywhere, deliberately avoiding your face. Her cheeks burned. From nerves? From exertion? From that awful thing she had to call a crush?

“Can I take that bed?” you asked sweetly, your fingers slipping away from her sweaty palm, though you didn’t comment on it. Shauna quickly wiped her hand on her pants and glanced at the bed on the other side of the room.

“Yeah, sure,” she replied with a shrug, looking away again, as if she hadn’t been obsessively thinking about which bed to take. She frowned and winced at herself. You sighed quietly, and when you turned to walk across the room, those sad brown eyes followed you.

So it was hard to blame yourself for thinking, at first, that Shauna, for some unknown reason, didn’t like you. She avoided you, your gaze, and your voice. She rarely spoke unless she had no other choice. So you did most of the talking. And she mostly nodded, stiffening every time you got close. Eventually, you figured maybe that was what irritated her, your constant attempts to break through the awkward silence and form some kind of friendship. Maybe you talked too much.

But when you stopped, Shauna noticed. And she definitely didn’t like it.

Shauna wasn’t the type to talk about nothing, or gossip, or just start rambling about her interests. There was no chance she’d bring up her feelings, after all, there was a reason she carried that leather-bound journal everywhere, constantly scribbling in it.

So, she started making excuses. Asking about classwork, needing something from the store and asking if she could borrow money, or sometimes showing up with lunch or dinner for you.

She didn’t know how else to approach you. She had never been close to anyone besides Jackie, and Jackie had always just been there. Especially now, Shauna had no idea how to act around someone, a fucking girl, she liked.

Sooner or later, you caught on that all those little excuses Shauna kept coming up with were attempts to get your attention. She was decoding every interaction, carefully planning every word she said to you. Shauna wasn’t shy, she just had no idea how to keep you around. How to make you into something permanent in her life, like her friendship with Jackie had been.

If she was talking to you and anyone else interrupted or stole your attention away, frustration flared. She always watched you. Always wrote about you in that journal. She noticed the tiniest things: how you tied your shoes, how you repeated the same ritual every morning, how you drummed your nails on the desk when you were focused.

With time, you started to realize that in her own twisted way, Shauna needed your attention. So you began giving her time again. And while Shauna never outright said that she liked you or wanted something more, her behavior changed. Now she sat on your bed when you talked about your day, either scribbling in her journal or reading whatever book she could get her hands on. She nodded along, but you were convinced she was paying far more attention than she let on.

She was always close by. She didn’t talk much, but when she did, it was usually something sharp or worth listening to. She often suggested studying together, anything to be near you.

It was hard to deny her charm in all of this. Even if someone hurt you, Shauna would hit harder, with words, and make sure they never dared speak to you like that again. And suddenly, Shauna felt like she belonged to someone again. But this time, it was hard to hate the feeling. Honestly... she kind of liked it.

She wasn’t easy to like. But once you broke through to some real emotions, once you got used to her sarcastic humor and learned to appreciate quiet evenings spent studying, you realize that maybe you felt too much for her.

It was hard to blame you for not figuring it out. Shauna was incredibly cryptic about everything, while you, on the other hand, well, weren’t. Any idiot could see it: you liked Shauna. And honestly, she was smart enough that she should’ve at least started to suspect something.

But, as always, she never said anything directly. So neither did you.

And so the two of you spent months floating somewhere between friendship and something more.

You clung to her at every possible party. Tipsy, laughing at everything, you always somehow found your way back to her. You’d throw your arms around her neck mid-conversation, pulling her close. Maybe she wouldn’t hug you right away, she’d hesitate, but eventually, her hand would land on your back.

“Are you okay?” she’d ask, and when you gave her some kind of half-muttered grunt in response, she’d frown. “You should go back. You reek of alcohol.”

“Whatever,” you’d say, too tired, too drunk to form a coherent sentence. Not to mention Shauna smelled so good and her fingers warmed your skin so gently.

“Mhm,” she’d mumble. She’d lean in, like she might press a kiss to your forehead but she’d stop herself at the last second. She’d rub slow circles into your back and sigh. “Time to go.”

“Sure,” you’d sigh, burying your face in the crook of her neck, with no intention of moving away.

There were lots of moments like that, and Shauna really should’ve figured out what was going on. Not every roommate clings to you, slurs compliments into your skin, and protests when you try to pull away.

Still, Shauna was scared. Scared that if she told you how she felt, you might reject her. So she said nothing. Until that one night.

Shauna came back from class that day more upset than you’d ever seen her. You didn’t even bother asking what happened just watched as she stormed into the room, threw her bag into a corner, and collapsed on her bed like she wanted to forget the world existed.

Naturally, you got up quietly and lay down next to her. Gently you started rubbing her back, and she tensed up even more. You sighed but added your second hand, the two of you tangled in a position far too intimate for a pair of roommates who’d only known each other a few months.

“We could watch something,” you offered softly. “Maybe that’ll help you relax?”

Shauna just grumbled something grumpy about the world which you took as permission. “I’ll put on something dumb,” you said, “just to shut our brains off, huh?”

She sighed again but inched closer. That was probably as close as Shauna would ever get to asking for comfort.

So that’s how you ended up, wrapped in a blanket together, watching whatever random show was still saved in your browser history. Shauna stared at the screen, frowning, like she was physically incapable of relaxing.

“This is so stupid,” she muttered, stuffing chips into her mouth, the leftovers from your last get-together. Not that either of you felt like going to the store. “It makes no sense. It's embarrassing.”

You rolled your eyes and laughed, sliding under her arm like it was nothing. She looked at you with that weird flicker in her eyes but obediently adjusted her hand to rest on your shoulders.

“That’s not the point,” you teased, amused that even a dumb show could get under her skin.

“It’s about logic,” she argued, gesturing wildly with her other hand. The one on your arm began tracing mindless patterns across your skin. “And this has none. Some complete idiot wrote it.”

“Shauna,” you groaned, still laughing. Your hand landed gently on her cheek, turning her face toward yours. Her jaw tensed, a soft blush crept up her cheeks, but she didn’t pull away.

“You were supposed to be resting.”

“I can’t rest when you’re playing garbage,” she muttered, rolling her eyes again. But then her gaze dropped to your lips.

“This is your fault,” she said, mock-annoyed. You bit your lip.

“Oh, now it’s my fault?”

“Yours,” she repeated firmly, scrunching her nose. Her eyes flicked to your lips again, and it was like your brain short-circuited.

And just this once, you let yourself believe that maybe Shauna felt the same. That maybe it wouldn’t be weird. That maybe she wouldn’t push you away forever.

So before she could say anything else, your lips were on hers. Slow, deliberate, and filled with aching relief.

Shauna was so shocked she almost shoved you off. Her eyes widened, her breath hitched, and for one terrifying moment, you were ready to apologize, certain you’d just ruined everything.

But then—

Her cracked, desperate lips crushed into yours again.

Faster, messier, more frantic. The impact threw you flat onto the bed. The laptop clattered to the floor with a dull thud, but you didn’t care. Not when Shauna’s fingers were already fumbling with your belt and her tongue was sliding between your lips.

[urdreamydoodles]

Could we get some headcannons on how X-Men characters would deal with an s/o who struggles with verbal communication? (I was thinking someone who just struggles with words but they could be deaf or mute as well)

Like instead of talking they use notes, or gestures, or even actual sign language to communicate. I was thinking it’s usually done when the reader is struggling to ask for something directly, or just convey what they’re thinking.

(I wasn’t sure if you’d want specific characters to think of or if you’d want free rein, but I’ll list a few of my favourites; Wolverine, Nightcrawler, Gambit, Storm, Morph, Magneto, Beast)

X-Men x Reader

You struggles with verbal communication

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Ororo Munroe, Morph, Erik Lehnsherr, Hank McCoy, Jean Grey, Rogue, Cable & Wade Wilson

Logan Howlett aka. Wolverine

- You’d been living at the mansion for a while, and while most people understood your struggle with verbal communication, Logan didn’t seem to get it at first. He wasn’t rude about it, but his gruff nature often led him to misinterpret your gestures. “What, you can’t just spit it out?” he’d ask, crossing his arms. You’d roll your eyes and scribble something on a notepad, sliding it over to him with a sharp look. He’d grumble but take it, slowly realizing how much effort you were putting into every interaction.

- Logan started paying closer attention over time. He noticed how your hands moved when you gestured, how your eyes flicked to certain objects when you wanted something. He wasn’t the type to ask outright, but he started observing quietly, learning your nonverbal cues like he was piecing together a puzzle. One day, you found him practicing basic ASL signs in the corner of the library. “Figured it might make things easier,” he said when you caught him, scratching the back of his neck.

- He surprised you by using those signs during casual conversations, albeit a bit clumsily at first. When you were struggling to ask for help one day, he simply signed, What do you need? It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough to bring tears to your eyes. “Don’t get all weepy on me, kid,” he grumbled, handing you a tissue. Still, the small smile tugging at his lips showed he was proud of himself.

- Logan’s protectiveness shone through in unexpected ways. If someone gave you a hard time about not speaking, he’d step in with a sharp glare that could silence a room. “Got a problem with how they communicate?” he’d growl, leaving no room for argument. You never asked him to defend you, but his unwavering support made you feel seen in ways you hadn’t before.

- Over time, the two of you grew closer. Logan’s patience, hidden beneath his rough exterior, was a balm to your insecurities. One evening, after a particularly long day, you handed him a note that read, Thank you for understanding me. He read it silently, then looked up at you with an intensity that made your heart race. “Ain’t nothin’ to thank me for,” he said softly. “You’re worth the effort.”

- The shift from friendship to romance was seamless. Logan wasn’t one for grand declarations, but his actions spoke volumes. He started carrying a small notepad for you, just in case you ran out of paper. And when he kissed you for the first time, it was tender, unhurried, as if he was trying to convey all the words he knew you struggled to say. “You don’t need words with me, darlin’,” he whispered against your lips. “I get you just fine.”

Remy LeBeau aka. Gambit

- Remy was instantly intrigued by your quiet nature, his curiosity piqued when he saw you using gestures and notes to communicate. “Mon cher, you always this mysterious?” he teased with a charming smirk. At first, you thought he was just flirting like he did with everyone, but his genuine interest shone through when he started trying to decode your gestures without making you uncomfortable.

- He quickly turned your communication struggles into a game, guessing what you were trying to say with an exaggerated flair. “You tryin’ to tell me you hungry? Or you just wanna see ol’ Remy look like a fool?” he’d say, making you laugh silently. His lighthearted approach made it easier for you to relax, even when you struggled to get your point across.

- One evening, when you left a sketchpad on the table with a note reading, I’m not sure how to ask for help, Remy’s teasing demeanor softened. “Cher,” he said quietly, taking a seat beside you, “you don’t gotta be afraid to ask me for nothin’, yeah? I’ll figure it out.” His reassurance, paired with his playful charm, made you feel safe in ways you hadn’t expected.

- Remy’s natural adaptability shone as he started learning little tricks to help you communicate. He began carrying a deck of blank cards, writing quick responses or questions for you to use. “See? Now we both got somethin’ to write on,” he’d say with a wink, making the process feel less daunting. He even started teaching you French phrases, encouraging you to write them down when words failed.

- The moment things shifted between you two was subtle but impactful. One night, you handed him a note that simply read, I like you. His red eyes glimmered with mischief as he read it, but his smile was surprisingly tender. “Well, cher,” he said, leaning in closer, “guess it’s only fair I tell you somethin’, too.” Before you could respond, he pressed a soft kiss to your hand, his actions speaking louder than words ever could.

- Dating Remy was like navigating a whirlwind of charm and affection. He made it clear that he adored you, using every opportunity to show you how much he cared. From spontaneous gestures to quiet moments where he’d sit beside you, letting your notes and signs speak volumes, Remy proved that your unique way of communicating only made him fall for you harder.

Kurt Wagner aka. Nightcrawler

- Kurt noticed your struggle with verbal communication almost immediately, his empathetic nature drawing him toward you. “You do not speak much, ja?” he asked one day, his tone gentle and curious. When you nodded, he didn’t press further, instead offering you a warm smile. “I understand. We all have our ways.”

- He quickly adapted to your communication style, finding joy in the way you used gestures and notes. “It is like learning a new language,” he said with excitement, his tail flicking behind him. “And I am always eager to learn.” His enthusiasm made it easier for you to open up, his patience and kindness making every interaction feel effortless.

- One day, you hesitated, struggling to express something important. Kurt noticed your frustration and gently placed a hand on yours. “Take your time,” he said softly, his golden eyes filled with understanding. When you finally handed him a note that read, I don’t know how to ask for help sometimes, he nodded solemnly. “You never have to worry about that with me,” he assured you. “I am here for you, always.”

- Kurt began incorporating small acts of reassurance into your daily life, like leaving you notes of encouragement or learning more ASL to communicate with you better. His joy when you taught him new signs was infectious. “Did I do it right?” he’d ask, his tail curling nervously as he signed a simple phrase. Your smile was all the confirmation he needed.

- The turning point came one evening when you handed him a note that read, I think I’m falling for you. Kurt’s eyes widened, and a faint blush colored his blue cheeks. “Mein Schatz,” he whispered, his voice full of emotion. “You have no idea how happy that makes me.” He pulled you into a gentle hug, his tail wrapping around you in a protective embrace.

- Being with Kurt was like stepping into a world of unwavering kindness and affection. He made it his mission to understand you, to support you in every way possible. “You do not need words to tell me how you feel,” he said one day, his fingers tracing your hand. “I can see it in your eyes. And I will always speak for the both of us, if you need.”

Scott Summers aka. Cyclops

- Scott was initially unsure of how to approach you. He respected your quiet nature but didn’t want to overstep. When he saw you using notes and gestures to communicate, he made a conscious effort to pay attention, his leadership instincts kicking in. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to make things easier,” he said one day, his tone sincere.

- He started picking up on your cues quickly, his analytical mind piecing together patterns in your gestures. “You don’t have to rush,” he’d say whenever you hesitated, giving you the space to communicate at your own pace. His patience surprised you, his usually stoic demeanor softening in your presence.

- One day, after a training session, you handed Scott a note that read, I feel like I’m slowing everyone down. He frowned, shaking his head firmly. “That’s not true,” he said, his voice steady. “You’re part of this team, and we support each other. Don’t ever feel like you’re a burden.” His words were firm but full of warmth, his unwavering belief in you shining through.

- Scott began making small adjustments to accommodate your communication style, like keeping a whiteboard in the common areas or encouraging others to be more patient. “It’s not about how you communicate,” he told you one evening. “It’s about making sure you’re heard.” His support made you feel seen in ways you hadn’t before.

- The moment your relationship shifted was quiet but profound. You handed Scott a note that read, I care about you more than I can say. He read it silently, then looked up at you with a rare, soft smile. “I care about you too,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. The kiss that followed was tender, his hands cradling your face like you were something precious.

- Being with Scott meant being with someone who valued every part of you. He made sure you always felt included, never letting your struggles define you. “You don’t need to say a word,” he told you one day, his hand resting over yours. “I’ll always understand.” His quiet devotion was a constant reminder that love didn’t need words to thrive.

Ororo Munroe aka. Storm

- Ororo was naturally drawn to your quiet strength. She noticed your use of notes and gestures early on, her sharp intuition picking up on how you often hesitated to ask for help. She approached you with her characteristic grace, offering you a kind smile. “You speak in your own way,” she said softly. “And I’d like to listen, if you’ll let me.” Her calm understanding put you at ease immediately.

- Ororo quickly adapted to your style of communication. She never rushed you, instead waiting patiently for you to finish writing or signing. “Take your time,” she’d say whenever she noticed you struggling. Her respect for your pace made you feel valued, and you found yourself opening up more around her.

- One day, you handed her a note that read, I don’t know how to ask for what I need sometimes. Ororo’s serene expression softened, and she placed a gentle hand over yours. “You’ve already asked by sharing this with me,” she said. “Let me help you carry that weight.” Her words felt like a soothing balm, her unwavering support reassuring you in ways you hadn’t expected.

- Over time, Ororo began incorporating subtle gestures to show her understanding. She’d leave small notes of encouragement in places she knew you’d find them, or create gentle winds to carry your written messages to her during training sessions. Her actions spoke louder than words, and they reminded you daily of her care for you.

- The turning point came during a quiet evening in the garden. You handed Ororo a note that read, I think I’m falling for you. Her silver hair shimmered in the moonlight as she read your message, a radiant smile spreading across her face. “The feeling is mutual,” she said, her voice filled with warmth. She leaned in to kiss your forehead, her touch as gentle as a summer breeze.

- Being with Ororo was like standing in the eye of a storm—peaceful yet powerful. She made you feel seen and cherished, her understanding and empathy creating a safe space for your love to flourish. “Your voice is beautiful,” she told you one day, tracing your hand with hers. “Even if it’s not always spoken aloud, it still reaches me.”

Kevin Sydney aka. Morph

- Morph immediately took an interest in you, his playful nature making him curious about your quiet demeanor. “So, what’s the deal?” he asked one day, his tone lighthearted. When you handed him a note explaining that you struggled with verbal communication, his face lit up with excitement. “A challenge, huh? I love a good puzzle!”

- He made it his mission to understand your gestures and notes, often turning your interactions into a game. “Okay, charades it is!” he’d say, mimicking your motions in exaggerated ways that made you laugh. His humor took the pressure off, and you found yourself enjoying his company more than you expected.

- One day, you scribbled a note that read, I’m not good at asking for help. Morph read it aloud, then gave you a dramatic bow. “Lucky for you, I’m great at helping!” he said with a grin. Despite his joking tone, his sincerity was evident in the way he stuck around, always ready to lend a hand.

- Morph’s shape-shifting abilities came in handy when it came to communicating. He’d transform into a giant hand to mimic your gestures or into a cartoonish version of himself to make you laugh when you were feeling down. His creativity knew no bounds, and his efforts to connect with you were as entertaining as they were heartfelt.

- The moment things shifted between you was as spontaneous as Morph himself. You handed him a note that read, I think I like you. He gasped dramatically, clutching his chest like he’d been shot. “I knew it!” he said, pulling you into a spin. When he set you down, his usual joking demeanor softened, and he leaned in to kiss you gently. “I like you too,” he said with uncharacteristic tenderness.

- Being with Morph was an adventure in every sense of the word. He made sure you never felt isolated, using his humor and shape-shifting to keep things light and fun. “You don’t have to say a word,” he told you one day, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “I can read you loud and clear, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Erik Lehnsherr aka. Magneto

- Erik was initially perplexed by your communication style, his analytical mind trying to make sense of your hesitations. When he realized you relied on notes and gestures, he was intrigued rather than dismissive. “An unconventional approach,” he mused. “But effective, nonetheless.” His curiosity made you nervous at first, but his lack of judgment slowly put you at ease.

- He began studying your gestures with the same intensity he applied to everything else, determined to understand you fully. “Communication is an art,” he said one day, watching as you wrote something down. “And you are a master of it, even without words.” His respect for your efforts made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t experienced before.

- One evening, you handed Erik a note that read, I feel like I’m a burden. He read it silently, his expression darkening. “You are not a burden,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You are resourceful, intelligent, and resilient. Never diminish yourself in my presence again.” His words, though blunt, were filled with an undeniable care that warmed your heart.

- Erik’s efforts to support you were both subtle and grand. He’d manipulate small metal objects to write words in the air for you or create intricate metal sculptures to convey messages when you struggled. His actions showed a thoughtfulness that contrasted sharply with his usual stern demeanor.

- The turning point came during a quiet moment in his study. You slid him a note that read, I care about you more than I can say. Erik’s sharp eyes softened as he read your words. He set the note down carefully, then reached for your hand. “And I care for you,” he said, his voice low and steady. His kiss was deliberate, filled with the kind of intensity that only Erik could bring.

- Being with Erik was like standing beside a force of nature—powerful, unyielding, and deeply protective. He made sure you always felt valued, his actions speaking louder than any words ever could. “You don’t need to speak,” he told you one evening, his hand resting gently on yours. “Your presence is enough.”

Hank McCoy aka. Beast

- Hank was fascinated by your unique way of communicating, his scientific mind eager to understand the nuances of your gestures and notes. “A fascinating approach,” he said the first time he saw you write something down. “May I inquire further?” His genuine interest made you feel less self-conscious, and you found yourself opening up to him quickly.

- He started keeping a notebook nearby, jotting down your cues and gestures like he was studying a new language. “It’s remarkable how much you can convey without words,” he said one day, his admiration evident. His encouragement made you feel proud of your communication style, rather than ashamed of it.

- One afternoon, you left a note in his lab that read, I feel like I’m too much work for people. When Hank found it, his brow furrowed, and he immediately sought you out. “You are never too much work,” he said, his voice filled with conviction. “If anything, you’ve taught me to see the world in a new way, and I’m grateful for that.”

- Hank’s support manifested in practical ways. He developed small devices to make it easier for you to communicate, like a digital notepad that converted your writing into speech. “A little invention of mine,” he said with a sheepish smile. “I hope it’s helpful.” His thoughtfulness left you speechless, your gratitude clear in the way you hugged him tightly.

- The moment your relationship shifted was as gentle as Hank himself. You handed him a note that read, I think I’m falling for you. Hank read it carefully, his blue fur bristling slightly as he looked up at you with wide eyes. “The feeling is mutual,” he said, his voice soft. His kiss was tentative but warm, filled with the quiet intensity that defined him.

- Being with Hank was like being wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and understanding. He made sure you always felt supported, his kindness and intellect creating a safe space for your love to grow. “Your voice is unique,” he told you one day, his hand resting over yours. “And I consider it an honor to understand it.”

Jean Grey aka. Marvel Girl / Phoenix

- Jean noticed your quiet demeanor and alternative way of communicating long before you realized. She often caught glimpses of your emotions through her telepathy, though she never intruded. When you passed her notes or gestured instead of speaking, she responded with patience and understanding, letting you take the lead. “Take your time,” she’d say softly, her gentle smile a constant reassurance.

- Jean quickly adapted to your style, finding ways to bridge the gaps in communication. She subtly enhanced your gestures with her telepathy, sensing what you meant before you could even fully convey it. “It’s like we have our own secret language,” she teased one day, her green eyes sparkling. Her ability to meet you halfway made you feel less alone.

- One day, during a quiet moment in the mansion’s library, you hesitated before passing her a note. It read, Sometimes, I feel like I don’t belong here. Jean’s expression softened as she read it, and she reached out to take your hand. “You belong wherever you choose to be,” she said, her voice filled with conviction. “And right now, I’m glad you’re here with me.”

- Jean began leaving small notes for you as well, little affirmations that brightened your day. “You’re stronger than you think,” one read, tucked under your door. “You don’t have to say a word for me to know how amazing you are,” said another, left with your breakfast. These gestures reminded you that she was always thinking of you, even in the smallest ways.

- The shift in your relationship came during a walk through the garden. You handed her a note that read, I care about you, more than I probably should. Jean’s face lit up with a radiant smile, and she reached up to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Good,” she said softly. “Because I feel the same way.” Her kiss was gentle and warm, like sunlight breaking through the clouds.

- Being with Jean felt like basking in a calm, nurturing presence. She understood you deeply, both through her powers and her heart. “You don’t need words to express yourself,” she told you one day, her hand resting lightly on your cheek. “You’ve already said everything I need to hear.”

Anna Marie aka. Rogue

- Rogue was drawn to your quiet, introspective nature. She was no stranger to feeling out of place, and when she noticed your reliance on notes and gestures, she connected with you immediately. “Ah reckon we’re both a little unconventional,” she said one day, her Southern drawl soft. “But that’s what makes us unique.”

- She made it her mission to understand your style of communication, often using humor to lighten the mood. “What’s this one mean?” she’d joke, mimicking your gestures dramatically. Her teasing was never mean-spirited, and her playful attitude made it easier for you to relax around her.

- One afternoon, you left her a note that read, I’m afraid people will get tired of me. Rogue’s gloved hand tightened around the paper, her expression shifting to one of fierce determination. “Sugar, if anyone ever makes ya feel that way, they’re not worth your time,” she said firmly. “Ah’ll never get tired of ya, that’s for sure.”

- Rogue’s physical limitations due to her powers didn’t stop her from showing her care. She’d use small gestures like slipping notes into your jacket pocket or brushing her covered hand against yours to reassure you. Her creativity in expressing her feelings mirrored your own, making you feel understood on a deeper level.

- The turning point came during a late-night conversation in the mansion’s common room. You passed her a note that read, I think I’m falling for you. Rogue’s green eyes widened, and she bit her lip nervously. “Ah’ve been feelin’ the same way,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. She leaned in, her gloved hand cupping your cheek as she kissed you carefully, mindful of her powers.

- Being with Rogue was like finding a kindred spirit. She understood the challenges of feeling different and made sure you never felt isolated. “You don’t need to say a thing, darlin’,” she told you one day, her smile soft and warm. “Ah know exactly how ya feel.”

Nathan Summers aka. Cable

- Cable’s gruff exterior initially made you hesitant to approach him, but he surprised you with his patience and attentiveness. He noticed your preference for notes and gestures right away, his keen tactical mind quickly adapting to your style. “Communication’s about understanding,” he said once. “Doesn’t matter how you do it, as long as it works.”

- Despite his hardened demeanor, Cable showed surprising softness when it came to you. He’d take your notes seriously, his cybernetic hand carefully holding the paper as he read. “Got it,” he’d say with a small nod, making you feel heard and respected.

- One day, you scribbled a note that read, I don’t know how to ask for help. Cable’s steel-blue eyes softened as he read it, and he placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “You don’t have to ask,” he said simply. “I’ll always have your back.” His words, though straightforward, carried a depth of sincerity that stayed with you.

- Cable’s actions spoke louder than words. He’d leave you supplies he thought you might need or subtly adjust his schedule to be around when he thought you might struggle. His protective nature made you feel safe, even without verbal reassurances.

- The moment your relationship shifted was quiet but profound. You handed him a note that read, I think I’m falling for you. Cable read it, his expression unreadable at first. Then, a rare smile crossed his face. “Guess I’ve been waiting for you to say that,” he said, pulling you into his arms. His kiss was firm yet gentle, a reflection of the man himself.

- Being with Cable was like having a steadfast anchor in a chaotic world. He didn’t need flowery words to show his care; his actions spoke volumes. “You’ve got your way of communicating,” he told you one day, his voice steady. “And I’ve got mine. Together, we make it work.”

Wade Wilson aka. Deadpool

- Wade was immediately fascinated by your unique communication style. “You’re like a mysterious, silent protagonist,” he quipped one day, leaning dramatically against a doorframe. “Do I get to be the comic relief in your story?” His lighthearted approach put you at ease, though his constant chatter sometimes overwhelmed you.

- He took your notes and gestures as a challenge, often exaggerating his responses to make you laugh. “Oh, I see what you mean!” he’d say, even when he clearly didn’t. His antics were equal parts endearing and infuriating, but his genuine effort to connect with you never wavered.

- One day, you passed Wade a note that read, Sometimes I feel like I’m too much. He stared at it for a moment, unusually quiet. Then he grinned and said, “Too much? Sweetheart, have you met me? You’re like the perfect yin to my yang!” His humor was disarming, but the sincerity in his eyes reassured you.

- Wade found creative ways to communicate with you, often using props, drawings, or even sock puppets to convey his thoughts. “See? Communication is an art form,” he said, holding up a poorly drawn cartoon of the two of you. His efforts were chaotic but heartfelt, showing you how much he cared.

- The shift in your relationship came during a quiet moment in his usually loud life. You handed him a note that read, I think I love you. Wade froze, uncharacteristically speechless. Then, with a dramatic flourish, he scooped you into his arms. “I knew it!” he shouted, spinning you around. His kiss was surprisingly tender, a rare glimpse of the man beneath the mask.

- Being with Wade was unpredictable but filled with joy. He made you feel understood in his own chaotic way, proving that love didn’t need to follow traditional rules. “You don’t need words,” he told you one day, his voice unusually soft. “I get you. And trust me, that’s saying something.”

[enigmatist17]

This AU by @keferon has been burrowing in my brain

A03 -> https://archiveofourown.org/works/60738373

---

In hindsight, Jazz realized he was stupid.

Unabashedly, completely stupid.

No one back home would have called a mecha pilot stupid, not with all the pain and training it took to even have a chance to look at a suit, but he was! He shouldn't have stayed out too long on the mission that had changed his fate, shouldn't have waved at that stupid satellite, but he did, and was taken far from home and brought to a place that was slowly becoming his second.

Cybertron.

Jazz was stupid when he decided to keep the fact that he wasn't truly one of them to himself, realizing eventually he was as alien as they were. He was stupid when he began to work with the Cybertronians rather than find a way back home, fighting the things that had brought him out deep into space in an effort to stave off homesickness. Oh, Jazz was so fucking stupid when he began to make friends with these Cybertronians, laughing at jokes he didn't quite understand and listening to their woes as he settled into their strange but oddly Earthen-like way of life.

What made him the most idiotic lifeform this side of the galaxy, however, was falling for one bot in particular.

Prowl had been the very first alien he'd met, speaking to him in that beautiful Cybertronian melody (language but whatever) that cut right through the pain he'd been in. Call it an inevitability, call it destiny, Prowl was the first one he'd met, and Jazz made damn sure he'd make a friend out of him. Sure, it was hard at first as Jazz had to not only decode an entire alien language but learn how to mimic it through his mecha, but once he got the ball rolling, it was a breeze. Prowl had been uncomfortable with him at first, which, all things aside, he didn't quite blame the mech for being suspicious of a strange mech, but over time he'd won him over. Of course, his stupidity would eventually catch up mere days after he had finally worked up the courage to actually tell Prowl how he felt, because the universe knew how stupid he was.

It came in the form of a Quintesson blade catching him in the wrong area, slicing right through his mecha's chest armor and right into his piloting seat. It took a second to register that something was wrong, the connection with his suit fizzling out when Jazz felt the pain from his actual body slamming into him like a truck. He knew pulling the blade out was stupid, but Jazz needed it out right now ohfuckithurtsstopthepain -

He's not sure how long he was out, but he knew the jig was up the moment he started coming to.

Muted voices sounded out from around him, some laced with anger, others with curiosity, and only one with concern. Jazz knew it was Prowl's, and judging from the finger (it's a digit come on now idiot) that gently poked his side, he was most likely unsure of what to think at the moment. With a sigh, Jazz slowly cracked open his eyes, finally taking in the mech he'd come to love with his own eyes for the first time.

"Hiya Prowler." His voice is scratchy with dehydration, the tactician and everyone else in the room going silent at his voice. "What's shakin'?"

"Jazz?" The wings (doorwings man come on) he spent hours watching twitched in discomfort, helm tilted as Jazz tried to sit up, only to hiss and slump back with a groan. "It is not wise to move right now, your...you are heavily damaged."

"Gettin' stabbed does that to ya." The attempt at lightening the mood falls flat, but no one is really sure how to react, so they don't call him out on it. He can see Ironhide and Optimus staring at him from behind Prowl, the Prime looking mystified, while Ironhide seemed to be going back and forth from awe to suspicion to uncertainty.

"Pulling the blade out instead of waiting for help was extremely poor judgment," Ratchet grumbled from the other side of Jazz, the medic giving him a grumpy look. "However, if you hadn't, I would not have found...you."

"Where's my mecha?" Jazz slowly moved to pull the scrap of cloth he'd been covered in back, honestly surprised with how neatly his midsection had been bandaged, or whatever the strange gel substitute was. "Oh...huh."

"Your frame's in a private med bay, I've been able ta repair some of it so far." Wheeljack moved into view with a cheerful wave, having picked up the motion from Jazz. "I've got ta tell ya, I'm impressed with all the work that's gone into it!"

"Thanks." Jazz gently poked at the gel after smiling at the scientist, eyeing the wound underneath with a sick sort of fascination. "I was expectin' this to be worse."

"Some of our organic allies were able to help to an extent, but your biology was only so similar." Ratchet shook his head, clearly displeased. "You're not going anywhere anytime soon, so I would get comfortable. In fact, I want everyone out so Jazz can get some rest, everyone but Prowl." Despite all the questions most of the high command had, Ratchet's word was law, so the medbay emptied until it was just Jazz and Prowl.

"Do you require anything?" Prowl's voice was the same as it always was, but Jazz had come to know him enough that he was tense and sorely out of his element.

"I could use some water, but I can go without." Those wings raise a fraction of an inch (or he's guessing, it's hard to tell without his enhanced sight sigh), and he winces. "Y-You're fine Prowler, I'm fine."

"You are not fine." Prowl grabbed a nearby stool and dragged it over, sitting at the head of the bed that seemed too large for the tiny organic. "I do not understand how you can say that."

"Pain is an old friend, I just...normally have access ta the proper help, ya know?" Jazz adjusted himself to have a better view of his mech, heart skipping a beat when Prowl reached over to gently help, the metal cool against his back. "Thanks."

"Jazz? May I ask you something?" His servo remained where it was, moving to brush against the side of Jazz's face with the greatest care he could manage. "Why did you not tell us?"

"Well...I'm stupid." Jazz leaned into the touch with a soft hum, Prowl's head tilting at the noise. "I figured you were all piloted mecha like myself, just with more money poured inta ya, but by the time I figured out you weren't...it was too late?" Prowl didn't need to know the reason he'd vanished for two days was to deal with the mental breakdown he had at the news, not his proudest moment.

"Why have you not sought to return home?" Prowl watched as several microexpressions crossed the org- Jazz's face, brown optics flickering between his face and the berth as he struggled with the answer.

"Honestly? Besides fightin' these bastards who attack my home on their turf? You."

Oh

Wings taut with tension relaxed as the information was processed, a soft click escaping his vocalizer as Prowl looked down at the person who had turned his life around.

"What I said to you a few days ago? It's true, every damn word of it." Jazz leaned his head to press his dermas to Prowl's digit, and idly, he wondered what it must taste like to an organic. "I fell for ya, heart an' soul."

"...what is a heart?" The laugh that burst from Jazz's dermas nearly made Prowl jump, the sound familiar as it was strange without the vocalizer in Jazz's frame. He's not sure why the question is so amusing, but then again, Jazz had always had a peculiar sense of humor, so all he could do was give a rare smile to his organic as the tension in the room slowly faded away.

"Ah Prowler, always known how ta make me feel better." The ache from the laugh aside, Jazz smiled at seeing Prowl's doorwings completely relaxed, the good deed of the day accomplished.

"I do try." The Praxian leaned forward to gently press helm against Jazz's, giving a soft purr as he cycled his optics off. "I am relieved you are safe, when I saw your energon staining Ratchet's servos..."

"I'm a stubborn guy, one blade isn't takin' me out." Jazz reached over with his better arm to touch Prowl's cheek, the metal warm against his hand. "Got too much ta live for."

"Indeed."

Ratchet returned a breem later to find the organic deep in recharge, Prowl cradling Jazz in his servos. Some unfamiliar thick fabric was resting between Jazz and the limb, cushioning the injured man far better than the fabric someone had found in a storage crate, judging by the lack of stuttered venting they had heard earlier. Prowl said nothing to the medic as he continued to murmur to Jazz as he read through a data pad, looking down occasionally to watch the subtle rise and fall of Jazz's chassis. Prowl still surprised the older bot with his dedication to work despite holding his injured partner, only shaking his helm as he dropped off some energon before disappearing into his office for his own work. There was going to be a lot of chaos when Jazz would have the chance to talk to everyone else, the news already spreading like a virus throughout the army, but that was a problem for another cycle.

For now, Jazz was resting with the mech he'd fallen for, and as far as Prowl was concerned, nothing would interrupt his partner's rest.

[rileyslibrary]

A/N: *leans into the microphone* anybody ordered some non-verbal taunting communication, courtesy of the lieutenant?

———————————————————————

You have all gathered in the tent for a quick briefing by the captain. Today’s drill is supposed to begin before dawn, and without the sun to keep you warm, the breeze shamelessly seeps through the tent’s openings. You sit around the table with the rest of the team and wrap your arms around yourself, trying to focus on Price’s orders.

Ghost stands next to the captain, examining each team member from across the table. He stands with his legs spread, holding his hands behind his back. His eyes move slowly, taking in every expression, every posture, and every movement.

You scan him from his head down to his waist. He’s in full gear all the damn time; mask, scarf, uniform, jacket, tactical vest. Sometimes, you wonder if he sleeps with everything on so that he can be ready to go. Perhaps he hangs his clothes on a chair the night before and puts them on one by one in the morning. If that’s the case, it must take him forever to get ready. You wonder if it’s the layering that makes him look so big or if he’s naturally built that way.

You try to suppress the image of your lieutenant naked and redirect your attention to the captain’s briefing. You look at Price, who is pointing at something on the map, and notice Ghost staring at you from the corner of your eye. His eyes move slowly, from your face down to your arms, and he narrows his eyes at the sight. He unclasps his hands from behind his back, brings them to the front and wraps them around himself, mimicking your stance. He looks back up at you, tilts his head and raises one of his eyebrows.

You immediately drop your arms to your sides and mouth an apology at him. He shakes his head at you and returns to his original position with his hands behind his back. He closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, they are already fixed on the person sitting next to you.

Price continues the briefing, and you try to absorb the information while battling the chill that creeps through your uniform. You struggle to keep your arms to your sides but, your efforts go in vain since you shiver whenever the wind blows in the tent.

The lieutenant, on the other hand, doesn’t let you off that easy. He picks up on every move you make like a fucking sensor. Your shoulders hunch forward, and he throws quick glimpses at you, signalling you to sit up straight. Sometimes, you place your hands in your pockets, and he widens his eyes at the sight, forcing you to put them back on the table. You absentmindedly slip your hands under your thighs one last time, and you see him taking a few steps back and beginning to walk around the table.

You stiffen up. As if the cold morning breeze wasn’t persecuting enough, now you have another—much worse—threat to fear. You follow Ghost with your peripheral vision while trying to focus on Price, but he disappears behind you.

You hear him fiddling with something—the soldiers across from you throw peeks above your head and then at each other. You try to pick up on their expressions. Unfortunately, you aren’t as good at decoding faces as he is.

There’s a hand brushing your chair, tucking something on its backrest. The same gloved hand nudges your shoulder once and points at the back.

You look over your shoulder.

It’s a cloth. You turn your upper body and take a closer look.

It’s a scarf; his scarf.

You turn to look at him, and he gestures for you to drape it over your shoulders as he walks back to the captain. You obey and lift it from the chair. It’s still warm to the touch. You throw it on your shoulders and wrap it tighter around yourself. His residual body heat is still trapped in the garment. It feels like a hug, and you fight the urge to bury your nose in and smell it. You forget the morning breeze, the upcoming drill, and his non-verbal taunting.

Because the morning breeze was there yesterday, and it will be here tomorrow. It is you who pitched a tent in its path.

Because the upcoming drill will eventually end, and you will get to rest. You just need to endure it first.

Because it wasn’t taunting on his part; it was his way of showing concern. And a teeny tiny bit of care.

You turn around and see Ghost taking back his position next to the captain. He doesn’t look at you again for the rest of the briefing. You wish he would. His scarf looks great on you.

———————————————————————

[limerlove]

≛ LONELY IS THE MUSE!

❝ ABBY!CENTRIC ONE SHOT ❞

feat. bodyguard!abby x famous actor!reader

warnings. eighteen+, suggestive nsfw content: reader fell first nd and abby fell harder, some angst, fluff, slightly coded fem reader, personal trainer!abby, just two idiots pining. i saw the discourse for some romance and i wanted to do my part. enjoy friends.

LONELY IS THE MUSE, entangled in an endless web of a high profile life, everyone waiting on you hand and foot, hollywood’s star in their prime — everyone needing a piece for themselves. yet the mysterious blonde who has not a clue to who you are catches the eye of the lonely muse.

wc. 8k

“You know you don’t have to stand this close to me.” Abby counters, but her words didn’t make you move an inch. Not that she really thought they would. Secretly, she enjoys your gentle touch. She likes how comfortable you feel around her. The downpour in New York has your arm entangled with her own, your hand gripping her bicep as she holds the umbrella.

“Maybe, but I don’t want to ruin my hair.” You replied gently, as you rested your head against her relaxed bicep.

“God, forbid your hair be in ruin, sweet girl.” Abby’s wet lips look inviting, especially when she’s smirking at you. Delectable, enticing, desired seeping underneath your soul as you try your best to keep them at bay. 

“Now that would be positively tragic, wouldn’t it? Just a paparazzi’s wet dream. Need my hair in ruins for them to get a handsome payday.” Abby shakes her head, the budding smile threatening to reveal itself. You can see how it grows, despite the effort she makes to disguise it. 

“I think you do enjoy my company. Paid or not, I bring some light into your life.” You play with the ends of her hair. The blonde feels a tingle pricking at her skin. She ignores it. 

“I can see that smile.” 

Better than anyone, Abby knows the gleam in your eyes is too dangerous to entertain, so she looks forward. It’s what she's paid to do, to keep you safe. Not to entertain some weird crush that will soon pass when you move on to the next actress, artist, or producer. She doesn’t need a reminder of how different your world is, she’s already abundantly clear on where the both of you stand. Worlds apart from each other, even if you’re leaning against her, the greedy hands of the public grab onto you first, mercilessly sucking the life out of anyone who enters your life. 

All it does is isolate you, making your life incredibly lonely. Trapped on the throne you built with your raw talent, but the industry is a double edged sword, as much as it appears to lift you up, it impales any sense of normalcy at a private, peaceful life. You take pride in these little moments you have with her. It’s the only time you get to have a taste of normalcy, even if you did have a bodyguard, which wasn’t entirely normal. Yet, Abby is a gentle reminder of a life she wishes to have. Someone who is kind, and loving; a soul that exists for no selfish gain, greed, or selfishness. 

Sometimes, you take advantage of it. 

Abby knows you crave physical affection. Ever since your messy break up, you’ve been finding any little excuse to justify it. Abby didn’t really mind at all. Even if she tried to deny it in her head, she’d miss it if you stopped. The incessant need you have to be close to her at all times, your essence bleeding on to her, suffocating her with everything she wants, but knows she can’t ever let herself dip into the deepest edges of you. 

Especially, not when you are still attempting to decode the wreckage of your last relationship. 

Abby hates seeing you like this, but she knew there was little she could do to help. All she could do is let you ride the wave of heartbreak, take in the silent tears hitting full cheeks, and hope it would all end soon for you. For now, she would allow immediate proximity.

You’re hurting. You need it.  

The first few weeks, even a couple months after, she expects it. Now it’s month four, and you were still touching her all the time. Lame excuses falling from your lips daily and Abby was sure you didn’t even believe them. She thought about bringing it up to you, establishing healthy boundaries before she crosses a line.

Yet, it feels…nice.

It felt good to be needed. The reason she had taken this job in the first place. It wasn’t what she had imagined for herself – a bodyguard of a famous musician. She jokes about it now, but it's a twisted fate for the two of you. Your eyes shine bright whenever someone asks, and you always take the lead.

Abby has always been more reserved, and your personality is as bright as the sun. She liked Abby the second she laid eyes on her. Not because she was beautiful or the most gorgeous human she’d ever seen.

Which she is.

No.

Her stupid pounding heart, the one she felt beating violently out of her chest, loves you, has no idea who she is.  She had thought possibly the blonde stranger was putting on a front, some did. They liked to conceal their intentions behind greedy eyes and malicious intent.

But Abby turned out to be different.

When a blossoming friendship turned into a job opportunity, it took Abby through a loop. It was the very last thing she was expecting from you. You’d kept her in the dark and when you announced exactly who you were, Abby really didn’t know. Never was she really a fan of social media, didn’t really partake in it unless someone was showing her the latest trend going around. She’s a little old fashioned but she likes it. It worked in her favor when it came to you. Unknowingly, for the first time since your fame struck as quick as lightning, you had the pleasure to befriend someone who had no idea who you were. 

As fresh as breathing your first breath of air, you took pride in the circumstance. Someone enjoying your company for who they are and not just for your social standing, fame, or most importantly the money. Before either of you could really even fully come to it, Abby has become such an influential person in your life, and then you were attempting to entice her with a job opportunity, and she accepted. 

You thought it would take longer and knew from the moment you had asked. But her life was uprooted by you, and she felt guilty about how much it fills her up with glee. 

In the last year, Abby became the only person worthy of your trust, the only one who would keep your confessions confined, not letting the secrets drip like cheap wine down the drain. Rather more as if she was out in the vineyard, carefully hand picking the grapes for the wine as she crafts it herself. Giving it the love, care, and attention it needs to flourish into fine beverage. From one sip alone, knowing she would crave for the taste. 

Getting to know you in ways some would dream of. Often, the mass of the public did, but you’re more selective who you let in your life now. Swiftly, you noticed how easily Abby listened. 

Listening and seeing you for who you are, not some strewed version the media made you out to be.  

She understood why you felt the need to and maybe why you felt comfortable with her. You spent time with her more than anyone. After two years together, she had learned every little detail about you. Where you liked to get your morning coffee, your favorite brunch spot, which bar you like to frequent when you had a night to give, which gym was your favorite, and to not speak with you until you’ve had said coffee. 

It’s these little things Abby remembers, constantly getting her in trouble.

When paparazzi are around, you always accept her hand as she guides you through the swarming crowd. Abby knows you despise it. How inhumane it makes you feel. You feel like an attraction, an object the masses had come to see rather than being viewed as an actual person. In these moments, you cling onto Abby the most. While she’s intimidating to all, there leaves a small exception for you, never has she once been anything to you more than just a sweet, gentle giant she wants close to her at all times. 

Her stature is standing a little over six feet tall. Her arms always looked too good against the tight fabric of her shirt. The one you grip onto as she is navigating through a crowd with you in tow, she’s always focused. The remainder of your team was behind you, while she was always in front of you.

At all times, protecting you.

But it was moments like today, you were grateful for. You blended with the hectic life of the city. You were just two people waiting at a crosswalk, waiting to get to your next destination.

Abby tries not to pay too much attention to how you’re squeezing her bicep, with a strong grip further indication you weren’t letting go anytime soon.

She supposes it’s better than feeling your hand in hers. There were times when Abby deemed it necessary. She would grab it whenever she needed to get you through from point a to point b, quickly. It made you follow her pace instead of lingering behind. She didn’t even know how she was supposed to feel with your head resting against her arm, your body so close to hers.

How was she supposed to act normally?

The rumors were already getting bad. You denied them when asked, and you did gracefully each time.

All Abby could think about if this moment was captured, it would be perceived as intimate. It felt like it was, but she didn’t want the entire world to see. Not when she felt the two of you walking this very nimble line of friends, something professional, and something more. She didn’t need thousands of eyes giving their two senses in a situation she didn’t even fully understand yet. All it took was one person to snap a photo if she gets too close to you. If her touch stayed on you for too long, or if she let the love reach her eyes. The ladder was the most difficult to control. It’s a part of her just as much as the air in her lungs.

This life is new to her. At times, Abby wondered if she’s biting off more than she could chew.

The only reason she’d left was for you. She had a small, quiet life. Abby’s life was very average, a cloud of normalcy hovered above her before the two of you met. A personal trainer full time and she resided in a cabin about half an hour from where she worked. She chopped wood to relieve stress, Her girlfriend liked it at the time, and she did too. She had her two dogs, and a darling kitten. 

She enjoyed the privacy. The isolated countryside her sweet family could reside in. Abby had built this life she was proud of, and it made her happy. For a time, it worked. She was genuinely content with where she was. There wasn’t a need to stress or control where her life was going. It felt like a huge relief. She tended to live inside her own head, not be present in what she has right in front her.

It had been months since she felt like that. It’d felt good and she was proud of herself for not succumbing from within and really coming to terms with what she had built around her. This was the most difficult route for her to take. To allow herself to be open, even if there was a chance of her falling.

Abby really should have felt remorseful for leaving it all behind.

Nora was sweet. The most caring partner she ever had, but there wasn’t much she could compare it to. Besides her, there had only been two, and she didn’t even count Owen. A long misstep until she landed where she needed to be. He did care for her, and he seemed to be more kind-hearted than most men, but the bar was set so low, he should’ve exceeded expectations.

And he did, in some areas.

Others, he fell more than flat but there was little to nothing he could do about it. Abby likes girls and he wasn’t one. Her sexuality shattered their relationship into a million pieces – leaving neither of them any option but to move on.

Nora felt real. This genuine connection she’d never experienced before. Abby knew it one year into their relationship. The pair had built this life together, one where she didn’t feel trapped in, and one Abby could be proud of. She felt acknowledged and loved Nora. There wasn’t a sliver of a doubt in her mind this where she needed to be.

She tells Nora when she needs space, and she isn’t ashamed of it. If she didn’t want to go out, Nora wouldn’t guilt trip her into it. Abby didn’t feel pressured to intertwine her identity with Nora just because they were together. Nora hardly ever gave Abby a reason to be upset. She showed up like partners were supposed to, even when Abby didn’t.

But it was a heavy weight to carry for Nora. Being her first serious queer relationship, Abby was left stunted in areas where Nora had to lend a helping hand. She never made Abby feel bad about it, but the two of them could feel the string keeping them threatening to snap.

Often, it frustrated Abby. To always be the one receiving help and never giving it. She didn't blame her partner, but she was left at a crossroad. 

She never understood Owen more and it really pissed her off.

To no fucking end.

But Nora was far more patient than Abby had ever shown. Maybe it was the testament to love or maybe Nora was just a good person and Abby is shitty. She had more patience than Mother Thersea herself, and it amazed her. Always guiding Abby with a gentle hand, never getting upset with her even when she let her anger shine through.

It makes her feel undeserving of a love she could never earn.

This pure and untainted love had never touched her before, and she’d never fallen this hard. Abby didn’t want to be anywhere but here. She really thought this could be it. Nora could be the one. They could get through those hardships together, right? 

Then you came and overwhelmed her like a tsunami.

She was running late, which was completely out of the ordinary for Abby. Instead of her neat braid, her sun kissed-blonde hair was in a low bun. Underneath her eyes was evidence of her lack of sleep. She hadn’t been getting any as of lately and the bags only seemed to get deeper.

Abby wouldn’t call the fights constant, but it sure did feel like it.

The back and forth, having the same fight consistently. Abby was more than frustrated. The biggest efforts she made were dismissed by Nora, even making her upset at times. She was trying too hard and being annoying, or not doing enough and then it meant she wasn’t present in the relationship.

Abby felt her stuck at a wall, Nora on the other side of it and she couldn’t hear a damn thing.

So, she was running late.

One of the many fights  they’ve had with each other as of late. Nora is tired of dealing with a “baby gay” as she likes to remind her in the heat of their arguments. Abby gets offended, her lips forming into an even deeper pout, her porcelain skin flushed in anger before she gives them both space. 

Contemplating about the future of their relationship in the shower, causing her to be late to work in the process. 

Astronomically behind – her client arrived at the gym she worked at half an hour ago. The most recent argument with Nora plagued her morning. All they seem to do is argue, trapped in what they both need from the relationship, but all the two of them could do is argue, argue, argue.

But neither of them makes a move. They are still as the eerie silence that carries them into questioning. 

It’s when she’s too inside her head, fearing about the future, when she violently bumps into you. Body colliding with yours, Abby’s stone-like build causes you to crash into the pavement, your belongings scatter along with Abby’s. 

“Fuck. Are you alright? Sorry, I’m in such a hurry, I’m sure I wasn’t even paying attention.” You let her pick you from the ground, she does with ease. She looks right through you and you expect the excitement, the excited tears, or to be asked for a picture but it never comes.   

“For a moment I thought I ran into a wall—” You giggle to yourself. “Really, I’m alright.” You spoke softly. You pick up both of your belongings that had slipped from both of your grips, returning it to its owner. 

“Are you sure you’re okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Abby asks again. 

You think it’s cute how much lace of concern is conveyed in her cerulean eyes, full of light and wonder, so beautiful it stops you in your tracks. 

“No no! I’m fine! Really don’t worry about it.” 

Honestly, you’re still in amazement she has no idea who you are. It makes your fondness of her grow even more. The two of you depart quickly, go about your day, and you think nothing of it until you go to unlock your phone to message your manager and it’s not a picture of the moon you’d taken during the eclipse, it’s the mysteriously hot and kind woman you’d run into before. 

Shit. She has my phone. 

Lucky for you, Abby was coming to the same realization. Ready to bring out the workout she had planned out for her first client, opening her phone to access where she had written everything out only to find this isn’t her phone. Well, fuck. 

Abby hollers at Dina to take over the client for a moment, excusing herself for a moment before retreating into the office to call from her direct line. 

Idiot Anderson. Now you get to make an idiot of yourself, twice. 

Way to go. 

She calls her phone and it rings a few times before the familiar voice chimes through the speaker, the one she heard this morning during her fit of anxiety. 

“Please tell me this is the woman I ran into earlier or else I’m going to be even more embarrassed for answering a stranger's phone.” 

“Well you’re in luck.” 

“Oh thank fuck—” You curse yourself before being so vulgar with someone who you didn’t even know. “Sorry! God, this is all my fault. I must have swapped our phones when I picked them up and didn’t even realize.” 

“It’s okay, really, if I was paying attention where I was walking this morning it never would have happened. Did you wanna meet?” 

“No! Let me. Please, this is all my fault. I should at least be the one who makes the drive.” 

“Are you sure? It’s really no trouble. I don’t mind.” 

“I’m really sure.” 

Abby offers the address of work, thinking once after she does if it’s a good idea, a total stranger knowing where she works but she’s already giving the street name and suite number before she can even make her mind. Abby usually doesn’t get nervous but this situation has sent her into a frenzy, thinking about how dumb she could have been. Nora will get a good laugh out of it she thinks, then she is reminded of the fight the two of them were still in. She wonders if she’s even tried to reach out to her yet or if Nora’s just waiting until Abby’s anger rolls over. 

More favorably, the ladder. 

Until the two of them have the comfort of their lives, the cushion they have between their shared friends and the home they share twenty minutes out of the state, until it comes up again and they’ll be contemplating it all over again. Anxiously, the front desk girl, Bevs, the younger girl who has a crush on her, shyly comes up to her. 

Bevs says what she assumes is your name, confusing Abby in the process. 

“You know her?” 

“How could you not? She’s one of the most famous actresses ever.” Abby is stunned to say the least. Truthfully, she had no idea. Her lack of social media keeps her out of the loop and as much as her friends tease her about, if Abby knew who you were the first time around, she’s sure she wouldn’t have been able to say more than two words. Clearly, you’re a fresh face to her. Already, Abby knows Manny is going to have a field day when Bevs lets this information spill in her sheer excitement. 

Great, she thinks. 

“Oh.” 

“I put her in your office. Some of the clients were already starting to have questioning looks, putting the pieces together. Hey! Maybe they're as clueless as you.” 

“Bevs, go back to the front desk.” With a curt nod and realizing she has pushed too far, with a tail between her legs she retreats back to her post. 

Okay, Anderson, let’s get this over with. 

Abby smells you the minute she steps foot in her office. It’s not the usual pinewood scent the candle in her office radiates. There’s a lingering smell of lavender with just a hit of vanilla. It’s sweet as it engulfs her nostrils, she finds herself sniffling slightly, a silent beg for more of it. You’re standing the minute you’re aware of her presence. Painfully, Abby is aware of her lack of clothing. The tight sport jacket is left unopened, her black sweatpants, accompanied with her sports bra, abs on display as she watches your eyes examine her carefully. 

She’s not sure how to feel about it. 

There is a moment, a short one where your eyes go to her chest, the silver barbells constricting against the small fabric, clear as to what lies beneath. 

Abby does smirk at that. She’s only human. 

You keep staring at her for a minute longer, well it feels like one but Abby deems it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” 

“It’s really not a problem.” The more time goes on, the sweeter you are. “It’s pretty close to where I live.” 

Abby didn’t know it then but you were lying straight through your teeth. The trainer didn’t know you moved around your entire day to make the phone swap or the butterflies swarming your stomach from just how attractive and nice she seemed to be. There was something about her that sent your caution flying to the wind, drifting in the leaves with the rest of your pride. 

“Well I appreciate you coming out this way, even if it’s in your area. I really wouldn’t have minded taking the drive.” Abby pulls out your phone as she hands you yours. It’s simple, transactional, and it should have just been left at that but you had a fondness of putting your foot in your mouth. 

“Are you a trainer here?” 

“Uh, yeah. Been doing it for a few years actually. I spent so much time here already, now I get paid for it. Can’t really complain.” 

“Do you ever do private sessions?” 

“Um-” Abby scratches the back of her awkwardly, not sure if you’re asking her genuinely or if you’re trying to insinuate something else entirely. 

“Oh fuck no! I didn’t mean it like that. I just have a….job opportunity I have to get in shape for and you just look like you know what you’re doing.” Abby thought you might as well point to her physique but if anything she was flattered. It was always nice knowing something she’s been working on for years, her longest standing commitment besides Nora, is appreciated. 

“Sure, we could work something out.” You slightly smile before you exchange phones, this time on purpose, to put in the other’s number. Normally, she didn’t give out her number to clients, but Abby makes an exception for you that day. To this day, she’ll never outwardly admit why she did, not even to herself. 

- 

Two years later, she’s single from her life being turned upside down by you. The casualty being her own relationship, leaving Nora behind was one of the hardest decisions she’s made. Nora never agreed on Abby taking the job. As much as Nora wished for Abby to be more open about their endeavors, as soon as she accepted an offer that could drastically expand the trajectory of their life, Nora couldn’t be asked to compromise another thing. 

That was that. Not even two months into Abby working for you and Nora had called it quits. Abby never talked about it, only you knew she had a girlfriend she used to talk about when you began training with her, and then it was just silent. Back then, you didn’t know her well enough to pry, so you didn’t. 

Even as time passed, the two of you became friends through your employment, spending all your time with her during press season for your upcoming film, Lonely Is The Muse, together. Today was the only day you had off, even if it means Abby technically had the day off, you insisted that both of you leave the hotel and go out for the day. It's the most peace you felt during the European leg of the tour. Only one more day of dealing with your sensory issues, people in your face telling you when and where to go, or the distasteful question regarding your past public breakup instead of the work you were promoting. 

Some interviewers were kind enough to let the drama go but some wanted to get their own viral moment, waiting for you to say the wrong thing. As the industry likes to say, any publicity is good publicity. 

When you’re America's sweetheart actress of the century, such luxuries can’t be afforded. 

As your manager likes to remind you, there’s a reputation you have to protect. 

“Would you like to head back now? Long day tomorrow. Last day of interviews and then your flight leaves first thing in the morning.” 

“Did Stassie put you up to this?” 

“Maybe.” 

“I thought you were supposed to be the fun one.” 

“Mhm, your definition of fun is letting you do whatever you want.” 

“And the problem with that is?” 

All Abby can do is chuckle. 

“What do you want to do then?” Abby asks. She takes note of the sparkle in your eyes, as blinding as the sun but obtaining the serenity of the moon. “I’m all ears sweetheart.” 

It’s how the two of you end up here, a rooftop party, a friend of a friend you said. The party was lowkey, more than the typical ones you would get invited. Maybe because you weren’t in Los Angeles, Miami, or New York — but tucked away on another continent — or perhaps everyone here is just discreet. 

There’s only two fans that come up to you instead of twenty. You’re thankful for some sense of normalcy, one night where you can just feel normal. It still never gets old, people coming up to you as they confess the impact you’ve had on their life. It feels unbelievable at times but you’re grateful for the luxury life you’ve been granted. 

“Here. No liquor tonight.” Abby hands you a glass of red wine, your favorite beverage of choice when you couldn’t have tequila. 

“Yes Ma’am.” You playfully salute her. More than anything, you enjoy the not so subtle chuckle. “Not that I don’t love your company but isn’t Stassie supposed to boss me around?” 

“She felt under the weather. Plus, we both know you don’t listen to her.” 

“And I listen to you?” Your hand plays with her loose blonde hair, smoothing out the white button she’s wearing. 

“Yeah, you do. I wonder why that is.” Abby is playing with fire tonight. Possibly due to the fact that you wouldn’t leave her side, not even for a moment, keeping your body close, practically gluing yourself to her. Yes, she’s charged with keeping you safe and protected but it seems you find enjoyment bringing it to another level entirely. 

“You’re much nicer to look at, that’s all.” It’s light, a quiet whisper, not meant to be heard by anyone — not even for Abby to hear. “Don’t wanna make my handsome bodyguard upset.” 

Faking your pout as you let the words leave your lips, Abby chuckles as you get closer to her, her body standing strong as you push your weight onto her. Stoic as always, while you lean on her, she keeps her eyes peeled. Ensuring your safety at all times. 

“Flattery isn’t going to get you a shot tonight.” 

“I’m just stating the obvious.” 

Abby chuckles, again. She’s delighted you’re enjoying yourself, even if it comes at her expense. There’s a soft jazz song playing outside, couples dancing to the music, you zone out for a moment as you look upon one in particular. 

They are older, possibly in their forties, raven hair beginning to gray, fine lines crinkle when they smile at each other but it’s hard to take note of anything else but the way the couple looks at each other. Your mind wonders how long they’ve been together, if it’s been for years, months, a couple weeks. 

It doesn’t really matter. You just want that. 

The feeling isn’t lost on you, especially when you’re in the arms of the woman you love. For her, she’s being protective, doing her job but you wish it was different. A bubbling desire dripping off your tongue, a need to have her close to you but because she wants. Not because she’s paid to. 

“If I can’t have any tequila shots, god forbid, you have to dance with me.” You down the rest of your wine, placing the empty glass on the bar. “C’mon, you can give Stassie an earful later.” 

Pulling her towards the makeshift dance floor, Abby leads as your head rests against her chest. The steady, soft heartbeat soothes you, a reminder of the safety you feel with her. Caught in the riptide of her kind eyes and heart full of gold. It’s what makes her so unique, so loved, so her. With a surprisingly good tone, Abby sings to the music softly before twirling you around and spinning your body back to her. 

“Is there anything you can’t do?” Your hand rubs lovingly on her lower back as she holds you in her arms. You take pride when it doesn’t feel transactional. When she holds you and it feels as if she was meant to. There’s nothing else comparable to it, her frame melting into yours as your soul finds solace in her warm embrace. 

“There’s plenty of things.” Playfully, Abby smirks. 

“Oh yeah. I’m sure.” 

The sarcasm practically drips out of you as her smirk grows wider. 

“Can I ask you something?” You hesitate for a moment as you find her beautiful blue eyes staring into your soul. It’s only then does everything troubling might dissipate while she holds you — secretly hoping it’s forever. 

“You can ask me anything.” 

You give yourself a moment to collect your thoughts as you move to the delicate beat. “Do you ever wish for a life where you could have had a normal life? I wonder if things could be different.” 

Immediately, Abby answers. 

“Not anymore, no, not for a second.” 

If it was even possible, Abby pulls you closer to her, not urging a word more. It’s how she is, cold and distant to some but they don’t feel the stutter in her breath when you’re near or the soft pad of her thumb rubbing soothingly on the back of your hand. Or the soft words of encouragement when you’re having a difficult day. 

They hear none of it. 

She dances with you for a couple more songs, before you find solace on the couch. You lay beneath the moonlight, your body cuddles into her side as you stare up at the sky. 

It’s lost on you how you’ve ended  with her, someone as kind and untainted as her, wanting to spend her free time with you, but you’re grateful for it. Whatever god you have to thank, you’ll get on your knees to praise their alter for bringing Abby into your life. She’s the best thing to ever happen to you and she doesn’t even know it. Albeit, she hardly knows the extent of how wonderful she is. 

“Why here?” 

“It’s a good night, nice weather. Why not?” 

A question with a question. It’s the most straightforward answer you’ll ever give her. Innuendos for the sweet girl to piece together, but with the soft circles being drawn her stomach with the pad of your finger leaves little to nothing to decode. 

“It’s nice, yeah.” 

Abby always has so little to say but her mind swarms with a thousand reasons why this is a bad idea and a million of why this is where the constellations in the jaded sky have led to you. Straight into the pits of innocence, a heart that’s been hurt more times than she can count but still as golden and whole as one could be. 

“What do you think of Italy?” 

“It’s nice.” 

“Nice? That’s all I get?” 

Abby smirks but her body stills when you play with the waistband of her trousers before gliding back to the security of her abdomen, carving the liner of her defined abs. The ones she tries so hard to cover up, but you saw on the very first day you met her. 

“Do you want more?” You ask, an eyebrow raising in suggestion. Abby knows it’s a double edged sword, one she doesn’t want to be injured with. 

“You’re playing a very dangerous game.” Cautiously, Abby warns. “I’m not sure that last drink was a great idea.” 

You rest your head on her sternum, sapphire eyes looking down at you as her hand finds home on your waist, the blunt of your nails scratching softly at her stomach. 

“They always seem like a great idea at the time, don’t they?” With a gentle hand, you caress her scarred cheek, the pad of your thumb gently tenderly kissing the freckled skin. Outlining the softness of her jaw with your left, while your right one refuses to leave her stomach. 

“I don’t see how anyone would ever want to leave you.” Abby hums, not giving you much to go off of, tight lipped as she’s always been. The Nora situation has always been on your mind. One day, Abby’s speaking of her like she’s the love of her life and the next? Abby stiffens so tight when you bring up her name you promise yourself to never speak of it again. Until now, almost two years later, you’re more curious than you have ever been. The fatal ending, not belonging to you, but still you paw for the answers with your greedy palms. 

“You can just ask me if you want to know. I can see the look in your eyes.” 

“What look? I don’t have a—” 

Abby tilts your chin with your palm, leaning into her touch as you often do. 

“Yes, you do.” 

“How do you know this look?” 

“Hm.” Her thumb pulls at your bottom lip, “You’re just trying to get me in trouble now.” 

Your tone shifts, your eyes become transcendent, more crystal clear than they’d been all night. 

“What happened between you and Nora?” You ask, treading lightly on the ground you’re skating upon, in fear the ground beneath you might just crack if you apply too much pressure. 

“Why is it so important to you?” 

“It’s not that it’s—” You face plant into her chest, giving yourself a moment to breathe. Fuck, even her chest smells good. 

“You don’t ask about anything unless it’s of value to anyone. You don’t waste time, you’re very adamant about it. Painfully so.” Blonde eyebrows relax as she closes her eyes for a moment, but her touch on you soothes you. It’s gentle; a somber comfort bleeding into blissful joy. 

“But I’ve spent a lot of time with you.” 

“Yes, you’ve spent a lot of your time with me.

Abby opens her eyes to see you, your head tilted to the right, as you look upon each carve of her angelic face, the one that could only be carved by the gods above, resembling an angel on earth. As pure as the snow with the biggest heart of gold you ever have had the pleasure of knowing. 

“What?” 

“I didn’t say a thing.” You smile slyly. 

“We didn’t break up because of you, if that’s what you’re asking.” Abby sighs, “You’re not some homewrecker. My home with Nora was already wrecked before we met.” 

“Are you just saying it to make me feel better?” 

“No, I’m not.” You play with the ends of her golden hair, it hurts to be this close to what you want but knowing it’s so clearly out of your reach, league even, all of it will end the same. “Nora wasn’t fond of her being my first relationship with a woman. It caused a ripple effect, me feeling like I wasn’t good enough and her feeling like she has to carry me in the relationship, emotionally anyway.” 

“Is that why you broke up?” 

“No.” 

“It was because of me.” You state, as a matter of fact, knowing there is no other truth to be known. With tears welling up in your eyes, an ache  in your heart, one that made you ache all over. The dread of the guilt weighing heavily on your heart, time and distance still isn’t enough for you to run from it. 

“It was a job that was a great opportunity. Alright? It wasn’t you, even if I hadn’t, we both wanted different things. I didn’t even realize it until after but I wasn’t happy. I promise, it has nothing to do with you.” 

What Abby didn’t know, you needed to hear her say those words. In the back of your head, a monstrous demon unleashes in your mind, telling you crashed her relationship. You were the problem and her inevitable doom, but she’s assuring you it wasn’t the case. 

“We hardly knew each other back then.” 

As pathetic as it sounds, Abby can’t imagine her life without you. 

“Yeah hardly.” 

There’s that look again, pouring into Abby’s soul as it eats her up whole, the gleam in your eyes begging for more. It’ll complicate things if Abby gets involved, she knows this, but it already seems like she is despite her best efforts not to be. 

“Did I do good? You always say you miss stargazing with your brother back home. I know it’s not as quiet as the cabin you have, but I thought it would be okay for now.” 

“The view isn’t bad, not one bit.” She admits as she lets you rub her abdomen, the goosebumps crawling upon her skin the more Abby lets you touch her as if she’s yours to hold. “Lev would like it. I’m convinced the kid likes you more than me now.” 

“As he should. I’m pretty damn amazing.” 

“He asks too many questions though.” 

“About what?” 

“I dunno…..things.” Abby retreats back into her shell, the layer of protection she uses to protect herself from getting hurt. Most of all, out of everyone the gods could torture her to be confused about, of course it has to be you. Everyone in your life is always begging for pieces of your time, pieces of your affection and bits of your time to suck you dry. Abby has always wondered how you juggle it all. It feels cruel to even think you would put her in the mix. 

Painfully, there’s nights like tonight, where she sees the desire swarming in your eyes — every part of her pleads to give in to the temptation. Give into something she’s never even let herself think about until the last few months. As thick as drywall, there was a barrier keeping her heart from you, one she kept to protect you and herself even. 

The absolute last thing she wanted was to wreck everything this has to offer. If she makes the wrong move, all of it can come crashing down on you…it’s the last thing she wants. Make you a martyr in her story, one she thinks and dreams of often but knows you’re too big for her to exist in your life. The circles you run in don’t even exist in the same planet, the same fucking universe if Abby’s being honest. 

“What things?” You pout, your hand traveling south, caressing her thigh with a familiarity Abby wishes you didn’t have. She wishes for a lot but they never come true, that’s all you can be, a dying wish Abby curses upon a fading star.  

“It’s just stupid shit, not worth mentioning.” 

“Abby…” 

“Yeah?” 

“I—” You take a deep breath, your voice already shaky and you haven’t even told her yet. “I don’t think you even know how much you mean to me.” Abby isn’t sure where you’re going with this, terrifying her instantly. 

Have you finally had your fill of her? Were you gonna fire her? Now? 

“Lev doesn’t just talk to you about us.” 

“Us?” Nervously, Abby stomach clenches, unprepared for where this conversation is heading. 

“Why are you so scared?” 

Abby visibly and loudly gulps, almost making you giggle slightly. 

“I-I’m not.” 

The stonewall she attempts to hide behind but you won’t let her, not tonight. Slumping in the shadows, waiting for you to find someone else to love as she watches your happiness from a far, that’s what she allows herself. Nothing more and nothing less. 

“Abs, look at me.” She meets your eyes, away from the constellations in the sky, afraid if she looks for a moment too long she’ll be stuck here forever. “Talk to me, m’right here, not going anywhere unless you want me to.” 

Instantly, Abby grips your hips, keeping you in your place. 

“No, that’s not—” 

“What?” 

“I’m not what you want. I’m surely not what anyone needs. Hell, I’ve only been with one woman which is deemed to be for not being enough, right? I’m the girl who came out too late, who doesn’t have enough experience but because I’m built like some fucking adonis I need to know whatever the fuck I’m doing but I don’t. I never know what I’m doing. The only thing I know how to do is protect you, that’s all I’m good for and I’m not gonna screw that up just because I—” 

“Because what?” Your pelvis is on top of hers, your face coming closer to Abby’s, watching as you are irrevocably close to her, closer than you’ve ever been, wet lips ghosting over her pouty pink lips. Abby doesn’t even know when you moved, how you got so close, too lost in her own head to register your movements. 

“It doesn’t matter.” Abby puffs out. 

“It matters to me.” You sink into her, further, if it's even possible. “No one matters more than you, alright?” 

“But there’s people.” Abby looks for an excuse to get up, she comes up enough so she’s sitting up against the armrest of the patio couch, holding your lower back as she does so, leaving you straddling her hips. 

“I don’t care. All that matters is you.” You push a piece of blonde hair away, seeing her beautiful cheeks more clearly, her shining blue eyes finding its unique path to your heart, the one especially made for her. “Here just let me talk, alright? You don’t have to say anything. Just listen.” 

Abby is nearly crying, practically purring as you run your fingers through her cascading blonde hair. It’s too much but not enough. Although she is sure of one thing, the one thing she wants more than anything. 

“I’ve always been one for pretty girls. I had a reputation around Hollywood, always chasing one after the next, never reaching my fill or as the tabloids like to say.” You chuckled half-heartedly; the wound cutting deeper than you would have liked. “My publicist having to pay paparazzi an obscene amount of money to get these photos from ever hitting online, month after month, it was pathetic really. Just trying to fill a hole, one I didn’t even know how to fill.” 

“I didn’t know that.” 

“It’s not something I’m proud of and I never wanted you to see me differently but I’m not ashamed anymore though. I’m not that person anymore. I haven’t been since I met you.” Abby falls silent, her cheeks turning crimson before she can try to hide it “You not knowing how I was, it's just the humbling I needed. Not to mention you were the most beautiful woman I had ever seen— you still are— but you had a girlfriend so I kept my feelings silent. Something just felt different with you and then you were single and I was afraid of you.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I didn’t want to ruin you so I made a promise to myself. I would never start anything with you, not unless I was in love with you.” 

“You love me?” 

“It’s impossible not to.” You sigh into her, forehead pressed against hers, her strong hold not letting go. “You don’t have to say anything or do anything. I don’t expect anything in return. I just can’t live in a world where you think because you’re not experienced as some, you think you’re less than people who are.” 

“It’s true, I’m not there with everyone else and it shows.” 

“Abby, you’re not getting it.” 

“Well, no shit. I’m not good enough for any of this, you especially.” 

“It’s not…” You bite your lip as you reach for her hands on your waist, intertwining them with your own. “Abs, it would’ve saved me a lot of trouble.” Your lips ghost over her lips again, but this time Abby inches closer, her breath warm as it hits your mouth. 

“What?” 

“If I was a patient person and waited for you.” 

More than before, Abby’s breath is heavy as the rise and fall of her chest is rapid, trying to calm herself down but it’s impossible when you’re this close. It’s a lot for her, maybe she’s overly sensitive, but your touch is practically lighting her on fire. Abby wonders if it will ever be able to be put out or if your magnetic touch will leave her scorned. 

Puppy eyes inwardly pleading for an ounce of your touch, so sweet as she supports your weight with her strong thighs, anchoring you to her — never quite letting go. A single glance detrimental to the layer of protection she built around herself. 

“There’s no more waiting, m’right here.” Abby closes the gap indefinitely, lips connecting with yours as they move in perfect harmony, as if this is what she was made for. Involuntarily, she whimpers in your mouth as you gently tug at her bottom nibble at her bottom lip, your tongue sliding in as it dominates her own. It happens too quickly — the way her very being melts into you. 

Like honey to a bee, there’s nothing that’s ever been so sweet. 

This is all you need. 

“Abby?” 

“Yeah, angel?” 

“Let’s get out of here.”

taglist: @brackishkittie @only4theweeknd @tlouloser @marvelwomenarehot0 @grey-jedi12 @r3starttt @bittersu1te @pxgeturner @maxinephobia @marsworldd @aouiaa @twopeoplee @i-lov3-w0men @lvlymicha @half-of-a-gay @pa-co @rkivedpages @abbyspup @lucidfairies @lizzygrant @yourfriendlyneighborhoodeden @iluvme9 @skzhoiic @angelynn-nicole @hearts4joongie @moonyvs4 @loveyru @imdrowningindispair @random-fag @swinesb @spacewlf

[wendyyyyyyyy]

OPERATION : Oblivious Idiots

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Part 4 : “PUZZLE PIECES WITHOUT PICTURE”

The weight of the situation pressed on everyone’s shoulders.

Nobody knew what to say anymore.

The room was still thick with the aftershocks of their first realization—Changbin accidentally sent you to the wrong room. But now, this. Two key cards in one slot.

And... their first instinct was to ask you the most obvious question.

“Did you… ask for Chan’s key?”

You felt your whole body go stiff.

“What?”

“Like, at the front desk?” Jisung clarified. “Did you ask for an extra key?”

You felt accused.

Your stomach turned.

Like hell you would.

“Are you guys being serious?” you snapped, narrowing your eyes.

“We’re just—” Jeongin started.

“I didn’t.”

Right?

Your jaw tightened. “I was drunk and wasted, but I wouldn’t do something that reckless.”

Seungmin exhaled sharply. “Okay. Okay.”

Felix rubbed your back, his warmth soothing you. “We get it. You didn’t do it, yeah?”

You nodded stiffly. Although you were seriously hoping in the back of your mind that your drunken self did not actually do something so reckless like that.

“Then where the hell did the key come from?” Changbin muttered, arms crossed.

No answer.

No clue.

A dead end.

But then—

Something clicked in your head.

“I… didn’t have it before the party,” you said suddenly. “Or during. Or even after I puked on Felix.”

They all stared.

“You’re sure?” Chan asked, eyes locked on yours.

You nodded.

“As blurry as my memory is,” you said carefully, “I know I didn’t have it until after that.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Seungmin interrupted, rubbing his temples like his head physically hurt. “If Y/N didn't take the key, and if she didn't have it even then, you’re saying—”

“—that someone else went to the front desk and pretended to know me and asked for it,” Chan finished for him, voice tense. “That’s the only way they could’ve gotten an extra key.”

“Yep.”

“Which means…” Jisung sat up straighter. “They knew your room number, hyung.”

“Exactly,” you said, crossing your arms. “This wasn’t a random drunk accident. This was set up.”

Felix ran a hand through his hair, visibly disturbed. “This feels so fucking weird.”

Chan nodded, his jaw clenched. He was fully in analyzing mode now, eyes sharp, and in deep thought.

“Okay, let’s retrace,” he said. “You said you didn’t have the key before you puked on Felix.”

“Nope.”

“And you were already in the lobby by the time Changbin found you.”

“Yes.”

“So,” he continued, gaze intensifying, “someone must have given you the key while you were sitting there.”

“That’s exactly what happened,” you murmured, closing your eyes, trying to dig deeper.

And then—

A faint memory flickered.

A vague scene.

A hand giving you something.

Another person next to them.

Two people.

A conversation. But muffled.

The memory was too blurry, too foggy, but you knew one thing for sure—

You didn’t take the key on your own.

Someone handed it to you.

You snapped your eyes open.

“I remember,” you said suddenly.

Everyone turned toward you.

⸻

“I don’t remember their faces,” you admitted, “but there were two people. One of them was sitting next to me.”

“Wait, TWO?!” Hyunjin whipped his head around. “So it was a team effort?!”

“Yes,” you confirmed, your voice quieter now. “I was already on the lobby sofa when I took the key from them.”

“That’s fucking suspicious,” Jisung muttered.

Felix patted your back again, his warm touch grounding you. “It’s okay,” he reassured softly. “We’ll figure it out.”

Chan, meanwhile, had his fingers pressed against his mouth, decoding internally again.

Then—

His eyes snapped to Felix.

“Did Felix see Y/N leave when Changbin went up for the shirt?” he asked.

Felix blinked. “Huh?”

“When she puked on you. When Changbin left to get you a new shirt. Did you see Y/N leave?”

Felix froze.

And then—

“Shit.”

“What?” you whipped toward him.

Felix’s face fell.

“I… I don’t remember.”

A pause.

A heavy, sinking pause.

“I was too distracted by the puke,” Felix admitted, voice small. “I was freaking out over my shirt.”

Minho cursed under his breath.

“You mean,” Seungmin deadpanned, “while you were having a breakdown over puke, possibly two people took Y/N away and led her to the lobby, and you DIDN’T NOTICE?”

Felix groaned, hiding his face. “I’M SORRY, OKAY?!”

Chan sighed, running a hand down his face. “It’s not your fault, Lix,” he muttered.

“But this means,” Jisung said slowly, eyes widening, “that those people must have waited for the opportunity to lure her out and they wanted her to get the spare key.”

⸻

Hyunjin slammed his fist on his palm.

“Then let’s check the damn security cameras!”

“Yeah, we can literally see who gave her the key that way,” Minho added.

“Perfect,” Changbin nodded. “Let’s go.”

So you all stormed downstairs, marching to the front desk like a full-blown detective squad, with Chan slowly catching up behind, his flat feet still hurting.

But he was the one who did the talking.

“Hi, we need to check the security footage from last night,” Chan said firmly.

The receptionist blinked.

“I’m sorry, but we can’t release footage unless you have a formal request from law enforcement or hotel security clearance.”

Everyone froze.

“Are you kidding?” Jisung deadpanned.

“Unfortunately not, sir.”

Changbin sighed. “So you’re saying we have to either call the police or convince your manager?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Fuck,” Jeongin muttered.

Jisung turned to Chan.

“Hyung, you’re famous. Can’t you just use your leader power—”

“That’s not how it works, Jisung.”

Jisung groaned. “Man, this is such a pain in the ass.”

Then—

“We can still ask about the key,” you reminded them.

⸻

You turned back to the receptionist.

“Fine. If we can’t see the cameras, can we at least know what the person who asked for the spare key look like?”

The receptionist’s eyes flickered with hesitation but answered.

“The person who asked for the key… was a woman.”

“It wasn’t me, right?” You asked, you were sure of it, but you wanted to really make sure.

“Miss, you did not request the key. But, the woman was holding you. You were totally drunk.”

You tensed up. “So, what did she look like?”

“The woman who asked for it looked… oddly built. Buff, almost like a man. And her voice was… deep.”

A shiver crawled down your spine.

A manly woman.

“And I believe her husband was by her side too,” The receptionist recalled.

So, there were indeed two people; possibly a couple.

And both of them definitely knew Chan’s room number.

And one of them handed you the key.

“But, why did you hand them the key? How did they ask for it?” Changbin scratched his neck, still trying to wrap his head around the newfound information.

“The couple showed us a photo they took with Mr. Bang, and since miss Y/N also knows him, we just assumed they were trustable and handed the spare key.”

Everyone gave Chan a concerned look.

“Hyung, do you recall anyone?” Jeongin stared at him.

“I took photos with some STAYs when the show ended but that’s it. I don’t remember taking any photo with anyone after that.” Chan answered back, puzzled.

Before you could ask for more details—

The hotel manager rushed in.

“I’m sorry, but we can’t disclose any more information about our guests,” he said firmly. “This is hotel policy.”

The receptionist shut her mouth, flustered.

And just like that—Another dead end.

This wasn’t drunk mistakes anymore.

This wasn’t coincidence.

This was planned.

Two people—apparently a married couple—wanted you in Chan’s room on purpose.

And you were going to find out who.

——————

Part 5

[tsunamiholmes]

Here it is, my decoder for all of the new ciphers in The Book of Bill.

Huge thanks to Jim and trickenGF for help with the color cipher!

Happy solving, everyone!

I plan on creating fonts for most of these soon, but in the meantime, feel free to extract parts of the png for your own use from the transparent version below the cut.

I'll also explain how I got each cipher down there.

Theraprism: Brute-forced* using the first 4 ciphers in the book, then filled out via the decoder ring that appears in the dream sequence of The Last Mabelcorn.

Rune: Brute-forced* using the posts from OregonParksDept, then filled out via the stone that appears on page 111, "Cipherstitions".

Cipheric/Alchemic: Brute-forced* with lots of effort, and then filled out with the actual font its from (1651 Alchemy), where we discovered it's just the capital letters of that font. Womp womp.

Color: Brute-forced* by Jim and filled out via help from around the world! Some of the letters were only found via copies in different languages, since we have so little to go off of.

Bros. Secret Code: Solved using the key in the photo on page 161.

*Brute-forced means taking the symbols given, with no other information except the cipher itself, and using frequency analysis and word probability to break the cipher logically. Things like unique word structure (things with double letters, for example) help to speed up this process.

[rhyslarsenlover]

title: collision

warnings, etc: rafe x pogue!reader, steamy kiss scene

my library

“watch your step," an annoyed voice cuts through the air as you collide with the solid frame of someone familiar. your gaze lifts to realise who it was. rafe cameron.

“you watch your step, kook," you snap, spitting the words back at him, your instinctive response to his arrogance kicking in.

rafe was kook royalty, and it was a well-known fact that he treated pogues like shit on his shoe. you rarely bumped into him, paths crossing at only a handful of events and settings. this was unfortunately one of them, at your place of work, the wreck.

hence your afterthought of ‘oh shit,’ as you realised your words escaped your mouth before you could stop yourself. you really needed to stop doing that, it was becoming a bad habit and jj was a perfect example of how that could be problematic. instead of apologising - because let’s face it, you were not going to apologise to him of all people - you step back and walk away from the situation.

you found yourself outside in the work break area, trying to collect your thoughts. that was when you sensed it, that same heavy, electric presence you had come to recognise. without turning around, you already knew he was there.

“you’ve got a lot of nerve,” you muttered, pretending to focus on the view of the beach, though your heart raced as he approached. “maybe it’s you who’s got the nerve,” he replied, his voice laced with something darker than usual.

you turned to face him, noticing his jaw was tight with frustration. “you think you're better than me, don’t you?" he said, taking a small step closer, his gaze never leaving yours.

crossing your arms over your work uniform, you raised an eyebrow, “better? no. but i certainly don’t think i’m like you."

he took another step forward, his presence swallowing up all the space between you. you could feel the heat radiating off him now, making your pulse quicken despite your best efforts to remain indifferent.

“then maybe you should stop pretending like you can talk to me like that without consequences," rafe said quietly, his voice taking on a sharper edge. you swallowed hard, but kept your chin high, not backing down. “you don’t scare me, rafe."

there was a long silence as rafe studied you, his eyes intense, like he was trying to figure you out, trying to decode you.

“i wonder how long that attitude is gonna last, especially when you keep pushing me." before you could respond, he stepped closer, so close that the air between you two felt like it was on fire. for a moment, you forgot to breathe, the intensity of his gaze locking you in place.

rafe’s voice was barely a whisper, though you could hear the unrelenting emotion beneath it. “maybe i’ve had enough of being your enemy."

for a moment, you thought you saw something softer in his eyes, something that wasn’t just anger, but before you could respond, he closed the distance entirely. your heart skipped a beat, and before you knew it, he was right in front of you.

he paused, eyes flicking down to your lips, then back up to your eyes, waiting for something. maybe for you to push him away. or maybe for you to give in.

you didn’t move. you couldn’t.

and then, in one fluid motion, rafe leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was almost tentative at first. it wasn’t like the anger-fuelled words between you two. it was something different, something unexpected.

the kiss deepened, and there, in the quiet of the afternoon, something shifted. you didn’t pull away. you didn’t want to. a small whimper left your lips and vibrated against his. his hands travelled to your ass, squeezing gently as he pulled you closer. the squeeze caused your lips to part again in shock, allowing him to skilfully slip his tongue into your mouth. and it all started to make sense to you, why humans kissed. in a way, it was almost a preview of what else he could do with his mouth. ‘fuck, i shouldn’t be doing this,’ you thought, yet you didn’t pull away. instead your stomach flipped when you heard a low groan from his lips. holding onto his strong shoulders, you moved your hips against him, needing something to relieve the ache between your legs.

unfortunately, he came up for air, his breath heavy and eyes still intense as if searching for something in you. “fuck...” he let out, lust plastered across his features.

you swallowed hard, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze, but you didn’t look away. “what was that?” you whispered, voice shaky from the mix of confusion and something else that you didn’t know you could feel for him.

rafe looked at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “i don’t know. but i’m not walking away from this.”

[majikkulu]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ PILE ONE i  don't  think  you  really  know  this  person,  at  least  not  in  a  deep  way.  they  seem  pretty  distant  and  withdrawn,  like  they've  never  really  made  any  effort  to  connect  with  you.  honestly,  i'm  picking  up  some  strong  virgo  energy.  quiet,  reserved  vibes.  it  feels  like  they  can't  quite  control  themselves  when  they  get  caught  up  in  things.  i  get  the  sense  that  wherever  they  go,  they  bring  a  bit  of  chaos  with  them.  like,  there's  always  drama  surrounding  them.  they  spend  a  lot  of  time  thinking  about  you,  though,  mostly  on  social  media.  they  might  be  watching  you  in  a  sneaky  way,  either  through  other  people  or  maybe  even  a  fake/spam  account.  it’s  like  they’re  obsessed  with  decoding  everything  you  post,  over-analyzing  little  things  like  when  you  post  a  song  on  your  story  and  it  has  some  hidden  meaning.  they’ll  think  it’s  for  them,  even  though  they  haven’t  said  a  word  to  you.  they’re  really  into  you,  but  they're  scared  of  being  vulnerable  and  what  might  come  with  that.  they  act  like  they  don’t  care,  though.  super  nonchalant  on  the  surface.  now,  as  i’m  tapping  more  into  their  energy,  i  feel  like  this  could  be  someone  from  your  past.  maybe  they  pulled  back  at  some  point?  like  they  were  in  your  life,  but  then  went  distant.  or  maybe  it’s  just  someone  who’s  afraid  of  messing  up  whatever  connection  you  have.  they  hold  back  a  lot,  maybe  even  in  denial  about  their  feelings,  or  they  distract  themselves  to  avoid  thinking  about  you.  they’re  really  struggling  to  balance  you  and  their  daily  life.  they’re  trying  to  keep  this  obsession  under  wraps,  so  it  doesn't  interfere  with  what  they’ve  got  going  on.  they’re  quietly  longing  for  you,  watching  your  growth  from  afar.  and  if  they’re  someone  from  the  past,  they  still  have  some  hope,  even  though  they’re  not  doing  anything  about  it.  i  feel  like  there  are  two  possible  situations  going  on  here,  but  that's  the  vibe  i'm  getting.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ PILE TWO i  feel  like  you  probably  know  this  person,  even  if  it’s  not  really  a  big  secret  or  anything.  but,  they’re  giving  off  some  serious  ego  vibes.  like,  it's  through  the  roof.  they  might’ve  flirted  with  you  before  or  done  things  to  get  you  to  focus  on  them,  even  if  it  was  kinda  subtle.  i’m  not  totally  sure,  but  maybe  they’re  someone  you’ve  rejected  before?  or  they  just  feel  ignored  by  you,  like  you  don’t  really  see  them,  even  though  they  try  really  hard.they  want  your  attention,  and  they’re  not  getting  it.  they’re  obsessed  with  why  you  don’t  notice  them  the  way  they  want.  and  honestly,  i  don’t  think  it’s  something  you’re  doing  on  purpose.  i  think  you  might  just  have  a  hard  time  picking  up  on  who’s  into  you.  this  person  has  been  fixated  on  you  for  months,  maybe  even  years,  and  hasn’t  told  anyone.  it’s  kinda  lowkey  draining  them.  like,  this  obsession  is  exhausting,  but  they  can’t  stop.  they  know  everything  about  you,  down  to  the  tiniest  details.  they’re  constantly  watching  you.  they’re  scared  of  being  vulnerable,  but  it’s  like  they  can’t  stop  mentally  obsessing  over  you.  thinking  about  you  kind  of  hurts  them,  if  that  makes  sense.  they  feel  invisible,  like  they  go  unnoticed,  and  it  stings.  i  get  the  sense  that  they’re  at  a  crossroads,  like  they  have  to  either  let  go  or  finally  confess  how  they  feel.  they’re  trying  to  cut  off  those  feelings,  like  in  their  head  they’re  saying  no,  but  their  heart  keeps  pulling  them  back.  they’re  leaning  toward  keeping  quiet,  but  that  obsession  keeps  growing  stronger.  they  want  to  choose  you,  but  they’re  scared  it’s  not  safe  to  make  a  move.  i’m  picking  up  some  strong  fire/air  energy,  but  leaning  more  towards  the  fire  side.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ PILE THREE this  person  definitely  feels  hurt  by  you.  i  get  the  vibe  that  you  chose  someone  else  over  them.  whether  it  was  on  purpose  or  not,  they  saw  it  happen,  and  that  stings.  that  hurt  is  kind  of  feeding  their  fixation  on  you,  and  they  just  keep  thinking  about  it  over  and  over.  like,  they  can’t  get  any  peace  from  it.  they’re  really  stuck  in  this  emotional  cycle,  like,  they  have  this  fantasy  that  they  cling  to,  and  somehow,  in  their  mind,  it  makes  the  pain  feel  worth  it.  this  is  the  quiet,  distant  kind  of  obsession,  not  the  loud,  dramatic  type.  it’s  more  like  someone  who  watches  you  from  afar,  probably  hoping  that  one  day  things  could  be  different  between  you  two.  they  might  even  wish  for  a  chance  with  you,  especially  if  you’re  already  involved  with  someone  else.  they’re  idealizing  you  a  lot,  to  the  point  it’s  almost  delusional.  like,  you  know  how  people  worship  celebrities?  it’s  that  kind  of  feeling.  deep  down,  they  probably  know  this  is  all  a  bit  off,  but  they  can’t  help  it.  they’re  constantly  pushing  these  feelings  down  and  trying  to  control  it.  this  person  is  putting  up  a  serious  fight  to  keep  their  emotions  in  check.  their  obsession  is  far  from  passive,  though.  if  anyone  even  brings  you  up,  they  feel  the  need  to  defend  themselves,  and  it  might  come  off  kind  of  rude  or  harsh.  it’s  like  they  feel  emotionally  attacked  just  thinking  about  you.  they  might  think  it’s  impossible  to  get  you  back  for  whatever  reason,  like  they  messed  up  or  never  fully  confessed  how  they  felt.  honestly,  it’s  giving  me  12th  house  energy

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ PILE FOUR this  person  definitely  has  a  sexual  attraction  to  you.  there’s  this  push  and  pull  energy  with  them.  it’s  like  they  want  you,  but  they’re  not  really  sure  how  to  get  you.  their  obsession  is  all  fueled  by  fantasy  and  desire,  not  by  emotional  stability  or  any  real  connection.  this  could  be  someone  who  flirted  with  you  but  never  actually  followed  through.  maybe  you  rejected  them,  or  you  just  didn’t  chase  after  them,  and  that’s  only  made  them  more  fixated  on  you.  i  feel  like  you  either  ignored  them  or  weren’t  emotionally  available  to  them,  which  has  only  made  things  worse  for  them.  they  might  try  to  act  all  cool  and  like  they’re  over  it,  but  deep  down,  they’re  still  obsessed  and  restless. i  have  to  say.  they’re  kind  of  goofy  about  it.  like,  they’ve  tried  so  hard  to  move  on,  and  they  keep  failing.  it’s  almost  funny  how  much  you  haunt  them.  whether  they  walked  away  from  you  or  you  walked  away  from  them,  emotionally,  they’ve  never  really  left.  they’re  trying  to  balance  this  obsession,  but  it’s  like  they  can’t  shake  the  feeling  that  your  energy  is  still  hanging  around  them.  it’s  weird.   they’re  probably  waiting  for  the  “right  time,”  like  waiting  for  some  divine  timing  to  kick  in.  you  know  the  saying,  “if  it’s  meant  to  be,  it’ll  happen”?  they’re  kinda  buying  into  that,  thinking  that  eventually,  you  two  will  cross  paths  again  or  talk  again.  or  just  somehow  interact.  they  definitely  believe  in  that  “one  day”  moment.  this  person  is  obsessed  in  a  quiet  but  persistent  way.  it’s  like  their  mind’s  on  a  loop,  especially  when  they’re  alone  with  their  thoughts.  i’m  picking  up  on  some  water  sign  energy  with  a  bit  of  fire  thrown  in  there